“Well, it’s all marked down in the hospital books,” remarked Uncle John.  “I had to tell the whole story, you see, as a matter of record, and all our names are there, so none can escape the credit due her—­or him.”

“In truth,” said Mrs. Montrose with a smile, “it really required four of you to save one slender boy.”

“Yes, he needed a lot of saving,” laughed Flo.  “But,” her pretty face growing more serious, “I believe it was all Fate, and nothing else.  Had we not come to the beach this afternoon, the boy might have drowned; so, as I suggested the trip, I’m going to take a little credit myself.”

“Looking at it in that light,” said Patsy, “the moving picture man saved the boy’s life by giving you a half-holiday.”

This caused a laugh, for their spirits were now restored to normal.  To celebrate the occasion, Mr. Merrick proposed to take them all into Los Angeles to dine at a “swell restaurant” before returning to Hollywood.

This little event, in conjunction with the afternoon’s adventure, made them all more intimate, so that when they finally reached home and separated for the night they felt like old friends rather than recent acquaintances.

CHAPTER VI

A. JONES

There was work for the Stanton girls at the “film factory,” as they called it, next morning, so they had left the hotel before Mr. Merrick’s party assembled at the breakfast table.

“I must telephone the Santa Monica hospital and find out how our patient is,” remarked Uncle John, when the meal was over; but presently he returned from the telephone booth with a puzzled expression upon his face.  “A.  Jones has disappeared!” he announced.

“Disappeared!  What do you mean, Uncle?” asked Beth.

“He woke early and declared he was himself again, paid his bill, said ‘good morning’ to the hospital superintendent and walked away.  He wouldn’t answer questions, but kept asking them.  The nurse showed him the book with the record of how he was saved, but she couldn’t induce him to say who he was, where he came from nor where he was going.  Seems a little queer, doesn’t it?”

They all confessed that it did.

“However,” said Patsy Doyle, “I’m glad he recovered, and I’m sure Maud will be when she hears the news.  The boy has a perfect right to keep his own counsel, but he might have had the grace to tell us what that initial ‘A.’ stands for, and where on earth Sangoa is.”

“I’ve been inquiring about Sangoa,” announced Arthur, just then joining the group, “and no one seems wiser than we are.  There’s no record of such a town or state in Mexico, or in the United States—­so far as I can discover.  The clerk has sent for a map of Alaska, and perhaps we’ll find Sangoa there.”

“What does it matter?” inquired Louise.

“Why, we don’t like to be stumped,” asserted Patsy, “that’s all.  Here is a young man from Sangoa, and—­”