Hour of Enchantment by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER XX PICTURES ON THE CLOUDS
The sound that came to Florence's listening ears out there on the lake inthe stalled Dodge-Em was a welcome one: the low _put-put_ of a motorboat.
"If it only comes close enough we're saved from a night on the water,"she said hopefully.
"Chilly business, staying out here," Erik Nord agreed.
The _put-put_ grew louder. A light came swimming across the expanse ofblack water. Now they saw it and now it was gone.
"She's passing to the right of us," Erik judged. "We'll have to hailher."
Standing up in the boat he cupped his hands to shout:
"_Ahoy there!_"
Never had Florence heard such a roar.
"Ahoy there!" came floating back faintly.
"Give us a lift. We're stalled."
"Right O! We're coming!" The voice seemed very far away.
Presently across the shimmering waters of night a dark bulk loomed.
It was only a fishing boat headed for the dock. This craft smelled ofherring and tar, but she carried, too, a hearty welcome such as one mightnot find on a handsomer boat.
"Give us yer line!
"Now! There we are! Where y' bound fer in that thing?" the sun-tannedskipper boomed.
"Nowhere in particular. We want to get back to the lagoon."
"Right O! We'll tow y' in."
Next moment the stranded ones found themselves leaning back comfortablyin the broad seat, watching the play of moonlight upon the water thatrippled and rolled about their prow.
"It would be a grand world to live in," Erik murmured, "if all its peoplewere as simple and obliging as these fishermen."
"They're common folks." There was a world of meaning in the girl's words.
"Uncommon, I'd say, very uncommon indeed."
"All a matter of point of view, I suppose."
The fishermen had demanded no pay for their services, were loath in theend to accept it. They did not, however, depart unrewarded.
When, a half hour later, Florence burst into the apartment, she foundJeanne sitting before the window, looking out into the night. The trunkhad been sent to a room where empty trunks were kept. The apartment wasin apple pie order. Jeanne did not say, "Oh, my friend, such a terriblething has happened! We have been searched again." She said nothing atall; she just kept on looking out into the night.
The reason for this is apparent enough. The little French girl harbored asecret. This secret she had hidden even from her bosom pal. The secrethad to do with that laundry bag still reposing in a cubicle back there inthe small hotel near their own shabby rooms. The check boy was stillcustodian of her secret.
Why did Jeanne guard this secret so closely? Perhaps for no reason atall. Jeanne was at heart a gypsy. A gypsy has a reason for doing a thingif he chooses. A mere impulse is reason enough for him. Life for him isaction, not thought. He dances, he sings, he plays the violin. He travelswhere he will. If you say to him, "Why?" he shrugs his shoulders. Jeannewas like that.
But to Jeanne, as on other nights long after Florence was asleep, therecame, as she sat there before the window, strange fantastic pictures ofthe past and visions of the future. Of these she wondered as in a dream.
Clouds had come drifting in from the west. They filled the sky. From timeto time a powerful radio beacon, swinging in its orbit, appeared to paintpictures on those clouds. In Jeanne's fanciful vision these pictures tookon fantastic forms.
Some of the pictures that came to her as she sat there were vivid, asreal as life itself, and some were as indistinct as a mirage on the farhorizon.
A hearse in the moonlight. "A sign." She shuddered. "A hearse with twoblack horses and a coffin." Again she shuddered.
But now it was gone. Instead there was a sloping hillside where littlestreams rushed from beneath dark canopies of mountain ivy. The darkclouds turned white under the powerful light.
"Will it ever be?" She dared to hope now. "Will our moving picturesucceed?" Tom Tobin had inspired her. She could see his face on theclouds. Young, slender, eager, full of vitality, he invited hope assunshine invites a bud to become a flower.
But now in a cavern of the darkened clouds a great trunk yawned. Out fromit, like a jack-in-the-box, leaped a little yellow man with long ears."He wants that bell, those banners. He risks everything to get them. Iwonder why?" She mused for a moment; then the scene in this fairyland ofclouds changed once more.
A slender white cloud curled upward. Its tip became a rope that rosehigher, higher, higher, toward a dark night sky. Up that rope a figureappeared to glide. "He did go up!" she whispered hoarsely. "I saw him!"
The airplane beacon swung about. The sky went black. It became darkwaters, and on those waters were two boats gliding one after the other,moving silently out to sea.
"That long-eared one," she murmured, "he is everywhere at once.
"But Florence--" A smile played about her lips. "Florence and that whiteman from China. How romantic to be out there with him beneath the moonall alone! Surely one may endure mystery, suspense, anything, if it leadsto romance!"
Strangely enough, the night sky took on a tinge of green. In this she sawa frail child of France garbed all in green and gold. Her eyes openedwide. It was her very own self.
Yet even as she looked the picture faded, and in its place was a broadgreen hill topped by a stately building of brown stone. And after thatall visions vanished.
Florence found her there in the morning fast asleep in the greatupholstered chair before the window. A shaft of sunshine playing acrossher face made her seem to smile. A morning breeze from the lake set hergolden hair waving a salute.
She did not sleep long after Florence had stolen away to her work, thislittle French girl. Tom Tobin had wakened hope in her heart. He had sether glorious mind to dreaming. And dreamers seldom sleep too much.
Having wakened, she sprang into action. A shower, ten minutes of wilddancing to set her blood racing, a cup of coffee with crisp squares ofhard toast, and she was away.
Gathering up the little mountain girl, Jensie, she hurried her away tothe movie lot. There, by great good chance, she came upon Mr. Soloman,who was, after all, only Assistant Production Manager for a greatHollywood producer, and no one to be greatly afraid of.
"Ah, Miss LeMar!" he exclaimed. "How very good it is to see you. Look!Already they have mountain ivy and rhododendrons from the nursery. Thedogwood, too, will come, and there are two cabins to come. And now, MissLeMar, might I ask what more would you suggest?
"This," said Jeanne, pushing Jensie forward, "is my property lady. Wewill look over the set together."
An hour later when she and Jensie reappeared they carried four pages ofnotes.
Seated there on the improvised hillside in the sun, they discusseddetails with the eager Mr. Soloman, who said, "Yes, Miss LeMar. Yes, MissLeMar, this also can be done," through it all. "A coonskin drying on theoutside of the cabin, a well with an oaken bucket, hound dogs, yes, yes,three hound dogs. A long-barreled rifle. Yes, yes, we will have allthese.
"And, Miss LeMar, I am wiring Hollywood to-day for approval of my plans.If they say O. K., then we will have a special car and we will go to thisBig Black Mountain for long shots and such things that cannot be takenhere. What would you say to that?"
"Oh, Mr. Soloman!" Before Jeanne knew what she was doing she had kissedthe chubby little man on the cheek.
"Think, Jensie!" she cried. "Think of going right down to your Big BlackMountain! And of course you must come along!"
"But my work!"
"Only for two or three days. We will fix that." The little man smiledbroadly.
"That is all for to-day?" said Jeanne.
"That is all, Miss LeMar. You are very beautiful to-day, Miss LeMar.There is color in your cheeks. Ha! This is wonderful!" He gave Jeannesuch a sharp look that deep in her soul she trembled. Was he beginning toguess? And if he knew?
She returned to Lorena LeMar's apartment