“This is a serious charge,” went on the man in uniform, who was evidently from the police department. “We have had some here, and we don’t want any more.”  
“!” exclaimed the hotel clerk; “do you think it could be that, officer?”
 
“That’s what it seems like to me,” said the other. “I have investigated a number of infernal machines, and they all make the same sort of sound before they go off.”
 
“Go off!” cried the clerk, while Joe and Blake were vainly endeavoring to get in a word that would explain matters. “If it’s dynamite, and goes off here, it will blow up the hotel. Get it away! Porter, go up and get that infernal machine, and dump it in a pail of water.”
 
“’Scuse me!” exclaimed the colored porter, as he made a break for the door. “I—I guess as 94how it’s time fo’ me to sweep off de sidewalk. It hain’t been swept dish yeah day, as yit. I’se gwine outside.”
 
“But we’ve got to get rid of that infernal machine!” insisted the clerk. “It’s been clicking away now for some time, and there’s no telling when it may go off. Get it, somebody—throw it out of the window.”
 
“No! Don’t do that!” cried the officer. “That will only make it go off the sooner. I’ll get some one from the bureau of combustibles and——”
 
“Say, you’re giving yourselves a needless lot of alarm!” interrupted Blake. “That’s no infernal machine!”
 
“No more than that ink bottle is!” added Joe, pointing to one on the clerk’s desk.
 
“But it clicks,” insisted the clerk. “It sounds just like a clock ticking inside that box.”
 
“And it’s pointing right at the bank,” went on the officer. “That bank was once partly because it was built by non-union , and we don’t want it to happen again.”
 
“There’s no danger—not the slightest,” cried Blake, while the crowd in the hotel lobby pressed around him. “That’s only an automatic moving picture camera, that we set this morning, and out of the window to take street scenes. It works by compressed air, and the clicking you 95hear is the motor. Come, I’ll show you,” and he started toward his room, followed by Joe.
 
“Is—is that right?” asked the hotel clerk, doubtfully.
 
“Are you sure it isn’t dynamite?” inquired the officer.
 
“Well, if we’re not afraid to take a chance in going in the same room with what you call an infernal machine, you ought not to be,” said Joe, with a smile.
 
This was that could not be refuted, and they followed the boys to the room. There, just where they had left it, was the camera, the motor clicking away . It worked , running for five minutes, and then ceasing for half an hour, so as not to use up the reel of film too quickly. Also, it made a diversity of street scenes, an automatic arrangement swinging the lens slightly after each series of views, so as to get the new ones at a different angle.
 
“Now we’ll show you,” said Blake, as, having that all the film was run out, and was in the light-tight exposed box, he opened the camera and showed the harmless . Several of the hotel employees crowded into the room, once they learned there was no danger.
 
The boys explained the working of the , and this seemed to satisfy the officer.
 
“But we were surely suspicious of you at first,” he said, with a smile.
 
“Yes,” said the clerk. “A chambermaid called my attention to the clicking sound when she was making up the room. I investigated, and when I heard it, and saw the queer box, and remembered that we had had dynamiting here, I sent for the police.”
 
“We’re sorry to have given you a scare,” said Blake, and then the incident was over, and the crowd in the street on learning there was to be no sensation.
 
“Say, I think there’s some sort of hoodoo about us,” remarked Joe, as he and Blake sat in their room.
 
“Why, you’re not going to come any of that gloomy C. C. business on me; are you?” asked Blake.
 
“Not at all,” went on his chum. “But what I mean by a hoodoo is that something always seems to happen when we start out anywhere. We’ve been on the jump, you might say, ever since we lost our places on the farms and got into this moving picture business.”
 
“That’s so. And the latest is being taken for dynamiters.”
 
“Yes. But if things are going to keep on happening to us I wish they’d take a turn and help 97me find my father,” went on Joe. “You don’t know how it feels, Blake, to know you’ve got a parent somewhere and not be able to locate him. It’s—why, it’s almost as bad as if—as if he were dead,” and Joe the w............