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j^ ^ncis X, Bushman 

MJ^EM^r^testvMotion Picture Star 

#iM^5e:SKSro8B^^ Motion Picture School 





AUTHOR'S MOTION PICTURE SCHOOL 

Box A, 122 So. Michigan Ave., Chicago, III. 

Please send me your catalog that will explain 
your easily mastered system of learning to 
write scenarios. 



TOWN STATE. 



HE has reviewed our 
course and system of 
instruction in photoplay- 
writing 

and Recommends 
It to You 

He has acted leading roles from 
many hundreds of scenarios. 

He knows, from his wide experience 

in motion picture acting and directing, 

what the scenario requires. He knows 

our course and method of instruction and 

knows that we can teach YOU. 

$250 for One Photoplay 

Mrs. Cordelia B. Ford, a student of The 
Author's Motion Picture School, won the 
$250.00 prize offered in the Amateur Photoplaywrights' 
Contest, conducted by Photoplay Magazine. She saw her 
opportunity and grasped it. She capitalized her imagin- 
ation by learning the simple rules of the photoplay. You can 
do the same if you will let us show you how. 

Demand Increasing Daily 

Do you know that your ideas are worth money? 
Producers want to pay you money for them. Do you 
know that they are advertising in the open market for 
photoplays that we can teach you to write as we have taught 
others? We are teaching them every day. Our instructor is 
a well known photoplaywright whose plays you have seen. 
He gives you personal instruction and helps you make your 
photoplays salable. His help insures your success. 

Literary Experience Not Necessary 

The result of the Sun-Vitagraph Contest proved 
this statement conclusively. People without any 
literary experience whatever, who submitted their first photo- 
plays, sold them. Miss Elaine Sterne, winner of the $1000.00 
First Prize, had been in this interesting and profitable work 
only 10 months. Like Mrs. Ford she grasped her opportunity. 

Fame and Fortune Await the Ambitious 

You have imagination — You have had interesting experiences 
— You see something out of the ordinary in your newspaper every 
day. Let us give you the easily mastered technical training 
that will enable you to convert these Experiences and News Items 
into DOLLARS during your spare time in your own home. 

Send for our free illustrated catalog and learn why prominent 
actors and authorities lend their prestige to our institution. 

Author's Motion Picture School 



Box A, 122 So. Michigan Ave. 



CHICAGO, ILL. 



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3= ==gsg ag3gg= KsLOsa Jb!: 

Reg. U. S. Pat. OH. 

PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 

"The National Movie Publication" 

CONTENTS FOR NOVEMBER, 1914 

Copyright, 1914, by the CLOUD PUBLISHING COMPANY 

NOVELETTE 

"THE VIRGINIAN". Harold S. Hammond 55 

Novelized from the film produced by the Jesse L. Lasky Feature Play Company, based on the original, 
novel by Owen Wister. Illustrations from the Jesse L. Lasky Film. 

PHOTOPLAY STORIES 

"THE GIRL OF THE LOCKS". Marion Short 42 

A lovely Elaine meets a modern Sir Launcelot. Illustratonsfrom the Lubin Film. 

"SPARKS OF FATE" Edith Huntington Mason 79 

Two men and a girl and a battle by wireless. Illustrations from the Essanay Fi.m. 

"THE LYNNBROOK TRAGEDY" Marie Coolidge Rask 101 

Two stories— a mother's and a daughter's. Illustrations from the Kalem Film, featuring 

Alice Joyce. 

"THE TAMING OF SUNNYBROOK NELL" Elaine Hunt 115 

Concerning a girl and a man and a mountain lover. Illustrations from the American Film. 

"THE DANCER AND THE VULTURE" Dorothy Chase 133 

Illustrations from the Kalem Film. 

"THE FIFTH MAN" :. Lloyd Kenyon Jones 142 

The mad scientist and his jungle captives. Illustrations from the Selig Film. 
"THE LEADING LADY" Mary Aurilla Swift 149 

The story of a happy success and an unhappy failure. Illustrations from the Vitagraph Film. 

SERIALS 

LAURA LEONARD— HEART SPECIALIST Vivian Barrington 95 

V.— A Mistaken Diagnosis. Illustrated by J. Clinton Shepherd. 

INTERVIEWS 

MANY SIDED VIVIAN RICH Helen Bagg 51 

A MODERN WIT AND A DISTINGUISHED 

ACTOR Frederick Brooke 75 

THE LITTLEST LEADING LADY— MISS CLARA 

HORTON— AGED NINE Mabel Condon 89 

DOT FARLEY— COMEDIENNE, TRAGEDIENNE 

AND PHOTOPLAYWRIGHT Richard Willis 139 

WHY FILM FAVORITES FORSOOK THE 

FOOTLIGHTS Johnson Briscoe 124 

Interviews with Marguerite Snow and Augustus Phillips. 

SPECIAL FEATURES 

GROWING UP WITH THE MOVIES Florence Lawrence in collabora- 

The authentic and romantic story of Florence Lawrence— tion with Monte M. Katterjohn 28 
the Maude Adams of the Movies. 

THE ADVENTURER Berton Braley 74 

MY SUMMER VACATION Mary Fuller Ill 

IF THE MOVIES HAD MOVED IN THE DAYS 

OF THE PAST Lloyd Kenyon Jones 123 

FOR THE PHOTOPLAYWRIGHT 

PHOTOPLAYWRIGHTS' DEPARTMENT Conducted by A. W. Thomas. . . 162 

THUMBNAIL BIOGRAPHIES Monte M. Katterjohn 168 

Richard V. Spencer and Tames Davton. 

Issued monthly. Yearly subscription. $1.50. in advance. Single copy. 15c. Canadian postage. 30 cents 
additional. Foreign postage. $1.00 additional. Do not subscribe through persons unknown to you unless they 
have proper credentials signed by the publishers, 

A. D Cloud. President. G E. Still. Vice-President. J. M. Tait. Secretary- Treasurer. 

Augusta Cory, Editor. C. W. Garrison, Managing Editor. B. E. Buckman, Advertising Manager. 

Published by the CLOUD PUBLISHING COMPANY, 1100 Hartford BIdg., Chicago 

Entered at the postofficc at Chicago, 111., as second-class mail matter. 



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THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 




BETWEEN YOU AND ME 



WHAT are you doing with your 
ideas? I read an advertisement 
the other day that began — "Get 
your ideas patented!" It is good ad- 
vice — as far as mechanical ideas are 
concerned. But some of the biggest 
and best ideas are not mechanical. 
GTake the moving picture business, for 
instance. 

CIt is more than likely that you have 
many ideas about this great entertain- 
ment industry. Let me suggest what I 
mean: 

CWhat do you think of the movies as 
a means of entertainment? 
CWhat do you think of their power to 
influence morals and manners? 
CWhat do you think of their educational 
value? Have you some appreciation or 
criticism of a play you woidd like to 
express? Have you seen situations in 
photoplays tluat you believe could be 
improved? Have you discovered marked 
talent in any actor or actress taking a 
minor part? 

CWhat other questions woidd you like to 
ask relative to this mighty and growing 
business? Can we help you by answer- 
ing your questions through our col- 
ums? 

CAnd this is not all we want. 
CWe are equally certain that you may 
have many ideas about the photoplay 
magazines. It is you and your family 
and your friends and their families and 



their friends who create our require- 
ments. And we want to feel that you 
are in a little closer and more intimate 
relationship to us than that of being 
merely a reader of our magazine. 

CI want to feel that we are a big fam- 
ily — boys and girls, men and women — 
twenty millions of us — all interested in 
the movies. And I wish to hear from 
just as many as possible — as many as 
the number of our readers. 

CWe have many new ideas of our own 
and from issue to issue these will be 
placed before you. If you like them I 
want to hear from you. If you don't 
like them I want to hear from you. 
Prank, honest, and friendly criticism 
is always welcome. I prize your co- 
operation in this matter. I consider it a 
sort of partnership of entertainment 
between us. And while I cannot guar- 
antee to answer every letter personally 
rest assured that every letter that comes 
in will be read and considered and that 
the best will be published. 

CI intend to look upon each reader, 
personally, as a sentry who has taken 
up the work of doing something (be it 
ever so little or very much) to help the 
mouthpiece of the most wonderful and 
most popular form of entertainment on 
earth — the movies. 

Cordially yours, 

Augusta Cart, 

Editor. 



COPYRIGHT NOTICE 

The story of the Man On The Box published in the September issue of the PHOTOPLAY M AGA ZINE, 
was from the motion picture photoplay made and copyrighted by Jesse L. Lasky Feature Play Company, Inc., 
which in turn was founded upon the novel of the same name by Harold MacGrath, published and copyrighted 
by -the Bobbs-Merrill Company. 

Through inadvertentness, copyright notice was omitted. 

Copyright credit for the novel is accordingly given to the Bobbs-Merrill Company. 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 




'THE WEDGE" 



The classified section that will get them all, 
very soon. 

It is directed at buyers and users — of a new 
type and in a new field. It carries that "oppor- 
tunity noise" of which you have heard so 
much. 



It is live and coming — not a classified sec- 
tion that has already arrived — not one that is 
a has been. 

The rate is 75c per line (6 average words to 
the line). Payment must be enclosed with 
order. 




MUSIC AND SHEET MUSIC 



"HOW MUSIC MAKES MONEY" SENT 
free. Tills little book may lead you to fame 
and fortune. Tells how fortunes hare been 
made in successful songs, and how you 
might succeed likewise. Send for this val- 
uable book to-day. C. L. Partee, Dept. 41. 
Astor Theatre Building, New York. 

Df> YOU COMPOSE? CAN'T YOU 
sell your poems ? My booklet ' 'Golden 
Rules" shows the only way to sell them, 
giving the buyers' addresses. Publishing 
swindle exposed. Honest advice about ar- 
ranging copyrights, etc. Price of booklet 
25c. H. B. Bauer, 135 East 34th, N. Y. 

SONG POEMS WANTED FOR PUBLI- 

cation. Big money writing song poems. 
Past experience unnecessary. Our proposi- 
tion positively unequaled. Have paid hun- 
dreds of dollars to writers. Send us your 
song poems or melodies today or write for 
instructive booklet— it's free. Marks-Gold- 
smith Co., Dept. 89, Washington, D. C. . 

WRITERS WANTED AT ONCE TO 

send us poems or melodies for new songs. 
We can compose music and arrange for 
publication immediately. Dugdale Co., 
Dept. 1201. Washington. D. C. 

300 LATEST SONG HITS, WITH 20 

pieces Piano Music, 10c. Literary Enter- 
prise Co., L-3348 Lowe Ave., Chicago. 



MALE HELP WANTED 



WILL PAY RELIABLE MAN OR 

woman .$12.50 to distribute 100 free pack- 
ages perfumed borax soap powder among 
friends. No money required. F. Ward Co., 
2 10 Institute Place, Chicago. 

THOUSANDS U. S. GOVERNMENT 

Life Jobs now open to Men and Women. 
§05 to S150 month. No lay-offs. Common 
education sufficient. Pull unnecessary. 
Write immediately for full list of positions 
and free sample examination question-;. 
Franklin Institute, Dept. L 218, Rochester, 
N, Y. 

FREE ILLUSTRATED BOOK TELLS OF 

about 300,000 protected positions in U. 
S. service. Thousands of vacancies every 
year. There is a big chance here for you, 
sure and generous pay. lifetime employment. 
Just ask for booklet S-144 9. No obliga- 
tion. ^EarlHopkin^Waslinig^o^^ 

LOCAL REPRESENTATIVE WANTED. 
Splendid income assured right man to act 
as our representative after learning our busi- 
ness thoroughly by mail. Former experience 
unnecessary. All we require is honesty, 
ability, ambition and willingness to learn a 
lucrative business. No soliciting or travel- 
ing. All or spare time only. This is an ex- 
ceptional opportunity for a man in your sec- 
tion to get into a big paying business with- 
out capital and become independent for life. 
Write at once for full particulars. Na- 
tional Co-Operative Realty Company, L- 
254. Marden Building, Washington. D. C. 

PHOTOPLAYWRICHTS 

WRITE PLAYS FOR THE "MOVIES." 

No experience or special education needed. 
Learn in spare time. We sell your plays — 
§10 to §150. Send stamps now for par- 
ticulars of our free 25,854 word book, 
"Photoplay Building." The Photoplay- 
wrights' Kxchange, Fl 29 N. Dearborn 
Street, Chicago. 



PHOTOPLAYWRICHTS 

WRITE PLAYS FOR THE "MOVIES." 
My method of Individual instruction as- 
sures success. Endorsed by leading film 
companies, sale of first play guaranteed — 
S10-S150. Send postal now for "Photo- 
playbuildlng" and full details. MacHatton, 
Box 610. Chicago. 

WRITE PHOTOPLAYS THAT SELL. A 
Complete Course in photoplay writing Free 
To You. Send your name and address at 
once for particulars of this remarkable offer. 
Enterprise Co., PP- 1003 Morton Bldg., 
Chicago. ____ 

PHOTOPLAY AUTHORS. YOUR IDEA, 
plot or story, revised, arranged into a cor- 
rect salable scenario typed with carbon copy 
and selling instructions for only Si. 25 per 
reel. Expert work. I*. Hoeh, 4105 Bal- 
l ard Ave.. Cincinnati. Ohio. 

WE CAN SELL YOUR PHOTOPLAYS, 
stories, etc. Literary perfection not required. 
Write immediately for free explanation and 
convincing proof. Story Revision Co., Box 
850, Smethport, Pa. 

MISCELLANEOUS 

15 PHOTOS ON POST CARDS OF 
your favorite Motion Picture Stars for 25 
cents. In beautiful sepia. Each photo is 
autographed by the player. Over 300 sub- 
jects to select from. Send stamp for list. 
American Publishing Co., Security Bldg., 
Lgg Angeles. Cal. 

100 VISITING CARDS 50c. SAMPLES 
mailed if requested. Agents wanted. Good 
pay. Royal Card Press Co. Waterbury, 
Conn. 

TELEGRAPHY TAUGHT IN THE 
shortest possible time. The Omnigraph au- 
tomatic teacher sends telegraph messages 
at any speed as an expert operator would ; 
5 styles, $2 up; circular free. Omnigraph 
Mfg. Co.. Dept. K, 39 Cortlandt St.. N. Y. 

USE AN AIR-FRICTION 1914 MODEL 
"C." Increases power and economy of 
motor one-half. Absolutely Impossible to 
choke or load. Uses distillate, gasoline or 
half kerosene with finest results. Starts 
easy In coldest weather. We fit all motors, 
guaranteeing definite results or refund 
money. Exclusive county rights. Liberal 
exchange on other carburetors. The Air- 
Frlction Carburetor Co., Dayton. Ohio. 

CHIROPRACTIC DOCTORS MAKE BIG 
incomes; be independent; work for yourself; 
complete correspondence course, including 
diploma, only $25. National College 
Chiropractic. Grand Rapids. Mich. 

OLD COINS WANTED. $1 TO $600 
paid for hundreds of Coins dated before 
1895. Send 10c for our Illustrated Coin 
Value Book, 4x7. Get posted. Clarke & 
Co., Coin Dealers, Box 127, Le Roy, N. Y. 

PICTURES AND POST CARPS 

24 POSES BEAUTIFUL WOMEN, 10c. 
Normal Spec. Co., D 3, 500 W 69th St.. 
Chicago. 

20 PHOTO POST CARDS OF YOUR 
favorite Motion Picture Players for 25 cents. 
In beautiful sepia, 300 subjects to select 
from. American Publishing Co., 419 Se- 
ptlrity Bidding. Los Aneeles. Cal. 

25 XMAS, NEW YEAR AND GREET- 
tag Post Cards 10c. Try us and be satis- 
fied. German -American Post. Co., Dept. 
F3. TtnrMngton. Town. 

3 ARTISTIC BEAUTIES 10 CENTS. 
Illustrated catalogue 2c. Taylor Bros., 
P2129 Clifton, Chicago. 



CAMERAS AND PHOTO SUPPLIES 

HIGHEST GRADE OF DEVELOPING 

and printing. Send for price list. C. C. 
Smith, 1634, G. C. Terminal Bldg., N. Y. 

City. 

PHOTO DEVELOPING AND PRINTING. 
films or plates. Very highest class of work 
at lowest prices. Send for free booklet of 
information and prices. W. W. Sweatman, 
Box 602 E. Portland, Maine. 

THE BEST COSTS LESS. WRITE FOR 

special prices on Quality Kodak Finishing. 
Fowlers, Box 628 H, Portsmouth, Ohio. 

RETOUCHING TAUGHT; WE MAKE IT 
easy for you to learn at home. Dept. 6, M., 
Y. & M. Retouching Co., Marshall, Mich. 

FILMS DEVELOPED, 6c, ALL SIZES. 
Prints 2ttx3%. 2c; 2&x4»4, 3%x3%. 3%x 
4%, 4c; 40c doz. Post cards, 5c, 50c doz. 
Work guaranteed and returned 24 hours after 
receiving. Postpaid. Send negatives for sam- 
ples. Girard's Commercial Photo Shop, 
Dept. 3, Holyoke. Ma ss. 

500 BROWNIE ROLL FILM CAMERAS 
to be given away just for names. Prop us 
postal. Sun Photo Supply Co., Dept. 5, 
Jamestown, N. Y. 

FOCAL PLANE POSTCARD CAMERA, 
F6.3 lens, exposures to one-thousandth sec- 
ond. Films and plates. Complete. $30. 
Newark Photo Supply Co., Dept. J, Newark, 
N. J. 

SECOND-HAND LENSES. ALL MAKES 
and sizes. Work just as well as new ones. 
Send for our bargain-list. St. Louis-Hyatt 
Photo-Supply Co.. Dept. 4 . St. Louis. Mo. _ 

COLORADO POST CARD VIEWS 8 
for 10c. Bert Hedspeth, 21)59 California 
St.. Denver, Colo. 

20 BEAUTIFUL AND INTERESTING 

postcard scenes in and around Salt Lake, 
Including the Great Mormon Temple, post- 
paid for 25c in silver. Gem Novelty Co.i 
Box 471S. He lper. Utah . 

REAL PHOTOS, LIFE MODELS, IM- 
portcd, cabinet size, 4 for 25c: 10 for 50c: 
24 for SI. No two alike. De Vitto Co., (7) 
New Dorp. N. Y . 

OUR MEMBERS IN GERMANY. SWIT- 

zerland. etc., will exchange postcards with 
you. Membership, 10c. Elite Exchange, 
R2fi. 3827 N't Kenneth. Chicago. 

FOUR FULL-LENGTH CABARET POST- 
ers in Colors, fourteen inches high and 
twenty illustrations, 10c. Gordon Art Co., 
Dept. 7, New York City. 

12 FASCINATING POST CARDS OF 
College Life, 10c. R, Dunham, 2120A Mil- 
waukee Ave., Chicago. 

NIAGARA FALLS: EIGHTEEN VIEWS 
In gorgeous tints, ten cents. Thompson Co., 
Y. M. C. A., DepL_l. Niagara Falls. N. Y. 

RECEIVE POST CARDS FROMEVERY- 
where. 10c. Kimo. 2577D. Cuming, Omaha. 

TYPEWRITERS AND SUPPLIES'" 

100 SHEETS CARBON PAPER 8%Xl3 
Inches. $1. Ribbons any color or machine, 
35c, postpaid. H. Smith, 1223D Dearborn 
Ave., Chi cago. 

UNDERWOOD. $32.50. OTHER EXCEP" 
tfonal bargains. B. C. Welland Sales Com- 
pany, TJtica. N. Y. 

THIS MONTH—ONE HUNDRED NO. 3 

Oliver Visible Typewriters at a sensational 
price. Terms S3. 00 a month— five days' 
free trial — completely equipped. Guaranteed 
same as if regular catalogue price were paid. 
United States Typewriter Exchange, Dept. 
J 246, Federal Life Bldg., Chicago. 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



Tell Your Newsdealer to Save 

THE DECEMBER 

PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 

It will be filled to the brim with Many New 
Features ! Better than ever — the real beginning of 
its New Era ! The public has MADE PHOTOPLAY 
MAGAZINE — and its intensely interesting con- 
tents will be WHAT THE PUBLIC ORDERED ! 

The Second Installment of 

"Growing Up with the Movies" 

By FLORENCE LAWRENCE 

The World's Highest Salaried Movie Actress 

This unusual feature began with the November Photoplay. It will run through five 
issues. The second installment is more gripping than the first. This wonderful 
actress started with the FIRST efforts to dramatize moving pictures. She ha6 been 
the friend of the famous film actors and actresses you have learned to love. She 
knew them in the beginning — saw the most marvelous business start weakly and 
uncertainly from its cradle — and has been its real Fairy Queen during its tremen- 
dous growth. You will never KNOW the movies until you have read every word 
of Florence Lawrence in EACH number of PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE. 

Many Other Treats in Store for You 

This exceptional feature is but ONE of the MANY good things in store for you. 
The December Number will be a Pandora's Box of gems — all for YOU. Be sure 
to tell your Newsdealer to save you a copy ! Or, accept this offer at once, and get 

"The Adventures of Kathlyn" 

By Harold] MacGrath 



FREE! 



This intensely interesting novel is from the pen of Harold MacGrath — who has told the fiction story 
of Kathlyn — who smiled hopefully from the screen during her troubled adventures ! 375 pages, illus- 
trated, beautifully bound — sent FREE and prepaid if you mail your order NOW, inclosing $1.50 for 
ONE YEAR'S SUBSCRIPTION for PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE. Remit by postoffice or express 
money order, bank draft or currency. Say, "I enclose $1.50 for a year's subscription for Photoplay 

Magazine, beginning with the Number. Send also, without extra cost and prepaid, the 

Adventures of Kathlyn." Sign your name and address plainly — and address your order to 

PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 8 SffiSS^5 t 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



NOT W ri '' c Photoplays f 

Ever tried it ? Have you any imagination ? If you knew just how to construct 
the plot — where to put the "punches" — how to go about the details, do you 
think you might succeed ? Photoplaywrights have seldom been authors ; rarely 
been dramatic playwrights. The fiction story and the theatrical production are not 
generally adapted to the photo-drama. Very few short stories or novels — and 
remarkably few theatrical plays — have been good for the films. 

What Do Photoplaywrights Make? 

The ordinary scenario brings from $25 to $50 ; better ones bring $100 ; some 
are bought for $300 ; and big productions command high figures. Capable 
scenario writers receive direct orders ; many become high-salaried studio directors. 
Travel, independence, and fame are the rewards. But — you must KNOW 
HOW. Don't try to guess, because guessing will bring nothing but rejection slips. 

Mr. A. W.Thomas and Mr. William Lord 
Wright Tell You HOW 

If you are going to learn anything, go to the fountainhead of knowledge. Mr. A. 
W. Thomas is the dean of American Photoplaywrights — successful scenario writer, 
formerly chief of the editorial department of the Photoplay Clearing House, now 
editor of " Photoplay Magazine," organizer and head of the Photoplaywrights* 
Association of America. Mr. Wright is Photoplay Editor of the " Dramatic Mirror." 

The "Market" for Scenarios is Growing 

It already demands THOUSANDS of new photoplays yearly. Why don't 
YOU try to be one of the successful writers ? Today is the Morning of Photo- 
play Writing achievement. Get in as a pioneer. Have your name known all 
over the land. But, first of all, LEARN HOW ! 

This Book Is Yours FREE! 

Mr. Thomas has written a new book, "Wanted : More Photoplays." It is 
YOURS — FREE; that is, if you write for a copy NOW. SEND NO 
MONEY. Write a letter or postal and say, " Without cost to me, please send 
me Mr. Thomas' Book on Photoplays." Sign your name and address plainly. 
But be sure to ASK NOW! 



Photoplaywrights' Association of America 

8 So. Dearborn St. (A. W. THOMAS, Pres. and Editor) CHICAGO, ILL. 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



JjS^S Fef ™ Enlarged 




Harris Merton Lyon, whose "Mr- Ilcfferhorn 
His Wallet" in the November BLUE BOOK, 
is a story of the country man who cut 
his eye teeth in New York. 



'T'HE November issue of the Blue 
A Book Magazine is the greatest 
15 cent value ever offered by any 
publication : 

A 60,000 word novel complete 
Big installments of two serials 
Eighteen splendid short stories 

The 240 pages of the issue are filled 
with the most entertaining fiction 
money could buy. There is some- 
thing for every taste; humor, adven- 
ture, romance, diplomacy. There are 
stories that take you away from your 
every-day life, and others that make 
you see your neighbors in the char- 
^ acters. It's a great magazine. Don't 
miss it. 



Consider the great writers who are "regulars" in 
The Blue Book Magazine. Compare the list with that 
of any magazine on the news-stands: 



Detective Burns 
Bessie R. Hoover 
John Fleming Wilson 
James Francis Dwyer 
Albert Payson Terhune 
George Allan England 



Clarence Herbert New 
Frank R. Adams 
Elliott Flower 
Stanley Shaw 
Isabel Ostrander 
Seumas MacManus 



Harris Merton Lyon 
Ellis Parker Butler 
Victor Rousseau 
H. de Vere Stacpoole 
Gaston Leroux 
Max Rittenburg 



DONT MISS THE 240 PAGE ENLARGED 
THE BLUE BOOK MAGAZINE 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



Blue Book Magazine 

Are you reading 
The Crevice" 



<?<? 



the novel by Detective Burns and Isabel Ostrander? 
If you're not, begin now. The November Blue Book 
contains the second installment in which the story 
gets under full headway and a synopsis of the first 
installment which really tells you what happened in 
the opening of the story. 



"The Crevice 



•>•> 



is Detective Burns' first novel. It goes after crooks 
in high and low life with hammer and tongs, and 
not only shows you how they work, but the methods 
the successful sleuths must use to outwit them. It 
is the most important detective novel ever printed 
in America. 
Begin it now. 



Each month the Blue Book 

prints a complete book-length novel 
of the sort that will cost you $1.35 
in book form. The November issue's 

novel is by Gaston Leroux, author of "The 
Mystery of the Yellow Room" and "The 
Perfume of the Lady in Black." It is called 

"The Bride of the Sun" 

and it is a story of a young American business 
woman captured by the sun worshipers of Peru 




Isabel Ostrander, who is collaborating 

with Detective Burns in bis 

first novel. 



ALL FEATURE NOVEMBER ISSUE OF 
NOW ON SALE AT ALL NEWS-STANDS 



10 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



u 



)9 



TODOCWOIELL 

Thousands Hear His 

5000th Delivery of 

Lecture 



ESCORTED BYBAND 



Acres of Diamonds 

A $4,000,000.00 Lecture 

Dr. Russell H. Conwell, of Philadelphia, has delivered it 5,000 times 
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ands of young men and women; it is probably the most famous lecture 
ever delivered. You may never be fortunate enough to hear it from 
Dr. Conwell's own lips, but it is only one of hundreds of world renowned 
addresses and speeches that you may read whenever you wish in the 
ten beautiful volumes of 

MODERN ELOQUENCE 

Every speech, lecture and address is complete, each one is acknowl- 
edged to be the greatest ever delivered on a particular subject. You'll 
find that this unequalled work contains the most entertaining and 
profitable reading ever gathered in one set of books. It voices the 
opinions, ideas, and experiences of the leading intellects of their time; 
it combines the brilliancy, fascination and style of the great classics, 
and like them the more often it is read the more interesting it becomes. 

Are YOU ever asked to respond to a Toast, to Write an Address 
or to Make a Speech ? 

If so you will find these volumes the greatest help imaginable, 
because they contain nearly every variety of good pattern for the 
various classes of oratory. And many aninexperiencedbanquetchairman, 
toastmaster or honored guest, casting helplessly about him for a good 
story or appropriate remarks, has found here just the inspiration needed. 

A Wonderful Bargain 

50,000 sets of Modern Eloquence were sold at a figure much higher than ours before we secured the 
remaining sets of the wonderful de Luxe edition. We are now offering these while they last at an insigni- 
ficant price that you can easily afford to pay . Send us the attached coupon by return mail and we will 
name this price and tell you how you can get the books on easy monthly payments. We will also send you 

Henry W. Grady's Great Lecture 
"The Race Problem"-FREE 




7'hi Above is the Heading of a Two 
Column Front Page Article in Philadel- 
phia North A/iierican, May 22, 19lt. 



Reprinted from the work itself. Champ Clark says : 
"The most famous after-dinner speech within the 
memory of any living man." Sending the coupon 
places you under no obligation to buy ; if you are inter- 
ested, tear it off and send it NOW. 



Among Others MODERN ELOQUENCE Contains: 



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I'hoto by Mujunier, Los Atujeles 




EARLE WILLIAMS 



could easily retire on the laurels he earned as "John Storm" in Vitagraph's big 
and gripping feature "The Christian," produced by special arrangement with 
the Liebler Company, for in this picture Mr. 'Williams proved himself one of 
the foremost leading men of his time, though probably a lot of other Vitagraph 
dramas paved the way for this supreme triumph. Many years of stage experi- 
ence preceded his Vitagraph engagement. 

Photo, (C> Vituffraph Co. of America 



<gr 



X 




ETHEL CLAYTON 



joined the Lubin forces with a long string of stage successes to her credit, 
among which, aside from numerous stock engagements, are leading roles oppo- 
site such stars as Emmett Corrigan, Wallace Eddinger, and Edwin Stevens. 
Besides, she has been featured in such plays as "The Devil," "The Country 
Boy," "The Brute," and since entering the picture field has been chosen to 
play the leads in all of the Lubin masterpieces. 

Photo by Gilbert Wacon, Phila. 



^) 




CARLYLE BLACKWELL 

recently left the Kalem Company, which he headed for so many seasons, to be- 
come a star in several dramas being produced by Famous Players. Still more 
recently he left for Los Angeles to form a company of his own known as the 
Favorite Players Films, and is already at work on the first release. Mr. Black- 
well developed a large following while with the Kalem Company, and his host 
of admirers will watch his work with interest. 

Photo by Mojvnier, Loa Angeles 



% 




a dazzling beauty of the blonde type, is in the future to be seen opposite 
Carlyle Blackwell in releases of Favorite Players Films, his newly organized 
company. She has had considerable stage experience and not long ago took the 
leading part in a six reel Pathe picture called "The Browning Diamond." On 
the speaking stage she appeared in "Help Wanted," "Excuse Me," and 
Helaine in "Madame X." Much may be expected of her. 
Photo by Ira L. Hill, A'ew York 




BRYANT WASHBURN 

the heavy man of the Essanay Film Manufacturing Company's eastern stock 
company, is handsome and popular despite the fact that he plavs "villyuns." 
On the legitimate stage he appeared with George Fawcett in well known suc- 
cesses, with Miss Percy Haswell in stock at Toronto. Canada, and on the road 
with "The Wolf," "The Remittance Man," "The Great John Ganton," and 
"The Fighter." Mr. Washburn is a tasty dresser, photographs well and fairly 
lives the roles he interprets on the screen. 

I'hoto by Mtitzene, Chicago 



dh 



^ 




was born in Sacramento, California, and began her stage career at the a"e of 
eight. She appeared as Little Eva in "Uncle Tom's Cabin," then as Little Lord 
Fauntleroy and in "Editha's Burglar" in the East, and toured the big vaudeville 
circuit. She created the role of "Dorothy" in "The Wizard of Oz," appeared 
in numerous other musical comedies and then in films for Reliance. At 
present she is leading woman of the Life Photo Feature Films. 
Photo by White, New York 



<gf 



^ 




JAMES MORRISON 

Vitagraph star, was born in Mattoon, Illinois, on November 15, 1888, and is of 
Dutch, English and Scotch ancestry. After graduating from High School and 
the University of Chicago he attended the American Academy of Dramatic Art, 
and then appeared in the Marlowe and College, stock companies of Chicago. 
"Brown of Harvard"' on the road, and several vaudeville engagements, follow- 
ing which he began his Vitagraph career. He is single and very popular. 
Photo,{C) Vitttyr t»h COmOfAmer. 



& 



% 




MARY FULLER 

as every dyed-in-the-wool fan knows, is the famous Edison leading woman, star 
of the "Mary" series and heroine of the "Dolly of the Dailies" pictures, who 
recently left Edisonville to become a Universal star. She used to imagine 
that she would become an opera star, and spent several years having her voice 
trained. Then at seventeeii she went on the stage, and from th::t into the 
world of photoplay, where she scored a tremendous triumph. 
I'Loto by llraiUcy, Xeir York 





WALLY VAN 

better known as Vitagraph's "Cutie."' was christened Cliarles Wallace Van 
Nostrand at his birth, in New Hyde Park, L. I., on September 27. 1880. but in 
college he acquired the "Wallie Van," and it stuck. He graduated from a 
technical school as a civil engineer, but later became a leather salesman. 
Soon after he did work for a few years as an electrical engineer, and then the 
Vitagraph president employed him to look after the engines of his speed boats. 
With that as an introduction, he just drifted into the picture game. 
Photn,(C) Pitagraph Co, of Amer, 



3 *3> 




the beautiful child seen so frequently in Broncho and Kay Bee films, has the 
most gorgeous head of natural flaxen curls, large, expressive blue eyes, a perfect 
nose and mouth, and one of the most classic profiles ever seen on the picture 
screens. She is a California!) by birth, and her first picture work was done for 
Western Vitagraph. though of late she has appeared exclusively in Kay Bee 
and Broncho dramas. She has a private tutor, and her hours away from the 
studio are spent in study. 

Photo by wit-.ei, Los Angtiei 



% 




MATTY ROUBERT 

now known throughout the country as "The Universal Boy," did his first work in 
pictures with the Vitagraph company when Mary Fuller was with them, and 
it is said to have been the first three reel film ever staged in America. He then 
appeared with Biograph and with several other companies, but now is being 
Matured in a whole series of Universal films. He has brown hair, snapping 
hazel eyes and a round, rosy face that makes you like him immediately. 
Photo hi/ I'niti/, .Vcjy York 



^ 




ROSCOE ARBUCKLE 



the inimitable Keystone comedian, is a living, breathing denial of Frank 
Mclntyre's famous line "Nobody loves a fat man," for Roscoe is undoubtedly 
fat. and yet everybody adores him. lie has probably caused more laughs, 
endured more bumps anil bruises, and come up smiling at the end. than any 
other comedian, for playing in those Keystone comedies is anything but fun for 
those engaged in the "rough stuff." though Arbuekle delights in his work, and 
would not change places with any other comedian in the business. 
Photo I'll W'it-rT, f.ox Anyi'lsx 



<§T 




FRANCELIA BILLINGTON 

now a star of the Majestic Motion Picture Company, played her first role with 
the New York Motion Picture Company, and soon afterwards appeared in a 
small role with the Thanhouser western company. A New York critic called 
attention to her, and almost over night she graduated from a "supe" to the 
important position of a leading woman. Some months ago she was transferred 
to the Majestic studio and is doing splendid work there. 
P'.iotu by \l~it~el, Los Angctcs 



1® 



• 



Tf*i*i| 




Photo hi/ Bangs, New York 



THE LATEST PORTRAIT OF FLORENCE LAWRENCE 




Editorial 



>Ua3HiC 



ON the page following is begun the first installment of a story which 
the editors of PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE believe to be the most 
valuable contribution to motion picture literature up to this time — the 
authentic life-story of the most remarkable motion picture actress of today, 
Florence Lawrence, whose following throughout the civilized world is far 
greater than that of any star of the legitimate stage. 

Few people, even those intimately engaged in the production side of the 
film play, know the history of the motion picture's growth almost over night, 
into the fourth largest industry in the world. In this intensely interesting 
story you will find not only an account of the trials and tribulations which 
beset the path of beloved "Flo" Lawrence — the original "Biograph Girl " 
and "The Victor Queen" of today, but you will learn, incidentally, of the trials 
and tribulations that have harassed other pioneers in this huge new industry. 

Although Miss Lawrence's achievements have all been made in a field 
which has been invaded by many women and with conspicuous success, it 
would be difficult, indeed, to duplicate her history. For Florence Lawrence 
is the only motion picture actress in the world who has been continuously 
before the camera ever since the picture play became more than a novelty, 
its ascendency dating back to the spring of 1907. Since that time Miss 
Lawrence has seen service in many studios and has been associated with 
the biggest people in the industry, as well as with many present day film 
stars. Did you know that Florence Lawrence, Arthur Johnson, and Mary 
Pickford were once members of the same company? That Mack Sennet, of 
Keystone fame, was once Biograph's chief "villain"? That King Baggot 
broke into the movies by having his shoes shined? Miss Lawrence's story 
is full of anecdotes and stories of just such people as these, as well as with 
many wise and witty observations about studio life in general and studio 
folk in particular. 

The first installment starts off with an introduction by Monte M. Katter- 
john, Miss Lawrence's collaborator, in which he details the early history of 
this talented actress up to the time when she went into the movies, and at 
that point Miss Lawrence herself takes up the narrative. The story will run 
in several successive issues of PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE, illustrated, as is 
this one with photographs of Miss Lawrence and of the scenes of her 
activities and triumphs. 



HP"* 


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Florence Lawrence at 18, Shortly After She Made Her Debut 
as a Motion Picture Actress. 



AN INTRODUCTION BY MONTE M. 
KATTERJOHN 

ALMOST eight years ago — just after 
Christmas in 1906, to be exact — a 
fragile, fair-haired slip of a girl not 
yet seventeen years of age, applied for a 
position as "extra" actress at one of the 
three motion picture studios then in exist- 
ence in the whole United States. That 
particular studio was located on the roof of 
a twelve-story building at 41 East Twenty- 
First Street, New York City. It must have 
been Destiny's wish that the nervous little 
applicant, who leaned far across the railing 
in asking for work, be engaged, for, more 
than any other one woman, she has helped 
to make the motion picture industry what 
It is today. 

Florence Lawrence was the name of that 
seventeen year old girl. Even today she 
wonders how it ever came about and just 
what influence aided her, that she alone out 
of a host of other applicants was selected 
that chilly December morning to play a very 
prominent part in what was intended to be 
an authentic picturization of an incident 
in the life of Daniel Boone. She maintains 
that several girls with far more dramatic 
experience and "much prettier" than her- 
28 



Growing 
the 

By Florence Lawrence 

America's Foremost 

The Authentic and Romantic 
the Maude Adams 



self were among the applicants. And this 
is one of the peculiar phases of the character 
and nature of Florence Lawrence. In spite 
of the fact that countless thousands consider 
her one of the prettiest of screen actresses, 
she does not think so herself. Also, she 
does not believe she is a very good actress. 
She studies day after day and night after 
night to improve her work. She is intense. 

The fact remains, however, that "Little 
Flo," as her relatives and friends called her 
in those days, was engaged and some seven 
days later began at the Edison studio a 
career in a profession as strangely new as 
are the inside workings of the whole motion 
picture industry to the lay mind even 
today. 

By toil and perseverance, a willingness to 
accept set-backs as the most natural things 
in the world, indomitable courage and 
strength of mind to plan for the future — 
never complaining, never boasting, she has 
climbed to the pinnacle of her profession. 
Her patience, loyalty, and nobleness in the 
face of irritating and disappointing forces 
have, next to her natural talent, been her 
chief assets. As one who has followed her 
motion picture life from the time she made 
her studio debut, I can truthfully say that 
petty passions, egotism, and personal irrita- 
tions have never marred a single production 
in which she has appeared, and it is to be 
noted that she has been appearing in the 
movies longer than any ether motion picture 
actress. More than a thousand photoplays 
have recorded her original and delightful 
personality — a personality absolutely unlike 
that of any other motion picture player. 



Up with 
Movies 

In Collaboration with 

Monte M . Katterjohn 

Moving Picture Actress 

Story of Florence Lawrence — 
of the Movies 



I have enjoyed watching "Flo" Lawrence 
grow up with the movies, for I am to the 
motion picture play what the old theatre- 
goer is to the stage. I have been a "regu- 
lar" so long I can't remember just when and 
where I witnessed a motion picture for the 
first time. I have missed few Florence 
Lawrence pictures, for to me she has always 
been a super-delight of the screen. Naturally, 
I feel that I know her work. 

Her whimsical ideas of comedy are a part 
of her natural self, and this, linked with 
her talent, her intensely human nature, her 
loveliness, life and animation, is more than 
sufficient reason why she is America's fore- 
most moving picture actress. 

From the Edison studio Miss Lawrence 
went to the Vitagraph Company, to become 
a member of the first stock company ever 
organized by J. Stuart Blackton. Next, she 
joined the first stock company ever main- 
tained by the American Mutoscope and 
Biograph Company, which is now known as 
the Biograph Company. 

As the leading lady of most of the early 
Biograph dramas and comedies, she attained 
great popularity, becoming known all over 
the United States and throughout Great 
Britain. That was long before the film 
manufacturers felt it necessary to flash the 
cast of characters of a photoplay on the 
screen preceding the showing of the play. 

First as "The Biograph Girl," and then as 
"Mrs. Jonesy" of a famous Biograph comedy 
series of pictures, Miss Lawrence was known 
to millions. Her real name was never known 
to the picture patrons of those days. I re- 
member writing a letter to the American 




. A Particularly Attractive Picture of the Florence Lawrence 
of Today. 

Mutoscope and Biograph Company asking 
for information as to her identity, and 
whether or not she had ever appeared on 
the stage before taking up motion picture 
work. My letter was never answered though 
I enclosed a stamped and self-addressed en- 
velope for reply. No one knew "The Bio- 
graph Girl" by. her real name, not even 
those interested in other avenues of the film 
industry, as is proven by a criticism in one 
of the trade journals of those days, which 
lies before me. 

"Of course, the chief honors of the pic- 
ture are borne by the now famous Biograph 
Girl, who must be gratified by the silent 
celebrity she has achieved," wrote the critic, 
who seemed to be as much in the dark con- 
cerning her identity as were her admirers. 
"This lady," he continued in his criticism, 
"combines with very great personal attrac- 
tion, very fine dramatic ability indeed." 

The name of Florence Lawrence was 
heralded far and near by the owners of the 
Independent Moving Picture Company when 
"The Biograph Girl" began to appear in pic- 
ture plays bearing the Imp brand. This was 
probably due to the fact that Imp films were 
the first independent pictures to be produced 
in America, and the owners felt it necessary 
to employ the popularity of a screen star to 
dispose of their films. At least, it marked 

29 



30 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 




At Six Years of Age, 
"Little Flo" Made a Great 
Hit, with "Come, Help 
Me Tie My Shoestring," 
a Song Written Especially 
for Her by One of Her 
Mother's Friends 



a time when nobody really knew who she might be. 
This fact is clearly proven by turning to the issues 
of the various trade journals and picture papers of those 
days. "The Moving Picture World" was then publish- 
ing a weekly department known as "Comments on the 
Films." The department scribe made an error when 
he spoke of the leading lady who replaced Miss 
Lawrence in Biograph photoplays as "The Biograph 
Girl," whereupon that publication received letters "from 
motion picture exhibitors located in every state in the 
Union taking exception to the statement. One of those 
letters was reproduced in "The Moving Picture World" 
under the head, "The Judgment of Paris," and served as 
prima facie evidence of the popularity of "The Biograph 
Girl." The letter read as follows: 

"I have the honor to announce that your man who 

writes 'Comments on 
the Films' is crazy as a 
bed-bug. I have just 
read what that worthy 
gentleman has to say 
regarding the Biograp'.i 
picture, 'Through the 
Breakers,' and note that 
he says ' "The Biograph 
Girl" plays the leading 
role.' 

"That picture was 
shown in Coos Bay, 
Oregon, the past week, 




the first use of a 
picture player's 
name in the same 
way a stage celeb- 
rity's name is em- 
ployed. Of these in- 
cidents, Miss Law- 
rence will have 
much to say when 
she recalls the 
growth of the inde- 
pendent faction of 
the picture in- 
dustry. 

Shortly after the 
Independent Mov- 
ing Picture Company had secured the services of "The 
Biograph Girl," a great wail was sent up by the pro- 
prietors of picture theatres all over the country, whose 
patrons had grown to love the sweet little lady of Bio- 
graph pictures. Hundreds of letters were received by 
the owners of the Biograph Company asking concern- 
ing the whereabouts of "The Biograph Girl." Ex- 
hibitors urged them to re-secure her services. There 
were many who ceased exhibiting Biograph pictures 
entirely, substituting the new Imp films. Such was 
the power of a motion picture star's popularity even at 



Another of Florence's Songs was 
"Roses of Love" 



She was Just Three When She Sang and 
Danced to "Down in a Shady Dell" between 
Acts. Her Mother Was, at That Time, 
Leading Woman with the Lawrence Dra- 
matic Company 




GROWING UP WITH THE MOVIES 



31 



and at which time I witnessed it. The leading 
lady isn't 'The Biograph Girl' at all. Whoever 
she is, she is all right, very pretty, a superb 
and charming actress, and in every way adorable, 
but she is not 'The Biograph Girl.' 

" 'The Biograph Girl' who won all the hearts, 
male and female, in this neck of the woods, was 
the one who used to play 'Mrs. Jonesy' in the 
famous 'Jonesy' comedies made by the Biograph 
Company. I could mention a lot more of her 
plays, but I can designate her best as 'Mrs. 
Jonesy.' She has not appeared in any Biograph 
pictures shown out this way for months and 
months, and the Biograph people ought to be 
lynched for letting her get away. She is, or was, 
appearing in a new brand of films called 'The 
Imp,' and played the leading role in 'The Forest 
Ranger's Daughter,' which was shown here on a 
special occasion. Look in the Independent Mov- 
ing Picture Company's advertise- 
ment in almost any issue of your 
own magazine and you will .^'' 
see a picture of her. I /■ 
think they call her 
Florence Lawrence. 

"Anyway, she was / . 
'The Biograph Girl,' j ' 
and I am confident 



you could find about 



When it Came to Making Up 
for Such a Fart as This, Lotta 
Lawrence Always Proved Her- 
self a Real Artist 






Lotta Lawrence, Florence Law- 
rence's Mother, as She Appears 
Today 



This Picture of Florence 
and Her Mother was 
Taken at the Time When 
They Appeared Together 
in Edison's Production 
of "Daniel Boone," Their 
First Picture Perform- 
ance 



eight million people in 
the United States who 
would agree with me. 
You could find a lot 
of them in this town. 
"As 'The Biograph Girl,' 
Miss Lawrence, if that is 
really her name, was simply 
out of sight — unapproachable. 
She was in a class by herself. 
In every part she played she 
was an exquisite delight. 
Whether c o m i c, pathetic, 
dramatic, tragic, or anything 
else, she simply took the rag 
right off the pole. The power 
of expression that lay in her features was nothing 
less than marvelous, and the lightning changes 
were a wonder. In fact, she was a wonder at 
everything. Her versatility would be unbelievable 
if a fellow hadn't seen it. I have watched her 
play 'Mrs. Jonesy' in a tantrum, and the following 
week seen her as a Russian Nihilist girl. I have 
watched her as a mother, as a highly polished 
society lady, and also as r Western girl when she 
would straddle a cayuse and ride like a wild 
Indian. To see her take these widely varying 
parts and play each as though she were in her 
native element, with every pose and motion and 
expression in perfect harmony with the character 



32 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



•lias indeed been a revelation 
to myself and the picture 
patrons of Coos Bay. And to 
see her in a love scene was 
enough to draw a fellow right 
across the continent, if he 
were not fifty years old and 
married, and broke. 

"And so now you think some- 
one else is 'The Biograph Girl!' 
If you think I am off my base, 
just go and see that girl in 
some Imp picture, and you'll 
soon discover that 'The Bio- 
graph Girl' of yesterday is 'The 
Imp Girl' of today. I wish 
she would return to Biograph 
films because they seem to 
know just what sort of plays 
to cast her in so as to bring 

The Role Created by Miss Lawrence in the 

Lubin Release "The Slavey" is a 

Deservedly Famous One 





A Scene from the Lubin Photoplay, "The Bachelor," with 
Arthur Johnson and Florence Lawrence as Co-Stars 



out her talent. Also, that new brand of films 
is not shown out here." 

The above letter is typical of the spirit of 
all the others received by the various trade 
journals as well as by the Biograph Company, 
itself. The public wanted to see its favorite 
actress. 

The owners of the Independent Moving 
Picture Company demonstrated to the in- 
dustry that the creation of motion picture 
favorites was a wise move, and soon other 
companies began announcing the identity of 
their players and advertising them heavily. 
Some forged to the front by reason of merit. 
Others were foisted on the public by spread- 
eagle advertising. Prior to that time the 
movies had been simply a money-making fad, 
exploited at carnivals, street fairs, and the 
like, although even then a large number of 
picture theatres were in existence throughout 
the United States — about 5,000, to be exact. 
When the multitude of picture patrons came 
to have favorite players the primitive stage 
of the picture industry was passed. 

Florence Turner, Gilbert M. Anderson, 
Arthur Johnson, Mary Pickford, Marion Leon- 



GROWING UP WITH THE MOVIES 



33 



ard, King Baggot and Maurice Costello were 
other film players who became popular 
favorites of the public, and who shared 
honors with Miss Lawrence. 

After a year in Imp productions, Miss 
Lawrence went 
over to the 
Lubin _*»-£^ 




which they list their favorites in consecutive 
order. The names of Florence Lawrence and 
Arthur Johnson predominate about three to 
one. 

Who, among the followers of the picture 

play, does not like to recall some 

of those charming dramas of 

yester-year? Lingering 

in the memory of the 

s. old picture fan 

are such notable 

Lubin produc- 



A Splendid Bit 
of Acting Was 
Done b y I<I i ss 
Lawrence in This 
FireScenein 
Which She Was 
Carried Down 
from the Third 
Story of a Blaz- 
ing Building 



Florence 
Lawrence 
in Her Dress- 
ing Room at the 
Imp Studio in 1910 



Company where she played opposite Arthur Johnson, 
lately of the Reliance players, and who had been 
associated with her at the Biograph studio. This 
new connection brought both of these players even 
greater popularity than ever before, the Lawrence- 
Johnson team proving the greatest box-office magnet 
ever known to filmdom. I doubt if two players 
have ever appeared in pictures who won more re- 
sponse then did these two. Arthur Johnson and 
Florence Lawrence reached the hearts of the public 
so unmistakably that hundreds of exhibitors have 
urged the re-issuing of all Lubin productions in 
which they appeared. Like the Mary Pickford pic- 
tures now being re-issued by the Biograph Company, 
the Lawrence-Johnson photoplays were far in ad- 
vance of their time, and would be welcomed today 
as on a par with the so-called feature offerings. 

"I love a great many of the film people, but, oh, 
you Florence Lawrence and Arthur Johnson," wrote 
a little Kentucky girl to "The Dramatic Mirror" 
under the date of June 7th, 1911. "I think they are 
really the best on the moving picture stage," she 
continued, "and I think it is a shame the players 
can't know how we all love to see them and how 
much the world is learning to love them." 

If one doubts the popularity of the Lawrence-John- 
son Lubin pictures, let him turn to the files of the 
dramatic and motion picture papers during the year 
of 1911. He will find hundreds of letters from 
exhibitors, exchangemen, and picture patrons in 




31 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



tions as "Her Humble Ministry," "The Hoy- 
den," "Opportunity and the Man," "A Fasci- 
nating Bachelor," "That Awful Brother," 
"The Slavey," "His Chorus Girl Wife," and 
"The Gypsy." Who among you who wit- 
nessed these charming comedy dramas but 
would not like to see them again? Don't 
you think the life of the average motion pic- 
ture play is entirely too short, especially 
when it stands far above the average? I 
like to recall the memorable offerings of past 
years and s in my mind's eye, see them all 
over again. Better yet, I would like to see 
them re-issued that I might compare them 
with the productions of today. Perhaps such 
a move would tend to check the mad rush of 
manufacturers to produce slapstick and bur- 
lesque comedies. You who recall the Law- 
rence-Johnson comedy dramas — compare 
them with the screen vulgarities of today. 
There's little doubt as to which class of pic- 
ture you prefer. 

But let us back to Miss Lawrence! 

The Victor Film Company, which next 
claimed the services of Miss Lawrence, was 
organized by Miss Lawrence, herself, but 
later became the property of the Universal 
Film Manufacturing Company. During the 
first year of Victor plays that name belonged 
exclusively to Miss Lawrence and her pro- 
ductions. Following the transfer of the Vic- 
tor Company to the Universal, productions 
of other than Florence Lawrence manufac- 
ture were released under the Victor brand. 

But Victor pictures with Miss Lawrence 
have never fallen into disrepute. After her 
first year of work under this new brand 
she deserted the movie studio for the life 
of a country gentlewoman, taking up rose 
culture on her beautiful farm in New Jersey, 
thirty minutes by motor from New York 
City. The whole world of motion picture 
patrons rose up as one man with a demand 
that she return. Every editor of a motion 
picture newspaper or magazine can testify 
to thousands of letters received from all over 
the world asking anxiously about the little 
star who had graced the screen for so long. 
They desired to know if there was any like- 
lihood of her returning to her former work, 
and if so, when. Even Miss Lawrence re- 
ceived nearly a thousand letters, all of them 
pleading with her to go back to the motion 
picture stage. 

"Though I am only a little crippled girl, 
I pray every night that you will take up 
moving picture work once more, and help 



me to forget that I am crippled and ugly," 
reads one of the touching letters received 
by Miss Lawrence, and which she has saved 
and treasured. 

"I love mother most, my sweet Flo Law- 
rence next, and my Sunday school teacher 
after that," reads another of the treasured 
missives which implored her to return to 
the screen. 

Another was from a superintendent of 
public schools in a little Florida town, and 
was treasured because of the standing of 
its author as well as the sentiment voiced 
therein. It reads: 

"My wife and I have decided to write you, 
and if possible, learn if there is any possi- 
bility of your returning to the moving pic- 
ture plays. We both love you, and have 
missed very few of your plays since seeing 
you in ■ Tampa almost six years ago. We 
didn't even know your name then. We miss 
you very much, and do not seem to enjoy 
the pictures now that you are no longer in 
them. You certainly have a quality pos- 
sessed by none of the other film ladies, for 
you get love right out of the hearts of the 
motion picture fans. My wife calls you 
'Little Flo,' and says she is surely going to 
meet you when we go to New York next 
summer. We both adore you, and hope that 
illness is not the cause of your absence from 
the pictures." 

There are few actresses who can resist 
pleas of such a nature. These letters of 
sincere affection were of greater value than 
even the tonics and medicines of her phy- 
sician, for Miss Lawrence really was ill, 
suffering a nervous breakdown caused by 
her constant and unflagging work before the 
camera. The strain of portraying comedy 
roles had been too arduous, and so, at the 
height of her popularity, she had retired to 
her roses and her farm to rusticate and grow 
strong again. 

Though her resolve to abandon the motion 
picture studio was a sincere one, she had 
not figured on the effect of the pleadings 
of countless thousands. And when she be- 
came well again, she was anxious to achieve 
greater triumphs. It was the call of art, a 
call that only those who have experienced 
it can appreciate. It is a craving for expres- 
sion — a hot desire to live, and to develop, and 
to master even greater things. 

And so it was with Florence Lawrence. 
She had achieved much as a portrayer of 
comedy drama roles, and now desired to 



GROWING UP WITH THE MOVIES 



35 



take up a more serious side of photoplay acting. It 
will be recalled that up to this time she had been 
practically identified with comedy. It was her desire 
to excel as a portrayer of serious roles, coupled with 
the obligation she felt was due her many friends, that 
brought her back again to Victor plays after twelve 
months of rest and recreation. 

That she triumphed again is well known. Victor 
photoplays of the past year testify convincingly to 
this fact. Florence Lawrence dramas, like Florence 
Lawrence comedies, will be long remembered for the 
splendid acting and inspiration back of them. The 
quality which distinguishes them from all other photo- 
plays is undefinable — a something possessed by Miss 
Lawrence, and Miss Lawrence ^______ 

alone — which demands and riv- 
ets the attention. 

The space of years since 
Miss Lawrence began are / /A 
the years in which the 
motion picture industry 
has grown up. Today, 
it is the fourth largest . ; 
industry in the world, j 
and as I have shown, I 
Florence Lawrence b 
has been in it dur- \ 
ing all that time. 
Of her experiences, ■;'< 

She was an Errant Little 
Tomboy and Quite Irresist- 
ible in the Lubin Film, "An 
American Girl" 






Florence Lawrence is One of the 

Few Motion Picture Actresses 

Who Seem Perfectly at Home 

in Either Drama or Comedy 



/ 



/ 



V 



her work, the people 
she knew, and the 
events which transpired, 
she will tell you herself 
much better than I can. 
Miss Lawrence was born 
in Hamilton, Ontario, Can- 
ada, and began her stage 
career when three years old. 
Her mother, Lotta Lawrence, 
was an actress, and as leading 
lady of the Lawrence Dra- 
photo by is.uig!, Ncm r»rk matic Company, was com- 

One of a Series of Uncommonly pe Hed to take "Baby Flor- 
Attractive Photographs Taken of 

Miss Lawrence in 1913, Just ence" with her on her tours. 
^ac S t he to H l d ppe?rrviSor Though I say she began her 
Photoplays stage career at three she 

actually graced the footlights when not yet a year old, 
being carried on all wrapped in a fluffy blanket in most 
of the stock plays given by Mrs. Lawrence's repertoire 
players. 

But it was at the ago of three that she made her 
debut as a player of real parts and as an entertainer 
between the acts. "Down in the Shady Dell" was one 
of her favorite songs. She also learned to dance, and 
would come out on the stage while her mother was 
doing a song and dance specialty and assist her. The 
audience would see the child come on and think it an 



36 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



error, until she joined her mother and began 
to mimic her steps, and then a storm of 
cheers and applause would always follow. 

