Part 10 (1/2)

”The jolly old Commissioner,” said Bones complacently, and Hamilton's jaw dropped.

When he recovered command of his voice: ”Do you imagine that Sanders is going to jigger about, wearing false whiskers, just to amuse an infernal”

”I'm not sure about the whiskers,” said Bones thoughtfully, ”I've been turning it over in my mind, dear old Ham, and I'm not so sure that the whiskers would come out. A little beard perhaps, or maybe a couple of mutton chops.”

Then Bones' scheme came out. He had written a great play; it was entirely without women characters. He, Sanders and Hamilton were to act the story in their spare time, work in, to use his own expression, ”a d.i.n.ky little battle between savages, where I come along, dear old thing, and foil them single-handed and it will be a sensation, Ham. There's never been anything done like it and there never will be again perhaps, unless I do it. Look at the life, my dear old Felix...the wonderful scenery...it will be a sensation, dear old thing. I wouldn't be surprised if we didn't make half-a-million.”

Sanders heard all about this new scheme of Bones' without being either annoyed or perturbed.

”But you may tell him from me, Hamilton, that under no conditions will I act the fool in front of his wretched camera. By the way, did you see it?”

Hamilton nodded. ”It's not a bad-looking camera,” he admitted, ”and Bones can turn the handle very well. He's been to the kitchen, practising on the knife-cleaner, and he says he's got exactly the right speed.”

Baffled in his great attempt to create a picture which should startle the world, Bones, the adaptable, decided upon a great native drama.

”It's never been done, dear old Ham,” he said eagerly one night at dinner, when he expounded his scheme and it was curious how quickly he had a.s.similated the cliches of the studio ”that's the one thing you've got to be careful about on the cinema, old boy, do something that has never been done before. I'm working out the scenery now”

”The word you want, I think,” said Hamilton, ”is 'scenario.'”

”Same thing, my dear old Ham,” said Bones testily. ”Good gracious heavens, why do you interrupt me on a trivial little matter like scenery? Scenery or scenario same jolly old thing.”

”Where are you laying the plot?” asked Sanders.

”Anywhere, dear old excellency,” said Bones vaguely. ”My idea is to make Ahmet the hero, who runs away with the beautiful Kalambala, the Sultan's favourite wife. And she's rescued by a handsome young Englishman”

”Need you go any further?” asked Hamilton.

”A handsome young Englishman,” repeated Bones, with a contemptuous glance at his superior.

”You, of course,” said Hamilton.

”Anyway, she's rescued.”

”And then what do you do with her?” asked Hamilton.

But Bones hadn't got as far as this. He filmed the first scene of this exciting story, and Hamilton and Sanders came down to witness the production. The attempt was a failure for many reasons. Ahmet had to stroll on to the scene, fold his arms, shake his head and smile. Then he had to shrug his shoulders and walk off. And he did it remarkably well until Bones started turning the handle.

”Roll your eyes,” screamed Bones.

”Lord, I roll my eyes,” said Ahmet, standing stiffly to attention and saluting.

Bones stopped turning with a groan. ”O man,” he said bitterly, ”when I speak to you, do not stick your big feet together and salute me! Stand easy! Now try it again.”

He tried it again, with no greater success; for this time, instead of saluting, Ahmet stood regimentally at ease. When the scene was made right, new trouble arose. The escaping Sultana was to be played by the wife of a Corporal Hafiz; and Corporal Hafiz refused resolutely, and with much stamping of feet and spitting on the ground, to allow his wife to be carried in Ahmet's arms.

”You're demoralising the detachment, Bones,” said Hamilton sternly, and dismissed the actors to their several duties.

Bones did not speak to his company commander for two days, at the end of which time he had found a new and more alluring scheme.

”I've got it, old Ham,” he said one day, das.h.i.+ng into the dining-room where the two men were sitting, smoking their after-luncheon cigars, in what shade they could find, for the sun was burning and there was little or no breeze from the sea.

”You'll get sunstroke if you go around without your helmet,” said Hamilton lazily. ”What have you got? The picture?”

”The picture!” said Bones triumphantly. ”The greatest stunt ever, dear old excellency. And it all came out of jolly old Bones' nut. Lives and customs of savage old tribes, dear old officer.” He stepped back to notice the effect of his words.

