CHAPTER VI

AN OLD FRIEND

Blake and Joe soon made friends aboard the ship. They were lively lads, and as soon as it became known they were on voyage to Africa they were asked many questions.

They did not give details of their two quests, merely saying that they were on their way to see Joe’s sister, and, incidentally, to get views of the jungle animals.

“There’s no use telling them we haven’t seen my sister in so many years,” suggested Joe, who was a bit sensitive on the subject. “And if we go into too many details about those wild animals they’ll think we’re faking.”

“That’s right,” agreed Blake.

The fact that they had with them moving picture cameras, and film, and were experts in their use, soon became known all through the ship, and they received many requests to take views of the passengers at various deck games.

This they did, but as there were no facilities aboard for developing and printing the films, the pictures could not be shown. However, the boys left the negatives with the captain, who promised to have them ready for any passengers who made a return trip with him.

For themselves, however, Joe and Blake got some fine views of a storm at sea, the waves being exceptionally high. The vessel rolled and rocked so that it was hard for the lads to keep their footing, but they were not seasick, which was more than could be said of most of the passengers.

“In fact, there’s one gentleman who hasn’t been out of his stateroom since we started,” said the commander. “He wanted me to stop the ship, or else turn back, when we struck the first bit of open water. But you boys are real sailors.”

Mr. Duncan, of course, was at home on the water, and he spent much of his time in company with the officers of the craft, swapping “yarns” of the deep.

Joe and Blake spent some days looking over their moving picture cameras. They had purchased a new one in place of one of their old ones--a machine with several improvements.

As I have designed this book to be instructive as well as entertaining, I will give a brief description of how the moving picture machine works.

I presume you all know what a camera is. It consists of a light-tight box, with a lens for properly focusing whatever is to be taken. Back of the lens is a sensitized film of celluloid or a glass plate. When the image has been taken on this film, it is developed by chemicals, and when dry a print or “positive” can be made from it. And, for all this simplicity, it is a very wonderful process.

A moving picture camera is merely another snapshot camera on a larger scale, except that instead of one plate back of the lens there is a continuous band, or celluloid roll. By turning a handle the reel of film passes behind the lens at the rate of sixteen small plates per second, taking this number of views of whatever moving or animated scene it is desired to show. A shutter, worked by the handle, alternately opens and closes just as you work the shutter of your small camera by pressing a button, and this shutter cuts off the view while a new section of film is pulled into place behind the lens.

A moving picture camera can take pictures on a thousand feet of celluloid reel at one operation, and as each picture is only three-quarters of an inch wide, you can see that quite a number of separate views are possible.

So much for taking the moving pictures. The operator points his camera at whatever he wants to show--a speeding train, a man diving, a scene in a theatre--anything he wants--turns the handle, and the rest is automatic.

When the reel is filled with pictures it is developed just as you would develop a single plate, or film, except, of course, a larger tank is necessary.

Many persons suppose that the film that is in the moving picture camera is the same one that is run through the projecting machine, and thrown on the screen. That is not so, otherwise it would be necessary to take many hundreds of reels of the same scene, to accommodate the many theatres.

The first film taken is called a “negative” and is a sort of “master film.” Once this is dry it is put in an apparatus somewhat like the camera. Under the master film, just as you put a piece of sensitive paper under your one negative, is a reel of unexposed film. A bright light is placed in front, the machinery starts pulling the strip of celluloid along, and from the negative any number of “positives” can be made. It is these positives, with the true relation of lights and shadows, that are thrown on the screen.

The positive is put on the projecting machine, an intense electric light is used, again a handle is turned, and the views, magnified many hundred times, are thrown on the screen.

For the explanation of why “moving pictures move,” or seem to, though they really do not, I refer readers to the first book of this series, where a full explanation is given, with a short history of how moving pictures were discovered.

But I know you boys and girls want to get on with this story, so I will save further explanations for another time.

After Blake and Joe had made their pictures of the storm they got quite a surprise. They had put away their camera, and were talking with Mr. Duncan in their stateroom, when a steward knocked at the door.

“Well?” asked Blake.

“If you please, sir,” the man announced, “there is a friend of yours who wants to see you.”

“A friend of ours?” asked Joe.

“Yes, sir. On board here. He says he’s an old friend?”

“An old friend? We haven’t any old friends on board here,” said Blake, wondering if his rival, Munson, who was later his friend, could be on the ship.

“Yes, he says so, and he wants you to come and see him before he dies.”

“Before he dies!” cried Joe.

“Well, he thinks he is dying--all seasick folks do,” replied the steward. “I will take you to him,” and the boys, much surprised, followed to a nearby stateroom.

As they opened the door they heard a familiar voice saying:

“Oh, why did I do it? Oh, why did I ever come? Oh, this is the last of me! Let me see my friends before I go. Oh, dear!”

“Listen!” cried Blake.

“If it isn’t C. C. Piper I’m an Indian!” exclaimed Joe.

“Yes, look your last on me, boys,” said the gloomy comedian, as he raised his head from the berth. “I’m a goner!”