“Well, it didn’t take us long; did it, Blake?”

“No, indeed, Joe. But we certainly have hustled some since we got that long-distance telephone message.”

“We’re used to hustling, though, old man. You wouldn’t get very far with moving pictures unless you did get a move on now and then.”

The two chums were seated in a railway train, on their way to New York to meet Mr. Ringold, and do what they could to rescue the unfortunate members of the moving picture company. They did not know what was before them, but they had stout hearts, and they had made up their minds to brave any danger in order to save their friends.

“Poor Birdie Lee!” murmured Blake. “I can’t help but think of her.”

“Same here,” agreed Joe. “She certainly was a dandy little chum and comrade. Always willing to do anything that was asked, to make a good film.”

“Yes, and she never found fault if someone made a break, and we had to film the scene all over again,” put in Blake. “Do you remember the time she had to fall overboard, out of the boat on the lake?”

“I should say I did remember it! C. C. Piper was to rescue her, but he was so slow about it—so afraid he’d get drowned, or have wet feet, or something, that the scene was spoiled, and Birdie had to get into dry clothes, and act the whole thing over, taking a second plunge into the water.”

“Mr. Ringold was sure mad at C. C. that day,” laughed Blake. “But it didn’t always happen that way. We’ve had our fun, too.”

“Oh, sure. But we’re not likely to this time—scooting around in the rain, on a river that’s twice as big as it ought to be. Say, when we get to the junction we may be able to get a New York paper of to-day, and see how things are out in the flooded district now.”

“Maybe we can,” assented Blake.

The boys settled back in their seats, for the ride of about two hours to New York, for they were on a slow train. On receiving the news over the wire, they had hastily packed, and amid the expressed regrets of Mr. and Mrs. Baker at their departure, had driven to the station.

Their train made a stop at nearly every depot, and at several, where there was a wait, Joe and Blake got out and inquired if there were any newspapers of that day. But none had been received.

“Cliff Junction!” called out the brakeman, and the boys prepared to change in order to take an express train for the remainder of the journey.

“Now for a paper!” exclaimed Blake, as he hurried up to the news-stand. Joe followed, and as a man, with his b