CHAPTER XVI

AN INCREDIBLE SUGGESTION

That was all. Ruth stood staring at the words dumbly while the true meaning of them filtered into her numbed brain.

Viola had gone, jumped her contract, left at a time when she knew her leaving would be utterly disastrous to the picture.

The thought roused the girl to a sort of wild disbelief. It wasn’t so. It couldn’t be so! Why, it would mean the ruin not only of this picture, but perhaps of The Fielding Film Company as well.

It was a new company, ambitious and, up to this time, almost incredibly successful. But to make the kind of pictures Ruth wanted to make took money--big lumps of it--and until profits began to be felt from the last big picture, “Snowblind,” it was necessary for Ruth to trim her sails very neatly and sail close to the wind if she hoped to avoid shipwreck.

All these thoughts and more, many more, whirled through her brain in that brief moment of realization. She felt faint and sick with the shock.

Viola’s note still clasped in her fingers, she went to her own room and sat down in a chair by the window to think things out. She hoped no one would follow just then--not even Tom. To be alone was what she needed--to think things out!

Poor Ruth! The more she tried to think things out the more she came to the realization that there was no way out save a disastrous one.

Even if she and Tom succeeded in getting an actress to take Viola’s place, the undertaking would entail ruinous delay. And at this late moment it would be hard to find any one capable of taking the lead in Ruth’s picture who was not already bound by contract.

“Oh, it’s hopeless--utterly hopeless!” she said, at last, aloud. “I guess fate is against you this time, Ruth Fielding. You might as well acknowledge the defeat as gracefully as you can. Oh, I feel so tired!” She got up and went wearily over to the window. “And how my head does ache!”

From the window she could see a considerable distance down the road. She noticed, in a detached and impersonal way that a conveyance of some kind was jouncing along the dusty trail coming toward the ranch.

She watched it disinterestedly, her mind busy with its own disquieting thoughts. Then as an automobile turned into the road that led to the house her interest quickened.

Who could be riding to the ranch in all the dignity of a car? Almost certainly a stranger, for the natives used horseflesh almost exclusively as a mode of travel.

The figure in gray descending from the car was familiar. Ruth leaned forward, the stranger turned his face toward her, and the next moment she recognized Mr. Hammond.

Why, of course! How could she have forgotten? She had known his arrival to be imminent, had even considered the probability that he would reach the ranch to-day.

A wry little smile touched the corners of Ruth’s mouth. What a different greeting she could have given him had he come an hour, yes, even half an hour before!

She was happy then, exhilarated, excited, could have shown him about with pride. Now!

Still watching him, she saw Mr. Hammond turn in greeting and saw that Tom was coming toward the house on a run. They clasped hands eagerly, for the two were friends. Ruth turned from the window, a lump in her throat. It was dreadful to have to shatter their pleasure and happiness with her bad news.

However, it was Ruth’s rule that if anything unpleasant was to be done, the only sensible procedure was to do it at once and get the agony over with.

She straightened her shoulders, instinctively bracing herself, and went on downstairs to greet the new arrival.

They were on the porch and Mr. Hammond turned to her with genuine eagerness.

“My dear Miss Ruth, what a pleasure to see you again. And how splendid you look! Doesn’t she?” turning with a smile to Tom.

But Tom had been watching Ruth’s face and, sensitive as he was to all her moods, saw instantly that something was wrong.

“What happened?” he asked quietly.

Ruth gave a queer little laugh and dropped into one of the chairs on the porch, motioning them to do likewise.

“I hate to spoil your first minute with us, Mr. Hammond, but this is so dreadful--” She broke off and then fairly flung her next words at Tom. “Viola is gone. All she left is--this!” And with a little despairing gesture she handed the note to Tom.

The latter read it and, still without speaking, passed it to Mr. Hammond.

The latter looked concerned, took a long breath, and cleared his throat.

“Pretty bad, pretty bad,” he murmured. “Hadn’t you a contract?” he asked of Ruth.

The girl raised her hands and let them drop again, helplessly.

“Of course. But what good does that do in a case like this? If we did succeed in holding her she would probably repay us by giving the worst acting she has. And the heroine’s part is a dramatic one, as you know. Indifferent acting would completely spoil the whole picture.”

“And whatever one may think of Viola personally, one has to admit she can act,” muttered Tom. His gaze roamed out past the ranch lands to Golden Pass. His hands gripped the arm of his chair. “I can’t for the life of me see any way out of this!” he added hopelessly.

“There’s always a way out of every situation,” said Mr. Hammond slowly, a thoughtful look coming into his eyes.

“Always,” agreed Ruth. “But sometimes it is anything but a good way.”

“Oh, come, Miss Ruth,” said the president of the Alectrion Film Corporation, “I’ve been in this game longer than you have and have weathered many a squall, some as bad as this.”

After this speech there was silence on the porch for several minutes.

“Meanwhile,” said Ruth, rousing herself to thought of the present, “I suppose the entire company is waiting the coming of its director--and Viola. We’ll have to tell them, there’s no use waiting, Tom.”

“So we shall.” Tom rose heavily and, hands thrust deep in pockets, sauntered to the piazza steps. There he turned and with an effort grinned at Mr. Hammond.

“I’d ask you to excuse my absence if I thought you’d miss me,” he said.

“Now what did he mean by that?” asked Ruth, looking after him.

“Probably that you and I may have something to say to each other,” laughed Mr. Hammond. “And, as far as I’m concerned,” he added, with a change of tone that made Ruth look at him swiftly, “he’s dead right.”

Ruth said nothing, only continued to look at Mr. Hammond, her heart beating faster. She felt that he was leading up to something. What was it?

“You may not like what I have to say, Miss Ruth.” The man was looking away from her now, speaking slowly, distinctly. “But I’ve got to say it for all that.” He turned to her with his quick disarming smile. “As a matter of fact, I think that I see a very satisfactory way out of your difficulties.”

“You do?” Ruth gasped. She was staring at him incredulously.

“I believe it is only your modesty that keeps you from thinking of it yourself,” went on Hammond.

“I don’t know what you mean!” Ruth was eager now, expectant. “Please, please don’t keep me in suspense!”

“Then I won’t.”

Mr. Hammond leaned toward her. The easy smile had left his face. He spoke in all seriousness.

“You are a scenario writer of unusual ability, Miss Ruth, and a good director. But I think there is still another line you could excel in to even a greater extent, should you try.”

Ruth, studying him intently, still failed to comprehend.

“Haven’t you ever thought,” the words came with a rush, “what a fine actress you would make?”

Ruth gasped, looked at the director of the Alectrion Film Corporation as though she thought he had gone mad.

“Me, an actress! Why, I never heard of such a thing!”

“You have faced the camera before,” Mr. Hammond reminded her.

“Oh, I know! But not in a picture like this--not as a star working opposite an actor like Layton Boardman! I--I never--why, I couldn’t!”

“I’m quite sure you could,” asserted Mr. Hammond. Now that the thing had been proposed, he was smilingly confident. “And I am certain the idea will appeal to you, once you get used to it.”