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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

TABLE OF CONTENTS, FEBRUARY, 1913

GALLERY OF PICTURE PLAYERS:

PAGE

Lillian Walker (Vita)....; i

Gwendoline Pates (Pathe) 2

Whitney Raymond (Essanay) 3

Jackie Saunders (Universal) 4

Ormi Hawley (Lubin) 5

Alice Joyce (Kalem) 6

Cleo Ridgely (Rex) 7

William Ehfe (Melies) 8

Gertrude McCoy (Edison) 9

■ 1 PAGE

Anna M. Stewart (Vita) 10

Edward O'Connor (Edison) 11

Irving Cummings (Reliance) 12

Anna Q. Nilsson (Kalem) 13

Wallace Reid (American) 14

Marshall P. Wilder (Vita) 15

Marin Sais (Kalem) 16

Francis X. Bushman (Essanay. Colored art
insert to subscribers only).

PHOTOPLAY STORIES:

Three Friends Luliette Bryant 17

Calamity Anne's Inheritance Courtney Ryley Cooper 25

The Vengeance of Durand.. REX BEACH 32

The Wives of Jamestown Montanye Perry 42

The Elusive Kiss Robert Carlton Brown 54

The Kiss of Salvation Peter Wade 61

At Bear Track Gulch Dorothy Donnell 71

Her Fireman Edwin M. LaRoche 81

Child Labor Henry Albert Phillips 90

The Insurance Agent. John Olden 97

The Spy's Defeat Karl Schiller 105

(Note: These stories were written from photoplays supplied by Motion Picture
manufacturers, and our writers claim no credit for title and plot. The name of the
playwright is announced when known to us.)

SPECIAL ARTICLES AND DEPARTMENTS:

The Pathway of Progress Drazving by A. B. Shults 70

The Great Mystery Play 113

Chats with the Players * . 118

Popular Plays and Players 123

A Word About Celebrated Stars in Photoplays Robert Gran 127

Illustrated Condemnations Bernard Gallagher 128

Musings of "The Photoplay Philosopher" 129

Answers to Inquiries 133

Greenroom Jottings 166

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Entered at the Brooklyn, N. Y., Post Office as second-class matter.
Owned and published by The M. P. Publishing Co., a New York corporation, its
office and principal place of business, No. 26 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

J. Stuart Blacktorv, President; E. V. Brewster, Sec.-Treas. Subscription, $1.50 a year
in advance, including postage in the U. S., Cuba, Mexico and Philippines; in Canada, $2;
in foreign countries, $2.50. Single copies, 15 cents, postage prepaid. Stamps accepted
(2 or 1 cent stamps only). We do not want scenarios, stories and plots except when ordered by us.
Subscribers must notify us at once of any change of address, giving both the old and
the new address.

STAFF FOR THE MAGAZINE:

Eugene V. Brewster Managing Editor

Edwin M. La Roche, Associate Editor. Guy L. Harrington, Circulation Manager

V. H. Kimmelmann, Advertising Director

Western, and New England Advertising Representative:

Pullen, Bryant & Fredricks Co., Chicago and Boston.

New York Office (Adv. Dep't only) : Fifth Avenue Building, 23d Street and Broadway.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE, 26 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

3 DC

□ C

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After reading these stories, ask your theater manager to show you the films on the screen !

GWENDOLINE PATES (Path* Freres)

WHITNEY RAYMOND (Essanay)

ORMI HAWLEY (Lubin)

ALICE JOYCE (Kalem)

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ANNA Q. NILSSON (Kalem)

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liillill STORY

11(1 MAGAZINE

Vol. V

No. 1

Three Friends

(Biograph)

By LULIETTE BRYANT

S lattery's is the ordinary type of
cheap saloon in a small factory
town. I forbear describing it,
because if you've ever been in one of
them you know what they 're like ; if
you haven't, no amount of printed
description can give you the atmos-
phere— and what's a story without
atmosphere, in these days of rioting
realism ?

"Well, saloons are saloons, the world
over, and Slattery's, of Singerville,
differs little, in essentials, from the
"gilded palaces of sin" to which the
country evangelist refers when he
graphically describes the life in the
great city — that he has read about.
Scrape the gilding off one of these
palaces, shrink its size a bit, set it
down in a town like Singerville, and
it will adapt itself and fit into its sur-
roundings as quickly as the telephone
girl who marries a millionaire. For
the essentials are cheer, good fellow-
ship, and plenty to drink : given these,
the business will flourish, with or
without gilding.

Slattery's has the essentials, which
is the reason why our story begins in
Slattery's place ; for, being the cheer-
ful resort that it is, it was the natural
meeting-place of the three friends
who used to sit around the farthest
table on the left-hand side, near the

window, every night, drinking their
beer, telling stories of the day's work,
or discussing the labor problem. Ob-
serve that I say they used to sit
around that table, for they sit there
no more. If they did, I should have
no story to tell.

They were sitting rather later than
usual one night last spring, when a
jingling hurdy-gurdy outside the
window launched out on a series of
merry tunes that were Broadway
favorites a few seasons ago. Here
and there, groups of men beat time
with their feet, or whistled the re-
frains. A slim, half-tipsy youth rose
to his feet, swayed a bit, righted him-
self, and, waving a thick glass aloft,
began singing, in a clear, high tenor
voice :

Wine, women and song,

How often they make us go wrong!

A burst of applause, led by the
three friends, rewarded his effort, but
he refused to sing again.

"Don' know 'nother song," he pro-
tested; "learnt that one 'cause it jush
spresses way I feel 'bout things. ' '

"The kid's a fool," said the older
of the three friends, familiarly known
as Jim, as the youngster subsided into
silence, "but he hit the nail on the
head that time! Wine and song do

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

well enough, but mix in women and
there 's trouble, right off ! ' '

"Aw, come off, Jim," laughed Ned
Billings, the youngest of the trio;
"just 'cause some woman let you
down hard 's no reason for bein, sore
on 'em all."

' ' No woman ever did ! ' ' flared Jim,
"but there's just one reason — they
never got no chance. I seen enough
o' that kind o' thing to last me for-
ever, when my poor old dad married
his second wife — and he aint the only

please, free to stay as long as we're a
min' ter, and go home when we git
ready, and put our little, yellow
envelopes in our own pockets on
Saturday night. That's what I call
comfort ! ' '

"Guess you're level-headed, Jim,"
laughed Ned, shaking back the black
hair that waved over his boyish face,
and ordering another round of drinks
before he went on talking. " I 'd hate
to think of divvyin' up my little
twelve per with anybody — I have to

A BACHELORS PROTECTIVE LEAGUE

livin' example I could tell you
about ! What 's a man got to gain by
marryin '? "

"Home comforts?" suggested Bill,
rather timidly. All of Bill's remarks
bordered on the timid or the depre-
cating. He was what might be called
the neutral third of the little party.

' ' Sure thing ! ' ' sneered Jim. ' ' Look
around at your married friends — run
over the list — call 'em comfortable?
Tied down in some little two-by-four
flat, helpin' tend the kids and hearin'
the woman's everlastin' clack about
the new hat she cant have, aint they ?
And we sit here, comfortable as you

stretch it till it squawks now to make
it see me thru the week. ' '

1 ' Well, ' ' cried Jim, suddenly bring-
ing his great hand down on the table
with a thump, "I hope you'll have
sense enough to stick to that there idee
— I'm older 'n you be, and I'd hate to
see you makin' a fool of yourself."

"Jim 'd make a good president for
an anti-marryin ' club," laughed Bill.

"Now you've struck it!" declared
Jim, instantly. "We'll form one —
the three of us. Right here's where
we agree to be the three jolly bach-
elors, and to stick together as long as
we live. Shake on it ! "

THREE FRIENDS

"Agreed!" cried the three.

'They shook, and pledged long life
to the new club in a final round of
beers. Jim was in deadly earnest ;
Bill was good-naturedly acquiescent,
from force of habit, and to Ned,
young and heart-whole, the affair
seemed only a pledge of loyalty to his
two friends, a contract to continue his
present care-free existence, which
suited him very well.

If Ned hadn't been obliged to work
an hour overtime the next day, and
so taken a short
cut that led across j
a foot-bridge that
spanned the canal,
in order not to
keep Jim and Bill
waiting at the
little, round table
in the corner,
everything might
have been differ-
ent. But the little,
blind god — who,
somehow, manages
to keep track of
every one, in spite
of his infirmity —
had been on the
trail of handsome
Ned for some time,
and, now, grasping
his opportunity, he
perched himself on
the rail of the
bridge and fell to
sharpening a dart.

Ned did not rec-
ognize the dart
when it hit him — no man ever does,
the first time — he felt simply a
strange, new sensation and found
himself looking straight into the blue
eyes of a young girl whose arm he
had rudely brushed with his dinner-
pail, as she had attempted to pass
him on the narrow bridge.

"Excuse me, miss,''' he said, con-
fusedly; "I was rushin' along so, I
didn't notice that you was comin'."

"That's all right," she replied,
shyly; "I wasn't paying much atten-
tion, either ; I was thinking how
pretty the sun looks on the water. ' '

NED IS THE FIRST OFFENDER

Straightway, a miracle took place
within Ned's soul. From a light-
minded, prosaic factory lad, he was
transformed to an earnest, absorbed
student of nature's beauties. He
stepped to the side of the bridge —
her side — and gazed down at the
water, reflecting the golden sheen of
the sunset.

" 'Tis pretty, aint it?" he said.
Then his gaze turned from the water
to meet her fluttering glance. For a
moment his eyes held hers, then her
long lashes drooped
to. touch the cheeks
which were swiftly
turning a deeper
pink, and the little,
blind god, chuck-
ling, poised him-
self for flight; his
work there was
finished.

At the little,
round table Bill
and Jim waited,
wonderingly,
draining their
schooners, while
the froth on Ned's
bubbled itself away
in sheer impatience
at his lateness.
They ordered more,
and drank again
and again, but still
the third beer re-
mained untouched,
still the third
chair remained un-
occupied.
Ned explained, next day, that he
had to work late, and was so tired
that he went straight to bed when he
got home. He did not deem it neces-
sary to state that he had been d
layed, for two blissful hours, on t1.
old canal bridge, or that he had gc:
home with his brain so full of whirlin
thoughts about a pair of blue eyes and
a curling mass of yellow hair that he
had entirely forgotten his accustomed
chair in Slattery's place. The ex-
planation was accepted, readily
enough ; it was not unusual for a man
to work late and be tired. But when

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Ned failed to show up the next night,
and the next, and the next, Jim began
to look glum.

"Miss the kid, dont you?" Bill sug-
gested; "too bad he has to work like
this."

"He aint workin'," snapped Jim.
' ' Saw his boss today ; he says Ned aint
worked a night after seven o'clock !"

"But — but — then why aint he
here?'7 gasped Bill, his mind utterly
unable to cope with this strange
problem.

alone ? Dont a man 's word amount to
nothin \ any more ? ' '

"That's so," said Bill, hastily; "I
forgot — but it aint no ways likely that
the kid's a-thinkin' of marryin'."

"A man's apt to do any blame
fool thing a woman wants him to,
once she gits hold of him," Jim de-
clared. "There's jest one safe rule —
keep away from 'em ! ' '

THE THIRD CHAIR VACANT, THEY WAITED

"That's jest exactly what we're
a-goin' to find out; a feller told me
today that he seen Ned walkin' 'long-
side the canal last night, 'bout eight
o'clock, with a girl. Now, I figger
we'll stroll down that way ourselves
and see what's doin'. I aint one to
condemn a feller on hearsay — we'll
see for ourselves ! ' '

' ' After all, Jim, it aint really a sin
fer a young feller like Ned to have a
sweetheart," Bill ventured, timidly,
as they walked down Canal Street.

"It aint, hey? Didn't we make a
solemn pledge to leave the women

They were passing a little, white
cottage, set back from the street a bit,
which had long stood vacant. Now
there were signs of life about the
place : the window-shades were up,
there were a couple of pieces of
furniture on the narrow porch, and
smoke issued from the chimney.

"Some fool goin' to housekeeping
I s'pose," Jim commented, sourly.

And, at this inopportune moment,
the door swung open, and Ned stepped
out, ready to drag in the new furni-
ture. He saw his friends, and his
boyish face lit up with pleasure.

THREE FRIENDS

" Hello!" he yelled, "come on in;
I was goin' to hunt you up tonight,
and tell you all about it. Here,
Hazel ' ' — turning to the door — ' ' here 's
my friends I've told you so much
about. Come out and see 'em."

He led the blushing girl toward his
two friends, his face beaming with
pride. He was so happy and absorbed
in her that he did not notice Jim's
glowering face until, as Hazel shyly
held out her hand, Jim roughly re-

I was comin' tonight to get you fellers
to be our witnesses. You'll come,
wont you?"

"No!" thundered Jim, "I'll have
nothin' to do with a lyin' fool. You
kin go your own way, and Bill and
me '11 go ourn; come on, Bill."

He strode away, and poor Bill
stood for an instant, irresolute; then
he thrust out a shaking hand.

"Shake hands, Ned," he said; "I
wish you joy, anyhow. Jim's a little

BUT WHY AINT HE HERE 1

fused it, and turned to the astonished
Ned with a black, accusing face.

"So this is the way you keep your
word, is it?" he demanded.

"Why — why — what " began

Ned, bewildered ;. then he remembered
the pledge, forgotten since that first
moment on the old bridge. "Why,
Jim," he said, anxiously, "you surely
wont lay that up ag'in me? I never
took it serious; I didn't know what I
was doin'; I hadn't seen Hazel then,
you know. It was love at first sight
with us, all right, all right! We're
goin' to be married tomorrow night —

riled — he'll git over it. Dont cry,
miss. Jim set a heap of store by Ned,
and he's takin' it hard; dont mind it.
I got to go, or he '11 be madder. Good-
luck to you."

For a moment, Ned stared wrath-
fully after his friends, then he took
Hazel in his arms, kissing away her
tears.

"Dont you care," he comforted;
"he's nothin' but a cranky, old bach-
elor— he cant hurt us any. It dont
matter at all — nothin' matters, now
I 've got you ! "

For a few weeks, Jim and Bill con-

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

tinned the nightly visits to Slattery 's,
then, suddenly, the little table in the
far corner was left vacant. ' ' Where 's
the three friends?" one old-timer in-
quired, and the waiter replied : ' ' The
young one got married, and the other
two have left town; said they was
goin' to Utica to work."

Two years slipped by. The little,
white cottage looked prosperous.

' ' There 's daddy ! ' ' she cried joy-
fully, one night, as the gate clicked.
She caught up Ned, Junior, and
hastened to the door, joyously, but
her face fell as she saw the anxious
look in Ned's eyes.

"What's the matter, dear?" she
asked, quickly.

"Oh, nothin' much," he answered,
trying to speak cheerfully ; " I 've lost

NED LOSES HIS JOB

There were vines running over the
porch, and roses blossomed beside the
steps. Pretty muslin curtains adorned
the tiny windows, and all day Hazel
flitted about the dainty rooms, keep-
ing everything neat and shining,
cooking the most wonderful dishes for
Ned, Senior, and keeping a sharp eye
on Ned, Junior, who was just begin-
ning to walk, and had developed a
strange fondness for such playthings
as the coal-hod and the water-pail.

my job, but I reckon I can find an-
other one, somewhere — dont worry."

' ' But how did that happen ? Work
isn 't slack in the mill, is it ? "

"No. It's just a case of spite. I
never told you, 'cause I thought
you'd worry, but that Jim Jennings
— the one that was so mad 'cause I
got married — came back to the mill a
few weeks ago, and he's foreman of
our room. I tried to be decent at first,
but he wouldn't shake hands — acted

THREE FRIENDS

crankier than ever. I tried to get
along with him — honest, I did! But
he kept naggin' at me, and today I
couldn't stand it no longer. He said
something and we had a scrap —
that's all!"

"Never mind," comforted Hazel;
"we've got some money ahead, you
know, and you'll soon get another
place."

But another place was not so easily
procured, even tho every mill was

that had been so shining and home-
like a few months before, and looking
at Hazel's pretty, pathetic face, as
she tried to hush the fretful, hungry
child, formed a desperate, half-crazed
resolve. He had tried every plan he
could think of, had exhausted every
effort, to make a living for his wife
and babe. For days he had scarcely
tasted food, and his body was ex-
hausted, his brain reeling, as he
called Hazel, gently. She came, look-

REDUCED TO DIRE POVERTY

running full time, for the vengeful
Jim returned an unfavorable answer
to all inquiries about Ned's charac-
ter. The little store of savings was
soon exhausted; then, one by one,
their most cherished possessions were
pawned or sold outright. The roses
in Hazel's cheeks faded; Ned's face
grew hard and sullen ; even the baby
wilted under the blighting influence
of poverty, and forgot his cunning
ways and pretty prattle.

There came a day when Ned, stand-
ing in the middle of the little room,

ing, with piteous wonder, into his
wild, desperate eyes.

"We've got to do it!" he declared,
violently; "I tell you, there's no
other way ! ' '

' ' Got to do what ? ' ' she asked, fear-
fully.

"We've got to steal, or die!" he
muttered, determinedly.

"Why, Ned!" cried the wife.
"Steal? No, no, we cannot do that —
anything but that."

"Then listen, Hazel! I've done all a
man could do to make a livin ' for you

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

and the boy; I've failed — Jim's spite
is too much for me ! There 's only one
thing we can do for the baby now" —
his voice sank to a husky whisper,
and he drew her closer — "we cant do
a thing for him, livin', but we can
die for him ! ' '

"Ned!" she cried, shuddering
away from him, but he drew her back
again, speaking rapidly.

"If they come' here and find us
dead, there'll be plenty of folks that
will be wantin' to adopt him. He'll
get a good home — and wont we be
better off than we are now? What
we got to live for? Wouldn't death
be better than this ? ' '

He continued to urge his plan,
with wild, half-coherent sentences,
while the baby slept restlessly in its
tiny bed, and Hazel's eyes gradually
took on a look of acquiescence and
resignation.

' ' All right, Ned, ' ' she said, at last,
throwing her thin arms around his
neck; "I believe you're right; we'll
find peace and rest — together!"

"And we'll do it right now," said
Ned.

While Hazel and Ned were having
this fateful conversation, Jim and
Bill were sitting at the little, round
table in Slattery's place, and a most
unusual thing was happening, for
Jim was sitting silent, and Bill was
talking vehemently. Some miracle
had been wrought within the timid
Bill's soul. For the first time, in all
their long friendship, he had burst
into independent, vigorous speech,
and Jim was voiceless, thru sheer
amazement.

"I tell you, you're wrong, Jim — ■
dead wrong!" Bill declared; "per-
secutin' that poor boy the way you've
done ! The idee of a full-grown, sen-
sible man like you holdin' onto a
crazy grudge and bringin' a poor
boy to ruin. They're starvin', I tell
you! I seen her, not two hours ago,
tryin' to beg a bottle of milk fer the
baby — nice business for a big brute

like you — takin' the milk out of a
baby's mouth! You hadn't ought to
fired him, and you hadn't ought to
give him a bad name everywhere he
tried to git work ! If their baby dies,
its little ghost will haunt you —
you'll never see another peaceable
minute. I'm ashamed to think what
you've done; and if you was decent,
you'd crawl thru some knothole and
never be seen again — a knothole 'd be
big enough fer two of your size ! ' '

Bill stopped, breathless, and Jim's
surprised, angry glare gradually
melted into an amused good-nature.
"I didn't think you had it in you,
Bill," he said; "what you want me
to do?"

' ' Come on down to their house, and
tell Ned he can go to work tomorrow
mornin'," answered Bill, eagerly.

"Come along," said Jim, rising;
"I'd hate to discourage that free
and independent spirit you're de-
velop in ' ! "

As they came up the narrow walk
to the cottage door, Bill chuckled:
"I guess they'll be surprised, all
right — wont it be fun?" His eyes
sought the little window. "Let's
jest peek in," he suggested, and they
tiptoed softly across the porch, bend-
ing their tall bodies to peer into the
little sitting-room. Then, "My God!"
cried Jim, sharply, with a desperate
rush for the door. An instant later,
a pistol shot rang out — but the bullet
rested in the ceiling. Jim had struck
Ned's arm upward, not a heart 's-beat
too soon.

The little table in the far corner of
Slattery's place is occupied by
strangers now ; the three friends have
a new meeting-place. Every night
they sit around the kitchen-table in
the cottage, which is neat and shin-
ing again, and Jim — cynical, hard-
hearted Jim — holds Ned, Junior, on
his knee.

"Slattery's aint in it with this,"
says Jim.

"Qhiverin' lizards!" said Calamity
O Anne, with force and convic-
tion, "what else is there to this
here world, anyhow? We bounce
into it, an' then we spend fifty or
sixty years dodgin' this way an'
dodgin' that, a-tryin' to keep vittals
in our stummicks an' shoes on our
feet, an' then — blim! Up conies th'
fool-killer an' swats us under th' off-
side ear, an' then they're walkin'
slow behind us, an' gushin' a lot o'
stuff about how nice we was an' all,
while we 're a-lay in ' up in a pine box,
no better off 'n when we started. Tell
me about this here life ! Aint I seen
forty-five years o' it? No, sirree,
they aint nothin' in it. I know!"

Whereupon Calamity, having re-
lieved herself of her morning burden
of pessimism, flattened herself, a bit
more against her little slant-board
shack, gazed soulfully ahead, into
the faces of her two girl listeners, and
sighed. She waited a second for a
reply, and, receiving none, she dole-
fully scratched a match and lit the
stubby clay pipe which was her con-
stant companion. Then she allowed
her eyes to travel far over the rough,
tumbled country and up to where the
dumpy shed and aspiring shaft of the
White Eagle Mine showed on the
distant hill.

Calamity Anne wasn't much on
style. She wasn't much on anything
that pertained to the big world "back
yonder," for Calamity had been a
character of some mysticism and
much interest for more years than

even old miners of Circle Ridge cared
to count. Pessimistic, yet filled with
a grim humor ; gruff, yet kindly, with
a motherly something which seemed
out of place in her rough being;
shrewd, yet childish in her likes;
essentially masculine in her dress and
her habits, Calamity had occupied
her little shack alone ever since Circle
Ridge was Circle Ridge. Strong as
the strongest man, she often took her
place with the other miners who
worked the White Eagle — and as she
worked, she lived. They smoked, so
did she. They wore slouch hats, she
did likewise. They encased their feet
in boots — Calamity was not behind.
They played their games of draw and
faro, and once Calamity had taken
the left ear off a tinhorn from Denver
with a forty-four bullet, and, since
that day, respect for her had in-
creased wonderfully. And thus it
had come about that her place in
Circle Ridge was just as great and
just as important as that of anybody.
She chose her friends from among
whom she desired — and it had hap-
pened that her motherly instinct was
working at its keenest the day she
had met Lola Barton and Jane Bax-
ter. Girls they were, it was true,
young girls of the camp, pretty with
the prettiness which life in the out-
door gives one, congenial — and, best
of all, they seemed to respect Calam-
ity Anne's views, no matter how pes-
simistic they might be. And, knowing
this, the elderly one gave her slouch
hat a forward twitch, dragged hard

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

at her pipe a second or so, and then
waved an emphatic hand.

"Dont know what I'm a-sayin'?"
she asked, as tho she had been con-
tradicted. "Aint I a livin' relic o'
what this here world does to a
person? You dont see me ridin'
around in no gold chariots, an' me
a-workin' my fool head off these
forty-five years. You dont see me — "

She stopped short and gripped her
pipe hard in her mouth. She stared.
She rubbed her hands, uneasily, up
and down the sides of her riding-
skirt. A man was before her, young,
smiling and handsome. He was
proffering a document of some kind,
replete in seals and stamps.

"I guess you know who I am," he
said, with a little laugh. "No? My
name's Williams. I'm with the White
Eagle. I wish you'd read that."

Calamity grinned uneasily. School-
ing had not been her greatest work
in youth. But, doggedly, she took
the paper and, one by one, spelt
out the words:

Calamity — You was good to me once.
I'm croakin', and here's my will. I give
and bequeath the Black Hole Mine to
you. Goodby and good luck,

Wall-eyed Jake.

A sudden whirling of boots, skirts
and pipe. A hat went into the air.
Calamity Anne, pessimist, was doing
a double pigeonwing and a combina-
tion flip-flop, all at the same time.
She sent one hand sweeping thru the
air.

1 1 Ye-e-e-e-e-e — u-u-u-u-u-u-up-p-p-
P-P-P-P • ' ' sne yelled, then settled her-
self all in a lump. Her eyes squinted.

"This aint no foolishness?" she
asked, quickly.

"No," Williams replied; "Wall-
eyed Jake is dead, and you are the
owner of his mine. I have been
authorized by the company to give
you a check for fifty thousand dollars
for it. Will you take the money?"

Calamity opened her mouth to
speak, and held it there, voiceless.
The plumping forms of two girls had
descended upon her and grasped her
tightly.

"Calamity! Fifty thousand dol-
lars— goodness ! ' '

There was a moment of breathless
hugging, even of kisses, something
Calamity could not remember ever
having experienced before. The
world seemed to have tipped up on
edge and gracefully turned over. At
last, gasping, trying to laugh, cry and
talk at the same time, Calamity
jumped high in the air, cracked her
feet and once more waved her arms.

" 01 ' Calamity 's rich ! " she shouted.
"Hear me? 01' Calamity Anne's
rich ! Rich aint no name for it. I 'm
a-rollin' in wealth. I'm a-wallowin'
in it. I'm a pesky jool-box, I am.
I'm a walkin' dollar-sign. Yes, I
am!" Suddenly she turned and
looked hard at young Mr. Williams,
of the White Eagle. "You're one
o' them money-sharks," she said,
shortly. ' ' I aint goin ' to take nothin '
from you but this here will. That's
enough. Go on back with your old
pieces of paper. Like's not taint no
good, anyhow. Me 'n' th' girls is
goin' to handle that mine ourselves.
Savvy?"

Whereupon, dragging the girls
with her, talking, laughing, gripping
the piece of paper tight in her hand,
Calamity Anne hurried toward the
little shed and saddled her one pos-
session of locomotion — Rosie.

"Now, come on, th' whole pack an'
kittle of you," she ordered, as she
climbed on the burro's back. The
girls hung back.

"We cant all ride Rosie," Lola
said, half-anxiously. "I dont know
whether "

"What's the matter you cant?"
Calamity Anne asked, excitedly.
"Rosie aint no pampered pet; climb
on. I guess if she can make a meal
offen pine-cones, she can carry us to
the Black Hole. Seen her do it yes-
tiddy. Come 'long, you. Giddap ! ' '

And Roger Williams, mining-agent,
laughed to himself as he watched a
much overburdened burro start awk-
wardly over the trail toward the
mine that had made Wall-eyed Jake
rich. Then he pocketed his open
check-book and laughed again.

CALAMITY ANNE'S INHERITANCE

"Poor old Calamity! Good for-
tune 's gone to her head. However ' ' —
his face grew more serious — ' ' I think
that, perhaps, after a while she'll —
maybe I'd better follow," he mused,
at last.

However, Williams' resolve was
not as speedily carried out as he de-
sired. There was work to be done at
the White Eagle. There was a delay
over an injured miner. There was a
dog-hole to fell his horse and break

moustached individual, * * I 'm the new
boss of this here cut-up ; who 're
you?"

"The new boss?" Cal Edwards,
two-gun man, scowled a bit. "Whatta
yuh think yuh're gointa boss?"

"What do I think I'm goin' to
boss?" Calamity asked. "Say "

She stopped short in her speech
and motioned for the girls to get be-
hind her. There was reason, for she
was looking into the barrel of a re-

CALAMITY REFUSES FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS FOR HER MINE

its leg. And so, before he had fairly
started on his journey to overtake
Calamity Anne and her companions,
those persons were viewing the side
of life which Calamity had always
seen — tough luck.

It was in the gray of evening that
they had arrived at the Black Hole
Mine, Calamity singing, the little
burro wobbling, and the girls tired
and sleepy. It was evening, and here
and there about the place forms
could be seen — the miners who had
worked for Wall-eyed Jake. Calamity
strode forward.

"Hey!" she called to a black

volver. The man of the black mous-
tache was speaking.

"I kinda think yuh're barkin' up
th' wrong tree," he said, shortly;
"they aint gointa be no woman
bossin' things around here. Know
why? 'Cause I'm gointa do the
bossin'. I guess yuh got a will or
suthin' like that, huh? Well, it dont
count, see? Now there's th' trail
back— hit it!"

The face of Calamity Anne went
hard. Slowly her eyes went to the
right and to the left. Suddenly her
teeth gritted, then she smiled. She
had noticed the door of the mining-

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

shack stood open, and that it could
be reached easily from the trail. She
spread her hands.

''Just whatever you say," she
answered, and turned.

"Git!" came the command of the
man with the gun.

Calamity Anne started. Slowly
she walked at first, then quicker, as
she came abreast of the girls. She
leaned forward.

"When I give the word, follow me
— and run like a coyote!" she
ordered, tersely.

"All right," came softly from
Jane. Lola, her face white from
fear, said nothing.

Fifty feet passed — a hundred. Ca-
lamity Anne cast a glance over her
shoulder and noticed that the man
with the revolver still stood guard.
She eyed the distance between the
trail and the shack. Another fifty
feet.

"Now!" came the terse order. A
rush. A spitting flare of flame from
the distance, and a bullet sang high
overhead. Calamity bent low and
hurried for the shack. She felt the
girl at her side stumble. With one
great sweep she reached out and
dragged her to her feet. Two great
leaps. They were inside the shack,
and Calamity was rushing for a rifle
that stood in a corner. Suddenly she
stopped.

"Where's Lola?" she gasped.

"Gone," came the answer of Jane.
"She went straight down the trail."

"Good enough," Calamity an-
swered, shortly. "All the better.
That only makes two of us to kill.
Well," she said, half to herself, as
she rolled up her sleeves and swung
the rifle, "they'll have to start killin'
plumb soon, 'cause I'm gettin' riled.
I'm feelin' my pizen, I am!" She
stepped to the door, and sent a
bullet into the air. "Out o' these
diggin's!" she yelled. "Out! — hear
me? Calamity Anne's gettin' ready
to start fire, flood and pestilence.
She's a-gettin' ready to raise torna-
does! Git!" she aimed the rifle at
the form of Cal Edwards, who had
pursued. ' ' Hear me? Git ! "

And Cal Edwards, bloodthirsty
two-gun man, looked once, then
"got," and the siege had begun.

"There it is," mused Calamity
Anne, as she watched his fading form,
"nothin' but trouble. Trouble for
breakfast, trouble for supper, trouble
when you aint got nothin ', an ' trouble
when you're chock full. Now I've
got to sit up an' waste a whole good
night's sleep to keep that varmint
from comin' in an' slicin' my neck.
Aint life vexin'? Go on to sleep,
you," she ordered of Jane, " 'cause
you'll have to be doin' what I'm
doin', tomorrow, if those galoots still
hang around."

But the next morning brought no
evidences of the men. The mine was
safe. Calamity Anne grinned as she
looked about the little shack and on
to the shaft. Then she turned.

"Jane Baxter," she said, "go git
a bucket of water. Them galoots has
vamoosed. I dont guess they hurt
Lola none. They wasn't after no-
body but me, nohow."

"I guess not," the girl answered.
"I hope not, anyway. I guess that
creek we passed is the nearest place
for water, isn't it?"

"Guess so," answered Calamity
Anne.

Jane left the shack and started
down the trail. A hundred yards,
and she heard some one behind her.
She whirled and looked into the face
of Cal Edwards.

"You!" she gasped.

"Dont git skeered," the man said,
hastily. "I'm not gointa hurt yuh.
I just wanta talk to yuh, that's all.
What's Calamity doin'?"

"Waiting for you with the rifle,
that's what," the girl answered.
Then she swung the bucket, idly, and
looked off thru the trees. Assured
that Cal Edwards did not mean harm,
she was noticing things, particularly
that he was good-looking — perhaps,
after all, the scene of last night had
its mistaken part. Cal was speaking
again.

"I made an awful mistake last
night," he said. "We've been look-
in' for somebody to turn up here

CALAMITY ANNE'S INHERITANCE

with a fake will — they's one in exist-
ence. I thought Calamity had it.
I've found out different. I want to
talk to her now — if I could just "

"Well, why dont you?'5 Jane in-
quired. There seemed an honest
light about the eyes as Cal laughed.

"Why dont I? An' her a-waitin'
to plug me with a pound o' lead?
Listen here, little girl," he moved
closer. "We do things quick out
here. I seen yuh last night and liked

An hour later, Jane Baxter walked
to the window of the little shack and
waved a handkerchief. Calamity
sniffed.

"What you doin'?" she queried.

"Nothing "

There was no time for a second
question. A hurtling form had come
from one of the sheds and was hurry-
ing toward the shack. It was that of
Cal Edwards. On he came. Within
fifty feet of the shack, Calamity's

THEY ARRIVE AT THE MINE

yuh. Whether Calamity's got that
fake will or not, 'taint a bit of differ-
ence to me, now that I've seen yuh.
I like yuh a lot ; will yuh help me?"

Jane frowned a second, then
smiled. Jane, born in the West, had
all the vanity of the East.

"What do you want me to do?"
she asked.

"Sneak them bullets away from
Calamity, so I kin git up there to the
shack to talk to her 'thout her
pluggin' me. Will yuh do it?"

A moment later, he again asked the
question. Again — again — again — at
last the assent.

eyes had caught him. She gave a cry
and leaped for the rifle. She ran to
the window. She aimed — and pulled
the trigger. Only a dull snap an-
swered her. The bullets had been
removed. A crash at the door. The
form of Cal Edwards had entered
and torn the rifle from her.

"Eun me out, will yuh?" he
shouted. "Now it's time for yuh to
vamoose! I've got the whip-hand,
see?"

He gave the elderly woman a
shove and grasped at the will, which
had been tucked in the pocket of her
old blue shirt. Roughly he threw

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Calamity forward and out the door.
He drew his revolver and watched
her down the trail. Then, with a
laugh, he stuck the will in his hip-
pocket, calmly lit a cigarette and
smiled as he looked at the face of
Jane Baxter, white with anger.

"Sorry I had to fool yuh, little
girl, ' ' he said, ' ' but I had to get that
there will. Well, so long." An ejac-
ulation as he turned. He had bumped
into the solid form of Rosie, the

will in the hip-pocket of Cal Edwards
and had fancied it for a meal. Jane
leaped forward. With straining hands
she pried open the burro's mouth.
Anxiously she pulled forth the will.
It hardly had been damaged.

"At least, I've done this!" she
exclaimed. "I've "

"Done what?" came a voice at her
side. Jane looked into the face of
Calamity Anne.

"Saved the will," the girl an-

HUNGRY ROSIE HAD SAVED THE PRECIOUS DOCUMENT

burro, which had come up behind
him. "Derned fool!" he exclaimed,
and hurried across the open space
toward the sheds. Jane Baxter
watched him, with tears in her eyes,
her hands clenched.

"Tricked!" she exclaimed, angrily.
"Tricked ! I let him fool me into — "

A catch of the voice stopped her
words as she rushed forward. A
something in Rosie 's mouth had
caught her eye — the glint of a seal
and the white of paper. Rosie,
always hungry Rosie, had seen the

swered, with a gasp. "Rosie was eat-
ing it. Now, I'm going to show that
bunch of cowards what a real angry
woman is like when she means busi-
ness ! ' '

Then, while Calamity Anne, the
danger of the loss of the will coming
to her in its full force, collapsed
against the side of the ever placid
Rosie, Jane Baxter seized the woman 's
revolver from its holster, ran to the
hiding-place of the bullets, and
started, on a run, for the sheds. A
moment later, an angry bit of lead

CALAMITY ANNE'S INHERITANCE

ploughed its way thru a table where
five men were playing cards. Cal
Edwards and his cohorts looked up,
into the face of Jane Baxter. "Up
with those hands while I take your
shooting-irons ! ' ' she ordered. ' ' Now ' '
— as she assembled the weapons —
' ' dust it — and do it quick ! ' '

She pulled trigger after trigger.
The last man faded over the range,
and she turned, once more, to the
shack. Two other persons were there,
talking to Calamity Anne. One was
Lola Barton; the other Williams, of
the "White Eagle.

" It 's a good thing I followed, ' ' the
young man was saying. ' ' I was just
in time to pick up this girl when she

needed somebody. If you hadn't
cleaned out that gang, I would have, ' '
he added, turning to Jane. Then he
directed his eyes once more toward
Calamity Anne. "Not thinking of
selling out, are you?" he asked.
Calamity spread her hands.

"Yes," she answered, "go on an'
gimme th' check. Shiverin' lizards!
I'd ruther have th' money than this
here hole in th ' ground. This aint no
country for a peaceable woman, no-
how. No thin' but trouble, trouble all
th' time. I'm goin' back East an'
live in a house an' wear them dresses
like I seen in a picture once. Slicker-
in' snakes, but you're slow with that
there pencil ! ' '

Another Puzzle to Interest the Cunous

Following are twenty sentences, and each sentence contains the last
name of a popular player, properly and completely spelled. To the first
reader who correctly solves the puzzle we will present a leather-bound volume
of the portraits of over a hundred popular players. We shall answer no
questions regarding this contest.

1. Oh, Mrs. Pecos; tell our friend to sing.

2. He will sing, "O Joy Celestial !"

3. The water is now hot, Elyza.

4. The buckle you gave me is broken.

5. You can have your pick for doing me the favor.

6. Did Mr. Dorpat establish this business?

7. Amy Erstfeld is quite pretty.

8. I am a son of his uncle.

9. "Gemman, der Son of God am shorely gwine ter kum once moah."

10. Upon each bush many berries can be found.

11. You meet Tyro Bins on almost every occasion.

12. Men in such garb lack well-breeding.

13. The Malker rig and harness will have to do.

14. Newal Keriman is no relative of Warren.

15. I like the way nearest the river.

16. The dog belonging to Hines bit the little girl.

17. Susan or Mandy will sing.

18. Through this shawl eyes cannot see.

19. The whale on Ardmore beach drew many visitors.

20. Talk about baseball, George Mayhew hit every ball pitched him.

There was a tinge of scarlet in the
very air of the place that one
could not merely see, thru the
haze of smoke, but that one inhaled,
as well, in the vivid blend of per-
fumes ; that one heard in the wild lilt
of the orchestra, drenched in the
voices of beautiful women ; that one
felt passing into his or her veins thru
the fiery liqueurs and volatile, spark-
ling wines that gave zest to every rich
repast. Here was the last word of
sensuous gayety, and the Temple of
Feeling. Wine, women and song —
and the kind of men who made them
their gods.

This was "Maxime's."

The only discordant note in the
garrulous scene was rendered by the
occupants of a little table, who seemed
to be crowded close against the wall
by the very reason of the blaring con-
trast. Neither seemed to be interested

in the scene. The man was excited, in
a suppressed manner. His keen eyes
sought the door, or scanned every
face moving thru the gray pall that
hung above the chatting, laughing,
singing audience. Occasionally, they
returned to the face of his young and
exquisitely beautiful companion, who
seemed strangely frightened over the
influence of the place. At length, the
man drew his hands together very
tightly beneath the table-cloth, and
his legs went taut against his chair, as
tho bracing himself for an ordeal.

"Beatrice," he said, just loud
enough to be heard across the table,
"do you know why I have brought
you here ? ' '

The girl gave a quick, almost
frightened, look about her, and shook
her head.

"Do you recall what happened
twelve years ago today ? ' '

"Perfectly" — the girl shuddered,
and a glint of vengeance came into
her eyes that was reflected a hundred-
fold in those of her companion — "my
mother — died."

"Was killed," corrected the man.
"I remember that your little hand
touched the fresh wound above her
heart."

"But, father, why speak of it — now
—here?"

"Because, daughter, tonight begins
the sequel." He leaned over the table
and laid his hand, almost pleadingly,
on her fair arm. "You remember all
—allf"

In the excitement of the moment,
Beatrice had not noticed the party of
three men who had come and taken
their seats at the table in the center of
the room, which, evidently, had been
reserved for them as a mark of
distinction.

On the contrary, the man's eyes
had covertly observed their entrance,
and had kindled anew. "A man had
poisoned my life's happiness," he
continued ; " a man had come between
me and my love for your mother, and,
at length, the same man destroyed
her. That man is free today — tonight."

The girl's eyes, too, had, at length,
rested on the group of men at the
near-by table. At her father's last
words, she swung around. "Free?
Strange; I had always thought him
dead, as he deserved. Why did you

not ?" she looked at her father

almost accusingly.

"In instantaneous death there is no
suffering to speak of. I have planned
for twelve long years that this man
shall taste some of the cruel, writhing
tortures of the heart and soul that
have been visited upon me. I have
been waiting for you to help me."

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

The girl met his gaze instantly, and
there was in her eyes the same intense
hatred against the common enemy.
" Father/ ' she said, with quiet de-
termination, "I would give all I
have to wreak vengeance upon the
creature ! ' '

"My prayers for twelve years have
not been in vain. Now listen. I have
come to this place tonight that you
might see this fiend. That he, too,
might gaze on your beautiful face,
and, mayhap, learn to worship it, as a
score more have done. I mean to

DURAND HAD INSULTED CARL

leave the room at once. Have no fear.
I have a dozen strong fellows within a
few feet of you, who are your paid
protectors. I shall await below in our
car. Join me in a half -hour. The
moment you are alone, you will be-
come the most conspicuous woman in
the room. He will see you. Dont
look yet — but he is the handsome
fellow who has just entered. The
others are all kow-towing to him.
Good-by, dear. We do it in the name
of your mother, remember." The
next moment he had passed un-
noticed from the room. Beatrice
turned her gaze upon the group of men
at the near-by table. The face of the
man she sought was averted. One of

the men caught her eye, and imme-
diately began to try to attract the
attention of his popular companion.

Two men sat in the great studio
of Carl Franklin, each seemingly
intent on nothing more engrossing
than the smoke rings from a narghyl,
at which they both puffed, now and
then.

"Carl," broke in the elder of the
two men, with evident hesitancy, "I
have never before seen you in quite
the mood that seemed to obsess you
last night at Maxime 's. ' '

"Did you find out who the girl
was?" was the other's only reply.

"No; her identity seems strangely
guarded. You still desire to know
who she is ? "

"I must know."

"Carl — you are in love with her —
yet "

"Yet what?"

■ ' I can swear that I never saw such
a look of grief, almost terror, come
into your face as when you looked,
for the first time, at that beautiful
creature last night. ' '

"I did not know you twelve years
ago, did I, Theophile?"

"No; you had but just come from
America. ' '

"I had just killed the woman I
loved above all things on earth. ' '

The other recoiled. "Carl, you! —
mon Diea!"

"Listen. I did not murder her, as
was supposed by many. Few knew
that her husband and I were clan-
destinely fighting a duel that morn-
ing. She sprang between us. I fled.
The coroner's jury dubbed it an
'accident.' This I swear to you: no
other person, least of all that poor
woman, had ever been told that I
loved her. The husband suspected it
and baited a trap of insult for me, by
abusing and beating her in my pres-
ence. Would to God I had killed him
on the spot!"

There was a long silence, and then
Theophile moved to the other's side
and laid his hand gently and reassur-
ingly on his shoulder. ' ' And the girl
of last evening ? ' '

TEE VENGEANCE OF DURAND; OR, THE TWO PORTRAITS 35

"There was something — something
of Marion about her. ' '

"Perhaps it came from suggestion,
because of the anniversary ? But, my
dear Carl, why, if it has any sugges-
tion of that terrible affair, do you not
abandon it? As a friend, I implore
you to do this."

"I have."

"Thank God!" murmured The-
ophile, with a sigh of relief.

I hear the voice of your sitter — a very
lovely voice, too."

She comes well recommended, but
incognito ; I neither know her, nor her
face."

There was a soft rustle of silk in the
doorway, and the maid's voice called:
"Madame, to see monsieur."

The two men rose, but stepped back
in alarm at the sight of the woman in
the doorway. She was the same they

DURAND HAD DESTROYED HIS WIFE S PORTRAIT

They had relapsed into another
deep silence, when the bell in the high-
ceiled hall without pealed a jangling
announcement.

"Some one to keep me busy, and
to get me away from my grim tor-
mentor. My old enemy, her husband,
sought his revenge in having me paint
her picture, I may remark. He used
to hide behind the portiere and ob-
serve us. ' '

' ' I have heard more than one of our
colleagues say that to paint the
woman he likes often results in the
picture of the woman he loves. Ah,

had seen in Maxime 's the night before.
"Pardon, madame," said Carl, with
an effort ; " I am Monsieur Franklin. ' '

The artist could not fathom the
look she gave him. It seemed filled
with a hundred meanings, the final
impression being one of alluring
friendliness and fascinating beauty.
His heart leaped to meet an indefin-
able something in the girl that
seemed as old as the hills to him. Her
presence seemed fraught with both
good and evil significance.

Unconsciously, almost, he pro-
ceeded with his work in precisely the

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

same way that he had painted that
fatal picture years before. The pres-
ent subject was of the same type —
there was a little of ever-present
sameness in everything about her.

The fascination grew daily upon
him — the way she had of casting
down her eyelids, and of flashing
quick glances at him, pointed with
flame that melted into soft smiles in-
stantly. And then, one afternoon,
when he was a little late in returning
to the studio, he found her at the
piano, playing softly, and her eyes
with all the discomforting fires of

MARION HAD BEEN ACCIDENTALLY
SHOT AT THE DUEL

hatred gone from them. At length,
she threw her head upon her arm with
a sigh that stole thru the crevices of
his heart like a knife-blade.

Carl had come to love the woman
madly. The message was in his voice
as he spoke. ' ' Mademoiselle ! ' '

The girl drew her head up quickly.
Into her eyes sprang a look of half-
wild defiance, as tho the man were
forcing her into some compact against
her will.

"Monsieur — I have been waiting
for you" — now the soft half -promises
came into her expression that had
been leading him by the heart-strings
day by day — "to begin your work.
But I am feeling a little out of sorts

just now, and think, after all, I shall
not sit today. ' '

At the suggestion of her feeling
badly, Carl's mad desire to confess his
passion resolved itself into a wave of
profound sympathy.

"I am sorry, very sorry, that
mademoiselle is feeling badly,' ' he
condoled, in a voice so tender that she
gave him a quick, enigmatical look
that again struck fire in his breast.

* ' But tomorrow I shall come and be
your perfect subject — yours to com-
mand at will." She passed to the
doorway, where she paused and
turned. Their eyes met. She slowly
came toward him where, in another
moment, he seemed about to clasp her
in his arms. But she stopped, almost
with a jerk, when within a pace of
him and coolly extended her beautiful
hand. Before he could press it to his
lips, she had taken it away again and
rushed to the doorway once more.
' ' Adieu — until tomorrow ! ' ' There
was challenge, promise and

Carl stood where she had left him,
his mind in a whirl, until he heard
the hall-door close softly.

"Tomorrow/' he repeated, again,
and again, taking his stand before her
half-finished picture, and studying
the expression he had there limned on
her face. At length, he sprang back
with a glad cry. "Her soul cannot
lie — and here I have caught her soul
— her soul loves!"

The girl was swiftly motored to a
suburb of Paris, and then driven thru
the grilled gates of a foliage-hid
chateau. She hastily alighted before
the footman could assist her, and ran
quickly up a grand stairway, and
thence to a little room whose interior
was a showery mass of pink silk and
chintz. Without pausing to remove
her wraps, she quietly turned the key
in the door, threw herself on a dainty
couch, and began sobbing, softly.

It might have been twenty minutes
later that she became aware of some
one tapping on the door. She rose,
listlessly, and opened the door without
ado.

Her father drew back in amaze-
ment. . ' Beatrice, what is the matter ? ' '

TEE VENGEANCE OF DURAND; OR, THE TWO PORTRAITS 37

"I am ill, that is all," she replied,
tonelessly.

' ' The blackguard has not been "

He paused, an angry glitter in his eyes.

"He has done nothing," inter-
rupted Beatrice, wearily.

"You mean that there has been no
— no progress whatever?" He was
excitedly crestfallen.

"He loves me," returned Beatrice,
simply. He did not notice the sigh.
"Thank God — now we have him, and

— resume. Father, will you have no
thought of my health in this matter?"
"Beatrice," he asked, solemnly,
"have we thought of anything — but
the death of your dear mother? We
have both taken a solemn oath ; yours
was even more relentless than mine.
We are to make this man suffer to the
point of death. Then, and then only,
shall the torture let up — for me to
kill him." It was apparent, for the
first time, to the girl's changed view-

THE DEATH OF MARION

we will spend years, if necessary, in
crushing him ! ' ' The man was pacing
up and down in the excess of his
savage joy.

"But, father, this has worn me
out." She was protesting now. "We
have sown the seeds. Cant we go
away — at least for a while ? ' '

"Revenge as sweet as this fattens
and nourishes me. I cannot under-
stand you, Beatrice." He looked into
her eyes sharply. But they told only
a tale of great weariness.

"But we might return later — and

point, that her father was suffering
from a mania of revenge.

"As I have sworn, then so shall I
act, father. What next am I to do ? "

He looked at her in surprise. "Has
your wonderful cunning failed you?
If we can best accomplish our end
thru marriage, then you shall marry
him!"

"Yes, father."

Beatrice found flowers placed in
several vases about the studio. Carl
met her, and there was a soft and

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

luminous light in his eyes that faded
before the coldness of her greeting.
During the entire two hours of her
sitting her eyes were upon him. And
there had returned to them contrition
and the old, sweet promise, by the
time the maid announced tea.

"You will surely stay today?" he
asked, eagerly.

For a mere instant she hesitated.
Then she shook her head, again the
frigid stranger to him.

she entered the house. She went
directly to her father's room. "He
will be here tonight. I shall carry out
my part of the compact under one
condition. ' '

He looked at her a moment. "You
impose conditions ? ' ' His satisfaction
was lost, somewhat, in the harshness
of his tone. "Any condition shall be
yours, so long as you turn him over to
me alive." He opened a secret
drawer and raised a pistol of German

BEATRICE CONTINUES TO TANTALIZE CARL

No— but-

He watched her
face as it seemed to change with many
moods, while she paused, irresolute.
Then she laid her hand on his sleeve,
almost caressingly.

"Instead, wont you come and take
tea with me at seven — and spend the
evening — please ? ' '

"Why add 'please'? You have said
'come' — nothing on earth could stop
me!"

' Beatrice's face was very pale as

manufacture. "Now what is it you
demand, Beatrice?"

' ' That you leave him to me until I
shall summon you. ' '

1 ' Very well, ' ' he consented, with an
impatient shrug of his shoulders.

Carl found Beatrice in the tiny
music-chamber just off the conserva-
tory that had supplied the hundreds
of clusters of rare flowers that em-
bowered the room. She pretended not
to hear him as he entered, tho the

TEE VENGEANCE OF DURAND; OR, THE TWO PORTRAITS 39

maid's announcement rose above the
low rhythm of the music she played.
She did not look up until he had
reached her side, and then it was to
lean back, the soft masses of her deep
brown hair quivering against his
sleeve, and her eyes looking straight
into his heart. He stepped back, with
a supreme effort of restraint.

"Mademoiselle, you are even more
loA^ely tonight. ' '

' ' No, ' ' she assured him, with a little
laugh, as she placed the tips of her
fingers in his palm; "I assure you
that I am at my very worst tonight. ' '

Carl gazed at her now with un-
disguised affection. ' ' Mademoiselle,
what is your name?" he pleaded,
gently.

"Beatrice," she murmured, and
seeing that he was about to make some
sort of declaration, she turned quickly
to the piano again. "Listen, I shall
play — for you." The last two words
gripped Carl like a vise. Suffering
sweet agonies, he stood afraid of what
the least movement on his part would
result in.

Then Beatrice sang. It was one of
the old songs that her mother had
taught her. It flowed into Carl's ear
and affected his heart like new wine.
He stood panting from the terrible
emotion that inundated his soul. The
song drifted off into the gloaming
shadows of the salon —

. . . Dear heart, to mine be true !

The soul of the song swayed her as
she turned and lifted her eyes, which
unmistakably bore the burden of it.
But Carl needed no further portents
of promise. He had sprung to her
side, and had her in his strong arms,
the words: "Beatrice, I love you!"
repeatedly on his lips.

Beatrice's arms had stolen about
his neck, and she clung to him, for-
getting and forgiving all things in
that sublime moment, her eyes half-
closed in ecstasy. Then their lips met,
and the complete avowal of love was
his.

A minute, or an hour, might have
passed. They might not have granted

the passage of any time at all had not
there come a mighty crash of glass
that startled them both into the world
of reality again.

The girl sprang rigidly to her feet,
pulling herself forcibly away from
him. Carl was gazing, with some-
thing akin to terror, at the man who
stood near a great mirror that he had
just shattered in his passion at the
sight before him. In one hand, the
man clasped, nervously, the German
machine-gun.

"There, Beatrice, that is he," he
shrieked; "your mother's slayer!
Ask him to deny it ! ' '

Carl turned to the girl, appealingly.
Beatrice surveyed his countenance,
and seemed to wait for some explana-
tion. Suddenly her face changed. It
became the reflection of her father's
in its intense hatred. She threw back
her head and laughed long and loud,
moving slowly over to her father's
side.

"Well, were you not satisfied to rob
me of my wife, that you must return
like a beast to carry off my only
child?" taunted the man. He had
carefully locked the outer door, and
stood with his back against it.

Carl's face had assumed a terrible
expression at the realization of his
horrible predicament, and the perfidy
of the man who was responsible for it.
Perhaps the deception of the woman
he would love with his last breath,
had frozen his soul, and set his brain
on fire. For a full minute he heard,
he saw nothing, yet felt all the tor-
tures man is capable of. He shuddered
like a reed. Then he slowly folded his
arms and turned his now gray face
toward his tormentors.

"Beatrice, you've done splendid
work!" cackled the girl's father.
' ' Look at his face ! I can see the re-
flection of your mother's wounds in
his eyes!"

Beatrice's laugh still curdled the
air with all the harshness of hysteria.
Still Carl said nothing, tho each taunt
kindled a fresh fire in his eye and
drove reason farther and farther
afield.

"She loved you, woman-killer, just

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

as her mother before her did, only to
lure you nearer destruction. She
would kill you herself, if I relin-
quished that privilege — she whose
kisses were so sweet on your lips but
a moment ago. Her love is as fickle
as her mother's, but her hatred is as
steadfast as her father's. Look, Bea-
trice, see the lines grow in his face ! ' '

Carl had gone mad now, but the
restraint, that had grown deeper and
deeper for twelve years, still held him,
like a lion bound with threads. His

THE TWO MEN CLINCHED

eyes never left the girl, while each
dart of her father, barbed with the
poison of hatred, plunged straight
into his heart and there quivered.

Beatrice was half-sobbing now, and
stood leaning against the door, shak-
ing her clenched hands wildly.

"See what a coward he is, Beatrice.
I could tweak his nose, and he would
be afraid to lift his hand." Carl
suddenly braced himself, as tho to
rush upon the man. "Ah, the gay
lover of other men's women awakes!
Now, Beatrice, to show you that all
my practice has not been in vain, I
shall maim and mangle this ravisher

until he crawls in a trail of his own
blood at my feet! Now for his right
hand — shredded — so that he can do
little damage. This for the love my
wife gave you ! ' ' He raised the gun,
steadily, and looked down the glitter-
ing sight, a demoniacal grin con-
vulsing his face.

But Carl was at last loosing all the
pent-up fury that the lost love of
woman can raise in the sinews of a
powerful man. The last taunt broke
down all barriers, and he threw him-
self forward, with the roar of
a wild beast, just as his enemy
raised the heavy gun.

Three rapid shots rang
clear, and a crimson jet
rippled thru the jagged gash
that had been ripped along
the fine face of Carl Franklin.
But his life had been saved,
for the time being at least, by
the unexpected action of Bea-
trice. With a cry of horror,
she had sprung toward her
father's arm, and knocked it a
few inches aside.

Before Carl could reach
her side, her father had
knocked her down with an
angry sweep of the weapon.

The two men clinched, with
the hungry grip of long
hatred. Back and forth they
swayed, crushing everything
in their pathway; fighting
only to kill. That they
knocked over two great lamps
and, thereafter, fought in
semi-darkness, did not affect their
struggle in the least. But soon the
room brightened from a desultory
glare that brought a heavy smoke
with it. But darkness would have
sufficed just as well for a man's five
fingers to have sought out his enemy 's
windpipe.

Carl was the stronger and heavier,
but that accursed wound was bleeding
like a geyser, some part of his strength
going with every drop of it. Long
since it had blinded him ; it now aided
his enemy in choking him. He was
conscious of a burning heat, too, and
it took all of his strength to keep his

TEE VENGEANCE OF DUB AND; OR, TEE TWO PORTRAITS 41

senses from snuffing out. With an
effort, he tried to peep out thru the
crimson flood. There he thought he
saw Beatrice standing over her father
with the gun, which had fallen in the
fray, raised above his head. Carl
laughed, and then sank back, with a
final shoot of pain, like that of a live
flame licking his hand.

Carl's next sensation was of the

keep quiet for just a wee bit of a
while yet." He closed his eyes in-
stantly. The voice had suddenly be-
come torture, at the recollection of it
all. He sighed and lay back, patiently
awaiting the blow that he expected
would surely follow.

"Darling, open your eyes. It is I,
Beatrice. Your friend, Theophile, is
here, too. ' '

DURAND PERISHES AMID THE WRECKAGE

same hot streak scorching his hand
and arm. He tried to look down, but
something held his face in the grip of
a vise. Now he remembered. He was
in the clutches of his fierce enemy. He
struggled. Then there flowed thru his
consciousness the sweetest music he
had ever heard. It was a woman's
voice.

"There, dearest, you are only to

He was yet afraid. "Where is — is
lief" he was ungracious enough to
ask.

"My father was burned to death in
the fire," said the girl, in a subdued
voice. "You, dear Carl, are in the
hospital. Theophile has told me all."

"Except that it was mademoiselle
that saved you. I '11 tell you about it
later — when I return ! ' '

ow who's that, coming up the
river?" John Pierce, Vir-
ginia colonist, put the question
to himself as he leaned forward, scan-
ning the river that ebbed lazily past
his clearing on the way to Jamestown.
He had been sitting in the doorway
of his cabin, puffing a long-stemmed
pipe and watching the flame of the
sunset on the placid waters. A canoe,
carrying four men, had shot into
sight, rounding a curve in the river,
and heading straight toward the gate
of his palisade.

"Ah, 'tis Rolfe and his mates," he
said, now, with a smile of satisfaction,
hastening toward the river bank, and
beginning to unbar the heavy gate.
"You're right welcome, men," he
called, heartily, " f or i' faith, it seems
to me that every boat on the river and
every rider on the trail has been
headed down the river today, instead
of up."

"And good reason there is for that,
as you very well know," laughed the
leader of the visitors — a roistering,
black-eyed fellow, to whom laughter
came easily. "Get yourself ready
now; we've come to take you along

wTith us, to join the rest of the mad-
men who are flocking down after the
damsels."

They were walking up the path by
this time, toward the rude cabin that
was pleasantly set on a slope of turf,
surrounded by the spreading green of
the tobacco plant. Pierce paused, at
his friend's words, throwing back his
head with a peal of laughter that set
the forest ringing.

"So the dames have really come!"
he cried ; ' ' and that 's why every man
in the settlements has been heading
for Jamestown! I'll warrant you
there'll be a mighty clamor when the
maids are all led out tomorrow, but
I'll not be there, thank you. Come
on in, and have a hand at cards, and
forget the petticoats that have flut-
tered all the way from England in
search of a husband."

"Now look ye, John Pierce," Rolfe
cried, throwing out a hand to include
the whole interior of the cabin in one
sweeping gesture, "will you tell me
where there's a man who has more
need of a woman's hand than you?
Think of the comfort she would add
to this forlorn place — think, man!"

THE WIVES OF JAMESTOWN

Pierce's eyes traveled slowly over
the disorder of the room. Ashes and
embers scattered the hearth where the
fire was long dead: fragments of the
last meal lay upon the table ; bones,
gnawed by the dogs, littered the
greasy floor; everywhere, there were
dirt and confusion. For a moment,
he eyed it with a sick distaste, then
he shook his head.

' ' It 's bad enough, the Lord knows, ' '
he declared, "but you know the old
saying about the frying-pan and the
fire. Better an untidy house than a
vixenish wife. I dont fancy taking a
partner with no more acquaintance
than this hasty mating in the meadows
will afford. AVho knows what these
women are?"

"They are good and chaste maids,
every one with a certificate of char-
acter from the governor," declared
Rolfe, with some heat. "Come,
Pierce, think of the thing from the
right angle. Here we are, settled in
this wild land, fighting our way
against fearful odds. Beggars must
not be choosers. This land must be

peopled ; we have put our hands to
the plough — why not establish real
homes here, instead of continually
looking back to the shores from which
we came ? 'Tis wife and children that
make the home, man, and, a few gen-
erations hence, who is going to ask
just where we picked the wives, so
long as they be honest women and fit
to cope with the life of the wilder-
ness? Be reasonable, man."

There was something in Rolfe 's
seriousness that silenced jokes, and
Pierce looked long into his friend's
eyes before he replied. Then, push-
ing forward some seats, and relight-
ing the long-stemmed pipe, he spoke,
slowly, as one who enters reluctantly
upon a long-buried subject.

"We've been comrades here in the
wilderness for fourteen years, men,"
he said, gravely, "and many's the
hard skirmish that Rolfe here and
I have fought thru, shoulder to
shoulder. Since he seems to be in
earnest about this matter, I '11 tell you
a bit of my past life; then, I think,
you'll understand why I'm not look-

PIERCE PROCEEDS TO TELL HIS STORY

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

ing for a wife, tlio I grant that Kolf e 's
argument is a good one, for the man
who wants to found a home. ' '

"You all know that I came over
with you on the first ship that touched
at Jamestown," he continued, while
the men gathered around, listening
eagerly; "and you know that I was
only an Irish lad of two-and-twenty
then, with a cheek as smooth as a

and eyes like two stars — a high-bred
lady, with manners that became her
lofty station."

He paused for a moment, living
over the past, with brooding eyes, and
his listeners sat very silent, waiting.

"I was from decent, middle-class
folks," he went on, "and they had a
farm near to the castle where the
Lady Geraldine, the last one of a

COLONIAL SCENES

girl's; but you didn't know that in-
stead of John Pierce, as I told you,
my name was Bryan 0 'Sullivan. I
hadn't fled from any crime, that I
should have changed my name like
that; it was only a lad's wild desire
to cast away all his past, and start
over again, with everything new,
even a name — as if that would make
me forget what I had left behind. It
was a woman that sent me across the
seas— a lady, with a face like a flower,

famous line, lived alone with her
faithful old servants. One day I was
working down near the river, when I
heard a woman's screams floating up
from the water. I tore thru the
bushes, down the bank, and there was
a woman, clinging to an overturned
boat. Of course, I plunged in and
brought her to shore, as any decent
lad would have done, and, after her
fright had quieted down a bit, I
saw it was the Lady Geraldine. I

■M

TEE WIVES OF JAMESTOWN

helped her home, and never thought
that anything would come of it, but,
next day, she sent for me to come to
the castle. As I entered the room,
where she sat waiting for me,
she stretched out a little, white hand,
and, as I knelt to kiss it, something in
her eyes kindled the flame in my heart
that a man can feel for just one
woman in a lifetime. She drew her
hand away, gently, and a flush crept
over her face — I can see her now, with

wont to walk, and she always greeted
me with a smile and gentle words,
holding herself aloof, as a lady
should, yet seeming, somehow, glad to
see me. Gradually, she grew friend-
lier— stopped to talk with me — ac-
cepted the flowers I gathered for her
— at last, she would sit upon the grass
and listen, while I played on my flute.
She loved all the bonny, Irish airs,
and often I stole up to the castle at
night, to play beneath her window.

LADY GERALDINE LOVED MUSIC

her glorious eyes glowing above the
rose of her cheeks. She began to mur-
mur little, half-confused sentences,
holding out a bag of gold for me, but
I could not take her gold, and when I
managed to stammer that I wished no
reward for the little service I had
done, she took from her neck a slender
golden chain, with a shining locket. I
knelt there before her, while she
fastened it around my neck; then I
bowed myself from her presence, but
the vision of her smile, and her shin-
ing eyes, went with me. and I could
think of nothing else. Day after day
I haunted the paths where she was

"One day she sat upon the river
bank, near the place where I had
saved her life, and I played all her
favorite songs. As I lifted my eyes,
she met them with a look so strange,
that my flute dropped upon the grass.
and I drew nearer to her. There was
doubt in her eyes, and wonder, and
dread, and — love ! Yes, in spite of all
that happened, now, after the long
years, I still swear that there was Love
in those eyes ! For a moment, her gaze
held mine, then, suddenly, I caught
her in my arms, drawing her close,
feeling her heart beat against my own.
For a moment, she clung to me, her

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

LADY GERALDINE THANKED HIM

face uplifted, her eyes misty, her lips
seeking mine ; then, with a quick cry,
she shrank away.

" ' Go ! ' she sobbed, ' go quickly !
What have I done V

"I went, without a protest. My
heart was singing : ' She loves me ; she
loves me!' I understood her fright,
her shocked realization of what she
had done, but, like a fool, I thought
it would all come right ; that, since
she loved me, she would let me come
back. So I went, with a bursting
song upon my lips, that were warm
with her heart-given kisses.

"A few hours later, as I sat at the
family table, I came out of a delicious
waking dream of her, to hear my
mother saying: 'Did you know that
the fair Lady Geraldine is to be wed
at last ? The great 0 'Rourke has come
a-courting. Five days he has been a
guest at the castle, and the servants
say that it is plain that his suit is
favored. '

"Half -blind with rage and terror,
I raced across the fields to the castle
garden. The sun was setting — I can
see now how it shone on the roses that
bordered the walk, and how it glinted
in her fair hair, as she came toward

THE GREAT o'ROURKE WENT
A-COURTING

LADY GERALDINE SEEMED UNDECIDED

me, so absorbed in The 0 'Rourke, who
walked beside her, that she did not see
me at all. He was talking earnestly,
and, as they came near, I drew back
into the roses and stood still. I
heard him exclaim: 'My lovely Ger-
aldine!' saw him bend, as if to kiss
her — my control snapped, and I
sprang forward, throwing him, vio-
lently, away from her. He recovered
himself in an instant, and drew his
sword, but, in my madness, I snatched
it from him and flung it into the
bushes. Then, ere either of us could
stir, the Lady Geraldine stepped for-
ward, her eyes flaming with an anger

TEE WIVES OF JAMESTOWN

I. had never dreamed they could
show. ' Go ! ' she said, pointing a slim
finger at me, 'you have disgraced
yourself, and me ; you are a mad, pre-
sumptuous fool! Leave this place at
once. '

"All the fierceness of my rage was
replaced by bitter, black despair, as I
obeyed her and went stumbling down
the rose-bordered path, back toward
my home. And, as I went, a plan to

open window, and turned my back on
my homeland, forever. I took pas-
sage with the rest of you for America
— the rest of my life you know. But
now you understand why I will take
none of these maids for my wife. I
have loved a lady, as high above these
adventurous dames as the stars are
above the earth, and no other woman
shall share my heart with her. I will
go to my grave unwedded, knowing,

CROSSING THE ATLANTIC

leave Ireland, forever, was born, full
ripe, in my whirling brain. When the
moon shone high above the castle, I
went back, and, beneath her windows,
played the old songs. Long I lingered,
hoping against hope that she would
repent and give me some sign of her
love — for I swear it was love that I
had seen in her eyes! But her win-
dows were dark, there was no sign,
tho one of them stood open. At last
hope died, and I tore her locket from
my neck, flung it upward, thru the

in my heart, that she loved me — it was
love in her eyes, I swear it ! "

For a time, after the story was done,
the men smoked silently. Then Rolfe
lifted his head, with gay defiance.

"After all," he cried, "the past is
dead, and the present is here. As
you say, Pierce, you came to Virginia
to begin life anew, and you did it.
Then, why look backward into the
past, when all your friends are going
forward? Once married to a comely
young woman, you'll forget all this

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

pretty story, and thank me for coax-
ing you along with us to the marriage
field. At any rate, you might as well
take a chance, as the rest of us!"

"You've said it!" cried Pierce, to
their surprise. "Fate seems to have
given me a poor deal so far, but 111
take another chance — just one ! Here,
watch this knife I throw. If the blade
turns upward, I'll go to Jamestown
with the rest of you ! Now, ready ! ' '

There was a flash of steel, a rush to
the further side of the room, then a
great shout:

" It 's up — it 's up ! Get ready ! To
Jamestown you go with the rest of
us!"

For an instant, Pierce's brow was
black. Then, with a forced laugh, he
slapped his hand upon the untidy
table, crying: "So be it! If I, John
Pierce, Virginia colonist, onetime
known as Bryan 0 'Sullivan, of Coun-
ty Kerry, do not come back with a
wife from the marriage field, it will be
because the impudent hussies pass by
me, looking for a more dandified
suitor. Come, let 's be on our way ! ' '

The market-place of the Jamestown
Colony was all a-flutter with excite-
ment. Hundreds of hardy colonists,
decked in the choicest raiment that
their wardrobes afforded, pushed and
jostled each other in their attempts to
secure favorable positions to view the
maidens when they marched down to-
ward the marriage field.

" 'Twas a fine thought of the gov-
ernor's, to send for these young
women, ' ' said one ; ' ' and, if they are
adventurous damsels, they are as
pretty and well-behaved a lot as a
man could ask for. I saw them as
they left the ship, and they are no
bold hussies; their eyes were all cast
down, and it was a sight to please a
man's heart, after all these years in
the wilderness. When we have homes
here, and families, life will be worth
living, and the colony will grow and
prosper."

"Right you are," returned his
neighbor, "but I wish the price were
not so high. A hundred and twenty
pounds of tobacco is a mighty pile. I

had to borrow a bit, but I have it all
here. Look, by all the powers, there is
John Pierce, with Rolf e and his mates.
It cant be that the grim John Pierce
means to take a wife ! ' '

"Never mind John Pierce," was
the rough advice, "keep your eyes
open for the maidens. Dont you see
they are putting the crimson carpet
down the steps from the governor's
house? See, the door is opening — he
will march first, and the girls will
follow to the field."

All eyes were turned toward the
governor's house, and there was a
silence that broke into shouts and
cheers as the steps blossomed with the
gay colors of the uniforms worn by
the governor and his councilors.
Down the steps and across the green-
sward they marched, with deputies
clearing the way, and after them
trailed a rainbow of marching girls,
in bright attire, some with blushing
faces and downcast eyes, others throw-
ing coquettish glances at the crowding,
staring men. On they went, attended
by shouts of applause and beat of
drums, toward the marriage field,
where four pulpits of turf, each
manned by an expectant minister,
awaited them beneath the spreading
trees.

John Pierce stood with Rolfe at the
very edge of the path, an advan-
tageous position to which chance,
rather than desire, had led him. The
reckless mood of the night before had
passed, and his eyes, scanning the
faces of the passing girls, were half-
indifferent, half-hostile. The dainty
line swung on, ribbons fluttering,
plumes nodding; forty of them had
passed — fifty — sixty — there were only
a few more. Suddenly Pierce clutched
his friend's arm in a grip like a vise,
and leaned forward, his bronzed face
turning very pale, his eyes wide and
staring.

"What does it mean?" he gasped,
■ ' what does it mean ? Can it be — how
can it be?"

The girl, at whom he stared, was
dressed very plainly, and moved with
a haughty grace, in striking contrast
to the stride of the red-cheeked, be-

TEE WIVES OF JAMESTOWN

ribboned companion who marched be-
side her. Her eyes were downcast,
and their long lashes, which touched
colorless cheeks, were not once lifted
as the line swept by.

"What's the matter, man?" Eolfe
was asking ; ' ' is it ghosts you see ? ' '

"It is she," Pierce murmured, be-
wildered; "yet how can it be? How
could the Lady Geraldine be here,
with these common maids, offering
herself for sale? Yet I cant be mis-
taken— I know that face too well —
what shall I do?"

"Do?" roared Rolfe, keenly alive

"Bravo! The man's awake, at
last ! ' ' Rolfe cried, following.

On the field, the maidens shyly
clung together at first, then separated,
drifting apart like the petals of a
breeze-tossed poppy, fluttering over
the meadow. Here some pretty maid
coquetted and dallied with a dozen
eager followers; there a demure one,
after a sweeping glance over her
suitors, calmly held out a hand to the
one she fancied, and they hastened
toward one of the turf pulpits, where,
already, one couple trod upon the
heels of another.

THE COLONISTS SELECT THEIR WIVES

to the possibilities of the situation,
"why, after her, of course. You can
buy her, as well as any other one;
come, after her, before 'tis too late!"

"Buy her! Buy the Lady Ger-
aldine?" Pierce began, angrily, but
Rolfe cut him short.

"You're daft!" he declared; "it's
only a resemblance, of course. But
you might as well have her as any —
if she looks like your lost love, so
much the better. Come, bestir your-
self, before some one gets ahead of
you!"

"I'll kill any man that dares to
touch her!" cried Pierce, breaking
into a run.

But John Pierce, running frantic-
ally up and down the field, saw no
trace of the maiden he sought. Here
and there he hurried, scanning each
merry group, hoping and fearing at
the same time. At last, nearing a
point where the meadow sloped down
to the edge of the forest, he heard a
woman's scream coming from a fringe
of the woods, and parted the branches,
just in time to see a smartly attired
young blade struggling for a kiss from
a girl, who was defending herself as
best she could from his bold advances.
It was the work of an instant to send
the impudent youngster sprawling
into the bushes, where he lay, blub-

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

bering angrily, as Pierce turned, to
look down into the eyes of the Lady
Geraldine.

Yes, it was she ! He was ready to
swear to it. But there was no hint of
recognition in the pallid face. The
dark eyes, upturned to his, held
nothing but dread and terror in their
depths.

"May I serve you, madam ?" he
queried, bowing low and striving to
hide his agitation.

For a moment her eyes searched
his ; then, with sudden, proud passion,
she stamped her foot, imperiously.

"If you seek a wife, take me!"
she cried. "You look like a decent
gentleman. Quick! Let it be over,
and take me away from this shameful
scene. Will you have me?"

! ' You do me honor, ' ' was the grave
response, as he held out a strong
hand, helping the trembling girl over
the rough places, across the meadow,
to one of the turf pulpits.

Like a man in a dream, John
Pierce went thru the hasty ceremony,
the boisterous congratulations of his
friends, the walk from the meadow to
the river, where his canoe waited. As
his bride settled herself in the slender
bark, which shot far out upon the
river with his strong strokes, he re-
alized, with a thrill of joy, that they
were alone now — that she was his own
— that he might tell her who he was,
and listen to the explanation of her
strange appearance here.; But, a
glance at her wan, white face deterred
him. There were unmistakable anguish
and fear in the eyes, even while they
met his, proudly.

"Why is she so frightened?" he
thought; and, aloud, he said, gently:
"Here, make yourself comfortable
with these blankets, and try to sleep.
It is a long ride. ' '

She obeyed his suggestion, grate-
fully, and all thru the ride up the
river the long lashes lay on her pallid
cheeks, and her eyes never opened
until he drove the canoe, softly, onto
the narrow beach. She arose, then,
and followed him up the path, and
into the cabin, pretending no interest
in her surroundings, only watching

him with those anguished, fear-
stricken eyes, while he made the table
ready for their supper.

"Come," he invited, presently,
"the supper is ready. It is a poor
wedding feast, but I trust you will
not find our homely fare unpalatable. ' '

"A wedding feast!" she cried,
shudderingly, springing to her feet,
and eyeing him so wildly that he
shrank back in amazement. ' l A wed-
ding feast! Oh, the mockery of it —
the bitterness — and I have wronged
you, sorely! Why did you take me?
What shall I do?"

' ' Wronged me ? How ? " he queried,
speaking very gently, as she began to
sob, passionately.

For answer, she flung herself upon
her knees before him, stretching up
her white hands in piteous appeal.

"I beg you, I implore you," she
cried, "as you are an honest, chival-
rous gentleman, forgive me, and
suffer me, for a time, to stay as a
guest in your house. Forget that I
am your true and lawful wife—forget
that I sank so low as to sell myself,
like any wanton woman. Judge me
not too harshly, for I was in such
sore trouble — I knew not what to do,
nor how to escape. I took this way ;
I thought I could go thru with it, but
I cannot — I cannot. I beg of you to
pity me. ' '

There was a long silence, broken
only by the woman's choking sobs.
Then Pierce bent, and lifted her to her
feet, supporting her gently, ■ as she
stood, half -fainting before him.

"Look at me," he commanded, at
last, and, as she raised her lovely,
tear-drenched eyes to his, he waited,
quietly. In his heart was a wild hope
that, in spite of his bearded face and
all the changes that the years in the
wilderness had made, she might know
him. But there was no recognition in
her eyes, only a troubled appeal that
wrung his heart, as he gazed.

"Now tell me," he said, when her
sobs were controlled, "why did you
leave England and come to this wild
country to be the wife of any colonist
who chose to offer his tobacco for you ?
If you were unwilling to wed, why

THE WIVES OF JAMESTOWN

are you here ? This explanation I ask
as my right, having married you in
good faith."

"I will tell you," she answered,
steadily, meeting his gaze now with
some of her old pride. ' ' I was nobly
born, and all thru my happy girlhood
I knew no trouble or care. Twenty
years I lived in my castle in Ireland
— twenty golden, happy years. Then,
one came to woo me — a noble, high-
born man — but I refused him; I did
not wish to marry, and he went away.
Soon after, came the Cromwellian

heart whom you cherished, think of
them now, and have mercy on my sad
plight!"

"If I ever loved?" he queried,
softly. "Why does that form of
appeal come to you? Did you ever
love?"

Swiftly a crimson flush stained the
pallor of her face, and her eyes
dropped, remaining downcast for
many moments, while he waited,
silently.

"Tell me," he urged at last, very
gently, "tell me the truth. Did you

PIERCE PADDLES HOMEWARD WITH HIS WIFE

sieges, and my castle was taken,
sacked, burned, and they carried me
captive to England. It is a long story,
and I have no strength to tell it all,
but I escaped one night, with my
serving-woman. She told me of this
ship, just about to sail; I disguised
myself in plain attire, and came, fly-
ing from the ills I had, to others I
knew not of. It was wrong — it was
shameful — but what could I do? I
had no home, no friends, no one to
protect me from the evils that would
come to me in my forlorn condition!
Oh, if you ever loved a woman, if you
ever had mother or sister or sweet-

ever love — did you love the noble lord
who wished to wed you ? ' '

"No!" she cried, instantly, lifting
her eyes to his again; "I never loved
him — I sent him away because I
could not marry without love."

"Then you loved another?" he
insisted.

"Yes," she declared, with sad de-
fiance; "I will, at least, be honest
with you. There was another, in those
golden, youthful days; a merry,
smooth-faced Irish lad, who had a
noble heart and a knightly nature.
He saved my life once; then we be-
came friends, and I loved him. He

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

used to play the flute beneath my
window — ah, how many times in my
dreams I hear it ! But my pride and
folly sent him away; I never knew
where he went; he is dead, perhaps,
but my heart is his, and no other man
shall share it!"

She broke into passionate weeping
again, shrinking from him in terror,
as he would have comforted her, until
he crossed the room and opened the
door of a rude bed-chamber.

"See," he said, standing with
quiet dignity to
let her pass in-
si de , "there is
your apartment.
Go in; there are
bolts on the in-
side of the door.
You shall have
your own will,
and no one shall
molest you. "When
you choose to
come out, you are
welcome, and no
harm shall come
to you beneath
this roof."

With a look of
passionate grati-
tude, she passed
him and entered
the room, but, as
she went, she
snatched a dagger
from the wall,
concealing it i n
her gown.

The door closed, and John Pierce
heard the bolt slide into its place. He
smiled, then, but his hands shook as
he went to a corner and pulled out an
old chest, raising its cover and
fumbling thru its contents. Presently
he took out a little mirror and a
small, slender box. He placed the
mirror upright on a shelf, and worked
at his rough beard, until he made his
face smooth, like a boy's. Smiling at
the transformation that the mirror
reflected, he fumbled again in the
chest and produced a long cloak, such
as rustic Irish lads wear. When he
had donned this, he took from the

THEN YOU LOVE ANOTHER?

slender box a flute, and, standing
before the bolted door, he began to
play, softly, the old tunes of his native
land.

Within the bolted room, the woman
knelt on the bare floor, her face up-
turned in fervent prayer.

And then — what was this? Green
fields of rye, streaked with blue flax ;
thatched cots, with the vivid wild-rose
vines a-scramble; a castle; young
love, piteous, lyric in the tuneful dusk.
What was this, this shrill, sweet sound
that trembled
across her heart-
strings like the
flute of her Irish
lover calling t o
her, pleading for
him long ago ?
She staggered to
her feet and
across the uneven
flooring, toward
the music, her
breath faint, her
hands fluttering,
ineffectually, t o
her throat.

"The flute — I
must be going
mad, I think —
but 'tis very like
— oh, lad, lad,
with the honest,
Irish eyes "

^ She sought the

bolt, fumbling for
it with blind
fingers, then hesi-
tated. Without the door, the music
soared higher, sweeter. It was plead-
ing, like a lover's lips; it was
reminiscent, prattling of the dear,
lost days. A wild sob caught her
breath, stifled her. The hand on the
bolt grew tense, until the blood left
the straining finger-tips.

"I dare not open — 'tis some dream

I'm dreaming^-only a dream "

she whispered to herself, hopelessly,
in the midst of her sudden hope.

On the other side of the door, the
man, hearing the bolt's withdrawal,
smiled to himself, and played steadily
on, telling her, thru the music, how he

TEE WIVES OF JAMESTOWN

had grieved for her long, wanted
her sorely, loved her beyond words.
It was his great moment, when the
long, barren years had blossomed for
him, but still he played steadily, his
eyes upon the closed door. The latch
lifted, the hinges creaked open, re-
luctantly, and she stood there, wide-
eyed, incredulous, looking at the very
figure and face of the lover who had
left her so long ago. Under the dawn-
ing glory in her eyes, his own grew
wet, and his fingers blundered on the
flute-stops, but still he played on,
with a mere breath of sound, softer,
almost, than silence.

"Bryan!" she cried, at last, all the
love and longing of years in her voice.
"Bryan, is't you, indeed, my dear —
my own, or do I dream ? ' '

The flute rang upon the floor, as he
held out hungry arms.

"Mavourneen, 'tis your lover of
the years agone — heart's treasure —
wife!"

A sudden warmth flooded her white
face. But still she did not move to
him.

"Art sure you want me — Bryan?
Look, see the wrinkles — the gray in
my hair "

Her voice struggled, piteously, with
the words. Ke laughed aloud, joy-
ously, like a boy.

"Want you, Eose of Erin, want
you ?"

Lady Geraldine hesitated no longer,
but went straight to the arms of her
Irish lover that had been waiting for
her so long. And his kiss, on her
tremulous lips, erased the gray, and
the wrinkles, and the bitter unfulfill-
ment of the years that they had lost
and found.

r^a^n

Motion Pictures

By BOB STANLEY

Me an' Jim come in last evenin', Kind o' like them Irish pictur's,
From the "Bar C's" t'other side, Seems if they is most like home ;

Circled clean 'roun' the mountain, But the pictur's all is pleasin',
Twenty miles we had to ride. Even them 'bout ancient Rome.

Jest dropped in to see them pictur's,
Like we seen here once before ;

Guess we kind o' got the habit,
'Less we wouldn't come no more.

Now, there's somethin' awful 'tractive,
'Bout a Motion Pictur' show,

An' when once we get the habit,
We jest go, an' go, an' go.

See the Motion Pictur' people
Doin' things as makes us cry ;

Then, ag'n, they quit the tragic,
An' we laugh till tears is dry.

'Course them thrillin' cowboy stories

Is a little overdrawn,
Fer us punchers all aint heroes —

Neither gentle like a fawn.

Then them Injuns' big war-bunnets
Look right odd in times o' peace ;

But that dont cut any figger
When the pictur's showed in Greece.

Well, this Motion Pictur' habit
Needn't cause no wild alarm,

Fer the pictur's kind o' soothe us,
So we dont do no one harm.

The Gallery Gods

By HARLAN P. BRIGGS

Where are the gods, who high above,
With dirty face and tattered hat,
Once on a time in judgment sat,

The objects of our fear and love?

Where are the gods whose grimy hands
Would cheer the hero in his cause,
Whose hearty laughter and applause

Would make us love the one-night stands?

Where are the gods? Why, dont you know
The gallery god is of the past?
He was too good a thing to last;

He's at the Moving Picture show.

'~ The Elusive

(Pathe Fr^res) ' |

By ROBERT CARLTON BROWN

"AT last!" breathed Jim Barnes,
jf\ catching his bride 's hand, and
gently drawing her from a
group of her girl friends. "I have
been trying to get to yon for an honr.
Confound these receptions, anyway!
Why cant they let a man be alone
with his wife for at least the first fif-
teen minutes after they are married ? ' '

' ' Oh, Jim, ' ' whispered Jane Barnes,
who had so recently been Jane Orr,
' ' I wish we could slip away from this
crush of people." She raised her
pretty, pouting lips to his,

Jim clasped her close, and was just
about to seal their marriage-bond with
a kiss, when Mrs. Orr, Jane 's mother,
stepped, laughingly, between them.

' ' Here they are, ' ' she cried. ' ' Try-
ing to slip away from us already."
She turned to a dozen smiling guests
following her. "I caught them just
in time to prevent their kissing. Such
spoons!"

Jim glanced down, nervously, at his
shining, patent-leather pumps, and
Jane blushed to the roots of her
charming coiffure.

' ' Jane ' ' — Mrs. Orr spoke in a quick,
low tone to her daughter — "you
mustn't let Jim kiss you before all
this crowd. It isn't refined for a girl
who has just been married. Be con-
siderate of your guests, and try to
forget Jim until train-time. ' '

Jane's pouting lips quivered; evi-
dently her mother's advice was not
welcome. She stood alone, flushing
with embarrassment, while her mother
returned to her guests, and led them
all to the great, glittering punch-bowl
in the corner, to drink the health of
the bride and groom.

Jim slipped eagerly to Jane's side,
and caught her hand, passionately,
turning up her sweet face, and gazing

deep into her tender eyes as he brought
his lips close to her and breathed:
"Now, dearest, at last we "

A hearty slap on Jim's shoulder
caused him to turn around, dis-
tractedly, and prevented the kiss.

"Greetings, Jimmie!" cried the
fellow who had caused the interrup-
tion. " I 'm sorry to bother you folks,
but I've got to congratulate you both,
and kiss the bride."

Jim stood at one side, trying to
force a smile, as his friend exercised
the privilege of wedding guests. It
seemed to Jim that everybody but he
was allowed to kiss Jane. He stepped
forward, to assert his right, laugh-
ingly demanding that he, too, must
kiss the bride, when an eddy of
friends whirled his way, and one fat,
beaming fellow pushed Jim away,
with a laugh: "Old friends first,
Jimmie. You'll have plenty of time
to kiss the bride after we 're gone. ' '

Jim doubled his fists and stood,
with angry eyes, watching, as the
good-natured fellow kist Jane on the
cheek.

"Come, Jane," whispered Jim,
when the last party of guests had
turned their attention to the punch-
bowl, "let's sneak away, quietly, to
some place where we can be by our-
selves. All this fuss and feathers is
disgusting. I want to be alone with
you."

"But mother wouldn't like it,"
said Jane, slowly.

"Never mind; what mother likes
doesn 't matter to you, now that you 're
my wife."

The pair clipped away from the
reception like guilty children, finding
an empty room in the rear of the
house, and dropping down together
on a comfortable sofa. The noise of

THE ELUSIVE KISS

some one passing caused Jim to jump
to his feet and to close the door, just
as he was about to kiss his bride. He
hurried back to the sofa, leaning to-
ward Jane, who put her clinging arms
around his neck and drew his face
close to hers, their lips seeking one
another.

The door burst open. Jim sprang
back defiantly and glared at a crowd
of merrymakers, who trooped in,
exclaiming : ' l Ah, here you are ! Con-
gratulations, Jimmie," and "You'll

"Come on, now, back to the front
of the house," laughed one of the
girls, taking Jane's arm, and leading
her thru the door.

Jim stepped to Jane 's side and
whispered: "Get away from them —
into the garden. I'll meet you."

His little wife dutifully and eager-
ly obeyed his suggestion, managing to
get away from the girls, by a ruse,
and to slip thru a little-used door into
the quiet garden behind the house.
Jim joined her at the door. Without

THE GROOM WAS ABOUT TO KISS HIS BRIDE, WHEN-

be alone long enough after the honey-
moon; you've got to share yourselves
with your friends now."

"This is abominable!" cried Jim,
softly closing the door as the people
filed out, having delivered their con-
gratulations. He knelt, quickly, at
Jane 's side and gathered her hands in
his, raising his lips to hers, when, with
a loud bang, the door flew open, and
a flock of bridesmaids fluttered in,
exclaiming: "Oh, here you are, Jane.
Your mother said to hunt you up and
bring you back."

Jim sprang to his feet and stood at
one side, glowering.

waste of time, they embraced, and
Jim, clasping his bride tight, was just
about to imprint the delayed caress
on her lips, when two children
bumped into their knees, and caused
them to jump quickly apart.

The children were Jane's young
brother and sister, playing horse in
the garden. In a flash, their child-
minds took in the situation.

' ' Trying to get off alone, were you,
so you could kiss and hug?" ex-
claimed Johnny, the elder of the chil-
dren, impudently.

"No, Johnny. Look here!" cried
Jim, reaching into his pocket and

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

trying to cover the disgusted look on
his face with a smile. "Your mother
sent us out to look for you. Here ' ' —
he gave the boy a quarter — "your
mother wants you to run to the near-
est candy-store and buy all the candy
you want with this, and eat it up be-
fore you come back. She said to take
your little sister along, too," added
Jim, as Johnny started to run off with
the money.

"There! Thank heavens !" ex-
ploded Jim, when the children's heels
disappeared around the edge of the
garden. "We are alone, at last."

Not to take any chances on another
interruption, Jim eagerly embraced
Jane, and drew her toward him, to
press, a kiss on her loving mouth,
when the sound of some one clearing
his throat came distinctly to his ears.

Utterly discouraged, Jim drew
back and turned around, sharply, to
see the old gardener, dressed in his
holiday clothes, in honor of the
wedding.

"Excuse me, Miss Janey," said the
eld pensioner, taking off his hat and
bowing humbly, "but I couldn't let
you go away without giving you an
old man's blessing, and telling you
how much the birds and the flowers
in the old garden will miss you when
you're gone; not to mention me, Miss
Janey."

"Lord!" murmured Jim. "That
old fellow will talk an arm off you,
Jane."

"But I must say good-by to him,
dear," whispered Jane, stepping to-
ward the old gardener and giving
him her hand, which he kist, fervent-
ly, with tears in his weak, old, blue
eyes.

"Just a minute, Miss Janey,
please," pleaded the old man, draw-
ing Jane toward a rustic bench. "It
was here in this garden that I saw
your father and mother, just after
they were married. Let me tell you
a word about how it was in those days.
You are the picture of your mother,
Miss Janey, and Mr. Barnes is just
like what Mr. Orr used to be."

Jim glanced imploringly at Jane,
but she dropped down on the bench

beside the old fellow who had been a
nurse to her in her childhood, and
whose tender heart she could not
injure.

Jim impatiently excused himself
and rushed to his bedroom. There he
hastily wrote the following note to
Jane:

Dearest — In order to escape our
friends and avoid the usual annoyances
and " tricks which are played on folks
starting on their honeymoon, let us slip
away separately to the station and meet
each other on the train. Pack your
things, and I will have an automobile for
you on the side street.

Your husband,
Jim.

Calling his valet, Jim ordered him
to pack his suit-case and told him his
plans. Then Jim slipped downstairs,
found his wife still in the garden
with the garrulous old man, and put
the note in her hand. Jane promptly
excused herself, and left Jim sitting
with the old gardener.

She raced to her room, with madly
beating heart, and read her husband 's
note. The plan just suited her; she
had had enough annoyance already.
Calling her maid, Jane told her the
secret, and asked her to pack her suit-
cases.

Dressed at last in her trim, black
"going-away" suit, Jane stood before
her French mirror and carefully
fastened her big, black picture-hat
with a number of beautiful hat-pins,
some of them wedding presents. As
she was surveying herself in the glass,
Jim slipped into the room and startled
her.

"You got my note, dearest?" he
whispered, drawing near to her and
throwing his arms about her. "Oh,
you look just like a picture. How did
I ever deserve such a beautiful
darling? I must have a kiss, right
now. ' '

Just then, Jane's maid flounced
into the room, with her packed grips,
Jim, going red, grasped the suit-cases
and started for the door, calling back
over his shoulder: "Go out the gar-
den door, dear. The auto will be
waiting there. Hurry!"

THE ELU81 Vtt KltiS

He had no sooner reached the
garden with the grips than Jane
followed with her maid, ready for the
trip.

"There's the machine/ ' Jim
pointed thru the garden to the road.
"You hurry and get in. I'll keep the
people back; they wont be able to
^other you any more. Here's your
ticket. I'll meet you at the station.
And now, dear, just one kiss and—"

In the presence of the maid, Jim
passionately clasped his little bride in
his arms and was about to kiss her,
when he uttered a startled cry and
put his hand to his cheek.

One of Jane's many hat-pins had
pricked him.

"Oh, dear, I'm so sorry," cried the
bride, in quick sympathy.

A house-door opened, and Jim,
smiling, to show that he was only
scratched, hurried Jane down the
graveled walk, to the auto. He
turned, just in time to meet a crowd
of guests, hurrying into the garden
to intercept the bride and groom.

"Where is Jane?" they cried.

"Up in her room — dressing to go
away," said Jim, as he heard the
auto start toward the station with his
bride, "and smiled to himself over the
success of his ruse.

A few minutes later, he managed
to gain his bedroom, unnoticed, se-
cure his suit-case, and slip out thru
a side door. He ran along the street
with his heavy grip, looking back, as
tho fearing that some of the bridal
party had missed him and were
already in pursuit.

He looked about, anxiously, for a
cab, but none was in sight. In the
flurry of excitement, he had for-
gotten to order one. He looked at
his watch, realized that he had little
time, and broke into a run, headed
for the railroad station.

He lost his way, and, finally,
reached the station just in time to
see a train pulling out. It must be
his train. In one of the rear Pullman
windows he suddenly recognized
Jane's tearful face peering out at
him. She was waving to him, fran-
tically, to hurry.

He raced up the railroad track
after the disappearing train, when
he was suddenly stopped by a guard,
who assured him it was useless to
try to catch it.

Jim returned to the railroad sta-
tion, learnt that there was another
train in twenty minutes, and sent the
following telegram:

Mrs. J. A. Barnes, Hicksville Junction,

Train No. 16:

It broke my heart to be separated from

you in this ridiculous way. Wait for me

v at Hicksville Junction. Will arrive on

train twenty minutes after you.

Your own Jim.

Meantime, Jane, in a frenzy of
excitement, ordered the conductor to
stop the train. He refused, and tried
to console her, but Jane, beside her-
self with despair, jumped to her
feet and pulled the cord, signaling
for a stop.

The train came to a standstill, and
the conductor helped Jane off. She
stood, crying hysterically, alone in a
wilderness, beside the railroad track.
The train sped on its way.

Picking up her grips, Jane strug-
gled along the ties, back to the rail-
road station, where Jim awaited her.

Suddenly she saw a train coming
and stepped into the tall grass at the
side of the track, to wait for the train
to pass.

As she watched the long line of car-
windows flying past, she suddenly
caught sight of Jim's face at a
window. He was staring out, and she
saw that, in the instant of passing,
his eyes had recognized hers.

She waved to him and shouted for
help. The train passed on, and Jane
dropped down among the brush at
the track-side, utterly despondent.
Her husband had gone on without
her, on the next train.

Jim, having caught sight of Jane,
ordered the conductor to stop the
train and let him off, but that official
refused, and Jim was forced to
ride on a mile farther, to Hicksville
Junction, where the train stopped,
and he alighted. Eacing back down
the track to join Jane, he suddenly

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

came upon a gang of railroad repair-
men, with a hand-car. In a flash, Jim
saw a chance, and, thrusting a twen-
ty-dollar bill into the hands of the
section boss, he ordered two men to
jump on the hand-car, and carry him
down the track, to Jane.

After a mad ride of ten minutes,

' ' Now is our chance, dearest. We '11
be alone, at last." He helped her
onto the hand-car. One of the
laborers, surmising Jim's intention,
leaped for the car, but Jim, with a
straight-arm push, sent him tumbling
back against his companion. The two
fell sprawling on the tracks, as Jim

BARRIERS PUSHED AWAY

Jim came upon Jane, sitting at the
side of the track. Her hat was off,
her hair partly down, and she
looked very sad and disheveled.

Jim jumped off the hand-car and
ran to the forlorn figure of his wife,
raised her to her feet, and was
about to kiss her tears away, when
the two workmen, who had brought
him to the rescue of Jane, shouted
at them that there was a train coming,
and that they must get farther from
the track.

The train whizzed past. The rail-
road men piled Jane's grips on their
hand-car, and, as they turned to see
if there was any more luggage, Jim
whispered, excitedly, in Jane's ear:

and Jane, together, pumped the
handle-bar up and down, speeding
away along the track before the
frantic eyes of the workmen, who
could not scramble to their feet in
time to take up the pursuit.

Mr. and Mrs. Barnes worked en-
ergetically at-the handle-bar until the

THE ELUSIVE KISS

car reached a slope. Then Jim, with
a beatific smile, cried: "Come, dear-
est, the car will run down hill by it-
self. Sit down here with me, and
let's enjoy our honeymoon ride."
He helped her gain a place at his

side, and, the qar speeding along
smoothly down the grade, they sat
snugly up in front, hugging each
other close, and exchanging, at last,
the sweet kiss that had eluded them
so long.

A Photoshow Doxology

By LILLIAN MAY

None would have thought that Parson Snow
Could have been coaxed or bribed to go
To see a Motion Picture show.

It happened thus one day:
It chanced that on a city street,
Three old school friends he paused to greet,
So very glad were they to meet,

They felt quite young and gay.

"The gang's all here!" cried one with glee,
"For old times' sake let's good sports be ;
A picture show we'll go to see."

But Snow was loath to go.
'Come on, we're deacons, elders, too,
And good church folks, the same as you,
It is a harmless thing to do ;

Come to the photoshow !"

£72-i"_-

The pictures showed a school-room scene ;
The teacher stood with brow serene;
These words appeared upon the screen :

"School opens with a hymn."
Soft music stole upon the ear,
It brought old recollections dear.
The parson rose — no thought of fear —

And sang, with fervent vim :

"Praise God from whom all blessings flow,
Praise God, all creatures here below !"
Remembering 'twas a picture show,

He suddenly sat down.
Outside, he bade his friends good-day.
"Thank you," he said. "I hope we may
Meet here and while an hour away

Next time we come to town."

My Choice

By MARIE E. LEFFERTS

From an agent, a queer little book I bought,

With the creepiest title, called "Power of Thought" ;

And it says that whatever you wish to attain,

Whether riches or genius, beauty or fame,

All you must do, a few minutes each day,

Is to concentrate, strongly, your mind in this way.

Take, for instance, if you are a weak little man,

And long for the power and strength to command ;

First, draw in your mind a mental picture

Of a strong healthy man ; let it become a fixture,

So that you will have a model to follow.

Then think to yourself, "I'm -a regular Apollo,"

And, sure as you breathe, each day you will find

Yourself growing to be like the one in your mind.

Well, after I read that most wonderful book,

I grabbed up my hand-glass and had a look

At my wrinkled face, and my nose with a hump ;

At my green, little eyes, and my heart gave a jump.

To be beautiful! here was the chance of my life.

And my husband, how proud he would be of his wife.

So I said to myself, "How smooth is my skin,"

But I winked in the mirror, and tried not to grin ;

Then I thought good and hard, "Oh, my eyes are so bright,

And it struck me that funny I laughed outright.

Well ! the book has some virtue, I haven't a doubt,

But beauty, I'm afraid, I've been too long without.

On mental pictures, you bet, I waste no more time ;

Motion Pictures, or none, hereafter, for mine.

A Moving Picture

By MACY D. KISSAM

Maiden, should your heart be sleeping,
When artful Master Love comes seeking,

Bid him hasten far away.
Bid him not to tarry longer,
For you '11 find he is the stronger,

And your heart will surely wake, and to him say :
"Love, too long have I been sleeping
Take my heart into your keeping,

And together we will travel on the way. ' '
Love will smile at your concession,
And will make you his possession

For a little while, and then bid you good -day.

And your heart, instead of sleeping
Will be watching, waiting, weeping,
As it was in the beginning,
As it happens every day !

The sound of decorous music
swelled within the slab school-
house on the Concho, and
trickled thru the windows, far out
across the prairie. In the open, a
score or more of stock ponies chewed
the sun-scorched grass, or raised their
heads to listen to the hymns. A cow-
hand's only provocation for sacred
music is to still a herd that shows
signs of restlessness at night. And
then, with an effort, he recalls the
words and a semblance of the airs of
childhood. But to chorus to a portable
organ, in a schoolhouse with shut
windows, on a summer Sunday — that
is strange and foreign to his nature.

For a brief minute, a single horse-
man, a handsome, clear-skinned chap,
thought so, too, as he pulled up short
on the wagon-rutted trail, and listened
to the voices of praise.

"The outfit from Bar T Nine," he
cogitated ; ' ' gone plumb loco with the
heat."

Come, ye sinners, pore an' needy;
Weak and wounded, sick and sore,

came the swelling invitation from
within.

The rider shook his head,troublously.

Let not conshunce make y'u linger;
Nor of fitness fondly dre-eam

The thud of hoofs on the trail an-
swered, and listener and pony flashed
by the schoolhouse, across the flat,
dull yellow earth, toward the sky-
line of faint blue divide beyond.
Four miles away, man and horse still
rocked on the level like a toy boat on
the sea.

With his disappearance, a hush
settled about the schoolhouse, become
as quiet again as the winter sleep of
the mountains. Inside, a small, white-
bearded man was talking with the
earnestness of Isaiah come to heathen
places, but his hearers harkened, and
heard not. The expression of the
"captured alive man" in the circus
side-show fixed their faces — some-
thing between ferocity, and meekness
and suffering.

Seated at a nicked, portable organ,
a plump, pretty girl, also unhearing,
thumbed the hymn-book in search of
further delectable tunes. She was
only the evangelist's daughter, and
her business was merely that of coax-

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

ing combinations of sound from the
box with stops, but the reputation of
her good looks and friendly nature had
preceded her thru the land, from
Red Gap even unto San Angelo.
Therefore, the turn-out of the boys
from the nearest ranch, and their
volume of song. The sons of nature
must call for a mate, even as you
and I.

Molly was unconscious of the tragic
appeal in the notes, and the comic
effort to bring them forth. Her sphere
was to sing and play for her father's
converts, and to ride out,
with open, stops, the tern,
pest of terrible sound.

One voice rose, high
and" thin, over the
others. The
possessor^ of
this predomi-
nant barber-
shop tenor was
known thruout
all of Texas
cattle -land as
the owner of
a guitar and
a voice . He
was stunted,
freckled and

Mr. Colson, the evangelist, and
Molly were due to take the stage for
Abilene the next day, and Molly
leaned out of the buckboard, smiling,
and asked them all to come see them
off — ' ' they had been so sincere and so
earnest."

She had said this many times be-
fore to transient congregations, but it
had never failed to bring a response,
like the good old lines in melodrama,
where Annie spurns the rich villain's
hand, in spite of the three mortgages
on her father's farm.

So the gathering waited until
the buckboard was lost in its
own dust, and mounted
slowly, and ambled over
the cracked and thirsty
prairie to the ranch-
house,"which now,
somehow; did not
look quite the
same to them.
Maybe, that star-
spangled night,
- there were misty
thoughts of home
and a girl in a
fresh, white
frock ; but all
such were ban-

fair, with legs bowed enough for a
pole-cat to slip thru without damage
to his sheepskin chaps.

So much for the embellishments of
' ' Shorty ' ' Evans ; they had made him
indispensable in the bunk-house,
around the camp-fire, and a sure
winner in the dance-halls of Abilene.

"Windy" Bill Tolliver was twice
as big, and four times as wise with the
steers, but when the little frontier
service had come to an end, and
Shorty gathered up the hymn-books,
to stow them under Molly 's feet in the
buckboard, Bill and the rest of the
congregation looked on dumbly. The
ways of women was a closed corral to
them.

ished and blighted by the bringing
forth of Shorty's guitar, and the
new note in his voice.

Things were slack on the ranch, the
steers ranging mostly in plain sight,
or hanging around the water-holes,
and the "converts" were excused, to
ride into San Angelo the following
morning. The up -stage from Abilene
was due about eleven o 'clock, to swing
back again at three, and, with it, the
sweet singer of the prairie. She
never wanted to leave a new batch of
converts: with her away there was
danger of backsliding, but the ways of
the evangelist are harsh and fugitive.

Molly humored herself, tho, by
buying, at the general store, a brand-

IM .19 I ' ..

THE KISS OF SALVATION

new, white Stetson and a buckskin
riding-skirt. The butt, too, of a little,
nickel-plated .320 stuck out of its
holster, grimly, on her hip. She had
long wanted to take such an outfit
back to Chicago, and could have had
Mexican saddles, . quirts, .spurs and
suchlike prizes thrown in with prod-
igality, ancb aireart or-two'to sparey if
she had taken anything but a soul-
interest in the plainsmen.

And, now, the boys from Bar T
Nine rode up just as she stepped out
on the porch, as
glowing as the
peony-colored
li an dkerchief
knotted loosely
around her
throat. It was a
picture worth
coming across a
county to see,
and,, no doubt,
Shorty would
have said some-
thing to her worth
remembering, i f
the rattle of the
incoming stage
and the shuffle of
its horses ' feet
had not drawn
all eyes to it.

Peasy, the
driver, climbed
down, without
throwing the
usual heavy mail-
sacks to the

ground, looking pleasantly agitated.
"Stuck up," he announced, "jest
t'other side o' th' Colorado — heavy
feller on a little, lame roan."

"It's Little Sandy ! ' ' yelled Windy,
with a giant pull on his cinches. " Th '
boss pony of th' ranch — lame, huh?"

"Yep, an' puffed aroun' th' eyes,"
said Peasy.

"I'd ruther he'd ridden Ine out — •
honest, ' ' broke out Shorty.

"Time to be goin', boys," said
Windy, and, with a swing and a
gathering of hoofs, the outfit started
down the road. It was a grim and
flying cavalcade, then, neck against

INSPECTING THE SPOILS

neck, and stirrup-hoods knocking
together thru the scudding dust. The
vision of a sweet woman was become a
mockery where a stolen and abused
pony was concerned.

Tfie fellow, whoever he was, had
counted on making an easy getaway,
for, to the north of the Colorado"/ his
pony's tracks were plain. ~~ Where a
feeble, summer creek worked down
from a wooded hill, they stopped alto-
gether, and the cow-hands cut into
the brush, sure of trapping their man.
The man-hunt
came to an end
almost as sudden-
ly as it had flared
up. They found
him — t h e unper-
suaded chap who
had stopped t o
listen to their
singing — squat-
ting on an out-
crop of rock, in a
little clearing,
with the lame
roan by his side.

Little Sandy
pricked up his
ears, and whin-
nied, half in joy,
as W i n d y ' s
thrown rope
settled over the
thief's shoulders.
It was a tame cap-
ture— t he man
did not struggle;
seemed to take it
as coming to him, and, in a trice, he
was trussed up with the rope, and
jerked to his feet.

"Here's one for Little Sandy, you
skunk," said Shorty, and the man's
head rocked back from the blow.

"I'm not a horse-thief," he said,
choking; "I meant to send the money

back from San Antone "

"Who are you, anyway?" Windy
broke in.

"Until a month ago, I was lookout
at the Royal Palace, Gallagher's place
in Sweetwater. The game is dead
there — I was clean broke — so I started
to hoof it to an uncle of mine in — ="

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"Shet up," said Windy; "we dont
wanter sabe your uncle's name, or
yourn — might mean trouble a'ter-
wards. ' '

The Bar T Nine boys had decided
to take the law into their own hands
— that much was due them, and a

an old oak that stood out, crabbed
and alone, on the floor of the valley.
The stranger had ridden the return
journey back of Windy, on his pony's
rump, silent enough, and for this they
had given him credit. Little Sandy,
tied to him, had hitched along on

THE THIEF IS CAPTURED

fitting place to string up the self-
confessed horse-thief was discussed.
Shorty suggested the little draw, back
of their own ranch: there was a fit-
ness about it; besides, it was lonely
and off the road far enough.

It was along toward sundown, with
the shadows quite deep in the draw,
when they reached the spot selected,

three none too good feet, with a wist-
ful look in his eyes at the proceedings.
It was the sort of punishment meted
out to the fabled Ancient Mariner
with the dead albatross hung about
his neck, but, of course, they never
had heard of him.

The stealer of Little Sandy was
placed beneath the oak, his hands

TEE KISS OF SALVATION

freed, and Windy threw the noose of
a brand-new rawhide riata over his
neck, and its length over a limb. It
came twisting down like a snake.

The eyes of the ex-gambler meas-
ured the height of the limb, ran down
the dangling rope, then seemed to
soften and to turn inward, as it were.
He raised his head, and his lips moved
just a little and rapidly — silent words.

As they waited to pull, he stopped

She came toward them quietly, now,
seeming not to understand. Then, all
at once, the meaning of the thing —
the man and the slender rope — broke
on her, and she came on swiftly,
stumbling, and clutching at her
throat.

"Stop" — the words came free —
"dont take his life — dont pull "

Her big, frightened eyes pierced
them, as the words refused to come.

MOLLY PLEADS FOR THE VICTIM

suddenly, and seemed to listen to the
distant call of a puma. Was it a
puma, or a woman's voice in song?

They all heard it now, solemn and
high and sweet, coming nearer. The
air was Methodist and restrained, but
the mystery and uncanniness of the
thing, there on the edge of the prairie,
held them stiff.

Pretty soon the mesquite brush
parted, and the minister's daughter
came out before them — a grewsome
sight, these hangmen — with the song
still on her lips.

Shorty had never been so uncom-
fortable in his life before. Then an
inspiration flashed upon him.

"It seems," he said, taking off his
slouch, "that this here horse-thief
is goin' to quit the range, sorter
sudden-like, miss, and we-all aint
fitted to ease the trail any. If y'u
could do suthin' for him like his
mother, mebbe, his mother »"

Shorty broke down — the effort at
sentiment was too much. The rest of
the outfit were all bareheaded, and
waiting for him to go on.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Molly saved the situation instantly,
and in a startling manner. The blush
of the morning flooded her cheeks as
she stepped up to the stranger, drew
his head down, and planted a kiss on
his forehead.

The boys turned their faces away
during the ceremony, but the stranger
smiled down as she brushed his brow

was thrown into it ; the first bounding
jump of a pony, as rowels sank into
him, and their former prisoner was
fast becoming a memory in the valley
■ — a shadowy thing that paid no heed
to the shots that rang out behind him,
but just kept his mount humping
until a turn in the valley, between
high crags, blotted him out.

THE KISS OF SALVATION

with her lips, and his arm stole
around her. Not a caress, for his
hand sought, "and found, the weapon
at her side, jerked it out, and leveled
it over her shoulder.

"Hands up — faces. turned away,"
came the clear,' almost tired, voice of
the ex-gambler.

They could feel the thing in his
hand, and his silent backing away
from them — a sort of intangible
slipping-off, like blindman's buff.
Then the creak of a saddle, as weight

Of course, the infuriated outfit
followed him, riding and cursing, as
if they were riding out a cattle stam-
pede, but it did no good. The fugitive
was careful, this time, to avoid the
trail, and the bigness of the rolling,
dusky prairie at nightfall had
opened and swallowed him in.

About a year after this, Molly and
her father came back to dwell, per-
manently, in San Angelo — when it
raised its first church. The State had

TEE KISS OF SALVATION

opened up a lot of school-land sec-
tions, and a rush of new settlers had
struck into Tom Green County. Some
of them said it was a shame the settle-
ment hadn't any regular church, and
then the old settlers opined it had
been a shame' for years, and that they
had always meant to have one. So, in
the end, Molly's little, fire-eating
father was sent for, and installed as a
regular shepherd, with a very irregu-
lar flock.

The boys from Bar T Nine consid-

working themselves out, as conse-
quences will do, over in San Saba.

When Handsome Dick, the ex-
gambler of Sweetwater, shot out on
the prairie on the swiftest cow-pony
of the string, that night that had been
set to be his last, he made up his mind,
right then and there, that the girl's
kiss was going to mean much more to
him than a mother 's kiss of absolution
— it was going to mean a straighter
life, perhaps a harder one, with no

THE PRISONER TURNS THE TABLES

ered themselves special subjects of
piety, sort of patriarchs of the
church, and rode over every spare
Sunday. Sometimes, they mosied over
of nights, generally singly, and sat
bolt upright opposite Molly, with a
hand gripping each knee, and convul-
sive swallowing of Adam's apples.
And Shorty was once spotted sitting
in the trail, combing his hair, and
making sweet faces at himself before
a . hand-mirror. But these things
might have all happened in spite of
her motherly kiss under the oak ; the
consequences of which were now

noose to tighten round his neck at
the end.

So it came about that, at the county
line, the fugitive . dismounted, turned
the pony round, gave him a friendly
slap, and continued trudging on into
the night. Unauthorized branded
stock did not enter into his new code.

A week or so afterwards a some-
what thinner, and much less buoy-
ant, traveler staggered up to the
ranch-house of the big 0 X, and
begged for water and a place to lie
down and die. The poor cuss had
started his penitence by hoofing it

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

across a hundred miles of scorching,
sun-cracked prairie, without knowing
the lay of a single water-hole. Every
day he had seen a mirage, and, not
knowing what it was, this image
of a limpid lake lapping against
sandy banks, had followed it. Some-
times he came across water-holes
filled with carcasses of decaying
cattle, which did not deter him at all.
Once he fell, swooning, and awoke to
find a vulture already on his chest.
But now he had come to the house
of a thirty-thousand-acre ranch, and
was taken in, to
slowly recover.

A serious cow-
hand they made
of him, with no
taste for whiskey,
and an aversion
for even the sight
of cards. On pay-
day he hung
around the bunk-
house, reading
books, while the
outfit had ridden
into San Saba for
a three-days'
whiz and a do-ce-
do with the dance-
hall girls.

At the end of a
year he owned his
own pony and a
little money.
''The shet-jawed
son-of-a-gun, he
hives every cent
of his tin," one of the boys had said,
and that about expressed it.

Another month found him in Fort
Worth, that bustling, new city, and,
thru the influence of a friendly cattle
buyer, he had hung out a lawyer's
shingle. It was easy in those days:
just " Jedge, here's a promisin' young
feller thet wants to be a shyster,"
and "Have y'u read yore Blackstone,
son, an ' got yore stake f oah a month 's
rent?" Which double-barreled ques-
tion Dick answered, and was straight-
way sworn in.

Then came a shingle over the door,
and a month of waiting in an empty,

A SUCCESSFUL ATTORNEY

briefless office. His friend, the cattle-
buyer, brought him his first case —
some business connected with the all-
powerful Cattlemen's Association —
and paid him a fee, spot cash. It was
time: the vulture — a mental one this
time — had again begun to camp on
Dick's chest.

The first move he made to earn his
salt was by diligently neglecting it,
for he sent the amount of money he
had taken from Peasy 's mail-bag to
the sheriff of Tom Green County, and
hung around the post-office till an
answer came back.
It was all right:
Tom Green would
forget his of-
fenses, and,
further, Little
Sandy was as
spry as ever, and
the other pony
had reached
home.

That afternoon
saw the ex-gam-
bler, now thoroly
"Ex," take the
train to Abilene,
to make connec-
tions with the
up-stage in the
morning.

P e a s y recog-
nized his passen-
ger, and insisted
on taking both his
little .320 nickel-
plated side - arm
from him and the sheriff's letter of
forgiveness, but Dick allowed that
Peasy was entitled to some show of
revenge for back treatment.

When they came in sight of San
Angelo, Peasy gave him back his two
treasures, and claimed credit for his
joke, but he always had been rated as
cautious and gun-shy since Sherman's
March to the Sea.

Dick climbed down from the stage
on the outskirts, and walked a round-
about way to where he was told the
new parsonage was.

It wasn't much of a building — just
one story, with its two rooms fronting

THE KISS OF SALVATION

on the road, and a garden in the back
full of larkspur and other old-fash-
ioned things. But Dick wasn't think-
ing of the dignity of a parsonage,
didn't even stop to think what a
formidable place it was — his whole
infidel soul was bent on catching a
glimpse of the girl he had heard was
its inmate.

Presently she came out and started
down the road toward the clump of
cottonwoods, where he stood. Dick
took out the little revolver and pre-
pared to level it.

He did ; and she screamed and drew
back, with that same dark look in her
eyes that he had hoarded.

He instantly lowered the weapon
and held it out toward her, with butt
reversed in his hand.

"I came to see you once more," he
said, "and to bring back this little
thing — my cross — that belongs to
you."

Her eyes shaded lighter as she took
it, altho he could see that she did not
quite understand — yet.

"Three things kept me from going
plumb to hell, ' ' he continued, his voice
growing more tender: "first, it was
your kiss; and then, this; and then,
the thought of you. ' '

"Gracious!" she said, smiling
timidly. "Are you the man I kist
under the tree?"

"Miss," he said, after the manner
of an attorney, "I have made the
journey all the way from Fort Worth
to prove to you that he was an entirely
different fellow. ' '

Picture Play Characters

By HARVEY PEAKE

king and a princess, a peasant, a clown,
An austere archbishop, with sinister frown,
Two ladies-in-waiting, a knight of a day :
These make up the cast of a picture play.

A cowboy, an Indian, a land-agent shark,
A ranchman whose daughter is slender and

dark,
An artist whose footsteps had been turned

that way :
These make up the cast of a picture play.

A musical genius, poor as can be,
A wife who is ill, and a baby of three,
A very rich patron, a manager gray :
These make up the cast of a picture play.

A magician, a prince, and an ogre or two,
A golden-haired maid, whom the prince comes

to woo,
A wonderful fairy in gorgeous array :
These make up the cast of a picture play.

A sweet mission worker, quaint, tender and mild,
A drunkard, a gambler, a miserable child,
A silver-haired mother, many long miles away :
These make up the cast of a picture play.

Ah, actors who pass thru the mimic scene,
Depicting emotions upon the white screen ;
What pleasure you give us, what art you display,
While unfolding the plot of the picture play !

From the photoplay of R. M. Janette

Bear Track Gulch was a-tingle
with unwonted stir. The pulse
of preparation beat thruout the
straggling length of Bonanza Street,
the elaborate title of the single, dusty
trail, oozing down from the foothills
and dwindling away, vaguely, among
the few low board shanties that made
up the town. The mules, staked in
the sparse shade of the corral, sur-
veyed the proceedings over the fence
with unwinking cynicism in their
comic-supplement faces. Such brush-
ing of long-unbrushed coats, such
washing of nearly-as-long-unwashed
faces ! Old Pete Griffin, town barber,
as well as sheriff and postmaster,
complained bitterly at the wearisome
number of professional demands made
upon him.

"I hev clean spiled one razor,
a 'ready, clawin' th' underbresh off ov
Whiskey Dick 'n' Big Slim," he
grumbled, from the corner of the
Blazing Star Saloon, where he was
operating. "Dern my skin, ef I ever
see sicha-cavoortin' 'n ' a-kerflummux-
in' aroun' thisyere camp, 'n' all along
ov a gal!" Pete punctuated his dis-
gust with an original sweep of the
razor that missed, by an eighth of an

inch, removing the lobe of his latest
victim's ear. The six-foot-three of
dark, young good-looks in the chair
laughed good-naturedly thru the film
of lather.

"Looky yere, Pete," he mumbled.
1 ' Gals is ez shy aroun ' here ez elks in
summer. Bear Track Gulch haint
never had a sassiety event like this
yere. It'll liven up the town right
peart, I reckon."

"Lordy, s'much washin' haint
healthy!" Pete's voice held firm
conviction. "It's agin nater. Ever
sens' Doc Whitney wrote fr'm th'
East he wuz sendin' on a consumptive
fren' o' his'n an' his darter, th' whole
kit 'n' caboodle of th' boys — yes, an'
you, too, Jack Turner — hev gone clean
looney — shucks !" and Pete effectually
ended the argument by steering a
brushful of soap skillfully into the
conversationally open mouth.

In view of these freely expressed
opinions, Pete's appearance that
afternoon in the crowd of Gulchers
gathered to await the arrival of the
stage-coach was, naturally, a matter
for cheers, jeers and whoops of ad-
miration. He was positively pale
with cleanliness, fragrant with bay-

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

rum, and generous as to bear's-grease
in his hair. Bulgy buckskin gloves
topped off his arms elegantly, and a
sickly-superior smile gashed his blush-
ing countenance.

"Pipe th' derned dude, boys!"

1 ' Aint he got th ' sweetest smile ? ' '

- ' Smell him — whew ! ' '

"Quit yer jawin', yeh blamed sons-
of-guns, yeh!" Pete's proud smile

ing, with assumed hilarity, to keep
their courage up to their costumes.

"Sh'd I tote my six-shooter in my
left hand, 'r leave it be in th' belt?"
asked one.

1 ' Leave it be, yeh blankety-blank, A
Number 1, fust-class fool," amiably
reproved his bosom friend. "Haint
yeh had no sorter bringin ' up ? "

"Well," sighed a tall miner who

BEAR TRACK GULCH WELCOMES ITS FIRST VISITORS

grew wider, until it was checked only
by his ears. "Th' honor of Cali-
forny is at stake, an' I reckon we
haint no slouches when it comes to
duds, if we haint no Eastern beauty
show ! ' '

He surveyed the assembled com-
pany with satisfaction. Subdued by
soap, all identity erased by the razor,
the pioneers of Bear Track Gulch
stood in a pitiable embarrassment of
propriety, looking, furtively, up the
trail, as tho expecting the imminent
arrival of sheriff and posse, and jok-

resembled a round-shouldered excla-
mation point, "it's been five cursed
years sens' I see a gal, except a
Mexican greaser's woman, or a Pah-
Ute squaw."

"Say, dog my skin!" Old Pete
turned a horror-stricken face upon
the company. "Whar in thundera-
tion's thar a place fitten to put up a
lady in this yere doggone town ? ' '

Ensued a silence so deep that the
individual rackings of each man's
brain were audible. Then Jack
Turner pushed his way to the front.

AT BEAR TRACK GULCH

"My cabin's th' biggest — let her 'n'
her dad steer up thar," he volun-
teered. "I reckon I k'n jine in with
yeh, Pete, till we see how things pan
out."

Old Pete looked doubtful. " 'Pore
but proud/ Doc's letter said/' he
repeated, slowly. "Pr'a'ps she wont
take it."

"We'll tell 'em Doc Whitney gave
it to her dad, ' ' said Jack. ' ' Hi, boys,

Jack Turner, standing a little apart
from the rest, watched the coach
rattle to an important stop before the
Blazing Star, with a lively feeling of
curiosity akin to that of a small boy
taken to the circus for the first time.
The wild twenty-five years that he
had lived so far had all been man-
years, filled with the reek and roar of
cattle-drives across the plains, the
salt sweat of back-breaking pick and

VARIOUS CABINS ARE OFFERED TO THE VISITORS

thar's th' stage-coach now, on th'
slide."

Across the red-scarred mountain-
side, down the red streak of trail,
rattled the stage-coach, in a mist of
red dust. The crowd of men watched
it with varied emotions. Visitors to
this out-of-the-way niche of the
Sierras were infrequent enough, any-
way: a prospector or two, a few
' ' lungers, ' ' but never before a woman.
There was hardly a man among them
who had not the memory of some
woman in his life ; none there with the
intimate reality of a home.

shovel wielding in the mines, the fierce
excitement of the dice, now and then
the white heat of liquor, but all un-
gentled by the sound of a woman's
voice, the touch of a woman's finger-
tips. Then, suddenly, as he watched,
a strange thing happened. A Some-
thing that he had never before noticed
gave a queer, hurtful jerk and began
to pound madly in the region of his
ribs, flooding his tanned face with
hot color, as his gray eyes met the
direct gaze of a pair of big, brown
ones beneath a travel-tangled mass of
warm, dark hair.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Rough, friendly hands helped the
consumptive father to alight from the
coach, and afterwards wiped them-
selves upon numerous pairs of
trousers, and gingerly shook the
dainty glove that Alice extended to
them.

Pete was spokesman of the occasion.

"Me'n th' boys is proud t' wel-
come yeh t' Bear Track Gulch an'
hopes as how yer'll find it right peart
an' pleasant, an' if to th' contrary
yeh '11 let on so according' ' roared
Old Pete, in a long, honest, unpunctu-
ated yell of welcome. Alice looked
around the circle of friendly faces,
crinkles of pleasure and amusement
coming, star-wise, around her eyes.

"I'm sure we shall be very happy
here, father and I," she cried.
' ' Thank you, oh, thank you. And now
— my father is a little tired — if you
will direct us to the hotel "

Jack was pushed and punted thru
the crowd, until he felt again the shy
gaze of the brown eyes upon him. He
regarded the brim of his sombrero
with passionate interest as he stam-
mered: "Yeh see, miss, thar's rightly
no hotel in Bear Track Gulch. An' so
Doc Whitney wrote t' hev yeh fetched
up t' his old cabin yander, on th'
liill" — he paused, gulped, and burst
on, desperately — " 'f yeh like, I'll
meander along ov yeh, an' tote yer
grips-

Bear Track Gulch discussed the
matter, profanely, later over whiskeys.

"Th' derned cuss clipped in an'
put his brand on th' gal ez peart ez
yeh like ! ' ' growled Big Slim.

"But aint she th' stavin', pretty
little thing, tho," admired Old Pete,
softly. "Ez light an' up-an'-away ez
smoke blowed across th' chimisal — "

"But th' ole man's goin' to cash in
his checks afore long," said Whiskey
Dick, with a wise roll of his head.
At least, that is what he thought he
said. His remark, as nearly as it can
be spelled, was something like this :

"B'r ow mansh go clash shecks, f'r
Ion'." However, the others were
acquainted with the slight eccen-
tricities in Dick's speech, and nodded
solemnly.

Several weeks later, on one of the
blazing sequences of a cold, dewless
California night, Alice sat in the
doorway of the cabin, trying- to talk
to her father, to embroider a satin
rosebud, and to watch, out of the sly
corner of one eye, the rock-strewn
trail that wound down into the
town thru palm-like ferns, chaparral
and chimisal. Not that Alice was
watching for any one in particular —
no, no, indeed. She was merely ad-
miring the beauty of the yellow
gravel ditches, the withered fields
and the red dust over everything.
The fact that Jack Turner's hideous-
ly mapped pinto pony was picking
her vicious way up the treacherous
trail, or that Jack himself bestrode
the pony, carolling a pleasing ditty of
ninety-odd verses, ending with the re-
frain, ' ' On bo-oo-oo-rd th ' Arethusa, ' '
made no difference to Alice, of course
— none at all.

Neither did Jack notice her. He
had taken to riding up the hill on his
way to the Streak o ' Luck Mine, three
miles in the opposite direction, from
a mere boyish whim, and certainly
not because he knew that a very
pretty girl might be sitting in the
doorway of the cabin beneath the
giant redwood tree.

But before Alice had time to look
surprised to see him, of all people,
there, of all places, there came the
sound of a strange, gasping moan
from the dim interior of the cabin —
then, immediately, a heavy fall. Jack
flung the reins over his pony's head,
and followed Alice into the cabin, his
long strides outdistancing her stag-
gering steps, so that he, mercifully,
reached the crumpled form on the
floor before she did. One glance at
the rigid face, laced with the life-
blood of a last hemorrhage, was
enough. He turned to the girl, tak-
ing her piteously fluttering little
hands in his great clasp, and drawing
her away. Her eyes searched his
face.

"Not— not dead?"

He nodded gently, wordless with
sympathy, and the strong wave of
something that was not sympathy

AT BEAR TRACK GULCH

that bid him take her in his arms and
comfort her.

' ' Oh, father— father— father ! " She
broke into wild weeping, burying her
face in Jack's rough coat-sleeve. It
brought her dark, fragrant hair very
near, her slender, storm-shaken figure
close to him. But he set his teeth,
and drove back the impulse to crush
her to him, to kiss her hands, her
hair, her tear-drowned eyes. Instead,
he bent over her, speaking very

when she wandered in dry-eyed grief
too grievous for tears, thru the damp,
pine forests that fringe the black
masses of the Sierras, Jack was nearly
always with her — big, silent, a
strangely soothing presence. He was
with her on the day when the final
blow came to crown the girl's mis-
fortune. It came in the guise of a
harmless-looking letter, but the news
inside the envelope was stunning. In
short, crisp, brutal words the writer

DRASTIC MEASURES TO KEEP ORDER

slowly to keep his voice man-steady,
and patting her hands as a brother
might have done.

"Dont yeh be mopin', Miss Alice,"
he said. "Yeh aint lef all alone ez
long ez I'm aroun'. Looky yere, girl,
I know I aint hed much schoolin', in
course, but, sech ez I am, I'm yore
friend, an' yeh k'n go yore whole pile
on me!"

And, under the rough words and
the warm, strong clasp of his hands,
Alice felt a queer sense of safety that
was comforting.

In the bitter weeks that followed,

was very sorry to inform Miss Alice
Lorraine that her home bank had
failed and left her without a cent in
the world. Alice read it thru twice,
smiled about her, vaguely, and then
fainted apologetically away. While
Big Slim and Old Pete carried her up
the hill to the cabin, Jack spelled oul
the contents of the crumpled letter,
laboriously, and tried to reason out
all that it would mean to her — and to
him.

Later, Bear Track Gulch held an
informal committee-of-the-whole meet-
ing in the Blazing Star. Whiskey

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Dick made the first suggestion. As
Pete had once said, "When Whiskey
gits one er two drinks slung inter
him, he kin give a doggoned lively
imitation ov a man thinkinV' He
placed his world-weary sombrero in
the center of the floor, and, magnifi-
cently, tho with wavering aim, tossed
a battered silver watch and a
plugged Mexican dollar into it.

"Wassir ma-r-rer taksh up elec-
tion ? " he inquired brightly. ' ' Sasshay
ri' up, boys "

But Pete stopped the impending
rain of coin with a contemptuous
kick of the hat into a far corner.
"Yeh haint got th' sens' yeh wuz
born with," he complained. "This
yere gal's too proud to take money.
We gotter be keerful, 'n' skirmish
aroun'." He slapped his knee with
a startling resonance that nearly up-
set several whiskeys. " I 've hit th '
trail, dern my skin 'f I hevn 't. Looky
yere " his voice dropped mys-
teriously. Silently they gathered
around him to listen to his scheme.

As a result of the caucus, Alice re-
ceived another letter the next morn-
ing, weirdly original as to spelling
and penmanship, but clear as to
contents :

Dear Miss Lorraine — This kamp neads
a skool. Will you be our teacher

(Sined) Pete Griffin,

Chairman comity.

And, as a result of the letter, the
Bear Track Gulch Primary, Inter-
mediate, Grammar and High School
was started in the ever-useful bar-
room of the Blazing Star, with Miss
Alice Lorraine as principal, and the
entire dramatis personce of the camp,
including Daddy Sawyer, tottering
on the feeble verge of seventy, and
Nigger Joe, the hash-slinger at the
eating-house, as pupils.

It was not the easiest school in the
world to keep. Slight differences of
opinion in the geography class as to
the exact location of Kalamazoo were
promptly settled by the application
of fists. The spelling class rigidly
enforced the rule that he who fell to
the foot should set up drinks. Once

Big Slim held up the entire school at
the point of his persuasive six-shooter
because they jeered when he wrote
"Percival" as his real name on the
board. The primer class punctuated
the reading-lessons with six-foot
tall squirmings and writhings over
' ' e-le-phant " and " kan-ga-roo, " and
recess-time always meant a wild
scramble of fatigued scholars for the
tonic aid of the bar.

Indeed, if it had not been for
Jack, Alice would have been uncer-
tain whether to laugh or to cry. But
Jack was a model pupil. He brought
her clumsy boquets of larkspur and
wild poppies, the stems tightly tied
with twine. After school he saw her
home, on the crimson edge of the dusk,
up thru the canon, where the syca-
mores made great blots of gloom in the
sunset glamor and the storm-scarred
caps of the Sierras stood out nakedly
against the evening sky. Sometimes,
when he helped her to cross the rush-
ing torrent of a flume, she felt his big,
friendly hands trembling around her
own, but he had schooled his voice,
face, eyes, to such patient conceal-
ment that she could not guess the sick
longing of him to take her in his arms
and love her, strongly, as befits a
man, gently, as is a woman's due.

Yet his love for her was steadily
growing harder of concealment. All
day, as he labored over his pick at the
mines, he saw her vivid face, felt the
shivering thrill of her fingers, dreamed
of her, hopelessly, yet with the dreams
that men have about their sweet-
hearts, too sacred to put into words,
perilously sweet and desirous.

"I got t' quit thinkin'," he told
himself, fiercely. " She's a lady —
she dont think ov me. This is a lone
hand, Jack, my boy — see yeh keep it
so."

But, one day, his longing to make
his love articulate overcame his pru-
dence. He flung down his pick and
strode to his tiny cabin to array him-
self in his poor best clothes. Then,
his jaw set grimly, as one who knows
too well that he is going to meet de-
feat, he turned his face to the cabin
under the redwood tree.

AT BEAR TRACK GULCH

It was very still on the hillside.
Far over the foothills a flock of
crows whirled and chattered in dis-
tance-sweetened discord. The painted
blossoms of the mariposas by the
cabin door swayed, languidly, in the
hot breeze. There was no sign of
Alice anywhere, and Jack was on the
point of turning away, when a faint,
stifled sob caught his ear. Tiptoeing,
with clumsy caution, over to the alder
clump by the edge of the clearing, he

sand, a quivering smile struggling on
his lips. The selfless pity of Love
gripped him. "Pore little gal," he
muttered; "grieving her heart out
f 'r th' feller back home — an' she cant

git to him — pore little gal "

He sat down on a heap of rock by
the side of the trail, hands hanging
laxly, eyes staring away into the blue
sky, as tho saying good-by to his day-
dreams. "Yeh hev hed yer knock-
out blow — now take it like a man, 'f

HATS OFF IN THE PRESENCE OF LADIES

came on Alice, outflung on the
ground, weeping, heart-brokenly, over
a photograph in her hand. Jack
turned sharply and hurried away
down the trail, his face whitened be-
neath the film of tan, his great hands
crushing the leaves and branches of
the bushes, thru which he plunged
blindly. Over and over he muttered,
half -aloud: " 'Twas a young man's
picter she hed — she's mopin' f'r a
feller back East — I aint got no chanct

— I aint got no — chanct "

Suddenly he paused in the midst of
the desolation of red dust and red

yeh lwn," he said, slowly. "But she
— th' pretty, chirpin' little gal up
yender — she's gotter go home to her
happiness; an', Jack Turner, 'f yeh
love her— my Gawd! 'f yeh love her
— yeh '11 help her find th' way."

Out of his travail of spirit was born
his great idea, and, rising with alac-
rity from the rock-heap, he made his
hasty way to Big Slim, Old Pete and
the boys, to take them into his con-
fidence.

Late that night a most reprehen-
sible affair took place in the clearing
before Alice's cabin— an affair tech-

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

nically known as "salting" a mine
with a few gold nuggets, artfully
arranged here and there. The opera-
tion was carried on in silence, by lan-
tern-light, aided by the large, lumi-
nous disk of the midsummer moon. At
the completion, as the men stole
guiltily away down the hillside, Jack
issued his final directions: "Tomor-
row yeh '11 go up to see Miss Alice on
school business, yeh '11 strike pay-dirt,
'n' then yeh '11 tell her that th' mine
belongs to her an' offer to sell it at
auction — d' yeh folly met"..

The marvelous discovery of gold at
the very door of Alice's cabin the
next morning stirred Bear Track
Gulch into a frenzy of excitement.
The auction, that tripped over the
heels of the discovery, was well
attended, and the bidding was brisk.
But, finally, all claims to the Alice
Mine were knocked down to Jack
Turner for three thousand dollars.

As Jack had foreseen, Alice's first
joyous cry, when the money was put
into her hands, was : ' ' Oh, now I can
go home — I'll start tomorrow." She
called him back, as he was following
the others down the hill. "Oh, Jack,
will you take this and reserve a seat
for me on the coach to Rowan 's Creek
tomorrow?"

He took the money from her hands
dumbly, in fumbling fingers. He did
not dare to glance up into her face,
nor to look back as he strode away.
If he had, he might have seen her
looking after him, a strange expres-
sion in her eyes that was half a
frown, half a smile, all womanly and
sweet.

A few hours later, when the world
was a-dream, in the faint, white
splendor of the rising moon, Alice
came out of the cabin, where she had
finished her packing, and sank down
on the door-stone, head tilted back to
watch the solemn beauty of the
Sierras massed in jagged grandeur,
piled high, high until their mighty
profiles stood out against the farthest
stars. The night was a thing of peace
— a benediction — the morrow held the
dear promise of home, and yet Alice
felt dimly discontented. A face kept

intruding into her musings of home
— a strong, tanned face, with honest
eyes and grim jaws. Why, in this
glorious night, must the thought of
Jack Turner haunt her with this
vague discomfort of loss, of loneli-
ness ? She fell to musing on the walks
that they had had together thru the
pines, along the foothills; the ma-
drono tree, where he had cut their
initials ; the ceanollius, in its brave
lilac livery, that they had come upon
in a far field ; the plumes of the buck-
eye ; and always among them the tall,
supple figure, in its uncouth clothes.
Alice gave a sudden cry, like a fright-
ened animal that has fallen into an
unexpected snare. She gazed before
her a long while, searching her soul,
questioning herself, ruthlessly; then,
with a little sob, she hid her flushing
face in her hands.

It was this way that he found her
— sitting so small and still and fright-
ened in the cool, white glow. At his
step, she looked up, startled, then
arose, swiftly forcing herself to speak
naturally, friendly-wise.

"It's a glorious evening, isn't it?
Really, you know, I believe I am go-
ing to be homesick for this place —
and you all. ' '

Jack's hands fumbled with his hat-
brim.

"I come up t' tell yeh good-by."

' ' Thank you ; that was very good of
you. "

It is wonderful how well they train
women! Alice's voice was as coolly
impersonal as tho she were asking in
school: "How much are twelve and
four and seven?" Only her brown
eyes, wistful, tender, were telltale,
and, Jack, looking on the ground, did
not see her eyes.

There was a pause, broken only b}r
the whinnying of a mare far below
in the corral. In Jack's brain the
words that he had meant to say were
whirling in wild confusion among
those that he had not meant to say.
He struggled for his stilted farewell
speech, but it would not come. And
then he looked up, suddenly, to see
her standing in the gracious moon-
light, fair as his dreams of her had

AT BEAR TRACK GULCH

been, and, with a wordless cry, he
sprang to her and seized her in his
arms, crushing her to him, drawing
her face down on his shoulder, with
the fierce, primitive man-joy of con-
quest, whispering meaningless, broken
words against her cheeks.

' ' I love yeh — yeh little, white thing
— I love yeh," he told her hoarsely.
"Oh, I know, in course, that yeh 're
ez fer above me ez thet thar star over
th' hill; but this aint Jack Turner,
miner, talkin' to Alice Lorraine, lady,

at me, Jack Turner." She lifted her
face to his dull gaze, bravely, the soul
of her shining in her eyes. He started
forward, put his hand beneath her
chin, and looked down into her eyes
with a long, incredulous, hungry
gaze.

"Do — do — yeh — mean My

Gawd! it aint possible that yeh kin
care — f 'r me?"

She nodded slowly, her eyes never
leaving his. "Yes — Jack."

Still he could not believe.

THE MINE IS KNOCKED DOWN TO JACK TURNER

now — this is me talkin' to you, 'n' I
love yeh — I love yeh ' '

He said it over and over, looking
hungrily down at her white, up-
tilted face, her closed eyes, the scar-
let temptation of her lips, the tiny
pulse beating in her temples. Then,
as suddenly as it had come, the tense-
ness of his grasp relaxed, and he
turned his head away, with a hoarse
sob.

"I was forgettin' — I reckon I hev
spiled yer thought ov me — I 'm sorry. ' '
His arms fell at his sides, wearily,
and the girl staggered and opened her
eyes.

"Wait!" she commanded. "Look

"But th' picter — I saw yeh griev-
in' over a man's picter, yesterday — I
reckoned "

She laughed out, suddenly, softly.
"That was an old picture of my
father when he was a young man,"
she cried. "Boy, dear, I'll not need
that seat in the stage tomorrow, after
all."

He bent his head slowly — slowly,
until his lips found hers. And then,
for a long moment, or moments, the
evening wind a-scramble thru the
mariposa blossoms was the only
sound on the hillside. At last Jack
lifted his head, with a long, broken
breath.

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

The boy's eyes of him were ablaze
with the wonder of it. " It *s better 'n
I dreamed, girl — better 'n any dream
could be," he cried. He did not

realize that his words were lyric, but
it was so. For wherever Love comes,
there are Poetry and Beauty also —
even in Bear Track Gulch.

■*&

JYa.TvX.'^ Stems

*fc

-*&.

Old Mother Hubbard, inspecting the
clipboard,

Wasn't hunting a bone for Tray ;
She was poking around
For a dime, which, if found.

For a seat at the "movies" would pay !

Jack and Jill, sent up the hill
To fetch some water down,

Were awful slow — a picture show
That day had come to town.

gipgf

When her children were naughty she knew what to do,
That little old lady who lived in a shoe.
She washed 'em and dressed 'em, then, in a long row,
She sent 'em all off to a nice picture show.

Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn !
'I will," quoth he, "from early morn,
Till dewy eve, if you'll let me go
Whenever I please to a picture show."

Said Simple Simon to the Pieman :

"Sir, I've pennies five,
With which I'll go to a picture show,
As sure as you're alive!"

The king sat in the counting-room, counting out his

dough ;
The queen sat in the parlor "taking in" a photoshow !

Little Jack Horner sat in the corner,

Watching a picture play.
"Xmas pies fine may be, but I'd rather," said he,
"See a photoshow any old day!"

r Chased from the tuffet, poor little Miss
Muffet
Felt dreadfully nervous and blue,
- Till her ma said: "We'll go
To the new picture show,

And forget how that spider scared you !'

It was along toward the end of
August — dog-days and dogged
nights, when grease-paint took to
running, and pearl-powder showed
furrows of righteous perspiration.
The Summer Daisies had sung, and
danced, and "ragged" their shapely
selves all thru the months of "ice-
cooled air, ' ' which was mostly theory,
and never blew its breezes back to the
superheated stage. But this made no
difference to the girls; most of their
costumes couldn't have stood the fall-
ing temperature of even a theory,
anyway.

A half-hour after the show, Kitty
Phelan — Rassova, the fascinating Bul-
garian toe-dancer, on the program —
tripped down the dressing-room stairs
and joined the group of talent on the
bare stage.

"Say, Kitty," said the comedy
man, with a dejected, unlit cigaret
between his iips, "can yuh put us
wise? Are th' Daisies goin' tuh take
tuh th' clover?"

"Search me," said Kitty. "I aint
heard notum'."

"Well, take it from me, boys an'
goils," went on the comedian, "the
sopranner was canned tonight. I
piped her thro win' a sob in th' wings,
after singin' 'Happyland.' Funny
how she gets a hand on that, aint it ? "

Kitty threw her gum into a box of
sawdust. "Honest, Al, you aint got
no heart, stringin' a goil when she
loses her job."

"Sure, I gotter heart," protested
the humbled Al.

The all-absorbing conversation
went on as to whether the Daisies
were going on the road. Kitty had
once been seen eating ice-cream with
the press-agent, but if she had any
inside information, she didn't give it
away. As she started for the passage-
way to the stage-door, the comediaii
followed her out of the corner of his
eye.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"Gettin' too stuck up fer this busi-
ness," he murmured. "Wonder if
they'll can her?"

Kitty came out on the dark alley,
back of the Gaiety, and started for
her boarding-house. The night was
hot and still in the streets, and, over-
head, the moon hung, round and red.
She wondered where she wouid be

"cant yer let a feller sleep?"

looking at the moon a month from
then, and if the boarding-house would
be good. Countless theatrical lodg-
ings on the road had made her skep-
tical on this point, and had endowed
her with the digestion of an ostrich.
Still, some were cleaner than others.

In front of a row of shabby brown-
stones, Kitty stopped, yawned, and
sat down on her stoop. The street was
deserted, and a ghost of a breeze from
the East Hiver patted her cheeks.

Kitty sat and thought of
various things — of how
stifling her room would
be ; and of Al, the comedian,
who, the girls said, was
stuck on her; and of the
tears of the too shapely,
peroxide soprano, when she
got her discharge. She
leaned her head against the
iron stoop-railing and
stared, vacantly, at an
empty packing-case in the
next yard. Something in
it stirred, restlessly, now
and then, and broke in
upon her thoughts, with
visions of vagrant cats
turned loose for the sum-
mer, and, mostly, never
seen again.

An unmistakable treble
yawn came out of the black-
ness of the case, and Kitty
decided to investigate it.
By leaning over the railing,
she could just manage to
flourish her arm about in-
side of it.

Presently something
grabbed at her hand, and a
sleepy voice said: "Scat!
lemme alone."

Kitty only gripped the
little hand all the tighter
and waited. There was a
resounding flapping in the
improvised bedroom, and
pretty soon an urchin fol-
lowed his clasped hand out
into the yard.

"Cant yer let a feller
sleep?" he demanded.

Kitty looked at the scant three feet
of disturbed manhood, with a mat of
black hair over solemn eyes, and
smiled at the challenge.
"Wot's yer name, kid?"
"Tony."

"And yer pop's?"
"Dunno — he's in th' jug."

HER FIREMAN

"And yer mom?"

1 ' She croaked, I tink ; dey took her
off, coughin' an' spittin' up blood.' '

"Wotcher had tuh eat?" asked the
girl.

"Jest nuthin' — honest," he smiled.
"Nuthin'."

The mother in Kitty rose up from
some abysmal place. "Come along,
kid," she said, "up to my room. I
gotter banana an' some milk up
there."

The small boy squeezed thru the
railing and followed Kitty up the
stoop. The thought of the banana
made him nudge, nervously, against
her skirts, as they pressed up the
three flights of stairs.

"Want it all now, kid?" she asked,
after lighting the gas.

The nondescript figure looked up,
earnestly.

"Yep."

"Nothin'ferme?"

The banana stopped in front of the
boy's teeth, white as a wolf's. He
thought a moment, then, big with re-
nunciation, pushed it toward her.

"Eat it, kid— I was only foolin'."

The sharp, young jaws came to-
gether with a snap, and he gulped,
eagerly, at the milk.

"Some hungry, huh?"

The guest nodded.

"Wanter sleep here, too?"

Another nod, followed by the ex-
pansive "you cant fool me" smile.

Kitty took his hand, again, and led
him toward the little, white, iron bed.
"Mebbe youse dont wanter undress
before a goil," she said, grinning.

The guest didn't take time even to
grin back, just curled up on the bed,
and blinked his eyes, and yawned,
like a played-out puppy.

Kitty turned out the gas, and tried
to make herself comfortable in a rock-
ing-chair. If the house would only
rock and pitch a little, it would be
just like those back-breaking snoozes
on the trains, she thought. But the
house lay still, and Kitty dreamed,
troublously, again of packing-cases,
and stout, lacrimose blondes, and of
the days to come, when she would lose
her own trim figure.

Morning came — always gray, re-
flected light in the rear of the house —
and, with it, the native sounds of the
city — the empty rattle of wagons on
the street, the banging of shutters,
and the clatter of sauce-pans and
dishes for some early breakf aster.

Kitty stretched herself, opened one
eye, and looked, uncomprehendingly,
at her bed, with its round lump under
the sheet. Then she remembered, and
jumped up, quite stiff, and rubbed
her legs, vigorously, with her instep,
until they were less tottery and
glowed pink.

The guest of overnight slept on,
undisturbed, while she washed and
daintied herself and started the cocoa
to boiling, on an insignificant gas-
stove.

When it was ready, she shook the
bundle, and it kicked out, spitefully,
and drew in its arms and legs, turtle-
wise, again.

But Kitty knew the nature of the
beast, and sat down on the bed,
making throaty, delicious noises, as
she sipped her morning drink.

The guest opened his eyes and took
in the process, which appealed to him
so much that he sat upright and
gulped, appreciatively, each time that
she swallowed.

"Think youse could wash yerself ?"
Kitty asked, when they had finished.

He nodded a willingness to try.

"I'm goin' to th' theayter," she
admonished, "an' wont be back till
late tonight — th' Daisies is goin' on
th'road."

Tony tucked his feet under his
haunches in the rocking-chair, in
token of anchoring himself. She
smiled at his assertiveness.

"Home's soitenly good, aint it,
kid?"

"Sure!"

With no signs of her guest leaving,
Kitty manufactured a final tress or
two with the curling-irons, powdered
out the freckles on her tilted nose,
stuck a dazzling, bargain-counter ba-
rette in her coiffure, and hurried over
to the Gaiety.

Sure enough, a route-card was
posted in the passageway, advising

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

the company of its start on the road
the coming Monday. Kitty stopped
to read its long list of dates and
towns.

"Fer Gawd's sake, Rassova, slip
inter yer clothes, ' ' pleaded the purple-
faced stage-manager; "th' Oriental
chorus 's got gum on its feet this
mornin'."

Kitty hustled to her dressing-room,
while the thump of feet on the stage
below, and the whine of a single violin,
warned her of the tribulations of the
chorus. " There aint a healthy kick
in th' whole knock-kneed mess," the
stage-manager had shouted, by way of
good-morning to his protegees.

Three days of bustle and confusion
followed : rehearsals, breaking in new
girls, and the regular daily matinees
and evening performances.

When Kitty came home that second
night and found her adopted off-
spring asleep on the stoop, but wary
and very much alive to her soft ap-
proach, she took him into her life as
a matter of course, and, as long as the
steel in her toes responded to its
daily task at the Gaiety, she took to
the rocking-chair bed, philosophically,
like a Plymouth Rock to door-knobs,
when the mothering season catches it.

Monday was coming fast, tho, and
she meditated, with puckered fore-
head, what she was to do with Tony,
in the long months on the road. There
was her widowed Aunt Agnes, who
lived down on the Bay front of
Brooklyn, and who did the washing
for most of the boat-clubs there, be-
sides being a pillar of the church. So,
on Sunday, Kitty took a chance, and,
with Tony scrubbed, cleaned and
combed within an inch of his life, and
wearing a Russian blouse-suit, with
its low-hanging belt, that "got his
goat" with every step, started out
for Aunt Agnes and the undiscovered
suburb.

Big, garrulous Aunt Agnes couldn't
understand the relationship, at first,
and accused Kitty of having a shifty
husband, somewhere, who would come
to quarter on her, too. But the
matter was finally arranged, and
Kitty, after having proved her maid-

enliness and substituted a home for
Tony, departed for the boarding-
house, to pack her trunk, and to sleep
once more in the little, iron bed.

Monday, .the glorified Rassova
danced twice before a satisfied audi-
ence in Bridgeport, and dreamed that
she slept on top of a car — -the trains
kept tugging and clanking so, directly
under her window. Tuesday, the
Daisies opened in New Haven, and,
immediately, became a necessary ad-
junct to things collegiate and Yale-
sian. The advance-guard of students
already were wending back to Alma
Mater, and they danced in the aisles,
and warbled the swelling choruses
with the Daisies.

Rassova was called out four times —
they could not get enough of her — and,
finally, bobbing and blushing, made
her acknowledgments in a little speech
of mutilated French. It was a great
send-off, and the police had to escort
out a bevy of overcome freshmen.

All the while, the mottled-faced
manager stood in the wings, with a
telegram in his fingers.

'/Zees plaisir is wat you call eet
magnifique," Rassova was parroting
to her admirers. Then, with a pir-
ouette and a saucy whirl, she was
beside him. "Gee! them colledge
guys fall for a spiel, huh?" she
panted.

"Good goil!" felicitated the man-
ager. "Say, here's a 'yeller' fer
yuh.;'

Kitty plucked the telegram open
and read it, rapidly. "I gotter go
home," she announced; "my kid 's
broke his leg. ' '

' ' Kid ! " the fat-shouldered man
shrieked. "Yuh mean t' say "

She turned, and walked quickly to
her dressing-room. The manager fol-
lowed. "Have yuh gone dippy?" he
wanted to know, pushing his way in.
"Yuh cant jump a contrac' this way,
an' not get in Dutch in th' show
business. ' '

"Dutch, or Irish — or Bulgarian,
I'm goin' tuh beat it," Kitty reas-
sured him, and started to sling things
into her trunk.

An hour afterward, she caught the

HER FIREMAN

''Owl" to New York, and then, for
what seemed hours of staring out
from a trolley -window, at the proces-
sion of street-lamps in the flat out-
skirts of Brooklyn, she was a solitary
"fare" in the small hours of the
morning. Thus passed the glory of
Eassova.

Aunt Agnes, at the door in a bal-
loon-shaped nightcap, told her every-
thing about the urchin's accident:
how, his very first day in the open, he
had fallen off a yacht-way, and been
carried back to her,
with a useless leg
dangling under
him. It would
mend all right, the
doctor said, but
slowly, and the
child had better be
sent to the hospi-
tal. Then a fever
set in, and he kept
calling, incessant-
ly, for " Kitty —
Kitty3h ' loidy wot
giv' h|gn her bed,"
till A|int Agnes
was t^ibly upset,
and ;fet off the
telegram, as the
best way out.

T r a v e 1-w o r n,
Kitty went in, and
up to the sleeping
child's bed. As she
took in the sharp
lines of his face,
those lines that she
had been so careful to smooth out
with food and sleep, she laid her
hand, impulsively, on his head. A
shudder of pain passed thru him, as
he tried to thrash off the old, lurking
dangers; but she kept her hand in
place, and he burrowed his head deep
in the pillow again, sighing softly.

Then Aunt Agnes left her alone
with him, to watch out the rest of the
night, and Kitty, leaning her head
against the bed-post, sat and thought
as she never had done before.
, Tony was passed on to her by un-
seen hands in the open, that much was
certain; and she felt that the little

beautiful, new

stray had come into her life to stay.
How to support him and herself, and
help Aunt Agnes, was the prosaic
problem that held her unwinking
until the sun shot a shining silver film
across the leaden crescent of the Bay.
Having come down flat-footed, as
it were, from the dizzy realms of
Rassova, she fell back upon the next
best thing, her hands ; and, by dint of
threats over the telephone, and the
promise to pay a dollar a week, a
typewriter was in-
stalled in Aunt
Agnes ' cottage that
afternoon.

Kitty looked it
over, sharply,
planted it on a
table, an d sat
down, hammer-
and-tongs, to
master the unfeel-
ing key-board.

For a full week,
no sounds arose
from the parlor,
save the uneven,
nervous clatter of
unpracticed fingers
on the metal keys.
Then, gradually,
some kind of order
came o|fct of chaos,
and t\M letters
jerked out with a
sort* of even
rhythm.

There was a
providence in
Kitty's industry, for Mr. Swartz-
heimer, of the big cloak and suit
house of Swartzheimer, Blatt & Co.,
was summering in the boarding-
house next door, and the ceaseless
metallic voice of the typewriter
blasted the sweetness of his idle hours.
"Ach! Got! that girl she drives me
looney," he had said; but, after he
had seen Kitty's flushed, pretty face
in the window, he had decided that
here was a prize for the office force.

Once he snored himself awake in
the middle of the night, and the merry
click of the machine wafted into his
window. "That girl is a brize — take

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

it from me," he kept repeating, till
he lulled himself to sleep again. And,
the following day, he waddled over to
Aunt Agnes, and engaged the per-
sistent amateur to adorn his office.

Kitty liked the work: it was new
to her, startlingly so, where troops of
girls came, giggling and squirming,
into the tall loft building, punched a
time-clock, and were instantly frozen
into models, fitters, or machine
workers. As for herself, she was in-

started, in a ragged line, for the stairs.
At the same time, the answering
shriek of a fire-engine whistle, and the
call of its high-pitched bell, came up
from the street.

Mr. Swartzheimer fought himself
into his coat, and, shouting directions,
rushed out into the hall.

It was all new to Kitty — this fire-
drill routine., and she took it to heart,
grabbing her coat and speeding to the
elevators. They had stopped running !

HER IMAGINATION WAS FILLED WITH VISIONS OF A DREADFUL FIRE

stalled in Mr. Swartzheimer 's private
office, where he sat very close, some-
times, fat and smiling, and dictated
numerous letters. But she was used
to the large and gracious kind, and
took familiarity as a matter of office
pleasantry, just like the stage.

One day, as Mr. Swartzheimer fitted
himself into a chair, and, with a
sugary smile, was about to pronounce :
"My dear girl," or "My Dear Sir,"
as the humor struck him, a big, bronze
bell clanged in the hallway, and the
girls all rose from their seats and

Then real terror seized upon her,
and she sped down the long flights of
stairs as only a former toe-dancer
could — not stopping to see if any one
followed, just gone crazy for the
street-level and the open again. At
the turns of the stairs, she could see
the fire-laddies running their ladders
up the building, and, as she pictured
the fainting girls being carried down,
fighting each other back, it added
spurs to her wings.

Out upon the street she ran, out
and out thru the noon-day crowd, until

BEB FIREMAN

her panicky flight was abruptly ter-
minated against the body of a big-
framed, young fireman.

He threw out his arms and caught
her, as she carromed off from him.

"H — 11 and blazes!" he exclaimed,
wrathfully. "Wacher doin', huh?"

"F-fire — up there!" she could
scarcely utter the words.

"Dont be scared, leddy. See," he
encouraged, pointing, "th' boys is
already savin' em."

Kitty glanced up the long length
of ladders, to where a fireman was
making his way down, with a dummy
cloakrmodel.

The crowd set up a roar of laughter,
and Kitty flushed scarlet. "Huh,
you're stringin' me, I guess — s'long."
She turned about and joined the
crowd of workers filing back into the
building. "A bum joke, I think nit,"
she grumbled to herself. "Perhaps
old Swartzheimer is stuck on fires,
anyway. ' '

But she didn't forget her terror in
a hurry, and that night, half-crying,
half-laughing, she told the graphic
story to Aunt Agnes and little Tony,
sitting up in bed, until they, too, be-
came white with fire-sickness, and
couldn't grasp the joker at the end.

October came, cool and sweet, with
the rare air shaping the distant High-
lands up like a black silhouette on the
coast. Of nights and on Sundays,
now, Kitty and Tony were insepar-
able, and she was giving him of her
crumbs of knowledge as fast as he
could take them.

One Sunday, as she pulled the in-
valid, in a toy wagon, toward the
beach, he asked her: "Wot makes fire,
Kitty?"

"Gawd knows, kid," she said, not
irreverently, and then added: "I
guess t' give fresh firemen a job,"
which was a bit unjust.

They passed by the Bath Beach
firehouse, and a big chap, sitting in
his shirt-sleeves in the doorway, got
up, tipped his hat, and looked
foolish.

Kitty hurried on, but, not long
afterward, he joined them on the
beach.

"I've been transferred to th'
bushes, ' ' he volunteered. ' ' Dont yuh
remember me up in N ' York ? ' '

"Sure," Kitty said, defiantly;
"you're th' guy that saves dummies
an' gives goils th' laugh. Sure, I
know. ' '

The little rasp in her voice only
tickled his good-nature.

" It 's swell down here, aint it ? " he
asserted, pleasantly.

"Bully? I aint had no time fer
society — muh kid 's broke his leg. ' '

"Yourn?" He eyed the trim,
young girl unbelievingly.

' ' Sure. Wot 's th ' matter with 'im ?
He dont bite, ' ' said Kitty.

And so on, in good-humored over-
tures and icy rejoinders, until Kitty
had to confess to herself that he was
a bit nicer than Al was, anyway.

Another time, she met him at Aunt
Agnes' gate, and he took a calm note
of where she lived, as he raised his
cap.

"Good-afternoon, Mrs. — — "

' ' Rassova, ' ' suggested Kitty.

"Passover," he corrected, not un-
mindful of the cloak-and-suit trade.

' ' Cut it out, fresh, ' ' snapped Kitty.
"I'm a Bulgarian, if yuh wanter
know. ' '

Then she passed in, flushing, and
only half-pleased to be rid of him.

But Kitty couldn't keep up her in-
cognito much longer, for, one day, she
came home from the office and found
the fresh, young fireman seated in the
parlor, with Aunt Agnes. Something
told her that talkative aunty had
given her away, and that Kitty Phe-
lan had been discussed from her bare-
legged and pigtail stage up to the
present haughty stature of five feet
one. His bright, laughterful eyes
confirmed it, but he knew enough to
go quickly.

"Let's swap names," he said, at the
door; "mine's Tim Clancy — gee! how
you took me in ! "

Kitty couldn't help grinning at the
remembrance of his chapfallen face
and the Bulgarian widow episode.
"Come again," she said, before she
knew it.

Tim did come, lots of times, and

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

his bigness and honest look, and the
trustfulness that she felt that he
could give her, opened up a new kind
of manhood that she had never seen,
nor met with, on the stage.

Little Tony, generally, was wheeled
with them, on their walks, and his
barrier was more than physical be-

TIM PICKED THE BOY UP AND DASHED
DOWN THE STEPS

tween them. Kitty's careless heart
had been touched, for the first time,
by this youngster, and, as the Sun-
day outings grew shorter, she strove
to give him more and more of her
time. Nothing should ever, ever
come between them!

On the early Sunday morning that

this resolve was registered, Tim called,
and was invited to stay to dinner by
Aunt Agnes. She had long ago
thought that he was a "gran' gentl'-
mun" and wondered why Kitty could
be so heartless with him.

Tim accepted, with the proviso that
Kitty would go for a row on the bay
with him, to help work up
his appetite. "Mrs. Brophy
was soitenly elegant with
th' feeds."

Little Tony was still
asleep, and Aunt Agnes
promised to dress him when
he awoke, and to look after
him "like th' parent he was
entitled to have."

So Kitty put her dainty
feet in the stern of the boat,
and Tim rowed across the
bay, toward the sands of
Coney Island, which was
hardly awake yet.

When he got her away out
there, he meant to ask her a
question that was perpetu-
ally burning in his throat,
and sat on his chest, or
hummed in his brain at
sleep-time.

He would have gotten it
before her, out there alone,
and Kitty, big with her re-
solve, would have told him it
could never be, if she hadn't
happened to glance back,
and seen an unusual lot of
smoke coming from Aunt
Agnes' chimney.

She steadied herself on
the thwart, and watched,
narrowing her eyes to blue
glints.

"Tim— Mr. Clancy," she

yelled, suddenly, "aint that

smoke comin' out of our

windows ? "

Tim's trained eyes saw things all at

once, the nasty puffs that told of the

licking flames back of them. He swung

the boat around with giant arms.

"Row — row — row!" she screamed,
gripping the rocking gunwale, and
his oars dug whirling trenches for
her words.

HER FIREMAN

"There's Aunt Agnes, now," she
warned, "runnin' to the beach!"

Then a terrible thought struck her.
"Faster, for Gawd's sake, faster,
cant you ? Tony 's in there, alone ! ' '

The stout, ash oars creaked and
crackled under Tim's arms. The
boat's nose made a creaming furrow
in the water.

"Darlin', she's humpin' like a
motor-boat," he gasped, encouraging-
ly. But she did
not even hear him
— the best part of
her heart was al-
ready searching
thru the fire-
ridden cottage.

Aunt Agnes
shrieked discon-
nected words
from the beach at
them: "Kerosene
— stove exploded
— Tony's in his
room "

' 'Run like
blazes an' turn
t h e fire - alarm,

>u blitherin'

>ol, ' ' bawled the
cited Tim,
' tell us after-
wards."

But Aunt Ag-
nes shrieked only

patches of words and kept wringing
her hands, childishly.

Tim beached the boat and ran to-
ward the cottage, now jetting flames
from around the second-story win-
dow-combings. He had never yet
saved a life, and the little stray's had
never seemed particularly precious to
him, but now, with Kitty's bloodless
face and staring eyes graven on him,
he fairly hungered for the possession
of the boy, somewhere up there in the
roaring mass.

Somehow, he got his coat off, and,

hooding his face, groped into the
open door, and worked his way up the
stairs. Lapping at his feet, and up
the sidewalls, was the steady, mount-
ing flash and song of the flames from
below, licking up and up, and he felt
that the cottage was a veritable fun-
nel to the hungry element that, now,
no power could check.
"Tony!"

"I'm in here!" choked the child.
Tim dashed
against the bed-
room door and
fairly bore it off
its hinges. A
small, thin hand
gripped his, in
the blinding
smoke, and he
picked the boy up
and leaped down
the steps of red-
veined stairs.
They crumbled
and tottered, as
his weight came
against them,
with a roaring
pit threatening
to engulf him, an
inch beneath,
clean thru to the
cellar.

The smoke-
wreathed fireman
and his clinging burden reached the
beach just as the fire-apparatus clat-
tered up, to squirt an obituary over
Aunt Agnes' former cosy home.

Kitty flew at Tim and his burden,
and pecked and clawed until he had
turned the boy over to her. And
when, later, he opened his eyes, in her
lap, she sobbed, and gave just one
sigh, as Tim's arm stiffened across her
back.

"Gawd made firemen," she in-
structed Tony, blushing, "an' He
soitenly done a good job."

Billie, the office-boy, was only nine
years, three weeks, and four days
old, and still wore short pants.

But some of Billie 's ideas were
grown-up and could have worn long
pants, and demanded bigger wages,
and, maybe, had a "girl" — you cant
tell — if it hadn't been that they went
with Billie. And Billie was so small
for his age, that people sometimes
came into the office, and talked to
themselves, and said things about the
boss that they didn't dare say to his
face, all before Billie could cough,
politely, and rise from behind his
high desk, and make them look foolish.

Sometimes the boss himself would
talk out loud, and say things- in a
way that Billie never heard him say
to other people. The boss spoke only
one way to other people, down there
in the factory office, and that way
was the same as the policeman spoke
to fellows when they tried to build an
election-night fire. My! but he was
rougher than two policemen put to-
gether— when he spoke to people in
the office or factory.

But when Billie overheard him
talk to himself — and this is a great
secret, because B'llie was sure he
would lose his job if he ever told any
one — the boss was different. He
talked in a low tone, and kept sighing
right along, and making funny faces,
and shaking his head. Sometimes
Billie almost thought he was at a
show. Then Billie would make some
noise or other, and the boss would
change like lightning, and look
around at him like a mad Dago.

"Barn that boy!" he would growl,

and leave the office, slamming the
door behind him. Somebody better
look out, then, if they knew what was
best for them!

So Billie learnt ever so many
things that he really shouldn't have
known, because he was so small.

For instance: The boss, when he
forgot himself, was always exclaim-
ing: "My sweet little pet!" or "My
precious little Grace ! " or something
just about as foolish as that. It got on
Billie 's nerves a little. But it set him
thinking, anyhow. Being somewhat
up in the detective profession, from
the fact that he had read the entire
series of "Dick Dashaway, the Dar-
ing Boy Sleuth," Billie had little
difficulty in applying the rules of the
game to the boss, and working Up a
pretty good case.

At length, Billie came to the con-
clusion that Grace was a beautiful,
young wife. For in all his nine years'
varied experience, he had never yet
heard a kid spoken of in the language
the boss used. Besides, he had learnt
the boss was married. The next thing
to find out was why the boss treated
Grace as tho she were an angel, and
the poor people in his factory like
dogs. The only way to find out was
to see what Grace looked and acted
like.

But, just about that time, things
began to happen kind of rotten in the
factory, and Billie gave up sleuthing
for awhile to watch the fun. It began
when the boss sent Jim Monahan, his
foreman, out to tell the assistant fore-
men to come in and to hear what he
had to say to the hands.

CHILD LABOR

They all came in, looking like a
first-class funeral. The boss turned
around in his swivel-chair, and glared
at them a minute.

" Business is rotten,' ' he began,
just as tho he were saying: "I hate
the sight of you!" "Competition is
crowding me out. There's only one
way to keep things going. That's to
do the same as every sweat-shop in
the city is doing. Hire children to do
the work, and pay them kids' wages.
I'll keep you foremen, on the condi-
tion that you see that I have enough
children in one week to keep my fac-
tory running. Otherwise, you are
fired — with all the rest of them. ' '

"Fired?" asked Jim Monahan, in
a way that made you think he had got
something in his mouth that had an
awful taste to it.

1 ' I said it once, ' ' snapped the boss.

"Well, you wont have to say it
again to me," Monahan cried, clinch-
ing his fists and taking a step toward
the boss, as tho he meant to hurt some-
body. "But you needn't think I'll
stay to do any of your dirty work in
breakin' the backs, an' the lives, an'
the hearts of a lot of little kids ! ' '

The other foremen looked sheepish,
but they were thinking of the families
that would suffer, if they gave up
their jobs. When the boss said : "You
understand?" they shook their heads
in silence, and then took, the piles of
pay envelopes from the bookkeeper
and walked out.

The boss had set to chewing his
moustache and to looking out of the
window, as tho he saw something very
interesting in the approaching dark
clouds above the high city roofs.

And it was lots of fun for Billie
that following Monday morning,
when the kids began to swarm in, in
answer to the boss' advertisement in
the Sunday newspapers. There were
lots of Billie 's friends among them,
and Billie looked at them all as tho
it were at least half a mile from his
stool to the railing outside — at which
each paused and gave her name — in-
stead of only five feet. Billie noted
that there were several very pretty
little girls among the number.

But Billie noticed, too, that the new
foreman turned away every little girl
who was a cripple, with "How the —
do you expect to do a fair day's work ?
If you want to come in an' try it, at
a quarter a day, instead of fifty, come
on — otherwise, git!" Some of them
stayed. They did not know what it
meant, making silk and velvet flowers
for swell ladies' hats — not yet.

It took about a week for the fun
to all leak out of it for Billie. Chiefly
because that bunch of little girls soon
became so lifeless that they ceased to
notice him. In less than a month, he
could not, for the life of him, tell
which the pretty ones had been. My !
but they had changed.

At length, one day, when they
called Billie upstairs, to the wire-
winding room, to throw some water
on a poor little Italian kid, who had
keeled over, he began to get disgusted.
It needed only another circumstance
to start Billie 's mind working out
some way to change things. And that
came soon enough.

It was about a month after the kids
had taken the men 's places in the
silk-flower work, that Billie looked
up, one day, from a pile of tags the
boss had given him to sort out. He
was surprised to see "Silent" Pete
Bangs, one of the old men who had
been employed in the wrapping-room,
standing before him. Billie 's first
impulse was to show his authority
and to order the man out. But he
caught the look in Pete's eye that
went clean into his young heart.

"Pete," he asked, as tho he were
speaking to his mother, "what did
you want, Pete?"

Pete looked at him for a minute, as
tho the room were full of smoke.
' Want ? " he cried, and Billie couldn 't
tell whether he was laughing or cry-
ing. ' ' I want to work. ' '

"Better go 'way, Pete," whispered
Billie, with a warning look toward the
inner door, "or the boss '11 have you
fired out — he's in an awful grouch
today."

Just then a shadow fell across the
dingy place. The boss stood there,
chewing his moustache.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Pete extended a shaking hand.
"Mr. Morgan — I've come to you —
not so much because I'm starvin' —
but because my delicate wife — aint
got enough to eat. ' '

"Bangs, I've a good mind to have
you fired out on your head. And I'm
just going to tell you once — get out!"

"No, no," continued Pete, raising
a pleading hand, tremblingly, "you
dont understand. It aint me I'm
thinkin' about. Listen! X had to
take my two kids out o? school and
send 'em to you here. Now you're
killin' 'em!"

Billie's boss seemed on the point of

;

W- ■ *

Billie thought, for a moment, that
Pete was going to tumble over, he
swayed so, back and forth, like a
drunken man.

"Mr. Morgan, hear me just a
minute — you dont understand — I
aint been able to get any work since
you fired me "

"Will you get out of here? I wont

tell you again,
institution !

This is no charitable

knocking the man down at first, but
at the word "kill" he drew back as
if somebody had struck him. Pete
went right on, leaning forward, as
tho he were telling the boss a secret.

"You see, what I want to do is this :
I'll work for the same pay you give
the two kids!" His eyes shone like
a big glass alley, over the idea. ' ' But
I'll work double time — then we kin
send the kids to school again, an' we

CHILD LABOR

GRACE VISITS THE FACTORY

kin all have enough to eat, maybe,
and the medicine the wife needs can
be got. Now you see, Mr. Morgan, I
can save you money !"

Billie was watching the boss' face.
Only once had he seen so much agony
on anybody 's face, and that was when
a man had been run over, and
Billie had waited, with the crowd, for
the ambulance to come. The man
died before it arrived.

Suddenly the boss broke out, and,
for all the world, he seemed to be
pleading with old Pete: "My God,
man, you talk about money! You
need a few cents — I need, must have,
fifty thousand dollars within three
months ! I go thru hell every day.
You talk about starving. I'd starve,
too, a dozen times, if that would
remedy it !"

"I'm sorry for you, Mr. Morgan."
Billie wondered what made Pete's
voice shake like an old shutter, until
he saw tears rolling down his face.
From that moment he loved old Pete
and resolved to help him. "But, you
see, it's them — my littb, sick wife,
an' them two kids o' mine — not me!
If you had wife and kids workin' an'
starvin' themselves to death, what
would you do "

Billie had been watching the boss
closely, and, all of a sudden, like a

runaway horse, he had seized a heavy
inkwell, and would have brained
Pete with it in another moment. Then
Billie shouted — just why he never
knew — ' ■ Poor little Grace ! ' '

The boss dropped the inkwell and
stared around, looking half-scared to
death; then he went into the inner
office like a tired runner. Pete stood
looking after him in a dazed way.

Billie had taken a newspaper-
wrapped parcel, thru which grease
shone, from his desk. "Pete," he
said, "I'm sick as a dog. I'll give you
a quarter if you'll take this stuff me
mother put up for me lunch. Now
you run along and wait for news."

When Pete had gone like a fellow
in a pipe-dream, Billie stole into the
inner office. The boss sat with his
head on his arm, looking as if he had
lost everything in the world.

For a half-hour Billie racked his
brains for the few words he had learnt
to write in school, and, finally, had
scrawled out the following letter :

Deee Mrs Graice Morgan — You orter no
about it so ime riten. We gotter a hunderd
kids workin to detli in the factry here and i
want yu to come an see um. Take a
broadway car to Kanal strete. Our num-
ber is 234.

GRACE ORDERS A REFORM

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

When he had come back from mail-
ing it to the boss' house, he was scared
by the boss speaking directly to him,
for the first time in his life.

"Have you got a mother, boy?"
Billie nodded guiltily. "Does she
love you ? ' ' Billie could not help but
think that the questions were getting
more and more absurd. "Next to
God," he answered. "Does your
father wear out his heart and soul to
keep . her dressed like a princess ? ' '
There was something to make Billie
almost laugh and almost cry in this
foolish question. "Why, my pop's
dead. Ma worked, herself, for five
years while he was layin' sick in the
house. ' '

The boss looked out of the window,
for a moment, and Billie thought his
eyes got pretty wet. Then he took
out his pocket-book, and, for the first
time, Billie saw two real ten-dollar
bills at once. The boss reached for a
couple of envelopes, and placed a bill
in each. "Get me Pete's address,"
he said.

Billie looked it up in the old time-
book, and the boss scrawled it on one
envelope. ' l Get on your hat and coat
and take these two envelopes ; one to
Pete's wife and the other to your
mother. ' '

Billie obeyed, with a deep feeling
of regret for having sent that letter to
"Grace."

"And if you tell either of these
people where, the money came from —
you lose your job !" snapped the boss,
as he left the office.

Billie was kind of disappointed to
see the boss get more and more like an
old bear. He swore at everybody who
came in his way, and went thru the
shop making the workers' burdens
more difficult to bear. Billie was
afraid every day to see old Pete re-
turn, to give thanks. He knew it would
mean Pete's being thrown out on his
head, and himself losing his job.

The boss had gone out one Friday
afternoon, without saying a word.
Sp, when a big, husky man, with a
kindly face and a voice like a steam-
boat whistle, came in and asked for
him, Billie was frightened.

"A fine way to try to get the biggest
contract for flowers ever awarded!"
growled the man. "I'll wait a few
minutes, and if he doesn't come, h&
loses the chance, that's all there is to
it."

Billie was worrying about this,
when a little girl stole in the door-
way. He thought it was one of the
working girls, of course, until he saw
the fine way she was dressed. Where
on earth did she come from, and what
did she want? He was just about to
demand this information, when the
swell little girl ran right up to the big,
cross fellow, and seized him, famil-
iarly, by the arm.

' ' Why, little Grace ! What are you
doing here? Mother with you ? "

' ' No, mother went to a reception —
and I came down here — alone. I want
to see the little girls who work here. ' '

"What!" roared the big man.
"Does John Morgan keep a sweat-
shop? I thought he employed only
men! What about that, boy?" he
demanded of Billie.

"He used to have men — but now
we got two hundred girls," con-
fessed Billie, never taking his eyes off
the beautiful little girl.

"I'll wait for him, and give him
my opinion of this detestable thing."

"I want to see the little girls,"
cried little Grace, in disappointment.

Billie went, hesitatingly, to her
side, and whispered in her ear: "I
wrote you that letter, Miss Grace, so
if you'll hurry, before your pop gets
back, I'll show you all the kids —
workin,.,,

It was fully twenty minutes before
they returned to the office, where the
big man still sat, madder than a
tom-cat.

"We've had a fine time!" cried
little Grace.

"You must have," growled the big
man.

"Yes," Grace went on, "I'm going
to give a party next week, and have
invited all the little girls to come!"

"What!" cried the big man, taking
Grace in his arms, his whole manner
changing. "And do you think that
your papa will consent to that?"

CHILD LABOR

"Oh, papa does anything that
mamma or I ask him to do — any-
thing."

Only Billie had seen some one slip
thru the doorway and behind the
coat-closet.

"Well, I '11 tell you this, little girl,"
said the big man, kissing Grace's fore-
head— "if you get your father to let
the little girls come to your party, I '11
see that he gets the biggest plum he

For a minute or two he did nothing
but wipe his eyes with his handker-
chief, which was awfully embarrass-
ing in the presence of a young lady
of his own age, for Billie.

"You kids have made a man of
me ! And we are going to have a big
party, and it is going to celebrate, for
one thing, the abolishment of child
labor, forever, from out of my fac-
tory! And you are to manage the

GRACE PRAYS FOR THE ABOLITION OF CHILD LABOR

has ever known. Only dont tell him
what I've said. Now, when he has
answered the little girl, boy," he said
to Billie, "you will tell him that I am
waiting for him at my office. Good-
by, Grace ! ' ' and he hurried out.

Grace turned to Billie. "Oh, I'm
so glad you wrote me that letter!"

But, the next moment, her father
had rushed from behind the coat-
closet and seized her in his arms, and
was dragging Billie by the hand into
liis private office.

party, Billie; so run along and tell
them all about it ! "

An accident nearly spoiled Billie
and Grace's party. Little Grace
broke her ankle on her way home
that very night. She was removed to
the hospital. Her mother learnt of
the accident when she returned home
after the grand party.

And here is the strangest part of
all — little Grace's mother felt, in that
news, the first pangs of a mother's

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

THE FACTORY CHILDREN PRAY WITH GRACE

love. She hurried to the hospital and
knelt, for an hour, by the bedside
of her child, with her husband's arm
wrapped tightly about her, one hand
in his, the other holding her child's.
And when the party did come off,
it was celebrated in a great room of
the hospital, Billie himself acting as
escort to the great crowd of little
girls, and Mrs. Morgan giving each
of them a gift that was to make them
glad all their life long, and remove
the scarring memory of their terrible
work in the flower-making shop.

Billie 's future was assured, altho,
much to his disgust, little Grace, her
mamma, and the boss all agreed that,
for a few years, the best thing for
him was to be sent to a little school
they knew of.

Billie went reluctantly, and doubt-
ful of the success of the muddy-faced
boy who took his job, but he smuggled
a copy of "Dick Dashaway, the Dar-
ing Boy Sleuth" weekly, and already
dreamed of an even greater case to
work up, as soon as he was released
from his school-prison.

€■^•^1

The Calendar

By LALIA MITCHELL

anuaey, drifting snow,
February, let us go
March-ing to a picture show.
April, fairest blossoms blow;
May the films be good, you know-
June's the month to have them so.
July skies the bluer grow ;

August sets our cheeks aglow,
And, with cooler nights, September,
Gay October and November,
Bid us praise, as in December,
Those delights the whole year knows,
Called the Motion Picture Shows,

Insurance Agent

JOHN OLDEN

From the Photoplay

Lawrence S. McCloskey

The hands on the big, wooden-faced
clock of the Daly Furniture
Company factory hesitated on
the verge of lapping together at noon,
as the up-tram from Philadelphia
toiled up to Woodmyrtle Manor.
They rested a minute, lazily, clasped
in the lap of the clock, as a solitary
passenger got off, and a news-com-
pany boy climbed aboard with a
basket of small, sour oranges and the
popular novels and cigarets of the
hour. This was the extent of noon-
hour traffic in Woodmyrtle. In fact,
the tall, box-chinned up-passenger
was an exceptional overplus. Wood-
myrtle was a commuter's paradise,
and discountenanced invasion at
irregular hours.

The excess passenger straddled his
suit-case and waited for the train to
pull out. Until an hour ago, he had
never hoped to see the halves of the
approach to Woodmyrtle, and, now,
the local shut off the goodlier part of
his view.

Little straws show which way the
wind blows, and little newspapers
help to keep it blowing. It was by
the merest chance that Lycurgus

Johnson had picked up a copy of the
Woodmyrtle Mirror that morning in
his boarding-house, and had read- of
the acute, not to say painful, social
status in that suburb. To the ordi-
nary observer, nothing was amiss in
the half-column announcement that
the J. Maurice Dalys would hold forth
a reception that evening, nor in the
four-line stick mentioning the fact
that the Harrison Brandts, also,
would entertain a select gathering.
But to Lycurgus Johnson — three
weeks out of college, and just taking
up the difficult vocation of life in-
surance agent — the items were heavy
with occult meaning: Firstly, they
showed, clearly, that Woodmyrtle
Manor was a town of considerable
social importance; secondly, that
society appeared to be divided against
itself there; and, thirdly, a consulta-
tion of his agents' register showed
him that Woodmyrtle was unrepre-
sented by a single company. The
long list of invitees to the Dalys' was
a creamy selection of prospects,
besides.

The young man wondered if any of
the several thousand seasoned solici-

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

tors had come to the same conclusion
as himself: that Woodmyrtle was the
one bright virginal field left. His
book of instructions laid emphasis on
following up the fallow possibilities
of engagement announcements, mar-
riage licenses and birth notices — but
here was something containing the
germs of all these.

To reach a conclusion was to act,
with Lycurgus. It mattered not, in
his philosophy, if he was unknown to
"Woodmyrtle, and still emerging from

Across the square, too, was a livery
stable, and Lycurgus picked up his
grip, to stroll over to it.

Its genial proprietor, a stout man
of wide, blue eyes and a memory of
hay-colored hair, was whistling over
the process of oiling a set of double
harness.

"Nothin' doin' in the rig line,,, he
announced to Lycurgus' inquiry.
' ' Everything hooked up for tonight. " '

" Whose wedding?" asked the in-
nocent invader.

LOTTIE INSISTS ON GOING TO THE DALYS'

the damp process of graduation from
a freshwater college. The ecstasy of
holding a trembling pen for his first
applicant to sign a policy had not as
yet been given to him. It was rather
in the spirit, then, of a stern crusader
than of a social philanderer, that Ly-
curgus straddled his suit-case on
the station-platform of Woodmyrtle
Manor on the stroke of twelve.

The departure of the local revealed
to him the other half of the square of
stores that fed and clothed the town.

"Shucks! Dont you know? Old
Man Daly is opening up his new
house on Terrace Hill tonight. "

' ' I was going to the Brandts ' first, ? '
said Lycurgus.

The liveryman paused, to eye him
with respect. "Newspaper reporter,
hey ? I guess you 're the only person
makin ' the circuit. ' '

Lycurgus nodded. He was gaining
dignity, anyway. "Are the Brandts
going over to the Dalys', later on?"
he asked, casually.

TEE INSURANCE AGENT

"Say, I guess you dont know old
Brandt. He was cock o' the walk
here in Schraalenburg until Daly
came along, built the furniture fac-
tory, opened up a residence park, and
had us tonied up to 'Myrtlewood
Manor.' His swell friends came up
from the city, and leaned out of tour-
ing-cars and swapped jokes with
him. The Brandts and their son,
Howard, took the meanest kind of a
back seat — even left off going to the
Eef ormed Church when Daly put in a

newsmonger. His mind was made up
as he pressed the button at the en-
trance to the newly painted Brandt
mansion.

The overheated maid informed him
that Mrs. Howard was at home, and
ushered him into a gold-and-white
reception-room. Soon after, he heard
a heavy, ceremonious voice issuing
orders, thru the closed folding-doors
— evidently the ex-deacon clearing
decks for his hospitality of the night.

Lycurgus waited, in an .easy atti-

HOWARD IS INFORMED OF LOTTIE 's DISAPPEARANCE

stained-glass window and sat under a
purple light on Sunday."

Lycurgus displayed listless interest.
1 ' I understood they were invited, ' ' he
said.

"Who? The Brandts? Of course,
they're invited, and Howard's wife
is clean crazy to go. That's just why
old Brandt is running off an opposi-
tion side-show tonight."

"It beats all," commented Lycur-
gus, leaving his suit-case and a fat
cigar in charge of the voluminous

tude. A rustle of silk on the stairs
informed him that a woman was
descending toward him. He was not
prepared, however, for the vision of
beauty that entered and advanced to-
ward him, smiling. She was young — ■
very young, with candid blue eyes
that had a trick of dropping and
raising thick lashes.

The tall visitor bowed as deeply as
an ambassador, which caused her, un-
consciously, to put out her hand. He
seized it, warmly.

100

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"I am a fugitive in Woodmyrtle,"
he announced — "this affair at the
Dalys' — but I could not forbear mak-
ing the Brandt family a call on the
score of enlightenment. ' '

"I suppose you are going to write
us up for the newspapers, ' ' she said.
"It's wonderful how they hear of
these things. ' '

"Half the first-class vaudeville in
town is going out to the Dalys' to-
night, " said Lycurgus. "It's only
natural."

"I should so love to go," she con-
fessed.

' i Why dont you ? ' ' asked Lycurgus.

She looked at him again, almost
sharply, to see how far he could be
trusted. His expression was next to
noble in its kindliness.

"There!" she said, with the relief
of a woman who has waited weeks to
divulge a confidence. "Mr. Brandt
is angry at Mr. Daly, and, of course,
Howard sided with him. All the
young people I know will be there to-
night— and this reception of ours — "
She pantomimed its dismalness by
making a toothachy face.

Lycurgus rose to the occasion.
"I'm sure your friends will miss you.
Why dont you run over for a little
while?"

She struggled with the startling
idea. "Why, who'd take me?" she
demanded. "Howard would rather
shatter the Ten Commandments,
and "

Lycurgus came strictly to the point.
"I would be more than honored to
place myself at your service," he
said, staking the outcome of his ad-
venture on her answer.

"You?" She started back, frowned,
winked her eyelashes rapidly, then
looked to see if he had really said it.
Lycurgus sat calmly and easily.

"Nothing simpler," he said, noting
the temptation sink home in her. "I
will be your escort as far as the door,
only. A footman directs you to one
room; me to another. After that I
simply disappear, as far as you are
concerned, until we come home. As
for getting there, my old friend and
adviser, Ed Stalker, the liveryman,

will, no doubt, put his best carriage
at my disposal. ' '

The thought that the tempter knew
some one intimately in Woodmyrtle
reassured her. "Very well," she said,
almost impulsively ; " be here at eight,
sharp." She considered a moment.
"Drive up to the back of the house,
and dont ring, please; I'll be ready."

Lycurgus rose to go. It does not
pay to give a conspirator time to re-
consider, and he had always esti-
mated a woman's word as water,
should reason begin to lean upon it.
"It is agreed, then — eight," he said,
bowing low again, and, looking as
composed as possible, he left the
house.

A street below the Brandts' was a
drug-store, and he entered a tele-
phone-booth there. "Mr. Stalker,"
he announced, into the transmitter,
"this is Mr. Shipman. Say, I wont
need that coach for tonight — sickness
-^sorry — good-by. ' '

Lycurgus hung up. "Lucky I re-
membered the name of one of Mr.
Stalker's customers. Gabby old
jockey! Sorry it puts Shipman out
of the running, but business takes
precedence of pleasure, every time."

Five minutes later, he called up
again. "Mr. Stalker, this is Ly-
curgus Johnson, the gentleman you so
considerately entertained this after-
noon. Have you figured it out how
you can get me a rig? Good! Ex-
cellent! A coach, you say?" Ly-
curgus' face expressed unqualified
happiness, just as if Mr. Stalker were
present. "I'll be down at seven to
dress in your office."

He snapped the transmitter on the
hook quickly. Mr. Stalker's office
had probably never been used as a
lodging before, and he judged that
explanation would weaken his case.

Lycurgus strolled down near the
station to a trainmen's restaurant
and filled up, copiously, on ham and
beans. He was long and rangy, a
good eater, and there was no knowing
how far he might get toward refresh-
ments in his adventure of the evening.

Seven o'clock came, and he saun-
tered to the stable, prepared to over-

THE INSURANCE AGENT

101

come a frigid, if not hostile, recep-
tion. Mr. Stalker, however, received
him quite cordially, and, as Lycurgus
dressed, informed him, among other
things, that he was to drive one of
his own rigs that evening.

1 1 Thoughtful ! ' ' mused Lycurgus.
"He'll be out of the way when the
Shipman storm strikes. ' '

At the stroke of eight, the ex-Ship-
man coach, containing Lycurgus,
drove up back of the. Brandt house,
and came to a stop. At the same in-
stant, the back door opened, and

on account of the length of the pro-
gram and the exactitude of cityward
trains, and, so, Lycurgus' coach
slowed up, to join a long line working
up the entrance.

Things were as he predicted. A
liveried functionary stood by the
open door and tirelessly directed
the stream of entering guests. Once
inside, Mrs. Brandt threw back the
hood of her cape, and her escort
promptly separated from her and
ascended to the realms above. Even
as he did so, a piano overture started,

THE MAGICIAN HOLDS FORTH— AND LYCURGUS PROCEEDS TO DO LIKEWISE

Howard Brandt's wife came hur-
riedly down the path. Lycurgus
stepped out of the coach and held the
door for her. She. entered, and the
vehicle rolled away. At the selfsame
instant, also, a very red-faced parlor-
maid, who was mysteriously mooning
over the fence-palings, gave a startled
look at the proceedings, stifled a gasp,
leaned over the fence, so that she was
almost impaled thru the middle,
wiggled down again, then, gathering
up her skirts, scuttled for the house.
It was an early affair at the Dalys'

and compelling soprano notes floated
up the stairs.

Lycurgus realized that he had
made a successful beginning, if kid-
napping another man's wife and in-
vading a strange house could be
called so, and that his minutes,
thereafter, were tremendously pre-
cious, perhaps precarious. The men's
smoking-room was his goal: he felt
sure that most of the older and more
substantial men of the town would
be gathered there.

He entered, and was delighted to

102

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

find a close circle of smokers beneath
the blue haze of the leather-walled
room.

Lycurgus drew up a chair and
"pleasant-eveninged" those on either
side of him. The conversation was
desultory and quite flat, far from the
"high finance and fair women" key
that Lycurgus had expected. A mor-
tuary statement caused him to pick
up his ears: "Lam Quackenbush died
this morning."

"You dont say! Sudden, wasn't

it?"

"Very. Came home, sat on the
porch with Henrietta, smoked his
pipe, went to the druggist for mos-
quito-bite cure, went to bed early — ■
and passed away without gettin' up."

Lycurgus thought that this was
quite decent of him. "Mortality
tables show," he announced, "that
ninety-four per cent, die in bed, and
six standing up, or otherwise."

His hearers were visibly impressed.

"It does seem, tho," one com-
mented, "that nearly every day some
one is run over by the cars. "

"That's because it's the unusual
that makes you remember it, ' ' said
Lycurgus. "As a matter of fact,
casualty insurance is the cheapest in
the world — dirt cheap. And, like
everything else, it's worth about as
much as you pay for it. Protect your-
self in your ordinary pursuits : sitting
on the porch, chasing mosquitoes,
getting into bed. If you'd stop to
think, there is actually more insur-
ance risk in bed than standing in
front of a train."

Lycurgus was warming up. No-
body denied the truth of his state-
ment ; but one little man, with merry
eyes and a clear, outdoor complexion,
quietly forsook his seat and left the
room. "What the deuce, and who the
deuce is he?" he murmured, going
down the stairs. By the oddest luck,
he came across the resplendent Mrs.
Daly, during a lull in the program,
as she beamed over Mrs. Howard
Brandt. "Why, Lottie! this is so
good of you, and did Howard come ? ' '

"No — er — he couldn't get away. I
came with "

It will never be known to the
Woodmyrtle inner circle just how
she would have identified her escort,
for a distinguished, foreign-looking
man took the center of the little tem-
porary stage and rapped smartly for
an audience. He was recognized as
the world-famous Morini, the peerless
magician and necromantic wizard of
two continents, and the guests settled
back to attention.

"Never mind," chuckled the bird-
like little man to himself, as a shower
of cards flew magically into the air,
to nestle methodically in Morini 's
hands. "I'm beginning to suspect
something. ' '

When the magician had finished the
first part of his program, amid pro-
longed hand-clapping, the little man
ascended the stairs again and poked
his head gently into the smoking-
room. Lycurgus was still speaking:
"Here is a twenty-to-one shot for you.
An absolutely responsible party, will
bet you one thousand dollars against
fifty dollars that you will not die
within a year, and will make you the
same bet every year for nineteen
years. Then, at the end of twenty
years, this party will return to you
all the money you have lost, with in-
terest added. Moreover, he will loan
you money, if you run short, to keep
up your end of the bet. Do you know
of any proposition where you lose
money on a wager and get it handed
back again with interest added?"

His listeners nodded approval. The
eavesdropper closed the door softly.
"Jehoram, son of Jehosaphat!" he
exclaimed, "that tall talking-machine
is doing business right here in my
house."

He chuckled and went below again,
to where Lottie stood surrounded by
a group of young people.

"Oh, Mr. Daly!" she said, running
to him. ' ' I wouldn 't have missed this
for worlds."

"Lottie," he said, lowering his
voice, "will you excuse my infernal
curiosity and tell me who cavaliered
you here tonight ? ' '

She glanced quickly at him, with
the eyes of a cornered mouse. " To be

TEE INSURANCE AGENT

103

honest, Mr. Daly," she said, with an

effort, "I dont know " and hung

her pretty head, unable to go on.

"Come in here, Lottie," said Mr.
Daly, starting toward the conserva-
tory. "I want to talk and be talked
to like a long-lost parent."

She obeyed. In ten minutes they
came out, smiling at each other.
Morini still held the guests spell-
bound in the parlors. "I wonder,"
said Mr. Daly, slipping softly up-
stairs again and snapping his fingers

tunity, anyway." He paused for
dramatic emphasis. "Have you got
any application blanks with you ? " he
questioned, suddenly.

Lycurgus dove into an inner pocket
and, much like Morini, brought forth
magical contents. An assortment of
varied blanks. lay spread out on the
table.

"I'll take this one," said the little
man, quickly, seizing upon one with-
out even glancing at its contents.

Lycurgus appeared intensely alert

DALY SIGNS UP, AND ALL FOLLOW SUIT

in ungovernable merriment, "I won-
der how he had the nerve."

He was alluding to Lycurgus' un-
shatterable one. It was as he ex-
pected. The tall, young guest still
talked, without effort, to the circle of
townsmen. If anything, they had
drawn up closer to him. Mr. Daly
slipped in, unnoticed, and took a
vacant chair. "I agree with every-
thing you say," he interrupted. "It
is certainly a wonderful viewpoint
that you have permitted us to see.
We're all blind to everyday oppor-

and superhumanly earnest. Truth
shone from his eyes, where formerly
it had trembled on his lips, as he held
his fountain-pen for his first risk to
sign.

' "Never mind the details," said the
brusque convert; "see me in the
morning."

One by one, but with more discrim-
ination, the others followed suit, until
Lycurgus finally rose from the magic
circle the possessor of more insurance
applications than unlucky solicitors
accumulate in a thrifty year.

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TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

The bright-eyed little man stood
grasping his hand in thankfulness.

"Will you have the kindness/ ' he
said, evenly and quietly, "to escort
Mrs. Brandt home at once?"

The hour was late. Lycurgus stood
not on ceremony, nor mystification,
but stood, instead, in the parlor door-
way, with arms folded across his
chest, until the firefly Lottie judged
that her time was come.

She left, all aglow, like rare
Chinese porcelain, from dancing, and
he followed discreetly to the coach.

It rolled past darkened houses
toward the Brandts'. "It was like
fairy-land — and the beast, ' ' Lottie
thought, glancing up at him; then
said: "We have forgotten one thing.
How am I to get in ? ' '

"Get in?" he repeated, stupidly
she thought.

* ' Yes, without a scene. ' '

"I will disappear again, and you
had better 'fess up."

"That seems a heartless ending!"
she cried with spirit.

' ' No doubt ; it seems so, but in the
long run it will be the beginning of
the end of the breach between the two
houses."

His prophecy put her in good
humor again. He watched the play
of color in her cheeks.

"Tell me," he said, "who was the
little, bright-eyed, inconsequential
man?"

"Mr. Daly."

"Oh!" Unaccountably, he was
stricken silent.

The coach rolled up to the Brandts'.
Before Lycurgus had time to disap-
pear, Howard Brandt, at least he
judged it was he, stepped out from
the shrubbery and strode tragically
to the coach. In an ordinary frame
of mind, he was round-cheeked and
slow-moving, like his father. As
Lottie stepped from the coach, he ap-
peared quite the reverse, however—
quite gaunt and electric.

He did not peer into the depths of
the coach at the corrupting horror
that the parlormaid had graphically
described holding its door for Mrs.
Brandt to enter. Instead, he shut his
eyes, turned, and paced her up the
walk.

She was holding her head high as
Lycurgus peered out. And he imag-
ined that she half-turned to look
back. But that was a final mirage of
his vanity.

Lycurgus rolled toward the station,
the fruits of his victory crackling in
his pocket. His thoughts were not of
women and their ways.

"I guess Daly '11 cancel his appli-
cation in the morning," he cogi-
tated. "Such a booster, and deep
jokesmith! Who'd have thought it,
hey? As for Ed Stalker, and Ship-
man, and Brandt, I may as well cross
them off my gunning list, ' '

Lines from a Fan

By M. R. J.

When I covet mild amusement, I nearly always go,

In company with a nickel, to a Moving Picture show,

And I sit in sweet contentment,' feasting eyes on scene and view,

As mountains, land and ocean, pass before me in review.

But the slide that pleases greatly, gives a tickle to my "slats,"

Is the one they throw on nightly, "Ladies, please remove your hats.'

If the slide, to be effective, 'stead of "ladies," had it "girls,"

I will warrant every skypiece on the top of puffs and curls

Would quickly be removed, as soon as madam sat,

And I wouldn't have to twist and turn behind a great, big hat.

Now if what I've just suggested doesn't reach the ladies fair,

The managers of picture shows should use a little care.

Just have it thrown upon the screen, and let it go at that,

"If you are under thirty-five, please remove your hat."

There are some people who could
blow open a safe with compo-
sure and matter-of-f actness ;
there are others who cannot put on
their gloves, except with an air of
stealth and mystery. Of this latter
class was Count Alix Plintoff, late of
Russia, now a guest of the German
Empire, as he paced up and down
the hideously ornate apartment in
the Hotel Kaiserhof. He might have
been waiting, impatiently, for news
of the assassination of the Crown
Prince, or for a woman to put her
hat on. His expression told nothing
— hinted at anything. From the low
forehead, crouching over its secret
thoughts, to the narrow feet, in their
varnished boots, that stepped as
noiselessly as the pads of an animal,
the Count was the epitome of secrecy.
Even his voice had a guarded note as
he called in answer to a knock :

"Herein!"

The porter, cap on the back of his
head, blue stuff apron tied about
waist, feather-duster under arm, in-
serted a shock head thru the door,
glanced cautiously around, and then
hissed, in a hoarse whisper: "Tele-
gram but now arrive for the gracious
Herr!"

There was no reason why he
should not have shouted his message
to the four winds of heaven, except
the natural effect of the Count him-

self, in whose presence the simplest
act became intrigue, the most ordi-
nary remark freighted with mystery.
The chambermaid, an honest, red-
faced Gretchen, came and went on
guilty tiptoe ; the guileless youth at
the lift slid the door to, craftily ; the
suave proprietor spread his hands
significantly, as he breathed into the
Count's ear, with a sly, insinuating
smile: "A gut day, mein Herr."

The Count crossed to the painted
mountain of porcelain stove and de-
posited the cover of the telegram
within before he glanced down at the
message. Then his eyebrows met in
a frown. Cypher! He fumbled in
the inner recesses of his evening-
clothes and produced a small book, by
the aid of which he proceeded to
puzzle out the meaningless scrawl.
He was nodding over the result, when
a swift, sibilant whisper of silk and
hiss of skirts heralded a pink and
white and yellow vision in an expen-
sively scanty gown. Russian women
wear atrocious gowns charmingly ;
charming gowns to perfection. The
Count permitted himself the indul-
gence of a gratified smile before
handing the telegram to the girl.

"Olga, thou art truly a beautiful
woman. No signs of wear and tear —
by evening light, at least," he said,
with the smile; then, with the tele-
gram: "This will be of interest.,'

105

106

THE MOTION PWTVRE STORY MAGAZINE

She read the translation of the
cypher aloud thru soft, cautious lips :

Puntqff, Hotel Kaiserhof, Braun-
schweig— Use your hypnotic influence to
get papers from Hermann, Minister of
War.

Petrovsky, War Dept, Russia.

In silence, the eyes of the pair met,
hers questioning, his reassuring. In
silence, he handed her another tele-
gram:

Puntoff — We offer one hundred and
twenty-five thousand francs for the Rus-
sian fortification plans.

Tokio War Dept., Japan.

As she read this, the color drained
from Olga's lips, leaving the splotches
of artful rouge crudely sketched
against her fear-paled face. She
glanced about the room — at the hide-
ous, stained, glass window-panes, with
their dogs '-heads and conventional-
ized cabbage, at the plaster plaques
on the wall, the plump, red, quilted
satin hangings, to be sure that there
was no one besides themselves in the
room. He watched her, with an im-
patient amusement that brought a
trembling smile of apology to her
lips as she handed back the telegrams.

"Burn them, Alix," she begged.
"They are vipers. Best draw their
stings ! ' '■

' ' Pf oo ! Nonsense, little one. ' ' He
folded the two telegrams carefully
together and thrust them into a
wallet. Then he placed the wallet
carefully in the inner pocket of his
coat, and laughed gaily as he dropped
eager hands on her bare shoulders.

"Why, we shall be rich, Olga —
rich," he said. He gave the effect of
shouting in an undertone as his
hands tightened on her flesh. "Silly
creature, I never thought to see thee
so weak of will."

She shivered, and gathered her
scarf closer. "But — if it were found
that thou — wert playing a double

game " Her hands went to her

round, white throat, in a gruesome
gesture. Count Plintoff laughed
again, with a laugh that did not
curve the muscles of his mouth. He
took his hat and gloves from the table.

"The stakes are high," he said,
coolly. "If I lose I hang, but if I
win we are wealthy, and I never play
a losing game, Olga. Come, it is late,
and the Embassy ball awaits us."

But, in the carriage, Olga's fears
crowded, reptile-like, into her reflec-
tions, and she clutched the arm beside
her, nervously.

"Alix — I wish that this were over,
and we were safe in Paris — the Rus-
sian Government has a long memory,
and cruel tentacles that reach out
and coil around — and strangle." He
felt her shudder.

"Why shouldst thou care?" he
asked curiously.

"God — He knows!" she cried out,
in a passion of bitterness. ' ' I know
thee to be a schemer — a betrayer of
women — a spy. Oh, yes, and thou
hast made me a twin creature to thy-
self. Not by thy hypnotism, I swear
that. I am the only person in the
world thou canst not influence in that
way!" Her breath came hot and
hurried. "It is because, base as thou
art, thou art my man — thou, Alix — "
Unconsciously, her words lingered on
the tender thou. Then the stopping
of the carriage jerked raggedly
across the words. Count Plintoff
hastily prest her hand, as he helped
her to descend.

"Well, 'twill soon be over — if Paul
Brett is here tonight — he is Her-
mann's secretary — I may be able —
tho I can manage a woman better — "

A mist of music, glare and move-
ment settled about them as they en-
tered the hall. Attaches in swagger-
ing uniforms, a-glitter with tinsel
lace, whirled their bright women
across the ice-smooth floor, to a sen-
suous Strauss waltz; rigid German
officers, like newly varnished wooden
figures, strolled by, the satin arms of
their blonde partners resting on
their gold-starred sleeves like caresses.
The air was awash with the scent
and sound and sights. Olga's chilly
Slavic blood rebelled, after a languid
dance or two.

"Let us go out into the air," she
said to the Count. "Faugh! this
heavy atmosphere sickens one."

TEE SPY'S DEFEAT

107

Dodging among the dancers, they
made their way to an anteroom, at
whose farther end a diamond-paned
casement looked out across a moon-
white stretch of lawn. As they
stepped thru the casement to the bal-
cony outside, the Count's fingers
tightened on Olga's wrist, in a signal
for silence. Beneath them, on a
carved bench, in the shade of the
thuyas, that looked like hooded monks
in the dimness, sat a man and a
woman in earnest conversation.

"There is Paul, now," whispered

have waited, telling myself : ' She is a
gracious lady, you are but a poor
soldier — do not presume'; but, to-
night, the moon, she is so hopeful —
and you are so wonderschon — I must
tell you all: Ich liebe dick, Liebschen
— heart's treasure, I love you "

The girl seemed to tremble toward
him, as tho her heart swayed to his.
Then, with a little cry, she drew back :

"No, no; it is impossible " He

had to bend low to hear the words.

"It is because I am so beneath you
in rank?"

WHISPERED THE COUNT

the Count, eagerly, "and the woman
is Fredrica, daughter of Hermann, of
the War Department. Listen "

There are few women who can re-
sist hearing love told, even if it be at
second-hand, and the pair on the
bench below certainly suggested such
a telling. The girl's brown head was
bent down, hiding from her lover all
but one little, pink ear. But the
man's face was clearly visible, hag-
gard with the hazard of the moment,
drawn with doubt.

"Ach! heart's desire — it is so that
I must tell you all that is in my heart
for-you," he was saying. "So long I

The girl nodded. "That is an un-
kind way to put it, but my father
would not consent; believe me — I
grieve — for you "

Paul bowed his head silently. With
a swift mother-gesture, the girl's fin-
gers fluttered over the bent head;
then, as if afraid to trust herself
farther, she arose to her feet. "And —

and — I grieve for myself " She

stooped an instant above him, with the
shadow of a caress, and was gone, thru
the fair, faint glow. Slowly Paul got
to his feet and followed her.

The Count turned to Olga, with a
soundless whistle of satisfaction.

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11 The gods are gracious to us," he
said. "The girl doubtless knows the
hiding-place of the papers. She is a
spineless, weakly creature and a per-
fect subject for me. Now, little one,
Paul is thy part — occupy his atten-
tion, and leave the rest to me."

For a moment it was curt refusal
that hesitated on Olga's lips. There
is a potentially good woman in every

FREDRICA

SUCCUMBS TO

THE COUNT'S

HYPNOTIC POWERS

bad one, a pure sweet-
heart in every mis-
tress, a gentle, sym-
pathetic mother in
every hardened ad-
venturess. And the most sin-scarred
woman-heart thrills with a painful
echo of might-have-been at the sight
of two who love each other sacredly.
Then she shrank from the sneer that
was twisting Plintoff 's face into evil
lines.

' ' Very well, ' ' she said, coldly ; "in-
troduce me to the boy. I'll answer
that he does not interrupt you."

"Otchen heduiy I'll stake my oath
on that," laughed Plintoff, as they
turned back to the ballroom. "The

cleverest little witch in the world,
Olga ! By the saints, but I 'm half in
love with thee myself, yet, some-
times. ' '

It was some time later, by the
moon, when two figures again emerged
on the balcony. Far away, like a
very dream of sound, came the heart-
compelling wail of 'cellos and violins
in the "Moonlight Sonata," and the
lisp of dancing feet.

Fredrica sank wearily
into a chair, with a sigh
distinctly unflattering to
Count Plintoff, who was
bending, gallantly, over
her, arranging her scarf
around her slender
shoulders.

"Is the gracious Frau-
lein weary ? " he inquired.
"The rooms are very
warm and crowded to-
night." .

"No; it is a mere
mood," smiled Fredrica,
in half-apology. "I fear
I am but a poor talker to-
night."

"But certainly not —
never," he declared.

The girl's eyes, unat-
tentive, wandered over
the moon-touched world,
slipping from the pink
convolvulus by the cedar
hedge, past the acacias,
then, suddenly, lighten-
ing into life. She leaned
forward, her cheeks
shamed with blushes.
There, among the glim-
mering tree-trunks,
strolled Paul and Olga in earnest con-
versation, the beautiful Russian's
hand warmly on his arm, her bright,
blonde head close, close to his. Even
as she looked, Olga seemed to sway
toward her escort, and he took her in
his arms. With a little, heart-sick
gesture, Fredrica turned her back
squarely on the numbing sight and
smiled up into Plintoff 's face, with
the brave parody of a smile that
women use when their pride has
suffered a sting. It is a ghastly, sick

THE SPY'S DEFEAT

109

caricature of a smile that deceives no
one but the wearer. In it Plintoff
read his opportunity. He straight-
ened, growing strangely thinner,
taller. His eyes grew swollen, hold-
ing hers fixed. His hands, oddly talon-
like, in spite of the dazzling rings and
more dazzling finger-nails, snapped
and jerked before her face. Her ter-
rified eyes struggled in the web of his
gaze, then became glazed. Still look-
ing at her fixedly, he bent over her,
speaking distinctly.

' ' You will do as I say. Go at once
to your father's office — get the
yellow envelope. I wait for you
here."

Fredrica got slowly, feebly to
her feet. In the far background
of her sleeping mind, a faint
voice of self was saying to her :
' ' Do not listen — do not go ! " but
his words had eaten into her con-
sciousness like acid. The invisible
hands of his will pushed her on.
With the slow, uncanny step of j
a sleep-walker, she passed thru
the casement, into the anteroom,
followed by Plintoff.

A swift rustle of garments,
and there was Olga, breathless
with success and excitement. At
the sight of the other girl, she
started back, but Plintoff nodded
her on.

' ' She is safely under the influ-
ence, [ ' he whispered. ' ' She will
do as I have told her. Now, all
we can do is to wait. ' ' He caught Olga
to him in a careless embrace. ' ' Thou
art a clever actress, little one," he
approved. "Let us go out onto the
balcony, and thou shalt tell me how
thou managed to fall into the young
man's arms so well."

A man who has just been refused
by the One Woman in the World may
be pardoned for disliking to dance
with any other feeble, feminine imita-
tion of her, and for preferring the
moon and his mood to music and
mirth. Paul spent a cynical two
hours with himself in the acacia gar-
den, repeating time-frayed, worm-
eaten platitudes about womankind in

general, and smoking more cigars
than were good for him. Spurred
military boots strode by beyond the
portico, with a brisk assuredness that
told of plump and blushing Gretchens
and Mitas waiting, expectant of their
coming; couples from the dance
slipped by, like wooing shadows cast
by that arch-flirt, the moon; and,
once, the sound of an honest kiss,
given and returned, crashed into
poor Paul's philosophical reflections,
and sent them whirling into grievous
bits. He was hesitating, miserably,

FREDRICA GOES FOR THE DOCUMENT

between home and bed, and the raths-
keller and revelry, when he rounded
a turn in the path, and nearly ran
into the Only Woman herself — but
was it herself? Eyes fixed in a
glassy stare, movements painful and
jerky, Fredrica passed him, unrecog-
nizing, into the Embassy. Paul drew
in his breath, in an inhalation of
amazement — in one hand, the girl
had carried a long, yellow envelope
that looked like the one that he him-
self had placed in her father's desk
the night before. A vague, dank sus-
picion, like unhealthy vapor, choked
Paul. He turned sharply and plunged
after the girl, following her up the
stairs, thru the anteroom, and out

110

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

onto the balcony, where Count Plin-
toff and his mistress were waiting.
Paul, standing in the shadow, saw
Plintoff take the envelope from
Fredrica, wave his hands before her
unseeing eyes, and snap his fingers in
her face. With a long shudder of
returning mind, Fredrica 's body re-
laxed and quivered. Her eyelids
fluttered. She tried to speak and fell
back, fainting, her head and shoul-
ders hanging across the balcony-rail.

with wide, fascinated eyes. Then,
coming to her senses, she stepped into
the thick of the fray, and tripped
Paul, just as his fingers had gained
the other's throat. With a crash of
bone and muscle, the German fell
heavily to the floor, where he lay
stunned, while Olga, half-support-
ing and half-leading her companion,
got him thru the window and away.

When Paul came back to painful
life, his dazed eyes questioned his

THE STRUGGLE ON THE BALCONY

With the inarticulate, bestial fury
of a beast that has seen his mate in-
jured, Paul flung himself from the
shadows, full upon the triumphant
Russian, his fingers darting for a
strangle-hold on the lean, bony neck.
The attack was as unexpected as tho
the window-ledge itself had suddenly
exploded into murderous life. Plin-
toff rallied quickly to the defensive,
but not before Paul had gained the
upper hand. Silently the two men
swayed on the balcony, in a struggle
as unreal as that of hired actors on a
painted stage. Olga, one hand still-
ing her noisy heart, watched them

surroundings for coherence. Fred-
rica was leaning weakly against the
railing, her eyes vague but alive. On
the floor, beside him, lay a large Rus-
sian leather wallet. As his fingers
fumbled with this, two telegrams fell
out. One glance was enough. He
sprang to his feet, forgetting his
weakness, and stooped over the girl.

"Do not worry or try, yet, to think,
Fraulein," he directed. "See — it is I,
Paul. I will take you home — after
that I have work to do. ' '

He lifted her to her feet and put
his arm about her to steady her. The
warmth of her body dizzied him, but

TEE SPY'S DEFEAT

111

he said no word. As they passed thru
the window, Fredrica gave a little,
contented sigh, and laid her head on
his shoulder. He crushed her to him,
stammering hot words.

"If I succeed tomorrow, I shall
come back, dear one. I shall come
back to claim you, Liebschen, Lieb-
schen," he cried, brokenly, against
her fragrant hair.

The sentry at the Russo-German
border was used to strange people
coming and going in strange ways.
Sometimes it was a frantic band of
refugees, fleeing, with wives and chil-
dren, the wrath of the Czar 's soldiers ;
sometimes shy, eloping couples ; some-
times bored tourists, noses plunged
into Baedeker ; once a wild-eyed man
fleeing from the avenger of his wife's
honor ; once a heretic priest, who
stopped to shriek such shriveling
blasphemy that the sentry must
needs bend his head and say: "God
keep me" before he could feel safe.

Today it was a carriage bearing a
pale, painted beauty and a man with
the devil 's own eyes. But what did it
matter, thought the sentry, wisely, as
long as their passports were all right ?
If the Old One himself should come
by, swinging his forked tail, and pre-
sent a proper passport, he would cry,
cheerily, "Pass, friend.'' '

And then the poor lady had been
so beautiful and so pale, and had
begged him so prettily to direct them
to an inn for the night, with a coin or
two slipped into his hands as thanks
— assuredly, it was no concern of his
who they were, where they went, or
why.

But it was in the nature of amazing
that, a couple of hours later, the
raggedly dressed, old peasant, with
the wild, red whiskers and the pil-
grim's staff, should have inquired so
earnestly whether a carriage had
passed, bearing a pale, beautiful lady
and a man with the devil's own eyes.
And still more amazing was it that
gold coin should have spouted so
lavishly from beneath that dusty,
brown coat, to help jog his memory.
But the passport was all correct, and,

pfoo! what did it matter? How-
ever, the memory- jogging was effec-
tual. Late that night, the simple
peasant, who applied, humbly, for a
room at the Inn of the Two Empires,
noticed, with satisfaction, the pair of
narrow, varnished shoes standing be-
fore one of the closed doors, flanked
by a tiny pair of slippers. As he
shuffled feebly down the hall beside
the landlord, on the way to his room,
a tall, military man, bearded with
Russian lavishness, passed them.

"That is General Ivanoff," boasted
the garrulous landlord. "He is a
great friend of the recently arrived
Frau and Herr."

' ' Um-m-m ! um-m-m ! ' ' mumbled
the old peasant, dully ; ' ' um-m-m-m ! ' '

But, inside his room, the door safely
closed on the landlord, a subtle
change seemed to come over the old
man. He opened the door softly, and
surveyed the hall, with keen eyes
over his wild beard. In his face was
an expression much like that of a fer-
ret waiting for its prey.

At last he was rewarded. At the
interesting door General Ivanoff ap-
peared, smiling and bowing to some
one inside, and came down the hall,
smiling to himself with the satisfac-
tion of one who has just fed on good
news.

Abreast of the door, the peasant
was upon him, with dreadful sudden-
ness, and before he could shout or
struggle, he found himself lying on
his back in a bedroom, hands and feet
bound and a gag in his mouth, while
a young man, dressed like an old one,
with false beard and cloak, bent over
him. A few moments later, the same
young man, arrayed in the General's
military uniform, his beard trimmed
to correspond to the General's,
emerged from the room, strode down
the hall, and rapped loudly on the
interesting door.

"Enter!"

The General's counterpart drew a
long breath, as tho storing it away for
future use, and flung open the door.
Plintoff sat at the table, writing. He
glanced up, nodded pleasantly, and
laid down his pen. "You have re-

112

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

turned, General ? What can I do for

you, my dear friend ?" The

words trailed off into a gibber of
terror, as he found himself looking
down the uncompromising maw of an
army pistol, behind which a pair of
merciless eyes, gray and hard as the
steel, glared down at him with ill-
leashed fury. Those eyes — surely not
Russian — where had he seen them,

THE GENERALS EXCHANGE UNIFORMS

with that same chill of threat in
them, glaring down at him? The
hallucination of music, the "Moon-
light Sonata," electric lights blurred
into bloody smutches- — the Embassy
ball ! Plintoff cowered into his chair,
shrunken with fear.

"I will tell you what you can do
for me ' ' — the stranger 's voice pricked
the air like a thin blade; he spoke
in stilted Russian, haltingly — "you
can give me the yellow envelope you
stole last night. You had better not

refuse. I have with me three argu-
ments: this pistol and two telegrams
that you carelessly left behind you at
the Embassy — you appear to remem-
ber. Donnerwetter! I thought as

much "

The Count's lean talons went to his
throat, with a gesture of loosening
something that strangled him. Olga
had warned him — merciful saints!

"You will pardon me
for these precautions, ' '
continued the sarcastic
voice. The stranger was
tying Plintoff into his
chair as he spoke. In com-
plete fright-paralysis, the
figure in the chair swayed
and drooped ludicrously.
"So — and so — and so.
Now, a bit of a handker-
chief— I hope I dont dis-
turb you. Not so tight
that you cannot tell me
where the papers are —
there! I hope you are
quite comfortable — you
cur!"- His fury broke
thru his voice, hoarsely.

"Olga! Olga!" cried
the Count, desperately,

"Olga! the papers "

He felt that he screamed
the words, but, in reality,
his stricken voice mum-
bled them in a smothered
whisper thru the handker-
chief. At the door into
the inner room appeared
the girl, clutching the de-
sired envelope in one
hand. Her eyes widened
as she surveyed the scene ■
then darkened, as her hand was seized
in a vise-like grip. The stranger's
eyes looked down into the white dis-
dain of her face with grim amusement.
"I fear I shall have to recall my-
self to madame?" the voice was sar-
castically ceremonious. "To be sure,
it was only last evening that you
graciously flung yourself into my
honored arms, but, alas ! beauty is too
fickle. Ah, you remember? Now,
one little favor to add to my indebt-
(Concluded on page 170.)

Great Mystery Play

An Afterword to Readers
and Contestants

With the January issue, the solution of the baffling mystery contained in
The Diamond Mystery photoplay came to an end. Without divulging
the confidences of the contest judges, the editor can safely announce
that several thousand manuscripts have been received — probably the largest
number ever received in a contest so difficult, and one where intelligence is the
supreme test. It has been gratifying in the extreme, too, to have so many
readers compete, and many of them compose works of real literary merit, with-
out the hope of definite reward or appreciation; yet such has been the case.
Many, thereby, will have gotten the incentive to write complete photoplay
scripts, and we wish them success — many times — in their endeavors.

The work now passes on to the judges, a committee of gentlemen who have
offered their services freely for this none-too-light task. Most of them are
authorities in the line of their endeavor — Messrs. J. Stuart Blackton and Epes
Winthrop Sargent probably having passed upon more photoplay scripts than
any two living men. Messrs. Wright, Hall, Johnston, Brewster and La Roche
are all literary men of good standing, and well-known as editors — Emmet
Campbell Hall, in particular, being probably one of the most prolific and suc-
cessful photoplaywrights that we have. For Edwin Markham, Will Carleton
and Hudson Maxim no introduction is necessary — they are something bigger
than famous literati : household words that are familiar the world over. It is
impossible to give a higher compliment than that — the unlocking of every door,
high or low, where their works have penetrated. It is a moot question, which
of the three is biggest-hearted. The unqualified giving of their time to decide
this contest only emphasizes it for all three. But, in consequence, some un-
known writer may be lifted weary years along the road to success, and they
know it, and for this reason alone would help us.

A decision will probably be arrived at in time to publish in the March
number ; in the meantime, we are so informed, the studio plans for producing
the play will be well under way. For the convenience of those readers who
have not read the original scenario, which first appeared in the November
issue, we are herewith giving a synopsis thereof :

( Synopsis. — Jonathan Moore, inventor and chemist, is down to his last dollar, but
assisted by his daughter, Violet, and against the wishes of his wife, he persists in fitting
up their living-room as a laboratory and in continuing his researches. Olin, in love with
Violet, enters, and shows his jealousy of Phelps, the son of Moore's best friend. After
repeated experiments with his formula and crucible, Moore succeeds in making a large,
perfect diamond, which is seen by all.

Phelps slips out to his father's diamond shop, and, with consternation, tells him of
the discovery. Olin, too, is troubled, as its results may place Violet beyond his reach.
Meanwhile, Firestone, the diamond merchant, calls on Moore, and is shown the beautiful
stone. He leaves, dazed, believing the process will ruin his business.

The inventor cautiously hides his diamond and formula, cables the result to the
International Diamond Syndicate, London, and asks for an offer. Bloodgood, the Eng-
lish manager, receives cablegram, and notifies his N. Y. agent, Rollins, not to make a
move till he comes.

Meanwhile, Phelps receives a sure tip on the races thru his reckless friend, Bill.
They both are broke, and Firestone refuses to advance money. In desperation, Phelps
goes to Olin, who loans him money and takes a receipt. Their horse is a bad loser, and
Phelps, disheartened, calls on Violet. Believing him half sick, she tenderly cares for
him, but Olin overlooks the scene and summons Phelps into the hall. Olin, in a jealous

113

114 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

rage, demands his money. Phelps is destitute and puts him off, to return to Violet. Thru
artful questions, he finds out from her the secret of the invention, and suddenly leaves
to tell Bill the cheerful news, claiming that he himself is the inventor.

Bill is convinced and takes Phelps to the room of some counterfeiters. Phelps
draws plans of his supposed invention, and, finally, sells it to them for a considerable
sum. The next day he pays his debt to Olin.

In Bill's presence, the counterfeiters construct the diamond-making machine, and
find it inadequate. Bill promises to find Phelps and to fetch him there. He goes to
Firestone's shop, and is directed by him to the Moores' house. He enters the laboratory,
sees the invention, denounces Phelps, and leaves as Phelps tries to explain things to
Violet. The success of the invention looks blue, as no word has come from England.
Mrs. Moore is sarcastic and miserable, but Moore and Violet still hope against hope. In
the meantime, the swindled counterfeiters hold Bill responsible for the trickery of
Phelps.

The unexpected day comes when Rollins, the syndicate agent, calls on Moore, to do
business. Phelps, Violet, Olin and Rollins watch Moore make a diamond. They show
great interest and, finally, consternation as Moore refuses an offer of $1,000,000 for his
process. Rollins leaves, with a sneer.

Mrs. Moore tells of her husband's obstinacy, to her lady friends, who start by sym-
pathizing and end by plotting with her. Violet enthuses over their prospect to Phelps,
who puts his arm about her. Olin leaves the house in a blind rage. He has barely gone
when Bill enters and, asking to see Phelps alone, accuses him of knavery. Phelps breaks
down, and Violet rushes to his relief. She listens to his confession. As she and Bill
plan to save him, Firestone enters and realizes his son's guilt. He denounces him and
sends him away, finally seizing on Bill to help him plan a scheme to save Phelps'
reputation.

Meanwhile, in Rollins' office, Bloodgood states that something must be done at once
— if the invention comes out their diamond fields are worthless. They leave for a
drinking-place to plan further — at the same time the baffled counterfeiters, in their room,
twist and turn about the useless plans of Phelps.

In the drinking-place Rollins sees the broken-spirited Phelps. Rollins thinks he
may be of use, and introduces Bloodgood to him.

On the evening of the same day, the inventor cautiously closes his laboratory, puts
out light, and retires on cot in corner. (What happens next is to be supplied by the
contestant — scenes 46, 47 and 48.)

Thru open window an indistinguishable figure or figures climb in and flit about
room. There is an explosion where the diamond machine was. Violet enters with
light, sees wrecked machine, and discovers that the diamond, formula and inventor are
all missing. Telephones police.

The police captain sends an officer, who, after taking notes, reports it a baffling case.
The captain decides to call Lambert Chase, the famous detective, into the case, and
telephones him particulars.

Chase almost immediately appears at the Moores' and makes an inspection. The
following day, having ordered every one concerned to be present, he seats them all —
Olin, Phelps, Bill, counterfeiters, Firestone, Rollins, Bloodgood, Violet and her mother
— at a table in the laboratory, and places an instrument, connected by wires to
numbered charts, on their wrists. It is the pulseograph, or pulse-writer. Suddenly he
places, successively, a miniature machine like the inventor's, a formula and an imita-
tion of the diamond, on the table. Suddenly there is an explosion of the machine, and
the diamond and formula are made to disappear. The detective then inspects the charts,
and dramatically raises his hand to name the guilty one — - The rest of the play is
omitted, and the contestant is required to fill in the missing part of scene 57 and all of
58 and 59.)

As announced, we are publishing herewith a few of the many clever
solutions received :

THE DIAMOND MYSTERY.
Cut out scenes 46, 47 and 48.

Leader (before Scene 49) "LIKE A THIEF IN THE NIGHT."

Continue Scene 57 as follows : All in suspense. His hand finally indicates Phelps.
Olin rejoiced. Bill and counterfeiters relieved. Firestone overwhelmed. Rollins and
Bloodgood mortified and alarmed. Violet amazed, anguished. Mother astonished, sar-
castic. Phelps quiet, dignified, admits guilt, but refuses explanation. Detective looks at
him seafchingly, thinks, reaches conclusion as door opens and Moore enters. All
astonished to see him. Moore astonished at what he sees. Explanations. Detective,
watching Moore and Phelps, intently catches furtive and knowing glance between them,
suddenly speaks to Phelps :

GREAT MYSTERY PLAY 115

Cut in leader : "YOU CAN TELL NOW. MR. MOORE HAS PUT THE FORMULA
AND DIAMONDS IN A SAFE HIDING-PLACE."

Back to scene. All astonished. Detective speaks to Moore, who tells Phelps to go ahead
and tell. Phelps tells how he entered by window, hunted for and found formula and dia-
monds, caused explosion by accidentally knocking over some chemicals, is caught and
followed out of window by Moore, to whom he gave the formula, etc. Olin sneering.
Bill and counterfeiters wonder. Mother disdainful. Violet begins to get idea of the
truth. As Phelps proceeds with his story, Rollins and Bloodgood get more and more
alarmed, watch Phelps fearfully. Detective sees, watches them narrowly, reaches satis-
factory conclusion. Phelps finishes. Violet starts toward him, about to speak eagerly.
Detective stops her, speaks to Phelps himself :

Cut in leader : "YOU KNEW SOME ONE WOULD TRY TO STEAL THEM, AND
YOU WISHED TO MAKE AMENDS BY SAVING THEM?"

Back to scene. Detective, regarding Phelps knowingly : "Isn't that so?" Phelps assents.
Moore produces formula and diamonds from his pocket, or shows receipt for safety
deposit-box, where he has put them. Olin, Bill and counterfeiters exit. Violet and Fire-
stone with Phelps. Mrs. Moore with Moore. Detective watching Rollins and Bloodgood,
who are consulting hurriedly. They note his espionage, reach quick conclusion, join
Moore. Mrs. Moore moves away from husband. Detective joins her, speaks seriously
and convincingly to her, pointing to Moore and the invention. Rollins makes Moore an-
other offer, which he accepts. Violet and Phelps happy. As Moore concludes agreement
with Rollins, detective convinces Mrs. Moore, who joins husband. Tableau.

167 N. Parkway, East Orange, N. J. Rev. E. Boudinot Stockton.

THE DIAMOND MYSTERY.

Scene 46— PHELPS BECOMES TOOL OF DIAMOND MAGNATES. Same as Scene 44.
Phelps, very drunk, accepts roll of bills. Others rise ; business of final agreement
over plot to destroy invention. Business of magnates' leave-taking. Phelps remains,
drinking. Head falls forward on table in drunken stupor.

Scene 47. Same as Scene 19.
Firestone and Bill at the counterfeiters'. .A bargain is struck; the counterfeiters
agree to destroy both the original invention and their copy of it for large sum.

Scene 48. Same as Scene 32.
The mother of Violet, rising to end her visit, explosively registers that she intends
to accept friends' advice and put an end to husband's inventing once and for all ; declares :

"I WILL DESTROY THIS WORTHLESS INVENTION; THEN HE WILL STOP
WASTING TIME AND GO TO WORK!"

Scene 57. (Continued.)
Moment of suspense. All present feel apprehension and secret guilt, for all have
plotted same crime — all except Violet, who fears Phelps is guilty, and the detective, who
knows. At crucial moment, interruption of inventor's return occurs. Latter greatly
agitated. Shakes fist in face of Rollins and Bloodgood. Registers exclamation :

"I DID NOT CATCH YOUR TOOL: BUT I'VE PROVED YOUR GUILT. YOU'LL

PAY WHAT I ASK, NOW!"

Scene 58. Same.
The two conspirators signify readiness to come to any terms. Detective interposes :

"MR. MOORE, THERE IS THE MAN WHO WRONGED YOU."

Business of saying above words, points to Olin. Olin confesses that, crazed with
jealousy, he destroyed the invention. Anguished, he begs for mercy. Simultaneously,
wife of inventor bursts into tears and confesses her own guilt of conscience. Epidemic
of confessions follows bewilderingly, while detective makes business of examining pulse-
ographs in amused, but nonplussed manner, and counterfeiters keep discreetly in the
background. Moore, bewildered, finally decides to be magnanimous. Business of saying :

"I CAN DUPLICATE MY MACHINE AND FORMULA ; I WILL NOW GET MY
PRICE ; I CAN AFFORD TO BE GENEROUS."

Business of forgiving everybody.

Scene 59. Same.

The spirit of forgiveness becomes epidemic, also. Firestone embraces son; latter
registers determination henceforth to play the man. Violet forgives both Olin and
Phelps, and former shakes hands with his rival and relinquishes her to him. Business
of leave-taking. Young lovers and parents, drawn closer by recent events, are left alone.

217 N. Seventeenth Street, New Castle, Ind. M. L. Compton.

116 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

THE GREAT MYSTERY PLAY.

Scene 46. Continuation of Last Scene.
Hearing a tap on the door, Professor arises and turns on light, opens door to mes-
senger boy. Business of signing for message and dismissing boy. Professor reads
(SCREEN MESSAGE) :

"PROF. MOORE, NEW YORK, N. Y. :

"HEAR YOU HAVE INVENTION TO SELL. CATCH 11.20 TRAIN AND COME
AT ONCE. "P. J. MORGANBILT."

Professor glances at watch, and prepares for departure, connects electric wires and bomb
with machine. "TO TOUCH IS TO DESTROY." Saying thus, he pockets solution and
departs.

Scene 47. Exterior View Moore Home. Dark.
Phelps appears in scene with mask and flashlight, suspicious. Some one coming, he
hides. Firestone appears, also has mask and flashlight. Some one else coming, he hides.
Appear Bloodgood and Rollins with masks and flashlight; they conceal themselves on
appearance of counterfeiters equipped as burglars.

Scene 48. Same as Scene 7. Dark. On Steps Leading Up.
Mrs. Moore descending steps cautiously ; she carries a bag plainly marked "JUNK,"
evidently determined to get rid of invention; hearing a noise, she becomes frightened
and darts quickly upstairs.

Scene 57. Same as Scene 1.
Sudden explosion of model of invention. Business of detective collecting charts,
scanning them. (Might show charts with their jagged lines.) Detective then dra-
matically raises his hand to name the guilty one — when the Professor joyously enters.
He is surprised at gathering, but, when meaning is explained, he laughs and asks to see
charts, of which all but Olin's and Violet's signify guilt ; he looks at charts, then pro-
duces telegram and check for $2,000,000. (SCREEN CHECK AND TELEGRAM.)
Olin first to congratulate him. The others then try, but are shown charts, repulsed.
Exit all but Professor, Violet, mother, Olin, detective and Phelps. Business of Phelps
pleading with Violet and Professor to no avail. Exit Phelps. Exit detective. Exit Olin
and Violet. Business of Mrs. Moore begging forgiveness, which is granted.

Scene 58. Same as Scene 7.
Tender scene between Olin and Violet. Exit Olin.

Scene 59. Interior of Moore's New Home. Grandeur.

Violet and mother willingly assist Professor on new invention. Enter Olin ; hearty
welcome by all. While Professor and wife are engrossed, Olin and Violet become
betrothed. Happy ending.

3500 Cortland Street, Chicago, 111. Allen H. Tillotson.

THE MYSTERY PLAY.

Scene 46. Same as Scene 13.
Business of Olin entering, just returned from Scene 33, still determining revenge on
Phelps. A thought ! Registers that he has a plan. Exit Olin.

Scene 47. Same as Scene 44.

Enter Olin unseen by Phelps, Bloodgood and Rollins. Business of ordering drink,
suddenly spies Phelps, Bloodgood and Rollins. Business of listening to their conversa-
tion. Overhears Rollins telling scheme to Phelps. Registers that he will warn Moore of
their intentions. Business of sipping his drink. Enter Firestone and Bill, still discuss-
ing their budding scheme ; they see Phelps, Rollins and Bloodgood, catch a few words of
their conversation, enough to know what they are scheming, and unnoticed before, they
now see Olin eagerly listening, and see fear and anger in his eyes. Firestone, knowing
his hatred for Phelps, sees intention to give Phelps away. Business of Firestone and Bill
walking toward Olin with friendly smiles. Business of Olin declining to drink with
Firestone and Bill, but Bill gives him a friendly slap on the shoulder and insists. Busi-
ness of Firestone ordering drinks. Olin listens to the scheme at other table. Business
of Firestone dropping a tiny tablet in Olin's drink while his head is turned, winks his
eye at Bill.

Scene 48. Same as Scene 19.

Enter Bill and Firestone carrying the drugged Olin. Business of their tying his
hands and leaving him near machinery. Exit Bill and Firestone. Lights fade. It is
midnight. Business of Olin arousing from drug, takes in surroundings, sees his hands
tied, twists himself closer to machinery, and, by twisting and turning, sees he can cut
the ties on a piece of the machinery. Business of cutting it loose, smiles and stretches
his benumbed limbs, suddenly realizes by his watch that he is too late to warn Moore,

GREAT MYSTERY PLAY 117

tries to let himself out, but door is locked, he raps loudly on the door, is heard by
a passing policeman, who comes to his rescue. Business of Olin explaining his predica-
ment Business of policeman shaking his head doubtfully and tapping his head with
finger as tho to say: "Drunk!" and smiling at this extraordinary tale; looks at him,
is doubtful, then recognizes him as Olin, registers he is wanted at the Moores' residence.

Continuation of Scene 57. Same as Scene 1.
Pulseograph signifies Olin. Every one turns to Olin. He has fainted. Business of
detective noting that his agitation was from an intoxicant or drug, and not from fear,
lifts him, and lays him on cot. Business of Violet disturbed over his illness. SCREEN :

IN THE CONFUSION, PHELPS, BLOODGOOD AND ROLLINS ESCAPE.

Business of Phelps, Bloodgood and Rollins sneaking out of room. Business of detective
and all persons in room suddenly turning and realizing the escape of the criminals.

Scene 58— SCREEN LETTER.

"DEAR VIOLET: I LOVED YOU, BUT I KNOW I COULD NEVER REGAIN YOUR LOVE
AFTER MY BRUTAL CRIME. ROLLINS AND BLOODGOOD HAVE PROMISED ME A SHARE IN
THE MONEY THAT THEY WILL MAKE OFF OF THE INVENTION, AS THEY HAVE THE
FORMULA.

"ENCLOSED HEREWITH IS ROLLINS' CHECK FOR $1,000,000, WHICH HE OFFERED YOUR
FATHER. YOU WILL FIND YOUR FATHER GAGGED AND TIED IN BARN.

"WE ARE SAILING TONIGHT FOR LIVERPOOL. I WILL TRY TO DO BETTER IN THE
FUTURE, AS I REALIZE I HAVE MADE A MISERABLE FAILURE AS A MAN.

"FORGIVE ME, FORGET ME, AND BE A TRUE WIFE TO OLIN. "PHELPS."

Scene 59. Same as Scene 1. Machine Mutilated as in Latter Part of Scene 49. Violet
and Mother Bending Over Olin on Cot.

Enter counterfeiters helping Moore. Business of Violet embracing and kissing her
father. Mother kisses him. Business of Violet showing her father Phelps' letter. He
grasps check gladly, goes to cot where Olin lies. Business of Olin awakening, feels
better, but is ill. Business of Olin taking in surroundings, registers he remembers all
now, tells Moore all he knows, of his efforts to warn him. Moore shakes his hand.
Violet kneels and puts her arms around his neck. He clasps her to him and kisses her
passionately. Mother and father exit with arms clasped, and father proudly showing
her check. Business of Olin showing Violet ring. She nods her head. He slips ring on
her finger, and they embrace. Fade to darkness.

1375 Ri Vermont Ave., Lynchburg, Va. Mes. F. H. Teoegee.

THE DIAMOND MYSTERY.

Scene 46. Same as Scene 3.
Firestone and Bill earnestly planning scheme. Firestone evidently well pleased with
plan that Bill suggests.

Scene 47. Same as Scene 45.
Inventor arises from cot and lights lamp, goes to drawer, and takes formula and
diamond, puts out light, and exits.

Scene 48. Same as Scene 44.
Rollins, Bloodgood and Phelps busy plotting as before.

Scene 57.
. . . points to Bill. All look at him astonished. Bill ashamed. Phelps uneasy over
fact that Bill has done it to protect his (Phelps') reputation. Counterfeiters appear
angry at Phelps and Bill, and scold among themselves.

Subtitle— THE COUNTERFEITERS ACCUSE PHELPS OF SELLING THEM

THE INVENTION.

They accuse him, and every one is shocked. Great anxiety on part of Firestone. Phelps
gives himself up.

Subtitle— THE INVENTOR, HAVING DECIDED TO SELL, BUT UNABLE
TO FIND ROLLINS AND BLOODGOOD, RETURNS HOME.
Inventor enters and is surprised. All are surprised at seeing him. Explanations. In-
ventor takes formula and diamond from pocket and expresses desire of selling to Rollins
and Bloodgood.

Scene 59— Subtitle— SELLING THE FORMULA. Same as Scene 1.

Rollins, Bloodgood and inventor discovered seated at table and making sale of formula.
Mother and Violet eagerly watching. Enter Olin. Violet goes to meet him, pleasantly,
and they chat. Bloodgood writes check and hands it to inventor. Inventor hands him
formula and diamond. Mother happy. Rollins and Bloodgood arise, take hats and exit.
Mother goes to inventor and puts arm around him ; they are happy. Violet and Olin
embrace.

Williston, N. D. Carl Gauthier.

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WALTER H. STULL AND GEORGE REEHM, OF
THE LUBIN COMPANY

ike all other Motion Pic-
ture fans, I have been
greatly entertained by
the "Gay Times" series which
the Lubin Company has been
putting out. If Mr. Arthur
Hotaling, the clever director
who originated and worked
out this Gay series, could
know just how eagerly we all
watch for each new film, he
would be amply repaid for the
effort. Hans and Fritz, the
Dutch twins, had their last
buneh of adventures in Quebec,
and the delighted public is
wondering where they will go
next. I dont know the answer
to that question, but I do know
that at present they are in
Philadelphia. For, happening
to be in the Lubin Company's
big plant the other day, I
started to cross the yard in a
hurry, when I heard somebody
whistling, "It Was the Dutch."
I looked around, and paused,
promptly ; I wasn't in a hurry
any more, for there were Hans
and Fritz, arm-in-arm, politely
leaving their tune in the
middle, and making hie a most
profound bow. For the next
half-hour I had what might be
called "A Gay Time at Lu-
bin's," for, while neither of
these clever actors cares much
for talking about himself, each
one is perfectly willing to talk
about the other, and the med-
ley of facts and jokes which
flew around my head, as I tried to write, was as funny as it was perplexing.
"Now keep still. Mr. Stull, while 1 find out where Mr. Reehm was born and edu-
cated," I finally commanded.

"I'm a Philadelphian, born in that part of the city known as Richmond," Mr. Reehm

began, as his twin subsided, temporarily, "and I was educated "

But that was just as long as Mr. Stull could keep still. "You know Richmond," he
cut in ; "that's where everybody sleeps the soundest of any place in Philadelphia, and
that's going some! The only way we can wake him up is to say FISH ; he'll get up at
two o'clock in the morning to go fishing, and the fish stories he can tell are the limit !"
I tactfully guided the conversation back to Mr. Reehm's work, and learnt that the
heavy- villainous parts are his heart's delight. He has been with the Lubin Company
steadily now for six and a half years — the longest term that any actor has served them
continuously. Before coming to Lubinville, he was very popular in stock companies, and

for several seasons was a matinee idol "That was before he got so fat," broke in the

irrepressible Stull. He came to the Lubin Company for a summer engagement.

"I liked the work, and decided to stay awhile," he began. "And now the only way
to put him out of pictures would be to kill him," finished Mr. Stull.

118

CHATS WITH THE PLAYERS

119

Mr. Stull was born and educated in Philadelphia, too, altho he spent so little of his
time there after leaving high school that, when he wanted to join the Elks, he was
obliged to do it in Morristown, N. J. He had many years ("dont tell how many," cau-
tioned Mr. Reehm) of popularity on the regular stage to his credit when he came to the
Lubin Company for a short engagement, and liked it so well that he stayed.

"We work hard," he said, "but we have good times, and no work is drudgery when
you like it, and are treated as well as we are here."

Mr. Stull is a baseball fan, tho he does not play on the celebrated Lubin team, and
has to content himself with being an enthusiastic "rooter." Also, he is fond of athletics.
"I used to do the dash in ten-two," he sighed. "He cant run, now, in twenty-two, be-
cause he's too slim and graceful," broke in Mr. Reehm, with a note of sarcasm.

They refused to discuss vacations. "We can have fun' enough, right here," they de-
clared with one voice, and I think it is true. To all appearances, neither of them has a
care in the world. If Mr. Reehm is married, he does not confess it, and Mr. Stull
frankly implored me to tell all the girls that he is single and just loves to get letters.

Both these "twins" are young, girls, and both, we must admit, are handsome. Both
have fine, expressive eyes, and use them as effectively off the stage as on it. Both are
serious about their work, as we, who have watched their intelligent, convincing acting,
know, and both are full of the spirit of gay, frank good fellowship which helps to make
the world a better place to live in. Long life to the Lubin Twins ! M. P.

ALEC BUDD-FRANCIS, OF THE ECLAIR COMPANY

Alec Budd-Fbancis lacks half an inch
of being six feet of clean-cut, erect,
positive Englishmanhood, and that
half-inch has been added to his accent. He
is English from the hyphen in his name to
the cut of his trousers, and proud of it, too,
bless you. In addition, he can shake hands
— I dont remember when I have been
shaken hands with so thoroly. Possibly he
had mistaken my errand? "I've come to
interview you," I warned.

"All right," he replied heartily, and shook
the more.

In addition to height, Mr. Budd -Francis
carries about 155 pounds of flesh, English-
blond hair that has slipped back a trifle
from a fine forehead, brownish-blue eyes —
if you know what I mean, and a stock of
brisk, short, snappy opinions on every sub-
ject worth having an opinion about.

Any fads? "Most certainly not." How
about athletics? "Keen about everything
but baseball — really cawnt stand for that
silly game, y'know. Tennis is jolly good
sport, tho." Where born and educated?
"England, 1867 — educated? Well, maybe, at
Uppingham College. England." Married?
"Yes, and proud of it." Theories of life?
"By Jove, old man, there are too many
of 'em for a chap to consider any of 'em."
Mr. Budd-Francis is not extremely chatty,
except on one subject, but mention Motion Pictures and watch him ! The brownish-blue
eyes snap, the pleasant English voice warms into almost American enthusiasm,
played for years on the regular stage in English and South African companies, but I
prefer Motion Picture work — more variety," he says. "I've been photoplaying for two
years now, and I believe Motion Pictures are destined to run the 'legit' a dead beat.

"My best work? Well. I fancy it was as the father in Vitagraph's 'Auld Lang
Syne,' or the sheriff in 'Robin Hood.' Eccentric comedy is my line, y'know. Yes, I write
photoplays myself, occasionally."

The spotlight being turned upon his own achievements, Mr. Budd-Francis ran down
abruptly here, and stopped with a click.

The keynote to this popular picture man may be found in his own words.

"What is your favorite hobby?" I asked him.

"Anything with a motor attached," was the characteristic reply.

He is a strenuous, up-to-date product of the twentieth century; keen about good
sport, hard work, and the brisk motor side of life. The Globe-Trotter.

120

CHATS WITH THE PLAYERS

AUGUSTUS PHILLIPS, OF THE EDISON COMPANY

j the theatrical world, Brooklyn has
never been considered a good town —
it's the City of Churches. Maybe, too,
it's because it's so near the "Great White
Way" of Gotham, to which Brooklynites
can shoot under the river, now, ever so
quickly, and ''chest" themselves just like
more favored ones. Whatever the reason is,
Brooklyn is "on the road." Captivating,
real-thing show-girls are left behind; some
of the high-priced principals are missed
from the cast; poor old Brooklyn gets an
expurgated, homely edition.

Not so with stock companies, however.
They blossom and thrive there — good ones,
too. The successes of last season are seized,
scarcely cold, and served again smoking
hot thru the stock companies. Often their
delineation compares very favorably with
the original companies. All this to the
edification of Brooklyn.

To have been a principal in one of these
theatrical mills for any length of time, and
retain popularity and health, requires
almost superhuman persistency — yet Augus-
tus Phillips, the gentleman that I was dele-
gated to interview, had been, until very
recently, the leading man for the Spooner
Stock Company, Brooklyn's pet stock, for
over seven years. It's a record to be proud
of — seven years! Mr. Phillips' persistency
held out, his popularity held out, nay, in-
creased, but his health finally gave out.
After a short period of rest in the West, he
came East again and joined the Edison
Company. When the photoplays featuring
him are shown in Brooklyn, it's like an old
and trusted friend come back — and the girl
that gives you your change can tell you the
result better than I can.

Mr. Phillips is a bachelor, has not de-
serted Brooklyn in the flesh, either, and
lives at the famous Elks Club on Schermer-
horn Street. Thither, one evening recently,
I wended to meet him.

He doesn't make-up much on the stage,
less for pictures, and, as he joined me in
the big grill-room, I had no trouble in
recognizing him. The nicest thing about him, I should say, is his absolute freedom
from stage manner or accent. He doesn't "cawnt" nor "shawnt," nor shake hands
unnaturally. He neither wears silk monogrammed hosiery, nor smokes his cigarets that
way. Too bad, girls, but he's natural enough to be one of the family.

While he sat me down, and made me at home in the organization where many
famous Brooklynites gather, I studied his physical being quite closely. I should say he
weighs about 160, perhaps slightly more, stands a little over 5 feet 10 inches, and has a
chest, legs and shoulders in excellent proportion. His attitudes and carriage are easy,
graceful, almost restful to the observer, and I am positive that he does not "study his
pose" when not in professional harness. His eyes are a clear, dark blue, with thick,
crisp, black hair as a contrast. One could guess that he had grown up out-of-doors — an
Iowa farm, by the way — for his gestures are typically American, and his skin has never
lost quite all of its thousand coats of tan.

In answer to my questions, Mr. Phillips was loath to express himself at length on
certain phases of photoplay ; said he had been in the business too short a time, but he
considered "The Charge of the Light Brigade" and "The Sunset Gun" two of the finer
kind. As for the ones he had taken part in he mentioned "The Insurgent Senator,"
"Lost : Three Hours" and "Love and Duty" as his favorites.

When not out for a stroll, ior a horseback ride, Mr. Phillips enjoys reading or loafing

CHATS WITH THE PLAYERS 121

in the club. "Pretty tame, isn't it?" he admitted, with a smile, "but I'm what you might
call a domestic bachelor, if there is such a thing."

He had to think a long while before acknowledging any personal characteristics,
altho most professional men either have them on tap, or could have invented an appeal-
ing one. Finally he said : "At times, I like strongly to be alone. It gives me a chance
to catch up with myself, so to speak, and I find it very restful, very curative, and "

"Very good society?" I suggested.

"No," he said, without smiling, "but a little thinking of the past and of today adds
a lot to one's life. You can live over a lot, you know, and anticipation of the things of
today gives tang to even the commonplace."

"Do you read much?"

"Yes, mostly for relaxation : Gilbert Parker, Richard Harding Davis and other red-
corpuscled writers."

"And the photoplay, what does it need?"

"I wont set up to be a critic," he said, "tho all my life has been in stage work, but
improvements in lighting would add greatly to the art of picture make-up. At present,
character work loses a good bit of its effect by the failure of the camera properly to
reproduce make-up, the lines of represented age often appearing flat and unreal. This
applies, too, to all sorts of character work and its endless variety of make-up."

It was only at this late stage of our conversation that Mr. Phillips, in illustrating
his points, apprised me of the variety of his stage career, for I gleaned that he had been,
among others, with the Fifth Avenue and Lincoln Square Stock companies of New York,
the Alcazar of San Francisco, and in the original companies of "The Wolf," "Miss
Ananias" and "The Fair Rebel." Such is modesty.

But, in justice to one's self, it shouldn't be carried too far. Mr. Phillips believes in
even a more strict censorship of films, or else separate the sheep from the goats, and
have only good photoplays in high-class houses, and vice versa. He told me, at parting,
that he was very timid as to the result of his own first work — the technique is so differ-
ent from the stage — and that if he could have had his way, he would have done it all
over again.

Now I think I saw almost his first release, in which he acted the part of a divinity
student with sparring tendencies, and used his knuckles with happy and adroit results
on the cad son of his father's fiancee.

"So much for modesty," I meant to have reminded him ; "you put your first success
over the lights with a punch, and now that you have arrived — a full-fledged star — in
picturedom, you call in old maid modesty to turn off the lights." P. W.

JULIA STUART, OF THE ECLAIR COMPANY

They say that women have no sense of humor! Miss Julia Stuart, of the Eclair
Company, proves the rule by being the exception to it, in spite of her canny
Scottish bringing up. A most vivid little person is Miss Stuart, five feet four in
her French heels, weight about 122 pounds, hazel of eyes, reddish brown of hair, and
delightfully feminine withal.

"Do you want the vote?" said I — this was after twenty thousand ladies had
paraded down Fifth Avenue at midnight, and I thought the question timely.

"No!" cried Miss Julia, with an exclamation point in her voice, "I am too busy to
play with politics. All day, every day, I am working. We Scotch are a busy folk.
When I'm not playing for the camera, I am painting pictures, or writing, or reading.
Sometimes I even think a little about shoes and ships and sealing-wax and cabbages
and kings — no, no! no theories for publication. They're just my working schedule to
live by, and as interesting to the public as a time-table."

Miss Julia really lives, not boards, in an attractive private home on Madison
Avenue. Bits of her personality were scattered about the bright little sitting-room
where we talked : books — hosts of old friends : Hugo, Dickens, Scott, Milton, Shake-
speare— pictures from the little lady's versatile brush, and a desk that showed real use ;
for, hoot, mon! Miss Julia is an authoress!

But, as I was saying, she is a really-truly woman, just the same.

"Where were you born, and when?" cross-examined I.

The hazel eyes twinkled. "And why?" she laughed. "Place, Edinburgh; date, a
very long time ago." And that's all that she would say.

The Motion Picture part of Miss Julia's career has covered only one year and nine
months, during which time she has played about ninety parts. Farther back in that
indefinite past of hers, she was on the stage for many years — number lacking — with
many companies, number also missing.

"Motion Pictures wont outshine the stage, but they're an important adjunct to it,"
she says. "The tendency now is certainly toward healthful, wholesome pictures that
cannot help bettering the world. And as for the actors — why, the influence of the
studio is far better than that of the real stage. Yes, I love the work. My greatest

122

CHATS WITH THE PLAYERS

ambition, you say?"— Miss Julia hesitated— "promise not to laugh? Well, then, it isn't
to be the greatest film actress in the world, nor to make money, nor to own an auto-
mobile tho I adore autos. It's to wear a pink-and-white-checked sunbonnet and a blue-
and-white-checked-apron, and feed buff chickens and white pigs on a bright green
farm in the country ! Lovely color scheme, isn't it?"

As I said, Miss Julia Stuart is delightfully feminine. "Dot."

MIGNON ANDERSON, OF THE THANHOUSER COMPANY

If you should rise early on some summer
morning and paddle up the Hudson in
a canoe, you might meet another canoe
propelled by a very slender, very graceful,
very blonde young lady — especially if it was
Sunday morning, for that is her favorite
time to enjoy her favorite sport. And, if
you were fortunate enough to find some one
to introduce you, you would learn that the
fair canoeist was Mignon Anderson, of the
Thanhouser Company.

Miss Anderson lives in New York, but she
wasn't born there. She was born in Balti-
more— which forever dispels the idea that
all Southern girls are dark, with big, lan-
guishing eyes. But she lives now with her
parents, 'way up town, and enjoys it. Her
favorite summering place is the Thousand
Islands, but she doesn't get much time to
go there now, as, like most of the photo-
players, she takes no regular vacations.

She was very busy embroidering a gor-
geous pink-and-cream sofa pillow when I
called on her, but she was very good-
natured about being interrupted, altho I
could see that she was dying to be at work
again.

"I've such lots of Christmas presents to
make," she sighed. "This is a new kind of
work — they teach it over at Wanamaker's,
where I bought the pillow. Isn't it pretty?"
"It's beautiful," I declared, looking over
the pillow at the charming face above it,
but she didn't seem to notice where my
glances strayed.

Brooklyn was the scene of this young
lady's school-days. As a tiny child she was
playing with Joseph Jefferson, then with Richard Mansfield, when the Gerry Society
stepped in and decreed that she must leave her art and go to school. So she went to
the Brooklyn Model School — which she declares to be the best school in the world —
then to the Girls' High, and then to the field of art again. For some time she was an
artist's model, but the photoplay soon claimed her, and she is very happy in her work
for the Thanhousers.

"No, I dont write," she said, "at least only a very little; but I read everything,
and like Marion Crawford the best of ail writers. Amusements? Well, after reading,
dancing and horseback riding."

"What plays have you done that you like?" I asked.

"Oh, there's always so much that I'd like to change and improve when I see myself
on the screen that I hardly know," she sighed ; "but I enjoyed 'When a Count Counted'
and 'A Six-Cylinder Elopement' as well as anything I have done.

"I'm so glad to have met you — your magazine is fine," she said sweetly, as I rose
to go. But her eyes strayed to her embroidery — I felt sure she was calculating how
long it would take to make up for the lost time. I wonder who the fellow is that will
get that pillow ! The Inquisitor.

^^j^

Note: All verses, letters, drawings, and other matter intended for this department should be
addressed to "Editor Popular Plays and Players, 26 Court St., Brooklyn, N. Y." Since this department
is for and by our readers, we do not pay for contributions. Those that are not published will be
forwarded to the players or companies mentioned therein.

Perhaps the most meritorious thing about this department is that its editor's
salary keeps on advancing. He cant attribute this to his own cunning,
because readers furnish him all his material and ideas, free, gratis, and
with the fire of enthusiasm dripping from their pens. But it helps to keep him
industrious — overtime and between meals; the mail keeps on increasing from
everywhere — its heap every morning is a weighty goad to the sluggard — and
one result is (this is strictly in the family) that the humble compiler of this
department is now sober, industrious, and able to support his family. There-
fore, this department has been a decided success.

But to be serious, we conjecture that its mission has been, and will be,
definitely accomplished : applause for the player- friends that we may never see
in the flesh ; a family gathering of photoplay friends who needn 't be ashamed
nor afraid to say anything that is just ; a get-together effort to show apprecia-
tion of the good in pictures, and, contrawise, to point out the poor or bad.
Such criticism of plays and players as we have published has been helpful, tho
sometimes the partizans of those criticised are up in arms at once. Even the
leading players have mannerisms that are likable to some, and appear unusual
and unreal to others ; and as for the great majority of newer performers in the
field, their own directors are constantly teaching them the technique of their
new profession. A player in a subordinate part can make it "shine out" by
clever and sympathetic business, and he or she is the one we are looking for.

Then, again, as far as the value of criticising photoplays is concerned, we
propose to separate the sheep from the goats. Even "feature films" are some-
times non-human, too melodramatic, flat, trite, or poorly done. It's as sad a
case as that of the sporty old chap who traveled several miles to see a picture
exploited as "A Pair of Tights," only to find it an essay on the evils of rum.

When you see an excellent picture — and there are many — tell us the why
and wherefore of it, that we may all enjoy the anticipation of it ; and, too, when
you see a good one, with a few minor discrepancies, dont lay it out cold — that

123

124

POPULAR PLAYS AND PLATERS

isn't honest criticism, and no jury would electrocute on your testimony. And,
finally, if you see a thoroly bad play, please collar it and run it in for us, thus
benefiting every one concerned. So kindly stop yawning, and be seated.

A. J. Ellerton, of Brooklyn, believes that she lives in the country when she
praises her favorite, Arthur Johnson :

Of all the players, fat and lean,
Of those who move upon the screen,
The most attractive to be seen
Is handsome Arthur Johnson.

I'd hie me to the city gay ;
I'd live there till my dying day,
If I could win my Arthur J.,
My prince of photoplayers.

Lillian Baughn, who lives in Lima, Ohio, states that Lima, taken as a
whole, isn't such an enemy of Motion Pictures as might be believed from
the article in this magazine about the Lima Pastors' Union. She says of
"The Church Across the Way": "The work was perfect. The production
was certainly costly, the light effect the best I have ever seen. Little Helen
Costello was a priceless gem in a beautiful setting. Jean was a dear. Mrs.
Maurice so sweet and motherly. The face of Earle Williams portrayed the
broken heart, then the perfect peace. ' '

Two little girls from Santa Paula have rhymed their praises of Maurice
Costello: <k_ j

V^j ere's to Maurice Costello,

The best of all in my mind.
The hero of all my stories,
So manly, true and kind.
So hail to great Costello;

Your favorite actor, too?
He's never disappointed me,
And I'm sure he hasn't you.

Warren Kerrigan has an ardent champion in F. Ravenswood, of Chicago,
who declares that his popularity is greater than that of any other leading
man, and that Jessalyn Van Trump is the lady best- adapted to play with
him. By the way, we have had a lot of expressions of opinion on the latter
subject, and opinions seem to be about equally divided between Miss Van
Trump and Miss Bush. Personally, we are always glad to see either of them
appear on the screen.

Baby Doll, from New Orleans, is in despair because she cant marry all her
favorites. She even doubts if she can get one of them, but is resolved to keep
on loving them :

Which is the best-looking — I really dont know,
But, oh, Harry Myers would make a nice beau.
Crane Wilbur might win me, without any doubt,
But would he dry dishes the maid's Sunday out?

Jack Clark, I must say you are quite attractive,
But too far away to trust, dont you see?
While Maurice Costello is not sufficiently active
To do more than to dress and drink five-o'clock tea !

Carlyle Blackwell, 'tis you I simply adore,
So sturdy, so strong in almost every way.
Happiness would be won ; I could wish for no more ;
You're the kind 'twould* be easy to love and obey.

POPULAR PLAYS AND PLAYERS

125

Here are a few jabs from"M. P. Fiend 99,999" :

A few queer things I have observed, trivial perhaps, but they show that some
director was a little careless :

1. An Indian girl wearing silk hosiery.

2.. A Mexican peasant girl wearing high-heeled shoes.

3. An Indian with a beard.

4. A man, supposed to have been dead two hours, wink and smile at the girl who dis-

covers him dead. (This brought the house down.)

5. An Indian girl with a barette in her hair.

6. A log cabin made of such weak cardboard that when the hero escaped by the window

the whole wall shook, and he. tore a piece off by getting his foot caught.

Nan Britton, of Marion, Ohio, voices her admiration of Arthur Johnson
in no uncertain words:

MY PRINCE OF LUBINVILLE.

You may talk about good lookers,

And people on the stage,
But in our little city

Arthur Johnson is the rage.

His name you hear on every lip ;

He's known to high and low,
And if you'll keep my secret,

I'll tell you what I know.

He plays in Lubin pictures.

The girls go wild, and say,
The very best thing to cure the blues

Is a Lubin photoplay.
Marion, Ohio.

We see our handsome Johnson,
With hair and eyes divine.

The thought just drives me crazy —
How I wish that he were mine.

But I must long and wait and crave
The time may sometime come.

So here's to Arthur Johnson,
The prince of picturedom.

Three cheers for Arthur Johnson
On the Moving Picture screen.

He surely is a Grecian god —
The best I've ever seen.

Nan Britton.

Celisle Whitlock, away out in Muskogee, Okla., had to sit down and write
to us before she lost her senses, about the Vitagraph players in general, and
Costello, Williams, Turner and Northrup in particular. We sincerely hope
that the letter saved Miss Whitlock 's reason, and we feel sure that her favor-
ites join in our wish.

And now
these lines :

Eve" is in love with Broncho Billy! If you doubt it, read

I'm going to 'fess a secret,

If you'll promise not to tell,
About a man I'm wild about —

Perhaps you are, as well.

He comes from out the golden West,

This honey-man of mine.
He can ride a horse with the best of them,

Or can make love divine.

I've seen him fold some girl away

Within his fond embrace,
With a look I think is quite ideal

Upon his manly face.

But the girl he folds within his arms,

Alas, it is not me !
He has no time for amateurs,

This dear Broncho Billee.

He does not know I love him,
But some. day, if I dare,

I may have nerve to tell him,
And then, Billee — beware!

"A loving girl admirer" sees more than Alice Joyce's beauty when her
favorite appears. "I not only admire the great beauty of dear, little Alice
Joyce, but am so delighted to find a Motion Picture player who, when taking
part in a love scene, seems to make it sacred, instead of foolish."

126

POPULAR PLAYS AND PLAYERS

Here 's another interesting criticism. We dont know who wrote it, but the
signature looks like shorthand, so we think it must be a stenographer :

I have frequently observed that when scenes depicting horses in motion — trotting, or
crossing a stream, for instance — are shown, noises are made by the orchestra which are
evidently designed to add to the realism of the pictures. Even if these sounds are ade-
quate— which they seldom are, to my mind — they detract from the effect of the beautiful
photos. To one with any imagination at all, they are quite unnecessary, and would
better be dispensed with.

Ed Wild, of the Nemo Theater, Broadway, N. Y., is loyal to Jack Standing :

Hurrah for Jack Standing, be he cowboy or hero,

Hurrah for that grand, stately man ;
Hero or villain, we cant help adore him,

That handsome Adonis with fine face of tan.

A high-school teacher out in California made a funny mistake the other
day, and one of her pupils " tells on her," as follows:

I want to tell you a little incident that happened at school the other day, and I
thought it too good to let pass without writing about it. Each pupil was to write an essay
on a different subject, and see which one did the best. Well, the "best" happened to be
mine, and the teacher, in stating the fact to the class said : "Maurice Costello has written
the best essay on the life of Lincoln." My name being Maurice Maret, she got us twisted
a trifle. This goes to show that even a high-school teacher's thoughts are on Maurice
Costello, when they should be somewhere else — for instance, on Maurice Maret.

A stray inquiry. "Vivian," Eau Claire, Wis., in answer to your query:
"Does Mary Pickford or Florence Lawrence receive the highest salary?" I
would say: "I dont know and dont care; but Mary is closer to owin' more.
(Owen Moore)."

TO ALKALI IKE.

Of all the poems that come to my sight,

No one remembers Alkali Ike.

Forgotten him? I should say no !

This funny little fellow from the S. & A. Show.

He is so very funny, and he fills me with delight ;
It's cheap, at ten cents, to see him every night.
He drives away the blues, and he's my doctor's foe,
This funny little fellow of the S. & A. Show.

Ridgefield Park, N. J.

E. Osborn.

Sidney Russell, of Boston, says that on several occasions recently he
has gone to a photoplay theater to see some special play that was billed
outside, only to have it omitted from the bill, to his great disappointment.
He thinks the exhibitors should not take a person's money and then not give
the full bill ; and we quite agree with him. We hope that such exhibitors are
few and far between, for the photoshow has a fine reputation for giving its
patrons their money's worth.

A1041-10, Brooklyn, has a quick eye for the little errors and inconsist-
encies that mar a film. He writes:

The other evening I saw a picture entitled "The Government Test." The whole plot
centered around a device for stopping runaway trains by operating the air-brake.
Trains do not run away until the air-brake is utterly incapacitated ; that is, until the air-
pump, which supplies the pressure, breaks down. In another picture, entitled "For the
Love of a Girl," one of the players went into a Western Union telegraph office and sent
a telegram. When the telegram arrived it was on one of the Postal Telegraph Com-
pany's blanks. Of course, that's not a bad error, but it tends to detract from the reality
of the photoplay.

(Continued on page 162.)

A Word About Celebrated Stars
in Photoplays

By ROBERT GRAU

There is nothing at the present
moment to indicate that the
millions of amusement-lovers
who flock to the photoplay house with
regularity are attracted by the famous
names. In other words, the idea that
the stars of the stage will find a
market for their services in the film
industry solely because of their fame
as stars, is not based on fact. The
impression seems to prevail that
the three - thousand - dollars - a - week
salaries, that are now quite commonly
paid in vaudeville, must also be
offered to the celebrities of the speak-
ing-stage to induce them to enter the
film studio with more or less grace
and dignity.

It is true that Madame Sarah Bern-
hardt has been in great demand. The
French actress has also been paid a
very large sum each time that she has
passed before the camera, but I do not
think that any one conversant with
the facts will deny that, while in this
instance the extraordinary fame of
the star was a preventative of failure,
the success that has been achieved by
the Bernhardt releases has not been
really due to the intrinsic merit of the
productions themselves. If a canvass
of the Bernhardt audiences were pos-
sible, it would be found that a ma-
jority of those who had seen these
pictures on the screen would emphat-
ically state that they did not wish to
renew the experience, and that a still
greater majority would express a
preference for a similar production
along the lines of ordinary releases.
In fact, the fame of the "divine
Sarah," greatest actress of two cen-
turies, while it was potent enough to
attract huge crowds, and to insure a
successful financial outcome for the
films, was not great enough to warrant
the "repeats" that mean so much in
the box-office records of the theater.

But there is a class of stars who do
not sell their names solely for cash,
and who would not be attracted to the

studios on purely selfish grounds
alone. Of course, Madame Bernhardt
has insisted that her motive was the
perpetuation of her art while it was
still at its best. On the other hand,
when Madame was interviewed on the
day of her recent arrival in America,
she gave as her reason for not includ-
ing ' ' Queen Elizabeth ' ' in her present
tour, the fact that she did not like the
play, that she was not, in fact, a suc-
cess in it. Then why did she allow it
to be presented at all ? Madame could
not resist the temptation to add to her
annual income; that is the only ex-
planation.

But — and I wish to be emphatic —
there are certain players who would
not permit their work to be portrayed
on the screen for money alone. And
it is greatly to the credit of Mr.
Adolph Zuker that he has gained
such well-known stars for his future
film productions. I refer to Mrs.
Fiske, to Sothern and Marlowe, and
"William Faversham. Here are players
whose lofty ideals have never been
open to question. When these true
representatives of the American stage
make their debut on the screen, then,
and then only, will it be revealed
whether the tremendous public that
patronizes the photoplay houses are
attracted by the names that gave
glamor to the Broadway playhouses
for so many years.

It will be a great test ! But I am of
the opinion that, owing to the excel-
lent judgment of Mr. Zuker, and the
ideals that prompt this innovation,
the permanent value of these great pic-
tures will be even more striking than
that of the Bernhardt productions.

Mrs. Fiske, Julia Marlowe, E. H.
Sothern and William Faversham rep-
resent the highest ideals of the stage.
They come into the film studios while
at the zenith of their power, offering
their very best portrayals. No greater
appeal to the public could be made by
Mr. Zuker than this.

127

ILLUSTRATED CONDEMNATIONS

SOME OP THE DIRE RESULTS OF MOTION PICTURES

128

Now that Motion Pictures have become a vital part of the social life every-
where, is it not about time that thoughtful people should turn their atten-
tion to the uplift rather than to the downfall of this wonderful power?
A certain class of people are very quick to see the evils in a thing, and to start
movements to suppress that thing. They call themselves reformers, but they
do everything but reform — their object is to destroy. Given a thing with
ninety-nine good parts and one bad part, these people see only the one bad
part, and, because of that bad part, they seek to destroy the whole. Every
manufacturer of Motion Pictures, every exhibitor, and every player, would
doubtless welcome with open arms the reformer who came forward in a kindly
and proper spirit. It is to their own interests. If these reformers will come
in and help, rather than stand off and throw stones, wonders can be accom-
plished. But it is usually a case of Rule or Ruin. They see something bad,
and they want to destroy it, and the good with it. Any way, everything has
been said that can be said, and everything has been done that can be done,
to suppress Motion Pictures, and still they survive, and they always will.
But, the point is, instead of Societies for the Suppression of Moving Pictures,
why not Societies for the Improvement of Motion Pictures?

It is becoming quite a fad in many towns to secure a t ' feature film, ' ' such
as ' ' The Mills of the Gods, ' ' and to advertise that every patron will be given
a souvenir, in the shape of a copy of The Motion Picture Story Magazine
containing the illustrated story of that play. It has been found an attractive
proposition for those who are not regular patrons. This magazine tries to
keep a few thousand extra copies of every number for such purposes.

One big advantage of Motion Pictures over the regular stage is the size of
the figures on the screen. . On the stage the figures must all be small and of the
same size, and unless the spectator sits very close to the stage, which only a few
can do, the expression of the countenance is lost ; while, on the screen, we often
see the figures enlarged to several times their real size, thus giving us a clear
view of the facial expression of the players. Add this advantage to that of the
quick action" in Motion Pictures, by which we are able to see a whole play in a
half or a quarter of an hour, and it must be admitted that Motion Pictures
have an immense advantage over the stage.

129

MUSINGS OF "THE PHOTOPLAY PHILOSOPHER

■e^s&as-

:^SS

^£££k

Perhaps we should say more, and hear more about the directors that direct
the pictures. We are prone to criticize the players for doing certain things
in certain ways, whereas it may be entirely the fault of the directors. The
director is king. He is monarch o 'er all he surveys. If the play is not good,
or the players do not play well, it is more often his fault than it is that of the
play or of the players. A good director can spoil a good play, and he can
make a bad play good, just as he can mar or enhance the efforts of the players.
One thing is certain : most directors do not seem to realize that there is more
than one way of depicting an emotion, and that every player has an individu-
ality and a personality that is distinctly different from those of other players.
"Why, then, should a director insist that his players shall depict every emotion
in the old, stereotyped way % Why should he make them weep as he would
weep, laugh as he would laugh, and rage as he would rage ? Yes, it is quite
clear that either the directors should be given publicity, or that the players
should be permitted to play as they like. If the players cannot play well, they
should not play at all. Anyway, the public should know who is at fault.

Think twice before you speak, then dont say it. Silence is golden. Shal-
low brooks make much noise, and so does an empty wagon that goes clattering
along the road. Blessed be he who has nothing to say and insists on not
saying it.

I know of a theater wherein the proprietor was accustomed to show,
between the picture plays, a variety of promiscuous advertising slides, and his
patrons began to show their disapproval in noisy, boisterous fashion. Lately
the proprietor decided that advertising signs on the screen must go, and they
did. Now he shows colored, scenic views, instead, and everybody is happy. As
we have said before, in these columns, the screen of a Motion Picture theater is
no place for advertising of any kind, except that which pertains to the business,
such as announcements of coming programs, of features, of the appearance of
players in person, and of Motion Picture publications, such as The Motion
Picture Story Magazine. Experience has taught that other advertising not
only does not pay, but that it actually means a loss in the end.

Money may be the root of all evil, but it seems to grow fastest by grafting.
Yet, while dishonest money may come quickly, it goes quickly. Nothing that
is evil can be permanently successful, nor useful. The best plan is to do the
best we can, in an honest undertaking, in an honest way. Money earned in
a dishonest way carries a curse with it. Let no person be tempted to do wrong
simply because he was not successful in doing right. He who cant, but tries,
deserves more than he who can, but wont.

Actions speak louder than words. The eyes can speak as well as the lips.
The countenance is more eloquent than words. All the world loves a picture.
The animated shadows on the screen are the poetry of motion, and the motion
of poetry. The photodrama represents economy of both time and money. It
is the book of the people. It is a godsend to the deaf, and a solace to all.
Hence, in our graphic slang, it has come to stay, and long to charm, instruct
and entertain.

MUSINGS OF "THE PHOTOPLAY PHILOSOPHER

Photoplay writers are inclined too easily to discouragement. A play
may be excellent, but it may be refused by several companies, for one of
the following reasons: 1. Not using comedies just now (or dramas, or
costume plays, or Westerns); 2. Too improbable; 3. Too melodramatic or
unpleasant ; 4. Similar theme used before ; 5. Too many other scripts on hand
just now ; 6. No synopsis with play ; 7. Requires scenery or properties not at
present available ; 8. Would probably not pass the Censorship Board ; 9. Not
enough action to carry the story — too many subtitles; 10. Cast too. small; 11.
Lacks moral tone (or interest, or dramatic qualities) ; 12. Similar to a maga-
zine story.

Assuming that the play is excellent, is legibly written, is original, is
unique, and is in regular photoplay form, still it may be unavailable to one
company for any one of the foregoing reasons, and, yet, most of these reasons
would, perhaps, not apply to some other company. As I have said before,
every company has to reject many plays before it accepts one, and the main
reason is because the writers fail to hit upon a new theme.

Mr. Epes Winthrop Sargent, one of the able writers on The Moving
Picture World, a trade publication, takes me to task for a paragraph that
appeared in this column a couple of months ago, in which "Scenario Schools' '
were discussed. The mistake Mr. Sargent makes is in stating that I praise
or defend any particular school. I do not know one school from another, nor
do I know the officers or instructors of any particular school. I spoke of
schools generally, and I particularly stated that there were doubtless good
schools and bad schools, altho I am not sure that there are bad schools. I
assume that the poorest of the many schools can, and do, teach their pupils
the rudiments and technique of photoplay writing, and this is just what the
pupils want. Mr. Sargent's book does this, it is true, but a book cannot come
back and criticise the pupil's work, and show where that work could be
improved. Any school ought to be able to do this, and if it can, that school
ought to exist. There is no doubt in the world that these schools have added
thousands of good writers to the world's staff of photoplay writers, and that
the whole industry has thereby been benefited. Mr. Sargent's book is all
right, but it is not enough. I know of no case where a pupil has not been
benefited by his or her course in photoplay writing. Whether these pupils
can make the fabulous sums per year that some schools assert, is another
matter. Some writers make considerable money writing photoplays, while
others have made failures of the art ; and whether this is the fault of the pupil
or of the school is a matter for the pupil to decide. I know persons who have
been thru public school, and boarding school, and college, and who have been
utter failures in life ; but that does not prove that it is the fault of the schools.
I doubt very much if any photoplay school was ever started that did not
have sufficient knowledge to teach its pupils the rudiments and technique of
photoplay writing. If I had a son, and he showed talent and a desire to write
photoplays, I should not hesitate to give him, not only one, but two or three
courses at the various photoplay schools, and I would also supply him with
Mr. Sargent's book and all the other books on the subject. The whole thing
would cost, perhaps, less than $100, and what is that, to learn a great profes-
sion ? The art is yet in its infancy, and I expect these schools to improve and
to grow, as the industry improves and grows, and to help these to grow.

MUSINGS OF "THE PHOTOPLAY PHILOSOPHER

z^z

A well-known writer, whose efforts for the last thirty-five years have
been devoted to writing dime novels and exciting stories for small boys,
recently applied to this magazine for a position as one of our staff of writers.
When asked why he wished such a position, when he had an apparently much
better one, he replied: "Do you know that you Moving Picture people have
well-nigh put us fellows out of business? All the publishers have been com-
plaining for the last few years that the small boys who used to read our lurid
stories now spend their spare time at the picture shows. ' '

Perhaps some of our California readers can help out The Kinematograph
and Lantern Weekly (London) in whose columns I find the following: " 'Can
you tell me what are the possibilities for a picture pianist and teacher of music
in California ? ' writes a correspondent. He says a friend has advised him that
pots of money are to be made out there, but, as he is in a position with a salary
of £2 10s., he is reluctant to throw it over. We are sorry we cannot help him
to make up his mind in the matter ; perhaps some reader can give the required
information. ' ' Since gold was discovered in California, which was so long ago
that I scarcely remember it, there has been much talk all over the world about
"pots of money " in that beautiful, golden land, but whether a picture pianist
can capture enough of those pots to warrant his giving up his two pounds ten,
I must pass.

