grew stronger and stronger as the days went by. Then came a letter from Jennie Stone.
“Heavy,” as she had always been called in school and even in college, was such a fun-loving, light-hearted girl that it quite shocked both Ruth and Helen when they learned that she was already in real work for the poor poilus and was then about to sail for France.
Jennie Stone’s people were wealthy, and her social acquaintances were, many of them, idle women and girls. But the war had awakened these drones, and with them the plump girl. An association for the establishment and upkeep of a convalescent home in France had been formed in Jennie’s neighborhood, and Jennie, who had always been fond of cooking – both in the making of the dishes and the assimilation of the same – was actually going to work in the diet kitchen.
“And who knows,” the letter ended in Heavy’s characteristic way, “but that I shall fall in love with one of the blessés. What a sweet name for a wounded soldier! And, just tell me! Do you think it possible? Can a poilu love a fat girl?”
CHAPTER V – “THE BOYS OF THE DRAFT”
“My goodness, Ruth Fielding!” demanded Helen, after reading the characteristic letter from Jennie Stone, “if she can go to France why can’t we?”
Helen’s changed attitude did not surprise her chum much. Ruth was quite used to Helen’s vagaries. The latter was very apt to declare against a course of action, for herself or her friends, and then change over night.
The thought of her twin brother going to war had at first shocked and startled Helen. Now she added:
“For you know very well, Ruth Fielding, that Tom Cameron should not be allowed to go over there to France all alone.”
“Goodness, Helen!” gasped the girl of the Red Mill, “you don’t suppose that Tom is going to constitute an Army of Invasion in his own person, and attempt to whip the whole of Germany before the rest of Uncle Sam’s boys jump in?”
“You may laugh!” cried Helen. “He’s only a boy – and boys can’t get along without somebody to look out for them. He never would change his flannels at the right time, or keep his feet dry.”
“I know you have always felt the overwhelming responsibility of Tom’s upbringing, even when he was at Seven Oaks and you and I were at Briarwood.”
“Every boy needs the oversight of some feminine eye. And I expect he’ll fall in love with the first French girl he meets over there unless I’m on the spot to warn him,” Helen went on.
“They are most attractive, I believe,” laughed Ruth cheerfully.
“‘Chic,’ as Madame Picolet used to say. You remember her, our French teacher at Briarwood?” Helen said.
“Poor little Picolet!” Ruth returned with some gravity. “Do you know she has been writing me?”
“Madame Picolet? You never said a word about it!”
“But you knew she returned to France soon after the war began?”
“Oh, yes. I knew that. But – but, to tell the truth, I hadn’t thought of her at all for a long time. Why does she write to you?”
“For help,” said Ruth quietly. “She has a work among soldiers’ widows and orphans – a very worthy charity, indeed. I looked it up.”
“And sent her money, I bet!” cried the vigorous Helen.
“Why – yes – what I felt I could spare,” Ruth admitted.
“And never told any of us girls about it. Think! All the Briarwood girls who knew little Picolet!” Helen said with some heat. “Why shouldn’t we have had a part in helping her, too?”
“My dear,” said her chum seriously, “do you realize how little interest any of us felt in the war until this last winter? And now our own dear country is in it and we must think of our own boys who are going, rather than of the needs of the French, or the British, or even the Belgians.”
“Oh, Ruth!” cried Helen suddenly, “perhaps Madame Picolet might help us to get over there.”
“Over to France?”
“I mean to get into some work in France. She knows us. She may have some influence,” said the eager Helen.
But Ruth slowly shook her head. “No,” she said. “If I go over there it must be to work for our own boys. They are going. They will need us. I want to do my all for Uncle Sam – for these United States – and,” she added, pointing to Uncle Jabez’s flag upon the pole in front of the Red Mill farmhouse, “for the blessed old flag. I am sorry for the wounded of our allies; but the time has come now for us to think of the needs of our own soldiers first. They are going over. First our regular army and the guard; then the boys of the draft.”
“Ah, yes! The boys of the draft,” sighed Helen.
Suddenly Ruth seized her chum’s wrist. “I’ve got it, Helen! That is it! ‘The boys of the draft.’”
“Goodness! What’s the matter with you now?” demanded Helen, wide-eyed.
“We will screen it. It will be great!” cried Ruth. “I’ll go and see Mr. Hammond at once. I can write the scenario in a few days, and it will not take long to film it. The story of the draft, and what the Red Cross can and will do for the boys over there. Put it on the screen and show it wherever a Red Cross drive is made during the next few months. We’ll do it, Helen!”
“Oh! Yes! We’ll – do – it!” gasped her chum breathlessly. “You mean that you will do it and that I haven’t the first idea of what it is you mean to do.”
“Of course you have. A big film called ‘The Boys of the Draft,’ taking a green squad right through their training from the very first day they are in camp. Fake the French and war scenes, of course, but show the spectators just what may and will happen over there and what the Red Cross will do for the brave hearts who fight for the country.”
Ruth was excited. No doubt of that. Her cheeks burned. Her eyes shone. She gestured vigorously.
“I know you don’t see it as I do, honey,” she added. “I can visualize the whole thing right now. And Helen!”
“Goodness, yes!” gasped Helen. “What now?”
“I’m going to make Uncle Jabez see it! You just see if I don’t.”
CHAPTER VI – THE PATRIOTISM OF THE PURSE
While she was yet at boarding school at Briarwood Hall Ruth had been successful in writing a scenario for the Alectrion Film Corporation. This is told of in “Ruth Fielding in Moving Pictures.” Its production had been a matter to arouse both the interest and amazement of her friends. Mr. Hammond, the president of the film-producing company, considered her a genius in screen matters, and it was a fact that she had gained a very practical grasp of the whole moving picture business.
“The Heart of a Schoolgirl,” which Ruth had written under spur of a great need at Briarwood Hall, had practically rebuilt one of the dormitories which had been destroyed by fire at a time when the insurance on that particular building had run out.
One of her romantic scenarios had
