“There’s a tremendous amount of competition afloat between the numerous companies,” explained the other.  “They are looking for all sorts of queer settings for their plays.  Houses have to be burned down, bridges blown up, railroad trains ditched, and all manner of stunts pulled off to satisfy the public greed for thrilling spectacles.”

Alec gave a plain, unmistakable groan.

“That’s it,” he said disconsolately, “it’s going to spell my finish.  I knew that I didn’t have that heavy feeling for nothing.  There was something in the air that told me my fine dreams were going to be wrecked, sooner or later.  Chances are now this big company has gone and stepped in to buy the old castle for a song, and in the course of their reproduction of history they expect to blow the same up, or at least set fire to that part made of wood.  It’s all off, boys!”

“But you’ve got your pictures to show for it, Alec,” Hugh told him, consolingly, “and your aunt wouldn’t think of taking back your camera after you’ve done so well with it.  She can see that it isn’t your fault, no matter what happens to the old building now.”

Alec gave a cry of triumph.

“Say, that’s right, Hugh, and thank you for reminding me I’m carrying that same camera at this very minute.  What’s to hinder me snapping off a few pictures on my own account of what’s going on over there?  What do you say to that, Hugh?”

“I should say you’d be foolish not to take the chance,” returned the scout leader.

It was surprising to see how Alec forgot his keen disappointment as he commenced to focus his instrument upon the easily seen building, with all those strange costumed figures about the walls.

“The sun is just right for a cracker-jack snap-shot from here,” he remarked, as he proceeded to press the bulb, and then carefully change the exposure so that he might not inadvertently take two pictures on the same portion of film; for Alec was exceedingly systematic in most things he did, which was one secret for his wonderful success at photography, a profession that allows no haphazard habits.

“There, I reckon they’re staging another picture over yonder, boys!” cried Arthur, as a new bustle was noticed amidst the group of players.  “Two of the men appear to have been knocked out in that attack, for there’s a chap who looks like he might be a doctor attending to them under that tree.  I wonder if they’d care to let me lend a hand at that part of the game?  I’m sure I can be of help.”

Arthur was never happier than when plying his favorite vocation of amateur surgeon.  He had really done some fine work along those lines, and received the approbation of those who were well up in medical practice.

“Whee, if all that scrapping was half-way real!” burst out the admiring Billy; “the only thing I wonder at is how any of those fellows manage to come out of the fight with whole heads or limbs.  Some of them were sent crashing down when that short ladder was hurled back by the defenders on the walls.  It looked pretty real stuff from here.”