"Baby Florence, the Child Wonder," was 
a name she gained at this early age. Though 
her mother did not encourage her to do 
stage work, she did not . oppose her, and 
"Little Flo" seemed to delight in contriving 
ways which would necessitate her appear- 
ance before an audience. She would insist 
upon being "property" and when the curtain 
was raised for the first act, she would be 
discovered occupying the center of the stage, 
intensely interested in some book she had 
found about the theatre, though just able to 
say three letters of the alphabet. The play- 
ers who came on would either have to dis- 
regard her entirely or pretend she was really 
a character in the play. 

Mrs. Lawrence found it necessary to make 
up parts for "Baby Florence" in nearly every 
play or else she would be very bad and 
horrid and cry just outside the wings during 
the progress of the performance. It was a 
hard matter to keep her in her mother's 
dressing room. But this fact was just an 
early demonstration of her desire to become 
a great actress, for she would watch the 
actors and actresses from the wings night 
after night and later, they would discover 
her mimicking them. 

The Lawrence Dramatic Company made 
several tours of the United States. From 
the time that "Little Flo" was big enough 
to walk across the stage she appeared before 
a huge public. Little Lord Fauntleroy was 
one of her parts, and she played it almost 
a hundred times. But she preferred doing 
specialty "stunts" to playing roles, and at 
six years of age scored heavily by singing 
"Come Help Me Tie My Shoe-String," a 
song which was written especially for her 
by one of her mother's friends. From baby- 
hood, she evidenced a liking for anything 
which provoked laughter. She learned to 
wink at her audience the very first time she 
ever appeared on the stage alone. 

The repertoire company gave many per- 
formances of pathetic plays like "East 
Lynne," and "Dora Thome," and these 
seemed to depress "Little Flo" to such an 
extent that she would often cry herself to 
sleep. She told her mother that she didn't 
think they ought to make people cry, be- 
cause people didn't feel good when they 
cried. The incident so affected Mrs. Law- 
rence that from then on the more pathetic 



plays were almost entirely dropped from 
their work. 

And even today when Miss Lawrence 
enacts what, in studio parlance, is known as 
a sob scene, she sheds real tears, and be- 
comes so worked up over her part that she 
makes it vitally real, even though it is at 
considerable emotional cost to herself. An 
atmosphere of reality pervades the entire 
studio, affecting everyone from the leading 
man to the property boys, and real tears 
flow freely. Such scenes frequently grip 
Miss Lawrence for several days, affecting 
her to such an extent that she is unable to 
work. Her director will never permit her 
to appear in a death-bed scene. 

It was only recently that Miss Lawrence 
read a pitifully real story about a young 
girl who became a "dope" fiend. It had a 
tremendous effect on her and a few days 
later she asked that the story be purchased 
and scenarioized that she might portray the 
role of the unfortunate girl, thus bringin.3 
the curse of cocaine and morphine vividly 
before the public. 

Her director had observed how intensely 
Miss Lawrence had studied the character, 
and how strongly she believed she could 
portray the role so as to stir up public feel- 
ing, but he feared nervous prostration might 
result from her attempting the part, and 
so he objected strenuously, finally banish- 
ing the whole matter from her mind by 
interesting her in a rollicking comedy 
drama — the sort which portrays a romantic 
young maid as a desperate flirt, snubbing 
the suitor she loves best that she may make 
up with him later — and it appealed to her 
whimsical nature more strongly than did 
the "dope" story to her serious side. At 
least the comedy won. 

"But if I hadn't had that comedy story at 
my finger tips she would have brooded over 
that unfortunate girl of the fiction story until 
she had had her way," the director told me. 

"Little Flo's" education was not slighted 
because her mother was an actress. Mrs. 
Lawrence, while not objecting to her daugh- 
ter's being on the stage, feared she might 
form an intense dislike for school. Nor did 
she believe that "Flo" would be content to 
be away from her mother while attending 
school. Though still heading -her own reper- 
toire company, Mrs. Lawrence moved from 
Hamilton, Ont., while her daughter was still 
very young, going to Buffalo, New York, 
where her daughter took up her studies quite 



GROWING UP WITH THE MOVIES 



37 




for her during the mother's absence. ' Also, there was 
two older brothers to look out for "Flo," but her 
mother says she never needed anyone to look out 
for her. 

It was indeed surprising to the mother to 

note that from the time Florence entered the 

primary grade she was a most apt pupil, and 

would pore over her books at night until 

she had completed all of her lessons for the 

following day. In spite of her studious 

nature, she was slightly aggravating to her 

teachers. She liked to throw paper wads, 

whisper, make faces behind the teacher's 

back, and perpetrate all the other innocent 



In a Recent Victor Release, "A Sin- 
gular Cynic," She Did a Light Comedy 
Part to Perfection 



like any other child. Miss 
Lawrence lived with her 
mother a part of the time, 
relatives and friends caring 



Last Winter the Victor Company 
Worked in the Adirondacks for Several 
Weeks WhereMiss Lawrence "Roughed 
It" with the Enthusiasm of a 14 Year 
Old 





She Loves to Play the Part of a Mother. The Scene Shown 
Here is from a Picture Called "The Influence of Sympathy*' 



misdemeanors of school rooms. She was full 
of life and animation, and at times would 
endeavor to endear herself to her teachers, 
only to display suddenly a stubbornness as 
impregnable as the rock of Gibraltar. She 
was vivacious and sprightly, and beloved of 
her classmates because she was constantly 
making them laugh. 

When it came to the holiday programs 
which consisted in the recital of verses, and 
the singing of songs, "Little Flo" was always 
the chief entertainer. Though she did not 
assume the serious task of helping to arrange 
the programs, she did, in a most matter of 
fact way, take a big part, and help her girl 
friends. Her teachers knew better than to 
try to dictate just what "Flo" should do, as 
she always selected her own speeches and 
songs many days ahead and informed her 
teacher of her plans. Frequently she would 
recite her speech or sing her song in advance. 



38 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



"Curfew Shall Not Ring Tonight!" was one 
of her favorites. If her audience applauded 
she would respond with an encore, with 
charming enthusiasm. 

Miss Lawrence passed her girlhood in the 
city of Buffalo, and graduated from school 
No.' 10 on Delaware avenue. Immediately 
following the completion of her school course 
she returned to the stage, remaining before 
the footlights until h~.' mother closed with 
her repertoire company, when she took up 
motion picture work. 

The mother of Florence Lawrence was 
one of the best actresses of her day, and 
though distinctly inclined to do comedy, she 
did some of her best work as a portrayer 
of more serious roles. She was most versa- 
tile, and as leading lady of her own company 
which produced all sorts of plays, comedy, 
drama, melodrama and tragedy, she had 
played no less than five hundred different 
roles. She proved a real artist when it 
came to making up for a character such as 
an old hag, a "painted lady" or a stern New 
England mother. 

Fortune was not kind to Mrs. Lotta 
Lawrence, and it was a struggle for her to 
care for her two sons and "Little Flo" until 
they could care for themselves. Of recent 
years she has been fortunate. She has 
turned business woman and deals in real 
estate and farm lands. She has invested 
wisely, and has profited through the develop- 
ment of the mineral resources of certain 
sections of Canada. She resides near To- 
ronto, visiting her daughter at New York 
and at her New Jersey farm several months 
every year. 

"When Florence was just a tiny girl," says 
the mother, "she told Daniel Sully, the well 
known actor manager, that she was going to 
become a famous actress when she grew up. 
She was sincere about it too. 

" 'Then you must be my leading woman,' 
said Mr. Sully, to which the child agreed. 
She was hardly four years old at the time. 

"Florence has always been very ambitious, 
and she has always striven for something 
high and good. As a girl she displayed 
such indomitable ambition that I did not 
doubt for a minute but that she would be- 
come a really famous actress. When she 
took up motion picture work I was inclined 
to frown upon the work. Now I am glad 
she did, though my mind was then set on 
having her follow the stage as a career after 
she had convinced me that she would never 



be satisfied with any other kind of life. I 
am what some people term an actress of the 
old school, and even today, am inclined to 
think that much that occurred in my day 
was far superior to present practice, but 
still I am convinced that it is now possible 
for one to gain a greater fame in the motion 
picture field than ever was or is possible on 
the stage." 

One's first meeting with Florence Law- 
rence is in the nature of a readjustment, 
but it is none the less refreshing. One 
rather expects to find a somewhat larger, 
more mature person than is Miss Lawrence. 
Yet at the same time you almost imagine 
her stepping right out of the screen toward 
you. 

The little lady herself is wont to place a 
wrong construction upon the attitude of her 
friends when they first meet her, for she 
always feels that people are disappointed 
in her. 

Disappointment, on the contrary, is the 
last feeling to which anyone is open, for 
she is all that the camera represents her to 
be and more. All the spontaneity and nat- 
ural charm are there in flesh and blood, and 
she proves quite the living ideal of those 
who have ever admired her from afar. She 
is a very straightforward little person, like 
a delicate piece of Dresden china in ap- 
pearance, with much spirit and animation 
thrown in. After meeting and talking with 
her one feels that he has not only met and 
talked with America's foremost moving pic- 
ture actress, but also, that he has met a 
woman of brilliant attainments, one who is 
amply fitted to become a leader in the gigan- 
tic world tasks about us. 

FLORENCE LAWRENCE TAKES UP THE 
STORY 

Before I had ever acted in front of a 
moving picture camera I had witnessed only 
a very few dramatic pictures. Most of the 
film plays I had seen prior to my initial 
work for the Thomas A. Edison Company 
were travelogues, chase-comedies, and im- 
possible pictures like that of an engine 
climbing over mountains and house-tops, for 
instance. 

These were just short length subjects. 
Also, there were then a great many pictures 
of very commonplace happenings; a boot- 
black shining a pair of shoes, a horse eating 
hay, or a man kissing his wife. I do not 



GROWING UP WITH THE MOVIES 



39 




The First Edison Studio, Likewise the First Motion Picture 

Studio in the United States. Built on a Truck so that it 

could be Moved about with Facility. Courtesy, Thomas 

A. Edison 



mean that all the moving pictures of eight 
years ago were of this sort, but that the bulk 
of those I had witnessed were. 

I do recall seeing a photoplay in which the 
late Joseph Jefferson appeared as "Rip Van 
Winkle," another portraying the life of a 
New York City fireman, several comedies of 
very short length which ridiculed the New. 
York City police force, and still another 
called "Moonshiners." I have since learned 
that the last named picture was the first 
dramatic picture play to be produced in the 
United States. 

It seems strange to rue that I did not see 
"The Great Train Robbery" which was pro- 
duced by the Edison Company, as I have 
since read that it was one of the very first 
pictures ever made which was one thousand 
feet in length, and also, that it was the 
strongest dramatic picture available for al- 
most a year. Even today I have never seen 
that picture. 

To me, in those days, motion pictures were 
quite a novelty. In theatrical circles in New 
York it was said that a company known as 
the American Mutoscope and Biograph Corn- 



Edwin S. Porter, the Edison Company's Manager of Neg- 
ative Production at the Time "Daniel Boone" was Produced 

pany was anxious to secure actors and 
actresses to appear in five minute sketches 
which they were photographing. Prints were 
made from the films, which were cut apart 
and pasted on flexible cards. These were 
then placed in consecutive order so as to 
make continuous action when riffled, and 
fastened in a circular holder. There are 
thousands of people who will recall the five- 
cent slot machine which showed moving pic- 
tures — just little acts, in which all the action 
took place in one room or in one spot. At 



40 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



that time these machines were very popular, 
and even today I see them at amusement 
parks, i 

A girl friend was turned down when she 
endeavored to secure work from the manu- 
facturers of the slot machine movies, though 
she was one of the few really worth while 
actresses not then engaged. She was told 
that nobody would be needed for some time. 
Two or three days later I heard that this 
same company was engaged in making sev- 
eral big plays. (A thousand foot subject 
was listed as big play at that time.) Though 
I wanted work, I didn't try at the Biograph 
studio since my friend had met with such 
an absolute refusal. 

The first skylight motion picture studio in 
the United States was built by the Edison 
Company, high up on the roof of an office 
building at 41 East Twenty-first street. 
Though quite young, the Edison Company 
were then the oldest picture producers in 
America. Their first studio looked for all 
the world like a "Black Maria," being a 
movable box-house which was hauled around 
from place to place, and which I once saw 
over in Bronx Park several years after it 
had been discarded. 

My mother heard that Mr. Edwin S. Por- 
ter, then the chief producer and manager at 
the Edison studio on Twenty-first street, 
was engaging people to appear in an his- 
torical play. I decided to see him at once. 
My mother accompanied me to the studio. 

The news of intended activity on the part 
of the Edison people must have been pretty 
generally known, for there were some twenty 
or thirty actors and actresses ahead of us 
that cold December morning. I think it was 
on December 27th, 1906. At least it was 
during the holidays. Everybody was trying 
to talk to Mr. Porter at one time, and a 
Mr. Wallace McCutcheon, who was directing 
Edison pictures under Mr. Porter, was finger- 
ing three or four sheets of paper, which I 
found later were the' scenario. 

Mr. Porter and Mr. McCutcheon conferred 
together and Mr. Porter announced that only 
twelve people were needed for the entire 
cast, and that some of these had been en- 
gaged. He next read off some notes he had 
made during his conference with Mr. Mc- 
Cutcheon, about as follows: 

One character man who can make up to 
look like Daniel Boone. 

One character man to play Daniel Boone's 
companion. 



One middle aged woman to play Mrs. 
Daniel Boone. 

Two young girls about sixteen years old 
to play Daniel Boone's daughters. 

One young girl who can make up like an 
Indian maid. 

Six men who can make up as Indians. 

The parts of Daniel Boone, his companion, 
the Indian maid and a couple of the blood- 
thirsty savages, he announced, had been 
filled. That left the parts of Mrs. Boone, the 
two Boone girls, and four Indians open. As 
I remember, Col. Cody's Buffalo Bill show 
was then in New York City and the people 
selected to play the parts he announced as 
"filled" were from the show. 

Mr. McCutcheon looked at me, then at 
Mr. Porter, and I was told that I was en- 
gaged as one of Daniel Boone's daughters. 
I must have said something to mother al- 
most instantaneously, for one of the men, 
I forget which, asked, "Is this your mother?" 
I replied that she was, and Mr. Porter there- 
upon engaged her to play the part of Mrs. 
Daniel Boone. 

Our names and addresses were taken and 
we were told "that was all" for the time 
being, and that we would be notified when 
to report at the studio. We were to receive 
five dollars a day for every day that we 
worked. 

There was none in the cast who knew the 
title of the play until we reported for work 
on January 3, 1907. At this stage of the 
motion picture industry the producers were 
very secretive about such matters. "Daniel 
Boone; or, Pioneer Days in America," was 
announced as the name of the play. Wn 
began work on the exterior scenes first. 

Besides mother and myself, others who 
were playing principal roles were Susanna 
Willis, and Mr. and Mrs. William Craver. 
Mr. Porter and Mr. McCutcheon were the 
directors. It was during the production of 
this picture that I learned that the photo- 
play, "Moonshiners," "which I had witnessed 
some three or four years previously was the 
first dramatic moving picture ever made in 
America, and that Mr. McCutcheon was the 
man who directed it. 

All of the exterior scenes for the Daniel 
Boone picture were photographed in Bronx 
Park. As one of Boone's daughters I was 
required to escape from the Indian camp 
and dash madly into the forest, ride through 
streams and shrubbery, until I came upon 
Daniel Boone's companion. As a child I 



GROWING UP WITH THE MOVIES 



41 



was fond of horses and had always prided 
myself on being able to handle them, but the 
horse hired by Mr. Porter was evidently of 
a wilder breed than the ones I knew. I 
couldn't do anything with him, and he ran 
off no less than five times during the two 
weeks we were making the exterior scenes. 
I was not thrown once, however. 

During all this time the thermometer 
stood at zero. We kept a bonfire going 
most of the time, and after rehearsing a 
scene, would have to warm ourselves before 
the scene could be done again for the cam- 
era. Sometimes we would have to wait for 
two or three hours for the sun to come out 
or to get it just right for the taking of a scene 
which required certain effects. The camera 
was also a bother, being a great clumsy 
affair. 

One afternoon we didn't pay sufficient at- 
tention to the bonfire and permitted it to 
spread. The fire department had to be called 
out to prevent its burning and ruining all 
the trees in the park. While beating the 
blaze away from a tree Mr. Porter discovered 
a man who had committed suicide by hang- 
ing himself, probably while we were work- 
ing on the picture: We did not do any 
further work that day. 

All the interior scenes were made at the 
Edison studio, on the roof, where the stage 
space would accommodate but one set. We 
could only work while there was sunlight, 
as arc lamps had not then been thought of 
as an aid to motion picture photography. 
Three weeks were required to complete the 
picture. 

When I witnessed the finished production 
as it was flashed on the screen about six 
weeks later I was very indignant. In one 
scene I was shown crossing a log over a 
stream, and wearing shoes witli high heels. 
Just think of the situation! Daniel Boone's 
daughter wearing high-heeled shoes! Why, 



in those days girls were fortunate indeed 
if they possessed a pair of moccasins. Not- 
withstanding its many defects, the picture 
"went" and was a huge success. The public 
did not demand perfection in those days. 

By reference to my scrap book wherein I 
have preserved a bulletin and synopsis of 
the picture as issued by the Edison Manu- 
facturing Company, I find that it was listed 
as a "Class A" production, was one thousand 
feet in length, and that positive prints com- 
manded the princely sum of one hundred and 
fifteen dollars, or fifteen cents a foot. Few 
films sell for that amount nowadays, ten 
cents a foot being the standard price. At 
that time the business office of the Edison 
Manufacturing Company was located at 31 
Union Square, New York City. 

Now that I was a moving picture actress, 
or rather, that I considered myself one, I 
began to take an interest in moving pictures, 
and I soon learned that there were many 
different brands of film besides the Edison 
and the Biograph. I witnessed Vitagraph 
and Lubin pictures which were as good as 
the Edison picture in which I worked. 
Pathe Freres and Melies films also were 
shown in New York City in 1907. 

I began to see how other actresses looked, 
and I studied their work, particularly those 
who appeared in - Pathe Freres pictures, 
which were made in France. So were the 
Melies films, but these were trick comedies. 
I arrived at the conclusion that I would try 
to become a regularly employed motion pic- 
ture actress, and when I informed my 
mother of my intentions, she laughed. 

"Why, Florence, you won't make enough 
to pay for the shoe leather you will wear 
out in looking for work," she said, and dis- 
couraged the idea. 

But my mind was made up. I liked the 
work, and I positively did not feel that the 
motion picture play was beneath me. 



^HHE second installment of "Qrowing Up With the Movies" will ap- 
X pear in the December PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE, which will be 
for sale on all news stands November 10th. In that installment we will 
learn of the early trials of Florence Lawrence, and Florence Turner as 
well, of the secrecy surrounding the Vitagraph studio in 1 907, and how 
"Little Flo" was substituted for Florence Turner when David W. Qriffilh 
sent far Miss Turner. 



A Lovely Elaine 

Meets a 

Modern Sir Launcelot 



"The Girl of 
the Locks" 

By Marion Short 

Illustrations from the Lubin Film 




GERALDINE FAIR was in exceeding 
high spirits as the motor yacht en- 
tered the canal that morning. She 
knew she looked her hest in the modish 
white and blue costume she was wearing, 
and besides she was the only young woman 
in the party, and two of the young men 
on board were in love with her. What girl 
could ask for a more charming combination 
of circumstances than that? 

Geraldine had the habit of flirting quite 
openly with young John Case, society man 
and star polo player, who was the guest of 
her fiance — the boat's owner — for Harold 
Bond had entire faith in her and was even a 
bit proud of her power over other men. 
Sometimes he was a bit too complacent, she 
thought, and it piqued her. This morning 
42 



his eyes wandered along the wooded shores 
of the canal as if in a sort of pleasant dream. 

"First thing you know, Harold, you'll be 
asleep!" she rallied him. "Then we'll feel 
so insulted we'll be obliged to put you over- 
board." 

"All right," he drawled back, lazily, "the 
water's fine, and I haven't had a swim for 
a week." 

"A picture is forming in his mind — that's 
what ails him," Geraldine confided to the 
other members of the party, "and I rather 
dread the outcome, for when he once gets 
started on one, he becomes an impossible 
hermit until it is finished." 

"You're right, Jerry," acknowledged Harold 
Bond with a sigh, "I'm aching- to put a bit 
of this scene on canvas. All it lacks is a 



'THE GIRL OF THE LOCKS' 



43 



central figure, a sort of woodland nymph — " 

Geraldine interrupted, laughingly, "Oh, 
then I shan't offer my personal services as 
model as I was thinking of doing! Nymphs 
wear such old-fashioned costumes." 

Her lover looked at her with admiring but 
critical eyes. 

"I can't imagine anything more different 
from your up-to-date personality than the 
unconventional and rather pathetic little 
figure that is trying to induce me to put her 
on to canvas. But she's all in a haze as yet. 
I wish she'd either make herself clear to 
me or leave me altogether — she's a torment 
when she eludes me like this." 

"Great Scott!" suddenly ejaculated young 
Porter, another occupant of the boat. "Do 
I or do I not behold the person of Rip Van 
Winkle come to life?" 

They all followed the direction of his 
pointing finger. A stoop-shouldered old man 
with flowing white beard and shaggy eye- 
brows stood peering at them from the land- 
ing a short distance ahead. 

"Oh, he's the keeper of the locks," ex- 
plained Case, the only one familiar with the 
course they were following to get back to 
the river. "He's a queer old codger, deaf 
and dumb, and grumpy. He works the gate- 



levers at the locks, but the girl does all the 
bargaining. There she comes out of that 
boat-house now!" 

"Why, the poor little creature!" exclaimed 
Geraldine, pityingly. "She must be in her 
teens somewhere, but look at her hair hang- 
ing down her back — look at her poor little 
bare feet!" 

"Why, she's the exact type I want — the 
figure that's been haunting me!" exclaimed 
Bond, excitedly. "Gad, Case, what a piece 
of luck that you suggested our taking this 
canal! Else I'd have missed her. She be- 
longs here as much as the water and the 
trees and the sky — she's a part of it all! 
If I can only get my picture on to canvas 
as I see it now, with that girl in the fore- 
ground, it will be my masterpiece! 'The Girl 
of the Locks,' that's what I shall call it — 
there could be no other name." 

"Calm down, Harold," advised Case. "The 
old man looks with suspicion at any man 
that even speaks to the girl. He'll never let 
you put her into a picture, I can tell you 
that." 

Bond scarcely seemed to hear him. 
Bringing the boat to the landing, he stepped 
out, his sketch-book already in his hand, and 
arranged for the yacht to proceed, then as 




Bringing the Boat to the Landing. He Stepped Out, His Sketch Book Already in His Hand 



44 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



the girl walked away with her father, talk- 
ing to him in the sign language, he turned 
and addressed Geraldine. 

"I am going to stay right here to make 
my preliminary sketches, if I have to go 
without food or sleep, and it takes a week 
of skirmishing to do it. Did you notice the 
girl's coloring, her unstudied grace? Take 
the party on up to Mother's, Geraldine, and 
when you get there, explain to her won't 
you, why I am detained?" 

But the brightness had gone from Ger- 
aldine's arch countenance. 

"Why not find out at once whether they 
will let you make the sketches? If they re- 
fuse, as Mr. Case thinks they will, you might 
as well stay with us even if we are such 
poor company." 
. A pout puckered her full red lips. 

"I am sorry to desert you, Jerry," he said 
conciliatingly, "but this is the chance of a 
lifetime. Surely you realize how I feel about 
it. It would be sacrilege to miss an oppor- 
tunity like this. You understand, girl, don't 
you?" 

Geraldine, spoiled, selfish, ungenerous as 
she was, could but see his earnestness and 
sincerity, and knew that she must yield. So 
she did it as she did almost everything, 
charmingly, waving a gracious farewell to 
the artist as the boat moved away. 

Case smiled as he watched her, but his 
expression was not pleasant. The lock- 
keeper's daughter was unreasonably and dis- 
tractingly pretty. It would be a sort of sat- 
isfaction to arouse Geraldine's jealousy and 
give Bond some uncomfortable moments, 
even if no more came of it! He knew that 
Geraldine, underneath her surface affability, 
was capable of violent anger and quick re- 
taliation when her pride was touched. He 
had been Geraldine's most favored admirer 
when Bond came upon the scene and ousted 
him from that position. He had never yet 
lost the hope that some day their respective 
situations might be again reversed. 

"By jove, how Bond's eyes lit up when he 
saw the little blonde!" he exclaimed thought- 
fully. "If one didn't know positively that 
it was simply his artistic appreciation of 
beauty, and that he is the slave of a lady 
still more beautiful, it would seem quite 
like love at first sight." 

Strangely enough, it was through Steve 
Hart, the young boatman engaged to the 
lockkeeper's daughter, that the artist was 
able to bring about the arrangement for 



painting the picture. The youth was much 
flattered and impressed that the girl he had 
chosen for his bride should be considered 
so beautiful by a great artist from the out- 
side world. He translated Bond's wishes to 
the girl's father, and proved to him that it 
was a business proposition which would add 
generously to his scanty income. The artist, 
while he made preliminary sketches, sent for 
canvas and art materials, and soon the big 
painting was under way. 

"How did you come to be named Elaine?" 

The model, after an hour's posing, had 
sunk down to rest on a rock which cast its 
shadow into the smooth flowing waters of 
the canal. It seemed to the artist as if her 
beauty somehow ripened strangely with the 
passing of each day, a sort of blossoming 
of both soul and body. 

"It was my mother's choice," she said. 
"Mother was different from Dad. He has 
never cared for books and education, but 
Mother did. All the books I have, once be- 
longed to her. I wouldn't be so ignorant, 
and — and — dowdy as I am now, if she had 
only lived." She gave a little sigh. "There's 
a girl named Elaine in one of Tennyson's 
poems. Mother named me after her. Elaine 
cared for somebody that didn't care for her, 
and broke her heart and died. on account of 
it." She flushed a sudden, embarrassed red. 
"But, of course, you know all that without 
my telling you. Steve doesn't know, and 
I'm so used to explaining about books to 
him, I forgot for a minute that you were 
different." 

It was a pleasure to Bond to hear the girl 
talk. There was such a play of expression 
over her delicate features as she did so — 
a wistful, underlying yearning for "some- 
thing better than she had known," which he 
was most anxious to catch and imprison for 
artistic uses. So, as he sketched, he drew 
her into guileless revelations of her life and 
thoughts. He perceived that her engagement 
to Steve was something she had acceded to 
largely to please her father, and that the 
youth himself had not for a moment sounded 
the deeps of the girl's nature. For there 
were deeps he knew — fascinating, terrible 
deeps which would change the dreaming girl 
one day into a palpitating, awakened woman, 
crying out for love and all its ecstasies and 
agonies — and crying perhaps in vain! 

"Elaine!" he mused, "strange that she 
should have been named Elaine. She might 
be a reincarnation of the Lily Maid of Asto- 



"THE GIRL OF THE LOCKS" 



45 




The Old Lockkeeper Saw the Struggle and Came to Her Aid. Dumbly His Eyes Rested 



on Steve's Determined Face 



lat, if the lily maid herself had been any- 
thing but a figment of the poet's brain, tor 
there is a look in her eyes as if already she 
had seen Sir Launcelot, and half sensed the 
tragedy of hopeless love." 

The picture had progressed famously when 
one day Steve came upon the girl sitting on 
the edge of the outdoor platform on which 
the easel stood. She was looking at a bit 
of paper in her hand — one of the artist's 
first, unfinished sketches of "The Girl of 
the Locks." 

Steve drew in a wondering breath as he 
looked at her. A strange uneasy thrill ran 
through him. She did not seem like the 
same girl who, in the first days of their 
betrothal, had accepted his caresses so 
gently and yieldingly. There was a differ- 
ence in her manner — a difference that seemed 
to put barriers as of wood and stone between 
them. He, too, had noticed the strange new 
beauty that had so enthralled the artist, but 
the seeing did not please him. In some 
way, instead, it made him half afraid. 

Coming closer to her now, he saw the 
picture in her hand. On the back of it she 
had penciled a name many times over. In 
his brusque though kindly way, Steve 



reached out his hand for it, but Elaine 
hastily thrust it behind her. A vivid flush 
stained the pearl-pale oval of her cheek. 

"What's wrong, my girl?" asked Steve, 
amazed and hurt. "There's no harm in 
letting me see what it was you were writing 
as I came up, is there? You and I haven't 
got any secrets from each other. At least 
we shouldn't have, pledged to marry as we 
are." 

"Pledged — to — marry!" The girl repeated 
the words wonderingly, fearfully, as if Just 
now they had come to her with a new mean- 
ing. "Oh, Steve, we mustn't be pledged any 
more! I didn't know what I was doing when 
I told you and Dad I was willing to marry 
you. I — I — " 

She paused, looking piteously up at him 
as if hoping that somehow he would under- 
stand and help her to go on. 

A flame of agonizing jealousy convulsed 
Steve's frame as he listened, the veins of 
his forehead grew purple and swollen. Then 
his face became ashen, and he trembled from 
head to foot. All this before he spoke. 

"You're talking wild, Elaine," he said, con- 
trolling his voice by a mighty effort. "You 
did know, and your father knew, and I knew 



46 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



that your place was with me, by my side for 
life. What's come over you to make you say 
such things to me?" 

He reached behind her and tore the paper 
from her hand, feeling that what she had 
written might prove the key to her strange 
conduct. But all he saw was an unfamiliar 
name — a name that sounded like some of 
the story-book things she liked to talk about, 
and that he listened to for love of her. 

" 'Sir Launcelot, " he read. "Why have you 
written 'Sir Launcelot' so many times? And 
why did you want to hide it from me? Who 
is 'Sir Launcelot?'" 

"He was a man in a poem," she said. "A 
girl named Elaine loved him so much that 
she died because he did not love her back." 

"Well," Steve said, with a sigh of relief, 
"I'm glad he isn't someone who is alive and 
real, because I would think it was on his 
account you wanted to break your pledge 
to me. But so long as it's only a story- 
book notion — " He laughed in glad relief 
and sank down on the platform beside her. 
"Give me a kiss, dearie," he said, "I'm 
hungry for the feel of your lips." 

But she slid from his arms like a shadow, 
and stood before him breathless. 

"Don't you ever try to kiss me again, 
Steve — it's all over." 

She tore off the ring he had given her, 
and when he refused it, dropped it in the 
grass at his feet. 

"I can't ever marry you, Stevie. It would 
be wrong, wicked, when I know now that I 
never really loved you." 

"What gave you that knowledge?" he de- 
manded, fiercely. He got to his feet. "Who 
gave it to you?" 

She did not answer, but involuntarily her 
eyes of shadowy blue traveled toward the 
canvas which stood half covered on its easel. 
It was only for a fleeting moment that they 
rested there, but that moment was enough. 
Steve started back with a cry. 

"You love him — that painter — you're break- 
ing your heart over him — like that other 
Elaine over Sir Launcelot! Now I under- 
stand. Elaine! Elaine! He doesn't love 
you — he never could love you like me. He's 
pledged to another girl. He told me so when 
I first let him know I was going to marry 
you. We'll stop all this picture painting 
right now. He sha'n't have any more excuse 
for hanging around Neck o' Woods — he 
sha'n't come between you and me! I'll 
kill him first." 



He seized a pole lying near him on the 
ground, and started threateningly toward the 
picture, but Elaine threw herself between 
him and the canvas, grasping the end of the 
pole nearest her, and holding it back with 
preternatural strength. The old lockkeeper 
saw the struggle and came to her aid. 
Dumbly his eyes rested with both question 
and reproof upon Steve's determined face. 
Controlling himself at last, Steve cast the 
pole away, and moved dejectedly toward the 
boathouse. 

He was still there an hour later when the 
artist returned in a skiff from a sketching 
trip. Evidently, the day's work pleased him, 
for he whistled a lively tune as he pitched 
the portfolio of sketches upon a sandy strip 
of beach, and prepared to tie up his boat. 

Prom the little window at the far end 
of the boathouse, Steve watched him with 
brooding, revengeful eyes. He would speak 
to him presently, he told himself, and put 
a stop to his visits in future. Suddenly he 
clenched his fists, and gave a smothered 
moan. Elaine was coming toward the land- 
ing. Her cheeks glowed like the petals of 
a wild rose, and her eyes were radiant and 
smiling. The very sight of the man she 
loved, Steve perceived, was enough to make 
her forget everything else but that it was 
happiness to be near him. Her wonderful 
gold hair caught the glint of the sun, and 
the ripples of her scant skirt, fluttering in 
the breeze, disclosed the perfect outlines of 
her slim young body. As she drew nearer, 
Bond, obeying a sudden thoughtless impulse, 
thrust his fingers through the thick masses 
of her crinkly hair, and held them out wide 
from her head, and then, because her pure 
young forehead was very near, he stooped 
and kissed her. To the man, it meant nothing 
but a moment's aesthetic pleasure, to the 
girl, it was the first kiss of the man she 
adored. 

It was Steve's harsh voice that shattered 
the magical moment. 

"So that's what you came here for, eh? 
To make a fool out of her, and steal her 
away from me?" 

"Steve!" Elaine's voice was scarcely louder 
than a whisper, but the- appeal in it — the 
appeal for mercy, to his rival — was so strong 
that it fairly maddened him. He clenched 
his fists threateningly. "Now you get out of 
here, and never come near Neck o' Woods 
again ! " 

Bond, aghast at the mischief he had 



"THE GIRL OF THE LOCKS" 



47 




Steve , 



Seized Him by 



the Throat and Forced Him Back against the Prow 
Lock Keeper Stayed His Hand 



but the Hoarse Warning of the Old 



wrought, attempted to explain to the mad- 
dened young boatman that he had meant no 
harm, but before the words had formed on 
his lips, Steve, a piece of driftwood in his 
hand, started toward him. On Elaine's ac- 
count, and also because the fate of his 
precious picture was at stake, Bond, attempt- 
ing to avoid an open fight with the enraged 
boy, jumped into the boat. But Steve in- 



stantly clambered into the skiff after him, 
seized him by the throat, and forced him 
backward against the prow. In another mo- 
ment his stout weapon would have descended 
upon the head of the defenseless artist, but 
the hoarse warning of the old lockkeeper 
stayed his hand, and made him realize that 
the course lie was taking might only rendsr 
the breach between him and Elaine wider. 



48 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



The girl rather surprised her boatman 
lover the next day, by accepting meekly the 
statement that she could not be permitted 
again to pose for the artist, even though, as 
Bond had tried to explain in a final effort to 
set himself right with Steve, to stop now 
would mean the ruin of the master effort of 
his life. 

Late that night, the artist, sitting on the 
piazza of his beautiful river home, and un- 



so glad I did! I brought the picture, and I 
want to stay here until it is finished, for I 
know how terrible it would be if you had 
to give it up. It was the only way I knew 
of, that I could help you, and now you can 
work without anything to hinder." 

By this time, Bond had led her to the 
chair beside him. 

"Mother!" he shouted, through an open 
window. "Come out here. I want to in- 




Everyone Remarked on the Piquant Contrast between the Fair Young Guest in Gauze and Lace and Her Fainted Counterpart 



utterably disgruntled over the mishaps of the 
day, was startled to see a slender little figure, 
in odd, old-fashioned attire, suddenly appear 
on the moonlit lawn before him. 

"Elaine!" he cried in surprise. "Why, 
what's the matter, little girl? Why have 
you come here?" 

"To bring your picture," she answered 
tremulously. "I was afraid something might 
happen to it, so I climbed out of the window 
after Dad went to sleep, and took it from 
the easel and brought it down to my boat. 
I wasn't sure I could find you, but, oh, I am 



troduce you to the best little friend I have 
on earth!" He turned and took Elaine's 
cold hands, and stroked them into warmth. 
"You are a trump, little girl, to have done 
this for me. I can never tell you how grate- 
ful I am." 

When Mrs. Bond, fair and gracious, 
emerged from the house, the artist, fully ex- 
plaining her presence and her mission, 
placed Elaine in her motherly care. 

The second day after the girl's arrival, 
Geraldine came and demanded that she be 
sent away at once, and the picture aban- 



'THE GIRL OF THE LOCKS" 



49 




■ /: f^vwrri ;• Tnrsii»»*ats':*.'*XK8>:: 






He Held Her Until the Doctor Game and the Word the Doctor Whispered Made His Heart Grow Cold 



doned. She had brought with her a letter, un- 
couth and ill-spelled, sent her by the desperate 
and frantic Steve. In it, he flatly accused 
the artist of the betrayal of his absent 
sweetheart. In vain did Bond endeavor to 
explain Steve's accusations away. Geraldine 
still stubbornly demanded the abandonment 
of the painting, and would listen to nothing 
else. When she left the house at last, she 
had definitely broken her engagement to the 
artist, telling him he had set a square of 
canvas above the body and soul of the woman 
who had promised to be his wife. 

In the midst of his work that afternoon, 
Bond flung aside his brushes and bowed his 
face in his hands. "I can't paint any more 
to-day, Elaine," he said, hoarsely. "The girl 
I loved has thrown me over. Nothing seems 
to matter just now, not even — the picture." 

He thought his model had left the room, 
when all at once he felt the touch of a soft 
little hand upon his head, and heard the 
sound of a smothered sob. Elaine was kneel- 
ing by his side. 

"I can't bear for you to suffer like this," 
she said. "It breaks my heart — it does — it 
does!" 

Something in her voice thrilled him 



strangely. Then, looking into her revealing 
eyes, he realized for the first time that she 
loved him. His hurt pride sought solace, and 
his hurt heart, consolation. He drew the 
girl close, and covered her fair face with 
kisses. 

*T* HE weeks that followed Elaine's return 
A to Neck o' Woods, she moved about in 
a blissful dream. Already arrangements had 
been made for the exhibition of Bond's mas- 
terpiece in the studio of a well-known art 
connoisseur. So much she knew from the 
letters from Mrs. Bond. After a while, she 
told herself, the artist himself would write 
to her, and some day he would come to see 
her again, some day he would love her as 
she loved him. Even as that other Elaine 
studied and loved the shield of Launcelot, 
so she cherished the canvas bearing the dis- 
carded first draught of the painting which 
had afterwards been brought to such per- 
fect completion. 

When the night of the exhibition arrived, 
the lockkeeper's daughter, clothed in gar- 
ments of Mrs. Bond's choosing, and chap- 
eroned by that lady, arrived among the 
other invited guests. Even in such unac- 



50 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



customed surroundings, she yet bore herself 
with that sweet unconsciousness which had 
so charmed Bond at the first glimpse of her. 
The great gold-framed painting, when the 
curtain hiding it was drawn aside, provoked 
an outburst of spontaneous applause, and 
for the rest of the evening Elaine was petted 
and made much of. Everyone remarked on 
the piquant contrast between the fair young 
guest in gauze and lace, and her painted 
counterpart in rags and bare feet, not one 
of them suspecting that the girl was ap- 
pearing for the first time in the attire of 
the society world they lived in. 

A ND again Elaine returned to the little 
■*"*■" cottage near the Locks, and again she 
waited for Bond to come. He had been so 
kind to her that night of the exhibition. 
Some day, ah, how she prayed for it, he 
must surely come! 

Alas, poor Elaine! How could she know 
that even as the motor car containing her- 
self and Mrs. Bond left the studio entrance 
that night, another one came up from which 
the repentant Geraldine alighted. How 
could she know that the proud girl, careless 
of appearance, openly walked up to the artist, 
and put out her hand with a look that mutely 
asked forgiveness. 

It was Steve, who, some weeks later, first 
read in the paper that Harold Bond and 
Geraldine Pair would be married next day. 
The ceremony was to be at St. Stephen's 
beautiful church, whose green lawn, like that 
of the Bond residence next to it, sloped down 
to the river's edge. So pale had Elaine grown 
of late, so fragile and unearthly her beauty, 
that even while his heart throbbed with the 
hope of winning her again, Steve feared to 
break the news to her. Finally he left the 
paper, with the notice prominently displayed, 
and went on out of the house. In a few 
moments he heard a light foot-fall behind 
him, and turning, saw that the girl was 
following. 

"Elaine!" he cried, his heart in his 
throat, for her face bore a whiteness akin 
to death. "Elaine, dearie, don't take it like 
that!" 

"Tell dad," she said gently, with just the 
ghost of a smile on her lips, "that to-morrow 
we are to be grand folks and go to a wed- 
ding. We'll take the skiff and row down 
the river to Saint Stephen's church, and, 
soon as it is over, we'll come back again, 
and I'll never leave Neck o' Woods." 



"It is too bad, Harold," complained Mrs. 
Bond, "that you did not send Elaine an in- 
vitation to your marriage. It would have 
been such a treat to the child." 

"Perhaps," said the artist, rather curtly. 
Deep in his heart, Elaine held a sweet, secure, 
sacred little place. But she must never 
know! Geraldine must never know! He 
scarcely dared own it to himself. If she 
had come into his life before he had met 
Geraldine, then — but too late to think of 
that! With a determined set of the lips he 
shut the door of that little sacred place and 
turned the key on its wistful occupant 
forever. Loyalty claimed it. Honor de- 
manded it. 

The deaf and dumb father of Elaine waited 
there at the river bank for her to come 
forth from the church. She had kissed him 
and put grateful arms about his neck for 
bringing her, and had seemed more like 
herself than she had for weeks. Many an 
anxious night he had lain awake, thinking 
about the failing health of his beloved one. 

And so he sat and waited. 

A girl had fainted on the church steps, 
some one whispered, just as the bridal party 
emerged, and some uncanny instinct caused 
the handsome dark bridegroom to turn and 
look back. Like a broken lily Elaine lay, 
Mrs. Bond bending anxiously above. Leaving 
his bride to think what she might, the artist 
broke through the crowd surrounding that 
slender form and lifted it in his arms. He 
held her until a doctor came, and the word 
the doctor whispered made his heart cold. 

"No, no, it is not possible!" he cried, and 
then, because something in his heart told 
him that the girl herself would have wished 
it so, he carried her body down to where 
the old lockkeeper waited. 

A look, more piercing in its agony than a 
cry, crossed the face of the old man as he 
received that beloved form in his arms and 
laid her down gently in the boat before him. 

"Elaine! Elaine! My lily maid!" The 
words surged agonizingly through the brain 
of the newly made bridegroom, and then he 
raised his head and strode back, with im- 
passive face, to Geraldine. 

But her eyes were fixed, wide and horrified, 
upon the shining river. 

A boat put out from the landing. In it 
was a gray, broken old man, and the body 
of a beautiful girl. 

"And the dead, steered by the dumb, went 
upward with the flood." 




Many Sided 
Vivian Rich 



By Helen Bagg 



tennis, and rides horseback as well as any boy. Her favorite horse is 
"Copper," so called because he used to carry a mounted policeman in 

San Diego before 
he became a "Fly- 
ing A" horse. 
Since then he has 
had to do things 
that would make 
that policeman 
gasp. 

Everybody has 
to work in a mov- 
ing picture com- 
pany, even the live 
stock. "Copper" 
is on his best 
behavior, however, 
when he carries 
his dainty little 




Everyone Has Seen Vivian Rich But Everyone Has Not Heard 
Her Voice Which is as Sweet and Charming: as Her Face 



I WISH you 
could tell 
me, all you 
readers of Photo- 
play Magazine, 
who love Vivian 
Rich, just what 
you'd like best 
to know about 
her? For, you 
see, there are 

quite a few of her, and I would like so much to show them 
all to you, just as I know them, down in sleepy old Santa 
Barbara, the town of monks and Missions and moving picture 
shows. 

To begin with, I want to show you the Vivian Rich who 
keeps house with her mother and her gray cat, "Boston," 
down on Chapallo Street. They call it "keeping house," 
though it isn't a house at all, but one of those cunning 
doll-baby bungalow affairs that everybody in California 
loves'; where you can wash your hands in the kitchenette 
and reach out into the front bedroom to dry them. 

This is where Vivian Rich lives and where you'll find her, 
just a pretty, dainty girl of twenty, who likes to do all the 
things other girls do and who frankly confesses that she is 
"dance mad." You'll nearly always find a lot of young folks 
around the house, because Mrs. Rich is that kind of a mother 
— you know the sort I mean — who doesn't in the least mind if 
you want to make rarebits at an hour when rarebits are supposed 
to be fatal, and who is always ready to give "daughter's" friends 
a good time. 
Then there is the out of doors Vivian Rich, who swims, plays 




Smoking: a Cigarette v/ith a De- 
lightful Air of Braggadocio 

51 



52 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



One of the Tense and Dramatic 
Scenes from the ''Aftermath" 




their work, and how they feel when they do those awful 
things with bears and tigers and burning buildings, 
which make our hair stand on end when we watcli 
them, so I'll let Miss Rich tell'yc-u herself. 

We were riding along the beach, watching the 
bathers being bowled out by the surf. Riding 
with Vivian Rich, in Santa Barbara, has its 
exciting side, one becomes the cynosure of 
so many admiring eyes. Protty girls in bath- 
ing suits nudge each other and whisper "That's 
her — see — on that big horse?" You feel a wild 
desire to make your own inoffensive mount do 
a bit of pitching or something else showy, so 
that they'll take you for the wild west part of 
the company. Anything to be in on this very 
fascinating publicity. 

"My work? I love it, of course," and her 

dark eyes shone with enthusiasm. "And I 

feel that I'm growing in it all the time. 

There is always the 

danger of getting into 

a rut — of being too 

much the same girl in 

every part. I'm trying 

to broaden my methods 

and to — well — to grow 

up in it, don't you 

know?" And Miss Rich 

tapped "Copper" 

thoughtfully with 

her riding crop. 

"You see, playing 

in the movies 

isn't the easiest 

thing in the 

world, as some 



rider in her severely 
smart English riding 
suit, down the boule- 
vard, past the big 
hotels and along the 
beach, for like most of 
his sex, "Copper" 
knows a pretty girl 
when he sees one and behaves 
accordingly. 

Then last, though of course 
not least, comes Vivian Rich, the 
moving picture artist, who 
works hours and hours each 
day making the films that we 
all enjoy. 

So many sides to a pretty 
girl of twenty, but after all it 
is with the movie star that we 
are most concerned 
just now. She's a Bos- 
ton girl, which ac- 
counts for the classic 
name of the gray cat, 
who, by the way, does 
not care for moving 

pictures, being rather a blase soul. Although so young. Miss 
Rich has had several years of experience both on the stage and 
in her present profession. I am not going to tell 
you how she looks. That is one thing one need 
never do with a moving picture artist. Every one 
has seen her and everyone knows. Everyone, how- 
ever, has not heard the voice of this particular 
star, and I want to tell you that it as sweet and 
charming as her face. 

Of course, we always want to know how they like 



The 



Costumes 
in 'Break, 
Break, 
Break," 
a Flay of the 
Early Sixties 
in which 
Vivian Rich 
Took the Lead, 
Were Not 
More Pictur- 
esque Than 
the Settings 



._ O* 



In * The Co- 
coon and the 
Butterfly" 
She is Trans- 
formed from ;» 
Sad Little 
Cinderella into 
a Radiant and 
Lovely Lady 




MANY SIDED VIVIAN RICH 



5S 



people think. I go to the studio often at seven thirty in the morn- 
ing, and work there until six at night. It is pretty 
nervous work, and I'm very glad to have my quiet little 
bungalow to come home to with mother and 'Boston.' 
Of course, you know, there never was anybody like my 
mother — never! She spoils me like everything, but I 
don't care. I'm just going to let her do it as much as she 
wants to, wouldn't you?" And I guess we all would. 

"Do you ever have to do things that scare you? Fall off horses 
or any of that sort of thing?" I had to ask her this because she 
doesn't look the least bit wild and daring as a movie actress 
ought to look. 

"Well, I rode the rods under a freight car last week," she 
said, laughing; "I wore boys' clothes and hung on. It was 
rather awful at first, hearing those wheels growling and 
rumbling under me, but it made 
a dandy picture." And there f 
she voiced the feelings of all 
real motion picture artists; 
if it makes a good picture, 
never mind how hair rais- 
ing it may be for the actor. 

"Another time I was lower- 
ed from a window on a wire 
and still another 
time I was drop- 
ped down out 
of a tower on 
a rope." 

"And you 
weren't 
scared?" 

"No, not A 




She is Equal 
to Any Emer- 
gency, from 
Riding: the 
Rock Under a 
Freight Car 
to Rolling a 
Cigarette 




It is Handsome Jack Richardson 

who Plays -Opposite Vivian Rich 

in "The Cocoon and the 

Butterfly" 



1 .'■•"' scared, just — 

well — just a bit 

excited, don't you know? 

In the picture we make 

next week I am to be 

drowned in my wedding 

dress, just think! 

"Last week my riding coat had an adventure, but 
I wasn't in it. One of the girls in the company had 
to take a tumble from a horse and I loaned her my 
coat. Then, they decided that it was too risky a stunt 
for a girl, so one of the cow-boys undertook it. He 
put on puffs and switches and a lot of other togs, 
including my coat; I don't know how he ever got it 
on, but he did, and then he fell off. He didn't mind 
the fall a bit, but oh, the fuss that man made about 
those puffs and switches." 

"Don't you find your work very exhausting?" 

"Oh, yes, all work is exhausting when 
it calls for nervous tension, but I do love 
it! I love the letters that I get, too, from 
all over the world. I try to answer them 
all but, goodness, I do get awfully behind 
sometimes." 

The latest addition to the Rich house- 



As Gallant 
and Beautiful 
a Cavalier as 
Ever Drew 
Sword for His 
King was 
Vivian Rich 
in "For the 
Crown" 



51 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



hold is the brand new machine which Vivian 
is learning to drive all by herself. 

"I'm dying to have a car of my own!" she 
said one day, "but mother thinks its an 
extravagance." 

A few days later we were driving along 
a country road in one of those comfy little 
one horse run-abouts that you see so often 
along the coast. At least, we were taking 
turns driving while the other one held on 
going around the corners. California roads 
have more corners than the proverbial dog 
has fleas, and no matter how cautious we 
were we always seemed to go around on 
two wheels. I began to think that "Mother's" 
presentiments in regard to the machine 
might not be altogether unfounded, when 
Vivian remarked, solemnly: 

"Do you know there are three brand new 
machines for sale in this town at a bar- 
gain?" There was a look of determination 
in her eye that I suppose was there when 
she rode the rods of the freight car. 

"Really?" 

"Two of them were snapped up by mem- 
bers of our company." She went on turning 
another corner. 

"You don't say!" Business of clutching 
the side of the run-about. 

"Mother's down in Los Angeles for a 



couple of days." This rather dreamily; we 
were anchored in the middle of the road for 
a few seconds. 

"If I were to get one while you were here 
we could learn to run it together, couldn't 
we?" 

"We might," I said, uncertainly. Life 
being sweet even to a "literary" person. 
"They say the hospital here is first class." 

"Well, anyhow, I could!" Another 
corner. 

Two days later the Santa Barbara morn- 
ing paper announced the purchase by Miss 
Vivian Rich of a new car. She is running 
it herself now and running it well; no 
casualties have been reported up to date, 
not even chickens. 

I have called her "many sided Vivian 
Rich," because there are not many girls 
of twenty who live as varied a life as she 
does; and in all the different phases she 
is the same sweet natural attractive little 
person, who goes about her work with a 
quiet, sincere and therefore effective method 
which in some of her scenes of country and 
mountain life remind one of some of those 
delightful actresses, who came over to us 
with the Irish players — . 

"Many sided" she is, indeed, and every 
side is charming. 



FROM WHERE NEXT ? 

THE name of Maurice Costello, of the Vitagraph Players, has penetrated even 
into the new Northwestern part of Canada, as the following letter recently 
received by him, will attest: 

"Banff, Alberta. 
Dear Sir:— 

I seend you my first scenario, this is the first that I right, but I am 
after right 3 other 2 and 3 reel drama the name of it is (The Red 99) 
(The Black Rabbit) (The Mysterious Well) three good drama all full of 
sensation, Sir if you accept this small one seen me a word as quick as 
possible and I seen you those three scenario in the future I will right the 
best scenario that you never seend, pleast sir give me a chance and I will 
work always for you if that pay me good, because all those scenario come 
from my head and it take me time to do it, Later I will right a scenario 
of 25 to 30 reel that will make sensation in the world. 
Sir I thanks you for the attention you will give at my letter 

Your very truly," 
Mr. Costello seems to be the dumping ground of queer scenarios by queer 
people from queer places, but as each succeeding scenario he receives is better 
than the last, he is anxiously looking for the big motion picture story of the 
future. 



?? 



The Virginian" 



Novelized from the Film Produced by the Jesse L. Lasky Feature Play Company 
Based on the Original Novel by Owen Wister * 

By Harold S. Hammond 

Illustrations from the Jesse L. Lasky Film 



CHAPTER I 

THERE are — or there were — cowboys 
and cowboys. We are to see the Vir- 
ginian, a super cowboy, perhaps — so 
he might have been called by one of those 
Englishmen who travel through the "States," 
seeing the country from a Pullman observa- 
tion platform and returning, hurriedly, to 
write a book about us. And with the Vir- 
ginian others are to be shown — Trampas, 
and Steve — Shorty, the misguided, all the 
strangely mixed elements that go to make 
up the life of the range. There is the 
present tense again! That made up the 
life of the Wyoming range, I should say. 
For the old days in Wyoming are no more. 
There are cowboys still; Frontier Day, at 
Cheyenne, still calls them. 

It is a peaceable community. It »keeps 
the law. A man who steals a horse has a 
margin of safety, before landing in jail, 
little greater than that of the thief who 
climbs a. porch in the suburbs of New York. 
No longer are the sworn officers of the law 
elected by rustlers, who understand that the 
sheriff and his posse will ignore the appeals 
of the good citizens, and so force them to 
take the law into their own hands for the 
protection of property. No longer is there 
peril of Indian attack. Those days are past. 
In these pages, perhaps, they will live 
again, those vanished days, and the men 
who made them what they were — as men, in 
the last analysis, make every passing phase 
of life what it is. One thing is sure — the 
men of those days were men. And in these 
days the men who ride the range are still 
men — though they are men of a different sort. 



Consider the Virginian, then, in the be- 
ginning of this chronicle. A man, first of 
all. A man a little slow, perhaps, in his 
movements, until the need for speed arose — 
and swift, then, and lithe as a cat, or a 
panther. A man usually with a smile lurk- 
ing near his lips, but near only, and not 
obtruding itself until the need for it was 
plain. We meet him, then, at Medicine 
Bow. 

Medicine Bow, in those days, was a cattle 
town. That is, it had a station, first of all, 
on the transcontinental railroad, which was 
its main reason for being. It had a post 
office and a general store, and it had many 
saloons and one hotel. Other things, lament- 
ably, it had, too, but of these there shall be 
no mention here. Men who are at grips 
with nature do things, require things, of 
which account need not be taken, and which, 
in their later years, they prefer to forget. 

But the Virginian neither required nor 
was interested in these baser things. Town 
to him meant a meeting with old friends 
from other ranches — his own was Judge 
Henry's, Sunk Creek, a mere trifle of two 
hundred and sixty-three miles from Medi- 
cine Bow; a few drinks, perhaps, stopping 
at the point where discretion was not yet 
out of sight; certainly a game of poker. 
Stud poker they played in those days. And 
stud poker bears to the tamer game of the 
east the same relation that ordinary poker 
bears to marbles when the players are not 
allowed to play for "keeps." 

So he rode into town that time. There 
was plenty doing. Uncle Hughie was off 
to get married again, for one thing. 

Uncle Hughie was always trying to get 



•Novel Copyright, 1902, by the MacMillan Company 



SS 



56 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



married. He managed the preliminaries by 
correspondence — and all went well until the 
happy bride-elect saw him. Then she would 
die suddenly, or have fits — she would get 
out of it, anyhow, and Uncle Hughie would 
return, sorrowing, to the cattle land, and 
his gold mine, and look for another help- 
mate. This time he was off to Laramie, 
and the Virginian, to his joy, was in time 
to harass him as he waited for the east- 
bound train. 

And in town there were four drummers — 
traveling men. The Virginian, generally 
speaking, didn't like a drummer. They were 
too sociable, too prone to fraternize with 
him at sight. The Virginian was willing 
to be friendly — with reservations. He 
esteemed friendship highly. It was an estate 
not lightly to be entered upon. Once estab- 
lished, however, it was not to be lightly 
abandoned, either. 

The Virginian didn't know about these 
drummers when he first got into town. It 
was Steve who enlightened him; Steve, the 
gay, the irresponsible, with whom the Vir- 
ginian had bunked and ridden many a time. 
Each hoped that soon Steve could find em- 
ployment on the Sunk Creek ranch, that 
they might be together again. 

"Hello!" said Steve, out of the depths of 

his joy. "You old son of a ! How are 

you, anyhow?" 

"I'm right well, Steve," said the Vir- 
ginian, in his slow drawl. He ignored the 
epithet Steve had applied to him. This 
might have surprised some. But there were 
times when the Virginian would not have 
ignored it. When men are close to nature 
it is the spirit, rather than the word, that 
counts. Of this there was to be proof. 

"Town's full," Steve went on. "Drum- 
mers — four of them! A Yankee, selling a 
consumption killer. Two Dutchmen, selling 
jewelry. And a Jew, selling anything you 
want! No beds to-night!" 