"Education and Entertainment by Motion Pictures" is the title of a neat
pamphlet issued and circulated free to churches, societies and clubs who desire
to give educational entertainments, by the General Film Company, 200 Fifth
Avenue, N. Y. City. The classified subjects are: General Works, Philosophy,
Keligion, Sociology, Philology, Natural Science, Useful Arts, Literature and
History. The same company also supplies another booklet, in which are given
the names and descriptions of hundreds of educational photoplays.

We all want to live a long life, but none wants to be old.

1 1 The great secret of giving advice successfully is to mix up with it some-
thing that implies a real consciousness of the adviser's own defects, and, as
much as possible, of an acknowledgment of the other party's merits. Most
advisers sink both the one and the other, and hence the failure which they
meet with, and deserve. ' ' — Leigh Hunt.

Is, then, humanity so frail that it must be cajoled into believing that
the adviser knows not what he is talking about, and that the advisee must
be flattered into the delusion that he is better qualified to give advice than
to receive it? Perhaps so. Then we should go at it something like this:
' ' John, my lad, listen. I know that you are an expert in explosives and fire-
arms, and I am aware that I know nothing whatever of the subject ; however,
permit me to suggest that it is not considered healthy to look into the barrel
of a loaded revolver when a nervous finger is on the trigger; and yet, you
know best, and, if you think well of the proposition, I am sure that I have
been misinformed." Resultum — John promptly blows his brains out. No,
mon cher, John will accept your advice only when he is convinced of your
superior intelligence. But when John is grown up, you must go at him a
little more adroitly, just as Mr. Hunt says, and not set your perch too high
above his.

Ipqairie^s

This department is for the answering of questions of general interest only. Involved tech-
nical questions will not be answered. Information as to matrimonial and personal matters
of the players will not be given. A list of all film makers will be supplied to all who enclose
a stamped and self-addressed envelope. No questions answered relating to Biograph
players. Those who desire early replies may enclose a stamped and self -addressed envelope for
answer by mail. Write only on one side of paper, and use separate sheets for questions in-
tended for different departments of this magazine. Always give name of company when
inquiring about plays. If subscribers give name and address and write "Subscriber" at top
of letter, their queries will be given a preference.

Jtjdy, Brooklyn. — You say Flossie gets your "goat." Everybody else is in love with
her, even the girls. Regarding your Jack, we dont handle love affairs in this department.

L. S. B., Mt. Vernon. — Arthur Johnson was Bill Jackson, and Howard Mitchell the
thief in "The Missing Finger" (Lubin). -

Toledo Tang. — You refer to William Duncan. Robyn Adair was Bob, Mary Ryan
was Mary in "The Way of the Mountains" (Lubin). Alice Joyce's hair is a pretty,
reddish brown.

Henrietta G. — Kenneth Casey did not play in "As in a Looking-Glass." Nor did
Dolores Cassinelli play opposite Francis Bushman in "House of Pride ;" Beverly Bayne
was his wife. Edwin August was Junker in " 'Twixt Love and Ambition." Yes, Mary
Pickford played in "The Informer."

Christy M. — Carlyle Blackwell and Mae Marsh had the leads in "The Parasite."
Clara Williams and Edgar Jones had leads in "The Bank Cashier." Ormi Hawley had
the lead in " 'Twixt Love and Ambition."

Edgar, Cal. — Marguerite Snow was the "Woman in White" (Thanhouser). Martha
Russell was Rose in "The End of the Feud" (Essanay). Fred Mace is one of the
"famous" detectives.

"Astoriaette." — Thank you for the information. "Cleopatra" is not a Vitagraph.
Arthur Johnson never told us how much he was making.

M. A. S., Dallas. — Lillian Christy played opposite Carlyle Blackwell in "Peril of the
Cliffs." Guy Coombs was the hero in "His Mother's Picture." In "The Young Million-
aire" Thomas Moore was the millionaire. Gwendoline Pates played in "The Burglar's
Command." Pearl White had the lead in "Naughty Marietta" (Pathe). Mary Charleson
was Una in "Una of the Sierras."

"Buck" D. V. — "Queen Elizabeth" was made abroad, with Sarah Bernhardt in the
title role. "Flirt or Heroine" was taken in Brooklyn by Vitagraph.

Gertrude S., Washington. — No, thanks, the Answer Man declines to have his photo-
graph published. He is not at all good-looking.

"A Reader," Cincinnati. — Thank you for telling us that Florence Lawrence played
opposite Arthur Johnson in "Resurrection," which was a Biograph release.

"An Orfull Dream." — We presume the following is intended for a joke and a satire
on some of the foolish questions we receive :

"Was Ruthie Roland the Cute little Wild West Goil in the Kalem Picture Kalled,
'Who Shot the Bull Moose' on November 5, 1912? Is Mr. Jonnie Bunny the guy that put
the Cost in Costello? Why is a Moving Picture? Who put the Bun in Bunny? Please
put the ans to these in your next Magazine."

Esther H., St. Louis. — Lottie Pickford has played with the Kalem Company; not
sure about Mary — think not. Florence LaBadie and Gene Darnell were the orphans in
"The Voice of Conscience" (Thanhouser). Address letter to Warren Kerrigan, care
of American Co., Ashland Block, Chicago, and not to this magazine. Lottie Briscoe
was the maid in "The Substitute Heiress" (Lubin). Yes, Florence LaBadie was
Undine in the Thanhouser play by that name.

Kitty L. R., Salem. — You refer to Edwin August. Alice Joyce will remain in the
New York studio. Other questions answered before.

Kate, Brooklyn. — We cant use a picture of Henry Walthall as long as he remains
where he is now.

M. H., Cambridge Springs. — Owen Moore is still with Victor.

M. P. Fan, Antigonish. — Leona Radnor is no relation to Pearl White. Yes, there
is some resemblance. Betty Gray was the girl in "The Country Boy" (Pathe Freres).
There are Canadian Motion Picture companies. We wont tell Flossie C. P.'s address.

M. F., Brooklyn. — Cines is a Licensed manufacturer. Ruth Roland was Nell,
Edward Coxen was Pedro in "Death Valley Scottys."

Lottie E. K., N. Y. — Dont you get jealous of Flossie. No, G. M. Anderson is not
going on the stage. Edwin August is with the Universal, and Jack Halliday is playing
on the stage.

133

134 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Nancy Jane, 16. — Jack J. Clark was Dan in "Kerry Gow" (Kalem). E. H. Calvert
was Charles in "From the Submerged" (Essanay). Anna Stewart was one of the
nieces in "Her Choice" (Vitagraph). And so you also are insane about Crane Wilbur
— et tu, Nancy!

Geraldine M. F. — Mary Fuller is one of the leading Edison players. We never
knew Arthur Johnson had a wife. You better ask the paper you mention who she is.
We wouldn't tell, anyway.

"The Temple Kid." — Ethel Clayton is Harry Myers' leading lady. Send direct to
the company for photos. We do not carry them for sale. Edwin August was Junker
in " 'Twixt Love and Ambition" (Lubin). Other questions answered.

Helen M., New York. — The chat with Edwin August was secured before he left
the Lubin, hence the reason for stating therein that he was with Lubin. The leading
lady in " 'Twixt Love and Ambition" was not Mary Fuller, but Ormi Hawley.

Geraldine M. F. — Maurice Costello has started on his trip around the world. Yes,
Helen Costello is about six, and Dolores is about twelve.

S. D. R., Nashville. — Communicate directly with the Gem.

S. H., Columbus. — Please do not ask questions about the forbidden company.
We're trying hard to be patient.

Flossie O. G. — We do not wish to confirm the information you received from The
Dramatic Mirror. Dont you know we dont answer questions about marriage? Thomas
Carrigan was with Selig, last we knew.

M. F., New York, wants to know if we think Arthur Johnson is lonesome without
Miss Lawrence. No, my dear ; we guess Arthur is just as happy as ever. Perhaps he
has another Florence.

Mother, New York. — We dont think the manufacturers are more willing to engage
an actress after having been graduated from the schools than they are to secure
experienced players.

Plunkett. — There is no limit as to the number of plays Warren Kerrigan plays
in. Yes, you mean Hughie Mack.

O. M. W., Rochester. — G. M. Anderson is still at Niles, Cal.

Three Bachelor Maids. — G. M. Anderson is a universal favorite. You know
"Universal" has two meanings. Mr. Anderson belongs to the bigger universal.

M. I., Oak Park. — Sorry we cannot tell you about that scene. You know there is
no way of answering that question.

L. M. S., Philadelphia. — Ormi Hawley was Kitty in "When Father Had His
Way." Chat with Clara Kimball Young very soon. Edison gives casts of characters
on the screen.

Boo-Boo, Uniontown. — It was a trick picture.

C. M., Woodside. — Please do not ask questions about the stage.

Spearmint Kiddo. — Flossie is no actress. Cant give you the leading lady in "Gee,
My Pants."

M. T., New York. — You have got them all placed correctly.

R. W., Chicago. — We do not use Selig pictures.

H. C. T., Chicago. — Bessie Sankey is G. M. Anderson's leading lady. George Mel-
ford does not play much, he is the Glendale director. We are not sure, as yet, about
Florence Lawrence going back to Arthur Johnson. Jane Gale was Winkie Dan's
mother im " 'Twixt Love and Ambition."

A. B., Philadelphia. — We are sure Leo Delaney is all you say he is. It would
have been better if the "Jotter" had not told you he was married.

C. E. E., Belfast. — Write direct to Kalem for pictures. Do you mean to travel
with the company at your own expense? If so, you better write direct to the company ;
we cannot help you. Clara Kimball Young had the lead in "The Little Minister."

Miss Habada. — Did you ever stop to think that a player leaves one company to
join another for more salary? Such was this case.

Mrs. T., New York City. — Your questions have all been answered.

L. M. J. advises us that Warren Kerrigan's eyes are blue.

Corrina, Rochester. — We do not use Selig stories.

Ruth Lee. — Thank you.

Florentine Hall. — Please put your questions in order, and write only on one side
of the paper. You must realize we have thousands of letters to wade thru every
month, and the neater they are written, the quicker your questions will be answered.
Edwin Carewe is still with Lubin.

Gerty, Brooklyn. — You can see Biograph pictures in Licensed theaters, and Key-
stone pictures in Independent theaters. We hardly think that the reason that
Maurice Costello always has his hand under his chin is because his teeth ache. How-
ever, since you saw him going into a dental parlor, it looks very suspicious.

Little Addie, Watervliet. — John Bunny is still with Vitagraph. Dolores Cassi-
nelli was Dolores in "From the Submerged." Thomas Moore is still Alice Joyce's
leading man.

DEEP BREATHING.

By D. O. Hairell, M. D.

I BELIEVE we must all admit that deep
breathing is a very desirable practice.
Furthermore, we know it to be a fact that
not one person in twenty, or perhaps one
person in a hundred, really breathes deeply.
Every physician can verify the statement
that we, are daily called upon to prescribe
drugs for ailments that owe their cause di-
rectly to insufficient and improper breath-
ing,— Oxygen Starvation.

Breathing is the Vital Force of Life.
Every muscle, nerve cell, in fact every fibre
of our body, is directly dependent upon the
air we breathe. Health, Strength and En-
durance are impossible without well oxy-
genated blood. The food we eat must com-
bine with abundant oxygen before it can
become of any value to the body. Breath-
ing is to the body what free draught is to
the steam boiler. Shut of! the draught,
and you will kill your fire, no matter how
excellent coal you use. Similarly, if you
breathe shallowly, you must become anae-
mic, weak and thin, no matter how care-
fully you may select your diet.

I might continue indefinitely to cite ex-
amples of the great physiological value of
deep breathing. For instance, it is a well-
known fact that intense mental concentra-
tion and nerve strain paralyzes the dia-
phragm, the great breathing muscle. This
depressing condition can be entirely coun-
teracted through conscious deep breathing.

The main benefit of physical exercise lies
in the activity it gives the lungs. What we
term "lack of healthful exercise," in reality
means insufficient lung exercise. Since few
persons have the strength and endurance to
exercise violently enough to stir the lungs
into rapid action, common sense dictates
that the lungs should be exercised inde-
pendently, through conscious breathing.
Exercise that fails to excite vigorous lung-
action is of little real value.

Unfortunately, few persons have the
slightest conception of what is really meant
by deep breathing. In fact, few physicians

thoroughly understand the act. Ask a
dozen different physical instructors to de-
fine deep breathing, and you will receive a
dozen different answers. One tells you it
means the full expansion of the chest, an-
other tells you it means abdominal breath-
ing, the third declares it means diaphragm-
atic breathing, and so on. In the end, one
becomes thoroughly confused, and justly
forms the opinion that most teachers of
physical culture are incompetent to teach
deep breathing.

Recently there has been brought to my
notice a brochure on this important subject
of respiration, that to my knowledge for the
first time really treats the subject in a thor-
oughly scientific and practical manner. I
refer to the booklet entitled, "Deep Breath-
ing," by Paul Von Boeckmann, R. S. In
this treatise, the author describes proper
breathing, so that even the most unin-
formed layman can get a correct idea of the
act. The booklet contains a mass of com-
mon sense teachings on the subject of Deep
Breathing, Exercise and Body Building.
The author has had the courage to think for
himself, and to expose the weaknesses in
our modern systems of physical culture.

I believe this booklet gives us the real
key to constitutional strength. It shows us
plainly the danger of excessive exercise,
that is, the danger of developing the ex-
ternal body at the expense of the internal
body. The author's arguments are so logi-
cal it is self-evident that his theories must
be based upon vast experience. Person-
ally, I know that his teachings are most
profoundly scientific and thoroughly prac-
tical, for I have had occasion to see them
tested in a number of my patients.

The booklet to which I refer can be had
upon payment of 10 cents in coin or stamps
by addressing Dr. Von Boeckmann directly
at 1 510 Terminal Bldg., 103 Park Ave.,
New York. The simple exercises he de-
scribes therein are in themselves well worth
ten times the small price demanded. * * *

136 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

C. L. B., Anxious. — We beg to say that Alice Joyce was Fantasca in "Fantasca,
the Gypsy," and not Jane Wolfe. Ormi Hawley was chatted in April, 1912.

Plunkett. — Vitagraph releases one picture every day. Other questions answered.
Alice Hollister was Nora in "The Kerry Gow" (Kalem).

Gladys, 17. — Which Robert Burns do you refer to? There is one with Lubin and
one with Vitagraph. We dont think "Olga, 16" will object.

Maxie, No. 20. — Kathryne Williams was the girl in "The Girl with the Lantern."
We never knew that Arthur Johnson never smiles. He does, indeed. John Bunny may
have been unfortunate enough to have the smallpox, but we are not sure.

Bert A. — We do not happen to keep a card-index for the names of dogs. Don't
know the name of the white dog in "Jack and Jingles." Ed Coxen was Jack in "I
Saw Him First." Florence Lawrence has been acting ever since she was three years
of age.

Edythe H. — Edna Payne was Alice, Edwin Carewe was Gentleman Joe, and Tom
Gordon was Earl Metcalf in "Gentleman Joe" (Lubin). We cannot answer that Selig
question.

"Gypsia," Taunton. — Thomas Santschi was the priest in "The Indelible Stain."
Why dont you write to Warren Kerrigan?

N. Y. Fan, No. 1. — Bryant Washburn was Harry Madden in "Chains" (Essanay).
James Young was the Little Minister in the play by that title. Clara Kimball Young
was Babbie.

"H. & B., Old Maine." — When we say "opposite," we mean playing a corresponding
or similar part of the opposite sex, usually lovers. Roger Lytton was Lorenzo in "The
Mills of the Gods." Frank Dayton was Jack's father in "The Warning Hand." Gene
Gauntier was Mary, J. J. Clark was Joseph, and A. Henderson Bland was Christ in
"From the Manger to the Cross" (Kalem).

Leslie I. S. — Yes, William Dunn has left Vitagraph. Because Pathe is shorter
than saying Pathe Freres. All players are not under contract. The Vitagraph em-
ploys about sixty players, none of whom is under contract. Players have their
vacations. The actress wore a wig.

Marjorie W. — Your questions have all been answered.

"Flossie C. P." (?) — Please dont write love-letters to the Answer Man and sign
Flossie's name. We have no time for love-letters.

Mrs. Taishner. — Thank you for the information.

"Skylark," Mass. — Ruth Stonehouse was the poor girl in "From the Submerged"
(Essanay). Keystone films are released by Mutual.

"Handsome Cutie." — Pathe Freres, 1 Congress Street, Jersey City Heights, N. J.

L. G., Keeseville, N. Y. — Yes, John Bunny is as "dear as he looks." Write Pathe
for Crane Wilbur's picture.

"Flossie, of Brooklyn." — Just as you say, everybody will be calling themselves
Flossie. We shall have to have the original Flossie copyrighted. Harry Morey was
Wild Pat in the play by that name. \

Anthony, New Orleans. — "Diamond Cut Diamond" was released May 24, 1912.
And are you still looking for Mrs. Costello?

B. C, Brooklyn. — Send stamped, addressed envelope for list of manufacturers.

E. B., "Critic." — Yes, it is possible that the three players mentioned were with
Vitagraph some time ago, but they all have gone to a different company. We thank
you very much for your interesting letter, and must say that you are correct.

Betty C. B. — Your questions are all against the rules.

Mrs. O. L., Bronx. — Mrs. Costello was the nurse in "The Mills of the Gods." She
also appeared in "Diamond Cut Diamond" as the telephone operator.

E. M. S., Paterson, N. J. — We continue to say there is no hope for stage-struck girls
without experience.

G. W., Brooklyn. — Jane Gale was the "Leading Lady" in "The Players" (Lubin).

Alice J., New York, wants Kalem to produce "Smoke Bellew," by Jack London.

E. C, Birmingham.— Brinsley Shaw was the villain in "The Ranch Girl's Trial."

M. D. U. B., St. Louis. — The "Resurrection" was produced by the Masko Co., with
Blanche Walsh as the lead. Cannot answer about the Biograph "Resurrection," except
to say that Arthur Johnson and Florence Lawrence were both in it.

Regina, N. Y. C. — Get your back numbers direct from this magazine.

Dorothy Soukup, Milwaukee. — Please send us address, so we can send the list.

J. O. C, Youngstown. — Thank you for your very interesting letter, in which you
state that Beverly Bayne is the most graceful of the five Essanay girls.

Flossie Footlight. — Ruth Roland was Lizzie in "Belle of the Beach" (Kalem).
Charles Brandt was Arthur Johnson's father in "The Amateur Iceman." Arthur John-
-son was chatted in February, 1912.

Smith, New Jersey. — Elsie Stadiger was Mrs. Black, and Henrietta Brown was
Henrietta O'Beck in "Buster and the Pirates." Miriam Nesbitt was the girl in "The
Boss of the Lumber Camp."

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"A Bunch of Wild Flowers" . Nestor
"House That Jack Built" . . Kinemacolor
"A Good Catch" . . . Essanay
"The Amateur Ice Man" . Lubin
"The Redemption of Slivers" Essanay
"The Sheriff of Stony Butte" Bison
"The Awakening of Bianca" . Vitagraph
"The Stubbornness of Youth" . Lubin
"Love's Labor Lost" . . . Vitagraph
"Coronets and Hearts" . . Vitagraph
"A Picture Idol" . . . Vitagraph

"A Wooden Indian" . . Edison

"His Brother" .... Selig
"The Lineman's Hope" . . Essanay
"The Mysterious Caller" . Vitagraph

"The Schoolmaster's Courtship" Vitagraph
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138 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Betty C. B. — Please do not ask questions about matrimony, age, and private
addresses of the players. Gertrude Robinson is with Reliance.

"Little Maey C." — Edwin August is with the Powers branch of the Universal. Yes,
Steve Brodie took a chance ; so did you.

Mrs. L. A. G., Elkins. — We are sorry we cant accommodate you by having your
theater use the films you want, but that is out of our line. There is no one you can
apply to. It is up to the exhibitor. Maurice Costello has relatives in Pittsburg.

Dorothy, Newark. — Rose Tapley was Mrs. Harrison in "The Adventure of the
Thumb Print" (Vitagraph). Eleanor Blanchard was Samathy Green in "The Thrifty
Parson" (Essanay). Hazel Boardman was the girl in "The Tomboy of Bar Z." Lucille
Young was Alice Joyce's mother in "The Strange Story of Elsie Mason."

Lylian, New Orleans. — The last is too long to print here. Send stamped,
addressed envelope for same.

Mrs. M. K., Newark. — Please put the name of the company after the title. We do
not locate the plays you mention.

E. B. C, Ga. — You refer to TLomas Moore. Mrs. Maurice Costello plays under that
name. While Earle Williams was visiting his home in the West, he was cast in several
of the Western Vitagraphs.

Nancy Jane, 16. — If you want all those questions answered, please send a stamped,
addressed envelope, and we will answer them. Too many to be printed. *

Betty C. B. — May Buckley and Jack Halliday have both left the pictures.

E. F. S., Worcester, Mass. — Please do not ask Biograph questions.

Three C. H. S. M. P. Fans. — We dont know whether the dress you refer to is gray
or blue; dont think Miss Lawrence would care to answer you. James Moore was the
millionaire in "The Players" (Lubin).

Lillian R. F. — The "good-looking, dark fellow" was Whitney Raymond in "The
Lemon" (Essanay). We will not answer questions about the stage.

F. E. U., Winnipeg. — Fred Mace is not with Imp, but Keystone. We shall print
Mabel Normand's picture soon.

P. S., Penn. — You did not enclose the stamp !

"The Three Twins." — William Duncan was Billy in "The Brotherhood of Man."

H. D., Attlebow. — Zena Keefe has had stage experience. Address her in care of the
Vitagraph. Big Bill is still playing.

W. J. K. — No, the Answer Man is not Bernard Gallagher. T. J. Carrigan was with
Selig last. We dont answer questions about height or width of players. Sometimes the
interviewer gets a player's age. Yes, the negro in "Lucile" was a real one. James
Cruze was the doctor in "Pa's Medicine." Warren Kerrigan signs himself J. W.

Flossie S. O. S., Bridgeport. — There is a Frank Lawler with Selig. Thank you for
your information, but we have had that a long time. Other questions answered before.

Dorothy, New Orleans. — Arthur Johnson did not play in "Parson James," it was
Edgar Jones. Florence Lawrence will be chatted again soon.

Sam C, Brooklyn. — We think your idea is all right, but we cant start a contest
about Biograph players. Other questions answered.

C. E. W., N. Y. — James Ross was the showman, Earle Foxe the country boy in "The
County Fair" (Kalem). We understand that Alice Joyce does not answer unknown
correspondents. You are forgiven ; but it would make it much easier for the Answer
Man if you, and every one, would, when sending in their questions, place them one after
another, leaving a space between them, so that we would not have to wade thru three or
four pages before coming to the questions. We appreciate your long, interesting letters
about the favorite plays and players, but they should be addressed to that department.

Genevieve, New York. — Ralph Ince was Ben in "The Heart of Esmeralda." The
American studio is located at Santa Barbara, Cal. '

M. E. M. — "Why the wind blows in Moving Pictures" has been answered and
answered and answered. Will tell you some other time.

B. F., Stapleton, claims that Ruth Stonehouse is the prettiest of the Essanay girls.
We guess each one of them has her admirers.

D. R. T. W. Girls. — Carlyle Blackwell was the trapper in "Redskin Raiders."

P. W., Tennessee. — William West was the family tyrant in the play by that title.
Pearl White was Marietta in "Naughty Marietta" (Pathe Freres). Maurice Costello
was in "Night Before Christmas" and "It All Came Out in the Wash."

A. O. V. B. — Baby Audrey was the child in "The Outlaw's Sacrifice."

"Marguerite," New York City. — Dont send your questions to the Essanay Co. that
are to be answered in this magazine. G. M. Anderson is very much alive, and is still
producing and appearing in pictures, weekly, of the Essanay product.

Rosebud, Baltimore. — If your questions were not answered, they were either
answered before, or you did not sign your name. You refer to Whitney Raymond. We
dont answer any more questions as to why a player is not seen more frequently on the
screen.

R. H., Montreal. — No Biograph questions.

The Wives of Jamestown

Produced in England and Jamestown, Virginia

THE FOLLOWERS OF CROMWELL AT THE CASTLE DOOR

The romance between Bryan O'Sullivan and Lady Geraldine is broken when he unjustly
suspects that she is unfaithful. He sails for America, and, becoming a colonist at Jamestown,
Virginia, takes the name of John Pierce. Lady Geraldine's castle is besieged by Cromwellians,
and, after suffering many vicissitudes, she is sent with others to be sold as wives to the Jamestown
colonists. Pierce prover of timely assistance to Geraldine in her hour of trial and both forget the
unhappy past when lo e claims its own.

ASK THE MANAGER OF YOUR PHOTOPLAY
THEATRE TO SECURE THIS FEATURE .\

KALEM COMPANY

235 WEST 23d STREET
NEW YORK, N. Y.

140 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

M. P. Logan. — Adelaide Lawrence was the child in "The Wanderer" (Kalem).
What is the name of the company?

B. B. B., San Diego. — Watch ad. pages for Cleo Ridgely. ,J. J. Clark was Dan in
"Kerry Gow" (Kalem).

E. W., Sacramento. — The only Bison 101 is located at Hollywood, Cal. It is one
of the Universal branches.

"Dixie Lou," Tenn.— Florence LaBadie was Undine in "Undine" (Thanhouser).
Ask your exhibitor to get the film. We are acquainted with a great many of the players.

Mrs. S. G. C, Coshocton. — You have Lillian Christy placed correctly. She is now
with American Co.

Kalem Kid, St. Paul. — William Garwood and Marguerite Snow had the leads in
"The Little Girl Next Door" (Thanhouser). Jane Wolfe and Neva Gerber were the girls
in "Flower Girl's Romance" (Kalem). Florence LaBadie and Jean Darnell played in
"Voice of Conscience" (Thanhouser). Ethel Clayton was the daughter in "Just Maine
Folks" (Lubin). Edwin August and Ormi Hawley were the leads in " 'Twixt Love and
Ambition."

G. R. H., Bayfield. — Joseph Gebhart was the husband in "The Hand of Destiny"
(Path6 FrSres). Dont know who the wife was. Yes, there is a limit to everything —
even to our patience.

Marjorie M. — Marin Sais and Ed Coxin were in "I Saw Him First." John Brennan
was Ruth Roland's father in "Strong-Arm Nellie," and Robert Grey was her sweetheart.
Robert Grey was the photographer in "The Landlubbers." Ed Coxen was the bachelor
in "The Bachelor's Bride." Hobart Bosworth was Chactas, and Bessie Eyton was Atala
in "Atala."

Hunter's Point, 3676. — You say "How about a chat with Francis X. Bushman, of
the Essanay Co.? What company is Francis X. Bushman playing with?" Oh, no, there's
nothing the matter with you.

Anthony, New Orleans. — Lillian Christy was Ann in "Red Wing and the Pale-
Face" (Kalem). Bruce Macomber was the little fellow in "Bringing Home the Pup"
(Edison).

Flossie C. P. — You cant fool us; we know Flossie's writing. Carlyle Blackwell
played both parts in "The Parasite" (Kalem). You have Dolores Cassinelli placed
correctly. We have not Lottie Pickford's present whereabouts. Brinsley Shaw was
Texas in "A Story of Montana."

Marge, Chicago. — Always write direct to the company for pictures of players. We
do not carry any for sale.

Gertrude K., Brooklyn. — Eleanor Blanchard was the maid in "Cupid's Quartette"
(Essanay). You say Ruth Stonehouse is the prettiest Essanay player. Very well.

M. J. — We have not heard what company Cleo Ridgely will join when she returns.
Yes, yes, yes ; Mary Pickford has left Moving Pictures, and joined the regular stage,
under the management of David Belasco. See elsewhere for Warren Kerrigan's address.

S. W. — As we have said before, if you dont sign your name, we will not answer your
questions. Miss Taku Takagi was Taku in "Miss Taku of Tokio" (Thanhouser). E. K.
Lincoln was Jack in "A Modern Atalanta."

Florentine Hall. — Earle Foxe was the private secretary in "The Combination of
the Safe" (Kalem). Wallace Reid was the country boy in "Every Inch a Man" (Vita-
graph). Hal Reid is the elder of the two. Wallace Reid is now with the American.
Harry Myers is still with Lubin. We notice an improvement in the way in which you
sent in these questions.

E. S., Phillipsburg. — You say "What company does Warren Kerrigan (American)
play in?" Dont you know that the name in parenthesis means the name of the company
in which the player played.

"Yvonne," Baton Rouge. — We understand! But your questions have all been
answered before. We do not like to repeat in the magazine. If you send a stamped,
addressed envelope, we will answer them.

"Rhodiska," "Homer M. C," Marion, O. ; "E. L. R.," Corry. — Questions have been
answered before.

E. E. P., Brooklyn. — It is Joseph Gebhart. You have Carlyle Blackwell placed
correctly in "Apache Renegade."

Dixie. — Lillian Christy was the daughter in "Mountain Dew." Glad you think
Carlyle Blackwell is "a stunner." Other questions answered.

J. F. G., Cal. — Pathe Freres did not produce "The Will of Destiny." It was a Melies
picture. Alice Joyce has brown eyes.

M. H. Price, Brooklyn. — Yes, Mary Pickford is the young lady in the lower left-
hand corner of our December cover. That's the limit on Biograph questions.

Lillian V. S. — Herbert Prior was the lead in "The Thorns of Success." Address
Carlyle Blackwell, in care of Kalem Co.

Marry G., Washington. — Howard Missimer and Eleanor Blanchard were the man
and wife, and Charles Hitchcock was the messenger in "The Adventure of a Button."

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142 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"Dolly Dimples." — No, Dolly, we have not the address of the Texas Twins, but
"care Pathe Freres" would catch them both, at the same desk. Nora in "Kerry Gow"
(Kalem) was Alice Hollister. We answer all questions about Vitagraph players. You
mean Biograph.

"Sappho." — As to "Why dont the actors carry umbrellas in rainy pictures?" is be-
yond our card-index. Carlyle Blackwell has had stage experience. Augustus Carney is
always Alkali Ike in the Essanay pictures. Oh, yes, we think he is "cute."

W. A. C, Port Henry. — We thought everybody knew the answers to your questions.
"Releases" means films, also the date on which a film is first given out to the exchanges.
The director is a sort of stage-manager who directs the players. The Licensed com-
panies are Vitagraph, Biograph, Kalem, Melies, Edison, Pathe Freres, Lubin, Essanay,
Selig, Eclipse and Cines. The others are called Independents, and the Independents are
divided into several groups, each group having a name of its own, like "Universal" and
"Mutual." As to branches, the Thanhouser Co. is a branch of the "Mutual," and Imp
is a branch of "Universal." This word is also used in connection with a company, thus :
"The Glendale branch of the Kalem Co." Marshall P. Wilder was the jester in
"Mockery" (Vitagraph). Charles Kent was Dr. Manette in "A Tale of Two Cities."

W. S. C., Sheboygan. — The Victor Co. is located at 575 Eleventh Avenue, New
York. We will have a chat with Harry Myers soon.

"Billy Girl." — Betty Grey was the girl in "Country Boy" (Pathe Freres). Jane
Fearnley's picture has not been published yet.

L. D. — Yale Benner was Charles Reed, Walter Edwin was the manager in "Is He
Eligible?" (Edison). Yale Benner also played in "Dumb Wooing."

Peggy, Bridgeport. — E. H. Calvert had the lead in "From the Submerged." Mary
Ryan was Estrella in "Chief White Eagle." There is only one Romaine Fielding. Yes,
he is tall.

M. K., New York City. — Robert Thornby was Buck McGee in "The Fatherhood of
Buck McGee."

E. R. M., Spokane. — We dont know why all companies do not use the cast of char-
acters on the film.

Judith C. F. — Write Florence Turner direct to the Vitagraph. Gladys Roosevelt,
who chatted Crane Wilbur, is not the ex-President's daughter.

Helen A. H., Brooklyn. — You mean Ed Coxen in "The Belle of the Beach"
(Kalem). Jane Wolfe was Sue in "Election Day in California" (Kalem). William
West was Paul Briscoe. You mean Mabel Normand.

L. J. Kendall. — Mabel Normand was formerly of the Biograph and Vitagraph.
The woman in "The Wife of the Hills" (Essanay) is unknown. Signorina Bertini is
the girl on page 121 of the September, 1912, issue.

J. J. B., Mass. — We do not answer anything that pertains to Biograph.

"Kathleen." — Chat with Francis Bushman in February, 1912.

L. M. C, Miss. — We thank you for quoting the paragraph. The name of the hotel
where Mary Pickford gave her farewell dinner was Bretton Hall, Broadway and
Eighty-sixth Street, New York City. The Moving Picture World gave a full account
of it, February, 1912.

"Curious," Waterbury. — Jane Mayo, Florence Foley and Helen and Dolores Cos-
tello were the children in "The Irony of Fate" (Vitagraph). May Buckley was the
minister's sister in "The Derelict's Return" (Lubin). Lillian Christy was the girl in
"The Peril of the Cliffs." Jack Halliday's picture was in July, 1912; May Buckley,
March and June, 1912, issues.

L. E. G., Fort Plain. — Clara Kimball Young was Babbie in "The Little Minister"
(Vitagraph). Belle Harris was the girl in "The Frenzy of Firewater."

Theta, New York. — "Exhilarating Uncle John" was Edwin August.

F. C. G., Hewitt. — Maurice Costello has not left Vitagraph. Neither has James
Morrison. Ruth Stonehouse was the poor girl in "From the Submerged."

K. M., Brooklyn. — We are sorry, but we think it is useless to try to get the three-
year-old boy in pictures ; you might write to the companies direct.

E. B., Curious. — Your question is out of our line.

"Babe," Los Angeles. — Earle Williams will remain in Brooklyn. Francis X.
Bushman was leading man in the Chicago Essanay plant. We dont know how much, or
what part, of the Keystone Co. Fred Mace owns.

Maurice, Little Rock. — You refer to Charles Clarey. Henry Walthall has left the
Reliance. There is only one Henry Walthall.

Gaby. — Florence Turner was Lucie in "A Tale of Two Cities." Robert Gaillord was
Wearywold, the policeman in "The Little Minister."

Beth. — You refer to George Lessey. Other question against the rule.

Miss S., New York. — Anna M. Stewart is the girl in "The Wood Violet"
(Vitagraph).

Mrs. C. B., Denver. — James Cruze was Albert in Part II of "Forest Rose"
(Thanhouser).

This Washer

Must Pay for

Itsel£

I didn't

A MAN tried to sell me a horse once. He said it
was a fine horse and had nothing the_ matter
with it. I wanted a fine horse. But,
know anything about horses
much. And I didn't know the
man very well either.

So I told him I wanted to
try the horse for a month.
He said, "All right, but pay
me first, and I'll give you
back your money if the horse
isn't all right."

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was afraid the horse wasn't
"all right," and that I might
have to whistle for my money
if I once parted with it. So
I didn't buy the horse, al-
though I wanted it badly.
Now, this set me thinking.

You see I make Washing
Machines — the "1900 Gravity"
Washer.

And I said to myself, lots
of people may think about my
Washing Machine as I thought
about the horse, and about the
man who owned it.

But I'd never know, because
they wouldn't write and tell me.

You see I sell my

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million that way.

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try my Washing Machines for a month, before they
pay for them, just as I wanted to try the horse.

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Let me send you a "1900 Gravity" Washer on a
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Doesn't it prove that the "1900 Gravity" Washer
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144 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

G. W. P., Rome. — If you ever met and talked with Flora Finch, as we have, you
would be convinced that she is an entirely charming woman. The editor says he will
have the children chatted.

P. V. C, Hastings. — Helen Gardner's films are released thru the United States
Film Co. Martha Russell and Helen Dunbar were the girls in "A Voice of Conscience."
Players are friendly in private life, just as they are in the pictures.

E. M. L., Brooklyn. — The perforating room is kept very dark while the perforating
machines are in use. That's why.

Grace M., Columbus. — Just because you do not see Crane Wilbur playing, you
think he is dead. Well, he isn't.

Bird's-Eye, M. J. V. W. — Florence Lawrence has not as yet made any plans.

B. H. S., Sherbrooke, Ont. — Alice Joyce and Rube Marquard appeared in only one
film. First question against the rules.

F. D., Hackensack. — You will have to judge for yourself what the surprise was in
the last scene of "The Misspelled Word." Rube Marquard is not a regular player.
Ormi Hawley and Lottie Briscoe are both leading ladies of the Lubin Co. Arthur
Johnson, of course, is leading man. Yes, they are the Hollister children.

"Bashful Fifteen," "G. H. Somerville," "Anna M. M," and "S. M. C," London. —
Your questions have been answered before.

Miss M. S., New York. — "The Professor's Ward" (Lubin) was never published in
this magazine.

Plymouth Girls. — We cannot deliver your message to George Melford, that you do
not like to see Carlyle Blackwell with a mustache, but he will see this, and, no doubt,
have things fixed to suit you, right away.

M. M., Montreal. — We repeat, there is no hope. Only experienced actors now
have a chance. We printed a full page on this some time ago. Octavia Handworth is
still with Pathe Freres.

Prudence and Priscilla. — Why do you ask questions about marriage?

H. C, Broadway. — Mary Pickford did not join the Independents.

G. M. A., Jamaica Plain. — Bessie Sankey*is G. M. Anderson's leading lady. He is
still acting.

May I. — Ed Coxen and Ruth Roland are in the Santa Monica branch of the Kalem.
Mrs. T., New York. — We never printed the Biograph story you mention.
Anthony, New Orleans. — We are sorry you do not like King Baggot in Independ-
ent pictures, but we cannot make him join Licensed.

Maude Adams. — Thank you for your suggestion ; we shall consider it.

A. M., Rochester. — Fritzi Brunette is leading lady for Victor. Essanay and
American are not affiliated.

"Frances," Washington. — You say "Dear Spectator." He is not on our maga-
zine ; formerly of The Dramatic Mirror. The news in the Greenroom Jottings is
secured direct from the manufacturers.

Marie A. F. — Laura Sawyer was Annie in "Ostler Joe" (Edison). Write direct
to Thanhouser for photos. Marie sends the following, but she is wrong :

Flossie C. P.'s inquiries

Must be worse than daily diaries ;

But I cannot comprehend

Why you fail to see the end.

It's not Crane Wilbur she's crazy about ;

Lknow it is the other scout.

Of course, you ask who he might be ;

It's the Answer Man, I'll guarantee.

F. M., Middleton.— The picture is of Lillian Walker.

B. G. W., St. Louis. — Biograph questions ! ! ! ! !

F. W. H. S., Fort Wayne. — We made a mistake. Helen Costello is about seven and
Dolores is about twelve. William Mason was the boy in "Hearts of Men." May
Buckley was May in "What the Driver Saw." Grace Foley was the baby in "The
Strange Story of Elsie Mason." When you send us your questions on November 25, and
ask to have them in the December issue, it is impossible. At that time we are just
finishing up the answers for the January issue.

V. E. O. — Frederick Church was Kelley in "Broncho Billy's Bible."

Flossie. — The "little jiggers" for your Big Ben binder have been sent to you.

Becky, Niagara Falls, writes the following motto for the Answer Man. "Our
greatest glory consists not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall." Thank
you, madam, but we cannot answer your question.

Dazzling Baby. — Gwendoline Pates was the wife in "The Striped Bathing-Suit."
William Mason was the coward in "The Wildman."

R. B., Brooklyn. — We do not answer questions about the stage.

THE VITAGRAPH EAGLE

" THE MODERN ATLAS "

^GRAPM]

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YOU MUST SEE THAT YOU SEE THEM

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146 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

C. L., 16. — Harry Benham was the father in "The Warning" (Thanhouser). The
Thanhouser Twins (Fairbanks sisters) were in "The Little Girl Next Door."

D. H., Pittsburg. — William Russell had the leading male part in "Miss Robinson
Crusoe." Other questions answered.

Bobby P. B. — Hobart Bosworth was Edmond Dantes in "The Count of Monte
Cristo." You know the players change from one company to another, and it was pos-
sible for three stars to be in one company at that time.

H. C. L., Texas. — Darwin Karr was Mr. Dean in "At the Phone" (Solax). Mar-
shall Neilan was the lover in "The Wanderer."

"Dick," Denver. — Arthur Johnson played in Omaha, Neb., for one week.

Curious, Waterbury. — Your questions answered above.

Madeline J. — Marguerite Snow was the saleslady, and Florence LaBadie was her
sister in "The Saleslady." Cleo Ridgely did not play in the Imp film. Alice Joyce was
with no other company than Kalem.

Addie, College Point. — The two funny farm-hands in "The Deceivers" (Lubin)
were Dotty Staff and Clarence Elmer. Lillian Christy was Maud, and Jane Wolfe her
mother in "The Village Vixen."

B. V., Yonkers. — Dick Rosson has been with the Vitagraph about a year and a half.

B. R. M., Harlem. — May Buckley played opposite Harry Myers in "The Runaways."
Julia Mackley was the mother in "The Mother of the Ranch" (Essanay). Beth Taylor
was the girl in "The Ranch Girl's Trial."

J. B. A., Park City. — Cant say if Anna Q. Nilsson ever posed as a hairdresser's
model. Such questions !

No. 17, St. Louis. — We cannot give you the leading lady in "An Indian's Grati-
tude." Miss Mason had the lead in "For the Sake of the Papoose."

F. C. — Miss Baird's maid was not in the cast in "Chumps."

F. A. S., Staten Island. — Lillian Christy never played in Lubinville. Frank New-
burg was the count, and Harry Benham was the American in "Miss Robinson Crusoe"
(Thanhouser). Clara Williams was Nell in "Parson James" (Lubin).

"Essanay Fiend." — We dont know about any daughters of Brinsley Shaw. Joseph
Gebhart had the lead in "The Branded Arm."

W. T. H., Chicago. — Mabel Snyder was Alice's sister, and Eleanor Kahn was the
"imp" in "McGrath's Love Letters" (Essanay).

L. A., New York City. — You ask who is Leo Delaney's bride ; all we can say is that
she is his wife. Rose Tapley was Anna Stewart's mother, and Mrs. Mary Maurice was
Zena Keefe's mother in "Her Choice." Marion Leonard is with the Monopol Company.

"L. B.," Chicago ; "Bet," Houston ; "J. S. S.," Newman ; "E. P.," Newark ; "F. M.,"
Middleton ; "M. W.," New Orleans, have all been answered before.

S. H. W. — Alice Joyce is still in the New York studio. Thomas Moore is her lead-
ing man. Lillian Christy was the girl in "When Youth Meets Youth." In "Cynthia's
Agreement," you mean Alice Washburn. Ethel Clayton in "The Last Rose of Summer."

C. L. R. C. — James Cruze was Sir Percival, Marguerite Snow was Laura and Ann,
and William Garwood was Walter in "The Woman in White." In "The Flirty Hus-
band" (Keystone), Fred Mace was the husband. He is not called Bumptious; perhaps
you mean John Cumpson.

Beverly, 16. — Marshall Neilan was the favorite son in "Father's Favorite." William
Duncan was in "The Vagabond." We cannot help you on the Pathe questions.

Cleopatra Venus Jackson. — Joseph Gebhart was the male lead in "The Hand of
Destiny," We have not the leading lady. William West was the landlord, Lillian
Christy and Carlyle Blackwell the leads in "The Peril of the Cliffs." Eleanor Caines
had the lead in "Red-hot Courtship." Guy D'Ennery played opposite Ormi Hawley in
"Madeleine's Christmas." Is it any wonder we dont answer all of your questions when
you ask : "Do you know what perfume Ormi Hawley uses?"

F. E. S., New York. — Joseph Allen was the father in "From the Submerged."
William Lamp was the captain in "The Thorns of Success" (Majestic).

Vitagraph Admirer. — Mary Charleson was with the Republic and Reliance com-
panies before joining Vitagraph.

Lucile, Chi. — Carlyle Blackwell and Neva Gerber had the leads in "The Water-
Right War." Look above for other questions.

Miss May T. — We are sorry, but we cannot tell you one way or the other about
Florence Lawrence.

Virginie, Conn. — Buster Roswell Johnson played in " 'Twixt Love and Ambition"
and "When Buster Went to Dreamland." Will chat Warren Kerrigan soon.

Kitty L. R., Salem. — Jean, the Vitagraph dog, belongs to Lawrence Trimble. He is
a collie. Thomas Moore was the lead in "Grandfather's Clock" (Kalem).

Diana D. — Sarah Bernhardt played only in feature films. Victor Co. releases only
one film a week. Other questions answered before.

Vance P. M., New Castle. — Arthur Mackley was the judge, Beth Taylor the
accused girl in "The Ranch Girl's Trial" (Essanay).

Here's to Your Success

Mr. Photoplay Wright!

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148 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

C. H. E. A., Mass. — Joseph De Grasse was Dr. Ray in "For the Sake of the
Papoose." George Reehm was the husband in "The Hindoo Charm" (Lubin). The real
and only genuine Flossie has not appeared so far this month.

Babe D., St. Louis. — Address your mail direct to the Selig Co. in Chicago.

C. P., Stapleton. — Edna Payne was the girl in "Water Rats" (Lubin). William
Cavanaugh is not a real Indian.

Miss Brooklynite. — Barry O'Moore and Bessie Learn had the leads in "When She
Was About Sixteen" (Edison).

C. A. H., Boise. — The "Brand Blotter" was a Selig. Myrtle Stedman was Dulcie.

A. J., Mt. V. — Octavia Handworth was leading lady in "A Nation's Peril" (Pathe
Freres ) .

Olga, 16. — We have not seen Bunny lately, but think you ought to know Bunny
when you see him. Lillian Christy was the sweetheart in "Redwing and the Paleface."
Yes, Kalem would be a good company to join, but we are afraid you have not had any
stage experience.

Vikgie R., Chicago. — Augustus Carney was Alkali Ike.

M. E. C, Cal. — Miriam Nesbitt was the wife in "The Little Artist of the Market"
(Edison).

E. T., Cleveland. — Florence LaBadie has posed for artists. You have the char-
acters correct in "Jess." William Mason is the nephew in "Springing a Surprise"
(Essanay).

"Two Steno's." — Mabel Normand is not with Biograph, but Keystone. Wheeler
Oakman was Manly Hart in "Saved by Fire." Yes, Maurice Costello is really married.
Isn't it too bad !

Marguerite E., San Francisco and K. S., Missouri. — Questions answered before.

Betty, Williamsport. — Kathlyn Williams is the Selig girl. Vedah Bertram died
August 27. Get back numbers direct from the magazine.

"Rhodisha." — Lottie Briscoe was Lottie in "The New Country School-Teacher"
(Lubin). Others have been answered.

"Two Harry Idyls." — What next ! Wants us to tell Harry Myers he needs powder
on his nose. And "Why is it that Harry Myers always hugs and kisses Mae Hotely,
when no other actors do?" We will leave that question to Harry.

"Flossie C. P." writes as follows: "Esteemed and Respected Friend — It is a grati-
fication, and I might even say, a recreation to write to you, and thus impart myself
the honor of having a little chat with so distinguished a gentleman as yourself. I have
the reputation of being a tyrannically inquisitorial individual, and, first of all, I want
to extirpate that impression from your rational faculty, the mind, and also do some
more extermination from other people's minds — or I might say vacuums. If it is not
asking too much, I would like you to advise me as to the whereabouts of Crane Wilbur.
I admire this gentleman so much on account of his comely appearance. I also wish you
to tell me (if the magnitude of my inquiry does not overpower you) whether or not
Mr. Wilbur is equestrian or herbivorous. Another reason why I admire him is because
of his intrepidity in the pictures, and I certainly bewail when I fail to see him. I fear
you are not equitable to him in the magazine. But you have rectitude for all the rest,
I am certain. With best wishes for yourself and yours, I am, honest and truly, Flossie
C. P." We dont know who played that part; it is not in the cast. Furthermore, you
are sailing under false colors.

"Sappho." — We have no doubt that Miss Joyce would be very pleased to know that
you have written a waltz and dedicated it to her. You will have to ask her whether or
hot you may use her name on it, altho there is no law, we believe, against dedicating it
to her without her permission.

Dotty Dimples. — It is better to typewrite your scenarios. Yes, we agree with you.

W. J. B., Brooklyn. — We wont be able to print Mary Pickford's picture, or have a
chat with her, because she is no longer a Moving Picture actress. Edna Flugrath is still
with Edison.

Olga, 17 (Alias Olga, 16.) — Congratulations, Olga. You know we cant print Henry
Walthall's picture, dont you?

The N. Y. Movie Girl. — Marshall Neilan was the weakling in "The Greaser and
the Weakling" (American). Send direct to the company for pictures.

"Two Steno's."— Edna Payne was Alice in "Gentleman Joe," Edwin Carewe was
Joe, Earle Metcalf was the other player. Mary Pickford is Mary in "The Informer."
Vedah Bertram played opposite G. M. Anderson in "Broncho Billy's Escapade." Lottie
Briscoe was the lead in "A Stolen Symphony." Earle Williams' picture soon.

Marguerite De W. — Bryant Washburn plays in the same company with Mr. Bush-
man. Essanay is in Chicago, and Vitagraph is in Brooklyn. Send for list of manu-
facturers, but be sure and send a stamped, addressed envelope.

Plunkett. — What, here again? Edna Payne and Edwin Carewe had the leads in
"Juan and Juanita." Vedah Bertram's real name was Adele Buck, and she was buried
at Sheepshead, N. Y.

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150 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Lillian A. (Alias Billie). — Your questions have been answered before.

Selma, Columbus, O. — Charles Arthur was Charles in "The Last Rose of Summer."

Since 150 persons, and more, have asked for the cast in "The Mills of the Gods,"
we give it herewith. Roger Lytton was Lorenzo ; Leo Delaney, Miguel ; Rosemary
Theby, Guilia, Maria's half-sister ; Zena Keef e, Maria ; George Cooper, Tano, Lorenzo's
tool ; Tefft Johnson, Pietro, Miguel's friend ; Adele De Garde, Rosa, Miguel's child ;
Harry Northrup, De Waldis, Guilia's aid and counsel ; Evelyn Dominicis, she-wolf ; Mrs.
Maurice Costello, nurse.

L. S., Chicago. — Darwin Karr was Walter Barnes in "Flesh and Blood" (Solax).
Blanche Cornwall was the girl. Lew Myers was the Jew in "The Man They Scorned."
We cannot give you casts for Gaumont pictures at present.

Miss Annabel. — William Mason was the man with dimples in "Hearts of Men"
(Essanay). Whitney Raymond played in "All in the Family," "The Lemon" and
"Billie McGrath's Love-Letters." Hal Clements was Smoke-up Smith, Anna Nilsson was
Betty, and Guy Coombs her lover in "Smoke-up Bill" (Kalem). Charles Arthur was
Charles, Harry Myers was Harry in "The Doctor's Debt." Neva Gerber seems to be
Carlyle Blackwell's leading lady now.

Nancy Jane, 16. — Say, Nancy, next time you send in twelve questions, please send
stamped envelope. You are as numerous as Flossie was. Miss Mason played in "The
Redman's Friendship." Charles Arling played opposite Gwendoline Pates in "At the
Burglar's Command." Lillian Christy was the girl in "When Youth Meets Youth."
Paul C. Hurst was Carlyle Blackwell's brother.

M. C. — Harry Myers was Harry in "What the Driver Saw." "Freed from Suspicion"
was played before Miss Joyce left the Glendale section of Kalem. Carlyle Blackwell is
still in Glendale. Jane Wolfe was the maid in "Freed from Suspicion."

Florence M. B., Chicago. — No, we do not answer questions about age, height, etc.,
unless we happen to know without making inquiry. The baby you refer to is the Than-
houser Kidlet. Other questions answered.

D. B., San Francisco. — We thank you for your enclosures. Ormi Hawley does not
play opposite Arthur Johnson; Lottie Briscoe does. Maurice Costello directs, also.

B. T., Mt. Vernon. — Well, well, we thought everybody knew Carlyle Blackwell.
Mutt and Jeff. — Lillian Christy was the girl in "The Peril of the Cliffs." Jack

Warren Kerrigan is with the "Flying A" Co.

C. M., Sacramento. — Betty Gray was the girl in "The Lass of Glouster" (Pathe
Freres). Lillian Walker's chat soon.

C. W. W., North Troy. — Marcella Meier was the girl in "The Lion Tamer's Re-
venge" (Cines). Other questions answered before.

B. P., Edgerton. — Marshall Neilan was the weaker brother in "The Weaker
Brother." The "Three Valises" was a double exposure, trick picture.

I. J.— Vivian Prescott was the lead in "Leah the Forsaken" (Imp). Edgar Jones
was the leading man in "The Struggle of Hearts" (Lubin). Other questions answered.

Plunkett. — Your questions were out of order.

Evelyn R. B., Bainbridge. — Alice Joyce was chatted in August, 1912, and Maurice
Costello was chatted in April, 1912.

"Marthy," St. Joe. — Norma Talmadge was Ruth, and Van Dyke Brooke was Capt.
Barnacle in "Captain Barnacle's Reformer." Bryant Washburn was the husband in
"Chains" (Essanay).

Vivien and Chlotile.— Marguerite Snow played the two parts in "The Woman in
White" (Thanhouser). Mignon Anderson's picture was in the July, 1912, issue. Other
questions are too old.

Nu-Sense.— Mae Hotely was the lead in "Down with the Men."

R. G., Flagstaff. — James Young was the Little Minister in the play by that narrr
(Vitagraph). Other questions above.

L. R., Penn.— Selig Polyscope Co., 45 E. Randolph Street, Chicago, 111.

"A Western Girl." — Vedah Bertram was the girl in "Broncho Billy Outwitted."

P. R., Dallas. — No, Florence Lawrence has not. been killed yet.

Frances, New York. — Helen Gardner was chatted in June, 1912. Ruth Roland is
the leading lady of the Santa Monica branch. Ruth Roland and Ed Coxen had the leads
in "I Saw Him First." A theater can show Universal and Mutual at the same time.
Other questions answered.

E, G., Buffalo. — Ray Gallagher was Steve Aldrich in "A Romance at Catalina
Island." Jane Fearnley was Amy in "In Old Tennessee." Mabel Trunnelle and Herbert
Prior had the leads in "A Game of Chess" (Majestic).

Victoria and H.— Hazel Neason and Ralph Mitchell had the leads in "The Heart of
John Grimm" (Kalem). Harry Mainhall was Jack Tenny in "A Voice of Conscience."

C. W., San Antonio. — Jack Hopkins was Jack in "The Debt" (Rex).

J. D. R., Chicago. — We haven't any idea why Gertrude McCoy bites her lips. Eve-
belle Prout and Mildred Weston are not the same people. Other questions out of order,
H. M. D., San Francisco.— Gladys.Field is not back with the Powers CO.

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152 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Elizabeth S. O. — The picture you enclose is of Lillian Walker. Ethel Clayton was
the girl in "The Last Rose of Summer."

Carolyn, 16. — Talbott's book, "How Moving Pictures Are Made and Worked" can
be had from this magazine on receipt of $1.65. Because we do not answer questions
about relationship.

A. C. P. — Hazel Neason was Lillie in "The Thief." Adrienne Kroell was the girl in
"The Laird's Daughter." Evebelle Prout was in "Not on the Circus Program" and "The
Mixed Sample Trunks." Red Wing had the lead in "Wooing of White Fawn."

V. D. P., Holden. — Ormi Hawley and Edwin August had the leads in " 'Twixt Love
and Ambition."

Miss May T. — Anna Stewart and E. K. Lincoln had the leads in "The Wood Violet."

"Pete" says that Beverly Bayne is the prettiest of the Essanay girls.

Teixie S., Vancouver. — You are right.

"Peter Pan." — Your foolish questions were welcomely received by the waste-basket.

B. V. D., Topeka. — Miriam Nesbitt was the girl in "The Bank President's Son"
(Edison). Robert Thornby was the outlaw in "Omens of the Mesa" (Vitagraph). Rex
de Roselli and Myrtle Stedman had the leads in "The Saint and the Siwash."

J. S. S., Newman. — Frances Ne Moyer was the girl in "The Smuggler" (Lubin).
Selig has a studio in Cal. Beverly Bayne was the daughter in "Back to the Old Farm."
Selig Admirer, Brooklyn. — We do not use Selig pictures.

F. M., Middletown. — George Melford directs for the Glendale section of the Kalem
Co. Hobart Bosworth has no double.

Hilda M., Rensselaer. — Julia Swayne Gordon was Duchess de Berac in "Days of
Terror." Clara Kimball Young was Babbie in "The Little Minister." Thank you for
your information.

G. M., Columbus. — Write to him, and see if he will write to you. _
Miss May T. — We do not know what salary any of the players get.
G. H., New York. — See above.

V. P., Penroy. — Evebelle Prout was the maid in "The Letter" (Essanay). Since
you have had experience, you might write to one of the companies for employment.

"Dixie Lou," Jackson. — John Bunny's picture was in the October, 1911, January
and August, 1912, issues. Flora Finch's picture was in August, 1911.

Mary C. P., Dayton. — Ruth Stonehouse was the poor girl in "From the Submerged."
Other questions answered.

Flo G. C. — American is located at Santa Barbara. If your questions are received
before January 25, they will appear in the March issue, which comes out about the
middle of February. Other questions answered above.

Miss L. N., Brooklyn. — Evelyn Selbie is not a real Indian.

Judy. — Please dont write in on comic postals, so that we cannot read them.

Golden West, Brooklyn. — Quite a contrast. Adelaide Lawrence was the little girl
in "The Street Singer." George Stewart was Phil in "In the Garden Fair." Raymond
Hackett was the boy in "A Child's Devotion." Ruth Roland and Marin Sais were the
girls in "Beauty Parlor of Stone Gulch."

Miss May T. — Another chat with Florence Lawrence soon. Wait until she gets
located before writing to her.

V. E. S., Mannington, thinks Dolores Cassinelli is the prettiest of the five girls of
the Essanay. We dont know why you dont see more motorcycle races.

M. F. A., Los Angeles. — Write to General Film Co., Los Angeles, Cal.

Lyllian D. W. — Election day is past, but we dont know whether Maurice Costello is
a Bull Moose or not ; nor can we give "The Question Mark" his age.

Flo, Chicago. — You cant expect that the players will answer all their mail, because
you can imagine the quantity they must receive.

Dotty Dimples. — "The Girls of Grassville" was an Essanay,

H. L. R., New York. — William Bodie and Judson Melford were the children, and
Knute Rahm and Oarlyle Blackwell were the same characters when they were grown
up. James Young was the son in "The Model for St. John." Edna Payne is with Lubin.

F. C. M., Newark. — Harry Benham and Taku Takagi were the leads in "Miss Taku
of Tokio." Do not ask about marriage.

Kitty L. R. — Alice Joyce is with the New York Kalem section. Billy Quirk is with
the Gem. Charles Compton was Buster's father in "When Buster Went to Dreamland."

Reuben H. — Louise Lester was Calamity Anne in "Calamity Anne's Ward." Francis
X. Bushman had the lead in "The Warning Hand." He has left the Essanay.

L. E. P., New York City. — No, we do not know why Florence Lawrence left the
Lubin, but we do know that it was not "too much Johnson."

Inquisitive, No. 23, says : "Beverly Bayne every time."

I. O. U. — Your questions have been answered.

Marie C. — See chat with Maurice Costello April, 1912.

Constance R. — Dorothy Phillips has been with Essanay. Lottie Pickford is not
with Kalem. Pathe Freres will answer most of our questions now.

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After reading the stories in this magazine, be sure and stop at the
box-office of your favorite Motion Picture theater and leave a slip of
paper on which you have written the names of the plays you want to see.
The theater managers want to please you, and will gladly show you the
films you want to see.

154 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

The Pest. — Frank Merritt is our artist who made the design. Cleo Ridgely expects
to make the trip across the continent in one year. She could do it much sooner, but, you
know, she is stopping at the theaters, and that takes time.

J. M. W. — We are sorry, but we cannot tell the title from the description you give.

J. A. F., Hondon. — She thinks that J. Morrison has the sweetest and most manly
face she has ever seen. That's nice. Other questions answered.

Maurice, Little Rock. — Ruth Stonehouse was the stenographer No. 1, and Dolores
Cassinelli No. 2 in "Mr. Hubby's Wife." "Lubinville" is located at Twentieth Street
and Indiana Avenue, Philadelphia.

"Baby Rose," San Francisco. — "The Blighted Son" was made in Italy, and we
cannot secure the cast.

J. L. S., Newman. — Marion Cooper and Guy Coombs had the leads in "A Railroad
Lochinvar."

G. K., Detroit.— You refer to Knute Rahmn, of Kalem.

B. D. M., Cumberland. — Hobart Bosworth was Edmond in "Count of Monte Cristo."

B. and K., Albany. — There was no Albert in the cast for "The Count of Monte
Cristo."

Mary, Dayton. — Ruth Roland was the nurse in "A Hospital Hoax." Lily Brans-
combe was the daughter in "A Little Louder, Please."

J. S. F., Dallas. — The title was "A Modern Atalanta," and not "Atlanta."

Dream Girl, N. O. — The picture is of Lillian Walker. Larmar Johnstone had the
lead in "Their Children's Approval" (Eclair). It is pronounced S & A.

"Temple Kid." — We have several pictures of Alice Joyce, thank you. We never
could publish the sketch you submitted of her. No matrimony questions.

L. C, New London. — Robert Grey played the part of Dr. Hargrave in "Strong-Arm
Nellie." Bessie Eyton was Bessie in "Shanghaied." No, Thomas Moore was not
formerly with Biograph.

Bessie, New Jersey. — Eagle Eye is a real Indian. Pathe have real Indians in their
Western section.

C. Blackwell's Admirer. — That's no way to sign yourself. We want your full name
and address. Edward Coxen and Ruth Roland had the leads in "The Loneliness of the
Hills" (Kalem). Please give name of company.

F. A. D., New York. — You dont mean G. M. Anderson, do you? Julia Mackley was
the wife in "The Ranchman's Anniversary." Dolores Costello was the child in "She
Never Knew" (Vitagraph). Maurice Costello is now traveling.

L. M., Montgomery.— Buster Roswell Johnson was the child in " 'Twixt Love and
Ambition."

W. J. K.— The title was "The Telltale Shell." Such questions as "How long does
it take Jack Richardson to grow a beard?" and "Was the mirror broken into 118
pieces?" are too silly to answer. Besides, you take up our time in reading them.

Anok, Fresno. — We presume there have been several companies in Fresno, but we
know of no particular company stationed there.

F. R. W., San Francisco. — Your questions were against the rules.

Unsigned. — You have Edwin August placed correctly. Mabel Trunnelle was Mrs.
Vale in "Thorns of Success" (Majestic).

S. C, Kansas City. — We never heard of "The Sunset Gun" being Marc McDermott's
masterpiece.

E. B., New Britain. — See elsewhere for Warren Kerrigan's address.

N. E., Meridian. — And you, too, my dear, ask questions against the rules.

"Dumpling." — Mignon Anderson is with Thanhouser in New Rochelle, N. Y., and
G. M. Anderson in Niles, Cal., so how can they play together?

"VioLETTA." — In "His Life" Ormi Hawley was Edwin August's sweetheart, but we
dont know who was his other sweetheart at the mask ball. Charles Arthur was the
rival in "The Last Rose of Summer." Other questions answered.

A. L. A. D.. Buffalo. — Tom Powers is still playing ; Crane Wilbur is still in Jersey
City, and see Warren Kerrigan's address elsewhere.

"West Virginia Kid." — Guy Coombs is playing with Kalem. You refer to Edward
Coxen. We cannot give the age of G. M. Anderson exactly, but it is somewhere between
twenty and fifty.

J. L. S., Newman. — Alice Joyce has been playing for Kalem about three years.
Beverly Bayne was the waitress in "An Adamless Eden." Marion Cooper is known as
an expert swimmer.

Buck, D. V. — Charles Ogle plays George Washington parts for Edison.

J. B. H., San Diego. — Thank you for your kind offer.

Olga, 17. — She had a real fall in the pictures. And so you want to be an actress.
Will pass your verse along to the editor. We have no other magazines pertaining to
Motion Pictures, but there are the trade publications. Flora Finch was Miss Tullom.
The girls are not on the cast in "The Professor and the Lady" (Vitagraph).

M. S., New York. — We have not heard Florence Lawrence's decision as yet.

PATHETS WEEKLY

A perfect film for particular people, por-
traying the movements of current events
with a fidelity unattainable by any other
method of publicity.

pathos weekly

Covers the globe with a lens rocused on
the world-happenings of universal interest
and reproduces, thousands of miles away,
the scenes as they occurred.

pathe's Weekly

Is a glorified illustrated weekly magazine,
with the "pages" turned for you while
you are comfortably seated in the cozy
theater in your neighborhood.

PATHE'S WEEKLY

Speaks an intelligible language to every
nationality, and makes its appeal to people
of every tongue, race, creed or age, and
will appeal to you.

If It's Interesting It's In

PATHE'S WEEKLY

156 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Latjry, N. Y. — Her name is pronounced Gawnt-teer, sometimes Gawnt-te-air. Flor-
ence Turner is one of the leading ladies of Vitagraph. By writing to the Independent
exchanges, you could find out where Independent houses are located in New York.

Dix. — Maurice Costello lives in Brooklyn when he is here, but he is now traveling.
You refer to Betty Gray. We are waiting for "Trix."

"Constant Reader," Bridgeport. — We wont tell which is the best-looking, Carlyle
Blackwell, Warren Kerrigan or Gilbert Anderson. Each has his admirers. Miss Logan
was Lou Starbuck in "The Starbucks" (American).

Carolyn D. — Harry Myers is still with Lubin. Edwin Carewe was Harold Noyes
in "The Moonshiner's Daughter." Write to Keystone, and you will reach Mabel Nor-
mand. Other questions answered before.

Trix. — So you are here! Please dont make any threats against the Answer Man.
And, above all, dont ask questions pertaining to matrimony. Warren Kerrigan played in
"The Weakling," "The Weaker Brother," "The Power of Love," "Pals," and lots of
others. He plays for American. You refer to E. K. Lincoln. Anna Stewart was lead-
ing lady in "Wood Violet."

Plunkett.— No relationships.

H. M. C. — Mrs. Costello was the child's nurse in "Six o'Clock." C. G. P. C. stands
for foreign Pathe Freres pictures. G. M. Anderson is his correct name. He has played
parts other than Broncho Billy.

M. E., Waterloo. — Howard Missimer was Old Buckley in "The Scheme" (Essanay).
"How Moving Pictures Are Made and Worked" can be had from us. Write to Thomas
A. Edison, Inc., Orange, N. J.

"Agatha," Wilmington. — Hazel Neason was Sarah Curtis in "The Young Million-
aire" (Kalem). Neva Gerber was the sweetheart in "The Flower Girl's Romance"
(Kalem). Earle Williams' chat June, 1912. Edward Coxen and Marin Sais had the
leads in "The Pony Express Girl."

Blondy M., Wheeling. — Lillian Christy was the girl in "When Youth Meets Youth."
Send your letter to Kalem Co., and they will forward it to Carlyle.

Betty B., Wheeling. — You refer to Edward Coxen. We dont know what to tell
you about Carlyle, except that he is still acting. Why not look up his chat in July, 1912 ?

Bert, Bunny & Co. — Sarah Bernhardt does not pose for Champion. Other questions
too foolish.

N. C. — Questions against the rules.

Eva M. — Alice Joyce did not play in "The Informer." Mildred Bracken was the girl
in "Linked by Fate" (Melies).

I. O. U. — We believe all the advertisements in our magazine are reliable.

Kentucky Girl.— See above for your questions.

Anthony, New Orleans. — Brinsley Shaw was the mine-owner, True Boardman
the foreman, Virginia Ames his wife, and William Todd the boss's henchman in "The
Boss of Katy Mine" (Essanay). Marguerite Ne Moyer was Mabel, and Walter Stull
was Paul in "Down with the Men." Frank Tobin was Robert in "The House of His
Master" (Selig). )

J. J., New Haven. — Maurice Costello's father was Irish, and his mother Spanish.

"A Much Interested Reader."— Hereafter, please save your stamps. We do not
care to hear from you again, nor to answer your questions.

R. A., Brooklyn. — There is no Fannie Sanford with Vitagraph now.

J. P., Chicago. — Glad you like your book of "Pictures of Popular Picture Players."
Alice Joyce did not play in "The Bread Winners."

The Pest. — We will have to tell Vitagraph to give George Cooper other parts be-
sides the "crook." But, still, he seems to make such a very nice little crook.

M. S., New York. — The "fellow with the beautiful teeth" was E. K. Lincoln. Write
to Lubin for pictures.

V. A. G., New York. — William Duncan was the son in "The Cowboy's Mother."

"Two G. M. A. Fans." — That is practically all the Western Essanay produce — cow-
boy or Western pictures. Mr. Spoor does not play in the pictures. He is too busy count-
ing the money. He is in Chicago.

E. A. E., New York. — Your question is, properly, one for the Technical Bureau, or
for some trade publication. It is not in our line to state how much it will cost to start
a Moving Picture factory in your town. To do it right, it would cost a great many
thousand dollars, and you could make it cost as much as $100,000. Then, again, you
might do it on a small scale, with very little money. You had better get in touch with
somebody who can advise you in detail.

G. A. C, Montreal. — We dont understand what you mean when you say : "Is there
any company buying scenarios dealing in air stories?" If you mean aeroplane stories,
'most any company might use them. We presume the British- American Film Co. purchase
scenarios.

George, Erie, Pa. — We are afraid there is no chance for you in the pictures. There
are too many trying to get in. Many are called, but few are chosen.

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158 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Flo G. D., Nebraska. — Rose Tapley was Grace, and Courtney Foote her husband in
"Susie to Suzanne." In "The Stroke Oar" (Lubin) Dorothy Mortimer and Charles
Compton had the leads. Mrs. Mary Maurice was the mother-in-law in "His Mother-in-
Law." "She Never Knew" (Vitagraph) was in the April, 1912. You have only to en-
close a stamped, addressed envelope when you want your questions returned to you
answered immediately, and when you want a list of the manufacturers.

Dorothy D. — Cleo Ridgely was the lead in "Leaves in the Storm" (Rex), and
Phillips Smalley played opposite. Walter Hitchcock was Fred, Billy Mason was Arthur,
and Ruth Stonehouse was Miriam in "The Stain" (Essanay).

R. K., Toronto. — Our Technical Bureau has been abandoned. Most people were
unwilling to pay for valuable expert information.

Mary C, Worcester. — Lubin and Edison have both printed pictures of their studios.
We know of no such picture as you describe.

Winnie. — Jean Darnell was Edith in "Put Yourself in His Place" (Thanhouser).

L. M. F., Buffalo. — Questions answered before.

E. L. G. (Maxie).— Mme. Pascal was the girl in "The Adopted Child" (Pathe
Freres). Cannot answer about "The Blighted Son."

D. B., Brooklyn. — Miss Mason was the wife, Joseph De Grasse the husband, and
the child is unknown in "The Redman's Friendship." J. Steppling was the stout man,
and Whitney Raymond the smaller in "Miss Simkins' Summer Boarder" (Essanay).
Paul C. Hurst and Carlyle Blackwell were the brothers in "When Youth Meets Youth."
Harry Beaumont is with the New York Edison.

E. D., 'Frisco. — Harry Wulze was Shorty, and Mae Marsh the girl in "Kentucky
Girl" (Kalem). Joseph Gebhart was the rejected suitor in "Jealousy on the Ranch."
John E. Brennan was Pat in "Pat the Soothsayer."

E. M. M., Galveston. — Harry Benham and Taku Takagi had the leads in "Miss
Taku of Tokio" (Thanhouser).

W. E. H. — You refer to Mary Pickford. We shall not use her picture, because she
is no longer a Motion Picture actress.

Betty C. B. — Alice Joyce and Thomas Moore play together. Carlyle Blackwell is in
Glendale, Cal.

E. L. W., San Francisco. — Sorry, but we cannot help you get a position.

A. C, San Francisco. — We believe that Pathe's Weekly and Vitagraph took
pictures of the Equitable Life fire in New York last winter.

Bonne Fille. — J. J. Clark played opposite Gene Gauntier in "The Mayor from
Ireland." Cannot tell you about that old Biograph. Florence Lawrence is not with
Independents any more.

A. P. R., New York. — Glad you like Robert Gaillord. He has many other admirers.
Guess you won£ see that Biograph again, as it probably has been destroyed by now.

James F. — Mrs. Smith played in 'most everything Charles Hoyte produced.

D. V., Philadelphia. — Lillian Christy was the girl in "The Plot That Failed"
(Kalem). She is now with the American.

Herman H., Buffalo. — Gene Gauntier, Jack Clark and Sidney Olcott have left
Kalem and are playing in the Gene Gauntier Motion Picture Co., 145 West Forty-fifth
Street, New York.

S. Wood & Co. — Edgar Jones and Clara Williams had the leads in "The Deputy's
Peril" (Kalem).

Flossie of Brooklyn. — It is like pulling teeth to get the Answer Man's name, isn't
it? Only it's harder.

Edythe H. — Marguerite Snow and James Cruze had the leads in "The Triangle"
(Thanhouser). Cannot tell you about the "Cactus County Lawyer."

Mary Anne, Buffalo. — Helen Gardner was Becky in "Vanity Fair." Back num-
bers sell for 15c. a copy.

J. P. N., Chicago. — Flora Foster is with Thanhouser.

Percy A. — We wouldn't want to begin to give you the names of the different
companies taking pictures in California. Neva Gerber in "The Water-Right War," and
not Ruth Roland.

I. E., Mass. — George Stewart was Phil in "In the Garden Fair." Myrtle Stedman
was the wife in "The Saint and the Siwash." Bryant Washburn was the betrayer in
"Sunshine" (Essanay). E. H. Calvert was Slivers in "The Redemption of Slivers"
(Essanay). Henry W'althall was the District Attorney in "The District Attorney's
Conscience" (Reliance). Mildred Weston was the girl in "When Wealth Torments."

B. M., New York. — The "Buster in Dreamland" pictures were taken in Philadel-
phia. Buster Roswell Johnson was Buster.

M. E., Cumberland. — Bessie Sankey is G. M. Anderson's leading lady. Vedah
Bertram was with the Essanay about two years. Others questions answered elsewhere.
Flossie P. C, Chicago. — Crane Wilbur was not in "The Country Boy."
Christy M., Texas. — Paul Panzer and Gwendoline Pates had the leads in "A
Stern Destiny" (Pathe Freres). You also refer to Betty Gray.

TRIAL

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All the Newt of the Trade : Synopses
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Inventions : Film Releases : Film Re-
views : Trade Chat : Pianists' Dept.

Alfred H. Saunders
Editor

r JpictUtC JlfcWS {he recognized
authority on all matters relating to the ^Coving
^Picture Industry : Fully Illustrated : {Brimful
of Interesting Information : I Oc a copy
$2. 00 a year : Sample Copy, 5c in stamps

Published every Saturday by THE CINEMATOGRAPH PUBLISHING CO.
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Regular contributors

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IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN A COPY OF "THE CALDRON"
MAGAZINE, YOU HAVE MISSED SOMETHING

Jrvi/bh, trouble), t&i7&nc/!Th&£>Ll ,

Sample copy 10c; one year's subscription $1.00. See clubbing offer on another page of

The Motion Picture Story Magazine.
THE CALDRON PUBLISHING CO., 26 COURT ST., BROOKLYN, N. Y.

160 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

H. J., Ind. ; J. L., M. K., N. Y. C. — Have all been answered before.

S. W. — Earle Foxe was the secretary in "The Combination of the Safe." Robyn
Adair was Bob and Mary Ryan was Mary in "The Forest Rangers."

G. M. Franz. — Edwin August happens to be in California now, so we cant deliver
your message. Ormi Hawley was Rosabel in "The Good-for-Nothing."

B. G. M., Zanesville. — Write direct to Lubin for photos of players.

Phillis. — Lottie Briscoe had the lead in "The Stolen Symphony." Charles Brandt
was Mr. Winchester, in the same play.

H. M., Rochester. — Pauline Bush played opposite Warren Kerrigan in "One, Two,
Three." The average length of a film is 1000 feet

Helen K., Fort Leavenworth. — Harry Myers was the derelict in "The Derelict's
Return" (Lubin).

Henry R., Beloit. — Warren Kerrigan was in "Jack of Diamonds."

C. J. B., La Grange. — Cleo Ridgely was Lady Lillith in "The Troubadour's
Triumph" (Rex). Both Costello children are in "The Toymaker" (Vitagraph).

Cresentia. — The picture you sent was of Ann Drew and Marguerite Snow.
Ofeiceress 666. — Robyn Adair was the forest ranger in "The Forest Ranger."
L. D. — Mildred Bracken and Frank Fernandez had the leads in "The Remittance
Man" (Melies)). Frank Fernandez was the grandson in "True Till Death."

B. B., Brooklyn. — Romaine Fielding was Juan in "The Senorita's Conquest"
(Lubin). What company, please?

V. M., Memphis. — Walter Edwin was James Oakley in "The Non-Commissioned
Officer" (Edison). Crane Wilbur has played in "The Compact," "The Three Bachelors'
Turkey," "A Simple Maid" and "The Receiving Teller."

C. H. E. A., Falmouth. — Paul Panzer was the Swiss in "The Parachute Maker"
(Pathe). "The Light That Failed" (Pathe) was taken at Jersey City and Newport,
R. I. The little girl in "The Fatherhood of Buck McGee" is unknown.

M. H., Mo. — Harry Beaumont was not born in St. Joseph, but in New York City.
Other questions answered.

Medora, Windham. — Harry Mainhall played the part of Jack Tenny in "The Voice
of Conscience" (Essanay). You refer to Brinsley Shaw in "An Indian Sunbeam"
(Essanay). Marie Carewe was the girl, Edwin Carewe was the brother and Earle
Metcalf was the sweetheart in "A Girl's Bravery" (Lubin).

S. L., Hopkinsville. — Dorothy Mortimer was Dorothy and Charles Compton was
Billy in "Caught Bluffing" (Lubin). Harry Myers did not play in "The Old Chess-
board" (Lubin). Wallace Reid did not play in "Trapped by Fire" (Bison).

Cherrie B. — Marshall Neilan and Jessalyn Van Trump were the second couple to
get married in "One, Two, Three" (American). Jack Richardson got the wager. Mar-
guerite Snow and William Garwood were the married couple and William Russell was
the other father in "The Little Girl Next Door" (Thanhouser) . James Cooley in "Tne Fur
Smugglers" (Reliance). Lila Chester was the nurse in "The Professor's Son."

Billy and Bobby. — Richard Stanton was the villain in "The Border Parson"
(Melies). Other questions answered.

M. L. D., Philadelphia. — Lois Webber was the wife in "Leaves in the Storm"
(Rex). Vedah Bertram's picture was in August, 1912.

Marie W. — Edwin Carewe was the artist in "Moonshiner's Daughter" (Lubin).

Olga 17 (Alias 16). — W. A. Williams was the lover in "At the Burglar's Com-
mand" (Pathe). You refer to Edward Smith in the "Obsession" (Melies).

M. B. L., Penn. — Sorry, but we cannot give you that title, because Lubia omitted
to answer.

N. V., San Francisco. — "The Charge of the Light Brigade" (Edison) was taken
in Wyoming. Francis Bushman chat in February, 1912.

"An Interested Reader." — William Garwood has never taken female parts. Leo
Delaney interview soon.

Vivian, Marian na. — Carl Winter hoff and Winnifred Greenwood had the leads in
"Into the Genuine" (Selig). J. W. Johnson had the lead in "Saved at the Altar"
(Pathe). Ruth Roland had the lead in "The Woman Hater." Lottie Briscoe and
Raymond Hackett played in "A Child's Devotion" (Lubin). Violet Hemming was Lady
Claire in the play by that title.

Bertha Girlie. — The Thanhouser Kidlet was the half-brother in "Her Secret."

M. K. — Florence LaBadie and William Russell had the leads in "Thru the Flames"
(Thanhouser). Riley Chamberlin was Mary's father in "Mary's Goat" (Thanhouser).
There are eleven Licensed companies.

G. M., Nashville. — Robert H. Grey was Dan in "The Regeneration of Worthless
Dan" (Nestor).

Florence H. — James Cruze had the lead in "Called Back." Marie Eline is the
Thanhouser Kid.

Plunket. — Fritzi Brunnette was Fritzi in "The Housekeeper" (Powers). May
Buckley is playing in stock.

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162 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

G. M. C, Columbus. — Bryant Washburn and Ruth Stonehouse had the leads in
"Chains" (Essanay). Harry Myers is one of the leading men of Lubin.

Jessaline L., Ashland. — Darwin Karr was Tom Harland in "The Idol Worshiper"
(Solax). Warren Kerrigan has been playing for three years.

M. P. E. S. Pendleton. — "The Unseen Enemy" was not a Thanhouser.

Virginia. — Warren Kerrigan is located at Santa Barbara, Cal. Others answered.

V. J. O., De Kalb. — James Cruze was Richard's father in "Lucille" (Thanhouser).

Olga 17. — Sorry, Olga, but we cannot answer those Selig questions. We think
Carlyle would talk to you if you spoke to him on the street He is very nice that way.

Harrietts M. — Marie Weirman played the part of Marie Forrest in "By the Sea"
(Lubin). The "New Squire" was taken at London, England, by the Edison.

H. T., V. M. C, Brooklyn ; Flossie P. C, Chicago ; The Boarding School Trio,
Chicago ; Flossie L. L. L. P. and Mary G. — Your questions have been answered before.

R. W., Passaic. — Owen Moore was the country boy in "The Winning Punch."

L. S., Chicago. — Dorothy Davenport was the girl in "Dad's Mistake" (Nestor).
Virginia Chester was Jess in "The Tattoo" (Bison). Baby Early was the girl in
"Golden Rod" (Powers).

Marie C. O. — Wallace Reid was Tom in "Indian Raiders" (Bison). We believe
"What the Driver Saw" was done in Philadelphia.

P. A. W., Dallas. — Drucilla Casperson was the leading lady in "The Sleeper."

M. M., Brooklyn. — There is a James Moore with Lubin, and he was playing in
Brooklyn some time ago.

L. D. B., Los Angeles. — Gladys Field is not with Powers.

Jessaltne. — Harry Benham was the father in "The Warning" (Thanhouser).
Sorry, but we cannot get any information on those old Bison 101's.

C. D. R., Nashville. — Violet Reed was leading lady in "The Tongueless Man."

Irene S. — Hector Dion was the peddler's son, and Gertrude Robinson was Jennie
in "The Peddler's Find" (Reliance). William Garwood was the mail clerk in "The
Mail Clerk's Temptation."

La LoRRArNE. — "Jack Logan's Dog" was not a Kalem.

The Twins. — Hazel Boardman was the tomboy in "The Tomboy of Bar Z."
Ruth Roland was the heroine in "Death Valley Scotty's Mine." Judson Melford was a
boy of ten in "The Power of a Hymn" (Kalem). Norma Talmadge was the younger
girl in "Faithful Unto Death" (Vita.). Send stamps or money order for magazines.

J. H., New York. — You refer to Edna Payne and Mildred Bracken.

E. F. — The picture is of G. M. Anderson and Gladys Field.

E. W., Hopkinsville.— Edith Storey did not play in "The Debt."

Billy Girl. — Dont know whether she had false hair or not. Probably. Most girls
wear false hair, anyway. Fritzi Brunnette's picture in July, 1912. You mean Gertrude
Robinson.

R. B. G. — Most of your questions are against the rules. Dont know where you can
get a full list of names of players.

E. A., N. Y. — Clara Kimball Young is the girl with the crown on the Christmas tree.

G. A. B., Brooklyn. — You refer to Kathlyn Williams. We hope to publish pictures
of Robert Thornby and Frederick Church soon.

H. C, New York. — Maurice Costello expects to take pictures on his trip.

B. M., San Francisco. — Kathlyn Williams is still with Selig.

H. E. C, New York. — There is no General Mahone in the cast for "The Siege of
Petersburg" (Kalem.!.

P. S. B., Schenectady. — Do not ask about relationship.

A. D. F., Columbus. — Howard Missimer was the lead in "White Hope" (Essanay).
Pauline Bush and Jessalyn Van Trump play opposite Warren Kerrigan. Yes, we intend
to carry every month a few pages of criticisms, but that is not up to the Answer Man.

L. B. E. E. P. — Frank Lanning is now with Pathe Freres. Ruth Blackwell is still
with Kalem.

Bert A. — Margarita Fisher had the lead in "The Employer's Liability" (Nestor).
Harry Pollard played opposite her. Howard Missimer was Hink in "Three to One"
(Essanay). "The Garden of Allah" was produced by a feature company. Kalem were
going to produce "Ben Hur," but were stopped.

"Juliet," Brooklyn.— E. J. Hayes was the dying father in "The Voice of Con-
science" (Thanhouser). T. J. Carrigan was with Selig last we knew.

Johnny Canuck. — W. J. Kerrigan was the hero in "The Foreclosure" (American).
Mildred Bracken was the heroine in "Wrongfully Accused" (Melies). Whitney Ray-
mond was Joe Mason in "Miss Simkins' Summer Boarders" (Essanay).

A. F. A., Geneva. — Florence LaBadie was Cinderella and Mignon Anderson was the
girl in "Please Help the Poor" (Thanhouser).

E. C. G. — Richard Stanton was the father in "A Son's Example." Our writers
generally see the films, before writing the stories, but of course our stories come out in
most cases before the films &re released.

owenit

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- FiAYem

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12 ** Eagle Eye » 13 Mr. Chas. Kent 14 Miss Clara Kimball Young 15 Adele de
Garde 16 " Eagle Eye " 17 Miss Anne Schaefer 18 Mr. Charles Eldridge 19 Mr.
Tom Powers 20 Mr. "William Shea 21 Miss Norma Talmadge 22 Miss Rosemary
Theby 23 Mr. Van Dyke Brooke 24 Miss Julia Swayne Gordon 25 Miss Lillian
Walker 26 Mr. James W. Morrison 27 Mr. Ralph Ince 28 Miss Florence Turner
29 Mr. John Bunny 30 Miss Zena Kiefe 31 Jean (Vitagraph Dog) 32 Mrs. Mary
Maurice 33 Mr. Tefft Johnson 34 Mr. Harry Morey 35 Mr. Robert Gaillord
36 Miss Leah Baird 37 Mr. W. V. Ranous 38 Mrs. Kate Price 39 Mr. Marshall
P. Wilder 40 Mr. Wm. Humphrey

Address PUBLICITY DEPARTMENT, VITAGRAPH COMPANY OF AMERICA
E. 15th STREET and LOCUST AVENUE, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

164 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Rosaline. — Adelaide Lawrence was the little girl in "The Little Wanderer"
(Kalem). Hazel Neason was her stepmother. Other questions answered before.

Chubby C holly. — Watch ad. for the Ridgely's. Visitors are not allowed in the
studios. Dave Wall and Elsie Albert had the leads in "A Leg and a Legacy" (Powers).
Leona Radnor looks just like she does in the picture of her.

H. A. Y. — Carlyle Blackwell was Tom, William West was Mr. Lane in "Freed from
Suspicion" (Kalem). Whether Florence Turner is serious or rather giddy, we would
not undertake to say. Better read her chat. Crane Wilbur was not in "The Burglar's
Command" (Pathe). Harry Cashman was the priest in (Essanay's) "Sunshine." He
died on December 14th. John E. Brennan was Prof. Bunko in "Pat the Soothsayer."
The Kalem Kalendar sells for 10 cents a copy, we believe.

10-1-16, Columbus. — Eddie Lyons played in "Three Lovesick Cowboys" (Nestor).
In "When the Heart Calls" (Nestor), William Carrol painted the black donkey white.

Herman H., Buffalo. — Old films have no economic value. They are generally
burned. When obtained in large quantities, a by-product can be obtained in the form
of metallic silver from the ashes, but this is very seldom.

Mignon. — There is no Alfred in "Lady In White" (Thanhouser).

M. F., Brooklyn.— Jack Hopkins was Jack in "The Debt" (Rex). Evelyn Domi-
nicis was Nannie in "The Little Minister" (Vitagraph). Walter Scott was Buck in
"Old Fidelity" (Essanay). J. W. Johnstone was Pentworth in "The Reporter" (Pathe
Freres). In "An Irish Girl's Love" (Lubin), Ethel Clayton was the girl. "Colleen
Bawn" was storyized in our October, 1911, issue.

Flossie and Sylva. — -Guess you mean Warren Kerrigan. William Shay played
opposite Vivian Prescott in "Franchan, the Cricket" (Imp).

A. C. B. — Eddie Lyons and Louise Glaum had the leads in "Making a Man of Him"
(Nestor). Gladys Field was the daughter in "The Railroad and the Widow" (Powers).
Gladys Field was also the wife of Mr. Anderson in "The Strike at Little Johnny Mine."

W. S., Portsmouth. — Florence Lawrence was leading lady in "All for Love."

"Mac." — Imp cannot give us the information on "Count In-Bad."

"Three Pies." — Afraid you are what they call a growler. Glad that Warren
Kerrigan's neck, at least, pleases you. Costello may give you the "pipps," but he
seems to suit everybody else pretty well. As for Madame Blanche's gray suede shoes,
we are very sorry indeed that they do not meet with your approval. No douot when she
sees this, she will buy a new pair.

T. R., Oakland. — We haven't a Vitagraph poster on hand. Anita Stewart was Pert
Dawson, and Lillian Walker was Ruby in "Billy's Pipe-Dream."

II M. L., Brooklyn. — Hand-coloring of films must be done with great accuracy.
When projecting a twenty-foot picture upon a screen, each image of the film is magni-
fied about 58,000 times its original size, the pictures upon the screen being 240 times as
wide and 240 times as high as the picture in the film. Thus, a variation in placing the
coloring by hand of one sixty-fourth of an inch will bring the color four inches away
from where it belongs on the screen.

Diana D. — Please dont write in and ask if what we said in previous issues was
true. If we make a mistake, we soon learn of it, and it is corrected in the next issue.
Haven't heard about Gladys Field. Harry Benham played opposite Marguerite Snow in
"Romance of the U. S. N." .

E. J. P., New York. — Thomas Santschi was the prisoner in "The Ones Who Suffer."
Sa Ra. — Leo Delaney was John Millais in "Love of John Ruskin" (Vitagraph).

F. M. M., Iowa. — Francis Ne Moyer was the girl in "No Trespassing" (Lubin).
Anna Nilsson was the girl in "The Fraud at the Hope Mine" (Kalem).

T. S., Chicago. — Miss West, Evelyn Francis and Zena Keefe were the girls in
"Three Girls and a Man." Carl King was the young millionaire.

M. D., Long Island. — Brinsley Shaw was the villain in "Broncho Billy's Narrow
Escape" (Essanay). Myrtle Stedman was Ed's sister in "Between Love and Law."
You refer to Ormi Hawley.
', Gladys G. G. — Your questions were sent in all right. They have been answered.

Marion M., London. — Mary Ryan was the girl in "The Uprising" (Lubin). We
believe the picture was taken in Arizona.

Little Mary C. — No, no, the Keystone is an Independent company, and not run by
Biograph. Tom Powers still with Vitagraph.

The Norwegian Subscribers. — The Answer Man desires to thank you for the kind
Christmas remembrance. Hope you continue to send in your questions.

"Interested." — A film may be damaged more with a single run on a bad projecting
machine, than a large number of runs thru a perfect machine with a careful operator
and in an operating room free from dust. Does that explain it?

Dorothy D. — Roger Lytton was the father in "Wood Violet" (Vitagraph). Anna
Stewart and Roger Lytton are regular players. Other questions answered before.

T. H., Notre Dame. — Priscilla and John Casperson were the children in "A Child's
Prayer" (Lubin). There is no penalty for showing uncensored pictures.

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EIGHT PICTURES FREE

This Offer Will Not Last Long!
Take Advantage of it Now!

Upon receipt of $1.50 in two-cent stamps, money order or check, we will send you
The Motion Picture Story Magazine for one year and mail to you at once eight
beautiful colored pictures of popular players. They are fine examples of the lithogra-
pher's art, the many colors blending into harmonious tones that quite equal the original
paintings from which the pictures were made. We present you with these pictures FREE,
postage prepaid, at once.

Besides this, we will send you four more colored pictures of the same kind, one each
month.

These portraits are reproduced on fine heavy coated paper of size suitable for
framing, and will make handsome decorations for your homes. They are not for sale and
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The portraits alone are valued at 50c. each. The twelve portraits and one year's sub-
scription are now offered to you for only $1.50.

LIST OF PORTRAITS

ALICE JOYCE CARLYLE BLACKWELL

MAURICE COSTELLO G. M. ANDERSON

ARTHUR JOHNSON MILDRED BRACKEN

MARY FULLER FRANCIS X. BUSHMAN

On another page you will find, for your convenience,
you may send with your remittance if desired.

FLORENCE LAWRENCE
MARION LEONARD
GWENDOLEN PATES
FLORENCE TURNER

a subscription coupon which

I DONT LET THIS OPPORTUNITY GO BY

ORDER NOW, BEFORE THE SUPPLY IS EXHAUSTED

Francis X. Bushman has left Essanay. He expects to spend January in appearing,
personally, at the Motion Picture theaters ; then he will be open for engagement.
He will be a valuable man for any company.

G. M. Anderson spent Christmas with his mother in New York.

The Christmas season will last a long time for the Motion Picture public. The
several Christmas films will be seen all thru January, in most theaters, and that will
help to make us remember the Christmas spirit.

We have just received a petition, signed by many admirers of William Wallace Reid,
asking us to print a picture of that popular player. The petition "took," as witness our
Gallery this month.

New Motion Picture publications seem to be springing up every day, like mush-
rooms— but let us hope that they will live longer. The latest is a five-cent magazine.
Good ! The more, the merrier !

Roy McCardell, the artist and writer, has joined the army of photoplay writers.

Alice Joyce's latest is Betsy Ross, maker of the first American flag, in "The Flag of
Freedom."

Gene Gauntier, Jack Clark and Sidney Olcott have left Kalem and gone Independ-
ent, in a company of their own. There is so much shifting around, these days, that we
never can be sure who's who, what's what, and where they all be.

And the great riddle is still unsettled — Who is the prettiest of the Essanay quartet
of pretty girls: Ruth Stonehouse, Dolores Cassinelli, Beverly Bayne, or Mildred
Weston? And, now, they are asking us to have a contest, to settle the question. The
vote, so far, seems to be about even.

Jack Richardson (American) continues to be a very popular villain. Too bad! He
should reform.

And now Los Angeles has a Reel Club, with Fred Mace (Keystone) as the principal
reeler. With the Screen Club in the East, and the Reel Club in the West, Motion
Picture people ought to have ample protection, these wintry evenings, against the cold
and crool world.

The divine Sarah Bernhardt is now a Motion Picture "fan" as well as a player.

King Baggot, of the Imps, is good in many different types of plays, but he is most
charming of all when he is playing with children. It is said that Mr. Baggot's great
hobby is telling fairy tales to little girls and swapping marbles with little boys. All
the children like him.

Gwendoline Pates, of Pathe Freres, has a host of mail admirers — or male admirers,
if you prefer it that way. She has received many a proposal of marriage, with a two-
cent stamp on it, but they have not, any of them, taken effect as yet. "Not married yet,
I should say not," says pretty Miss Gwen, "nor likely to be, thank goodness."

Handsome, Vitagraph Robert Gaillord is the despair of the ladies. His mother is his
favorite woman acquaintance, and he positively refuses to be a lion or a matinee idol
to a host of admirer-esses who would like to meet him. So reserved is he, that few
people know that a short time ago he took a severe cold from leaping into the water, in
a picture, and narrowly escaped death.

166

SPECIAL FEATURES

SPECIAL MULTIPLE REEL FEATURES

TWO AND THREE REEL SPECIAL FEATURE RELEASED MONDAYS AND FRIDAYS

Jan. 20,
1913

PATHE
2 Reels

The Ways of Destiny

COLORED PHOTOGRAPHY

Horace Blackwell being mortally injured by lightning striking the tree beneath which he was
standing, tells his adopted daughter, Dorothy, of her parentage and how she, a tiny mite, was found on
his doorstep. He gives her the locket found about her neck containing the picture of a beautiful woman,
and which he believes to be her mother. With Horace Blackwell's death, Dorothy is dispossessed of her
home, and because- of jealousy of her charm and beauty, she is forced into the ranks of the unemployed.
She, however, finds' employment in a department store, but is accused of theft and brought before the
proprietor, who questions her closely as to her history. Her story, together with the locket and picture,
solves the mystery of her birth, and Dorothy finds a home with her father.

Jan. 17,

1913

The Mexican Spy

LUBIN
2 Reels

Tom Loring, a handsome but dissipated youth, loves Mary Lee, daughter of the regiment's pay-
master. In order to pay his gambling debts to the Mexican, Senor Rivera, supposedly rich but in reality
a spy, Tom steals $5,000 from the paymaster's safe. The Mexican threatens exposure unless Tom secures
the plans of certain forts in the Southwest, but Mary hears of the situation and pawns her jewels to
replace the stolen money. Realizing the sorrow he has caused his father and sweetheart, Tom disappears,
leaving a note that he will not return until he has redeemed himself. He enlists under an assumed name
and his regiment is ordered to the Mexican frontier. Mary becomes a Red Cross nurse and is also
ordered to the Mexican border. Tom's bravery and strategy during a desperate encounter with the
Mexicans under Rivera win him promotion to lieutenant, but he is seriously wounded, and Mary is
greatly surprised to find among her patients her lover. Her careful nursing restores him to health, and
having redeemed his former misdeeds by his faithful and heroic service to his country, he claims Mary
for his wife.

Jan. 13,

1913

The Little Minister

VITAGRAPH
3 Reels

A young Scotch minister falls in love with a Gypsy girl. The ban of the "Kirk" and the con-
demnation of the austere town folk intervene as a barrier to their marriage. Unexpected circumstances
of a startling nature happen, and their prejudice and intolerance are removed. Love conquers, the "Little
Minister" and "Babbie" are married.

Jan. 10,
1913

The Wives of Jamestown

KALEM
2 Reels

Bryan O'Sullivan, an Irish lad of humble birth, rescues Lady Geraldine from drowning as her boat
capsizes, thereby meriting her lasting gratitude. Forgetful of his station, Bryan falls madly in love with
Lady Geraldine, who momentarily listens to his pleadings. Her acceptance of attentions from O'Rourke
angers Bryan and he upbraids her for falseness. The nobleman draws his sword, but Bryan wrenches it
from his hand and breaks it to pieces. Knowing that he cannot now remain, Bryan bids farewell to Lady
Geraldine and sails for America. Bryan O'Sullivan, Irishman, becomes John Pierce, Colonist of James-
town, Virginia. Years later Lady Geraldine suffers many vicissitudes; her castle is besieged by the
Cromwellians and she, with many others, is sent to Jamestown to be sold to the colonists as wives. John
Pierce is startled to see Lady Geraldine, but she fails to recognize him because of a heavy beard. Seeing
that he is an honest man, she offers to become his wife. He takes her to' his cottage and stepping into
another room shaves off his beard, and begins to play the flute, which he so loved in days gone by. Lady
Geraldine, who is about to end her life, hears the music, and stepping to the door, recognizes John Pierce,
her husband, as Bryan O'Sullivan, her lover, and love claims its own.

GENERAL FILM CO.

168 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Kinemacolor is crying "Stop ! Hold ! Enough !" Having gained a reputation for
pageant plays, their offices are deluged with costume scenarios, fairy tales, mythological,
moyen age, Greek and Roman tales, all calling for elaborate and expensive costumes
and accessories. Hence the wail : "Stop ! Hold ! Enough !"

Elizabeth Emmett, of Pathe Freres, says that she has never been before the public
gaze in the columns of the press but once, and that was when she fell heir to all of New
York from Fulton Street to the Battery. To be sure, this remarkable inheritance (con-
taining, among other things, Trinity Church and the Whitehall Building) was hers only
for a day, and then existed solely in the imagination of a cub reporter, but it was some
property to come so near owning.

Harry Benham (Thanhouser) has a wife and family, and^he is proud of it. Young
ladies will please take notice.

Harry Cashman, a popular Essanay player, died in Chicago, December 14.

Mabel Trunnelle and Herbert Prior are back with Edison, to make glad the hearts
of thousands of their old admirers.

After a part of this magazine went to press, the sad news came that Will Carleton,
the great poet, editor and lecturer, died at Brooklyn, December 11. He has written for
this magazine, and he was one of the judges in our Great Mystery Play. We all feel
our loss keenly, as also must all the world.

Guy Hedlund has left Edison and joined Eclair. Dear me ! this department is going
to be anything but bright this month, but it will be newsy.

Maurice Costello will soon be heard from in some new Vitagraph pictures, altho
he is still on his trip around the world with a party of Vitagraph players.

Mae Hotely, of the Jacksonville Lubin Company, is now a motorboat enthusiast.

The Vitagraph Company bought several hundred turkeys on December 24, and every
employee was presented with one, and some were presented with presents of a more
lasting nature. Altogether, Christmas cost the Vitagraph just $24,000.

King Baggot, chief of the Imps, has taken unto himself a wife. Again, ladies, please
take note.

Evelyn Selbie has left Melies and joined the Western Essanay staff.

Yes, beginning next month, we shall start another Popular Player contest. It will
be the biggest and best ever conducted in this country, or in any other.

Cines' "The Lion Tamer's Revenge" came in like a lion, and went out like a lamb.
It was a pretty good picture, tho, but the lions omitted to eat the villain.

Marshall Nielan has left the American Company and joined Kalem. Edward Coxen
has left Kalem and joined the American. A fair exchange is no robbery.

The Christmas issue of Motography was fine. So was that of The Mutual Observer;
both are M. P. trade publications, and good ones.

Eleanor Blanchard (Essanay) spent the holidays with her folks in New York.

Jean, the Vitagraph dog, is the happy mother of six little ones. Mother and children
all doing nicely, thank you.

Sir Thomas Lipton is the latest world celebrity to appear in Motion Pictures.

Gentle reader — also the ungentle ones — do you know that it is cruel, hard work
getting these jottings together for you? The publicity men of the different companies
simply wont help. The "Jotter" has to go around with a fine-toothed rake, to get any
news at all. Hard raking, these holiday times, it is.

Chats have been "taken" with Fred Mace, Ralph Ince, Marguerite Loveridge, Julia
Stuart, Howard Mitchell, Eleanor Caines, Muriel Ostriche, William Russell, Florence
Lawrence, Gwendoline Pates, and others, which will appear soon.

Flo LaBadie liked the idea of wintering in Los Angeles, but she feared homesickness,
so she asked her mother along. Mother went. With Jean Darnell, they rented a prettv
little cottage near the Thanhouser studio. But fawncy Father LaBadie— he has a large
Harlem fiat on his hands, and no one to keep house !

100 v

ELPS

TO LIVE

EARS

This little book is from the
pen of " The Photoplay Phi-
losopher," otherwise known as
" Dr. Sunbeam." It contains
100 terse, pithy, common-
sense paragraphs on

RIGHT LIVING

and should be read by every-
body who wants to live 1 00
years.

Mailed to any address on re-
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CALDRON PUB. CO.

24 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

HELP WANTED

MEN AJTD WOMEN WANTED FOR GOVERN-
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Send postal immediately for free list of positions open.
FRANKLIN INSTITUTE, DEP'T K-129. ROCHESTER, N. Y.

SUBSCRIPTION REPRESENTATIVES WANTED

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE
IV ANTS SUBSCRIPTION REPRESENTATIVES

in all parts of the country. The work is easy and profitable.
There is a very rapidly increasing demand for our magazine.
Whether you are a man or woman, you can make big money by
taking advantage of our proposition. Write today for partic-
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26 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

U. S. GOVERNMENT needs thousands Railway Mail
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FKANKLIN INSTITUTE, DEP'T K-129, ROCHESTER, N. Y.

DECOME a Photoplay Actor or Actress.

*-* One of the most pleasant and well paid

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THE P. A. BOOKING OFFICES

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HOW I KILLED MY

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Society Leader Tells How New Home Method

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There are probably few women afflicted with the
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But at last a Scientist of recognized standing has
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Although many things
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though heavy the growth,
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actually destroy hair never to return.

If you are troubled with hair on the arms, so that
you are unable to wear short sleeves with comfort,
if you are afflicted with a growth of hair on the
face or on the neck, which interferes with your
peace of mind and spoils your feminine appearance,
you may have the full details for success, absolutely
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Try it at my expense. Write to-day.
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rrOI. DUmS, Dept. 92, New York

I will send, as long as they last, my 25 cent BOOK

STRONG ARMS

for 10c in stamps or coin

Illustrated with 20 full-page halftone cuts, show-
ing exercises that will quickly develop, beautify,
and gain great strength in your shoulders,
arms, and hands, without any apparatus.
PROF. ANTHONY BARKER
1393 Barker Bldg., 110 W. 42d St, New York

170 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Robert North, formerly stage director of the famous New Theater, New York, is
now directing for the Vitagraph Company.

About nineteen thousand verses and criticisms (more or less) have been received,
and we tried hard to get them in this issue. Crowded out. The popular players will
please try to wait another month to hear all the nice things that are said about them.

Marguerite Snow and James Cruze both prefer New Rochelle to Los Angeles. Each
had the chance to join the Thanhouser stock at the latter place, and "declined with
thanks." Which speaks well for the town that's "forty-five minutes from Broadway."

Lila Chester, the latest addition to the Thanhouser stock, is an orphan who keeps
house for her bachelor brother. And they say she is as fine a cook as she is a photo-
player.

Ann Drew, who played president of the suffragettes' club, in a recent comedy on
the suffrage question, is really recording secretary of a woman's suffrage organization in
the upper West Side section of New York City, where she lives, and recently read to
that body a long treatise on the divorce evil.

Helen Marten, the pretty "Gibson Girl" who once adorned Lubin pictures, is now
with the Eclair Company.

We expect to announce the prize-winners of the Great Mystery Play in the next
issue. Pity the judges, with about 3,000 manuscripts to wade thru.

Both Kalem and Vitagraph are running magazines of their own, and they are only
a dollar a year each. Motion Picture magazines are getting very popular. Everybody's
doing it.

Mr. Spedou's big, paper-covered book, "How and Where Moving Pictures Are Made,"
is modestly accredited to the Vitagraph Company, and this raises the momentous
question whether a corporation can write a book. But, whoever penned it, it is easily
worth the price, 25 cents.

Edison, also, runs a little monthly called Kinetogram. Next, they will be expand-
ing it into a regular magazine. We shall soon have plenty of reading !

"Little Mary" Pickford, lately of the Biograph Company, was playing in Baltimore,
Christmas week, and she was accosted on the street, at the stores and everywhere she
went by people who had seen her on the screen. Little Mary is nineteen years old, and
that is no secret.

The Reel Club has changed its name to "Photoplay ers." That was probably because
reel was too suggestive ; also it might be mistaken for Virginia reel. Now, perhaps the
Screen Club will change its name also. Some may think screen refers to something to
be concealed, or to fly-screens.

{Continued from page 112.) "Paul!" Fredrica was in his arms

edness — that envelope there, thank before they either of them knew

you." He turned to the door. "I re- just how it happened. "Oh, the

grret to have disturbed you unneces- danger to you — the dreadful dan-

sarily. A very pleasant evening, yes ? ger ! ' ' — she shuddered against his

I have the honor to wish you good- breast — "but, now, father will be

night and oon voyage." He bowed willing, I am sure, Paul — he will do

low and disappeared. anything for you ! ' '

"Are you willing ?" lie whispered

The two who were waiting in the into her hair. ' ' Ach ! Liebschen, that

library of Herr Hermann 's home, the is the question my heart asks of yours

next afternoon, saw different things — heart's dear, liebst du mir?"

as the door was flung open. She raised her glowing face to his

" The papers, mein Gott in Himmel ! hungry gaze, and, after all, he could

My honor is saved ! ' ' cried the Min- not wait for words. His seeking lips

ister of War, with a sob of relief, found her yielding ones in a long,

snatching the envelope from Paul's silent, breathless kiss that was his

extended hand. answer.

MUSIC PUBLISHERS

SONG POEMS

WANTED

We pay hundreds of
dollars a year to suc-
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day, with or without music. Acceptance guar-
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DU6DALE COMPANY, Dept. 56, Washington, D. G.

WORDS FOR SONGS WANTED

I'll write the music, secure copyright in your name and pay
you 50$ royalty. One song may net you thousands.
For 15 years I have been publishing music in NEW YORK,
the home of all "hits." Have sold millions of copies.
Send your poems, with or without music, at once. Full par-
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C. L. PARTEE, 800 Astor Theatre Bldg., New York City

SO\G POEMS WANTED. BIG MOBfET WRITING

SOXGS. Past experience unnecessary. Send us poems or
music. Publication guaranteed if accepted. Illustrated Book
Free. Hayworth Music Pub. Co., 649G, Washington, D. C.

"BILLY," "CHEER UP, MARY," "KEEP ON SMILING,"
and a dozen other hits made fortunes for us. We can make
big money for you. Send us your Poems, Songs, or Melodies.
Kendis& Paley,1367 Broadway, New York.

TELEGRAPHY

Telegraphy taught in the shortest possible time. The Om-
nigraph automatic teacher sends telegraph messages at any
speed as an expert operator would, 5 styles, $2 up. Circular
free. Omnigraph Mfg. Co., Dept. J., 39 Cortlandt St., N. Y.

YODR FORTUNE TOLD FREE

Past, Present and Future
All Revealed

Wonderful Revelations That Will Surprise,
Mystify and Help You

Let me send you a test reading of your life as
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tell what profession to follow to be most successful,
of changes to come and mistakes to avoid.

Wonderful revelations of the past, present and
future ; everything revealed ; tells if your friends are
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what to do to secure your greatest desire? Write to
me, and be convinced that Astrology is a science, and
that it can help you. Put me to the test and let me
prove it to you.

No matter what your past experience has been, or
what your present trouble may be, I can help you.
Questions are answered and advice given that will
bring you good luck and success in love, courtship
and financial matters.

Send me your full name and address, stating
whether Mr., Mrs. or Miss, and the exact date of your
birth, and enclose 10 cents in 1 or 2-cent stamps to
cover postage and part expenses of the typing, etc. ;
write plainly, and you will hear from me promptly.
Postage to England only 2 cents. Address Prof.
Leonori, Suite 132A, 15 Duke Street, Strand, London,
W. C, England. ___^

FOR THE LAME

THE PERFECTION EXTENSION SHOE for any person
with one short limb. No more unsightly cork soles, irons,
etc.. needed. Worn with ready-made shoes. Shipped on trial.
Write for booklet. Henry O. Lotz, 313 Third Ave., N. Y.

GET A CLUB!

This is not a slang expression. We do not refer to the kind of club that you first thought of;
nor do we want you to do what a facetious young man once did to an editor who asked for a "club
of ten"— he sent him a "ten of clubs" playing card. We want merely a club of subscribers, and we
are not particular about the size.

If you have enjoyed this magazine, your friends will enjoy it also. You can make them happy,
and thereby increase your own happiness, by making them subscribers, and, at the same time, you
can earn a generous premium which you may give to one of your friends or keep for yourself.

THE EIGHT PREMIUMS

Three New Subscriptions will entitle you to one of the following, free: One Year's sub-
scription to THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE; or a book entitled "Moving Pictures—
How They Are Made and Worked"; or Bound Vol. No. Ill of THE MOTION PICTURE STORY
MAGAZINE (very handsome).

Two New Subscriptions will entitle you to a copy of the book "Portraits of Popular Pic-
ture Players," bound in full, limp leather, stamped in gold.

One New Subscription will entitle you to a Big Ben Binder, or a year's subscription to
THE CALDRON (see advertisement elsewhere).

As an additional premium, we will send to any address, a copy of "Success Secrets" and a
copy of "100 Helps to Live 100 Years," with two or more new subscriptions, besides the premiums
offered above. Could we be more generous?

Write for subscription blanks and circular giving full description of these valuable premiums.
Dont delay, but do it today.

The Motion Picture Story Magazine

26 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

172

POPULAR PLAYS AND PLAYERS

(Continued from page 126.)
A club of six Harlemites are also protesting because Leo Delaney 's name
was not mentioned in the cast of "As You Like It. ' ' Really, girls, we are
not responsible for the omission, you know, so dont be so hard on us. We
agree with you that Mr. Delaney did fine work.

From the U.S.S. South Carolina comes a letter signed "Short Times,''
written by one of our bold sailor boys. He says:

If the people of the Motion Picture world only knew how many weary hours they
pass away for the boys in blue while we are scouring the high seas for imaginary
enemies during war tactics, or how, after a hard day's work at battle practice, after the
smoke has cleared away, and the sun goes down, weary and worn blue-jackets, men
from behind the guns and men from the fireroom below, gather around the screen, and,
underneath the stars, forget the weary hours of the days gone by, in watching the
picture folks, they would feel that they had not acted in vain. So here's a toast from
the whole North Atlantic fleet: "Long live the Motion Pictures, and Ths Motion
Pictuee Story Magazine."

Here's another alphabet, this one by Hattie Lee Bright, of Louisville,
Ky. This seems to be a popular form of expressing enthusiasm for the players,
but, unfortunately, we cannot use many of these alphabets, because they
occupy so much space.

is for Anderson, as you recall.
is for Black well, finest of all.
is for Costello, a Vitagraph joy.
is for Duncan, a fine Selig boy.
is for Earl, sweet William I mean.
is for Ford, who is lanky and lean.
is for Gaillord, like the heroes in books,
is for Humphrey, not as mean as he looks.
is for Ince, the negroes' benefactor,
is for Johnson, Lubin's best actor.
is for Kent, the best in the land.
is for Lessey, as you'll understand,
is for Morrison, a pleasant sight.
is for Northrup, we hail with delight,
is for Ogle, good, bad and plucky.
is for Powers, a lad from Kentucky.
>£ II J^ \\ \\ Q is for Quirk, with his quaint college yell.

V^ 111 \\\ \\ t is for Rehm, who is liked mighty well.

is for Shaw, Essanay's villain, deep-dyed,
is for Todd, who knows how to ride,
is a letter ; I cant give a name,
is for Vignola, both wild and tame.
W is for Wilbur, and last, but not least,
X for X. Bushman, three cheers, and I'll cease.
426 South Fifth Street, Louisville, Ky. Miss Hattie Lee Bright.

We have received interesting letters or poems from the following, which
we have not space to print: Unknown, M. J. P., An Admirer, Lizzie Ross,
Ethel Elting, S. Genevieve M., Miss Elizabeth, E. and C, Elsie Wagner,
Tomie D., E. M., Charlotte S. and Ruth T., Maude Dornback, Jerome Mitchell,
Florence Bush, John Hermann, Miss Habada, David Shelby, John Kirk,
Hazel S., L. U. Binford, Russel Bruce, The Arizona Kid, Melba K., M. J.,
Lucille, Ethel Smith, Martha Kennedy, S. A. J., Lulu Glueck, H. K., Robali,
Vivian Wild and Elizabeth Deaderick, Will T. Henderson, Nan Britton,
Margaret Dittman, Lily May Caldwell, D. E., Hope Woodward, E. M. B.,
Rose G., J. M. K., Lester W. D., Chas. Miller, M. F. K., J. L. L. H., Freida E.
Harding, Mary Ostertag, Netta B. Appel, H. D., Sweet Sixteen, One Inter-
ested, A. S., Valeira J, Cain, Fan, Joyce Jackson, M. L., A Reader,

INSTRUCTION

THE P

HOTO

LOT
HOW TO WRITE IT HOW TO SELL IT

The wonderful sales of my new book prove it to be that
which experienced writers and beginners are looking for.
A practical course in the art of Picture Play Writing.
Being used as a text by one of the best known schools.
Price 25 cents

HARRINGTON ADAMS, - Fostoria, Ohio

SCENARIO WRITERS, LOOK ! Has your scenario
come back ? or have you another ? I will typewrite, revise,
criticize, correct, put your scenario in saleable form, and advise
where to sell, for $1.25. Stories put in scenario form $1.75,
scenarios criticized 50c, including plot and technique; folders
"How to Write a Photoplay," "Facts and Pointers," Model
Scenario, List of Buyers, 5c. in coin each. Distant patrons
given special attention. Old Reliable Paul W. Rieker,
1931 'Fair mount Ave.. Philadelphia, Pa.

VENTRILOQUISM

Almost anyone can learn It at home. Small cost. Send

today 2-cent stamp for particulars and proof.

O. A. SMITH, RoomW.194 823 Bigelow St., PEORIA.ILL.

500 COPIES FREE!

Providing you think you can write stories, or
know you can, or want to try — otherwise don't
send for one. The copy we send you is a little
book by the author of "The Plot of the Short
Story," and we call it

THE SHORT ROAD

If you are interested you had better look into
this quick, for only 500 copies are FREE.

While they last a postcard will bring one postpaid

Henry Albert Phillips, Editor

Suite 1 M 156 Fifth Avenue New York City

WOULD YOU SPEND

50c to make $25?

One investor made $100 in a few weeks.

If you hare ideas, if you see i nteresting

incidents about you— why not put them
into PHOTOPLAYS and get checks in

return? If you can read and write, you
can do it. It is easy to learn. A few hours of study and practice — and
you are ready to write your play. "THE PHOTOPLAY WRITER," by
Leona Radnor ( writer for THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE),
gives complete instructions and advice. It contains a model scenario
and list of film producers tells what they want and how to reach them.
Price, 50 cents by mail postpaid.
LEONA RADNOR, 118 G, East 28th Street, New York City

Most of the high-class, well-regulated
Motion Picture theaters (both Independent
and Licensed) keep this magazine on sale
for the convenience of their patrons. If it is
not handy for you to buy from your news-
dealer, please ask the girl in the box-office
to supply you every month. The magazine
should be on sale at all theaters on the 1 8th
of each month.

This Happy Wife

Wishes to tell you FREE

HOW SHE STOPPED

Her Husband's Drinking

Write to Her and Learn How She did it

For over 20 years James Anderson of 519 Elm Ave.,
Hillburn, N. Y., was a very hard drinker. His case
seemed a hopeless one, but 10 years ago his wife, in
their own little home, gave him a
simple remedy which, much to
her delight, stopped his drink-
ing entirely.

She also tried this remedy on
her brother and several neigh-
bors. It was successful in every
case. None of them has touched
liquor since.

She now wishes every one who
has drunkenness in their homes
to try this simple remedy, for
she feels sure that it will do as
much for others as it has for
her. It can be given secretly, if desired, and with-
out cost she will gladly and willingly tell you what
it is. All you have to do is write her a letter
asking her how she cured her husband of drinking,
and she will reply by return mail in a sealed envelope.
As she has nothing to sell, do not send her money.
Simply send a letter, with all confidence, to Mrs.
Margaret Anderson, at the address given above,
taking care to write your name and full address
plainly.

(We earnestly advise every one of our readers who
wishes to cure a dear one of drunkenness to write to
this lady to-day. Her offer is a sincere one.)

The

Empire State
Engraving Co.

Photo-Engravers

GOOD CUTS

Half-tone and Line Work

For Printing in One or More Colors

For Any Purpose

DESIGNING ::

RETOUCHING

190 WILLIAM STREET
NEW YORK

174

POPULAR PLATS AND PLAYERS

And here's an unusually good acrostic by Catherine M. Anderson, 229
North Ninth Street, Reading, Pa.:

PICTURE PLAYERS.

is for Pickford, the Biograph dream.
The entire nation would begin to scream
If this dear little girl should no longer be seen
On the square of the Motion Picture screen.

is for Ince, the Lincoln impersonator.
The Vitagraph Company knows he is grand.
Here's hoping his character corresponds
To the noblest who lived in this land.

C is for Costello, whom all the girls admire.
I suppose he is proud that he won the contest,
And feels very much like a tall church spire
That towers aloft above the rest.

T is for Turner, the Vitagraph girl,

With eyes like diamonds, and teeth like pearl.
Maurice her loving husband should be,
But this their friends will never see.

U is for Ulright, the Selig kid,
Not so well known as the rest.
But in a very few more years
She'll be equal to the best.

R is for Robinson, also Reliance,

The company with which she is seen.
If she does not equal her photograph,
I prefer her on the screen.

E is for Eagle Eye, the Vitagraph brave,
Who many a noble life can save.
We know that he can save and run,
But can he do it when not in fun?

P is for players not mentioned here.
Sorry I haven't a line for each dear.
These words should contain a J, G and W,
For the charming Misses Joyce, Gardner and Walker.

L is for Lawrence, the picture queen,
Who in all Independent houses is seen.
Some managers oft have her advertised,
And by the public she's greatly prized.

is for Anderson, the hero supreme,
Who's admired by all who watch the screen.
His surname corresponds exactly to mine,
Which just completes this little rhyme.

is for Clara Kimball Young,
The dainty miss of the Vitagraph throng.
Her eyes represent the rest of her being ;
They certainly were meant for seeing.

is for Emerson, a former Selig man,
Now staying with the American gang.
He's fortunate to have an initial E,
For I'd have picked others if it had been B.

R is for Roland, a beautiful miss,

Whom many a man would willingly kiss.
We sometimes wish these girls could talk,
But we're satisfied to see them walk.

S is for Storey, last but not least,

Who is lovely enough to charm a beast.

I liked her best in "The Lady of the Lake,"

And hope she's prepared similar parts to take.

BUSINESS. CORRESPONDENCE, AND TRADE SCHOOLS

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also list of good positions open. Address (nearest office) Dept 138

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Mr. Esenwein 111 Besse Place, Springfield, Bass.

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Including criticism, $1.00; short course, $0.50; criticism of sce-
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Colton School, 20th and G Sts., N. W., Washington, D. C.

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OUR STUDENTS WRITJE
THE SELLING KIND

New instruction book, complete directions, sample scena-
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and your actual work criticised, ALL FOR $1. Why pay
more? Begin this profitable work NOW. Send dollar today.
Tour money back if our service does not satisfy.

United Play Brokerage,

Fostoria, Ohio*

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

26 COURT STREET, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

26 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

Sirs: — Enclosed find $1.50 ($2.00 Canada, $2.50 Foreign), for which send me The Motion Picture

Story Magazine for one year, beginning with the number, together with the

twelve colored art portraits as announced.

Name.

Street ,

City.

State .

$100

FOR AN IDEA

$25 to $100 paid for

photoplays. You can
write them in spare time. De-
mand increasing. Your ideas
are valuable. Beautiful
illustrated book containing valuable
information free Send for it.
Authors* Motion Picture School,
1533 Jrirst Nat BaakBidi
Chicago, 111.

YOU CAN EARN BIG MONEY WRITING PHOTO-PLAYS!

Great demand. We teach only SURE method of writ-
ing and selling photo-plays. No experience necessary.
Our graduates are SELLING their plays. Send for our
free booklet of valuable information, and special PRIZE
OFFER.

CHICAGO PHOTO-PLAYWRICHT COLLEGE
Box 278 A. U. Chicago

T)IG MOXET WRITmO SONGS OK MTTSIC. Write
■° for FREE booklet, explaining bow your work can be ar-
ranged, copyrighted and published FKEE. J. E. MINNILK.
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MOVING PICTURES

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Jn THE Ts

MOTION PICTURE

STORY

MAGAZINE

Vol. V

No. 2

The Prodigal Brother

(Path6 Freres)

By EMMETT CAMPBELL HALL

««-p«HE messenger said it was urgent,
{ sir, and to be delivered at
once," the butler whispered
over Tom Harding's shoulder, and
the young man accepted the note with
an impatient shrug. At sight of the
handwriting upon the envelope, an
expression of apprehension, almost of
terror, flashed across his handsome if
weak face, with its lines of dissipa-
tion kindly veiled in the soft glow of
the shaded candles. From under
lowered lashes he flashed a quick
glance at his aged father, at his sister
Helen, and at John Van Cliff, whose
engagement to Helen was to be an-
nounced at the dinner-dance. All
around the table the guests were chat-
ting merrily. No one, Tom decided,
had observed his momentary alarm.
With a hasty apology, he rose and
left the room. The eyes of Helen fol-
lowed him in troubled questioning —
she alone had noted the sudden
blanching of her brother's face, and
a sudden chill of unreasoning fear
had crept over her, quenching the
laughter that a moment before had
bubbled from her red lips.

In the seclusion of his own room,
Tom looked long and fearfully at the
commonplace envelope; then, with a
sudden reckless movement, ripped it
open and read the enclosed message :

21 Clinton Street.
When I presented your note to the
National Bank they accused you of hav-
ing forged your father's signature. I
offer now to sell you back this note for
$10,000. Otherwise I will immediately
notify the police. Legget.

' ■ God ! He 's got me, and this Shy-
lock will surely have his pound of
flesh!" Tom groaned.

The chill of the unknown fear still
upon her, Helen still managed to pre-
serve an outward seeming of merri-
ment as the guests left the dining-
room, but, at the earliest opportunity,
she slipped away from the crowd,
and hurried to her brother's room.
As she opened the door, Tom made
a hasty but futile effort to conceal the
revolver which he had taken from a
drawer and was now regarding with
haggard, fascinated eyes. For an in-
stant the girl grew deathly pale, then
stepped forward with quiet decision.

' ' It cannot be so bad as that, Tom, ' '
she said, "and you must think of our
father. One bullet would take both
your lives." She took the deadly,
glittering thing from his unresisting
hand, and tossed it from the window.

"Yes, it is quite as bad as that,"
Tom said sullenly, "and it was no
good chucking the revolver away —
there are plenty more ways."

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

' ' Tell me, ' ' she said simply.

With a bitter laugh, he gave her
the crumpled note.

"Oh, yes. It is quite true — true
enough to break father's heart; to
blacken our name eternally; to send
me to the penitentiary, and to place
between you and John Van Cliff the
convict stripes of a brother. ' '

"No, not the last, at least," Helen
said gently. "John would not fail

is only bluffing — will not push me off
the brink."

Unobserved, Tom left the house,
and sought the money-lender.

Meanwhile, John Van Cliff had
found his fiancee curiously dis-
traught, with a shadow of misery
upon her face — a shadow which
lingered despite her fitful efforts to
appear gay. Presently, and with
abruptness, she left him. When, after

HELEN 's ENGAGEMENT TO JOHN VAN CLIFF WAS ANNOUNCED AT
THE DINNER-DANCE

me — but I would not have him know,
and our father must not. There is
some way out."

"Then you will have to find it—
I'm done for," Tom answered dully.

"I will find a way," Helen said,
and the words seemed curiously half-
prayer and half -vow. "Now I must
go back to the drawing-room — my
absence will cause comment."

Left alone, Tom's mood slowly
changed to one of dull rage.

"The blood-sucker!" he muttered.
"I'll at least go see him. Perhaps he

a reasonable time, Helen did not re-
turn to the drawing-room, Van Cliff,
vaguely disturbed, somewhat hurt,
and with a desire to be alone, stepped
thru an open French window, and
passed out onto a veranda leading to
the well-kept garden. Shortly after
he observed a cloaked female figure
steal swiftly from the house, and, as
it disappeared among the shrubs,
recognized Helen. With a sudden
jealous contraction at his heart, he
swiftly followed — out of the garden,
into a new, deserted street — on toward

THE PRODIGAL BROTHER

an old and shabby section of the city.
Helen moved rapidly, without a
glance aside, and Van Cliff cau-
tiously, silently, but with surging
emotions, kept her in sight. At
length, the girl turned into Clinton
Street, and, without pausing, entered
a shabby old house, the first floor of
which had been given over to a dealer
in junk. From a single window on
the second floor a light shone, and
this lighted room, Van Cliff con-

office, a dirty money-lender, eh ? Oh !
I hear most things that are said, even
if I cannot enter your clubs and your
fine houses ! Well, Mr. Fine Gentle-
man, you are going to adopt a new
style in clothing — broad stripes, you
know — and this is the order on the
tailor!"

With a vicious movement, he jerked
open a drawer of the old desk, and
laid the note, the small, damning slip
of paper, upon the desk.

WELL, MR. FINE GENTLEMAN, YOU ARE GOING TO ADOPT A NEW STYLE
OF CLOTHING BROAD STRIPES, YOU KNOW!"

eluded, must be Helen's destination.
Old ivy cloaked the side of the build-
ing, and, with a swift impulse, Van
Cliff moved to the vines and began to
climb.

In his sordid office Legget sat at his
desk and seemed to gloat as he noted
Tom Harding's drawn face.

"Now, my fine gentleman," he
sneered, "you change your tune, do
you? You could borrow Legget 's
money, but he was a cur unfit for a
gentleman's recognition outside his

A mist of fury rose to Tom's brain.
Only to get his hands upon that paper
— to tear it to fragments — to brush
away, in an instant, the closing net of
agony and shame ! With the silent
spring of a tiger he was upon the
money-lender. They grappled, strug-
gling furiously. The opened drawer
of the desk was knocked from its
guides and crashed to the floor — the
heavy revolver, which had lain in
it, fell with muzzle up, and, striking
squarely upon the hammer, flashed
and roared. Dazed, Tom staggered

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

back, the precious bit of paper
clutched in his hand. Legget, with
starting eyes, pressed a hand against
his breast and reeled back against the
desk. A deathly silence seemed to
shut down upon the room — a silence
which caused the swift footsteps in
the hall to sound with startling loud-
ness. With a gasp of terror, Tom
turned to flee, opened the nearest
door, sprang into the closet to which
it gave entrance, and closed the door
behind him. Legget, fighting for
breath, staggered across the room,
opened the door to the hall, and
lurched thru. As he felt his strength
fail, the wounded man clutched des-
perately, and his hands fell upon the
dress of Helen Harding, who had
come in the hope that, with her jewels,
she might buy her brother's safety,
and who had stood, frozen with
fright, listening to the sounds of con-
flict that came from the money-
lender's room. As the claw-like
hands of the wounded man fell upon
her, she screamed with horror, tore
herself free, and fled madly from the
place — out into the street, and, at
length, white and breathless, came to
the seclusion of her own quiet room.

John Van Cliff, clambering up the
ivy-covered wall, felt his heart sud-
denly pause at the sound of the single,
momentous revolver shot — then he
climbed with redoubled effort. Above
was Helen, and, obviously, to some
one there was deadly peril — to Helen,
or

The window that he reached opened
upon the hallway, and he gained it
just in time to see Helen struggle free
from a wounded man's clutch and
flee in mad panic. Swiftly entering
the window, Van Cliff bent over Leg-
get, now prone upon the floor, and, to
his excited mind, it seemed certain
that the man was dead. Thru the
open door he could see the disordered
desk and the revolver upon the floor,
a thin thread of smoke still curling
from its muzzle. His foot struck
something, and he picked up a jewel-
case — Helen 's — one that he himself
had given her.

« She— she killed him! Why?"
Van Cliff muttered in a dull agony.
A horrible sequence of visions flashed
before his eyes: Helen under arrest,
on trial, perhaps condemned to death !
He dashed the cold dew from his
brow.

"Guilty or innocent, white hands
or red, murderess or saint, I love her
— she shall not suffer ! " he cried, and
began swiftly to search for any evi-
dence of her presence in the place.
Peering cautiously from his closet,
Tom Harding observed Van Cliff
moving about the office, but was
forced to give up as hopeless the
puzzle of why he should be there and
what his mission. Finding nothing
beyond the jewel-case, Van Cliff re-
turned to the hallway, bending over
and searching more carefully about
the form of Legget. Suddenly there
was a swift tramp of feet, and sev-
eral officers, attracted by the pistol
shot, entered. They took in the scene
with accustomed eyes.

1 ' Murder — and looks like this is the
man we want," the first officer said,
and laid his hand on Van Cliff's
shoulder. "Any explanation to
offer?"

"None," said Van Cliff, calmly.

"This man isn't dead — yet," one
of the officers announced, rising from
an examination of the figure stretched
upon the floor. "We better get him
to a hospital pretty quick, tho. ' '

Bearing the unconscious Legget,
and with Van Cliff a prisoner, the
officers left the building.

Tom remained shivering in his
closet until the noises in the hallway
had died. He then crossed quickly
to the window, and clambered down
the ivy, at length reaching his home,
unobserved, and with no knowledge
of the arrest of Van Cliff. So far as
he could see, no one could be accused
of any crime; as he pondered the
matter, he began to breathe freely —
the damning note was destroyed — all
was well. For Legget he could feel
no special sorrow — the man had
brought his fate upon himself. Yet,
at the very moment of Tom's com-
placent conclusion, a detective, care-

THE PRODIGAL BROTHER

fully searching the money-lender's
house, picked up a small, gold medal-
lion, evidently torn from a bracelet,
and on it was engraved :

HELEN HARDING

Dec. 15, 1912

"So," the detective reflected grim-
ly, "there were two in the job!"

Sensation tramped upon the heels
of sensation — the yellow press fairly
shrieked the lurid news: Van Cliff,

full confession and surrender yourself
to the authorities."

Tom bowed his head.

1 ' I will. But, before God, it was an
accident, tho I was the cause. I alone
must suffer, so far as it is possible to
confine the suffering to myself. I
will go."

"We will go first to the hospital —
if it was an accident, Legget will not
permit any one to suffer as his
murderer," the old man said.

Legget, pallid upon his hospital

THEN CONFESS — AND HANG!

wealthy clubman, famous family, held
without bail pending the fight for life
that the money-lender Legget was
making in the city hospital ! Full con-
fession of the crime by Van Cliff, but
refusal to state motive or offer de-
fense ! Wealthy and beautiful Miss
Helen Harding arrested and held as
accessory in the Legget shooting ! At
the preliminary hearing, the court-
room was packed with the wealth and
highest society of the city.

Between Tom Harding and his
aged father had occurred a terrible
hour of confession, repentance, anger,
shame and agony. At last the old
man read his stern judgment :

"Whatever the cost, you will make

bed, rested his eyes upon Tom Hard-
ing with a vindictive glare.

' ' So you intend to confess — to save
the others ? " he whispered.

"To save the others — and in repa-
ration," Tom answered.

The money-lender grinned evilly.

"Then confess — and hang!" he
snarled, and turned away.

A priest, with patient, sad eyes,
beckoned for the father and son to
stand to one side. ' ' I will speak with
him," he said. "He does not know
he is to die. He will not wish to go
with a black sin upon his soul. ' '

In the crowded courtroom there
came a dramatic moment.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

THE CONFESSION IS GIVEN TO THE MAGISTRATE

"Bring in the other prisoner," the
magistrate had said, when John Van
Cliff was, at length, released from the
witness-chair, his firm words : " I shot
him ; I have no explanation to offer, ' '
still strangely stirring the crowd. A
door opened, and Helen entered. For
the first time, Van Cliff knew that the
girl was in the net — felt that his
attempted sacrifice had failed. For
long the lovers gazed with horror
into one another's eyes, each believing
that the other's hands were red with
blood.

A court attendant, coming from a
telephone, whispered in the magis-
trate's ear.

"The man Legget is dead — the
prisoners will be held without bail for
the action of the coroner's jury," the
magistrate said solemnly.

At this moment there arose a slight
commotion in the crowd, and Tom
Harding and his father fought their
way to the desk. With trembling
hand, the old man laid before the
magistrate a scrawled note ; the crowd
held its breath while he perused it,
wiped his glasses, cleared his throat,
and then read aloud:

"Miss Helen Harding and John Van
Cliff have no connection whatever with
the affair at my house yesterday. I was
shot accidentally, in the presence of Tom
Harding, and he is also innocent of any
crime."

An uncontrollable cheer burst from
the crowd. Tom's eyes welled with
joyous tears. With a cry of happiness,
Helen sprang forward to the joyous
clasp of her lover's arms.

(From the photoplay of SHANNON FIFE)

Little was really known of Dr.
Harry Matthews in that uppish
suburb, Kensington. He had
come there two years before, had
attended diligently to his practice,
and had hurdled the stiff social bars
in spite of himself. In a town where
the important question was : Who
was his grandfather? this was a
startling compliment. Dr. Matthews,
however, did not take undue advan-
tage of it. His life was busy. It was
known that he was a widower and
possessed private means. He called
on the best families, professionally,
and as often as he chose, which was
seldom, as a guest.

The truth is, that he was recognized
as of a more capable type than Dr.
Van Cote, whose practice he had
succeeded to : a good man over the
operating-table, as well as a bedside
conversationalist.

If a woman had interested him
more than another, he had never
shown it outwardly. The most inter-
esting case remained so, as long as it
constituted a case — no longer. And
on that rare spring morning that he

entered the Wynn house and was
shown upstairs to Miss Ethel Wynn's
room, he was about to visit his most
interesting case.

The girl half -lay in a deep, reed
chair as he neared her. She had been
suffering from a species of nervous
breakdown. Vivacious, beautiful,
high-strung, the winter's social de-
mands of Kensington had ended by
confining her to the house. After
that, she had become so low that her
life hung even in the balance. Dr.
Matthews had pulled her thru — she
was becoming no longer an interesting
case — and he was making his last
call before sending her to a health
resort.

As her deep-fringed eyes hung
lazily, like a gazer across the water,
on the ceiling design, he read the un-
eventful chart by her side.

"A perfectly well woman!" inter-
rupted her day dream. "A bit too
late for waving palms and coral sands,
perhaps, but she is fully capable of
following her baggage to another
place I will name."

She moved her tawny head, so that

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

HIS CHILDREN ARE SENT TO
AUNT SARAH

a patch of sunlight caught it and
turned it into a glowing aureole.

"So good of you, Doctor. But I
hate to leave Kensington — it's just
like being born all over again. ' •

He busied himself with colorless
medicine in her glasses. "Ah! but
you will grow too fast here again/ '
he warned; "convalescence, away
from your friends, will give you a
chance to catch up with yourself — to
practice your first steps alone.

She leaned toward him, fixing him
with wide-open eyes, "I dont want
to be alone," she said. "My fond-
ness for home is babylike, and, besides,
I should have to change my physi-
cian. ' '

"I've thought of that. It is more
important than the place ; provided
he is good-looking and a good talker,
you should recover rapidly."

She smiled, as if he had read her
thoughts. "Let's make a bargain,"
she said impulsively. "I am self-
willed, perhaps spoiled. Let me re-
main in Kensington a fortnight, com-
pletely under your orders, outdoors
as well as in. If I do not outdo my
former lustiness in every respect —
sleep, appetite, strength — you may

send me to a nunnery, a resort — or a
crematory, as the case warrants."

He caught, and held, the eyes of
his most interesting case. For once
in his life he hesitated to the verge
of foolishness. "So be it," he said
gravely. "You shall be my shadow,
my chauffeur, my other self. It will
be a tiresome cure, I assure you."

A light leaped into her eyes as she
watched him cover his confusion.
"Not a bit of it," she challenged; "I
am at my best boring, or being
bored."

For two weeks they were the sight
of the town, the busy Doctor with the
pink-skinned, fur-framed girl always
by his side. Kensington had barely
gotten used to it when their engage-
ment was announced. And Matthews
was accused by the colder ones of de-
liberately trapping her and of run-
ning her down. The fact was that
her witchery, at his side, had set him
head over heels in love with her,
which was what she was aiming at,
perhaps unconsciously.

In the fall they were married. In
justice to him, it is well to relate that
several times during the summer,
when he had run up to see her on the
coast, he had been upon the point of
telling her about his children. There
were two : Marie, fifteen years old,
and little Jimmie, just turned six;
and they lived with their Aunt Sarah
Etheridge, his first wife's sister, on a
farm in the Poconos. They were
tender, fragile things, quite like their
mother, and he had always dreaded
that her destroyer lay lurking for
them, too.

One day he had gone to the moun-
tains and told them that a new
mama was to come to his house, and
they begged to be taken to see her.
For a day he had even considered the
advisability of this; of gathering all
that he cared for under his roof-tree,
but the professional in him held him
back. It would be a rude plucking at
his fiancee's taut nerves. So he tem-
porized with his honesty, and never
told her about them at all, trust-
ing to time to bring about the right
conditions.

HIS CHILDREN

For a time all went well. Matthews
set out from the beginning deliber-
ately to please as well as to cure his
beautiful wife.

He lost some practice — every hand-
some doctor who marries does — of a
sort, but Ethel was just as popular
as ever with the younger set. They
were in love, but not to the exclusion
of everything else. Her specialty was
being popular. She thrived on atten-
tion and late hours. Taking this sort
of diet away from a ' ' nervine ' ' is like
dashing the wine-cup from the
drinker 's hand : he wont stand for it.

The smiling composure with which
she took losses at bridge made him
think. But his devotion never wav-
ered as he came to realize that here
was a lovable, high-spirited girl all
wrong : neurotic to the verge of tears,
extravagant and unthinking, child-
less and likely to be. Without show-
ing the lancet, he tried to diagnose
and direct a deeper and more vital
case to him than he had ever
attempted.

It was on the evening of the Hunt
Club ball that he returned home from
one of his now frequent trips to the
city. As he put on his evening-
clothes and sat down opposite to her,
under the shaded light, Ethel, in
shimmering decollete, picked nerv-
ously at her dinner.

"You are growing quiet — and old,
I think," she said, glancing at his
hardened face. "What has come over
you, dear?"

"The usual thing — stocks are be-
having badly. ' '

She shrugged her white shoulders,
and star-like dimples formed on her
breast.

"You're a poor gambler — better
quit and cash in, Harry."

"It's been a lively day," he ex-
plained; "I've taken a risk."

"Better play bridge, "she laughed;
"it's cheaper. And now come in by
the fire and talk to me."

But he could not rise, as he had so
often, to his opportunity. The click
of the stock-ticker and the blur of the
tape, as his margin had dwindled
and dwindled, kept getting in his eyes

THE PROPOSAL

and ears. His pulses raced yet, and
his brain rocked giddily from the
strain of the thing — the inhuman
juggling with his patrimony. He
could never forget — no, not on his
deathbed — the little, red figures on
the tape and the last dying buzz of the
ticker at the end of the market. One
more revolution, one buzz, one click
even, and his head would have ex-
ploded with the strain. Now, as he
sat there, silent, it was all over till
the next day, and that dream-thing,
the Hunt Club ball, stood between.

In another moment, so short it
seemed to him, Ethel and he stood
under the draped flags of the club
ballroom, and she was gliding, to a
lilt of far-off music, in his arms.

Back in Kensington, the lights had
flared up in his hall, in answer to a
ring at the bell. His man had opened
the door, to start back in dismay, for
Dr. Matthews' two children stood on
the stoop and smiled up knowingly
at him. At least, one of them did, for
little Jimmie was nearly sound asleep,
standing up, and burrowed his face
away from the light, into his sister's
skirt.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"For the love of heaven !" burst
out the discreet man, quite carried
away.

"It's us," announced the girl.
"We've run away to see papa and
our new mama."

Whimpers of early and infantile
repentance rose up from her skirts.

"I — I — does your father ' '

gasped the doctor's man, choked with
mixed feelings. "Come into the
house, till I see what's to be done."

The semblance to a
four-legged animal
meekly followed him in.
In the drawing-room,
the pretty, fragile girl
succeeded in prying the

head against her slim shoulder on the
sofa, where it bore down, in instant
and satisfying slumber.

The wee hours of the nagging night
but put spurs to the gaiety of the
Hunt Club ball. Ethel slid laugh-
ingly from the arms of one partner to
the next.

"She has never looked better,
thanks to Doctor Matthews," grudg-
ingly commented a less popular lady,

THEY BOTH GAMBLED — HE IN STOCKS
SHE AT BRIDGE

hindermost legs loose from her. The
underfooter, lost in strangeness,
opened his mouth to cry. The doc-
tor's man at once became a man of
action.

"Coax him over here, Miss Marie,"
he said quickly; "there's a sofa, and
a screen to go across it, and I'll turn
out the lights. ' ' He cut a few fancy
steps, and made such an outlandish
grimace that the doctor's son in-
stantly cut short his vocal pro-
tests, nipped in his throat with
wonder.

He was led silently across the room,
and the pretty, delicate girl set his

and she was right, in the
eyes of even the envious.
With her body
sheathed in delicate,
corn-colored satin over-
laid with old lace, her
eyes burned as steadily
as the luster lurking in her hair or
glinting from her jewels. It was life
and meat and drink to her, this touch
and go of admiration, and she would
have looked queenly set out against
the crimson arras of a throne, with
her dancing partners kneeling, black-
hued, before her.

But what was her meat was become
a poison for Dr. Matthews, Alone,
and huddled in a corner, as if fallen,
he sat grasping a telegram. White
and bewildered, he kept repeating its
message over and over, childishly:
' ' More margin — more margin — ten
thousand dollars — by ten o'clock.

HIS CHILDREN

Yes, yes ! I '11 see to it, ' ' and his head
sank lower, with his eyes rolling
upward.

Later on, he roused himself with an
effort, went to the coat-room, ordered
his things, and walked home alone.
He appeared to be doing everything
in a most orderly way, even liberally
tipping the attendants. But when,
an hour later, Ethel heard that he
had left, she was worried. His

tion, and she did not dare call out.
In his hand something lay naked and
gleaming, tapping, tapping on the
balustrade in measure with his foot-
falls. She clutched the portieres and
drew herself into their folds.

Dr. Matthews entered the drawing-
room and walked to a little escritoire
in the corner, usually concealed by a
screen. His pistol he laid on top of

and

AMAZED TO SEE HIS CHILDREN THERE

manner at dinner, and later, had
warned her.

She danced on, the light in her eyes
softening. In another hour, she
begged off from her engagements,
hurriedly ordered her car, and went
home.

As she entered the drawing-room
and was about to switch on the light,
she heard a step on the stairs. She
glanced upward, and saw Dr. Mat-
thews descending. He was coming
slowly, feeling his way, like a sleep-
walker or a person under great erao-

fumbled with papers within. He
must have found what he wanted, for
he leaned forward, sitting, and the
rapid scratching of his pen spoke of
writing. Would he never leave off?
The portieres seemed a pit about to
stifle her, but she dared not even move
them the width of her body.

The strokes of the pen ceased, and
she heard the sharp crackle of paper
folded into an envelope. Dr. Mat-
thews sat perfectly still for a moment,
as if detecting her presence. Then he
spoke :

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"She will read it and believe it.
And it will never be known by her or
by the world why I do this thing.
It's hard to die, damning oneself as
a rogue, but she's proud — she's game
— at heart I know ' '

His hand stole toward the weapon,
to cock it and raise it to his temple.
Ethel stood horror-struck, unable to
move or cry out.

It was something else that held his

bing. "Is that you? Tell me, is that
you?"

"Yes, papa," the clear voice said
out of the darkness. I 've brung Jimmie
to see you and our new mama. ' '

It flashed thru the tortured man's
brain how close the case had been — a
boy's yawn and a clear voice in the
night, or oblivion and sejf -murder at
their very feet. Then, with legs gone
from under him, and husky words

HIS CHILDREN ARE RECONCILED TO THEIR NEW MAMA

finger slack against the trigger: a
child's yawn, just an intake of air at
first, then a snorting, lusty groan.

' ' Good Jimmie ! ' ' comforted a clear
voice from behind the screen, and
then dead silence again. ■

Dr. Matthews jumped up, and the
shiny friend of suicides fell from his
hand with a clatter. He kicked it
desperately under the writing-desk.
With two jerky leaps, he was beside
the screen.

' ' Marie ! " he called, so brokenly
that the boy woke up and fell to sob-

pumping up from his heart, he was
down beside them, his hugs mingling
with theirs.

"Gee! I like you, pop," said the
awakened Jimmie.

"It's so good to be home," sighed
Marie.

A rustle came from the portieres,
and, presently, a soft arm out of the
shadows stole round the doctor's
neck.

' ' Look, look, pop ! ' ' warned Jimmie.
' ' There 's a big girl back of you. She 's
huggin ' you an ' cryin \ 7 '

7^/f tytfzar

We were seated on the wide ve-
randa of Lavina's, in Papeete
— the ship's doctor, old Mon-
sieur Mattieu and myself. No one
else remained at the tables, save the
tireless red ants, greater gourmands
than ourselves. As we sipped our
absinthe, a huge barrel-end of a moon
worked above the clusters of dracenas
in the garden, firing their leaves into
green, brown, yellow and ruby. The
expiring strains of the band had long
since died away from the Circle Mili-
taire; even the liquid chimes of the
cathedral had hushed. Now and
then, faintly, the asthmatic notes of a
concertina in native fingers, or the
strum-strum of a banjo, wafted to us
on the lazy night breeze from the bay.
Stronger, tho, and almost edible, was
the odor of vanilla that came up from
the wharves.

It was our last night in enchanted
Tahiti, the doctor's and mine, senti-
mentalists both, so we had hunted
up Monsieur Mattieu, the venerable
trader, and had bullied him into keep-
ing a night vigil with us at Lavina's.

While we had dined, the life of the
little South Sea metropolis had pa-
raded before the faded blue and white
railings of our hostess' garden fence.
French officers, in natty, summer uni-
forms ; residents, in loose-fitting white
drill, and, now and then, a bearded
German trader, in dingy pajamas,
sauntered by. Of the soft brown and
olive Tahitians, a never-ending, silent-

footed stream flowed thru the foliage
of the Broom Road : young girls, in
gossamer shawls and home-woven hats
of cane, the melting luster of whose
fawn's eyes searched us thru; then,
with a flash of milk-white teeth and a
flaunt of rainbow ribbons, their
owners passed on. Village girls, too,
with mane-like ebony hair tossing on
their shoulders, or straying in a
jungle across bare breasts. Every-
where flowers, growing underfoot,
in high clusters on the trees, or creep-
ing over house and fence, in a Poly-
nesian carpet of riotous color. It was
Sunday, a fete night in Papeete,
when the brow of each maid or youth
is garlanded with a wreath of fern
and the white, highly scented gar-
denia blossom.

Even as the last fires died down to
coals on the beach, Patutoa way, and
a wakeful lover chanted a drawling
promise of perpetual eating, singing
and dancing, somewhere under the
palms, our senses were still glutted
with the ruddy panorama set forth by
the moon.

And the air was still fragrant with
gardenia, as Monsieur Mattieu fetched
forth fresh cigars, and, lighting one,
turned a face, full of memories, to-
ward us.

"It has been always thus in Ta-
hiti," he said, in excellent English —
"flowers, song, prodigality and love.
Nor could one of these be taken
away, without marring the islands,

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

like a feature missing to a beautiful
woman. ' '

He tilted his chair full toward the
hanging lamp of the moon, as if to
contemplate the vistas of the past.

"Take the island custom," he con-
tinued, "of wreathing the head in
blossoms — how pretty it is to the
stranger, but how little it conveys.
But the Tahitian maiden literally
wears her heart in this crude chaplet,
and, should she bestow it upon a man,
her whole self goes with it, without
reserve. ' '

"Is the custom old, monsieur?" I
asked.

"As old as the cloud-capped head
of Orohena, " he answered, "and as
consuming in its fire." Monsieur
Mattieu paused, rather abashed at his
emphasis. "Perhaps you would care
to hear a tale of old Tahiti," he
asked, "when the French were quite
new to the islanders ? ' '

"We begged him to tell us the story
that held a promise of supplementing
the moonlit gold about us. Monsieur
never could be a bore ; he glanced
keenly at us, to see if our interest was
more than polite, then settled back,
his face hid in shadow.

"Never mind the year,"
he resumed, "but let it be
sufficient that this episode
happened long before reg-
ular steamers came to
Papeete, or frequent trad-
ing-schooners shot the jaws
of the pass into the harbor.
Save for a few resident
traders, a handful of mis-
sionaries, and an out-at-
heels specimen or so living
on the beach, white men
were what you call rare
birds. At times, too, a
French warship flouted her
impertinent way between
the barrier reefs, and dis-
charged a salute to the
settlement. Sometimes
soldiers were left, but their
commandant did not inter-
fere too much with the rule
of Queen Pomare and her
native chiefs.
' ' One day, a fine bark — no ordinary
trader — flying the tricolor flag, rat-
tled her anchor-chain into the coral
bed of Afareaitu Bay. She had
scarcely swung taut on her chain
when old Chief Hoato-aru, his wife,
and girl, Ternia, put off in their cata-
maran, to be the first to sit on the
floor of the mirrored cabin, and to
gloat over specimens of silks and
prints.

"Hoato-aru was visibly impressed
as he climbed over the bark's high
rail.

1 ' ' Big um ship ; big um trade, ' he
kept repeating in a singsong, while
his family followed him about, dis-
playing the same childlike admiration.
' ■ Captain Le Martin and his mates
took it as a matter of course, but a
young naval officer, going to join his
ship in the Marquesas, whom we will
call Jacques, was vastly amused by
the proceedings.

"For a space of two hours they
squatted in the cabin, and fingered
the trade stuff, like children round a
Christmas tree. To Jacques, glancing
down the companionway, the sight
was novel and barbaric, but he soon
tired of it, turned on his heel, and

A TALE OF OLD TAHITI

stood at the rail, gazing across to the
low coast and twin giant peaks of
Tahiti.

' ' The islanders came on deck again,
and took to their catamaran, bearing
sundry fluttering and alluring samples
of trade. It was then that Jacques
first noticed the charms of old Hoato-
aru's daughter. She was considered
a rare beauty in a land where all of
the women are handsome, and, as he
took in the light olive of her cheeks,
turning to amber on her throat and
bust, the broad swell of her breast,
thinning down to a wisp of a waist,
with a kilt of the finest tap a drawn
close to supple thighs, and the dain-
tiest of ankles flashing across the
deck, he realized that here was an
idol-worshiping heathen far more
beautiful than the modiste-created
women of his own land.

"He leaned over the rail, and met
her eyes. They were large, luminous
and smoldering with fire. A color
played in her round cheeks, as scarlet
as the seeds of her strings of neck-
laces. Her short, full lips barely
guarded the teeth, white as a wolf's,
which she flashed toward him, as he
waved an impulsive adieu to the skim-
ming catamaran.

It was enough. Hitherto,
Jacques had yawned behind
his hand at the ceaseless talk
of copra, beche-de-mer and
vanilla; henceforth, the al-
lurements of trade with the
islanders held out open
hands to him. \ ^

"Night fell on the bark,
casting her in a dappled
mold of bronze and green
malachite from the western
glow. Morning came again,
diamond-studded and shot
with the pinks and creams
of silk and old lace. The
crew was astir with the half-
light, and Captain Le Mar-
tin was all in a sweat to get
ashore and look over the
chief's copra sheds. He was
good-naturedly surprised
when Jacques volunteered
to make the trip with him.

"Hoato-aru saw them coming, and
rose up, from his mat in his thatch
house, to waddle down to the beach
and welcome them. Ternia sat in the
shade of the door, and pleated a hat,
nimbly, the while she sang Arioi,
Arioi over and over again, each time
shading the words deeper and hold-
ing on to them in longer notes. Some-
how, the case of prints that the Cap-
tain was staving in on the beach in
front of Hoato-aru did not interest
her. Her song did not cease until
Jacques had come up and stood be-
fore her.

' ' She made room on the mat by her
side. He sat down, in quite a stilted
manner.

" 'You um no 'fraid island girl?'
she questioned. He shook his head,
and took off his pith helmet, to show
that he was perfectly at ease.

"The part in his wavy hair fasci-
nated her, and she pointed a little
hand at it, and laughed, with low
notes, almost like a song.

1 ' Then she looked him fairly in the
eyes, saw how pleased he was, and
jumped up nimbly, to run off into the
bush. Jacques watched her feet pad
the soft, coral sand, saw her swing

THE 310TI0N PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

thru a ropy tangle of liana vines,
then followed in her wake. A forest
of palm and banana marched even
with the beach, cut off shear and even,
like a little girl's hair, when it came
to the sand. Into this they disap-
peared, and her song worked ever
ahead of him in the maze of thicket.

"An hour or so later, if Captain
Le Martin had glanced up from the
piles of drying cocoanut in old Aru's
shed, he could have glimpsed them
coming toward him, hand in hand;

breeding-place for tropic love, with
the hatches knocked off and the cata-
marans of Aru bringing out the nut
with the speed of water-bugs. It was
a good trade — close to a hundred tons
— and the Captain thought his begin-
ning very well made.

"Just after four bells had struck,
the activity suddenly stopped, how-
ever, and Jacques, thru the glass,
could make out the boats drawn up on
the beach and Hoato-aru holding
some kind of a palaver with his men.

TERNIA CROWNS JACQUES

Jacques with a wreath of phantom-
white gardenias crowning his fore-
head. But he neither saw nor heard
them, and, with his inspection come
to an end, sang out that he was
leaving.

"In answer, Jacques stepped out
on the beach, in his helmet, never once
looking behind, and thus it was that
the Tahitian custom of crowning a
husband-to-be with gardenia blossoms
was not explained to him. What a
mess of trouble the Captain could
have saved him, if his eyes had been
above the copra-shed floor.

"The decks of the bark were no

1 ' Pretty soon the thing was decided,
and old Aru squeezed himself into a
boat, and was paddled out to the bark.
His paddler was a handsome chap,
over six feet and straight as a plank.

" 'Yarana, ' sang out Aru, and, im-
mediately, he and the Captain were as
thick as thieves, in the island pidgin
lingo. The old chief kept pointing to
Jacques ; the Captain shook his head,
and turned from red to purple.
Finally, he broke off abruptly, and
crossed over to the young officer.

' ' ' There 's the devil to pay, ' he said
to Jacques, 'and that's the long and
short of it. It seems the chief 's daugh-

A TALE OF OLD TAHITI

ter lias set her cap for you, and old
Am wants to exchange his best young
warrior here for your precious carcass.
'Why, man,' he exploded, 'by island
custom, 3rou7re as good as married to
her, and you've got to see me out of
the mess.'

" 'Married!' gasped Jacques. 'I've
barely laid eyes on the girl.'

" 'You dont know these people/
said the Captain — 'seems she wove a
wedding-wreath for you, and you
wore it. That's enough, in these

out Ternia, and, willy-nilly, get this
foolishness out of her.

"As he landed and approached the
thatch house, nothing greeted him but
a score of hideous land-crabs, glaring,
like Satan, over their meal of bouran
leaves. The house was bare of even
its mats.

"Jacques halloed and ventured a
'Yarana' or two, but the brushing
noise of the wind in the palms was all
that answered him. Aru, his family
and his people had decamped.

JACQUES IS TAKEN PRISONER

parts. You'd better go below, until
I settle, somehow, with your father-
in-law. '

' ' Jacques retired to the cabin, with
his head spinning. He could make
nothing of it, and had no intention of
setting up as a sub-chief on the beach.
In a little while, he heard Aru put-
ting off, and the splash of his paddle,
and this somewhat relieved him.

"The afternoon wore on, with no
signs of life from the shore, and the
Captain pacing the deck, cursing the
taboo that had fallen upon him. At
the same time, Jacques made a re-
solve: he would row ashore, search

"The Sabbath-like calm continu-
ing, Jacques worked into the bush
where Ternia had led him before, and
soon struck a sort of path hacked out
of the pithy cane. It was as dim as
twilight in there, with not even the
call of a bird, and the lianas twisting
down everywhere, like snakes.

"At the banks of a brook he halted,
to plunge his face in the clear, moun-
tain stream, and, in doing so, a
shadow flickered across the water.
Another shadow, and another, until
Jacques looked up, to find himself in
the midst of a quartet of silent war-
riors. They were big fellows, stripped

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

naked and brown, except for a yellow
pareu twisted around the hips.

"Jacques spread out his hands in
token of peace, but they formed a
fence around him with their long
bamboo spears. Step whichever way
he would, a menacing point met him.
The truth was that he was very much
of a captive.

"Then the leader faced about, and,
keeping their prisoner sandwiched
between them, the party started a
rapid, silent march thru the jungle.
After a while, the likeness of a path
ceased altogether, and it was wriggle
and twist and crawl to make head-
way.

"Jacques' light clothes were torn
to shreds, and his face bleeding from
a score of gouges, but they forced him
on, until they came out on the beach
again, a league away from the bark.
Here they made a sort of litter of
spears and hibiscus fiber, and, placing
their captive in it, trundled along the
beach, crooning a low song in unison
with their step.

"Along toward nightfall, they set
him down, and Jacques could make
out the thatch of a house set in the
edging of palms. The bearing of his
captors underwent a change. One
hacked off the end of a nut, and held
it forth for him to drink its milk, as
two others started preparations for a
fire and supper. The fourth man led
him toward the house, smiling and
fawning, like a pleased dog with his
master.

"Inside, a jar of oil lay burning,
and, by its bluish light, Jacques dis-
tinguished beautiful household mats
laid between a sprinkling of broad
leaves. The place was deserted, as far
as he could see, yet evidently prepared
for a guest.

"The spearsman returned with
gourds of fresh water, and Jacques
washed his cuts and tidied himself
up a bit. A gorgeous pareu, of many
colors, lay on a stool, and this the
watchful native draped around him,
covering his tattered clothes.

"On the beach, the preparations
for a meal were being pushed fever-
ishly, and Jacques wondered at its

elaborateness. Piles of feis, a sort of
banana, were heaped up for roasting ;
a suckling pig was being intrenched
for cooking in the sand; strange fish
lay flapping and glistening in the
moonlight, and kava, the sense-steal-
ing native drink, lay shimmering in
gourds.

"As the moon rose over the bay,
turning it into a rippling melting-
pot of gold and frosting the foliage
with bronze and ruddy tints, the
preparations for the feast had come
to an end. The fires of cocoanut-shell
were allowed to burn down to glowing
coals, but still the feasters desisted
from their meal.

"Presently, from off the water, the
voice of a young girl rose, getting
clearer and fuller as her canoe shot
toward the beach.

"It was Ternia, and the shells
sparkled on her bare breast like fire-
flies, and a wreath of flowers hugged
her glossy hair.

"She landed, and came toward
Jacques, smiling, and stepping lightly,
in her fine, scant clothes.

" 'Make um wait never no more/
she said, laying a hand on his arm.
And he felt the electric look in her
eyes, and was silent, with emotions
sadly at sea.

"The truth is, he had started out
to show her the childishness of her
ways and to propound his own stern
destiny, and perhaps, for good meas-
ure, to press his face against hers, in
farewell. But she watched him like a
cat, and knelt by him, and rubbed oil
into his bruised face, flicking it with
her scented hair.

' ' And, as they ate and drank of the
feast, with the natives become silent
and swift as shadows to their wishes,
and the moon picking out the clear,
honey color of her skin, the forgetful-
ness of the Southern Seas stole over
him, and he lay watching her.

"The moon rode its course, and
paled, until the stars alone burned
bright in their sockets, casting the
beach in pale silver and sable. The
natives slept soundly, by the side of
the house; the fire burned low, to a
glowworm flicker. Jacques lay awake,

A TALE OF OLD TAHITI

answering her low words in words of
her own.

"Suddenly she reached up, and
plucked the wreath from her hair, fit-
ting it around his forehead.

"This time he sighed, with all the
smile quite gone from his lips, and
drew her to him. She lay still in his
arms, saying low, sweet, meaningless
words in the native tongue.

"Jacques felt them pour thru him,
took her hand in his two, closed his
eyes, and fell into the untroubled

haps, it may shake you up from the
island sleep.'

"Forthwith, he pulled a little tri-
color flag from his pocket, and handed
it, gravely, to Jacques.

' ' Its message meant an awful lot to
the young officer, and he could see his
ship waiting for him and his name
sent home in disgrace. Then he
looked quickly at Ternia, standing
there erect and loving, as if guarding
him, and his mind tossed in dismal
confusion again.

JACQUES IS RECONCILED TO HIS TAHITIAN BRIDE

sleep of the lingerer in the land of
song and flowers.

"Three days and three nights they
lived in the thatch house on the beach,
the girl-wife's eyes like kisses, and
her laughter as soft as sighs.

"And then, one day, Captain Le
Martin and a boat's crew came upon
them, rowing ashore, like the Evil
One and his minions edging into
Paradise.

"Jacques shook hands with the
Captain — he seemed a stranger now
— and led Ternia up to meet him.
'My little wine, savvy?' he ex-
plained— 'she um 'fraid to come
'board ship.'

" 'I've brought you a present,' said
the Captain, abruptly, 'and, per-

" 'Better come now,' broke in the
Captain's voice. 'There is a fatal
native word, Ariana, which means to-
morrow, and which is never fulfilled. '

"Jacques turned to the girl, held
her face up close to his, and searched
out the never-failing constancy in her
bright eyes. 'Me go on big ship,' he
said; 'ariana — some time — come back
and get little wine. '

"But, as he watched her, she slid
from him, and threw herself on the
sand, in a burst of weeping that shook
her like palsy.

"She would not rise again — just
kept groveling and clinging to his
feet, so he reached down and stole a
gardenia from her wreath, and took
it with him into the waiting boat.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"The last he saw of her was when
the boat was tossing half a league
from the beach, and she rose up and
ran toward the water. She would
have plunged in and swum out, in the
hopes of reaching him — all native
women are ducks in the water — but
the old chief's men held her back,
until the boat bobbed out of sight."

Old Monsieur Mattieu finished his

ful, against the creaming seas on the
reefs beyond.

As he rose to go, Monsieur Mattieu
looked very white and old in the fresh
daylight, and his hands felt like
parchment in ours.

"Perhaps I should tell you the
rest," he said; "it is short, and
hurries the story, in a breath, a good
fifty years.

' ' I, Monsieur Mattieu, am Jacques ;

JACQUES BIDS TERNIA FAREWELL

story rather abruptly, we thought,
with the Tahitian girl on the beach,
and the fickle young Frenchman bob-
bing out of sight in a ship 's boat ; but
all tales cant end as we want them to,
and, glancing up, I noticed the ghostly,
trembling light in the sky, adventing
dawn.

Quite suddenly, the sun rose out of
the Pacific, and the lacy palms in the
harbor stood out, fragile and beauti-

and when my service was out, I
returned to Tahiti, and searched
out Ternia, and married her, in
good and proper style, before a
missionary.

"She has made a good wife, faith-
ful as a dog in the days of our bad
luck. And if you care to see how well
a Kanaka can grow old gracefully,
Madame Mattieu will always smile
you welcome to Papeete."

-^mu

/>0/&ryy2)&4faL

(Adapted from the novel of Charles Dickens)

That punctual servant of all work,
the sun, had just begun to
strike a light on the morning of
the thirteenth of May, when Mr.
Samuel Pickwick burst, like another
sun, from his slumbers, and pro-
ceeded to put himself into his clothes,
and his clothes into his portmanteau.
In another hour, portmanteau in
hand, and his note-book in his waist-
coat, for the reception of any dis-
coveries worthy of being noted, Mr.
Pickwick had arrived at the coach-
stand in St. Martin's Le Grand.

"Cab! Golden Cross!" said Mr.
Pickwick.

"Only a bob's vorth," sulkily cried
a strange specimen of the human race
in sackcloth coat and apron, who was
perched upon a vehicle composed of
two enormous wheels and one small
and decrepit-looking nag. ' ' Here you
are, sir."

' ' How old is that horse, my friend ? ' '
inquired Mr. Pickwick, curiously, as
the cab drove off.

"Forty-two," replied the driver,
eyeing him askant.

"What!" ejaculated Mr. Pickwick,
laying his hand upon his note-book.
The driver reiterated his former state-

ment, and Mr. Pickwick noted down
the fact, forthwith.

"And how long do you keep him
out at a time?" inquired Mr. Pick-
wick, searching for further informa-
tion.

"Two or three veeks," replied the
man.

"Weeks!" said Mr. Pickwick in
astonishment — and out came the note-
book again. The entry was scarcely
completed when they reached the
Golden Cross, Mr. Tupman, Mr.
Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle, the three
remaining members of the Pickwick
Club, who had been anxiously await-
ing the arrival of their illustrious
leader, crowded to welcome him.

' ' Here 's your fare, ' ' said Mr. Pick-
wick, holding out a shilling to the
driver.

What was the learned man's aston-
ishment when that unaccountable per-
son flung the money on the pavement,
dashed his hat after it, with reckless
disregard of his private property, and

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

knocked Mr. Pickwick's spectacles off,
following up the attack with a blow
in Mr. Snodgrass's eye, and another,
by way of variety, in Mr. Tnpman's
waistcoat.

" 'Ere's a lark!" shouted half a
dozen hackney coachmen and crowded,
with great glee, round the party.

"You are mad," said Mr. Snod-
grass.

"Or drunk," said Mr. Winkle.

"Or both," said Mr. Tupman.

minated by the interposition of a new-
comer.

"What's the fun?" said a tall,
thin, young man in a green coat,
emerging, suddenly, from the coach-
yard, and making his way toward
Mr. Pickwick thru the crowd, by the
simple process of elbowing the coun-
tenances of its members. That
learned man, in a few hurried words,
explained the real state of the case.

"Come along, then," said he of

HOW OLD IS THAT HORSE, MY FRIEND

"Wot did 'e want my number for,
then?" inquired the cabman.- He
appealed to the crowd. " 'E 's an in-
former as goes around in a man's cab
an' takes down ev'ry word 'e says
into the bargain."

A light flashed upon Mr. Pickwick
— it was the note-book, then, in which
he was wont to gather interesting
and unusual facts. "You shall smart
for this," he gasped.

"Informers!" shouted the joyous
crowd.

"Come on!" cried the cabman,
belligerently.

The affair was unexpectedly ter-

the green coat, lugging Mr. Pickwick
and his friends after him toward
the travelers' waiting-room. "Cabbie,
take your fare — now take yourself off
— respectable gentleman — know him
well — this way, sir — never say die —
smart chap, that cabman — punch his
head — 'cod, I would — pig's whisper —
no gammon."

Before the bewildered Pickwickians
could find voice for thanks, this co-
herent a'nd sprightly speech was in-
terrupted by the entrance of the
Rochester coachman, to announce that
"The Commodore" was on the point
of starting.

PICKWICK PAPERS

' ' Commodore ! ' ' said the stranger,
starting up. ' ■ My coach — place booked
— one ontside "

Now it so happened that Mr. Pick-
wick and his companions had resolved
to make Rochester their first holding-
place, too, and, having intimated to
their new-found acquaintance that
they were journeying to the same
city, they agreed to occupy the seat
at the back of the coach, where they
could all sit together. Once seated on

acquainted with Mr. Alfred Jingle,
as the stranger introduced himself. A
whisper passed among the Pickwick-
ians, and nods of assent were ex-
changed. Mr. Pickwick addressed the
stranger.

' ' You rendered us a very important
service this morning, ' ' said he. ' ' May
we beg the favor of your company at
dinner ? "

"Great pleasure — not presume to
dictate, but broiled fowl and mush-

JINGLE INTRODUCES HIMSELF TO THE PICKWICKIANS

the coach, Mr. Pickwick had leisure to
examine the costume and appearance
of the stranger.

His green coat, once a smart dress
garment, had evidently been made
for a much shorter man, for the soiled
sleeves scarcely reached to his wrists.
His scanty, black trousers were
strapped tightly over a pair of dirty
white stockings, and his long, black
hair escaped, in negligent waves,
from beneath each side of his old,
pinched-up hat. An air of jaunty
impudence pervaded the whole man.

By the time the party had reached
Rochester, they were all very well

rooms — capital!" said the stranger.
"Five o'clock, precisely — till then —
take care of yourselves," and, lifting
the pinched-up hat a few inches from
his head, the stranger carelessly re-
placed it very much on one side, and
walked briskly away.

"A fine fellow — very," was the
Pickwickian verdict.

Punctual to five o'clock came the
stranger, and, shortly afterwards, the
dinner.

"Devil of a mess on the staircase,
waiter," said the stranger, as the
meal was progressing pleasantly to-
ward a third bottle of wine. "Lamps

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

— harps — glasses — what's going for-
ward?"

"Ball, sir," said the waiter.

' ' Many fine women here ? ' ' inquired
Mr. Tupman, with great interest.

"Splendid — capital, sir — Kent fa-
mous for women, sir. ' '

"I should like very much to go,"
sighed Mr. Tupman, amorously.

"Beg pardon, friends," said the
stranger, as the waiter withdrew.
"Bottle stands — pass it round — no
heel-taps," and he emptied his glass,
which he had just filled, with the air
of a man used to it. The wine was
passed. The stranger talked. The
Pickwickians listened. Mr. Winkle
and Mr. Snodgrass fell fast asleep.
Mr. Pickwick exhibited, for a mo-
ment, an unnatural brilliancy, then
flickered and went out, so to speak.
His head sank upon his bosom. He
slept, also.

The temptation to be present at the
ball was strong upon Mr. Tupman.
The temptation to take the stranger
with him was equally great. The
additional stimulus of a last glass of
wine settled his determination.

' ' Winkle 's bedroom is inside mine, ' '
said Mr. Tupman. "I know he has a
dress-suit in a carpet-bag. Supposing
you wore it to the ball, and took it off
when we returned. I could replace it
without troubling him at all about the
matter. ' '

' ' Capital ! ' ' said the stranger. ' 'Fa-
mous plan — very good notion, that —
very. ' '

Mr. Tupman rang the bell, pur-
chased tickets, and ordered chamber
candlesticks. In another quarter of
an hour, the stranger was completely
arrayed in a full suit of Mr. Nathaniel
Winkle's, adorned with large, gilt
club buttons, bearing a bust of Mr.
Pickwick in the center and the letters
"P. C." on each side.

"Queer coats, these — like general
postman's coats," said the stranger,
ungratefully. "Mysterious dispensa-
tion of Providence — all the long men

get the short coats " Running on

in this way, Mr. Jingle, accompanied
by Mr. Tupman, ascended the stair-
case leading to the ballroom, entered,

and stationed themselves in a corner,
to observe the company.

' ' Charming women, ' ' breathed Mr.
Tupman, gratefully. "Who is that
little, fat man with the pink head,
paying attention to that richly dressed
old widow in the corner?"

"Rum old girl — lots of money —
that's evident — pompous doctor — not
a bad idea — good fun," were the in-
telligible sentences which issued from
Mr. Alfred Jingle 's lips, mysteriously.
Mr. Tupman looked inquisitively into
his face.

"I'll dance with the widow," said
Mr. Jingle.

"Who is she?" inquired Mr. Tup-
man, aghast.

' * Dont know — never saw her in my
life — cut out the doctor — here goes."
And the audacious stranger, forth-
with, crossed the room, picked up the
little old lady's fan, presented it to
her, — a smile — a bow — an introduc-
tion from the master of ceremonies,
and Mr. Jingle and Mrs. Bulger took
their places in a quadrille.

The surprise of Mr. Tupman at this
summary proceeding was immeasur-
ably exceeded by the astonished indig-
nation of the scorned doctor. Dr.
Slammer was paralyzed — rejected,
he ? Impossible ! yet it was so. Mrs.
Bulger was dancing with Mr. Jingle
— there was no mistaking the fact.
Silently did the doctor bear all this,
the handing of goblets of negus, the
darting for biscuits, the coquetting
that ensued; but, a few seconds after
the stranger had disappeared, to lead
Mrs. Bulger to her carriage, he darted
from the room, in a perspiration of
passion.

The stranger was returning, and
Mr. Tupman was beside him. He was
exulting. He laughed. The little
doctor thirsted for his life.

' ' Sir ! ' ' said the doctor, in an awful
voice, producing a card. "My name
is Dr. Slammer, sir — my card, sir —

my card ' ' His indignation choked

him.

"Ah!" replied the stranger, coolly,
"much obliged — polite attention —
not ill now, Slammer — but when I am
— knock you up. ' '

PICKWICK PAPERS

1 ' You 're a shuffler, sir, ' ' gasped the
furious doctor, "a poltroon — you are
intoxicated; you shall hear from me
in the morning, sir." Doctor Slam-
mer fixed his hat on his head with an
indignant knock ; and Mr. Jingle and
Mr. Tupman ascended to the bedroom
of the latter, to restore the borrowed
plumage to the unconscious "Winkle.

The restoration was soon made.
The stranger departed. Mr. Tracy
Tupman, quite bewildered with wine,

sir," said Boots, as Mr. Winkle con-
fronted him.

1 ' Very odd, ' ' said Mr. Winkle ; " I '11
be down directly."

He hurriedly wrapped himself in a
traveling-shawl, and proceeded down-
stairs. An officer, in undress uniform,
turned as Mr. Winkle entered the
coffee-room, and made a stiff inclina-
tion of the head.

' ' I have called here this morning, ' '
said the officer, with deathly calm,

THE BELLIGERENTS PREPARE FOR BATTLE

lights and ladies, thought the whole
affair an exquisite joke. After ex-
periencing some slight difficulty in
finding the hole in his nightcap in-
tended for his head, he managed to
get into bed, and sank into repose.
Seven o'clock had hardly ceased
striking when a loud knocking at his
door roused him.

"Can I speak to Mr. Winkle, sir?"
called Boots thru the keyhole.

"Winkle, you're wanted — some one

at door " shouted Mr. Tupman,

with great exertion, and fell fast
asleep on the last word.

"Gentleman in the coffee-room,

"in behalf of my friend, Dr. Slam-
mer, who begged me to express his
opinion that your conduct of last
evening was of a description no gentle-
man could endure, and to demand a
written apology or satisfaction."

' ' A — written — apology ! ' ' repeated
Mr. Winkle, in. the most emphatic
tone of amazement possible. An un-
welcome light broke upon him. Last
night — he had a vague recollection of
walking the streets — he had been
drunk, very — he must have gone
somewhere, and insulted somebody —
terrible !

There was nothing to do but to

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

accept the challenge of the warlike
Dr. Slammer. The honor of the
Pickwickians was at stake. ' 1 1 accept
the challenge," said Mr. Winkle,
heavily.

"Shall we say sunset this evening,
at Fort Pitt Field?" inquired the
officer, in a care-free tone.

"Very good," replied Mr. Winkle,
thinking, in his heart, it was very
bad.

' ' Good-morning ! ' '

"Good-morning!" and the officer
whistled a lively air as he strode
away.

The morning's breakfast passed off
heavily. After breakfast Mr. Snod-
grass proposed a visit to the castle,
and as Mr. Winkle was the only other
member of the party able to walk,
they set out together.

' ' Snodgrass ! ' ' said Mr. Winkle, sol-
emnly. ' ' I want your assistance in an
affair of honor." He explained the
circumstances at some length, de-
voutly hoping that Snodgrass would
refuse.

"I will attend you," said Mr.
Snodgrass. It is extraordinary how
cool outsiders can be in such cases.
Mr. Winkle felt a chill pass thru his
frame, as the conviction that he had
nothing to hope for from his friend's
fears rushed forcibly upon him.

A case of pistols having been hired
from a manufacturer in Rochester,
the two friends returned to the inn to
await the approaching struggle.

It was a dull and heavy evening
when they again sallied forth, Mr.
Winkle muffled in a huge coat, Mr.
Snodgrass bearing his instruments of
destruction.

"We are in excellent time," said
Mr. Snodgrass, cheerfully, as they
climbed the fence into Fort Pitt
Field, "and there they are waiting
for us now."

Mr. Winkle stifled a groan, as the
officer of the morning approached.

"My friend, sir, Mr. Snodgrass,"
he said. Dr. Slammer's friend bowed.

"We may place our men, I think,"
observed he, with as much indiffer-
ence as tho the principals were chess-
men.

"I think we may," replied Mr.
Snodgrass, who would have assented
to any proposition, because he knew
nothing whatever about the matter.
The seconds retired, and the belliger-
ents approached each other. Mr.
Winkle was always remarkable for
extreme humanity. It was doubtless
this that caused him to shut his eyes
upon arriving at the fatal spot. His
eyes being closed, he did not observe
the very extraordinary demeanor of
Dr. Slammer. That gentleman stared,
rubbed his eyes, and, finally, shouted :
' ' Stop ! That 's not the man ! ' '

"Not the man!" said Dr. Slam-
mer's second.

"Not the man!" said Mr. Snod-
grass.

"Certainly not," replied the little
doctor. "That's not the person who
insulted me last night, ' '

Now Mr. Winkle opened his eyes,,
and his ears, too. He stepped boldly
forward, and said :

"I am not the person. I know it."

"My dear sir," said the doctor,
extending his hand, "I shall feel
proud of your acquaintance. ' '

"It will afford me the greatest
pleasure to know you, -sir," replied
Mr. Winkle. Whereat, the whole
party shook hands, very cordially, and
left the grounds, in the most pleasant
fashion imaginable.

"Perhaps you and your friends
will call on us at the 'Bull' this even-
ing," said Mr. Winkle. "I shall be
glad to introduce you to Mr. Pickwick
and Mr. Tupman. ' '

' ' I shall come with great pleasure, 7 '
said the doctor. Cordial farewells were
exchanged, and the party separated.

As the Pickwickians and their new
acquaintance, Mr. Jingle, were gath-
ered sociably about glasses and a
bottle that evening, the waiter entered
the room.

' ' Some gentlemen, sir. ' '

"Oh!" said Mr. Winkle, rising.
"Some friends of mine — show them
in."

The waiter ushered two gentlemen
into the room.

Lieutenant Toppleton and Dr.

Slammer," said Mr. Winkle.

PICKWICK PAPERS

friends, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tup — "
Here Mr. Winkle suddenly paused.
Strong emotion was visible on the
countenance both of Mr. Tupman and
the doctor.

"I have met this gentleman be-
fore," said the doctor, with marked
emphasis, "and — and that person,
too. ' ' His eye fixed the green swallow-
tail of Mr. Jingle malevolently. He
then gazed, with ferocious aspect, on
the beaming countenance of the un-
conscious Pickwick.

Jingle to clear himself as well as
possible. He was apparently about to
proceed to do so, when Lieutenant
Toppleton, who had been eyeing him*
said, with considerable scorn: "Are
you not a strolling actor, sir?"

' ' Certainly — good boy — clever mem-
ory, ' ' replied the unabashed stranger.

The Lieutenant turned contemptu-
ously to Dr. Slammer. "You see you
cannot proceed in this affair, Slam-
mer— impossible. I wish you all
good-evening." And the Lieutenant

THE PICKWICKIANS DECIDE TO HUNT JINGLE DOWN

"Sir," said he, finally, addressing
Mr. Tupman in a tone that made that
gentleman start as perceptibly as if a
pin had been inserted in the calf of
his leg, "you were at the ball here,
last night, and that — that person was
your companion."

Mr. Tupman gasped a faint affirma-
tive.

"Tupman," said Mr. Pickwick, se-
verely, "this must be explained. Tell
your story."

Thus solemnly adjured, Mr. Tup-
man stated the case in a few words,
winding up with a little penitence on
his own account, and leaving Mr.

bounced out of the room, followed by
Dr. Slammer, who said nothing, but
withered the company with a look.
During the conversation, Mr. Jingle
had been edging toward the door. He
now opened it, inserted his thin body
in the crack, and delivered his fare-
well. "Off directly — important en-
gagement— see you all later — jolly old
gentleman — capital fun, very — by-by,
Pickwick." And he, too, disappeared.
Rage and bewilderment swelled the
noble breast of Mr. Pickwick, almost
to the bursting of his waistcoat, dur-
ing this scene. As the door closed on
the thin legs of the stranger, he

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

rushed forward, fury in his looks, and
would have followed, had not Mr.
Snodgrass seized his revered leader
by the coat-tail, and dragged him
back.

"Let me go," said Mr. Pickwick,
fiercely.

"Hold him tight," shouted Mr.
Snodgrass. By the united effort of
his followers, Mr. Pickwick was

THE CONSPIRATORS MAKE SAM WELLER
THEIR INSTRUMENT

forced into an armchair, and brandy
and water administered internally.
Gradually, his countenance recovered
its customary expression of benevo-
lence.

"He is," said Mr. Pickwick, ma-
jestically, "beneath my notice, but, as
Pickwickians and gentlemen, we must
make it our duty to expose his true
character to the world. Tomorrow, I
shall send for my servant, Sam
Weller, and we will set out upon the
trail of this nefarious rascal, Jingle.

Meanwhile, my dear fellows, brandy,
if you please."

Accordingly, Sam was sent for, and
that worthy having arrived and, by a
mysterious process of inquiry about
town, discovered that Jingle had gone
on to the neighboring shire of Bury
St. Edmunds, and was stopping at the
"Angel" there, the dauntless band of
Pickwickians set sternly out upon
their mission of protecting
the public.

At the "Angel," rooms
were obtained, and the
party sat down to a very
satisfactory dinner, while
Sam Weller was sent out to
find the exact whereabouts
of the quarry. He returned
with the intelligence that
Jingle had been joined by a
companion, or servant,
named Job Trotter, and the
two had gone out together
for the evening.

"Now, sir," argued Mr.
Weller, when he had con-
cluded his report, "if I can
get a talk with this here
Trotter in the mornin ', he '11
tell me all his master's con-
cerns. Then you can ar-
range what's best to be
done, sir, and we can act
according. ' ' •

This arrangement was
finally agreed upon, and Mr.
Weller, with his master's
permission, retired below-
stairs, to spend his evening
in his own way with a choice
band of congenial spirits in
the taproom, whose subse-
quent roars of laughter penetrated to
Mr. Pickwick's bedroom, and short-
ened the term of his natural rest by
at least three hours.

Early on the ensuing morning, Mr.
Weller was dispelling the feverish
remains of the evening's conviviality
by holding his head under the pump
in the inn-yard, when he was attracted
by the appearance of a young fellow,
in mulberry-colored livery, sitting on
a bench nearby.

"How are you, old 'un?" inquired

PICKWICK PAPERS

Mr. Weller, sociably, scrubbing his
face with the towel. "Stoppin' in
the house, are you? How was it you
warn 't one of us last night ? ' '

"I was out with my master," re-
plied the stranger.

"What's his name?" inquired Mr.
Weller, breathlessly.

' ' Jingle is his name, ' ' said the mul-
berry man. He applied a pink-
checked pocket-handker-
chief most unexpectedly to
his eyes. "Bad — very
bad, ' ' he said sadly.

"You dont mean that?"
said Sam, surveying this
display of emotion with
lively interest.

"I do, indeed. My mas-
ter's going to be married."
Mr. Trotter's voice was
choked with excess of feel-
ing. "And, worse than
that, he's going to run
away with a rich heiress
from a boarding-school .on
the Westgate Road at mid-
night, tonight. He's went
an; made friends with the
abbess an' wormed hisself
into the school that way."

"What a dragon!" said
Sam. ' ' Dont you think, old
fellow, you're a precious
rascal if you let your mas-
ter take in this young
lady?"

' ' I know that, ' ' said Job,
groaning slightly, "but
what am I to do ? Nobody 'd
believe it. The young lady
would deny it, and so would
my master, and I'd lose my place."
Sam reflected a moment.

"Come this way," said he, sud-
denly grasping the mulberry man by
the arm. "My mas'r's the man you
want, I see." And, after a slight re-
sistance on the part of Mr. Trotter,
Sam led his newly found friend to the
apartment of Mr. Pickwick, to whom
he presented a brief summary of the
dialog just repeated.

' ' When, ' ' said Mr. Pickwick, much
affected, "is this villainous design to
be carried into execution ? ' '

"Tonight, sir. We are to call for
the young lady at midnight in a post-
chaise," replied Job.

' ' Instant measures must be taken, ' '
said Mr. Pickwick. ' ' He must be ap-
prehended in the very act of elope-
ment, so that there can be no doubt of
his villainy. I myself will go to the
school this evening, wait in the
garden, and, at half-past eleven, I

MR. PICKWICK IS DISCOVERED BEHIND THE DOOR

shall tap on the door of the school,
and you, my good fellow, shall let me
in, while your master is climbing to
the young lady's window. We will
frustrate the nefarious plans of your
master at the very moment of their
execution. I dont like the plan, but
as the happiness of this young lady's
whole life is at stake, I adopt it. ' '

Thus did Mr. Pickwick's innate
good-nature involve him in an enter-
prise of great hazard.

Half -past ten o'clock that evening
arrived, and it was time for Mr. Pick-

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

wick to venture forth. For reasons of
prudence, he left the other members
of his party ignorant of his plans, and
set out, attended only by the faith-
ful Sam.

They found the house easily, read

the wall, and, a moment later, found
himself alighted, at full length, in the
garden, on top of three gooseberry
bushes and a rose-tree. Not caring to
go too near the door until the ap-
pointed time, he crouched into an

the brass plate, and paused beside the
garden wall.

"You will return to the inn, Sam,
when you have assisted me over the
wall," said Mr. Pickwick. "Now
take hold of my legs, and raise me
gently."

' ' Werry well, sir. ' '

Mr. Pickwick grasped the top of

angle of the wall and waited. He was
aroused from a half-doze by the
chimes of a neighboring church ring-
ing half -past eleven.

"This is the time," thought Mr.
Pickwick. He walked on tiptoe to
the door, and gave a gentle tap —
then, after two or three minutes, a
louder one. At length, the sound of

PICKWICK PAPERS

feet was audible on the stairs. There
was a low whispering inside, and then
a voice cried: "Who's there?"

"That's not Job," thought Mr.
Pickwick, hastily drawing himself
straight up against the wall beside the
door. " It 's a woman. ' '

He had scarcely time to form this

murmured. To his horror, the bolts
and chains on the door were with-
drawn, and the door opened wider
and wider, crowding him unpleas-
antly behind it.

1 ' Who 's there ? ' ' screamed a chorus
of treble voices from inside. Of
course, Mr. Pickwick did not say who

unpleasant conclusion, when a window
upstairs was thrown up, and four
shrill, female voices repeated the in-
quiry: "Who's there?"

Mr. Pickwick dared not move hand
or foot. It was clear the whole estab-
lishment was aroused. A profuse
perspiration dampened his brow.

"What a dreadful situation!" he

was there ; and the burden of the
chorus changed into: "Lor', I'm so
frightened!"

At that moment, an inquisitive
boarder, who had been peeping be-
tween the hinges of the door, set up a
fearful scream.

"What — what is the matter, Miss
Smithers?" said the lady abbess, as

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

the aforesaid Miss Smithers proceeded
to go into hysterics of four-young-
lady-power.

"Oh! the man — the — man behind
the door," screamed Miss Smithers.
The boarders, the teachers and the
servants fell back upon each other,
and never was such a screaming and
fainting and struggling beheld. In
the midst of the tumult, Mr. Pick-
wick emerged from his concealment.

' ' Ladies — dear ladies ! ' 7 roared Mr.
Pickwick, rendered desperate by the
dangers of the situation. "Hear me
— do I look like a robber? My dear
ladies, you may lock me up in a closet
if you like — only hear me. ' '

By the more reasonable part of the
establishment, some four individuals,
it was now proposed that Mr. Pick-
wick should be locked into the closet
in which the day-boarders hung their
sandwich-bags, and that he might say
what he wished thru the door. Ac-
cordingly, he, at once, stepped into
the closet, was locked in, and the
conference began.

"I came to warn you, madam, that
one of your young ladies was going to
elope, tonight," said Mr. Pickwick.

' ' Elope ! ' ' exclaimed the abbess, the
three teachers, the thirty boarders
and the five servants. ' ' With whom ? ' '

"Your friend, Mr. Alfred Jingle."

' ' I never heard of such a person in
my life."

"Then I have been deceived and
deluded," said Mr. Pickwick. "I
am the victim of a base conspiracy.
Send to the 'Angel' for Mr. Pick-
wick's man-servant, I implore you,
madam."

While two of the servants were dis-
patched to the "Angel" in search of

Mr. Sam Weller, Mr. Pickwick sat
down in the closet, beneath a grove of
sandwich-bags, and awaited their re-
turn as philosophically as his state of
mind would allow. In an hour and a
half, they came back, bringing with
them not only Sam, but Mr. Snod-
grass, Mr. Tupman and Mr. Winkle.
Explanations followed, and Mr. Pick-
wick, released from the closet, and set
aright in the good graces of the lady
abbess, the three teachers, the thirty
boarders and the five servants, walked
slowly and silently home with his
friends. He seemed bewildered and
amazed. Just before snuffing his
candle, preparatory to sleep, however,
he called Sam to him.

"Sam!" said Mr. Pickwick, with
desperate effort.

"Sir?" said Mr. Weller.

"Where are that Trotter and
Jingle?"

"Gone, sir," replied Mr. Weller.
' ' There 's a pair on 'em, sir. ' '

"Jingle suspected my design, and
set that fellow on you with this story,
I suppose?" said Mr. Pickwick, half-
choking.

' ' Just that, sir, ' ' replied Mr. Weller,
sympathetically. "Reg'lar do, sir;
artful dodge. ' '

Mr. Pickwick raised himself in bed,
and indented his pillow with a tre-
mendous blow. "Whenever I meet
that Jingle again," said he, sternly,
' ' I — I — I shall require an explanation
of his conduct from him — I most cer-
tainly shall."

And, somewhat comforted by this
awful threat, Mr. Pickwick snuffed
his candle, tied his night-cap strings
more firmly beneath his chin, and
went peacefully off to sleep.

Barry's Breaking In

(Edison)

By HENRY ALBERT PHILLIPS

(From the Photoplay of James Oppenheim)

For five years Eicliard Remsen had
done everything he conld think
of to make something of his son
Barry. And Barry had looked npon
his efforts good-naturedly, just as he
looked upon all other serious things in
life. What had he to worry about —
being the son of a retired millionaire ?

At length, on the point of despair,
he had that long talk at the club with
his friend Bennett, the wealthy in-
ventor.

"Now what would you do with a
son like that, Bennett?"

"I hope I dont hurt your feelings,
when I say that I'd disown him!"
replied the eccentric inventor.

"No, you do not hurt my feelings,
but it hurts my pride for what I hope
always that he might be. Perhaps it's
my love that has spoiled him; yet I
cant disown him."

' ' Then deprive him of his income. ' '

"His dear mother thwarted that,
by leaving him a tidy sum when she
died."

"I wish I could help you, Remsen,
but I cant," said Bennett, starting to
rise.

"Wait one minute, Mark — I think
you can help me and 7?im."

Bennett sank back, with a look of
dismay.

1 ' The boy has always had a bent for
mechanics — mending his toys, the
motor-car "

"But I have no room for an idler,"
Bennett could not forbear remarking.

"No, I know that," said Remsen,
sadly, ' ' but help me any way you can
— if it is only to say he is utterly —
worthless. ' '

"I wish I didn't feel so strongly

about these things, Remsen," he said,
taking his friend's hand sympatheti-
cally. "But send the boy over to see
me."

"You are the sort of a man who can
help — us. Thanks, many thanks. I '11
see you in a week or so — then tell me
the truth. So long. ; '

Bennett hated the onerous task that
friendship had laid on his shoulders.
He had seen Barry Remsen lolling
about the club, puffing languidly at
a drooping cigaret; he had observed
him jestingly strike his father for
extra cash to help him out of some
poker difficulties, and he had noted
his extreme antipathy for work in
any form. So, long before Barry
came around late the morning after
the friendly compact, Mark Bennett
had made up his mind against the
young fellow.

Barry Remsen, left to himself and
all the disintegrating inertia of the
idle-rich habits, that had become in-
grown from long associations, had no
power to help himself in his plight.
In fact, if he had been told, in all
seriousness, that his career and future
worth and happiness depended upon
the outcome of that visit, he would
have chuckled, in his good-natured
way, and gone off, lighting a fresh
cigaret. So much for any influence
Mark Bennett could exert to reform
him, or for his own stultified capacity
for reforming himself.

The whole affair had been one of
extreme jocularity to Barry, from the
moment his father had handed him
the letter to be delivered by him "in
person," to that instant, about an
hour later, when the servant had

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

shown him into the drawing-room,
where a young lady sat before the
fire, reading a book. The young lady
rose, with some agitation, and Barry
found himself looking, for what
seemed a long time, into her large,
brown eyes, and feeling something
more serious than he ever remembered
having felt before.

"Wont you be seated? — father will

"Ah! Mr. Bennett, a note from my
worthy father ' ' — Barry had recovered
himself at the sight of Bennett's stern
face — "who prefers my services to
those of a messenger boy, for some un-
known reason. ' ' He handed Bennett
the letter.

"Perhaps he would rather see you
work than idling around, ' ' commented
the other, tartly. "You run along,

BARRY AT THE CLUB

be here presently/' floated from out
of this cloud of seriousness that had
suddenly enveloped him ; and, for the
first time in his knowledge, his ever-
ready fund of repartee deserted him.
He was still mute, and gazing at the
ingenuous young lady before him,
when the almost vicious slam of the
door made him start guiltily.

"Well?" snapped Mark Bennett,
who had seen much in the scene be-
fore him to kindle an additional dis-
gust for the unconscious Barry.

Isabel. I have business with this
young man."

A few minutes later, Barry came
out of the house, and stepped into the
waiting car, mumbling.

"Well, what are these two old
geezers up to now, I wonder? Any
one would think that I had applied
for a job." Here the young man was
so convulsed with laughter that he
fairly punched the luxurious cushions
of the car. "The old man came in
dressed like a mill-hand himself. They

BARRY'S BREAKING IN

say he is bugs on the subject of 'man
and his work, ' God bless him ! He can
do my share while he's about it."
Suddenly the young man straightened
up, with a serious wrinkle on his
brow. ' ' Gee ! but wasn 't she a peach ! ' '

His father met him at the door of
their home.

' ' Well, what did Mr. Bennett say V '
he asked, somewhat anxiously.

"I hope there's nothing wrong,
son?" he said, apprehensively.

"No, pater — thanks."

'.'Off for the club?"

"No, pater — church."

"What the deuce has got into
him?" mused the old man, over his
morning paper, almost sorry he had
made any effort to tamper with his
son 's character at this late day.

BARRY TAKES A FANCY TO BENNETT S DAUGHTER

"To call again, in three days.
Which I would do — I dont think — if

it hadn't been for " And he

winked jocularly at his father, and
went up the broad staircase, three
steps at a time.

The next morning was Sunday, and
Barry's father was surprised to have
the boy come down in time for break-
fast. He seemed unusually nervous
during the meal, at which his father
made no comment, until Barry looked
at his watch and rose to go.

How Barry found out the right
church, he alone will ever know. He
went early, and waited more than a
half-hour, until a girl with large,
melting, brown eyes came along, who
acknowledged his bow timidly and
smiled. Then they walked in together.

That Sunday Isabel Bennett was
unusually late for dinner.

"Communion Sunday?" was all
her father asked, kissing her fondly.

"Yes, father," she replied, simply.

The next day, Barry was to return

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

to get his answer. Isabel happened to
be reading in the drawing-room, as
before. Also, Mr. Bennett entered
unexpectedly and uninvited, as be-
fore. He was angry at what he saw.

' ' Isabel, you will have the goodness
to leave us alone, please," said Ben-
nett, sharply. "Now," he began,
abruptly turning on Barry, "young
man, I was considering giving you
something to do."

• ' Why, my dear man, I assure you, ' '
returned Barry, in his lightest man-
ner— ' ■ I assure you I dont want any-
thing to do, I dont need it — besides, I
can live without work. ' '

"I thought so," growled Bennett,
in suppressed wrath ; " I know the
tribe. Now you had better leave, sir,
before I say something that would not
be befitting the son of one of my dear-
est friends. If at any time you should
really like to work — work hard — then
call, if you like. But kindly discon-
tinue your visits until that time.
Good-day!"

"A queer sort of a game, this,"
muttered Barry, as he walked away
from the big house, craning his neck
for a sight of the pretty brown eyes
which he could not see, because of the
intervening blinds.

Now Barry was blest bountifully
with that indiscreet "nerve" that so
often goes with the make-up of idle
young men. Therefore,, he returned,
not once but many times, to call on
Isabel Bennett, yet knowing full well
that Mark Bennett would surely
throw him out head first, should he
happen to come up unexpectedly from
his laboratory in the rear of the great
house.

A week later, when Richard Rem-
sen almost timidly asked Bennett for
a decision about his boy, the latter
had to think a minute before he could
recollect just whom he meant.

" Oh ! yes, let 's see — why, you mean
— that son of yours ? Well, to tell you
the truth, Remsen, he's no good — not
worth a cent ! ' '

And all the way back to his home,
Bennett looked out of the car window,
and pondered over the way Remsen
had risen, without a word, at his pro-

nouncement, his eyes a trifle moist,
and a pathetic huskiness in his
' ' Thanks— Mark. ' ' He was sorry that
he had been so blunt, and he was
sorry, too, for Remsen, while there
rose in his bile an overwhelming dis-
gust for the good-for-nothing boy.

He entered his home in the worst
of humors.

' ' There is some one to see you, sir, ' '
his servant informed him.

Bennett looked expectantly toward
the empty drawing-room. "Where is
there some one to see me?" he de-
manded.

"Why — why," faltered the domes-
tic, guiltily, "he is waiting in your
laboratory, sir."

"What!" roared Bennett, fiercely.
"Haven't I instructed every one in
my house that no one is ever to be
allowed in my laboratory ? ' '

"Yessir, but Miss Isabel took him
there."

"Miss Isabel! And will you have
the goodness to tell me for whom Miss
Isabel dares to break my solemn
injunction?" Bennett was ready to
explode with wrath.

"I think the gentleman's name is —
is Mr. Barry Remsen. ' '

Bennett tore out of the door, almost
shattering the glass with his violence.

Isabel and Barry were chatting,
obliviously, in one corner of the work-
room, when Bennett fairly burst thru
the door.

, " Ah ! here 's the governor, now, ' '
announced the young man, advancing
toward Bennett with outstretched
hand and a familiar smile; "been
waiting some time for you, Mr. Ben-
nett. An odd sort of a place you have
here."

Whatever Mr. Bennett had ex-
pected, it was not, at least, this suave
greeting. He had to confess that this
worthless fellow always disconcerted
him. He began saying what he always
seemed to be saying in Barry's pres-
ence: "Isabel! Kindly and quickly
go back "

Barry interrupted him, with a
courteous smile. "Just a moment,
Isabel. You see, Mr. Bennett, Isabel
is deeply concerned with what I have

BARRY'S BREAKING IN

come to speak with you about
you, little girl?"

Mr. Bennett paled, and, if the truth
were known, was filled with a sudden
deadly fear. He said nothing, because
of his sheer inability to do so.

"It's this way — but why not come
right to the point in a cozy, little,
family matter of this kind ? — we have
decided to perfect our happiness and
get married. You, naturally "

"You impudent idler!" gasped
Bennett, taking a threatening step
toward Barry. "You shallow "

"Father!" cried Isabel, inter-
vening, a look
her face that
told Bennett,
poignantly,
of a divided
heart.

"Didn't I
tell you not
to come near
here again,
unless you
meant to
work?"

The three
men about
the shop, j
t h o pre-
tending to
b e busy, were
enjoying the dialog
with its probable dra
matic outcome.

"And dont you call this
something of a big order, sir,
taking such a troublesome daughter
off your hands for life ? " In this re-
mark Barry overstepped the bounds of
levity, and gave Bennett the outburst
of righteous indignation that the
tragedy of it all had robbed him of.

"Young man, I want you to listen
carefully to the few words I will have
to say — and you, too, Isabel." Ben-
nett raised a trembling hand, and his
voice betrayed the rift that had sud-
denly been made in his heart. The two
stood, now, abashed. "Young man,
no more unworthy a suitor could have
presented himself, asking for the hand
of my daughter. When I tell you that
I would look with more favor on an

aren't industrious street-cleaner than upon

v£*

an idle — yes, worthless — millionaire-,
you may measure my feelings in the
matter. But you have not considered
my feelings. You have trampled on
them, with that idler's bravado that
will, at length, trample upon her
heart ! You have entered my house
with all the license of a common thief,
and stolen the most precious treasure
I possess. Already, in the love you
have filched, has gone something of
her life that neither you nor she can
restore." The old man paused, a gray
pallor stealing over his face.
Isabel had stolen to him,
and laid her head on
his breast, and
sobbed softly.
Something
had crept
into Barry
Remsen's
soul and,
with the
. poignancy of
a surgeon 's
f knife, had
ripped away
the mask of
levity that had,
hitherto, ob-
scured Life, and
he felt strange
longings stirring
within him. He
saw himself losing her, who
had become all. He saw re-
vealed this father's torn heart; he
realized his own's father disappoint-
ment ; he felt his own unworthiness.

' ' Now, boy, perhaps you can realize
what loathing your type inspires
within me. I wont say that you cant
win my esteem. But with my last
breath I will continue to repeat that
you will never have my consent for
my daughter 's hand in marriage until
you have won it ! "

Isabel's sobbing alone disturbed the
stillness that followed. A sinister
determination had come into Barry's
face. He spoke a little huskily.

"I think I have earned your cen-
sure ; now what must I do to win your
approbation V7

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Mr. Bennett looked at the young
man sharply. "Work!" he said,
succinctly.

' ' Is your offer still open ? I ask no
favors; but if it is, I am ready to
begin — work — now ! ' '

' l Isabel, I wish to speak with you in
the library. Barnes," called Mr.
Bennett to his foreman, "get this
young man a pair of overalls, then
step into the office a minute."

wreck of his idleness ; it robbed their
taunts of the poison ; it thwarted their
expected "rough-housing" of the
young swell, and, for some reason or
other, it made their own work easier.

Of course, Barry went without
breakfast that first morning — except
for a chocolate eclair that Isabel
smuggled to him, as she fearfully
came around to see how he fared.
Barry was called upon to do all the

BARRY ATTIRES HIMSELF IN OVERALLS

It was arranged that Barry should
sleep on the cot in the corner of the
workroom, and he telephoned his
father to the effect that he would not
be home for a week, but not to worry.

The next morning, about a quarter
to eight, when the men arrived to go
to work, they found Barry sleeping
soundly. They used a pail of ice-
water to bring him to a realization of
his duties. "Whatever they were pre-
pared for, it was not a smile. And
that smile stuck to Barry out of the

drudgery, of course — he had to sweep
out in the morning, oil the machines,
and handle all the disagreeable chem-
icals used in experiments.

Bennett's only greetings were curt
nods and searching and unfeeling ob-
servation of his work. Regardless of
his severe orders, however, Isabel
continued to hover around the work-
room some portion of each day. Then,
all of a sudden, Barry took hold. His
half -forgotten college lore concerning
chemistry fired him with an insatiable

BARRY'S BREAKING IN

desire to master things. Practice with
the lathes and drills rapidly devel-
oped a marvelous latent skill for
mechanics. His passion for the work
made him forget his meals, and work,
sometimes for hours, into the night,
trying to master some special problem
that had arisen during the day. He
refused, at length, one day, to be in-
terrupted by Isabel, which resulted in
their first lovers' quarrel. This quar-
rel was observed by Bennett himself.

That afternoon he asked
Barry — speaking directly t o

"Well — he's working!" And a
smile came over Mark Bennett's face
that he must have lately learnt. Then
both of the men gave a low, uncon-
scious laugh that caused several others
seated near-by to glance askance in
their direction.

Three weeks passed, and the name
of Barry Remsen was not mentioned
once by any of the three people in-

CHOCOLATE ECLAIRS ARE NOT ALLOWED IN BARRY 's BILL-OF-FARE

him for the first time — to make some
important piece of metal fastening.
A sudden, irresistible spark lighted
in the old man's heart at the boyish
smile of joy that came over Barry's
face. That afternoon, too, he sought
Richard Remsen, for no particular
reason that he cared to acknowledge.

1 ' Richard, ' ' he said, solemnly, ' ' are
you prepared to hear something about
that boy of yours?"

"Tell me, Mark," urged the other,
resignedly.

terested more in his welfare than in
anything else in the world. At length,
the day arrived when Mark Bennett
was to make the most important ex-
periment in his career. If it suc-
ceeded, it would mean that his name
would go down in history.

He called his four workmen around
him.

"I may as well tell you men what
you already know. In the very proof
of my experiment lies its greatest
danger. If these two chemicals, on

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

which we have been working for a
year, will produce perfect combustion
of heat units equal to fusing metals,
then we are successful. But such com-
bustion as this makes our product
dangerous, both in respect to fumes
and explosion. I shall, of course,
assume the major part of the danger
— but I need a volunteer. A man to
whom I can promise nothing, except
a handsome reward, in view of his
services. If he gives his life, his heirs
shall be provided for. ' I

They stood silent for a
moment, then one stepped
forward. It was Barry.

and soul, to go into the house, if only
to have a glimpse of her.

Then, without the slightest warn-
ing, it happened. There was a blind-
ing concussion that threw Barry and
the two men then in the room vio-
lently to the floor. The building
seemed to rock backward and for-
ward, like a tree-top in a gale. A
series of crashes devastated the place
with debris, and then an insidious
vapor began to envelop the atmos-

BARRY UNDERTAKES THE PERILOUS TASK

"If you think I can give you the
required help — I shall be glad to do
it"

A half -wistful glance passed over
Bennett's face for the merest instant,
then he said, briefly: "You'll do.
Now assemble the chemicals on the
bench in the laboratory — I'll be with
you presently. Remember — be care-
ful!" He hurried away, and all
present knew he was going in to give a
surreptitious good-by to his daughter.

Barry sat down, overwhelmed, for
the moment, at the significance of it
all. He, too, longed, with all his heart

phere and saturate the close air with
unbreathable poison. The three men
groped together along the floor.

"Poor Dempsey has got it for his
carelessness," shouted the foreman in
Barry's ear.

Barry paused. The other men crept
out into the sweet, wholesome air.
Barry's decision was made instantly,
despite himself. The side of the
laboratory was, no doubt, burst out,
and he would just crawl thru there
and drag poor Dempsey with him.
Terrible fumes clutched at his throat
and threatened to suck away his

BARRY'S BREAKING IN

breath, like a vampire; little, blue
flames licked his hand until tears of
agony rolled down his itching face.
Once he thought he heard a scream,
with Isabel's voice in it. He was just
giving up, but that voice revived him,
and he dragged on a few feet further,
his throat too dry to give the little,
futile cry that filled his heart. Then
his hand touched another hand that
seemed warm and full of pain. He
leaned close to the floor, to get one
small breath of unvitiated air. Then
he seized the writhing form, and
dragged it along, by inches, racked

way thru a pair of suspiciously misty
eyes. This puzzled him, until Bennett
saw his wondering look ; then he came
over and opened his mouth, but his
voice stayed in his throat, so he just
took Barry's hand tenderly in his
own and pressed it gently. Then
Barry noticed that another hand had
stolen over both of theirs. Then he re-
membered Isabel, and, for a moment,
forgot the pain that was grinding him

all's well that ends well1

with insufferable pain, and crying
softly. Now he heard what seemed a
babel of voices ; then, suddenly, a gust
of cool, pure air struck his tottering
senses like the swift, keen blow of a
knife, and he remembered no more.

The next thing Barry became con-
scious of was a woman weeping some-
where near. He opened his eyes, and
found them looking into Isabel's.
Then, to his amazement, he saw Mark
Bennett standing right above, with a
sort of a smile of approval forcing its

to groans. Then a torrent of wild
sensations came thru his brain, and he
closed his eyes, as tho to ward it off.
Everything began to fade, and, fran-
tically, he recollected what he had
been wanting to say for ever so long.
The old, sweet smile, that new charm
to three devoted hearts, overspread
his begrimed and mutilated face.

"Say," he murmured softly, "for
heaven's sake, tell pater that I'm
working the next time you see him —
will y> »

m T&DNVJ^

" 1\ l\ 0NSIEUR Celestin Riquier % ' '
j VI inquired the postman of a
dissolute-looking young man,
lounging at the door of a cafe.

"C'est mot, monsieur," answered
that individual, extending his hand
for the letter. "From Anna," he
commented. ' ' I hope the old girl has
plucked up courage to dip into that
fossil's cash-box."

But the letter contained better
news than that. Anna wrote of
millions of francs that might be hers
and her dear brother, Celestin 's.
"That fossil, " Monsieur Louis Perier,
had died ; and his vast fortune would
go to Anna, his housekeeper and
nurse, if his niece did not present
herself at the lawyer's office within
two months of the opening of the will.
The letter continued: "Before the
lawyer, M. Iribare, can trace her, she
must be in our power. As you and I
know where to find her, that should
not be difficult. I shall be in Paris in
two days. Get a high-power auto
and a man you can trust. We shall
need both."

Celestin smiled with satisfaction.
Here was business to his liking. The
plot, with its risks and its rich re-
ward for success, appealed to the
particular talents that enabled him
to live without any definite occupa-
tion.

As Anna had hinted in her letter,
he knew the address of Mademoiselle
Nelly Perier, the heiress to her uncle 's

fortune. For Anna had been far-
sighted enough to set him to work to
find and keep a watch on the only
relative of the rich M. Perier. He
would stroll past the little millinery
shop, in the Rue des Pyrenees, to make
sure that she was still there; then he
would see his friend and accomplice
in many a shady transaction, the
"Daredevil Chauffeur," to arrange
for his car.

Nelly Perier was busy creating an
effect, with silk and velvet roses, on a
straw hat. She tried it on, and a
smile of frank appreciation leaped to
her limpid eyes, as she noted how be-
comingly the shape framed her vivid,
young face and soft, dark hair.

"If Jean could see me in this ' '

she murmured, as she removed it and
began twisting in a few leaves. As
she worked, a tender, reminiscent
smile curving her full, red lips, it
seemed to her that, miraculously, the
flowers in her dexterous fingers were
giving forth the fresh, delicious fra-
grance of living blooms. With a ges-
ture of puzzlement, she turned, to
look about her. Something cool
brushed her cheek, and she heard a
man's amused laugh.

"Jean!" she exclaimed, taking the
nosegay held to her face. "How
beautiful these flowers are! Thank
you so much, mon cheri!"

"It is so nice of you to admire
them, when they are such an old
story to you, mignonne," Jean re-

A RACE FOR AN INHERITANCE

marked, indicating the flowers with
which she had been working.

"They are no more an old story
than you are, after all my thoughts
and dreams of you/' she retorted,
with a shy and tender glance.

The young man looked his rapture.
"Mon angel" he whispered, touching
his lips to the rippling masses of her
hair.

Jean Bernard was very much in
love with his fiancee, and their wed-
ding was to take place as soon as he
should receive his promised promo-
tion in the engineering department of
a large construction company; then
they were to have the dear little home
for which they never wearied of
planning.

Jean took out his watch, as he did
every day when he made these hurried
visits to the little shop. "I must rush
away," he said, regretfully. "Such
a few little moments to spend with
you, ma cherie! and then an age
until tomorrow."

"C'est vrai," she agreed; '
lives seem made up of tomorrows

"Only a little while now " he

began, then broke off, as a shadow
fell across the glass door. "Here is

our

a customer. A demain, ma cherie!"
and, bending hastily over her hand,
he was gone.

The woman who entered the shop
was tall and handsome and richly
gowned. Nelly went forward to wait
on her. The customer finally chose
a picture-hat, and asked that it be
delivered the following day.

"What is your name, my dear?"
she asked.

"Nelly Perier," answered the girl.

"Can you deliver that hat your-
self?" inquired the woman.

"Why, yes, madame."

"Then do me that favor, mademoi-
selle. I may depend on you ? ' '

' ' Certainement, madame. ' '

The customer drew a card from its
case, and gave it to Nelly. It bore
the name and address: "Mme. Juana
Gomez, Hotel du Roule, Neuilly."

' t Then I shall expect you tomorrow
morning, at eleven," said the woman.

"Very well, madame. I shall be
there," Nelly replied.

When the next day brought with it
the mellow sunlight and crisp air of
an ideal autumn, Nelly was grateful
to the customer for her unusual re-
quest. It was so good to get away

MON ANGE

HE WHISPERED

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

from the little shop in the narrow
street for an hour or so. She walked
briskly from the underground station,
along a wide, tree-lined avenue, in
the direction of the hotel. As she
approached the last corner, Madame
Gomez turned it so quickly that they
were brought up abruptly.

"Oh, pardon, madame ! " exclaimed
Nelly.

"Oh, it's you!" cried Madame
Gomez, in evident surprise. "You
are early. But I will go back with
you."

An automobile glided to the curb,
and a man within raised his cap to
Madame Gomez.

"You are taking the air, my dear
sister? "Wont you make use of my
car?" he asked.

"Tiens! Celestin, you come at an
opportune moment. You can take us
and this big box to my hotel,' ' said
Madame Gomez.

Celestin took the box. Madame
Gomez had opened a jeweled bon-
bonniere, and proffered it to Nelly.
"Have one," she urged. Nelly put
one of the tiny sweets into her mouth,
and then entered the car with Ma-
dame Gomez. The engine purred,
the wheels leaped forward, and Nelly
sank back into the luxurious seat,
with a sigh of content. She noticed
that they had turned toward the Bois
du Boulogne, instead of continuing
along the avenue, but a feeling of
drowsy content nullified the curiosity
she had begun to feel. Next, she had
the sensation of struggling vainly
against a strange numbness and
stupor. Then, even the swiftly mov-
ing trees were caught up and lost in
a maelstrom of blackness, and the
droning of the engine was locked out
of the deathly silence into which her
senses had entered. On the bank Oi
the Seine, the car stopped, and Ma-
dame Gomez alighted.

"Ca y est," she said, nodding to-
ward the figure huddled in a corner
of the deeply cushioned seat. ' ' She Tl
sleep for twenty-four hours. You
ought to be there before she wakes
up. I'll get back to the hotel in a
taxi, and be there in case of inquiries. ' '

The car leaped forward again, and
started west. Of that swift journey
thru the day and night, Nelly was
oblivious. When the first faint im-
pressions of returning consciousness
came to her, the briny odor of the sea
was in her nostrils and the screech of
seagulls was echoing piercingly thru
her torpor. She felt herself being
lifted and carried; and then the rise
and fall of a boat plowing thru
choppy waves awoke the wonder in
her. She raised her head, and looked
about, but quickly dropped it again,
and closed her eyes. That vast ex-
panse of heaving water stunned
anew her reeling senses. Again she
had the sensation of being lifted and
carried, and, upon opening her eyes,
found herself upon a rocky beach,
being half-carried, half -led by a man
she had never seen before.

Dazed and nerveless, she stumbled
up a rocky pathway and under the
archway of an ancient tower. Here
a woman met them.

"Take her other arm, Maria," said
the man, ' ' and help her along a bit. ' '

"What's to be done with this
one, Gasco?" inquired the woman,
brusquely.

Something sinister in her tone
aroused Nelly, and she made an effort
to free herself. The woman's hard
hand gripped the girl's arm, like a
vise.

"What am I doing here?" she
found voice to ask.

The man and the woman exchanged
glances, but did not answer. They
led her thru crumbling corridors to a
cell-like room.

"This is your room," said the
woman.

"What do you mean?" cried Nelly,
in terror.

"Perhaps this will tell you," an-
swered the woman, taking a note from
her apron pocket. " It is for you. ' '

Nelly opened it and read :

Mademoisehle : You are to remain here
for about two months. No harm will he
done you unless you try to escape. After
your return to Paris, a dowry sufficient
to establish you in business will be
settled on you.

A RACE FOR AN INHERITANCE

More and more bewildered, Nelly
sank to her knees beside the wretched
cot, and burst into a passion of
weeping.

In the ensuing weeks, her jailers
were not unkind, but they were un-
relaxing in their vigilance. One or
the other was always on guard out-
side her door, and, at night, they
slept in the adjoining room, thru
which she would have to pass to gain
her freedom.

But, hopeless as appeared the plight
of this girl, in a cell with shuttered
window, padlocked from the inside,
her mind dwelt constantly on the
means of escape. She noticed that
the panes in the window were very
large. As the head of her cot was
near the window, she contrived, night
after night, to work out some of the
putty with a hairpin. Then, when all
was ready, she picked the ancient
lock, knotted her bed-clothing to-
gether, tied one end to the window-
frame, cautiously opened the shutter,
and, slipping over the sill, went down,
hand over hand, to the base of the
castle wall. There was still the out-
side wall to climb, by means of a
ladder; then a breathless clamber
down the rocky path to the beach. A
boat was pulled up at the edge of the
water. She sprang in and grasped an
oar to push off. She had no idea
where she was, nor what her chances
were for reaching Paris, but any risk
was preferable to this mysterious
imprisonment.

She threw her weight upon the oar —
the boat oscillated. Just then a voice
sounded above the dashing waves.

"Halte la! If you move, I fire!''

It was Gasco, at the top of the cliff,
a rifle at his shoulder. With a sob of
terror and desperation, Nelly once
more planted the oar against a rock.
The rifle spat forth its charge, and
Nelly crumpled up in the bottom of
the boat.

Gasco, with many curses, took the
limp figure in his arms, and climbed
the steep path to the castle. He ar-
rived at the top, panting and ex-
hausted, and was obliged to lay his
burden upon the ground for a mo-

ment. Thinking the girl seriously
wounded, he bent over her in the
dark, to ascertain the extent of her
injury. But Nelly had merely
fainted from fright. Recovering
quickly and completely, she raised
her arms, in an impetuous gesture,
and thrust the man from her. The
unexpected attack threw him side-
ways, as he knelt; he balanced fran-
tically for a moment on the edge of
the, cliff; then a hoarse, choking cry
and the rattling of stones far below
told of his tragic end.

Frozen with horror, Nelly peered
over the edge. With a shudder, she
withdrew and rose to her feet. "It
is fate," she whispered to herself.
"The way is being opened for me.
Ah ! Jean ! I shall see you again ! I
know I shall!"

With courage restored, she ran,
crying hysterically, down to the
beach, and jumped into the boat.
This time she launched it, forcing it
up over the incoming swells, on past
the jagged rocks, and out upon the
heaving bosom of the sea.

To Jean Bernard, Nelly's disap-
pearance had been a heartbreaking
mystery that tortured him as cruelly
at the end of seven weeks as it had
done in those first distracted hours
when he rushed from place to place,
searching for her. All that could be
done, without a key to the mystery,
he and the police had done. Since the
day of her disappearance, when he
had gone to the little millinery shop
with a paper containing an advertise-
ment for news of the niece of Mon-
sieur Louis Perier and signed "M.
Iribare, attorney of Saint Jean de
Luz, ' ' Jean had visited hospitals, and
investigated every incident that bore
a resemblance to a clue. On the
memorable morning, on learning from
the girls in the shop that Nelly had
gone to Neuilly, he had immediately
followed her there. Madame Gomez
met his inquiries with surprise. She
had just been telephoning to ascertain
why Nelly had not kept the appoint-
ment. Then, as days went by, he
wired to M. Iribare, thinking Nelly

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

might have seen the advertisement
and, impulsively, taken the trip to
Saint Jean de Luz. The answer came
back that Nelly was not there, and
that she must present herself not
later than November 10th.

It was now November 8th, and the
mystery was as deep as ever. Wearily,
Jean unfolded his morning paper. A
news item held his attention. It told
of a young girl who had been found

proached the iron gates. Outside
stood a gray touring-car, and, while
he was yet a hundred paces distant,
he saw Madame Gomez and a man
lead Nelly thru the gate and place
her in the car. At sight of Madame
Gomez, Jean had an intuitive convic-
tion that she had been responsible for
Nelly's disappearance. At the hotel,
she had disclaimed all knowledge of
the girl, speaking of her merely as a

NELLY LEAVES THE HOSPITAL RELUCTANTLY

clinging to an overturned boat. Ex-
posure "and fright had resulted in
aphasia. Unable to disclose her iden-
tity, she had been taken to the hos-
pital at Saint Elmo.

''Of course, it is impossible, it is
preposterous, ' ' said Jean, ' ' and yet,

if it should be " He looked at

his watch, consulted a time-table, and,
in a few hours, was on his way to
Saint Elmo.

Arrived at the seaside village, he
inquired the way to the hospital, and,
with wildly beating heart, he ap-

little milliner. Yet here she was
carrying her away from the hospital.
Clearly her object was not a friendly
one. And the man with her was not
of the type to inspire confidence.
Jean's joy at finding Nelly alive was
subdued by the suspicions that raced
thru his mind. He felt that he must
act quickly, or his sweetheart would
be lost to him again. He ran forward,
but the car had started. Making a
mad dash, of almost superhuman
speed, he sprang upon the box
strapped at the rear. Some minutes

A RACE FOR AN INHERITANCE

of jolting in his dangerous position
convinced him that he could not cling
there much longer. An inspiration
flashed from his contending thoughts.
Drawing a revolver from his pocket,
he fired one shot. Immediately, the
car slowed down.

"It sounded like the left rear tire/'
said the "Daredevil Chauffeur" to
Celestin. ' ' I was afraid it would go. ' '

Nelly leaned forward. "Jean!"
she exclaimed, fervently. "I knew
you would come to me and save me!"

1 ' "Why did you go with those people,
petite?" he asked, over his shoulder.

"They came to the hospital and
claimed me as their relative; they
said I was deranged; the doctor said
I must go with them, ' ' she explained.

"Ah! there is some plot!" said

JEAN SPRINGS UPON THE REAR OF THE CAR

"Diantre!" exclaimed the latter,
1 ' that will be a nice mess ! ' '

"Well, hurry up and investigate!"
snapped Madame Gomez, getting out
of the car with the men, to examine
the left tire. Jean slipped around to
the right. With one leap, he was at
the wheel, and, in less than a second,
the car had sped away, leaving three
astonished and enraged people scream-
ing and madly gesticulating in the
road.

Jean. "And they'll try to claim you
again. We'll have to look sharp to
outwit them."

A short distance beyond Saint
Elmo, a balloon swayed and bobbed
in the air, tugging at its weighted
basket, which was anchored to the
ground. The aeronaut was making
his last preparations for a flight as
Jean stopped the car beside him.

"Monsieur, are you going up im-
mediately?" asked Jean.

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

1 1 In an instant, monsieur, ' ' was the
courteous reply.

"Then, I beg of you, take us with
you. 1 11 explain to you later. It is a
matter, almost, of life and death for
this young girl, and, as I have no
authority to hold her from those who
pursue her, I am afraid that she will
fall into their power."

"Get in, both of you/' said the
pilot, indicating the basket, as he be-
gan throwing out the bags of sand
and releasing the guy-ropes. Gently,
the basket rose from the ground ; then

Celestin, on a rocky stretch of coast,
and watched the waves tumbling and
mauling a tangle of ropes, tattered
silk and broken basket.

"Could they have escaped, do you
think ? ' ' she asked anxiously.

"Not a chance in the world !" he
assured her. "When I put that shot
thru the balloon, the thing collapsed,
and they fell, like a plummet, into the
water. ' '

' ' No bodies have come ashore, ' ' she
reminded him.

" They probably went to the bottom

GENTLY, THE BASKET ROSE FROM THE GROUND

more and more swiftly, like a bird
joyously winging homeward, it wid-
ened its distance from the dwindling
earth. Jean and Nelly, clasped in
each other's arms, looked over the
edge of the basket, and saw a car dash
up to the one they had left. The
occupants jumped out, ran about, as
if searching, and, finally, pointed
skyward.

"Well, we were just in time,"
sighed Jean, with satisfaction, as a
preface to the story that he and Nelly
had to tell their benefactor.

Anna Kiquier, also known as Ma-
dame Gomez, stood, with her brother

and never came up again," he said,
with a coarse laugh.

"Well, today is the ninth — only
one more day ! ' ' she gloated.

"We'd better get along to Saint
Jean de Luz," he advised. "There's
nothing like being a little forward."

So, satisfied that Nelly, the only
possible claimant to the fortune of
Louis Perier, was removed by a vio-
lent death, Anna Riquier and her
brother hovered, like vultures, about
the office of M. Iribare. From early
morning of November 10th, their ex-
citement and a formless fear of disap-
pointment at the last moment spurred
them into a restless wandering about

A RACE FOR AN INHERITANCE

the town and a passing and repassing
of the attorney's office. At last, the
appointed hour, twelve o'clock, ap-
proached. At five minutes to twelve,
Anna was announced to M. Iribare.

"Ah! madame," he said suavely,
shaking hands, "you are punctual.
Everything is in readiness. I con-
gratulate you upon your good for-
tune. You will sign here."

He held out the pen, but, his glance
encountering the clock, withdrew it.
"Ah! that would not be strictly
legal. We must wait till the
stroke of twelve. ' '

Anna clasped her
hands convulsively
That withdrawal of
the pen struck
chill thru her. It
was a bad omen

A haggard and bedraggled young
couple rushed into the room. In the
doorway stood an officer of gendarmes
and two of his men.

' ' M. Iribare % ' ' inquired Nelly. ' ' I
am Nelly Perier, for whom you adver-
tised, and whom this Madame Gomez
has kept from appearing before."

"Madame Gomez!" exclaimed M.
Iribare. "Why, this is Anna Eiquier,
M. Perier 's housekeeper. She would
have inherited his fortune, if you had
not appeared this
very instant. ' '
'A for-
tune!"

I AM NELLY PERIER!

But no ! How nervous and foolish
she was ! Nothing could happen. The
seconds ticked on2 heavily, laboriously.
Three minutes, two minutes, one min-
ute, thirty seconds, fifteen seconds —
then the little clicking sound that
heralded the striking of the hour.

With a smile, M. Iribare again
held out the pen. Anna took it in her
cold, trembling fingers. On the in-
stant a clamor rose outside the door.
She could hear Celestin cursing
breathlessly, as tho engaged in a
struggle. Then the door burst open,
and Anna fell back in her chair, the
pen dropping to the floor.

cried Nelly and Jean together. ' ' Now
we understand ! ' '

When the gendarmes had dragged
the woman away, Nelly, with a pretty
air of pride, introduced her future
husband to M. Iribare.

' 'And this fortune must be as much
his as mine," she stated, "for without
dear Jean's cleverness and bravery,
I never should have been here in time
to claim it."

Jean expostulated; but, tho still
weak and dizzy from her last terrible
experience and the discomfort of the
fishing-boat, which had picked up the
three half-drowned people clinging to

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

the balloon-basket, she managed to
muster enough strength and deter-
mination to insist on an equal division
of the inheritance.

' ' Well, well, that can be arranged, ' '
admitted M. Iribare, rubbing his
hands and beaming upon the blissful
lovers. "Dear me! Only to think of
it; while I sat here in my humdrum
old way, there was all this excitement
and villainy going on — and I was
really the objective point."

"Yes, it has been a race for an
inheritance, '■ ' commented Jean.

"And I infer that the prize will
be appreciated," said the lawyer,
genially. "A million francs is worth
some peril, I assure you. ' '

Thereupon, he became a witness to
a most amazing feat of castle-build-
ing. He listened to the roseate plans,
then sighed.

"What it is to be young!" he said,
wistfully.

My Lady of Dreams

By LILLIAN MAY

Oh ! love of mine, with the starry eyes

And the hair of shining gold,
The piquant face and the winsome grace,

Thy loveliness makes me bold.
So I tune my harp, and I sing to thee,

For I would that thou wert mine,
And against the odds I pray the gods

To make thee my valentine.

Oh ! dear little god with the blinded eyes,

Come now, with arrow and bow,
And' send a dart to the lady's heart,

While the lights are dim and low,
As she dances before my longing gaze,

And I yearn to clasp her tight,
And the sweetness sip from her rosy lip,

Ere she fades from my eager sight.

For she always flits from my wistful gaze,

Like the flicker of gay sunshine,
Yet I love to dream that a fleeting gleam

Is thrown from her eyes to mine,
That down from the screen, like a gracious queen,

She stretches a hand to mine,
And breathes in my ear : "I love you, dear,

And I'll be your valentine !"

A Petition

By L. CASE RUSSELL

hen garish day departeth, and dusk draws on apace,
I don my pink pajamas and wash my weary face.
Then to my rest I hie me, but, just before I go,
Each night this mild petition I murmur soft and low :

Deliver me tomorrow from meeting with a friend
Upon whose breath the odors of beer and onions blend ;
Deliver me from phonographs, the Grizzly Bear and Glide
Deliver me from table-d'hotes, with red ink on the side.

Deliver me from ancient eggs, from potted meats in tin ;
From "Everybody's Doin' It," and "Ragtime Violin" ;
From artificial flowers and artificial hair ;
From self-declared Bohemians, and heated subway air.

Deliver me from being third when two discuss their ills;
Deliver me from borrowers, from bores, from boobs, from bills;
From those cigars that wifey buys to fill her green-stamp book ;
From all the dishes that a quick-lunch chef knows how to cook.

From air-shaft conversations when I'm prodding up the Muse ;
From all the weird recitals "yellow journals" print as news.
But, most of all, deliver me from all those pests serene,
Who read aloud the titles on the Motion Picture screen.

It was a curious thing how the two
oldish men clung together in close
friendship. They were not at all
alike; as different as rock from soil.
And the oppositeness of nature and
opinion more than often chilled the
dinner on the table and laid bare the
cook's nerves. Both had seen life
thru to the vertex of its many angles;
yet one emerged from the shadows a
doubter and denier of man's divinity,
while the other still believed.

They were seated in the library,
with Brower staying to dinner, as
usual, and the soup forming a de-
spondent film in the tureen.

"I'll admit," said Ogle, waving an
evening newspaper in his hand, ' ' that
the records of daily crime are mount-
ing upward, at least in the headlines. ' '

"And in the jails," said Brower.

"Yes, in the jails, too. But I'll not
admit that the good in man is not
vastly greater. As for the news-
sheets, how humdrum reading would
be if 'scare-heads' ran something like
this : ' John Doe Passes a Quiet Even-
ing at Home. Plays Cards with His
Wife, and Goes to Bed Early.' Yet
something like this is the fact in the
majority of cases. Our perverted
tastes will read and enjoy only the
unusual, the outre, and the criminal
stuff."

' ' Ana the overbusy jails, ' ' persisted

the guest — "a matter of taste, too, I
suppose % ' '

"Ah! there you get to the meat of
the matter ! ' ' cried Ogle. ' ' The prison
is the result of man's persistent avoid-
ance of his duty. 'I know not: Am
I my brother's keeper?' screamed
Cain, as he drove home the fratricidal
weapon ; and it still holds true. Only
one in a hundred is born a criminal;
barely that. It's lack of education
and brotherly love and bad surround-
ings that make them. Criminals are
manufactured by men, not created by
their Maker."

"And the remedy," interposed the
doubter, ' ' is easy to be seen from your
reasoning: Pull down the jails and
put up apartments de luxe for the
murderers and the wreckers of
homes."

"You follow me a bit too literally,
but quite right. It is the duty of
every good citizen to protect, guide
and correct his weaker brother. Let
each one of us be required by law per-
sonally to 'treat' a criminal case.
Within every man there is the di-
vine. Refuse to see only the evil,
bestow upon him faith, trust, love,
and ultimately the real man will
emerge. ' '

"Dinner is ready," came the pa-
tient voice of a woman thru the
portieres.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"Poppy-cock! Rot!" said Brower,
not alluding to the meal, of course.

The hopeless discussion was re-
sumed the following afternoon on a
quiet bench in the park.

"Speaking of personal guidance/'
said Brower, "let's get down to cases.
There was Steele's old bookkeeper.
Kept him for ten years, after his
brains were addled down to a shell.
Sent him his old clothes ; even loaned
him his pew when Steele went to
Florida. And back he came, to find
that old quill-driver had been tap-
ping the till for years. Gratitude?
Pooh ! It's as meaningless as a hand-
shake. ' '

"You ,or Steele dont dig deep
enough," said Ogle, almost bitterly;
' ' nor with the fullness of understand-
ing. I talked, many times, with old
Simpson, in his cell, and I came to
understand things. Seems he had been
with Steele from the days of their
mutual adversity — ran the firm's
books, as well as the business when
Steele was away. And his salary re-
mained obstinately stationary: about
what a single man could barely live on
thirty years ago. If Steele had tried
to understand him, had recognized,
even the least little bit, that they were
bound together by the years of recti-
tude and skill of the desk-slave, there
would be no crime to throw up in the
newspapers and no cell to fill. I tell
you — " he dug his cane viciously
into the sod — "that Steele himself is
as accountable, and morally more
criminal, than the convicted man."

A tall youth, with hair the color of
dried blood, stood in the pathway, and
listened to the belated defense of
Simpson. His clothes were shabby
and of a cut that passes for fashion-
able on the East Side — all but his
neckgear, a heavy binding of dirty
linen, which spoke of boils or a knife
wound. His shrewd eyes were cast in
the distance, but presently, as Ogle
finished, a pathetic look came into
them, and he turned toward the
friends, with a gulping sound in his
throat.

"Say, mister," he began, "could
youse stake a guy to a cup o' coffee?

I aint had nuttin' tuh eat since I lef '
de horspital. "

Brower stared thru him, fiercely;
Ogle fumbled in his change-pocket.

"You fool!" whispered his com-
panion, with a vicious nudge of his
elbow. "You're only prodding rum
into him."

''I'm going to experiment."

"Do!" challenged Brower, rising
in disgust. "If ever I saw crook
stamped all over a man, it's here."

The suppliant shot a covert, ugly
look at him as he strode away.

"My friend," said Ogle, "take a
seat and tell me more about yourself. ' '

The stranger did, and, encouraged
by the kindly eyes of his inquisitor,
told a story of such hard luck that he
often stopped to choke with self-pity.

Ogle got out his pocketbook, and
pressed a dollar into the narrator's
hand. "You haven't told me all," he
said, shrewdly. "There's a bit more
about bad companions and rum, and
what the two can cook up. But you're
not damned yet — the law hasn't got
you. See to it that it doesn't."

The red-headed young man, some-
what dazed, started to move on.

Ogle detained him. "See here. I
want you to see what the inside of a
home looks like again — you say you
had one once. Here's my card.
Come tomorrow evening, at seven, to
dinner. ' '

The man with the suspicious neck
started, as if jolted from behind,
looked down, and gasped for a word.

' ' 1 take it that you have accepted, ' '
said Ogle. And the man nodded, his
glib speech gone from him as his host
rose to go.

A half -hour later, the guest entered
the back room of a Bowery saloon. He
was prepared to drink alone and to
think, but the wide, blue eyes of a
seated girl and her sheeny, chemical
hair drew him across to her.

"Can yuh beat it, Mag?" he said.
"It's me for de straight an' narrer.
Have an invite to de eats wid an old
cove up in de brownstones. ' '

"Stop cookin' de dope, Red, an'
t'row a drink acrost."

"I aint kiddin', girlie; honest."

TEE REDEMPTION

"Well, it goes. If youse dont cop a
souvenir dat night, I wont do a t'ing
to yer."

' ' Say, doll, f orgit it, an ' leave it to
muh. Youse gits de cream o' dis
job."

Her face broke into a smile for a
moment, then, tossing down her
whisky, she set her chin in her elbows,
and demanded the whole of his im-
probable story.

It all came true, and a good bit

like yeasty bread, and loosened his
gripped fingers from the hat which
he held as stiffly as a tray of dishes.
Meanwhile, his host talked low and
easily, just as if they were the oldest
kind of friends.

Pretty soon, the pretty little girl
choked off a yawn, and rubbed her fist
across drooping eyes. Ogle led her
from the room, and Ellis was alone
again.

It was then that he rose up noise-

THE SALVATION ARMY LASSIE RECALLS A PAINFUL MEMORY

more, that Red Ellis, yeggman, porch-
climber and East Side gangster, never
dreamed was in the cards for him.

The following night found him in
the Ogles' fumed oak and leather
paneled drawing-room, seated nerv-
ously on the edge of a great chair. It
was the first time he had been in such
a place, under a glare of electric light,
and he had to pinch himself, to keep
from bolting in a panic.

Ogle led his chubby little daughter
in, and, presently, had ensconced her
in the stranger's lap. She looked up,
to catch his shifting eyes, dimpled

lessly, and, with the rapid eyes of a
connoisseur, measured the doors, the
windows, the electric switch, and the
lay of the floor : those things that are
the cardinal points of a thief's geog-
raphy.

Back into his chair again, his eyes
following the frescoes of the ceiling.
The delicate swish of silk on the stair-
case had warned him. But she passed
thru the hallway, and the house was
silent as a padded cell once more.

Ogle's heavy tread reassured him,
and, with his entrance, the folding-
doors to the dining-room were flung

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

back, and a butler announced the
evening meal.

Eed Ellis' recollections of bis first
swell dinner have always been rated
as overdone and given to romance by
the habitues of Gutty McShane's. It
is true that Mrs. Ogle sat vis-a-vis to
him in demi-toilette, that several
courses were served on silver dishes,
and that lacy napery and cut-glass
wine glasses flanked his seat. Also
that silver-gilt bowls were used to
"mop up me dukes' ' with at the din-
ner's end. But it was nothing more
nor less than the tedious overeating of
a well-appointed home.

After dining, Ogle drew his guest
into the library, and garnished his
mouth with a five-inch club cigaret.
He himself lay back and puffed
a fat regalia that was worth a night 's
lodging on Bleecker Street. Thru the
smoke, he lapsed into breezy memories
of his own early struggles in the grip
of poverty.

Eed listened deferentially, slid his
hand over onto the smoking-table,
waited, with the knack of a gunman,
until his entertainer's eyes were a
fraction out of range, and dropped his
hand to his side. A bulging pocketful
of cigars bore witness to his skill.

The evening wore on, or glided,
rather, on the wings of the host's
pleasant talk. Ellis broke silence, now
and then, on the changes of the water-
front since the days when clipper
ships were monarchs of the wharves,
where the little up-country Sim Ogle
had wielded his broom and mop in a
South Street warehouse.

Presently the elder man rose, threw
away his burnt-out cigar, crossed the
room, and started to fill a pipe from a
jar over the massive fireplace. Quick
as a fang, the other's hand stole out,
closed over a gold mesh-purse on the
table, and flickered back. A minute
afterward, he was bidding his host
good-night.

As he stood on the granite steps
outside, and the lights were switched
off behind glass doors, he let the slip-
pery thing in his pocket slide idly
thru his fingers. It was for Mag; a
trophy of his prowess.

The night was warm, with a full
moon riding over the park, and Red
decided to walk downtown. It was
after theater hours, and even the flar-
ing electric signs on Broadway were
housed for the night. A few belated
roysterers were on the street, and he
passed them by almost contemptously.
He knew, of old, the lulling childish-
ness of the wine-pot translated in
Bowery whisky.

A group had gathered on the corner
of Thirty-fourth Street, and were
listening to the words of a Salvation
Army girl. Red knew her of old, and
grinned — she had a past that there
was no getting away from.

Then, suddenly, she knelt down,
and raised her face under the arc-
light, and strange words of prayer
floated out over the loiterers. Under
her cheap, black bonnet, Red saw that
her face was become beautiful again
— like that one with a kid in the
painting over the books in the house
he had just left.

She didn't see him, nor know that
her white face made him grip the
thing in his pocket and turn around
slowly, facing the north. Then, with
a curse, he went back, half-running
and trembling as if a ghost walked at
his heels.

Ogle's light was still burning in the
library, and he seemed to hear the
slight scrape of feet on his steps, for
he came quickly to the door.

"Come in! come in!" he called
cheerily, as if a new night had set in.
Red followed him to the library, and
lit a cigar. "When he left, the purse
lay, heaped and glistening, on the
table. Ogle saw it, and tears of joy
welled in his eyes. "I knew! I
knew!" he cried. "There is hope.
God, in mockery, would not have left
only His image to this man. ' '

Six months and a day passed away,
to bring the happiest of evenings to
the Ogle family. It was little Rose-
bud's birthday. Ogle and Brower, as
in the days of their cat-and-dog
friendship, sat before the open fire.
At Brower 's side the child and Red
Ellis squatted on the floor. They were

TEE REDEMPTION

intent on play, and his low laugh
mingled guilelessly with her shrill,
treble one.

As keenly as even the unbelieving
friend could see, the transformation
of the ex-crook had been complete.
Ogle had gotten him a position, and
he had held it. His outward appear-
ance was shaded down to quiet gen-
tility. The victory lay with Ogle, and
Brower was silent, and wondered at
the marvel of it.

And now the crowning event of the
birthday was about to be sprung.
Ogle unlocked his escritoire and drew
out a rope of matched pearls, which
he dropped around Rosebud's neck.
Red 's eyes,
within two
feet of them
blinked, like
a cat 'sin the
sun. For
an in-

and let the dogs slip by. But as he
strode down to McShane's, his breath
seemed to choke him again. He had
avoided the place, until now. To-
night, a desire had come over him to
see Mag and to get her away.

She was seated at the same old table
with ' ' Shifty ' ' Flynn, his former pal,
and looked prettier than ever to Red ;
but, at sight of him, her eyes met
Shifty 's in quick
crook talk — a
warning, and he
knew he was a
man apart, a
stranger.
The queer,

RED RETURNS TO HIS OLD PALS, AND IS AGAIN TEMPTED

stant, as the three watched her, the
child sat still, the lustrous fortune
gleaming against her throat and
breast. Then she rose, quite awed
and white, stealing to her father's
arms, with the mystery and bigness of
the gift.

The child made the circle of good-
night kisses, and Ogle slipped the
necklace back in the escritoire. It
was early in the evening, but Ellis
shook hands with the two and left.
Each day, lately, he had breathed
freer, like a fox who has drawn aside

new thing in him made him go up to
her and take her arm.

"Come out wid me, kid," he whis-
pered. "I wanter give youse a
straight an' lovely spiel."

/'Rully,'; she said, frigidly. "I
aint trainin' wid molls. Get dat,
Shifty?"

The pair laughed softly. Red sat
down with them. There was only one
way to win Mag — the old brutal way.
It was all that she understood.

The whisky came, and went. Shifty
and Mag sat indifferent, stony; but

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

the raw stuff wrapped a glowing
warmth around Red's heart and
stomach.

Gradually, the stamped-metal walls
of the place looked familiar and good
to him again, and Mag's blue eyes
and white skin hung framed before
him. His glib tongue loosened, and
he told them of little Rosebud 's birth-
day and the rope of pearls flung over
her neck.

Mag leaned forward, and the look
of her eyes melted into his soul.

"Youse used tuh be good tuh me
onct, kid," she crooned, "an', honest
tuh Gawd, I'm stuck on youse yet."

"Cut beefin'," he said savagely,
"an' put me wise tuh wat's ticklin'
youse. ' '

"I want dat necklace." The close
words pelted against his face.

She watched his eyes waver and the
quick look come into them, as if get-
ting the lay of a room. Mag's hand
stole across to Red's, on his knee, and
he gripped it in silent assent.

Ogle's house lay silent and bathed
in moonlight, as three figures hugged
the deep shadow of the areaway. The
rattle of a milk-wagon on the avenue,
half a block away, forced them flatter
against the stone. Then, with its re-
ceding rumble, the street fell back to
its drugged serenity.

Red was to do the job, with Shifty
and Mag as lookouts. The risk was
trivial to one who knew the house like
a book.

As a cloud sailed across the moon
and blanketed it, Red worked his way
rapidly up the iron gate, clung, leech-
like, to the bare stone, threw him-
self at the window-ledge and caught
it. In a moment, he had climbed up
and was working at the long French
window of the library.

The catch slid back, and he entered.
He knew where every piece of furni-
ture lay in the room, and steered
silently between the shadowy things.
The key to the escritoire was in a
vase on the mantle — he had often seen
Ogle drop it there— and he slid it into
the lock. In an instant, the necklace
case nestled in his hand.

He listened as he stole toward the
window. Not a sound in the whole
big house. Ogle, and his fireplace,
and his good cigars, and his highbrow
talk, were a dream-life of some one
else.

Red slipped open the case, and ran
the pearls thru his fingers. He had
seen them last on Rosebud's throat,
and they still seemed a part of her.
She kept growing clearer and clearer
— the way they had sprawled on the
rug — and he slid the case on the table
and sank into a chair.

Red did not hear the window swing
open, nor see Mag steal into the room.
Like a shadow she came and went,
almost brushing his head, sunk in his
hands. Her hand closed on the case,
opened it, abstracted the necklace,
shut it again, and, with a look of con-
tempt at Red, she was gone.

A lusty pounding came on the side-
walk outside, and a drawn-out whistle
cut thru the silence.

Red sprang for the window. It
was too late. A big bluecoat pounced
on him as he lit on the flagging, and
hugged the breath clean out of him.

As he was dragged up the stoop
and admitted by the frightened
butler, the library still lay in dark-
ness. The whistle and the rumpus in
the yard had filled the hall with half-
clad figures, and Red recognized the
stout figure of Ogle, with the spare
Brower by his side.

Suddenly the light was switched
on, and Red Ellis, in the grasp of the
law, stood revealed before them.
Brower had his wits about him, and
pointed to the open escritoire and the
empty case on the library table. For
the first time since he had entered the
house by stealth, an expression
dawned on the thief's face — that of
unqualified amazement. Ogle stood
clutching his throat, making clucking
noises, unable to form a word.

Brower 's hour had come. "And
so falls a theory," he said — " shat-
tered, knocked out, blown up with a
roar in the house of its father. ' '

Ogle crossed over, quietly, to Red,
and faced him squarely: "Did you
do this thing?"

TEE REDEMPTION

"No."

"I believe you. Officer, let this
man go. He is a friend of mine."

Red shot forward, free, propelled
from the flabbergasted policeman's
hand. He looked at Ogle, saw his out-
stretched hand, felt the glow of his
eye, and a sob, big and sincere, tore
from his chest.

"Gawd!" he cried. "W'y are
youse so good tuh me?" He turned,
and stumbled from the room, the

his pants. He glanced up, and their
eyes met cunningly. They laughed.

A slim, tall youth worked thru the
haze of smoke, twisting it this way
and that as he neared their table. The
girl saw him, and her lips trembled.

"I've come fer youse, Mag."

She sat frozen, not knowing what
to do. The cornet started up again,
and he leaned forward.

"Let's spiel, Mag."

She breathed easier, and rose up,

"gawd! w'y are youse so good tuh me?

tears of boyhood coursing down his
cheeks.

In a Houston Street dance-hall,
Mag was dancing in the arms of a
sailor. It was the fag end of night,
with gray streaks in the sky outside —
a time when pleasure is at its flood in
an all-night place.

As the blaring cornet left off with
a dying snort, she sat down, flushed,
and watched the deep-sea man slyly
take a roll of money from his pocket
and shove it under the waistband of

smiling. Red slowly circled her
around the hall, his eyes on hers.

' ' Where is it ? " No answer.

He bided his time. As they neared
the door, his hands dropped and held
her arms captive against her sides.
She screamed. Quick as a panther,
his hand rose, ripped open the neck
of her waist, and snatched out a tiny
package in tissue paper.

The place was in an uproar. The
cornet choked and stopped again.
Red jumped for the switch and
turned off the lights.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"The bulls!" he screamed above
the rumpus, and dashed for the door.
A chorus of shrieking and cursing
answered his warning that the police
were at hand.

The sun was up and shining se-
renely on the bronze grill of Ogle's
door as Red rang the bell.

After the burglary, the amateur
criminologist and his practical friend

said, "an' please let Rosebud wear
her birthday junk w'en I comes
ag'in. Dey makes muh feel good."

He placed the tissue-paper package
in Ogle's hand. The pearls slid out
in a glistening string.

"Dere was a goil," he went on,
with an effort ; ' ' she wore it ; she —
I "

"I know," broke in Ogle. "You
couldn't do it, Ellis; could you?"

BROWER ADMITS RED S REDEMPTION

had not sought their beds again, but
were seated in the library in the
thick of their exhaustless argument.

"You old fool," Brower was say-
ing as the bell rang, "just because
you forgive a crook every time he
gets into you, your theory isn't
proven at all. It only makes matters
worse. ' '

Ogle's chin was sunk on his chest
as Red Ellis entered the room.

"I got de necklace, Mr. Ogle," he

Red gulped, and walked to the door.

' ' Hey ! where are you going ? ' ' said
Brower.

"Me job," said Red, and disap-
peared.

"I give in," said Brower, blinking
at the necklace. "But he probably
had it with him all the time."

"Better than that," said Ogle,
softly. ' ' The man is won ; he will tell
me all. I know: I am my brother's
keeper. "

(From the photoplay of George Edwardes Hall)

"D 0UGE-ET-N0IR — step up and make
Jf\ your bets — red wins!"

Lifeless, unsympathetic as
Fate, the voice of the croupier droned
across the strained silence of the
room. As the red ball whirled into
place, a woman's whimper fretted the
heavy air; then a hysterical laugh
from a man who had seen his last
chance — that gambler's Last Chance,
whose alternate is the pistol's mouth
— poured into the satin lap of the
painted beauty beside him. A scrape
and scratching, as the gold rake
moved over the table, gathering in the
coin and bills, then click ! click !

"Step up and make your bets,
ladies and gentlemen!" and the
game of life and death, or death in
life, went on as merrily as tho, instead
of men and women, stark skeletons
were there playing for their souls
with the devil.

"Fools! fools!" said the woman,
wearily.

She was a tall, splendid creature,
as she stood etched against the dark
velvet curtains, with a face that Life
had left as worn and yet as beautiful
as a burnt-out crater, whose embers

still smoulder. But there was a some-
thing vaguely sinister about the face.
Perhaps the odd chiffon scarf wound
tightly about her neck added to the
mystery — a hint of a glorious, full
throat and shoulders, and the gray
scarf crouching about it, as if to shield
it from the eyes of the world.

Men knew this woman as Cora, the
owner of the sumptuous gilded gam-
bling-hall. They knew that -she was
beautiful, not young, scornful, silent,
passionless as the stone Sphinx herself
— and that was all they knew. Most
women are puzzles. Cora was an
enigma, and the key to the secret was
hidden beneath the scarf of gray.

Then, suddenly, the sphinx quiv-
ered, appeared almost to crouch
against the curtain. Two men had
entered the salon on the opposite side.
Cora's somber eyes questioned the
face of the younger, her breast heaved,
then the wild shriek that she uttered
crashed even thru the lethargy of hope
and hopelessness around the gaming-
tables. The players turned in time to
see her fall fainting across a roulette-
wheel, whose sharp metal works cut
the white flesh of her arms in red

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

blotches. The newcomers were the
first to reach her. A trembling maid
led the way to an inner room, where
they laid her upon a couch. Then,
as they bent over her, the younger
uttered an exclamation. His com-
panion glanced at him quizzically.

"A friend of yours, George?" he
questioned, dryly.

"I — knew her once — if it is she — "
George drew in his breath sharply, as
the woman's eyelids unclosed. "It

His tone was husky with controlled
passion. "In hell— the hell of bars
and narrowness and gray convict

clothes "

She laughed mockingly, her hands
fluttering to her shrouded throat.
"And have your gray convict clothes
covered anything as pretty as this?"
she questioned, and tore the veil vio-
lently away. The man looked, then
covered his eyes. From white chin to
white shoulder was splashed a scar,

THEN, SUDDENLY, THE SPHINX QUIVERED'

is," he said slowly. "No other woman
ever had such hateful eyes "

His friend looked from one to the
other, then turned away. "You'll
find me at the tables — when you want
me" he italicized significantly, and
was gone. The woman on the couch
raised herself on her elbow. Ensued
a silence almost vocal.

"And so we meet again/' she said
at last, in a flat, uninflected voice. ' ' I
think I have lived just for this moment
for five years."

"Remember where I have spent
that fiYe years, Cora," said the man.

like a crude stroke of purple paint,
angry and pulsing as tho new-made.
It seemed to do strange things to the
face above it, bringing out lines,
marks of time and sin, aging it, leav-
ing it leering, hideous. Cora watched
the shudder and repulsion in his face ;
then she laughed aloud. The sound
was bitterer than a sob, angrier than
a scream.

"It is pretty," she said, touching
it with mocking finger-tips. "That
was all I had — my beauty; you de-
stroyed it, and I have hated you for
it every separate tick of the clock for

IN A WOMAN'S POWER

five years. Then they let you out on
parole, and you escaped them. It
hurt me to think that you were miss-
ing a single moment of punishment,
but now " she paused, and ap-
peared to be considering. The man
began to pace up and down the room,
stopping, once or twice, to fumble a
vase with blind fingers. At last he
paused by the couch.

' ' I spent every cent I had on you, ' '
he said, doggedly. "When it was
gone you threw me over. You would
have done for me
if I hadn 't struck
up your hand.
I didn 't mean
for the bullet to
strike you, Cora;
you know that.
But maybe God
intended to pre-
vent any other
man from loving
you again "

A swift change
came over the
woman. Her face
flashed into sud-
den red, quivered.
She leaned for-
ward, until her
lips nearly
touched his
sleeve.

"Are you sure
no man can ever
love me again ?"
she whispered.

' ' Look at me,
George Barrett."
hers melting, inviting, challenging,
while her breast heaved with short
breaths, and her warm fingers quiv-
ered around his.

"Love me — George " It was

the faintest breath of a sound, but he
heard it. With a sudden raw laugh,
he bent over her, kist her, and flung
her from him.

"The fact that you are alive is an
insult to my wife," he said coolly, as
he turned on his heels. He fumbled
in his pocket, brought out a bill, and
tossed it to her. ' ' This for the kiss, ' '
and he was gone.

THEY LET HIM OUT ON PAROLE

Their eyes locked,

She lay, for a moment, inert where
he had flung her, then she swayed to
her feet, groping along the wall.

"Madame rang?" The little maid
curtsied before her.

' ' Yes, Francine ' ' — Cora *s voice was
hard as her eyes now — "you will put
on your hat and coat and follow the
monsieur who was just in this room;
find out where he lives, and give him

this note from me " she was

already writing it at her desk, folding
it, sealing it with a splash of red wax
as bright as blood.
'■mmmm^^WM -^-s ^ne m&id dis-
til appeared, Cora
drew herself up
to the full splen-
dor of her height,
with a prophetic
laugh of triumph.
"It is eight
o 'clock now, ' ' she
mused. "He
should be here by
ten — if not, I
shall have news
for the police of
their escaped pa-
role prisoner —
but he will be
hereby ten." She
moved across the
room to a great
mirror, winding
the kindly con-
cealment of the
scarf more close-
ly about her
throat. The re-
flection was pleasantly reassuring.
* ' His wife ? ' ' she murmured. ' ' And

he dared to give me money " The

insulting memory drew her brows
together in an angry line. With a
magnificent sweep of the body, she
caught the offending bill from the
floor and tore it across and across —
then the frown wavered into a little,
secret smile. "But he hist me," she
cried, and pressed her lips to the
mutilated fragments in her hand.

The recollection of that kiss stung
George Barrett as he bent to meet his
wife's welcoming lips an hour later.
It was his hard fate that old recollec-

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

tions from his turbulent past must
ever break in on the sweetness of his
present and embitter it with dread.
Perhaps no one can imagine a more
exquisite torture than this nerve-rack-
ing dread of being found out.

But so far he was safe.

"So early, dear?" she exulted.
"Are you really, truly mine for a
whole evening long, busy man ? ' '

"A whole evening, Marcelle, sweet-

crumpled paper on the floor caught
her eye. She picked it up curiously ;
she would see what the horrid old
business was that would make poor
George behave so strangely.

5005 W. 59th Street.
I am writing to give you your choice.
Either leave your wife and come back to
me, or I shall inform the police of your
whereabouts. I thought I could never for-
get how I hated you, but I find that I

THE MAN WAS PLEADING WITH ALL THE STRENGTH OF HIS SOUL

heart " he began. The jangling

of the door-bell interrupted him, and
dread gripped his soul again. There
is no rest for a man who fears the
sound of footsteps, a stranger's hand,
the door-bell, or his secret thoughts.

When he returned to the room with
a letter, his face was white.

"A business matter," he answered
her glance of inquiry. "But I'm
afraid I'll have to leave you again,
dear — for a little while." His hasty
farewell kiss left her uneasy. A

can only remember how I loved you. We
were happy, weren't we? And there is
still happiness for us waiting — waiting —
Come to me, George. Cora.

Marcelle uttered no cry. In the
crash and crumbling of her world, her
own identity seemed submerged. But
her girl-face grew oddly pinched and
small. Then she groped for her hat
and coat, fastened them with small,
chilly fingers, and hurried out of the
house.

The two, facing each other in the

IN A WOMAN'S POWER

dim luxury of Cora's apartment, did
not see or hear the small figure in the
doorway. The man was pleading,
with all the strength of his soul, for
his new-found happiness; the woman
was pleading, with the fire of her
passion, for her old, lost happiness.

' ' You loved me once — ah ! you cant
have forgotten, ' ' she cried. She crept
nearer to him, holding out tremulous
hands. ' ' You have marred
me and scarred me, and,
Heaven pity me, I love you
better than the whole
world, " she moaned.
George faced her sternly.

"You! to dare to speak
of love to me again ! ' '

Cora sank to the floor, as
tho the words were a blow.
Then she crawled to his
feet, and crouched there,
sobbing.

1 ' I love you — I love you —
you are cruel — have you no

memory " She sprang

suddenly to her feet, with
one bound, like a lithe
animal.

1 ' But you shall come
back to me, love me or hate
me ! ' ' she cried, venom-
ously. ' ' I shall make you ! ' '

It was his turn to plead.
The shivering little figure
behind the velvet hangings
listened as her husband
told of his love for her ; his
fear of disgrace for her;
his changed life ; and, as she
listened, strange necro-
mancy of love, all her
horror was straightway
changed into wife-love and mother-
pity. With a little cry she sprang into
her husband's faltering arms.

"I read the note," she whispered,
brokenly. "Boy-dear, boy-dear, dont
look that way — I love you so "

' ' But — you heard — you under-
stand." The poor words faltered,
ashamed, against her hair. She reached
up and drew his head down to hers,
until her lips found his trembling ones,
and stilled them with a kiss as sweet
as the first she had ever given him.

"I love you, dear," she said
gravely; "I am not afraid of any-
thing in the world, because I love you.
Let her telephone. We will go home
together, boy-dear, and wait — — "

She faced the other woman proudly.
Cora's eyes faltered. She stood silent.
Marcelle put her hand beneath her
husband 's arm, and turned away.

"Come, dear," she said,

YOU SHALL COME BACK TO ME ! " SHE CRIED

strongly. ' ' There is only one place on
earth where Hate cannot harm, and
that is where Love is. We will wait
for the police — at home."

But when, an hour later, two offi-
cers entered the sumptuous room
where Cora awaited them, they found
there no "woman scorned," no hate-
embittered betrayer of a man's free-
dom. Instead, in one corner, a blank-
eyed woman crouched, laughing shrilly,
and mouthing as she pressed to her
lips a tattered, crumpled bill.

miiun,'

Lonesome Land

By MARY CAROLYN DAVIES

If you live somewhere on a city street,

Where your fun and pleasures are all complete,

And it's not an unusual sort of treat to go to see a show —
If you're right in the midst of the whirl and roar,
With the street-cars thundering past your door ;

Where the theater and the ten-cent store assist you to spend your dough,
With the noise and lights,
And the town's delights,

You can never understand
The dreary way we must spend our day,

'Way out in this lonesome land.
Riding after cattle, work and sleep and eat —
Choked by the dust, and tortured by the heat.
And the only bit of pleasure that ever comes our way
Is riding into town at night to see a photoplay.

As we watch the films we all forget
The weariness, and the care, and fret.

Why, the boys would spend their last cent, you bet, to see a picture show.
After looking at miles of sage-brush gray,
And juniper-trees, day after day,

You can surely appreciate, I should say, the pictures that flash and go.
All the work and play,
Of the world, this way,

Is ours for an hour or two.
Thru each foreign scene we watch the screen,

And we like it, the same as you.
History, geography, fiction, it's a treat —
Humorous and. tragic, stories all complete.
Gee ! we get more pleasure than you do, any day,
By riding into town to see a Motion Picture play.

Acrostic

By ALICE E. KERWIN

M any love to sit and gaze

0 n the screen of other days,

V iewing different scenes of life,

1 n laughter, tears, or bitter strife;
N estled is the little child,

G azing so innocently and mild,

P apa forgets it's only a picture,

I mpression forms a different stricture;

C omfort warms the mother's heart,

T enderness explains the thrilling part;

U rging some wanderer to repair,

R ejoicing and be free from care.

E very heart is all aglow,

S atisfaction is at the photoshow.

From its vantage point on the broad
hall stairs, the old grandfather's
clock announced the hour in
deep, deliberate tones. Thru the elo-
quent stillness of the deserted rooms
the sound-waves traveled — one, two,
three, four — past impassive, pictured
faces on the walls and impassive,
painted figures on the stands, rolling
up the stairs — five, six — and echoing
thru the halls — seven, eight — until,
reaching the nursery door, they
slipped thru the crack and found
understanding in the anxious mother-
face, lifted, listening — nine, ten,
eleven, twelve !

Her slender hand rested tenderly
on the tousled, tawny curls of a rest-
less baby figure, tossing in fever on
the bed beside her, but her thoughts
were with her husband, not yet re-
turned from the club, where she knew
full well he was frivoling away at
cards the money which would soon be
needed for doctor's and druggist's
bills. Night after night she had
begged him to stay at home with her,
but the infatuation of the game was
too strong for him, and even tonight,
with the baby ill and restless, he had
not been able to resist and to watch
with her at home.

With troubled face, she poured out
some medicine, and gave it to the
child ; then laid the little, flushed face
against the pillow, and smoothed back

the soft hair. A sigh escaped from
the baby lips, and the little body re-
laxed. Quietly she tucked in the
covers and stole to the window — to
watch and wait. Oh ! the watching
and waiting of mothers !

But her step was not so quiet as to
be unnoticed by the occupant of the
other nursery bed. Little Seven-Year-
Old had seen mother standing by the
window in the dark often and often.
He knew what it meant. Sometimes,
when he went to her, he found her
cheeks quite, quite wet, and always
she took him in her arms and held
him there, with a hug that was some-
how— different, yet with a difference
that went with their hushed voices
and the sad night-time kiss.

The little, white figure rolled itself
up into a heap and dropped onto the
floor, like a soft, downy ball; then
straightened up and ran, to gather
mother into comforting, childish arms.

"Mother, is it daddy again?" he
whispered, his cheek against hers,
when he had gotten his breath back
after the hug-that-was-different — and
he was sure that if his ear had not
been very close to her lips he never
could have caught her hushed answer.

"Yes, son."

"Is it the game with pennies?" he
asked, his arms clasped tightly around
her neck, his soft lips fluttering
against her cheek.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

This time she did not even whisper

in reply; she just nodded her head,

and he noticed that it was hard for

her to swallow.

For a moment he was quiet in

thought; then, suddenly, an inspira-
tion came to him.

"Mother!" he breathed, excitedly,

holding her face between his chubby

hands and looking, with great, dark

eyes, straight into

her tender ones,

shining in the

moonlight with

unshed tear s —

"Mother! per-
haps if we tell

God, He'll know

just what to do."
The clock on

the stairs struck

the half-hour, and

a latchkey turned

in the front door,

but the mother

and child heeded

not.

A man entered

the house, his

hat pulled down

over his eyes, a

hard, dissatis-
fied expression

around his mouth.
He closed the
door with extreme
quietness, and
glanced fleetingly
at the clock, as
t h o ashamed to
look it full in the
face. There was
a haunted expres-
sion about his very bearing — as well
there might be, for on three queens
that night he had staked his last
dollar, and lost. Here in his own
home, he hated himself for his weak-
ness; but at the club, with the influ-
ence of wife and children removed, he
always found himself yielding, in
spite of all resolve to the contrary.

Within the familiar surroundings
of home once more, there came to his
memory, with a sort of shock, the
flushed baby face he had left in the

nursery, and the pleading in his
wife's eyes, as she had laid a staying
hand on his arm that evening and had
wistfully said: "Must you go tonight
again, dear?"

As tho in retribution for his
thoughtlessness, he rushed up the
stairs and pushed open the nursery
door, but paused upon the threshold,
to_observe a little figure kneeling in
the moonlight

S^JsesiwKE .zmmtSl ana to near a

childish voice
saying :

"Please, God,
make sister well,
and make daddy
stop playing the
game of losing
pennies."

No stinging
lash of horsewhip
across his face
could have cowed
him as did the
words of his little
child.

And a little
child shall lead
them.

No blast of
furies' fire could
have burned him
as cruelly as the
flush of shame
upon his cheeks.
No knife thrust
remorselessly into
his heart, and
turned and
twisted there,
could, have pro-
duced the agony
of those words, stamped on his mind,
to be recalled again and again with
bitter memory.

He recoiled into the hallway, and
found his way, in blind confusion, to
the library, where he sank down upon
the couch, a prey to agonizing
thoughts; an ever-increasing band,
they filled his mind: hot shame, re-
lentless remorse, blank despair, self-
scorn, self-hate, self-distrust, and all
their sister agonies. From every
corner of his brain they leered upon

fit, - / \

OFTEN SHE WATCHED FOR THE

gambler's RETURN

THE THREE QUEENS

him, pointing accusing fingers at him
and dragging forth an endless file of
misdeeds and evil consequences, until
his brain whirled with mad hallucina-
tions. He saw himself refuse to give
his wife money to buy medicine for
the baby, tho his pockets bulged with
bills. He saw his entrance into the
club amid the hilarious greetings of
his friends; heard them scoff at his
feeble protests against playing, and
felt himself yielding to the
fascination of the game
in which, tho
followed loss
there w a s al-
w a y s the
chance that
the next
turn
might
be his
and he
would re-
trieve all, hop- •
ing, ever hoping
against tremendous
odds, until — his
pockets were empty
and his credit gone.
Thus humbled,
ruined, he saw him-
self go slinking
home, his self-re-
spect quite gone —
home to meet the
dreadful conse-
quences of his acts.
In his absence, the
little one had died,
and the mother, in
agony of despair, had found his revol-
ver and ended her own life. The
shock of the sight of his two dead,
loved ones awoke him into reason, and
he opened his eyes, to find it was all a
nightmare, and his wife, in real flesh
and blood, was standing over him.

"John, dear, how you frightened
me!" she exclaimed. "I heard some
one groaning downstairs, but never
dreamed it could be you. I'm glad —
you're back, dear. I've been watch-
ing for you."

He did not tell her of the dream,
nor of the nursery scene upon which

he had stumbled, nor of his agonizing
remorse; but, in his good-night kiss,
he solemnly and reverently pledged
himself to a higher mode of life.

The following evening found him,
of his own volition, seated by his fire-
side, reading the newspapers, at the
hour when he was usually ready to
leave for the club.

The telephone-bell called imperi-
ously to him, and he rose with his
lips s e t in determination.
There were a few words of
argument and protest, and,
as the little, praying wife
passed by on her way to the
watch in the nursery, she

PLEASE, GOD, MAKE DADDY STOP PLAYING CARDS

heard him quietly declare to the men
at the club that he was going to re-
main at home that night, and she
entered the presence of the little, sick
one with fresh hope in her heart for
both child and husband.

Her husband's decision was really
sincere. He had not the least inten-
tion of going to the club that night,
but the evening newspapers, with all
their thrilling accounts of theft, mur-
der and divorce, proved a poor sub-
stitute for the excitement of the
usual game of cards. Why not play
solitaire? That was harmless enough.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

He rummaged around in the drawer
of the library-table till he found a
pack of cards, and then sat down to a
quiet game. Alas! the partial satis-
faction of his craving only led to
greater desire, and his truant thoughts
turned, again and again, to the group
about the club-table. He could hear
them laughing at his priggishness
and pointing scornfully at the vacant

house. For all of twenty minutes he
had kept his good resolution !

When he reached the club, he had
entirely forgotten that it was to prove
the strength of his resolution and his
sacred honor that he had come, and
not for the purpose of playing cards.
The men greeted him jovially, only
too glad to get back their venturesome
player, and no questions asked!

THOUGHT HE SAW HIS LITTLE ONE DEAD AND HIS WIFE A SUICIDE

chair. They were calling him a
coward! It was just more than he
could endure. To stay at home, where
there was nothing for him to do, and
be dubbed a coward by his friends,
who had expected him down there at
the club, was simply childish. It was
out of the question !

So the tempter led him backward.
"With the old clock pointing solemnly
to eight-fifteen, the man slipped into
his coat and stole quietly out of the

The sight of the smoke-filled room,
the table in its accustomed place, the
familiar faces around it, his chair
awaiting him, and the slip of the cards
between his fingers, all conspired to
fill him with elation. Here he was,
after all ! He would be successful to-
night. He could feel it in the air —
Luck was with him!

The cards were dealt. His hands
fairly shook with excitement. Three
queens! Aha! luck was indeed with

THE THREE QUEENS

him. He would retrieve his losses of
the day before.

But, while he looked at the lucky
cards, the crowned heads vanished,
and in their places appeared the faces
of his wife and little ones!

The smile of triumph froze upon
his face. What of that solemn promise
to his wife? What of that compact
with himself ? What of the prayer of
his child ?

Suddenly he started up from his

possible she had missed him! What
should he say to her?

A florist's window suggested an
answer, and he stopped long enough
to buy some sweet-peas.

As he entered the home, she was
picking up his house-coat from the
chair where he had flung it, in his
haste to be gone, and on her face was
the utmost sadness. Reverently he
approached and held out the flowers.

Was there any harm in the decep-

INSTEAD OF THREE QUEENS, HE SAW THE FACES OF HIS
WIFE AND CHILDREN

chair, deliberately tore the cards in
half, and threw them on the table.

"I've done with them forever," he
said. "Good-night!"

And before the astonished gaze of
the silent men, he turned and left the
building, speeding homeward.

Rather than wait for a car, he ran,
as he had not done since college days ;
thankful for the bodily exertion that
relieved the suspense of his mind.
Tho he had not been gone long, it was

tion, do you think ? She had watched
and waited long for this hour of hap-
piness.

Would you have deprived her of
it and marred the blessed peace on
their countenances, as together they
followed the moonlit pathway across
the nursery floor, and together they
stood in the window, surrounded by
the night-time glory ?

If any would, to him be it known
that long afterwards — he told her.

rttfiZEm

Office) 'Jovce ,

/4&S/Liclts

The Beasts of the
Jungle

(Solax)

By ROBERT CARLTON BROWN

Instead of a Shetland pony to ride,
Vinie Eoberts had a pet elephant,
Jumbo. Born in a railroad con-
struction camp, in the heart of a
jungle outside of Calcutta, Vinie,
early in life, became accustomed to
the wild beasts of the jungle ; instead
of fearing them, she loved them.

One balmy, fresh morning in
Vinie 's seventh year, she begged her
mother to let her go for a ride on
Jumbo. Mrs. Roberts, calloused to
dangers by a frontier life, warned
her daughter to be careful not to let
Jumbo wander too far into the jungle
in search of succulent roots and tree-
barks, and called the head mahout of
the camp.

The elephant-driver came with
Jumbo, a fat, brown little "tusky,"
who knelt on the ground before the
house and patiently suffered Vinie to
mount his small, humpy back.

Vinie swung onto the animal, like
a boy mounting a pony for a bare-
back ride, and, throwing the strap of
her water-bottle about her neck,
waved her hand to her mother and
the mahout, and let Jumbo take his
own course toward the jungle.

Perched on his back, like a fasci-
nating fairy, Vinie rode along, snatch-
ing strange tropical fruits and nuts

from the trees and bushes near which
Jumbo carried her.

She sang and laughed, enjoying the
morning jog, and never thinking that
Jumbo had forged ahead at a faster
pace than usual and was already in
the heart of the jungle.

A little surprised on finding that
she was hungry, Vinie dismounted, to
look about and see whether she could
get her bearings. On a near-by knoll
she saw a stout wooden hut which
seemed familiar to her. Only a month
before, her father had taken her into
the jungle to visit his old friend, Dr.
Reynolds, a zoologist, who lived by
himself in the jungle, trapping tigers,
monkeys, nylghaus and an occasional
lion.

Leaving Jumbo scouring for juicy
roots, Vinie skipped thru the under-
brush, ran up to the hut and knocked.

Receiving no answer, but certain
that she heard some one inside, Vinie
listened for a moment. Then she
knocked again. For the second time
she was sure that she heard some one
moving within the hut, but no answer
came.

She raised a heavy wooden bolt on
the outside of the door, opened it,
and walked in.

She was no sooner inside, and her

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

eyes had not yet become accustomed
to the dimmer light, when the stout
portal slammed shut behind her, and
she realized that she was locked in.

At that instant, a hissing sound
drew her attention to a corner of the
hut. She saw two gleaming, greenish
eyes, and made out the huge form of
a great big animal crouching in the
corner.

Instinctively, Vinie shrank back
against the door. But an instant
later, she stepped
forward, with a
slight, embar-
rassed laugh. The
animal looked
like a great big
cat. She knew it
must be a tiger,
for she had heard
the natives de-
scribe such a
beast as an over-
grown cat, and
she had seen sev-
eral in captivity.
One she had
stroked on its
furry head. The
man who owned
it had told her it
was a hunting
tiger, which he
used in stalking
and capturing or
killing other
members of the
big cat family.

Surprised at
finding a tiger in Dr. Reynolds' hut,
but thinking, possibly, this beast was
a pet of the strange science man, she
stepped boldly toward the striped
form, and reached out her hand to
pet it.

The beast, cowed by the little girl 's
brave advance, lay quietly, tossing its
tail fretfully, and watching the in-
truder with vicious, gleaming eyes.

Vinie dropped down wearily beside
the big feline, as nonchalantly as she
would have sat down beside the tiger-
rug on the hearth at home. She
placed one hand on the beast's head,
and remarked, with a long-drawn

VINIE

sigh : ' * My ! I wish you could talk.
I'm awfully hungry. Maybe if you
could talk, you could tell me where I
could find something to eat. ' '

The man-eating tiger stirred un-
easily, and settled down on its
haunches, licking the bloody remains
of a meat-feast from its whiskers.

"Why, you've been having some-
thing to eat, yourself!" exclaimed
Vinie, as she watched the tiger's lick-
ing, red tongue darting in and out be-
tween two rows of
glistening teeth.

She suddenly
thought of her
water-bottle. "Do
you want a drink,
Cat?" she asked.
The tiger lay
motionless. Vinie
drank from her
flask, and then
rubbed a little
water on the ani-
mal 's hot head,
saying softly :
" You 're tired
out, Princess."

The name
■ ' Princess ' '
popped into
Vinie 's mind at
that moment. She
didn't know why
she called the big
cat that, but hav-
ing called her
Princess once, the
name seemed a
very pretty one for her new friend.

For half an hour they sat side by
side, the tiger watching Vinie warily,
but seeming quite subdued and con-
tent to remain at the little girl's side.
In looking about the small, unfur-
nished hut, Vinie saw a big iron hook
hanging from a rope in the middle of
the room. Suddenly she recalled see-
ing such a hook and such a hut before.
Dr. Reynolds had showed it to her
and told her it was a tiger trap. On
the hook had been a great chunk of
meat, and the hut door had been left
open. She remembered that Dr.
Reynolds had explained that a hungry

FOND

PETS

THE BEASTS OF THE JUNGLE

tiger, smelling the meat, would rush
thru the open door, leap for the meat,
drag it down, and thus automatically
close and bar the front door, which
was worked by the rope on which the
meat-hook was hung.

"So you were caught in a trap by
Doctor Reynolds, Princess V re-
marked Vinie, standing up and in-
specting the heavy iron hook. "And

claw busily, while Princess, anxious
to get out, crept quietly to her side
and watched with quick, interested
eyes.

