The few "natives" around the place were much excited at some of the
things the players did, and when Paul "saved" Mr. Towne from being run
down by a freight train that came along, one grizzled old man was so
worked up, thinking it all real, that he wanted to run for a doctor, when
Mr. Towne pretended to be hurt.

"An' they do that fer money?" this native inquired, when the matter had
been explained to him.

"That's what they do," said Russ, who was putting away his camera.

"Wa'al, all I've got to say is if that's what they call work--I'd rather
do nothin'," was the caustic comment.

"And that's what he jinerally does," spoke another native, in a low
voice. "He's never worked, an' I guess he never will."

"It would be pretty hard to get a _moving_ picture of _him_, then,"
laughed Russ.

Finally the train, which had been delayed by a slight accident, came
along, and the weary players got aboard. In due season they reached
Sycamore, a little village near the shores of Lake Kissimmee.

Accommodations had been arranged for in advance, and soon the company was
getting settled in the new quarters.

"This is some different from St Augustine," complained Miss Pennington,
who roomed with her friend Miss Dixon.