Steve didn't care for a bed. He had his 
saddle and his blanket roll; that was 
enough. But the Virginian pursed up his 
lips. 

"Pshaw!" he said, gently. "I was aimin' 
to sleep in a bed to-night — just for a 
change." 

"The Yankee's the cleanest," said Steve. 

"But — I wanted a bed to myself," said 
the Virginian, in a tone of gentle remon- 
strance. "Bet you two to one — bet you any- 
thing you like — I get the Yankee's bed!" 



"Drinks for the crowd — all around!" 
agreed Steve, happily. "It can't be done!" 

"It can — but let's eat, now," said the 
Virginian. 

They ate. And then, food being out of 
the way, they sought a poker game — nor 
had they far to seek. And. there, across the 
table, the Virginian — and Steve — saw 
Trampas for the first time. Trampas, who 
was to play so large a part in both their 
lives. 

Trampas was losing before the Virginian 
and Steve entered the game. The new 
blood did not change his luck. And he was 
in an ugly mood. There came a brean. 
It was the Virginian's bet, and he hesitated. 

"Your bet, you son of a ," said 

Trampas. 

It was the same epithet that Steve had 
used, not once, but a score of times. Yet 
now the Virginian's gun flashed on the table. 

"When you call me that — smile!" he said. 

And Trampas, after a moment in which 
hate shone from his eyes — smiled. 



CHAPTER II 

IT WAS scarcely eleven when the Vir- 
ginian left the game. And Steve went 
with him. Together they made their way 
to the "hotel." It owned the name by 
virtue of one large room, in which there 
were, perhaps, a score of beds. Each had 
at least one occupant; some had two. The 
Virginian smiled, and beckoned to Steve to 
stay outside the door. Then he went in, 
and spoke to the Yankee drummer, who 
had previously begged him to share his bed. 
While Steve stayed outside, the Virginian 
prepared for bed. But now Steve was not 
alone. A crowd, hearing of the bet, was 
with him. 

The Virginian's preparations were simple. 
He slipped his knife and his gun beneath 
the pillow — and removed his boots. Then he 
lay down. The drummer considered this. 

"I should think you'd feel that artillery 
under, your head," he said. 

"I do," said the Virginian. 

"Then I should think you'd lay it beside 
you," went on the drummer. 

"If I did that," explained the Virginian, 
"I wouldn't be easy, seh!" 

A moment of silence. 

"Good night," said the drummer. 

"Good night, seh," said the Virginian, 



"THE VIRGINIAN' 



57 



sleepily. " 'Course, if I get to rearin' around 
in the night — makin' noises, maybe, you'll 
understand — ." 

"Of course," said the drummer, "I under- 
stand, my friend. I'll just wake you — it'll 
be a nightmare, I suppose?" 

"Wake me? On your life, no!" said the 
Virginian, earnestly. "If I do that — don't 
touch me! Don't let your laig rub against 
me, even. You see — I'll be thinkin' there's 
Indians around — an' if anyone was to touch 
me I'd just naturally grab my knife and 



loose. The cowboys outside fell upon the 
drummer. They played horse with him — 
and with the other drummers. And when 
they were appeased the voice of Steve was 
heard. He wanted to pay his bet. He de- 
manded that the whole town be aroused, 
to help him pay. And it was so ordered. 
It was a happy night — and a peaceful one, 
even if it was not quiet. 

And in the morning Uncle Hughie was 
back — warning having been telegraphed from 
Laramie. This time he had succeeded. A 




Trampas Was in an Ugly Stood, the Result of Drinking: and Losing: 



start in. Just lay still till I quiet down, 
and you'll be all right." 

"I see," said the drummer, very thought- 
fully. 

Again silence. But it was broken in a 
moment — by the silent, or nearly silent — 
movements of the drummer. He arose. He 
didn't even stop to put on his shoes. He 
tiptoed toward the door and the waiting 
crowd, already doubled over with its 
laughter. And, as he neared the door, he 
stumbled over his sample case. At once 
the Virginian, with an unearthly yell, 
bounded out of bed. And then Bedlam was 



bride was on his arm. And Uncle Hughie's 
buggy had been seized. It was a fit" vehicle 
now for an hymeneal journey. White rib- 
bon flowed from it; legends, appropriate, if 
rather plain in their implications, had been 
chalked upon it. And Uncle Hughie and his 
bride departed in a shower of old shoes. 

Not long afterward the Virginian de- 
parted, too. He took an affectionate fare- 
well of Steve. 

"I had a right pleasant visit to town," 
he admitted, reflectively. "Now it's back to 
the range and to hard work — eh, Steve? 
Be good to yourself!" 



58 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



And so he rode from the metropolitan 
distractions of Medicine Bow back into the 
wilderness of the open range, the land he 
loved best. He was on good terms with all 
the world, and especially with his horse 
Monte. He bore no grudge even for 
Trampas — he had forgotten him. Had he 
thought of him at all it would have been 
with the hope that their paths would not 
cross again. Vain hope! 



CHAPTER III 

T) UT he rode long and far with nothing 
*-* to disturb him. About him rolled the 
smooth range. He crossed little rolling 
ranges of hills; he threaded valleys, where 
cattle looked up at his passing, and turned 
away. Cattle were everywhere. Most of 
those he saw, after he had ridden a few 
hours, bore the Sunk Creek brand, and he 
admired their fine condition. Judge Henry, 
his employer, was a man who knew the 
cattle business. The beef he shipped was 
prime; it earned the highest prices when 
it was sold in Chicago. 

And so the Virginian rode, meditating 
on the wonders of the life he knew. He 
was now twenty-four years old. For ten 
years, since the impulse to wander and see 
strange lands had driven him from his Vir- 
ginia home, he had ridden the range. He 
had seen — and he knew, intimately — Texas 
and Montana, Arizona and Wyoming, 
Arkansas and Oregon, California and New 
Mexico. Home he had seen but once in 
those ten years. Once in every generation 
of his breed such a one as he was born, 
destined to wander, to go far. One thing 
was certain — he had cared for himself in 
all those years of wandering. He had 
asked no odds of anyone. And so he rode, 
a song on his lips, a little, tuneless sort of 
song, one of those interminable ballads of 
the cow country. "The Cowboy's Lament," 
perhaps — perhaps another. He knew them 
all — and sang them all to the same tune. 

And he didn't know, of course, that he 
was riding to meet a lady. A very special 
lady — none other, indeed, than Miss Molly 
Stark Wood, of Bennington, Vermont! It 
would have made no difference had he 
known; that was fate. He would have rid- 
den on, the same song on his lips, had he 
known. But he didn't know. He didn't 
know it even when he saw the stage coach. 



nicely stuck in a hole in the ford over a 
creek. All he knew was that the stage was 
stuck, as it had been stuck before, and that 
the driver was saying earnest things — and 
things, too, quite unprintable — to the horses. 
It struck the Virginian as strange that he 
could not hear what was being said — that 
he had to construct the harangue from 
memory and imagination. He spurred 
Monte on, and rode up alongside. 

And then, through the window, he saw 
Molly was inside. She was a little fright- 
ened; a good deal indignant. In Vermont, 
in all New England, indeed, such things 
did not happen. The Virginian saw; he 
exchanged a quick word with the driver. 
Then, calmly, he reached through the opened 
door and lifted Miss Wood to his saddle. 
He held her tight as he rode through the 
water to the other bank. And she! She 
was so surprised that she didn't say any- 
thing, until he stopped and let her slip to 
the ground. Then she caught him looking 
at her, half amused, half puzzled. And she 
flushed. 

"Well," he said. "I reckon you were in 
right smart of a mess, back there?" 

"What am I to do?" she asked, indignant- 
ly. "How am I to keep on? That stage 
was supposed to take me to Judge Henry's 
ranch!" 

"It can't," said the Virginian, positively. 
"Not right away, that is. I reckon you'll 
have to let me manage it, ma'am. I take 
it you're the new school mar'm?" >. 

"I'm the new teacher — yes," she corrected. 

"Yes — that's better," he agreed, medita- 
tively. "Well, ma'am — I guess I'll have to 
just borrow one of those hosses off the stage. 
I'll fix you a side saddle on Monte here — 
and we'll make out all right." ■ ■-'- 

"Thank you," she said, less sternly. 

And so, under the escort of the Virginian, 
she rode into the corral and up "to -the 
veranda of the ranch, where Mrs. Henry 
greeted her with tears and thanksgiving, 
and the Judge suggested explanations. 
Which, being offered, prompted him' to ex- 
tend a cigar to the Virginian, who -accepted 
it, inspected it, placed it in his pocket "for 
future reference, and rolled a cirgarette in- 
stead. He wanted a smoke badly. For it had 
not seemed to him quite the thing to smoke 
while he rode with Miss Wood, . and . an- 
swered her artless questions, asked " from 
the New England point of view, concerning 
the territory of Wyoming. ........ 



"THE VIRGINIAN" 



59 



CHAPTER IV 

AT SUNK CREEK, in these days, the Vir- 
ginian was happy. He had saved some 
money; lie looked forward, very vaguely, 
to owning a place of his own some time. 
And, meanwhile, life was pretty good. There 
was the range. There were his friends. 
And there was always life itself, which 
invited questioning, and repaid interested 
observation. The Virginian was not highly 
educated. There are few schools that pro- 
fess to furnish an education to those who 
desert them at the age of fourteen. So 
there were mysteries of book learning that 
the Virginian did not know. He could read; 
he could write. He could, upon occasion, 
talk in English as impeccable as your own 
— but the occasion did not frequently arise, 
as he saw it. 

He knew men, however, if he did not 
know hooks. He had been studying them 
all this time. He had met them on their 
own ground in circumstances set as far 
apart as the poles. He knew something of 
women, too. Not much; not too much, it 
may be said. And yet it had always seemed 
enough. Until this business of the school- 



house at Bear Creek and the coming of Miss 
Molly Wood, all the way from Vermont, to 
teach the rising generation of that part of 
Wyoming. 

And Miss Wood made a difference. It 
was ten months before he saw her again. 
And then it was at a barbecue, given to 
celebrate the amazing rise in the price of 
steers. That rise meant prosperity for all 
Wyoming, and all the rest of the cattle 
country. It had to be celebrated. And a 
barbecue seemed, of all ways, that most fit- 
ting for such a celebration. Miss Wood was 
to be there, naturally. And the Virginian, 
riding two days and a night to be among 
those present, learned many things. Miss 
Wood had admirers. That was one of the 
things — and it did not please him. She 
had favored none of them; would not even 
ride alone with them. That was another, 
and it made him smile in a more satisfied 
way. 

It was some time before he had a chance 
to speak to her. So it seemed to him, at 
least. He thought she looked at him, once 
or twice. But she gave no sign of recogni- 
tion. Perhaps he had more chances than he 
saw to go to her; I think that must have 




They Played Horse with Him— and with the Other Drummers 



60 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



been it. She saw them, you may be sure, 
if he did not. And it may be that this 
played a part in subsequent events. At any 
rate, he did not speak to her or have the 
luck to land near her at the great table 
where they all feasted in the open air. He 
was trying to reach her, but, in the confu- 
sion attendant upon the arrival of Uncle 
Hughie, he couldn't. 

Uncle Hughie's latest venture in matri- 
mony had been blessed, indeed. He had 
twins! And when he drove up, with his 
wife proudly exhibiting them, there was a 
roar of welcome and of delighted laughter. 
Uncle Hughie was the hero of the day 
thenceforward; there could be no rivals. 

But, after the feasting, there was the 
dancing. There the Virginian expected to 
shine. By grace of his ancestry he could 
dance. And he knew steps that were not 
common in Wyoming. He could waltz, and 
he could do it well. So he expected to get 
even for everything. But he didn't. He 
approached Miss Molly bravely enough. 
And, "Will you have a turn with me?" he 
said. 

She looked at him curiously. 

"I — don't seem to remember you," she 
said. "Have we been introduced?" 

Now she didn't quite mean that. Per- 
haps the thought of the long time since 
she had seen him first was rankling. At 
all events, she expected him to remind her 
of their meeting. She meant to remember, 
then, and to unbend. But the Virginian 
only stiffened, bowed, and left her. But he 
came back bringing a friend to introduce 
him. Again, gravely, he asked her to dance. 
But she was angry now, for he had put her 
at a disadvantage. And Uncle Hughie came 
up, just in time. She laid her hand on his 
arm. In a moment she was off. And the 
Virginian, glowering, took himself off — out- 
side, where a cask of whiskey was still 
respectably full. Deeply was he hurt, and 
sorely offended. And by the cask he found 
Lin McLean, a kindred spirit. 

"I saw it," said Lin. But he did not smile. 
He, too, was morose. He, too, had suf- 
fered. And in time he confessed. She had 
shown him some favor. And, earlier, he 
had striven to steal a kiss. And his punish- 
ment sat heavily upon him. He was be- 
wildered. But the Virginian, outwardly 
sympathetic, was proud and happy within. 
He had judged her rightly. Still — that did 
not excuse her. He drank, deeply, and Lin 



with him. It did not make them drunk. 
But the red liquor had its effect. They left 
it, in due season, and, staying away from 
the dancing floor, came to a room where 
babies lay. They had to be brought to the 
dance, those babies; here they lay, safe and 
quiet, while their mothers danced. And, 
looking through a window they saw the floor. 

"There she goes — with Uncle Hughie," 
said Lin. "Ugh — old enough to be her 
grandfather!" 

But the Virginian did not heed him. He 
was considering the babies. And the spirit 
of mischief was in his eyes. Suddenly he 
was at work. Babies were shifted, silently, 
smoothly, so that they did not wake. Cover- 
ings that belonged to one were laid upon 
another. For a moment Lin watched him, 
amazed. Then he understood, and he began 
to help. When they stopped no baby was 
where it had been; none had its original 
covering. They looked at one another. Slow 
smiles dawned upon their faces. 

"I'll be going," said Lin, with a deep 
breath. "You riding my way?" 

"No," said the Virginian, surprised. "You 
goin', Lin? I'm stay in' — right here!" 

"They'll lynch you when they find out!" 
said Lin. "They won't be safe for as much 
as twenty-four hours — it'll take them that 
long to see the joke!" 

"Think so?" said the Virginian. 

And he stayed. Lin left him, sorrowing. 
And it came to pass as he had predicted. 
The dancers broke up. They went home. 
And within an hour the first of them came 
spurring back. All night they came; all 
night mothers and fathers sought to recover 
their own, and babies were exchanged. And 
who more helpful than the Virginian? As 
for Lin — he was the only one who was miss- 
ing. Men rode out on his trail. They did 
not catch him. But it was as the Virginian 
had foreseen. The only absent one was the 
one suspected. And in the morning light, 
when all the pursuers had come back empty 
handed, he spoke up. 

"It's just as well," he comforted them. 
"You were after the wrong man, yuh see! It 
was I that did it." 

They couldn't lynch a man who acted like 
that. Mothers said their say to him, and he 
disarmed them by the way he listened. And 
Miss Molly Wood was responsible for that — 
though she would have disclaimed her re- 
sponsibility indignantly had it occurred to 
anyone to bring the charge! 



"THE VIRGINIAN" 



Gl 







He Lifted Miss Wood to His Saddle 



CHAPTER V 



LJ E MADE his peace with Miss Molly 
Wood, of course. That was inevitable. 
She was furiously angry when she first heard 
of the affair of the babies. But he disarmed 
her, as he had disarmed the mothers, by his 
absolute refusal to defend himself. And, in 
many ways he appealed to her. By his dif- 
ference from all the men she knew, for one 
thing. This not alone because he was a 
Westerner and a cowboy. She knew plenty 
of these; her term at Bear Creek was not 



very old before she could have had her pick. 
He was as different from most of the men of 
this new land as he was from the denizens 
of Vermont. 

And one thing in particular strengthened 
him with her immeasurably. He wanted to 
know things she knew. He wanted to read, 
to understand the allusions she made to 
books of which he had never heard. And so 
it was not long before she was teaching 
him as well as the children who trudged 
daily, or rode, to the little school house on 
Bear Creek. She did not see too much of 



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Uncle Huehie was Welcomed with a Roar of Laughter 



him; it was a long ride from Sunk Creek 
to where she lived, in a little cabin next to 
the house of Taylor, pioneer of all the Bear 
Creek married men. That, it may be as- 
sumed, helped both of them. He would ride 
to her, talk, ride with her, and go away, 
with the books she lent him. And when he 
came again she could see the growth in him, 
as she would never have seen it had they 
been together more constantly. 

There was. a great distance to be bridged 
between them, of course. And the Virginian, 
I think, realized that before she did — and 
this probably was because he meant to bridge 
it, while it was a long time before the idea 
that it might be bridged came to her. Yet he 
was very sure, almost from the first, that, in 
the end, he was to have her. He was not 
used to wanting things he did not get. But 
he could wait for this, because he must. 

And he had much to occupy his body and 
his mind. At Sunk Creek there were 
changes. There is that about the handling 
of cattle that makes men nomadic. So it has 
been, since the days of Abraham. In Wyom- 
ing it was no different. To Sunk Creek came 



Trampas, he whom the Virginian had sub- 
dued at Medicine Bow. And Trampas found 
a friend in the foreman, for reasons obscure 
to the Virginian, who, none the less, bided 
his time, and endured much petty injustice 
because he liked and trusted Judge Henry. 
Came, also, Steve, that friend of his who 
was nearer to him, and dearer, than any man 
on the range. The Virginian had long tried 
to bring him to Sunk Creek; he succeeded 
at last. 

Many things must be passed over with a 
light touch. Judge Henry, knowing things 
hidden from the rest, was making his own 
plans. And he sent the Virginian in 
charge of a crew and a thousand head of cat- 
tle, to Chicago. Delivering the steers was 
the easiest part of the work. Bringing back 
the crew, in idleness, with temptations to 
quit on all sides, was a thing more difficult. 
But that the Virginian accomplished. He 
had his troubles. Trampas, out of sheer 
deviltry, and for the pursuance of that feud 
he had begun in Medicine Bow, tried to 
keep him from doing so. But he failed. 
The Virginian lost only one man — his cook. 



"THE VIRGINIAN" 



63 



Him lie kicked off the train somewhere in 
tiie Dakotas, but in doing so he made room 
for Scipio Le Moyne, a loyal ally, a cook 
par excellence. With Scipio he acquired one 
Shorty, a weak brother of a cowboy. 

That journey had been a test. It had de- 
veloped into a fight, almost, with Trampas, 
but a fight of wits rather than of strength. 
And when they returned, as the Virginian 
well understood, the trouble was likely to be 
more acute. On the train, the Virginian 
was in charge. At Sunk Creek he would 
come again, with Trampas, under the domin- 
ion of a foreman who liked Trampas. But — 
that was not to be. For when they reached 
Sunk Creek there was no foreman! He had 
gone, bag and baggage. And his successor 
was the Virginian. 



CHAPTER VI 

T T E HAD Trampas under Ii is heel now. 

A For just the first moment, I suppose, 

being distinctly human, he exulted in that 

thought, and planned to take his vengeance. 



But that was a mood that did not last. He 
fell at once into the habit, peculiar to those 
who are born to be leaders of men, of separat- 
ing absolutely his personal self from his 
official personality. And he knew, as soon 
as he thought things over, that he couldn't 
use the authority the judge had given him 
to make trouble for Trampas. Trampas, of 
course, expected his time. He waited a day, 
following some code of his own, to give his 
enemy time to discharge him. Then he went 
to the new foreman. 

"I'll take my time," he said biiefly. 

"Yuh leavin'?" said the Virginian, mildly 
surprised, as it seemed. 

"I know 7 how things stand here now, I 
reckon," said Trampas, sulkily. "You're 
foreman now " 

"I am," said the Virginian. "All yuh've 
got to do here, Trampas, is your work. Yuh 
understand? As long as yuh do that, yuh 
can stay — for all of me. You're a good cow 
man." 

Trampas bit his lip — and stayed. Few had 
thought he would do that. But there were 
reasons for his action, as was presently to 




She Laid Her Hand on Uncle Hughie's Arm and the Vireinian, Glowerine, Took Himself Outside 



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be made plain. He had no thought of aban- 
doning his feud; of giving up his hatred for 
the man who was now set over him. From 
the first he had been in the wrong, in every 
clash between them. But Trampas had that 
mixed blood, Indian, Mexican and white, that 
only made his hate flame fiercer because of 
that. And in his mind there was a new plan 
of a way to strike at the Virginian. 

Outwardly he did his work. But all through 
that winter he was plotting. He knew the 
Virginian's old friendship for Steve; he 
could see, too, how the new foreman felt 
toward Shorty. For Shorty the Virginian 
was sorry. The little fellow had a mind too 
small to understand many things. He was 
influenced too easily for his own good. And 
the Virginian, seeing that Trampas was busy 
with both Shorty and Steve, ground his teeth 
and wondered if he had done well to let 
Trampas stay. 

Already dark things had been said of 
Trampas in that country. More than once 
cattlemen had suspected him of a willing- 
ness to round up cattle and change their 
brands. And the Virginian, for one, was 
secretly sure that at Sunk Creek Trampas 
was only lying low, recuperating, getting 
ready for a new campaign of rustling. If 
he took Steve and Shorty with him! If he 



dragged them down to his own level! That 
would make the balance between them in- 
cline heavily to the side of Trampas — and 
the Virginian felt that his enemy was shrewd 
enough to know it. 

Spring justified his fears. For on a cer- 
tain day the three of them came to him, at 
his office, where he was going over the ac- 
counts for which he was responsible. 

"We'll take our time," said Trampas. 

"Yuh lettin' Trampas speak for you, 
Steve?" said the Virginian sorrowfully. 
Shorty, for the moment, he ignored. 

"Aw — I can get a better job," said Steve, 

uncomfortably. "An' ." He hesitated; 

then he broke out: "This place is too holy 
for to suit me, anyhow!" he declared, vio- 
lently. "Since yuh got to be foreman they 
ain't no livin' with you, Jeff!" 

The Virginian said no more. Silently lie 
arranged the details. And that day all 
three of them rode away. But Scipio Le 
Moyne, promoted now to that place in the 
Virginian's friendship that Steve had held, 
saw the sorrow that was in the foreman's 
heart. And he knew that for once Trampas 
had scored a victory. 

"Them two is going to have it out — to a 
finish," he commented to himself. "And the 
Lord help Trampas — if it's fair fighting!" 



"We'll Take Our Time," 

Said Trampas 

"Yuh Lettin' Trampas 

Speak for Yuh, 

Steve?" 




"THE VIRGINIAN" 



65 




"Look! Do You See Over There?" 



CHAPTER VII 

TirHICH it was not to be. There was that 
* * in the blood of Trampas that forbade 
fair fighting, unless he were cornered, and 
there were men with strength enough to 
make him choose it. And his first blow was 
struck, by proxy, that very spring. The 
Virginian rode into the hills, on an errand 
for Judge Henry. A neighbor — he lived 
within two hundred miles — had borrowed 
some horses. They were needed now, and, 
for reasons of diplomacy, the Virginian him- 
self went to find them. 

Just what Trampas did no one could ever 
prove. There were plenty who knew, or 
were sure enough to say they knew. This 
much is certain. Indians, not many, but 
enough, left their reservation. This was 
forbidden, but winked at in season. As a 
rule, they were peaceable enough, when they 
were let alone. Trampas knew them. He 



saw them now, with whiskey in his posses- 
sion, which passed to them. And if there is 
a meaner sin, a deadlier one, than giving 
Indians whiskey, the West does not know it. 
That much it is sure that Trampas did, as 
he had done before. But this time he gave 
it to them, freely, and without price, whereas 
before he had sold it for gain. 

And it was one day after his meeting with 
these Indians that they met the Virginian. 
Had Trampas described him? Had he ex- 
acted a promise, in return for the liquor? 
That is what cannot be proved. What is 
known is that they left the Virginian by 
the side of a creek, seemingly as dead as 
a man might be. He lay there, his head in 
the cold water, his horse standing by him. 
Perhaps that saved him. 

These Indians were new to the business 
of killing white men. They were scared 
as soon as they had seen him fall, and they 
had ridden off swiftly, without waiting, as 



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their fathers would have done, to make sure. 
And so it was that when Miss Molly Wood 
rode by, three hours after the shots had 
been fired, and saw the horse standing there, 
so still, the horse Monte, that she knew so 
well, there was still life in the Virginian. 

How she knew wiiat to do and found the 
strength to do it, heaven only knows! Per- 
haps women are endowed with such knowl- 
edge. It may be that there is that born 
in them that comes out in time of need. 
Molly, at any rate, knew. She found the 
wound. Without a cry, she cut away the 
cloth of his shirt, and, although he flinched, 
washed out the gaping wound in his 
shoulder, perilously near the lung, as even 
she could tell, with clear, cold water. And 
then, somehow, with Monte helping her, she 
got htm to his saddle, and walked beside his 
horse, her own following, until she brought 
him to her cabin. 

The Taylors were gone. Still she had no 
help. She undressed him; she got him, 
though by this time he was in the grip of 
his fever, and raving with delirium, into 
her own bed. Just as she finished the Tay- 
lors returned, and in a moment Taylor was 
riding for the doctor, and his wife was re- 
lieving Molly of her task. But it was she 
who saved his life, as the doctor, when he 
came, was the first to admit. 



"Quick care — of the right sort," he said. 
"That's done the trick — that and a constitu- 
tion God gives few men! He's getting divi- 
dends now for the clean life he's led — and 
I don't know the man. But I can tell you 
that he's the living proof of how he's lived." 

Live he did — and to bless the Indian 
weapon that had laid him low. For he had 
come to Molly at a crisis. She had been on 
the point of going home to Bennington. 
And, had she gone, she would not have re- 
turned. He had terrified her by his wooing. 
Of late it had grown more and more urgent; 
she had felt herself slipping, yielding ground 
to him. And she had been afraid. She had 
not dared to let herself slip too far. But 
this — ah, this changed everything! She had 
seen him sick and helpless. She had heard 
him, raving — and not once had words she 
should not hear come from his lips. 

He was chastened, as sick men are wont 
to be, when he began to grow better. Some- 
how he had learned that she had meant to 
go, and that she had been afraid to tell him. 
And at last he spoke. 

"I — I owe you everything," he said. "And 
I've been seeing things. I reckon I grieved 
you, bothering you as I did. And now — 
you're going. That's right. That's proper. 
It's not fitting that you should be grieved 
and bothered. So — when I can, I'll go away, 



The Virginian and the Rest. Creeping Up. Found Their Prey 




"THE VIRGINIAN" 




"Steve! I've Got to So it, Steve, Good-bye!" And Still Steve looked Straight Before Him 



and you'll forget. Though I'll be grieving." 

She looked at him, wide-eyed. 

"But — but — " she cried. "Oh — I'm going 
to stay!" 

Suddenly she caught him up, weak as he 
was, in her arms. And he knew. Knew that 
his dream had come true. Knew that in the 
moment of his renunciation he had achieved 
his victory. 



CHAPTER VIII 

OUT, still, though he had won her so, the 
dalliance of the newly engaged was not 
for them. In Vermont Molly, becoming be- 
trothed thus, would have seen her man often, 
daily perhaps. But for the Virginian there 
was still his work to be done. More than 
ever now, in fact. Never one to take his 
duties lightly, he had no need to hear from 
Judge Henry that the times were critical 
for those who drove cattle. 



And so his visits were as rare as they 
had ever been, when once he was well 
enough to ride away, back to Sunk Creek, 
and take up his work. In his absence much 
had accumulated. Details there were to be 
worked out. And the menace that had long 
hung over that land was growing to pro- 
portions that could no longer be ignored. 
The thieves were growing stronger. 

In all the varied history of the West there 
has never been a chapter more curious than 
this that the cattle thieves wrote into the 
record. Imagine a wide stretch of country 
in which sheriffs, judges, juries, all the ma- 
chinery of the law, were engaged, not in 
enforcing justice, not in protecting right, 
but in making justice impossible, in uphold- 
ing wrong! Yet that was what was being 
done. The thieves were organized. They 
elected the judicial officers; they packed the 
juries. No proof of theft was strong enough ; 
no thief could be convicted. 

And so, at last, Judge Henry and the 



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others moved. Judge Henry was the great- 
est cattle owner of them all, yet it was not 
for that reason alone that the Virginian was 
put in charge of the work that had to be 
done. For no one could deny that he, of all 
men, was the one for this task. It was a 
posse that they organized. Extra legal; 
even illegal, if you like. But law, after all, 
springs from the people. It is the people 
that create law and the means of enforcing 
it. From the people there is no appeal. 
And when the means of enforcing the law 
that the people have made fail, the people 
have always taken the law back into their 
own hands. Sometimes that implies lynch- 
ings; sometimes revolution. 

Here there was no choice. A band of cat- 
tle thieves was at work. It had no fear 
of courts or sheriffs; it knew that it need 
have none. And so the Virginian rode out, 
at the head of his posse, men of his own 
stamp, not revengeful, not filled with pas- 
sion, only determined. They were sober; 
they were judicial. 

And for six weeks, while Molly, knowing 
nothing of all that was going on, waited 
and wondered, longing to see him, the Vir- 
ginian led his troop. In the end much had 
been accomplished. He had lost two-thirds 
of his force, for parties had been sent off, 
here and there, to pursue those of the 
rustlers who had been cornered. The organ- 
ized band was broken up. It was flying, 
over three states, and every scattered section 
was pursued hotly, by men who knew what 
was to be done. The Virginian himself, with 
a dozen men or less, was hot on the trail 
of one party. Trampas, he felt, was of it. 
And to succeed, he must get Trampas; to 
succeed fully. To get the rest and let 
Trampas escape would not be enough. 

The trail told its story, plainly enough. 
Always the Virginian and the others gained, 
driving the rustlers before them into the 
Tetons, bad country, with almost no outlet. 
That was the sum of the Virginian's strategy. 
He meant to bottle up the thieves; to catch 
them, so, with as little risk as might be to 
the men he led. 

And he was right. Trampas was with the 
rustlers. He led them. They trusted him 
to get them free, and he laughed, in their 
camp, at the thought that the Virginian 
might catch them. 

"That dude— that preacher!" he said, 
scornfully. "Before he catches me ." 

And yet, the next morning, in a dangerous 



piece of country, Shorty, catching his horse, 
called sharply to him. 

"Look!" he said. "Do you see — over 
there?" 

"By God!" swore Trampas. Then, "Come 
on!" 

"But — the others!" cried Shorty. 

"Let them look to themselves! Come on!" 
he cried. 

And so the Virginian and the rest, creep- 
ing up, under cover, found their prey. But 
they found only two; two had escaped. And 
the Virginian reeled back as he saw that one 
of his prisoners was Steve, who had been 
his dearest friend. 



CHAPTER IX 

XT OT a word did Steve and the Virginian 
~^ exchange. With all the others Steve 
talked. But to the Virginian he gave not so 
much as a glance. With the others, through 
the night, he even joked. With them he went 
over the events of the chase. To their de- 
light he told them how they had been 
tricked, explaining how the rustlers had es- 
caped from this trap or that, that had 
seemed sure to catch them. Steve was game. 

"Don't yuh look so glum, boys!" he said. 
"This is just business. We took our chances 
with yuh— didn't we, Ed?" 

He spoke to the companion of his capture, 
trussed with ropes, like himself, and sitting, 
bound, beside him. 

"Sure," said Ed. ■ ; 

"It's right white of yuh, Steve," drawled 
Honey Wiggin. "If yuh think we like this — 
well, we don't!" 

"It's all in the game," said Steve. "I 
played to win — an' I lost. I've done that be- 
fore — but mebbe the stakes wasn't so big. 
Not so all fired big as they was this time." 

Night settled down upon the camp at last. 
Even when it was the Virginian's turn to 
keep guard, Steve, lying wakeful, said no 
word. 

And morning followed night. All knew 
what was to be done. There was no need 
of words. In the gray, ghostly light of 
dawn they gathered, the men who had taken 
the law into their own hands. Steve and 
Ed, mounted, but with their hands tied, were 
in the midst of the group. 

"Where?" asked one of the posse. 

"That clump of cottonwoods," said the 
Virginian, pointing. 



'THE VIRGINIAN' 



69 



Silently they rode. They came to the cot- 
tonwoods. And it was Steve's turn first. 
His horse stood still beneath a hanging 
branch of a great tree. Suddenly the Vir- 
ginian rode up beside him and leaned close. 

"Steve!" he whispered. "I've got to do it! 
Steve — good-bye! " 

And still Steve looked straight before him, 
and his lips did not move. The Virginian 
turned away. 

Silently, when they had done their work, 
the cowboys of the posse rode off on their 
various ways. They had no mind 
to stay together. What they had 
done they had to do; that did not 
improve the taste that was left in 
their mouths. Two of them led the 
horses that Steve and Ed would 
need no more. And the 
Virginian, with one 
man. rode back 
toward 



Steve give me this to give yuh — when — when 
we'd finished." 

Just a few lines on a piece of paper. 

"Good-bye, Jeff. If I'd tried to talk to you 
I'd have played baby." 

If there were tears in the Virginian's eyes 
there was none to see him. But he muttered 
to himself. 

"Steve!" he said, softly, but the other 
heard. "And I thought you had it in for 
me!" 



CHAPTER 



f^OULD one from Ver- 
mont be expected to 
understand such things? 



He lay There, His Head in the 

Cold Water, His Horse 

Beside Him 




Sunk Creek, five hundred miles away. Just 
before they made camp for the night the 
Virginian's horse shied suddenly. With a 
start he was out of his saddle, and looking 
down on something that lay on the ground. 
It was Shorty. A bullet hole was in the 
back of his head. 

"I expect Trampas done that," said the 
other man. "I expect he thought Shorty 
would give him away — him being such a poor 
little fool." 

It was an epitaph. 

"But we can't prove it!" cried the Vir- 
ginian, giving way for one fierce moment. 

"No," said the other man. shaking his 
head. "That's so. But I expect there'll be 
plenty of reasons for killing Trampas — if one 
catches him. Oh!" He straightened up, 
suddenly, remembering. "I 'most forgot. 



Certainly, not at first. Nor did Molly. 
Strange tales, dreadful, distorted, came to 
her. Her lover, still held away from her, 
took a new and dreadful shape in her mind — 
this man who killed wantonly, as it seemed 
to her. A lynching — and her Virginian had 
directed it! Small wonder that she was 
troubled. 

Perhaps he might have made her see, In 
time. But he did not have to face that 
task — and in it he might have failed. It was 
Judge Henry, hearing of her pain, who took 
it upon his own shoulders to make her see 
the truth, to explain to her some of those 
differences between Wyoming and Vermont 
that she had not yet been able to learn. 

And so, in the end, she was appeased, and, 
faintly, reconciled. Such things were fear- 
ful; that she maintained. But the judge 



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made her see that they had justification. 
She understood, at least, that the Virginian 
had believed himself in the right, and she 
had the quality of mind to see that, after 
all, it was that that counted. 

But in those days she had other troubles. 
Her family, for example. In Vermont there 
had been a young man, an excellent young 
man, and rich, withal. It was that she 
might escape him and the conviction that 
her family desired that she should marry 
him, that she had accepted Bear Creek's offer 
to teach its young. And the news she had 
sent home, that she had chosen her man, 
here in the great West, and meant to marry 
him, had produced an effect in Bennington 
like that of a bursting shell. 

Her mother, horrified, had written tear- 
fully and wildly. But that, because, after 
all, it was a mother's letter, she could, in 
some measure forgive. It was her married 
sister who had hurt her most deeply. For 
she had written that she was shocked, and 
grieved; that if Molly, indeed, could bring 
herself to marry one so far below her as 
a cowboy — wasn't a foreman a sort of upper 
servant? — she, for one, did not see how she 
could justify herself in being present at 
the wedding. 

Molly had flamed at that. And in that 
moment she had resolved that neither her 
sister nor any of the others from Vermont 
should have the opportunity to see her mar- 
ried. She had found love and all it meant 
in Wyoming. In Wyoming, then, should be 
her marriage, with the Bishop of Wyoming, 
that priest whom the Virginian loved and 
reverenced, to unite them. And their honey- 
moon should be, first of all, in the open 
spaces, in the mountains she had not seen, 
but that the Virginian knew by heart. Later, 
when the first joy of it was part of their 
lives, and she should have gained serenity, 
they would go to Vermont, and she would 
show him to the family that had dared to 
doubt her choice. 

Some of this she told the Virginian. It 
made him happy that she should choose to 
have it so, for it was so that he would have 
chosen. He was a little afraid, you see, of 
this family of hers, so different from any 
he had ever known. His instinct had. told 
him how it must regard him; how it must 
fear him, and, perhaps, even hate him, for 
having won her. 

And so their plans were made. He had 
to choose his time, or did so, at least, with 



a high regard for the convenience of Judge 
Henry and the well-being of the ranch. But 
he told her that if they were married on 
the third of July he might take a full two 
months — and of -that time, they decided, then 
and there, a month should be spent, alone, 
in the mountains. Another month would 
take them east, where he might be shown 
off to the family. And then they would come 
back, to take up their life together. 



CHAPTER XI 

*Tp HEY rode into town together, the day 
* before that which they had named. 
In the morning they were to be married; 
they were to set off at once, after that. 
There was to be no formality. Simply they 
would go to the little church, and stand 
before the bishop. Such friends as chose 
to come would be there. Lin McLean, mar- 
ried himself by now; the Taylors; Scipio Le 
Moyne; Honey Wiggin. All of these would 
surely be on hand. Judge Henry, probably, 
and his wife, too, would appear. 

She was to spend that night before her 
wedding at the little hotel, with Mrs. Taylor 
as her companion. And, as they rode, he 
laughed, and amused her by reckoning the 
hours that were left in terms of seconds. 
And, even as they did so, a horseman spurred 
by, in a cloud of dust. He nodded. The 
Virginian returned the nod, curtly. 

"Who is that?" she asked. 

"A man who doesn't like me," he said, 
stoadily. "His name is Trampas." 

"Oh," she gave teply. She caught her 
breath. She remembered the tales she had 
heard of that raid into the Tetons, of Shorty, 
with the bullet in the back of his head. 
"Oh," she repeated. "He — he won't try — " 

"No," he said. "Be easy." 

But in his heart he was afraid. Not of 
Trampas! Heaven forbid! But of what 
Trampas might make him do when they 
reached town. 

Once they reached the town he kept his 
eyes open. But of Trampas there was no 
sign. He took her to the hotel, and went 
with her to her room to see that all was as 
it should be, promising, lightly, to kill the 
proprietor if it were not. And there came 
his three friends; Honey Wiggin, Lin Mc- 
Lean and Scipio. 

"We'd like to 'borrow him, Miss Wood," 
said Honey. "We'll be good." 



THE VIRGINIAN" 



71 




They Threw Up II).. Hand and His Bullet Struck the Ceiling 



"You don't know how!" she laughed. "But 
— he isn't mine yet. So I suppose that you 
can have him." 

"Don't change your clothes," said Scipio. 

The Virginian flashed a look at him, and 
understood. And when he went out his gun 
was where it had been while he rode. As 



a rule he did not carry a gun in town, that 
being a habit of the cowboys of fiction, rather 
than those of the range. They went out. 

"Thanks," said the Virginian to Scipio. "So 
— he's here? I saw him, back a ways. But I 
wasn't sure." 

"He's here — and drinking," said Lin. His 



7-2 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 




"THE VIRGINIAN' 



73 



voice was gloomy. "He's got friends in 
town, too. They're backing his play. Say 
the word — we'll take it off your hands." 

"A man don't get married all the time," 
pleaded Honey. "This ain't as usual — " 

But the Virginian only shook his head. 

"I'm hoping he'll behave — until after to- 
morrow," he said. "But if he don't — I 
reckon it's between me and him." 

They did not look for trouble. They went 
to a saloon, to have one drink together. 
And suddenly, maddened by the whiskey he 
had drunk, Trampas was with them. Men 
seized him; they threw up his hand and 
his bullet struck the ceiling. But his tongue 
they could not check, and he poured out his 
hate, while the Virginian stood unmoved. 

"I don't want trouble with you," he said, 
finally. 

"Yuh never did!" said Trampas, with un- 
printable additions. Then: "I'll give yuh 
till sundown to leave town!" 

They gasped. Trampas had cast the die. 
But still the Virginian was quiet. 

"Trampas," he said, "are you sure you 
mean that?" 

"Yes!" said Trampas, "and much more." 

"Gentlemen," said the Virginian, turning 
to his friends. "This is my affair. You'll 
oblige me?" 

"It's your affair," said Scipio. He looked 
around. "Does anyone feel a call to mix 
in?" 

There was no answer. And the Virginian 
went into the street and looked at the hotel — 
knowing that she was there. Ten minutes 
later he still did not know what to do. He 
met the bishop, who had heard, and was 
sorrowful. 

"You — you must fight?" said the bishop. 

"Bishop — how can I help it?" 

The cry was wrung from him. The bishop 
sighed and shook his head. 

"Have you told Miss Wood?" he asked. 

"Need I?" asked the Virginian. 

"At once!" 

Slowly the Virginian turned toward the 
hotel. 



CHAPTER XII 

HE THOUGHT she did not know. But 
at the sight of her he saw that fools 
had told her. She clung to him, sobbing. 



"Oh — you're safe — you've come back to 
me!" she cried. "I was so frightened when 
I heard — but it's over — !" 

He held her, and looked at her, amazed. 

"Over?" he said. "Did yuh think it was 
over?" 

She started from him. 

"You mean? You're going to — " 

He bowed his head. 

"What can I do?" he asked. "He's cast a 
slur upon me. If I don't — meet him, I admit 
it's true. One of us has got to be killed for 
that — and it won't be me. I know that. God 
couldn't play such a trick on me as that." 

"You'd murder him — to prove you're 
brave? When everyone knows that already?" 

"Don't say murder," he said, sternly. "My 
dear — I've got to live here. This is my 
country. Could I live here when men could 
say that Trampas had ordered me out of 
town — and that I'd gone?" 

"You care more for what they say than 
you do — for me?" she asked, tensely. "Then 
— if you do that — this is the end!" 

The beads of sweat stood out on his brow. 

"You mean — there'd be no to-morrow?" 

She nodded. 

He moved toward her. Then he spoke, 
very gently, as he drew back. 

"No," he said. "I was going to kiss you 
goodrbye — but I've no right to do that, now. 
I—" 

He turned toward the door. But she clung 
to him, tried to hold him back. Gently he 
freed himself. She screamed, and he went 
out, with that sound in his ears. In the 
street he looked about. Suddenly something 
brushed his sleeve. He fired — twice. And a 
hundred feet away lay what had been 
Trampas. He walked toward him, his gun 
still ready. But he had done his work. He 
brushed aside those who came running to 
congratulate him. Slowly he walked back 
to the hotel. He went to her room and stood 
in the door. She was sitting, her head bowed 
on her hands, by the bureau. She looked 
up, and saw him in the glass. 

"I— I've got to tell yuh," he said. "I've 
killed Trampas." 

"Oh— thank God!" she cried. 

And she was in his arms. 

"But you said — " he began, bewildered. 

"Oh — that! I — can't you see — I was afraid 
for you?" 

They laughed together. 



74 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



The Adventurer 

By Berton Braley 



TX THE middle of the jungle 

Photographing beasts of prey, 
Where a single little bungle 

Means the Finish right away, 
'Mid the motion of the ocean, 

Or the plains of Martaban, 
Sounds the flutter of the shutter 

Of the Moving Picture Man. 

On a mountain high and dizzy 

Or an airship flying free, 
You will pften find him busy 

And as calm as calm can be, 
In the battle's roar and rattle, . 

Or the quiet of a bank 
Sounds the flutter of the shutter 

As he turns his little crank. 



He is always taking chances 

"With the pictures that he takes. 
And he meets with more romances 

Than a story teller makes, 
Never fearful, he is cheerful 

In the face of perils grim. 
And the flutter of his shutter 

Is the song of life to him. 



A Modern 



AND A DISTINGUISHED 
ACTOR 



By Frederick 
Brooke 




IF SAMUEL 
F O O T E, 
the noted 
wit, could hear 
h i s descendant 
exchange sallies 
and verbal 
thrusts w i t h 



^W.VfeV. 



CouHenay Foote 



his chosen friends, he would not feel 
ashamed of the modern Foote, for Courtenay 
is one of the dryest and neatest wits of the 
present day. He exudes wit and it is nat- 
ural, not forced; and, unlike Samuel's 
caustic utterances, it does not hurt even if 
it stings a bit at times. 

If Lydia Foote, the famous actress who 
later became Lady Harrington, could watch 
the work of the more modern Foote, she 
would have good reason to be proud of the 
manner in which Courtenay is handling the 
histrionic traditions of the family, for Court- 
enay Foote is an artistic and notable actor. 

In an issue of the London Society and 
Club journal "Vanity Fair," dated December 
24, 1913, there is a full page cartoon of 
Courtenay Foote which, to those who know 
how hard it is to obtain this honor, is a 
sign not only of popularity, but of merit far 

75 



7G 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



above the ordi 
nary. One can' 
not pur 
chase 
an ap- 
p e a r- 
ance i n 
a "Van- 
ity Fair" 
cartoon . 
I n this 
same i s- 
s.u e a p- 
p e a r 
f e w 
pithy lines 
which call 
attention 



to the charac- 
teristics of the lam 
pooned one. Tliese 
lines so fit Mr. 
F o o t e that I re- 
peat them here. 

"As an earnest 
worker in pro- 
viding good 
work in front of 
the moving-pic- 
ture lens, few, if 
any, have sur- 
passed him." 

Seated in h i s 
comfortable den 
w it h "cultiva- 
tion" written all 
over it, I asked 
my questions and 
had much enjoy- 
ment. Of course 
had to learn some- 
thing of his early 
history. 



"I was born in Yorkshire, England, and was educated 
at what my parents considered a most desirable school, 
at Oxford, and in Germany. I was neither a 
dullard at my studies nor did I ever set the 
Thames on fire with exhibitions of brilliant 
learning. I studied engineering in Ger- 
many and practised the profession of civil 
engineering in Scotland. (I always say 
'practised the profession," it sounds so well.) 
"I had numerous friends and used to recite 
blank verse to them because I loved it, and 
they would advise me to go on the stage and 
were even rude enough to suggest I could 
earn more that way than at engineering. So I 
broached the subject to the family and the head 
of the house, my Grandfather, (you know 
what the head of the house is in the older 
countries, the high panjandrum so 
to speak) stamped his foot in 
the most approved manner 
and also said he would cut me 
off with the usual shilling if 
I persisted in my nefarious 
intentions. So I dropped it 
for awhile and went into 
the brokerage business 
where I soon convinced 
everybody that I was a 
bad business man and 
the old gentleman evi- 
dently thought I 
could not do much 
worse than I was 
doing and re- 
moved his ob- 
jections. 




A MODERN WIT 



77 



"I often wish I had struck a heroic pose 
and defied everybody, because it sounds so 
much better, doesn't it? However, I got an 
introduction from a relative, the wife of Sir 
Charles Flower, to F. R. Benson, the Shakes- 
perean actor and scholar, and for that mat- 
ter, an incomparable teacher and kindly gen- 
tleman. I recited to him one night, in the 
manufacturing town, of Oldham. I say re- 
cited. But when he said 'enough,' I quite 
agreed with him, and expected a tart com- 
mand to return when I came. But evidently 
I had impressed him enough for a trial. 

"In the eighteen months I stayed with the 
Benson troupe I worked up from small parts 
to big ones. Yes, Mr. Benson is an excellent 
tutor, and I am proud of my connection with 
him and his talented company. He has given 
the world a number of fine actors and 
actresses who, when they left his company 
knew how to use their voices, wear their 
clothes and carry themselves properly. 

"Following this altogether delightful en- 
gagement, I went to London and appeared 
with Charles Hawtry at the Haymarket 
Theatre in 'Lucky Miss Dean' and 'The In- 
decision of Mr. Kingsbury.' Then I played 
Prince Hal with Beerbohm Tree in 'Henry' 
the Fourth' at the Shakesperean Festival, 
which was followed by an eleven months' en- 
gagement with Gerald Du Maurier in 
'Raffles,' in which I took the part of 
Crowley. 

"I remained with Du Maurier to play 
Tommy in 'Brewster's Millions,' and I also 
understudied Du Maurier. After one or two 
short engagements at the Court Theatre I 
again joined Beerbohm Tree, playing Lord 
Worthington in 'Admiral Bashville.' Then I 
think I played with Gerald Lawrence in 
'Into the Light' at the Court." 

"What happened then?" 

"I was tired out and wanted a rest so I 
took an eight months' holiday, traveling over 
England and going to the Scilly Isles and to 
Paris. Here I purchased two plays and was 
in the midst of translating them when an 
actor friend visited me and told me he was 
sailing for America. I asked him when. 

" 'In three weeks,' he told me, 'why not 
come along?' Having nothing definite in 
view I said 'righto,' and so I came. Five 
days after I landed in New York, I appeared 
with Digby Bell and Catherine Clifford in 
'The Debtors,* taking the part of Arthur 
Clenham. We went on the road with the 
play and did well. Then followed in suc- 



cession Captain Jack Archer in the 'Fires of 
Fate' under Frohman, Skelton Perry in 'Is 
Matrimony a Failure,' in New York and Chi- 
cago, under Belasco and Viscount Charles 
Deedford, a part I created with George Arliss 
in 'Disraeli.' 

"Then I took a six months' holiday in 
England and returned to appear under the 
Liebler management in the all star cast of 
'Oliver Twist' " 

"What about the pictures," I asked Mr. 
Foote. 

"My thoughts had for a long time been 
turning screenwards. I cannot own that I 
ever despised the motion pictures, and the 
more I studied them the more I was inter- 
ested in acting which could make itself felt 
without the use of words. So I visited the 
Vitagraph studios and met Mr. Smith and 
Mr. Blackton, both charming men by the 
way. I repeated my visits, becoming more 
enamored each trip, and I finally decided to 
try the experiment to see if I could make 
good. In my first picture I took the lead in 
the first of the 'Captain Barnacle' series and 
I liked the work immensely. Later came 
'The Reincarnation of Karma,' which really 
established me, the part of Horatio Sparkins 
in a Dickens series, Wolf Saltzman in Cath- 
erine Carr's 'Father and Son,' and many 
other parts and plays. I then went to Eng- 
land for another holiday and how I did en- 
joy meeting my old friends, members of the 
profession, mostly. I was surprised to find 
how many of the old timers had gone into 
moving pictures and to note the advance in 
the industry in the old country. I attended 
the first smoker held by the trade over there 
and I made it a point to visit the Hepworth 
studios to meet Larry Trimble and that de- 
lightful woman and actress, Florence Turner. 
I have most pleasant memories of my work 
with her and admire her immensely. She 
seemed to be very happy in her new work. 
It was on this trip that I was interviewed 
for 'Vanity Fair' and cartooned by A. S. P., 
all of which I appreciate highly. 

On returning, I came out here to Califor- 
nia with David Griffith to work in Reliance 
and Majestic films. Yes, I like it out here 
very much and hope that my stay may be 
a long one." 

Men of the stamp of Courtenay Foote are 
an honor to the profession of motion picture 
acting. He is a gentleman every inch of him. 
At first impression he may strike one as be- 
ing somewhat foppish, for the fact is that he 



rs 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



is meticulous about his dress. He 
sometimes allows himself to disre- 
g a r d convention and invents 
some article of clothing 
which is both smart and 
comfortable. There is a 
semi-Byronic collar, 
for instance, which 
he affects and 
which has been 
copied large- 
ly of late. 
Court- 
e n a y 





Foote will help 
a woman on a 
car and put her 
bundle of 
washing 
i n after her 
and raise his 
hat with the 
same punc- 
t i 1 i o u s- 
ness as he 
would to a 
woman of his 
own class. His 
manner to a cow- 
boy is the same as 
to a Duke and here- 
in lies much of his 
charm. He is natural 
at all times and will 
change neither his accent nor 
his manners to suit anybody. 

There is one picture in particular in which 
he appeared which gave striking evidence of 
his ability. It was a Vitagraph film, a com- 
edy called "He Waited." In this Foote 
called upon a young lady to take her to a 
dance and as he waited for her, he grew older 
and older until at last he was a doddering old 
man. It was a marvellous bit of acting and 
of make up. Every little point was studied 
and everything, every move and every action 
was artistically effective. 



Mr. Foote has 
just signed a con- 
tract with the 
Bosworth Incor- 
porated and will 
receive opportuni- 
ties which he has 
never had before. The result 
should be gratifying to Bosworth and Co., 
Courtenay Foote and the photoplay going 
public. 



^r 



"THE SPARKS OF FATE" 



79 




<?<! 



''You Lose. Graham, You Lose!" He Said. 



Sparks of Fate 

TWO MEN AND A GIRL AND 
A BATTLE BY WIRELESS 



By Edith Huntington Mason 



Illustrations from the Essanay Film 



}!> 



THE beach sparkled in the afternoon 
sunlight and an indolent sea rolled 
slow breakers to the shore. Inside 
the little wireless station the two operators 
sat and played cards. It was a friendly 
habit they had when the one came to relievo 
the other on duty. To-night as usual, the 
game went against the younger of the two, 
Wilbur Hayes, and as usual his dark face 
expressed his chagrin. 



"Did you ever see the hanged luck?" he 
said. "I never win!" 

The otBer man, Frank Graham, big and 
tall and with a smile that made all the 
world his friend, laughed light-heartedly. 

"Perhaps you're lucky at love then," he 
said, "a fellow ought to win at something!" 

A knock came at the door and a voice 
said, "May I come in?" It was a feminine 
voice, very joyous and young. 



80 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



"You bet you can!" said Graham fer- 
vently, opening the door. 

A girl entered, her cheeks deep rose as 
if from a race down the beach. 

"I'm so glad to catch you both," she said, 
perching herself with pretty assurance on 
the edge of the work littered table, "I've 
an invitation for you." Her glance of in- 
nocent allurement rested first on one young 
fellow, then on the other. "Ma says," she 
went on, indicating with her hand a cot- 
tage which could be seen through the win- 
dow not far up the shore, "that she's going 
to have blueberry pie for dinner and you're 
both to come!" 

Young Hayes broke into a broad grin. 
"You don't say!" he said. "Why that's 
white of her, Ruth, and white of you to 
come and tell us! Your mother knows 
that blueberry pie always gets my goat!" 

"Oh," said the young woman quickly, "as 
far as that goes, she's going to have fried 
cakes, too!" 

That was the delicacy which most ap- 
pealed to the other operator and the little 
witch must have known it, for as she 
spoke she smiled right into Frank Gra- 
ham's serious gray eyes. From which it 
will be seen that Miss Ruth Donald was, 
without any intention at all and with no 
instruction whatever, a past mistress at the 
art of keeping two young men in love with 
her at the same time. She was an unusual 
girl and her two years away at school had 
given her the poise and sophistication of a 
much older one. This affair with the two 
wireless operators had been going on all 
summer and now that winter was approach- 
ing, was no nearer a solution for Ruth than 
it had ever been. She liked them both 
tremendously; the big, even-tempered, gen- 
erous Frank Graham, and the slender, per- 
verse Wilbur whose mood could never be 
relied upon. But she did not feel that she 
loved either. 

And although she had been able to keep 
them both on the same friendly footing 
for some time it was, of course, impossible 
to do that forever. One day a walk on the 
beach had resulted in a proposal from the 
impetuous Wilbur. They were sitting on 
a log embedded in the sand and the young 
man had somehow obtained possession of 
her hand. Miles away the tall staff on the 
top of the wireless station and a curl of 
smoke from a tramp steamer in the harbor 
beyond showed against the sky. 



"Isn't there anything a fellow could do, 
Ruthie?" he said, his lips quivering with 
the intensity of his feeling. "Nothin' at 
all that he could do to make you care? 
It doesn't seem as if it were possible for 
me to do without you!" 

She patted his thin fingers with friendly 
kindness. 

"Now, now, Wilbur boy," she said. "Don't 
talk to me like that. I didn't mean to let 
you say it, honest I didn't. For I can't say 
what you want me to, I can't, really." 

He recoiled from her, his brows dark and 
scowling. "Why not?" he demanded and 
Ruth looked at him sadly for it wasn't 
scorned love but injured pride that spoke 
in that tone. 

She rose. "Because I only think of you 
as a friend," she said gently. "Come, 
let's go." 

But he caught her arm. His expression 
now was entirely devoid of tenderness, it 
was all hate. "Is it — is it — Frank?" he 
managed to say, his jealousy making him 
stammer. 

She disengaged herself with cool dignity. 

"Frank is my friend, too," she said. 
"You've no right to know, but I gave him 
the same answer I've given you, only the 
other day." 

Hayes' brow cleared a little. "So that's 
it, is it? You don't care for either of us!" 

The light of coquetry came back into the 
girl's eyes, momentarily serious. 

"On the contrary," she answered lightly, 
"I love you both so much I can't tell which 
I love the most. Come on back. I bet I 
can beat you home!" She tucked her fleecy 
tarn o'shanter under her arm and with her 
hair snapping like fire in the sunlight raced 
away down the beach with Wilbur after her. 

The discovery that Frank, too, had been 
unsuccessful, did not entirely appease 
Hayes' jealousy. Even if Graham had re- 
ceived the same answer that he had himself, 
they were still on the same footing, the 
other operator had just as much chance of 
winning Ruth as he had. On the way to 
the station that afternoon his fertile brain 
was busy scheming how to get rid of his 
rival. But an idea did not come to him 
until he had entered the office and hung his 
cap on a peg just before going to work. 