At last the hole was dug, and Vinie
crawled out. Princess followed her,
starting off for neighboring rocks at a
loping gait. Vinie ran after the
tigress, wandering with her for sev-
eral hours, wholly unconscious of the

MORE OF VINIE S PETS

you 've just had dinner, and I haven 't
had a thing to eat? My! but I'm
hungry ! ' '

Vinie walked to the door and tried
to open it, but it remained fast. The
child was becoming impatient to get
out. She looked around the room for
a means of escape, the tiger watching
every move she made.

Suddenly Vinie returned to the
hook, untied it from_ the rope, and
dropped to her knees before the door,
scraping away the dirt with the iron

fact that Jumbo, her elephant, had
returned home and that her parents
had been searching for her frantically
with the aid of Dr. Reynolds, who
knew the jungle intimately.

At last, weak and hungry, Vinie
lay down beside Princess on a rocky
ledge in the sun, and tried to fight
back her tears. She was surely lost.

Within a few minutes, however,
Vinie made out the forms of her
father and mother coming toward the
ledge. She called to them. The

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

tigress seemed frightened at the ap-
proach of other humans, bnt Vinie
quieted her.

Dr. Reynolds came into view, saw
Vinie beside the man-eating Bengal,
and leveled a deadly-looking gun at
the brute. Mr. Roberts, Vinie 's
father, had already aimed at the
tigress.

Vinie jumped to her feet and
shouted : ' ' Stop ! D o n t
shoot ! Princess wont
hurt you!" She
reached down jA
and rubbed
the head
of the
tigress.

Dr. Reynolds agreed that the tigress
had probably once been captive and
was willing to stay at the Roberts
home because Vinie was a kind mis-
tress and there was always plenty to
eat.

For over a year Vinie kept Princess
close by her. The great tigress took
the place of a house-dog in the fron-
tier home. In time, Mr. Roberts came
to look upon Vinie 's
strange pet as a
safeguard, and
Princess was
treated with
great re-
spect by
the

THE TAMING OP THE TIGER

The horror-stricken parents, find-
ing that Vinie had tamed the tiger,
suffered her to take Princess back to
camp with them.

Within a few weeks, Vinie had
reached such friendly terms with the
Princess that she could feed her milk
out of a big bowl. The episode was
amazing to the natives, who declared
that either the tigress was bewitched
by the little girl or else Princess had
been tamed when a cub.

whole household. Then news came to
Roberts that he was to be transferred
to Africa, and he looked about for a
place to leave Princess.

At the last moment, however, Vinie
insisted so firmly on taking her pet
along, that the tiger was shipped to
the new home.

On arriving at the new construc-
tion camp, twenty miles thru the
jungle from Tamatave, Vinie found
one of the native negroes playing

THE BEASTS OF THE JUNGLE

with a cute little tippet monkey that
fascinated her from the moment she
saw it. She prevailed upon her father
to buy it for a pet, and, by the time
Princess arrived, Vinie had also
added a parrot to her little family of
pets.

Princess took her place in the new
camp as quietly as she had in the old,
and tho the naked natives working on
the railroad were startled at the sight
of the huge striped cat, Princess be-
haved admirably and became a gen-
eral favorite.

One night, at the regular roll-call
of his workmen, Roberts found one of
his men missing. The other natives
became greatly excited at the report,
and some of the more nervous ones
accused the Princess of having made
away with the laborer.

Roberts indignantly defended his
daughter's pet, but the men were not
convinced until a few days later,
when a man-eating lion was heard
roaring at night near the camp.

The roar could not be mistaken. It
was a terrifying, thunderous roar
which the natives instantly recog-
nized. Next day a report came in
from a neighboring farmer that sev-
eral of his young bullocks had been
killed.

The construction camp was thrown
into a panic, and Roberts had his
hands full in trying to satisfy the
superstitious natives.

Next day the footprints of a lion
were seen near a neighboring spring,
and word was passed among the na-
tives that a toothless lion, unfit for
fight with his fellow beasts, had
turned man-eater, and was sniffing
about camp to see if he could spring
unexpectedly on some man.

Roberts' men threatened to leave.
He was forced to tell them that his
tiger could fight the lion, and that
they need not fear. But tho the
natives had never seen a tiger before,
they had no confidence in the power-
ful cat, and were as much afraid of
Princess as of the lurking man-eater.

That night the natives gathered
about their campfire and prayed to
the God of Fire to protect them. They

knew the lion feared fire above all
things, and, by keeping a roaring
blaze in front of their flimsy tents all
night, they hoped to ward off any
attack of the enemy.

Roberts sent the only other Amer-
ican in camp, a young fellow named
Jackson, to a little outpost near the
spring, and told him to keep sharp
watch for the lion and shoot it on
sight. Then he went to bed with his
family, trusting to Princess and her
growling in case anything happened
during the black night.

Meanwhile, the natives danced
wildly about their bonfire, calling
upon their favorite gods, and looking
like lurid, fantastic black imps as
they whirled about thru the smoke
and flames.

Suddenly, toward morning, while
many of them were sleeping, the low,
reverberating roar of the man-eating
lion struck terror into the heart of
the camp. Men leaped from their
rush cots and dashed from beneath
the tents.

For the first time the lion appeared,
lashing his tail, roaring, with his
huge, dripping muzzle close to the
ground.

He rushed thru the camp, lashing
his tufted tail, devastating every-
thing in his track, and driving all the
natives to the jungle.

The only people who remained were
Roberts, his wife and Vinie. They
slept peacefully thru the uproar in
their snug wooden house, until Jack-
son, who had left his post at the
spring, came to give the alarm. By
that time, the lion had pursued the
natives to the jungle, and Jackson had
mustered all of the blacks he could
find and armed them with crowbars
and pickaxes.

Roberts, leaving his wife and child
under the protection of Princess,
went out to lead in the lion hunt.
But the king of beasts could not be
found.

The men returned to camp, disap-
pointed, when one of the blacks sud-
denly spied a lashing tail near one of
the tents, and a cry went up that the
lion had come back.

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Eoberts and Jackson, having used
up their ammunition firing into the
underbrush in the hope of scaring up
the lion, ran to the storehouse and
looked for cartridges, while the na-
tives, clinging to their crowbars and
pickaxes, fled back to the jungle ; the
lion, infuriated, began attacking the
door to the cabin where Roberts had
left his wife and child.

After a hasty search of the stores,
all that Roberts and Jackson could

ing up to the single window in the
kitchen and snarling at the lion,
who was delivering ferocious blows
at the slight door and lunging at the
window.

Thrusting a revolver into his wife 's
hands, Roberts frantically continued
firing at the lion thru the window.
The wadding from the blank car-
tridges struck the lion and lashed him
into greater fury.

While both Mr. and Mrs. Roberts

PREPARING FOR THE DEFENSE

find was a wooden box of blanks.
Filling their pockets with these, they
boldly left the storehouse and began
firing at the man-eater.

The lion, frightened by the noise
and smoke, retreated just enough to
allow Roberts to slip into his hut and
to give Jackson time to start for his
bivouac near the spring.

Then, with renewed energy, irri-
tated by the shots, the lion returned
and attacked Roberts' house again.

Princess, inside with the family,
paced back and forth restlessly, jump-

were firing at the infuriated animal,
Vinie tried to calm the Princess.

Every minute or two the lion threw
his ponderous weight against the
kitchen door, making it shiver and
bend inward.

Seeing that their situation was
hopeless, Roberts retreated, with his
family, to the bedroom, the only other
room in the hut, just as the lion broke
down the outer door and lashed about
the kitchen, overturning the tables
and chairs, and beginning a vicious
attack on the bedroom door.

THE BEASTS OF THE JUNGLE

A sudden thought came to Roberts.
If he could only get back into the
kitchen and open the trap-door which
led to his vegetable-cellar, the lion, in
its ragings, might fall into the cellar,
then he could lower the door and
make the beast a captive.

But with the ferocious lion in full
possession of the kitchen, there was no
chance to carry out
this idea.

"Oh, father,
cant Princess
and I
help ?

to the kitchen door ; together they
could drive the lion from the kitchen
for a moment, or hold it at bay, while
the trap-door was set. By continu-
ally firing blanks at the lion, he could
so daze the animal that it could not
reach Jackson before he managed to
fix the trap-door.

Telling his wife to continue the
fire, Roberts scratched a
note to Jackson, in-
structing him to
return to camp,
fire on the
lion thru

JUST AS THE LION BROKE DOWN THE OUTER DOOR

cried Vinie, wringing her hands, as
the lion pounced against the dining-
room door again and loosened one
hinge.

"No, dear," said Mr. Roberts,
mechanically, as he fired thru an open
hole in the door. Then he suddenly
stopped short, and turned toward the
Princess.

Another idea had come to him. He
could get word to Jackson at the
spring, possibly; Jackson could come

the kitchen window, enter, and pull
up the trap-door into the cellar.

He folded the note and tied it
about Princess' neck; then, patting
the animal, he opened the front door
of the hut and sent faithful Princess
out, knowing well that she would go
to the spring for water, as she always
did when released from the house,
and feeling sure that Jackson would
get the message.

Then, for a terrible half-hour,

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Roberts defended his wife and child
in the bedroom, piling furniture
against the door to help withstand
he lion's mad rushes.

Together they managed to keep the
beast attacking the bedroom door, all
four praying that the lion would miss
his footing on one of his leaps and
crash thru the flimsy cover of the trap.

But nothing of the kind occurred,
and things looked hopeless, when
Vinie, looking out, saw Princess com-
ing back, and without Jackson. Vinie
now realized that she must do some-
thing. She had tamed Princess ; why
could she not do likewise with this
roaring lion ? Quickly making up her
mind, and watching her chance, she
slipped out, met Princess, and boldly
led her right into the room where the
lion was. Vinie 's mother and father
fairly held their breath, as they saw
the fearful peril of their little girl,
but their fears were unfounded.

The lion, surprised and dazed at
the audacity of the child, slunk back,
apparently subdued and cowed. Per-
haps the sight of her and Princess
together puzzled him. And why not ?

"If this child has conquered the
tiger, why can she not also conquer
me?" thought the lion, and it was
this thought that made it surrender.

Vinie boldly but gently petted the
now trembling and terrified creature,
and this seemed to reassure him that
no further harm was intended. Prin-
cess looked on with approval, now
and then lending assistance, and soon
the peaceful battle was won. Mean-
while, Jackson arrived and had made
his plans to save the Roberts family
by getting the lion in the cellar, se-
curing the trap-door, and then burn-
ing the building. What was his
surprise to find the lion already con-
quered, and, more than that, tamed.

Prince, as the tamed lion was
named by Vinie, soon became a
favorite in camp, and many the pleas-
ant trip he and Princess took to-
gether thereafter, accompanied, of
course, by their mistress, Vinie.

As for the railroad, the situation
was saved. The men all returned to
work, and from that day thenceforth
they never ceased to worship little
Vinie, the heroine of the camp.

The Popular Player Puzzle

We realize, now, that the puzzle that appeared on page 31 of the February issue
was not fair to all our readers, inasmuch as the winner was to be the first who
sent in a correct solution ; because, if there were many correct solutions, the
one arriving here first would win, whereas other correct solutions may have been
mailed from some distant point at an earlier date and not arrive here till days later.
Thus, the advantage was all with Brooklynites, However, the winner hails from
Woodstock, N. B., and his name is Stuart M. Bailey, of the Royal Bank of Canada.
Perhaps Mr. Bailey owns an aeroplane? We can account for his agility in no other
way. He has received his prize, and is now, no doubt, a happy banker. The correct
answers are: "Costello, Joyce, Hotely, Buckley, Pickford, Pates, Myers, Mason, Ander-
son, Bushman, Robinson, Blackwell, Kerrigan, Walker, Wayne, Nesbitt, Normand,
Hawley, Leonard and White," in the order given. While it is possible to spell out
other names, only these can be counted as correct. We have not yet completed the
task of tabulating the thousands of answers received, and, hence, cannot print the list
of the successful guesses. We may say, however, that Mr. Bailey is far from being the
only correct solver of the puzzle; and we hereby extend our thanks to the many who
have taken so much pains to make this a successful contest. We hope they have
derived as much pleasure from it as we have, and our only regret is that all could not
be given prizes.

LILLIAN COltlPN*

^W(T5

looKifm

«,\/rES, John," said Mrs. Winthrop,
leaning back in her arm-chair
with a gentle sigh of content-
ment, "I feel that I am indeed
blessed in my children. I am sure
you are all that your dear father
wished you to be. He had such high
ideals for his boys; I wonder if he
knows that you are rector of St.
Paul's now, and that James is a suc-
cessful novelist ? ' '

Tears blurred her vision as she
finished the sentence, her voice trem-
bling, as it always did when she tried
to speak of her husband, who had said
good-by to his wife and youngsters
twenty years ago.

The Reverend John "Winthrop
stopped poking the fire and crossed
the room, to fold his mother in a
tender embrace.

They were silent for a moment,
then Mrs. "Winthrop spoke again,
half shyly.

"You're both past thirty years
old," she said, "and sometimes I
wonder why neither of you seems to
think of marrying. I'd be sorry to
think that you were staying single on
my account ; I 'd dearly love to have a
daughter — and it would make me
young again to have some little chil-
dren in the house."

An amused expression crossed
John's face as he answered: "You'd
better be thankful that things are as
they are, mother. We are all very

happy here. If one of us brought a
wife home there might be all sorts of
trouble."

"The girl whom one of my sons
would marry would not be the kind
that makes trouble," returned the
mother, proudly; "the Winthrops
can trace their ancestry straight back
to the Mayflower and find none of the
separations or divorces that seem to
be so popular nowadays."

"What's all this about divorces
and separations?" called a laughing
voice behind them, and they turned
to find James regarding them with
astonished eyes. "I'm surprised to
hear you talking ' of such shocking
things, mother — and John a clergy-
man, too ! Any one would think this
was gay New York, instead of staid
old Boston!"

"We were merely talking of gen-
eral principles, James ; not discussing
any specific case," explained Mrs.
Winthrop, while both sons laughed at
her confusion. "But where are you
going, dear? — how nice you look in
your evening-clothes!"

"I'm off to the theater to see
Mademoiselle Genova dance. You
needn't look so surprised — the very
best people are flocking to see her.
It's a classic performance, you know,
'The Dance of the Fleeting Hours.'
Professor Greggs commended it highly
in his lecture this morning."

Oh, of course, classic dancing is

TEE MOTION PIC TV RE STORY MAGAZINE

perfectly proper — you know the Win-
throps have never been narrow-
minded ; your father thoroly approved
of the drama in its best form. Good-
night, dear."

"James is such a good boy/' she
murmured; as the door closed after
her son ; "his ideals are so high ! ' '

"There's not the slightest question
that we are both paragons of virtue —

James Winthrop had come to the
theater, as he did everything else,
with a definite, carefully formulated
plan. He meant to study this dance
that had gained such popularity
among Boston's intellectual society
folks, and, if he decided that it was
worthy of his attention, write a letter
to the Transcript commending it.
When the curtain rose, he settled back

THE DANCE OF THE FLEETING HOURS

if our mother is any judge of char-
acter ! ' ' cried John, laughing.

"When James Winthrop took a seat
well down toward the front of the
Colonial Theater, there was a little
flutter in that part of the house. A
number of elderly ladies leaned for-
ward to bow to him with gracious
dignity. Two young girls, chaperoned
by a spectacled spinster, fell to whis-
pering, glancing shyly at him.

in his seat, prepared to give his crit-
ical attention to the performance.

A bevy of slender, graceful girls, in
floating draperies, occupied the center
of the stage for a moment; then fell
back, with swaying, rhythmic move-
ments, to escort Jupiter, who suddenly
appeared, holding above their heads
the roses of happiness. Faster and
faster whirled the dancers, clutching
at the roses, which were held now
lower, now higher, but always just

OIL AXD WATER

-bearded

above the reach of the dainty fingers
that clutched at them so eagerly.
And, in the background, but ever
advancing, one maiden held aloft a
great hour-glass, thru which golden
sands trickled in a shining stream.

"The fleeting hours pursuing hap-
piness, ' ' murmured James Winthrop ;
"very well worked out — it is the
world-old quest of mortals seeking the
impossible"! ' '

In the distance the gray
figure of Father Time
appeared, sharpening his
scythe, making his way
slowly toward the group,
whose dancers whirled
more furiously now; dark
tresses streaming ; bare
arms up thrown ; lovely
faces upturned toward the
great crimson roses, hover- i\
ing ever beyond their
grasp. The whole group
was fluttering nearer the
footlights, and Winthrop,
leaning back comfortably
in his seat, was watching,
with dispassionate appre-
ciation of the theme. Sud-
denly he sat up a trifle
straighter; a gleam of
something warmer than in-
tellectual criticism crept
into his expression; his
eyes focused on the lovely,
laughing face of the
Goddess who dominated
the fleeting hours, and her
lustrous eyes were gazing
directly into his, smiling,
alluring, inviting. He
leaned forward, drawn by
pelling magnetism that was
to his decorous soul as the mad beat-
ing of his heart was to his well-regu-
lated body.

At length, the music modulated,
and the Hours gradually retired,
until they gently faded from the
vision, leaving the Witching Hour
alone in all her splendor — Time and
his delightful handmaidens forgotten.
This "Witching Hour was the Goddess.

In all his life James Winthrop had
never known a really Witching Hour

— until now. Until now, his heart
had pulsed only from blue blood ever
fresh from glacial ancestry. But
there had suddenly come a wild
throbbing within his breast that made
him breathe quick and hard. The
lights had softened to the very shade
of the twilight in his groping soul;
the music had become attuned, in its
alluring sweetness, to the agony of his
heart.

It was not a dance he saw, but a

THE

an lm-
as new

IDEALIST AND THE LIVING GODDESS
OF THE DANCE

quivering segment of Life swaying
before his eyes and steeping him with
thirty years' Regret. A single rem-
iniscence would have made him drunk
with happiness ; but having none, he
was half-mad with despair. In the
cold elegance of his home and breed-
ing, emotion and passion had been
delegated as fitting pastimes for the
vulgar herd. All hours had been the
same : unswerving uprighteousness,
conscientious labor, intellectual peace !
Suddenly he had come to despise them
all. This lovely creature on the stage

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

had become his ideal. But her mes-
sage was despair. She had awakened
him only to the glories of other men's
pasts. There were no ashes, with their
memories of splendid fires, for him —
only a little scattered marble-dust.

But what was this sudden change
in the scene before him? The lights
had brightened. The music had
quickened. The Goddess had emerged
from the gray shadows of the dead
past and come forth into the bright

Hope and Yearning, but there was a
vague satisfaction only, not gratifica-
tion. Then the Passion of Desire
filled her. The music, the dance, went
mad. The staid audience caught the
maddening lilt of it all. It brought
an involuntary flush to its cheeks, a
luster to its eyes and a rapid intake of
breathing.

Suddenly a trumpet sounded. It
was followed by the entrance of the
Herald of Promise. James Winthrop

THE WIFE

light of the living present. This was
the Land of Now. James Winthrop
felt it; he knew it. He was leaning
forward on the seat in front of him.
If the people near him saw him, or
commented on. the tense expression of
his face, he did not know — he did not
care.

The lesser Hours had come forth to
join in the revel, following the Witch-,
ing Hour. Each had a consort. But
the Goddess was alone. She sought
Wine, Music and Song to be her
companions of the Supreme Moment
She went thru the rising emotions of

had felt each change. The Land of
Now was his land of now. He had
seen and felt all but The One. For a
moment he had been lost in involun-
tary conjecture. Then the Herald of
Promise had made his heart leap
with a joy he had never known be-
fore. He looked up expectantly. His
eyes met and held and drained Hers
to their depths. The Goddess was
dancing for him!

A sudden calm fell upon him, de-
spite the riotous climax of the scene
before him. Already he was living
the Promise. His satisfaction was

OIL AND WATER

complete when the Goddess, on the
verge of despair of finding the Su-
preme Moment, her consort, espied
the Herald of Promise leading the
shadow of a Man by the hand ! The
Goddess sprang toward him with
open arms; the music burst forth ex-
ultingly ; the lights sank to a blood-red
tinge; the curtain slowly descended.

The audience rose to go, many
shocked with the involuntary emotions

rather, what would his mother, his
brother, his family and society say?
And the newspapers said columns of
what they were supposed to have said
— and didn't say.

James Winthrop brought his bride
home, and the door was closed in the
faces of a half-dozen impudent re-
porters. Thereupon, Mr. and Mrs.
James Winthrop took up their abode
under the parental roof. Perhaps

OLD ASSOCIATIONS REVIVED

that had crept thru their sluggish
veins. James Winthrop went straight
to the manager's office.

"Good-evening, Mr. Winthrop/'
saluted the manager, surprised at the
visit. "What can I do for you?"

1 ' I should like to meet Mademoiselle
Genova — the danseuse."

Nobody seemed to know, or to
care even, about the mere facts of
James Winthrop 's strange courtship
and sudden marriage to Mile. Genova,
premiere danseuse. The point was,

Mrs. Winthrop, the elder, appeared
slightly less in society ; perhaps there
were a few harder lines in her face,
and the remainder of her hair had
turned gray; perhaps she no longer
greeted her formerly favorite son
with more or less formal embraces.
At least, the cold exterior of the Win-
throps betrayed no unruffled interior
— excepting James. For the first few
months of his married life James had
seemed unmistakably happy. For
that period he had shaken all the tra-
ditions of Winthrop deportment by

100

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

acting out the happiness he felt.
Then, too, the public became aware of
a mighty change in the man's char-
acter thru his written works. He had
suddenly become human, as it were.
Before a year had elapsed, he had be-
come famous because of it. But a
curtain had been drawn on his short-
lived happiness. He had retired into
the Winthrop shell again, whither no
danseuse could ever enter.

on the stage of the famous Mile.
Genova, in a series of modern dances !
The divorce roused some comment;
not so much as the comments on the
individuals themselves in connection
with their respective arts. Mile.
Genova had recaptivated society* and
there were rumors of a new prospec-
tive match! James Winthrop had
written a great American novel. He
shunned public appearance as much

MY WAYS ARE NOT YOUR WAYS OIL AND WATER WILL NOT MIX

Gossip wondered why/ she stayed in
that great, cold house, so foreign to
her nature, until, one night, the family
physician was summoned and re-
mained for nearly twenty-four hours.
And, at last, the newspapers got a
voluntary contribution of news:
"Born — a daughter, to Mr. and Mrs.
James Winthrop."

The soul of the woman was at last
revealed to the world less than a
couple of months later, when one of
the big theatrical managers in a dis-
tant city announced the reappearance

as possible, but might be seen any day
riding in the Park with an exquisitely
beautiful child, bearing in her patri-
cian features all the marble coldness of
the Winthrops.

It must have been seven years later
that "The Golden Slipper" sang it-
self into Boston's favor. If any one
of the thousands who attended the
show was struck by the name of the
little, faded dancer who danced so
marvelously in the second act, no pub-
lic mention, at least, was made of it.

OIL AND WATER

101

The vogue for classic Art, and Color
dancing had given place to acrobatic
and ragtime performances. Mile.
Genova had difficulty in holding her
place at all, and each dance was fol-
lowed by an even worse attack of vio-
lent coughing, that often continued
far into the night. Yet the show
went well in the Hub ; no one noticed
or seemed to care.

The last night of "The Golden Slip-
per's" merry whirl in Boston arrived.
By seven o'clock there was a throng
storming the box-office. A woman
passed on the other side of the street,
glancing at the crowd with a little
shudder. She made straight for a
group of great houses frowning even
at the lights of the street nearby. She
paused before one which, with its
drawn shades and hidden lights, was
more prim than any of its neighbors.
For a full minute she looked at a
certain window high up, thru which a
ray of light peered timidly. A
passer-by might have descried dull
agony in her face and seen one hand
gripping her breast, as tho something
had been torn from it. Suddenly she
set her foot determinedly on the step
and ascended. She shivered as the
bell jangled coldly within.

The flood of light revealed her
harshly to the old butler, who stepped
back for a moment, as tho he saw a
ghost.

"You know me?" said the woman.

"Yes, madam," he responded, with
involuntary deference.

"Owens — you were kind to me — in
those days. Help me now." A sud-
den note of tragedy crept into her

voice.

I shall obey you, madam. Step
in. The air has made you cough."

"I want to see my child — once — "

"But, madam " began Owens,

rubbing his hands in perplexity.

"Only for a minute— for the last
time."

"We shall go up the back stairs,
madam," said Owens, without an-
other word.

And the woman found the child
seated before a great doll. If the
stranger's entrance startled the child,

there was little sign of it. She sur-
veyed the visitor, calmly, studiously.

"I did not send for you," she said
haughtily. ' ' And no servant has per-
mission to come in here unless I-
give it."

"I am not a servant," said the
woman, with great difficulty.

"Who are you, then?" asked the
child.

The woman was breathing very
hard now, and was holding both
hands close to her breast.

"Have you a mother?" she asked
huskily.

"You have no right to ask me
that," reproved the young lady; "but

HER CHILD

I will tell you. My grandmama is
the only mother I have or want; and
now I shall have to ask you to leave,
because I want to say my prayers."

"May — may I kiss you before I
leave?" whispered the little woman,
tremulously.

"My grandmama does not permit
any one to kiss me — outside the
family, I mean. ' ' The child was look-
ing at the woman in real amazement
now, for she was weeping brokenly.
"But, if you really want to as bad as
that, why, you may, I suppose — if
you will promise to go at once. ' '

The woman paused for a moment,
to suppress a fit of coughing; then
took the child's hand in hers and held
it to her shrunken breast, her eyes all
the while pleading for something the
child could not comprehend.

102

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"This is the way your — mother — "
Then the little woman hurried away
from her, pausing at the door for a
last look into the cold, uncomprehend-
ing eyes of the child.

Her cough and sobs, growing
feebler, were echoed back to Owens

for several minutes, as he stood there
in the outer doorway, looking out
with misty eyes.

' ' Oil and water 's what I says from
the first," he muttered, closing and
barring the massive doors; " 'taint

The Moving Picture Girl

By H. W. CLAIRBORNE

young man once was smoking

His one last cigaret,
And in the rising smoke of it

He tried hard to forget
The throw down that he'd gotten,

And he sighed, with head awhirl
"I want some one to love me

Like a Moving Picture girl."

Yes, the little girl he loved so

Had cruelly thrown him down,
And as he sat and thought of it,

The thought caused him a frown.
He remembered that his salary

Was all spent in giddy whirl,
And he sighed for one to love him like

A Moving Picture girl.

I guess he's not the only one

Who, feeling sad and blue,
Has wished some little brunette girl

Would love him and be true.
I guess I've often dreamed, myself,

Of witching eye and curl,
And wished some one would love me

Like a Moving Picture girl.

The Parson's Picture Show

By FRANK W. STERNS

Oh, we*never#had a bit o' use fer folks who peddled tracts,

Long- featured fellers buttin' in, to criticize our acts.

In consequence, it seldom took us boys o' Roarin' Shout

More than a minute an' a half to make 'em face about

An' hoof it hastily from camp ; quite frequent, we would play

A "six-gun tune" aroun' their feet, to speed 'em on their way.

But sence thef smilin' parson chap dropped into Roarin' Shout,
An' showed them pictur's o' th' things th' others told about,
We've got to thinkin', most o' us, an' to ourselves we've put
Th' question: "Aint there more in life than cards an' tanglefoot?'
Them pictur's portrayed stories thet wuz plain to a7.l an' each ;
Onselfishness, love, kindness, they wuz shorely meant to teach.
Th' things we'd never cared about, er understood, some way,
In Movin' Pictur's beautiful wuz made as plain as day.
We didn't need no lecture fer to grasp th' stories' trend —
Th' pictur's did th' tellin', from beginnin' to th' end.
We went in rompin' roughly, but we came out walkin' slow ;
We entered laughin' loudly, but we came out talkin' low.

We aint a-singin' hymns today, ner kneelin' 'roun' in prayer,
But most o' us are tryin' fer to live more on th' square ;
We've got a firmer holt upon th' Golden Rule, I know,
Sence th' day th' trav'llin' parson gave a Movin' Pictur' show.

t&-

Dear Editor: Same ten months ago, a little Brooklyn girl (five feet nine inches)
sent me a Motion Picture Story Magazine. I've read said magazine again and again,
and waited, for ten months, for another one, but nothing stirred. I presume that the
little Brooklyn girl either ran short in pocket-money, or got married, or met some other
accident; anyway, no more Motion Picture Story Magazines show up.

Now, there are 1772 soldiers, 123 men (more or less), 11 women, 59 ladies, several
biscuit-shooters, all kinds of babies — Filipinos and some Chinese — on this lonesome
rock, and ever since I received this Motion Picture Story Magazine, I've loaned it out
among all those human beings, reading it again, when I got it back, and then loaning it
out once more. This proves — methinks — that I am a "constant" reader, and I, there-
fore, have the privilege to write to you.

Fact is, that I am forced to write, since aforementioned magazine is getting pretty
well worn out. I, for my part, can read it all right — I know the contents by heart-
but the rest of Corregidor's inhabitants can hardly make out whether it is a Salvation
Army "War-Cry" or a Chinese almanac, and so it's just about time to order a new one.

Do you know, Mr. Brewster, that the arrival of this said old Motion Picture Story
Magazine caused quite a sensation? You do not? Well, I thought so ; you people back
In the woods dont hear any news, and that's why I want to tell you.

Furthermore, do you know, my dear Mr. Brewster, how many scraps we have had
on account of this here magazine of yours? No? Well, I dont know myself, exactly —
nobody knows it — but I am convinced that we had more fights and scraps over it than
they had in the Spanish, Cuban and Civil wars taken together.

At first, we tried to keep them from stealing The Motion Picture Story Magazine
(ten months old), with Springfields (model 1903, cal. 30), in vain. Then the War
Department supplied us with several 24-inch guns ; that made it worse. While we tried
to keep our guns pointed at them, some of them blew up the bomb-proof vault and
hooked my Motion Picture Story Magazine (ten months old).

At last I got wise. I recovered The Motion Picture Story Magazine, assembled
the whole bunch of them, and read the dear old Motion Picture Story Magazine (ten
months old) to them from start to finish. I did that afterwards, every Sunday, and we
lived happy ever after.

I'm thinking of having several thousand Motion Picture Story Magazines trans-
lated into the Japanese lingo, and if they should start something, I would go by and
have about 2323 distributed among them. I am convinced that they'll get so inter-
ested that they'll forget everything about war, and all we have to do then is to walk
up, hit them on their noble heads, claim and take possession of Japan, and — bang —
we've got another star in our flag, and a pretty big one, too.

Now this demonstrates only one case of what your magazine does, and can do, for
the American nation. It shows and puts people hep to something they never knew
before. It proves that some people (especially Motion Picture actors and actresses)
can get killed in train smashups, motor-car, boat or other accidents, and still enjoy life
and good health for years and years. The Motion Picture Story Magazine shows how
cheap one can buy good literature ; it illustrates how many foolish questions one single
person can answer, without going bughouse. It keeps people, who live in some lonesome
corner of this world, in touch with the other world (the Motion Picture world).

Do you know where Corregidor is? Well, I dont expect you to— nobody knows it,
except people that have been here. Its location is 122° East long, and 14° 21 sec. North
lat. The island is made of rock (doby rock) put into the China Sea by -Nature. It is
inhabited by snakes, bamboo, Filipinos, iguanas (see dictionary) spiders (all kinds
and sizes, ranging from a fly to the size of a New York skyscraper), and soldiers (put
on the rock by order of the War Department, to find out whether the guy was right
when he said: "There's no place like home.")

But I'll have to close for today; pretty soon they'll blow "mess-call," and I
wouldn't miss my beans for anything. What are you going to have for dinner?

Enclosed please find money-order for the amount of $1.50 (good old U. S. cur-
rency) for a year's subscription for The Motion Picture Story Magazine, commencing
January, 1913 — providing you dont charge the $1.50 for reading this letter.

Very respectfully yours, Fred M. Smith.

Corporal, 95th Co., C. A..C, Fort Mills, Corregidor, P. I.

104

It was a world as garish and unreally
lovely as a painted scene. Late
afternoon on the Florida coast —
still waters, lacquered with sunshine ;
hunchback trees trailing unshaven,
gray niossbeards over bright flame
and orange fungus and boldly tinted
blossoms. The stage was set for
Romance, but actors there were none,
except for the unkempt slovenliness of
the tramp steamer misnomered Belle
o' th' Isle, snuffing and wheezing
along the shore. Then, suddenly,
the grim actor, Tragedy, skulking in
the wings, took his cue, and glided out
on the serene stage — softly, slyly — as
softly as yon rowboat, drifting irreso-
lute in the warm hollows of the waves.

The captain of the Belle o' th' Isle
caught sight of the boat from the
lookout-bridge.

1 ' Hey ! Jem ! " he roared. ' ' There 's
a boat adrift — looks queer to me.
Stand by, lads — ahoy, there — ahoy ! ' '

No answer. Tragedy has few lines
to speak. A moment later, the silence
was explained. In the bottom of the
boat, awash in the seepage like a
sodden rag, sprawled an old man,
ragged of hair and garments, barely
breathing. The sailors hoisted him
aboard the Bell o' th' Isle, where he
fought feebly, with insane grimacing,

and fell into the deathlike doze of
delirium.

"Old cove's going to snuff out
lively, unless we git him ashore,"
agreed the awe-sobered crew. Accord-
ingly, the tramp pointed her blunt
nose, turtlewise, toward the white
sand of a near-by landing-beach. A
low bungalow fronted the beach, in-
habited, apparently, by one lone,
small boy, impatiently angling for
crawfish in a stagnant pool by the
wharf. He looked up in freckled,
round-mouthed astonishment as the
steamer snorted to a stop.

' ' Hey ! bub, 's there a doctor near
here?"

The boy nodded, tongueless.

"Then we'll leave this old fellow
here — found him adrift just now and
nearly done for. Go call your mammy
or dad, bub "

The boy flashed up the beach with
agitated flutter of bare legs. "Vida —
oh, YidaV he shouted. A tall girl,
vivacious with a vitality not of the
somnolent Southland, answered the
call. She received the news as one
who would deal with a blaze in a
dynamite-house, an unexpected mouse
and a sheeted, gibbering ghost in the
same competent fashion. Vida Dudley
was the power that pulled the strings

105

106

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

in her world, and her family were
marionettes to dance her bidding. A
surprisingly few moments later, there-
fore, the castaway was lying in a com-
fortable bed in the bungalow, with a
doctor professionally peering at his
tongue. But the Atlantic Ocean, days
of sun-harried thirst and nights of
watching had put him beyond the
healing of pills or powders. It was
soon evident that the stranger was
stumbling over every laboring breath
into the kindly peace that he had
prayed for, with withering lips and

was a rudely drawn map, with the
name of a town on the coast and a
river sprawling inland. Unfolding
and deciphering the rest," it read :

My name is Jose Cavella. My son
Manuel and I have discovered great gold
mines in Africa. I started out to get ma-
chinery and funds in Cuba, leaving Man-
uel in charge. Our schooner was wrecked.
I am the only survivor. Soon, too, I shall
die. This is written in the hopes that
the one finding it will go to Africa and
save my son. It will have to be soon, for
his provisions are nearly gone. If the
finder will do this he shall have my half

COMFORTABLY SETTLED IN THEIR AFRICAN CAMP

swollen tongue, in the drifting boat.
On the very threshold he seemed to
turn back an instant. Vida, bending
pityingly over him, caught the flash of
mind in the glazing eyes.

' ' The — papers — pocket — t-tell

Manuel " The poor, laboring

words flickered, then went out with
his. flickering breath, as a candle is
quenched.

"Manuel!" murmured the girl,
softly — the name clung to her imag-
ination like an echo from the strange,
unknown world of Make-Believe. A
little later, Vida and Dr. Benson,
searching the torn clothes, came upon
a bottle in which was thrust a
crumpled wad of paper. One sheet

of the mines. I would give all the gold
in the world for a pint of water — my God,

let me die soon — soon

I think this is the end. With this I
seal my map of the mine and a picture
of my boy — Manuel — Man

Vida gazed down at the picture
that had fallen from the bottle with
the papers — the picture of a dark-
eyed youth with boyish lips and a
man's grim, firm chin. The eyes
seemed strangely alive as they met
hers — the eyes of the Prince in the
fairy tale ; the eyes of the half -imag-
ined, shy hero of her girlish dreams.
With a sudden quiver of decision,
Vida faced the doctor, preparatory
defiance in her voice.

TREASURE-HUNTERS LOST IN THE HEART OF AFRICA 107

"We will go to find Manuel."

The doctor was the girl's guardian,
and accustomed to her volcanic erup-
tions of mind, but, hitherto, they had
never tossed her so far from home as
Africa.

"Before we start, we will also
square the circle and find the fourth
dimension/' he said dryly. "My
dear girl, you might as well plan to
jaunt to the moon."

"Daddy Doctor, if I planned to go
to the moon, I'd get there," flashed
Vida. "I'm going to Africa — and

trains thru the jungle. Accordingly,
they chartered a well-meaning little
launch and started high-heartedly
up the artery of the river sluggishly
flowing from the heart of the primal
world. Up — up the sullen, brown
tide they slid, by marshy, floating
islands moored on papyrus reeds;
by native villages, wretched nests of
bamboo huts twisted in the thorny
underbrush like habitations of giant
birds. Over the stagnant waters hov-
ered a blue haze, the fevered breath
of the country, speckled by myriads

THE CANNIBALS HOLD A CONSULTATION OF WAR

what's more, you're going, too. Just
you wait and see ! "

From Florida to Africa is a mere
matter of days and dollars, after all.
On a sun-scorched afternoon, exactly
one calendar leaf later, Yida, the vic-
torious, marshaled her cohorts trium-
phantly down the gang-plank into the
seaport town of Bornu, on the African
coast. Besides Willie and Vida, the
party consisted of Mammy Chloe,
Vida's black handmaid, Dr. Benson,
and Rob and Jim Willets, rah-rah
college youths out for red-blooded
adventure.

A study of Cavella's map convinced
Yida that the journey should be
begun on the river winding in from
the coast and completed with mule-

of bees and flies, vocal with the
quarrels of immense black toads.

At last they landed, and the
troublous march to the interior began.
On the first day, several of their
guides disappeared. On the second,
the water-skins began to gurgle with
threats of emptiness. Lacking Yida's
unreasoning optimism, the party
would have turned back.

' ' Nonsense ! ' ' laughed Yida. " It 's
just beginning to be fun. Turn back
if you like — I'm going ahead."

So on they struggled thru the ever-
thickening shrubs, with the eerie arms
of the jungle interlacing overhead,
underfoot, and the silent world around
them pricked and splashed with gor-
geous dyes, blood-red locust blossoms,

108

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

purple convolvulus, kinku plant and
acacias ; and, silently with them,
Death stalked thru the painted jungle
— underfoot in the hairy centipedes;
death in the lichen-gray of crocodiles
stretched on logs ; death in the creep-
ing plants and aromatic blossoms —
and hideous Death, crawling toward
them thru the bushes with oil-lit
black limbs and tattooed faces.

The party paused for the night in
a crude stockade of bamboo-poles and
reeds, leaving Rob to watch the forest

whined thru the air, like a flock of
deadly birds.

The boys seized their rifles and
fired into the midst of the hideous
mass almost upon them. One of the
vermilion-streaked warriors sobbed
aloud as he pitched earthward. The
rest halted, undecided for a moment.
In that moment Dr. Benson, clawing
frantically among the baggage-packs,
turned a chalky face upon the rest.

''The ammunition — — " he gasped.
"We left it yonder with the mules — "

DEFENDING THE STOCKADE

for danger. But it was upon them
almost before his eyes could testify
the sight to his brain. Like unreal
goblin things, the savages came thru
the pale moonbeams, brass earrings
and anklets a-tinkle, unbelievably
horrible faces a-grin. Rob's cry of
warning woke the others. A little
native boy,, who was one of their
guides, set up a dismal screaming:
"The Mohirs — the Mohirs — cannibals
— ai — ai!" and, dropping on all fours,
like a rat, scuttled out of the fire-lit
circle.

A thick shower of winged things

The muscles in the boys' faces
tightened. They turned silently to
the stockade, hoarding their bullets
like jewels, fighting to put off the
inevitable moment of defeat.

Vida, one brave, young arm flung
about Mammy, stilling her moans
and prayers, turned to her guardian.
"Save one of your bullets — for me,
Daddy Doctor," she whispered.

Almost as the low words quivered
to him, came a banshee shriek of
triumph from the savages beyond the
stockade. One of their lighted
torches flung against the frail barrier

TREASURE-HUNTERS LOST IN THE HEART OF AFRICA 109

had fired it. At the same moment,
Rob and Jim flung down their empty
guns. The red flames and smoke veiled
the victims from their loathsome
butchers. Vida snatched the rifle
from her guardian's hands, and
turned to the moaning negress: "If
you love me, Mammy, shoot," she

cried; "before they come " The

blaze was flickering down; thru the
smoke danced phantom shadows, leer-
ing, writhing — guttural yells — the
sound of blows — then A tall

arms shut out the horror and the
tumult about them.

Nor did the seeming miracle of the
strange, beautiful girl and her party
coming upon him out of the nowhere
of the jungle seem uncanny or unreal
to the bronzed adventurer.

In a little while her eyes fluttered
open, and she held the calling letter
and the map of old Jose, his father,
out to him.

Manuel read the message, the call
of his father from the open boat, and

THE ATTACK ON THE CANNIBALS

figure leaped across the barrier, cry-
ing to other figures behind him:
"This way, camerados "

Vida, sinking into the gulf of un-
consciousness, felt herself seized in a
pair of strong, warm arms. Her
vague eyes, fluttering open, impatient
at the new lease of sensibility, met the
deep gaze of a pair of dark ones. Her
hands strayed upwards, touching his
face for reassurance.

' ' Manuel ! ' ' she cried. The miracle
of his presence in her hour of need
did not occur to her. It was as tho
she had been expecting him. His

he stiffened, and shook with love and
regret for the last of his race. It
came upon him, without words, that
the girl in his rigid arms held, some-
how, the link that bound him to the
grave in the shallow sand.

Then a strange thing happened.
Vida's old self-confidence vanished
utterly. She clung to him as she had
never clung to a human being beforer
shaken with sobs, a very woman-thing
who must always hereafter turn to
man-strength and man-courage in
moments of pain and doubtfulness.

Overhead, the pendant clusters of

110

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

a stately date-palm drooped pliantly ;
the heavy scent of the yellow jasmine
was like the breath of the moon on
their cheeks. The flash of canoe
paddles plowing the stream near-by
told of the rout of the savages. Back
thru the rushes and the rank vegeta-
tion straggled the rescuers and res-

.v.';-';'". .'V-S..iK >.;_

cued, maudlin with relief. Over the
ashes and charred ruins of the stock-
ade, phoenix-like, hovered invisible
wings.

Science can explain most miracles
nowadays — the bringing of the dead
to life, the changing of the water into
wine. But there is one miracle that
Science does not understand — and
that is the wondrous, world-old, ever-
new miracle of Love.

MANUEL MOURNS THE LOSS OF HIS FATHER

The Travelers

By L. M. THORNTON

A little man and a little maid
Wearied of games too often played,
And so to the South they wandered, where
They saw the lion in thicket lair,
The elephant and the kangaroo,
And animals never kept in zoo.
Then West they went, where the cowboys ride
O'er plains, grass-covered and smooth and wide.
Nor felt content, in their eager quest,
Till they came to the ocean's rolling breast,
And watched a ship, as she sailed afar,
Like a monster bird 'neath the evening star.

Homeward, in time for lunch, they went,
Jubilant, laughing and quite content ;
For so in an hour or so one may,
Thanks to the Motion Picture play.

The Motion Picture Route

By O. A. MILLER

If the passing of the summer finds you plodding still away,
And the routine of employment keeps you toiling day by day,
If you cant afford an outing, with its high expense to boot,
Stop a moment while I tell you of the Motion Picture Route.

Tho you long for a vacation when your purse is scant and slim,
Do not give way to sadness for the chance that seems so slim.
Modern genius wrought a blessing which the mind cannot compute,
When it introduced all mankind to the Motion Picture Route.

Should you care to view Niagara, or the dizzy Alpine heights,
Or the Babylonian marvels, with their awe-inspiring sights,
Or perhaps the frozen Arctic, with its wonders, cold and mute,
Just go spend a modest nickel on the Motion Picture Route.

Take a trip and see great Cheops and the silent Sphinx of old ;
See the land of She of Sheba, with plethoric wealth untold ;
Penetrate where Ali Baba in deep caverns hid his loot-
Do it with a modest stipend on the Motion Picture Route.

You can almost hear the purling of the mountain streams out West,
Plainly see the big volcano belching fire from its crest.
To Yosemite's vast park-lands, Colorado's giant butte,
You will find an easy access by the Motion Picture Route.

You can scale the Height of Glory, stroll thru cities of the dead,
Or with Dante view Inferno, by the wraith of Virgil led.
In the tombs of the Etruscans ancient lore will hold you mute,
Till you take another flyer on the Motion Picture Route.

Do not envy your -rich neighbors in their countryside retreats,
You may drift with gay gondolas down the famed Venetian streets.
Just a nickel buys you solace, guaranteed to please and suit,
If you take your transportation on the Motion Picture Route.

You may aeroplane with birdmen over scenes and landscapes green,
Or repose in Placid Valley, where sweet Nature smiles serene;
While amid the constellations, where the meteors dart and shoot,
You can do some artful dodging — on the Motion Picture Route.

Take a trip of half an hour, swiftly speeding on thru space,

And observe the world's great doings as you move from place to place

You can see events of moment which the daily papers bruit —

Take the Pathe Weekly Special on the Motion Picture Route.

You'll receive new inspiration from the miracles you see,
And then vow such brief "vacations" are a time of joy and glee,
Just because you took a voyage where the price will ever suit —
Thru the maze of real and mystic, on the Motion Picture Route.

Ill

112

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

The World-Film

By DOROTHY DONNELL

Life is an ever-changing photoshow,
Where in and out upon the screen we go,
With merry step, or dragging foot, and slow.

Here priests pass by, with deep, abstracted
air;

And now a shepherdess, with wreath-
crowned hair ;

And now a drudge ; and now a lady fair.

Here goes a miser, with his bag of gold ;
Here courtiers, and clowns, and pirates bold ;
And here pass gay, young hearts, and
hearts grown old.

The films roll on, the time flies swiftly by,
With many a jest, and many a weary sigh,
Until the hour of midnight draweth nigh.

Then thru a sudden silence, dim and gray,
There rings a voice — majestic, far away —
"Unmask, and greet the Censor of the Play."

Then we shall see beneath the king a clown,
A noble 'neath the jester's motley gown,
And on the head of Poverty a crown.

Then only when the midnight hour is passed,
And when the masks have fallen, swift and fast,
Shall we heboid Life's puzzles solved at last.

DO I OG, DON'T I
Ci£TANV DINNEB?

~£. w6e we Pun oy
TROUBLE-MAKERS FOR THE ANSWER MAN (See pages 133-158)

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WILLIAM RUSSELL, OF THE THANHOUSER COMPANY

«t tere's the man who does the thrillers," said Mr. Adler, the publicity man of the

I — I Thanhouser Company, ushering in a big, broad-shouldered, breezy-looking man,

* *• who greeted me with a quiet cordiality that made it easy to begin asking the

inevitable questions of the interviewer.

1 "I'm a New Yorker, born and bred," he said in answer to the first. question, "and I

still live in the big city, but I was educated at Harvard."

I learnt next that Mr. Russell went under Bernarr Macfadden's instruction after
he left the big university, and has been a successful teacher of boxing and athletics
himself. It was natural that he should take up stage life — he comes from a theatrical
family — and before he began his work in the pictures he starred with May Tully.

"You like the pictures better?" I asked.

He considered a moment, and let me say right here that Mr. Russell is not the type
of man who talks without thinking. He gives his opinions somewhat deliberately, and
the hearer feels that whatever he says is absolutely genuine and sincere.

"My point of view is purely commercial," he replied, finally. "This line of work
means a good salary all the year 'round; absolute certainty of a good thing, that is.
Then it means that a man can have a fixed habitation — a home. And that is what I
am going to have. Yes, you are at liberty to state that I am going to be married — it
may lessen the volume of my mail, but that doesn't matter!"

"Shall you continue to live in New York after the happy event?" I asked.

"I want, ultimately, a home in the country," he answered. "I want it near New
York, of course ; a nice little farm and some time to experiment with my hobbies."

I was a bit surprised. I had seen Mr. Russell do such daring and exciting stunts
in the films that I had pictured him as a man who would never yearn for the quiet
life. He smiled, quietly, when I expressed this thought.

"You cant tell what a man really cares for by his acting," he laughed. "I admit
that I enjoy my parts. They are always heroic ones, but, as a rule, they are not
actually jeopardizing. Still, once in a while we have a close call. Talk about the ease
of this life — there's nothing to it ! A month of one-night stands with a stock company
isn't to be compared with some of the things we face."

Further questioning drew out the fact that this heroic actor had been injured
recently when he was supposed to be rescuing a little girl from a railroad wreck. The
child actually got caught in the burning wreckage, and, in protecting her from injury,
he was obliged to drop, hurting his knees rather badly. Not long after, Mr. Russell,
with Miss Florence LaBadie in his arms, was being pulled up by a rope from the fourth
to the fifth story of a burning building. Suddenly he saw that his hand, which was

113

114 CHATS WITH THE PLAYERS

grasping the rope, was about to be caught between the rope and a stone projection
from the building.

"It was a case of losing my fingers i if I held on," he said, "but I didn't care to drop
Miss LaBadie down four stories. I just hung on and yelled for them to stop pulling.
They heard me just in the nick of time. My fingers were bruised, but that was all."

Just then a tiny, brown-haired girl came running into the office, and leaned against
Mr. Russell's knee, looking at me from under a fringe of brown hair. The man's face
lighted instantly as. he lifted the child, and she smiled into his face with a look that
told of perfect confidence.

"Here's the little girl who does all the stunts with me," he explained ; "her name's
Marie Eline, and she's the bravest little girl in the country. After a little, we will
show you a film where I climb a seventy-five foot trestle and pull Marie off the track,
and hang by one hand with her in my other arm, while a train goes over our heads.
That was some stunt, wasn't it, Marie?"

Marie nodded emphatically, but when I asked if she was not afraid, she only
looked up into her partner's eyes and shook her head.

"He wouldn't let me fall," she said, confidently.

"It seems dreadful," I said, impulsively, "not only risking your own life, but feeling
that other lives are dependent upon you — and all for the sake of the public's
amusement."

"In the midst of life we are in death," he quoted, "that's all there is to it. If it's
time — we go! We dont go any quicker by doing our work, whatever it is."

"How do you spend your leisure time?" I asked, turning from such serious topics.

"I'm extremely fond of swimming and all sports. Twice a year I train with prom-
inent boxers at the Fairmount Athletic Club. We take no vacations, except an
occasional off-day."

I had been studying the man as we talked, and my memory of him is a big man, a
typical athlete, with brown eyes, a mass of rumpled, half-curly hair, good features and
a manner that fills one with instinctive confidence. Right living and fair dealing speak
frankly from his face in real life as they do in his play life. But remember, girls, he
is engaged ! The Inquisitor.

RALPH INCE, OF THE VITAGRAPH COMPANY

ot long ago, I saw a Vita-
graph photoplay called
"The Battle Hymn of the
Republic," in which an amaz-
ingly fine Lincoln appeared. In
height, loose-limbed awkward-
ness, as well as in the last detail
o f facial characteristic, this
photo-actor portrayed Lincoln to
my full satisfaction.

"Is Chapin playing with the
Vitagraph Company?" I asked
several acquaintances who I
thought might know, for I had
seen Chapin in his fine por-
trayal of Lincoln in vaudeville. My question remained unanswered until yesterday,
when I met the creator of the Lincoln whom I had so greatly admired.

Mr. Ralph Ince, for five years a Vitagraph star, and, recently, an acquisition to their
force of directors, modestly acknowledged himself the Lincoln, not only of the play
mentioned, but of several notable Vitagraph plays based upon incidents in the life of
that towering figure of Civil War days.

Altho Mr. Ince has played comedy, as well as straight character parts, his Lincoln
is his favorite, and, undoubtedly, his best, character work.

It was rather hard to realize that this bronzed, blue-eyed, young man, of athletic
build, with his air of vigorous alertness, was the Lincoln who had passed before me on the
magic screen. The deep-set eyes, holding in their somber depths a reflection of the
anguish and misery of those dark days, the wonderful smile with its blending of humor,
tolerance, and a vast understanding for the sorrows of his people— every line was so
true that I yielded to the feeling that I was really glimpsing, in a magic mirror, those
storied days, and this, in spite of the fact that Mr. Ince was kindly giving me the story
of the play, "The Higher Mercy," shortly to be given to the public.

"It must be very difficult to do that repressed acting before the camera," I ventured.
"Yes, it is hard," Mr. Ince admitted, "much harder than work where you can ex-
press your emotions thru several different channels. It takes time, too — I've been work-
ing on this%character about five years."

CHATS WITH THE PLAYERS 115

Mr. Ince comes of a family of theatrical people, his father, Mr. John E. Ince, hav-
ing been a well-known comedian. A brother is director of the Bison Company in Cali-
fornia. Naturally, Ralph Ince turned to the stage for his life career, but his father
discouraged his ambition, as do most parents who have themselves traveled the rough
and disillusioning way that ends in the dressing-room.

As he had shown an unusual aptitude for lines and colors, he was encouraged to
devote himself seriously to art. Effectually to put a damper upon his son's youthful
stage ambitions, the elder Mr. Ince secured for him a part in a "Hazel Kirk" road pro-
duction, hoping that the monotony of one-night stands in dismal, little towns, with their
wretched hotels and unspeakable meals, would cure the fastidious boy.

"Hazel Kirk" more than fulfilled the father's fondest hopes by going to pieces after
a few weeks of unremunerative travel. Ralph Ince returned from this experience un-
cured of his love of the world behind the curtain, and shortly after secured a part under
Richard Mansfield.

"I used to cstudy Mansfield from the wings — he would fly into a rage if he caught
any one at it — to find out how he secured his wonderful make-up effects," Mr. Ince told
me, "and I found that he used the brush just as the artist does. When I apply the
make-up to work before the camera, I use that method, treating my face as I would a
canvas, and studying my effects that way."

From others than Mr. Ince, who is far too modest to give himself due credit, I
learnt that he is looked upon as one of the Vitagraph's most promising directors. His
artistic training makes him invaluable in the planning of settings, while a remarkable
ability to visualize scenes saves many a weary moment that might otherwise be spent in
rearranging and in rectifying mistakes.

Besides his work with Mr. Mansfield, Mr. Ince was in several of the Savage pro-
ductions, among them "The College Widow," and was the Messala in "Ben Hur."

When he decided, five years ago, to enter the picture field, his relatives and friends
raised the usual chorus of objections.

"What do you want to go into that work for — dont you know you are ruining your
future?" they demanded.

"Well, I've been in the work five years," he laughed. "I got married on the strength
of making a success, and I never was so happy in my life. I have a fine bungalow down
at Brightwaters, Long Island, where we are having a delightful summer."

When I asked if he had ever ventured into the field of photoplay-writing, Mr. Ince
modestly acknowledged that he had written "a few."

"My wife has written several very good ones. She is awfully clever, as well as
young and pretty."

The hour and a half that he must spend twice a day in going to and from his bunga-
low to the Vitagraph plant, Mr. Ince spends in looking over new manuscripts, and in
studying parts. Swimming, rowing, all outdoor sports, he is enthusiastic about. "Base-
ball?" Decidedly, yes!

He and Mrs. Ince belong to a social club which offers distractions of a social nature
with congenial people.

Mr. Ince spoke highly of The Motion Picture Story Magazine, and predicted a
useful and prosperous future for it. He feels that he is a pioneer in a field that will
prove a fruitful source of education besides fulfilling its present mission of entertain-
ment.

The Tatler.

HOWARD M. MITCHELL, OF THE LUBIN COMPANY

Did you ever wonder about the identity of the man who plays the heavy parts with
Arthur Johnson's company? Well, his name is Howard Mitchell, and he came
from the smoky city of Pittsburg, where he graduated from the University of
Pittsburg. He also plays leading parts himself, often with Lottie Briscoe.

When Mr. Mitchell was a very small boy, he organized a successful stock company
that gave wonderful performances in the cellar of the Mitchell home. It cost two pins
to get in, and Mr. Mitchell still believes that the show was worth the price of admission.

From the cellar, via the aforesaid university, he graduated into stock at Wichita,
Kan. — wherever that is ! He stuck to the stock companies for six or seven years,
always intending to quit and study law, as his family wished, but the call of the stage
was too strong.

Swimming is Mr. Mitchell's favorite sport, and he has won numerous medals;
conspicuous among them are the ones from the Hygeia Club and the Argo Club.

"I'd like to try the whirlpool of Niagara," he confided, "but I suppose I never will
— unless they should want to get a film of the stunt!"

"No, I cant say that I like the country," he confessed, "except in the hunting
season, of course."

Mr. Mitchell had just finished a fine bit of acting in the two-reel film, "The Stolen

116

CHATS WITH THE PLAYERS

Symphony," when I visited him at the studio, and I am watching for the release of the
film now.

In appearance he is pleasant, self-composed, with a vein of quiet humor lighting
his conversation. But this interview would be longer if he were less modest — he is
ready to talk interestingly about any subject except himself ! L. B.

GWENDOLINE PATES, OF PATHE FRERES

large, vivid blue coat,

containing a small,

vivid, pink and blonde

young lady, came rapidly

down the corridor.

"There's Miss Gwendoline
Pates, now," said the tele-
phone girl. I gasped. There
was apparently so much coat
and so little Gwendoline. The
Little Salvationist, the Aero-
plane Girl, and a host of
dainty, girlish parts passed
before my mind's eye as I
found myself shaking hands,
energetically, with five feet
four of bewitching prettiness,
made up of quantities of
golden hair, long-lashed,
friendly blue eyes, and a one
hundred and twenty-odd
pounds of most colorful per-
sonality.

"Such a noise out here;
come into my dressing-room —
do." Miss Gwendoline has a
real trilling-bird-and-rippling-
brook voice. It is a great pity
that the camera cannot re-
produce that also. I followed,
thru cross-sections of scenery,
into a charming, little, flow-
ered, cretonne nook, that
looked very much like its
owner. We sat down. Minus
the coat, "Gwen," as they call
her at the studio, is not so
very petite, but it is not diffi-
cult to see why she takes light
comedy and little-girl parts so
well. She is all graceful en-
thusiasm, dainty gesture and
_i_*j_i___ „. _• _ ■" &5L. pretty, italicized pronuncia-
tion, with just a hint of her
Texas birthplace running thru it. And she gathered up the reins of the interview, and
drove the conversation, skillfully, at her own sweet will, thru the pleasant places of
reminiscence and anecdote, while the breathless pencil of your interviewer made inef-
fectual attempts to keep up.

"I've been with Pathe two years, and I've played hundreds of parts — before that,
vaudeville. Oh, yes, I'm getting along in years — nearly twenty," she confessed. "I
prefer the photoplay to the spotlight, because now I can live at home with my per-
fectly good family. Then I dont have to be bothered with the stage-door Johnnies, tho
the mail-box Johnnies are nearly as bad. I get hundreds of letters. There's one poor
little fellow, ten years old, that writes me regularly, because he's lonely and an
orphan, and I look friendly. I answer his letters, too." Miss Gwen smiled so pleas-
antly here that I feel sure that if I had been a ten-year-old orphan, I should have sat
down and written her at once myself. I propounded another question— she looked so-
extremely feminine.

"Do you want the suffrage?"

"No, not personally. I wouldn't know what to do with it" — dear me, how delightful !
— "I'm truly so busy that I couldn't stop to vote. I haven't a moment for fads, tho I'd.

CHATS WITH THE PLAYERS 117

be interested in Christian Science, if I had time for it. Theories of life? Mercy ! I've
been too busy living to think about life, tho I do believe that we ought to make the most
of ourselves in the direction of our talents. Speaking of being busy, actually, I've
never got around to learning to swim yet, and every summer I have to fall out of boats
into the water, and be rescued from wrecks, and get beautifully wet, inside and out-
side. I've had some narrow escapes, but, do you know, I like narrow escapes !"

Miss Gwen's "nerve" is as large as she herself. It has carried her hundreds of
feet into the air in an aeroplane, with George Beatty, many times, for the pictures, and
in little pleasure jaunts along the Milky Way- She has done the drop, the glide, the
spiral among the surprised stars. The swiftest of racing-cars are this dauntless little
lady's friends. Her other recreations are the "movies" and "just staying at home with
my folks" — a charmingly Louise-Alcottish sentiment in these unsentimental days.

"Experiences? Dear me, yes!

"Such a funny thing happened the other day" — Miss Gwen twinkled reminiscently —
"we were taking a picture in the slummiest kind of slums. I was an Irish washwoman's
daughter, in an apron and calico dress, and, of course, I had my make-up on, eyelids
darkened and all that. Well, an old Irishwoman came out of one of the tenements
and stood looking on. I noticed, out of the tail of my eye, that she was particularly
interested in me, but couldn't guess the reason until, finally, she shook her head and
said, with a pitying sigh : 'Ach, th' pore childer. Jist see th' black eyes on her !
Shure, an' her man must be afther batin' her cruel hard, th' saints presarve her!' "

"I should think the make-up would attract an undesirable amount of attention,"
I ventured.

"I dont use much of it on the most crowded streets, or I would have the entire
populace trailing after me and spoiling the film," said Miss Gwen. "We were down
on Broadway, the other day, taking pictures from a closed limousine, so as to attract
as little attention as possible. I was a milliner's apprentice, and supposed to enter a
shop, with a band-box, and to come out immediately without it. The manager usually
explains matters to the people whose shop we 'borrow,' but in this case there was
evidently some misunderstanding, for, when I hurried into the shop, the saleswoman
came up to me and asked me what I wanted. I started out, and she took hold of my
arm firmly. I had a dreadful vision of that camera grinding around and around, out
in the limousine, without anything happening. 'Please let me go ; I'll explain later,' I
gasped. Her suspicions were aroused, however, and when I finally burst from the shop,
I was dragging her alone with me, to the great interest and amusement of the passers-
by. They managed to pry her off and pacify her, but not until she had gotten into the
picture, and I had had a little private, internal panic all of my own "

At this point, the call-boy rudely interrupted : "Picture, Miss Pates "

I rose regretfully. "Thank yoa for being as nice as your pictures," I said. "I've
had a very pleasant time" — and I meant it.

"Then I hope you'll come again," smiled Miss Gwen, and she sounded as tho she
meant it, too. Dokothy Donnell.

Next month, or soon, chats with Fred Mace, Marguerite Loveridge, Eleanor Gaines,
Muriel Ostriche, Florence Lawrence, Lillian Walker, Harry Benham, Clara Kimball
Young, the Costello children, William Garwood, Jennie Nelson, Jean Darnell, Miriam
Nesbitt, J. W. Johnston, Gertrude McCoy, and others.

FICTION

Fiction is the microscope of truth. — Lamartine.

Truth, severe, by fairy fiction drest. — Gray.

Wondrous strong are the tales of fiction. — Longfellow.

I have often maintained that fiction may be much more instructive than real history.
— John Foster.

Man is a poetical animal, and delights in fiction. — Hazlitt.

Truth and fiction are so aptly mixed that all seems uniform and of a piece.—
Roscommon.

Unbind the charms that in slight fables lie, and teach that truth is truest poesy. —
Cowley.

Fiction is no longer a mere amusement; but transcendant genius, accommodating
itself to the character of the age, has seized upon this province of literature, and turned
fiction from a toy into a mighty engine. — Ghanning.

The most influential books, and the truest in their influence, are works of fiction.
. . . They repeat, they rearrange, they clarify the lessons of life; they disengage us
from ourselves, they constrain us to the acquaintance of others ; and they show us the
web of experience, but with a singular change — that monstrous, consuming ego of ours
being, nonce, struck out. — Stevenson.

The Adventures of a Picture Star

HE PUT IN TOO MUCH ACTION, AND NOW HE IS TAKING A REST

118

Great Mystery Play

A Word to Its Three
Thousand Contributors

Delays are dangerous, and the postponement of the judges' decision in
awarding the prize for the best solution of the Great Mystery Play, or
the Diamond Mystery, would argue that this committee of gentlemen is
slack in the task that it has voluntarily undertaken. So you might think,
in an effort to impeach their industry. And so a word of explanation from
them is due to our readers, and to those who have given their best efforts to the
upbuilding of this contest: Will Carleton has passed away — a lovable man,
and a simple reader of hearts. It was these qualities that made his fellow
judges pause in their work, to reflect. Of his genius, the world well knows.

Hudson Maxim is absent in Florida, and Emmet Campbell Hall in Mary-
land, and with their return the final decision will be speedily made. We have
been assured that the greater part of the MSS. submitted have been read, and
passed upon, and that the Vitagraph Company has already started prepara-
tions for producing the play. Knowing this much, it is safe to predict that
the $100 prize-winner's name will be announced in the April issue. The
physical effort, alone, of reading some three thousand photoplays is no child's
play; but we are given to understand that each and every solution is placed
under rigid examination and made to pass certain tests. What these are, we
trust to find out, and to publish also in the next issue.

We* are publishing, herewith, a few of the clever solutions received :

THE DIAMOND MYSTERY.

Scene 46. Same as Scene 19.
Counterfeiters arguing and bewailing the imposition of Phelps. Some one knocks.
Counterfeiters wary, inquire who it is, admit Bill. Business of Bill informing counter-
feiters of the dishonorable method of Phelps' acquirement of invention secret. Counter-
feiters plot to revenge on Phelps, and destroy machine. All exit.

Scene 47. Same as Scene 44.
Rollins, Bloodgood and Phelps seated at table. Bloodgood orders drinks. Business
of Bloodgood to draw Phelps in on their scheme to destroy Moore's invention. Phelps
drinks freely. Bloodgood warily broaches the plot. Phelps refuses. Bloodgood pro-
duces huge roll of bills. Phelps is finally induced to take the "job." Bloodgood and
Rollins exchange satisfied grins. Another drink around. The exit.

Scene 48. Lawn of Moore Residence. Night.
Phelps enters, disguised, looks around apprehensively. Business of forcing entrance
to inventor's home, cautiously mounts to front porch, pries door, finally forces a window,
and stealthily crawls in.

Scene 58. Same as Scene 57.
Phelps cowers before the accusing finger of the detective. Violet is stunned, almost
faints. Phelps confesses, implicating Bloodgood and Rollins:

"BLOODGOOD PAID ME TO DESTROY MOORE'S INVENTION. MOORE
CAUGHT ME JUST AS I RAN INTO THESE FELLOWS. WE OVERPOWERED
HIM, AND, AT MY REQUEST, HE WAS CARRIED TO THEIR PLACE. HE IS
THERE, IN A COUNTERFEITING DEN."

Business of Phelps admitting above. Detective takes notes, summons policemen on
phone. (Few minutes later.) Policemen enter, take out Phelps, Bloodgood. Rollins and
counterfeiters. Mrs. Moore faints. Detective satisfied, bids farewell, smiling. Violet
and Olin look at each other. Olin draws her close, confesses his love. She says yes.
Mrs. Moore is revived. Olin outlines plan. All get in street-clothes and exit.

119

120 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Scene 59. Same as Scene 19.
Counterfeiters' den. Moore discovered,, bound on a rough pallet. Enter detective,
Olin, Violet and Mrs. Moore. Violet and Mrs. Moore rush to husband and father. Olin
and detective free him. Reunion very touching. Moore rushes to table containing
counterfeiters' copy of his machine. Holds it aloft.

"MY FORMULA AT HOME IS UNHARMED. HERE IS AN EXACT DUPLI-
CATE OF THE MACHINE, LACKING ONLY ONE DETAIL, NOTHING IS LOST."

Moore delivers the above in satisfaction. Violet gurgles happily from the shelter of
Olin's arms. Mrs. Moore for once forgets to scold, and runs to her husband, lovingly.
Lambert Chase smiles, pleased all round, pulling lovingly on his pipe.

211 S. Haywood Street, Raleigh, N. C. Willie W. Fulchee,

THE GREAT MYSTERY PLAY.

Scene 46. Same as Scene 45.
Moore restless, cant sleep, examines machine, thinks, comes to a conclusion, dresses,
exits.

Scene 47. Same as Scene 19.
Counterfeiters angrily discussing affairs. Some one knocks. Asking whosit is, they
open the door to Firestone and Bill. Bill explains Firestone will buy machine and
their silence at their own price. A heated discussion follows, a bag of money in evi-
dence, the deal is closed, money changes hands. Firestone proceeds to destroy machine
in same manner that afterwards Moore's machine was destroyed.

Scene 49. Same as Scene 38.
Rollins and Bloodgood urging Phelps to help them to destroy machine :

"IF IT COMES OUT, WE AND YOUR FATHER ARE RUINED." •

Phelps hesitates, then rises, says emphatically :

"NO, FROM THIS TIME ON I'M A MAN."

Exits. Bloodgood and Rollins dismayed. Knock at door. Rollins admits Moore. He is
cordially welcomed, explains his visit, has decided to accept proposition, provided they
make it $1,500,000. An agreement is reached. Moore receives check for $1,500,000.
Exits. Bloodgood and Rollins greatly relieved.

Scene 57.
. . . He is interrupted by Moore, who has entered unperceived :

"I'M THE GUILTY MAN."

Tableaux. Explains, shows contract, where he agrees to destroy machine for $1,500,000,
shows check, describes his return thru window, the explosion, his exit :

"MY WIFE DESERVED A LESSON FOR HER ILL TEMPERS, HENCE. MY
DELAY ON THE SCENE."

Scene 58. Same as Scene 1.
Mrs. Moore placing flowers on husband's desk, happy, complacent. Violet restlessly
walking floor. Olin announced, he enters, followed by Moore, tells Moore of Phelps
selling his formula. Enter Phelps and Bloodgood. Moore demands an explanation from
Phelps, which in a manly manner he gives. Moore orders him out. Bloodgood checks
him, tells him of his manly refusal to aid him in destroying machine.

"YOU, TOO,"
exclaims Moore. Mrs. Moore comes forward :

"I, TOO, WAS GOING TO DESTROY IT, BUT YOU BEAT ME TO IT."

Violet confesses. Enter Firestone and Bill, who, too, make confession. Moore looks
from one to the other, breaks out in a laugh, in which all join, while Moore shows Olin
the door.

Durant, Miss. Miss Sidney Yancey West.

GREAT MYSTERY PLAY 121

THE DIAMOND MYSTERY.

Scene 46. Same as Scene 19.
Counterfeiters, Firestone and Bill talking, evidently arguing. Firestone gives
counterfeiters money ; they give him the paper and formula. Business of Firestone and
Bill leaving. Counterfeiters satisfied.

• Scene 47. Same as Scene 13.
Olin pacing room, trying to work up a plot for revenge on Phelps.

Scene 48. Same as Scene 1. Dim.
Discovers inventor still on couch; slowly gets up, moves about room, walking in
sleep. Fumbles around the room, goes toward door.

Scene 57.
. . . accuses mother. She staggers. Violet and Phelps turn attention to her. Busi-
ness of detective taking off the wrist-straps, and excusing the others. Enter inventor.
Explanations given by detective. Wife registers she did it because she thought he was
wasting time on foolishness, and she wanted money and clothes. Inventor and detective
shake hands. Business of detective leaving. Mother asks inventor to forgive her. He
refuses. Violet and Phelps plead with him. He gives in, finally, and takes her in
embrace.

Scene 58. Same as Scene 10.
Bloodgood and Rollins talking and laughing in satisfaction. Register they have the
best of Moore, his invention blown up and formula gone.

Scene 59. Same as Scene 1.

Inventor looking dejected, registers formula gone, no money. Violet tries to com-
fort him. Mother and Phelps look on helplessly. Enter Firestone, listens to inventor's
tale of woe. Business of Firestone taking out paper, showing inventor he has the
formula. Inventor gets excited, holds out hand for paper, registers where did he get it.
Firestone refuses to tell. Quick look passes among Violet, Phelps and Firestone. Phelps
starts to speak. Violet signals no. Firestone refuses to give paper to inventor, makes
him a proposition: he is to sell the formula and invention for $1,000,000. Inventor
hesitates. Violet and mother urge him to say yes. He does. Business of Firestone
giving him the paper. Inventor scans it, eagerly, registers it is all right. Violet looks,
too, is happy. Firestone and inventor shake hands in friendly fashion. Enter Blood-
good and Rollins, with sneering looks. Business of asking inventor what he will take for
his invention now. Inventor registers $1,000,000. Bloodgood and Rollins laugh. Others
wondering what will happen next. Business of inventor showing them he still has the
formula. Bloodgood and Rollins look beaten, hasten to make inventor offer of $1,000,000.
Inventor makes believe he is uncertain. Suspense on part of Bloodgood and Rollins.
Inventor accepts. Others relieved. Bloodgood and Rollins talk. Bloodgood writes
something in a little book, tears out, and hands to inventor. He hands over the paper.
Business of Bloodgood and Rollins leaving. All seem happy but Phelps. Violet asks
Firestone to shake hands with him and forgive, for her sake. Inventor and mother
wonder what it is all about Firestone refuses. Violet begs. He gives in, shakes hands
with Phelps. Three older ones turn away, understandingly. Tender scene between
Violet and Phelps. He promises never to do anything like that again.

832 W. High Street, Lima, Ohio. Lillian Baughn.

GREAT MYSTERY PLAY.

Scene 46. Same as Scene 1.
Inventor asleep, moves restlessly around on couch, gets up and walks around the
room in his sleep, goes over, secures package (formula and diamond) and goes out of
room.

Scene 49. * * *

Scene 57. Continued.
. . . when the inventor walks quietly into the room, seeming to be still asleep. Detec-
tive holds up hand for silence — for Olin has covered his face with his hands, and then
holds out both, imploringly, toward Violet, for, in fear of losing her, he had blown up
the machine. Phelps nearly faints. Bill looks frightened. Counterfeiters look fright-
ened and want to get away. Firestone, pityingly, starts toward his old friend, and holds
out his hands. Rollins and Bloodgood exchange looks and smiles of triumph, for they
think he has lost his mind and that their diamond fields are safe. Violet clasps her

122 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

arms around her mother, who nearly faints, when the inventor puts his hand to his
forehead and opens his'eyes, glances down at his other hand, which contains a cablegram
from London :

JONATHAN MOORE, ESQ., NEW YORK:

IGNORE OUR AGENT'S (BLOODGOOD'S) OFFER. WILL GIVE YOU
$50,000,000 IF PERFECTED.

INTERNATIONAL DIAMOND SYNDICATE,

LONDON, ENGLAND.

— and, smilingly, holds out his arms to his wife and daughter, as Olin drops down on his
knees before him. Violet hugs her father, then, kindly, puts her hand on. the head of
Olin, as he kneels at their feet.

6 South Street, Morristown, N. J. Rose B. Tillyeb.

Those Enterprising Motion Picture Men

Have you thought it quite a riddle that old Nero played a fiddle

While Rome sizzled like a griddle in the fury of the fire ?
Have you wondered at the killing and the melodrama thrilling

And the blood that's always spilling in the ancient days and dire?
What was all the wear and tear for ? What, oh, what, the why and wherefore ?

You are wondering, and therefore asking o'er and o'er again —
What was all the grand parade for, what were all the troops arrayed for?

Why, 'twas all arranged and paid for by the Moving-Picture men !

When there's trouble feared or started they are never chicken-hearted,

With the van they have departed to be present at the fray ;
Coronation, war, or scandal — if the game is worth the candle,

Operator turns the handle — and the film records the play!
What's a Mormon sanctuary? Not of such things are they chary,

Their machine they'd gladly carry to a roaring lion's den,
Daring danger with a snicker if 'twould make crowds grow thicker

Where the pictures blithely flicker — nervy Moving-Picture men!

Nothing scares and nothing daunts them, they would snap the ghost who
haunts them;

If they think the public wants them they will get the views to show.
Wrecks, disasters, fond romances, savage fights and dainty dances,

Life with all its many chances men must meet with as they go.
If they could they'd send a mission to St. Peter to petition

He accept a proposition for celestial views — and then
They would very promptly proffer all the rest within the coffer,

Tempting Satan with an offer from the Moving-Picture men!

— Exchange.

She Removed Her Hat

A man entered a photoshow and was not seated long ere a woman entered, moving
forward under a very large hat. She sat down in front of the man and she did not
remove her hat. The man dodged to right and left, hut his range of vision was like that
presented by looking down a cellar hole. Then the man had a bright idea. He put on
his own hat and stretched his neck.

"Take off that hat! Take off that hat!" bawled a dozen voices behind him. And
the woman, thinking the voices were directed at her, removed the gaiiy decorated outfit
she carried on her head. — Motography.

The editor of this department is in the same sad situation as that of the
adipose, old gentleman who has not seen his feet for years. It has been
weeks since our aforesaid editor has viewed the dear, old, familiar
blotter on the top of his desk, altho he has faithfully partaken of raw break-
fast eggs and cold dinner soup, in order to spend a full day at the office,
hiking thru the letters that come in every mail on the San Francisco Trans-
continental or the Podunk-Grassville Interurban. To print in full every letter
that we receive, would tax the capacity of a set of "World's Best Literature,"
but we are doing our best, and our readers are doing their best, and the
Popular Players are doing theirs, and, as the revered Pecksniff was wont to
put it : "It is indeed pleasant and profitable to contemplate such a situation."
Such a patchwork variety of epistles! There are lyrics for Lawrence,
" jists" for Joyce, compliments for Costello, odes for Owen Moore, and blarney
for Bunny. Speaking editorially, it makes our head ache to think of them;
speaking as one fan to another, we are overjoyed at such enthusiasm. Let our
head ache ! On with the dance ! We tie a wet towel about our brow, hang up
our coat, and go on excavating our desk. It's all real enthusiasm and admira-
tion, helpful criticism and friendliness, and we cant get too much of these
good things.

Bernard Grimes, of Brooklyn, is not in doubt about his favorite, and
sends these verses to prove it :

MY QUEEN.

The idols of ray dreams

Are the people on the screens,

Who, like magic, nutter to and fro,
And my queen of all these fairies
Is a lady blithe and airy,

Whom I see in every picture rfc" "\

When I see her every night
I am filled with keen delight,

And this peaches-and-cream
Of the Moving Picture screen

Is Miss Lillian Walker — she is a
dream.

124

POPULAR PLAYS AND PLAYERS

We wish we had space to print all the clever things that come for this
department. The following have sent tributes to their favorites : Peg Hunt-
ington, Helen Mischo, Orilla Tasey, Ethel Wallace, Beatrice Ettinger, Lillian
Gwin, Jane E. French, Henry Keiser, Helene Sanborn, F. T. Marshall, "Un-
known Writer," G. C. Benedict, Stella Stamper, A Southern Friend, Harry
Patterson, St. Louis M. P. Fan, Bessie Starr, Helen May Mills, Geo. Andres,
Rose A. Millett, Ruth Fischer, Vera Yancey, H. S. H., Roy Moore, Florence
Woodward Sill, Virginia Heller, Agnes Sherry, Ethel Martin, M. T. Grinnell,
' ' Ardent Admirer, " L. R. Fairhaven.

Dorothy Sheridan and Agnes Doran tell us what Dallas thinks of the
movies :

WHAT DALLAS THINKS OF THE "MOVIES."

aurice Costello is the first of all our list,
For he's the idol of every miss,
rmi Hawley is more than fine ;
With Jack Halliday, she's next in line,
erily, I must say I nearly forgot
Gwendoline Pates, the pick of the lot.
n the far-off Emerald Isle is a dear ;
Petite and dainty is Gene Gauntier.
ext is the beauty, Clara Kimball Young;
Far and wide her praises are sung,
ilbert Anderson, as a hero he's grand ;
In fact, he's the best cowboy in the land.

pleasure is always derived from the show,

When Arthur Johnson is Lottie Briscoe's beau,
ndeed, the film is crowned with glory,
As it shows Earle Williams and Edith Storey,
arlyle Blackwell is always our choice,
When he seeks to win fair Alice Joyce,
hen comes Florence Turner, who has won our hearts,
For she is bewitching in all of her parts.
U» seless would be a crown of jewels rare,

If gifted with Florence Lawrence's golden hair.

eally, if I am naming the best,

Mr. and Mrs. O. Moore are along with the rest.

ven tho last, far from least are they —

Ruth Roland and Mary Fuller are two beauties of the day.

urely, the players now will know

What Dallas thinks of the picture show.

Sincerely, Dorothy Sheridan,

Agnes Doran.

Harold Furber, of Bensonhurst, thinks there is no one so clever as Gilbert
M. Anderson. Well, Harold, there's a lot of folks who agree with you. "We
print a couple of your verses :

Oh ! listen, people, if you'd like to know Have you considered, or have you thought

The one who's best in the photoshow ;
The one who suits both you and me
Is the one we always like to see.
So listen and think, if you would pay
To see Anderson, of the Essanay.

Of all the pictures that are bought?

And seen the Pathe, Imp, and all

Upon a screen put on the wall?

But there is one that pleases you, as you say

Oh ! you Anderson, of the Essanay !

Theodore* Kleindinst, of Brooklyn, in a most interesting letter, likes the
scheme the Edison Company is using for naming the photoplayers, just before
they appear on the screen. This way certainly does make it easy to keep the
players in mind, and does away with wonderment as to which one is Mr.
Costello, or Miss Fuller, or whoever the players may be.

POPULAR PLAYS AND PLAYERS 125

Dorothy Kelley, of the Vitagraph, has stolen a corner of the heart of
Estelle JM. Blank. ¥e trust the results may not be fatal.

Lyllian D. TV. is clamoring for a picture of "Billy Garwood." TVe are
glad to be able to say that we have procured an interview with Mr. Garwood,
which will soon be published, with his photograph.

Mary Fuller's friends do not forget her — the verses and letters that are
written about her would fill a volume. This is just a sample :

How I adore her, no one knows ;
I see her oft in the picture shows.
When I see her play upon the screen,
I sit as if in a lovely dream.

She's the girl that has such a winsome way ;
She's always sweet and always gay.
She wears such becoming hats and frocks,
They're almost as sweet as her pretty, dark locks.

She has large eyes and a cute little nose ;
She's really a doll, from her head to her toes.
I'll give you a hint, if you cannot guess —
It's the loved Mary Fuller, I confess.

Emcy Crane sends a sincere word of praise for George Cooper, of the
Vitagraph.

Martha Brittain, of Muncy, Pa., thinks Fritzi Brunnette, of Powers, is the
very best of them all.

Helen Gardner has the happy faculty of winning the hearts of the chil-
dren. Hattie Burnitt, nine years old, sends this little verse, from far Okla-
homa, to her favorite :

"Vanity Fair," so sweet and rare,
And Helen Gardner, too ;
And dear John Bunny, so big and funny —
He courts our Helen, too.

Dear Editor : Bought one of your magazines the other day, and I am perfectly
delighted with its aim. Two stories, which it contained, I had already seen, and three
more I have seen since. It is so nice when you read them over and imagine you see
them again on the screen. With the help of your book, one can keep all the plays in
mind, or easily recall them again. In your April issue, you mention something like
this : that American picture playing is not quite up to European picture playing. Well,
I dont know. I am a European, from Vienna, Austria, and only here about two years,
but, as far as I am concerned, I like the American pictures better. I saw mostly
French and Italian pictures, and, in pictures of the everyday life, I always knew I had
actors before me, but here it seems more natural. Maybe because I saw only the best
companies.

I am for Motion Pictures ever and ever. If only those people knew, who are fight-
ing against them, how much more good than evil they do ! Why, for instance, you sit
comfortably in a nicely furnished, aired theater, of which we have plenty here in Cin-
cinnati, for a more than moderate price, and have all the beautiful spots in the world
presented to you, which many of us would never see any other way, animated thru the
splendid acting of the picture players, by past, present and, sometimes, future happen-
ings. It is like as if the world seems to belong to everybody, and, what is more, the
world comes to us, and not we to the world. This alone is sufficient reason for me to
be a champion of Motion Pictures, and especially American ones.

This essay is longer than intended, and I do hope it did not take too much of your
time; and, pertaining to your magazine, I am thankful that somebody has had this
splendid idea and carried it out, too.

Cincinnati, Ohio. Respectfully, Emma Jantseh.

126

POPULAR PLAYS AND PLAYERS

0. H. Nagel, of Boone, Iowa, asks, Why are all Motion Picture actors
so very deaf? Neither the thickness of carpet nor the profoundness of abstrac-
tion can always account for the apparent insensibility to sounds which appears
so much in photoplays. It does not make for the realistic effect that is so
strongly characteristic of the best Motion Pictures. Besides, the enthusiasts
are so glad to escape from the ' asides, ' and other absurdities that have always
detracted from realism of effect on the regular stage, that they would be glad
to eliminate this defect, too. ' '

The "Flying A" and Warren Kerrigan are not forgotten. A friend from
Schuylkill County sends this verse :

£— 3 n California's sunny clime,

Where perfumed breezes play ;

In the land of sunshine, and love, and flowers,

You'll find my hero of photoplay.

A manly man, with a noble face,

A character strong in its lines I trace;

A smile fascinating and ability rare,

Has my hero of photoplay.

With friendship loyal, my tribute I'll lay

At the feet of my -hero of photoplay;

In the kingdom of hearts he reigns today —

Who? Kerrigan, of the "Flying A."

A friend from St. Louis sends us this clipping from the Post-Dispatch:

REVERSING THE FILM.

A celebrated English physicist once fascinated the world with his theory of what
would happen if the atoms of matter were reversed and went around the other way.
Great Caesar emerging from his tomb ; Columbus restored to the deck of his caravel, and
many another great chapter in history re-acted, were all a part of that fantastic theory,
and many scientists upheld it.

Fortunately for us, who have been brought upon the scene by the revolution of
matter in the way it has always been going, we may see something of that fanciful
spectacle, without the annoyance of being unmade. The Moving Picture is reversing the
film fast enough. There is current in St. Louis now, a spectacle which could scarcely
have been excelled by the original. Exactly as the physicist fancies it would be, the
race for the Cherokee Strip is run. One marvels at the enterprise of the people who
made that film. There it all is again, very much as it must have been. The adven-
turous boomer of 1893 returns to the mark. Cavalrymen ride back and forth, keeping
the line straight. The horseman — the cart — the lumbering prairie schooner — are all in
that "long, thin line." At the word, they are off! The race is tremendous. It pulls
the audience to its feet — yelling, cheering, thrilled by the spectacle. Not even the
chariot race, as it was staged in "Ben Hur," exceeds this film as a thrilling spectacle.
And this is history !

A voice from the piano-stool of the Victory Theater in Union City, Ind.,
reaches us :

ir William Duncan, Selig's best man,.

So heroic and handsome and true ;
Your equal they could never find,

Should they search the wide world thru.

I'm only a "picture pianist,"

But I watch for you every scene,
And I really long to be nearer you

Than from piano to picture screen.

I'm really envious of Myrtle Stedman,

And of Adrienne Kroell, too, I guess ;
But I'm content to "pound ivories" for you, Bill,

It's an honor to me, I confess.

(Continued on page 158)

The Year to Come in Filmland

By WILLIAM LORD WRIGHT

The year to come in Filmland
promises to mark an epoch in
the educational and the refining
uplift of Cinematography. The
largest and best pictures before the
public in 1913 will be taken from the
largest and best books. The classics
will be more thoroly revived, and the
masterpieces in literature will be
scanned more closely for available
material for Moving Picture plots.

The year to come in Filmland
promises, like Joseph's coat, to be of
many colors. As the old year died,
such Biblical films as "From the
Manger to the Cross" and "The Star
of Bethlehem" were given to an
appreciative people. Early in this
year, Sacred History's pages will
be utilized more abundantly for
stories of educational and religious
worth. At least one company is
making a decided endeavor to provide
an elaborate series of religious films
to fulfill a serious demand, and other
producers will also liberally con-
tribute.

The demand for historically correct
and faithfully enacted pictures from
the Book of Books, in my estimation,
shows a significant realization, upon
the part of press and pulpit, of the
possibilities of the Moving Picture.
Those gentlemen of the cloth, and lay-
men, who, two short years ago,
frowned portentously upon the vul-
garly termed "Movies," are now en-
ergetically, but no less tactfully,
suggesting that Sacred History be
more liberally utilized. They have
finally seen the power for good in the
pictures, and their belated advent to
the ranks of Moving Picture enthu-
siasts is nevertheless welcome.

"Blessings upon the head of Cad-
mus, the Phoenicians, or whosoever it
was that invented books," is a trite
quotation. Let us amplify the saying
by this: "Blessings upon the heads of
those who are inventing photoplays
taken from good books." Somebody

has asserted that the Motion Picture
companies have gone thru literature
with a fine-tooth comb in an effort to
obtain plots. In reality, the surface
of the world's literature has just been
scratched. Long before the Dickens
centenary, I suggested a more con-
scientious visualization of Charles
Dickens' stories. "They have been
done to death," replied one director.
I called attention to the fact that
Dickens' keenest satire, "Pickwick
Papers, ' ' had never been filmed. Now,
no less than four different plots taken
from "Pickwick Papers" are await-
ing release in Filmland.

And there are many other literary
masterpieces awaiting the courtesies
of Filmland, which I hope to view on
the screen in 1913. Space is limited,
and I shall suggest just a few that
will certainly appeal, educationally
and artistically: Warren's "Ten
Thousand a Year," Scott's "Ivan-
hoe" and "Quentin Durward,"
Thackeray's "Henry Esmond" and
"The Newcomes," Swift's "Gulli-
ver's Travels," Lever's "Charles
O'Malley" and "Harry Lorrequer,"
Cervante's "Don Quixote," Poe's
"The Gold-Bug," "The Fall of the
House of Usher" and "The Masque
of the Red Death," Collins' "The
Moonstone," Mark Twain's "Tom
Sawyer ' ' and ' ' Huckleberry Finn, ' '
Doyle's "The White Company," Du-
mas' "The Three Guardsmen," and
many, many others. An entertaining
feature film for juveniles, particu-
larly, could be made from "Ali Baba
and the Forty Thieves," or "Sinbad,
the Sailor," and other enchanting
tales from "Arabian Nights Enter-
tainment. ' '

A tenth of the world's best in
literature has never yet been told in
Filmland, and public taste and opin-
ion will demand a more concerted
effort on the part of the producers to
film more of the literary masterpieces
in 1913.

127

AND YET-

BUT BEFORE YOU LEAVE THE RIBBON -
COUNTERMART, OR THE GROCERY WAGON,
WILLIE, FCFRTRETHOTO STUDIO- STUDY THE

ABOVE AND FOLLOWING FIGURES^AND SEE
IF YOU'VE ADDED THEM OP RlOrHT.

HOV*rrW|E"THIS IS REAL ICE AND MOT A
CURTAIN WITH A HOLE IN IT. NOTE THE ICICLES
IN HER HAIR. JUST IMAGIHE THE FEELINGS OF
WHAT YOU OONT SEE OF HER . IF THIS DOJENI
GIVE YOU COLO FEET,- THEN YOU'RE A WARI*l CHILD

HONEST NOW! IS'HT A FRONT SEAT IN
THE'VUCKEL MORE TO YOUR FANCY THAN
THIS BOTHER GETTING YANKED FROfA A
RUNAWAY AUTO ON TO A BALKY HORSE.
:<^ LISTEN TO THE DIRECTOR.'.

AND THAT NOTION YOUVE GOT-
ABOUT THESE PUNCHES BEING
STUFFED OR THAT THEY HAVE
WCHI FEATURES PAPDED IS AtL

TWADDLE. THE Q0OD5 ARC GENUS NE

AND WILLIE IF YOU EVER GOT A GIRL OH A
STRING LIKE THIS CHAP HAS, WOOLO'NT A
POUND OF LIVER, A DOZEN EQG& AND A CAN
OF BEANS UP THREE FLIGHTS SOUND AOORA6LE
G0>H»8UT UNT THAT DIRECTOR A COOL GUY.

ALSO MATTRESSES, SPRINGS r
ARMOR NOR ANY OTHER MA-
CHINERY IS USED »N THE PER-
FORMANCE OF THE ABOVE DUTIES.
THE "DOC"lS ALWAYS HANDY.

how Willie Boy and mary lASS,
if you still wish to enter.

DONTHESITATE -5UT &ET YOUR FftSS
A FEW StATS BACH IH UNTffE.

LOTS OF YOUNG MEN AND WOMEN, LIVING IN HAPPY HOMES,
WANT TO BE PHOTOPLAYERS !

Enter without knocking ; but exit the same way.

Here is a new idea for a National Board of Censors, and, perhaps, the
only feasible one that can be put into successful operation. Since the powers-
that-be do not approve of the present very efficient Board of Censors, and
since, as we have said before, the public is the court of last resort on all re-
forms, let all pictures be censored as follows: Every patron of a Moving Pic-
ture show who sees a film that is, in his opinion, objectionable, shall write on a
piece of paper, words to the following e^ect and hand it to the manager of
that theater:

Sir : On I witnessed a photoplay entitled ,

produced by the Company. I wish to register my protest

against said play and against said company, for the following reasons :

I ask you to notify said company of this protest, and to warn them against a repetition
of such indecencies in the future. If said company continues to put out such plays, I
ask you to refuse to accept, and not to show them in your theater. If this request is
not granted, and if I see any more such objectionable plays at your theater, after a
reasonable time, I shall not only withdraw my patronage, but I shall try to get my
friends to join me in a movement to correct this evil and to punish those who are
responsible for it. Yours truly,

It is not true, as some say, that philosophy and philosophers are a thing
of the past. While we have no Socrates and Diogenes standing around our
street corners, teaching young men how to reason and how to live, and what is
right and what is wrong, there is still a demand for the deductions of wise
men. Bergson, Eucken and William James are just as popular today as were
Kant, Hegel, Fichte and Herbert Spencer in their day. It may be that the
kings of today prefer a jester to a philosopher, still there is a large class of
thinking, investigating people who receive, with eagerness, the writings of our
present-day philosophers, and who are ever ready to do them honor. As one
little sign of the times, Dr. Rudolf Eucken, the great German philosopher, is
now lecturing at Harvard. His lectures at the University of Jena attracted
many students from all over the globe.

MUSINGS OF "THE PHOTOPLAY PHILOSOPHER

ir^i -^ ~~ -^Tr — ^g—*^

About six years ago, Thomas A. Edison made the following significant
remarks: "In my opinion, nothing is of greater importance to the success of
the Motion Picture interests than films of good moral tone. Motion Picture
shows are now passing thru a period similar to that of vaudeville a few years
ago. Vaudeville became a great success by eliminating all of its once objec-
tionable features, and, for the same reason, the five-cent theater will prosper
according to its moral attitude. Unless it can secure the entire respect of the
amusement-loving public, it cannot endure."

Motion Pictures did pass thru the period suggested by Mr. Edison, and
they passed thru successfully. It was a critical period : but for a few good
and great men like Mr. Edison, the entire Motion Picture industry might have
been given its death-blow. As it was, and is, the pictures and theaters have
grown gradually better, and the evolutionary process is still working toward
still better pictures and theaters. But men like Mr. Edison must not stop.
There is still much to be accomplished. We can all help. Let the constant cry
be: Raise the standard!

"Where ignorance is bliss 'tis folly to be wise" is true in one sense, but
not entirely so. A new-born babe is happy in its ignorance; so is a savage,
and so is a flea. A flea may have its little aches and pains, but it has no great
^ joys. How can it have ? You can fill a spoon, and it will hold just so much
and no more, for its capacity is limited. A flea may be very happy when it
has its little stomach full and a safe place to sleep, and that is about the limit
of its capacity for happiness. It is entirely ignorant of anything higher and
better. A savage would show keen delight at the brightly painted barber-pole,
but you would not say that he enjoys it as much as you enjoy a painting by
Raphael. He would enjoy music on a tin pan, but not as much as you would
enjoy a symphony orchestra. His ignorance of fine art and of music is bliss,
but it is not such a bliss as comes to the person whose art and music education
has been highly developed. Hence 'tis not folly to be wise when it expands
our capacity for enjoyment. The wiser we are, the keener our enjoyments;
but, alas, the deeper are our sorrows.

It is a peculiar thing that some of the companies think ill of the modern
plan of popularizing the players. They say that this magazine has cost them
many a penny because it has shown the players how popular they are, which
has always resulted in higher salaries. What a strange thing that tfye com-
panies should mourn over that fact ! As everybody knows, the more popular a
player becomes, the more popular become the plays in which that player
appears. For every dollar paid in increased salaries to the players, come two
dollars from the public, and more, too. But it is not this magazine that has
made the popularity. The players were always just as popular ; this magazine
has merely been the means thru which the public has expressed that popu-
larity. We study the wants of the public, and give the public what it wants.
It is true that this magazine has shown to the players how popular they are,
and given to the public the names and personalities of the players which they
have so long wanted, but it is a question which have benefited the most — the
players, the public, or the Motion Picture companies.

MUSINGS OF " TEE PHOTOPLAY PHILOSOPHER"

Many the lady who decided that she could do nothing without a husband,
and who, when she got one, decided that she could do nothing with one. Many
the man who decided that he could do nothing without a wife, and who, when
he got one, decided that he could do nothing with one. But these are excep-
tions to the rule. A majority of marriages are happy. We usually hear all
about the unhappy ones, and seldom hear about the happy ones. And yet,
there are some women who are so constituted that they capture a man's heart
unawares, in some unguarded moment, and, when they are married, he cannot
live with her, and he cannot live without her.

The divine Sarah Bernhardt is sixty-eight years old, and is still fare-
welling. Perhaps we shall yet see her as Little Eva in ''Uncle Tom's Cabin"
(Vitagraph). Why not, if Eose Coghlan can still play Rosalind in "As You
Like It " ? At the Metropolitan Opera House, we would be quite shocked to
hear a Marguerite in "Faust" who was under sixty.

It is pretty generally known to the public that actors, photoplayers,
circuses, musicians, acrobats, singers, clowns, and manufacturers of various
products can get glowing reports and criticisms, provided they advertise. The
custom is for the "press-agents" of the person or thing to be boomed to go to
the advertising department of the periodical in which the deed is to be done,
and to engage certain space at a certain price, with the tacit understanding
that complimentary reading notices concerning the person or thing are also to
appear. Thus, the public reads a large, high-priced advertisement on one page
announcing that John Smith appears in "The Fakir," or that Jones' Soap is
about to be put on the market, and then, on another page, we read how that
the editor or the critic has just seen Mr. Smith in ' ' The Fakir, ' ' and just tried
Jones' Soap, and that Smith is easily the greatest actor (or acrobat or singer)
that ever lived on this earth, and that Jones ' Soap is, by far, the best soap ever
put on the market in modern times, etc., etc. And then, in the next series of
advertisements, the advertiser quotes from all these glowing press notices and
gives the impression that all the great critics have given their unbiased
opinions in favor of the merits of the thing advertised. There are exceptions
to this rule, but they are few. Most publications are so in need of advertising
revenue that they cannot resist the temptation to be dishonest. Be it said of
The Motion Picture Story Magazine that it does not carry much advertis-
ing, and would like to carry more ; but that no advertiser has money enough to
buy favorable criticisms, to get certain pictures published, or to control the
editorial policy. We have no favorites, and no advertiser can buy our favor.
Any reputable company or person can advertise in this magazine, but that is
as far as they can go.

At this writing, coal is $7.50 a ton ($16 a ton to the poor who buy it in
small quantities), milk is ten cents a quart, beef thirty-five cents a pound,
and eggs seventy-five cents a dozen. The poor consumer is getting hit from
every angle. It would be interesting to know who gets all the profits from
these rises in prices.

MUSINGS OF "THE PHOTOPLAY PHILOSOPHER

Not only will the time come when, as we have said before, there will be,
in every city, a Motion Picture theater, with a scale of prices for admission,
but there will be theaters where one may see certain types of plays. Then,
if one prefers comedy, or Western pictures, or dramas, or classics, etc., he
may select the theater where his favorite films are exclusively shown.

It is dreadful hard for some of us to get up early in the morning. It is
merely a matter of habit. The more sleep we get, the more we want. The
later we stay up at night, the later we will sleep in the morning. Many are
called, but few get up. "Get up, John, the day is breaking/ ' says the wife,
but John only yawns : ' ' Oh, let her break, ' ' and turns over, for another snooze.
You cant expect to have a clear brain when you allow it to lie dormant nine or
ten hours a day. Eight hours is sufficient to rest almost any brain, however
tired it may be.

\ There is apparently a disease that is getting very common among picture

players. It is a dangerous one, infectious, contagious, easy to contract and
hard to cure. It is caused by flattery, conceit, self-love, adoration and
applause. It steals upon the victim like a thief in the night ; its deadly germs
flow thru the veins like a poisonous tonic ; it benumbs the reasoning faculties ;
it stifles the moral senses ; it retards growth. Unlike other diseases, its pres-
ence is seldom known by the victim, for it intoxicates, and inebriates, and
befogs the judgment. In its presence gratitude and sympathy die and vanish.
The victim's vision is obscured. His sense of proportion is lost, and, like the
fabled frog, he swells with self-importance and conceit, until he finally busts
and disintegrates. The medical term for this disease is exaggerated ego; the
popular term for it is swelled head. Many the manufacturer and director who
has made a star, only to see it transformed into a meteor, and to shoot off thru
space into nothingness. Many the player who has been painfully taught,
schooled, instructed, boomed, boosted and helped up the steep ladder of fame,
only to be afflicted with this dread disease, and ruined thereby. Without a
word of thanks or a smile of gratitude, they leave their benefactors, or demand
prohibitive increases in salary, and go out blindly from the school where they
were taught, into the world where they think they are to walk on beds of roses.
We all admire ambition, and we feel like helping those who are always trying
to help" themselves and to better their conditions, but none of us has any love
for those who, like the proverbial adder, bite the hand that nursed them to life.
"Let well enough alone' ' is a fairly good motto, after all, and it is much better
to bear those ills we have than to fly to others that we know not of. Besides,
the rolling stone seldom gathers any moss. As Sallust says: "It is the nature
of ambition to make men liars and cheats, and hide the truth in their breasts,
and show, like jugglers, another thing in their mouths ; to cut all friendships
and enmities to the measure of their interest, and to make a good countenance
without the help of a good will. ' '

The more we help others to bear their burdens, the lighter our own will
be. The greater sympathy we have for others, the greater will be their sym-
pathy for us. The more we love, the better we will be loved. All relations
are reciprocal. We reap what we sow.

toqairie-s

This department is for information of general interest. Involved technical questions
will not be answered. Information as to matrimonial and personal matters of the players
will not be given. No questions answered relating to Biograph players. Those who desire
early replies by mail, or a complete list of the film manufacturers, must enclose a stamped
and self-addressed envelope. Write only on one side of paper, and use separate sheets for
questions intended for different departments of this magazine. Always give name of com-
pany when inquiring about plays.

"Anxious." — Myrtle Stedman was Marie in "Saint and the Siwash."

E. V. W., Brooklyn. — Evelyn Selbie was the Mexican girl in "The Ranch Girl's
Trial" (Essanay). You refer to Howard Missirner or William Mason, the latter being
the younger.

Sylva, Chicago. — Thomas Santschi was the financier in the "God of Gold." Jack
Richardson is usually the villain.

Nellie L. J., Akron. — Clara Kimball Young was the gypsy girl in "The Little
Minister." Mildred Bracken was the girl- in "The Judgment of the Sea." "From the
Manger to the Cross" is now being shown in theaters.

M. D., Easton. — James Cruze was Albert, Marguerite Snow was Rose in "A Forest
Rose" (Thanhouser).

Peggy, Bridgeport. — Peggy, if you knew how long it took us to decipher your letter
you would write plainer, and not in pencil. Robert McWade was Rip Van Winkle in the
Vitagraph play. George Miller was the squaw-man in "The Soldier's Furlough."

J. L— We know of no William E. Malletti.

J. L. W., Rochester. — Pictures are usually taken at rates of from ten to fifteen pic-
tures per second. The exposure varies from one-forty-fifth to one-fifteenth of a second
for each picture, the remainder of the time being an interval of darkness, during which
the film in the camera is stepped forward in position for the following picture.

H. Y., XoRwicH.^-Most other people pronounce it More-eese Cos-teVlo.

Dr. V. A. S. — Janet Salsbury was the "Woman in White" (Gem).

Margie, B. H. S. — You refer to Virginia Chester on the Christmas tree. You have
Lillian Walker placed correctly.

X. Y, Z. Pinoli. — Questions have been answered before.

A. G. M. — "The Compact" was what is called a double-exposure. We have explained
this in previous issues.

H. N. F. and Snooks. — Your questions have been answered.

L. P. Dover. — Jack Kohler is still with Lubin.

Betty B. — Arthur Johnson both directs and plays.

V. V. P.— Write Essanay, 1333 Argyle St., Chicago, 111.

J. L. C, Brooklyn. — Mary Pickford is playing in "A Good Little Devil," by David
Belasco. She is traveling, but please dont write in and ask us where you can see her.

Flossie C. P. (?) — Margaret Loveridge was formerly with G. M. Anderson. Other
questions answered.

Flo, New Orleans. — Evebelle Prout was the clown's sweetheart in "Not on the
Circus Program" (Essanay). Dorothy Mortimer was Dorothy, and Charles Compton
was Billy in "Caught Bluffing" (Lubin). The man who followed Lily Branscombe in
"A Little Louder, Please" (Essanay) was E. H. Calvert. Betty Grey was Betty in
"The Country Boy" (Pathe).

Pearl. — The butler's partner was William Mason, and the girls were Mildred Wes-
ton, Dolores Cassinelli, Helen Dunbar, Martha Russell and Eleanor Blanchard in "Billy
and the Butler" (Essanay).

An Interested Reader. — Crane Wilbur did not play in "A Redman's Friendship"
(Pathe). We could not publish pictures of all the players when we selected the twelve
for the colored inserts, but we guess Crane Wilbur's time will come.

M. E. G. — Adrienne Kroell was Violet in "The Fire-Fighter's Love." Pathe Freres
have camera-men traveling around the world all the time. No, no ! G. M. Anderson
is not with Selig — dear me !

Mrs. C. D., New York. — Edna Fisher was Alkali Ike's wife in "A Western Kimono"
(Essanay). We cant place the girl you describe.

H. L. R., New York.— You cant see Victor plays in the same theater you see Arthur
Johnson. One is Licensed, and the other is Independent. Sadie Frances Osman was
the child in "Detective Dorothy" (Essanay).

Kentucky Girl. — Sorry we cannot help you on that Selig question, but there will
be several Selig questions we will not answer this month.

A. J. B., Pittsburg. — Frederick Church is the "nice-looking man who plays the
guitar" in "Broncho Billy's Mexican Wife" (Essanay).

133

134 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

M. J. O. N., Scottdale. — Ethel Clayton was the girl in "For the Love of a Girl"
(Lubin). Gladys Wayne was Betty in "Betty Fools Dear Old Dad" (Selig). William
Duncan was Wesley in "An Unexpected Fortune." Of all reports, yours is the worst.
Gilbert Anderson did not kill his leading lady. He is not that kind of a boy. Haven't
the cast for "L'Aiglon" as yet.

H. W. O., New York. — You might write to the Edison Company.

Vedah and Clara, Jersey City. — Vedah Bertram was the girl in "Broncho Billy's
Pal." Ruth Stonehouse was Mrs. Brown in "The Browns Have Visitors." Louise Vale
was Zelma in "The Debt" (Rex). Whether Lillian Walker puts her hair up in papers
every night is out of our observation.

Beth, Columbus. — Eugenie Besserer was the girl in "Partners."

Lyola L. — Margarita Fischer was the leading lady in "Regeneration of Worthless
Dan" (Nestor).

"Cecile." — The light-haired player is William Mason. Write direct to the maga-
zine in order to subscribe. Pearl White and Crane Wilbur had the leads in "Pals."

"The Bloomer Girls." — Jane Gale was the "leading lady" in "The Players"
(Lubin). Evelyn Francis was the blonde girl in "Three Girls and a Man" (Vitagraph).

Mayme Mad, Indiana. — Thomas Santschi was the fisherboy in "The Fisherboy's
Faith" (Selig). Betty Harte was the lead in "Me and Bill."

"Dottie Dimples." — Magda Foy was the child in "Only a Boy" (Solax). Mrs. C.
Vaile was the girl in "The Debt" (Rex).

Newark, O. — Phyllis Gordon and A. E. Garcia had the leads in "Saved by Fire."
In "The Peacemaker" (Vitagraph), Mr. Brook and Miss Fuller had the leads.

J. L., Seattle. — Irving White plays character parts with Ormi Hawley. "Juan and
Juanita" was taken at Washington, D. C.

Anthony. — Henry V. Goerner is not with Essanay. We are afraid you will not get
a position with the Biograph as an actor. That is not the starting place. The players
you mentioned have had stage experience before going with Biograph. They take only
finished players.

A. U., Cohoes. — Bessie Eyton and Thomas Santschi had the leads in "Carmen of
the Isles." You refer to Romaine Fielding.

Reggy, Milwaukee. — Ormi Hawley was Rosabel, and Edwin August was Dick in
"The Good-for-Nothing" (Lubin).

M. V. B., Chicago, — Marshall Neilan was the weakling in "The Greaser and the
Weakling" (American). Cant identify the other.

B. E., Louisiana. — Edwin August was with Powers last. Yes, he is something of a
rolling stone, but we guess he gathers a little moss.

I. G. G., Columbus. — Haven't Lottie Pickford's present whereabouts.

S. E., Madison. — Neva Gerber seems to be leading lady for Carlyle Blackwell.
Darwin Karr played in "The Prodigal Wife" (Solax). William Shay was the governor
in "Vengeance" (Imp). Jack Hopkins was Jack Warren in "The Debt."

E. L. W., Haverhill. — Send for list of manufacturers for addresses,

H. L. R., New York. — Selig produced the "Shuttle of Fate." Franklyn Hall was
with Lubin.

No. 1533. — The gardener who told the story in "In a Garden" (Thanhouser) was
Riley Chamberlin. "Forest Rose" (Thanhouser) was taken at Cuddebackville, N. Y.,
and released November 24, 1912. Who would you think made the rules for this depart-
ment? There is no way of telling the length of time between when a picture was taken
and when it will be released.

C. B. B., San Diego. — Master Kelley was the little chap in "In a Garden Fair."

M. M., Antigonish. — Kalem have more players than the company you mention.
Take your choice: Charles Kent, Joseph Allen and Peter Lang. We believe Bunny
weighs more than John Steppling. The first picture Pearl White played in for Crystal
was "The Girl in the Next Room." Eclipse films are Licensed.

L. J., Chicago. — The Motion Picture Story Magazine was first published Febru-
ary, 1911. Dont know about Eddie Lyons.

A Syracuse Reader. — Carlyle Blackwell was the father in "Jean of the Jail"
(Kalem). Karl Formes was the wandering musician in "The Wandering Musician"
(Kalem). Joseph De Grasse was the husband in "His Wife's Old Sweetheart" (Pathe).

O. U., 'Frisco. — Myrtle Stedman has played opposite William Duncan. Brinsley
Shaw usually is the villain in Western Essanay plays. Ruth Roland was the girl in
"Stenographer Wanted." In "The Pugilist and the Girl" (Kalem) Bob Barry was Jack,
Ed Coxen was Tom Chase, and Ruth Roland was Velma.

A. F. W., Port Arthur. — Crane Wilbur played both parts in "The Compact."

Mollie G. — Talking pictures have been shown in Brooklyn, by using a talking-
machine while showing the pictures.

R. E. B. — No, not Herbert Prior, but Herbert Rice, of the Punch. Laura Sawyer
was the girl in "For Valor."

W. L. B., Waco. — "Cleopatra" can be had from the U. S. Film Exchange.

ANSWERS TO INQUIRIES 135

Bryan, Texas. — Lubin says that Edwin Carewe will be Ormi Hawley's leading
man. Crane Wilbur plays in Jersey City.

"Two Steno's." — J. E. Brennan was Smith, Sr., and P. G. Hartigan was Smith, Jr.,
in "Stenographer Wanted" (Kalem).

L. V. F., Gary. — Well, the reason we spell it t-h-r-u is because it is much better
and shorter than t-h-r-o-u-g-h. Haven't you ever heard of Simplified Spelling? Look
it up. There's a reason — and lots of them. Jack Richardson is usually the villain, and
Pauline Bush the leading girl.

T. J. L., Kansas City. — Janet Salsbury was the leading lady in "Princess Loraine"
and also in "The Woman in White" (Gem).

D. G., Altona. — Octavia Handworth played opposite Crane Wilbur in "The
Compact" (Pathe).

E. R. M., U. S. Wiltse. — Yes, Carlyle Blackwell played both parts in "The
Parasite."

N. L., Rockford. — Perhaps you mean William Todd. He is with the Essanay. You
neglected to give the name of the company.

Geraldine M. F. — And his name is William Mason. You all seem to have the
same description : "The pretty, blond fellow with the blue eyes, and the lovely dimples,
and the nice pompadour."

V. E. L., New York. — We cannot help it because Whitney Raymond is either an
office-boy, or a bell-boy, or a clerk. Write Essanay about that. Then, no doubt, they
will let him play Hercules, Samson, etc. At this writing, Mr. Bushman has made no
engagements. We believe Thomas Moore is of Irish parentage — his brother Owen is,
so he might be, too.

L. W., Toronto. — Charles Brandt was the Managing Editor in the play of that
title. Lottie Briscoe was the daughter-in-law in "Honor Thy Father." ,

Admirer, Chicago. — This magazine is made up and printed in Brooklyn. Brooklyn
is all right, isn't it?

Alice C. — Florence Lawrence formerly played with Imp: Marion Leonard had the
lead in "Thru Flaming Gates" (Rex).

F. O. W., Chicago. — You refer to Edna Payne. It makes no difference, even tho
Mary Pickford did leave Biograph, we cannot tell you about those plays.

TOtem-Pole Kid. — You refer to Leah Baird. It wouldn't do to have a picture of
Flossie published. The players would be jealous.

D. A. M., Cal. — J. J. Clark is Gene Gauntier's leading man. Florence LaBadie was
the leading lady in "The Star of Bethlehem" (Thanhouser). There are eleven
Licensed companies.

W. W., Lowell. — R. C. Travers was Isa Stein in "The Old Chess-Players" (Lubin).
Guy D'Ennery was the violinist in "Madeleine's Christmas."

"Irish, No. 1." — Lottie Pickford played opposite Thomas Moore in "The Girl
Strikers" (Kalem). Dont think Mary Pickford played in that company when the other
two players you mention did. Dont think you will ever dance at the Answer Man's
wedding — not just yet, anyway.

E. B. R. — Barbara Tennant and Robert Frazer play together. We dont know what
is the best company ; that's for you to decide.

I. R. R., Elyria. — For heaven's sake ! We said there was no hope, and, if you dont
believe us, just try to get in one of the companies.

S. K. S., Paterson. — Harry Cashman was the husband in "The Moving Finger"
(Essanay). You mean Irving White, of Lubin.

J. S., Newark. — As far as we can tell, the plot you mention is practically the same
as that of Blackmore's "Lorna Doone."

Hotel Dale, San Francisco. — The pretty girl on the Christmas tree you refer to
is Miriam Nesbitt.

Y. C, Mass. — Mary Fuller was Liz in "Fog" (Edison).

Chicken, New Rochelle. — We dont like the way you sign yourself. Get another
nom de plume. Harry Myers played opposite Ethel Clayton in "For the Love of a
Girl."

Lover of Vitagraph Boys. — Will tell the editor to have a picture of Tom Powers
for you soon.

■ M. E. B., Ossining. — Jack Halliday's picture in the July, 1912, issue.

E. B., New York. — It is pronounced Marc Mac Dermott, just as it is spelt.

H. W., Philadelphia. — Thank you for all the clippings of Mary Pickford.

J. L., Ashland. — Sorry, but we cannot answer those Kay-Bee's just now.

Evelyn Jane Phillips, New York. — The magazines sell for 15 cents straight. No
reduction for six, except to agents.

M. N., McKeesport. — J. J. Clark was Dinny Doyle in "The Kerry Gow" (Kalem).

A. L. C. — Owen Moore had the lead in "After All" (Victor).

Jessie S. — So you got the Tremolo Touch when you saw "Kings of the Forest."
Betty Harte was Sona.

136 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

J. M. S., Staten Island.— Robert H. Grey was Dan in "The Regeneration of Worth-
less Dan" (Nestor). William Russell was the squire in "Put Yourself in His Place"
(Thanhouser). Burton King was Big Bill in "The Sheriff's Mistake" (Lubin). He is
now with the Kay-Bee.

Herman H., Buffalo.— Afraid your plot is too much like Oliver Goldsmith's "The
Vicar of Wakefield." Try to be more original.

An Admirer. — Mary Fuller was the daughter in "An Insurgent Senator." "Love of
an Island Maid" was taken at Los Angeles.

Mildred M. — We have never printed Thomas Moore's picture in the Gallery. Mar-
guerite Snow's picture in April, 1912. When some of your questions are not answered,
you will understand that they have either been answered before, or that they are
against the rules.

R. H., Canonsburg. — "Tom, the Blind Miner," was taken in Marinna, Pa. George
Lessey was Martin Chuzzlewit, Jr. John Bunny was not President Taft in "The Money
Kings" (Vitagraph). Edward See was Roy's valet.

Jessaline, Mo. — William Russell was "the darling fellow." "The Texas Twins" is
the name of a play by Pathe Freres, and they are the source of many inquiries.

Gertrude S. — Brother Pete was Tom Santschi, and Brother Paul was Herbert
Rawlinson in "The Vision Beautiful" (Selig).

Toledo Tang. — You refer to Lucille Young. Phyllis Gordon -and A. E. Garcia had
the leads in "Saved by Fire." Winnifred Greenwood and Charles Clary had the leads
in "The Last Dance," and Adrienne Kroell and Jack Nelson, her sweetheart, had the
leads in "A Man Among Men." Please do not send in questions on postal cards when
you have more than one question.

C. P., Indiana. — Alkali Ike played in "Goddess of Liberty" at the Princess Theater,
Chicago. This was his last engagement on the stage.

Dorothy D., Nebraska. — Ormi Hawley was Ethel in "The Surgeon's Heroism."

Y. C. C. — "The Narrow Road" was no Lubin. Edna Payne was the daughter in
"The Moonshiner's Daughter."

E. M. L., Brooklyn. — Celluloid is made in sheets 22 inches wide and 200 or 400
feet long and 1-200 of an inch thick.

R. K., Bradford. — The Indian girl in "The Branded Arm" (PathS) was Miss Mason.

C. T. S„ Washington.— In "Paying the Board Bill" (Kalem) the artists were
Edward Coxen, John Brennan and Lew Weston. Myrtle Stedman was the girl in "The
Opium Smugglers" (Selig).

H. S. G., Bronx. — Judson Melford is not with Selig, but with Kalem. "The Ranch-
man's Anniversary" was taken at Niles, Cal.

L. H., Montreal. — "Poet and Peasant" (Vitagraph) was taken at Fort Ticon-
deroga, N. Y. Universal produces the "Animated Weekly." So Lillian Walker uses
too much make-up ! We are too busy. Honest and truly, we dont know who Flossie is.

Bear Cat, 'Frisco. — Augusta Brumster and Frances Cummings were mother and
daughter in "Housecleaning" (Lubin). The baby was Baby Audrey, and the outlaw
True Boardman in "The Outlaw's Sacrifice" (Essanay). Mother and father were Anna
Dodge and Hobart Bosworth, Phyllis Gordon was Isabel, and A. E. Garcia was Palo in
"A Message from Kearney." Harriet Parsons was the girl, and Helen Dunbar the sick
mother in "The Magic Wand" (Essanay).

T. S., Missouri. — Marion Cooper was Daisy in "The Filibusters" (Kalem). "The
Barrier That Was Burned," by Rex Beach, was taken in the studio. Evangelyn Bias-
dale is no longer with Vitagraph. You want to know who Bennie of Lubinville is.
Well, he is a famous young man who operates the Lubin switchboard, and he is, more
or less, the manager of the whole plant, in a small way. You ask, also, how many
small pictures it takes to make a motion. This is an unanswerable question. Two
would make motion, and so would twenty. It is according to how quick your eye is.

A Subscriber. — Thank you for your very interesting letter. Eugene Besserer was
the girl in "Partners."

W. E, Tubby. — Carlyle Blackwell expects to remain in the West. Anna Stewart sat
at Billy's left at the dinner in "Billy's Pipe-Dream." It took us some time to secure
this information. We prefer you to give the names of the characters.

C.'H. M., Quebec. — Florence Turner was leading lady in "St. Elmo" (Vitagraph).
Edna Flugrath had the lead in "A Third Thanksgiving" and "On Donovans Division."

Marietta. — You refer to Ed Coxen. Thomas Moore was the young millionaire.
The title was "In a Garden Fair," and Helen Costello played in it. Howard Missimer
in "A Little Louder, Please."

Diana D., Hot Springs. — Why, it's Marion Cooper. Keystone releases two a week,
and they are not all Sherlock Holmes's. While Fred Mace makes a good detective, he
also makes a nice, beautiful, fat lady.

L. C. M., Chicago. — Winnifred Greenwood was the Salvationist in "The Prosecuting
Attorney." There is no Helen Dubeck playing with Selig, by that name.

F. M. S., New York. — "The Kansas Kid" is not a Vitagraph,

ANSWERS TO INQUIRIES 137

A. B., Montgomery.— Will see about E. K. Lincoln's picture, but dont think we can
use another picture of Vedah Bertram. Others answered before.

Jessaline L. — James Cooley was Jim in "Love Me, Love My Dog" (Reliance).
Mignon Anderson was the wife in "Please Help the Poor" (Thanhouser).

W. S. A., Topsham. — Which "Cinderella" do you mean? It is the Helen. Gardner
Motion Picture Co.? We dont think x\nna Nichols is still with Melies.

Anthony ; Bobbie ; The Kid, L. S. ; A. H. S., Youngstown ; 3611, and U. G.,
Chicago, have been answered above.

Eleanor, Phila. — The reason so many companies locate in California is that the
scenery and climatic conditions are very favorable there.

L. C, Springfield. — No, mon chere, Mary Pickford did not leave Biograph to be
married. She has been married for some time. And, as we have said before, the Key-
stone is a new company, with some of the old Biograph players.

"Eleanor," Memphis. — Beverly Bayne was the daughter, and Mildred Weston was
the cousin in "The Penitent" (Essanay). In "The Flower-Girl's Romance" (Kalem),
Neva Gerber was the bride, and Jane Wolfe the flower-girl.

F. E. G., New York. — Where, oh ! where, did you get all your information about the
Mitchell divorce, Arthur Johnson's children, Thomas Moore, Carlyle Blackwell's bath-
house, and Florence Lawrence's marriage? Dont you know that all these are out
of our line? What next? Arthur Ellery and Anna Brumster were Mr. and Mrs. Jones
in "Locked Out" (Lubin), and Frances Ne Moyer and George Reehm had the leads in
"His Father's Choice" (Lubin).

Jessaline L., Ashland. — Francis Ne Moyer was Marie, George Reehm was Jean,
and Walter Stull was Jacques in "Love and Treachery."

Dorothy D., St. Louis. — Dave Wall and Elsie Albert had the leads in "Leg and
Legacy" (Powers). Yes.

H. S. — You seem to indicate Edna Payne ; she played in both.

Gertrude, L. I. C. — Messey is Howard Missimer, and Mildred is Mildred Weston.
The artist was Jack Halliday.

H. A. M., Brooklyn. — The picture you enclose is that of the nameless Biograph.

M. C. S., Savannah. — The actor you refer to, who was blown thru a torpedo tube
of a submarine to give warning of disaster, is not in our line of travel. Sorry for the
actor.

P. W., Richmond Hill. — Jessalyn Van Trump and Warren Kerrigan had the leads
in "The Bandit of Point Loma" (American). The girl is Edna Payne.

D. M. C, Brooklyn. — Mabel Normand really dives. She is some diver, too, isn't she?

Mary. — Carlyle Blackwell was the inventor in "The Plot That Failed" (Kalem).
Other questions out of order.

W. T. H., Chicago. — Glad you like Flossie C. P. We miss her, too.

Mary Anne. — The girl is Clara Kimball Young. Alice Joyce really ran the engine
in "A Race with Time." Excellent engineers, those Kalem people.

Florence M. B. — Most of your questions are old. Florence LaBadie lives where
the chat claims she does. No Biographs !

S. S. R., France. — You shouldn't worry. Francis Bushman is not going to die in
oblivion. You'll hear from him, soon.

Dolly. — Such a question ! Tiresome ! We dont know whether the player you men-
tion drinks or not, and if we did, we would not tell you.

M. R., Lancaster. — The Monopol is Independent. Lois Weber is back with Rex.

N. G. H., Columbus. — John De Silva was Joseph Grayhill in "The Ring of a Spanish
Grandee" (Thanhouser).

Juliet ; M. B. Fluffy ; Anthony ; Flossie Footlight ; E. L. ; Curiosity Box ;
M. W., McKeesport ; Pittsburg Fans ; F. M. St., Philadelphia ; A. H., Canton, and
Dollar Bill have all been answered.

Olga, 17. — Bless your heart, Olga, we are sorry we made you feel badly. We sent
the letter to you to cheer you up ; but never mind. Dont know about "So Jun Wah ;"
we haven't the cast. Olga, some one has been asking about you. You have an admirer.

Birdie Charmeuse. — James B. Ross was James Cleveland in "The Mystery of
Grandfather's Clock" (Kalem). James Young was the Little Minister in that play.
What chicken are you speaking of? Essanay runs no poultry farm. Well, if Francis
Bushman sees this, he may accommodate you by combing his hair back, instead 'of on
the side. He is an obliging chap.

T. M., Dallas. — The reason the names of Maurice Costello, G. M. Anderson, Flor-
ence Lawrence, Alice Joyce, etc., do not appear more often in this department is prob-
ably due to the fact that everybody knows these players, and, hence, do not inquire
about them.

Lela S. P. — Dolores Costello was little Janet in "Her Grandchild." George Periolat
usually plays the father in American.

H. W., New York City.— Yes, Julia Swayne Gordon is with Vitagraph ; and the
Southern Kalem Co. is located at Jacksonville.

138 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

D. M. C, Brooklyn. — The Jordan Sisters did the diving in "Petticoat Camp"
(Thanhouser). These girls were just hired for the diving, and they were not the same
girls who played as the wives. Why, because Alice Joyce is in New York, and Carlyle
Blackwell is over 3,000 miles away from her — in California.

J. L. S., Newman. — "Saved at the Altar" was not a Selig. Ruth Roland was the
old maid, and Marin Sais was the servant in "Doctor Skinnem's Wonderful Invention."

L. B., Montreal. — You know you all have to take your turn. We dont skip or
neglect letters, but you must wait your turn. Jack Halliday is not back with the
I/ubin Co. Edwin August is still with Powers. Edith Storey was the only girl in "The
Scoop" (Vitagraph). Dorothy Davenport was the girl in "Mother and Home" (Nestor).
If you send a stamped, addressed envelope you will get your answers quicker.

A. V. P., Toronto. — Warren J. Kerrigan was the wanderer in "The Wanderer"
(American). The Motion Picture Story Magazine is published on the 18th of the
month preceding its date.

Flo, Chicago. — Bison is located at Hollywood, Cal. The two girls in "Making Uncle
Jealous" (Eclair) were Isabel Lamon and Muriel Ostriche. Florence Barker was the
girl who had everything happen to her in "The First Glass," and Fritzi Brunette was
the girl she was telling it to.

O. N. E., Ottawa. — Howard Mitchell is the piano player in "The Stolen Symphony."
Frank Bennett was Tom Fredericks in "The Handbag" (Vitagraph). William Russell
was the country boy in "In Time of Peril" (Thanhouser). Charles Brandt usually
plays the part of the father in Lubin plays.

Ted B., Oakland. — Harry Goerner is not playing with Essanay. Florence LaBadie
and Harry Benham had the leads in "Miss Robinson Crusoe."

We wish to make a correction regarding Flora Finch. Miss Finch has posed for
several artists. She is also one of the distinguished pupils of Madame Alberti.

L. C, Chicago. — Edith Storey did not play in "The Debt."

M. C. H., Brunswick. — The wife is unknown in "Broncho Billy's Mexican Wife."

Lena C. P. — Charles Clarey was Steve in "The Fire-Fighter's Love." In "The Prize
Package" Jerry Hevener was Spoony Sam, and Eleanor Caines was Fannie.

"Lou."— Edward Coxen was Harry in "The Mine Swindler." Hobart Bosworth was
the father in "Miss Aubrey's Love Affair." Burton King played the part of Rodney
Ford in "The Struggle of Hearts" (Lubin).

Dorothy D. — There is a Rose Coghlan who played in "As You Like It," if that's
who you mean.

M. M., Penn. — Fritzi Brunette was the wife in "The Foolishness of Oliver"
(Victor). Hal Wilson is now with the Western Eclair, on the Pawnee Bill Ranch.
Fritzi Brunette and Owen Moore had the leads in "It Happened Thus" (Victor).

J. M. S., Staten Island. — Edward Carewe was John, and Edna Payne was Lucille
in "The Silent Signal" (Lubin). In "Dora" (Powers) Florence Barker was Dora. Mr.
Olliber and Miss Phillips were the young couple in "Surprising Her Future Mother-in-
Law" (Majestic).

O. T. S. — Flora Dorset was Nance, Steve's sweetheart, and R. Hamilton Grey was
Secret-Service Steve in the Atlas play by that title.

S. H., Newark.— Emilio Gallo was the king in "The Fall of Troy" (Itala). He
has never played for Pathe. George Melford is now being seen in some Kalem plays.

M. C, Kentucky. — Herbert Rawlinson was the city suitor in "A Fisherman's
Faith" (Selig). Mr. Biograph has not "come out of his shell," if you mean giving out
the names of their players.

J. P. N., Chicago. — "Prince Charming" (Reliance) was taken at Central Park,
New York City.

Peggy, Bridgeport. — Herbert L. Barry was the poet in "The Poet and Peasant"
(Vitagraph). Normand MacDonald was the tyrant in "Iron Heels" (Essanay).

S. P.— In "It All Came Out in the Wash" (Vitagraph), Lillian Walker was the
girl, but Clara Kimball Young's name appeared in the cast.

Flossie S. M. ; G. F. K., Chicago ; B. D. and J. L., Chicago ; A. S., Jamestown ;
Gladys R., Oregon, and G. R., Troy. — Answered before, or against the rules.

S. H., Columbus. — Bessie Eyton was the adopted daughter in "The Count of Monte
Cristo."

Dottie Dimples. — Hector Dion was Phillip in "Phillip Steele" (Reliance). Clara
Williams was the wife in "A Fugitive from Justice" (Lubin).

M. H., New York. — Joseph Gebhart was Jack in "The Gambler's Reformation."

Marie C. O. — Florence Turner was the maid in "From Susie to Susanne" (Vita-
graph). You refer to John Adolfi, of the Gem. Jack Hopkins was the wealthy admirer
in "To the City" (Rex).

H. C. — Louise Vale was the lead in "Old Organist" (Rex). Rex releases two a
week.

J. F. C, Staten Island. — We have answered about "Gentleman Joe" many times.
Look up back numbers.

AX S WEES TO IXOriRIES 139

J. B. — We haven't heard of the Briam films as yet. They are not Licensed.

Peachy. — Florence Turner is still playing.

W. A. W., Eastport.— Write to the General Film Co.. 200 Fifth Avenue. N. Y. City.

M. S. C. Philadelphia. — Thank you for the picture : also for the information that
Ethel Elder is going to play on the stage in Philadelphia.

V. L. R.. Bronx. — We failed to get the stamped, addressed envelope. Owen Moore's
picture in the November, 1912. issue. Victor is Independent.

I. G.. Calumet. — Arthur Mackley was the ranchman in "The Shot-Gun Ranchman."
Augustus Carney is his maiden name.

Flossie, oe Brooklyn. — Aren't you satisfied with Costello's picture, without com-
plaining about his thumbs? Everybody admires it. Why dont you write to the com-
pany, enclosing a stamped, addressed envelope for a reply to your scenario?

H. R., Brooklyn. — Leona Flugrath was the little girl in "A Fresh-Air Romance"
(Edison). Blanch Cornwall was Rosalie in "Dublin Dan" (Solax).

Pete. — Just plain Pete ; and you are in love with Beverly Bayne. Haven't Florence
La Vina's present whereabouts.

A Jewel. — "Shanius O'Brien"' (Imp) was not acted in Ireland.

E. M., Toledo. — Owen Moore's interview in October, 1912.

G. C. B., Savannah. — "The Red Barrier" was never published in our magazine.
Scenarios are divided into scenes.

A. A. C. — Joe in "Soldier Brothers of Susanna" was Guy Coombs.

May W.. St. Louis. — "What Happened to Mary" series are released by Edison, with
Mary Fuller as lead. Too bad, but we cant locate your cousin in the Biograph.

The Pest. — All of your letters are interesting. Florence Turner was Elaine, and
Paul Panzer played opposite her in "Elaine" ( Vitagraph) .

Lonesome and Broken-Hearted. — Frank Tobin is with the Selig.

C. C, Montreal. — Harry Benham was Lord Mellish in "Aurora Floyd."

E. G., Washington. — Ray Gallagher was Steve Aldrich in "A Romance of Catalina
Island."

L. C. F., New Bebne. — The girl with the sweet face in "Political Kidnapping" was
Hazel Neason.

R. N. W.— Carlyle Blackwell was Willis in "Village Vixen."

Happy Jim, Brooklyn. — Frederick Church was the ranchman, Arthur Mackley the
settler, and Julia Mackley his wife in "Broncho Billy's Heart."

Virginia. — We knew it all the time, but do you suppose we are going to tell ? Max-
well is Mr. Anderson's middle name.

Nancy Jane. 16. — Eleanor Caines was Mrs. Felix in "Felix at the Ball." Anna
Nilsson played opposite Guy Coombs in "The Fraud at Hope Mine" (Kalem). Madge
Orlamande was the aunt.

Kathrina. Peoria. — Marie Weirman was Marie in "Home. Sweet Home" (Lubin).
And you. also, love Carlyle Blackwell! Wouldn't it be sad if he had a wife?

A. H. W. — The average reel is 1,000 feet long. Helen is the younger of the two
Costello children. Jean, the Vitagraph dog, will probably have a picture taken of herself
and family.

A. K., New York. — We dont know who sends photoplays to the Kalem Co., nor do
we know the names of the people they accept them from.

L. F. — Marie Weirman and Harry Myers had the leads in "By the Sea" (Lubin).

P. T., Denver. — The child in "The Bandit's Child'' is unknown. Marshall Neilan
was the favorite son in "Father's Favorite" (American). Robert Frazer was Robin
Hood in "Robin Hood" (Eclair).

F. E. W., Franklin : J. J. R., Wilkes-Barre ; E. R.. New York ; Nosey ; Columbia ;
B. W., Chicago ; Miss May T. ; F. G. H., Nashville ; A. R. T., Bronx ; H. C, Hoboken ;
Dorothy C. B. ; Smith, New Jersey ; H. J. C, East Orange ; and Happy Jim, Brooklyn,
have been answered before.

G. A. W., Station G., and M. B. M., Baltimore. — Thank you, my children, for
sending us the information about Mary Pickford.

The Answer Man desires to thank each and every one who sent us Christmas and
New Year's greetings. We wish we could acknowledge each one personally, but that
would be quite impossible.

E. D.. Dallas. — Anna Stewart is Anna in "The Song of the Sea-Shell" (Vitagraph).
Florence Turner can be reached at the Vitagraph studio.

F. L.. City. — The name of the little boy in "Little Raven's Sweetheart" (Pathe)
we do not know. Alice Joyce is still with Kalem.

A. H. B.. New York.— Better write General Film Co., 200 Fifth Avenue, New York,
for their catalog.

M. N.. McKeesport. — Harry Benham was the second husband in "Aurora Floyd"
(Thanhouser). Marguerite Snow was the girl in "The Romance of U. S. Mariner."

Cope, Rochester. — Of course, Maurice Costello expects to take pictures on his trip.

M. D., Brooklyn. — G. M. Anderson is located at Niles, Cal.

140 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Tommy R., Oakland. — Jessalyn Van Trump was the girl in "Her Own Country"
(American). "The Moonshiner's Daughter" was an Essanay and a Lubin — which do
you mean? Florence LaBadie was the girl in "A Noise Like a Fortune" (Thanhouser).

XXX. — Please sign your name next time. E. K. Lincoln played the part of Jack
Hall in "A Modern Atalanta" (Vitagraph).

Dorothy D. — Hereafter we will not answer any more questions that come in on
postal cards, if they are too crowded. Owen Moore was Hal in "Lady Leon."

A. P., Yonkers. — Herbert Rawlinson was Mac in "Carmen of the Isles" (Selig).
Miss Cummings was the girl in "The Passing Gypsies."

M. C, Indianapolis. — Shall tell the editor that you want a picture of Edna May
Hammel.

Mary M. — Not necessary for photoplays to be printed. They may be typewritten.

M. L., New Orleans. — You refer to Earle Foxe.

Iowa Girl. — We guess the man you mean who wears glasses in "The Vitagraph
Romance" (Vitagraph) was J. Stuart Blackton. If you mean the very good-looking
one, that settles it. As we remember it, nobody else wears glasses, anyway. The other
two were Messrs. Smith and Rock, officials of the Vitagraph. Ruth Owen was the
office-girl.

J. A. C, Roxbtjry. — Mildred Bracken was the girl in "The Stolen Grey" (Melies).

Mabel. — " Alkali Ike's Wife" is not an Essanay title. Guess again.

C. and V., Jersey City. — We are afraid you can get no picture of Miss Bertram,
only those in the magazine. We dont know the nature of Florence Turner's illness,
but it seems to have been due to overwork and nervousness. You know she puts a
great deal of emotion and personality into everything she plays.

C. McC, Buffalo. — Yes, "Indian Idyll" was a Pathe Freres picture and taken at
Los Angeles, Cal.

Becky. — We do not accept Motion Picture plays. "The Charge of the Light
Brigade" was made at Wyoming— the picture, we mean, not the charge.

Flo G. D., Humboldt. — You are right; Kathlyn Williams was Queen Isabella in
"The Coming of Columbus" (Selig). We cannot give you that Selig information.

Little Mary C. — William Garwood was the grown-up young man in "The
Thunderbolt." William Russell was the other father in "The Little Girl Next Door."

B. G., Pittsburg. — Howard Mitchell was the brother in "The Country School-
teacher" (Lubin). Neva Gerber seems to be Carlyle Blackwell's leading lady.

O. W., Phila. — Charles Herman was the husband in "His Love for Children"
(Reliance). Mace Greenleaf was Charles in "God Disposes" (Solax). "The man that
died" in "The Dawn of Netta" (Nestor) was Donald MacDonald, but he is not dead.

Dorothy D. — "A Tramp's Strategy" was not a Champion.

A. C. — In "At the Stroke of Five" Marguerite Snow was Ellen, Mignon Anderson
the sailor's sweetheart, and William Russell the sailor. We think you have the right
dope on the exchanges, but we never heard of that case before.

"Lou" L. F. — Howard Mitchell was the bachelor in "The Bachelor's Waterloo."

A. C. P. — Write direct to Kalem for the Kalem Kalendar.

Sweet Sylvia. — Thomas Santschi was Fritz in "Kings of the Forest" (Selig).

M. A. P. Iowa Girl. — This is the second postal from you. We dont like to receive
questions on postal cards. Isn't the information worth two cents? "Rip Van Winkle"
(Vitagraph) was taken in the studio. The bread-line in "From the Submerged" were
hired for the occasion ; they are not regular actors.

Frank C. J. — Myrtle Stedman was the girl in "Fighting Instinct" (Selig). Paul
Kelley is a regular player. Helen Costello played in "Six o'clock." Neva Gerber was
Bessie, and Jane Wolfe the other girl in "The Flower Girl's Romance" (Kalem).

H. R., New York. — Jerold Hevener was Jerry Jenks in "The Overworked Book-
keeper" (Lubin). You refer to Carlyle Blackwell.

Cherry B. — No, Cherry, we wont answer your eleven questions by numbers,
because ten of them have already been answered. Willis Secord has left Edison and is
now playing in a Broadway production.

W. F. B., Brooklyn. — You mean Dot Bernard. She is no longer with the Biograph.

H. H., Coytesville. — Yes, G. M. Anderson directs, as well as acts.

F. M. M., Iowa. — Wheeler Oakman played the part of Manley, Phyllis Gordon was
Junie, and A. E. Garcia was J. H. Stone in "Saved by Fire" (Selig).

Peggy, Bridgeport. — Baby Lillian Wade was the child in "Kings of the Forest."

Tommy R., Oakland. — Walter Miller played opposite Mary Fuller in "A Personal
Affair" (Edison).

Mattie. — William Lamp was Captain Wood in "Thorns of Success" (Majestic).

H. R. Haywood. — Dorothy Mortimer was Dora, and R. C. Travers was Isa Stein in
"The Old Chess-Players" (Lubin).

Thelma. — Well, you mean Mabel Normand, of the Keystone, and Lilla Chester as
the nurse in "The Professor's Son" (Thanhouser). You have Marie Eline placed
correctly.

POPULAR PLAYER CONTEST

A NEW CONTEST IS ON FOR ALL

HERE'S YOUR CHANCE TO APPLAUD YOUR FAVORITE

Many of our readers do not know that at this season, last year, we inaugurated a
unique contest, which has since been copied by leading newspapers and maga-
zines thruout the country. Thousands of our old readers, however, who took an
active part, have been suggesting, asking for, and demanding a repetition of last year's
success. As the circulation of The Motion Picture Story Magazine has outgrown
itself some three times in the past year, we feel that an explanation of the Popularity
Contest is due to our newer readers.

We realized that certain picture players had become familiar favorites with their
friends in the audience, but that no definite expression of favoritism had ever been
recorded, and that the applause given to actors and actresses of the regular stage was
denied to these portray ers. We resolved, finally, to give definite expression to these
facts by asking our readers, and lovers of photoplay in general, to vote for their
favorites, the record of this vote to be published monthly, including the cleverest verse
and articles of appreciation. The response to last year's contest is conclusive proof of
its success — the five winners: Maurice Costello, E. Dolores Cassinelli, Mae Hotely,
F. X. Bushman, and G. M. Anderson receiving over One Million Two Hundred Thousand
votes. Space forbids giving the detailed vote of the three hundred other contestants,
which included every well-known player in the picture world.

And now for the present contest. - Wxhile its object remains the same, it will be
conducted on a much larger scale, and twenty-five prizes will be awarded by The
Motion Picture Story Magazine to the twenty-five most popular actresses and actors.
There will be two first prizes, one for the most popular woman and one for the most
popular man.

As the contest is intended as a test of true popularity, and not as a commercial
enterprise, the prizes will not be showy or ostentatiously price-marked, but they will all
be elegant, handsome and appropriate.

THE CONTEST IS THE SAME AS THE LAST, WITH A DIFFERENCE.

As in the last contest, every letter received will be sent to the player for whom it
is written, so that they may know their many friends by name.

During the contest, the Popular Plays and Players Department of the magazine
will be devoted to the letters and verses received in this way. There will be five prizes
awarded to the writers of the best letter or verse of appreciation received.

YOU ARE AWARDING THE PRIZES YOURSELF.

Every one who reads this notice may vote for his or her favorite. Write the name
of the player on a separate sheet of paper, and send it, with your own name and
address, to the "Editor Player Contest, 26 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y." If you wish
to vote for both a woman and a man, write the two names on two separate pieces of
paper. Each letter, or slip of paper, counts as one vote for the player. You may also
get up a list of names among your friends, each vote obtained in this way counting as
one vote for your favorite. Addresses must accompany every name in a petition of
this kind.

TEN VOTES ALL AT ONCE.

In every copy of The Motion Picture Story Magazine there will be concealed a
coupon which will count as ten votes. Each person may enclose as many of such
coupon votes as desired. The more votes you send, the better chance your favorite has
of winning.

AND HERE'S SOME GOOD NEWS.

Several of the players with whom the editor has communicated have expressed a
desire to show, in some personal way, their appreciation of their friends' efforts in their
behalf. Of course, it is manifestly impossible to write to every actor and actress in
the Motion Picture business in regard to this matter, but the following suggestion has
been so enthusiastically received by the actors already consulted, that the editor
believes he is safe in promising that every person who sends in five hundred votes for a
player will receive a personally autographed photograph of that player, as a token of
his or her appreciation. In the case of some player refusing this, other adequate com-
pensation will be given. The only condition to the receiving of the photograph is that
all five hundred votes must be sent in at the same time.

The date of the termination of the contest, the exact nature of the prizes to be
given, and the standing of the contestants up to date will be announced in the next
issue of the magazine.

141

142 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

E. C. H., Los Angeles. — Vitagraph did not produce "The Musketeers of Pig Alley."
The Photoplay Magazine is devoted to Independent stories only.

J. D., Nashville. — Sorry, but we are not able to answer your Kay-Bee questions
this month.

S. H., Columbus. — Miss Ray was the girl in "His Little Indian Model" (Pathe),
and Thomas Moore was Martin in "A Daughter's Sacrifice" (Kalem).

F. S. Phelps. — Marguerite Snow was the sister in "The Greatest of These Is
Charity" (Thanhouser). She also was the sister in "Lucille" (Thanhouser).

Mary, Newark. — Dont think of going on the stage, or in the pictures. Get it out
of your system. Without experience you will have a hard row to hoe — or none at all.

F. A. M., Mass. — Lillian Christy was the girl in "Peril of the Cliffs" (Kalem).

Quick, E. N. Y. — Lottie Briscoe was the Substitute Heiress in that play.

A. R., Orange. — Yes, Beverly Bayne was Alice in "The Redemption of Slivers"
(Essanay). Clara Williams was 'Frisco Nell in "The Gambler's Wife." Frank Tobin
was Robert in "The House of His Master" (Selig). "The Smuggler" (Lubin) was
taken in Maine.

E. H. Valdosta. — Jack Richardson and Jessalyn Van Trump had the leads in "The
Promise" (American).

"Anti-Flossie." — We are indeed sorry that Flossie has annoyed you. She seems to
have disappeared. Too bad ! We mourn our loss. Look up back numbers.

J. A., Ashland. — Charles Herman was the sailor in "Cuckoo Clock" (Reliance),
and William Lamp was Robert in "Love and War" (Majestic). W. Scott was the
brother in "A Sister's Devotion" (American), and Miss G. Gill was the girl.

E. C. H., St. Louis. — Herbert Rawlinson was Bert, Lillian Haywood, Miss Aubrey
in "Miss Aubrey's Love Affair" (Selig). Bessie Eyton was the ward. Guy Coombs is
still with Kalem.

Intelligent, Antigonish. — Chester Barnett plays opposite Pearl White in Crystal.

Adele. — Edwin Carewe had the lead in "A Girl's Bravery" (Lubin). Louise Kent
played in "My Brother Agostino."

L. M. S., Staten Island. — Edith Lyle was the wife in "The District Attorney's
Conscience" (Reliance). Jack Conway and Eugenie Forde had the leads in "Reaping
the Whirlwind" (Nestor).

J. T. M., Boston. — Do you think we are a fool? Save your stamps hereafter. You
need rest. So do we.

Tommy R., Oakland. — Harry Beaumont was Jack Gibbs in "The Librarian."

Betty ; Jay, Little Rock ; Cupid ; Emily M., N. Y. ; D. S. S. Fan ; Marjorie M.,
Montreal, and Case B. have all been answered.

M. D., Akron. — "Won by High Tide" (Lubin) was taken at Atlantic City. Miss
Schnell was the diving Venus in "Aquatic Elephants" (Vitagraph).

Gertrude, Brooklyn. — Warren Kerrigan promised to marry the girl in "The
Promise" (American). No, my dear, Maurice Costello is not an Italian.

M. M., Sevarg. — Lois Weber was the girl in "Jack the Ostler" (Rex). Other nine
have been answered.

I. F., Buffalo. — Rose Tapley has had many years of stage experience. You refer
to Edwin August.

R. L. C, Mich. — Dot Farley was the heroine in "A Plucky Ranch-Girl" (Comet).
Comet is located at Coytesville, N. J. Miss G. Gill was the daughter in "Bad Pete's
Gratitude" (American).

Olive, New London. — Pearl White was the girl in "The Power of Love" (Pathe).
Mabel Moore was Mabel in "A False Suspicion" (Essanay). Magda Foy was the little
girl in "The Strike." Marion Leonard has joined the Monopol Co.

Nancy, Wilkes-Barre. — Frances Gibson was the flower-girl in "A Thanksgiving
Surprise," and Lila Chester was the nurse in "The Professor's Surprise." So, you see,
they are not the same person. Marguerite Snow's picture appeared in April, 1912.

Vivian. — William Garwood was the husband in "Please Help the Poor." E. P.
Sullivan was the husband in "Caleb West" (Reliance). Any more husbands you would
like to inquire about?

Byron C. W. R. H. S. '14. — Essanay are in the market for photoplays, except
Western. In "Tempest and Sunshine" (Thanhouser) Anna Rosemond was Tempest,
and Violet Heming was Sunshine. "The Lighthouse Keeper's Daughter" is not a Vita-
graph. Frank Crane was Philip in "Thelma" (Thanhouser).

Hoppytehop, Bangor. — No, we, dont know why some actors do so much talking and
gesturing when playing alone in a scene. Certainly, people in real life do not act that
way. Such acting indicates poverty of expression. •

Mrs. H. F., Elliot. — Brinsley Shaw was the pal in "Broncho Billy's Pal." Address
your letter to that department, and they will get it.

C. R. B. D. — The blond is William Mason. Your other is not a Vitagraph.

H. M., Brooklyn. — Cines pictures are mostly taken in Rome. Mildred Weston was
the wild man's daughter in "Wild Man" (Essanay). She never played with Vitagraph.

AH the News of the Kalem Companies

is contained in the KALENDAR, issued twice each month

Full reviews of coming productions, handsomely illustrated. Interesting news
items from the Kalem companies in different parts of the world. Latest portraits
of the leading players. Special articles on timely topics. Complete casts of
characters for each production.

One Year's Subscription, $1.00 in advance. Address

KALEM COMPANY, 235 W. 23d St., New York City

144 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

R. R., Rome. — Dont think Kenneth Casey would attend your friend's birthday
party. He is a busy boy. You might write him, however. He is still with Vitagraph.

Sweet Sylvia. — Gladys Roosevelt, our writer, is not Colonel Roosevelt's daughter.
"The Last Rose of Summer" was taken in Maine.

"Two Steno's." — Romaine Fielding and Mary Ryan had the leads in "The Family
Next Door" (Lubin). Yes, Mr. Fielding is noted for "repose" in his playing.

Lillian R. F. — Mrs. Dunlop was Carlyle Blackwell's mother in "The Plot That
Failed" (Kalem). Master Kelley and Veronica Finch were the children in "The
Servant Problem" (Vitagraph). Dont happen to know where you could get a position
as stenographer.

Roseline, Billie and Jammie. — Herbert Rice is the lead for the Punch. King
Baggot was Jim in "In Old Tennessee." You refer to Edwin August

L. D., Steoudsbuky. — Why dont you write to the player you speak of and tell her
that she does not know how to make up? It may do her good,

Henry B. R., Baton Rouge. — We believe William Bodie only played in "The
Power of a Hymn." We find his name under no other Kalem cast. Gene Gauntier has
left Kalem, but you will see her with them for some time to come.

F. G. S., Reading. — L. J. Moran is with Eclair. William Davies was Burton in "A
Protege of Uncle Sam" (Champion). E. Larmar Johnston was Hilton in "Because of
Bobbie" (Eclair). Dorothy Davenport was the younger sister in "Dad's Mistake."

Ricketty Rack. — Ruth Roland was Nell in "Death Valley Scotty's Mine" (Kalem).
William Bailey and Beverly Bayne had the leads in "Back on the Old Farm" (Essanay).

D. S., Milwaukee. — We hope to" have an interview with James Cruze soon. No
Kay-Bee's this month.

M. B. M., Baltimore. — The Vitagraph have a magazinelet, The Bulletin, for sale.
George C. Stanley was Jim in "The Troubled Trail" (Vitagraph). "The Great Steeple-
Chase" (Pathe) was a real horse-race, and the jockey who fell really hurt himself.

V. C. S., Detroit. — Hazel Neason is with the Kalem.

Dixie Lou. — Eleanor Blanchard was Maggie in "A Mistake in Calling" (Essanay).
Lily Branscombe was Maggie's mistress.

A. M. B. — In "Four Days a Widow," Evelyn Francis was Dorothy Kelley's friend.

W. A. G., Marblehead. — "The Life of Moses" is too old. Cannot tell you about
those new plays about to be released.

Plunkett. — Edith Hallaren is still with Vitagraph. Virginia Dare is not. "The
Anonymous Letter" is a foreign play. Yes, Clara Kimball Young has had considerable
stage experience.

R. M. E., Moline. — Violet Home was the girl with Vivian Prescott in "Foreign
Spies" (Imp).

Mary S. S., Brooklyn. — It is too bad, poor child, that you cannot sleep, thinking
of Carlyle Blackwell so much. And love at first sight, too! You know, the Photo-
play Philosopher says that "Love is blind, so how can there be love at first sight?"
Afraid we cant help you. You have got it too bad.

Blanche L., Illinois. — Vedah Bertram played in "Broncho Billy Outwitted,"
"Western Hearts" and "Story of Montana." She did not play in "An Indian's
Friendship."

G. W., Poughkeepsie. — Ormi Hawley was the postmaster's daughter in "The Good-
for-Nothing." Nestor Co. is located at Hollywood, Cal. Tell your friend not to ask
Biographs.

N. S., Mobile. — Leah Baird and Maurice Costello are on the front cover of the
January issue; Alice Joyce, February. In the story, "The Night Before Christmas,"
Ruth was Leah Baird, Maurice Costello the father, and Miss Navarro the wife, Helen
Costello was the child. Julia Gordon was the duchess in "The Days of Terror."

Wilbur, New York. — So you are interested in Olga, 17. We cant tell you anything
about her. She is one of our regular cash customers. Richard Rosson was Tom
O'Grady in "O'Hara, Squatter" (Vitagraph).

Y. B. A. Johnson ; Minnehaha C. C. ; J. B., Jr. ; H. P., Portland ; Black-Eyed
Susan ; J. M. S., Staten Island ; Celia ; R. E. K., Fort Worth, have been answered
before.

Bobby R. B. — In "The Mayor from Ireland," J. P. McGowan was Shamus, Jack
Clark, Terry, and Gene Gauntier was Bridget.

Rhodisha. — The sheriff in "Misleading Evidence" (Pathe) was Joseph Gebhart

J. S., Brooklyn. — The girl is Lillian Christy. Mary Fuller was the lead in
"Modern Cinderella" (Edison).

I. L., Marysville. — The two plays you mention are not Edisons, but Biographs.

Dixie Lou. — Thomas Santschi was Jim, and Lillian Haywood his sister in "The
Pity of It" (Selig). The old hag in "Buster and the Gypsies" was Jennie Nelson.

Twin Sisters. — Howard Missimer was the clown, and Evebelle Prout the circus
girl in "Not on the Circus Program." E. H. Calvert had the lead in "From the
Submerged."

Something for Something

For 25 c. we will send to you
weekly, for six months, the eight-
page newspaper, the Gaumont
Graphic. It is interesting and
instructive. It contains stories,
synopses, etc. This subscrip-
tion price will pay the postage.

Should you not know whether
it is good money's worth, send
for a month's sample copies.

We first thought we would
give it free. Then we reconsid-
ered that something worth read-
ing is worth paying for. Find
out whether it is. Write now.

$2k Gaumont Co. j£|

%Tj^ Flushing.N.Y.City '

Plots Wanted

: : FOR MOTION PICTURE PLAYS : :

You can write them. We teach beginners in ten
easy lessons. We have many successful graduates.
Here are a few of their plays :

"A Motorcycle Elopement" . Biograph

"Insanity" Lubin

"Miss Prue's Waterloo" . . Lubin
"Sally Ann's Strategy" . Edison

"No Dogs Allowed" . Vitagraph

"Ma's Apron Strings" . Vitagraph

"The Mills of the Gods" . Solax

"Cupid's Victory" . * . Nestor
"A Good Turn" .... Lubin
"The Joke That Spread" . . Vitagraph "
"The Substitute Heiress" . Lubin

"A Bunch of Wild Flowers" . Nestor
"House That Jack Built" . . Kinemacolor
"A Good Catch" . . . Essanay
"The Amateur Ice Man" . Lubin

"The Redemption of Slivers" Essanay
"The Sheriff of Stony Butte" Bison
"The Awakening of Bianca" . Vitagraph
"The Stubbornness of Youth" . Lubin
"Love's Labor Lost" . . . Vitagraph
"Coronets and Hearts" . . Vitagraph
If* you go into this work go into it right. You
cannot learn the art of writing motion picture
plays by a mere reading of textbooks. Your actual
original work must be directed, criticised, analyzed
and corrected. This is the only school that delivers
such service and the proof of the correctness of
our methods lies in the success of our graduates.
They are selling their plays.

Demand increasing. Particulars free.

Associated Motion Picture Schools

699 SHERIDAN ROAD, CHICAGO

LOVELY MAR.Y PICKFORD

The Idol of the Moving Pictures

is now a BELASCO STAR, appearing in the
beautiful Fairy Play,

A GOOD LITTLE DEVIL

By special and exclusive permission of Mr.
David Belasco, we have produced IN REAL
KATHODION BRONZE the HANDSOM-
EST PORTRAIT of this "dearest girl" just
as she appears in the play.

A LASTING SOUVENIR OF THE

Most Popular Moving Picture Actress

Everyone who loves Mary Pickford should send
for this magnificent art photograph in real
Bronze. Cut off the coupon on this corner
and mail to us with one dollar (casl
stamps or check) and we will send
you this beautiful art gem by ^^^^^ \ enclose
Parcel Post. ^^^^^ one dollar for

the Bronze portrait
of Miss Mary Pickford.

Name

Address

Town State

Florentine Art Studios

501 Fifth Avenue, New York City

146 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Violet E. Z. — No, it is not Mary Pickford, but one of the other nameless Biographs.

Olie, N. Troy. — Beverly Bayne was the wife in "The House of Pride."

Olga, 17. — Good-morning. Olga, you here again? E. K. Lincoln was the son of the
governor in "The Scoop" (Yitagraph). You say "Oh! it must be beautiful to be loved
by an assassin!" And you admire George Cooper because he is so "villainous." The
cry seems to be: "Let George do it." We tried to translate your shorthand, but we
haven't got your system.

Gertie. — Bessie Eyton was the girl in "The Little Organ-Player of San Juan."
Thomas Santschi was the padre. Guy Coombs is in Jacksonville.

Little Rock. — Mary E. Ryan was the girl in "His Western Way" (Lubin) and not
Ethel Elder. Send direct to the company for pictures of players.

Lillie R. L. — William Russell played opposite Florence LaBadie in "Miss Robinson
Crusoe" ( Thanhouser ) .

Kid Walker. — William Clifford is not with Melies. "Neptune's Daughter" was
taken on Lake Superior.

Pest writes as follows: "A Happy New Year, and may you live long and happy,
and may you bring up your children in the fear and love of God. Amen." We are very
grateful, indeed, but please omit the children, of which we have none.

Ruth L. A. — Arthur Johnson was the physician in "The New Physician" (Lubin).
Marc McDermott and Miriam Nesbitt had the leads in "The New Squire" (Edison).

F. G. S., Reading. — George Reehm was Jack, and Frances Ne Moyer the poor girl
in "His Father's Choice" (Lubin). Harold Lockwood was Frank in "Harbor Island"
(Selig). Yes.

Peggie. — We are willing to answer your questions about Motion Pictures, but not
about the legitimate stage.

F. E. G., New York. — We are not certain about players' eyes, hair, etc. That all
comes out in the Chat.

E. C. S., Sherbrooke. — Thomas Moore was Tom in "Battle of Wits." Jane Gale was
the dying mother in " 'Twixt Love and Ambition." Edwin August is Smiling Jo in the
Powers plays. He appeared in "The Wheels of Fate," "The Tramp Reporter" and "On
Burning Sands" (Powers). That's Virginia Chester on the left, in the Christmas tree.
It would have saved time and space if we had printed a chart with the players' names.
Hundreds of drops of ink has that artist caused us by not labeling the pictures.

Josie, of Boston. — You will have to judge for yourself whether G. M. Anderson has
a crooked nose or not. You have seen it enough to know. But what difference does it
make? Why didn't you send all your letters in one envelope and save six cents?

M. M., Frederick.— Florence LaBadie was the girl in "Undine."

Nellie L. J., Akron. — Paul Kelley was the boy in "Six o'Clock."

Purcell. — George C. Stanley was the sheriff in "Redemption of Red Rube" (Vita-
graph). Miriam Nesbitt was the wife in "Jim's Wife" (Edison). William Humphrey
was the marquis in "A Tale of Two Cities" (Vitagraph). They are pretty old.

E. H., Mass. — Biograph Co., 11 East Fourteenth Street, New York City.
J. X. W. — Haven't heard Florence Lawrence's plans at this writing.

F. E. G., New York. — Yes, we knew that Maurice Costello's picture was on one
page and Edgar Jones' on the other side ; you will have to buy two magazines in ordor
to frame both. See? Phyllis Gordon was Helen in "The Vintage of Fate."

A. A. M., New York. — We printed Zena Keefe's picture in April and November, 1912.

P. D. G. P. — Howard Mitchell was the thief in "The Missing Finger." Bessie
Sankey appears to be the leading lady for Anderson.

P. R. L., Oakland ; J. R. C, Philadelphia ; D. Selva ; B. B., New York ; Senorita
M. F. ; Miss Flora O. have been answered before.

Pauline F. R, — Hazel Neason still with Kalem ; Mary Fuller still with Edison, and
Lillian Walker is still with Vitagraph.

J. R. W. — Mr. Bushman's middle name is Xavier.

A Subscriber. — The player is Janet Salsbury.

Peaches and Cream. — Mr. Kerrigan has never asked us to have one of his cigarets,
so cannot oblige you as to the particular brand he smokes. But do you consider that a
proper question? We dont. Harry Myers is with the Lubin yet.

Blonde, Chicago.— Yes, yes, yes, it is Mary Pickford. Should think you would
know her by this time, with all the publicity she gets.

Cupid, Corsicana, salutes us with "Dear Exhausted Creature." Not quite ex-
hausted ; there are still hopes of reviving. American Co. is at Santa Barbara, Cal.

V. E. L., New York. — Martha Russell was Mrs. Marr in "The Return of William
Marr" (Essanay). The lead in the Western Lubin is Romaine Fielding, and in the
other company it is Edgar Jones.

Percy, St. Joseph. — No, no ! Edna Flugrath is not dead. Augustus Phillips is still
with Edison.

E. G., Selma. — "A Clue to Her Parentage" was the sixth of the series of "What
Happened to Mary."

Write and SeM «:

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If a dealer tries to sell
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trying to market on the
Kodak reputation.

If it isn't an Eastman,
it isn't a Kodak.

EASTMAN KODAK CO.,

ROCHESTER, N. Y., The Kodak City.

148 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"A. H. S.," Welland, says: "If Miss McCoy is clever, can Bessie Learn?" Let him
up, boys, he has a vote in this ward.

R. E. G., Atlanta. — We believe Miss Roland and Miss Sais both have had stage
experience. They both act as if they had.

A. W. J., Chicago. — Helen Costello was the child in "The Church Across the Way"
(Vitagraph). Jessie Stuart was the lame girl in "A Double Danger" (Vitagraph).
Helen Costello also played in "Lulu's Doctor." That play was never Actionized by us.

Louise, Brooklyn. — Read this department monthly and keep posted; we do not
recall the play you cite. You had also better read the rules on page 162 of the April,
1912, issue.

E. O., San Francisco. — Mignon Anderson was the girl in "Frankfurters and Quail."
Frank B. — William Duncan had the part you ascribe to Tom Carrigan.

Mary P., Cleveland, adds a postscript : "Will not bother you any more this year,"
dated December 31, 1912. Edgar Jones has been playing with Lubin since last spring.

S. W., Omaha. — William J. Bowman was Shylock in "The Merchant of Venice"
(Thanhouser). Leo Delaney was the spy, and Leah Baird was Annette in "Days of
Terror." No, Mrs. Baggot is not an actress.

Kisser. — Miss Fannie Midgely plays with Melies.

H. H., Sandaw. — There is no William Barrett with Vitagraph.

M. M. K.— In "The Pony Express Girl," Marin Sais was the girl, and she and Ruth
Roland played in "Death Valley Scotty's Mine" (Kalem).

V. S. M., Chicago. — We cannot print Charles Clary's picture. James Cruze is with
Thanhouser.

The Pest. — Reading your letters is one of the delights of our job. You are a regu-
lar walking encyclopedia of Motion Picture information. How is it you haven't asked
us to write in that album of yours yet? But dont ask, we wont. We are mad now.
Mary Ryan was the girl, and Robyn Adair was Robert, while Romaine Fielding was the
silent one in "The Power of Silence."

An Intelligent Pittsburg Fan. — Mary E. Ryan was the girl in "The Forest
Ranger" (Lubin).

P. F., Los Angeles. — Come out of it — are you having a dream about Flossie?
Flossie isn't Crane Wilbur's wife, but we guess she is willing to be.

Summer Girl, Chicago. — Kalem has no permanent Chicago studio. A letter sent in
care of the home office will be forwarded.

Pauline E. — Yes, we can advise you what is the best medicine to cure the stage-
fever. Just try it for a week or two ; or rather, just try to try it. You have about
three Chances in ten thousand. We know of no Licensed companies who are going Inde-
pendent. There will probably be no change in the Licensed companies.

Buck D. V. — No, we fear it was not real snow in "Madeline's Christmas." It was
only paper snow.

Mrs. F. F. S. — Ormi Hawley and Jack Halliday had the leads in "Shepherd's Flute"
(Lubin).

Lenore, St. Louis. — Charles Hitchcock was Herbert in "The Letter" (Essanay).
Mildred Weston and Dolores Cassinelli were the girls in "The Money" (Essanay).

Interested. — It was Thomas Santschi.

M. R., Johnstown. — Edgar Jones was the doctor in "The Physician of Silver
Gulch." In "Fixing a Flirt," Frances Ne Moyer was Bess.

I. W., Beaver Falls. — Mabel Taliaferro played only in one Selig. You have to be
more than pretty to pose for pictures.

Peggy. — William Duncan and Myrtle Stedman leads in "Between Love and Law."

F. G. D., Nebraska. — Harry R. Morgan played the coach in "The Stroke Oar"
(Lubin). Edwin Boulden played the husband in "Holding the Fort."

"Flossie," Gramercy Park. — We believe you know the original and only genuine
Flossie. Your letter sounds as if you did.

C. M., Sacramento. — Write Vitagraph for those pictures.

Kid Liz, Oakland. — Earle Williams is not bashful in his love-making, as you state.
He goes about it very systematically.

E. M., Atlantic City. — Marie Eline's parents act in the pictures sometimes. Now,
please dont write and ask who they are.

G. I. K., Chicago. — You need instructions as to how to send in your questions. You
must not ask about relationship, ages, vacations of players, etc. We are always glad
to answer questions of general information.

L. E. F., Brooklyn. — The players you mention are regular players. That new con-
cern has not started as yet.

V. H. and V. S., Dallas. — Anna Stewart was Annie, and Earle Williams was Dr.
Ferguson in "Song of the Sea-Shell."

H?j:nry B. R. — Hazel Neason was the author of "A Night Before Christmas."

A. B., Buffalo. — So far as we remember, May Buckley is not on the "Tree of
Fame," in the January issue.

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Every elegant home SHOULD have one, and lots of homes that are NOT elegant DO have one.
Nothing like it to adorn the parlor or library table! A beautiful ornament and a useful one. It
makes a splendid gift, and nice enough for a king.

Preserve Your Magazines!

The best of magazines soon grow shabby from constant handling, and when they get ragged,
dirty and torn they are not ornamental, and they are often ruined for binding purposes. The
Motion Picture Story Magazine is a magazine that is always pres9rved— never thrown away. But
to preserve it, a cover is necessary, especially when dozens of persons are to handle it for a whole
month.

Do Not Disfigure Your Magazines

by punching holes in them, but buy one of our celebrated Buchan Binders. They require no holes.
All you need do is to take a coin, turn two screws with it, insert the magazine, turn the screws
a few times the other way, and your magazine is secure, and it will stay there until .you take
it out on the 18th of the following month to insert the next number. When we say that this cover
is beautiful and exquisite, we mean just what we say. It is made of thick, suede, limp leather, and
will wear a lifetime. The color is a dainty, rich blue, and on the front, lettered in gold, are the
words, "MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE." Those who cherish this popular magazine will
feel that they MUST have one of these splendid covers the moment they see one.

We Have Two Kinds for Sale

The first quality is made from one solid sheet of selected leather, and sells for $2.00. The
second quality is precisely the same as the first, except that it has a Keratol back, and sells for $1.50.
We will mail one of these covers to any address, postage p spaid, on receipt of price.

BUCHAN SALES CO., Mfrs., 316 Market St., NEWARK, N. J.

(For reference as to the quality of these binders, we refer you to the managing editor of The

Motion Picture Story Magazine.)

150 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Flossie, Brooklyn. — Everybody is signing Flossie now. Edith Storey lives where
her chat says she does.

Plunkett. — Burton King was Burt in "Ranch Mates" (Lubin). Edward Coxen
was Tom in "The Chaperon Gets a Ducking" (Kalem). "Where is Henry Walthall?"
Keep off the grass.

Kitty W., Columbus ; Wade H. ; D. J., Kansas ; L, A. M. ; D. H., Texarkana ; Miss
Junie ; Teddy R. ; F. M. M., Iowa ; Judy and Ruth ; F. S. B., Zanesville ; P. K., Read-
ing ; A. T. K., Cleveland; Peggy,. Marietta ; W. V. A.; Bessie C. I.; Indian Girl;
E, M., Wash. ; Fluffy ; Alex ; R. M., Mass. ; George, Montreal, and Ramona F. have
all been answered before.

E. J. C, Brooklyn. — The "dark room" where negatives are developed is a room not
merely dusky, but a room which has no white light. Red lights are used mostly.

A. H. S., Welland. — Rosemary Theby is one of Vitagraph's leading ladies. We
know of no "best" company to whom you may send scenarios.

Goshen Fan. — Normand MacDonald was the old man in "The Iron Heel" (Essanay).

Janet, Milwaukee. — Charles Clary was Steve in "The Fire-Fighter's Love." June,
1912, issue is obtainable at this office.

M. W., Mishanaka. — Edna Payne was the girl in "A Girl's Bravery" (Lubin).
Jennie MacPherson is leading lady for Gem, opposite Billy Quirk. Irving Cummings
was the brother in "The Brother of the Bat" (Reliance).

U. S. W., New York. — Henry Walthall left Reliance some time ago. Dont ask us
where he is. Pathe wont give us the leads in "Saved at the xlltar." Perhaps they have
the names copyrighted so we cannot use them.

Marguerite, Brooklyn. — You refer to Ormi Hawley. Augustus Phillips is one of
Edison's leading men.

Chick and Mick. — The picture you refer to is a "State Rights" film. Herbert Prior
and Mabel Trunnelle are with Edison.

Peggy and Percy. — No, John Bunny is not dead. He was only loaned to Hammer-
stein by the Vitagraph Co. for a limited time.

"Red Rose," Brockton. — Write direct to the American for pictures of players.

Helen, Portland. — George Melville was Ffolliott, and Sidney Olcott was Conn in
"The Shaughraun" (Kalem). The little girl was Henriette O'Beck.

H. V. G. — We dont happen to know the light-haired boy in "The Little Woolen
Shoe" (Edison).

H. M., Los Angeles. — Florence LaBadie, Jean Darnell, William Garwood and
William Russell have gone to California.

W. L. B., Waco. — Frank A. Lyons was President Taft in "The Money Kings" (Vita-
graph). Carlyle Blackwell was Jack in "The Two Runaways" (Kalem). Gwendoline
Pates is still with Pathe Freres.

G. E. L., Atlanta. — Write Miss LaBadie at the home office.

Flo G. D. — In "The Fatherhood of Buck McGee" we do not know the name of the
little girl. In "For the Sake of the Papoose" (Pathe), Miss Mason had the lead.
George Cooper was Bunch in "Wanted a Sister," and James Young was Tom.

A. H. S., Welland. — Betty Cameron was leading lady in "Brave, Braver, Bravest"
(Lubin). Some class to those daffy downdillies you sent in.

M. B., Omaha. — We are not sure whether the player you mention ever played on
the stage ; anyway, we dont answer such questions.

Miss June. — Betty Harte was Mabel in "How the Cause Was Won" (Selig). She
is no longer with Selig, having joined Universal.

E. M. C. J. — John Bunny and Mabelle Lumley had the leads in "Michael McShane,
Matchmaker" (Vitagraph).

C. O. D., Laurium. — Mabel Trunnelle is the girl in "A Game of Chess."

F. S., New Jersey. — Evelyn Selbie, formerly with Melies, is now with Essanay.

S. W., San Francisco. — Please give name of the company. Expect to have a chat
with Warren Kerrigan soon.

D. N. J., Brooklyn. — Arthur Johnson was chatted in February, 1912; Florence
Lawrence in December, 1911. We never had a chat with Marion Leonard.

Nancy Jane. — Marion Cooper was Nancy in "The Battle in the Virginia Hills"
(Kalem). So you think Benny of Lubinville speaks with too much authority. Why
not? He is a very important and useful lad.

I. E., Somerville. — Jane Wolfe played opposite Carlyle in "The Two Runaways,"
Thomas Santschi had the lead in "Opitsah." Sidney Olcott was the priest in "Ireland
the Oppressed" (Kalem). Charles Compton was Bud in "The Stroke Oar" (Lubin).
And in "A Mother's Strategy" Mary Smith was Mrs. Reeves.

Frisky Trixie. — Your letter was very interesting, and it took us ten minutes to
read it. We are afraid we cant do anything for you. Better consult Dr. Cupid. Mr.
Oostello expects to return to Brooklyn about the middle of September.

A. Ei L., Detroit. — Max Linder is not playing for Pathe any more.

"Carle," Phila, — Gene Gauntier was Claire Ffolliott in "The Shaughraun."

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152 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Elaine V., St. Louis. — Julia Swayne Gordon was Mrs. Thornwell in "Two Women
and Two Men" (Vitagraph).

A. H. S., Welland. — Courtenay Foote and Rosemary Theby had the leads in "The
Reincarnation of Karma" (Vitagraph).

H. M. — Will see about printing a picture of Brinsley Shaw.

A. C, Herkimer. — The "Thanhouser Kid" is Marie Eline, and the "Thanhouser
Kidlet" is Helen Badley, and the "Thanhouser Twins" are the Fairbanks Sisters.

George R. T. — Write direct to Imp for King Baggot.

Beitlah, Toronto. — Marguerite Snow was the bride in "A Niagara Honeymoon."

Margaret, Chicago. — Passed your letter along to the editor for a picture of Julia
Swayne Gordon.

Mildred G., Willtmantic. — As the Greenroom Jotter says, "More sad news." We
have heard, indirectly, that Lottie Pickford is married, and is not playing. Too bad.

Lily C. — Start your subscription any time you want to. Earle Williams was lead-
ing man in "Church Across the Way ;" Rose Tapley, the spy in "The Money Kings."

Kathryn E., Washington. — Lester Cuneo was Pete, and Rex de Rosselli was New
Stare in "The Ranger and His Horse" (Selig).

Chick and Mick. — Say, why dont you sign something else? Some ships permit film

companies to take pictures on board. It was a genuine ship in the picture you refer
to. Harry Northrup was leading man in "Sue Simpken's Ambition."

Mickey, Milwaukee. — In "Love and Law," Lillian Christy was the girl, Wallace
Reid was John Allen, and Edward Coxen was Tom.

F. E. Grayce. — Sorry, my dear, but we dont intend to make a list of the good-
looking players who are not married. Suppose you are setting a trap for Tom Moore
now. Please let this sink in: this is no matrimonial bureau!

Patsy, Fredericton. — Harry Benham is "the good-looking fellow," but he's mar-
ried. Cleo Ridgely and her husband have both acted in pictures. We saw one only
the other night.

H. A. F., Milwaukee. — Judson Melford played in "The Two Runaways" and "The
Power of a Hymn" (Kalem).

E. M. C, Los Angeles. — Thomas Moore is Alice Joyce's leading man. Warren Ker-
rigan is with American.

J. R. S., Brooklyn. — We have already given the cast for "A Night Before Christ-
mas," but, after seeing the play, wish to say that Maurice Costello was John Corbin,
Leah Baird was his wife, Miss Navarro was Ruth, and Helen Costello was Helen.

M. H. — William Clifford had the lead in "Making Good" (Melies). Hobart Bosworth
was leading man»in "Atala."

Muriel T.— Most of your questions are against the rules. Just because Earle
Williams played in "The Woman Haters" you think he hates women. He does not.

Henry B. R. — Myrtle Stedman and William Duncan had the leads in "The Ranger
and His Horse." By "stage child" we mean a child who has played upon the stage.
You probably will see pictures of Maurice Costello before September 13, when he is
to return to Brooklyn.

George, Montreal. — Mary E. Ryan was the bride in "His Western Way." Our
cards do not tell "just why Romaine Fielding wears so many of them brass things in his
leather overalls."

Gladys B. ; Flora O., New York ; Hazel J., Los Angeles ; R., Dayton ; Emily,
Cleveland ; F. N. D. S. ; Virginia ; The Movie Girl ; Expectant ; Anita M. ; Laughing
Waters ; F. M. M. ; Marion M. ; A Sub ; E. G., Philadelphia ; C. F., Brooklyn ; Irish ;
Bess ; "Phoebes," Westfield ; Dorothy L. ; Myrtle B. P. ; A. G., Jamaica ; Brown-Eyed
Kentuckian ; Peggy ; Featherhead ; A. N. F., Newark, and Two Brokenhearted have
all been answered before.

Dolores and Blanche. — Please give name of company always. Ormi Hawley was
the girl in "Satin and Gingham" (Lubin).

Sophie N., Wilmington. — Virginia Westbrooke was Maggie in "At Cripple Creek."

(Unsigned) Humboldt. — Adele Lane was Edna in "The Sand Storm" (Lubin), and
Burton King was Joe. Ruth Stonehouse was Mrs. Brown in "The Browns Have
Visitors."

Olga, 17. — The top of the morning, Olga. Send in your poem for Crane Wilbur,
but we cannot say whether it will be printed. Those things take time. We didn't see
that Edison. Harold Lockwood was the "handsome Frank Franklyn" in "Harbor
Island" (Selig). We are always glad to read your interesting letters. Writing is O. K.

Tom A. F. and M. D. — Florence Turner still plays for Vitagraph. She is not ill.

H. B. H., El Paso. — See August, 1912, in this department for difference between
Licensed and Independents.

A New Reader. — But you must sign your name and address ; we only publish the
initials. You refer to Bessie Eyton.

Miss De Moines. — Harry Benham was the policeman in "Big Sister." George
Cooper was "Bunch" Andrews in "Wanted a Sister."

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154 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Makjorie A. G. — Universal Co. is the head of several producing companies. They
have charge of distributing the films, and also of distributing the scripts to the various
companies. Warren Kerrigan is in Santa Barbara, Cal.

E. L. H., Louisiana. — Mignon Anderson was the girl in 'Thunderbolt." Kalem
releases four a week. Alright, call Gene Gauntier the "Queen of Photoplay."

J. S., Brooklyn. — The "i" in Vitagraph is pronounced long, as in "life." That eye
never sleeps. In asking Mr. Hoagland, of Pathe Freres, what C. G. P. C. stands for, he
says : "Hist, it's a secret."

Mary P., Cleveland.— Oh, you mustn't ask about height, width and weight of an
actor; thinkest thou that we have nothing to do but go and measure them? Clara
Williams was the mother and daughter in "Parson James."

A. W. W. W., Canada. — Frances Cummings was Sarah in "The Talker" (Lubin).
Romaine Fielding was the Cringer in that play. "Rube Marquard Wins" is too old for
us to print in the magazine. The stories usually appear in the magazine long before the
films are out. We think that all of the advertisers in our magazine are reliable.

A. B., Annabel. — Marshall Neilan was the favorite son in "The Favorite Son."

R. S., Rochester. — Vedah Bertram was the school-teacher in "Under Mexican
Skies." Well, by the time Maurice Costello retires, you fans will have a new idol.

H. G. S.— For heaven's sake, dont start anything like that ! Why dont we start a
contest to see who can turn in the largest number of queries?

L. T. X. Y. Z. — You refer to Marguerite Snow.

L. F., Salt Lake City. — The title of Mr. Sargent's book is "The Technique of the
Photoplay." Write direct to the Moving Picture World.

Jean R. B., Napa. — Robert Burns is with the Western Vitagraph, at Los Angeles.

M. E. D., Brooklyn. — Harry Myers was the lead in "Just Maine Folks." Charles
Arthur in "The Last Rose of Summer." Francelia Billington appears to be playing
opposite Carlyle Blackwell now.

Florence C. P. — William Duncan was Buck in "Buck's Romance." Myrtle Stedman
was the Indian girl in the same play.

Elsie B. N. and Gine M. A. — Yes, Harry Mainhall plays leads. Charles Arthur was
Charles in "For the Love of a Girl" (Lubin).

P. O. E., Ann Arbor. — William Russell was the brother, and Jean Darnell the sister
in "Put Yourself in His Place."

"Pearl E." — Leah Baird's picture in this issue.

R. M., Leavenworth. — Mildred Bracken was the girl in "Tempest-Tossed."

J, T. O., San Francisco. — Please dont write or circulate such reports ; Rose Tapley
is not Maurice Costello's wife.

Dixie, Baton Rouge. — Yes, Edgar Jones and Clara Williams had the leads in
"A Lucky Fall."

Claribel.— William Garwood and Mignon Anderson had the leads in "Frankfurters
and Quail." Frances Shannon was Virginia in "Virginius" (Reliance).

Louise R. M., New York. — Bessie Eyton was Mrs. Young in "Greater Wealth."

The Gew-Gaw. — No, Louise Lester is not as tough as she looks in the "Calamity
.Anne" series.

Marguerite L. H. — Harry Myers was Harry, and Marie Weirman was Marie in
"By the Sea."

Biograph Frank, Hoboken. — Yes, pictures have been taken of "Paterson Falls."

A Subscriber, X. Y. Z. — Do please sign your name hereafter. "The Heart of
Esmeralda" was taken at Bat Cave, N. C, by Vitagraph.

Winnie, Lowell. — Marshall Neilan was the lead in "A Mountain Tragedy"
(Kalem). Oh, we couldn't think of answering your Biograph.

- Betty. — Frances Ne Moyer was the daughter, and William Carr the smuggler in
"The Smuggler" (Lubin). Edgar Jones was Bob in "The Trustee of the Law" (Lubin).
Richard Stanton had the lead in "Linked by Fate" (Melies).

F. E. G., New York. — Marty Fuller is Jack the boy in "His Mother's Hope"
(Edison), and Barry O'Moore is Jack grown up. Now dont ask if Marty is Mary
Fuller's child. Gwendoline Pates in "His Second Love."

Bessie C. I. — Get your postals of players and photographs direct from the companies
with which they are connected.

S. M. G., Brooklyn. — Lew Myers was the "Jew" in "The Man They Scorned."

Frank D., Brooklyn. — Cannot give you that Pathe Freres information.

Flo, N. Y. — Mignon Anderson was the teacher in "The Truant's Doom."

Anthony. — Owen Moore is still with Victor. Yes, Pearl White is as sweet as she
looks — at least, we think so.

A. W. W., Canada. — Frances Ne Moyer was the maid in "The Hindoo's Charm"
(Lubin). "A Leap-Year Lottery" is an old Lubin.

Miss L. J. C. — Edith Storey is with the Flatbush Vitagraph. "How Moving Pictures
Are Made and Worked" can be had direct from us for $1.50, postage 15c.

Mrs. L. A. L. — You have guessed the identity of "The Photoplay Philosopher."

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156 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Susie K.— "A Corner in Whiskers" is an Essanay, not a Vitagraph. William
Mason, not Carlyle Blackwell, was the young inventor. You are all twisted.

L. M. G., Dubuque. — We are afraid your $15 a week as a teamster would not
induce Miss Stonehouse to leave Essanay. She is making a little more than that.

Joyce Black well. — Thomas Santschi was "Sammy Orpheus" in the play of that
title. Edward is E. K. Lincoln's first name, and some call him "Pretty Ed." Bessie
Eyton was the lead in "Shanghaied." You've got Myrtle Stedman and Kathlyn
Williams all mixed up. We were right in "Fighting Instinct."

West End Girl, St. Louis. — Eddie Lyons was Percy in "Percy, the Bandit"
(Nestor). Lee Moran was the lead in "When the Heart Calls." William Ehfe was
Tom in "Tempest-Tossed."

M. R. R., Huntington. — Normand MacDonald was Colonel Zeno in "Ghosts"
(Essanay). Charles Huntington and Eleanor Blanchard were Mr. and Mrs. Dixon.
Mae Marsh was Carlyle Blackwell's sister in "The Parasite" (Kalem). Where is she
now? You are treading on forbidden soil.

Florida. — Miriam Cooper and Guy Coombs had the leads in "Saved from Court-
martial." Why, of course, it was a trick picture. You dont suppose an actress is going
to let a rattlesnake bite her, do you?

Reno Ruth, N. Y. C. — Your poem is good, but we haven't room to print it. Thanks
just the same.

Little Rhody. — So you couldn't solve how the picture of Benjamin Wilson was
taken. Well, they were two separate pictures, pasted on a piece of cardboard in that
arrangement : one of our "trick pictures."

Donna Juanna. — Yes, Mary Pickford is on the stage in "A Good Little Devil." We
thought everybody knew that ; and now they will.

Jewel. — Hazel Neason was Faith in "Flag of Freedom" (Kalem). Jessalyn Van
Trump is not with Kalem.

L. F., Chicago. — Harry Mainhall was Joe in "Sunshine" (Essanay).

Joe, Bayonne. — Alice Joyce really ran the engine in "A Race with Time."

C. E. K., Bath Beach. — Dont know of any company that would take your $5,000
and enroll you as one of their leading actors, simply because you can drive a motor-
cycle, single or tandem.

W. O. H., Washington. — Jack Nelson was Paul Worthington, and LaFayette
McKee was Col. Colfax in "Loyal Deserter."

Miss A. G., Albany. — Your letter was signed all right.

Miss Coxen Cooper, South Orange, says : "Dont you think if you keep on being so
witty you will give out after a while?" Oh, no — never! We are a perennial working
encyclopedia of wit and humor. We keep it in sacks in a storage warehouse, and we
haven't used up the first bag yet. Brinsley Shaw is usually the villain in Western
Essanay.

The Gew-Gaw. — We wish you would lose that name and get a new one. William
Garwood was John Henderson in "Six-Cylinder Elopement" (Thanhouser). Florence
Turner was Betty in "While She Powdered Her Nose."

Patty and Peggy. — Thomas Moore was William in "The Pilgrimage."

Susie G. — Irving Cummings was Dr. Randolph in "Men Who Dared" (Reliance).
Mary Ryan was Maud in "The Blind Cattle King." Harold Lockwood was Dustin
Lains, and George Hernandez was Pike A. Long in "Millionaire Vagabonds" (Selig).

M. J. P., Thomasville. — Leo Delaney was a sculptor in "Rock of Ages." . Lillian
Christy has left Kalem for American. Arthur Johnson did not play in "Madeleine's
Christmas."

Camille, Wash.— Thomas Moore was the millionaire in "A Young Millionaire"
(Kalem). Edna Payne was the girl, Edwin Carewe the policeman, and L. C. Phillips
was Capt. Dane in "The Water-Rats" (Lubin). Harry Beaumont was Nellie's sweet-
heart in "Linked Together^ (Edison). Marie Weirman and Mabel Harris were the
girls in "Home, Sweet Home" (Lubin). Robyn Adair was the prospector in "The
Sheriff's Prisoner." Now, is there anything more we can do for you? Clara Williams
was the girl in "The End of the Feud" (Lubin).

Plunkett— Guy Coombs and Miriam Cooper had the leads in "Rival Engineers."

F. F., New York. — Gertrude Robinson is leading lady for Reliance. We hear that
Marion Leonard is back on the stage.

Peggy O'Neill.— Yes, to satisfy you, Edward K. Lincoln is a handsome chap, but
dont tell the other girls.

M. A. D., Ranch 101. — Louise Lester was Anne Carey in "The Animal Within."

Bunny. — Harry Morey was Adam, and Leah Baird was Eve in "Adam and Eve."

L. S., Millville. — Marguerite Snow played both parts in "The Woman in White."

M. E. M. — Mr. Fox was Billy Jay in "All for a 'Girl" (Vitagraph).

Movie Looney wishes we would "kid" the inquirers more. Yes, Ormi Hawley.

Merely Mary Anne.— Sidney Olcott was Conn, Helen Lindroth was Arte, and
Jice Hollister was Moya in "The Shaughraun."

Pathets Weekly

A perfect film for particular people, por-
traying the movements of current events
with a fidelity unattainable by any other
method of publicity.

Pathe's Weekly

Covers the globe with a lens focused on
the world-happenings of universal interest,
and reproduces, thousands of miles away,
the scenes as they occurred.

PATHE'S WEEKLY

Is a glorified illustrated weekly magazine,
with the '"pages" turned for you while
you are comfortably seated in the cozy
theater in your neighborhood.

Pathe's Weekly

Speaks an intelligible language to every
nationality, and makes its appeal to people
of every tongue, race, creed or age, and
will appeal to you.

If It's Interesting It's In

PATHE'S weekly

158 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Ardent Admirer. — Thomas Moore was Bob in "Finger of Suspicion."

Snooks. — Yes, we think that Mr. Anderson has more than one shirt. Anyway, we
are sure that he can afford to have two if he wants them.

George, Montreal. — Yes, Mr. Costello and family, etc., have gone to Egypt. They
are labeled "The Globe-Trotters."

M. P., Thomasville. — Dolores Cassinelli was Dolores in "From the Submerged."
Gaumont is now Independent. "Fall of Troy" was released by "Itala."

Mary G. — William West was the old judge, and Jane Wolfe his wife in "Power of
a Hymn." Knute Rahmn was the young judge.

H. K. M. K. — Pathe's "The Last Performance" was taken in Sweden, and the cast
cannot be had. They are both Swedish players.

Various Inquirers. — If your answer does not appear, it is probably due to one of
these reasons: (a) received too late for this issue; (b) question has been answered
before, or is an improper one; (c) letter did not contain your correct name and address.

"Moving Picture Crank." — Thank you for the compliment. Dorothy Mortimer
was the girl in "The Stroke-Oar," and Eleanor Middleton was Marie's mother in "By
the Sea" (Lubin).

Pauline E. — Evelyn Dominicus was the she-wolf in "The Mills of the Gods."
Courtenay Foote and Tom Powers both played in "While She Powdered Her Nose."

A. D. H., Brooklyn. — Irving White was John Norden in "When Love Leads."

Mabelle Sevarg. — Yes, Mignon Anderson was the cook, and William Garwood her
lover in "Standing Room Only" (Thanhouser). Mildred Weston was Ruth in "A
Record Romance" (Essanay). Francis Ford was Joe in "The Ghost of Sulphur
Mountain." What are you doing; hunting up back numbers? If so, be sure and read
this department before you write.

Gussie. — He must be a new one, "Phillip August"? Guess you mean Edwin, now
of Powers, or is it Augustus Phillips, of Edison?

H. N. G., New York. — WTe are quite sure the players would not return presents
that were sent to them, but we dont think they would care to receive them. First-day
runs are much more expensive than commercials.

J. W. S. — Yes, Harry Northrup was the husband in "The Dawning" (Vitagraph).

Lily C. — Mary Ryan was the girl in "Chief White Eagle" (Lubin).

Billy B. — By no means are Dolores Cassinelli and Dolores Costello the same
person. The latter is about twelve; the former about — well, let us say twice that.
Julia Mackley was the mother in "The Mother of the Ranch" (Essanay). Lubin
release days are Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday.

L. W. B., N. Y.— Pearl White and Crane Wilbur had the leads in "Pals" (Pathe.)
John Brennan was Tom. Herbert Glennon was Bill, and Ruth Roland was Nora in
"A Hospital Hoax."

F. W., Chicago. — In "A Struggle of Two Hearts" (Lubin), Burton King was
Rodney, and Edgar Jones the ex-convict. "Bunny at the Derby" was taken in London,
and the fair one of the opposite sex is unknown.

L. H., Albany. — You refer to Thomas Moore.

F. W., R. I. — Clara Kimball Young played in "A Mistake in Spelling."

M. J. P., Thomasville.— Baby Slendorn was the child in "Sunshine" (Essanay).
No, no ! when will you people learn that Alice Joyce is in New York, and that George
Melford is director for the Glendale Kalem?

W.. H. S. Trio. — Gus Mansfield was the brother in "The Minister and the Outlaw''
(Lubin). If we were to sit down and count the pictures that Crane Wilbur appears
in every year, you wouldn't get any more questions answered for three months.

Paula. — In "The Business Buccaneer" (Kalem), Earle Foxe was Mr. Hastings,
and Thomas Moore was Miss Joyce's sweetheart. William Graybill is not with
Thanhouser.

J. H., Columbia. — Grace Foley was Baby Elsie in "Strange Story of Elsie Mason."

V.-G. and T., Jacksonville. — Jolly Mae Hotely is just as jolly as ever. She is
now in Jacksonville.

A. B., Montgomery. — Charles Arthur was the Village Blacksmith in that play.
Brookes McCloskey, Henrietta O'Beck, and Buster Johnson played in the "Buster"
series.

T. B. A., Newark. — Yes, you may call and look us over, but you will have to do all
your looking in less than a minute. We have no time for exhibition.

M. M., McKeesport. — Now, now, dont send in a list of names and ask if your Bio-
graph names are correct. Harold Wilson is with Eclair.

M. G. A., New Jersey. — Clara Williams was the wife in "A Fugitive from Justice."
Lillian Walker is at the Brooklyn studio.

V. Du B. — You had better read the rules of this department before sending your
next questions.

A. D. M., Lockport. — "A Day That Is Dead" was adapted from Tennyson's poem,
"Break, Break, Break," and produced by Edison.

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MAN'S FRIEND

A Journal of Optimism and Inspiration and Guide to Right
Living. Published monthly. Subscription,- 50 cents the year.
Canadian and Foreign, 75c, U.S. money. Trial subscription,
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Note.— With each yearly subscription we will give you free, postage pre-
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I will send, as long as they last, my 25 cent BOOK

STRONG ARMS

for IOc in stamps or coin

GET ON THE
VAUDEVILLE

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PHOTOPLAY WRITERS

K* Vs dispose of your work to the best advantage: No charge for
examination or necessary criticism. Send stamp for particulars. The
Associated Vaudeville and Playwrights, Photoplay Dept.,
land, O. The largest manuscript brokerage house in the U. S.

This Washer

Must Pay for

Itself.

A MAN tried to sell me a horse once. He said it
was a fine horse and had nothing the matter
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much. And I didn't know the
man very well either.

So I told him I wanted to
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He said, "All right, but pay
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And I said to myself, lots
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Washing Machine as I thought
about the horse, and about the
man who owned it.

But I'd never know, because
they wouldn't write and tell me. You see I sell my
Washing Machines by mail. I have sold over half a
million that way.

So, thought I, it is only fair enough to let people
try my Washing Machines for a month, before they
pay for them, just as I wanted to try the horse.

Now, I know what our "1900 Gravity" Washer
will do. I know it will wash the clothes, without
wearing or tearing them, in less than half the time
they can be washed by hand or by any other machine

I know it will wash a tub full of very dirty clothes
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vented can do that, without wearing out the clothes.

It just drives soapy water clear through the fibres
of the clothes like a force pump might.

Let me send you a "1900 Gravity" Washer on ft
month's free trial. I'll pay the freight out of my
own pocket, and if you don't want the machine after
you've used it a month, I'll take it back and pay the
freight, too. Surely that is fair enough, isn't it?

Doesn't it prove that the "1900 Gravity" Washer
must be all that I say it is?

Drop me a line to-day, and let me send you a book
about the "1900 Gravity" Washer that washes
clothes in 6 rn;Tiutps

Address me this way— H. L. Barker, 930 Court St.,
Binghainton, N. Y. If you live in Canada, address
1900 Washer Co., 357 Yonge St., Toronto, Ont.

Edna Flugrath (Edison) has just had a real thriller of an experience. In a recent
picture she stood on the deck of a burning schooner with 200 pounds of gun-
powder beneath her. Talk about the hoy standing on the burning deck !

Harry Handworth. of the Pathe producing staff, has been putting on some big
ones lately. Mr. Handworth has produced four spectacular two-reel subjects in the
past few months. Dynamited bridges, wrecked trains and burning houses are daily
occurrences with him.

Pearl White is an aeroplane enthusiast. Every Sunday she goes to Hempstead for
a fly. She plans to own a machine herself this spring. Every one to her taste !

Helen Case (Nestor) starts in working again after a long absence from the films.

Francis Ford, formerly of Melies, has gone to 101 Bison Company as a director.

Charles Seay, an Edison director, was a guest of honor at the Theater Club ban-
quet at the Hotel Astor recently, where he gave a talk on educational films.

Powers is producing a three-reel film of "Snow White" in California. Work on
this film is complicated, they say, by the popularity of the little folks in the picture
with the regular Indians and cowboys of the company. At critical moments it is dis-
covered that most of the young actors are off riding on pintos or whirling lariats.

Hnghey Mack has broken into society. His Brooklyn friends recently tendered
him a reception and blow-out at the Imperial Hotel. All prominent Vitagraphers
danced attendance, of course.

Jane Gail is the most recent acquisition to the Imp force. She is playing leads
with King Baggot. and playing them well. Mr. Baggot. by the way. is preparing a Dr.
Jekyll and Mr. Hyde picture, arranging, directing and acting it himself.

Violet Horner, the "Little Melba" of the pictures, has had a comet-like career with
the Imps. A little over a year ago she was singing in the choir of several Brooklyn
churches. After one try as a "sub," she was advanced to leading parts, and her popu-
larity is on the increase.

William Humphrey, its director, finally announces the release of "Chains of an
Oath," a gripping Russian peasant picture featuring Mr. Humphrey and Miss Storey.
We published the story in December, 1911.

Indians are not the only people who can act. In the beautiful "A Ballad of the
South Seas," the Melies Company had real Kanakas (natives) do most of the acting.

Victoria Forde, one of the leading ladies of the Bison Company (Universal), is
doing good work. But why shouldn't she? She started with the Biograph !

Brinsley Shaw directed for the Niles Essanay Company during G. M. Anderson's
recent absence in the East.

Adele Lane, formerly of the Lubin Company, and her husband. Director Burt L.
King, are with Thomas H. Ince's1 N. Y. Motion Picture Company at Santa Monica, Cal.

Edna and Alice Nash are such real twins that their identities cause the Vitagraph
directors a lot of trouble.

"The Golden Gully" (Melies), taken in Australia, introduces the Barambah ladies
and gentlemen as picture stars in their specialties of boomerang-throwing, fire-making
and home-building. We are warned that they are cannibals, and our interviewer
refuses to pick a bone with them.

Leo Delaney, while being rescued from a flooded cellar in "The Mouse and the
Lion." received quite a bad knife-wound. If this hacking keeps up, the photoplayers
will demand wooden knives.

160

INSTRUCTION

THE P

HOTO
1. A. Y
LOT

HOW TO WRITE IT HOW TO SELL IT

The Wonderful sales of my new Dook prove it to be that
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SCENARIO WRITERS, LOOK. ! Has your scenario
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scenarios criticized 50c, including plot and technique: folders
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given special attention. Old Reliable Paul W. Rieker,
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VENTRILOQUISM

Almost anyone can learn it at home. Small cost. Send

today 2-cent stamp for particulars and proof.

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If you are interested you had better look into
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Henry Albert Phillips, Editor

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WOULD YOU SPEND

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If you have ideas, if you seeinteresting
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THE PHOTOPLAY WRITER," by

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Leona Radnor I writer for THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZiXE),

gives complete instructions and advice. It contains a model scenario
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Price, 50 cents by mail postpaid.

LEONA RADNOR, 118 G, East 28th Street, New York City

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162 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Those who remember Dorothy Phillips as "Modesty" in the speaking play, "Every-
woman," will be pleased to know that she is again with the Essanay Company.

Hazel Neason, formerly of the Vitagraph and Kalem companies, was married to
Treasurer Smith, of the Vitagraph Company, early in January.

Ruth Stonehouse, of the Essanay Company, is a graceful exponent of fancy
dancing, and the same is true of Carlyle Blackwell, of the Kalem Company. Now, why
not have these companies exchauge these players, so that they can play opposite each
other in one Kalem and one Essanay production?

No, my children, John Bunny and Augustus Carney have not left the pictures.
Both recently made appearances on the speaking stage, however.

Wally Van, the well-known society entertainer and actor, has joined the Vitagraph
Company, and will soon be seen in "Beauty and the Twins."

Messrs. Kessel and Baumann are rich in this world's goods. Not only do they own
the Kay-Bee and Broncho companies, but also over a hundred Indians. With every
five Indians a chief is required, the former getting from $7 to $10 a week, and the
latter from $10 to $12 a week.

Word has just come to us that the Vitagraph "Globe-Trotters" : Costello, Ranous,
James Young, Clara Kimball Young and the Costello children have arrived at Yoko-
hama, Japan. Some interesting pictures were taken on the decks of the Pacific liner,
Tenyo Maru.

Martha Russell, lecturer and late leading lady for the Essanay Company, has
joined a new company — the Satex Film Company, of Austin, Texas.

Director Albert W. Hale, formerly with Pathe, Vitagraph and Thanhouser, sends
us the best wishes of himself and fellow members of the Screen Club, and announces
that he is now stage director for the Famous Players Film Company.

Gossip from Los Angeles had it that more players were needed on the Coast. Later
reports state that players are plentiful, and as little as $1 a day is paid them, and
seldom more than $5 a day.

The Thanhouser plant at New Rochelle, N. Y., was nearly destroyed by fire in
early January.

More new companies : Barrieco Film Company, Cheyenne Features and Ryno Film
Company. Like mushrooms, they spring up in a night, but let us hope that they will
live longer.

On January 28 the Gaumont Company began publishing the Gaumont Graphic,
which will be issued weekly. And still they come.

The "Jotter" announces a coming invasion of the Screen Club, that Mecca of pic-
ture players, and what he sees and hears there.

Carlyle Blackwell is doing difficult stunts these days. In "The Redemption" he
starts as a thug, and gradually manufactures himself into a finished gentleman.

Crane Wilbur, the Pathe leading man, is well known in vaudeville as a writer of
one-act plays. Mr. Wilbur is collecting royalties from several successful sketches that
are now playing on the big time.

Kathleen Coghlin, aged seven, is the newest child actress. She plays the baby boy
parts with Edison charmingly, and is just as nice as a wee little girl.

Octavia Handworth, leading lady with the Pathe Company, is not fond of
snakes. In one scene of a recently produced picture play, they had to tie the head of
a live five-foot reptile to the young lady's ankle — a ticklish situation, ladies! Miss
Handworth squealed a little. Can you blame her?

The Kalem filming of Bronson Howard's famous war drama, "Shenandoah,"
started in Winchester, Va. (the historical locality), and is finishing at Jackson-
ville, Fla.

Mr. Francis Powers, a director long connected with the Pathe Company, has left
that firm, and is now with the Universal.

George Lessey, popular actor with Edison, has left the screen, to become one of
the directors of the company.

Vivian Prescott (Imp) on a recent fishing trip caught three hundred pounds of fish
— she says! Wonder why she confined herself to three hundred!

Chief Phillip, who was severely hurt several months ago when the 101 Bisons were
taking a picture, has now recovered and is back with the company. He was cut with
the rawhide lariat in a rescue scene, and spent several months in the hospital. His
squaw and two little papooses visited him every day.

Whitey Horn (Nestor) falls from a telegraph-pole in his latest picture. Whitey
is great at falling over precipices and such.

SPECIAL MULTIPLE REEL FEATURES

TWO AND THREE REEL SPECIAL FEATURE RELEASED MONDAYS AND FRIDAYS

Feb. 7,
1913

The Last Blockhouse

KALEM
2 Reels

A vivid portrayal of Western Frontier days, based upon historical incidents

A party of Western pioneers, while constructing a blockhouse, are guarded by a troop under
Captain Steele. Crow, a renegade half-breed, tries to* become friendly. He annoys Dot, the wife of
Jim, a young settler, and is quickly repulsed.

Crow, infuriated at her scorn, incites the Indians to attack the s-ettlers. The blockhouse is
destroyed. Crow captures Dot before the attack and rides off toward the camp.

Jack, the sole survivor, mana-ges to reach the young husband, who is away in the woods, and Jim
and Captain Steele recapture Dot from the Indians, and in a hand-to-hand struggle with Crow, Jim
avenges the fate of the pioneers.

Feb. 3,

1913

The Millionaire Cowboy

SELIG
2 Reels

A brilliant comedy which smacks of the clean humor of the Western Plains

During a wonderful exhibition of horsemanship and cowboy skill, "Bud," the foreman of the
Diamond S Ranch, is handed a telegram summoning him to Chicago to claim a fortune left him by
an uncle.

There he falls in love with and marries the stenographer in the office of his attorneys.

After a year he tires of the monotony of the life he leads and wires for the entire outfit to come
on to Chicago and wake the town up. They carry out instructions elaborately, much to the embarrass-
ment of Mrs. "Bud." After they leave, "Bud" embraces bis wife and, to her great relief, whispers
"Never again,"

Jan. 31,
1913

A Tale of Old Tahiti

MELIES
2 Reels

Teria, the daughter of one of the most influential chiefs of Tahiti, falls desperately in love with a
young Frerfch midshipman.

She pleads with her father to secure him for a husband.- The French officers laugh at the idea.

The Chief orders him taken prisoner. He loves Teria, but loyalty to his country demands his
return. He is held captive, despite his efforts, until an expedition from his vessel comes ashore and
tears him away in the very height of his love, with only her last gift — a- flower — by which to remember
the sweetest experience of his existence.

Jan. 27,
1913

The Guiding Light

LUBIN
2 Reels

Peter Fife, keeper of the light at Casco Bay, lives alone with his 17-year-old daughter, born blind.

Harry, the girl's lover, saves all of bis scant salary and gives it to Fife for an operation to
restore Marie's sight. Dick Drayton is caught in the act of stealing the money and soundly thrashed.
Bent on revenge, he extinguishes the light. Marie, through her quick wit and fortitude, restores the
light, thereby saving Harry and his companions, who are in danger of being das-hed on the rocks in
the darkness.

The brave girl's reward comes in the form of a successful operation and her engagement
to Harry.

Jan. 24,
1913

VITAGRAPH
2 Reels

THE VENGEANCE OF DURAND; OR,
THE TWO PORTRAITS

Specially written for the Vitagraph Company by REX BEACH

The vengeance -which he nurtured for another enters his own soul. The weapon, which he
sharpened with jealousy and hatred and placed in the hand of his daughter, is turned against himself.
He is cut down in the fury of his wrath.

GENERAL FILM CO.

164 TBE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Princess Mona Darkfeatber is not a real Indian, as most admirers of 101 Bison
believe, but sbe bas studied tbe Indians by living with tbem, speaks several Indian
dialects, and owns mucb Indian jewelry, given ber by tbe Blackfoot tribe.

Leo Wharton, Pathe director, contemplates a trip to Saranac Lake region. Whar-
ton will take with him a large company, including Charles Arling and Gwendoline
Pates, and will produce some large feature pictures with winter backgrounds.

Francelia Billington has been selected to succeed Alice Joyce in the Glendale
(Cal.) branch of the Kalem Company, while Miss Joyce fills her engagement with the
N. Y, Kalem Company.

Viola Dane, the little heroine in "The Poor Little Rich Girl," now making a hit in
New York, is, in private life, Viola Flugrath, sister of Edna, and once a picture player
with Edison, herself,

Mona Darkfeatber s new pony, Comanche, is learning all sorts of tricks and feats,
and is soon to take his place among the animal leads of the film.

Jack McGowan has piloted a special Kalem company to the hills of Alabama, to
do mountaineer and 'Cracker" pictures.

Ben Wilson, of Edison, is a great collector of steins. Well, better that than their
contents !

Edwin August, with Powers, did a heroic deed lately. Dressed, in his best — and
you know what that means — he jumped into the water, and went to the rescue of a
rowboat that was drifting away from its moorings. He rowed the boat back to shore
with a lobster-crate. Truly, Necessity is the mother, etc.

Norma Talmadge in "Just Show People" will show herself in a thrilling flying-
trapeze act. Courtenay Foote vows he will cut the ropes, but perishes instead.

Leonie Flugrath, the little girl of the Edisons, has just returned to the company
after a season with Charles Cherry in "Passers-by'' on the road.

Jane Fearnley, the beautiful blonde leading woman with Imp, was recently
rescued from a picture-drowning by a stranger who had seen her realistic struggles
from the shore. The rescue was successful, tho the picture was not.

Anna Q. Nilsson was recently thrown from a runaway army-wagon in Jacksonville,
Fla., and badly hurt. She is under the best of care, and will, let us hope, soon be
herself again.

Louise Glaum (Powers) appears again in a recent film as a boy. She takes a
boy's part with delightful demureness, as witness the college lad in "His Friend
Jimmie."

Laura Sawyer is passionately fond of pets. During a recent trip to Bermuda, she
carried with her cages filled with her rabbits, cats, dogs and squirrels, and several
tanks of goldfish.

Alice Joyce has been absent from the Kalem (N. Y.) studio, quite seriously ill.
We take great pleasure in announcing her complete recovery, and her return, to show
herself to her army of friends.

Edith Storey, Ned Finley, Herbert L. Barry and their field company have returned
to the Vitagraph studio, after creating "The Strength of Men," an unusually powerful
French-Canadian backwoods photoplay.

Richard Neill bas just returned from California with a tale of woe. During the
taking of "The Charge of the Light Brigade" he fell so realistically from his horse
that he broke his shoulder-bone. And in lieu of a physician, Mr. Neill actually set the
bone himself, against the pommel of his saddle!

The irrepressible John Bunny has burst out into vaudeville monolog at Hammer-
stein's Victoria, New York. It isby special permission of the Vitagraph Company, and
he will have to forego a tour in person.

Fred Mace's "Battle of Who-Run" (Keystone) is said to have cost $25,000, the
powder and cartridges alone costing $1,000.

Somebody has named Augustus Carney (Essanay) the "Gibraltar of Fun." Then
what can we call Bunny?

J. S. Dawley, in charge of the Edison Western players, writes that he has settled
for the winter with a finely equipped studio at Long Beach, Cal.

It looked like a conspiracy against the camera-men, but it was not. The Edison
people were filming a story of mutiny on a burning powder-laden ship. The photog-
raphers were stationed in a shanty on the shore, and the ship was to be blown up. It
was. But the concussion was too much for the shanty, which stood right up on its
hind legs in protest. The window, at which one of the men had placed his camera,
came down with a crash and spoiled the picture, but, by some miracle, the other stayed
in place, and all was well.

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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

166

POPULAR PLAYS AND PLAYEM

(Continued from page 126)

Gentlemen : I received your December copy of The Motion Picture Story Maga-
zine, and was well pleased with same. There is only one thing I dont like about your
magazine, and that is: there is not enough said about the Thanhouser, American and
Majestic players, who I think are better than all the others. I would love to read a
chat with sweet little Gertrude Robinson, of the Reliance; Mabel Trunnelle, of the
Majestic, and little Marie Eline, of the Thanhouser, who I think is the cleverest child-
actress on the screen today.

I was told that Mary Pickford and her husband, Owen Moore, received the highest
salaries of any actors in the picture work. Your magazine says Maurice Costello and
Florence Lawrence do. Dont you care; we all know that Mary Pickford has caught
handsome Owen Moore.

Please let us hear from some one beside Alice Joyce, Florence Turner, G. M. Ander-
son, and others. I think they have been given enough praise.

Eau Claire, Wis. Yours truly, Vivian.

P.S. — I think a contest for the "fan" sending in the longest list of names would be
fine. Also a Beauty Contest.

Country gallants, as well as city ones, are not averse to speaking up for
Miss Joyce. "Rube" sends in his opinion, and we take pleasure in printing it:

y gosh ! I aint done no work fer days,
Fer visiting those gosh-dinged photoplays;
I'm losing my apertite, too, by heck !
If I dont look out my hum I'll wreck.
Cynthia says, with a look of dread :
You shurely must be off your head."
T'uther night, with Cynthia a-tow,
I tuk her to see the photoshow ;
We set fer hours, as in er trance,
As cowboys across the curtain pranced.
Cynthia says, in a high-pitched key :
"Why, this'n 's better 'en a huskin'-bee."
The next picture that come afore our eyes,
From Cynthia brung many long-drawn sighs ;
It show'd a villain, with w'iskers like a goat,
A-tyin' a beautiful gal with a rope.
I got right up and said : "By heck !
You tech that gal, and I'll break your neck !'
Says somebody behind, in a voice subdued:
'Sit down and shut up, you bonehead rube!"
I turned around and guv him a look,
I'd protect that gal frum any crook ;
Fer aint I cut her photo out uv The M. P. S
And stuck ut up where ut could well be seen?
Fer, next tu Cynthia, this gal's my choice;
I'd leave mu hum fer Alice Joyce !

Magazine,

This comes from Eleanor Lewis, who has just found out the name of her
favorite player — George Lessey, of the Edison Company :

Nowadays, 'most everywhere,
It's Motion Pictures, here and there.
'Who's your favorite?" one will cry ;
Then I answer, with a sigh :
'I know him well — wish he knew me —
His name? Why, my Edison George Lessey.'

This is a pretty one, from a little girl named Lillian Green :

Now when I go to the picture show,

I always try to see and know

If the big, blue eyes will look and see

The wistful ones turned up by me,

To catch a glimpse of my favorite choice —

The sweetest girl, whose name is Joyce!

Price 25 Cents a Dozen. 60 Cents a Set

SOLD ONLY BY THE DOZEN AND SET

J Miss Florence Turner 2 Mr. Maurice Costello 3 Mr. Leo Delaney 4 Miss Edith
Halleren 5 Miss Flora Finch 6 Kenneth Casey 7 Miss Edith Storey 8 Miss Rose E.
Tapley 9 Mr. Maurice Costello JO Mr. Earle Williams 11 Mr. John Bunny
12 " Eagle Eye » 13 Mr. Chas. Kent 14 Miss Clara Kimball Young 15 Adele de
Garde 16 "Eagle Eye" 17 Miss Anne Schaefer 18 Mr. Charles Eldridge 19 Mr.
Tom Powers 20 Mr. William Shea 21 Miss Norma Talmadge 22 Miss Rosemary
Theby 23 Mr. Van Dyke Brooke 24 Miss Julia Swayne Gordon 25 Miss Lillian
Walker 26 Mr. James W. Morrison 27 Mr. Ralph Ince 28 Miss Florence Turner
29 Mr. John Bunny 30 Miss Zena Kiefe 31 Jean (Vitagraph Dog) 32 Mrs. Mary
Maurice 33 Mr. Tefft Johnson 34 Mr. Harry Morey 35 Mr. Robert Gaillord
36 Miss Leah Baird 37 Mr. W. V. Ranous 38 Mrs. Kate Price 39 Mr. Marshall
P. Wilder 40 Mr. Wm. Humphrey

Address PUBLICITY DEPARTMENT, VITAGRAPH COMPANY OF AMERICA
E. 15th STREET and LOCUST AVENUE, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

168

POPULAR PLAYS AND PLAYERS

The criticism of C. W. F., of Nyack, regarding unhappy endings, was a
match that caused a veritable explosion of theories and comments. "We give
a few of the pros and cons here. Much good matter has been elbowed out by
lack of space :

Editor Popular Plays and Players :

I wish to speak in. favor of photoplays with natural endings, whether they be sad
or happy. The strongest, the most artistic photoplays have been the saddest. Proof of
this is Vitagraph's dramas, too many to name ; Kalem's Irish plays, and such dramas
as "The Price of Ambition" and "The Higher Toll." The wonderful improvement in
the photoplay work has been due to the portrayal of life as it is.

Burlington, Vt. L. V. A.

Motion Picture Story Magazine :

I most decidedly do not agree with C. W. F. If all Motion Pictures were on the
same lines, with the same termination, interest, in my opinion, would certainly cease.
And then all endings are not, by any means, happy in life ; why, then, such a contrast to
life? A Subscriber.

Dear Editor: Just a line in defense of the photoplay with the unhappy ending.
Many a good lesson has struck the home-plate by a fly batted by a sorrowful ending. It
would never have done for us to have missed Anne Shaefer's beautiful work in Vita-
graph's "Sunset," nor Gene Gauntier's and Jack Clark's brilliant bedroom scene from
Kalem's "Romance of a Southern Belle."

Yonkers, N. Y. C. Edmunds.

Editor Motion Picture Story Magazine :

An audience gathers to be amused; particularly as the present Motion Picture
theatergoers are working people, mostly, why should they be put thru scenes of sorrow
and sordidness? Why cant life's lessons be brought home as forcibly by a pleasant
■demonstration as by an unpleasant one? A Subscriber.

The M. P. Publishing Company:

I do not care whether the ending be sad if it is real. Real — that's the word. We
do not want a picture of a bass drum rolling down the street, and a crowd of people
chasing it. Stuff and nonsense! That was all right when Moving Pictures were first
invented, but, think of the progress we have made. I believe that "fact is more inter-
esting than fiction."

Chicago. Edward Wagenknecht.

"LOOK WHO'S HERE."

Supposin' they could fix it so 's

To make a photoplay
Wit' only stars in every pose,

De way I'm goin' to say.
Dere's such a crowd would take a roam

Dat cops would have no beat ;
Dere 'd only be de cat at home,

An' weather on de street.

Imagin', girls, Costello

Handin' out the lovely guff;
If he was but your fella,

Would you ever have enuf ?
Him an' Johnson would be rippin'

Wit' a Florence each apiece ;
Bet dey'd keep your features slippin'

'S tho your face wuz stood on grease.

Anderson would come in handy

Pushin' villuns on their back ;
Also Panzer is a dandy

When it comes to whale a whack,
And then, for fun, put Bunny in

As Mary Pickford's beau.
The "Bunny Hug" has made a din —

'Longside of these it's slow.
New Bedford, Mass.

Gee whiz! an' Edith Storey

Might be on a horse's back,
Dat's where she got her glory,

An', by gosh ! she was a crack.
An' if Bushman gets an invite,

He'll do things to scare your hair ;
But if Mary Fuller's in right,

There'll be tears in your stare.

Dey 'd have to pick Miss Normand

For upsettin' people's face,
An' Crane Wilbur ought to storm an'

Make 'em make him up a place ;
An' all we ask of Alice Joyce

Is just stay on and smile.
Miss Hawley may not like the choice —

We'll let her lead the style.

I better stop, before you think

I own this magazine,
I've done it just to try this ink

I made with Paris green.
But, honest, now, would you object

To see them in the "pink"?
If so, our pipes will not connect —

You need another sink.

Bernard Gallagher.

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the

That the AMERICAN SCHOOL FOB, PHOTOPLAY WRITERS is
only school in its field with a one-price policy ?

That the AMERICAN SCHOOL FOR PHOTOPLAY WRITERS is the
only school in its field with a complete copyrighted course, as the records of
the Copyright Office here in Washington prove?

That the AMERICAN SCHOOL FOR PHOTOPLAY WRITERS is the
only school in its field that refunds the money of any student who fails to
become a successful photoplay wright after completing its course?

Write today for booklet, "Success in Photoplay Writing," and our positive money-back guarantee.

AMERICAN SCHOOL FOR PHOTOPLAY WRITERS, Dept. M, Washington, D. C.

THE MYSTERIOUS BEGGAR

By MAJOR ALBERT A. DAY

We have purchased all of the remaining 450 pages, title in gold. The story is founded
copies of this popular book (about 500), and on facts, is intensely interesting, and was
now offer them for sale for 50 cents a copy, written to interest all, but especially mem-
postage prepaid. The former price, was $1.50. bers of charitable and reformatory organi-
They are neatly bound in cloth, illustrated, zations.

In order to introduce The Motion Picture Story Magazine to new readers, we will give a trial
subscription for four months, and mail a copy of this book free on receipt of 50 cts. in 2-cent stamps.

THE M. P. PUBLISHING CO. - - 26 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

Do You Know Brann, the Iconoclast

CJ It is only in the rare blue moons that ^^^fc^ ^e intolerable to man. The ex-minister
one discovers a book worth reading and fl ^^B could not help being a visionary, dreamer
behind which — mark this — there is a ^^ i W anc^ idealist, in spite «of himself. ^ The
personality. ^ Here is a man who lived ^BF cru<^e violence of words, the defect of

in a state of war all his life, who thun- ' all iconoclasts, may stand in his way.

dered against hypocrisy and superstition, ^fe Yet ms two volumes are well worth

the shams and follies of the day, in many I^P reading. And that is the main point,

a splendidly indignant page. The great *J They will drag you out of yourself,

Ingersoll popularized the theories of help you to smash false idols, destroy

Voltaire ; of La Mettrie, who choked to death fetishes, expose the skeleton in the closet of
on a piece of pastry; and of the Encyclo- your mind, and replace them by saner and
paedists. ^ W. C. Brann, the Iconoclast par nobler ideals. ^ The best and most repre-
excellence, popularized Ingersoll and modern sentative of Brann's writings and utterances
free thought. ^ Brann was .a brilliant writer, have been gathered into two splendid volumes,
He had wit, flow of language, a direct style, cloth binding, 464 pages each. €J The net
He believed in the blunt argument of the sledge- price of the set is Three Dollars. Add thirty
hammer, the polemics of the crowbar and lever, cents for postage. Liberal discount to dealers.
€[ And why all this revolt ? ^ Because Brann, Energetic, ambitious agents wanted to cover all
inspired by altruism, conceived a state of society localities. Good profits assured. Mention The
so perfect that the very thought of evil would Motion Picture Story Magazine and write to

Herz Brothers, Publishers, Dept. M.P., Waco, Texas

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

26 COURT STREET, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

26 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

Sirs :— Enclosed find $1.50 ($2.00 Canada, $2.50 Foreign), for which send me The Motion Picture

Story Magazine for one year, beginning with the number, together with the

twelve colored art portraits as announced.

- Name

Street City State '.'

PEN and INK DRAWINGS

of Noted Photoplayers

We have had made up and neatly framed 100 drawings of

ALICE JOYCE

precisely like the one on page 86 of this magazine, except that they are larger, and are printed
on heavy, coated paper. The size of the picture itself is 6x11, and the size of the frame and glass
is 10x14.

An Elegant and Classy Picture for Any Home!

We will send one of these framed pictures, carefully wrapped, charges prepaid, to any address
in the United States on receipt of $1.50.

Or, to any person sending in two new subscriptions to The Motion Picture Story Magazine,
at $1.50 each, we will send one of these framed pictures tree.

This offer holds good until the 100 are gone.

Other similar pictures of Noted Photoplayers will be offered from time to time; next month
one of MAR Y FULLER.

Why Not Get the Complete Series as They Come Out?

If you wish to do your own framing, we will mail one of these drawings (unframed) to any
address for 50 cents in one- or two-cent stamps, or coin.

We will give one of these unframed drawings with one new subscription ($1.50) to The Motion
Picture Story Magazine. This offer does not include the colored portraits announced on another
page.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

26 Court Street. Brooklyn, N. Y.

NINE PICTURES FREE

This Offer Will Not Last Long!
Take Advantage of it Now!

Upon receipt of $1.50 in two-cent stamps, money order or check, we will send you
The Motion Picture Storv Magazine for one year and mail to you at once nine
beautiful colored pictures of popular players. They are fine examples of the lithogra-
pher's art, the many colors blending into harmonious tones that quite equal the original
paintings from which the pictures were made. We present you with these pictures FREE,
postage prepaid, at once.

Besides this, we will send you three more colored pictures of the same kind, one each
month.

The portraits alone are valued at 50c. each. The twelve portraits and one year's sub-
scription are now offered to you for only $1.50.

LIST OF PORTRAITS

ALICE JOYCE CARLYLE BLACKWELL FLORENCE LAWRENCE

MAURICE COSTELLO G. M. ANDERSON MARION LEONARD

ARTHUR JOHNSON MILDRED BRACKEN GWENDOLEN PATES

MARY FULLER FRANCIS X. BUSHMAN FLORENCE TURNER

On another page you will find, for your convenience, a subscription coupon which
you may send with your remittance if desired.

DONT LET THIS OPPORTUNITY GO BY

ORDER NOW, BEFORE THE SUPPLY IS EXHAUSTED

The First International Exposition of the Motion Picture Art

In Conjunction With The

Third Annual Convention of the Motion Pictures Exhibitors League of America

New Grand Central Palace NEW YORK July 7th to 12th, 1913

One of the novel and attractive features of the forthcoming First International Exposition of the
Motion Picture Art to be held at the Grand Central Palace the week of July 7th, 1913, will be four
"model" moving picture theatres, which are to be erected on the mezzanine floor of the palace.

These theatres will be examples of .what the. ideal moving picture playhouse should be, such as every
exhibitor should be able to boast of, and if this were possible at the present time, there would not be
the adverse criticism that appears in certain quarters against some of the theatres.

The "model" theatres will be replete with every modern appliance, known to the moving picture
industry, whic'h makes up a perfect equipment, so that exhibitors from all over the world, who will
attend the Exposition, may see the latest in theatrical constructions, decorations and accessories. Four
different decorative firms have volunteered to supply each theatre with separate and distinct fronts of
elaborate design. Other leading manufacturers have agreed to furnish the most modern ventilating
systems, the best lighting effects, the recognized leading screens, machines, chairs, ticket boxes, etc.
Different manufacturers will contribute to the equipment of each theatre, no one being allowed to
supply more than one article, thus -insuring a larger variety.

In one theatre films released by the GENERAL FILM COMPANIES will be exhibited exclusively;
in the second those of the MUTUAL FILM CORPORATION will preside; in the third the UNIVERSAL
COMPANY, .while the fourth will be devoted to the products of manufacturers not allied with any
combine. Different machines will be used in each house as well.

The theatres will occupy floor space of approximately 80 feet x 20 feet and the admission is to be
absolutely free.

The First International Exposition of the Motion Picture Art is destined to be the greatest event
in the history of Cinematography, appealing as it will, alike to the manufacturers, exhibitors, exchange
men, players, directors, and even the moving picture fans, all of whom will be treated to a veritable
feast for the eye when they look upon the remarkable display of everything relating to the new art to
which they are devoted. For further particulars write to

F. E. SAMUELS, Secretary, German Bank Bldg., Fourth Ave. and 14th St., New York

GET A CLUB!

This is not a slang expression. We do not refer to the kind of club that you first thought of;
nor do we want you to do what a facetious young man once did to an editor who asked for a "club
of ten" — he sent him a "ten of clubs" playing card. We want merely a club of subscribers, and we
are not particular about the size.

THE EIGHT PREMIUMS

Three New Subscriptions will entitle you to one of the following, free: One Year's sub-
scription to THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE; or a book entitled "Moving Pictures-
How They Are Made and Worked"; or Bound Vol. No. Ill of THE MOTION PICTURE STORY
MAGAZINE (very handsome). /

Two New Subscriptions will entitle you to a copy of the book "Portraits of Popular Pic-
ture Players," bound in full, limp leather, stamped in gold.

One New Subscription will entitle you to a Big Ben Binder, or a year's subscription to
THE CALDRON (see advertisement elsewhere).

As an additional premium, we will send to any address, a copy of "Success Secrets" and a
copy of "100 Helps to Live 100 Years," with two or more new subscriptions', besides the premiums
offered above. Could we be more generous?

Write for subscription blanks and circular giving fvill description of these valuable premiums.
Dont delay, but do It today.

The Motion Picture Story Magazine

26 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

MUSIC PUBLISHERS

SONG POEMS

WANTED

We pay hundreds of
dollars a year to suc-
cessful song writers. Send us YOUR WORK
today, with or without music. Acceptance guar-
anteed, if available. Large book FREE.

DU8DALE COMPANY, Dept. 56, Washington, D. G.

WORDS FOR SONGS WANTED

I'll write the music, secure copyright in your name and pay
you 50$ royalty. One song may net you thousands.
For 1 5 years I havebeen publishing music in NEW YORK,
the home of all "hits." Have sold millions of copies.
Send your poems, with or without music, at once. Full par-
ticulars and valuable book FREE.

C. L. PARTEE, 800 Astor Theatre Bldg., New York City

SONG POEMS WANTED-Send Words
or Music TODA.Y. We pay 50%. Defined sell-
ing plan. Thousands of Dollars have been paid
for One Song. Publication and Copyright Guar-
anteed if Accepted. Your Song may make a
Big Hit. Washington Best City to Publish.
Publishers for 18 years. Bank reference.
Illustrated Book Free. HAYWORTH MUSIC
PUBLISHING CO., 649 G, Washington, D. C.

Gives all the essential details. Shows what and what not to
write; completed and practice scenarios. Replete with inval-
uable information. Book 25 cents (U. S. coin).

DEANS PUBLISHING COMPANY

32 East 3d Avenue CINCINNATI, OHIO

IP T»n MONEY TO YOU

• ' The Most Individual Journal o fits Kind"

THE PHOTO PLAY DRAMATIST

A Snappy Journal of Pungent Criticism and Comment
A Treasury of Suggestions o flnestimable Value to Writers
If you are a. writer or contemplate becoming one
you cannot afford to be without this valued medium. 3 Mo.
Trial Subscription 25 cents, Silver or Stamps.

The Photo Play Dramatist

Caxton B'ld'g,
Cleveland, Ohio

INVESTMENTS

FREE — INVESTING FOR PROFIT MAGAZINE.

Send me your name and I will mail you this maga-
zine absolutely Free. Before you invest a dollar
anywhere — get this magazine — it is worth $10 a copy
to any man who intends to invest $5 or more per
month. Tells you how $1,000 can grow to $22,000 —
how to judge different classes of investments, the
Real Earning Power of your money. This magazine
six months Free if you write today. H. T,. BARBER,
Publisher, 462, 20 W. Jackson Blvd., Chicago, 111,

Here's to Your Success

Mr. Photoplay wright!

But first, ask yourself, honestly, which troubles you
most when you sit down to write your Photoplay —
low you shall write it, or

WHERE TO GET THE PLOT?

Would you like to learn where you may pick up
3ne to ten plots every day of your life ?

HERE'S HOW!

[Remember, a good PLOT is a scenario three-quarters sold!]

THE PLOT OF THE STORY

By HENRY ALBERT PHILLIPS

(Foremost Authority on the PLOT; and Scenario Expert

on the Staff of MOTION PICTURE MAGAZINE.)

160 pages— Price, $1,20 '-Bound in cloth

This book is endorsed and recommended by all
authorities on Photoplaywriting:

"Originality and treatment of PLOT are the essence of
the successful picture play, and Mr. Phillips points out very
clearly just how these PLOTS may be obtained."

PHIL LANG, MS. Editor KALEM COMPANY.

Send in your order today, and sell your Photo-
play tomorrow!

The Caldron Publishing Company

26 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

The

Empire State
Engraving Co.

Photo-Engravers

GOOD CUTS

Half-tone and Line Work

For Printing in One or More Colors

For Any Purpose

DESIGNING :: :: RETOUCHING

190 WILLIAM STREET
NEW YORK

Photographs for Sale

Here's the Opportunity of a Lifetime!

During the last two years THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE has accumulated about 1,500
photographs that were sent to us by the leading manufacturers of Motion Pictures, most of which have
appeared in the magazine. They are mostly pictures taken from the popular photoplays, and include
sur-h famous pictures as "A Blot in the 'Scutcheon," "A Tale of Two Cities," "The Kerry Gow,"
"Martin Ohuzzlewit," "Vanity Fair," etc., etc. The sizes vary from 3x5 to 10x14, and many of the
photos are mounted on tinted bristol board, with artistic designs drawn or painted around them.
Almost every popular player is represented in these pictures, including Mary Pickford, Costello, Arthur
Johnson, G. M. Anderson, Alice Joyce, and all the favorites. We also have a lot of original drawings,
cartoons and sketches that have been reproduced in the magazine and we are now prepared to sell them
and the photographs to our readers.

It is impossible to give a catalog and price list, but we may say that the prices of these pictures
and drawings will vary from 25c. each to $2, and one or two, like the Christmas tree, will be $5 or
more. You may send us any amount you please, say 25c, or 50c, or $1, or $2, or $25, stating about
what you would like, and we assure you that you will get your money's worth and more too. We can-
not, however, guarantee to give you just what you want. You may ask for the title-piece of "The
Vengeance of Durand," which, by the way, measures about 9x24, and it may have been sold (price $2).
Or, you may ask for any scenes containing photos of Florence Lawrence, and we may have none left.
Hence, it is advisable for you to state several pictures jou want, and we will try to accommodate you
with at least one that is on your list and we will come as near to the others as we can. In case you
want a certain picture or none, send us the amount you wish to pay, and if we cannot supply that
certain picture at that price we will return the money to you. We have no regular scale of prices;
you must leave that to our sense of fairness and business honesty. Here is a model letter to guide you
in sending in your order: "Art Department, Motion Picture Story Magazine, 26 Court St., Brooklyn,
NY.: I enclose $1.00 for which send me one dollar's worth of photographs. I prefer pictures in which
Alice Joyce, John Bunny, G. M. Anderson or Crane Wilbur appear, but if I cant get these, send me
what you please. I prefer mounted pictures with designs around, and would rather have one or two
large handsome ones than four small ones."

If you are interested in this offer of ours, we advise that you send in your orders at once. We fear
these 1,500 pictures will not last long. REMEMBER, these are all ORIGINAL PHOTOGRAPHS,
not reproductions.

PICTURES AND POSTCARDS

YOUR FAVORITE

A handsome set of twenty of the most popular actors
and actresses of the moving picture world, postpaid to
you for twenty-five cents; or ten cents for sample set
of six. Send the names of your favorites or their
companies to

THE FILM PORTRAIT CO.
349 President Street, Brooklyn, X. Y.

REAL PHOTOGRAPHS on postcards of Leading
Photoplayers mailed for 5 cents each. Kindly include
postage on orders of less than 5 cards.
C. S. SCOTT, 160 Warren St., Brooklyn, ST. Y.

PICTURES AND POSTCARDS

Ladies and Gentlemen — Join the Florida Correspondence Exchange, and
oost your State. Membership, 10 cents. Box 1342, Jacksonville, Florida.

MARRY DipU Hundreds anxious to marry.
'" "■»■»■ ■• I w n Descriptions and photos free.
THE UNITY, Station I>, Grand Rapids, Mich.

Phone 3818 Main

ARTISTIC BOOKBINDING

Why not have the complete set of The Motion Picture
Story Magazine

Bound— 90 cents cloth. $1.00 canvas.
$1.75 Half Morocco, gilt top.
Let me estimate on other work before you give an order.

WILLIAM VON HEILL
349 ADAMS STREET, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

REAL PHOTOGRAPHS of women of beautiful form.
Three fascinating poses, 25c; 7, including one Q\£x8}4 photo,
50c. New book. Kate, 10c. Cat. classy books and pictures.
ATOZ CO., A 7, WEST JEFFERSON, O.

OLD GOLD

for each full set of false teeth. Partial

WE MAIL $1

Old Gold, Platinum, Silver, Diamonds and Jewelry. Mail by parcel post.

Phila. Smelt. & Ref. Co., 823 Chestnut St., Phila., Pa. Est 21 years.

Photoplay Clearing House

26 COURT STREET, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

Photoplays Read, Revised, Corrected,
Typewritten and Marketed

What America has needed for years has just been organized — a Clearing House
for Moving Picture Plays, where thousands of Scenarios can be handled, listed,
revised and placed, and where the various film manufacturers can secure just what
they want, on short notice.

A Competent Staff

has been organized, and it will be added to, as business increases, by taking on the
best available men and women in the business. While the Photoplay Clearing House
is an independent institution, it will be supervised by The Motion Picture Story
Magazine, and will be conducted, in part, by the same editors.

THE PHOTOPLAY CLEARING HOUSE IS NOT A SCHOOL. It does not
teach. But it corrects, revises, typewrites in proper form, and markets Plays. Tens of
thousands of persons are constantly sending to the various him companies manu-
scripts that have not the slightest chance of acceptance, and in many cases these
Plays contain the germs of salable ideas, it sent to the right companies. The
Scenario editors of the various companies are simply flooded with impossible manu-
scripts, and they will welcome the PHOTOPLAY CLEARING HOUSE, not only
because it will relieve them of an unnecessary burden, but because it will enable
them to pass on only good, up-to-date Plays that have been carefully prepared.

What Do the Companies Want?

We who are intimately connected with the Motion Picture business, and in close
touch with many of the manufacturers, are presumed to know what is wanted by
them, and, if not, it will be our duty to find out. More than ten publications a week,
mostly trade journals, will be kept on file, and carefully perused, in order to keep
informed on what has been done and what is being done, so that no stale or copied
plot can escape us. Editors well versed in ancient and modern literature will be on
hand to guard against plagiarism and infringement of the copyright law.

The Plan of the Photoplay Clearing House

All photoplaywrights are invited to send their Plays to this company. Every
Play will be treated as follows:

It will be read by competent readers, numbered, classified and filed. If it is, in
our opinion, in perfect condition we shall at once proceed, to market it, and, when
we are paid for it, we will pay the writer 90% of the amount we receive, less postage
expended. If the Scenario is not in marketable shape, we will so advise the author, y
stating our objections, offering to return it at once, or to revise, typewrite and try ^r
to market it. If the manuscript is hopeless we shall so state, and in some cases ^r
advise a course of instruction, naming various books, experts and schools to ^r g&
select from. ^r **,1j*

The fee for reading, filing, etc., will be $1.00, but to readers of The ^r Th.

Motion Picture Story Magazine it will be only 50c, provided the an- ^r coupon

nexed Coupon accompanies each script. For typewriting, a charge of . ^r is good

$1.00 for each Play will be made, provided it does not run over 10 X f°r 50 cents-
„„„ , m x j. rri r r • • mi f When accom-

pages. lUc. a page for extra pages. The fee for revising will X panied with 50c.

vary according to work required, and will be arranged in ^r more it will enti-
advance. No Scenarios will be placed by us unless they are ^r tle holder to list one
properly typewritten. Payment in advance is expected in ^^optey^cJearing- House",
all cases. Stamps (2c. or lc.) accepted. ^Photoplay Clearing House,

S 26 Court St., B'klyn, N. Y.

MOVING PICTURES

HOW THEY ARE MADE AND WORKED
By FREDERICK A. TALBOT

THE BOOK OF THE YEAR

No person interested in Motion Pictures can afford to be without it

LAVISHLY ILLUSTRATED

340 pages; cloth bound; size 6 x 8\ ; nearly 2 inches thick; full of drawings,
engravings, portraits and diagrams

The author deals with the history of the invention, its progress, its insuperable
difficulties which somehow have been overcome. He gives, too, a full and lucid
description of the cameras, the processes of developing the long celluloid films, the
printing and projection, etc. He takes us to the largest studios of the world, where
mammoth productions costing $30,000 are staged, and explains how they are man-
aged— the trick pictures among others, some of the most ingenious artifices of the
human imagination. He describes in detail Dr. Commandon's apparatus for making
Moving Pictures of microbes; M. Bull's machine, which takes 2,000 pictures a second,
thereby enabling us to photograph the flight of a bullet through a soap bubble, or
tiny insects on the wing. The combination of X-rays and Cinematography which can
show the digestive organs at work and the new color processes such as the Kinema-
color have received detailed attention. So much that is new appears as we read, so
wonderful are the powers of the invention, that we have a whole new world opened
up before us, with possibilities the like of which the most of us have never even
dreamed.

PRICE $1.50

Sent by express to any address upon receipt of price. Add 15 Cents, and we will mail
the book to you at once, carefully wrapped, postage prepaid

THE M. P. PUBLISHING CO.

26 COURT STREET, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

DETECTIVE WILLIAM J. BURNS IS FEATURED IN THIS NUMBER

prilmab819„ THE ,5CENTS

0TI0N

STORYMAGAZINE

in^

Scene from

"The Gauntlets of

Washington "

]D[

3|n(c

3 DC

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

TABLE OF CONTENTS, APRIL, 1913

GALLERY OF PICTURE PLAYERS:

PAGE

Edwin Carewe (Lubin) i

Augustus Carney (Essanay) 2

Ruth Roland (Kalem) 3

Isabel Lamon (Lubin) 4

James Cruze (Thanhouser) 5

Mildred Bright (Eclair) 6

Pearl White (Crystal) 7

Thomas Moore (Kalem) 8

Mary Pickford 9

PAGE

William Mason (Essanay) 10

Earle Williams (Vitagraph) 11

Mabel Trunnelle (Edison) 12

Rosemary Theby (Vitagraph) 13

Laura Sawyer (Edison) 14

Howard Mitchell (Lubin) 15

Marian Cooper (Kalem) 16

Florence Turner (Vitagraph. Colored art
insert to subscribers only).

PHOTOPLAY STORIES:

The Pathway of Years Karl Schiller 17

For Better or Worse John Olden 24

The Strength of Men. Henry Albert Phillips 32

Hinemoa Peter Wade 41

Thomas a Becket Luliette Bryant 49

Near to Earth Norman Bruce 57

The Greater Love Courtney Ryley Cooper 64

Until We Three Meet Again Leona Radnor 71

The Gate She Left Open Rodothy Lennod 79

Detective William J. Burns' Exposure Allen Stanhope 85

The Gauntlets of Washington Montanye Perry 96

Kathleen Mavourneen Dorothy Donnell 105

(Noter These stories were written from photoplays supplied by Motion Picture
manufacturers, and our writers claim no credit for title and plot. The name of the
playwright is announced when known to us.)

SPECIAL ARTICLES AND DEPARTMENTS:

His First and Last Appearance | ^^l^UW^r \ &

Great Mystery Play 78

Chats with the Players 113

Popular Player Contest 117

Mary Fuller Drawing by A. B. Shults 123

Things That Should Be Suppressed Drawings by Bernard Gallagher 124

Musings of "The Photoplay Philosopher" 125

The Growing Dignity of "The Movies" William Lord Wright 129

The Adventures of a Picture Star Drawings by C. H. Towne 130

Answers to Inquiries 131

Greenroom Jottings 166

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Subscribers must notify us at once of any change of address, giving both the old and
the new address.

STAFF FOR THE MAGAZINE:

Eugene V. Brewster, Managing Editor.

Edwin M. La Roche, 1 A<,_0^atp FHitnr*
Dorothy Donnell, /Associate Editors

L. W. Fryer, Staff Artist.

Guy L._ Harrington, Circulation Manager.

Abram Lott, Advertising Manager.
Western, and New England Advertising Representative:
Pullen, Bryant & Fredricks Co., Chicago and Boston.
New York Office (Adv. Dep't only): Brunswick Building, 225 Fifth Avenue

TflE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE, 26 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

3 □ L

3 □ C

After reading these stories, ask your theater manager to show you the films on the screen !

■

EDWIN CAREWE

(Lubin)

AUGUSTUS CARNEY (Essanay)

RUTH ROLAND

(Kalem )

ISABEL LAMON (Lufein)

MILDRED BRIGHT
(Eclair)

PEARL WHITE
(Crystal)

THOMAS MOORE
(Kalem)

MARY PICKFORD
("Little Mary")

EARLE WILLIAMS (Vitagraph)

(Edison)

ROSEMARY THEBY (Vitagraph)

HOWARD MITCHELL
(Lubin)

MARIAN COOPER (Kalem)

£ CI.B204976

■Jn THE T.

MOTION PICTURE

STORY

MAGAZINE

APRIL, 1913

Vol. V

No. 3

The Pathway of Years

( Essanay)

By KARL SCHILLER

1am seventy. Once that seemed as
impossible a thing to me as
Death. That was yesterday,
when I was twenty and walked six
feet two, with my head full of divine
conceit and notions of greatness, and
my boy-heart swollen big as two
hearts with love. Then, the sun rose
and set, the cock crowed, the clock
ticked, and I am seventy. The years
have brought my head nearer the
ground, humbled and taught, but they
have never erased the love-part of me,
Margaret — you 've been gone from my
kiss for almost forty years, by the cal-
endar, and tonight, before the fire,
with the room full of the rustle of
echoes and the dimples of lights and
shades, it is as if you were beside me,
your frail, white hand in my hand,
dear. For you never died, Margaret
— not really. "While there was one
heart on earth full of the thought of
you, the memories of you, you could
not really die.

Eleanor herself is not more alive to
me than you. She came in here a
moment ago, on her way to some
young dance or other, to kiss me
good-by, with her soft lips and her
girl-smooth cheeks against my hair.
Her tall, fine lover was with her. Oh,
of course, they dont call themselves
lovers, yet. Maybe they dont even

know it, but it was in his eyes and her
voice, and I know, I know. Those
who have ever loved, themselves, can
never mistake a lover. I am glad that
it should be so — that our Eleanor
should have found her woman-heri-
tage. She must stop laughing and
begin living, stop waiting and begin
working ; and that is as it should be, is
it not so, Margaret? Such a vivid,
fragrant, fierce little girl, our Eleanor
— so electrically alive ! But to old
folks, the dead are so much nearer
than the living — the past more real
than the present.

"Good-night, Daddy John," she
said; "dont be lonely while I'm
gone ! ' ' Lonely, with you, Margaret !
But the child could not know about
you. Her thoughts are all for her
boy-lover tonight. Before she comes
home, she will have been kist. It
takes a touch-kiss to make youth
joyous ; the memory of one satisfies old
age.

Here is the box where I keep my
treasures. I got it out tonight from
the dust of its sanctuary in. the old,
walnut writing-desk. I have the whim
to count them over again, and re-
member a bit, here before the fire.
People say memory is cruel, but how
terrible it would be to forget! I have
everything here, Margaret, that has

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"the years have never erased the
love-part of me, margaret"

been most precious to me in my life.
My treasure is not bills, nor gold
pieces. Some people hoard their years
in bank-books, coin their days into
dollars; others squander them in
follies; some invest them in a home
and children. I have mine here in
this little, dusty box, Margaret; my
years and yours.

A queer little, dear little, brown,
ten-year-old curl — that's the first
treasure. How you used to mourn
because your hair was too "born-
curly" to hang in the stiff, cardboard
ringlets the other girls wore ! You
watered it and brushed it, and wept
salt little-girl woe over it, and, after
all, it would twist and wriggle and
misbehave ; even now it curls elfinly
— see, around my finger. Such a
brave, courageous little wisp of hair,
to keep on curling after sixty years,
and to think that if it had stayed on
your head, and you had lived, Mar-
garet, it would be as white as snow
now! It is almost unfair that a
man's old slippers and his briarwood

pipe remain, useful, jaunty as ever,
after his very name has gathered dust ;
that a severed curl of your hair is all
I have left of you.

. But there, there, this is no way to
talk. I had done with such regrets
long ago. Youth is an ache, and old
age is the cure of it. Yet some aches
last longer than others

You gave me the curl on your first
day at school — do you remember,
Margaret? I think I cut it off for
you with my jack-knife behind the
schoolhouse, where the boys couldn't
see us and make fun of me. I wanted
the curl, but not enough to be laughed
at! Boys are queer little beasts, as
afraid of sentiment at ten as they are
fond of it at twenty. But I liked the
curl, just the same. The feel of it in
my jacket pocket made me, somehow,
anxious to show my prowess by knock-
ing some other boy down. That 's the
masculine instinct in short trousers,
and I soon found my chance.

' ' Bully ' ' Flynn — I haven 't thought
of that name for sixty years — pushed
you out of his way as he swaggered

SUCH A BRAVE, COURAGEOUS LITTLE
WISP OF HAIR"

TEE PATHWAY OF YEARS

the tenderest moment, I am certain, is
when he watches the light in her eyes
at his first stammered whisper of
love. The clock o' youth ticks heart-
aches and heart-happiness, ambitions
and braggart plans and raptured day-
dreams; then, as the years go by, it
ticks more slowly — more faintly. I
think my clock is running down now,
but until it has quite stopped ticking
I shall see you as you were at that one
sweetest moment — I was going to say
long ago, but Long Ago and Now
meet at seventy, and I cannot realize
that it's been almost forty years
since then. Some people live in
week-after-next, some in year-before-
last. Old people dont live by the
calendar at all, any more than the
stars do, or old trees or the mountains.
But, anyway, I remember it as tho it
were last evening — and I shall remem-
ber it so till I see you again, my dear.
"Margaret — I love you!" I cried.
I remember the surprise in my own

YOU GAVE ME THE CURL ON YOUR
FIRST DAY AT SCHOOL"

into the schoolroom, and called you
"cry-baby" when he saw your tears.
I got a black eye from "Bully," and
a black mark from the teacher, but
you smiled across, behind your geog-
raphy, at me — a frightened, shy,
"thank you" smile, and I think I
grew an inch that day at school.

And then here's your locket, dear.
I sometimes wonder whether there
will be pianos and flowered-muslin
gowns and lockets in Heaven. I sort
of hope there may be, and that I shall
see you first there, sitting before the
keys, in your rose-sprinkled dress,
with the locket rising on your round,
girlish breast as you sing "In the
Gloaming." I should feel more at
home in Heaven that way.

The sweetest moment in a man's
life — and, I think, in a woman's — is
when he tells her that he loves her.
When he marries her it is sweet, too ;
and when his first child is laid in his
arms — ah, Margaret, that is a joy you
never gave me, my dear one But

Will,::.

iiiaiim

♦ U.UJ.U.UAI

"it's been almost forty years
since then"

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

I SHALL SEE YOU AS YOU WERE AT
THAT ONE SWEETEST MOMENT"

voice, for I'd never thought it out in
so many words before, and I remem-
ber I was trembling from my head to
my big, awkward feet, a six-foot-two
tremble of fear of you, you little slip
o' a thing, sitting so cool and far-off-
seeming on the piano-stool. Then,
suddenly, somehow, you weren't far off
at all, but in my arms, and they knew
how to hold you against my breast as
lovers do, tho they had never held a
woman so before or since. There has
been just one woman in my life, Mar-
garet— just one. There was a ring a
little later, and you gave me the
locket with your picture — the face is
almost kist away now, but you know I
do not need a picture of you.

And then — ah, then, my Margaret !
Ah, well, thank God that Love is
longer-lived than Anger, and that the
medicinal years heal pain. He was
handsome, I'll say that much for him,
and yours was such an untaught
heart. He was a common cad dis-

guised as a gentleman, but the dis-
guise was good, I'll admit.

Love may be an experiment, or a
pastime, or a lifetime. With Frank
Desmond it was a habit. His eyes
were as fascinating as a place marked
' ' Danger ! " or a loaded pistol or a high
cliff, and he had a hungry face. Oh,
it was natural enough. I never was
much of a talker or dancer, and I
never called myself good-looking, my
dear. Still — strange, isn't it, a man
may be willing to admit all his fail-
ings and the other man's virtues, yet
if the girl chooses the other, he is
amazed for the rest of his days at the
folly of her decision. Growing old,
I've said, is a sort of an erasure. The
Supreme Artist uses His bright colors
for spring, His half-tones for autumn,
and, at seventy, the outlines are
dimmed and softened and the angles
curved. But here now, before the fire,
the old scar throbs a little with an
echo of pain.

In the hollow tree-trunk I found it,
your note, Margaret. Here it is now.
There are tears on it — and kisses.

Dear John — I am going away. Forgive
me, and please try to forget me — I'm
sorry, John. Margaret.

The pity of it, dear — the pity !
But, at first, I didn't think of that —
of you and your happiness, or unhap-
piness, at all. It was myself I pitied.
Memory is bitter-sweet, at best, and
this is the bitter of it. I wonder if
you've ever seen a man cry. It's a
terrible business, for he cries not from
his pride or his heart, but black drops
from his soul. I have heard it several
times, and it always fills me with awe,
like some upheaval of Nature — great
wind, the sea writhing in a storm, or
a mountain shaken with inner throes.

By the tree which was our secret
post-office I fell on my face and
cried, your note clutched in stiffening
fingers. I think, after a long while —
or it may be after a few moments — I
tried to pray. I think I asked God to
let you be happy — I hope I did, dear.
I know I asked Him to help me go on
living without you, and I know He

TEE PATHWAY OF YEARS

heard me. It is like standing on a
hilltop now, and looking back down
the pathway of the years to the
hardest point of the climb. It is so
long past I have half-forgotten the
next few years. I went on living —
somehow. I got up in the morning,
ate, drank, worked, slept, tried not to
think about you — tried to forget you,
dear. But, thank God, I could not.
You were- with me always. I would
wake suddenly, with the half-formed
happy thought : "A glorious world
with Margaret in it." I saw you
everywhere, in everything, and that
is how I found you again, Margaret.

The little girl had something of you
about her. Maybe it was the hair —
great masses of it, curling wilfully
around her white little face and great,
hunger-soft eyes. Maybe it was her
voice : ' ' Violets — ten cents a bunch —
fresh violets "

Of course, I never dreamed the
truth of it then, Margaret. You see,
I hadn't asked God for a little, shiver-
ing, frost-bitten street-waif to be
sent to me, but for you. I believe — I 'm
seventy, and say it solemnly — that all
our prayers are answered sometime,
somehow. But we do not always know
ourselves what we want when we
pray. We ask for fame ; and God
gives us a rose. For daily bread ; and
He sends us a dream. Afterwards —
sometimes long afterwards — we found
out that that was God's way of an-
swering our prayers — according to
the need, rather than the word; and
the little violet-girl was the answer to
my prayer.

I questioned her, and she told me
of a sick mother in a tireless, foodless
room. Maybe it was only a sudden
good impulse that brought me home
with her. Sometimes I think that a
good impulse is just the hand of God
leading a man. Anyhow, I came —
and so I found you again, oh, my
dear, my dear !

You stretched out your shadow of
a hand at sight of me, like a lost child
to her mother — your poor, ringless
hand, Margaret. Then you remem-
bered. You would have covered your
face if I had not prevented. I

knelt by the poor bed, and lifted you
to my shoulder, and we stayed that
way a long while.

"Have — 1 — dont suppose you've
forgiven me — John?" I had to bend
low to hear your whisper. Ah, yes,
Margaret — long, long ago. "He —
left me, in three months" — your
voice struggled tiredly with the words

— "I — I 've — suffered — John ' '

No need to tell me that, dear. In
every sharp bone and hollow that was
once a curve I read it. I started to
my feet. Food — medicine — but you
pulled me back again, nodding toward
the child for silence.

"It's — too late — for me," you whis-
pered. "But my baby. John, will
you be good to my little girl?"

I could not speak for the tremble of
my lips then, dear, but I made you
understand, somehow. And then you
smiled, and there was my lost sweet-
heart again. God was good to give us
that hour together, dear. I sent
Eleanor out for food and a doctor,
and, while we waited, I held you in
my arms — closely, for you were slip-

I REMEMBER IT AS THO IT WERE
LAST EVENING"

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

ping away from me on every breath.
"I was — so young," once you whis-
pered. "He fascinated me — but —
I've never stopped — loving — you — "
And then I knew that whatever hap-
pened, you were mine, and some time
we would belong to each other, for
God is good, and it must be that way.
When they came back, I was wait-
ing for them, alone, in the wretched

I COULD NOT SPEAK FOR THE TREMBLE
OF MY LIPS THEN, DEAR"

little room, and I took the sobbing
child away with me — home. A home
is more than a place to live in. It is a
place to love in. I had never had
more than the hope of a home before
I brought your little girl back with
me to my empty house. And ever
since then it has been a home indeed.
I think there have been three of us
here, Margaret: she and I — and the
dear spirit of you. You are nearer
to me since you died than when we
lived apart in the same world, that I
know.

They say the first of life was made
for the last of it. It may be so. Now,
on the edge of my days, I can say
I've had a good life and been happy.
There's one virtue old age has that
youth lacks, and that is patience. A
young heart is restless for its to-
morrow to come ; an old does not
worry about tomorrow, any more than
the earth is in a hurry for evolu-
tion's change. Yet I'll be willing to
go, Margaret. I think I was just
waiting for Eleanor to find her hap-
piness. She will have a woman's life,
Margaret — love, child-bearing, child-
rearing, grief and husband-comfort,
and there is no better life I could wish
for her, or you.

They have come in now, from the
dance. I hear the door close. They
have gone into the music-room — and
there is the sound of the piano. Hark !
Margaret, she is singing "In the

Gloaming " There is new joy in

her voice. It is all right with them,
then — and I am tired

How sweetly she is singing — almost
as you sang to me. After all, our
children are our encores. She will
have what we missed, and her chil-
dren— better things. Listen ! —

In the gloaming, oh, my darling,
When the lights are dim and low.

It is the gloaming, Margaret — the
fire is dying down, I think — it is
growing very dark — I'll put my
treasures away now. What is the use
of them when I shall have you? I
think it will be soon

She is singing more softly, in there
— my happy girl, with her lover bend-
ing above her — the new ring on her
finger, perhaps — the new joy in her
heart

Think not bitterly of me —

Tho I passed away in silence,
Left you lonely — set you free

No — never, dear — never bitterly,
not even at the first. And now, at the
end — always with love, Margaret —
always with love

Why, white hair and wrinkles are
just disguises over young hearts. I 'm

THE PATHWAY OF YEARS

seventy, and I'm young. I used to
worry a bit, wondering whether you
would recognize me, coming to you, so
feebly, with the gray hair — and the
old eyes — but now I know it will not
be like that, at all. They are the old
clothes I shall step out of. I think I
shall walk to you six-foot-two, erect,

strong, and you will meet me in the

young, rose-flowered gown Ah, I

thought so! I see you clearly — you
are the same. Yes, dear ; I am coming
— how your face shines on me — so
pretty — I had almost forgotten how
pretty you are. I — am — coming —
Margaret

The Screen

When William Shakespeare neatly said

That all the world's a stage,
It seemed that he had turned the phrase

For every future age.

By NARENA BROOKS EASTERLING

World-wide the screen, infinite the scenes,
War, romance, love and strife!

And the Operator beyond the clouds
Has named these pictures Life.

Then up and lived the Edison man,
And, forthwith, it was seen,

That all the world is not a stage,
But a Moving Picture screen !

And to this hustling, modern age,
This world, indeed, does seem

Not like a narrow, little stage,
But a wide-flung picture screen.

The Playgoer's Soliloquy

By JESSIE E. PARKER

To see or not to see — that's not the question.

Whether 'tis better 'round the house to mope,

Accumulate a grouch, and have the blues,

Or to attend a Motion Picture show

A'nd see a first-rate drama, there's no doubt.

To see a comedy would cheer one's soul ;

A Western drama gives one many thrills ;

A sweet romance would entertain, or in

The troubles of our fellow-men we might

Forget our own. But which of all to choose?

Aye — there's the rub. There are so many plays

That one short evening does not suffice

To see them all, and I must pick and choose,

Loath as I am a single one to omit.

But, after all, this comfort still remains,

That, whatsoe'er I choose, I am quite sure

My evening shall be profitably spent.

^cy

Elmer Randolph excused himself
for an instant, walked to his
heavy study door, shut it, and
returned to his friend. The voices of
his family in the next room were cut
down to threads of distant merriment.

"Smith," he said, sitting down di-
rectly before the other, "you and I
have known each other as publisher
and author for twenty years. We
have become a necessary part of each
other, and, fortunately, also friends. ' '

He paused, to catch the response in
the publisher's eyes.

"Bearing this in mind," the author
resumed, "I want you to repeat the
statements you made before I closed
the door. ' '

Smith swallowed hard with the
painf ulness of his duty. ' ' It was the
thought of these things," he said,
"that perhaps made my words un-
clear. But there is no getting around
the truth at the bottom."

Randolph 's hands gripped the arms
of his chair, and he set his shoulders
for a shock.

"Go on — to the end," he urged.

"Well, something is fatally lacking
in "The Woman of Dreams.' The
story depends on its dainty filling-in
of by-play, on fanciful characters, on
a touch-and-go movement as fragile as
a web."

Randolph's eyes saddened. "You

have quickly diagnosed the case," he
replied. "Now for the remedy."

"It does not exist. To put it
bluntly, the whole story is crude, raw,
literal, like blocking out a picture
before the color is applied."

The other relaxed. He shivered as
in a draught. Then his hand shot out
and held the publisher's arm.

"Of course, you will not say any-
thing to Alma about this," he began
hurriedly, almost furtively, "but for
the past three months I have been the
victim of a curious brain-fag. For a
time I resorted to black coffee, and
felt that I was running — lame, but
somehow. Then it lost its effect, and
a numbing fog seemed to work into
my brain, clogging the clearness of
my work, even affecting my ordinary
actions. ' '

"You needn't tell me the whole
story, ' ' broke in the publisher, kindly.
"It's a clear case of nervous break-
down. Knock off for six months, go
abroad "

Randolph's grip tightened on his
arm until he winced, and he leaned
forward to catch the hurried words.

"That's it, abroad — anything to
get out of myself — to be free from
this new, inexorable master. But it
wont do. I 'm supposed to be wealthy
— keep a fine house, servants — a
loving, prodigal fai nly. And, as a

FOR BETTER OR WORSE

matter of fact, I 'm in debt ; this gen-
eral belief in me has spoiled me with
my creditors."

He drew closer, and his eyes became
quite wild.

"My own faith in myself has
always pulled me thru. But fate is
crowding me in that one invulnerable
place — my brain. I had thought the
realms of fancy limitless, and now I
can scarcely grope around in the
congested limits of fagged effort."

Smith thought for a long moment,
shading his eyes from the other.

"Suppose I leave your script with
you," he said, laying a bulky sheaf
of papers on the table, "and we'll
presume that it never has been
written. Advance payments will
start from today, and ' The Woman of
Dreams' may come along whenever
you become your old self again. ' '

Randolph shook his offered hand

warmly. ' ' This smacks of rank char-
ity," he said, with an effort at smil-
ing, "and I promise you that in a
fortnight the opening chapters of an
entirely new story will be in your
hands."

Smith patted him on the back,
and left him. Once outside, his
brows gathered in a frown of thought.
"It's no use," he muttered, hurry-
ing toward his busy office; "the
man needs rest, rest, rest ! It 's a cer-
tain case of cerebrasthenia, the ex-
haustion of the higher brain — his
attempt to combat it is courageous,
but suicidal in the end."

Ten days afterwards, the opening
chapters of Randolph's novel lay on
the publisher's desk, and he closed
his office door to read them in soli-
tude. With the very first sentence he
realized that a wonderful change had
taken place in the personality back of

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

the lines. He read on and on in
amazement and delight. Here was a
fancy, brilliant, bold and sure, yet as
dainty and blithesome as the skipping
steps of a child.

Smith read the charming fantasy
thru to the end, and his eyes glowed
softly, like a lover's dream.

"Randolph, Randolph," he mused,
"you were always a clever sentimen-
talist, but not like this. You have

you see my condition. I've been a
prisoner in here for a week."

Smith quickly took in the tremor of
his long, pale hands and the rather
vague look in his eyes. "You're
slowly poisoning yourself this way,"
he declared. "You should see the
look of you, man ! ' '

Randolph started in his chair, and
his eyes slyly questioned the other.
"My meat and drink are in the

. . .

stolen the soul of a saint and the
laughter of a child, to pour them thru
your words. ' '

He folded the script into his pocket,
slipped into his coat, and hurried to
the home of the amazing author.

"It's immense — superb! Ran-
dolph," he said, bursting in upon
him, "and the finest case of 'coming
back' I've ever known."

Altho it was afternoon, the author
sat sprawled in his dressing-gown, a
week's grizzled stubble on his chin.

' ' I should have come around with it
personally," he said quietly; "but

work," he said. "I cant rest or
enjoy myself outside of it."

' ' I wont say a word more ; you have
accomplished the impossible, heaven
knows how! But wont you have a
good physician look you over?"

Again the sly look shot from Ran-
dolph's eyes, beneath his hand.

"No! A thousand times, no!" he
fairly shouted in vehement bitterness.
"I am forced to tell Alma there is
nothing the matter with me — to deny
her the room. Cant you see the life-
blood in my work, Smith ? Cant you
let me alone ? ' '

FOR BETTER OR WORSE

His voice had risen to a querulous
scream, and he seemed anxious to be
rid of the publisher. Smith had
meant to go over the script and to
gloat on its fine, sustained cadences
with him, but now he quickly ushered
himself out, for once at a loss to
understand the whims of genius.

A month passed by — two, and still
the regular installments of Ran-
dolph's inspired novel found their
way to the publisher's desk. The
thread of the beautiful story ex-
panded and glowed with the delicate
tracery of a master hand. The novel
was nearing completion, and Smith,
altho he had resolutely kept away
from the author, thought it was due
him to consult him on the matter of
the novel's binding and illustration.

Alma Randolph met him in the
paneled and tapestried living-room.
He had never seen her look quite so
pale or worried before.

1 ' Perhaps it would be better if you
did not see him today, ' ' she said, with
an effort. "Lately he has shown a
curious aversion to visitors — even to
friends, and I fear you will find him
greatly changed/'

"Is it your wish?" he asked. "I
feel more than a friend's interest in
his case."

She hesitated to answer, and he
could read the play of some strong
emotion behind the mask of her face.

"Go in to him," she said impul-
sively; "dont show surprise at what
you see, and I will wait here for you. ' '

Smith felt the underlying tragedy
in her words, and knocked quickly at
the study door. Getting no response,
he twisted the knob. The door was
locked from the inner side.

"Randolph! Randolph, old man!"
he called; "it's I, Smith."

For a long minute he heard noth-
ing; then the faint rustle of papers
told him that the author was listening.

"Open the door — it's Smith. I
must see you on important business. ' '

The rustle of papers stopped. Dead
silence from within.

"Are you alone?" The question
came sharp and faint, like a distant
pistol shot.

"Yes, yes! And in a hurry to be
going."

The door slowly gave back a few
inches, and Smith edged his way in.
He turned, and looked keenly at the
man holding cautiously onto the knob.

Surely this sodden, chalk-white
creature, with fixed, staring eyes and
palsied limbs, could hardly be Ran-
dolph ! The claw-like hands, the
sharp features, the evasive stoop to
the shoulders were more like a night-
mare image than his former friend.

Yet even as he looked, a semblance
of the old smile bared Randolph's
lips, and he feebly held forth a chair
for his guest.

"Well, old man," blurted out
Smith, with an effort at cheerfulness,
"we are nearing the end of the
famous 'Woman of Dreams.' In a
week or two, at most, you will unlock
the final secrets of her life, and intro-
duce her to the world as one of its
sweetest, dearest women."

The creature's lips opposite to him
seemed to repeat his words in a
breathless undertone. Suddenly he
leaned forward, and beckoned Smith.

"You have no idea what difficulty
I have in concealing her," he whis-
pered hurriedly. "Alma is insanely
jealous. Only last night, when she
thought I was sleeping, she came in,
and looked everywhere for her. I
could feel her hate for my darling as
she tiptoed to and fro.

"As she leaned over my couch to
catch the secret from my lips, I rose
up and seized her by the hair, work-
ing my hands into her throat, to shut
off her screams. Ha ! ha ! ha ! how she
screamed !"

The peal of repulsive laughter drew
Smith upright and shuddering, with
the realization that he was dealing
with a madman. His one thought was
to reach the door before the dangerous
symptoms could recur.

"Here is 'The Woman of Dreams'
— all safe," he said, thrusting the
script into Randolph 's hands. ' ' Guard
her and take good care of her, my
friend, till I come back. ' '

With that, he had deftly slid the
key from the lock, whipped thru the

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

doorway, and locked the door from
the living-room side.

As he turned about, breathing
hard, Alma met him, with tears start-
ing in her eyes.

' ' You have seen all? ' ' she said.

"Yes, and heard all. You are too
brave and too true to stand this any
longer. He must be gotten to a sani-
tarium at once. The thing in there is
no longer Elmer Randolph.

"Believe in me — there is hope," he
said, as she followed him with terror-
ridden, clinging eyes, "but he must
be given over to an eminent specialist.
You and your daughters must leave
— at once. I will return with the
proper authority to take him with
me, and to close the house."

A month passed by, until the house
with suddenly closed shutters had
ceased to attract the comments of
neighbors, and the whereabouts of the
Randolphs had exhausted the ingeni-
ous curiosity of friends.

Alma and her daughters had re-
tired to inconspicuous and cheap
lodgings near the sanitarium of
Doctor Phillipi, the famous specialist
in nervous and mental diseases, where
Randolph was confined.

As for "The Woman of Dreams,"
the script lay under lock and key in
Smith's desk, where he had decently
buried this child of disordered genius.

As often as twice a day the pale,
clear-skinned little Alma had sat in
the waiting-room of the sanitarium,
waiting for an audience with Doctor
Phillipi. His assistants and nurses
were courteous to her, and gave her
detailed reports as to Randolph 's con-
dition, but, try as she would, she
could not see the specialist himself.

One day, as she had nearly given up
hope, he sent for her, and she was
ushered into his private office.

As she faced the brusk, dynamic
doctor, with his great, foreign eyes,
she could not help feeling the defer-
ence of his attitude toward her.

"You have, perhaps, wondered,"
he began, "at my aloofness, and con-
strued it as a desire to avoid you ; yet
this is far from the case. And your

husband's treatment has advanced
sufficiently to apprise you of the
facts.

' ' He is suffering from an acute case
of morphinomania, the delusional and
delirium disease produced by the sys-
tematic taking of morphin.

"To withdraw the drug too sud-
denly from him would cause a rever-
sion to the highly-wrought condition
previous to his forming the habit.
Probably the formation of his brain
would be permanently weakened.

"I am, therefore, treating him as
he mistreated himself — in gradually
diminishing doses — until I trust to
substitute colored water alone in the
fascinating needle."

Alma sat without moving her eyes
from Doctor Phillipi 's during this
long recital. At his last words a
tinge of color crept to her cheeks.

"Oh, Doctor!" she said, "I know
that the pain must be insufferable —
is there no way that I could be near
him?"

"No way; not as yet," he said
firmly. "A morphin victim must
practically be reborn. The shock to
his raw nerves is like that of the
mother who bore him.

"And yet," he added, under spur
of her quivering lips, "when the
withdrawal period is finished, and he
is a child again in the making, I will
send for you. ' '

Under the cold comfort of his mys-
terious words, Alma again took her
seat in the waiting-room. Day after
day, her cheeks flushed and her heart
beat furiously as an attendant came
toward her, but he always passed her
by with the message undelivered.

At last came the day when Doctor
Phillipi really sent for her.

"He is in the grounds," he said.
"Dont hope for too much now — and
keep up your courage, little woman ! ' '

There was no need to tell her that ;
her courage was of the higher sort,
keyed up to the snapping point by
weeks of false hopes and the dread of
a cure that still held Randolph under
the sway of the drug.

She saw the frail man tottering
along with the irresolute steps of a

FOR BETTER OR WORSE

child, and her heart's desire was to
rush to him and guide him with her
arms.

She stood still as he neared her,
waiting for his first words of recogni-
tion. He approached her with down-
cast eyes.

As he came opposite to her, he
raised his eyes, and looked at her with
a dull, vacant stare.

She held out her arms in silent ap-
peal, but he slowly lowered his eyes
again and passed on.

It was a question who suffered
most, the dismasted wreck of a man,
or the woman who stood by, waiting
for his call. But she resolutely went
back to the Doctor's office.

"It was as I feared," he said,
reading the pain in her eyes. "We
must save the man's body first, and,
after that, pray that love and reason
will breathe their way in again."

"Doctor," she said, and the weeks
of waiting made her voice big with
resolve, "let me stay here with
him. Surely gentleness and love and
the knowledge of the good that is in
him somewhere can do no harm, and
may be the means of saving him.

"It is an unusual case," he mut-
tered, half-aloud; "this continuance
of dementia, and this devotion wast-
ing her away. Why not I ' '

"Nurse," he said, turning to a
white-gowned woman, "see that this
lady is provided for in the nurses'
room tonight. And, madam," he
added to Alma, "I have perfect con-
fidence in your self-control, no matter
what it may be your misfortune to see
and hear in this institution."

Alma bowed her head in assent, and
was ushered from the office by the
silent nurse. A cot was assigned to
her in the dormitory, where the gas
was already burning dimly.

"Every four hours," the nurse ex-
plained, "there is a change of nurses,
and, between whiles, others continu-
ally coming and going on emergency
calls. Sometimes the room is quite
deserted, and the corridors are hide-
ous with the ravings of the cases. We
take it all as a matter of course, here. "

4 'So do I" said Alma.

The woman gave her a queer look
and withdrew. Alma took off her
dress and lay down. A curious feel-
ing of something about to happen
tingled in her veins and raced in her
pulses. Still, the sleeping nurses in
the room reassured her somewhat, and
she envied their trained nerves.

It was past midnight, and the build-
ing lay deathly still. Alma's taut
brain could have heard a pin drop
in the farthest corridor, and the
dropping of it, the most trifling
sound, would have brought her relief.

She lay ready to spring up, to cry
out, or to laugh, with equal abandon.
Finally she rose up quietly, and stole
down the dim, iron stairs toward the
office — anywhere to get away from the
row of lax faces and the eerie sounds
that came now thru the night.

A sleepy night attendant was in the
office, and she joined him, with the
courage of desperation, on his rounds.

His slippered feet brought the
echoes tumbling in ghostly showers
thru the waiting-room, then passed to
the laboratory. With Alma stepping
silently at his heels, he tried the
door, perfunctorily. It gave way, and
they stood facing the gloom of the
cavernous room.

Suddenly a sharp click came from
among the bottles, and the attendant
stepped back, with a smothered oath,
banging to the door after him.

Alma was alone in the room with
the invisible tamperer!

A path of moonlight clove its way
thru one of the great, barred win-
dows, and, with the blood freezing in
her marrow, she drew her skirts from
its telltale gleam, to step back noise-
lessly into the deep shadows.

In doing so her arm touched a
measuring-glass. It fell to the floor
with a heavy crash. As if by signal,
a lithe figure bounded out of the
farther shadows, and came hopping
and careening toward her.

The air flooded her lungs, and her
heart-rending screams set the bottles
and vials to trembling on the shelves,
but still the white-haired figure
leaped nimbly toward her.

His hands sought and found her

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

soft throat. The breath died in her
in one last despairing gurgle. With
the thick breath of the nameless tam-
perer beating on her cheek, she sank
into merciful lifelessness at his feet.

It was the brusk words of Doc-
tor Phillipi that first sounded, tor-
rent-like, in her ears. "Lie still," he
said sharply; "close your eyes, and

again, "you are standing before the
body of your wife, Alma, murdered
by you in your excess of morphidic
fury. Down to your knees beside her,
before the hand of God strikes you
where you stand. ' '

There was no need of words. The
shock that threw the morphomaniac,
trembling and sobbing, to his knees,
paved the way, by one of Nature's

feign death. You are surrounded by
armed attendants and nurses. The
crucial minute in your life, and his,
is at hand."

Dimly realizing that she lay on a
cot, with bright lights about her, and
that something of great moment was
about to take place, Alma lay still,
scarcely breathing.

Presently there was a commotion at
the door, and she felt that a presence
was standing over her.

"Elmer Randolph," broke in the
staccato voice of Doctor Phillipi

mysterious upheavals, for his return
to reason.

' ' Alma ! Alma ! ' ' came from the
wretched man's throat, and then a
burst of sobs that choked and
swayed him with invisible fingers.

"Alma! Alma! dear heart "

Alma could stand the experiment
no longer. Flinging her arms about
his stricken head, her healing sobs
mingled with the call of him she had
followed to the threshold of death.

And in the long months that came
after, the cure of the man was due to

FOB BETTER OB WOBSE

his own stern will, with the image of
his dead wife ever in his eyes.

By special permission of the elated
Doctor Phillipi, Alma was permitted
to come each day and to walk, with
the white - haired, rambling - footed
man in the garden. But, step by
step, his stride grew stronger, and his
hand grew less heavy on her shoulder.

It was on a rare spring day that
they stepped together into the office,
and Doctor Phillipi pronounced the
one fateful word: "Cured!"

"And where shall we go? And
what shall we do, Alma?" asked the
bewildered man, looking out at the
busy street, like a child.

"Why tempt it?" asked a lazy
voice back of them, and, turning to-
gether, they found Smith grinning
sheepishly at them.

' ' I saw you first ! " he cried in mock

alarm. "And I have no intention of
letting go of you. I 've sold the serial
rights of 'The Woman of Dreams'
for a walloping check, and, bless you !
she's going to shell out doubloons for
many a day to come."

Smith cut a caper of pure joy right
under the nose of Doctor Phillipi.

"I'm not jealous," said Alma, not
knowing whether to hug him, or to cry
behind Randolph's straight back, or
to try to do both.

"Dear Alma," murmured Ran-
dolph, "how patient you have been —
how noble and brave, but I '11 make up
for it now, my love."

' ' Yes, Randolph, ' ' echoed the happy
wife; "but come — Mr. Smith has
everything arranged. Come, dear, and
how happy we'll all be ! Do you know
that our daughters have returned?
They will be waiting for us. Come !"

J^PH)

rfi£M?gMLBERi Phillips

From th Photop ay of JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD

Jan Larose had come to the door of
the Cummins cabin, like a spent
and broken herald of the North
Wind. John Cummins and his comely
daughter, Marie, had heard a cry
keyed a note lower than the shrieking
gale. Outside they found Jan, beaten
to the snow-covered ground, his ex-
tremities as stiff and cold as the
frozen lake.

The custom of the Northwest pre-
vailed, and Jan remained for the
winter. An early spring found him
completely recovered from his serious
battle with the elements, only to en-
counter a new conflict with which he
found it even harder to battle. The
gentle Marie's hand, while in the act
of nursing his frost-wounds, had
more than once touched his heart-
strings.

But there the matter rested, for
Jan would rather have had his arms
and legs frozen off than to have ut-
tered one word of the terrific struggle
going on in his breast. He had never
before known the springtime to be
filled with so much music and mat-
ings and messages. Marie nicknamed
him Jan the Silent, while she sang
and trilled all the day long, like a
hill-bird, yet with a note of sadness
to it all that almost moved Jan's
stolid tongue.

