“Think they’ll get him to try it again?” “Oh, yes, I guess so. Mr. Ringold and Mr. Hadley generally get what they want. There, he’s going to do it over again. I guess we’d better get back to our machines,” for the lads had joined the group about the man in bathing costume. “Well, I’ll try that rescue scene once more,” finally announced the person who had been designated as Mr. Piper and also as C. C. “But it does seem,” he went on, “that I always have to do all the work in these tank dramas. I’m the one that’s always falling in the water and getting my death of cold. I always have to do the rescuing. Why can’t I be rescued myself some time? Though I suppose if I jumped in, and waited for some one to get me out, they’d let me drown. Oh, why did I ever go into this miserable business, anyhow?” and while uttering these dismal words the man made a series of comical faces that sent the others into spasms of laughter. “Oh, cheer up, Gloomy!” cried one of the young ladies of the company. “You’ll be happy yet.” “I doubt it,” came the answer. “But go ahead!” “All ready out there!” called Mr. Ringold, head of the Film Theatrical Company, which was making a series of dramas for moving pictures on the lower California coast, near San Diego. “All ready out there in the boat! C. C. is going to try the rescue once more.” “And look out for the big waves, C. C.,” advised the manager. “Just swim as you always do. You’ve been in the surf before. And you’re supposed to be a life guard, you know. They can swim like fishes.” “I’m not a fish!” declared the actor. “Be ready, Miss Lee!” called Mr. Ringold, to a young lady, who was out some distance on the lazily rising and falling ocean, in a small boat. “Remember you’re supposed to be adrift in an open craft--you have been lost for days and days. You finally get near shore and the life guard sees you. He swims out at the peril of his life and rescues you.” “That’s it--always at the risk of my life,” grumbled C. C. Piper, to give him his right name. “If I don’t drown, I get my death of cold!” “Go ahead!” cried Mr. Ringold, impatiently. “Remember, Miss Lee, you’re supposed to be nearly starved. The life guard brings you in and carries you to the lighthouse. There you fall in love with the young keeper, and the life guard and he have trouble over you. But we’ll get those scenes later. All ready now, C. C. Jump in. Joe--Blake, be ready with your cameras there!” “All right!” cried the two lads, and, as the actor once more plunged into the surf, Joe and Blake began turning the handles of the moving picture cameras. The machines clicked and purred as the film unwound from one reel, passed behind the lens with its rapidly opening and closing shutter, and then was wound on another reel, pictures being taken at the rate of sixteen per second.