Frank and an old seaman from the tramp 
ship which had come into harbor that morn- 
ing were playing cards. As the former 
looked up and nodded pleasantly a scheme 



V 




In the Direction of a Cottage Where He Knew a Girl with Hair Like an Aureole of Gold 
Must he Sitting. 



82 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



for deciding the question of Ruth Donald's 
favor flashed into Wilbur's brain. A game 
of chance should settle the matter! They 
would throw a few "cold hands" and the 
loser should go away and leave the field 
for the winner. There was plenty of prece- 
dent in romance for such an expedient 
and the young man's imagination was cap- 
tured by the idea. However, he did not like 
to suggest it in cold blood. So he contented 
himself with a surly greeting in response 
to Frank's smile and sat himself down at 
the wireless machine with his back to the 
card players. 

Graham's good-humored face sobered, and 
his eyes filled with astonishment. "Say, 
Wilbur," he said, "you're scarcely civil. 
Captain McLeish left his ship to come and 
pay us a little call and now you can't even 
say 'hello!' " 

"I ain't dyin' of it," said the old captain 
laconically, shifting his pipe from one side 
of his mouth to the other. 

Frank laughed and turned to the game. 
"All right," he said. Then over his shoulder 
to Hayes hunched above the table, "Has 
Ruthie been doing anything to you, Wil- 
bur?" he asked. "Is that why you're so 
more than usual unsociable?" 

Hayes turned as quick as a flash and his 
face was dark with passion. "Look here, 
Graham," he said springing to his feet, "I'll 
thank you to leave Miss Donald's name out 
of the conversation! What she and I have 
to say to each other is no concern of yours!" 

Graham rose, too, but he was perfectly 
cool. "I see that I guessed right!" he said. 
"Too bad, Wilbur old boy! But every man 
has to take his medicine you know!" 

"Yes," said Hayes, his anger turning to 
moodiness as he sat down with them at the 
card table, "you don't have to tell me that, 
only it seems a pity, doesn't it, that we 
should both stay on here, interfering with 
each other's chances?" 

Graham sat down and crossed one long 
leg over the other, then he lit a cigarette 
slowly. 

"What in time do you mean?" he said. 

Hayes explained his idea eagerly, ob- 
livious of the old seaman who stolidly be- 
gan, a game of solitaire. 

"We'll throw a few cold hands," he fin- 
ished, "and the loser quits his job and 
. leaves town so the winner can have the 
field to himself." He was still under the 
thrall of his late emotions aroused by the 



interview with Ruth, and was terribly in 
earnest. Graham's laugh of derision, there- 
fore, brought the red blood to his face. 

"Well," he said, "what is there to laugh 
about? If you weren't a fool you'd see it 
was a good idea." 

Graham leaned his handsome head back 
against the wall and yawned in a bored 
way. "It's because I'm not a fool that I 
don't agree," he said. "No man in his 
senses is going to risk his chance of win- 
ning his girl on a game of cards." 

Wilbur rose, trembling with disappoint- 
ment and anger. "O, then you're a coward, 
hey?" he said, and struck Graham. 

The proverbial flash of lightning could 
hardly have been quicker than Frank's leap 
for the other operator, but the table was 
between them, and the old captain further 
protected Wilbur by throwing himself In 
front of him. 

"I don't like to see you two boys fightin'," 
said the old man, "and about a girl, too! 
Why the world's full o' women! You'd much 
better play cards to decide it, than fly at 
each other's throats. It's more civilized." 

The two young men stared at each other 
across the table and now the older oper- 
ator's face was dark with as ugly passions 
as those depicted on Wilbur's. 

The word coward rankled and upset his 
good judgment and his common sense. "All 
right," he said slowly, holding the other 
with his eye. "I never refused yet to meet 
a man in any game. I'm not afraid of the 
cards. We'll play." 

They sat down and dealt the hands. In 
an instant the atmosphere of the room grew 
tense. The ticking of the clock sounded like 
the voice of fate and except for that and 
the excited breathing of the old seaman be- 
hind Wilbur's chair, there was no sound. 

The cards fell rapidly and the first round 
went to Graham. Hayes' face grew thunder- 
ous. It was to be the best out of three. 
They dealt the cards again and this time 
the younger operator won. The next was 
the decisive round and Wilbur's hand shook 
as he dealt. He gave a swift glance at his 
hand, and then a very strange thing hap- 
pened. While his opponent still kept his 
eyes fastened on his cards, Hayes, swifter 
than thought drew an ace from the pack 
at his elbow. As quickly he substituted it 
for a card he already held, and in another 
instant was asking Graham how many he 
wanted in a tone as cool as you please. 



"THE SPARKS OF FATE" 



83 



A few minutes of play ended the sus- 
pense and Wilbur with a sneering smile of 
triumph was spreading out on the table the 
royal straight flush which told the story of 
his victory. 

"You lose, Graham! You lose!" he said. 

Frank stared at the cards as if stunned. 
Slowly the anger which the word coward 
had aroused and which had driven him to 
his undoing, faded from his face. An ex- 
pression of grief took its place. "Ruthie!" 
he murmured and rising unsteadily walked 
to the window and looked out. 

At the same moment the old captain, 
stern and grave, rose and bent over Wilbur. 
"You cheated!" he whispered in the young 
man's ear. "You cheated and I saw you 
do it!" 

A spasm of fear swept over Hayes. But 
it was no time to back out now. Without 
wasting a minute in replying he plunged 
into his pocket and bringing up a handful 



of bills swept them into the others hands, 
putting his finger on his lip at the same 
time. 

Captain McLeish of the tramp steamer 
Melba was old, and his faded uniform 
threadbare, and he had not money enough 
to pay the crew of his steamer and the 
steamer had to sail that evening. He had 
to think quickly or he might perhaps have 
decided on a more honorable course of ac- 
tion. As it was, when Graham, once more 
composed and master of himself, looked 
around, the captain's hand was deep in his 
pocket and the money was not to be seen. 

At sunset when the S. S. Melba sailed out 
of the harbor she carried witli her a young 
man who looked as if he had been stricken 
by some mortal blow. The vessel steamed 
bravely out to sea, the ships in the harbor 
and the houses on the bluff above them 
receding slowly, but the young man's gaze 
was fixed only in the direction of a cottage 







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The Captain Called Graham's Attention to the Dark Column of Wind Which was Whirling Toward the Vessel 





8-i 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



far down the shore near the wireless tele- 
graph station, where he knew a girl with 
hair like an aureole of gold, and a heart 
more precious than any metal, must be sit- 
ting and reading the note which he had 
sent her. 

"Dear Ruth," it began. His inward eye 
could read the heartless words over her 
slender shoulder. "I have given up my job 
at the wireless station and I'm going abroad 
for a number of years. Good-bye." 

"No explanation, no reason why," he mut- 
tered to himself. "Just going away, that's 
all. God! What will she think?" And all 
the efforts of his friend the captain to dis- 
tract him proved in vain. 

The operator who was to replace Graham 
was not coming until the next day and 
Hayes was on duty at the station that 
night. There had been little business to 
attend to, however, only a few messages 
from the weather bureau. The night was 
a bad one, for a fierce wind had blown up 
and the waves were lashing the coast. 
Hayes rose from his chair and looked out 



at the wild water and smashing sheet of 
rain. His face blanched a little as he 
thought of the Melba. Had that treacherous 
ace of his really sent his rival to his death? 
Was it possible that the old tramp steamer 
might not weather the storm? 

His apprehensions, if they were suf- 
ficiently serious to be so called, were en- 
tirely Justine;!, for the Melba was having 
a hard time of it. At six o'clock the captain 
had called Graham's attention to the dark 
column of wind which was whirling its way 
over the sea toward the vessel and ever 
since it had been a hard fight to keep her 
above water. But it was from another quar- 
ter that she received her death-blow. 
Toward midnight an explosion in the engine 
room set the ship on fire and at the same 
moment a bolt of lightning struck her wire- 
less outfit and knocked the operator sense- 
less. It seemed almost as if her doom had 
been foreordained. 

Captain McLeish encountering Graham in 
the wireless room where a group of sea- 
men were attending the unconscious oper- 




"THE SPARKS OF FATE" 



85 




ator, turned to him in despair. "Allen was 
our only operator," lie said. "Could you 
send the call for help for us?" 

Graham did not need to be urged. Al- 
ready lie had his coat off and was seated 
at the instrument while his practiced fingers 
sought the key. The electricity sput- 
tered and hissed while little flames shot 
forth, and outside the lightning played sav- 
agely about the pilot-house. 

"S. O. S.," went the call. "S. 0. S. Steam- 
ship Melba. Fire in the engine room. 
S. O. S." 

Far and wide went the call within a fifty 
mile radius, the extent of the range of the 
old ship's equipment. It was not a wide 
radius, but it took in a certain wireless sta- 
tion on the coast near the port from which 
the vessel had sailed, just as Graham had 
hoped it would. But a young man with a 
lean dark face and frowning brows, who 
was on duty there and whose business it 
was to send out a call for help with the 
station's powerful apparatus which could 
reach any revenue cutter within a fifteen 
hundred mile radius, and whom Graham 
had hoped would respond, failed to do so. 



Something was the matter with him. He 
heard the call plainly enough, that was evi- 
dent, for as he bent over the instrument, 
the receivers to his ears, his eyes on the 
storm-beaten window, his face whitened and 
his lips grew tense and his hand shook. 

"S. O. S.," came the call, "S. O. S.,"" im- 
perative, urgent, a last appeal from men 
who loved life and saw death just ahead 
of them. 

What evil influence could have seized 
upon the operator at the station to make 
him refuse to answer? It was the demon 
of hate which he was fighting, which said, 
"Kill your rival! Let the boat sink — don't 
send help — let him die and be gone out of 
your way forever!" His breath came in 
gasps, tears of excitement and self-horror 
rolled down his cheeks and the perspiration 
burst from his forehead, but still he stayed 
his hand and made no response. 

But although the soul struggle which was 
going on in that little room in the wireless 
station was terrific, it could hardly be com- 
pared to the supreme struggle for his life 
and the lives of his comrades which Frank 
Graham was making in the wireless room 



8G 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



on board the Melba. Again and again he 
sent out that agonized appeal for help, 
"S. O. S., S. O. S.," sticking to his task 
although by this time the water was pour- 
ing into the doomed ship and the crew and 
the tew passengers had already taken to 
the boats. Only the captain and himself 
remained on board, and now McLeish was 
standing by the operator's side and while 
he fastened a life preserver upon the young 
man, was praying him to give up his efforts 
to get help and save his own life. 

But Graham was a man whose will was 
granite and whose fearlessness was heroic. 
Get an answer from that wireless station he 
must and would, and instead of obeying the 
old seaman he only bent to the instrument 
the more eagerly. It seemed almost as if 
he knew that the force he was fighting was 
not limitless space, but the hate of a human 
being and that human being, Wilbur Hayes. 

But now the time was short, for the old 
tramp steamer, very nearly ready to give 
up the ghost, gave a weary lurch to one 
side and began to settle down. McLeish 
tore the receivers from the operator's ears 
by force. 

"Boy!" he shouted, while the wind and 
thunder tried their best to drown his words. 
"Boy, if we must die there's somethin' ye 
ought to know first. That lad back there 
at the station, that Hayes fellow, cheated 
ye when ye played that card game. He 
cheated ye and I saw him and that's God's 
truth!" 

In moments like that of extreme danger 
people do not waste time doubting each 
other, and Graham, hearing with ears that 
even without the receivers still strained for 
a response from the station, took in what 
McLeish was saying and a yell of baffled 
love, and of rage because he had been tricked, 
escaped him. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" he cried, shak- 
ing the other fiercely by the shoulders. 
"Why didn't you tell me?" He pushed the 
old man aside and ran wildly out on deck. 
"Ruthie!" he shouted to wind and rain and 
leaping sea and the next minute was strug- 
gling in the water close to the old captain 
who had followed him out. 

At the same instant, Hayes back at the 
station fifty miles away, was frantically 
sending an answer to the Melba's call for 
help. His better nature had come to the 
fore at last. But too late. The instrument 
was there still above water, and the re- 



ceivers lay on the cabin table just where 
Frank had thrown them, but there was no 
one there to hear the call. 

The effect which Frank's apparent defec- 
tion had upon Ruth Donald was startling 
to the girl. The minute that the note in- 
forming her of his departure dropped from 
her hands she knew that her whole heart 
and soul were bound up in this man who 
had gone away, who had left her for some 
inexplicable reason, never to return. 

Self-revelation has a trick of coming upon 
us at the time when it is most tragic, and 
Ruth's discovery that she loved Frank in- 
stead of bringing joy only meant bitterness 
now. "O, why couldn't I have known be- 
fore?" she sobbed to herself all that night 
while the two men were fighting their duel 
by wireless across the deep sea. "Why 
couldn't I have known in time!" 

But there was a quality about Ruth 
Donald's character remarkable in a woman 
and especially in so young a one. She had 
always been able to accept the past, to 
realize that what was done, was done, and 
not to permit herself to repine. So it was 
that when this great blow came upon her 
and she knew she had found her lover only 
to lose him, she would not despair but set 
about forgetting Frank as fast as possible. 
And under the circumstances, it was natural 
that she should turn to Wilbur to help her. 
Really to forget is not so much to ignore as 
to replace one set of ideas with another; 
and before long the girl was twining the 
broken tendrils of her heart's tenderness 
about Hayes. For he was very good looking 
and he loved her, and he had not gone 
away and left her as her other lover had 
done. 

As for Wilbur, he had no hesitation what- 
ever in profiting by his rival's absence to 
make love to Ruth. Although he had been, 
on the day following the storm, in a 
wretched state of mind as a result of his 
tardiness in answering the Melba's call for 
help which he feared had resulted fatally, 
his good spirits had been restored almost 
immediately by a wireless message to the 
effect that the entire crew had been picked 
up by a revenue cutter. His conscience, 
therefore, free from the thought that he had 
been the means of causing Graham's death, 
there was nothing to dampen the ardor of 
his wooing for such a little thing as the 
remembrance of the trick he had played 
Graham in the card game, he did not allow 



'THE SPARKS OF FATE' 



87 



to bother him. Six months from the time 
of Frank's departure the two were engaged 
and six weeks later, Graham, lying weak 
and ill in a Boston hospital where he had 
been ever since the wreck of the Melba, 
read in the newspapers of their intended 
marriage. 

The crew r of the vessel had been rescued 
by a revenue cutter which had not ob- 
served Graham and the captain clinging to 



seemed too horrible that his girl, Ruth, who 
was herself the soul of honor and of truth, 
should be tricked into marrying a man 
whose true character was so little know-n 
to her. A groan shook the cot on which 
lie lay and the other patients in the sun- 
tilled ward, turned in weak astonishment 
to see what ailed the young fellow, who 
through all his suffering heretofore had 
never murmured. 




some wreckage. The two men had been 
intensely thankful, therefore, when a man 
in a hydro-aeroplane had picked them up 
the next morning just as they had become 
almost exhausted with cold and exposure. 

The news of Ruth's coming marriage to 
Wilbur Hayes came to the young man in 
the hospital with more of a shock even than 
he had received on first hearing that fire 
had broken out in the Melba's engine room. 

It seemed too frightful that treachery 
should have such a reward as that. It 



A nurse came to his side and the 
doctor who had just entered hurried up. 
And just in time, for a very devil of rage 
now stirred the soul of Graham, who was 
one of those men who are slow to wrath 
but terrible when aroused. He sat up in 
bed and thrust aside the doctor and nurse. 
"Give me my clothes." he said, "I have work 
to do. Give me my clothes!" 

They tried to hold him, arguing that he 
was too weak to leave the hospital, but wild 
horses could not have stayed him. He got 



88 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



his clothes on somehow, paid his bill and, 
refusing all assistance, reeled from the 
hospital doors and started on his journey 
to the little coast town where Ruth lived. 
The wedding was at five that afternoon and 
he had just time to get there. 

The beach sparkled in the afternoon sun- 
light and an indolent sea rolled slow 
breakers to the shore. The flag on the wire- 
less station fluttered gaily in the breeze and 
in the cottage where Ruth's mother had 
been spending busy days getting ready for 
her daughter's wedding there was much 
mild excitement. A few friends had gath- 
ered, the groom's arrival was expected at 
any moment, and the bride was all ready 
and waiting in an upstairs room. She had 
been left to herself for a few moments and 
was standing now looking at herself in the 
glass and wondering if that girl with the 
tense, pale face were really she. She had a 
firm will and she had bent it to the task of 
making herself feel satisfied with marrying 
Wilbur, with all the strength in her power, 
but now, when the crucial moment had ar- 
rived; she felt almost as if it had failed her. 
A horrible feeling that she had deceived 
herself came over her and she began to fear 
that when she had had Wilbur's arms about 
her it had been Frank Graham's arms she 
had been thinking of, and that it was his 
kisses that she longed for — not Wilbur's. 

A commotion downstairs made her start. 



The bridegroom had arrived, and she must 
go through with it! She straightened, like 
a tall white lily, and stood proudly facing 
the door. 

But it was not Hayes who had caused the 
commotion. A buckboard had dashed up to 
the door and to the amazement of the guests, 
who expected they knew not what belated 
guest, Frank Graham, pale and thin, had 
leaped out. Pausing only to ascertain the 
direction of Ruth's room, he had flashed 
through the astonished assemblage at the 
foot of the stairs and in the next instant 
was knocking at his beloved's door. 

"Come in," said the girl bravely. She 
thought it was the summons to go down- 
stairs. When she saw who it really was 
her knees almost failed her. It was too 
much to believe that it was Frank Graham 
who had returned to her just in the nick 
of time. A cry of gladness burst from her. 
"Frank! Frank!" she said. 

Out through the open window rang that 
cry and struck the ears of a dark-browed 
young man in a new serge suit, who had 
come up the path from the beach just in 
time to see Graham's arrival. And at the 
sound of it he picked up the new valise he 
had set down in his astonishment, glanced 
at his watch, and then looked anxiously 
out toward the harbor where a tramp 
steamer lay at anchor, the slow smoke 
curling upward from her funnel. 



TRUE PHILANTHROPY 

DEGGY SNOW cast bread upon the waters a short time ago that was repaid 
with heartfelt gratitude. A girl, now prominent in pictures in a Los Angeles 
studio, had a chance to appear in a Thanhouser production last winter, but 
she lacked wardrobe. "Peggy" heard of it and sought the girl out. She learned 
that she had talent and appeared to have a future if given a chance. Finding 
that the girl was thrown upon her own resources and had left a chorus in New- 
York because the life wasn't conducive to health, Peggy took the girl into her 
own dressing room and togged her out. She caught several days' work and had 
access to some of Peggy's best dresses. Then a rumor went around the studio 
of an opening for an ingenue on the coast. The girl was sent West at Peggy's 
instigation with an introduction, and landed. Peggy's clothes adorned many of 
the releases and a few days ago a letter came asking Peggy to sell them. But 
the Nut Brown "Peg o' the Movies" saw more than money in that letter from a 
thankful heart. She wrote the girl to keep the clothes, and as for payment, 
should she run across a girl in like circumstances in the future to pass along 
some of her own wardrobe. The real philanthropist doesn't necessarily have to 
graduate from the stock market. 



The Littlest Leading Lady 




MISS CLARA HORTON— AGE NINE 



By Mabel Condon 

invisible spot on the short pink dress she wore. 
"I don't see any spot, dear," answered Mrs. Hor- 
ton, looking up from the trunk she was packing and 
glancing suspiciously at her little daughter. 

Clara laughed and raised her eyes — they were 
swimming in tears and she confessed, "I know 
there isn't any spot there. But I had to say some- 
thing, didn't I?" 

"Of course, but — " began Mrs. Horton and then 
stopped. 

"I know, but I thought maybe the tears would go 
away and nobody need know," ex- 
plained Clara in a penitent voice and 
transferring 
the service 
of the 



"I'm Nine 
Years Old and 
My Birthday's 
in June and I 
Always Have 
a Party and a 
Cake with 
Candles 
on it" 



CLARA HORTON sat on top of 
a brand new trunk and smil- 
ingly declared she didn't a 
bit mind going away out to Arizona. 

"Not a bit," she repeated and em- 
phatically shook her head as an accom 
paniment to the statement. But her 
lower lip trembled and two little white 
teeth were just visible as they firmly 
pressed down upon her lip and held the smile 
in place. 

"What can that be on my dress, mother?" 
diverged, vigorously applying a handkerchief 




00 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



handkerchief from her dress to her eyes. "So 
I just tried to turn attention to my dress, 
'cause I don't want people to think I'm a cry- 
baby 'cause I'm going away so far! And I'm 
not going to be lonesome, either," she de- 
fended, smoothing out the handkerchief's 
border of lace with her fingers. 

"But it should be lots of fun," I encour- 
aged. "And such a change — and then you 
can always come back, you know!" 

"Yes, but meanwhile, who's going to play 
with me like Mr. Alec Francis does on days 
he's not busy and I'm not busy?" 

Unfortunately, we had no solution to this 
question and Clara con- 
tinued: 

"And who's go 
ing to help me 
dress my 
dolls and 
tell me 



bara Tennant won't be 
around to do it?" Again 
our answer was si- 
lence. 

"But — I don't 
mind, honest- 
ly!" she smil- 



!# 




She Played the Lead | 
in "Aunty's Money "•'■ *\ ^ 
Bag" with Such De- 
lightful Poise That •> . 
You Would Never ^ 
Suspect Her of a "< 
Passion for Dolls - - 



w hat 
Fifth ave 
nue's wearing 
w hen Bar- 





"I Wear Long 
Dresses and Do 
My Hair Up in 
Some of the Plays 
and That's Just as 
Good as Being 
Grown Up" 



ed and resolutely put away her handkerchief. "Only 
I will miss the Eclair studio here, and my dress- 
ing-room and the nice people. But — " and again 
she smiled and this time expectantly, "I'll have 
a new dressing-room and the people in Arizona 
must be just as nice as people are here. I'll just 
have to get used to all the newness and then 
I'll like it fine, I'm sure." 

"You see, Clara's been here at the Eclair 

studio for a couple of years now and she's so 

used to it and knows everybody so well that it 

will be a little strange at first, working in 

Tucson, where she's never been before," put 

in Clara's mother, who, instead of just being 

Clara's especial helper, is wardrobe lady, as 

well. 

■ "Of course, I'm to take the trip with 

I Clara," she added, kneeling beside the 



THE LITTLEST LEADING LADY 



91 



For Months 
Clara Horton 
has been Play- 
ing the Lead in 
Juvenile Plays, 
Which Are 
"'Grown-XTp'* 
Flays Done 
Entirely by 
Children 




young lady so I could wear my hair up like they do." 

"But," I offered, "Milly Bright and Helen Martin and 

the other grown-up girls haven't got dolls to play with 

and — " this was just a guess — "they don't have cakes with 

candles on their birthdays." 

"No, they don't!" responded Clara joyfully. "And I'd 

rather be a little girl after all, I guess. Besides," as a 

new thought came to her, "I wear long dresses and 

do my hair up in those juvenile plays the director 

has been making! And that's just as good as being 

grown-up!" 

"Certainly," we agreed and she continued: 

"And sometimes I have a real baby to mind in 

those juvenile pictures. And lots of times I'm 

supposed to be a soldier or a tramp or a sailor 




trunk to smooth down a gay little velvet coat and to pile 
other little garments neatly on top of it. "I'd never let 
Clara go alone; I've always traveled with her. And she's 
nine years old now," she said proudly. And the girl who 
was nine repeated, also proudly: 

"Yes, I'm nine. My birthday's in June and I always 
have a party and a cake with candles on it. I'm anxious 
to be ten 'cause then, there'll be two figures in my age 
instead of just one. And I know I'll feel ever so much 
older!" 

The wardrobe lady smiled into the trunk and 
patted the garments of the nine-year- 
old. The latter didn't notice the 
smile and talked on: 

"Milly Bright and Helen Martin 
and the other girls who are grown- 
up, wear such nice things and do 
their hair up — and I wish I were a 



"At the Court of 
Prince Hake-Be- 
lieve" Called For 
Costumes, Scenery, 
and last — Though 
Not by Any Means 
Least — For Act- 
ing of the Highest 
Order 



i>2 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 




spare moments to herself and her dolls. 

"I have some awfully pretty things," was the 
thought that emerged after Clara's short 
silence. "And my mother made them for 
me; all of them," she went on and 
smiled gratefully at the mother who 
had made so many pretty things for 
her. "And I make all my clothes 
my dolls wear," she continued. "I 
guess I take after mother that 
way, in sewing, and after grand- 
mother, too; for they both can 
sew anything — almost," her truth- 
telling nature asserted itself over 
her great admiration for the ability 
of mother and grandmother. 
"Only," she confessed regretfully, 
"I can't use a thimble." There was an 



And Now Clara is Going to Tucson, Arizona, 
There to be "Leading Lady" with a Com- 
pany Made Up Entirely of Children 

or a society man with a silk hat. 
It's lots of fun being a man! I 
like to be a boy, too, and lots of 
times I am. Only one can't have 
such pretty things to wear, being a 
boy, as they can being a girl. So 
in honest-to-goodness life, I'm glad 
I'm a girl." She rapped her heels 
against the side of the new trunk, 
clasped her hands in her lap and 
seemed to have forgotten that she 
was going away from the 
Eclair studio at Fort Lee, 
N. J., to the Eclair studio 
at Tucson, Arizona; and 
which latter studio 
Clara doubted would 
produce anybody 
as nice as 
Alec Fran- 
c i s, w h o 
devotes 





"The Eclair Kid" Has Already Appeared 
in 250 Motion Pictures 



appeal for sympathy in the 
big blue-gray eyes and 
their owner further ex- 
plained, "When I put a 
thimble on, my finger 
just sticks straight out 
and won't bend, or a 
thing. But it will, some- 
time, for I'm going to keep en 
putting the thimble on it and 
can't stay sticking out like that 
all the time; do you think so?" 



THE LITTLEST LEADING LADY 



03 



"Certainly not," we said, and admired the 
youthful seamstress' determination. Among 
your acquaintances had been girls whose 
'thimble-finger acted the same way. 

"You didn't tell why you're going to Tuc- 
son, Clara," reminded Clara's mother, as she 
folded a dozen or more pairs of small hose 
and tucked them neatly away. 

"0, I thought you knew!" replied Clara, 
her big eyes expressing wonder at anybody's 
not knowing. "There's to be a juvenile com- 
pany formed at the Tucson studio and I'm 
to be the leading lady," she announced, 
changing her position to avoid the shaft of 
sunlight that was gradually dispossessing her 
of the trunk. 

"For months," went on Clara, "the other 
children around the studio here, and me, 
have been doing juvenile pictures; but out 
in Tucson there's to be a regular company 
and a regular director, just for us! So that's 
why they're sending me to Tucson and I 
hope there'll be lots and lots of little girls 
and boys there who are just my age. I love 
to play with other children in pictures and 
afterward. But I'm taking all my dolls so 
I'll have children to play with, even if there 
aren't any who are really Tucson children. 

"Some of my dolls the people at the studio 
gave me and some of them I've had for 
long before I came to the studio at all." She 
paused and figured out how long that was. 
"Two years, isn't it, mother — or more?" 

"More," replied Mrs. Horton. 

"And what did you do before coming to the 
studio?" I asked the little girl on the trunk. 

"Well, first — do you want to know all 
about me from the first?" she asked. 

"Then, my mother will have to start it 
for I don't remember from the first," she 
declared. 

"She was born in Brooklyn, on Halsey 
street," Mrs. Horton began, tucking two 
pairs of white kid slippers into a pink silk 
basket — Clara's sewing basket. "And from 
the time she was able to walk, she wanted 
to dance. She went to school when she was 
five and at the Christmas tableaux, did a 
toe dance that attracted the attention of a 
theatrical man who was present and he gave 
her a course of study in dancing at a school 
and then put her in the production, 'Jack 
and the Bean-Stalk.' The show went on the 
road after a while and I went with Clara 
and we traveled from coast to coast." 

"I remember the rest, mother," said Clara 
eagerly when Mrs. Horton paused between 



the selection of a small hat-box or a shoe-box 
for a measured space in the top lift of the 
trunk. 

"After 'Jack and the Bean-Stalk,* I was in 
a— a—" 

"Pantomime," prompted Mrs. Horton. 

" — of 'Cinderella' " went on Clara, not 
venturing to pronounce the word at which 
she had hesitated. "Then we came over to 
this studio one day and the director said 
he was looking for a little girl with long 
curls like mine, so I was in one picture and 
after that I came here to stay. Isn't that 
right, mother?" 

"Yes, that's right, dear," came the reply. 

"And I've had a teacher for three hours 
every day and I'm studying hard so I'll know 
just as much as though I went to a public 
school every day with the children who don't 
work in pictures for a living." 

"Oh, mother," she exclaimed, on noticing 
her mother discarding the shoe-box. "I must 
have that." 

"I don't think you'd better take that with 
you, Clara," advised Mrs. Horton. 

"But I can't leave it here, mother," wailed 
Clara, holding the box tight in her arms. 

"You can't play with it any more for it's 
all broken," further advised Mrs. Horton, as 
though that ended the matter. But it didn't, 
for Clara had her own idea of what was to 
become of the broken contents of the shoe- 
box. 

"It's one of my dolls," she explained to us 
and then revealed her plan. "The head's 
smashed and the hands and feet, they're 
smashed, too, and the legs were chewed by 
Teddy, the pup, but I can't throw the pool- 
thing out, even if it is, that way — so I'll 
tell you what I'll do!" 

She turned from me to her mother and 
back again and there was a light of wonder- 
ful wisdom in her eyes. 

"I'll take her to Tucson, and when I get 
a'quainted with the other children there, 
we'll have a beautiful fun'ral and maybe put 
up a tomb-stone!" 

Room was made in the crowded trunk for 
the shoe-box and I wished the little golden-, 
haired girl lots of playmates and fun in her 
Arizona home. 

"I'll write you about the fun'ral!" she 
called after me and waved a good-bye until 
the trees hid her. And that's the kind of 
little girl the popular Clara Horton is. Is it 
any wonder that the "Eclair kid" is a uni- 
versal favorite? 




She Was Very Quiet Until Td Got My Cigar Going Properly. Which Was Evidence Enough That She was Going to Make 

Up for Lost Time When She Sid Start Speaking 



s •. 



By Vivian 
Barrington 



Miss Laura Leonard 

HEART SPECIALIST 



Illustrated 

by J. Clinton 

Shepherd 



V. — A Mistaken Diagnosis 

Being an Account of How it was Discovered that Jimmy Stansbury 
Didn't Have a "Yellow Streak" 



I GOT to notice, after I'd really begun 
keeping tabs on Laura Leonard and her 
little tricks with people who were en- 
gaged, or she thought ought to be engaged, 
that we were usually happier in the Ventnor 
outfit when we were on the road. By that I 
don't mean really travelling, of course. But 
there'd be long stretches when we'd be all 
together, like a great big, happy family, 
down South, or out West somewhere, or 
maybe abroad. 

We did that travelling for various reasons. 
One was that Billy Crandall liked the idea. 
He was pretty fond of a change of scene 
himself, and he figured that it was a good 
thing for the company. 

"Wakes them up," he said to me one day. 
"Why, Fred — even you're nearly human 
when you've got a new place and a lot of 
different sorts of people to get used to." 

I guess he didn't quite mean that. But he 
was right enough. We'd get stale when we 
stayed too long up at the home plant in 
Westchester county. Of course, it was fine 
and dandy there. I don't think I've told you 
much about it. But anyhow, the big boss 
had really put that place on the map. He'd 
sold little patches of ground to any of the 
people who wanted to build houses, and a 
whole lot of the married ones had done that 
— and some who weren't married, like Laura, 
for instance, who had the niftiest little 
bungalow you ever saw. The terms were 
easy, you see, and it was a good way to save 
money — and, beside, if the big boss liked 



anyone well enough to fix up a deal for land, 
and lend them money to build, it looked 
as if they had a pretty good mortgage on 
their jobs, too. 

Then he's put up a sort of hotel that 
wasn't the regular kind at all. I lived there, 
and so did a lot of the others who were foot 
loose and free — more or less. It was run just 
for us, and, while it wasn't any charity, and 
made a bit more than its expenses right from 
the start, it wasn't intended for a money 
making scheme, either. All the boss wanted 
it to do was to break even, so the rates, con- 
sidered from the point of view of New York, 
or of the places right near that imitation 
of a town where the gas wagons stop and the 
bubbly wine is piped in, were a joke. 

And, as for the facilities for making pic- 
tures — gentlemen, hush! There wasn't any- 
thing known that we didn't have. The 
studios were all steel and glass. They were 
cool in summer and nice and warm in winter. 
If it was hot there was an air cooling plant 
that must have cost a wad of money ready 
to go to work, and — oh, well, it was right. 
that's all — right. We could do more stunts 
around that place than you ever dreamed 
of. But If I ever started giving away how 
we got some of the effects that look so 
darned near impossible on the screen I'd 
lose my job, and Billy Crandall — he's our 
director, you know, and responsible for every 
foot of our Ventnor brand film — would kill 
me, beside. 

But, even so, the place would sort of pall 

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on us. Perhaps it was too darned perfect. 
A place — or a person — can be like that, you 
know. And maybe we needed a little rough 
going once in a while. I guess that had a 
lot to do with it. You see, the Ventnor was 
our first brand. Laura and I and Billy 
Crandall had been with it from the very 
start, when the big boss risked every cent 
he'd made in a perfectly good commission 
business busting into the movies — which was 
a new game then. Some of the others had 
been around a long time, too, but, for one 
reason and another, we three were the only 
ones who'd actually started with the brand 
and stuck right through. And in the early 
days we'd made our pictures in a condemned 
loft building over by the Hudson river, in 
New York — because it was the only sort of 
building we could use without getting the 
owner's fire insurance cancelled. 

That owner didn't care whether the build- 
ing burned up or not, of course — it would 
have saved him the cost of having it torn 
down if it had, as a matter of fact. We 
cared, but we were too busy, most of the 
time, to think about it at all. Of course, 
everyone would know how we made good, 
if I gave real names in this yarn, which I'm 
not going to do. We lost a lot of money at 
first, but when we once started getting it 
back we made the profits of that commission 
business look like the takings of an ice 
cream stand on a wet Sunday at Coney 
Island. 

But in those days, of course, we weren't 
being petted and pampered any to speak of. 
When it was hot in that fire trap it was so 
hot that we knew all about it — and, ten to 
one, we'd be working in a costume play 
that needed fur overcoats, at that! And 
when it was cold it was so cold we wondered 
if blue lips would show in the film — and 
then, like as not, we'd be doing a bathing 
beach scene! Even when the money began 
coming in, we Ventnor people had our rough 
times. We did a trip around the world, and 
we had some experiences I'd like to tell 
about, if there was time. Maybe I will, 
some time. So, not being like the new crowd 
of movie people, who'd come in on the crest 
of the wave of success that carried the in- 
dustry along, all the luxury up in West- 
chester did pall on us. 

Well, I've wandered along, the way I 
always seem to do. But I've got something 
definite on my mind. And this is the start 
of it. Up there in Westchester we weren't 



likely to be happy, for very long at a time. 
When we really enjoyed it there, was when 
we'd been having a fierce time outside, and 
came back to all that comfort. Then it was 
great. But if we stayed there long enough 
we'd get mean, and ugly, and quarrelsome, 
and there were mighty apt to be doings.. 
There were too many of us there, for one 
thing. • And there'd be jealousy, and some 
things that were worse. You take three or 
four hundred people, tied up pretty well to- 
gether, and there'll be a certain number of 
them that need looking after — especially in 
a crowd like us. Things that aren't pretty, 
happen. 

I don't mean that we behaved the way a 
lot of people seem to think. There's folks, 
you know, who think that anyone connected 
with the show business is no better than he 
should be. I don't believe that — not even 
about the regular stage. And I know it isn't 
so in the movies. I'm not saying that some 
sort of unpleasant things don't happen. 
You're bound to find that, of course. But I 
do say that you'll find about the same pro- 
portion of people who are off color anywhere 
else. 

One thing, though, I've got to admit. And 
that is that folks, especially young folks, 
who aren't any too well balanced to start 
with, are apt to find it pretty easy to go 
wrong. That's natural, too. They haven't 
any judgment, as a rule, folks like that. 
And they find that a lot of the restraints 
that go in most businesses are sort of cut 
away in the show business. People call one 
another by their first names. And they've 
got to be awful intimate. It's hard, once in 
a while, for folks like that to figure out just 
where the imaginary business stops and the 
real life begins, and they carry one over into 
the other — not always, or even often, but 
often enough to make trouble, occasionally. 

Laura didn't have any sort of patience 
with anything like that. She wasn't tolerant 
a little bit — not when anything like that was- 
concerned. She was clean herself, all the 
way through, and she didn't want anything 
to do with folks who weren't. Neither did 
Billy Crandall, though he put it straight on 
business grounds. > 

"If people are cutting up," he said, "they 
can't work right. Their morals aren't any 
of my business — but the way they do their 
work is." 

All of which brings us right up to Jimmy 
Stansbury. Jimmy was some boy. At the 



MISS LAURA LEONARD— HEART SPECIALIST 



97 



start I didn't like him any too well — as a 
man. But as an actor, and especially our 
sort of actor, he had everything. He could 
act by sheer grace — no one had ever taught 
him. He could just do it. Give him a part 
and he'd find out what sort of a man he 
was supposed to be playing. Then he'd think 
it out — and, in front of the camera, he was 
that man. That's intelligence, or brains, or 
whatever you want to call it — anyhow, it 
means he had a headpiece and knew how to 
use it. And he had the looks. He was the 
handsomest devil you ever saw. ■ Black hair, 
with just the least bit of natural curl, brown 
eyes, a skin like a baby's, and the kind of 
body a man gets from playing football and 
other violent games like that. Matinee idol? 
He was born one — and that must have made 
a lot of the trouble. 

He'd always had it too easy, of course. He 
was born'to be popular — and men liked him 
as well as women did, which was going 
some. Most men, that is; pretty nearly all 
of them. In college he'd had all the fraterni- 
ties sitting up nights trying to get him. And 
he'd made the football team as soon as he 
showed up in a suit. I'm telling what 
people who'd known him told me, now, of 
course. And the man who gave me most of 
my information happened to be one of those 
who didn't quite like Jimmy. Because — 
Jimmy had a little bit of a yellow streak in 
him, he said. There was bound to be a fly 
in that ointment, you know. Jimmy was 
just a wee bit too good to be true. 

He'd had a lot of luck, according to this 
friend of mine. It pulled him through on 
the football. Just for instance. This chap 
told me that once, in a big game, Jimmy had 
the ball, just before the finish, with the score 
a couple of points against his team. He had 
a clear field — except for one man. And he 
went steaming down to him. Just one thing 
for him — the old straight arm. But he 
funked it, at the last moment, and dodged. 
That got him by the man who was waiting, 
all right. But also it ought to have given 
the man behind time to catch him. But — 
the man behind tripped, just then, and 
Jimmy got his score — and a yell from thirty 
or forty thousand people who could only 
see that he'd won the game. Of course, when 
he got away with it, everyone called it fine 
judgment, and all that. But — I figured that 
the few who said it was a sticking out of that 
yellow streak, were right. 

We drew Jimmy when Arthur Symonds got 



promoted to be a star, his job being that of 
juvenile lead. He wasn't booked for any- 
thing but stardom himself, for very long, 
but he needed some experience, and he had 
sense enough to see that himself. And, be- 
side, playing leads opposite to Laura Leonard 
wasn't anything for any actor to kick about. 
She was in a class all by herself, and so 
big that no one even got jealous of her. 

Not professionally, that is. In other ways 
— well, there was Sonya Kreshna. She was 
a queer one. She wasn't one of our Ventnor 
people at all, but was working in another 
company. A Russian — which was why, I 
guess, we thought she was queer, which she 
probably wasn't at all, if only we could have 
judged her from her own point of view. We 
would probably have seemed much queerer 
if we'd been set down in Russia. 

Sonya and I never really got along. I was 
scared of her. But she was good, in her own 
line of stuff — which was a line Ventnor films 
didn't go in for much. The big boss's wife 
had spotted her, at a time when a Russian 
revolutionary film was being put on. Sonya 
got into her sight in a slumming trip down 
on the East side, and the big boss, acting on 
a suggestion he knew was likely to be good, 
sent her up. And, once she arrived, she 
stuck. In emotional, tense dramas Sonya 
was immense, because she didn't have to act. 
All she needed was to be herself and do as 
she was told. Laura insisted she was pretty, 
but I didn't like her style. 

Well, Sonya proceeded to get a crush on 
Jimmy Stansbury. That was fjmny, because 
she was a good deal of a high brow and he 
wasn't. He was clever enough, you'll under- 
stand, but his bookcase was stronger on 
Rex Beach and George Barr MeCutcheon than 
on Turgeniev and Hauptmann — if I'm spell- 
ing those wrong, excuse me. When Jimmy 
took a night in town and went to the theatre 
he registered the tired business man expres- 
sion, too, and he wanted a front row seat at 
a musical comedy or else stall room at a 
revamped French farce. When he felt 
serious, and wanted something really deep, 
he headed for Belasco's latest show. Sonya 
— well I got roped in once to take her and 
Laura to a special performance of a lot of 
one act plays by some Russians whose names 
I can't even spell. I don't know what, those 
things were about, but if I'm anywhere near 
right in what I thought was going on, An- 
thony Comstock must have been loafing on 
the job. Laura liked them, too, though — 



U8 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



and I guess I'll have to get used to them. 

I wish you could have seen that girl go 
after Jimmy! It was a liberal education. 
Even I got on to it — and that meant she 
was going some! At first Jimmy was amused. 
Then he got scared. He tried to duck. But 
it wasn't any use. And then he got in- 
terested, and flattered. And I thought it was 
all over but the shouting. Where I was 
wrong — like I usually am. But, at that, I 
was primed to stand up to Laura when she 
opened up about it one night. I'd been din- 
ing with her and we were sitting on her 
porch. She was very quiet until I'd got my 
cigar going properly — which was evidence 
enough that she was going to make up for 
lost time when she did start speaking. 

"I don't like the way Jimmy Stansbury's 
acting with Sonya Kreshna," she said, 
finally. 

"He isn't acting at all," I said. "He ran 
iway as long as he could — and then, when 
he saw it wasn't any use, he rolled over and 
played dead. Be reasonable, girl — what more 
do you want?" 

"She's too good for him," said Laura, 
pensively. "But — if she wants him, that's no 
reason why he should break her heart. She's 
got one to be broken, you see, she's not 
just like the rest." 

I suppose Jimmy had left a few palpitating 
hearts more or less dented behind him. And 
I guess most of them had responded to glue 
or cement, too. 

"I think I'll break it up," said Laura, 
suddenly. "He wouldn't want to marry her. 
I doubt if he'd do it." 

"Suffering cats!" I told her, gently as I 
could. "That's a new play for you, Laura! 
Sure you mean it?" 

"I think so," she said. "He's trifling with 
her." Her lips set sort of tight. "And she's 
too good for anything like that." 

Well, we had quite an argument. I've 
hinted that I didn't feel any deep affection 
for Jimmy, but, at that, I liked him a lot 
better than I'd expected to when he first 
turned up. He was sort of decent in a lot of 
ways. If I hadn't had that sneaking memory 
of the yellow streak, I'd have been pretty 
fond of him. And, anyhow, it seemed to me 
that Laura wasn't making just the right 
diagnosis. I was willing to admit she was 
right and I was wrong, as a rule, no matter 
how things looked. But not this time. I 
couldn't see Jimmy doing the pursuing. 

But I didn't get anywhere with my argu- 



ment, of course. I've got to admit that Laura 
was obstinate. And, beside, after that there 
did get to be a good deal of talk. When 
Jimmy once stopped running he made a good 
job of it. He and Sonya were around to- 
gether a whole lot, and people began hinting 
— though never to Sonya — that if they 
weren't engaged, it might be a good idea if 
they were. Laura sprung that when we re- 
sumed the argument. She was really ex- 
cited by that time. 

"It's the rottenest thing I ever saw," she 
said, getting fierce and vehement. "Is any- 
one wondering whether Sonya will take him? 
Not a bit of it. The only question anyone 
thinks of asking is: 'Will he marry her?' 
That's what makes me so furious!" 

There was something in that, too. I 
guess I'd better explain that Jimmy didn't 
have to do this movie work at all. He just 
liked it. In fact, it had made his family 
pretty sore. It was one of those pretty good 
families, with a whole lot of money. And 
until it occurred to one of the women who 
was spending its money that Jimmy's eccen- 
tricity gave the family press agent a chance, 
they'd been disposed to jump him. But 
that turned the trick. It made them stronger 
than ever, because a whole lot of society 
people fell for him just as hard as the shop 
girls did, and his mail was pretty well salted 
with the sort of paper that costs more than 
the stamp. Jimmy had some classy friends. 
They used to come out in parties, in their 
automobiles, to see him work, when he got 
strong enough to invite them. 

"He's a snob," said Laura. "He'd never 
marry Sonya — he'd remember that he'd 
have to introduce her to his friends, and 
that she'd queer him with them. They 
wouldn't have sense enough to see what a 
dear she was." 

"That isn't any reflection on their sense — 
it's a compliment," I said. "Take my ad- 
vice. Stay out of this." 

And I guess she wished she had, too, 
about two weeks later. She started in to 
cut Sonya out. That was an old trick of 
hers, and she could -work it either way. 
Once she led a man on, as I guess I told 
you, and then turned him down — so that 
the girl she was backing got him on the 
rebound. But this time the idea was to 
make Sonya see him in his true colors, 
and make her sore at him. A nice little 
plan, but it didn't allow for Sonya's tem- 
perament. 




"What a Surprise," He Said, "You Don't Enow My Wife, I Think ' 



100 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



Right off the bat, Jimmy didn't fall as 
hard as he ought to have done. He swelled 
up a little at having Laura take notice of 
him the way she did, and that was natural. 
But he didn't lose his head entirely, which 
most of the men in the outfit had done, one 
time or another, without any sort of en- 
couragement at all from her. And then — 
Sonya. She got mad all right — but it 
wasn't at Jimmy. Not a bit of it. She 
went for Laura. 

I heard the details a long time afterward, 
when Laura got to seeing how funny it 
really was. Sonya didn't act delicately 
about it at all. 

"You are flirting with Jimmy," she ac- 
cused Laura, right out, having walked home 
with her one day to do it. "Stop it! He's 
mine — I want him!" 

Disgusting, wasn't it? Unwomanly? H'm 
— probably! Irregular was about the worst 
I'd call it, though, for myself. It was that. 

Laura was so mad that she forgot, and 
began telling the truth. She explained 
that Jimmy wouldn't marry her. She told 
Sonya she wanted to save her from a blun- 
der. And then it came out. Sonya didn't 
care whether he married her or not! 

Laura got results, all right, if they weren't 
the sort she wanted. One was that Sonya 
quit speaking to her. And another was 
that Jimmy, acting pretty sheepishly, wasn't 
any more cordial to her than being her 
leading man required him to be — which 
filled me with a hankering to punch his 
head. And another, which was the worst 
of the lot, we didn't get on to right away. 
It was sort of gradual. First, Sonya quit — 
quit the place and her job. Then Jimmy 
moved from the hotel. Wanted to be in 
the country, he explained. He got a little 
place a few miles out, and went back and 
forth in his car. And then came a little, 
nasty, gossiping hint that Sonya was around 
that little place a whole lot. 

That sent Laura right up in the air. She 
felt that it was her fault, and I never saw 
her feel worse. I tried to' make her see 
that it wasn't; that if they were going to 
behave that way they would have done it, 
anyhow, sooner or later. And I'd been read- 
ing up those Russian people a little, and I 
tried to explain, not making a very good 
job of it, that I thought the ideas they'd 
given Sonya ought to get some blame. 

But: "No," says Laura, registering trag- 
edy, and meaning it, too, "it's my fault! 



And I've got to straighten it out, too! It's 
that beast, Jimmy Stansbury! You wait — " 

She didn't say any more. But she went 
to work. And it was quite a while before 
I saw what she was up to, too. Her first 
move was to start being nice to some of 
Jimmy's society friends when they came. 
She let them be introduced, and she asked 
some of them to her bungalow to tea. And 
pretty soon they were coming more to see 
her than Jimmy. He didn't suspect any- 
thing. There was no reason why he should. 
And finally, she asked them up on a day 
when he wasn't going to be over at all — 
he'd hurt his foot and had to rest. 

And what did she do? Not a thing but 
propose a drive through the country! 

"Fred can beg a big car and drive us," 
she said. "And we'll run over and make 
Jimmy Stansbury give us tea! I haven't 
seen his country house yet!" 

"Neither have we!" chorused two or three 
of them. One of Jimmy's aunts was along, 
and the rest were people who use Central 
Park as a front yard. 

See? I tried to duck — but I knew I 
couldn't. There was nothing to it, at all. 
There was Jimmy, on his front porch, rest- 
ing — and there was Sonya, too. She be- 
longed there. Otherwise her dress wouldn't 
have been right, at all — it was one of those 
homey things. And one look inside settled 
it. He was cornered — and he couldn't do a 
thing but: 

"What a surprise!" he said. "You don't 
know my wife, I think? Yes — we meant to 
keep it quiet a little longer, but . . ." 

He might as well have been married in 
a cathedral and all the Sunday papers. 
There wasn't a thing to do but make good 
after that. I knew it; I guess he knew it. 
And Laura, of course, had planned it out. 
He came up to me, while I was fussing with 
the car. I thought he was going to kill 
me — and I wasn't going to lift a finger. 

"Isn't Laura a wonder?" he said. "Sonya'll 
have to marry me now — and I guess I'll 
show her. . . . You may not believe 
me — but she wanted it like this. I told 
her it was all wrong. But — " 

I began to see why I'd been trying to 
like him all along. I guess that stuff about 
the yellow streak was all wrong. And, 
you'll notice, Laura won out, after all. Be- 
cause they did get married, with us for 
witnesses, that same day. And there isn't 
a happier couple in the game! 



"The Lynnbrook Tragedy" 




"Why Can't You Get He Something Worth While?" Asked Vivian Gregg of the Perplexed Manager 

TWO STORIES— A MOTHER'S AND A DAUGHTER'S 
By Marie Coolidge Rask 

Scenario by Mrs. Owen Bronson 
Illustrations from the Kalem Film, Featuring Alice Joyce 



A' 



ND now come — come — with me — to 
light, to life, to liberty." 

An eloquent silence followed the 
reading of the words For half an hour the 
deep, rich tones of James Mitchell's voice 
had held the attention of his fiancee and her 
sweet-faced, invalid mother during the read- 
ing of the play upon which all their plans 
for the future depended. 

"Well, how do you like it?" he demanded, 
leaning back in his chair and surveying, 
with an air of paternal pride, the type- 
written pages spread out on the table before 
him. "Do you think it will make good?" 



With a deep sigh of satisfaction Ruth 
Malloy came back to the earth from which 
the reading of the play had transported 
her. 

"It is splendid!" she exclaimed, with tears 
in her eyes. "It can't help but meet with 
approval. Oh, Jimmie, I am so proud of 
you." She extended her arms across the 
table toward the smiling young man, now 
busily engaged gathering the scattered pages 
of manuscript together. 

A spasm of pain crossed the face of the 
invalid in the chair by the fireside. She 
pressed her hand to her side but recovered 

101 



102 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



herself before the young people at the table 
looked around. 

"It was very interesting," she said, softly, 
"and remarkably well written. The author 
deserves much credit for his perseverance." 

"Thank you, Mother Mine," laughed Mitch- 
ell, rising and crossing over to the side of 
the invalid. "And when the play is pro- 
duced and the cries of 'Author, Author,' 
resound from every section of the theatre 
you are going to be right there in a box to 
witness the triumph of your first son-in- 
law." He bent down and kissed her tenderly 
on the forehead. 

"I am afraid I shall not be there," she 
whispered, gently stroking the hand of her 
pretty daughter who now knelt by her side, 
"but I thank you for the kind thoughts 
which prompted you to include me in your 
plans." 

The sad eyes of the speaker seemed to 
look far off into the future — or was it the 
past — as she spoke. The delicate, blue-veined 
hands resting lightly in her lap seemed' more 
than usually transparent, and the wan, white 
face bore traces of a sorrow not altogether 
accounted for by the presence of physical 
pain. Ruth had often wondered what caused 
the premature whitening of her mother's 
hair and brought the pathetic droop to lips 
which never curved in laughter. 

"Mother does not seem so well this even- 
ing," whispered Ruth to her lover as he bade 
her good night, "but she has taken such an 
interest in the play. You must come to- 
morrow evening and tell us how you succeed 
with the managers." 

"Oh, I'll come," laughed Mitchell, gaily, 
as he descended the steps. "Maybe I'll bring 
the play back with me." 

"No, you won't!" called Ruth from the 
door. "They'll want it — every one of them — 
and the first one who reads it will keep it, 
never fear." 

Early next morning the young playwright 
started out to make the round of the man- 
agers. He was a trimly built young fellow, 
keen eyed, with clear cut features, waving 
dark hair and a genial personality that won 
for him hosts of friends. 

In the office of John Thornton, theatrical 
manager, a handsomely gowned woman sat 
petulantly discarding as unfit every manu- 
script which the weary manager offered for 
her consideration. 

"Too thin," she remarked after a cursory 
glance at one of the plays. "Not enough 



plot," was the comment which the second 
elicited. "Lacks originality," she said of the 
third as she tossed it contemptuously back 
on the desk. "Why can't you get me some- 
thing worth while?" 

The manager groaned, inwardly. "I've 
cornered the market," he exclaimed, "and 
still you are not satisfied. Guess we'll have 
to get someone to write one for us." 

"Well, get it done quickly, then," she 
replied. "For weeks the whole theatrical 
world has been speculating as to what Vivian 
Gregg is going to star in next season. We 
ought to be rehearsing now and here you've 
not even got a play selected." 

Miss Gregg, for it was she, rose, and with 
the air of an injured queen, took her de- 
parture. As the elevator door swung open 
to admit her, James Mitchell stepped out 
and disappeared into the manager's office. 

When he emerged half an hour later his 
beaming countenance attested the fact that 
Ruth's prophecy had been fulfilled and the 
first manager to whom he had offered his 
play had promised to consider it. 

Vivian Gregg, in her beautiful country 
home with its carefully cultivated atmos- 
phere of Bohemia, surrounded by congenial 
friends, received the news that her manager 
was interested in the work of a new play- 
wright with much satisfaction. Ambitious 
and avaricious, Vivian Gregg's whole life 
had been devoted to planning and scheming 
for her own advancement. As a girl she had 
known nothing but unhappiness. Everyone 
had been against her. In her resolution to 
better her condition, to secure an education 
and to develop the talents with which she 
knew she was endowed regardless of the 
means employed, she failed to realize that 
she was crushing out all the highest and 
best instincts of her nature. 

Her temperament demanded beauty, lux- 
urious surroundings, pictures, music, the 
association of clever people. In her child- 
hood she had chafed against circumstances. 
As a girl she had rebelled against the world's 
injustice. In the early days of her career 
she had found herself deceived and disap- 
pointed by those whom she had trusted. Her 
attitude toward the world grew more bitter, 
her confidence in men was forever destroyed. 
Henceforth they were nothing to her except 
as they might be able to serve or amuse her. 
Dazzlingly beautiful, talented, her rise to a 
position of prominence in the realms of 
Bohemia, as well as in her profession, had 



"THE LYXXBROOK TRAGEDY" 



103 



at last been the reward of her struggle. 
The name of Vivian Gregg was known 
everywhere. 

The success and favor which had attended 
James Mitchell's visit to the great theatrical 
manager filled the heart of the young play- 
wright with great expectations. He hastened 
to tell Ruth, but at the Malloy home there 
was little opportunity for rejoicing. Mrs. 
Malloy was much worse. Ruth was greatly 
alarmed. Mitchell himself telephoned for 
the doctor. When the physician arrived 
the sweet-faced, long-suffering little woman 
with prematurely whitened hair was already 
past hope. 

During the days of sorrow which followed 
ail thought of the play was forgotten. Then 
John Thornton sent for Mitchell, explained 
the possibilities which lay before him, and 
himself aided the less experienced man to 
reconstruct the play along lines especially 
suited to the famous star, Vivian Gregg. 

Ruth Malloy, so suddenly bereft of the 
mother whom she had idolized, was well- 



nigh inconsolable. The fact that she must 
at once look about for some occupation, and 
her love for Mitchell, alone sustained her. 
He pleaded with her to marry him, but she 
refused to consider this until his success 
had become assured. With the ultimate suc- 
cess of the play yet in question it would not 
be wise, she argued, for him to"burden him- 
self with a wife. She had a plan, she 
insisted, by which she would be quite able 
to support herself until such time as Mitchell 
should be in a position to marry. What the 
plan was, she would not disclose. 

A few days later, when Mitchell arrived 
at the house unexpectedly, lie found Ruth 
on her knees before a partially draped lay 
figure such as dressmakers use. Odds and 
ends of lace, silk and various fripperies of 
fashion were scattered about. 

"Ruth!" he exclaimed, in astonishment, 
"You don't mean that you are going to — " 

" — open a dressmaking establishment?" 
finished Ruth, smiiing. "Not exactly. Rather 
an establishment for exclusive designs. I'm 




"But Remember," Mitchell Insisted, "as Soon as My Play is Assured This Designing Corporation Goes Out of Business" 



104 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



rather good, you know, in the development 
of artistic ideas." She was very pleased 
at the success of her little surprise. 