”Lives and customs of savage tribes?” repeated Hamilton.

”That's the idea. Wherever I go, I take the camera, and if I don't make a thousand a week lecturing on a subject, dear old killjoy, that is dear to the heart of every jolly old patriot, my name is mud.”

”Your real name I've never been able to remember,” said Hamilton, ”but it does strike me as being much more feasible than the other.”

Thereafter, Bones spent a great deal of his time filming native scenes; and for once there happened to be method in his hobby. Having trained Ahmet to turn the handle, he was able to make a personal appearance in most. Sometimes he was standing in a negligent att.i.tude, talking to a native woman as she cooked the evening meal. In other pictures he was patting the heads of little black toddlers (after carefully fixing a handkerchief about their middles, lest the susceptibilities of Surbiton should be shocked). Sometimes he was standing with his arms folded, and a sad but determined look upon his face, on the bow of the Zaire Zaire. And to all he supplied t.i.tles. He showed Hamilton a list of them.

”Kindly Chief Comissioner helping Savidges to build a Hut.”

Or, more flamboyantly, and in keeping with the spirit of modern subt.i.tles: ”Far from the hum and compitetion of the bussy world, the native goes about his daily tarsks, under the watchful but bernevilent eye of the Cheif Comissioner.”

”One of the advantages of the cinema,” said Hamilton, ”is that you needn't be able to spell. Who is this Chief Commissioner you keep talking about in your t.i.tles, Bones?” he asked, interested. ”I didn't know Sanders was a.s.sisting you in your nefarious plan to pander to the debased instincts of the British public!”

Bones coughed. ”Well, to be perfectly candid, dear old thing,” he said, ”dear old Sanders did talk about toddling down once, but he got stage-fright, old Ham. You know what these youngsters are, what, what?”

Bones could be waggish, but Bones could never be so waggish that he could lead Hamilton from his deadly trail.

”You don't mean to tell me that you're masquerading as a Commissioner? Why, even the poorest little street Arab that ever stole sixpence to go to the pictures will recognise you're fake!”

Bones could afford to smile indulgently at the other's strictures.

”What we want now, Ham,” he said seriously at dinner that night, ”is a jolly old war! If we could only get a real good old dust-up between the mighty N'gombi and good old Bosambo, with me in the foreground, just to show that Britain's watchful eye still keeps a watch, when naughty natives sleep that's a good bit of poetry, by the way, dear old thing, and don't pa.s.s it off as your own.”

”Bones, if you wish for war I'll kill you,” said Sanders, coming in at that moment. ”The territories are quiet, and if we can only get over the harvest without a real big blood-letting, I shall be a happy man.”

Bones was silent, but not altogether hopeless. There was need for somebody to go to the Ochori country, for there was news of a recrudescence of Leopard trouble, and Bones gladly availed himself of the opportunity.

On the first night away from headquarters, when the Zaire Zaire was tied up to a wood, Private Mahmud sought out his sergeant. was tied up to a wood, Private Mahmud sought out his sergeant.

”Effendi,” said he in coast Arabic, ”what is this small box which Tibbetti carries and which you turn with a handle? Some say that it is a new gun; others that it is a taker of pictures. Now, we know that it is not a taker of pictures, because, when Hamiltini desires that a row of Houssas shall appear upon paper which is against the law of the Prophet he says, 'd.a.m.nyoustandstill,' which is an English word, and makes a clicking noise. Now Tibbetti does not say 'd.a.m.nyoustandstill' for he desires that you should walk; also he turns a handle. Tell me now, Effendi, why these things happen.”

Sergeant Ahmet, in all solemnity, explained as much of the mystery box as he understood.

”When Tibbetti turns the handle, pictures appear, one after another, so that when they are looked at quickly, they seem to be one and all moving.”

”That is too much of a mystery for me,” admitted the inquirer after knowledge, and sought no further information.

Not unconscious of his responsibility and importance, Ahmet was loth to let the discussion end there.

”Some day, when Tibbetti is away, I will gather you all together and make a special picture for you, so that your wives may see them. And for this you shall all give me one silver dollar.”

Though they boggled at the dollar, his men accepted the principle of the offer.