At length the agony that had been

increasing for months seemed about
to be suddenly released in a day.
Government surveyors had made
their camp near the Cummins cabin.
One of their number came over one
day and asked casually if it were pos,
sible to procure the services of a
guide. The pay was good, and the
man was wanted immediately and for
an indefinite length of time.

Jan was standing near the door,
feeding that yearning of his with a
fading sunset. Marie sat near-by,
humming softly and looking at his
face, and, when Jan turned and said
roughly : " I will go ! " the girl gave
a little, wounded cry. John Cummins
felt the wound, and took his daughter
in his arms, and they stood silently
watching the surveyor and the new
guide striding away down the moun-
tain path.

Next morning, Jan returned to the
cabin to say good-by. John Cummins
wrung his hand in the way that one
man tells another to share his earthly
treasures. Then Jan turned to Marie.
The look in her eyes was strangely
akin to the pain in his heart. He
remembered only that she said : ' ' Jan
— oh, Jan ! ' ' and that a tear dropped
on his hand. Then, too, it seemed as
tho one little hand had clung to his
sleeve even when he was far down the
mountainside.

THE STRENGTH OF MEN

It was several months before Jan
Larose returned to the Cummins
cabin. That he had sworn an oath
never to return, and had broken it,
gives some idea of the struggle that
had never ceased. Yet several gen-
erations of Laroses, born and bred
amidst the great, silent snows, and the
lonely North, had made of his heart a
tomb of emotions that few things on
earth could break thru. One of those
few things, however, had come into
existence during his absence.

Breathing heavily, and with his
heart pounding his bosom, he as-
cended the path to the Cummins
cabin late one August afternoon. The
voice of Marie raised in laughter
made his brows knit perplexedly. He
stood for a moment in the doorway
before those within seemed aware of
his presence. A handsome, rollicking
fellow, with his leg in a splint, was
hobbling across the room, one arm
thrown across the girl's shoulder,
while her arm was about his waist.

The deeds that passed thru Jan's

mind in that moment were all char-
acterized by violence. He was on the
point of rushing madly down the
mountainside, never to return, when
Marie looked around and saw him.
Her glad cry was lost to his ears. His
whole life became suddenly obsessed
with an enemy, who now stood facing
him, with every sentiment recipro-
cated. Each knew that from that
minute it was a matter only of the
strength of men.

' ' Jan ! Jan ! I 'm so glad to see
you ! ' ' the girl was saying. ' ' This is
Clarry O 'Garry, who has become a
good friend of ours. I have told him

all about you. We " Her voice

trailed off into a whisper of alarm
as she realized the position the two
men had assumed toward each other.
She knew how the men of the North
both loved and hated, tho it would
ever be a vexing mystery to her why
it should be so.

0 'Garry gave a curt nod of his
head; Jan neither spoke nor moved
until he turned to leave the cabin.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

The girl had suddenly become the
crux of the situation, with mutual
hatred as an excuse.

John Cummins sought out Jan in
his little shack the very next morn-
ing. They greeted with the same
hearty handshake that had marked
their farewell. Cummins barely men-
tioned 0 'Garry, except to say that he
had been attracted to the region by
the discovery of gold made about a
month before. Everybody was gold-
hunting.

The last days of summer came, and,
with them, an unusual hot spell, ac-
companied by the worst drought ever
known. With the woods filled with
prospectors and miners, who knew
little of the peril that lay in forest
fires, the Cumminses were in daily
dread of seeing the mountainside
spring into flame thru the careless
action of some fire-user.

Jan had in mind an episode of
months before, when he had stumbled
on a half-cleared bit of lake-shore,

GOVERNMENT SURVEYORS ENGAGE JAN AS GUIDE

Already Cummins had staked a
claim and was working it, with grati-
fying success.

11 Will you share it with us, Jan?"
"No — I will get my own." To
many, this reply would have seemed
ungracious, but Cummins knew Jan
and his moods. It took several weeks
before he could be persuaded to visit
the cabin. 0 'Garry was absent by
arrangement, and Jan spent most of
the time smoking his pipe and sur-
veying Marie as she moved about the
place. On each subsequent visit, he
seemed to be going to say something,
but left the place with the avowal
unvoiced.

where he had found some curious bits
of ore lying amongst the pebbles.
At the time, he had looked it over
curiously and thrown it away. But
now he knew that ore to be gold!
For nearly two months he had been
unable to find the spot.

Then came the afternoon when the
two men met and made their first
trial of strength. The encounter had
been preceded by a few words from
0 'Garry's sharp Irish tongue, which
were followed immediately by a sting-
ing retort from Jan's huge fist.

The struggle of the locked <pair that
ensued was silent, except for the deep
breathing of men exercising every

TEE STRENGTH OF MEN

ounce of energy and straining every
muscle. In their hands was the grip
of annihilation ; in their hearts the de-
sire to kill. Jan's was the greater
strength, but 0 'Garry's the greater
skill, which he used to defend himself.
For fifteen minutes they strained and
panted, before 0 'Garry's foot caught
in a treacherous root, and he went
down, with Jan on his chest. The
next moment a wicked hunting-knife
flashed high in the air and stayed
poised for an instant. 0 'Garry

eye, set out after him. By chance,
the canoes of the two men lay but a
short distance apart, tho concealed
from each other. Whatever the mo-
tive of 0 'Garry, he wanted to get
Jan at a greater distance from the
settlement. Jan, too, seemed desirous
of getting away from civilization.
He paddled across a bay, and landed
on the other side, picking up the
canoe at this point and carrying it
inland.

When he had disappeared, 0 'Garry

JAN IS LOATH TO LEAVE MARIE

closed his eyes with a groan, and was
greeted, the next instant, with a
grunt, and felt himself shoved down
the slight grade and rolled into a
gully. He opened his eyes and saw
Jan in the act of putting up his hunt-
ing-knife and walking away. With a
wicked look, 0 'Garry snatched his
gun from his pocket and raised it.
But he, too, lowered the weapon on a
moment's thought. Perhaps the same
thought may have crossed the mind
of each of them.

Jan could now be seen striding
along toward the lake. 0 'Garry, his
gun still grasped firmly in his hand,
and the same look of malice in his

followed him. It was a narrow neck
of land, and Jan had re-embarked
and was heading for a natural cove.

At length 0 'Garry caught up with
him. Still smarting from defeat, he
had made up his mind to have re-
venge. He found him crouched in the
sand of the shore, sifting some of it
thru his hands. 0 'Garry pondered a
minute, trying to decide whether to
kill him on the spot, or to challenge
him and run the risk of the outcome
of another struggle. Suddenly he
rose, and took careful aim at the
crouching figure.

Jan had become very much excited
over some discovery. He searched his

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

pockets feverishly for a piece of
paper, hastily scribbled a few words
on it; stuck it upon a broken sapling,
and then hurried to his canoe.

0 'Garry had lowered his weapon.
He knew what the matter was. He
waited tremblingly until Jan had
disappeared from view, then he
sprang from cover and bent down
over the same spot. Before his eyes
lay gold! Revenge had taken a new
trend. He seized the paper with
which Jan had staked his claim, and
replaced it with a scrap of his own.
Now to beat his enemy to the re-
corder's office, thirty miles away!
This was easy, as long as the other
should remain unaware of the race.
This revenge was safe; it meant
wealth in the bargain, and, in the
end, it was sure to mean — Marie.

About noon the following day,
loungers along the lake front in
Mango City espied two canoes being
propelled in their direction, as tho
the lives of the paddlers depended on
it. A crowd of miners, Indians and
hangers-on gathered, and began to
cheer the contestants onward. They
had seen this sort of thing before,
and knew that the Government claim-
recorder was the objective point and
person.

The canoes were beached almost
simultaneously. The occupants stag-
gered up the roadway abreast and
presented their claims to the recorder
at the same instant, and then dropped
down exhausted.

Later each of the men appeared at
separate times before the officer with
the same tale.

"One of you men is a liar," was
the conclusion to which the recorder
came that evening, "which leaves me
with but one thing to do — I'll send
my agent to investigate. When he
returns, you may come back, and we
will talk it over."

Exactly four days elapsed before
the agent returned and made his re-
port before an excited group of men
in the recorder's office. The two men
most concerned stood silently survey-
ing each other, a hatred as deep as
their souls marring their features.

"Well, you fellows both seem to be
liars," said the recorder, after listen-
ing to the agent 's report. ' ' No claim
seems to have been staked, as far as
Bowler here could find out. But
seein' that you both seem to know
something about it, I'm goin' to give
both of you a fair chance at it — and
let me tell you the eternal fortune is
made for the man who gets there
first, if Bowler is to be believed.
Both claims are thrown out then, and
you will have to set new stakes ! ' '

The two claimants half-crouched,
as tho ready to spring thru the door
simultaneously.

The recorder raised his hand.
"Now wait, and I'll see that you
fellows have an equal and fair
chance. I'll give you each an Indian
and start you off at the same minute.
Then luck be with the best man ! ' '

At daybreak the race commenced.

The first leg of the journey was the
easiest. It was a twelve-mile paddle
right straight down the whole length
of North Lake. The advantage came,
however, at the other end, where the
man who arrived first might enter the
narrow stream that formed the sec-
ond part of the journey. The con-
testants paddled along at a strong
pace for ten miles, saving their
strength for the severe tests they
knew were soon to follow. Suddenly
the Indian in Jan's canoe began to
heighten speed and bring that canoe
several lengths to the fore. Try as
they would, the pursuers seemed un-
able to gain an inch on them. Jan's
Indian went wild with excitement,
and paddled with even greater fury,
until it seemed he must upset the
craft. But they had gained at least
ten lengths on the other canoe by this
time, and in a few minutes the stream
would be in sight.

Suddenly the fortunes of the race
were entirely changed by the sudden
collapse of Jan's Indian, who went
flat on his face in the bottom of the
canoe. The pursuers saw what had
happened and redoubled their ef-
forts. Jan was obliged to drop his
paddle in the bottom of the craft and
creep forward and straighten the

TEE STRENGTH OF MEN

limp form of the Indian, in order to
keep them from capsizing. By the
time he was ready to begin paddling
again, 0 'Garry was less than two
lengths behind. Jan strained every
muscle to set the now drifting canoe
in rapid motion. The other canoe
shot past like a meteor; two minutes
later it had poked its nose into the
outgoing stream and disappeared.

Jan now determined to focus all
his attention on the exhausted Indian.
"With a few deft strokes, he beached
the canoe, and then, without a mo-
ment's hesitation, lifted the redskin
and dropped him bodily into the cold,
shallow water. Instantly there was a
spluttering struggle, and, two min-
utes later, they were on their way
again.

When they entered the narrower
body of water, the others had passed
out of sight altogether. The stream
was fraught with perils on every side.
It was interspersed with countless
rapids, and the prolonged dry season
had made it shallow and treacherous.
Jagged rocks either pointed omi-
nously to destruction or shone green-
ishly just below the surface, making
the channel of passage like a tangled
thread, scarcely the width of the frail
canoe. Fortunately, more skill than
strength was needed now, and Jan's
assistant exhibited remarkable prow-
ess in guiding them along.

An hour passed in silence before
they arrived at the first formidable
rapids that meant a portage. Jan
had to drag the Indian along with his
share of the heavy burden. But they
had no sooner re-embarked than they
discerned the other canoe almost half
a mile ahead, seemingly encountering
great difficulties because of lack of
skill on the part of the occupants.
This fact gave Jan and his companion
renewed hope and courage, which
they transferred into renewed efforts.
At every turn, they were gratified to
note an appreciable gain on the
leaders. They now had high hopes
of passing them before the next por-
tage was reached. They came to a
sharp bend in the river that effectu-
ally hid the other canoe from view

for nearly ten minutes. At length
they espied the stern of it, seemingly
at a standstill, less than ten lengths
ahead. A turn in the channel
brought them abreast of it. It was
scuttled and empty ! The stream was
completely blocked. The channel was
deep and the stream rapid at this
point, and it was a matter of the
greatest difficulty to disembark and
get their craft safely to shore. Twenty
minutes were lost, which counted for
little, since victory seemed assured
them now.

Jan and his companion ran almost
lightly up the side of the steep in-
cline ahead of them. The sight that
met their eyes made Jan's face glow
with a dangerous light. Paddling
rapidly away in the distance was
0 'Garry and his Indian ! He had not
played the game fair, and had, by
some means, managed to have a relay
canoe placed at a convenient point.
The race seemed lost. The present
portage meant half a mile thru an
almost impassable undergrowth. Pas-
sage would have been difficult with-
out a burden, but with the heavy
canoe it would take an hour at least,
and leave them exhausted to resume
their journey. They plowed on
for perhaps twenty minutes, when
the Indian again slipped limply in a
heap. Jan threw himself on the
ground, exhausted and at the point of
despair.

He had been defeated by trickery
— but put it as he liked, he had been
defeated! That he had lost wealth
somehow did not matter so much.
Then it crossed his mind that in de-
feat he would lose Marie ! He sprang
up, with a cry of futility on his lips,
and shook the Indian fiercely, who
now sat up with a curious expression
of fear suddenly displacing the lines
of weariness.

' ' Me smell smoke ! ' ' he whispered
hoarsely.

Jan sniffed the air, but shook his
head. "Come, now, none of this!"
he said threateningly. "You want
to go back — but you cant, not while

I'm alive " Jan paused and

put his hand up to shade his eyes, as

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

he gazed in horror toward the west.
What he had taken to be a cloud in
the sky was a dense cloud of smoke.
"Marie!" he muttered in alarm.

He sniffed the air again. His face
whitened, and a look of horror came
into his eyes. Yonder burning cal-
dron was the very hilltop where John
Cummins had set up his cabin. For
a hundred miles the forest was like
gunpowder waiting for the match.
A few hours was enough for the
lightning flames to travel from one
end of it to the other.

"Go!" he commanded sharply to
his . companion, and the Indian sped
away as fast as he could run. Then
Jan sat down, and calmly awaited the
coming of 0 'Garry.

By this time, the whole western
sky was overcast with smoke, and a
light wind had risen that carried the
conflagration on at a furious rate.

0 'Garry did not see Jan until the
latter confronted him. Out of breath,
he staggered against a tree, his hand
instinctively gripping his knife.

"Sit down and rest," suggested

THE DISPUTED CLAIM

Jan gazed at the Indian, in whose
eyes treachery already shone. He
unsheathed his long hunting-knife.
The redskin already had his out and
was awaiting attack.

"Well — which is it — come on with
me, or fight?"

The Indian said nothing. A steely
glitter in his eye was his only reply.
Jan braced himself, and then turned
for a final quick backward look to-
ward the approaching fire. He gave
an exclamation. Running toward him
up the hill was 0 'Garry's Indian,
with 0 'Garry himself but a short
way behind !

Jan, quietly; "I do not want it said
that I killed a man because he was ex-
hausted. Rest ! ' '

0 'Garry took in the situation and
complied with his adversary's advice.
For at least five minutes they sat,
feeding on the hatred in each other's
eyes. Suddenly 0 'Garry rose and
coolly felt the keen edge of his knife.
"Now come and kill me!" he chal-
lenged.

Jan sprang up and had seized the
Irishman's knife-hand before he
could lift it to thrust. In the vicious
twist of his wrist, one of the cords
snapped, and the knife went jangling

TEE STRENGTH OF MEN

down the rocky incline. With a
laugh, Jan threw his own after it. "I
want to tear you with my hands ! " he
cried, working his hand, inch by
inch, toward 0 'Garry's throat.

But the men knew each other's
strength and weaknesses from their
former experience, and battled with
their minds as well as with their
hands. Jan was suddenly thrown flat
on his back, and both of 0 'Garry's
hands clutched his throat before
he could adjust himself to his awk-

locked in each other's arms. The re-
newed battle was carried on cau-
tiously, each playing for strength
and waiting for an opening. First
one was uppermost, then the other.

They had forgotten the forest fire,
until a sudden blast of wind swept in
their direction, bringing with it a
cloud of fine ashes and a suggestion
of heat. And they could hear a well-
defined roar that told them what to
expect. Both men paused, as if by
common consent, and, retaining their

A DOUBLE STRUGGLE

ward position. In a second, the
man's breath was cut off. One of
0 'Garry's great hands lay partly
over Jan's mouth, to aid in the proc-
ess of strangulation; but, in that
moment of desperation, it was seized
between the desperate man's teeth
and bitten until the small bones
cracked. 0 'Garry gave a cry of rage
and pain, and lifted the other hand
to deal Jan a blow. This afforded
the necessary relaxation, and Jan
took a deep, choking breath, and
seized his adversary's hands at the
wrists. In another moment they
were rolling down the steep incline,

grip, waited. They lay in a sort of
dell, about two hundred feet in
width, shaded only by a few saplings
and interspersed by several trickling
pools of running water. Soon sparks
began to fall about them. A few
minutes later, a half-dozen points in
the leaf -strewn carpet were jetting
flames. Then the holocaust from over-
head swept the surrounding forest.

The men's eyes had taken on a
wild look, that showed all reason was
lost in the mad desire for revenge.
Jan had burst out into hoarse laugh-
ing as the flames began to lick the
leaves from the trees and the heat

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

grew, minute by minute. O'Garry
had begun to fight desperately, and
Jan, with equal fervor, held him fast
and laughed in his ear.

Then came the real conflagration.
Even the dell was a caldron of flame.
The roar was maddening. Burning
embers and even great trees fell
about the men. But the strength of
the men had been spent — their grip
had been relaxed, in the horror of
self-incineration.

A great, burning tree had fallen
on Jan's legs, which were both
burned and broken.

0 'Garry lay shrieking, a little
way off, with his singed hands laid
pitifully across his disfigured face.
"My eyes are burnt out, Jan Larose!
Dont — dont strike now!"

Even in his agony, Jan laughed.
"My God — my legs — a burning tree
is burning them off!"

0 'Garry's arms suddenly dropped
to his side; his hands clinched, and
something sweeter than pain came
into his face. Jan was watching him.
Something new swayed them. This
was the tie of brotherhood that binds
men in moments of distress. The
roar of the great fire had left behind
a hissing, smoldering mass of molten
heat.

"Speak, Jan Larose — where are
you? Reach for my hand!" For a
moment, the hands of the two men
met and clasped. Next instant what
was left of strength in 0 'Garry's
great hands and arms was tug-
ging away at the burning tree-trunk
across Jan's pinioned legs. Jan did
not hear the low moans of his rescuer,
that told of excruciating pain and
lacerated hands, for, in that moment,
his agony had become too great to
bear, and oblivion had come. 0 'Garry
had been calling him several minutes
before he opened his eyes.

"0 'Garry," cried Jan, "to stay
here means death — you get out, do
you hear? Follow the wall to your
left. I'll keep callin' to you until
you reach the river!"

But O'Garry had groped his way
back to Jan's side. "Come, Jan
Larose," he said, and there was some-
thing in his voice that smothered all
of Jan's hatred, as water quenches
flames; "come, try, with all the
strength that God has left in you, to
climb on my back. You shall be my
eyes."

"And — and" — Jan Larose was
sobbing — "you, Clarry 0 'Garry, shall
be my legs ! ' '

Only they two shall ever know the
agony of that effort — the sweet
agony. And this renunciation of
hatred and grievance — this was the
superhuman strength that these men
showed; that all men can show. It
took an hour, amidst flaming embers
and constant scraping of raw wounds
and wrenching of broken bones. But
the words at the moment when ef-
fort seemed too excruciating, always
brought relief: "You are a brave
man, Clarry O'Garry!" "Jan La-
rose, you are a man ! ' ' When they
did reach the cooling waters of the
river, their physical strength failed
them completely. In its place had
come the greater strength.

That night, John Cummins and his
daughter, Marie, fleeing from the
flames themselves, found Jan and
O'Garry laving each other's wounds.

It must have been three months
later before Jan and Marie were
married. And that night they all sat
around the fire in John Cummins'
new cabin, the fire-logs revealing the
tale in their happy hearts. Jan broke
the silence: "Clarry, will you work
that claim with John and me as
pardners ? "

Something in 0 'Garry's sightless
eyes just seemed to melt, as he closed
them and nodded slowly. But he said
no word.

Jan's great, scarred hand had
sought Marie's, and was caressing it
softly, and John Cummins was think-
ing that the strongest men are the
gentlest, after all !

^w^i*

Older than the war canoes drawn
up and rotted on the beach;
fresher in the songs of maidens
than the winter bloom of green npon
the forests; burning brightly in the
breasts, beneath the scars, of wrinkled
warriors; in the silent prayers of
drudging old wives lies alive the love
of Hinemoa, the woman who had
dared and won.

It was long before the coming of
the white men to New Zealand that
she was reared by her father, Umu-
karia, chief of all the people that lived
on the shores of Lake Rotorua. The
priests in his villages gave him exact
counsel as to her upbringing, offering
charms of greenstone to Tiki, the
earth-father, and prayers to the Sun,
Moon, Wind, Rain, and Fog-souls,
that they would treat her with indul-
gence. But Umukaria thought more
closely of her body, daily carrying
her over flinty places on his back, and
bathing his heiress in the steaming
pools of sulphur or of healing salts.

She grew tall and straight, polished
and turned, like hardwood, from his
ministrations, and even after he had
left off singing lullabies, shamed at
her size, the light of happy girlhood
danced in her eyes. Then, one day,
when Hinemoa was thirteen, the
chief threw a mat of flax and bird-
plumage, soft and glistening, over her
bare shoulders, and touched his nose
against hers in token of kissing. And,
with the new light that was born in

her eyes, she was suddenly become a
woman.

The word of the ripeness of Umu-
karia's daughter passed among all
the lake folks, to those on the islands,
and across the mountains to the
dwellers on the sea. The favorite
sons of chiefs came from distant places
to eat before the ivhare of her father,
feast to repletion upon Hinemoa 's
beauty, and sleep fitfully in the vil-
lage sleeping-houses. In a day or two,
at most, stunned by her coldness, they
gathered their mats about them and
departed.

Renowned warriors came, with tat-
tooed faces and waving plumes, to
dance the war-dance before her, sway-
ing faster and faster, thudding the
earth with their heels, and making
her breath come quick with the war-
lust, but, in the end, they, too, had
their day, and left without a choice
being made.

Month after month passed by, and
Hinemoa still flashed her teeth in
friendliness upon the villagers, and
turned a lack-luster eye upon her
pressing suitors. Umukaria began to
fear that, in shaping her beautiful
body, he had affixed a heart of stone.
And with that, his own heart turned
to cunning contrivance, how he could
shape hers to his uses.

A league from the shore, resting
saucily on the bosom of Lake Rotorua,
was the Island of Mokoia. It con-
tained everything that a continent

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

in miniature should have: shelving
beaches, warm bathing-pools, little
hills of forests and fruitful valleys
cuddled between. Crabbed old Wha-
kaue ruled over it, sternly and thrift-
ily, hobbling around his domains
twice daily, to see that his wives were
in the sweet potato fields and his old
men not neglecting their carving and
canoe-making. But his greatest pride
lay in his six sons, straight and sappy
as kauri trees, and tireless as hounds
in dancing or in war. Other sons he
had without number, but they were
the children of slaves, and he counted
them only casually and with indiffer-
ent success,

Hinemoa 's father lay in his carved
house, casting his mind about for her
welfare, and the thought anchored
upon him that right here, within sight
of his door, was her cure. Old Wha-
kaue's complete little pocket-kingdom
had long been to him as an ulcer on
the snowy bosom of the lake, standing
between him and* the far shore, and
ceaselessly hatching canoes and war-
riors that some day might be turned
against him. He pictured the six
straight sons of Whakaue, and how
the swirl of their paddles sent their
canoe leaping ahead of his own. And
he knew himself to be growing old,
with his blood slowly drying, and
soon the ring of war hatchets against
his stockades could not make his heart
flood quickly nor the song burst from
his lips.

■ So he waited his time patiently,
until a death should come among his
people, and he could order a funeral
feast, to summon the sons of Whakaue.

Presently an old woman died, and
Umukaria made much of it, sending
his wives to set up a moaning in her
house, and inviting all the lake people
to the tangi.

A messenger stood up in his canoe
and sang out : "Haeri mail haeri mail
You are welcome/' to the sons of
Whakaue.

They lost no time in launching
their canoe and speeding across to
the festival. Umukaria gave them
places of honor, and soon they fell to
at the feast, unheeding the wailing

calls of the women in the house of
death.

There was one who came with them.
Tutanekai, a son of Whakaue by a
slave, and he was brought along be-
cause he played so skillfully on his
reed flute that the moaning of rela-
tives would not mar the feast. When
Tutanekai entered the darkened
house, his stomach yearned toward the
smells of rich foods without, but he
dutifully placed his flute to his lips
and joined in with the notes of the
mourners. Hinemoa heard the clear
call of the reed, and raised her head
from the ground to look at the player.
His downcast eyes met hers, and he
saw that she was more beautiful than
any maiden he had ever looked upon.
Softer notes fell from his flute, and
the women were comforted and left
off their harsh weeping, thinking of
the pleasant life of the old woman
when she was a young wife. And
then the sweet sounds of Tutanekai
took them back and back, until she
was a child frisking in the blue pools
again, with her blood leaping measure
to the sparkle of the sun in the spray.

As he played, the mourners looked
upon their relative as not dead, and
the desire of food and joys crept over
them. One by one, they stole from
the house. But Hinemoa stayed be-
yond the others. Such a voice as that
in the reed she had never heard in the
love-notes of the chiefs or warriors.
She looked upon the tall, slight player,
with his downcast, shadowy eyes, and
love woke in her heart — stirred, and
beat upon the walls of its stony cell
with a clamor that frightened and
fascinated her.

"Who are you," she asked, "that
mourn so beautifully, and do not feast
with the men?"

The youth's eyes swept her face in
shame. "I am Tutanekai, brother to
the six brothers and son of the slave
woman of Whakaue."

1 ' And are you not strong like other
men, and with a heart like theirs ? ' '

Tutanekai 's long limbs trembled,
and the sinews of his fine body played
across his flesh, but he said nothing
in his shame.

H1NEM0A

"Come out to the feast of war-
riors/' Hinemoa said, taking his
hand, "and pluck out the woman's
"heart from your strong body."

But the soft gleam of her eyes ran
ahead of the words, bidding him be
ever what he was.

When the six brothers looked upon
the beauty of Hinemoa and drank
deep of her eyes and shape, the lust
of the feast sank flat in their stomachs,
and they thought only of her. But
she drew her mat close up over her

moa stood upon the shore and made
out the vanishing canoe. Her heart
of a man trembled and swirled, like
the water grasped on his paddle.

The sun had barely waked the island
to another day when the six brothers
rose out of their thick slumbers and
swam in a steaming pool. There was
haste and scanty adorning in their
dressing, for Umukaria had set this
day apart for a contest of strength
and skill, the winner to be given a
sacred carved paddle from the hand

HINEMOA RECEIVES THE GIFTS OF THE VISITING WARRIORS

breast, and parried their glances,
looking to the comforts of the down-
cast one who had mourned.

Night had fallen upon Rotorua,
with the stars studding the dome of
the silent lake, when the canoe of the
six brothers pulled off for the island.
They lay upon their backs, puffed and
sleeping, and Tutanekai seized his
paddle and bent eagerly from his
waist, cutting sharply thru the water,
as with the edge of his blade.

As the canoe shot over the lake, and
the downcast youth breathed deep to
the thrust of his paddle, his woman's
heart watched from the beach. Hine-

of Hinemoa, and with it her own
long-sought-for self.

Tutanekai stood off among the trees
and watched their preparations. He
was not bidden to the contest, and the
slave's blood in him still held him
aloof from his brothers. But as they
brought forth their princely mats and
flung them in the stern of the canoe,
the spirit of crabbed Whakaue, his
father, rose up in him, turning his
muscles to steel and his mind to
cunning. Like a shadow he flitted
among the trees and came out upon
the beach.

The six brothers stood apart, pois-

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

ing and testing their war spears.
Tutanekai wormed himself along the
beach, keeping the canoe between
them. Presently he reached it, un-
seen, and dropped softly inside, bur-
rowing under the pile of mats.

Then he waited, breathing faintly.
He felt the sway of the lifted canoe
and the shock as it bounded into the
water, and soon its steady rock and
the rush of water against its sides
told him that they were in motion.

There was a great screaming of the
sand under him as they shot high on
the beach in front of Umukaria 's vil-
lage, the patter of feet around him,
and then a stiff silence, as of the heart
of a cavern.

"Haeri mai! haeri mail Welcome,
strangers from the island," sang the
people of the village.

"Toia te wakae! Oh, haul up the
canoe," sang back the six brothers,
and, with heaving backs, the mighty
hollow log was run up clear of the
water.

Tutanekai did not move, nor dur-
ing the throwing of spears in a clear-
ing back of the village did he come
forth from his hiding. It was just as
the six brothers crouched on the start-
ing-line of the foot-race, waiting for
the word of Umukaria which should
start them three times around the
stockade of the village, that the down-
cast brother appeared and sprang to
the line.

Umukaria raised his arms in pro-
test at this boldness of the lowly son
of Whakaue, and was about to wave
him aside, when the eager voice of
Hinemoa shouted "Go!" and the
runners broke leash, like nervous
hounds.

At the first circle of the stockade
the six brothers had drawn away from
Tutanekai, who stumbled and ran
timidly. At the second, he floundered
hopelessly in the rear. Then, as he
faltered past them, the old men and
children jeered at him, calling him
"Lizard!" and "No man's man!"
But Hinemoa leaned far over the
stockade, and love shone truly from
her eyes as she called him on.

Then Tutanekai shed his waist-mat

of skin, and his naked legs leaped with
sudden fury. The backs of the six
brothers were like brown birds in the
distance, but he set out after them at
such a pace as no runner had ever
accomplished before.

From around the far sides of the
stockade laughter and mocking turned
to cheers. Umukaria, from his watch-
tower, was the first to see him over-
take the others and speed with them
to the stretch of level ground in front
of Hinemoa.

It was then, with his broken breath
at their heels, and the maiden before
them, that the six brothers put forth a
last effort, and their bodies rocked
with the strain. On they came, hair
tossing, hearts pounding, necks corded
with veins — the inexorable figure back
of them creeping up inch by inch.

As he caught up with the leader
and raced stride to stride with him,
the maiden could contain the secret of
her heart no longer.

' ' Tutane, Downcast One, ' ' she cried,
so that it came to him boldly —
"speed — speed, for thy prize in me is
ready ! ' '

And, at her words, he grew taller
and his stride lengthened, till he
threw himself across the line before
her, ahead of the six brothers.

Then Hinemoa tossed the sacred
paddle to the panting Tutanekai,
stood close to his heaving sides, and
would have followed where he led.
But Umukaria stepped, snarling, in
between them.

"Go back to the women," he
ordered, "and take up the weaving-
sticks, for never shall a lover come
seeking you again. Let this kick-
about of the island people keep his
paddle, since he runs to women and
away from men with such amazing
fleetness. ' '

Tutanekai, shaking, turned to go.
Hinemoa watched his broad back
quiver with his shame. But all of the
villagers and Umukaria and the six
brothers had seen her love of him and
wondered at it.

And now the tangi was come to an
end, and the canoe manned by the
sons of Whakaue shot back to the

EINEMOA

4fr

island, conveying the silent Tutanekai.
Whakaue, the death-cheater, listened
to their story, while the shrewd
wrinkles gathered ronnd his eyes.

"Now go away and leave me," he
said when they had ended, "all save
Tutanekai, the upstart, and I will
punish him to his heart's content."
So they went away, laughing, never
guessing at the truth in his words.

Then Whakaue opened his arms
and called Tutanekai into them, hug-

straight at his side. Sometimes the
calling notes of his reed trembled
across the water to the six in their
urgent canoe, and they stopped to
laugh and shake knowing heads at his
hopeless madness.

As for Umukaria, he took an exact
care that these two should never meet
again. By day, Hinemoa sat plying
her weaving-sticks under the watchful
eyes of the women, and at night, the
old chief had his flotilla of canoes

THE NOTES OF TUTANEKAI S REED TREMBLED ACROSS THE LAKE

ging him close and whispering that
his mother, the slave, would be taken
into his ivhare as a wife.

"Go to the thatch hut on the
point," he commanded, "and a man
slave will accompany you. Day by
day, sit in the forest and play your
soul into your reed that your brothers
may think you sickening unto death.
This is the punishment of Whakaue,
the wise father."

Tutanekai did as he was bid. Away
from the taunts of the six brothers
and screened in the forest, he gave
himself over to thoughts of the maiden
he had won? and who had stood so

carried up to his ivhare, so much he
stood in fear of her.

But the carved walls of his house
were a sorry locksmith to the swelling
heart of the maiden, and by night she
roamed as she pleased on the deserted
beach.

On the night of nights, as the young
moon hung high over the island, fleck-
ing it lightly with pallor and casting
its paleness in a path across the water
to her feet, she stood on the sand and
let the ice-cold lake lap at her ankles.
Borne by the night breeze, from off
the point of the island, a solemn note
of sweetness seemed urging her on.

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

She took off her mat, and the wind
caught her long hair, weaving it
round her young body. Then the
notes called again, and she stepped
out into the lake, up to her knees. A
third time the call came to her, shiver-
ing, and she let herself under the
water, swimming out boldly and
^breasting the chop of the sea.

When she had gone a long way, and
the shore lay like a black, unreal
smudge back of her, a gasping sigh
went up from her, and she stiffened

Hinemoa knew that they were real
and not the deviltry of some un-
friendly tipua of the woods.

Coming to the thicket, she must
needs crawl on all fours, so great was
her weakness, and, in this way, it
chanced that she came, close upon the
steaming pool of the island. It lay
warm, with sides like blue marble in
the scant light, and Hinemoa plunged
into it with a joyous cry, for she knew
that it would warm her into supple
life again.

HINEMOA SWIMS TO TUTANEKAI S ISLAND

and turned to rigid bronze. Then
again, across the water, came the sob
of the reed, low and long, and she
took heart of courage and prayed, as
she swam, to Tangaroa, the god of
waters. And, remembering how Tu-
tanekai, the downcast, had sped round
the stockade for her till his head was
bursting and his breast sobbing, she
clove her limbs thru the frigid lake
faster and faster, putting her heart in
the strokes that would gain him.

She had barely strength to reach
the shelving sands of the island, and,
as she staggered for a foothold, the
notes of the reed died out. But now

And as she lay, like a great fish in
its bowl, the slave of Tutanekai came
beating thru the thicket on his way to
the water.

Hinemoa let him pass, crouching
low in the pool, for she was now come
to the most perilous part of her ad-
venture. The law of the lake-dwellers
decreed that a maiden found in the
ivhare or grounds of a man was, by
that fact, his wife. She knew not the
slave of Tutanekai, and dared not rise
up to go with him.

But, as she heard him fill a gurgling
calabash with water, and come slop-
ping with it thru the thicket on his

HINEMOA

return, she resolved upon an artifice
to find out who was his master.

As he came opposite the pool, she
raised her head from the water and
called, deep and harsh like a man, to
him. The slave shied away from this
unseen call, and his cala-
bash set to trembling in his
hands, but presently he ap-
proached her and gave her
the drink that she had
called for. And when she
had half-drained it, she
rose up suddenly and
dashed it smartly against
the wall of the pool. Then
the slave set to howling and
covering his face, thinking
her surely an evil tipua
that had fastened upon
him.

As she sank slowly into
the pool again, he burst
away, fighting thru the
thicket like a madman, till
he came to the clearing
where lay his master's hut.

When Tutanekai had
heard his blundering story
of the strange man in the
depths of the steaming pool
and his prankishness, he
seized his carved paddle
and set out to chastise him,
be he man or devil.

And 'when Hinemoa saw
his tall shape breasting the
thicket, she would have
cried out to him if she had
not thought suddenly of
her bronze-skinned shame.
So it was that she sank again under
the water as he stood on the edge of
the pool.

He waited, with his paddle blade
poised for a sudden shearing blow.
But, as she rose again for air, despair-
ing of his going, he held himself still

before the drift of shining hair and
the lustrous eyes that shone thru its
meshes.

The paddle dropped, unheeded,
from Tutanekai 's hands. ' ' Hinemoa ! ' '
burst brokenly from his lips.

EXHAUSTED AND COLD, HINEMOA SEEKS THE
STEAMING POOL

"It is I, Downcast One," she said;
' ' and never more need you look below
the level of my eyes."

And, true to her words, her eyes
held his, until she crept into the
shelter of the strong arms beneath his
mat.

h\% FIRST^LAST \
APPtARAtiCF J

Jlxl by OttieEColburD M

Bill Sleeper had the " bear-part "

In a Moving Picture play;
In one scene Bill was to escape

And quickly run away.
Bill got the signal to go,

And, bear-like, Bill he went ;
But Bill unfortunately met

Deaf and dumb old Farmer Kent,
Old Farmer Kent was working —

Fixing up a fence that day —
He didn't know the "business"

Of a Moving Picture play.
He saw poor Bill a-coming —

Bill looked just like a bear —
And nothing more was needed

To give Farmer Kent a scare.
Old Kent pulled out a shooter,

Causing Bill to jump with fear ;

The picture-folks yelled, "Dont
shoot!"

But old Kent he couldn't hear ;
He sent the bullets flying

In a manner very fast —
'Twas Bill's first appearance,

And I guess 'twill be his last.

w^^y,

'Tfft^-

q f< A

QlH®

SGAME of chess was in progress.
The men who bent over the board
were moving the pieces of carved
ivory with that absorbed intentness
which betokens the true game lover.
Carefully the}' studied the board, and
carefully the woman sitting by studied
the two faces. One of them gave her
no reward. The clear-cut features
were inscrutable. The high, smooth
brow neither frowned nor lifted; the
cool, half mocking light in the grey
eyes was unswerving; the suspicion of
a smile which touched the thin lips
never grew to certainty.

The other face, tho partly hidden by
a thick beard and low curling hair, gave
constant indication of the game's
progress. Hope, apprehension, tri-
umph, suspense, dismay, alternated
rapidly, changing to an expression of
utter disgust as the calm figure oppo-
site made the final move.

"Check, and mate !"

The defeated player petulantly
dashed away the board, knocking over
the pieces and sending kings, queens
and pawns flying hither and thither —
an act significant of the tragedy to fol-
low. Then the impulsive player

THE KIXG AXD HIS CHANCELLOR PLAY AT CHESS
49

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

turned to the woman, who drew nearer,
placing a white arm caressingly about
the dark head.

"It is ever so," he said, moodily, his
petulance vanishing at her touch;
"Becket wins. Should ever our for-
tunes clash, I doubt not it would go
hardly with mine. But go to your
rest now. The game is over and I
have much to say to Becket before I
sleep."

There was nothing in the familiar
intimacy of these three to suggest roy-
alty or formal relations of state. But,
as the fair favorite left the room,
throwing an ardent glance backward
to the dark eyes, it was the king, Henry
the Second, who spoke, leaning for-
ward in his chair earnestly, his dark
face reflecting every thought; and it
was the chancellor who replied, atten-
tive, keen, his features reflecting only
coolness and intelligence.

"I like not the way matters stand in
the church. Some reforms must be
made right soon," declared the king,
abruptly. "The exemption of the
clergy from punishment by the courts
is working untold mischief."

"Keform in the church is a delicate
problem," replied the chancellor.
"The clergy are quick to resent the
slightest move which savors of the cur-
tailment of their privileges."

"Nevertheless, there can be no peace
nor rest in England until this matter
is righted," declared Henry. "If all
the priests were good men, it would be
well, but it is not so. Shall a man
who commits robbery, even murder, be
shielded by his profession?"

"Men of the church," assented the
chancellor, quietly, "should be equally
bound to their king with men of the
sword. However, the difficulty of
bringing the clergy under civil law will
be enormous. Ancient priestly tra-
ditions and precedents are stubborn
things with which to deal."

"Do you know," asked the king,
"that the Archbishop of Canterbury is
near his end? I expect daily the
news of his death. The new incumb-
ent of that office must be a man whom
I can trust, one who is in sympathy

with these reforms, and who will keep
faith with me. In short, Thomas a
Becket, you must be the next Arch-
bishop of Canterbury."

"Impossible !" exclaimed Becket, his
composure shaken for a moment.

"Why impossible?" returned Henry,
proceeding with the assurance of one
who has gone over the argument many
times in his own mind. "You were
trained for the church. For years you
have been my trusted minister. What
more natural than that I should give
you this appointment?"

"But my habits, my manner of
life " began the chancellor.

"Are luxurious," interrupted the
king, "but not vicious. True, you
have lived a life of gaiety and pleasure
and your name is a synonym for luxury
and splendor. But with it all, you
have done much serious work, your
name is respected by the people and
your king trusts you. Archbishop
you shall be !"

A sudden knocking interrupted the
conference, and a page entered bearing
a sealed packet for the king. As he
broke the seals and read the message,
Henry glanced sharply from time to
time at Becket, who sat unheeding, ab-
sorbed in thought. The letter finished,
the king stretched out his hand from
which dangled a heavy silver chain,
supporting a cross.

"The archbishop is dead. Here is
his cross of office. You must wear it
to-night."

"Wait," said Becket in a low voice,
"I would speak with you first." Then,
as the king seated himself, Becket con-
tinued :

"You say truly that I was reared for
the church. My earliest remembrances
are of holy things, of reverent, pious
training. Do you know of my mother?

"Gilbert a Becket was a London mer-
chant. "Upon a pilgrimage to the Holy
Land he was taken prisoner by a Sara-
cen Lord, who treated him kindly yet
kept him in captivity. Falling ill of a
fever, Gilbert was nursed for many
weeks by a daughter of the lord and
they grew to love each other. Yet
when an opportunity for escape came,

THOMAS A BECKET,

he fled, leaving her behind. Only two
English words had he taught her, 'Gil-
bert' and 'London/ Disguising her-
self, she went from her home and with
great hardships reached the seashore.
Seeking out the ships, she said over
and over, 'London/ until one captain
took her aboard. One day, as Gilbert
sat in his counting house, he heard a
great noise in the street. 'It is a
woman/ a clerk told him, 'a foreign
woman, with a crowd following her.
She is going up and down the streets
saying 'Gilbert, Gilbert/ Gilbert a
Becket looked out, and there, among
the dark, dirty warehouses, in her
strange dress, with strangers crowding
around her, forlorn and lonely, yet
brave, was the Saracen maiden. A
flood of tenderness swept over him at
such devotion and constancy. He
rushed into the street and took her in
his arms. They were my father and
mother. My mother became a Chris-
tian— such a Christian as only one of
her constancy and devotion can be-

come. Tenderly she trained me in the
ways of piety, and my father obeyed
her dying prayer when he educated me
for the church."

Becket sat silent again, and the king
waited until he continued.

"If you send me into the church,"
the chancellor said, lifting his steady
eyes, from which the mocking light
had faded, "I fear for our friendship.
Now, we agree in everything, but who
can tell what changes may come to me ?
I feel that I, like my mother, would
leave all, risk all, to follow a new light
if it came. Let us be as Ave are, and
let another man be archbishop."

"No," cried the king, "the reforms
must be made ! Only with your help
can I humble these rebellious priests.
No other man shall have this office."

An instant of hesitation, and the
chancellor, returning to his usual cool
assurance, knelt before the king.
There, unwitnessed, in the king's own
chamber, Thomas a Becket received
from his sovereign the holy badge of

KING HENRY JEERS AT BECKET S PENANCE

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his new office. Rising from his knees
he stood for some time looking silently
down on the fateful cross which should
lead to estrangement, enmity, death!
Then, bidding the king good-night,
Thomas a Becket, Archbishop of Can-
terbury, hastened to his own luxurious
home.

Who shail say what visions came to
the new archbishop that night? Lying-
in his richly upholstered bed, sur-
rounded by all the fittings of wealth
and taste, did the sainted Saracen
mother visit her boy with gentle coun-
sel? Did some naming angel stand
before him, to proclaim the church
greater than the king? Or was it but
the calling of his own conscience,
aroused by the shining silver cross on
which he gazed? Certain it is that
from that night Thomas a Becket was
a new man. Arising early in the
morning, he closed his magnificent
home, turned off all his brilliant fol-
lowers, and, clad in penitential robes,
repaired to Canterbury where he began

a life of the most rigid sacrifice and
self-denial.

Henry soon rode to Canterbury to
visit his new archbishop. To his
amazement and mirth he found
Becket doing penance before an altar
in the oratory. But jests died on the
king's lips as the archbishop turned,
for he saw on his face the same look
which he had so often worn when he
was the chancellor. The archbishop
was cool, impassive, undisturbed by the
jeers of his sovereign, yet he spoke a
few words of dignified rebuke. Mut-
tering a half apology, the king rode
away in the midst of his gay retainers ;
and, as he rode, Becket's words rang in
his mind like a refrain — "If you send
me into the church, I fear for our
friendship \"

Puzzled . and vaguely alarmed by
Becket's new attitude, the king sought
solace with the fair Eosamond, wasting
his days in idleness and revelry. En-
couraged by Henry's increasing devo-
tion, more favored than the queen her-

FATHER GERALD DENOUNCING THE KING S LOVE FOR ROSAMOND

THOMAS A BECKET

'THE CHURCH ALOXE HATH POWEK TO PUNISH HEE PRIESTS

self, Kosamond grew bolder and more
arrogant, until whispers of her conduct
stirred the court and brought Father
Gerald, the king's confessor, to remon-
strate with his sovereign.

It needed only this rebuke to fan the
king's smouldering resentment against
the church into a name of frenzy.
Eecalling all his resolves to make the
clergy subject to civil law, he declared
Father Gerald a traitor for presuming
to question his sovereign's acts, and de-
creed that he be instantly beheaded.
But the men who were dispatched to
fulfill this command returned with the
news that Father Gerald had fled for
refuge to the sanctuary at Canterbury.

"I, myself, will go to Canterbury,"
said Henry ; "Thomas a Becket, on the
very night that he was made arch-
bishop, declared his belief that priests
as well as soldiers should be subject
unto their king. He will not so soon
forget his words."

Galloping to Canterbury with a
score of his men, the king demanded
Father Gerald; but Thomas a Becket,

standing, unmoved, with folded arms,
before the curtains which concealed
the priest, dominated the situation and
held back the armed men.

"The church, alone, hath power to
punish her priests !" he avowed,
calmly.

"Traitor!" cried the king. "How
do those words agree with the ones
which you spoke but a month ago in
my palace?"

"Did I not say," returned Becket,
steadily, " 'Let us be as we are, and let
another man be Archbishop of Can-
terbury— who knows what changes
may come to me?' Now the light has
come, and I follow it!"

The king rode wrathfully away with
his retainers, and all the way along
the fair road to London his mind
rang with the words, "If you send me
into the church, I fear for our friend-
ship."

Henry was not easily baffled. His
next move was to summon all the
clergy to a great council at the Castle
of Clarendon. There they framed the

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

FRAMING THE FAMOUS CONSTITUTION OF CLARENDON

famous Constitution of Clarendon,
which decreed that priests should be
answerable to courts of law for their
transgressions. To this council
Thomas a Becket had come; but, tho
priests and lords wept and entreated,
and armed soldiers threatened him, he
refused to alter his position. With
countenance controlled, emotionless as
of old, he passed proudly before the
angry king and the opposing bishops,
and went out from the gathering,
back to his stronghold at Canterbury.
There he fearlessly excommunicated
all who had supported the Constitution
of Clarendon, knowing well that this
would so arouse the impulsive king
that his life would not be safe in Eng-
land.

The same night, secretly, the arch-
bishop fled from England into France,
where for long years he remained,
striving to induce the pope to take an
active part in his quarrel with Henry.
Failing in this, he became daily more
bitter, more determined, more arro-
gant, and from his retreat in Flanders

hurled denunciations and curses at his
enemies.

The king, however, was relenting.
The anger, always so quick to flash,
was also quick to cool. Eosamond
dead, his queen enstranged, thoughts
of his old-time friend came often, and
his impulsive heart softened. Thru
the French kin^ he signified to Becket
his willingness to forgive and forget,
and it was planned that the archbishop
should return to Canterbury. Becket
returned, but the demon of obstinacy
had entered his very soul. Learning
that during his absence the young
Prince Henry had been crowned by
the Archbishop of York, his first act on
arriving at Canterbury was to declare
the coronation illegal, and to excom-
municate the Bishop of York and all
the priests who had assisted him.

Henry looked forward eagerly to the
renewal of his old relations with
Becket : but this happy frame of mind
was rudely disturbed by the Bishop of
York, who came bearing complaints of
these new affronts. In astonishment

THOMAS A BECKET

and dismay the king hastily cried out,
"Is there no one in my court to rid me
of this man?"

It was enough. Four knights
looked at one another and went silently
out, riding away thru the woods to
Canterbury.

It was evening when the archbishop,
looking out from his window, saw the
four knights in armor riding down
upon the castle. His attendants
crowded about him, imploring him to
fly. "No," he said, calmly; "do you
not hear the monks singing the even-
ing hymn? It is time to go in to the
service."

Thru the dim old cloisters, without
hurry, the cross carried before him as
usual, Thomas a Becket for the last
time entered his cathedral, while the
knights hammered at the outer gates.
His terrified servants would have
fastened the door but he forbade them.

"This is a house of God, not a fort-
ress," he said, sternly.

The church was dimly lighted,

shadows lurked in the long aisles, and
lengthened the stately pillars. Behind
the archbishop burned a row of tall
candles, lighting up the great cross
beneath which he stood, resolute, de-
fiant, deserted by his frightened
monks. As the knights came crashing
down the aisle, only his faithful cross
bearer stood by his side and saw the
emotionless face lighten, heard the
calm voice speaking.

"I follow the light," the voice said,
solemnly.

Then the blows fell.

An hour later, Henry the Second,
repenting his rash words, rode madly
thru the forest to Canterbury — too
late ! Quarrels were forgotten, even
the terror at the pope's sure vengeance
was stilled, as the king stood before the
altar, looking down on the familiar
face, scarcely less inscrutible in death
than in life. Memories of the old as-
sociation flooded back, as he gazed,
and a haunting voice seemed to echo —
"If you send me into the church, 1
fear for our friendship/'

THE DEATH OF BECKET BEFORE THE ALTAR OF ST. BENNET

(BIOGRAPH)

Cradled on the mother-bosom of
the Mediterranean lies the child-
country, Italy; a country of
primal passions, hot loves and hotter
hates. It has a smile and a snarl; a
kiss and a stiletto. It is a treacherous
friend and a loyal enemy, and all its
heart-throes lie as near the surface as
the death in the green, ivy-garlanded
breast of Vesuvius, smiling innocent
threat against the burning Neapolitan
sky.

Where the blue water of the inland
ocean lips the land in a soft-tongued,
sibilant caress, the ragged village of
Maremma tumbles to the sea, down
steep, cobble-stone roads and winding,
dirty, picturesque flights of steps. A
volcano, time-erased, once poured the
fury of its temper along the low hills,
caking them with basalt and with
crumbling lava-rock. Long since, the
ugliness has been covered, as Italy
covers all her ancient scars, with
tangles of creepers and the pink and
white convolvulus, and now silver-
gray olive orchards clamber sturdily
up the stern hillsides, and the free
laughter of the fisher-girls pelts the
cliffs with echoes. Yet under the wild
greenery and blossoming lie the em-
bers of smoldering fires, forgotten
fire-pits, lit ages ago when the world
was young, and under the laughter
lie the embers of other fires — of red
love, black hatred and revenge.

"Ecco! Look! a devil-fish! May

the Saints protect me!"

The speaker scrambled up the
shelving slope of the beach, her fingers
twisted into the sign of the horn,
which, as all peasant folks know, is a
cure for the evil eye. Her brown lips,
parted over short, white teeth, flashed
a smile among the other girls who
were gathering kelp and sea-treasures
in the safety of the high-water line.

• ' You keep the Saints busy, Marie, ' '
laughed a short, brown-elbowed girl,
cheerily ugly and industrious. She
paused a moment in her task, to gaze
at her friend with the honest admira-
tion of a squat, clever toad for an
idle-brained, beautiful humming-bird.
Poising a-tiptoe on a rock, arms flung
out, wing-wise, to balance herself,
Marie might have been some warm-
blooded, graceful animal-thing, joying
in the wide air and far-stretching sea.
Under the coarse, white shift, her
rounding breasts lifted the scarlet
velvet bodice in quick movements.
Her short, dark, gathered skirts
whipped about her strong, young
body, and the coarse, black hair
streamed in the rude fingers of the
breeze, beneath the red handkerchief.

' ' Aye, aye, trouble follows me like a
sister," she answered cheerfully.
"Only last holy day I broke my
rosary falling over the steps of the
chapel, and Saint Cecilia has sent me

NEAR TO EARTH

no husband yet, tho I have burned
three beautiful, white candles for her
— 'tis like enough I shall go a maid to
my coffin. ' ' And she burst into a peal
of laughter at the droll idea.

"She speaks with a bold tongue,
but who knows — it may be the truth,
after all, ' ' murmured one of the kelp-
gatherers to her neighbor, with the
rasp of spite in her words. Marie was
too pretty to be popular with the
maiden part of Maremma who were
yet unwed.

"Small chance," sighed her friend.
"They say she is bespoke by Gato
Felicetti, the farmer, but she will
coquette with all the young men to the
very altar itself."

"Gato? Speak of the devil and
there he is ! Now watch them to-
gether. Madonna mia, what a look in
his eyes ! ' '

The girls drew apart, whispering
and tittering, like a noisy flock of
swallows, as the tall, square-shoul-
dered, young man approached. His
eyes leaped toward the swaying,
laughing figure on the rock, out-dis-

tancing his eager feet as he sped to-
ward her, looking neither to the right
nor left in response to the bold or
bashful glances of the other girls.

' ' Marie ! ' ' — his heart beat in his
voice, unsteadying it, as his hand
found hers. "Blood of my soul, but
you are beautiful ! Well, cava mia,
I've come for my answer. Dont play

with me, little one " He bent

over her, his eyes hot on hers.

"You are hurting my arm, Gato — "
She would not look at him, tho the
bodice fell and rose more swiftly, and
the red of yielding crept to her
temples beneath the lowered handker-
chief.

"And you're hurting me. You stab
me with your cruelty, and then you
laugh. Is it the heart of a woman
you have, or of tufa stone ? ' '

The girl lifted her shallow, velvet
eyes, and he read his happiness in
them, and, with a great cry, caught
her strongly in his arms.

"Praise the good Saints," he whis-
pered. "Come, let us go publish the
betrothal notice. We will be wed as

WELL, CARA MIA, IVE COME FOR MY ANS\V£,K

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

soon as the olives are ripe and the
grapes purple in my vineyard. Kiss
me — kiss me, car a mia!"

But the grapes were still green on
their trellises and the chestnut woods
white-blossomed when Gato brought
Marie home to his cottage on the edge
of the tablelands above the lisp of the
sea. The tall, thin young man, driv-
ing the donkey-cart into the stable
yard, left his cart and load of faggots

longer. And then, who knows, mayhap
the Virgin will send us bambinos, eh,
Marie?"

The long, warm days slipped by,
dream-like, to the monotonous moan
of the pigeons and the night-wail of
the brown owls in the olive groves,
and Marie was happy. She baked the
oat-cakes on the embers, and milked
the goats. She flitted like a bright
sunbeam about the rude little cottage,

YES, YES BUT RUN AWAY, LITTLE ONE

in the straw, and hurried to meet
them. A brother-look of face related
him to Gato, but his eyes, black in the
hollows of his cheeks, were patiently
wistful with the illness that racked
his chest and stripped his bones of
flesh. He kist Marie on both cheeks,
and wrung his brother's hand.

"Heaven send you happiness, Gato
mio," he cried.

"Is she not beautiful, Guisseppe?"
Gato's voice thrilled with pride, and
his eyes worshiped her. "We must
make her happy, this little one ; and
the house will not be lonely any

sweeping the cement floor, cooking,
washing, with a song on her brown
lips, and its echo in her girl-soul. But,
one day, the song died, and a strange
and terrible doubt crept into the place
of it. She had baked a cake — a most
marvelous cake, with spices and sugar,
and she hurried with it, aflame with
pride, to show Gato, who was writing
briskly in his account-book by the
table. But Gato hardly looked at the
cake. There was a frown between his
eyes and jn his voice as he said :

"Yes, yes — but run away, little one.
I am busy "

NEAR TO EARTH

Marie could not trust her ears.

"See! I made it, I myself, a beau-
tiful cake," she cried, her voice
trembling like a hurt child's. Still
Gato bent over the paper, his lips
moving with his pen, and this time he
did not speak at all. Marie turned
away silently. The cake she fed to
the pigeons in the stable yard, but the
new-born doubt she carried in her
heart, nursing it day by day, as she
watched Gato buried in his work,

brood. Marie brooded the sparkle
from her ey^s and the joy from her
laugh, and Gato and his brother
worked in the fields and the olive
orchard, for there must be lire in
the purse before winter or there would
be no bread and cheese and red wine
for them all.

And then came Sandro, big of body,
bold and handsome ; Sandro, who
looked at Marie with hungry eyes and
smiled meaningly. Up from the

THEN CAME SANDRO, WHO LOOKED AT MARIE WITH HUNGRY EYES

always tender and gentle with her, but
sometimes forgetful of her presence.
She would rather he had beaten her
than forgotten her, she thought miser-
ably, and searched her soul for some
way that she might have offended him
— but no. She had done nothing. He
was simply getting tired of her —
that was all. Once he even forgot to
kiss her good-by as he drove his ox-
team out into the wheat-fields, and he
did not tell her that she was beautiful
any more now.

Women are strange creatures. They
must be told and retold; if not they

beach he came, a wanderer from the
romantic wilds of Nowhere ; saw
Marie in the doorway; stopped for a
drink of water, and, before the gourd
was empty, had made up his mind.
Was there work he could find on the
farm, he asked her, great, warm,
eager eyes on her face. The glance
was a shame and a delight. Marie
hesitated, looked slyly at him; then
hesitated no longer. She would see.
In a moment she was back with Gato,
and a bargain was made. The
stranger tossed a glance over his
shoulder as he followed Gato down

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

the path — a glance that said much
silently in arch of black brow, flash of
white teeth and gleam of fierce, brown
eyes.

' ' He likes me ; he sees I am pretty ! ' '
thumped Marie's foolish little heart,
under the red velvet bodice. "What
a fine man, to be sure, with his great
limbs of an ox and eyes like a calf!"
She went into the cabin and spent the
next half-hour looking at her reflec-
tion in the cracked mirror over the
deal table. At the end, she nodded
her head with sly satisfaction. "Not
so bad," she commented. "Gato is a
blind pig not to see me any longer.
His figs and olives and corn look
prettier to him. O'e! well, the Virgin
send him better sense. Others may
not be so foolish as he. That man —
he has eyes — he sees I am pretty.
Peste!"

And, with feminine logic, she burst
into a rain of weeping, burying her
face in Gato's old coat, hanging on its
nail by the door.

The stone lions on the crest of Su-
braccio were etched like deformed
goblin-things against an exuberant
sky of crimson and wild color when
Marie saw Sandro again; The red
passion of the sunset touched every-
thing with fevered fingers, and the
air was hot — panting hot and breath-
lessly still. The far, dim white cliff,
with the ruined convent atop, were
rosy ; the sea, a molten bowl of flame ;
and the scarlet of the sunset beat in
the man's veins and lurked in his
eyes.

"Our Lady give thee happiness,
pretty signora," he said. His hat
swept against the silver buttons on
his blue velvet, peasant coat. "Z
preti, but it is a glorious evening, is it
not— for a stroll?"

Marie's heart throbbed with excite-
ment beneath the admiration of his
glance.

"And — and — is the signor fond
of — strolling?" she questioned de-
murely. The child-desire to toy with
danger was upon her, and she raised
her liquid eyes to his face for the first
time. She had never been so beauti-
ful. Sandro 's breath came heavily,

and his hands knotted as he looked.
But his voice was suave and innocent.

"Ah, yes, and you?" Something
gave the words a treacherous signifi-
cance. The wine of excitement ran in
Marie's veins, but she began to move
away — up the winding path to the
cottage.

' ' But not now, ' ' she smiled. ' ' Gato
will be calling for his supper, and the
goats are not milked, or the chickens
fed. Give you sweet rest, signor —
and — perhaps — some time "

"Some time! Ay, and soon," mut-
tered the man, as he watched the girl
run, light as thistle turf, up the
steep path. "She is too beautiful for
the dolt of a husband and his puny
brother. What eyes ! and what round,
heavy, white arms "

Marie's flexible conscience berated
her soundly for her imprudence. To
atone, she was more tender with Gato
than usual for several days, and, on
the other hand, he had never seemed
so indifferent. In vain she wore her
gold earrings and coral beads ; in vain
she smiled and pouted and thrummed
upon the guitar: he only scribbled
figures on a piece of paper, or con-
sulted Guisseppe in low whispers
across the table. In her downcast
face, an afternoon or two later, San-
dro read his opportunity. He knew
that he was safe from interruption.
Had not he seen Gato drive away with
some foreign gentlemen an hour ago?
And here sat Marie alone on the door-
stone, her face twisted with bitter
thoughts. He approached.

"Marie, bellissima!" he murmured.
The girl looked up, startled, to meet
his hungry eyes. The two stared into
one another's faces, wordless, for a
long while. In hers he read wounded
pride, the longing to hurt and repay ;
in his she saw burning admiration,
the desire of her. At last she spoke,
flatly, breathlessly :

"What is it that you wish ?"

In one hot word he answered her:
"Youl"

She was so silent that he believed
his point won, and laughed aloud
with pleasure. "Carrissima mia,
flower of the field, we will go away —

NEAR TO EARTH

far away from the cruel Gato and the
hard work and the loneliness. We
will be happy — so happy. Come, let
us start at once — it grows late —
avanti!"

He seized her hand, and drew her
to her feet, clasping her close to him.
The throb of his heart shook her.
With a cry, she broke from him, sob-
bing wildly, and turned to flee.

' ' No, no ! the Saints forgive me.

be, he would tell her! His air of
clumsy secrecy and evasion angered
Marie, still quivering from Sandro 's
looks and touch. He did not smile at
her or kiss her. He did not tell her
she was beautiful. He simply changed
his coat and went out again, unnoting
the fire in her eyes. As she watched
him go, the fire flickered brighter,
higher, until it mounted to her brain.
The man on the rock looked up

A WEATHER-STAINED VIRGIN SMILED WOODENLY OUT

We sin in our throats. No, I cannot.
Gato, what would he do "

She was gone. The man looked
after her with baffled eyes, his face
drowned in dull blood. Then he
turned away, down the path to the
beach below, and flung himself, sob-
bing wildly, face downward, on a
stone above the sea.

Gato strode homeward, his heart
big with gladness. What a surprise
he had for Marie ! But she should not
know till all was completed. He
would go home, put on his best
clothes, and go to town. When he
came back, and all was as it should

heavily at the touch on his shoulder;
then sprang to his feet, gasping swift
words.

"No — never mind — th at , n ow, ' '
said Marie, her voice calm with her
suppressed anger. "I — have left —
Gato. I hate him. I will go — with
you — if you wish "

He bent to her lips in a long, fierce
kiss that drained the blood of her
body into her face. Then he seized
her hand, and climbed with her down
to the sand.

"Come — we go," he said briefly,
and the sand shrilled and hissed under
their guilt-hastened feet as they sped

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

northward toward the open world.
Only once did she hesitate. In a turn
of the road stood a wayside shrine
where a weather-stained Virgin smiled
woodenly out on the peasant carts and
the women passing to the gleaning
field, their babies at their skirts.
When Gato had brought her home
they had knelt there and told an Ave
— and now But the unreason of

It was late when Gato returned
from town. The far convent bells
rang the Angelus across the drowsy
world. Mules' shoes clattered on the
cobbles of the roadway, and the clank
of goat-bells vied with the throb of
the nightingales in the acacia
trees. A wind had come out of the
sunset, mourning along the gorges
and the ilex-wood, sending withering

HOW SURPRISED SHE WILL BE, THE LITTLE WITCH

fury was upon her, and she went on
by the shrine.

In the cottage the thin-faced Guis-
seppe gazed, horror-stricken, on the
note pinned to the door. He had
found it when he returned from the
fields :

You no longer show me love. I go
with Sandro. Marie.

Then, with a snarl of fury, he
seized something bright and deadly-
looking from the cupboard and was
gone.

vine-leaves and wisps of straw across
Gato's path with the depression of
coming winter.

"An apoplexy on the wind!"
he cried good-naturedly, struggling
against it up the path to the cottage,
his arms tightening about the bundles
he carried.

"Where can Marie be, that the
brass lamp is not lighted? How sur-
prised she will be, the little witch,
when she knows how well I have sold
my land and sees what I bought for
her ! Marie ! where are you ! Cara
mia — see! Marie! "

NEAR TO EARTH

She was not there. He searched the
small house over, terror gnawing his
heart. Was she sick — had something
happened to her ? The note tossed to
the table by Guisseppe told him what
it was that had happened. For a mo-
ment it was a beast that raved in the
cabin, shouting thick curses, fumbling
for his dagger; then, suddenly, he
sank into a chair by the table and
buried his face in his work-hardened
hands. The sobs that shook him came
from his soul.

' " Ah. Marie — little one — pretty one
— and he ! Curses and black death on
him! But where have they gone?
Ah, no, I can do nothing ! Oh, Marie
— Marie!— "

He did not hear the footsteps on the
door-stcfue. in the isolation of his pain.
Then they entered and stood beside
him. Guisseppe, breathing hard,
leaned against the door-post, watch-
ing. Marie put out a timid hand and
touched Gato 's sleeve.

"Gato, mio — it is I, Marie "

He sprang to his feet with a bound.
His eyes glared hot hatred on her, his
hands sank into her flesh, and he
snarled as he bent above her soft
throat.

"Ah — so already you have had
enough? Where is your lover"? You
do well to come back to the house you
have stained "

"Guisseppe — found us — in time.
He flung Sandro — over a cliff "

The words were stifled by the cruel
fingers on her throat. With her fail-
ing strength she plucked a stiletto
from her belt and put it into Gato's
hand.

"Strike— that will end the dis-
grace " The words were hardly

more than breaths. Gato snatched
the knife from her hand and poised
it over her breast. Then — strange
vision — they were together by the sea-
shore again, the white fishing-boats
coming in, the gay voices of the kelp-
gatherers. They were before the
priest, her hand warm and tremulous
in his — they were kneeling by a

shrine The knife clattered, sin-

lessly, to the floor.

With a hoarse sob, Gato caught her
to his breast and buried his face in
her blue-black hair.

"I love you — I cannot hurt you,
car a mia!"

She was sobbing her shame against
his heart ; stammering pleas for for-
giveness Suddenly he turned to

the table and opened the bundles with
impatient fingers. He held up a coat
and hat proudly.

"See — Marie — these are for you.
Put them on, carrissima, and dry
your tears. Ah! that is right — quite
right "

He turned to Guisseppe, his eyes
alight with pride. ' ' See, Guisseppe, ' '
he cried brokenly — "see — is she not
beautiful?"

The Call of the "Movies"

By RICHARD WRIGHT

Who wants to go to see the shows

The high-priced theaters run,
When at the "movies" one can have

All kinds of harmless fun?
Who wants to dig up for a seat

Two dollars and a half,
When for a nickel one can go

And have a hearty laugh,
Or travel far in foreign lands,

And witness distant scenes,
Or view the melodramas that

Are acted on the screens?
Who wants to spend all evening

In a space two feet by two,

And find his legs are paralyzed

Before the show is thru?
Who wrants to sit three weary hours,

To watch a plot unfold,
Or suffer thru a comedy

With hoary jokes, and old?
The fascination of the films

Is growing every day,
A source of recreation which

Has surely come to stay :
The class of entertainment

To which everybody goes —
The educating, captivating,

Moving Picture shows !

^BSgjj^

aw*9****^!?

The Greater Love

(American)

By COURTNEY RYLEY COOPER

%m-

Betty sat by the window — waiting.
A fear was in her heart- — a
tremulous, pangf ul fear — her
gaze wandered here and there before
her, watching, watching for that
which she knew must come— expect-
ant, yet grudging every moment
which brought it nearer to her. The
dying light of a tired sun caught full
her face and heightened the color of
excitement there; it wandered thru
the straying wisps of her chestnut
hair, and turned it all to a crucible of
living gold ; it faded slowly, and, with
its languishing rays, the head of the
girl bent forward upon her hands —
a bit of a sob shook her body. There
was a long, long silence. Then Betty
raised her head and looked resolutely
before her.

"When he comes," she said softly,
and the. tremble was in the lips, in
spite of her determination, "I'll not
let him know how it hurts — that
wouldn't be right. I'll be brave

and " She started a bit, and then

turned. A second later, she was
smiling into the face of a big, boyish-
appearing man who stood before her.
' ' Hello, boy ! ' ' she greeted him. " I 've
been waiting for you. ' '

Ed Evans hesitated. There was
something of a stammer in his voice

as he looked down into the face of the
girl before him.

"I — it took me a long time to get
ready. I — I" — he paused again —

"I " The words ceased. In a

burst of impulsiveness the great arms
had swept the form of the girl into
their embrace, and the face of the
man was pressed close to that of
Betty. "I — I just seemed to be all
thumbs," he said. "I tried to hurry
— I just hated every minute that I
lost, because I knew that would mean
one minute less with you, honey. I — "

Two soft hands were pressed against
his face. Betty's eyes were looking
into his.

"I know, boy," she answered. "I
know just how it was. I've been sit-
ting here by the window, waiting for
you, wishing you would come, yet just
hating to see you, because I knew it
would mean our parting. Eddie, boy,
I know it's for the best; you must go
where opportunity takes you. There 's
a chance out there in the West — and
you're going to make the most of it.
There's only one thing I ask, Ed —
that you dont forget the girl you
left "

Her voice ceased, in the crushing
embrace of the great arms.

Forget?" Evans asked, and his

TEE GREATER LOVE

voice was strange and husky.
"Forget? Honey, if the United
States doesn't get out an in-
junction against my burden-
ing the mails with a hundred
letters a day, my name isn't
Ed Evans! Forget?— why— "

"I didn't mean it, Eddie!"
The coquettishness showed in
Betty's face. "I just wanted
to hear you say that I know
you wont. You're not that
kind." She started at the
reverberating stroke of the
town clock, far acroS'S the
square. "You haven't much
time — good-by. ' '

And a minute later, the tears
now streaming unchecked,
Betty again stood by the win-
dow, waving to the big-bodied,
big-hearted man she had just
kist good-by.

As for the man himself —
that night he sat staring out
the window of the whirling
train, far across the black ex-
panse of hurrying fields with-
out, to where a rift in the
clouds let in a bit. of the moon's
light, and, by some miracle,
formed there the face of a girl
— a girl with chestnut hair and
eyes that w ere created but
once. Ed Evans stirred a bit
laughed a bit mournfully to himself.

' ' Forget her ! " he mused. ' ' There
isn't a woman in the world that could
take her place for a second — not
more'n a couple of seconds anyway,
even if she killed herself trying. Gee
whiz ! ' ' — he stared ahead anxiously —
"by the time I get out there to New
Mexico, I'll be four days away from
her. It'll take four days for a letter
to come from her, and four for mine
to go back. That's an eternity."

But, someway, the first eternity
passed, and Ed Evans found himself
within the confines of a one-storied
New Mexican village, huddled at the
base of towering mountains, with here
and there its houses of wood and
stone, where lived the "gringoes,"
with everywhere the adobe huts of the
Mexicans, with dogs, innumerable

YOU HAVEN T MUCH TIME GOOD-BY

dogs, that ran the poor, sun-baked
streets, and, far in the distance, the
towering shaft of the mines where, as
fieldman, Ed was to receive his em-
ployment. There was not an abun-
dance of cheerful prospect in that
first glance. A long street, with here
and there a gaunt-faced, burnt-copper
"greaser" asleep in the sun; the
weird song of a woman coming from
nowhere in particular; the odor of
frijoles and enchalatas. Evans looked
in vain for the sign of a hotel. Then
he strode forward and nudged one of
the sleeping Mexicans with his foot.

"Where's a hotel here?" he asked.
The Mexican opened one eye lazily,
then shut it again. Ed repeated his
question. Both eyes were opened this
time.

"Poco tiempo, senor," the drowsy
one remonstrated. "Have one li'l

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

beet patience, you call him. That
way. ' '

He pointed to a building in the dis-
tance, more pretentious than the
others, and Ed followed the direc-
tions. Ten minutes more, and he was
again in the odor zone of the tortilla
and the enchalata. He knocked at the
door. A long wait. He fretted in the
hot sun.

"I wonder if anybody does any-
thing but sleep in this town?" he
growled, half to himself; "you cant
get anything out of it. Of all the — "

He stopped abruptly. The girl who
stood framed in the door before him
was just a bit different from any he
ever had seen. Hair the depth and
darkness of midnight, eyes which
shone with the sparkle and brown of
glossy mink, lips voluptuous and full,
and a bit of a smile about them that
lured. Ed Evans stared a second,
then recovered.

' ' Howdy ? " he said. ' ' They told me
down the line this was a hotel or
boarding-house, or something of the
kind. Is it?"

The girl at the door smiled.

"Si, senor."

"Think I could put up here? I'm
going to be with the White Eagle
people, but I 'm going to be out in the
range for them a good deal," he
added, with an upward glance at the
mountains beyond, " so I wanted some
place I could "

"Si, senor," the girl answered
again. "You call him boarding-
house ? Ten Mex a week, senor. ' '

"Ten Mex?"— Ed Evans looked
blank— "what's that?"

A laugh from the door. It seemed
the girl had weighed him in the bal-
ance, regarded him in his every light,
and taken him for a friend already.
Playfully she held up her fingers and
counted on them.

1 ' Ten Mex — Mexicano dollar, senor.
Five gold — gringo money. I have
room for you." She laughed again,
and pulled her straying mantilla back
from her eyes. "I like you ver', ver'
much, senor, already. You think you
like him, this boarding-house? You
think you stay ? ' '

Ed Evans laughed good-naturedly.

"Dont see any reason why I
shouldn't," he answered. "Would
you mind showing me my room ? I 'm
full of sand as a mortar-box. ' '

"Prontito, senor," answered the
girl, and, with a friendly gesture, ex-
tended her hand and laid it on his
arm. Then, quickly, it was drawn
back, her eyes snapped as they fast-
ened themselves on a figure across the
street, and her expression and manner
changed. "Thees way, senor," she
said shortly as she preceded him
within.

But quick as she had been, the
figure had seen. Hovering within the
shade of the jacal opposite, Jose, of
the ever-gleaming knife and the ever-
ready pistola, had seen, and, with
seeing, his heart had surged. For
Jose, mal hombre as he might be as
far as the men were concerned, was
muy caballero to those of the feminine
sex upon whom he chose to smile, and
to whom he chose to sing his canciones
de amor, accompanied by his plunking
guitar and the moonlight — muy ca-
ballero to all except one : Conchita of
the boarding-house. .

Therefore, should it be any wonder
that Jose, beloved of those who sought
him, should turn all aside for one
who did not love him ? It is the way
of nature, and that afternoon, as he
slunk from the shadow of the jacal
and glided down the Casa Grande — if
Chiquoti 's one street may be called
that — strange shrugs of the Latin race
moved his shoulders and strange oaths
of the Latin tongue came from his
lips. For Jose had seen a stranger,
and a "gringo" at that, receive from
Conchita more affection in one glance
than he had been able to muster in
months of sighs and serenatas. Long
he strode, disdaining the tawdry
signs of Chiquoti 's two saloons and
their gringo whisky; Jose wanted
more — the solitude of his own 'dobe
and the stupor of mescal.

Three days he watched: in the
morning when the Gringo — Jose knew
Ed Evans by no other name — left for
his first day at the White Eagle; in
the afternoon, when, skirting the sage

TEE GREATER LOVE

and the cacti, he saw him depart upon
his first mission; in the short New
Mexican evening, before the stars
descended to their glowing, almost
reachable places in the velvet sky — and
gritted his teeth at the sight of Con-
chita, her hands playing with her
mantilla, waiting in the doorway for
this new being who had come into her
life. Three days he watched, while
the blood raced in his veins; slink-

The lips of Jose drew back from his
teeth. His hand wandered aimlessly
toward where the butt of his knife
showed above its covering. "Diablo,
bonita!" he began in Spanish, and
then shifted to his stilted English:
"Ver' well, ver' well. Mebbe so you
like him. Ver' well."

And he was gone, gone to hurry
down the Casa Grande toward the
mountains, gone to seek the trail

THIS GRINGO, YOU LIKE HIM

ing, like the dogs of the Casa Grande,
he walked after them as they strolled
the third night ; and then, the fourth
day, he sought Conchita.

"This Gringo, you like him, eh?"
he questioned. He had come upon
Conchita just at the fence above the
arroya. She tilted her eyes to him.

"Si," she answered in the affirma-
tive, with a little smile. "May I not
like him, if I care to ? "

"You'll like him more, senorita?"

A nod of the head.

"Si!"

higher and higher, to leave it and
scramble among the rocks and crags
high above. Jose had not watched
three days in vain. He had not seen
Ed Evans take the same path three
consecutive times and return by it,
without knowing that his duties lay
in that direction. In the mind of Jose
was the scheming and the cowardice
of the true "greaser. " Other men he
might meet in the open, trusting to
fortune that his finger might press the
trigger a second sooner, or his knife-
gleam meet the sunlight before the

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

weapon of the adversary was un-
sheathed— but here was a case for
caution. There must be a more
stealthy way about it all ; more of the
accident, yes? Jose laughed to him-
self, and rolled a great boulder to the
edge of the cliff; strained and lifted
it, to test his muscle; returned it to
the ground; then sprawled, at full
length, to wait.

An hour he watched and smoked
his cigarets. Two hours, while the
sun dropped steadily toward the
ragged edge of the mountains beyond.
Three — he started to his feet at a
sound far down the canyon. He
lifted the boulder ; he poised, his eyes
gleaming at the form far below. The
snarl came again to his lips. The
muscles gripped, then sprang to activ-
ity— a crash as the boulder went
down, a scream from below ; and Jose,
muy cabellero, strolled away, to wan-
der aimlessly into town; to smoke his
cigarets and drink his mescal, and
to find out later whether or not his
missile brought death or only injury.
Neither made much difference, just so
it were one of the two. Jose would
as soon maim as kill.

Thus it was that he hid where the
black wall of the jacal shut out the
moonlight, and smiled to himself as
they bore the crumpled heap into the
boarding-house late that night. Dead ?
He would see. He crept close to the
building. He heard the summons for
a physician. He heard the verdict,
and listened to the cry or two of pain
as the physician began his work.
Only a broken leg? Oh, ver' well.
There were other times coming, and
there were other boulders in the
mountains. An hour more, and Jose
plunked his guitar beneath the win-
dow of the senorita across the arroya.
The world was- well. There was time
enough for Conchita when the second
boulder fell.

And while he sang, Conchita sat by
the bed of a staring-eyed man, aim-
lessly fingering the beads of her
rosary. Suddenly she looked down.

"You had Senor Doctor send him
tel'gram?" she ventured. Ed Evans
turned his head.

"Yes," he answered, with seeming
indifference.

"Who to?" There was a sharp
querulousness in the tone. The man
laughed.

" To a friend of mine. ' '

' ' Somebody who likes you ? ' '

"Yes."

"Ver' much?"

"Yes."

A pause. Then Conchita leaned
closer.

"I like you ver', ver' much, too,"
she whispered. Ed Evans covered her
hand with his.

"I'm glad of that," he said. "I
like you a lot, too, Conchita. We've
been good friends, haven't we?"

The sentence was disdained.

"Who get him tel'gram — senor or
senorita?"

Ed laughed.

' ' That 's a secret, ' ' he answered.

But four days later, as the sun died
behind the black hills, the secret was
ended. A girl knelt beside the, bed of
Ed Evans, and her lips were pressed
to his. The straying wisps of chest-
nut hair touched his cheek. The
tender hands of Betty attempted to
cool the fevered temples. And Con-
chita, her breath choking in her
throat, her blood congealing in her
veins, saw and understood. For just
a second all the angry passion of her
Latin forbears flared into being. Her
fingers extended claw-like, the glare of
the tempest was in her eyes — then all
faded. Like the little being of the
wild she was, she turned and fled ; she
sought the open, the skies, the low-
hanging stars, the shadowy forms of
the cacti, out there where the moon's
rays descended unshielded, and where
the wind was soft and cool. Long she
wandered, then stopped abruptly. She
laughed happily to herself and the
stars.

"Mebbe him sister," she said hope-
fully. "Mebbe "

She turned and ran for the huddled
little town.

She sought the open doorway, and
listened at the door. He was still
awake, lying on the bed as when she
had left him, dressed. Softly, Con-

THE GREATER LOVE

chita crept within and knelt beside
him, in the moonlight.

' ' Him sister ? ' ' she questioned. Ed
Evans turned his eyes.

"Who?" he questioned. "Betty?
Goodness, no ! She's going to be more
than a sister to me. She 's going to be
my wife. Dont you like her? Dont
you think she 's pretty ? You know, ' '
he rambled on, without waiting for
the answer, "since I met her, there

happy," she said. "Mebbe some day
you find out — about Conchita. Mebbe
some time "

A scream. The sound of steps. The
staring eyes of Conchita shot upward.
Jose stood framed in the moonlight,
that snarl on his lips again, his knife
gleaming.

' ' Gringo ! " he breathed. ' ' Gringo !
She like you ver' much, eh? She — "

It was then that the plunge came.

CONCHITA PATIENTLY SAT BY THE INJURED MAN 's BEDSIDE

isn 't a woman in the world who could
make me think twice about her, not
even if she killed herself trying.
That's a fact."

Conchita did not answer just then.
Her fingers were at her rosary now,
and her lips were moving swiftly. Age
seemed to have entered her face all in
a moment and left the telling imprint
of its claws there. A deep breath
trembled past her lips, and she
reached forward to cover the cool
hand of the man with her feverish

one.

I hope you will be ver', ver:

It was then that the knife went high
in the air and displayed its gleaming,
glittering circle as it swept downward.
It was then that the scream came
again — louder as the knife found flesh
and the gleam of steel died in the dull
of blood. It was then that the eyes
of Conchita stared in one great second
of anguished agony, then closed as the
head dropped forward. For Conchita
had been quicker than the knife of
Jose, and her body had formed the
protection that shielded the life of the
man she loved, willing to give up her
own life to save his.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

THEN ALL WAS STILL DEATHLY STILL

The steps of those who gripped
tight the wrists of muy cabellero
ceased to echo without. The physi-
cian, jealously watching the fading
pulse-beats of the one whose life was
ebbing, turned to Betty, standing
anxious-faced beside him.

"Tell that woman outside to stop
her crying/' he ordered. "Conchita's
trying to say something. ' '

And then, in the stillness, as they
leaned toward her, Conchita, the
ruddy color gone from her cheeks and

the gloss of the mink departed from
her eyes, smiled wanly into the face
of Ed Evans, and, with one great
effort, raised herself toward him.

"You say mebbe woman make you
think twice about her if she kill her-
self trying Oh, ver' well. Adios,
senor — adios, senorita!"

The man's breath caught.

Then all was still — deathly still —
except for the moaning from without,
where the old senora had begun again
to mourn.

The commencement ball, the fare-
well of farewells to the gradu-
ates of the college, had passed off
with the usual elations and heartaches.
Some of the sweetest associations of
college life had ended abruptly ; others
had been projected into the future on
the wings of promise.

Such a promise James Abbott had
expected to win from May Scott, of
the nut-brown hair and eyes and the
provoking carmine lips. The choice
lay between him and Frank Arthur,
but James, with every tribute to
Frank's fine nature, clung to the hope
that his own more brilliant social
attributes would make the stronger
appeal to the girl they both loved.
When he had led her from the ball-
room and asked her the question that
welled up from his boy's heart, she
sadly shook her head.

"May!" he exclaimed, scarcely be-
lieving that the dreams he had so
persistently lived in could thus in-
stantly be shattered. The agony in
his voice wrung a protest from her.

"Dont! dont, Jim! You make it
so hard for me. I like you immensely
— you know that — but not "

"There is some one else — Frank, I
suppose ? " he said bitterly.

Her head drooped in telltale ac-
knowledgment. He looked at her for

a moment, as tho to make one more
effort. She was so beautiful, so allur-
ing, so desirable in his eyes — his ' ' one
woman out of all the world!" Then
the thought of Frank, his successful
rival and his chum, intruded. Clench-
ing his jaws together, he turned reso-
lutely and left her.

"When Frank came to him that
night, blindly happy, with the news
of his engagement to May, James
managed to conceal his hurt, and
accompanied his congratulations with
a hearty handshake.

What he experienced was less a
sense of envy toward Frank than of
defeat for himself. Something seemed
to have given way under him and
left him floundering aimlessly.

The morning dawned, and, with
it, the preparations for departure.
"The Three Musketeers," inseparable
chums — James Abbott, Frank Arthur
and Martin Wynne — at last stood
together, gloomy to morbidity at
thought of parting.

" 'When shall we three meet
again?' " quoted Martin, with an
attempt at burlesquing tragedy, " ' In
thunder, lightning, or in rain?' "

"With you heading for the 'wild
and woolly,' and Frank making for
the land of pie and doughnuts, and
me crossing into Dixieland, I dont see

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

any prospect of our forgathering in
the near future."

Frank took from his pocket a note-
book, and wrote upon one of the
pages. Tearing out the leaf, he
divided it into three strips, giving one
to each of the boys. Martin read
from his slip : ' ' Until we three meet
again, June 12th, ten years from
today."

' ' Right-o ! ' ' said Martin. " I '11 be
with you, if I have to ride a mustang
all the way. ' '

was something about him that hinted
at a fall from grace, rather than at a
wallowing in native mire.

Another man, coarse and brutal-
visaged, lurched up to the table.
"Got the whole cosey-corner re-
soived?" he asked, in a tone that
dared one to refuse him an invitation.

"Sit down, if you want to," an-
swered the lounger. "The place is as
much yours as mine. ' '

' ' Is that so ? Glad to hear it, "
threw out the newcomer, truculently,

UNTIL WE THREE MEET AGAIN

"I suggest we put these scraps of
paper in our watches, so as to have
the reminder always with us," said
James. "Ten years is a long time to
bear that date in mind."

They acted upon the suggestion,
and, as they snapped their watch-
cases shut, they seized one another's
hands and said the final good-by.

At a sloppy table, in a corner of a
disreputable- saloon, a man, shabby,
haggard, stamped with the impress of
years evilly spent, sprawled limply.
Altho in the haunt of outcasts, there

as he pulled out a chair and sat down.
He had caught the note of breeding
and education in the man's reply, and
it had started that irritation that, the
brutally illiterate feel toward those
who have lived on a higher plane.

"Ye 're down on yer luck, uh?
Ye 're lookin' purty low-down, if ye
ast me," he continued, in growing
curiosity.

The other winced. "Well, there
may be deeper pits in hell to fall to,
but I doubt it," he muttered wearily.

"What's de matter? Kist all yer
cush good-by?"

UNTIL WE THREE MEET AGAIN

"Long ago," admitted the other.

"What '11 ye have? A swig o' rum
'11 put some hope in yer heart," sug-
gested the brutal one, at the same time
making a sign to the barkeeper.

' ' Not for me. I 'm done — I 'm down
and out, ' ' came in feeble drone.

"That's jest why ye shud have
it," maintained the impromptu host,
roughly. "Now drink it down," he
ordered, as the drinks were set before
them.

The other clutched the glass with a
fierceness that told of the gnawings
and cravings of a depraved appetite.
The glasses drained, the burly one
signaled another order.

"My monaker's 'Mike,' " he volun-
teered, as the fresh glasses were
brought. ' ' "Wot 's yourn ? ' '

"Jim," answered the other.

"Huh! Short an' sweet, an' dont
give away secrets. Ever bin in stir?"

"No," answered Jim, not even in-
dignant at the implication of crimi-
nality.

"Never done time? Youse is one
of the lucky guys, huh?" Mike per-
sisted.

"I never committed a crime," re-
torted Jim.

"Den, wot's yer doin' aroun' here?
Wot's brought yer down to this?"
queried Mike, a hard, purposeful light
growing in his small eyes.

The wretched man opposite tried to
evade those eyes and the question, but
the shattered will surrendered, as it
had been doing for the past ten years,
and, an answer being easier than re-
sistance, he blurted out : " It all started
over a woman. I loved her ; she threw
me down, and married my chum. ' '

A look of disgust overspread Mike's
features. "As far as ever I cud see,
a dame's a dame. Ef ye cant git one,
ye can git one jest as good," he de-
clared. "But," condoningly, "ye 're
not the only one thet's started wrong
and finished wrong bekase of a skoit.
This woild down round hereabouts is
full of such guys. Wot's bin yer line,
Jim?"

"Oh, drink, gambling — anything
with excitement to it," he answered
dully.

There had been more drinks, and
Mike was watching their effect.

"See here, pal," he said at last,
with an assumption of friendliness,
"ye 're dead broke. Why not hook up
wid me an ' git a little swag ? ' '

The bleared eyes looking out from
Jim's haggard face turned question-
ingly to the speaker.

"Yep; ye 're on," was Mike's an-
swer to the mute query.

"Nothing like that," said Jim, in a
tone that was intended to be firm.

The other laughed harshly. ' ' When
a bloke's got as near the end as youse,
a trick or two aint goin' to ruin his
reputation. Now listen. I got a job
on fer tonight — swell shack, easy
boost. Wot's the woid?"

A refusal, tho lacking in outraged
emphasis, fluttered among the debris
of the other man 's morality. Then its
feeble existence ended with the next
argument from Mike.

"Yer've got to have de cush,
haven't yer? Well, come along,
den!"

They rose together, and slouched
from the saloon.

"Now, please, mother, one more
song, and then I'll close my eyes
tighty-tight and go by-by."

Mrs. Arthur smoothed the bed-
clothes over the little figure and drew
them up about the rosy, mischievous
face.

"Daphne, dear, mother has sung
you all her songs. You must go by-by
like a sweet little flower. All the little
flowers and birdies are sound asleep.
So close your eyes; that's a good
baby."

Daphne squeezed her eyelids tight
over the bluest and brightest of eyes.

"Just sing 'Rock-a-by,' and I'll
truly sleep, ' ' she promised.

Mrs. Arthur sang, in a low voice,
and before the end of the lullaby was
reached, little Daphne had fulfilled
her promise. Smiling fondly, the
mother bent to kiss the sleeping face.
But she suddenly straightened up,
listening to sounds that reached her
from the room beneath.

"Burglars!" she whispered in

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

terror. ' ' And Frank will not be back
for an hour ! What shall I do ? Oh !
what shall I do?"

She crept to the door, listened in-
tently, then rushed to the telephone
and called up the police station. The
answer came back that a detective
would be sent over immediately. She
hung up the receiver. The stealthy
sounds from below rasped her nerves
with their sinister significance. After
the first thrill of fear, she began to

"My God!" he moaned.

The hall-door opened, and, with a
glad cry, May Arthur welcomed her
husband.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"A burglar !" she gasped, pointing.

In three strides Frank was within
the room. In three seconds he had
grappled with the burglar and torn
the mask from his face. Frank and
May stood in petrified silence, staring
at the cowering intruder.

JIM RECOGNIZES HIS OLD SWEETHEART

feel a sort of rage against the in-
truder, whom she could imagine gath-
ering her cherished belongings. With
sudden determination, she took from
a drawer Frank's revolver and started
down the stairs.

Reaching the drawing-room door,
she switched on the light. A masked
burglar blinked dazedly in the unex-
pected illumination. As his vision
concentrated on the woman in the
doorway, he recoiled. His grasp re-
laxed about the revolver he carried,
and it clattered to the floor.

"Why, it surely isn't James Ab-
bott ? ' ' faltered May, scarcely above a
whisper.

' ' No, no ! " exclaimed Frank, deny-
ing the evidence his eyes forced upon,
his reluctant judgment. "How could
it be Jim?"

"It is Jim," admitted the man,
huskily. ' ' I 've reached the bottom of
the pit tonight. I've been sinking
ever since" — he caught himself up,
glancing timidly toward May — ' ' well,
almost since we left college. But I
want you both to know that this is my

UNTIL WE THREE MEET AGAIN

first crime. I guess my brain was a
little cloudier than usual" — he passed
a trembling hand across his brow and
eyes — ' ' and the tempter was there, as
he always is at the psychological
moment. ' '

The abhorrence that Frank had ex-
perienced in the first flash of recogni-
tion vanished, and, in its place, flashed
a compassionate desire to help his old
comrade back to a decent life.

A hurried footfall outside drew
May to the door to admit the detec-
tive. Before she could prevent his en-
trance, he was within the room and at
the burglar's side.

"Officer," began Frank, "I want
you to do me a favor. This man is not
a criminal — in fact "

At the sound of his voice, the detec-
tive had released his hold on Jim. His
professional authority had dropped
from him, leaving him as ingenuous
as a child.

"Well, by thunder!" he cried.

At the exclamation, Frank looked
more closely at the detective. "Mar-
tin Wynne!" he gasped, almost over-
come with the providential coinci-
dences of the situation.

The two men met with a long, affec-
tionate hand-clasp. The fresh humili-
ation of being seen by yet another of
his former friends sent Jim shrinking
back into the shadows. But Frank
turned to him, and beckoned.

"Martin," he said, "life has not
been good to all of us ; one of us sank,
but he has come to the surface again.
And now is the moment to inaugurate
a new term of friendship among us
old pals."

Jim hung back, but Martin took up
Frank's cue and gave to the shamed
and repentant man the hearty greet-
ing of one comrade to another.

Frank was suddenly electrified by a
thought. "Boys," he said solemnly,
■ ' do you know what day this is ? "

As they looked blank, he answered
himself: "It is June 12th, ten years
from the day we arranged our re-
union."

Three hands sought their watches,
opened the cases, and drew forth yel-
lowed slips of paper.

" 'Until we three meet again,' "
they read solemnly, as with one voice.

They clasped hands in an emotion
that rendered words impossible, and
thru the heart and mind of each
surged a dominant wonder as to the
mysterious workings of the Infinite.

A year had passed. James Abbott
proved that Frank's faith in him was
well-founded. He had been generously
offered, and had accepted a position
in Frank's brokerage firm, and had
resumed the old friendly social rela-
tions with both Frank and Martin.

He spent many of his evenings in
the Arthur home, for May extended
a cordial welcome, and little Daphne
insisted that he be her sweetheart. He
still felt that May was the only woman
for him, but his love for her was care-
fully schooled to an outward expres-
sion of loyal friendship.

During the last few months things
had not been going quite so happily
in Frank's affairs. James knew of the
reverses the firm suffered, but he con-
sidered them in the light of the usual
speculations, and saw no occasion for
particular worry. It was May who
forced him to think more seriously of
them, and of what they were meaning
to Frank. She sent for him one
evening, when Frank was to be away
on business, as was happening fre-
quently of late.

"Jim," she said, "something is
very wrong. If it were ordinary busi-
ness losses I am sure Frank would tell
me. He is terribly worried, and he is
irritable with baby and me for the
first time since we married. We
have been so supremely happy until
" Her voice broke, and she

now

covered her eyes with her hand.

"What do you think could be the
matter?" asked James.

' ' Hush ! Here he comes now. Step
behind that curtain ; I dont wish him
to know that I have consulted you. ' '

But Frank went straight upstairs
and returned in a few moments,
hurrying out and down the steps.

"Jim!" cried May, "follow him!
Find out where he goes and what he
does. This mystery is killing me!"

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"Dont worry, May," he counseled.
"You imagine things to be worse than
they are. I'll follow him, and you'll
find that your fears are groundless. ' '

He trailed Frank to a hotel, thence
to a room. From within came the
sounds of voices and the slapping of
cards upon a table. As he hesitated,
with his hand on the knob, a touch on
his shoulder turned him about.

"May's jewels !" thought Jim, hor-
rified. He reached Frank, swiftly
gathered up the gems, and thrust
them into his pocket.

At a signal from Martin, several
officers entered, and the gamblers were
declared under arrest and led into the
corridor. Frank seemed unable to
speak. The shock of the raid, the
shame of discovery, had stunned him.

FRANK IS ABOUT TO SACRIFICE HIS WIFE S JEWELS

"Martin!" he exclaimed — "what
are you doing here ? ' '

"It's a raid," explained Martin.
"We've had information of high play
going on here. ' '

"But, old chap," protested Jim,
"this is terrible! Frank is in there.
Let me call him out."

' ' I dont dare. I 've got my orders, ' '
said Martin, regretfully.

He opened the door. Jim imme-
diately singled out Frank, who ap-
peared to be negotiating with the
dealer over a handful of jewelry.

He leaned on Jim as he walked.
They were passing thru the hotel office
when Jim felt him totter and become
a dead weight within his arm.

"A doctor, quick!" he cried.

They felt his heart — its beat had
stopped. Jim looked wildly at Martin.
"Not dead?" he exclaimed.

"Yes; it's all over for Frank!" he
replied chokingly, removing his hat.

"Martin," said Jim, appealingly,
"cant this be kept quiet? Why
should May suffer the additional grief
of exposure?"

UNTIL WE THREE MEET AGAIN

"You are right, Jim. Our old
comrade shall be done by as he would
have done by us," said Martin.

"As he has done by one of us,"
amended Jim, with bowed head.

Another year passed by. James
Abbott had taken the helm in Frank
Arthur's business and steered it clear
of the shoals of bankruptcy. His

unless sealed by Jim's good-night
kiss.

So, at last, he told May of that love
which, even in the blackest of his ex-
cesses, had remained a pure, sweet
thought, and which had been as potent
as Frank's magnanimous friendship
in effecting his regeneration.

"I have waited, May, oh, so long,
and I can wait no longer, " he pleaded.

JIM FELT HIM TOTTER AND BECOME A DEAD WEIGHT

years of depravity seemed centuries
behind him. He worked ceaselessly,
advancing, as he knew, nearer and
nearer to that vision that had shed its
glory over the harassing months when
it had seemed that, by sheer strength,
he had kept the business from shatter-
ing into worthless fragments.

Meanwhile, he had grown very
necessary to May. She depended upon
him implicitly, and little Daphne felt
that her day had not closed properly

"Wont you try to love me — just a
little ? Please try, my love ! ' '

May smiled upon him proudly and
tenderly.

1 ' Jim, I dont have to try — I do ! "
she answered, with bewitching hesi-
tancy.

Jim caught her outstretched hands.
Then the memory of long, painful,
desire-filled years was wiped from his
soul as his lips met those of his "only
woman in the world. ' '

The Diamond Mystery has at last
been solved. It has taken ten
judges hundreds of precious
hours, but they have at last come to
a conclusion. Nearly three thousand
manuscripts had to be read, and
about fifty of these were of surpass-
ing excellence. It will be remembered
that the judges of this contest were
the following distinguished men:
Edwin Markham, Will Carleton,
Hudson Maxim, J. Stuart Blackton,
Emmett Campbell Hall, William
Lord Wright, J. H. Johnston, Epps
Winthrop Sargent, Edwin M. La
Roche and Eugene V. Brewster, and
one or more of these gentlemen read
each and every one of the solutions
that were sent in. We cannot speak
too highly of the meritorious work of
the various contestants. Some of it
was more than excellent — it was
superb. But many things had to be
considered, and, in the last analysis,
only one single manuscript stood the
test, and even that one was not per-
fect in every respect. Honorable
Mention is made of the following con-
testants, whose work was exceedingly
good:

Rev. E. Boudinot Stockton, Lillian Baughn,
Enid Comings, Emil M. Sharpe, C. J. Caine,
Mrs. Janice Hamilton, Lida E. Cranston, Clar-
ence W. Payne, Beulah Kinyon, H. R. McDon-
ald, Alma Herodus, M. L. Compton, M. C.
Barnard, Erne A. Kippelman, J. A. Snitzler,
Oliver Sir Louis, Bertha M. Barton, Macy White,
Alexander Humboldt, Earle C. Cotter, Archie
Rice, Ethel Enwall, Samuel T. Horgan, Virginia
Dean, Mrs. Hanson H. Leet, R. Cummer Mason,
A. D. Bennett, Howard B. Weaver, Rose B.
Tillyer, Medora Bowne Pulver, Falk Berlin, Dan
J. Piccone, E. Sissingh, Agnes Dion, Sidney
Gancey West, Lester Parry, Gertrude H. Lane,
Maud Langstaff, J. L. Huges, Edward J. Lucke,
Mrs. Jacob C. Riegel, James M. Smith, Fred E.
Scbroff, Billie Martin, John Boggs, Mrs. Briton
Palson, John Miraglia, Miss A. M. Schneider,
E. D. Munyan, Frederick E. Lindsey, Blanche
Bloch, E. G. Temple, R. O. Nester, Margaret
Hunter, Mrs. Wallace Arnett, Samuel Ray,
George E. Johnson, Lillian Richards, M. W.
Hanna, John A. Porter, Laura Caasedy, Gurney
E. Smith, Gus Smith, Jr., Elizabeth De Veny
Floyd, Leon H. Dembo, Emily M. Mash, An-
tonio Tremblay, Gordon G. Planck, Gaston M.
Donohoe, Joseph Edward Falkenburg, J. A.
Cassidy, J. F. Phelps, Rosaline Safran, Annette
Berger, Julia A. Hammond, Robert E. Quinn,

Frank W. Taylor, E. R. Carpenter, Ignatius
Winfield McGuire, Esther A. Conklin, C A.
Creasy, Maude Bonner, J. A. Bourcy, William
T. Carrigan, A. B. Caldwell, Mrs. H. B. Wilson
and Charles F. Rosmer

— but not necessarily in the order
named. The judges have also handed
us another list of names for Favor-
able Mention, but space forbids print-
ing it, at least in this issue.

And now for the prize-winner. All
things considered, the judges have
decided that the best solution to the
Great Mystery Play was the one sub-
mitted by MRS. ALTA STEVENS,
who gives her address as "220 South
Side Station, Springfield, Missouri,"
and a check for $100 has been mailed
to the lady. We are asking Mrs.
Stevens to write something about her-
self and about how she came to hit
upon the unusual solution that has
won the prize. Perhaps we can print
her letter and photograph in the
next issue of this magazine. We will,
no doubt, disappoint many of our
readers when we say that, at the re-
quest of the Vitagraph Company, we
will withhold, for the present, the
prize-winning solution of The Dia-
mond Mystery. The Vitagraph Com-
pany is already at work on the play,
and since it depends, more or less, for
its success on the keeping of the
mystery secret, the magazine feels
that it would not be fair to it to tell
the public how the mystery is solved :
that would spoil the mystery for those
who wished to see the play on the
screen. We may add, however, that
in this case it is the unexpected that
happens, and the onlooker will be
kept in thrilling suspense until the
very last scene before he knows who
is the guilty one. We hope to be able
to announce in our next issue the date
when this memorable photoplay will
be released by the exchanges, so that
our interested readers may be on the
watch for it.

A kiss may be a habit, an episode,
or an event. The first kiss is
a miracle. Aunt Hettie had
seen it coming since the time George
Bennet had first braved the discom-
forts of the ill-laid suburban trolley-
line to call on Jessie. She saw its
gentle foreshadowings now in the
quiver of the girl 's fingers around the
tea-cups, in the pink expectancy of her
face, the unconscious flutter of her
glances from the window to the grand-
fatherly clock, ticking agedly toward
the miracle of young love, as it had
ticked thru the pains and joys, the
births and passings of a hundred
years. Outwardly, Aunt Hettie was
darning fine, troublous stitches in
an old linen tablecloth, with staid,
middle-aged joggings of her rocker.
Inwardly, Aunt Hettie 's gentle mind
was blushing, too. She was forty-
three and plain prose, but Jessie was
eighteen and poetry.

"I'm glad she'll have a rhyming
life," thought the older woman, wist-
fully whimsical. " It 's a sort of pity
that folks cant realize what it means
to be old while they're still young.
They'd appreciate their youngness
more, dear land a-living, yes ! ' '

The girl's hands hovered over her
pretty preparations, with a touch like
a caress above the cinnamon pinks in
the silver vase, her lips atune to her
lilting thoughts in a gay little croon
of contentment. And the miracle of
the first kiss to come brooded like a
presence over the sunny, old-fash-
ioned shabbiness of the room. But
neither of the two women gave their
thoughts word-bodies. They were
New Englanders, and in New Eng-

land one speaks of the price of eggs
and the cost of coal — seldom of inti-
mate things like love. Then it came
— the brisk man-tread on the uneven
walk. At the sound Aunt Hettie hur-
ried to her feet in a panic of haste.
Her heart quivered with unspoken
tenderness toward the girl into whose
joyful young life those footsteps were
coming, but she said merely :

"Likely that's your caller, Jessie.
I think I '11 just go upstairs and catch
a wink while you young folks are
chattering. ' ' She groped for the door
with suddenly dimmed eyes, and
climbed up the steep stairs to her
little, under-the-eaves room. With
her went another. It was her Lost
Youth, and it whispered of old, half-
remembered, half-forgotten things.

In the doorway of the sitting-room
stood George; by the table waited
Jessie. In the minds of both of them
lingered polite words of greeting:
"How-do-you-do's" and "I'm-glad-
to-see-you 's, ' ' but they were unuttered
for the strange confusion that clogged
their tongues. Under the boy's un-
smiling gaze, the prattling, telltale
color . drowned the girl's clear skin.
Her quick breath stirred the flowered,
muslin gown on her young breast. In
a moment he had taken her in his
arms, and the First Kiss was born in
the mating of their lips.

"I love you, little girl," he whis-
pered in broken breaths against her
hair. "I came out here today to tell
you so." Which was, of course, not
true, but they both thought it was,
and, for an hour, they were happy in
the age-old, tender way of the world.
He had loved her from the first

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

glimpse of her — he had never cared
for another girl — he was the first man
she had ever loved

And then came the Quarrel. The
Quarrel is a step-brother-in-law of the
First Kiss, and takes advantage of
its relationship oftentimes, appearing
unexpectedly from behind a chance
word, or stumbling into the occasion
over a stray phrase. This particular
Quarrel fell out of the pages of a
volume of poetry that George had
brought from the city to show her. It
looked very much like the picture of
an extraordinarily pretty girl. Jessie
would not have cared if she had not
been so pretty, but that is an unfor-
givable sin in another girl. Across
the back of the picture was written,
femininely: "To Dear George from
Ethel. ' ' She felt as tho a cloudburst
had meanly descended and drenched
her out of an ill-tempered, blue sky.

""Who — who is this?" she said, the
dampness leaking into her voice.
"She's very — pretty."

"Yes, isn't she?" admired George,
man-wise blundering into the worst
thing he could have said. ' 1 1 used to
be keen about that girl, I tell you,

when I was a high-school kid

"Why, what 's the matter, Jessie ? ' '

' ' I — I — dont think she is pretty at
all," Jessie quivered. She flung the
picture to the floor, and moved out of
his arms. "I — detest — frizzled hair
and d-d-dimples," sobbed she. "You
s-said I w-w-was the f -first girl "

Now, the proper thing for George
to have done at this critical point
would have been to have taken her
into his arms by force and kist her
suspicions away, but he was unlearnt
in the rules of the game, and made a
wrong move. He laughed; he actually
laughed! Jessie sprang to her feet,
with a tempery whirl of skirts.

"If you admire that sort of a girl,
I'd advise you to kiss her" she cried
reasonlessly. "I was mistaken when
I t-told you I c-cared for you. I dont !
I — I detest you, and I never — want
to see you again ! ' '

George got to his feet slowly, his
young face whipped into red by the
sting of her words. Then he picked

up the picture, dusted it with osten-
tatious care, put it in his pocket, and
bowed formally. He was very young,
poor boy. It is a tragic business, this
being young.

"Will you allow me to explain — "

Jessie pointed to the door. She felt
very much like an ill-used heroine in
the play. The knowledge of her own
suffering flooded her soul with a ter-
rible and beautiful pain. "Please go
away," she said, "and never come
back again — I dont want to see you —
I dont want any explanations — go,
please "

She stood still, pointing, long after
he had stalked out of the room, un-
able to resist the boy-satisfaction of
expressing his feelings by slamming
the door. The anger on her face gave
way to faltering surprise. He was
really going! He was striding down
the walk, out thru the open gate,
without one backward glance — he was
getting on the trolley — he was gone!
Suddenly Jessie crumpled up into a
little, loose wad of- woe on the floor,
and cried and cried and cried — cried
the color from her cheeks into her
small nose and her eyelids — cried
until there was not a tear left to cry
with. Then she stumbled across the
room to the desk, unlocked it, and
drew out a box.

What stories there are in old boxes
of rubbish ! What dried, withered
dreams in the pressed flowers; what
faded hopes in the faint ink of old
letters; what prayers in the dim old
photographs ! Jessie 's treasure-trove
was nearly as fresh as her grief, and
as foolish. There was the ribbon he
had liked on her yellow hair, and a
hardly wilted bunch of violets, a
snapshot and a cocked-hat note.
Jessie turned them over and over with
dreary finger-tips. She was so ab-
sorbed in her luxury of grief that she
did not notice her aunt hesitating in
the doorway. In Aunt Hettie's soul
a struggle was going on. It was like
unlocking a door into a secret, holy
place, or opening a tear-watered
grave. Yet the child, the dear, foolish
child, crying from her dear, foolish
heart over her pathetic hoard

THE GATE SEE LEFT OPEN

Aunt Hettie hesitated no longer, but
came into the room, put her arm
around the girl's limp figure, and
drew her down beside her onto the
sofa. For the moment her face was a
mother-one. But the first words she
said were a surprise.

"Jessie," said she, "do you know
why I always have kept the gate in
front of the house open ? ' '

The girl shook her head, puzzled.

"So that it will be a sign of wel-
come— if mv lover ever comes back to

had ever been concerned, Aunt Hettie
had been born an aunt, forty and
gray-haired. Suddenly the divine
selfishness of youth gave place to
pity, and she flung her young, warm
arms around the older woman's neck.

The Angel of Fate has a sense of
humor — a bit ironical for some tastes,
but still a sense of humor. The
Angel giggled at his cleverness as
George Bennet read the address aloud,
a week later, from a crumpled, yel-

me, ' ' said the older woman, solemnly.
"I sent him away in anger, Jessie,
because I saw him walking with an-
other girl. I was young then, like
you, my dear, and I sent him away.
And, Jessie" — her voice sank, as tho
shamed — "there's never been a day
go by since then that I haven't been
sorry — never a day that I haven't
been wishful of him, my dear. ' '

A tender little silence settled over
the room, like the gray twilight that
dimmed the outline of the familiar
furnishings into unreal shapes of
fancy and imagining. Jessie's be-
wildered mind whirled with readjust-
ment. Aunt Hettie! As far as Jessie

lowed old envelope in his hand. Of
course, it was quite impossible. Yet
there it was. Jessie's aunt!

There is a queer, second-hand value
and luster to names and places con-
nected with the person one loves. The
lover's heart leaps at the name of his
sweetheart's town in a time-table, the
sight of her last name over a shop
door, the sound of a tune they have
heard together. George's sore heart
thudded painfully as he looked down
at the old, old letter he had found.
The manner of the discovery had been
simple. But who would have dreamed
of finding such a letter beneath the
set of pigeon-holes in the post-office

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

where lie worked? " Funny, isn't
it?" murmured the Angel of Fate.

"I'll just take it out to her my-
self, ' ' said George, aloud, carelessly, to
whomsoever it might concern. ' ' After
waiting so long, she ought to get it as
soon as possible. ' '

"And I'll see Jessie; I'll see
Jessie," was what he did not say.

A week is a very long time in love 's
calendar. George was conscious of a
feeling of mild astonishment to find
that everything about the little cot-
tage was unchanged: the gate still
fastened open with a chain red with
the dreary rust of twenty- three years ;
Ragged Robins flaunting their bold
color above the nun-like mignonette,
and Jessie's face, star-like with glad-
ness, smiling timidly at him from the
quaint setting of the old-fashioned
room. There is no need for lovers to
whisper: "I'm sorry — forgive me,
dear." The flutter of their fingers
tells it, the shy asking and answering
of eye-glances, the tremble of the lips
over commonplace words. The vo-
cabulary of the heart is surprisingly
limited; but, after all, what was the
need of words? There was Aunt
Hettie 's cold to be inquired after, and
Jessie's embroidery to be admired,
and tea to drink from the egg-
shell cups; and then there was the
letter. George drew it from his
pocket, and passed it across to Aunt
Hettie.

"Look at the old postmark," he
laughed. "I expect it's a bill or a
dun, or something, that's been out-
lawed, since you ought to have got

it " He paused, silenced by the

gray pallor on the gentle face oppo-
site. Aunt Hettie was staring down
at the handwriting on the envelope as
one might look, incredulous and hor-
ror-stricken, at the ghost of one's
long-mourned dead. Then, with stiff
fingers, she tore the cover, and read
the letter. The two young people
drew together involuntarily at her
low cry of pain. The letter circled to
the floor at Jessie's feet. "Read it"
— the words came hard from trembling
lips — "read it and see what I have
missed."

Silently they bent above the faded
writing :

Dear Hettie — The girl you saw me
with today was my step-sister just re-
turning from school, hut you would not
let me explain. Write to me when you
will see me again, as we must not let a
few angry words come between us and
our love. John.

Their hands stole together over the
last words. It was Aunt Hettie 's low,
helpless sobbing that recalled them,
at last, to the tragedy of the letter.
Jessie stole to her, and drew the time-
streaked head upon her breast. ' ' Poor
Auntie — dear Auntie, ' ' she whispered
pitifully.

"Twenty-three years," said the
gray woman, trembling like a girl;
' ' and when I am old, and it is too late
— oh, Jessie, Jessie, never trifle with
your love, my dear."

The words rang in George 's ears as
he climbed the stairs to his apartment
late in the afternoon. His uncle, who
shared the apartment with him,
clapped him on the shoulder, in the
man-fashion of sympathy, at the sight
of his sober face.

"Never you mind, Georgie," he
cried. ' ' Give her a little time to come
around, man, and then if she wont,
come around yourself. ' '

"Oh, it's not Jessie, sir," said
George. Already he had forgotten the
tragic week of parting from her. "I
was thinking about her aunt — it's the
strangest thing "

And he told the story of the lost
letter, and a woman 's lost years, with
the crude directness and brutality of
fact that is a boy's disguise of emo-
tion. A strange sound startled his
ear. He glanced at his uncle. The
older man was staring straight ahead
of him, his lips fumbling with broken
bits of words.

"Hettie — my letter — twenty years
and more — my God "

The old-fashioned room shimmered
in the caress of candle-light. Its
faint yellow touch was kind to Aunt
Hettie 's lines and gray hair, making
her face almost sister-young to that of
the girl kneeling at her side. It was

TEE GATE SHE LEFT OPEN

long past their usual conservative bed-
time, but the two still lingered, as tho
waiting. Outside, the soft, summer
night was vocal with nickering
moth-wings and insect-crooning, and
strangely breathless, expectant of
something. Perhaps it was of the foot-
steps that came swiftly down the walk
and passed in thru the open gate.

His arm about her, they slipped to-
gether out past the two whom the
years had sundered and so strangely
restored, into the lyric dusk of the
garden, and the air freighted with
spice-pinks and moon-shadows and
Young Romance. By the gate they
paused. Then Jessie unfastened the
rusty, patient chain.

THE GATE HAD NOT BEEN LEFT OPEN IN VAIN

Aunt Hettie heard them and rose, her
hand fluttering to her throat. They

reminded her A knock.

"Who— who— is it*"

4 'It is I, Hettie ; it is John "

The door fumbled open, and she
was in his hungry arms, her face
against his breast. Behind, in the
hallway, George beckoned to the be-
wildered girl.

"It's been open for twenty-three
years, waiting, George," she whis-
pered. "But now "

He bent above the wistful, earnest
face. "Now, Jessie, we'll shut in
happiness for the rest of their lives —
and ours, sweetheart."

Their lips met as the old gate, sigh-
ing with relief and creaking in every
rheumatic nail, swung slowly shut.

<OLr

AT HOME AND ABROAD THE GERMAN SOLDIERS ARE POPULAR

News item: " Emperor William of Germany has had a Moving Picture theater installed in his palace at Potsdam"

Editorial Note: There has been much said and written about William J. Burns, who is probably the most famous detective
in the world, and various writers and film makers have made free use of his name. We can say with authority that this Kalem pro-
duction is the only one in which Mr. Burns has personally appeared, and the only one authorized by him. We have a letter from
Mr. Bums to that effect.

As the daughter of a Washington
financier, Mary Archer had
been a little spoiled by atten-
tions from the many men who fre-
quented her father's house. Her
father was always busy, it seemed.
Her mother had died when she was
thirteen. For eight years, then, she
had been hostess to William Archer's
numerous visitors and guests.

Every wish of Mary's impetuous,
young heart was in the habit of being
gratified. That was one of the disad-
vantages of having a fond and busy
father and being surrounded always
by men whose word was literally the
law.

Strangely, none of these brilliant
men in official life had won Mary's
affection, tho they all had her admira-
tion. A young man from their home
town — Jim Nelson — was, perhaps, her
dearest and closest friend. Then Nel-
son was given some sort of a position
in the South. Soon after this, Con-
gressman Gordon was introduced to
the charming hostess of the Archer
mansion.

Congressman Gordon was a member
of a committee appointed to investi-

gate the wholesale land frauds that
were reported in the South. The
Government alone had the power to
expose and bring the swindlers to jus-
tice. For five years the legislative
committee had failed to bring in any
finding whatever in the case.

Gordon came so often to the Archer
home that it became a matter of pleas-
antry and ripening friendship be-
tween him and Mary. They were
often seen in public together. It was
about this time that they attended an
interesting address that was later to
result in developments destined to
affect their entire future relationship.

The address in question was deliv-
ered by the famous detective, William
J. Burns. The remarks he made
astounded the audience, in their force
of disillusionment.

"In the first place, there are no
mysteries," began the most famous
living detective. He went on with a
few comparisons of the modern detec-
tive, operating with scientific cer-
tainty, with the detective with whom
the public has been made familiar
thru the writings of popular authors.

"I am horribly disappointed," pro-

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

tested Mary, after they had formally
met the great detective and then
passed out into the street. "When-
ever the word detective had been men-
tioned to me, I always thought of
hidden mysteries, unsolvable clues and
a little, weasel-eyed man with a
pocketful of disguises. But now, alas !
after seeing and hearing Mr. Burns
talk in his frank and open way, my
illusions are gone forever."

"Mine, too," agreed Gordon. "But
at the same time, I am impressed to
the point of certainty that that won-
derful man could find out the facts in
'most any conceivable case. If I were a
wrong-doer, and I found out that man
was on my trail — why — well, I think
I'd confess my guilt and save time."

Those words recurred to Mary
Archer when a situation had arisen
that she resolved to test out, tho it
threatened to prick the fairest bubble
that had been envisioned in her young
life. For just at the time when she
had come to look upon Congressman
Gordon as the first veritable hero of
official life that she had ever met,
little things began to happen that
clouded the glamor she had created
around the young man.

Her father had been the first to
frown on Gordon.

"Mary," he said one day, "I have
heard things about Gordon that will
compel us — both you and me — to let
him pursue his ways alone. ' '

"But, father " began the girl,

anxiously.

"Daughter, I can say nothing
further. My suspicions may be alto-
gether unfounded. But, if I am to be
unfair to any one, it must be Con-
gressman Gordon — not my daughter
and myself. I trust you will help me
in this serious matter. ' '

Mary met Gordon occasionally here
and there, but managed to elude any
further appearances with him in
public. The fact that Gordon made
no marked protest to her — his aloof-
ness did anything but set the girl 's
mind at ease.

Mary scarcely knew whether she
was glad or sorry to see Congress ad-
journ after a late session and bring

a recess to her terrible anxiety. Soon
after they went aWay to her father's
cottage at the seashore.

Jim Nelson was a constant visitor
at the Archer home that summer. He
soon sensed a change in the girl 's atti-
tude toward him. At length he pro-
posed to her. She refused him.

' ' Is there some one else ? " he asked.

' ' Yes and — no, ' ' she confessed. ' ' I
have promised no one ; nor would I at
the present time give my hand to any
one in the world who asked me for it. ' '

"No matter who?" repeated Nel-
son, skeptically.

"No matter who."

1 ' Mary, I have heard of a Congress-
man named Gordon."

Mary was a trifle angered at the
inferential tone. "Will you oblige me
by not even mentioning his name ? ' '

"I could tell you some interesting
things about him, maybe. ' '

"They would not interest me, I'm
afraid. ' '

"Gordon has been down in our
neighborhood several times this spring.
There's a very pretty girl just moved
down from the North somewhere. ' '

' ' And what has that to do with it V '
snapped Mary, in a more than inter-
ested tone.

"Gordon, I have learnt, makes
these people, or the girl, the special
object of his calls and visits."

' ' I think, Jim, that you are jealous. ' '

1 ' I regret to say, Mary, that I have
the same opinion about you."

Mary was jealous. Many months
elapsed before she saw Gordon again.
In the meantime, she made inquiries
that brought the matter to an alarm-
ing pass.

The wife of one of her father's col-
leagues told her the whole gossip that
had risen around the name of Con-
gressman Gordon. For the first time
she learnt that the land frauds
were being conducted in connivance
with some Government representa-
tives, with power at Washington of
sidetracking all anti-legislation and
thoro investigation.

The next time she met Gordon he
was cordial, but visibly worried and
anxious. For the first time in months,

DETECTIVE BURNS IN EXPOSURE OF LAND SWINDLERS 87

she made a show at being gracious to
him, and gave him an opportunity to
talk with her alone. No sooner were
they alone than she was startled to
find that he was bent on asking her a
momentous question.

" I 've been wanting to see you alone
for months past/' he began, looking
at her with terrible earnestness. "I
wanted to ask you to become
my wife ! " It all came be-
fore she could steel herself
against the shock. The re-
ply must have been in her
eyes, because he said imme-
diately: "Mary " He

was on the point of taking
her in his arms.

"Dont — Please dont —
yet," she half-confessed.
"There are some things I
want to ask you. There is
— another — girl — in the
South— in Leeville?"

Gordon's manner changed.
His face paled, and he
looked at her searchingly a
moment. "How did you
know about this — matter in
the South?"

''How do you explain
it ? " she asked coldly.

"I make no attempt to,
now. The important thing
is, Mary, that you love me.
You have shown me that
you love me. Can anything
change that love for me?"

"I have two things in
mind that will keep it for-
ever shut up in my breast. ' '

1 ' And you would not
marry me — now — today ? ' '

"No — I could not, under
any circumstances, marry you now."

' ' Perhaps when I come back ? ' '

"You are going South?" asked
Mary, quickly.

Again the look that was almost fear
came over Gordon's face. "Will you
promise never to tell, Mary?" he
asked in a lowered tone.

"You need not answer me. I shall
make no promises."

"I leave in the morning," were his
parting words.

For an hour Mary wept alone in
her room. Then she bathed her eyes
and went next door to see her friend
who knew all the Congress gossip.

"What did you say was the name
of the town around which all the land
frauds were centering?" she asked.

' ' Leeville, ' ' she was told. That was
practically all of the conversation she

GORDON MAKES THESE PEOPLE THE SPECIAL
OBJECT OF HIS VISITS"

remembered. "There is not only a
leader up here in the capital, but he
has confederates in the South."

All the way home the query
plagued Mary Archer : ' ' Oh, if I only
knew the truth ! Now that he has told
me that he loves me, I must know it."

She met her father just leaving the
house as she entered, bag in hand. His
face was sternly set. "I have just
received a telegram. I shall probably
be away for a couple of days."

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"Father," said the girl, unable to
hide her anxiety, "you are going
South, too?" She did not hesitate a
moment.

"Mary," he said, laying a hand on
her arm and searching her face,
"how did you know this? Who told
you?"

' ' I know nothing, except that some-
thing very ugly seems to be going on
that fills me with impending fears."

"There, there, my little girl," said
her father, gathering her into his
arms and clasping her with unusual
warmth and tenderness ; ' ' dont worry.
Perhaps things wont be as bad as they
seem. Good-by. My plans are more
apt to succeed if you will give no one
a clew to where I have gone. ' '

Mary's anxiety was not dismissed
when she called on her friend to dis-
cuss any new phase of the matter in
which Gordon seemed enmeshed.

"My dear," greeted her informer,
"you must stay to lunch and then
drive around with me afterward to
hear the matter of Land Frauds Inves-
tigation put forward in the House. ' '

"Have you heard anything new
about it ? " asked Mary, trying not to
show the terrible interest she felt.

"Nothing, except that some mem-
ber of the committee has employed
Burns, the celebrated detective, to
find out who the grafters really are. ' '

Mary was looking out of the win-
dow when this intelligence came like
a blow from a heavy fist.

"Why, what is the matter, Mary?
I thought you were only casually
interested in the matter?" said her
friend, with a naive inflection.

"I must go out and send a tele-
gram," was the girl's only reply. It
read :

Hon. Geoege Gordon — Come to see me
moment you arrive. Important as life
itself. Mary Archer.

Then she went home and waited,
the minutes dragging by like hours,
until the very minute in which the
proposed Land Frauds Investigation
report was to be debated. She was on
the point of bursting into tears be-
cause of the anxious strain, when a

telegram was handed to her. With
an exclamation of joy, she tore it
open.

Will see you immediately after the de-
bate in the House. Nothing could be as
important as that just now. I have heard
terrible news. George Gordon.

Mary summoned a taxicab and
hurried to the Chamber of the House
of Representatives. She took a seat
in one corner of the gallery, hardly
daring to trust her ears. She sat
with one hand over her eyes, her
whole future seeming suddenly to
have been obscured. At length thru
the veil of misery came a well-known
voice. It was Gordon speaking on the
floor of the House.

She listened, and, for the first time,
she was overwhelmed by a complete
sense and belief in his guilt in the
matter of the land frauds. With an
eloquence such as she had seldom
heard, he was urging the committee
to drop, forthwith, all investigation
and to table the resolution ! The girl
grew more and more indignant as
Gordon continued with his plea as
tho it were for his life. Mary had
risen and was gazing accusingly over
the rail of the gallery, hoping to
catch the Congressman 's eye and flash
her message of contempt. She hated
Gordon with all the hate of one who
has been led to love unworthily. At
last he did look up, and the message
in her eyes and attitude sank deep
into his heart. He faltered; tried to
pick up the broken thread of his elo-
quence; stammered along lamely for
a second, and was brought to his seat
dejectedly by the crash of the
Speaker's gavel. An opponent had
taken his place. He showed how
Gordon had denied practically every
statement made less than a week be-
fore. He moved that the investiga-
tion be carried to the very limit, and
that those responsible for any irreg-
ularities should be turned over to the
criminal courts of the nation.

A vote was polled, and the motion
was carried by a narrow margin.

Mary did not wait a moment. She
hurried down the stairs. Gordon was

DETECTIVE BURNS IN EXPOSURE OF LAND SWINDLERS 89

waiting to meet her in the corridor
below; his face was pale, his hair
hung damply over his brow.

"Mary," he whispered hoarsely,
"you know — the whole truth?"

A strong feeling of revulsion filled
the girl. "I despise you," she cried,
swiftly passing on. She thought he
mumbled something like: "I despise
myself. ' ? Her pity, however, was not
strong enough to turn her back to
him.

doubt of the crushing significance of
it all. But her mind craved definite
knowledge, that the suspense of it all
might be lifted and allow her to meet
the dreaded reality.

But one impression stood out clear
and poignant, no matter which way
she turned : she loved George Gordon,
and must go on loving him, no matter
what happened.

How that terrible night passed she
could not have told ; toward morning

GORDON MAKES AN ELOQUENT SPEECH IN THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES

At home she was told that her
father had returned in her absence,
left word with the housekeeper for
her not to worry, and that he would
get a word or two to her shortly.

But she was seeking illumination !
Wherever she went in search of it she
was rewarded only by deeper gloom.
Her heart alone foresaw the dreadful
meaning of all that was happening,
thru the half-truths that were blight-
ing her future happiness. Even the
instinctive sense of impending mis-
fortune was sufficient to leave no

she had dozed, only to wake in the
bright sunlight, with her heart and
soul still groping frantically in the
dark.

"While trying to swallow a morsel
of breakfast, a telegram was handed
her. She eagerly tore it open.

It has been made possible for you to
learn the complete details of the Land
Frauds case. Detective Burns' assist-
ants will report this morning at ten.
Come to his office. You will be accorded
every attention and absolute privacy.
You should know the facts before they

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

are made public. Mr. Burns and one
other person only shall be aware of your
presence.

The message was not signed, altho
Mary suspected who the sender was,
and that her feelings were thus being
spared. But it meant light, which
had come to mean mercy as well.

She was admitted to the detective's
private office by Mr. Burns himself.

"This way, Miss Archer," he said,

She had scarcely seated herself in
the inner room before several men
entered the detective's private office.
There was a moment or two of com-
motion ; then all became silent.

"Now, McConathy, I want you to
recite the facts just as you found
them. The shorter and plainer you
make them the better." Mary recog-
nized Burns' voice,

"I was put on this case last April

DETECTIVE BURNS PREPARES THE DICTAGRAPH TO ENSNARE THE SWINDLERS

leading the way to a small, adjoining
room. He had greeted her with a
solicitude that nearly brought tears
to her eyes. "The door will be left
ajar, ' ' he explained. ' ' You will learn
all that has happened. "Wherever
possible, I shall spare your feelings.
This is a private disclosure before a
special Government committee, and
will precede a public disclosure by
several days, no doubt. ' '

"I thank you from the bottom of
my heart for this kindly considera-
tion," she murmured.

— the fourteenth, I think it was,"
began a deep voice within. Mary
could see no one without being seen
herself, so she stayed huddled in a
corner, her face in her hands. "The
first thing I did was to have a secret
interview with two of your committee,
who had resolved to take up this
matter at their own risk. Kremlitz
and I took charge of the other end of
the case. We posed as New England
farmers, represented our circum-
stances as being in- pretty bad shape,
and managed to buy some of the land

DETECTIVE BURNS IN EXPOSURE OF LAND SWINDLERS 91

offered for sale at easy terms. The
five hundred dollars we paid was
simply recorded as a 'deposit,' and
instead of a deed we received a
mortgage. ' '

Mary could not help but shudder
and feel a bitterness toward men
capable of such pettiness.

"The next step was easy. We now

begged him to at least lend us enough
to live on until we could make some-
thing off of our acre. Finally he con-
sented to lend us fifty dollars if we
would turn over the mortgage as
security. We begged and pleaded,
but he was adamant. Two months
later, a family came down from the
North, bringing with them a mort-

THE LAND SWINDLERS AND THE DICTAGRAPH

knew where our valuable land was
located. We went down there to
'settle.' It was what we had ex-
pected. The 'substantial home' had
formerly been a negro 's cabin, and it
may have been habitable before the
war, but scarcely since. The land
itself was sand, and would not grow
even a sweet potato. We protested to
the agent that we had been swindled,
that our last cent was gone, and

gage for our property. The agent
asked us to show why we shouldn't
vacate at once. We produced our
receipt. He laughed, and turned the
constable on us, and we had to move.
Three months later, practically the
same outrage was perpetrated on the
family from the North who had staked
their last penny on this land venture.
They would probably have starved
had not money been advanced by a

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

man in Washington here — who does
not wish his name mentioned — after
the matter had been brought to his
attention. ' '

This act strangely brought tears to
Mary's eyes. With pride she con-
jectured who this generous donor
really was.

' ' But any legal action against these
wholesale swindles seemed impossible.
All the county officials, and even the
State officers who were appealed to,
refused aid. Next we advanced a
step and tried to get the Federal
authorities to act. They met us
genially, and said that the matter was
in the hands of Congress at the
present moment, and, of course, in
deference to that august body, they
must defer action for the present.
For five years the proposed investiga-
tion had been pending before Con-
gress ! The men who pulled the wires
were right here in Washington ! ' '

Mary drew in her breath quickly
and cringed as tho she had been
struck a blow.

The detective went on: "Suddenly
matters were made a trifle more diffi-
cult thru the fact that our investiga-
tions became known to some extent,
altho it is not even known yet that
Mr. Burns directed the work. People
here and there began to proffer
secret information. We selected one
man in particular, and pumped him
first by mail and later in person. He
was in the real estate business near
the fraudulent operations, and had
many interesting facts at his finger-
ends. This fellow's name was Nelson
— James Nelson."

Mary, with great difficulty, sup-
pressed a cry of pleased surprise.

' ' Nelson became such a good watch-
dog, in fact, that we scarcely thought
it necessary to waste so much of our
time down there, and stayed up here,
working on a finger-print clue that
we had got hold of. Nelson wrote us
almost daily. For instance, he tipped
us off when a certain Congressman
quietly visited the neighborhood one
day, snooped around, met the daugh-
ter of the wretched family that had
taken our place and quieted the old

man's discontent when he seemed on
the point of making a scandal of it by
threatening the agent, by leaving a
roll of bills where the poor family
could easily find them. That was the
gist of his report. ' '

Mary shook her head sadly ; this in-
formation, for the most part, was not
new to her.

"Our information from all sources
was fairly complete. We were up to
our necks on a red-hot clue here when
we got a message that changed the
whole front of things. This was just
three days ago. The old man who had
taken our place had been treated the
same as we had. The family was dis-
possessed. The matter had been
turned over to another local agent,
and to this man the ruined old fellow
went. What happened in that inter-
view is not a matter of conjecture, to
us at least. We received a telegram
that brought us on the spot early the
next morning. The old man had been
rescued from the agent's office, with
a gash in his head that will kill him.
The office had been set on fire. We
were given a clue to his whereabouts
the moment we alighted from the
train. This was to be a desperate
chase, and we knew that our man
knew it. The agent had crept into
the hayloft of the very man that was
keeping his eye open for us. But he
had seen our man leave for the station
and had decamped himself. We saw
him running toward the center of the
town. We were amazed, until we saw
him jump into an automobile and, a
minute later, drive away ! ' '

Mary was breathing hard now from
the excitement of it all, her heartache
forgot for the moment.

"Kremlitz ran upstairs of a house
across the street, and sighted the road
the car took, and I ran across to the
garage, and literally forced them to
lend me a car. I no sooner turned the
corner than I gave the machine fourth
speed, and she seemed to be in the air
most of the time. The smallest mis-
calculation would have sent me to
heaven in mince-meat form. Still it
was five minutes before I caught sight
of him. I was gaining on him by

■DETECTIVE BURNS IN EXPOSURE OF LAND SWINDLERS 93

inches. He looked around, saw me,
and began plugging away with a
heavy shooter. I had to slow down a
little, or I would have driven into a
telegraph-pole while trying to duck.
Suddenly there was a snap ! For
safety's sake 1 stopped and got out
of the car, feeling pretty sore. A
busted tire meant losing my man.
To my delight, I saw that it must
have been a flying stone that had hit

down on us, at just the right speed
to catch us at the crossing ! ' '

Mary had leaned forward so far
that, in the suspense of the moment,
she came near falling from her chair.
She straightened up, and wiped the
perspiration from her brow, still
listening intently.

"There was little time to think. I
put down my brake and closed my
eyes. The sudden stop saved my life.

WHEN I OPENED MY EYES THE TRAIN WAS DRAWING AWAY

the body of the car. I got in again,
determined to get the car ahead. It
took me five minutes again to draw
him in sight. But the pause seemed
to have done my car a world of good,
because I fairly slid up on my man.
I came to a point where I saw I could
pass him whenever I chose. I drew
my gun and gripped the wheel tight.
I was just about to give her plenty of
gas, when, to my horror, I saw that
we were drawing toward a railroad
crossing like lightning, and a lumber-
ing branch-line train was bearing

I was hurtled fully ten feet in the air,
and came down stunned in the ditch.
When I opened my eyes, the train
was drawing away, with a toot. Then
I noted that my car lay a wreck
almost on the track. I limped down
to it, and, to my amazement, saw my
quarry's car secreted in the bushes
about a hundred feet away. Then I
understood it all. He had got safely
across, come back, pretended to be
the occupant of the smashed car, and
had been taken aboard the train that
had just left ! I jumped into his car,

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

MARY IS AT LAST CONVINCED OF GORDONS FIDELITY

without a moment's delay, and re-
traced the long road we had traveled.
I remembered that most of it had
been parallel with the track. The
train was making up lost time. So
was I. I knew I could make as good
time, if not better. But the speed
seemed to have been all squeezed out
of the car. She began missing strokes,
and, at last, I had to be content with
making about fifteen miles an hour.
In despair I let her go, and sat there
cursing her with all my heart, and
creeping along. Imagine my amaze-
ment when, on making a sharp turn,
I found my old train standing still
and puffing as if it were all out of
breath. I stopped the car and ran
forward, full of hope again. 'The
fellow we picked up seems crazy. He
jumped off the platform just now,' I
learnt from the brakeman. I was all
disappointment in a minute. Then I
happened to gaze down the steep em-
bankment and saw a little crowd. In
a second I was half-rolling down to-

ward them. Against a tree lay what
had been the man I was pursuing. He
had crushed his skull. I confess to
being somewhat surprised when I saw
his face. It was James Nelson!"

Mary gave a little moan. This new
horror made her numb.

' ■ Well, that was the first link in the
chain. We put things in the hands
of the local police, and left at once for
Washington. We arrived night before
last. We could do nothing, because
the principals on both sides of the
matter here had left town. By this
time everybody concerned had learnt
just how matters stood. There was
feverish activity on all sides. One of
your committee refused to believe the
evidence when he was told the name
of the well-known person implicated.
We had one conclusive test to make,
and we made it. Gentlemen, some of
you were present when the dicta-
graph was set up, and heard the hur-
ried conspiracy of the lobbyists. It
contains their confession, in fact. The

DETECTIVE BURNS IN EXPOSURE OF LAND SWINDLERS 95

name of one man amazed you, as it
amazed us. There remains but one
fact to mention, and that is the his-
toric and unexplainable effort, on the
floor of the House, yesterday after-
noon, to block a drastic investigation,
by one of your committee, who is now
present here. Everything else you
know, gentlemen."

"And, may I ask, sir," queried one
of the men in the room, ' ' if — that is —
have the authorities taken in custody
this conspiring lobbyist and head of
the land frauds?"

Mary leaned forward, and, with all
her mind, willed that they had not.
Then the blow came, from the lips of
Detective Burns himself. He spoke
gently, as tho his words could bring
balm to the listening girl's breaking
heart:

"No, gentlemen, the guilty man
has not been taken into custody — and
never will be. A wireless from The
Guantanamo apprises me that William
Archer was found dead in his berth
two hours after sailing."

"My God ! I tried to prevent Mary
from this knowledge — what will she
do?" were the last words the girl
remembered. The voice was that of
one both lost and found. Even as she
sank into the peace of unconscious-
ness, she realized that Gordon had
played the part of her knight in this
terrible affair — loyal, upright, with-
out reproach.

It may have been a week later that
a girl, surrounded by all the cares
bestowed on an invalid, might be
heard speaking to a handsome young
man at her side, in that dreamy way
that sick persons have after a fearful
crisis has been safely passed : ' ' George,
dear, I think I know why you made
that eloquent appeal on the floor of
the House, which, if it had won its
point, would have lost your career
for you without doubt — but I want
you to tell me yourself. ' '

"You, Mary, are my reason," he
said softly, taking her hand and
caressing it, ' ' no matter what I do. "

Yea and Nay

By HARVEY PEAKE

E wooed and sued with all his might,
Day after day, and night after night,

But the maiden answered "Nay."
He sent her flowers and candy, too,
But in spite of all this man could do,

She would not say him "Yea."

He bought her jewels, he bought her books,
And his words were burning, as were his looks,

But she only answered "Nay."
Then he took her to luncheons and matinees,
And sought to please her in other ways,

Yet she would not say him "Yea."

He dressed himself in the height of style,
With a view to pleasing the maid meanwhile,

But she coldly answered "Nay."
He put at her service a motor-car
That took her near and took her far,

Still she would not say him "Yea."

One happy day they chanced to go
Into a Motion Picture show —

Her lips were framed for "Nay."
But something in the scene displayed
Tugged at the heart of this wilful maid,

And she turned and answered "Yea."

From the Photoplay of BANNISTER MERWIN

"tj«er the land sakes! What 's that V '
1* Aunt Lecty hastily removed
her hands from the dough as
she made the exclamation, and has-
tened to the door.

''It sounds jest like a drum/' she
continued, peering down the street,
her eyes blinking with the sharp De-
cember sunlight, her face twisted
into curious puckers as she listened.
1 'It is a drum, sure's I'm livin', and
it's comin' nearer!"

"Some of the boys, playing sol-
dier," suggested her tall son, looking
up from his weekly Gazette.

' l Dont sound like boys ' play ; they 's
jest one drum, and it's play in' reg'lar
drum music — sounds mil'tary like.
It's comin' into sight in a minute,
whatever 'tis. Well, of all things!
Jest come look, Henry!"

Marching down the middle of the
main street of the little village was
a man, beating a battered, military
drum. The long, unkempt hair, that
crept from beneath his ancient cap,
was pure white; his face and figure
bore the marks of age; but his
shoulders were thrown back squarely,
and he marched with quick precision,
keeping time to the beat of the old
drum. After him trailed a score of
boys, just released from school, and

rejoicing in this touch of excitement
in their uneventful lives. Doors and
windows flew open all along the
street, and wondering faces peered
forth, but the old man'^s eyes were
fixed on some object that was straight
ahead of him, and he kept his way
steadily toward it.

■ ' He 's a-puttin ' straight for the tav-
ern," exclaimed Aunt Lecty. "Let's
f oiler, Henry; every one else is goin'
to. But pull the kitchen door to; if
that bread gets a chill, it wont raise
till doomsday."

Before the long, low building known
as the tavern, hung a huge, creaking
signboard, adorned with a picture of
General Washington, painted, in glar-
ing colors, by some local artist, many
years ago. In spite of its crudity, the
portrait had borne a real likeness to
the great commander, and the wash-
ings of countless storms, softening the
harshness of color and line, had
strengthened the resemblance.

In front of this signboard the old
man stopped, gave a stiff salute, and,
with eyes fixed unswervingly on the
painted face, continued the drum's
steady beating.

A village crowd gathered, open-
eyed, open-mouthed, wondering. It
needed only one remark of the town

TEE GAUNTLETS OF WASHINGTON

wag to turn the current of their
thoughts into a flow of rude jests.

"Hey!" shouted the wag, jocosely:
"be you cal'latin' to keep up that
tappin' till the Gen'ral hisself tells
you to halt?"

"No use tryin' to play for your
supper there, ' ' yelled another ; ' ' land-
lord aint that kind. Might's well
look some place else for a meal, if you
aint got two shillin'."

The roll of the drum became
fainter, wavered a bit, uncertainly,
and the stranger's eyes left the
kindly, pictured face, to rove over the
crowd, seeking a friendly look. Then
his pleading expression changed to
one of apprehension, as a stern-faced,
old man approached, and the villagers
fell back before him.

' ' Who are you ? ' ' the newcomer de-
manded, ' ' and why are you creating a
disturbance? Do you want to spend
the night in the lock-up ? ' '

"Without waiting for a reply, he
turned to the abashed villagers, scold-
ing them vehemently.

"Have you nothing to do but to
stand here gaping at a vagabond?"
he asked angrily. ' ' So long as I hold
the chief office of this town, I will
tolerate no such unseemly scenes in
our quiet streets. Send the old man
on his way, and get you to your
homes. ' '

They scattered, like frightened
sheep, but Aunt Lecty lingered, cast-
ing a pitying glance at the old
stranger, who stood frightened and
trembling, his wrinkled face quiver-
ing with emotion as the boys flung
parting taunts at him.

"He's jest a weak old man," Aunt
Lecty murmured ; ' ' the Squire needn 't
have been so hard. The poor thing's
cold and hungry — and that's an old
Continental uniform that he 's wearin '
— it 's mean to use him so ! "

Obeying a womanly impulse, she
slipped back and laid a gentle hand
on the ragged sleeve of the uniform.

"You f oiler the men into the tav-
ern," she advised. "They's always a
good fire in the kitchen, and the men

THE VILLAGERS JEER AT THE OLD DRUMMER

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

set around the stove and talk. The
landlord 's good-natured — he wont
turn you out till you have a chance
to get warmed up. ' '

As she turned to hurry homeward,
with anxious thoughts of her neg-
lected bread, she saw that the Squire
had stopped and was waiting for her.
There was a scowl on his face as he
spoke.

"I do not believe in encouraging
idleness and begging, ' ' he began pom-
pously; "all idlers should be driven
from our streets, promptly.' '

Aunt Lecty had a mind of her own,
and was not afraid to express it, even
to the Squire. Her voice sounded
tart as she replied :

"They's them as thinks poverty is
a shame and disgrace, and they's
them as knows that misfortunes often
come to good, worthy folks. I dont
know that poor old stranger, but I'm
sorry for him. When you're eatin'
your good, hot supper, he'll be plod-
din' off again into the bitter cold —
but I dont s 'pose that matters, so long
as our streets are kep ' quiet ! ' '

Aunt Lecty hurried on her way,
leaving the Squire staring, too sur-
prised to speak; he was not accus-
tomed to such freedom of address.

"A very meddling, impertinent
woman;" he told himself angrily, as
he turned homeward. He hurried
along, eager for the comfort and
warmth of his fireside. ' ' Supper will
be ready," he thought, "and the cook
told me to be on time, for she would
have hot waffles and syrup ; they will
taste good on a cold day like this. ' '

"When you're eatin' your good,
hot supper, he'll be ploddin' off into
the cold ! " It seemed as if some one
spoke the words into his ears. He
started and looked around, hastily,
but there was no one near him.

"Nonsense!" he muttered, his
thoughts reverting to Aunt Lecty 's
words. "Women have no sense!"

But the accusing words kept haunt-
ing him. He walked slower, paused
at last, irresolutely, then turned and
hurried back toward the tavern. Aunt
Lecty, watching from her window,
chuckled.

' ' I knew he 'd go back and do some-
thin ' f er the old feller, ' ' she chuckled.
"I aint knowed the Squire since he
was in kilts fer no thin'. He's crusty
and gruff on the outside, but he's a
just-minded man, and he'll do the
right thing ev'ry time, if some one
only stirs him up a little. ' '

In the low-ceilinged kitchen of the
tavern a knot of men were clustered
around the stove, puffing their pipes
in comfort, when a draft of cold air
made them turn toward the opening
door. The old drummer entered
slowly, placing his drum on the
table, and advancing wistfully toward
the fire.

"Here," called out a sharp voice,
"what right you got eomin' into the
tavern?"

For a moment the stranger hesi-
tated, his face quivering like a hurt
child's. Then, suddenly, he threw up
his head with a gesture of strange,
appealing dignity ; his shyness seemed
to slip away; his eyes flashed with a
new light, and his voice took on a
commanding ring as he answered :

"No man has a better right than I
have to enter an inn that bears Gen-
eral Washington's face and name. He
was my friend; yes, he did me the
honor to declare that he owed his life
and freedom to me, and he gave me
this glove in token of his friendship
and regard. ' '

Reaching into his coat, he drew
forth a gauntlet glove, holding it up
with a proud gesture as he continued :

"Who should be welcome in the
Washington Tavern, my friends, if
not the friend of the General him-
self?"

There was something in the old
man's dignity, his honest eyes, his
convincing voice, that silenced jests,
and every man nodded emphatically
when the landlord cried: "Well,
then, tell us your story, old friend —
you'll find us willing enough to do
honor to you, if what you say has
truth in it."

A door at the rear of the kitchen
opened, and the Squire slipped noise-
lessly into the room, just in time to

TEE GAUNTLETS OF WASHINGTON

hear the landlord's words. The group
by the fire saw him start forward, in
surprise, as his eyes fell upon the
gauntlet in the old drummer's hand,
but he held up a silencing finger,
keeping in the background, while the
stranger began his tale, unconscious
of the Squire's presence:

"It was back in 1780, and I was a
slip of a boy, fifteen years old. Father
had been killed in the second year of
the war, and mother and me and my

we had spent hours practicing with
a target, playing that the British
or the Hessians were attacking our
home. But the things we cared most
about were a drum and fife that we
had bought for ourselves. We'd
worked with them until we could
make first-rate military music, too,
and we'd sit for hours talking about
how glorious it would be if we could
march with the real army and play
our tunes. But mother would cry if

THE HESSIANS INSIST THAT WASHINGTON IS WITHIN

young brother were living all alone,
except for a couple of farm-hands.
Boylike, we were crazy to be off to the
war, too, but they wouldn't take us.
Brother was only thirteen — I wish
you could see how he looked. He was
the bonniest, bravest youngster, with
great, black eyes and a mop of soft,
brown hair that would curl in spite
of him. Mother just worshiped him,
and so did I. He had a name, of
course, but we never called him any-
thing but Brother.

"We had father's old musket, that
had been sent home to us, and we
could shoot straight with it, too, for

she heard us mention it, and our
father's last words when he marched
away had been : ' Take care of mother ! '
so we knew our place was right there
at home.

"Well, at the time I speak of,
things were getting a bit upsetting
around those parts. There was a lot
of Hessians come down thru the State
and established themselves in an old,
deserted mill, just a couple of miles
from our farm. Nobody knew what
they were there for; there wasn't any
branch of our army in that region, as
any one knew of; the Hessians just
laid low and didn't trouble no one,

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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

except to forage for a few chickens
and a little corn to keep them going.
Mother had told us boys to keep close
around home, but we used to sneak off
to the top of the hill and look down
at the old mill, and make big, bold
brags about what we'd do if they
came foraging around our place.

"One afternoon, I happened to be
out in the road, in front of the house,
alone. All at once I heard horses
coming. I looked down the road, and
I believe my heart stopped beating, I

flutter, he spoke to her so gentle that
she wasn't afraid at all. He asked if
he and his men could rest for. a few
hours in the house — didn't explain at
all why he was there; just said they
must be on their way as soon as the
horses had rested.

"Mother told them about the Hes-
sians, and they all seemed surprised,
and the two officers looked pretty
anxious. But the General just said:
'Then we must get out of sight at
once, and leave after it grows dark ;

THE BOYS OVERHEAR THE CONSPIRACY TO CAPTURE WASHINGTON

was so overcome with what I saw.
For there was General Washington
himself, with a couple of aides, riding
toward me. Of course, I'd never seen
the General, but I'd heard him de-
scribed hundreds of times, and I was
perfectly sure who it was. They came
up to me and stopped, and the Gen-
eral, he smiled down at me and said :
'Do your folks live in this house, my
boy?'

"I suppose I turned all the colors
of the rainbow, I was so excited, but I
had sense enough to grab off my hat
and tell him yessir and that I'd call
mother. When she came out, all in a

we are fortunate to have found these
loyal people living here ; we can rest,
and get safely away on our mission. '

"Our farm-hand — his name was
Zeke — was standing close by, his eyes
and mouth wide open, for he'd recog-
nized the General, too. He led the
horses into our barn, and the men
went into the house. Mother began to
fly around and cook for them, but I
slipped out and whistled for Brother.
He came running from the back lot,
and when I told him who was there
he wouldn 't believe it till he went and
peeked into the house himself. When
he came back, I told him what was

THE GAUNTLETS OF WASHINGTON

101

worrying me. I didn't like the way
Zeke looked or acted. I couldn't tell
why it was, but, somehow, I mis-
trusted that he was cooking up some
mischief. I knew his family wasn't
overly zealous about the Colonies'
rights, and they was the kind that
would sell their immortal souls for a
dollar. 'We'll just keep an eye on
him every minute till the General gets
away,' we agreed.

"But when we went to the barn,
meaning to begin right then to keep
an eye on Zeke, he was gone, and we
couldn't find him anywhere. 'What
if he's gone to tell the Hessians?'
Brother said; 'let's run up to the top
of the hill and look down the road. '

"We was off like a shot, and sure
enough, there was Zeke making the
best time he could along the road
toward the old mill. Without any
words, we lit out after him ; we knew
we couldn't stop him — he was too big
and powerful for us to tackle, but we
could keep track of what was going
on. By cutting 'cross lots, we came up
to the mill just behind him, and we
kept back out of sight. We saw him
stopped, heard a sentry questioning
him; then they took him inside, and
we crept up under an open window
and listened. He was telling them all
about it, but they wouldn't believe
him at first.

' ' ' General Washington aint within
three hundred miles of here,' one of
them said; 'it aint possible — what 'd
he be here for, almost alone, away
from his army ? '

" 'Maybe he aint so near alone,
after all,' put in another of them;
' how do we know how many men he 's
got hid back in the woods somewhere ?
— maybe they kn'ow we 're here, too. '

"Well, they argued back and forth,
and, finally, they made it up to leave
Zeke there, in charge of a couple of
men, and the rest of them go up to our
house and capture the visitors. They
begun gettin' fixed up to start, and
Brother and me made a bee-line for
the house, to warn the General. I tell
you, we made that run in quick time
— we knew that every minute counted.
When we finally busted into the room

and told them all about it, the young
officers was in an awful stew. They
wanted the General to hide in a closet
and let them make a fight of it, and
keep him out of danger, but he just
smiled and shook his head. 'We'll
stay in this room together,' he said,
very quiet like. Then he turned to
mother, who was shaking with fear —
I mean fear that the General would
be taken — mother wasn't any coward
on her own account. 'Close the door
between us and the kitchen, madam,'
he said, 'and stand in the front door
of the kitchen. Throw them off the
track, if your woman's wit can think
of any way, but, if not, run out of the
back door quickly, and stay out of the
way of bullets. Send the lads, now,
out to those bushes in the rear, where
they will be safe. I '11 have the death
of no women or children on my
account. '

" 'Please let us stay, sir; we can
shoot straight,' Brother began to beg,
but I grabbed his hand and pulled
him out of the room. I'd had a big
idea, and I explained it to him in a
jiffy. We grabbed the old musket and
our fife and drum, and' made for the
bushes. We kept out of sight when
we heard the Hessians coming; we
saw them ride around the corner of
the house, and we could hear their
voices, and knew mother was tryin' to
keep them off. But, in a minute, we
saw her come running for the bushes,
and then, the minute she was safe out
of the house, we heard shots, and
knew that Washington 's men had fired
out of the window at the Hessians.

"The barn was close to the house,
and we ran for the back of the barn
now. From there we could see the
Hessians, and two of them had been
wounded by those first shots. They
had laid them to one side, and was
ready to attack the house now.

" 'Now it's time,' Brother said. I
can see him now, with his big eyes
a-shining with the excitement — that
boy wasn 't afraid of anything. ' Wait
till they begin,' I said; 'they'll be
easier confused then.'

' 'In another minute they started to
rush thru the kitchen door. Three

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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

shots sounded from the front room;
then, as they fell back a little bit,
Brother let our old musket speak,
aiming it at the last Hessian in the
row — and he hit him, too ! Then he
dropped the musket, quicker than
lightning, and began to blow, like fury,
on his fife, while I pounded the drum
with all my might. Well, you ought
to have seen that bunch of Hessians
break and run — they couldn't get
away fast enough. They thought the

they're too precious to repeat — them
words was just for me and Brother.
And he took off his gauntlets and
presented one to each of us. I've
carried mine with me all these years;
I'm a poor, friendless old man, but
I've done one good deed in my life —
and the gauntlet's all that's left to
me. When I get too sad and lonely I
take it out and look at it and think of

WASHINGTON PRESENTS HIS GAUNTLETS TO THE BOYS

whole Continental army was march-
ing down on them ! We kept right on
a-playing till they was clean out of
sight, and the General and his aides
come to the kitchen door and looked
out, all puzzled and not understand-
ing what had happened. Then we
marched out, still a-playing ; and say,
when General Washington saw us, he
laughed for a minute, as if it was the
biggest joke in the world — and it Was
sort of funny ! But he sobered down
in a minute, and the things he said to
us lodged right in my heart, and
they're there yet. I haven't forgot
one of his words, and I never will ; but

what he said to us, and the world looks
better."

He paused, replaced the gauntlet in
his breast, and took up the drum,
smiling sadly.

"Thank you all for listenin'," he
said. " I 'm warm now, and I '11 be
going along. This is the very drum I
played that day. Do you wonder I
like to play it now ? I 've got nothing
left of the past — just the drum and
the gauntlet ! ' '

"But where's Brother?" a voice
cried, and the others leaned forward,
eager to hear.

A look of mingled pain and grief

TEE GAUNTLETS OF WASHINGTON

103

crossed the old face. He hesitated,
and, when he spoke, his voice shook
pitifully.

"Mother died, and after that
Brother and me had a little disagree-
ment one day. It was nothing — it
didn 't need to amount to a thing, and
I was sorry enough when I saw how
he felt about it. You see, he was
quick-tempered — he couldn't help it
— he was high-spirited and proud, and
he wouldn't forgive me, and he went

like to fancy that when I get there
I'll have a drum, and I'll begin to
play, and Brother will come a-running
— or, maybe, a-flying — with a fife, to
join in with me, and we'll play the
same old tune that we played when
we saved General Washington. And
maybe the General himself will come
along down the golden street and say
some more of his beautiful, kind
words to us, and there wont be any
more hard feelings in that land."

THE DRUMMER RECOGNIZES THE SOUND OF THE FIFE

off. mad ; said he was going to strike
out for himself and get rich. I stayed
on in the old place, hoping and pray-
ing that he'd come back. But he never
came. I lost interest in things ; every-
thing slipped away from me, and, at
last, I took to wandering up and
down, tryin ' to find Brother. I think
he'd forgive me now — he was the best
and bravest lad in the world — but I
guess I'll never find him. I reckon
we'll never meet now till we get to
Heaven. I dont believe that all the
heavenly music is made with harps. I

As he turned toward the door,
every man in the room sprang to his-
feet. "Here," they cried; "dont go;
we'll take care of you — stay and eat
some supper "

But some one stepped before them,
and laid a hand on the old drummer's
sleeve, saying : " I want you to come
home with me." It was the Squire,
and those who were near him saw,
with amazement, that his eyes were
wet and his face was working with
emotion.

Aunt Lecty, peering out of her

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window, opened her eyes in amaze-
ment as she saw the Squire and the
old drummer passing.

"Kingdom come!" she cried; "the
Squire's takin' the old feller home
with him — I do declare, it's the sur-
prisin'est thing I've seen in a 'coon's
age!"

It was a stately, Colonial home into
which the Squire ushered the be-
wildered old drummer, seating him
comfortably before the fireplace, and
introducing him to the surprised
family as " an old friend of mine. ' '

When the warmth of the fire had
exerted its cheering influence, the
Squire placed the drum on his visi-
tor's knees.

"I want you to play for us," he
said.

As the roll of the drum filled the
room, the old man's head lifted
proudly, his eyes became dreamy,

his face grew sweet and sad with
memories. The Squire stole softly
behind him, lifted a shining object
from the cupboard, placed it to his
lips, and joined a high, clear melody
to the throb of the drum. With a
startled cry, the drummer sprang to
his feet and faced the Squire, his
sharp old eyes peering anxiously,
wonderingly, into the smiling face.
Then the Squire reached to the cup-
board where the fife had lain, and
brought forth a gauntlet glove, hold-
ing it out mutely. The two old men
looked into each other's faces.

' - See, ' ' the Squire said at last, and
his voice trembled, "here it is — the
other gauntlet!"

For an instant the old man stared,
uncomprehending; then he tottered
forward, with a great sob.

"Brother!" he cried exultantly,
"Brother!"

Farthest North

By MARY CAROLYN DAVIES

I'm missing civ'lization, and I'm wanting bad to go
Back where there's something else besides this everlasting snow
I want to see just everything again, but say, a show
Is what I seem to want the most of all.

O ! I want to see the lighted

Streets, the crowds go by excited,
And I want to dance a two-step with a little girl I know ;

And I'll do a little kissing,

But of all the things I'm missing,
I want to hear the music as I watch a picture show.

This everlasting hardship aint so everlasting bad ;
The days, we have to stand it, but the nights, they drive us mad,
A-thinking, thinking, thinking of the good old times we've had,
And we long to chuck the business and to quit.

O ! it sure would be a winner,

To eat a home-cooked dinner,
Away from this canned menu that is garnished up with snow ;

And to put on a store-collar,

But what beats the rest all holler,
Would be to get a ticket for a Motion Picture show.

I'll be thru my little stunt of work and going back, some day,
With a mighty happy feeling and a solid bunch of pay,
And I'll celebrate my coming in the most appropriate way.
O ! the things that I am going for to do !

I will get a shave and shine, a

Meal once more off glass and china,
And on my first night at home again I know just where I'll go.

O ! it sure will be my inning,

And you'll find me there a-grinning,
A-sitting in a front seat in the Motion Picture show.

$oRatfy<£)oMu

When the good Saint Patrick
drove the snakes out of Ire-
land, one of them took refuge
in the dark soul of a certain Kav-
anaugh, of the gentry of Claddagh,
hard by the Burn o' Bei. And for-
ever and a week afterwards, his
descendants, folks say, fine, strapping
men and pleasing to the eye, rich in
emerald rye-fields and snug with their
elegant stone castles, carried snake-
souls with them thru the length and
breadth of their days.

However that may be, this tale of
Kathleen Brogan and her lovers of
high degree and low degree is as true
as the last words of the Widow
O'Hara's cow. And, if you doubt it,
you could have the right of the matter
from Father McManus himself, if the
old man hadn't died ten years ago
come Candlemas — the Saints give the
soul of him an aisy bed. But 'tis no
matter. In Claddagh every one, from
Daddy Neil, the besom-maker, to wee
Biddy Lory, including those who dont
believe it, know it is true, and Kath-
leen 's childher — ach ! whist now, and
listen with the ears of you wide open
to the quarest tale in the world.

'Twas at the mating time o' the
year, when the white thorn was in
bloom and the curlew calling over the
braeside, young Terrance 0 'Moore, as
decent and comely a lad as you would
find in a month of Sundays, combed
his yellow hair, shut his cow in the
byre, and set out for the fair at Shen
Ban. The smell of primroses sweet-
ened his lungs as he strode along the

turnpike, and the thought of Kathleen
Brogan sweetened his soul. Of all the
colleens in Erin, none had brighter
eyes or more tuneful feet in the reels
than she. But she was a coy maid, ill
to please and hard to wed; and Ter-
rance tilled his wee bit of sod and ate
his oat scowder and porrich with a
hunger in the honest heart of him, and
so far, work as he would to make a
home for her, plead as he might, the
best that she had given him was her
smile and a ' ' Wait a wee, Terry, ' ' that
was not yes, but, praise the Saints, not
no. And there was a light, sometimes,
in her laughing eyes that might mean
— Terrance was not a lad to talk, but
his heart was very hopeful as he swung
fairward, thru the brave sunshine and
the fields of bracken and blue-beaded
flax.

At the fair-grounds the folk were
gathered from far Croach Beag to far
Larue Lough to celebrate the turning
of the year. Bright booths patched
the field with color ; the air was atune
to the fiddler's jigs and the shrills of
a pipe, and gentry and humble
rubbed elbows, brother-fashion, in
joyful holiday.

Terrance cleaved the crowd, eyeless,
earless to the celebration, until the
beating of his heart whispered Kath-
leen was near. Then he paused. Poor
lad — poor lad! For young Squire
Kavanaugh was with her; young
Squire Kavanaugh was bending,
lover-like, over her, and Kathleen was
smiling straight up into the bold eyes
of young Squire Kavanaugh. There

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be many things that take the blue
from the sky and the gold from the
whinbush, but naught, I'm thinking,
can do it so quick as when the colleen
one loves smiles at another gossoon.
Terry turned white as a Brownie at
the sight of holy water, and the taste
of the day went bitter on his tongue.

"Shure, Terry, ye 're lookin' very
dawney the day," called a friend,
passing with a moon-faced girl abeam
on each arm. "What's moitherin' ye,
lad?"

" 'Tis Kathleen an' her fine, new
lover," snickered one of the girls.
"Musha, an' it's a shame it is, Terry,
entirely. ' '

"Hould your tongue," scowled
Terrance. " 'Tis pratin' magpies ye
are, an' no better." He plunged into
the thick of the crowd, heart-sick at
the laughter and pleasurefulness
around, half -minded to go back to his
mare and his potato-field and his
branny cow. But no. "I'll bide an'
get a word wi' her," he told himself
grimly. " 'Twill be no use, I'm
af eared — Ach ! avourneen — Ochone !
ochone!"

It was dayli' gone, as we Irish say,
meaning the edge o ' the evening, when
Terrance got his word with Kathleen.
It was only a short word at that, for
the Squire was waiting, with his fine,
brave team of bays, to drive her home,
and she was impatient of Terry's
detaining hand.

"Is it him ye 're carin' for, Kath-
leen agra?" whispered Terrance, the
lad 's voice of him shaking. ' ' An ' me
lovin' ye so, an' hopin' an' waitin'
these three years — oh, Kathleen,
acushla, I'll not be belavin' it of you,
colleen dhas."

"Hes tellm' me that he's lovin'
me, too." Kathleen looked down de-
murely. 'Tis a situation the best of
women love to play with and dally
over. The grip on her arm tightened.

"The divil take the black-hearted
scoundhril f'r sich words," gasped
Terrance, choking with wrath. "Ye
must be elf -shot to harken "

"An' he's wishin' for to marry
me, ' ' she flashed. " It 's out o ' timper
ye are, Terry 0 'Moore." Her face

softened at the sob in his eyes.
"Whist, Terry lad," she whispered,
"I'll be dramin' over it the night an'
give nayther av the both av ye an
answering till the morra. But — th'
Squire is the grand, clever man,
Terry, and 'twould be fine to be a
lady, I'm thinkin'."

If tears had been poison, there
would have been never a blade of
grass left unwithered on Glenna Hill
that night. Face down in the yar-
row and hungry-grass, lay Terrance
0 'Moore, sorrow stridin' his back,
sobbing and moaning, a wretched
skinful of woe under the hawthorn
bushes. Now, in Erin there are haw-
thorns and hawthorns, and some of
these are fairy trees and some are not.
Those where the Good People gather
are called gentle thorns. Now mind,
I'm not saying 'twas a gentle thorn
that Terrance was lying under, in the
black of the night, on Glenna Hill —
that you can just decide for your-
selves after you read the last word of
my tale. We Irish know that the
Good People have lived among us for
long and for lee, and divil a man or a
woman or a childher have set eyes on
them. But all the same, they skim
the cream from the pots and fret the
cows in the byre, and meddle in
mortal's affairs by tickling their
brains with dreams. Whether or no,
'twas a quare thing that happed, and
Father McManus — but, aisy, aisy — all
in good time.

A castle is a grand place for the
grand folks to bide in, with its spinnet,
and servants, and rooms that reach
half-way to the sky. But our Kath-
leen did not find being a lady as
pleasureful as she'd thought it. She
could not pick one note on the spinnet
from another, and was shy of it for
fear of breaking the keys. The serv-
ants frightened her, and she could not
eat the grand, strange dishes they
served, for the craving within her for
posset and parritch and an honest hot
bowl of tea. But hardest to bear was
the Squire himself, that fine, clever
man who had taken her to a priest
and married her there. The manners
of him she had taken for gold as solid

EATHLEEX MAVOURNEEN

107

as that of a sovereign, but they were
only plated, after all. and the plate
was wearing thin. At Patrieknias he
was cold to her. and at Whitsuntide
he was cruel.

'Twas on a brave, chill evening,
with the wind sobbing like a Banshee
over the chimney-pots — an evening
when all decent folks toast their
honest shins before the peat-coals in
their cottage grates, and the Brownies

mouthin '. ' ' he swore. ' ; Begorra. I 've
had all the prayin1 I'll swally. Sorra
a moment's pace have I had since ye
came into tlr house wid yer low-bred
ways." says he.

Kathleen had no more tears for
him. 'Twas too serious for such. But
the look that she gave him \

"'An' troth, yer honor, ye sh'd
have reckoned wid me low-bred ways
afore iver ve married me." she said.

GENTRY AND HUMBLE RUBBED ELBOWS. BROTHER-FASHION. AT THE FAIR

put burrs in the old mare's tail and
ill dreams in the white sow's ear —
when the poor maid saw, at last, into
what a bog the Will-o '-the-Wisp of
ambition and sinful pride had led her.

"God pity the pore sowls out th'
night." cried Kathleen, as a wilder
gust snarled down the chimney and
set the candles a-flicker in their silver
scones. And being a well-taught col-
leen, she outs with her rosary and
begins to tell an Ave. The Squire
snatched the holy beads from her
hands and dashed them to the floor.

"Divil take your mumblin' an'

proud-like and tall and white-lipped
as he. And then the Squire threw
back his rough red head and laughed
lee and long, like the Ould Fella
himself.

•'Marry ye. is ut. me proud
beauty?" he said at last. ,; 'Tis a
grand joke ye 're afther having.
mavourneen. We Kavanaughs dont
marry dairymaids. I '11 bate ye. Ha !
ha ! Throgs. no ! Sure, 'twas a false
priest who married us and no holy
man at all. at all. and so ye 're no
more a wife than ye be a maid,
machree. "

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Kathleen's face went white as a
streak of lint, and her poor hands
shook like bracken in the wind. Then,
before he could check her, with a
shriek like a passing soul, she was
gone, out into the cold wind and
moonlight and shadows, stumbling
over the cobblestones of the lanes,
across the dangersome turf-damp
bogs and stubble fields, by the kirk

, SHE GLEEKED THRU THE CASEMENT

and the eerie graveyard, the bridge
and the burn, till, drenched to the
skin and gasping, she came to the wee,
thatched cot of Father McManus,
shining tight and bright thru the
storm. She gleeked thru the case-
ment and stumbled in at the door.
The old priest had white hair and a
white soul. Before he would hear her
story, he poured out a cup of hot tea
from his own brown kettle and set it
before her, with a pick to eat.

' ' Now, God save ye, my daughter, ' '

said he, gentle-like; "what ill brings
ye thru th ' could and weary wind th '
night ? Ye 're fair jaded, avourneen. ' '
"God save yersilf, kindly, yer
Riverince," said poor Kathleen,
wringing her pretty hands. "Musha
— musha, I'm misdoubtful I've losth
me sowl entirely. Sore pity o' me to
be belavin' his deludherin' tongue."
And, atween sighing and weeping,
she told Father McManus
her black story, tho the
words of it almost stuck in
her throat for very shame.
" 'Deed, Father, me
heart 's bruck intirely, ' '
she finished. "All the
prayin' an' bletherin' in
the wurrld wont lave me
th' honest maid I was
wanst — ochone! ochone!"
"Whist, asthore," said
the old Father. He had
held her on his knee when
she was but a pretty, wee
stand-aloney, and he was
fair heart-scalded to see
her black grief. "Ye did
well to come to me, ma-
vourneen, for, plaise good-
ness, I've comfort f'r ye.
God's ways is quare,"
said the good priest, rever-
ent-like, "but, praise be to
Him, ye 're as honest a
wife th' day as who's-th'-
nixt, and this is th' way
av it, Kathleen acushla. "

'Tis mortal strange how
evil things often fall out
well or middling in this
world. If the Squire had
but known — but whist, will
ye, and listen without interrupting.

It seems that the day before the
marrying of Kathleen and the Squire,
Father McManus had been called to
the bedside of a dying man, to speak
a mass for his passing soul, and the
man had confessed that he was to
have dressed as a priest and per-
formed the Squire's false marriage
for him on the very next day in the
world. The Father hurried to Done-
gal and fetched back the young priest
of that parish, and he it was who had

KATHLEEN MAVOVUNEEN

109

married Kathleen to Squire Kav-
anaugh, all unbeknownst to the both
of them.

"Mother o' Hiven, but 'tis the
grand news ye 're tellin' me," cried
Kathleen, the color creeping back
into her face. "Will ye be comin'
wid me an' tellin' himself th' same,
th' black-hearted crayther,
f orninst the castle yander ? ' '

Father McManus looked
regretful-like at the snug
and warm chimney-corner,
the brown kettle steaming
on the hob, and the fine,
warm pot of stirabout in
the ashes, for even priests
have human feelings. But
he was big of heart, and did
not hesitate. He threw a
grain of turf on the fire,
buttoned his old top-coat
about his ears, and the two
of them started out into the
weathersome night.

The Squire was feshed to
see who was with Kathleen,
but he put on a bold face
and a hearty voice, and
made the best of it.

"Bejabers, but 'tis a
trate t' set eyes on ye, yer
Eiverince," he cried, the
artful man. "Ye 're as wel-
come as the flowers in May.
I'm hopin' ye haven't been
botherin' th' Father wid
our wee bit of a quarrel,
Kathleen a tharsge."

Kathleen gave him a look
from her two black eyes to
show she wasn't to be come
over by fair words. ' ' Father
McManus has someaut to
tell ye, Neil Kavanaugh,"
she said, with the voice of
her like the frost on the peat
quiet wid ye, an' listen, ye
raggin' thafe o' the wurrld."

When the Squire heard the Father 's
story, he was fair taken aback, and
had ill work to keep from showing it.
But he was a clever man, with one eye
always open and 'tother never closed,
and he changed his tactics according.
' ' Sure, an 'twas all a weesy joke, yer

Eiverince," he cried, laughing as
merry as the toothache. "Kathleen is
th' very apple o' my eye, do ye
moind. She's out av timper wid me
betimes an' again, and I wid her, as
is right an' proper 'twixt husband
and wife, but, barrin' maybe a word
or two, I niver hurt ye at all, at all,

DEED, FATHER, ME HEART 's BRUCK INTIRELY

"Be
bally-

did I, Kathleen mavourneen, Kath-
leen machree?"

And so, with his blarney and pretty
speeches, as plentiful as blackthorn
bushes and as valueless as horny
buttons, Squire Kavanaugh won back
the trust and affection of his wife and
hushed her suspicions of him. But
sheela a whiles did he give up his
plans to be rid of her against another

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winter came. And whilst they drove
together to the market, or knelt at
mass, or played picquet of an evening
before the blazing chimney-pot, his
black mind was busy nursing a new-
born scheme that might have been be-
gotten of the divil himself, so wicked
it was indeed. And all the time, out-
wardly he was smiling and blarney-
ing and kissing the poor deceived
maid, until she almost forgot to re-
member Terrance 's voice, with the
love-shake in it, and the ache for her
in his blue eyes, and was even happy
enough, after a fashion.

One night, toward the budding of
the year, when the moon was round as
a shilling and the rabbits were
atwinkle under the foxgloves, or lush-
mores we Irish call them, and the air
was sweet with the smoke of turf
fires, Squire Kavanaugh took his low-
born wife out for a horseback ride.
'Twas just such a night as the Good
People, granting there are such, might
have been abroad. Howsomever that
may be, for some quare reason or
other, Terrance 0 'Moore had a rest-
less streak on him and could not bide
at home. Many and many a night
since Kathleen was wed, had the poor
lad tramped the heather till the
screek o' day. So, maybe, 'tis not so
mortal strange that he was sitting on
a rock behind a laurel bush at the
foot of Croach Beag when the Squire
and Kathleen passed that way. He
gleeked out atween a crack in the
leaves, and this is what he heard:

"Sure, 'tis a harum-scarum path,
Kathleen agra," said the Squire.
"Bide here a bit, mavourneen, an'
I'll thry me luck in findin' another
wan."

He turned his bay's head and dis-
appeared. At the same moment Ter-
rance saw three figures stealing out
of the shadows toward the luckless
Kathleen. With a shout, he was down
from the bushes and upon them.
'Twas a pretty sight to see one man-
body dealing with three. Two he
pushed over the edge of the cliff,
splash into the burn below. 'Tother
cooled his heels in terrorsome flight,
believing a Brownie was after him.

Then, afore Terrance could turn to
the trembling maid atop of her filly,
the Squire himself was returned to
see the success of his black plan.

' ' Ye murdherin ' ruffian, to f rechten
th' loife clane out av a she-body,"
choaked Terrance, white with the
wrath of him. "Ye desarve to be kilt
entirely till ye 're dead, ye divil-
hearted vagabone."

When the Squire saw that Fate had
put the comether on him again, his
blood boiled to his brain. With a
roar of anger, he hurled himself upon
Terrance. Kathleen, in fair dint of
terror, watched the two of them sway
and struggle in the moonlight, and
the screams that she uttered would
have gone a mile if they would a
perch, so loud they were. When at
last passers came, they found the
Squire on the ground, mortal hurt,
and Terrance standing by, holding
the swooning maid in his arms.

" 'Tis he," gasped the dying man,
pointing a finger at Terrance. "He
sthruck me — he kilt me — because he
— was wantin' t' marry — my — wife.
Ach ! water — a priest — I 'm dyin '. ' '

But 'twas too late. And if ever the
Ould Fella was waiting beyant for a
soul, 'twas for this one that passed
out, sweating and cringing with terror
of death, at the foot of Croach Beag
Mountain that very night, the Saints
save us all!

But sorra the day some one must
swing for his death, for such is the
law that bids a good man pay the
price for a sinner's killing. And who
could that some one be save Terrance
O 'Moore?

'Twas a Shrove Tuesday, a week
and a day later, that Kathleen came,
dressed all in widow 's weeds, into the
kirk, as black and bitter to see as a
drab shadow over the wheat. The
kirk was gay with brides and bride-
grooms hastening to the altar afore
the marriageless days of Lent, and
'twas long before Kathleen could
speak with Father McManus. As she
knelt on the praying-stool, telling her
beads, she watched the pretty colleens
and their brave sober lads that
minded her of Terrance. Och and

KATHLEEN MAVOURNEEN

111

ochone ! But only last year, and the
deal of trouble since then !

"Faix, Father," she sobbed later
at the good priest's knee, "I cant
slape for dramin' av Terrance. An'
they're hangin' him come Friday,
mobhron. 'Tis the wretched woman
I am, driven beyant the beyants. An'
'tis all my sin for marryin' the vile
decaiver for his goold and fine castle.
Niver a happy breath have
I drawn since thin — an'
now me bould lad must die
f 'r the wrong I done him —
oh, Terrance, all an n a —
ochone ! ochone ! ' '

' * A i , ai, Kathleen, me
girl, ' ' sighed the good
priest, woefully, "sin niver
stands singly, God forgive
us all."

"They wont lave me see
him at all, at all," sobbed
Kathleen. "Oh, Father,
ye '11 be speakin' wid him.
Tell him that Kathleen
Kavanaugh would give her
sowl to save him, f'r she
loves him the now, an' al-
ways has an' always will,
God hilp her — will ye be
tellin' me lad thot, will ye,
Father?"

"Nay, nay, hould yer
whist, Kathleen mavour-
neen," said the old priest,
sternly. " 'Tis wild ye 're
spakin' an' sinfu' words.
Mesilf could niver whisper
the loike to dyin' ears.
Terrance is on the edge of
the Beyant, an' mortal love
is not f'r him the now. Yer love is
too late in comin', Kathleen ma-
vourneen — too late, too late, acushla
machree."

Too late ! No sadder words than
these. All the long night, with the
curlew w^ailing above the roof-tree
and the bats and night beasties
around her — too late ! Thru the blank
daylight, with every tick of the clock
and beat of the heart — too late!
When the happy wife blushes to catch
her man's proud look, and the wee
childher pass, holding their mother's

skirts — too late ! And the pity of it,
when the silent folk gather about the
foot of the scaffold and the hangman
waits — too late, then, with your love,
Kathleen mavourneen!

Like a specter she stood, the poor
maid, as Terrance 0 'Moore went up
the steps of the scaffold, straight,
brave, a right true man, as he stood
there, with the old priest holding the

THE CROSS BEFORE HIS BLUE, BLUE EYES

cross high before his blue, blue eyes.
Kathleen flung out her arms, like one
distraught.

"Terrance — Terrance, heart o' me,
harken," she cried. " 'Tis like
enough ye '11 not be carin', acushla, to
know how I love ye, but say ye for-
give me, Terrance, f'r th' love ye
wance bore me — Oh, Mary, Mother
av Hiven," she moaned, "hilp me
afore it's too late f'r helpinV

Now maybe you'll be after saying
that prayers aren't answered that

112

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

sudden; maybe you'll not be believing
that once in a way a man or woman
gets a foreglimpse of what may be
coming to them in time to prevent it ;
maybe you'll just be saying 'twas
only a dream and nothing more. But
howsomever that may be, 'tis certain
that Kathleen opened her eyes as the
drop of the scaffold fell with a crash,
to find her mother knocking at her
chamber door.

"Fie abed, good-f or-naught, " cried
the old woman, cheerily. "Ye '11 be
atin' yer brekfus at supper-time th'
day. An' th' Squire waitin' below,
an' Terrance 0 'Moore "

"Mither, f'r the love av th' Saints,
what is th' day?" whispered Kath-
leen, holding her breath for the
answer.

"Why, shure, an' 'tis the marnin'
afther the fair at Shen Ban, agra.
An' yer menbodies here at the screek
o ' day to spake wid ye. ' '

As light as a pea-hen's feather,
Kathleen was out of her cot.

"Ach! little mither o' mine," she
cried blithely, "go down an' sind th'
Squire away, f'r I've naught to spake

wid him thot he'd care to be hearm'.
But, mither" — her voice grew shy
with her joysomeness — "mither, ye
might be kapin' Terrance waitin'
awhiles. ' '

'Tis long since that it happened,
and the old priest is dead — rest him —
and buried these many a year. But
well he could remember every word
that Kathleen had said to him in this
tale, and every word that he said to
her, and how could that be, pray, if
it was all a dream? You could ask
him yourself if, misfortunately, he
wasn't too dead to tell you, the good,
old man.

The moons biggen and wane on
Croach Beag Mountain, and the
scarlet roan berries swell and shrivel
by the Burn o' Bei, and still the Good
People gather the praties and cab-
bages for the poor widow women, and
skim the pots of rich folk's cream,
and tickle the ear of colleens and
gossoons with freakish dreams, as
they have been doing ever since pigs
was swine in Ireland, and that is for
long and for lee.

The Plea of a Picture Play Patron

By HOWARD C. KEGLEY

When I want to see the pictures, I put on my hat and go

Downtown to some place where I think they have a high-class show.

Then I buy a ticket, and I step inside the door and stand

There on the soft green carpet, with my skypiece in my hand,

Until an usher comes, to guide my unfamiliar feet

Down long, dark aisles, and lead me somewhere to a vacant seat;

But ere I start to follow him, I loudly do implore

Him not to seat me near those who have seen the films before.

How often, oh, how often I have gazed upon a reel
Of pictures that gave me the sort of thrills I like to feel,
And grown much interested in the progress of the play,
Only to have some thoughtless person, sitting near me, say,
Addressing a companion : "Oh, I know what's coming now :
The fast express speeds by and kills the farmer's Jersey cow.
The farmer claims the cow was worth a fortune, and he gets
Enough, out of the railroad to pay off all his debts !"

Whenever some one near me gives the picture plot away,
I promptly lose all interest and cant enjoy the play.
For when the plot's unraveled, and I know what it's about,
I feel as tho I've seen it all — for me the show is out.
And so, each time I go to see a picture show I say:
'Now, usher, put me where there are no big hats in the way!
And, usher, gentle usher, listen to me, I implore;
Please do not seat me near those who have seen the show before !"

WlTrt

FRED MACE, OF THE KEYSTONE COMPANY

There are a good many broad avenues in
Los Angeles, that thoroly up-to-the-
minute city, and street upon street of
beautiful all-tbe-y ear-round bungalows — but
it contains onlv one Fred Mace. Lest you
do not know him by name, and recall only
his laughter-breeding, rosy gills and those
flippant little gestures, all his own, and
remember him only as "that man" of the
Biograph Company who poked such clever
and ridiculous fun at Sherlock Holmes, in
the "Sherlock" pictures, and whose Algy,
the vigilant, blundering watchman, was as
odd a creation as the Handy Andy of our
fathers, to say nothing of his One-Round
O'Brien, the Don Quixote of pugil?sm, let
me introduce him again — Fred Mace, late
of Philadelphia and New York, now settled,
with his parents to bless him, permanently
in Los Angeles.

Fred does not claim to be one of the
original cherubs of the "City of Angels,"
but he is the merriest, most whole-souled,
j oiliest-faced citizen that they have cap-
tured and tamed in many a day. It was
not that Fred loved the Biograph Company
less, but that he loved the town of his adop-
tion one better, and, too, the little garden
patch of flowers by the bungalow's side,
and the old folks glorying in his home.
Small blame, says I, and "good cess" to him.
But I have put the trunk-rack before the
bonnet — Fred has lately come into a car,
and talks mostly in the language of the
auto — and I must tell you how I met him.

I had gone out to his home, 305 South
Union, primed for a write-up, but was in-
formed by his Jap man-of-all-work that he
was out cruising in his new car. I turned
away sadly, down a country road.

Fred Mace was not to disappoint me,
however. A cloud of dust, accompanied by the hum of a well-tuned motor, came to my
eyes and ears. Presently a streak of gray machine shot up the road, and stopped in
front of me.

A rosy man, about thirty-four, I should say, with merry, gray eyes, crisp, dark-
brown hair and an agile shape of some two hundred pounds, .lumped down beside me.
There was no mistaking the famous double-peaked cap of a Dutch rabbit-shooter, and
the joyous, flapping gesture of his hand. It was Fred Mace, out for a holiday — no one
could miss his identity.

"Hop in." he said, in a "get-acquainted" voice. "You're the interview man; yes?"

We sped south, toward the coast.

"I just couldn't leave this town," he began, "when Biograph left, so I joined
Keystone, with Mark Sennet and Mabel Normand."

We lit cigars. I missed his familiar calabash of photoplays.

"To begin with," he resumed, "as to whether I am married or not, the jury is still
out, but I'd love to have a wife and four children in the pictures — expenses are heavy to
the breaking point.

"My early education was not neglected," he went on quickly, "critics to the contrary,
for, after romping thru about all the schools in Philadelphia, I was graduated as a first-

113

114

CHATS WITH THE PLAYERS

class M.D., also, later, a D.D.S. (dentist). Dont forget the 'graduated.' I never use
these letters, however, except in extreme cases, like giving myself gas and filling my own
teeth.

"My eventual call was for the stage, tho, and, among many other plays, I reckon my
favorites to be those in which I starred — naturally. The 'Chinese Honeymoon,' Tiff Paff
Pout' 'The Empire,' 'Time, Place and the Girl' and the 'Chocolate Soldier' were the most
successful ones. There were others conducive to outdoor work, such as walking home — ■

no, dont put that down My career was, rather, an escalator of unbroken successes.

Good?

"But, as in my adolescent life, I felt that I was filling the wrong cavity, so to speak,
and so joined Biograph out here two years ago. Then the Imp Company, and, now,
Keystone, since my joining them, the finest of them all. Such is fame.

"As an afterthought, I concede other great photoplayers, however, such as Costello,
Bunny, Walthall and Mary Pickford. Mary Pickford, bless her ! Since her husband is in
far New York, I can say, without fear of contradiction, that she was the sweetest ever."

We slowed down in front of his bungalow ; his talk had been so rapidfire I had lost
count of time and place.

"Wont you come in and look at my books?" he asked. "Very fond of Whitcomb
Riley and Kipling — got some first editions of them."

I thanked him, and spent a pleasant half-hour in his study. I noticed, en passant,
that here was no littered camp of the proverbial actor, but a well-ordered, cozy home.

A curious thing was that as soon as we had settled down in his study, his talk
became less abrupt, more contemplative, less flippant. Maybe it was the influence of his
surroundings — the psychology of home. We shook hands cordially at parting. I had
almost forgotten a pet question of the editor's and put it, as a Parthian shot : "Have you
any theories of life, health, or living?"

"Keep clean," he answered quickly, "even tho an effort at first. You can apply it to
'most everything — health, morals, or a sore back. After a while all the neighbors get
the habit, and you can backslide just a little. Keep the break on going down hill, blow
your horn (even in your saddest hour), and hire a man to clean your car."

"Is this literal or figurative?" said I, a bit puzzled.

"Arcadia Mixture," he smiled, with a flip
of his plump hands; "smoke it in my cala-
bash." The Tatler.

ELEANOR CAINES, OF THE
LUBIN COMPANY

In the three and a half years that Eleanor
Caines has been with the Lubins, she
has played all sorts of leads — Western,
boy parts, comedy, emotional — but she loves
Shakespeare and Dickens. She has played
the part of Oliver Twist on the regular
stage, for this versatile little lady has been
an actress since she was three years old,
when she played her first engagement with
Madame Eames.

Born in Philadelphia, she was educated
at the convent on Chestnut Hill, but at
fourteen she was playing dramatic parts in
a good stock company, then she played two
years in "Robert Emmett," and starred in
the "Searchlights of a Great City."

But she does not sigh for the regular
stage now. She delights in her work, and
talks of it with interesting vivacity. She
has very expressive gray eyes and an
abundance of lignt, fluffy hair that throws
off all sorts of lights as her pretty head
tilts and turns. And, speaking of her hair,
there is an interesting story about it, for she
actually sacrificed it all once, for the sake
of a film that demanded a real hair-cut ! It
was actually clipped, close to her head.

"Oh, I knew it would grow again." she
said, nonchalantly, "and I did some lovely
boy parts while it was short."

CHATS WITH THE PLAYERS

115

The feats that this dainty lady does are quite astonishing. Two years ago she
climbed a sixty-foot cliff, while the camera buzzed. In playing "The Sheriff's Capture"
— and, by the way, she wrote that photoplay herself — she and the man playing opposite
were thrown from their horses. His nose was broken, and her arm. Looking at her
pretty face, I was glad the accidents were not reversed.

"It didn't spoil the picture, at all," she said ; "it made it all the better, more
realistic, you see !"

One interesting thing that I learnt about Miss Caines is that she cannot swim,
in spite of the fact that she frequently falls out of a boat into very deep water.

"It must take a lot of nerve to fall into the water when you cant swim a stroke," I
ventured; "why dont you learn?"

"I cant learn; I'm afraid of the water," she replied, and she seemed to mean it!
Verily, there is no accounting for a woman's mode of reasoning. But no one expects a
woman to be consistent — and so fascinating a woman as Miss Caines doesn't mean to be.

L. M.

ARTHUR MACKLEY, OF THE ESSANAY

There are thousands of persons who watch ,^^^?

eagerly for the Western films of the
Essanay Film Company, and out of all Smfo

these thousands it would be difficult to find .

one who felt completely satisfied if Arthur /

Mackley failed to appear as the sheriff. In ^Hj

the public mind, he has become so thoroly ilWMK?

identified with this character that few ever Hfli

think to ask his name. He's just the sheriff
— that's all, and, when he appears on the
screen, the audience settles back, with a
satisfied air, knowing that a perfectly con-
sistent and realistic bit of acting will be seen.

"Yes, I'm a little bit proud of the character
of the sheriff," he confessed. "I created it
myself, as you might say, and it's a satisfac-
tion to know that folks like it so well. Some
of our folks say they miss the applauding
audiences that they used to know, but it suits
me to feel that millions of good, everyday
people are enjoying my work, even if I cant
hear them applaud.

"You see, I'm a pretty old fellow," he
continued, growing reminiscent. " 'Twont be
so very long till I'm fifty. I was born in
Scotland, and educated all over the world.
For twenty-four years I was an actor and
director on the regular stage; then I came
to the Essanay Company, and it suits me all
right. I try to put my very best work into
everything I do, and I like to watch my own
pictures on the screen — it's a great study."

Questioned about his favorite interests and
amusements, Mr. Mackley smiled.

"Not very much time for amusements in
this business," he said. "I spend seven or eight hours a day between the rehearsing
and the real acting. I seldom go to the regular theaters, but I'm extremely fond of
music. Most of my evenings are spent in writing scenarios, but, occasionallv, mv wife
makes me go to some social function, and, when I do go, I always enjov it. And just
put this down : I've been married twenty-two years, and the most interesting thing in
the world to me is my wife !

"Yes, I like outdoor life and sports," was his answer to another question; "the
mountains and the seashore both please me, and I delight in a good sea voyage. Walk-
ing and swimming are both enjoyable, and, of course, I'm a baseball enthusiast.
Politics? Any party that's honest will do."

In appearance, he is 5 feet 8V2 inches tall, and weighs about 175 pounds— but
why try to describe the sheriff? You all know him on the screen, and he looks and
acts the same in real life. ]yj, p

116

CHATS WITH THE PLAYERS

MISS MURIEL OSTRICHE, OF THE ECLAIR COMPANY

No wonder I hesitated. Surely this slip of a girl, in the homelike little sitting-room
on West 144th Street, could not be the whimsical Feathertop, the debonair
Robin Hood, the stately Christobel that I had ventured up into the wilds of
Harlem to interview — probably a younger sister — but no !

"I really am sixteen whole years and half another," she laughed, "and I haven't
played dolls for a long while."

I can truthfully say that she does not show her advanced age. A trifle over five
feet high — or low, a wee bit over a hundred pounds on charitable scales, with unruly,
light brown hair that surely very recently grew up into a young-lady psyche on top of
her small head from a fat ribbon-tied braid, and round, interested-in-life blue eyes — do
you wonder that I failed to recognize Miss Muriel Ostriche, of the Eclair players, and
late of Biograph, Powers and Pathe, creator of one hundred and fifty parts in her
single year of Motion Picture work?

An amazing young lady, truly ! But no !

"I really am just a very commonplace person," confessed Miss Muriel, plaintively.
"I haven't the singlest bit of a remarkable thing to tell about myself. I'm not even a

suffraget! And I've never been a popular
actress in John Drew's company, nor a
beautiful chorus girl, nor on the stage at all,
tho I adore the theater. I never was nearly
killed in an auto accident, and never rescued
a millionaire from drowning at Atlantic
City — so you see I'm almost remarkably
unremarkable!"

It is not polite to contradict a lady. The
etiquet books all say so. However, I ven-
ture to differ with Miss Muriel on this
point. One hundred-odd pounds of vital
energy and enthusiasm is not commonplace.
When she is not working every day, six
days a week, she is playing just as ener-
getically, dancing her slippers — number
twos — to rags, entertaining her not-to-be-
enumerated friends in merry parties in the
wee-bit apartment, going ' to the theater,
skating in the cold part of the calendar,
rowing in the warm. She is fond of poetry
and George Barr McCutcheon, automobiles,
chocolate caramels, farming, and her work,
and she is charmingly, satisfyingly, remark-
ably alive.

"Is life worth living?" I asked her. The
big, round, blue eyes grew bigger, rounder,
bluer.

"To me it is!" (Italics do not begin to
express the way she said it.)

The little past life that Miss Muriel has
lived so far has been in New York. She was educated here within sound of Broadway,
and the skyscrapers, noise and bluster of the big city spell Home to her, altho she is
fond of traveling.

"What do I like to do in the way of athletics? Oh, just swimming, walking,
boating, automobiling, driving, baseball, gardening, farming, skating," she smiled. "I'm
interested in Christian Science and Theosophy — or would be if I had the time. My
work is really my fad.

"Do I believe in the future of the photoplay? Indeed I do ! I think it will more
and more crowd out the regular drama. No, I dont study my parts before rehearsal,
but afterwards I do. I like to see the pictures after they're finished. Mistakes do look
awful in black and white, but they help."
As I was leaving, she called me back.

"Oh, by the way, they call me the Turkey-Trot Girl at the studio," she laughed.
"That's a bit unusual. And I forgot to tell you how much I enjoyed The Motion
Picture Story Magazine— but, dear me, that's not unusual at all !" D. D.

In the February issue we announced a contest in which our readers would be
given an opportunity of voting for their favorite players. The magazines
containing that announcement have hardly been received by our sub-
scribers, as this is being written, yet the votes are coming in by the hundred
in every mail. Last year we conducted a similar contest and awarded fifty
prizes, which were won by Maurice Costello, Dolores Cassinelli, Mae Hotely,
Francis X. Bushman, G. M. Anderson, Alice Joyce, Octavia Handworth,
Florence Lawrence, Arthur Johnson, and others, in the order named, but
that contest did not suit us. In the first place, that was a year
ago, and players have changed and improved. In the next place, we
then reached only a small part of the great Motion Picture public,
with our mere 125,000 circulation, while now it can safely be said that this
magazine is read, every month, by at least a million people. During the
past year many of the younger players have sprung into prominence, and
many new faces have come upon the screen. Perhaps some of these new ones
have caught up with — even passed — the older ones, in popularity. We want
to know. The public wants to know. The companies and the players them-
selves want to know. But this is not the important reason for starting this
contest. "We feel that the photoplayers have done and are doing a great deal
of good in this world, and that they receive less appreciation than almost any
other class of benefactors that we know of. They work hard and tirelessly to
please, yet they have no way of finding out whether they have succeeded or
not. The players of the speaking stage receive their appreciation across the
footlights, but the players of the photoplay receive no applause — at least, if
they do, they do not know nor hear it. We feel certain that thousands of our
readers are eager to do honor to their favorites, and that therefore they will
welcome this opportunity.

Contrary to other contests that have been held in the past by various
publications, we do not intend to offer several thousand dollars' worth of
prizes to the winners. There will be no steam yachts, automobiles, pianos,
etc., offered by us. The effect of such offerings is usually to inspire the players
themselves to work for themselves, and to spend their own money, in order to
capture the valuable prizes ; whereas, our intent is quite the reverse, for we
do not want to make this in any sense a gambling enterprise, nor one in which
mere money can buy honor. Hence, our prizes to the. winners will not be
expensive ones, but they will be appropriate, even elegant, and they will be
of a kind that will serve as a lasting monument to the winners. While we
cannot stop the players from voting and working for themselves, we shall not
encourage it, for we desire this to be a contest which the great Motion Picture
public is to decide.

The nature of the prizes and the date of closing will be announced later.
The standing of the players at the time of going to press will be found on
another page. Dont be discouraged if your favorite is not on top, or near the
top, the first month. Remember that votes will soon be coming in from far-off
lands, including Australia, England and New Zealand, and that it takes six

117

118

POPULAR PLAYER CONTEST

days for mail to reach this office even from the Pacific Coast, and that several
days are required to count and classify the votes.

How to Vote.

Every reader may vote twice each month, one vote for a male player, and one for
a female player, but two votes cannot be written on the same sheet of paper. If you
wish to vote for John Doe and Mary Roe, for example, you must take a slip or sheet
of paper and write at the top : "I vote for John Doe," signing your name and address
below, and you may add any lines or verses you please at the bottom of the sheet, or
on the other sheets. Then take another sheet or slip of paper and write at the top:
"I vote for Mary Roe," signing your name and address below. You will find concealed
elsewhere in this magazine a coupon, which, when properly filled out, will count for ten
votes more. There is no objection to your sending in a dozen or more votes in one
envelope, in case friends or members of your family wish to vote also. While this
contest is on, the Popular Plays and Players department of this magazine will be dis-
continued, and the verses that we have on hand will be used in this department.
Following are some of the clever verses and criticisms that we have received :

TO FLORENCE E, TURNER.

I have many, many favorites

Upon the picture screen,
But there is one whom I love best —

The prettiest I have seen.

There's dimpled Lillian Walker,
Who certainly is a dream,

And dear little Mary Pickford,
Who is just as rich as cream.

There's Maurice Costello and Leo Delaney,

Two chaps we all adore,
And there's Earle Williams,

And also Owen Moore.

There's Norma Talmadge, Dorothy Kelly,
Two sweet girls of the Vitagraph,

And then there's dear John Bunny,
Who always makes me laugh.

ut of all the Motion Picture players

I always love to see,
The sweetest girl in the pictures —
Her name is Florence T.
447 East 135th Street, Bronx. Estelle Marguerite Blank.

And here are a few heart-throbs chosen at random — the editor's desk is as
full of them as an Ella Wheeler Wilcox poem :

My hero, tall and handsome,
As my favorite I did choose ;

I know that you'll agree with me
When I tell you he's James Cruze.
Orpheum Theater, Fargo, N. Dak.

Of all the parts he has taken,
Grandpa, villain, Turk or elf,

I always like him best of all
When he's his handsome self.

G. Di F.

Miss "Billy" Storey is simply great and dandy and human; so are "G. M.,"
"Dimples," Jack Clark, Crane Wilbur, Carlyle, Alice Joyce, Flo Turner, Arthur J.
and Francis X. B. A Sophomore.

Miss Marguerite Geraldine Futooye, of Denver, " drops into po'try" on
the subject of Marguerite Snow :

If I only had a nickel,

And my carfare pretty low,

I'd spend the last I had
To see Miss Marguerite Snow.

"If beauty means success,
Miss Snow will be a star,"
So said a paper once,
And she's complied, by far.

So here's to Marguerite —
Success where'er you go.

Here's to each one's hobby —
The good old picture show,

POPULAR PLAYER CONTEST

lis

Do homage to the little tots — no matter what your janitor says :

Bach month a magazine I sight,

To read what photo critics write,

And find that women of all ages

Send praise for the actors by the pages.

Then you'll read some little verse

A man has written telling of his choice.

But few you'll find for the little mites ;

They never seem to get their rights.

So I will try to remind you of a few

That have acted in pictures — some old, others new.

Did you see M61ies' Danny in the "Cowboy Kid"?

Now admit, wasn't he great to do as he did?

And there's little Marie Lambert ; she cant stay on the shelf,

Once you've seen her act in Art's "His Other Self."

There aren't many — not by a long run —

Can act like Pathe's Mildred Hutchinson.

Then again Pathe can well be proud of their claim,

For the little Indian fellow is a kid of fame.

To see cute Helen Costello in Vitagraph's "Church Across the Way'

Is well worth the admission you pay.

As for Dolores Costello, Adele De Garde and Kenneth Casey, too,

Well, I just keep my eyes opened wide, dont you?

Edison's baby, Edna May Weick, you'd have to

Love her more when she acts in "The Little Woolen Shoe."

Gladys Hulette and Yale Boss, of the Edison Company,

Have the great talent of acting, seems to me.

There are numerous others who act as well

As those I've mentioned, but their names I cant tell.

By reading this you can easily see

How the cute little tots appeal to me.

741 Fairmount PI., Bronx, N. Y.

Grace Edwina Searle.

In spite of "anachronous fits and misfits/ '
please, and to raise the standard :

As You Like It" tends to

To the Editor of Favorite Plays and Players :

I have just read the October number of The Motion Picture Story Magazine, and
I want to tell how well I liked the story of "As You Like It," as written from the photo-
play by Marguerite Birch. I studied the book in high school, and all the time I spent
on it didn't amount to as much as the time I spent reading it in this magazine. It was
so simply told, and the pictures accompanying it were so clear and well chosen, that it
was more than just interesting — it was something to be remembered.

Worcester, Mass. "Interested."

George Edgar Frye, the clever jingle-maker of New England, contributes
the following to his favorite kiddie :

AN ACROSTIC TO A LITTLE VITAGRAPH ACTRESS.

ere's to a little miss, the queen of photoplays ;
very one who sees her act, loves her winning ways,
ike a tiny fairy she flits across the stage,
ager to fill the role best suited to her age.
othing too difficult, her art can compass all ;

harming in portrayal for one so very small.

n the screen reflected by Moving Pictures shown,

weetest of all faces is hers so widely known.

ime deal gently with her is my most fervent wish,

ach added year bring friends and heaps of happiness ;

ive as she acts her part, with noble purpose true,

ove as the Golden Rule, right as the actor's cue :

n every page inscribed : "I act my part for you!"

120

POPULAR PLAYER CONTEST

"Interested" writes an appreciation of the fine work of Brinsley Shaw,
who plays villainous parts to perfection with the Essanay Company : ' ' There
is none whose acting surpasses his, tho the parts he plays are so unlovable;
to act the part of a 'splendid villain' requires talent with a capital T."

S. Weber asks, What's the matter with Guy Coombs? and proceeds to
answer the question, as follows :

That you're a very handsome Guy,
Now, Mr. Coombs, you cant deny.
When we see you as soldier boy,
Our hearts swell up with pride and joy.
As the picture ends we say in dismay :
"Please dont take our soldier man away."

"Please, Mr. Chatter, wont you chat with Wallace Reid?" begs "Miss
Fifteen," of Montgomery, Ala., and follows up her request with the follow-
ing verse:

WALLACE REID.

There's a handsome face I've often

seen
Focused on the picture screen.
A figure tall and firmly knit,
And clothes that most divinely fit.

Oh, Wallace Reid, the hearts you've
smashed,

I fear to tell the number.
If you could know the hopes you've dashed

'Twould spoil your peaceful slumber.

When in your arms the heroine lies,
My own heart gets into a whirl,

And when you gaze into her eyes,
I wish I was a picture girl.

We are pleased to receive the opinion of a real railroad man on some
of the railroad photoplays. R. G. Summers, of Cortland, N. Y., a genuine
railroader, thinks that the best railroad play ever put out is "The Lost Box
Car," and for a second choice prefers "The Engineer's Sweetheart."

J. E. M., of Lenox Avenue, New York City, praises the work of Leo
Delaney in "The Love of John Ruskin" and in "Days of Terror," and wishes
to know why his name was not shown on the screen in the cast of "As You
Like It."

Master Donald Tennant, of Goldfield, Nev., in a letter that is a model
of good penmanship and arrangement, states his preference as follows :

Brinsley Shaw makes the best villain, but is not praised enough.

Flora Finch and Biograph's One-Round O'Brien are the best comedians.

Yale Boss is the best child actor. He acts so natural.

Flora Turner is the most beautiful actress.

Gene Gauntier is the best actress in dramatic or tragedy roles.

A little miss from San Francisco sends a lengthy poem about her favorite,
Carlyle Blackwell. We quote a couple of verses:

c tCm His eyes> they fascinate me,
^'•/i^ His loving way is grand;
He's my hero of all heroes
On the sea and on the land.

But to me he must be merely
A Motion Picture dream,

And never will I see him
Except upon the screen.

Rose Cranford, of Richmond, Va., thinks that Jack Richardson is the
handsomest, most fascinating actor of them all.

POPULAR PLAYER CONTEST

121

G. M. Anderson is the hero of this bit of verse, written by Emma L.
Wright, of Rochester, N. Y. :

When his day's work is over,

Then, with spirits all aglow,
He dons his best and makes a dash

To the Moving Picture show.
Sometimes it is the Hippodrome,

Again the Genesee;
It makes no difference which it is,

His heart is filled with glee
If on the canvas there appears

A jolly, smiling face
That looks as if it might belong.

To the happy cowpunch race.

No matter what the part may be,

He's right there with the goods,
So well he plays each character,

It cant be told in words.
He might be just a cowboy,

Again a sheriff stern,
Perhaps a generous Indian—

We've others yet to learn.
His name I'm sure we all know,

And, if we dont, we ought :
'Tis Mr. G. M. Anderson,

Whose activity cant be bought.

This is a protest against the cruel and barbarous film — at any rate, that
is how the writer classifies this particular film, which we have not seen,
ourselves :

Dear Editor: Being an ardent and enthusiastic reader and booster of The
Motion Picture Story Magazine, I thought it the best medium thru which to express
my complaint. I acknowledge the Moving Picture industry to be noble, uplifting and
inspiring, but, recently, I saw a film entitled, "With the Boys of Figure 2," which was
a Selig. I know all commend educational films. This proved exactly the opposite. It
vividly portrayed the cruelties of branding and lassoing animals, etc. The thousands
who witnessed it were thoroly disgusted, and could scarcely suppress their indignation.
It was surely a barbarous and degrading picture, altogether disreputable. I wish to
state that the Selig is an excellent company, in the full sense of the word, but "With
the Boys of Figure 2" reflected much discredit on them, all agreed. I feel sure it must
have been an oversight on their part, for, had they known the impression this picture
created, I think they never would have released it. I sincerely hope that in future they
will not portray such cruel and extremely barbarous films, which only cast aspersions
on their excellent reputation.

With best wishes for your success, I remain,

Very sincerely, A Reader.

And now for a few specimens of the limber limerick

3 here is a young actress named Flo,
Oft seen in the Vitagraph show ;

If the players were served all the cash they deserved
She'd be worth a "Wall Street" full of dough.

The Vitagraphs have a grand fellow,
With hair neither raven nor yellow,

Who, if put to the test, would come out very best,
And he's named simply Maurice Costello.

Now of all the very high flyers,

There's none who can touch Harry Myers,

Who's so handsome and grand, and so darling-
And his acting, it never once tires.

-My land!

Sweet, lovable Lillian Walker.

Who (no role in playdom can balk her)

Is wreathed all in dimples, from chin to her temples — ■
Please send Gladys Roosevelt to "talk her."
Yonkers, N. Y. C. Edmunds.

Vivian Rathbun is the author of these lines

Of all the girlies that I know,
I love you best, oh ! Marguerite Snow ;
And, oh! you surely are my queen
Whene'er I see you on the screen.

I watch each tiny movement,
And I look for every glance ;
I know if I could meet you once,
You'd hold me in a trance.

122

POPULAR PLAYER CONTEST

There is quite a Rudyard Kiplingist lilt to this little poem from the
breezy West :

TO LEO DELANEY, OF THE VITAGRAPH COMPANY OF AMERICA.

ou're the best of them all;
You're the winner, large or small,

And we love to see your picture on the screen.
As a villain or a beau,
You are surely the whole show ;

Hear your praises sung by one you've never seen.

Not alone your eyes or hair,
Nor your charming smile so rare,

Is the reason that the crowd all laugh in glee.
But your acting is so charming :
As a villain you're alarming,

As a hero you can sure have me.

Fkom a Montana Girl.

Rev. J. W. Cool, of Lynnhurst Congregational Church, has learnt how
to make the children come to church. He founded Sunday evening, when
Moving Pictures were shown at the service, an innovation in Minneapolis.
Three hundred children, and nearly as many more grown-ups, packed the edi-
fice. The films shown were selected for Dr. Cool by Manager S. L. Rothapfel,
of the Lyric Theater, and were " Jepthah's Daughter," a Biblical picture, and
a film showing the panama hat in the process of manufacture.

Miss Frances Petry, of Indianapolis, strikes an optimistic note in her little
poem to G. M. Anderson :

I'd rather be a booster than a knocker any day;
I'd rather praise than criticise in what I have to say ;
And there's one man on whose success I'd gamble any day,
And that is Gilbert Anderson, of the Essanay.

I'd rather be a booster than a knocker any day ;

I like to tinge with certainty the words I have to say ;

And so, no matter who I see, there's one and only one for me,

And he is G. M. Anderson, of the Essanay.

And now we find a lot of other good ones crowded out : They are written
by Bertha C. Leonard, Eva Leach, Nellie Wetleib, Pearl Moore, Guy Main-
waring, R. C. M., Bessie C, Miriam J., L. M. M., J. C. C, Maisie N. Benson,
Gertrude R., Mabel Mason, John Jenkins, Roland White, N. M. T., K. L.,
Lubin-lover.

''Blue Hap" turns to the Quaker City for his favorite, and sings the
praise of Jennie Nelson, of the Lubins :

hey may tell of all their favorites,

Tell of whom they love the best,
But the smiling face of my Jennie N.

I choose from all the rest.

Like the beaming Betsy, who "loved ev'ybody," Miss Margaret Dittmann
has many favorites :

Mary Fuller is sweet — she is more. I love her because she is so innocent and un-
affected.

George Lessey is a fine actor, and an example of clean, sturdy manhood.

Lottie Briscoe and Arthur Johnson are both fine actors.

Lillian Walker, Leah Baird, Zena Keefe and Mrs. Gordon I delight to see play —
and Miss Cassinelli, Lily Branscombe, Ruth Stonehouse and Gwendoline Pates.

(Continued on page 172)

«ej

'kutts

THINGS THAT SHOULD BE SUPPRESSED —

OF COURSE THE FELLOW IN FRONT OF YOU
THINKS YOUR SWEET REMARKS ARE FOR HIM
TILL YOU HAVE TO SLAP HIS FACE OUT IN
THE LOBBY.- AND IF GEORGE DOES GET A
BIT JEALOUS, WELL.PUT YOURSELF |N HIS PLACE,

THIS IS ONE OF THOSE MOMENTS WHCM ONE
WANTS TO BE ALONE, IS'liT IT TOO BAD
PAPA WAS'NT ALONCr TO PROVE Hi€>
INNOCENCE. MA NOW TAKES A VERY REAR
SEAT AND 15 ALWAY5 5EVERLY ALONE,

SHE'S OEAD.-CtOT PON
OVER WITH A BICYCLE.
CRANE QOT DROWNEO
IN SOME WATER LAST
WEEK- THEY BUR-- ""
IED BFUHHV TODAY.]

WHERE'S
LAWRENCE
FLORENCE
NOW? AND
WHAT'S BE-
COME OF
WILBUR
CRftNC?

I WISH
I WAS

YOUR

-AND AFTER THAT THEY
KETCH HIM ANO THEN JUST
WHEN THEY GO TO SHOOT

Him there is an earth -
quake, this -

LOOSENS THE RottS,

■&>»■

m*Baktfss&

GREAT IS THE USHER. KNOWS ALL THE GREAT
PHOTOPLAYERS. IN FACT HOST OFEM ARE OLD
CHUMS OF HIS, HE SUPS OVER OCCASIONALLY
AHO rt*KES A NICrHT OF IT WITH 'EM t BUT WE'D
fORGWE HIM FORTHIS. IF Hf WASHT 5UtH A MORQ UE-.

YOU'LL FIND THIS DISEASE IN MOST EVERY
PICTURE THEATRE.IT OUGHT TO BE STAMPED
OUT, OR RATHER, KICKED OUT. HE CAUSES
MORE UNBEAUTIFUL. THOUGHTS THAN A WHOLE
MiONKrHT FULL OF CAT MUSIC -AYE.TJS A VOTE.

THEN THERE IS THE FELLOW WHO INSISTS THAT
THE WATER ISWOVEN,THAT THEY ARE ONLY
BROWN PAPER AHO GLUE MOUNTAINS (SOME-
TIMES CARDBOARD.) AND I REALLY BELIEVE HE
THINKS A BRONCO IS THZ LATEST OOBbY HORSE .

THE POOR DEAR COULD NT SEE THAT SMITE
SMIT WITHOUT ANY WARNING, SHE DlO'NT
KNOW OF COURSE THAT HE KNEW ALL ABOUT
IT AND WOOUO CLIP HIM ON THE CHIN IN A
MINUTE. IT WAS AS THOO&H SHED SEEN A MOUSE.

BUT THAT PROBABLY NEVER WILL BE

■sings of ^

f . 77ie ^Photoplay
TMiilosopher "

The Sabbath ; let it ever be the most joyful and praiseful day of the seven. —
Henry Ward Beech er.

The Sabbath is the poor man's day. — Grahame.

The longer I live, the more highly I estimate the Christian Sabbath, and the more
grateful do I feel toward those who impress its importance on the community. —
Daniel Webster.

O day of rest! how beautiful, how fair, how welcome to the weary and the old!
day of the Lord; and truce of earthly care! day of the Lord, as all our days should
be.—Longfelloic.

The green oasis, the little grassy meadow in the wilderness where, after the week-
days' journey, the pilgrim halts for refreshment and repose. — Dr. Reade.

If the Sunday had not been observed as a day of rest during the last three cen-
turies. I have not the slightest doubt that we should have been, at this moment, a
poorer people and less civilized. — Macaulay.

The Sunday is the core of our civilization, dedicated to thought and reverence. It
invites to the noblest solitude and to the noblest society. — Emerson.

These quotations seem to be fairly representative of the sentiment that
obtains regarding the Sabbath day. While it is true that there are many
religious sects among us that do not observe our Sunday as a holy day, among
them the Jews, and that there are many people who recognize no Sabbath at
all, still, perhaps a majority accept Sunday as a day of rest, worship, repose,
or recreation. There are still churches and sects that insist that the Sabbath
must be kept sacred and apart as a day of worship, yet the tendency of the
times is unquestionably toward a more liberal vieAV. Those churches that once
forbade cooking, driving, secular reading, attending lectures, and all kinds
of amusements op the Sabbath have gradually abandoned such ideas, until
now we find very few indeed that do not permit these things. Religions, like
everything else, are subject to the lawrs of evolution. As times and conditions
change, so change our morals. It wTas immoral once to kiss one's wife on
Sunday, but the next generation thought differently, and the following looked
upon the thing as an absurdity. Just what attitude the religions of the future
will take on the question of Sunday Observance no man may say with cer-
tainty; but, undoubtedly, the individual will be given greater freedom.

There is one thing, however, that stands out strongly : the world is quickly
coming to believe that tolerance is the real test of civilization, and of religion.
That sect which is the simplest in creed, and develops rather than limits
thought, is vital and elastic, and will survive and absorb the others. Frederick
the Great once said, "Every man must get to heaven his own way." We

*fy=^-^jr 125 "^^K^S^fe^^

LOSINGS OFTflt PMOTOPLAY P/ilIPSopfltf£

must all learn, too, to tolerate and to respect the religions of others. As
Victor Hugo says, "Toleration is the best religion," and Beecher adds, "The
religion that fosters intolerance needs another Christ to die for it." This
being true, a church should be the last to interfere with the doings and
opinions of others, however much they may differ from its own. We all

^ have our conception of God, and we all have our ideas of right and wrong.

X Some of us believe that we should devote the entire Sabbath to worship and
to devotional exercises, carefully refraining from all worldly diversions, while
others believe that we should make every day our Sabbath, and that we should
be just as worshipful and devotional on one day as on another. Still others
do not believe in worship at all. It is perfectly proper for us to preach our
own religion, and to try to persuade the world to our way of thinking, but
we must exercise tolerance, tolerance, and again more tolerance ! We
must not try to force. This religion is a prodigious thing. It was built,
and is building, for man's physical, social and mental betterment, as well
as his spiritual. Otherwise it fails. We must not seek to pass laws to compel
others to worship as we think they should worship. That is a building of
intolerance. Would it not be absurd for one church to have a law passed
forbidding another church to hold services during certain hours, on the ground
that the latter kept people away from the former? If that be true, would it
not be equally absurd for any church to denounce everything that keeps
people from attending its services? Those who desire to worship on the
Sabbath must be allowed to do so, and we must do nothing to molest them;
but, at the same time, those worshipers must do nothing to molest those
who do not care to worship at their church. Many churches realize the
significance of this, and their Sunday evening services are given over to intel-
lectual discussion, uncolored by dogma or creed; and the lives of great men,
trips to the Holy Land and the East, often with lantern slides, are entertain-
ingly shown. In other words, the church realizes that it must put forth its
best effort to be vital, interesting and human.

And this brings us down to the question, Shall the People be allowed to
view Motion Pictures on Sunday? Assume that all Motion Pictures are good,
and clean, and edifying; assume that all objectionable pictures have been
eliminated; assume, for the sake of argument, that they are all religious
pictures: would any modern Christian religion try to prevent a man from
exhibiting such pictures on Sunday? No. A church might try to induce its
members not to attend the picture theaters on Sunday, and it might even
preach that it was wicked to do so ; but it seems hardly proper for it to force
people to stay away from such places by threats, by interference, or by having
laws enacted against them. This would be intolerance. Those people who
prefer to attend religious services rather than picture exhibitions, have a
perfect right to do so, and vice versa. I lay this down as a fundamental
proposition : Every person has an indisputable right to worship or to enjoy
himself in any manner that he pleases, as long as he does not interfere with
the equal rights of others, and he may do so on Sunday or on any other day.
If certain Motion Pictures are immoral, then they should be suppressed at
all times, not alone on Sundays ; if they are harmful to the children, then the
efforts of the churches should be directed toward making the pictures helpful
to the children.

Somebody may reply to all this by saying, "Motion Pictures. are either
, good or bad; if they are bad, let the law stop them." Not necessarily so;

m because they are surely not all bad, and they may be made all good ; therefore i

LOSINGS 0F'7fle PfloToPLAY PfllLOSOPMEKl

it would not be wise to destroy them, but rather should the effort be directed
to eliminate the bad and to perpetuate the good. If, on the other hand, certain
pictures can be shown to be not only immoral, but a strong argument for
moral betterment, a moral force — and surely there is no more vital and
interesting way to preach practical morality — it is the clear duty of the church
to abet and encourage the exhibition of such pictures on Sunday, as well as
on week-days.

Without being sacrilegious, I may state that there is probably no his-
torical series of facts more dramatic than the life of Christ. It is hypocritical
for a pastor to deny that the dramatic elements of His life have not been
emphasized and realistically worked up from the pulpit. Motion Pictures
convey a much more vivid and powerful impression than the voice alone. Why
is it unreasonable, then, that, under the proper guidance, pictures of this kind
should not be shown with immeasurable benefit on Sundays ? And, marching
with the trend of religion, all such pictures as tend to uplift, educate and
better their audiences?

As a matter of fact, the people are the best censors. If pictures get to be
immoral, the people will stop them, and I have heretofore shown them how
they can do so. But the fact is that Motion Pictures are getting better and better
day by day, and the time will come when indecent pictures will not be allowed
in decent theaters. But, if all Motion Pictures should become perfection itself,
and morality itself, still there would be some who would try to stop them on
Sunday, altho these same persons will be found exhibiting Motion Pictures
in their own churches and Sunday schools, particularly when they desire to
treat their members to a first-class, enjoyable entertainment, or when they
wish to raise money for religious purposes. We must do away with moral
straddles of this kind to solve the question. In conclusion, let me say that I
am for the perpetuation of the Sabbath. I believe in it, I observe it, and I
usually attend religious services on that day; but I would not try to force
others to do as I do.

Grace — Gracefulness ; the poetry of motion ; that quality or characteristic which
makes the movements, form, manner and general bearing of a person charming ; beauty
or harmony of form and movement; ease and elegance of carriage; excellence and
attractiveness of the general appearance when the body is in action ; a quality that
comes naturally to the French, that comes easily to the Italians, but that seldom comes
at all to Americans, particularly to photoplayers.

Perhaps this is a rather severe definition, but it is true. Whatever other
charms our American photoplayers may possess, they seldom possess grace. \l
Any foreigner will tell you the same. Grace is not cultivated in this country, y
"Acting," as taught, resolves itself into "be natural." But, when to "be
natural" means to be awkward, it is time to teach something else than "be
natural. ' '

Only those are happy who make others happy. Only those prosper, in
the long run, who help others to prosper. As a general rule, men and things
are where they are because they are what they are ; and one thing is sure — we
get more happiness from what we put into the world than from what we take
out of it.

L He who cant, but tries, deserves more than he who cant and wont. tA

*^^r®^?S*^r ^=^^^r

127

r^&^^?^^<^ --r«s^sd£

MUSINGS OF,cTMe PROTOPLAY PfllLOSOPM&Ft

Mr. William Lord Wright, an able writer of the Moving Picture News,
makes quite a display of some badly spelled letters which were sent to him
by Editor McCloskey, of the Lubin Company, which letters accompanied
photoplays that had been sent in to that company, each author claiming
to. be a "graduate" of a "Scenario School." The conclusion that Messrs.
Wright and McCloskey seek to draw from these bad examples from illiterate
beginners is that schools are worthless. But is that conclusion permissible?
I take it that no Scenario School undertakes to teach its pupils the art of
penmanship, nor grammar, nor spelling. Possibly these schools should refuse
to accept pupils who have not first mastered the English language, and that
they should not grant "diplomas" (if they do!) to illiterates; but the fact
remains that probably every one of these schools has a good and a complete
course of instruction, and that any person of ordinary education and intelli-
gence would be benefited thereby. The fact that a few butcher boys, who can
hardly write their names, have been foolish enough to think that they could
grow rich in a month by simply learning the technique of photoplay writing,
is no proof that Scenario Schools are not a good thing. Mr. Wright's exhibit
is not convincing. I still believe that the art of photoplay writing should be
taught to the masses, and I know of no better way than by means of schools,
expert instructors and books — all. If the present schools are not adequate,
let the attacks be directed to make them so — not to discourage them.

Most of our actions proceed from the love of pleasure, or from the fear
of want — the first often degenerating into luxury, and the second into avarice.

On another page will be found the announcement of the great inter-
national exposition of Motion Pictures at Grand Central Palace, New York
City, in July. Readers of The Motion Picture Story Magazine will be
pleased to know that we have secured a booth on the main floor of the exposi-
tion hall, and that our friends will be welcome there at all hours to meet the
members of our staff, including the editors, the writers, heads of departments,
the Photoplay Philosopher and the Answer Man, all of whom will be on hand
as much as their duties will permit. Everybody who is interested in Motion
Pictures should try to spend at least one day at this wonderful exposition.
Everybody of importance in the Moving Picture world will be there, if pos-
sible, including the players and directors. Make a note of it, and arrange
your plans accordingly.

When we see or hear something, which we are asked to believe, regarding
important things, such as religion, philosophy and morals, let us learn first
to doubt, and then to inquire, think and reason before we believe. If this
had been done by everybody from the beginning, what a different world it
would be, and how many fads, fakes and fallacies, wars and famines, tortures
and sufferings, superstitions and delusions might have been avoided ! We are
bound to make error, however carefully we may inquire, but by this method
we push the percentage of error closer and closer to the irreducible minimum,
and arrive very near the truth.

A When you lose your head, try not to lose your tongue. ^)

The Growing Dignity of "The Movies"

By WILLIAM LORD WRIGHT

Film manufacturers, film exchangemen and managers of Moving Picture theaters
are strenuously objecting to the appellation, "The Movies." The Moving Picture
trade journals and other publications devoted to the industry are publishing
editorials denouncing the newspapers and magazines for referring to Cinematography
as "The Movies." The Moving Picture, without doubt, is growing in dignity and im-
portance. A few years ago, whenever a crime was committed, or a small boy was
found pufling a cigaret, the newspapers blamed it all on "The Movies." Times have
changed. Nearly every one of the larger newspapers of the United States devote
entire pages in their Sunday editions to Moving Picture news. Magazines and other
publications have finally recognized the importance of the Moving Picture, and are
giving details concerning the industry.

Two years ago, if a film producer had asked one of the theatrical stars to pose for
the pictures, he would have met with contemptuous disdain. Today, actors and actresses
of national fame are scrambling to be among those who are posing in the tabloid
drama. Mrs. Fiske, James K. Hackett, James O'Neill, Nat C. Goodwin, Otis Skinner,
and Lillian Russell are among those stage artists in America who have signed contracts
to appear in Moving Picture plays. Madame Bernhardt has set the pace in Europe.

The Moving Pictures are taking a place in religious circles, also. During the latter
part of 1912 a number of faithfully portrayed Biblical pictures were released by
responsible manufacturers. The most important of these was the production "From
the Manger to the Cross." To obtain it, a company of artists was sent to the Holy
Land, and the scenes in the pictures are those of Sacred History. Moving Picture
machines have been installed in many churches, and Thomas A. Edison is out with a
statement in which he asserts that in three years the public school methods of study
will be revolutionized thru the medium of Cinematography.

The film producers are sparing neither time nor money to evolve elaborate produc-
tions. Special trains, occupied by well-known actors and actresses, have recently been
sent across the continent, in order to produce picture plays in appropriate scenic
environments. One film manufacturer has sent a company of players thru Ireland;
another company has visited Egypt, while still another film manufacturer is personally
conducting a company of actors and actresses thru the Fiji Islands, in order to obtain
convincing atmosphere and scenery for a series of picture plays.

Hundreds of thousands of dollars are being invested in equipment on the Pacific
Coast by those film-men who make a specialty of wartime and Western playlets.
Entire tribes of Indians, companies of soldiers, and rough-riders of Wild West shows
have been pressed into service, in order to film massive productions.

Those connected with the profession of Cinematography seem to be concertedly
working for the uplift and dignity of the profession. The industry has surmounted
many obstacles, and seems to be finally coming into its reward.

Authorities predict that within another year the Moving Picture drama, in five or
six reels of film, will have supplanted many of the regular theatrical entertainments at
first-class theaters. And the prices of admission will be more reasonable.

The Moving Picture is generally acknowledged to be a menace to theatrical attrac-
tions. Poor theatrical entertainments for high prices will never prove effective rivals
of Moving Pictures. There is no real reason why Moving Pictures should ever cause
worry to managers who produce honest theatrical entertainments. But clear pictures,
well selected, at ten cents are better value than doubtful musical comedy at $1.50 a seat.

It is said that within a few months there will be exchanges dealing solely with
educational pictures. Many vital questions of the day could well be treated in educa-
tional playlets. For instance, there is the crusade against the high school "frats." It
is the consensus of opinion among leading educators that high school secret societies
are poisoning the civic character of the boy. If this be true, why not an educational
film showing the fact that many high school societies exist, in defiance of law, and
that no educated or self-respecting body can endorse such action? Then Superintendent
Ella Flagg Young, of the Chicago public schools, suggests a department of good manners
in the schools of this country. Mrs. Young is quoted as saying : "In high school gather-
ings I have noticed that the young ladies, tho bright and attractive, lacked that touch
of womanly grace for which parents often send their daughters to private institutions.
Intellectually, we do good work, but perhaps we fall short in the teaching of manners."
There is an observation that could well be acted upon in the proposed Moving Picture
school work.

129

The Adventures of a Picture Star

HE WAS TOO REALISTIC, AND NOW HE IS THREATENED WITH

A BREACH OF PROMISE SUIT

130

George, Montreal. — Mary Smith was the mother in "A Mother's Strategy."

Joe, Bayonne, N. Y. — Phyllis Gordon was Junie in "Saved by Fire." Vedah
Bertram was the girl in "Broncho Billy's Last Hold-up." The matter is not with Ruth
Roland ; it is the fault of your theater if you haven't seen her lately.

Cutey and Sweety. — How nice! Guy Coombs was the bugler in "The Bugler of
Battery B" (Kalem).

Plunkett. — Virginia Westbrook was the girl in "Loye Knows No War." Yes, it's
Lillian Walker.

Rosebud. — All the players you mention are still alive, with the exception of that
Biograph, and that we wont tell.

The Pest. — Hope you dont lose any sleep over Francis Bushman. Your letters
are certainly interesting, and you should change your name.

R. R., Alias Peggy. — Frances Ne Moyer was Marie, and George Reehm was Jean
in "Love and Treachery."

C. K. Hamilton is disappointed because Florence Lawrence and Arthur Johnson
did not get married. You should worry. Oh, yes, often the players get hurt while
playing a difficult role.

R. L. G., Atlanta. — Yes, Path6 Freres releases one picture every day in the week.

Mairli, McKeesport. — Jane Gale played opposite John Halliday in "The Stubborn-
ness of Youth."

M. St. C. — The fat woman is Kate Price, and she is as jolly as she is fat. Clara
Kimball Young plays opposite Mr. Costello.

Alloyins. — No, my child ; Olga, 17 is only one of our customers. We cant tell you
the color of her hair, but the color of her ink is blue.

"Buck" D. V. — Logan Paul was George Washington in "The Flag of Freedom."
The fire was a real one, and also a warm one.

V. G. C, Syracuse. — Mildred Bracken and Richard Stanton had the leads in
"Linked by Fate."

Clara P. J. — There will be a "What Happened to Mary" every month, for one year.

Anthony. — Edwin August was the clergyman, and Ormi Hawley was Nell in "The
Crooked Path."

Hazel. — E. K. Lincoln and Edith Storey had the leads in "The Scoop" (Vitagraph).

C. S. G. — You refer to Clara Kimball Young on the Christmas Tree. Edna May
Weick is the child with the cap. Ray Gallagher is leading man in "Will of Destiny"
(Melies).

Agatha. — Martha Russell had the lead in "Twilight" (Essanay). Get your back
numbers direct from us.

Jacqueline and Patricia. — You children certainly have nerve. You ask ten ques-
tions, and they all pertain to — oh! what's the use?

Mae of Malden. — Edna Payne was Kitty in "Kitty and the Bandits."

B. L. H., Kansas. — In "A Woman of Arizona," William Todd was the sheriff.

H. M. G., New York. — When it comes to "kissable lips," we are out of it — out of
our line — send such stuff to the matrimonial department. We dont know anything
about Wallace Reid's lips or eyes, and dont care.

Geraldine F. — We thank you for the Pathe information, tho we knew it all the
time, but such news is not for publication. Gwendoline Pates was Violet in "His
Second Love."

A Rutherford Girl. — Frederick Church was Joe in "The Dance of Silver Gulch."

R. J. S., Minn. — Jessalyn Van Trump was Martha Vale in "The Blackened Hills"
(American). Gene Gauntier and Jack J. Clark had the leads in "The Wives of
Jamestown."

C. H., Vancouver. — The players you mention are still with American.

G. A., Springfield. — Mary E. Ryan was Mary Barnes in "The Blind Cattle King."
Plunkett. — Florence Barker was with Powers last. Nothing doing on that Bio-
graph. Cant you read our rules at the head of this department?

The Lyric Sisters. — We prefer letters. Lillian Christy and Carlyle Blackwell
had the leads in "Peril of the Cliffs."

131

132 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Anna L. T. D. — Edwin August was the minister in "The Mountebank's Daughter."
Kitty L. R. — Howard Mitchell was the husband in "The Insurance Agent." Dont
know why Gertrude McCoy always appears nervous in the pictures. Never noticed it.
Mary G. — Mildred Weston was the girl in "When Wealth Torments."

C. F. D., Boston. — "The Cave Man" appeared in our April, 1912, issue, as "Before
a Book Was Written."

Mary K., New York. — Harry T. Morey was leading man in "All for a Girl." We
dont know any of the people you mention.

M. P. Fan, No. 3210. — Wire's busy! Julia S. Gordon is with Vitagraph. Belle
Harris was the girl in "The Frenzy of Firewater." Do you mean you would like to
have the names of all the Motion Picture films that have ever been produced ? Zounds !

Anthony. — You here again? In one letter you rave about Ormi Hawley, and in
this one about Pearl White. Oh! fickle Anthony! Bliss Milford was Miss Brown in
"Interrupted Wedding Bells" (Edison).

A. J. S., Brooklyn. — The reasons wTe do not print the cast on the head of each
story are: We cannot get all of the casts; the story is a story, and not a play; since
many of our readers desire it, we might print the casts, if we could get them all, but
it does not seem fair to give only two or three casts out of eleven or twelve stories.

V. E. L., New York. — Betty Harte and Wheeler Oakman had the leads in "How the
Cause Was Won." Yes, Howard Mitchell was Count in "John Arthur's Trust."

Baby Mine, Wilmington. — Guy D'Ennery was Tom Mason in "The Twilight of
Her Life" (Lubin).

E. N. C, Philadelphia. — The player you miss is Francis Ford (Universal).

E. H., Brooklyn. — Thomas Moore in "Young Millionaire," and Earle Foxe in
"Sawmill Hazard" (Kalem).

Olga, 17. — How do you do, Olga? Cheer up — you always start in "I am so blue."
Well, Kempton Green was William Strand, and William Pinkham was J. Clayton, and
Isabel Lamon and Dorothy Mortimer were the girls in "Just Out of College." Yes, he
is Marshall Neilan. Mamie was Frances Ne Moyer, and her mother was Mae Hotely in
"'Meeting Mamie's Mother." Biograph releases three pictures a week. There is only
one who reads your letters, and they are very interesting. We got that "Yours
respectfully."

E. H., Spokane. — Warren Kerrigan played in "The Marauders."

I. S., Newark. — Beverly Bayne was the girl in "The Snare" (Essanay).

Nancy. — William Duncan and Myrtle Stedman had the leads in "Buck's Romance."

E. C, Washington. — Thank you for the item.

Alice C. P. — Mabel was Neva Gerber, and William West her father in "The Water-
Right War." Miriam Nesbitt was the girl in "A Man in the Making."

J. L. S., St. Louis. — John E. Brennan was Rube in "A California Snipe Hunt."

Muriel. — You have Ruth Roland placed correctly.

L. E. D. — William Shay was Rudolphe in "Leah the Forsaken" (Imp). William
Surrell was the "prophet in "Prophet Without Honor" (Rex).

R. A. S., Pittsburg. — You had better communicate with General Film Co., 200
Fifth Avenue, New York.

Eveline K. C. — Alice Joyce has never been on the stage. Kalem is the only com-
pany she has been with. The players make up practically the same in the pictures as
they do on the stage, but they shouldn't.

Rhodisha.— Robyn Adair was Sinclair, and Mary Ryan the girl in "The Power of
Silence."

W. E. G., Wheeling. — How do you expect us to tell you who the people are, on the
small piece of film you enclose?

Trixie and Dot. — Guess Leo Delaney lived in Huntington, L. I. Marin Sais was
the girl in "Days of '49" (Kalem). In "The Old Chess-Players" (Lubin), Dorothy
Mortimer was Dora, and R. C. Travers was Isa.

S. G. M., Fitchburg. — Maurice Costello has been with the Vitagraph over four
years. Dont know why some company doesn't produce "From Kingdom to Colony."

D. J., Michigan. — Evebelle Prout was the daughter in "The Catspaw" (Essanay).
Yes, Essanay, 1333 Argyle Street, Chicago, 111.

T. B. S., Rochester, wants to know what kind of oil Arthur Johnson uses on his
shoulders and elbows. Dont know, but it's some good lubricating oil.

Flo H., Brooklyn. — Yes, to your first three. We know of no way you can get a
permit to visit the different companies.

B. and K. — Thomas Santschi was Bob, and Herbert Rawlinson was Cal in "Shang-
haied" (Selig). More praise for Beverly Bavne.

Plunkett. — "Out of order" means questions that we will not answer, or that have
been answered before. Now do you understand? Yes, to your other questions.

Than. Phan, 999. — Romaine Fielding was Fernandez in "Courageous Blood"
(Lubin). We cannot tell you about that wig, because we did not see the play, and
our cards do not tell us the shade.

ANSWERS TO INQUIRIES 133

P. V. C, Hastings. — Frances Ne Moyer was the girl in "His Father's Choice"
(Lubin). No, you are wrong about Miss Baird.

D. V. P., St. Loins, writes the following, and we are much obliged:

The "Gallery Man" is simply great,

The "Story Man" is a scream,
The "Greenroom Jotter" cant be beat,

And the "Chatter" is surely a dream.
But here is to the "Answer Man" :

May your pen speed on in endless wit,
And recall poor Flossie, if you can,

And with us all you will make a hit.

"Algernon." — We got you. Marshall Neilan was the prospector. Your writing
looks suspicious.

G. W., Minn. — No, Independent pictures are not made under Edison patents.
Licensed companies release the most pictures. It depends upon how often the film is
used, how long it lasts.

Miss A. R. — We cant help it if Harry Myers makes love so well in the pictures.
We will tell him that it incites the young ladies to envy.

Camille. — You refer to Clara Williams and Burton King. The other title is wrong.

"Rodisha." — Does that suit you? We have no more February, 1912, and February,
1913, magazines. Our readers get very hungry in that month and eat them all up.

Daisies, Chicago. — It was the Thanhouser Kid in "Her Fireman."

Margot, 17. — Are you Olga's twin sister? Yes. Directors do that to save time.
Yes again. You refer to Leah Baird.

E. S., Reading. — Earle Foxe in "A Business Buccaneer" (Kalem)."

Marjorie. — Walter Edwin was the husband in "In the Usurer's Grip" (Edison).
Write direct to the manufacturers about postal-cards and photographs of players.

Uncle Dud. — You will have to be more certain about your titles.

Edward P. — You dont expect us to look up old publications and see if Alice Joyce
was the model who posed for fashion-plates, do you? If you are anxious enough, send
us the page and let us get our eagle eye on it.

Sylva E. M. — Julia S. Gordon was Marion in "The Vengeance of Durand." Cleo
Ridgely was formerly with Rex and Lubin. We believe Alice Joyce makes all of her
beautiful dresses, as she told us that sewing was her favorite hobby.

Miss Marion. — Yes, Ruth Stonehouse is "just such a great dancer in real life as
she is in the pictures." Dont you know that Moving Pictures are taken from real life?
The error occurred in this way. George Stuart was on the cast for the little boy in
"A Garden Fair," but he was too big, so Jesse Kelly played the part.

M. B. K., New York. — You refer to Francelia Billington in Kalem, and Zena Keefe
in Vitagraph.

Polly C. R. — Burton King was Burt in "Ranchmate" (Lubin). You refer to
Romaine Fielding. We dont know that lawyer you ask for.

Kay-Bee, Dallas. — Jack Conway was with Nestor last

J. C. C. — We haven't the cast for that British-American play.

Anna N. G. — "Shaughraun" means the "Good-for-nothing."

M. P., Chicago. — Mabel Trunnelle was leading lady in "The Thorns of Success."

R. E. G., Atlanta. — You might possibly see Miss Sais if you went to California,
where she is now working.

H. H. H., Chicago. — Alice Joyce was chatted in August, 1912. "How Moving
Pictures Are Made and Worked" can be purchased direct from us. It is fully
worth $1.50.

F. L., Alhambra. — You refer to James Cruze in "Lucile."

Betty. — Joseph Gebhart was Bull Moose in "Redman's Loyalty." Margaret Joslin
was the wife, and the daughter is unknown, Jay Hanna the boy in "On Tough-Luck
Ranch" (Essanay). Herbert Glennon was Bill, Edward Coxen the doctor, and
Ruth Roland the nurse in "The Hospital Hoax" (Kalem).

"A Suffragette." — No, that's out of our line also, whether Robert Gaillord is an
Elk. He may be a Bull Moose.

D. H., Ohio. — Well, your letter is dated January 20th, and this will appear in the
April issue.

L. A. L., N. Y. — We stand corrected. Jean, the Vitagraph dog, is a "she," and not
a "he." Our card index system does not keep an accurate record of the sex of canines.

A. W., Canada. — George Cooper was the tramp in "Captain Barnacle's Waif" (Vita-
graph). The girl was Norma Talmadge. We haven't Florence Lawrence's address at
this writing.

Peggy Bwins. — Mrs. Daly was the governess in "John Arthur's Trust" (Lubin).

Helen H. — Gwendoline Pates was the girl in "Dynamited Love" (Pathe).

134 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

I. L. G., Chicago. — In "A Busy Day in the Jungle" (Kalem), Marshall Neilan and
E. Brennan had the leads. The latter is the shorter of the two. Florence Klotz is the
little girl in "The Vengeance of Durand" (Vitagraph).

Sapho. — You refer to Herbert Rawlinson.

N. O. H., Manchester. — Beverly Bayne played opposite Francis Bushman in "The
New Church Organ" (Essanay). Master Tinimy Shechan was the adopted son in
"Under Suspicion" (Selig).

L. S'., Aueora. — Say, do you think we are a city directory? We dont know the
number of Mary Pickford's residence, and if we did we wouldn't announce it. Dont
you suppose the poor girl wants some privacy?

George K. — Yes, to your first two questions.

Peggy, Bridgeport. — There may be some old films that somebody has stolen, or that
have gotten loose from the Licensed exchanges. They cannot buy or hire those films
except thru some unlawful or unusual method.

Anna J. B. — Arthur Johnson was Roy, and Fritz Orlamond was John Borten in
"The Amateur Iceman" (Lubin).

E. B., Buffalo. — You refer to William Bailey.

G. C. B. — Write direct to Kalem for the Kalendar, and to Vitagraph for the
Bulletin.

B. T., Mt. Vernon. — Well, Carlyle Blackwell is the only one who played opposite
Neva Gerber in "The Flower-Girl's Romance," unless you mean William Herman West,
Carlyle's father.

Patience, N. H. — No, G. M. Anderson is not dead.

D. J., Grand Rapids, has had a popular player contest with his friends. According
to the report, Warren Kerrigan was first. Francis Bushman second, and Lottie Briscoe
third. And, alas, alack, Maurice Costello was No. 16 !

Bill M. — The leading woman in "Ranchman's Trust" (Essanay) is unknown.

A Movie. — You refer to- Marguerite Snow.

N. A. T. — Hazel Neason was Faith in "The Flag of Freedom" (Kalem).

Rose B., Chicago. — Please dont ask questions about age. We wont even tell you
how old is Ann.

J. A. D., Brooklyn. — Kathlyn Williams had the lead in "Harbor Island" (Selig).

Maxie, No. 20. — Thank you for your interesting letter. "The Grotto of Torture"
was taken in Paris and India.

"Merle." — Yes, the Thanhouser studio at New Rochelle burned, but they are busy
building a new one. Address your mail to New Rochelle, samezever.

Muriel, Long Island. — Dorothy Davenport and Phyllis Gordon were the girls in
"Our Lady of the Pearls" (Selig). Betty Harte was the daughter in "Pirate's
Daughter" (Selig).

I. D. C. — From your brief description, we think you mean Mary E. Ryan. Fritzi
Brunette is Owen Moore's leading lady.

Kitty B. — You mean Billy Mason and Harry Mainhall, of Essanay.

Gerty, New York. — Yes, Guy Coombs expects to return to New York some time,
but we dont know just when. Yes, John Bunny and Pearl White led the operators'
ball, given February 10th.

M. P. M. Reader. — We do not attempt to give casts in the magazine ; send a
stamped, addressed envelope. Robert Gaillord was not cast in '"The Vengeance of
Durand."

Muriel. — So soon again? Gus Mansfield was with Comet last.

Olga, 17. — No, Howard Mitchell was Jaretsky. We hope you passed your exams,
Olga. "The Beach-Combers" was a Melies, and Richard Stanton had the lead. Cannot
answer that Pathe.

Nita R. — "Won at High Tide" (Lubin) was taken at Atlantic City.

Geraldine. — Please dont ask if the poem you sent is going to be published. We
get thousands of these verses. Some are set up in type at once ; some are held over,
and some are sent to the players. It is hard work to tell whether your particular verse
will appear, and when.

M. E. A. and F. E. A. — What are you, a corporation? Look up back numbers for
"Count of Monte Cristo" (Selig). Lee Morgan's picture has never been printed.

Betty Gray, No. 2. — E. K. Lincoln has been with Vitagraph about eight months.
Most of the Western studios are located in California.

R. P. V., Utica. — We did not see the play you mention, so cannot tell you about the
film.

Miss Marion. — Watch out for "Cutey and the Twins" (Vitagraph).

Pauline T. R., Livermore.— When it comes to the question as to whether we think
G. M. Anderson will make a good husband, we refer to many of his admirers. We
dont know the reason why Mary Pickford left Moving Pictures for the stage, but we
believe on account of more money.

Kate, Brooklyn. — Harold Shaw is directing for Edison.

ANSWERS TO INQUIRIES 135

Miss Inquisitive. — Thomas McAvoy was the clerk in "John Sterling, Alderman."

Mary P., Cleveland. — Earle Williams was the artist in "The Dawning" (Vita-
graph). Cannot answer that Rex. Harry Northrup was the husband in "The Dawning."

Brownie, Texas. — Blanche Cornwall and Darwin Karr had the leads in "Hearts
Unknown" (Solax).

J. C, Santa Rosa. — Mae Hotely was the leader, and Walter Stull was Paul in
"Down with the Men" (Lubin). R. H. Grey was the husband, and Marin Sais the maid
in "Something Wrong with Bessie" (Kalem).

V. M., Ottawa. — Harry Benham was the professor in "The Professor's Son" (Than-
houser). We do not answer Kay-Bee questions, for reasons given above.

Mac, of Baltimore. — Yes, your play is too old. Think it is Thomas Santschi.

Little Mary C. — Not much chance for you to become a player. You have Crane
Wilbur placed correctly.

L. G. C, Brooklyn. — Talking pictures are out of our line. It must be funny to
hear shadows talk, but we hear it is a pleasant novelty.

Blanche M. H. — Julia Mackley was the widow in "The Sheriff's Luck" (Essanay).
E. H. Calvert was Guiseppe in "Guiseppe's Good Luck" (Essanay).

"Dido." — George Cooper was One-Eyed Jim in "Billy's Burglar" (Vitagraph).

Betty C. S.— The "pretty fellow" is Frederick Church.

Lillian, Reading. — Mildred Weston was Miriam, and WThitney Raymond was
Mason in "Miss Simpkin's Summer Boarders" (Essanay). Bessie Sankey is the girl
in the Western Essanays.

Geoege, Montreal. — E. H. Aggerholm was in "The Great Sea Disaster" (Great
Northern).

Mary H. — No, George Cooper is not a natural-born burglar, and has no experience.
But he is a natural-born gentleman.

"An Australian." — James Cruze wTas the lead in "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde"
(Thanhouser). No Biographs !

H. D., Reading. — Yes, Carlyle Blackwell will remain in California. Harry Myers
did not play in that piece.

M. C, Chicago. — James Cruze wTas the musician, and Marguerite Snow was the
mother in "Tiniest of Stars" (Thanhouser). Warren Kerrigan and Pauline Bush had
the leads in "Their Masterpiece" (American). Clara Williams was the daughter in
"The Sheriff's Mistake" (Lubin). You refer to Helen Dunbar as the mother and
Mildred Weston as the daughter.

D. L. — We cannot tell you who was the little girl in "Simple Maid" (Pathe).

Eleen. — Wallace Reid's picture in February, 1913, issue.

Y. M. De J. — Mrs. Mary Maurice was the mother in "The Church Across the Way"
(Vitagraph). She was not made-up; that is the way she looks when out shopping.
You refer to Jack J. Clark and Gene Gauntier. Paul Panzer played in "A Stern
Destiny" (Pathe).

Ethel S. N. — Cleo Ridgely did not play in "Love Thru Lens" (Essanay), but
Mildred Weston did.

Nita R. — Edgar Jones was Jim Blake in "The End of the Feud" (Lubin).

A. P. R., Harlem. — Frederick Church was the Mexican with the guitar in "Broncho
Billy's Mexican Wife."

Bonnie. — Sidney Olcott was Conn in "The Shaughraun" (Kalem). There is
nothing the matter with his right eye, that wre know of, nor with his left eye.

Marie K., Middleboro. — Florence LaBadie was Aurora in "Aurora Floyd" (Than-
houser)- David Thompson was her first husband, and Harry Benham her second.

Virginia L. — The color of Eleanor Blanchard's eyes is blue, and not brown. This
is true, because she has told us so herself. The first "chatter" was apparently so fasci-
nated that he forgot the color of her eyes.

H. M. F., New York. — Gene Gauntier is located at 737 Tallyrand Avenue, Jackson-
ville, Fla. You refer to Bessie Sankey. We dont know why Ormi Hawley doesn't play
opposite Arthur Johnson. Mr. Lubin probably has reasons of his own.

F. H., Flushing. — Frederick Church was Eliott in "The Ranchman's Trust"
(Essanay). Guy Coombs is in Jacksonville.

Tootsie F. T. — Frank Bennett was Tom in "The Handbag" (Vitagraph). Fran-
celia Billington was the young lady in "The Two Runaways." Edwin Carewe and
Edna Payne had the leads in "Water-Rats" (Lubin). Herbert L. Barry was Earle
Williams' friend in "The Dawning."

R. R., Buffalo. — Yes, the Thanhouser Kid.

Lillian, of Reading. — Vivian Pates and Guy D'Ennery were May and Tom in "The
Twilight of Her Life" (Lubin). Bill Cooper was the son grown up in "Value
Received" (Melies).

R. E. P. — We think it was Arthur Johnson, but the film is too old to look up. The
telegraph boy is not on the cast.

Dimples. — We have passed your letter to the editor.

136 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Fred R. J. — Warren Kerrigan was the agent in "Calamity Anne's Inheritance"
(American).

O. B. U., Rockland.— Sorry we cannot answer your question about the puzzle con-
test. We received nearly 5,000 answers to this puzzle, and it would be a calamity if
we had to go thru all of the answers to see if yours were correct. The correct answers
were published in the March issue, and you can see for yourself.

W. J. K. — William Garwood was the fireman in "Her Fireman" ( Thanh ouser).
Edward Coxen played in "The Latent Spark" (American). Your writing is very
similar to that of one of our other customers.

E. E. B., Topek a.— Augustus Carney was Alkali Ike, Eleanor Blanchard the
widow, Lily Branscombe her daughter, and Howard Missimer, Dicks, a widower.

The C. S. R. H. Club. — Whatever that is. Cecil Spooner never played with the
Pa the Freres Co., or any other company that we know of, altho several of her former
company are with Edison, namely Augustus Phillips, Benjamin Wilson, and Jessie
McAllister.

K. B., Schenectady. — No, Kay-Bee and American are two different companies.
Tut, tut, about the Answer Man's wife !

George, Montreal. — Yes, the picture you mention was a trick picture.

The Kid L. S., Boston. — Do you mean "At Bear-Track Gulch" (Edison)? If so,
Edna Flugrath was the girl.

A. F., New York. — Beth Taylor is no longer with Essanay, and we do not know her
present whereabouts.

E. C. M., Washington. — Earle Williams was the doctor in "The Song of the Sea-
Shell" (Vitagraph). Charles Clary was Steve, and Adrienne Kroell was Violet in
"Fire-Fighter's Love" (Selig).

B. M. H. — Irving White was John in "When Love Leads" (Lubin). Yes, Ormi
Hawley has posed as a nun.

"Good Taste." — That's no way to sign yourself. Name and address, please. The
leads in Western Edison are Benjamin Wilson and Laura Sawyer.

Ada M. P. — Write direct to Florence Turner. You refer to Julia S. Gordon in
"The Vengeance of Durand."

A. J. W. — You are one of the many who are sorry that Flossie has been frightened
away by so many imitators. There is no law against using the name Flossie as a
nom de plume. George Melville was Robert.

M. M., Jersey City. — Harry Mainhall was Joe Roberts in "Sunshine." Myrtle
Stedman was the girl in "The Brand-Blotter."

E. M. W., Chicago. — We would advise you not to do it. There are now more
actresses than positions.

Kitty B. — Stop your teasing. You cant get a picture of the Answer Man. Maybe
if you waited in front of the Essanay studio long enough, you might see Whitney
Raymond.

Helen I. M. — Stuart Holmes was Steve in "A Daughter's Sacrifice" (Kalem). No,
Mr. Smith never posed for Moving Pictures.

H. N. G., New York. — Bernard Seigel was Richard Dont, and Edward Carewe was
Manning Mulroy in "It Might Have Been" (Lubin).

M. R. R., Huntington. — Bigelow Cooper was John in "Helping John" (Edison).
Charles Arthur was Charles in "For the Love of a Girl."

E. H., New Rochelle. — Eleanor Kahn was the little girl in "Billy McGrath's Love-
Letters" (Essanay). Whitney Raymond was the messenger, as usual — Whitney is the
star messenger in the Motion Picture business. William Mason was John, William
Bailey was George, and E. H. Calvert was Mr. Bruint in "The Love Test" (Essanay).

B. H. S. — Anthony Novelli was the lieutenant in "The Lion-Tamer's Revenge"
(Cines). Betty Gray was the girl in "Gee, My Pants!"

H. O. F., Chicago. — Clara Kimball Young's last picture was in March, 1913, issue.

E. N., Santa Paula. — No, the Keystone, Kay-Bee and Broncho all come under the
head of the New York Motion Picture Co., and occasionally an actor is loaned by one
company to another.

Miss Billy D. — No, you have not bored us, but your ten questions are not at all
interesting, nor important, so we cannot answer them.

V. C, Mass. — Bessie Sankey was the girl in "Broncho Billy and the Maid." Send
your verses in on a separate piece of paper.

Anthony. — We really dont know why "James Morrison looks weak in plays," but
we imagine it is because he does not eat Force for breakfast. He is not so weak as he
looks.

Betty. — William Ehfe and Mildred Bracken had the leads in "Tempest-Tossed"
(Melies).

"Mac," Kentucky Girl. — Edwin August is with Powers, and we will pass your
request along to Mr. Brewster for a picture.

C. A. R., New Brunswick,— Mary Ryan was the girl in the Lubin play.

Price 25 Cents a Dozen. 60 Cents a Set

SOLD ONLY BY THE DOZEN AND SET

1 Miss Florence Turner 2 Mr. Maurice Costello 3 Mr. Leo Delaney 4 Miss Edith
Halleren 5 Miss Flora Finch 6 Kenneth Casey 7 Miss Edith Storey 8 Miss Rose E.
Tapley 9 Mr. Maurice Costello JO Mr. Earle Williams 11 Mr. John Bunny
12 " Eagle Eye » 13 Mr. Chas. Kent 14 Miss Clara Kimball Young 15 Adele de
Garde 16 " Eagle Eye " 17 Miss Anne Schaefer 18 Mr. Charles Eldridge 19 Mr.
Tom Powers 20 Mr. William Shea 21 Miss Norma Talmadge 22 Miss Rosemary
Theby 23 Mr. Van Dyke Brooke 24 Miss Julia Swayne Gordon 25 Miss Lillian
Walker 26 Mr. James W. Morrison 27 Mr. Ralph Ince 28 Miss Florence Turner
29 Mr. John Bunny 30 Miss Zena Kiefe 31 Jean (Vitagraph Dog) 32 Mrs. Mary
Maurice 33 Mr. Tefft Johnson 34 Mr. Harry Morey 35 Mr. Robert Gaillord
36 Miss Leah Baird 37 Mr. W. V. Ranous 38 Mrs. Kate Price 39 Mr. Marshall
P. Wilder 40 Mr. Wm. Humphrey
Address PUBLICITY DEPARTMENT, VITAGRAPH COMPANY OF AMERICA

E. 15th STREET and LOCUST AVENUE, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

138 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Miss M. E., Baltimore. — Yes, Florence Lawrence was formerly with Imp. You
prefer comedies to sad plays ; guess 'most everybody does.

Three Bachelor Maids. — Well, the only thing to do is to write to Mr. Kerrigan.
And Carlyle Blackwell is in Glendale, but look out for Olga !

Esther. — ''The New Squire" was taken in London (Edison). William Duncan had
the lead in "Between Love and the Law" (Selig). No, emphatically no, we do not
answer Kay-Bee questions; not because we dont want to, but because their publicity
man is neglectful.

M. B., Camden. — Cleo Ridgely was with Rex last. You have the players placed
correctly.

R. O. R. — In "Bear-Track Gulch," George Lessey was Jack. "Child Labor" was a
Majestic.

Bob B. M. — The average player receives from $20 a week to $500. You pay your
money, and you take your choice. Dont know of any of the other league baseball
players who have posed besides those you mention.

R. C. Turnesgraph. — Helen Gardner Co. is not affiliated with the Vitagraph Co.
in any way. Both she and Mr. Gaskill left the Vitagraph Co. about a year ago. "Vanity
Fair" appeared in the January, 1912, issue. The Vitagraph Paris branch is simply a
Paris office of the Vitagraph, similar to their office in London.

"Curlilocks." — Charles Kent is still with Vitagraph, altho he has been ill. Others
have been answered before. First thing you must learn is to read this department
thru every month, so that you wont ask the same questions again.

Ida-Ho. — William Mason was the nephew, Beverly Bayne the wife, and Howard
Missimer the uncle in "Springing a Surprise" (Essanay).

V. P., Salt Lake. — Yes, write to the companies direct.

Betty C. S. — You refer to True Boardman. Will also see about a chat with
Mr. Kerrigan.

"Naomi," of St. Louis. — Your stationery is very pretty, but we prefer you to write
a little larger and not so cramped. We'll have to get specs.

M. M., Bronx. — Guy D'Ennery was Horace in "Literature and Love" (Lubin).
Dorothy Mortimer is still with Lubin.

"Juanita." — You refer to AVilliam Mason in "The Magic Wand." John E1. Brennan
played in "Pulque Pete and the Opera Troupe" (Kalem).

A. D. — Fritzi Brunette played opposite Owen Moore in "It Happened Thus"
(Victor). Charlotte Burton was the elder daughter. Bobby Tansey was the "Bat" in
"Brother to the Bat" (Reliance). Nancy Averil was the sweetheart in the same play.
Anna Lehr and James Cooley were Mr. and Mrs. Newly wed in "Bedelia and the
Newlyweds" ( Reliance ) .

Flossie C. P.— Ma chere, you are not the original Flossie. Zounds! but there are
lots of Flossies now — the woods are full of them. Gene Gauntier and J. J. Clark were
the leads in "The Wives of Jamestown." Ethel Clayton was the girl in "The One-Hoss
Shay" (Lubin).

Conkey. — You refer to Mabel Normand.

Dutchie, Va. — "The Girl in the Manor" was taken at Santa Barbara. Mona
Darkfeather was Willow, and Victoria Forde was Sunbeam in "Willow and Sunbeam"
(Bison).

J. H., Oregon. — Yes, Miss Mary Holland, 1244 Liberty Street, Franklin, Pa., wrote
"Believe Me, If All Those Endearing Young Charms" (Edison). Miss Takagi is of
Japanese birth.

Lenore, St. Louis. — Bessie Eyton and Herbert Rawlinson had the leads in "The
Triangle" (Selig).

A. T. J. — The castle or dungeon shown in "The Count of Monte Cristo" was built
especially for this purpose by the Western studio of the Selig Co. in Los Angeles.
"Wood Violet" was taken in Saratoga County, New York.

S. E. T. — Lester Cuneo was the cowboy in "Roped In" (Selig). Barry O'Moore
was leading man in "The Lost Kitten" (Edison).

Muriel, Astoria. — Robert Archibald was the office-boy in "Mr. Hubby's Wife"
(Essanay).

Flo G. D. — Edward Coxen and Ruth Roland had the leads in "The Woman-Hater"
(Kalem). Lyllian Leighton was Mrs. Katzen jammer in the Katzenjammer series.

Idaho. — Jack Richardson and Marshall Neilan were the brothers in "For the Good
of Her Men" (American). You refer to Mignon Anderson. Julia Mackley was the
widow in "The Shotgun Ranchman." William Duncan and Myrtle Stedman had the
leads in "The Double Cross" (Selig).

Lenora. — In "Myth of Jamasha Pass," Jessalyn Van Trump played opposite
Warren Kerrigan. You had the wrong title. Expect to print Edward Lincoln's picture
soon.

The Triplets. — Barbara Tennant was Dick's wife in "Dick's Wife'.' (Eclair).
Larmar Johnstone was Dick.

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A LIBRARY ORNAMENT

Preserve Your Magazines!

The best of magazines soon grow shabby from constant handling, and when they get ragged,
dirty and torn they are not ornamental, and they are often ruined for binding purposes. The
Motion Picture Story Magazine is a magazine that is always preserved — never thrown away. But
to preserve it, a cover is necessary, especially when dozens of persons are to handle it for a whole

month.

Do Not Disfigure Your Magazines

by punching holes in them, but buy one of our celebrated Buchan Binders. They require no holes.
All you need do is to take a coin, turn two screws with it, insert the magazine, turn the screws
a few times the other way, and your magazine is secure, and it will stay there until you take
it out on the 18th of the following month to insert the next number. When we say that this cover
is beautiful and exquisite, we mean just what we say. It is made of thick, suede, limp leather, and
will wear a lifetime. The color is a dainty, rich blue, and on the front, lettered in gold, are the
words, "MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE." Those who cherish this popular magazine will
feel that they MUST have one of these splendid covers the moment they see one.

We Have Two Kinds for Sale

BUCHAN SALES CO., Mfrs., 316 Market St., NEWARK, N. J.

(For reference as to the quality of these binders, we refer you to the managing editor of The

Motion Picture Story Magazine.)

140 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Kitty. — Elmer Clifton and Betty Harte had the leads in "An Assisted Elopement."

Hot Springs, Ark. — Yes, Billy Quirk is with Gem. They are at Coytesville, N. J.
"We" is singular. It is singular, isn't it? There is only one person that does the
answering, and that is "we."

Cincinnati Rube. — Yes, to all of your questions. Arthur Mackley is still with
Essanay.

B. E. T. S., Tacoma. — Edgar Jones was the doctor in "The Doctor of Silver Gulch"
(Lubin). Thomas Santschi was Mike in "Mike's Brainstorm" (Selig). Irving Cum-
mings was the faith-healer in "The Faith-Healer" (Reliance).

Jim O.— The "good-looking fellow" is Edwin August. Virginia Ames was in "The
Mother of the Ranch" (Essanay). Myrtle Stedman and William Duncan had the leads
in "A Motorcycle Adventure" (Selig).

"The Twins." — In "The Irony of Fate" (Vitagraph), the children were Jane Mayo,
Florence Foley, Helen and Dolores Costello. Edwin August was the minister, and
Ormi Hawley was Rosa in "The Mountebank's Daughter" (Lubin). Marshall Neilan
was the prospector in "A Mountain Tragedy" (Kalem). Keep right on a-coming.
Thomas Moore was the surveyor in "A Battle of Wits" (Kalem). Mrs. C. J. Williams
was the wife in "A Christmas Accident" (Edison). Which "Triangle" do you refer to,
Edison or Selig?

J. I. N., Richmond. — Kathlyn Williams had the lead in "Lost in the Jungle"
(Selig). It was taken in Jacksonville and Chicago. Selig owns the animals.

J. K. Payne Av— Helen Badgely was the child in "The County's Prize Baby"
(Thanhouser). In "Love and the Telephone" (Majestic), Perry Reid and Mr. Newburg
had the leads. We cant give you the name of that "cop" ; Majestic, apparently, has it
copyrighted. The little girl was Edna May Hammel.

A Jewel. — We will print whatever you want us to use, but your name and address
must accompany the letter. We cannot give you a description of King Baggot and
William Shay here. This is only the inquisition department, not the description depart-
ment. See Chats, later. Edith Haldemand was the little child in "A World- Weary
Man" (Imp).

N. B., Ind.— Robert Archibald was the office-boy in "Mr. Hubby's Wife" (Essanay).
Harry Myers was Harry in "By the Sea."

Bettie S., Paris. — William Duncan and Myrtle Stedman had the leads in "The
Dynamiters" (Selig).

Chick and Mick. — Too bad, but no Kay-Bee and Broncho answers. Those com-
panies are still asleep at the switch.

A. A„ New York. — Bessie Sankey was the girl. William Ehfe was Jerry in
"Tempest-Tossed" (Melies). George Melville was Robert in "The Shaughraun"
(Kalem). You place Earle Williams correctly.

W. J. K. — Yes, we presume Miss Lester wears a wig when necessary. No, Warren
Kerrigan was not on the "Tree of Fame," in the January issue. Too bad!

Obie. — Harry Mainhall was Joe Roberts in "Sunshine" (Essanay). Willis Secord
was Nelson in "The Battle of Trafalgar" (Edison). Where have you been? Mabel
Moore had the lead in "A False Suspicion" (Essanay). In "Old Fidelity" (Essanay),
Walter Scott was Buck Taylor. That was a great story, wasn't it? In "Martin Chuzzle-
wit" (Edison), George Lessey was young Martin Chuzzlewit, and Bessie Learn was the
ward. Edison produced "Mike the Miser."

Dorothy D. — G. M. Anderson was the outlaw in "The Reward for Broncho Billy."
(Essanay).

Jenks, Cal. — Adrienne Kroell was Aurora in "Her Bitter Lesson" (Selig).

B. E. T., R. I. — Owen Moore was the minister's son in "Hypocrites" (Victor).
Lillian, of Reading. — Edna Payne was the paymaster's daughter in "The Mexican

Spy" (Lubin).

Lillian S. — We dont know about Vedah Bertram's mother. Possibly Alice Joyce
was playing in Washington at the time.

V. C, Lynn.^You will hear from us just as soon as Florence Lawrence makes an-
other engagement.

W. C. G., Seattle. — No doubt there have been several plays done in Seattle. Photo-
plays are written in scenes ; see "Ghosts" in our October, 1912, issue.

Eddie P. — Why two postal cards? Why not send a letter with your questions?
Vedah Bertram was the girl, and William Todd the sheriff in "The Story of Montana"
(Essanay). You refer to Warren Kerrigan in "Calamity Anne's Inheritance"
(American). William Shay is with Imp.

Hiram, Buffalo. — Yes, Homer's works are being done in photoplay. We suppose
you refer to "Cyclops," who were savage, one-eyed giants, but your writing looks like
sly cops.

P. N., New York. — The two nurses were not on the cast.

R. 3, Kokomo. — We refer you and all others who want information about scenario
writing to "The Photoplay Clearing House." See advertisement.

Photoplay Clearing House

26 COURT STREET, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

Photoplays Read, Revised, Corrected,
Typewritten and Marketed

A Competent Staff

THE PHOTOPLAY CLEARING HOUSE IS NOT A SCHOOL. It does not
teach. But it corrects, revises, typewrites in proper form, and markets Plays. Tens of
thousands of persons are constantly sending to the various film companies manu-
scripts that have not the slightest chance of acceptance, and in many cases these
Pla}rs contain the germs of salable ideas, if sent to the right companies. The
Scenario editors of the various companies are simply flooded with impossible manu-
scripts, and they will welcome the PHOTOPLAY CLEARING HOUSE, not only
because it will relieve them of an unnecessary burden, but because it will enable
them to pass on only good, up-to-date Plays that have been carefully prepared.

What Do the Companies Want?

The Plan of the Photoplay Clearing House

All photoplaywrights are invited to send their Plays to this company. Every
Play will be treated as follows:

It will be read by competent readers, numbered, classified and filed. If it is, in
our opinion, in perfect condition we shall at once proceed to market it, and, when
we are paid for it, we will pay the writer 90% of the amount we receive, less postage
expended. If the Scenario is not in marketable shape, we will so advise the author, j
stating our objections, offering to return it at once, or to revise, typewrite and try /
to market it. If the manuscript is hopeless we shall so state, and in some cases /
advise a course of instruction, naming various books, experts and schools to / £lk.
select from. ^r "^

The fee for reading, filing, etc., will be $1.00, but to readers of The ^r
Motion Picture Story Magazine it will be only 50c, provided the an- ^r coupon
nexed Coupon accompanies each script. For typewriting, a charge of ^r is good
$1.00 for each Play will be made, provided it does not run over 10 Jr for 50 cents,
pages. 10c. a page for extra pages. The fee for revising will S paniel^ftt 50c~
vary according to work required, and will be arranged in ^r more it will enti-
advance. No Scenarios will be placed by us unless they are ^r tle ^olde.^,to.1lisV>?ne
properly typewritten. Payment in advance is expected in ^^oplay^Clearing- House,
all cases. Stamps (2c. or lc.) accepted. ^^^hotoplay Clearing House,

f 26 Court St., B'klyn, N. Y.

142 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Mary P., Cleveland. — Earle Foxe was the young man in "The Sawmill Hazard"
(Kalem). Burton King was Will Lougley in "The Lucky Fall" (Lubin). So you dont
like the Milano noses. Everybody knows that a Roman nose is a thing of beauty and a
joy forever, and besides, a big nose is a good physiognomical sign. Look at Anderson's !

Conchita. — Edna Payne did not play in that play.

Buckeye Youngster. — Beverly Bayne was the farmer's daughter in "The Farmer's
Daughter" (Essanay). Leah Baird's interview in September, 1912. Edith Storey's
interview in November, 1912.

M. N., McKeesport. — Give name of company. Jane Gale was formerly with Lubin.

L. B., Portland. — We believe Harry Morgan is with Lubin yet. Crane Wilbur had
both parts.

F. I., New York. — William Bailey was Tom, and Beverly Bayne the girl detective
in "The Snare" (Essanay). Evebelle Prout was the bareback rider, and Howard
Missimer the clown in "Not on the Circus Program" (Essanay). Leah Baird was
Isabel in "Red Barrier" (Vitagraph).

Anthony. — Jack J. Clark was the lead in "The Wives of Jamestown" (Kalem).
We dont know why Arthur Johnson is always pouting; do you object? Some think
those little pouts are his greatest charms. Some thrive on smiles, and some on pouts.

G. T., Cleveland. — Miss Ray was the wife in "His Little Indian Model" (Pathe).
So you like Dolores Cassinelli best. We cant tell you about "The Steeplechase" (Pathe).

D. D. S., Mohawk. — Is it possible you dont know about Flossie? Why, for a long
time Flossie was one of our best customers. She had interesting questions to ask and inno-
cent comments to make, four or five times every month, and our readers began to look
forward to the answers to her questions. But now, alas ! she hath flown away to parts
unknown. You probably refer to "The Deerslayer" (Vitagraph). This film has not
been released yet, but will be soon.

Dixie, Baton Rouge. — Edward Coxen was Tom in "The Chaperon Gets a Ducking"
(Kalem). That "Mexican" was Frederick Church. William Mason was the dummy in
"'Almost a Man" (Essanay).

Cereto S. — Richard Stanton played opposite Miss Bracken in "The Beachcombers."
Ray Gallagher in "The Prisoner's Story" (Melies).

E. M. A., Lebanon. — Charles Arthur was the brother in "Home, Sweet Home"
(Lubin). The schoolboy was not on the cast, but we think it was Kenneth Casey. Mrs.
Clinton was the maid in "It All Came Out in the Wash" (Vitagraph).

A. H., Halifax. — Evelyn Selbie was Mrs. Gregg in "The Reward for Broncho Billy"
(Essanay). Why, that's Mildred Weston.

Biograph Frank. — The idea of asking the first play Lubin ever produced. That's
ancient history.

E. D., Buffalo. — Thomas Moore was Martin, and Stuart Holmes was Steve in "A
Daughter's Sacrifice" (Kalem). Knute Rahmn was the brother in "The Power of a
Hymn" (Kalem). Wheeler Oakman was Pietro in "The Vintage of Fate" (Selig). Yes,
George Melf ord did all you say he did in that play. Marian Cooper was the girl in "The
Girl in the Caboose."

G. O., Chicago— We do not know the player you mention. We cannot tell you
about stock companies.

"Red E." — We did not put reverse English in that answer of ours about Leo De-
laney's bride. It was simply an outshoot. But we'll tell you this much : Rose Tapley
was not the lucky one. You must not ask us to express an opinion on who is the best
player and questions of that sort. Marc McDermott has his good points, and so has
Augustus Phillips, altho some will prefer little Yale Boss. Francelia Billington was
the wife in "Usurper" (Kalem).

F. S., Matawan. — Pathe Freres means "Pathe Brothers." Parle vous frangaisf
Miss Drew was Olga in "The Spy's Defeat" (Essanay).

H. V., Chicago. — There was no harm in your notifying the Vitagraph Co. of what
you heard, but remember that Slander and Gossip have bigger mouths than Truth.

C. P. B., Los Angeles. — Try Keystone.

N. L. S. — Florence Lawrence was the pretty girl in "The Advent of Jane" (Victor).

Peggy P. F. — Your questions are improper. We dont know when, if ever, Mr.
Bunny had the smallpox, and we dont know what he gave up for Lent. He probably
gave up pitying those wbo try to be funny and cant.

H. G. Pryor. — Some drawing you sent us. Florence Turner is still with Vitagraph,
in Brooklyn. What difference does it make to you whether the Answer Man is of the
masculine or feminine gender? So far as you are concerned, we are of the neuter
gender.

F. E. C, Paris. — The player you name is not a regular member of that company.

Dixie Lou. — Louise Lester is "Calamity Anne."

F. E. F.— Harold Lockwood was leading man in "A Little Child Shall Lead Them"
(Selig), and Kathlyn Williams was leading lady. Baby Lillian Wade was the child.

"Jib Jibe." — William Cavanaugh was the brother in "The Sheriff's Brother" (Pathe).

Su&SctftlBE. HOW AND AVOID THE fcUSH.

NOW WHY THIS A&ITArriOI-4VWHE.N-

HISEYEtf BEHOLD THE DATE.
HAS PAY DAY' COMEAROUHD AGAIN.
" GAMT BE "TOE "deer's" LATE .

THERE'S 50METHIMG UP TO LEAVE LIKE THIS,
AMD TAKE ALL WIFEY'-S GRIT.

ITS SOflETHING HE DOtIT WAMT TOMIS5,
ORELSEHES HAD A FIT.

PERHAPS HE DOES IT FOR A SWEAT,

I CANT SEE AMY PRIZ.E.
OR ELSE HE5 OUT TO WIM ABET,
OR JUST FOR EXCERCISe.

HELLO" VYHAtIs THIS HE5 ASKING FOR,

THAT'S JUST BEEN all SOLO OUT.
IT CANT e>E "FUDOE'S WEEKLY- HOR-
OLO BlFFALO BULL' THE SCOUT;

AH" MOW THERLL BE AN END TO IT,
THEY'LL SOON COLLECT HIS NIBS.
AND M«Ht" Hin EX.PLAMATE THE FLIT,
THAT CAUSED THESE ACHitlOr RIBS

"OM WELL" IF TMftTi THE REASOrt- SAY
YOU CAMT BLAME HIM AT ALL -
I GET THAT BOOK AHD KnOW THE WAY
I STREAK FOR A PAPER STALL

^OH DEAR ME" HES LOST HIS BEAM
THE MINETEE.NTH GETS HIS." NANNY.'

HE,5nuTTERIH&-'OH I'lL &ET YOU 3TEEN"
AMD TAKE YOU HOf\ETO AHNIE".

AHD THIS IS HOW HE LEFT THE GUY.
THAT HAD'MT WHATHE'O SOLD.
HE DIO'HT LEAVE THE REASON YVHY,
NOR EVEN DID'HT 5COLD.

whim this motioh picture story book,
cah print eholiCth for sale .

SUCH GUYS AS THiS WILL NOT BE TOOK
EACH NIHETEEriTH DAY TO JAIL

143

144 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Iny. — Thomas Santschi and Bessie Eyton had the leads in "Opitsah" (Selig).
Taken at Elendale, Cal. Bessie Learn was the girl in "The Totville Eye."

Cora, Chicago. — William Russell was Captain May wood in "Forest Rose" (Than-
houser).

M. I., Oak Park. — See August, 1912, issue under this department for the difference
between Licensed and Independent. Marie Weirman was the girl in "By the Sea."

B. W., Brooklyn. — Francis Bushman had not joined any company at this writing.
We will let you know as soon as he does. Kathlyn Williams was the girl in "Harbor
Island" (Selig).

N. L., Mobile. — Please do not ask Biograph questions.

Florence S. — Edward Lincoln was Dick in "Lessons in Love-Making."

Anthony. — James Ross was Pietro in "Nurse of the Mulberry Bend" (Kalem).
James Daly and Jack Voshell played in "The Girl and the Gambler" (Lubin). Lillian
Christy was not in "Recognition" (American).

Yvonne, Mobile. — Francesca Bertini was Juliet in "Romeo and Juliet" (Pathe).
Romaine Fielding was the lead in "The Power of Silence" (Lubin).

Anna O. M. — Gene Gauntier was Lady Geraldine in "The Wives of Jamestown."

B. M., St. Louis. — Hal Clements is usually the villain in Anna Nilsson's company.

Ned. — Guy D'Ennery still plays with Ormi Hawley. Edwin Carewe is her new
lead. The player you mention is still with that company,

Gertrude. — Bessie Sankey is the girl in "Broncho Billy's Brother" (Essanay).
Octavia Handwortb was the simple maid in "The Simple Maid" (Pathe).

S. H. W. N., Pa. — Miriam Nesbitt was Madame Jolatsky in that play.

B. T. — Write Norma Talmadge at Vitagraph studio.

F. E. G., Riverside. — Miss Whitton was the wife in "The Spendthrift's Reform"
(Pathe). Adele Lane was the nurse in "Western Courtship" (Lubin). She is now
with New York Motion Picture Co. Barry O'Moore was the son in "False to Their
Trust" (Edison). You are very fortunate, indeed, if Larry Trimble gave you one of
Jean's children. Perhaps the puppy will inherit its mother's histrionic talents.

P. S., Mobile. — Harold Lockwood was the leading man in "The Lip ton Cup" (Selig).

"The Watcher." — John Lancaster was the hobo in "A Hobo's Luck" (Selig).
William Wadsworth was Cyrus Brent in "This Is No Place for a Minister's Son."