When Ruth explained her plan in detail 
Mitchell reluctantly consented. "But remem- 
ber," he insisted, "that as soon as the success 
of the play is assured, this designing cor- 
poration goes out of business." 

"Of course," Ruth answered. "This is only 
a temporary arrangement — a mere experi- 
ment." 

But the experiment proved a success. The 
gown designed by Ruth and exhibited in a 
shop window brought many fashionable ap- 
plicants to the young girl with the Madonna- 
like face, the soft voice and winning manner. 
She found her designs the fad of the hour. 
A reception room- and assistants became 
necessary. 

"I shall have to use Mother's desk," Ruth 
remarked, reluctantly, one day when she 
was explaining her rapidly increasing busi- 
ness to Mitchell. 

That evening, sitting before her mother's 
desk, tearfully looking over the letters and 
papers so carefully put away by the dear 
hands she had loved so well, Ruth came 
across a small packet, tied with faded ribbon." 
Thinking they were letters from the father 
whom she had never seen since an infant, 
she untied the ribbon and opened the letter 
that was uppermost. A small picture fell 
out. She picked it up and looked at it. 
Placing it on the desk, she turned her atten- 
tion to the letter. It was very brief. As 
she read it the affection which had shown 
in the girl's face upon viewing the picture 
gave place to surprise, shame and anger. 
This, then, was the cause of her mother's 
secret sorrow. 

"And though you have always been a loyal 
and loving wife," read the letter, "I am not 
morally strong enough to resist this other 
love which has come into my life — " 

Ruth could read no more. Throwing her- 
self down in front of the chair in which 
for years her mother had so often sat, she 
bowed her head in her arms and gave way 
to unrestrained grief. 

It was with a sad and heavy heart that 
she entered her little atelier next morning. 
With the advent of the first customer, how- 
ever, all was, for the time being, forgotten. 
Vivian Gregg, the great actress, had seen 
her designs and liked them. She would 
consider having Ruth supply the designs 
for her season's wardrobe. Realizing the 



advantage it would be to have the patronage 
of such a woman, Ruth exerted herself to 
meet the exacting demands of the spoiled 
woman. She explained that her method 
consisted in studying the personality of her 
subjects. 

"That is just what I want," declared Miss , 
Gregg. "I should like every gown to express 
my soul and personality. There must be 
complete individuality in every creation." 

"I regret that I have had so little oppor- 
tunity for seeing you," commenced Ruth 
when Vivian interrupted. 

"Come down to my country home," she 
exclaimed, in a burst of enthusiasm, "and 
spend a week. Then you can study me in 
my own environment." 

The day that Ruth Malloy arrived at the 
country home of Vivian Gregg also marked 
the arrival of James Mitchell. Thornton 
had insisted that he must read his play to 
Vivian himself and, pursuant to a suggestion 
from her manager, she had written to 
Mitchell, asking him to bring the play and 
come for a week at the same time when a 
costumer would be present to design the 
gowns to be worn in the play. As Vivian 
was naturally unaware of the engagement 
existing between the young playwright and 
the new creator of exclusive fashion designs, 
Ruth and Mitchell deemed it best to make 
the journey to the actress' country house by 
separate trains. 

Very beautiful was the environment in 
which Vivian Gregg had established herself 
at Larchmont. Broad piazzas, supported by 
columns of roughly-hewn stone, overhung 
with masses of clinging vines, surrounded 
the house. On the lawns tall trees stood like 
majestic sentinels on guard before a palace. 
From the window of the room allotted to 
Ruth a rose garden could be seen that filled 
all the air with fragrance, while just be- 
yond, a rustic summer house, readied by a 
small bridge across a miniature lake com- 
pleted the picture spread out before the 
eyes of the enraptured guest. 

"Like a dream of paradise," she murmured 
to herself as she turned to go down and 
meet her hostess. "No wonder Miss Gregg 
wished me to study her in her own environ- 
ment." 

But if the atmosphere of beauty, art, music 
and luxury had its effect so instantly upon 
Ruth, the subtlety of their influence upon 
Mitchell, the imaginative playwright, was 
indescribable. For the time being he felt 



"THE LYNNBROOK TRAGEDY' 



105 




The Gowns Designed by Ruth Exhibited in the Shops Brought Many Fashionable Applicants to Her Atelier 



transported to another sphere. He was not 
himself. He lived in the scenes and among 
the people created in his play. He could 
hardly wait for the moment when he should 
sit beside the great actress and read to her 
the lines which he felt so sure she alone 
would be able to interpret in all their full- 
ness and beauty. 

But strangely enough, Vivian Gregg did 
not seem in the least anxious to hear the 
new play of which her manager had written. 

"They're all more or less alike," she 
observed, one day as Mitchell joined her on 
the veranda and broached the subject. "Sit 
down, I'd rather hear you talk." 

It was a disappointment, but, realizing 
that the moods of the actress must be 
humored, Mitchell yielded to her request and 
drew a chair up beside her. Since he could 



not read the play he would have much 
preferred being with Ruth. She was waiting 
for him, somewhere about the grounds, he 
felt sure. He would have to explain to her 
later. 

As a matter of fact Vivian Gregg, surfeited 
with the attentions of blase men of the 
world, found young Mitchell himself far 
more interesting than the play he had writ- 
ten. She knew the play was all right. 
Thornton had said so, and Thornton was a 
man of judgment and discrimination. There 
would.be time enough to read the play when 
they were ready to begin preparations for 
its production. In the meantime Mitchell 
amused her and she did not intend to be 
denied the pleasure of his society. 

As days passed the situation became more 
complicated. In spite of the fact that Mitch- 



100 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



ell explained to Ruth that the success of the 
play depended entirely upon the favor and 
approval of Vivian Gregg, the unsophisticated 
young girl could not understand her lover's 
attitude. 

The day Mitchell and Vivian had sat on 
the veranda and she had unwittingly in- 
truded with some designs to be submitted 
for Vivian's approval, she had hastily with- 
drawn without attracting their notice. Later 
Mitchell had sought her out and during the 
ensuing evening had devoted himself to her, 
but the actress had at last called him aside 
and Ruth did not see him again that eve- 
ning. 

Existence in the land that had at first 
seemed like a dream of paradise suddenly 
palled. That night Ruth Malloy sobbed 
herself to sleep. 

Vivian Gregg, in the privacy of her 
boudoir, lay back in an easy chair and 
laughed. "He's afraid of me," she remarked, 
half aloud. "Afraid to offend me and he 
thinks he's in love with that little designer, 
but — I'll wager he's no better than other 
men. Before he leaves here I'll have him 
so completely in my power that he'll never 
give her a thought." 

She crossed to a small desk that stood 
near and searched for a book of addresses 
she thought she had placed there. Some 
photographs attracted her attention. Pick- 
ing them up, idly, one at a time, she glanced 
at several and threw them aside. One she 
looked at long and earnestly. "Pool!" she 
muttered, under her breath. "The idea of 
his thinking that I meant to spend the 
remainder of my life with him. He didn't 
have' money enough to last a year." With 
a quick gesture she tore the picture in half 
and tossed the pieces into a beribboned waste 
basket. "Strange," she thought, "that I 
should come across his picture to-night. I 
didn't know there was one in the house." 

In a small town, some distance away, a 
man, tired, footsore and unkempt, sat under 
a tree by the roadside and ate ravenously a 
coarse sandwich handed him by a woman 
at a nearby farmhouse. Lines of grief, dis- 
sipation and privation marked his counte- 
nance. His head was well shaped, however, 
his features clear cut and refined. As he 
ate he scanned a fragment of newspaper 
spread out over his knees. A printed name 
caught his attention. At sight of it the 
man's whole demeanor suddenly changed. 
An ugly light crept into the faded blue eyes. 



With the half-eaten sandwich poised in one 
hand, he paused and read the printed article 
through to the end. Then he clinched the 
paper in his hand and cursed. 

"Rich," he muttered, "successful, popular 
beauty — the vampire!" He glanced at his 
own ragged attire, at the half eaten bread 
held in his hand and his rage increased. 
"And this," he groaned, "is the condition to 
which I have been reduced." He bowed his 
head on his knees. His whole frame shook 
with suppressed sobs. 

After a few moments he rose, folded the 
fragment of paper and placed it in his 
pocket, picked up his dilapidated hat from 
the ground beside him and started off across 
country in the general direction of the rail- 
road which passed through the village a 
mile to the north. 

That night a freight train, east-bound, 
carried one extra passenger, carefully 
ensconced on the bumpers under one of the 
cars. A fierce light of determination shone 
in the wide-open eyes of the tourist, and 
when the wind fluttered the buttonless jacket 
which he wore a bit of folded newspaper 
was visible in the corner of the inside 
pocket. 

All the next day Ruth Malloy was con- 
scious of impending calamity. She seemed 
to be in the clutches of an unseen something 
which held her in its power and was drag- 
ging her onward in spite of her efforts to 
resist. She would finish the designs and go 
back to town at the earliest possible moment, 
she thought. Anything to get away from a 
situation which each moment became more 
intolerable. 

With this idea in view she devoted herself 
with renewed application to the completion 
of the designs for Vivian Gregg's gowns. 
Once during the afternoon she encountered 
Mitchell. He tried to take her in his arms 
and kiss her. He had been drinking. He 
walked unsteadily. 

Shocked, frightened, mortified that the 
lover she had respected as superior to all 
forms of dissipation should have so far de- 
based himself, she had repulsed him and 
fled to her room. She had refused to listen 
to his incoherent words of explanation. 
What she had heard was his angry retort 
that since she rejected his overtures he 
would go back to the one who wanted him, 
and she had seen him disappear through the 
curtained doorway leading into the room 
where Vivian Gregg was sitting. 



"THE LYNNBROOK TRAGEDY" 



101 



Not knowing the ways of women like 
Vivian Gregg, Ruth could not realize the 
forces which had assailed her young lover 
when in the presence of the actress. How 
he had been led on, little by little, to drink 
more than was good for him, through a 
desire to please his hostess and ultimately 
to further his ambition to win success as a 
playwright for Ruth's sake, that he might 
marry her and in future keep her far re- 



trembled in her lovely dark eyes as she 
opened the dresser drawer and looked long 
and lovingly at the little miniature of her 
mother which she had brought with her. 
Kissing it, fondly, she slipped it into the 
bosom of her gown. 

"Maybe things will be easier if mother 
goes with me," she thought, sadly, as she 
pulled the folds of lace into place and glided 
softly from the room and down the thickly 




Ruth and Mitchell had Planned to Spend the Evening Together But Vivian Called Him Away 



moved from the necessity which should bring 
her into contact and under the patronage of 
sucli as he recognized Vivian to be. 

In her black lace dinner gown that even- 
ing Ruth seemed more delicately beautiful 
than ever. As she gazed at her reflection in 
the mirror, however, she was quite uncon- 
scious of the charming picture she presented. 
She dreaded that last dinner — for she had 
resolved to go home the following morning 
— for she felt quite unequal to conversation. 
She was homesick, heart-sick. She longed 
for the sympathy of her mother. Tears 



carpeted corridor toward the wing of the 
house in which Vivian's rooms were located. 
It was her intention to explain to her 
hostess that for business reasons she would 
be compelled to shorten her stay at Larch- 
mont. 

Although the hour was early, the ' night 
was very dark. The moon was rising, 
but fitful, scurrying dark clouds often com- 
pletely obscured it. There was a melancholy 
wind. The tall, sentinel trees tossed their 
long, ghobtlike branches and sighed like 
souls in torment. The summer air seemed 



1C8 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



close and heavy in spite of the breeze. A 
storm was apparently brewing. The ominous, 
oppressive sense of it was paramount. 

Outside the house, crouching low among 
the shrubbery, now skulking around the 
rustic summer house and across the tiny 
bridge, over the miniature lake on which 
weird shadows were now projected, could 
be dimly discerned the figure of a man. 
There were moments when he disappeared 
entirely. Once, from the shelter of the rose 
garden he cautiously peered for some little 
time at the brightly lighted windows of the 
house. Again, nearing the porch light, he 
crouched back of a pillar and pulled a frag- 
ment of newspaper from his pocket. Study- 
ing it cautiously he compared the picture of 
a house exterior with the lines of the one 
before him. A pictured interior view held 
his attention longest. "Madame's boudoir" 
was the caption under it. Now, evidently 
sure of his ground, the man again replaced 
the paper in his pocket and, in the shadow 
of the great trees, now soughing so rest- 
lessly, he waited till the silvery chimes from 
the great clock in the entrance hall sounde.l 
the quarter hour. 

"Now — before they go down to dinner," 
muttered the man as he cautiously swung 
himself up and over the veranda rail. He 
drew a revolver from his hip pocket — an 
ugly, short-barrelled little pistol that a man 
could hide in his fist, and, with his hat well 
over his eyes, alternately crouched and 
crawled forward until underneath the win- 
dow he sought. 

In the boudoir of Vivian Gregg, James 
Mitchell waited, at the request of the actress, 
until she should be ready to go down to 
dinner. She was ready now. They had 
been having a highball together. The wom- 
an was exerting all her blandishments to 
enslave the young playwright. She gazed 
passionately up into his eloquent eyes as she 
once again brushed aside the suggestion of 
the play. 

"What is the play to me," she murmured, 
"so long as I have the man who wrote it." 

Mitchell extended his arms toward her. 
The act was unpremeditated, as involuntary 
as it was natural. She leaned toward him. 
Her arm encircled his neck. At that moment 
Ruth, coming softly down the corridor, 
parted the curtains and beheld the picture. 

Horrified, numbed at the sight, she stood 
for an instant as if transfixed. It was the 
final blow. First her mother had been taken 



from her and now her lover was faithless. 
She felt weak and ill, but she did not speak. 
She did not cry out nor faint. The velvet 
portiere fell from her nerveless fingers. She 
turned, softly, slowly — and found herself 
looking straight into the barrel of a short, 
bull-dog revolver in the hand of a tattered, 
unkempt man with a fragment of newspaper 
hanging from his coat pocket. 

The brief interval of silence which ensued 
seemed hours to the startled girl. She did 
riot feel frightened. The numbing horror 
of the past few minutes had placed her be- 
yond fear, but there was a strange famili- 
arity in the look of the intruder which 
terrified her beyond words. As the man 
realized that she had no intention of scream- 
ing he lowered the revolver. With his dis- 
engaged hand he pushed his hat up from 
over his eyes. A second later Ruth had 
grasped him by the arm. 

"Father — " she gasped, trembling from 
head to foot, "don't shoot. I am Ruth — 
Ruth Malloy. You — you are — my father." 
The words came with difficulty. It was very 
bitter to have to recognize in the wreck of 
humanity before her the man who was her 
natural guardian. 

The effect produced by the girl's whispered 
words was altogether different from the one 
she had hoped for. He refused to believe 
her. She saw incredulity expressed in the 
distorted lines of his face. Again he raised 
tlie revolver. 

"Wait — " she whispered, tugging at the 
lace folds of her gown, and drawing forth 
the miniature of her mother. "Do you 
recognize that?" She held the little picture 
close before him. "That," she murmured, 
half-sobbingly, "is — mother." 

The sight of the picture for an instant 
almost unnerved the man. He choked back 
an exclamation as he devoured the picture 
of his deserted girl bride with eager, re- 
morseful eyes. His hand trembled as he 
handed it back to the daughter he had never 
seen since infancy. 

"You — " he exclaimed. "What are you 
doing here — in this house, of all others?" 

Hurriedly, her voice choked with sobs, 
Ruth told him. "And who is in there with 
her — Vivian Gregg — now?" he asked, point- 
ing toward the room beyond the portieres. 

Again Ruth stifled a sob. "My fiance," she 
whispered. "He has left me for her. We've 
only been here a few days — " 

The man with the gun interrupted. 




Homesick and Heartsick. Ruth Looked Lone and Lovingly at Her Mother's Picture 



109 



110 



THE PHOTOrLAY MAGAZINE 



"Curse her!" he ejaculated, now in uncon- 
trollable rage, "Vivian Gregg is the woman 
who—" 

Ruth did not hear the remainder of the 
sentence. With leveled revolver Malloy 
dashed through the doorway and into the 
boudoir where Mitchell stood, with Vivian 
in his arms. 

"Father — father — " cried Ruth, frantically 
trying to wrest the revolver from the en- 
raged man. "Don't shoot." With a quick 
movement she succeeded in knocking the 
weapon from his hand. It fell to the floor. 

Nothing daunted, Malloy tore Vivian from 
the protecting arms of Mitchell and hurled 
her from him. 

"Carl, Carl," she screamed, imploringly, as 
with arms outstretched in supplication she 
fell heavily to the floor. 

Mitchell, thinking he had a madman to 
deal with, sprang to grapple with the in- 
truder, but Malloy warned him back. 

"Stand back," he shouted. "It is for your 
own good and hers," he pointed to Ruth, 
"that that woman on the floor should die. 
She has done evil enough. The soul of 
Vivian Gregg is blackened with the ruin of 
other women's happiness." 

As the vehemence of his rage wore itself 



out the unhappy man trembled and would 
have fallen had Ruth and Mitchell not 
caught him and half led, half carried him 
from the room. 

Vivian Gregg, the reigning star in the 
dramatic firmament, crouched on the floor 
where the man she had wronged had cast 
her. The soul's awakening that had been 
hers at the moment when she had expected 
to be launched into eternity was terrible to 
contemplate. It had practically bereft her 
of reason. What she saw with those wide, 
wild eyes as she crouched there on the 
floor, warding off curse after curse that from 
unseen, unheard lips were apparently 
descending upon her may only be con- 
jectured. How long could she endure the 
torture? There, right before her, lay the 
fallen revolver. She saw it. It fascinated 
her. Slowly she drew nearer to it. Her 
hand reached forth steadily, fearfully, until 
the fingers grasped the weapon, and the way 
of escape was at hand. 

The woman who wished her gowns de- 
signed to harmonize with her soul and per- 
sonality was soon to have her wish. There 
were those unseen who stood by — waiting — 
waiting, while the fingers tightened in that 
death grip, to bear her soul away. 



ONE THE CAMERA MISSED 

TAMES CRUZE, who is doing exceptional work as Jim Norton, the Blade's 
** reporter in "The Million Dollar Mystery," gave a thrill that won't show up 
on the screen, although had Howell Hansel, his director, seen the thrill he 
would have Aimed it. 

A kitten had crawled from an open window along the cornice of a building, 
and got up to where the roof meets the side of the building facing Pepperday 
Inn. And it started yelling about the time that it felt itself much alone and 
hungry. Patrolman Gooding heard the cries but couldn't locate it, and about 
midnight saw .a pajamaed form out on the fire escape and heard mutterings. 
He found out that it was Jimmy Cruze whose sleep was disturbed. Jimmy 
started to trail the sound. It came from above. He asked Gooding to guard 
him against anybody trying to take a shot at him in mistake for a burglar and 
went up the fire escape to the top. His search brought him along the jutting 
cornice to the Echo Avenue side of the Hall and to reach the kitten he had to 
climb up onto the roof and mount a roof window and crawl around to the 
other side. He did it and secured the kitten. He had a perilous time getting 
back that would have made some of the thrills of "The Million Dollar Mystery" 
pale, but he never lost his footing. He reached his own window and discovered 
the kitten to be a maltese angora that belonged to Sidney Bracey, an occupant 
of Beacon Hall. 

While he was doing good for the kitten he got in bad himself, because he 
can't pass anything now, when a deed of daring roof climbing is in the script. 



My Summer Vacation 

By Mary Fuller 





T> 



had to be packed in a mad rush. There were a few hurried 
"last instructions" to be given, about forwarding mail, and 
closing my apartment, etc., and finally everyone was ready, 
and we were whisked away in an auto to a train which in 
turn whisked us away and deposited us, three hours later, 
at Shohola, in the depths of the Pennsylvania mountains. 
Two rickety carryalls met us. This time there was no 
whisking. I rode beside the driver, and I found the view 
magnificent, but the way intolerably long. 

Our hotel was an un- 
pretentious affair, to 
say the least, and as 
the rooms had not been 
used for months I near- 
ly suffocated with the 
mustiness the first 
night. But even the 
mustiness of months of 
disuse could not pre- 
vail for long against the 
sunwarmed breeze that 
came stealing through 
my opened windows the 
next morning, and I 
cried out for joy when 
I discovered that, so 
closely was the hotel 
surrounded by fir trees 
and oaks, I could see 
little outside my win- 
dows but nickering 



INUNDATED by a 
sea of clothing and 
surrounded by a 
flotilla of trunks I sat 
on the floor of my New 
York studio pondering 
what costumes I should 
take away with me on 
my summer vacation. 
Not knowing what 
characters I was sched- 
uled to play — yes, my 
vacation was to be of 
that sort — gave me an 
excuse for overhauling 
my entire wardrobe, an 
operation which in- 
duced a mood of mel- 
low reminiscence but 
made decision difficult. 
There was, for in- 
stance, the fringed leather coat that I wore in "The Trans- 
lation of a Savage" — would I have any use for it? Or the 
torn tunic and the fur skirt that had proved exactly right 
for "Elise, the Forester's Daughter" — they might prove to 
be just the thing again. What of that velvet shooting coat 
and trousers; and the Mary Stuart peignoir; and the plumed 
fan of the Countess X; and "J. Green's" check suit with 
pockets in the skirt? Again Mary Tudor's coronet might 
prove useful — though I had my doubts about it — or the 
tattered dress of Robinetta, the mountain maid. Oh, what 
should I take and what leave behind! 

When the matter was at length decided — to be honest it 
was decided by the imminence of train time — everything 




in 



112 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 




leaves and sweet 
scented pine 
needles with oc- 
c a s i o n a 1 
glimpses of the 
opposite 
mountain 
side w hen 
the wind 
shifted the 
swaying 
branches. I 
found, when I 
went down to 
breakfast, that 
all the other 
members of our 
party had suffocated 



through the 
night, as I had, 
only to become 
reconciled, as had 
I, with the advent 
of morning a n d 
sunshine. But I 
shudder to think 
how we would all 
have felt if it had 
rained that first 
morning as it did 
later. 

And since the 
sun was shining, 






there was nothing 
to do but go to 
work. I found that 
in the first picture 
I was to be an In- 
dian girl, first dis- 
covered sitting on 
a lofty crag with 
her wolf dog beside 
her. Now high 
places make me 
frightfully giddy, 
so that when I ar- 
rived at my crag 
. . » after a breath- 
less scramble that 



lasted just long 

enough to be really 

exhilarating, and 

seated myself on 

a narrow rock 

ledge, I was 

really very 

miserable. 

One glance at 

the rocky 

pass 200 feet 

below nearly 

finished me but 

I managed to 

get a grip on 

myself and gazed 

off resolutely into 

the upper spaces. 




MY SUMMER VACATION 



113 



This method of keeping control of ray- 
self, however, was interrupted by 
my dog who had decided that he, 
at least, didn't want to stay 
perched on that ledge. In my 
struggles to keep him beside 
me, I expected any minute to 
tumble off into space with him 
and be dashed to pieces on the 
rocks below, and it was almost 
with a feeling of chagrin that 
1 later viewed the film — all this 

■ ^^gflgaja 





now slipping on mossy slime 
and sitting down in the 
water, getting across as 
best I could and ex- 
pecting every minute 
to be bitten in the 
legs by snakes. (It 
gives you a horrid 
creepy feeling as if 
a lot of ants and 
spiders were running 
up and down the back 
of your neck.) 
"You'll have to ride this 
horse bareback, galloping 
around the camp," came the orders next 
day when we were preparing for work 
again. The horse had been sent over from ' 
a town 10 miles "up country." It had a 
vicious look which was patent to others 
beside me. 

"I'll just ride him over to our location 
myself," said the director — a big, powerful 
fellow, who was certainly the one to hold 
a horse — and rode off at a trot. When we 
in the wagons came up to him about 4 miles 



time the camera was grinding steadily 
away — and discovered that not a trace of 
my mental agony showed in my face. In 
the pictures I sat there as placid and 
unconcerned as any stdical Indian maid. 

"And now," said the director when this 
scene was over, "I want you to slide down 
about 50 feet of grape vine and land in the 
crick." (Just the day before I had waded 
into the edge of this "crick" — a rushing 
mountain stream of unexpected depths, 
holes and rocky shallows — and 
had killed a good-sized water 
moccasin on a rock and had 
seen its mate swimming 
by a little later.) 

"In the crick?" I 
said doubtfully. 

"Yes. Come on. I'll 
show you where." 

And half an hour 
later, I found myself 
doing a Kelly slide 
down the rocks into a 
• pool and wading across 
through deeps and shallows, 
now stumbling on jagged rocks, 




further on, we discovered him 
trudging along, bruised and 
shaken, his face and arms 
covered with blood, and the 
horse gone and still going, 
I suppose. When the scene 
was taken, I rode a "plug" 
and some one led it. ' (An- 
other time .that Fate has 
spared me.) 

And then it began to rain 
and rain and rain, for days 
and days and days, until it seemed as 



114 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



though the water must surely begin rising in 
the valleys until it reached our retreat and 
washed it away. We all ate too much and 
sat on the porch and cussed the weather. I 
made a pitifully inadequate attempt to catch 
up on my mail. I made costumes for the 
next picture. I outlined scripts for future 
production. I read all the books I had 
brought with me and all the books everyone 
else had brought. And in Chesterton's "The 
Flying Inn" which I had been saving for 
months and months I found that delightful 
poem of his about old Noah and went about 
chanting : 

"The cataract from the cliff of heaven fell 

blinding from the brink 
As if it would wash the stars away as suds 

go down a sink; 
And the seven heavens were roaring down 

for the throats of hell to drink; 
And Noah he cocked his eye and said, 'It 

looks like rain I think.' " 

Then, when the rain turned warm. I put 
on my bathing suit and lay in my hammock 
under the trees. And finally the sun stopped 
sulking and shone gloriously on the moun- 
tains and on us. 

So down we hustled, in grease-paint and 
costume, to the hottest little stone wall in 
the world, and began photographing in front 
of a deserted cottage wherein only wasps 
and hornets lived. Of course the "patsy" of 
the party was stung. 

The next day I was to do an elf-dance in 
the forest and, of course, it turned out to 
be the hottest day of the season. The sun 
was scorching and the perspiration rolled 
down my face, off the ends of my hair — 
nearly — and spotted my clothes. 

But the evenings, after the heat of the day, 
were beautiful. Such golden moonlight, 
feathery-gray dusks, gloom-black trees, 
tender cricket-songs — and sleeping country- 
side of silver brooks and forests. 

So many "pets" they were always bringing 
me. First some one brought a butterfly; 
another, a pigeon; then a green grass-snake; 
then a pig and a flock of ducks. One even- 
ing as we drove up to the hotel, I saw what 
looked like a toy lamb about two feet high, 
standing on a table. As I approached, it 
moved and began eating a leaf. It was a 
young woolly Angora goat, another pet. And 
then came upon me another charge in the 
shapa of a spotted terrier bulldog pup. He 



was young and squealy and romping and a 
pest and a dear all at once. 

Another pet who clung to me tenaciously 
was a little girl about 7 years old, at one ol 
the logging camps where we photographed. 
Mildred and I hunted bullfrogs together one 
day, and ever after were fast friends. Her 
hair was tied in a little wispy knot on top o£ 
her head, her dress was torn and dirty, and 
her bare legs, feet and arms were covered 
with dirt and mosquito bites. But a delight 
ful little mind played behind those blue eyec 
and chattering lips. One day, according to 
promise, I brought her a tooth brush and 
powder — (implements on virgin soil) — and 
instructed her in the use of them. She was 
very interested, and between scenes all that 
day, I could see her over by the lakeside 
scouring away. Every time our auto went 
through the camp, Mildred would shout: 

"Come on, Mary, play with me," and I 
would call back: 

"I can't; I have to work." 

Quite an exciting incident occurred at the 
camp one day. We had finished a scene up 
the road in which I had driven a big team, 
and I was on my way back to the barn with 
the huge wagon, when the horses suddenly 
took fright at the two autos by the roadway, 
shied violently, and started off at breakneck 
speed down the hill. Those horses were 
powerful creatures, used to logging and pull- 
ing the big supply wagon, and my arms 
ached as I tried to pull them in. Down the 
hill we went flying, 'the wagon rocking from 
side to side, bouncing over mountain ruts 
and sending me flying off the seat and back 
again. As we neared the camp buildings, 
the horses broke for the rustic bridge, then 
shied to the right and started for the barn 
at the waterside. The barn door was too 
low for me to pass through on the top seat 
so I tugged fiercely at the right rein. The 
team veered slightly and just shaved the 
corner of the barn, but the wagon struck it, 
tearing off the corner and dragging away the 
. splintered boards. I managed to stop the 
team a short space further on, and when the 
director, cameraman, and actors rushed up, 
they lifted me off, weak and trembling. 

But despite the accidents, the work, the 
mosquitoes and the rain, I spent a delightful 
vacation, and when I said good-bye to my 
brook and my mountain, and to my pine 
scented room under the eaves, I was truly 
sorrowful. The summer had been all too 
short. 




CONCERNING A GIRL 

AND A MAN AND A 

MOUNTAIN LOVER 



"The Taming of 
Sunnybrook Nell" 



By Elaine Hunt 



lllttsiraiions from the American Film 



THE sound of an axe reverberated 
through the forests of Sunnybrook 
mountain, regular and even as ma- 
chinery. And no wonder, for there was no 
more expert woodcutter in all that region 
than Steve Ryder, the young giant who 
swung the axe. His day's work finished, 
Steve, after piling up the brush and cording 
the wood, collected a basket of chips. These 
September evenings were cool and the chips 
would be fine for old Clon, the mountaineer's 
fire. And smiling to himself as he thought 
how pleased Nell would be with him for his 
kindness to her father, he plunged down the 
mountain-side, hallooing as he went, just for 
sheer joy in the sound of it. 

Having deposited his basket at the door of 
the cabin where his sweetheart lived, he 
went in search of her. He thought he knew 
just where to find her. 

"Sunnybrook! Sunnybrook Nell!" he called 
as he went, for that was the name by which 
the girl was known because of her love for 
her mountain home. 

Brought up in the forests as simply as a 



little savage, at eighteen, the old moun- 
taineer's daughter was as lovely as a dryad. 

As Steve came blundering through the 
thickets and stood on the other side of the 
stream she looked up from her task of filling 
a bucket with water. The sunlight filtered 
through the cool green leaves and touched 
her dark curls with gold and brought a deli- 
ca(e flush to her satin cheek. 

"Hello Stevie!" she drawled affectionately. 
"Jest in time to take my bucket. Come on 
over." 

If the young man's progress over the ford 
was uncertain it was not only the sunlight 
that blinded him. 

"Let's go up to the top of Sunnybrook," 
he said to the girl. "I've got somepin' to 
show you." And he put his hand into his 
pocket to feel again a little round, hard 
object which represented a year's savings. 

Nell had been on the point of refusing — 
she was a wild, self-willed creature — but the 
promise of a surprise tempted her curiosity. 

"All right," she said, following him back 
to the house up the bank. 

113 



116 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



They left the pail at the cabin and then 
began the ascent of the mountain. Nell was 
fleet of foot, and independent in spirit, but 
before they reached the top she was glad 
to accept Steve's aid. 

"How I do love this old mountain!" she 
said, resting her hand lightly on his arm, 
as they stepped out on a promontory and 
the wide green valley below met their gaze. 
"Jest because it is so hard to conquer it!" 

He looked down at her standing there, her 
curls damp, her cheek flushed, and suddenly 
she made his head swim: 

"That's why I love you," he said, "and 
this time you've got to say 'yes' for good," 
and he tried to take her in his arms. But 
she eluded him with a quick motion. 

"Careful," she said warningly. "I didn't 
say I would, you know. I only said perhaps, 
sometime — " 

He interrupted her, taking from its hiding- 
place the tiny round object that represented 
a year's savings. 

"But you'll say 'yes' for keeps now, won't 
you Nell?" he pleaded, "for see, I've got the 
ring!" 

She came to him and hovered around his 
shoulder like a little bird, looking for bread- 
crumbs. 

"Stevie!" she breathed, "A ring! Do you 
mean to say — do you mean to say that it's 
for me?" 

"For the prettiest girl in Tennessee!" he 
said and this time he had no trouble at all 
in kissing her for she put up her lips of her 
own accord. 

OEPTEMBER in the mountains was very 
^ lovely and always brought a fresh sup- 
ply of visitors to the summer resort on the 
other side of Sunnybrook. Among these 
this year were a Mr. and Mrs. Clifford Durkin 
from Memphis. 

Mrs. Durkin was an excellent bridge 
player, an exquisite dancer and a perfect 
hostess, but she did not count among her 
attainments the art of retaining her hus- 
band's devotion. Sure of his affection and 
his wealth she wanted merely to please her- 
self. Her own way was the god to which 
she had dedicated her life. 

As for Clifford Durkin, his attitude toward 
his wife was very much the same as hers 
toward him. Fundamentally he was fond of 
her, but the negative quality of her feeling 
for him and his natural indolence failed to 
rouse in him any active evidence of it. The 



situation was a common one between hus- 
bands and wives, but it might perhaps have 
been avoided in their case and the bond 
between them strengthened if their one child, 
a little boy of two, had lived — but he had 
been dead for half a dozen years. 

It was a spirit of restlessness which had 
driven the man to the mountains that year, 
an utter boredom with things as they were, 
and it had been almost a disappointment that 
his wife had wished to accompany him. His 
desire for novelty, something entirely new, 
was so great that he did not know how he 
was going to satisfy it. 

The sight of Sunnybrook Nell, filling her 
bucket from the waters of a swift mountain 
stream, gave him the first intimation of how 
it was to be accomplished. She seemed, in 
her simple gingham frock with her dark 
curls blowing about her, the very embodi- 
ment of all the wild life about him. Now 
he knew what it was he wanted — a taste of 
romance. 

He stepped eagerly down the path. His 
head was bared in an instant. "May I help 
you?" he said with one of his most charming 
smiles. "That looks to me like a very heavy 
bucket." 

She glanced up at him with the same 
smile which she had given Steve only a 
few days ago when he had made the same 
offer. Her large bright eyes surveyed the 
stranger a moment and then, perceiving 
that he was undoubtedly good to look at 
and that he was dressed as the city folk 
dress, her smile widened. 

"Why, I reckon you can," she said. "Here, 
take hold!" 

Cap in hand he seized the bucket while 
she took the other side. The brook rippled 
behind them and the sunlight filtered down 
through the dark green leaves and touched 
her hair with gold. 

"Is this the way?" he said, pointing up 
the path. She nodded, and between them, 
their hands almost touching, they carried 
the bucket up to the little cabin. 

That was the beginning of an acquaintance 
which grew rapidly in the free unrestricted 
mountain life. Merely diverted at first, 
Durkin's interest in Sunnybrook Nell be- 
came more and more serious, and while his 
wife spent her afternoons playing bridge on 
the hotel veranda oblivious to the beautiful 
scenery around her, he spent his in walking 
with Nell in the woods or driving with her 
to the little town not many miles distant. 



"THE TAMING OF SUNNY BROOK NELL" 



117 



to get soda water, or having tea with her 
and the old mountaineer, her father. Clon 
Sempsill was a great-hearted, simple old 
soul, and any friend of his daughter's was 
his friend as well. He enjoyed the city fel- 
low's tales of travel and adventure in dis- 
tant lands and would sit and listen almost 
as enthralled as the girl while Durkin spun 
his yarns. 

But this situation, of course, could not go 
on for very long unremarked by big Steve, 
even though Mrs. Durkin had been too self- 
centered to notice it. It was the evening 
after his return from a trip which had kept 
him in another county for two weeks, and 
he could not hurry fast enough to reach the 
cabin where his sweetheart lived. 

His surprise, therefore, amounted almost 
to shock when he saw, as he came up the 
path from the brook, his affianced bride 
slanding in the doorway with her hand 
held in the lingering clasp of a very good- 
looking stranger. 

"Till tomorrow then," he heard the man 
say before sauntering away into the woods. 

Steve waited until he had quite gone — 
he did not want to do murder until he was 



sure what cause he had — then he flung open 
the cabin door and strode in. Nell wan 
putting away the remains of supper and 
her father sat by the big fireplace cleaning 
a gun. 

Steve was of that primitive type which 
stays not on the order of it's going nor 
wastes time in much speech. He made no 
attempt to greet father and daughter, merely 
pointed out of the window toward the spot 
where Durkin had disappeared. 

"That man, who was he?" said he. 

Nell had never moved since his abrupt 
entry, her eyes had been fixed upon his 
white face and flashing eyes. Now she went 
on again with her work, smiling nonchalant- 
ly as if oblivious of any cause for excite- 
ment. 

"Oh, just a man," she said. 

Steve made a quick motion and caught 
one of her wrists in his big hand. 

"Tell me who he was!" he commanded. 

But it was of no use to bully a little 
wildcat like the mountain girl. The touch 
of restraint made her anger flare. 

"Let go," she screamed, "let go!" and 
struck him on the cheek. 




That Was the Beginning of an Acquaintance Which Throve Rapidly 



118 



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His strong grip on her only tightened. 

"Tell me," he said sternly; "tell me or 
I'll — I'll choke you!" 

But now a third figure took part in the 
drama. Old Clon, the mountaineer, rose 
laboriously from his seat by the fire and 
came over and laid his hand on the furious 
young man's shoulder. 

"I guess I'll have somepin' to say about 
that chokin' business," he said. "Let go 
my gal!" 

Steve was wounded to the quick. He 
was very fond of old Clon, they had always 
been good friends. Was it possible they 
were both against him? Why the whole 
world was upside down! 

He relinquished his hold sullenly. 

The delay had given Nell time to think. 
She took from her finger the little ring 
with the tiny diamond which Steve had 
given her only a short time ago and put it 
on the table. 

"I reckon you'd better have it back," said 
she. "I don't seem sure of my mind. You 
hurried me too fast. Perhaps, after all, I 
love someone else." 

It was not true at all. Her heart and her 
soul were Steve's, and it was only the 
novelty of Durkin's city ways and clothes 
that had attracted her, and what she said 
she said out of wilfulness and perversity. 
But the man did not know that. He picked 
up the ring and his face grew set and white. 

"All right," he said. "All right for you, 
Sunnybrook Nell. From this day you won't 
see no more of Steve." He went out, fol- 
lowed by a peal of laughter from the girl 
which he was too angry to realize was 
strained and forced. 

The mountain was large and Steve's cabin 
on the opposite side from old Clon's cabin 
some miles from the hotel, so it was not 
altogether difficult for him to keep his word 
about avoiding Nell. The field, therefore, 
was left clear for the enamored Durkin. 
But his path was not all plain sailing. 

If Steve had suffered from the abrupt 
severance of their engagement, the girl had 
suffered more. She had not meant to lose 
him — only to defy him for a while; and now 
the thought that he had really gone beyond 
her reach was driving her wild. It resulted 
in many petulant moods and fits of sullen- 
ness, which left the city bred man quite at 
a loss, though her whims only made her 
more charming in his eyes. 

They had been driving through the moun- 



tains one day and had left the old ouggy 
Durkin had found at the inn long enough 
to penetrate the heart of a particularly 
lovely glade. Great rocks loomed up about 
them, making it a place of mystery and 
glamour fit background for a love scene. 
Nell wanted to rest a moment and enjoy, 
the beauty around them. And Durkin was 
content, for he wanted only to enjoy her. 

His silence at last attracted her attention 
and she roused herself from thoughts of 
Steve to ask him what was the matter. 

He reached out and laid his hand on her 
soft round arm. 

"Nothing is the matter," he said, "only 
I'm crazy about you, little girl, I'm. crazy 
about you. And I want you for my very 
own!" 

It was a complete surprise to Nell, for 
though she had realized that Durkin was 
somewhat in love with her, she had not 
thought he would ask her to marry him, 
and that was what, in her unsophistication, 
she thought he was doing now. Such an 
idea as that he was married already had 
not, of course, entered her mind. 

So she turned to him kindly and patted 
his arm. 

"Do you really care?" she said. 

The words swept the man away on a wave 
of passion. 

"More than all the world," he said, and 
caught her to him and kissed her lips. 

Nell did not altogether like it. She had 
meant never to let any man kiss her except 
Steve. But Steve had gone back on her, 
he had given her up, and she was never to 
see him again. A dark shadow passed over 
her face, though the man beside her was 
clutching her hand and pouring out words 
of entreaty, of protestations of love and 
promises of what he would do for her if 
she would go with and trust herself to him. 
Then the cloud passed as a brilliant thought 
struck her. What a wonderful revenge it 
would be on Steve, if she should marry this 
rich man from the city, who would take her 
traveling and give her rich clothes and 
jewels to wear! 

"I'll do it, I'll .go with you!" she said. 

Transported with delight the man fell to 
planning with her the details of the elope- 
ment. It should be the next night, he said. 
He must have a few hours to arrange his 
affairs, then they would start on a trip 
around the world. 

Of course, he knew as he said it, that 



"THE TAMIXG OF SUXXYBROOK XELL' 



119 




"Nothing Is the Matter' He Said. "Only I'm Crazy about You, Little Girl, I'm Crazy about You!" 



the trip he had in mind would in all prob- 
ability last only a few days and that the 
reason he had delayed it until the next day 
was that he might prepare his wife for his 
absence on business for a while, but so 
great was his infatuation as he made love 
to Nell all the way home, that almost he 
persuaded himself that the trip around the 
world was a reality. 

In the meantime circumstances were fight- 
ing for Steve in an unexpected fashion. 
He had spent that day while his poor little 
sweetheart was planning her own ruin, in 
fishing and had caught such an enormous 
string of trout that he made up his mind to 
take them down to the hotel to sell. 

He rode over and, leaving his horse at 
the lower gate, sauntered up to the inn. 
Out on a sort of natural terrace, high up 
above the road, he saw some people sitting, 
two men and a woman. One of the men 
seemed to be sketching the other, while the 
woman, very big and fair and handsome, 
with a wonderful lace dress on, was sitting 
by and chatting with them. This group 
would not have interested Steve at all and 
he would have gone on his way to the 



kitchen, if he had not chanced to recognize 
in the man who was playing the part of 
artist, the man who had stood at old Clon 
Sempsill's cabin door a short time ago and 
said good-bye to Sunnybrook Nell, with such 
evident warmth of feeling. 

A premonition came over Steve and he 
dropped the string of fish in the road and 
stood watching the group on the terrace. 
In a moment the woman in the lace gown 
laughed loudly at something the artist was 
saying and, leaning forward, playfully 
rumpled his hair. 

It was the intimate kind of act which a 
wife might permit herself toward her hus- 
band, and as such the mountaineer recog- 
nized it. The blood surged darkly to his 
face. However, he felt he must be sure, and, 
controlling himself, beckoned to a maid 
who at that moment came out on the ve- 
randa. She came gladly, for the young man 
was very good-looking. 

"Say, Sis," he said, "you live here? Can 
you tell me who those people are up there 
on the terrace?" 

The maid knew perfectly well for the inn 
was not crowded, and she told readily. 



120 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



"They're Mr. and Mrs. Durkin of Mem- 
phis, you know, those rich people," she said, 
"and the man Mr. Durkin is making the 
picture of, is — " 

But she was not allowed to finish. An 
oath of such astounding vigor escaped the ' 
young mountaineer that she fled in terror 
back to the inn convinced that he had sud- 
denly lost his wits. 

A burst of merriment came again from 
the terrace and the sound of the carefree 
laughter of the scoundrel who was playing 
with his girl's affections, almost drove Steve 
mad. Durkin, had he but known it, had 
never come nearer death, for Steve, like 
every woodsman in those parts, carried a 
gun in his hip pocket. But a saner thought 
came to him. Before he did any punishing 
himself, he would tell Nell of his discovery 
that Durkin was married, and let her deal 
with him. 

Full of this resolve he hurried back to his 
horse, leaving the trout in the road, where 
he had dropped them, and mounting, set off 
at full gallop for old Clon's cabin. Eagerly 
he knocked at the door. The old moun- 
taineer opened it and stood blinking. 

"Come in," he said stupidly. 

Steve saw by his manner that something 
was wrong, for Clon's eyes were red, as if 
he had been weeping. 

"What's troublin' you, neighbor?" said 
Steve. 

"It's Nell," said the other man. "Last 
night I hearn her sobbin' in her room and 
when I asked her the matter she said — she 
said — " 

"Yes?" whispered Steve. 

"She said she hadn't meant to tell me. 
but she was goin' to marry that Durkin 
fellow, and she was grievin' to leave me 
alone." 

The young man's heart stood still. But 
there was hope yet, for had he not just left 
the villain back at the hotel sitting on the 
terrace? 

"Where is she?" he asked Clon. "Quick, 
tell me where she is?" 

"She's down in the village," replied Nell's 
father. "She went down to her aunt's house 
this morning. She told me Durkin was 
goin' to meet her there this evening about 
eleven, and they were going to take the 
midnight train." He broke off with a sigh. 
"Oh Nell! Nell!" he said. 

Steve was stunned. The worst had nearly 
happened then. If he had not chanced to see 



Durkin at the hotel ... A groan fin- 
ished the thought. What could he do to 
help her, what could he do? If things had 
gone as far as that, if Nell had allowed 
herself to become infatuated enough to 
promise the man to elope with him, would 
she believe Steve when he told her the 
truth about him? Steve feared she would 
not. He must think of some way to con- 
found the villain before her eyes. For a 
long while he sat in the darkened cabin, 
the silence broken only by the weary sighs 
of the disconsolate old man. Then an in- 
spiration came to him. 

"Where's your buckboard?" he said. "I 
want to drive back to the hotel." 

Clon led the way to the little stable be- 
hind the cabin and the two men hitched the 
horse in silence. 

"I'm going to bring her back," he said 
to the old man. "Good-bye." 

Two hours later he was returning over 
the same road and beside him in the buck- 
board was a very good-looking woman, big 
and fair, who wore a fashionable white suit 
and hat. 

"You say it has been going on some time, 
this — this affair?" she asked Steve, and she 
spoke like a woman who has had a hard 
blow to bear. 

The mountaineer nodded. 

"Yes, Ma'am," he said, "and I thought if 
you was to come to Nell's cabin and stay 
there, and I was to go down to the house 
where she's waitin' for him and tell him 
before her face that his wife was waitin' up 
at the cabin for him to take her back to the 
hotel, I thought then she might see that I 
was telling the truth, and they might both 
on 'em see reason." 

The woman bowed her head, praying that 
they might indeed "see reason." She really 
did care for Durkin, and the sudden fear of 
losing him had brought home to her her 
own responsibility in the matter. Perhaps 
if she had not been so selfish, so fond of her 
own way, perhaps if she had put herself out 
more for him she might have guar3ed him 
against this infatuation. The horse jogged 
briskly over the rough road and the big 
mountaineer made no sound except now and 
then an encouraging cluck to his steed; 
and the moonlight poured down in beauty 
like the rays of self-revelation that were 
piercing the woman's heart. "If only I 
could think of some way to bring him back 
to me — something to rouse his sense of 



'THE TAMING OF SUXNYBROOK NELL" 



121 



honor," she thought, turning and twisting 
her jeweled hands in her lap. 

They reached the cabin and there must 
have been healing in that moonlight drive, 
for a blessed thought had come to her. Six 
years ago that very day, as chance would 
have it, their little boy had been born. 
Her husband had always remembered the 
anniversary until this summer, when his 
preoccupation with Nell had made him for- 
get it. She thought now that if she re- 



Durkin from the hotel, tying his team at 
the door. Durkin had only just come. 

Steve got out and twisted the reins around 
the whipstock. His horse knew how to 
stand. Then he stood hesitating in the 
moonlight, praying to all the gods he knew 
that he would be able to go through with 
what he had to do, without committing mur- 
der. Two shadows showed on the blind, a 
girl's and a man's, and the man had his 
arms about the girl. The mountaineer 




A Premonition Came over Steve as He Stood Watching the Group on the Terrace 



minded him of it, it might touch his heart 
and bring him to his senses. 

"Ask him," she said to the mountaineer 
who was eager to be gone again, "ask my 
husband, when you see him, if he remem- 
bers what day it is. You won't forget, will 
you?" She looked anxiously up at Steve, 
and her lips trembled. 

"You bet I won't," he said, and pressed her 
hand sympathetically. 

It was just eleven when he reached the 
little house in the village where Nell was 
staying. He had arrived at a fortunate mo- 
ment, for he saw the man who had brought 



smiled grimly, and strode to the door. 

An old woman opened it, Nell's aunt, but 
Steve did not stay to ask her permission. 
He pushed past her and into the tiny sitting- 
room beyond the hall. They were there, 
Sunnybrook Nell, with a flushed excited 
face, was bending over a valise, — and Durkin, 
pale and anxious, was helping her to close it. 

At sight of Steve the two stood, fascinated, 
without changing their positions. 

The young man wasted no time in pre- 
liminaries. 

"I've something to say to you, Durkin," 
he said, "a message from your wife. She's 



122 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



waitin' for you up at old Clou's cabin. She 
wants you to take her back to the hotel." 

The guilty man started violently and the 
perspiration stood out upon his white fore- 
head. 

"My wife," he stammered, "my wife?" 

"Yes," said Steve, "and there was some- 
thing she wanted me to ask you. She wanted 
to know if you remembered what day it 
was?" 

"My little baby's birthday!" he said in a 



motion toward him. With his head bowed, 
he left the room, and they heard outside 
the sound of departing wheels. 

Steve hesitated, then made a swift step 
toward the girl. 

"Come with me, Nell," he said. 

But she backed away. 

"Leave me alone," said she, without look- 
ing at him. But he would not let her shame 
balk him. Without further ceremony he 
caught her up in his arms and hurried out 




Where a Man and Woman Stood in the Moonlight Drinking Their Cup of Bitterness— Together 



low, stricken voice, "my little baby's birth- 
day!" 

Confession of guilt was in every tone of 
his voice, and at the words, Nell, who had 
stood staring in frozen unbelief, turned sud- 
denly from him and put her hands over 
her face. 

And in that simple act Durkin saw the 
end of the affair. His mad dream faded, 
and remorse seized him instead. 

"I guess I had better go," he said hoarsely. 
And then, with an effort to catch Nell's 
hand. "Won't you forgive me?" 

But she made not the slightest reply nor 



to the buckboard. In another moment they 
were speeding up the mountain-side, passing 
in their flight, a little, rough cabin, half way 
up the mountain, where a man and a woman 
stood in the moonlight, drinking their cup 
of bitterness — together. 

Clear to the top Steve drove, to the very 
spot where they had first pledged their love. 
He got down and lifted her out, and the 
stubborn silence she had maintained all the 
way gave way to a burst of angry tears. 

"You've no right," she said, sobbing, 
"you've no right to treat me so! I wish 
you'd go away and leave me alone!" 



'THE TAMING OF SUNNYBROOK NELL' 



123 



Steve put his hand over her mouth, 
roughly. 

"Shet up," he said sternly. "Do you know 
■why I brought ye here?" 

She gasped in astonishment. 

"Why?" she said. 

" 'Cause if you don't promise to marry me 
tomorrow, I'm going to — " He interrupted 
himself to nod impressively — "I'm goin' to 
throw you over the cliff!" He gestured to- 
ward the shining valley that lay below the 
promontory where they were standing. 

The girl burst into loud wails. 

"Then you don't love me!" she sobbed. 



"You don't love me! You wart to kill me, 
and I love you so!" 

The young mountaineer indulged in a wink 
at the moon. 

"Oh, you do?" he said. "That's different!" 
Then, with his tone changing quickly to 
tenderness, "Why, little girl," he said, tak- 
ing her in his arms, "you know I wouldn't 
hurt a hair of your head for nothin'. Steve 
was only foolin'!" 

She raised her tear-stained face. 

"An' you won't kill me?" 

He covered it with kisses. 

"Well, not ef ye're good!" he said. 



If the Movies Had Moved in the 
Days of the Past 



By LLOYD KENYON JONES 



I WONDER what the screens would 
show, 
If in the golden i>ast, 
The movie-man had filmed the scenes 

And held the captives fast : 
Would Jonah vanish in the whale. 

Or would he (I opine) 
Hold up two fingers to the gang. 

And shout, "The water's fine!" 
Would captive Daniel read to 'Slia/. 

The writing on the wall, 
"Be sure to drink old Babylon's Best. 

And order more, that's all !" 
And would the Red Sea's waters part 

And let the hordes pass through, 
Or would a ferry ply its trade 

And fee the ]>oor Hebrew? 
If Caesar's slaying had been filmed, 

To Brutus would he shout, 
"You cheap ward-heeler, have a care. 

Look out what you're about!" 
Would Cleopatra nurse the asp 

And tease it, to be slain. 
Or shout, "Come Antony, old sport, ■• 

With more of that champagne!" 
And Bonaparte, at Waterloo, 

Where lay the sunken road, 



Would he stand pat and take the gaff, 

Or try to shift the load? 
Would we behold upon the screen 

At Valley Forge, the sigh 
Of Washington, or read these words, 

"Oh, say. but coal is high!" 
And would Calcutta's setting show 

A "bust" quite on the side, 
Or Rajah Dowlah playing cards 

While Black Hole victims died? 
What would the movies tell us of 

The heroes and the mob? 
Pray, would the romance grow or would 

The truth the glitter rob? 
And yet, they're canning all our deeds. 

And bottling all our woe, 
And to the coming ages all 

Our frailties will show. 
Our greatest men, of bandy legs 

And pendulating girth, 
Will not evoke much reverence. 

But rather cause much mirth. 
We cannot hide behind the mist 

Of misconception then ; 
The movies still will show us up 

In eons past our ken. 




i Cm, 

or~,soo/r , 
ootlights 
<9 s c/'n a tions 




icmdom 
a'me 

Johnson *Br/scoe 




WE GOT along splendidly together, Marguerite Snow 
and I. The whole proceeding had much more the 
spirit of a social call, as against a cut-and-dried 
interview. She was a perfect interviewee, and she pro- 
nounced me an equally satisfactory interviewer, "so different 
from a horrid man who called upon me the other day and 
whose first words were, 'Now, say something brilliant!'" 
The attractive Miss Snow, so surprisingly free from affecta- 
tions of any sort, I found, can be delightfully witty and en- 
tertaining, without any such absurd, fatuous cue as that. 

Our chat began early in the morning, at the Thanhouser 
studio in New Rochelle, when a group of players were start- 

124 



WHY THEY FORSOOK FOOTLIGHTS FOR FILMDOM 



12; 




two girls were busy chatting about a party 
which they had attended in New York the 
night before, at the Jardin de Danse. (In- 
cidentally, so far as I could gather, the 
Thanhouser stars, when not before the 
camera, spend much of their time in a 
round of social gaities.) 

"Why, yes, you can say so in print, if you 
like," replied Miss Snow, "though, as a 
matter of fact, I generally claim Savannah, 
Ga., as my birthplace, though I was really 
born in Salt Lake City." This seemed to 
me a somewhat prodigal geographical 
usurpation, so I pressed her for details. 

"Well, you see, it was this way. My 
father, Wil- 
liam G. 



ing out for a morning's 
work upon the seventeenth 
episode of "The 
Million Dollar 
Mystery," and I 
was bidden to join 
them. Though feel- 
ing momentarily a 
bit de trop and some- 
what like excessive ex- 
cess baggage, I climbed 
into the waiting automo 
bile and boldly plumped 
my person between the 
radiantly dark Marguerite 
Snow and the divinely fair 
Florence La Badie, upon my 
left and right sides re- 
spectively. It was a 
thrilling ride, I can tell 
you. 

Having learned by long 
experience that in the 
matter of motion picture 
chats it is quite necessary 
to plunge into business at every possible op- 
portunity, I tried to preserve my equanimity, 
while sandwiched between such loveliness, 
and gather material while I could. 

"And was Denver your birthplace?" I 
rather stupidly began, for, you see, it was 
rather difficult to insinuate questions, as the 



Beautiful Marguerite Snow, the Princess Olga of 
"The Million Dollar Mystory" 



Snow, was a minstrel comedian for twenty- 
five years, of the team of Snow and West, 
and of course he traveled constantly. It 
simply happened that mother was in Salt 
Lake City when I was born. Almost imme- 
diately thereafter we went to Savannah, 
where we lived for several years, my father 
dying when I was a baby. After a time 
mother and I went to Denver, where I 
passed all my childhood." 

By this time we had reached our destina- 
tion, which was the famous House of Mys- 
tery, the background for many of the thrill- 
ing events which occur in "The Million 
Dollar Mystery," and here we found await- 
ing us James Cruze, Frank Farrington, 



] 2C, 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



Sidney Bracey, and director Howell 
Hansel. Almost immediately they plunged 
into the business at hand, and dainty 
Miss Snow (she is really one of the most 
exquisite creatures imaginable) was soon 
engaged in the villainous, nefarious 
schemes on which the wicked Countess 
Olga has been employed from the very 
first in the "Million Dollar" episodes. A 
luxurious limousine, the mysterious 
house, a heavily veiled lady, the iniqui- 
tous Braine (in the person of Frank 
Farrington), a suit-case, a bunch of jon- 
quils, all were picturesquely, hetero- 
genously mixed together, forming another 
link in the chain of circumstances in this 
most absorbing tale 

When a mo- 
ment's res- 





in Private Life Kiss Snow is the Wife of James 

Cruze, Who Plays the Part of Jimmy Norton, 

the Reporter, in "The Million Dollar Mystery" 



pite came, I asked Miss Snow whether she 
liked portraying such a picture of moral de- 
pravity as the Countess Olga. 

