Joe and Blake looked at each other, Blake with slightly raised eyebrows, which might mean an implied question as to the man’s sanity.  Then the moving picture boys looked at Hank, who had driven them about on several excursions before they bought the motor cycle.

Hank, who stood a little behind the Spaniard, shrugged his shoulders, and tapped his head significantly.

“But I must again beg your pardon,” said Mr. Alcando quickly.  “I most certainly am not myself this day.  But it is the surprise of meeting you whom I came to seek.  Now, if you will pardon me,” and he looked at the letter, addressed to Blake and Joe jointly—­which epistle had been handed to him after it had been picked up from the ground.

“And were you really looking for us?” asked Joe, much puzzled.

“I was—­for both of you young gentlemen.  My friend the driver here can testify to that.”

“That’s right,” said Hank.  “This gentleman came in on the New York express, and went to our livery stable.  He said he wanted to come out to Baker’s farm and meet you boys.

“I happened to be the only one around at the time,” Hank went on, “and as I knew the road, and knew you boys, I offered to bring him out.  But I wish I’d had some other horse.  I sure didn’t count on Rex running away.

“And when I found I couldn’t stop him, and knew we were headed for the broken bridge—­well, I wanted to jump out, but I didn’t dare.  And I guess you felt the same way,” he said to Mr. Alcando.

“Somewhat, I must confess,” spoke the Spaniard, who, as I have said, used very good English, though with an odd accent, which I shall not attempt to reproduce.

“And then came the smash,” went on Hank, “and I didn’t expect, any more than he did, that you fellows would come to our rescue.  But you did, and now, Mr. Alcando, you can deliver your letter.”

“And these really are the young gentlemen whom I seek?” asked the Spaniard.  “Pardon me, I do not in the least doubt your word,” he added with a formal bow, “but it seems so strange.”

“We are the moving picture boys,” answered Blake with a smile, wondering what the letter could contain, and, wondering more than ever, why a missive from the Film Theatrical Company should be brought by this unusual stranger.

“Then this is for you,” went on Mr. Alcando.  “And to think that they saved my life!” he murmured.

“Shall I read it, Joe?” asked Blake, for the Spaniard extended the letter to him.

“Sure.  Go ahead.  I’ll listen.”

Blake took the folded sheet from the envelope, and his first glance was at the signature.

“It’s from Mr. Hadley!” he exclaimed.

“What’s up?” asked Joe, quickly.

Blake was reading in a mumbling tone, hardly distinguishable.

“Dear boys.  This will introduce—­um—­um—­um—­who is desirous of learning the business of taking moving pictures.  He comes to me well recommended—­um—­um” (more mumbles).  “I wish you would do all you can for him—­um—­and when you go to Panama—­”