B. D., Dayton. — William Garwood is the society leader, Mignon Anderson the girl,
and Carey L. Hastings the mother in "At the Foot of the Ladder" (Thanhouser).
Louise Lester is usually the mother in American plays. Paul Scarden was Aaron, and
Harry Frazer was Pittacus in "Hazel Kirk" (Majestic). Mabel Trunnelle was Hazel
Kirk.

Dorothy. — Violet Horner and Thomas McAvoy had the leads in "How Ned Got the
Raise" (Imp). You refer to Florence Barker in "The First Glass" (Powers). Blanche
Cornwall and Darwin Karr in "The Phone" (Solax).

Ima Peach. — Ruth Stonehouse was the dancer in "Requited Love."

Kathryne R. — "Dynamited Love" (Pathe) was taken in Jersey City.

M. R., Malden. — Roderick McKenzie was Roderick in "Roderick's Ride" (Selig).

Cutey and Sweety. — Ormi Hawley wrote the prize essay in "The Prize Essay"
(Ljibin). Baby Audrey was the child in "Child of the Purple Sage" (Essanay).

D. E. B. — Bessie Sankey was Nell in "Broncho Billy's Promise" (Essanay).

UPlunkett. — You are apparently afflicted with cacoethes scrlbendi. Edward K.
coin was his lordship's valet in "The Valet" (Vitagraph). Myrtle Stedman was the
girl in "Roped In" (Selig).

H. E. C. — Evebelle Prout was Mrs. Whitney Raymond in "The Supreme Test."

A. B., Syracuse. — Early Gorman was the child in "Babies Three" (Powers). We
cant give you the most popular child-play ; there are too many.

"The Twins." — We haven't the child's name in "Omens of the Mesa" (Vitagraph).
Baby Lillian Wade was Iona in "Kings of the Forest" (Selig). Margaret" Carle was
the girl, and Winnifred Greenwood was the mother in "A Freight-Train Drama"
(Selig). Evelyn Selbie was the engaged girl in "Broncho Billy's Love Affair" (Selig).
Au revoir!

Eddy-Ben-Peck. — In "The Professor's Dilemma" (Victor), Nell Rich and Christine
Van Buskirk were the girls, and Dyoll King was the man lead. Ruth Roland and
Marshall Neilan were the leads in "The Mission of the Bullet" (Kalem).

Zach, Baltimore. — No, Zachariah. We think you are wrong in your estimate. You
must overcome the law of association. Do not think that because a player always plays
a villain he is bad himself ; or because a player always plays an heroic part, that he is
a hero. Almost any player could become popular if he or she were always given an
admirable part.

R. G., Flagstaff. — Edgar Jones was the sheriff in "The Trustee and the Law"
(Lubin). Lily Branscombe was Milly in "The Love Test."

Vesta J. S. A. — Richard Stanton was Jack in "Jack's Burglar" (Melies). Dorothy
Kelly was the young lady in "Rip Van Winkle" (Vitagraph).

HEALTH AND DEEP BREATHING.

By D. O. Hairell, M.D.

rjID you ever stop to think that the one
*** most important thing in the world to
you, and to every other human being — is
air? You could live without food or water
or clothing for some time; you could not
exist five minutes without air.

Although everyone knows that one
must have air to live, few people
understand the vital connection between
their general health and the quantity and
quality of the air they breathe. Physicians
find that not one person in twenty (pos-
sibly not one in a hundred) habitually
breathes deeply. We are able to trace
directly to that fact a large proportion of
the cases of anaemia, nervous breakdown
and general ill health which come to us
for treatment.

A little knowledge of the functions of the
lungs and the part they play in maintain-
ing health and vigor in the human body will
show the great advantages gained by using
one's breathing power to its fullest capacity.
Every time your heart beats, a current of
bright, red, purified blood is sent coursing
through your arteries to every part of your
body, renewing the wornout tissues With
life-giving oxygen and gathering up the
waste in the system. Then back through
the veins to the heart again where it is
pumped into the lungs, which rid it of its
poisonous matter and give it a fresh sup-
ply of oxygen. In the course of forty or
fifty heart beats, every drop of blood in
your body passes in this way through your
heart and lungs.

If your supply of air is shut off, the heart
goes on pumping just the same, and the
blood, laden with impurities, is forced
through the arteries and veins again and
again, becoming fouler with every circuit.
In two or three minutes the brain is clogged
■ — you become unconscious — in a few min-

utes more the heart itself is unable to go
on, and death results. That is what hap-
pens when the supply of air is entirely cut
off, as in the case of strangling or drown-
ing. The same thing, to a lesser degree,
happens when one habitually breathes in a
shallow manner, using only a small portion
of the available lung surface.

In order to secure and maintain vigorous
health of mind and body, the first thing
necessary is to make sure that the lungs
have an abundant supply of oxygen to
thoroughly perform their function of elim-
inating the poisonous matter which is con-
stantly being deposited in the system through
the waste of muscular and nervous tissue.
The only sure way to do this is to train
oneself to breathe deeply.

Many men and women, who have never
known from childhood what it is to feel
fresh and vigorous as they start for their
day's work, who are tired out at noon
and completely "done up" before they get
home at night, would feel themselves dif-
ferent persons after a few weeks of sys-
tematic deep breathing.

There are a number of publications on this
subject which give valuable information
to anyone wishing to learn how to breathe
deeply. One of the best I have seen is a
neat little booklet, published by Paul von
Boeckmann, R.S., of 1510 Terminal Bldg.,
103 Park Avenue, New York City, which
may be obtained of the author for ten
cents in coin or stamps. It is illustrated
with diagrams and written in a pleasing,
non-technical style, easily understood by
one not a member of the medical profession.
Dr. von Boeckmann explains in it sev-
eral simple breathing exercises worth
many dollars to anyone suffering from
the ills caused by insufficient, shallow
breathing. *#*

146 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

C. G., Elizabeth. — The picture is of Alice Joyce on the February cover. Florence
LaBadie in "The Star of Bethlehem" (Thanhouser).

A. W., St. Louis. — The picture of Mary Pickford in the April issue is the first we
have printed of her in the gallery.

Bonnie D. — Why, Florence Turner is still playing; ask your exhibitor about it.

W. H. S. Teio. — Bessie Eyton was the girl in "A Fisherboy's Fate" (Selig). Whit-
ney Raymond was Ned Wulf in "Sunshine" (Essanay).

Melva S. C. — Ruth Roland was Lizzie in "Belle of the Beach" (Kalem). William
Garwood in "Her Fireman."

R. H. D., Indiana. — Harold Lockwood was leading man in "A Little Child Shall
Lead Them" (Selig).

Brooklyn Hills. — Lillian Christy was the girl in "The Skinflint" (Kalem).
Kathlyn Williams was the girl in "The Artist and the Brute" (Selig). Yes, Florence
Turner was on the Christmas Tree.

B. K. S. — Lester Cuneo was Hort Ingles in "Circumstantial Evidence" (Selig).
Joseph Gebhart was Bull Moose in "A Redman's Loyalty."

Betty. — Edwin August was John Lee in "At the Rainbow's End" (Lubin).
Helen M. — William Morse was Robert Lucas, and Mina Carlton was Ruth Revere
in "The Heart of a Soldier" (American).

D. H. D., Roselle.— Try Nicholas Powers Co., 90 Gold Street, New York.

Bert F.— You refer to Mary Ryan in "Who Is the Savage?" (Lubin). It was the
Thanhouser Kid in "Dont Pinch My Pup." We haven't a cast for Olga, 17, but she
"hails" from New York City. We know that Maurice Costello has only the two girls.

G. E. M. — Miss Ray was the mother in that play. No, to the Lambert Chase
stories.

Wohelo. — Beverly Bayne was Nell, and Evebelle Prout her sister in "Nellie and
Her Sister" (Essanay). True Boardman was the brother, and Bessie Sankey the girl
in "Broncho Billy's Brother" (Essanay). Robyn Adair was the soldier in "A Soldier's
Furlough." Which stenographer do you mean? That's Gertrude McCoy.

H. G. — Fine artist! Phyllis Gordon was Junie Green in "Saved by Fire." A. E.
Garcia was Harden Stone, and Wheeler Oakman was Manly. Mary Charleson was the
girl in "Una of the Sierras."

M. B., Suffolk. — Ray Gallagher was Ned in "The Judgment of the Sea" (Melies).
Yes, yes, Crane Wilbur took Loth parts in "The Compact" (Pathe).

Bill Mattoon. — Guy Coombs was Jim Bludso in that play. W. Fontinelle, Thomas
Flynn and Adrienne Kroell were the leads in "Subterfuge" (Selig).

M. P., Frederick. — Hoot mon! G. M. Anderson is still playing. He is just as
popular as ever.

Trixie. — You must learn not to ask such questions as "Is he married? What's
his middle name?" etc. William Clifford was the parson, and Dorothy Davenport was
the girl in "The Border Parson" (Nestor).

Triplets. — Edgera Delespine was Violet Vere in "Thelma" (Reliance). Irving
Cummings and Gertrude Robinson had the leads in "Old Mam'selle's Secret" (Re-
liance). We are sorry we cannot obtain any information from Kay-Bee for you.

F. K., Brooklyn. — "Jimmie's Misfortune" is not a Pathe.

G. M., Jacksonville. — James Cruze was Carlyle in "East Lynn" (Thanhouser).
Dorothy R., Atlanta. — Gavin Young was the companion in "Mission of a Bullet"

(Kalem). Sally Crute was Mrs. Spendthrift in "The Woman Behind the Man" (Solax).

M. B. — Virginia Chester was th« white girl in "The Massacre of the Fourth
Cavalry" (Bison 101).

Grace M. C. — Bessie Eyton was Papinta in "The Little Organ-Grinder" (Selig).
Adrienne Kroell was the "Laird's Daughter." Yes, once again, Owen Moore and
Thomas Moore are brothers. Thomas Santschi was "Sammy Orpheus" (Selig). Hazel
Neason was the daughter in "Grandfather" (Kalem). Marshall Neilan was the young
man in "The Peace-Offering" (Kalem).

D. S. S. — Rosemary Theby was the nurse in "The Disappearance of the Embas-
sador" (Vitagraph). She is not Mrs. Maurice Costello.

H. F. M— You refer to James Young in "The Model of St. John" (Vitagraph).

A California Boy. — You must sign your name, and you must always give the
name of the company. Bryant Washburn and Ruth Stonehouse played in "Chains"
(Essanay).

Johnny Canuck. — Thomas Moore was the lover in "A Race with Time" (Kalem).
Maurice Costello has played as a cowboy. Harry Myers and Marie Weirman had the
leads in "By the Sea" (Lubin).

I. M. F. — Why, that's Alice Joyce on the February cover.

H. J. C, Milwaukee. — Richard Rosson was the office-boy in "Sue Simpkin's
Ambition" ( Vitagraph ) .

E. S— You refer to Jack J. Clark. Brinsley Shaw was the son in "Broncho Billy's
Love Affair."

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"The Lure of Vanity" . . Vitagraph
"The Red Trail" . . . Biograph
"The Foreman of Ranch B" . Melies
"The Cowboy's Bride" . . Universal
"A Motorcycle Elopement" . Biograph
"insanity" ..... Lubin
"Miss Prue's Waterloo" . . Lubin
"Sally Ann's Strategy" . Edison

"No Dogs Allowed" . Vitagraph

"Ma's Apron Strings" . Vitagraph

"The Mills of the Gods" . Solax

"Cupid's Victory" . . . Nestor
"A Good Turn" . . . . Lubin
'The Joke That Spread" . . Vitagraph
"Satin and Gingham" . . Lubin
"A New Day's Dawn" . . Edison
"House That Jack Built" . . Kinemacolor
"A Good Catch" . . . Essanay
"In the Power of Blacklegs" . Kalem
If you go into this work go into it right. You
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The Motion Picture Story Magazine for one year and mail to you at once ten
beautiful colored pictures of popular player's. They are fine examples of the lithogra-
pher's art, the many colors blending into harmonious tones that quite equal the original
paintings from which the pictures were made. We present you with these pictures FREE,
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The portraits alone are valued at 50c. each. The twelve portraits and one year's sub-
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LIST OF PORTRAITS

ALICE JOYCE CARLYLE BLACKWELL

MAURICE COSTELLO G. M. ANDERSON

ARTHUR JOHNSON MILDRED BRACKEN

MARY FULLER FRANCIS X. BUSHMAN

On another page you will find, for your convenience, a subscription coupon which
you may send with your remittance if desired.

FLORENCE LAWRENCE
MARION LEONARD
GWENDOLEN PATES
FLORENCE TURNER

TSJ MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

26 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

148 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Flo G. D. — Florence Lawrence was Florence, and Victory Bateman her mother in
"Tangled Relations" (Victor). George Field was Jack in "A Mexican Mix-up"
(Nestor). Thomas McAvoy was Ben. Harry Pollard was Dick in "A White Lie."

R. E. D., Los Angeles. — Mabel Normand and Fred Mace had the leads.

I. R. W. — You refer to Betty Cameron.

Alison B. — John is J. W. Johnston's first name. Frederick Santley is on the stage.

M. M., New York. — Marguerite Snow was Dove, James Cruze was Eagle, and his
sister was the Thanhouser Kid in "The Dove in the Eagle's Nest"' (Thanhouser).
Lillian Wade was the child in "The Lipton Cup" (Selig).

Betty, of C. H. S. — Mr. Richmond was the third suitor in "The Modern Atalanta."

R. E. D., Los Angeles. — Edward Coxen and Lillian Christy had the leads in
"Where Destiny Guides" (American). Irving Cummings was Mr. Steele in "Duty and
the Man."

T. N. G., Helena. — In "The Mexican Spy" (Lubin), Edna Payne was the girl,
Edwin Car ewe the spy, and Earle Metcalf the teamster.

L. J. C, Reading. — Thanks for the ten cents. It has occurred to us that the
habit of sending a stamp or coin as a remuneration is a good one, but be it understood
that we do not require a stamp or fee. We will answer all questions without fee or
reward. However, since the editor will not devote any more than twenty pages to this
department, and since the department is growing every day, something must be done,
else several pages of answers will be left over each month, and that means that some
inquirers will not get their information for two or three months. Hereafter, all in-
quirers sending a stamp or other small fee will be given a preference, and their answers
will appear in the very next issue.

Olga, 17. — You like to have Crane and Carlyle play together. Francelia Billing-
ton was the girl in "A Dangerous Wager." Carlyle Blackwell is in Glendale, Cal.

H. E. — The title is "Mistake in Spelling." Mrs. Costello did not play in that.

H. P., Havana. — If you dont think Rosemary Theby is a winner, you dont agree
with most people.

Christy M. — Lee Beggs was Walter in "Flesh and Blood."

Lillian, of Reading.- — Walter Hitchcock was Fred, and Ruth Stonehouse his sweet-
heart in "The Stain." William Mason was Arthur.

Flo C. L. — Raymond and Albert Hackett were the two boys in "Two Boys" (Lubin).
James Young was the son in "The Model for St. John" (Vitagraph).

S. H., M. M. and E. D. — We will not answer your questions. Robert Gaillord's
love for his mother is not a proper subject of inquiry.

Dotty, Harlem. — Francelia Billington plays opposite Carlyle Blackwell. Glad to
hear that you are true to him.

M. G., Elmira. — W. A. Williams was the lover in "At the Burglar's Command."
Winnifred Greenwood was the mother, and Margaret Carle the girl in "A Freight-
Train Drama."

H. Ma, Liverpool. — Edgar Jones was the doctor in "The Surgeon."

R. M., San Jose. — Dolores Cassinelli was the Egyptian Princess in "When Soul
Meets Soul" (Essanay).

C. H. Morse. — Perhaps your questions were crowded out last month. We printed a
full page in one of the back numbers about the Board of Censorship.

E. C. S.—The Moving Picture World, 17 Madison Avenue, New York, will sell you
their back numbers. Betty Harte was the girl in "Her Education" (Selig).

Juliette B. — We cannot tell you whether Alice Joyce posed for that artist. We
have all we can do to keep track of her poses for Motion Pictures.

Camille, N. O. — Ethel Grandin was the girl in "The Deserter" (Bison).

Artie L., Trenton. — A great many think as you do, and perhaps some day the
exhibitors will run the same films two days in succession, instead of changing them
every day. Very few attend the same theater two days in succession, anyway. When
we see a good show, we like to tell our friends to go see it; but now, how can we?

L. L. P., Los Angeles. — Wallace Reid is with the Santa Barbara section of the
American.

E. A., Chicago. — William Shay was Jim in "The Long Strike" (Imp). Hector Dion
was Philip in that Reliance. Donald MacKenzie played opposite Hazel Neason in "A
Political Kidnapping" (Kalem).

Mary Jane. — The "Reincarnation of Karma" was taken in the studio. Crane
Wilbur is in Jersey City, headquarters for mosquitoes and picture stars.

Mrs. H. S. and Mrs. C. — We have no record of that Nestor play; sorry. Other
questions answered.

Evelyn B. — The third fellow was Marshall Neilan ; he is now with Kalem. Mary
Pickford is playing at the Republic Theater, Forty-second Street and Broadway, in
"A Good Little Devil," as Juliet. The play is presented by David Belasco.

H. G. J., Clinton. — Harry Benham was Brawn in "Brain vs. Brawn," and William
Russell played opposite Florence LaBadie in "Miss Robinson Crusoe" (Thanhouser).

i if!

THIS

BEAUTIFUL

PORTRAIT

.vVWllii

OF THE PEERLESS

Alice Joyce

IN TWO COLOR PHOTOGRAVURE, SiZE 22x28
ON HEAVY PAPER READY FOR FRAMING

50c. Each - Postage Prepaid

Kalem Comp an y

235-239 W. 23d St., New York

•:

111

;}]

III

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l \

ill

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1 i

-\ ■"-

150 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

E. B. N. and Gene M. A. — It takes three people to form a corporation, you know.
James Moore was the millionaire in "The Players" (Lubin). Charles French was the
old scout in "Peggy and Old Scout." Dorothy Ferari was Belle, and Alfred Bracci was
George in "Trifle Not with Love" (Cines).

J. S. C. ; Constant Reader ; Free Lance ; F. L J., Iowa.— We gave your letters to
the Photoplay Philosopher, and he is receiving many others of a similar kind. We,
too, are opposed to improper advertising on the screens, and it is only a question of
time when the public will force the exhibitor to cut out all advertising, excepting that
pertaining to the Motion Picture business.

A. B. M., Cleveland. — Please confine your questions to plays and players, and not
to the Answer Man. We are very modest and sedate. Alice Joyce will now be seen
more frequently. She was ill. No, to other questions.

C. B., Wilkes-Baree. — We could not secure the Imp information.

Ruby A. — We expect to have a chat with Irving Cummings soon. We would hate
to show him the picture you drew, but it is very good.

Chubby. — Yes, Broncho Billy will keep on playing, in spite of the fact that he has
been killed. He will die many times yet before he will finally be laid at rest. Alice
Joyce has never been with any other company than Kalem.

Kelso M. P. Fiend. — Rura Hodges was the child in "Child Labor" (Majestic).
Yes, the picture is of Lillian Walker^ That's Warren Kerrigan on page 27 of February
issue.

J. R. B., Napa. — Thanks for the verse. It is good. We would like to use it, but
haven't enough space in this department for verses to the Answer Man.

Tee-o-Tub. — Ormi Hawley was the lady of the hills. Always give the name of the
company hereafter. We dont know Flossie's address.

Myrtle F. S. — Miss Mason was the girl in "Her Faithful Yuma Servant" (Pathe).

J. L. S., Newman. — Say, didn't you write us once and say Beverly Bayne was the
prettiest of the Essanay girls? And now you say Ruth Stonehouse is. Oh, fickle jade!

M. B. C, Phcenix. — May Buckley was May in "What the Driver Saw" (Lubin).

W. A., Hendersonville. — Your drawings of the Answer Man are very clever, but
you did not make him handsome enough. You know we are very good-looking, and
we never frown or scowl, as your pictures say. ( We are also noted for modesty ! )

P. R. M. — Leah Baird and Harry Morey had the leads in "A Woman" (Vitagraph).
Courtenay Foote also played in the same play. Willis Secord is no longer with Edison.

E. B. — Which sheriff do you mean — William Todd or Arthur Mackley?

E. M., New Rochelle. — Guy D'Ennery and Ormi Hawley had the leads in "The
Twilight of Her Life."

Iowa Girl. — No, bon ami, Howard Missimer was not eating candles, etc., when our
"chatter" interviewed him (January, 1912, issue). He said he was an Eskimo, and the
"chatter" playfully assumed that he was eating those Eskimoan foods.

Eddie L. B. — We believe you have sent in ten postal-cards this month; why not
save your questions for a letter?

A. R. K., Ind. — Bessie Eyton had the lead in "A Revolutionary Romance" (Selig).
Mary Ryan was Mary in "Courageous Blood" (Lubin).

F. D., St. Louis. — We do not know why in "The Vengeance of Durand" the police
and fire department are American, whereas the story called for French. Perhaps Mr.
Rex Beach wrote his story first, and then forgot some of the situations when he wrote
the play, or perhaps Vitagraph changed things to suit themselves.

M. M., New York. — Perhaps the Pathe Weekly got that wreck. Watch out for it.

Plunkett. — You ought to know by this time why we dont print Biograph answers.
We have explained in back numbers. The company will not give out any information
about their plays and players, nor are the names on those foreign pictures correct.

A. M., Ossining. — Vedah Bertram was the girl in "The Desert Sweetheart."

Judy G. — See the Popular Player Contest for answer to your question. We dont
know about Costello's father or sister.

Jean, 14. — Yes, Gwendoline Pates really went up in the airship. Hal Reid played
opposite Florence Turner in "Jean Intervenes."

N. M., TRemont, says : "If it's any of my business, would you mind telling me how
in the world you find out all this stuff?" If we were to tell you all we know and how
to do it, you could do it as well as we, and then we would be out of a job. But we
will tell you this much : We keep an elaborate card-index system, in which is listed all
of the plays, players and casts. We have eight or ten Motion Picture trade papers on
hand which we learn by heart. We have eight or ten ponderous tomes and encyclo-
pedias, and we send out about one hundred letters a week to the different companies,
asking them to tell us what we dont know.

H. E. T., Mobile. — The aunt in "Her Nephews from Labrador" was Victory Bate,
man, and the uncle was Eugene Moore.

J. L. Sv, Newman. — Winnifred Greenwood was Molly in "The Lost Inheritance"
(Selig). Marguerite Ne Moyer was the girl in "The Suitors and Suit-Cases" (Lubin).

Write and Sell

Motion
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WHAT THE REVIEWERS SAY.

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All readers of this magazine
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FRANCIS X. BUSHMAN

can do so by expressing their
wish to any Moving Picture
House Manager in their city
or town, who will communi-
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the Screen Club, New York,
or Cameraphone Lecture
Bureau, Pittsburg, Pa.

152 'THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Gerty. — We haven't the name of the public school Ormi Hawley graduated from,
if any at all. Write to her direct for such information. She may, then again she mayn't.

E. O., San Francisco. — Marguerite Snow was May, and the Thanhouser Kidlet
was the child in "The Repeater" (Thanhouser).

G, M. P., Arlington. — Owen Moore was the artist in "Angel of the Studio." Edna
Payne was the girl in "Gentleman Joe" (Lubin).

Blanche B. B. — Wallace Reid was the strong man in "Kaintuck" (Reliance).

Fluffy. — Darwin Karr was Dr. Kenyon in "Hearts Unknown" (Solax).

G. E. T. — Warren Kerrigan and Pauline Bush had the leads in "God's Unfortunate."

Cappie. — Glen White was the criminal in "A Man" (Powers).

Kitty B. — Frank Fernandez was the ticket-agent in "Wrongly Accused" (Melies).

Nadine K. P. — You refer to Bryant Washburn in the Essanay pictures.

L. C. P., Ottawa. — Arthur Mackley was the sheriff you refer to. Charles Clary
and Kathlyn Williams in "The Strongest Mind" (Selig). And that was Ruth Roland
in the three plays you name.

Bijou, Baltimore. — We strongly advise you to leave out the vaudeville. Experi-
ence proves that pictures alone will fill your theater, provided you get good pictures
and run your show well. It's all a question of management. A good show will pay if it
is in the woods. A bad show wont pay, if it is on Broadway, in the center of traffic.

Blanche M. H. — Miss Ray was the mother, and Paul Panzer the cowboy in "The
Cowboy and the Baby."

L. M. N., Wilkes-Barre. — Edgar Jones was the minister in the first question, but
the second minister is a Biograph. We did not get the picture you enclosed.

L. H., Montgomery. — Gwendoline Pates was Miss Wayne in "The Reporter."

Movie Patricia. — Powers is in Los Angeles.-

Gem Theater. — Dont know how many there will be in the Alkali Ike series ; he is
one of Essanay's famous characters.

I. D. M., Mt. Holly. — Harry Myers' picture was in May and September, 1911.

A. L., Browning. — We dont mind telling you that we are getting good and mad.
If people persist in calling us names and in writing foolish questions, they mustn't
be surprised if we flare up once in a while. We haven't room enough now to answer
long questions, so please dont ruffle our feathers, because it takes too much space here
to curl them.

H. L. S., Sandwich. — Julia Mackley was the sick girl in "Broncho Billy and the
Bandits." Jerry Hevener was the Lubin man. Adele De Garde is the girl in "The Old
Kent Road."

Teacher, Omaha. — Yes, G. M. Anderson. We dont agree with you about Simplified
Spelling. You seem to think that spelling, alone of all human inventions, after so many
changes, is now to be kept forever exempt from change. Customs, laws, religions, arts,
sciences, morals, ideas, words and everything else are subject to the immutable law of
change; and, if anything in the world needs changing, it is our spelling. If you are
offended when you see an unaccustomed spelling, it is a mere emotion. Shake it off,
and be reasonable. Economy requires that we reject useless letters, because the teach-
ing, learning, writing and printing of useless letters costs untold money and time.

Dix. — Why, that's a good name. Crane Wilbur was the butler. Hal Wilson was
the editor in "A Leap Year Proposal" (Vitagraph). Jack Richardson was the thief
and Warren Kerrigan the cowboy leader in "The Thief's Wife" (American).

Mary Pickford's Admirer tells us that Reva Greenwood and Rita Davis are both
playing on the stage.

George, Montreal. — Yes, Alice Joyce really made the flag in "A Flag for Freedom."

Kittie, Omaha. — Mignon Anderson was the telephone operator in "My Baby's
Voice" (Thanhouser).

Jimmy V., New York. — Edith Halleran was the maid in "Nothing to Wear."

C. H., Brunswick. — Mr. Frazer was Baptiste in "Silent Jim" (Eclair). Darwin
Karr, Lee Beggs and Blanche Cornwall played in "Flesh and Blood" (Solax).

I. I. S., St. Louis. — Jane Fearnley was Mercy in "The New Magdalen" (Imp).

E. R., Va. — Edna Fisher was the girl in "The Oath of His Office" (Essanay).
James Cruze was the fireman in "Her Fireman" (Thanhouser). Tom Mix was the
pony express rider in "Saved by the Pony Express" (Selig). You can get the back
numbers you want.

Sapho. — Hazel Neason was the girl, and Earle Foxe the butler in "The Telltale
Message."

S. C. H., Columbia. — Mrs. J. J. Franz was the mother, and J. J. Franz the son in
"The Raiders of the Mexican Border." Alex. Francis was Silent Jim in "Silent Jim"
(Eclair). Miss Goodstadt was the girl in "For the Honor of the Firm."

Minnie. — Brinsley Shaw was the snake. Will print a picture of Courtenay Foote.

Lottie W. — George Beatty was the lover in "An Aeroplane Love Affair" (Pathe).
No, he is not a regular player. Phyllis Gordon and Herbert Rawlinson had the leads
in "The Trade Gun Bullet."

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154 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

M. S. C. — Earle Foxe was the diamond thief in "The Combination of the Safe."

Betty G. P. — Your letter was addressed to the wrong department. The M. P.
photographs will be furnished to those who enclose the necessary cash. Why dont you
read the advertisement? Write direct to this magazine. Yes, there are lots of pictures
of Costello, Alice Joyce and others you mention.

W. J. K. — There are two Mr. Frazers, man cher. There is a Chick Morrison hi
"Western American." Helen Smith was the child in "The Reformation of Sierra Smith."
Now, be nice, and dont ask how many cars there were on the train in "The Law of God."

F. J. S., Los Angeles. — We are sorry not to oblige you with answers to Broncho,
Kay-Bee and Keystone questions. These companies have neglected to answer our
questions and to furnish us with the casts. They apparently do not want you to know
the answers.

M. L. S., Augusta. — George Reehm was Jack, and Frances Ne Moyer was the girl
in "His Father's Choice" (Lubin).

Buff. — "The Signal of Distress" (Vitagraph) was taken at Nyack, N. Y. Edgar
Jones and Clara AVilliams had the leads in "A Lucky Fall" (Lubin).

J. H. M., Jersey City. — Natalie Carlton did not play in any of those plays.

M. J. P. — Miss Gardner was the wife in "A Quaker Mother" (Vitagraph). Guy
Coombs was the lead in "Fraud at the Hope Mine" (Kalem).

E. C. M., St. Louis. — Owen Moore and John Charles were the rivals in "The Lie."
Anthony. — We are surprised, brother. You have got things terribly twisted, and

we wont print the scandals you relate. Mattie was Mattie Ruppert, and Early was
Early Gorman in "Mammy's Chile" (Powers).

F. W. A. S. — Burton King was the minister in "A Struggle for Hearts." James
Cruze and Marguerite Snow had the leads in "The Other Half" (Thanhouser).

Anna B. — Maybe you mean Marshall Neilan. Yes, get Ruth Roland's picture direct
from Kalem. We wont answer your questions if you ask such silly things as "What
kind of perfume does Ormi Hawley use?" Zounds! etc.

A. C. H. — In ""Two Women and Two Men" ( Vitagraph ) , Earle Williams was James,
Edith Storey the girl and Julia S. Gordon Mrs. Thornwell.

Frank M. T. — Jane Gale was the daughter in "The Stubbornness of Youth" (Lubin).

Pauline. — In "Uncle Tom's Cabin" (Vitagraph) Miss Tobin was Eva, Miss French
was St. Clare, Mary Fuller, Eliza, and Florence Turner was Topsy. We have no
vacancies for stenographers. We have about thirty-five employees.

Dolly Prim. — No, you need not be afraid ; send your questions along any time.
Do not be afraid of being treated disrespectfully. People of refinement like you who
write respectable questions will receive the utmost courtesy. If some of our answers
are somewhat slangy or tart, it is because the inquirers do not always deserve respect.

W. E. T., Concord. — Edward Coxen was the cowboy and Lillian Christy the girl in
"The Trail of the Cards" (American).

Flower E. G., New York. — That Majestic player was Arthur Finn. James Craig
was the detective.

Anthony. — Auf wiedersehen! We are very fine today, thank you. Crane Wilbur
and Octavia Handworth had the leads in "The Receiving Teller" (Pathe).

Reta M. — Phyllis Gordon was Olga. Lynette Griffen was Betty in "Baby Betty"
(Selig). Edna May Weick was the little girl in "The Little Woolen Shoe" (Edison).

E. N. B. — In "The Tongueless Man," Jack Adolfi and Violet Reed had the leads.

F. M. M., Iowa. — George Larkin was Teddy, and August True was the girl in "The
Girl from the Country" (Eclair). In "Taming Their Parents" (Lubin), Jennie Nelson
was the widow, Dorothy Mortimer her daughter, William Orlamond the widower, and
Charles Compton the son.

H. C. R., New York. — Carlyle Blackwell played the lead in "Princess of the Hills,"
and it was taken in California. Think your idea of a Motion Picture book very good.

A. V. P., Toronto. — William Garwood and Marguerite Snow had the leads in "Put
Yourself in His Place" (Thanhouser).

A. G. R. — Howard Missimer and Dolores Cassinelli had the leads in "If Dreams
Came True" (Essanay). Some companies make from 50 to 150 copies of each film, to be
distributed all over the world. The exact number is kept secret.

W. F. B., Cal. — Glad that you still see pictures with Vedah Bertram in them.
Life is short, and art is long.

Reader, Pauline R. — Yes, and we again say that Mr. Anderson did not play in
"Tomboy of Bar Z."

George Washington. — Sorry, but we cannot give the addresses of Nancy Jane and
Henrietta "G", Dolly Dimples and Flossie C. P.

C. J., Jr., Birmingham. — Warren Kerrigan was the lover in "A Green-Eyed Mon-
ster." No, Kay-Bee is Mutual, and Bison is Universal.

Bessie and Marie. — Robert Grey was Dr. Snow in "Strong- Arm Nellie." Edward
Smith was the fiend in "Wrongly Accused." William West was the father in "The
Village Vixen."

SPECIAL FEATURES

]\ /fOTION PICTURES released through the General Film Company are the cleanest
and most entertaining that the industry offers. Every one must pass rigorous inspec-
tion by the National Board of Censorship before it starts on its way to the public. Expense
is no consideration in their production. A recent release, "From the Manger to the
Cross," a reverent motion picture life story of Jesus of Nazareth, was made for the most
part in authentic locations in Palestine and Egypt, and cost the round sum of $ 1 00,000 to
produce.

Ask the manager of the theatre you patronize what service he uses. If he replies
"General Film," you are assured that there are no better films to be seen anywhere.

Look for these recent multiple-reel features.

Pickwick Papers

Feb. 28, 1913 Vitagraph, 2 Reels

Part One records the Adventures of the Honorable
Event, and introduces Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Jingle, Mr.
Winkle, Mr. Tupman, Dr. Slammer and all the fa-
miliar members of the Pickwick Club. These gentle-
men are involved in the Honorable Event, which is
brought about by the rascally Jingle. Dr. Slammer and
Mr. Winkle are prepared to fight a duel, but a most
extraordinary and humorous situation arises by the timely
discovery that Jingle and not Winkle is the man who
insulted the Doctor.

Part Two embodies the Adventure of Westgage
Seminary. Pickwick, at the suggestion of Job Trotter,
Jingle's chum, goes on a wild-goose chase to the Semi-
nary to prevent Jingle from eloping with one of the
girls. Trotter and Jingle are thus given a chance to get
away and escape the discovery of their rascality. Sam
Weller, Pickwick's faithful servant, is much in evidence
in the laughable adventure.

Mother

Feb. 24, 1913

Pathe, 2 Reels

Tom Dawson, having written his mother that he has
been made ranch foreman, loses his job on account of
drink. Not having the heart to tell her of his mis-
fortune, he writes her that he has been elected sheriff.
He steals two horses, and suspcted, has to flee, pur-
sued by the sheriff and his posse.

At this inopportune time his mother decides to visit
him. Arriving at the little town, she tells the boys she
has come to see her son, the sheriff, and proudly dis-
plays his picture. When the sheriff returns they explain
the circumstances to him, he pins his badge upon Tom
and allows him to masquerade as sheriff until his mother
returns to her home. As the train fades away the
sheriff's badge is removed and Tom is confined to a
cell, while his mother is in happy ignorance of his
plight.

EXHIBITORS

who are interested in an established service — the strongest and
most reliable in the world — are invited to correspond with us

at 200 Fifth Avenue, New York City, or with any of our numerous branches in the principal

cities of the United States and Canada.

GENERAL FILM C?

156 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

E. G. M., San Francisco. — You must have the wrong title, as that is not a Kalem,
and Paul Panzer or Charles Ogle do not play for Kalem.

N. M., New York. — A. E. Garcia stole the pearls in "The Lady of the Pearls."
Dorothy Davenport and Phyllis Gordon were the girls.

M. J., Winona. — Gladys Field is back with the Essanay. Darwin Karr and Walter
Edwin played in "A Modern Cinderella" (Edison).

I. E. E., Mass. — Miss Ray played in "Victims of Fate" (Pathe). She was also the
wife in "His Little Indian Model" (Pathe). Carl Winterhoff was Steve in "A Man
Among Men" (Selig).

Oleo Margarine. — Adele Lane is with the New York Motion Picture Co. Most
M. P. players come from the stage. Lottie Briscoe was the mother in "The Spoiled
Child" (Lubin). We dont know whom you mean when you say "The cutey with the
dark eyes and wavy hair." The woods are full of them.

K. C, Cleveland. — Broncho is taking pictures in California.

E. and A. W., Norfolk. — Mabel Trunnelle and Herbert Prior had the leads in "Two
of a Kind" (Majestic). Florence Turner left on Washington's Birthday to give lectures
in the different theaters.

C. H. E., Falmouth. — Thomas Santschi was the priest in "A Little Indian Martyr."

Birdie Charmeuese. — Miss Witton played opposite Paul Panzer in "The Spend-
thrift's Reform" (Pathe). Helen Gardner is in her own company. "Cleopatra" was a
state rights, and is rented to certain territories, and not shown the same as the
regular releases. There is difference of opinion as to its merits.

Idano. — In "The Boss of the Katy Mine" (Essanay), True Boardman was the
foreman, Virginia Ames his wife, and Brinsley Shaw the boss. Octavia Handworth was
Violet in "His Second Love." Mary Ryan and Romaine Fielding had the leads in "His
Western Way."

E. H., New York. — We are sorry we cannot locate Beth Taylor.

Flossie. — Well, well, Flossie, welcome to our city. We and everybody else have
been anxious about you. You say you were giving us a rest. We dont know that word.
Francelia Billington was the girl in "The Usurer." We are trying to make the publica-
tion date the I5th hereafter.

S. W., San Francisco, wonders if Mr. Anderson actually shot the bottles in
"Making of Broncho Billy." She says that since the pistol was pointed directly at the
camera, no camera man would have taken such a chance if they were really bullets, and
she thinks that the bottles were broken by some other means. WTe dont know much
about the bravery of that camera man, but we do know quite a good deal of the marks-
manship of Mr. Anderson. Hence, we boldly assert that Mr. Anderson actually shot
those bottles.

F. P., Woodland.— We strongly advise you to give up the idea of going on the
stage or in the pictures.

Y. Z.— Regarding the Costello photographs in January number, you may not have
seen the hairs, but you certainly could see the heirs. We dont know whether it was
the photograph or the dyer who concealed the gray hairs. Mildred Weston was the
daughter in "Mandy's Rebellion" (Essanay). James Young was Col. Birnell in "The
French Spy" (Vitagraph).

B. B., WrYO. — Harry Benham was the engineer in "The Time of Peril" (Than-
houser). See ad pages for the Ridgelys.

J. S., Bridgeport.— No, Mary Fuller is in New York. Dolores CassineHi is with
Essanay.

M. C, Cleveland. — Jack Standing was the hero in "A Romance of the Sixties"
and he is now on the stage.

W. J. K.— We dont answer questions of religion. What difference does it make
whether the player you mention is a Catholic or a heathen? Let's keep religion out of
this, department. Jean Darnell was the inventor's mother in "The Race" (Thanhouser)
Harry Pollard was with Imp. *

R. M. E., Moline.— Carlyle Blackwell played in "The Redskin Raiders" (Kalem)
Violet Horner was Mrs. Patterson in "Aunt Diana" (Imp).

Lottie D. T., Goldfield — William Russell was the country lover in "In Time of
Peril" (Thanhouser).

Vera P. S.— Carlyle Blackwell had the lead in "An Interrupted Wedding" (Kalem)

S. & L., No. 8.— Thomas Santschi was Joe Harker in "The Great Drought " No
Benny from Lubinville did not play in "The Wooden Bowl" ; that was Albert Hackett'
Benny plays mostly on the telephone switchboard.

N.. W., Houston.— Carlyle Blackwell was the artist in "The Wasp " We have
printed none of the plays you mention. Yes, to the Miss Joyce question. Beatrice
Behrman was the sister in "Billie's Sister." Florence LaBadie was the daughter, and
Joseph Graybill was Pedro in "A Love of Long Ago" (Thanhouser).
at- .A* W; ^Canada.— Florence Lawrence has played with Biograph, Lubin, Imp and
Victor. John O'Brien was the opponent in "Spike Shannon's Last Fight."

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26 Court Street Brooklyn, N. Y.

158 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

N. O. H., Manchester. — Edward Boulden and Elsie McLeod were the young couple,
and Alice Washburn was the aunt in "Aunt Miranda's Cat." Winnifred Greenwood was
the foster-mother in "Under Suspicion" (Selig). William Mason was the detective in
"The Eye That Never Sleeps" (Essanay).

Plunket. — Write to Mr. Kerrigan direct; we dont know.

No. 666, St. Louis. — Whitney Raymond was the grown-up in "An Error's Omission"
(Essanay). Miss Glaum and Mr. De Grasse had the leads in "The $2500 Bride"
(Pathe). Bryant Washburn was Jacques in "The Shadow of the Cross" (Essanay).
He also was Tom Oliver in "White Roses" (Essanay).

Dorothy R.— Marion Ferrel had the lead in "A Fairyland Bride" (Reliance).
Virginia Westbrook and Arthur Finn had the leads in "The Winning of Helen" (Ma-
jestic). Herbert Rice was the husband in "She Wanted a Husband" (Punch). Irving
Cummings was the hero in "Fires of Conscience" (Reliance).

J. W. C, Seattle. — William Dunn was James Ridley in "Vengeance" (Imp). Miss
Phillips was the mother-in-law in that play.

Violet Vere. — W~e have said before that Miss Joyce has had no stage experience,
and that she has been with no other company besides Kalem.

Merely Mary Anne. — Whitney Raymond received the bill in "The Virtue of Rags"
(Essanay), Bryant Washburn the collector, and Francis Bushman the old man.

E. A., Greenville. — We do not know where Robert Conness is.

E. P. H. S., Augusta. — Jack Hopkins and Louise Vale had the leads in "Paul and
Virginia" (Rex).

The Kid (L. S.). — Certainly, if you send a stamped, addressed envelope you will
receive your answers much quicker.

H. L. G., Brooklyn. — Lily Branscombe was the daughter, E. H. Calvert the repre-
sentative in "Bringing Father Around" (Essanay).

C. F. D., Mobile. — We dont know much about Horatio's philosophy, but we do
know that your letter is mighty clever and interesting. Have passed it to the editor.

Ellen M. C, Marietta, thinks that we are a "mean, horrible old thing!" and that
because we said most girls wore false hair, we are "bald and wear a wig." She also
thinks that we ought to mind our own business. Tut, tut, miladi! Yet, you keep on
asking questions. Ruth Roland had the lead. Yes, she is pretty, and she is as jolly as
a bachelor-maid could be.

F. C. P. — Clara K. Young was the daughter in "A Mission of Diplomacy" (Vita-
graph). Write here direct for back numbers.

A. W., Glace Bay. — Helen Gardner was Abbasah in "The Miracle." Clara K.
Young was the music-teacher in "The Flat Above." "A Heart in Rags" was taken in
Chicago. Selig has a studio in Los Angeles. Cines is a Licensed company, releasing
thru George Kleine, of Chicago.

C. E. W., San Francisco. — Thomas Moore was Martin in "A Daughter's Sacrifice."

Billie. — Miss Billie Baer is leading lady for Gem.

M. D., Akron. — E. H. Calvert was Austin in "The Girl by the Brook" (Essanay).
Yes, "Won at High Tide" was taken at Atlantic City.

Idana. — No, there are no chances of the American becoming a Licensed company,
but there are chances of all Licensed companies becoming Independent — some day.

Babe. — In "The Tribal Law" (Bison), Wallace Reid was Jose. William Duncan
plays opposite Myrtle Stedman.

G. E. W., Athens. — Mignon Anderson was leading lady in "At Liberty — Good
Press- Agent" (Thanhouser). Virginia Westbrook was the maid in "The Winning of
Helen." Darwin Karr was Captain Lorenzo in "Fra Diavolo" (Solax).

Bertha M., Harlem. — Harold Lockwood was the lead in "The Governor's Daugh-
ter" (Selig).

P. W., New York. — Jack Clark's mother is not playing any more in the pictures.
Hal Clements was the farm bully in "The Farm Bully."

S. H., Columbus. — Violet Horner was the wife in "The Bearer of Burdens" (Imp).
Yes, very often pictures are made a year or more before being released.

E. M. B. — We do not answer questions about the stage.

R. E. T., Brooklyn. — Thanks very much for telling us that Mrs. Maurice was Anna
Stewart's mother and Rose Tapley was Zena Keefe's mother in "Her Choice." We
secured the incorrect information from Vitagraph's own casts.

Lily and Rose. — Yes; Ruth Stonehouse was Ruth in "Billy McGrath's Art
Career."

Gertie. — Yes, we are glad you pulled thru with your examinations. Herbert Barry
was Lord Rintoul in "The Little Minister." Guy Coombs is just as nice as he looks.

Eddie L. P. — That was Chester Barnet in the Crystal play.

Babe, Lan. — George Gebhardt is the Indian in the Western Pathe's, and a good one.

E. A. L. — Well, the reason you dont hear so much about Mary Fuller, Mildred
Bracken, Florence Lawrence, etc., is that they are known to everybody, and are not
asked about so much, but they all have their admirers.

THE VITAGRAPM EAGLE
IE MODERN ATLAS'

VITAGRAPH

'Red and White
Roses"

IN TWO PARTS
Released

Monday,
March 10th

The Strength of
Men"

IN TWO PARTS
Released

Wednesday,
March 19th

■;":-^-. LIFE PORTl^ALS ,^~

'^m

#% —

;=iJv# !! Voi.2 FEB, Is, 1913 t» FEB. 28tb, 1913. No.iz !| %

.v.

THEyrrACRAPrl comj>An? qjAmii^cA

CHICAGO
•« *»» Rudoiplt Si

PARIS
15 Rue Sunte CecSe

EsSv^j

^jar*jv PORTRAYALS . i> STO ,

THE VITAGRAPH MONTHLY
BULLETIN

With stories of all its " Life Portrayals." It is extensively
illustrated with pictures of the plays and portraits of the
players.

SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, ONE DOLLAR A YEAR

HOW AND WHERE MOVING
PICTURES ARE MADE

A full description of the making of Moving Pictures, pro-
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Have You Heard the Latest Song Hit?

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FIFTEEN CENTS A COPY

Address PUBLICITY DEPARTMENT, THE VITAGRAPH COMPANY OF AMERICA

East 15th Street and Locust Avenue, Brooklyn, New York

160 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

B. M., Winooke. — Yes, a player may remain a Catholic when he joins the pictures.
What next? 'Fraid there is no chance for you.

B. L. H., Cleveland. — E. K. Lincoln was the spy in "The Line of Peril'' (Vita-
graph). Arthur Johnson's picture was in the following issues : August, 1911; March,
1912 ; March, 1913, and Chat in February, 1912.

A Millvale Girl. — But you must sign your name and address. We wont answer
any more. No, we have gone the limit. That was on the Christmas tree.

W. T. H. — We are sorry we cannot answer that Biograph ; it is too old. W. T. H.
closes his letter as follows: "With compliments and best wishes (intermingled with
my heartfelt sympathy) for the Answer Man." Condolences appreciated.

R. W. T., Chicago. — :We cannot give you the name of the first Independent com-
pany. Nor can we give you the names, in order, of the first ten Licensed companies.

"Bee," Rushville. — "The mills of the gods grind slowly, but exceeding small"
means fate, or one% destiny, and tho one's fate may be reached slowly, it is unavoid-
able and thoro. '

H. A. G., Huntington. — You refer to Dot Bernard, formerly with Biograph. She
is with the Poli Co.

H. M., Montrose. — Helen Gardner and Charles Kent had the leads in "Death of
King Edward the Third." Yes, extra features cost more.

C. T. S., Washington. — George Lessey and Bigelow Cooper were the clerks in "The
Ambassador's Daughter" (Edison). Peter Lang was Peter in "Peter's Pledge"
(Lubin). Marc MacDermott was the lieutenant in "A Clew to Her Parentage"
(Edison). Adrienne Kroell was the Italian girl, and James Fowler was the artist in
"The Empty Studio" (Selig). We, too, think this is " 'nuff sed."

Lola S. — Warren Kerrigan was the best man in "The Best Man Wins" (Ameri-
can). Marshall Neilan was the jilted lover. George Siegman was the officer in "Duty
and the Man" (Reliance). Burton King^was the minister in "The Struggle of Hearts."

Mrs. H. T. S., Brooklyn. — Mrs. Kimball was the mother of the Little Minister.
In "The Bravery of Dora," Edna Payne was the girl, and Earle Metcalf the half-breed.

Gert and Bert, Newark. — Well, it's time . you knew them both. Ethel Clayton
played in "The Last Rose of Summer," "The Wonderful Oue-Horse Shay," and Edna
Payne played in "The Water-Rats," "Gentleman Joe" and "The Moonshiner's Daugh-
ter." Now are you straight?

The Two Twins. — G. M. Anderson had the lead in "The Moonshiner's Heart."
True Boardman was the outlaw in "Broncho Billy and the Outlaw's Mother."

L. P. T., Phila. — Dont ask us why some of the players walk down to the camera
to say their lines. Only bad directors permit it.

Sadie C, Lowell. — Harry Benham was the floorwalker in "The Floorwalker's
Triumph" (Thanhouser). Ormi Hawley was Nell in "The Crooked Path" (Lubin).
That was Mary Ryan in "Which Is the Savage?" Yes, she had an awful temper.

Peggy A. J. — Oh, you must sign your name and address. Dorothy Mortimer was
Dora Brand in "The Old Chess-Players" (Lubin). Once more, Francesca Bertini was
Juliet in "Romeo and Juliet" (Pathe). William Duncan plays opposite Myrtle Sted-
man in the Western Selig's. Edith Storey was Chloe in "Before a Book Was Written."

H. E. N., Lowell. — Ne fronti credere; in other words, trust not to appearances.
If Carlyle Blackwell stole in the picture, that does not infer that he is a thief. He
was only taking a part. We did not see the film. We cant see everything.

H. A. T., Colorado. — Lillian Christy and Edward Coxen had the leads in "Rose
of Mexico" (American). Cleo Ridgely was Beauty in "Beauty and the Beast" (Rex).
Roy Watson has played with Selig.

H. J., Clinton. — Harry Benham was the father in "The Boomerang" (Than-
houser). Mr. Kerrigan has two names — Warren and Jack. Choose.

C. L. C, Bridgeport.— Marian Cooper and Guy Coombs had the leads in "Saved
by Court-Martial" (Kalem). Edith Storey was the girl in that Vitagraph. Mary
Ryan was Mary in "The Blind Cattle-King" (Lubin).

Tommy R., Oakland.— What did we tell you? Dont ask whether Marty Fuller is
any relation to Mary; we dont answer about relationship. Kempton Green and
William Pinkham were the fellows in "Just Out of College" (Lubin).

A. H. S., Welland. — Gene Gauntier's first release is "The Daughter of the Con-
federacy," released thru Warner Film Co., 145 West Forty-fifth Street, New York.

Lola S. — Grace Nile was the daughter in "The Miller's Daughter" (Thanhouser).
Francis Bushman joined the Vitagraph, we believe.

M. O., Bridgeport. — Write to Mary Eline direct to Thanhouser. We cannot tell
you about that Broncho.

The Twins, of Milwaukee. — Cy Morgan was the ball-player in "Making a Base-
ball Bug." Marie Weirman was Ellen in "The Old Oaken Bucket" (Lubin). Yes, Tom
Moore was the doctor in "The, Nurse at Mulberry Bend," That was Baby Audrey in
"The Sheriff's Child."

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Associated Vaudeville and Playwrights, Photoplay Dept.,
Ashland, O, The largest manuscript brokerage house in the U. S.

Here's to Your Success

Mr. Photoplaywright !

But first, ask yourself, honestly, which troubles you
most when you sit down to write your Photoplay —
how you shall write it, or

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(Remember, a good PLOT is a scenario three-quarters sold !)

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162 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

R. T. B., New York. — Edith Halleran was the maid in "The Woman" (Vitagraph).
She is getting to be the maid of all maids.

Gertie. — That "merely interested" seems to be a trademark with you and Olga.
Clara Williams was Virginia, Frank De Vermon was Colonel Gordon, and Franklyn
Hall was the negro in "Trustee of the Law" (Lubin). Oh, yes; Edgar Jones was the
sheriff. Francelia Billington was the girl in "Mayor's Crusade" (Kalem).

Anthony. — Thanks very much for the tie. It is pretty loud, tho, for an old man
like us, There will be twelve stories to "What Happened to Mary" — one each month.
Sadie Calhoun and Edna Payne were the girls in "Price of Jealousy." Howard
Mitchell was the man.

R. C. G., Atlanta. — Lucile Lee was Luce Dean in "Papa Puts One Over" (Vita-
graph). Marin Sais still plays with Kalem.

Lily C. C. — Arthur Mackley was the miner in "The Miner's Request" (Essanay).
Kempton Green was Winter Green, and Isabelle Lamon was Mrs. Green in "What's in
a Name?" (Lubin).

G. A. X, Dallas. — Mary Stuart Smith was Mrs. Dearborn in "Higher Duty"
(Lubin). Edgar Davenport was Congressman Lord in "The Senator's Dishonor."

A. W. W., Glace BAY.^-Eleanor Blanchard had the lead in "A Mistake in Calling"
(Essanay). Frank Dayton and Lily Branscombe were her employers.

Merely Mary Anne. — Edward Lincoln was the actor in "How Fatty Made Good"
(Vitagraph). We dont believe the player you mention gets a salary with four figures
every month, but you cant prove it by us.

R. M. D., Bath. — Lottie Briscoe was the leading lady in "The Insurance Agent"
(Lubin). Edna Flugrath was the teacher in "At Bear-Track Gulch" (Edison).

C. L. B., New York. — Ruth Stonehouse, Beverly Bayne and Mildred Weston were
the girls in "When Soul Meets Soul" (Essanay).

N. C. H., Ohio. — Hazel Neason was Faith in "Flag of Freedom." Flora Finch
was Madame Legrande in "Freckles" (Vitagraph).

Helen V., Newark. — Yes; Lillian Walker has played in cowboy pictures. Beth
Taylor is not with Essanay.

A. J. B., Columbus. — Francelia Billington was the girl in "A Dangerous Wager"
(Kalem). Sue Balfour was Kathrine in "The Bells" (Reliance).

Bobby P. B. — Dorothy Davenport was the girl in "Pierre of the North" (Selig).
Bessie Sankey played opposite G. M. Anderson in "Broncho Billy's Brother."

J. C, Dubuque. — Yes; George Cooper was Jim in "Billy's Burglar" (Vitagraph).
Paul Kelly was the little boy in the same play.

Anna and Flo. — Certainly a self-addressed envelope may be typewritten. A
scenario is a skeleton or framework of a play. If it is an M. P. play, it is usually
called a photoplay when it is carried out in detail ; but "photoplay" and "scenario"
are practically synonymous.

R. M. C. — No ; Mae Hotely was not the girl that Harry Myers hugged and kist in
"Just Maine Folks." That was Ethel Clayton. Wasn't she fortunate?

E. J., Muskogee. — We are sorry, but we cannot answer your Kay-Bee questions.
They are still asleep.

Bess, of Chicago. — How do you do! Rura Hodges was the child-actress. Your
envelope reached us all right.

C. E. K., Bath Beach, — Well, in any event, we cannot secure the position for you.
Write to any of the companies.

J. S., Brooklyn, says he is "gone over Ormi Hawley." You will have to give the
name of the company.

Hazel, 19. — Yes ; Florence LaBadie has played in Biograph.

Laura A. G., Chicago.— Al E. Garcia and Eugenie Besserer had the leads in "The
Miner's Justice" (Selig).

K. A., Newburg. — Edwin Cartridge was Dick Cartridge, and Ernestine Morley was
Mrs. Cartridge in "On the Threshold" (Lubin).

May, Brooklyn, writes that we should tell all the girls that Crane Wilbur has his
thoughts upon one and only one, and that is she. We dont know about that.

J. R., Brooklyn. — Here goes once more: Dolores Costello is the older, and Helen
is the younger.

H. M. says that Helen Marten was the girl, Joe Levering the hero, and J. W.
Johnston the villain in "Saved at the Altar."

Brownie R. — No, thank you, we dont care to print an interview with Flossie. She
only appears in the Inquiry Department. Thank you for your clipping.

Jack, Philadelphia. — Jean Darnell was the widow in "The Poor Relation."

Anthony. — Yes, Anthony; Pearl White had the lead in "Heroic Harold." As for
her being your "darling sweetheart," we dont know about that. Perhaps the wish is
father to the thought. She may have another Anthony.

J. E. M., Chicago. — Francelia Billington was the wife in "The Boomerang."

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164 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

H. T., Nyack. — Pauline Bush was the daughter in "The Recognition." Which tall
man do you refer to? — perhaps Howard Missimer. James Cooley was Walter's rival in
"The Better Man" (Reliance).

A. H. S., Weeland. — Thomas Santschi and Bessie Eyton had the leads in
"Euchered" (Selig).

Stowe, St. Louis. — Dont blame the actor because he talks so much to himself and
acts like an acrobat and points where he is going, and all that nonsense. The director
may have told him to do so. Some of these directors ought to be peddling potatoes.

St. Ell, St. Louis. — Why dont you communicate with The Photoplay Clearing
House?

Leo B., Montreal. — George Ober was Mr. Girard in "Marriage of Convenience."
Frank Lanning is still with Pathe.

K. V., Corona. — Sorry, but your title is not a Vitagraph. Come again. Flossie is
from Los Angeles.

E. D., Ashland. — W'innifred Greenwood was the wife in "A Freight-Train
Drama" (Selig). Earle Metcalf was the insane lover in "Gentleman Joe" (Lubin).
Yes, to your last question.

M. L., Cincinnati. — Sorry, but Solax refuses or neglects to give us the information.

F. M., Oswego. — Isabelle Lamon was the daughter, and Ormi Hawley was the
blonde in "The Scandalmongers" (Lubin). How can E. Dolores Cassinelli be Maurice
Costello's wife? She is not; we will tell you that much.

E. D. A., San Francisco. — Herbert Rawlinson was the boy in "The Black-Hand
Elopement." Phyllis Gordon was the girl in "The Altar of the Aztecs."

M. F., Brooklyn. — George Lessey was Jack Turner in "At Bear-Track Gulch"
(Edison). Laura Lyman was the mother in "Child Labor" (Majestic). Miss Drew
was Olga in "The Spy's Defeat" (Essanay). Phyllis Gordon was Helen in "When
Helen Was Elected" (Selig).

Alhambra. — Yes, you are right; Marguerite Snow was Lady Isabel in "East
Lynne," and Florence LaBadie was Barbara.

R. W. — Arthur Johnson was the blacksmith, and Lottie Briscoe the widow's
daughter in "The Heavenly Voice" (Lubin).

Roy E. G. — Jeanie McPherson was with Powers, opposite Edwin August last.
Write to Miss Sais direct. .

Davina. — Vivian Pates was May, Guy D'Ennery was Tom, and Clarence Elmer
was John in "Twilight of Her Life" (Lubin). Marc MacDermott was the son in "The
Unsullied Shield" (Edison). Miss Mason was the mother in "Fate's Decree" (Pathe).

Rosebud. — Pathe will not tell us a thing about "The Elusive Kiss." Your name is
all right, but you must give your name and address.

The Twins, Milwaukee. — Charles Martin was the rejected suitor in "The Line
of Peril" (Vitagraph). Edna Payne was the girl in "Private Smith" (Lubin).
Dorothy Black was Ruth, when she was eight years old, and Edgar Jones was Jack in
"The Girl of Sunset Pass."

W. J. K. — One of our cash-envelope customers wants your address. She thinks
you are her long-lost cousin. "The Dove in the Eagle's Nest" (Thanhouser) was re-
leased January 28, 1913. Wallace Reid was the father in "A Rose of Old Mexico."
Dave Thompson was the Eagle's retainer in "The Dove in the Eagle's Nest."

E. O. B., Lancaster. — Yes, the cook was a real negro. Leona Radnor happens to
be with our company. She is a writer for this magazine. Ruth Stonehouse was
Fredrica in "The Spy's Defeat."

A. W., San Antonio.— We were not there when the Thanhouser studio burned.
The facts, as you state them, are pretty true.

R. L., Rochester. — Isabelle Lamon was Mrs. Hall, Edna Payne was Marie, and
Clarence Elmer was Mr. Hall in "The Higher Duty."

Anthony, New Orleans. — Yes ; Alkali Ike was better in the Western pictures, so
he has gone back to California. So you would be happy if Pearl White would become
Mrs. Pearl Anthony? We charge one million dollars for every match we make, so
beware.

F. H., New York. — James Morrison was Hidly, and James Young was Paul in
"A Marriage of Convenience" (Vitagraph).

B. H., California. — Edward Coxen was Dick in "When Destiny Guides" (Amer-
ican). Lillian Christy was Virgie.

R. C, Attleboro. — David Thompson was Conyers in "Aurora Floyd." William
Russell was Manly Feet in "The Little Shutin'" (Thanhouser).

Trixie C, Atlantic City. — William Russell was Don in "The Ring of the
Spanish Grandee." J. W. Johnston was Penworth in "The Reporter" (Pathe).

D. F., Bellefontaine. — Lila Chester was the nurse in "The Professor's Son"
(Thanhouser). No; Monopol is Independent. Demetrio Mitsoratz was the father in
"At the Stroke of Five" (Thanhouser). Such a headache!

Peggy O. — Jessie McAllister is with the Edison. Ben Wilson.

Educate your children musically
Start with the

Edison Phonograph

An appreciation of music is as essential as technique.
The world's masterpieces are on Edison Records,
done by the greatest artists. You can play them
again and again, until you have familiarized yourself
and your children with the sort of music they ought
to know — classical and popular.

Stop in at your Edison dealer's and have him play some
Blue Amberol Records. They will delight the family.

THOMAS A. EDISON, Inc., 144 Lakeside Ave., Orange, N.J.

Florence Turner has left the Vitagraph Company for a lecture and vaudeville tour.
The screen will miss this famous "Vitagraph girl."

Arthur Johnson recently received a letter without name or address on the envelope,
but merely a picture of himself pasted on instead. Which shows that he is quite as
famous as were Benjamin Franklin, "Citizen of the World," and Mark Twain — "God
knows where."

Joseph W. Farnham ("Gordon Trent") is preparing a beautiful, suede-leather,
100-page souvenir for the first annual ball of the Screen Club on April 19th. His address
is 133 West Forty-fourth Street, New York City, and he would not refuse any con-
tributions from those . interested in the Motion Picture Industry.

And now they are asking for another popularity contest for the "best team work."
Fritzi Brunette and Owen Moore have been suggested, by more than one, as the best
team. What a pity that the firm of Johnson & Lawrence, and the firm of Blackwell &
Joyce, had to fail !

Augustus Carney, the famous vest-pocket edition of John Bunny, has gone back to
the Western Essanay Company.

We are all still curious to know what finally happened to Mary Fuller.

The Vitagraph "Globe-Trotters," including Maurice Costello, James Young, Clara
Kimball Young and the Costello children, recently arrived at Cairo, Egypt. Thence
they go up the Nile to Thebes, taking Biblical subjects en route. The Holy Land will be
their next destination.

Now that the baseball season is preparing to open, Fritzi Brunette (Victor) is
training her lungs for "rooting" purposes.

Francis X. Bushman, formerly the Essanay star, is still lecturing, but a little bird
whispers that he may soon be seen in Vitagraph pictures.

The Rex people are figuring that their "Thou Shalt Not Steal" will make the
psychologists open their eyes.

Marshall P. Wilder writes us: "It's jolly to be able to spend an hour or so with
you in The Motion Picture Story Magazine each month. I am on the road now, but
am hungry to get back in the pictures."

They are now saying that the personalities of G. M. Anderson and John Bunny
are better known than those of kings and presidents. Anyway, they are more inter-
esting to most people.

Watch out for Lloyd Lonergan's "An American in the Making" (Thanhouser),
which, they say, is one of the best of the educationals.

Lubin has bought the picture rights of Charles Klein's speaking plays, including
"The Lion and the Mouse."

Princess, the Vitagraph's tigress, is hardly ladylike. Julia Swayne Gordon will
appear with her in a society photoplay, "The Tiger-Lily," in which Princess raises
havoc in the ballroom scenes.

The Vitagraph's lion, Nero, will soon become popular on the screen, but he is not
at all so in the studio. He recently seriously injured his trainer, and few players care
to act with him. Charles Kent hopes to be friendly with him long enough to film
"Daniel in the Lions' Den." They say, furthermore, that the visions of endless suppers
on Hughey Mack and Bunny are an awful temptation to Nero.

Excelsior, a brand-new company, announces Arthur Finn and Alice Inwood in
"A Cadet's Honor."

Muriel Ostriche is leaving the Eclair Company to join forces with Reliance.

166

INSTRUCTION

THE P

HOTO
T, AY

LOT
HOW TO WRITE IT HOW TO SELL IT

HARRINGTON ADAMS, - Fostoria, Ohio

PhD.

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A few hours of study and practice — and
THE PHOTOPLAY WRITER," by

can do it. It is easy to learn.

you are ready to write your play.

Leona Radnor ( writer for THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE),

gives complete instructions and advice. It contains a model scenario
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Price, 50 cents by mail postpaid.

LEONA RADNOR, 118 G, East 28th Street, New York City

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Old Gold, Platinum, Silver, Diamonds and Jewelry. Mail by parcel post.

Phila. Smelt. & Ref. Co., 832 Chestnu St., Phila., Pa. Est 21 years.

MUSIC PUBLISHERS

Song Poems Wanted

Send us your song poems or melodies.

They may become big hits and bring thousands
of dollars. Past experience unnecessary. Avail-
able work accepted for publication. Instructive
booklet and information free.

MARKS-GOLDSMITH CO.

Dept. 25, 506 14th Street. Washington, D. C.

©SONG POEMS WANTED©

I 11 write the music, secure copyright in your name and pay
you 50% royalty. One song may net you thousands.
For 1 5 years I have been publishing music in NEW YORK,
the home of all "hits." Have sold millions of copies.
Send your poems, with or without music, at once. Full par-
ticulars and valuable book FREE.

C. L. PARTEE, 800 Astor Theatre Bldg., N. Y. City

SONG POEMS WANTED-Send Words
or Music TOD AT. We pay 50%. Denned sell-
ing plan. Thousands of Dollars have been paid
for One Song. Publication and Copyright Guar-
anteed if Accepted. Your Song may make a
Big Hit. Washington Best City to Publish.
Publishers for 18 years. Bank reference.
Illustrated Book Free. HAYWORTH MUSIC
PUBLISHING CO., 649 G, Washington, D. C.

SONG POEMS

WANTED

We pay hundreds of
dollars a year to suc-
cessful song writers. Send us YOUR WORK
today, with or without music. Acceptance guar-
anteed, if available. Large book FREE.

DUGDALE COMPANY, Dept. 56, Washington, D. C.

Song Poems Wanted

WE PAT BIGGEST ROYALTY. Successful song-
writers make thousands of dollars yearly. YOTJ May Be

Next! Send US Your Poems, Melodies, Songs at once. New-
York ONI.Y Place To Popularize Songs. Our New Plan
Clearly Explained By Free Booklet.

N. FLEMING <S. CO., 1416 Broadway, New York

SONG WRITERS

I've Paid Thousands in Royalties to Song Writers

Pend your song poems or melodies to me for ace ptarce
or write for free booklet. Will pay you 50 per cent,
rovalty. Have sold millions of copies of sheet music.
Established 16 years in New York, "The Home of All
Hits." JOHN T. HALL, 11 Columbus Circle. New York.

This coupon counts for ten votes for

in the Popular Player Contest of
THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

168 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Gertrude Robinson picks up her skirts, as it were, to leave Reliance for Victor.
Victor always was a lucky fellow !

E. P. Sullivan, the famous actor, will shortly give his interpretation of Mathias in
"The Bells" for the Reliance Company. When the late Sir Henry Irving first pre-
sented this play in London, many hardened theatergoers were quite overcome with
emotion.

Tom Gallon, the author, has dramatized "The Man from Outside" for Irving Cum-
mings, of the Reliance Company, who will perform a remarkable double lead.

Ruth Roland and John Brennan make lots of fun out of their parts in "Parcel-
Post Johnnie." A jolly team, these two.

Dolores Cassinelli received eight proposals of marriage, all in one week, and not
in the pictures. One of her admirers was a German baron.

Barry O'Moore shows considerable versatility in an Edison play soon to be released,
which traces his life from a schoolboy to an old man.

William Lord Wright is writing Motion Picture paragraphs for a syndicate of
Sunday newspapers. Incidentally, he and another scenario expert of national fame,
A. W. Thomas, have been engaged by the Photoplay Clearing House, an institution
connected with this magazine.

The friends of Winnifred Greenwood are complimenting her on her work in "The
Sands of Time," a Selig allegorical theme.

Vitagraph has added a whole menagerie to their staff of actors. Just what
salaries these new players are getting is not stated.

Eleanor Blanchard (Essanay) received a parcel -post package the other day which
quite took her breath away. It contained a flesh-colored, plaster-of-paris cast of a hand.
Good thing it was not a black hand.

James Vincent, of "Trail of the Lonesome Pine" fame, is back with the Kalem
Company. "Prisoners of War" will record his first reappearance.

Victoria Ford (101 Bison), so often attacked by highwaymen in the pictures, was
recently attacked by one in real life at Universal City, Cal. She behaved like a real
heroine, as usual, altho she had only nineteen cents in her purse.

Ben Wilson (Edison) writes us interestingly from Long Beach, Cal. He says in
part : "In looking thru the principal piece of literature I have, I ran across a skit stat-
ing that I was a collector of steins. For the love of Mike, how did you discover it?
I certainly would hate to commit a crime and have you put on the job as a detective.
I have a very fine collection of steins — about 75. . . . How in thunder you dig up
all the information you give out I cant conceive. More power to you ! Your magazine
is great — very newsy and interesting. I liked the arrangement of my picture in
January issue — very classy, barring subject."

The latest from the Kalem studio is Alice Joyce as a foreign princess, the play
being based on a recent European romance.

Kathlyn Williams, of the Selig Company, according to measurements, is said to be
a rival of the famous Venus de Milo.

Jack Warren Kerrigan recently broke four fingers while trying to drop from a
tree onto a bandit in "Ashes of Three" (American).

Uxtra ! Uxtree ! John Bunny and Rose Tapley have gone to Washington to join
the suffragette hikers! Bunny, rigged as a "loidy pedestrian," will have a special
pageant of his own for the camera.

William Humphrey (Vitagraph) announces the coming appearance of Edith Storey
in "Empress Louise," with Miss Storey as the Empress, Julia Swayne Gordon as Jose-
phine, and Earle Williams as Talleyrand. The costuming and properties are those of
Julia Arthur's famous stage production.

Norma Talmadge is overbusy with her Belinda series of pictures. "Belinda the
Slavey" and "Sleuthing" will show her at her best as the adventurous servant-girl.

Sydney Drew, the well-known actor, has joined the Vitagraph forces. He will be
shown first in "The Still Voice."

ias±irj^ ^srajscvcEESj*; * v.

170 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Tom X Oarrigan is back with the Selig Company.

Rosemary Theby and Harry Northrup have had some cruel buffets in getting in
"Out of the Storm." On account of the open winter, the Vitagraph studio yard is three
feet deep in mud.

Carlyle Blackwell seems to be a decided success in character work. In "The
Honor System," his conception of a reformed convict is said to be a triumph.

Bryant Washburn (Essanay) was recently presented with a silver loving-cup by
the Gold Seal Club of Chicago.

Several enthusiasts want us to start a contest for the most popular villain. Why
not have a separate "Gallery of Picture Players" for them, and call it the "Rogues'
Gallery" ?

WTill those popular players never cease getting hurt? And now Wallace Reid
(American) is on crutches, having been thrown from his horse.

Harold Lockwood, Henry Otto and Eugenie Besserer are receiving congratulations
on their work in "Diverging Paths," a Selig play, in which a strong line of demarka-
tion is drawn between the right and the wrong.

Beverly Bayne recently went to Minneapolis on a mysterious, two-weeks' vacation.
Meanwhile, there will be no changes in the Essanay staff, but there may be a change of
name.

James K. Hackett announces that he will enact "The Bishop's Candlesticks" this
spring for the Stellar Company.

The newest picture beauty is Marguerite Courtot, of the Kalem Company, and she
is only sixteen years old. Watch out for her in "The Grim Toll of War."

Jack Kerrigan is now wearing store-clothes, having discarded his chaps and open
shirt to play dressed-up parts for a time.

The youngest photoplay director is said to be Herbert Brenon, of the Imp Com-
pany. The youngest leading woman is said to be Mazie Hartford, of the same company.
The oldest leading woman is — rather a tame winter we've had, wasn't it?

Albert McGovern, formerly with Lubin, then with Powers, is now directing for
Pathe Freres.

The question is: Who was the toastmaster at the dinner of the Screen Club in
honor of King Baggot, its founder — John Bunny or Arthur Johnson?

Martha Russell, formerly of the Essanay Company, and now of the Satex Com-
pany, of Austin, Tex., is supported by the following company : Robert Kelly, leading
man; Leopold Lane, character man; William H. Barwald, heavy and character;
P. Herbert Jack, juvenile and heavy ; Virginia Duncan, second lead and heavy ; Mrs.
Leona Soule, character woman; Marion Herbert, ingenue; Herman Lewis, character
and property man.

Ray Myers is now playing leading parts with Francis Ford for 101 Bison.

And now those Jersey City folks are claiming that they have Venus de Milo
beaten, and not Kathlyn Williams, but Octavia Handworth, is her modern counterpart.

Paul Panzer, long connected with Pathe Freres, has quite surpassed himself in an
interpretation of a character from sunny Italy in a play just finished by the Rooster
firm.

Gladys Field is back with Essanay. Hooray!

They now want us to start a contest for the most popular director. What next?
One enthusiast says that Harry Handworth would win, and, particularly, because he
has done so much for the uplift of Motion Pictures and is largely responsible for the
high moral tone of most of the Pathe plays.

Crane Wilbur is still receiving many letters a day in commendation of his dual
work in "The Texas Twins" and "The Compact."

Cute little Mildred Hutchinson nearly fell out of a Pathe hydroaeroplane piloted by
Mr. Coffyn recently. Suggestive name !

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IP TiKT MONEY TO YOU

1 The Most Individual Journal o 1 Its Kind "

THE PHOTO PLAY DRAMATIST

A Snappy Journal of Pungent Criticism and Comment
A Treasury of Suggestions of Inestimable Value to Writers
If you are a writer or contemplate becoming one
you cannot afford to be without this valued medium. 3 Mo.
Trial Subscription 25 cents, Silver or Stamps.

The Photo Play Dramatist

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Cleveland, Ohio

BAD LEGS,
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ELECTRIC LIGHTING PLANTS

fiO- VOI T DIRECT CURRENT SAVES ITS COST IN A
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FEMALE HELP WANTED

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HELP WANTED

"VfOUNG MAN, would you accept and wear a fine tailor-made
x suit just for showing it to your friends ? Or a Slip-on
Rain-coat Free ? Could you use $5 a day for a little spare
time ? Perhaps we can offer you a steady job ? If you live in
a town smaller than 10.000, write at once and get beautiful
samples, styles and this wonderfnl offer.

Banner Tailoring Company, Dept. 151, Chicago

BECOME a Photoplay Actor or Actress.
One of the most pleasant and well paid
of professions. Send stamp for particulars.
THE P. A. BOOKING OFFICES

ASHLAND, OHIO

SUBSCRIPTION REPRESENTATIVES WANTED

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE
WANTS SUBSCRIPTION REPRESENTATIVES

I WILL START YOU earning $4 daily at home in
spare time, silvering mirrors; no capital. Send for free
instructive booklet, giving plans of operation. G. F.
Redmond, Dept. C.-S., Boston, Mass.

MEN.— Earn SlOO to $150 monthly investigating; chance
to see the world with ail expenses paid. Write, l<oraine
System, Sept. 308, Boston, Mass.

THE MYSTERIOUS BEGGAR

By MAJOR ALBERT A. DAY

"We have purchased all of the remaining
copies of this popular book (about 500), and
now offer them for sale for 50 cents a copy,
postage prepaid. The former price was $1.50.
They are neatly bound in cloth, illustrated,

450 pages, title in gold. The story is founded
on facts, is intensely interesting, and was
written to interest all, but especially mem-
bers of charitable and reformatory organi-
zations.

In order to introduce The Motion Picture Story Magazine to new readers, we will give a trial
subscription for four months, and mail a copy of this book free on receipt of 50 cts. in 2-cent stamps.

THE M. P. PUBLISHING CO. - - 26 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

172

POPULAR PLAYER CONTEST

(Continued from page 122.)

It is to be hoped that the "somebody else" will not object to this frank
declaration :

MY FAVORITE.

ong I've known and loved her well,
A nd yet my love I cannot tell,
U nless these lines should reach her eyes.
R enown has she, and more, by far —
A las ! she is a photostar.

S he's seen on the screen at the photoshow,

A nd she's loved and watched for by all who go

W here Edison films on the screen are thrown.

Y outhful and sweet in these pictures she's shown.

E very one, now, if he looks long and well,

R ightly can guess what the first letters spell.

G. A. H.

We were unable to collect and classify all the verses, letters and ballots
that have been coming in in recent mails. As we go to press, we are able to
give the returns according to the first count only. No doubt, when this is
read, the following list will have been greatly altered, the figures multiplied,
and the relative positions of the players greatly changed. Hence, next month,
when this page goes to press, it will probably bear but little resemblance to
this one. Please note that no vote will be counted unless bearing the signature
of the voter. Voters are requested to send all communications intended for
this department to "Editor Popular Player Contest," 26 Court Street,
Brooklyn, N. Y.

THE STANDING OF THE PLAYERS

Florence Turner (Vitagraph) 1,330

G. M. Anderson (Essanay) 1,320

Warren Kerrigan (American) 1,260

Earle Williams (Vitagraph) 1,129

Carlyle Black well (Kalem) 1,125

Arthur Johnson (Lubin) 920

Ormi Hawley (Lubin) 880

Whitney Raymond (Essanay) 855

Maurice Costello ( Vitagraph ) 840

Florence Lawrence 677

Edward K. Lincoln (Vitagraph) .... 570

Edith Storey (Vitagraph) 508

Mary Fuller (Edison) 480

Gertrude Robinson (Victor) 477

Adele De Garde (Vitagraph) 460

Clara Kimball Young (Vitagraph) . . 440

Lillian Walker (Vitagraph) .... 438

Paul Panzer (Pathe) , 430

Francis Bushman 420

Gwendoline Pates (Pathe) 397

Crane Wilbur (Pathe) 350

Pearl White ( Crystal) 330

Marguerite Snow (Thanhouser) . . . . 320

Muriel Ostriche ( Reliance) 260

Pauline Bush (American) 229

Romaine Fielding (Lubin) 226

Howard Mitchell (Lubin) 211

Guy Coombs (Kalem) 210

Edwin August (Poioers) 202

Mary Piekford 170

Florence LaBadie (Thanhouser) 159

Charles Arthur, ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, 135

Gene Gauntier (O. G. Co.)

Beverly Bayne (Essanay)

Robert Vignola (Kalem)

. . 133

. . 120
. . 119

Harry Beaumont (Edison)

116

Blanche Sweet

. . 115

J. J. Clark (G. G. Co.)

Frederick Church (Essanay)

Augustus Phillips (Edison)

. . 114
. . Ill
. . Ill

Marc McDermott (Edison)

Leah Baird (Vitagraph)

. . 110
110

George Gebhardt (Pathe)

Mabel Normand (Keystone)

Louise Glaum (Nestor)

. . 110
. . 106
. . 101

Julia S. Gordon (Vitagraph)

J. B. Budworth (Majestic)

Dolores Cassinelli (Essanay)

Ruth Roland (Kalem)

John Bunny (Vitagraph)

. . 100
. . 100
. . 100
. . 100
30

Edward Coxen (American)

Frank Dayton (Essanay)

Betty Gray (Pathe)

25
24
20

Harry Myers (Lubin)

Octavia Handworth (Pathe)

Bessie Eyton (Selig )

20
14
13

Roger Lytton (Vitagraph)

Dorothv Kelly (Vitagraph)

George Lessey (Edison)

Bessie Learn (Edison)

Mrs. Mary Maurice (Vitagraph , . .

Kenneth Casey ( Vitagraph )

Marie Eline (Thanhouser)

10
10
10

William Russell (Thanhouser) , . ,

, 10

PICTURES AND POSTCARDS

YOUR FAVORITE

A handsome set of seventeen of the most popular
actors and actresses of the moving picture world,
mailed to you for twenty-five cents; or ten cents for
sample set of five. Send the names of some of your
favorites or their companies to

THE FILM PORTRAIT CO.
349 President Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

REAL PHOTOGRAPHS on postcards of Leading
Photoplayers mailed for 5 ceDts each. Kindly include
postage on orders of less than 5 cards.
C, S. SCOTT, 169 Warren St., Brooklyn, M". Y.

REAL PHOTOGRAPHS of women of beautiful form.
Three fascinating poses, 25c; 7, including one 6J^x8^ photo,
50c. New book. Kate, 10c. Cat. classy books and pictures.
ATOZ CO., 17, WEST JEFFERSOX, O.

MARRY RICH S2SSDS80anx,^8-to m^rpy-

THE UNITY,

Descriptions and photos free.
Station D, Grand Rapids, Mich.

SOXG POEMS, sell for cash or have published free.

Write for best plan ever offered a beginner. M A NUSCR1PTS
SALES COMPANY, 53 West 28th Street, New York City.

Phone 3818 Main

ARTISTIC BOOKBINDING

Why not have the complete set of The Motion Picture
Stokt Magazine

Bound— 90 cents cloth. $1.00 canvas.
$1.75 Half Morocco, gilt top.
Let me estimate on other work before you give an order.

WILLIAM VON HEILL
349 ADAMS STREET, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

100 v

ELPS

TO LIVE

YEARS

This little book is from the
pen of " The Photoplay Phi-
losopher," otherwise known as
" Dr. Sunbeam." It contains
100 terse, pithy, common-
sense paragraphs on

RIGHT LIVING

and should be read by every-
body who wants to live 1 00
years.

Mailed to any address on re-
ceipt of price, 1 0c in 2c stamps.

CALDRON PUB. CO.

24 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

TYPEWRITERS— SUPPLIES

ACCENTS' PTJTfHES One Machine at Wholesale price to
^^ ° aaw-v/j^ introauce OUr goods. Bargains in
every make. Typewriters from $5.00 up.
Standard Typewriter Exchange, S3 ParkRow, N.Y.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

26 COURT STREET, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

26 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

Sirs :— Enclosed find $1.50 ($2.00 Canada, $2.50 Foreign), for which send me The Motion Picture

Story Magazine for one year, beginning with the number, together with the

twelve colored art portraits as announced.

Name

Street

City.

State .

Photographs for Sale

Here's the Opportunity of a Lifetime!

During the last two years THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE has accumulated about 1,500
photographs that were sent to us by the leading manufacturers of Motion Pictures, most of which have
appeared in the magazine. They are mostly pictures taken from the popular photoplays, and include
such famous pictures as "A Blot in the 'Scutcheon," "A Tale of Two Cities," "The Kerry Gow,"
"Martin Ohuzzlewit," "Vanity Fair," etc., etc. The sizes vary from 3x5 to 10x14, and many of the
photos are mounted on tinted bristol board, with artistic designs drawn or painted around them.
Almost every popular player is represented in these pictures, including Mary Pickford, Costello, Arthur
Johnson, G. M. Anderson, Alice Joyce, and all the favorites. We also have a lot of original drawings,
cartoons and sketches that have been reproduced in the magazine and we are now prepared to sell them
and the photographs to our readers.

It is impossible to give a catalog and price list, but we may say that the prices of these pictures
and drawings will vary from 25c. each to $2, and one or two, like the Christmas tree, will be $5 or
more. You may send us any amount you please, say 25c, or 50c, or $1, or $2, or $25, stating about
what you would like, and we assure you that you will get your money's worth and more too. We can-
not, however, guarantee to give you just what you want. You may ask for the title-piece of "The
Vengeance of Durand," which, by the way, measures about 9x24, and it may have been sold (price $2).
Or, you may ask for any scenes containing photos of Florence Lawrence, and we may have none left.
Hence, it is advisable for you to state several pictures you want, and we will try to accommodate you
with at least one that is on your list and we will come as near to the others as we can. In case you
want a certain picture or uone, send us the amount you wish to pay, and if we cannot supply that
certain picture at that price we will return the money to you. We have no regular scale of prices;
you must leave that to our sense of fairness and business honesty. Here is a model letter to guide you
in sending in your order: "Art Department, Motion Picture Story Magazine, 26 Court St., Brooklyn,
N. Y. : I enclose $1.00 for which send me one dollar's worth of photographs. I prefer pictures in which
Alice Joyce, John Bunny, G. M. Anderson or Crane Wilbur appear, but if I cant get these, send me
what you please. I prefer mounted pictures with designs around, and would rather have one or two
large handsome ones than four small ones."

PEN and INK DRAWINGS

of Noted Photoplayers

We have had made up and neatly framed 100 drawings of

ALICE JOYCE

An Elegant and Classy Picture for Any Home!

We will send one of these framed pictures, carefully wrapped, charges prepaid, to any address
in the United States on receipt of $1.50.

Or, to any person sending in two new subscriptions to The Motion Picture Story Magazine,
at $1.50 each, we will send one of these framed pictures free.

This offer holds good until the 100 are gone.

Other similar pictures of Noted Photoplayers will be offered from time to time; next month
one of MAR V FULLER.

Why Not Get the Complete Series as They Come Out?

If you wish to do your own framing, we will mail one of these drawings (unframed) to any
address for 50 cents in one- or two-cent stamps, or coin.

We will give one of these unframed drawings with one new subscription ($1.50) to The Motion
Picture Story Magazine. This offer does not include the colored portraits announced on another
page.

THE MOTION PICTURE STOR-Y MAGAZINE

26 Court Street, Brooklyn. N. Y.

The Ridgely's R^eatcK Atlanta., G©l.

CL?:0 RIDGELT and her husband, J. M. RIDGELY, who are making a rip from Brooklyn. N. Y., to San Francisco, Cal., by
horseback, under tbe direction of THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE, are, at date of going to press, in Atlanta, Ga.
Tbey are not trying to make a record trip, and frequently stop from two days to one week in the cities thru which they pass.
Below is given tbe route which they will follow :

Atlanta, Ga., Feb. 35th to March 5th
Anniston, Ala., March lOth
Birmingham, Ala., March 15th
Bessemer, Ala., March 20th
Tuscaloosa, Ala., March 33d
Fork, Ala., March 25th

Meridian, Miss., March 30th
»lackson, Miss., April 5th
Vicksburg, Miss., April lOth
Delta, La., April 15th
Monroe, La., April 20th
Shreveport, La., April 25th

Marshall, Texas, April 27th
Tyler, Texas, April 28th
Corsicana, Texas, April 29th
Terrell, Texas, April 30th
Dallas, Texas, May 1st to 5th
Fort Worth, Tex., May 5th to 7th

All exhibitors desiring to have Mr. and Mrs. Ridgely appear at their theaters can make arrangements by corresponding with us direct.
THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE, 26 COURT STREET, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

■MHHMMHMWiBMMmMi

MOVING PICTURES

HOW THEY ARE MADE AND WORKED
By FREDERICK A. TALBOT

THE BOOK OF THE YEAR

No person interested in Motion Pictures can afford to be without it

LAVISHLY ILLUSTRATED

340 pages ; cloth bound ; size 6x85; nearly 2 inches thick ; full of drawings,
engravings, portraits and diagrams

Altho the rage for Moving Pictures has spread like wildfire all over the coun-
try, so that every township has its Cinematograph Palace, the eternal question, "How
is it done?" is still on the lips of the audience. It is an extraordinary fact that this
is the FIRST BOOK EVER PUBLISHED ON CINEMATOGRAPHY suitable for the
layman. , The author has had the help of all the great originators and inventors, and
he has managed to make the Romance "behind the scenes" of the bioscope as alluring
as the actual performance. He tells us how, for instance, a complete company of
players and a menagerie were transported to the depths of California to obtain sen-
sational jungle pictures; how a whole village was destroyed in imitating an Indian
raid; a house erected only to be burned down realistically in a play, and a hundred
other exciting and bewildering incidents.

The author deals with the history of the invention, its progress, its insuperable
difficulties which somehow have been overcome. He gives, too, a full and lucid
description of the cameras, the processes of developing the long celluloid films, the
printing and projection, etc. He takes us to the largest studios of the world, where
mammoth productions costing $30,000 are staged, and explains how they are man-
aged— the trick pictures among others, some of the most ingenious artifices of the
human imagination. He describes in detail Dr. Commandon's apparatus for making
Moving Pictures of microbes; M. Bull's machine, which takes 2,000 pictures a second,
thereby enabling us to photograph the flight of a bullet through a soap bubble, or
tiny insects on the wing. The combination of X-rays and Cinematography which can
show the digestive organs at work and the new color processes such as the Kinema-
color have received detailed attention. So much that is new appears as we read, so
wonderful are the powers of the invention, that we have a whole new world opened
up before us, with possibilities the like of which the most of us have never even
dreamed.

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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

TABLE OF CONTENTS, MAY, 1913

GALLERY OF PICTURE PLAYERS:

PAGE

Lois Weber (Rex) i

Maata Horomona (Melies) 2

Eleanor Blanchard (Essanay) 3

Edna Payne (Lubin) 4

Princess Mona Darkfeather (Univ) 5

Flora Finch (Vita) 6

Martha Russell (Satex) 7

Miriam Nesbitt (Edison) 8

Ruth Roland (Kalem). 9

Lillian Wiggins (Pathe Freres) 10

PAGE

Virginia Westbrook (Punch) 11

Mildred Gregory (Lubin) 12

Edna Flugrath (Edison) 13

Mary Charleson (Vita) 14

George Stanley (Vita) 14

Romaine Fielding (Lubin) 15

Edward Boulden (Edison) 16

Carlyle Blackwell (Kalem. Colored art
insert to subscribers only).

PHOTOPLAY STORIES:

Diamond Cut Diamond Fritz Krog 17

The Children's Conspiracy Gladys Roosevelt 24

How Chief Te Ponga Won His Bride Edwin M. La Roche 31

The Artist's Great Madonna Henry Albert Phillips 39

The Unknown Peter Wade 49

The Little Tease Rodothy Lennod 57

In the Days of War Karl Schiller 65

The Fire-Fighting Zouaves Norman Bruce 75

Dick Whittington and His Cat John Olden 85

With the Eyes of the Blind Montanye Perry 93

The Bishop's Candlesticks.

Dorothy Donnell 101

SPECIAL ARTICLES AND DEPARTMENTS :

The Modern Photoplay Theater Drawing by C. IV. Fryer 39

Musings of "The Photoplay Philosopher" in

High-Gride Exploitation of Photoplays Robert Grau 115

How to Become a Photoplayer Drawing by Bernard Gallagher 116

Popular Player Contest 117

Ormi Hawley Drawing by A. B. Sliults 123

Dispelling the Clouds Drawing by A. B. Shults 124

Chats with the Players 125

The Adventures of a Picture Star Drawing by C. H. Townc 130

Answers to Inquiries 131

Greenroom Jottings 166

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Entered at the Brooklyn, N. Y., Post Office as second-class matter.
Owned a-nd published by The M. P. Publishing Co., a New York corporation, its
office and principal place of business, No. 175 Duffield Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

•J. Stuart Blackton, President; E. V. Brewster, Sec.-Treas. Subscription, $1.50 a year
in advance, including postage in the U. S., Cuba, Mexico and Philippines; in Canada, $2;
in foreign countries, $2.50. Single copies, 15 cents, postage prepaid. Stamps accepted
(2 or 1 cent stamps only). We do not want scenarios, stories and plots except when
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STAFF FOR THE MAGAZINE:
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Edwin M. La Roche,) ... pdirnrs Guy L- Harrington, Circulation Manager.

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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE, 175 Duffield St, Brooklyn, N. Y.

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After reading these stories, ask your theater manager to show you the films on the screen !

MAATA HOROMONA

(Melius)
(The native leading woman in " Hinemoa )

ELEANOR BLANCHARD (Essanay)

PRINCESS MONA DARKFEATHER
(Universal)

FLORA FINCH (Vitagraph)

MARTHA RUSSELL

(Satex)

CARLYLE BLACKWELL.

(kalem)

PICTURE SECTION OF THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE, MAY, 1913

MILDRED GREGORY
(Lubin)

ROMA1NE FIELDING
( Lubin )

EDWARD BOULDEN
(Edison)

CCI.B266848

MAY, 1913

Vol. V

No. 4

Diamond Cut Diamond

(Lubin)

By FRITZ KROG

This story was written from the Photoplay by JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD

Had little Jo possessed one modi-
cum less of that rare courage
with which Nature often en-
dows little women, perhaps to make
up for their lack of inches, hers might
have been the common tragedy of the
little sister. But she had that cour-
age in so generous a measure that the
bare thought of tragedy never crept
into her mind. Not even the months
of neglect and snubbing at the hands
of her proud and selfish sister, Bella,
and the two suitors, Atwood and John
Sargent, had shaken her faith in her-
self. What it meant to little Jo, in
tears and heartaches, to be thrust into
the background every time one or the
other, or both, had called at the house,
only other little sisters, who have been
eclipsed by other older sisters, are
duly qualified to tell. But what it
had meant to little Jo when the news
came that John Sargent had been
landed behind the bars, nobody ex-
cept little Jo could tell, and she would
not tell, because she knew that she
could never get him out if anybody
should learn how much she wanted to
get him out.

Days she watched and waited for
an opportunity to prove his inno-
cence. She knew that he had been
falsely imprisoned. She knew that
Atwood was at the bottom of the
fraud. She knew that he had lured
John into the gambling-den, in the
first place, to bring about his disgrace.
She knew that Atwood had trumped
up a charge of attempted man-
slaughter against him, so that no
amount of bail could free him even
temporarily. She knew that all this
was part and parcel of the fight to
win Bella. In her heart she knew all
these things. John had declared them
to be so, over and over again ; and she
knew he had spoken the truth. In
her heart she knew, because she be-
lieved in the goodness of John Sar-
gent, in his manliness, his sincerity.
And she loved him, despite his infat-
uation for Bella.

But to prove that he, a struggling
young mining-engineer, unknown and
without influential friends, had been
the victim of Atwood's machinations
— Atwood, the rich and powerful
owner of newspapers, the overlord of

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

election precincts and the pet of
society — to prove that he had engaged
in such a wild and daring enterprise
as the false imprisonment of a fellow-
man; to prove this to the satisfaction
of a cold, matter-of-fact court of law
was quite another matter from know-
ing in the depths of her heart that
these things were. Little Jo had
read of such occurrences in stories,

more attention to little Jo, other than
to twit her for being a much too
solemn little miss, even if she were in
the presence of a hardened criminal
and in the shadow of a jail. He
smiled, too, one day, when she told
him, with her whole soul in the words,
that he must be of good cheer: she
was thinking, day and night, for a
way to help him, and watching and

LITTLE JO IS NEGLECTED BY BELLA AND HER SUITORS

but in her wildest flights of imagina-
tion she had not dreamed that they
would ever be present in the real
chapters of her life.

That Atwood had revealed his ras-
cality out of love for Bella did not
surprise Jo so much as the revelation
that John wanted his freedom mainly
to succeed in the cause which had
taken it from him. When Jo visited
him in his cell, he spent their precious
minutes asking questions about Bella,
and when, at length, she came to him
with a wavering faith, he paid no

waiting for an opportunity to make
him a free man again.

"Go to it, little Hawkshaw,,, he
said lightlv, and began talking of
Bella.

Perhaps on that very same day,
perhaps on another, for Jo did not re-
member the occasion afterwards, he
spoke casually of Blake, whom she
never forgot as long as she lived.
There were occasions, during her
closest acquaintance with him, when
she would have been glad to forget
him, as she forgot the exact time when

DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND

she first learnt of him. But he was
so necessary to her plans — he and his
odious friendship.

When John spoke his name she
wondered why she had not thought of
him before. He was the reporter who
had covered the story of the gambling-
den raid, the beginning of John's
troubles, and she had seen him, at
times, in the jail. That John did not
consider him of importance
in the case made little differ-
ence to her. He might know
something, she considered,
and he presented, at least, a
hope.

It was a great drain on
little Jo's stock of courage
to make Blake's acquaint-
ance. He was the kind of
man good women despise
whole-heartedly. He was a
rat, unclean of mind, un-
wholesome. Little Jo shud-
dered the first time she
looked into his eyes, tho she
scarcely knew what the bold
stare meant, with which he
took in her prettiness. But
she was not lacking in
courage. She went bravely
to lunch with him, and
smiled at him across the
table. She made appoint-
ments with him on street-
corners and met him, some-
times at night, in the gar-
den back of her home.

At every meeting she won
more and more of his con-
fidence, until, one eventful
night in the garden, she ran
away from him, with his boast ringing
in her ears that he knew all about the
Sargent affair. He had said no more,
and, besides, she knew he was too
crafty to tell more.

As she crept into bed, tired and un-
strung with the ordeal of having
learnt so much, she wondered if she
could match her craft with his. Thru
the whole of that night she wondered
and wondered.

That she had run away from him
would not undo the work she had
done. She knew she could easily

bring him to see her again. But what
to do at their next meeting puzzled
her thru the weary watches of the
night, and not until near morning did
a plausible plan present itself. It
was almost fantastical in its boldness,
and the difficulties which beset it
would have weakened any but the
stoutest heart.

A forthcoming masquerade party,

SHE KNEW THAT ATWOOD HAD TRUMPED UP A
CHARGE OF ATTEMPTED MANSLAUGHTER
AGAINST SARGENT "

which had drifted unbidden across
her fagged mind, had suggested it.
She almost laughed as she thought of
it, and only the recollection that
John's freedom might depend on it
sobered her. In this mood she arose,
tho it was just past three in the morn-
ing, and, stealing downstairs into the
library, took from a desk there a
bright, nickel-plated revolver. Gin-
gerly, between two fingers, she car-
ried it to her room, and laid it on her
dressing-table beside a package which
she had brought here the day before.

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

This she opened, and lifted out a wig
and false beard.

That done, she seated herself at a
little desk in one corner of the room
and wrote a note to Blake. It was
very short, containing a simple invi-
tation to call at the house that night.
She added that no one would be at
home except herself, and that if he

"You will be wondering, " she
said, turning on the light, "why I
am so mysterious. ' '

He had followed her without ques-
tion, and he grinned now as he
blinked about the trim little room,
with its girl's knick-knacks, its desk,
its dresser and its bed.

"Well, you've got me guessing,"

IT WAS A GREAT DRAIN ON LITTLE JO'S STOCK OF COURAGE TO
/MAKE BLAKE 's ACQUAINTANCE"

would come thru the backyard she
would meet him there at nine o 'clock.
As she had expected, he came
promptly on the hour, and she met
him close by the garden wall. Never
had his thin, bony face, his thick lips
and close-set eyes been so loathsome to
her as when he thrust his head over
the wall and leered expectantly at
her. She laid her fingers on her lips,
and motioning him to follow, led the
way into the house and into her room.

he admitted, with another of those
smiles which little Jo had learnt to
hate from the depths of her soul.

"I want you to try these on," she
continued, and held forth the false
beard and wig.

He looked his amazement.

"Come," she said, with a smile, "I
want to see how they'll look. Brother
is going to wear them at the bal
masque."

Perhaps he took her strange re-

DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND

quest as a whim, or as a gentle hoax,
for he shrugged his shoulders, and
when she wet the disguise with her
lips and clapped it on his face, he
made no resistance.

"How funny you look!" she said,
and pushed him to the mirror —
"there!"

As he gazed at himself, she dropped
a little wrist-bag, which she had been
carrying, into his pocket, and, step-
ping quickly to her desk, took from it
the revolver.

' ' Throw up your hands ! ' ' she com-
manded sharply.

So quickly and so cleverly had she
managed the whole affair, that the
blank look of surprise with which he
had first viewed the disguise had not
departed from his face when he
turned, to find himself staring into
the barrel of the revolver. Behind it
he saw the most determined little
woman and the most resolute blue
eyes he had ever encountered. Yet
he could not fathom her intent. He
merely looked more amazed than ever.

"Throw up vour hands," she re-
peated, "or I '11 fire!"

"Is this part of the joke?" he
began.

"We'll see," she replied, and, with
a quick movement, tore open the
drawer of her desk and spilled its
contents on the floor.

At the same instant, she began
screaming at the top of her lungs :

"Burglars! Help, help!" Her
voice rang with protest.

"You're carrying this too far !" he
exclaimed, making a step toward her.
"You'll stir up the whole neighbor-
hood!"

' ' Dont move another step ! ' ' she
commanded sharply, and fired.

The bullet struck the floor at his
feet. He staggered back, holding up
his hands in horror.

"Dont," he cried, "dont do that
again!"

"Listen," she continued rapidly —
she needed all her courage now —
"you're right, that the whole neigh-
borhood with be roused. Here's
somebody now." She sighed with
relief.

The door behind her had been
opened, and her father, an elderly
gentleman with a gray beard, stood
on the threshold, and over his shoul-
der looked Bella, dashing, imperious
Bella. Little Jo had never been so
glad to see her.

"I have caught a burglar," Jo
gasped. "Search him."

Blake, cowering beside the dresser,
was like a rat cornered. While they
were going thru his clothes, two men,
who had heard the shot, came in from
the street. They helped hold Blake,
who had grown frantic in his protests
of innocence. They found little Jo's
wrist-bag in his pocket, and, con-
sidering his disguise and the dis-
arrayed desk drawer, bound him hand
and foot and sent for the police. But
Jo had not finished with him. The
most important part of her scheme
remained to be carried out.

With a fierce, irresistible energy,
she cleared the room of all but herself
and her victim. Her father and Bella
were reluctant to go, but she fairly
made them do what she asked. There
was no stopping Jo, now that she saw
success within her reach.

"Now, then," she said, turning on
Blake when they were alone, ' ■ I want
you to write a full account and a true
account of how Jchn Sargent was im-
prisoned. If you do that, I'll see to
it that you are not arrested."

Sullenly he acquiesced, and she
undid his arms so that he could write.
As much her will, her vehemence, her
courage made him write as her threat,
for they were stronger than it. The
letter, carefully framed, became one
of Jo's most cherished possessions in
later and calmer days. It was not
long, but perhaps no stranger docu-
ment was ever written under stranger
circumstances. It told, in full detail,
how Atwood had lured John Sargent
into a gambling-den with a forged
letter; how John had been arrested
there during a raid planned by At-
wood; how, when John had secured
bail and had gone to Atwood for
redress, he had been led into a quarrel,
which Atwood had used as an excuse
to secure his arrest for assault with

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

intent to kill; how Atwood had paid
Blake to help him; how Atwood had
bribed a certain policeman to carry
out his wishes ; how he was planning
to approach a certain judge to secure
John's conviction. All these un-
scrupulous proceedings have become
ancient history in the city where Jo
dwelt. For weeks afterwards the
papers were printing the story. But

Bella was doing with it. She knew.
And, with a fresh strength coming
from that knowledge, she sped to the
city prison. The turnkey, who had
come to know her from her frequent
visits there, admitted her, with a
smile, and, as if to make a mockery of
her pain, told her that Bella and
John Sargent were waiting for her,
As little Jo stood just within the

JO, I'VE JUST BEEN TELLING JOHN HOW YOU WON THE DAY FOR US:

to little Jo, her revolver pressed on
Blake's head, the record of villainy
upon villainy, growing under his
hand, seemed like part of a weird, in-
tangible dream, in which she herself
was one of the gossamer figures.

Perhaps from this sense of the un-
reality of it all, or from the excite-
ment when the police arrived, she
allowed the paper to get out of her
hand, and when she wanted it again,
she learnt that Bella had taken it.
Little Jo did not stop to ask what

doorway of the bleak little room
where visitors may meet the unfortu-
nate dwellers in this house of shame,
she saw Bella standing by John's
side, reading the precious paper with
him, and there was so much joy and
so much light in their faces that her
wonderful courage forsook her at last.
Perhaps she had never before quite
worded her feeling for John Sargent.
Perhaps she had half -believed it was
a desire for justice and fair play that
had been behind all her midnight-

DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND

ponderings and waking thoughts dur-
ing the last few weeks. But now she
knew, with a certainty that gripped
her heart and blurred her eyes, that
it was the man himself — the big,
broad-shouldered bulk of him, the
eyes, the straight, fine hair, his strong,
gentle hands. And now his look was
all for her beautiful sister, all his

thoughts and his love Without

a word, she turned to leave.

"Jo!"

It was Bella's voice. In sheer
amazement little Jo halted and, facing
about again, saw her sister hastening
toward her. And yet this did not
seem at all like her sister. There was
none of that selfish, proud light in
her eyes which little Jo had learnt
to know so well. Her very head
seemed to have lost its domineering
poise, and when she spoke there was
none of the old autocratic command
in her voice, but it was soft and
sweet.

"Jo," she said, taking Jo's hand
in hers with a wonderful tenderness,
"I've just been telling John how you
won the dav for us. ' '

In a maze of emotions, little Jo
could make no reply. She had need
of none, for just behind Bella stood
John Sargent, his arms outstretched.
With a cry of joy, little Jo leaped
into them, come to her own at last.

There were no words — what need
of them? In the presence of Life's
Great Moments words shrink back,
ashamed of their helplessness. A man
does not thank his mother for bearing
him, or his sweetheart for saving his
honor. A girl does not thank a man
for loving her. But the long, restless
nights; the days filled with baffled
experiences; the loathsome compan-
ionship with Blake — all these things
were as tho they never had been. His
kiss, shy, tremulous on her unbeliev-
ing lips, was full measure of atone-
ment.

Bella left them then. As she
passed the turnkey at the outer door,
he remarked how she was crying. But
there was a light behind the veil of
tears, which denied that she wept for
sorrow. It was for joy, the supreme
joy of humankind, the joy of having
done the ' ' square thing. ' '

"Egoism, Sure Enough"

By LEON KELLEY

o me the passing millions bow,

The while my shadows flare and flicker,
As thru the field of light my sinews plow,

Causing a million hearts to beat the quicker.
For I am marvelous; I am supreme,

A little instrument with mighty power,
And in my wake there flows a golden stream

Of riches, ever widening hour by hour.
Long am I as the shadows, and as thin,

Inflammable, translucent, coolly smooth ;
Across the dark, like comet-flash, I spin,

The sad to gladden, the downcast to soothe.
My thoughts are visible, enlarged tenfold,

Telling of red-eyed war, and love and hate;
Of haggard poverty and wealth, of young and old;

Of human joys and woes, and Chance, and Fate.
I show man's wistful eyes strange lands afar,

Strange lives that move across the heaving sea ;
I teach the wonder of the things that are,

The greater wonder of the things to be.
Eternity, my power's only bound,

The earth itself my kingdom and my realm ;
A monarch, I, of all the world around —

I am the mighty and exalted film.

(THAfilHOUSEl

. . Gladys Kpo&Evta

It was almost eight o'clock by the
big, gold watch which you pulled
out of Father's vest pocket by
tugging at the heavy, gold chain.
You were a little late this morning,
you and Sister Betty. It must have
been because you stayed awake long
after lights were out last night, turn-
ing a deaf ear to the expectant elves
and goblins creeping about in the
shadows while you and Betty dis-
cussed the present you should take to
the Pansy-Lady in the morning.

The Pansy-Lady was your teacher
at the little schoolhouse down the
road. She had another name which
'most everybody called her by, but
you and Betty had given her this one
the minute you saw her, because her
eyes were just the color of the purple
pansies Betty liked best, and her hair
was just the color of the yellow
pansies you liked best. To her face,
of course, you always called her
Teacher, but when you thought of her
and talked of her, you and Betty, she
was the Pansy-Lady.

Last night you had announced that
you were going to give her that queer,
brown apple-thing you had found in
the woods while hunting for pussy-
willows, and Betty had declared that
the thing was no good, and, anyway,
it might be full of ants and worms;
that you'd better take a real apple, so
the Pansy-Lady could eat it. You did

not think it half so interesting to take
a real apple ; why, you had taken
those and oranges and stuff like that
ever so many times all winter long,
and, besides, you knew it was not full
of ants and worms. But Betty had
been firm, and so, after carrying the
discussion to the point where your
giving in would seem most graceful,
you had agreed not to take the Thing.
Anyway, you would like to see what
was inside that thing, and now you
could break it open for yourself to-
morrow !

So it was rather later than usual
when you had composed yourself for
sleep. As a result, fully half of your
shredded-wheat island had to be left
floating in its sea of cream next morn-
ing. And you scrambled into your
coat, grabbed your hat and books,
stuffed the biggest, reddest apple into
your pocket, submitted, absent-mind-
edly, to parental kisses and admoni-
tions as to mud and pocket-handker-
chiefs.

Betty was already half-way down
the walk as you ran down the steps.
You gave a hasty glance in the direc-
tion of the Pansy-Lady's cottage, and
then became absorbed in a studied
search for the first crocuses, leaving
Betty to do the preliminary waving.
When the Pansy-Lady was within
shouting distance, however, you were
the first to gain her side. Then, with

TEE CEILDREN'S CONSPIRACY

you and Betty holding her by the
hands, you three traveled along to
school, and the Pansy-Lady had a
busy time of it keeping up with your
rapid-fire of conversation, mostly
questions.

"That's my Father's bank," you
told her for the hundredth time,
waving your arm proudly toward the
building full of windows on the
corner.

" It is ! " she exclaimed.

"Yes, and my Father let me hold
five hundred dollars in bills in my
hand, all at the same time ! ' ' you
boasted.

"My !" she breathed awfully.

"Um — um! they felt awfully nice,
too; smooth and rattly and very
thick," you informed her, with a
superior air.

' ' Gracious ! you talk like a regular
miser," she said jokingly.

"What is a miser?" put in Betty,
curiously.

"A miser is a person who has lots

and lots of money and spends all his
time trying to get more. But he
always keeps it for himself, and never
helps other people with it. There's a
miser over there on the other side of
the street now."

And, looking across, you saw old
Sol Smith, who, you had heard your
Father say, was the meanest man
in town, and hadn't contributed a
cent toward the new church-steeple.
Whereupon, you decided not to devote
your life to making money, after all,
but, instead, you would turn your
attention to becoming President.

"What makes him so bent over?"
Betty demanded.

"Counting out his money all the
time, ' ' the Pansy-Lady told her.

After that you and Betty tried to
sit up very straight in school and at
the dinner-table, and, when Father
came home, you watched to see if he
sat up straight, and when he did, you
decided to let him go on owning the
bank.

OLD SOL, THE MISER, INCURS THE CHILDREN S DISLIKE

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

When you got to school you had to
divide the Pansy-Lady's hand with
lots of her little boys and girls, and
stand by while she manufactured
kisses for the little girls. That was
one thing you never ceased to wonder
about — why it was that girls had to
be told every day that she loved them.
Boys didn't. They just knew by the
way she looked at them when they
brought her presents. Girls were
queer things, anyway, you decided.

answer-me-if-you-dare look that you
felt like sulking 'way down in your
seat and being disagreeable all the
rest of the day, or else — you were
ashamed to own it — you were a little
bit afraid of them.

The geography lesson was going
splendidly this morning. You had
answered three boundary questions in
succession, and your heart was
thumping away excitedly, and your
backbone was stiff and straight with

THE SCHOOL-BOARD DECIDES ON A NEW TEACHER

Perhaps when they grew to be as tall
as the Pansy-Lady they would have
more sense.

There was a decided satisfaction
in being in the Pansy-Lady's class.
Lessons were never so important that
she couldn't stop and talk about your
polliwogs, or what made the goldfish
die, or the latest fire, or the circus.
When she asked questions, she looked
at you as tho she really would like to
have you answer them, and, straight-
way, the answer came popping right
into your head and right out of your
mouth — just as easy; whereas other
teachers put on such a scowl and an

pride, when an unprecedented thing
happened.

If you had only been blessed with
an extra sense in your nose, like a
dog, for instance, you would have
sniffed the danger in time to have
warned the Pansy-Lady, for you had
been loitering about the station the
day before, when the two-ten train
was due, and had seen old Farmer
Brown drive up and stamp around
the platform in a far from cheerful
state of mind. You had seen him wel-
come, in a most perfunctory manner,
a strong-minded looking female with
a rasping voice and much baggage,

THE CHILDREN'S CONSPIRACY

who, according to postoffice gossip,
was his wife's sister from Vermont,
come to live with him.

Not being blessed with this extra
sense in yonr nose, the only effect her
coming had on you was to turn your
nose up a little more, in instinctive
contempt and hearty dislike. And so
you could not know that, all the way
home in the buggy, she had kept up a

Chairman Brown's proposal, particu-
larly Miser Smith did, since Anastasia
Sproul was willing to teach for less
money than they had been paying the
Pansy-Lady.

Thus it happened that, all unsus-
pectingly, you turned around in your
seat at the sound of approaching foot-
steps, to see Anastasia, escorted by
the school-board, come sailing down

THE PANSY-LADY BIDS FAREWELL TO HER PUPILS

continual chatter on every subject,
from guinea-hens to patent headache
pills, until poor Farmer Brown was
distracted, and that once in the house,
she began on Mrs. Brown, talking her
deaf, dumb and blind, so that by night
they were both exhausted. Indeed,
they were so desperate, that when she
proposed that they appoint her as
school-teacher in the district school, it
seemed the very best way to get rid
of her.

So the school-board was called in on
short notice, and at once agreed to

the aisle. Instantly your nose went
up in the air, and your hair fairly
bristled with antagonism. You surely
thought you never had seen a face
that looked so much like a ruler — one
unfalteringly straight line from the
tip of the stiff quill in her hat, thru
the deep frown exactly in the middle
of her forehead, down her long,
straight nose to the tip of the pointed
chin — the whole marked off in inches,
halves and quarters by the stiff brim
of her hat, the three short wrinkles
across her forehead, the long line of

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

her straight, black eyebrows, the
narrow slits of her sharp, beady eyes
and the uncompromising line of her
thin lips. A face that was all punc-
tuation marks, you noticed, and you
promptly drew it on your slate.

Just as you made the final dash
that marked her chin, the voice of
Chairman Brown smote upon your
ears, saying:

"I therefore take pleasure, my
children, in presenting to you your
new teacher, Miss Anastasia Sproul. ' '

Kage and tears struggled for mas-
tery in your face, and at that mo-
ment you came nearer understanding
why girls cry than you ever had be-
fore in all your life. But when you
saw the Pansy-Lady extend her hand,
tremblingly, in polite greeting to The
Ruler, and saw The Ruler rudely
ignore it, and then saw the beloved
pansy-purple eyes well over at the
insult, you swallowed your tears in
one big gulp and became a MAN —
a being of rage and fire and thunder !

The tears stuck in your throat, tho,
and there they had to remain, because
they could not go down and you
would not let them come up. If you
put your hand on your throat you
could feel them there. That- night
you felt of Father's throat, and found
that he had a lump of tears, too. You
wondered what had happened to make
him swallow his tears, but you were
sure that it could not have been half
so agonizing an experience as yours.
Anyway, now you knew you were a
man — you thought as a man; you
raged as a man; you suffered as a
man — you had swallowed your tears !
And, thereafter, there remained a
firm bond of sympathy between you
and Father.

With anger hot within you and
crimsoning your very forehead, you
lived thru that morning of slaps and
yanks and bitter words. Afterward
you and Betty trudged very quietly
homeward, hand in hand. That was
one of Betty's particularly good
points — she knew when to keep still.
By the sympathetic pressure of her
hand you knew that she understood
and it wasn't necessary for you to go

into any wordy explanation that
couldn't explain. She knew that you
were trying to think up something,
and you knew that she would bide her
time and be ready to help when you
needed her.

It was Miser Smith who gave you
the idea. You saw him trudging home
from the cobbler's, studying the
ground as he walked, doubtless hoping
that he would find a roll of bills, and
you thought that he and Anastasia
were about the two most horridest
persons you had ever seen. And, with
that, an idea suddenly sat right up in
your mind. If they were the two
most horridest persons in the whole
world, why weren't they made just to
inflict themselves upon each other ?

You stopped short in the middle of
the sidewalk and looked at Betty, and
she stopped short and looked at you.
Then you whispered your idea first in
one ear and then in the other, to make
sure that she got it. Her eyes grew
'most as big as dinner-plates, and she
gripped your hands tight and began
jumping up and down with delight.

That was just the encouragement
you needed. You ran across the
street to your Father's bank and de-
manded a pass-book to play with from
the old cashier, who would have given
you his left ear if you had happened
to want it. Then you and Betty ran
back to the schoolhouse, creeping up
quietly, to make sure that no one was
around. And there, under your
superior mathematical supervision,
the deed was done which placed in the
bank, to the credit of one Anastasia
Sproul, the immense sum of $15,000.

Betty wrote in the numbers, be-
cause her figures always looked better
than yours. Somehow, girls always
seemed to be able to wield a pen more
firmly than boys. The reason for this
you had not yet found out, but it was
on your list of questions to be inves-
tigated, along with "Why do boys
ever have curly hair and what be-
comes of the polliwog's tail?"

That night you went to sleep with
the bank-book tucked under your
pillow, and you felt quite like a
grown-up man guarding a golden

TEE CEILDREN'S CONSPIRACY

treasure. Betty saw to it that you
were up betimes in the morning, and
she it was who led you out by the back
door and around thru the fields in a
great hurry — so that you would be
sure not to miss the miser, she said,
but you knew it was because she was
afraid you would be lonely for the
Pansy-Lady, and you loved her all the
more for thinking of it. Girls have an
extra sense about some things, you
concluded ; at least, some girls have.

Then you and Betty ran on to
school, and, in the middle of the
morning, when The Ruler was pro-
nouncing you all dunces, who should
come thumping into the room but old
Sol Smith, carrying a bunch of prim-
roses. The Ruler turned sweet as
molasses at the sight of him, and
when he admitted that he'd "like to
have a word, private-like, with Miss
Sproul, or Miss Anastasia, if he
might make so bold as to call her by

THE PANSY-LADY IS ASKED TO RETURN TO SCHOOL

You and Betty kept peeping around
the corner by Father's bank, until, at
last, you saw the miser 'way up the
street. Then Betty ran out and put
the bank-book just where he would be
sure to stumble upon it if his miserly
eyes should happen to pass it over,
and then you both hid behind a tele-
graph pole to watch the fun. And,
sure enough, everything worked out
just as you had planned it ! The
miser came along, with his eyes glued
to the ground; picked up the bank-
book, and was soon gloating over the
information it contained.

that name," she gave the class a
recess hour on the spot.

That was the signal for you and
Betty to get ready for a circus, so you
hid behind the desk and heard the
whole thing.

' ' I brung some sweets to the sweet, ' '
he began, offering his nosegay, and
you thought that primroses had just
about as much sweetness to them as
The Ruler and Sol combined.

"Oh, Mr. Sol!" she simpered.
"How generous you was to bring me
such ex-pensive posies!"

You wondered how Sol was going

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

to take such a sarcastic remark as
that, but he was busy trying to get
down on his knees gracefully at that
moment, so it went over his head.

"Anastasia! On m' bended knees
I 'm tellin ' yeou that I love yeou ; I Ve
loved yeou from first sight" — here you
almost spoiled everything by starting
to shout out: ''First sight of your
bank-book, he means," but Betty
pinched you in time.

"Oh, Solly-Polly, this is so sud-
den ! ' ' she said — and, looking over the
top of the desk, you saw her fall stiffly
into his arms.

Just here a lot of the children got
booking in the window, and if you
hadn't signaled to them to keep still,
you might have missed the best part
of your scheme, for when Anastasia
came to her senses, she didn't let any
grass grow under her feet. Not she !
She made her plans quickly and well.
She arranged for an elopement that
very evening, because ' ' it would be so
romantick-like. " And Sol was only
too willing to agree, thinking, of
course, of the money, as you and
Betty knew.

You were both on hand for it,

chuckling with delight in the shadow
of the porch, as bag and box- and
bundle bounded down upon poor Sol,
followed by the angular Anastasia
herself, who hurried him off to the
minister's, without so much as giving
him a chance to straighten his necktie.

And you both were on hand the
next morning when Sol tried to get
his dear 'Stasia to draw her money
out of the bank and transfer it to him,
only to be met with the startling
reply: "Somebody fooled Lovey;
'Stasia hasn't a cent" — and that was
funny, too.

But best of all, you both thought,
was to watch the school-board, shame-
faced and apologetic, crossing the
meadow to the Pansy-Lady 's cottage ;
and then, in a few minutes, to see the
Pansy-Lady herself come hurrying
out. You and Betty ran all the way
to the little, white bridge to meet her,
and she gathered you into her arms
and wept over you and kist you both.
And you decided, then and there, that
you would receive kisses once a week
thereafter, preferably on Monday, as
that was the day you felt cleanest,
coming, as it did, after Sunday.

The Great Mystery Play

As announced in the April issue of this magazine, the prize of $100 for the best
solution to "The Diamond Mystery" photoplay was won by Mrs. Alta Stevens,
of 220 South Side Station, Springfield, Mo. In acknowledgment Mrs. Stevens
says, in part: "Accept my sincere thanks for the $100 check, and kindly convey my
appreciation and gratitude to the several judges who so generously gave of their
valuable time to the reading of 3,000 contesting manuscripts. Again I thank you, and
wish you every success in promoting the interests of The Motion Picture Stor?
Magazine in particular, and of the Moving Picture industry in general. Writing is not
my vocation. I have been too busy in educational fields, and have written only to give
vent to the urge of the soul within that, at intervals, compels me to give expression in
story and poem to the thoughts that otherwise would not be stilled. At the age of
fifteen I wrote plays for our literary society. These were void of the technique of the
drama, yet, because of their human interest, they "took" with our society. I became
interested in photoplay writing last summer, and began the serious study of the
technique of the silent drama. I diligently studied books on scenario writing that
were worth while, and some that were not worth while. I also frequented picture play
houses, and then, last November, I came across your magazine containing the Diamond
Mystery Play contest. I felt sure that that play had been written by a master hand. I
studied the play religiously, scene by scene ; then wrote a brief history of every char-
acter and the motives which might have made the special suspect desire to dispose of
the invention. ... I have no recent photograph of myself." Mrs. Stevens goes on
and gives the reasons for arriving at the conclusions that proved to be successful, but
this part of the letter we shall not print, for the reason that the Vitagraph Company,
which is now at work making the film, desires that the solution of the mystery be kept
secret for the present. In the June issue we shall take pleasure in announcing when
the films will be distributed for exhibition.

Ji>Y

feues)

As night followed night, Te Ponga
stood apart on a hill, watching
the glow of great fires on the
skyline. In his own sleeping camp,
the stars alone dropped a masked,
blue light.

What were left to him of warriors
were tireless, and the strongest in all
the river and hill country. Day by
day, in ambuscade, in open battle, in
hurtling assault on the Waikato vil-
lages, his once valiant army had
dwindled and shrunk — shrunk to two
bare crews for his ancestors' broad
war canoes.

Te Ponga, "The Darting Spear,"
took it upon himself to be their soli-
tary night sentinel. The great, closed
ring of signal-fires, from fortress to
fortress on the distant, hemming
hills, would lick the toughest hearts
into ashes. The vainglory of a young
chief, the thirst for women and
slaves, had brought him, with his
foolish Awhitu men, down the river,
eating into the heart of the enemy's
country. Now, even the river was
closed back of him. His handful of
survivors lay cradled in that sterile-
bosomed valley of sure death.

Te Ponga, silent and straight-stand-
ing in the long, ruddy night, counted
all things — counted his followers, his
canoes, the strength of his enemy, his
narrowing chances of even life. There
was no pity due in the closing scenes,
given or taken : cool, old Hau-auro,
"The West Wind," would cut them

down in the forest like drooping fern-
trees, or line them up against his pali-
sades— a living target for his spear-
men. And so would pass out the last
strength of the Awhitu, leaving the
women and old men at home to sing
their glory into unreality.

Now and then Te Ponga turned his
face on and across the sleepers. Thru
the long hours, the emotions of one
who stands at the gateway of eternity
worked upon his features, and he
would have waked the resting men, to
prepare them, with cheerful words,
for their end. But he drew his mat
close against his shoulders, holding
his breath and waiting for the dawn.

At last it came — a faint light blear-
ing the stars and shrouding the
sleepers in somber gray. The ring of
fires paled to traceries of smoke as the
sun's rim shot, spear-like, above the
hills. And with its clear coming, a
something of desperate buoyancy
danced in Te Ponga 's heart. He
raised his head, and from his throat
came the shrill screech of the kaka
parrot, the sentinel of breaking day.

The Awhitu warriors awoke, full-
eyed, in the young light. With the
night-sprawl gone from their limbs,
and the low words passing among
them, they looked better fitted for the
deed that pounded so hilariously in
the breast of Te Ponga.

He started down the hill toward the
canoes, and the slender line of light-
brown warriors, naked, save for the

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

loin-cloths of war, followed in his
wake.

"Now, Tangaroa, great god of
waters," invoked Te Ponga, "and
Tane, who watches over the forests
and canoes, bring us safely on our
mission. ' '

So praying he leapt lightly into the
stern of his carved canoe, and it
skimmed bird-like over the river with
the impetus of twenty pairs of arms
in faultless rhythm.

Nothing of f earsomeness showed its
head on the shining river, its banks
slumbered as in peaceful times; but
Te Ponga knew that each quivering
clump of bulrushes held a hidden
death in the shape of long, snake-like
canoes drawn up in the belly of the
rushes, and that the glossy, flanking
foliage of karaka trees was studded
with the tattooed faces of his mortal
enemies.

Coming to a lake-like widening of
the river, he ordered his paddlers to
turn in toward the shore. The com-
panion canoe spun on its heel to
follow. Together they raced toward
the sloping bank.

Nearer and nearer they edged —
nothing to warn them, save the placid,
mocking note of a bell-bird deep in
the forest. It was then that the love
that Te Ponga 's men bore him showed
strong, like a woman's, for the
paddles never flinched, just drove on
and on to the fate that lay lurking
and waiting for them under cover.

As the canoes shot high on the
shore, quivering like gaping fish, Te
Ponga listened for the first sounds of
the Waikato. His warriors formed in
a half-circle, peering into the vault of
the woods.

But no sounds of men came. The
silence of the Sea of Women lapped
them round. Then the exultant chief
took heart of courage, scoffing at fate,
and shaking his thrusting-spear in
the face of the forest.

Gome, ' ' he said, stepping forward.
"Tane has heard us — we will journey
unharmed up to the gates of the great
hill fortress of Hau-auro."

The march thru the silent places
began. Te Ponga striding ahead,

with his spear grasped midway,
colored his mind with the red fires on
the hills against the black of over-
night, and the empty house of his
ancestors stood as a hollow ghost of
spent years back of them.

It was soon to be over — this giving
up of his body in the evergreen forest,
and he thought not of the sudden
method of it ; rather of the safe arrival
of his spirit among his relatives.

The journey of the few continued
all thru the morning, with only the
rush of pigeons or the call of parrots
as their fellow spoilers of the quiet-
ness.

Te Ponga figured that they had
come within striking distance of the
fortress of the Waikato, and still
there were no signs of life.

Without a warning to his tribes-
men, he leapt ahead of them, and,
ripping off his dogskin cloak, began
a ceremonious waving of it to and
fro.

Plumed heads and blue, carved
faces started from the bush. Spears,
in nervous hands, trembled for a
thrust. Yet no hostile move was
made. Here was a young chief, with
a handful of giant men, dropping
down in their midst, and his signs
showed a desire for peace.

"Sons of the West Wind," called
Te Ponga, "I am the Darting Spear,
splintered with fighting and sodden
with blood. And even now I am come
with a bodj^guard to share a tuku-kai
with your chief. ' '

They stared in amazement at the
unheard-of news.

"Hurry back to the village,"
ordered Te Ponga, "and prepare the
way for my coming. ' '

The gathering swarm of Waikato
warriors darted ahead of the little
band, each eager to be first up the hill
with news of the arrival.

And news it was, of a verity. Hau-
auro sat before his carved and painted
whare, sunning his sagacious bones on
the feathered mats of his ancestors.
His white beard fell as far as the
snowy plumage under his haunches.
Puhihuia, his daughter, sat by his
side, weaving with rapid sticks. She

HOW CHIEF TE PONGA WON HIS BRIDE

was the ripe date of this ancient palm-
tree, the cube of amber flung out on
whitened sands.

Around her supple waist a kilt of
fine-beaten tapa marked the swelling
shaft of her clear, bronze shape. In
her hair, glistening ruddy in the sun,
lay a circlet of petal-like feathers.
Her smiling eyes caught and held the
half-lights of the forest as she turned
them, in fondness, on the burnt-out
ancient crouched by her side.

For a moment neither spoke. Then
Hau-auro took his thin hand from his
beard, and beckoned Te Ponga to sit
by his side.

"You speak true," he said; "a
feast of welcome is due to all that
remains of the Awhitu."

And Te Ponga, looking into his
clear eyes, knew that he had laid his
words upon the truth, and that lying
words in answer would but belittle
his measure in Hau-auro 's mind.

«0&fof.

HAU-AURO RUBS NOSES WITH TE PONGA, IN SALUTATION OP THE

VISITING CHIEF

Then thudding feet and hard-
drawn breaths came on the wind to
them, and a stream of running war-
riors brought the news.

Hau-auro never ceased stroking his
velvet beard and smiling, white-faced
and sly; but Puhihuia clapped her
hands, and her face suffused with
blood, like the dye of bright berries,
at the word of Te Ponga 's coming.

Presently the knot of Awhitu war-
riors approached, stepping proudly,
and the young chief stood full before
his withered enemy.

The sounds of gong and drum,
struck by invisible hands, broke his
silence. Girls, in rustling, flaxen
kilts, and bearing baskets of steaming
kumara, swayed before the men of
Awhitu. Puhihuia herself, her basket
neatly covered with leaves, set food
before Te Ponga.

He saw the tremble of her hands,
counted the look in her deep eyes,
and, with it, the awe of Hau-auro
stilled in his breast, and the exultant
throb of his young heart came again.

The maidens withdrew, and the two

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

chiefs ate in silence. For many days
the sorrow in Te Ponga had kept him
from good eating, but now, with his
conqueror nibbling busily before him,
and no surety of another meal to stay
him in this life, he fell upon the sweet
food of Hau-auro, and swept it greed-
ily from under his host 's very fingers.
It was delicious, this food snatched
from the jaws of death, perhaps tor-
ture, and Te Ponga could hardly keep
down the wild songr in his heart.

ding his heels, rolling his eyes and
calling in screams on Tu, the great
war-god.

And when he had come to an end,
panting, exhausted, with the earth
ground into a fine dust beneath him,
Puhihuia unlocked her breath again,
knowing that Te Ponga was greater
and stronger than any five men in her
father's fortress.

With the sun setting behind the
hills, Hau-auro led his guest to a

TE PONGA, CHARMED WITH PUHIHUIA 's DANCING, ANNOUNCES
THAT HE WILL NOW DANCE FOR HER

Then, as the sun went marching
toward the west, at a signal from her
father, Puhihuia came forward and
danced alone, with great charm, weav-
ing her body in fantastic postures,
swinging faster and faster, to the
whip of her young blood. And when
she had finished, stock-still, with
hands on soft hips, Te Ponga leaped
up, and the lust of battle shot into his
fine eyes. To the deep-drawn cries of
the Awhitu he danced, terrific and
goblinesque, working his long, knotted
legs with the fury of hailstones, thud-

whare on the skirts of the village,
for it was not in his plan that he
should sleep in the village sleeping-
house.

Te Ponga glanced around the
range of hills that shut in the valley,
and, behold, in the dusk not a signal-
fire shone ! He knew that he was now
as nothing in the mind of his enemy,
and that his every move had been
reckoned.

But Te Ponga hated his own faint
heart worse than a coward. Against
such a veiled foe as old Hau-auro,

HOW CHIEF TE PONG A WON HIS BRIDE

more than war-lust and trained
sinews were needed. And he wished
that he was become old and cunning
and crafty in his hour of need.

Then the sweet thought of Puhihuia
came to him, with her ruddy hair, like
signal-fires, blowing before him again,
and he thirsted from the desire of her.

Where there is a spring, there is a
gate leading to it thru the palisades,

Coming to the opening, she found it
unguarded and slid thru. The figure
followed suit. And it was not until
she came to the steel-clear spring that
Te Ponga caught up with her.

There, by its ferny bank, stood
these two sentinels — a warrior and a
maid. Te Ponga sought no signal-
fires, save those in Puhihuia 's eyes.
The desire of death passed from him

PUHIHUIA IS PERMITTED TO GO FETCH WATER FROM THE SPRING

FOR TE PONGA

and this set Te Ponga to thinking. A
calabash of water lay by his sleeping-
mat, and this he^carefully emptied.

Going to the door of his ivhare, he
called thru the village for water.

Hau-auro was forever playing at
sleep, and heard the strong voice of
his guest. It suited him that Puhihuia
should go to fetch the water from the
spring; he could afford to tease the
snared youth till the morrow, and
then

Puhihuia stole toward the gate. A
crouched, lithe figure followed her.

under their spell, and a love of her
calmly took its place.

And Hau-auro 's daughter read
what was passing in the condemned
man's heart, and the wary part of her,
which was in her from the old chief,
fought with the love that stood
waiting.

Without words, she held him with
her look, until he knew that she was
won.

Then a great sigh came up from
his naked breast, and he reached out
and sought her young shape, pressing

TEE MOTION PIC TV RE STORY MAGAZINE

her willing, fluttering heart to his
exalted one.

An hour later, Puhihuia passed
thru the gate again, with a gurgling
calabash of water in her hands and
the love-catch in her heart. But this
last was something that Hau-auro had
long since forgotten to look for.

At a still later hour, Te Ponga
crept, like a shadow, thru the useful
gate. After leaving Puhihuia, he had
winged his way to the river bank,
where he had busied himself, mysteri-
ously, with the canoe flotilla of the
Waikato.

A new day dawned, and Hau-auro
rolled lightly from his mat, as chaff
is thrown from grain, but no more
lightly than Te Ponga.

As a farewell to his guests, the old
chief had planned a procession of
youths and maidens to accompany
them, with sunny looks, thru the
forest. Perhaps not quite thru; per-
haps to a certain curtain of brush

where men with stone axes stood

But Hau-auro has long since bitten

the dust, and Te Ponga went to his
funeral tangi, and, in the presence of
Puhihuia, appeared to mourn him ; so
why slander him further?

It is safe to say that the escort
of youths and maidens started as
planned, with Puhihuia among them.
And she turned out to be the soft spot
on which the murderous plan came to
grief.

The soft shapes of girls, in rustling
kilts of flax or palm, hemmed in the
warriors of Te Ponga, thru the forest
trail, in a sweet prison of song and
low laughter. Puhihuia walked by his
side, with unashamed love for him
showing from her eyes.

Yet if the forest showed only this
gentle procession, and its dove-calls
one to another, to the wary Te Ponga
an unpalpable something of terror
hung in the air. The deep wells of
Puhihuia 's eyes gave out to him a
glut of love and a chill of fear.

Nearer and nearer they came to the
heavy brush in the heart of the woods.
It was then, suddenly, Puhihuia gave
a soft cry and started running away

PUHIHUIA ASKS LEAVE TO BE OF THE MAIDENS TO ESCORT TE PONGA
IN THE FAREWELL PROCESSION

HOW CHIEF TE PONG A WON HIS BRIDE

CHIEF TE PONGA STOOD LOOKING AT PUHIHUIA, FORGETTING THE SWIFT
PURSUIT OF THE ENEMY

from him, her eyes filled with fear
only.

Te Ponga, never glancing back at
the consternation of the maidens, and
spurred on by war-cries from the
thicket, ran swiftly and evenly where
she led. His men followed, in a
broken, frightened string.

Then Puhihuia came out upon the
bank of the river, where stood the
canoes of Te Ponga and the flotilla of
his enemy. The young chief and his
warriors joined her, and, as they
stood irresolute, the piercing cries of
Hau-auro 's men echoed thru the
forest in pursuit.

'/Ah, Darting Spear !" called Puhi-
huia, "my life without thee is become
as an eel's in its clay."

Then he stood looking at her, for-
getting the swift pursuit and dwelling
on her loveliness.

Suddenly he drew a great breath,
and caught her up in his arms, run-
ning swiftly to the war canoe of his
ancestors.

And as his paddlers pushed out on
the shining river with them, Hau-auro
and his men, with axes, broke cover
from the forest and rushed down upon
the shore.

' ' To the canoes ! ' ' shrilled the old
chief, and his blood-hungry horde
rushed to their waiting flotilla.

With a rush and a roar the pursuit
canoes were launched, as Te Ponga
and his men restly idly on their
paddles.

Then a strange thing happened:
the mighty canoes of Hau-auro each
filled with water, and his men sank to
their armpits at their paddles.

Te Ponga 's light laugh floated
ashore to the sly old man, and struck
him as with the edge of a paddle. But
as the brown backs of the Awhitu
bent to their work and their canoe-
song rose high and clear above them,
he smiled, in spite of himself, at the
loss of Puhihuia and the gain of a
stalwart son-in-law to his remaining
years.

This story was written from the Photoplay of KATHERINE VAN DYKE

In every studio of the Quarter he
was known as Angelo the Dreamer.
And when he burst suddenly
upon a gay group making merry in
an atelier, just off Montmartre, and
announced: "Voila, I have now seen
the vision of visions ! " he was greeted
with a gale of laughter.

He was passed a glass of wine, while
his friends gathered round him in
mock solemnity. "Comrades — to the
vision ! ' ' cried a glowing beauty, rais-
ing her glass. All followed her ex-
ample. Angelo still held his, the red
liquor spilling and running, unheeded,
over his long, slender fingers. His
eyes were half-closed in rapture, as
they gazed thru the murky skylight
toward the fleecy clouds beyond. The
toastmaker stepped close to him and
gently raised his glass to his lips, and,
involuntarily, he drank, with a half-
wry face. "Drink, and then, mayhap,
you will see her more clearly ! ' '

"But you do not understand — I

have not yet seen her " He was

interrupted by -daughter and a cry of
' ' Bravo ! " " She is here ' '—he laid his
hand on his breast — "it is a great
inspiration, a vision, a miracle! I
have seen her, and yet" — he gave a
gesture of futility — ' " she has fled ! I
have seen her, and yet she is not here.
I know now, as no other since the
ancient masters knew, just how the

Madonna, the Mother of Sorrows,
looked. Yet, mon Dieu, I cannot tell
you her beauty ; I cannot paint her — "

"Then what do you propose to
do?" inquired the girl at his side,
amusedly.

"Why, I shall seek a woman to be
my Madonna; a woman who has the
joy of motherhood, the sorrow of be-
reavement, and the shelter of an over-
whelming love there in her eyes ! ' '

Again was Angelo lost in the maze
of his vision. At first he did not hear
the words of the girl almost pleading
in his ear: "Angelo, I, Susette, might
be your Madonna — would you but
have it so. ' ' Again the others laughed.
' ' Come ! ' ' said one of the number,
withdrawing. "Angelo has found his
Madonna; let us return to our de-
jeuner." She gave a wink in the
direction of the grotesque pair in
the center of the room. Susette
flushed, and laid her hand on Angelo 's
arm. He looked down at her vaguely,
questioning.

"You, a common model — my Ma-
donna ? It is impossible ! ' '

Susette looked deeply hurt for a
moment, then burst out weeping.
Angelo shook his head just once, and
took the girl in his arms, and the two
stole out together, unnoticed by the
others.

That was Angelo. A man who had

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

dreamed rather than lived ; had loved
to be loved, but had never loved a
woman; had become the best-known
artist in all the Quarter, and yet had
never touched even the hem of Fame.
Still there was something almost
spiritual about the man that never
quite permitted open ridicule. His

Susette returned to her friends late
that night even more tearful than
when she left them. Angelo had given
way to her pleadings, and had set
about to paint her as the Madonna.
In less than an hour, he had suddenly
thrown down his palette, with an oath,
and left his studio, without a word of

ANGELO, I, SUSETTE, MIGHT BE YOUR GREAT MADONNA WOULD YOU

BUT HAVE IT SO"

friends were impressed, at length, to
the point of believing in him and his
dream — until again his dream would
vanish before he had ceased to dream
it. That his heart and his soul were
ravished by marvelous visions, no one
doubted, but he never translated them
into the terms of that Art which he
claimed as his special muse. Always
they remained visions, not realities.

explanation. Susette had waited one,
two, seven hours for his return !

A week later, Angelo was seen in
another part of the Quarter, still in
search of his Madonna, whereupon
Toto, an old flame of his, prevailed
upon him to permit her to sit for him.
A quarrel was ensuing, late that after-
noon, upon the high-spirited Toto
being told that he saw "nothing but

TEE ARTIST'S GREAT MADONNA

the ugliness of the world in her
devilish eyes," when a light tap was
heard on the studio door, which stood
half-open.

"Enter!" called Angelo, who con-
tinued to gaze sulkily out of the win-
dow. It was fully a minute before he
turned, to find Toto staring, with
malignant aversion in her eyes, at a

her to a settee by the window. He
was still gazing at her, rapturously,
when Toto, ignored and furious, tore
from the room.

There was something so alluring
and in harmony with his dreams in
Maria's coming, that Angelo was en-
thralled. Furthermore, she was pos-
sessed of the ideal face for his chef

FOR FIVE DAYS HE SKETCHED FEVERISHLY, UNTIL, AT LENGTH, EVERY
LINE OF THE MADONNA 's FIGURE WAS LIMNED "

woman who stood looking timidly to-
ward him. Angelo was transfixed by
the innocence and purity in that gaze.
He moved forward, solicitously, and
took the note that she extended to-
ward him. All it said was :

Here is your great Madonna! Hexri.

Angelo crumpled the note and
looked eagerly into the girl 's face ;
then he took her by the hand and led

d'oeuvre. He forgot all his former
failures, in the glorious prospects to
be realized in Maria. For a week he
painted zealously, indefatigably, self-
ishly. And Maria uttered not a
single word of protest, tho, at times,
her rich, creamy complexion became
whiter than the lily, and her supple
form wilted from intense fatigue and
long fasts. But even in this, Angelo
saw qualities that won his admiration.
Here was a model, at last, willing to

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

scale the heights of his own eccen-
tricities.

For five days he sketched fever-
ishly, until, at length, every line of
the Madonna's figure and pose was
limned to his satisfaction. Then, for
the first time, he came to analyze the
face. For one whole hour he pored
into the large, brown eyes that shrank,
again and again, from his searching
gaze. He saw that a new light and
shaded softness had come into them
since she had first come to him, but, to
his infinite disappointment, he found
none of the wonderful depths of the
great Madonna there. "Mon Dieu,
you, too, have failed me!" he la-
mented, letting his brushes fall to the
floor.

"Failed?" cried Maria, in a new
agony of despair that he had never
heard from a woman 's lips.

"You do not understand, my
Maria, ' ' he explained, his sympathies,
as usual, softening his manner. ' ' You
are perfect — your figure, your pose,
the outline of your face, the color of
your eyes — but the expression of your
arms, your body, your face and, above
all, your eyes — it is not that of the Ma-
donna ! In your eyes there seems the
love-light, but it is narrow ; it sees but
a group, possibly one man, and not
the whole world ; not the Man of your
own flesh and blood; not the life of
the multitude! Come, Maria, let us
go and see the life ! ' ' He took her by
the hand, that had grown cold in the
knowledge of her failure, and gently
adjusted her plain hat upon her
abundant hair. "Paris has in it the
types of all the world. We shall see
them all, and drink deep of their
sorrows and absorb much of their
joys. We shall take the sorrowing
mother by the hand, and join heart
and hand with the wanton pleasure-
seekers, who find but grief at the
end of their quest. Come, let us first
spend a merry evening in the Cafe de
Cceur Joyeux ! ' '

The Cafe de Cceur Joyeux was,
almost nightly, the scene of the
Quarter's gayest parties. This was
the one place left to the students,
artists and their models that had not

been invaded by the tourists in their
quest for local color '; consequently, it
jested and quarreled, laughed and
cried, naturally and without exagger-
ation.

Angelo and Maria found a masque
in full swing, and, being among the
few unmasked present, they were con-
spicuous from the moment of their
entrance. Angelo was greeted at once
by a handsome young fellow, who
apologized for his atrocious French
by saying that he was James Towns-
end, an American, who had shared
Angelo 's joys and sorrows during
their student days — and that he knew
Angelo, yet always managed to for-
give him! The last remark was ad-
dressed to Maria, with a wink. He
had heard of Angelo 's vision and
was ready to treat it with the same
levity that he had a hundred other
visions in days gone by. But, to his
surprise, the girl was serious, to the
point of actually sharing Angelo 's
dream. From that moment, he began
to look on the girl with something of
pity.

They had not been an hour together,
when James Townsend realized the
reason for this feeling of pity that
amounted almost to tenderness. He
and the wonderful girl had been
chatting together while Angelo, totally
obsessed by his own matters, was talk-
ing gaily to a couple of young stu-
dents. From Angelo he turned his
inquiry to Maria, who, seemingly, had
been forgotten by the artist, except
when her beauty entered into the con-
versation and Angelo and his friends
surveyed her critically. Townsend
made a resolution, that was strength-
ened by a sudden, boundless feeling
that filled him with a thousand new
emotions. Despite the fact that he
cherished a friendship for Angelo
that was unique, he would not' stand
by and see her sacrificed on the altar
of his egotism. Besides

His conjectures were interrupted
by the rhythmic dancing of one of
the masked women who had been
circling closer and closer about their
table. At length she paused, directly
in front of Angelo, and bowed. One

TEE ARTIST'S GREAT MADONNA

of the students stepped forward, with
mock solemnity, and placed a wreath
of roses on her brow. The dancer
snatched it off and handed it to
Angelo, indicating that the honor of
placing a crown should be given to
him. Angelo looked at it absently a
moment, still obsessed with the topic
of conversation, which had been his
Madonna. Then, intending to dismiss
the frivolity, he turned and laid the

The knife flashed. Townsend glanced
around and sprang forward, but the
table lay between them.

What happened came like a flash.
But instead of seeing the fair breast
of Maria pierced by the jealous
woman's dagger, the horrified group
beheld a bulky form interpose, like a
rocket, and saw the dagger enter the
man's neck, followed by a crimson jet
gushing thru the lips of the wound.

THEN, INTENDING TO DISMISS THE FRIVOLITY, HE TURNED AND LAID
THE CROWN ON THE HEAD OF MARIA "

crown on the head of Maria, and
resumed his chat.

But, suddenly, a wild cry rang out,
and Angelo looked up, to behold, in
the dancer, Toto. She had torn the
mask from her face and had drawn a
stiletto. Townsend had his back to her,
and did not see the woman moving
rapidly toward Maria, who seemed
fascinated, as tho by an approaching
serpent. Two seconds more, and Toto
had raised the dagger and poised it to
strike. Maria drew back in horror,
thereby exposing herself to the blow.

That Angelo should have done it
seemed a miracle. But no miracle
interposed to save him from the blow.
Maria was the first to come to his aid.
Townsend was by her side, and he
now saw what Angelo had come to
mean to Maria.

A doctor pronounced the wound
dangerous, if not fatal. Maria, calm
and masterful, took complete charge.
But Townsend would not be elimi-
nated, and insisted upon attending to
all the rougher details. Angelo was
removed to his own studio.

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

It was three weeks before Maria's
careful nursing brought " him out of
danger, and it was a sunny day in
May when he first opened eyes that
were not flaring with delirium. Maria
was sitting by his side, her hand hold-
ing his, scarcely expecting such a
happy surprise. She was not looking

She had become conscious of his
thoughts, as it were, and turned her
great, brown eyes upon him, and, in
that moment, with the cobwebs of
visions newly swept by delirium, he
saw clearly what was in this woman 's
heart. And when she knelt by his
side and stroked his hand, weeping

. L J:

IT WAS THREE WEEKS BEFORE MARIA 's CAREFUL NURSING BROUGHT
HIM OUT OF DANGER''

at him at the moment ; did not see the
dawning reason after weeks of obliv-
ion. Quickly everything came back to
him ; last of all his vision of the Ma-
donna. He studied her face. It had
grown thin and haggard; something
of a larger sorrow and hope had come
into her expression. He longed to
rise and paint now, while that almost
beatific expression clothed her face.

all the while in her joy, he lifted one
of her hands and kist it. To him there
was something soothing in it all; to
her a joy that heaven could not sur-
pass. Twilight came and went, and
soft moonlight found them thus, just
touching the hem of the great Happi-
ness.

She told him something of his ill-
ness, and he sensed her great sacrifice

TEE ARTIST'S GREAT MADONNA

and felt that some compensation was
dne. In payment for nursing him
back to life, he resolved to break one
of his most solemn vows.

"Tho I can love only my ideal
Madonna," he said, "I ask you to be
my wife, because of all you have done
for me."

It matters little what other women
might have thought of such a conces-
sion as this. Maria loved him for
aught or all that he might choose to
bestow upon her, and they were
married.

In another month Angelo was him-
self again — that old, visionary self
that had won for him the name of the
Dreamer. Realities began again to
fade, as it were, and only his visions
to hold sway. Maria was once more
the model. With feverish impatience,
he had her resume her sittings, tho
she was scarcely able to sit erect an
hour at a time. And, at length, he
gave up in despair. The wrong light
was in her eyes ; only the pallid ghost
of the vision was in her face !

For weeks he fretted, in and out,
and, at length, informed his wife that
life with her was unendurable. Maria
said not a word in reproach. When
he had made preparations for de-
parture, she kist him good-by, saying
that she would await his return.
Angelo went forth in search of his
great Madonna, and, knowing Angelo,
no one wondered, tho none knew the
deep pain he had left in the heart of
Maria,

As the months sped by, Maria could
not always understand how Angelo
could have sent her an allowance of
so many francs every week. It came
so regularly. Regularity and money
had never been among Angelo 's
virtues. Wisely perhaps, she never
questioned herself as to just what
Angelo 's virtues were. All she knew
was that she loved him — and that he
had rejected her as his Madonna !

James Townsend had mysteriously
disappeared, or, at least, had failed to
appear, ever since the day he had
called and learnt that Maria and
Angelo had been married. He had

been the only cloud on that day's
great happiness, when he had left
them in the evening to enjoy their
first nuptial supper alone.

Just as suddenly as he had disap-
peared, so Townsend returned nearly
seven months later. He found Maria
sitting alone, sewing. There was a
quizzical expression on her face that
reminded him a little of Mona Lisa.
Alone, yet triumphant; deserted, yet
as tho she were never without a com-

"i? LA, LA! I AM HAPPY. I SEW,
SEW, SEW"

panion. Townsend could not under-
stand it.

"I have been to America," he ex-
plained. "In fact, I've just run over
for a few days. Frankly, Maria, I
wanted to see you — I knew of your

trouble and " He seemed unable

to continue, without saying the wrong
thing.

"And, of course, you have not seen
Angelo?" she asked, as tho Angelo
had just stepped out.

"I dont want to," he retorted.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"Ah, I thought you understood
him," chided Maria, wonderingly.

"Maria, I have come to think that
it is you I do not understand. ' '

"I? La, la! I am happy. I sew,
sew, sew. I hear from my Angelo
every week."

"You hear from him?" cried
Townsend, in surprise.

1 ' Yes, ' ' replied Maria, proudly ; " he
sends me fifty francs the first of every
week."

"Oh, I see," said Townsend, queer-
ly. ' ' And you think some day he will
return ? ' '

"That and — something else" — she
tossed her hands, filled with sewing,
enigmatically — "are my only happi-
ness— and you, Monsieur Jacques. We
shall never forget you — Angelo and I
— Monsieur Jacques."

And Townsend left the brave
woman, with a hopeless expression on
his handsome face.

"What a woman!" he mused.
"Eventually, I've got to come over
and find another man for her — her
Angelo, who sends her a weekly allow-
ance and plays the vagabond all over
France ! ' ' He gave a contemptuous
swing to his shoulders.

A day later, he took the return
steamer for America.

The American returned again, pre-
pared to devote a year, if necessary,
in a search for Angelo. He hurried
to Maria's studio home. The place
was surrounded with an air of quiet,
and a doctor met him at the top of the
stairs. "She is very, very ill. Are
you her husband? No? Then it
would be advisable to get him here.
If she recovers, she should be moved
at once to a place where the air is
clearer and purer."

From the moment of Townsend 's
appearance, luxuries began to sur-
round the sick woman. He waited
around, patiently, for days, devoting
his evenings to looking for her vaga-
bond husband. A week passed before
he got a clew of the man's where-
abouts ; by that time the crisis had
passed. Angelo had gone to a little
village in Brittany colonized by
painters. Townsend made certain

arrangements that were to see Maria
comfortably installed in a little villa
in the environs of Paris the moment
she could stand the journey, and then
set out in search of Angelo.

He was told in the artist colony
that Angelo had left for Paris at least
two months before, half-starved, half-
frozen and his life-hopes almost shat-
tered, because he could not find the
true subject for his great Madonna.

Townsend hastened back to Paris,
and began a search that lasted nearly
a month before his efforts were re-
warded. One fruitless day he was
prowling about the dismal interior of
one of the old cathedral churches that
kings may once have visited and with-
drawn their royal patronage. By a
strange coincidence, it lay less than a
mile away from the little cottage in
which Maria now rested peacefully.

Underneath a window hung a dark
painting that a century before had
been called the greatest Madonna in
France — then forgotten. A long-
haired painter stood before a dilapi-
dated easel. Townsend was impelled
first to rush up to him, but changed
his mind, and stood several minutes
as tho admiring the painting. Angelo
did not look up.

"I do not think that such a fine
Madonna, ' ' commented Townsend,
casually.

"It is not a great — the great,
modern Madonna," replied Angelo,
without taking his eyes from his work.

"I know where the true subject for
the great Madonna may be found,
tho," continued Townsend.

Angelo looked up ; the next moment
he had embraced Townsend and held
him in a strong grip, as tho he were
about to run away.

"Listen," he was saying; "I lie
when I say that Madonnas are what I
seek. I am hungry here, here" — he
beat his breast dramatically — "but I
have committed a crime. She whom I
want above all things I have wronged.
I left her to be devoured by the
wolves and jackals of Paris. When I
awoke it was too late to return. I was
afraid to look upon what I might find.
This" — he lifted his arm toward the

THE ARTIST'S GREAT MADONNA

picture — ' ' has been but a pretense for
months, to shield my cowardly heart.
For a year have I painted cheap
Madonnas to keep from starving. If
you can say something that is not ill
news, say it — but tell me nothing
otherwise, I implore you ! ' '

Townsend only shook his head, and
they left the church, leaving the easel
still standing, never to be reclaimed.

It was of old times they talked, be-
fore the days of Maria. Each was
glad to eschew the latter subject. At
length they arrived before a little

AND IN A CHAIR OF CLASSIC MODEL ANGELO
SAW A WOMAN SEATED"

" Brace up, Angelo," comforted
Townsend. "I have found, at last,
the great Madonna! If you do not
agree with me, then I shall ask you no
further. But come, see this wonder-
ful person. After that you will hear
all the news, good and bad."

"Ah, dear friend Jacques, to be
with you again is worth much, and I
shall be glad to do anything you ask.
But is the news so terrible ? ' '

cottage. Townsend led the way up
the path.

"You will wait here until I re-
turn." He left Angelo lamenting
over his uncouth appearance.

Maria always wondered over the
warmth of Townsend 's greeting on
that occasion. There was something
of a tender yet fierce passion in it
that he had never before shown. On
her brow he left a kiss that burned

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

for weeks. Having made complete
arrangements for the setting inside,
he returned to Angelo.

"Now you may go in — never mind
me!" he said almost brutally, as
Angelo gave him an inquiring look.

And in a chair of classic model
Angelo saw a woman seated. The
dying day had placed a golden aureole
of sunlight in her hair, and she was
looking down at something drawn
close to her bosom, in a way that made
Angelo forget everything else on
earth. It was his vision recalled, re-

peated, revealed ! This
was the face he had
dreamed, the expression
he had sought in vain,

the eyes — the eyes

He was moving closer,
softly, his hat crushed in
his hand, as tho in the
presence of the Mother
of Sorrows herself. He
believed this but another
of those visions, those in-
tangible dreams. He
came so near that he
could touch the Madonna,
but, as he raised his
hand, a tiny cry sank
deep into his heart, and
she looked at him — she,
his Maria, with the won-
derful look. And that
look said, because it was
too deep for utterance:
"My love, Angelo — my
love — my love ! " And
she raised the tiny bundle
for him to see, but he
could not see just then,
for his eyes were blind
with mist, and the sobs
in his heart came to his
throat in choking gusts.
And it seemed now that a sudden
glory shone about his Maria that
would never be erased from his ach-
ing heart. And tears were flowing
from her eyes, too, and tho her lips
moved and no sound came, he under-
stood the words — she was holding
the child — their child — toward him;
and what she said was: "Our love,
Angelo ! ' '

And down the dusty road trudged
a man who would go on for the rest
of his life with only an aching picture
in his heart of the great Madonna.

The Safer Way

By GEORGE B. STAFF

I never tracked the forest ways

Of elephant or bear,
I'd rather go to photoplays

And see the pictures, where
Great hunters take the risk of it
For our especial benefit.

Word had come up to Marie, the
lady's-maid, that her mother
was waiting below in the
servants' hall. The message had sped
to her in that unaccountable manner
peculiar to servants in a great house-
hold— so noiselessly that it would
have slipped by a sentinel on each
stair-landing.

The silent girl was on duty — a
matter of getting her mistress out of
the house; and the fetching of toilet
articles, with a pat here and a tug
there of the costly demi-toilette of the
evening, kept her mind and hands
full to overcrowding.

As Mr. Hoight bustled into the
dressing-room, armed with his top hat
and cane, Marie discreetly turned out
the electric portable before her mis-
tress' mirror. It was a tacit signal
that her part of the toilette had been
performed to the minute. She left the
room a half-minute after them, reach-
ing the opened double street-doors in
the nick of time to fold Mrs. Hoight
into her opera-cloak. Such is the
charming mystery of high wages and
trained nimbleness.

The doors had barely closed, with
the whirr of the big limousine at the
curb gusting thru them, when a smile
stole across the girl's face — an un-
guarded and belated flashing of small
teeth, in acknowledgment of the mes-
sage winged up to her from below.

The butler caught it, from the

shadow where he stood, and charged
it to her credit in liberal figures. He
even held a door open, for Marie to
descend below. She slid thru it with-
out seeing him, and went quickly
down the stairs. The good-looking
head of the servant household stared
into the depths at her trim shape,
sighed, and rubbed the credit off his
mental slate. And so much, and no
more, for the little undercurrent,
which must not be taken for the tide
of the story.

A tall woman, with perfectly white
hair, rose from her chair as Marie
entered the servants' hall, and
strained the girl to her breast. At a
glance one could see that she had once
been very beautiful, and even as she
held the lady's-maid against her, a
pink tide, as delicate as the tint of
Chinese porcelain, suffused her cheeks.

"Tell me first, are you better?"
asked the woman, holding the girl's
face framed in her hands.

Marie smiled again, a humorous,
confident curving of her lips that
spoke more than words.

"Indeed I am," she affirmed, "and
I like my place so well." She lowered
her voice unconsciously. "Such a
strutty, good-natured, loud-talking
man is Mr. Hoight ; and Mrs. Hoight
— well

"Perhaps we had better go up to
her rooms, ' ' she went on ; " the walls
have ears in a house full of servants. ' '

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

They quietly left the basement and
ascended to Mrs. Hoight's dressing-
room. As Marie put away things and
tidied the silver on the dressing-table,
her mother watched each quick, deft
move.

"As I was saying," resumed the
girl, "Mrs. Hoight is a case — some-
times I like her, and then, again, I
think I cordially hate her. If I were
sure of the housekeeper's word, who
says that Mr.
Hoight married
her for her
barrels of money
when he was
just a handsome
young foreman in
her father 's mills,
I might feel more
sympathy for
her. She 's a per-
f ect cat for
jealousy; and I
think he some-
ti m es swe ar s
under his breath
at her, even
when he's smil-
ing at her. But
that's considered
proper with
society people,
a n y w a y — f eel
daggers and look
like honey. Hello !
that's funny !
There's Henri
back with the car
already."

The purr of
the motor on the
pavement sifted

thru the closed windows plainly.
Marie switched out the electrolier,
and the room lay in soft shadows, lit
only by the little, cut-glass portable.
A quick step came on the stairs and
along the hall. ' ' Mercy ! ' ' whispered
Marie, "it's Mr. Hoight."

As the door was flung open, Marie 's
mother drew herself into one of the
long shadows. A remarkably hand-
some man, perhaps forty-five, with
heavy, iron-gray hair and the jaws
and brilliant eyes of a fighter, stood

MRS. HOIGHT'S TOILETTE IS AT
LAST COMPLETED

in the opening. The half-light blurred
the outlines of his face, but as he
spoke, sharp and short, the woman's
breath caught in her throat.

"Marie," he said, "Mrs. Hoight
neglected to wear her necklace — the
diamond one. I 've come^ back for it.
Get it from the safe, please."

The girl went to the wall, and they
could hear the dull click of the ratchets
in the lock, under her fingers. Then
the man seemed
to feel another's
presence in the
room — a hostile
presence, for his
brilliant eyes
narrowed like a
great, wary
tiger's.

Near the win-
dow embrasure
he could make
out the shape of
a woman, a fa-
miliar shape that
he had once meas-
ured with his
strong, encircling
arms. There was
no mistaking the
mass of curling
hair, now white,
once brown and
shot with gold
lights. He could
not see her eyes,
but he could feel
them on him,
searching him
thru and thru.
And he knew that
she knew, and
was holding herself back in the
shadows from him.

How many vague years ago were
those now suddenly brought back so
close to him — a hundred, a thousand ;
or was it yesterday? There was a
little girl-child, too, in her arms, in
the mill cottage doorway. A child
that had sunny hair like her mother 's,
and his eyes and open smile. He
remembered crying when she lay,
white and bleeding, with a big gash in
her chubby cheek, and crying again,

THE UNKNOWN

with joy, when the doctor said it
wasn't serious.

If only the shadowy thing in the
window would speak and break the
spell ! It was so trying, to face down
his memory, with this silent witness
reading his thoughts. Why didn't
she make a scene? Why hadn't she
sent him tearful letters, or set a blood-

radiant necklace in his hands. He
grasped at it, and turned and fled
from his all too-powerful memory, or
from something real that he dared
not investigate.

As Marie stared after him in blank
wonderment, she felt the same soft
hands against her face and the same
calm eyes search hers again. She

"strained the girl to her breast"

sucking lawyer on his track? And
what was she doing here now, like a
ghost in his house ?

He felt the beads of perspiration
jetting his hair and dropping down
on his thick eyebrows, but was power-
less to speak or leave the room. The
world seemed to whirl. Was that her
hand on his arm for an instant, sup-
porting him? The slight jar of the
safe door against the wall shook him
like a heavy detonation. Then Marie
crossed between them and placed the

patted her mother's arm, and the
whimsical smile unfurled across her
mouth.

"Yes," she exclaimed, "I've never
seen him act so spooky before — guess
he was hounded some about the neck-
lace. Life isn't all peaches and
cream."

The hands against her trembled so
that she reached up and took them in
hers.

"Good-night, dear. I must be go-
ing ; I 'm afraid I 'm keeping you up. ' '

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"Mother," said Marie, earnestly,
"promise me one thing. Dont do so
much sewing. It's killing you to work
the way you do — just now I felt your
hands tremble — you are as white as a
sheet. The help here think I'm a
tightwad, and I laugh at them in my
sleeve. I 'm going to bring you a nice
little bit at the end of my month. ' '

The big house gradually took on a
charmed stillness, and the girl quite
lost herself in the pages of the
"thriller."

Presently the purr of the motor
under the windows again brought her
to her senses, and she jumped up, to
peer thru the curtains. There was
something unusual the matter, for

"was that her hand on his arm?

' ' It isn 't work, girl. It isn 't money.
It's "

"Because you think so much of me.
Wasted love, and you'll never get it
back."

Marie gave her mother three big
hugs, to show her woman's incon-
sistency, and sat down to read a novel
against the return of her mistress.
She wasn't expected to be up till
three in the morning, but she was
particularly restive that night, and
her bedroom next to the cook, who had
nightmares, held no charms for her.

Henri had gotten down from his seat
and was bending into the door of the
limousine.

Then, under her eyes, she saw the
whole wordless little tragedy of mar-
ried life acted out — saw Henri's back
stiffen as he supported a weight, and
saw him lift the lifeless figure of her
mistress from the car. Mr. Hoight
stepped hurriedly out, and, together,
he and the chauffeur carried the
woman up the steps.

Marie did not lose her presence of
mind ; tho she shook like a coward, she

THE UNKNOWN

ran thru the long corridor and down
the stairs, switching on lights as she
ran. She met them at the door.
. "Ah, Marie!" exclaimed Mr.
Hoight, a look of relief coming into
his haggard eyes, "Mrs. Hoight was
suddenly overcome while singing, and
recovered enough to get into the car.
On the way home she fainted dead
away. Run up to her room, and get
her bed-things ready."

"I have been up," the girl said;
"everything is
ready. ' '

"Good! Call
James ! As soon
as we carry her
upstairs I am go-
ing for the doc-
tor."

The struggling
procession started
up the broad
stairway, Marie
in advance. The
ghastly, beautiful
face of her mis-
tress lay back
over the men 's
arms, and the
necklace slipped
off her throat,
tinkling and slip-
ping gleefully
down the polished
wood. Mr. Hoight
kicked it vicious-
ly from under his
feet. He had
never faced death
before, and the
good and evil in

him both rushed terror-stricken to the
surface.

They laid her on her bed, with its
lace covering thrust back, and pres-
ently she opened her eyes wide and
plucked feebly at her bare throat.

' ' Fred — mercy — air ! ' ' gasped the
woman ; then lay still, quivering.

Suddenly she rose up and pulled
herself partly across the bars of the
headboard, her strong body bent taut
with torture. There the end came,
like the snapping of a thread ; almost
grotesquely, savagely.

IT ISNT WORK
MONEY.

As for the man, he flung himself on
her, bursting with convulsive sobs.

The whole thing was so sudden — a
swift blow in the night, that wealth
nor an army of physicians could not
ward off. A death in a cave, from a
spear wound, a thousand years back,
could not have been worse.

Marie stayed on in the stricken
house for a week. It was Saturday,
and on Sunday she was to go.

She had seen
little of Mr.
Hoight since his
wife 's terrible
death, t h o once,
while she was
putting away
some of her late
mistress' dainty
things, she had
glanced up, to
catch him staring
strangely at her.
What made her
wonder more, and
deeply, were the
marked changes
that had come
over him. His
former swagger
had dwindled
into a slow, stoop-
shouldered walk;
his deep voice
had sunk into a
husky whisper;
even his brilliant
eyes had lost
their luster.
Her trunk had
already gone to her mother's little
pair of rooms, and she passed her last
night in the great house, thinking
only slightly of her future and a good
deal of the solemn events of the past
week.

She had little to do now, and Sun-
day afternoon came around all too
slowly for her. She was sitting on her
bed, staring out, for the last time,
over the fine expanse of back garden,
with its snug-clipped shrubs, when a
tap came upon her door. Marie knew
the hand behind that tap ; it was so

, GIRL. IT ISN T
IT'S "

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

lingering and soft, almost as if a cat's
tail had brushed against the panel.

"Yes, James."

"You're wanted in the master's
library — he 's there. ' '

* ' Thanks. You needn 't wait for me
to come out, and show me the way
down, and hold the spring-door. I 've
been here over a month, you know. ' '

Marie was smiling, in spite of her-
self, as she thought of James ' wounded
expression. He usually recovered so
quickly when she
smiled toward
him, that she
couldn't help
teasing him just
a little now and
then.

She heard him
moving off, and,
after an interval,
followed him be-
low. She discreet-
ly knocked at the
library door. No
answer; only a
nervous cough.
But she had been
sent for, and Mr.
H o i g h t was in
there, so she
opened the door
and went in.

He was seated
at a reading-
table, in his
street-clothes. As
the door-lock
clicked, he seemed
to count her steps
toward him, but

he did not raise his eyes nor speak.
She noticed that, while his position
was easy, his hands gripped the edge
of the table. This seemed strange,
and then, all at once, his words
jumbled out at her:

"Marie, I have been to church —
St, George's. I have always had a
pew there, and, somehow, today I
remembered it. The organ was play-
ing softly when I entered. Somehow
it recalled the organ in a little, cross-
roads church of years ago. Then the
minister preached a very long sermon,

THE PICTURES OF
COMING, BRIGHTER

and I dreamed more of the old dream.
After that, before I realized it, the
people in front of me were on their
knees, praying, and I was doing the
same. How strange it was, and how
real ! Musty years that came back all
at once to me.

"Did I pray? Hardly; but the
pictures of long ago kept coming,
brighter and brighter, until I was a
lusty young millhand again, with a
lass kneeling by my side. And, at
home, a mite of a
girl was playing
alone in a ten-
foot garden.
That 's all now.
Tomorrow you
will understand,
when you take me
to your mother. ' '
She stared at
him, not under-
standing in the
least.

" It 's true ; not
a dream — just a
bit of life,", he
said. "And I saw
her the night I
came back for the
necklace. She's
older ; and the
mite 's a woman
now ; and God
has kept tem-
pered the wind,
to both of them,
somehow. ' '

His voice hum-
bled, and his eyes
begged her to
understand. But still she stood
slightly swaying before him, the un-
belief of midnight and shadows and
strange words vague in her gaze. His
eyes fell, dreading the look, and he
waved her gently away.

"Tomorrow you shall understand
—Marie."

Tomorrow! Word of wonderful
possibilities. One is ill — tomorrow he
will be better, God willing. One lias
done a wrong, but tomorrow shall
right it. In the little sitting-room,
prosperous with sunshine, poverty-

LONG AGO KEPT
AND BRIGHTER"

THE UNKNOWN

marked, she sat, white-haired and
gentle, her eyes patient with years of
denied tomorrows, facing the two in
the doorway. In her look was no
anger, hatred, reproach. It was im-
personal, strangely like a spectator,
waiting for the play to begin.

"Nettie!" It was more a cry than
a word. Mr. Hoight held out aimless
hands. The gesture was that of one

do that unless you — were — God Him-
self "

The pain in his eyes seemed to
pierce her frozen isolation. The
scales of a woman's justice are strange
things. One moment of suffering and
repentance balanced against eighteen
years of shame and struggle. The
scales hesitated; then swung down-
ward in his favor. With a sobbing

THE GESTURE WAS THAT OF ONE REACHING IMPOTENTLY ACROSS A GULF

reaching impotently to another across
a gulf.

"Nettie! — so it was you — that —
night, in the shadows. I wasn't sure
— the hair — so white. Your hair
wasn't white when I saw it the last
time — Nettie ' '

The woman with the blanched curls
and faded eyes smiled painfully — the
smile that is a contortion of the soul.
But she said nothing, waiting.

"Nettie — of course, I'm not asking
you to forgive me" — the bruised
words came with difficulty from the
travail of his lips — "you couldn't

laugh she had bridged the gulf and
was in his shaking arms.

"But — you — cant — forgive me — "
The words trailed pitifully. She
raised her patient eyes, afire now.

"I can love you," she cried. Her
hands, seamed with toil, crept to his
cheeks, drawing his face down. "I
have never stopped — that — dear."

Marie tiptoed from the room. She
did not quite understand, even yet,
but she knew somehow that where
they stood, those two, the forgiven
and the divinely forgiving, it was
holy ground.

ome

ussion

By MARIE EMMA LEFFERTS
It was at the close of Sunday-school,

When the minister asked each boy
How many remembered to bring ten cents

To add to the Yuletide joy
Of those who suffered, far from home,

To help in a foreign land.
"Now, will those who have not forgotten

Quietly raise their hand?"
All chubby hands but one were raised,

And that belonged to tiny Ned.
"So, my boy, you did forget?"

"I spent mine, sir," the culprit said.
The minister's kindly eye grew stern:

"I will speak with you, Ned, alone ;
So, after Sunday-school is dismissed,

Come to me before going home."
Thus tiny Ned lingered till all were gone.

"Now, my boy, the truth I would know.
You say that you spent the money?"

"Yes, sir, I did, at the picture show.
Oh, but, sir, you must not be angry ;

I'm sure you will say I did right.
You see, I was on my way to the store —

And — and it was Saturday night.
Well, sir, J hate to tell you,

But maybe you know about Dad ;
He is not altogether to blame, sir,

'Cause it's drink, sir, that made him bad.
But last night, when I saw him standing

Outside of — of the same saloon,
I ran right across the street, sir,

And I got there none too soon,
For the wheel of a wagon struck me,

And threw me hard to one side;
But it didn't hurt me a bit, sir,

For Dad's arms held me tight, and he cried.
Well, sir, I was so happy,

I said : 'Come, Pop, it's my treat, you know
If you're glad I'm alive, just come with me

Into the picture show.'
And that's the way it was, sir ;

But the best is yet to come :
There was one picture, Parson,

Called 'A Home Destroyed by Rum.'
It showed a drunken father,

And a wife and child forlorn.
I looked up quick at Daddy,

But, sir, do you know he had gone!
I ran home fast as I could, sir,

And, as I opened the door,
I heard Dad say to mother:

'I will never drink any more!'
I felt kind of sick and shaky,

Ma and Pa both put me to bed ;
Then they knelt close down beside me,

And prayed God to bless their Ned.
Now, I have told you all, sir,

And was I so wicked, then?"
"My boy, I, too, can only pray:

'God bless you, Ned ! Amen !' "

€

\£*

RodothY LeMod

Over the stark Sierras, where the mountains mate with the sky,
The frail clouds trail across the peaks, and day and night float by;
Breathless Day on the hilltops, dim Day in the pine-glade's gloom,
Night a garden of starbuds and the silver-flowered moon.
Winding up thru the foothills, rock-strewn and dusty-pale,
Over the cliffs and the canyons, clambers the mountain trail;
And where the trail toils steepest, on its way to the Gold Bug Mine,
Stands a rude, unpainted cottage, green-strung with the passion-vine.
At morning-break and at even, thru the doorway might be heard,
In a solemn voice and awestruck, the reading of God's word.
"Daddy Jim," they called him, with his wife and his little maid,
Long had dwelt in that cabin under the pine-tree's shade.
He white-locked and time-marked, she with her mother-face,
And the little maid a wildwood child, with a wistful elfin grace.
Ceaseless, over the far peaks, strange winds are born and blow
From the strong sweet soul of the mountain on the fevered flats below.
Like cathedral bells in the pine-tops is the solemn surge of their song:
"Praise God !" they sigh along the sky ; "Be clean of heart and strong."
All day long in the valley, men chatter and sell and buy,
And the pulse of the world beats madly under the pulseless sky.
But by night and by day on the hilltops, above the valley's din,
Men dwell with the beauty of God without and the peace of God within.
So dwelt this humble family, living simply day by day,
With the latch-string out as a welcome to all who passed that way;

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

And a lantern, hung in the window, sent its friendly finger of light
To guide the weary wand'rer, adrift in the pathlesss night.

Like an eerie wood-thing a-dance in the sun and the shade,

Thru the charm of her childhood fluttered the little maid.

Eyes star-bright with mischief, hair the sport of the breeze,

Frowning, laughing, and mocking, they called her "The Little Tease."

Down over great pink rock-falls, where only the chipmunks go,

Cheeks as vivid as roses, she passed like a thistle-blow.

Over the arrowy torrents, plunging in showers of spray,

Leaped the maid on the stepping-stones, as swift and as sure as they.

The wild folk knew her and feared her, magpipe and fox and bear;

Some she pelted with pebbles, some she trailed to their lair.

Heart untaught with a sorrow, eyes ungentled with tears,

Tall she grew and round-breasted, under the touch of the years.

Over the Book in the evening, Daddy Jim bowed his head ;

"Honor thy father and mother and thy days will be long," he read.

Little she heeded the reading, tho her

looks and her manner were meek,
And her brown eyes melted with mis-
chief thru the lashes that lay on her

cheek.
Whining along the canyon, rang the

coyote's mocking cries ;
Over the desolate ice-peaks the sunset

dims and dies;
And up the stumbling trail way comes

the tread of eager feet—
The father closes the Bible and the

mother turns in her seat.
Giantwise in the low door, stood the

bashful mountain lad;
The heart of him shone in his honest

eyes, tender and true and glad.
He bowed to the father and mother,

but his glance was all for the maid,
^nd he stood before her in silence,

afraid and yet unafraid.
The love of a lad is a holy thing, but

the lips of a lad are dumb,
So he stood in silence before her, and

the slow words would not come.
Mockingly laughed the Little Tease, tossing her saucy head :
"My burro's a better talker; he can bray at least," she said.
Hot anger stained his forehead, he seized and held her tight,
But she slipped from his grasp like a shadow and was gone thru the mild moonlight.

'AND A
DOW,

LANTERN, HUNG IN
SENT ITS FRIENDLY
OF LIGHT"

THE WIN-
FINGER

THE LITTLE TEASE

After her sped the lover, thru the tendrils of silver mist,

And still she flitted before him, like a teasing will-o-the-wisp.

The white-petaled cup of the primrose trembled beneath her feet —

No startled fawn of the mountains was lighter or more fleet.

On like a naughty moonbeam, astray in the aspen trees,

Till only her laughter was left him — he had lost her, the Little Tease !

LITTLE SITE HEEDED THE READING, TITO HER LOOKS AND HER MANNER

WERE MEEK"

The bloom was on the summer, balsamic, brown, austere;

The bare black hills were fruitful with the ripeness of the year.

Up the steep trail from the valley rode a stranger, cautious-slow1 —

Now he scanned the distant snow-peaks, now the timber-line below;

Long black cloak of finest broadcloth, silk hat tilted on his hair,

Lordly gazed he on the prospect with a condescending air.

Suddenly his hat was pelted helter-skelter to the ground;

The Valley Man dismounted, looking high and low around.

In the broad arms of a chestnut, lightning-wrenched and thunder-wried,

Laughing from her eerie hiding, a little maid he spied.

Colorful as the pink penstermon was this gipsy of the wild,

With a woman's round allurements and the elf-face of a child.

Thru his weary, world-worn pulses he could feel the quick blood thrill,

Xever town-maid half so lovely as this naiad of the hill ;

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Bowed his deepest bow before her, smiled he, then, his sweetest smile.
"Grant me leave," he said, aO wood-nymph ! for my horse to rest awhile/
Twilight wand'ring to the lowlands, thru the leagues of scented air,
Passed the Valley Man still talking to the mountain maiden there.
Over the stern Sierras the night comes drifting in —
Night the reward of virtue, Night the protector of sin ;
Homeward she faltered wide-eyed, thru the fair, faint afterglow,
Wond'ring at what he had taught her, and the more there was to know.

"the valley man dismounted, looking high and low around"

Scarcely she saw her mother, scarcely she listened and heard

The father's stern voice soften in the reading of God's word :

"Let us love one another, for God is love," he read —

Her breath came quick with secret thought, "Tomorrow, the Valley Man said !"

Around the humble cabin wailed the strange wind before dawn,

She freed the latch-string behind her, glanced back, then hurried on.

Gone thru the yellow ore-dust, down the gulch, grey-green with pine,

Over the rusty mountain brook, over the timber-line.

Below on the open highway, winding down to the plain,

The Valley Man was waiting ; she was in his arms again.

Hot and fierce his kisses rained down upon her mouth,

And her lips were eager for them, as a starved plant after drought.

THE LITTLE TEASE

"You are mine, I will love you always/' he whispered soft and low —
"Always, and always, and always/' the sad winds seemed to blow.
In a whirl of dust came the stage-coach, and off again down the hill —
"Always, and always, and always/' the echoes whispered still.

"Gone, our baby, our daughter ! Gone, our own Little Tease !"
The stricken father and mother sought God's comfort on their knees;
But when the last prayer was faltered, the last petition was said,
Daddy Jim turned, in the silence, to find the frail wife dead.
Awful the look of the old eyes, as into her face he peered;

"she freed the latch-string behind her, glanced back, then hurried on"

With a curse, he flung down the Bible — "God is love!" the old man jeered.
He and the grief -marked lover dug the grave of the grief -killed wife,
And he came back home to the cabin, to brood on his ruined life.
The dust grew thick on the Bible, the door was latched and tight,
And no more the friendly lantern sent out its gospel of light.

The air is clean on the hilltops, it is sick on the fevered plain,

Where the Dark and the Day are brothers, and Pleasure is kin to Pain.

All night the red lights beckon, under the star-pure skies,

Where there is no soul to music, and laughter has mirthless eyes;

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

All night there is drinking and eating, and the shuffle of dancing feet,

Till the women's paint grows garish when lamplight and daybreak meet.

In the hotel hall he left her : "I'll be back in a little while."

Her heart turned faint with its beating, under his meaning smile.

Men and women, passing, turned to stare at the mountain maid,

Till her cheek was shamed with her blushes, and her heart was cold and afraid.

Then swift to her feet she hurried thru the door where he had gone,

Fright-spurred down the long, dark corridors, and on and on and on.

And then his voice — she heard it, and the sight that stung her eyes

Left her white-lipped and heavy-breathing, shrinking back in her surprise.

Full-lipped, with opulent bosom, ah ! surely she was fair,

The girl in the arms of the Valley

Man, his hot cheek on her hair — .
Fair as a poison-flower that has smi-
ling death in its face;
And, oh! her bare throat's ecstasies!

and, oh ! her bosom's grace !
Over the soul of the mountain maid,

like a healing torrent came
The scorch of bitter repenting and the

cleansing fires of shame —
Out, out into God's safe darkness, with

God's kind stars overhead,
Thru the dull-faced, gaping crowds,

fear-driven, on she sped.

Twelve moons had waned on the high-
lands, twelve months had died on
the plain,

Before the maid of the mountains saw
a friendly face again.

All day from sunrise to sunset she
toiled for her honest bread,

Tho the song of her soul was silent and
the joy in her heart was dead.

The air of the plains was stifling, she could not breathe it at first,

And the thought of the pine-breath at dawning was on her like a thirst.

Wind of the peaks in the willows, wailing its wistful tune,

And the aspen's arabesques of twigs against the copper moon;

The tremble, toil and the tumult of the foam-flecked mountain streams —

All night, in her troubled slumber, they went roaring thru her dreams.

But the shame of her sin was upon her, and she dared not lift her eyes

To where the distant mountains reared their crests against the skies.

Then the world grew wistful with springtime, even the world of the plain —

The heart of the maid remembered, and the memory was a pain.

There it lay withered before her, the fragile toy of an hour,

Pale as the first spring sun-rays, a rosy arbutus flower.

'always, and always, and always,'
the sad winds seemed to blow"

THE LITTLE TEASE

Long she dreamed o'er the blossom; then she lifted her head:

"I will arise and go to my father, and ask his forgiveness," she said.

Up thru the dense, sweet bracken, up by the roaring flume,

Where the silver-green sage-bushes wave their braggadocio plume;

The pines were like Gothic spires to her valley-tired eyes,

And the sound of the wind in their tall tops was like bells against the skies.

The bold cliffs tripped her awkward feet as she struggled up the trail,

And she started back in terror from a mountain lion's wail ;
But, oh ! the mercy of night-time that was not an echo of clay !
The stars were the beads of a rosary, and the mountains seemed to pray.
The peace of their holy faces, like a blessing coming down,
Washed from her soul the turmoil and the troubled taint of the town.
Once more she was free in spirit, once more she was whole in soul,
As she sped up the well-known pathway, toward the gaining of her goal;
Then — and she paled in the darkness, and her heart was stilled with fright-
There before her the cabin; but where was the old-time light?

An hour before the mountain lad, like a silent shadow had crept
In thru the cabin window, as the sad old father slept.
Softly he opened the Bible, dusting the covers with care;
Gently he placed the old hand on a page, and left him there.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

When Life is too hard for the bearing, and Death is a blessing, it seems,
God sends man the mercy of slumber and the tender boon of His dreams.
Gone for a moment the sorrow, the loneliness and the pain,
Gone the nnfaith and the hatred— Daddy Jim was happy again.
A quick step tripped thru his sleeping; he opened his dim old eyes,
And they fell on the open Bible, with a start of awe and surprise.

"his baby come home from the nowhere, with the tears in her

elfin eyes"

Stooped he then o'er the chapter, as he stooped in believing years —

"God shall wipe away weeping, and there shall be no more tears."

On the door of the cabin faltered a rapping, soft and slow,

And a voice crept into his sad heart, like an echo from Long Ago.

Dazed, he drew out the latch-string; then the mountains rang to his cries —

His baby come home from the Nowhere, with the tears in her elfin eyes.

Woman-wise she stood there, child-eyed and girlish-slim —

"Thou hast given me back my daughter — Lord, I thank Thee," said Daddy Jim;

But a little later, as they rose from their reverent knees,

With a shake in his voice as he kist her, "Good-night, then, my Little Tease."

Over the stark Sierras God's seasons come and go,
The dawn is clear on the mountains, the world lies far below;
There where the trail is steepest glows a friendly rudder of light,
To guide the weary wand'rer, adrift in the pathless night.

(PtfHEPLPtf)

by Karl-, Sc/f'/iurR

Most written romances end at the
beginning. The hero courts
the girl, marries her, and their
story closes neatly, with a period;
whereas, in real life it is just com-
mencing with a question mark. Mar-
riage might be respelled ' ' Chapter I. ' '
What comes before is the preface ;
what comes after is unfolded slowly,
as the leaves of the Book are turned
over one by one. Carefully — my
hero and my heroine — turn them
carefully, or you may tear them, such
fragile pages has your Book o' Life!
Well for you if, at the end of the last
chapter, you may read reverently :
"And they have lived happily to-
gether always."

"I, James, take thee, Marion — "
the heavy fragrance of the orange-
blossoms on her dark ringlets — a
strange hybrid scent, as tho with the
sweetness were mingled the faint,
bitter tang of tears !

"■ — for better, for worse — in sick-
ness and in health "

Solemn words these, that catch a
lover's breath. His fingers close
strangely about her fluttering ones.
Please God, he will be good to her,
make her happy. Many a lover has
donned his manhood with these
words:

"Till death us do part "

Those who have just found Life
know death as a mere concept ; part-
ing as an impossibility.

Then the voice of the minister,
impersonal as tho the Church herself
were speaking, or the Law — "I now
pronounce you man and wife."

"Father!" cried Marion. She
lifted her bride-bright face to his
working old lips, her wet eyes sud-
denly wistful — "J£iss me again — for
mother, dear," she whispered. "So!
Now, Brother Jack, your turn, and
yours, Uncle "

"And mine, sweetheart!" Her
tall boy-husband laughed ; unrebuked,
he gathered her, wedding finery, frail
flowers and all, against his breast,
bending to her lips. ' ' The first kiss I
ever gave my wife." The words were
tangled unheard in her hair, as the
friends crowded about them, laugh-
ing, jesting, shaking hands. Frin-
ging the group with vivid color,
bobbed the negro servants, turbans
tilted over wide, gleaming smiles.

"Wish y' joy, missus — wish y' joy,
mass 'r ! "

' ' Thank you, Delphine — thank you,
Sam!"

Beyond the veranda, the southern
day drooped to the miracle of the sun-
set, touching the listless land with a
thousand faint rays, like tender

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

finger-tips. The subtle light stained
the tall pillars faintly rose and flung
an unreal glamor about the group
waving good-by handkerchiefs and
aprons as James and his bride passed
down the steps, out of the placid
present into the fair-promising, future,
from the dear Now into the dearer
Yet-to-Be.

""Good-by! God go with you!
Write soon and dont forget us ! ' '

band's rough Inverness cape. Then
wistfully : ' * I wonder when I shall see
it next. ' '

Perhaps there was prophecy in
Delphine's words as she curtsied,
among the servants on the lawn.

1 ' Mis ' Mar 'on done ma 'ied a mig 'ty
nice man," she commented sagely,
"but" — the red and .purple turban
shook disapprovingly — ' ' dere 's one
thing Ah don' like: he treats us

UNTIL DEATH US DO PART

Forget them! Marion's eyes were
misty as she looked back. Unreally
beautiful it was, with the heartache
that is the birthright of Beauty : the
wide, green lawn ; moss-bearded yew-
trees; the proud, white pillars; the
air steeped and husky with the
essence drained from sun-warmed
flower-petals, and the faint, fine even-
ing light soothing it all.

"You must be my home now,
dear," she whispered against her hus-

niggers jes' lak' we was as good as
white folks ! ' '

"South Carolina has seceded!"
Marion stared into her brother's
white face with the puzzled expres-
sion that greets undreamed-of news.
Men on the battlefield meet death with
the same silly wonder on their faces
— the nation wore it when the wail
went up from Washington : ' ' Lincoln
is shot!"

IN THE DAYS OF THE WAR

Jack's horse, foam-smeared from
rude riding, panted sobbingly by
the picket block. But its owner did
not seem hurried. Tragedy is never
out of breath — always dignified, ter-
ribly calm. He tapped his boots with
his riding-whip as he looked intently
at her and repeated slowly: "South
Carolina has seceded, Marion. Do
you realize what that means?"

The little girl in the high-waisted
flower-frock and pantalets, peeping
at her uncle shyly from the ambush
of her mother's skirts, burst into a
shrill wail of pleased terror, burrow-

swear before. It awed her more than
her brother's impassive calm or the
stunning tidings themselves. Strange
how, in great tragedy, it is the little
pricks that sting ! This man 's dearest
in the world lies dead in the next
room, and a lost collar-button is a
keen distress; that man's fortune is
swept away, and he complains, queru-
lously, that his breakfast eggs were
boiled too long.

James Adams drew a long, hard
breath. His eyes looked, prophet-like,
into the distance, visioning. "It's a
war of justice, a war of humanity —

SOUTH CAROLINA HAS SECEDED !

ing her corkscrewed hair into the pro-
tecting folds of crinoline.

"Hush, Betty!" Marion stroked
the child's head with absent fingers.
Suddenly the color drained from her
face.

"Jack — it means — it means "

"War!" It was her husband's
voice, exultant, behind her. She
would have hidden her face against
his breast, but he pushed her aside
gently. Women are blessings of peace
— war is a man-affair.

"It means war, then — and I'm
glad of it; man alive, it's high time.
War ! I 'm— d d— glad— of— it ! ' '

She had never heard her husband

God 's war ! " he cried buoyantly. ' ' I
fight under the Northern flag. ' '

Like the embodied wills of the
North and the South, the two faced
each other in a deadlock of eyes.
Sudden hate flashed, lightning-like,
across John Chase's face. He turned
to the door

"Wait!" James held out his hand.
"This isn't our quarrel, brother.
Let's shake hands like friends be-
fore our consciences force us to be
enemies "

The other disdained the motion.
When he spoke it was the voice of his
ancestors, the composite defiance of
generations, dust long ago.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"I am a Southern gentleman, suh
— and no traitor. ' ' The words tinkled
against the waiting air like ice.
"Marion, are you my sister or your
husband 's wife ? ' '

She drew her little girl closer and
broke into feeble, helpless sobbing. It
is always the women's hearts that are
wrenched asunder when men quarrel
— bleeding the black tears so much
harder to shed than mere blood.

James Adams answered for her, his

love, dear?
shall not —

You must not go — you

He held her agonized face gently
between his two big hands, looking
down into it, sadly smiling, until the
shamed color drowTned her skin from
throat to hair-line and her wild eyes
softened with the mercy of tears.

"That is better, sweetheart/' he
whispered. "You know we are never
parted — 'until death us do part' —
you remember, dear? If you're in

JAMES GOES TO THE^ FRONT, LEAVING HIS WIFE IN HER FATHER 's CARE

arms about her loverwise, his voice
breaking with the hard words he must
say.

"Marion — wife," he cried, "you
must go home with your brother. You
will be safe there and cared for, and
I — I go the other way "

"No, no!" she panted, breathless
with dread. Her hot cheek was
against his, her frantic lips stifled his
words. "You must not leave me—
James. "What is a war— what is an
idea— what is the right beside our

danger I'll come to you, whether it's
possible or not — and you will come to
me. Distances dont separate lovers —
nor days. Kiss me, dear, like my own
brave girl."

And so Marion Adams came home
again to her father's house. But the
roses had crumbled on the sun-dial,
glaring starkly upward to the cold
winter sun, and a wild wind was
working havoc among the autumn-
rusted leaves of the sycamores, whirl-
ing them, in savage, gusty arms, down

IN THE DAYS OF THE WAR

the long linden alleys. The child,
conscious of the great incomprehen-
sible wings of dissension beating the
air, clung to her mother's hand, quiet
because she could not understand.
The white-haired, grief -lined old man
that they called her grandfather —
the rolling eyes of the little picanin-
nies, gathered, like fairy-book imps, to
admire her fair skin — the comings
and goings of stern men in gray uni-
forms— all these things were strange.
But when her mother knelt by the
bed that night to hear her "Now-I-
lay-me," and, instead, fell a-weeping
quietly, head buried in the pillow,
she began to understand dimly, and
assumed her woman's heritage of
sorrow by flinging comforting arms
about the shaking head and whisper-
ing: "I'se here, mama — isn't I some
help— jes' a little?"

General Hooker's headquarters, in
1863, was a poor cradle for the bril-
liant schemes born and nursed there.
The blurred light of a snowfall sulked
in smokily, bringing the sting of the
cold with it, till the blue-coated offi-
cers, gathered about the table, beat
their gauntleted hands and stamped
their cowhide boots, vainly wooing
warmth. The General stooped pain-
fully over a rough-sketched road-map,
trailing one finger craftily along the
printed hills and valleys. Outside, a
sentry shadowed by, with snow-
muffled tread ; within, the monotonous
murmur about batteries, camps and
strategy went on, strangely like,
James Adams thought whimsically,
the undertone of far-away, unheard
artillery. His eyes were absent, as he
turned them on the huddled group.
Four months and more since he had
had word from Marion. That is the
worst of war—the not knowing. At
home the women go about their daily
work with a tense, listening look of
face. At the front, the men bravely
charge a suspected thicket, teeming
with the silent threat of death, and
quiver and whiten with dread of the
post-carrier who brings the infre-
quent letters to the camp.

The rapid hoof-beats of an orderly

spattered now thru the conference
about the table. In he came, his
rough blue cape powdered white with
the storm, and flung down a bunch
of dispatches before the General.
Adams touched his arm timidly.

"Nothing— for me?"

The rider drew a crumpled news-
paper from his pocket grudgingly. A
marked paragraph focused Adams'
quivering gaze. He read it in swift
gulps; his hands stiffened about the
flimsy thing.

"My God— and I'm not there!"
The slow words drew the faces of the
other men toward his, quivering
and colorless. Seeing them, Adams
brought himself to a rigid salute.

"My little girl, sir," he answered
Hooker's questioning frown — "she's
dying, the paper says. May I go,
sir?"

Hooker's frown deepened. A sick
child! What was that to be consid-
ered when there were batteries to be
taken and battles to be fought? He
drummed impatiently on the board-
table.

"Nonsense, Major Adams; you
could not possibly get thru the Con-
federate lines. They're drawn about
us taut as a string "

"Give me two days' leave, sir, and
I'll report to you for duty on the
third," cried Adams, earnestly. "For
God's sake, sir! I promised my wife
to come if she needed me "

"Very well." Hooker scrawled a
line on a scrap of paper and thrust it
into his officer's hand. "You're tak-
ing desperate chances — but — go."

Gray-clad in Confederate home-
spun, Adams galloped thru the storm.
The air was wild with white — a sway-
ing curtain before, about him. Thud !
thud! his horse's footfalls, choked
with the sandy drift beneath. Spectre-
like, the horse and rider floated dimly
on, across snaky pools, bridged with
infrequent ice-spans ; under cotton-
wood boughs, moss-strung and clogged
with strange Tennessee snow. Once
a squirrel, barking huskily from a
hollow log, caused his horse to shy in
panic ; often his anxious eyes, peering

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

thru the lattice-work of flakes, dis-
cerned sentries in sycamore stumps
and ambushes lying in wait behind
harmless boulders. The woods began
to thin out, fading into cotton-fields,
with a low log cabin here and there.
I Then, on the hill before him, the
Chase mansion loomed, white against
the pallor of the sky. He tied his
horse to a hidden sycamore. Then,
a gray shadow sliding thru the other
shadows, he crept across the lawn to
the casement windows. He peered in
— firelight twinkling on the haughty
mahogany and Chippendale — an
empty room. He entered and stood
listening. Footsteps! Dropping to
his knees, he crouched beneath the
piano. A yellow girl,, important with
jingling key-ring and long taper,
came in, humming softly "Dem
Golden Slippers. ' ' He heard her move
about the room, lighting the candles;
then a swish of skirts that drove the
blood to his heart — Marion !

"You may go, Delphine " The

dear, familiar, golden voice of her !

She wandered aimlessly to the
piano, fingers fluttering to the keys.
Suddenly he felt her grow tense — a
quick breath! She had snatched
something from the mantle-shelf and
was stooping down to his hiding-
place

"Come out or I shall shoot "

I must see her-

Come, then, dear — softly-

The revolver fell from her relaxed
fingers as she swayed forward and
into her husband's hungry arms.

"James — James — James!" She
could not say it enough, smothered
against his cheek, his hot lips on her
hair, her eyes, her throat. Then swift
anxiety tore the joy from her face.
She drew back, looking at his gray
uniform.

"But — if they find you — oh, James,
you must go, dear. I am fright-
ened ! ' '

He caught her arm, impatient of
her fear.

"Betty?" he gasped. "What of
her? — they said "

"Almost well, thank God."

He breathed deeply, as tho he had
not taken air into his lungs during all
the long, terror-spurred ride.

The bedroom was lustrous with the
peace of candlelight. A familiar
wrapper of his wife, a silken thing
with lace-falls at neck and sleeve,
hung over a chair; the even breath-
ing of the child, asleep in the trundle
bed, cheeks pink-creased like a slum-
bering rose, purred thru the silence.
The home-gentleness of it all crept to
the soldier's heart achingly. Arm
about his Wife, he knelt by the little
girl in parent-adoration.

"Marion, where are you, Marion?
John is here with some brother
officers!"

"Father!" she gasped. Her whis-
per, the mere shadow of a sound,
reached him. "You must go — out of

the window — quickly, dear " He

caught her to him in a last swift,
stifled embrace.

"Marion!"

"Yes, yes, father, I'm coming" —
she tore herself away frantically.
"Go, go — sweetheart — and God keep
you "

One more kiss burning on her lips
with the meaning of all that he could
not wait to say, and he was gone.

On the veranda before the house
lounged Lieutenant Chase and his
friends, playing jack-straw and jok-
ing feebly to ease the waiting. A
thud — a swift gray figure crouching
thru the snow.

"After him, boys!"

James Adams ran with the despera-
tion of a hunted fox hearing the
hounds behind. The Confederates'
position cut him from his horse; he
must throw them off the scent
somehow. Thru the underbrush he
plunged, the briar and swinging
creeper-vines whipping his face into
bloody welts. Panting along the
bluff sheer above the creek bottom, he
glanced behind. They were very near
now ; he could hear the rasp of their
breath in laboring lungs. On the edge
of the cliff he paused, dropped to his
knees and swung, pendulum-like, in
the unsupporting air. His fingers
clawed for support while he tested the
blank Avail with desperate boot-toes,

IN THE DAYS OF THE 1YAR

seeking a cranny. As his sweat-and-
blood-wet hands slipped on the edge
of the cliff, he found support below,
and crouched, spent and swooning,
flat against the wall. Overhead
thudded the footsteps of his pur-
suers, hesitated maddeningly till he
believed they must have seen him,
then passed on out of hearing.

James Adams laughed aloud, hys-
terically; moved to drag himself up
to the path again ; then, dizzied with
his efforts, missed
his fragile hold
and fell sicken-
ingly down, down,
as a rocket - stick
falls, straight to
the rock - strewn
bottom of the glen,
where he crumpled
into a limp rag of
flesh and clothes,
and lay very still.

The sting of sun-
shine, morning-hot
in his blood-caked
face, aroused him
at last. It had
been near sun-
down when he fell
■ — another day —
perhaps more!
And he had prom-
ised to report

for d u t y He

toiled to leaden
feet and staggered
on, half - drunken
with the opiate of
pain.

General Hooker
hardly recognized the convulsed, face
and ill-jointed body that reeled into
his tent late that afternoon, saluted
waveringly and gasped out thru
bitten lips:

"I report for duty, sir."

All the next day the air was sullen
with foreboding. At intervals the
house beat* like a heart to the thud
of far-off guns. At such times,
Marion Adams clasped her little
daughter to her and tried to pray — a
wild, incoherent little prayer, quiver-

KNELT BY THE LITTLE GIRL IN
PARENT ADORATION ' '

ing up to God: "Oh, Father in
Heaven, save him — save my boy!"
over and over, with dry, dumb lips
that spoke without sound. Toward
afternoon her father panted in.

"They are coming nearer, Marion,
my girl," he told her. "We may
have to go to Richmond. Be ready
to start on a moment's notice."

She went upstairs and began to sort
over her clothes and jewels, listless
with her dread. Little Betty crept to
the window, where
she stood watching
the strange white
puffs of smoke
above the cotton-
woods, and listen-
ing to the tattoo
of rifles, distance-
softened. Sudden-
ly she burst into
incoherent scream-
ing.

"Uncle Jack —

Uncle Jack! "

He strode into
the house, spurs
ringing unheeded
on the precious
waxed floor.

' ' The Yanks
have torn up the
tracks to Rich-
mond — some of
your husband 's
d — n work, Ma-
rion, " he cried
bitterly. "We are
falling back, fa-
ther, this way.
You and the rest
had better leave — it 's not safe here. I '
Marion touched his arm, with one
white-lipped question :
"James — what of him?"
He would not meet her eyes.
"Wounded, they say. My God,
Marion, dpnt be so selfish. Think of
it — the South, our South, losing! A

pretty specimen you are "

She gathered Betty to her with in-
stinctive dramatic effect.

"lama woman first — a Southerner
afterward," she said, then fell a-sob-
bing brokenly. "Wounded — my boy!

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Come, Betty, we must go to father
— he needs us, dear "

"Dont be a fool, Marion," shouted
her brother. He shook her roughly
by her slender, grief-shaken shoul-
ders. "Go upstairs, get on your
things, pack your jewels and I'll take
you to Colonel Dare's house by the
lower levee road. Hurry ! My God !
it 's too late — father, look out for them

— I must go " He snatched his

sword from the table and was gone.
On the lawn before the house a waver-
ing line of gray-clad men broke,
panting, from the woods; running
aimlessly; firing as they ran; falling
in neutral heaps below the rifle-
volleys that dimmed the green woods
with a poisonous fog of death. A
fragment of shell winged, humming,
thru a window below. The great
house staggered.

In her room Marion clasped the ter-
rified child to her in a strange, color-
less calm.

"Dont cry, Betty — it's nothing/'
she said. She buttoned on the little
girl's cape with steady fingers and
wound a scarf methodically around
her own hair.

Down the quaking stairs they hur-
ried, thru the melee of the wrecked
drawing-room, into the open air,
nauseous with the bitter flavor of
powder, anguished by the racking
beat of the guns. Across the lawn,
stepping carefully over the still heaps
on the cruelly stained snow — thru the
reeking grove. Around them the
soldiers cursed and shouted ; the blind
air panted with yellow powder-clouds
and deafening detonations. Four
horses, dragging a field-gun, careened
by, weird goblin-shapes in the murk.
A soldier, one arm shot away, passed,
looking at them with puzzled eyes.
Betty clung to her mother's hand
trustfully, as Marion, like a strange
superwoman, hurried on.

Inside the Union lines, in the
hospital shack, red-painted Pain
held high carnival. It is strange
how differently men meet suffering.
Here one laughed foolishly as the sur-
geon dammed the life-tide from his
lungs with a wad of ineffectual gauze.

On the operating-table a man prayed
earnestly to the God whose name he
had known hitherto only in blas-
phemy. A stripling drummer-boy,
with swollen eyeballs and two fingers
shot away, shrieked in the high-
pitched insanity of fear as the Eed
Cross nurse bound up the bloody
stumps. On the coarse army-blanket
of a cot near the door lay a bandaged
man, fever ablaze in his cheeks and
unseeing eyes, pressing a miniature to
lips that spoke endlessly the one blind
longing in his soul: "Marion —
Marion— Marion!"

A stir among the hurried nurses
and surgeons, butcher-like with
ghastly stains. "Where is he?"
"There, yonder — but he will not

know you " She was by his side,

kneeling, warm arms under the
tossing head, the scent of her ringlets
vivid to his laboring breath. He
turned slowly, groping in the sick
visions of his brain — orange-blossoms
— a deep, low murmur: "Till death
it do us part ' '

"My wife!" cried James Adams,
weakly, laid his tired head trustingly
on her breast and slept the healing
sleep that leads a soul back from the
Valley shades to life again.

It was two days later. For an hour
the countryside had been a hell of
fighting. Hooker 's division had driven
the Thirty-fifth Corps from its posi-
tion below Lookout Mountain, forcing
it back, back to the bridge. A keg of
gunpowder, lighted below the bridge,
tossed the air full of torn and dying
bodies — reddening the neutral waters
of the stream. As dusk fell in very
pity of the mangled daylight, the
field ambulances began to stream
campward with their heart-breaking
burdens.

A nurse touched Marion on the
arm.

"Will you look out for that man
on the next cot? A thigh wound —
not dangerous."

Marion turned.

"Jack— Jackl"

The cry aroused her husband. He
struggled to his elbow, following her

IN THE DAYS OF THE WAR

gaze. In the poor, pain-twisted faces
of the two, Marion read the old bit-
terness of sundered brotherhood, un-
taught by time or suffering. There
was no time to word a prayer for
guidance, but a swift thought winged
upward as she dropped to her knees
between the beds.

eyes tear-sweet. "Forget this cruel
war for a moment. Let your blood
wash the sting away — and my tears.
Let me see you touch hands again like

the old days "

The eyes of the two men met. They
hesitated ; then their fingers stole out,
touching, and clasped strongly at

Jack ! — James ! ' ' she cried, her last, hand in brother hand.

At the Sign of the Flaming Arcs

By LEON KELLEY

Meet me there, if you'd please me !

Hinder my going to tease me !

Take me there,

To my fav'rite lair ;

Sit with me, dear,

In its darkness! Near «■

To my side, where we gaze at the

light—
The light of the film, dazzTing bright.
The joy of my soul,
Tt enraptures my whole
Being, as you and I, my dear.
Watch with the evening's sigh, my

dear,
I — with you at my side.

Here pass m: pleasures and larks,

At the sign of the tlaming arcs —

The arcs which shine

Outside the shrine

Where, enchanted, we gaze

At the wonderful maze

Of intricate stories untold, my dear,

As they with the film unfold, my dear.

The music's sweet voice

To make us rejoice,

The reel's soothing whir,

The screen's silent stir !

What pleasure, what larks

At the big, flaming arcs

With you, just you, at my side!

By M.

If girls were only as sweet

And attractive at borne and on the street,

As the ones you always meet

When you pay your nickel for a seat

To drive the cares of life away

At that wonderful, wonderful Photoplay,

No old maids you'd ever see,

Nor would there yet a bachelor be :

No one would ever want to flee

From such a life of ecstasy,

But live as they live from day to day

At that wonderful, wonderful Photoplay.

Sh<

If men were only as strong
And brave and true as that pictured throng,
For love in vain no maid would long.
And life would warble as sweet a song
As the one you hear, whenever you stray
In that wonderful, wonderful Photoplay.

^(^Vi___ Such angel wives — such husbands true,
^v/^ Such a paradise for me and you.

Dont you suppose that day we'd rue

If we sprouted wings and they larger grew,

And we had to fly far, far away

From that wonderful, wonderful Photoplay?

8Y NORMAtsl&RUCfr*

This story was written from the Photoplay of CAPTAIN CHARLES KIENER

War is a nation's sickness; civil
war a cancer eating into the
tissues of the country, befoul-
ing its clean, wholesome blood with
the poison germs of hatred and re-
sentment. In the fair, goodly body of
America there is one ragged scar.
The murderous hand of fratricide
fixed it there, so cruelly deep and sore
that the medicinal tears of our re-
pentance could not heal it wholly, and
it still throbs sometimes, with the
pulse of its old pain; for as long as
the cottonwoods grow green in early
Southern springtime they will re-
member the white bomb smoke that
once dimmed them, and the mocking-
bird never chatters in Virginia except
above a grave.

Yet in the early sixties, when the
agonized land was racked with its
primal throes, and war and the
rumors of war set men's jaws grim-
lined and* drained the red from
mother's lips, little children laughed
and quarreled and studied cyphering,
old women gossiped about their neigh-
bor's failings, over their chatty knit-
ting-needles, and young men went
a-sweethearting in the wise old way.
Perhaps Roxana Minton would have

been courted in an earthquake — she
was that sort of a girl. Women said
she was not bad-looking, which is the
rarest pean of feminine praise. The
men did not say much, but wherever
she went, she left a trail of masculine
glances and, now and again, a dented
heart or two as a stepping-stone on
which she tripped, with the lightest of
steps, across her teens to the pink
and white and dimpled age of eigh-
teen. The guns of Fort Sumter
spoke on her coming-of-age birthday,
and presto ! no longer did silk-
hatted, frock-coated youths rap the
lion-headed knocker of the New
York Minton home, or lean, in the
crooked attitudes of extreme admira-
tion, over the harpsichord, while
Miss Roxana tinkled out "Believe
Me, If All Those Endearing Young
Charms." Instead, lieutenants and
sergeants, wearing their smart maiden
uniforms and uninitiated sabers with
a blase air, strolled with Roxana
under the elms of Stuyvesant Park,
pulling their mustaches warsomely,
tapping their varnished boots and
pleasantly idling away the time be-
fore they got their marching orders,
by murmuring sweet nothing-at-alls

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

into Roxana's small, greedy ears.
Sometimes it was the left ear, some-
times the right, but the remarks them-
selves were very similar. Roxana
believed that she was tired of hearing
them. But, of course, she was not.
At eighteen — pink, white and pretty
eighteen, they make up the vocabu-
lary of life.

The most frequent companion of
Roxana's wide-spread crinoline ruffles
and flowered muslin flounces was
Lieutenant Egbert Hayes, of the
United States Army. To her he gave
a button from his military great-coat
and a flattering majority of his off-
duty moments. In return, Roxana
was generous in the matter of her
smiles and blushes. But her thoughts
she bestowed elsewhere. Mr. Minton,
a prosperously gouty, retired banker,
with a temper that had not retired, a
connoisseur in the art of getting his
own way, had ordered his daughter,
in the tone in which he requested veal
pie for dinner, to fall in love with the
Lieutenant, and Roxana, who had
tagged obediently in the rear of her
father's will from babyhood, was
anxiously and conscientiously trying
to carry out instructions. But a
maid's thoughts are not to be guided
by "shall" and "shall not." They
come and go unbidden. A certain
engine-house labeled New York Vol-
unteer Fire Company, No. 1, was
the haven for a surprisingly large
number of Roxana's. She herself
never ventured to accompany them
there now. There had been one
dreadful day — Roxana blushed to re-
member it — when her father and
Lieutenant Hayes had discovered her
talking to Ben Roderick in front of
the engine-house door ; a chance meet-
ing, prearranged, possibly, by Rox-
ana's inclinations. There had not
been tne slightest provocation for
what followed.

"Hm-m!" Mr. Minton had said,
with a stingy nod to Ben. "Roxana,
my dear, I should like to speak to
you. You will please come home with
me. Hem, hem!"

Even thru her misery of blushes,
Roxana had seen the contemptuous

glance that Lieutenant Hayes tossed
at Ben as he would have thrown a
penny to a beggar. The recollection
of this gave starch to her protests a
half-hour later.

"But, father, I dont love him/'
sobbed Roxana, in damp italics.

"Pish, pish! my dear," compe-
tently argued her father. "Tut, tut,
nonsense ! I know what is wise for
you, I think you'll agree."

"And he j-just in-s-s-sulted Ben — "

Surprise stropped Mr. Minton 's
voice to a razor-edge before he
replied :

"Roxana, I trust you do not seri-
ously regard that — that young fire-
man whom I saw you talking to today.
Very unwomanly, by the way, to
stand in the public streets convers-
ing with a young man in his shirt-
sleeves." Mr. Minton paused, gather-
ing climactic force. ' ' Once and for all,
Roxana, I wish you to understand
that you are to have nothing further
to do with that — person. I forbid it.
Now let us say no more about the
matter."

So again Roxana and the Lieuten-
ant strolled beneath the elm-shadows,
and again she smiled upon him, but
for all his pleadings, she would give
him no promise, until the rumble of
the guns toward the South grew
louder and the streets of New York
were filled daily with regiments
drumming buoyantly warward, to the
sound of bitter mother-weeping and
wife-tears.

' ' Our regiment goes tomorrow, ' ' he
told her breathlessly, at last. "Rox-
ana, sweetheart, give me a memory to
take with me. Let me carry your
betrothal kiss into battle."

The girl's eyes filled with slow,
romantic tears. She looked up at
him, half-yielding in her glance.
With the vivid colors of her young
imagination, she pictured him at the
gallant front of his men, waving his
sword, her name a prayer on his lips ;
she saw him wounded — perhaps dy-
ing. Joyful grief choked her as she
imagined herself, in limp black, trail-
ing to shed her widowed tears on her
soldier's grave. But the "yes" trem-

THE FIRE-FIGHTING ZOUAVES

bling on her tongue was never born
into speech. Even as she hesitated,
the faint squealing of a fife pierced her
consciousness. She glanced down the
square, and, suddenly, her maiden-
guarded heart began to pulsate madly
and the telltale color crept to the
cheeks under the brim of the droop-
ing Leghorn hat.

A thin line of scarlet-uniformed
men pricked the twilight with a gro-

" Ridiculous, eh?" sneered the
Lieutenant. "Playing at war, that's
what I call it. That's the Volunteer
Regiment of Zouaves on the way to
the front. A beggarly mess of sutlers
and citizens, afraid of their own
shadows — tho I wouldn't much blame
them for being afraid of their
shadows — ha ! ha ! "

Roxana did not echo his laughter.
A face in the front ranks of marching

THE FIRE-FIGHTING ZOUAVES PREPARE TO GO TO THE FRONT

tesque stab of color. They were
garbed in eccentric fashion, in short,
rounding jackets aflame with tinsel,
and full bloomers, gathered at the
knee. A fez of red, with a gold tassel,
topped their heads, giving them the
whimsical aspect of folk-lore beings
from a fantastic Arabian tale. But
the rifles they carried were no fairy-
weapons as they swung, silent threats,
at their sides, and the faces beneath
the nodding tassels were stern and
purposeful. A derisive laugh startled
Roxana from her gazing.

men caught her attention, held it in a
breathless gaze. It is strange how
unnecessary words are. They are the
ornaments of evolution, not essentials.
In the space of ten heart-beats, Ben
Roderick's blue eyes had blazed a
message and Roxana 's had answered.

"I love you, dear — good-by!" was
in his strong, straight glance.

"And I you — oh, Ben, Ben, come

back to me " It was all there in

the quick step forward, the out-fling-
ing of protesting little hands, the
sudden agony twisting the lovely face,

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

wringing the blood dry from her
quivering lips.

The red and gold blurred before
her eyes ; the faint squeals of the fife,
frivolously jigging "I lay ten dollars
down/' mocked her suddenly aroused
fears. A moment, and they were

gone — gone! Why, they were

going to war — not to a romantic
dream-thing, but to the red death of
sabers, the sting of bullets — cannon —

shells Roxana burst into a thin

sobbing.

Orleans, crouching ashen-faced among
its bayous and market squares. Over
Manassas the lazy, southern sunlight
drooped languidly, undimmed by any
war-mist or white rifle-clouds. In-
stead, the wilted air quivered with
cheery sounds of tree-felling and log-
chopping, stamping of horses' feet,
guffawing. The beggarly wood-burner
engine, choking and panting by the
station platform, complained to high
heaven of the difficult trip it had just
accomplished. A voluble second to

LIEUTENANT HAYES SNEERS AT BEN

"Dont cry, dear," fatuously mur-
mured the Lieutenant, bending over
her. "I shall come back, I feel sure.
Only give me your promise before I
go, and it will draw me back to you
from death itself. ' '

"No— no!" Roxana fluttered. "I
cannot promise. I hope you will be
safe. I hope so. And when the war
is over — who knows? But now — I
shall pray for you every day — for
you — and all our boys "

Beleaguered Vicksburg lay to the
south, and farther still, stricken New

the engine's disgust was Mr. Minton
himself as he hobbled out of the car,
followed by the prettiest girl that
most of the station loungers had ever
seen. An unshaven sergeant, in home-
made, blue uniform, propped slackly
against an idle pile of grimy cotton-
bales, came to attention, as tho his
backbone had been suddenly galvan-
ized. To him, as a possibly human
being, Mr. Minton turned for succor.
"We have come, my daughter and
I," he began pompously, "on the in-
vitation of Lieutenant Hayes, Com-
pany Six of Fisher's Corps, to visit

TEE FIRE-FIGHTING ZOUAVES

the camp. But 'pon my word, if I'd
dreamed what a trip it was, I'd have
stayed comfortably in New York.
Silly nonsense, I told you, Roxana, if
you will be good enough to re-
member ' '

"Yes, papa." Roxana 's rebellious
eyes contradicted her sympathetic
tone. The sergeant waved to a group

leather-curtained spring-wagon, loose-
ly roped to a striped-legged mule,
which was dozing audibly in the
dazzling sunshine, in tune with his
negro driver.

"Company f'r the camp."

"Ya-as, sah; suttinly, sah "

The sergeant, gallant in his rags,
lifted his forage-cap ; the old negro

ROXANA S FATHER AGAIN INSISTS THAT SHE PAY MORE ATTENTION
TO THE LIEUTENANT

of mule-wagons at the lower end of
the platform.

"There are our commissary carts,
sir, almost ready to start for camp ; if
you care to take the chance and
bump along with us "

Mr. Minton groaned from the
depths of his outraged gout.

"Anything — anything," he com-
plained; "cant be worse than that
infernal car — not possibly."

The sergeant led the way to a

swung his whip, creak-creak, and they
were off, jerking and pitching, over
the rutted roads, to the whooping of
the soldiers in the commissary carts
and the squeaking of stirrup-leathers.
Roxana leaned out from the wagon,
with flushing cheeks and eager eyes.
Before her the flat-chested country
lay panting with visible heat, peace-
ful yet portentous. Everyday sounds
arose from the low slave-cabins and
cotton-gin houses, commonplace whir-

TEE MOTIOX PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

ring of machinery and high-pitched
negro chanting:

De ladies ramble in —
Whitest de beaux ramble out —
For to — coil — dat — golden chain.

It was impossible to imagine threat
or danger below this smiling, yawn-
ing, lazy life — impossible to recon-
cile her terrorsome imaginings of
trampled battlefields with the dusty,
green horizons of tobacco-leaf, edged
with a worm-fence, and the cotton
rows ablaze with tufted blossoms.

From the woods rasped a squirrel's
plaintive barking, and the monotonous
drone of the locusts in the sycamores
was like peace made audible. The
wagons creaked downward along the
level road into the woods.

"Halt!" So suddenly they had
come, the gray-clad men, helter-skel-
ter, from the shadows, that there was
ill time given to snatch cartridges
from cartridge-belts or to whip sabers
from sheaths. The quivering horses
reared back on their haunches, nostrils
flapping under tautened bridle-reins.
Shouts, oaths — clouds of dust stifled
the sight of the struggling men from
Eoxana, shrinking against her father,
her happy color fled. Then a hand was
laid violently on the cart, jerking
aside the leather curtains.

"Aha! the devil and Tom Walker!
A woman, as I live, ' ' gloated a voice.
Roxana trembled against her father,
under the soldier's greedy eyes.

' ' This — this is an — outrage, ' '
panted Mr. Minton, violently. "We
are private citizens, sir — non-comba-
tants, not soldiers. You will be good
enough to let us pass "

' ' Sorry, sir, but that 's impossible —
Attention! Right dress! Forward,
march ! " The little group moved on,
captives and captors cheerily ex-
changing smokeless taunts and swap-
ping friendly tobacco as they went.
Then, in fording a gravelly branch,
a blue-clad trooper suddenly wheeled
from the grasp of his captor, pricked
his horse down the slippery bed of the
stream and disappeared beneath the
low-hanging boughs.

"Crack! crack! Spit! spit!"
snarled the spiteful bullets in pursuit.

"Forward, march!" bellowed the
leader, wrathfully.

"My word!" gasped Mr. Minton,
inadequately, his pompousness flap-
ping about his voice like a shrunken
garment. "Roxana, if you had lis-
tened to me — at my time of life —
d — n outrage — pardon me, my dear
— some one shall smart for this "

' ' The soldier got away, ' ' whispered
Roxana, gleefully. She was begin-
ning to enjoy herself. What a tale
to tell at home ! ' ' Perhaps he '11 send
a rescue party for us, papa dear.
Dont get excited. It 's so bad for your
gout, you know." A giggle punctu-
ated the remark.

"Dont— get— excited!" Mr. Min-
ton bit the words off viciously. He
drew out his gold watch and regarded
it earnestly, as tho searching for en-
lightenment. "My word, Roxana, I
do not understand you in the least.
Here we are in the most frightful
danger and you can laugh! Tut, tut,
tut! "

The wagon pitched drunkenly
across an old field backed by a young
thicket of upstart pines, and came to
an abrupt stop in a sandy garden of
ruined altheas and dwarf -box before a
deserted, gray-rubble house. Roxana
and her father alighted forcibly. Be-
yond, at the hem of the forest, were
scattered white wall-tents and ord-
nance wagons. A mess-fire danced
among the picketed horses, and aide-
de-camps mingled with the ragged
privates, jesting noisily as they dis-
tributed tin mugs of coffee. A Con-
federate, wearing the two gilt bars of
a lieutenant, hustled the protesting
banker and his daughter into the
house, deaf to pleading, threats and
wildly offered bribes.

At the same moment the sound of a
Union bugle rang out surprisingly
over the field, sounding the rally.
Gathering her pliant crinolines about
her, Roxana ran up the stairs ahead
of her father, into a narrow fourth-
story attic room, from whose windows
the camp was visible. Regardless of
dust, she knelt anxiously by the win-

THE FIRE-FIGHTING ZOUAVES

dow, peering out. Beyond the Con-
federate picket-line, a brigade of bine
uniforms patched the field. Below,
the camp swarmed into activity, the
soldiers tossing aside haversacks and
blankets, and buckling on their car-
tridge-belts as they fell into position.
"Left into line — wheel — march!"
The commands bit the air sharply,
like bullets. As if by magic, the

tidy dabs across the love-pop and
sweet-Bietsy of the garden, daubing
the flowers with red — grunting hor-
ribly. She felt strangely calm, im-
personal. Even the sight of Lieu-
tenant Hayes, with powder-blackened
hair, desperately spurring his horse
thru the press, the Union flag flap-
ping from a splintered staff in his
hands, did not excite her. Her

BEN LEADS THE ZOUAVES IN A VICIOUS ATTACK

tangled column smoothed into order.
'Roxana caught her breath. A low
sound beat the air like wings, as a
shell flew over the house, leaving a
gray track. The blue line was ad-
vancing. Puff! crack! Wicked red
splashes on the grass ; the line reeled.
Unmindful of her own danger, the
girl peered desperately out thru
the sulphurous smoke that grimed
the tepid air. She had never seen
a man killed before, and now they
were squirming down in messy, un-

father's hoarse, querulous ejacula-
tions went unheeded.

Whizz ! whirr ! The floor rocked. A
cloud of scarlet flame rolled across the
window, searing the sight.

"My God! the house is on fire,"
moaned her father. He began to pace
the floor, broken words falling feebly
from his lips. ' ' I knew how it would
be — horrible situation — Hayes is cap-
tared, too — we are done for "

"Hush, father!" Roxana '& eyes,
leaping the flame, had caught a

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

glimpse of something that brought
hope to her cheeks in a grea't throb
of red. "See!" She dragged the
fright-paralyzed man to the window,
pointing.

On one side of the field the land
fell sheer away in a bank of white
clay. Swarming up the bank, like
agile insects, were red figures in fan-
tastic uniforms.

Roxana clasped her hands together
till her knuckles grew white. "Now,
Ben," she cried softly, "come to us.
You can save us — you will save us,
dear "

In the upper window of the crum-
bling house, Ben Roderick saw the
figure of the girl he loved, etched out
against the flame. Love can work
miracles. Afterwards they said this

BEN GETS HIS REWARD

"The Zouaves — father; they will
save us — Ben will save us."

The utter confidence of love thrilled
in her voice, but the father did not
hear it. He shook his head hopelessly.

"They'll never come in time. We
must get out of this house, Roxana —
we shall be burned alive." He flung
open the hall-door. A red-fringed
cloud of smoke rolled sullenly in.
There was no escape that way.

was a miracle. The little handful of
Zouaves, shouting fiercely, plunged
into the thick of the fighting, rallying
the Union forces to new courage,
beating back the Confederates in re-
ceding columns, till the burning
house was reached. It was then Ben
sent up a little prayer of praise for
his fireman's training, for the skill
that sent him up the swaying walls;
clinging to cracks ; swinging from the

THE FIRE-FIGHTING ZOUAVES

8.3

rope of the morning-glory vine ; scorn-
ing the blinding, breath-stealing
smoke, as he had been taught to scorn
it; dodging the hungry, red tongues
of flame, until he stood in the upper
window, Roxana in his arms.

"You saved my life. I am grate-
ful to you — very." Mr. Minton 's
voice implied that the whole world
should also be grateful for the same
reason. It was hours later, in the
victorious Union camp. The clean
sunshine, untainted now by gun-
powder, gentled the sharp, white tent
outlines and the faces of the troopers
with a subdued, late-afternoon glow.
Fields of yellow wheat and slim
brake-cane stretched peacefully away
to the sky. An early screech-owl
scolded the sunset over a snaky pool
by the edge of the cottonwoods. War
and death and danger seemed things
very far away, very impossible. Mr.
Minton looked across his daughter's
head, to Ben, graciously.

"Yes, you have, indeed, proved
your mettle, my brave fellow," he
said affably. "I shall make it a

personal matter to see that this is
called to the attention of President
Lincoln. ' '

Ben shook his head, smiling. He
reached down among the folds and
flounces of crinoline beside him, until
he found Roxana 's hand.

"The only reward I want is your
daughter, sir," he said. "Will you
give her to me?"

Mr. Minton hesitated. Suddenly
Roxana 's other hand was in his,
warm, electric, pleading. Her shy
young eyes were upturned to him,
but every line of her round, girlish
body, every quick breath and throb of
color in her cheeks, quivered toward
her lover; they were so young, the
two of them, standing there with
mated hands, so vivid and vital ! Mr.
Minton felt, somehow, old and ante-
dated. But even in yielding, he ap-
peared to have his own way.

"Yes, Ben, you may have her." He
turned to his daughter, beaming with
self-satisfaction. "This is just what
I planned; it has always been my
fondest wish — as you yourself will
remember, my dear Roxana," he said.

Spring

By L. M. THORNTON

he sun is getting warmer

Every day,
The grass begins to grow

Along the way,
The robin's song is due,
The skies are deeper blue,
And may I take you to

A picture play?

I want to feel you near,

To have you say
It's nice and pleasant here

At close of day.
I prize your every glance,
And ours as sweet romance
As those that eyes entrance

At picture play.

The sun is getting warmer,

Spring's on the way ;
Let Cupid plead my need,

Dear heart, I pray.
Just promise to be true,
And life shall be for you
As fair as scenes we knew
At picture play.

)~o

A Description

In order that much may be said.
I sing of a dear little maid —
A mirthfully serious,
Sober, delirious,
Gently imperious
Maid.

Now first we'll consider her eyes
Alike to color and size —
Her winkable, blinkable,
Merrily twinkable,
Simply unthinkable
Eyes.

*?£,

Forbear to dismiss with a shrug,
Her nose, undeniably pug —
Her turn up like thisable,
Strictly permissible,
Urgently kissable
Pug.

Now moving a point to the south,
We come to an actual mouth —
A mainly melliferous,
Coral pearliferous,
Argumentiferous
Mouth.

Now she's got a wonderful chin,
Connecting the dimples within —
A hardy reliable,
Never defiable,
True undeniable
Chin.

We'll turn our attention to hair
Of a color so beautiful and rare —
Her tendrilly curlative,
TUmbly and whirlative,
Super-superlative
Hair.

By all that is fair it appears,
We've nearly forgotten her ears —
Her highly respectable,
Never neglectable,
Always delectable
Ears.

And, last, we'll consider herself,

That blithe little gypsy and elf—

Her absence deplorable,

Want to see moreable,

Wholly adorable

Self.

Invitation

By MAUDE JOHNSON

Come from the crowded thorofare apart

And rest awhile;
Let slip Care's weary load, give Fancy rein,
Rejoicing, smile.
Smile, for the Magic Screen before you glows

With teeming life:
The tragedies of age, the loves of youth,
Ambition's strife,
The pomps of kings, the toil of peasant years,

All that's between —
Your ev'ry mood, in one brief hour rehearsed,
Upon the screen.

OF*

n^S'

fSOLAX)

by John OiDEhl

N the reign of the glorious warrior,
King Edward III, there was a
little boy called Dick Whittington,
whose father and mother died when
lie was very young, so that he remem-
bered nothing at all about them, and
was left a ragged little fellow, run-
ning about a country village. As poor
Dick was not old enough to work at a
trade, he was very badly off, getting
but little for his dinner, and for
breakfast more often nothing at all ;
for the village people were very poor,
indeed, and could spare him not much
more than the potato-peels and a
hard crust of bread.

For all that, Dick Whittington, or,
as some called him, Whitington, was a
very sharp boy, and was always listen-
ing to what the gossips talked about.
On Sundays he was sure to get near
the farmers as they sat talking on the
tombstones in the kirkyard; and on
market days you might see little Dick
leaning against the sign-post of the
village alehouse, where people stopped
to drink and bandy words as they
came from the next town.

In this manner Dick overheard a
great many very strange things about
the great city called London; for the
foolish country people of those times
thought that folks in London were all

fine gentlemen and ladies, and that
there was singing and music there all
day long, and that the streets were
really paved with gold.

It was the harvesting-time when
Dick heard all this, and he was glean-
ing in the wheat-fields for a farmer,
and sleeping on a pallet in his barn at
night. And, in the short evenings,
by the chimneyside, the old farmer,
seeing how anxious Dick was to learn
things, took a delight in filling his
head with fanciful yarns about Lon-
don City's wondrous sights.

One day a covered wagon with four
horses, all with bells on their heads,
passed down the road while Dick
raked in the fields. He thought that
this wagon must be going to the fine
town of London; so he took courage
and asked the wagoner to let him walk
by his side. As soon as the man
heard that poor Dick had no father
nor mother, and saw, by his ragged
clothes, that he could not come to a
more wretched pass, he told Dick that
he might go along, and so they set off
on the journey together.

Dick never remembered afterwards
how he contrived to get meat and
drink on the road, nor how he could
have walked so far, nor what he did
at night to rest his aching body. Per-

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

haps some good-natured people in the
towns that he passed thru gave him
something to eat, and perhaps the
wagoner let him get into the wagon
at night, to take a dangerous nap
between the pitching boxes.

Somehow, however, Dick got safely
to London, and was in such a hurry
to see the streets paved all over with
gold that he did not even stop to
thank the kind wagoner, but ran off,
as fast as his legs could carry him,

to give him a half-penny to keep him
from starving. But they only stared
at him, passing him by, and poor Dick
began to think that the littlest coin
was worth more to him then than all
the gold he had set out to seek in the
streets.

In the early dawn he came upon a
bake-shop, and the odor of fresh bread
from the underground ovens kept
him hanging about like a dog. Then
he tiptoed into the shop and went

HE WAS OUT IN THE STREETS ALL NIGHT '

thru the muddy streets, thinking each
moment to come out upon those paved
with gold. And he longed to pry up
little chunks of it to fill his pockets
with.

Poor Dick ran until he was dog-
weary, but, at last, finding it grow
dark, and that every way he turned
he saw nothing but dirt and hurry-
ing, pale-faced people, he sat down in
a dark corner and cried himself to
sleep.

He was out in the streets all night,
and, at the peep of day, being very
hungry, he got up and walked about,
asking' everybody he chanced to meet

down into the warm cellar among the
burly bakers. And to show them how
strong he was and how willing to
work, he seized a huge paddle of
fresh-mixed bread, to thrust it into an
oven. But little Dick was weaker
than he thought, for the dough came
to the cellar floor with a " plump,"
and Dick fell right into it. The
bakers merely set up a laugh, and
scurried Dick out as they would chase
a rat.

After this Dick wandered off to-
ward the great, high houses, and, be-
ing full of nothing but hollow pains
in his stomach, set himself down on

DICK WHITINGTON AND HIS CAT

the doorstep of Mr. Fitzwarren, a rich
merchant. Here he was seen by the
bad-tempered cook-maid, who was
very busy over her master's dinner;
so she called out to him : ' ' What busi-
ness have you here, you lazy rogue?
There is nothing else but beggars —
beggars the day long. Take yourself
off, or I will give you a sousing of
scalding dish-water. ' '

chant helped him into the house and
down the stairs, to the cook's big,
beamed kitchen.

' • Here is a scullion for you, cook, ' '
said the merchant, "who says that he
is willing to work. Give him a good
dinner and let him help you with the
dirty work."

So, shortly, Dick drew up a chair
to the scraps of Mr. Fitzwarren 's

HE SEIZED A HUGE PADDLE OF FRESH-MIXED BREAD

Just at that time Mr. Fitzwarren
himself came home to dinner and saw
the dirty, ragged boy sitting on his
doorstep.

"Why are you there, boy?" he
asked. "You seem big enough to
work. I am afraid you are a lazy
good-for-nothing. ' '

"No, indeed, sir," spoke up Dick;
"that is not the case, for I would
work with all my heart, but I do not
know anybody, and I think I am very
sick for the want of food. ' '

Dick tried to get up, and would
have fallen flat, had not the kind mer-

dinner, and the bad-tempered cook
even waited upon him.

After that, seeing that he was
stronger, she kept him busy till
candlelight, giving him all the clean-
ing and scouring and endless jobs to
do, and sitting with her own large^
feet against the hob of the fire.

But little Dick would have been
happy in this good family in spite of
the short-tempered cook and the easy
life she now led at his expense. Some-
times she forgot to feed him, it is true,
and little, laughing Alice, the mer-
chant's daughter, brought the, wreck

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

of a cold pie up to Dick 's garret with-
out-the cook's knowledge. But this
hard work and skipping of meals was
not the worst of Dick's hardships: at
night he could not sleep, for fear of
the rats that came into his garret and
even frisked across his pallet and
stepped, with cold feet, on his face.

One day a gentleman gave Dick a
penny for cleaning his shoes, and,
with the cook basking and snoring
over the fire, Dick stole out to spend
it. He saw a little girl in a garden,

parlor, and asked them what they
would send out.

They all had something that they
were willing to venture ; even the cook
brought out an old, dull looking-glass
that made every one look hideous that
peered into it. All except poor Dick,
who had neither money nor goods,
and, therefore, could send nothing.

For this reason he did not come into
the parlor with the rest.; but little
Alice grew serious long enough to
guess what was the matter, and went

KEPT HIM BUSY TILL CANDLELIGHT

petting a very bright-looking cat, and,
after tossing his penny up many
times, so that she longed for it, he
succeeded in buying the cat from her.

Dick took his cat back to his garret,
and* always took care to carry a part
of his dinner to her, when he had any.
And like all cats, she slept in the day-
time and hunted the rats at night, so
that, in a little while, he was troubled
no more with the nasty things.

Soon after this his master had a
ship ready to sail, and, as he thought
that all his servants should have some
chance for good fortune as well as
himself, he called them all into the

out to lead him in by the hand. Then
Alice took some money out of her own
purse for him and laid it down. And
her father laughed and said it would
not do ; it must be something of Dick's
own.

"When poor Dick heard this, he
spoke up and said he had nothing but
a cat, which he had bought for a
penny some time since from a little
girl.

Then the merchant laughed loud
and long, and the ship's captain and
his men thumped the table and near
split themselves with merriment.

"Fetch your cat, then, my good

DICK WHITINGTON AND HIS CAT

boy, ' ' said the merchant, ' ' and let her
make the trip."

Dick went upstairs and brought
down his furry room-mate, with tears
in his eyes, and gave her to the cap-
tain, for he said that he should miss
her, and that the rats would know
that she was gone.

And then all the company laughed
again at Dick's odd venture, except
little Alice, who went below and took

treatment no longer, and he thought
he would run away from the place;
so he stuffed his few things into an old
napkin and started away before the
sun was up on All-hallows Day, the
first of November. He walked as far
as Holloway, and there sat on a stone,
which to this day is called Whitting-
ton's stone, and began to think which
road he should take.

And while he was thinking thickly,

DICK WENT UPSTAIRS AND BROUGHT DOWN HIS FURRY ROOM-MATE

a petticoat full of dainties for Dick
while the cook was dreaming of the
gains that would come to her.

As Alice became kinder to Dick, the
bad-tempered cook became jealous of
him, making fun of his cat out-to-sea,
and putting more and more of her
work on Dick's hands. When she
would wake up from her day-dreams
by the fire, with the smell of burning
food in her nose, she would beat poor
Dick roundly with her broom, to
satisfy herself that she was not the
one at fault.

At last the boy could bear this

the six great bells of Bow Church
began to ring, and, as their pealing
call kept up, they seemed to say to
him:

"Turn again, Whittington,
Lord Mayor of London."

"Lord Mayor of London!" said
Dick, jumping up. "Why, to be sure,
I would put up with almost anything
now to be Lord Mayor of London and
ride in a gilt coach when I grow to be
a man ! ' '

So Dick went back, and was lucky
enough to get into the house and set

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

about his work before the cook came
downstairs.

And in the meantime, and for a
year to come, the ship, with the cat on
board, was never heard from, and the
cook took to cuffing Dick more and
more as she thought of her poverty.

At last the ship caught fire at sea,
and a great fire mounted up from it
over the dark waters, but the captain
never gave up hope, and landed his
men in small boats on the coast of
Barbary, where the only people were
the Moors, that had never seen the
English.

The horsemen of the plains came
riding about the ship's crew in great
numbers and shook their long spears
in the sailors' white faces. But when
the colorless strangers did not fight
them, the Moors treated them civilly,
and were very eager to buy the
things that the captain had brought
ashore.

When the captain saw this, he was
willing to be taken prisoner, and
marched with them to the court of the
king of the country. The king and
queen, with all the veiled Moorish
ladies of their court, were seated in
the upper end of the room, and the}^
immediately ordered a banquet to be
spread there for the captain.

They had hardly sat down on the
rugs before the rare dishes and fruits,
when a vast horde of rats rushed in,
helping themselves boldly from the
dishes and dragging the food away.

As the king and queen jumped
away and the veiled ladies set up a
din of frightened cries, the captain
stood ground boldly with his sword,
and speared as many of the fearless
rats as he was able to.

After a while the rest of the rats
were satisfied and scampered away,
winking evilly at the captain, and
then the court came back, with noth-
ing but a row of dirty dishes to eat
from.

The captain wondered at the whole
proceeding, and asked if these vermin
were not very offensive.

"Oh, yes!" said the king; "very
offensive, not to say disgusting, for
they not only run off with my dinners,

as you see, but they assault me in my
chamber, and even in bed — life is
hardly worth living, even as the King
of Barbary."

The captain jumped for joy; he
remembered poor Whittington and
his cat, and told the king that he had
brought a creature from his ship that
would dispatch all these rats with a
switch of her tail.

At this news, the king's heart
heaved so high that his turban almost
dropped off his head.

"Bring me this, wonderful crea-
ture, ' ' he ordered, ' ' and if she will
perform what you say, I will load you
a new ship with gold and jewels in
exchange for her."

The captain, who knew his business,
took this opportunity to set forth the
merits of Miss Puss.

' ' Run, run ! ' ' broke in the queen,
impatiently; "you cannot guess how
eager I am to see the dear thing!"

Away went the captain to his tent,
while another dinner was got ready.
He put puss under his arm and
arrived at the palace soon enough to
see the dining-hall full of rats again.

When Dick's cat saw them, she did
not wait to be told, but jumped out
of the captain's arms, and in a few
moments laid almost all the rats dead
at her feet. The rest of them, in their
fright, scampered away to their holes.

The king and queen, who had been
hugging each other in fright on a high
dais, were quite charmed. Thereupon
the captain called: "Pussy, pussy,
pussy," and the ferocious creature
ran up to him and rubbed her side
gently against his legs. The queen
was delighted. And when the cap-
tain reached down and stroked the
animal's back, causing her to hump
it with pleasure, the queen could
scarcely contain herself with joy and
affection toward the cat.

The captain picked her up and set
her in the queen's lap, where she
played with her majesty's hand and
sang herself to sleep.

"I positively must have her!"
cried the queen, quite enraptured;
' ' there could not exist a creature both
more bold and lovable than this ! ' '

DICK WHITINGTON AND HIS CAT

And then the king bargained with
the captain for the balance of the
ship's cargo, and gave him ten times
as much for the cat as all the rest
amounted to.

With a new ship of the Moors, the
captain then took leave of the royal
party, and, after a happy voyage,
arrived safe in the river before
London.

Mr. Fitzwarren, the merchant, had
long since given up hope of his ship.

And all the servants, including
Dick, came swarming into the room.
Dick was so black and dirty from
scouring pots for the cook that Mr.
Fitzwarren had trouble in picking
him out. But a chair was set for him,
and Dick thought, at first, that they
were poking fun at him.

"Indeed, Mr. Whittington, " said
the merchant, "we are all quite in
earnest with you, and I most heartily
rejoice at the news my captain has

THE KING GAVE HIM TEN TIMES AS MUCH FOR THE CAT

but one morning, as he sat in his
counting-house, a tap, tap, tap came
upon his door. "Who's there?" he
sang out. "A friend!" said a voice
outside, and instantly the door swung
open to admit the captain, followed
by his men with chests of treasure.
Then the captain, who could hardly
wait, pointed to the largest chest and
told the story of how he had bar-
gained Dick's cat for it. As soon as
the merchant heard this, he called out
to his servants :

"Go fetch him — we will tell him of the
same;
Pray call him Mr. Whittington by name."

brought you ; for he has sold your cat
to the King of Barbary, and brought
you, in return, more riches than I
possess in the whole world. And may
you long enjoy them ! ' '

Then the cook, who had been fidget-
ing about during this recital, spoke
up. "How about my mirror?" she
demanded.

"There was no fortune in that,"
said the captain; "for when the
queen looked into it she appeared so
ugly that she threw it to the ground
and smashed it. It near cost me my
life and "

The cook stopped him with a burst

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

of tears, and was not to be comforted
till Dick begged of her to accept part
of his treasure — enough to set her up
with a cook of her own to browbeat
for the rest of her days.

And then Mr. Fitzwarren advised
Dick to send for the proper trades-
men and get himself dressed like a
gentleman, and told him he was wel-
come to live in his house till he could
buy himself a better one.

for each other, and proposed to join
them in marriage, and to this they
both joyfully agreed. A day for the
wedding was soon set, and they were
led to church by the Lord Mayor, the
court of aldermen, the sheriffs and a
great number of the richest merchants
in London.

History tells us that Mr. "Whitting-
ton and his lady lived in great
splendor and were very happy. They

THE SAILORS COME TO TELL DICK OF HIS GOOD FORTUNE

So each part of the day brought
forth a new wonder : with the washing
and scenting of Dick's face, his dress-
ing in a neat suit of clothes, and the
curling of his hair by a barber. And
as for Alice, who had stood by him
with her heart full of pity, this fine-
looking boy quite drove it out of her;
so she, having her heart empty, fell
in love with him, and straightway
filled her heart full of him again.

Mr. Fitzwarren soon saw their love

had several children ; and* it is said
that no man would marry the cook, for
all her money. Dick was sheriff of
London, also Mayor, and received the
honor of knighthood by Henry V.

And for proof of this story, the
figure of Sir Richard Whittington,
with his cat in his arms, carved in
stone, was to be seen, till the year
1780, over the archway of the old
prison of Newgate, which, curiously,
stood in the middle of the street.

-SeaSfi&s

BY MOh'TA^YE- PiRfiY

This story was written from the Photoplay of BANNISTER MERWIN

In business, John MacLane was level-
headed, cold-blooded and dicta-
torial. Affairs in his orderly,
methodical office moved like the ma-
chinery of a great clock, of which he
was the mainspring. He never con-
fused business with sentiment; never
allowed his judgment to be swayed by
his heart. His decisions were made
quickly, stated in the fewest possible
words, and there was an end of it, as
every employee knew.

At home — ah, that was different !
In fact, if you have ever stopped to
notice, it usually is different. The
lion who roars about his office, fright-
ening pretty stenographers into tears,
making gray-haired clerks shake in
their shoes, even ruffling the imper-
turbability of the gum-chewing office-
boy, usually becomes transformed
into a modest mouse when his feet
cross the threshold of his home.

Why is it ? I dont know, but I have
a theory. "Man was born to rule,"
as sbme one or other remarked ages
ago; but it is a rare man who can
occupy the position of lord and mas-

ter in his own home nowadays —
women are too pretty and wheedling,
or else they're too clever and eman-
cipated ! He gives in, and lets his
women do as they please — they will,
anyhow! And then, being born to
rule, he fulfills his destiny by taking
it out on the office force.

There was only one woman in John
MacLane 's home — his daughter Nora
— and she occupied the place in the
man's heart that only a motherless
daughter can fill. She was just
twenty; slender, dark-haired, with
the sunniest smile and the cheeriest
disposition in all the world. The
happiest time in the day, for her,
commenced at six o'clock in the after-
noon. Then she began to listen,
eagerly, for her father's key in the
latch, and, when the welcome sound
came, she ran to meet him lovingly,
patting his face with her slender, sen-
sitive fingers; listening, contentedly,
to the sound of his loved voice. Alas !
it was Nora's only way of recognition
— to listen and to feel. For the girl
was blind ; her eyes had never seen

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

her father's face, never looked at the
beauties of nature, tho she loved them
so fondly.

Sometimes, looking at her lovely,
animated face, where the color came
and went constantly; at the red lips,
curving: so easily into laughter, John
MacLane was filled with sudden, im-
potent rage at the thought of his
child's affliction. At other times he
was filled with deep thankfulness
that, in spite of her sightless eyes, her
life was full of happiness. Every-
thing that money
and affection
could do to bring
pleasure into this
blind girl's life
had been done.
Her library con-
tained hundreds
of volumes in the
Braille type,
which she read
with ease ; games,
music, flowers
and pets were
hers ; no wish was
ungratified ; yet
she remained a
simple, unspoiled
girl, radiating
sunshine and
hopefulness as
naturally as a
flower emits per-
fume.

It was later
than usual, one
night in the early
autumn, when

Nora heard the long-expected click of
the lock, and ran into the hall, joy-
fully.

''I've been waiting such a long
time," she cried; "what makes you so
late tonight?"

"Oh, things were a little bother-
some at the office. I had to talk to a
lot of men, when I wanted to be home
with my little girl," he answered,
drawing her to him.

"But never mind ; I've brought you
something nice. You shall have it as
soon as we've had dinner — I'm nearly
starved."

Dinner over, the package was
opened. It contained an exquisite
little piece of statuary, done by one
of New York's younger sculptors — a
youth whom all the city was praising.
"I heard Miss Slade reading that
article to you about that young
fellow's work, so I knew you were
interested, ' ' MacLane explained, smil-
ing at her pleasure. "I thought you'd
like to have a sample for your very
own."

' ' You 're so good to me, ' ' murmured
Nora. "It is just
lovely. Isn't it
wonderful how
any one can make
such beautiful
figures out of a bit
of cold marble?"
Her deft fingers
were feeling the
statue, inch by
inch, tracing all
its delicate lines
understand ingly ,
and her face was
glowing with
pleasure.

"If she only
could see it,"
thought her
father, with one
of those sudden
pangs of rebellion
which swept over
him so frequent-
ly; "if only she
could look at all
these things she
loves so well ! ' '
Intuitively, she seemed to read his
thought, and she came close to. him,
laying her dark head against his
shoulder, while her fingers were still
busy with her new treasure.

"Are you wishing that I could see,
father? I wish you wouldn't worry
about that. You dont realize what a
clear picture my fingers give to my
brain. It's just seeing in a different
way from yours, that's all. And I
think my mental images stay longer.
I never forget a face I've touched,
and you're always saying you cant
remember faces, dont you know?"

YOU DONT REALIZE WHAT A CLEAR
PICTURE MY FINGERS GIVE TO
MY BRAIN"

WITH THE EYES OF THE BLIND

"I know that you're a blessed little
angel, always making the best of
everything, " replied the father, and
his eyes were misty. She was so
brave, so patient, and yet he, who
loved her so deeply, was undeceived;
he knew that, resolutely hidden away
from his sight, there was in her heart
a longing that was never stilled — the
longing to look upon her father's face.
Tonight there was a hope trembling

of mine coming in tonight," he said,
"just for a little call. I want you to
meet him."

When Doctor Stuyvesant came, he
met Nora and chatted with her as any
stranger would, but all the time his
sharp eyes were studying her face.
The father moved restlessly around
the room in a tremor of excitement,
not daring to hope, yet unable to keep
his thoughts from dwelling on the
possibility that the great specialist

THE EYE-SPECIALIST BEGINS HIS TREATMENT

in his heart ; a hope so faint, so elusive
that he was afraid to put it into words
lest it vanish. A great eye-specialist
from Germany was visiting the city,
and it had been easy for the wealthy
John MacLane to arrange for a call
from him.

"I mustn't excite. Nora," he was
thinking, "for it may be entirely
hopeless. I wont let her know that
the doctor thinks there is a possibility
of helping her."

Accordingly, he spoke to her in a
tone that he tried to make lightly
casual ' ' By the way, there 's a friend

might be able to give him the gift that
he most desired for his child. At last
the doctor approached Nora, gently.

"Would you mind very much, Miss
Nora, if I looked at your eyes?" he
asked. "You see, I'm interested in
these cases — you wont think I am
rude?"

He had hoped to make the test
without Nora's knowledge, but, with
quick intuition, she divined his pur-
pose. Her face turned white, and she
swayed a little, but her father sprang
to her side, and the doctor took her
hand, with soothing words.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"There, there!" he murmured;
1 ' dont be so agitated. It will be only
a moment."

But the father, with sickening
dread, saw that a great light of hope
was dawning on Nora's face. He
closed his eyes, and prayer sprang to
his lips.

"Oh, God!" he breathed, "I cant
see her disappointed again — how can
I?"

For a few tense moments they
waited, silently.
Nora was trem-
bling like a leaf,
and, tho her fa-
th er held, her
hand tightly, he
was afraid to look
at her; afraid to
look at the doctor,
lest the great
hope be stifled ere
it w a s scarcely
born.

"There!" said
the doctor, sud-
denly, and there
were tears in his
own eyes, tho his
voice rang hap-
pily; "it's over.
Can you bear a
shock, Miss Nora
— can you bear
good news?"

The girl's face
became glorified,
as if a radiance
from the sun had
flashed suddenly
across it. John
MacLane, in doubt, cried out sharply :

"Is it good news, sir — are you
sure % Dont waken her hopes "

His voice broke in a sob, but the
doctor understood.

"I'm as sure as I am that I stand
here, ' ' he said. ' ' In six months ' time
she will see as well as you do. I am
going now — you two will want to be
alone. Tomorrow we can arrange
about her treatment. Good-night. ' '

He slipped away, tactfully. He
knew that the two would wish to be
alone in their first hour of gladness.

WALTER HORTON REASSURES HIS
FATHER

John MacLane took his daughter in
his arms, and for a long time they
were silent. Great joy, like great
sorrow, has few words.

"You must go to bed now, dear,"
the father said, an hour later, when
their first tumultuous feelings had
spent themselves, and they had
dropped into happy plans for the
future. ' ' I have to go out for half an
h6ur ; when I come in, I will say good-
night, if you are not asleep."

Asleep ! It
seemed to Nora
that she never
could sleep again.
She had tried to
control her feel-
ings , for her
father's sake; she
had tried to be
c aim and ra-
tional, and to talk
over the great
news quietly, be-
cause she knew
that he feared
the effect of the
excitement. Now
she tossed rest-
lessly on her bed,
listening for his
footsteps on the
stairs. At last
she dozed fitfully,
snatches of
dreams mingling
with her agitated
thoughts. Sud-
denly she sat up-
right in the bed,
wide awake. Had
she heard a fall and a startled cry, or
was it only part of her dream ?

The great house was perfectly
silent now. Was it very late? Had
her father come in and gone to his
room, thinking her asleep? She
slipped a warm robe over her shoul-
ders, and went quietly down the
stairs, into the library. She knew not
whether the house was in darkness or
light — she only knew that it was very,
very quiet.

Inside the library, she went toward
her father's chair, but she paused,

WITH THE EYES OF THE BLIND

with outstretched hand, knowing, in-
stinctively, that some one sat there.
Was it her father, she wondered,
fallen asleep? Very gently she put
out her hand, running her fingers
lightly over the face of the man in the
chair. It was a strange face !

"Father!" she screamed, springing
back in fright; "father, where are
you ? — come quick ! ' '

Her foot touched something upon
the floor — some soft, huddled object
that did not stir at
all as she bent over
it. Instantly the
room rang with her
terrified screams ;
there were a few
quick footsteps in
the room ; the outer
door closed softly,
and a young man
sped aAvay into the
darkness. The
servants, rushing
into the library in
a panic, found only
a stricken, white-
faced girl piteously
moaning : "Fa-
ther! father ! ' '
while her hands
clutched a limp,
inert form, whose
lips would never
answer her again.

The death of
John MacLane re-
mained a mystery.
The servants knew
that he had left

the house that evening, after Nora had
gone upstairs, but no one had heard
him return, and no one could account
for the mysterious stranger, whose
face Nora had felt in the darkness. It
was learnt that MacLane had, late in
the afternoon of the day that he met
his death, refused to see a broker
named James Horton, whose business
was on the verge of ruin thru Mac-
Lane 's operations. It was known that
Horton 's feeling against MacLane was
very bitter, but Horton easily estab-
lished an alibi. He had spent the

SHE LOOKED OUT UPON A NEW,
BEAUTIFUL WORLD

entire evening in his home, playing
bridge with a party of neighbors. At
the end of six months it was generally
conceded that the case would go down
in the records as an unsolved mystery.
Nora — pretty, joyous, loving little
Nora — had wilted under the blow like
some tender flower touched by a
sudden, savage blast. Nothing could
rouse her from the pitiful apathy of
her grief. Alone, in her enforced
darkness, she mourned, growing so
white and frail
that it seemed as if
her spirit was al-
ready slipping
away to meet her
beloved father's.
She even refused,
at first, to listen to
Doctor Stuyvesant
when he 'came to
complete the plans
for the operation
that was to restore
her sight.

"Why should I
want to see?" she
asked hopelessly.
"I wanted to see
my father — it will
be only a new grief
now, if I look out
at the world and
realize that he is
not here."

' ' Your father
would be grieved
if you refused this
chance of sight,
Nora," the good
doctor told her
gravely. "It was his dearest wish.
Do you think he would be pleased to
know that you chose to spend your
life in darkness? Have courage, my
dear; try to live bravely, as your
father would wish you to do."

So the day came, at last, when the
bandages were removed from Nora's
eyes, and she looked out upon a new,
beautiful world. For a moment her
face glowed with joy; then a quick
rush of tears came, and she buried her
face in her hands.

"Father would be so glad," she

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

sobbed ; ' 'it seems wicked to be happy
when he is gone ! ' '

The doctor beckoned to a sweet-
faced woman who was waiting in an
adjoining room. She came quickly,
putting her arms tenderly around the
weeping girl.

"Nora," she said gently, "I am
Mrs. Van Sittart, and I knew your
mother when she was as young as you

to her lips, and her interest in life
began to deepen. Time, the merciful
healer, is thrice kind to youth, and
tho Nora's grief was still deep and
poignant, the bitterness was fading,
and the light of hope was beginning
to dawn in her dark eyes. There was
one thought, however, that yet re-
curred to her with haunting dread —
the face 'that she had touched in the

NORA IS INTRODUCED TO WALTER HORTON

are. I am going to take you home
with me now, for her sake and for
yours. You must meet people, form
friendships, make new ties. It is
what your father and your mother
would wish you to do, dear. They
will be unhappy in Heaven if they see
their daughter's life wasted here in
grief and loneliness. You shall be
like my own daughter, and, some time,
you will be happy again."

Little by little, the color crept back
to Nora 's cheeks ; smiles came of tener

darkness, the face of her father's
murderer. Somewhere that man was
living ; perhaps she passed him in the
street and did not know! Often she
awoke, shuddering, from a dream of
that face in the darkness.

"Would you know the face if you
saw it?" Mrs. Van Sittart asked her.

"No, only if I felt it. I should
know instantly, if my fingers touched
that face again."

' ' Then dont worry about it — try to
forget . it, " counseled the sensible

WITH THE .EYES OF THE BLIND

friend, and Nora obeyed her. She
tried to forget, and, just then, a new
influence began to creep into her life,
that went far toward helping her in
this effort. A young man appeared
on the horizon of Nora's life — a
young man whose coming brought a
deeper flush to the girl 's cheek, a new
radiance to her eyes. His calls be-
came frequent; they sang together,
walked together, rode together. Mrs.
Van Sittart looked on with satisfac-
tion.

"It is just what Nora needs," she
thought complacently. ' ' Walter Hor-
ton is a fine, rising young man, and,
when Nora has a home and a husband,
she will forget all the dreadful past.
But I wonder why he looks at her so
strangely sometimes — almost as if he
were afraid of something ? Last night,
when she closed her eyes and felt of
that vase he brought her, as she often
does when she particularly likes a
thing, he looked positively ghastly!
Is he afraid she will become blind
again — or is he afraid of heredity ? ' '

It had been thought best, at the
time of her father's death, not to tell
Nora of the trouble between him and
the broker, so the name Horton had
no unpleasant connections for the
girl, nor for Mrs. Van Sittart.

It really seemed as if life were
bringing its full measure of joy to
cast at Nora's feet now. Her laugh
and song rang thru the house, her
feet danced up and doWn the stairs ;
she was a veritable sunbeam in the
dawning of her new love and hope.
But, thru the current of Mrs. Van
Sittart 's joy for her, there ran a vein
of uneasiness.

' ' Why doesn 't he speak ? ' ' she won-
dered. "It is plain that he loves her
— what is holding him back ? ' '

But fate, in the form of a runaway
horse, took a hand in the young
lovers' affairs at last. Perhaps Cupid
grew impatient and sent a sharp
arrow into the horse that Nora was
riding down the smooth boulevard
that day. At any rate, the beast
bolted, with no apparent reason, and
those few dreadful moments, before
Walter Horton was able to overtake

and gain control of the frightened
animal, seemed to break down the
barrier. There, under the shade of
the great trees that lined the boule-
vard, he confessed his love, and into
Nora's heart a deep happiness and
peace entered.

To Nora, the road home was an en-
chanted one. Surely, the sun had
never shone so brightly before ; the
birds had never sung so sweetly; the
flowers had never bloomed so brightly.
All the loneliness and sorrow of her
past life seemed to be swept away by
this strange, new tide of love.

When they reached home and stood,
alone at last, beside the open fire, she
lifted her eyes to his, and there was
such a radiance in their depths as he
had never seen there before. Silently,
half-awed, he held out his arms, and
she went to him, simply, without hesi-
tation, with a happy sigh, like that
of a tired child. There was a long
silence before she stirred and said
wistfully :

' ' If father only could know ! ' '

All the light died from Walter
Horton 's face, his arms dropped
rigidly, and, as Nora looked up in
quick surprise,, she caught in his eyes
a look of anguish and foreboding that
chilled her new happiness with a
vague, horrible shadow.

"What is it, Walter?" she ex-
claimed.

"Nora, dearest," he said trem-
blingly, ' ' could anything change your
love for me now? Would you ever
turn from me ? ' '

' ■ Never ! ' ' she answered instantly.

"I must tell you," he began, but
she interrupted him, imperiously.

"I dont want to hear," she de-
clared. "I love you; you love me —
that is enough. If there is anything
unpleasant in your past, forget it
now. I know there will be nothing
but good in the future. ' '

"But you do not understand," he
protested. "It is something that was
not my fault — it was an accident —
and yet "

"Stop," she protested; "please,
Walter. I do not want any trouble
to shadow this perfect day. I love

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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

you — I trust
you; isn 't that
enough?" .

Then, as he still
hesitated, trem-
bling, uncertain,
she came close to
him.

1 ' Kiss me ,
dear," she said;
"you've never
kist me!"

With a sigh
that was almost a
moan, he bent to
meet the lovely,
smiling lips ; but,
ere he touched
their sweetness,
he raised his head
again, with a
sharp, decisive
gesture.

"No!" he
cried; "I must
not — I must tell
you "

She flung up
her hands, with a pretty, shrinking
gesture, as if warding off a blow. Her
cheeks were paling now, but she shook
her head bravely.

' ' See, I will not let you speak, ' ' she
laughed — laid her slender, sensitive
fingers upon his face, to stop his
words — and staggered back instantly,

THE FACE!" SHE MOANED

like one smitten
with a mortal
blow!

"Walter!" she
shrieked; "oh,
God!— Walter!"
Step by step,
eyes dilated, face
blanched, hands
thrust out as if
to keep him from
her, she moved
away from him.

"The face!"
she moaned ; ' ' the
face in the dark-
ness! Oh, go —
go quickly — t h e
face!"

For one long,
anguished mo-
ment the man 's
eyes gazed at her,
and in their
depths burned
pain and love and
longing and de-
spair. Then, with
a hopeless gesture, he bowed his head,
turned softly, and went out into the
gathering dusk. And as he walked,
the air around him was filled with
close-whispering voices that chanted
shrilly: "There is no hope — none.
The face in the darkness — the face in
the darkness!"

To The Motion Picture Story Magazine

I wrote a Moving Picture play
And told my friends about it,

Describing it as new and gay —
They smiled and didn't doubt it.

And they are talking, far and near :

"I'll write a play some day !"
Now I am asking, loud and clear :
Who hasn't tried to write a play?

The milkman and the plumber, too,
The man who gets the ashes,

The cook who cooks our daily stew,
The laundry girls and hashers,

Our carpenter and tinner.

Essayed the Moving Picture art,

And the bum without his dinner
Has contributed his part.

And when I see the show each day,
I scarce control my feelings ;

I see how much they please the jay,
And illustrate his dealings.

Diogenes, with lantern lit,

Went searching for an honest mortal,
And, with his odd, archaic kit,

He paused at everybody's portal.

A longer quest than his I plan,
About the world I mean to stray
To find the woman, child, or man,

Who hasn't tried to write a play.

Dorothy (DoMell

The Great Sculptor moulds man
in His own likeness. Some
faces go God-carven thru the
world. But man, the amateur,
meddles with the Supreme Artist 's
work, oftentimes, and bungles piti-
ably, distorting the features, leaving
a caricature where there should have
been a soul.

He was horrible. Against the fes-
tering, red sunset, he was etched
starkly, like an abnormal thing, an
abortion of Nature, a man-beast,
shaggy with harsh, bristling locks,
red stubble of beard and formless
clothing. There was misery in the
torn feet, swollen thru the derelict
shoes ; pathos in the slinking of the
broad shoulders built to go briskly
erect thru life ; tragedy in the blank
stupidity of the ravaged face, empty
of thought as a sick bull's. He
breathed noisily thru his broken
teeth as he plunged along the filthy
turnpike toward Grenoble, whose
lights sprinkled the neutral evening
distance.

As he surveyed them, he licked his
lips greedily. Food — rest! — and he
was dog-hungry and animal-tired.
Five leagues that day, God pity him,
and not a morsel of red cheese or a
shred of meat or a sup of wine. But
where yonder lights burned — there
was good eating, a deep bed and a
fire; and human faces that would,

perhaps, smile at him He broke

into a half-trot of eagerness, like a

home-bound dog, and would have
fallen, once or twice, in the mule-cart
ruts, if the great, knotted staff he
carried had not saved him. Strangely
animal-like he was, this loping, mus-
cular man-bulk, with the face of a
timid brute beneath the leather-
peaked cap, and the beaten, cowering
crouch of his huge body. Thru the
coarse, yellow calico shirt, fastened
with silver anchors at the throat, his
hairy breast heaved blue with the
snow-sharp buffet of the Alpine wind,
yet his face was mapped with per-
spiration and road dust, and he
panted, wistful of breath.

As he traveled, his fingers sought
his pocket frequently, fumbling for
his wallet and passport — reassured
for a moment; then fumbling again.
What if he should lose them ! There
would be no fire then ; no fat marmot
reeking on the spit at the inn ; no
soft bed — not even a truss of straw in
the coach-loft.

Nineteen years he had slaved for
that supper and that bed — if it
should be lost now, but no! The
leathern pouch gurgled under his
touch with the reassurance of metal,
and his paper — the yellow passport
that gave him the right to the wide
air, the open, public highway — that,
too, crinkled and crisped against his
fingers. He breathed hoarsely with
relief and impatience.

Under his feet the deep dust of the
roadway changed to cobble-stones,

101

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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

racking his burning muscles. A
thorn hedge unrolled by his side,
with tile-roofed, gabled cottages be-
yond. And ahead creaked the wooden
badge of an inn, swinging from its
iron bar across the pavement. Here
the man turned in, stumbling on the
door-block, blinking in the cheery
light that reached out kindly arms

JEAN VALJEAN, GALLEY CONVICT, IS RELEASED

as he flung wide the door. A fire
purred and hissed in the low chim-
neypiece, dancing about the cauldron,
that gave forth savory, spicy odors.
Twin partridges glistened, with tight,
brown skins, on the grating of the
oven, while a small turnspit, in white
canvas apron, whirled a whole suck-
ling pig over the blaze. The stranger
set his knapsack and stick in the
chimney-corner, his eyes lingering on
the food, his lips working as if
already tasting it.

In the rear of the kitchen, carriers
and gendarmes ate noisily, with a
tattoo of pewter knives and forks, at
the deal table, while the landlord
bustled among them, filling their
cups from a great flagon of brown,
foaming ale. This done, he turned
to the newcomer, cocking his elbows
and shooting an ingratiating leer
over his oily moustache.
But the smile faded at the
sight of his guest, and the
business-like cordiality of
his craft oozed out of his
voice as he inquired
"sharply :

"What d'ye wish here,
fellow?"

"Supper," said the
man, hoarsely, in an un-
used voice — "a bed."

"And the color of your
money, my fine cock?"

' ' Diab le ! I 'm not trying
to bilk you," cried the
man, fiercely, yet humbly.
He drew the pouch from
his blouse. "You see, I
have money. I can pay."
The landlord pushed
forward a wooden stool,
and busied himself among
his stew-pans. "Sit, then,
monsieur," he said more
pleasantly. "Supper will
be ready soon."

The man huddled his
great length on the stool,
leaning his bristling head
against the wainscoting.
His eyes closed in the
noiseless stupor of exhaus-
tion. Sleep is a strange
thing. It strips man of his disguises.
One of the gendarmes, glancing care-
lessly at the stranger over his mug-
rim, glanced again; then whispered
to his companion. A hurried ques-
tion, a nod, then

"Landlord, come here."
A moment later, the stranger was
jerked rudely from his dreams by a
harsh hand on his shoulder.

- ' You will have to go at once, mon-
sieur. ' '

The man shuddered from the

TEE BISHOP'S CANDLESTICKS

103

touch, as from a vile memory. Fright
wrenched his features into a horrible
grimace, but he did not move, dogged
with his desperate need.

"Why not, pray? Is this not a
public inn?"

"I have no room left for you."

for rogues such as you. So begone

quickly "

Without a backward word, the man
picked up his knapsack and staff,
and shuffled from the room. Behind,
the fire danced rosily, the steam of
cooking food hazed the pleasant

THE GENDARMES LEARN THAT JEAN WAS A GALLEY CONVICT

The man moistened his dry, rusty
lips.

"The stables, then," he muttered;
"and, first, supper."

"I have no food." The landlord
lost his patience.

"Monsieur, the gendarme tells me
you are a former galley convict, one
Jean Valjean. My house is an honest
one. Blood of my soul! it is no den

light; ahead was the emptiness and
loneliness of impersonal evening
under a vast, far sky, where cold,
cruel stars sputtered and snapped
like little, pitiless eyes.

Haphazard he stumbled along the
close street, keeping to the walls like
a furtive shadow, his head sunken on
his huge chest, his fingers fumbling,
fumbling endlessly, stupidly, in his

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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

blouse. A terrible doubt caught his
breath. The passport — had it not
made him a free man — had he not
money to buy his food as well as the
best of them ? M on Dieu ! did he still
wear his striped clothes, then? He
half-sobbed thru distended nostrils as
he moved on, and his shallow eyes
glistened with self-pity, rolling from
side to side. A mob of children, who
had watched him thrust from the inn,,
came howling and shrieking after,
mocking his rags and misery, with the
unbelievable brutality of healthy
childhood, at a safe distance, as tho
he were some dangerous dog who
might snap at them.

' ' Ya-ya ! Monsieur le convict ! ' '
"Regard — see! 8 acre I a monster,
truly!"

"Fils de diable — ye-e-e-e!"
Jean Valjean did not glance be-
hind. These were insect annoyances.
But the cold shudder of the wind
along the lane; the gnaw, gnaw of
the hunger-rat in his stomach; the
weight of his bloody feet, almost as
hard to carry as a ball and chain —
these things were real. A finger of
light fell across the pavement in
front of him, beckoning. He paused,
leaning on the wicket gate, to look
into the cottage thru the half-drawn
pink chintz curtains.

A bare table filled the center of
the room, aglow with a copper oil-
lamp and brave with supper — a tin
mug of wine, a brown soup-tureen.
The father of the family, an artisan
in huge, leathern apron and blue-
jeans shirt, sat eating, a fat child
balanced on his knee. Near-by the
wife watched him adoringly, suckling
a younger child against her white
breast. The home-love of the picture
smote the wretched man without like
a vicious blow. For an instant it was
crueller than the gaunt hunger and
the cold of his racked body. God
pity them, the homeless ones, the
vagabond wanderers of the world
who go by in the darkness and the
storms, their only warmth the nicker
from other men's hearths, their light
the glow streaming from other men's
homes !

Jean Valjean reflected.

"Where there is so much happi-
ness," he thought wistfully, "surely
there will be a little pity. There's a
woman, and, mon Dieu, they are not
as hard as men "

He knocked timidly; then louder.
The door opened.

"Your pardon, sir," said Jean;
"but would you, for payment, give
me a plate of soup and a place to
sleep?"

The peasant regarded him sharply.

"Why not the inn?" he asked.

Dull blood drowned the convict's
face; his tongue thickened. At that
moment the child, who had been peer-
ing about her father 's legs, gave a
shrill shriek of pleased terror and
fled to the mother's side.

"That's the convict man — that's
the convict man!"

The woman's face darkened. She
clasped her two children to her for
protection. "The viper!" she cried
wrathfully.

The peasant examined the man
curiously.

"So you are the convict, eh?" he
sneered, finally. "Be off! Name of
a pig, be off at once ! ' '

"For mercy's sake," cried Jean,
desolately, ' ' a glass of water ! ' '

"A charge of shot!" the other
said. The door slammed to and
erased the light. Night, with a rain
coming; the blurred moon, uncanny
with slatternly cloud-wisps across her
face, and a hopeless, desperate man.
He staggered on — on. Now he no
longer looked for the lights of a pot-
house or the glimmer from a dwell-
ing. Instead he sought a mule-shed
or a hop-picker's hut, where he might
escape the rain. At last he made out
the outlines of a small building
blotched against the pale, ghastly sky.
It was, as it proved, a dog-kennel, but
Jean was desperate. Crouching, he
drove his great shoulders thru the low
doorway. Hoarse breathing rumbled
thru the hut; he felt a rough, surly
muzzle thrust against his face. Then
the dog, seeming to recognize a
hunted brother-animal, began licking
the man's hand companionably.

TEE BISHOP'S CANDLESTICKS

105

But even a kennel was to be denied
to Jean. The crowd of children fol-
lowing him saw his shelter and
aroused the village loungers. In a
moment they were upon him, drag-
ging him rudely from his kennel,
beating him with fists and cudgels,
pelting his soul with the sting of ma-
licious words, taunting his body with
stones. Jean was beyond thinking.
The pain of the blows flogged his
weary body into flight; but his tor-
mentors were upon him, with the un-
reason of mob-spirit, and he fell
sprawling into the gutter.

Then a door near-by was opened;
a voice, gentle as a woman-touch,
fell on Jean's bruised senses, and,
one by one, the loungers slunk away.
He lay spent as a harried quarry,
waiting what might come. It could
not be good, whatever it was — there
was no good in the whole horrible
world — nothing but blows and foul
prisons and double chains; nothing
but cruelty and loathsome words and
jeering, evil and vice and crime.

These he was used to. Shame had
been his brother and Suffering his
bedfellow so long. But he was not
accustomed to a gentle hand laid,
friendlywise, upon his shaking shoul-
ders, with a touch whose tenderness
sank deeper, to his bruised and
bloody soul. It terrified him. He
who had taken the warden's blows
and the gall of chains as the way of
the world, trembled from kindness
like a child in the presence of the
unknown.

"Pardonnez-moi; I — I — go — in a

moment " The words splintered

between his chattering teeth. He
wrenched his body to its feet. The
hand on his shoulder fell to his
elbow, supporting him.

"Come," said the voice, "we will
go in where it is warm. Marie will
have supper ready for us soon. ' '

Jean Valjean stood very still,
quivering. At last he dared to raise
his eyes. God's angels come in
quaint disguises often: as beggars, as
princes; sometimes as old, frail,
shabby men in priestly cassock like
this one, whose silver hair blew thinly

in the wan moonlight like a dim, frail
aureole. The face was one that had
won its peace from much praying;
from watching, with Christ, beneath
solemn skies ; from thinking a lifetime
of pure thoughts ; from loving an un-
lovable world. It was a face made
in the image of its Moulder, and it
glowed toward the hunted man like a
strange, gentle star that has stooped,
marvelously, to the street. Jean Val-
jean did not think this, however. A
dog does not put his instincts into
words. Instead he drew back, sus-
piciously.

"Do you know who I am?" he
cried harshly. "I am Jean Valjean;
I stole a loaf of bread. I have spent
nineteen years as a convict in the
galleys. They say I am a dangerous
man — see, there it is printed on my
passport ' '

The Bishop did not glance at the
paper. He did not shrink back in
disgust. He moved nearer.

"No," said the Bishop, gently,
"no, that is not what you are. I
knew you at once."

Jean Valjean stared stupidly.

' ' Then who am I ? " he said at last.

"You are my brother," said the
Bishop.

The wind, Alpine-born of snow
and heaven-piercing peaks, whined
along the narrow lane, whipping the
priest's black robe about his spare
form. Distance-eased bursts of laugh-
ter from the pot-houses near-by, and
a bell from a convent in the moun-
tains; then silence, vocal with mean-
ing— then a strange, hoarse sob.

"But I am a convict," muttered
Jean, doggedly. He leaned forward
on his stick, searching the old, white
face. "A dangerous man. They
turned me out of the inn; even the
dog-house could not shelter me. No
one wants me. You do not under-
stand. / am a convict." He was
moving away.

"Are you hungry?" said the
Bishop, matter-of-factly. "I am.
Let us go in, or the good Marie will
scold us for making her soup cold."
The door opened: warmth — light — ■
-11 of food

106

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

The comely woman, in white cap,
puce-checked apron and stomacher,
setting a chafing-dish of charcoal
upon the table, turned, and stared,
in amazement, at the guest that the
night had sent.

"Marie," said the Bishop, cheerily,
"this is a friend who will dine with
us. Set another place for him at the
table."

"But — but, sir, surely "

well for it — see?" — he drew out the
leathern wallet boastfully — ' ' see —
one hundred francs. It took me nine-
teen years to earn them — nineteen;
but now they shall buy me a bed and
soup and bread and mutton "

"I do not want your money, my
brother," said the Bishop. "We do
not take pay from our kin."

"But I am no kin of yours-

Oh, yes" — the old priest's tone

MARIE, THIS IS A FRIEND WHO WILL DINE WITH US

1 ' And then you will make up a bed
for him in the alcove, Marie "

Jean Valjean made a strange; un-
couth sound.

"So I am to sleep in a real bed?"
he cried violently. ' ' My God ! a bed
with clean sheets and a mattress and,
perhaps, goose-feather pillows. A
bed like other men? I haven't slept
in a bed for nineteen years — only on
boards or straw — and so I am to
have a real bed now, eh? I can pay

was infinitely reverent. "We have
the same Father, Jean Valjean."

Marie brought another plate, knife,
fork and spoon in the resigned silence
of disapproval. She set on curdled
cheese, a long, crusty loaf of rye
bread, oil, cabbage salad and the
soup-tureen. She was hurrying
away, but the Bishop called her back.

"It is very dark here, Marie," he
chided significantly. Jean Valjean
stared at the candlesticks that she

THE BISHOP'S CANDLESTICKS

107

brought in, blinking in amaze. There
were two — silver, massive, marvelous
—worth, possibly, the ransom of a
king. He could hardly wrench his
gaze from them as he ate. The food
on his plate vanished wolfishly, in
noisy gulps and snatches, as a beast
eats when it is starving, not for
pleasure, but out of horrible neces-
sity. The Bishop's gentle voice
bridged the silence, now and again,
with comment or question. And
always the convict's eyes gloated on
the candlesticks, lusting for them.

The world is ever creating Frank-
ensteins, horrible monsters, danger-
ous and destructive. And ever these
man-made creatures of evil are
wreaking revenge for their illegiti-
mate birth upon the folly that con-
ceived them. Jean Valjean stole a
loaf of bread for his sister's starving
children. It was a small loaf. They
were very young and suffering. He
loved them. The world thrust him
into the slave-galleys, riveted a chain
and ball about his ankles, beat him,
cursed him, taught his boy-heart
filth and vice and the knowledge of
evil things. "When he tried to escape
from the hell of the chain-gang and
the finger-bruising basket-making,
the world flung him back to worse
torture : solitary punishment till the
brain shrieks and the nerves are like
jelly strings; flogging, with knotted
rope, the body God built for His
temple; fetters that fret the limbs
into nauseous sores.

Nineteen years of this — if aches
and blows and curses are measurable
in years — and here he lay, at last,
upon a clean bed, full-fed, the echo of
kindly words vocal to his ears; and
he could not sleep.