"No, I do not," was her unhesitating reply, 
"though I begin to feel now as if I had never 
played anything else. It seems as if I had 
been a part of 'The Million Dollar Mystery' 
always." Her face clouded, momentarily, as 
she added, "I really haven't played a part 1 
liked for almost the past year. I don't like 
being an adventuress anyway." 

More work followed. Olga was again ex- 
ercising her evil influence over the heroine, 
Florence Gray (and what an adorably pretty 




She Made a Lovely Boy in 
Dog of Flanders" 



'The 



heroine Florence La 
Badie does make, to be 
sure), after which Di- 
rector Hansel pro- 
nounced the morn- 
ing's work completed. 
"Until three o'clock, 
when you may report 
at the studio again." 
We climbed back into 
the automobile, this 
time with Mr. Cruze 
and Mr. Farrington as 
companions, and were 
whisked off to the 
Cruze homestead for a 
bite of luncheon. As 
all, or certainly most of 
you, know, Miss Snow 
is Mrs. Cruze in private 
life and the Cruzes 
have a most com- 



WHY THEY FORSOOK FOOTLIGHTS FOR FILMDOM 



127 



fortable, attractive home in New Rochelle, 
about five minutes' walk from the Than- 
houser plant. The very air of the house 
spells comfort, without ostentation or dis- 
play, and their marriage, a genuine romance 
of the studio, may truly be said to be an 
ideally happy one. You have only to be 
fortunate enough to see them in their home 
to realize that fact. 

The ceremony of luncheon completed, it 
was still some time before they would be 
required at the studio, Miss Snow and I 
lingered over our coffee cups for additional 
intimate chatter. Meanwhile, in the living- 
room, Miss La Badie played Victor Herbert's 
fascinating "Badinage" upon the piano, while 
Mr. Cruze smoked innumerable cigarettes. 

"The stage? No, I shall never take up 
that work again, I am sure. I liked it, 
of course, when engaged in it, but the risks 
are too great. Youth and pretty faces, rather 
than real talent, are what count upon the 
stage now. Then there is always the danger 
of your company closing, or of your not 
making good. Now in pictures there is no 
risk at all, you have steady employment, 
without fear of closing, and, too, I couldn't 
possibly have a home like this if I were an 
actress. Having lived all my life in hotels, 
first as a child and later when I went on the 
stage, of course, I am in" an especially 
favorable position for appreciating a home." 

As I was aware of the fact that Miss 
Snow's stage career had been short, but 
surprisingly successful, I determined to find 
out, if I could, whether there was not a 
frequent longing in her heart for a row of 
footlights, a boxed-in set, and an audience, 
with the assistant stage-manager calling, 
"First act." I put the question to her direct, 
and she met it directly. 

"No, I don't long for the stage any more, 
for the simple reason that I don't allow 
myself to think about it. Nor do I trust 
myself even to visit the theatres, for fear 
the fever might return. Why, do you know, 
the very last play I saw was John Mason in 
'The Attack,' which was over two years ago. 
Of course, there is a small, very small, 
chance that I may return to the stage some 
day, but I think it is highly improbable." 

All the same, and despite her protestations, 
I cannot but believe that there must come 
occasional times when the lure of the stage 
door is poignantly felt by Miss Snow. Very 
few young actresses there are who have been 
more successful than she, especially when 



you consider that her stage experience num- 
bered less than five years in all. She studied 
in Denver under Marguerite Fealy, Maude 
Fealy's mother, and during the Summer of 
1906 played one or two small parts with the 
stock company at Elitch's Gardens, Denver. 
What might be called her real stage debut 
occurred February 11, 1907, at the Crawford 
Theatre, Wichita, Kan., when she played 
Mile. Danglars in "Monte Cristo," in the 
support of James O'Neill. 

The very next season Miss Snow stepped 
into the title role in Henry W. Savage's pro- 
duction of "The College Widow," and the 
next season came her Broadway debut, when 
she created Elsa in "The Devil," at the 
Garden Theatre. After that came a season 
in stock work, divided between Grand 
Rapids, Mich., and Wheeling, W. Va., and 
in the Fall of 1910 she was seen at the Bijou 
Theatre with Thomas Jefferson in "The 
Other Fellow." This play being a failure, I 
suspected that then she turned her thoughts 
towards picturedom. It was so. 

"My going into pictures was largely acci- 
dental," said Miss Snow. "A girl friend of 
mine was posing for the Thanhouser people 
and she suggested that I accompany her one 
day, just to see how motion pictures were 
made. While watching the work, Mr. Than- 
houser asked me if I would like to appear in 
a picture which they were about to take. 
Largely for the fun of the thing, I said I 
would and I was pressed into immediate 
service, costume, make-up and all, in a pic- 
ture called, 'Baseball in Bloomers.' Sud- 
denly the director called out, 'Everybody into 
the machine and out into the country for 
pictures.' 'What,' I cried, 'go out-of-doors in 
such a costume and in winter weather like 
this? Not for me!' And I immediately took 
off my costume and returned to New York. 
A week later, however, my telephone rang 
and there was Mr. Thanhouser speaking, 
urging me to reconsider my decision, saying 
he wanted me to appear in a picture, 'His 
Younger Brother,' and adding, 'It is all in- 
door work this time.' So I consented, and 
was a member of the company for about 
six months. 

"The Summer of 1911, I temporarily re- 
turned to the stage, being leading woman of 
the stock company at the Belasco Theatre, 
Washington, D. C, where I played the title 
role in 'Peter Pan,' Kathie in 'Old Heidel- 
berg,' Nora Brewster in 'Waterloo,' Glory 
Quayle in 'The Christian,' and Helen Heye in 



128 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



'The Lottery Man.' After that I took up 
picture work again, being the first regular 
lead with the Kinemacolor company, where 
I remained for about two months, and then 
I re-joined the Thanhouser forces, where I 
have been ever since. 

"It was a strange thing that as soon as I 
had determined to remain permanently in 
pictures, I received no end of offers for 
excellent theatrical engagements, the lead in 
such plays as 'The Bird of Paradise' and 
'The Butterfly on the Wheel,' but I resolutely 
turned them all down." 

At this moment we were interrupted by 
the arrival of a caller in the person of Dr. 
Daniel Carson Goodman, the author of that 
notorious novel, "Hagar Revelly," and an in- 
timate friend of the Cruze-Snow family. It 
seems that Dr. Goodman frequently turns his 
hand to scenario writing and he has lately 
completed a play called "Zudora," in which 
Miss Snow is to play the name part. At 
once, of course, conversation turned upon 
that subject and Dr. Goodman, apparently a 
stickler for detail, endeavored to make it 
clear to his heroine exactly what sort of cos- 
tumes he wanted her to wear. 

"The sort of thing I want Zudora to wear, 
for both house and street dresses, must be 
modeled along the lines of the dancing cos- 
tumes worn by Lady Constance Stewart 
Richardson." 

Miss Snow gave Zudora's creator one look. 



"What!" she exclaimed, "appear in the 
streets in a garb like that? It can't be 
done!" Right then and there I resolved to 
see the Goodman scenario when reproduced 
upon the screen, especially to note the ulti- 
mate compromise effected in Zudora's street 
apparel — for I am all with Miss Suow! 

It was evident to me that business, and 
not the business of a magazine chat either, 
was to be in order for some little time, so 
there was nothing for me to do but take leave 
of my agreeable, hospitable hostess. This I 
did forthwith, and my last sight of Mar- 
guerite Snow was that of a slight, girlish 
figure standing in the door-way ("Now that 
you know our address, do, please, remember 
it, and come some time — unprofesslonally"), 
she was smiling, as only she alone can 
smile, with her sparkling, deep brown eyes, 
voicing the farewell, of which I was all too 
loath to take advantage. But time and 
suburban trains wait for no man. 

Perhaps more than one of my readers have 
marveled because not once here have I 
spoken of this Thanhouser star as "Peggy" 
Snow. Somehow or other, purely instinc- 
tively, all along I had felt that she disliked 
it. Finally, I asked her as much. 

"Yes, indeed, I do dislike being called 
Peggy," she replied, quite heartily, but every- 
body does it, and now that I have been nick- 
named 'Peg o' the Movies,' there doesn't seem 
to be any hope, does there?" 



Augustus Phillips 



HE was seated in a motor-car in front 
of the Edison studio in the Bronx, 
and I blithely passed him by. And 
who would not? The Augustus Phillips, to- 
day of Edisonville, and the Augustus Phil- 
lips, yesterday, of Spoonerville, are two en- 
tirely different persons in appearance. 
Having seen him only upon the screen in 
late times one was scarcely prepared for the 
change. 

It was at least five years ago that I last 
saw Augustus Phillips in the flesh and now 
I find him ever so much younger in appear- 
ance — all probably due to the rejuvenating 
influence of picturedom! For one thing he 
is very much thinner, a state, of grace also 
probably due to the strenuousness of the pic- 
ture player's career, and there is about him 
a buoyancy, even a lightness, the sort of 
"care-free poise which comes with doing suc- 



cessful work, qualities which I had not 
noted before in him. 

What's more, I said as much when, after 
absolutely assuring myself that it really 
was he, I climbed into the machine and sat 
beside him. (No, dear readers, the machine 
did not "spring into, .instant action and we 
soon were moving along the hills and val- 
leys of the adjacent country ' side." It prob- 
ably reads more romantically that way, but 
as a matter of fact the car was one of about 
thirty passenger capacity, a small sight- 
seeing wagon, and in a few moments we 
were unceremoniously ejected therefrom, to 
be replaced by a crowd of made-up Edison 
actors, all bound for the day's work, . some 
distance from the studio. We then repaired 
to one of the Edison business offices arid our 
interrupted conversation was resumed.) 

"Why, yes, I am ever so much thinner 



WHY THEY FORSOOK FOOTLIGHTS FOR FILMDOM 

than I used to be. Last year we spent consider- 
able time in Maine taking pictures, at which 
time I lost a lot of flesh and I've never re- 
gained it — though I'm not sorry! Goodness 
knows, compared to the strenuousness of my 
former work, I should be a mountain of 
flesh." 

"Then you find picture work easier 
than the stage?" was a question which 
sprang unconsciously from me, for he is 
about the very last actor in fllmdom to 
whom I would put such a question. 
"Infinitely," came the terse, somewhat with- 
ering reply. "There is simply no comparison 
between the two. In this business your work 
conies in cycles, you work strenuously hard 
when you work, or else you don't work at all. 
Now, for instance, during the past three weeks I 
have had practically nothing at all to do, while in 
a few days I start work under Charles Brabin's 
direction in a Paul Revere picture, in which I play 
the title role, so I shall probably figure in most 
all the scenes. As probably every picture actor 
tells you" (as, indeed, most of them do!) "the 
very worst part of this business is the waiting about, \ 
hour after hour, between scenes. Many times I have 
been dressed and made-up the entire day and have never 
heard the camera's click." 

With the title head of this interview department always 
before me, I asked the inevitable question as to why he 
left the stage for the studio. 

He shot at me, and without a moment's hesitation, "My 
eyes." A short pause, and he continued, "If it had not 
been for them I should probably never have given up 
acting behind the footlights. You see, I had a steady grind of stock 
work for over eleven years and, without knowing it, the study and 
hard work played havoc with my constitution, with the result 
that my eyes failed me completely. And as I had to 

have some ^^^ occupation, I took up picture work." 
" A n d J^^^^^\ >' ou have never regretted it?" 
"Not ™ -m jJ for one instant. The stage isn't what it used 
be, ten \ ^ and twelve years ago, nor will it ever be like 

that again, I believe. In those days 
_— • a fellow's season lasted from forty 



120 




The Augustus 
Phillips, of To- 
day and the 
Augustus 
Phillips of 
Yesterday Are 
Two Entirely 
Different People 




180 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



to forty-five weeks, while nowadays he's lucky if lie 
works twenty-eight or thirty. Compare that with 
this profession" — here a beatific smile spread 
over his whole countenance — "wherein I have 
a permanent home, congenial employment, a 
car of my own, and all the time in the 
world to enjoy baseball and the theatres, 
with a salary every single blessed one 
of the fifty-two weeks in the year. And 
I should like you to say that I am 
particularly happy with the Edison 
Company, the only picture firm for 
which I have ever worked." 

In looking back over the monumental 
amount of work which Mr. Phillips ac- 
complished during his stage career, one 
can but understand, even trouble with his 
eyes aside, that he must indeed feel care- 
free over release 
from the rig- 
As the ors of a 
&L £/^lI stage life 

in "The M such a S 



Unsullied 

Shield" He he knew. 

was Every ■ 

Inch a 
Gentleman 



Undoubt- 




edly filmdom imposes many 
severe tasks, even frequent 
hair's breadth escapes, 
upon its many followers. 
l^i but these are as nothing 
compared to the amount 
of real downright labor 
which Mr. Phillips 
shouldered during his 
stage days. Just stop 
for a moment to con- 
sider the amount of 
physical and mental 
energy which an ac- 
tor must have spent 
who can look back upon 
ten years of consecu- 
tive stock work, the 



He is Equally at Home in a 

Comedy or in Such a Flay as 

"The Two Doctors" 




most unre- 
mitting la 
b o r pos- 
sible, when 
every week 
he played 
a new role, 
crammed 
his brain 
with thousands 
of new words, 
rehearsed every 
morning, and gave two 
performances daily. And not only that, but during 
all of this time he played nothing but the most im- 
portant leading parts, such roles as Svengali in 
"Trilby," Sydney Carton in "The Only Way," Sir 
George Sylvester in "The Adventure of Lady 
Ursula," Romeo in "Romeo and Juliet," Augustus 
Billings in "Too Much Johnson," Lord Wheatley in 
"Phroso," Basil Jennico in "The Pride of Jennico," 
Gavin Dishart in "The Little Minister," and Ben- 
jamin Fitzhugh in "The Man from Mexico," re- 
spective roles in which Broadway fame has been 
won by such actors as Wilton Lackaye, Henry Mil- 
ler, E. H. Sothern, Kyrle Bellew, William Gillette, 
William Faversham, James K. Hackett, Robert 
Edeson. and William Collier. What a treat it 



WHY THEY FORSOOK FOOTLIGHTS FOR FILMDOM 



131 



"After a trying period with my eyes, I joined the 
Edison forces on January 1, 1911 — they gave me 
the salary I asked for, too, so I have no kick com- 
ing — and there isn't any one in picturedom 
more satisfied than I." 

Bent upon discovering the fly in the oint- 
ment, if by any chance there should be one, 
I ruthlessly put the question, "And do you 
never feel the call of the stage?" 

He looked at me rather reproachfully, 
it seemed to me (yes, apparently, the fly 
was there! ) and after a second or two 
pause, he said: 

"Why, certainly, I get the stage fever 



He Played a Part Greatly 

to His Liking in the 

Civil War Drama, 

"The Enemy's 

Lines" 




I Find Him Now Much Younger Than He Was Years 

Ago — Probably Due to the Rejuvenating 

Influences of Picturedom 



would be to see Mr. Phillips upon the 
screen in some of these roles! ; 

It was during his ten years as JL 
leading man of the Spooner com- tt 
pany, supporting Edna May and 
Cecil Spooner, that Mr. Phillips I 
acquired this enviable, but cer- \ 
tainly nerve-shattering, repertoire, 
dividing the time about equally be- 
tween New York and Brooklyn. Previous 
to this engagement, he toured at the head of his 
own company and was for a time with his 
brother, Philip Phillips. After the disbandment 
of the Spooner company, he appeared under 
the Shuberts as the young Frenchman, Jules 
Baenbien, in "The Wolf," was for a time at / 
the head of the Alcazar Theatre Stock, San I 
Francisco, and concluded his footlight career { 
as chief support with Adelaid Thurston in a 
"Miss Ananias." 




132 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



every now and then, and sometimes it's aw- 
fully hard to fight it off. Only the other 
day I received word from Eugene Walter 
that he wanted to see me, that he had a 
part in his new play just suited to me. Well, 
I had a talk with him — he had remembered 
imy work in his play, 'The Wolf — but 
when he discovered that I had been playing 
iin pictures all this time, he simply threw 
up his hands and exclaimed, 'Good Lord! 
Well, you had better stick to that game, 
there is more in that than stage acting 
now.' And of course he was right — though 
I didn't dare ask him anything about the 
role he wanted me for, because my attack 
of stage fever was pretty violent at that 
time." But if he felt any sense of real re- 
gret at his decision, and I don't believe he 
did, his cheerful, satisfied countenance be- 
lied him. 

That is one of the marked characteris- 
tics about Mr. Phillips, the one which is 
apparent probably first of all — his unruffled 
poise, a sort of placidity, which tempts one 
irresistibly to ruffle it up a bit. Such poised 
tranquillity almost makes one suspect that 
it covers up a super-heated interior! He 
seems supremely satisfied with life, as 
though he had most distinctly "found him- 
self." And yet, strangely at variance with 
this, is his boyish chuckle — one can hard- 
ly call it a laugh — which he indulges fre- 
quently and infectiously. He seems to look 
at life through kindly, yet merry, eyes. 
And he's a rabid baseball enthusiast. Ask 
any Edisonite. "I've seen every game this 
past week," and his voice fairly vibrated 
with pride. 

"Yes, I think I am perfectly safe in say- 
ing that I am in the picture game to stay. 
Nearly all the actors are coming to it now; 



you would be amazed at some of the people 
who are trying to break into the game, 
here at the Edison place. But the field is 
pretty thoroughly overcrowded now, though 
there will always be plenty of room at the 
top for the really talented." 

"Tell me, just about how many parts did 
you play during your stage career?" I asked, 
knowing that the list must be a stagger- 
ingly monumental one. 

He smiled a bit wanly, and said: 

"Well, I should hazard, altogether, easily 
five hundred. When you stop to think of 
the years in stock' in New York, Brook- 
lyn, San Francisco, and Columbus, 0., and 
even the years in repertoire before that, 
yes, the list must easily be over that num- 
ber." Is it any wonder then that pictures 
have taken such a hold upon him, that he 
finds much rest and recreation, even with 
all its attendant strenuousness, in the film 
game? 

The Phillips "fans" swear by him chiefly 
for his unusual screen versatility, for he 
is equally at home either in comedy or emo- 
tional roles, and you need only recall him 
yourself in recent releases to realize that 
fact. Pictures such as "Molly, the Drum- 
mer Boy," "A Deal in Statuary," "The Two 
Doctors," "A Question of Hats and Gowns," 
"The Enemy's Lines," "My Friend from 
India," and "The Birth of the Star Spangled 
Banner," proved it without question of a 
doubt. 

I arose to go, and my genial interviewee, 
probably knowing the trials which beset the 
interviewer's path, said, quite seriously: 

"You may write anything you like, and 
I'll swear I said it." 

But he really did say the things I have 
set down here! 



A TRUTHFUL PRISONER 

DURING the taking of a recent Ammex Comedy at National City, California, 
Jack Livingstone was playing the part of the prisoner. 

Enid Markey was visiting the jail and coming to Livingstone's cell exclaimed 
very sympathetically. t 

"Poor fellow, would you mind telling me what brought you here?" 
"The Santa Fe Local," replied Happy Jack respectfully, "leaving San Diego 
every morning at 9.15." 



"The Dancer 
and the Vulture 

By Dorothy Chase 

Illustrations from the Kalem Film 



5* 



IN a city in which he was probably no 
worse than a great many other men, 
Hampden Graeme had nevertheless ac- 
quired, among a few people, the name of the 
Vulture. It was thus that they spoke of him, 
often considering it unnecessary to identify 
him more closely. A famous architect, his 
name was associated with a great number of 
imposing monuments to his skill. Hotels 
that had a world wide reputation, two huge 
railroad stations, the capitols of half a dozen 
states — these were only a few of the build- 
ings that had brought him fame. They had 
brought him more than fame; he was a rich 
man. His income was enormous. And, now 
that his fame was based on a solid founda- 
tion, and his income was assured, he was 
able to have something that he valued even 
more than fame and wealth — leisure. 

There was no need for him to work as he 
had done. All that was required from him 
now was a brief period of attention to the 
commissions that came to him. To the 
younger men who were glad and proud to 
work for him, almost without considering 
their reward, simply for the sake of the ex- 
perience they gained and the value of the 
association, he made suggestions. Then, 
when they had made their drawings, he 
would go over them. Here and there he 
would suggest a change. Very seldom, so 
rarely, indeed, that it was a matter of 
wonder in the office, he would approve a 
drawing unreservedly, and without changes 
of any sort. The young man receiving such 
approval was like one who has received an 
accolade. It was enough to prove that he 
was a coming man. 




Graeme, by reason of his unquestioned 
artistic supremacy, was privileged in many 
ways. It was possible for him to enjoy his 
career as a libertine among women, that 
career that had earned him the epithet Vul- 
ture, without suffering the ostracism that 
would have been visited upon a lesser man. 
His one merit, perhaps, was his utter frank- 
ness. He preyed upon women, but he dirt 
not cloak his actions with hypocrisy. There 
was no concealment about his desires; there 
was little concerning his methods. 

Nor was there that delicacy and subtlety 
that might well have been expected from 
so great an artist. His eyes rested with 
favor upon many women; he seemed 
utterly to lack discrimination. He was as 
likely to bestow his attentions upon the 
painted women of the restaurants, almost of 
the streets, as upon the wife of a friend. 
And he seemed able to compel them to his 
will. The women frankly seeking just such 
a connection as he offered were no more easy 
for him to conquer than those who had 
wholly escaped suspicion until he cast his 
spell over them. So, at least, it seemed. 
Actually, of course, he must have been re- 
pulsed more than once, many times, indeed. 
But these defeats he managed to conceal. 

He was an assiduous first nighter. He had 
the freedom of almost every stage door in the 
city. With one manager, indeed, who had 
the courage to deny him admission to the 
parts of his theatres reserved for the per- 
formers he had come to open warfare. But 
he had been routed by the manager's de- 
fiance. 

"My theatres are for the entertainment of 

133 



184 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



the public that pays to see the plays I offer," 
said this manager. "My companies are en- 
gaged by me, and paid to give their artistic 
services to the interpretation of these plays. 
And the ladies who honor me by working for 
me will never, with my consent, be sub- 
jected to the annoyance of importunities by 
blackguards who can afford good clothes." 

But this manager was an exception. Many 
of his fellows had hesitated to give Graeme 
the privileges he sought; some of them he 
had won over by backing their productions. 
He was secretly interested in half a dozen 
musical comedies each season. A girl who, 
being desired by him, resisted, was likely to 
find her services no longer in demand. 

The attitude of men — and of some women 
— toward Graeme was a curious one. Unques- 
tionably, repelled by his morals, or his lack 
of them, they still tolerated the man, re- 
ceived him, accepted his company when he 
chose to bestow it upon them. He was a 
great artist; he was a man who could, when 
he chose, talk brilliantly. His entertain- 
ments in the extraordinary house in which 
he lived were famous; some, to which a 
selected group was invited, better deserved 
the term notorious. 

The general feeling, which accounted for 
the way in which Graeme's life was regarded, 
was, probably, that he had two distinct sides. 
One represented Graeme, the artist, the 
charming host, the wit. The other was 
Graeme, haunter of the night life of Broad- 
way, preyer upon women, exploiter of the 
tempted women of the theatres. There were 
times, as has been hinted, when the two 
personalities clashed. There were hints that 
a long illness had been due, not to appendi- 
citis, as had been reported, but to a wound 
from the revolver of a friend. There were 
other stories. . . . But these had been 
hushed up. It had been to the interests of 
both sides to do this. And there was a gen- 
eral feeling, among those who might have 
resented Graeme's conduct and made their 
resentment of some effect, that, after all, 
it was more or less his own business. In 
this day and generation, they felt, women 
should be able to look after themselves. 
Graeme's reputation was well known; a 
woman who trifled with him was like a moth, 
flying about a flame. It was that feeling, 
as much as anything else, that pulled Graeme 
through. 

Had they seen some of the things that 
went on behind the screen that concealed 



his private life, these easy moralists might 
have changed their views. Had they been 
able to understand the strange, illusive 
psychology that was involved in some of the 
attachments the man formed, they would 
have recoiled with horror from their own 
indifference. To them, fairly free from such 
temptations, the case, from the woman's 
point of view, seemed a simple one — a direct 
question of right or wrong. There are few 
questions as simple as that; there are few 
problems, indeed,- that can be stated in plain, 
direct terms of what is right and what is 
wrong. There are factors that must be taken 
into account; factors which Graeme under- 
stood thoroughly, and which he turned in- 
variably to the attaining of his desires. 

He had heard of Ruth Hendee two or three 
times before he saw her. But, strangely 
enough, what he heard did not interest him 
to the point of looking her up. It was in- 
teresting enough, as a matter of fact. 
Thrown upon her own resources the girl had 
shown herself original by the manner in 
which she undertook to look after herself. 
Without special training of any sort, the 
most likely thing for her, as everyone told 
her, was a job in a store. She might make 
six dollars a week; that was not enough, 
however, as she saw it, to satisfy even her 
own needs. And she had to take care of her 
mother as well as herself. 

The stage, after a few attempts, she found 
impossible. She had no training, of course; 
in the chorus she might, with luck, have 
made enough money. But managers didn't 
want her. She wasn't of the type to attract 
them. Still the stage seemed to her her 
best chance. And she had worked out a 
daring and an original conception. She had 
some skill in dancing; not much, but some. 
It was not enough to get her an engagement 
even in a cabaret. But she had intelligence, 
too, and she did some studying. With the 
little money she had she invested in some 
remarkable costumes. Here, as a matter of 
fact, she made her great bid for success, 
though she didn't know it. For two or three 
of her dances her costumes were bizarre in 
the extreme. They were also scanty. But 
this fact never occurred to her. By the time 
she had come to the point of designing a 
costume she was absorbed in the dance she 
had thought out, and the costume was merely 
a further means of expressing the spirit of 
the dance. But to the manager who finally 
had sense enough to listen to her, Moe 



'THE DANCER AND THE VULTURE" 



135 



Barnes, it represented a distinct appeal to 
the sort of men who buy front row seats at 
musical comedies. And it was to this, 
though she didn't know it, that she owed the 
engagement he promised her. 

Ruth was wild with delight when Barnes 
gave her her contract; she was so impatient 
to sign it that she scarcely looked at it. 
It represented so much more than the actual 
engagement. Ruth had plenty of confidence 



it chanced, did her practicing and the ex- 
ercising she required to keep in trim at the 
same place. And sheer accident threw her 
before him. He and some other men were 
playing with a medicine ball; it fell against 
a door, pushing it open. And Graeme, fol- 
lowing the ball, saw her, and stopped dead. 
She was practicing a step, utterly uncon- 
scious of him. But he took her in, from 
head to foot. And, as he closed the door, 




Graeme Following the Ball, Saw Her and Stopped Dead 



in herself; the way she had spent her small 
reserve of money proved that. And all she 
wanted was the chance Barnes was giving 
her. She had no doubt but that she could 
succeed. 

It was soon afterwards that Graeme saw 
her. Graeme kept himself always in the 
pink of condition. His excesses never 
seemed to affect him; the reason was that, 
while his companions were sleeping off the 
effects, he was in a gymnasium, from which 
he emerged, clear eyed and fresh faced, 
while they were calling for bracers. Ruth, 



very gently, the look of the vulture was in 
his eyes. 

What followed was the sort of thing that 
had become usual with Graeme. It was the 
fact that most of his friends were ignorant 
of his methods — what he proceeded to do now 
was typical enough — that they tolerated him. 
First of all, of course, he found out who 
she was — all about her. And his plans were 
simple. He managed to meet her; she saw 
no reason to distrust him. He was intro- 
duced, conventionally enough, by the man- 
ager of the gymnasium. And, professing a 




"You've Got a Contract With Ruth Hendee? . . . Cancel It" 



136 



"THE DANCER AND THE VULTURE" 



137 



great interest in her dancing, he led her to 
talk to him about it. She was at a stage 
where such talk was rather vital to her; 
no one else seemed to understand what she 
was trying to do. Even her mother was a 
little horrified; she had an idea that Ruth 
meant to appear as one of a ballet. For Mrs. 
Hendee, Pavlowa and the great dancers who 
had transformed the art did not exist. 

So far Graeme did nothing he should not 
have done. But his next move was his secret 



noon, when Graeme, as had now become his 
custom, met Ruth at the gymnasium as she 
finished her practice, he saw that her eyes 
were full of tears. In her hand was a note 
that bore the letterhead of Barnes's office. 

"Bad news?" he asked, concerned. 

She told him. He cursed Barnes and all 
the tribe of managers to comfort her; then 
lie frowned. 

"Does it matter so much?" he asked. 

"So much?" she groaned. "It means my 




Before His Guests, She Danced Better Than She Thought She Could 



one. He knew Moe Barnes; he had backed 
more than one production for him. And 
when he was ready, he appeared in the 
manager's office. 

"You've got a contract with Ruth Hendee?" 
he said. Barnes nodded. "Let me see it." 

He glanced through it. 
- "I see," he said. "Up to your old tricks, 
Barnes. Well — I'm glad. Cancel it. She 
can't do a thing — can't hold you to it." 

"But I don't want to. She's going to make 
a hit!" protested Barnes. 

But Graeme was not to be denied. And 
his power was too great. Protest as he 
would, Barnes had to yield. And that after- 



chance is gone! And how am I to get an- 
other? This seemed incredible!" 

"I have it!" he cried, suddenly. "You 
want a chance — an audience that will talk of 
your dance. Do it at my place. I can give 
you an audience Barnes couldn't drag into 
his theatre. I'm giving a party on Saturday 
night — I had meant to ask you. If those 
people like your dance you'll have half the 
managers in the city after you next day. 
Do you see?" 

Her eyes lighted up. She did see. It was 
a greater chance than the one she had lost. 
She accepted, of course; accepted gratefully, 
humbly. He laughed at that. 



138 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



She did dance well. Before his guests she 
danced better than she had dreamed she 
could. And yet — the dance fell flat. There 
was, when it was over, a ripple of the most 
perfunctory applause. But no one could have 
construed it as a demand for an encore; 
Graeme alone seemed really pleased. 
| The cards had been stacked against her. 
That was a hand picked audience. Graeme 
had given it its orders. And its duty was 
to make the girl think that her dance was a 
failure; that this little group of cultured 
people, as she supposed them to be, would 
have none of it. 

He slipped into her dressing room when 
they had gone. She was huddled, still in her 
dancing dress, in a chair. Her eyes were 
dry; for her the tragedy of the moment was 
too intense for tears. He comforted her, 
and she was able to sob in his arms. 

"You shall not go — not to-night," he said. 
"This is to be your home — you are to be 
mine. You — " 

Faintly she resisted. She murmured some- 
thing of delay. 

"Can't you trust me?" he said. "There are 
formalities — they are impossible at night." 

She stayed. . . . Once more Graeme 
had had his way. Sometimes in one fashion; 
sometimes in another. . . . Yet they 
were always ready to excuse him. 

But for once he had blundered. There was 
a maid, who came to Ruth in the morning, 
when the cold, grey light had changed the 
aspect of everything. She lay in her bed, 
dreading to remember, yet with memory 
forcing its way behind her defences. She 
sobbed. And the maid sneered at her. 

"Oh, you'll get over that!" she said. She 
laughed horribly. "I was like that, too. He 
doesn't remember me, you see. If he did, 
would I be a maid in his bouse? I must 
have been one of the first! There have 
been so many since — like me — like you — " 

"I don't know how he got you," said the 
maid, dully. "It don't make any difference, 
though. You'll be like me and all the rest. 
You'll be queen for a little while: And then 
he'll see the next. Then you'll go — with 
some money, if you want to take it." 

Not for a moment did Ruth doubt this 
girl. The scales fell from her eyes, and she 
saw what she had done and what she had 
become. She shook with horror. And then 
the telephone rang by her bed. It was 
Graeme. Would she breakfast with him in 
ten minutes? She took a sudden resolution. 



In the stipulated time she was ready. With 
a smile she poured his coffee. She chatted 
lightly through the meal. 

"Well," she said, with a laugh. "It's over, 
isn't it? I failed — and you didn't! Oh, well 
— I'm an artist. I needed experience. I have 
to thank you for a sort I might not have had 
the courage to gain for myself! " 

He stared at her as if she had spoken in 
Chinese. 

"Are you mad?" he said, flushing. Above 
all things he hated the idea that anyone 
might laugh at him. "What do you mean?" 

"Oh, I know all about you!" she said. 
"You should look at the maids more care- 
fully, my dear Graeme! You should be sure 
that your discarded lady loves are not hired 
to serve their successors! My maid, you 
see, has just been telling me about you — and 
those who came before me. Who is the next? 
Have you picked her out? Because — the 
place is vacant! I resign, you see!" 

"I'm going — now," she said, in a voice that 
cut. She moved toward the door. 

The very foundations of his life seemed to 
be crumbling about Graeme. For the first 
time a woman was discarding him, casting 
him aside. He felt that he had been tricked. 

"Wait!" It was a strangled cry. He 
moved toward her, as she turned, and took 
her arm. He drew her toward him, and bent 
her backward, so that he could look into her 
sneering eyes. "Would you believe a maid — 
a lying maid — against me? I — I want to 
marry you! I want to marry you today — 
now! My car is waiting. We can go to 
Connecticut — there are few formalities." 

"As if you meant it!" she sneered. 

"I'll prove it!" he cried. "Get ready!" 

Miraculously, he did mean it. She had 
found the one weak spot in his armor. He 
was afraid of being tricked. They were 
married two hours later. And, as the car 
passed a station, on the way back to New 
York, she stopped the chauifeur. 

"Thank you!" she said. "I've no doubt 
you'll find it easy to get a divorce — desertion, 
you know! Or I can, if you don't care to. 
The alimony will keep me nicely — and with 
your name for the bill boards I think my 
dances will succeed!" 

He stared after her, speechless. 

And gallantly she walked out of his sight, 
straight and proud. And then came to her 
intolerable shame and self-loathing and pas- 
sionate despair. 

But of these things the Vulture never knew. 



Dot Farley 

Comedienne, Tragedienne and 
Photoplaywright 



By Richard Willis 




Miss Farley was Advised Not to Ride Hell Cat, so. of Course, She Did. 
And She Stayed on, Too. Much to Hell Cat's Annoyance 

I REMEMBER about a year ago seeing Dot Farley on the screen 
at a Hollywood theatre in a Frontier Film which kept the 
audience alternately chuckling and roaring throughout its 
length; in Los Angeles the following night at a first run theatre 
I saw Dot Farley in a society drama; and later in the week I 
held my breath over her daredevil escapades in a Western photo- 
play. 

Now there is nothing amazing — though it is fairly unusual — 
to see an actress in three such widely varying roles as these. But 
it is amazing to find her playing all three of these roles so un- 
commonly well. She used all the time honored devices of the 
slap stick comedy, but with a difference — a difference that in- 
vested falling upstairs, jumping over a hedge or simply making 
a face with so irresistible an appeal that the audience was con- 
vulsed. In the society drama she held one spellbound with 
admiration of her flawless interpretation of her role, and 
in the western play heT feats of daring left one gasping. 
It was easy to believe the common report — "that Dot Far- 



140 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 




family sort of person and have a cat and dog." 
I had to confess that while I was certain 
that she could be "real nice" if she tried, 
I couldn't imagine her "settling down." 
"Settling down" has an astonish- 
ingly inactive sound and Miss 
Farley and activity are such boon 
companions that one can't con- 
ceive of one without the other. 
But in our discussion of 
"settling down" it developed 
that by this Miss Farley meant 
simply giving up acting which 
forms a large and important 
part, but is by no means the 
whole of her work. Few pec- 

■ 



ley will do 
anything." 
Before I go any 

further let me explain why I am call- 
ing Miss Farley so familiarly Dot Far- 
ley. Her real name is Dorathea, but 
if anyone called her that suddenly she 
would probably look around to see who 
was wanted without its occurring to her 
that Dorathea was her own name. 

"You can see that I'd not feel at home 
if anyone called me Dorathea," she re- 
marked, "when you learn that I went on 
the stage when I was three years old — 
doing a song and dance in E. A. Mac- 
dowell's 'Wedding Bells' — billed as 'Chi- 
cago's Little Dot' and have never 
known any name but Dot 
since that time — and 
don't expect to lose it 
until I retire," she add- 
ed thoughtfully. 

"What!" I said, 
much startled. "Have 
you retirement in 
mind?" 

Miss Farley laughed. 
"Certainly not for a 
long time yet — although 
I do rather look forward 
to the time when I can set- 
tle down in a home all my 
own with my flowers and my 
horses and be a real nice 




She Can Invest Merely ''Making 

a Face" -with an Irresistible 

Appeal that Convulses Her 

Audiences 



In One of Her 
Earliest Pic- 
tures, "A 
Gypsy's Love" 



pie know who writes the photo- 
plays and especially in a case 
like Miss Farley's, who would 
ever hear, for instance, that she 
has written more than 200 photo- 



DOT FARLEY 



Ml 



plays all of which have been produced on the screen. 

She got her start in writing photoplays thus: Once 
upon a time when she was with the St. Louis Motion 
Picture Company, they were up against it for a story, 
really up against it, and Miss Farley came to the res- 
cue with "On the Verge." It was a photoplay with a 
cast of only three people which was then almost un- 
heard of in a picture play and in many other ways it 
was so entirely different from anything they had ever 
had, that they were all enthusiastic over it. Since then 
Miss Farley has written a great number of the plays 
which have been produced by her company and in which 
she herself has acted. She says that she does not en- 
joy writing comedies as well as dramas and western 
stories, but that she writes a lot of comedies just the 
same. With characteristic modesty and generosity Miss 
Farley gives most of the credit for the success of her 
comedies to her director, Mr. G. P. Hamilton, the presi- 
dent of the Albuquerque company, "who has a perfect 
genius for adding those little touches of humor which 
make or unmake a comedy or slapstick farce, and in 
Mr. Hamilton's case it is always 'make' and never 'un- 
make,' " she said enthusiastically. 

You may have noted that I 
used the phrase "characteris- 
tic generosity" in connec- 



Dot Farley, the Comedi- 
enne, in 'Tier Wedding 
Day" 





Dot Farley, the Tragedienne, in 
The Lust of the Redman *' 

her sunny good nature. 



Miss Farley was Utterly Captiv- 
ating in "False Pride Has a Fall" 



tion with Miss Farley. And 
I believe that generosity 
comes nearer to being that at- 
tribute of this charming actress 
that is most characteristic than 
even her energy, her ambition, 
She is, in fact, too ready to give 
credit to others, especially if you have no means of gaining in- 
formation about her other than from herself. But I had the ad- 
vantage of knowing Miss Farley by reputation before I met her 
and I had the further advantage of meeting and talking with 
her mother. 

Alma Farley, Dot Farley's mother, is also a member of the 
Albuquerque company — not because she is Dot Farley's 
mother, but by virtue of an ability won and demonstrated on 
the legitimate stage through years of work. It is difficult to 
discover whether Mrs. Farley admires Dot more than Dot ad- 
mires her, but it is not difficult to discover that the admiration 



of each for the other is superlatively high. 



"The Fifth Man" 

The Mad Scientist and His Jungle Captives 



By Lloyd Kenyon Jones 



Illustrations from the Selig Film 




" -r~ > IVB years from this day and hour!" 

1-4 John Gaunt muttered in an inarticu- 
-™- late strangle. His strong features re- 
laxed and his face blanched. But the game- 
ness was deep-horn in him, and his four com- 
panions scarcely noticed his woeful lack of 
composure. 

There was something creepingly uncanny 
about this gathering around Thomas Wynn's 
festive board. Jovial fellows with their 
newly awarded degrees — filled with the gay 
camaraderie spirit of their college days — they 
had come together to drink their last toasts 
before three of them embarked on the high 
seas of life and adventure — (and mayhap 
tragedy, too). 

"Well, five years from now," Thomas Wynn 
had said, "when the hour of nine has struck, 
we meet here again — older and possibly 
wiser — though I doubt it — and full of stories, 
I wager, about our adventures in the great 
world." 

As they raised their glasses again, John 
Gaunt fancied that a cloud had floated 
through his wine and his heart beat fast as 
lie gulped the beverage. 

That was the beginning of it. 

And the years sped by, with their myriad 
episodes — and loves — and enmities — and 
hopes — and despairs. 

Even Baby Wynn had learned to lisp the 
names of those dear companions of her 
daddy's, for Thomas Wynn had been happy 
in love and successful in business — and as 
true as a plummet-line in his early faiths. 

The clock on the mantel had pointed to 
nine of the evening more than eighteen hun- 
dred times since the troth of comradeship 
had been plighted. On this particular night 
Mrs. Wynn and Dot had taken a hasty, laugh- 
ing farewell to the nursery, leaving every- 
142 



thing in readiness for the coming guests. 

Jim Farrell was the first to arrive — but Jim 
had led a colorless life, what with a wealthy 
uncle's heritage, motor cars and estates. His 
adventures were made-to-order, fashioned to 
suit his whims. 

Frank Carney came next — as blithe as a 
boy in his teens — as care-free as an upland 
breeze. Well, three of them were present at 
any rate, but originally there had been five. 
What of the others? 

"I wonder what became of — " but Far- 
rell's words were interrupted by the butler's 
appearance. Silently he handed a special 
delivery letter to Mr. Wynn. 

"It's from Happy Gallagher, boys," he said 
huskily. "He's dying — likely dead — in Bom- 
bay, with a bullet in a lung — game to the 
core in his last hour, just as he was in life." 

Farrell coughed uneasily. 

"But the fifth man!" he exclaimed. "Has 
fate been even less kind to staunch John 
Gaunt?" No one answered. 

There was an undertone of tragedy in this 
belated meeting. The bravado of youth was 
missing; the anticipated joviality was ab- 
sent. Time plays no end of mysterious 
tricks on mortals. Despite themselves, these 
three friends found their conversation lag- 
ging — sinking into commonplaces and irk- 
some small talk. 

Frank Carney saw it first. Then Jim Far- 
rell looked and shuddered. It was a face — 
hair-grown, unkempt, wild, but a man's face 
for all that. Thomas Wynn turned sharply 
as the stranger stepped uncertainly into the 
room. 

"Boys!" the creature cried in a dry, high- 
pitched voice. "Boys— don't you know me — 
John Gaunt?" 

Incredulity melted into half-belief, and then 



"THE FIFTH MAN" 



143 



into pity for this poor specimen of humanity. 

Gaunt clutched at a chair-back unsteadily. 

"A glass of wine, quick!" he gasped. 
"That's better — thanks. I came — almost in 
time. My memory stood me in good stead 
there. But what I am about to relate may 
seem stranger even than I, your companion 
— the fifth to subscribe to the pledge of 
fealty — John Gaunt, look." 



later — Port Limon on the Caribbean — -thence 
to the interior, beyond the mangrove swamps 
with their pestilential vapors, into jungles 
as dense as ebony night— alive with a mil- 
lion billion monsters; things that prowl, and 
wriggle, and creep, and fly. 

"There were several of us at first, but the 
tropic jungle drove the others back in fear 
cf its dangers. Three of us continued until 





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I Feigned an Unconsciousness That Satisfied the Careless Scrutiny They Bestowed on Me before Beginning Their Steal 

of Fruit and Raw Meat 



Tenderly, they eased him into an arm- 
chair. His thin hands clasped and unclasped 
spasmodically, his features twitched, his 
lack lustre black eyes stared far beyond the 
barriers of the room. 

"It was gold, dear fellows — the mad lust 
for new-found wealth!" he began abruptly. 
"Even when we toasted one another in this 
same room, the taste for it had seeped into 
me. You recall my destination? First, it 
was Rhodesia, but tha* was not a poor man's 
country. I came back to Central America 



the blue silhouettes of the Sierras came into 
view. We walked through clumps of ma- 
hogany that would have brought a ransom 
for a grand duke — mad for the feel of virgin 
gold. 

"And then a day dawned that seemed sur- 
charged with evil. It gripped at my throat 
like an invisible fury, and a maelstrom of 
green and purple danced before my eyes. It 
was the fever, I suppose, but look where I 
would this mad confusion rollicked through 
x\e. And boys, I could see that clock, with 



144 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



the minute-hand climbing toward the zenith 
and the hour-hand part way up. And I could 
hear Jim Parrell laughing and saying, in 
sickening monotony — 'To the fifth man — big 
John Gaunt!' 

"I wandered aimlessly, with the jumble of 
words in my ears and the whirling riot of 
color before my eyes. Then the clock — that 
same clock that 
has tolled the 
hours of my 
tragedy — was 
chiming. Its sil- 
very melody be- 
came rhythmic- 
al. A b r o o k — 
as clear as a 
crystal fountain, 
was babbling at 
at my feet. I 
dropped my rifle 
and fell to my 
knees and drank 
until my soul 
rejoiced and the 
swelling in my 
throat and lips 
receded. I laved 
my hands and 
even cooled my 
head in the 
brook's bed, 
bending over so 
it could run 
through my 
hair. Then the 
voice of Jim 
Farrell ceased — 
and the face of 
the clock faded 
— a n d I sank 
upon the grass — 
and slept. 

" Something 
disturbed me. I 

awoke slowly, for my slumbers had been 
heavy. Fellows, you think now that you 
gaze into a madman's eyes. Look closely. 
Mine are merely dilated and uneasy. The 
eyes I saw when I sat bolt upright were long 
since segregated from reason. They danced, 
like heat waves from a stove's blistering sur- 
face. They were like beads of washed-out 
opal — and set in a white man's face, a face 
fringed with uncombed beard that bristled 
like a mad dog's furrowed scurf. But he 
was not alone. A negro, lithe limbed as a 




With a Black Palm Pole, I Pried 
Joan Stepped Out and 



hard run hound, stood beside him; an 
aboriginal specimen of the tropic's waste. 
They carried spears — keen-pointed as new- 
ground awls. The negro was partly clad in 
skins — the Caucasian was roughly dressed in 
European garb. 

"'A specimen!' the old man chuckled. 
'What a find, Congo, what a find! It will 

complete our 
wonderful collec- 
tion—eh? Of the 
same classifica- 
tion, Congo, as 
the other — genus 
homo! What 
tricks does dear 
fate play!' 

"I did not 
gather the mean- 
ing at the time. 
Indeed, my mind 
was blurred, and 
the hinges of my 
knees had lost 
their springs. I 
arose awkwardly 
and could have 
cursed myself 
for it. The sav- 
age beat me to 
my gun. I was a 
prisoner — a mis- 
erable captive, 
impotent as a 
babe at its 
mother's breast. 
They had me. I 
could see that. 
It takes more 
than the spirit 
to fight. It calls 
for the flesh, and 
fever surged 
through me till 
every bodily 
movement was like a mortal hurt, but the 
sharp weapons of my captors sped me on. 
Then I recalled having shouted and shot my 
rifle just before I had reached the stream. 
I had been a fool. It is in the fabric of the 
city bred man to bungle, and I had bungled 
ingloriously. I was filled to overflowing 
with self-accusations, but after all, was not 
captivity better than the talons of the black 
vultures that circled far overhead? They 
were like messengers of death, and I took 
my eyes from them, and began to feel that 



One Barrier from Its Fastenings. 
Sank Into My Arms 



'THE FIFTH MAN" 



145 



some haven — possibly some vast happiness — 
awaited me at the trail's end." 

John Gaunt paused, while he quaffed the 
glass of wine that Thomas Wynn urged upon 
him. The man's strength was nearly spent, 
and at times he seemed to hasten as though 
his tale had thus far been eventless and 
wearisome and the real story was coming. 

"T here had 
been a space 
cleared in the 
j u n g 1 e," h e 
continued at 
length. "A palm- 
thatched hut oc- 
cupied its cen- 
tral area. It was 
a long, low 
structure 
designed with 
no little skill. 
One man pre- 
ceded me and 
the other fol- 
lowed as I 
crawled inside. I 
shall never l'or- 
get the stifling 
odor that 
greeted me — 
heavy with a 
fetid, sickening 
current that 
swept in from 
all sides. Then I 
looked around 
me and under- 
stood. There 
were almost un- 
counted exhibits 
of the taxider- 
mist's a r t — 
crouching 
cougars, slender- 
limbed pumas; 

green, horribly realistic iguanas, the lizard 
demons of the Southland; birds of rare, gay 
plumage — and well-tanned skins of monster 
snakes. It was a mausoleum of the jungle's 
treasures — glass-eyed and motionless, long 
dead but horribly offensive. So these were 
the specimens? And I, John Gaunt, was to 
be added to the list! Would they tan my 
fever-filled hide, or had this wild scientist 
a more artistic means of embalming me? 

"They gave me scant time to meditate. 
One preceding me, another dogging my heels, 




For Days They Would Hunt Amicably for Specimens and Gloat Over 
Their Finds, and Then, Suddenly Anger Would Overtake Them 



they led me to the pens. Here the living 
specimens were caged! A huge black bear 
sniffed curiously at me — to learn, no doubt, 
if I too, were bereft of reason. A sleek puma, 
couchant, eyed us viciously from his prison- 
depths. Some day, they would cease to en- 
tertain — and then the grewsome museum in- 
side the hut would gain in numbers. 

" 'Here, Con- 
go!' the scientist 
chuckled mean- 
ingly. 'Bring the 
latest finds 
hither. Let me 
study their dif- 
ferences, for like 
as not they are 
offshoots of 
strange tribes!' 
"There was a 
movement with- 
in this last cage 
that seemed so 
different from 
any I had seen, 
that I started in 
fear. A graceful 
figure was aris- 
ing — and I f e 1 1 
back in unbe- 
lief! A beauti- 
ful girl looked 
eagerly through 
the wooden 
bars! So this 
was the 'speci- 
men' to whic h 
he had made 
covert refer- 
ence? I rushed 
toward her, and 
she smiled in 
frightened unbe- 
lief. And for the 
moment I forgot 
the unseated intellects that dogged me. I 
was the first man meeting the original woman 
in Eden's bowery fastness! A frightened 
roaring pulsed through my ears — my temples 
throbbed. I sank to the earth, felled by a 
terrible blow from a bludgeon." 

John Gaunt covered his face with his long, 
trembling fingers. The thought of his dis- 
covery was greater than memory could bear 
— and with good reason, as the end of his 
recital disclosed. 
"A real woman!" Frank Carney gasped. 



146 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



"Caged like a beast?" Farrell interposed. 

"A real woman, a very beautiful woman!" 
Gaunt sobbed. "A girl with a heart and a 
soul! God, how the sight shocked me. Poor 
little creature — held in bondage with a score 
of snarling, complaining beasts as next-door 
neighbors; and with scorpions, tarantulas, 
centipedes endangering every living moment 
— now as then!" 

"Now?" Thomas Wynn queried incred- 
ulously. 

"I am ahead of my story," Gaunt apolo- 
gized. "The skins that formed her scant 
attire, were over-run by ants — a thousand 
times a thousand little red, restlessly in- 
dustrious insects. The cage itself reeked 
with the musty leaves that carpeted it! 

"They took me back to the hut and dropped 
me on the reeds that covered the floor, where 
I feigned an unconsciousness which satisfied 
their careless scrutiny. The day was as 
humid as a vapor bath, and the slave, worn 
out by long walks and constant vigils, 
dropped into a sleep after he and his mad 
master had partaken of a quantity of raw 
meat and fruit. 

"The scientist, believing that he alone was 
conscious, crept into an adjoining room. I 
followed him, being careful to make no noise. 
My weakness made me more capable at go- 
ing on my hands and knees than walking. 
There was a great cut in my head that never 
for an instant left me free from pain. I was 
too dizzy to risk rising to my feet. The 
scientist had removed a large stone from the 
floor. There was a compartment beneath and 
from this he withdrew an earthen pot. It 
was filled with golden coins — five-franc pieces 
I learned later. He gloated over them. He 
was not too mad to appreciate gold, but the 
vision mocked me. Was it not gold that had 
brought me to this plight? The yellow metal, 
elusive as a woman's smile, exacts its price, 
fellows. You pay for it even when you wrest 
it from nature. It carries a sting, be it won 
in the marts of the world or dug from the 
earth. There was bitterness in my soul 
against it till I thought of the captive girl, 
and then my being thrilled with the deter- 
mination to free her. To free her, did I 
say? Can I ever deliver her from that living 
death? But I hasten again. Let me take 
things in their good order. When the mad- 
man returned, he found me in my place — 
prone, eyes closed, breathing heavily like one 
in a stupor. Soon his vigilance relaxed. His 
head nodded. He slept. Scarcely daring to 



breathe, I arose. I looked for my gun. I 
could not find it. The slave lay too near the 
spears to venture touching them. But I knew 
that moments counted — moments a million 
times more precious than the shower of five- 
franc pieces in the apartment beyond. 

"The girl saw me coming. She reached 
out her hands impetuously toward me, and I 
realized that life would ever be a void with- 
out her. I told her my name as I worked at 
the bars. She whispered hers — Joan Darey, 
unfortunate daughter of an equally unfortu- 
nate sea captain. With a black palm pole, I 
pried one barrier from its fastenings. Joan 
stepped out and sank into my arms. My poor 
addled brain had room for only one thought 
at a time. I had forgotten my captors. Joan 
was first to see them. I tell you, boys, the 
devil's lair was in that jungle, and he was 
abroad that hour. The stamina wasn't in 
us to run far. I carried Joan part of the 
way but she was nearly fainting from fright 
and exhaustion. At last I thought we were 
reasonably safe, and at any rate, Joan was 
calling for water. Placing her gently in the 
grass, I made a hasty search. A small brook 
was running nearby. I confess I satisfied 
my own thirst first, but how could I return 
with time so pressing and dangers so im- 
minent? I carried an earthen cupful of 
water to her. She drank it greedily and 
sobbed, and all the pent-up longings of my 
heart were loosed. I wanted to hold her t< 
me and soothe her fears away. 

"Joan's scream aroused me to our dangers 
The demons were upon us! I fought vali- 
antly for a time. My cause alone sped my 
muscles. A well-directed blow with a club 
silenced the negro for a time, and I came to 
grips with the mad scientist. I would have 
bested him, too, with poor little Joan helping 
as she could. But the slave had gotten him- 
self together, and the two of tbem overpow- 
ered us. 

"They trussed me and carried us back. 
Miss Darey was returned to her loathsome 
pen, but a doubly sinister fate awaited me. 
They had propped me against the puma's 
den, and that long-muscled beast apparently 
sensed their diabolical plans, and waited 
hopefully. After an agitated consultation, 
they unbound me, and forced me into the 
puma's inclosure — me, weakened beyond all 
endurance — me, racked with fever and crazed 
by the malignant destiny that had overtaken 
and conquered me. 

"The supple creature approached me cau- 



"THE FIFTH MAN' 



Mi 



tlously at first It thrust its moist nose into 
my face as I sat limply in a corner. The 
madmen outside laughed uproariously. The 
beast laid a paw on me half-playfully. Un- 
thinking, I brushed it away. The puma 
backed to the farther end of the pit and 
crouched, whining and lashing its tail. Joan, 
who had been watching, screamed a warning. 
It is well she did, for I was unfamiliar with 
the habits of jungle denizens. She had been 
forced to watch them for years — for years. 



ing as the wooden bars of my prison, I re- 
laxed. The puma was wonderfully quiet. 
Next day, it joined the exhibits inside the 
hut. I wonder what would have happened to 
my poor body had the puma won! 

"Two years passed — two eons that had 
neither beginning nor the promise of end. 
But there was a meed of compensation in all 
this misery. Joan's cage and mine adjoined. 
Often, beneath the tropic moon, we'd plan — 
and hope — until we nearly forgot our pitiable 




She Fancied That She Heard the Shouts of Men — and the Crackling of Undergrowth Beyond the Clearing 



gentlemen, in the misery of that vile confine- 
ment. Do not ask me to describe the battle. 
The sharp claws and saber teeth tore my gar- 
ments to shreds and lacerated my protesting 
flesh. I was fighting not alone for my life — 
but for two lives; Joan's and my own, but 
for hers, chiefly. It was only minutes; it 
seemed hours. I know that at last I got the 
brute beneath me, back up. I clasped my 
arms around its neck until they pressed upon 
the sinuous flesh like a vise. I held on until 
spots of blood red and deep purple danced be- 
fore me — and until these had changed to 
black. Exhausted, with my arms as unfeel- 



plight. We almost overlooked the calamity 
that would befall us should our captors de- 
part or die, and leave us there without food 
or drink. I shall not attempt to tell you the 
horrors of those dragging days — of our 
dreams that alone saved us from madness. I 
am nearing my conclusion, although heaven 
knows that a climax more thrilling — is still 
to be reached. The ant-pests that I had so 
abhorred, were my salvation, at least. They 
had eaten through one of the wooden bars. 
My heart thumped so tumultuously when I 
discovered it, I feared the men in the hut 
would hear its wild beating. I was out upon 



148 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



the ground,- but so weakened by my confine- 
ment, I could not liberate poor little Joan. 
She begged me to rush away — to go to the 
coast and summon aid. I could not risk a 
fight with our tormentors. I reluctantly 
obeyed," and wished her a hopeful farewell. 
It was days and days before I found a settle- 
ment. How I reached -Limon, I can never 
guess. It was the way a homing pigeon finds 
its cote, I guess. And only by that sense can 
I hope to rescue Joan. They thought me 
mad in Port Limon! I worked my way 
aboard ship back here. Boys, as there are 
souls within you, believe me and save Joan!" 
John Gaunt buried his head in his hands 
and sobbed hysterically. But his fellows did 
have souls and wills and wealth. Which ac- 
counts for the sudden activities of Capt. Carr 
qf the good yacht, Scorpion, and the hasty 
departure of four determined, prayerful men 
for the mystic tropics., 

JOAN DARBY had long since mourned John 
" Gaunt as dead. How else could he be so 
long traveling to the coast and back? She 
had checked the days with bits of bark torn 
from her prison, until the pile was almost be- 
yond counting. Bad blood was brewing be- 
tween master and slave. For days they would 
hunt amicably for specimens together, and 
gloat over their finds, and then, suddenly, 
anger would overtake them. 

