So the small camera went into the outfit that was being made ready for the steamer.  As Blake had said, he and his partner had, on one occasion, gone up in a military airship from Governor’s Island, to make some views of the harbor.  The experience had been a novel one, but the machine was so big, and they flew so low, that there was no discomfort or danger.

“But if we have to go over the German lines, in one of those little machines that only hold two, well, I’ll hold my breath—­that’s all!” declared Joe.

Finally the last of the flank films and the cameras had been packed, the boys had been given their outfits, letters of introduction, passports, and whatever else it was thought they would need.  They had bidden farewell to the members of the theatrical film company; and some of the young actresses did not try to conceal their moist eyes, for Blake and Joe were general favorites.

“Well, do the best you can,” said C. C. Piper to them, as he and some others accompanied the boys to the pier “somewhere in New York.”

“We will,” promised Blake.

“And if we don’t meet again in this world,” went on the tragic comedian, “I’ll hope to meet you in another—­if there is one.”

“Cheerful chap, you are!” said Blake.  “Don’t you think we’ll come back?”

Christopher Cutler Piper shook his head.

“You’ll probably be blown up if a shell doesn’t get you,” he said.  “The mortality on the Western front is simply frightful, and the percentage is increasing every day.”

“Say, cut it out!” advised Charlie Anderson.  “Taking moving pictures over there isn’t any more dangerous than filming a fake battle here when some chump of an actor lets off a smoke bomb with a short fuse!”

At this reference to the rather risky trick C. C. had once tried, there was a general laugh, and amid it came the cry: 

“All aboard!  All ashore that’s going ashore!”

The warning bells rang, passengers gathered up the last of their belongings, friends and relatives said tearful or cheerful good-byes, and the French liner, which was to bear the moving picture boys to Halifax, and then to England, was slowly moved away from her berth by pushing, fussing, steaming tugs.

“Well, we’re off!” observed Blake.

“That’s so,” agreed Joe.  “And I’m glad we’ve started.”

“You aren’t the only ones who have done that,” said Macaroni.  “Somebody else has started with you!”

“Who?”

For answer the lanky helper pointed across the deck.  There, leaning up against a lifeboat, was Lieutenant Secor, smoking a cigarette and seemingly unconscious of the presence of the moving picture boys.

CHAPTER V

ANXIOUS DAYS

For a moment even Blake, cool as he usually was, seemed to lose his head.  He started in the direction of the Frenchman, against whom their suspicions were directed, thinking to speak to him, when Joe sprang from his chair.