Could not sleep for the nagging of
memories biting his soul : memories of
the grim hell of the galleys; the
humiliation at the inn; the stones of
the loungers — ah, how he hated them,
these fat-paunched, smug-eyed citi-
zens, with their musty morals and
their prate of that devil-thing called
the Law. An amusing thing, their
law : nineteen years it exacted for one
five-penny loaf of bread. The flesh

of his body it had taken for its toll —
the blood of his soul. He was a thing
sucked dry. He hated the Law. The
world was against him, always had
been, always would be. Why should
he not have his puny revenge on the
universe ?. Wakefulness mated to mid-
night gives birth to ill thoughts. Be-
low the stairs were the great silver
candlesticks; beyond the door, free-
dom. But first he must get the
Bishop's keys.

Thru the halls, like the shadow
cast by evil, crept Jean Valjean, out-
cast in body and soul, a thankless thing
aquiver with desperation, hatred, re-
sentment against the world and God.
The Bishop's room was white with
moonshine. Yet, strangely, the light
seemed to come, not from the unshut-
tered, diamond-paned casement, but
to stream down from the iron crucifix
high-hung above the bed. There was
murder in the dwarfed soul of the
convict — murder in his small, red
eyes; his knotted hands; his great,
sinister lump of a body. On the
threshold of the room he paused. Was
it alive, that twisted, tortured thing
upon the cross? The shadow of the
sycamore beyond the window rippled
across the strange, white glow, giving
the figure motion. Its hands, out-
stretched, seemed lifted above the
sleeping Bishop, in divine benedic-
tion. In the face on the pillows, old,
framed in thin, white hair, time-
scarred with other men's sins and
sorrows, glowed a startling reflection
of that on the cross — the face of the
Man of Sorrows, acquainted with
grief.

Jean Valjean stood very still, gaz-
ing. To one who has looked on evil
all his life, good is terrible. He was
afraid. Shuddering, he snatched the
keys from the table by the bed and
fled the room.

"Aie! aie! Teste on him! Master,
master, wake ! The villain — the viper,
to run away with the beautiful
candlesticks — aie I ' '

Marie's wail splashed into the
Bishop's dreaming like a rude stone
into a serene pool. He listened in
silence to her triumphant pean of

108

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

grief, tho the lines in his old face

quivered deeper. Finally he lifted his

hand.

"Marie," he said gently, "I have

done a very wrong thing. ' '

"You? — but newer^-impossible — "
"Yes," said the Bishop, sadly; "I

priest dozed beneath the grape-arbor,
his prayer-book open in lax fingers.

Peace everywhere and contentment.
The drowsy afternoon was serene
music — idling over gentle strings. Into
it crashed, like a discord, four red-
frocked gendarmes, dragging between

THE BISHOP S CANDLESTICKS!

kept the candlesticks too long. They
belonged to the poor. He has only
taken his own."

Mid-afternoon. The sun streamed
like water from the red-tiled gables
and the chimney-pots. Down the
by-lanes the children were playing sur
le pont d' Avignon with young twitter-
ings and trills. In the square front
yard of the Bishop's house the old

them a man, bloated with fear, swollen
tongue flapping, eyeballs distended,
as one who looks at a vision too hor-
rible for belief, and. yet knows that it
is true. He came voicelessly, limbs
swinging loosely, uncontrolled, pant-
ing like a spiritless dog. It was Jean
Valjean. The vision he was seeing
was the galleys yawning for him —
already he felt the chains searing his
flesh, the hissing, red pain of the

TEE BISHOP'S CANDLESTICKS

109

flogging; he smelt the foul flavor of
unkempt bodies, the harsh basket-
withes wet with blood and sweat. So
a maimed dog looks at the whip that
scotched him, or a once-redeemed soul
dropping into the flames of its old hell.

In the arms of one of the officers
were the candlesticks. He held them
out to the astonished Bishop, doffing
his peaked cap reverently.

1 'Pardon, your reverence; these are
yours, are they not ? We came on this
dog of a fellow — a liberated convict —
running thru the woods with them — "

The Bishop's eyes sought the tor-
tured face of Jean Valjean. There
was cooling in the look, and heal-
ing. God knows what he saw there.
A man would have seen only violence,
horror, fierce sin, suffering, black
hatred and unspeakable fear. Per-
haps he looked as God looks, beneath
the skin to the soul.

Jean Valjean 's hands knotted to-
gether; he stood hopeless, head and
limbs limply hanging, awaiting the
word that would snatch the sunshine
from him forever.

' ' Yes, messieurs ' ' — the Bishop 's
voice was leisurely ; " I know this man.
He is my friend. He told you V-

1 ' That you gave him the candlesticks,
your 'reverence, but we thought "

The Bishop smiled serenely.

"You thought wrongly, my good
friends," he said. "They belong to
him. I gave them to him."

Astonishment and dismay were
sketched, ludicrously, on the faces of
the gendarmes. ' ' Ah, we did not know
— your pardon, monsieur le convict —
bon jour " They were gone.

Jean Valjean stood swaying, in-
credulous hope lightening his dull
eyes. Free ! — the galleys were not for
him, then, nor the sour, black bread,
nor the stripes; but the open road,
honest work, a bed, the clean food of
human beings — he drew a long, slow
breath till his great lung-bellows
creaked against his muscles. Then,
without a word, he turned to go.

"Wait!" the Bishop's voice was
like a firm hand on his shoulder, draw-
ing him back. "Wait, friend, you are
forgetting your candlesticks."

The eyes of the convict and the
priest met: the one's wild, hard,
bitter, bestial; the other's pittful,
kind as no others had ever seemed,
tender, forgiving.

They were friend-eyes, and Jean
Valjean had never known a friend;
mother-eyes, and he had been mother-
less since he could remember; God-
eyes, and God had been but a name to
blaspheme. Sometimes a very little
obstacle checks a great river, piling it
with rubbish, making it a dangerous
whirlpool, restless and threatening.
When that is removed, the waters
rush on again, cleanly, to the sea.
Suddenly the misery and hatred in
Jean Valjean 's heart burst their
bonds, and the waters of healing
rushed across his thirsty soul. Sobs
shook him. Trembling to his knees,
he groped for the Bishop's shabby
gown, and found, instead, his hand.

It rested on his head with a feeling
like the sound of church bells or the
words of a prayer.

"Jean Valjean, my brother," said
the Bishop, solemnly, "you no longer
own your soul. I have bought it of
you. I shall give it to God. ' '

The man crouching on the ground
was dazzled by the look of the priest's
eyes. He could not bear it, and cov-
ered his face with his hands. And,
for the first time in his life, he felt
ashamed; not bitterness, self-pity, but
the flame of shame that burns and
purges and makes of a soul a clean-
healed and holy place where God may
dwell. He staggered to his feet, striv-
ing to speak, but the Bishop checked
him.

"No, no! no thanks," he said
strongly. He made the sign of the
cross above the bowed, prison-shaven
head. "God be with you; go in
peace and sin no more, my brother."

Across the world the Angelus scat-
tered its benediction ; the west flamed
with a bright splash of gold. As Jean
Valjean, stumbling from the rectory
yard, looked back, it seemed as tho
the glory of the sunset blazed and
shone in an aureole about the white
head of the Bishop, bowed in prayer.

'':tt^K't.-\>:}^"'-'fnV''~

LAUGHLIN

Entranced, we gaze on lengthy shadows creeping

Back to their source, below a rising moon ;
We fondly watch young sweethearts shyly keeping

A tryst among the fragrant growths of June.
The singer we applaud, the while despising

The ragtime airs that tease us, and we trow
That time turns back, that tides of youth are rising

Around us, at the Moving Picture show.

Betimes, we face a storm-tossed, rock-bound ocean,

Where wreckers work with calm, cold-blooded ease ;
We watch them swing a luring lamp in motion,

With garments fluttering in the briny breeze.
We watch them step from rock to rock, unheeding

The waves that dash the dying to and fro ;
We eurse them while they search the crushed and bleeding,

That pass us at the Moving Picture show.

Again, we watch a broken mother bending

Above the fair face of her dying child,
The while we feel that grief is fiercely rending

Her patient heart, e'en tho her looks are mild.
In fancy we have heard the mother calling

The child that never more would ease her woe,
And we have felt our own tears fastly falling,

While dreaming at the Moving Picture show.

Too oft we find the flower of youth competing

For dross that brings but bitterness and strife,
While fetish and false friends are slyly cheating

Their victims of the sweetest things in life.
Still, still beyond the plunder and pretending —

Beyond the reach of Lethe's backward flow —
We see the steadfast Star of Hope ascending

High, high above the Moving Picture show.

Envoi.
The Future Film will reel no raging battle,

Gross greed will glut on human flesh no more,
Nor will the cruel cannon roar and rattle

O'er fields dyed crimson red with human gore.
Old feuds, old faiths will be for aye forsaken,

Christ's Creed of Love will set men's hearts aglow,
The genius of the gods will soon awaken

New glories for Earth's Moving Picture show.

The Land of Let's Pretend

By DOROTHY DONNELL

There is a land of dear delights : Arabian nights and wondrous sights,
Of pirate ships, and lovers' lips, and marvels without end;

It is the land where children go, before they grow too wise to know —
The path that leads from Playtime to the Land of Let's Pretend.

But the picture play has shown the way to that dear land of yesterday
And now once more the wonder-lore of olden days is ours :

The ocean waves and pirate caves, the thrilling fights with Indian braves,
The lovers, and the laughter, and the flowers.

T33'

W£

wimtm

Musings of

The T^hoiopla
T?hilosopher "

A correspondent, who signs herself "J. S. L.," suggests a reason for the
use of the words Motion Pictures in preference to Moving Pictures.
"An old man once saw a beautiful painting by a famous artist," she
says, "which depicted a very pathetic scene. This old man was moved to tears.
The critic said that this was a true Moving Picture. ' ' We have received several
jokes and cartoons in which persons were indulging in the tiresome art of mov-
ing pictures from room to room or from house to house, and the words Moving
Pictures and the Movies have become almost vulgar. Mrs. J. S. L. suggests
the words Motion Pictures, Motographs and Motography. The word
Moto graph comes from the Latin Mot us, meaning motion, and the Greek
Grapho, meaning .writing ; hence, a motion writing. Thus we could call a
Motion Picture a Motograph, and the art or business of Motion Pictures,
Motography. The public, hoAvever, are not quick to adopt a word merely
because of its correct etymologic derivation. A word that is euphonious and
easy to pronounce usually becomes popular regardless of its origin. Perhaps
we shall never succeed in inducing the public to use photoplay for scenario,
photoshoiv far movies, and motograph for Moving Pictures. The language of
the street eventually becomes the language of the drawing-room.

Money talks. Its favorite words are : ' ' Good-by ! ' '

The newspapers recently carried a dispatch from Ithaca, N. Y., in which
it was stated that statistics showed that the students of Cornell College had,
to a considerable extent, stopped patronizing the saloons and had substituted
Motion Picture shows instead. Similar reports have frequently come from
other places, and the saloon-keeper has come to look on the photoshow as his
deadly enemy. Photography is not a substitute for liquor, but the facts tend
to show that drinking becomes a habit to those who must go somewhere of an
evening, and who choose the saloon because it is the most convenient place in
which to have a good time. The young men are learning that they can have
just as good a time at the picture theater, and a more profitable one, and for
much less money. Those who are trying to close the Motion Picture houses,
neglecting the saloons, had better see that our young men are provided with
meeting-places as harmless as the former, and with entertainment less harmful
than liquor.

T^OSINGS oFTMe PHOTOPLAY P/HLoaop«H£

And now comes the idea of making of every schoolhouse a civic center for
that community. In a village or small city the plan is more feasible than in a
large city. If, when the schoolhouse is first built, provisions were made to
have it contain the public library, the town hall, the public forum, the offices
of public officials, such as the Board of Health, a hall where public meetings,
dances and receptions could be held, and where Motion Pictures could be
shown every night, including Sunday, the plan could easily be carried out. As
it is now, the schoolhouses are vacant and idle all night and part of the day.
They are built and maintained solely to teach boys and girls from books. Why
not teach them also with illustrated lectures, debates, political meetings, public
discussions and Motion Pictures? Children learn and remember best that
which is pleasing to them. Education is yet in its infancy. By present
methods a child begins at six, and when it is fourteen it can hardly speak and
write the English language correctly. Should it take eight years to teach the
three R's? No, not when properly taught, and when the child has an inclina-
tion to learn. Add pleasure to the work, and it becomes play. Motion Pictures
must sooner or later find their way into the schools.

If I have received one, I have received fifty letters regarding my recent
comments on screen advertising. If these letters are representative, there
is no doubt that the public is bitterly opposed to such advertising, and that
those managers who persist in imposing on the public, by using their screens
for anything except legitimate Motion Picture advertising, will soon suffer the
consequences. As every fold has its black sheep, so every enterprise has its
Judas who betrays it. Motion Pictures are just beginning to come into their
own, and it is a pity that a few thoughtless, avaricious managers should be so
short-sighted as to stand in the way of progress.

The Rev. Herbert A. Jump recently delivered a lecture at the University
of California on the subject, "The Motion Picture a Ten-Cent University,"
which was a trite topic. Among other things, Mr. Jump said that five times
as many people attend Motion Pictures as attend the regular theaters, and that
the evil effects of Motion Pictures have been grossly exaggerated. "As a
matter of fact," he said, "we are no more justified in eliminating the Motion
Picture because once in a while a youngster has committed a crime after
having been to the photoshow, than we would be justified in giving up our
public libraries because the stories of adventure contained therein have moved
nervous boys to unfortunate imitation thereof. The moral standards of
Motion Pictures are quite as high as the moral standards of fiction and poetry
that are put out by our public libraries." Quite true; and he might have
added: the moral standards of Shakespeare and of history itself are not as
high as they might be, to say nothing of our newspapers. The truth is, if a
boy is going to be bad, he will be bad ; and, if he does not get his inspiration
from one source, he will get it from another. It seems to be a fad among
reformers, just now, to make Motion Pictures the scapegoat for all moral
delinquencies of young people. But since fads are necessarily short-lived,
perhaps the next fad will be to treat the photoshow as a moral reformatory
rather than as an immoral deformatory.

^^•^ 112 r^^^^^^^^^

LOSINGS OFTME- PHOTOPLAY PflllPSopM&FC

The Rev. Robert J. Burdette recently said, among other good things, in a
lecture that has been widely copied: "The picture show habit is a good one
to cultivate, if you cultivate your mind along with it. The picture show is the
handmaiden of education. It is difficult to estimate its true value. If it does
nothing more than to quicken the imagination, it is a great teacher. ' ' Is it not
a relief to hear broad, fair-minded preachers like Mr. Burdette say a good
word for Motion Pictures? It helps us to hold the clergy in higher esteem.
When our moralists are so narrow as to see nothing good in anything except
the church, and to deny the people the pleasures of innocent, outside amuse-
ments, we can hardly refrain from looking at all their teachings with sus-
picion. When they show that they wish the people to enjoy themselves, when
they exhibit a tendency to correct the evils of the people 's amusements, rather
than a fervent desire to destroy them, we all feel like joining them in all their
endeavors ; but when they show a bigoted narrowness of spirit in some things,
we feel like resisting their demands in all things.

It is with pride and pleasure that we announce a new and great book,
now in course of preparation, entitled "Choice Stories," which will contain
about twenty of the best stories that have appeared in this magazine for the
last two years, by Rex Beach, Will Carleton, Edwin M. La Roche, Dorothy
Donnell, Henry Albert Phillips and other famous writers. We believe that
twenty better stories were never gotten together in one book. Watch for the
publisher's announcement.

When Frederick Warde, the veteran Shakespearean actor, was first asked
to play a series of Shakespearean plays before the camera for a Motion Picture
manufacturer, he did not know whether to take it as a joke or as an insult. He,
like many other great actors of the speaking stage, thought that Moving
Pictures were something of a toy ; but he was soon convinced to the contrary,
and a contract was signed within the next few days. With something like
16,000,000 people viewing the photodrama every day, it would seem that
there cannot be many persons who are not familiar with the remarkable
progress the art has made within the last few years ; but the fact is that there
are still millions who have not the least conception of what modern Motion
Pictures are. On the front page of a New York daily paper was published,
last summer, a large cartoon showing a varied assortment of people entering
a picture theater, and the drawing was entitled, ■ ' Rich man, poor man, beggar
man, thief.' ' A great truth was revealed by that simple sketch. Usually,
every amusement attracts a single class of patrons, and we do not find boot-
blacks intermingling with bankers, and millionaires with paupers; but the
photoplay seems to be equally interesting to rich and poor, intellectual and
unintellectual, black and white, old and young. Not only this, so fascinating
is the Motion Picture that the rich and the educated are willing to rub
elbows with the very lowliest in order to enjoy themselves at this wonderful
place — the photoshow. The time is not far distant when every community
will have its picture theater, with a scale of prices for admission, so that the
particular and the fastidious may sit in their private boxes or orchestra chairs
without mixing up with their "inferiors." If that will make them any
happier, it is well. Any way, we want everybody to enjoy the pictures, and
we must make things as comfortable as possible for the overparticular.

^h^^? 113 ^^*r>^<^^g^

There is little we know now that was not known to the ancients, and it is
probable that every new idea is but an old idea in new clothes. The practices
of the Magians, the antics of the demoniacs, and of the possessed, the healing
of the king 's evil by laying on of hands, the expulsion of jevil spirits by exor-
cism, the hallucinations of the witches, the giving of sight to the blind, move-
ment to the paralyzed, hearing to the deaf, and reason to the insane^ all bob
up again, in successive ages, but always in a somewhat more rational and
feasible form, for "the world do move." Mesmerism, hypnotism, telepathy,
animal magnetism, psychometry, thought-reading, mental healing, Christian
Science, thought-transference, etc., are but modern terms for old doctrines,
and they all owe their origin to the law of suggestion. Those who thoroly
understand the related facts in the physiology of the brain have but little diffi-
culty in mastering the secrets of the so-called occult phenomena. Solomon was
wiser than he knew when he said that there was nothing new under the sun.

We may suffer without sinning, but we cannot sin without suffering.

I believe that photoplayers have no better friend on the press than I,
and I say this without apology for seeming immodesty. If I at times say
that which displeases them, it is not said with malice, but with beneficence.
The photoplay has mustered a splendid array of players, and they are improv-
ing in their art; but I must suggest to them, in all kindness, that many of
them are careless. I know several players who go into scenes without the
slightest preparation. The director tells them that they are to dress so and
so, that they are to impersonate such and such a character, and that they
are to do certain things in a certain way. The player often does not know
even what the play is about, and does not concern himself to find out. The
pity of it ! How can any actor expect to do great work, and to become known
as an artist under such conditions? I know one player who does quite the
contrary. She ascertains, as long in advance as possible, just what she is
cast for, reads the play, studies her character at night and creates it in her
mind, thinks out various "business" and by-play, and becomes so imbued
with the characteristics of the character that she knows just what that person
would do under various sets of circumstances. The result is that her work
stands out. Every character she plays is different. You can never say of
her, as you can of many of the other players, that she is just the same in
everything she does, and we remark that she is an artist, and an artist with
brains. She is more than an "intelligent" player.

Almost every night, at the photoshow, I say to myself more than once,
"What a pity that this or that player did not study his (or her) part — such
a splendid chance — a talented player with a charming personality and appear-
ance, yet^ his brains are in his feet ! He is a mere automaton, and does just
what he is told to do, and no more.

It is only a question of time when the public will tire of those players
who do nothing but look pretty ; who make love always the same ; who have
but one way of expressing an emotion ; whose every character is the same as
the last ; and who forget that the greatest attribute of art is brains.

There is some hope if you dont grow worse, but no hope if you dont grow

better.

114

The exploitation of Moving Pic-
tures of the better grade is fast
assuming much of the dignity
and good taste that has attended the
presenting of important plays by
theatrical managers. Two things have
brought about a complete change in
the methods of attracting public at-
tention : the advent of the feature film,
and the utilization of opera houses
and large halls thruout the country
for their presentation.

Already the avant courier of the
silent drama is a potent factor, and
has brought about a superior en-
vironment for Moving Pictures, The
''boomer" has given way to the man
of real intellect, possessed not only of
the necessary showmanship, but also
of literary talents that will enable him
to give the amusement-loving public a
conception worthy of the amazing
progress in the photoplay. No longer
is the public press ignored. Adver-
tisements in the amusement columns
of city dailies, announcing, a week in
advance, the presentation of a feature
film, are now common.

The ticket-booth is passing gradu-
ally, the box-office in its regular place
being a dignified substitute. Instead
of the "barker" of former times, we
are now attracted by the handsomely
uniformed carriage porter, and in
place of the rolls of admission tickets
meted out to passers-by as they enter,
there are coupon reserved seats pur-
chased days in advance by telephone,
letter or telegram. On several occa-
sions, the writer has seen business
men and women standing in line to
secure choice seats for the photoplay.
Slowly, but surely, the "exhibitor"
of yesterday is becoming the "mana-
ger" of today, and there are those
who predict that he will be the "im-
presario ' ' of tomorrow. For with the
Bernhardts, the Rejanes, the Mounet-
Sullys, the Maud Adamses, and the
Ethel Barrymores capitulating to the
theater of science, and the John Corls,

the Daniel Frohmans, and the Al. H.
Woods, of the theater zone, producing
photoplays, the business department
must increase with the artistic side.

A prominent manager of photoplay
houses, who has already converted two
of the theatrical syndicate 's metropol-
itan playhouses to the use of the silent
drama, has recently added a third —
the superb Park Theater at Columbus
Circle — and, with commendable enter-
prise, he has been experimenting, with
a view to impressing the well-to-do
residents of this locality. It is this
type of manager who is destined to
set the pace for the exhibitor of yes-
terday. By increasing the price of
evening admission to twenty-five cents,
eliminating vaudeville and substitut-
ing a symphony orchestra and two
high-grade singers (without illustra-
tions), this progressive manager has
so amazed several of his colleagues in
theaterdom that plans are now being
made all over the city to follow his
example as soon as present attractions
in the playhouses exhaust their vogue
with the public. And this means that
the summer of 1913 will witness tre-
mendous photoplay activity thruout
the country. As a result, it is possible
that the majority of the nation's im-
portant playhouses will be utilized
for the exploitation of feature films,
and many of these are likely to revert
permanently to the camera man.

With the Broadway Theater and
the historic Wallack's already planned
as additional temples of the silent
drama, and with a prominent film
magnate aspiring to possess the Metro-
politan Opera House when not in use
for grand opera, there remains only
New York's Endowed Theater, and
for this the camera man has yearned
longingly. The founders of the "New
Theater" were amazed when they
were told that an ambitious represen-
tative of the gold-laden new art was
prepared to help them out of their
financial difficulties.

115

How to Become a Photoplayei

THE ABOVE ARTICLES WILL BE FOUND NECESSARY IN
THE COURSE OF THE LESSONS; IN THE MEANTIME.LEAO
A GOOD LIFE ANO KEEP YOUR INSURANCE POLICY PAID UP.

MOUNTAIN AND SEASIDE EXCERCISE. THIS WlLLIMDUGE
BROKEN SLEEP ETC. FOR AWHILE BUT WILLPISAPPEAR.
WHEM YOU HAVE FIRMLY SUBDUED YOUR FEELINGS.

RESCUE WORK. WHEN MOUNTING LADDER CARRY VIC-
TIM ON ONE ARM LEAVING OTHER ARM FREE TO LIGHT A
CIGAR, THIS ADDS GRACE TO THE PROCEEDING,.

CARNAOrE OFAL
PRACTICE TO OE-
A PHOTO PLAYER

VLL KINDS. THIS NEEDS A LOT
ET USED TO , BUT IF ySu WANT
- THROW OUfYOURCttEST

TO BE

UNHAND
THflTLADV
AT ONCE

OR ILL
BREAK
YOUR
BACK!

<I'M GtLAD^
THIS IS7HE

LAST
LESSON
I WAS GET-
TING RatHCi
TIRED
OF IT.

I REALLY BELIEVE
MADE A MISTAKE
| ONLY THOUGHT I
TED To BE A PHOTO-PLAYER.,

rye")

WArt-J
■AYgwJ

a ^tm

\FTER SAYING THE"jE BOLD WOR0S.PR0

;EEO TO OOSO.-WHCH YOUVE RECOVERED

IDONT GIVE UP 'WrtiLE TMCRE5 LIFEf ETC

YOUCANTnEEP AQOOD HAN DOWN'
HERES WHERE YOU RISE TO THE
OCCASION AND GET YOUR DIPLOMA,

Who's the next victim?

THE FIRST LESSON IN OUR CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOL

L/lM^Efe, Help Yoor fAvoRiTE Along

The only mistake we made when we started this contest was in failing to
provide about two hundred extra pages of this magazine on which to
print a small portion of the verses, letters, charades, acrostics and other
appreciations that are filling the capacious ballot-boxes in the editorial sanc-
tum. The managing editor has allowed us only seven pages for this depart-
ment, which is anything but generous of him. And such excellent verses ! And
to think that ninety-nine one-hundredths of them must be filed away until the
contest is closed! True, the players themselves will then get them, but we
would like to see them in print first. Besides, we have about a thousand other
verses on hand, many of them set in type, waiting for their turn, all in praise
of the players. The Answer Man is allowed twenty pages ! The story writers
ninety ! Yet the popularity contest editor gets only seven, alas ! alack! Well,
we'll make the most of it, and pray hard for more room next month.

If only the players could sit here and read all the nice things that are
written about them ! And they deserve it. The photoplayers have done and
are doing a great deal of good in this world, and they receive less appre-
ciation than almost any other class of benefactors that we know of. They
work hard and tirelessly to please, yet they have no way of finding out
whether they have succeeded or not. The players of the speaking stage receive
their appreciation across the footlights, but the players of the photoplay
receive no applause — at least, if they do, they do not know nor hear it. We
know that our readers are eager to do honor to their favorites, and that they
welcome this opportunity.

THE PRIZES.

Contrary to other contests that have been held in the past by various publications,
we do not intend to offer several thousand dollars' worth of prizes to the winners.
There will be no steam yachts, automobiles, pianos, etc., offered by us. The effect of
such offering is usually to inspire the players themselves to work for themselves, and
to spend their own money, in order to capture the valuable prizes ; whereas, our intent
is quite the reverse, for we do not want to make this in any sense a gambling enter-
prise, nor one in which mere money can buy honor. Hence, our prizes to the winners
will not be expensive ones, but they will be appropriate, even elegant, and they will be
of a kind that will serve as a lasting monument to the winners. While we cannot stop
the players from voting and working for themselves, we shall not encourage it, for we
desire this to be a contest which the great Motion Picture public is to decide. The
nature of the prizes and the date of closing will be announced later. The standing of
the players at the time of going to press will be found on page 172. Dont be dis-
couraged if your favorite is not on top, or near the top, this month. There will be
many changes from month to month, and the very lowest today may be the highest a
month from today.

How to Vote.

117

118 POPULAR PLAYER CONTEST

will count for extra votes. There is no objection to your sending in a dozen or more
votes in one envelope, in case friends or members of your family wish to vote also, but
each voter must personally sign each ballot. All matter intended for this department
should be addressed to "Editor Popularity Contest, 26 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y."
We do not allow extra votes for subscriptions. While this contest is on, the Popular
Plays and Players department of this magazine will be discontinued, and the verses
that we have on hand will be used in this department. Following are some of the
clever verses and criticisms that we have received :

Dear Editor — The maids who love the photoshows have often idolized in prose, but
never did a rhyme compose to Wilbur, of Pathe. This lack of praise has roused my
ire. Dear, charming Crane we all admire ; why doesn't some fan tune her lyre and
sing to him a lay? Those wondrous eyes! — what is their hue? The softest brown or
violet blue? I cant describe those eyes, can you? Oh, tell me what they say! He's
clever, handsome, graceful, young; oft fame on lesser things is hung. Oh, why does
he remain unsung, this hero of the play ?

Cincinnati, O. Yours flossily, Virginia C. P.

P. S. — I hope you wont reject this lay,

Tho writ like prose, 'tis rhythmic verse.
It has a true poetic sway.
Dear editor, you've published worse.

It is a pleasure to print this tribute to a " gentle queen with a crown of
silver hair":

They may rave about Costello, I like to see him, too ;

Write odes to Florence Turner, 'tis certainly her due.

They may fall in love with Morey, for which I blame them not ;

And worship Edith Storey, of her I think a lot.

They may vow that dear old Bunny is the very best of all ;

That Leah Baird is charming, so statuesque and tall.

They may say thai Ince as Lincoln is certainly a treat;

That Clara Kimball Young is, oh ! so very, very sweet,

They may sigh for more of Brooke, he certainly is fine ;

And wish that Julia Gordon, too, on them would oft'ner shine.

And may call him "dear" Delaney, and with them I agree;

And say that Flora Finch is worth going many miles to see.

All these opinions I endorse. They're all loved, who play for us;

But, first and foremost in my heart, is sweet, gentle Mrs. Maurice.

St. Louis Vitagraph Fan.

Pearl Prauter drops a pertinent word to the wise :

I wish all the film companies realized what it means to their patrons to give a list
of characters with the pictures. The Vitagraph Company's method is good, but, with
all due respect to you, Mr. Vitagraph. I like the Edison Company's plan better. It gives
you the names and characters as they appear in the course of the picture, and you dont
have to pick each one out of a whole screenful. Personally, I write down the names of
the characters in the picture and the names of the persons playing opposite. But if the
cast is long, sometimes the cast of characters doesn't remain on the screen long enough.
Then I'm all at sea. The very best way of all is to have a printed cast and display it
with the poster, as you did "Rip Van Winkle," which was par excellence.

Here follows a clever bit of versification :

'S funny how we lose our head It got me, not so long ago,

At times, and are most eas'ly led As I watched a film in a dreary show,

By a sudden whim which floats our way, And I quickly found that dreariness

To whisk us off in its pleasing sway. Had left — replaced by cheerfulness.

A Thanhouser, "Orator, Knight and Cow,"
In it a girlie, and I'll say now
That the girlie was a cute comedy,
And that she for a good, good while will be
Of my whim the queen, tho a phantom one,
This dear little Mignon Anderson.

Leon Kelley.

POPULAR PLAYER CONTEST

119

Motion Picture Story Magazine :

I feel it my duty to contribute a few words of praise to Thomas Santsehi and Betty
Harte, of the Selig players, for the splendid acting they have done, especially in "Kings
of the Forest" ; also Robert Thornby, of the Western Yitagraph Company.

Chicago, 111. M. D.

TO JOHN BUNNY

(With apologies to Kipling.)

I've seen quite many plays upon the screen,

And some of them were good and some were not;
But of the many actors that I've seen

John Bunny is the best one of the lot.
And when I go to any picture play,

And people are expecting something funny,
I always hear the folks around me say :

"I hope that they'll show something now with Bunny."

So here's to you, old John Bunny, on the cinematograph ;
Let the others catch the sob and tear, but you will get the laugh ;
You're not a thing of beauty, but I guess that you will find •
That they're always glad to see you, whenever you're inclined.

R. A. S.

Miss Susie Gue, of McKeesport, Pa., says that the photoplay is her
sweetheart, and immortalizes the fact in these lines. A girl who can write
such good verse will certainly soon find another sweetheart :

TO MY SWEETHEART.

"Put on Your Old Grey Bonnet," "Irish Molly O,"

And I'll take you to a Moving Picture show.

We'll see "Colleen Bawn" "Where the River Shannon Flows" ;

Hurry up, get ready, "Pretty Baby Rose."
"Sweet Bunch of Daisies" I'll buy you, "Silver Bell ;"
"Put Your Arms Around Me, Honey." Gee, but you look swell

Listen, dear "Pink Lady," when my hair is silver gray,

We will still be going to the photoplay.

"When the Autumn Leaves Are Falling" dont you sigh one bit,
"In the Old, Old Chimney Corner" you wont have to sit,

For "Casey Jones" and "Red Wing," "Steamboat Bill" and "Dolly Gray"

Will call and take you with them to see the photoplay.

The music will be better than "Alexander's Ragtime Band."

I love to read the magazine ; I think it's simply grand.

I hear you sweetly whisper "Good Night, Mr. Moon,"

We're going to the photoplay to see the "Players Spoon."

I love the thrilling drama, upon the picture screen,

Unfolding, to your own delight, with no waits in between.

The old-time spinning-wheel was great, in the olden day,

But far superior to it now is the photoplay.

It costs only a nickel to see this great big show,

And you are carried far away, to the lands you do not know.

You see the wonders of this world ; you go from shore to shore.

Yes, all these sights are waiting, behind the picture door.

You're sure to see Florence Turner in the Yitagraph ;

She certainly gets ?ou thinking, and then she makes you laugh.

She's better than your Bernhardt and Lillian Russell, too ;

She puts them in the background, as no one else can do.

Now, "Dimples," he's a darling ; he's got the ladies wild ;

And little Kenneth Casey is such a pretty child.

But dont forget John Bunny, when you're down in the dumps,

For he and Marshall P. Wilder were certainly great in "Chumps."

Charles Kent is such a grand old man, in a strong, deep part;

He makes you notice he is there ; he gets right at your heart.

Now if you want the Western style, and prairie land aglow,

There's none can play the part but Anderson, you know.

So "Put on Your Old Grey Bonnet," "Irish Molly O,"

And we will follow, with the crowd, to the picture show.

I used to like grand opera and Mary Garden, too,

But now I love just two sweet things — the photoshow and you.
1238 Walnut Street, McKeesport, Pa. Miss Susie Gue.

120

POPULAR PLAYER CONTEST

An unsigned tribute to James Cruze :

y hero is a silent star,
I worship him from afar;
Such manly beauty I've ne'er seen
Upon a Moving Picture screen. •

He is of princely form and face,
And plays his part with manly grace ;
He never shows the least conceit —
I think James Cruze cannot be beat.

Letters and verses in memory of the late talented Vedah Bertram are
coming into the office every day. The editor will see that they are forwarded
to her relatives.

If Fred Church ever goes to Dallas, Texas, he may find the girl who
penned these enthusiastic lines in his praise. As a clue, we will say that she
does very neat typewriting — that ought to be clue enough for Fred, if he is
enterprising :

Why rave of King B. and Costello,

If it is good looks and good work that
you search?

Look around in another direction,
And say a good word for Fred Church.

Costello's all right in his own way,
But I think that dimples look best

When accompanied by soft baby-fingers,
Pink, tender flesh and the rest.

Now Fred is not dimpled or pudgy,
He is all of a man, straight and tall.

Did you ever see him play the lover?
Then you have missed the best film of
all!

And he can be the wickedest villain,
To Satan you'd think him real kin ;

He makes all his meanness so natural,
You find that you hate him like sin.

hy dont G. M. A. play the villain,
And let Fred play lover awhile?
There is one girl would fall for his lovin' —
Gee ! I've give my head for a smile !

Motion Picture actors seldom receive a more graceful appreciation than
these verses to Guy Coombs, flavored as they are with the very spirit of the
stately old days "befo' de war":

TO GUY COOMBS.

When all the crowd expectant wait,

And all the lights are low,.
Amid the scenes of other days

I watch you come and go.
A cavalier of yesterday,

Your face brings back to me
A time of flowers and Southern belles

And Southern chivalry.

I hear again the cannon's roar,

The clash of steel on steel ;
Back, back again, amid the smoke,

I see the blue lines reel ;
I hear the crash of hurrying hoofs,

Amid the shot and shell,
While, loud above the battle's din,

Rings out the rebel yell.

Bristol, Conn.

The South I loved has gone, for aye,

With all her charms and grace,
And, from her fires, another South

Has risen in her place.
And other maids will sing those songs,

And other roses blow,
But none so fragrant as the flowers

That blossomed long ago.

Fond memories, thus you bring to me,

From out the happy past,
Each picture of the martyred South

More precious than the last.
A youthful knight, of courage high,

Above reproach or fear;
The beau ideal of Kalemites —

Our Southern cavalier.

Feedekick Wallace.

This little verse from an admirer too modest to sign her name,
real appreciation of Mary Fuller :

ary Fuller, demure and sweet,
Pretty, graceful and petite,
With sparkling eyes and merry smiles —
How many hours she beguiles!

POPULAR PLAYER CONTEST

121

Frances L. Deane, of Chicago, voices the sentiments of a lot of other
people when she writes this rhyme :

ou can talk of Miss Field and Sweet Alice ;

You can talk of Miss Turner and Flo;
But give us some more of Miss Branscombe,

With the wonderful Essanay show.

We wish we could receive more letters of definite, constructive criticism,
like this one. This is what makes our department helpful, as well as interesting :

Brooklyn, N. Y., July 16, 1912.

Dear Sir: One of the most interesting and instructive pictures that I ever wit-
nessed in a Moving Picture theater was the one released by the C. G. P. C. Moving
Picture Company, concerning the lesson in liquefied air. It showed many experiments
that can be performed by the use of liquefied air. Indeed, if one were to see pic-
tures similar to this, I think there would be no need for schools, of course, speaking
generally. The film was so clear and the inscripts were wonderful; they explained
everything in a brief and precise manner, so that the picture was as valuable as any
high-priced lecture. In fact, I think better.

I am, indeed, a constant reader of your magazine, and think it one of the best and
most interesting magazines available. I, indeed, appreciate the manner and style in
which the answers to the inquiries are answered.

Wishing your magazine every possible success, I beg to remain,

Yours respectfully,

A Student of St. Francis College.

Miss Evabelle Prout, a popular member of the Essanay, adds the art of
poetry to her many other accomplishments. This is a reprint from a recent
newspaper that came our way :

"TO VETERAN PICTURE MAN."

There came to dear old Zanesville town,

Not many years ago,
A gentleman named Quimby,

Whom no one chanced to know.
But lo ! within a few short weeks,

Main Street was all aglare
With lights — a name "Casino" —

And crowds from everywhere,

To see a Motion Picture show —

The first one to appear —
Which caused a great excitement,

And made folks laugh and cheer.
Now to this man named Quimby

We give credit for this show,
Tho many more did follow,

And failed, as we all know.
Chicago, 111.

But this man Quimby only smiled,

Said: "All the more for me,"
Which led to vast improvement

In the picture business — see?
Around the corner on Fifth Street, south,

A playhouse stands complete,
And the name in front is "Quimby,"

The man "who's hard to beat."

Then here's to Clyde and Lottie:

May their united efforts gain
For the "newest little playhouse"

A laurel wreath of fame!
Altho in person I cant be there

To see you succeed ; but say,
I'd like to come, so it's up to you

To book an Essanay.

Eva Prout.

Donovan Lamberson, of Buffalo, admires G. M.
Essanay Company, but offers the following criticism :

Anderson and the

The only fault I find with his pictures is that when they take them part one time
and part some other, they lose track of the costumes used the time before. For ex-
ample, in one of his pictures the bandit was caught in his home, and they took his gun
away from him. He wanted to say good-by to his child, and when he went into the
room, he had no gun in his holster; but the minute he was in the other room, kissing
the child good-by, he had a gun in his holster — the same gun he had handed to the
sheriff. When he walked out to the sheriff, he had no gun in his holster — the sheriff had
it, showing that they overlooked this fact. Anderson also wore white chaps, one time,
on walking into a house : when he came out again he had black ones, and when he
mounted his horse they suddenly turned white again. And so on all thru the picture.

122 POPULAR PLAYER CONTEST

Miss Florence LaBadie has an ardent admirer in Dallas, Tex.

rom all the pictures that I have seen,

I have discovered my picture queen ;

Her glorious hair and beautiful eyes,

And oh! that smile I idolize.

You will, too, when you know the young lady

Is the Thanhouser star, Miss Florence LaBadie.

Our thanks are due to Jessie M. Newan for her helpful and encouraging
letter. We cant refrain from quoting part of it :

I am particularly interested in the department called the "Musings of the Photo-
play Philosopher." I am glad your magazine contains this department, because it is
that which makes this magazine different from all others. It always has such whole-
some paragraphs, from which one can learn so much.

The Chats with the Players are also good, because they help the public to become
better acquainted with their favorites.

Here is a suggestion that might lead to " solving the servant problem'' :

Ma gave my kid brother a nickel one day,
And said he could spend it 'most any way ;
So he went uptown to a Moving Picture show,
And liked it much better than candy, I know.
Those pictures at the Crescent must have surely been great,
The comics, he said, he enjoyed first rate,
And the Vitagraph drama, with a dainty young miss,
Gave him a warm feeling of contentment and bliss.
So now of an evening, when school-work is o'er,
He brings in the coal and kindling galore,
Earning the price of a picture show —
Then away to the music and the kiddies' front row.
17, ST. LOUIS.

Esther Goldberg joins the multitude of Miss Joyce 's admirers

Who is the maiden I like the best,

Of all the maids I see?
The problem isn't hard to guess —

It's Alice Joyce for me.

Sarah Bernhardt does not compare favorably with Rosemary Theby, in
the opinion of Lena Beckman, of Bradford, Pa. And she has seen them both,
on the screen.

Miss Stephenie Marcin Kowski takes her pen in hand to praise Miss
Marguerite Snow :

weeter than the breath of morning,

Fresh-winged from the balmy west,
Or lily with the golden dawning

Blushing o'er its snow-white breast.
Thy look is sunshine, and ever seems

Like fairy visions we form in dreams.
Time may steal the leaves from gladness,

Hope's bright wings may clouded be ;
Oh ! life should leave all free from sadness

One so beautiful as thee !
Oh ! light as zephyrs winged with gladness,

May thy path of sunshine be ;
Oh ! life should leave all free from sadness

One so beautiful as thee !

Stephenie Marcin Kowski.
(Continued on page 172)

Dispelling the Clouds

THE PHOTOPLAY HAS COME TO STAY. THE SENSATIONAL PRESS, PREJUDICE,

PULPIT OPPOSITION, AND OLD-GRANNY NOTIONS ARE RAPIDLY FADING

IN THE NEW LIGHT OF THE MODERN MOTION PICTURE

124

JACK WARREN KERRIGAN, OF THE AMERICAN COMPANY
-AN INTERVIEW en famille

«^tes ; Warren is twenty-

Y five years, four months
*- and nineteen hours
old," said his mother. She
was doing a fetching em-
broidery stunt of some sort
on the bungalow veranda in
Santa Barbara, and rocking
placidly as she talked, in
spite of the curly, black head
against her knee. "I cant get
used to calling him 'Jack.' He
outgrew that name to me with
his short pants, and, goodness
knows" — this with an expres-
sive glance at the six-foot-
plus sitting Turkwise at her
side — "goodness knows, he's
outgrown knee-trousers about
four feet ago !"

"Sounds like a centipede,
mater," remarked the Twin
Brother, sotto voce. "Oh, yes ;
Jack answers to almost any-
thing. He's well trained and
remarkably intelligent for his
size. He can roll over and
over, sit up and beg, and
comes when he's called — to
dinner; dont you, old fellow?"

Parenthetically here, the
Twin Brother is business
manager for the American
Company, and some mana-
ger, too, they say. He is
likewise red-headed — also
some red.

This was Sister's clue for
entrance. Sister is with the
Schuberts in "Everywoman,"
but home for the holidays.
"Tell the chat lady all your
sad life-story, Jack," she
urged. "All the heart-throbs
and sympathy-sobs, with the
soft pedal on, little brother.
Tell her that you like a little
coffee with your morning
sugar — he takes five lumps —
and that you write scenarios
that nobody takes, except the
Motion Picture companies, and that you're not married because you had a disappointment

in love at the age of twelve "

"For a young woman that plays 'Truth' so ably, Sis, you've got 'em all going, and
then some, when it comes to fibbing," drawled the target of these remarks, with the
famous toss of the head that feminine fans denote "ravishing" and "perfectly divine."
"Pd like to know who's giving this interview, anyhow. You're all of you jealous
because they dont want to write you up, that's the trouble with you. Dont mind them ;

125

126 CHATS WITH THE PLAYERS

they mean well, but sometimes they're — well, mean.'''' Jack smiled about the family
circle, with frank pride in his hazel eyes. I began to see why they call the "4 K's". the
most "kontented people in Kalifornia."

"If you'd like to say something yourself, some time" — this to me, politely — "just
signify by raising the right hand, and we'll all stop talking."

"Well, yes," said I, humbly. "There is just one question I'd like to ask you."

"You may fire when ready, Gridley."

"This is the one, then: Where-were-you-born-and-where-were-you-educated-and-did-
you-ever-play-on-the-regular-stage "

"Take off the record ! One question — whew ! Lucky you didn't want to ask two.
Well, here goes. I was born in Louisville, Kentucky "

"He's been trying to live down his Southern accent ever since by cultivating a
sombrero and practicing saying : 'Put it thar, pard!' thirty times before breakfast, ain'
yo', honey chile?" This from the Twin.

"And educated in the same little old town," went on Jack, coolly, "and in a private
school up North. Sure have I ever been on the stage. I was with the 'Brown of
Harvard' bunch, 'The Road to Yesterday,' Brady's 'Master Key' and 'Sam Houston.'
But I've been in photoplay for three years— one with Essanay, and two with American —
and I like this work much better. Why? Well, there's the spice of variety in it, for
one thing, and then it's all clean and above-board, with no stage-door nonsense about it."
. "What were your best roles?" I got in edgewise. This was the signal for a general
family caucus of opinions: " 'The Ashes of Three.' " "No, no! 'The Call of the Open
Range.' " "I liked you best in 'The Wanderer.' "

The Interviewed squirmed modestly. "Oh, sapV he protested. "You see, I'm in
two or three plays a week, and rehearsing and studying for these takes my mind off the
ones I've already committed. I'm trying to 'grow,' as they say, and to improve each
bit of work I do by living in the part. I dont believe in so much artificial pantomime.
More naturalness and feeling, that's the idea — rbut, of course, one never can tell how — "

"You goosie!" Sister was indignant. "Everybody knows you're the very Best
Ever, so what's the use of talking?"

"Great thing — a family, eh?" laughed Jack. "Saves press-agent hire."

I murmured something polite and futile about Mr. Kerrigan's not needing press-
agents— his work alone — deserved public appreciation — h'm, etc., while the family
beamed upon me, and the young gentleman himself looked as comfortable as Exhibit A
in the police court. A modest young man — Jack Kerrigan — and a sure-enough real
man in every one of his hundred and ninety-four pounds. Of course, he is an athlete.

"Warren is perfectly out-of-doors mad," sighed his little mother, gently. "I'd
worry all the time about him if I were just sure what to worry. But while I'm at home
shuddering for fear he's being drowned or thrown from his horse, he is just as likely
as not to be scorching his automobile over a cliff or getting shot for a deer, so I've
given up worrying at all."

"Except about girls, mother," interrupted Sister. "Girls are mother's pet terrors.
She's afraid one of them will marry Jack forcibly some of these days."

"My mother's the only sweetheart I want," laughed big, handsome boy Jack.

"If he had to choose a wife there'd be too many to please," said the Twin,
teasingly. "Eh, Jack, me boy?"

I rose to go. I dont remember when I've left an interview so reluctantly.

"Give my love to the public," said Jack. "You've got a splendid magazine. I
never miss reading it from cover to cover."

"Thanks," said I. "You come across your name pretty frequently, then."

"Good-by!" cried the family, chorus fashion; "come again!"

I believe I will — some time. Dokothy Donnell.

BETTY GREY, OF PATHE FRERES

Her first name fits her perfectly. Some girls chew gum and wear earrings and are,
consequently, known as "Bessie"; others are tall, stately and blue-stockingish,
and are called "Elizabeth" ; some are little and round and deliciously brown as
to eyes, skin and hair, and such girls are, of course, "Betty." Imagine a Henry Hutt
girl, in a wee scrap of a yellow silk apron; dusting afternoon teacups, like the most
bewitching and impossible of French maids on the stage, and you have this charming
little Pathe lady, as I saw her the other afternoon.

And, speaking of flying machines and watermelons, Miss Betty has posed for this
same Henry Hutt, as model for some of his most wistfully appealing heads. You have
seen her big, brown eyes and curving lips on many a magazine cover. She was the
original "Western Girl" of Harrison Fisher, too, altho a perfectly unknown young
woman, with freckles and a double chin, claimed to have been the model, and was inter-
viewed and photographed and newspapered on the strength of her assertion.

CHATS WITH THE PLAYERS

127

From the preceding paragraphs you may possibly have gathered that I was
favorably impressed with Miss Betty. Wonderful deduction, Sherlocko — marvelous !
Still, it did seem a pity to try to talk shop with such a dainty little housewife, as tho
one attempted to discuss philosophy with a particularly soft, pleasant, lovable pussy-
cat. However, Miss Betty has ideas of her own on "Shakespeare and the musical
glasses" — plump, brown, dimpled ideas that match her appearance delightfully.

"I used to be in vaudeville before my Pathe year of pictures," smiled Miss Betty,
across her pretty task. "But I love my work here — it's living so many new exciting
characters. I've been the fisher-lass o' Gloucester, the hard-hearted Maisie in 'The
Light That Failed' (oh, how could she?) and the poor girl in 'The Beachcombers,'
and I just lived them all. I love to live! I want Experiences and Something Happen-
ing and Lots of Different Things to Do ! I suppose that sounds little-girlish. But
then, I'm only nineteen. I'll outgrow my youngness some time, I suppose.

"Some experiences are almost too new, tho. In 'The Country Boy,' I had to be
carried down a long, two-story ladder, with my head hanging down, and just at first I
didn't like the sensation. I got quite fond of the upside-down view of the world, tho,
before we were thru rehearsing.

"Theories? Me? I dont think I have a single, lonesome one. I believe in being
true to oneself and going ahead and up, but I dont suppose that's a theory, is it?"

Miss Betty gave the pudgy, little, brass teapot a final polish that brought her eye-
brows together and the corners of her mouth down in the most attractive way.

''What do you do with yourself when you're not posing?" I questioned, pencil
poised. The answer broke the pencil-point.

"Sleep!" cried Miss Betty, enthusiastically. "I love to sleep; and then, I go to the
theater and read and write scenarios. I've never had the courage to show them to any
one, but I like to try. I think it would be clear to be a really-truly author, dont you?"

"Well, do you know," said I, "/ think it would be clear to be just Betty Grey."

The Tatler.

MARGUERITE LOVERIDGE, OF THE KEYSTONE COMPANY

Just a little more than twenty years ago1 there
was born, out in the windy State of Kansas,
a tiny girl who opened a pair of big gray
eyes, and looked out at the strange world with
baby seriousness.

"Tres bonne!" exulted the French parent;
"she is fair; she will be petite and chic —
already I see it."

"And she's got a good crop of bonny Irish red
hair," rejoiced the parent who loved the Emer-
ald Isle.

Babies — especially gray-eyed ones — are far-
seeing. This one could picture herself in the
future's mirror very clearly. She knew that
she was destined to grow up petite, dainty,
graceful, with wonderful gray eyes and lus-
trous hair of the Titian shade that artists rave
over, and that she held in her keeping a rare
gift from the gods — a talent that would make
her life happy and successful. So she smiled
wisely, and nestled down to sleep again.

Marguerite Loveridge she was christened, in
the Episcopal faith. The harsh winds of Kan-
sas were soon left behind, and Marguerite was
educated in San Francisco and Los Angeles, and
became, at last, a graduate nurse. But, fortu-
nately, she left that profession. Think of the
havoc those eyes would create in a hospital!

So Miss Loveridge came to New York, where, in the revival of "Mascotte" in
the New Amsterdam Theater, and, later, in "The Man Who Owned Broadway," her
talent soon won for her a place in many hearts. But the photoplay, with its easy hours
and good salary, lured her from the Gay White Way, to the delight of all who love
the fleeting films.

She lives now in a pretty apartment in Los Angeles, enjoying her home, her friends,
and, above all, her work with the Keystone Company.

"I love the real work," she says, "but I dislike rehearsing — it makes one stale."

128

CHATS WITH THE PLAYERS

Altho she can vote in Los Angeles, Miss Loveridge has never taken advantage of
the privilege, and pleads entire ignorance of the fascinating subject of politics.

She is a writer of poetry and of photoplays, an industrious student and reader,
choosing Whittier as a favorite poet and Hall Caine as a novelist. All outdoor sports
are dear to her. Evenings are spent at the theaters, or in reading, writing, or needle-
work at home.

"Tell me your favorite hobby — the best loved one of all," I begged. She flashed a
mischievous glance at me. "I will," she consented; "now listen: it's hats!"

Satisfied with this thoroly feminine declaration, I rose to go, but turned back for
a last question : "What is your greatest ambition?"

"To be remembered kindly by every one," she answered.

And that ambition will surely be realized. Luliette Bryant.

CLARA KIMBALL YOUNG, OF THE VITAGRAPH COMPANY

lara Kimball Young was
born in a "great big
city out in the Middle
West," but she obstinately re-
fuses to tell its name. She
confesses, however, to having
been educated in St. Xavier's
Academy, near Chicago.

Her first experience on the
stage was when she was two
years old, and she declares
that she was literally a
"howling success." Her photo-
playing has been entirely with
the Vitagraph Company, and
her first part was Anne Boleyn,
in the photoplay "Cardinal
Wolsey," under the direction
of Mr. Trimble.

"And they took her away
from me, as soon as we finished
that play," sighed Mr. Trimble,
who was standing near while
we talked. "She's never had
a minute's rest since, and I've
never been able to get her
again."

"Never mind," consoled Miss
Young, "I'm going 'round the
world, now ; I've given up all
thought of ever resting."

"So you are one of the for-
tunate ones for the Round the
World tour?" I questioned.

"Yes, and I'm delighted.
I'm not a good sailor, and I'll
be violently ill most of the
time we are on board, but
think of the fun we'll have
when we land."

"Then boating is not a fa-
vorite sport of yours?"
"No, indeed. My favorite sport is ballooning. I took a lovely flight last summer,
and we went 'way out over the bay. It looked a bit scarey, but we drifted back all
right, and I'm longing to try it again."

While we talked, I was noting the lady's appearance. She is about five feet seven
in height; rather slender; quiet in manner, tho her dark eyes hold a glimmer of fun,
and her wit flashes out unexpectedly at times. Her hair is very dark, and her smile
reveals beautiful teeth.

In politics, Miss Young knows her own mind, and speaks it most decidedly.
"I'm a Democrat," she declared, "and I was for Wilson from the very start — before
he was even nominated. Of course I knew he'd win — every sensible person knew that."

CHATS WITH THE PLAYERS

129

She lives in a pretty home, only two blocks from the Vitagraph studio.

"You dont live all alone?" I ventured to ask.

"No !" she answered. "I live with my cat ! It's the loveliest Angora — I just wish
you could see it."

I asked no more questions. When a charming young lady has a mind of her own,
is interested in politics and keeps a cat, the chances for matrimony do not look hopeful.
I know I am blighting the hopes of hundreds of youthful admirers, but I'd advise you
to give it up, boys. M. P.

JACK RICHARDSON, OF THE AMERICAN COMPANY

When the popular American "villain" was to be chatted, we decided to send our
young Philadelphia artist, Leslie Elton, to do the deed. The result speaks for itself.

The Adventures of a Picture Star

HIS COURAGE FAILS HIM, AND HE CHANGES HIS MIND

130

= ,, in i im ■ —,,.,,■.. . ,, mi mi . ■ ..

May H. — Edmund Steele was the specter in "The Specter Bridegroom" (Eclair).
Mr. Trenton was the husband in "The Quarrelers" (Solax). Lillian Christy and Ed
Coxen had the leads in "The Trail of the Cards."

F. H., New Yoek. — -True Boardman was Tom in "The Miner's Request" (Essanay).
Bessie Sankey was the girl, and Frederick Church was the Easterner. You refer to
Frederick Church and Bessie Sankey in "The Ranchman's Blunder."

Geokge. Montreal. — That was a trick picture, we believe. The Vitagraph play
was taken in Brooklyn.

Mary P. — Jack Halliday is not back with Lubin. The picture you ask is of a
Biograph player. No, no !

K. K., Brooklyn. — We believe Tefft Johnson likes the ladies as much as do the
other players, but just why he does not play lovers' parts is beyond us. You will have
to ask Vitagraph about that.

F. E. G. — No, we dont get lonesome doing this job. This sporting life may be
checkered, but it is never dull. You certainly are busy with your autographs. Ques-
tions answered. Wilfred Lucas, formerly lead for Biograph, is now with Rex.

Plunkett. — Helen Marten, formerly of Lubin, is now with Eclair.

Birdie Charmeuese. — Marie Weirman was the girl, and Charles Arthur was
Herbert in "Village Blacksmith" (Lubin).

M. L. C, Florida, chastises us unmercifully, and says that we are impertinent.
Isn't that too bad ! We have answered her questions by mail, too ; so we cannot be
impertinent any more.

Toledo Lang. — It was an Edison, and the title is "Believe Me, If All Those Endear-
ing Young Charms." Yes ; Biograph questions are against the rules, for its players
are nameless. Is the type at head of this department too small for you to read?

A. N., St. Louis. — Miss Gill and Mr. Kimball had the leads in "A Night of Terror."

Miss Phila. — The girl grown-up was Clara Williams. Always give company.

Olga, 17. — By the way, Olga, we have a letter here from Anthony for you. Where
do you want it sent? Miss Mason was the mother in "Fate's Decree" (Pathe).
Wheeler Oakman and Betty Harte in "How the Cause Was Won." You will get
Carlyle's colored portrait next month ; be patient.

The Gew-Gaw.— Yes ; Vivian Prescott had the lead in "Yvonne, the French Spy"
(Imp). Well, we should say it is a shame if you haven't seen Alice Joyce on the
screen. Why dont you get after your exhibitor?

T. Carroll. — Yes; Romaine Fielding plays other parts besides villainous parts.
Thomas Moore still plays with Miss Joyce.

Kitty W., Columbus.— Sydney Cummings was the little boy in "Ida's Christmas."

J. M. C, Saginaw. — James Cruze and Marguerite Snow had the leads in "Napo-
leon's Luck-Stone" (Thanhouser).

J. & J. M., Luzerne. — Mary Charleson was Monah in "The Ancient Bow."

H. E. M.— Where have you been? There are no more O'Kalem's ; Gene Gauntier,
Jack Clark and Sidney Olcott have formed the Gene Gauntier Motion Picture Co.
Yes ; Vitagraph has returned from England.

M. R., Kansas.— Wallace Reid and Margarita Fisher played in "Tribal Law"
(Bison). Cannot tell you about your other Bison.

M. B., New Orleans. — As for joining a company, we cannot help you; but you
might send your plays to "The Photoplay Clearing House." See ad.

C. E. K., Brooklyn.— We must see the photo before we can say it is of Alice Jovce.
Jess, Tacoma.— Mildred Bracken and Ray Gallagher had the leads in "The

Prisoner's Story" (Melies).

D. S., Newport.— Myrtle Stedman in "A Wild Ride with Nitro-Glycerin."

M. B.— You seem to like them all. Brinsley Shaw was the son in "Broncho Billy's
Love Affair."

U. S. W. — No ; Wally Van is not a regular player. He is one of Mr. Blackton's motor-
boat friends, and if experience shows that he can play as well as he can motor, no doubt
he will be made a real, live, regular play-actor. We did not see the play you mention.

O. J., Freeport. — Dorothy Davenport is with Selig.

131

132 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

W. A. G., Marblehead. — Please write questions on a separate piece of paper, and
not on the same letter for the circulation department. We haven't time to carry
letters from one department to another. Besides, letters must be filed in each
department.

L. B., Jackson. — Leo Delaney is still with Vitagraph. Yes, the Juliet is of Pathe.

A. M. B. — Write direct to the circulation department for the colored portraits. If
you dont know who Carlyle Blackwell is, it's time you did. He is leading man for the
Glendale Section of Kalem.

C. C, Plymouth. — August Carney was Hank, and Victor Potel was Lank in the
Western Essanay. Old copies of the magazine can be had from us direct.

T. W., Denver. — Cant read your many questions crowded on a postcard. Hope you
are not like the moon at this time — on its last quarter.

Evie thinks that Dolores Cassinelli is the "Maxine Elliott and Lillian Russell of
the Motion Picture stage." Edgar Jones was the young man in "The Love-Token."
Justus Barnes was the father in "Aurora Floyd."

M. D." R. — Pathe wont tell us who Romeo was. Myrtle Stedman was leading lady
in "A Qanine Matchmaker."

H. E. B., Reading. — We have never heard of the magazine you mention.

D. M., Hoboken. — Edwin August in "The Players," and Guy Coombs in "The
Fraud at Hope Mine" (Kalem).

H. L., New York.— We haven't heard Florence Lawrence's plans.

E. A. T. — Carlyle Blackwell was Jack, and Francelia Billington the girl in
"A Dangerous Wager" (Kalem).

E. C. D. — Yes ; Miss Takagi is a real Japanese. Earle Williams was the accused
one in "The First Woman Jury in America."

Rosa. — Kay-Bee are taking pictures in California. Yes, we will send you a list of
the film manufacturers if you send a stamped, addressed envelope.

Margaruite H. — Myrtle Stedman and William Duncan had the leads in "Buck's
Romance" (Selig). His full nanne is Gilbert Maxwell Anderson.

Mary P. — Virginia Chester was the girl in "When Uncle Sam Was Young" (Bison).
Lucille Young was the widow in "The Strange Story of Elsie Mason" (Kalem). My,
such raving for Mr. Bushman ! You certainly have got it bad.

M. M., Ellenville. — Marin Sais in "The Days of '49." William Wadsworth was
Tom in "For Professional Services."

S. M., Bradford. — That's to save time and film. Other questions answered.

W. O., Eugene. — Ruth Roland was the woman-hater in "The Woman-Hater." G. M.
Anderson's picture appeared in April, 1911 ; February, 1912 ; June, 1912 ; October, 1912.

Mutt and Jeff. — Lottie Briscoe plays opposite Arthur Johnson. Alice Washburn
was the hired girl in "Her Polished Family" (Edison).

S. & A. Phan. — Lily Branscombe was the daughter in "The Letter" (Essanay).
Thomas A. Edison, incorporated, owns the Edison Co. John Steppling was Jimmie in
"The Heiress." Adrienne Kroell was the girl in "The Empty Studio." That "funny
man" must be Howard Missimer.

Irish, No. 1, Cinn.— Ruth Stonehouse and Bryant Washburn had the leads in
"Chains" (Essanay). No Biographs.

Eddie L. P.— Carlotta De Felice plays with the General Publicity and Sales Co.
William Clifford is with Bison. We understand that Charles Arthur has left Lubin.

L. & C, San Francisco.— Pauline Bush was Ruth in "Recognition." You can get
no information whatever about Kay-Bee plays.

E. B. C, Atlanta.— No ; Rosemary Theby is not Mrs. Maurice Costello. The latter
plays under the name of Mrs. Maurice Costello, or May Costello.

Chubby Cholly. — Mary Ryan is Romaine Fielding's leading lady. We cant ex-
plain how that Licensed film was shown in an Independent house, unless the film was
stolen from abroad.

A. L. T., Canada.— No, not Gladys Field as Mrs. Rollin Sturgeon. You mean Edna
Fisher. Gladys Field is back with Essanay. Dont think that poem has been done in
pictures i why dont you try it?

E. J. S. — If your description is correct, you might apply to one of the companies,
or send them your description.

Rodisha.— Octavia Handworth and Crane Wilbur in "The Receiving Teller."

E. T., Albert, La. — Florence Turner's hair and eyes are dark. Helen Gardner was
Euphemia in "The Love of John Ruskin" (Vitagraph). The art department informs
us that they have very few pictures of her for sale.

M. D., Montana. — Rex is very peevish about giving any information about their
players. We cannot tell you who Mr. Hastings was in "A Heart Reclaimed" (Rex).

Virginia. — Evebelle Prout was Francis Bushman's sister in "The Catspaw."
Dolores Cassinelli was born in New York City, but her parents are Italian.

F. F. P., Springfield.— Thank you; Crane Wilbur was the father in "The Country
Boy" (Pathe). One would never think it, but he was.

ANSWERS TO INQUIRIES 133

E. B. B., Meadville. — Lillian Haywood was the sister in "The Pity of It." Bessie
Learn was the girl in "The Girl from the Country." Pearl White is with Crystal.
Harry Myers played in "The Doctor's Debt."

Chickee. — Yes; Carlyle Blackwell played in "The Apache Renegade." Wallace
Reid played in "The Coursex>f True Love" and "Diamond Cut Diamond" (Vitagraphs).

Sommy. — Hobart Bosworth played the professor in "The Professor's Wooing." In
"The Railroad Lochinvar," Marian Cooper and Guy Coombs had the leads.

Merely Maey Ann. — As we have said before, experience is necessary to get a
position with an M. P. company. Amateur dramatics and dramatic schools, no doubt,
are all helpful, but they cannot guarantee anything. Stage experience is the best.

The Three Pies. — Howard Mitchell was Jaretsky in "The Stolen Symphony."
Robert Grey was the lead in "The Silent Call" (Nestor).

The "Twins, Milwaukee. — It's about time you gave somebody else a chance. Guy
D'Ennery was Tom, Clarence Elmer was John, and Vivian Pates was May in "The
Twilight of Her Life" (Lubin). Earle Foxe and Alice Hollister played in "A Sawmill
Hazard." Yes, Licensed films cost more than Independent.

A. H. S., Welland. — The niece was Miriam Nesbitt in "The New Church Squire."

H. L. S., Sandwich. — Julia Mackley was the sick girl in "Broncho Billy and the
Bandit" (Essanay). Jerry Hevener was the dark fellow in "The Prize Package."
Adele De Garde was the younger sister in "The Old Kent Road."

D. R. C, Penn. — If Irving Cummings is your brother, write to him at Reliance
studio, 540 West Twenty-first Street, New York City.

F. H., Brooklyn. — Mr. Travis was Dr. Steel in "Caught Bluffing." You must send
your votes on one piece of paper and your inquiries on another, so that they can be
sent to the correct department. We receive on an average of 1,000 letters a day at this
office, and you could save us a deal of time and trouble by complying with our rules.

S. S., Paterson. — Yes, that was Harry Cashman in "Requited Love." Marie Weir-
man was Annie Pratt in "The Village Blacksmith."

S. T. L., Memphis. — J. P. McGowan was Hay in "The Kerry Gow" (Kalem).
William West was Mr. Watson in "The Boomerang" (Kalem).

A. N., Berlin. — E. K. Lincoln was Cornelius Smith in "The Scoop." Clara Williams
was Kate in "The Lucky Fall" (Lubin).

M. M., New York. — Beverly Bayne was the girl in "Hypnotism in Hicksville"
(Essanay). Marin Sais was the wife in "The Last Blockhouse." Edwin Carewe
was Manning, and Isabelle Lamon was Nellie in "It Might Have Been." Edward
Coxen and Lillian Christy had leads in "The Fugitive." Grace Lewis is with the —
well, you know. Au revoir.

H. F. — Marion Leonard was the leading lady in "What Avails the Crown" (Rex).

G. L., Dayton, says that he will not see Kay-Bee and certain other films in the
future with so much pleasure, because they refuse us the information he desires. You
are one of many. Thank you for your letter.

Josie C, Alton. — Bessie Sankey and Brinsley Shaw both played in "The Miner's
Request." Eleanor Caines was Nora, and Jerold Hevener was the policeman in "An
Accidental Dentist."

Dido. — Betty Gray and J. W. Johnston played in "The Country Boy" (Pathe). Mr.
Johnston is now with Eclair, playing opposite Helen Marten. That's Ray Gallagher
and Mildred Bracken on the Xmas tree.

J. B. C, Washington. — Hector Dion was leading man in "The True Love." Jack
Richardson was the son in "Their Hero Son" (American). George Gebhardt was the
Indian chief in "Saved by His Horse" (Pathe). There is only one Gebhardt with
Pathe — George. He is such a good Indian that they always "let George do it."

Trixie. — We cannot give casts in the magazine ; send a stamped envelope. Myrtle
Stedman was the girl in "The Gun-Fighter's Son" (Selig).

R. S., Indiana.— Florence LaBadie was the Arab's wife in that film. Well, that's
for you to decide who is the most beautiful woman actress of today. We know, but
we wont tell. Which company is best? Why, the , of course.

G. M. — Wallace Reid was Basil Underwood in "Curfew Shall Not Ring Tonight"
(Reliance). Owen Moore was the artist in "An Old Lady of Twenty" (Majestic).

Lester, Jersey City. — It is perfectly proper and a compliment to speak of the
players by their last names. Do we not speak of Booth, Nordica, Bonci, Caruso, Mans-
field, etc.? How would "Miss Nordica" sound?

Anthony.— That was Jane Gale in "A Mother's Strategy" (Lubin). She is now
with Imp. Ben Goetz was Angelo in "Pearl's Admirers" (Crystal).

Betty C. S.— Norma Talmadge was the stenographer in "Everybody's Doin' It."

E. F., Sacramento. — Florence LaBadie adopted the child in "Big Sister."

Doc, Eddy. — Louise Lester was the witch, Jessalyn Van Tmmn the good little girl,
and Warren Kerrigan the kind-hearted man in "Blackened Hills" (American). Bige-
low Cooper was Donovan in "Donovan's Division" (Edison).

K. C. J., Millersburg.— Francis Bushman was Paul in "The Spy's Defeat."

134 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Florentine H. — Mon ami, you certainly ask a lot of questions. Maurice Costello
was Christ in "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" (Vitagraph). Anna Stewart was
one of the angels. Betty Harte was the girl, and Herbert Rawlinson was the doctor in
"The Girl of the Mountains." E. H. Calvert had the lead in "What George Did."
Eleanor Blanchard was the wife. Others answered before.

Two Pittsburg Fans. — Marshall Neilan was the leading man in "The Romance of
a Dry Town" (Kalem).

M. L. V., Chicago. — Jane Feamley was the girl in "The Smugglers" (Imp).

F. B. E., Kansas. — Gertrude Robinson was the girl in "The Strike Leader."

M. R. A. — R. H. Grey was the male lead in "What's Wrong with Bessie?" Anna
Nilsson and Marian Cooper were the girls, and Guy Coombs the farmer in "The Toll-
Gate Raiders" (Kalem). Blanche Cornwall was the mother, and Vivian Walker the
daughter in "Mother and Daughter" (Solax).

Goldie. — May Buckley played opposite Harry Myers in "The Back Window"
(Lubin). E. H. Calvert was Charles in "From the Submerged."

Mary D., Nashville. — Eda Von Luke was the wife of William Garwood in "The
Commuter's Cats" (Thanhouser).

J. M. C, Michigan. — Pauline Bush was the wife in "The Thief's Wife." Jane
Fearnley and Henry Walthall had the leads in "The Return of John Grey."

C. T., Patchogue. — No, that's all nonsense about Moving Pictures injuring the
eyesight. All the best authorities now admit it.

Brick, Newark. — Vitagraph and Biograph are pronounced with long "i." Cines is
pronounced sin-ease.

El vie. — George Gebhardt was General Maderez in "The Unfulfilled Oath" (Pathe).
Sorry you have a headache.

Little Addie. — Betty Harte was the child in "Her Education." Lillian Walker is
not with Maurice Costello. Yes ; Whitney Raymond is one of Essanay's leading men.

Ena M. E. — Address your letters to the Inquiry Department. Rura Hodgets was
the little girl in "The Little Enchantress" (Majestic).

D. D. S., Winnipeg.^— Lura Lyman was the girl in "An Interrupted Elopement."
Flo G. D. — Thomas McAvoy was Ben in "When Cupid Runs Wild" (Imp). Harry

Pollard was Dick in "A White Lie." Harry Kendell was John in "The Taker" (Lubin).
Charles Sutton was Napoleon in "A Prisoner of War" (Edison). Fred Mace was
Harry, and Eddie Lyons was Tern in "Teni's Hot Chocolate" (Imp). George Stanley
was Juan in "After Many Years" (Vitagraph). Martha Russell and Walter Hitchcock
played in "The Understudy" (Essanay). Arthur Mackley was the father in "Broncho
Billy's Narrow Escape." We cant answer any more of your questions this month.

W. B., New Haven. — Yes ; Francelia Billington played the part you name. Write
direct to Kalem. We have not published her picture yet.

L. C, New York. — Frank Dayton was the husband in "The Three Queens"
(Essanay). Jane Wolf was Mag in "The Redemption." Neva Gerber was Ogle, the
nurse, in the same play. Barry O'Moore and Bessie Learn had the leads in "Barry's
Breaking In" (Edison).

H. K., Rochester. — Bryant Washburn was Paul in "The Broken Heart" (Essanay).

The TRacy Kid. — The girl is Clara K. Young. Francis Bushman was Jack in "The
Warning Hand" (Essanay).

Rachel L. D. — You refer to Darwin Karr in the Solax pictures. Blanche Corn-
wall usually plays opposite him. No, the Answer Man is neither Edwin La Roche nor
Guy L. Harrington. Guess again. So you think Carlyle Blackwell looks like a married
man. Kindly give plans and specifications.

Viola M. P. — We should think Mr. Bunny would prefer the lower berth when
traveling, but we dont happen to know. Those below, perhaps, prefer the upper berth,
for what if Bunny should fall out?

Mamie H. — See here, what do you mean by writing. us about Alice Joyce like that?
We would print a picture of Florence Lawrence, but we are waiting for her to get
located — if she intends to.

Wilbur. New York. — Cant help you out about Olga, 17.

F. E. G.. New York.— Thanks for all that information about C. G. P. C. Where
did you get it? Pathe says it is a secret.

The Pest. — Harry Myers was John in "The Lost Son" (Lubin). No; Jean Acker
is with Imp, and so is Jane Gale. No; Ralph Ince is not the Photoplay Philosopher.
He merely drew the design. Earle Williams was James in "Two Men and Two Women"
(Vitagraph). So you are still true to Frank Bushman. He will appreciate it.

B. Ml, New York. — William Duncan played opposite Myrtle Stedman in "Billy's
Birthday Present" (Selig).

M. A., Danbury. — Charlotte Burton and Jessalyn Van Trump were the girls in
"Calamity Anne's Inheritance" (American). In "In God's Law," George Periolat was
the minister, Louise Lester the aunt, and W. J. Tedmarsh the guard. Miss Gill and
Miss Stewart were the girls in "The Border Detective" (American).

ANSWERS TO INQUIRIES 135

Myrtle A. — Eugenie Besserer was the steel magnate's wife in "Greater Wealth"
(Selig). Alice Joyce is her right name.

Karen, N. J. — Leah Baird was Ida, Harry Morey was Robert, and Courtenay Foote
was Frank.

J. E. B., Que. — All we can say is to communicate with the companies direct.

M. G., Elmira. — Peter Lang was Peter. Other questions answered last month.

Peg. New Rochelle. — That was A. E. Garcia in "The Artist and the Beast."

D. M.. Newark. — Yes. we also have heard reports that Licensed pictures are occa-
sionally shown in Independent theaters. They are usually very old films, however.

A. W. L., Boston. — Thank you for your correction. Herbert Rawlinson was Albert
in "Count of Monte Cristo."

M. E. C, Cal. — "Oil and Water" is one of the casts we haven't. You know why.
L. E. D., Oxnard. — Robert Grey was leading man in "The Silent Call." The
player you mention is not dead.

B. S. H., Ark. — Thanks for the clipping. Helen Gardner was Linda in "The Ser-
pents." Anna Stewart was the girl in "The Wood Violet."

R. S.. Rochester. — Florence Turner's chat in October, 1912. Yes, get acquainted
with her.

Venus. — Naomi Childers was Edna in "Panic Days in Wall Street" (Kalem).

Florence M. B. — Glad you enjoy the weather. Marie Weirman was the girl in
"The Guiding Light" (Lubin). Gene Gauntier was the leading lady in "Lady Peggy's
Escape." No. your letters will all be read by the one individual only, yours truly.

H. R., New York. — Anna Little and Ethel Grandin were with Kay-Bee last.

R. S., Okla. — Jack Standing is playing on the stage ; Helen Gardner is in a com-
pany of her own, and it is Independent, and lastly, Florence Lawrence has not joined
any company at this writing. Tbese are all old questions, and have been answered
before. You must read the back numbers.

S. W., Bronx. — Yes, that's fair. Vote for the first player you dream about. No ;
Gordon Trent is not our Greenroom Jotter. YTou say: "E. K. Lincoln is some baby!"
He has lots of other admirers. Not a bad-looking chap !

A. M., Houston. — The title is "Trapped by Wireless" (Kalem). Donald McKenzie
was leading man. We haven't heard of Kate Godrun.

A. G., Chicago. — No ; Charles Ogle is not dead. We will let you know just as
soon as a player gets tired of this world.

Thrilby Thrill says that they have an insane asylum for girls who are in love
with Crane Wilbur, and she wants Flossie and Olga, 17 to join. You can get back
numbers, for 15 cents each, direct from us. Crane Wilbur's chat in November, 1912.
Yes, it is necessary to send the money for the magazines. Edwin August has gone
with the Western Vitagraph. Isn't it fine?

W. H. S. Trio. — Marin Sais was leading lady in "The Last Blockhouse." A. B.
Shults drew the Christmas tree. Florence Turner is at the right of Mabel Trunnelle
on the tree. That tree! Thanks for your love, but we dont know what. that is.

H. H. Mc. wants us to locate Natalie Carlton for him. Who knows?

Esther, St. Louis. — Edna Payne was the nurse, and Isabelle Lamon and Clarence
Elmer were Mr. and Mrs. Hall in "The Higher Duty."

F. U., Chicago. — No, no ; Maurice Costello is still with Vitagraph.

G. McA. — Tom Moore was Gregg in "Panic Days in Wall Street."

L. B., Cleveland. — Mona Darkfeather and Jackie Saunders are both with the
Pacific branch of the Universal.

M. K., Ruthledge. — Mrs. Mary Maurice was Janet Grant in "The Seventh Son."
Yes, she always plays the "dear mother" parts.

Elsie, 17. — Welcome. Edgar Jones was Ralph in "The Engraver."

E. C. H., St. Louis. — Please dont write so closely ; pity our eyes-in-glass. Isabelle
Lamon was the sister in "The Miser" (Lubin). William Duncan was Clark in "A
Matrimonial Deluge."

A. D. P., Brunswick. — So you want Carlyle Blackwell to come East to play oppo-
site Alice Joyce. Tom Moore seems to be filling the bill, but lots of people are still
pining for Carlyle.

Josie, of Boston. — Please dont ask Biograph questions. We are glad you are con-
sidered very pretty, but we cannot help you or any one else to become a player.

Dot, Flatbush. — Courtenay Foote was John, and Tom Powers was Abner in
"While She Powdered Her Nose."

Henry G. A. — Players receive $25 and upwards a week. Just how far up is a
state secret. Dont believe all you read. The printer (rarely the press-agent) some-
times adds on a figure, which makes 100 look like 1000.

E. W.. Tex n— Marie Weirman was the daughter in "The Guiding Light." Mrs.
George Walters was the mother in "By the Sea." Ray Gallagher was Jacques, and
Mildred Bracken the girl in "A Tale of Old Tahiti" (Melies).

E. T., Orient. — Frank Dayton was John in "Three Queens" (Essanay).

136 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

B. W. — The quickest way to get your questions answered is to send a stamped,
addressed envelope, if you are in a hurry. Other questions answered above.

F. A. — Both Hal Wilson and J. W. Johnston are with Eclair.

M. L., Chicago. — No, we are not "afflicted with one of those unnecessary burdens
— a wife." There appears to be plenty of hope, tho. Other questions answered.

Plunkett. — Yes; Lillian Russell has appeared in Kinemacolor. We dont happen
to know just what location the play was taken. Edwin Oarewe's father was an
American and his mother an Indian.

Milo S. — We haven't seen that piano player in the Olympic Theater. Do you ex-
pect us to go and look her over, to see if we think she can act?

D. C, New York. — Guy D'Ennery was the clergyman in "The Lost Note" (Lubin).
William Duncan was Billy in "Billy's Birthday Present" (Selig).

F. M. W., St. Peter. — But we dont answer Biograph questions, so cant settle your
dispute. We could, but wont. Biograph do not want the names of their players
known, and so we respect their policy.

Lottie, Wilmington. — The idea that a player, when alone in a scene, must talk
to himself, and make gestures to indicate where fhey are going, etc., is antiquated.
People dont do that in real life, hence they should not do it on the screen ; unnecessary.

R. H. S., Philadelphia. — Clara K. Young is. now in Japan at this writing.

E. W. — William Mason was Ruth's fiance in "The Laird of McGillicuddy"
(Essanay). The Vitagraph Bulletin contains synopses and casts of their plays.

W. T. H., Chicago. — Thank you very much for your beautiful lines of apprecia-
tion. Guess we'll hand it to the editor and ask for a raise. It is very pleasant to
know that many appreciate us, and it is sad to think that all do not. Regarding your
verses, please remember that if they have not appeared it does not follow that they
have not been accepted. The editor has several hundred in type waiting for room.

Flower E. G., New York. — Harold Lockwood was Jack in "The Lipton Cup."
Now see here, Flower, we wrote Pathe personally, and they told us that Crane Wilbur
did not play in "The Redman's Friendship." Send to the Philadelphia studio for
Romaine Fielding. Flower says that she is singing "Sister Swallowed a Spoon, and
Now She Cannot Stir."

Sandy C. — Dolores Cassinelli was the daughter in "Billy McGrath's Art Career."

"Quiz." — You cant go by what we told you before about sending your letter before
the 25th, and it would appear two months later. Your letter is dated February 19th,
and this appears in May issue. And this happens to be March 3d that we are writing
this. We have our own staff of story writers.

E. E. P. — No, no votes for subscriptions. Will see the editor about a picture of
Bessie Sankey.

Geraldine. — No, we do not know why Mary Fuller does not play all the leads for
Edison. Edwin August is now with Western Vitagraph. He seems to have been
touring the United States.

Phoebe Snow. — We like that better. We cant give you Joey in "When Joey Was
on Time" (Lubin).

Gussie. — Edward Coxen was the boy in "The Rose of Mexico." Write direct to the
company.

W. F., Mattoon. — Romaine Fielding was the cringer. Charles Elder was the
minister in "A Romance of Catalina Island."

L. T., Boston. — You are right. When you see a group all facing the camera, or
one or more players walk down toward the camera to hold a conversation or to open a
letter, you may be sure that the director has a great deal to learn.

Florence M. B. — This letter is better. You can have your friends write their names
and addresses on one sheet of paper, or they can write them on separate paper for
the Popular Player Contest. Dont put down the name of different players opposite the
names and addresses. We cant count them readily. Each player has a separate ballot-
box or basket.

C. B., New York. — No; Broncho Billy is not dead. (We'll have to tell the printer
to keep this standing.)

"Victoria." — William Duncan was Jim in "Why Jim Reformed." You must give
more than "the blonde" in that play.

H. C. H., Akron. — Raymond Hackett was Raymond, and Albert Hackett was
Albert in "Two Boys." Vedah Bertram's picture appeared in June and August, 1912.

Flossie Footlight. — Miss Sadie Weston was the girl in "Absinthe" (Gem).
Edwin Carewe was John Clancy in "The Regeneration of Nancy."

Lillina, of Reading. — Myrtle Stedman was the mother in "Roederick's Ride." No,
we dont care about forwarding letters — send them direct.

Lady Claire. — Cant give you that Pathe information just now. Have passed your
request along to the editor.

Eddie L. P. — George Lessey was the private detective in "For Her" (Edison).

Miss L. M.— Chester Barnett plays leading man in Crystal.

THIS

BEAUTIFUL

PORTRAIT

^ikjl^

fil

OF THE PEERLESS-

Alice Joyce

IN TWO COLOR PHOTOGRAVURE, SIZE 22x28
ON HEAVY PAPER READY FOR FRAMING

50c. Each - Postage Prepaid

Kalem Company

235-239 W. 23d St., New York

138 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

F. D., Humboldt. — Louise Yale was Minna in "The Debt." In "The Tale of a
Cat" (Essanay), Howard Missimer was Bings, and Harry Cashman (now deceased)
was Judson's suitor.

A. C, North Adams. — The newsdealers and theaters will receive the magazine on
the 15th hereafter. The Costello children are now traveling with their parents.

B. W., Barberton. — You will have to address the players in care of the company.
We do not give personal addresses.

U. S. W., New York. — Well, you'll have to know 500 people, and get them to sign
their names and addresses on a paper or a petition, unless you get some coupons.
William Duncan was Bud in "Bud's Heiress."

Etta C. P. — Bessie Scott and Brooks McCloskey were the children in "His Chil-
dren" (Lubin). Carlyle Blackwell was Red, and Jane Wolfe was Mag in "The
Redemption." Sallie Crute had the lead in "The Beast of the Jungle."

Gertie.— That's Ray Gallagher in Melies.

Master D. A. writes us that Master John Anderson was the light-haired boy in
"The Little Woolen Shoe" (Edison). Master Daniel Anderson was the coward in
"Coward and Hero" (Yitagraph). He has also played in Kalem plays.

Cliff P. — So you dont believe there's a Flossie. All right. We know differently.
That's the wrong title you give.

Olga, 17. — Bon jour! Frances Mann and Walter Stull had the leads in "The
Stolen Jewelry." John Brennan and Marshall Neilan are the men you refer to in "A
Busy Day in the Jungle." Carlyle Blackwell and Crane Wilbur read the magazine,
and they are subscribers. Harold Lockwood and Kathlyn Williams. So you are
afraid of Roger Lytton. He wont hurt you. Thought you liked villains nice.

Percival. — Alice and Edna Nash were the twins in "Cutey and the Twins." We
haven't the name of that Pathe.

Lillian and Rose. — Baby Earley was the little girl in "The Sowing" (Powers).

Pearl H. — Mayme Kelso was with Kalem last. Jane Wolfe was Jean in "The Plot
That Failed" (Kalem).

Viola M. P. — No ; Crane Wilbur did not play the part of Romeo.

Keith du P. — Shall tell the editor you want Gertrude Robinson's picture.

G. M. B., Baltimore.— Well, we must have the name of the company in order to
tell you the leads, O Absent-Minded One!

Etta C. D. — Mary Charleson was the Indian girl in "When the Desert Was Kind."

Tout. — We dont answer "Is he a flirt?" "What is the matter with his nose?" and
"Why does Anderson always hold his little finger funny?" etc. Life is too short, and
so are twenty pages.

Muriel G. — In "Papa Puts One Over" (Yitagraph), Anita Stewart was Anna, and
Earle WTilliams was Shadee. Earle Williams chat in June, 1912.

Iowa Girl. — Please write your questions on a letter, and not on postal cards.

Nemo and Flip. — Howard Mitchell was Captain Richards in "The Price of
Jealousy" (Lubin).

Dick R. — We go to press in sections, 32 pages at a time.

Juliet. — Yes, there is a George Lambert with Yitagraph.

X. Y. Z. — Marshall Neilan was the brother in "The Reward of Yalor."

Tet and Len. — Ruth Roland was Bessie in "Something Wrong with Bessie."

Vivien. — Pathe's "The Light That Failed" was not taken from Kipling's book.

M. D. — Edgar Jones was Gail in "Bar K Foreman." Harry Benham was the pro-
fessor. Yes ; Carlyle Blackwell is getting to be a regular Fagin in the pictures.

Marion, 15. — No ; Olga lives in New York City.

Florence M. B. — We dont know whether she is married, and we do not operate a
matrimonial bureau.

Constant Reader, N. Y. — You mustn't blame us because we have not kept our
promise regarding a chat with Warren Kerrigan. But we can now safely say that he
has been chatted, and that it will appear soon, probably in this issue. Your 'letter
fairly glows with fervor.

Twin Pearls.— Harry Pollard appears to be Margarita Fisher's all-around leading
man. George Gebhardt was White Bird's Indian lover in "The Branded Arm" (Pathe).

Babe S., Toledo. — We dont know why Clara Kimball Young writes her name in
full. Perhaps because it sounds bigger.

Eleanor R. E.— Where did you get the name? Are you sure about Mary Fuller?
We dont know anything about matrimony.

Honey Doll says : "Answer Man, if you ever have any children, dont bring them
up to be what you are. Let them learn something easy, like a fireman or a laborer."
Thanks for the advice. We'll do it.

B. S., New York.— Marie Eline was Sue in "The Other Half" (Thanhouser).

V. H., Grafton. — Pauline Bush played opposite Jack Richardson in "The Fraud
That Failed" (American).

F. T., Bronx.— See August, 1912, for James Morrison's picture.

THIRD LARGE PRINTING

JOSEPH PENNELL'S PICTURES
OF THE PANAMA CANAL

Beautifully printed on dull-finished paper, and artistically bound. Large 8vo. $1.25 net.

Postpaid, $140.

A set -of the original lithographs cost about $400.00. The entire twenty-eight are

reproduced in this volume, together with Mr. Pennell's experiences and impressions. Aside

from their great value as works of art, these remarkable studies of the Canal will soon

have an inestimable historical value, as the water is fast being turned into the big ditch.

FRENCH ARTISTS OF OUR DAY

A NEW SERIES
Each volume icill be illustrated with forty-eight excellent reproduc-
tions from the best work of each artist. Bound in blue cloth, gilt
decorations with insert. Small quarto. $1.00 net, per volume.

EDOUARD MANET By louis hourticq

With Notes by Jean Laran and Georges Le Bas

PUVIS DE CHAVANNES By andre michel

With Notes by -Jean Laran

GUST AVE COURBET By leonce benedite

Notes by J. Laran and Ph. Gaston-Dreyfus
Other volumes tvill follow at short intervals
This attractive and artistic series of volumes, written by French critics, on the great
painters of the Nineteenth Century, will be very popular. Each monograph will contain
a short biographical and critical study of the master, followed by forty-eight plates, selected
from his works. Each picture is described, its beauties are pointed out, its weaknesses
discussed, and other incidental facts connected with it are briefly stated. The chronological
order of the illustrations, together with the comments, make these volumes a valuable
synopsis of each artist's career. Contemporary criticisms of the paintings are freely
quoted and compared with the judgments of the present generation. The series will form
a historv of modern French art.

Sardou and the Sardou Plays

By JEROME A. HART

Illustrated. Small 8vo. Cloth, $2.50 net.
Postpaid, $2.65

Of the life of Tictorien Sardou very little
has been written in either French or Eng-
lish. In this thorough and exhaustive study
of Sardou's life and works. Mr. Hart has
gathered apparently all of the available data
relative to the great dramatist It is re-
plete with anecdotes, and tells of Sardou's
youth and early struggles, his failures and
eventually his great successes. The author
has divided the book into three parts. The
first is a biographical sketch ; the second is
made up of analyses of some two score of
the Sardou plays — not critical but narrative
analyses; and the third is devoted to .the
Sardou plays in the United States.

Photography of To-day

By H. CHAPMAN JONES, F.I.C.

Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50 net.

This newly published work is a popular
account of the origin, progress and latest
discoveries in the photographer's art, told in
non-technical language. The work contains
fifty-four illustrations, and is thoroughly
up-to-date, including chapters on the newest
development and printing methods, the latest
developments in color photography, and in-
stantaneous photography and the photog-
raphy of motion, etc. The author is an
authority on his subject, being president of
the Royal Photographical Society of Eng-
land and lecturer on photography at the
Imperial* College of Science and Technology,
England.

ADDRESS DEPARTMENT B

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY PUBLISHERS

PHILADELPHIA

140 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Florence M. B. — Say, why dont you give some one else a chance? Kathlyn
Williams was the girl in "The Two Orphans."

S. G. M. — You must never send your puzzle answers on the same sheet with ques-
tions. Frank Richardson was Sona's father in "Kings of the Forest."

G. W. — We presume you can purchase the Gaumont Graphic from Gaumont.

R. V., Oakland. — Thanks for the valentine.

Marjorie. — Earle Foxe was Hick, and Irene Boyle was Alice in "The Game-
Warden" (Kalem).

M. C. wants to know where Frederic McGuirk is.

E. B. C, Brooklyn. — We believe the picture is of Alice Joyce.

Trix S. — Paul Kelly was the boy in "Six o'Clock." William Wadsworth had the
lead in "The Winking Parson."

Paraphanelltjs. — What a nom de plume! Phyllis Gordon was Olga in "In Exile."

G. R. T., Charleston. — Clara Williams was the girl in "The Girl and the Gambler."
George Larkin was the brother in "Nobody's Love Story" (Eclair).

Flower E. G. wants to know why Carlyle Blackwell doesn't get his front teeth filed
down. Respectfully referred to the dental editor.

Olga, 17. — In "The Belle of North Wales" (Kalem), Harriett Kenton was Gladys,
Franklin Hayes was Owen, and Herbert Stewart was Morander. In "The Weapon,"
Joseph Baker was Frank Lewis, and Maurice Costello was Darrell Young.

Sesame, Newark. — That courtroom scene, and the legal procedure, may not have
been correct for your State, but remember that different States have different methods
and laws. New York is a code State, but Governor Sulzer may abolish the code soon.
Slander is usually a civil action, but sometimes it is criminal.

R. S., New York. — Edna Hammel was the blind girl in "The Little Girl Next Door."

K. S., St. Louis. — Dorothy Davenport and Herbert Rawlinson had the leads in
"Pierre of the North."

E. S. A., A. H — Mabel White was the wife, and the child is not given in the cast in
"Fantasca, the Gipsy" (Kalem). Harriet Parsons was the child in "The Magic Wand."

M. J. A. — Glad you like Pauline Bush. Most people are affected the same way.
See chat with Mr. Kerrigan.

H. M., Brooklyn. — Eleanor Blanchard was the wife in "Hubby's Wife" (Essanay).
She's always different, isn't she?

"Itch E. Coo." — We dont know what you are talking about. Be nice.

Gladys T. G. — We shall tell Arthur Johnson that you would like to have him put
ruffles on his trousers, because they are getting too short. Others answered.

Syd. H. H., New Zealand. — That was Arthur Johnson as the blacksmith in "A
Heavenly Voice." Yes, he was formerly of the Biograph. You may see him and
Florence Lawrence together again some day.

Esther, St. Louis. — Edward Coxen was Paul, Lillian Christy was the girl, and
Chet Withey was Pedro in "A Rose of Mexico."

Ardath. — Mary Ryan played in the three plays you name. Marie Weirman was
Marie in "The Guiding Light."

R. U. Wise. — By a list of manufacturers, we mean the names and addresses of
twenty-five or more Moving Picture manufacturers.

Bessie, Columbus. — Tut, tut ! Dont flare up that way. Keep one foot on the soft
pedal. That picture was taken by the French Pathe. The American Pathe studio is in
Jersey City. Pearl White left them many months ago.

R. E., Coshocton. — May Buckley is still on the stage. We haven't heard anything
about Helen Gardner signing a contract with Rex.

Anthony O. — Romaine Fielding was Fernandez in "Courageous Blood." We dont
know such a book. Bessie Sankey was leading lady in "Broncho Billy's Promise."

Miss Billy.— Mary Ryan in "The Power of Silence."

M. S. Sherbrooke. — James Cruze was Archibald, Marguerite Snow was Lady Isa-
bella and Florence LaBadie was Barbara in "East Lynn." Edna May Weick was the
child, and Benjamin Wilson was the gentleman in "Ostler Joe."

Mrs. O. W. M. — No ; Richard Ridgely, of Edison, is not Cleo Ridgely's husband.
The latter is traveling with her. Harold Lockwood was the husband, and Kathlyn
Williams the wife in "Two Men and a Woman" (Selig).

S. M., Newport. — We believe the Vitagraph have taken pictures at Newport. We
dont keep track of where the companies take pictures; hard enough to keep track of
whn plays in them. The players you mention are still with Vitagraph.

Charlotte, N. C. — So you dont like to see Ormi Hawley die. She does not die
naturally? Well, she hasn't had much experience in that line.

Lillian May. — Marin Sais was Mrs. Grey in "The Redemption."

G. McL., Scranton. — The sketches of Alice Joyce are good, but we cannot use
them. So many artists ! The woods are full of them ; almost as numerous as poets.

Olga, 17. — Herbert Rawlinson was Bert in "Miss Aubrey's Love Affair" (Selig).
Dont blame us if you dont see Carlyle and Crane oftener. Consult the theater manager.

The Girl who Earns
Her Own Living

BY ANNA STEESE RICHARDSON.

Illustrated with Numerous Photographs
Cloth bound, 300 Pages; Price. $1.00

WHAT THE REVIEWERS SAY.

"Much useful information and wholesome
advice." — Wateroury American.

"Commendable in every sense." — Buffalo
Evening News.

"Full of suggestions to the feminine wage-
earner." — New York Times.

If not fully satisfied, return within five days,
and money will be refunded.

HEWITT PRESS, Publishers
61 NAVY STREET BROOKLYN, N. Y.

Plots Wanted

: : FOR MOTION PICTURE PLAYS : :

You can write them. We teach beginners in ten
easy lessons. We have many successful graduates.
Here are a few of their plays :

"From Susie to Suzanne" . . Vitagraph
"The Amateur Playwright" . Kinemacolor
"The Lure of Vanity" . . Vitagraph
''The Red Trail" . . . Biograph
"The Foreman of Ranch B" . Melies
"The Cowboy's Bride" . . Universal
"A Motorcycle Elopement" . Biograph

"Insanity" Lubin

"Miss Prue's Waterloo" . . Lubin
"Sally Ann's Strategy" . Edison

"No Dogs Allowed" . Vitagraph

"Ma's Apron Strings" . Vitagraph

''The Mills of the Gods" . Solax

"Cupid's Victory" . . . Nestor
"A Good Turn" .... Lubin
"The Joke That Spread" . . Vitagraph
"Satin and Gingham" . . Lubin
"A New Day's Dawn" . . Edison
"House That Jack Built" . . Kinemacolor
"A Good Catch" . . . Essanay
"In the Power of Blacklegs" . Kalem
If you go into this work go into it right. You
cannot learn the art of writing motion picture
plays by a mere reading of textbooks. Your actual
original work must be directed, criticised, analyzed
and corrected. This is the only school that delivers
such service and the proof of the correctness of
our methods lies in the success of our graduates.
They are selling their plays.

Demand increasing. Particulars free.

Associated Motion Picture Schools

699 SHERIDAN ROAD, CHICAGO

SPECIAL OFFER

Pen and Ink Drawings nf Noted Photoplayers

FREE

We are now printing in the Motion Picture Story Magazine each month a pen and
ink drawing reproduction of a popular photoplayer. Knowing that many of our
readers would be glad to have an enlarged reproduction of this drawing, we are hav-
ing them made up in large size, six by eleven inches, printed on heavy coated paper
and attractively framed. These reproductions will make an appropriate decoration for
any home.

We are now making this exceptional offer: Any person sending us two new sub-
scriptions will receive free a framed pen and ink drawing reproduction of any one of
the popular players as fast as they appear in our magazine.

The pictures of Alice Joyce, Mary Fuller and Ormi Hawley have already appeared,
and for six new subscribers we will send free these beautiful and artistically framed
pictures.

Why not make it a point to get the complete series as they come out? This offer
will hold good through the entire series.

Any one of these pictures, or as many as you desire, for two new subscribers each.
It will be easy for you to secure them. Why not take advantage of this offer now?

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

26 COURT STREET, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

142 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Jessaline G. — The Broncho Co. is still asleep, and they will not furnish us with
the desired information. Their publicity man should play the title role in "Rip Van
Winkle." Harry Myers had the lead in "His Children."

Teddy, Montreal. — His name is E. R. Phillips; and you are in love with him, eh?
Keep off the grass. He may be married and have ten children, for all you know.

F. E. E., New York. — Alice Joyce's chat in August, 1912. No, fire away with your
secrets; we never tell any one. What makes you think we are of the feminine gender?

C. B., Kansas City. — No, we're not bald. Grass grows only in fertile soil. Just
put this in your pipe and smoke it : we will not permit our personal beauty to be
trifled with. You refer to Gene Gauntier, and it was an old Kalem. She is not with
them now. She has a company all her own. Ask Jack Clark.

Muriel T. — Earle Williams was Shadee in "Papa Puts One Over." Lucile Lee and
Anita Stewart were the daughters.

Cutie, Boston. — Ruth Roland is still playing. Tell the manager you want to see
her oftener. Other questions answered.

M. M-, Kansas City. — Mrs. George Walters was the mother in "The Lost Son."

Lyllian D. W. writes: "You certainly are as wise as Solomon and as patient as
Job." Thank you. We are. William Pinkham was Bill Smith in "Keeping Up Appear-
ances" (Lubin). We are afraid that if we sign in your autograph album, we will have
to sign a good many more ; and we haven't time.

Brown Eyes. — You must not ask "Is she married?" etc. You may ask about the
plays and characters in the plays and so on, but only questions of general interest.

H. M., Rocky Mount. — Yes ; Warren Kerrigan played in "Nell of the Pampas."
We cant look up what color eyes he has or whether he can sing and all that. See the
chat department for such.

E. G. — Warren Kerrigan was the husband in "The Loneliness of Neglect." He is
not in the cast for "The Girl of the Manor" (American). Dont know whether he
dances or not.

N. G., New York. — Write to Miss Stedman yourself.

Erma, St. Louis. — Write and ask the company how much they would charge for
the picture. Albert Swenson was David in "When Love Leads" (Lubin).

Emily M., New York. — Mr. Cashman was Mr. Hale in "The Little, Black Box."

Pansy. — We think your idea is fine, and we shall pass it along to the editor.

A. F., New York.— Kempton Green was Jack, and Isabelle Lamon was Bess in
"Keeping Up Appearances." Marshall Neilan was the husband in "Peace Offering."

Kate M., Winnipeg. — We have heard of stage-struck girls, but you certainly have
got it bad. Get it out of your head. Dont think for a minute of leaving home.

Vastha V. — Robert Thornby was Buck in "The Fatherhood of Buck McGee."

Miss J. C. J. — Thank you for that cast.

L. H., Brooklyn. — Great Northern takes pictures in Denmark.

Loudie, Brooklynite. — Mary Powers was the child in "On the Threshold." Ernes-
tine Morley was Mrs. Cartridge.

Rutland Class. — Lottie Briscoe was leading lady in "Her Gift."

Gaby, of N. Y. — Yes ; Phillip Smalley has returned to Rex.

G. E. M., St. Louis. — J. W. Johnston was the lead in "The Country Boy" (Pathe).
H. E. N.— Whom do you mean — Brinsley Shaw or True Boardman? We dont

think you could get a position with Essanay. "The man with the big nose" is G. M.
Anderson. Isn't it a dream?

Janet. — Adrienne Kroell was leading lady in "The Subterfuge." Pearl White was
Naughty Marietta.

Interested.— Ruth Roland was the girl in "The Horse That Wont Stay Hitched."
Dont know who the horse was.

Marion. Michigan. — The last picture we saw Mary Fuller in, she wore six differ-
ent dresses (but not all at once). From appearances, she has clothes aplenty.

A. P. S. — We dont know of any company that teaches beginners.

Bud and Purky. — Leah Baird was Undine in "The Face or the Voice." No, dont
think of any more questions like the ones you sent us. They were all out of order.

M. J. F., Edwards ville.— Burton King was the minister, Clara Williams was the
girl, and Edgar Jones the ex-convict in "The Struggle of Hearts."

M. H., Halifax.— Yes, votes for Mary Pickford will count.

Florence M. B.— Marguerite Ne Moyer, Violet Adams and Miss Healey were the
girls in "The Rest Cure." Never heard of a theater giving eight reels to one show.

R. E. G. — Thanks for the clippings.

Veda C, Denver.— You cant expect the players to answer every letter they re-
ceive, can you? They have to work, once in a while. They like to receive apprecia-
tions, but not love-letters or missives that require acknowledging.

Susan, AVheeling. — William Mason was the dummy in "Almost a Man." Dolores
Costello is the older. Dont know about an interview or picture of Mr. Santschi just
now. Fear not. You might write to Mr. Selig about it,

>^x

PHOTOPLAYS READ, REVISED, CORRECTED,
TYPEWRITTEN AND MARKETED

What America has needed for years has just been organized — a Clearing1 House for
Moving Picture Plays, where thousands of Scenarios can be handled, listed, revised and
placed, and where the various film manufacturers can secure just what they want, on
short notice.

A Competent Staff

has been organized, and it will be added to, as business increases, by taking on the best
available men and women in the business. While the Photoplay Clearing House is an
independent institution, it will be supervised by THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE,
and will be conducted, in part, by the same editors.

THE PHOTOPLAY CLEARING HOUSE IS NOT A^ SCHOOL. It does not teach. But
it corrects, revises, typewrites in proper form, and markets Plays. Tens of thousands of
persons are constantly sending to the various film companies manuscripts that have not
the slightest chance of acceptance, and in many cases these Plays contain the germs of
salable ideas, if sent to the right companies. The Scenario editors of the various companies
are simply flooded with impossible manuscripts, and they will welcome the PHOTOPLAY
CLEARING HOUSE, not only because it will relieve them of an unnecessary burden, but
because it will enable them to pass on only good, up-to-date Plays that have been carefully
prepared.

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We who are intimately connected with the Motion Picture business, and in close touch
with many of the manufacturers, are presumed to know what is wanted by them, and, if not,
it will be our duty to find out. More than ten publications a week, mostly trade journals, will
be kept on file, and carefully perused, in order to keep informed on what has been done and
what is being done, so that no stale or copied plot can escape us. Editors well versed in
ancient and modern literature will be on hand to guard against plagiarism and infringement
of the copyright law.

The Plan of the Photoplay Clearing House

All photoplaywrights are invited to send their Plays to this company. Every Play will
be treated as follows:

It will be -read by competent readers, numbered, classified and filed. _If it is, in our
opinion, in perfect condition, we shall at once proceed to market it, and, when we are paid
for it, we will pay the writer 90"^ of the amount we receive, less postage expended. If the J
Scenario is not in marketable shape, we will so advise the author, stating our objections, f
offering to return it at once, or to revise, typewrite and try to market it. If the manuscript f
is hopeless, we shall so state, and in some cases advise a course of instruction, naming
various books, experts and schools to select from. j

The fee for reading, filing, etc., will be $1.00, but to readers of THE MOTION jf
PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE it will be only 50c, provided the annexed Coupon S
accompanies each script. For typewriting, a charge of $1.00 for each Play will be ^r This

made, provided it does not run over 10 pages. 10c. a page for extra pages. The ^r coupon

fee for revising will vary according to work required, and will be arranged in ^r is good

advance. No Scenarios will be placed by us unless they are properly type- ^r for 50 cents

written. Payment in advance is expected in all cases. Stamps (2c. or ^r When accom-

lc.) accepted. | S panied with 50c.

^r more it will enti-
^r tie holder to list one
f scenario with the Pho-
toplay Clearing House.
Photoplay Clearing House,
26 Court St., B'klyn, N. Y.

PHOTOPLAY CLEARING HOUSE

26 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

144 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Miss E. L. — You have read our magazine for over a year, and then ask Biograph
questions? Fly away, little one.

E. S., New York. — Pauline Bush was the girl in "The Girl of the Manor" (Ameri-
can). Francelia Billington was the girl in "The Pride of Angry Bear" (Kalem).

Dorothy M. B. — Thank you for your interesting letter.

W. H. — Yes ; Gilbert Anderson plays the part of Broncho Billy. Billy is dead, but
Gilbert is not Billy dies quite frequently. We know of no George Anderson.

K. R. S., Chicago. — Maurice Costello played in "As You Like It." It is pronounced
Moi xece'.

v . L. K. — Yes ; Jack Halliday is playing in "The Whip" in New York. But dont
you know that we cant keep track of all the players on the speaking stage?

Alice C. P., New York. — Edward Coxen played opposite Ruth Roland in "The
Hindoo Hat." In "Her Only Son" (Selig), Orma Hawley was the mother, Kathlyn
Williams and Harold Lockwood the leads. Please dont write next month and ask if
Orma Hawley and Ormi Hawley are related.

Barbara D., Dayton. — Helen Parker was the nurse in "From the Submerged."

Rosalind. — Jean Acker was Marcelle, and Jane Fearnley . was Cora in "In a
Woman's Power" (Imp).

Genevieve. — The National Board of Censors is a body of prominent citizens ap-
pointed by various civic bodies. The various film manufacturers voluntarily consented
to accept their censorship and to pay the expenses thereof. William Clifford is with
Bison.

Laura, Boise. — Some like many subtitles, and some do not. Some companies start
every play with one, but we dont think it wise. Words should be used only when
the action is not sufficient, or to show lapse of time, etc. Why not ask the Photoplay
Clearing House?

D. H., Rochester. — Francis Bushman was chatted in February, 1912.

Billy Baker. — We understand that Marion Leonard is still with Monopol Co.

H. B., Chicago.— Yes ; King Baggot had the lead in "She Slept Thru It All." We
dont mean to be "cross," but we cant help it sometimes ; neither could you, if you are
human. Suppose you had to read hundreds of letters a day, some from idiots.

A. F. — The Selig Co., with Charles Clary, is located in Chicago. Victor is in New
York. Edward Coxen was the lead in "The Fugitive" (American).

C. P. — Vivian Prescott was leading lady in "Leah, the Forsaken" (Imp).

I. H., Riverpoint. — Harry Myers had the lead in "The Guiding Light." Always
give name of company.

Gertie R. — Yes, players like to receive letters. See above.

Alicia C. — Lila Chester was the rich client in "The Count That Counts."
» G. E. M., New York. — Naomi Childers was the beautiful girl.

M. G. — No, we are not bald-headed, nor is our hair turning gray, but we are
expecting both every day. What difference does it make to you?

Lyllian D. W. — It is pronounced "Thanhouser." Harold Lockwood in that Selig.
Kalem have a studio in Birmingham. J. J. Clark is no longer with Kalem.

E. M. and L. R. — Write direct to the player. Always address care of company.

A. J., Brooklyn. — Miss Taku Takagi was Miss Taku, and Harry Benham the son.
G. L., Montgomery. — Eclair are in Fort Lee, N. J. Cines pictures are all taken

abroad. George Klein, of Chicago, releases them.

E. B., Chisholm. — Louise Lester was the witch in "Blackened Hills."

B. S., Penn.— Betty Gray is with Pathe.

E. W. S. advises that the British & American Co., Montreal, produce the Briam
films, the name being taken from the italics.

H. A., Manhattan. — We dont know the name of the lady who sang the "Last Rose
of Summer" in the Colonial Theater. Ask at the box-office.

R. H., Kansas City. — Dont worry about that letter. We dont remember it.

J. M., Detroit. — We dont know of a Mrs. Romaine Fielding. You shouldn't ask
us about her if there is one. 'Gainst the law ! And Romaine is a constable.

H. F. W., New York. — Bessie Eyton and Thomas Santschi had the leads in "Whose
Wife Is This?" (Selig).

W. E. — Charles French was the old scout in "Peggy and the Old Scout" (Pathe).
Peter Lang was the mayor in "The Mayor's Waterloo." We still have those portrait
books for sale.

G. N., Chicago. — Florence Turner's picture appeared in — get ready— October, Sep-
tember, July and March, 1912, and March, July and November, 1911.

R. Mc. — Muriel Ostriche is now with Reliance. "The Charge of the Light Brigade"
was taken at Wyoming. The picture — not the poem.

Betty, St. Louis. — E. H. Calvert was Slivers in "The Redemption of Slivers." We
dont know the name of the picture that was taken February 22d at King's Theater.
That's out of our line. We are not quite omnipotent and omnipresent — yet! Please
give the name of the company.

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146 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Edna. — Bessie Eyton and Thomas Santschi had the leads in "The Shuttle of Fate."

J. W., Hopkinsville. — You mustn't ask us about the holy bonds of matrimony. A
new motto : Patience is not a virtue.

Maude the Second. — Jane Wolfe was Mag in "The Redemption."

M. E. D. — Bryant Washburn was Louis in "The Stain."

C. L. D., Evanston. — Oh, fie, fie! What's the use? Will you people ever learn to
read the note at the head of this department?

Dorothy J. S., Worcester, waxes poetic, as witness this:

I've a few simple questions to ask you, And tell me— why did Edwin August

I will not take much of your time. Leave Lubin? He made quite a hit;

I hope it wont make any difference His work in " 'Twixt Love and Ambition"

If I ask you these questions in rhyme. Was beautifully done, every bit.

Now, who are the "leads" in that Lubin — And say, where is dear old Crane Wilbur?

The one called "The Mexican Spy"? I haven't seen him in an age.

And who is the Mexican villain — I hope he's not given up pictures

The one with the "blood in his eye"? And gone on the vaudeville stage.

And why dont the Vitagraph people And pretty Miss Anna Q. Nilsson —

Turn out some more photoplay scenes Was she badly hurt by her fall?

Featuring handsome Earle Williams? Was she thrown from a wagon while

He's the best in the bunch, by all acting?

means. And was it a pretty close call?

I am almost as bad as your "Flossie,"

By the questions I've asked you, I mean.
But how shall I know, 'less I ask you?
They are neither in book nor on screen.

B. L., Cincinnati. — Bessie Eyton and Thomas Santschi had the leads in "Shang-
haied." No ; Earle Williams is not dead. He plays with Vitagraph.

Eleanor and Thelma. — Jack Clark was the soldier in "Lady Peggy's Escape." The
first play produced by the Gene Gauntier Co. was "Daughter of the Confederacy."

A. W. W., Glace Bay. — Ethel Clayton and Harry Myers had the leads in "A
Romance of the Coast." W. Scott, Wheeler Oakman and S. Dunlap were the three
college boys in "A Sad Devil" (Selig). Howard Missimer was the parson in "The
Thrifty Parson."

Annie, Kentucky. — Kempton Green was Mr. Holmes in "Keeping Up Appearances."

Margie B. H. — Write direct to the company for their bulletin. You can purchase
one copy at a time at 10 cents each. Walter Edwin was the lawyer in "Cynthia's
Agreement." Isabel Lamon was the sister in "The Miser" (Lubin). Edna Payne was
Marie in "The Higher Duty."

Olga, 17. — So you would like to meet Crane Wilbur, Carlyle Blackwell and Henry
Walthall, would you? You want too much. Walter Edwin was George Fielding in
"Too Late to Mend" (Edison).

Iowa Girl. — Glad you have changed from a postal to a letter. Dont really know
why Gwendoline Pates jumped so much, in the picture. She is very nimble, you know.
Perhaps she was taking her exercise.

Mayme, Madison. — Dot Bernard, formerly of the Biograph, was the girl on the
left of Marshall P. Wilder on the Christmas tree. That Christmas tree idea will soon
be repeated in another form. Edwin Carewe was Manning in "It Might Have Been"
(Lubin). Guy Coombs and Marian Cooper had the leads in "The Turning Point."

Virginia C. P. — Arthur Ricketts was Jingle in "Pickwick Papers." Bessie Eyton
was the girl in "The Triangle." Western Pathe's are not taken in the Eastern studio.

Virginia R. B., Kansas. — Florence LaBadie was the lead in "Called Back" (Than-
houser). She will soon be called back to New Rochelle.

T. E. — Sorry, but we cannot tell you who Donald was in "His Brother's Keeper."

The Kid, L. S. — What a question! No, we cannot tell you whether we received
the questions you sent us last month. If we did, we attended to them.

Flo G. D. — Owen Moore was the professor in "Flo's Discipline." William Duncan
was the father, and William Shay was the Governor in "The Fugitives." Josie
Williams was the stepmother in "The Cruel Stepmother" (Imp). Sorry we cannot
answer those Bisons.

Christine Mc. — Warren Kerrigan is the player to whom you refer. Path§
Freres give out very little information, for reasons best known to themselves.

EVERYBODY, Everywhere! — At this writing (March 24th) comes the good news
that, hereafter, we will answer Biograph questions, and also publish pictures of their
players in our Gallery. But we cannot answer questions on OLD Biograph plays.

M. F., Titusville. — Sorry, but Milano will not answer.

Mary P. — Yes; Francis Bushman played in "The Spy's Defeat" — he was Paul.
William Garwood was the fireman in "Her Fireman" (Thanhouser).

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148

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

_, mo.ri Were so constituted th&C

he could p&f himself otj-the bacK.

gracefully, or" kick himself effectively was the coward in

he would spend most of his spare time

doin£ one or the other*7

E. K., Beooklyn. — Marguerite Gibson
was Polly in "Polly on the Ranch."

Brownie, 16. — Alice Joyce is not dead.
Not dead, but working. She is playing
regularly.

W. H. S. Trio. — See here, you mustn't
send in your questions with a drawing of
the Answer Man sketched all over the
page. We have to look all over the paper
for your questions. Besides, you dont do
us justice. No, we are not Mr. Sargent.
We were for a short time, when this de-
partment was first started, but ever since
then we are the one and the same, and the
only real, genuine, dyed-in-the-wool Answer
Man — beware of imitations !

F. E., New Orleans. — Yes; Carlyle
.> - Blackwell plays regularly for Kalem.

YJs ^J ^^^^ ^m U ^^ Moline, Illinois. — Harold L/OCkwood

Y ^^F Wr fl fl Bg^ was David in "A Little Child Shall Lead

Them."

G. E. B., Los Angeles. — Clara Williams
was the girl in "The Sheriff's Mistake"
(Lubin). Leah Baird was the wife in
"The Nipper's Lullaby." Brinsley Shaw

'Broncho Billy's
Promise.'

George A. C, Montreal. — Thank you
for the valuable information.

Gladys S. — Mary Fuller is Mary in
"What Happened to Mary." Mary Ryan was the girl in "The Blind Cattle-King."

Olga, 17. — Delighted! Well, you know what happens to those prolonged pro-
posals, dont you? They did that to save time in taking the film. The title is "An
Accidental Dentist," and Jerold Hevener was the policeman.

R. S>. and T, S. — Marguerite Snow, Harry Benham and James Cruze had the leads
in "Letters of a Lifetime." George Periolat was the father in "My Own Country"
(American). The picture you enclose is one of the "fashions" in Pathe's Weekly.

T. S., De Soto.— Charles Hitchcock and Miss Ulrich had the leads in "Her First
Man" (Essanay). Fritzi Brunette and Owen Moore had the leads in "The Professor's
Dilemma." Leonce Perrin was the lead in "A Peach for a Prisoner" (Gaumont).

P. F., Oakland. — Rosemary Theby was the nurse in "The Strange Disappearance
of the Ambassador."

Big Brown Eyes. — Mae Hotely was Sally, and Hen Walker her sweetheart in
"Stage-Struck Sally" (Lubin). Thomas Santschi was the husband in "Whose Wife
Is This?"

Rogo. — Yes, perhaps most people attend picture shows for diversion, and not to see
pictures of train-wrecks, parades, conventions, etc. However, all people are not alike.

K. J. — William Duncan was in the "Opium Smugglers." Harry Myers played in
"An Irish Girl's Love." You must get the pictures of the players direct from the
companies. Yes, you can send a money-order for a subscription.

G. J. S. — We presume the reason Essanay doesn't want Western scenarios is
because they can write them themselves.

May, 17. — Anna Drew was Jael Dence in "Put Yourself in His Place" (Than-
houser). Ruth Roland was Ethel in "Three Suitors and a Dog." Isabel Lamon and
Ernestine Morley were the sisters, Edwin Carewe was the lover, and R. C. Travers
was the doctor in "The Supreme Sacrifice" (Lubin). Why didn't you ask for the
whole cast? James Morrison was Billy in "A Marriage of Convenience."

D. C, Chicago. — Thank you for the pictures of the Essanay studio. Fine !

"Readers," Portland. — Hope you dont think we sit down and write the questions,
and then answer them. We receive all the letters we answer, and more, too.

Helen K. — Edwin August has left Lubin long ago. We believe William Cavanaugh
is with the Western Pathe now.

R. M. B., Montgomery. — No ; Mr. Halliday is not back with Lubin. That was old.

Pansy, Buffalo. — So you want us to start a correspondence club. We wonder
how many others want the same thing. How would it do to charge 10 cents admission
to the club, and those who join to be entitled to a list of names of other members,
each member being required to send souvenir postal-cards, etc., to the other members?

Friskie Trixie. — That's a new name for you. No end of funny names. Such
ravings for E, K. Lincoln ! That was the Thanhouser Kid in "Please Helo the Poor."

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Note. — With each yearly subscription we will give you free, postage pre-
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Two New Subscriptions will entitle you to a copy of the book, "Portraits of Popular
Picture Players," bound in full limp leather, stamped in gold, or a framed pen-and-ink
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175 DUFFIELD STREET, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

150 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Julia, Atlanta. — Charlotte Burton was the wife in "Finer Things" (American).

E. j. G.^-Sorry, but we cant answer those Biograph questions.

Winnie W. — Yes; Edison sells pictures. Harold Lockwood was in that Selig.

Sweetie, Chattanooga. — Ethel Clayton was Ethel in "His Children." Lillian
Christy has left American. Edward Coxen is now a director for American. Alice
Joyce is still in New York. "Old Kent Road" was taken mostly in Brooklyn, and the
road was not named after Charley Kent.

Bessie, of Boston. — Yes, we would like to help you improve the theaters and
films. That is part of the business of this magazine. The manufacturers never take
any part in the affairs of the exhibitor.

Evangeline A. Z. — Yes ; Selig has real, live animal-players. So has Vitagraph.

Torchy. — Carl Winterhoff was Tom Moran in "Dont Let Mother Know." Edwin
Cartridge and Ernestine Morley were man and wife in "On the Threshold" (Lubin).
Bessie Sankey was the girl in "Broncho Billy's Brother" (Essanay).

Maejorie M. — Harry Millarde was Henry in "The Message from the Palms."
Bessie Sankey was Mabel, True B'oardman wras the foreman, Arthur Mackley the
ranchman, and Brinsley Shaw the puncher in "The Ranchman's Blunder." Clara
Williams was Mary, the schoolteacher, in "The Teacher at Rockville."

E. G., Rocky Mount. — Justus D. Barnes was the mounted policeman in "With the
Mounted Police." Paul Panzer was the cowboy in "The Cowboy and the Baby"
(Pathe). We dont know who W. J. K. is ; only, that he is one of our steady customers.

Marion. — You can get the August issue from us direct.

O. R. A. — Your letter was very beautiful, indeed. Thank you.

Kenna Club. — Phyllis Gordon is no longer with Selig. She is now with American.
No, we do not print Selig stories in the magazine. Why? Ask Mr. Selig.

A. S., Middleboro. — Earle Williams was one of the surgeons in "A Night Before
Christmas."

R. U. Wise. — Yes, we got you. That was Clara Kimball Young with the crown, on
the Christmas tree. Will tell The Tatler you want him to chat John Steppling.

A. K., Brooklyn. — No; Kalem does not give try-outs to beginners. They want
only experienced players.

George. — Good-morning! Haven't heard from you since yesterday. Vinnie Burns
was Vinnie in "Beasts of the Jungle" (Solax). Darwin Karr and Sallie Crute had
the leads. Maybe it was paper snow. That's often used. It has many advantages
over real snow ; still, they cant go sleighing on it.

C. H., Weehawken. — We believe the picture was taken in Brooklyn.

C. T., Brooklyn. — Henry Walthall is the "handsome, sedate, dark, dignified, Bio-
graph" leading man, and the "cute, charming little blonde" is Blanche Sweet. Isn't
it fine?

Geraldine M. F. — Thomas Moore played opposite Alice Joyce in "The Senator's
Dishonor" (Kalem).

H. M., Rocky Mount. — Edward Coxen was Bob, and Lillian Christy was leading
lady in "The Trail of the Cards" (American).

The Second Olga. — Horace Peyton was Clarence in "Love of La Valliere." Mar-
shall Neilan was Percy in "Three Suitors and a Dog."

J. M. C. — Mile. Josette Andriot was Iris, and M. Chas. Krause was her father
in "Tears of Blood" (Eclair). Robert Frazer was John, and Miss Tennant was Hulds
in "Hearts and Memories" (Eclair).

Elena C. G. — Thanks for the box of excellent plug tobacco. Very thoughtful of
you. While we dont chew nor smoke, being extremely virtuous and having no small
vices — all large ones; — we passed it along to Peter Wade, and it smells much better
than the stuff he usually smokes. Thanks! Guy D'Ennery was the minister in "The
Lost Note." Your other questions answered by mail.

H. L. De L. — Pathe will not give us the information you ask. You must always
give the name of the company.

Betty R. C— Ruth Hennessey was the wife in "Odd Knotts" (Essanay).

M. I. M. — But you will have to tell us some play he played in. We dont know any
one in Imp who looks like Costello.

P. V. C. — Really, it took us just fifteen minutes to read all you had to say. While
we appreciate your asking us for advice, we cant run that theater. Dont believe all
he tells you, or you will go insane. Tell him not to run advertising slides. It is fatal
in the end.

I. G. — Robert Grey was Ted, and A. E. Garcia was Parson Sneed in "Yankee
Doodle Dixie." Sidney Ayres and Betty Harte are now with Edison.

B. S., Rutherford. — Yes, you are right about the casts, but we cant manage the
manufacturers.

Sally, Camden. — Yes, Biograph is a great company in which to "get a rep." Some
players seem to think that if they can once get with Biograph their future is secure.
Vitagraph seems to have the most "well-known players."

WHAT HAPPENED TO MARY

NEVER in the history of the photoplay has a series
of pictures made such a profound impression as the
' What Happened to Mary" series. Everywhere
the great motion picture public is enthusiastically showing
its appreciation of the enterprise of the Edison Company in
producing these remarkable pictures in collaboration with
The Ladies' World.

Millions of picture enthusiasts have followed our fasci-
nating heroine's exciting adventures as fate drove her about
this country and even over-seas to England.

The appearance of a song, a puzzle, a game and a
play, all bearing the familiar name " What Happened to
Mary," is striking evidence of the tremendous impression
which "Mary" has made upon the public — it is "Mary"
mad! No such interest has ever been aroused by any
photoplay or any character upon the screen as that which
"Mary" has attracted.

It is only another instance of the superiority of Edison
films and of the Edison policy of giving the public the latest
and best that genius and originality can devise. Never
before has the collaboration of a standard magazine been
secured in the production of photoplays, and never before
has such an absorbing series of adventures been built around
so fascinating a character.

"Mary" is appearing in all the leading licensed photo-
play houses throughout the country

Get acquainted with "Mary"
THOMAS A. EDISON, Inc., 144 Lakeside Avenue, Orange, N. J.

152 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

W. L. P., Brooklyn. — You are extremely obnoxious and a nuisance. We would
much rather not receive any communications from you whatever.

George. — We suppose they will be able to mend the film, but some operators are
very careless.

M. St. C. — Yes, Lillian Russell played in Kinemacolor. You are right about Sarah
Bernhardt.

S. E. T. — Why dont you complain about the music, if you dont care for it? Do you
mean Peggy Glynn? If so, she is on the stage now.

H. M. A., Newark. — Brins\ey Shaw was Broncho Billy's friend in "Broncho Billy's
Gun-Play" (Essanay).

L. M— Winnifred Greenwood was the girl in "The Last Dance" (Selig). Com-
municate direct with the Circulation Department about the expiration of your sub-
scription.

Anthony. — So you were filmed, were you? No, Anthony, The Famous Players
Film Co. is not licensed, but some of their films are. There can be no more licensed
manufacturers. There are now ten companies in the so-called "trust." Thanks again
for the necktie.

M. G., Elmira. — Why did you squeeze your ten questions on one sheet of paper,
when you had three other sheets left? Please make our reading as easy for us as
possible. Margaret Joslin was the fat lady in "Alkali Ike Stung." Howard Missimer
was Dr. Thin in "Well. Matched." That usher talk is not appreciated.

H. W. Y. — Thanks for your kind letter.

J. J. K. — That was Harold Lockwood; he was formerly of Broncho. Yes, about
James Young.

Helen, 19. — We are glad, Cheerful, that you like Earle Williams. Thanks for the
good wishes to the family, but there isn't any. Others answered.

Marion O. — Hetty Gray Baker was the author of the film, "The Irony of Fate."

Marie A. F. — Yes, yes, Mary Pickford and Owen Moore are man and wife. And
thanks for your interesting letter.

T. M., Montreal. — Selig is licensed, but we dont use their stories. So you want to
correspond with a Yankee; we cant help you out.

Arabelle, 16. — Buster Johnson was the child in "The Miser" (Lubin).

L. D. La M., San Francisco, wants to know why Broncho Billy was not created
as a distinct character, and says that he is inconsistent, because in one film he dies, in
another he is drunk, and in another he is something else, and that in no two films is
he the same sort of person. This is hardly a question for the Answer Man. No doubt
Mr. Anderson has his own reasons for doing things as he does. You have in mind
characters like Sherlock Holmes, or Mary, in "What Happened to Mary," in which the
character is the same in every chapter.

E. D. B., Balto. — Charles Hundt was John in "Rosie" (Eclair).

A. M., Jamestown. — Harold Lockwood was Jack Temple in "Her Only Son."
Ormi Hawley was Nancy in "The Regeneration of Nancy" (Lubin). She was Rosa in
"The Montebank's Daughter."

Dolly. — Yes, Sarah Bernhardt is considered one of the greatest actresses who ever
lived, but many persons think Ellen Terry her superior. Temper? No; we only make
believe. We are as gentle as a lamb, and we neither bark nor bite.

Pretty Peggy. — Herbert L. Barry was Lord Rintoul in "Little Minister." We
had a note in the Greenroom Jottings about the Thanhouser fire.

D. B., Indiana. — Evebelle Prout was the maid in "The Birthday Jacket" (Essanay).
Whitney Raymond was the son.

R. B., Atlantic — Yes, there are a Kalem, Lubin and Gene Gauntier Company in
Jacksonville.

Kentucky Girl. — Evebelle Prout was the barefooted girl in "The Farmer's Daugh-
ter" (Essanay). Yes, that's Alice Joyce's picture. Dont know Flora Dorset.

E. C. N., Chicago. — The reason we say "questions answered before" is tha t space is
too valuable here to repeat anything. Sometimes twenty persons ask the same questions,
in which case we give one answer and ignore the other nineteen. If it is apparently
a new inquirer, who does not know the rules, we state "questions answered before," but
in other cases we say nothing. Earle Williams was the artist in "The Dawning."
Mabel Trunnelle was the governess in "The Governess."

A. S., Chicago. — Lillian Logan was Miss Keene, and Adrienne Kroell was Miss
Markham in "The Pink Opera Cloak" (Selig).

M. M., New York City. — Francelia Billington was the girl in "The Mayor's Cru-
sade" (Kalem). Miss Ray was the mother in "The Cowboy and the Baby." Glad you
had a pleasant dream. Good pictures often have that effect ; the other kind sometimes
give us a nightmare.

Marjorie M.— Mildred Weston was the girl in "The Discovery" (Essanay). George
Reehm was the winner, Marguerite Ne Moyer the girl, and Arthur Hotaling Willie in
"Will Willie Win?" (Lubin).

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154 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Irene A.— Hazel Neason was the sister in "The Finger of Suspicion." Irene Boyle
was Alice in "The Game-Warden."

Ethel.— Romaine Fielding was the unknown in "The Unknown" (Lubin). You
can get his picture from Lubin.

M. B.— James Cruze was the judge in "When Mercy Tempts Justice."

R. A. B., Nashville.— You're wrong on your last question.

E. M.— Thomas Santschi and Phyllis Gordon had the leads in "The Lake of
Dreams." Ruth Roland was the girl and Marshall Neilan the younger player in "The
Horse That Wont Stay Hitched." Robert Brower was Colonel De Bellechasse in "The
Non-Commissioned Officer." Elsie McLeod was .the daughter in "The Power of Sleep."

T. B. O., Norwich. — Thanks for your photograph of the Kalems taking one of the
battles in Shenandoah. Very good photograph. Sorry we cant use it in the magazine—
the Kalems might be jealous.

Victoria.— Marian Cooper was the young lady in "The Girl in the Caboose." Eclair
is Independent.

N. W., Pittsburg. — Alice Joyce was the young lady in "The Battle of Wits."

M. H. C, Waco, thinks that Marc McDermott is a poser and is too stagy. Is this
not true of many of the players? There is about one in every fifty who can play so that
he or she appears unconscious of the camera. We suppose that some of the players
will never learn that it is not necessary to keep both shoulders squared to the camera.

Vera C. — Well, the player grew a beard in that play. Tom Carrigan has returned
to Selig.

B. B., Brooklyn. — Does any one know where Anna Rosemond is?

M. D., Cape May. — Harry Benham was Jack in "The Repeater" (Thanhouser).
Marshall Neilan and Ruth Roland had the leads in "The Peace Offering" (Kalem).
No ; George Kleine is the American representative for Eclipse and Cines.

Billy Blue wishes to answer "M. C. S., Savannah," in regard to "From the Bottom
of the Sea" (Imp), released November 20, 1911. William Shay was the player who
was shot from the torpedo tube of the submarine. Brave lad, that! J. W. Johnston
was Jack in "The Man Who Dared" (Eclair). Thanks for the information.

J. S., Chicago, tells us that he likes funny pictures. Guess everybody likes to see
a good comic, but how few they be ! Don't you envy those who can laugh heartily over
some of the alleged comics?

Mildred S. — E. K. Lincoln played in "The Wood Violet." We dont answer Broncho
questions. That company hasn't time to bother answering the questions we cant
answer.

George, Montreal. — Our Photoplay Clearing House will typewrite your scenario
for $1.00. Why not read their ad in the magazine?

A Hello Girl. — Bessie Sankey, maid in "Broncho Billy and the Indian Maid."

"Muttonhead." — We dont like your nom de plume. Octavia Handworth was Vio-
let in "His Second Love." The picture you enclose is of Alice Joyce. Yes.

G. E. S. — Owen Moore is still with Victor. We know there is a player with Bio-
graph who looks like Mr. Moore, but it is not.

A. M., Philadelphia. — Sorry, but we cant answer that Eclair.

P. C, Atlantic City. — Irving Cummings played the part of the twins in "The Man
from Outside." Louise Lester is usually the mother.

H. F., Philadelphia. — James Cruze and Harry Benham both played in "The
Ladder of Life." Kay-Bee are still asleep at the switch. They dont refuse to give
information — simply neglect to.

Edith from Iowa. — Thomas Allen was the fugitive, and Edward Coxen was the
sheriff in "The Fugitive."

Pandora. — In the future, please give your address. Flossie is a schoolgirl and not
a player. Marguerite Gibson was Polly in "Polly at the Ranch."

Rhodisha. — You must read the back numbers. We cant repeat all that informa-
tion. Remember, there are thousands of inquirers besides you, and we have no room
for repeaters.

K. B. G., Rochester. — We know that Willis Secord is playing on Broadway.

M. G., Elmira. — We answered your nineteen questions by mail, and our letter was
returned. Isn't that enough to make a saint weep? Hereafter, give correct address.

Mrs. Van B.— Edna Payne is the Lubin girl. We haven't the cast for "Mother."

Florence M. B.— My, yes! We're acquainted with your writing by this time.
Edwin Carewe was the player with the automobile, but we dont know whom the machine
belonged to. Dont know whether Mr. Carewe owns an auto or not, but he ought to.
W^e cant answer those old Biographs, but we expect to get the casts for all their new
releases. Thanks for the age of that player, but we cant publish that.

H. J. C, East Orange. — Elsie Greeson was the heroine in "The Missing Bonds."

M. E., Dallas.— The picture is of Jane Wolfe.

C. P., Winnipeg.— You seem to get our O. K. on all newspaper reports. Well,
Florence Barker really is dead. She died of pneumonia.

LEARN TO WRITE PK

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If you are not pleased with the course the
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SC£\ASIO WRITERS, LOOK ! Has your scenario
come back ? or have you another ? I will typewrite, revise,
criticize, correct, put your scenario in saleable form, and advise
where to sell, for $1.25. Siories 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. 5c. in coin each. Distant patrons
given special attention. Old Reliable Paul W. Rieker,
1921 Fairmount Ave., Philadelphia, Pa.

Here's to Your Success

Mr. Photoplaywright !

But first, ask yourself, honestly, which troubles you
most when you sit down to write your Photoplay —
how you shall write it, or

WHERE TO GET THE PLOT?

Would you like to learn where you may pick up
one to ten plots every day of your life ?

HERE'S HOW!

(Remember, a good PLOT is a scenario three-quarters sold !)

THE PLOT OF THE STORY

By HENRY ALBERT PHILLIPS

(Foremost Authority on the PLOT; and Scenario Expert
on the Staff of MOTION PICTURE MAGAZINE.)

160 pages — Price, $1.20 — Bound in cloth

This book is endorsed and recommended by al
authorities on Photoplaywriting :

" Originality and treatment of PLOT are the essence o
the successful picture play, and Mr. Phillips points out verj
clearly just how these PLOTS may be obtained."

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Send in your order today, and sell your Photo-
alay tomorrow !

Two Inspiration Books, Same Author, Price 10c.

The Caldron Publishing Company

17S Duffield Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

Photos and Drawings for Sale

Why Not Make a Collection?
It May Be Valuable Some Day

The original photographs, sketches and pen and ink drawings, from which were
made the illustrations that have appeared in this magazine, are for sale — all except
the photos in the "Gallery of Popular Players."

The prices range from 10 cents to $10. Let us know what you want, and we'll
try to fill your order.

Since we have over a thousand of these pictures, we cannot catalog them. Plain,
unmounted photos, 4x5, are usually valued at 20 cents each; 5x7, 30 cents; 10x12, 50
cents; but the prices vary according to their art value. Mounted photos, with hand^-
painted designs around, range from 25 cents to $2 each.

Unless there is a particular picture you want, the best plan is to send us what
money you wish to invest (2-cent or 1-cent stamps, or P. O. money order), naming
several kinds of pictures you prefer, or naming the players you are most interested
in. We may be all out of the kind you want most. Here is a sample letter to guide
you:

"Please find enclosed $1, for which send me some photos. Prefer large, unmounted
ones, and those in which any of the following appear: Johnson, Lawrence, Kerrigan,
Hawley and Fuller. In case you cant give me what I want, I enclose stamp for re-
turn of my money."

Address: Art Editor, M. P. S. Magazine, 175 Duffield St., Brooklyn, N. Y.

156 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

H. P. F. & Co. — Judson Melford's picture in June, 1912. Ruth Roland was the
girl in. "The Sheriff of Stone Gulch.'*' Subscriptions count nothing in the contest. If
you sit down and write out five hundred names and addresses in your own hand-
writing, it counts as one vote.

L. B., Washington. — Herbert Rawlinson was the doctor in "Girl of the Mountains."

C. R. K., Chicago. — Kathlyn Williams is leading lady for the Chicago Selig.

Brondine. — See Warren Kerrigan's chat in this issue.

Veleska. — There was a Fred Tidmarsh with Lubin. You had better communicate
direct with the companies.

June A. — Florence LaBadie's picture in December, 1912. No; Edith Halleran is
not Mrs. Maurice Costello. Anna Nilsson and Marian Cooper are the girls in "His
Mother's Picture."

Geraldine. — Blanche Sweet and Henry Walthall had the leads in "Oil and Water."
Grace Lewis is with Biograph.

Gertrude, Reliance. — The Pathe . picture was taken at New Jersey. Gertrude
Robinson has left Reliance.

C. P., New York. — James Morrison was leading man opposite Clara K. Young in
"A Vitagraph Romance." Hazel Neason was Alice's sister in "A Finger of Suspicion."

Biograph Frank. — "The Little Minister" was taken near Lake George, N. Y.

A. C. C, New York. — Romaine Fielding was Fernandez in "Courageous Blood."

Brooklyn Blondes. — You have Augustus Phillips placed correctly. Arthur John-
son always plays leads, and not minor parts. He did not play as a servant in that
play. Eleanor Caines was Eva in "Once Was Enough." Edith Storey's picture in No-
vember, 1912. , See dictionary. Premium means a prize, reward or recompense.

H. J. J. — We dont happen to know the exact age of Yale Boss.

Frances. — Lamar Johnston and Barbara Tennant were husband and wife in "Dick's
Wife" (Eclair). Gertrude Robinson was the convict's wife in "The Men Who Dared."

L. H. and R. E. — You shouldn't say a man is pretty and cute. You want to say he
is noble and brave.

The Inquisitive Six. — Jessalyn Van Trump was the girl in "The Wanderer"
(American). We dont give addresses.

C. Mc. — Myrtle Stedman was the girl in "How It Happened." The Licensed ex-
hibitors pay an extra fee that the Independent exhibitors do not have to pay.

Olga 17, the Second. — And whence came you? We are glad you are a min-
ister's daughter, and also thank you for your interesting letter. Tell your sister that
Edwin Carewe was the detective.

Hazel Eyes. — Frank Lanning was with Pathe Freres last. Yes, he has called her
several times.

Helen L. R. — Thanks for those clippings. Edna Payne was the girl in "Down on
the Rio Grande." We dont know anything about that glass coffin. Consult an under-
taker. Kathlyn Williams was the girl in "The Lip ton Cup."

Billie. — Clara K. Young was leading lady in "Poet and Peasant." Yes, her eyes
are like the stars of night.

Fayette La V. — We haven't the age of Helen Badgely or Marie Eline. Write to
them, if you want to know badly enough.

Molly, Fall River. — Gwendoline Pates and Charles Arling had the leads in "The
Elusive Kiss." Read above.

G. L., Jersey City. — Francelia Billington was the sweetheart in "A Dangerous
Wager." Marin Sais was the wife in "The Last Blockhouse."

G. M., California. — Thanks for the interview with Marshall P. Wilder. William
J. Shay was George in "Woman's Power" (Imp). He is not the same William Shea
that is with Vitagraph.

Harry C, Newark. — Maybe the editor will print a picture of Van Dyke Brook.
Rose Coghlan is the same one you refer to.

C. L., St. Louis. — Mae Hotely was Mrs. Henry in "The Missing Jewels."

Lynne. — Clara Kimball Young was the girl in "What a Change of Clothes Did."

L. A., Calif. — You may send your scenarios in printed form, since you are a better
linotyper than typewriter.

The Three Bells. — Laura Oakley was Aunt Betty in "Aunt Betty's Revenge."

H. N. G. — When your subscription runs out, just send in your $1.50, and it will be
renewed. Please dont ask what relation James Young is to Clara Kimball Young.
They may be brother and sister ; then, again, they may be father and daughter.

F. L. B., Newark. — Dont blame Crane Wilbur for that. The director probably told
him to do it. Yes, those eyebrows of his are gorgeous.

Ray, 18— My, but you get too personal ! Read this department, and get familiar
with the questions that are asked.

Rhoda T. — Alice Joyce was the stenographer and Tom Moore the son in "Business
Buccaneer."

R. G. S., Rome. — The clipping is not of Marion Leonard, with Monopol.

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You may be acquainted with some of these people or
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158 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

W. K. G., Galveston, says that the manager of the theater she attends continues to
throw advertising slides on the screen, in spite of her protest. In that case, protest
again, and get your friends to protest. If that has no effect, then desert the theater,
and get all your friends to do likewise. We do not approve of hissing and stamping
of feet to show your disapproval, altho in some cases it seems to be the only thing to do.

Evie. — Yes, tell your father to write direct to Charles Kent, care of Vitagraph.
Dont know of any Independent theater near your home.

Vivian R. — You mustn't ask for "the tall, dark, muscular-looking man" and the
"fair-haired, tall woman," etc., for we may not have seen the play. Give the name of
the character, the name of the play and the company, and we'll be with you.

H. C. M., Worcester. — Charles Arthur was Herbert in "The Village Blacksmith."

The Best. — Mrs. Costello sometimes plays under the name of Mae Costello.

Josephine. — Have handed your letter to the editor.

L. B., Montreal. — Thanks for your long letter. You are correct on all questions.

Sunny Sam. — Yes, we have sat in a theater and criticized just as you have done.
We think your letter is very just, and wish some of the manufacturers could see it

C. Josie, N. Y. — It is hard to say if Edith Storey is "on the same footing" with
Florence Turner, and Anna Stewart with Julia S. Gordon. All these ladies have
played leading parts, and hence are called leading women. Some are higher-salaried
than others, and some are considered better players, but it is not for us or for anybody
else to say that one is on a higher footing than the other.

Marjorie M. — Cecille Guyon was Raymond, and Charles Kraus was Dr. Lanning
in "Convicted by Hypnotism" (Eclair). Mildred Bracken was Molly, and Ray Gal-
lagher was Sam in "Molly's Mistake" (Melies). William Shea and Jane Fearnley in
"In A Woman's Power" (Imp).

E. C, Columbus. — Yes; Irving Cummings played both parts.

Flo A., New York. — Lillian Wiggins played opposite Joseph De Grasse in "The
Clutch of Conscience." Oh, yes, Brinsley Shaw directs sometimes; usually when Mr.
Anderson is away.

Pansy. — Elsie Albert was Snow White in "Snow White" (Powers). Mary Pick-
ford did not play in "Oil and Water" ; that was Blanche Sweet.

Bessie, N. J. — Harry Benham and Mignon Anderson were man and wife in "Half
Way to Reno" (Thanhouser). Yes, the editor said he would have a picture of Octavia
Handworth in the gallery soon.

A. E. L., Spirit Lake. — No, we wont tell you you are a "back number" ; we are
always glad to welcome beginners. Arthur Johnson was the maniac, Florence Law-
rence the girl and Albert McGovern her lover in "The Maniac." That was one of the
good old Lubins. When Arthur lost his Florence, it was almost as sad as when Harri-
gan lost his Hart!

J. M. E., Greenwich.— Charles Clary had the lead in "The Man, the Servant and
the Devil" (Selig). The two girls who went to lunch with him were not on the cast.

B. L. D., Chicago. — No, Pathe wont tell us who Mr. Pennan Nick was in "From
Pen to Pick." Maybe they will answer all our questions, now that Biograph is going to.

Jennie, New Rochelle. — We wont give you Wallie Van's real name. What's in a
name? He would be just as cute with another. He is a regular Vitagraph player now.

E. G., Baltimore. — Larmar Johnstone and Miss Averill had the leads in "The
Gallop of Death" (Eclair). James Young wrote "Beau Brummel" for the Vitagraph,
and he also played that part. William Shea was the father in "The Chains of an
Oath." Winnifred Greenwood was the stenographer in "The Cowboy Millionaire."
The picture was taken in Chicago, and the yachting scene was taken on Lake Michigan.
Carl Winterhoff was the cowboy millionaire.

Josh. — Dolores Cassinelli was the girl in "The Girl at the Brook." Lily Brans-
combe has not joined any other company as yet.

C. B. — E. K. Lincoln was the actor in "How Fatty Made Good." Hughie Mack
was the "fat man," and Richard Rosson was the boy who was milking the cow. What?
Hughie better than Bunny? Treason! Ha, ha! He, he! and likewise ho, ho!

E. R., Westport. — Vitagraph says there is no valet in "The Thumb-Print." "The
French Spy" was released June 17, 1912. Yes, and it was a gem. "The Coming of
Columbus" was released on May 6, 1912, but the story of it appeared in this magazine
in 1911. Thanks.

V. S., Ont. — Bryant Washburn and Francis X. Bushman both played in "A Mail-
order Wife" (Essanay).

Florence M. B. — Mae Hotely and Frances Ne Moyer were the girls in "Curing a
Tightwad." A. E. Garcia was the lion-tamer in "The Artist and the Brute." May
Buckley played with Lubin. Sam Bolnik was the boy in "Taking Care of Baby."

L. N., Brooklyn. — Richard Rosson was Zeb in "How Fatty Made Good."

V. P., the Novice. — Jean Darnell was the oldest sister in 'Two Sisters" (Than-
houser). William Garwood was Miss LaBadie's husband in the play. W. A. Williams
played opposite Gwendoline Pates in "At the Burglar's Command."

HAVE YOU FAILED TO SELL

YOUR PHOTOPLAY?

If so, there's a reason!

THE MAGAZINE MAKER

Scenario Department will-tell you how to write and where to sell !

Send 15 cents for a sample copy and full particulars.
Address The Scenario Department

THE MAGAZINE MAKER.
33 Union Square, East New York City

A Square Deal for the Beginner in Scenario Writing

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all for $1. Honest criticism of any script $1. For
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PHOTO=PLAY SYNDICATE, Box 20, Cleveland, 0.

WRITE PHOTOPLAYS.

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A LIBRARY ORNAMENT

Preserve Your Magazines!

The best of magazines soon grow shabby from constant handling, and when they get ragged,
dirty and torn they are not ornamental, and they are often ruined for binding purposes. The
Motion Picture Story Magazine is a magazine that is always preserved— never thrown away. But
to preserve it, a cover is necessary, especially when dozens of persons are to handle it for a whole
month.

Do Not Disfigure Your Magazines

by punching holes in them, but buy one of our celebrated Buchan Binders. They require no holes.
All you need do is to take a coin, turn two screws with it, insert the magazine, turn the screws
a few times the other way, and your magazine is secure, and it will stay there until you take
it out on the 18th of the following month to insert the next number. When we say that this cover
is beautiful and exquisite, we mean just what we say. It is made of thick, suede, limp leather, and
will wear a lifetime. The color is a dainty, rich blue, and on the front, lettered in gold, are the
words, "MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE." Those who cherish this popular magazine will
feel that they MUST have one of these splendid covers the moment they see one.

We Have Two Kinds for Sale

BUCHAN SALES CO., Mfrs., 316 Market St., NEWARK, N. J.

(For reference as to the quality of these binders, we refer you to the managing editor of The

Motion Picture Story Magazine.)

160 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

E. H., Cincinnati. — William Duncan was Bud in "Bud's Heiress."

Mrs. T., San Francisco. — George Gebbart was the bear-hunter in "The Bear-
Hunter" (Pathe). Miss Mason played opposite him. They are located in California.
Write direct to studio in Jersey City for photographs.

D. P., Oldham. — We must buy a gun. A new fool seems to be born every minute.
There is no such thing as patience. And if there is, it is not a virtue.

Sylvia and Vere. — Richard Stanton was Edward in "Linked by Faith" (Melies).
Edgena Delespine was the wife in "Rowdy Comes Home" (Reliance).

D. C, Bennington. — There is more than one magazine; which do you refer to?
Give the right company; the play you name is not an Essanay.

E. T., Cleveland. — The picture is of Alice Joyce.

Anxious, New York. — Earle Metcalf was Capt. Salvada, and Sadie Calhoun was
Senorita Carmelita in "The Price of Jealousy." Beverly Bayne was the stenographer
in "Seeing Is Believing."

The Gee-Gaw. — Perhaps you mean Edith Halleran. She is usually the maid, but
never an old one. Kindly get married, so you will have a new name.

M. M. R. — We believe Mr. Bushman's home is in Pittsburgh. Ethel Clayton is the
girl you refer to. No, we dont speak French. Bon jour!

Kitty V. B. — Bryant Washburn was the cousin in "The Melburn Confession" (Es-
sanay). Charles Brandt was Dr. Maxwell in "Dr. Maxwell's Experiment" (Lubin). So
you think the Greenroom Jotter would make a good obituary writer, because he is
always saying "more sad news." It's part of his business to find out the players who
have just taken the fatal step.

G. P., Baltimore. — Yes, you have them twisted. Alice Joyce never played in
Thanhouser films. Florence LaBadie played in "The Star of Bethlehem," not Alice
Joyce. Get August issue from circulation department, 15 cents.

Olga, 17. — Afraid we cannot accommodate you by telephoning 3000 miles to
Carlyle Blackwell, and tell him you would like to see him oftener in the pictures.
That's her right name — Blanche Sweet, not Daphne Wayne. Earle Foxe was Hastings
in "A Business Buccaneer." We dont know much about the company you name. You
appear to use Isaac Pitman.

Frank C. J. — Bryant Washburn was Paul in "A Broken Heart." Charles Ogle
takes the part of Washington in Edison's historic plays.

B. T., Reading. — You are right. The art of pantomime is not half understood by
many of the players. They dont know how to depict an emotion without imitating a
jumping-jack. Did we say "players"? Perhaps we should have said directors.

L. and Peggy. — Edwin Carewe and Edna Payne had the leads in "Down on the
Rio Grande." Harold Lockwood and Henry Otto were the two men in "Two Men and
a Woman."

Girlie O. K. — That's what we would like to find out — "What makes people ask such
silly questions?" They seem to delight in it, so let them go as far as they like — pro-
vided they dont go too far. Harry Benham was Sherlock Holmes. Charles Gunn was
the doctor in "The Sign of the Four."

D. F., Clinton. — No ; Charles Elder did not take the trip around the world with
the Melies Co. Melies Co. expects to return in about two years. "Romeo and Juliet"
(Pathe Freres) was taken in Italy. Lillian Christy formerly played opposite Edward
Coxen, but she is no longer with American. The Photoplay Magazine is no longer
in existence, we understand. A. W. Thomas is the only one we have, and he is a
good one. What he doesn't know about photoplays is known only by Wm. L. Wright.

Bing. — Florence LaBadie was the little sister in "Two Sisters" (Thanhouser).
The paper you use is all right for scenarios, but white paper is preferable. The size
and quality are good.

Miss, Des Moines. — Mignon Anderson was the big sister in "Big Sister" (Than-
houser). Helen Badgely was the baby. Gertrude Robinson played in "The Bells,"
"Vengeance of Heaven" and "Just Jane." Sidney Olcott was the priest in "Ireland,
the Oppressed."

Mrs. L. F., Brooklyn. — It's too bad, but Mr. Hoagland, of Pathe Freres, wont tell
us who that "handsome boy" was who played as Jimmie in "Jimmie's Misfortune." He
doesn't know a handsome boy when he sees him — that's why, maybe.

Elena C. G. — Guy Coombs and Marian Cooper had the leads in "The Turning
Point" (Kalem), and James McGuire and Anne Schaeffer had the leads in "The Angel
of the Desert." Edgar Jones and Clara Williams had the leads in "The End of the
Feud." Thanks again for that dainty gift.

S. S. K., Denver. — Thanks for your nice letter. We note what you say about Miss
Joyce and Miss Young. Shall tell the editor you want a full view of Miss Young, and
still more of Miss Joyce.

Tellme, Johnstown. — Why not tell your exhibitor to try it? He could change
films three times a week. Very few people attend the pictures two days in succession.

Texas Tommy's Sister.— Bessie Sankey is still playing with Essanay.

It is to your interest

to patronize motion picture theatres that use
General Film Service — that is, if you like clean,
well- acted dramas, comedies that are not repulsive
in their humor, thrilling "Westerns/5 beautiful
film stories of travel in foreign lands, etc. General
Film Service embraces the productions of the ten
leading manufacturers in the industry and irlcludes
all your favorite players — John Bunny, Maurice
Costello, Arthur Johnson, "Broncho Billy,"
"Alkali Ike," and the rest. Always assure your-
self by asking the ticket*seller whether General
Film Service is used. It's your guarantee that the
show is good.

Detective William J. Burns in the
Exposure of the Land Swindlers

is a sample of the films released through the
General Film Co. This is a picture you will
surely want to see. Not only is it a thrilling
story, but it educates as well, since it shows the
modern scientific methods of bringing criminals
to justice. Look for it in your favorite theatre.

GENERAL FILM COMPANY

200 Fifth Avenue, New York

BRANCHES IN* THE PRINCIPAL CITIES

162 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

A W W. W. W— Say, you must have an awful name. Must have been named
after the whole village. Leave off a few of those to save time. Norma Talmadge was
the girl in "An Official Appointment." Julia Mackley was the wife in "The Ranch-
man's Anniversary."

I C Kam loops— A theater should not show Solax pictures where they show
Kalems, etc. Jack Richardson was Orrin Austin in "Another Man's Wife" (American).
Pauline Bush was the girl. Thanks for your very interesting letter.

Dorothy B.— Gertrude Robinson played opposite Irving Cummings in 'The
Peddler's Find." A majority of questions are answered by mail. That is the quickest
way to get answers.

M S Atlanta.— You must think it takes only one day to print a magazine like
ours. You send your questions in around the tenth of April ; they will probably appear
in the June issue. We write answers about twenty-six days every month.

E. J. P. Thanks for the drawing of the Christmas tree, but it is now too late to

use it. We'll be getting up something for next Christmas soon.

J. W., Minn.— Harry Benham was the young man in "A Guilty Conscience.
William Russell was the lawyer in "A Will and a Way."

Trixie A. B. — Jane Fearnley was Cora in "In a Woman's Power." Ruth Stone-
house was the girl in "The Thirteenth Man."

W. D., Spokane. — Mabel Trunnelle was June Fairfax, and Bessie Learn was Grace
in "The Maid of Honor" (Edison). Thank you! Glad you also appreciate this de-
partment. Dont know where that Vitagraph was taken.

Chester, Cleveland. — Mrs. William Todd usually plays opposite Augustus Carney
in the Western pictures. Ruth Roland was the girl in "The Mission of a Bullet."

Flo C. L. — Courtenay Foote was Karma in "The Reincarnation of Karma." "The
Compact" (Pathe Freres) was a double exposure. Fire away with your love for
Carlyle; we are used to it. Th'anks.

Jolly Tar-B. — The Broncho Billy scenarios are written monthly by Mr. Anderson
himself. But if you have anything particularly good in mind, dont think they would
refuse to consider it. Thanks for the P. S.

Doc Eddy. — Alice Joyce was Betsey Ross in "The Flag of Freedom." Edwin
Carewe was Manning, and Isabel Lamon was Nellie in "It Might Have Been." The
nickering of the films is often caused by the operator or by an unsteady projecting
machine. There is no set time when you are to get your questions in, but make it
around the first of the month or earlier, and they are quite sure to go in promptly.

Flo E, — Biographs hereafter; aren't you glad? Essanay are taking pictures every
day in Niles.

E. E. F., Lansing, sends us a photograph of an American flag, on which she has
pasted a number of the actors and actresses taken from our magazine. Very good idea.

Bernice C. — Marie Carewe was Edwin Carewe's sister in "A Girl's Bravery."
Iowa Girl. — The companies dont, as a rule, put the names of child-players on the

cast. You will have to give us the name of that play.

Barbara S. — Questions about relationship strictly prohibited under penalty of the

law. Gwendoline Pates is with Pathe Freres. The Nash sisters' pictures have not

appeared in the gallery. That was an Irish play. Frederick Church and William

Todd were the robbers in "The Moonlight Trail."

F. E. C, Texas. — We know of no company which has pennants for sale.
Miss Billy. — Charlotte Burton was Junie in "Another Man's Wife."

Little Addie. — Evebelle Prout was the servant girl in "His Birthday Jacket."
Bessie Eyton was Atala.

A. B., Columbus. — Those are all trick pictures you are asking about. Get Talbot's
book for that. See ad. in magazine.

G. K. — Romaine Fielding was the lead in that play. That's a new company.
Marguerite V. G. — The Ridgelys are traveling for this magazine. Cant give you

that Path§.

B. J. Clarkson. — Yes ; Arthur Johnson played for Biograph, in the dim and distant
past, before he became famous.

Merle. — Expect to have a picture of Blanche Sweet in the gallery very soon.
Write direct to Essanay, but we dont think they have Vedah Bertram's picture on sale.

Iola P. — You seem to like all the actresses. That's the best way. Be generous
with yourself and like them all.

W. H. S. Trio. — Your letter seems interesting, but we dont know what it is all
about ; hence we are not quite sure of its being interesting.

Babe, III. — You will see Maurice Costello in those new plays very soon. Stuart
Bailey, in thanking us for the prize he received in the Puzzle Contest, says he is a
happy banker, but does not own an aeroplane. Still, we would like to know how he
got that magazine in Canada before most people got it in America.

Frisco Flossie. — Peter Lang was the mayor, and Mrs. George Walters was Madge
in "The Mayor's Waterloo." Ethel Clayton was the wife in "Art and Honor."

INSTRUCTION

THEP

HOTO
LAY
LOT

HOW TO WRITE IT

^___ HOW TO SELL IT

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164 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Monkey Lou, of Kentucky.— What's in a name? Nothing, we hope. No, that was
not the Marion Leonard, of the Biograph, Rex and Monopol, who recently died.

Gertie, Springfield.— Thomas Santschi was Bob, and Herbert Rawlinson was Cal
Cooper in "Shanghaied." The Costello children's picture was in the January, 1913, issue.

Esther R., Texas. — Lamar Johnstone was Charles in "The Love Chase" (Eclair).
Thanhouser are taking pictures in California. Some of the players dont like to let
the public know that they are married, but what difference does that make? Carlyle
Blackwell is leading man for the Glendale Kalem section. Watch out for him. He'll
be around soon.

EVERYBODY. — To save time and to prevent numerous inquiries, our motto on
page 17, "Exegi monumentum cere perennius," means : I have reared a monument more
enduring than bronze.

Eve, Clark sville.— Edward Coxen was Ed Evans in "The Greater Love" (Ameri-
can). Herbert Rawlinson was the parson, Wheeler Oakman the cobbler's son, and
Bessie Eyton the daughter in "The Flaming Forge" (Selig). May Buckley has returned
to pictures, with Selig. Ruth Stonehouse was Margaret in "The Pathway of Years."

L. H. M., III.— Thanks for the fee. Please remember, since you are a newcomer,
that fees are not necessary, but that a postage stamp, or a dime, or whatever you can
spare, is duly appreciated, and that it will insure promptness, and perhaps a wee leetle
more attention. Perhaps you dont know that sometimes an answer takes up a full
hour's time. Again, if the editor finds this department is paying for itself, he may
let us have a few more pages and an assistant to do some of the clerical work. That
was paper snow in "Madeleine's Christmas." We understand Guy D'Ennery is appear-
ing on the stage. So you are very fond of Anthony.

E. R., Brooklyn. — If you write to Majestic, 540 West Twenty-first Street, New
York, you can probably get a picture of Mr. Budworth. Thanks.

G. B., Jamestown. — James Oruze and William Russell are two different people.
Warren Kerrigan was the scion of wealth in "The Romance." Edward Coxen was Bob
in "The Trail of the Cards." Harry Benham was Jack in "Miss Taku of Tokio."
Wallace Reid is directing for American, and the play you mention is the only one he
has played in, for that company.

Pansy. — Thanks for the St. Patrick's postal and also the Easter card. Very
thoughtful of you. We never have a headache ; fire away. Clarence Elmer was Mr.
Hall in "The Higher Duty" (Lubin). Isabel Lamon was the wife, and Edna Payne
was the nurse. Bison gave us those names, so they must be correct. Thanks.

"Ethelyn." — Writing is very fine! Lillian Christy was Rhoda in "Peril of the
Cliffs." We dont know which is the longest photoplay, but "From the Manger to the
Cross" (Kalem) was five reels. Your letter is very interesting. Thanks for the coin.

A New Pest.- — Bessie Learn has not been chatted as yet. Bessie Eyton was the
girl in "A Revolutionary Romance." Thank you.

O. C. S>. — Yes, that's a good idea, to petition the manager. Vitagraph will give
you her address. Your letter is very witty. Thank you.

Allegro Ceite. — We believe Warren Kerrigan will remain in California. Warren
Kerrigan was the sheriff in "The Silver-Plated Gun." See his chat in this issue. He
has played for Essanay.

Bright Eyes. — We never heard that Courtenay Foote's nose interferes with his
kissing. You seem to have your troubles. Cheer up, little one. Thanks for the coin.

Mrs. T. T., Iowa. — There are five Lubin companies. Brookes McCloskey was
Jimmie in "His Children." Lubin have her photograph for. sale, or see ad. pages.

H. C. — We believe Louise Vale is still with Rex.

J. O. C. — Thank you for your very interesting letter, but we cannot print it, as it
would take up a whole page.

Jinks. — Yes ; Madame Alberti is a dramatic teacher and a teacher of pantomime.
Edith Storey chat in November, 1912.

H. C. — George Cooper has been with Vitagraph about two years. He is the
champion lightweight "burglar" in picturedom. Edward Coxen was the bachelor in
"The Bachelor's Bride."

E. C. H., Brooklyn. — We dont know whether "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" has
been done in pictures. Almost impossible to make sure. "Rip Van Winkle" has been
done twice.

Evie.— Jane Wolfe played opposite Carlyle Blackwell in "The Redemption."

Esther. — You mustn't ask us such questions; try again.

S. H., Miss.— Ruth Stonehouse was Ruth in "Chains."

George.— Irene Boyle was the girl in "A Fire Coward." We did not see it.
Richard Ridgely was the player who fought with Mary Fuller in "A Will and a WTay."

Etta C. P.— John Bunny and Kate Price had the leads in "The Man Higher Up."
Yes ; Harry T. Morey was the tramp in "The Man Higher Up."

Bennie Z.— Myrtle Stedman and William Duncan had the leads in "The Gun-
Fighters."

pathes Weekly

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and reproduces, thousands of miles away,
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PATHE'S WEEKLY

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with the " pages" turned for you while
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PATHE'S WEEKLY

Speaks an intelligible language to every
nationality, and makes its appeal to people
of every tongue, race, creed or age, and
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If It's Interesting It's In

PATHE'S WEEKLY

The Motion Picture Story Magazine has bought a new home for itself, and expects
to move all departments thereto on or before May 1st. The new address will be
No. 175 Duffield Street, Brooklyn, N. Y., which is near all car-lines, and within
a block of the subway, Hoyt Street Station.

Florence Turner has left the Vitagraph Company, and will shortly form a company
of her own in England, under the direction of Larry Trimble.

Here's joyful news for you, oh, fans and enthusiasts ! The Biograph Company has
supplied this magazine with a full set of portraits of their players! The June issue
Players' Gallery will contain many of them, and every month hereafter Biograph will
be well represented. Could any news be more delightful than that?

More good news ! Gilbert M. Anderson, alias Broncho Billy, the notorious Western
desperado of the Essanay Company, has, at last, been captured by our interviewer,
and his chat will appear in the June number.

Edwin August, of Biograph-Lubin-Powers fame, is with the Western Vitagraph
Company, and both are happy.

Mr. Marc MacDermott, of the Edison Company, met with a painful but not serious
accident a short time ago in making a picture in which he was required to slash a
portrait with a penknife. In taking the scene, the knife slipped and penetrated his
left wrist, making a deep wound which bled profusely. "Mac" pluckily wrent thru
the entire scene, howrever, without letting the blood appear, but he had to do the
closing "embrace" with one arm to keep from spoiling Miss Fuller's gown.

We may expect a real Japanese treat this month— "The Wrath of Osaka," posed
for by Costello and his "Globe-Trotters" in Yokohama.

Melies Company, which is touring the world, has dismissed its American actors
and actresses, and hereafter only native players will appear in these popular round-
the-world pictures, under the direction of Gaston Melies.

Nero, the Vitagraph lion, will play the "heavy" in that dear old classic, "The Lady
and the Glove." Julia Swayne Gordon has consented to be the lady, but no one has
volunteered to play the gallant who leaps into the arena after her glove.

The new Bulgarian gowns broke into pictures before even their stage advent,
according to the not-to-be-disputed evidence of the film as presented in Thanhouser
productions in which Marguerite Snow and Mignon Anderson have appeared. Other
smart and all-fashionable toilettes seen in recent Thanhousers are the imported
esponge, faille, shepherd plaid and Parisian street costumes, noted on Flo LaBadie,
Jean Darnell, Grace Eline and Lila Hayward Chester.

J. Stuart Blackton, of the Vitagraph Company, is in Italy. His companion is a
celebrated artist, and sketching, painting and rest are the object of the sojourn.

William Wadsworth, the well-known comedian of the Edison Company, has got it
"in" for his director, C. Jay Williams. In a recent picture, "Waddy" had to slide down
a coal-chute into a coal-cellar, and Williams told him he would pour about a bucketful
of coal over him to make it look right. Instead of a bucketful, the quantity that came
down about covered "Waddy," and he said when he came out: "I wish I had half as
much coal in my bin at home as you shot down on my head."

No; Guy Coombs has not been killed. He has met his death valiantly on the
Motion Picture battlefield several times, and his realistic demise in "The Grim Toll of
War" has brought a flood of solicitous inquiries.

Ruth Roland recently visited an encampment of the State militia during target
practice, and put some of the marksmen to shame with her skill in handling the rifle.

166

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The fact that you have read this, indicates that you
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is just what we want all readers to do; and since you
have done so without being asked, the reward is yours.
If you will cut this out and pin it to a piece of paper
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your favorite photoplayer it will count for fifty votes
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168 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

John R. Cumpson, who became famous in the Edison "Bumptious" series, and late
of the Imp Company, died on March 15th.

Alice Joyce is looking for an interpreter to read a postcard which she has received
from an admirer in Japan of her work.

Josie Saddler, the popular stage comedienne, has become a regular Vitagrapher.

Harold Shaw has returned to New York, and is now directing for the Imp Company.

Let it here be remarked, out of courtesy to the Answer Man, that this department
goes to press last; hence the news is given down to about the 24th of the month,
whereas most of the Answer Department goes to press a week or two earlier, which
makes some of the answers differ with the Jottings.

May Buckley, formerly of the Lubin Company, has joined the Selig Company.

Florence Ashbrook, whose finished posing has been seen in Vitagraph pictures from
time to time, has joined the company.

You have noticed Marshall Neilan's skill at make-up, have you not? This clever
Kalem comedian at Santa Monica has appeared in a wide range of parts recently,
which attests his versatility.

Jane Fearnley, leading woman of the Imp Company, was recently "rescued from
drowning" by a citizen witness, and thereby hangs the tale of a spoiled picture.

Mr. G. M. Anderson wires this magazine that he would like to have his name
withdrawn from the Popular Player Contest. The editor says he would do anything in
the world for Mr. Anderson except to grant this particular request, which is quite
impossible. If people persist in voting for Broncho Billy, we cant disfranchise them.

Yes, bathing in the surf and posing on the boardwalk in summer nothingness in
April. Director Angeles has sent us a postcard from the Vitagraphers in Atlantic
City, hinting at such doings.

Tom Moore will not return to the legitimate stage, he announces. He is enthu-
siastic about his work in the Kalem productions. And why shouldn't he be?

Animal players are getting unpopular — not with the public, but with the other
players. And no wonder — they are so inconsiderate! Only last month Captain Jack
Bonavita, the great animal trainer with the World's Best Film Company, lost his left
arm as a result of an encounter with "Baltimore," Coney Island's notorious wild lion.

The American Company has purchased the right to Stewart Edward White's
"Ashes of Three."

The pretty and agile Vitagraph Twins, Florence and Edna Nash, and Wally Van,
the pocket comedian, have been dubbed the "Pony Trio."

If you miss Ruth Stonehouse from the Essanay pictures for a short while, you will
know that it is because that young lady fell a prey to an attack of scarlatina. Quite
well now, thank you.

John Bunny is very proud because he has had a cigar named after him. Humph !
that's nothing ! Henry Clay had a pipe named after him.

Fred Mace, of the Keystone Company, is announced as a lover of prize-fights. He
has taken "Big Ed Kennedy" under his official wing, and since Mr. Mace tips the
scales at 200 and has considerable skill with the gloves, perhaps the Keystone is pre-
paring a "white hope."

A feature of the Screen Club ball on April 19th will be a beautiful art souvenir
that is being prepared by J. W. Farnham.

Clara Kimball Young, while in Hongkong, delivered a lecture at the European
Y. M. C. A. on "The Merchant of Venice."

The Universal Company has given out what purports to be a "life history" of Billy
Quirk, the comedian. It begins with "He was born March 28, 18—," the date being left
blank. Anyway, we are glad to know that Mr. Quirk is a last-century plant.

Those who think Flo LaBadie and William Russell cant do real rough-riding will
have all doubts dispelled when they see these popular players in Thanhouser's "Won
at the Rodeo."

James Lackaye, a brother of Wilton Lackaye, is the most recent Vitagraph cap-
ture from the regular stage. He will be featured in the "Bingles" series of pictures.

Mary Fuller's latest are in "Kathleen Mavourneen," "The Dean's Daughter,"
"With the Eyes of the Blind," "When the Right Man Comes Along" and "When Greek
Meets Greek," and she seems to be just a wee bit proud of them.

Bessie Eyton's hobby is swimming. Scarcely a day passes when she does not take
a swim in the waters around Los Angeles. She is a champion swimmer and holds
several records.

Alas for her many admirers, Kathlyn Williams is married. So is Jam©* Cruze.

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Popular Player Contest

of the

Motion Picture Story Magazine

Ten Votes for

170 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Van Dyke Brooke camped out on "Crow Hill," Brooklyn, the home of a nest of
squatters, for the outdoor scenes of his "O'Hara" pictures. Mr. Brooke will depict
O'Hara, the lovable peacemaker and philosopher of Shantytown in a series of pictures.

Carlyle Blackwell's fondness for Indian stories is well known about the Kalem
studio in Glendale, Cal. When a new Indian scenario arrives from the New York
editor, Mr. Blackwell immediately appropriates it and locks himself in his dressing-
room. He is not seen again until he has carefully studied his part.

In the "Mary" picture of the Edison Company series, Which will be released in
June, there is a thrilling automobile race against time where the "villains" are trying
to intercept Mary at a certain railroad junction. When the scene was taken, all the
regular chauffeurs were out with other directors, and Mr. Brabin impressed into service
one of the regular camera men, Mr. Thomas Russell Brown, who is an expert driver.
Brabin's instructions were "Give her plenty of speed, Brownie — make it realistic," and
he did. Said Charles Ogle and Barry O'Moore when they got out of the machine:
"Well, if this looks half as realistic as it felt, it will certainly be a thriller, as we
seemed only to be touching the high spots."

Did you notice the all-star cast in Kalem's "A Mississippi Tragedy"? Every one
of the favorites in the three Jacksonville companies had something important to do in
this big drama.

Grey Eagle, the famous unridden broncho of Bison, has just killed himself and
severely injured his rider, young Schentz, by slipping on the city asphalt after a wild,
insane drive across the mountain gullies and cliffs.

William Walters, of the Chicago Essanay Company, for the first time in his thirty-
two years' experience on the stage and screen, has just played the part of an Indian.

Robert Leonard, formerly leading man of the Selig Company, is now with Bison.

King Baggott (Imp) has a prominent protegee in the person of Edith Haldeman.
When she first applied for a position and was refused, she cried real bitter, salt tears ;
then she was accepted, and now she is an Imp leading lady.

A "super," who took part in one of Kalem's military productions, owes his life to
Marion Cooper, who dived into the St. John's River and rescued the ambitious amateur.
Miss Cooper was not working in the picture, but saw the affair from a distance, and
altho attired for an afternoon reception, she did not hesitate.

Henry Pollard, the popular Rex lead, recently passed thru a harrowing experience.
In the film "Until Death," he was realistically buried under a landslide, thru which a
rubber tube was run to enable him to breathe. But a falling boulder choked the tube,
and Pollard was dug out from beneath the sand, unconscious and nearly dead.

Helen Case, formerly of the Western Vitagraph Company, is doing some excellent
rough-riding for the Bison Company.

President Wilson is an interested "fan." Why? He asked to see the film of the
inauguration parade, and was delighted with the result. This is the first time the
ceremony has been filmed.

Princess Mona Darkfeather is said to be one of the highest salaried actresses on
the screen. Still, dont all the publicity men say this about everybody?

The Selig Company gives out the following list of its popular players : Charles
Clary, Lyllian Leighton, Winifred Greenwood, Adrienne Kroell, Frank Weed, Jack
Nelson, Carl Winterhoff, Harry Lonsdale, Tom Carrigan, Rose Evans, Lillian Logan,
George L. Cox, William Stowell, John Lancaster, Julius Frankenberg, Timmy Sheehan,
Henry Otto, "Baby" Lillian Wade, William Duncan, Myrtle Stedman, Lester Cuneo,
Rex de Rosselli, Tom Mix, Hobart Bosworth, Kathlyn Williams, Bessie Eyton, Thomas
Santschi, Herbert Rawlinson, Al Ernest Garcia., Frederick Huntley, Eugenie Besserer,
Lillian Hayward, George Hernandez, Harold Lockwood, Wheeler Oakman and Frank
Clarke.

Miss Lois Weber wrote, as well as took the feminine lead in "Until Death," in
which Henry Pollard was so nearly killed.

Marjorie Ellison, recent lead in "The Last Dollar" company on the stage, has come
across into screenland with Majestic.

With Wilfred Lucas, formerly a director with the Biograph Company, and Otis
Turner, Phillips Smalley, Lois Weber and Ethel Grandon, formerly of the 101 Bison
Company, now joining forces with the Rex Company, a strong company is promised.

The Clock Puzzle cartoon that appeared in the April issue of this magazine is
attracting lots of attention. Next month we shall print a few of the clever answers.

J. B. Sherry, the handsome lead of Kay-Bee, is a wonderful rifle-shot. He holds
several amateur records and delights to enter a rifle competition as a dark horse and
amaze the experts.

LAST CALL

For the Twelve Beautiful Portraits
of Motion Picture Players

FREE TO SUBSCRIBERS ONLY

AY 7ITH the May number of The Motion Picture Story Magazine
we shall discontinue inserting colored portraits of picture players
in magazines going to subscribers.

The June, 1912, issue was the first number containing these colored portraits and
since that date each copy going to subscribers has contained one. The series of twelve
portraits ends with the May, 1913, number.

However, owing to an over-run on the part of our printer we have on hand a
limited supply of these portraits, and will now send out to each new subscriber a
complete set of these portraits immediately on receipt of subscription, until the supply
is exhausted.

These exquisite portraits are lifelike reproductions from photographs in many colors,
and represent the best in the printer's and engraver's art. They are printed on fine
calendered paper of size suitable for framing, and are appropriate in every way for
home decoration. They are not for sale, and if they were, the price would be at
least 50 cents each. It is only by printing in large quantities that we are able to make
this exceptional offer:

12 portraits valued at - $6.00 L. .. , , <*--,*

i u • *• * *u • ticA f $7.50 for only $1.50

1 subscription to the magazine, $1.50 )

The twelve portraits are : Alice Joyce, Maurice Costello, Arthur Johnson, Mary
Fuller, Carlyle Blackwell, G. M. Anderson, Mildred Bracken, Francis X. Bushman,
Florence Lawrence, Marion Leonard, Gwendolen Pates and Florence Turner.

Dont delay until the supply is exhausted, but order now. Just fill out blank
below and mail with remittance.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

175 DUFFIELD STREET, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

Gentlemen: Enclosed please find $1.50 ($2.00 Canada, $2.50 Foreign), for which please send
me THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE for one year, beginning with , 1913,

including the 12 colored portraits of Motion Picture Players.

Name.. :

Street : . City State

'®

172

POPULAR PLAYER CONTEST

(Continued from page 122)
Roy B. Cook, of Chicago, 111., writes this clever verse for Mabel Normand :

TO MISS NORMAND.

Who is the maiden I like the best

Of all the films I see?
The problem is hard for one to guess,

But Miss Normand's the one for me.

There isn't a doubt as to her fame,
For once her face you've seen,

You'll always remember the big, black eyes
Of the Motion Picture queen.

Oh ! she is the prettiest, she is the wittiest,

She's the one I like to see.
Oh ! she is the dearest girl there is —

Miss Normand's the one for me.

The Battle of the Ballots

A count of the votes was made, just before going to press, and we find
many changes in the contest since last month. Several players have received
five hundred votes in one envelope, Alice Joyce having thus been honored
more than once. Some enthusiasts, however, have sent in several sheets of
paper containing the names and addresses of hundreds of persons, but all
in the same handwriting. We are sorry to say that such votes are not credited.
There is no objection to securing five hundred votes or more all on one sheet
or on several sheets, but each voter must personally sign with name and
address, and each sheet must contain, at the top, the name of the player
voted for.

The contest is young yet, and it is hardly under way. Many popular
players have thus far received only a few votes, but the returns, as given
below, will probably arouse all of the enthusiasts during the coming month,
and the June issue will be awaited with interest. On March 24th, at 6 P. M.,
the players who had received more than 200 votes were as follows :

STANDING OF THE PLAYERS

Alice Joyce (Kalem) 9,244

Warren Kerrigan (American) 5,881

Earle Williams ( Vitagraph ) 5,002

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Arthur Johnson (Lubin) 4,31G

G. M. Anderson (Essanay) 4,184

Ormi Hawley (Imbin) 3,690

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Maurice Costello (Vitagraph) 3,158

Lillian Walker (Vitagraph) 2,942

Francis Bushman 2,122

Edith Storey (Vitagraph) 1,992

Whitney Raymond (Essanay) 1,830

Florence Lawrence 1,668

E. K. Lincoln (Vitagraph) 1,632

Mary Fuller (Edison) 1,450

Clara K. Young (Vitagraph) 1,406

Helen Costello (Vitagraph) 1,294

Mary Pickf ord 1,262

Crane Wilbur (Pathe Freres) 1,250

Muriel Ostriche (Reliance) 1,054

Gwendoline Pates (Pathe Freres).. . 1,042
Florence LaBadie (Thanhouser) . . . . 1,040

Adele De Garde (Vitagraph) 1,030

Paul Panzer (Pathe Freres) 1,016

Gertrude Robinson ( Victor) 984

Edwin August (Vitagraph) 962

Marguerite Snow (Thanhouser) .... 780
Pauline Bush (American) . , . ,,,,.,, 754

Ruth Roland (Kalem) 750

Pearl White (Crystal) 748

Guy Coombs (Kalem) 706

Blanche Sweet (Biograph) 634

Romaine Fielding (Lubin) 632

Leah Baird (Vitagraph) 628

Harry Myers (Lubin) 586

Dolores Cassinelli (Essanay) 546

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Frederick Church (Essanay) 460

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Marc MacDermott (Edison) 338

Robert Vignola (Kalem) 320

Harry Beaumont (Edison) 314

George Gebhardt (Pathe Freres)... . 312

Charles Arthur (Lubin) 292

William Mason (Essanay) 262

Thomas Moore (Kalem) 256

Jack Clark (G. G. Co.) 254

John Bunny (Vitagraph) 250

Beverly Bayne (Essanay) 246

Julia S. Gordon (Vitagraph) 228

James Cruze (Thanhouser). 222

J. B. Budworth (Majestic) 220

Louise Glaum (Nestor) 204

W- Chrystie Miller (Biograph) . 202

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174

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MOVING PICTURES

HOW THEY ARE MADE AND WORKED
By FREDERICK A. TALBOT

THE BOOK OF THE YEAR

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THE MOTION PICTURE STOKY MAGAZINE

TABLE OF CONTENTS, JUNE, 1913

GALLERY OF PICTURE PLAYERS:

PAGE

Norma Talmadge (Vitagraph) i

Victoria Forde (Universal) 2

Blanche Sweet (Biograph) 3

Henry Walthall (Biograph) ...4

Florence LaBadie (Thanhouser) 5

Dolores Cassinelli (Essanay) 6

\V. Chrystie Miller (Biograph) 7

W. J. Btvtler (Biograph) 7

Betty Gray (Pathe Freres) 8

Anna Q. Nilssotr (Kalem) 9

Grace Lewis (Biograph) 10

Mary Fuller (Edison) .< 11

Barney Gilmore (Solax) 12

Frederick Church (Essanay) 13

John Bunny (Vitagraph) 14

Ethel Clayton (Lubin) 15

Mabel Normand (Keystone) 16

PHOTOPLAY STORIES:

The Ashes of Three Donald Beers 17

Two Social Calls. . . Karl Schiller 23

A Yaqui Cur ., . . .- Claribel Egbert 29

Brightened Sunsets .Rodothy Lennod 37

The Frozen Trail Edwin M. La Roche 45

The Battle for Freedom ". Henry Albert Phillips 56

A Concerto for the Violin Dorothy Donnell 65

Carmen Leona Radnor 73

The Black Trackers : Peter Wade 81

Sweets to the Sweet Fritz Krog 91

The Vampire oi the Desert Norman Bruce 98

(Note: These stories were written from photoplays supplied by Motion Picture

manufacturers, and our writers claim no credit for title and plot. The name of the
playwright is announced when known to us.)

SPECIAL ARTICLES AND DEPARTMENTS:

All the Popular Players C. W. Fryer 90

Musings of "The Photoplay Philosopher" 108

The Appeal of "Beulah Land" William Lord Wright 112

Popular Player Contest 113

Another Feather in Her Cap A. B. Shults 119

A New Picture Star Appears Leslie Elton 120

Chats with the Players 121

How Long Will the Public Tolerate This ? C. W. Fryer 126

The Fifth Estate Earle Tree 127

Answers to Inquiries 128

Greenroom Jottings 166

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

J. Stuart Blackton, President; E. V. Brewster, Sec.-Treas. Subscription, $1.50 a year
in advance, including postage in the U. S., Cuba, Mexico and Philippines; in Canada, $2;
in foreign countries, $2.50. Single copies, 15 cents, postage prepaid. Stamps accepted
(2 or 1 cent stamps only). We do not want scenarios, stories and plots except when
ordered by us; these should be sent to the Photoplay Clearing House (see advertisement).

Subscribers must notify us at once of any change of address, giving both the old and
the new address.

STAFF FOR THE MAGAZINE:
Eugene V. Brewster, Managing Editor. C. W. Fryer Staff Artist

SvDoLnane1irhe,}Asso-iate Edit<*S. £?y N^aT ^ Circ^ation M*nager.

JJorotriy Uonnell, J Abram Lott, Advertising Manager.

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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE, 175 Dnffield St., Brooklyn, N. ¥.

lain i||D||i=====3||D||i;^^^=g[n][jff^^^Hnj

After reading these stories, ask your theater manager to show you the films on the screen!

VICTORIA FORDE

(Universal)

BLANCHE SWEET
(Biograph)

HENRY WALTHALL (Biograph)

FLORENCE LABADIE (Thanhouser)

■HI*

J. BUTLER J
mimimmim'wmS,

(Biograph)

BETTY GRAY
(Pathe Freres)

ANNA Q. NILSSON
(Kalem)

GRACE LEWIS

(Biograph)

Ethel Clayton

H Si (lubin)

■

MABEL NORMAND (Keystone)

mnvranv&ffim.

MOTION PTCTURB

1 * STORY

MAGAZINE

JUNE, 1913

>\rr'

No. 5

The Ashes of Three

(American)

By DONALD BEERS
This story was written from the Photoplay of STEWART EDWARD WHITE

Cexter Gulch drowsed in midday
lassitude, deserted the length of
its single, staggering street, ex-
cept for a slatternly cur who con-
taminated the air with ochre clouds of
adobe and sand in a frantic assault on
a prairie dog 's burrow, and a ragged,
unkempt man who lounged at the
door of the One-Horse Saloon, sneer-
ing upon his sole companion's activ-
ity. Above them a desert sun tingled
fiercely in the center of a cobalt,
desert sky. In line with the man's
vision towered a savage phalanx of
mountains, the nearest gashed with a
granite-strewn gulch, from whose
jaws seemed to have issued the two
rows of tumble-clown cabins which
comprised the town.

But Bud Halworth was neither
sneering at the dog nor thinking of
him. Behind his low forehead
crouched the cowed memory of his
mother dying, miserably as she had
lived, in the worst of the shacks about
him. His sneer was the visible ex-
pression of his meditations. The
feeble thoughts his brain fumbled
with were mostly doubts whether his

mother's death could change the drab
fate with which her life had burdened
him.

Taking its cue from places much its
betters, Center Gulch had long ago
numbered both his mother and him-
self among the undesirables of its
society. Except for a good-natured
widow, who was nursing the stricken
outcast, no one in the community
had ever accorded them the Christ-
gift of a kind word, and even this
Good Samaritan had shown them
scant courtesy and her charity was
grudging.

Society's decrees have a family
resemblance wherever they are found.
From them who have not it withdraws
freely the little that they have, there-
by registering itself as a friend of
morality. Bud Halworth and his
mother were social exiles. For she
had lived a life of shame, and he had
been born to her of an unknown
father.

The syllogistic fact that he, like the
rest of the world, had been utterly
powerless to select his own destiny
had not served to save him from the

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

judgment visited on her. The social
instinct of the camp was too crude to
draw nice distinctions. He was the
son of his mother. That had been
enough to damn him.

Thruout his neglected babyhood he
had been the sullen butt of a raw
humor. As a youth he had been
despised and taunted. As a man he
was denied the rights of a man; was
tolerated only in times of unusual

THE GOOD-FOR-NOTHING

generosity, and barred from every
kindly opportunity of climbing up
out of the mire of his life.

The result was the coarse, stupid
and sullen thing sagging against the
saloon door. It possessed the years
and the stature of a man, handsome,
in spite of the filthy rags which
clothed it like a uniform of degrada-
tion. But the temple of the clay was
empty, and no soul dwelt within.

As he lounged there in the deserted
street, his eyes fixed dully on the dog,
and his face marked with hopeless
thinking, a horse's swift hoofs spat-
tered thru his musing, and he turned

his head to see a solitary horseman
galloping toward him in a haze of red
dust. As the newcomer came nearer,
Bud recognized him as the town
marshal, Tom Haley, a tall, spare
man, in a wide-rimmed sombrero,
chaps and a buckskin vest, on which
the badge of his office was conspic-
uously displayed like a defiance to
sin. He was mounted on a cow-pony,
whose heaving flanks and wet chest
told of hard riding.

"Bud," said the marshal, as he
sighted the limp figure before the
saloon and leaped to the ground with-
out the formality of stopping,
' ' whar 's Missis Brown ? ' '

" 'Tendin' maw," Bud answered
briefly.

Haley gnawed a long moustache
which flopped from his upper lip,
while his expression of acute pain de-
noted that he was thinking.

"Bud," he continued uneasily, at
length, "yuh listen to me now; yuh
listening "

Bud nodded sullenly, suspecting
trouble.

"Yuh go and tell Missis Brown,"
said the marshal, as if he were giving
instructions to a child, "that we run
acrost the Terror yender in th' hills.
Yuh know him?"

Bud, as well as everybody else for
miles around Center Gulch, knew the
Terror for the most lawless, most
daring, most pitiless marauder who
had ever filched property and life in
this region.

"Yuh tell Missis Brown that we
run acrost his trail, and her son, 'low-
ing he'd git him, went off alone, and
we found him yestidy along toward
sundown with a hole in his chest. ' '

"Dead?" asked Bud, with a vague
flash of interest.

"Deader 'n a doornail. The boys '11
be here d'rectly with the body, and
now you run along and tell Missis
Brown. I caint do it."

It was characteristic of Haley, who
carried a coward's heart under the
flashing badge, to unburden this un-
comfortable message upon the one
man in Center Gulch least likely to
convey it to Mrs. Brown with due

THE ASHES OF THREE

consideration of her feelings. Bnt the
shrinking fear that she would blame
him for her son's reckless courage in
seeking the Terror alone made him
doubly anxious to avoid her. So he
left the duty of breaking the news of
her loss to Bud, and Bud shambled
away to perform it, little thinking
how his fate swung in the balance of
his act,

Knowing that Mrs. Brown was
probably still at his mother's bedside,
Bud headed for his home, a tumble-
down cabin on the edge of the desert.
As he neared it, he could see, thru the
one paneless window, the stout figure
of the Good Samaritan, and beside her
a tall man, in a long, black coat, whom
he recognized as the circuit minister.
His message hesitated at the sight of
this unfamiliar visitor, and he was
fumbling for unready words when
Mrs. Brown saw him.

A certain sad light in her eyes, as
they rested on him, sent a vague
thrill of uneasiness thru him.

"Bud " she whispered — then

stopped.

In a tense moment he understood,
and stumbling forward, he stood at
his mother's bedside. She lay there
as he had seen her for weeks past, a
white-faced, emaciated shadow of a
woman. But now the shadow was
severed from the substance. She did
not open her eyes, and when he
touched her waxen features they
were icy cold.

"You pore boy !"

It was Mrs. Brown who spoke
again, but, in the dizzy swaying of his
world, her words slipped by unheeded.
The truth had dawned on him that
his mother, his one companion in the
lonely universe, was dead, and in that
realization a mighty flood of feeling
engulfed his senses. And now, dumb
brute that he was, his first contact
with death unnerved him. "With a
cry partly of pain and partly of
horror, he turned and fled from the
dread Presence, the purpose which
had brought him to the cabin for-
gotten with all other things.

Like some hunted rat he scuttled
thru the pitiless town, out across the

stark desert, and into the yawning
mouth of the gulch, as if in its chasms
he hoped to escape the awful Some-
thing which seemed to pursue him.
It was behind him even here, however,
drenching him with the clammy sweat
of fear, clogging his feet into blind
straying, urging him deeper and
deeper into the rock-bound cleft —
into the eyeless dark, where he could

YOU PORE BOY

forget the visual horror of the dead
face he had left behind.

As the minister and Mrs. Brown
discussed his strange and violent de-
parture, they came to the conclusion
that some one should follow the
fright-drugged man, lest he should
come to harm in his mad flight. Mrs.
Brown volunteered to do this, for,
being mountain-born, she knew the
trails well. Her goodness of heart
prompted her, and the mother-sym-
pathy of a son-blessed woman was
touched at Bud's sorrow.

She had seen him disappear up the
gulch, and judging that she might

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

THE COWARD

have far to go, she stopped at her
own little house to saddle her horse,
a gentle cow-pony retired from a
long and honorable service on the
ranges. Mounted on this veteran, in
an old-fashioned side-saddle, she
spurred after the fugitive. As Haley,
the only man in town who knew of
her son's death, had sought the liquid
aid of the saloon in drowning his un-
comfortable reflections, she started
away utterly unaware of the terrible
tidings which Bud had so peculiarly
miscarried, and which was being even
then borne on a stretcher to her
bereaved home.

Bud, dazed and terror-ridden, con-
tinued on his flight until near sunset,
when the sight of a man on a horse
approaching him on the narrow trail
in the gulch brought him to a sudden
halt. They were luckily some distance
from him, and this gave his befuddled
wits time to work before he himself

was seen. In a twinkling he decided
that this oncoming stranger must be
the Terror, and acting on this purely
intuitive conclusion, he hid himself
between two boulders near at hand.

The man on the horse proved to be
a thick-set fellow, with a black beard,
heavily armed with two revolvers,
their holsters tied down, and a
Winchester thrust in a rifle-boot.
His horse, bearing his weight and
a heavy Mexican saddle, looked
very much worn and wind-blown and
stumbled frequently over the rocks.
As Bud had surmised, altho he did
not know it until afterwards, this
dark-browed threat was the Terror,
bound for Center Gulch to steal a
substitute for his useless mount and
make a clean getaway from his latest
murder, for which he knew only too
well he would be hunted and hanged
to the nearest tree if he were unwise
enough to be caught.

THE ASEES OF TEREE

The paralyzing suspicion of the out-
law's identity caught at Bud's breath
as the man approached nearer, and he
had presently to face an added alarm
lest the stranger should camp near
him for the night. This became a
miserable conviction when the Terror
stopped beside his rat-hole of a hid-
ing-place and, dismounting stiffly,
dragged the saddle from the heaving
horse, unlashed a grub-sack and began
gathering wood to start a fire. The
marauder was planning, in fact, to
enjoy his supper and then to ride into
town under the wise cover of the
heavy desert darkness.

As one movement followed another,
strengthening the belief that the
Terror intended to remain here, Bud's
terror grew by choking leaps and
bounds. He lay inert between the'
rough arms of the rocks, his heart
pounding as tho it would burst the
walls of his chest, his face wet with a
cold film of fear, his great body
shaken with the twitching of his

muscles. If he had known a prayer,
he would have uttered it. In the
absence of such knowledge he merely
hoped that he might die.

Suddenly, in the grip of his agony,
Bud heard, far away, a faint halloo
tinkling along the sky, and a moment
later, as it was repeated, he was
thunderstruck to make out his name.
The Terror heard it, too, and leaped
to startled feet, a grim revolver
gripped in each hand, and his eyes
questioning the dusk, which was now
beginning to fill the gulch with masses
of filmy haze. As the call echoed
down the pass a third and fourth time,
he discovered its direction, and re-
moving his Winchester from its boot,
sat down to wait, like Death grinning
in limitless patience. Bud, too, was
completely at a loss to explain who
the approaching one might be.

As she jogged up the trail, the
Widow Brown shouted Bud's name
aloud from time to time. She had
nearly determined to retrace her path

THE HERO

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

on account of the snare of the dark-
ness, when she rounded a boulder and
caught sight of the Terror. Seeing
only the vague outline of a man in
the gloom, she uttered a welcoming
cry and urged her horse forward.

As she wound nearer over the rocks,
Bud recognized her. At the same
time he saw the Terror coolly draw a
bead on her. That she was a woman
influenced the outlaw not at all. In
the most cold-blooded manner he pre-
pared to shoot her, reasoning, if he
reasoned at all, that she would cause
him no trouble dead and might cause
him a great deal alive.

In that instant the soul dormant in
Bud Halworth was awakened. Begin-
ning with the strange new sight and
touch of death, followed by the mad
flight thru the mountains, and now by
this near presence of wanton murder,
a sea of frothing emotions had been
sweeping over him. From the crucible
of his suffering emerged the soul of
the man, and while horror and fear

had held him in their sway before,
now horror of a better kind and the
courage of a nobler fear arose within
him like a fire, and, with a cry, he
leaped from his hiding-place.

The Terror, taken utterly by sur-
prise, had scarcely time to turn his
head or veer his gun before Bud
struck him to the ground. In the fall
his own gun went off, fitly sending the
black soul of the murderer out into
the mystery from whence birth had
beckoned it.

The new soul in Bud Halworth
opened and developed steadily thence-
forward, and Center Gulch, grateful
to him for ridding it of the outlaw,
helped him gladly in his remaking.
The greatest help came from Mrs.
Brown, whose mother-tenderness, lack-
ing her son, was transferred to the
unloved outcast after a time.

Thus from the ashes of three — a
good man, a bad one and an erring
woman — was Bud Halworth made
into a man.

What Would Dickens Say?

By LUCY WADE HERRICK

f Dickens should come back to earth some day,
And go to a Motion Picture show,
I wonder what the dear man would say,
And what sensations he would know !

Do you suppose he would recognize

These quaint, lively children of his brain?

Or would he con his books a while,
And thus be introduced again?

Would he remember the Marshalsea,
The London Bridge, and other places

His magic pen filled with fadeless fame

And peopled with such troubled, sin-scarred faces?

Perhaps if he should see them now,

And think of what they suffered and endured,

A nobler radiance might enshrine his brow,
For knowing that their ills had all been cured.

Perhaps — but this we cannot surely know ;

And yet I query what the thought might be,
If he could step into a picture show,

And all its wonders and its horrors see!

"One moment, please," for just another thought,
Altho at best our thoughts are only chickens;

I venture that he'd shake his head and laugh,
And wipe his tearful eyes and say, "The Dickens !"

Jim Malone stood at the strange
turning of the ways. Streets that
cross each other T-fashion do not
always indicate turning of the ways.
Sometimes a man or a woman comes
briskly down one cross-street and
turns as briskly up another, without
a halt at the fateful vertex of the
angle. But when one hesitates, pauses
to consider, be sure that Fate has a
whimsical finger on the pulse of the
matter and is rattling her meddling
dice-box, ready for a playful throw.
Strange, is it not? Here are two
possibilities — two drowsy streets, list-
less with sunlight. Up or down?
AY hat is the difference? Yet go one
way, and sudden death awaits you
in the toppling of a brick on yonder
innocent-seeming cornice; choose the
other, and your heart's dearest desire
is coming toward you under the
Gothic arches of the elms,

Jim Malone hesitated. He was not
conscious of weighing magnificent
possibilities ; he had no subtle sense of
unheard dice rattling wild and wan-
ton consequences above his head; yet
something clogged his feet strangely
at the street corner, bidding him
pause.

His broken shoes scuffled uneasily
on the pavement as he peered up and
down the dissenting distances, under
the shelter of sagging eyelids. It was
a furtive glance, abashed yet defiant ;
the glance of one who has looked out
at the world thru windows shame-
fully barred. The slanting shadows
of these bars, dissecting the world
like a futile picture puzzle, make sore
stripes across a man's raw soul that
go unhealed long, long after the tell-

tale uniform is mercifully abandoned.
To himself the man is still a convict
and his eyes betray his secret, traitor-
wise.

Jim Malone 's past dogged him
into the present, like a vicious dog
snapping at his humble heels. It
followed him in the heartsick trailing
of the quarry, work; hounding him
away from almost secured positions;
driving him, soul-weary, body-spent,
to meet curt refusals, covert sneers,
sharp questioning. Yet he dared not
rest; they were hungry, the woman
he had promised God and the minis-
ter to take care of, and the two little
children their love had made him
responsible for. As his gaunt eyes
swept the streets for significance, his
lips moved jerkily, stumbling awk-
wardly over strange words. They
were addressed to none, yet he said
them over desperately, like a dogged
refrain. For three days they had
beaten thru his brain with the dull
jarring of trip-hammers.

"I gotter steal f'r 'em if I cant
find a way — I cant steal — I cant go
back there again — I gotter steal f'r
'em if I cant find a way — lemme find
a way to keep honest — — " Today,
as he stood at the parting of untested
streets, he knew that the end had
come. There had been nothing much
to eat at home before ; now there was
nothing at all.

"Whichever way the next person
comin' down the street turns, I'll
turn," muttered Jim, desperately,
and waited.

Fate, smiling, poised the box on
high and threw.

Well-shod, decisive feet rang along

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

the pavement behind him. A pros-
perously dressed man and woman,
with a sober, married air, passed by
and turned down the home-bordered
street to the right. With a queer,
vacant feeling of passivity, Jim
squared his shoulders, to keep his
resolution from slipping off, and fol-
lowed.

Fate tent forward, reading the
verdict of the dice.

At the gate of one of the houses the
man ahead fumbled in his pocket,
drew out a prosperous, silver card-
case, and with it two dingy scraps of
script that fluttered unheeded from
his fingers to Jim's feet. Jim
stooped to pick them up, and then
turned very white. For in his hands
trembled food and clothes and life,
sick duty and desperate desire. The
man and woman had passed on up
the elm-hemmed walk and were
ringing the door-bell. Before him
stretched the oblivious streets, empty
to his fascinated gaze, and it seemed
almost as tho God Himself were not
looking. With a sob, he crammed the
dirty, precious bits of paper into his
pocket and began blindly to stroll
away, with straining ears and tense
footsteps that tried to walk steadily,
nonchalantly. Sudden feet shuffled
along the walk behind him. He
glanced over his shoulder desper-
ately, trying not to glance back at all.
The owner of the money was shouting
to him, waving an excited protest of
hands.

"Give them back! Say you just
picked them up ! Save yourself ! ' '
whispered Jim's soul. "Run! Keep
them ! Save your others ! ' ' cried the
human heart of him. Suddenly he
broke into a loping, swaying trot;
then into a panting run. The cries
and steps behind grew fainter, faded
away. But the unreasoning frenzy
of flight was upon him. A swinging
house-door caught his eye. Like a
rat scuttling blindly into the first
opening it finds, Jim plunged up the
walk and into the sudden coolness of
the hall.

For a tense instant he stood quiver-
ing, not daring even to breathe. Then

the merciful silence settled down on
his throbbing brain like a gentle fog.
Yet he was still shaking and sick with
his terror. The walls swayed sud-
denly away from his fumbling fingers,
and the pictures reeled in giddy
devil's dance before his sick eyes. He
must sit down or he would fall. Por-
tieres invited him. With cautious
fingers he pulled them aside and tip-
toed into the dim drawing-room.

' ' Walk-in-tak '-sheet ! " a polite little
voice shrilled. Jim's startled glance,
seeking the sound in the half-light of
the room, rested'on a pink-and-yellow-
and-white fluff of a little girl, whose
round, friendly eyes seemed to rest
on the edge of the table over which
she was peering. His mouth felt
parched and swollen as he fumbled
for words that would fit this sudden
social emergency.

The small hostess smiled graciously.
"It's a pleasant day, isn't it, Mr.
Man?" she remarked sociably. She
regarded her panting visitor, a faint
ripple of frown-lines across her fore-
head. "Now you mus' say 'yes, if 'oo
please, 'tis pleasant,' and 'nen I'll
dive 'oo some tea. I 'ikes to dive folks
tea, des' 'ike my mudder," she ex-
plained. He could not speak, strug-
gling hysterically between a sob and
a smile. "I'se a-waitin'," she hinted
severely.

"Yes, if 'oo please, 'tis pleasant!"
repeated Jim, hoarsely. He started
up from his chair. ' ' I must be goin ', ' '
he muttered, in white unease. "Dont
you say nothin' to your folks about
me bein' here. I wouldn't disturb
'em for the world, Little Miss. ' '

"My name's MargueriteAnnabelle-
Randolph," explained the child, in a
proud jumble of reckless syllables;
"an' my folks is dorn callin'. 'Oo's
my caller. I shall dive 'oo some tea. ' '
She clambered up into a chair beside
the tea-table and settled herself
primly, short legs stuck stiffly before
her over the edge of the seat. Jim
took the sloppy cup that she handed
him in dazed fingers, stiff with un-
belief.

"Does 'oo like pat-a-cakes, Mr.
Man?"

TWO SOCIAL CALLS

She pushed a plate of fragrant tea-
cakes toward him — sugar-filmed, frag-
ile things meant for delicate after-
noon appetites to dally over. Jim's
eyes gloated on them. A sudden
thought of little Eleanor stayed his
hand on the way to his mouth. She
was hungry — a baby like this one,
and hungry! He thrust the cake into
his pocket with shaking fingers, his
brain struggling for a plan of escape
from his s m all
hostess.

' ' I 'ikes tandy
'n fader 'n mudder
'n Centwal Park
'n 'nilla ice-cream ;
what does 'oo
like ? " she cooed
politely in a quaint
parody of society
tone. Jim's hunted
eyes rested an in-
stant on the piano
with a flash of in-
spiration. "I like
music," he said
cautiously. ' ' I dont
suppose you could
play a bit for me
— such a big little
girl as you ? ' '

She nodded glee-
fully, sliding down
from the chair.
"Yes, 'deedy!"
she cried. "I tan
play!"

As the small
fingers staggered
discordantly across
the keys, Jim set down his cup and
slid quietly away. In the shadow of
a building across the street he
paused, looking back. A man and
woman were coming rapidly down
the street — tit e man and woman ! As
he looked they turned into the house
that he had just left. The money in
his pocket seemed to burn his quest-
ing fingers. He gave a short, hard
groan. "I cant do it," he muttered
bewilderedly. "She was just like my
Eleanor, an' she gave me a cup o'
tea. I'll send it back tonight; God
help us — I goiter send it back!" He

YES, DEEDY, I TAN PLAY

slouched away under the sunset-
flecked elm-boughs, his young, gaunt
shoulders sagging beneath their in-
visible load.

Fate picked up the dice slowly and
put them back into the box, with a
puzzled, unbelieving frown.

"Dont fret, Jim-boy!" The thin
little girl-wife laid her soft face
against his hard, clenched hands in a
swift mother - ges-
ture of comforting.
"You'll find work
tomorrow, maybe,
and I got some
more washin' to-
day. We'll get
along fine, I should
smile ! " but she
was weeping thru
the mask of her
brave words.

"Dont!" cried
Jim, hoarsely. He
snatched the bony
little figure to him
in a passion of pro-
test. "You doin'
washin', and me
lettin' you — an'
once I thought I'd
be a-buyin' you
silk gowns an'
di'mond rings —

my God "

The little wife
laid firm fingers
across his working
Lips. ' ' Now you
just hush up, Jim
Malone ! ' ' she cried indignantly.
"Aint we got each other 'n the chil-
dren? You'd ought to be ashamed to
talk so, dear. Why, I shouldn't
wonder if somethin' was to happen
this minute — I've had a kind of ex-
pecting feeling all day "

A rude sound tore jaggedly across
the words, the wealthy sound of an
automobile horn, a discord in a dingy
tenement fugue. Jim's wry face
twisted into bitter mirth, like a tragic
mask in an attempt at a smile.

"Shimmers!" he cried fiercely.
"They've got their cast-off clothes

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

an' broken bits an' hymn tunes f'r
us, but when it comes to honest jobs
— devil take 'em ! Well, kiss me, lass ;

I'm goin' out again "

Fate frowned, puzzled; then picked
up the box for another throw.

The dreary dusk was scattering a
clutter of shadows along the dingy
canyons of the streets when Jim
crept home, his young face old with

red, leather-upholstered automobiles.
Money was no protection, then. It
was a new thought. He was still
pondering over it as he turned the
handle of his own door, and halted
abruptly, dazed with the surprise of
the scene within.

"Dood evenin'!" lisped Marguer-
iteAnnabelleRandclph, complacently.
"I've turn' to pay back 'oor call."
She held out a small, patrician glove.

i ;

■#*y

ELEANOR TRIES TO CHEER HER FATHER

hopelessness, a shadow himself among
other drifting shadows. Down the
street a frantic motor-car pitched
drunkenly and staggered to an abrupt
stop opposite him. He caught a
startled glimpse of white faces blurred
against the cushions. The chauffeur
was out fumbling with the machinery.
Jim touched him on the shoulder.

"Wot's up?"

"Kid's lost — haven't seen a stray
one, have you? Master's half -crazy
— been hunting since noon. 'J

So there were others in trouble,
too — others in rich fur-coats and

Jim found himself shaking it help-
lessly.

' ' Do your folks know you 're here ? ' '
he blurted, a sudden mental vision of
the white parent-faces he had just
seen flashing across his memory. Mar-
guerite AnnabelleRandolph ignored the
remark with superb tact, waving
an enthusiastic hand toward big-eyed
Baby Eleanor, watching the little
stranger with the breathless awe . of
one who sees fairies for the first
time, around the shy shelter of a
broom.

"I 'ike tandy 'n Centwal Park 'n

TWO SOCIAL CALLS

Eleanor," declaimed the visitor, mag-
nificently. "Now I dess I better be
goin'. I've 'joyed my call, tank 'oo. "
She paused, checked by a sudden,
uneasy thought. "I've des' 'mem-
bered I didn't tole anybodies where I
are," she confessed. Her lip showed
incipient signs of quivering. "I
opied the honk-honk's door when
1 nomas wasn 't lookin ' and wan away,

her father's shoulder. The wealthy
man and woman, with their costly
clothes and jewels, were oddly out of
place in the cramped, dingy room,
yet in the mother-and-father love on
their joyous faces they were kin to
the other, humbler parents in the
room. Mr. Randolph cleared his
throat huskily.

"Our little daughter told us of

THE THIRD SOCIAL CALL

'n now I dess I for dot how to wun
away back — a-d-dain!"

"She's been here all afternoon,
Jim," said his wife, anxiously. "I
expect her folks are worried crazy,
but I didn't dare leave the children
to go home with her."

Jim nodded, half-way out of the
door. "Keep your eye on her, an'
I'll find 'em," he cried, and was
gone.

Half an hour later, Marguerite-
AnnabelleRandolph waved a sleepy
good-night to her entertainers from

your call on her the other day," he
said slowly.

Jim's face flamed.

"And we got your letter with the
money in it," went on the other man,
kindly. "As for tonight, we wont try
to thank you in ivords — that's im-
possible. But — I should like to shake
your hand, sir."

At the honest respect of the clasp,
Jim's slouching shoulders straight-
ened suddenly with a new resolution,
and in that merciful moment the
stripes were erased from his soul.

28 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

1 ' Dood-by, ev 'ybody , ' ' beamed Mar- with rigid fingers ; opened it, and

gueriteAimabelleRandolph, her yel- read, gulping the words,

low tuft of hair nodding plume-wise The letter fell to the floor at his

as she was borne away. "Turn' an' sudden, smothered cry. His eyes,

see me, soon!" haggard and triumphant, met his

The dice scattered, rolling. Fate wife's asking ones — man-eyes, straight

looked down at them, smiling gently. and fearless again. He stumbled

across to her and knelt at her side.

"For me, Nellie-child?" Jim burying his drawn young face in her

gazed down at the letter with unbe- lap, her tender fingers tremulous

lieving eyes. across his hair.

"It says you on the outside, "I'll be buyin' you the silk gowns

daddy, plain as plain." an' the di'monds yet, lass," he cried,

The paper crackled nervously in with a shaky laugh. ' ' God be thanked,

the sudden, strained little silence, girl o' mine — I got a job!"

Then the man tore at the envelope Fate nodded, satisfied.

The Picture Show

By ELEANOR McLAUGHLIN

Just wait awhile — I'll not be slow —
Please listen to my tale of woe!
I've got to deal a body-blow
To that pesky-pesky picture show.

I went downtown the other day,

To do my work, and with it stay,

When 'long comes Jones, the darned old blow,

And pulled me away to the picture show.

When I got back I took a hack,

To see my girl and get a s-snack.

I rang the bell, made my best kowtow,

To learn : "She's to the picture show !"

I left a note for Molly dear,

And got a pretzel and some beer.

I hurried to the bank for dough,

There was "Closed" on door, "At the picture show!'

I raved, I swore, but all in vain ;
I joined the crowd, it looked like rain.
There were Tom and Kate with little Joe —
We all wound up at the picture show !

I've sold my watch, I've mortgaged the farm,
I've gone in heat and cold and storm,
I've lost my wife, my chickens dont crow —
All on account of the picture show !

Now listen well — I'll soon be thru ;
Please tell me what's a fellow to do
When the whole caboose, from top to toe,
Is camped on the trail of the picture show?

I dont like 'em — I hate them all —
They're wicked, foolish and very small —

And I'll never You've some tickets? Oh!

Well, come along, then, to the picture show !

The sky arches serene and blue
above the level, park-like stretch
of valley in the southern Rockies
where the Yaqui tribe of Indians is
encamped.

Scattered amidst the various lodges,
crouch white-haired old men in
groups of two and three, their robes
gathered about them as close as in
winter, and near them lie groups of
boys eagerly drinking in the talk of
these aged men of the tribe. A little
removed sit young men painting their
faces or braiding their hair in the
bright sun, while the women, each
near her own lodge, are preparing
meat for drying, tanning hides or
pounding pemmican.

As a shout goes up from a group of
boys playing at the popular game of
"hands," Strong Heart, a young
warrior, steps from his lodge into all
the gay color, chatting, laughter and
activity of the camp outside. Rest-
lessly he looks about ; then, with swift
uplift of head, he springs past his
companions and disappears in the
cottonwoods. A little ground-cuckoo
calls, and he answers joyously as he
speeds along the sandy trail. Soon a
sharp turn brings him where he sees
a Yaqui youth digging something
from the sand. Strong Heart steals
up behind him, and, laughing, with a
push, sends him sprawling. But
White Antelope is down only a
breath, and, regaining his feet, he
whirls to meet, not an enemy, but his
friend Strong Heart.

"What wast doing. "White Ante-
lope?" and Strong Heart, smiling,

watches his friend's fingers vainly
endeavoring to conceal a turquoise
necklace in his pocket.

" 'Tis a gift for the maid Nat-
ah-ki; I had it buried beneath this
Spanish bayonet," answers White
Antelope, simply.

"I fear me," sadly returns Strong
Heart, "thou fmdest greater favor
than I in Nat-ah-ki 's eyes ! And yet
I, too, do deeply love her, White
Antelope ! ' '

"Yea, I know," earnestly responds
his friend ; "it is between the twain
of us." Their eyes meet with a long
look; then, grasping hands, Strong
Heart turns and disappears thru the
willows.

Spectacle Bill and The Parson are
sitting on a log, laying plans for
the day's prospecting, as Strong
Heart suddenly pushes out from the
willows.

"Hey, there, you long-haired beg-
gar, how are you?" shouts Spectacle
Bill, as Strong Heart bounds toward
his new friends.

"All right, meester," standing in
smiling shyness before them.

"Well, come on then, gazooks!"
and Bill rises as he rolls a cigaret.
"I've got to continue your education.
Here, have a smoke," he adds, rolling,
lighting and passing it to Strong
Heart, who watches every move ad-
miringly, face beaming like the happy
child he was.

Suddenly Bill looks down at Strong
Heart's feet.

"Here, you son of a hob-gob, turn

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

your toes out!" And Bill points to
Strong Heart's feet and then at his
own, which he slowly turns outwards
like the wings of some great bird —
and slowly Strong Heart turns his
own to correspond.

"First class in 'polite society/ sit
down!" roars Bill, with a grimace.

to The Parson, tho awkwardly, as Bill
yells : ' ' Mind your toes, you ! ' '

The Parson (so named because in
spite of his rough life he always hung
on to a little, old Bible he had found
in a deserted cabin they had once
stumbled upon) again reads the story
of the man Jesus.

STRONG HEART HEARS THAT JESUS WAS A "LOVE MAN

"Firs' class een p'lite 'ciety, si'
down ! ' ' solemnly responds Strong
Heart. And they drop on the log,
Strong Heart mopping his brow
in faithful imitation of Spectacle
Bill.

The Parson chuckles, and putting
up the knife he has been sharpening,
draws an old book from his pocket.

"Come, Strong Heart, we'll go on
with your reading. ' '

Strong Heart moves quickly over

Strong Heart listens intently. He
hears that Jesus was a "love" man,
opposed to fighting ; teaching men, in-
stead, the ways of peace and good-
will. Deeper and more quiet grow the
Indian's eyes as they follow The
Parson's finger across the pages.
Here is His kindness to little children ;
here He helps the poor widow; here
He gives the blind man sight and heals
the sick. " 'Love your enemies,' '
reads on The Parson, and finally:

A YAQUI CUR

' ' ' This is My commandment — that ye
love one another as I have loved you.
Greater love hath no man than this,
that a man lay down his life for his
friends. Ye are My friends if ye do
whatsoever I command you.' "

And Strong Heart listens, his eyes
deep with hushed wonder.

Finally The Parson reads that the
Big Love-Man died to show the world
how great love is, and that His Spirit
is in the world today.

Suddenly, as The Parson closes the
book, into Strong Heart's face steals
the look of a little child.

"Strong Heart love Big Love-Man
Christ. Be His friend — no more
fight."

"Good boy, Strong Heart. Here,
take this," suddenly says The Parson
as Strong Heart moves away; and he
hands him the Bible, which Strong
Heart places inside his jacket.

"Here, Happy Hooligan," roars
Spectacle Bill, "take this, too, to keep
your spirits up. You'll need it, all
right, all right, on this new trail
you've hit;" and he tosses cigaret
tobacco and papers, which Strong
Heart captures deftly with a de-
lighted grin. Then quickly he springs
into the willows and is gone.

All the bright hours Strong Heart
wanders afield, tho mostly the deep
forest holds him. Here, beside a brook

dimpling in the sunbeams slanting
thru the trees, he smokes his "little
dreams." With all the air of a de-
lighted child holding a new toy, he
rolls the cigarets, and lighting them,
watches the blue smoke curl upward.
Thru the haze he sees Nat-ah-ki 's
face, but, with a sigh, remembers
White Antelope's gift of turquoise.
Then, suddenly, thru the tiny clouds
drifts another face — a face of won-
drous tenderness, and a low voice
speaks: "Greater- love hath no man
than this, that he lay down his life for
his friend." And Strong Heart starts
up, whispering, awestruck: "The Big
Love-Man!"

Then looking, he sees the sun low
between the distant mountains and
springs quickly along the trail toward
the camp.

A new day dawns. Sitting alone
in her lodge, Nat-ah-ki works, with
dreaming eyes, upon a lovely pattern
of beads traced on a deer-hide. Sud-
denly she lifts her face, with a sharp
intake of breath — some one is singing
softly outside the lodge. Surely
that is not White Antelope — he is not
to come at this hour. Still, stick love
and longing throb in this voice — it
must be he ! And Nat-ah-ki steals for-
ward, peeping from the hide hanging
before the opening. A frowning pout
of disappointment as she retreats. i ' It
is only Strong Heart ! ' ' And Strong
Heart, with an ache in his breast, see-

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

ing the sweet, expectant face suddenly
withdrawn in petulance, turns and
seeks the shelter of the cottonwoods.

As he sits in the stillness, the voice
of White Antelope comes to him, and
there, at his maid's lodge, Strong
Heart beholds him, a brave young
warrior, wooing Nat-ah-ki, his love
wrought into a song of most alluring
sweetness.

And as Strong Heart looks, the
little maid steals out, drawn by she
knows not what, and slowly, her eyes
ever on White Antelope's face, she
goes straight into the shelter of the
right arm extended to receive her,
and is hidden in White Antelope's
robe, against his breast.

Strong Heart fumbles in his jacket
for the "little dreams," as he calls
the cigarets. And after a time, thru
the soft clouds of smoke there looks
at him a face of infinite love and
compassion. "Blessed are the pure in
heart," the wonderful eyes seem to
say.

"The Big Love-Man!" whispers
Strong Heart.

And he turns to his camp again,
pressing his hand where the little Book
lies. As he approaches he sees White
Antelope at one side, listening to a
young warrior from the neighboring
tribe of Hupas. Strong Heart joins
them, and the young Hupa turns to
him, saying:

' ' Too many palefaces in the valley,
Strong Heart — let's drive them out !"

"No," replied Strong Heart; "we
learn many good things from the
white man, Living Wolf. ' '

"But he is our enemy, Strong
Heart. He takes our mountains, our
rivers and our plains ! ' ' And Living
AYolf 's brow is black with hatred.

' ' And he gives us in their place the
whole world, Living Wolf, if we learn
his ways," continues Strong Heart,
drawing forth his little Book. '"lam
come that ye might have life,' " he
reads, as White Antelope and Living
Wolf listen wonderingly. " "If ye
shall ask anything in My name, I
will do it, ' " he continues.

"Who is this Wonder- Worker ? "
sneers Living Wolf.

" He is the Big Love-Man ; ' ' and, as
in a dream, Strong Heart turns the
pages: "'But I say unto you, love
your enemies ' '

But with a flash of his hand, Living
Wolf strikes the little Book to the
ground. Like the swoop of an eagle,
White Antelope is upon the Hupa,
and in a breath he is lying in the
dust. White Antelope stands above
him, giving him a final kick, shouting :
"Get back to your tribe, Living Wolf,
and never again let your shadow fall
across the path of a Yaqui ! Know
you not the behavior due to the tribe
at whose camp-fire you have feasted ? ' '

And Living Wolf slinks off crest-
fallen, but with hatred in his heart.

"That means war with the Hupas,
White Antelope ; ' ' and Strong Heart
gently returns the Book to his jacket.

' ' The dog ! ' ' exclaimed White Ante-
lope, his arm about his friend 's shoul-
ders. "But why art thou sad, Strong
Heart? I would that my own rifle
might send the whole Hupa tribe to
the Great Spirit!"

"Nay, my friend!" and Strong
Heart pauses before his lodge. "Some
strange, new Spirit seems about me,
and no longer do I love the smell of
battle. The Big Love-Man's book
teaches ways of peace."

"I do not understand thee!" And
White Antelope turns away.

And Strong Heart's words are ful-
filled. As the sun swings again above
the mountains, a single arrow comes
straight into the heart of the Yaqui
camp. It is a Hupa arrow, and in-
stant commotion follows. With a
single bound, the Yaqui warriors,
young and old, are on their feet and
before their Chief. In clear tones he
gives general commands, while his
leader gives orders in detail to the
eager braves pressing about him. The
women and children are hurried to
places of safety, the laughter and
singing hushed.

A moment of breathless suspense
follows the swift commands, the old
priest standing in their midst, with
arms uplifted to the rising sun, be-
seeching him for victory for his tribe,

A YAQUI CUR

Then, like a flash, every warrior
falls prone on his face or slips into
ambush. And not an instant too
soon, for, with a mighty yell, from
the neighboring cottonwoods dash the
Hupas. On the ponies speed, each
bearing an infuriated warrior firing
everywhere — at the lodges, at the
sage-brush, at the Spanish bayonet.
But, suddenly, from every part of the

hand of his leader ? Today he is not
there, but, instead, is kneeling in his
lodge, caught in a frenzy between
tribal shame and the strange, dim-
ly comprehensive command: "Thou
shalt not kill ! ' ' — these new teachings
that make for peace.

"Oh!" he cries, gripping the little
Book across his knees — "oh, Big
Love-Man, I no understand ! You

sfe

THE ATTACK OF THE HUPAS

camp spits back shot for shot in such
rapid succession that the yelling
Hupas begin to plunge headlong from
their horses, and horses roll, dying,
upon their riders. Yet on the frantic
enemy surges from the cottonwoods,
until all the Yaqui camp leaps sud-
denly into their midst for hand-to-
hand slaughter, White Antelope in
the front, dealing death at every
blow.

And Strong Heart, where is he — he
who ever before had been at the right

died to teach world how to love, and
you sav ' no kill ! ' — but my tribe all
fight— — "

"Thou cur!" cries the Chief, sud-
denly rushing into the lodge, and,
striding by the terror-stricken grand-
mother, he seizes Strong Heart and
drags him out into the scene of con-
flict.

' ' Fight, thou whelp ! — fight for the
honor of thy tribe ! ' ' And the Chief
plunges his knife into the breast of
Living Wolf, whose hand was lifted
to strike.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

And on the battle rages, until, at
last, the Yaquis, with breath whistling
thru set teeth and bodies reeking with
blood, force the Hupas back — back —
back to the cotton woods — and the vic-
tory is won !

then, suddenly, the Chief and his
leader, followed by the remaining
braves, approach Strong Heart, who
has moved from bush to bush in an
agony of shame during the fight, but
has failed to lift his hand for the
honor of his tribe.

"Thou cowardly cur!" thunders
the Chief, his arm shooting out, and,
seizing Strong Heart by the throat,
he hurls him to the ground.

"Dog!" he cries, with folded
arms, as Strong Heart crouches in
shame before him — "what hast to
say for Myself?"

"Oh, Chief!"— and Strong Heart
draws the little Bible from his breast
— "the Book says 'peace!' and the
Big Love-Man speaks all of love for
enemies and commands not to kill.
He died to show love. I was crazed
— I fear not the Hupas ; but, oh,
Chief, only the Big Love-Man seemed
holding my hands, and I could not
fight ! I tried to understand — I tried

to draw my knife " But Strong

Heart's voice breaks in an agony of
shame as he sees the scornful faces
above him.

All save one. White Antelope's
face is sad — and, just beyond, he
sees the face of the Man of Sorrows
smiling tenderly, understandingly.

The Chief stands in puzzled amaze.
Then wrath surges again over him,
and he cries :

' ' Out — out of the camp ! Thou art
a traitor as well as a cur — thou
speakest of obeying other commands
than mine! Men, away with him!"

And his companions fall upon him
roughly, and he is cast out.

It was even so two thousand years
ago With The One he was trying to
obey.

All the burning hours he wanders;
his shoulders shorn of blanket, torn
and bleeding ; his naked feet blistered
from the hot sands. Often he falls,
parched with thirst, famished with

hunger; then staggers to his feet
again.

"Oh, Big Love-Man!" he moans,
"I do not understand — I seem not to
find the way ! ' '

In the late afternoon he comes sud-
denly upon his tribe departing
for a new encampment, and a great
longing comes upon him for his
people. Stealing up to the Chief, he
implores to go with them, but the
Chief drives him back, crying :
"Away! thou art not one of us!"

And, forsaken, he stands as his
beloved people pass.

A little apart from the rest come
White Antelope and Nat-ah-ki, and
as they approach, Strong Heart
starts suddenly forward in the fad-
ing light.

"Oh, my brother, plead thou with
our Chief," and he reaches beseech-
ing hands to White Antelope, and,
kneeling, kisses Nat-ah-ki 's little,
moccasined foot.

" 'Tis no avail, my Strong Heart,"
replies White Antelope, sadly. "Al-
ready I have besought, pledging all
the hides of deer, grizzly and elk
that I shall kill the next twelve
moons. But he will not."

Then, with a swift gesture, White
Antelope throws a blanket about
Strong Heart, and, pressing a loaf
and a water-skin into his hands,
turns with Nat-ah-ki and follows his
tribe.

And the outcast follows afar off.

The freshness of another day
breathes over the Valley of Many
Sands, where the Yaqui tribe is still
on the march. The women are hag-
gard and move more and more slowly,
while the little children are crying
feebly, sitting in the wicker cages
strapped to the travois and dragged
by emaciated horses with dry tongues
hanging from their mouths.

The men plod on stolidly, but
silent.

The sun grows hotter as the slow
hours pass, and suddenly Nat-ah-ki
falters and staggers weakly.

White Antelope stops, seeking to
support her.

A YAQV1 CUR

' "My man!" faintly breathes Nat-
ah-ki, ' ' I can no longer keep the trail.
Go thou and leave me here with the
Great Spirit!"

"Not so, my Nat-ah-ki. Try
White Antelope 's strong arm ! ' ' And
placing his arm about her, they pass
on a little space.

But soon Nat-ah-ki 's strength for-

bad whisky and the intense heat,
reels out of the sage-brush.

"Cursed country!" he mutters.
"Wish could si' down un'er a maple
in ol' Connecticut an' cool off.
Hello ! she looks good to me!" And
having caught sight of Nat-ah-ki, he
lunges across the trail and seizes the
half-fainting girl in his arms.

AXD STILL THE BATTLE RAGES

sakes her utterly, and she sinks, sob-
bing, upon the sand.

' ' Go, my man ! ' ' she pleads.

"I go." he replies, "but only that
I may bring back one to aid me bear
thee along in safety;" and he seeks
to overtake his tribe.

Scarcely is White Antelope hidden
by a near turn in the trail, when a
young prospector, half-drunk with

Sudden terror revives Nat-ah-ki,
and her sharp cry pierces the burn-
ing air, which reaches White Antelope
and brings him back. Like a hawk
he is upon the fellow, stabbing him
again and again as they reel in each
other's embrace in the yielding sand.

Then, suddenly, with a last gasp-
ing cry, the man falls dead at the
Indian's feet, stabbed to the heart.

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

As White Antelope straightens
himself, withdrawing his blade from
the craven breast, Strong Heart, who
has followed day by day, all un-
known, stands before him.

White Antelope starts in amaze.

' ' Strong Heart ! " he cries.

' ' Hush ! ' ' Strong Heart commands
sternly, seizing White Antelope's
knife from his grasp. "Go quickly
— the white's friends are coming
thru the cottonwoods. Go — for thy
woman's sake. Go, I say," as White
Antelopes hesitates; "go, or I'll kill
thee!"

Steadily White Antelope gazes into
his friend's eyes — strong, brave eyes
now ; then bowing his head, he shelters
the weeping Nat-ah-ki with his robe,
and together they pass along the trail.

"Big Love-Man, Strong Heart now
sees the way ! ' ' And alone, he stands
quietly above the dead man, still
grasping the reeking knife.

And the little Book lies warm
against his heart.

Then, suddenly, he turns and looks
into the angry faces of a half-dozen
prospectors, hurrying from the brush,
brought by the cries they had heard.

And seeing their mate stretched
across the trail and the Indian stand-
ing over him, they are upon him like
hounds, ready to kill on the spot.

But one, cooler than the rest,
checks them, remembering the wom-
an's cry they had first heard.

"Hold on, fellows; let's get at all
of this. Here, you redface" — turn-
ing to Strong Heart — "what about
the woman in this case ? ' ' But Strong
Heart stands silent and motionless,
his eyes, as in a dream, far away.

"You cur!" At this he starts, re-
membering the day of his outcast-
ing. "You cur!" bellows again the
speaker, "did you do this?" pointing
to the prostrate form.

An instant only Strong Heart re-
mains motionless; then, face illu-
mined, he nods in assent.

It is enough. They are beyond
judgment — unreasoning, uncaring —
and drag him into the bush.

Their faces swollen from the heat
of the sun and from drink, eyes

thirsting for the blood of revenge,
they stand massed behind his straight,
slim figure, ready to shoot at the
command of their leader.

Suddenly Strong Heart turns, with
a half-smile, and, pointing upward,
says in broken English: "Big Love-
Man — want see His face once more ! ' '

Their hands drop, and they turn
to each other in sudden, sober amaze.

"Why, the dog talks like a
preacher ! ' ' one says.

"Gad! but he makes my flesh
crawl — I dont like this killin' busi-
ness!" mutters another.

"Ask one las' thing," quietly con-
tinues Strong Heart, in his halting
English. And they nod, awestruck.

Then Strong Heart draws forth
the bag of tobacco for a last "little
dream," and neatly rolling a cigaret,
smokes it — dreamily, softly, face up-
turned. The men wait, spellbound.

Then one less human than the rest
shouts in drunken madness: "I'll be

d d if I wait while any red dog

smokes ! ' ' and shoots. The bullet hits
Strong Heart square in the back, and
he topples into the brush. Then, sud-
denly, a light of joyous recognition
breaks in his eyes, for out of the blue
haze of smoke still above him leans a
face of divinest love, a face above
which rests a crown of thorns.

"Big Love-Man!" Strong Heart
murmurs, seeking to lift his hand
toward the "little dream" wraith.
" 'Greater love — hath — no man than
— this. ' ' ' The eyes close as in sleep.

The long march ends for the Yaqui
tribe, and, in the gloaming, White
Antelope seeks Nat-ah-ki, waiting
with the other weary women, and
leads her to the lodge he has pre-
pared for her.

Together they pass within, Nat-
ah-ki nestling to her man's breast,
but he stands long looking out into
the purpling gloom. Then into the
twilight White Antelope reaches his
hand from his lodge :

"Farewell, Strong Heart, my dear
brother — my friend!"

And the Great Spirit bears the
message safely. It must be so !

jrii||||jgd

(wmw)

""TX AHLiAS are real friendly flowers, ' '
| J said old Rosemary Sweet. She
stooped twingingly and patted
a great, golden ball that dipped
heavy-headed over the gravel walk, as
a lonely woman pats a cat or a child.
"They're like a cheerful feeling
or a good, hearty laugh." Her
eyes crinkled whimsically. "Now,
there's cinnamon roses; they're like
being young and in love. There's
pansies, like rememberin'; an' sweet-
peas, like a pretty dream; an' laven-
der, like growin' old. It's queer how
flowers are real folks, that way. ' '

Her eyes wandered down the elm-
arched village street, flecked with sun-
and-shaclow patterns. "Old Mis'
Dalrimple, she cuts her marygolds
and zinnias every day to
blue chiny vase along of

and the minister's wife

set in her
the clock;
takes her

sweet-peas to fix up the church Sun-
days; and Millie Russell wears her
posies in her hair and pinned onto
her dress ; but, law me ! pickin ' flowers
seems to me like shutting little chil-
dren up in vases and tumblers —
children is just flowers that aint
rooted! Seems as if the Lord would

miss His posies, sort cf, lookin' down
and seein' 'em smilin' up at Him so
chirk and pretty ! ' ' She laughed out
softly at her own imaginings. After
sixty years, her quaint little fancies
still startled her. They sounded more
surprising, somehow, whenever she
thought them aloud in words as now.
In spite of the conversational tone,
she was alone in the tiny, flower-
trimmed front-yard, like some faded,
old-fashioned flower herself, from her
delicate, crumpled, pink cheeks and
dimmed, blue eyes to her fragrant
name — Rosemary Sweet. Her limp,
muslin dress spread about her fan-
wise as she stooped among the flowers,
pulling a weed here and there re-
luctantly.

' ' Rosemary — Rosemary Sweet ! ' '

She straightened up primly, a sud-
den red spot flickering to her cheeks.

"Well, if it aint Mis' Timmins,"
she cried cordially; "come in, Mis'
Timmins, do, and set awhile."

"No, I cant stop a minute, Rose-
mary." The speaker gave the market-
basket that she carried a brisk shake
in token of her haste. "I jes' thought
while I was along I'd ast you —

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

you're expectin' Doctor Widdle' to-
night'?"

"He might be droppin' in, I s'pose,
after prayer-meeting." Rosemary's
tone was faintly conscious, but only
faintly so. Whatever romance there
might once have been in Horace.
Widdle 's calls had nearly vanished
after thirty-five years of staid, neigh-
borly droppings-in, to talk of town-
meeting and the potato prospects.
They had become a habit ; an accepted

LIKE SOME FADED, OLD-FASHIONED
FLOWER ' '

matter-of-fact like mail-time or Christ-
mas. Thirty-five years erases so many
things.

"Well, if he does, I wist you'd tell
him that Abner Timmins wants he
should call in and see our Dobbin to-
morrow. He isn't relishin' his eatin'
someway, and Abner thinks maybe
he'd ought to be doctored up. He was
a master hand at puttin' away grain,
Dobbin was, and when he begins to
act pickin' and offish with oats I tell
Abner it's high time somethin' was
done."

"Yes, Mis' Timmins; I'll tell him."

Rosemary 's voice was slightly wistful.
"You'd better stop in awhile and
visit. I aint had a sight of any of the
neighbors for nigh onto a week. ' '

Mrs. Timmins' pleasant face creased
into humorous lines. "It's easy to
guess you aint married, Rosemary
Sweet," she laughed comfortably. "I
just see the stage drive in, and my
men folks cant abide supper bein'
dished up late. Your posies are
lookin' real pretty, aint they? Well,
I must be goin'. Dont forget to tell
the doctor "

With a final swan-song of admoni-
tion, the stout figure billowed away
into the sifting dusk. Rosemary
Sweet sighed gently ; then smiled.
The smile was an apology for the sigh,
but the wistful look still lingered in
her eyes as she gathered up her
garden-shears and newspaper heaped
with weeds. "They're all so busy,"
she murmured. " 'Course they dont
get a moment to stop in. I dont blame
'em, laws, no ! but somehow I hanker
for a real, old-fashioned dish o' gos-
sip about the minister's new baby
an' ol' Mis' Beckett's tantrums an'
Sally Meekin's latest beau. Land
sakes! Rosemary Sweet, what's got
into you? I believe you're growin'
old!"

She laughed softly. Growing old
was one of her gentle jokes. The
years had plodded past the little,
white cottage in the sleepy village
among the Berkshires so silently that
she had forgotten almost to count
them.

On the edge of going into the house
she paused by the door-stone, looking
amazedly down at the twisted, rheu-
matic limbs of the old rose-tree by the
door. On the topmost branch swayed
a small, frail rosebud, tightly closed.

"It's a sign!" she crooned de-
lightedly, brushing it with gentle
fingers. "That rose-bush's 'most as
old as I be, and it aint never had a
posy on it before. Somethin' nice is
going to happen; I can feel it in my
bones."

The tinkle of homeward-driven
cow-bells spattered the silent air as a
Jersey herd straggled by in a cloud of

BRIGHTENED SUNSETS

dust, a small, energetic boy prodding
them from the rear. Behind the
soldiers' monument on the common
the evening sky shone rosily, flecked
across by arabesques of elm-leaf.

"It's a sightly evening," mur-
mured the old woman, cheerily. "I
always think 'most anything nice
might happen when it gets all peace-
colored and happy, like tonight."

This sense of Something Nice fol-
lowed her into the house, tagged her
to the lean-to woodshed after a hand-
ful of chips, and sat opposite her as
she sipped her lonely cup of tea. The
strain of superstition that prodded
her New England forefathers into
hysterics of terror over witchcraft had
strained thru the generations into
Rosemary Sweet's mild little soul,
transmuted by the alchemy of Time
from forebodings and distrust into
presentiments of good. She laughed
at herself — and believed on stub-
bornly. For nearly forty of her sixty
years she had been waiting patiently
for good fortune to come. During the
years the visual aspect of her expecta-
tion had changed somewhat, ranging
from lovers — rich, handsome — to a
modest desire for a cherry-colored silk
petticoat. She never hinted her be-
liefs to her neighbors. They would
have laughed at her, reasoned with
her, been shocked or grieved. Even
Horace Widdle, with his faithful,
plodding courtship of thirty-five
years, would not have understood.

"Likely Alice will be in tomorrow
on the way to school," mused Rose-
mary over her tea. "She'd be real
pleased if it would happen, Alice
would. She understands how 'tis
'most as well as He would." Her
voice capitalized the pronoun as a
sweetheart does her lover's name. He
was the lover that Rosemary Sweet
had never had.

Slow feet shuffled middle-agedly up
the gravel path and scraped them-
selves painstakingly on the mat in the
entry.

"Why, Horace !" Rosemary hur-
ried to the door, with nervous little
dabs at her hair on the way. "Aint
you real early tonight ? Come in. do."

The stout old man stooping thru the
narrow doorway seemed to fill the
tiny room with broad, sagging shoul-
ders and blundering elbows. He sat
down awkwardly on the edge of the
haircloth sofa, hanging his slouch hat
on one knee as he beamed at her over
kindly spectacles.

"Well, I dunno but I be, Rose-
mary; in fact I sort of calculated to
be," he chuckled. Horace Widdle 's
ordinary tone was a chuckle, his smile
a laugh, his laughter a roar. Patients

THE OLD WOMAN SMILED UP AT
THE CHILD"

suffering agonies from dyspepsia had
been known to essay a feeble joke the
moment he appeared at their bedside.
"You see, I — well — I've got some-
thing— sorter special, as you might
say, to ast you."

Rosemary's eyes sparkled. She
looked across at the old man, gently
near-sighted as to thinning hair and
wrinkles.

"You was sayin', Horace?" she
prompted.

"Well, I've been thinkin', Rose-
mary." He paused, looking down at
his hat for encouragement, as tho
what he had come to say were con-

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

cealed in the crown. Rosemary's
heart fidgeted with impatience.

' ' I believe the older a man gets, the
more he needs woman-folks. I come
over tonight to ast you — " He leaned
forward plumply, hands braced on
spread knees.

The old woman was blushing like
a faded rose that has half-forgotten
the art of growing pink.

" — to ast you if you'd feel to drive
over to Warren with me tomorrow-
week and help me pick out a new suit
o' clo'es," finished Horace, apologeti-
calry. "I dunno what's the matter
with these I got. I aint hed 'em
more 'n six — seven year, but they must
have been cheap goods, f'r they're
gittin' consider 'ble worn thru in
spots. I know'd you'd know what to
get bettern'n / would. Will ye, Rose-
mary?"

"Why — why, certain, Horace. I'd
— I'd admire to." Rosemary's voice
was flat, like a pricked bubble, with
disillusion. She made haste to drag
the conversation into the limits of the
usual. "I s'pose you've heard tell
how the Ladies' Aid is goin' to fence
in the cemetery with an oyster supper,
aint you, Horace?" she asked nerv-
ously. "They think they'll enjoy
bein' buried there better if the' aint
a chanct for the children to get in
and tromp down the grass and pick
the posies."

" 'S that so? No, I hadn't heard
tell. I've been pretty busy a spell
back. Liddy Ann Smith's little gal
up on the Cross Road has the measles,
and they's one mump and a couple of
tonsils in the Holler. The spring
bein' so late, and all, means consid-
er'ble joggin' f'r me 'n old Jim."

The conversation strolled on thru
the pleasant byways of village life as
during thirty-five years of calls. Only
once did it veer from beaten paths.
As the old doctor rose to go he looked
solicitously down at Rosemary.

"I declare for it," he said anx-
iously, "you dont look real spry to-
night. Aint sickenin' for anything,
be ye?"

"No, I aint." Suddenly Rose-
mary 's secret was out on a wild little

wave of words. "Yes, I be, too ! I'm
sickenin' for somethin' to happen be-
sides three meals a day and Sunday-
school and Monday washin'!" she
cried rebelliously. He looked at her
in dumb amazement. "Oh, I s'pose
you think I 'm crazy, talkin ' so ! You
aint never wanted anythin' redicker-
lous like a pink silk dress with a lace
yoke or a bunnit with yaller roses on
— you dont understand how 'tis "

An odd, shamed expression crossed
Horace Widdle's face. He leaned
down cautiously.

"Yes, I do, too, Rosemary," he
whispered. ' ' Sometimes I get so
tarnal sick of doctorin' measles and
mumps that I almost wish some one
in Blueberry Corners would be took
down with one of those new-fangled
appendixes — took down light — the
Lord forgive me!"

The kerosene hand-lamp flickered
uneasily in the draught of the open
window as Rosemary looked out later
into the peaceful night-world. Below,
in the faint blur of moonlight, the un-
opened rosebud nodded significantly
up into her wavering faith. "Some-
thing's going to happen!" breathed
Rosemary, stubbornly.

"Which hand '11 you have? You
dont know that I 've got a letter in one
and a flower in the other, do you?"
Alice's clear little laugh trailed in
ahead of her thru the open door. The
old woman rocking placidly in the
prim, dim sitting-room smiled up at
the child as one playfellow to another.
There was a quaint similarity be-
tween the two of them. Perhaps it
was their eyes, dim blue and bright
blue, alike full of dreams and make-
believe.

"You aint really got a letter, have
you, Alice, child?"

' ' Honest - 'n - true, black- 'n-blue, I
have. ' '

"My land!" Rosemary looked at
the white square extended to her, with
a sort of awe. Letters were events.
She prodded the envelope with inves-
tigating fingers.

"You read it, Alice. I declare if I
aint afraid to ! " Alice read primly :

BRIGHTENED SUNSETS

REINS FLAPPING LOOSELY FROM
LAX HANDS"

Miss Rosemary Sweet: We beg to in-
form you that by the will of your de-
ceased cousin, Jeremiah Sweet, you are
left the sum of ten thousand dollars.
Kindly let us hear from you at once.
Sykes & Smottel,

Attorneys-at-Law.
Union Square, New York.

1 ; My goodness — gracious — me ! ' '
Awed silence settled over the little
room. Suddenly Rosemary began to
laugh shakily, white old head against
the child's flat little breast.

"I — c-can have the pink silk gown
now and the bunnit," she cried.
"And I can go a-travelin' like I uster
want when I studied the geography at
the 'Cademy forty-five year ago.
There was one place that had a picter
of a mountain spoutin ' fire I 'd like to
see. An' Borneo — I've hankered to
go there ever since I read in the
Missionary Friend about them livin'
in trees. Land a-livin ' ! I do ' know
but what I c'd buy me a family to
talk to, with all that money ! I knew

somethin' was comin' last night — I
felt it in my bones ! ' '

Two days later, Rosemary paused
on the threshold of her tiny home to
take her valedictory glance. Beside
her, Doctor Widdle looked about him
dazedly. For thirty-five years he had
been acquainted with that room, but
today it looked strangely unfamiliar
to his blurred eyes, like well-known
clothes lacking their dear wearer.

1 ' I had to hang Great-Aunt Emme-
line over the last weather-spot on the
wall," said Rosemary, reflectively.
"She was the only relative I had left
to hang, but not the last spot. I'm
sort of afraid the flower 's '11 miss me,
but they'll be the only ones. Blue-
berry Corners has well-nigh forgot
me, Horace. I guess I must be get-
tin' old."

The old man shuffled out after her.
He waited patiently until she had
locked the front-door and climbed into
the rattling old buggy beside him.
Then he cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Why, I'll miss ye, Rosemary
Sweet," he said slowly. "Seems like

SHE SWAYED TO HER KNEES IN
A SODDEN LITTLE HEAP "

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

it wont be livin' without droppin' in
along of you. I been callin' on you
quite a spell, Rosemary Sweet— quite
a consider 'ble spell."

Thirty-five year

! ' ' she said,
almost with bitterness. "You been
calling on me thirty-five year, Horace
Widdle, come next Fourth o' July."

mary Sweet to the fireworks on the
common and walked home with her
thru the clover-scented fields. He had

meant then And now, all in a

minute, it was thirty-five years ago,
and they were grown old. It was
too late. Rosemary was going away,
rich. "Too — late! too — late!"

IT WARN T MINE, AFTER ALL THE MONEY WARN T

He stared at her with pitiably
amazed eyes. "It dont seem pos-
sible!" he cried suddenly. "Why,
Rosemary — I uster think — I meant — "

He paused. The old buggy creaked
in every protesting joint as it stag-
gered over thank-you-ma'ams and
wheel-ruts, unguided. Reins flapping
loosely from lax hands, the old man
sat staring dreamily back down the
barren years to that long-ago Fourth
of July when he had ' ' beaued ' ' Rose-

creaked the buggy-wheels, mockingly.
"She'll ne-ver come back — ne-ver
come back ! ' '

"Giddop!" roared old Horace
"Widdle, suddenly, and brought the
whip down smartly across old Jim's
astonished, dappled back.

"I do' know's I ever see such
damp rain!" The small figure toil-
ing along the station road paused an
instant to shift the carpet-bag from

BRIGHTENED SUNSETS

aching hand to aching hand and
to laugh shakily. "I believe my soul
is soppin' wet. But rain or no, it's
good to get home again." Thru the
even slanting of the rain-rows she saw
the Methodist steeple looming grayly
against the somber sky — here was
Deacon Tibbit 's red barn ; then the
parsonage, and beyond that — home!
The clay-mud of the road clogged her
feet with a sucking, unwilling sound
at each step. Folks said it was only
a mile to the station, but it seemed
four at least — the hill and the rain
maybe lengthened it. Suddenly her
head whirled.

"Keep up your courage, Rosemary
Sweet — just a step farther — there,
and another — there. You're 'most
home. There's the fence and the

posies " She swayed to her knees

in a sodden little heap, clutching the
pickets, a solid anchor of reality in
the swaying of the world. Later she
crawled into the house, by the heavy-
headed dahlias and the rose-bush
tossing uneasy arms in the windy
gusts of rain.

It was small, anxious Alice who
found the door open the next morning
when she came to look after the
flowers. A trail of mud led her thru
the prim little rooms to the tiny,
under-the-eves bedroom.

"Oh, Miss Rosemary, are you
sick?" cried the child, in terror of
the white face and wild eyes on the
pillow. Rosemary Sweet held out a
shaking hand.

"Hush, child;" she whispered
hoarsely. "Dont let any one know
I'm back. They've forgot about me,
every livin' soul at the Corners. You
see, it warn't mine, after all, the
money warn't. So I come home. But
dont tell 'em. I'm — all right — 'taint
nothin' but a cold "

Her shivering shook the narrow
trundle-bed. The little girl clasped
her hands in distress. "I'll be back
in a jiffy, Miss Rosemary," she called
from the doorway. "Don't you fret
yourself none whilst I'm gone."

When she stooped again over the
bed, a half-hour later, the old eyes
staring up at her held no hint of rec-

ognition. "See, Miss Rosemary, I've
brought the doctor. He'll cure you
nice and well."

"Rosemary, dont you know me?"
The old man's voice quivered with
the quivering of his flabby face. "It's
Horace — ye aint forget Horace, have

ye?"

"Somethin' nice is goin' to hap-
pen!" Old Rosemary Sweet sat up
suddenly in the disorder of the bed,
her scant gray hair framing her soft
face. She looked significantly at the
two beside her, cautioning them with
stealthy finger upraised. " Sh ! dont
you tell a word — folks wouldn't
understand — but I believe — He 's
comin'!" She dropped back to the
pillows with a broken cry

Then dim days of drifting between
life and death — the old doctor fought
valiantly with his poor, feeble weap-
ons of pills and poultices. Kindly
neighbors took turns nursing, in the
tender, village way. But it was none
of these that brought old Rosemary
Sweet back at last from the shadows.
It was her curiosity. Something was
going to happen, and she must stay
to see. So one morning she opened
sane eyes and saw the doctor's face
bending over hers, tender, anxious,
quivering. With a little, welcoming
cry, she held out weak arms. ' ' Why,
you're Him!" she cried happily,
"and all this time I never knew."

' ' It was sort o ' like a reception, this
afternoon, Horace," said Rosemary, a
few days later. Her eyes gloated
over the memories of the day. ' ' 'Most
all o' Blueberry Corners was in to ask
how was I and say they was glad to
see me home. You have to be sick to
find how many folks is fond of you, I
guess."

Horace Widdle leaned over awk-
wardly and took the thin, little, old
hand between his great, knotted ones.
In spite of the stoop to his back and
the wrinkles, the young lover of him
looked out of his eyes.

' ' I always meant to ask ye to marry
me, dearie, but I'm a master hand at
puttin' things off!" Suddenly he
laughed shakily. "I dont believe a
word about thirty-five years, tho, ' ' he

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

IT WAS SORT O LIKE A RECEPTION

cried. "Why, you're nothin' but a
girl this livin' minute, Rosemary
Sweet!"

The soft light of the sunset was on
their faces, youthening them. Thru
the open window, like a memory,

drifted a cloud of fading rose-petals.
She nodded down at them smilingly.
"I knew somethin' was goin' to hap-
pen. I could feel it in my bones,"
exclaimed old Rosemary Sweet,
triumphantly.

A Lesson

By GLADYS HALL
I used to be selfish and thoughtless and
small,
Absorbed in my own narrow life,
Forgetting a world far larger than mine
And mankind in the heat of their strife.

I used to be blind to the poor and op
pressed,

To the glory as well as the shame,
And now I can see it and feel it, and know,

And my life holds a purpose and aim.

For I've seen the whole story of life and
of man,
Hate — primitive, love — bitter-sweet,
The hope and the promise — beginning and
end — ■
On the world-reaching photosheet.

*ArtfEPLAY)

It was one of those well-ordered liv-
ing-rooms that seemed to reflect,
in each polished chair and bit of
old Sheffield or brass, the character of
its inmates. Antimacassars, worked
with a nun's patience, covered the
shiny haircloth of the chairs; a
grandfather's clock released its hollow
ticks reluctantly in a corner • a pair of
dead-and-gone canaries perched, in
stuffed coquettishness, on the mantel-
shelf. And from the wall the posed
likenesses of Grandmother Williams
and her Squire stared down with
maddening complacency at the fixity
of things.

The occupants of this old-fashioned
room were three, a whispy, middle-
aged couple drawn up to their after-
noon game of cribbage, and a power-
ful young man, who sprawled on a
tiger-skin rug and scowled into the
flames of the gas-logs. Nothing could
have been more out of keeping with
the room and its inmates than this
restless giant and the tropical skin
under him. Now and then his eyes
rose from the flames and centered on
the photograph of a girl on the
mantel-shelf. She was an immature,
smiling thing, as golden as he was
dark? dressed in a simple graduation

dress, and looking out across the room,
and across the world, with wondering
eyes.

Presently the outer door opened
and quick feet sounded in the hall-
way. The door burst open, and the
original of the photograph, pink and
panting, flung thru the opening. She
was followed by a tall youth with
stilt-like legs, who chased her ar-
dently about the room until, ruffled
and cornered, she fell into his con-
quering arms.

The man on the rug scarcely
glanced up, but the little couple fol-
lowed the chase with chirrupy words
of warning or encouragement. "Joe,
dear," said the lady, "dont be rough.
Claire is high-spirited and "

1 ' Nonsense ! ' ' broke in her husband ;
"give way to your feelings if you
want to. If there's anything I dis-
countenance, it's a namby-pamby
lover."

The harmless scuffle in the corner
continued.

"She is only a child," sighed Mrs.
Williams.

"And what were you, pray tell,
when you married me?" demanded
her husband.

"Things are changing, dear."

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"Pooh! the game of hearts —
never ! ' '

A smothered kiss answered affirm-
atively from the corner, and the man
on the rug rose up, brushed the
tawny hairs from his legs and strolled
toward the door.

"Back to dinner, mother," he said;
' l out for a touch of air. ' '

The door closed sharply, and they
heard his light step on the porch.

"What's come over Will?" asked
Mr. Williams, troublously. "Ever
since he's come back from India he's
been out of sorts and too big for the
house."

"He's a quiet boy," defended his
mother, "and cant stand seeing his
little Claire manhandled."

"Hm!" said Mr. Williams; "let's
find out. Claire, you vixen," he said,
toward the corner, "when you grow
up to be a staid married woman and
have lost your looks and figure, will
you need a protector if Joe happens
to steal a kiss from you V

"Of course not, Papa Williams.
How ridiculous ! ' '

"Will you kindly note," he con-
tinued, l ' an example of fright and in-
dignation as I salute Mrs. Williams. ' '

Thereupon he flung his arms about
her and kist her smartly on the cheek.

Mrs. Williams blushed with pleas-
urable modesty. "You wont under-
stand, ' ' she demurred ; ' ' forcible love-
making is a burglar's method to me."

' ' Mercy ! ' ' said the corner again ;
' ' look at the time — I must be running
home."

"Enjoyed your call immensely,
Claire," declared Mr. Williams; "Joe
is so generous."

She slipped from Joe's arms and
ran toward the door.

"Wait a minute!" called the de-
serted youth; "I've something to
get. ' ' But she fled thru the doorway
and out under the summery trees of
the lawn.

Will appeared to step out from no-
where, and motioned her to wait for
him. She hesitated, with the wonder-
ing look of her picture caught in her
eyes as he came up with her.

"So it's true," he said, looking

down at her blowing hair; "you
really are going to marry him ? ' '

"Yes."

' ' You will not change your mind ? ' '

"No."

"Then it's a cursed outrage," he
burst out, with his face searching
hers; "and you've been a trickster
and flirt from the cradle. You knew
my love for you when I went away,
and as for that clownish Jacob, Joe,
he is the thief of my birthright. ' '

She drew away from him like a
chided child. "Will, I was a little
girl ; you were my big-man brother — "

His face crimsoned with passion.
"That's it," he cried, seizing her arm
roughly ; ' ' you traded upon my man-
hood and my spirit. In the Far East
woman cant do these things. And
then Jacob crept in close to your
lecherous glances."

She gave a little gasp of fright and
started crying softly. His hand
tightened on her arm. Then plunging
steps crashed along the gravel, and
Joe, pale and trembling, stood close
to them.

Will stared at the determined,
clenched-fisted boy.

"Well, Jacob," he sneered, "have
the decency to keep out of this. ' '

Joe stood blinking in coltish per-
plexity. Will had always been some
one to be feared and followed — his
boyish ideal. He stood helpless, with
slack arms, until Claire's drawn, elfin
face glanced piteously toward him.
Then, with a snarl and a spring, he
was upon his brother, clutching, strik-
ing, clawing like a cave-man.

"Down, you pup!" roared Will,
the clear blood spurting from his
cheek.

But Joe clung to him the harder —
a storm-swept sapling beating and
bruising a forest oak.

A fear of the greater rage than his
struck into Will's heart, and, with
admirable calmness, he finally suc-
ceeded in forcing Joe off.

"Ah, cub!" he taunted; "you've
tasted blood — your brother's — and it
thrills you."

Joe stood ready to spring again, his
brain drunken with hate, But Will

THE FROZEN TRAIL

turned rapidly and walked toward
the house.

"Claire," gasped Joe, "this is ter-
rible, and yet I had to do it. I'm mad
with love of you. and hate, yes, of my
brother." A fit of trembling shook
him, and he leaned against a tree.
"Ever since he came back I've felt
his animal's eyes upon us — cunning,
unscrupulous, full of hate."

"I've felt it, too, dear," comforted
Claire, "and didn't dare tell."

"It's out now,
Claire, little girl,
and I know him.
It will be worse
than torture for
us to live in the
same house with
him."

She shivered
and instinctively
drew close to
him. Suddenly
her face flushed,
and her eyes
went wide with
a wonderful
t h o n g h t, She
d r e w his head
down and whis-
pered a string of
tremulous words.

"Great Scott!
you dont mean
it?" cried Joe,
thunderstruck.
Her face was all
aglow now, under
the golden tangle
of hair, with the
pride of sacrifice.
went on; "give up
the presents and
everything ? ' '

She nodded. Joe seized her hand
impulsively.

"You're the man-end of this team,
Claire." he declared, "and while it
will be a shock to the old folks, it's
the only way out." And with her
arm drawn thru his and talking like
rapid-fire guns, the conspirators made
their way thru the gate and disap-
peared down the street.

Nothing more was seen of Joe that

HER

"What!" Joe

the wedding and

your friends —

evening, tho late at night his parents
heard him pacing his room and
tumbling things about.

' ' Love-insomnia ! ' ' muttered Mr.
Williams, and thought nothing more
about it.

In the morning, as they entered the
living-room, an air of desertion
seemed to hang over the place, and
Mrs. Williams noticed that Claire's
picture was gone from the mantel.
"She will soon be here to take its
place, the dear,"
she thought, and
picked up her
sewing - things
from the table.

A blotched en-
velope met her
eyes, and she
looked at it with
foreboding as
she adjusted her
glasses. She read
aloud :

When you read
this, dear mother,
Claire and I will be
married. It seems
heartless, but we
are going away
without seeing you
again. Be brave,
mother dear; I can
see the tears steal-
ing into your eyes
now. Some day,
when I've made a
fortune in the
West, you will
lyrow the reason. I
am asking of Will
only that he take
my place. That's

you more than
Joe.

' ' John, John ! ' ' she implored, turn-
ing to Mr. Williams, ' l am I dreaming
this terrible thing? What does it
mean?"

"It's an elopement, sure enough,"
said the contrite Mr. Williams, sadly ;
"the boy must have taken my fun to
heart, How about it, Will?" he
asked, suddenly wheeling upon the
older brother.

The glassy stare of the tiger's eyes
in the rug swept from Will's face
under his father's glance.

EYES WERE BRIGHTER THAN
THE GOLD"

all now-
ever.

I'm loving

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"It's the way of youth," he said —
"wolf-cruel. Only with later years
comes a love that measures things."

His father turned away without a
word, and from the dining-room, over
the breakfast things, his mother's
faint sobs came in to him. The gas-
logs of a damp, early morning were
burning, casting waving shadows
across the great tiger-skin. Will
threw himself upon it, and the blood

the window against the return of the
brothers — and each morning they had
trimmed the charred wick again.

At first, many letters had come to
the house, in Joe's big, schoolboy
scrawl — letters on rough paper and
postmarked from mining towns in
Colorado, Nevada and as far away as
California. But they never quite
reached their destination — Will saw
to that — and, finally, their little heart-

YOU CANT GIT THRU TO TH ' YUKON TILL THE ICE BREAKS UP" (page 49)

slowly trickled again from the gash
in his face.

"Ah, Jacob, Jacob!" he thought,
"you have done a foolish thing, and
have left an enemy behind to smear
your memory."

Five years warmed and whitened
over the land, leaving the toll of its
summer furrows and winter 's snow on
the cheeks and hair of the cribbage
players. Will had left them long
since, off on his wanderings again.
Each winter's night, with the wind
from the sea guttering in the chim-
ney, they had set a lighted lamp in

beats of news and homesickness and
new hopes fluttered out altogether
and lay still in the breast of the
writer.

Once Joe wrote gladly, with a song
in every word, that a little girl had
been born to Claire and him, and that
her eyes were brighter than all the
gold in the riffle-boxes. And again
he wrote that they were desperately
poor and needed money to join the
rush to the new goldfields in the
Yukon country.

"Ah, little brother!" smiled Will,
as he burned the letter, "life begins
to pinch, and you squirm and cry out

THE FROZEN TRAIL

under it. It's the way of bankrupts,
and my clear duty is to seek you out. ' '

The following week he was gone.
"Just wanderlust, mother/' he had
yawned, and she had dutifully packed
his trunk and set the lamp in the
window for the two missing ones. The
tiger-skin rug still lay before the fire,
and all the evening long the shadows
played across it, and its yellow glass-
eyes blinked ominously at the restless
light. . . .

It was the hour
preceding day in
the frozen North
— night, yet not
darkness, o n 1 y a
soft, subduing ab-
sence of the sun's
rays brooding
over the hills and
valleys. Towering
mountain ranges
lay like bare,
black curtains to
the north and
south. Each tree
on the trail glis-
tened with its
mantle of feath-
ery whiteness.

A bearded giant
of a man stood on
the summit of the
fearsome Chil-
koot Pass and
peered at the
heroic panorama
of sleeping Na-
ture spread out
before him. His
half-starved dogs lay in the packed
snow, panting from their climb.

And then, as he stood in awe, a
weird and formless presence shaped
in the sky, and the stars seemed to
scamper on silvery bellows of cloud.
An electric crackle and sparkle broke
the uncanny stillness, and suddenly
the sky was smeared with belts of
yellow, changing into every color of
the rainbow. Snow-covered lakes and
somber forests took shape in the flat
bowl of the huge valley. The mighty
overture of the birth of day in the
North had unfolded its spell.

The man drew back, muttering ; the
bigness of the world before him and
the sun-glare from a thousand hills
and meadows confused his wits. Then,
gathering his dog-reins close, he
plunged almost headlong toward the
pit of the valley.

At a little log settlement on the
banks of an ice-lake he stopped for
food and shelter. The keeper of the
hotel dosed him prodigally with beans
and whisky and
answe red his
questions freely.
Was he an old
settler on the
Yukon trail ? Was
it possible to get
thru to the Klon-
dike country?
Had he heard of
a man on his way
to the diggings
by the name of
Joe Williams ?

"Hold hard,
stranger, " said
the good-natured
settler; "it's ed-
diket here to an-
swer first instead
of arsk. A news-
paper's worth an
ounce of dust and
a trademark on a
pick handle is
worth more 'n a
prayer. Yes, I'm
here three years
— three centuries
'bout as long —
an' you cant git thru to th' Yukon
till the ice breaks up. As fer Joe
Williams, he's a young feller that's
took to trappin ' up Tagish way. Him
an' his purty chit of a wife hadn't
no outfit and liked to starve to death,
but they're makin' their grub trap-
pin' furs and meat for th' settle-
ment. ' '

The stranger thanked him and was
off. It was snowing. A frigid wind
was setting up the valley, whirling
the flakes like knife-cuts against his
face. It must have been sixty below
zero, for his breath struck the air with

HE CAME TO, WITH JOE BENDING
OVER HIM" (page 50)

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

a crackle like the electricity in hair.
The forming ice in his beard and eye-
lashes began to trouble him.

"Why in h — 11 did I grow this
thing ? ' ' he asked himself ; then, think-
ing of the inappropriateness of the
oath, he laughed.

Toward two o'clock it began to
grow dark, and he floundered on help-
lessly, sometimes losing the trail and
staggering and slipping thru the
tundra hummocks. But, somehow, his
faithful dogs dragged him back to the
trail.

" If I can only hold out, ' ' he cried,
"if I can only Bah ! it's a beau-
tiful place to die in, anyway."

Presently his left arm dropped to
his side and swung stiffly, like a pen-
dulum. It was frozen as hard as
rock.

"There's one left," he said, and
staggered feebly on.

In a little while he stopped dead-
still, and the snow drifted up to his
boot-tops.

"Joe, Joe!" he called thru the
gloaming, "you are stronger than I,
you pup — love is greater than hate,
after all. How I hate "

Just as the bark of a far-off dog
took up the call of his own, he sank on
his face into the soft bed of the snow.

He came to, with Joe bending
over him and a whisky-flask pressing
against his clenched teeth. His eyes
were locked shut with a film of ice,
and he felt only the heat pouring into
him.

Suddenly he felt the earth slipping
away from under him, and heard the
strain and creak of a dog-pack in
harness. A ten-yard dog- whip whistled
thru the air and snapped against the
fur of the leader with a report like a
shotgun. A dozen pairs of padded
feet scampered ahead of him as the
sled-box quivered and flew across the
mountainous drifts. By his side the
soft slip-slop of snowshoes told him
that his savior, whoever he was, was
keeping up with him. He was alive,
then, he dimly figured out thru his
stupor, and was being borne on the
wings of the frozen night.

With the sun beating thru the open
cabin-door, he started from his sleep
and opened his eyes. His glance
centered on the bent head of a man
who was rubbing something roughly
at his side. Presently he realized that
the thing so industriously treated was
his arm, and that he knew the man
bending over it. A young and grace-
ful woman stood near-by, holding a
pan of snow, and her he recognized
also with a start.

Will continued to stare thru smart-
ing eyes, and saw that they had not
identified him. Was it the irony of
fate, he thought, that had carried him
blind and lifeless to their very door
and snugged him, like a snake, in
their sleeping-bunk? Fate or luck,
he decided to make the most of it.

Finally the yourg man rose up, his
face rosy with exercise.

"I guess the arm's coming around
all right, Claire," he said. "I've
started the blood. ' ' He picked up his
Winchester and walked to the door.
" I 'm off for the traps. Dont forget, ' '
he admonished; "plenty of strong
coffee and rub, rub, rub."

His words were jerked back in time
to the step of his snowshoes. Will
listened to the fainter and fainter slur
of their thongs, and then all was
silence.

' ' Coffee ! " he said faintly, and the
woman in the doorway started as if a
gun had gone off back of her. A little
girl, whom he had not noticed before,
ceased playing with a dog and came
over to stare at him curiously.

As Claire brought him a tin cup of
steaming coffee, the child continued
to eye him with distrust. The hot,
strong narcotic sent a stream of new
blood seeking thru his veins.

"What's your name, young 'un?"
he asked gruffly.

"Jane, pleath," she lisped, "an'
I 'm four. ' '

' ' Jane ? There aint any such name, ' '
he contended.

She shook her crown of golden curls
in disputation. "Yeth there ith; it's
my grandmama's own truly one."

The bearded man laughed.

"I guess I'll sleep now, Jane," he

THE FROZEN TRAIL

said, lying back; "tho I dont believe
you."

He shut his eyes, and Claire stole
softly from the cabin.

"Jane," said the bearded man,
after a spell of silence, "are you
there?"

The child came up to him, unafraid
this time.

"Where's your mother?"

"Faithful little retriever!" he en-
couraged, patting her head.

As Claire entered the cabin door
with an armful of wood, Will began
to slice the beard from his face. She
watched him in silence, wondering at
his steady hand.

First the smooth, dark cheeks ap-
peared, and he stopped to watch her
eyes. They showed only mild curios-

" PLENTY OF COFFEE, AND RUB, RUB, RUB"

The chuck-chuck of an axe against
wood in the distance answered, and he
closed his eyes again and groaned.
"Claire's little hands," he whispered.

"Jane," he said again, huskily,
"fetch me your papa's razor from
where you've hid it."

" 'Taint gone from th' shelf," she
challenged, with wide eyes.

"Thanks,"
soap?"

he smiled; "and the

The child brought a cake of yellow
fat to him obediently.

ity, and he went on with his work. A
short, scarlet lip freed itself from the
heavy hair and hung bare above its
fellow. Still she showed only sur-
prise, with a little, puzzled frown
gathering on her low forehead.

With a few swift strokes he bared
his lower lip, and the pair met in a
naked, sinister smile. Then, suddenly,
Claire 's eyes fixed with horror, and the
faggots came tumbling from her shak-
ing arms.

' ' You know me % ' '

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

1 ' Will ! What brings you ' '

"Yes ; I have tracked you across the
Chilkoot and into the guts of no-
man's land. Quick," he ordered, as
she shrunk away from him, "bundle
the child up and help me to the sled. ' '

"Will, Will, have mercy!" she
cried, falling to her knees.

' ' Mercy ! " he sneered ; '" it 's a word

helpless." His voice lowered musi-
cally. "A few hours in your sweet
company and I'll be on my pegs
again. I'll stride by your side. I'll
love — I '11 hate in the wilderness. ' '

Impelled by the madness of his
eyes, the miserable woman helped him
to the door, where he leaned as she
harnessed the pack of yelping dogs.

LITTLE JANE IS AFRAID OF THE STRANGER

for fools and priests." He tried to
get up, his revolver wavering in his
hand. "Mercy? What mercy had you
the night you fled the house in your
lustful haste and left the old folks

pierced to the heart? And me "

His high-pitched voice choked with
the thought of his wrong.

"Must we go — with you?" Her
words expressed loathing, terror,
fascination — everything.

' ' Yes, I 'm in a hurry to be off. I 'm

As the sun glowered above the tree-
less, white hills, the long string of
animals sprang to the crack of the
whip, and the sled spun loose from its
snow moorings. Strange to say, Will
held the sleeping child in his arms in
the sled, and Claire, the wife, walked,
humbled and mute, by his side.

As Joe plowed home in the dusk of
night, he saw no candle-light from the
cabin window, nor did the yapping of

THE FROZEN TRAIL

the hungry dogs greet him from far
afield.

It was a singularly clear, still night,
with the northern lights easting their
aura on the snow, yet the friendly
smudge of a cooking supper did not
float like a nun's veil above his roof.
He always loved to sniff the burning
spruce, and as for the dogs, they were
used to leap in gluttonous glee against
the white-sheeted logs.

Now all lay silent, sightless, with-
out sound.

Joe pushed on, with a lump of fore-
boding rising in his throat. His string
of cheery halloos simply would not rise
above a tiny, mouse-like squeak.

Suddenly he squatted down in the
snow and stared at two sharp cuts in
its surface. The sled ! and a hundred
little paw-holes in its track !

Joe straightened up and took to
running. He felt now that something
terrible had happened. The cabin
door swung open to his shove, and he
stumbled into its blackness.

Joe lit a match and stared about
him. The place was completely de-
serted— not even a thieving dog to
cower away from him. And all about,
in the toss of haste, lay evidences of a
hurried departure.

The match burned down to his
fingers and went out with a sullen hiss
against the icy glove. Joe groped his
way to the wall and took down his
cartridge-belt. Thank heaven ! that
was still left to him. His heavy wal-
rus moccasin struck some object that
shattered under it, and he cursed in
fear and lit another match. It was
Jane's doll, her head trodden in like
an egg-shell, and the tears sprang to
his eyes at the sight of the end of her
sawdust pilgrimage.

Then he was out in the night again,
loping, with the speed of a dog, in the
track of the coffin-like sled.

Dawn came again — murky, yellow,
golden, violet and pink. As the sun
crept in full, round glory above the
range, it looked down upon a scene of
unusual human activity. Will's sled
lay, careened and stalled, on a rising
slope, with the dogs badly snarled in

their harness. They had taken to im-
patiently milling around and around
the sled, and Will, with threatening
whip, darted its lash at the leaders.
With all his powerful frame, and the
drink-craze of the night back of it,
the contrary thing only wound its live
lengths tightly round his body.
Claire, buried deep in her pasha, lay
back in the sled and, holding Jane,
watched his unskillful moves.

And coming up the trail, in plain
sight back of them, was the ghost of a
tottering man on snowshoes.

Will had by now gotten his pack in
some sort of order and raised his whip
to start them.

Joe instantly stopped in his tracks
and unslung his rifle for a long, care-
fully aimed shot. A miss, and good-by
to the scampering dogs and their
precious burden.

He studied the exact spot where he
wanted to hit the stranger ; rubbed
the frost from his rifle-sights, and
raised the gun to his shoulder. It
glistened like a heliograph in the
dazzling sun.

Will had turned and stared stupidly
at the doll of a man in the distance.
As a tiny jet of flame leaped from the
Winchester, he jumped, with an oath,
to one side.

The bullet caught him fairly in the
shoulder and turned his bulk fairly
over in the snow. But, in a second,
he was up, roaring like a bull, and
running toward the sled.

Little Jane had raised her furry
head, and he seized upon it, flinging
her out at his feet. Claire struggled
wildly with her furs, but he held her
down with an iron arm, and whip-
ping onto the box-board, called to the
dogs.

The frightened beasts plunged in
their collars, and despite the double
load, had soon crested the slope and
were off like startled caribou on the
long, downward trail.

As for Joe, aching and spent, he
managed barely to reach the huddled
figure of sobbing little Jane. Over
the crest of the slope slid the
stranger and Claire — out of his life,
and be d d to them !

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Little Jane remained, the child of
shame — his mother 's child and his.
And he cuddled down by her, grasp-
ing and kissing her tear-swollen face
again and again.

Night fell again on Joe's cabin, the
third since his return, and Jane lay
almost lifeless in his arms.

For three days he had not dared to
leave the room, and fuel had become a
haunting problem to him.

"Here goes, Little Jane," he mut-
tered; "the birch table that your
mama liked so." His axe crashed
into the beautiful wavy grain of it,
and the thing lay shattered at his feet.
A fire crept up from the ashes, sul-
lenly, and he held the limp child
perilously close to it.

Outside it was snowing heavily, and
he heard the drift against the logs
and the soughing of the trees in the
wind.

"How long, 0 Lord," he prayed,
1 ' must my test endure % "

Then he figured rapidly: the fuel
of his furniture and bunk was good
for two days ; his food might hold out
a day longer; after that He

shuddered and pressed the child
closer to him.

Thru the night came the husky call
of "Arrah!" and he thought he
picked up the distant tinkle of a dog-
bell.

Yes; there it was again — a high,
unnatural voice, with its pack-guid-
ing call.

And then a rush of dogs thru the
snow, and their clamor against the
hut. Thru the glad din a knocking
and beating fell upon the door, and he
finally distinguished it.

Joe rolled little Jane up in his lynx-
skin coat and rushed toward the wel-
come sound.

"Who's there?"

"It's me!" called a little, ungram-
matical voice, and in an instant Joe
had the door open and a mass of white
snow staggered into his arms.

"Dont ask me how I got back — the
dogs simply came," she said, some-
what later, by the roaring fire. Her
eyes flashed, and she drew herself,
shuddering, into his arms. "It was
Will," she whispered; "he's dead out
there in the spruce." Claire closed
her eyes, as if shutting out the sight

WILL COMES TO THE END OF HIS JOURNEY

TEE FROZEN TRAIL

THE PACK HAS SCENTED SOMETHING DOWN YONDER

of Will forever. ' ' It was horrible the
way he stretched himself out — just
like on the rug at home. And then
the end came, with his hands fumbling
for the bullet, and his eyes staring up
at me. ' '

"Dont go on, Claire — try to calm
yourself, dear."

She lay close to him, and he drew

the
her.

fur of the warm pasha around

On the wind a long, low howl came
down to them.

"What is it?" she asked, starting.

"Timber wolves, dear — their call.
The head of the pack has scented
something down yonder in the
spruce."

A Romance

By L. M. THORNTON

What's her name? It does not matter,

But I'm quite in love with her,
For I've never heard her chatter,

And she's not a giggling girl.
Sometimes she's arrayed in satin,

Sometimes garbed in gown of lace;
All she wears to me is Latin,

For I only see her face.

She can dance, her every motion

Fills me with a sweet unrest ;
She can swim — why, stern old Ocean,

Laughing, clasps her to his breast.
Tho my hand I fain would proffer,

Ever is my courage weak,
For 'tis hard my heart to offer,

When I've never heard her speak.

Love, they say, disdains a fetter ;

Some time I shall dare my fate,
Breaking in, to know her better,

Thru that magic, whirling gate.
Each release I wait ecstatic,

As she greets me, young and gay,
Center of some scene romantic —

At the Motion Picture play.

The war spirit in Jacobsdal had
been smouldering — as it had
been thruout all Transvaal —
for many months. The inhabitants
of the little village hid their feverish
excitement under a vain show of un-
concern and unwonted festivities.
But there was a false ring to it all,
and an atmosphere so taut that it
almost twanged disagreeably if any
unusual sound disturbed the sur-
rounding hills.

The burghers, their wives and
families assembled every Saturday
night in the rough but spacious room
of Piet Joubert 's home that served
for every purpose except sleeping-
room. Here the men smoked much
and talked a little in sinister, deep
tones, while the women huddled in
whispering groups in the dim corners.
At intervals, Piet Joubert himself
would break thru the gloom and
smoke to command a lame old fellow
to play a tune, that they all might be
merry and have a dance. But no one
made a movement until the wheezy
accordeon limped into the movement
of a patriotic air — then the dance
began, with the thud of heavy boots.

The men held their sweethearts in
a clasp that went deeper than the
brush of a coat-sleeve, and husbands
embraced their wives with a strength
and power that suggested the sturdy,
endless hills that they had come to
call their own.

Once their voices rose, and there
was murmur of laughter that was of
the heart, not the lips, and the even-
ing seemed about to touch the hem
of Pleasure, when there was a swift
patter of horse's hoofs on the short
bridge in the valley. The dancing
ceased instantly. The men thronged
the doorway, and women shrunk
back in the corners again.