She could see that, too. They talked in- 
cessantly of gold, but there was something 
else amiss. The negro had begun to notice 
the fair girl behind the wooden bars. He had 
watched her in much the fashion in which 
the puma had gazed at Gaunt — with a pur- 
pose equally savage. He had caught at her 
hand viciously numerous times as he passed 
food and drink to her, and a loathing for him 
had grown in her soul like a yellow canker. 
Suppose the aged scientist were murdered? 
Could she take her own life as the only means 
of escaping the fate that would then claim 
her? She might remain only a "specimen" 
to the old madman till the end of time, but 
in the eyes of the negro, she was a white 
woman — and young and beautiful. 

The quarrels between master and slave 
grew daily. Sometimes it was gold; more 
often it was Joan. The climax of these 
strained relations could not be long delayed— 
and John Gaunt was not near her to help 
her die — or live! 

One day the ne%ro raced wildly from the 
hut. A few gold coins fell from his waving 



hands. The mad master was close at his 
heels. Congo rushed to her cage, as Joan 
shrank back, pleading vainly. But the scien- 
tist was upon the black, and it was. soon 
spear against knife— superior animal fores 
against crazed cunning. Joan covered her 
face as she saw the negro's spear penetrate 
the old man's side. But in his death agony, 
the scientist wheeled and plunged his dirk 
into Congo, till the hilt alone was visible. 
And thus they sank to the earth together 
and there they died — with the vultures wing- 
ing overhead and holding back from the 
tempting feast only because the caged ani- 
mals cried'in fury — a passion first for com- 
bat, and later of hunger and thirst. 

Thus the day of tragedy ended — and finally 
another day dawned, with the red orb of the 
sun sending its rays of torture upon the 
famished captives — the jungle beasts and 
hapless Joan. 

A second day dawned, but Joan was in a 
stupor half the time, and even the angry 
wailing of the maddened beasts did not dis- 
turb her. At times she would arouse as from 
a fevered dream and hold the arid bowl to 
her swollen lips, believing that a drink of 
ice-cold water was pouring down her throat 
— only to realize anew her terrible dilemma. 
Then a new obsession came upon her. She 
fancied that she heard the shouts of men— 
and the crackling of the undergrowth be- 
yond the clearing. And she was almost cer- 
tain, in her delirium, that she saw John 
Gaunt running toward her. 

It was John Gaunt — and back of him were 
Wynn, and Parrell, and Carney — and others. 
She tried to raise herself on a trembling el- 
bow to greet him, as Gaunt ripped the bar- 
riers from her prison, but she fainted in his 
arms. Only the cooling touch of water re- 
vived her — and for many days she hovered in 
the penumbra of the shadow. But hope had 
returned — and with it love — the two great 
healers of heart and body and soul. 

When she was strong enough, they visited 
the hut and Gaunt uncovered the pot of 
golden coins. And it was Thomas Wynn who 
insisted that they belonged to Joan as her 
rightful heritage. But Joan had known the 
divine rest of John Gaunt's arms about her, 
and the divine joy of John Gaunt's mouth 
pressed against her own and she had no 
thought for gold. She knew only that misery 
ended and life itself began with the love and 
protection of her rescuer of the jungle — the 
Fifth Man! 




THE STORY OF A HAPPY SUCCESS AND AN UNHAPPY FAILURE 



By Mary Aurilla Swift 



Illustrations from the Vitagraph Film 



o 



H, SISTER, I am so hungry." 

The voice of little Salome Winters 
quavered. It was very hard tor her 
to keep back the tears that welled to her 
eyes. She pulled coaxingly at Tryphena's 
hand. "It's been such a long walk," she 
urged. "Couldn't we have just a little mite 
of supper?" 

The white-faced young girl with the 
glorious dark eyes paused at the child's 
words and slowly searched through her well- 
worn handbag. 

"Darling," she answered, "I haven't a cent. 
I don't know what we are going to do." 
The tears which a moment before had 



trembled on Salome's lashes, overflowed and 
coursed unrestrained down her pallid cheeks. 
"But we'll have to eat," she sobbed. "If we 
don't, we'll starve." 

Poor Tryphena! She had not lost sight or 
that fact. All the way from the theatre she 
had been thinking of the same thing. Neither 
she nor Salome had eaten since the night 
before. 

After her mother's death, when Tryphena 
Winters had announced to the interested 
neighbors at Rushville Center that she was 
going to take her little sister Salome and go 
to New York to seek a career on the stage, 
dire prophecies had been made. Tryphena 

149 



150 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



thought of them now. She had fought 
bravely and had, in spite of rebuffs and dis- 
appointments, contrived so far to eke out a 
livelihood. At first she had taken a room up 
town. Then, as their little supply of money 
diminished she had moved not once but 
several times until now they occupied squalid 
attic rooms on Broome street. Both she 
and Salome had secured occasional employ- 
ment as "extras" at the theatres and in the 
movie studios but that was all. Success 
seemed a long way off. Even the brightest 
hopes of youth burn dim when hunger knocks 
"at the door. Tryphena, usually so buoyant, 
found her courage as well as her strength 
failing rapidly. Of her own hardship and 
privation she thought little but that Salome 
should suffer, too, was more than she could 
endure. 

"Don't cry, dear," she whispered, brushing 
the little girl's bright curls back and kissing 
her softly on the forehead. "I'll ask Mr. 
Schwartz, who keeps the shop in the base- 
ment, to let us have some groceries on credit 
until day after to-morrow." 

But the words, so cheerily spoken, aroused 
no answering hope in the heart of the 
speaker. There was little chance, she 
thought, that the East side merchant would 
extend credit to comparative strangers even 
for a few hours. She was not surprised, 
therefore, when the thrifty Schwartz turned 
from his conversation with a young man 
just outside the shop door and listened un- 
sympathetically to her timid request, for a 
loaf of bread and a bottle of milk; 

Slowly, ponderously, the stout groceryman 
turned and pointed to a roughly lettered sign 
hanging by the store window. 

"See dot sign," he remarked, laconically. 
"N-o — no c-r-e-d-i-t — credit. No credit. Vat 
ve vant iss money — cash. Ve can't afford to 
do business mit credit." 

"But we have had nothing to eat — " com- 
menced Tryphena, then stopped abruptly. 
The well set-up young man to whom 
Schwartz had been speaking was looking 
at her intently. Her face flushed. She 
wished she had starved before she had ever 
humiliated herself to the extent of asking 
Schwartz for food. Grasping Salome's hand 
she turned and almost dragged the weeping 
,child through the door and up the several 
flights of dark stairs to their poor apart- 
ment. 

"Oh, it's no use," she moaned, sinking 
dejectedly into a chair and clasping Salome 



to her breast. "There's no one to help us. 
Nobody cares what becomes of us. New 
York is so big, so thoughtlessly cruel, so 
selfish — " 

A low knock sounded at the partially open 
door. Tryphena sprang up in alarm. 

"Who is it?" she exclaimed, hastily, strik- 
ing a light. 

"I beg your pardon," answered a man's 
voice, "but I believe you ordered some 
groceries just now. The groceryman could 
not leave his shop so I brought them up." 
As he spoke the volunteer deliveryman 
pushed the door open and entering, deposited 
his parcels upon the table. He was the 
same man who had been lighting a cigar in 
front of Schwartz's store when Tryphena had 
asked for credit. 

Tearful, hungry and at the point of ex- 
haustion, Tryphena made a desperate effort 
to appear dignified. "You are mistaken," she 
commenced, when Salome interrupted with 
a cry of joy. . 

"Oh, sister," she exclaimed, tearing open 
the brown paper parcels with small, tremb- 
ling hands, "look— oranges— and cereal— and 
cake— Oh, do let's eat right away." She was 
already hungrily pulling the peel from one 
of the oranges. Tryphena, herself, longed for 
a taste of the fruit. She felt weak and 
dizzy from long fasting. The room whirled 
about her. She reached forth one hand to 
steady herself. 

"I cannot accept these — " she faltered, 
pointing to the food upon the table, then 
suddenly reeled and would have fallen from 
weakness had the stranger not caught her 
and gently placed her in a chair. 

"What you need is food, all right," he re- 
marked, unmindful of her last remark and 
at the same time pouring out a glass of milk 
for her to drink. "I thought you looked a 
bit pale when you were talking to Schwartz." 
He drew a card from his pocket and ex- 
tended it to her. "If you do not wish to 
feel indebted for the food," he continued, 
"and since Schwartz gives no credit, you 
may, at your convenience, return the money 
to that address." His reassuring smile no 
less than his words convinced Tryphena that 
he was to be trusted. She took the proffered 
milk and drank it gratefully. 

"My car broke down," continued the young 
man, "and I started to walk to the sub- 
way. It was just accidental that I stopped 
to get a match from Schwartz to light my 
cigar. Awfully glad to have been able to be 



THE LEADING LADY' 



15 1 



of any assistance." He turned as if to go, 
but paused as Tryphena rose and extended 
her hand. 

"Your kindness," she murmured, brokenly, 
"I can't tell you — how much it means — I — " 
the remainder of the sentence was drowned 
in a flood of tears. 

Arthur Kellogg waited till the paroxysm 
had passed then drew a chair up beside the 
table and sat down. "Won't you tell me 
what the difficul- 
ties are?" he 
queried. "Maybe 
I can be of as- 
sistance." 

As Tryphena 
grew more com- 
posed she told 
him of her 
hopes, her ambi- 
tion to become 
a great charac- 
ter actress, her 
disappoint- 
ments, her dif- 
ficulty in secur- 
ing employment 
and her respon- 
sibility in car- 
ing for little Sa- 
lome. When she 
had finished, Sa- 
lome afterwards 
declared, there 
were tears in 
the kindly blue 
eyes of their 
benefactor. He 
rose to go. 

"Thank you 
for telling me," 
h e remarked, 
sympathetically. 
"My father is in- 
terested in theatrical matters. There's a 
new play going to be put on soon. There's 
a character part in it that's great. If you 
could originate it successfully your future 
would be assured." 

Tryphena's eyes sparkled. "Oh, if they 
would only let me try," she exclaimed. "1 
would rehearse night and day, if necessary. 
I know I can act. All I want is the oppor- 
tunity." 

It was quite evident to Kellogg that she 
spoke, not as a stage-struck girl but as a born 
artist, temperamentally conscious of her own 




Over a Bunch of Crimson Roses 
to Become 



ability and chafing in the stifling atmosphere 
of uncongenial surroundings. 

During the days which ensued young Kel- 
logg made various pretexts to call at Try- 
phena's little apartment. Salome learned to 
know the sound of his footstep in the hall 
below and would run gaily to meet him. As 
for Tryphena, the advent of Arthur Kellogg 
into her life had caused a quiet contentment 
and happiness such as she had never known 

before. At his 
recommendation 
she had been 
cast for the 
character part 
in the new play 
of which he had 
told her. All 
her spare mo- 
ments were de- 
voted to study- 
ing her lines. If 
she succeeded 
her success 
would be due en- 
tirely to him. 
She must not 
fail. She must 
be a credit to 
him. She told 
him this the day 
he brought her a 
bunch of won- 
derful roses and 
over their crim- 
son petals 
begged her to be- 
come his bride. 
"I have loved 
you from the 
first moment I 
ever saw you," 
he declared, 
smiling down 
into her lovely eyes. "For years I had 
wondered where and when I should meet the 
woman who was coming to meet me — the 
woman decreed by fate to be my wife. I 
always felt that when I did meet her, no 
matter under what circumstances, we would 
recognize each other." 

And Tryphena had answered, even though 
her heart yearned to answer otherwise, that 
she was enamored of her art. That until her 
success as an actress had become an estab- 
lished fact she could not and would not 
marry him. 



Arthur Kellogg Asked Tryphena 
His Wife 



152 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



"I can bring you no dowry," she declared. 
"I have neither money nor social position. 
People would say you had married beneath 
you. You would be spoken ' of lightly for 
your lack of discrimination in choosing a 
wife. If I marry you now it would be but a 
poor return for all that you have done for 
me. Wait until I have achieved success and 
distinction; until my picture is published in 
the magazines and I have fully emerged from 
obscurity." 

Reluctantly 
Arthur Kellogg 
consented to the 
plan but he 
made one stip- 
ulation. He was 
to have a per- 
sonal and ac- 
tive part in the 
development of 
this actress of 
the future. 

"T r y the 
make-up for the 
character in the 
new play this 
evening," h e 
said one day 
when he met her 
at the up-town 
theatre, "and I 
will come down 
and help you re- 
hearse." 

"Salome has 
tonsilitis," 
warned Try- 
phena, but 

Kellogg only 
laughed. 

"Awfully 
sorry for Sa- 
lome," he re- 
plied, "but I can't help it if she's got the 
smallpox. I'm coming just the same. Tell 
her to be good and I'll fetch her a box of 
candy." 

That day Arthur Kellogg received a 
peremptory summons from his father. In 
his wall street office Kellogg senior, financier 
and theatrical backer, received his son with 
every indication of annoyance. 

"Sit down," he remarked, curtly. "I've 
something to say to you, presently." 

Arthur waited, wonderingly, till his father 
finished giving dictation. Then, as the 




Arthur Promised to Help Tryphena Rehearse for the Part Assigned 
Her in the Hew Play • 



stenographer left the room, the elder man 
whirled about in his arm chair and faced 
his son. 

"What's this I hear from Harsh about you 
being interested in some new actress they've 
got for the new play?" he queried. "I 
thought your specialty was settlement work." 
This last in a tone meant to be disparaging. 
"It is. That's how I happened to discover 
her. She and her sister were in dire need." 

Kellogg senior 
snorted, angrily. 
"Stuff and 
nonsense!" he 
exclaimed. "D'y 
mean to tell me 
you've found an 
actress that's 
any good down 
In the Ghetto? 
Nobody ever 
heard of her be- 
fore. Where'd 
she come from? 
What do you 
know about her? 
I want to get at 
the bottom of 
this thing. I've 
got money in 
that production 
and I don't pro- 
pose to have its 
success jeopard- 
ized by your in- 
terference. It's 
going to take a 
mighty clever 
woman to play 
the part of Her- 
mione and they 
say the contract 
has already been 
given to this 
Ghetto prodigy of yours." 

"Not exactly. She's been promised the 
contract if she can make good," replied 
Arthur. "She's capable." 

"Capable," sneered his father. "What do 
you know about .her capabilities? She's 
working you for a good thing, that's all. 
First thing you know she'll be suing you for 
breach of promise or something." 

Arthur smiled. "I hardly think so," he 
remarked, coolly, "for my highest ambition 
is to make her my wife. She has only to say 
the word and I would gladly marry her." 



'THE LEADING LADY" 



153 



"Marry her!" Broker Kellogg sprang to 
his feet and gazed at his son in anger and 
amazement. "You talk like an ass," he 
stormed. "You'll marry Eugenia Whittemore 
and no one else. This is the first time I've 
ever heard anything from you to the con- 
trary." 

"I never said I would marry Eugenia," 
commenced Arthur when his father inter- 
rupted. 

"It's been understood," he insisted. "The 
Whittemores expect it. Both you and Eu- 
genia have been brought up with that idea." 

"Well, we've been brought up wrong." 
Arthur smiled as he made the reply, but if 
he thought he could stem his father's anger 
and disappointment by joking he was mis- 
taken. The broker paced the floor for an 
instant then turned and brought his hand 
down heavily upon the broad, mahogany 
desk. 

"Where is this woman — this actress?" he 
demanded. "Give me her address. I'll go see 
her myself and — " 

"You will not," interrupted his son, now 
thoroughly angry, "for I will not give you 
her address. Tryphena Winters is a talented 
woman, in every way worthy of respect. I 
will not have her annoyed and insulted least 
of all by my father." He turned toward the 
door. 

"Bah!" ejaculated his father, in disgust. 
"We'll see about this. Before I get through 
with her I'll prove to you that I'm right and 
that you've been taken in by a mere adven- 
turess." 

He seized his hat and stick and followed 
his son from the office. 

That evening, little Salome, ill with a sore 
throat, sat up in bed and watched her 
idolized sister make up for the character of 
Hermione in the new play upon the success 
of which, Tryphena had told her, all their 
future happiness would depend. 

"Is Mr. Arthur coming this evening?" 
asked Salome, eagerly. "Will he see you 
looking like that?" 

"Yes." laughed Tryphena, as she gazed at 
her reflection in the mirror, then paused to 
apply lip rouge more thoroughly. "He wants 
to make sure that I am letter perfect before 
I appear at rehearsal. It seems there are 
others better known than I who want the 
part and unless I can distinguish it by un- 
usual originality I'll' stand no chance what- 
ever. Arthur is giving me the benefit of 
his ideas. All I need do is carry them out." 



She rose as she finished speaking and en- 
tered the adjoining room to welcome her 
lover. 

"Would you recognize me?" she queried, 
as Arthur held her at arm's length. 

"Not in the least." Approval and admira- 
tion shone in his eyes. "Now if you can 
only make an equal success of the acting," 
he continued, proudly, "that play will be 
the hit of the season." 

During the rehearsal which followed a 
strange scene was enacted in the hallway 
without. Kellogg senior, portly and pompous, 
a trail of curious tenement dwellers at his 
heels, ascended the stairs and paused just 
outside the door where Tryphena, in the role 
of Hermione was giving a dramatic recital, 
the artistic character of which could not be 
denied even by the irate broker. As he lis- 
tened he realized that the success of the 
new play demanded her retention in the 
character allotted to her but this fact did not 
lessen his anger against her. He entered 
the room with scant ceremony. 

Arthur sprang up from the couch on which 
he had been sitting. Tryphena, deeply en- 
grossed in the part she was playing, brushed 
the disorderly wisps of hair from before her 
eyes and gazed at the intruder much as the 
woman "Hermione" would have done. 

"Father!" exclaimed Arthur, "I told 
you — " 

Ignoring his son the broker turned toward 
Tryphena. 

"I came to see you," he announced, with 
more rudeness than Arthur had ever be- 
lieved him capable. "As to your ability as 
an actress I've nothing to say but, as an 
adventuress, I've come to tell you that you 
needn't think you can fool me as you have 
my son. If you want money here it is — " 
He pulled a roll of bills from his pocket 
as he spoke and commenced to separate 
several of a large denomination, "but it's the 
last you'll get. Remember that." 

"Sir! I don't understand you." It was 
the voice of Tryphena, piercing through the 
disguise of the wretched Hermione. "Surely 
you don't mean — " 

"You forget, Father," Arthur interrupted, 
"that you are addressing my affianced wife. 
I must insist that you treat her with re- 
spect. Nothing you can say or do will alter 
my decision. Unless you are willing to 
apologize to Miss Winters for the words 
you have just said, I advise you to leave this 
room and leave it quickly." 



15t 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



"You mean to tell me," stormed the broker, 
"that you intend to marry this — this woman 
in spite of all that I have said?" 

"That's what I mean." 

"Then you are no son of mine. You 
needn't think you can bring your upstart 
wife to live off from me. Not a penny of 
mine will you ever have. You may go your 
way. I've nothing more to say." 

Flushed with anger he rose and strode 
from the room. But if his words were harsh 



his son seemed bent upon contracting. It 
would not do to refuse to give Tryphena the 
coveted part in the new play. That would 
mean financial disaster. Her rendering of 
the part was a revelation. It was marvellous. 
It alone would ensure the success of the 
play. Some other method must be devised. 
By the time he reached his club he had de- 
cided upon the method. 

The following day Tryphena received a 
message from the broker urging her to come 




' As She Entered the Office Tryphena Heard the Voice of the Broker in Conversation with His Son 



his heart was very sore, for the son who 
had thus disappointed the hopes of years 
was his only child, son of an idolized wife 
who had died when Arthur was a baby. It 
had been the broker's most cherished wish 
to' see him married to the daughter of his 
dearest friend and now — all at once to have 
his plans frustrated by the machinations of 
a scheming, adventurous woman — for such 
he deemed Tryphena to be — was more than 
the elderly, nerve-racked business man could 
bear with calmness. As he retraced his 
steps he found himself plotting, scheming, 
planning to break up this mesalliance which 



at once to his office upon business connected 
with the play. Arthur, she knew, was out 
of town. There was no time to consult him. 
Fearing that she was to be refused the part 
of Hermione she hastened to the broker's 
office. 

With remarkable tact the wily financier 
referred to the events of the previous even- 
ing in such manner that his own attitude 
was largely minimized. He explained, plaus- 
ibly, the reasons for his uncontrolled rage 
and flattered the young girl by his sincere 
approval of her acting. 

"With your talent," he averred, "you 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



155 



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THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



should one day rank with the highest in the 
profession. I can quite understand why my 
son should have been impressed by your won- 
derful ability. But," he continued, "as a 
sensible young woman, I am sure you must 
see for yourself the injury you would be 
doing Arthur by marrying him under present 
circumstances." 

"Oh, I do — I do," interrupted Tryphena. 
"That was just what I told him." 

"Very good," exclaimed the elderly diplo- 
mat. "Now I was going to suggest that you 
devote yourself exclusively to study and the 
development of your talents as an actress. 
You will need backing. Advancement is not 
gained nowadays on merit. It is pull that 
counts, influence, financial backing. Arthur 
has nothing. He has neither money nor in- 
fluence. You will have to depend upon older 
and more established men." 

His tone was so kind, so fatherly, so totally 
sincere that Tryphena listened intently, won- 
deringly, credulously. She nodded acqui- 
escence. 

"I will supply that backing," went on the 
smooth, even tones of the financier. "It is 
the least I can do by way of apology for 
my hasty words last evening. I make only 
one stipulation. That is, that in my presence 
you tell Arthur of your decision to devote 
yourself to the stage. If you love him, you 
will do this. His future happiness is in 
your hands. If you would gain the success 
you covet and for which you have real 
ability you must give him up. If you do 
not, it is within my power to ruin every 
chance of success you may ever have and, 
as you yourself admit, without that success 
you could not consider becoming the wife of 
a man so far above you socially and finan- 
cially that his marriage to you would mean 
his downfall and ostracism." 

He waited for her reply. To Tryphena the 
shock of the suggestion that she renounce 
Arthur almost unnerved her. She could not 
gainsay the arguments presented. The 
broker had her at his mercy. It was either 
success without Arthur or the loss of both. 
She was too stunned to speak for a moment. 
Her breath came in low gasps. She rose 
to her feet. An idea was formulating in her 
mind. 

"I — I understand," she whispered, weakly. 
"I will meet him — here — if you like — to- 
morrow." She turned to go. 

The broker rose and held open the door for 
her to pass out. A glint of triumph shone 



in his hard gray eyes. "I thought you would 
decide wisely," he remarked. "Until to- 
morrow, then — good afternoon." 

She was gone. He turned and threw him- 
self into his office chair. 

"The old man's something of a diplomat, 
yet," he muttered to himself as he clipped 
off the end of a cigar and, lighting it, leaned 
back and sent a series of gray smoke rings 
floating upwards. 

Hurrying home Tryphena lost no time in 
writing a note to Arthur explaining the 
whole situation. 

"I will do as your father wishes," she 
wrote, "for your sake, but remember that 
whatever I say to you in his presence is not 
from my heart. I love you now. .1 always 
shall love you. I shall work with only one 
object — that of becoming worthy in every 
way to become your wife and to stand side 
by side with you in whatever social position 
you may be placed. Without success I could 
never marry you. That success can never be 
attained without your father's promised sup- 
port. Therefore I have given my word to 
renounce you — until such time as you see fit 
to claim me publicly as a woman worthy in 
every way to bear your father's name. 
Until then, beloved, farewell. Remember, 
the role I shall assume tomorrow in your 
father's office, will require more intensity 
of acting than any other role I shall ever 
attempt in my life." 

Satisfied with the note she hastily de- 
spatched it and commenced to make prepara- 
tions to move from the sordid rooms in which 
the happiest days of her life had been spent. 
Her action, she felt in appraising Arthur 
was not exactly fair but it was the only 
means at hand. Arthur, upon reading the 
note would understand, so she need have no 
concern for the morrow. It was with almost 
a light heart that she slept that night. How 
could she know that Arthur did not return 
home as expected that day. That when he 
did come he went direct to his father's office, 
summoned there by long distance telephone 
and that the note she had so carefully 
written was tucked away in an obscure 
corner unseen and unread. 

As she entered the office next morning she 
heard the voice of the broker in conversation 
with his son. 

"I was right. The girl is an adventuress," 
he was saying. "There's the contract she is 
going to sign for next season. I know the 
men who are backing her." 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



157 



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Name 

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158 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



Arthur stood with the contract referred to 
in his hands. Tryphena entered quietly and 
crossed to where they stood. How ghastly 
■Arthur looked. She had not dreamed he was 
so clever an actor. Had she not sent him 
the note she would have actually believed 
the shocked expression of his face was genu- 
ine. He turned toward her. 

"Is what my father says true?" he inquired 
in a dull, weary tone. 

She bowed. 



was parched. Her tongue clove to the roof 
of her mouth. She could hardly pronounce 
the word. 

"That's enough. I can't bear anything 
more just now." Without another word 
Arthur Kellogg staggered like an aged man 
into the inner office and closed the door 
between them. 

"I will see you again," said his father to 
Tryphena. "You will find that I am a man 
of my word." 




Tryphena Was Terrified but the Eyes of the Elder Man Were Upon Her 



"Yes," she answered. "I have decided that 
I must give up all thought of marriage. My 
profession comes first." 

"And you do not love me — you were im- 
posing upon me just to get a position?" The 
terrible revulsion of feeling toward her was 
evident in his tone. Surely this was not 
acting. 

Tryphena was terrified but the eyes of the 
older man were upon her. 

"She has acknowledged it," he remarked 
coolly. 

"Have you?" Arthur repeated the question. 

"Yes," murmured Tryphena. Her throat 



TOURING the season which followed he 
kept to his promise. The success of Try- 
phena Winters in the theatrical world was 
phenomenal. Money, influence, popularity 
were hers. Endowed with great natural 
talent and rare beauty she needed only op- 
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Her name became a household word. She 
was entertained at dinners and receptions. 
Never once was her name associated in any 
way with scandal or with undesirable as- 
sociates. "She is a credit to the American 
stage — an honor to the profession," were ex- 
pressions frequently used in reference to her. 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



159 



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THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



But as she moved ever higher in the social 
and intellectual world even so did Arthur 
Kellogg go downward. 

Never once after that fatal day in his 
father's office had he seen Tryphena. He had 
purposely avoided all places where there was 
any possibility of his meeting her. He lost 
interest in the great matters of social uplift 
which until that time had been his special 
study. He had periods of recklessness when 
his moods threatened to overthrow his 
reason. His ideal of womankind had been 
shattered. He had loved so deeply. The 
shock of his disillusionment had been so 
great that he was never the same afterward. 

His father noted the change in him with 
horror and dismay. In vain the broker tried 
to rouse his son to an interest in life. The 
daughter of his dearest friend to whom he 
had hoped to marry him, wearied of waiting, 
had married a foreign nobleman. The busi- 
ness to which he had hoped Arthur would 
turn his attention, dwindled. Young blood 
was needed in the firm, but Arthur took no 
interest. Speculations went wrong. Plays 
that were supposed to be great money-makers 
failed utterly. The broker saw the success 
of a lifetime being gradually undermined. 
He became morose, bitter. The knowledge 
that he was himself the cause of his son's 
downfall added to his unrest. One day they 
found him in his room, dead. Heart failure, 
the papers said, though there were those 
who had reason to think otherwise. 

It was the autumn after Arthur's father's 
death. A play at the Forty-eighth Street 
theatre was having a wonderful run. With- 
out paying much attention to either the name 
of the play or the names of those in the cast, 
Arthur Kellogg, elbowed along by the crowd, 
found himself within the foyer. An usher 
recognized him. 

"I've got something for you," he exclaimed, 
hastily. "One of the boys just found it this 
morning. It's in the office." 

He disappeared for a moment and when he 
returned he thrust a soiled and untidy note 
into the young man's hand. "Must have 
been chucked around for a long time," he 



observed. "Don't know who lost it. Hope 
it's nothing important." 

He went off and Kellogg, settling himself 
in his seat down close to the stage, mechani- 
cally tore open the note and ran his eye over 
the contents. The next moment those near 
him thought he was about to faint He re- 
covered himself, however, almost instantly 
and with the missive clutched in his hand, 
fixed his eyes on the stage. 

Suddenly there was a great outcry. "Here 
she comes — here she comes — " The applause 
was deafening. A beautiful woman was mak- 
ing an impressive entrance on the stage. 
The ovation was so great that for a moment 
she could not deliver her lines. She came 
down the center of the stage. 

"Tryphena." 

Everyone heard the cry. It was the voice 
of the man who a moment before had ap- 
peared ill and faint. He rose to his feet, a 
note still clutched in his hand. 

"Tryphena," he cried again. The beautiful 
woman on the stage heard it and turned, 
hastily, in the direction of the cry. She 
pressed her hand to her heart. Her face 
paled beneath the makeup. Ushers rushed 
down the aisle toward the man who had 
caused the disturbance. They were not quick 
enough. Another instant and he was upon 
the stage. The beautiful woman was clasped 
in his arms. He was showering kisses upon 
her. He turned toward the audience. 

"I claim this woman as my bride," he 
shouted in a voice that everyone in the house 
might hear. "My name is Kellogg — Arthur 
Kellogg. I am proud to offer my name to 
the woman you see before you, Tryphena 
Winters, after this day, my wife." 

In the tumult of applause which followed, 
Tryphena managed, between smiles and bows 
to the audience to whisper tearful words to 
her lover. 

"I thought you had forgotten," she mur- 
mured. 

"I only just received your note," he mur- 
mured low. 

The triumph of the leading lady had been 
achieved. 



ALL IN THE SPELLING 
'TJOW do I look, Eddie?" asked one of Universal's leading ladies as she ap- 
peared arrayed in her latest "ball gown" prepared to go into a society set. 
"A little bare, my dear,' replied the truthful Nestor comedian. 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



161 



THIN FOR YEARS 

"Gains 22 Pounds in 23 Days" 

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THE PHOTOPLAYWRIGHTS 
DEPARTMENT 



CONDUCTED BY A. W. THOMAS 



The Path of Originality 

TOO many amateur 'scenario writers at- 
tempt to turn out salable plays and 
tail because they follow the line of 
least resistance — using the same ideas, the 
same plots, the same themes as the thou- 
sands of other writers in this particular 
field. Now the name that we give to that 
magic something which distinguishes the 
work of one writer from all of the rest, is 
originality. And it is a question whether 
or not originality can be cultivated. Cer- 
tainly it cannot be acquired. But it may 
be lying dormant in the writer, waiting only 
•for a chance to lift its head. And it will 
never get that chance from the writer who 
follows the trail already blazed by others. 
Let him once branch out, let him only de- 
part from that beaten path down which the 
rank and file of amateur writers take their 
way, and his originality, if he possesses it, 
will inevitably show itself. It takes cour- 
age, to be sure, to make the departure. 
But "nothing ventured, nothing gained" is 
as true of photoplay writing as of every- 
thing else. The scientist who explodes an 
old theory and demonstrates a new. is the 
one who wins fame and honor. The general 
who adopts new and bold tactics usually 
wins by this strategy. Even the clerk who 
puts his wits to work, and instead of going 
on day after day following the accepted 
routine, devises a newer and better system 
or even one labor or time saving device, 
wins promotion. All risk some thing in the 
belief that they have something better to 
take its place. In photoplay writing it is 
even more important to find a new way. 
Originality is the one and only thing that 
will lead to a permanent success. And 
once let the writer find a path of his own 
he will discover' that it takes him in only 
one direction and that is towards the motion 
picture studio. And, while there may be 
some few of us who deny that this is our 
goal, insisting that "art for art's sake" is 
our watchword, still the majority of us are 
162 



nljt self-deceived in this way. We all know 
that the aim and end of our writing is to 
get our plays accepted and produced, and 
such success will come only to the man with 
originality. 

The Evolving of Plot 

PLOTS abound everywhere, but it is 
only the close observer who can find 
them. I wish I could get every new 
writer to pick up the thread of a story and 
say this to himself: "Out of what was, 
came what is and out of what is, must come 
what is to be." The mere idea, undevel- 
oped, means nothing. Ideas and themes 
must be developed to be of worth; they 
must be brought out, cultivated, coaxed, as 
it were, into being something of merit. 
The dying embers in the old fireplace can 
be fanned into a flame. The embers, un- 
burned, were nothing but unconsumed 
wood, and might be likened to the unde- 
veloped plot. But they needed fanning into 
life, otherwise in a short time, no fire would 
have been left. There is nothing so much 
needed in photoplay writing as develop- 
ment of the idea— the plot. Let a man 
look back to the little one story house in 
the country in which he was born. How 
large that house looked to him as a boy, 
but when a neighbor built a two story home, 
how small the old place seemed. Then he 
went to the city and saw the huge sky- 
scrapers, and how small his old home looked 
when he returned. But was it really 
smaller? No — the man had developed, the 
home and high buildings remained the 
same. A plot at first looks like a mere 
speck, but let the author develop that speck 
and it grows and becomes as a skyscraper 
beside the little old home. The trouble with 
most new writers is that they only partially 
develop. They begin, but do not finish. A 
house only partly completed is not ready 
for occupancy. A story only partially 
worked out is not ready for the studio. 
Build your plot as you would a house — 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



163 




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164 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



complete. Develop the idea until it becomes 
the finished plot. Only a half success will 
come to the writer who but half builds a 
story. 

Henry Higgins Returns 

THE experience of Henry Higgins 
should prove invaluable to others of 
his class — the amateurs who have 
sold one or two stories. Henry can speak 
better for himself, for since we heard from 
him last he has developed and improved, 
even though he seems a trifle discouraged 
just now. 

Wampum, Pa., Oct. 31. 
Bear Editor: — 

I have come back. So has my plays. 
Remember, I told you I sold one? I 
sold another. But I can't get "one 
across" any more. I thought I had ar- 
rived, but I guess I had just begun. I 
just "flooded" the studios with my 
scenarios, but I'm still buying stamps 
for them. I can't find any plots here, 
so I'm going to travel. If I can sell 
two I can sell more. Where would you 
advise me to travel? Let me know at 
once, because I have seven dollars saved 
for the trip. 

Henry Higgins. 
Henry, the editors will buy your plays 
when you send some that are just as good 
as the two they purchased. You have not 
"arrived," you have only prepared to start. 
Stay in Wampum, settle down and think, 
think, think; concentrate and you'll be sur- 
prised what plots there are over there in 
Pennsylvania that have never yet been 
thought of. 

Choosing Proper Titles 

SHORT, appropriate titles are as easy 
to think out and apply as long, inap- 
propriate ones. Recently the editor 
read a story with this title: "Love, Jeal- 
ousy and a Prize Rooster." Another was: 
"The Waves That Thou Gave To Me." 
Certainly, there was no thought applied to 
such titles. How different were two titles 
given to his plays by a Xenia, Ohio, 
writer: "Roses of Forgiveness" and "The 
Appeal of the Empty Crib." Writers 
would do well to compare the short, terse, 
well-worded thirty-six point newspaper 
heads with their own lengthy scenario titles, 
and note the genuine effectiveness the papers 
secure. Then let them do likewise. It is 
merely a matter of practice. 



When to Use Quotation Marks 

Almost an endless number of photoplay 
writers, some new and inexperienced, 
others with acceptable work to their credit 
persist in using quotations on leaders, in- 
serts and cut-ins when they are not only 
unnecessary but positively bad. A leader 
preceding a scene requires no quotations if 
it is the simple statement of a fact such as 
this: 

Leader — The General loses his wallet. 

But if it were a cut-in leader, recording 
the same fact but in a speech by one of the 
characters, quotation marks should, of 
course, be used, thus: 

Cut-in — "I have lost my wallet!" 

Notes, parts of letters, newspaper clip- 
pings and the like require no quotation 
marks, and why writers use them is a mys- 
tery to the editor. Inserts serve to explain 
technically what is not done in some other 
manner, and there is no reason for begin- 
ning and ending them with quotation 
marks. A leader used for explanatory pur- 
poses only to save unnecessary action does 
not call for "quotes" and more than a "flash 
back" or a "bust" of an object. A recently- 
submitted story read like this: 

Leader — "They Agree To Meet." 

Introduced in the story was an insert of 
a note which read as follows: 

Insert — (note) "Dear Frank: 

I will meet you at the South bridge to- 
night. Louise." 

Added to these two mistaken ideas of the 
proper use of quotation marks, was the loca- 
tion of a scene given this way: 

Scene 42. "Library." 

If the leader and insert given as examples 
should be quoted, then the locations, and 
in fact, all the action of the scenes should 
be quoted. It would be just as logical. Use 
quotation marks only where necessary. 

Condensing the Story 

THERE has been a marked improve- 
ment in the submitted scenarios of 
the members of the Photoplay- 
wrights' Association of America during the 
past six months as to their length, which is 
most gratifying when compared with the 
manuscripts of many other writers who 
have not yet learned the art of condensa- 
tion. One one-reel subject by a Canadian 
author read a few weeks since contained 667 
words in the synopsis and a single scene 
contained 224 words. This detailed way of 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



165 



What is Your 
Scenario Worth 



in Real Cash 



Follow the Arrow- 
to Market Value !! 

Turn failure into success — change 
hopelessness into dollars — raise the stand- 
ard of your scenarios. 

Stop "rejections" — make "purchases" 
come your way. Write scenarios that 
will sell at the highest market price. Make 
your name mean admittance to the most 
exclusive editorial rooms of the film 
companies. 

Why waste valuable time writing what 
would bring only the most trifling amount 
— or not sell at all ? Leam HOW — 
and then make every effort count ! 

"Knowledge is power" — "Knowing 
How" is "Getting By." The dollars are 
crying for you — but the key that unlocks 
the door to scenario success is KNOW- 
ING HOW TO WRITE ! 

Photoplay Scenario — 

is NEW in appearance — has more departments — 
contains wealth of Experience and teachings of the 
Most Successful writers of Photoplays that SELL. 
They point to the road that leads to SUCCESS. 

Leam how — leam how NOW ! 

Send the coupon below and 1 5c for a copy of 

Photoplay Scenario — 

The Monthly Journal for Photoplay wrights 



CLOUD PUBLISHING CO. 

8 So. Dearborn St., Chicago 

Gentlemen: —Enclosed please find 15 cents for which 
please send me a copy of the Photoplay Scenario. 



Name.. 



Street Address., 

City 

Stclo., 



Give Your 
Scenarios 
the PUNCH 
that Brings 
the Pay-Check! 

It isn't the round steak that makes 
profit for the butcher — but the sirloin 
and porterhouse. It isn't the bread 
that pays the baker profits — but the 
pies and cakes. And in the scenario 
it is the PUNCH. Maybe the point 
you stumble over is the one that 
decides the issue. The best doctor 
"reads up "on cases; the best lawyer 
consults his statute books. The best 
contractor needs blue-prints — and the 
best Scenario Writer must have the 
wedge of experience and talent at 
his command. It is here in 

William Lord Wright's 

The Motion Picture 
Story 

filled with authentic information — 
containing answers to your troubled 
questions. In just ONE scenario it 
may pay back a dozen times its cost. 
No workman is good without tools — 
no factory complete without equip- 
ment. And your mind is more profit- 
able to you supported and fortified 
by this great new book. William 
Lord Wright is editor of the Photo- 
playwrights' Department of the 
"Dramatic Mirror," former editor 
of Photoplay Department of the 
"Motion Picture News," author of 
"Art of Scenario Writing," "The 
Reel Thing, " etc., etc. For the sake 
of your purse, have this book always 
on your desk. Get it NOW — because 
it may add fame and fortune to 
tomorrow's efforts. 

- — i ■■ -USE THIS COUPON- — — . 

1914 



CLOUD PUBLISHING CO. 

1100 Hartford Bids., Chicago 

Please send melmmediately. postpaid. William Lord Wright's 
new book, "The Motion Picture Story." 240 pages, cloth 
bonnd. for which I enclose herewith $1. 80. the price in fulL 



Name.. 



■ Street Aildrees.. 

■ Town 



State 



ire I 



ICC 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



explaining the action and intent of the story 
to the studio editor is superfluous. All he 
requires is a plain, matter of fact statement 
of his idea in synopsis and scenes, the 
briefer the better! Much can be told in a 
few words, but this the author must learn 
by experience. 

How to Write the Synopsis 

THERE is as much difference between 
a good synopsis and a poor one as 
between a piece of classical music 
and a ragtime selection. If the writer 
would stop to think that the synopsis is 
the price mark on his story, he would un- 
doubtedly be more careful to write a synop- 
sis as it should be icritten. One error a 
number of authors make is to let their syn- 
opsis read like some scenes — jerkily; others 
do not cover what is in the scenes, while 
some write such a flowery-worded synopsis 
that the essence of the plot and story is 
lost entirely. Try writing the synopsis 
last, then reverse and write it first; see 
which is the better, and thus decide on a 
method. Condensation is not the only thing 
to remember in synopsis writing. It must 
be told in story form way with as much 
art as the author has at his command. 
The plot and action being woven into it 
should make the editor want to read the 
scenes, and the story that does not do this 
is not one that warrants the editor's going 
any farther. 

Adaptations are Not Wanted 

THE producers employ staff writers 
who can write a scenario from a 
novel or other copyrighted work 
better than the outsider can. The staff 
writer knows the requirements of the in- 
dividual studio much better than the free 
lance can ever expect to know. Studios 
are seeking original plays from the out- 
side, and for such they are paying in propor- 
tion to the value of the story. Not until 
the amateur becomes a professional should 
he attempt an adaptation. 

The Unexpected Punch 

IT is the action that comes at an unex- 
pected time that puts "punch" into the 
story, the thing that comes as if out of a 
clear sky and arouses the interest and sus- 
pense of the audience. If the audience 
knotcs what is coming, there can be no ele- 
ment of the unexpected. The unexpected 



must arise from the conditions and situa- 
tions developed in the story, but it must 
also arise logically and at such a time as 
to form the crisis or climax that gives value 
to the play. The unexpected is a result of 
skillful play building and the author who 
can construct a unique and utterly unex- 
pected climax lor his story and yet have it 
logical and credible — he is the man who 
gets the "punch." 

Learning by Degrees 

IT is not difficult to name the successful 
authors of today who struggled to at- 
tain a foothold in the hall of literary 
fame; indeed, none of them was given a 
welcome until his struggles had proved his 
worth. 



STATEMENT OF THE OWNERSHIP. MAN- 
AGEMENT, CIRCULATION, ETC. 

of Photoplay Magazine, published monthly at 

Chicago, Illinois, required by the Act of August 

24, 1912. 

Xote — This statement must be made in duplicate and both 
copies delivered by the publisher to the postmaster, who shall 
send one copy to the Third Assistant Postmaster General 
(Division of Classification). Washington, D. C., and retain 
the other in the files of the post office. The publisher must 
publish a copy of this statement in the second issue printed 
next after its filing. 

Name of — Postoffiee Address. 

Editor, A. W. Thomas, Chicago. Illinois. 

Managing Editor, R. S. Hanford, Chicago, 111. 

Business Managers, None. 

Publisher, Cloud Publishing Company, 

Chicago, III. 

Owners: (If a corporation, give its name and 

the names and addresses of stockholders 

holding 1 per cent or more of total amount 

of stock. If not a corporation, give names 

and addresses of individual owners.) 

Paul Davis. Chicago. Illinois. 

A. D. Cloud, Chicago, Illinois. 

M. H. Hovey, Madison. Wisconsin. 

W. F. Speer, Chicago, Illinois. 

F. S. Scammell, Chicago, Illinois. 

It. M. Kastman, Chicago, Illinois. 

E. M. Colvln. Chicago. Illinois. 

John Burnham & Co.. Chicago, Illinois. 

Known bondholders, mortgagees, and other 
security holders, holding 1 per cent or more 
of total amount of bonds, mortgages, or 
other securities: (If there are none, so 
state.) 

None. 

Average number of copies of each issue of this 
publication sold or distributed, through the 
mails or otherwise, to paid subscribers during 
the six months preceding the date shown 
above. (This information is required from 
daily newspapers only.) 

* CLOUD PUBLISHING COMPANY. 

By J. Milton Tait, Secy-Treas. 

Sworn to and subscribed before me this four- 
teenth day of September, 1914. 

IRENE WALTER. 
(seal) Notary Public'. 

(My commission expires June 27, 1918.) 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



167 




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Thumbnail Biographies 



By Monte M. Katterjohn 



Richard V. Spencer of Kay-Bee, Bron- 
cho, and Domino 

"T BECAME interested in motion pictures 
•*• early in 1909," says Richard V. Spencer, 
who edits scenarios for Kay-Bee, Broncho 
and Domino films. "Of course I had been a 
fan long before that, but it was about that 
time that I first started active work as a 
writer of scenarios. 
"I was in Los Angeles, though originally 
a New Yorker. 
At this period the 
Selig and the orig- 
inal 101 Bison 
companies were 
the only two in 
the Los Angeles 
field, and they 
had not been long 
established. I sold 
my first scenario 
to Mr. Francis 
Boggs of the Selig 
Company, who, in 
1911, was mur- 
dered by a Japa- 
nese employee. At that time he was the 
chief producer of the Western Selig organi- 
zation. 

"My first story was called 'In the Days 
of the Padres,' and brought me twenty-five 
dollars. I was so elated over this first sale 
that I returned to my room and prepared 
two more scenarios in one night. The next 
day I sold both of them to Fred J. Balshofer, 
who was then managing the Western 101 
Bison Company. 

"Seventy-five dollars in one week inter- 
ested me and I began to see possibilities 
which eclipsed the newspaper work I was 
then doing. Well, to make a long story 
short, my first year as a free lance scenario 
writer netted me $3,200, which was con- 
siderably more than I had been making in 
the newspaper field. 
"In the spring of 1910 Mr. Balshofer of- 
168 




fered me the editorship of the 101 Bison 
Company. I took immediate charge and 
held the position until Thomas H. Ince, the 
present vice-president and general manager 
of the New York Motion Picture Corpora- 
tion, succeeded Mr. Balshofer. 

"Upon the organization of the Kay-Bee 
company, Mr. Ince employed me to edit 
scenarios for the New York Motion Picture 
Corporation, which later added Broncho and 
Domino films to their output. I assumed 
charge of the scenario department, and am 
now serving my fifth year as a scenario 
editor." 

James Dayton of the Western Universal 

TAMES DAYTON, editor of scenarios for 
** the Universal Film Manufacturing Com- 
pany at their mammoth Hollywood, Califor- 
nia, studio, hails from Dayton, Ohio, and 
was an actor and 
writer for vaude- 
ville before tak- 
ing up scenario 
writing. In 1909 
he wrote his first 
story for the Selig 
organization. His 
ability to turn out 
a worth while 
scenario once 
each week landed 
him a position as 
reader and staff 
writer with the 
Selig Company, 

where he i-emained for seven months. Then 
the road called him, and he returned to 
vaudeville, trailing the route of Pantage's 
circuit, after which he again took up the 
writing of scenarios for the Universal Com- 
pany. He was the first man to be chosen as 
editor of the scenario department at this 
company's Western studios and is still hold- 
ing the job. To date he has written one 
hundred and seventy-six produced stories. 




THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



169 



Asthma 

AND 

Hay Fever 

Send for Free Trial Bottle of 
HIMALYA, the valuable 
remedy for Hay Fever and 
Asthma. We have hundreds 
of reliable testimonials show- 
ing positive and permanent 

cures to persons who have suf- 
fered for years after other 
remedies and change of cli- 
mate had failed. Write today to the 

HIMALYA CO. 

70 Warren Ave., W. 
DETROIT, MICH. 



A SURPRISE 
FOR THIN WOMEN 




Thousands of thin women have been petting wonderful 
results from a treatment which is 15 years old and gaming in 
popularity ever day. 

It has not cost them a penny to try it, nor will it you. 

You will ho surprised and delighted nt the change in your 
appearance when the treatment has produced its effect. It has 
lieen astonishing how little additional flesh and bust development 
it has required to make many of our thin patrons attractive — even 
fascinating. They tell us they, seem to be attracting n flattering 
attention which they never en joved and had ceased to expect. 

Just write today Buying, "Send me your free treatment." We 
will immediately send, in a plain wrapper, sufficient Dr. Whitney's 
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add so muc'i to your uttractiveness. In some cases the trial alone 
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No. 1 is the general flesh builder. No. 8 is for giving develop- 
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Say which one you prefer. 

Write us today, oefore this generous offer is withdrawn, and 
not your free treatment in a plain wrapper by return mail. 

C. L. JONES CO., 70L Friend Building, ELM1RA, N. Y. 



HAIR 

GROWER 

Found at Last! 



The Great English Discovery, 

"Crystolis," Grows Hair 

in 30 Days 

$1000.00 Reward If We Fail on Our 

Guarantee. Try It at Our Risk 

— Mail Coupon Today 




Beautiful Hair and Lots of It, If You Use Crystolis. 

"In Europe "Crystolis," the New English Hair Grower has 
been called the most wonderful discovery of the century. 

The judges of the Brussels and Paris Expositions enthusias- 
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Already since we secured the American rights hundreds of 
men and women have written telling of the phenomenal 
results obtained by its use. People who have been bald for 
years tell how they now glory in beautiful hair. Others who 
have had dandruff all their lives say they have got a clean, 
healthy scalp after a few applications of this wonderful new 
treatment. 

We don't care whether you are bothered with falling hair, 
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hair; dandruff, itching scalp, or any form or all forms of hair 
trouble, we want you to try CRYSTOLIS" at our risk. 

We give you a binding guarantee without any "strings" or 
red tape, ( that it won't cost you a cent if we do not prove to 
you that "Crystolis" will do all we claim for it, and what's 
important, we have plenty of money to back our guarantee. 
$1000 has been deposited in our local bank as a Special Fund 
to be forfeited if we fail to comply with this contract. Cut 
out the coupon below and mail it today to Creslo Laboratories, 
571-L Street, Binghamton, N. Y. 



FREE COUPON 

The Creslo Laboratories, 

571-L Street, Binghamton, N. Y. 

I am a reader of Photoplay. Prove to me without cost 
how Crystolis stops falling hair, grows new hair, banishes 
dandruff and itching scalps and restores premature gray 
and faded hair to natural color. Write your name and 
address plainly and 

PIN THIS COUPON TO YOUR LETTER 



170 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



WHEN IN DETROIT 

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for the best, large and airy rooms. Finest 
meals at moderate prices in the best din- 
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Refined Cabaret every evening 




200 ROOMS Wl 



Write or Wire Reservations 



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FRED POSTAL, Pres. CHAS. POSTAL, Sec'y 



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Remember, you get the watch before ( 
you pay us a cent, and we give you 30 1 
days free inspection. Then if you are ab- 
solutely satisfied you pay the trifling sum ' 
o£ $Z a month. Could anything be fairer? i 

Lowest Prices in America 

on watches, diamonds, jewelry, etc. We 
sell direct and save you middlemen's profits. 

Send Postal for Great 
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Sec the vast array of beautiful watches. Think Vfc 
..ow beautiful one would look with your initials fll 
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Bprofits. A 

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bow beautiful one would look with your initials i 
engraved on the back. Our terms make it easy, ^ *» 
so do oot delay. Send postal at once. fl? 



ALFRED WARE 

Dept.59 St 



ECO. X 

it. Louis. Mo. Jg 



GREY-HAIRED AT 27 
NOT A GREYJAIR AT 35 

I Am One of Many Living Examples thai 

Grey Hair Can Be Restored to 

Natural Colour and Beauty 

I SEND YOU THE PROOF FREE 



Let me send you free full information that will 
enable you to restore your Grey Hair to the natural 
colour and beauty of youth, no mat- 
ter what your age or the cause of 
your greyness. It is not a dye 
nor a stain. Its effects com- 
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I am a woman who became 
prematurely grey and old- 
looking at 27, but through a 
scientific friend I found an 
easy method which actually 
restored my hair to the natural 
colour of girlhood in a surpris- 
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arranged to give full instructions absolutely free of charge to 
any reader of this paper who wishes to restore the natural 
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the use of any greasy, sticky or injurious dyes or stains, and 
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So cut out the coupon below nnd send me your name and nddress 
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Address MRS. MART K. CHAPMAN, Suite 1911, N. Banlgan Bide. PROVIDENCE, R. 1. 




THIS FREE COUPON ffi7,S£lS°i 

to receive Irce of charge Mrs. Chapman's complete instructions to restore 
grey hair to natural colour and beauty of youth. Cut this off and pin to 
your letter. Good for immediate use only : 2 cent stamp for postage 
required. Address Mrs. Mary K. Chapman, Suite 1911 , N.Banigan Bldg., Providence, R.I. 



SPECIAL NOTICE : Every reader of this paper, man or womnn. 
who wishes to be without grey hair for the rest • f their life in 
advised to accept above liberal offer at once. Mrs. Chapman's 
high, standing proves the sincerity of her offer. 

Fur wealth and happiness. Hundreds rich, attract- 
ive — congenial and willing to wed. Interesting 
literature — testimonials, descriptions and photos 
— 21st year.) THE MESSENGER, Jacksonville, Fla. 



MARRY 



Free 



(Ri 



abk 



Q SHORT-STORY WRITING 

\*2g A course of forty lessons in the history, form, structure and 

«NL writing: of the Short-Story taught by Ur. J. Berg Esenweln. Editor, 

^^At IjIppImoU'b Magazine, 250-page catalogue free. Please address 

^^ The Home Correspondence School 

DtJlHBweu. Dcpt* l£9t Springfield, Mass. 

SCENARIO WRITERS, LOOK! 

Has your scenario come back ? Or have you another ? I will type- 
write, revise, criticize, correct, put your scenario in salable form, and 
advise where to sell, for $1.25. Stories put in scenario form, $1.50; 
scenarios criticized, 50c, including plot and technique. Folders, "How 
to Write a Photoplay," "Facts and Pointers," Model Scenario, List of 
Buyers, 10c in coin each. Distant patrons given special attention. 

OLD RELIABLE PAUL W. KEEKER 

1931 Faii-mount Ave. PHILADELPHIA, PA. 



Write Moving Picture Plays 
$ 10 to $ too Each " j 



CONSTANT DEMAND. Devote all or spare time. 
Past experience or literary ability not required. 
No Correspondence School. Details Free. 
Atlas Publishing Co.. 794 Atlas Bank Bldg., Cincinnati, 0. 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



171 



Tti.N.w 




New 

Motorcycle 

Type 



Remarkable new Improvements make the 1914 "Arrow'* a 
positive wonder for speed, comfort and easy riding. Latest 
Eagle easy motorcycle saddle — New Departure coaster brake — 
special motorcycle pedals— motorcycle handbars with long rub- 
ber grips— imported anti-friction chain— reinforced motorcycle 
frame— beautiful finish. All sizes for boys, men and women. 

Write today for tho low. direct offer wo 
are mal; inc on the splendid Arrow bicycle. 
Get our free catalog. A ftmnll amount 
down brinca you tho Arrow— pay for it while you ride— nlitttu Mob month. 
Wfitp Tnrfaif D° 't n °w, and wo will send you details of the re mark - 
iwi iic ■ vuaj juj] e nt!W mac i,i no and bed rock olfcr.Scnd today sure. 

Arrow Cycle Co. •ateSSSEVt Chicago, III. 



Wonderful Offer 



sh«— im« 



»im« 



•mi— — llll" 



| ATLANTIC CITY'S 
Most Popular Hotel 

" THE WAGNER 

VIRGINIA AVENUE AND BEACH 
ATLANTIC CITY, N. J. 

New throughout. Every comfort and 
convenience. Large porches overlooking 
boardwalk, ocean and steel pier. Cuisine 
and service of the highest standard. 

N. H. WAGIHJER 



Special Winter Rates 

Write for reservations. 



SIM 



Mill* 



•llll- 



•III!* 



•llll* 



•IIS 



> LOOK UKE 
•DIAMONDS 

Stand acid and fire diamond test. 
So hard they easily scratch a file and 
will cut glass. Brilliancy guaranteed 
25 years. Mounted in 14k solid gold 
diamond mountings. See them before pay- 
ing. Will send yon any style ring, pin or stnd for 
examination — fill charges prepaid. No money In advance. Money 
refunded If not satisfactory. Write today for free catalog. 

WHITE VALLEY GEM CO., 794 Wulsin Bid jr.. Indianapolis 




UnW TO WRITE PHOTOPLAYS S*rSSS - = 

II^J WW tion picture playwritinjr. Contains a complete mndel scenario, n list 
of 30 scenario buyers, find ALL instruction and information neces- 
sary on thia subject. Endorsed by scenario editors and several prominent writers. 

