"Guess he doesn't call much _trouble_ where _you_ are concerned," said Alice significantly, cutting up some chunks of cheese which she put in a double boiler with some lumps of butter. "He said if you wanted a book to give you some of the details of the country, where that English play was supposed to take place, you were going to have it." "It's awfully good of him," murmured Ruth. "I just casually mentioned that I'd like to know something about the people of that section, and he offered to get a book he had once heard of. But I didn't want him to make such a fuss over it." "La-la-la!" chanted Alice, about nothing in particular. The girls busied themselves getting tea. The kettle was soon singing on the gas stove, the crisp odor of toast had replaced the heavier one of cabbage, and the rarebit was almost ready to serve, when a step was heard out in the hall of the apartment house where the DeVere family had their New York home. "There's daddy!" exclaimed Alice. "And just in time," added Ruth, as she poured the boiling water on the tea, adding to the fragrant food perfumes that now filled the apartment. The key clicked in the lock, the door opened, and a rather imposing figure of a man entered, laying aside his hat and light overcoat, for the Spring day was a bit chilly. "Hello, Daddy!" called Alice, putting up her face to be kissed, as she came in from the kitchen with a plate of delicately browned toast. "You're just in time. And it's such a _lovely_ rarebit!" "That's good, my dear." "Oh, Father, how hoarse you are!" cried Ruth. "Is your throat bad again?" "Well, this harbor dampness isn't just the best medicine for it. But I shall spray it, and it will be better." He sank somewhat wearily into a chair as he spoke, and Ruth glided over to him. "Daddy," she said, "you look worried. Has anything happened? Is anything wrong at the moving picture studio?" "No, nothing wrong, but--" It was evident that something out of the usual had occurred. Even light-hearted Alice sensed it. "What is it?" she asked. "Oh, nothing so much," her father said in weary tones. "I suppose I shouldn't make such a fuss over it. But Mr. Pertell has finally decided to film the great marine drama, and that means we shall have to go out on the water, more or less. And with my sore throat that isn't just the best thing in the world for me." "A marine drama!" cried Alice. "Oh, I shall just love _that_!" A look of worry still clouded Mr. DeVere's face. "Father, there is something else," insisted Ruth. "You haven't told us all about this sea film." "No, I--I haven't," he said. "And, to tell the truth, I'd rather we weren't going to be in that marine drama." CHAPTER II JACK JEPSON