A minute later, a dusty horseman
burst into the room, too exhausted
for a moment to speak. Piet Joubert
grasped him by the hand and leaned
forward to catch his words. The next
moment he turned a slightly pale
face to the men about.

"The English!" His voice was
hoarse and keyed to hatred. "The
English have crossed our border !
They have invaded Transvaal soil !
Go home and sleep tonight — God
knows when and where the work that

TEE BATTLE FOR FREEDOM

begins in the morning will cease !
Good-night — brothers and sisters —
good-night ! ' '

"When they had passed down the
road, Piet Joubert turned to the two
women who. remained. "You shall
haiTe greater cause to love your Trans-
vaal now, my dear wife and daugh-
ter! Good-night, Ellen; we shall all
be up early tomorrow ! ' '

But Ellen did not sleep ; this news
had struck two deep gashes in her
nature from which flowed a steady
stream of memories that were life's
blood. Ellen Joubert 's blood was
English, but her heart was Boer!

For the first time in all the fifteen
years of her expatriation, her mind
reverted to the terrible circumstances
that led to her change of heart. Now
she was the belle of Jacobsdal, with
a heart that beat sturdily with Boer
patriotism; then she had been but a
little English child who could lisp
"God Save the Queen" in a way
that had brought tears to men 's eyes.

But thru all these years she could
not recall exactly what men these
had been. Thru the dim distances
her failing vision saw a man; there
came an echo of his voice, that was
sweet and gentle, that suddenly
ceased as tho choked with tears; be-
hind him he left a fragrance of
tobacco that was strangely different
from Yater Piet's pipe. Another
face had haunted those childhood
dreams. It was that of a boy scarcely
sixteen.

Ah! that recalled something else —
the locket and the picture ! The
gray-haired man with the gentle voice
gave this boy and her each a locket.
That is what had made the tears
come into his voice. Then she had
left the big English town, that Vater
Piet had told her must have been
Cape Town, in a great, lumbering
wagon. But by her side walked an-
other man.

Tears involuntarily welled in her
eyes and blurred the beloved kopjes
nestling outside her window in the
moonlight. The explanation trembled
on her lips, "Father!"

The agony of the week that fol-

lowed again etched itself upon her
vision. The shouts of the native
drivers ; the blows on the backs of the
faithful oxen; the dazzling heat of
the African sands, and then the
maddening thirst that tore thru their
veins like boiling liquid! How they
rushed, for hours and hours, toward
the charted water-hole — and found it
dry ! Only one barrel remained for
all. And an order was given to shoot
the first water-thief. Then in the
moonlight, with fear and trembling,
she had seen her father steal almost
the last drop of water — for her.

The streaming tears were all for
England that moment.

And then the day that followed!
Thirst made madmen of the negroes
first. There was a terrible struggle.
Some one was killed — and the water
was upset in the bottomless sands.
Then the long, long wail for ' l Water ! ' '
that kept up for hours and hours,
and the horrid, huddled forms, with
always the outstretched hands and
the protruding tongues!

How perverse, that all the horrors
stood out clear in her memory, while
the beautiful deeds were but vague
stirrings of pathos !

What a hero her father had been!
Not a drop of the precious water
would he drink from the leaky can-
teen. They actually struggled to
make each other drink it. The last
thing he did was feebly to clasp the
locket and press it to his swollen
lips. Then she, too, faintly remem-
bered the blood-red vision that finally
overtook her amid breaths that rasped
her lungs and throat like hot saws.

Next came consciousness and Vater
Joubert 's. A party of horsemen had
picked her up at the last moment.
And so Vater Joubert 's had meant
life, love and patriotism !

And now England, the home of her
fathers, had laid her hands violently
on Transvaal — her home-land ! There
was no decision to be made. She did
not even know her own identity.
There was but one tangible tie, and
that lay in the portrait contained in
the locket — a sweet young face of
another generation, with eyes filled

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

with mother-love. This, she knew,
was the gaze of her mother. Her
parents were dead; she was free to
espouse new ties.

The next day Piet Joubert rode
away at the head of a determined
band of Jacobsdallans, bristling with
arms and loaded with ammunition.

section were being forced back, step
by step, by superior numbers.

Day by day some new evidences of
the horror of war came within range
of Jacobsdal. One evening the vale
was swarmed with a retreating gush
of Boers pushing frantically rear-
ward in an effort to join their main

ALMOST THE LAST DROP OF WATER

It was nearly a month before they
were again heard from, altho rumors
of fierce fighting had come thru
refugees who were pressing inland to
escape the invading foe. The vil-
lagers were awakened one morning by
a rumbling that they at first attrib-
uted to distant thunder. It kept up
steadily all day. By daylight the
next morning ambulances began to
straggle thru the vale, bearing the liv-
ing toll of war. The Boers in that

division and to hold back a large force
of English advancing from the south.
They hurried thru Jacobsdal with the
news that the troop from that place
was less than a day's march off,
supporting a regiment of infantry.
They were making the enemy fight
for the possession of every kopje and
pay a premium in blood for every
advantage.

Next day Piet Joubert and the
remnant of his band themselves rode

TEE BATTLE FOR FREEDOM

over the little bridge in the vale.
They had hurried in for provisions
and to warn the stay-at-homes that
Jacobsdal was doomed, and to make
immediate preparations to depart.
Not more than four hundred of the
thousand infantry remained, altho
three regiments of the enemy had
been practically decimated. If they
could hold on a little longer they
could possibly break the courageous
enemy's spirit.

daybreak. But we must either de-
stroy all our possessions here or have
some sort of reinforcement. One
more encounter may break their
devilish spirit. Pray God it will!
Are there any here who think they
can fire a gun tomorrow who have not
been out yet?"

There was a silence in which the
general deep breathing could be
heard. At length Ellen Joubert
stepped to her foster-father's side.

THEY ACTUALLY STRUGGLED TO MAKE EACH OTHER DRINK IT'

By nightfall the Boer wagon-train
filed into the valley and was promptly
loaded with food and supplies. Even
the musketry could now be heard
just beyond the pass. Piet Joubert
that night called his townsmen to-
gether in the great room that had
served for their dances not a month
before.

"Tomorrow the English will be
upon Jacobsdal," he announced
solemnly. "I know that practically
every man who can carry a gun is out
there among the hills waiting for

"Vater Joubert," she said, "we,
the women of Jacobsdal, will help in
the fight tomorrow."

"You cannot," replied Piet Jou-
bert, decisively. "You women shall
get into the carts tonight."

"But, Vater Joubert," persisted
Ellen, "more than half of the oxen
have perished, and the carts cannot
be moved. We have talked it over ; a
score of us are ready to go out with
the men tomorrow. ' '

Piet Joubert said nothing, which
was affirmative to those who knew

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

him. He had been considering the
horrors of that trackless, endless
journey thru the desert inland, in
which Ellen, as a child, had nearly
perished. It was easy enough to trap
the English in its meshes, but to
women and children it meant worse
than death.

When daylight broke, the Boer lines
had taken up a position just above

other position of vantage. In this
manner one hundred good marksmen
could withstand a thousand besiegers.
The English had become more cau-
tious with experience. The com-
mander now tried out the strength of
a party occupying a kopje by draw-
ing the fire of the Boers thru a feint.
Instead of charging, however, the
enemy would drop at the critical

TO THE WOMEN AND CHILDREN IT MEANT WORSE THAN DEATH'

the pass. An hour afterward, the
English pressed into the breach them-
selves, and were met by a heavy
artillery fire from two cannon com-
manding the pass.

The English commander had learnt
tactics adapted to the guerilla
methods of his foe. The Boers always
sought the summit of a kopje and
held it until the enemy had driven
them from it at the point of the
bayonet. Thereupon they fled to an-

moment, revealing the Boer firing-
line. If the fire were heavy, they
would advance cautiously; if it were
light, they would fix bayonets and
charge without delay.

This maneuver was attempted in
the first onslaught on the hill before
Jacobsdal. If it had been successful,
the English would have carried the
day in the very first onslaught. But
Joubert had watched this tactic once
too often. He massed the entire Boer

THE BATTLE FOB FREEDOM

force on a single promontory; the
infantry scattered in a semi-circle,
cavalry on the receding slope out of
sight, and the few pieces of artillery
parked so as to rake the enemy the
moment they were forced into full
retreat.

Thru a glass, Joubert saw the Eng-
lish forming in a long, thin skirmish
line that would take in three sides of
the hill and become denser as it
ascended. They were, at least, seven
to one of the Boers. A detachment
was sent forward, as usual, to draw
the fire and gauge the Boer strength.
There was but a scattered, weak re-
sponse to the invitation. There was
a bugle call to ' ' Fix bayonets ! ' ' The
column began to advance in a deter-
mined double-quick. Joubert saw
that, even with his strategy, it was
going to mean a terrific struggle. His
one general command was to be cau-
tious and to exercise restraint.

The enemy fairly swarmed the
hillside, each man bending low to
escape the desultory fire that seemed
sure to come, and gripping firmly his
gun, which he had been commanded
to fire once in the face of the foe be-
fore charging with the bayonet.
There was not a sound, however, save
the crunching of feet and the jingle
of scabbards. The English were
plainly nervous over the ghostliness
of their reception and began to lose
their confidence. Still they ad-
vanced, until the leaders nearly trod
upon the crouching Boers; then Jou-
bert gave the command: "Fire — and
retreat to the gully on the left!"

The enemy were obliged to pause
at the very impact of the deadly fire,
and for a moment all was confusion
as the line wavered, stunned. In this
propitious moment the entire force of
Boers scurried, as best they could,
info a gully and clambered up a
steep path that gave them a position
of firing vantage on the enemy's un-
engaged flank.

In the meantime Joubert and his
cavalry gave the advancing column
the contents of short, ugly carbines,
and then drew their sabers and rode'
into the English ranks. There is

little doubt but that even then they
would have rallied had not the in-
fantry begun to pump a steady fire
into the ranks of the supporting
flank, which was obliged to fall back
when they were most needed to push
forward. Soon the entire force was
fleeing down the hillside, suffering
great losses as they went. Half-
way down the incline the cavalry
turned back, just as the English
cavalry was sent forward. The poor
troopers came abreast their ill-fated
comrades just as the artillery boomed
forth. The big guns had been
trained on the exact spot they were
most needed. It was the worst defeat
the English had yet suffered in this
part of the country.

The enemy had been too sure and
were intent on capturing their foe in
this very onslaught that had been
their undoing. As a stroke of fate,
the enemy was reinforced by several
companies of fresh combatants. The
officers retired for a council of war.
The Lieutenant- Colonel in command
had been severely wounded, and his
place was now taken by a young
Major. Joubert was struck by his
appearance as he caught his face
thru the field-glass. He watched the
conversation and was soon assured
that this determined young officer
meant to capture that hilltop and
make his force surrender at any cost.

Joubert immediately issued an
order to have the men set a decoy, by
giving every evidence that the hill-
top was occupied as before, leaving
caps on trees and sticks, and then
aiding the artillerymen in getting
the cannon down into the valley as
fast as possible. In an hour's time
they had withdrawn a mile down in
the valley and were making a fortress
of earthworks about the abandoned
wagon-train. The children and in-
firm were sent on out of range under
a white flag, and then the remaining
force stubbornly awaited the inevi-
table onslaught.

Ellen took her stand as near Jou-
bert as she could, the two exchanging
glances that spoke deeper than words.

In the meantime the English,

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

three miles beyond in the farther
valley, were making elaborate prepa-
rations for a determined assault.
This time, just as Joubert had sur-
mised, they made no attempt to test
out the strength of their enemy, but
formed in a double column and came
forward at a much slower pace than
before. When within twenty feet of
the summit they made a precipitate
charge.

Again Joubert had his field-glass
directed upon the young officer, who

in arranging their formation. They
marched down to the plain and
formed in battalions. Then the
cavalry rode off to the other side of
town, to form in the rear of the
Boers. In the meantime a Gatlin
gun was unlimbered within range on
a promontory. Then the men were
given a half-hour to rest.

All the time the Boers were work-
ing hard and setting a triple line of
rifle-pits, prepared to make a stub-
born resistance. The command was

THE BATTALIONS BEGAN TO ADVANCE

seemed to fascinate him. The young
fellow was smiling at the hoax, and
there was something in that smile
that was strangely familiar. Some
one touched Joubert on the arm. He
turned and stepped back as tho he
saw a ghost. Ellen was looking at
him and laughing at the way the
cartridge-belt hung about her neck.

"Look, Ellen!" he said solemnly,
placing the glass to her eyes.

"A handsome fellow — if you mean
the Major," she said.

"That is just it," murmured Jou-
bert, and went off, musing.

The English now took their time

to hold each line as long as possible.
The cavalry realized the seriousness
of their plight when they were told
to abandon their horses and put
every man in the pits.

There was a bugle-call, which was
a signal that the English cavalry had
arrived at their destination. Then
the battalions began to advance.
Joubert 's command was that not a
shot was to be fired until the whites of
the enemy's eyes could be discerned.
The English continued to advance
with exasperating slowness, until un-
expectedly they began to run forward
and discharge their rifles as they did

THE BATTLE FOR FREEDOM

so. Simultaneously there was a
steady fire from the rear, and the
message from the Gatlin began to
spread death in the pits.

Joubert's force was not used to
fighting on the plain, and their dis-
cipline was cast to the winds. They
began to fire blindly. The women,
not being used to fire, added to the
confusion, and the besiegers would
have won a complete victory then and

into their blind retreat. Finally the}
were turned from their panic. The
explosion had, it seems, made a
breach all along the entire rifle-pits.
The moment was at hand to burst
thru. The Gatlin began to sing its
song of death again. The English
stood their ground and, by way of
steadying their position, began firing
in squads. The Boers were driven
from one trench to another. At the

THE WOMEN ADDED TO THE CONFUSION

there had the Boers not played their
trump card. Three mines had been
planted in a line, scarcely five hun-
dred feet from the earthworks. In
the moment of their exultation it
seemed as if the English ranks were
blown high in the air in a consuming
cloud of smoke and earth.

When the din of the terrific explo-
sion had reverberated away among
the hills, the Boers were again pump-
ing lead into a retreating foe.

The young commander was fran-
tic. He beat the men with the back
of his sword and dashed his horse

catastrophic moment one of their big
guns burst, killing or wounding seven
within range. The earthworks them-
selves were partly built of bodies.

Ellen had been slightly wounded
twice ; her powder-blackened face was
streaked with crimson. Several of
her women neighbors had been left
in the trenches.

"We must surrender, " whispered
Joubert to the girl, as he looked about
at the body-strewn ground, with
tears in his eyes.

"No — no!" cried the girl, firing
even as she spoke. A wild light of

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

the unconquered shone in her eyes
and in every line of her defiant
figure.

' ' Your handkerchief — anything —
quick, Ellen ! ' ' cried Joubert, wiping
away a little stream of blood made
by a flesh-wound above his eye.

''Wait, please, until I shoot this
once; it will be my most glorious
shot!"

Joubert followed the barrel of her
rifle, and then made a spring toward
her, throwing the gun many feet
away. She had been aiming at the
heart of the English commanding
officer, the young Major. The next
moment the white emblem was shown,
and there was a bugle-call to cease
firing. The terrible battle for free-
dom was over. The Boer commander
and his brave survivors were made
captives.

The sun was sinking over their
battle-ground when General Joubert
handed his sword to Major Charles
Willis, of the Seventeenth Cape
Town Rangers. The men shook hands,
and stood for a moment looking at
each other, the one with admiration
at a fallen enemy, the other with a
vague inquiry. Behind Joubert
stalked Ellen. She flung her rifle on
the heap near the Major's feet and
ignored his* stare. She would have
walked away with the rifle-belt still
around her neck had not a subaltern
stepped up and asked her to remove
it. At first she was on the point of
resenting the request; then, with
difficulty, because of a badly bruised
wrist, she half got the cartridge-belt
over her head. Major Willis stepped

forward to assist her. Something
caught. The officer got a glimpse
of the object and stepped back, with
a little cry.

"May— I look at this?" he asked,
and there was something in his voice
that arrested the girl's angry retort.
She looked beyond his eyes. There
came back the face of her dreams —
of a boy scarcely sixteen. Her eyes
had never left his, altho he had taken
another locket from his pocket.
When he spoke to another officer to
take his place and came to her side
with a swift stride, she expected it.
Soon Vater Piet Joubert and he and
she were inside a tent that had been
erected. The man was speaking in
Dutch: "Tell me this, General: she
is not your daughter?" Vater Piet
shook his head. The next instant the
man of battle was shedding tears in
her hair, and she was sobbing on his
shoulder. She waited for ever so
long for him to say it. ' ' My sister ! ' '
it came at last.

"My brother and my father," said
Ellen, taking their hands and joining
them with her own. "I could not
battle again against either of you,
because I love you too dearly. Once
again my people are English, and my
Boer heart cannot change. Vater
Joubert, we have found my brother
— may it lead to a speedy peace!
Come, we are prisoners, brother.
See, I would have slain my brother
even as these have slain and been
slain by their brothers! The lesson
has been terrible — the lust of hate !
My life long shall I devote to a battle
of peace!"

My Pleasure

By LEON KELLEY

Some people take their pleasure
In a far and diff'rent measure
Than the way which I can treasure
As my own, own little way.

Some would live a life of wine, and
Some would live from mouth to hand,
And others 'd listen to a band —
But not those things for me.

In a dinner some will find it ;
Others say they love to grind it
In an office, and not mind it,
If the coin they make all day.

I dont wish a cabaret or show,
Nor an auto, whether fast or slow.
The only thing I want to know
Is the photoshow's bright glee.

This story was written fiom the photoplay of ANNE STORY ALLEN

Dawn. A mist of wet bird-wings
and faint, sweet morning cries ;
the unheard sound of flower-
buds unclosing in the pungent wood-
lands ; the crescendo of a brook shrill-
ing from the far dark forest deeps
into the tuneful light; a staccato of
dewdrops dripping from the morning-
gilded leaves. He bent lower over
the keyboard, trembling. It was
chipped and yellow — a sordid loom
on which to weave his fantasy of
sound. His long fingers quivered like
delicate nerve-filaments, with a touch
that was a caress. As they lingered
upon the keys, they seemed to listen
and to answer — dawn: the phrase
there should be rosy, delicate, like the
first ecstasy of the sunrise — ah, that
was it! — the dawn vocal in pine

strings; here a grace-note — ah

John Carroll 's sensitive soul winced
from the travail of noise that broke
in upon his ear-mindedness defiantly
thru the closed doors. Brutal ! How
was a man going to think beautiful
sounds with a racket like that about
him? If it were a hand-organ or a
fire-engine or a steam-siren he would

not notice it, but, with his reverence
for the violin, such noises were blas-
phemous. He resented it as a monk
resents an oath. One. of Silvia's
pupils again, just as he was getting
into the spirit of his theme ! His deli-
cate day-dream of notes fell about him
in broken shreds and gleams. To his
fingers the keys felt inanimate, mute
— chipped, yellow, voiceless things
once more. He glanced at the shab-
biness about him with the fretful
impatience of a rudely awakened
child, savagely pushed away the
piano-stool, and flung his scribbled
notes violently to the floor. In a
musician temper is spelled Tempera-
ment. John Carroll believed himself
abused.

In the living-room the insulted
violin expressed its feelings freely in
quavery grunts and hysterical shrieks
as the bow stammered under unsure,
childish fingers. In Silvia's flushed
face the sounds were reflected as in a
mirror. Her eyes sought the clock
for relief.

"Practice the minor scales again
for next time, Bella," she directed, as

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

the warm, anxious little girl banged
her miserable instrument at last into
its case and reached for her hat and
coat in joyous release.

"Remember to keep your wrist
limp and not to flat your high C 's. ' '

The pupil apparently locked her
directions into the case, snapped the
clasp viciously and immediately be-
came a little girl, instead of an em-
bryo musician. As the door slammed
cheerily in her wake across Silvia's
tense nerves, she dropped into a chair
with a tired little thud that joggled
her ambitious attempt at a laugh into
something very near a sob.

"Some days, Beethoven, " she ad-
dressed the marble bust on the top of
the piano in a quaint little burst of
confidence, "are like symphonies, and
some are just disagreeable discords.
Today is a discord. Did you ever hear
such awful noises as the pot-boilers
make? I thought I saw you shudder
at that last child. Even if you are
marble, I should think it would hurt.
Next time I '11 take you into John 's
room during lessons to spare you — "

"Silvia!"

The tangle of worry-lines on her
forehead unwound hastily.

"Yes, dear. Why, you Poor, Tired
Boy; come here and be kist this
minute. You've got the most end-of-
the-world expression — is it — is it —
the Work, John?"

He nodded gloomily, looking at her
with tragic, reproachful eyes.

' ' If you can tell me how a man can
work in that infernal racket "

His long-suffering tone implied
that Silvia was indulging a selfish
whim by giving music lessons. Tears
of self-pity glistened in the child-
eyes, wistful for their stolen dream.
If his words hurt her she gave no
sign. It was a mother-face she turned
to him, and mother's faces are self-
less, tender, yearning, like that of the
Madonna on the wall.

"I know, dear — I mean I can
guess how it must disturb you" — as
if she did not know! "What's
wrong with the Work, Boy-dear — tell
me."

"It's all wrong, Silvia— all wrong.

I was a fool to believe I could write a
concerto ! It 's trash ' ■

"It's splendid!" she flashed in-
dignantly. She snatched her violin
from the table and swept stormily
across the hall. "Just stay where
you are, Man o' Mine, and I'll show
you whether it 's trash or not ! ' '

He huddled in a chair, head
sunken on his breast. A sick fright
oppressed him. Suppose he had
reached the end. Suppose he could
not write another note of the melodies
that sang thru his brain; suppose —
oh, horrible! — suppose that they
should stop singing! Every artist
knows the fear. It is worse than
dread of death, this dread of im-
potency. Suddenly, like a reassur-
ing hand, the strains of Silvia's violin
crept comfortingly into his sick mus-
ings. Strong and pure the notes rang
out, set free from the pulsing strings
by a master-hand. But it was not
Silvia's playing that he heard. It was
his music — glowing, appealing, true.
There was morning in it: the sur-
prise of the world at the sunrise ; the
stir of awakening; wet bird- wings;
faint, sweet morning cries. He
leaned forward in his chair, breath
panting to his lips in sobs of relief.
Why, it was wonderful — and it was
his! He had dreamed those melodies,
caught them, pinioned them into
notes — he himself alone ! His fingers
felt the need of paper and pencil for
his swarming ideas. He hurried
across the hall.

" It 's good — good — good ! " he cried.
"I can finish it now. I see it all —
it 's like lifting a curtain where it was
dark — it is good, isn't it, Silvia?"

He was eager for praise, like a
child for whom the whole world's
efforts are eclipsed by his own brave
deed. Her eyes were suddenly
mother-wet. "Yes, dear — it's a great
concerto. Now you can finish it — "

"Yes, yes, I can finish it now,"
he repeated. His questing fingers
sought the keys, quivering in every
fine blue vein. Dawn; the quiver of
new-roused wild things on the moor-
land ; shy, furtive feet a-rustle in the
grass

A CONCERTO FOR THE VIOLIN

Silvia slipped silently away. In
her arms she carried the violin, and
she held it closely, tenderly against
her bosom, curiously like the way a
mother carries her child.

Late that evening, so late that it
was almost early morning, John Car-
roll stumbled from the closed room,
with wavering footsteps and a drawn,
ecstatic face. In the cramped little
living-room Silvia sat sewing, the
needle straying
erratically with
the straying of
her thoughts.
At his step
she sprang

"Do you know what time it is, You,
Crazy Boy?" she cried. "Half -past
midnight, as sure as you're a great
composer, my dear! Now I'm going
to make you a cup of tea and a slice
of toast-and-butter-and-jam and tuck
you to sleep just as if you were my
little boy instead of my six-foot-two ! ' *
But later, as she came back into the
sitting-room to turn out the light, she
paused an instant before the bust of
Beethoven, look-
ing down wist-
fully into the
blank, blind,
marble eyes.
Oh, Mr.

YES, YES, I CAN FINISH IT NOW

up, and the sewing fell in a white
drift about her feet. Her eyes ques-
tioned him, but she could not speak
for the tumult in her heart.

"It is done! It is good!" He was
searching vaguely about the room.

"What is it, dear?"

"My hat and coat; where are they?
I'm going to take the concerto to
Nada Malinsky, the violinist. If she
will only consent to play it "

Silvia was laughing softly, her
cool fingers against his fevered
cheeks.

Beethoven," she said whimsically,
"suppose you'd written a bee-yeauti-
ful concerto and suppose your wife
could play — well, not so very badly,
wouldn't you ask her to play it at the
concert instead of Nada Malinsky?
Wouldn't you now, Mr. Beethoven?"

The drawing-room of a great Rus-
sian violinist is a cruel contrast to
the sitting-room of a three-room
apartment, back. John Carroll in-
terpreted all his experiences in the
terms of sound. To him the shaded

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

daylight drifting in thru dark silk
curtains, the easy luxury of the
furnishings, the flowers and colors of
the room were audible, harmonic.
The white-and-gold piano tempted
his restless fingers. Why not, very
softly — as he waited for the violinist ?

Nada Malinsky paused in the door-
way, beautiful brows lifted in dis-
pleased surprise. A stranger at her
piano — it was unpardonable! But
what music ! In spite of her vexation
she listened. The musician's fingers
seemed to fondle the keys, loving the
feel of them. The strains were like
a fragrance — no, not just that; more
like faint, iridescent colors — ah, no !
it was like the splash of the breeze
against one's face- — the sounds of
flowers and trees and sky. It was of
a wonder — this playing ! As the last
note faltered across the room she
swept forward and seized the player's
hands with Slavic exuberance of
admiration. In the half-light of the
room her beautiful face glowed star-
like down upon him, dazzling him.
He stumbled to his feet, fumbling
with words of apology and explana-
tion, but she waved them aside im-
patiently.

1 ' No, no, ne-vair min ' those thing, ' '
she cried. ' ' Firs ', ees this — what you
say ? — origeenal f ' '

"Yes, madame — I wrote it and — "

"And I will play eet!" cried the
Russian, vivaciously, running her
slender finger-tips across the music
that Carroll proffered her, as tho
feeling the sound. "In a mont' at
the gran' ccmcaiW at Carne^ee Hall!"

Her glance strayed to the tall
figure before her, noting the mass of
black hair, the sensitive face quiver-
ing now with joy, the shallow, dream-
ing eyes.

"But you mus' play eet for me—
we mus' practeese moch!" added the
violinist, firmly.

Nada Malinsky was very much a
woman as well.

In the next few weeks Carroll came
more and more often to the luxurious
drawing-room. At first it was the
practice that drew him there; finally
the woman. He listened to her, grate-

ful to the art that was to express his
work in perfect terms. Then, one
day, he looked at her. The miracle of
her art drew back before the miracle
of her womanhood. Carroll saw the
world in sounds — he saw her as a
perfect strain of music; there was
melody in the swaying of her head
on her slender throat, in the curves
of her figure, the supple movements
of her strong, white arm with the
muscles rippling beneath the smooth
skin. He could almost have taken her
down in half and quarter notes, bars
and clefs as she stood beside him, her
upraised violin a-quiver with the
birth of its beautiful sounds.

Silvia did not translate her heart-
ache into words of reproach. Day by
day the cramped little apartment
rang with her pupils' cheerful dis-
cords. After lessons she felt a whim-
sical impulse to sweep the room clear
of the lost flats and sharps and the
broken, mutilated notes that had been
scattered from the strings.

"I declare, Beethoven, I can almost
see them — ugh ! ' ' she smiled drearily.
"There behind the clock is a grace-
note and three repeats, and under the
piano there's a o flat and an a sharp.
I'm glad we have a sense of humor,
aren 't you ? ' '

But in the lonely evenings even a
sense of humor becomes drowsy and
inactive : when the upstairs baby is
fretful, and the downstairs phono-
graph fatuously merry; when the
clock ticks aggravating sentences in-
stead of moments — "she is pret-ty —
pret-ty — pret-ty — he is with her —

with her — with her " Silvia held

long conversations with the marble
bust in order not to listen.

"Of course, he has to practice a
good deal- now — the concert is day
after tomorrow, you know," she re-
minded Beethoven, severely. ■ ' It will
succeed — he will be famous ! ' ' But he
had forgotten to kiss her good-by.
"He's so busy," she cried fiercely;
then her patient eyes filled with slow,
hard tears. "If — the baby — had
lived I could have borne it — better."
The denied soul of her knelt, sobbing,

A CONCERTO FOR THE VIOLIN

by her memories, as heartbroken
mothers kneel to unlock a sacred
chest and weep over the tiny, "unworn
dresses folded away within.

him — she had never
early, dear ? I 'm

"Ah! eet ees one marvel — those
be-yeautiful music, my fren\ To-
night we will show them ! ' '

Carroll swung around on the piano-
stool. The Russian
was bent above him,
her eyes on the music-
rack, her breath
warm on his cheek.
Artistic Tem-
perament bade
him take her
in his arms.

would comfort
failed him yet.
"John! So
glad!"

Suddenly he could not meet her

clear, trusting eyes. He felt the kiss

beside him like a guilty presence,

surely visible to her. But Silvia saw

only his white face, nerve-drawn and

distressed.

"Poor Tired

Boy," she

cooed over

WITHOUT -A GLANCE AT HIS WIFE HE HURRIED FROM THE ROOM

(P. 70)

"It is you — who are beautiful!"
he stammered. In a moment she was
in his embrace, head tilted to his
white, unsmiling gaze, full red lips
inviting. The kiss burned him. His
arms relaxed, fell at his side. He
stared down at her in bewilderment,
like a child who has dared too far
and is frightened. The same child-
instinct hurried him, hat in hand, to
the door, unheeding her angry words,
into the street, thru the pitiless, im-
personal crowd, to find Silvia. She

him; "did he think everything was
going wrong? Hush, dear, dont try
to talk. Just sit down in the comfy-
chair and I'll play a solid-silver lining
into your cloud!"

The bow trembled in her fingers as
she tightened it. A strange sense of
impending consequences swept over
her. Suppose she should fail? He
must be aroused from his lethargy of
discouragement before the concert —
yet there was more than that: his
happiness, hers seemed hanging on

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

her playing. The gallant spirit of
her jeered at her woman-nerves. She
tuned the strings, raised the violin
steadily to her shoulder, poised the
bow. For one brief instant she closed
her eyes in a desperate little prayer:
' ' Let me play — better — than I Ve ever

done before " The bow swept

cleanly across the vibrant strings.
Dawn, blinding in its glory; the sky

longer. Without a glance at his wife
he hurried from the room. The bow
jerked across the strings with a sound
like a heartbroken cry. A whisper
of silken skirts — Silvia looked up
blindly into Nada Malinsky's glow-
ing face.

"Hush!" The Russian's fingers
were on her surprised lips. "I am
Nada Malinsky. I came to bring the

"v.

I HAVE ONE WHAT YOU SAY? IDEE"

thrilled to a strange hymn of praise
— alLthe earth-voices chanting up to
Heaven in thanksgiving for the God-
gift of the new, clean day ■

John Carroll crouched in his chair,
unheeding the wonder of her playing.
His haggard eyes hardly saw the rapt
little figure before him for the tumult
in his soul. The thrill of the stolen
kiss — shame, resentment against Sil-
via, self-pity — he could bear it no

concairto to your hosban' — I was
angry — I would not play — nevair
min* why now. Then I stand on the
stair — soch moosick! I bow to you,
madame — you are one great musi-
cian ! Your husban' — why did he tell
me of you nevair before ? ? '

The selfless tribute of artist to
artist tingled in her voice, her eager
hand-touch. Silvia's heart suddenly
overflowed into painful words.

A CONCERTO FOR TEE VIOLIN

"He does not — know himself," she
cried bitterly. "He has never heard
me play ! ' '

The Russian's eyes sparkled. She
leaned close to Silvia, clapping her
hands gleefully. "I have one — what
you say ? — idee. Listen ! We will
surprise those hosban ', you and me!"

Behind the concert-stage John Car-
roll paced to and fro in a misery of
taut and twinging nerves. When the

fumbled frantically for his music and
stared at it distrustingly. It looked
unfamiliar — he could hardly recog-
nize the notes as his own. The strains
of the lullaby tinkled across his mood
like pin-pricks. He ran his fingers
thru his damp hair until it stood un-
cannily on end. A burst of applause.
The German accompanist was leading
Nada from the stage.

A hand touched his shoulder. The
Russian's face swam mistily before

THE GERMAN ACCOMPANIST WAS LEADING NADA FROM THE STAGE

soprano out there finished her selec-
tion Nada would play a Russian
lullaby on the violin and then his con-
certo! He wished that the singer
would finish — she dawdled fright-
fully over her high notes. No, no —
he wished that she would keep on
singing. Where was Silvia? She
might have stayed with him, instead
of slipping away as soon as they
reached the hall. There ! That was
over. Hear them applaud ! Would
they applaud •him as much? — at all?
A sick fear swept over him. His
fingers felt strangely rigid. He

his blurring gaze. What was she
saying? Their number! Impossible!
He was to go out first and play the
prelude; then she would come? He
stumbled forward. So one in a dream
walks, wondering whether it is truth
or not. Beyond the footlights Some-
thing waited — he felt its presence
vaguely as he dropped to the piano-
stool — watchful, cruel. He must
satisfy It. His nerveless fingers
sought the keys. The prelude sounded
mechanical to his agonized ears — fool
that he had been to believe in his
work! Well, it would soon be over!

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Nearer he came to the opening note
for the violin, every nerve in him
tense with listening. Ah ! here it was
— hark!

Dawn — the primal wonder of crea-
tion— light breaking thru the chaos
of the unformed world! He had
never heard such playing. Could it
be that he had written that music?

stool and turned. The world reeled
before his unbelieving eyes.

' ' Silvia !"

Their eyes met, hers wistful, yearn-
ing, mother-eyes; his humble with
sudden tears. With a proud flinging
back of his head Carroll faced the
audience, silencing them with a ges-
ture. "The concerto you have just

THE WORLD REELED BEFORE HIS UNBELIEVING EYES

The strong, pure notes rang higher,
chanting the glory of creation. Shame
humbled his heart. No, it was not his
— that miracle of sound — his notes,
yes, but the soul of the music was the
player 's, pure beyond his possibilities,
noble as he could never be. As the
last notes died away, and the air
vibrated with the tumult of applause,
John Carroll rose from the piano-

heard is my wife's/' he said. "She
has been my inspiration; she is my
interpreter and my aspiration; she
' has given the soul to the poor body of
my music."

As the great audience broke out
into renewed cheering he turned to
his wif e, and, unmindful of watching
eye;aid-tou(r£sences, stooped reverently
to ierflowed interring lips.

The sun-drenched plaza that opened
up before the huge tobacco fac-
tory began to rouse from its
noonday lethargy. Venders of fruits
and flowers stirred in the shade of
the trees. Groups of girls, laugh-
ing, chattering, shouting, crossed the
patchwork of sunlight and shadow,
on their way to the factory. The
soldiers about the guardhouse door
chaffed them as they passed, receiv-
ing, in return, many a sharp thrust
from a vixen tongue. Among the
soldiers there was one who did not
join in the laughter. He was a young
corporal, the straps upon his uniform
but a few days old. He was already
looking forward to his next promo-
tion. Then he would go back to the
little home in the Basque Mountains.
How proud his good mother would
be of her soldier son! And then he
and Michaela would be married —
Michaela of the angel face and the
long, golden hair. The noise and
movement in the square increased ;
but he bent over his sword, polishing
it and paying no heed to the life

about him. These girls of Seville,
with their gaudy clothes and their
bold manners, did not interest him.
He had always the vision before him

« of Michaela, in her blue skirt and
black bodice, and her golden tresses
in two thick plaits over her shoulders.
So dreamed Don Jose, with a pang
of nostalgia, but, withal, hopefully
and peacefully. It was the last of
such dreams. He became conscious
of excitement about him; he heard a
man exclaim: "Here comes the gita-
nella!" Looking up, he saw a woman
approaching with a slow and supple
swaying of the body. Her short, red
skirt was torn and faded, her stock-
ings were not guiltless of holes, and
the tiny, red slippers were shabby.
Yet, with consummate assurance, she
glanced from right to left out of
great, fiery black eyes, and her full
red lips parted in a dazzling smile
over the whitest of teeth. From one
corner of her mouth drooped a rose,
and another nestled in her hair.

"Carmen, the little gypsy!" Don
Jose heard a soldier explain.

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

•'Why dont you go to your work ?' '
he asked shortly.

"How can I, as long as you are
here? Ah! how nicely you blush!"
she commented, her dark eyes glow-
ing with wanton mischief.

"I wish you could do the same/'
he retorted ungraciously.

"Do you know, I rather like you,"
she laughed, stroking his arm.

He drew away from her, annoyance
in his voice as he spoke. "Why cant
you leave me alone?"

"Why? Do you love any one?"
she flashed back at him.

"Yes," he said, "my sweetheart."

"Only one?" With a sinuous,
cat-like movement, she pressed her
shoulder against his arm and lifted
her vivid, passionate face to his.

"Tell me — are your sweetheart's
eyes as beautiful as mine ? ' '

He meant to bestow a cold glance
in response to the challenge. But
those eyes, so near his own, seemed to
draw his very soul down into a hot

MICHAELA OF THE ANGEL FACE,

So this was Carmen ! Carmen the
irresistible; a Circe of wiles and al-
lurements, who tired of a lover as
soon as won. Don Jose regarded her
curiously but unemotionally. Her
brazen play for the admiration of the
crowd went beyond his idea of par-
donable coquetry. As her great eyes
met his with a sudden, ardent in-
terest, he parried her stare and
turned away, undazzled.

' ' Ha ! ha ! " laughed one of the
girls, "there is one man that Car-
men cant twist round her finger!"

Carmen turned upon her in a
blaze of fury.

"Shut up!" she screamed, "or I'll
twist my fingers around your nose ! ' '

Then, with an exaggerated sway-
ing of the hips, she approached Don
Jose.

"There's the factory bell. Com-
ing, Carmen?" called the girls.

"When I get ready," she threw
back over her shoulder. To Jose, as
she circled about him: "Compadre,
you are very handsome ! ' '

CARMEN

maelstrom of emotions. "With an ef-
fort, he tore his gaze away. He was
trembling. She laughed lightly.
Taking the rose from her lips, she
flipped it into his face.

"Wear this till I come back," she
commanded insolently. "I shall re-
turn, and you will tell me that you
love me. Yes — yes — you will ! ' ' She
had lighted a cigarette, and blowing
alternate kisses and puffs of smoke
toward him, she entered the factory.

"Corporal," said the captain, ad-
dressing Don Jose, "take two men
with you and investigate."

In the factory he found a strug-
gling, screaming mass of girls surg-
ing about Carmen. A smaller group
clustered about a girl, who moaned
and rocked herself, dabbing a blood-
streaked cheek.

"What is the trouble here?"
shouted Don Jose above the babel.

"See what Carmen has done to

CARMEN MAKES TROUBLE IN THE TOBACCO FACTORY

Don Jose looked at the rose lying
at his feet. With a gesture of im-
patience, he walked away. "She is a
witch!" he muttered. He wheeled,
returned to the flower and picked it
up. "I am a fool!" he muttered
savagely. And to give further proof
of that fact, he kist the drooping
rose passionately and crushed it into
his pocket.

At that moment there arose a
clamor from the tobacco factory. A
man rushed to the guardhouse, cry-
ing that a woman had been murdered.

Carlotta!" answered several excited
voices. The injured woman turned
her cheek to Don Jose, and he saw
that it was marked with two slashes
in the form of a cross.

"Confession! Confession! I am
killed!" moaned Carlotta.

In the midst of the struggling
women Carmen still fought defiantly
with her cigar-knife clenched in her
little hand. The girls held her arms
and prevented her doing any more
harm, but tho overpowered, she
squirmed and jerked about like a

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

wildcat. At sight of Don Jose she
quieted down. Her quick, intriguing
brain had settled on a plan to escape
punishment.

The corporal's duty was plain.
The crushed rose against his breast
might torture like the gnawing of the
Spartan's wolf, but the maleficent
Carmen must be arrested.

"You must come with me," he
said stiffly, armoring himself against
the appeal in the smoldering black-
ness of her eyes.

"Very well," she replied noncha-
lantly, wrapping her mantilla about
her head. "Let us go."

After hearing the facts of the case,
the captain at the guardhouse de-
clared that Carmen must go to prison.

"Corporal, you will conduct the
woman to the prison. I will send
two dragoons to accompany you," he
said as he started away.

Don Jose was left alone with Car-
men. She edged up to him. "Wont
you unbind my hands, compadre?"
she pleaded.

" No ; I cannot, ' ' he retorted.

"You- are taking me to prison!
Alas ! what will become of me ? Senor
officer,, take pity on me ! Help me to
escape!" she pleaded, her beautiful,
half-wild face glowing.

"You must go to prison," he re-
plied. "That is the order, and there
is no way of avoiding it."

"No?" she queried, as tho not
convinced. Then, abruptly, she
turned on him, speaking in Basque:
"Lagima, ene bihotsarena, comrade
of my heart, are you from the
provinces ? ' '

Startled and thrilled at the sound
of his native patois on the lips of the
beautiful gypsy, he replied, with
emotion: "I am from Elizondo."

"And I from Etchalar," she told
him excitedly. "I was brought to
Seville by gypsies. I have been
working in the factory to earn money
enough to return to Navarre, to my
poor mother, who has no one but me
to support her. ' '

She glanced hurriedly over her
shoulder. They were still alone.
Deeply moved, the corporal was sa-

voring a bitter distaste for the duty
before him. Carmen's yielding body
pressed against him, her voluptuous
lips were seeking his.

"Comrade, my friend," she mur-
mured, always in Basque, "wont you
do anything for a countrywoman?"

A sort of madness seized him. Her
lips touched his and clung to them.
His arms snatched her to him in a
straining embrace.

"Quick!" she panted, wrenching
herself free and turning to him her
cord-bound wrists.

He drew his sword with hands that
shook, and cut the cords. "Now run,
and may Our Lady of the Mountain
be with you ! " he cried.

A dragoon turned the corner of
the guardhouse. At sight of the
fleeing figure he leveled his carbine.
Don Jose sprang forward and struck
it up with his sword. The captain
stepped from the door.

1 i Where is the prisoner ? " he asked
in amazement.

Don Jose laid his sword across his
arm, tendering the hilt to his captain.

' ' I allowed the prisoner to escape. ' '

Slowly, regretfully, the officer ac-
cepted the sword. Then, "To the
prison," he commanded.

In a mountain glade, west of Se-
ville, a gypsy camp was pitched.
Outside of one of the dingy tents a
crippled hag stirred the steaming
contents of a huge pot. Five or six
frowsy, swarthy-visaged girls wran-
gled over a game of cards. Black-
browed men moved about with
bundles and sacks, making up loads
to be carried on the shoulders. Apart
from the others stood Carmen and
Don Jose. He looked sullen and
wretched. Carmen was persuasive.

"Now that you are a real gypsy
and my rom, you must do as the rest
do," she declared.

' ' But I knew nothing of this smug-
gling," he argued. "I would rather
have remained in prison than this ! ' '

"Yes? Then I wish I had let you
stay in your cage, you canary!" she
stormed. "But when you found the
file in the loaf I took you, you lost

CARMEN

no time in using it and escaping with
me, my boy, — scarce a month ago, and
you regret it already — yes ? ' '

" What's the use of regretting?
My mother's dead. I've lost every-
thing— my career, my honor "

"All for me," she broke in. "I
told you I'd be the cause of your
marrying the widow with the wooden
legs. But listen to me ; if you will

Her diabolical charm enthralled
his senses. He yielded his last
scruples. That night the band crept
up to the fortifications of the city.
They knew of a breach in the wall at
which a sentry was posted. The
smugglers watched from behind rocks
and shrubs as the sentry punctiliously
covered his beat.

"We lose time," whispered Car-

THE DEATH OF DON JOSE S MOTHER

try not to be so stupid, you need not
be hanged. You can live like a
prince, as long as the soldiers and the
coastguards dont get their hands on
your collar."

"Well, I suppose there is nothing
else for me to do," he said hopelessly.

Her mood changed instantly.
Flinging her arms about his neck,
she kist him again and again. "Oh,
my Joseito ! ' ' she breathed, ' ' I love
you! I love you!"

men to Jose. "I will take him away
from the breach."

She sauntered toward the wall
and, at the challenge, laughed and
retorted: "Why so disagreeable,
friend?" In a few moments she was
pacing arm in arm with the sentry
and drawing him farther from the
breach. One by one, the smugglers
slipped thru. Jose was the last. As
he stepped from behind a heap of
stones, the sentry whirled suddenly.

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

DON JOSE GROWS SUSPICIOUS

Before he could raise his gun, Car-
men's arms were about him, and in a
bound Jose was upon him, beating
him to the ground.

"Come!" urged Carmen. "He's
done for. We must catch up with the
others and get rid of the bales. Then
we'll go to Pastia's wine-shop."

Don Jose, to his surprise, felt no
horror at this last deed of his. His
thoughts centered on his safety, and
he felt a strange confidence in Car-
men's power to screen him from the
searching eyes of Justice. But he
could not still certain racking reflec-
tions. "Here I am a full-fledged
rascal," he muttered to himself. "A
month ago I was an honest man. 'Tis
queer how a man may become a
rascal without thinking of it. A
pretty girl steals his wits, and from
being merely a fool, he becomes an
outlaw ! ' '

The smugglers quickly disposed of
their bales of stuffs to their confed-
erates and hastened to the gypsy

colony in the suburb of Triana.
While the men drank, Carmen danced
the romalis, rattling her castanets
and rolling her eyes with more than
her usual abandon. Don Jose soon
became aware of the reason. At one
of the tables sat a powerful young
man in the costume of a toreador.
His admiration of the gypsy dancer
was the incentive for her surpassing
exhibition of grace and ardor.

A jealous rage broke like a great,
uprearing wave within Don Jose's
heart. With eyes suddenly grown
bloodshot, he glared at the toreador.

"Who is that man?" he asked of
his companions.

"That is the famous bullfighter,
Escamillo," they answered.

Carmen brought her dance to an
end in front of Escamillo and, with
a provoking smile, leaned toward him
across the table. Don Jose sprang
up. "Carmen!" he called. She
looked at him with disdain curling
her lips. The toreador rose, and the
two men faced each other threaten-
ingly. Carmen glided in between
them. With caresses and cajolery
she won Jose back to tenderness, and
in one flashing glance she promised
the toreador another meeting.

From that night her caprices grew
in number and variety. There were
times when she would throw herself
into Jose's arms, a palpitating, be-
witching incarnation of love. There
were other times when her savage
humor would keep him at a distance,
brooding heavily over the possible
reasons for her moods. Then, she
was absent a great deal from the
band. She would disappear for days,
even for weeks, and all Jose's ques-
tioning would elicit only the explana-
tion that she was away on "business
of Egypt," which he understood to
mean "of the gypsies." The band
was constantly moving about, too,
going to the coast for goods and
smuggling them into the cities.

Gone from Jose's mind was the
fair vision of Michaela. Instead was
the torturing yearning for the
strange, passionate creature whom
he vaguely felt that he was losing.

CARMEN

She had been absent several weeks
now, and he could get no news of her.
The thought of Escamillo often in-
truded disagreeably on his conjec-
tures. He knew that Carmen had
seen him. She had even teased Jose
by declaring that she loved the
toreador.

With that memory rankling, a
fatalistic thrill passed thru him when
he learnt at Cordova that Escamillo
was there for the bull-fights. He
went to the public square, and there
he saw what his premonition had pic-
tured to him — Carmen and Esca-
millo, arm in arm like lovers. Car-
men was richly dressed in silks and
laces. Jewels sparkled at her full,
brown throat and on her rounded
arms. Never had she been so beau-
tiful, and Jose's anger and grief
melted into a wild longing to hold
her once again in his arms. She
passed thru the entrance into the
bull-ring, laughing, happy in the at-
tention she was attracting from the
crowd gathered for the performance.

Jose, heart-sick and travel-worn,
felt how poor a gallant he would
appear beside the gorgeous Esca-
millo. He wrapped his torn cloak
about him and paced the square.
Shouts arose from the ring. "Esca-
millo!" "Honor to Escamillo, our
toreador !" were roared by the crowd.
Don Jose clenched his hands and
strode to the entrance.

An excited mob poured out, bear-
ing Escamillo in their midst. Car-
men was beside him, laughing, and
fondling the trophy he had plucked
from the bull's neck and presented to
her.

"Escamillo, this is the proudest
day of my life!" she cried. "Oh!
I'm so proud of you, my toreador !"

She pulled his face down to hers
and kist him.

"Santiago! for that I'd face a
thousand bulls!" he exclaimed, en-
raptured. "I must go back into the
ring. Will you come with me?"

"I will follow you in a moment. I
want to leave this piece of gold in
yonder shrine. It may bring you
good luck," she said.

' ' Carmencita ! " he murmured.
"One more kiss. Adios!"

He hurried into the ring, and Car-
men turned to meet Jose.

"So you are here," she said.

"Carmen, why did you leave me?"
he asked, choked with emotion.

"Because my heart craved for ex-
citement, pleasure and gayety," she
answered lightly, waving her jeweled
fan and impatiently tapping her silk-
shod foot.

"And have you nothing to say to
mef" he asked pleadingly.

"Nothing!"

"Carmen, before I knew you I
was a happy, light-hearted lad — and
now — now — see what you have made
of me — a smuggler — a thief — an out-
cast— and — oh, my God! — a mur-
derer!"

Shouting and cheering from the
ring almost drowned his last words.

"Ah!" exclaimed Carmen, ecstat-
ically, ' ' Escamillo is fighting again !
I must see him ! ' '

" No ! " shouted Jose. ' ' You shall

AH ! IT WAS WRITTEN

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

not go in there — to him — the man
who has ruined my happiness ! ' '

"Well, what do you want?" she
asked in a hard voice.

"Let us change our mode of life,"
he pleaded. ' ' I will speak of nothing
that has passed. Only come with me
to America!"

" No ! " she snapped. ' ' I like being
here best."

to free herself, terror of him creep-
ing into her. bold heart.

1 ' Let me go ! " she shrieked, beat-
ing him off in a frenzy as the shout-
ing and cheering within swelled to a
tumult.

"To him! Never!" cried Jose.
His arm swung upward. Carmen
sank gently down, a crimson floiod
from her restless heart dyeing the

JOSEITO, I — LOVE— YOU!

"Ah! Carmencita, let us forget
what has happened and go to a new
world," he continued to plead.

"No, no, no!"

' ' Carmen, . my patience is almost
exhausted. Will you come with me?"

"To death— yes! But I will not
live with you any longer."

"Then you no longer love me?"

"If you will have it— no, I dont."

Jose's hand stole to his belt. "Once
more," he said, "will you leave
Escamillo and come with me?"

No, no ! " she screamed, stamping
her foot.

He grasped her arm. She struggled

silk and lace that fluttered on' her
bosom.

"Ah! it was written," she sighed.
"We met — on — a — Friday. I knew
— I — would bring — you — trouble. ' '
Her great eyes roved feebly from
face to face of the throng that
flocked about her. "Jose!" she
called. He knelt beside her, dumb
with grief. "Joseito, I — love — you!"
she breathed.

"Carmen!" he sobbed, flinging his
arms about her.

But her eyes, quenched of their
fire, had closed, and the turbulent
heart had ceased to throb.

(M£LIES)

It was a night like a thousand others
in the Australian bush — cool, even
for November, with a coppered
butt-end of a summer moon riding
overhead and shimmering down thru
the gums. Their tired leaves drooped
thirstily, seeking the water at their
roots.

Lorrimer's fire burned low, then
shot up fitfully as Pickle Bottle, who
was one of his faithful "black boys,"
piled on fresh fuel. The circle of
olacks edged closer to its blanket of
warmth. The day had been vibrant
with heat, yet with nightfall an icy
coolness clapped down on their naked
backs.

Lorrimer fetched a plug of "Navy"
from his hut and tossed it into the
circle. China Boy sank his fangs into
it first and filled his pipe with the
wet tobacco, tossing the mutilated
plug on the ground, for his mates to
scramble for. There were not enough
clay pipes to go round, and some sat
white-eyed and wary in the firelight,
waiting their turn to smoke up.

Pickle Bottle sat offishly on a log
and blew the smoke from a charred
briar-root across his favorite wife's
face. He had followed Lorrimer in
his bush wanderings for over a year
now, and was the heir of most of his
cast-off things — relics of days back
home that the white man wished to
forget. Pickle Bottle did not adorn
himself with the tattered boiled shirt
any longer : it seemed to goad Lorri-
mer into surly memories of a girl and
summer nights of long ago, which
Pickle Bottle dimly realized only by
a certain hard gleam in the skin-

hunter's blue eyes; so he buried the
fascinating thing for future corro-
borees.

The kangaroos were plentiful, and
the blacks regularly brought a pack
of skins to Lorrimer's isolated little
station. But tho he shipped them to
the coast by occasional bullock teams
carting timber to the coast, he never
wrote letters, nor inquired for news,
like other whites. When the game
pegged out, the blacks picked up his
trading stuff and carried it deeper
into the bush. As long as the flour
and sugar and "Navy" held out, they
were the taciturn man's eyes and
hands. After that — who knows? It
was doubtful if a single white man
in Queensland took the slightest in-
terest in his whereabouts.

As the flies made angry music in
protest of the fire's smudge, a chorus
of insect life answered faintly from
the heart of the scrub — a million shrill
voices talking of summer.

Lorrimer raised himself and listened
— a sound thru the labyrinth of giant
gum-trunks that were sunk in moon-
shadows from their foliage and the
parasite palms and orchids in their
clefts. A man with boot-heels was
coming thru the bush. Rather an
aimless passage, for he stumbled and
veered in his tracks. Still he was
coming nearer and nearer to Lorri-
mer's hut in an aimless way.

Pickle Bottle heard his distant
thrashing and was up, craning his
head like a startled snake. Lorrimer
gestured him down to his hams again,
and with that the whole black crew
squatted in awed silence.

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Presently a man stepped out of the
shadows and felt his way toward
their fire. His coming was slow and
very uncertain, and Lorrimer, tho he
pitied the chap, felt a decided aver-
sion toward him.

1 ' Sand-blindness, ' ' he muttered ;
" whatever is the poor cove doing in
the bush?"

"For God's sake," called the man,
' ' is that a fire ? Is there a white man
there?"

"Yes," said Lorrimer; "come on."

The stranger drew near in his
curious, hesitating way. Lorrimer
noticed that he wore the flannel shirt
and boots of an ordinary sundowner.
There was something nasty, too, in the
way his fingers twitched along his
trousers' seam.

"Sit down," said Lorrimer; "I
suppose you're hungry."

"I've been four days in the bush,"
began the man, "with the cursed
sand-blindness ' '

Lorrimer got out his flour and
deftly shaped up a damper. "Go
on, ' ' he said.

"There's nothing more. Toward
sundown I heard a dingo yelping
and judged I was near a black camp.
You heard m^ working thru the
scrub, I think."

"Yes," said Lorrimer; "pretty
much of a new chum."

The man filled his mouth with the
heavy, warm bread and lay back,
munching. He was not lying about
his hunger, for one thing. Then,
with half-closed eyes, he felt about
for his pipe, clinched it between his
teeth and dropped a hot coal in it.

"Pretty good for a blind man,"
thought Lorrimer.

' ' Life aint so hellish bad after all, ' '
volunteered the sundowner. "What's
your lay here, if I can ask ? ' '

"Skin-hunting."

"Does it pay?"

"It keeps my bush-boys in 'Navy'
and sugar," said Lorrimer, sharply.

"And a fine thing you make of it,
I'll warrant/' chuckled the other.
"Takes a Devonshire lad to skin the
natives. ' '

Lorrimer started.

"I'm from Devon," he admitted
slowly. ' ' How do you know ? "

He imagined the man was looking
at him keenly from under his eyelids.

"A Devon man should recognize
the twist of another's tongue, even in
the bush," said the other. "I'm
from there myself."

"Hey! Pickle Bottle," cried Lor-
rimer, suddenly, in the lingo; "fat
fire boodgary! This gentleman and
I will sit up till little sun."

Pickle Bottle grinned and dug his
toe intimately into his favorite wife's
ribs. She awoke drowsily and sham-
bled off to the scrub for fresh fuel.

As for the Devonshire man, Lorri-
mer, and the unnamed man who said
he was from Devon, their tongues
loosened blithesomely to the tang of
the sea and the sweet smell of the
marsh that lay big in the nostrils of
memory.

Things happened about like this
regularly for a week, the blacks
bringing in. the skins toward night-
fall, and Lorrimer and the sightless
man ever at the talk of Devon.

' ' Do you happen to know a family
of Primes in Dawlish?" once asked
Lorrimer.

"Right true I do," said the other.

Puff! puff! from his damp pipe.

"There was a girl," he went on;
' ' a very, pretty girl with a white f ace
— she never married."

"Thank you!" said Lorrimer, in-
audibly, and turned his face away,
to listen for a long while to the insect
talk in the scrub.

It must have been on the following
day that a bullock team, on its end-
less trip from the coast, creaked
wearily thru the bush, and its driver
delivered a fat envelope to Lorrimer.
The sundowner lay asleep, sprawled
on his back, at the time. The skin-
hunter waved the driver a scant fare-
well, glanced at the sleep-heavy face
of his guest, then ripped open his
envelope. The ends of a heavy sheaf
of banknotes stared up at him — the
half-yearly payment from his con-
signee at Cairns.

Lorrimer thumbed the count over
clumsily, thrust them into his shirt

THE BLACK TRACKERS

and sat down for a quiet smoke. The
sundowner rolled on his side and
burst into a droning snore.

Lorrimer waited. The heat had
risen 'so that a trembling haze steamed
from the ground, and the man might
wake up at any minute, in a choking
sweat, and miss him.

Lorrimer rose up with the utmost
caution, stretched himself lazily,
picked up an ax and strolled off to-

was in there, with the sun dimly sift-
ing thru as in great cathedral arches,
and the rush of a startled bird setting
the palms to shaking and clashing
like harsh paper wheels.

Lorrimer never looked back — the
scrub had completely closed down on
him. But under the gum-tree by his
hut the snores of the sleeper had
hushed, and his eyes glistened cat-like
from under their lids. The sand-

LORRIMER AND HIS BLACK BOYS

ward the scrub. Suddenly he swung
around, as if he had forgotten some-
thing, and walked back to his hut.
The sleeping man had not made a
move ; his mouth lay sillily open,
omitting a babble of sound.

It was then that the skin-hunter
swung off smartly toward the scrub
again, whistling in low unconcern.

A man must be half-snake, half-
bird to penetrate a Brigalow scrub,
and Lorrimer set himself to worming
thru the wattle of palms that ripped
at him with their thorns. It was re-
markable how solemn and quiet it

blindness made him helpless no
longer, nor had the sight of fluttering
banknotes weakened his eyes. They
were alert, wary, focused on the
scrub. A fortune was his, with only
a doting Devonshire man to dissuade.
The sundowner rose to his feet
and ran on nimble boot-toes. He
came to the edge of the scrub and, in
turn, was swallowed up by it. The
feel of the banknotes guided him in
and in, noiselessly, serpent-like, to
within sight of where Lorrimer
crouched before a hollow tree. A
skin-bag was in the hunter's hands,

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

and its contents — sovereigns, notes
and dollars — lay heaped on the
ground before him. Their clear
chink and rustle, as he thrust them
back, one by one, caused the sun-
downer 's heart to leap gladly. He,
too, counted them, one by one.

When Lorrimer crept back thru the
last tangle of ropy palm and glanced
toward his hut, his guest still lay
sprawled grotesquely under the gum-
tree. So much for the privacy that
sleep brings.

The mellifluous snore greeted Lor-
rimer as he drew near. And round
the man's flaccid face the busy band
of flies whirled and buzzed in hope-
ful emulation.

"Poor duffer!" thought Lorrimer.
"I'd best get him down to Brisbane
somehow and levy on the skin-bag for
his passage home. ' ' He sat down and
gripped his knees, with his back to
the sleeper. ' ' Very pretty and white-
faced — and still unmarried. Why did

she never " He shook his head

solemnly, and his eyes suddenly
dimmed with tears. "Dammit! I'm
getting sticky again, and Pickle Bottle
will crack my skull with his nolla-
nolla if he hears of this. But Devon-
shire— my, my, my ! ' '

At the lover's catch in the last
word and the sigh that went with it,
the hand of the kneeling figure back
of him trembled somewhat, and his
revolver varied a hair-line" from its
aim. But he was too close to miss,
and the thing exploded; and Lorri-
mer lay on his back with a bullet
wedged in his ribs.

The sundowner was all brusque
action after this, skipping around
lively and shooting native spears
thru the thatch of Lorrimer 's hut.
It was best to make the thing appear
like a black-boy attack, and Lorri-
mer's collection of spears came right
to hand for the fraud.

He had had a week of sightlessness
in which to turn his eyes into his
brain and plan this little affair right.
There only remained to drag his
host's body into the hut, set fire to
it, track to the hollow tree, and off to
the settlements, with a month's vaca-

tion to his credit, and the guilt for
the thing in the bush charged up
against the black boys when the
teamster came again.

The sundowner lifted the limp
Lorrimer in his arms as easily as a
rag doll and propped him up in a
corner. The big, blond head fell
backward.

"Bally ass!" apostrophized the
fleeting guest; "he's dreaming of
Devon and the pale girl. Lucky
shot, that of mine! Might as well
have been Kent or Yorkshire, with a
black-browed teaser for his jilt."

He stuck a lighted match in the
dry palm thatch, wheeled about and
started for the scrub. As the licking
flames fed their way around the hut,
a spirited crackling, like an ape
cracking nuts, told him that his job
was well done.

For one thing, he had not counted
on the smoke, which rose like a great
fan in the still air and pointed the
way to the black boys. They came,
swarming and gibbering thru the
bush, to the slender walls of Lorri-
mer's funeral pyre. Pickle Bottle
was the first to point out the soles of
Lorrimer 's boots within, and with
that, they took to dancing like mad
about his hut. Dancing and hooting
is the black-boy way of working up
his courage, and presently Pickle
Bottle seized his wife by the shoul-
ders and thrust her thru the fiery
doorway. When she did not imme-
diately incinerate, he followed her in,
and between them they dragged the
body of the trader out to the open.

China Boy pointed to the spears
around the hut and turned gray with
fear. But Pickle Bottle jeered at
him, kicking him in the paunch, and
stating that they were dead men's
spears. It was a forcible argument
and convincing.

Presently the bullet-wound in Lor-
rimer 's back was discovered, and the
blacks were for scattering again.
There is always a wholesome respect
for "the baby of the gun that never
stops shooting." But Pickle Bottle
cried out that the white man was still
breathing, so they tarried to snatch

TEE BLACK TRACKERS

him up roughly and made off helter-
skelter for their camp near the river.
The black boy is the saddest of
reasoners, and in their panic it took
them some time to figure it out that
the sundowner must have fired the
treacherous shot. That part of the
process would have been easy for
their intellectual overlords to solve,
but as for finding the would-be
murderer in a waste of jungle and

hollow tree, and the marks of boot-
heels around it in the moss started
them in full cry again.

It was after a night and. a day of
tireless running, never casting the
trail, that they came within sight of
the sundowner climbing a steep cliff
that overlooked a little mining settle-
ment. He could hear the jar and
pound of the stamp in the valley
below, and his fingers tightened on

THE SUNDOWNER BETRAYS HIS BENEFACTOR

forest — well, he would be morally cer-
tain to get off scot-free. The black
boys were not morally certain that he
fired the shot, but they ivere cocksure
that they could track him down. The
scent of the bushman is as unerring
as a hound ; his woodcraft and track-
ing ability keener and surer than an
Indian's.

So off a little party of them set at
an easy lope, headed by Pickle Bottle,
spears trailing thru the scrub and
eyes all-seeing for each bit of rubbed
moss or bruised or broken bark.

Presently they came out upon the

the bag in his shirt. Back of him,
like black fates, crept the silent
trackers.

Suddenly a spear sang thru the air
and pinned his arm to his side. Then
the sundowner turned and, with his
left hand, turned loose "the baby of
the gun that never stops shooting."

Pickle Bottle and his dog-weary
trackers turned back and, sadly and
suddenly, jumped for cover. They
were no use — and acknowledged it —
against the pesky, invisible death.

As for the sundowner, he stumbled
down to the settlement, where his

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

shots had already aroused the men in
the mill.

They gathered around him, and as
he staggered and faltered, with his
wounded arm as a witness, he told
them of the attack on the cliff.

''What is more," he added, "some
two days' tramp back in the brush I

THE SUNDOWNER ESCAPES

came upon the charred body of a
hunter in the stumps of his hut. ' '

Then he promptly fainted, and a
committee carried him to the hotel,
where he revived, under the tender
ministrations of the ladies, a good
half-hour too late to start back into
the bush with the party of grim-
faced men that rode thru the wind-
ing path of the gums, with cocked
rifles in their hands.

Lorrimer had gotten as far as sit-
ting up with one shoulder against a
tree. Pickle Bottle and his men had
returned to tell him of their near vic-
tory and the sundowner's escape.

He heard them as in a dream. The
roar of the sundowner's revolver still
flooded his ears, and its vicious pull
as he fell still gripped him.
After that everything was a
blank, until he found him-
self stranded against the
tree. Then he clung to his
senses desperately, and tried
to piece it all together, but
could not make head nor tail
of it.

Pickle Bottle kept jabber-
ing about the boot-heels
round a hollow tree and by-
and-by about the sundowner
and the baby of the gun that
never stops shooting, and
then he began to fit things
together and told them to go
away and sleep.

His money was gone with
the surprising stranger, sure
enough, and he was a penni-
less beggar stranded against
a tree. And as for Devon
and the pale-faced girl, he
heartily wished that he
might never see them again

and

He must have slept, for
the moon was up, and the
circle of silent blacks
crouched around a fire.
There was no * ' Navy ' ' plug,
and the bottom had dropped
out of things as they sucked
on empty pipes.

Pickle Bottle was too far

gone to stir up his favorite

wife, and she lay within range of his

foot, counting her chances of changing

husbands at the next great borboby.

"Dont shoot!"

It was Lorrimer 's voice that
brought the blacks to their feet.
Around them in a silent circle, with
leveled rifles, stood the men of the
mill town. In the beat of a heart
more, their bullets would have splin-
tered thru the black boys.

TEE BLACK TRACKERS

"Are you moon-struck? Lower
your weapons, " commanded Lorri-
mer, sharply.

The mill men hesitated, and their
leader advanced a few paces.

"Come nearer, " ordered Lorri-
mer; "I'm shot and taking it easy."

Then the men swarmed in, and
explanations were in order.

With the vengeance-seekers gath-

"Yes, holding on to some one."
' ' Then let 's mount and off. ' '
"If you dont mind," said Lorri-
mer, indifferently, "I believe I'll
take my black boys along with me.5'
And he did; and two days later,
when they rode into the settlement,
the ladies' pet had vamoosed, dam-
aged arm, bag of gold and six-shooter
as intact as you please.

THE BLACK TRACKERS SET OUT FOR THE SUNDOWNER

ered round his tree, Lorrimer told of
his wanderings in the bush and of
the faithfulness of his blacks. Of the
coming of the sundowner and his
attempt upon his life, he touched
upon in a few bare words.

"Well, I'll be strait-jacketed!"
sang out the leader when Lorrimer
finished. "Why, the blasted mur-
derer is being made a house-pet right
now by our ladies! Can you sit a
horse ? ' ' The question was thrown
point-blank at Lorrimer.

The settlers laughed and went
back to work; but Lorrimer camped
with his black boys in the streets of
the town, and near bit out his tongue
with rage.

Then Pickle Bottle and his crew
started working up and down the
bush, picking up handfuls of dirt
and moss and sniffing and worrying
over them. Presently one of them
gave a cry and started running,
pointing down the valley toward the
coast. And then the vvhole crew

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

started in full cry after him. Lor-
rimer and one or two of the inter-
ested whites followed after them on
horseback.

Along toward sunset they came out
upon a bit of meadow almost like
Devon Downs, and Lorrimer wanted
to stop and fool around there a bit.
Then he began to smell the sea ever
so faintly, and the cries of the black
boys were getting farther and farther
ahead of him.

sprinted like a Varsity man in the
soft sand and held his own.

But no lungs could stand this sort
of work, and quite suddenly he
slowed down and turned around to
wait for them.

It was coolly done, and Lorrimer
couldn't help liking the man's nerve,
and held back for the others.

And so in a little crowd they
marched down and surrounded him.

' i I suppose you 're looking for your

LORRIMER EXPLAINS TO THE MINERS

Suddenly Lorrimer came out upon
them, huddled in a little group on a
slope above the sands. And just be-
yond stretched the smiling, placid
reaches of the Pacific.

A man, like a tiny doll, was run-
ning along the sands, and even from
this full league away Lorrimer knew
that he was the sundowner.

Then the horsemen sped down the
slope, and the black trackers, sure of
their quarry, jogged after them.

The sundowner was evidently mak-
ing a last effort to escape, for he

-d money-bag," he panted, "and

here it is, and rotten luck to you!:

He flung the heavy bag on the
beach, and Pickle Bottle stepped out
bravely and brought it to Lorrimer.

"I'm thinking of a man," said
Lorrimer, softly, "that I thought I
was keeping thru sand-blindness, and
who shot me in the back."

"Well, that's me," said the other,
"and dont forget all that stuff about
Devon and the white-faced girl."

"You poisonous toad," said Lorri-
mer, stepping close, his face working,

TEE BLACK TRACKERS

THE SUNDOWNER IS SIGHTED BY LORRIMER

''shut up instantly. It's just for
that" — his voice went lower — "that
I'm letting you off. I'm going back
to England. You ought to be shot
like the cur that you are, but I cant
forget that you made me think of a
subject that was once painful, but
which is now so pleasant that I'm
going home. I wont harm you, but if
you starve and rot I know of nobody
who will mourn. > >

He turned his horse to ride back.

"Is that all?" said a husky mill
man, seizing his bridle.

"Yes," said Lorrimer.

"With your permission," said the
other, rolling up his sleeves and flick-
ing his heavy cattle-whip, "I'm go-
ing to take your friend up the beach
and reason with him."

Lorrimer nodded vaguely — • his
thoughts were far away.

o«^"»

Their Audience

ByGEORGF B, STAFF

Have the pictures come to stay?

See their patron millions.
Are they growing every day?

Ask the sixteen millions
Of their patrons, what a host!
Found in every town almost,
Reaching out from coast to coast

Are their patron millions.

What a power they must hold,

Daily viewed by millions!
Think what character they mold

In those sixteen millions !
Bringing cheer to hearts each day,
Luring clouds of gloom away,
Thus they exercise their sway
Over sixteen millions !

AS?

mv FrlTz Kro&

(gaumo*

Monsieur Prosser had just finished
breakfast and was seated in
his library, looking over his
morning's mail, when he encountered
a most extraordinary letter. A rose-
scented envelope bearing his name in
a delicate feminine hand had at-
tracted his attention to begin with.
The contents mystified him utterly,
and, when he had glanced at them, at
once he made haste to cover them
with a very large book. At the same
time he cast a furtive glance over his
shoulder to see if, by any mischance,
Madame Prosser. were about.

He repeated this precaution twice,
and even crossed the room to take a
peep out of the door before he felt
safe enough to read the quite inex-
plicable note again.

It contained the following brief
message :

Mox cher: — I have received no present.
Have you forgotten my birthday?
Amelie Dore,
Boulevard Raspail.

Now M. Prosser was an old man,
with thin gray hair, and growing stiff
in his joints. His last love affair had
resulted, twenty-five years ago, in his
marriage to Madame Prosser, and he
had never wavered in his staunch
affection for her. Moreover, he pos-
sessed the heartiest contempt for

those husbands who were any less de-
voted to their wives than he was to
his.

Therefore the letter was such a
profound mystery to him. He had
never heard of Amelie Dore. Yet she
was addressing him as "my dear"
and rebuking him for being remiss in
the matter of a birthday present.

Suddenly the truth dawned on him.
He had a son whose name, like his
father's, was Edouard.

' ' The rascal ! ' ' murmured M. Pros-
ser. "I did not think he was old
enough to have a sweetheart."

In this opinion he was guilty of a
fond parent's customary blindness to
the growth of children. For Edouard,
Jr., was just past twenty, and, of
course, a sweetheart at this age is
a rather common experience. Then,
too, he was a student at the Univer^
sity and occupied his own apartments
close by it, appearing home only Sun-
days, which facilitated the sweetheart
business greatly.

When M. Prosser thought over
these considerations, he was not so
mucli surprised, and, thinking at still
more length, he conceived a great
idea. There is not much doubt that
the idea was great, if not magnificent.
It so gripped M. Prosser that he at
once seized his hat and coat to carry
it out, and, as he hurried from his

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

apartments to the street, he fairly
rippled with the idea. All the way
from his home to the rue de la Paix,
where every one in Paris makes im-
portant purchases, he chuckled in
fond contemplation of what he was
about to encompass.

Before a florist's shop, where flowers
of many kinds made a riot of color of
the show-windows, he fell into a rather
sober mood, as if doubts were over-
taking him, and when he went on
his way again, he was shaking his
head. He went thru somewhat similar
motions before a jewelry store, a
hatter's, a furrier's, a picture-dealer's
and a curio-booth before he finally
entered a candy-shop.

"My angel," he said to the chic
girl who smiled at him across the con-
fections, "I wish sweetmeats which
will look well, quite comme il faut,
but which to eat would shame a street-
sweeper. ' '

The girl was inclined to believe
that such vile wares could not be had
in this shop, and, after a lengthy
conference with her superior, in-
formed the old gentleman, who she
had concluded was harmlessly crazy,
that the best she could do would be to
give him the worst sweetmeats in the
store, which were nevertheless very
good.

"Merci, they will do," beamed M.
Prosser; "but be sure they are the
worst, ma file."

The girl filled a five-pound box
with a miscellany of chocolates, loz-
enges and gum-drops, which were
kept in stock solely as presents for
children.

"Sans clout e," said M. Prosser,
"you will wonder why I do this
strange thing*, this bizarrerie extraor-
dinaire."

The girl smiled and nodded.

"It is because," he continued, ex-
tracting a fat wallet from his pocket,
"I wish to create a surprise for a
lady. Void! The lady eats of the
candi execrable. Eelas! She is dis-
appointed, hurt, heart-broken. But
cunningly hidden in the box is this
valuable present."

M. Prosser drew a hundred-franc

note from his pocketbook and waved
it at the girl.

"Voila maintenant — she finds this
and understands. She throws the
box away and keeps the money. She
is impressed with my cleverness. She
adores me for my originality. N'est-
ce pas?"

The girl laughed merrily.

"But, no, I forget," M. Prosser
added. "It is not for myself that I
please her. It is for my son, and I
can assure you, my dear, that he owes
me many thanks for what I am doing.
The whole morning I wandered about
town, from shop to shop, until my
feet ached, searching for an appro-
priate, a useful, a unique gift. Who
shall say that I have not found it ? "

"You are a papa to be desired,"
the girl admitted.

In order to make the bank-note
doubly hard to find, M. Prosser hid
it in a bag of raisins which he buried
under the candy, and when the girl
had wrapped the box in the very best
paper, tied with carefully selected
blue ribbon, he smiled, bowed and
expressed himself as satisfied in the
very highest degree.

The beneficiary of so much care
and acumen, a pretty, blue-eyed miss,
was taking tea with a young man who
was not M. Prosser 's son, but of whom
she thought almost equally well. In
fact, she was wondering if she did
not prefer Emile, who was the son of
a wealthy hatter, to the student
Prosser, and she was strongly approv-
ing of his admiration for her hands as
she poured the tea, when the maid
appeared with the candy.

' ' A box for Mademoiselle Amelie, ' '
she announced.

Amelie almost upset the tea-tray in
her eagerness to receive the proffered
package.

"TJn present!" she exclaimed en-
thusiastically, as she turned it over
to examine it on all sides. "How de-
lightfully it is bound in blue ribbon !
Perhaps it is from an admirer; dont
you think so, Monsieur Emile ? ' '

Emile looked doubtful.

"M'mselle must have many ad-
mirers," he murmured gallantly.

SWEETS TO THE SWEET

"I wonder what can be within/*
said Amelie.

"Let me open it for you," he
offered.

But she would have none of such
help. The present was hers; ergo,
she would have the fun of discovering
what it might be.

"From Monsieur Prosser!" she
cried, as she read a card from the box.

"Qui, certes!" growled
Emile, and looked gloomy as
a rainy day.

But in the next instant he
felt more cheerful, for when
Amelie discovered candy in
the box, some of the radiance
departed from her face.

' ' Candy ! ' ' she murmured,
and Emile recognized un-
doubted disappointment in
her voice.

"What a poor offering!"
he said.

"Pouah!" Amelie chimed
in as she tasted it. "It is
vile."

"It is not fit to eat,"
Emile made haste to agree.
"You have been insulted."

Amelie tried another piece
and made a wry face.

"Marie," she ordered, so
indignantly that she choked,
' ' you may have it. ' '

"And the wrappings,"
Emile added, joyfully, and
thrust them, with the box,
on the astonished Marie.

' ' Two days after my
birthday," wailed Amelie,
"he sends me just candy,
and that so bad that I can-
not eat it. It is an outrage."

"He is a pig," chanted Emile.

The maid carried the box to the
kitchen, and, after tasting of its con-
tents, decided that it was made for
the hyena trade. She had a sweet
tooth of her own, and knew good
from evil in candies.

"And yet," she considered, "the
box is handsome. Tiens! It can go
to an admirer. Men know nothing of
the quality of candy."

One of Marie's admirers presented

himself before long — it was Georges,
the gendarme, who knocked at the
kitchen door nearly every afternoon
about tea-time to assure Marie of his
admiration for her. When she pre-
sented him with the beautiful box, he
could not resist kissing her, an act
for which she slapped him, but not
very hard.

"I will tell our grandchildren of

MARIE PRESENTS THE BOX OF SWEETS
TO THE GENDARME

your goodness," he said as he took
himself off to the street.

At the nearest corner he stopped
to investigate his gift. He was eating
the first bon-bon and wondering how
long he would be finishing such a
quantity of sweets, when he saw his
inspector approaching. He barely
had time to hide the box and salute
as the superior officer passed.

"Sapristi!" Georges muttered. "I
surely must get rid of this diabolical
package."

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

He gave it to Madame Beaumar-
chais, who lived in the next block,
and who had, one cold night, rewarded
him with a cup of steaming coffee in
return for his arm in crossing a slip-
pery pavement.

' ' You are a gentleman worth know-
ing," madame declared, and, full of
love for humankind, conveyed the
box, with the story of how it had

THE CONCIERGE AND HIS WIFE FALL HEIRS
TO THE SWEETS

come into her possession, to her hus-
band.

He was a retired pensioner, and an
old man with no desire at all for
candy. Moreover, he thought it was
not good for his beloved wife to eat it.

"We will present it, with our best
compliments, to the concierge," said
he, "and will thereby be remembered
with gratitude."

Madame Beaumarchais, nothing
loath, because she had tasted the
candy, at once hurried downstairs to
the apartment of the concierge, who

received the gift with the dignity of
his profession, and sent for his wife.

The janitor's wife was a very wise
woman, and she had no need to open
the box to know what was within it.

"Mon cher papa," she said, "it
doubtless contains candy of the most
delicious, and it will make the chil-
dren sick if they get hold of it. ' '
"You are right, petite femme,"
her husband agreed, "but
what will we do with it ? ' '

"Ecoute done," replied
the wife; "already for some
time we are endeavoring to
make the acquaintance of
the architect, Monsieur
Prosser, who will assist you
into a good position when
you lose your present one, as
you are about to do, from
the circumstance that the
agent of this house is an
idiot. We will, therefore,
send the box to Monsieur
Prosser, with a well-written
letter expressing many fine
sentiments and the hope that
he will some day number us
among his dearest friends."
The concierge quite fell in
with the splendid idea, and
as soon as the note could be
written the youngest son
was despatched with the box
to the apartments of M.
Prosser, who was seated in
his studio, waiting for his
chief draughtsman to hand
him some completed plans,
when a servant entered and
produced the box of sweets.
"What is this?" asked M. Prosser,
staring in utter amazement at the
box.

' ' A boy brought it with this letter, ' '
the servant answered.

"But, sacre bleu!" cried M. Pros-
ser. "It is the very same box "

He stopped and read the letter. It
puzzled him beyond measure, for how
a concierge of whom he knew as little
as of Noah's sons, should get posses-
sion of the box and return it, with a
beggarly letter, was beyond M. Pros-
ser's comprehension.

8^YEETS TO THE SWEET

"Where is the boy?" he demanded.

Fortunately the urchin, a little
fellow in knee-breeches, had remained
at the street-door, in hopes of a penny
for his errand, and so the servant was
enabled to capture him and present
him to M. Prosser.

Securing nothing from the boy ex-
cept stammering and headshakes, M.

tip, expressed himself as willing to
confess that he had received the box
of a very superior lady named Marie,
God bless her.

M. Prosser, who was growing tired
unto death and more alarmed every
minute at the magnitude of the task
in hand, did not altogether feel like
agreeing with Georges, but he shook

THE SWEETS FIND THEIR WAY BACK TO M. PROSSER S STUDIO

Prosser resolved to investigate, and
with the boy as a guide, he hastened
to the home of the concierge. Here,
after a lengthy conference, in which
M. Prosser was compelled to give
assurances that he would remember
all favors shown him, he was in-
formed that Madame Beaumarchais
ha^d given the box of candy to the con-
cierge's wife. The Beaumarchais re-
ferred him, in turn, to the gendarme,
Georges, who was luckily still on
duty, and after receiving a generous

him warmly by the hand, neverthe
less, and went on his way.

He arrived at the apartments of
the Dores within a bare hour of mid-
night, and after much ringing of
bells, first to arouse the concierge of
the apartment house and then some
member of the Dore family, he elicited
a response from Marie. She looked
suspiciously at the late caller thru a
chink in the door.

"My dear m'mselle," M. Prosser
began, "a thousand apologies for this

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

visit, but the matter in hand would
not wait. I am an old fool with the
dreadful mistake I made this morn-
ing in sending to your illustrious
mistress a box of candy— — "

"Hey?" cried Marie. "You wake
me up to tell me of that vile candy ? ' '

She would have slammed the door
had not M. Prosser prevented that
with his foot.

"I wish to explain in person to
your mistress," he said. "I wish to
say to her "

"It is of no consequence what you
say. She was engaged this afternoon
to Monsieur Emile."

"Cannot you understand?" M.
Prosser insisted.

But the maid cut him short.

"Away with the foot," she cried,
"or I will summon the gendarme."

At the same time she gave M. Pros-
ser a mighty push which sent him
flying across the hall, on whose wall

he banged his head with such vigor
that he saw an entire universe, of
stars, and when he turned again the
door was closed.

Holding his head in his hand, he
mournfully made his way to the
street and homeward. He arrived
there at about two in the morning,
and he had just stepped within the
door of his library, when his wife con-
fronted him. She had not retired,
and had obviously waited for him, a
conclusion which filled him with mis-

giving.

"When I came in here at dinner-
time,"

she said, "you were gone, and
I found on your table — this !

She pointed to the fatal box, its lid
thrown back, the hundred-franc note
reposing on the top layer of candy,
and beside it the card which he had
written to accompany the gift. It
was one of his own cards, as one of
his son's had not been available, and

ALL S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

SWEETS TO THE SWEET

it bore on its face : ' ' From M. Prosser
to his little birdie. ' '

What more evidence, coupled with
the late hour of M. Prosser 's return
and his unwonted absence from din-
ner, could any wife demand of faith-
lessness in a husband? M. Prosser
tried to explain, but his tongue seemed
paralyzed. He could only stare dumb-
foundedly from the box to his wife.
He could only reflect bitterly of the
relentless furies which seemed to have
been pursuing him ever since he con-
ceived the idea of acting as Cupid's
intermediary, an idea which was great
no more, but inexpressibly foolish.

Then, lo ! the balance tipped, and M.
Prosser was rewarded for the good-
ness which had, after all, prompted
him to meddle in his son's love affairs.
For his wife, turning on him in the
moment of his greatest misery, threw
herself on his breast.

"lion hien-aime!" she exclaimed,
' ' best beloved ! you are always think-
ing of your own little birdie, aren't
you?"

"Of whom else, pretty creature?"
he answered, in joyful amazement.

"All evening," she cooed, nestling

in his arms, "I have waited to thank
you for your thoughtfulness. It was
so good of you, my love, to give me
the candy. And the bank-note was
such a surprise ! Who else but you,
my dearest Edouard, could contrive
such a pleasure for his wife ? ' '

The next day, however, M. Prosser
began to worry lest his son should
reproach him, and he continued to
worry, until the following Sunday,
when Edouard, Jr., a vivacious young
blade in the throes of a first mous-
tache, paid his customary visit home
and learnt the history of the eventful
box.

"So she is engaged to Emile?" he
said, with a shrug of his shoulders.

"What!" said M. Prosser, "is that
all you care?"

"How could I care deeply," was
the laughing answer, "when I allow
my father to send my birthday greet-
ings?"

"You may rest assured," said M.
Prosser, with' a solemn face and a
twinkling eye, "that I shall never-
more attempt to send a present for
my son."

Nor did he. -

Perpetuity

By ELLA RANDALL PEARCE

oday, at a Motion Picture show,

While passing a pleasant hour or so,

Somehow, there came to me, sitting there,

Other pictures by memory made fair ;

And I thought of the actors of bygone days,

Who had played their parts in the good old plays.

One after another, in swift review,

Passed the famous figures my own youth knew ;

Celebrities then at the height of fame,

Who have gone and left but an honored name.

Oh, if Art could recall, from the past's dim haze,

The actors who played in the good old plays !

So, now, I am glad that the present day
Finds famous folk in the Photoplay.
Bernhardt, Rejane and the others who pose
For the modern, magical picture shows.
And. in years to come, we may fondly gaze
On the stars of today in their good old plays.

THE WAGES OF SIN IS DEATH"

Beneath the blinding sky the pallid
desert rolled and writhed in
uneasy slumber. The feverish
breath of a hundred centuries lingered
along its gigantic spaces; the acrid
flavor of rolling furlongs of emptiness ;
the hush of the time before sound was
born into the world. Head pillowed on
the desert's sterile bosom, she lay
asleep, half-covered with her coarse,
colorless veil, mysterious, motionless,
seeming a creature that the desert had
borne in some strange childbirth.
Lumps of sandy soil, tamarisk shrubs
and the sultry green of bamboos
bounded the edge of the oasis wherein
she lay; beyond was the wrinkled
earth of the desert, the low dunes,
limitless sterility; beyond that —

nothing — anything The tossed

sand, ridged by the simoon, was no
wilder of posture than she. The film
of veil expressed her figure in long,
slow curves and sinuous lines, con-
cealing her face.

Over the desert the sand rasped be-
neath footsteps hitherbound. Strange
figures they, coming down from the

cliffs, the malignant old hag whirled
along like a withered branch behind
the great bulk of her son, and he with
his dead eyes and the burnt, bleached
hair over them. Yet both were of the
desert also; she like the dried shrubs
that rattle bony arms across the
winds; he dull with the torpor of
monotonous distances, silence and
loneliness. They walked with the
peculiar plowing gait of sand-dwel-
lers, the bundle of faggots on the old
woman's back clattering at every step.

"Look, Ishmael, yonder," said the
hag, suddenly, in shrill Arabic.
"Strange folks from the town come
hither."

"Aye," he replied heavily, "there
be fools that find pleasure in the
desert, Hager, my mother."

"Allaheu! It is the will of Allah,"
chirped she, "and if bringeth the
silver into our fingers, Allah be
praised!"

His glance, wandering vaguely
across the sand-wastes, heeded the
prone figure motionless, yet appear-
ing to listen watchfully beneath the

TEE VAMPIRE OF THE DESERT

veil. A consuming passion leapt to
his dead eyes and flat voice as he
sprang toward her.

"Lispeth— thou!" His hands
fumbled with the veil, tearing it
aside. "Art sleeping? See, mother,
is she not as a flower from Allah's
fingers ' '

The old woman's shriveled talons
clawed jealously at his arm.

"Nay — nay, Ishmael, my son, come
thou with me. Illah! Illah! Wilt
not harken to the mother that bore
thee — ai — ai — ai ' '

Unheeding her whine, Ishmael
stared into the sleeping face, his
breath hoarse in dilated nostrils.
Suddenly he swooped down, seeking
her mouth with eager lips. A vicious
blow met him instead. The girl on
the mound reared to her hips with
animal swiftness, drawing back her
head as a snake flattens before strik-
ing. A frenzy of fury twisted her
face evilly. Her eyes, curiously
colorless, hated him beneath nar-
rowed lids. The man whitened. His
heavy features lost their glow of

mind and sank into clay again.
Wordless, he turned away.

"Ishmael!"

The word was vibrant with the
music of summons. She was on her
feet now, arms extended, inviting
him. The strange, hot wind of blue
distances whirled about her in devil's
dance, molding her coarse robe to
the plastic swerves of her body, whip-
ping the wild elf-locks about her
smiling face. He looked back, groaned
as if in pain, and would have crawled
to her on his knees had the old woman
not hurled her bent old bones be-
tween. The same wind, in mock of
her hideousness, bellied the cloak
witchwise around her. It snatched
the words from her lips and tossed
them, cracked and shrewish, over the
sands :

' ' Ishmael, leave this woman alone !
On with thee — on, I say "

He was going. She flung a glance
of triumph toward the girl.

"Ishmael — come to me "

He paused — turned, in miserable
indecision. A sharp rap from Hager's

ISHMAEL, LEAVE THIS WOMAN ALONE!

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TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

purple knuckles decided for him.
Shoulders sloping, he shambled away,
a cowed brute-thing. His mother, it
was whispered, had the evil eye, and
knew unholy spells. He feared, her.
Therefore he went. Behind, the two
women faced each other — two female
creatures at strife about a male, a
scene ancient as the ancient world. If
the mountains are the soul of the
world, the seas its passions, the vary-
ing lands its moods, then the desert
must be the memory of the earth —
brooding, timeless, hiding the bones
of buried centuries beneath its slid-
ing sands. And the memory of the
tawny desert held this same scene
repeated endlessly back to the time
when the Sphinx himself was young.

"Unhappy creature — I!" shrieked
Hager. ' ' I have nourished a viper in
my bosom! Allah be praised that
thou wast not of my womb. Yea,
laugh, but harken! Have naught
more to do with my son, or I will
poison thee. I have spoken/'

Left to herself and the desert,
Lispeth flung herself on the mound
again, still laughing uproariously. By
degrees she became quiet, staring un-
winkingly into the blinding, treeless
distance. Her face, swept of the
frenzy of expressions, was small and
pallid, not the warm white that
glimmers between the face draperies
of the veiled Eastern maidens, nor
the wistful white of illness. It was
rather the absence of color than true
whiteness, as tho the blood had never
touched the skin, save where it blazed
effulgent in the narrow, crimson lips.
Lusterless black hair, heavy-lidded
eyes, pale with the glitter of ice, and
strangely old. By her body's young
ripeness of curves and the swelling
breasts beneath her coarse gown, she
must have been young in years; yet
about her was a timelessness like that
of the great Sphinx himself. Like
him now, she crouched, brooding, over
the hot, brown sand.

"The sand-seer promised a way,"
she murmured, restless hands twitch-
ing about restless knees; "that which
is written is written. He spoke of a
change coming. Allah grant it! I

tire of this shrew and her doltish son
and this speechless desert "

The words trailed into silence.
Lispeth leaned forward, crouching.
Strangers !

It was a meek-faced desert maiden,
curtesying, with downcast eyes, that
the tourists saw as they panted up,
pathetic with dust and heat-stains, a
moment later.

The lady laid her hand kindly on
the girl's bare arm. Thru her glove
the contact burnt strangely, as ice
burns with the hot sting of intense
cold.

"Do you speak English?"

"Yes, madame; I am in the town
often; I have heard it there."

The strange lady smiled.

"Then you can tell us where we
can get a drink of water," she said.
' ' What is vour name, child ? ' '

"Lispeth."

"Lispeth, this is my husband, Mr.
Corday, and my son. We ventured
out from the hotel without a guide,"
she chatted on easily. Lispeth raised
her head suddenly and fixed her eyes
upon the older of the two men. His
glance caught in the mesh of her gaze,
caught and clung. The light walking-
stick in his hand began to tremble ;
he stood motionless, helplessly star-
ing into the strange, pale eyes.

' ' Look at me!" they seemed to say.
"Look again — what do you see? Ah,
yes, and again — what do you see?"

Then as suddenly as she had
caught his eyes she freed them, turn-
ing to the lady, with a girlish gesture
of confidence.

"If madame would come with me
— madame and the rest," she smiled.
She placed a timid hand in Mrs. Cor-
day 's gloved one, swaying toward her.
"Hike you, madame/' she murmured
softly. ! ' Please like me a little, too. ' '

Mrs. Corday put an impulsive arm
about the girl's shoulders.

"You adorable little savage!" she
cried. "Strange, how you remind me
of my daughter who died ! She is like
her, isn't she, Will?"

Her husband did not glance at
Lispeth.

"I — I see no resemblance, my

TEE VAMPIRE OF THE DESERT

101

dear, ' ' he muttered heavily. ' ' Let us
get a drink of water and return to
town. This — this infernal desert is —

is getting on my nerves "

Hager greeted the strangers with
the sullen suspicion of the desert-born
for aliens, smeared over with oily
graciousness in deference to possible
profit. The hut of palm-logs, which
was roughly fitted together, faced the
desert, looking out into the illimit-

but the heavy lids hung demurely
over them. The older man watched
her furtively, with the fascination
that impels one to gaze at a livid
scar or a horrible deformity. Finally
he left his seat and strode over to her.
The languid lids quivered. Fierce
triumph shot thru her, but she did
not move. Behind the mask of her
face her brain was busy. The sand-
seer had said — and it was easy. She

HIS HAND SOUGHT THE KNIFE IN HIS VELVET GIRDLE

able bright levels thru curtainless
window-sockets. Fan-shaped palm-
trees tossed the heavy air lazily to
and fro ; about the oozing well at the
oasis' edge several ungainly camels
were feeding, and the breeze was
pungent with the reek of their pres-
ence.

"Picturesque! charming!" cooed
Mrs. Corday. Her son strolled at her
side as she flitted about the hut, ex-
amining the rude furniture, question-
ing, exclaiming.

Lispeth's pale eyes were glittering,

had only looked upon this gray
stranger as she had looked so often
upon Ishmael. Lispeth's instinct took
the place of a soul. She had learnt
nothing of life — she knew every-
thing. She felt, rather than heard,
the stranger's deep-drawn, quivering
breath above her. Slowly she raised
her head, claiming his eyes.

As the darkness comes in the
desert without warning of sunset,
Ishmael was upon them. His hand
sought the knife in his velvet girdle ;
his harsh face glared hot hatred into

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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

the immovable white gaze upturned
to him.

"And so/' he snarled in Arabic;
' ' so you give your eyes to the stranger
yonder. Aloui! it drives a man mad
to see "

"Fool!" she replied coolly, in the
same tongue, "I was but bargaining
with him for yonder amulet. He will
pay a price, and we shall buy oil and
fresh dates and fish. Leave us, then,
a while, Ishmael — my "beloved!"

His great animal-frame a-quiver at
the vibrant words and glance, the
nomad strode out of the door, bearing
his joy away to the desert, to gloat
over it in secret till the strange folks
should be gone; then he would re-
turn. She would not hate him or
mock him longer — had she not called
him beloved? Allah was good —
praise be to Allah !

"Well?" It was the stranger's
voice in Lispeth's ear. In a violent,
shuddering movement, she leaned for-
ward, brushing his arm with henna-
crimsoned finger-tips.

Her eyes smoldered like flame-lit
steel. "You saw," she said fiercely.
"He wishes to marry me. I hate
him! Take me away from here!
Take me with you ! ' '

Heat and silence brooded on the
brown hut peering thru the palms. A
painted lizard etched his fantastic
shape against the sand, the only color
on the afternoon. Far away across
the distance gleamed the minarets of
Mohammed, and the raucous "Oosh!
oosh!" of the camel-drivers as they
goaded a patient caravan train, trail-
ing grotesque black shadows across
the horizon, came to them faintly.
Silence, full of sounds that could not
be heard ; indistinct movement, as tho
the sand had a soul in it and the
desert were a-dream.

"Lispeth!" Ishmael stood in the
low doorway, blinking at the feeble
interior light. "Art thou here —
Lispeth f"

Instead, Hager's claw-like fingers
clutched his sleeve.

"She's gone — gone, my son!" It
was a song of triumph — a chanting.

' ' Gone ! May Allah deal justly with
her! The stranger-fools took her
away. She bewitched them all. No
longer shall she flout us, Ishmael.
Thy mother hath saved thee ! ' '

"Gone!" he echoed stupidly. He
looked outside. The desert reeled.

"Gone!" The blank sky and sand
flung back the hoarse cry ; the far* flat
places moaned it. "Gone!" Into
the pitiless, impersonal emptiness he
staggered, his hands to his head,
running blindly in a pale cloud of
sand, like a demented thing bent on
destruction. And, now and again,
thru the passionate sand-fog rose a
voice, agonizing across the world:
' • Gone — my beloved — gone ! Gone — ' '

Lispeth leaned against the latticed
casement, her hands clenched by her
sides, as the thin notes of the song
tinkled up from the Street of the
Dancers, spangled with a sensuous
midsummer moon. Above her trail-
ing black gown that breathed • ' Paris ' '
like a perfume in every clinging line,
the blinding pallor of her face glowed
thru the dusk of the room. The coarse
hair was disciplined into loose waves
now, but the eyes were those of the
tattered, desert beggar-girl of a
month ago — empty, desolate, barren
as the desert itself.

"Oh, Allah!" said Lispeth aloud,
staring before her steadily. "What
is it, this love that the dancing-girls
sing of and the men understand? I
want to feel it, too — / want to shake
as men do when I wish it, to blush
and tremble. I cannot feel— I cannot
even cry ! ' '

The arcade below, the bazaars and
gardens throbbed like a heart with
the passion of the song. Painted
women, unveiled and bold of glance,
smiled upon their companions in the
garden; guitars tinkled, and a half-
naked girl danced furiously in the
blue-lit square below, her moon-cast
shadow moving fantastically across
the pavement ; and over all the throaty
voice sighed, like the night become
vocal :

That thou mayest know the kiss that tells
the love of woman.

THE VAMPIRE OF THE DESERT

103

"Some women are like the golden
light on the desert ; some like the
cold sand-storm that chokes and de-
stroys," mused Lispeth. "Ah, the
desert! I fear it — I would go away,
but they like it. They plan to stay.
I must go. I will go!"

The halls of the hotel were full of
tourists. A jargon of tongues lisped
across the noises of the street. Be-
yond the Avails, on every side beat the
East, mysterious, alluring. Within,
the West chattered, bargained, gos-
siped and quarreled. In a palm-pro-
tected corner, Derrick Corday and his
lately acquired fiancee bent
over his mother.

"Madelaine never saw a
native knife-dance, mother, ' r
he was urging; "do come
along. They say it's a sight
you oughtn't to miss/'

"Well, if yoar father
wants to **

The older man hesitated.
His eyes, wandering rest-
lessly to the stairway, caught
a glimpse of a black-robed
figure descending. With an
elaboration of unconcern he
arose, flicking his newly
lighted cigar into a palm-pot
and yawning ostentatiously.

"Not for me," he said.
"Go along, all of you, and
enjoy yourselves watching
the Zanzibar girls slash each
other to ribbons. I'm dead
tired, and I 'm going to turn
in. ;

In the conservatory the
blue moonlight writhed
over the floor; the shadow
of the palm-trees seemed to rustle
faintly. Steeped in the distance
swooned the song of the love of
women and the kiss of women.
Lispeth 's face blurred the shadows
like a pale stain, as she stood waiting.
She knew he would come. Had her
eyes not demanded him, and his an-
swered?' She did not even stir at his
step, so sure was she. One of her
hands lay outstretched on the edge of
a marble urn. A blue pulse in its
back beat slowly, like a sluggish

heart. The man's hand quivered
over it. She turned, head flung back,
looking seriously, pensively up at him.
His eyes slid from her face to her
sloping shoulders, slipped down along
the curves of her body, in a glance
avid as a touch. Presently he spoke,
with deep-drawn breath.

"My Gocl, but you're beautiful to-
night, Lispeth!" he exclaimed.

LISPETH WATCHES THE TOURISTS

WITH ENVIOUS EYES '

She swayed infinitesimally nearer.
A strange fragrance, like the perfume
that the sun wrings from the ground
of the desert, lurked about her. "But
I am not happy."

He regarded her steadily. Again
she swayed a shade nearer, her eyes
heavy upon his. "I hate the desert
— it stifles me — I want to go away — ' '

Her breath was on his face. His
arms went out to seize her, but, with
a mocking laugh, she was gone. He
looked after her in silence, his face

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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

quivering. ''The little devil — she
makes a fool of a man." He flung
himself down on a marble bench,
talking to himself in a monotonous
undertone. "What is it? — must be
this infernal desert — makes a man
forget everything. She is wonderful
— ugly, too — no, no, beautiful — cold
as ice, but kisses would warm her —
kisses that choked that cursed laugh
from her throat and that stare from
her eyes. Good Lord ! what am I
saying? My wife — Heaven help me,
I wont let her make a fool of me — "

"Mr. Corday!" The miserable
man -started to his feet.

"No, no, I'm not going to listen."
But he made no move to go.

He saw the scarlet thread of her
lips tremble. The stormy rise and
fall of her breasts disturbed her
dress ; her hands were on his shoul-
ders, burning cold.

Suddenly his resistance snapped,
as a straw, before the flood of passion.
He snatched her to him, maddened an
instant by the pressure of her arms
and body, the strange seem of her
hair in his face. Then again she
slipped from him. Her skirts whis-
pered as she ran thru the palms and
roses into the room beyond. Blindly
he followed the sound.

"Lispeth — you little Witch of
Endor — Lispeth — I love you," he
gasped. "Come back — I'll do any-
thing you say — anything. Only come
back. You're killing me. You know
it, too. I'm — I'm mad about you —
mad, do you hear?"

He stumbled against a table and
threw himself into the chair beside it,
burying his gray head on his arms.
One idea alone clung to his ship-
wrecked brain — "I'll do anything
you ask, only dont leave me "

He felt her above him; then her
voice on his cheek: "Take me away
from the great, horrible desert, and
I '11 give you — a kiss ! ' '

"It will mean a few days to get
together money enough." His dry
lips fumbled with the words. "Then
we'll go away — where they can never
find us "

"Father!" The word hissed on

the hot moment like water on red
iron. Derrick's young face, gro-
tesque with horror, floated man-high
thru the darkness, toward them.

"Are you mad?" he cried shrilly.
"Do you mean to say you are plan-
ning to elope with this woman — to
leave my mother — to disgrace your-
self and bring shame forever on her
name and mine? Are you my
father? Are you insane?"

The older man made no attempt at
futile defense ; his gray head sank
lower, beaten down by the storm of
pelting words. One shaking hand
crept out, groping for pity, but his
boy pushed it from him, loathingly.

' ' Dont touch me ! " he shrieked. ' ' I
will go and tell my poor mother of
your baseness." He flung himself
from the room. Like a strange, black
shadow, adrift from its substance,
Lispeth followed.

"Wait one moment." The far-
away, emotionless words tinkled on
the tense air like ice. The boy paused
with unwilling suddenness, as tho
jerked back by an invisible cord. The
small, rigid figure, silhouetted against
the white wall, swayed piteously be-
fore the fierceness of his gaze.

' ' You dont — understand ' '

' ' I beg your pardon ; I am afraid I
do -"

"Ah-h-h!" A sob undertoned the
word — a quick step forward, and
Lispeth had crumpled into a little
pool of black on the floor, at his feet,
her white face uptilted to his.

"Dont you know — haven't you
seen — all the time — that it was you I
loved — Derrick, you — you — you?"
Her hands fluttered f renziedly around
his knees — tightened.

All he could say stupidly was:*

"Me — you love me?" over and
over, like the meaningless refrain of a
comic song.

"I do — I worship you! It is be-
cause I love you — because I am hope-
less in my love for another girl's
sweetheart — that I wanted to get
away. Cant you see? At least be
merciful and spare me the pain of
this shameful telling — Derrick ! "

She hid her face in her hands,

TEE VAMPIRE OF THE DESERT

105

rocking her body to and fro. Be-
tween her fingers her pale eyes peered
watchfully.

"And .you love — me?" he mut-
tered. "Mef — no, no, it is impos-
sible." He bent suddenly and seized
her face between rigid hands, staring
at her as for the first time. The
strange, pale face, emotionless as her
words were wild, seemed to blot out
the world ; so a match held before the
eyes covers the moon and sun and sky.

"You are a marvel " He was

gone. She turned to the young man,
holding out yielding arms. Her eyes
closed. The black head swayed back
upon his arm, and his kisses burned
upon unkissing, scarlet lips.

The moon, bright craft washed with
cloud-wrack, steered down the heavens
to the dawn. The lights winked out
below in casement lattice, minaret and
tower. Up from the sun-soaked

THE LITTLE DEVIL SHE MAKES A FOOL OF A MAN

Her hand crept to his, brushing it.
A shudder shook- him. He started
back, then suddenly took her into his
arms. She could have shouted aloud
for triumph. Instead she hid her face
against his pounding breast.

A furious laugh separated them.
Mr. Corday stood in the doorway, his
gray head shaking with the palsy of
anger, and his face a terrible kaleido-
scope of rage, jealousy and twitching
mirth. Lispeth slid from Derrick's
slackened arms.

"The only way to keep our secret,"
she breathed. The elder 's face cleared.

ground poured the scent of drifting
rose-petals, like the soul of the dying
flower rising to the sky. The mys-
terious, delicate dawn-wind breathed
against Lispeth 's forehead as she
knelt by her window, gazing into the
night with fierce, unsleeping eyes —
a wind born in the barren wastes
of sand-strewn places, ghastly, she
thought, with dried years, the bones
of things that had died.

She bent cold forehead on cold,
hard-wrung hands.

"Oh, Allah, 'is there no help for
me?" she moaned. "Send thou

106

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

tears to my eyes — that have never
wept, ana love to my heart — that has
never stirred. Alas, my eyes, my
heart and soul are as dried and sterile
as the desert itself ! Allah have pity
— pity upon me ! ' 9

Lispeth waited. Passing tourists
glanced curiously at the listless figure,
motionless behind the palms; then
went on to view the lesser marvel of
the Sphinx. Thru the window fell
the shadow of the white mosque-
tower and the far heaven-ascending
drone of the muezzin whining upward :
"Oh, arise and magnify Allah, and
purify thyself and depart from un-
cleanliness!" Lispeth did not seem
to be listening, yet she knew the step
that halted at last by her side.

"You have everything V '

"Yes."

"Then let us go."

They turned, walked about their
palm-shelter, straight into the very
face of Derrick.

"Father — where are you going
with her?"

"Derrick, keep out of this — it's
none of your affair ! ' '

The two glared at each other,
stripped, in one horrid moment, from
the years of affection, family love,
respect and civilization to the primal
brute, the beast-man that slumbers in
the soul of every male.

"Derrick, if you touch that woman
again I will kill you," cried the
father.

"And if you touch her I will kill
you." Lispeth shrank back against
the wall. The heavy lids drooped
over her watching eyes, narrowing
them to slits. The pallor of her face
was unflecked with color or excite-
ment. A faint smile bent the cruel
line of her lips.

The two men were breathing hard ;
the veins in their foreheads beating;
the sinews tightening in their arms.
In an instant they would be at each
other's throat. The door was flung
open. A furious figure, incarnate
frenzy and threat, carrying a coarse
robe over its arms, burst into the
room. More horrible than his lifted
knife was the face below — distorted,

clammy white, as tho a corpse were
angry, it glared down at the girl.
The robe fell at her feet.

"Take off thy strange garments
and put this on," cried Ishmael,
hoarsely. "I have come to take thee
home."

Night on the desert. A wandering
simoon tossing gusty showers of sand
across the copper moon, rattling the
dead leaves of the camel-thorn like

THE BLACK HEAD SWAYED BACK
UPON HIS ARM"

bony arms flung in wild appeal to-
ward the sky. The ancient papyrus
rustling agedly against the low, cin-
namon-colored dunes.

"The desert again — the sand-seer

warned me " The wind caught

the moaning words, whipping them
to bits in dervish dance across the
sky. It seized her flowing draperies
and molded her figure with them;
whipped the black hair loose from its
coils into serpent streamers, and
stung the white, upflung face with
hissing sand.

THE VAMPIRE OF THE DESERT

107

The silent bulk behind her broke
into sudden words. "The desire of
man's soul is hot as the sun at noon-
day— the need of thy lips as bitter as
the parching sand-storm. ' ' He moved
nearer, his eyes flaming like living
coals thru the night and storm. '*I
love thee. Thou art mine — mine,
dost thou understand?" His arms
were about her, drawing her down
upon the mound. She struggled

whirling red pain of the world she
saw only his face — the face of the
man who had conquered her at last.
Suddenly a strange light grew in her
eyes. She struggled to her elbow,
panting up to him — her master, so
far away from her glazing gaze. In-
tense joy seemed to suffocate her — or
was it the red stream that burst from
her lips with every word?

"I love you, Ishmael," she gasped,

•I HAVE COME TO TAKE THEE HOME"

faintly, his fierce breath upon her
face. Surely she could still manage
him ? Had he not always trembled at
her scorn

"I love thee — kiss me, Lispeth: I
love thee enough to die for one kiss.
Ah. ah ! So you laugh at me still ?
Aloui!" He flung her from him,
fumbling in his girdle. Something
glittered in the air. "I love thee
enough to kill thee!"

Lispetlrs head fell back upon the
sand. She stared" up thru the dark-
ness with a puzzled frown. In the

her heavy hand reaching to his, lax
at his side. Faster came the red
stream. The new-born soul in the
pale eyes was filmed with death.
"Allah — be — praised — I have — found

— love ' ' She fell back on the sand.

1 ' So — dark — it — is — the storm ' '

But it was Death. Yet the new light
gave the dead face a sweeter look of
Life than it had ever worn.

And the sands of the desert blew
across her like a veil.

Allah forgive us, and be merciful to us
all.

Ma sings of i

"TheT/ioioplay
7?hilbsonher"

If there is anything sorely needed by the Motion Picture manufacturers, it is
good comedy. How rare* it is! There are some people' so constituted that
they can laugh at anything, however ludicrous and silly, and these persons
are to be envied. He who can laugh heartily on the slightest provocation is
indeed fortunate. One of the unfortunate things about education, and culture
is that they tend to raise our standards so that we no longer enjoy the senseless
jokes and situations that once roused our risibilities. When we learn to enjoy
the delicious wit of Swift, Lamb and Washington Irving, we begin to frown on
the mere punsters like Tom Hood, and we no longer appreciate the vulgar
humor of the comic supplements of the Sunday newspapers. Some of the
Motion Picture comedies of five years ago would not now be tolerated. The
public has become educated up to a higher standard of the art of humor. Only a
few years ago a comedy was thought adequate to the demands if it contained
the familiar procession of promiscuous citizens, constantly increasing in num-
ber, chasing a culprit and falling over one another as they came upon an
obstruction. Most of us can no longer laugh at such pranks. Once it was
thought sufficiently funny if the comedian merely met with a series of mishaps,
such as being thrown into a mud-pool, or being crushed by a shower of debris,
or being run over by a truck, or being put into a barrel full of projecting
nails and being rolled down hill. We all have human sympathy, and it does
not please us now to see even a comedian suffer from violent "jokes."

Addison's Genealogy of Humor is intex-esting, in this connection: "Truth
was the founder of the family, and the father of Good Sense. Good Sense was
the father of Wit, who married a lady of collateral line called Mirth, by whom
he has issue, Humor. Humor, therefore, being the youngest of the illustrious
family, and descended from parents of such different dispositions, is very vari-
ous and unequal in temper ; sometimes you see him putting on grave looks and a
solemn habit, sometimes airy in his behavior and fantastic in his dress ; inas-
much that at different times he appears as serious as a judge and as jocular as
a Merry Andrew. But as he has a great deal of the mother in his constitution,
whatever mood he is in he never fails to make his company laugh."

On this side of the door of Success is the word "Push," on the other side
is the word ' t Pull ' ' ; but since most of us are on this side of the door, we must
not look for pull, but must push. Nothing great was ever accomplished in this
0 world by influence. Persistent effort is the price of Success. tf

/A05ING5 OFTftt RftoTopLAY PAILOSOPM&r:

It might be well to sound a note of warning to those who think that any-
thing and everything pertaining to Moving Pictures is ' ' coining money. ' ' It
is true that those wise persons who, many years ago, had the foresight to see
the immense possibilities in the crude, primitive device for imparting apparent
motion to photographs have prospered beyond their wildest dreams, and it is
true that hundreds of others, who became interested in Motion Pictures in
recent years, are making fortunes ; it must be remembered that along with the
few successes have come innumerable failures. Hundreds of manufacturers of
Motion Pictures have failed, and thousands of exhibitors have had to close
down their doors. All is not gold that glitters. Photoshows will not pay
everywhere, and not every person in the world knows how to conduct one so
that it will prosper. The "show business" is an art. While butchers, bakers
and candlestick-makers have been known to desert their callings, and, without
previous experience, started Motion Picture shows and made money, these
enterprises were successful in spite of bad management. They are exceptions,
and they do not disprove the rule that the shoemaker should stick to his last.
Doubtless a fool could open a picture theater in certain localities and make
money, but it must be said that such localities are rare. And as for the manu-
facturing of Motion Picture films, it can hardly be said that there is room for
more. The market is large and ever increasing, yet the present manufacturers
are successfully meeting that demand by adding to their product. The induce-
ments to invest money in one or more of the several branches of the business
are alluring, and many a dollar has been lost in hopeless ventures. We all
remember the day when everybody was investing his savings in mines and oil-
wells that promised to yield fabulous returns. The Motion Picture industry
is the modern gold mine — beware !

We truly have some great photoplayers, but has it come to that stage yet
when we can say of any player, as we now say of the great actors who are
gone, thus: Forrest's "Lear," Salvini's "Othello," Mansfield's "Richard the
Third," Cushman's "Lady Macbeth," Booth's "Hamlet," Hackett's "Fal-
staff," Irving 's "Shylock," Neilson's "Rosalind," Ellen Terry's "Olivia,"
Jefferson's "Rip Van Winkle," MacCullough's "Virginius" and Kean's
"Brutus"?

Mr. Edward Endelman sends me an interesting booklet from which I
glean the following: "My study of this question has led me to the following
conclusions : ( 1 ) The Motion Picture can be applied to the school curriculum,
strictly speaking, so that it will help the child's class-room study of history,
geography, chemistry and the other concrete subjects in the school course.
(2) It can be applied to the study of the abstract subjects — civic duties, social
and moral obligations — for both children in the schools and for adults. (3) It
can be applied to the study of trades and the development of industries, for
both children and adults. (4) It can be applied to the general education of
the adult by regular Educational Nights at the 'Ten-Cent Universities,' at
church affairs, medical conferences and social entertainments."

It is only a question of a short time when there will be film exchanges
that make a specialty of releasing educational pictures, and when there will be
theaters where educational pictures only will be shown. The time is not far
distant when we shall also have picture theaters devoted exclusively to "fea-
ture" dramas, and others where comedies only are shown. Furthermore, the

/AOSINGS OFTHt PRoTopLAY PfMLO^opf^JC

pictures will be repeated for two or three nights. There seems to be no good
reason why a theater should advertise "Complete change of pictures every
day." In every community there are probably a few who make it a business
to attend the same picture theater every night, or two days in succession, but
these are exceptions, for the great majority visit the same theater only once
or twice a week. This being so, why should not a program be repeated at least
once, so that patrons can recommend it to their friends? In New York City
a play sometimes runs a whole season, and it gains most of its patrons by one
person recommending it to another. And when citizens or visitors wish to
spend an evening at the play, they make inquiry and learn that there is a
comedy playing at this theater, a burlesque at that theater, a Shakespearean
drama at another theater, a melodrama at another, a morality play at another,
and so on ; then, having decided what sort of play they wish to see, they make
a choice. No doubt the same conditions will some day obtain in the Motion
Picture theaters. And why not? Perhaps we shall some day see such signs
as these: "The Erasmus Educational Photoplay Theater: Educational picture
plays shown exclusively, and religious plays on the Sabbath," and "The
Comedy Photoplay Theater," and "The Shakespearean Photoplay Theater,"
and ' ' The Classics Photoplay Theater, ' ' and so on.

The time will also come when people will get out of the habit of attending
only that picture theater which is nearest to their homes. They will be only
too glad to take a car and ride to a distant part of the city to attend a photo-
show whose program is to their liking. As has been said before many times,
the Motion Picture business is only in its infancy.

It has been said that the Motion Picture is "A royal road to the human
mind. ' ' Certain it is that we learn quickest that which is learnt from inclina-
tion, and the problem of education has been to make learning attractive. If
the teacher can combine study with play, her pupils will prosper. If she makes
the work uninteresting, the pupils will shirk it, and they will learn slowly.

How true it is that * ' a man is never a hero in his own home. ' ' Perhaps
it is because distance lends enchantment and familiarity breeds contempt.
And perhaps that is why we think imported articles superior to those made
by our own countrymen, and why, we look on foreign singers and foreign
doctors as more gifted than our own. A man is seldom fully appreciated in
his own town, in his own country, in his own time. It requires the perspective
of distance or time to win our applause. For did they not make Socrates
drink the fatal hemlock ? And did they not make Galileo recant under penalty
of death ? Did they not sneer at Columbus and laugh at Newton ? Did they
not send Napoleon to St. Helena and put a price on the head of Cromwell?
And were not such statesmen and world-benefactors as Bismarck, Gladstone
and Lincoln called "demagogs" by their contemporaries? Milton was known
as "The blind old schoolmaster" by his fellow townsmen, and the celebrated
Waller criticised "Paradise Lost" in these words: "A tedious poem on the
fall of man ; if its length be considered as merit, it hath no other. ' ' Seldom
has a poem become more popular than Butler's "Hudibras," yet no less a
personage than Pepys wrote in his memoirs : "When I came to read it, it is so
silly an abuse of the Presbyter knight going to the wars, that I am ashamed
of it . . . and sold it for eighteen pence. ' ' Cervantes, author of the im-
mortal "Don Quixote," was thrust in jail, and the great Dante was exiled.
Chaucer, father of English literature, was compelled to exchange a palace for

^h^^r 110 ^^^«>^<^^^^

AtOSINGS OFTflf PRoTopLAY P/JILOSOPME-FC

a prison, and Spenser was banished to Ireland to die in poverty. Our own
"Walt Whitman is just becoming recognized as one of the world's great poets.
When his " Leaves of Grass" first came out it was pronounced the work of a
fool. For example, one of the great critics said: "The book should find no
place where humanity urges any claim to respect, and the author should be
kicked from all decent society as below the level of the brute. There is neither
wit nor method in his disjointed babbling, and it seems to us he must be some
escaped lunatic raving in pitiable delirium." Emerson, however, was quick
to recognize the merits of the new poet, for he wrote Whitman as follows : " I
find it the most extraordinary piece of wit and wisdom that America has yet
contributed. I am very happy in reading it, as great power makes us happy.
. . . I greet you at the beginning of a great career. ' '

In our own time, as it always was, genius is seldom recognized by those
who stand close by. But if we acquire riches, we are at once proclaimed great,
for gold is king.

Weak men take whiskey — also water, and sometimes both. Strong men
never rely on stimulants. Most "drinking" men are weak men. Some drink
because it is the custom, some because they are treated, some because they
dont want to appear too virtuous, and some because they wrongly imagine that
it adds to their strength. In any of these cases drinking is a sign of weakness.
Man is the only animal that eats when it is not hungry and drinks when it is
not thirsty. Very few men drink because they like the taste of liquor. Drink-
ing is often the result of a false thirst. When the, system cries for water, men
translate the demand for fluid into a call for rum. Water will quench 'most
any thirst. But — this was not to be a temperance lecture, but a brief para-
graph to call attention to the too frequent drinking scenes in the pictures. Is
it wise to give the impression to Young America that drinking is so common
to all classes of people and that it is customary and proper everywhere ?

It is remarkable how many Motion Picture companies are settling on the
Pacific Coast. No, it is not remarkable, for not only are the climatic and other
conditions exceedingly favorable there, but the tendency of all good things
has always been to push on to the west. The star of empire usually rises in
the south, soars northward and sets in the west. The great power-center of
the world started in Rome, marched northward to London, from London to
New York, and now we see it hovering over Chicago, whence it may ultimately
move on to San Francisco. Going still farther back, Egypt and Assyria were
once the world-powers ; then the scepter passed north and west to Rome and
Greece, thence to Spain and France, thence to Germany, then to England, thence
across the Atlantic, and now it is marching across the continent. The north-
erners usually conquer the southerners, other things being equal, for the north-
erners are the more hardy and the southerners the more indolent, owing to
Nature 's indulgence. About ten out of every eleven of the earth 's inhabitants
live north of the equator. The farther north they get, the harder they have to
work, hence the stronger and the better they become. But perhaps the Pacific
Coast is too luxurious, too indulgent. If the earth there gives up her treasures
too generously, without demanding a fair equivalent, men will not thrive, and
the struggle for supremacy will carry the fittest to still more distant parts.

We are told in The Arabian
Nights' Entertainment that
when Mr. Sinbad, The Sailor,
returned from one of his particularly
exciting adventures and rested, he
was soothed by the sweet strains of
music. When some twenty-odd mil-
lions of photoshow fans seek relaxa-
tion after the cares of the day, they
also wish to be soothed by melody. To
the discriminating, the music in the
Motion Picture theaters has been
anything but soothing.

During the enaction of the digni-
fied production of Biblical times the
incessant tapping of the triangle and
roll of the snare-drum have rudely
detracted from uplift and refining
atmosphere. When Bob, the brave
lieutenant who gives his life for his
country, is breathing his last on the
stricken battlefield, the enlivening
strains of "Everybody's Doin' It"
on the pianoforte has quickly sun-
dered the cord of sentiment connect-
ing the audience with the picture
screen, and has transformed an ap-
pealing scene into incongruous com-
edy. But there is promise of better
things.

The refining atmosphere cannot be
too carefully fostered in the Motion
Picture theater. I frequently visit
a theater where the musical director
requests the audience to name the
songs. The favorite selections of chil-
dren are particularly desired. One
little girl the other evening asked for
"Beulah Land." That song is close
to the child's heart. It's an old-
fashioned song; a song of the home.
"Beulah Land" has beautiful words
and lovely melody. It is a vision of a
life Over Yonder ; a dream of a joyous
future ; it is the strongest evidence of
immortality there is.

The night *" Beulah Land" was
sung there immediately followed
"The Star of Bethlehem." Never
had the films seemed so appealing;
the sacred atmosphere had been un-

consciously prepared by "Beulah
Land," and that large audience was
made better for it all.

And there are other songs touching
the life immortal that are not out of
place in the Motion Picture theater
when morality pictures are the pro-
gram. There is the "Home of the
Soul," "The Sweet By-and-By," and
a score or more like them, all of
which appeal powerfully to the
child's heart, and that come into the
life of the most cynical with vision
unobscured.

The day of the Illustrated Song,
with its insincere sentimentality, is
waning in Filmland. Musical bills-of-
fare are being selected with thought
and care, and this, I unhesitatingly
assert, is one of the most important
steps forward.

Let us taboo the "popular" gongs,
many of them winning by their sug-
gestiveness, and return to the good,
old-fashioned airs of the everyday
people, just as the pictures are turn-
ing from false standards of life to
real people and human sympathy.

And it will not be long before
Cinematography will be responsible
for a revival of the classic light
operatic music. The photo-opera is
expected to make its initial bow be-
fore so very long. Then selections
from ' ' II Trovatore, " " The Bohemian
Girl," "Carmen," "Faust," and the
lilting airs from Gilbert and Sulli-
van's "Mascot," "Mikado," "Pina-
fore," "Patience," etc., will add tone
and good taste to the Motion Picture
show.

There is nothing as demoralizing
in this world of ours as poor or sug-
gestive music. The little girl asked
for "Beulah Land," and tears shone
in the eyes of many in that audience.
The exhibitor of Moving Pictures can
teach other little girls and boys to
request "Beulah Land," and then
where will the "reformer" turn for
material for criticism ?

112

PU>uS

'west

MELP YOOR/AVORITE AL0N&

If tlie fair sex does in other elections as it is doing in this, the anti-suffragists
will lose a good argument. As the battle of the ballots progresses, we find
that the women are doing their full share of the work. Who said that the
women did not want to vote ? They do — at least they do in this election —
and they are. perhaps, a little more willing to show their appreciation of the
good work of the players than are the men. They say that men are not so
appreciative as are women, and this election tends to prove it. When you
come to think of the hundreds of happy hours you have spent at the photo-
show, and of how hard the players had to study and work, in order to make
those happy hours possible, and of how little appreciation these players get,
then you are glad that this contest was started. After all, this contest is
something of a hand-clapping affair. You see a play ; you admire a player's
work : you want to tell him and everybody so, and this is the only way you
can do it. Thus far the vote has been spontaneous and right from the public 's
heart. As far as we can tell, there has been no "booming" by the players
themselves, directly or indirectly, and that is as it should be. We want the
public to decide this election, and to tell the world who are the popular
players. At this early date, the figures given on page 172 do not tell the whole
story. Many counties haven't been heard from yet, as they say in the regular
elections, and many people have been saving up their votes, just as they did
last year. No doubt there will be many important changes in the result-up-to-
date that we shall publish in the next issue. The fact that the names of the
Biograph players are now becoming known will make a difference, because
many voters will now vote for Biograph players who, a month ago, voted for
other favorites. Our advice is to vote early, for you are allowed only two votes
a month — one for a male player and one for a female player. For full direc-
tions how to vote, and for the standing of the players up to date, see page 172.
While this contest is on, the department known as "Popular Plays and
Players" will be combined with this department, and all verses, criticisms
and comments received will either be printed here or forwarded to the players
mentioned. The character of the prizes and the date of closing of this contest
will be announced later. Concealed elsewhere in this magazine are coupons
that will help you to secure a large vote for your favorites. Address all com-
munications to "Editor Popular Player Contest, 175 Duffield Street, Brook-
lyn, X. Y. " Following are some of the verses and appreciations that we have
received : ,

Agnes, of Westerly — as well as a lot of other folks — is delighted to know
that Arthur Johnson is posing for two- and three-reel films.

The fans who love the photoshows,
Altho they've idolized in prose.
Did never yet a rhyme compose
To Wilbur, of Pathe.

This lack of praise has roused my ire,
Dear, charming Crane we all admire ;
Why doesn't some fan tune his lyre
And sing to him a lay?

Those wondrous eyes — what is their hue?
The softest brown, or violet blue?
I cant describe those eyes. Can you?
Oh ! tell me what they say !

He's clever, handsome, graceful, young;
Oft fame on lesser things is hung.
Oh ! why does he remain unsung —
This hero of the play?

Virginia T.

113

114 POPULAR PLAYER CONTEST

Mrs. G. W. Hicks writes of the pleasant surprise she received when she
recognized Miss Ethel Clayton in "The Last Rose of Summer." She remem-
bers Miss Clayton as the most charming and beautiful member of the stock
company playing in Minneapolis several years ago.

Every time I see him on the screen, Now, Mr. Robert Gaillord,

My handsome, manly Bob, When you read my little prank,

I wish it were an endless dream— I hope you wont be bored

Oh ! how my heart doth throb ! And think I am a crank.

New York City. Dolores Becker.

And Washington, D. C, is looking our way. Here is a friendly word
from the Treasury Department :

Gentlemen : When I was in New York, last summer, I was fortunate enough to
witness a good deal of rehearsing and posing by the Edison, Biograph, Reliance, and
other companies. I was much impressed with the fine work of Phillips, Cooper and
Miss McCoy, of the Edison ; Dion and Miss Robinson, of the Reliance, and Walthall,
Miss Pickford, Miss Bruce, and others, of the Biograph. The acting of Claire Mc-
Dowell, Henry Walthall and Miss Geneva in "Two Daughters of Eve" (Biograph) was
about the best I ever saw. " Respectfully,

Thos. W. Gilmer.

THE QUEEN OF THE MOTION PICTURES.

Ofttimes, in my dreams, She has the sweetest dimples
My thoughts to her do go — That ever adorned a face ;

To her who rivals the sunbeams, To you they may seem but simple,
With a heart as pure as snow. But greatly they add to her grace.

Oh! why cant you guess her name right
now,
And save my time as a talker?
The fairest of all the queens in the play
Is the renowned Miss Lillian Walker.

H. J. K.

H., of Mt. Vernon, Ohio, considers Mary Fuller the most sensible, natural
and unaffected actress in Motion Pictures.

From P. C. Levar comes a most sincere appreciation of Miriam Nesbitt,
whose work he characterizes as finished, refined and pleasing : " Her talent is
not of the showy kind, but she has plenty of vim and fire, beauty to spare, and
a certain sweet dignity that seems the outward manifestation of a most pleas-
ing personality. "

Helen, of New York, is terse, but emphatic, in her praise of Warren
Kerrigan:

here's an actor who is loved

By each Motion Picture fan,
I am sure you do not doubt my word,
For it's Warren Kerrigan.
New York City. ' Helen.

A new point of view is always interesting, even if the point pricks. For
example :

Editor Favorite Plays and Players :

I am not a kicker, but I have taken special liking to "Kalem's," with the exception
of the war dramas, in which Union men are continually beaten by the Confederates,
night after night. As I am a decided ''Yankee," I think it would be much more inter-
esting if those parts were reversed. Otherwise, the acting is excellent.

Newark, N. J. C. C. Smith.

POPULAR PLAYER CONTEST

115

There is a note of real pathos in this :

Editor: Greetings to Ornii Hawley and Alice Joyce, two of the sweetest girls in
the Moving Picture world, who, with their sweet faces, seem to draw one nearer to
heaven and the angels.

From one who, after she has seen them, feels comforted and not so lonely as before.

Another acrostic, with a word for many :

BY AN ENTHUSIASTIC SUBSCRIBER.

t stands for Meyers, who in Lubin dramas does so well,
for Olcott, of whose acting I need not tell,
is for Turner, who for her work ought to be feted!
for lnce, who certainly is Lincoln reincarnated,
h ! you all know this next person,
that's Kalem's Anna Q. Nilsson.

' is for Mary Pickford, so small and petite,

am sure every one thinks her very sweet.

for Costello, the handsomest and most popular actor.
1 is for Talbott, in Motion Pictures quite a factor.

for Urelle, of Gaumont, whom I dont know very well.

for the Reids, Wallace and Hal, the best that I can tell.

for Earle Williams, whose manners are so refined and gentle.

[ stands for Morey, who can be so funny or so mad.
for Anderson, the hero, tho he looks so mean and bad.
for one we love to see — stalwart Bob Gaillord.
. for that cute little girl, Adele De Garde,
for Zena Keefe — the films she leads banish all grief.
I know you are all of the same belief.
N is for Neill, who for Edison does great work on the screen.
E very body's doin' it now — what?

Reading The Motion Picture Story Magazine.
St. Louis, Mo. Elaine Volkers

A good criticism, this :

In attending an average of twenty picture shows each month, I have heard many
comments in regard to seating people during the enactment of a film. In a large sense
the Moving Picture theater is becoming the not-to-be despised rival of the theater
proper. For the benefit of patrons, the seating of people who come during an act is
not practised any more in the better playhouses. How much more necessary is it
that we see every action and expression upon the screen, in order to gain a clear
understanding of the portrayal ! In the picture theater we have only our sight to aid
us, and may not judge of the action by the all-revealing spoken sentence. Surely the
many frequenters of the picture theaters would not object to standing for a few
moments if they should enter during the enactment of a film, and the adoption of such
a rule could in no way interfere with the business.

This verse from Iwago Orwyn, of Newburgh :

ostello's dimples may be fine,
Johnston's scowls most divine,
Earle Williams' eyes best of all,
Harry Morey grand and tall,
Morrison's so awful sweet,
Anderson you're daft to meet.
Of these the girlies seem to rave,
But give me the player that I crave,
Who has all these charms, and more

besides.
He's a real fine fellow, that cant be denied,
He's Leo Delaney, I'll wager you know,
He's my ideal of the photoshow.

116

POPULAR PLAYER CONTEST

Edward C. Wagenknecht wishes to see more of the two- and three-reel
films written in story form.

An admirer of Whitney Eaymond asks for his picture. All in good time.
TO MABEL NORMAND.

The sweetest girl I've ever seen

Upon the Motion Picture screen

Is a dear little maiden, with winsome smile,

That's got other stars beat a mile.

Her ways are cute, has a pretty pout,

526 East 156th Street, New York City.

You can always guess what she's about
She used to act for the A. B.,
But now has left it, as you all see;
Has gone to another company, fair,
To continue her captivating acting there.
Nat Miller.

This poem to Leah Baird, of the Vitagraph, was written on a paper heart.
We wish we could reproduce heart and all :

I've seen them all, both great and small,

But she's the girl for me ;
None half so sweet I ever meet,

In the picture plays I see.

No face so fair, no smile so rare,

No acting half so fine,
I've ever seen upon the screen —

Miss Baird, you're just divine!

Costello fans are "whoopin' it up" as enthusiastically as ever. Caroline
D. Costello, of New York, writes: "I only wish I was Mrs., instead of plain
Caroline. ' '

Even suffragettes are human, as the following shows :

Strolling down the street one day,
Had nothing else to do,

I went into a picture show
And met my Waterloo.

I must confess that I'm ashamed,

For I'm a suffragette;
I vowed that I would hate all men

And never would forget.

But there appeared upon the screen

A hero, brave and bold,
And, before the reel had ended,

I lost my suffragette hold.

I left the show with a strong resolve —
To my principles be a good fellow ;

Just changed to — I would hate all men
But charming Maurice Costello.

L. P. McC, Vitagraph Fan and Florence M. Hampton add their voices to
the Costello chorus.

Louis H. Winters, who coyly confesses that he is "nineteen years old,
single, but engaged to somebody else, ' ' sends the following to Alice Joyce, the
result, he says, of "three months ' thinking":

TO THE GIRL I LOVE, ALICE JOYCE.

ere's to the lilies that snow on her brow ;

Here's to the violets that bloom in her eyes;
Here's to the roses that stain her fair cheeks

And her soft, sweet lips with their crimson dyes,
And here's to the girl I idolize — Alice Joyce.

This speaks for itself :

This is a tribute to Mr. Anderson, not as an actor or hero, but as a director. I
have been noticing, recently, while attending Motion Picture shows, that many players
are conscious of the camera, but I have never seen any of the players in the Western
section of the Essanay Company who seemed in the least to know there was a camera
near them ; and they are natural. Every move seems to be made as tho it were happen-
ing in reality. And I firmly believe it is due to good management and directorship.

POPULAR PLAYER CONTEST

117

Here is another friendly tip. When the coat really fits, we should put
it on:

The most common words in everyday use are frequently misspelled in the announce-
ments on either side of the screen and in the films themselves. Motion Picture audi-
ences are now made up of the most educated and cultured people, and it is rather jarring
on one's nerves to have such titles as "A CUREABLE DISEASE" boldly displayed on
the screen, especially as Motion Pictures are supposed to be educational as well as
entertaining.

I entered one of our theaters the other day, after seeing the announcement of the
film, "The Bride of Lammermoor," outside. This is my favorite opera, and I fully
expected to hear the beautiful and familiar music while the film was being run. Not
so! The picture was beautifully acted, and the sextette was all there, according to
Hoyle, but the orchestra played "Ramona Waltzes" and "Moonlight Bay" while the
despairiug Lucia was acting the "Mad Scene." Do you wonder that I left with a keen
sense of disappointment?

Memphis, Tenn. Well- Wisher.

" Wesley" is too shy to give his full name, but Miss Normand will appre-
ciate this tribute just the same :

It is just simply grand to see Mabel Normand,

As she puts on her cute little pout,
And then see her smile, in her own winsome style,

On the screen while she's marching about.

Josephine W. Steuphel sends in such a warm appreciation of Jack J.
Clark, of Kalem, that the envelope was really scorched and the postman burned
his fingers. "Admirable, manly, poetical, artistic, fine" are only a few of her
adjectives.

Frederick Wallace, of Bristol, Conn., sends this fine verse to
Blonde of the Biograph, ' ' Blanche Sweet :

The Little

I know a winsome maiden,

She's the sweetest ever seen.
And each night I wait her coming

On the Motion Picture screen.
With her eyes so true and tender,

And her crown of sunny hair,
She fills my soul with longing

Every time I see her there.

Not a haughty dame of fashion,

Jeweled and enthroned in state ;
Not a queen of crime and passion,

Is the girl for whom I wait ;
But a tender, trusting woman,

With a woman's hopes and fears,
On her lips the haunting sweetness

Of the smile that shines thru tears.

Never hers the shout of victory

(Hers to wear the martyr's crown),
Never hers the gauds of fashion

(Hers the simple, gingham gown) ;
Hers to give, without receiving,

Hers to make the sacrifice ;
Love, unselfish, all-enduring,

Shines from out her tranquil eyes.

Always just a touch of sadness

In her eyes, so free from guile;
Always such a wistful sweetness

In the sunshine of her smile.
Yielding, with pathetic patience,

Whatsoe'er the will of Fate,
For her eyes have read Life's meaning,

And her heart has learnt to wait.

ueens may come, and thrones may perish,

Naught care I who wears the crown ;
She, who has my heart's allegiance,

Wears a simple, gingham gown.
Pure in word and action, knowing

Naught of evil, all of good,
Humbly at her shrine I worship

My ideal of womanhood.

"A Wallace Fan" writes:

If I ran a Moving Picture company, William Wallace Reid would have the lead
in every picture, for he has the handsomest nose of any Moving Picture player, so
there !

118

POPULAR PLAYER CONTEST

Grassville is up in arms! The sewing-circle and the postoffice gossipers
have their heads together. For further particulars, see below :

MAKING UP THE MOVING PICTURE BAND.

What's all tbis fuss and noise about?

Pray tell me rigbt away.
A Moving Picture sbow's in town,

It opened yesterday.
It's tbe talk of all tbe village,

It's tbe best sbow in tbe land,
And Squire Brown's decided on

"A Moving Picture Band."
He advertised for musicians,

And applicants came quick,
So from tbe crowd be picked tbe best-

Tbe line-up, it is slick.

First comes tbe stalwart groceryman,

A pianist, you know,
He, like a leader, takes the part

Of Maurice Costello.
Then comes the parson's eldest son,

So placid and serene,
He claims that Marc McDermott

Is tbe best man on tbe screen.
Next we bear the village blacksmith,

All ready for fun or fight,
He's going to blow the trumpet for

Pathe's star, Pearl White.

And then we get a ladies' man,

The greasy butter-churner,
He says that he will blow a horn

In honor of Florence Turner.
Then tbey all come, in a line,

Each rooting for his choice,
While even the minister beats the drum

For his standard — Alice Joyce.
Now I have told you quite enough

About this village band,
'Cept that I know Helen Costello

Is the best little girl in tbe land.

Leon Kelley, of Rockville Center, L. I., expresses himself in regard to
"the everlasting idiot who gabbles thru the entire show about nothing." We
agree with Mr. Kelley that his foolishness may well be contrasted with the
grim lesson of silence taught by the wordless drama :

ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS.

Say, bo, are you a noisy guy;

A guy who talks unceasingly,
Who throws the "bull," both low and
high,

And thinks it most gentlemanly?
Are you tbe kind that likes to brag

And tell of what you've done,
Or some poor soul you love to nag,

WTith chatter not worth a pun?

If this is you, I'll call your cure,

I'll tell you what you need,
And, if you try, just tell of/your

Conversion to this new-found creed.

Now here is what I'd have you do :

I'd have you seek the picture show.
And, as you watch each story thru,

Just note the watchers, high and low.
You'll see the effect of each little smile,

You'll see them sometimes moved to
tears,
You'll see them roar — and you will pile

Things in your head that'll stay for years.

And all this done without a sound,
Without your chatter and violence,

Just by the grace and the truthful round
Of a wealth that is given in silence.

Kathryn S. Payne, aged twelve years, is impartial in her praise of her

three favorites

In passing

f course, I have my favorites, too,

Every one has — now haven't you?

You know King Baggot I adore,

And Florence Lawrence, and Owen Moore.

I would like to say a word of praise of some of my favorites, namely : Zena Keefe.
Clara Kimball Young, Florence Barker, Hazel Neason, Anna Neilson, Julia Swayne
Gordon, Kathlyn Williams, Gertrude McCoy, Jane Fearnley, and others too numerous
to mention. A. Carlyle.

(Continued on page 172)

Another Feather in Her Cap

GREAT HAS BEEN THE PROGRESS MADE BY MOTION PICTURES IN
THE PAST FEW YEARS, AND THE END IS NOT YET. NOW THAT THE
CLASSICS OF LITERATURE ARE BEING FEATURED, IT MAY BE THAT
THE NEXT "FEATHER" WILL BE "REPEATING BY THE EXHIBITORS,"
SO THAT WE MAY SEND OUR FRIENDS TODAY TO SEE THE PLAY THAT
WE SAW YESTERDAY.

119

A NEW PICTURE STAR APPEARS, BUT

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WELL. GO /^AkE OP AND CHANGE. YOU*.
CLOTHES A.NO ILL GET TOO /N TK& A/E;*T
P1C.TUCE.1

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VILU/W ON THE 3*W,/SND RESCUE THE GIBL p-

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HE SOON DISAPPEARS
120

EDWIN CAREWE, OF THE LUBIN COMPANY

•gh : ugh! Heap fine
playman!" I ap-
proached the teepee
with a forlorn sensation of
apprehension in my scalp-lock,
and, in due course, was ad-
mitted.

"How?" said I, in approved
Deadwood Dick style, extend-
ing one hand. Injun Chief
Who-Makes-Pictures shook it
cordially.

"How?" he returned. "Pale-
face welcome. Injun heap
glad, see? Sit."

We sat. The peace-pipe was
passed, and, thru the fragrant
clouds of smoke, I held the
following pow-wow with one of
the most picturesque figures in
photoplay — Edwin Carewe.

To begin at the beginning,
he happened in Texas, thirty
years ago.

"I'm an original American —
a real genuine, sterling, old-
fashioned, first impression na-
tive," smiled Mr. Carewe, dis- -
playing two rows of perfect
teeth, startlingly white
against the brown tones of his
skin. "My Texas- American
father bequeathed me my ap-
petite for baseball and the
sporting extras, but my Chick-
asaw Indian mother is respon-
sible for my insatiable thirst
for adventure and thrills. I
suppose I must have some-
thing of the redskin's battle-
lust about me " His glance

rested vaguely on my over-prominent scalp-lock, and my pencil wabbled nervously but
needlessly. "I work off my primeval impulses by automobiling and fishing for the
festive trout in Michigan, when I get a chance to slip the screen for a few davs."

Mr. Carewe went on to discuss various auto makes and trout-flies, while I took
his number, so to speak. Nearly six feet tall, lean and brown and handsome, Mr.
Carewe might easily be taken, or mistaken, for a college junior, in spite of his long
years of stage service, the responsibilities of married life, and the six-hours-a-day-six-
fiays-m-the-week amount of work he manages to turn off regularly. But, hark! I am
missing something Revenous a nos motions.

"Pine magazine— The Motion Picture Story Magazine," says Mr. Carewe, in
italics. "Ptead it from cover to cover. It's doing great business for the photoplay.

"I've been on the regular stage for years, in stock and with Otis Skinner, Chauncey
Olcott, and Kitty Gordon— must have played three hundred parts in my time, but my
six months with Lubin has shown me that photoplaying is the thing for me.

"The 'legit' has no finer actors than Florence Turner, Arthur Johnson. Roger Lytton,
G. M. Anderson, and George Lessey. Of course, I'm not saying that Motion Pictures are
going to outshine the stage. They're a parallel force, and, in their own way, they are
as great in possibility, and that's changing to probability right along.

191

122

CHATS WITH THE PLAYERS

"I always study my parts before I rehearse them, just as carefully as I ever did
for a speaking play.

"We're all pals at the studio, and the most energetic muck-raker couldn't stir up
anything but good influences there. Then the pictures themselves are getting cleaner
and more uplifting all the time. I played the lead in three pictures like this: "What
Might Have Been," "The Miser," and "Gentleman Joe," and I'm proud of them, if I
do say so, who shouldn't!"

Mr. Carewe finds life distinctly worth living. And that means that he is alive,
intensely, vividly alive clear thru and all the time. When he is not working, he is
reading Shakespeare's sonnets or Milton, or he is writing magazine stories and
scenarios, or sometimes he is improving himself by a dip into mental science under the
guidance of Ralph Waldo Trine.

"I believe that as we think, so shall we live, and as we live, so shall we be
rewarded," said Mr. Carewe, when pressed for an original "sentiment" of some kind.

"But my religion spells the Golden Rule, and I belong to no sect, unless you
call the Democratic party a sect. Some do, you know. I'm not afraid to register my
belief that William Jennings Bryan is the greatest man alive today, even in defeat.
Long may he wave! You must go? Sorry! I'm rather fond of being interviewed,
you see."

"You've made things delightfully easy for me," I said gratefully. "I didn't once
have to tell you, as I do most people, that it hurts me worse than, it does them."

"Well, remember me to the public," smiled Injun Chief Who-Makes-Pictures. "I
have two ambitions— to save money for a rainy day, and to endear myself to the lovers
of the photoplay."

The stars predict that Mr. Carewe's latter desire will be realized.

Dorothy Donnell.

G. M. ANDERSON, OF THE ESSANAY COMPANY

ftf&apqoy

An interview with Mr. Gilbert M. An-
derson, the famous Western pro-
ducer, and one of the organizers of
the Essanay Film Manufacturing Company,
I had been told, would be more difficult to
secure than to accomplish the feat of
swimming San Francisco Bay. Why? Was
it because his time was too well taken up
with matters pertaining to his profession?
I determined to solve the problem.

He makes his home at the St. Francis
Hotel, one of the most exclusive hostelries
in the West. I called there one morning
recently, shortly before eight. The clerk
informed me Mr. Anderson had not ap-
peared in the corridors that morning, but
might be expected any moment.

Soon the clever producer, whose animated
reproduction is known to millions of Mo-
tion Picture theatergoers, stepped lightly
from the elevator, in a natty, gray suit,
with hat and gloves the same shade, a con-
trast in the extreme to the characteristic
cowboy make-up of "Broncho Billy," in
which he has made the Western produc-
tions of the Essanay Company famous the
world over.

"Mr. Anderson," I addressed him.

"Good-morning. Who are you?" was his
quick retort, at the same time glancing at
his watch and walking slowly toward the
street.

I proffered my card, and noted the hands
of the clock pointed at five after eight.

"Will you favor me with an interview?"
I asked as I kept apace with him.

"Gladly, but I am sorry I cannot spare
the time now. I'm on my way to the studio
at Niles, and the boat leaves in five
minutes."

CHATS WITH THE PLAYERS 123

My hopes withered, but he added quickly : "If yon care to take the trip with me
you are welcome." Before I could reply, he entered his handsome touring-car, said to
be the fastest pleasure vehicle in San Francisco's vicinity, and motioned me to follow.

A day of thrills commenced. Suddenly I was unable to speak, but was nervously
watching the wheels of our machine graze by cars and wagons on busy Market Street.
We finally landed on the ferryboat. I glanced at my watch. Our ride from the hotel
had taken just three-and-a-half minutes.

When I recovered my nerve and looked around, Anderson was busily engaged pre-
paring a photoplay to be produced that day, stopping a moment, however, to apologize.

Riding off the ferry at Oakland, my distinguished host smiled at some youngsters
playing ball in a vacant lot.

"Interested in big league games?'' he asked.

I informed him that I was a follower of the national pastime.

"So Frank Chance will manage the New York Americans," he continued. And
smilingly : "Now New York will have a first division team."

At once I caught the meaning of his elation. Not alone was he a lover of outdoor
sports, but it was in New York that Gilbert M. Anderson first entered the Moving
Picture world and made good from the start. His suggestion that the 1,000-foot film
be put on the market is said to be responsible for the one, two and three thousand foot
reel pictures of the present day. The Essanay Company, since its formation, when
Mr. George K. Spoor met Mr. G. M. Anderson, has profited by the original suggestions
of this forethoughted man.

He urged the chauffeur to make haste. We were soon riding at such speed that
it was impossible to carry on a conversation. I studied Anderson's face. The marks of
determination were visible. This, it is said, has much to do with his continuous suc-
cess. It seemed but a few minutes from the time we left Oakland to our arrival at
the studio in Niles.

"We start for the canyon immediately," he said. Instantly cowboys sprang into
chaps and spurs. Actors and actresses prepared for the play, while the director
himself entered his dressing-room.

"If you care to ride out with us, there is your horse," he said.

I dared not decline, altho I was never much of a horseman.

Simultaneously ten or more riders mounted their horses and started on the
journey. The old, historical six-horse stage-coach used in the early California mining
days followed. I tried my best to ride alongside Anderson, whose eyes were taking in
every possible spot for a "location." but I found myself too busily engaged keeping my
mount, which seemed, to use a cowboy term, "ready to rear at any moment."

We had no sooner stopped at an old and odd-looking mountain cabin, when the
camera man began turning the crank, while "Broncho Billy" proved himself a hero by
disarming a rough-looking character who threatened the life of the heroine. Other
scenes were taken, Anderson all the while directing and instructing others in the art
of photoplaying.

As each performer went thru his part, the great director, standing behind the
camera, seemed to go thru each part mentally. His eyes were constantly on every
move. He was a study. I was so interested watching him that I almost forgot to
watch the acting.

Soon Mr. Anderson showed his cleverness with the shooting-irons, handled a lariat
with ease, and gave an exhibition at riding that one would go miles to see. He
appeared to love his work.

A halt was called for a bite to eat. Some cowboys began tossing a ball. It was
not long before my subject showed adaptness in that game also.

More scenes were taken, and then the ride back to the studio. In a few minutes
we were speeding over the country roads to Oakland with several members of the
company. It was a jolly crowd, and I found no time to begin the interview I sought
that morning.

It was after five in the evening when we rode up Market Street toward the hotel.
The streets were crowded. From the sidewalks we could hear : "There's G. M. Ander-
son." Newsboys at every corner saluted their idol with "Hooray for Broncho Billy !"

A short while after, we arrived at the St. Francis. I was in the midst of thanking
Mr. Anderson for the pleasure he had afforded me when he stopped me. "I enjoyed
your company." he said ; "come and see me again."

With a parting salute, he was gone to his apartments.

Did I get the interview? Hardly — I didn't have time.

M. A. Breslauer.

124

CHATS WITH THE PLAYERS

THE BENHAM FAMILY, OF THE THANHOUSER COMPANY

It was in the Thanhouser
studio that I met Harry
Benham. He had just
stepped out of a society wed-
ding scene, so he was immac-
ulately attired, and he seemed
perfectly at home in his
clothes. Interviewing is not
always a pleasant business —
one feels so impertinent,
catechizing a perfect stranger
— b u t Mr. Benham's easy
courtesy removed any trace of
strain in the situation, and the
few moments' chat was a
pleasant one.

Before he went to the Than-
houser Company, Mr. Benham
was a star in musical comedy,
playing a lead in the popular
"Madame Sherry" as his last
role on the regular stage.
"Peggy from Paris," "The
Sultan of Sulu," "Woodland"
and "The Gay Musician" — in
which he had the title role —
are some of the light operas in
which he was popular.

"And you left it all for the
pictures?" I asked, wondering
a bit. "How do you account
for that?"

"Here comes the reason," he
laughed, turning quickly, as a
childish voice just outside the
door called "Father!"
"Come in, son," Mr. Benham said, and smiled encouragingly at a miniature edition
of himself who appeared in the doorway, glancing shyly at the stranger with the note-
book ; "the lady's writing a story about me, and maybe she'll put you in it, too."

The lad came forward then, holding out a small hand with a ready courtesy that
matched his father's. He is six years old, and his name is Leland, he informed me
gravely ; he plays in the pictures, and he likes it very much, thank you. Master Leland
is an uncommonly attractive youngster, and the pride that shines out of his father's
eyes is quite justifiable.

"And here come the rest of them," Mr. Benham laughed. "Now tell me, how
could a man with a family like this go chasing around the country with comic opera T'
A pretty, fair-haired woman— scarcely more than a girl — came in, holding a round-
faced baby, who stretched out coaxing hands toward Mr. Benham.

"This is my daughter Dorothy," he declared proudly. "She's two years old, and
she's a little actress, too. She just came out of a picture — you see, she's made up."

Miss Dorothy is a charming, dimpled mite of humanity, and seemed to be as happy
in the gingham attire as in her own dainty frocks.

"Yes, we're all actors," said Mrs. Benham — whose stage name, by the way, is
Ethyle Cook, "and we are a happy family. New Rochelle is a delightful place to live-
near to New York, with all the joys of country life. The kiddies play in our yard and
have all kinds of outdoor games. We're like a lot of kids all together."

"Now you see why I left the regular stage," Mr. Benham said, as we watched them
out of sight' "I'm distinctly a family man— my home and family are all the world.
In this work I can* settle down and enjoy life like any other hOme-lover."

Gradually the talk drifted to many subjects. Mr. Benham claims that he is "not
literary at all," but he touches the subjects of literature, art, the sciences and all
current topics with a ready familiarity.

He delights in outdoor sports, as does his wife. They take long walks over the
hills together, both in winter and summer; they are expert swimmers.

The Benhams love their home, love their profession, love their public — and their
public loves them back again, with good measure. No wonder they are a happy family !

M. P.

CHATS WITH THE PLAYERS

125

THE COSTELLO CHILDREN, OF THE VITAGRAPH

All the world knows Maurice Costello, and all the world admires his fine acting, so
it was only natural, when his two little daughters made their bows to the
public, that all the world should sit up and begin to ask questions about them.
They are fortunate children, to come before a public already prepossessed in their
favor — a public that was ready to love and admire them for their father's sake.

But the public soon saw that these children were worth noticing, quite apart from
the heritage of their father's fame. Both of them possess unusual talent and ability,
and would come rapidly to the front in any group of child-actors.

Little Helen is five years old ; Dolores is eight. Helen resembles her mother ;
Dolores is like her father. Those who have seen them in the films know exactly how
they look and act in real life, for they are perfectly normal, natural children both on
and off the stage.

At their beautiful home in Flatbush the children get all the joys of country life,
combined with the advantages of a great city. Every morning, in the summertime, the
whole family pile into the big touring-car and are off to the beach, where they frolic
in the waves to their heart's content. Neither of the little girls has learnt to swim,
tho both are fearless in the water.

Indoors, at home, they are dainty, rather demure little girls, with spotless frocks
and the prettiest, most girlish rooms imaginable. But when they go out to play it is
very different, for Helen and Dolores adore boys' games and boys' playthings, and to
see their collection of toys one would think that Maurice Costello had two robust sons
instead of two dainty daughters. Each girl has a bicycle — a boy's bicycle, mind you — ■
and they are daring riders, too. Then they have Indian suits, calculated to strike
terror to the heart of the beholder, while cowboy outfits, footballs, baseballs and bats,
and real steam engines that run on a real track, are among their cherished possessions.

The Costellos are nothing if not democratic, and the children attend the public
school, so all the scenes in which they appear must be acted after school is over for
the day, or on Saturday. But now they are preparing to leave school behind them for
a while, for they are going with the Yitagraph Company on their Round the World
tour. What a journey it will be for these two children, and what hosts of friends
turnout the country will wish them bon voyage and a safe return ! L. B.

Chats with Laura Sawyer, Lillian Walker, William Garwood, Jean Darnell, Flor-
ence Lawrence, Miriam Nesbitt, Marie Weirman, Gertrude McCoy, and others, next
month, or as soon as there is room. They have all been taken, and some of the chats
will be accompanied by cartoons.

This is a good picture of Maui ice Costello in his new car. He will soon return to Brooklyn, after having
completed a tour of tha world with a branch of the Vitagraph Company

flow Long Will Jm Public Tolerate This?

126

Behold the Fifth Estate, the Motion
Picttire. With its birth a new
era in world-wide education has
been ushered in. The Fifth Estate
speaks a universal tongue. Her alpha-
bet is light, motion, color and form —
all understood alike by peasant -and
prince. For the emotions a-play in
the features are peculiarly intelligible
to the human mind. The Motion
Picture appeals to the most important
of the senses — sight. Landscapes,
people and organic growth in foreign
lands are not easily impressed upon
us by scientific descriptions of such.
But the name, connected to the visual
image, is all that man requires to form
a correct concept. This is the mission
of the Motion Picture — to visualize
phenomena, to true off false impres-
sions and to elevate intelligence.

Sight is the sense we exercise most.
Any one can look. Our education de-
pends on what we see to far greater
degree than what we taste, smell, feel
or hear. In fact these latter senses
have been somewhat atrophied in
modern man. No sense is thus be-
littled. All senses and the organs,
tissues, bones and veins have justifi-
cation under laws of evolution, else
they would not exist ; but the radius
of the sense of sight is far the
widest.

Definitions will not always do. Our
mathematical text-*books, in recogni-
tion of this truth of visualization, are
profusely illustrated. How easier it
is to understand the geometrical
expression of a parallelogram when
accompanied by the drawing! The
psychological resultant is that proper
concepts go over into proper action.
It is important to know this: that
morality is not objective, but sub-
jective; not from free volition, but
from objective causes which produce
subjective effects. Thus the evolution
of man to higher planes of action will
be superinduced by the objective
lessons of the Motion Picture.

The Fifth Estate will elevate by a
philosophy of optimistic positivism,
not pessimism. Augmented, as it
may be, by the voice, the Fifth Estate
merits an extension of its empire.

On a recent visit to what the small
boys call a "Nickel Theayter," in
Chicago, "The Siege of Troy" was
pictorially presented. It was shown
in the heart of a Greek settlement,
and the " Sons of King George ' '
manifested enthusiastic approval.
Ever since, "The Siege of Troy" has
been to us a "sure 'nuff happening,"
not a mere marginal reference. Like-
wise, the Urban Smith Kinemacolor
films have indelibly stamped upon
our consciousness the coronation of
King George, with its wealth of color,
soldiery and military maneuver.

Comedy is enhanced by the new
estate. The Motion Picture, by tricks
of film Connection, is enabled to evoke
hilarious laughter. Anything out of
its proper place in Nature is comical.
The new estate can produce effects
that set at naught laws of motion,
form, color, gravity and dimension.

So here is a great university, teach-
ing, in Nature's Esperanto, lessons in
light to all the nations: Greek, Pole,
Lithuanian, Scandinavian, Italian
and Englishman. A miracle that out-
miracles the "gift of tongues." What
single influence else in civilization
reaches so many variant classes ? Sub-
tly it mingles pleasure with learning.

Man grows by what he feeds on,
intellectually as physically. He is a
product of sun and soil, like the tree.
He does not mould, but is moulded.
All knowledge arrives thru the
avenues of his five senses. This is the
manna of his mind. Therein rests the
responsibility of the Fifth Estate.

By patronizing the Motion Picture
we may all be globe-trotters : in India,
Norway, Alaska or sea-isles. Ideas of
beauty are an invigorating satisfac-
tion to the mind. Toward this end
labors the Fifth Estate.

127

Id q airier

This department is for information of general interest, but questions pertaining to matrimony,
relationship, photoplay writing, and technical matters will not be answered. Those who desire early
answers by mail, or a list of the names and addresses of the film manufacturers, must enclose a
stamped, addressed envelope. Address all inquiries to "Answer Department," writing only ftn one side
of the paper, and use separate' sheets for matters intended for other departments of this magazine.
When inquiring about plays, give the name of the company, if possible. Each inquiry must contain
the correct name and address of the inquirer, but these will not be printed. Those desiring imme-
diate replies or information requiring research should enclose additional stamp or other small fee;
otherwise all inquiries must await their turn.

Sig and Rose. — Pauline Bush was the wife in "The Loneliness of Neglect."

Iowa Girl. — Want to have a chat with the Answer Man? Zounds! Dont you have
a chat with him every month in these twenty pages, and isn't that enough?

A. W. — Irving Cummings in "The Open Road." Harry Myers and Ethel Clayton
had the leads in "His Children."

Mayjbelle R. — Always glad to welcome beginners. Romaine Fielding had the lead
in "Courageous Blood." Anna Stewart was the girl in "Wood Violet." G. M. Ander-
son is still playing.

Irish, 1. — Norma Talmadge was the girl in "Just Show People." You refer to Dot
Bernard, formerly of the Biograph and now with Poll

Marjorie. — Wallace Reid was Tom in "The Indian Raiders" (Bison-).

ANSWERS TO INQUIRIES

129

Edna and Alice. — Edwin August had the lead in "Satin and Gingham." The
Thanhouser Kid was the tiniest star in that play.

L. M., San Fran. — The International Exposition of the Motion Picture Art will be
held at the Grand Central Palace, New York City, from July 7th to 12th. It is given
in conjunction with the third annual convention of the Motion Picture Exhibitors'
League of America. Yes, everybody will be there, including the Answer Man, but even
then you may not be able to identify him. See ad. about the photographs and
drawings for sale. Yes, the original of every photo and drawing you see in this maga-
zine is for sale, except those in the Gallery.

Nancy Jane, 16. — James Morrison is no longer with Vitagraph. Nancy, your other
questions have all been answered in last month's magazine, and if we repeat, this
department wont be interesting to others. We would answer them all by mail.

Flo, Houston, Texas. — Western Essanay at Niles. Keystone is not managed by
any one who was formerly connected with Biograph. That Vitagraph was taken in
Brooklyn. Brinsley Shaw is the Essanay villain, and a good, Christian one. You may
ask your Biograph questions now, but not about real old ones.

Billie Cola. — You can write to Arthur Johnson in care of Lubin. You came just
a little too late. Edwin Carewe and Edna Payne had the leads in that Lubin.

Bess, Albany. — Harry Millarde was the lead in "The Message of the Palms."

F. B., New York. — Thanks for the Easter card. We are making a collection of the
presents we receive — all but the tobacco. Your questions will be answered if they are
in compliance with our rules.

Marguerite V. G. — Yes ; Thanhouser Kid is a child. "Gee, My Pants" was a Pathe
and not a Selig. Pathe wont give us that information.

OTHER HALF LIVES AT THE PHOTOSHOW

130

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Frances K. — We dont go by writing ; first come first served, but your answers will
appear. We have never printed Marshall Neilan's picture yet, but he is due. Nor
Earle Metcalf. Harold Shaw was Dick in "A Man in the Making.' Marin Sais was
Rose in "Red Sweeney's Mistake." Kalem say they haven't any more pictures of
Carlyle Blackwell to give us. Isn't it a blarsted shame! And spring has came. And
Sweet Alice has had so many!

L. H. G. (Sweet Sixteen). — Edwin August was Dick in "The Good-for-Nothing."
Jack Halliday is playing in "The Whip," New York. Sorry you were kept waiting so
long — not our fault.

Anna Jane. Akron. — "Leading woman" is preferable to "leading lady." Use the
word ivoman when you wish merely to designate sex. You wouldn't say "leading
gentleman," would you? Remember the woman who rang the doorbell and said: "Be
you the woman what advertised for a washerlady ?" Yes ; Ned Finley, who has just
joined the Vitagraph Company, is the well-known Broadway star. Fred Mace has
left Keystone.

Margaret. — Harry Myers was John, and Martin Faust was George in "The Lost
Son." Martin Faust was also Martin in "Until We Three Meet Again." Thomas
Moore did not play in either of these. Bryant Washburn was Flinty in "The Sway of
Destiny." You refer to Leo Delaney in "The Vengeance of Durand."

Mrs. Barry F. — Robyn Adair was the soldier. Kalem have a company in Bir-
mingham^ Jacksonville, Glendale, New York and Santa Monica. Lubin have one in Elen-
dale, Philadelphia and Jacksonville.

Edith G. Mc. — Marin Sais was the girl in "The Days of '49." Hector Dion was
Guy Mannering, Irving Cummings was the father and also the son in "Guy Mannering."
Will tell the editor you want a chat with Anna Nilsson. Sorry Guy Coombs is not
higher up in the Battle of the Ballots. Perhaps it's because he suffers too much from
the Bullets of the Battle.

D. M. C, Brooklyn. — You're right.

Flo M. K. says if she could only kiss Pearl White. Anthony, what say est thou?
Yes, we shall have to start a department for the lovelorn for you soft ones.

1. FARMER STEBBINS GOES TO SEE A PICTURE SHOW

ANSWERS TO INQUIRIES

131

William Tell S. F. — William Noel and Phil Nesbaum were the nephews in "Her
Nephews from Labrador."

The Bug. — Address Mr. Bushman in care of the Screen Club, New York City.
Miss Ray was the mother in "Cowboy and Baby."

"Bing" Again. — Lillian Christy was the girl in "When the Light Fades."

Olga, 16. — Where have you been, Olga? We missed you dreadfully. My dear, we
dont know Carlyle's telephone number ; why, he's away out in California. See above.

U. N., Pittsburg. — You will have to call up the Independent Exchange, and they
will tell you in what theaters you can see Warren Kerrigan and Pauline Bush.

Ted, Brooklyn. — We agree with you. Motion Pictures now average up so well that
the public prefer an extra reel to an illustrated song. All of us here think that vaude-
ville and songs have had their day in the picture theaters.

D. M., Montgomery. — You are one of several who want to see Selig pictures in this
magazine. It is up to Mr. Selig. Why not write him?

C. W. W.— Carlyle Blackwell was Red Ellis in "The Redemption." Roderick
McKenzie was Roderick and Myrtle Stedman was the mother.

J. S., St. Louis. — Frank Clark was the pirate, and Betty Harte was the girl in
"The Pirate's Daughter." Sorry, but we cant answer your Imp question.

Friskie Trixie. — Thanks for the little Dr. Cupid you sent. We will consult him.
Did you say "couple of questions"? It is more like a pamphlet. E. K. Lincoln has no
special leading lady. You refer to Frederick Church in the EsSanay.

Bumble Bee. — Kathlyn Williams was Queen Isabella in "The Coming of Columbus."
Maurice Costello is expected to return on September 7th or thereabouts.

Flower Evelyne Grayce. — We agree with you when you say: "Letters are my
strong point." See above.

Dawn. — If your magazine is defective, of course, we will make it good. Just tear
out two duplicate pages as an evidence of good faith, and we will send you a complete
magazine. Accidents will happen in the best regulated families.

Flo E. — No, you refer to Ethel Clayton. Nellie Navaree was Nellie in "A Race for
an Inheritance." Verse is good.

2. FARMER STEBBINS LISTENS ATTENTIVELY

132

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Sweet Sixteen. — The old and popular players are known to every one, and hence
they are not inquired for as often as the new players. There is nothing the matter
with Arthur Johnson's right eye. Perhaps he was a little sleepy in that eye when the
picture was taken.

G. E. M., Janeville.— See our March, 1912, issue, page 132, for the article on
"Wheels," which tells why they appear sometimes to go around backward.

L. B., Montreal. — Elsie Albert was Snow White in "Snow White" (Powers). The
picture was taken when May Buckley was playing for Lubin.

Tom X. says : "Kalem without Alice Joyce would be like a ship without a rudder ;
Vitagraph without Florence Turner would be like 'hash-house' soup (very thin), and
Essanay without G. M. Anderson would be like the Sahara Desert without sand." All
those so in favor please signify by raising the right hand.

M. and P., New York. — Mabel Normand was the wife in "At It Again." The
Mirror Screen is certainly a fine thing — for new films, at least, but it is a question if
it does not emphasize the defects in old films.

Plunkett. — Bon jour! Luckie Villa was the mother, Earle Metcalf was Private
Smith in "Private Smith." Marshall Neilan was the beau in "The Horse That Wont
Stay Hitched."

Eleanor K. — We answered none of the letters received in answer to the puzzle on
page 31 of the February issue. We only answered to the winner. About 7,000.

E. H. D. — Bigelow Cooper plays for Pathe and Edison*. Robert Conness is playing
on Broadway, New York City.

Pansy. — Auf Wiedersehen. Thanks for the Easter card. Pathe wont give us the
information. Aren't they mean! Edna Payne was Madge in "The Engraver." Clara
Williams generally plays opposite Edgar Jones. Vitagraph doesn't allow kissing (while
taking pictures). Thanks for the invitation. Regrets.

Frances. — We asked the editor to do as you request.

Ethelyn. — Thanks muchly. Yes; Florence Turner had the lead in "Elaine" (Vita-
graph). So the maid is infatuated with Ed O'Connor; poor thing, afraid there is no
hope. Stationery is all right, with a capital A. .

3. FARMER STEBBINS HEARS NOTHING, BUT SCENTS DANGER

ANSWERS TO INQUIRIES

133

Helen L. R. — Baby Lillian Wade and Ray Clarke were the children in "Love
Before Ten" (Selig). Guy Coombs was Gordon in "The Exposure of the Land
Swindlers." "Francis Bushman was Prof. Delaplace in "When Soul Meets Soul."
Thanks for the fee, also the clippings.

Esther. Sax Pal. — Thanks for the letter; why didn't you wait until you asked
some questions?

M. M., El Paso. — Thanks ! You did not say whether you wanted your questions
answered in the magazine. Courtenay Foote is of the masculine gender. You evi-
dently haven't placed him. Carlyle Blackwell and Francelia Billington had the leads
in "A Life in the Balance." Kathlyn Williams and Harold Lockwood had the leads in
"Two Men and a Woman." Dont believe Miss Williams is the girl you refer to.

Maejoeie Daw, Newark. — So you like the "sketchy effect" of the pictures and
designs used in this magazine. That's nothing — everybody does. We dont believe in
too many straight lines, square corners and geometrically perfect designs — that is not
art. Perhaps our artists have too much "freedom" with their pens and brushes some-
times, but. anyway, that's better than mathematical precision. No ; Jack Halliday did
not join Selig. but May Buckley did.

Mary P. — All of the trade journals give a list of the plays that have been released
for the month. The Rex would not give us your other information. Sorry.

E. W., Cincinnati. — We cannot help you with your question. Some companies are
very slow in giving us information.

Miss M. "Jack." — Francis Cummings was Jim, and. Gertrude Robinson was the
girl in "The Open Road" (Reliance). William Garwood was the fireman in "Her
Fireman." Harry Benham and Jean Darnell were the leads in "His Uncle's Wives."

Ruby K. C. — Sorry, but we cannot answer your American question.

Flossie King, Augusta, Me. — We dont know whether King Baggot was in Gar-
diner, Me., a while ago.

Dolly J. C. — The American Co. is located at Santa Barbara, Cal. Dont know the
player you mention. Oh, yes, plays are being done from the classics every ilay. You
can obtain photos from the manufacturer, or see any of the ads. in our magazine. You
were a little too late for May. Thanks.

HURRIED EXIT

134

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Juliet, Brooklyn. — "Chains of an Oath" appeared in our December, 1911, issue,
but you never saw the film a year ago, as it was only released February 14th. Verse
is very good. Believe he will join the Brooklyn branch.

Helen L. R. — Thanks for the nice comments in French. E. H. Calvert and Ruth
Hennessy had the leads in "Odd Knote" (Essanay). Carlyle Blackwell's picture was
in October, 1912, last. Thanks for being our friend "until the stars melt." Quite nice
of you. Hope you dont mean meteors !

C. R., Cleveland. — Yes, almost any player would become popular if he had a
pleasing personality and was always given heroic parts. Villains and weaklings
seldom get popular. Too bad, isn't it? Glad you like educational pictures. Yes, travel
tends to broaden one, but a padded coat will do it, too.

Dotty. — That was Warren Kerrigan in "Calamity Anne's Inheritance." American
films cannot be shown where Lubin, Vitagraph, etc., films are shown. Wallace Reid is
directing now. Thanks for the fee.

J. G. — Blanche Sweet and Henry Walthall had the leads. The pictures are of
Blanche Sweet and Harry Myers.

Ruth B., Syracuse. — Send in your 500 votes for whomever you want to, and we will
have the picture sent. Will have a chat with Marie Eline soon. Most actors are
whiskerless, because otherwise it would limit the variety of their make-ups.

Sunny Tennessee. — Augustus Phillips has been with Edison about two years. He
has been with no other Moving Picture company. That's his real name. Hazel Neason
is married and not playing. Myrtle Stedman and William Duncan had the leads in
"Range Law." Harry Myers and Marie Weirman had the leads in "The Old Oaken
Bucket." Thanks.

Saxet encloses two-cent stamp and wants to know why we insist on having the
names and addresses on all questions. This is one of the rules of this department. m We
wont print the real name and address, but we insist on having them as an evidence of
good faith.

D. A. M., Burlingame. — Vitagraph produced "Thomas a Becket." We have heard
Charles Arthur left Lubin. It wouldn't be fair to have one person sit down and write
five hundred names in one handwriting, and have them count as votes, would it? You
are right about that writer, but hist ! — dont breathe it to a soul.

Ancy Kid. — Sorry, but we cannot answer those Nestor questions. You see, we can
answer all the Licensed questions, but the Independents are slow in supplying us.

C. H. A., Mass. — "The Lady of the Lake" was taken at Mount Kisco, and "Rip
Van Winkle" was taken in the studio. Cines are Licensed.

Juliet. — Glad to hear you are going to help boost George Lessey ; he deserves it.
We didn't see that Kalem picture, so cannot describe it. There is no rule against pro-
ducing a play similar to one that has already been produced, but. no good company
would do it if they knew.

Eva S. — Mildred Bracken was Molly in "Molly's Mistake."

1. WHY IS IT THAT MOST CHILDREN DO NOT LIKE SCHOOL ?

ANSWERS TO INQUIRIES

135

E. T., Brooklyn. — Martin Faust was George in "The Lost Son." Irving' White was
Joshua in "The Good-for-Nothing." Marie Weirman was Marie in "The Village Black-
smith." Wheeler Oakman was the son in "The Flaming Forge." J. W. Johnston was
the lover in "The Country Boy" (Pathe). Thanks.

A. T. W., Bangor, and Other Artists. — Always glad to see your drawings, and we
always show them to the editor, but he seldom buys ; most of the drawings he uses are
made to order. We cant return drawings unless postage is enclosed.

A Moving Picture Fan. — That's what they all say. We know of no sons belonging
to Maurice Costello. Earle Williams was the Minister of Foreign Affairs in "The
Ambassador's Disappearance."

Gladys G. R., Rochester, says she admires that "cynical and ne'er-do-well expres-
sion of Thomas Moore. Quite a charming lad." It's hard to tell who Carlyle's leading
lady is. He has a new one every week. Yes, they all say there's none like Sweet Alice.

Dorothy S. — William Todd was the ruffian, and Frederick Church was the bandit
in "On the Moonlight Trail." Frank Dayton and Helen Dunbar had the leads in "The
Three Queens."

Bumble Bee.— No ; Arthur Johnson and Florence Lawrence are not with Victor.
You had better read some of the back magazines. Francis Bushman is no longer with
Essanay. No, no ; Gene Gauntier did not marry one of the Arabs, but it might have
been one of the Irishmen, and his name might have been Jack, but we daren't tell.

Dorothy, '09. — Yes ; "Earle Williams has understanding, and a sympathetic nature,
personally." Is that all?

Gladys G. G. — Florence LaBadie was the girl in "The Pretty Girl in Lower Five."
Earle Foxe and Irene Boyle had the leads in "The Fire Coward." Luelia Durand was
Betty in "The Cowboy Heir" (American). Harry Millarde was Jack Fisher in "The
War Correspondent" (Kalem).

Arthur J. M. — Your letter inspired an editorial by our Philosopher ; but dont blow
your own horn too much or you'll be a soloist !

Tex. — The mine was hired for the occasion. Ruth Roland and Edward Coxen had
the leads in "Hypnotic Nell." She is in Santa Monica.

Dorothy D. — Address G. M. Anderson at Niles, Cal. Thomas Allen was the fugi-
tive in "The Fugitive" (American). Edward Coxen and Lillian Christy had the leads
in "The Greater Love." Xavier is Bushman's middle name, not Xerxes.

Bessa H., Gouverneur. — Sorry, but we haven't the cast for that Bison. Call again.

H. G. — Certainly you can get a money order for 30 cents. But you can send one-
cent stamps or wrap the coins in paper. Here's a point: in sending one stamp, touch
the tip of your tongue to the center of the stamp, not to the corner.

K. B., Brooklyn. — Julia Gordon has no special leading man. She plays a great
deal with Earle Williams and Edith Storey.

C. D., Brooklyn. — Yes, sir, Sir William Duncan is with Selig. Dont know any-
thing about that Sir. Why have you knighted him?

Buttercup. — You must sign your name and address. E. K. Lincoln's picture will
appear very soon. Helen Costello was the little girl in "Two Women and Two Men."

THIS IS ONE WAY TO MAKE CHILDREN SCOOT TO SCHOOL

136 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Cornell, Sophie. — Isabelle Lamon was the girl in "The Miser." Mabel Normand
is the girl you mean. They both play leading parts, but in different companies.

Helen, 19. — How many times must we tell you not to ask questions about relation-
ship? Maybe the editor will have a better picture of Earle Williams. He is a white
man, but that royal bromide made him look like an Ethiopian. It did not reproduce.

Bessie and Marie. — Edgar Jones and Clara Williams had the leads in "The Sur-
geon." Jean Darnell was the widow in "The Poor Relation." Hazel Neason was Ange-
lina in "The Nurse of Mulberry Bend" (Kalem). Alice Joyce was the nurse.

Billy Baker. — Wilfred Lucas was the widower in "The Widow and the Widower"
(Rex). Formerly with Biograph. Lester Cuneo was the Englishman in "Bud's
Heiress" (Selig). E. K. Lincoln was the actor in "How Fatty Made Good."

Waverly and Jeanne. — Leah Baird was Adrienne, and Flora Finch was Sylvia in
"Cinderella and Lord Browning." E. K. Lincoln was Jack Hall in "A Modem Ata-
lanta." In "White Roses" (Essanay), Francis Bushman and Beverly Bayne had the
leads. Why, that was Carlyle Blackwell in "The Two Runaways." Master Calvert was
the child in "Not on the Circus Program." William Bailey was Mr. Brown in "The
Browns Have Visitors." You'll see Mrs. Costello soon. Much thanks for the fee.

M. B. — Had to read your letter twice; it would save a lot of time if you would
double-space your letter instead of writing single-space. Thanks for the enclosure.
Henry Hallan was the father in "The Message of the Palms." Pauline Bush was the
wife, and Jack Richardson was the stranger in "The Lonesomeness of Neglect." Guy
Coombs was the attorney in "The Prosecuting Attorney." Mignon Anderson was the
wife in "Half- Way to Reno." Essanay say it was Brinsley Shaw who played in
"Broncho Billy's Ward." Some say it was Frederick Church. We did not see the play.
You refer to Edward Boulden in "The Heroic Rescue."

A. R. M. — That's quite an Arm on your letter-head. We dont know of any com-
pany who will purchase scenarios in story form, but Pathe has. Arthur Johnson was
educated in Iowa, and he has been in Arkansas. Thank you kindly.

Helen A. H. — Florence Turner was the wife in "Stenographer Troubles." Guess
you mean Harry Mainhall in that Essanay. That nurse is not on the cast. So you say
you are "gone on Anderson." You belong to a very large army. Harold Lockwood
was the lead in the Selig. Thanks muchly for the fee.

Miss P., New Orleans. — Received the 500 votes for Ormi Hawley, and she
informs us that she has mailed to you her autographed photo. Yes, the offer still holds
good. We believe that every player would gladly send an autographed photo to any
person who secured 500 votes for them, but we dont count subscription votes.

E. C. F., Kentucky. — Marin Sais was the wife in "The Last Blockhouse."

Keeserville Brunette. — But we dont find the questions. We are always glad to
answer them. We believe Tom Fortune has left Yitagraph.

Dixie May. — She plays under the name of Mrs. Mae Costello. Send the picture
along. What company produced that play?

Gertrude L. — Helen Dunbar was the mother in "The Three Queens."

A. S., Dayton. — We believe that play is still on the market. We know of no pro-
ducing company at Cincinnati.

D. M. C, Brooklyn. — Ray Gallagher was Jacques in "A Tale of Old Tahiti," and
Mildred Bracken was Ternia. She is now playing for Broncho.

Fay, 21. — No : Augustus Phillips has played with no other Moving Picture com-
pany. You say you "would like to warn Warren Kerrigan about smoking too many
cigarets. It will cause him to lose his good looks." No doubt he will stop quickly when
he sees this.

Kitty, St. Louis. — Ruth Roland was the stenographer in "Stenographer Wanted."

Miss T. G., Ohio. — Edwin Cartridge was Dick Cartridge in "On the Threshold."

Ale. G. P. — Our first copy was dated March, 1911. We believe Miss Pates has had
stage experience.

TRixie A. B.«— Clara Williams was the teacher in "The Teacher at Rockville."
Marie Weirman was Marie in "Aunty's Affinity."

"Luny About 'Em." — Better change that name or they will be appointing a com-
mittee to inquire, etc. Sorry you are complaining, but remember that all good things
come to him who waits. Evebelle Prout was the girl in "The Supreme Test." That
was Fritzi Brunette in "The Professor's Dilemma." Lillian Drew was Olga in "The
Spy's Defeat." You had better write to our Photoplay Clearing House.

Mazie V. H. — The picture you enclose is of Frederick Church.

Teddy C. B. — Dont imagine that grasshoppers can disturb our equilibrium. With
a sweet smile, your effusion was consigned to the waste-basket.

Fluffy, 17. — You are correct on the Essanays. Frances Mason was the girl in
"Identical Identities" (Essanay). Pronounced Lu' bin and Path ay' Frare.

Billy Baker. — Whitney Raymond was the girl's sweetheart, and it was an Essanay.

E. L. L., W. Va.— Charles Arthur was Herbert in "Village Blacksmith." The
"Reincarnation of Karma" was taken at the studio.

EDITORIAL ANNOUNCEMENTS

We have tried to make our motto, every month,

"STILL BETTER"

Compare the present number of The Motion Picture Story Magazine
with the February, 1911, number, which was the first, or with the Feb-
ruary, 1912, number, and note the progress we have made. The June
number is even better than the May number, which is saying a great deal,
we believe. It has taken two years and a half to learn what the public
wants, and our constant aim has been to give our readers what they want,
and at the same time to raise the standard of the entire Motion Picture
industry.

We believe that the stories in The Motion Picture Story Magazine
compare favorably with those in any other magazine in the world, and we
know that the illustrations are superior.

OUR WRITERS

We have striven to make our editorial staff of writers second to none,
and it at present includes the following celebrated writers :

Edwin M. La Roche
Henry Albert Phillips
Gladys Roosevelt
John Olden
Rodothy Lennod
Dorothy Donnell

Leona Radnor
Claribel Egbert
Courtney Ryley Cooper
Peter Wade
Karl Schiller
Norman Bruce

We occasionally have had stories by such famous writers as Rex
Beach, Will Carleton, and others, and our aim will be, not only to main-
tain the high standard we have set, but to reach a still higher one.

We are pleased to announce that the distinguished inventor and
author of various works, including " The Science of Poetry,"

HUDSON MAXIM

is now engaged writing a photoplay, and a story for this magazine which
will appear in an early issue. Also that

COURTNEY RYLEY COOPER

is writing a story for us, taken from the photoplay, " B. Clarence,
Genius," which is now being filmed by the Vitagraph Co.

EDWIN M. LA ROCHE

THE GREAT MYSTERY PLAY

is now complete and, having passed the Board of Censors, will soon be
shown to the public. Watch for the announcement thereof in the adver-
tising pages.

OUR DEPARTMENTS

Our "Answer Man " will continue answering 4,000 questions every
month in his exquisitely breezy way, and about twenty pages are reserved
for those that are not answered by mail. Our interviewers and " Green-
room Jotters" will keep our readers informed of Who's Who in Filmland,
and the Photoplay Philosopher wi 1 give his learned opinions on matters
of interest within and without picturedom.

And we must not forget our artist, Mr. Fryer, who will wield his able
pen and brush for the amusement and edification of our readers. He will
continue to embellish the pictures and to design new ideas and cartoons, as
also will the other artists, including Mr. Shults.

Hence, watch out for the July issue ! We shall try hard to make it
more pleasing than ever. Order it now! The summer months are
coming and the newsstands and theaters are readjusting their orders.
Watch out, or you will meet with the frequent answer — "Sold out ! "

In our new home, which we have bought and furnished for ourselves
exclusively, we intend to do even better things for our readers.

DOROTHY DONNELL

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE, 175 Duffield St., Brooklyn, N. Y,

138 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

E. A. B.— Paul Kelly was Billy iir "Billy's Burglar" and Florence Turner was the
wife of Leo Delaney in "The Skull."

Billie S. — Bigelow Cooper was John Bond in "The Awakening of John Bond."

Alverna V.— Yes ; "The Bandit of Point Loma" was taken in California. Virginia
Chester was Constance in "When Uncle Sam Was Young."

I. R. S., Cleveland. — Gene Gauntier is the maid with her hands clasped, on page
47, February. Marian Cooper was Nancy Tucker in "A Battle in the Virginia Hills."

Flossie C. Y. explains that "This is the only name my parents were generous
enough to give me" ; hence, other Flossies must not account her a copyist. Have heard
nothing about Lottie Pickford. Ethel Grandin is with the Bison.

Doc, Eddy. — Riley Chamberlin was Gray in "A Will and a Way." 'Most all films
are passed by The National Board of Censorship.

The Kid, L. S. — That film is too old. We haven't the cast. Surely; send a
stamped, addressed envelope, and we will answer you promptly.

C. D., Binghamton, rises to remark that he dislikes to see a player point and ges-
ture as if to say : "I will go there," just as if everybody did not know he was going
where he went. Sobeit. Either those players who do that are afllicted with poverty of
expression, or they think that we onlookers are very stupid.

W. S., Toronto. — "The Kerry Gow" was taken in Ireland on the good old Irish
sod. Sometimes *the crowds are hired for the occasion, and at other times it is not
necessary to hire them — they come when you dont want them. We believe it is the
British-American Film Co. E. H. Calvert was the monk in "The Shadow of the Cross."

Dorothy D. — You were right. We wrote to Champion and asked who the tramp
was in "The Tramp's Strategy," but they failed to tell us. Very often the Independent
company have no casts on hand of the plays. Jessalyn Van Trump was the girl in
"Dawn and Passion." Alice Joyce was leading woman in "In the Power of the Black-
legs." William Duncan was Billy in "Billy's Birthday Present."

Harry H. — Francelia Billington was Florette in "A Life in the Balance." William
West was Fealy. Lottie Briscoe was opposite Arthur Johnson in "John Arthur's
Trust." J. J. Clark played opposite Gene Gauntier in "The Wives of Jamestown."
Take your pick, Alice Joyce, Jane Wolfe, Neva Gerber, Francelia Billington, Lillian
Christy, and others; which do you refer to?

C. Jones, St. Louis, sends us a newspaper clipping, saying that there are 483,000
people who visit Moving Pictures in St. Louis each week.

Flower Evelyn Grayce. — Kathlyn Williams and Harold Lockwood had the leads
in that Selig. Adrienne Kroell was the girl in "The Pink Opera-Cloak." Why all the
signatures on your letter? How many of you are there?

Centipede. — Absolutely wrong. We deny the allegation and defy the alligator.
Ormi Hawley — yes, she is very popular. What, you dont like her walk? Nor Alice
Joyce's either? You might write them to try Delsarte. Now, how many really graceful
walkers are there in this world? Dont expect too much.

Todd, Bois. — Ruth Stonehouse is not a Mason, but we'll bet that you are an Odd
Fellow. Haven't you heard that a pun is the lowest form of wit? We cant please all.
If giddy girls keep up the pace, levity and not gravity will prevail in this department.
But hold ! there's business before the house.

C. B., Brooklyn. — Dont know the name of the company who took the picture of
Mead's Shoe Store, on February 10, 1913. Perhaps some one can tell us.

Dix. — George Stanley was the prospector in "The Angel of the Desert." Earle
Metcalf was Sneaky Jim, and Edwin Carewe was John Clancy in "The Regeneration
of Nancy."

Betty L. — Leo Delaney had the lead in "The Money Kings." See March issue,
page 94, for the contest that appeared in February. Thanks for the clipping. We dont
file letters to this department. We would have to hire a storage warehouse.

Elena C. G. — Thomas Moore played opposite Alice Joyce in "A Race with Time."

J. B. C. — Bill Thompson was Burton in "Bar K Foreman" (Lubin). Courtenay
Foote was never with Selig. Lillian Christy was the girl in "The Fugitive." We dont
happen to know how many Moving Picture theaters there are in Washington; never
counted them, and there is no record that we know of. See our August, 1912, issue for
the difference between Licensed and Independents. It is a long article.

R. F., Brooklyn. — "A Business Buccaneer" was taken in New York, and "The
Redemption" was taken at Glendale. Alice Hollister was Lovie.

H. M. E.— Thanks for your kind words. Sorry we haven't room to print your
letter. Tan shoes take black in the pictures. Yellow and black always come out dark.

R. T., El Paso. — You refer to Blanche Sweet and Henry Walthall.
Dorothy M.— Essanay have no studio in New York. Whitney Raymond is with
their Eastern company, at Chicago.

J. R.— Robert Grey was Dan in "The Regeneration of Worthless Dan." Marv
Fuller was Jean in "More Precious Than Gold." Julia Swayne Gordon was the
Duchess in "In the Days of Terror."

THIRD LARGE PRINTING

JOSEPH PENNELL'S PICTURES
OF THE PANAMA CANAL

Beautifully printed on dull -finished paper, and artistically bound. Large Svo. $1.25 net.

Postpaid, $14".

A. set of the original lithographs cost about $400.00. The entire twenty-eight are

reproduced in this volume, together with Mr. Pennell's experiences and impressions. Aside

from their great value as works of art. these remarkable studies of the Canal will soon

have an inestimable historical value, as the water is fast being turned into the big ditch.

FRENCH ARTISTS OF OUR DAY

A JEW SERIES
Each volume will be illustrated with' forty-eight excellent reproduc-
tions from the best work of each artist. Bound in bhre cloth.- gilt
decorations icith insert. Small quarto. $1.00 net. per volume.

EDOUARD MANET By louis hourticq

With Notes by Jean Ear an and Georges Le Bas

PUVIS DE CHAVANNES By andre michel

With Notes by Jean Laran

GUSTAVE COURBET By LEONCE BENEDITE

Notes by J. Laran and Ph. Gaston-Dreyfus

Oth%er volumes icill follow at short internals
This attractive and artistic series of volumes, written by French critics, on the great
painters of the Nineteenth Century, will be very popular. Each monograph will contain
a short biographical and critical study of the master, followed by forty-eight plates, selected
from his works. Each picture is described, its beauties are pointed out. its weaknesses
discussed, and other incidental facts connected with it are briefly stated. The chronological
order of the illustrations, together with the comments, make these volumes a valuable
synopsis of each artist's career. Contemporary criticises of the paintings are freely
quoted and compared with the judgments of the present generation. The series will form
a history of modern French art.

Sardou and the Sardou Plays

By JEROME A. HART

Illustrated. Small Svo. Cloth. $2.50 net.
Postpaid, S2.65

Of the life of Victorien Sardou very little
has been written in either French or Eng-
lish. In this thorough and exhaustive study
of Sardou's life and works. Mr. Hart has
gathered apparently all of the available data
relative to the great dramatist. It is re-
plete with anecdotes, and tells of Sardou's
youth and early struggles, his failures and
eventually his great successes. The author
has divided the book into three parts. The
first is a biographical sketch : the second is
made up of analyses of some two score of
the Sardou plays — not critical bet narrative
analyses : and the third is devoted to the
Sardou plays in the United States.

Photography of To-day

By H. CHAPMAN JONES, F.I.C.

Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth. $1.50 net.

This newly published work is a popular
account of the origin, progress and latest
discoveries in the photographer's art, told in
non-technical language. The work contains
fifty-four illustrations, and is thoroughly
up-to-date, including chapters on the newest
development and printing methods, the latest
developments in color photograpiiy, and in-
stantaneous photography and the photog-
raphy of motion, etc. The author is an
authority on his subject, being president of
the Royal Photographical Society of Eng-
land and lecturer on photography at the
Imperial College of Science and Technology,
England.

ADDRESS DEPARTMENT B

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

PHILADELPHIA

140 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Dot-Dash. — The defect you mention was trivial, and your criticism is as insig-
nificant as the little end of nothing whittled down to a point. A critic like you
reminds one of a fly, which passes over the best parts and lights only on the sores. Cant
you see any good in anything?

Bill Mattoon, III. — Alice Joyce and Thomas Moore had the leads in "The Flag
of Freedom." George Cooper was Luigi in "The Adventures of an Italian Model." Miss
Adams and Robert Frazer had the leads in "A Lucky Loser" (Eclair). Bessie Eyton
and Thomas Santschi had the leads in "The Shuttle of Fate."

Florence, 15, Humboldt. — The Thanhouser Kid was Tim in "In the Truant's
Doom." Jean Darnell was the mother, and Mignon Anderson was the teacher. Flor-
ence LaBadie was Mary, and Helen Badgley the baby in "The Country Prize Baby."

Baby Alice. — Guy D'Ennery played opposite Ormi Hawley in "The House in the
Woods." That's one that hasn't been asked before. It wasn't necessary for you to
tear that sheet in half. Come again.

Peggy. — Dont address your questions to the Technical Bureau. There is no more
Technical Bureau. Fritzi Brunette was the girl in "The Lie" (Victor).

T. M. R., Riveehead. — Yes; Carlyle Blackwell always studies his part, even to the
part in his hair. He was once with Vitagraph. Bunny as Falstaff? Fine! Yes, fat
men are always funny, but that is not saying that thin men are always solemn.

Flossie Castor-Price. — :No ; Crane Wilbur does not use a curling-tongs to frizz
his hair. We just entered that on our cards today. We dont know on which side Mr.
Bunny sleeps. What university do you attend? You are of a very serious turn of mind.

The Girl in Blue. — Hon ami, that was W. J. Tedmarsh as the guard in "The Girl
of the Manor" (American). Wallace Reid was Joe Mayfield in "At Cripple Creek."
We are not supposed to know the ages of players. Our own age? Well, we were
seventy-two on our last birthday.

L. T. V., Phila. — If you think that player does not know how to wear a dress-
suit, write him how. He may not like it, but it will do him good. When in the course
of human events it becomes necessary for a man to take unto himself a wife, dont
imagine that this is the place to announce, that fact. Avast and avaunt !

R. L., Chicago. — Bessie Learn was the girl in "Over the Back Fence" (Edison).
Marie Weirman was Marie in "The Guiding Light." "The Lady of the Lake" was taken
at Mount Kisco.

H. L., Los Angeles. — True Boardman, sheriff in "The Reward for Broncho Billy."

A. L. R., Rome. — Barbara Tennant was Marian in "Robin Hood." That was a
trick picture.

Francis. — Jerold Hevener with Lubin. Pearl White played in "Naughty Marietta."

F. A. M., Buffalo. — That was Myrtle Stedman, and not Kathlyn Williams, in
"A Canine Matchmaker." Mr. Bushman is not dead.

Cutie, Boston. — Howard Missimer is the uncle, and the "cute fellow with the
blond hair and dimples" is William Mason. The picture you enclose is of Henry
Walthall. We know of no Harry Hyde.

N. B. O. — Mary Ryan and Romaine Fielding had the leads in "The Unknown."

Lily C. — E. H. Calvert and Dolores Cassinelli, leads in "Melburn's Confession."

Bonnie D. — Florence Turner's chat in October, 1912.

Billy Baker. — Arthur Finn, doctor in "Some Doctor." Edwin Carewe was Juan.

F. P., New York. — We know of no Gertrude Heath. Does any of our readers?

F. D., Bangor. — Oh, yes, we have an inexhaustible supply of wit. If you dont see
it, it isn't our fault. That was a Kalem. Marshall Neilan.

Ethel C. — Lillian Lorraine was the old hag in "Dublin Dan." Marguerite Snow
was Jess, William Garwood the lawyer, and Jean Darnell the doctor's sister in
"Sisters." William Garwood is no longer with Thanhouser.

J. B., Wheeling. — Marian Cooper was Polly, and Anna Nilsson was Anna in "On
the Farm Bully." Edna Payne was May in "Down on the Rio Grande."

Lillian, of Reading. — Robert H. Grey was Ted in "Yankee Doodle Dixie" (Selig).

R. A. H. — Edna Payne was the trained nurse in "Higher Duty"; and Adrienne
Kroell was Mrs. Lane in "Nobody's Boy."

Tex. — Frank Lyons took the part of the president in "The Money Kings."

D. A. M., Burlingame. — Elsie Greeson was the girl opposite Carlyle Blackwell in
"The Missing Bonds."

L. G., New York. — You never saw Owen Moore in "Oil and Water." He is still
with Victor. We like typewritten letters, but dont insist on them.

Marie E., New York. — We dont understand your complaint. You say "Miss Price
does not look quite right. She doesn't put enough make-up on her mouth." Write
direct to her about those troubles. We dont supervise the make-up of the players.
Oh, yes ; Crane Wilbur plays just as often as ever. Did you notice him on the cover?

N. and F. — Francelia Billington was the girl in "The Mayor's Crusade." We never
can tell how many times a week or month any of the players play. There is no
regular rule for this. They have to wait until the right part is assigned to them.

Peoples line

Your Vacation

Whether it leads you from or to New York see
the glories of the historic Hudson River revealed by
the powerful searchlights of the palatial steamers of the
Hudson Navigation Company.

This fleet of stately river craft includes the

C. W. Morse, Adirondack,
Trojan and Rensselaer
and the latest addition the

BERKSHIRE
a floating palace of luxury — the largest
river steamer in the world.

Write for Illustrated Booklet. It is free

Excellent Cuisine and Music

HUDSON NAVIGATION COMPANY

Pier 32 N. B., New York

citizens' Line

Plots Wanted

: : FOR MOTION PICTURE PLAYS : :

You can write them. We teach beginners in ten
easy lessons. We have many successful graduates.
Here are a few of their plays :

"Mixed Identities" . . . Vitagraph
"From Susie to Suzanne" . . Vitagraph
"The Amateur Playwright" . Kinemacolor
"The Lure of Vanity" . . Vitagraph
''Downfall of Mr. Snoop" . Powers
"The Cowboy's Bride" . . Universal
"A Motorcycle Elopement" . Bio graph

"Insanity" Lubin

"Miss Prue's Waterloo" . . Lubin
"Sally Ann's Strategy" . . Edison
"No Dogs Allowed" . . Vitagraph

"Ma's Apron Strings" . . Vitagraph
"A Cadet's Honor" . . . Universal
"Cupid's Victory" . . . Nestor
"A Good Turn" .... Lubin
"The Joke That Spread" . . Vitagraph
"Satin and Gingham" . . Lubin
"A New Day's Dawn" . . Edison
"House That Jack Built" . . Kinemacolor
"A Modern Psyche" . . . Vitagraph
"In the Power of Blacklegs" . Kalem
If you go into this work go into it right. You
cannot learn the art of writing motion picture
plays by a mere reading of textbooks. Your actual
original work must be directed, criticised, analyzed
and corrected. This is the only school that delivers
such service and the proof of the correctness of
our methods lies in the success of our graduates.
They are selling their plays.

Demand increasing. Particulars free.

Associated Motion Picture Schools

699 SHERIDAN ROAD, CHICAGO

The First International Exposition

OF THE

MOTION PICTURE ART

Will be held at the

NEW GRAND CENTRAL PALACE

New York City

July 7th to 12th, inclusive

TO THE MANUFACTURERS

Remember YOU have never before had an opportunity of demonstrating your goods to
1 0,000 theatre owners from all parts of the world. Act now, or you will be too late.

COME

TO THE PUBLIC

and see every device used in the production of Motion Pictures,
and meet your favorite Players — they will all be there,
and see the greatest Photoplays ever produced.

ADMISSION TO ALL ATTRACTIONS 50 CENTS

Direct AH Communications for Space, etc., to

F. E. SAMUELS, Secretary, German Bank Building, 14th St. and 4th Ave.

142 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

H. F. M., Ohio. — Gertrude Robinson was the wife in "The Man Who Dared."

Buck D. V. — Watch out for the "Great Mystery Play" ; you'll hear of it soon.
Biograph releases three pictures a week.

Joseph W. H., Chicago. — Harry Myers was the artist in "Art and Honor." Mildred
Bracken was the girl in "The Kiss of Salvation." Mabel Normand you refer to. Fred
Mace has left Keystone.

G. M. B. — You may ask those Biograph questions now, if they aren't too old.

"Frau." — We interviewed Guy Coombs in January, 1913. Mrs. Todd was the girl
in "Alkali Ike's Motor-Cycle." William Meek was the wild man in "A Wild Man for
a Day" (Lubin). Tom Powers did not play in "The Mouse and the Lion" (Vitagraph).
Essanay do not publish a monthly publication. Will see about another interview with
Carlyle Blackwell. Thanks very much.

H. M., Rocky Mount. — We dont know whether Warren Kerrigan can sing. We
dont see it on the cards, and never heard him, but we have often listened. Why not
see his chat in last month's magazine? He was Jim Gleason in "The Law of God."
Edgar Jones has been with Lubin about a year. Thanks for the fee.

Kitty B., 16. — Yes; Guy Coombs was Congressman Gordon in "Detective Burns in
the Exposure of the Land Swindlers." The picture was of Thomas, and not Owen
Moore. Thank you.

Lottie, Goldfield. — Herbert Barry was Jan, and Ned Finley was Clarry in "The
Strength of Men" (Vitagraph). Courtenay Foote was Karma, and Rosemary Theby
was the snake in "The Reincarnation of Karma." Much obliged for the sum.

A Newone. — Warner Features and Monopol are not Licensed. Why not get one of
our lists. Vitagraph have a company in Santa Monica, one that is traveling around the
world, and several branches in Brooklyn. Hazel Neason was the widow in "The
Answered Prayer." Thomas Allen was the fugitive. We have you beaten ; we get three
first runs and three commercials. We would rather have that than the two songs you
get. The enclosure was much appreciated.

D. *M. R., Galveston. — Several want the magazine to come out twice a month.
Thanks for your kind words and also the coin. Hope to hear from you again.

M. B., Saratoga S. — Your poem for King Baggot received. Perhaps it will be
published, but we cant be too sure.

M. C. A., Buffalo. — Perhaps your theater has discontinued using Independent
service and is now using Licensed ; in that event you wont see Owen any Moore, nor
Warren Kerrigan. Francis Bushman was never with Solax. Sorry we cant print your
letter; very interesting. Thanks.

Nell C. O. — Will tell the editor you want a chat with Harry Myers, to find out
what color his hair, his eyes, his teeth and his fingernails are, and possibly a few more
things. Thank you very much.

E. D. Eveline. — Irene Boyle was Ruth in "The Face at the Window." 'Most all the
popular players have had stage experience. So you admire Olga ; yes, she is in love
with Crane Wilbur and Carlyle Blackwell, and cant seem to help it. Oh, yes, that
includes the seven "What Happened to Mary" series that have been done.

E. M. Miss, Brooklyn. — Clara Williams was the lead in "The Daughter of the
Sheriff." Bessie Sankey and G. M. Anderson had the leads in "Broncho Billy's Last
Deed" (Essanay). Winnifred Greenwood was the girl in "The Lesson."

H. W. E. B. — Glad to see you using the Simplified Spelling; much nicer than the
old-fashioned kind. Kinemacolor are Independent. Here are the Licensed companies:
Vitagraph, Biograph, Kalem, Essanay, Edison, Pathe Freres, Cines, Eclipse, Selig,
Melies and Lubin.

Paula. — We haven't been able to get that information as yet ; look for it soon.

K. S. — Florence Lawrence is not posing; she appeared in one scene of a Kinema-
color. Cutey is Wally Van. You must not ask about brothers, or even husbands.

Jack and May. — Louise Lester played the parts you name. We dont give private
addresses of the players. Oh, yes ; Imp is still producing.

Louise Mc. — You mean Lillian Walker, not Jane. She is still with Vitagraph.
Octavia Handworth plays opposite Crane Wilbur often.

Sophie N. — Kempton Green was Winter Green, and Isabelle Lamon was Mrs.
Green in "What's in a Name?"

Lady Lucia. — Helen Gardner is playing in her own company, but some of her old
Vitagraphs are still on the market, and occasionally a new-old one, like "The Vampire
of the Desert." The player you describe is Harold Lockwood.

Billy Baker. — Hazel Neason was Angelina in "The Nurse at Mulberry Bend"
(Kalem). Tom Moore was Doctor Leslie. Yes; Hazel Neason has played for Vitagraph.

Perry. — See here, you must sign your full name. Dont let it occur again. Mae
Hotely and Robert Burns played leads in "She Must Elope" (Lubin). Clarence Elmer
and Isabelle Lamon were Mr. and Mrs. Hall in "The Higher Duty." Stuart Holmes
was Tom in "The Fire Coward." Irene Boyle was Dot. Au revoir, nameless one, and
good-by till you get one.

PHOTOPLAYS READ, REVISED, CORRECTED,
TYPEWRITTEN AND MARKETED

What America has needed for years has just been organized — a Clearing House for
Moving Picture Plays, where thousands of Scenarios can be handled, listed, revised and
placed, and where the various film manufacturers can secure just what they want, on
short notice.

A Competent Staff

has been organized, and is being added to by taking on the best available men and women in
the business. Criticism, revision and reconstruction is personally conducted by well-known,
established editors and photoplaywrights, such as A. W. Thomas, Edwin M. LaRoche, Wm.
L.ord Wright, Dorothy Donnell, and others. While the Photoplay Clearing House is an
independent institution, it will be supervised by THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE,
and will be conducted, in part, by the same editors.

THE PHOTOPLAY CLEARING HOUSE IS NOT A SCHOOL. It does not teach. But
it corrects, revises, typewrites in proper form, and markets Plays. Tens of thousands of
persons are constantly sending to the various film companies manuscripts that have not
the slightest chance of acceptance, and in many cases these Plays contain the germs of
salable ideas, if sent to the right companies. The Scenario editors of the various companies
are simply flooded with impossible manuscripts, and they will welcome the PHOTOPLAY
CLEARING HOUSE, not only because it will relieve them of an unnecessary burden, but
because it will enable them to pass on only good, up-to-date Plays that have been carefully
prepared.

What Do the Companies Want?

We are intimately connected with the Motion Picture business and in close touch with the
manufacturers. We are advised of all their advance releases, their requirements and the
kind of scripts they want. As suitable ones come to us, in salable shape, they are immediately
sent to the proper studio. No stale, imperfect or copied plots are submitted.

At an early date we will publish a few of the hundreds of letters of appreciation that we
have received and a list of scripts that we have sold.

The Plan of the Photoplay Clearing House

All photoplaywrights are invited to send their Plays to this company, advising as to what
manufacturers they have been previously submitted, if any. Every Play will be treated as
follows:

It will be read by competent readers, numbered, classified and filed. If it is, in our
opinion, in perfect condition, we shall at once proceed to market it, and, when we are paid
for it, we will pay the writer 90% of the amount we receive, less postage expended. If th
Scenario is not in marketable shape, we will so advise the author, stating our objections,
offering to return it at once, or to revise, typewrite and try to market it. If the manuscript
is hopeless, we shall so state, and in some cases advise a course of instruction, nami
various books, experts and schools to select from.

The fee for reading, filing, etc.. will be $1.00, but to readers of THE MOTION
PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE it will be only 50c, provided the annexed Coupon
accompanies each script. For typewriting, a charge of $1.00 for each Play will be
made, provided it does not run over 10 pages. 10c. a page for extra pages. The
fee for revising will vary according to work required, and will be arranged in
advance. No Scenarios will be placed by us unless they are properly type-

•sis*

written. Payment in advance is expected in
lc.) accepted.

ill cases. Stamps (2c. or

This

coupon

good

for 50 cents.

PHOTOPLAY CLEARING HOUSE

175 Duffield Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

When accom-
panied with 50c.
more it will enti-
tle holder to list one
scenario with the Pho-
toplay Clearing House.
Photoplay Clearing House,
175 Duffield St., B'klyn, N. Y.

144 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

La Lob. — Timmy Sheehan was Tommy in "The Lesson" (Selig). Jack Nelson was
Jerry in the same play. Carl Winterhoff was the husband in "The Clue."

M. M. H., Wash. — Thanks for the sympathy. It goes a long way. Yes; Crane
Wilbur is just as nice as he appears to be.

Mary E., St. Louis. — Irma Dale was Maude, and Nellie Goodwin was Alice in
"A College Chaperon." Palmer Bowman was Jim, and Maxwell Sargent was Ned,
while John Lancaster was the janitor. Why didn't you ask for the whole cast? That
play must have impressed you. Virginia Ames was the girl in "Western Girls." Edgar
Jones was the surgeon in that play. Louis Thomas was Jack, and Mr. Richmond was
his roommate in "That College Life" (Exhaust).

J. M. F., Poet Henry. — Thanks for, the fee. Florence Turner was the lead in
"Flirt or Heroine?" Maurice Costello is still with Vitagraph, now traveling in Egypt.

Dolly D. — Marie Weirman was Marie, and Clarence Elmer was Tom in "Aunty's
Affinity." Touchin' on and appertainin' to Miss Wreirman, she is much inquired about
these days. So are all the Lubin players.

H. P. A. & Co. — Are you incorporated? Whitney Raymond was Richard in "The
Pathway of Years." Charles Kent was the king in "Thomas a Becket." Hal Reid
was Cardinal Wolsey. Mr. Kent is still with Vitagraph, and Mr. Reid is not.

J. B., Brooklyn. — Sony those 1,300 votes for Lillian Walker wont count. Do you
think that you can send us a city directory, and write Lillian Walker's name on it,
and have all those names count for her? Not on your celestial. Every vote must be
personally signed by the voter, together with the address.

W. T. H., Chicago, writes : "You say you are of neuter gender. B'gosh ! that's
'newter' me." Never mind what we are, as long as we are here. This department is
sexless ; we are simply "we" and "us." Sorry, but the Photoplay Magazine is now out
of existence, but, doubtless, there will be others coming along. Ormi Hawley is in
Jacksonville- at this writing. Too fat? No! She is just nice and plump.

Lacore Laning. — Thanhouser have several leading women : Florence LaBadie,
Marguerite Snow, Mignon Anderson, etc. Broncho and Kay-Bee are taking pictures in
Los Angeles, but their main office is in New York. We believe that was Anna Little.
Victory Bateman and Ryley Chamberlain, and Marguerite Snow and James Cruze in
"His Heroine." Several others have asked this same question.

M. M., Dayton. — Mignon Anderson and William Garwood had the leads in "With
Mounted Police" (Thanhouser). Thomas Moore is Alice Joyce's leading man. parwin
Karr you refer to in Solax. We prefer the typewriter. You have our sympathy,
relative to the flood. Glad you did not forget us in the excitement

Joyful Penelope. — The picture is of Alice Joyce.

B. C. W., Rushville. — Anna Rosemond is still with Thanhouser; Frank Crane is
with Lubin. The elderly lady is Mrs. George Walters. Vitagraph are building a large
studio at Santa Monica. Guess they expect to do things out there.

V. S., Buffalo. — Dolores Costello did not play in "The Vengeance of Durand."
We are not familiar with Crane Wilbur's loving off the stage. Can anybody else supply
the missing information? Such important matters you have on your mind!

J. M. Keene.— Lillian Christy in "The Greater Love." We dont know what com-
pany she is now with.

Marion.— Jane Fearnley really rolled downstairs in "In a Woman's Power."

Betty, 2nd. — Your contest idea is a novelty, but too limited in its field. Yes; Alice
Joyce played in "Detective Burns and the Land Swindlers."

Helen L. R. (Third Edition). — Marshall Neilan, John Brennan and Horace
Peyton were the three suitors in "Three Suitors and a Dog." Guy D'Ennery was
Horace in "Literature and Love." Anf Wiedersehen.

Janet.— The girl is unknown in "The Dance at Silver Gulch" (Essanay). Edwin
Carewe was the Mexican spy. It is pronounced just like ostrich plume.

Herman, Buffalo. — Photoplays are told by the action and without conversation.
They must be typewritten. See Photoplay Clearing House.

Mrs. T. S., New York. — Irene Boyle was the girl in "The Open Switch." We have
not as yet printed her picture.

H. P., Tenn. — Bryant Washburn was the secretary in "The Bottle of Musk." His
picture will probably be printed next month.

Crescentville, Pa. — You must send a stamped, addressed envelope, not only the
stamp, but the addressed envelope also, when you want your letters answered by mail ;
otherwise they will be printed in the magazine. If your answers do not appear here,
it is because they have been answered before, or that you have not given your name
and address. Arthur Johnson was Jim in "Annie Rowley's Fortune" (Lubin).

Flossie's Friend. — Fred Truesdell was the black sheep in "The Black Sheep"
(Eclair). The Reliance you give is too old.

The Gew-Gaw. — Warren Kerrigan was Jack in "Love Is Blind." Leland Benham
was Jack when ten years old in "Cross Your Heart" (Thanhouser). We haven't the
cast for "As in a Looking-Glass" (Monopol) as yet.

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THE WRITER'S MAGAZINE

(Formerly THE MAGAZINE MAKER)
Scenario Department will tell you how to write and where to
6ell. Send 1 5 cents for a sample copy and full particulars.

Address THE SCENARIO DEPARTMENT

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t us dispose of your work to the best advantage. No charge for
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146 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

J. J. Noberly. — We dont quite understand, but if you mean you want to send in
more than one coupon, that is permissible. You may send as many coupons as you like.

Nellie M. M., Long Beach. — Amen, say we. Glad that that director was arrested
for allowing the horse to plunge over the precipice of jagged rocks to his death, merely
to make an exciting picture. As you say, it was heartless cruelty.

R. R., Bayfield. — Looky-here, Ruth, you ask too many -silly questions, such as
"Does Arthur Johnson dance? How old is he? Is he sentimental?" You know what
happens to girls who ask such questions.

H. W., Lockport. — We agree with you on your criticism of "With the Boys of
Figure Two." We all know how absolutely necessary branding of cattle is, but we
dont like to see those painful subjects in the pictures any more than is necessary.

Wilbur P. — You must give your address. The Motion Picture Patents Company
holds patents for the following ten Licensed manufacturers : Vitagraph, Biograph,
Melies, Kalem, Pathe, Essanay, Lubin, Edison, Selig, and Eclipse and Cines. The
Licensed films are rented to the exhibitors by the various General Film Company
Exchanges all over the United States. One of the objects of the Motion Picture Patents
Company was the regulation of the film to and thru the exchanges, preventing the
making and distribution of immoral and ultra-sensational melodramas. The Inde-
pendents are divided into two classes, the Universal and the Mutual, and then there
are others, and still others are coming with every new moon.

Helen L. R,, New York. — Write your name and address on two pieces of paper;
on one write the name of your favorite actress, and on the other the name of your
favorite actor. You may send in as many coupons as you secure. E. H. Calvert was
Frank, and William Bailey was William in "The Hero-Coward." Leslie Scose was
Lily in "The Nurse at Mulberry Bend" (Kalem). Arthur Hotaling was Willie in "Will
Willie Win?" (Lubin).

Betsy (?), Chicago. — Betty Gray and Roland Gane had the leads in "The Gate
She Left Open." Gene Gauntier is playing in her own company. Thanks for the fee.

Flossie, Jr. — Elsie Greeson was the daughter in "The Missing Bonds." Lillian
Christy was Virgie in "Where Destiny Guides." Marshall Neilan was the guardian,
and Junita Sponsler was Sally in "Sally's Guardian" (Kalem). Bessie Sankey was
the sister in "Broncho Billy's Sister." Thomas Moore was Mr. Gregg, and Naomi
Childers was Edna in "Panic Days on Wall Street" (Kalem). Much obliged. -

J. J. W. — We are sorry, but we cannot help your friend to get with some company.
Why doesn't he write direct to the manufacturers, telling them of his experience, etc.?
It sounds good to us.

Nellie, London. — We are always pleased to hear from England, even if there are
no questions to be answered.

Evelyn. — Eileen Paul was the child in "The Redemption." Herbert Rawlinson
and Bessie Eyton had the leads in "John Bolton's Escape." Irene Hunt was Helen in
"The Lucky Chance" (Lubin).

A. J. C, Vancouver. — Cannot identify the Keystone director and player from your
description yet. Yes, we have noticed the defective make-up. Players who wear high
collars on the street should remember that the line of demarkation between the
weather-beaten skin above and the ladylike skin below the collar line will make him
look like a half-breed unless he makes up his neck like he does his face. 'Tis to laugh
to see a sailor with a white throat. Perhaps you refer to Fort Sterling in that play.

L. P. — No, nothing has happened to Florence Lawrence. We cannot reproduce the
pictures you send — cant make a good half-tone from a reproduction.

Brunette. — Lila Chester was the wife of the manufacturer in "The Cry of the
Children" (Thanhouser).

M. M. O. — E. H. Calvert was the skipper, and Ruth Hennessy was his wife in "Odd
Knotts." Small favors thankfully received.

G. W., Salida. — Just put "Inquiry Dept." on envelope, and we will get it. After
the contest is over, the votes and poems are sent to the players.

M. C, Bridgeport. — Yes; Thomas Moore has had stage experience. Once more,
Harry Myers, Charles Arthur and Martin Faust were James, Frank and Martin in
"Until We Three Meet Again." Florence LaBadie was Mary in "Mary's Goat."

Saxet. — But you must sign your name. Lillian Christy was Conchita in "The
Greater Love." Yes, she was formerly with Kalem.

R. M. M., New York. — You can get back numbers direct from us. The nearest
Lubin studio to New York City is in Philadelphia, otherwise known as Lubinville.

W. H: — Lillian Christy in the American play, and Harry Myers in the Lubin play.

E. O. M., Washington. — Yes, if you subscribe to the magazine you will receive it
earlier than the newsstands.

Peggy O'Neal. — Pathe wont tell us about "The Half -Breed." No, you need not
typewrite your votes; write them in pencil, and they'll count just as much as if they
were embossed in gold. Thanks, Peggy.

Miss Texas.— That's trick photography. Get Talbot's book for that. Thanks.

Quality vs. Sensation

A FTER reading the average film advertisement a new-
*V comer in photoplaydom would inevitably get the
impression that the chief purpose of every film was to make
the public's hair stand on end.

The tremendous popularity of Edison Films, however,
has proven that the public demands not Sensation but
Quality. It has never been Edison policy to lower our
standards of quality to suit the taste of the few when it is so
evident that the many want the best that money can produce.

Edison Films are works of art. In story, action and
photography they set a standard for other manufacturers.
Go to any licensed theatre in any town and see any Edison
Film. That is the best way to judge the possibilities of
the photoplay.

The little Edison trade-mark has come to represent a
guarantee of excellence that is recognized by exhibitors and
their patrons alike. The exhibitor shows his faith in
Edison Films by placing standing orders for them months
before they are made — he knows that the same quality will
be there that always pleases his patrons.

And so, when you see the yellow-brown Edison poster
displayed before a picture theatre, you can enter knowing
that that film will possess the charm, interest and power
for which you are seeking.

If it's an Edison, it has no superior

THOMAS A. EDISON, Inc., 144 Lakeside Avenue, Orange, N. J.

148 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

O. B. Nice.— Honestly, you ought to join the Gentle Voice Society. We cant and
wont be nice to everybody. When inquirers are decent and respectful, we neither bark
nor bite, but otherwise we wont be responsible. Your questions are answered above.

Bert and Gert, Newark. — Riley Chamberlin was Mrs. McFadden, and Mignon
Anderson the daughter in "While Mrs. McFadden Looked Out." William Wadsworth
was lazy Ben in "Mother's Lazy Boy." Georgia Maurice was Princess Louise in "The
One Good Turn" (Vitagraph). Full name and address, please.

Ivy, Boston.— Leo Delaney was Miguel, Tefft Johnson his friend, and Roger
Lytton was Lorenzo in "The Mills of the Gods." Kempton Green, you refer to. That
was Carlyle Blackwell in "The Redemption."

Mildred. — You are getting too personal about James Cruze. Will tell the editor
you want a chat with him.

Rex B., Cal. — We will try to print the pictures you request.

Patsy. — Guy Coombs was Congressman Gordon in "The Exposure of the Land
Swindlers." Charles Arthur in that Lubin, and Ed Coxen in the American. Your ques-
tions are all right. Thanks for the fee.

Teddy C. — Hobart Bosworth was Colonel Grey, and Eleanor Blevins was Dixie
Grey in "Yankee Doodle Dixie." Thank you.

A. E. P., Hob., N. J.^— J. W. Johnston was Jack in "The Man Who Dared" (Eclair).
Lottie Briscoe was Helen, and Clara Lambert was Martha in "When John Brought
Home His Wife" ( Lubin) . Marshall Neilan and Junita Sponsler in that Kalem. Thanks.

Pansy. — Charles Bartlett was Jack in "A Four-Footed Hero" (Bison). Wallace
Reid was Tall Pine in "The Tribal Law" (Bison). All Licensed theaters have that
framed Biograph picture, but we will soon picture all Biograph players.

C. L. M. — Yes, that was Alice Joyce posing for a Kalem picture at the Prospect
Park Plaza on April 1>, and she and the others were discovered by our Mr. La Roche,
who took them into his home at 31 Plaza.

B. -H., Tenn. — We dont know the name of the horse in "Equine Hero" (Pathe).
Joseph De Grasse was the girl's sweetheart. Florence LaBadie had the lead in "Her
Gallant Knights." Thank you.

Eveline K. C. — Yes ; Edna Payne was Marie, and Isabelle Lamon was Mrs. Hall
in "The Higher Duty." No, cant say that the picture or Marian Cooper looks like
Carlyle Blackwell. Maurice Costello never played with Biograph. Thank you.

Kid Joy. — So you like the Simplified Spelling. Yes, it's much shorter. You must
always give the name of the company. Children are all trained to do their parts, and
they are rehearsed several times. They are not so camera-conscious as the elders.

Yetive. — Marion Swayne was Mignon in "Mignon" (Solax). Ethel Clayton was
Ethel Wynn in "His Children" (Lubin). Ruth Stonehouse was Margaret, and Ruth
Hennessy was Eleanor in "The Pathway of Years" (Essanay). Maata Horomona was
the leading lady in "Hinemoa." Ethel Clayton was Grace in "Art and Honor" (Lubin).
We are neither a "modern Job nor a gentleman Griselda." Thank you.

Wendy. — Marin Sais was Mrs. Grey, and Neva Gerber was the nurse-maid in "The
Redemption" (Kalem). Thanks for the fee.

Helen L. R., New York. — Fred Nankivel was Uncle Mun in the Edison plays.
Long "i" in Vitagraph. Irene Boyle was the girl in "The Fire Coward." Edward
Coxen was Jim. Hazel Neason was the sister in "The Finger of Suspicion." Thanks
for your letter and fee. We shall take the place of J. Pierpont Morgan.

Helen E. S., Mo. — Afraid we cannot help you, unless we send you list of manu-
facturers, so that you may communicate directly. There isn't much chance these days
unless you have had experience. Thanks very much.

H. L. M., Cincinnati Rube. — R. Leslie was the butler in "What a Change of
Clothes Did." William Duncan was Joe in "The Bank Messenger" (Selig).

Blank. — Your letter should have been addressed to the waste-basket. There was
no necessity for such a letter. We pray you to take some lessons in good manners.

Franxie. — We never heard of the title you give. If it was a Biograph it must be a
pretty old one. Martin Faust, Harry Myers and Charles Arthur were the three.
Thanks for the fee. We use about eighty-five tons of paper each month.

Helen L. R. (Third Edition).— Glad to hear you root for the Giants, but how
about the Dodgers? Jack Standing and Isabelle Lamon had the leads in "For His
Child's Sake." Harriett Kenton was the girl in "The Belle of North Wales" (Kalem).
Yes, they were real dark people in "Hubby Buys a Baby."

Flower Evelyne Grayce. — You refer to Marian Cooper in "The Land Swindlers."
So you know Tom Moore personally. That's nice.

M., Salem, Ore. — Winnifred Greenwood was the stage-struck girl in "The Under-
study." See above. If your questions are not all answered, you will find them else-
where in this department.

C. K. Wanta No. — The films are usually selected by the exchanges for the exhibi-
tors, but an exhibitor can put an order in advance for any certain film. You refer to
Marie Weirman. Selig release five films a week.

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Provided you already write PJiotoplays,
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:or one. The copy we send you is a
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and we call it

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If you are interested you had better look into this quick, for
only 500 copies are FREE.

While they last a postcard will bring one postpaid

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Enclose 10 cts. and receive also " The Complete
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MOTION PICTURE FAVOR.ITES

17 ffll" 9Rp Pictures of the most popul r Photo Play
If IUI L JO a Actors and Actresses, or Sample Set of Five
will be mailed for 10c. Send the names of some of your
Favorites or thei r Companies.
THE FILM PORTRAIT CO., 349 President St., Brooklyn, N.Y.

A LIBRARY ORNAMENT

Preserve Your Magazines!

The best of magazines soon grow shabby from constant handling, and when they get ragged,
dirty and torn they are not ornamental, and they are often ruined for binding purposes. The
Motion Picture Story Magazine is a magazine that is always preserved — never thrown away. But
to preserve it, a cover is necessary, especially when dozens of persons are to handle it for a whole
month.

Do Not Disfigure Your Magazines

by punching holes in them, but buy one of our celebrated Buchan Binders. They require no holes.
All you need do is to take a coin, turn two screws with it, insert the magazine, turn the screws
a few times the other way, and your magazine is secure, and it will stay there until you take
it out on the 18th of the following month to insert the next number. When we say that this cover
is beautiful and exquisite, we mean just what we say. It is made of thick, suede, limp leather, and
will wear a lifetime. The color is a dainty, rich blue, and on the front, lettered in gold, are the
words, "MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE." Those who cherish this popular magazine will
feel that they MUST have one of these splendid covers the moment they see one.

We Have Two Kinds for Sale

BUCHAN SALES CO., Mfrs., 316 Market St., NEWARK, N. J.

(For reference as to the quality of these binders, we refer you to the managing editor of The

Motion Picture Story Magazine.)

150 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Yiolette Edythia Lorraine.— You and Flower are all the time seeing actors; do
vou see them in your dreams? Mavourneen is not a disease — haven't you heard it?

Gloria C— William Humphrey was Morgan, and Leah Baird his fiancee in "Red
and White Roses" (Yitagraph).

Susan.— Joseph De Grasse and George Gebhardt played in "The Bear-Trap"
(Pathe Freres). We presume our Circulation Manager will get up a new premium for
subscribers, since the colored portraits have run out.

Iowa Girl. — Yes, we are vastly pleased to have you send letters instead of postals,
and written with real ink. We will chat George Cooper soon. Two of your questions
are against the rules.

A Home. — You refer to Ruth Stonehouse in that Essanay, and Lillian Christy in
the American. Twenty pages aren't half enough for these answers.

Olga K. — Bryant Washburn was Paul in "The Broken Heart" (Essanay). Bessie
Sankey was the girl in "The Influence of Broncho Billy."

Nellie L. J. — Edwin Carewe was John Clancy in "The Regeneration of Nancy."
Guy D'Ennery was the husband in "The House in the Woods." Yes; Francis Bush-
man was the miser in "The Virtue of Rags."

J. P. — Alice Hollister and Harry Millarde, leads in "The Message of the Palms."

Eddie L. P. — Sorry, but some of the Independents dont send us their casts.

Anthony. — Mr. Melies is traveling around the world at present. Yes ; Maata
Horomona is quite a player. Kia Ova! (Means good luck in Maoria.)

Mae, of Malden. — Romaine Fielding and Mary Ryan had the leads in "The Power
of Silence" (Lubin).

Maxie, No. 20. — We haven't got that Champion. Warren and Jack Kerrigan are
one and the same. Edward Coxen was Bill in "The Cowboy Heir." Wallace Reid is
directing for American.

D. M. B. G., Ohio. — We cant advise "four nice-looking, cute, young ladies, very
talented," where to get a position as actresses.

C. C. C. — The mother in "A Child of the Purple Sage" (Essanay) is unknown.
Gladys, 23. — The picture is of Alice Joyce. Marguerite Courtol has no regular

leading man.

Suffragette Flossie. — The picture you enclose is of Ruth Hennessy and Whitney
Raymond. Kathlyn Williams is the one who plays with the animals. Myrtle Sted-
man-plays mostly in Western plays. Thanks. We are dripping with joy.

S. S., Staten Island. — Harry Carey and Blanche Sweet had the leads in "A Chance
Deception" ( Biograph ) .

Crazy, Westchester. — It would be very expensive to the manufacturers if the
horses were really shot when taking a picture. No, they are trained to fall at the
proper time. That's horse-sense.

Maxie, No. 20. — Have had pictures of Owen Moore in the magazine, but will pub-
lish another soon. You say that when automobiles start, in the pictures, the chauffeur
seems to start off without throwing out the clutch and shifting from neutral into low
speed. Time is an important element in the pictures, and most directors order that
no time be lost in getting started. It might be a little more natural if we saw the
chauffeur shift from neutral to first before the machine started.

R. W., Texas. — We are very sorry, but Solax would not give us the information
you ask. Perhaps some of our readers know who Sapho and Jean were in "Sapho."

D. V., New York. — Dorothy Gish was the girl in "My Hero" (Biograph).

B. M. — Mabel Normand was the lead in "Tomboy Bessie" (Biograph). Mary
Pickford had the lead in "So Near, Yet So Far" (Biograph). Romaine Fielding was
chatted in June, 1912.

Helen C. R. — So you would like to be Mrs. Mason. Alas ! alack ! there is not much
hope. Ruth Hennessy was the girl in "The Gunman" (Essanay). "The Romance of
the South Seas" (Melies) was taken on and around Catalina Island.

Herman, Buffalo. — Yes ; Ethel Grandin has had stage experience. She played in
"Rip Yan Winkle" with Joseph Jefferson; child parts with Andrew Mack; a season
with Edna May; in vaudeville with Richard Golden, and three years with Chauncey
Olcott. Yes ; Richard Rosson has left Yitagraph, and Adele Lane is with Selig.

Mephisto. — You can get the colored portraits with a subscription if you write to
our Circulation Department. Send a stamped envelope for a list of manufacturers.

J. R. P. — There are two or three actresses who are advertised as being the highest-
paid actress, but we dont concern ourselves about salaries. We know of no position.
Guy Coombs played in the two plays you name.

Florence M. B.— Yes, that was Crane Wilbur in "The Infernal Pig." Roy Clark
was the boy in "The Little Hero" (Selig).

The Big 2. — You will have to sign your name and ask proper questions.

Gaby Yanke. — We dont get the Hepworth casts. Ruth Roland was the school-
mistress in "The Schoolmistress of Stone Gulch." Katherine Home was Cigaret in
"Under Two Flags" (Thanhouser).

Good, clean motion pictures

WHEN you go to the picture show, particularly when
the children go along too, you want to see nice,
clean films with no suggestion of questionable
situations, with murders and all scenes of brutality elimi-
nated. You want to see stirring war dramas, comedies
that are bright and wholesome, perhaps at times a good
"frontier" picture.

Then you v/ant to see your "favorites" too, the
players you have come to know almost as personal friends
through the films and this magazine.

If you are this sort of a person you will seek out the
theatres that use the General Film Program, the program
through which Biograph, Cines, Eclipse, Edison, Essanay,
Kalem, Melies, Lubin, Pathe, Selig and Vitagraph films
are distributed to motion picture theatres.

Just. ask the ticket-seller this question: "Do you use
General Film Service?" The affirmative reply guarantees
that the show is good.

GENERAL FILM CO., 200 Fifth Ave., N.Y.

152 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Merely Mary Anne. — Marin Sais played opposite Carlyle Blackwell in "The Last
Blockhouse" and "The Buckskin Coat" (Kalem). Brinsley Shaw was the son in
"Broncho Billy's Love Affair." Edwin August was Dick in "The Good-for-No thing."
Benjamin Wilson and Laura Sawyer had the leads in "A Day That Is Dead" (Edison).

Miss Brooklyn. — Phyllis Gordon and Wheeler Oakman had the leads in "When
Helen Was Elected" (Selig).

Persethyne (?). — Prank Bennett and Flora Finch, leads in "The Hand-Bag."

P. C. — Your album came, and I wrote the following in it and sent it on to you.
This is the first and last offense. Anybody else who wants us to sign in her album
can save time and trouble by copying this verse therein, because we haven't time:
Yes, I am the mysterious Answer Man,
And I answer questions whenever I can;
Four thousand each month! Yet I am so dumb
That I cant write a verse for your al-bum.

F. E. W. — Brinsley Shaw was the rich son of the old couple in "Broncho Billy's
Last Deed." Robert Grey was Dan in "The Regeneration of Worthless Dan" (Nestor).

R. A. Sanden. — J. W. Johnston was Jack Clayton in "The Little Mother of the
Black Pine Trail."

Snooks, San Fran. — Julia Swayne Gordon is the star in "The Stolen Brooch."
Oh, yes ; Alice Joyce's disposition is as sweet as her face.

F. P., Brooklyn. — Dont ask for Carlyle Blackwell's leading lady. It's a puzzle a«s
hard as the fourth dimension. Your other questions are out of order. Dont ask age.

Dorothy D. — Florence LaBadie was Aurora Floyd, and Justus Barnes was Floyd
in "Aurora Floyd" (Thanhouser). Mignon Anderson was the wife in "Half- Way to
Reno" (Thanhouser). Yes, we get tired sometimes, but it is fun.

E. E. S. — W. Melville wrote "The Moonshiner's Daughter" (Lubin).

T. O. B., Binghamton. — Norman MacDonald was the colonel in "Ghosts."

F. J. H. — Anna Nilsson was Charlotte, and Guy Coombs was James in "The Toll-
Gate Raiders" (Kalem). Ormi Hawley was Ethel in "The Surgeon's Heroism."

Dan, Bradford. — Guy D'Ennery was Rev. Bailey, and Mary Smith was Mrs. Man-
ning in "The Lost Note." William Shea is still with Vitagraph.

Edna May. — There is no book with pictures of all the players, but we have a book
with 150 pages of players. See ad.

Doris D. — Harold Lockwood had the lead in "The Governor's Daughter." We
haven't that Kay-Bee. Bert Ennis is their publicity man ! ! !

Ruth T. — Bryant Washburn was Flinty in "Swag of Destiny." Ethel Lyle was
May in "When the Last Leaf Fell" (Majestic).

Mrs. E. A. D. — Isabelle Lamon and Ernestine Morley were the girls, and Bernard
Seigel was the father in "The Supreme Sacrifice." True Boardman was the husband,
and the girl is unknown in "Where the Mountains Meet." Edgar Davenport was the
senator, and Tom Moore was Congressman Lord in "The Senator's Dishonor." Irene
Boyle was the girl in "The Fire Coward." You're welcome.

A South C Sailor. — We cant get that picture of Flossie. We dont know the
undertaker who is going to embalm her ; if we did we'd send him to you.

Sweet Pea. — -Edwin Carewe and Ormi Hawley had the leads in "The First Prize."

Pansy. — Thanks very much for the Irish postal-card. You never forget us, do you?

L. M. H. — Yes, the story differs from the film sometimes, because occasionally the
director does not follow the scenario, and when our writer writes the story from the
scenario it is different in some of the scenes.

Colette. — It is not necessary for the wind to blow when taking a picture. You will
have to give the name of the company.

Miss S. — No; Florence Lawrence is not dead. Who next? You refer to Irene
Boyle. We believe Miss Lawrence was with Lubin for about three years. Evebelle
Prout has left Essanay.

Florentine H. — Kempton Green was Winter Green in "What's in a Name?" Good
for you ! Let us know when you accept the position.

M. S., Maine. — No, no, that's J. J. Clark and Gene Gauntier on the Tree of Fame,
and not Warren Kerrigan. Edwin August and Jenaie MacPherson had the leads in
"His Ideal of Power" (Powers).

Henry B. R. — True Boardman was the outlaw in "Broncho Billy and the Outlaw's
Mother" (Essanay). Certainly, Helen Costello can sign her name. Just try and see.

Herman, Buffalo. — The passage which you quote from the Talbot ad. is correct.
M. Bull's invention is under the head of Electric Spark Cinematography, which, in con-
nection with his special apparatus, will take 2,000 pictures a second. His apparatus is
thoroly covered by illustrations and text in the book.

Florence M. B. — William Graybill was the husband in "For Sale— A Life." Ger-
trude Robinson is with Victor. Beverley Bayne was the girl in "The Butterfly Net"
(Essanay). Barry O'Moore was the boy in "The Man He Might Have Been." Thanks
for the bit of green. *

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SCEXJLDIO "WRITERS, LOOK ! Has your scenario
come back ? or have you another ? I will typewrite, revise,
criticize, correct, put your scenario in saleable 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, 5c. in coin each. Distant patrons
given special attention. Old Reliable Paul W. Rieker,
1921 Fairmount Ave., Philadelphia, Pa.

REAL PHOTOGRAPHS OF PHOTOPLAYERS

on postals. 5 cts. each; 50 cts. a dozen. Kindly include postage.
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This little book is from the
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450 pages, title in gold. The story is founded
on facts, is intensely interesting, and was
written to interest all, but especially mem-
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In order to introduce The Motion Picture Story Magazine to new readers, we will give a trial
subscription for four months, and mail a copy of this book free on receipt of 50 cts. in 2-cent stamps.

THE M. P. PUBLISHING CO.

175 Duffield Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

154 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Big Brown Eyes. — Flossie never did anything great ; only asked questions.

Eleanor. — Harry Cashman (deceased) was the father, and Ruth Stonehouse was
the dancer in "Requited Love" (Essanay).

Buff. — Mr. McDonald was Bill, Jeanie MacPherson was Nell, and Edwin August
was Smiling Joe in "On Burning Sands" (Powers). Bessie Eyton was Lavinia in
"The Story of Lavinia" (Selig).

M. D. D., Va. — Thanks for your interesting letter. We will try to have a picture
of George Gebhardt and Harry Morey.

Plunkett. — We dont know yet whether Biograph will have any individual pictures
of their players for sale. Hazel Neason was Faith.

Two Sisters. — Hazel Neason was the invalid in "The Finger of Suspicion"
(Kalem). Francelia Billington was the wife of Carlyle Black well in "The Boom-
erang." Mildred Bracken was leading lady in "The Kiss of Salvation." Lily Brans-
combe was Kathleen in "The Clue."

Ella K. — George Periolat played opposite Louise Lester in "One, Two, Three"
(American). Virginia Westbrook plays leads in Punch.

J. H., New Jersey. — You must understand that we dont sit down and write the
twenty pages of this department in one day. You know that lots of things can happen
after the first ten pages have gone to press, and the players are always changing about.

Sweet Helen. — Harry Benham was the floorwalker in "The Floorwalker's
Triumph." George Gebhardt was the servant in "Her Faithful Yama Servant."

Helen A. H. — Kay-Bee is the name of a company ; did you think it was an insect?
Miss Mason wTas the Indian girl, and George Gebhardt was the Indian lover in "The
Branded Arm" (Pathe). Yes; Path6 players in our Gallery right along now.

A. H. B. — Marian Cooper was Stella Lee in "The Turning-Point" (Kalem). Your
letter is interesting. Certainly we want to popularize the players.

Sally. — Edgar Jones was Jack in "The Girl of Sunset Pass" (Lubin).

Violet Mae. — Frank Mayo does not appear in Moving Pictures, but Harry Mayo
does. He is Vitagraph's champion bartender of the world. Edward Coxen was Ed.

F. I. D., Roxbury. — Owen Moore is still with Victor.

The N. J. X. Club. — We cant print the stories you want ; we get them right after
they are made and before they are shown to the public.

*L B., Parkville. — Mr. Fox was Billy, Dorothy Kelly's lover, in "All for a Girl."

Betty C. S. — We cant get that Majestic news. Sorry.

Alice G. — Richard Rosson was Little Eagle in "Heart of the Forest."

Corrine. — So you would like to see Florence Lawrence playing with Francis Bush-
man in the Vitagraph. That's a good idea. Why not?

Miss E. A. — Owren Moore did not play in "The One I Love" (Biograph), we believe,
unless it is a very old one.

Etta C. — Clarence Elmer was Sam in "The House in the Woods" (Lubin).

Geraldine M. F.— Shame you had to buy two magazines in order to get the pictures
of Mary Pickford and Billy Mason, being on opposite sides of the same leaf. If you
had told us in time we could have saved fifteen cents for you. An economical scheme
would be to cut the leaf out and hang it up on the chandelier in the middle of the room
so that it will swing around freely. See?

Jacqueline.— No, we dont happen to know the breed of the dog in "The Artist's
Romance" (Lubin). Consult our kennel department.

R. G. R. — Why dont you send your questions in on a letter? Wheeler Oakman was
Mr. Knobhill, and Frank Richardson was Otto in "The Millionaire Vagabonds."

C. O. K. — The old films are made up into by-products. We haven't the casts for
the Excelsior Co. Do you think Florence Turner will have to walk back?

Snookums. — W. Williams was the son opposite Octavia Handworth in "A Simple
Maid" (Pathe). Certainly, Gene Gauntier is not so popular as she was.

I. W. P. — Anna Nilsson was Agnes in "The Darling of the C. S'. A." Ormi Hawley
was Miss Meredith in "The Receivers" (Lubin).

Curious Carry. — We know of no permanent studio in Lowell, Mass.

F. D., Nebr. — Kate Price was Nora in "Nothing to Wear" (Vitagraph). William
Shea was her sweetheart, and Harry Morey was the husband of Edith Storey. In
"How the Cause Was Won" (Selig), Betty Harte and Wheeler Oakman were Mabel
and Tom. May Buckley was never very popular, but she always played well.

C. P., New York City. — You have Bessie Eyton placed correctly. Romaine Field-
ing was the unknown in that play. Ruth Stonehouse was Alice in "An Old, Old Song."

Btlly. — We dont want to be funny and dont try to, but sometimes we just cant
make our pen behave. Space is too precious, too. No, love-sick maidens dont jar us,
but they take up a lot of room. Others answered — besides, we dont want to miss that
ball game this afternoon. Yes, we work nights and holidays, sometimes.

Star.— James Young was James Howe in "Professor' Optimo. " Tom Moore was
the son, and Lillian Hines was the cash-girl in "In the Power of Blacklegs."

F. L. H., Brooklyn. — You can get back numbers direct from us.

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156 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Edris, Cal. — E. K. Lincoln was Jack Hall in "A Modern Atalanta," and he was the
son in "The Scoop." Effeminate? Oh, Edris ! Fie, fie!

Flossie M. F. — George Field was "No Account" in American's "The Orphan's
Mine." Marguerite Snow had the lead in "Idol of the Hour."

Marjorie M. — But you must sign your name and address, if you have any. Ormi
Hawley was the rose, and Ernestine Morley was the vision in "The Soul of a Rose."

Peggy M. — Winnifred Greenwood and Kathlyn Williams were Louise and Hen-
rietta in "The Two Orphans." Thanks for the information. Beth Taylor is playing in
stock at Sacramento, Cal.

Jean.— Winnifred Greenwood and Carl Winterhoff had the leads in "The Cowboy
Millionaire." That was one of Selig's most popular films, it seems.

Bess, Albany. — Irene Hunt was Helen, and Carl Von Schiller was Tom in "A Lucky
Chance" (Lubin).

L. G. E., Redkey. — -Edna Payne was Alice in "Gentleman Joe," and she was the
wife in "The Moonshiners."

Helen of Troy. — Letter very interesting. Will be glad to hear from you again.

Gaby J. — Harry Benham was the country sweetheart in "Blossom-Time." Herbert
Prior was Dick, and Mabel Trunnelle was Daisy in "Dick and Daisy" (Majestic).

Marjorie L. — Betty Gray was tbe girl in "The Gate She Left Open" (Pathe). Dot
Farley was leading lady in "A Wordless Message" (American). Lillian Christy is no
longer with American. Owen Moore formerly played with Biograph. Thanks for the fee.

Bunny. — Baby Lillian Wade was the little girl in "Love Before Ten" (Selig). Get
photos direct from the companies, or see our ads.

Edie "Lanky." — Neva Gerber is with Kalem Glendale company.

Walter B. I. — G. M. Anderson is playing at Niles, Cal. You can reach him there.

The Belmont. — Brinsley Shaw was the bandit in "The Sheriff's Story" (Essanay).
Earle Williams was interviewed* June, 1912. Edwin Carewe and Edna Payne.

Emmy Lou. — Your letter was very interesting. We agree with you about torment-
ing that steer. It wasn't right.

Sweet Peas. — Vivian Prescott, now with Lubin, did not play in that Vitagraph.

H. M. S., Dallas.— William Clifford had the lead in "The Reason Why" (Melies).
You refer to Lillian Christy.

C. J. F., Syracuse. — Laura Sawyer had the lead in "The Lorelei" (Edison). It was
taken out West. Thanks for your comment on "The Photoplay Philosopher."

M. G., Boston.— Marshall Neilan was Arthur in "The Peace-Offering" (Kalem).
Marguerite Courtot was the daughter in "The Grim Toll of War" (Kalem). Miss Ray
had the lead in "The Prodigal Brother." Mildred Weston was Maud in "The Discovery."

Florence, 15. — William Bechtel was Weston, and Edward O'Connor was Weary's
pal in "The Green-Eyed Lobster." George Reehm was Spoony Sam, Tommy Aiken
was Cy, and. Frances Ne Moyer was the girl in "Spoony Sam."

Herman, Buffalo. — A capital idea! Why not try it? A photoplay on "The House-
boat on the Styx" would be immense ; but where would they get a good Nero, Con-
fucius, Gulliver, Munchausen, etc.? Harper Bros, holds the copyright.

S. E. P. — Mary Fuller did not play in "Barry's Breaking In" ; it was Bessie Learn.
Frank Dayton was John, Margaret Steppling and Dorothy Warrington were the chil-
dren in "Three Queens."

Beatrice M. — Guy Coombs was Yancey, and Marian Cooper was Rose in "The
Confederate Ironclad." You think Guy camera-conscious? Very well.

Edith F. Hand. — Owen Moore and John Charles had the leads in "The Lie"
(Victor). Herbert Rice was the baby in "Oh, You Baby!" Louise Lester was Anne
Carey, and Charlotte Burton was Jane in "The Animal Within." Peggy Reid was the
girl in "In the Old Lawn" (Majestic).

Judy G. — Romaine Fielding was the Mexican soldier in "An Adventure on the
Mexican Border." We do not give the players' private addresses.

Dip, 16. — Crane Wilbur's picture in December, 1912. Al Swenson was Tom in
"Betty and the Roses." Pearl White was Naughty Marietta. Letter was all right.

Betty M. — Mabel Brown was Betty in "The Greater Love" (American). Alice
Joyce was Mary Archer in "The Exposure of the Land Swindlers."

Movies, Bridgeport. — Edith Storey was Marie in "The Strength of Men" (Vita-
graph). Lillian Christy had the lead in "The Trail of Cards."

A. E. S., Worcester.— A. E. Garcia was the lion-tamer, Kathlyn Williams was
Alice, and Hobart Bosworth was Barker in "The Artist and the Brute" (Selig).

R. M., New London.— Yes ; Marian Cooper was Kitty in "Detective William J.
Burns." Barbara Tennant is with Eclair, and not with Selig. Lillian Logan is now
with the American.

Johnney, 18. — Edith Storey was the daughter of Durand in "The Vengeance of
Durand." Alice and Edna Nash were the twins. Their pictures next month.

May B. — Mile. Napierkowska was Esmeralda in "Notre Dame de Paris." Robert
H. Grey is now with Edison.

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61 NAVY STREET BROOKLYN, N. Y.

158 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Peggie-O. — You refer to Kenneth Casey. He is still with Vitagraph. Leigh Hunt
once said that he was perplexed whether to speak of himself in the singular or plural
number ; whether to subject himself to the impatience of vainer people by saying "I,"
or to hamper himself with saying "we." We had the same debate with ourselves and,
finally, decided that we would remain plural, altho single, which seems singular.

S. S. M., Eugene. — Bessie Sankey was the girl in "Broncho Billy's Ward"
(Essanay). Warren Kerrigan's brother does not play in the pictures. After all that
joy, Gladys Field left the Essanay Co. when their Los Angeles section returned to
Niles, and her director, Mr. Mackley, left for Scotland. Isn't it too bad?

Vivian C. P. — Return your August, 1912, issue if it doesn't contain a chat with
Alice Joyce. The child was Florence Klotz. Margaret Loveridge is with Selig.

H. H., Brooklyn. — Myrtle Stedman and William Duncan had the leads in "The
Ranch Law" (Selig). E, H. Calvert was Mr. Gregg, and Beverley Bayne was the
stenographer in "Seeing Is Believing." Mae Hotely was Mary, and Robert Burns was
Harry in "She Must Elope." Guy Coombs was Lieutenant Gaylord, and Marian
Cooper was Helen in "Woe of Battle."

Hiram, Lockport. — If you are so clever as you think you are, try to write a
scenario around Burton's "Anatomy of Melancholy." By the by, how many have you
had accepted? We like our new home very well, thank you. You can get all the back
numbers direct from us.

A. F., New York. — We are notified by O. F., Sacramento, that Beth Taylor is
playing in the Ed. Redmond Stock Co., Sacramento, Cal.

Dixie Lou. — We haven't seen "As Life Fades" — cant tell you about the ending.

L. A. "CRip," Saratoga Springs, advises us that the exterior scenes of "Wood
Violet," "Off the Road," "How Fatty Made Good" and "The Vengeance of Durand," all
Vitagraphs, were taken at Saratoga Springs.

S. W.— Bessie Eyton was the girl in "Shuttle of Fate" (Selig). Oh, fie, fie!
Knowest not thou that marriage questions are contrary to the king's commands?

L. F. — Your letter is all right, but if we told you now who Carlyle BlackweH's
leading lady was, by the time you read this he would have another one. He is so fickle,
is Carlyle. Perhaps he misses Alice, like we all do.

P. P., Ind. — No, little one, we do not drink pepper in our tea to make our answers
hot. See above. Yes, more Biograph players in the Gallery next month.

H. W., New York. — Harry Millarde was Jack, and Marguerite Courtot was Myrtle
in "The War Correspondent" (Kalem).

S. and A. — We dont know why Billy Mason doesn't get more publicity. We thought
he was quite popular. Perhaps he will be chatted soon.

H. K., New York. — The picture you enclose is of Vedah Bertram. Hazel Neason
in that Kalem play.

Unoriginal Olga. — "The Merchant of Venice" was produced by Thanhouser.
Sorry you didn't like it. E. K. Lincoln was the brother of the twins.

L. E. S., Oakland. — We dont know and cant ascertain the date and name of the
first release in which Maurice Costello appeared.

K. D., Cal. — Jack Halliday had the lead in "The Stubbornness of Youth" (Lubin).
No ; John Bunny is not dead — there is too much of him to kill off. When he dies we
will let you hear about it.

Daniel, Brooklyn. — Thanks very much for the Easter card ; very thoughtful.

Marie, 15. — Laura Sawyer was the girl, and Benjamin Wilson was her lover in
"A Day That Is Dead" (Edison). The Biograph blonde's name is Blanche Sweet. Her
fictitious name is Daphne Wayne. Biograph used to call her that in England.

Anna Belle.— Marin Sais was the girl in "The Buckskin Coat." Subscribers
usually get the magazine about the lath. We shall try to interview Thomas Moore.

T. B. M., New Orleans.— George Gebhardt was the Indian in "Branded Arm"
(Pathe). Gwendoline Pates and Crane Wilbur had the leads in "His Second Love."

Louise L. — Yes, the picture is of Alice Joyce, but the name is not correct.

Bertie and Gertie. — As to a position for you in the Photoplay Clearing House,
communicate direct. They need no extra help just now, tho.

Dotty.— Ethel Clayton and Harry Myers had the leads in "Art and Honor"
(Lubin). We dont know where it was taken.

D. I. Q.— Harold Lockwood was Joe, and Henry Otto was Richard in "The Diverg-
ing Paths" (Selig).

Josephine. — Yes, we have a subscriber by the name you mention. Dont know how
he got your address ; surely not from us.

Winnifred D. H— Sidney Cummings was the child in "Under the Make-up"
(Vitagraph). Roland Gane was Betty Gray's lover in "The Gate She Left Open."

M. L. S.— You refer to William West in the Glendale Kalem. We are informed
that Robert Conness is playing leading man for Baker Stock Co., Portland, Ore.

A. G., Elizabeth. — Gertrude Robinson was the sweetheart in "The Vengeance of
Heaven" (Reliance).

PATHt'S WEEKLY

A perfect film for particular people, por-
traying the movements of current events
with a fidelity unattainable by any other
method of publicity.

pathos Weekly

Covers the globe with a lens focused on
the world-happenings of universal interest,
and reproduces, thousands of miles away,
the scenes as they occurred.

Pathe's Weekly

Is a glorified illustrated weekly magazine,
with the " pages" turned for you while
you are comfortably seated in the cozy
theater in your neighborhood.

Pathe's Weekly

Speaks an intelligible language to every
nationality, and makes its appeal to people
of every tongue, race, creed or age, and
will appeal to you.

If It's Interesting It's In

PATHE'S WEEKLY

160 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

D. C, New • York.— Herbert Rawlinson was Rev. Allan Wilson in "The Flaming
Forge" (Selig). True Boarclman was the husband, and Arthur Maekley the father in
"Across the Great Divide."

M. F.. Mobile. — Warren Kerrigan has been with American for three years; he
formerly played with Essanay.

M. H. S., Omaha. — Shoo ! Keep off ! You will get us in trouble if you make us tell
which company produces the best pictures. Zena Keefe is taking a trip to Europe.

S. O'M. — Ruth Stonehouse was the girl in "The Broken Heart" (Essanay). Sorry,
but we dont keep cards of the legitimate plays and players.

Anthony. — You have a lot of admirers. Yes ; Pearl White is still playing.

Olga, 17. — Bon jour! Cant tell you anything about your verses to Carlyle Black-
well and Crane Wilbur. Winnifred Greenwood was Pauline Cushman in "Pauline
Cushman, the Spy" (Selig). Robert Burns was Johnson, and Julia Calhoun was the
wife in "Fake Soldiers" (Lubin). Buster Johnson was the child in "Tamandra, the
Gypsy." Ormi Hawley was Tamandra.

Scranton, Pa. — Warren Kerrigan had the lead, and Jessalyn Van Trump played
opposite him in "Matches" (American). Thank you.

E. H., Willsboro. — Vedah Bertram was the girl in "Broncho Billy and the Indian
Maid" (Essanay). Robert Thornby was Jack, and Charles Bennett was the sheriff in
"A Wasted Sacrifice." Thanks muchly.

V. E. O., Pittsburg. — Yes ; Vedah Bertram was the girl in "Broncho Billy's Bible"
(Essanay). We dont know when the players will visit the Cameraphone, if at all.

M. B., Sedalia. — Dorothy and Lillian Gish were the sisters in "An Unseen Enemy."

Sis, Fort Wayne. — We haven't the name of that baby you mention. Rose Tapley
was Amelia in "Vanity Fair." She is playing just as much as ever.

W. J. K., Marietta.— The title is "Fred and Oscar Out of Luck" (Great Northern).
The two actors were Fred Buck and Oscar Striboldt.

Dorothy D. — Glad to hear you got such high marks in your "Caesar" examination.
The American wont give us the leads in "The Invaders." Sorry.

C. R. H., San Francisco. — We dont happen to know where Joseph Waldron is.

Henry B. R. — My, what long letters you write! You certainly are in love with
Helen Costello, and who can blame you? Your 500 votes were received and recorded.

Charlestown Girls. — Cant insert your ads., particularly the one which says:
'For sale — Jean, a fine dog; will eat anything; very fond of children." Libelous!

L. R. B., Lockport. — We believe we remember you going to the Union. Beatrice
Oldfield was the stenographer in "Until We Three Meet Again." The picture was taken
when May Buckley played with Lubin. Give our regards to Main Street.

Susie. — No; Lottie Briscoe's name has not yet appeared in the Popular Player
Contest. Suppose they will come in at the end with an army of votes for her. Thanks.

R. E. D., Alameda.— Charles Brandt was Sam Bobbins in "When John Brought
Home His Wife" (Lubin). Expect to print Courtenay Foote's picture soon. So King
Baggot really frightened you in "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde." Thanks. Call again.

Bert and Gert. — Richard Stanton is now playing for Kay-Bee. Thomas and Owen
Moore did not play in "Oil and Water." Thank you.

R. S., Boston. — Gene Gauntier was Claire Ffolliott in "The Shaughraun" (Kalem).
See August, 1912, for Licensed and Independent.

H. M. L., Philadelphia. — Yes, a chat with Harry Myers next month, and it is a
wonder. We offer a prize of one large, red apple to any person who can read it without
throwing a fit — of laughter. Harry is very breezy, and so is the chatter.

The Pink' Lady. — The Ambrosio will not supply us with the cast for "Satan," so
cannot tell you who the devil he was.

George, Montreal. — Miss Tony Sylva was Suzanne in "The Theft of the Secret
Code" (Vitascope).

Anthony. — Again? Charles Clary was Warren in "A Change of Administration"
(Selig), and Adrienne Kroell was Inez. Mildred Bracken is with the N. Y. M. P. Co.

Betty B. — You refer to Hobart Bosworth in "The Count of Monte Cristo." You
are wrong on that Biograph title ; guess again.

Russell L. — Dorothy Davenport was with Selig last. We have no such Reliance.

F. E., Norfolk. — Mr. Kimball and Miss Gill had the leads in "The Message in the
Cocoanut" (Majestic).

K. P., Savannah. — So all your votes are going to be for Harold Lockwood. That's
nice. Much obliged for the fee.

W. T. H., Chicago.— Shades of all the king's jesters, but you are a bright lad. If
we cannot print your letter, we can laugh and enjoy it. Yes ; Flossie C. P. is on deck
again. As you say, it is not necessary to wear glasses to see pictures. Pictures do not
hurt weak eyes, and "eyesinglass" dont help. That's right ; stand up for Alice. What—
Clara Kimball Young, too? Ah, those eyes?

Teddy C. — We are willing to start the correspondence club if enough of you readers
are. You mustn't ask about relationship. Muriel Ostriche is now with Reliance. Thanks.

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PHOTOPLAYS REVISED

for beginners and others who wish
their plays put into the best form.

First-class work only, Criticism and typing. Send for folder.

A. R. KENNEDY, 3309 N. 17th Street, Philadelphia, Pa.

SONG POEMS, sell for cash or have published free.

Wr.te for best plan ever offered a beginner. M A NUSCR1PTS
SALES COMPANY, 53 West 28th Street, New -York City.

Do You Want to Know

HOW TO DEVELOP

HEALTH, STRENGTH, VITALITY
AND PERFECT PHYSIQUE?

My FREE BOOKS, "THE 'WHYS' OF
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606 Titus Building, 156 East 23d Street, New York City

I FA DM MOTION PICTUREPLAY WRITING
LkAKlYBIG DEMAND'noBIG PRICES PAID

WOULDN'T YOU SPEND 50c TO EARN $25.00 TO $50.00?

You can learn — it's very simple — no literary experience neces-
sary. " THE PHOTOPLAY WRITER," by Leona Radnor (writer
tor THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE), gives complete
instructions and advice. Teaches all that can be taught on the
subject. It is just the book for beginners. Complete as the
highest priced book. Contains model scenario, list of buyers,

tells what they want and how to reach them. Endorsed by scenario editors.

Send to-day — NOW — for a copy and start earning money. PRICE 50c.

L. RADNOR, 118 G East 28th Street, New York City

VENTRILOQUSN

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O. A. SMITH, Boon W.276 823 Bigelow St., PEORIA.ILL.

Photos and Drawings for Sale

Why Not Make a Collection?
It May Be Valuable Some Day

The prices range from 10 cents to $10. Let us know what you want, and we'll
try to fill your order.

Since we have over a thousand of these pictures, we cannot catalog them. Plain,
unmounted photos, 4x5, are usually valued at 20 cents each; 5x7, 30 cents; 10x12, 50
cents; but the prices vary according to their art value. Mounted photos, with hand-
painted designs around, range from 25 cents to $2 each.

Address: Art Editor, M. P. S. Magazine, 175 Duffield St., Brooklyn, N. Y.

162 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

W. H. S. sends us a correction : "Will you kindly correct a mistake in tbis month's
issue? Mr. Walker's name is Ben Walker (not Hen Walker) — lie makes a good deal of
noise, but does not cackle."

Betsy. — Florence LaBadie was tbe inventor's sweetheart in "The Race" (Than-
bouser). We have not yet printed Violet Horner's picture. That was not Miss LaBadie
in tbe Bison. Thankee.

Peggy the First. — Elsie Greeson was the girl in "Tbe Missing Bonds" (Kalein).
Florence Hackett was Cecile in "The Burden Bearer." Arthur Johnson was Robert,
and Howard Mitchell was Dudley in the same. Oh, you mustn't ask the color of his
eyes. Thank you kindly.

Spgfd. P. B. X. — Your letter was very interesting. We did not find the sheet with
the questions on it. Sorry. Many thanks.

Jno G. Jackson. — We dont answer questions about relationship : cant Just tell when
we will use Tom Powers' picture : dont know whether Miss Sais is a California girl,
and you must always give the name of the company. Sorry we cant help you. Thanks.

Flossie C. P. — Why. how do you do ! It seems years since we have heard from
you. We are glad to see you back. The girl you refer to is Ethel Clayton. Still true to
Crane Wilbur, eh? He will like that.

Skinny. — Yes,- there is a William Shea with Vitagraph and a William Shay with
Imp. Andre Poscol was the leading lady in "Tbe Ways of Destiny." It was made by
the French Pathe. Clara Kimball Young will play opposite Maurice Costello in the
foreign plays.

S. H. R., Dallas. — Gene Gauntier was interviewed in March and October. 1912.
She has her own company now. Thanks for the fee.

M. E. T., Spokane. — Tom Moore played opposite Alice Joyce in "An American
Princess." Riley Chamberlain had the lead in "Won at the Rodeo" (Thanbouser).
Crane Wilbur did not take part in this play. No, your scenario should be written in
scenes and not in story form.

Doc Eddy. — Mabel Normand was the girl in "A Tangled Affair" (Keystone).
Thanbouser Kid was the child in "Tbe Ghost in Uniform" (Thanhouser). Her name is
Marie Eline. Lillian Christy was the girl in "When the Light Fades" (American).
She has left. It is pronounced Bayrd. Oh, many, many thanks!

Helen A. H. — Bigelow Cooper was the villain, and we have no cast for the other
characters in "The Great Steeplechase." Yes. Florence Turner was the mistress, and
Veronica Finch, Helen Costello and Jesse Kelly were tbe children in "The Servant
Problem" (Vitagraph). Thanks.

Helen, 19. — We cannot tell you about "As in a Looking-Glass" (Monopol). They
do not supply us. John Brennan was the father in "The Muminie and the Cowpunchers."

N. L. G. — Yes. the picture is of Lillian Walker.

FOR ALL. — So that we wont receive two hundred letters asking tbe same ques-
tion, we give tbe following leads appearing in the stories in tbis issue. Warren
Kerrigan was the son of shame, Edward Coxen tbe son of love. Jack Richardson was
town boss, and George Periolat was the cripple in "Ashes of Three" (American). Mrs.
George Walters was Rosemary Sweet, Bertley McCullum was Dr. Widdle, Florence
Lang was Hilda. Eleanor Dunne was Alice, and Eleanor Middleton was Mrs. Shelburne
in "Brightened Sunsets'! (Lubin). Helen Gardner was Lispeth, Harry Morey was
Ishmael, Tefft Johnson was Mr. Corday, and James Morrison his son in "The Vampire
of the Desert" (Vitagraph). Helen Gardner has not returned to Vitagraph. This was
taken some time ago. Mabel Trunnelle was Mrs. Carroll, Marc MacDermott was Mr.
Carroll, and Miriam Nesbitt was Nada Malinsky in "The Concerto for the Violin"
(Edison). Marguerite Snow was Carmen. William Garwood was Don Jose. William
Russell was Escamillo, and Peggy Reid was Mercedes in "Carmen." Hereafter we
wont say "thanks" when we receive fees. Our gratitude is understood.

Dokothy D.— Harry Blakemore and Mignon Anderson had the leads in "The Farm
and Flat." No, use the name of the producing company instead of Universal. We
haven't that Bison. It is hard to get all the Universal casts. Hope you are successful.

Bess, Albany. — Yes, we answer Biograph questions, but the one vou ask is too
old. Yes ; Isabella Rea is now with Kalem.

R. M. S., Indiana.— Florence LaBadie was the bride in "Arab's Bride." Thanks
for the comments.

E. H., Midwood.— Charlotte Burton was Betty in "The Greater Love." "Yours
Unquestionably" is good.

Bess of Chicago. — Yes, it is too bad that Broncho wont answer, but they wrote
us a nice letter, saying they dont get all the casts from the Western studio, and they
said they were very sorry not to accommodate us. Now Eclair and Crystal wont
answer your other questions for us. We can answer everything in the line of Licensed.

Bee. — Irving Cummings was Don Caesar de Bazan. Isabel Irvine was Maritana.
the lad was Bobby Tansey in "Don Caesar de Bazan" (Reliance). That was Mabel
Normand in the Keystone. Your definition of "oracle" is good.

INSTRUCTION

THE P?

HOTO
A Y
O T

HOW TO WRITE IT

HOW TO SELL IT

The book that experienced writers and beginners are look-
ing for. Is in itself a practical course in the art of Picture
Play Writing. Contains a complete list of buyers and tells
their wants.
Now being used as a text by one of the best known schools.

Send for your copy of the PHOTO PLAY PLOT, 25 cts. (silver, please)
HARRINGTON ADAMS, - Fostoria, Ohio

Gives all the essential details. Shows what and what not to
write; completed and practice scenarios. Replete with inval-
uable information. Book 25 cents (U. S. coin).

DEANS PUBLISHING COMPANY

32 East 3d Avenue CINCINNATI, OHIO

POPULAR SONGS

How to Write and Where to Sell

By E. M. WICKES and RICHARD H. GERARD

Gives lists of publishers who buy separate lyrics, melodies
and complete songs. Price 50 cents, postpaid.

THE HANNIS JORDAN CO., Publishers

32 Union Square, East New York City

Melody Writers, TAKE NOTICE

Music Arranged for Piano, Orchestra, Band.
High-Class Work Only. Write to-day for
full particulars.

ALMOQUIN,with"Shapiro,',39thSt.&Broadway,N.Y.

JMter MONEY TO YOU

"The Most Individual Journal of Its Kind"

THE PHOTO PLAY DRAMATIST

A Snappy Journal of Pungent Criticism and Comment
A Treasury of Suggestions of Inestimable Value to Writers
If you are a writer or contemplate becoming one
you cannot afford to be without this valued medium. SMo.
Trial Subscription 25 cents, Silver or Stamps.

The Photo Play Dramatist

Caxton B'Id'g,
Cleveland, Ohio

PERSONAL TO SONG WRITERS

In reply to requests for my expert opinion regarding the value and
merit of the different song publishing offers made by various music
companies, I do not hesitate to state that I consider the 50 per cent,
royalty offer of the C. L. PARTEE COMPANY, Astor Theatre Build-
ing, New \ork City, to be the fairest and most liberal, as well as the
one most likely to result in quick, and substantial profits for the
song writer. Yours trulv,

L. M. McCRAKEN.

MUSIC PUBLISHERS

Song Poems Wanted

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Song Poems Wanted

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JOHN T. HALL, 11 Columbus Circle, New York

After reading the stories in this magazine, be sure and stop at the
box-office of your favorite Motion Picture theater and leave a slip of
paper on which you have written the names of the plays you want to see.
The theater managers want to* please you, and will gladly show you the
films you want to see.

164 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Doris. — We have no Tim in "Sally in Our Alley." Yes; Robert Burns has had
stage experience. We haven't the girl in "Too Much Wooing for Handsome Dan.

M. D., Bridgeport. — Ormi Hawley did not play in "His Children."

The Twins. — Mile. Napierkowska was Mabel in "Over the 'Phone," and Max
Linder was her opposite. Carl Von Schiller was Tom, Irene Hunt was Helen, and
Joseph Holland was Pedro in "A Lucky Chance." David Kirkland is in Niles, and
Harry Todd was in "The Housekeeper of Circle C." Hazel Neason was the widow,
and George Cooper her son in "The Answered Prayer."

Chiquita. — Guess you were seeing things. Brinsley Shaw did not play in that
Lubin. Carl Winterhoff was the fiance in "Prompted by Jealousy." Red Wing was
the heroine in "Tbe Unfulfilled Oath."

A. A., Dubuque. — Harry Benbam was the husband, and Mignon Anderson the wife
in "Just a Shabby Doll." Florence LaBadie and Jean Darnell were the girls, and
William Garwood the young man in "The Pretty Girl in Lower Five." Lillian Christy
was Betsy in "When a Woman Wont." Yes, call again.

Mary G. — You have a different name every time you write. Florence LaBadie was
the girl in "The Way to a Man's Heart." Gene Gauntier and Jack J. Clark had the
leads in "Far from Erin's Isle." Earle Metcalf was Jim, and Marguerite Ne Moyer
was Bess in "Sixes and Nines."

Myrtle F. S. — Marshall Neilan was the husband in "The Fired Cook" (Kalem).
Joseph De Grasse was the husband, Lillian Wiggins the wife, and George Gebhardt
the second lover in "The Sheriff's Reward" (Pathe).

Paula. — Fraunie Fraunholz was the husband, and Blanche Cornwall the wife in
"The Canine Rivals" (Solax).

A. W. W. W. W. — Why not add one more? Mignon Anderson was the girl in "The
Wall Street Mystery" (Thanhouser). Howard Missimer was the gunman in "The
Gunman" (Essanay). Paste all your rejection slips in a scrap-book. All great writers
have a fine collection.

G. W. C. — J. W. Johnston was the stranger in "The Stranger" (Eclair).

Mrs. A. M. — Edna Maison was the girl in "The Padre's Gift" (Nestor). Ray
Myers and Ethel Grandon were Harry and Irene in "The Coward's Atonement."

Pauline R. M. — Maurice Costello has not been ill. You will see him soon.

Marion. — Nolan Gane was the young chap in "The Dynamited Love." You can
vote for both Florence Lawrence and E. K. Lincoln if you want to.

R. R. R. — Oh, yes ; "plenty of wind, unlimited patience, chronic perseverance, and
a motto entitled 'Positively No Swearing Allowed.' " It would mean a month if we
were to arrange the questions in alphabetical order. The Thanhouser Kid is a girl,
and she played in "The Heart of a Child." Lila Chester was the governess, and Mignon
Anderson the wife in "Just a Shabby Doll." Letter was fine. No, we wont worry
over funeral expenses. Essanay is an abbreviation of Spoor & Anderson ( S. & A. ) .

Irish, No. 1. — "Pickwick Papers" was taken in the original scenery in England.
William Humphrey was the Russian in "Chains of an Oath." Yes; Florence Barker
played in "The Diamond Star" (Biograph).

R. P. Van. — Martin Faust was George in "The Lost Son." Gladys Field and True
Boardman had the leads in "Old Gorman's Gal." Herbert Prior was Robert in "The
Lost Deed" (Edison).

May M. Eloise. — Pauline Bush was Miss Carlton's daughter in "Jocular Winds."

Pansy. — William Clifford was the man who was killed in "On El Camino Real"
(Nestor). We used to go to the Golden Palace.

Susan. — William Wadsworth was John in "After the Welsh Rarebit" (Edison).
George Gebhardt was the bandit in "The Clutch of Conscience" (Pathe).

C. V. — We haven't Becky in "Becky! Becky!" Who knows?

Anthony. — The girls want you to join the Correspondence Club. They want to
receive postal cards .from you. Thanks for the handkerchiefs; we appreciate them.
Yes; Pearl White was the gypsy in "The Gypsy Flirt" (Crystal). Lizzie Conway was
Miss Finch in "Man Wanted" (Crystal).

Trixie, 2173. — Barbae Montville was the heroine in "A Heart Reclaimed" (Rex).
William Morse was James in "His Old-fashioned Mother" (American). Bertha
Blanchard was opposite Harry Benham in "The Baby Bride." You ask too many
questions for the magazine. Try Uncle Sam.

Olga, 17. — Only one camera is necessary to take any length of film, no matter how
long it is. You were right.

Honest, Chicago. — There is only one Arthur Johnson — only one. Will see about
your verse.

Pansy. — Yes, you were the first to send in your ten cents for the Correspondence
Club, You want it called the "Pansy M. P. Correspondence Club," Want the pansy as
our emblem and our colors purple and yellow. That's fine. You now want Olga, 17,
Anthony, Flossie C. P. and The Pest's addresses. Wait till we see what they say. You
have got the Answer Man placed incorrectly.

WHO
IS YOUR FAVORITE
PICTURE PLAYER?

How often have you watched your favorite picture player silently portray on the
screen the wonderful stories of love, history, adventure and Western life !

How often have you marveled at the skill, grace and beauty with which your favorite
rapidly unraveled the picture story before your eager gaze !

How often have you wished that you might, in a small measure, express to your
favorite your appreciation for the many hours of pleasure and enjoyment which he or she
has given you !

HERE IS YOUR CHANCE

Our Popular Picture Player Contest .gives you this opportunity. It would be of value
to us to know which player you like the best, and by subscribing or securing subscriptions
for The Motion Picture Story Magazine you can vote for your favorite player.

The picture players receiving the largest number of votes will be awarded valuable
and beautiful prizes, and at the end of the contest the votes received by the different
players will be forwarded to them, and we assure you that every vote cast will be duly
appreciated by the picture players.

Begin now, subscribe and vote yourself ; get your friends to subscribe and boost your
favorite players. Subscribers will be entitled to the following number of votes.

SCHEDULE

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count of fifty cents' each and the following number of votes.

1 -year's subscriptions, price $2.00, good for
" 3.00,

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Three

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Five

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Ten

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500

llow the

age]

1,200 votes

1,800

3,000

6,000

12,000

15,000

" " 5.00,

" " 10.00, "

« " 20.00, "

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^ , , „ , <p - .. - «!„„„« enter my subscription for mos.

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?^0H &l£&YW*EH5 \ti PWtyEI*l>OM

Octavia Handworth, leading woman of Pathe Freres, has just recovered from an
attack of diphtheria.
Zena Keefe, of the Yitagraph, left on April 2fith for a brief vacation in Europe.

Shannon Fife, an able Lubin director, is the author of the photoplay "Brightened
Sunsets," the story of which appears in this issue.

Eleanor Blanchard, the versatile character woman of the Essanay Company, has
resigned on account of ill health.

Ray Gallagher arrived in San Francisco last month, having left the Melies Com-
pany in Japan. And while we are on the subject, Fred Mace has left Keystone Com-
pany to organize a company of his own. Now we have Helen Gardner, Gene Gauntier,
Florence Turner and Fred Mace, each paddling his or her own canoe. Bon voi/apc!

Kalem players are great on machines. Carlyle Blackwell has an auto, and Ruth
Roland and Alice Joyce have sewing-machines.

They are saying that Henry Walthall makes the best leading man for Blanche
Sweet that the Biograph Company has had for some time.

Question: Is Anna Little, of the Kay-Bees, an Indian born? Answer: No, but her
understanding of make-up and her expressive features are remarkably realistic.

Miss Mary Fuller cant play away from "Mary" parts. She is now engaged in an
elaborate production in which she plays Mary, Queen of Scots.

Harry Handworth, of the Pathe Freres, has earned a rest, and he will be missed
when he takes his vacation trip to Colorado in May.

The Lubin baseball team, under the direction of Benny of Lubinville, is in the
market for games and victories. Same with Pathe's, only it has no Benny.

Romaine Fielding is a Corsican, and so was Napoleon. The latter may have been
a better emperor, but he was not in the same class with Romaine as a sheriff in the
land of the cactus.

The Yitagraph Company are viewing with alarm the recent activities of John
Bunny. He has joined an athletic class, and is working hard to reduce his ponderous
weight. He is up at sparrow-crack every morning, and can be seen at six o'clock doing
a Marathon on Ocean Parkway, paced by his trainer.

Carlyle Blackwell is the proud possessor of a bull-terrier sent him by express by
one of his Eastern admirers. The dog is a great favorite at Glendale, and Mr. Black-
well calls him "Kalem."

The Melies Company have recently left Java, where they produced some elaborate
two-reel pictures with native actors. They have just arrived in Japan for a long
sojourn. As the Japanese are excellent and experienced actors, we may hope to see
some beautiful pictures taken under the personal direction of Gaston Melies.

The smoke-room at the Yitagraph plant has become quite an. institution. Four
mpnkeys have their quarters there at present, and as they get loose every now and
then, they make life there quite interesting at times, especially when they get hold of
a pinochle deck.

Maurice Costello has more children— at least Mr. and Mrs. Jos. S. Whitsett, of
Ardmore, Okla., have named one of theirs after him, and others are doing it. It is the
fashion now to name children after photoplay ers rather than after presidents.

Gwendoline Pates has reason to be proud of her work in "An Exciting Honey-
moon," and ditto can be said of Charles Arling.

166

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168 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Alice Inward has left Excelsior, and is visiting relatives in London.

The Screen Club Ball of April 19th has come and gone, but it is still the talk of
the town. It was held in Terrace Gardens, New York City, and every studio star and
humble poser who was able to walk or roll up in a taxi helped to fill the place — in
fact, over 2,000 people attended. The grand march was led by King Baggot, escorting
Mary Pickford, John Bunny and Mrs. Bunny, Arthur Johnson and Lottie Briscoe, Alice
Joyce and Tom Moore. Many studio heads filled the boxes and showered confetti upon
the dancers. As a result, the clubhouse fund was increased by $4,000. King B^aggot
auctioned the autographed program containing the signatures of all the stars and
satellites present, and it went for $1,000 to Carl Laemmle and Adam Kessel, Jr. Fred
Mace's bid of $500 was not accepted, and he appeared quite peeved, but forgave every
one afterwards in a speech.

Director Brabin, with Miss Nesbitt and Mr. MacDermott, started for Europe. On
the same day the Western Edisons will be back to fill the gap in the studio.

In a recent Kalem comedy John Brennan and Marshall Neilan made us believe
that it is funny to have the toothache.

Edgena De Lespine, of the Reliance Company, is called "The Lillian Russell of
pictures," and she will shortly be seen in a three-reel feature, "The Bawler-out," in
which the loan-shark evil is exposed.

