and insisted on many rehearsals, these
taking longer than the actual making of the films.

Joe and Blake were kept busy, as was also their young assistant,
Macaroni, and Mr. Hadley.

"Everything is going beautifully," said Mr. Ringold one day. "If we
could only have a storm and wreck to order, now, I would ask nothing
better."

"Yes, everything is nice, except that we're being worked to death,"
spoke C. C. Piper, gloomily. "I've lost ten pounds in the last week."

"It will do you good," said Miss Lee, with a laugh. "You were getting
too stout, anyhow."

"Oh, what a world!" sighed the comedian, as he began whistling the
latest comic song.

"It looks like a storm," remarked Blake, as he and Joe came in one
evening from a stroll on the beach.

"And when it does come," added Joe, "it's going to be a bad one, so old
Abe, the fisherman, says. They're putting storm signals up all along the
coast, and all leaves of absence for the life guards have been cancelled
for the next week. A storm sometimes lasts that long, Abe says."

"A storm; eh?" remarked Mr. Ringold, absentmindedly. "Well, that will
interfere with our plans for to-morrow. I had intended to have some
peaceful scenes on the beach; but I'll postpone them. I wish I could
work out this wreck problem," he added, as he pored over the manuscript
of the sea drama.

One did not need to go outdoors that morning to appreciate the fury of
the storm. The gale had come in the night, and the force of the wind had
steadily increased until its violence was terrific. There was no rain,
as yet, but the sky was obscured by hurrying black clouds.

"Let's go down to the beach and see the big waves," proposed Blake to
Joe after breakfast.

"All right," agreed his chum. "There won't be anything doing in the
moving picture line to-day, I guess."

"Say, that's some surf!" cried Joe in his chum's ear, as they got to the
sandy stretch. "Look at those waves!"

"I guess they're what you call 'mountain high,'" answered Blake, himself
yelling, for their ordinary voices could not be heard above the thunder
of the surf and the roar of the gale.

They stood for a few minutes watching the big rollers pounding on the
sand, and then, looking down the strand, they saw a figure running
toward them.

"Here comes a life guard," remarked Joe.

"And he acts as if something was up," added Blake.

Nearer came the man, dressed in yellow oilskins, for the spray from the
sea flew far inland