Price 25c in coin postpaid. PHOTO PUB. CO.. 3348 Lowe Ave, CHICAGO 





BIRD 

MANNA 

MAKES 

CANARIES 

WARBLE 

"Tis the secret preparation used by the 
German Canary Breeders of the St. And 
reasberg- to restore cage birds to health 
and s maraud prevent them from becoming 
ill. Sold by druggists. Mailed for 15c. 

CAUTION— Bird Manna is sold only 
in White Metal Caps with this TRADE- 
MARK in red. Beware of imitations. 

BOOK ON CAGE BIRDS - 120 pages beautifully 
illustrated, showing canaries in their natural colors. Full 
information on song and rare canaries. How to breed them 
for profit. Hints on their diseases and how to cure them. 
All about parrots and how to teach them to talk. A most 
complete work on the subject. Mailed for 15c or sent with 
Bird Manna and Bird Bitters for 50c, by the Philadelphia 
Bird Food Co., 400 N. Third St., Philadelphia, Pa. 





Jewel 

Burlington 

The Master Timepiece 
Now Direct For Only 



A 
Month 



Your own 
■mono- 



THE Superb Burlington 
Watch —adjusted to positions, 
adjusted to temperature and 
adjusted to isochronism — now at the direct rock- 
bottom price — the same price that even the 
wholesale jeweler must pay— and in order to en- 
courage everybody to secure this watch at once, 
pay this rock-bottom price, 
either for cash or $3.o0 a 
month on this great special 

offer. We send the watch on s t*w*JHJ , L»< "superb 
approval, prepaid. You risk abso- gol^strata 

lutely nothing— you p:iy nothing, 
not one cent, unless you want ^ 

thiserrcejjft'onai oiler after ^^Sf -^ V *? 

seeing and thorough" 
inspecting the watch. 

New Ideas in 
Watch Cases 

All yours to choose 
from on this otter. 
Get catalog and see 
Block and Ribbon 
Monograms — Dia- 
mond Set — Lodge — 
French Art — Dragon. 

Watch 
Secrets / 




»■ Burlington Watch Co. 
.* 19lh Street and Marshall Blvd. 
/ Dept. 146S Chicago, 111. 

^ Please send mefwithout obli- 
gations and prepaid), your free 
double-priced products Just M £*« JT^J&gj* 
send the coupon or a letter or § month offer on the Burlington 
a postal. Don't delay— write # Watches. 
— getthisofferwhileitlasts. ff 



Explained in Our Book! 
Learn the inside facts about watcb 
prices and the many superior g 
points of the Burlington over * 



Burlington 
Watch Co. 



/ 

19th St. and Marshall * 
Blvd., Dept. 1468 S 
Chicago, Illinois M 



Name. 



Address* 



Please Mention Photoplay Magazine 



172 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



M 



SBEIMHESSKO 




WINTER 

C.tfAUKXi 



N'«». 



(A 



-'WASHINGTON, 
NEW 



MORTON & 
YORK CITY, 



BAkROW SI'S. 
N. V. 



Our Fashion Catalogue Is FREE 

WRITE FOR IT TODAY 

Ask for Catalogue No. ZC. We pay 
all Mail or Express charges. We 
Satisfy you or Refund your Money. 

Here Are Some Bargains 





5ZC58 Smart 
Winter Coat 

i n fashionable 
Redingote effect, 
made of imported 
All-wool Astra- 
khan Cloth. Coat 
conforms to the figure at the 
waistline, where the lower 
part is joined, giving the 
effect of a skirt. At waistline 
on each side is a wide pointed 
flap trimmed with plush buttons. 
Gladstone collar, which may be 
worn turned down flat or rolled up, 
and wide pointed revers, also 
the cuffs are made of rich 
plush. Coat fastens with 
large plush buttons, and is 
lined with high-grade guar- 
anteed satin. Length is 52 
inches. Colors: black, Rus- 
sian green or gray with black 
plush trimming, also in a rich 
shade of brown with brown 
plush. Sizes 32 to 44 bust, 
also to fit Misses and Small 
Women, 32 to 38 bust. Price, 

All Mail or Ex- ^ ^ - OQ 
i press Charges,])! /\ Jyo 
Paid by Us . . 1 f l 




6ZC59 Sailor Shape Hat 

with brim of lustrous heavy 
pile Plush and crown of pol- 
ished plush, trimmed with 
grosgrain ribbon band with 
bow in back. Colors : all 
black or navy blue, also in 
black with white crown. 

Price, All Mail or <l» <| nn 
Express Charges «P I I/O 



1ZC60 Faultlessly Tailored Suit in the 

hew Redingote effect, made of All-Wool Mannish 

Serge. Coat has wide stitched belt, which fastens 

at front with fancy enamel buttons. 

It is a graceful semi-fitted model cut 

46 inches in length. The collar is 

inlaid with velvet and trimmed 

self-covered buttons. The back 

is arranged in two side plaits at 

each side extending from waist 

to hem. Coat is lined with 

guaranteed satin. Skirt is made 

with a yoke to hip depth. Front 

is plain, and in back is a double 

panel box-plait. Suit comes in t 

Russian green, navy blue, 

black or prune(dark purple). 

Sizes 33 to 44 bust, 37 to 44 

skirt length; also to fit Misses 

and Small Women 32 to 38 

bust, 37 to 40 skirt length. 

Price, All Mail or Express 

Charges Paid 

by Us . 



$1522 



6ZC61 Hand-made 
Dress Turban of silk 
velvet and Satin. The high 
oval crown is fitted with 
satin with a velvet top, and 
the brim rolls up at left side, 
where it is trimmed with 
plaited satin cockade, hold- 
ing in place the high Ostrich 
fancy, in French tip effect. 
Comes in all black, black 
with white fancy, black with 
Russian green fancy, also in 
solid navy blue. 
Price, All Mail or 
Ex p ress Charges 
Paid by Us ... . 



Paid by Us 

Ask for Catalogue No. ZC 

We pay all Mail or Express Charges 



$398 




w 



5ZC58 

COAT 
$14.98 



Bellas Hess <LG> 

WASHINGTON. MORTON &. BARROW STS. 

NEW YORK CITY, N.Y 



1ZC60 

SUIT 

$1522 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



173 



This Book Is Free 

The Mysteries of Hypnotism and 
Personal Magnetism Revealed 



Herbert L. Flint, one of the best known hyp- 
notists in the world, has just published a remark- 
able book on hypnotism, personal magnetism and 
magnetic healing. It is by far the most wonderful 
and comprehensive treatise of the kind ever 
printed. Mr. Flint has decided to give, for a 
limited time, a free copy to every person sincerely 
interested in these wonderful sciences. Tin's book 
is based upon years of practical experience by a 
man who has hypnotized more people than any 
other one person. 

You can now learn about the secrets of hyp- 
notism and personal magnetism at your own home 
free. 




Hypnotism strengthens your memory and develops your will. It 
overcomes bashfulncss, revives hope, stimulates ambition and 
determination to succeed. It Rives you that self-confidence which 
enables you to convince people of your real worth. It gives you 
the key to the inner secrets of mind control. It enables you to 
control the thoughts and actions of others. When you understand 
tliis grand and wonderful science, you can plant suggestions in 
human minds which will be carried out In a day or even a year 
hence in some cases. You can cure bad habits and diseases in 
yourself and others. You can cure yourself of Insomnia, nervous- 
ness and business or domestic worry. You can instantaneously 
hypnotize subjects with a mere glance of the eye without their 
knowledge and powerfully influence them to do as you desire. 
You can develop to a marvelous degree any musical or dramatic 
talent you may have. You can increase your telepathic or clair- 
voyant powers. You can give thrilling and funny hypnotic enter- 
tainments. You can win the esteem and everlasting friendship of 
those you desire. You can protect yourself against the influence 
of others. You can become a financial success and be recognized 
as a power in your community. 

This book of Flint's will tell you how to learn the secret of 
attaining these things. Flint is the most successful and best known 
hypnotist in the world. He has appeared before thousands of 
audiences. lie will carry out every promise faithfully. If you 
want a copy of this book free, send your name and address on a 
postal card— no money— to Herbert L. Flint, Dept. 52 4A, Cleveland, 
Ohio, and you will receive the book by return mall postpaid. 



AnyAVfettch 
YouV\£int 

ON CREDIT 



i^ 



?j 



i-4 



% 




SerVfr 
on 



WALTHAM 

ELGIN 
HOWARD 
HAMILTON' 

ILLINOIS 



30DaysFreoTrial 



No Money Down 

Express Prepaid in Advance by Me 

You take no chances with me. I am 'Square Deal 1 Miller 
and I trust the people. That is why I am doing the great- 
est Credit Watch, Diamond and Jewelry business in the 
country. Suppose you want any one of the country's beat 
makes or watches ? Name any one. 1 have it for you, No 
Money Down, Express Prepaid. A Full Month lO 
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Payments. That's the test that tells. All these watches 

Guaranteed 25 Y ears 

■ Smash the Terms 

No References Demanded 

My terms are made to suit you. You get unlimited credit 
with no red tape, notes or collectors — no unnecessary detail 

An **Open Char&e" Account 

the same kind of credit you get from your grocer. No 
matter where you live or what your income is, you can 
now own the finest watch, a beautiful diamond or any 
rare piece of Jewelry and never miss the money. 

Costly Catalog FREE 

Send me your name and address on the coupon, a post 
card or letter, so 1 can mail you. Free and postpaid, the 
most beautiful catalog of its kind ever printed. I want 
you to have this hook. It's a gem. It illustrates all makes 

of valuable Watches, Elegant Genuine Diamonds 

and a vast assortment of Beautiful Jewelry, all on the 
easiest and most liberal terms. Write for this book today 
and get a letter from me that will make you a friend of 
mine from the start. Take My Word For It, 

Square Deal MILLER, Pres. 

MILLER-HOEFER CO., 381 Miller Bldg., Detroit, MUh. 

This Coupon Brians My Big FREE Book 

SQUARE DEAL MILLER, Pres. 

381 Miller Bids., Detroit, Mich. 

Dear Sir: Please send to me without cost or obligation your Big Book 
on all Makes of High Grade Watches, Genuine Diamonds und Jewelry, 
and full information on your Easy Payment, Ko Money Down and 
30 Day Trial Plan. 



Name- 



Address. 



Please Mention Photoplay Maguzino 



174 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



FREE "POSTAGE" STAMPS 



OF ALL YOUR FAVORITE PLAYERS 

One Hundred of the Moit Popular Motion Picture Actors and Actresses Now Have "Postage 
Stamps" Bearing Their Portraits. You Can Get these Beautiful, Colored Portrait Stamps with 
gummed backs Free by Simply Writing and Asking for a Stamp from each, and thus Form a 

Valuable Complete Collection. 

Newspapers are filled with accounts of this latest collection craze. Young 
and old alike are collecting these stamps and pasting them in albums, 
trading in them, or using them as seals on the back of their letters. 




new craze is 



countrj 




sweeping 

It is the collecting of "postage stamps iprov> 
bearing the latest portraits of American are 
motion picture actors and actresses'. Of 
course, these stamps are not actually 
good for postage, but otherwise thej^ 

reprcgfi&L ^ostase s tamps^^flfcfcfeaJ ''^ 
■^^^^^^^fvierij 
Mue. ,The stamps arc 
most pleasing In design' and printed inl 
beautiful colors: They are really ob-| 
jecta . of artistic value,- and therefore I 
heir possession is eagerly sought by thfj 
" ers of motion picture playe rs. 



ally aiwailllve 
A collection of these stamps will soon 
be of undoubted cash value, as- new de- 
signs are constantly being made and the 
first ones will in .time-grow very scarce, i 
All (hose who have collected postage 
tamps know that some series which are 
no longer used bring fabulous prices-, as 
high as a thousand dollars liavinc often 
been paid for an old, cancelled postage 
stamp by some enthusiastic collector 
who needed it to complete his collection 
and who. had neglected to secure it in 
the days when it could have been had 
for the asking. 




These are only four out of the one hundred portrait stamps that form the complete collection. 
It is impossible to reproduce in the above illustrations the clearness, beauty, rich color, and 
artistic values of the actual stamp. Each stamp is three times as large as an ordinary stamp. 

QUICK and CHEAP WAY TO GET COMPLETE COLLECTION 



(To -write one hundred letters to photoplayers would take a lot of time and cost you $2.00 for postage, 
every one answers your letter, your collection will be incomplete and therefore valueless.) 



Unless 



We are authorized by the leading players to distribute their stamps, and can save 
you time, trouble and money. We can send you a Complete set, including all the 
rare ones. We send you absolutely free of cost a Copenhagen Blue Album with 
ruled spaces for one hundred Stamps and also a Full and Complete set of one hundred 
different portrait stamps, colored like real postage stamps, if you will send us the 
name of the Theatre you usually visit and also enclose 15 two cent stamps to cover 
cost of assorting and mailing. 

Simply mail us your name and address, the name of the motion picture theatre you visit, and enclose 15 
two-cent stamps, or three dimes, and you -will receive by return mail the stamp album and the COMPLETE 
SET OF ONE HUNDRED STAMPS. Please don't forget to give us the name of your favorite theatre. 

Jlddras THE THEATRE SUPPLY CO., 1505 Broadway, N. Y. 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



175 



Hotel Cumberland 



Broadway, at 54th Street - NEW YORK 

Near 50th St. Subway Station and 53d St. Elevated 

"Broadway" Cars 

from Grand Central 

Depot. 

7th Ave. Cars from 
Penna. Station. 

New and Fireproof 

Best Hotel Accom- 
modations in New 
York at Reasonable 
Rates. 

$2.50 with Bath 
and up 

European plan. . 

All Hardwood 

Floors and Oriental 

Rugs. 

Ten minutes' walk 
to 40 Theaters 

Excellent 
Restaurant. 
Prices Moderate. 
Send for Booklet 

HARRY P. STIMSON, Formerly with Hotel Imperial 




Only New York Hotel Window-Screened Throughout. 



LITTLE MARY 

The Girl of the Golden Curls 

Id eight eharneterititie poxex. Size, -I'-xli^, 
So eta. per set, or hand colored 65 ctii. 
HANDSOME riCKFOKU POSTCA It US, SET OP FOR 20e 
Also handsome photo poitc&rds of over 400 plioto- 
playcrs, acting for over 30 companies, all star*, sent 
postpaid, set of seventeen with catalog, for -."> ets. 
King of funny fellows, John Him ay, in ten characteristic poses, 25c per set. 
THE FILM PORTRAIT CO., 127A 1st Place, Brooklyn, N. Y. 




nj| A LOLOAf RICH ^ if; list nf descriptions and 
IVI#%l\l% T ■»■**■»■ photos of congenial people 
„ . , _ with means who want to marry, FREE. 

Either 3 ^. STANDARD COm CLUB, GBAYSLAKE, ILL 




Don't You Like SfcKSt 

You can have the same 

I ACUMCCU ahairfood, applied once 
LHOII1I1.CII each day. will absolutely 
produce thick and long eyebrow;* and eye- 
fashes. Easy to apply — sure in results. 
I ACUIIFEU 1H sn Oriental formulae. 
LHdni1b_E.il One box is nil you will need. 
Not sold at druggists. Mailed on receipt of 
5c coin or stamps. 
LASHNEEN CO M PAN Y, Philadelphia 



iyu££ 




DWNABU5INE55WHERE 
THE CRDWD5 ARE ALWAYS 
WAITING TQ HAND YDU MONEY 



i 



The Motion Picture Business Is the 
Business.. .It's the greatest Money mak- 



you how you can start with a very small capital ."and beg-in I 
making money from the very start. , t , ■ 



ABSOLUTELY NO EXPERIENCE NEEDED 

3 book is a guide for the inexpc 

.a to tho business and how to c< 

send for your copy today. It's free. 



■ — ■ it tells everything' per. I 

s and how to conduct it profitably. .Don't wait, ■» 



send lor your Copy today, it s tree. 

P. & W. SALES COMPANY, 902 Como Bid?., Chicago, III. J 



254 36080. 

US 






Sweets Jewels 

FOR YOUR S WEE THEAR T 

arc an everlasting token of love and affection. They will keep rosy 
the memory of that eventful Christmas or other occasion Our cata- 
logue de luxe contains many appropriate suggestions, and illustra- 
tions of a superior grade of perfect cut Blue White Diamonds, Watches, 
Jewelry and Silverware and explains how they can be obtained on 

OUR CREDIT .TERMS 
20% DOWN — 10% MONTHLY 

>^ Yon enjoy every advantage in price and quality. Guarantee 
w certificate given with each diamond. Full credit allowed a 
\\ on exchanges. Transactions strictly confidential. 
* Vv Write to-day for Catalogue No 42 

t \\ L. W. SWEET & CO., 2 A S?w\oXS# ME - / 






36?7?""1^?r!ii50. 36180 —$75.. 




170 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 




2 Camera Books 

FREE!! 

Amateur photographers ! Here are two valuable 

pamphlets for you. Put your name and address on the 
coupon below— mo obligation whatever— and get our camera 
book and a copy of thelngento Photo News, a regular mag- 
azine at 25 cents subscription price, sent free on this offer. 

If you are thinking of buying a camera and want to 
learn how to make good pictures quickly and easily, 
how to get results surely, now to focus, how to make 
time exposures, how to judge light effects ; then read the 
Ingento Photo News. We send a copy free to advertise 

The Newest 

Latest Invention in Cameras 

The new Ingento camera will give you for the same 
money vastly superior results. Equipped with the new 
type genuine acutic lens, flexible wire release, reversible 
finder.genuineleather bellows and automatic focusing lock. 



?ooo 



AA and we ship you 
"" the great Ingento 
camera for per- 
sonal examination 




Balance payable only if satis- 
fied. Cub cameras at $3.00 
and $5.00. Ingentos, $10.00 and 
up. We prefer to sell, in all 
cases, through our dealer, but 
will ship direct where we have no dealer. You risk nothing. 
You pay us nothing unless you are absolutely satisfied. 

Write Now for the Two 



BurkesJamesiw \ 

Dopt. 1468 *» 

240-252 East Ontario Street 
CHICAGO, ILL. 



Camera Books 

, A postal card or just your 
V name and address on this cou- 
Gentlemen : — Without \ pen, without any letter will 

arty obligation -whatever, \ do. We send these books 

•end mo free your Camera ♦, free to advertise our new 
instructioM to amateur pm> V and address today. _ 

t0grapher * \ BuftesJamesik 

\ Established 16 years as 
4r> manufacturers <^f the 

jhfltm, inniiiiim,.! „.-j.i \ highest grade camera 

V supplies. Nowtnanufat- 

\ tttrers of the "World's 

*♦ newest, best camera. 

Address V Dapti M68 

\ 240-252 E. OiflarloSt, 

V CHICAGO, ILL. 

Deiler'a Numo • »«■■■■■■■■■■ 



No More Wrinkles 

BEAUTIFUL BUST 



Superfluous Hair Vanishes Like Magic 
Eyelashes Beautified 



Pimples and Blackheads Removed Forever 




Let this Woman Send you Free, everything she Agrees, 
and Beautify your Face and Form Quickly 

This clever woman has not a wrinkle upon her face; she ha" 
perfected a marvelous, simple method which brought a wonderfu 
change In her face in a single night. For removing wrinkles and 
developing the bust, her method is truly wonderfully rapid. 

She made herself the woman she is today and brought about 
tho wonderful change in her appearance in a secret and pleasant 
manner. Her complexion is as cleat and fair as that of a child. 
She turned her scrawny figure into a beautiful bust and well- 
developed form. She had thin, scrawny eyo lashes and eyebrows, 
which could scarcely be seen, and bbe made them Ions, thick and 
beautiful by her own methods and removed every blackhead and 
pimple from her face in .a singlo night. 

You can imagine her joy, when by her own simple discovery, 
sho removed every wrinkle from her face and developed her thin 
neck and form to beautiful proportions. 

Nothing is taken into the stomach, no common massage, no 
harmful plasters, no worthless creams. 

By her new process, she removes wrinkles and develops the 
whole figure plump and fat. 

It is simply astonishing the hundreds of women who write 
In regarding tho wonderful results from this new beauty treat- 
ment, which is beautifying their face and form after beauty 
doctors and other methods failed. She has thousands of letters 
on file like the following: 

Mrs. M. L. B., Albin, Miss., writes: "I have used your beauty 
treatment with wonderful success. I have not a wrinkle on my 
face now and it is also improving my complexion, which has 
always troubled me with pimples and blackheads. My weight 
was 112 pounds before taking your treatment and now I weigh 
117, a gain of 5 pounds. Your treatment Is a Godsend to all 
thin women. I am so grateful you may even use my letter if 
you wish." 

Miss P. S., Swanton, Ohio, says: "I consider your treatment 
wonderful. I can scarcely believe my eyes when I look in the 
mirror." 

The valuable new beauty book which Madame Clare is sending 
frco to thousands of women is certainly a blessing to woman- 
kind, as it makes known her remarkable methods of beautifying 
tho face and figuro of unattractive women. 

AH our readers should write her at once and she will tell you 
.absolutely free about her various new beauty treatments and will 
show our readers: 

How to remove superfluous hair; 

How to develop the bust: 

How to make long, tiiick eyelashes and eyebrows; 

How to remove superfluous hair; 

How to remove blackheads, pimples and freckles; 

How to remove dark circles under the eyes; 

How to quickly remove double chin; 

How to build up sunken cheeks and add flesh to the body; 

How to derken gray hair and stop hair falling; 

How to stop forever perspiration odor. 

Simply address your letter to Helen Clare, Suite D114, 2637 
Michigan Ave., Chicago, 111., and don't send any money, because 
particulars are free, as this charming woman is doing her utmost 
to benefit girls or women in need of secret information which 
will add to their beauty and make life sweeter and lovelier In 
every way. 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



177 



HON 




Get Into the 5c Business Where the ^sfe=fc=ig 
Crowds Are Always Streaming In 54 STORE 



No other 5c business pays as large profits ; no other business 
has such a steady flow of customers as the POP CORN, CRISP- 
ETTE, and CANDY BUSINESS. The nickels simply pour in all 
day long, and the profits are $8.00 net on every $10.00 you take in. 
If you want to make money, there is nothing to be compared 
with this business. The sales are enormous and continuous, 
and it is an easy business to start, because — 

YOU NEED VERY LITTLE MONEY 

We will furnish a complete DELLENBARGER OUTFIT, the best the 
market affords, at the very lowest price, and let you pay for it on easy terms, in 
fact make it so easy for you that you can start at once and — 

PAY US LATER FROM YOUR PROFITS 

We teach you the business free, tell you how to make the most money with the least effort t how 
to get the crowds coming to your store. In fact we help you in every way, and no experience 
is necessary. If you're tired of working on a salary; if you're dissatisfied with being at the beck 
and call of an employer, get into business for yourself. We help you and make your success 
sure by teaching you the business and coaching you along the lines to The Road of Wealth. 

DELLENBARCER'S KETTLED POPPED POP-CORN 

is a new process which moans large,light, fluffy and tender kernels that melt in your 
mouth. The CKISPKXTE OUIFlT produces crispettes wonderfully and delicious; 
the kind that wins the "Come- Back-to- (jet-More'* crowds. Here's your opportunity, 
GRASP IT, before someone else gets the location. Write today for full particulars ana 
Get Started Right NOW. Our big generous co-operation offer FRKE 
° catalog, and full particulars, explaining 

1 ,-n how we start you on easy payments, will come by return mail. DON'T WAIT. 
V I y Don't put off this opportunity. Investigate; know how to become independent. 
Address A.J. DELLENBARGER, 6IS W.Jackson Blvd., CHICAGO, ILL, 




3C 



Vw 



j*** 



M 



in 




^Ti 



IAMONDS ON 



■ ■■ 



7I44~$I00 



' Let us tell how you can wear a LYON 
I Blue-white Diamond while paying for it. 
Only 20% down and 10% a month. Sent 
prepaid for inspection. No Security requir- 
ed. A binding Guarantee Certificate 
with each Diamond. ^FIL 

ASK FOR CATALOG NoMty 

10% discount for Cash. 

J. M. LYON & CO. 

71-73 Nassau Street NEW YORK ' 



JUUJ 




Beauty 

AND 

Wealth 



Let Schorl's System of Beauty Culture 
show you how to obtain both. Full instruc- 
tions. Scores of valuable formulas. Beautify 
yourself. Start a Beauty Shop. Start man- 
ufacturiiiK Beauty Specialties. Complete 
System S1.00. Particulars FREE. 
CALLAHAN & CO.. 1 16 W.Ontario St., Chicago 



SONG POEMS WANTED 

I have actually paid writers THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS 
in royalties. Send me samples of your work for free criticism 
or write for FREE BOOKLET and fairest, most liberal prop- 
osition offered. We employ only successful methods. Estab. 
16 years. JOHN T. HALL, Pre.. 150 Colombo Circle, NEW YORK 

Look 10 to 15 Years Younger 

If your hoir is Gray or Faded, don't use 
poisonous hair dyes, but' write to-day for 

Free Illustrated Book, describing the 

"Id.. I Comb" that will restore it to youthful 

color simply by romhinir. 

II. D. COMB CO., Dipt. 9-15, E. 26th St., NEW YORK 




CE HUINE DIAMOND jjj R j js| g S 222S5SS225 

IP&ijy^lJl ppcL "' 

gSL^fsffCal 4 solid Bold filled Rings, %gf£L&, 

"^^.i iiit^^^ guaranteed for 3 years. •wfllmtL=. 

TIFFANY WEPDIN O IfSrSiPh^ou^ln'ifiLl: SKHEt-YOURIHITIAl 

"1 Tilfany Wcddirtf? and your £*"*" 

J DirthstoneallFrco. Just j 

order 12 easy-to-R«ll jew- I 







i 4 beautiful Rinirs j 
.„ „>f«ira. Order today. * 
NATIONAL GIFT COMPANY, Box Ml 70, ELM IRA, N.Y. 

AUTHORS and SCENARIO WRITERS 

Write Plays, Sketches, etc., for publishers and pro- 
ducers. Full instructions with all markets, $1. Send 
$1 at once. Scenarios revised and rewritten with 
markets, $1 each, 6 for $5. Send money orders. 
E. L. GAMBLE, Author. EAST LIVERPOOL. O. 



178 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



Earn a Rocker Easily 



This Big Value 7 Bar Box Contains 
7 of Our Most Popular Toilet 
Soaps. 75c Value — You 
Sell It for Only ,~/rf 

50 Cents 




Sell 25 Boxes 
of This Soap and 
Earn This Fine 
Upholstered 

ROCKER 



DON'T MISS THIS BIG OFFER! 



WE will send this fine 
Rocker and 25 boxes of 
our Big Bargain seven 
(7) Bar Box of Assorted Toilet 
Soap to any responsible person, 
on 30 days' credit. Don't send 
any money unless you want to 
— just fill out the Coupon 
below — give names of two re- 
liable business men of your 
town as references, and if satis- 
factory we will ship Soap and 
Rocker at once. 

You sell this Soap at 50c a box, send 
us $12.50 when it is sold, and you have 
the Rocker as your reward. 

Soap Easy to Sell 

Anyone can quickly sell twenty-five 
boxes of this high grade Toilet Soap. 
Boys and girls can easily earn this 
Rocker by selling Soap after school. 
Friends and neighbors will be glad to 
buy because of the big value. 

Everybody knows that Crofts & Reed's 
Products are of high quality. We have been 
making GOOD goods for twenty-six years. 
People everywhere want Crofts & Reed's 
Soap. You will be surprised how easy you 
can earn this handsome Rocker. Remember, 
you take no risk— we take everything back at 
our expense if you are not perfectly satisfied. 

CROFTS & REED CO. 

D ept, A-4 1 1 CHICAGO 



Description of 
Rocker No. 90174 

Frame of Solid Oak, 
Golden Oak finish; 
front posts and armH 
4 inches wide; 8 3 * in. 
square fillers under 
arms ; seat measures 
21x20 inches; spring 
construction. Rocker 
upholstered in beat 
black imitation lea- 
ther; back 27 inches 
high from seat. 




(209) 



If Cash Accompanies Order 

we will send you a 70c box of 
chocolates as a Present for Cash. 



.................. USE THIS COUPON ....... 

CROFTS & REED CO., Dept. A-41I. CHICAGO 

Please ship to my address 25 Boxes Assorted Soap and Rocker No 

90174. I agree to sell the Soap and send you $12.50 within 30 days 



Name 

Address 

Post Office State 

Reference Business. 

Reference " Business. 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



170 



A DOLLAR PHOTOGRAPH 



of 



Mary Pickford 

ALMOST 

FREE 

Entirely new process; far superior to lithographing; known as 
water-color hand finish 




Copyrighted IQ14 

Th= Ar! Color Portrait is FIFTY Times 
as Largo as Above Reproduction 



This richly colored portrait on heavy art photo-board to stand on your 
bureau will not require a frame, as embossed design frames it. A new pose 
— rich in color. The most beautiful and artistic colored photograph of this 
popular star of the Famous Players Film Company ever made. No adver- 
tising on the portrait. Send Twenty-five Cents in Stamps or Coin for Packing and Mailing 

PHOTOPLAYERS PORTRAIT CO., 1505 Broadway, NEW YORK 




FREE 



WATCH 

RING&CHAIN 

* Wo civo beautifully 
cnurav.d. Utcelntyle, 

es' •mall or mtf nlzc 

ihuntinfT or open case WATCH. Pine 
J time keeper, guaranteed 5 ycara; looks 
./and wears like tmld. 
/Alaolm. Diamond Ring 
/nnd H.indeome Chain. 
r ALL FREE. Juntorder20/ 
eaey to acll fine assorted ■ 
*>1F>-- — ■-umi — Jrwrlry novelties. Sell nt IOcM 
5' SET each. Ex tragi ft if you order now 

IDEAL WATCH CO. DeptM igs ELMIRA.N.Y. 




IS HE CRAZY? 

r PHE owner of a plantation in Mississippi is 
giving away a few five-acre tracts. The only 
condition is that figs be planted. The owner wants 
enough figs raised to supply a Canning Factory. 
You can secure five acres and an interest in the 
Factory by writing Eubank Farms Company, 773 
Keystone, Pittsburgh, Pa. They will plant and 
care for your trees for $6.00 per month. Your 
profit should be $1,000 per year. Some think 
this man is crazy for giving away such valuable 
land, but there may be method in his madness. 



400 VARIETIES 



100 



n Postcard Photos of Pop- 
ular Pho topi avers. Get 
acquainted with the 



on. Send $1 nQ 
names or companies. f MW 
Actual photographs, size 8x10, SOc ea. 

Send for complete catalog listing haqp%colored 
cards, pictures, etc., giving full list of names. 

Photo Start Portrait Co., Anderson, Ind. 




THE SAB0 PAINLESS HAIR REMOVER 

Only instrument that removes superfluous hair, permanently and painlessly. 
No drugs. No chemicals. Not a needle. Entirely automatic, A 82 
bill brings this Parcel Post, with written money-back guarantee. 
Toilet necessity. Descriptive folder and information FREE. 
SABO MFG. CO., R. 1., 3110 W. 25th St., Cleveland, Ohio 



Learn Photoplay Acting 

Seldom is there offered such an excep- 
tional future in any profession as is now- 
found in the photoplay field. Film pro- 
ducing companies are eager to secure 
players who have Special training in 
this work — they must have them and 
stand ready to pay large salaries to the 
trained players. Yet they cannot get 
them, for few have the proper training. 
YOU may be exceptionally well equippd to under- 
take this fascinating and profitable work. Still, you 
lack the training the producing companies insist upon. 
We instruct in the art of photoplay acting in all 
its branches. Refinement and culture pervade. 
Instruction is given by competent directors and 
played from actual scenarios^in the largest and 
best equipped studio in the country. We in- 
struct and train the beginner in every detail. 
Special Course of Instruction BY MAIL, teaching 
you also how to write and dispose of photoplay 
SCENARIOS. 

Send 25 cents in stamps or coins for 
full particulars explaining our methods. 

International Photoplay Studio 

Loew's Orpheum Theatre 
Dept. 10, 169 East 86th St., New York 



Please Mention Photoplay Magazine 



180 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



A Chicago Girl's 
Harrowing Adventure! 



Drugged in a Restaurant She Barely 
Escapes an Unknown Fate! 




Under the title of "A Timely Warning," 
the Illinois Athletic Club Magazine for August, 

1914, prints the story of Miss . , whose 

father is a prominent club member. The girl 
is eighteen, cultured, refined. While shopping 
in Chicago one day, she stopped in at a well- 
known, and presumably respectable, restaurant 
for lunch. A well-dressed elderly woman sat 
opposite her, and failing to draw the young 
lady into conversation, dropped her 'kerchief. 

She asked Miss to pick it up. A 

few moments later, the girl fell in a swoon — 
likely caused by some opiate dropped into her 
food during that moment of thoughtless courtesy. 
In the rest-room, she aroused sufficiently to 
hear the woman say, " She'll be all right soon. 
She has these attacks frequently. My machine 
is outside and I'll take her right home." The 
girl struggled for speech, denied knowledge of 
the woman, gave her father's name, and fainted 
again. She was saved from a nameless fate ! 



U 



The Girl Who Disappeared" 

By CLIFFORD G. ROE 

is a work that tells how and why so many beautiful,' innocent girls vanish — are swallowed 
up in the mystery that envelops every day and every hour — of great cities and small towns. 
It is a volume that every father and mother, every sister and brother should read. It thrills with 
the most amazing adventures, mystery and pathos — and stands alone as a book unlike all others. 
You must send for this — NOW. Send while this special price prevails. Remit just one dollar 
by postofhce or express money order, bank draft or currency in a registered letter to: 

THE UPLIFT PRESS, 8 S. Dearborn St., Chicago, 111. 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



181 



% 



NOW READY 



Jos. DeRoy& Sons' Diamond I 

Bargain Bulletin 

Wonderful values in unredeemed 
pledges. We took them asaeenri ty for money we 

loaned. Now we are Belling them at amazing low prices — 
only a fraction of their original, coal— to getour money back. 

G <>■/*> *f You save as much as Vz or 

V0VI7II morn on our exnired loans. Our 



more on our expired loans. Our 

customers' letters prove it. The pledges .on which loans 
have now expired consist of diamonds, jewelry, watch- 
es, etc. All pictured and fully described in our New 
Bargain Bulletin. Send for it. Just note these won. 
derf ul values from our bargain lis t. 

No.254959. 

1— A karat 

weightofthe 
bluo - white 



Expired Loans 

Don't wait till the bargain 
you want is gone. We have unre- 
deemed diamonds now in all sizes— but 
their number is limited — hardly two 
alike. Bead these startling offers. 

Mo. 263 081. Hamilton Railroad 

Watch. 21-jcwel adjusted Hamilton in 
serviceable- case. Guaranteed new con- 
dition and to pass inspection on any, 
railroad. Try to match at $40. Unra-i 
tfMRiadprlc* • ••*.. 519.6S. 

Free Examination 

You need not buy. Examine first. 
We ship any article by express, prepaid. 
Keep it if satisfied or send it back at oar 
expense. No obligations whatsoever. Ask 
about liberal guaranteed cash loan plan. 

Write Today 6l0 n " KeBaBS „ 

ional Bank,Marine National Bank, or any No. Z04108. ?— ft, rfi tt 

JioO.OOO.OO. Over 60 years in the same 10- diamond. To appreciate this 
cation. Write now. Simply say. "Sendbanrain just try to match it 
your New Barttain Bulletin." Get tatUjPK>£U>SM£"L£* 
choice of the amazing bargains. Vmi2SEt8B*t&& 

JOS. DeROY & SONS Only Opposite Postofficc 

14S8DoRoy Bldg. Smlthfiold St. Pittsburgh. P.. 




FREE; T0ILCT 



i ARTICLES 



Beautiful Women 

OF THE MOVING PICTURE WORLD 

An instantaneous hit has been made 
amonztltc leading lady artists by CROSS' 

THEATRICAL LIQUID MAKE-UP 

a thick liquid to cover neck, face, arms and 
hands. Blends evenlyand won't rub oft, 
giving a dainty, pearl-Hke whiteness, cov- 
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and benefiting while it beautifies. For 
street, house or theatre use. and especially 
recommended to tho'se attending dances 
or evening entertainments. If you will 
send us SO rents for a bottle, we will mail 
you absolutely free a box of COLONIAL 
FACE POWDER (five shades), one of 
the mo«t exquisite powders ever made, 
extraordinary in its smoothness and al- 
most invisible fineness. It gives an un- 
usual looking peach-bloom effect to the 
skin. We Mill also send frcea jar of the celebrated "Indian Maid Rouge 
Paste," so natural in blood color that it cannot be detected on face or lips. 
1* .nav he also use! to tint the nails. Our One- Minute Hair Remover may 
be had in place of liquid if you desire. This is theirrcntcnt toilet Roodaloffur 
ever made, and you net a maximum of quality at a minimum of coat. 

W. N. CROSS. 4327 Grand Blvd.. CHICAGO. ILL. 




PERSONAL MAGNETISM 



THE KEY to Be forceful ! 

SUCCESS Develop per- 
sonality. I can show you how. Write for "Whv Men Succeed." 
It's FREE. A. OT/TO. 57 East Van Buren, Chicago 



gsiJrial Bottle 




Send for 




of Rieccer's Flower Drops (Concentrated). It s 
new! It's different. The rarest and finest perfume 
overproduced. The acme of elegnnce and refine- 
ment—entirely different from any perfume you 
have ever known. 



Trade MarKRegis tire! 

flower 



ops 



Made without alcohol. Lasts 50 times as Ions 
as other perfumes. We make this special offer 
of a dainty trial bottle so that you may try 
Flower Drops (Concentrated) at our risk. Your 
money refunded if you are not delighted. 
Choice of odors: Lily of the Valley, Hose, Violet. 
Flower Drops in extract form sold in bulk — 
any quantity desired, $1.00 per oz. 



«/■_;*.«» T-J-- Now— take advantage of this trial 
WCllC 1 OQay bottle offer by enclosing 20 cents, 
coin or stamps, with your name and address. Don't wait. 
Mention the name of your dealer. 



lar Paul Rieger, 150 First Street, San Francisco, Cut, 

Paris San Francisco 



Successful 
Photoplay Writing! 

Taught by America's leading Authority on the 
Photodrama, HENRY ALBERT PHILLIPS. 
Only personally conducted Course in the world; 
only school recommended by authorities. 
Name is a guarantee of honesty, efficiency and 
SUCCESS. Courses in PHOTOPLAY WRIT- 
ING, STORY WRITING and PLOT CON- 
STRUCTION. Catalog on request. It will pay 
you to look into this School before you make a 
mis-step. Send 10c for " Photoplay Market. " 

PHILLIPS STUDIO 

Box 11PB 156 5th Ave. New York 

"The Photodrama" 

225 Pages— Cloth— $2.00 Postpaid 

By HENRY ALBERT PHILLIPS 

Introduction by J. Stuart Black ton, Vi tagraph Co. 

The one Big: Book on this subject. It contains sample 
Photoplay and Dictionary of Terms. It shows you every- 
thing:: Where to get Plots; How to use them; How to 
make any material Dramatic ; How to get the Punch ; 
How to write Photoplays that sell 1 Used in Schools, Col- 
leges, Libraries throughout U. S. "PLOT OF THE 
STORY" and "ART IN STORY NARRATION." by the 
same author, $1.20 each. Both valuable to Photoplay- 
wright. Above 3 books, $4 ; " Photodrama" and either of 
others, S3. Add 10c to out of New York checks for collection. 

STANHOPE -DODGE, Publishers 

Box 11PB. LARCHMONT, N. Y. 



And right now we have more advertisers using space with 
us than ever before. Photoplay Magazine shows a gain 
this month. Hard times ? No, sir ! Not when you have a 
live magazine. Forms for December close October 20th. 



182 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



Enter This Contest! 

How Would You Like to See Movie 
Stars on the Legitimate Stage? 

Would Movie Stars succeed in the "legitimate" drama? 

Would they have the proper " stage presence ? " 

Would they fumble over their lines ? 

Is film drama an art so different from legitimate drama the gap cannot 
be crossed? Many theatrical folk — including a number of leading managers — 
are wrestling with these questions now, and Photoplay Magazine has inaug- 
urated a contest (a new, different kiryl of contest) to solve the riddle. 



We Need Your Help 

Think of some of the dramas that 
have been staged within the past dozen 
years — and then tell us what movie 
stars you believe would be suited to 
the parts. 

If the theatrical managers are made 
to see that the photoplay actors and 
actresses have so enormous a following, 
then those stars receiving the largest 
number of votes will be selected — and 
a company will be formed to play in 
the larger cities — not indefinitely, but 
over a period. 

Your Votes Count 

Photoplay Magazine needs your 
votes to help do the deciding. Attached 
is a coupon, which you are to pin or 
paste to your letter. Write your name 
and address plainly. Each coupon gives 
you the right to five votes. 

You may vote for one movie star as 
a candidate for five different parts in 
five different plays — or you may vote 
for five different movie stars to take five 
different parts in five plays, or in one play. 



THIS COUPON GOOD 
FOR S VOTES 

Attach this coupon to your letter and 
register five votes, naming your movie 
favorites, the parts you would like to 
see them play on the stage — and the 
name of the play. 



If you attach two coupons, without 
respect to their date, you may double 
the votes. Five votes for every coupon! 

Make your letters brief — no com- 
ments outside of the votes themselves. 
Write your letter like this : 

/ vote for- 



(Nanie of movie actor or actress* 



to appear tn- 
in the role of— 



(Name of play) 



(Name of part) 
You may register five votes for one person 
for one part in the same play. If you write but 
one line, as above, that means you cast your 
five votes for the same movie star in the same 
part in the one play. 

How to Get 50 Votes 

By sending in a year's subscription for 
Photoplay Magazine, you will be entitled to 
fifty votes, with your order and remittance. 
You will find a special subscription offer else- 
where in this issue. Therefore, clip the at- 
tached coupon, get five votes — send your 
subscription for one year, and get fifty addi- 
tional votes — or fifty-five all told I 

Our representatives are at work now among 
film companies and theatrical companies — and 
from issue to issue, until this contest closes, 
we shall announce its progress, and give the 
total votes polled to date. 

Better get the largest number of votes for 
your favorite or favorites. It will mean greater 
fame for the fortunate ones — will decide a new 
and really important kind of Popularity. It 
will link the silent drama and the legitimate 
drama — will find the great middle ground — will 
bring out the leaders in a new art. 



: Address: 



Theatrical Contest Editor 

PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 

Hartford Building CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



JS:i 



Send lO cents for a Sample of 

Mary Fuller Perfume! 



Just to introduce this exquisite, rare, 
dainty perfume — the favorite of ever- 
popular, always lovely Mary Fuller — we 
are going to send a sample to 
you if you will pay the cost 
of handling and mailing — 
10c. It is 'a caress from the 
screen," as sweet as a June 
afternoon ! Mary Fuller Per- 
fume is growing in popularity 
just as Mary Fuller has ad- 
vanced in the affections of 
the millions who have viewed 
her in the films. It is a 
message from this little star 




— an endorsement of Mary Fuller's own 
selection. Leading drug stores and 
department stores will supply you with 
a one-ounce bottle for $1.50 
— or you may send your 
order direct. But be sure to 
send the ten cents now be- 
cause we have only a limited 
number of these liberal sample 
bottles. Yours is here 
waiting for you — so send 
this moment! Write your 
name and address plainly. 



ADDRESS: 



BENEDICT 



Perfumer 

8 South Dearborn Street, CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 



Great 




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181. 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



HOW FORTUNES ARE 
MADE IN THE MOVIES 



Americans Spend $1,600,000 
Daily at Picture Shows 



Amazing Growth of This Form of 

Amusement Has Made Poor 

Men Millionaires 



As you stand In line in the crowd at the entrance to the 
Moving Picture Theater and hand over your 5c or 10c for 
admission, you are but one of the 10. 000, 000 of people who 
do the same thing in this country every day. 

Think of ill 10.000,000 people spending more than 
$1,000,000 every day for moving picture amusement alone. 
Dm you ever wonder where this $1,000,000 a day goes and 
who gets it? I>ld you know that it ultimately found its way 
into the pockets of a few men? 

POOR MEN BECOME MILLIONAIRES. 

One of them in the 80 's was an emigrant who became a 
clerk in a store in Oshkosh, Wis. With a little money that 
he had saved he opened a "Nickel Show." lie is now rated 
as a millionaire and is known as the "King of the Movies." 

Another was a newsboy who became a furrier. Later ho 
opened a picture show in Covington, Ky. He now controls 
300 theaters. 

FROM OPERATOR TO MAGNATE. 

Still another was the operator of a motion picture machine, 
which was his Introduction to the business. He now owns 
nearly four square blocks of real estate in Chicago and is 
the head of one of the largest producing plants in America. 

The manager and part owner of a million-dollar motion 
picture theater on Broadway in New York City, began his 
career in the motion picture business by renting a room above 
a saloon in Forest City. Pa., in which lie started a moving 
picture show, lie operated his own machine and rented 250 
undertaker's chairs on which he seated his audience. Ills 
new theater cost $1,000,000 and seats 3,500 people. 

Most of the men now at the head of the motion picture 
industry, which m ten years has grown to be the fourth 
largest business in the United States, began in some such 
manner. Unbelievable profits rolled in upon them. 

THE PUBLIC KEPT OUT. 

Finally, closely-held corporations were formed, and obsta- 
cles to outsiders were raised and used by the purchase and 
control of patents. In fact, until recently It has been impos- 
sible for independent manufacturers and distributors to enter 
this immensely rich field. By a far-reaching decision the 
United States Court has now made it possible for others to 
sbaro the profits. 

Contrary to the general opinion, it is not the owner of 
the moving picture theaters who is making the large profits, 
but rather the producer of the films and the Kxchanges — the 
exchange being the source from which the motion picture theater 
rents the films used nightly. 

The industry has grown by leaps and hounds. There are 
already 25.000 motion picture theaters in the United States. 
The flow of nickels and dimes goes on, growing larger each 
year. The "Nickel Show" in the abandoned store is being 
superseded by the palatial theater which formerly entertained 
Its audiences at $1.50, but are now showing pictures at from 
10c to 25c. Today it appears to be the most profitable industry 
in the United States. 

EUROPEAN WAR HAS HELPED BUSINESS. 

Since the beginning of the European war Importations of 
the foreign-made films has been entirely suspended. Conse- 
quently, the demand on the American manufacturer is greater 
than ever before, the result being that the moving picture 
business is one of trie few industries in this country that has 
shown a marked increase in business since the war began. 



An Unusual Opportunity for 
the Small Investor 

First Chance to Share in the Enor- 
mous Profits of the Movies 



There is now an opportunity for YOU to enter this extremely 
profitable field. The present millionaires of "Film Land" 
began with small investments. 

The moving picture business Is no longer an experiment. It 
can no longer be classed as a risk. It has grown beyond the 
wildest expectations of its original promoters, but its growth 
during the past decade is as nothing compared to its future 
possibilities. 

Would you like to know the "inside" story of the motion 
picture business? How the profits are made and who makes 
them? How the films are made and distributed? How much 
they cost and how film exchanges are able to make a profit 
of 600 per cent? 

I have a booklet which tells these things. It holds out the 
first opportunity, so far as I know, ever offered to the general 
public to enter this new field. 

WHAT AN EXPERT SAYS. 

Isaac P. Marcoosou, the financial and industrial writer in 
Collier's Weekly, Bays "So fast is the pace that it is almost 
impossible to prepare statistics. The records of yesterday is 
wiped out today. The field is wide open. The man with 
cash and an idea can take a flyer in a film and market his 
product. Increasing demand strains at supply, the mark of 
the dollar is everywhere. In brief, the whole Industry is like 
a vast cornucopia, disgorging a golden harvest." 

EXPERIENCE IS NECESSARY. 

However, to enter the field, experience is necessary. A thor- 
ough knowledge of tho business is essential. My booklet offers 
you an opportunity to become associated with the pioneers of 
the industry — men who understand It thoroughly: men who 
were exhibiting films at county fairs twelve years ago, when 
motion pictures were a curiosity, and who have been in the 
business ever since; men who were chiefly responsible for the 
long drawn-out legal fight which resulted In a court decision 
which now opens a hitherto tightly-controlled industry to the 
public. 

It is not a business that is to be begun later. It is already 
established and has already made profits. You can invest as 
little as $25 and as much as $1,000. My twenty-page booklet 
explains it in detail. 

CH'ANCE FOR SMALL INVESTMENT. 

Get this book now. Write for it today. It not only discloses 
many of the innermost secrets of this great business, but con- 
tains a fund of valuable and Interesting information that 
cannot be obtained in any other way. If you are ambitious 
to make money, there is now presented to you an opportunity 
to connect yourself with one of the greatest and most profitable 
industries this country has ever known, an Industry that has 
already made dozens of poor men millionaires and which is 
today only in its Infancy. 

Simply write your name and address plainly in the coupon 
below and mail today. The book and full information will 
be sent to you at once. 



Mr. Richard Kami 

Fiscal Agent, Lewis Film Corporation 

1827 Republic Bldg., Stale and Adams Streets, Gueago. 
Please send me your book. "Fortunes in the Movies" 
and full particulars concerning the money-making oppor- 
tunities now offered in the motion picture business. It 
is understood that you are to send this entirely free and 
without any obligation on my part. 

Name 

Address 

City and State 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 



185 



Do You Know What 

"Movie Pictorial" 

Is Going to Give You? 

Don't guess! You couldn't guess! 

"Movie Pictorial" was given the heartiest 
welcome of any publication ever started. It 
was a winner from the first issue. 

But— Movie Pictorial is so much better, it 
looks like the Big Sister instead of like the 
little one ! Two new features have been added ! 

"Realism in the Movies" 

The public — you, your neighbor, the lady and 
her husband who live down the street— are 
finding the "blowholes" in the films— are 
pointing out the errors, and if you ever read 
real humor you will read it in the Realism 
columns! 

A $5 Prize for the Best Letter! 

Each issue (twice a month — because Movie 
Pictorial is getting to be so big, it simply can't 
be made up in its new, artistic dress, with its 
wealth of offerings inside, short of twice a 
month), we pay a prize of $5 for the best letter 
on Realism. 

The Music Story 

That's something else new. Indeed, Movie 
Pictorial keeps so many paces ahead, it is 
always leading. It hears the voices of its thou- 
sands of readers, and heeds their wishes. The 
MUSIC STORY is another department that 
simply gets right down to the heart of THE 
PURPOSE OF MUSIC ACCOMPANIMENT 
TO THE FILM DRAMA! We wouldn't at- 
tempt to tell you all about it here; couldn't if 
we tried. You must READ that page, and 
then you will never say that the music is 
unimportant. 

Two New Detective Series! 

Not the kind you have been accustomed to 
reading; not morbid murders or sodden robber- 
ies. But NEW KINDS of detectives, who 
hold the interest of every reader. 

A Department on Photoplay Writing 

Public interest has been aroused in photo- 
play writing. Do you know anything about 
it? Then read what the country's author- 
ities have to say about this new, growing, 
profitable profession. Watch for this new 
Department each issue in Movie Pictorial! 

FREE! "The Adventures of Kathlyn" 

Just so you will be SURE to get EACH NUMBER of 
Movie Pictorial, you would better accept this offer NOW. 
Send your subscription for 6 months, remitting $1 by post- 
office or express money order, bank draft or currency; 
and you will get Movie Pictorial prepaid, delivered to 
your home, PLUS "The Adventures of Kathlyn," by 
Harold MacGrath— a sparkling novel of 375 pages, fully 
illustrated, beautifully bound. Simply say, "I enclose SI. 
Send Movie Pictorial for 6 months and' The Adventures of 
Kathlyn.' prepaid." Sign your name and address plainly 
—and SEND RIGHT NOW. The current number of 
Movie Pictorial and a back number prepaid to any ad- 
dress for 10c. 

Movie Pictorial J££cS 




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on— 

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This ia t ho first timo such an offer has over been made. It may bo 
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This offer is strictly limited. As soon as a certain number of books 
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WHY We Are Making This Offer 



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We want you to convince yoursolf by a practical demonstration just 
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Besides, the free book and charts will demonstrate just how thor- 
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If you want an established profession that is pleasant, dignified and 
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Hundreds of successful graduates in every Quarter of the world de- 
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WB T Remember; This Offer is Limited 



Write NOW for FREE Book and CharU +**"?*"" 

Don't wait to think it over. Don't hesitate at a ^** American 

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Tho Free Book and our Color Charts 4** Deot. 46 

explain all. Send just the coupon ^# 8 X W. Randolph St., 



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Chicago, Ida. 



- ^ Without coat or obligation. pleaM 

MeehanO-TheraDV d _ Bond mo by mail, prepaid, your Free 
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Dent 4 "• 81 \V. > and Chart of -11 Positions ond M-T Move 

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ILLS. 



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180 



THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 




Amateurs Only — Your Chance 



New Ideas by New 
Writers Wanted 

This Book is Free to You 



If you possess imagination (no matter 
how much or how little education you 
have had) here is your OPPORTUNITY. 
One of your "happy thoughts" is as 
likely to win a big cash prize as anybody's. 
It costs nothing to investigate this great 
offer. Read this announcement carefully, 
mail the free coupon at bottom of next page 
ticulars, as well as my free book, "How 
toplays," will be sent to you without cost 



How To 

Write 
Photoplays 



^ 



by 
Elbert Moore 

former Scenario Editor of on* 
of World's largest companies. 



Q 



then sign and 
Complete par- 
te Write Pho- 

or obligation. 



Earn $ 1 5 to $50 Weekly 
In Spare Time at Home 

If you attend the "movies" you know how many trashy plays are 
produced. You yourself could easily improve on them. The public 
is always crying for "something new," and with 30,000 theatres in 
existence the producing companies are forced to bring out inferior 
plays. Now that the War has shut off the supply of photoplays from 



\lmWi> yimlii-Platiii (Cmiuiami 



Europe this demand is even greater. The companies are clamoring for 
New Ideas and paying from $10 to $500 for those which are suitable. 

First Prize is $200 Cash 

One of the large producing companies has done me the honor of writing me the 
letter shown on this page. Read it carefully. It enables me to offer my students a 
first prize of $200 cash, a second prize of $50 cash, and five other prizes of $10 cash each. 
Between now and the end of the year I 
am offering some other cash prizes, making 
a grand total of over $500 in cash. Any 
person who is willing to take my few easy 
lessons can compete for these big prizes, 
and will at the same time be learning one 
of the most profitable and interesting of all 
professions. Persons who have already sold 
photoplays cannot enter this contest, so that 
you will not be competing with experienced 
writers. The object is to develop new writers. 

I Guarantee $10 For 
Your First Photoplay 

I was formerly Scenario Editor of one 
of the largest producing companies and am 
familiar with every branch of the motion 
picture business. My method of teaching 
is endorsed by prominent picture men and 
by this magazine. That is why I am able 
to guarantee you at least $10 for the first photoplay you write by my method. 

Send For Free Booklet Before 
Prize Contest Closes 

Post yourself on this great profession, which offers you a chance not only for profit, 
but also for fame and honor. Persons who lack the literary experience necessary tor 
writing novels and stage plays are now finding it possible to express in the Silent 
Drama" (or photoplays) the strong and original ideas which many of them possess. 
One of your ideas may become a photoplay sensation and work its influence on 
thousands — even millions of people all over the civilized world. Most photoplays 
are now produced over the author's name. This will be done in the case of 
the photoplay winning the first prize of $200 cash 



CWeaeo August Uth 1914 



Ut Clbert Moore 
Chloogo, 

Illinois - 

09 to IT. "'cora:- 

~% oro In the carket for an D;1A • an Ida* th»t 
son m tad* Into a two-reel or threa-roel photoplay of 
(ocuine Originality and Punofa. 

To roaelte cany photoplays froa snatenr writers 
all cror the country; but ooat of theao wrltora arc antral a - 
ad, and tha ploys they outsit &r« not In aooapteble for-. 
OT couraa our own staff writers aro producing good photo- 
plays for ua; but wo want oomathing different , oonothlng 
that *!as naror boon thought of before - oosnthing of whleh 
wo aan eako a big feature . In short, we want to produoe a 
photoplay that wfU fill to the dooro ell tho theotroe in 
which It appears. 

Are you willing to turn your pupils loose on this 
problaa? He belloTe, that osong all the new arltara you. ex* 
daroloplng there are at least a few eho son pjoduoo this 

fhotoplay. ?fo aro wlTHo;- to pay ^200 for tho photoplay, 
written by any one of your atudonts between now and Deeen- 
ber 31at), whleh in you judgesont oonas nearest to costing 
our requires* eta. 

■"9 will also pay'OSO.OO for the aeoosd best photo, 
olay and ;>0.CO aaoh for the noxt flTa 9300.00 In all 



Tours wry truly, 

OBITS!) PHOTO -FLAfS^COKPAirf. 

Vloe Prooident. 



FREE 

COUPON 



Mail Free Coupon at Once tW 

This is your opportunity; grasp it. Persons no more talented than 
you are earning $15 to $50 weekly by using their spare time at home 
to turn their ideas into photoplays. It costs nothing to investigate. 
Use free coupon at once, before the prize contest closes. 

ELBERT MOORE ("""Sfir**) 



Elbert Moore 

Box 772FK, Chicago 
Send free booklet 
'How lo Write Photo- 
plays" and all facts about 
guarantee and special 
prize contest. 



Box 772 FK 



CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 



11NTINC COMPANY. CHICAGO 







H.irold 

Lachman 

Company 

12 No. Michigan Avenue, 
9MDL- Chicago, Illinois 



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