An amusing incident happened a short time ago to Mr. Charles J. Brabin, one of
the directors of the Edison Company. In making one of the well-known "Mary"
stories, he had occasion to use a large sailing schooner which was represented as being
on fire. Mr. Brabin got his smoke-pots placed and into action, and the result was so
realistic that the fireboats put out from shore at full speed for the burning ship.

Madame Nordica was at Los Angeles while the Thanhouser Western forces were
producing "Cymbeline." Jean Darnell, who is with the Western company, stood along-
side the songbird while the latter watched the picture people taking some exterior
scenes, and is authority for the statement that when the last foot of film had been
"snapped," the songbird said: "Admirable!"

Paul Panzer, of the Pathe Freres, had a narrow escape last week when, dressed
as a convict, he enacted a scene close to the Snake Hill Penitentiary, and a guard
mistook him for a real convict escaping.

Gladys Field has left Essanay again, this time for a man — now her husband.

On May 5th the Excelsior Company produced the final film — its plant, company
and product having been absorbed by the Reliance Company, .who will continue the
weekly pictures of Excelsior.

The Garfield Theater, of New York, wants us publicly to thank Marc MacDermott,
Marian Nesbitt, Yale Boss, Charles N. Seay and William Wadsworth for taking part
in a benefit for the Ohio sufferers.

The Vitagraph Company is getting ready to release the first of their animal pic-
tures. "The Amateur Lion-Tamer" will probably be the first, followed closely by "The
Tiger-Lily," in which some fine work is done by Julia Swayne Gordon.

Jane Wolfe is using all her spare time to advantage by planting trees to beautify
her homelike California bungalow.

The "Flying A's" new Western studio is called Hope Ranch, and is in Santa
Barbara, Cal. Director Albert W. Flale, formerly of Vitagraph, is in charge.

The Vitagraph Twins, Alice and Edna Nash, are making a hit. At the studios,
the other players have trouble telling who is which, but Wallie Van has none.

William Clifford, Bison's leading man, has just purchased a lovely Hollywood
bungalow with a garden for that wonderful Clifford youngster.

If the Vitagraph Company get any more fat men, they will have to enlarge their
plant if they keep John Bunny, Hughie Mack and James Lackaye.

Gene Gauntier was in town last month. She seemed to be immensely pleased with
the world and with good, bad old New York.

How would you like to crawl out onto a trestle in a forty-mile gale and hang by
your hands two hundred feet over the Genesee River while a fast express whirled
overhead? That's what Julia Stuart had to do recently.

Nero, the Vitagraph lion, is feeling terribly disappointed. He recently played in
the same cast as Hughie Mack and did not get his appetite satisfied.

Mabelle Trunnelle has a horror of poverty. "I hate to play 'poor parts,'" she
confesses. "Rags are not becoming to me. I like dress-up parts best."

Constance Crawley, cousin of Lord Kitchener and well-known tragedienne, is the
latest acquisition of the Universal force. Crowned 'eads comin' our way, bless us !

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tively unequaled. Booklet and catalog free. Kellogg Music Co.
(Dept. 20), 1431 Broadway, New York.

SUCCESC
ECRETO

By Eugene V, Brewster

(Editor of The Motion Picture Story Magazine)

A book that should be read by
every young man and young
woman in America. And it will do
the older ones no harm.

Bright, breezy, snappy, full of epi-
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with ideas for all who are engaged
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struggle for existence.

Second Edition now ready, 15 cents a copy

Mailed to any address on receipt of 15 cents in stamps

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FOR THE LAME

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ope. Eureka Co., Dept. 19, Kalamazoo, Mich, j

Popular Player Contest

of the

Motion Picture Story Magazine

Ten Votes for

170 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

It is whispered, and in a decided stage whisper, too, and not denied, that Edith
Halleren and Bert Angeles have been quietly married, and that they are now enjoying
a surreptitious honeymoon while still pursuing their duties at the Vitagraph.

Carlyle Blackwell's mail is assuming such proportions that he is seriously con-
sidering the hiring of a secretary. Girls — well, we had better not recommend it.

G. M. Anderson is building a large theater in San Francisco. Let us hope that
he will leave out vaudeville and popular songs.

William West, the popular Edison actor, is getting madder every day over the
deluge of inquiries and sympathetic expressions which his wife is receiving. The
papers have contained notices of the death of a William West who has been appearing
in vaudeville, and the picture actor is busy denying that he no longer exists. Like
Mark Twain, he says that the report of his death has been greatly exaggerated.

In a Kalem Western play Marin Sais is rescued from a runaway stage-coach,
which is overturned. Discriminating critics will see that this is no "trick" scene, but
an unusual feat of daring on the part of Miss Sais.

The spring fever has gotten into Yale Boss' blood, and he is now constantly armed
with his trusty ball-glove. He has corraled all the small boys in the neighborhood of
the Edison studio, and takes great pleasure in demonstrating that Rube Marquard is
a rank bush-leaguer compared to the doughty Yale. If McGraw ever hears of this
prodigy, there is little doubt that filmdom will lose one of its young stars.

Mack Sennett, of the Keystone Company, will enter his racer in the Los Angeles
race to San Francisco on July 4th.

Mabel Trunnelle has just been honored with an invitation to become a member
of the English Players' League. Miss Trunnelle is the recipient of many letters. One
recent one from Germany contains this naive request : "Please correspond with me,
so that I may thus learn the English language."

Kalem combined three companies in producing "Shenandoah," and a galaxy of
stars is presented. It is a rare treat to find Guy Coombs, Hal Clements, James Yin-
cent, Henry Hallam, Robert Yignola, Anna Nilsson, Marian Cooper, Marguerite
Courtot and Alice Hollister in the same play.

Gertrude McCoy coyly confesses that she is writing a scenario by herself for
herself, which is to be*produced by Edison soon.

The Yitagraph players are enjoying a good laugh at John Bunny's expense. The
other evening the lions in the menagerie were extra noisy and their roaring could be
heard several blocks away. Some one, who evidently did not recognize the nature of
the noise, telephoned down to the studios and asked that John be wakened up, as his
snoring disturbed the entire neighborhood.

J. Stuart Blackton, president of this magazine and vice-president and secretary
of the Vitagraph Company, left New York for Naples on March 29th, accompanied by
his friend and fellow artist, Carle J. Brenner. They intend to spend the next few
weeks on a sketching tour thru Italy, and will pick up an art treasure or two to bring
home with them. This is the first vacation taken by Mr. Blackton for a considerable
time. He has been working at high pressure and has finally been forced, by the condi-
tion of his health, to take a rest. He expects to return, refreshed and ready for work
again, toward the end of May, as he is scheduled to officiate at the opening of the
Atlantic Yacht Club, of which he is commodore, on May 30th.

Ethel Grandon, of the Universal Company, confesses that she is no sailor. In a
recent water scene she suffered agonies from mal-de-mcr, altho she managed to go
bravely thru her scene.

It is, indeed, "A Splendid Scapegrace" that Marc MacDermott has made out of
Yancey Goree, O. Henry's familiar character in "A Blackjack Bargainer." There
seems to be no limitation to the versatility of MacDermott's work.

Ethel Phillips has just stepped ashore from Australia and is on her way to join
Reliance as a leading lady. She says that pictures made in Uncle Sam's country are
the only ones wanted in the Antipodes.

The Yitagraph Company have discovered an unrecognized cartoonist in their
midst, in the person of Dorothy Kelly. "Dot" causes all sorts of fun with some of her
drawings. A recent one, showing John Bunny and Flora Finch, is called "The Soul
Kiss." It created quite a furore in the studio.

Charles Bailie (Universal) in a recent picture leaps from a rapidly moving horse,
slashes canvas side of flying prairie-wagon, lights six sticks of dynamite and blows
himself up grandly amid splinters of wagon and atmosphere.

Leah Baird will be seen shortly in an interesting love drama, "A Soul in Bondage,"
produced by the Vitagraph Company. In addition to playing the leading part, Miss
Baird is also the author of the play. Several other Vitagraph successes owe their
credit to her fertile imagination. Among them are "The Dawning" and "A Woman."

WESTWARD HO! FOR THE RIDGELYS

Cleo Ridgely and her husband, J. M. Ridgely, who, under the direction of THE MOTION PICTURE STORY
MAGAZINE, are making a horseback trip from New York to San Francisco, Cal., are now at Meridian, Miss.
Their route from now on will be as follows:

Jackson, Miss.
Vicksburg, Miss.
Shreveport, La.
Marshall, Texas
Dallas, Texas

Fort Worth, Texas
Abilene, Texas
El Paso, Texas
Deming, Texas

Tucson, Ariz.
Yuma, Ariz.
San Bernardino, Cal.
Los Angeles, Cal.

Ventura, Cal.
Santa Barbara, Cal.
San Luis Obispo, Cal.
Watsonville, Cal.

Santa Cruz, Cal.
Alameda, Cal.
Oakland, Cal.
San Francisco, Cal.

Indian Chief Red Eagle will accompany the Ridgelys thru the states of New Mexico and Arizona.
Exhibitors desiring to have them appear at their theaters should correspond with us direct.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE, 175 Duffield St., Brooklyn, N.Y.

172

POPULAR PLAYER CONTEST

(Continued from page 118)
Miss Isabel Baily makes a ' ' date ' ' :

I've seen good-looking boys in Plattsburg,
I've seen fine-looking boys from Peru,

But, honest, dear Francis X. Bushman,
They haven't got a single thing on you.

Your dear face is always before me,
No matter where I may go,

So meet me next Saturday evening
At the Motion Picture show.

It would be very pleasant for all concerned if we could print more of the
excellent verses received, but space forbids. However, we shall, with pleasure,
forward to the players themselves all verses that we do not print. We shall
announce soon — probably in the next issue — the character of the prizes and
the date of closing.

HOW TO VOTE

Every reader may vote twice each month, once for a male player and once
for a female player, but two votes cannot be written on the same sheet of
paper — a separate slip or sheet must be used for each player, and it must con-
tain the name and address of the voter, as well as the name of the player voted
for. Those who find the coupons that are elsewhere concealed in this magazine
may enclose as many of them as they can secure, after writing on each the
name of the player only. Those who wish to get up petitions among their
friends may do as follows: Write at the top of the sheet "We, the undersigned,

vote for ■•••>" and then have each voter sign his or

her name and address below, and number them. If our readers will carefully
scan our advertising pages, they will learn something of value, because the
circulation department of this magazine has prepared a plan that will be of
great assistance to those who want to help along their favorites.

We have made a careful count of the ballots just before going to press
with this section of the magazine. We find that there are about 225 players
represented in the ballot-boxes, but we can give only the votes for the leaders,,
which are as follows :

STANDING OF THE LEADING PLAYERS

Alice Joyce (Kalem )

Warren Kerrigan (American)

Earle Williams (Vitagraph)

Arthur Johnson (Lubin)

Carlyle Blackwell (Kalem)

G. M. Anderson (Essanay)

Florence Turner

Ormi Hawley ( Lubin)

Francis Bushman

Maurice Costello (Vitagraph)

Mary Fuller (E (bison)

Edith Storey ( Vitagraph) . . >

Muriel Ostriche (Reliance)

Florence Lawrence

Crane Wilbur (Pathe Freres)

Mary Pickf ord

Florence LaBadie (Thanhouser).. .

E. K. Lincoln (Vitagraph)

Whitney Raymond

Clara Kimball Young (Vitagraph) .

Leah Baird ( Vitagraph)

Adele De Garde (Vitagraph)

Wallace Reid (American)

Marguerite Snow (Thanhouser) . . .

Helen Costello (Vitagraph)

Edwin August ( Vitagraph)

Gwendoline Pates (Pathe Freres)..

Pauline Bush (American)

Ruth Roland (Kalem)

24,498
15,555
15,151

Blanche Sweet (Biograph)

Paul Panzer (Pathe Freres)

Guy Coombs (Kalem)

4,245
4,190
4,178
4,110
4,084
2,978
2,856
2,834
2,822
2,820
2,784
2,775
2,640
2,630
2,613
2,610
1,551
1,535
1,527
1,510
1,462
1,458
1,457
1,423
1,421
1,409
1,374
1,366
1,360

12,781
12,754
12,226
11,207
11,140
11,085

Harry Myers (Lubin)

Gertrude Robinson (Victor)

Betty Gray (Pathe Freres)

Romaine Fielding (Lubin)

Pearl White ( Crystal)

James Morrison

10,883
8,829
8,481

Dolores Cassinelli (Essanay)

Thomas Moore (Kalem)

Leo Delaney ( Vitagraph )

7,622
7,432
7,418
7,411

Gene Gauntier (G. Q. Co.)

James Cruze (Kalem)

Frederick Church (Essanay)

Edna Payne (Lubin)

7,239
7,039
7,014

4,873

Julia Swayne Gordon (Vitagraph) .

Mabel Normand (Keystone)

Benjamin Wilson (Edison)

Howard Mitchell (Lubin)

4,838
4,747

Lillian Walker (Vitagraph)

Eleanor Blanchard

4,635

King Baggot (Imp)

4,481
4,433

Marc MacDermott (Edison)

John Bunny ( Vitagraph )

4,378
4,375
4,360
4,342

Augustus Phillips (Edison)

George Gebhardt (Universal)

Marie Eline (Thanhouser)

Robert Vignola (Kalem)

HELP WANTED

GOTERNMEJfT POSITIONS OPEN TO MEN
ABfD "WOMEN. $90.00 mouth average. Annual vacations.
Short hours. No "lay otfs.'' Parcels Post means many extra
p-stal appointments. "Pull " unnecessary. Farmers eligible.
Write immediately for free list of positions.
FRANKLIJN INSTITUTE, DEP'T N-129. ROCHESTER, N. Y.

SUBSCRIPTION REPRESENTATIVES WANTED

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE
WANTS SUBSCRIPTION REPRESENTATIVES

"y OUNG MAN, would you accept and wear a fine tailor-made
* suit just for showing it to your friends? Or a Slip-on
Rain-coat Free ? Could you use $5 a day for a little spare
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samples, styles and this wonderful offer.

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make up to $500 monthly. Instructive book free,
National Information System, 725, Marietta, Ohio

Railway Mail Clerks Wanted by XT. S. Government
Parcels Post means many extra positions open. $90.00 month
average. Examinations everywhere soon. Sample questions
and list of positions— free.
FRANKLIN INSTITUTE, DEP'T N-129, ROCHESTER, N.'Y.

I WILL START YOU earning $4 daily at home in
spare time, silvering mirrors; no capital. Send for free
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MEN. — Earn $100 to $ ISO monthly investigating; chance
to see the world with all expenses paid. Write, I^oraine
System, Sept. 308, Boston, Mass.

BECOME a Photoplay Actor or Actress.
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It Usually Pays to Read
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The fact that you have read this, indicates that
you read the other announcements in this maga-
zine. That is just what we want all readers to
do; and since you have done so without being
asked, the reward is yours. If you will cut this
out and pin it to a piece of paper containing your
name and address and the name* of your favorite
photoplayer it will count for fifty votes in the
contest announced on page 113 of this magazine.

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C. F. CLARKE «fc CO., Coin Dealers, Box 99, !Le Roy, N. Y.

Most of the high-class, well-regulated
Motion Picture theaters (both* Independent
and Licensed) keep this magazine on sale
for the convenience of their patrons. If it is
not handy for you to buy from your news-
dealer, please ask the girl in the box-office
to supply you every month. The magazine
should be on sale at all theaters on the 1 5 th
of each month.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

175 DUFFIELD STREET, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

175 Duffield Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

Sirs :— Enclosed find $1.50 ($2.00 Canada, $2.50 Foreign), for which send me The Motion Picture

Story Magazine for one year, beginning with the number, together with the

twelve colored art portraits as announced.

Name

Street

City.

State ,

The Clock Puzzle

The April clock cartoon called forth cordial response from all points of the
compass. It would seem that all the editor needs to do is to push the
button and wait for you to do the rest. You have done it so successfully
this time that the hands of the office clock have whirled many, many times
before the editor could finally decide between the numerous excellent titles

submitted to him. The leather book
of photoplayer pictures finally goes to
H. F. Jamison, of Alexander, Arkan-
sas, for his title, " Standard Time."

The two yearly subscriptions have
been awarded to Howard McCauley
for his title, "Perpetual Motion,"
and Albion Johnson, who suggests
' ' The Pit and the Pendulum. ' '

The three prize-winning articles
are printed below, followed by selec-
tions from other clever letters:

STANDARD TIME.

In heaven's blue vault hangs the Motion
Picture Clock. The hour hand of "Prog-
ress" stands between the hours of a
"Grand Success" and the wonderful sound
pictures, while the minute hand of im-
provements revolves, affecting the legiti-
mate theater.

The public pendulum swings, feeling
amply able to filter her photoplays, and
soon will hurl from her entirely the small,
narrow-minded censors, together with the
"knocking" press, scurrilous films, cheap
exhibitors and calamity howlers.

When both hands point to "Perfection,"
then what was once regarded as a huge
joke shall not only continue to entertain
but shall instruct the world as well.

Alexander, Ark. H. F. Jamison,

Operator Western Union Tel. Co., Box 27.

PERPETUAL MOTION.

Like all clocks, this one moves ever onward, never backward; its swaying pen-
dulum derives its motive power from that inexhaustible source — the public desire. Its
longer and swifter hand will travel over and over its course, and with each circle
finished, will have bettered its former beat. The shorter hand will progress until it
reached "Perfection," and even tho where there is perfection there can be no progress,
this clock, like others, cannot run backwards, so neither will there be deterioration.

Then will we have perfection in motion, and motion in perfection, and perpetuality
in both.

346 East 136th St., Bronx, N. Y. C. Howaed McCauley.

THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM.

Slowly, hour after hour, the hands of this clock have gone, and will go their way
until the stroke of twelve ; then they will stop, never to travel over the face of advance-
ment again. The dust in the pit will have settled, and the pendulum's water will shut
itself off automatically.

2922 Champa St., Denver, Colo. Albion Johnson.

THE PULSE OF THE PUBLIC.

A sign of the times in which the public itself, the real "Board of Censors," will
sweep clean Moving Picturedom of scurrilous films, cheap exhibitors, and the other
minor faults which are now hampering it.

614 Clay St., Dubuque, Iowa. Theresa Klein.

LAST CALL

For the Twelve Beautiful Portraits
of Motion Picture Players

FREE TO SUBSCRIBERS ONLY

YY 7ITH the May number of The Motion Picture Story Magazine
we discontinued inserting colored portraits of picture players in
magazines going to subscribers.

These exquisite portraits are lifelike reproductions from photographs in many colors/
and represent the best in the printer's and engraver's art. They are printed on fine
calendered paper of size suitable for framing, and are appropriate in every way for
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least 50 cents each. It is only by printing in large quantities that we are able to make
this exceptional offer:

12 portraits valued at - $6.00 | <._ erfc c , tf1 -n

i u • M.- m. *u • «ti e/* f $7.50 for only $1.50

1 subscription to the magazine, $1.50 )

Dont delay until the supply is exhausted, but order now. Just fill out blank
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Gentlemen: Enclosed please find $1.50 ($2.00 Canada, $2.50 Foreign), for which please send
me THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE for one year, beginning with , 1913,

including the 1 2 colored portraits of Motion Picture Players.

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HOW THEY ARE MADE AND WORKED
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mammoth productions costing $30,000 are staged, and explains how they are man-
aged— the trick pictures among others, some of the most ingenious artifices of the
human imagination. He describes in detail Dr. Commandon's apparatus for making
Moving Pictures of microbes; M. Bull's machine, which takes 2,000 pictures a second,
thereby enabling us to photograph the flight of a bullet through a soap bubble, or
tiny insects on the wing. The combination of X-rays and Cinematography which can
show the digestive organs at work and the new color processes such as the Kinema-
color have received detailed attention. So much that is new appears as we read, so
wonderful are the powers of the invention, that we have a whole new world opened
up before us, with possibilities the like of which the most of us have never even
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July

STORY MAGAZINE

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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

TABLE OF CONTENTS, JULY, 1913

GALLERY OF PICTURE PLAYERS:

PAGE
. . . I

Frances Mason (Essanay)

William A. Williams (Pathe Freres) 2

Alice Joyce (Kalem) 3

Mabel Harris (Lubin) 4

William Clifford (Universal) 5

Lillian Gish (Biograph) 6

Claire McDowell (Biograph) 7

Wallie Van (Vitagraph) 8

Alice Nash (Vitagraph) 8

PAGE

Edna Nash (Vitagraph) 8

Jack Warren Kerrigan (American) 9

Ruth Stonehouse (Essanay) 10

Octavia Handworth (Pathe Freres) 11

Edna May Hammel (Edison) 12

Helen Marten (Eclair) 13

Ray Gallagher (Melies) 14

Edward Dillon (Biograph) 15

Bryant Washburn (Essanay) 16

PHOTOPLAY STORIES:

The Mothering Heart John Olden

A Brother's Loyalty Leona Radnor

The Governor's Double Edwin M. La Roche

For Old Times' Sake Rodothy Lennod

The Weaker Mind Norman Bruce

Mary Stuart Henry Albert Phillips

Out of the Past Karl Schiller

Kelly from the Emerald Isle. Dorothy Donnell

Shenandoah Louis Reeves Harrison

The Judgment of Buddha Peter Wade

Roughing the Cub

17
25
32
42
48
57
67
73
83
93
Courtney Ryley Cooper 101

SPECIAL ARTICLES AND DEPARTMENTS :

When Bunny Appears on the Screen A. B. Shults 66

All Things Are Possible C. W. Fryer 92

Musings of "The Photoplay Philosopher" 109

Popular Player Contest 113

Do You Like Fairies ? William Lord Wright 119

Who Said That Motion Pictures Were Not Educational?... .A. B. Shults 120

Chats with the Players 121

Penographs of Leading Players Kirschbaum and Elton 126

Popular Player Puzzle 127

Greenroom Jottings 129

Answers to Inquiries 132

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

*J. Stuart BIacktor\, President; E. V. Brewster, Sec.-Treas. Subscription, $1.50 a year
in advance, including postage in the U. S., Cuba, Mexico and Philippines; in Canada, $2;
in foreign countries, $2.50. Single copies, 15 cents, postage prepaid. Stamps accepted
(2 or 1 cent stamps only). We do not want scenarios, stories and plots except when
ordered by us; these should be sent to the Photoplay Clearing House (see advertisement).

Subscribers must notify us at once of any change of address, giving both the old and
the new address.

STAFF FOR THE MAGAZINE:
Eugene V. Brewster, Managing Editor. C. W. Fryer, Staff Artist.

Edwin M. La Rochs, ) Accrt~:„+Q tmu,™ Guy L. Harrington, Circulation Manager.

Dorothy Donnell, '/Asso.iate Editors. Ab/am Lott> A|vertising Manager.

Western, and Ne"
Pullen, Bryant .
New York Office (A y): Brunswick Building, 225 Fifth Avenue

and Advertising Representative:
tricks Co., Chicago and Boston.

THE MOTION PICTURE .GAZINE, 175 Duffield St., Brooklyn, N. Y. [LI]

3 □ E

lot

After r:acl; thesi your theater manager to show you the films on the screen !

r -•■■.' ■■"■:."■■"■■■■,

AUCE JOYCE (Kalem)

*%^M&0*

LILLIAN GISH
(Biograph)

claire Mcdowell (BiograPh)

RUTH STONEHOUSE
(Essanay)

OCTAVIA HANDWORTH
(PatU Fr^res)

EDNA MAY HAMEL
(Edison)

BRYANT WASHBURN (Essanay)

JS^sassS^V

MOTION PICTURE

STORY

MAGAZINE

| JULY, 1913 |ip

Vol. V

No. 6

The Mothering Heart

lenng

(Biograph)

By JOHN OLDEN

Years ago a great kingdom was
torn to the bowels with civil
war, and brother rode against
brother into battle, with a prayer or
a curse on their lips and a long-
stemmed rose streaming from their
helmets.

That was years ago, and roses have
not changed — only men. The shiver-
ing lance has given place to the var-
nished cane; the helmet and the
oath have doffed to the top-hat and — ■
with a beggar's choice — the cigaret.
Men's hearts still beat in time, and
out of time, perhaps less stoutly ....
Only roses have not changed.

It was the time of the dry bosom
of summer, and a girl-woman walked
in an old-fashioned garden and
counted, in her heart, the withering
white and red petals that yet re-
mained about her. In martial rows
the thick-stemmed, corn-like holly-
hocks were blushing into summer
bloom ; masses of flame-colored phlox
and border rows of heart 's-ease
flanked the turn of her steps. Trum-
pet-vines clung, like serpents, to the
lower branches of venerable fruit-
trees, giving tawny tongue. Of the
roses, only the soul of years to come
remained.

Two puppies frisked with an empty
soup-can in the sun, barking elation,

growling caution, nosing into its de-
lectable emptiness. The girl watched
their soupless efforts, swooped down
upon them and, tucking one under
each gingham armpit, carried them
to a bench under the grape-arbor that
sheltered the kitchen door. As she
placed a pan of cool milk between
them, their big-dog tactics quelled at
once, and, with pink noses deep in
the pan and baby tongues curling in
and out, they were just puppies
again.

' ' Poor little orphans, ' ' the girl
said, ' ' do you know that your mother
is dead ? And does an empty can and
a milk-pan take her place, I wonder?"

She stroked their heaving backs
caressingly, a mother's look caught in
her slow, gray eyes. As the sun, thru
the arbor, covered her shape with
splotchy light, the swish-swash song
of a rocking churn came to her from
the kitchen. A jay flew by with a
wriggling worm in its mouth.

"All the world's a-mothering, "
smiled the girl.

A currant-bush parted, and eyes
shone thru. Then a quick rush of
feet brought a man to her side.

"It's come, little girl," he panted,
thrusting the pups from the bench —
"my chance, and I'm going to get
twelve dollars a week."

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

" Twelve dollars!" She shook her
head doubtfully. " There isn't that
much money in Faraday — outside of
the bank."

" It 's the city, ' ' he went on — ' ' New
York, where they make dollars grow
in office-gardens and fade them away
overnight. ' '

"I'm afraid," she said wonder-
ingly. "It doesn't sound right."

it's come, little girl, and i'm going
to get twelve dollars a week* "

"Dont be a mole,'
taking her cool hands;

he laughed,

come out in

Twelve dollars — think of

the light,
it!"

"Yes, I'm thinking hard."
"We'll have a wedding," he
asserted; "the good, old-fashioned
kind you've always wanted, right
here with mother — with violin music
and a supper and a chivaree down at
the station."

"Joe, it's all for me!" Her eyes
widened, and her hands went to his

shoulders. "Yes, let's brave it; it's
daring, to be a city wife."

Two weeks afterwards he cut a
way for her thru the rush and roar
of street traffic and led her to the
little all-in-a-row cottage on the city 's
edge. It was his surprise for her.

"You cant turn around in its
yard," he said, as they gazed up at
it, "and the walls are thin as
cornshucks; but it's ours."

"Joe!" The bride's eyes
were wide flashes of gray.

"Stucco," he repeated, clos-
ing his eyes in an effort to
memorize, "half-timbered, par-
quet floors, plate-rail, combina-
tion fixtures — it's all ours."

"Joe!" She looked fright-
ened.

' ' Owning a home is easy, ' ' he
propounded, leading her up the
stoop : ' ' fifty dollars down, and
the rest in the rosy future."

"Twelve dollars a week's a
lot," she said solemnly.

They entered and walked,
hand in hand, thru the tiny
rooms.

"Why, there's no stove!"
she cried, staring forlornly into
the shiny kitchen.

"Gas," he said owlishly;
"in the city people cook, pull
teeth, commit suicide and make
fortunes with just gas."

"I suppose so," she acqui-
esced. "Why, look! There's
room enough for a garden in
back!"

"We have everything," he
said, burying his face tenderly
in her shining hair ; "let 's begin. ' '

For a month of delicious days she
broke his deep sleep at six and met
him, again at six, in front of the
spick-and-span cottage.

"See, Joe, I bought this whole row
of pansies today for fifty cents."

He hugged her young shape to him
thirstily.

"And in the fall I'll put in roses."
"It's a risk, Myrtle," he cautioned,
with rural canniness; "the soil's
about an inch thick."

THE MOTHERING HEART

"Never mind, Joe; I'll mother
them somehow. "

At the supper-table Joe fell sud-
denly solemn. His country appetite
became a thing of city daintiness.
Myrtle watched each slow lift of his
fork.

"It isn't coming out right," he
said abruptly. "I forgot about gas
bills, ice, carfare, and 'most a million
things." He stared at her moodily.
"Tomorrow an installment's due."

"Installment?"

"Yes; on the homestead. Didn't I
tell you I paid only fifty dollars
down?"

"Gracious!" She was thoroly
frightened. "Do you have to pay
more right away ? ' '

He could not help laughing at her
simplicity. ' ' There, there ! dont look
so white. My boss gave me a fat cigar
today, and I'm going to smoke
trouble out with it."

Myrtle sat huddled up, quiet, and
racking her brain over the thing ; and
he watched her fondly.

The next morning, when he had
left, she came to a sudden resolve.
Mrs. Mattoni, whose husband made
rainbow-colored ice-cream under-
ground, somewhere, in carload lots,
lived next door, just four inches
away. Thru the party wall of cin-
ders and wall-paper Myrtle had heard
her emotionally discharge her maid-
of-all-work. The large Mattoni wash
in the yard flew signals of distress at
being deserted in a sodden state, as
Myrtle, big with her idea, ventured
her first social call.

Mrs. Mattoni was delighted with
the idea of being assisted with the
wash. She confessed that she was
worn out from making ice-cream by
hand in a milk-can, in less palmy
days, and that servants, under the
stars and stripes, were brigands, con-
dittore and ingrates. If the little
bride wanted to relieve her of the
wash, she would pay her well and
throw in a brick of " Mattoni 's Nea-
politan Nesseerode."

Myrtle accepted the contract, set
her wash-boiler on the gas, bared her
round arms, and smoothly and tire-

lessly set to work. The Mattonis were
both large, and their pieces were
numerous, but not near formidable
enough to dampen the song in her
heart. For a month Mr. Mattoni
went forth in clean, polished linen
and blessed the industry of his help-
mate. As for Joe, his dinners were
luxurious with vari-colored platters
of frozen dainties, and he supposed
they were made from a magical cook-
book with the remains of a quart of
convalescent milk.

When installment day came relent-
lessly around again, and Joe took to
staring desperately at the wall,
Myrtle opened his fingers and placed
twelve dollar-bills in their lax grasp.

Oh, the delight of helping her big
provider, and the hasty gulping
down of memories of tired arms and
blistered hands and backaches in that
one healing hug of his !

And to cap the climax, Joe came
stumbling in, some few weeks after-
wards, unable to say a word, with his
eyes glued to the money in his hand.

He had made good. His firm- had
begun to either fear or respect him,
he couldn't say which. His salary
had been advanced to the immeasur-
able sum of twenty dollars a week !

"Come, Myrtle!" he shouted, in
pure overjoy. "Get out your old
gray bonnet, and we '11 hike in to the
theater. And after that we '11 take in
one of those cabaret things. No more
' Mattoni 's Nesseerode' for me!"

The vision of eight extra dollars
flew to her light head like wine.

"Four times eight is thirty-two —
thirty-five dollars a month ! Gracious,
Joe, it 's a fortune ! ' '

"I told you I'd make good," he
said prophetically, big with the feel
in him; "I knew it all along. And
there you were mooning around with
the roses and pups and things, and
Joe Humphries working in the grist-
mill. Lord! it makes me sick!"

Four hours later, they worked
their way between the noisy tables of
a big New York "Where to Dine
Well ' ' restaurant : Joe, cocksure, with
the country tan set on his cheeks;
Myrtle, little and slender and shy.

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"Jiminy! look at the prices," he
whispered across a table; "three
dollars for a steak!7'

"I wish I was home," said Myrtle
—"honest, I do."

1 ' You mole ! " admonished Joe,
fiercely, as a waiter hovered near ; " I
haven't eaten since breakfast — I'm a
twenty-dollar man now."

A burst of weird music drowned

"I'm glad that you're glad, Joe."
The orchestra broke in upon them
again, and the mad capers of the
dance went on. Suddenly the man
threw out his arms and sought the
dancer, trying to draw her to him.
The woman slid again and again
under his arms. It seemed to in-
furiate him as well as the orchestra.
He spurred on to new efforts, caught

JOE AGAIN VISITS THE FASCINATING RESTAURANT WITH THE CABARET

PERFORMANCE

out her weak answer, as a man and
his woman, draped in wolf-skin,
leaped upon a little platform. He
flung her from him in elemental fury,
and the orchestra, with a crash, op-
portunely bumped her head upon
the canvas rocks of the cave behind
them. She didn't seem to care and
cavorted round and round him in
half-naked abandon.

Joe paused, with a bite of the
three-dollar steak trailing from his
fork.

"Gee! this is great, Myrtle,"

her by the hair, threw the prize
across his shoulder and ran nimbly
into his cave.

A pretty girl, with hard eyes and
white shoulders, seated near Joe,
almost split her gloves in encore.

"Isn't Slavone magnificent to-
night?" she beamed at her elderly
escort.

"Disgustingly good," he simpered.

"Pshaw! you dont understand!"
Her eyes flashed by him and caught
the rapt, round-eyed stare in Joe's.
As she looked him critically over,

TEE MOTHERING EEART

of
his

from under the tan the red blood
mounted and burned in his face.
Their eyes met for a fleeting instant,
like swords; then dropped again.

"Joe!" It was Myrtle, with her
little lisle glove on his arm. "I dont
think we're ever been up so late
before."

He stumbled after her out
the place, with the whirr of
waiting alarm-clock jangling
out the orchestra.

When Joe left the office the
next day, it was still early,
and he decided to walk part-
way home. His head was hot
and cloudy from the loss of a
country boy 's sleep, and he felt
less than half the vigor of the
' ' twenty-dollar-a-week man"
that overnight had talked so
big to Myrtle.

The table-lights and the
cave-man's music were still
glimmering and echoing in him
uneasily, and the stucco cot-
tage seemed just a bit less
magnificent, somehow.

Joe swung into a broad, tree-
lined avenue, flanked with
stone mansions and pestifer-
ously alive with autos and taxi-
cabs. A canary-colored one
had passed him slowly, then
drawn up to the curb.

' ' Rats ! ' ' soliloquized Joe;
"that dance was a little too
much, after all. No sane man
would fall for a woman the

voice trailed off in delicious laughter
as clear as bird-notes.

Joe got into the machine. There
wasn't any harm in taking a girl to
her doting father, and, besides, she
liked him ; there was no getting away
from that, the way she looked at him
— she liked him thru and thru.

In the beating of a heart, or a
million rapid beats, he sat by her

wav

ITS

A girlish, beautiful face
smiled at him from a yellow
taxi by the curb, and he wondered
where he had seen her before.

Yes, it was the girl of the cabaret,
and she was smiling straight at
him!

Joe stopped short, blushed fiery
red and longed for something to sit
down on or to kick at.

Was she making all kinds of a fool
of him? Then he thought he heard
her voice. Would he escort her to
Minime's? Her father would be
waiting there for her, and — well, you
know, she could not enter alone. Her

NO USE, JOE; I DONT FEEL ANYTHING
BUT JUST SAD' "

side in the restaurant. He felt a part
of the place now ; equal to it ; a man
of the world, ready for her good-by
and her father's thanks.

But no fond father came ; only the
music and the capering dance again,
and he began to realize that she had
played a huge joke on him. She was
clever and beautiful and interested in
him, so he had better let it pass.

It was past eight when the stucco
cottage and Myrtle, with her hands
folded, crashed down on him. There
would be a dinner in the gas-oven,

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

and after that, Mattoni's Nesseerode,
and always Myrtle with her hands
folded till he came.

Joe got up suddenly and left the
beautiful lady, with a stony look
chasing the soft one from her bril-
liant eyes. He knew how to fling a
quarter to the hat-boy now, and say
good-night to the doorman, like a
regular New Yorker.

It was sultry out, and he folded
his overcoat over his arm, as if tuck-
ing his little digression away with it.
Out under the quiet stars, his sudden

TO SEE MYRTLE BENDING OVER THE
CRIB '■ '

interest in fatherless girls didn't look
quite right, and he resolved to tell
Myrtle nothing about it. It might be
well to tell her that the office ex-
pected a lot more of him for twenty
dollars, and let her draw her own
conclusions.

But she had been brought up in a
country where little girls dont draw
conclusions, nor split inferences, and
unfolded her hands, night after night,
to fling them around his shoulders.

After a while she quit getting
dinner and busied her hands with
sewing on bits of baby-things — hands

that had stopped and clasped like
clock-hands when she had heard his
step.

And then came a day, with her first
back-yard rose-gift in his overcoat
buttonhole, that she pulled a pair of
scented elbow-gloves from his pocket
and knew, with wide gray eyes, that
Joe no longer loved her.

It was Sunday, and Joe lay asleep
in their room above. Myrtle cast the
poisonous gauntlets away from her
and fell on her knees, to pray first
for Joe, then for their baby, a
little for herself, and then more for
Joe.

She understood the shy, tender
looks Mrs. Mattoni had given her,
now, and the long hours of the twenty-
dollar-a-week man. Joe would always
be Joe — boisterous, blustering Joe,
but she could never lay her cheek
against his again.

He came cluttering down the stairs,
and, with her first look, knew that
something had happened. There was
the old mothering look in her eyes,
but not for him.

"I'm going home, Joe!"

A thousand words struggled to his
lips ; his masterful way with her
came over him.

"It's no use, Joe." Her face be-
came quite hard. "I dont feel any-
thing but just sad."

He followed her to the door, but she
didn't turn, and her little figure,
carpet-bag in hand, walked resolutely
out of his life.

Then the day came, as it will to all
Joes not yellow to the heart, that the
twenty-dollar-a-week boy longed for
her bitterly, and over a bank full of
dollars, with the riot that runs with
them, could not tempt him from
hoarding the heart-look in her gray
eyes that she had once given him
freely.

Three months had almost gone, and
Joe had twice slammed the door in the
face of the installment-man.

The bedclothes lay tossed and un-
slept in. Under his blundering
fingers, the shiny kitchen became a
smudge of dirty dishes and empty
cans. With Myrtle's busy body, the

THE MOTHERING HEART

AH, FATHERING HEART, WHAT WAS SOILED IN YOU WAS MADE CLEAN AGAIN

spirit of orderliness and home-com-
fort had served their walking-papers
on the sleepless man.

A resolution — something big — was
sapping and mining deep down in
him, and with the first answer to his
many letters to Faraday, the thing
exploded with a roar.

' ' And now that the baby has come,
perhaps she will listen to yon," her
mother's note said, and, with the
words, Joe became his old, reliant self
again.

"I'll rnn down and see the little
mothering heart soon. Perhaps — who
knows — she'll take me in. And the
baby — why, I'm its father; it's my
son. It's Myrtle's and Joe's." He
trembled at the thought. "She's just
got to let me see it."

Ah, fathering heart! "What are
you worth? Not enough to cut the
city's smoke thru to Faraday and to

see Myrtle bending over the crib of
month-old little Joe.

Yes, she called him Joe, knowing
that what was soiled in you was made
clean again in him.

And now, Joe, your son is very ill,
and Myrtle has counted his breaths
and read his eyes for days and nights,
and you do not know.

And now, Joe, if you could only
see. She is staring down into the
little well of a crib where her soul lies
— and it is still. And the old doctor
tries to take her hand and lead her
away, but she does not know that he is
even there.

Come, Joe, it's time for you to be
with her, for the little mother has
stood more than life calls for, and her
reason is in danger.

Dont break in on her so suddenly,
Joe, and try so to assert your father's
rights. Let her mother lead her from

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"to fight her life battle out, alone, among the roses"

the room, to fight her life battle out,
alone, among the roses in the garden,
in a frenzy of exalted hate and love

and sorrow. And you, Joe, humble
yourself before your silent image,
and hers, in the cradle there.

The Tired Business Man

By E. S. L. THOMPSON

The tired business man

To the Motion Picture goes,

For he knows the stories can

Soothe his cares and heal his woes.

And he takes his tired wife,
And his restless children, too.

It's the medicine for strife
That the business man doth view.

And he sees his neighbor there,
With a laugh and with a tear,

For dim doubt and rusty care
Haven't any business here.

'Tis the sob that ends in smile,
Where the Motion Picture gleams,

In the glorious afterwhile
On the screen of hopes and dreams.

(essM

Hal Burroughs leaned on his bil-
liard-cue and patiently waited
for two of the players to settle
their dispute over a ' ' scratch. ' '

"GVan! Spot a ball!" clamored
one, red-faced, domineering.

The other retorted, between oaths,
that he was not responsible for the
cue-ball's slipping into a pocket.
"You touched it with your hand.
That's what did it, and you know
it ! " he shouted.

The first one bore down upon him
threateningly. "You're a liar!" he
screamed, swinging his cue down
upon the other's head.

The next moment they were send-
ing their fists into each other's faces.
Seeing that the dispute was taking a
serious turn, Hal Burroughs threw
himself into the midst of the trouble
and tried to separate the combatants.

"Leave 'em alone!" "Dont you
go butting in ! " " Here 's the police ! ' '
he heard about him. Then he was
caught roughly by the collar and
jerked to one side. The fighting
ceased and quiet succeeded the din as
the police singled out the main
offenders against law and order. Hal
explained his share in the brawl, and,
corroborated by his friend, Tom
Graham, and by others, he was
allowed to depart.

Out on the street, he dabbed at a
wound on his forehead.

"Have I much of a cut there?" he
asked Tom.

Tom examined it. "No," he an-

swered ; "a nasty swipe, but not
deep."

" If it were only a scratch, it would
look mortal to Jennie. She doesn't
want me to go to that place, any-
way, and I should have thought twice
before mixing up in that fight." He
dabbed furiously at the bleeding
wound.

"You're lucky that you weren't
pulled in for the night. That detect-
ive acted as if he hated to let you
go," remarked Tom.

"He sure did cast a covetous eye
on me, ' ' laughed Hal. ' ' I almost gave
up hope of convincing him. ' '

"Dont be so sure he's convinced of
your innocence. He gave you a sour
parting look, and if he ever catches
you in another rumpus you wont
stand a chance. So keep out of
trouble, old boy."

' ' Thanks for the good advice, but I
aint looking for trouble. And I've
always got away from any I ran
into," answered Hal. "Well, here I
am home. Good-night."

He went slowly up the stairs to his
apartment, rather dreading to face
Jennie. Like all fond wives, she
was so easily alarmed at the slightest
mishap to him, magnifying it and
using it as a demonstration of the
necessity for caution. Jennie was
very, very dear to him, but he simply
could not bring himself to adopt her
views as to the snares that were set
for his careless feet. A man has to
have some recreation after his day's

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

work is done. Pool-playing was his
choice of amusement; and while
Joe's Billiard Parlor was known as
the haunt of several shady characters,
it was conveniently located for Hal
and Tom, and until this evening
their game had proceeded without
disturbance of any kind. But Jennie
had always tried to dissuade him
from going there, claiming that she
felt sure that "something would
happen." Nothing much had hap-
pened, but as he dabbed at his swollen
brow with his stained handkerchief,
he braced himself to meet his wife.

"When he opened the door into the
living-room, two voices greeted him
with alarmed inquiries, and a tall
figure, in the garb of a minister, fol-
lowed Jennie as she rushed to her
husband.

"Hello, Paul!" exclaimed Hal, a
warm note of affection in his voice.
"It's good to see you, old chap !"

Then kissing Jennie, he smiled at
her anxiety. "Nothing at all, dear;
a mere scratch. If you'll get a basin
of warm water, I'll let you bandage
it up and make a fuss over me. ' '

As she left the room, the young
men faced each other, eye searching
eye. As they stood thus, except for
the difference in their clothes, they
were exact counterparts. Accustomed
as they were to the mysterious bond
of twinship and their startling re-
semblance to each other, there were
occasions when the fact was reim-
pressed upon them with a little shock.
This was one of those occasions. They
had not been much together lately.
Paul's work in his pastorate and
among his poor left him little leisure.
Hal's position in a business house
kept him downtown all day, and in
the evenings he had small inclination
to seek his brother in the missions or
settlements where he spoke words of
hopefulness and cheer to the wrecked
and the down-trodden.

Now, as they stood reading each
other's thought, they realized that
they had put leagues between them.
The old love was there ; the old sym-
pathy was there ; the old loyalty was
there. But the mental and spiritual
processes thru which they had passed,
in such differing degrees, had robbed

HAL EXPLAINED HIS SHARE IN THE BRAWL AND WAS ALLOWED TO DEPART

A BROTHER'S LOYALTY

them of the congenial comradeship of
their boyhood and their infancy. Hal
had the uneasy feeling that Paul was
his superior, while not envying him
that superiority. Paul, alive to a
certain constraint in his brother,
longed to get back on the old footing
by making life and its deep problems
of interest to the pleasure-loving Hal.
He sometimes despaired of such a
consummation, and at times was op-
pressed with a foreboding of ill that
stretched forth wraith-like arms to-
ward his twin.

He listened to Hal's account of
the fight, and his face grew very
serious.

"Be more careful of your asso-
ciates, my boy," he admonished, "or
the consequences may be more serious
another time."

Jennie bustled in with a basin and
bandages, and Paul refrained from
saying more. Hal acknowledged the
advice lightly, as he submitted to
Jennie 's deft and loving hands.

"My dear Paul," he laughed,
"there isn't the least danger of any-
thing happening again. ' '

Looking at him, Paul had a vision
of a long perspective of Hal's dwind-
ling thru the knickerbocker stage to
the pinafore regime, and always Hal
was laughing and care-free. . He in-
terrupted Paul's retrospection by re-
marking quizzically: "You should
reprimand me for playing the peace-
maker ! Why, I 've heard you preach
a sermon on the blessedness of peace-
makers ! ' '

' ' Peacemaking, ' ' retorted Paul,
"should, like charity, begin at home.
You have a wife and a child to con-
sider. You are not contributing to
their peace and happiness when you
spend your evening in a questionable
resort and return to them injured."

"You're right again, Paul," Hal
remarked ruefully. "I never looked
at it in that light. I'll be more care-
ful after this. Sure I will, Jen," he
added, turning impulsively and tak-
ing her in his arms.

By his promise to be more careful,
Hal did not mean that he would not
visit the billiard parlor again. He

stayed away for several evenings, and
then, when he dropped in expecting
to meet Tom, he found only strangers
in the place. They hailed him and
invited him to join them. His con-
science heard a faint warning cry,
but the click of the ivory spheres
drowned it, and he was soon en-
grossed in the games. They were
playing for money, and Hal won
steadily. When the game was
finished, his score netted him four
dollars. These were given to him in
crisp, new bills by the young man
who had been his opponent. Tho
elated at his good luck, Hal had no
desire to test it further, for he could
ill afford to have the points count up
against him. He left immediately,
resolving not to be caught again, and
started homeward. He stepped into
a cigar store for a box of cigarets.
When he came out, he casually
noticed two men, one in police uni-
form, standing near the door talking.
Had he turned, he would have seen
them looking after him, and he would
have recognized in one the detective
who had reluctantly let him go on
the occasion of the fight.

Hal had been at home perhaps half
an hour. He had little Etfie on his
knee, telling her a bed-time story.
Jennie sat by the table sewing. She
glanced up to exclaim, laughing,
"What nonsense you do put into that
child's head!" Just then they were
startled by a hurried knocking at the
door. Little Effie whimpered and
clung to Hal. He placed her in
Jennie's arms and opened the door.
Tom Graham, breathless from hard
running, almost fell into the room.

"What's the matter, Tom?" asked
Hal.

"Did you go into a cigar store this
evening?" gasped Tom.

"Why, yes; I went into Martin's
and bought a box of cigarets. ' '

' ' What did you give in payment ? ' '

"A dollar bill — one of these," he
explained, drawing the new bills
from his pocket.

"Good Lord!" groaned Tom.
"Where did you get them?"

"At the billiard parlor, from a

TEE MOTION PIC TV RE STORY MAGAZINE

thin young fellow in gray," an-
swered Hal in bewilderment, but
scenting a calamity. "Why?" he
queried.

"They're phoney!" said Tom.
"Martin came running out of his
store with the bill after you left.
That detective that wanted to run
you in the other night happened to
be outside, so Martin showed him the
bill and described you. Grady, the
detective, came around to the billiard
parlor looking for you. He asked Joe
if you had passed any off on him, and
Joe found a phoney bill in his cash
register. You can imagine the ex-
citement ! And now they are on their
way to arrest you. I got out ahead
of them to warn you. So run while
you've got the chance!"

"Run!" exclaimed Hal, with in-
dignation. "I am innocent, and I
can prove it."

"You can prove nothing!" said
Tom. "You passed a counterfeit bill.
You still have some in your posses-
sion. If you are arrested, it means
prison."

"Oh, Hal!" sobbed Jennie, terri-
fied, "you mustn't let them arrest
you!"

"Get away and keep out of sight
for a while," urged Tom. "They'll
keep on digging, and they'll finally
get the right man. But you'll have
to stay on the outside of the prison
if you expect to prove your inno-
cence. So run to cover somewhere,
or it will be too late ! ' '

"Go, Hal, for my sake and
baby's!" pleaded Jennie, with her
arms about his neck.

The thought of Paul flashed into
Hal's mind. He would go to him.

"All right, Jennie; I'll go. Be a
brave girl. Everything will come
outright," he said, hastily embracing
her and the baby.

He followed Tom to the street,
caught a passing car, and, after a
short ride, swung off and bounded up
the stairs to Paul's apartment.

"Escape?" repeated Paul, when
he had heard the story. "Do you
realize how foolishly you are talking?
There is no escape. You might elude

them for a time, but they would get
you."

"It will break Jennie's heart,"
said Hal. He sank down miserably
into a chair, at last aware of the
hopelessness of his position. The
snares had tripped his careless feet.
The warnings he had made merry
over were now so clearly justified he
wondered that he had ever ignored
them. He heard his brother's voice
speaking calmly thru the throbbing
tumult of the self-arraignment.

"Yes," Paul was saying, "that is
the only way. It does not spare her
or us the disgrace, but you will, at
least, be able to remain near her.
And it will give you time to run the
guilty man to earth and prove that
you are innocent."

"That's all I need," declared Hal,
hope again flaring up. "I should lie
in wait for that fellow and make him
own up to giving me those bills.
What is the way you mean?"

"I shall take your place," replied
Paul.

"No!" cried Hal, sharply, as tho
in sudden pain.

Paul placed his hands affection-
ately upon his brother's shoulders.
"It is the only way," he repeated,
' ' and for Jennie 's and Effie 's sakes it
must be done. ' '

"Oh, I cant! I cant!" protested
Hal.

"The detectives will come here
from your house," Paul reminded
him. "So we must be ready. Come
into the bedroom."

There they exchanged clothes.
When the detective arrived, Paul was
ready to accompany him. Hal began
a last frantic appeal, but, with firm-
ness and tenderness, Paul made him
feel that his sacrifice was not the
harder part. As the door closed
upon him, Hal sank into a chair and
covered his face with his hands. Be-
tween his fingers trickled the agoniz-
ing tears of one who has been insen-
sate and is beginning to feel, who has
been blind and is beginning to see.

Several months had passed. Paul,
convicted, was serving his sentence.

A BROTHER'S LOYALTY

He was not making a martyrdom of
his noble sacrifice. With dignity and
patience, he submitted to the routine
of the prison. He was soon noted as
a good prisoner. He rose further in
the estimation of the prison authori-
ties when, while basket-weaving, he
prevented a murderous attack upon
the contractor who was inspecting
the work. A vicious prisoner, with
some fancied grievance
against the man, raised his
knife to stab him in the
back. Paul grasped the
prisoner's arm and
wrenched the knife away.
For this he was highly
commended and granted
extra privileges. Upborne
by an exalted sense of hav-
ing done what was clearly
a duty to save his brother,
and exulting in the thought
that Hal was proving him-
self worthy of the sacrifice,
he chafed less in his im-
prisonment than Hal in his
freedom.

Paul's mantle had settled
upon his brother's shoul-
ders with an ease that the
latter marveled at. Grown
serious-minded and rever-
ent, he could almost at-
tribute the facility with
which he took up Paul's
work to the latter 's spirit-
ual presence.

1 ' I feel as if he were be-
side me, telling me what to
do and say, ' ' he confided to
Jennie, with new, high hope.

He went often to the billiard par-
lor and talked to the young men
there, trying to draw them to the
clubrooms where there would be no
dangerous associations.

One evening the man for whom he
had waited and watched entered the
room. Hal noticed that he glanced
furtively about, then exchanged a
significant look with the proprietor.
He passed quickly into a rear room.
Hal knew this to be a wash-room. He
followed quickly, but, to his astonish-
ment, the room was empty.

Dumbfounded, he searched in every
possible place in the room, high and
low, but in vain. Where could the
man have gone? There was no other
exit save the one thru which he had
entered, therefore the man must still
be there somewhere. He tapped the
walls for false doors, but they all gave
back a solid sound. He then turned
his attention to the floor. Ah ! a clean

PAUL GRASPED THE PRISONER S ARM
AND WRENCHED THE KNIFE AWAY"

crack! Yes, another — and another.
On hands and knees, Hal felt along
the flooring for the hidden spring that
he now knew was there and which
probably connected with a trap-door.
His search was rewarded, and he now
plainly saw the lines that marked the
four sides of the concealed opening.
Thinking it inadvisable to make an
entry alone, he hastened out and
called up the police station. Police-
men and detectives were soon in the
parlor. The opening of the trap-
door was followed by a fusillade of

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

shots. These ceased suddenly, and
Hal ventured down into the cellar. It
proved to be a den, with a table and
chairs and a small press, such as a
counterfeiter might use. Huddled
against the table was the young man.
His face was ashen from pain and
fear. He was wounded, perhaps

the prisoner's, and his voice shook
with emotion.

"If you have any heart; if you
have any sense of fairness; if you
want to go hence with a conscience
cleansed of this great wrong you
have done, tell these men that you
passed those bills on an innocent man

GROWN SERIOUS-MINDED AND REVERENT, HAD TOOK UP PAUL'S WORK"

fatally, but the detectives snapped
the handcuffs on.

"Dont move him, please," cried
Hal.

The detectives turned inquiringly
toward him. ' ' May I question him ? ' '
he asked. "It is very important."

"Certainly, sir," they answered.

"You remember," said Hal, turn-
ing to Grady, "that my brother was
convicted for possessing and passing
counterfeit bills. This is the man
who gave them to m — to him."

Hal's face was almost as ashen as

that evening," he exhorted the
prisoner.

For a moment the young fellow
looked with defiance upon the faces
crowding about him. Then meeting
Hal's haggard and pleading eyes, he
said: "I did it, all right. That guy
is innocent."

With a choking cry, Hal rushed
from the den. The cross was lifted
from his shoulders; he could once
more look to the future with hope
and joy.

Paul's release followed speedily.

A BROTHER'S LOYALTY

IF YOU HAVE ANY SENSE OR ANY HEART, TELL THESE MEN THAT YOU
PASSED THOSE BILLS ON AN INNOCENT MAN"

Hal was waiting for him in the ward-
en's room. As they clasped hands,
Paul looked searchingly into his
brother's eyes. What he read there
satisfied him, for, with a smile of in-
effable sweetness, he threw his arm
about Hal's shoulder in the old
boyish gesture of affection.

"It sometimes takes an upheaval
to bring the gold to the surface," he
reflected.

So they walked out from the prison
shadows, the heart of each a-quiver
with emotion, and in Hal 's, something
that made it big for evermore — a rev-
erent gratitude for a brother 's loyalty.

C*«^1

To All of Them

By EFFIE LENORE TRIPLAND

Dear picture-faces on the screen,

I love you one and all ;
You cheer me when my heart is sad,

Sometimes cause tears to fall.
For sitting here in silence wrapped,

I watch you come and go,
And all the things you seem to do

I see and feel and know.
My spirits rise and fall with yours,

I breathe now swift, now slow ;
My heart has known those sorrows seen

At every picture show.
Weary with little tasks of life,

I turn to thee at night;

Then drift away from every care,

With pleasure and delight.
How I would love to clasp your hand

And say here stands a friend,
One who will ever constant be,

Till sun and moon shall blend.
You may not know, you cannot tell

What seeds you plant, unseen,
To blossom in some tired heart

That sits before the screen.
For nothing in this world has rilled

That void the whole world feels,
Like love and dreams and simple life

That spin from off the reels.

It was the day after the end of the
session at 0 , and the aisles of

the Assembly Chamber were lit-
tered with a top-soil of confetti,
crushed roses, peanut shells and bits
of abandoned documents — the detri-
tus of a brain-racking midnight
wind-up of things legislative. The
hands of the big clock above the
clerk 's desk still clasped resignedly at
twelve. They had been set back so
often, in the last feverish hours,
that a decision to clasp and stop at
twelve was finally come to.

From the foot of the serpentine
causeway that led up to the Capitol,
the breath of a laboring auto came to
the ears of uniformed doormen, and
presently a jaunty, claret-colored
limousine swept up to the entrance,
and a liveried chauffeur sprang off his
seat to unprison the visitors.

A slim girl stepped out, barely over
twenty, with a thicket of well-groomed
black hair and vermeil-tinctured lips
that set off her white skin.

"Come, Daddy/' she urged the
failing, middle-aged man who fol-
lowed her, "I want to bowl Roger
over with just two words: April
twenty-fifth."

"Carefully, Phyllis; he may yet be
closeted with some of his officials."

"A fig for his red tape," she
laughed, picking her quick way thru
the litter; "the affairs of a sovereign
state should give way before a mar-
riage date."

The silk of her fashionable skirt
swished thru the empty corridor and
stopped before a heavy, carved door.
All sound was deadened from within,
and, with some timidity, her gloved
hand beat upon it.

"Come in!" declared a tired, bass
voice, and instantly Phyllis had
turned the knob and stood in the
Governor's office.

The intruder walked thru an aisle
of drooping floral pieces, with the
fallen rose-petals whirling about her
skirts, and stood before a flat-topped
desk. Back of a hedge of bills and
documents sat a big, square-shoul-
dered, dark-eyed man, who rose up
nervously to greet her.

"Why, Roger, you look like the
wayward girl behind the ' select
school' walls," the girl cried.

"It's graduation day," he de-
clared, taking her hands. "See all
my flowers."

TEE GOVERNOR'S DOUBLE

"From nameless lady admirers, I
suppose,'' Phyllis insinuated.

The Governor bent to kiss the
slander from her red lips; then, his
eye catching the shrinking figure of
her companion, he coughed apologeti-
cally and patted her shoulder instead.

An answering cough came from
among the flowers, and a voice.

"Howdy-do, Roger? I'll be back
presently." And the intelligent Mr.
Dawson's steps were heard faltering
down the corridor. A moment of
silence, and the big man had taken
the girl in his arms.

"Phyllis, you rascal, what's on
your mind?"

"You, dear; this is a careless mo-
ment in my daily grind."

The Governor laughed. "Shoot
straight," he implored; "my back is
against the wall. ' '

"April twenty-fifth — less than four
weeks," she pronounced solemnly,
her finger leveled at his heart.

"April twenty-fifth!" he repeated
meaninglessly. ' ' April ' '

"Our wedding-day, you spoiled
child of the peepul. " She discharged
the words at him as if emptying a
magazine-gun.

1 ' Phyllis, you exquisite rogue ! " he
cried. "Could anything be happier
news than this ! ' '

The Governor stood over her, hold-
ing her close, drinking in the sparkle
of her eyes.

' ' Listen ! ' ' she warned, pressing
him away. "I hear footsteps — it's
just like the stage."

A confusion of sounds echoed up
the corridor, and a delegation of
citizens, hat in hand, stood in the
Governor's doorway.

Roger squeezed her hands cruelly,
and, as she swung toward the door,
the waiting committee made a pas-
sage for her.

"AVont you come in, gentlemen?"
asked the Governor.

As the delegation filed up to his
desk, with considerable solemnity, he
noticed several of the prominent men

of 0 among them. They grouped

themselves formally before him.

"Gentlemen," suggested the Gov-

ernor, "the legislature, as you know,
adjourned last night; whatever you
have to say to me must be in my
capacity of private host, and I ask
you all to draw chairs and make
yourselves at home."

There was no move made, and the
Governor felt the ice thickening.

At length, amid considerable cough-
ing, a stout, elderly man, with a gen-
erous crop of perspiration on his
forehead, addressed the Governor.

"This committee," he began, in
the manner of a first-year Assembly-
man, "has taken it upon itself to call
upon you to direct your attention to
the flagrant abuses in our State
prison's system."

"I concede them all," said the
Governor.

The spokesman looked troubled at
this statement, but went on: "It is
not alone the report of the Investi-
gating Committee, nor the voice of
the pulpit and the press in a matter
of "

"I heartily agree with everybody,"
interrupted the Governor, picking up
a document, "and I regret that 1
cannot speak with less apparent
naivete. ' '

A silence of incomprehension fell
upon the committee and its orator.

"Your record of fearless justice,"
began again the stout gentleman, "is
conclusive ' '

"Of nothing whatsoever," said the
Governor, deliberately putting on his
hat. "Gentlemen, I thank you for
your interest in the matter. At
present your emotions and my actions
are hopelessly at sea."

The baffled delegation filed out
solemnly again, with the chapfallen
message-bearer wiping his brow in his
hour of need.

Governor Edgerton waited barely
until they had left the Capitol before
he arrived at a sudden decision.
With his silk hat still pulled down in
desperation across his eyes, he walked
rapidly down the flight of entrance-
steps and across the square to the
Supreme Court House.

He entered a chamber of classic re-
finement, to find a whispy, little, old

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

gentleman, in the flowing robe of a
judge, seated at his reading-desk.

"Dear old Billy Hough," greeted
the Governor, "I've caught you
again boning at the law, like a student
up for exams."

The old gentleman smiled and
nodded Edgerton to a seat.

"A chip of the old block, Roger,"
he said ; ' ' always bringing your little
joke."

"That sounds reasonable — for you.
And then what?"

"In two weeks you will see that
I'm discharged. It's a labor of two
months, but the fact is, little Phyllis
Dawson has decided to marry me.
She has set the date, and my sentence
has got to be "

"Roger, you infernal joker, tell
me what you're driving at."

Edgerton patted the judge's thin

"Yes, I am bringing a little joke,"
repeated the Governor, softly; "the
richest, the queerest, the largest joke
since the time you swore before the
dominie you would not be my god-
father."

The judge's little, blue eyes
twinkled in reminiscence. "You're a
great responsibility, Roger, for a man
of my tame habits. But the joke,
Roger; I was forgetting the joke."

Roger Edgerton leaned forward
and, with each word, tapped the
judge impressively on the knee: "I
want you to send me to State prison. ' '

chest, a trick of his as a boy when he
wanted something. "They're after
me again," he explained, "the lead-
ing citizens ; and I know that crooks
are buying their way out and buying
themselves from getting in, thru per-
jured alibis, every hour of the twenty-
four. And the Citizens' Committee
know that I know it. I told them so."
The Governor stopped, to breathe
deeply. "But I didn't tell them that
some of the biggest bosses of my own
party were in the ring, and that I
suspected them. See my point?"
The judge nodded. The Governor

THE GOVERNOR'S DOUBLE

went on : " Now comes the seriousness
of my joke. I can never investigate
this thing from the outside, without
pulling down my party — perhaps a
country-wide calamity. I prefer to
see things for myself — from the in-
side. And after that, perhaps, some
sudden resignations."

"Boger." said the judge, after a
moment's thought, "I believe your
plan a sound tho startling one.
What kind of a criminal do you want
to be?"

" Burglary appeals to me," said
Edgerton, promptly; "it's bold,
smacks of romance, and is perfectly
harmless compared with some of the
stuff pulled off in the Capitol."

"It would be better," advised the
judge, "if the police were concerned
in this. They could catch you fla-
grante delicto — red-handed at some
job."

"I leave the legal end entirely in
your hands," said the Governor, ris-
ing. "My secretary is waiting for
my signature to a deskful of papers.
Call me up at seven. ' '

Back in his office, Edgerton glanced
thru one document after another,
then rapidly signed them.

"What's this?" he asked, picking
up a typewritten packet of many
folios..

"A pardon," said his secretary,
"with a transcript of the case."

"I remember — a chap named
George Brown. Here goes." Edger-
ton affixed his signature. "An ordi-
nary, clever crook, with quite a
career as a gentleman between lapses
from grace. Technically called a
'porch-climber.' Yes, I'm going to
let him out. From a careful review
of the evidence I think this particular
case was a ' frame-up ' against him. ' '

"Hello! it's six — let's be shutting
up shop. Harry," the Governor in-
structed, "I'm going away for two
weeks. Where and when, it's no-
body's business. If the crowd here
and the papers burst a blood-vessel
trying to account for me, simply join
in the hue and cry."

With a quick handshake, he was
gone, and the pale secretary stared

after his broad shape in tongue-tied
bewilderment.

At seven o'clock the extension tele-
phone rang in Edgerton 's study, and
a man wearing a dirty white sweater
and a visored cap rose up to answer it.

' ' That you, Judge ? — go ahead. Yes,
I hear: Federal Steamship Line's
office, at nine o'clock. Police will be
waiting? How handy! They think
this is a bona fide job, you say ? That 's
different? By the way, my new
name's Fritz Swartz, alias Black
Dutch. Get me? Good-by till we
meet in court."

At the other end of the wire the old
judge hung up the instrument, with
a sigh and a contradictory shaking of
his head; but the man in the dirty
sweater switched out his light, turned
the key in his door, lit a cigar and
smiled down at the street from his
window.

The water-front of 0—

■ is, as a

rule, a deserted place at night, with
its warehouses shuttered and black,
and only a word here and there to
greet an intruder, as some cheap
saloon's door bursts open and, in the
flare of light, a string of profanity or
a sodden song streams out.

The office of the Federal Steamship
Line was a busy place by day, sur-
rounded by longshoremen and team-
sters, but at night it lay, like its
watchman, asleep and undisturbed.

On this particular night, at a
quarter to nine, the industry of the
white-sweatered man, who pried his
jimmy under the office window-sash,
was unlawful but highly effective.
He succeeded in snapping the sash-
lock, raised the sash and started to
climb within.

No one but the harbor police pa-
trolled the water-front, and the un-
usual sound and sight of a shrill
whistle and three bluecoats on the
run, closing in on him, held him
spellbound with admiration.

Heavy hands closed around his
collar; his windpipe suddenly con-
tracted to nothingness, and a night-
stick beat a heavy tattoo on his
shoulders.

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

The man turned and faced his cap-
tors, with a look of injured innocence.
A street-lamp flashed in his eyes. For
an instant the pressure on his throat
went slack, and the bluecoat stared
stupidly at him.

"It's Big Brown!" he exclaimed.
' ' I thought he was 'up th ' river. ' '

Then the choking fist began its
work again, and the bracelets were
snapped on his wrists.

"You're lucky, Casey; there's a
stripe on your coat for this, sure. ' '

"Smash him and send for th'
wagon, darlin ' — it 's got to be done up
in style."

The prisoner felt the whirr of a
stick behind him and, afterwards, the
clang of a patrol-wagon bell bruised
into his senses. A street-woman
started to sing "Waltz Me 'Round,
Willie," as they lifted him into the
wagon. "Phyllis," he groaned, to
the jolts of the wheels on the cobble,
"if you could only see me now — if
you could "

The courtroom was crowded with
the usual filling of bums, bench-
warmers and usurious Jew bondsmen
as the prisoner was led in for sen-
tence. The pimply-faced lawyer, who
had been assigned to his defense,
yawned over the eloquence of his
efforts and its foregone conclusion.

"Prisoner to the bar!" called out
the clerk, and instantly all was
silence.

' ' Have you anything to say in your
own behalf?"

His guard nudged him. " No ! "
spoke up the man, somewhat rebel-
liously.

"Fritz Swartz, alias Black Dutch,"
pronounced the severe little judge,
"you have been tried and found
guilty of burglary in the first degree.
The circumstances under which you
were discovered by the police, in the
act of forcible entry, and your resist-
ance to the officers of the law, makes
your crime a serious one in the eyes
of this community. I sentence you to
five years at hard labor in State
prison, and may you learn your les-
son and become a useful citizen. ' '

The judge 's voice ceased, like clock-
work run down, and the sentenced
man was led from the room to the
waiting van outside.

In the alley back of the courthouse
a noonday crowd had gathered, and
the man pulled his hat down over his
eyes. To him, as he stepped into the
musty, straw-littered van, with its
grated toy window, his dream was
just beginning. And then, as from a
distance, he heard a newsbov's call:

"Uxtree! Uxtree ! All abou' th'
dis'pearans of Gov'ner Edditin!"

"It's real," he muttered; "I'm a
felon, on my way to prison, and the
town has started to buzz about the
lost Governor."

"Little Phyllis!" he exclaimed,
suddenly starting up. "What a
nightmare two weeks for her! And
yet I dare not let her know — the
scheme is too big for even her quiz-
zical, fun-loving soul."

And then, as the van jolted for
hours along a country road, the
former Governor, Edgerton the proud
and finical, lay down on the straw
and sheltered his aching head in his
hands, and thought of Christian
martyrs and kings' fools, and how
near he came to being both.

Six foot of zebra-striped clothes
and a close-shaved, round head
walked musingly down a long cor-
ridor between a double row of cells.

' ' Whoa ! back ! ' ' sang out the turn-
key following him. "The boardin'-
house is full, and you're goin' to
double up with Big Brown in 60."

With the words, a cell door swung
open a scant foot, and the convict was
pushed inside. The lock clicked shut,
and Roger Edgerton, alias Fritz
Swartz, alias Black Dutch, was alone
with his thoughts.

The odor of a particularly ropy
cigar worked into his nostrils, and he
turned, to notice a big man seated on
a cot in the interior gloom of the
cell. The red end of a burning cigar
and the whites of his staring eyes
showed out plainly.

As he glanced at the man, Edger-
ton noticed a peculiar lateral roll of

TEE GOVERNOR'S DOUBLE

his eyes, ending with a downward
sweep of the eyeballs. Then his hand
made a slight movement outward.

"Say, where in h — did yon come
from — Snnday-school ? ' '

"Not exactly," said Edgerton;
"I'm in for burglary."

"Liftin' the cover or breakin'
iron?"

"Both," said Edgerton, hope-
fully.

"Hnh!" growled the nnappeased
smoker; "con or shovin' th' queer
look more in your line."

"I'm just an every-day, strong-
and- willing burglar," persisted Edg-
erton.

There was unsatisfying silence
from the corner. "Have a cigar,"
said the other, suddenly, pulling a
box from under his cot.

"Guess you've never done time in
this State," said the smoker, noticing
Edgerton 's surprise. "Smokes and
eats, and drinks too, are easy, if you
come across with the swag. Say,
what 's your time ? ' '

"Five years."

"Well, I'm duckin' from under
th' gates today — got my ticket. Cost
me a cold thousan' to grease, all along
the line. Here, take this box of
cigars," he commanded, throwing
them to Edgerton, "an' smoke up on
me.

"And say, when you get out," he
growled, "if you ever see me, dont
snuggle close, or I'll beat you up.
Our mugs is too much alike."

Edgerton was getting used to the
dull light, and at the man's last
words he stared at him closely.
There certainly was a curious re-
semblance between them : height, the
set of the jaw, thick, black hair, deep-
set eyes and all.

"My other and lower self," re-
flected Edgerton, puffing the privi-
leged cigar; "the side one never
sees."

Bustling steps rang down the cor-
ridor, and the two convicts cast their
cigars thru the window bars. As the
head warden entered their cell, Edg-
erton's mate rose and lazily stretched
his big frame.

"Brown," said the warden, "here's
your pardon, signed by 'Governor
Dreamy Eyes.' He's got a life sen-
tence— a skirt — and the poor thing
took fright and ran away from her. ' '

Big Brown laughed boyishly as he
left the cell. "Everybody's got his
number. ' '

"Yes," said Edgerton, softly, to
himself, "for two weeks more the
crooks, big and little, will cake-walk
over my remains. After that "

The governor-convict started to
serve his time, busily, as the law re-
quired. There were over eight hun-
dred men in the prison, and their
work at the sewing-machines, shoe-
lasts and broom-binders was jobbed
out to contractors who had free access
to the workrooms. As the days rolled
by, Edgerton realized what a closely
welded system of graft this was —
commissioner, warden, convicts and
bosses in a daisy-chain of graft to
beat the State. As for himself, on the
wall of his cell he had chalked up a
rough calendar and ticked off each
day that brought him nearer to his
release.

On the evening preceding the
fourteenth day, Phyllis Dawson called
upon Judge Hough and poured out
all her fears concerning Roger Edger-
ton 's disappearance.

The old man sat huddled in a
dressing-gown at his desk, and, as her
trembling lips confessed her fearsome
devotion, his shaky pen-hand filled
in the date on a writ of habeas cor-
pus. It was the order to have Fritz
Swartz appear before him, and, by
due process of law, have his convic-
tion reviewed.

The sound of Phyllis' voice was
sweet music to his ears, but a horrid
pain clutched at his heart and reached
down to snatch at the pen-point
hovering for his signature. With a
desperate effort, he brought it down
on the document and commanded his
hand to write.

It was too late. Judge Hough half-
rose, tore at his collar, beat the air
like a swimmer in his last agony and
slowly sank down in his chair. A

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

stain of ink trickled meaninglessly
across the document, as if mocking his
last effort in life. Fritz Swartz, alias
Black Dutch, was irrevocably con-
demned to five years at hard labor.

The days slid forward to April
twenty-fourth, a day but one from
that day of days set by Phyllis for
her wedding ceremony. And Koger

silk hat was seen to approach the
Capitol and start up its entrance-
steps. He was big, broad-shouldered
and dark-eyed, with a peculiar set to
his jaw.

In an instant the news shot thru
the building that Governor Edgerton
was entering the Capitol, and a group
of party leaders collected at the en-
trance to greet him. A dozen hands

THE DEATH OF JUDGE HOUGH

Edgerton had apparently disappeared
from the face of the earth. When the
two weeks that he had allotted to his
secretary had gone by, that calm
young man lost his nerve and gave
sundry and various contradictory re-
ports out to the newspapers, which
but added to the mystery. It was
the seven-day wonder of 0 , dis-
cussed at dinner-parties, on street-
corners and in the shade of Capitol
Square.

At high noon on April twenty-
fourth a gentleman in frock coat and

shot out to welcome the ascending
man, and the group crowded around
the long-lost executive.

At first he showed a curious em-
barrassment in answering their volley
of questions; in fact, it was said
afterwards that he faltered and
would have turned back. Then his
familiar jaw set resolutely, and he
waved them aside as best he could.

"An auto accident, gentlemen,' ' he
announced, "with a severe shaking-
up and a nasty jolt on the head. You
will excuse my hurry," he added,

THE GOVERNOR'S DOUBLE

darting into the Capitol, "and I will
satisfy yon with details later on. ' '

The Governor entered his office,
and his secretary almost hugged him
in his joy. "Governor," he confided
breathlessly, "I've been put to my
wit's end to invent white lies — you
overstayed your time, you know —
and Miss Dawson has literally lived
a lifetime on the other end of the
phone."

"It's a long tale," said the other,

"You see, I'm back," he smiled
feebly.

"Yes," Phyllis admitted, "and it
took a stranger to phone me the news.
You poor boy, how pale you look,
and how you must have suffered ! ' '

The Governor passed his trembling
hand across his forehead.

"Papa" was terribly upset about
the wedding," she went on, "and in-
sisted on 'tabling the motion,' as he
said, but I knew you, Roger — deep

GOVERNOR EDGERTON AGAIN APPEARS AT THE CAPITOL

"and a nasty one, with a flat finish.
I guess we better fix a story up for
the press."

For a short half-hour the Governor
dictated and the secretary wrote. At
times the words refused to come, and
the pallid executive stroked his in-
jured head for inspiration.

Then the silken music of a skirt
shrilled in the corridor, and the door
flew open to admit Phyllis — radiant,
eager-eyed, breathless.

"Roger!" she called, running to
him and eagerly grasping his hands;
"naughty, runaway Roger!"

down — and that you would stand up
like a man on the fatal twenty-fifth."

The executive half-leaned against a
chair, watching the lovely play of
color in her cheeks and the soft lights
in her deep eyes. At her last words
he started.

"Excuse me," he said humbly; "I
have forgotten the church."

Phyllis came close to him and whis-
pered a mass of wedding details in
his ear.

"Till tomorrow, dear," he said,
with sudden resolution, drawing her
into his arms; "our wedding-day."

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

The morning dawned, clear and
crisp; a heaven-sent day for Phyllis'
wedding. It was to be held at eleven
o'clock, and by ten a string of autos
was drawn up in front of the Daw-
son mansion, lying in wait for the
wedding-party.

Phyllis had been up and dressed
for hours, from the tips of her satin
slippers to the bewildering draping
of her bridal-veil, yet, as she waited
for the feverish
prinking of her
bridesmaids to
come to an end,
she felt none
of the excit e-
ment that brides
are given
to.

In a scant minute, so it seemed,
they were in the church lobby, and
the bridesmaids had passed in ahead
of her to the swelling strains of
' ' Lohengrin. ' '

She leaned quite heavily on her
father's arm and, with eyes half-
closed, passed, in slow review, before
the endless, staring rows of eyes.

They had stopped, and Roger had
joined them before the altar.

THE BRIDAL PROCESSION

There was something wrong with
Roger, an indefinable something, that
made her wonder what was the matter
with her wedding-day and with her-
self and with all the people in the
world. He had seemed so cautious
before her yesterday, and so unsatis-
fying, and — yes, she hated to acknowl-
edge it — he had been rude, almost
vulgar. Roger, of all things — finical,
honest, tender Roger Edgerton !

She heard the laughing brides-
maids on the stairs and her father's
voice calling, and, almost with regret,
she hastened out to join them.

Why was she marrying

him, anyway — this cold,

perspiring creature ?

The ceremony began. Roger

took her hand in his — a coarse,

hard hand, she thought.

There was a sudden commotion at
the entrance, and a big man jammed
his way, bull-like, thru the crowd and
flung himself down the aisle. He
raced as far as the chancel-rail, and,
setting his hands deep into the
groom's coat-collar, spun him around
like a top.

The two men faced each other —
one in bridal livery, ghastly and trem-
bling; the other, in a cheap overcoat,
ready to spring and kill, if need be.

They were remarkably alike as they
stood before a thousand witnesses,
even to the shaven hair and prison
pallor.

"Brown," said the voice of the
other, "I've pardoned you once, and,
with God's mercy, I'll do it again in

TEE GOVERXOR'S DOUBLE

His house. I'm armed, and at a show
of resistance, I will shoot you like a
dog."

He sprang to Phyllis' side, as she
wavered.

"Dear little Phyllis." he said, as
she lay in his arms. ' ' I Ve beaten and
bribed and stolen my way to you in
your hour of need."

She smiled up at him, her world
righted again.

"I'm in convict's clothes," he went
on; "a fancy of mine, and they are
going to be recut to fit a lot of re-
spectable people." He bent over her
and whispered : ' ' Shall we go on with
the wedding?"

"It's just like you," she said.

by- Leon Kelley

erhaps you've often watched these lights,
As up and down they go ;

urling 'round, in sparkling flights,
Their invites to the show.

verhead they blazon out —
Arrayed like this in form —

heir tempting and illumined shout;
Hail they, thru shine or storm!

utdoing in a fiery burst

All brightness, they descend

heir taunting glimmers, softly nurs'd —
Bid us their show attend.

andsome is their witching call,
Alluring is their cry,

ternally their flashings fall,
Upon the throng to lie.

nd as one watches their bright dance —
This dance of twinkling jew 'Is —

heir chasings e'en more wildly prance,
They flash like tempered tools.

eared thus above the welcome portal
To the theater's aisles,

ver seems the sign immortal,

Blinking down with glowing smiles.

" Q ome folks the good Lord sets in
iJ families, and some He sets in
flower-gardens," mused the
Gentle Lady, over her lapful of fine
cambric and lace. The needle slipped
from relaxed fingers as she swayed to
and fro musingly, tender eyes on the
Freckled Family straggling by to the
swimming-hole in a cloud of dust and
twinkling brown legs. "Now, when
Myra Louise Holly gets to Heaven,
she'll give the angel at the gate a
long list of the stockin's she's mended,
an' the trousers an' little dresses
she's patched, an' the bumped heads
she's kist. But when I go, I'll have
nothin' more'n a bunch o' lavender
an' sweet-peas to give him. Land!
land! aint it queer how it happens!
I believe I'd 'a' been a real talented
stockin '-mender an' bump-kisser,
mebbe, if I'd 'a' been set that way."
The creak-creak of the rocker
punctuated the little silence that
trailed in the wake of her words. A
golden-thighed bee droned by, full-
fed from the hollyhocks. In the
summer afternoon distance tinkled a
lazy cow-bell and the sweet, wild,
animal-like cries of children playing
prisoner's base by the Soldiers' Mon-
ument. Before her, in long, fragrant,
crooked rows, burned her flowers:
extravagantly colored, streaky pur-
ple-and-white baby-pansies ; flaunting
husseys of scarlet poppies; nastur-
tiums in vivid, sappy crimsons and
oranges. Her garden was the Gentle
Lady's imagination. With the seeds
she planted her old, hoarded girl-
dreams of romance, her shy, secret
joys, regrets and hopes, watching
them blossom into visibleness before

her eyes. But she never confided her
fantasy to any one. In New England
one does not confide.

"Sometimes," said the Gentle
Lady, suddenly, so gently violent
that the startled bee postponed his
attack on the rambler rose by the
porch step and boomed reproachfully
away, "sometimes I wist I could do
more in life than just pickin' flowers
for weddin's an' buryin's, an' makin'
baby-clothes for other folks' babies.
There, Mary Ann Dalrimple, I sh'd
think you'd be ashamed o' yourself,
talkin' so, an' you a church member
an' the president of the Ladies' Aid!
I don' know what's got into you, I
dont ! ' ' She laughed as she scolded
herself, but the eyes above the edges1
of the laugh were wistful. Then they
crinkled into sudden pleasure.

"Good-aft'noon, Dora-child," she
called anticipatively. ' ' You 're comin '
up an ' make me a real nice long visit,
I hope?;'

The girl at the gate shook her head.
"Not jus' now, Miss Mary." She
rested a brown-paper bundle on the
fence wearily. "I'm fittin' Miss
Tibbits an' cuttin' out the minister's
wife today — but I'm comin' around
soon. I been plannin ' to a long while
back. What you doin', Miss Mary?
You're so nice an' cool an' peaceful-
like up there. ' '

The Gentle Lady held the work
in her lap for the girl to see. It was
very tiny, dainty — baby-frail. The
girl looked at it silently; then her
eyes met the older woman's in a
strange intimacy of woman under-
standing, and the shy, sweet color
stained her clear, girl's skin.

FOR OLD TIMES' SAKE

"It's for Jennie Gordon's baby,
when it comes, ' ' said the Gentle Lady,
softly.

Impulsively the girl's hands went
out, in a little gust of tenderness.

"Miss Mary — you're the dearest!'9
she cried. "It always rests me to
come by. I've never seen you when
you weren't makin' a little dress like
that "

"There's always babies, Dora —
babies an' flowers, " smiled the Gentle
Lady. She leaned forward, suddenly
solemn. "I hope I'll be makin' one
— like that — for you before I die,
Dora-child," she half -whispered.

The girl at the gate fumbled with
her bundle confusedly. ' ' Land ! Miss
Mary, I guess not — me!" she smiled
pinkly- "Well, I mustn't be lettin'
grass grow under my feet. If you're
still sett in* out when I come back,
mebbe I'll stop up a moment, if it
isn't too late."

"It's never too late by the clock
for me to be glad to see you, dearie."

The Gentle Lady watched the
slender figure hurry away thru a fine
mist of white dust, nodding to herself
wisely.

' ' Land ! land ! ' ' she breathed softly,
"Think o' bein' eighteen an' pretty
an ' in love ! Aint it wonderful ! ' '
She paused, awed by the age-old
miracle of Youth. A boyish young
fellow, in smart flannels and tennis-
shoes, waved his hand in passing;
then looked anxiously ahead and dis-
appeared Dorawards. The Gentle
Lady's smile deepened, while the
rocker took up the burden of her re-
flections in excited creaks over the
uneven flooring.

"He's a real good boy, Harry is,
an' she'll make him a splendid wife.
I'm glad Dora aint goin' to miss liv-
in'. It aint likely flowers could make
it up to her like they do to me. But I
wonder his mother's willin', with all
her notions. She had her heart set
onhismarryin' that Evelyn-girl from
the city that was visitin' 'em a piece
back. Laws ! she was real up- 'n '-com-
in'an' fixed-jes'-so-lookin', with them
narrer skirts of hers an' fol-de-rols,
but I dont s'pose she could 'a' baked

a pie or swep' a room behind an'
under to save her life. She was jes'
like a magazine-cover — real nice to
set 'n' look at, but no use on airth."

The drowsy afternoon jogged com-
fortably across the moments. The
Gentle Lady 's gray head drooped for-
ward, and the white heap lay loosely
in her lap under lax, folded hands.

Sudden footsteps crunched up the
gravel walk; a hand touched her
shoulder convulsively. Her startled
eyes flew open.

' ' Why, Dora-child, how you startled
me! I guess I must of dropped off,
kind-of "

"Miss Mary" — the girl's voice was
queerly hurried and strained — "will
you — I mean cant we go into the
house a moment? I got somethin' I
want to tell you "

But she could not wait for the
telling. In the dim, prim little parlor,
dropping limply on the slippery,
horse-hair sofa, she began to cry in
fierce little jerks, as tho the sobs
came bleeding from her pride. The
Gentle Lady hurried out into the
kitchen and returned bearing a glass
spicily odorous.

"There, drink a drop o' my elder-
berry cordial, an' then finish your cry
out, nice an' comfortable," she said
cheerfully. "That's right! I dont
b'lieve in corkin' up tears where
they'll turn sour an' spile your dis-
position. Better out with 'em an' get
it over, says I. Now, dearie, what is
it all about? You tell me, an' we'll
fix it up somehow."

' ' It 's— it 's— Harry ' '

The Gentle Lady laughed in soft
relief. "Land sakes! is that all?"
she cried. "Why, I was 'fraid mebbe
somethin' had happened to hear you
take on so."

"It has, somethin' has." Dora sat
up and turned her tragic young
face to the older woman, her slender,
needle-pricked fingers strained and
twisted in her lap. "We were down
to the old bridge jus' now, lookin' at
the falls an' talkin'. An', suddenly,
Harry turned to me an' — an' — oh,
oh, Miss Mary! he said — he said he
loved me," For an instant the joyous

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

memory made the girl's face too
sacredly bright for the other to look
at; then it clouded over pitifully.
"An' — jus' as he finished tellin' me
that, Miss Mary — mind you, jus'
after — his father came along the path
an' ordered him to leave me an' go
home — an ' — an ' — Harry went — he
went, Miss Mary "

years since she sat down, and went to
the door.

"Is she here? — tell me quick!"

The words tripped over one an-
other eagerly.

' ' Harry Morrison, ' ' said the Gentle
Lady, sternly, "what you want to
know for? Tell me that!"

Her eyes sought the boy's, asking,

SHE HAD HER HEART SET ON HIS MARRYIN ' THAT EVELYN-GIRL1

Absorbed in her luxury of grief,
the girl did not see the sudden, sharp
pain twist the face opposite her. The
Gentle Lady caught her breath. Her
faded eyes, staring at the painted
china vase on the center-table, seemed
looking down forgotten aisles of Long
Ago. A loud rapping on the front
door brought her back to the Present
with a start. She got to her feet
stiffly, as if she had suddenly taken on

challenging. And his, haggard, hon-
est, answered her.

"Because I love her, Miss Mary,
that's why," was all he said

straightly.
please

Now may I come in —
She opened the screen
door, pointing.

' ' There, ' ' she told him briefly. He
went, tall and tender, like a young
god or a little, sorry child. Even
with her back turned, the Gentle

FOR OLD TIMES9 SAKE

Lady could see the looks of the two as
he stooped to the girl and caught her
hands.

' ' Sweetheart — forgive me!" Then
the low sound of a kiss. The maiden-
heart of the old woman in the hall-
way thrilled with the ghostly touch of
bygone kisses on her lips. The air
was a-rustle with memories laid away

STOOD THERE SMILING AT THEIR CLASPED

HANDS AND RADL1NT EYES

in lavender these thirty years. They
crowded about her now, the echo of
long-forgotten words vocal to her
ears. Like an accompaniment, the
low voices in the parlor crooned and
murmured across the sympathetic air.

"Miss Mary!"

The Gentle Lady started guiltily.
"Yes — yes, I'm here."

She hurried across to the parlor
and stood there behind them, smiling
at their clasped hands and radiant
eyes. There have been great dis-

coveries made early and late in this
world; none greater than the com-
monest of all, Love. To each two
that find it together, it is a thing new,
amazing, unique, unknown to the rest
of the world.

' ' Miss Mary, ' ' said Harry, solemnly,
"she's said she loves me — loves me/"
He flung back his head, with a long,
slow breath at the wonder of
it. "I want to marry her
right away, Miss Mary —
now." His voice was argu-
mentative, as tho meeting
unspoken opposition. "Fa-
ther and mother have got a
fool notion in their heads
that I'm to marry one of
those Miss Fuss-and-Feath-
ers, with a pot of tainted
money and a brewer-father,
that they have up here from
the city, week-ends. But
they 're dead wrong — I 'm
going to marry Dora ; and
what's more, I'm going to
marry her this afternoon."

"Wait, children!" The
Gentle Lady smiled. ' ' Wait
till I get my breath an' my
thinkin '-cap on. ' ' She looked
thoughtfully away into the
yellow afternoon. The mel-
lowing light touched her
soft face like gentle finger-
tips caressing the wrinkles.

"Where is your father
now, Harry?" she asked
suddenly.

' ' Down by the bridge
when I left him," answered
the boy. He hesitated, flush-
ing. ' ' We h a d — quite an
argument — I guess likely he's there
yet. Father always stays put when

he's mad " Shamed laughter

trickled thru the words.

"1 know " She nodded re-

memberingly, unnoting their sur-
prise. "Listen to me, you children,"
she said whimsically. "Do you think
you'll be able to entertain yourselves
while I step out a minute ? Because
there's a picture-album to look at if
you get lonesome, or the 'Pleasant
Thoughts for All the Year.' I'll be

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

right back. Now dont you stir till I

come, an' then we'll see "

The flower-petals swirled in mad
little eddies of color-flecks as her skirt
brushed rudely by them; the dust
spurted like liquid powder under her
quick feet. In her eyes ached re-
membrance and the shadow of past-
shed tears.

He was sitting as his son had left
him, stiffly, on the rustic bench by the
stream. At the rustle of her coming,
he turned, startled, and got slowly to
his feet.

"Why — good-afternoon — Miss Dal-
rimple, ' ' he said awkwardly.

She did not answer at once; only
stood looking at him, smiling sadly
thru the wrinkles and the pitiful
scars of age, until she saw the big
hand begin to tremble on the seat-
back, and a painful red stain his
cheeks under the white thatch of his
hair.

"Mary!" the old man cried slowly.
The name sounded rusty on his
tongue. He took a step forward;
then paused at her gesture, waiting.

"Listen to me, John Morrison,"
cried the Gentle Lady. "I'm goin'
to say my say, an' you're goin' to
listen while I say it. Then it's be-
tween you 'n' the Lord." She
pointed abruptly back along the way
she had come. "They's a boy an' a
girl at my house this livin' minute,
settin' in my parlor, makin' love. At
least, I hope they are. The boy's
your son. He 'd ought to do it well. ' '
He shrank visibly from the dreary
humor of her words.

"The girl is Dora King, as nice a
girl as you'll find in seven counties.
An' they love each other. Now what
you goin' to do about it?"

The bullfrog in the rushes shrilled
an entire aria before he answered
doggedly :

"Harold must make a good match
— a young man has no chance these
days without position and wealth. I
shall not allow him to throw himself
away. ' '

"Throw himself aivay!" Her voice
cut like an edged thing thru the grim

little silence following his words.
Suddenly she stepped forward, hold-
ing out wrinkled, shaking hands. Her
softened face, upturned to his, was
almost a girl's face again, flushing,
virginal, shy.

' ' John ' ' — the words were a shadow
of sound — "have you forgotten —
everything ? ' '

The man made an uncouth noise of
pain. His twisted face begged her
mutely; but she shook her head,
strangely exalted. "No, we got to
remember — it's the only way." She
gestured quaintly to her gray hair.
"We're gittin' old, you 'n' me, John.
But we weren't always old. That
time we went mayflowerin' in Mur-
ray's Woods an' you kist me — we
weren't old then. Nor yet when we
uster come home thru the fields from
prayer-meetin' an' watch the hay-
stacks all ragged against the big, red
moon. Mebbe you've forgot those
times — but I aint. I shall remember
'em till I die — an' after."

"Dont — Mary!" he begged her.
"I've hoped that mebbe you'd for-
gotten— after all these years "

"Thirty years is long enough f 'r a
woman to grow old an' white-haired
an' wrinkled in, but it aint long
enough f 'r her to forget her first kiss,
John. ' ' She shook her head, smiling.
' ' I aint askin ' f 'r pity — land, no ! But
I'm tryin' to make you understand.
Your father said the same identical
thing that you've just said, an' you
listened to him. You know what
happened. I aint blamin' you. I
been happy enough with my posies
an' makin' dresses f 'r other women's

babies " She broke off, peering

into his working face with tear-
blinded eyes. ' ' Why, I b 'lieve you do
remember, John "

"There aint been a harvest moon
in th' last thirty of 'em that I could
bear to look on," he said solemnly.
"I aint never been mayflowerin' since
then." He paused, prodding his
courage. "We be old folks, Mary —
mebbe th' good Lord's give me this
chanct a purpose to say 'I'm sorry'
in."

The sunset glow caressed them,

FOR OLD TIMES' SAKE

YES, THE MATTER WAS IN SAFE HANDS

like peace made visible. There was
yielding in the softened look of his
face, and, seeing it, she turned, smil-
ing, to the path, groping for it thru
the mist that dimmed her vision ; then
paused an instant on the edge of
flight. "It's between you 'n' the
Lord what you're goin' to do, John,"

she said gently. ' ' I guess the matter 's
in pretty safe hands. You'll come
back 'long of me to my house an'
make those young folks happy. An'
they's one thing I want you sh'd
remember. I been thankin' God f'r
those walks an' that kiss every day
f'r nigh on thirty years ! "

Her Brother

By MINNA IRVING

Say. I had the greatest fun —

Sister Helen and her beau
(He is awful sweet on her)

Took me to the picture show.
Sis and him sat side by side,

I was t'other side of her,
And they turned the lights all out

When the reel commenced to whir.

He reached round and grabbed my hand.

Gee! he made the fingers crack
Every time he squeezed it, tho

I was game, and squeezed right back
It was dark, but I could see

How it made his blue eyes shine.
Wonder how he'd feel today

If he knew that hand was mine!

NORMAN BRUCE

GOD spoke to Moses in the burning
bush; to Noah in visions; to
Daniel in dreams. The Al-
mighty iv as very close to His fol-
lowers in the younger and cleaner
days. Yet now, in this latter time,
above the whorl of human squab-
bling, the whine of the downtrodden,
the battle-yell of brothers, God still
speaks, and there are those ivlw hear
Him: the spent mother harkens as her
new-born tugs at her breast; the
ragged artist, lifting rapt eyes from
his blundering effigy of the Ideal; the
clean-souled man and woman in the
crannies of their daily toil.

On — on, thru sterile acreage of
alkali, thru scattered settlements and
ugly towns gashed with the civic
scars of factories, thru clean sunlight
and across the track of storms — on
like Destiny, mighty, grim, purpose-
ful ; trailing bright threads of fire be-
neath grinding wheels ; leaving, when
it is gone, only unheard echoes and
frail smoke-smears across the sky —
and on — on — on.

The man sat motionless, as if he
were, indeed, a part of the mechanism
above him, his hand steady upon the
throttle — a daub of brittle human
bones and flesh that carried, in its

frail grasp, a hundred immortal souls
and perishable bodies. Beneath his
fingers throbbed the pulse of the en-
gine; its hoarse, panting breath
clogged his ears. The steel and iron
muscles, responding cleanly to the im-
pulse of the master mind, trod the
miles shoulder to shoulder with the
gale, until into the watchful eyes be-
low the greasy cap came the content
of one whose task is nearly done.

Every night, at the first symptoms
of home, Bracey Curtis drew a long
breath of relief that was almost a
prayer. He was a slow, grave man,
stooped of shoulder from bending
above his throttle; inarticulate, with
the silence of those whose lives are set
to the deafening symphony of steam.
He thought not so much in syllables
as in distances, terms of pressure and
response. But, given words, his
breath of relief would have said:
"Thank God! I've brought her in
safe again. Ah ! it 's good to be home
— good to be hungry and tired and
at home!"

The lights of the station closed in
about him — a blur of faces and
voices — the uneasy sense of discon-
tinued motion. Bracey unclinched
his rigid fingers stiffly and clambered
down from the cab.

THE WEAKER MIND

" 'Lo, Brace!— how's th' track?"

" 'Lo, Jo! — oli, so-so! Gee! I'm
tired. I'm goin' ter beat it to th'

Y. M. C. A. an' get cleaned np

'S matter? Anythin' happened?"
Bracey paused on the edge of de-
parture, arrested by the pleasantly
gossipy expression of the yardman's
face.

' l Yep ; th ' Old Man 's been around
todav, and sav, who'd you s'pose he
fired?"

"Who?" Bracev's tone was tense.
-Not— not Bob?"

1 ' Yep — found him soused 's usual ;
gave him th' deuce of a rake-over an'
wound up by tellin' him to get his
time "

"Lord!" The word was a groan.
Bracey shifted the weight of his coat
from one tired arm to the other.
1 ' What '11 his sister an ' father do, with
Bob out o' a job?" He turned with
sudden purpose. ' ' Where 's he now ? ' '

"Settin' in th' round-
house— say's he's 'fraid to
go home."

"Well, I guess I'll drop
around there now — s'long,
Jo."

A minute afterwards, the
hunched figure, crouching
on the bene h. shook off
Bracev's hand peevishly.

"Lemrue 'lone."

"Now, now, Bob, you
dont mean that." The big
engineer 's tone was reso-
lutely cheerful. "Just you
brace up, an' we'll fix it

somehow " He paused,

waiting. "Cant do nothin',
onless you brace up, Bob,"
he repeated patiently.
"Straighten out your shoul-
ders, stick up your chin, an '
we'll go find th' Old Man,
you 'n' me."

The boy choked. " 'Twont
do any good." Yet a note
of hope fluttered in his
voice. "I guess I'm a bad
'un like he said — I 've swore
off an' swore off "

' ' Dont swear off, this
time, Bob; jus' quit."

Bracey laid his hand hard on the
boy's drooping shoulders with a grip
that went deeper, like a friendly
touch on his shambling soul. "Th'
Old Man '11 take you back if I say
I'll be responsible f'r you, Bob — I
been with th' road long enough f'r
that. Then it's up to you. It aint all
f'r your sake I'm doin' this, either —
but your folks — your sister "

Bob Glore clutched the rough hand
wildly, as a shipwrecked man a plank.
"I'll promise you -"

Bracey shook his head solemnly.
1 1 No, not me, Bob — I dont want your
promises," he said, oddly shy. "Jus'
you promise God. ' '

In a town where every other door
is a swinging one and the air. is equal
parts oxygen and stale whisky, the
odds are decidedly unfair. For days,
bending, dripping ^vith sweat, to feed
the red vitals of the fire-box ; muscles
burning with the weight of uncounted

ITS GOOD TO BE HOME'

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

shovels of coal; cinder-stung; racked
with thirst, Bob clung doggedly to his
pledge, under Bracey's watchful eye.
And every evening his sister Mary
was at the station as the big Mogul
pulled in, to walk home with him.
Yet always, crouching in ambush
within him, was the menacing form
of his Desire, biding its time.

It was a chill evening in the early
fall, drab with colorless sunset and
drifting leaves, when Bob stepped
from the cab of 85 and found no
waiting sister oh the platform. A
vague sense of ill-treatment accom-
panied him to his locker at the Rail-
road Y. M. C. A. and hung about,
waiting for him to change his clothes.
The flat little town looked raw and
cheerless as he stepped into the street
again, shivering in the transition
from cab to open ajr.

' ' Hello, Bob I " He turned sulkily.

"Why, good-evenin', Reina!"

The girl laughed full-bloodedly,
showing strong, even, white teeth as
she slapped him familiarly on the
arm.

"Been a dog's age since I seen you,
Bob," she cried jovially. "Aint for-
got your old pals, have you?" She
leaned her vivid young body closer,
peering up into his face with meaning
eyes. Her round arm was warm
against his — her bold, red lips daring
his own. Unwilling admiration pad-
ded his reply.

"Well, I guess not — a fellow
doesn't forget a pretty girl that
quick "

She gestured over one impudently
raised shoulder. ' ' Come in an ' prove
it, then."

"I — I — cant this evenin'." He
was moving away, with the appear-
ance of staying where he was. She
laughed again mockingly.

' ' Ho-ho ! You 're no game sport, ' '
she jeered. Her tone changed subtly.
"Just one little drink f'r old times'
sake — what's one little drink, Bob?
Come on; you cant refuse a lady
fren' "

He turned his back upon his Better
Self, red-shamed at the weakness of
him, yet yielding.

"Jus' one, then, Reina-

Mary Glore hurried along the dusk-
ing street, searching the shadows with
eyes that dreaded to see. Where was
Bob ? Not at the station — not yet at
home. No, no, not there — surely not
there! But before the dingy gilt in-
vitation of Reilly's saloon she paused
uncertainly, torturing her ears for
proof. It came in a roar of tipsy

COME IN AN' PROVE IT, THEN"

laughter, with Bob's voice, sodden
and blurred, stumbling, high above
the rest, thru the chorus of an un-
speakable comic song. She slipped
around the corner to the window of
the back room. The squalid scene
blinded her patient eyes with tears.

"What shall I do?" she whispered
helplessly, knotting her hands. ' ' What
shall I do?" A sudden vision of a
strong, grave face answered her need.

"I'll go ask him— he'll help us,"
she murmured. "He always knows
what to do, somehow." She felt the
slow, revealing red mounting her thin

TEE WEAKER MIND

cheeks and blessed the kindly dark-
ness as she turned away. Yet to her-
self her secret was no secret, nor had
been for many, many days.

"Hush, Babe, you'll wake father —
poor father's so tired."

The child laughed gleefully. "Oh,
he wants to be woked up," she
claimed, with the joyous assurance of
petted six. "Faver's a verry 'origin'
waker, Beth."

dont say such things. Now, be quiet
just three hundred an' sixty-five sec-
onds, and I'll begin. Once on a
time there was a fat-fat king an' a
thin-thin queen lived in a cottage
made all of cherry pies. Mercy, Mary
Glore! how you startled me!"

Mary's white face quivered in a
pitiful makeshift of a smile. Her
troubled eyes rested a moment on the
gaunt figure stretched laxly in the
uncomfortable wooden rocker under

THE SQUALID SCENE BLINDED HER PATIENT EYES

' ' Come here, You-Little-Bunch-o '-
Mischief , you. ' ' The older girl caught
her cleverly in firm young arms.
' ; Now be a still Babe and I '11 tell you
'bout th' King Who Had a Hundred
Little Girls."

"An' ve Queen wif a Hunnerd
'Ittle Boys?" demanded Babe, tyran-
ically, jumping up and down on the
blue-checked gingham knee. "Tell
'bout ve 'ittle boy-folks first, Beth —
T 'ikes 'ittle boys!"

"O-o-o-oh, naughty Babe!" chided
Beth, from the immense vantage point
of wise seventeen. "Nice little girls

the frost-rusted woodbine leaves.
There was that in her look that
mothers have, or wives — a something
wistful, tenderly indulgent, yearn-
ing. Then it was gone, hidden
away sacredly with her memories of
her mother and her shy, girlish
religion.

"Your father's asleep, isn't he,
Beth?" she whispered. "I hate to
disturb him, but I thought maybe

he'd help me " She hesitated,

for he was sleeping no longer. His
grave eyes rested on her with sleep-
vagueness an instant ; then he sprang

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

to his feet anxiously. "Miss Glore —

you're lookin' worried — is anythin'

wrong ? ' '

She nodded, afraid to trust herself

with speech. "It's Bob — he's —

drinkin' "

He snatched up his hat ' ' Where ? ' '

"Reilly's— th' back room "

Bracey looked down into the tense,

in the hidden places of her soul. It
was the first time she had ever
walked anywhere beside him, her
arm brushing his rough sleeve in-
timately.

"I c'n get home all right— I'm
used to it," she protested faintly.

' ' You hadn 't ought to. It aint safe
f'ra girl nights on th' street in this
open saloon town."

The sense of being
taken care of en-
veloped her warmly,
but words were sud-
denly lacking. The
rude boar d-w a 1 k s
heaved and com-
plained beneath them.
Blotches of pink and
yellow lights stained
their path at frequent

OH, HE WANTS TO BE WOKED UP, SHE CLAIMED

pain-seamed young face with toler-
antly smiling eyes. "I'll go find th'
lad, Miss Mary," he soothed her.
"You — dont you worry. I'll bring
him home with me f 'r tonight an' fix
him up good as new f'r th' run to-
morrow. It'll be all right as right,
you'll see!"

They walked down the gravel, path
and turned up the street. Mary
faltered.

"Why, th' saloon's th' other way."

"I'm seein' you home first, Miss
Mary."

She felt her secret leap thrillingly

intervals. Noisy men and bold-eyed
women, the worse for whisky, stum-
bled by, but they two walked silently
on until Mary's cottage was reached.

' ' Good-night, Miss Mary — dont
worry about Bob. I'll take care o'
him!"

' ' Good-night — and thank you, ' '
she faltered. With a sudden, impul-
sive movement she held out her hand.
His strong, warm clasp tingled on it
long after she had gone into the
house.

"How old are you, Mary Ann
Glore?" she taunted herself un-

TEE WEAKER MIND

mercifully. ''Sixteen or thirty- two?
An' besides, he never once looked at
yon."

She studied the face the mirror
gave her back. In it she read piti-
lessly every one of thirty-two drab,
emotionless years, "Mary — Mary —
where be you ? Is Bob to home yet ? ' '
her father's querulous voice shrilled
up the stairway.

With a sigh, she turned the mirror
to the wall. "He's stayin' over to
Bracey Curtis ' house tonight, father, ' '
she called soothingly. "I'm comin'
right down now an' heat you up your
milk."

"I'm all ri', Brashy— ol' man,"
insisted Bob. He flung his friend's
supporting hand angrily from his
arm. ' ' S 'phose I cant walk 'lone —
eh?" He reeled forward miserably.
" 'S'all th' shidewalk— nev' shaw
sus' a crook-ed walk. Maksh a fel'
shea-shick — mus' spheak t' May'r
'bout it 'morrer "

Bracey put a firm arm about the
boy's swaying form. "Never mind
the sidewalk, old man," he said pa-
tiently. "Just come on, like a good
fellow, a little further, and we'll be
home. ' '

A sudden tremor of fright stiffened
the loose body like a galvanic shock.

"Do' wanna g'ome," whined Bob.
"M' shisther '11 cry 'n' th' ol' man
'11 SWear "

' ' You 're comin ' to my house, Bob, ' '
said Bracey. He dragged the shame-
ful figure up the gravel walk. "An'
here we are."

He fumbled for his latch-key and
struck a match in the dark hallway,
groping for the gas-jet. Quick steps
fluttered down the stairs, and a slight
girl-figure, huddled in a flowered
flannel Avrapper, paused in the door-
way.

"My, but you're late, dad," she
cried, gently chiding. "Babe tried to
stay awake for you to kiss her good-
night, but she couldn't — o-c-o "

as the gas hissed shrilly and flared
into revelation. The boy leaning sod-
denly against the wall caught a
blurred glimpse of a lovely, child-

sweet face, framed in a mass of loose,
waving hair, and two wide, innocent
eyes gazing at him in horror — then
she was gone. But the look stayed.
It burned thru the film of drunken-
ness, scorching his very soul. And,
for the first time in his reckless, un-
caring life, Bob Glore felt his face
crimsoning with the honest sting of
shame.

"Good-by, daddy-
ve lunch-pail!"

-I frew a kiss in

THE TWO OF THEM STRUGGLING

"Good-by, father — we wish you'd
take us along, too ! ' '

Bob Glore, a trifle white, but with a
strange new poise to his head and
shoulders, held out a hesitating hand.

"Wont you tell me good-by, too,
Miss Beth?" he asked humbly. "I
wish you ivere goin'. Maybe Brace '11
take you a trip some time."

"Good-by, Mr. Glore. Dont let
father run off the track." Her little
hand fluttered shyly in his great fist.'

He looked down at her with sudden
meaning. "No, nor I aint goin' to
run off th' track, either, Miss Beth."

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"The unkempt figure, blowsy of hair
and fierce-eyed, watching the scene
from the shelter of the coal-car,
shrank stormily away. ' ' Little baby-
fool — wot's he see in her?" muttered
Reina Loeb. Jealousy pictured the
two of them, she and the other girl,
struggling — her own defeat. She
clenched her hands. They love, too,
in their way, these gutter-girls. " I 'm
twicet th' girl she is " she cried

mate with the colorless sky. Under
Bracey's thinking fingers the Mogul
swept along the rails easily. The
engineer's eyes were clamped to the
shining perspective of track stretch-
ing ahead, but his thoughts were not,
this time, of distances or rails.

Presently Bob spoke, stooping elab-
orately over his work.

"Dont believe I ever saw your girl
till last night, Brace."

I AINT GOIN' TO RUN OFF Til' TRACK, EITHER1

viciously. "She shant have him. I
say she shant."

1 1 Bethie ! ' ' Babe 's eyes sought her
sister's flushed face impishly as the
Mogul pulled out, coughing a hoarse
farewell. "Bethie, doesn't you 'ike
'ittle boy-folks jes' a teeny-weeny,
too?"

The monotony of the prairie un-
reeled beyond the cab windows,
pricked, here and again, with cactus
barbs, stretching, in dusty pallor, to

He dug his shovel loudly into the
coal, lifted a mighty load and dumped
it into- the fire-box, his young face
grim. Then, suddenly, he turned to
the silent figure leaning from the
cab. For an instant his hand rested
on the grimy, blue- jeans shoulder in
a bluff man-caress. "I never saw

myself till last night " The

words were a confession, a plea, a
promise, but Bracey did not turn his
head.

"She's a nice little girl," was all

THE WEAKER MIND

the father answered briefly, but the
clear eyes fixed on the distance smiled
contentedly. Bob turned back to his
fire, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"You're sure white, Bracey Cur-
tis," he muttered. "I aint ever saw
any one who'd do so much f'ra feller
as you. Dont make any difference

her father was thrown out of Reilly 's
saloon this mornin', an' th' ol' man's
croaked — he was rotten with rum,
anyhow, and his heart quit work.
Th' girl tried to kill herself by takin'
dope — I helped 'em get her to th'
horspital 'n' then come to you.
S 'funny" — he paused uncertainly —

SHE AN' HER FATHER WAS THROWN OUT OF REILLY's SALOON

how worthless he is, you're willin' to
help."

"I guess I like folks pretty well,"
said Bracey, slowly. A shy smile
touched his lips. "I believe in keep-
in' clouds turned wrong side out, so's
to show th' silver linin', that's all.
Most folks is pretty good under-
neath."

A week later put his philosophy to
the test.

"It's Reina Loeb," said Bob,
briefly. He pointed back indefinitely
down the dusking street. "She an'

I dunno ivhy I come. It aint your

look-out, but, somehow-
said you'd sure know-

-an ' Mary

The engineer looked down at him
with queer eagerness. "Mary — your
sister said that?" He glanced away
to where, thru the meager foliage, a
splendor of color burned in the west-
ern sky, with eyes that seemed to
question.

"Reina, she's a real bad 'un "

Bob's tone hesitated, vaguely em-
barrassed. Bracey turned, with a
breath of decision, and clapped the

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

boy's shoulder ringingly. "I'll go
with you now," he cried. "We'll
bring her home. ' '

"But it's Sunday, Weina." Babe
smoothed her short, starched skirt
primly over coltish knees and twisted
about on the grass, looking into the
face above her. It was a month later,
but the face was three years changed
— older of lips set squarely ; younger
of eyes that looked out at the world
with strange timidity, where they had
been so fierce and bold, "Cind'wella
is a Monday - Tuesday - Wednesday
story — tell me a Bible one."

Thru the parlor window, opened to
the Indian summer day, droned the
murmur of low words — Beth's voice
and a deeper one like a corollary of
the sunlight. Reina smiled down into
the child's limpid eyes, "Here's a
story that isn't in th' Bible, but I
guess, maybe, it's a Sunday one."
She rested her head against the tree-
trunk, looking dreamily away into the
soft, hazy sky. "Once there was a
Good Man, an' he went around doin'
his work like other men do, an' no-
body'd have thought he was a magi-
cian. But he was. Whenever he
touched anybody he made them want
to be good, too. ' '

She paused confusedly. . Bracey
Curtis, awkward in his stiff, black,
Sunday-clothes, had come out of the
house and down the path, waving a
cheery hand to the two under the
tree. He turned up the street, his
shoulders sloping patiently under the
ill-fitted coat, and swung out of sight.

"What'd he look like— ve Good
Mans?" shrilled Babe. Reina con-
sidered.

"Well, he warn't han'some, but
he was better 'n that," she mused.
"He was tall an' sort o' stoop-shoul-
dered, an' his hair was grayish
around th' edges, but his eyes — why,
his eyes were gentle, like hymns
sound or the sky looks right now. ' '

' ' Pooh ! ' ' Babe was plainly disap-
pointed. "Why, my faver looks 'ike
vat, an ' he isn 't a magic man ! ' ' She
rocked back and forth, considering.
"Nen what happened?" she asked,
wrinkling her small nose. "Stowies
always end wif livin' happy, dont
you 'member, Weina ? "

Reina smiled down at the child, her
eyes wistful along the path where
Bracey had disappeared. She* knew
who would be waiting at the other
end; she could almost see the joy-
light in Mary's eyes — the solemn
sweetness of his plain, grave face.

"this story ends wif livin'

HAPPY, TOO"

"Yes, Babe," she cried, with a
little break in her voice, and caught
the astonished child to her breast in
a sudden little gust of tenderness.
"Yes, I guess this story ends wif
livin' happy, too."

Sir Edward Mortimer loved Queen
Mary. Little else mattered.
The dark gossip concerning
Mary Stuart for the past ten years
gradually faded from his romantic
mind before the brilliance of his
growing ardor.

What if he had believed it at the
time? Had he not been under his
uncle's roof -tree, where every mouth
was fed by Queen Elizabeth, that it
might belch forth calumny against
the unfortunate Queen of the North
Country ?

He had heard his uncle, Sir Amias
Paulet, repeat, a hundred times,
Mary's affair — as he called it — with
Rizzio, a beggar of an Italian trouba-
dor. Sir Amias laid the crime of the
assassination at Mary's door. But a
bodyguard of the Queen had told Sir
Edward the truth. She had com-
manded Rizzio to remain when all the
others had withdrawn. They two sat
there basking in the moonlight ; she
tenderly — yea, the yeoman had said
tenderly — caressing his Umbrian curls
while he thrummed at his harp and
sang softly one of the ballads of the
day. Thus Lord Darnley — Her Maj-
esty's jealous spouse — had found
them.

Rizzio was to have left by the secret
passage — and would have done so
right merrily, had not a half-score of
daggers pierced his heart and stopped
its song in a flow of blood.

Pah! They did not know the fair
Mary as he, Mortimer, meant to know

her. The woman's heart craved
Romance, which Darnley had been
incapable of. A fig for a woman with
a silent heart !

That Darnley had later died by the
hand of an assassin set ready tongues
wagging again, averring that this was
Mary's revenge. Gadzooks! he'd cut
his uncle 's throat, if he said so now !

Mortimer loved Queen Mary. Noth-
ing else mattered.

This love had come about in rather
an odd fashion. In search of Life,
the young Sir Edward Mortimer had
placed his heart and his soul in the
hands of Romance and Adventure,
and had fetched up, he never quite
could fathom how, in the palace of His
Grace the Bishop of Lorraine, at
Rheims. Over his wine that very first
night, he complained that England
was no place for a nobleman of sorts,
and that one with an itching sword
and an aching heart must come to the
Continent forthwith.

The Bishop led the spirited youth
aside as he was passing to his chamber
for the night.

"A word with thee, young hot-
spur!"

Mortimer followed the venerable
prelate thru a walled passage to a
heavy, oaken door, which His Grace
opened by means of a secret spring.
To his amazement, he found the
banners of Scotland hanging on the
walls.

"Said you there was nothing but
dullness and dreariness in yon island

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

whence you came ? ' ' asked His Grace,
softly. ' ' See ! ' ' He snatched a flag
from before the painted portrait of a
face. "She awaits thy succor."

Mortimer stepped back a pace, as
tho not to seem unmannerly before
the intimate appeal in those otherwise
haughty eyes. Such beauty he had
never beheld in the flesh. The roman-
tic craving in his heart fell prostrate
before it. And in that instant, in
which he knew he offered her, for all

jealousy

time, his sword, his heart and his life,
Mortimer realized wh^o she must be.

"Is this Mary Stuart?" he quav-
ered, turning to Lorraine, who
scanned his emotion with satisfaction.
. "Queen of the Scots!" corrected
His Grace. ' ' By kin, by right and by
the law of God, thou shouldst stand
by her, Mortimer ! ' '

"By kin, by right, by the law of
God, I will stand by the Queen of
the Scots!" cried Sir Edward, draw-
ing his sword and kneeling before the
Bishop, his flushed face still turned
toward the lovely Mary's eyes.

In less than a fortnight later,

young Mortimer left France for the
north coast of England, with a letter
from the Bishop of Lorraine tucked
close to his wildly beating heart.
Mortimer had the contents ever be-
fore his vision:

Your Majesty — Confide in Mortimer,
who brings you this token; you have no
truer, firmer friend in England. He is
acquainted with all the special means at
hand by which to help you.

Faithfully,

Lorraine.

A year's absence had seen many
changes in England. Mortimer knew
nothing of the sudden determination
of Queen Elizabeth to take in custody
the royal person of Queen Mary and
to draw the net of intrigue tighter and
tighter about her fair throat. When,
as a special precaution, he went to
pay his respects at Court, he learnt,
with mingled pain and pleasure, that
Queen Mary was then a virtual
prisoner in the Castle of Fotheringay,
of which his now despised uncle, Sir
Amias Paulet, was warden.

Mortimer was annoyed wThen Queen
Elizabeth chose to show him royal
favors, for it would make his immedi-
ate departure a matter of displeasure
on the part of Her Majesty. Whether
the Queen was intent on piquing the
Earl of Leicester, her favorite, and
arousing his jealousy, or whether she
wTas sincerely attracted by his comeli-
ness, was difficult to say. Of one
thing there was a certainty, namely,
that Mortimer won the eternal hatred
of Leicester.

At length Mortimer availed him-
self of the opportunity of hastening
North. At the castle he was met by
his uncle, who imparted, with elation,
the perfidious secret that Mary
Stuart was a prisoner within the
walls. Mortimer had steeled himself
against just such an occasion as this,
and at once expressed the greatest
interest, coupled with an evident
animosity against the royal prisoner.
He begged that he might be given an
immediate post of active service that
should win favor in the eyes of their
virgin Queen. He asked that he be
permitted to act as special jailer.

MARY STUART

Sir Amias was so impressed and
pleased with this loyal enthusiasm,
that he granted his nephew's request
forthwith, dismissing the man whom
he had already appointed to that
important post,

"I pray thee, uncle, dont laugh if
thou shouldst hap to see me play my
part with unction," cried Mortimer,
gayly, on parting. His soul was
aflame with the approaching meeting.

He found Queen Mary in her im-
provised audience-chamber, her lady-
in-waiting reading from a tome that
had been placed at her service. Mor-
timer fell on his knee and remained
until she nodded him to rise.

"Your Majesty," said Mortimer,
speaking in a low tone, and as tho
making some perfunctory remark
upon the occasion, ' ' I have come from
the Bishop of Lorraine. When we are
alone, I shall present my credentials. ' '

Queen Mary looked at him keenly
for a moment, then signaled the lady-
in-waiting and the attendants stand-
ing near-by to retire.

She read the Bishop's note, and
then extended both her fair hands,
the suggestion of a tear in her eye.
Mortimer was deeply affected for a
moment, as he stooped and pressed
his lips respectfully against her prof-
fered hands.

"Tell me, Sir Edward," she asked,
almost wistfully, as Mortimer stood
by her side, "why am I being detained
here in this wretched castle?"

"I grieve, Your Majesty," he re-
plied, watching the slow fire come
into her fine eyes, "to be compelled
to say the truth — you are a prisoner
by order of the Queen of England. ' '

Thereupon Mortimer saw Queen
Mary respond with all the fire in her
nature to the insult that had been
laid upon her freedom and her royal
person. At length she was dissolved
in tears and lay as one distraught,
sobbing out all the great ambitions
that she had cherished.

"Have I no followers left in Eng-
land— have the Scots' blood turned to
water? Have I no loyal subjects who
will sacrifice a part as much for me as
I have sacrificed for them ? ' '

"Nay, Your Majesty, spare me
these words?" cried Mortimer, in an
anguish of half -belief in their truth.
"All Catholic England is ready to
flock to thy standard under proper
guidance. Leaders are springing up,
and soon the time will be ripe. And
behold, most noble Queen, my sword,
my heart and my life are thine ! ' '

The Queen looked up gratefully.

DEVOTION

The personal significance of Morti-
mer's passion may or may not have
dawned on her. She had but just
gone thru the gamut of emotion, and
now seated herself with a half -smile
on her lips.

' ' There is one great resource that I
have waited until now to employ.
Thy coming and thy loyalty have made
this move possible. Thou shalt be the
bearer of the all-important message
upon the first auspicious occasion.
Thy efforts, Sir Edward, shall be nobly
rewarded in the day of victory!"

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"All I seek, Your Majesty," mur-
mured Mortimer, again the personal
note creeping in, ' ' is thy esteem. ' '

For a moment the Queen seemed
annoyed. ' ' Forget not the cause in
seeking my esteem," she said, and
then, as tho fearing she had hurt him
by this reprimand, she continued:
"My esteem shall be thine, tho I
should no longer be in a position to
bestow it regally. ' '

"Nay, Your Majesty, thou shalt
reign as long as thou livest."

"Perhaps, truly prophesied, may-
hap— as long as I live."

Mortimer left her with these words
torturing him.

A fitting excuse for a brief interim
in his service as Queen Mary's jailer
offered itself in the appearance of a
royal summons for him to be present
at a rout to take place within the
fortnight. Mortimer hastened to
Queen Mary with the news. She had
a packet ready for delivery.

"Whatsoever thou shalt ask, after
this service, Sir Edward, be it in my
power to bestow, that shalt thou
have."

"No service would I refuse my
Queen," vouchsafed Sir Edward, the
passion of love boiling in his breast.
"And, if I am permitted to ask now,
may it be some small token that I
may regard as thy personal gift. A
miniature presentment of thyself
hangs by the chain about thy neck —
that to me were dearer than "

The Queen raised her hand. "Nay,
but suppose 'twere dear beyond com-
pare already to thy Queen?"

"Your Majesty, forget my idle
request. ' '

"Nay, the spirit of service that
thou hast manifested has won thee
many things. Tho the miniature be
among my precious treasures, I give
it thee to show the measure of my
esteem."

Sir Edward extended a trembling
hand, his emotion having become too
great for utterance. He seized the
fair hand that held the token and
kist it passionately. When he looked
up into her eyes, there was an enig-
matical smile in them that almost

brought an avowal of his love from
his lips. Were this woman not a
Queen, he would have taken her in
his arms and breathed out the sweet
tale upon her glorious hair.

Sir Edward Mortimer went forth
from the presence of his beloved
Queen, with all the glow of chivalry
heightened to the point of any sacri-
fice thru the heat of his personal pas-
sion. The thought went singing
madly thru his brain as he took that
long journey southward — he loved
Queen Mary, and only her love in
return mattered now.

Thus Mortimer betook his way to
the Court of Queen Elizabeth, scarce
giving a thought to the message he
was commissioned to deliver or its
possible significance. On the day of
his arrival in London he, for the first
time, brushed from his eyes the
colored silken strands of Romance,
and began to wake to the important
facts. Suddenly he became aware of
the significance of the person to
whom the packet was addressed — the
Earl of Leicester, the favorite of
Queen Elizabeth!

Mortimer hated this man with all
the fire in his impulsive nature. To
one royal woman Leicester must soon
show treachery !

For two days he sought Leicester
alone, but the fellow was ever fawn-
ing about the Queen. He hesitated at
times, debating whether or not to
deliver the incriminating packet at all
into such treacherous hands.

At the moment Mortimer was re-
quested to present himself and pay
his respects to the Queen, she was
giving an audience to Lord Burleigh,
who was filling her with a fiery ac-
count of Mary 's disloyalty. When
Mortimer knelt at the feet of the
Queen, his eyes fell upon a jeweled
dagger that Burleigh had left.

"Mortimer," said the Queen,
suavely, tho an angry passion
throbbed behind her words, "thou
couldst make the heart of England's
Queen beat happily and save thy
country the blood of a host of her

subjects with this toy " She

paused, and then, weighing the evi-

MAEY Sir AFT

dent response in Mortimer s eyes, she
continued, in a low tone: "Thou art
Mary Stuart's jailer. I understand."
""Thy bidding is my service." ac-
quiesced Mortimer, thrusting the
dagger beneath his cloak. As he
to withdraw, he almost stumbled
against Leicester, who alone had
been near enough to hear the Queen's
words. For a moment the two men
looked deep into each other's soul.

to be!" retorted Leicester haughtily.
Mortimer had taken the packet
from his breast and was looking
about to be sure that they were not
observed. He placed it in the sur-
prised Leicester's hand and folded
his arms.

The Earl, now all a-tremble. broke
the seal and hastily scanned the con-
tents, a new emotion transfiguring
his countenance. Apparently forget-

MORTIMER

EYES FALL OX A JEWELED DAGGER

"A word with thee. Mortiin
said Leicester, with an insolence of
tone that made Mortimer clasp the
dagger in his girdle.

"Not gladly, but willingly." he re-
tort e mpanying the other out
of the audience-chamber. \Vhen they
had once reached a corner of the
great anteroom. Mortimer turned to
Leicester. "It is to be regretted that
we are enemies, when we canno*
ford to be."

'"How say est thou — cannot afford

ful of Mortimer's presence, he pressed
the parchment ecstatically to his lips.

The next moment it had been torn
from his grasp and thrown to the
ground, and Mortimer stood before
him with flashing blade.

""Draw, or I'll run thee thru!"
I Sir Edward, passionately.

For an instant the Earl seemed
about to obey: then he let fall his
half-drawn sword. " 'Twere more
fitting that thou shouldst first read
the message sent me by the Queen

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

thou servest. " He picked up the
parchment and handed it to Mor-
timer.

Under a scowl, Mortimer read it:

My Lord of Leicester — If thy love for
me be still true

With a cry of anguish, Mortimer
read no farther. "Mary, thou hast
pierced me deeper thru the heart

we are both at heart, on the side of
the Queen Mary."

Thereupon, the two men, with the
deep stain on their hearts covered
with the urgence of demands, set
about to define the plot that should
set Mary Stuart free, and, mayhap,
place her once again upon her Scot-
tish throne. Accompanied by one of
Leicester's minions loyal to the Catho-
lic cause, Mortimer visited the council

VOWING ALLEGIANCE TO QUEEN MARY

than Leicester's blade could have
struck," he moaned. All seemed lost
— save loyalty. He loosed the minia-
ture for an instant from beneath his
doublet, gazed at it sadly, and then
turned resignedly to Leicester.

"That miniature — what turn of
fortune placed it in thy hands ? ' '

"Aye, my lord, no greater fortune
do I own — Mary, Queen of the Scots,
gave it me."

' ' Odd so ! I gave it her — but 'tis
nothing, as her treatment of it shows.
Let's turn to the more serious busi-
ness at hand. 'Tis quite evident that

of noblemen ready to take up arms.
He cast the dagger in their midst that
Elizabeth had designated for the
heart of Mary. In the general con-
fusion that followed, the weapon was
seized by the zealous monk, Saurag,
who promised to make good use of it.
The next day Mortimer betook him-
self back toward the North, confident
of an uprising that would stir Eng-
land to its core.

In his own heart there had sprung
up despair that even victory for the
cause of her whom he loved could not
dispel. The joy she showed when he

MARY STUART

related the success of his mission
seemed to center round its relation
with Leicester. Nevertheless, a cer-
tain fondness had sprung" up for him,
Mortimer could see. She wanted him
at her side constantly; she asked his
opinion on all matters; she even
bestowed many endearments of word
and touch upon him. Not knowing
the moods of Mary Stuart, and be-
lieving only the voice of his emotions,

At first Queen Mary was over-
whelmed at her own helplessness, and
on bended knee besought the clemency
of Elizabeth. But Elizabeth 's haughty
demeanor struck the natal fire in
Mary's breast, which flamed into
scorching denunciation. The very
fierceness of her words drove Eliza-
beth from her presence. Mortimer
would have followed her to her re-
treat in the castle, had he not seen

MORTIMER BIDS ELIZABETH GOOD-BY

he was soon of the opinion that he
was loved by the Queen.

Months passed, but so delightful
was the idle sweetness within the
castle that he felt none of the alarm
he should have felt because of the in-
activity of the English nobles. Queen
Mary chided him for his selfish esteem
for her, and not the cause. The quiet
of Fotheringay Castle was suddenly
disturbed one morning by the sudden
appearance of members of the bocly-
gnard of the Queen of England,
announcing that Elizabeth would
deign to pay a visit to the castle
within the hour.

the skulking form of Leicester hurry-
ing in ahead of him.

It was not until toward evening
that he ventured to return there.
Queen Mary received him coldly :

"So thou didst betray me and my
secrets into the hands of Elizabeth?"

"I, Your Majesty!" cried Morti-
mer, involuntarily clasping his hand
to his breast. "I but followed the
lead of the Lord of Leicester. ' '

"Nay, say not so; he did not ac-
company thee for very caution's sake.
Thou knowest it."

"But a member of his household
did, ' ' protested the man.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Queen Mary only shook her head
sadly.

Mortimer had been gazing fixedly
out of the window at a long column
of men-at-arms making their way
across the drawbridge of the castle.
He turned suddenly upon the Queen.

"Your Majesty, let the matter of
who betrayed thee rest. Affairs have
grown sinister apace. This I tell thee :

the Queen had withdrawn, he drew
his sword and threw back the por-
tieres, where, as he had suspected, a
dozen spies lay concealed. Three of
them that day met their Maker before
he was taken, wounded but defiant,
before his uncle, who ordered him
cast into the dungeon.

His jailer — an old body-servant of
his own — told him of the events that

SAURAG MAKES AN ATTEMPT ON THE LIFE OF QUEEN ELIZABETH

thy royal person is about to be
seized. Men-at-arms are swarming
about the castle. I alone have the
power to save thee, if thou wilt but
act on the instant."

"Thou hast trailed thy love of the
cause in the dust of thy desire of
passion, as it has been told me. De-
part ! Nay, I will have no further
word with thee. ' '

Thus seemed to end the untimely
romance of Sir Edward Mortimer for
Mary Queen of the Scots. But the
love of the broken-hearted youth had
no end except in death itself. When

followed in quick succession. It
seems an attack had been made on
the royal person of Her Majesty the
Queen of England by an old monk,
Saurag by name, who confessed that
his weapon had been given him by
none other than Mortimer, in pur-
suance of the command of Mary
Stuart. Death-warrants had been
signed that very morning for the
Scottish Mary for plotting the death
of her sovereign Queen. Mortimer's
name was the first on the long list
destined to suffer execution. For this
the doomed man thanked God. It

MARY STUART

meant that once again, at least, lie
would be privileged to see. the woman
he would love until the end.

Once only did she speak to him
again, but in that single time was the
romance of Mortimer revived to take
its place proudly beside his enduring
passion for the beautiful Queen.
They were being escorted along in
opposite directions, within the walls

stooped and kist his brow. "To-
morrow I die ! ' '

"At that hour of thy passing into
Eternity, noble Queen, I shall meet
thee at the threshold!"*

A dark figure had strode upon the
scene. It was Leicester, his hands
extended supplicatingly. Mary passed
him by without a look or a word.

The next day saw Mary Stuart,

THE DEATH OF MARY

of their common prison, when Morti-
mer saw her. He would have passed
on. content with the sight of her, but
she signaled for all to pause. She
came forward, all the tragedy in her
great eyes melted into a sublime light
of resignation that he had never seen
there before.

"I have wronged thee, my Morti-
mer. All the esteem I have in the
world is thine, thine alone. Fare-
well, dear Mortimer!" She had

Queen of the Scots, ascending the
scaffold. She spoke not a word until
the signal was given to place her fair
neck on the block.

She turned to the captain of the
guard. "Has word been heard of
Mortimer?" she asked.

"Mortimer died by his own hand
within the hour. ' '

Mary Stuart laid her head upon
the block.

Where doth Romance end?

"T never saw a purple cow — I never
hoped to see one," quoted
Eugene Brown, dreamily splash-
ing an experimental brush along his
canvas, head tilted at right angles to
his spine. He stepped back, to better
his * vision ; the crushed bracken
steeped odorously into the sun-sweet
air, drugging his industry. ' ' Hang it
all ! ' ' he observed plaintively. ' ' How 's
an artist going to translate this into
terms of oil and ultramarine?" His
gesture caressed the filmy leaf
shadows; the pine sprays, swaying
like summer's censers; the pathway
winding mistily away like a vein in
the heart of the Druid wood. "It's
Sherwood — or Arcadia — or Camelot.
It's the old child-path of Romance,
where dwarfs, outlaws, a dryad with

eyes like music Hello ! As I live,

the dryad herself ! ' '

She was humming in happy un-
awaredness of a watcher as she came,
small, graceful, under the arching
boughs. The scanty stuff gown
molded the gracious curves of her as
no folly of style could have done.
Brown stepped from the bracken with
an exaggerated bow.

"Welcome, nymph-lady!" he said
whimsically. "A poor mortal would
a word with thee."

The girl started, flushing, from her
abstraction, the fawn's wariness in
her eyes. Gradually amusement took
its place. There are some grown-ups
who keep a subtly winning echo of
childishness in curve of chin or
hollow of temple, that stamps them as
only Little-Girls-That-Used-to-Be or
Little - Boys - That - Grew, after all.
Brown was such a one. A hesitating
dimple puckered her cheek.

"I reckon y'u-all is jokin'!" she
drawled, in the soft, slipshod Vir-
ginia tongue. "What y'u got hyeh,
stranger? — oh — oh!" she broke off
suddenly, with a delighted crow,
"it's an easel, aint it? Is it yourn?
Y 'u an artist-folks ? C 'n I see ? "

"It is; I am; you may," affirmed
Brown, graciously. "But why this
flattering warmth? May I hope you
are fond of artist-folks "

She interrupted, fervid hands
clasped tightly. "Oh, but artist-
folks must sho Ty live right int 'restin '
lives!" The quick flush colored her
words. "I've hea'd tell of Bohemia
an' Nu Yawk" — her voice caressed
the names as tho she spoke of Heaven
— an' I 've cert'nly wanted to see them
— jus' trees an' fields an' weather
are so ornary. But I must go "

Brown made a protesting move-

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

ment. "I was hoping you would
pose for me a bit — I could be telling
you about the city while I worked."
He paused artfully.

She flung herself upon a moss-
crusted log, swaying to and fro like
an excited child.

"I'm posin'!" she laughed. "Y'u
talk!"

Long past possible painting-light
Brown stood, making mendacious
feints at canvas strokes, talking
briskly and watching the vivid face

THEY DONE ARRESTED HIM LAST
WEEK f'r MOONSHINES* "

before him flash in sensitive response.
At last she noted the twilight and
sprang to her feet, on the edge of
flight.

"Why! I must run right lively —
thank y'u! An' good-by!"

"Wait!" Brown fumbled in his
pocketbook, drawing out a card.

"If you ever come to New York —
that's my studio. I can get you quan-
tities of posing to do. Good-night,
nymph-lady — I dont believe, some-
how, that it 's good-by ! ' '

But many calendar-leaves fell
withered before he saw her again.
Then, one day, as he stood frowning
tempersomely over , a poster in his

studio, a timid tap sent his nervous
brush slithering across the picture in
a messy trail of cerise. His "Come
in!" consequently sounded more like
' • Stay out ! ' ' but the door trembled
open, and, after a startled instant,
he was across the room.
' ' Nymph-lady — you I "
She smiled tremulously, as tho it
were an alternative to weeping.

"Y'u said — if — I was evah in Nu
Yawk y'u could find me posin'. Well,
I 'm hyeh. ' ' Then, in a sudden whirl
of heartachy phrases :
"Tom — my brother — they
done arrested him last week
— f 'r moonshinin'. He 'sin
jail — hyeh in th' city. Me ?
I'm all alone " Sud-
denly she was sobbing her
grief and fright out on his
shoulder, while he patted
her cheeks in man-help-
lessness.

" I '11 take you to my'
1 a n d 1 a d y — a dear old
mother-soul. Then we'll
see," he reassured her.
"It'll be all right, little
nymph-lady — y on trust
me."

She raised her big child-
eyes to his gentled face.
"Ofco'se, I trust y'u, "she
said. ' ' I cert 'nly do. ' '

With straws like this
pointing the way of the
wind, it was only the mat-
ter of weeks before Love
had his sweet, old-fashioned way, and
little Virginia Rose found herself
staring, with incredulous eyes, at the
wonderful third finger of her left
hand, held a bit apart with the sacred
meaning of its plain gold band.

And then the Beautiful Year of
tender companionship and breathless
hope that led them, togetherly, at last,
to a wee, lace-frail cradle, over which
Eugene hung as never over his most
cherished pictures, and Rose cooed in
the soft, mysterious tongue of mother-
kind. If all trouble was what God
sends, the world would be almost as
happy as Heaven. But the troubles
we make for ourselves. — they are what

OUT OF THE PAST

clutter Life, and bring the white hair
and wrinkles and the tears.

One night the earth stopped re-
volving for Rose. She had been so
happy that particular evening, with
the pleasant, warm feeling of the
secret she was cuddling to her heart
as she hurried along the gas-lit streets
toward the tiny flat that spelled
Home. How glad 'Gene would be

it, she did not understand, and went
thru it again with painful earnest-
ness, her lips syllablizing the words.
When its meaning at last reached
her, she did not shriek nor even cry.
That is what they do on the stage,
not in a tiny, third-floor flat on
Macdougal Street. But her eyes,
burnt holes in the paper whiteness
of her face, stared at a hideous

ALL FRESH YOUNG CURVES AND SHALLOW, DREAMING EYES

when be heard that dear old Tom was
free once more, that she had been to
see hirn, kist him a Welcome-Back !
The darkness of the hallway startled
her vaguely as being different from
her expectations. With sudden un-
ease, she fumbled into the sitting-
room and lit the gas. A folded bit
of paper on the table caught her eye.
She opened it, a torrent of fears en-
gulfing her — he might be sick —

called away But she could never

have imagined the thing that the
letter said. Even after she had read

scroll in the wall-paper pattern, and
the cheek-muscles drew taut beneath
the skin. Finally, after moments —
or hours — she began to speak rapidly,
in a queerly breathless way.

"No — no, it isn't possible — not
'Gene. Why, he promised to love and
honor. 'Gene never could have be-
lieved I wasn 't true — not 'Gene. ' Fol-
lowed me to a strange lodging-house
— saw me in a man's arms.' Why,
yes, it was Tom — how funny ! ' ' She
laughed a wrung-out, unmirthful
sound; then, suddenly, caught her

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

breath. "But going away — never
coming back ! No, no ! he couldn 't
have said that — I must have read
wrong." The shaking little fingers
smoothed out the crumpled paper.

"I — dont dare look Nonsense! It

was dark ; I didn 't read right Oh,

God!" A thin, unhuman shriek
shrilling upwards. Then silence.
Then a pin-point of sound in the
next room pricking her dulled senses.
She was on her knees by the cradle,
desperate fingers fumbling for her
child. "Mama's here, Heart o' Love!
Oh, baby — baby, he gave me you,
anyhow "

Then the blessed relief of tears
came hot and fast.

And the man, that night, took the
first drink he had ever had.

But not the last. He had cast his
anchor of trust in solid-seeming
ground. It had proved quicksand,
and now he was adrift, careless of
man or God, or the still voice of his
soul. He passed thru every nicety of
suffering in the few hours after he
felt the blank world reeling as he
watched his wife in the arms of an-
other, and staggered away into the
mocking darkness of damned souls.
His wife! She had been God-on-
earth to him — his religion — his faith
in man ! So he drank fiercely, with a
shudder at the raw taste, to forget as
soon as possible.

And gradually, as the days slid
listlessly by, the pain eased, under
the opiate of new excesses, until out
of the wrack emerged another man —
callous, sneering at virtue, unashamed
of vice. He renamed this self
Markham, set up another studio and
began to paint, not serene woodlands,
but bold, daring things that filled his
studio with brazen, beautiful models
and his purse with gold. And so the
years slipped by, until he had for-
gotten to count them, and he lived
unthrilled with the pulse of his old
pain.

"Wrong — all wrong!" Markham
flung down his brush angrily. "How
can I paint 'Youth' with you as a
model, I'd like to know?"

The girl flung a round arm about
his neck in mock comforting.

"Look at me — am I not young?"
she challenged.

"Your eyes are old as the hills,"
sneered the artist. ' ' You 're too wise,
love. I need a different sort of
model. ' '

1 ' I can find you one. ' ' She watched
him slyly, between narrowed lids.
"Sixteen — a baby-hearted fool — just
the one for you."

"Send her here, then — if there is
such a paragon. ' '

The next day she came — small,
graceful, all young, fresh curves and
shallow, dreaming eyes. "Mother
doesn't know I'm here," she con-
fessed ingenuously, as he arranged
her on the model-stand. "She hates
artist-folks ' '

"But you — may I hope you are
fond of artist-folks?" Strange
freak ! The words were like an echo
from the past. The ghost of his
buried pain stirred menacingly. With
an effort, he thrust it back.

' ' Oh, I like them. I 've never been
in a studio before. It's awfully
pretty. I suppose," she added wist-
fully, "artists have a right interest-
ing life "

Markham leaned forward, his eyes
suddenly watchful. Again the old
pain stirred. He hardened his heart.
Fool ! He had got over that nonsense
long ago. He spoke softly :

"I'm giving a little dinner to-
night. It will be a real artist-gather-
ing. Would you like to come?"

She clapped her hand like a gleeful
child. "Oh, I'd love to!" she cried.

A real artist-gathering it was. Her
wondering eyes lingered along the
room, shrinking from the women's
naked shoulders, the men's leering
smiles. On the buffet in the corner,
confused among paint-tubes, palettes
and brushes, were bottles and glasses.
As the liquid in them lowered, the
talk grew louder, the laughter more
free. The young model with the old
eyes seized Markham 's wrist, with a
mocking smile.

"Your pretty protegee is going
thirsty," she sneered.

OUT OF THE PAST

Markham turned to the buffet,
filled a glass and bent over the girl,
his wine-tainted breath hot on her
cheek.

"You are drinking nothing," he
said. "I'm afraid you are not hav-
ing a good time."

Suddenly the girl looked up defi-
antlv. Her fingers closed around the

ticulate cry, he snatched the wine-
glass from the girl's lips. The spilt
red streamed like a wound across his
white shirt-front.

The guests sprang up, startled;
some of the women screamed shrilly.
A sense of impending consequences
beat like a heart thru the room. The
door crashed open, echoing like the

wine-glass he offered her. "So this
is life ? ' ' she cried. ' ' Well, I like life,
then. Here's to it!" She lifted the
glass. Unseen, his Better Self stooped
to the artist, whispering. Markham
writhed as one in pain. The sophis-
tries that had been ready tools so long
failed him. He looked strangely
about him and. for the first time, saw
skeletons beneath the bare, painted
flesh of the women ; death 's-heads be-
hind the men's meaning leers. To his
panting nostrils came the miracle of
sun-steeped bracken. With an inar-

door of a tomb, and the Dead Past,
resurrected, was before them, holding
out shaking arms.

' ' Virginia — my baby ! ' ' moaned
Rose Brown. Markham turned
slowly, without his own volition, and
confronted his wife of long ago.
White hair, that had been golden;
sad eyes, that had been joyful; yet
his wife, and behind her a man

Markham pointed an awful finger.

"Who is he — this man — quick?"

It was strange that she answered
so simply, without surprise :

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"My brother, Tom!"

The level voice seemed suddenly to
fill the great studio. For the space
of ten heart-beats its echo was the
only sound.

"Oh, God!" cried Markham, in a
ghastly voice. "Oh, God! — these
empty, worse-than-wasted years ! ' '

The huddled group of men and
women watched breathlessly, as at a
play. The daughter, standing like a
link, or a bar, between them, looked
from one to the other, uncompre-
hending. Yet they were alone with
only God and Memory. Markham
fell upon his knees, crawling across
the floor till he touched the worn
skirt of her gown.

' ' Nymph - lady — I suppose — you

couldn't forgive me — I've suffered,
too. Oh, my God! I've ruined my

life and yours — too late " He

buried his shaking head in the harsh
folds of her skirt, with uncouth, ugly
sobs, that sounded like the ripping,
tearing of heart-strings. Her worn
face radiant, she knelt beside him,
gathering the poor, agonized head
against her breast.

"Hush, dear — hush!" she crooned,
motherwise. "I forgive you? Why,
of course I do. I've always forgiven
you, my dear, my dear!"

"It is Christ's mercy!" whispered
the man, fumbling brokenly with the
words. She laughed softly, stooping
to his quivering lips. "No, dear,"
she said. ' ' No, it is only Love ! ' '

r^©^r»

Then and Now

By L. CASE RUSSELL

In the good old days of "legitimate plays,"

The actors were hampered in various ways.

If the scene was a street, there lovers must meet

And, regardless of onlookers, lovingly greet;

Then the villain would race to the very same place,

To plan for the hero's defeat and disgrace.

On the highway he'd rave so the faithful old slave

Could overhear all, and the hero could save.

(We hated to doubt, but how could he shout

On the street, and no one but the black be about?)

When war's wild alarms called the hero to arms,

His adieux to the heroine .lost half their charms,

When their parting embrace, perforce, must take place

In public, because of the limited space. •

But now come the days of the bright photoplays,

When scenes are depicted in natural ways :

The lovers can meet in a garden retreat,

'Mid the tinkle of fountains and blossoms so sweet ;

While the villain can plot in a suitable spot,

Where, in foliage dense, the old slave is forgot.

When the hero departs, the sensitive hearts
Can murmur farewells far away from the marts.
With him we can go, to engage with the foe,
And thrill as his courage and bravery show.
When he falls in the fray, we shrink in dismay
As we think of the sweetheart he left far away.
If this were the street, a messenger fleet
Must tell to those gathered the tale of defeat ;
But now we can view, in the photoplay new,
The things as they happen, in scenes that ring true.

U Envoi.
Then here's to the day (and it's with us to stay)
Of the gripping, enthralling and real photoplay.
All the world here below is its stage, and we know
There's never a scene that the screen cannot show.

» .ypORp^^0^^

Whist, darlint, an' listen, will ye,
those av ye wid brisk ears for
th' harkin' an' a smooth
tongue for a tale, whitest I'm afther
relatin' a foine, brave sthory of a
owdaeious hayro wid a bunchy, red
head, an artful colleen wid twin
twinkles in the eyes av her, and a
black-hearted, colloguin', confabbin'
crachure wid the map av Ireland writ
large on his faytures an' a most mis-
fortunit way of stheppin' on his own
shadow. 'Tis a tale av the yon side
an' -th' hither side av th' say, as
dawney a tale as iver ye laid ears on,
thrue as me name is Donnell, an' a
foine Irish name it is, sure, wid an 0 '
befront av it as me ancistors wore it
in th' ould counthry.

'Twas not so long since, ayther, that
it happed, for th ' shamrock was green
thin, th' counthryside a-blossomin'
wid heather and yallow gorse-stems,
an' Patrick McGuire's nose as rosy
as a peat fire in th' avenin', which, as
ivery wise sowl in County Clare
knows, is anny time in a twelvemonth
froom nixt Candlemas Day.

An' now, by your lave, I'll com-
mince. Faix, sorra a sthretch av deep
throuble is there in th' worruld wid-
out a colleen at one ind av it, and yit
Sheila McGuire was not manin'
harrum. 'Twas not her sin that she
put th' comither on ivery lad who
spied th' black curls an' purty, vexa-
tious eyes benayth the Sunday-go-to-
meetin' bunnit, nor yit her fault that
the sight av her kneelin', riverant-

like, at mass sint th' prayers whirlin'
like windmills in th' hearts av th'
callow, green gossoons. But wheriver
is a colleen wid cheeks like th' sky at
cock-crow, an ' a neat foot as nimble in
th ' jig as sthraw rollicking before th '
wind, min will sup sorrow in taycups,
ochone! ochone! the saints presarve
us all !

Now, what wid a father over-fond
av th' noggin, an' a pair of lovers
harryin' th' pore maid ivery livin'
day in th' worruld, you may be think-
in' she spint her time 'twixt mooth-
in' an' mopin' her sowl into vexation.
'Tis wrong ye are, intirely. Niver a
smilinger lass in County Clare than
Sheila McGuire, clanin' an' scrubbin'
th' bit av cottage, diggin' petaties,
tossin ' a smile or a worrud hither an '
yon with ayquil ease, an' niver an
honester blush f'r th' one lad than
f'r t'other. That is, niver until th'
onsociable day whin th ' thrue meat av
my sthory begins.

Whin it rains afore cock-crow,
there's tears afore sundown. This
particular day began ill, wid th' hoot-
owl screechin' heegous in th' black-
thorn afore th' cottage an' th' brindle
cow crabbed at milkin'-time. Thin
Patrick, bad cess to him, was flnaisy
an' tempersome as a Brownie at a
christinin' over his biled stirabout an'
bacon.

' 'Tis little ye 're atin' th' marn-
in'," says Sheila at last, timid-like.
Wid that th' father pushed back th'
settle an' wint over to th' cupboard,

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

rummagin' within until he found a
brown jug on one av th' shelves.

"Arrah, father, is it to Murphy's
ye 're goin' th' now?" cried Sheila,
mighty wheedlin'. "Shure, ye'd
better bide home like th' dacint,
knowledgeable man ye are, ' ' she says,
"an' mind th' cow-byre where th'
rain comes in on th' pore crachure,
an' thin sit, commodious an' warm,
afore th' hearth "

"Lave me be, ye ballyraggin'

cried Sheila. "Shure, it's ye that's a
sthranger intirely!"

" 'Tis a sight f'r sore eyes ye are,
mavrone ! ' ' complimented Doolin, gog-
glin' his eyes an' smilin' th' while as
he sidled near to her. "Ye 're too
f oine-lookin ' to be wurrkin' like a
sarvint-gurrul. Shure be aisy on me,
agra, an' give me a kiss — jist a wee
th'

wan

marn-

' ' Away wid ye, ' ' said Sheila, wid a
shake av th' broom. "I've a kiss f'r

spalpeen, ye," growls th' father, wid
a black look. "Divil a ha'porth will
I bide home." An' thrue to his
worruds, out he wint into th ' weather-
some day.

Sheila niver spint anny daylight in
frettin', so she wint on sweepin' th'
brick flure, little thinkin', th' poor
lass,' what sthrange evints were hesi-
tatin' around th' corner av pretty-
soon. Prisintly feet slithered on th'
door-stone, an' th' latch lifted. A
face, faychures sharp as a ferret,
gleeked around th' dure, follyed be
long, scatterin' limbs.

"Whist, if it aint Michael Doolin ! ' '

no man, ye bandy-legged rapscallion, "
says she. Wid that, Doolin quit his
smilin' an' rached out to grab her, his
face as pitch-dark as th' thunder-
cloud over Slieve-na-Mon. 'Twas a
thrillin' suspenseful minute. Thin
av a suddint a welcomesome voice
broke thru th' teemin' silence:

Yarra, as I was walkin', th' counthry f'r

to see,
I spied a purty fair maid a-sthrollin' on

the lea.

"Gerald Kelly!" cries Sheila, her
heart leapin' hot to her voice an'
scorchin' th' worruds.

KELLY FROM THE EMERALD ISLE

"TV same," says he, pushin' back
tli' dure. Thin he sthopped on th'
sthone, stharin' froom colleen to gos-
soon, ondersthandin'-loike, his smile
muddyin' to a frown.

"Ye cowardly, croakin' bosthoon,
ye," says he at last. "Ye covetous
blaggard; I've a moind to bate ye to
a jelly, I have." An' widout wastin'
anny more time, he onts wid wan fist
an' fells Doolin to th' flure. An'
'twas th' same moment that Patrick
McGuire, conthrarier than iver be
rayson av th ' noggin av whisky warm-
in' his four bones, came
sthumbling into th' room.
Whin he spied th' plight av
th' wealthy land-agint fer-
ninst th ' flure, he was f eshed
as ye plaze.

"Ye bad-bred, interferin'
scamp," says he to Kelly.
"Lave me hoose immaget,
an' niver show your ill
faychers here again." An'
whin Sheila would have
follyed Kelly to th' dure,
he hild her arrum.

"Tare an ' 'ounds, me
gurrul, ' ' says he. ' ' Hilp me
brush th' dirt froom Misther
Doolin 's great-coat an'
hould yer tongue. Shure,
sir, I hopes yer Honor's not
hurted. 'Tis throubled I am
ye shu'd 'a' been discom-
moded in my hoose, ' ' says
he, bowin' and scrapin'.

Doolin couldn 't rayf use
worrucl, an' besides, 'twas Kelly his
fingers were itchin' afther, so he gave
th' maid an' her father th' top av th'
day an' wint home, ivery dhrop av
his blood bilin' wid raysintment, an'
meditaytin ' rayvinge.

Patrick gave his darter a sour eye.
" 'Tis yon feller ye '11 be afther wed-
din', Sheila, allannah," says he.
"Kelly is naught but a ne'er-do-
well, an' t'other has a foine, dacint
cottage an' plinty av goold. Ye
moind what I'm sayin', or I '11 bate ye,
if nicissary, till ye are fond av him. ' '
Wid that he picked up his caubeen
an' sthrode out, walkin' very haughty
an' crooked, whitest Sheila sthared

afther him, oncertain whether to
moother or laugh.

Howsomiver, as she stood debatin',
she heard a tappin' on th' winder-
pane, an' shure as pigs is swine, there
stood Gerald Kelly himsilf, beckon-
in' to her.

"Sheila!" says he, gintle-loike.
"Ye heart-breakingest of gurruls, 'tis
worshipin' ye I am, asthore machree.
I came back to tell ye I loved ye. Ye
know it a 'ready, but ye haven't tould
me ye loved me yit. Tell it to me now,
mavourneen — whisper in my ear — "

A MOIND TO BATE YE TO A JELLY, I HAVE1

civil

Sheila sighed a bit an' blushed a
bit, an' thin ran trimblin' over th'
flure to th' winder, rayched up on
her toes an' whispered a worrud or
two into Kelly's ear. What she said
'tis not f'r me to be tellin' — musha
no, but at th' ind he rayched in an'
hild her two little hands harrud in
one fistful.

"Is it f oriver — whativer may come,
colleen bawn?" he said, as solemn as
prayin '.

" Poriver-an '-iver, amen!" she an-
sthered him.

Now* 'tis not to be supposed that
Doolin would let th' blow moulder in
his mimory widout thryin' to return
it. But bein' a cowardly omadhaun,

THE MOTION PICTURE 8T0BY MAGAZINE

he spint same time plannin' a way to
kape his own shins untoasted in th'
doin' av it. At last, afther lookin'
over his ledgers an' rickonin' up his
rint-roll, he called Darby O'Gill, his
thrusty frind, an' tould him to carry
an eviction notice to th' Kelly cot-
tage as quick as his donkey 's four
legs would take him there. 0 'Grill
was a conthrary sort av man, niver
loath to do harrum in a meek way,
an' nothin' was more to his likin'
than watchin' women-folks greetin'
an' mournin' whin he trun thim out
av hoose an' home. So hitchin' his
donkey backwards into th' cart —
th' mayraudin' baste wint better that
way — he stharted out on his errant
joysomely.

Doolin spint a plisant hour pictur-
in' to himself th' sorrowin' he was
causin', an' an onaisy hour wonderin'
what was kapin' his henchman so
long. At last, misdoubtful that some-
thin ' was amiss,, he set out himsilf to
f oiler up his vicious plans.

Ye may be shure 'twas bitter news
f'r th' Kellys that O'Gill tould
thim, an' bitterly they raysinted it.
Gerald was not home, an' th' ould
folks carried on terrible, mootherin',
mopin' an' screechin' whilest O'Gill
argyfied wid thim, his little, greedy
eyes mane whiles snoopin' around th'
room, countin' up th' blue-an '-white
chiny tay-cups, th' foine, braided
rugs an ' th ' chairs. Afther a pleasure-
ful while av amusin' himself in this
way, O'Gill wint whistlin' outside,
tacked th' card to th' dure, called a
couple of loafers to hilp him an' com-
minced to carry out th' pieces av
furniture wan by wan. Sorra the
day!

" 'Tis ruined we are intirely,"
wailed Mrs. Kelly, wringin' her
hands. "0, vo! vo ! vo ! if only
Gerald would come home th' now — "

An' as if the banshee had heard
her worruds an' was wishful av plaz-
in' her, that same moment young
Kelly appeared, his gun forninst
wan chowlder an' a rollickin' chune
on th' tip av his tongue.

"What's th' manin' av this?"
says he, sthoppin ' short in his thracks

at th' sight afore him. "By whose
ordhers is this, me man?"

"Niver mind thot," says O'Gill,
batin' wan eye ojusly. "Ordhers is
ordhers, an' mine is to evict th' whole
kit an' caboodle av ye afore sun-
down. ' '

Black rage clogged the tongue av
young Kelly as he barkened. Wid-
out rayplyin' a worrud, he looked
about him, seized a bucket av bran-
mash, still shmokin' froom th' fire, an'
turned it upside down over th' mis-
fortunit pate av Darby O'Gill. It
was at this moment that Doolin
sthopped on th' sod by th' dure.
Whin he gleeked thru th' casement
an' saw th' thruble his frind was en-
j'yin', he paused to consider. What
can wan do whin a man argyfies wid
his fists instead av his wits ? A cowld
chill throbbed onaisily under his
weskit, an' he was sthartin' away
prudintly whin his eyes fell onix-
pictedly on Kelly's gun, lanin'
where he had dhropped it forninst th'
dure, th' name-plate on th' stock glit-
therin ' in th ' sun. Auld Nick himsilf
whispered a sly idea in th' knowledge-
able man's greedy ears. Chokin'
back a thraymindous chuckle, Doolin
seized th' gun softly an' disappeared.

It was maybe seven days later whin
Patrick McGuire, just doused enough
to be cheery, was thrampin' home-
ward on th' edge av th' avenin'. As
he turned down th' lane be th' chapel,
an excitable owl in th' ivy sit up a
screechin' an' clamorin' enough to
frechten th' dead in th' churchyard.
A dawney wind came up an' com-
minced to slither an' swish in th'
thorn-hedge, an' all of a suddint th'
moon squinched her light an' a mys-
tarious murkiness cuddled down over
th' raths an' faymiliar cottages an'
th' lane itsilf. Patrick's sowl shiv-
ered, an' th' pleasuresome song on
his tongue curdled to a doleful ballad,
thin sthopped intirely.

' ' Whirra ! ' ' thought he, knees chat-
terin'. "But what a night f'r
ghosts!" The rattlin' av his own
breath sounded loike th' phantom
coach, Costa Bower, comin' down th'
lane, an' th' wail o' th' wind across

KELLY FROM THE EMERALD ISLE

th' sky loike th' death-keen av th'
banshee. So whin a shot crashed ont
av a clump av larches he was passin',
he felt shure he was dead, an' ac-
cording bein' an accommodative
omadhaun, he thumbled over in a
limp puddle av clo'es in th' road.

"Shure I must be kilt intoirely,"
he mutthered an' swounded dead
away.

In th' Kelly homestead that
avenin' was merryment an' rayjoic-
in', f'r a foine bit av luck had be-
fallen thim that very day. Patsy
Fitzgerald, unkle av Gerald, who had
th raveled
to Ameriky
since long an'
lee, had died
rich an' left
his forchune
to his name-
sake across
th' say. A
brave roast
av mutton,
biled turnips,
white bread
an' butther
surprised th'
table, an'
ivery wan's
tongue was
waggin' loike
bell- clappers,
amongst thim

Sheila's, f'r there she was, swate
as ye plaze, in a white dress wid
green ribbands to hilp thim cilibrate.
Th' merrimint was at its loudest
whin a rap sounded on th' dure, an'
Michael Doolin, lookin' quare an'
gashly, came sthumblin' in. Gerald
was too happy to hould raysintmint.

"Why, be th' hokey, 'tis Doolin
himself," he cried, an' hildt out his
hand. "Sit down and draw up, an'
let bygones be bygones," says he,
plisintly. ' ' Mother, tilt th ' taypot f 'r
frind Doolin, an' tell him th' rayson
f'r our cilibration. "

Whin Doolin had heard about th'
forchune, he thurned gashlier thin
iver an' made a feint av swallyin'
his tay to hide his workin' face. He

THE CART BEFORE THE HORSE

thried to laugh an' talk wid th' rist
av 'em, but ivery wance in a way he
would give a hanted gleek at th' dure
an' shiver as tho he was cowld.

Thin av a suddint th' dure was
flung open, an' two constables, wan
av thim totin' Kelly's gun, came hilp-
in' into th' room. Afore ye could
wink an eye, Gerald Kelly was ar-
risted, charged wid murdherin' Pat-
rick McGuire*that same avenin' wid
his own gun in th' lane forninst th'
kirk. Whin she heard th' charge,
Sheila let loose an onairthly screech
an' fell faintin' to th' flure like a
flower fallin', as they led him away.

In the sus-
penseful con-
fusion, no
wan had no-
ticed Doolin
thransfer to
his great-coat
pocket th '
deeds av th'
forchune that
young Kelly
had been
h o u 1 d i n'
whin th'
officers came
in. An' in
th' wink av a
white's sow's
eye, he was
gone.

Now, an
Irish colleen is the ayquil of a
dacint, ordinary man as far as pluck
an' spirrit is consarned. Did Sheila
go greetin' an' snivelin' to th' kirk
where they had tuk her father's
body or moother an' mope at home
hilplessly whin she came to hersilf?
Arrah, not she ! She thrudged
sthraight home an' comminced col-
loguin' wid hersilf an' raysonin'
things out, an' th' ray suit av her con-
timplation was this :

"Shure, me own Gerald niver was
doin' sich divil's wurrk since he came
into the wurrld. But whirra ! whirra !
'tis harrd to prove it an' th' gallus-
rope itchin' — now the saints hilp me
to save me man ! ' '

'Twas maybe th' matther av an

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

hour or so later, sence ye 're so par-
tic 'lar, whin Kelly, sitting down-
hearted an' sizzlin' wid mortification,
ahindt th' bars, heard a faymiliar
sthep- on th' nag-sthones in th' cor-
ridor an' a swate voice spakin' to th'
guard, wheedlin'-loike. Prisintly
Sheila's own face appeared t'other
side av th' bars. Wid a gesthure f'r
him to kape quiet, she lifted her lips
to kiss him, an' he spied a small bit
av paper sthickin' atween thim. "Wid

AT LINGTIl THEY STHOOD, THREMBLIN BUT
SAFE, ON TH' SHORE"

his own lips he took th' paper from
her, an' wid a smile an' a nod that
sphoke louder than worruds av her
love f'r him an' thrust in him, she
thripped away. But she had lift
what was betther thin spache, f'r,
wrapped up in th' note was a small
steel file. He read sacretly, whin th'
guard was not by :

Cut th' bars. I'll be waitin' outside.
Whin I see you wave I'll thry to dis-
thract th' guard an' you can get over
th' wall. I've a rope on th' edge av
Faugh-a-Balla cliff, an' a boat be th'
shore. Sheila.

'Twas so late that 'twas nearly
early whin Kelly stood, at last, with
Sheila on th' top av th' cliff above th'
say. Shure I raymimber hearin' me
grandfather tellin' av the same spot
— a sthraight fall av crool, jagged
rocks waitin', grim and gashly, above
th' wather f'r th' comin' av Judg-
mint Day. Sheila lifted a flat sthone
an' drew out th' rope, a frail-seemin'
thread f'r sich a fall. Kelly made
f'r to kiss her good-by, but she shook
her black curls. " I 'm goin '
down wid ye, Gerald ma-
vourneen," she says. Ye
could have scraped th' sur-
prise froom his face wid a
knife, but niver a worrud
he answered her, only tied
th' rope forninst her
chowlclers an ' about his
waist, an' so wint to th'
edge av th' cliff an' com-
minced th ' decint. 'Twould
have feshed an ape to go
over that sthone-fall, wid
th' say ragin' and roarin'
schandelous at th ' f ut av it
an' th' onfrindly prison-
rufs atop. Th' wind
mouthed at their rope,
•suckin' it hither an' yon
wid divilish ructions aginst
th' rocks on th' wan side
an' th' nothin '-at-all-at-all
av th' ither. But down —
down — down wint Kelly,
wid th' colleen's arrums
'round his neck an' her
warrm breathin' quick on
his cheeks. An' be th'
marcy av God ! at lingth they sthood,
thremblin' but safe, on th' shore,
wid th' boat tuggin' at its sthring to
be off an' away. Beyant th' harbor
was a steamship due to sthart f'r
Ameriky in an hour. If he was
wishful av boordin' her he'd betther
be gone at wance or sooner, but still
he hesitated, throubled, houldin' her
hands 'twixt his own.

"Lave me, Gerald avick," she
cried, naisy. "We're sunders here
f'r a wee. But wid ivery ' Father' an'
ivery 'Ave' I spake I'll sind th' saints
a bit av prayer f'r ye. An' I'll be

KELLY FROM THE EMERALD ISLE

comin' afther ye by tli' very nixt
stheamer in the worruld, Man o'
Mine."

"An' ye love me, mavourneen —
afore iver this mistake is rightified?
Ye '11 be thrne to me?"

' ' Aye, aye ! ' ' she whispered, f or-
ninst his lips. "An' now 'tis a'maist
cock-crow. Ye must go, bye, qnickly
— an' God go wid ye "

Th ' boat melted into th ' say 's own
grayness, an' th' lisp in' av th' oars
was lost in th' bawlin' av th' wind.
Her gown flew abont her as she
gleeked wishfully afther him, an' th'
future sthretched ahead as onsartain
as th' dawn-gray wathers av th' say.
That her father had swounded an'
not been kilt as they had tould her,
she did not know yit — th' mortail
throubles an' sthrange dangers com-
in' to her an' her swateheart she
marcifully did not see. Only, she
knew that Love was wid him yonder
an' wid her here, an' where Love is
there is no room f 'r Fearsomeness to
abide.

Now betwixt you an' me there's
manny a plisinter place to stliay than
th' hould av a stheamer, an' this our
foine hayro, Kelly, discovered th'
fourth day out froom land. On th'
fifth th' mate an' dhrink he'd found
in th ' shmall boat an ' brought wid him
whin he schrambled shlyly aboord th '
big wan, began to give out; on th'
sixth there was only th' lashin's an'
lavin's lift, an' on th' sivinth his in-
sides clamored f'r shupport an' his
outsides f'r frish air an' sunshine.
But by thin he had made two rale
discoveries. First an' foremost th'
boat docked that afternoon — he heard
two deck-hands sayin' that whin they
wint thru th' hould; and secondly,
Michael Doolin was aboord. Shure
wasn't that th' very thrunk av th'
blaggard yonder, bad scran to him!

But how in this mortail worruld
was he himsilf to lave th' stheamer in
safety? He fretted his sowl into a
blisther wid this rayflection afore his
foine, clever idea came to him. Afther
th' idea, an' a bit av a job wid his
jack-knife, he sthopped his worri-

ments an' comminced plannin' how
soon he could git hould av his for-
chune, sind for Sheila an' sthart in
livin' dacint an' rayspectable in this
foine new worruld.

In th' meanwhile Michael Doolin,
that knowledgeable man wid an aisy
moind an' th' makin's av a forchune
in th' pocket av his body-coat, where
he could kape it wid him day an'
dark, stood on th' afther-deck av th'
stheamer, gleeking in wondhermint at
th' tall buildings av th' sthrange

WASNT THAT TH

AV th' blaggard yonder

VERY THRUNK

counthry they were approachin'. Be-
gorra ! I remimber me own grand-
father spakin' av th' same thing — how
mushed he was at th' traymindous-
ness av it all — av it all.

"Shure, 'tis a gre-at place," he
tould himsilf, sniggerin'. "It's a
foine life I'll lead here, raymimberin'
wance in a while, f'r th' fun av it,
that pore, sajooced blaggard moulder-
in' in prison in County Clare an' th'
saucy baggage av a colleen belavin'
he murdhered her father!"

Ach, th' monsthrous spalpeen! But

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

I'm not thru me sthory yit, be anny
manes, 'Twas later be three hours
whin he rayceived his first rale shur-
prise. Mebbe th' saints were harken-
in' to Sheila's prayers at th' time.

'Twas in his hotel room that it took
him, suddint as a sthreak av lightnin '
froom a clare sky. He had un-
sthrapped his thrunk afore openin' it
an' was sortin' an' shiftin' th'
precious papers, readin' thim aloud
an' rollin' th' long lawyer worruds
like a bit av honey-comb over his
tongue, whin a quare sound brought
him around face to face wid Kelly
himsilf sthandin' up in th' bottom av
th' thrunk an' glarin' at him wid a
turrible look. He could not belave his
eyes. But whin t'other man sphoke,
he knew 'twas th' thruth an' turned
gashly pale.

1 ' Hould yer whist, Michael Doolin,
ye divil-hearted vagabond" said
Kelly, deliberate-like, his blazin'
eyes niver lavin' th' other's blusther-
in' wans. "So 'twasn't enough to
slandher me repytation, but ye must
be afther stalin' me forchune as well,
must ye ? F 'r th ' sake av ould Ireland
I'll not have ye arristed. Small blame
to ye if I dont! But ye '11 give me
thim papers immejit, if ye plaze!"

F'r a minute th' two min glared at
aich ither loike bastes ; thin, wid a
sphring, Kelly was out av the thrunk
an' upon th' thafe, throuncin' him
wid wan hand while he rached f 'r th'
papers wid th' other.

Doolin watched him lave th' room,
thin got up blackly froom th' flure,
brushin' th' dust froom his whisker-
stubble an' puttin' on his eaubeen
wid thrembling hands,

"I'll folly ye, me foine cock!" he
mutthered as he wint out softly. " I '11
have th' deeds yit, be th' powers I
will."

Th' first place Kelly wint was a
cable-office, where he sint this message
to Sheila:

Come at wance to Butte, Montana,
Amerika. Gerald.

Th' nixt thing he did was to git a
dacint dinner av biled beef, cabbage
an' tay, an' thin to th' station to

boord a thrain f'r the West, where
his unkle had lived. An' wheriver he
wint, unseen behind him follyed
Doolin, wid three sthrange min.

"There he goes — he's gettin'
aboord th ' thrain, misther, ' ' said wan
av the min, as the four sthrayed care-
less-loike down th' platform amongst
th' crowd.

"Thin ive'll git aboord," cried
Doolin, fiercely. "I've tould ye yer
part av th' job, I've paid yer onray-
sonable prices f 'r th' doin' av it, now
folly me ! ' '

What's that ye 're sayin'? Where
did he git thim? Whist, darlint, an'
how d'ye suppose / know? Froom
the strates, loike enough, somewhere,
annywhere — there's plinty av hands
to do th' divil's dirty worruk wher-
iver ye go, more's th' pity! An' I'll
say this f'r thim, they did it well. At
th' first change av cars they relaved
Kelly av his papers wid nateness
an' dispatch, an' put a polish on th'
job be tyin' th' pore crachure to th'
railroad thracks just out av sight av
th' station. Thin they handed Doolin
th' papers an' faded out av me
sthory.

But th' saints is on th' side av Ire-
land ivery time, an' young Kelly's
day f'r bein' keened be th' banshee
was- not yit.

Wid th' roar an' throb av th' com-
in' thrain ticklin' his very ears, he
sthruggled free froom th' ropes that
bound him, an', wid a mutthered
'Pather, ' joomped straight f 'r th' cow-
catcher av' th' engine forninst him,
clutchin' th' iron wid frantic hand-
grips, th' shmoke an' spharks near
blindin ' him, but houldin ' on wid th '
grim purposefulness av a skillington
clutching a cross. An', thanks be to
th' luck that follys th' shamrock, he
took th' same thrain goin' West that
avenin' as Michael Doolin himsilf,
bad cess to his smutty sowl !

'Tis sthrange how th' wurrld wags,
be th' powers 'tis sthrange! If
Sheila hadn't thraveled as fast as
wather an' stheam could manage
she'd have arrived at a wake instid
av a weddin'. Aven as 'twas, two
inches more an' — but, whist, will ye,

KELLY FB03I THE EMERALD ISLE

whilest I tell ye me sthory in me own
way.

'Twas a warm-hearted, kindly
sphring day wearin' th' bonnet av
summer whin th' colleen descinded
froom th' sooty, ill-sniellin ' thrain at
th' Butte station. Spite av th' laugh-
in' weather, she was th' laste bit
onaisy in her moind. bavin' carried
a presintmint av harrum wid her
across th' wather. an' hasted to

in th' bog. she rached his room at
last. Thin her heart scraped th'
ruf av her mouth. He was gone, an'
signs av a foine brave sthruggle were
iverywhere.

"An Irishman has as miny loives
as a cat," she rayassured hersilf as
she wint downstairs. "I'll not be

mootherin' yit awhile " She

sthopped av a suddint. th' eyes av
her near sthartin' froom her purty

TIED HAXD AN FUT OX TH FLURE LAY GERALD KELLY

th' hotel as fast as her four bones
would take her, intindin' to inquire
there about him. But th' sight av his
name in th' register saved her
worruds. Mindin' th' noomber av
his room, she wint to her own an'
rayflectecl. Thin patchin' her bits av
courage togither, she sthole down th'
hallway an' rapped on Kelly's dure.
Not a sound ! \Yance more she
rapped: then, onaisiness proddin'
her ankles, she ran back to her own
room, wint to th' winder, out on th'
fire-eschape. an' froom there, choosin'
her stheps loike Father Cassidy's goat

head. Afore her. clamberin' into a
cab. twice as nathural as loife. who
should she see but Michael Doolin
himsilf , bad scran to him !

Now was no toime f 'r considherin'
or dayliberatin'. Th' cab was sthart-
in', Kelly was missin', blaggardism
was on fut, an' no wan but she in th'
worruld to prevint it. Th' whip
squealed on th' mare's back; th'
wheels rayvolved, an' Doolin was off,
a knowin' frayquent smile on his lips.
If he'd 'a' suspicioned that ahind av
him, on th' back av th' cab, where a
flv 'd 'a' had a sore time .to balance,

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

clung Sheila McGuire, gashly pale but
ray solved to hould on or be kilt f'r it,
he'd maybe not have shmiled so
beautifully. Howsomiver, he sus-
picioned nothin'. Th' cab rolled out
av th' town, into a wild bit o' moor-
land, an' sthopped at last afore a
shmall hut.

Sheila hid hersilf ahind a clump
av bushes an' waited, thryin' to
sthill th' batin' av her heart, that
made as much moil as th ' groans av a
Brownie at mass.

Prisintly, afther an hour be th'
colleen's feelings an' tin minutes be
the clock, Doolin came out av th' hut
wid three min, locked th' dure, got
into th' cab, laughin' an' swearin'
monsthrous, an' drove away. As
light as a fay, Sheila was at that
same dure, shakin' it wild-loike an'
peerin' in thru th' winder-pane.
An' musha, musha! 'twas a fair
mendageous sight she saw! Tied
hand an' fut on th' flure lay Gerald
Kelly, an' aside av him a cask av
gunpowder wid a fuse no longer thin
th' tail av a mouse burnin' an' splut-
terin' merry as ye plaze.

Now supphose ye'd been she, what
would ye have done wid th' nixt
precious foive minutes? Thrue as
me name is Donnell — an' a foine Irish
name, bejabbers — I dunno how I sh'd
have done mesilf. But Sheila niver
sthopped to greet, or aven to pray;
toime enough f 'r sich afther she was
on t'other side av the dure! She
laned down, picked up a sthone an'
comminced to batter th' lock as cool
as a cucomber, tho her fingers
trimbled till she could scarce hould
th' sthone. Mebbe th' saints thought

th' batterin' as good as a prayer.
Annyway, afther three minutes av
worrukin', the dure swung open, an'
th' colleen half -fell, half-sthumbled
into th' hut. Wid cowld hands she
freed Kelly froom th' ropes and
jerked th' gag froom his mouth.
Thin, hand in hand, the two av thim
joomped froom th' place an' ran like
Good People on th' edge av cock-crow
across th' field. Ahind thim came a
rumble an' roar like th' infernal
raygions on a picnic, an' bits av
burnin' sphlinters pattered around.

"Sheila — rose av Ireland — acushla
machree "

The man's voice struggled wid th'
worruds hoarsely. Th' eyes av him,
haggard froom watchin' his death-
keen, were hungry on hers. Wid a
shaky laugh, she clutched his arrum.

"Doolin!" she ghasped. "Be
quick, darlint, or he'll be at th'
lawyers wid th' papers afore ye are.

Coom " She was drawin' him

away, but he shook his head.

"No, I heard thim spakin' av that
in th ' hut. They '11 cilibrate me wake
first, an' be that time I'll be waitin'
f 'r thim mesilf wid th' sheriff. Thin
we'll go sthraight to th' praste an' be

wedded, Sheila mavourneen ' ' He

bint down, his eyes shmilin' toward
her.

"Ye were afther forgittin' wan
thing back yonder at th' hut, lass av
me love," he whispered forninst her
black curls. ' ' Ye remimbered to
break down the dure an' untie th'
ropes an' pull out th' gag, but ye
forgot wan thing intirely, Sheila —
ye niver wance sthopped to kiss me,
acushla machree!"

c^#o

The Picture Show

By RALPH M. THOMSON

In this world of weal and woe,
Life's a Moving Picture show;
And until Death interferes,
Will it run thruout the years.

Every one of human birth
Is a flickering film, and earth
Represents a mighty screen,
Where each shadow-form is seen.

Time is owner of the play,
And his operators, Day
And faithful Night, in their zeal,
Serve the ever-shifting reel.

Sing the praises, and in glee,
Of a Land beyond the Sea.
In this world of weal and woe,
Life's a Moving Picture show !

>uis Rgeves

This story was written from BRONSON HOWARD'S war drama

\jo! It cannot be! Men were not
2\ born of women endlessly to
battle with one another. Prog-
ress does not depend upon pitiless
conflict. The great struggle is not a
destructive one. The great struggle
is that which enables man to rise out
of nature into comprehension of his
spirituality and appreciation that
there are fine purposes in his being.
One noble end is the construction of
his own character. Another is this
unselfish achievement for others.

The rose-gray shades of early morn-
ing were beginning to dim the lights
of Charleston Harbor. Along the
water's edge crowds had gathered to
witness a rare spectacle — the long-
promised bombardment of Fort Sum-
ter. Now and then a signal-rocket
flared against the sky. The air seemed
charged with electricity. Men laughed
nervously. A few shots would be
fired; the fortress would surrender;
Southern Rights would be enforced by
a militant demonstration ; recognition
would follow, and all would be well.
Ladies, in evening costume — there had
been dancing in many of the villas

along the shore — pinned favors upon
their cavaliers in advance triumph
and turned away to their verandas to
watch the fireworks.

Out in the dark water lay the grim
old fortress, sullen barrier to bright
hopes, stern reminder that there was
a national power above sectional ad-
vantage.

A conglomerate house-party had
gathered at one of the shore villas and
danced the night thru — the new hopes
of Carolinians had become incorpo-
rated in their social life. Among the
Northern officers present was Ker-
chival "West, of the United States
Cavalry, a young soldier of tranquil
temperament, less concerned about
political events of the hour than about
a certain radiant creature of high
spirit and warm sensibilities. He had
fallen in love with Miss Gertrude
Ellingham, and his indescribable sen-
sations had proven so restful that he
had sat down after the ball to medi-
tate, and fallen into a state of beatific
slumber. It was a matter of second-
ary consequence that Beauregard was
about to light the torch of rebellion
by firing on Sumter. The main

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

issue was how he would stand with the
glowing Southern rose he hoped to
transplant should war be declared.

Gertrude, more alive to the excite-
ment if not the importance of pend-
ing events, had changed her ball-dress
for a riding-habit and ridden to a

"the glowing southern rose"

point of vantage where she could
witness the first shot directed against
constituted authority. Certain rebel-
lious instincts in the vehement young
beauty — she and her brother Robert
were devoted to what was vaguely
described as "The Cause" — were in
private conflict with a certain strong
liking conceived for the young cavalry
officer from the North. He was not

particularly impassioned, but he was
gifted to an unusual degree with a
form of sanity known as common-
sense, a quality in quantity that en-
listed confidence from men and women
of all classes and conditions. He was,
in fact, at that very moment, a sort of
unruffled storm-center of plots and
counterplots enough to upset the
equanimity • of any man less self-
possessed.

The gentleman who was calmly re-
posing after the ball, while all around
him arrangements were being made to
fire a shot which should be heard
round the world, was in company with
his superior officer, General Haverhill,
and both were on waiting-orders, with
passports in their pockets. War had
not been declared, and many believed
that the bombardment of Fort Sum-
ter, notwithstanding the tremendous
preparations made for it, would either
be a mere flash in the pan or result in
prompt Northern recognition of estab-
lished Southern Rights. Before the
sounding of what proved to be the
first note of a great national tragedy,
Kerchival became involved in a minor
play of domestic unhappiness.

General Haverhill had a disgraced
son named Frank, by his first wife, an
unfortunate boy of limited intelli-
gence and meager opportunity, who
had contracted marriage, fallen in
debt and resorted to theft. He was a
blot on Haverhill's bright career and
an outcast. The General's fellow
officers sympathized with the proud
old soldier, but it remained for Ker-
chival to attempt a delicate mission
in behalf of both father and son.
Frank, a fugitive from justice in
Charleston, had managed to com-
municate with his stepmother, and
Kerchival was selected by her to bear
a return message. This act of kind-
ness brought him into an intimacy of
relation with Mrs. Haverhill which
became subject to misinterpretation.
Further than that, Kerchival under-
took, in his quiet way, to spare his
chief's wife the annoyance of some
insulting attentions and found him-
self involved in a duel with her perse-
cutor. Bent on unselfish achievement

SHENANDOAH

for others, the young man had broken
into Mrs. Haverhill's room in response
to a call for help. Her bedroom had
been invaded by a renegade officer
named Thornton, and it was like Ker-
chival to go to her rescue. It was like
Kerchival to leave his silk handker-
chief behind, and the finding of Cas-
sio 's kerchief in the chamber of Desde-
mona had not lost its significance.' He
became an object of suspicion, and his
duel with Thornton, in defense of the
honor of another man's wife, con-
tributed to a misconstruction of
motive in his friendly relations with
Mrs. Haverhill.

What of war, with its wholesale
murder and theft, its false justifica-
tion of necessity and justice, its glori-
fication of military exploits, its elim-
ination of brave and generous men to
the advantage of mean and corrupt
ones? The "brain-spattering art"
was of small consequence to a young
man in love. Kerchival dreamed and
smiled at a moment when Charleston
hearts beat high with excitement. The
real issue was Gertrude, of glowing
cheeks and flashing eyes. How would
a mere variation of opinion between
people of common aims and different
climates affect his chances with the
Southern beauty ? -

He was roused from his slumbers
by Gertrude's brother Robert, his
classmate at West Point, and a brief
interview followed that was one of
many thousands of similar nature,
when men of brotherly sentiments
were compelled by force of circum-
stances, rather than personal inclina-
tion, to assume the attitude of deadly
enemies. One or the other would be
proved in the wrong before the end
came ; both might lay down their lives
for a principle, but their patriotism, a
mere prejudice of birth, did not
prevent them exchanging warm pro-
testations of friendship before hos-
tilities began. To both the idea of
meeting in battle was horrible, but
neither hesitated on that account to
enter upon what was believed to be his
duty. They separated after a few
quiet words and hand-clasps, Robert
to make ready for what seemed to be

inevitable, Kerchival to procrastinate
until he could have an interview with
Gertrude.

In she came, attired in dashing
habit, , ready to ride to where she
could obtain news of Beauregard's
intentions, glowing with enthusiasm
over the prospective bombardment
and ready to wager a pair of gloves
that it would occur within an hour.
Kerchival made an effort — he

was

HER BEDROOM HAD BEEN INVADED

willing to provide the gloves for the
sake of one of the hands that went
inside of them. Gertrude's head
drooped, and she tapped her skirt
nervously with her riding-whip.

' ' You Northern men are slow ' '

she began.

"I can remedy that " he softly

assured her.

"You are slow," she replied scorn-
fully, "to realize that we are in
earnest. We will compel you to haul
down the flag of Fort Sumter — it is
no longer ours — it is an enemy's."

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

"Am I your enemy ?" he begged.

"Are you to take the field for the
North?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied, with decision, "I
will."

"You will be fighting against my
friends," she protested, "against my
own brother, against me. We shall
be enemies ! ' '

He replied with grave dignity.

' ' If my country needs my services, ' '
he said, "I shall not refuse them, tho
it make us enemies. ' '

She wavered. This unaffected young
officer was proof against her bewilder-
ing array of charms when he had
made up his mind, and his decision of
character could not do other than
affect one of her impressionable tem-
perament. She quivered like a guilty
creature under his steady gaze. How
fine he looked at this self-possessed
moment ! How different he was from
the turbulent spirits among her
Southern admirers ! He was as brave
as they, but so calm that he seemed
apathetic, and he was steeled against
every womanly influence she could
exert to bring him over to The Cause.
She turned away from him and
walked to a window commanding
Charleston Harbor. What better
cause was there than that nearest and
dearest to a woman 's heart ?

He followed to where she was stand-
ing. "Is it love?" he asked gently.

"I am a Southern woman!" she
murmured.

"Speak out!" he implored — he
caught her hand in his — "I love you.
Do you love me ? Answer me ! ' '

A sweet answer trembled on her
lips; then a low, bright line of fire
appeared in the sky. She stiffened up
with acute emotion. There was a dis-
tant report from a cannon, followed
by reverberations that rumbled, with
deep savagery, over the water. Her
eyes flashed like the warning of a
storm, and a flush of warm blood
suffused her face. She turned in
triumph to her suitor. "Now," she
cried, "do you believe that we are in
earnest ? ' '

Kerchival turned away and strode
to the door as if he had heard a bugle-

call. He hesitated at the threshold.
He faced about and met her question-
ing gaze with steadiness. "You will
find, ' ' he said sternly, ' ' that we are in
earnest. I have received my answer.
We are enemies. ' '

It is like a dream. There is an
ocean of Mood tossing fragments of
humanity on its waters, casting its
torn wreckage on the shores. Yet,
from amid these shapes quivering in
death agonies, rises a vision of far-
reaching change, an immeasurable
force in opposition to wrong; a force
id oiid-transcendent and irresistible; a
finite insistence reaching forth toward
the infinite, replacing justice with
compassion.

The years of hard fighting thru
which Kerchival passed left him
without battle-wound or sore heart.
The determination of his character
gradually enabled him to get rid of a
tendency to compromise with himself
and developed a fixed scheme of liv-
ing. A cool leader, capable of inspir-
ing his men with confidence at acute
moments, he often turned from his
sterner duties to the relief of wounded
and fever-sickened men in his com-
mand. If his ringing voice stirred
them to action in their death-dealing
work on the field, it was none the less
effective in hours of misery when the
toll of battle was counted. The suf-
ferings of his fellow men in the inter-
vening dread silences stirred deep
wells of pity within his resolute
nature, so that he became loved by
those ranking below him as he had
ever been respected by his superiors.
And he failed not when the assassin's
knife, and worse, the jealous hatred
of a friend he had defended rather
than wronged, were turned against
him.

Thru strange channels, by force of
circumstances, a small object found
its way — a miniature portrait of Mrs.
Haverhill — and left a trail of death
and disas^r behind. She had sent it
to General Haverhill's wayward son
Fr^uik, to encourage him in an effort
of self-redemption. A first step of

SHENANDOAH

that redemption was his enlistment as
a private in the Union Army. The
unfortunate boy was captured by the
enemy, but he escaped prison and re-
entered the service. The fatality that
pursued him brought about direct
relations with his father, tho the
latter had no opportunity to recog-
nize his son in the obscure private.
By Haverhill's own orders, Frank

"West, now stationed at the Ellingham
homestead in the Shenandoah Valley.
The portrait, a seeming instrument of
destiny, was found when the prisoner
was searched, and passed into the pos-
session of the man unjustly suspected
of having shown undesirable atten-
tions to General Haverhill's wife.
The meeting between Kerchival and
the renegade he had wounded in a

THE UNFORTUNATE BOY WAS CAPTURED BY THE ENEMY

was one of a small body of men
assigned to the desperate undertaking,
that of securing the key to cipher
dispatches sent by the enemy from a
well-selected signal-station on Three
Top Mountain, and he went on this
hopeless mission with eager desire to
prove his metal. He was fatally
wounded, and the portrait taken from
him by one of his captors, the rene-
gade Thornton. The fatality attached
to possession of the miniature pursued
Thornton until he was taken prisoner
and brought before Colonel Kerchival

duel was characterized by an exhibi-
tion of ferocious hatred on the latter 's
part, not softened when Kerchival
placed the miniature in his coat
pocket, with the purpose of returning
it to the rightful owner. That he, in
turn, did not lose his life was due
solely to fortuitous circumstances
comprising the capture of a daring
Rebel messenger, none other than
Miss Gertrude Ellingham.

The young Southern girl, who had
renounced love for a less feminine
passion in her wayward nature, was

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

caught within the lines of the Union
Army under circumstances that led to
the suspicion that she had important
dispatches on her person, and brought
before officers quartered at her own
home. No one seemed anxious to
search the beautiful tigress, and this
duty was assigned by a superior officer
to Kerchival. Thus the two self-
declared enemies met again after
many years. She faced her former

with directions that he should read it
if she exhibited disobedience to his
commands or attempted to escape.
She was paroled in the custody of a
man who aspired to the dread office
of managing her as his wife, who
might now, or at any other time, count
himself lucky if he could keep her
from managing him.

By turns amusing and vexatious,
Gertrude Ellingham was transformed

AND THE PORTRAIT TAKEN FROM HIM

suitor defiantly until he dared disobey
orders, and she was informed that the
Colonel might be shot for insubordi-
nation to his commander. She then
took a letter from the bosom of her
dress and declared it to be the only
document she carried. She gave it to
the ranking officer with a plea that it
should not be read aloud — it con-
tained a reference to the nature of her
sentiments toward Kerchival — and it
proved to be a powerful restraint
upon the fair prisoner's freedom of
action. It was handed to Kerchival

when she came to witness horrors in-
supportable behind the curtain of
military glory, the agonies of sick and
shell-torn men who had been exposed
in long lines to machines of death-
dealing precision. She who had sup-
ported the call to arms for The South
and for The Cause, who had thrilled
at the whistle of fifes, the roll of
drums, the wavings of flags, the flash-
ing of swords, now sickened at the
sight of torn flesh and streaming
veins. Men who were not being
wasted were becoming brutalized.

SHENANDOAH

The endless work of destruction was
inciting a riot of their worst passions.
The jealousy of General Haverhill,
entirely without justification, was
quickened by a trivial article in one
of the Southern papers and flamed
out in savage form when Thornton,
having escaped from the guardhouse,
attempted the assassination of Ker-

critical moment in the campaign,
when the army was on the eve of a
general engagement and in sore need
of able officers.

The finest exercise of woman's in-
tuition is that which enables her to
distinguish guilt from innocence
without the evidences required by
man. When Gertrude Ellingham

THE SIGHT OF TORN FLESH AND STREAMING VEINS

chival. "While the latter was lying in
an unconscious condition, the minia-
ture portrait of Mrs. Haverhill was
discovered among the contents of his
pocket and handed to the General,
confirming his outrageous suspicions.
Kerchival was given no opportunity
to explain when he recovered con-
sciousness, but was detached from his
regiment and placed under a form of
arrest by command of General Haver-
hill, an act that was without j ustifica-
tion and that was committed at a

came to know of Kerchival 's disgrace
and the cause of it, she refused to
believe that he deserved his punish-
ment. Nor could her faith be shaken
when Haverhill plainly intimated
that Kerchival was unworthy of
honor or confidence. With the grad-
ual change that had taken place in
her views of the righteousness of her
cause, this proud young Daughter of
the South was beginning to experi-
ence a revulsion of feeling about all
acts of violence, war included. She

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

not only resented Haverhill's intima-
tions, bnt made a true prophecy that
he would deeply regret the unvoiced
part of his distrust, that which shame-
fully injured his innocent wife. He
had occasion to remember this predic-
tion when he eventually received a
note written by his unfortunate son,
a deathbed confession clearing Ker-
chival and indicating the strange
channels thru which the incrimina-
ting miniature portrait had passed,
but the angry General was in vindic-
tive mood and spurred away- to rejoin
his troops.

The battle was on when Gertrude
found Kerchival pacing the veranda
of her home. He was coatless and
hatless, but still wore his sword. The
reverberations of distant cannon were
rising in volume when they met.

"My regiment is at the front," he
said bitterly, "and I — I am under
arrest." He staggered toward her
and brought his hand convulsively to
his breast.

' ' Kerchival ! " - she exclaimed, in
an agony of apprehension. "Your
wound!" She supported him as he
reeled and conducted him to where he
could sink into a seat.

He paled in suppression of pain
and closed his eyes for a fleeting in-
stant. He smiled when an uncon-
scious caress of pity betrayed her;
opened his eyes to look up into her
face and caught her hand. ' ' Wound ! ' '
he exclaimed in surprise. "I have
no wound. You do love me?"

"Kerchival!" she begged. "Let
me call the surgeon ? ' '

' ' You can be of more service to me
than he can," said the unconcerned
suitor. "Never mind that" — she
seemed startled by the gathering
sounds of fierce conflict — ' ' it is only a
battle. Do you love me?"

Sweet Rebel to the last, she made
an attempt at resistance, but the on-
coming roar reminded her that he
might enter the fight without know-
ing what was trembling in her heart
for expression. "Be quiet, Kerchival,
dear," she implored. "Yes, I do. ■ I
do love you" — she caressed his hair
with a trembling hand — "I said the

same thing three years ago. It is in
the letter that you have. No — no —
you must be very quiet, or I will not
say another word. If you obey me, I
will repeat that part of the letter,
every word. I know it by heart, for I
read it a dozen times. The letter is
from Mrs. Haverhill."

"Go on," he commanded, with a
first assumption of rights proprietary.

"It says," Gertrude continued in
low tones : " ' I have kept your secret,
my darling, but I was sorely tempted
to betray the confidence you reposed
in me. If Kerchival had heard you
say, as I did, when your face was
hidden in my bosom that night, that
you loved him with your whole
heart ' "

"Ah!" exclaimed Kerchival, start-
ing to his feet. He staggered back,
and she had barely time to support
him when he sank into the chair,
dragging her down on her knees be-
fore him.

' ' Let me go for help, ' ' she entreated
him.

He looked down at her tenderly.
"Not at a time like this," he said
softly. ' ' You have brought me a new
life. Heaven is just opening before
me." He sighed heavily, closed his
eyes and dropped his hands.

' ' Kerchival. ! ' ' she cried. ' ' You are
dying!"

He was not dying. At a sharp
burst of musketry near them, fol-
lowed by a roar of artillery, he stag-
gered to his feet, drew his sword and
attempted . to make the road. Still
on her knees, she clung to him
frantically.

"The enemy is close upon us!" he
roared.

She rose and followed him to the
gate. The enemy? The enemy he
knew was clothed in gray. This was
no moment for false gods. She must
declare for him or against him. She
must renounce country, family, all
that she held dear for the man she
loved. A sergeant of his regiment
appeared and announced that the
Union Army was in full retreat.

' ' Kerchival, ' ' Gertrude called, "you
are under arrest. ' '

SHENANDOAH

' 'Damn the arrest!" he shouted.
"Where is Sheridan?"

Sheridan was on his way, bnt the
troops were thoroly demoralized.
Fugitives were already beginning to
appear.

' ; Kerchival ! " cried the spirited
woman, who was about to win forever
in noble surrender. "Rally your
troops! Rally them! Make a stand

Gertrude ran to his aid. "Men!"
she called to the faltering ones, "Are
you soldiers? Turn back! There is
a leader for you. Fight for your flag
— and — and mine ! Fight for the flag
my father died for ! ' '

Vain effort. The stream of fugi-
tives pressed on.

She looked around for Kerchival.
Presently she saw him. He was

FIGHT FOR YOUR FLAG AND AND MINE I

until Sheridan arrives." She ran
with him as he rushed out into the
road.

A confused mass of men now came
up in a state of agitation plainly in-
dicated in their pale faces and fren-
zied efforts to escape.

' ' Halt ! ' ' cried Kerchival. He was
among them with drawn sword, at-
tempting, single-handed, to press the
fugitives back, but the impact was too
great for him, and he was swept aside.

mounted on a horse. The men were
cheering him. "Forward!" he cried
in ringing tones. "Sheridan is com-
ing."

And so the day was won.

The war raged on until the bitter
end, but peace, with its count of
ruined homes and missing loved ones,
brought supreme happiness to Ker-
chival and the Sweet Rebel who sur-
rendered in time.

BY PeIER, WAD&-

(Author's Note: Angkor-Thorn, the city, and Angkor- Wat, the temple, in Cam-
bodian Siam, are the testimony of a vanished people. Today they are a mass of in-
accessible, jungle-grown ruins, yet if we are to believe the early Chinese writers and
the legends of the Siamese, the Khmers were once one of the most nourishing, most
learned and most skilled of the earth's peoples. They built cities and temples,
mined, and carved marvellously on stone, levied tribute on Siam and Annam, wor-
shiped Buddha with a thousand chapels and temples, and lived, sang and danced
with the splendor of the Far East. Nor can history solve the riddle of their dis-
appearance. In the 15th century Angkor-Thorn was completely wiped out. Whether
by war, Or pestilence, or self-destruction, time alone can tell. The Melies company
were fortunate in securing the original ruins and scenery as a background and setting
for this legend.)

Divakara stood in the throne-room,
before his king, and listened to
the peasant's babble concern-
ing an extortion in the matter of
taxes, with a resigned smile curling
from his thin lips. It was annoying —
the accusation of this vermin about a
stray gold piece that the collector's
guard had abstracted from his person,
especially as Divakara, the royal col-
lector and king's favorite, was a holy
man, and had made merit with
Buddha thru years of austerity.

It was the month of the kateen, or
royal visit to the temples, and Diva-
kara had counted upon being made
an angel by the Grand Priest for his
purity. That the man's gold piece,
with the king's own face minted upon
it, lay snugly tucked in his sash mat-

tered not. The robbing of the poor
was an art ; only its detection, if done
clumsily, a disgrace.

Perhaps on this fete day Divakara
had been hasty, and a bit overgreedy,
for the man had raised an outcry and
thrust himself into the king's pres-
ence. When he had raised his fore-
head from the stone flooring and had
torn apart his clothing, showing the
ugly marks of the collector's lash to
all who would bear witness, the king 's
young face darkened.

"Divakara," he said softly, "make
thy heart and tongue of one accord,
and confuse the babble of this pre-
sumptuous liar."

"Oh, illustrious and compassionate
King," the collector began, "it is evi-
dent to the holy that persistent devils

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

have bitten this man deep and have
left their claw-marks upon him. The
book-entries show that he gave his tax
in betel-nuts, rice and fowls, but of
gold coins, the Great Teacher is my
witness, he was possessed not. ' '

Even as Divakara spoke, still smil-
ing, the peasant's hands slyly sought
the folds of the collector 's sash, opened
the layers of silk, and the telltale
coin fell tinkling to the flooring.

who has found terrestrial peace did
not cease to form on his lips.

From under his silken tunic, blood
began to drip on the flooring. The
collector closed his eyes and swayed
as if to music, but not till he had
fallen, swooning before the court, did
the king raise his hand.

"Baise him/' commanded Surya-
varman, "and carry him to a quiet
chamber, there to meditate on the

THfi LASHES CURLED DEEP INTO HIS SOFT FLESH

The king's soft eyes flashed.

"Divakara," he pronounced, "you
speak with two voices — a voice of gold
and a golden voice, and the two have
convicted you. A taste of the many-
tongued lash is but a gentle beginning
of your punishment. ' '

Thereupon, Suryavarman, the just
king, clapped his hands, and four
slaves appeared, armed with heavy
bullock whips.

Divakara winced as the lashes
curled deep into the soft flesh of his
back, but the ineffable smile of one

difficulty of obtaining heaven by good
words alone."

It came about that, on the next day,
the king relented of his harshness and
sent for Divakara, placing him again
in favor and giving him presents of
ivory and of beaten gold. And as a
mark of affection, he permitted him to
accompany him into the privacy of
his overflowing harem. But, by the
king's orders, the young and beauti-
ful wives remained behind their
screens, only the old women and chil-
dren appearing in the courtyard.

TEE JUDGMENT OF BUDDHA

Coming to an infant in the arms
of its nurse, beside a bathing-pool,
Suryavarman took it from the woman
and exclaimed upon its perfections to
his favorite. Only a slight birthmark
on her shoulder marred her satin
skin.

' ' She is a most excellent bud of the
wisdom-conferring king, ' ' declared
Divakara, and, with his words, a plan
of revenge for his humiliation un-
folded before him.

Among the army of attendants and
slaves at the king's court was an old
slave woman and
her son from Diva-
kara 's own prov-
ince, and these,
wit h generous
pieces of gold, he
took into his con-
fidence.

It so happened
that Divakara pos-
sessed a knowledge
of the king's gar-
dens and knew the
hour when the
king's wives
walked therein and
when the children
were at play. He
posted the son of
the slave woman in
a closet overlook-
ing the garden,
with instructions
to enter the garden
and bear off the

king's favorite girl-child the moment
her nurse's attention was called
away from it. Then the slave's
mother took to wailing outside the
garden walls, calling upon the nurse,
and declaring that she was her rela-
tive. The nurse left the child in
answer to the unseen calls, and the
slave's son crept into the garden and,
picking up the infant, bore her to the
far corner where Divakara stood out-
side waiting for them.

In the collector's hand lay his
naked sword, and on his lips formed
again his resigned smile, for it was
his plan that the child should descend
from the wall alive, but not the man.

The body of the slave's son lay at
his feet, and Divakara carefully
wiped his sword-point with tufts of
grass. Then tucking the infant to his
breast, he carried her thru the brush
to where the old slave now lay in
waiting.

"Off to the mountains!" he com-
manded, giving her his burden, "and
may the curse of Rahu strike you
blind if you are ever seen or heard of
again. ' '

The slave woman watched his tall
form disappear thru the rank grasses,
then turned to the
sleeping child. A
beautifully carved
coral necklace
hung from its neck,
and the woman
hesitated what to
do with this fatal
bit of evidence. At
last she dug a hole
and buried it be-
neath a towering
palm. And even as
the sound of the
king's gongs, giv-
ing the alarm from
the palace, came to
her ears, she picked
up the babe again
and made off into
the trackless
jungles.

THE ABDUCTION

Nine years passed
away, in which
Suryavarman never ceased to regret
the loss of his favorite child, and in
which Divakara could scarcely con-
tain himself in the fulness of- his joy
over the completeness of his revenge.

It was now come to the Radu raun,
or hot season, with a plentiful har-
vest, and the soft, young nuts falling
from the trees. A white elephant had
been captured and brought to the
king, who, thereupon, ennobled its
captors, granting them tracks of land
and ordering a fete to be held in his
court.

It was at night, with a thousand
lamps glimmering, that the crowning
event was to take place, for a com-

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

pany of girl dancers, gathered from
all parts of the kingdom, were to
appear for the first time in the king's
presence.

To a weird lilt from stringed in-
struments, flutes, gongs and drums,
the dancers appeared and contorted
before Suryavarman. He was struck
with the ivory-white face and tooth-
some ways of one of the little girls,
and, during a lull in the postures,

Already the bridal procession was
forming to escort her to the palace,
and the clash of gongs made sweet
music for her ears. The sacred ele-
phant was led before her, and she
mounted to the roomy howdah on his
back. Then, escorted by a long pro-
cession of present-bearers, slaves with
huge umbrellas, spearmen and fan-
bearers, the bride was led before the
expectant king.

THE WEDDING PROCESSION

called her up to him and gave her a
gold-wrought fan.

And as the evening proceeded and
the king took note of her aptitude for
sweetness, he determined that she
should be, forthwith, one of his many
wives.

On the morrow he sent Divakara
out to the dancers' wattle-huts, where
the collector came upon the favorite
dancer and the withered crone in
charge of her.

At the news of her marriage to the
king, the little girl clapped her hands
and received the rich pahom of silk
and golden threads which Divakara
cast over her shoulders.

After the wedding ceremony, Sury-
avarman led his bride to a private
chamber, where wine, betel-nuts and
light food lay ready for them. And
as he raised her from her knees before
him and drew back the veil from her
face and shoulders, a livid birthmark
stood out from her fair skin.

Suryavarman drew back in horror
— the image of his child came crowd-
ing before him, and he questioned the
girl, at length, as to her parentage.
But she knew nothing, only that she
had been brought up in the mountains
by an old woman who always had
plenty of money.

The king immediately sent for the

THE JUDGMENT OF BUDDHA

THE SLAVE WOMAN S CONFESSION

old slave woman, and, in abject fear,
she told him the story of Divakara's
perfidy and her share in it, producing
the coral necklace in evidence.

" It is enough, ' ' said the king, when
she had finished; *'I believe you. At
sunrise Divakara will lose his head
before the palace gates. He has worn
it nine happy years too long. ' '

And then, as the women withdrew,
he fell into a fit of meditation as to
how he could make merit with Buddha
for the terrible crime he had com-
mitted in marrying his own child.

At the break of day the king ap-
peared, white and shaken from his
night of fasting and prayer, and
announced that his daughter should
be veiled and made ready to go upon
a journey with him. And while the
cocks were still crowing, the unfortu-
nate king and his offspring passed
beneath the curtains of the king's
howdah on the sacred elephant, and
set off thru the streets of the sleeping
city of Angkor-Thorn.

As they passed thru the city's gates
and were swallowed up in the lordly
forest, a thick steam arose around
them, and hairy apes, hanging from
the tangle of branches, grimaced and
derided the bulk of the king's beast.
But a great fear had come over
Suryavarman, who lay back in the

howdah, with his pahom pulled up
over his eyes, and his thoughts urged
in meditation of his sin.

And presently the elephant came
out upon the great causeway of hewn
stone that led, broad and straight, to
the temple of Angkor-Wat.

The king's daughter clapped her
young hands together at sight of the
wonderful thing gradually growing
before her eyes ; for, altho the imperial
city contained countless temples and
phrachedees, they were dwarfed into
nothingness as compared with the
stately pile, tier upon tier, that
seemed to cover the whole horizon in
front of. her. On its three golden
towers the young sun sparkled lov-
ingly, and the whiteness of its walls
and galleries shone like snow-covered
hills.

It was when they had come to the
outer gates of Angkor- Wat that the
girl noticed a ceaseless procession of
yellow-robed priests, like wasps,
mounting and descending a huge
flight of steps that led up to the altar
of Buddha in the inner temple. And
it was to an anteroom of this build-
ing that Suryavarman and his daugh-

SYMPATHY FOR THE IMPRISONED
KING

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

ter were led, to await the coming of
the Grand Priest.

At last he entered their presence, a
grim-faced man, with a prison pallor
set on his cheeks and eyes staring like
fishes. The king, in low words, told
him of his crime, and of the swift
punishment he had meted out to Diva-
kara. "And now, most holy Phra,"
he implored, sinking to his knees,
' ' tell me what there is yet to be done

fro in grief. The command of the
Grand Priest went on: "Thou and
thy child must immediately cast aside
all insignia and dwell in the cells of
Angkor-Wat. There, for the space of
ten years, priests will come daily and
read passages from the sacred Pali
documents to you. The rest of your
time will be spent in meditation and
in the observance of the five hundred
cardinal laws of the Great Teacher.

THE JUDGMENT OF BUDDHA

that I may attain the eighth heaven
of Nirvana. ' '

For the space of an hour the Grand
Priest stood facing them, his eyes
rolled up in their sockets and his
heart communing with unearthy
things. Then his verdict came, swift
as a headsman 's stroke.

"Hereditary Hluang of the Khm-
ers," he pronounced harshly, "thou
hast wounded the foot of Buddha so
as to make it bleed, and thy punish-
ment must be in accordance with the
awful crime."

Suryavarman shivered slightly,
and his little daughter rocked to and

Thus, in time, you may go forth again
with the lotus-flower of sins forgiven
clasped in your hands again. From
the feet of Buddha, I have spoken. ' '

The king bowed in submission, and,
forthwith, lay priests entered and
took away all his fine raiment and
jewels, casting about his loins a
panung of coarse cloth. And then
up the endless steps he was led, in
solemn procession, to an eyrie cell
under the roof of Angkor- Wat, with
twisted stone bars in its one high
window.

And the little dancing-girl, too, in
her stiff finery of a bride, wTas led

TEE JUDGMENT OF BUDDHA

away to a cell in a lower tier of the
temple, where she wept unheard and
beat her tiny breasts against the
stonework impotently, until she was
a sorry sight of dust and sodden
tears stiffening on her parti-colored
silks.

It was in such a plight, only more
passive, that the old crone, who had
stood as her mother for so many
years, found her on a succeeding
day. With the golden pieces the
king had thrust upon her on the
wedding-day, the faithful and tire-
less woman had bribed her way past
the soldier on guard and into the
dancing-girl's cell. And with the
cunning of a mountaineer, she so con-
trived that the girl and she exchanged
clothes, and, dressed in the crone's
ragged garments, the child easily
slipped by the sentinel.

But escape was far from her mind.
For long hours, and in the pose of a
veiled suppliant, she ranged the long,
carved galleries in -search of the
Grand Priest. At length her indus-
try was rewarded. Accompanied by
a swarm of yellow robes, shaven to
the last eyelash, and with his eyes
rolled up from the sins of the flesh,
the Grand Priest slowly crossed the
open courtyard. The dancing-girl
hastened after him and threw herself
in his path.

"Oh, holy Somdeth Phra," she
muttered, ' ' grant me an audience, for
my earth-weary bones have traveled
far and beyond their strength to see
you."

With a gesture, the Grand Priest
bade his followers continue, and was
soon left alone with the ragged,
veiled woman.

The dancing-girl raised her face-
covering, and the startled holy man
looked into the features of Surya-
varman's young and beautiful daugh-
ter.

"A boon, footstool of Buddha's
footprint," she invoked, before he
could turn away, "that you will
again consult the oracle as to my
father's penance."

The Grand Priest bowed his head
in assent and continued on his

journey, casting his eyes fervently in-
ward, lest he had lost much merit
with Buddha in parleying with this
wanton daughter of a king.

With the beating of a drum at
cockcrow, the next morn, the king's
meditations were disturbed by naked
feet shuffling thru his doorway, and
presently his cell was filled with silent
yellow robes. The time had come for
the great bronze image of Buddha to
pronounce his fate, thru the interces-
sion of the Somdeth Phra.

Tho it was the second month of
the Radu raun, and the moat around
the walls of Angkor- Wat steamed in a
circle of vapor below them, the air
on the flight of a thousand steps lead-
ing up to the image was singularly
cool and sweet. Suryavarman and
the dancing-girl, the humblest of
them all, formed in the procession of
yellow-robed priests and ascended to
where the Grand Priest stood ready
to invoke the oracle. It was on a
little stone platform high above the
earth and containing only the ever-
smiling image of Buddha and the
praying Phra.

Suddenly the regiment of yellow
robes cast themselves down prostrate
before the image, elbows on knees
and clasped hands resting on fore-
heads. And then the voice of the
Phra, grown big with the revelations
of Buddha, thundered above them :

"The Great Teacher has spoken.
If Suryavarman, the sinner, will
undertake to build a temple in the
space of ten days, his crime will be
forgiven. So speaks Buddha, the In-
ventor of the law. ' '

The yellow robes began to file down
the steps again and left the puzzled
king and his daughter standing stock-
still before the Phra.

"Oh, sinless Somdeth Phra," said
Suryavarman, reflectively, ' ' surely
my ears have become clogged with
clay in hearing that a temple must be
built in the space of ten days. ' '

' ' You have heard only too rightly, ' '
said the Phra, sternly. "Buddha has
no hate for thee, only sorrow. Take
heart of courage; all thy kingly
powers will be restored to thee for the

100

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

space of ten days, that thou mayst
accomplish the marvelous task."

And on the morrow stood a new
man, a prond king, where the peni-
tent had stood on the thousand steps
of the altar. And to him, at his com-
mand, came elephants, architects and
an army of slave laborers from
Angkor-Thorn.

All day and all night for the space

TURNED TO BRONZE

of nine days, the elephants grunted
and sweated under mighty back-
loads of stone in the courtyard of
Angkor-Wat, and the nights were
busier than the day, with the flare of
a thousand resin torches and the
thumping and heaving and cutting of
cubes of stone. But at the ending of
the ninth day the king and the sleep-
less dancing-girl looked upon the
fruits of their labor and found it only
the shabby skeleton of a temple, lack-
ing a roof and a tower, and having no
carvings nor gildings at all.

At daybreak, on the morning of the
last of the fateful allotment, a multi-
tude of citizens from Angkor- Thorn
had jammed the causeway and had
flocked even as far as the foot of the
Flight of a Thousand Steps, for they
were bursting with curiosity to see
the outcome of Suryavarman 's efforts.
Presently the Phra and his cloud of
yellow robes came out of the courtyard
and started slowly to ascend
the steps. It was then that
the dancing-girl, affrighted
at the failure of her father,
implored the Grand Priest
once more to consult the
oracle.

A groan of pleasure
swept thru the multitude
as they interpreted his ges-
ture of assent, and the
wave of yellow robes grad-
ually ascended to the smil-
ing figure of Buddha.

As the Grand Priest
raised his arms, the hush of
the tomb fell upon the
kneeling multitude, a n d
none had the courage to
look up until the Phra had
started down with his mes-
sage.

Suryavarman and the
dancing-girl stood on the
first landing of the steps,
clad in royal holiday attire.
Their pose was that of rigid
expectancy. And lo, as the
Grand Priest stood just
above them, and again
delivered his message of
failure, the tall figure of
the king and the soft little shape of
his daughter were caught and held in
the fixity of bronze.

Long and tremulously the footstool
of Buddha gazed at the bronze figures
of the former king and princess.
Then he solemnly fell before them,
with clasped hands, and meditated
deeply upon the magnanimity of the
Teacher who had turned them into
lasting images of himself. For so
runneth the proverb, that only by
valiant striving shall the soul cast its
form around the flesh.

QourTney fyLty eooPER^

This story was written from the photoplay by the same author

Kixg of the Journal drew three
cards, and then threw down his
liand.

"Far be it from me to break up this
little game," he said, "but unless
somebody takes a scout around head-
quarters and sees what's doing, we'll
all be on the shelf with the rest of the
preserves. Believe me, this isn't any
time for card-playing — at least, it
isn't for me."

"What's the row?" Akers of the
Globe was shuffling the cards.

King laughed slightly.

"You ought to know what's the
row. If you dont, here it is : have
you stopped to realize lately what a
small amount of news is being dished
up to us ? Now you cant tell me there
isn't crime in this town — it's going
on all the time, but the police are not
giving out any information about it,
that's all. The only way we're going
to get it is to snoop around among our
friends and get the tips that will put
us on the right track — savvy? And
it's about time to start snooping
right now."

A swishing sound as a handful of

cards struck the pressroom table.
Frost of the Star was glowering.

"Well, all I've got to say is this:
I'm willing to split everything I get,
big stories and little stories, with you
fellows that have been down here at
headquarters long enough to know a
doughnut from a hole in the ground,
but take it from me that I'm not go-
ing to hand that plate of sour-krout
anything. ' '

He pointed across the room to
where a rotund figure was bent over a
typewriter, and where B. Clarence
Snuggles, new arrival at police head-
quarters, was frowning in the throes
of composition. B. Clarence, in the
week in which he had made the press-
room his working-place, had not be-
come a great favorite. B. Clarence
was from Kansas — Tinkloe, Kansas —
and he had come to the city with the
expressed purpose of waking it up to
a full realization of what a genius
really was. B. Clarence was a genius.
He was sure of it. He informed
every one of the fact, and on account
of his genius the Neics was paying
him fifteen dollars a week for any and

101

102

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

all kinds of work, mostly that of re-
writing death notices. At least, the
News had started B. Clarence on that
work, but three out-of-town assign-
ments which had broken up the main
staff, a convention or two, and a few
cracking political stories had so dis-
rupted the regular force of reporters
that B. Clarence was "filling in" at
police headquarters for three weeks
in the place of Roberts, the regular

"The last two^ lines/' he volun-
teered, ' ' go like this :

And for their woes a reward was given
By a topmost place in heaven.

"Get the rhyme?" he softly asked,
"'given' goes with 'hivm,' Irish
pronunciation. Oh!" he groaned,
"hold me, somebody ! And we've got
two more weeks of this!"

Then, pressing his hands against

B. CLARENCE, GENIUS, POET, CUB REPORTER, ETC.

man. And like the man with the
three-card flush, B. Clarence wasn't a
champion filler. Frost growled.

"What's he doing now?" he asked
of King. "Same old thing — writing
poetry about moss-covered tombs? I
can stand a fellow that writes funny
poetry; I'll even let him stick it up
on the wall, but when one of these
small-town birds begin to think he's
a Milton, then it's all off."

King had tiptoed behind Clarence,
and had looked over his shoulder.
Then he had returned, grinning.

his temples, he left the room, in search
of that commodity by which papers
live — news. Frost followed. Akers
started to leave his chair, changed his
mind and picked up the cards for a
game of solitaire.

Ten minutes more, and he turned.

"Kid," he called, and when B.
Clarence left the typewriter, he looked
at him long and seriously. "What's
the matter with you, anyhow? You
got a calling down from the office
this morning, didn 't you ? ' '

B. Clarence looked hard ahead;

ROUGHING THE CUB

103

then shifting his view downward,
brushed an imaginary speck of dust
from his mottled brown vest. Clar-
ence always had heard that out-
landish clothes were a mark of genius.
"Yes," he answered at last; "it
was about that story where a man
thought robbers were trying to get in
bis room, and he got out a window

wires in his night-clothes to get away
from imaginary robbers? Where's
your nose for news, man ? No wonder
you're only getting fifteen dollars a
week! Here, look here. I'm going
to show you how to get a story and
how to handle it after you've gotten
it. I got a tip a few minutes ago that
a negro killed himself in a room over

YOU GOT A CALLING DOWN, DIDN'T YOU

and crawled along some telephone
wires to get away from the fellows. I
didn't see anything to it, so I didn't
write anything. The Star had a
column about it, and I guess "

Akers had broken in.

"Didn't see anything to it!" he
gasped. "Why, you ninny, where 's
your newspaper sense? Didn't you
see the feature in that thing, where a
fellow went to all that trouble and
chased along on a bunch of telephone

on Fourth Street Now as far as the
story goes, there is nothing to it, but
I want to see how you go after news.
Go over there and find out all you can
about it, and then come here and
listen to me telephone in the informa-
tion. Maybe you'll get a hunch then.
We're not down on you, Kid — only
you just get us by the topsails some-
times with that love- junk you're
always writing about, Understand?
Now hike."

104

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

B. Clarence nodded gravely. Then
he reached for his green cap and was
gone. When he returned, the old
game was on again, and Akers was
calling for one card. B. Clarence
interrupted.

"It was a love-affair/' he said
mournfully.

"It was!" asked Akers. "Well,
with that class of persons love doesn 't
make much difference. Now let's see
if we can find a feature to this thing.
How did he kill himself?"

B. Clarence thought hard.

"Well," he said finally, "he did it
several ways. First of all he took
poison; then he cut his throat and
shot himself. ' '

' ' There 's your feature, ' ' said Akers,
as he reached for the phone. ' ' See ?
If he had just taken poison that
wouldn't have been anything at all;
but the fact of his killing himself in
such an unusual way — three methods
— that makes it a good little yarn.
Catching on? Give me Randolph
100, Central. See, play up the fea-
ture of three ways of dying. Get
me?"

"Um-humph!" said B. Clarence,
and ten minutes later he was back at
his work of twining poetry about
mossy tombs. A half -hour of studious
effort, and then he turned.

' ' You know, ' ' he said to Akers,
" there was a kind of funny thing
about that suicide. Maybe I ought
to have spoken about it before, but I
didn't think of it. When this shot
was fired, it just kept on going and
killed a grocer across the street."

Three men jumped to their feet.
Three angry faces glared at B. Clar-
ence.

' ' You simp ! ' ' came roaringly from
Akers; "you double-dyed, deckle-
edged simp ! You — you — you "

But the words were too choked
with anger to be pronounced. Be-
sides, the reporter was already out of
the pressroom and on the way to the
story.

An hour later, Akers leaned across
the press-table again and whispered
to King and Frost.

"That's just about the end for

me," he said. "I've tried to protect
him; I've tried to teach him, but it
isn't any use. Now I'm willing to
let you fellows go the limit. What
do you want to do ? "

Frost grinned.

"Well, the old kite-factory trick
wouldn't be bad. He's dippy about
fires and all that sort of stuff. Thinks
the 'brave fire-laddies are just too
grand. ' We '11 let a kite factory burn
down. See? He doesn't know there
isn 't any such thing as a kite factory.
I '11 get Captain Whitsett to telephone
us."

Frost left the room. In two minutes
he was back and in his regular place
at the table, grinning slightly. "The
Captain's on. He'll call us in a
minute. Let's get the game going
good so B. Clarence won't get wise.
Dont act like you're waiting for any-
thing."

And so it came about that when the
telephone jangled a few minutes later,
it was not answered at once. The
playing was too warm. It rang again.
B. Clarence turned from his type-
writer and his endless rhymes. Tele-
phone bells always did break his chain
of thought.

1 i The telephone 's ringing, ' ' he said
to Frost. That individual looked up,
absent-mindedly.

"Was it?" he asked and dropped
his cards. He reached for the phone.
"Hello— huh? Yes, this is Frost.
What? Good Lord, fellows!" He
leaped for his coat. King and Akers
were on their feet in an instant and
putting on their hats. "The kite
factory's on fire down at Thirteenth
and Grand. Five hundred girls — gee
whiz!"

' ' Fire ? " B. Clarence was attempt-
ing to untangle himself from his
chair. "Did you say Thirteenth and
Grand — are we going — say, what — "

But Frost had disappeared, to leap
into the Captain's office across the
hall and hide. King had vanished.
Akers already was outside the room
and behind the water- tank. B. Clar-
ence of the poetry looked once wildly ;
then hurried from the building. A
fire — engines — brave firemen ascend-

ROUGHING THE CUB

105

ing ladders — screaming women to be

rescued — perhaps a romance He

ran for a car. He was off to Thir-
teenth and Grand.

And as he went, three men gathered
once more in the pressroom to watch
his frantic efforts to catch the car and
to laugh among themselves.

"Maybe that'll cure him of his
foolishness," said Frost, with a half-
grunt. "I hate to run a
fellow around town that
way on a wild-goose chase,
but something 's got to be
done with that kid." He
walked to the typewriter
and jerked a piece of paper
from it. "Listen to this,"
he groaned, "and written
at police headquarters :

The music of the spheres was
in thy voice,
O Eleanor, 0 Eleanor;
Thou wert my first, my only
choice,
0 Eleanor

"Oh, rats," finished
Frost. "I wish I could be
down there and see that
guy chasing around look-
ing for a fire in a kite fac-
tory. Who's stationed at
Thirteenth and Grand?"

' * Traffic squad, you
mean?" Akers asked. "I
think it 's Mike Leary . ' '

Frost grinned.

"All the better," he
mused. "B. Clarence prob-
ably will chase around
there like a bulldog with
the mumps, and then he'll lope up
to Big Mike and begin asking him
questions about the kite factory, and
then — well, about that time Mike '11
ring for the wagon and try to put B.
Clarence in a padded cell. Say "

The telephone had jangled. King
answered.

"What?" he asked and laughed.
"This you, Saunders? No — no —
nothing doing at all. We're just
putting over a little fake on that wild
and woolly poet of yours. We'll
watch things down here at head-

quarters for you. All right." He
hung up the receiver and turned with
a grin. ' ' The Boy Wonder 's at work
already. He stopped on the way to
telephone his office and let them in on
the secret that the kite factory's
burning. He'll probably arrive at the
scene of the crime in a few minutes.
Well, I wish him luck. I '11 play any-
body a little rubber of pitch for two

THE REPORTERS PLAN A TRICK ON THE CUB

bits a game and a ten-cent hickey
while we're waiting."

The clur-r-r-r-r-r-r of the telephone
again. King answered it ; he grinned,
and then he changed his voice to a
deep bass.

"No," he said, "there aint any of
the reporters here. They're all at the
fire. This is Captain Whitsett. What's
that ? Who said anything about Thir-
teenth and Grand? I said Thirtieth
and Grand, you idiot. What's that?
Well, if you'd stuck around and
listened instead of trying to be the

106

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

first one out of the building you'd —
what's that? You was the last one?
Well, that aint my fault, is it ? Now
beat it on out there to Thirtieth and
Grand, if you want to see that fire."
He chuckled a moment after he had
hung up the receiver. "He'll tele-
phone everybody in town before he

gets thru. I never "

"What's the row with him?"
Akers asked. He was pounding the

next hour, calls in which the pseudo
Captain Whitsett sent the weary
wanderer here and there about the
city, in which he detailed the new
terrors of the fire and how it was
threatening the sausage mill next
door to the kite factory; how a de-
tachment of twenty-five police had
been sent to the scene, and how a riot
call was expected at any moment —
then came silence on the wire. B.

THE CUB MAKES INQUIRY FOR THE KITE FACTORY AND-

table with one hand to further em-
phasize his roaring laughter.

1 ' What 's the matter ? ' ' King asked,
as he picked up the cards. "Why,
the poor thing says he's been down
there at Thirteenth and Grand for
the last ten minutes, and that he just
cant find any fire anywhere. Besides
that, nobody knows anything about

any kite factory. By the time

I'll bid three," he ended, a sudden
interest in his hand supplanting that
in the misfortune of B. Clarence.

There were other calls within the

Clarence evidently had at last awak-
ened. There were no more frantic
questions over the wire ; there were
no queries for directions and interro-
gations regarding the other reporters.
King squinted at his cards, and then
looked over them at the other two
reporters.

"I'm thinking," he said, "that
when B. Clarence returns to police
headquarters he'll at least know
something about the city — why, hello,
Little One!"

B. Clarence, tired-faced, a trifle

ROUGHING THE CUB

107

GETS IMPORTANT NEWS

nervous, stood framed in the door-
way. His collar was sweated down;
his hat was jammed hard on his head :
his mottled brown vest was crumpled,
and his long cuffs were dirty. Evi-
dently, B. Clarence had traveled
some. He gasped once or twice ; then
wiggled a foot.

"Did you fellows find the fire?" he
asked.

Frost repressed the guffaw that
shook him and became serious.

"Sure," he answered; "twenty
people burned to death. Didn't you
find it?"

B. Clarence shook his head.

"No, I didn't find it," he answered,
somewhat vaguely. "I went every-
where around town — I ran lots of
places, but there wasn't any fire and
there wasn't any kite factory. I
called up here lots of times, and I
guess something must have been
wrong with the phone, because every
time I'd call I'd get Captain Whit-
sett, and every time I'd talk to him
the address sounded different. So
after a while I went back down to
Thirteenth and Grand and looked
around some more, and then I con-

cluded that maybe it wasn't
a fire after all, that maybe
it was the other thing — but
if you fellows say there was
a fire, I guess there was, but
I couldn't find it."

Something about the tone
of B. Clarence caused Akers
to look up quickly.

"The other thing?" he
asked.

"Yeh," said B. Clarence;
"you see, when I went back
to Thirteenth and Grand I
started looking for the kite
factory, and I went into a
jewelry store to ask them,
about it, and they thought I
was there for something else,
and they told me about it;
and I telephoned the office,
and then Saunders came
down and kept me and
wouldn't let me come back

here and "

Three men had risen.
Three men were staring somewhat
wildly.

' ' Saunders ? ' ' they asked. ' ' Jeweler
— what'd he tell you — what'd Saun-
ders "

There had come an interruption,
several interruptions, from far away,
from nearer — even from below the

hextry! hextry!"

108

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

windows of the reporters' room. They
were voices — voices which called
loudly and long :

"Hextry! Hextry! — hextry News!
All about th' "

Three men gasped. They moved
closer. Their hands extended. A
newsboy passing saw their frantic
gestures from the window and pad-
dled up the iron steps of the head-
quarters' entrance and into the room.

"Pepper, anybody?" he asked.
"Hextry News? All about th' big
diamond robbery at Thirteenth and

Grand ? All about th ' big saf e-blowin'
— twenty-five thousand — — ' '

Three men had seized his papers
and read; to gasp, to swear softly,
then to wilt into their chairs. And
seeing them thus, B. Clarence won-
dered a second, sighed at his dis-
heveled collar and his dirty cuffs;
then went back to his corner and his
poem of the fair Eleanor and her
mossy tomb.

"Sometimes," he murmured, "I
just think a regular ■ reporter cant
appreciate genius anyhow."

The Two Lessons

(At the Moving Picture Show)
By WILL CARLETON

Near the ne 'er-lif ted curtain we sat, clasping hands,
And awaited the coming of seas and of lands,
And of forests whose branches bore fruits of surprise,
Springing forth — leafy miracles — plain in our eyes ;
And of cities that glistened in wealth-laden camps,
As if fifty Aladdins were there with their lamps ;
And the women and children and men ! who, tho small
To the objects around them, were greatest of all.

There were those that came out of the mansion 's rich gates,
Or that nursed in the hovels their loves and their hates ;
There were sailors who courted the sea, foul or fair,
There were birdmen who swam thru the treacherous air ;
There were people from all of the corners of earth,
With their comedies, tragedies, sorrows, and mirth ;
Tho they gave us no sound, tho they spoke not a word,
All they said that was worthy the hearing, was heard.

There was nought but seemed waiting the wizard's command;
All the world to us came, at the touch of a hand.
Still, no treasure that white-stretching canvas would win,
But could fade out as something that never had been.

So I asked, as we came from the dusk-sheltered spot,
' ! That was surely a picture of life, was it not ?
There is nothing that winsome or lovely may seem,
But may fade like a vision, and die like a dream. ' '

"Yes, 'tis life acted over," she blithesomely said,
' ' For it shows there is nothing on earth that is dead ;
Nought we wish, if our efforts no energy lack,
But howe'er it may vanish, may some time come back."

Editorial Note: This po«^ fnk ~ *r\ \n one of the earliest numbers of The Motion
Picture Story Magazin- J2$£z* ccuuior died in December, 1912, and the poem is

published again by numerous requests.

Musings of g

" The ^Photopla
7?/iJlosopher *"

-'v..^'

A PROPHECY

According to Mahomet, God Almighty has sent just four great prophets
to this world — Abraham. Moses, Jesus Christ and Mahomet. Since
Mahomet's time every generation has produced one or more "prophets,"
but they have been mostly those who, by some astrological, clairvoyant, spiritu-
alistic or charlatanic device, predicted earthquakes, floods, deaths, the destruc-
tion of the world, and so on, and since most of these prophecies never came to
pass, prophets have come into ill repute. Statesmen, politicians, philosophers
and leaders of public thought are very loath to lend their good names to.
prophecies, because, with all their learning, they know that it is well nigh
impossible to foretell what is to be. The art of foretelling by means of dreams,
second sight, the stars and occult influences has become a joke, and nobody of
sense takes these things seriously. Cicero once remarked: "I shall always
consider the best guesser the best prophet." And he was right, because
prophecy is mere guessing after all. While men of learning may, by studying
the laws of cause and effect, successfully foretell the natural results of certain
forces and conditions, and while it is true that history oft repeats itself, still
no man can foretell with certainty what the future will bring forth.

To venture a prediction in the face of these facts seems hazardous, if not
absurd, yet in the Motion Picture field conditions are shaping themselves so
rapidly that it is quite obvious what the coming years will evolve. Perhaps
the wish is father to the thought when I have the boldness to make the
following predictions :

1. Motion Pictures will steadily advance, both in excellence and in
popularity.

2. Free competition will come, and there will be no such thing as
Licensed films. This will result in the survival of the fittest, both as to
Licensed and Independent films.

3. The time will soon pass when stores will be converted into small,
inadequate Motion Picture theaters. The future will see large, beautiful,
modern Motion Picture theaters of brick, stone, cement and marble in every
large community, containing wonderful inventions for the better display of
the pictures and for the safety and convenience of the public.

4. Picture theaters will all have a scale of prices for reserved seats,
probably from five to fifty cents each.

5. There will be theaters where pictures for children only are shown,
and this will probably settle the question of official censorship.

g^^&r ' 109 ^^S^s^r^^^g

A\05lNeS OF,Rffle PHOTOPLAY PtULO§opftzi£

6. There will be theaters (or seasons) for comedies, for educational films,
for dramas, for historical and classical plays, and so on.

7. While short plays will always be made, some with two, some with one,
and some with even three on a reel, there will be many photo dramas of four or
five reels, or more, requiring a whole evening to display them.

8. The present idea of changing the program every day will be anti-
quated, and the exhibitors will make effort to secure plays for a "run" of
from two to twenty or more days, just as the "legitimate" plays now have
runs of two or three hundred nights.

9. The people will get out of the habit of running around the corner to
a picture show to spend an idle hour, and they will be glad to take a car or a
carriage or an auto to ride to a theater in a distant part of the city to see a
photoplay that they have seen advertised, or which their friends have told
them about.

10. Exhibitors will see the necessity of pausing operation between reels
to accommodate their incoming and outgoing patrons, so as not to disturb
those who wish to remain; and those who arrive during operation will be
required to wait till the end of that reel before taking their seats.

11. There will be an end of flaming posters pasted all over the front of
the Motion Picture theaters. Announcements will be made in some more
dignified way, and announcements of coming programs will be given in
advance on the screen, in the newspapers and in neat frames displayed in the
lobbies. Sensational titles will also be abandoned.

12. The casts of characters will be given by all companies, and these will
be made public thru the programs, and not on the films as at present. These
programs will be displayed in frames in the lobbies or distributed to the
patrons.

13. Advertising of extraneous matter on the screen will be eliminated,
and the public will force this condition.

14. No manufacturer will dare to produce a film, for public exhibition
in the theaters, in which any brand of soap or other commodity is shown in
grocery-store scenes or otherwise. The exhibitors will censor all such films and
refuse to accept them if they contain intentional or unintentional advertising.

15. The public will become the only censors of films, and they will learn
to show their disapproval by warning the exhibitor against exhibiting certain
kinds of plays.

16. The scripts for photoplays will be written by experienced writers
from everywhere, and the manufacturers will learn not to rely on scripts
written by their own editors. Celebrated writers from various fields of litera-
ture will contribute photoplays as they now contribute poems, novels and
stories. This will insure new blood and new ideas.

17. Publishers of stories, novels and poems will work in harmony with
Motion Picture manufacturers, the one augmenting the other, which will mean
that the best stories will appear in the magazines and periodicals at. the same
time that they are shown on the screen. Thus, as in the case of The Motion
Picture Story Magazine, people may read what they have seen and see what
they have read.

18. There will be more realism in the pictures. Instead of painted
scenery, there will be real scenery. When an old man is required, an old man
will be cast for the part, and not a young man made up. The players will
learn to be camera-unconscious, and not to come down to the camera to speak
their lines or to read a letter. All the players in every group will not be

^h^^F 110 r^Zft^^^z^^

T^OSINGS Oj=,rTMe PHOTOPLAY P^1LO§opm&FC

facing the camera. And so on. In short, the photoplays of the future will be
more realistic and more true to life.

19. Motion Pictures will be used in the schools for educational purposes,
in conjunction with text-books, and the one will be considered as indispensable
as the other.

20. All great events will be filmed for historical preservation.

21. An era of revival will come, when great and successful photoplays
will be brought out again for a new run.

22. Old, poor and worn-out films will be retired at an earlier date than
at present, because the exhibitors will refuse to run them.

23. Amateur photographers will be equipped with Motion Picture
cameras and projection machines, and there will be many photographers who
will make a business of taking Motion Pictures of families, estates, farms,
localities and persons, for private use.

24. Talking pictures will not displace the silent drama, but better music
and orchestral accompaniment will add to the effectiveness of Motion Pictures.
The public will learn that anything that distracts from what the eye sees is
not pleasurable, and that Motion Pictures are complete in themselves because
words are not necessary and only retard the imagination.

25. The future will see better photography ; not necessarily scenic, altho
this, too, will be improved, but particularly portraiture. The art of making-
up for the pictures will be changed so that when a scene is properly lighted
the face will not appear chalky white and expressionless and the lips black.
Briefly, the whole industry will advance rapidly from now on. The poorer
companies will die off, also the inferior directors, actors, camera men and
writers, and the fittest will survive. Even now competition is getting so strong
that only the superior films can be marketed, and this will continue all along
the line of march on the road of Progress toward the city of Perfection.

On April 9th the Editor and Publisher came out with the following sug-
gestive little paragraph :

The New York Sun and the New York Journal have instituted regular departments
relating to the Moving Picture field. This innovation on the part of these newspapers
will doubtless be followed by the establishment of similar departments in other pro-
gressive papers.

There has been no newspaper more abusive and aggressive against Motion
Pictures than the New York World, so far as I know, and they have never let
an opportunity slip by to injure the industry. Yet in the World of April 10th
I am pleased to note a leading editorial as follows :

LET THE MOVIES ALONE!

Some good arguments there may be for increasing the annual license charge for
Moving Picture shows seating less than three hundred people from $25 to $500 a year,
but they are not apparent. A story runs that the Children's Society is backing the
measure on the ground that the movies are demoralizing to young minds. It is not
improbable, however, that other forces, not so wholly thoughtful of others, are equally
desirous of putting the shows out of business.

The child-mind is not so easily demoralized as sentimentalists think. It is, in fact,
one of the most perdurable products of nature. A boy's brain is more wonderful than
an elephant's trunk and much harder to deprive of elasticity. It can absorb stories
of Indians, pirates, robbers, giants, princes, kings and warriors, and still cherish as
the supreme of life a desire to be a baseball pitcher.

There can be, of course, bad Moving Pictures, but it is not likely there will ever be
many of them, or that they will ever be popular. Good pictures are an education to

#=>^2>^ 111 '^^e^^^^f^

ynOSlNGS OFTHE- PHOTOPLAY PfllL°S0PK&R;

the child. And the New York child needs them. He has little place to play in the
tenement or the street. Let the movies alone!

Perhaps this is the first movement of a double back-somersault on the
part of the New York World.

Our old friend, Secretary William J. Bryan, shows very good taste when
he instals a Motion Picture machine in the Department of State at Washing-
ton. He did so, too, not for instructive, but for amusement purposes, for he
believes that his associates and employees should have a little pleasure mixed
in with their work. It is probably only a question of time when the White
House and the Capitol will follow Mr. Bryan's lead.

They never name a cigar after an actor who doesn 't draw, unless he is an
artist.

We do not agree with our contemporary, the Moving Picture World,
when it says that chewing gum is clownish. It seems that the telephone girls
of Boston and the stenographers of Montreal have protested against pictures
showing them in the act of chewing gum, and the World says that "it is a
very cheap sort of wit," and calls it "clownish tricks." When men chew
tobacco it is not considered clownish, and betwixt chewing the weed and
smoking it there is not much choice. Lots of men chew gum in preference to
using tobacco. The habit of chewing things between meals is often the result
of nervousness, yet it is harmless and not a bad habit, for it supplies an outlet
for unused nerve-force, and it seems to be companionable, as it were, to those
who have long, monotonous hours of work. The tobacco-chewer and the
smoker are somewhat of a nuisance to those around them, but the gum-chewer
offends nobody. The Boston and Montreal girls need not be alarmed. In the
first place, most of them do chew ; and in the next place, they have a perfect
right to do so if they want to ; and in the third place, nobody, except a few
prudes, cares whether the girls chew or not. While chewing gum is not a
dignified pursuit, and while some chewers look anything but beautiful while
indulging in the luxury, there is an art in chewing, as there is in everything
else, and some ladies have it down to such a fine point that it actually adds to
their charms. The editor of the World should purchase a box of gum and try
it. If he does, we will guarantee that he will be more tolerant to the gum-
chewing ladies, and that he will write more learned and patient editorials.

Essay writing seems to be a lost art. Nowadays we must have our
philosophy served up to us in the disguise of short stories. Every good story
contains a deal of philosophy, cleverly concealed, and only those novels that
contain wisdom and philosophy are successful. The masses will not read books
labeled "Essays" and "Philosophy," but the masses will not, however, place
the seal of their approval on novels that do not include the same stuff of which
books, essays and philosophy are made. Stories are not constructed merely to
entertain. They are sugar-coated pills, the sugar to give a pleasant flavor.
Again, philosophy is best taught by practical examples, and what simpler way
to teach it than to draw imaginary characters and make them do and feel and
talk and philosophize like real ones?

^h^^r 112 ^^T^r^^^

Melp Yoor/avorite Along!

Dear friends of the silent players, have you ever been in a newspaper office
on election night, when the returns from countrywide begin to come in ?
If you have not seen and heard and felt this experience, we can assure
you that it is as bewildering and as tensely dramatic as the moves of a great
battle. The busy telegraphers over their instruments; the rain of electric
sound, like bullets; the silent, moving snowdrifts of "copy," and the mounds
of figures on the editor's desk — the tale of the beaten and the victorious — are
sights long to be remembered. The contest, of which we are now in its very
midst, bids fair to become the largest and most significant voting preference
ever decided, national elections alone excepted. At the date of going to press,
we have received and counted over One-half Million Votes. A floor of our new
building and a large part of our staff have been commandeered to handle the
daily increasing volume of mailsacks. We can safely predict that the cost of
establishing the favorite players on their honor-roll will consume a grand
total of over Tivo Million Ballots.

Stop to picture it — an audience of two million people applauding the
efforts of their friends o ' nights ! Isn 't it magnificent, the size and spirit of
this great army of admirers? And their appreciation and friendliness for the
ones they know only by their simulacra in ghostly reality?

It is "the little friend who sits in the audience" who will decide this
election of favorites — the one who gets to know and to like a certain face, a
certain- manner and the appeal of personality that the finer artists can inter-
pret thru their actions. While many systematic partisans have organized a
campaign, sending in lists of individually signed names and swelling the roster
by other ingenious expedients, it's "the little friend in the audience" — the one
who hasn't the time nor the aptitude for organization — who is really in control.
And a finer and more thoro appreciation than theirs we could not ask for.

Vote early and often, friends of the players, and if you are gifted with the
knack of verse send it in, or even a bit of homely prose praise, and we will
try to publish it. All written tribute to the players, together with their total
votes, will be sent to the respective contestants at the end of contest. There
are prizes, too, for the winners, and coupons printed elsewhere in the magazine
as a valuable voting aid. Voting directions and the standing of the players
are detailed on page 118.

And now for a half-hour of pleasant perusal of verse, fancy jingle and
jest woven around screen stars by their admirers, including a few bits of
gossip from the Contest Editor :

And now a wee word for a petite favorite :

TO MY FAVORITE.

f ith a smile like summer sunshine,

With those laughing eyes of blue,
Surely, Miss Florence Lawrence,
None could be sweeter than you.
Lents, Ore. L. L.

113

114

POPULAR PLAYER CONTEST

And here 's an interruption, right in the middle of our love-making :

Editok Motion Picture Story Magazine:

Last evening I witnessed "The Prisoner's Story," produced by G. Melies. In one of
the scenes enacted by Mildred Bracken and Ray Gallagher, Miss Bracken is left to
await the return of Mr. Gallagher, who has gone to seek shelter from a rainstorm.

Miss Bracken, becoming impatient at his continued absence, decides to search for
him. She ties the reins of her bridle to a very small weed before leaving her horse.

At this point, the audience seized upon her apparent lack of judgment with hilarity
and derision. It is a well-known fact that a Western horse will stand without being
even tied, if the bridle-reins are thrown over its head and touch the ground.

It is disconcerting, to say the least, to be enjoying a picture and have the balance
of the audience burst into a frenzy of unwarranted derision.

Sincerely and truly yours,

Chicago, 111. G. O. Watson.

MY FAVORITE.

He's one with just the sweetest smile,

And one we all adore ;
You can bet his smiles are the very thing

To win hearts by the score.
Petersburg, Va.

Oh ! how I would like to meet him
And shake him by the hand,

And say : "King Baggot. believe me,
I think you are simply grand!"

L. B. H.

There is a real Southern warmth in this Baltimore burst of balladry :

ur choice is sweet Alice Joyce, who, if you chance to know,
Is the greatest of all posers in the Motion Picture show.
We watch for the name (Kalem) to appear on the screen,
And wonder, in excitement, if sweet Alice will be seen.

And Miss Alice Joyce, noted for her beauty and charms, is known in Baltimore as
the Princess Alice, or the Kalem Queen.

Guess !

Chicago, 111

f all the charming actresses
R evealed upon the screen,
M y heart's gone out to one of them,
I see her in my dreams.

H er eyes are dark, appealing,

A nd rounded is her chin ;

W ondrous is her acting, and

L aurels she will win.

E 'en tho she's but a shadow, seen only on the screen,

Y et I'll always love her dearly, my Motion Picture queen.

Rose Backenheimer.

Cactus blossoms, these :

Of all the girls that pose out West,
I like Miss Pauline Bush the best ;
Her girlish ways, in picture plays,
Have won my heart away from me.
I'm disappointed if I dont see
Pauline Bush, of the A. F. Company.

I also like Jack Kerrigan,

For a hero he's the man ;

In "The Promise," and the other plays,

He had some awful pretty ways ;

His dimpled smiles and big, brown eyes

Are just the kind I idolize.

Sophie Frances Neckermann.

The editor's sense of humor — oh, yes, editors do have one — was delight-
fully joggled by the following letter from "ten girls, one of us a grandmother
five times" :

We wait patiently for a Thanhouser release, with Mr. Russell and Miss LaBadie
as the leads, but that mean company disappoints us, week after week. We consider it

POPULAR PLAYER CONTEST

115

a slight to our favorites that they dont get more leads, especially Mr. Russell, who has
been just scenery for ages now.

We call them the cave-man and Psyche. For isn't he intensely virile in everything
he plays? And when he's a tramp, he doesn't have a forty-horse-power shine on his
boots. When he's a count — ah, then, the courtly gentleman shows to perfection ; and
the villain — well, he really makes a jim-dandy villain, but it's a shame he's got to do
most of the dirty work.

And Miss LaBadie — how shall I begin? All the f airiness and all the airiness that
belong to her — she is our own dear Psyche. In "Lucille," wasn't she the sweetest, little,
old lady? How many more are there as versatile as she? Only one, I think, and that
is Miss Bush.

We know it's perfectly awful, Mr. Editor, but dont you think you could, in some
way, make Mr. Russell know that cave-man hair doesn't harmonize with silk hats?

B. P.

1 ' Lest we forget7' one of the best, the following bit is praiseworthy of
Hobart Bosworth :

ow my worship's not divided.
On my idol I've decided,
Daily are my footsteps guided
To a seat before a screen.

'Bout my hero I'm quite crazy,
With the Selig Company plays he:
Other pictures fade, grow hazy,
When he enters in a scene.

'Tis a perfect film, but qneerly
His grand image stands out clearly
I can hear him speaking (nearly)
As he moves before my sight.

Oftentimes some other lover
On the screen a while does hover,
But can ne'er his glory cover —
Hobart Bosworth is my knight !

And the small ones aren't overlooked:

A TRIBUTE TO THE CHILDREN.

Chicago, 111.

is for Adelaide, sweet Kalem mite.
B is for Buster, a real Lubin knight.
Then there's Helen. Dolores, Kenneth, Adele.
Child stars of the Vitagraph. we know them well.
For Tale Boss, of old Edison. I put in my bid.
And I must not forget "The Thanhouser Kid."
Now all of these children I most truly love.
And also the others not mentioned above.

Rose Backenheimer.

U I

Betty Bidwell. of Chicago, believes in
Earle Williams :

Until death do us part" from

have watched you upon the screen,
I have seen you many a time —
The deaths you died I have watched beside,
And the lives that you led were mine.

And tho many others claim

A share of my earnest praise.
The grace of your art is the greater part

That charms and delights my gaze.

And the flame of your genius plays

On the Motion Picture screen.
In many a guise, for the simple and wise —

'Tis you, Earle Williams, I mean.

Miss Mirabelle Cody believes that "there's a reason" for her likings.

I consider Arthur Johnson one of the best actors, with Crane Wilbur, Anderson,
Delaney. the dear old man in Biograph. and, of course, Costello making close seconds.

While for actresses : Mary Pickford for sweetness and childishness, Alice Joyce for
beauty, Gene Gauntier for sincerity and splendid acting, and Bessie Learn for — well,
just because she is Bessie Learn !

116

POPULAR PLAYER CONTEST

Harriet Orbison, of Chicago, has at last discovered Maurice Costello's
allurements for the fair sex :

ust because his hair is curly, -

Just because his eyes are blue,
That's just the reason why we choose him ;

Not alone the lads, but all the lassies, too.
There's something in his smile and manner

That seems to take the ballot thru;
That's the reason why we choose Costello,

With his curly locks.

Aren't the ticks and mosquitoes bad enough
after G. M. Anderson:

And now the old maids are

Some girls like one kind of man,
And some girls like another;

Some would like to claim

These men as a husband or a brother.

But I am just a stern old maid

Who never has much to say,
Unless it comes to questions
On the Motion Picture play.
Bath, N. Y.

I've seen actors by the dozens

And actresses a few ;
The Vitagraph has some fine ones,

Kalem and Lubin, too.

But there's one I always watch for,

I'll tell you, if I may ;
His name, 'tis G. M. Anderson —

The man of the Essanay.

L. M. Carr.

Here's good luck to that sterling favorite, Carry le Blackwell, and "what's
left over" is for just us :

eally, Carlyle Blackwell,

Of them all I love you best ;
I'm going to give you all my votes

In the Motion Picture Contest.

I haven't written to the actresses,

Because I have only one choice;
I love them all about the same,

Except you, my favorite, sweet Alice Joyce.

Now, dear M. P. S. Editor,

I guess I'm about thru,
Except to say : "Good luck always

To your magazine and you."

Editor of Popular Players :

I want to commend the work of Miss Edith Storey, of the Vitagraph Company, in
a practical way. Have you noticed that many players, when their opposite "has the
camera," or, on the regular stage, is speaking his or her lines, smile, frown, ogle, grimace,
gesticulate and do the thousand and one facial and gestural tricks that really belong to
the person supposedly speaking at the time? I believe it is commonly called "hogging
the camera" in the studios. Miss Storey is remarkedly free from this habit, I think
that her repression and evident modesty make for better acting. When her opposite
has finished his lines, her face lights up with the proper answer, in its place, and
the audience feels that she is not interrupting nor detracting from her fellow players.
Catch my point?

So here's my best wishes for her continued success.

New York. Adolph Rawlins.

Oscar Edmunds, Kings'
Mary Fuller :

Mines, Canada, is his own Answer Man about

What form is that upon the screen,
With acting clever, accomplished, clean,
Who, in "The Rebellion of Madeline,"
With mirth soon changed my sober mien?
Mary, sweet Mary Fuller.

Who charms me with her winsome smile,
And makes the photoplay worth while ;
Who beats them all above a mile;
On whom I all my votes will pile?
Mary, sweet Mary Fuller.

POPULAR PLAYER CONTEST

117

V. M. " has "clinging feelings" for handsome Harry Myers:

Here's to Ormi Hawley,
The beauty of the screen.

Big, dear Arthur Johnson.

My feelings toward thee cling.

Jack Standing is a hero,
One so grand and true.

To little Lottie Briscoe,

Men's hearts go out to you.
But with all of these I've mentioned,

The one I love the best
Is tall, handsome Harry Myers.

Can you blame me, girls?

Well — I — guess !

A certain charming yonng lady — if
we are a judge from her picture — has
sent us a large photograph of herself
which contains a poster affixed to her
shirtwaist reading as follows : ' ' Vote
for James Cruze ! ' ' We do not know
if she parades about town with her ap-
peal, but we wish her well in her mili-
tant efforts.

She certainly does look lovely
In her dress, from head to feet ;

There isn't one of the players
Who could look half so sweet.

Many a night at the theater
I have sat for hours and stared

Upon my "Vitagraph Sweetheart" —
This charming Leah Baird.
505 Kettelle St., Peoria, 111. Helen L. F.

Speaking of practical industry, a
handsomely bound book, containing
some , seven hundred votes for Crane
Wilbur, has just been sent in to us
from Washington, D. C. Its compiler
is anonymous. The cover is lettered
in gold, "Popular Players Contest —
Votes for Crane Wilbur, Pathe," and its make-up, from cover to cover, is
neat, clear and compact. Congratulations, careful, unnamed editor !

Arthur Johnson has started another one to "Johnson Dreamland":

There is one whose personality
Is strong — so strong it seems,

That it haunts me with its power
Awake and in night's deep dreams.
419 McDonough St., Brooklyn.

The strong, magnetic, noble face,
The firmly moulded chin,

The eyes, so dark and honest,
Show the character within.

Helen M. Henderson.

Leo has a file full of votes — this makes one more :

Editor Populate Player Contest :

I did not see Leo Delaney's name in the list of the player:
I hereby send in a vote for Leo Delaney.

550G Kenmore Ave., Chicago, 111.

-was there any reason?

Marie Brown.

Leah Baird 's admirers carol like the new crop of robins about her:
MY VITAGRAPH SWEETHEART.

Everybody loves Florence Turner

And sweet Alice Joyce,
But of all the photoplayers

There is just one that's my choice.

She is that dark-haired lady,
So statuesque and tall,

Who is so grand in all her parts,
Whether great or small.

118

POPULAR PLAYER CONTEST

We regret to announce the premature demise of a vote-getter, Katherine
Jackson, hailing from Philadelphia, who was tickled to death by Earle
William's entry in the contest :

I go to the movies 'most every night, and I certainly think Earle has something on
all the rest for his splendid acting, and there's no denying that he's handsome. I was
just "tickled to death" when I saw, this month, that he stood third in the contest,
for I didn't know that other people liked him as much as I did. Also glad to hear
Edwin August has joined Western Vitagraph. I've been sorry ever since he left Bio-
graph and Lubin. I like him nearly as much as Earle, but, of course, I couldn't like
any one as much as him.

HOW TO VOTE

Every reader may vote twice each month, once for a male player and once
for a female player, but two votes cannot be written on the same sheet of
paper — a separate slip or sheet must be used for each player, and it must con-
tain the name and address of the voter, as well as the name of the player voted
for. Those who find the coupons that are elsewhere concealed in this magazine
may enclose as many of them as they can secure, after writing on each the
name of the player only. Those who wish to get up petitions among their
friends may do as follows : Write at the top of the sheet "We, the undersigned,

vote for , ' ' and then have each voter sign his or

We have -made a careful count of the ballots just before going to press
with this section of the magazine. We find that there are about 250 players
represented in the ballot-boxes, but we can give only the votes for the leaders,
which are as follows :

STANDING OF THE

Romaine Fielding (LuMn) 60,569

Alice Joyce (Kalem) 48,123

Earle Williams (Vitagraph) 42,246

Warren Kerrigan (American) 40,246

Francis X. Bushman (Essanay) . . . 34,218

Carlyle Blackwell (Kalem) 32,793

Muriel Ostriche (Thanhonser) 32,783

Edith Storey (Vitagraph).. 30,595

G. M. Anderson (Essanay) 30,519

Ormi Hawley (Luopi) 28,579

Maurice Costello (Vitagraph) 26,736

Florence LaBadie (Thanhonser).. . 22,892

Florence Turner 20,825

Mary Fuller (Edison) 20,145

Crane Wilbur (Reliance) 18,663

Mary Pickf ord 18,022

Blanche Sweet (Biograph) 16,916

E. K. Lincoln (Vitagraph) 14,912

Florence Lawrence ./. 14,818

Whitney Raymond (Reliance) 14,145

Leah Baird (Vitagraph) 14,015

Lillian Walker (Vitagraph) 12,869

Dolores Cassinelli (Essanay) 12,668

Edwin August 12,600

Clara K. Young (Vitagraph) 12,551

Guy Coombs (Kalem) 12,432

Marguerite Snow (Thanhonser),.. 12,373

Ruth Roland (Kalem) 12,016

James Cruze (Thanhonser) 10,283

Betty Gray (Pathe Fibres) 10,110

Edna Payne (LuMn) 10,006

Harry Myers (LuMn) 8,873

Adele De Garde (Vitagraph) 8,803

Note : The contest will close at noon
in the August issue.

LEADING PLAYERS

Gwendoline Pates (Pathe Freres).. 8,753

Wallace Reid ( Universal) 8,665

Helen Costello (Vitagraph) 8,626

Pauline Bush (Universal) 8,568

Gertrude Robinson (Victor) 8,282

Paul Panzer (Pathe Freres) 8.190

Arthur Johnson (LuMn) 8,089

Norma Talmadge (Vitagraph) 6,999

Thomas Moore (Kalem) 6,794

James Morrison 6,722

Leo Delaney (Vitagraph) 6,312

Frederick Church (Essanay) 6,144

Pearl White ( Crystal) 4,933

Gene Gauntier (Q. G. Co.) 4,736

George Gebhardt (Universal) 4,704

Eleanor Blanchard 4,230

John Bunny (Vitagraph) 4,182

Marc MacDermott (Edison) 4,042

Marie Eline (Thanhonser) ......... 2,986

Julia S. Gordon (Vitagraph) 2,901

Frances Ford (Bison) 2.840

Mabel Normand (Keystone) 2,838

King Baggot (Imp ) 2,597

Howard Mitchell (LuMn) 2,567

Benjamin Wilson (Edison) 2,538

Augustus Phillips (Edison) 2,531

Lottie Briscoe (LuMn) 2,424

Robert Vignola (Kalem) 2,371

Courtenay Foote (Vitagraph) 2,091

J. B. Budworth (Majestic) 2,086

Harold Lockwood (Selig) 2,061

Anna Q. Nilsson (Kalem) 2,055

Harry Beaumont (Edison) 2,009

on July 23d. The prizes will be announced

Do You Like Fairies ?

By WILLIAM LORD WRIGHT

'T\o you like fairies?" The ques-

\_J tion was naively asked in
"Peter Pan," and has been
answered in the affirmative, with loud
acclaim, by the little folks — and their
elders as well. Yes, we all like
fairies !

The Moving Pictures are peculiarly
adaptable to fairy stories, and, to my
mind, the directors have failed to
realize the popularity and worth of
the children's tales until very re-
cently. "Cinderella" was filmed two
years ago and remains popular.
"Beauty and the Beast," recently re-
leased, has met with a cordial recep-
tion, as has ' ' Snow White. ' '

I think it was Charles A. Dana, of
the New York Sun, who wrote the
classic to "Virginia." Some busy-
body informed little "Virginia" that
there was no Santa Claus. She asked
her papa. "Ask the Sun, for what-
ever you see in the Sun is so, ' ' replied
her father. Little "Virginia" wrote
to the Sun, and Dana replied. The
reply is as imperishable a classic, in
its way, as is Lincoln's Gettysburg
Address. Dana told little "Virginia"
that there surely is a Santa, and that
he lives in the hearts and the minds
of mortals. And so there are fairies
who live in the wholesome fancies of
big and little people who pay no
attention to those who would lead
one to believe otherwise.

And so you and I, who pored
over the fairy tales of Hoffmann and
Griirrm, and thumbed the pages of
"Arabian Nights' Entertainment,"
in our callow youth, all have a sneak-
ing fondness for fairy stories. Let us
have more of them. The Moving Pic-
ture screen is just right for the faith-
ful visualization of "Jack and the
Beanstalk," "Hansel and Gretel,"
"Tales of a Caravan," "Hop o' My
Thumb," and all the other good old
favorites.

And then some feature-film spec-

119

tacular productions from "Arabian
Nights" would be apropos along
about the Christmas pantomime sea-
son in Merrie England. There are:
"Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves,"
"Sinbad the Sailor," "Aladdin and
the Wonderful Lamp," and all the
rest.

Producers willing to spend money,
and not having the false belief that
people attending picture shows dis-
like such productions, can tap a gold-
mine of material in fairy lore. We
all love the old-fashioned fairy stories,
and, like the circus, we "will go to
take the children."

Permit the fairy tale to supplant
the adventures of the "fascinating
criminal" on the picture screen. Per-
haps some good fairy has already
become active, for, luckily, film
stories of the "Raffles" type are dis-
appearing from the releases. I think
the fact a noteworthy instance of the
advancement and uplift of the art.
The pictures having to do with the
adventures of "high-class criminals"
are becoming a thing of the past.
There are too many "crook" plays,
so-called, on the real stage, and they
have no part on the Moving Picture
programs. Unlike the fairy story, the
Biblical story, or the clean and up-
lifting and convincing comedy or
drama, the "Raffles" playlets are
surely *not beneficial to children, or
grown-ups for that matter. Such
plots are becoming rarer because pro-
ducers have found that, with a little
research, there is an abundance of
good and wholesome material to film,
without resorting to doubtful plots
having to do with denizens of the
underworld.

I am pleased to assert that the edi-
torials in The Motion Picture Story
Magazine have been no small factors
in the rapid strides taken by the Art
of Cinematography within the past
year.

WHO SAID THAT MOTION PICTURES WERE NOT EDUCATIONAL!

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HARRY MYERS, OF THE LUBIN COMPANY

Igot into a Pullman car and went to
Phil-a-del-phi-a. Of course, I know
that rhyme is tough, but there I
traveled, sure enough, to "talk" a man of
photo fame ; young Harry Myers is his
name.

He met me at the Lubin door. "Why
have you never come before? You've
'talked' the rest, both great and small,
and never mentioned me at all. Of all
the joys this world can boast, I like an
interview .the most. Sit down, sit down
before the fire and hear my life," cried
Harry Myers.

I sat down with the movie man. We
lit a smoke, and he began : "I've been five
years with Lubin Co., and played three-
sixty parts, or so. And put this fact
down, if you please : I go with the Lubin
lease! I'm over thirty years of age;
spent fourteen on the speaking-stage,
with Girard, Forepaugh, Fleming shows,
Hillman, DuBois and nobody knows what
other ones, but this I know : none of them
equals the studio. It's not a very easy
job to make an audience smile or sob, all
in a twenty-minute play, without a single
word to say ; but praise the Fates, I'm not
a shirk. I like it 'cause it's harder work."

A noble thought for him to think ; I
took it down in pen and ink. And as he
paused to think again, I scribbled, with
my trusty. pen, this memorandum for the
fan who "just adores" this picture man.
"He's six feet tall," I tacked him down.
"His eyes are blue, his hair dark brown. He weighs two hundred pounds, I guess. I

wonder whether he'll confess a wife and kiddies " With a shout, he answered me :

"The jury's out!"

"I'm a Republican and like to vote, but woman's suffrage gets my goat. The
greatest — ichat is that you say? Oh, the greatest statesman of today? Why, 'Al
MeGovem,' of Pathe Co. Al says he is — he ought to know. Athletics? Yes, well, I
should say! I go to Boxing Club each day, and motoring is my delight. I'm in the
auto day and night. I've fixed the ceiling of my room with screws and bolts and tanks
abloom and scent the place with gasoline, to make me think of my machine. Over my
bed a brake I keep, to keep from 'speeding' in my sleep. And natural and nice it seems
when I awake from 'cranky' dreams.

"Then I often write scenarios, and I like to go to picture shows. And then I read
the sporting sheet and a magazine that cant be beat. It's the finest one I've ever seen
— The Motion Picture Magazixe."

I bowed a bow and smole a smile, and went on writing all the while. I love to
interview a chap who always keeps his wits on tap. "Any theories of life?" I said.
He thought a bit and shook his head. "I like water, air and exercise, and happy
thoughts and jolly guys for friends to love and work to do ; a dandy rule, I think, dont
you? Glad I'm alive? Well, I should say! I may be President some day! And
that's because I have one trait that you'll admit is simply great. I never lose my
head, you see, no matter what becomes of me. The other day I fell downstairs — the
steepest you'll find anywheres. And on the way, ker-bing, ker-bang! I picked up
burly Peter Lang — two hundred thirty pounds of him sat in my lap, ker-bang, ker-bing !
And on we went, amid the cheers of those who watched our swift career. But when

121

122

CHATS WITH THE PLAYERS

we reached the bottom stair, I didn't growl, I didn't swear. 'Excuse me, Pete,' I mur-
mured low, 'but this is just as far as I go!'

"Influence? The studio's is the best. There's one improvement I suggest. Take
B'aggot from the Screen Club's chair, and put Yours Very Truly there!"

My pencil-point was growing blunt. This interview was quite some stunt, and
yet I could not go away and leave him with some more to say. I scanned my trusty
question-blank. "Your parentage?" "Oh, I'm a Yank! I've got the Yankee traits, you
bet, and hayseed in my whiskers yet. Like to travel? Yes and no. An actor's always
on the go, but I'm not a tourist fresh from Cook, with novel cane and Baedeker book.
My work's my business, not a spree. You're going? Well, I'm glad you came. Dont
let the fans forget my name. And come again some other day, when I can think of
more to say."

"Thank you, I'll do it," answered I. "So long, old man, so long!" "Good-by!"

EDNA PAYNE, OF THE LUBIN COMPANY

alling on and beguiling pretty little
Edna Payne into a chat in her
apartment in Philadelphia was very
much like angling for a sunfish out of
water, for the agile, blue-eyed, brown-
haired heroine of "The Moonshiner's
Daughter," "Kitty and the Bandits" and
"The Bravery of Dora" is essentially an
outdoor girl.

She was born and brought up in New
York, but went West with the Lubin Com-
pany two years ago in her first photoplay
engagement.

"I took to outdoor work with enthu-
siasm," she assured me ; "it was so differ-
ent from the artificial atmosphere of the
stage. Real trees, great plains and deserts,
horses to ride and genuine farmyards for
a setting.

"I think my favorite parts are country
girls," she went on, "and I actually feel
like one — with a difference; for ranchers'
and farmers' daughters make a task of
the things that I love to do. But, you
see, I am only playing, and they are
working.

"It's true that my milking isn't thoro —
I cant get used to the business end of a
cow — but when it comes to horseback
riding, I think it's the greatest sport in the world. And speaking of riding" — she
stopped to ripple out a laugh at the remembrance — "I had to ride a frightened army
mule bareback recently, and he literally shook all the conceit out of me. There is a
difference between a horse and saddle and an ungaited mule with a razor-back, please
believe me!"

Her fun-loving eyes took on a bewildered look at my next question; then she
repeated it after me: "Are my tastes more manly or womanly? Well, I guess they're
a home-made mixture: automobiling and walking, theaters and photoplays, sessions of
reading and embroidery — and a decided aversion for the suffragette kind of manly
woman.

"If we women are evoluting," she laughed, "then why not the womanliness of
men? But I'm afraid my likes and dislikes are pretty positive — it's my principal
characteristic."

I didn't want to bring the blushes forth from under the tan .in her cheeks, so I
reserved my own impressions for cold type. And my verdict is that she is vital with-
out being aggressive, frank but not conceited, a fine chum for either man or woman,
and wide-awake and pretty enough to win her way to the top of her chosen profession'.

Pauline Bush stands 5 feet 4% inches, weighs 130 pounds, has brown hair, gray
eyes, fair complexion, still single. She is of English parentage. Miss Bush has had
about two years' photoplay experience, and her theatrical experience embraces Western
stock : Belasco, Los Angeles ; Ye Liberty, Oakland. Miss Bush is interested in woman
suffrage.

CHATS WITH THE PLAYERS

123

LILLIAN WALKER, OF THE VITAGRAPH COMPANY

'ye asked you several times to get an

interview with Lillian Walker, but I've

seen no results; please go down to the
Yitagraph Company today and get the inter-
view." directed The Chief, in the crisply
courteous tones that characterize his re-
marks to the delinquent.

"Yes, sir." I remarked, with outward
meekness and inward tumult. How was I
to get an interview with Lillian Walker?
Hadn't I been industriously pursuing that
lady for six weeks, calling, importuning, .
enlisting the services of every one who I
thought could help me, all to no avail? I
had begun to believe that this actress was
only a picture and nothing more — a phan-
tom dancing across the films and vanishing
into space. She was never at the Yita-
graph's plant when I called ; she was never
at home when I telephoned ; it was per-
fectly plain to me that she was running
away from publicity, instead of seeking it.
Now it was clearly up to me to deliver the
interview or fall forever from the good
graces of The Chief, so I resolved to enter
the Yitagraph studio and camp out until I
caught this elusive lady.

"Miss Walker?" said the publicity man,
genially, when I had been admitted to his
sanctum ; "certainly. You'll find her up in
the studio somewhere; she's always very
pleasant to every one — just go right up."

It sounded very encouraging. I climbed the stairs and entered the scene of bustle
and confusion that one always finds when half- a dozen companies are doing half a
dozen plays under one roof. A group of girls, ready for their parts, were chatting in
one corner, and I approached them with my quest.

"Miss Walker? Oh, yes, you'll find her around somewhere," replied one; "she's
always so lovely and pleasant to every one — you wont have a bit of trouble about
seeing her — there's her sister, over by the stairs now."

I went over to the stairs and addressed the sister. "Lillie's out to lunch," she
said, "but I'm expecting her back any minute ; just wait around."

I waited around. A scene was set up ; a bunch of actors assembled ; a director
appeared, looked things over and nodded.

"Call Miss Walker!" he said.

They called Miss Walker, but there was no response. The director looked im-
patient ; the actors fidgeted ; the sister puckered her brow into anxious wrinkles.

A half -hour went by ; the actors watched the scenes that the other companies were
playing ; the director stalked up and down, with his watch in his hand.

Suddenly some one called : "Here she comes

I looked, and the phantom

materialized — there was the elusive lady dancing toward us, one hand upthrown in gay
greeting to the waiting company. I expected to see her droop and wither before the
stern gaze of the director, but I was quite wrong in my expectation. Miss Walker
simply dropped a curtsy and announced cheerfully : "Come on, everybody ; I'm here."

"It took you long enough to get here," grumbled the director, his frown fading.

"Oh, but I had to have my lunch, didn't I?"

"You must have had a tremendous lunch — you've been gone two hours !"

"I had just bread and jam," she declared, and audaciously stuck out a berry-
stained tongue to prove it.

Every one laughed, and there was no more scolding. Discipline is not for Miss
Walker. Xo man could remain angry at her, unless, possibly, it might be a blind man.

The play began, and I watched the first act, studying Miss Walker. She is
vivacious, graceful, dainty ; her eyes are bluish-gray, and she looks at one with childish
frankness ; her hair is truly golden and her cheeks are really rosy. She was playing a
scene with little Helen Costello, and a real love for the child was evident.

"Yes, I adore little children," she confessed, when I finally captured her for a few
minutes' conversation between the acts ; "in fact, I'm always in love — I love everybody ;
every one is so good to me."

124

CHATS WITH THE PLAYERS

"You love the world in general — no one in particular?" I ventured, eyeing the
solitaire on her left hand.

"That's it. exactly," she assented, with never a blush.

"I was born in Brooklyn, and educated in the public schools here," she said. "Yes,
I graduated, but I just got thru by the skin of my teeth ! Then I was a telephone
girl, a typewriter, various kinds of an office assistant. Finally, I needed to make more
money, and I saw an ad. in the newspaper — Gus Edwards was looking for young girls
for his vaudeville act, 'School Boys and Girls.' I went to see him, and he shook his
head at first. 'You dont want to go on the stage,' he said, 'you'll lose your rosy cheeks.'
However, he took me on, and I played first with his school boys and girls; then I was
one of his 'Blonde Typewriters.' After that I went with a melodrama, 'The Little
Organ-grinder.' Maurice Costello was leading man in that, and Mrs. Maurice was in
it, too. Now we are all with the Vitagraph, and we all love this work. It's so
nice to be settled down here at home. I've traveled all over this country and Canada,
but there's no place so dear to me as my home town."

"So you have a home here?" I asked.

"Yes; I just bought the dearest little house in Flatbush. I live there with my
mother and sister, and I love it so much that I hardly ever go anywhere in the
evening. I just stay home and read and rest — that's my way of enjoying myself." '

"What do you like to read?"

"Love stories ! David Graham Phillips and Rider Haggard, in particular. Mr.
Haggard has such nice, thrilly adventures. No, I dont read current events or politics
much. I cant bother my head with the suffrage business — I'm too busy in the day-
time and too tired at night."

"There!" she exclaimed, her eyes on the scene that was being acted. "I'll have
to go in just a minute. I'm sorry you had such trouble finding me, but you see I was
scared — I didn't think I'd like being interviewed, but it wasn't so bad after all. But
I'm sorry I'm doing a dramatic part today ; I dont enjoy dramatic work, and I dont
do it well. Why, when I am crying real, honest tears they'll stop me and tell me I
look too happy. Comedy parts are the ones that fit me. There's my call — good-by."

I watched for a few minutes longer, admiring Miss Walker's natural, unaffected
acting. Then I hastened back to the office, triumphant. I had actually interviewed
Lillian Walker.

JEAN DARNELL, OF THE THANHOUSER COMPANY

ean Darnell was understudy for Hazel
Dawn in "The Pink Lady" when the
Thanhouser Company lured her away
from the regular stage to join the ranks
of the picture players. But she likes the
business and is going to stay. Like all
the Thanhouser players, she is enthusi-
astic about the company she is with, un-
hesitatingly pronouncing them the "best
ever."

Texas was her birthplace, and she lived
in that roomy state until six years ago.
On the ranch she had a private tutor until
she was old enough to be sent to Virginia
College, at Roanoke. When she graduated
from that institution, she wrote a class
prophecy which is still referred to as the
best prophecy ever done in Virginia College.

Indeed, Miss Darnell's talents are as
much for literature as for acting. She has
written and sold many scenarios, and for
some time she contributed regularly to the
Sunday magazine section of the Chicago
Record-Herald under the caption "A Chorus
Girl's Experiences." But her great ambi-
tion is to be an emotional leading woman
— "like Helen Ware."

Born and brought up on a Texas ranch,
it is no wonder that she is a skillful and
fearless rider. "I'll ride anything with four feet," she declares, bristling with pride.

Perhaps the fact that she is a cousin of the famous Senator Bailey accounts for
her clearness of mind in regard to politics ; at any rate, she discusses this subject with

CHATS WITH THE PLAYERS

125

interest and intelligence. "I'm not exactly a suffragette," she said ; "that is, I dont
believe in militancy or parading, but I am against taxation without representation — ■
which is just what women are getting now."

She lives with her aunt, in an uptown apartment in New York, and her happiest
hours are spent with her three little cousins — all boys. These youngsters are actors,
too. At present they are playing with Winthrop Ames in his production of "Snow
White," and Miss Darnell is immensely proud of them, as she has reason to be. When-
ever it is possible, she takes them out with her, and the children are fortunate to have
so entertaining a companion.

WILLIAM GARWOOD, OF THE THANHOUSER COMPANY

William Garwood came from Missouri,
but he doesn't look a bit suspicious ;
on the contrary, his face radiates a
trustful good-will and a blissful satisfac-
tion with life. Perhaps this is because he
left Missouri when he was only fifteen
years old and came to New York after a
prolonged stay in New Mexico.

The Alcazar Stock Company — the most
famous stock company in the world — first
presented Mr. Garwood's talents to the
public. After this he played with stars
like Ethel Barrymore and Virginia Harned
until the photoplay called him and he
came to the Thanhouser studio three years
ago.

"I've no wish to go back to the regular,"
he declared ; "I'd like to stay here forever.
I'd rather be a star in pictures than a star
on the regular stage, if I had my choice.
And I'm working for the finest people in
the world."

When Mr. Garwood is not busy with
the pictures, he is usually out in his auto.

"It's a very intelligent machine," he
said, "but I've given up trying to teach it
to climb telephone poles."

Recently Mr. Garwood has played lead-
ing parts in the dramatizations of "Put
Yourself in His Place" and "The Woman
in White." He is a serious worker, throw-
ing his whole soul into each character that
he portrays. He writes scenarios, but is
saving them to use when he is a director —
for he is looking forward to that time.

It was not surprising to learn that this genial man is a popular and enthusiastic
member of the Screen Club, for he is distinctly the "clubable" type.

"My father and mother are coming to New York soon, and I'm going to live with
them — then I'll have a real home," he said, with evident pleasure.

"Then you're not married?" I asked boldly.

"No — how could I keep both a wife and an auto?" was the laughing answer.
"Some day I'll settle down, tho," he continued thoughtfully, "and Phope it will be my
fate to get a nice, quiet girl — I dislike the forward, pushing, suffragette type."

So there's a tip for all the girls who rave about Billy Garwood.

Jack Richardson was born in New York City in 1881. He is 5 feet 11 inches tall ;
has brown hair, blue eyes. Mr. Richardson is single; he has had three years' photoplay
experience. His general theatrical experience covers the Metropolitan Players. Royal
Chef, Orpheus Stock, and is more familiarly known as "Rich." Mr. Richardson has
been educated at the Culver Military Academy. His principal characteristic is his
general good-nature.

Jessalyn Van Trump is a California girl. She is 5 feet 3% inches tall, weighs 117
pounds ; color of hair — dark brown ; brown eyes, olive complexion and still unmarried.
She had about one year's experience in photoplay work. Her theatrical experience has
been chiefly in the West. Miss Van Trump is interested in woman suffrage.

126

PENOGRAPHS OF LEADING PLAYERS

BLACKWELL

BUSHMAN

COSTELLO

r W^ Popular Player Puzzle *

) Guess who these forty-six players /

( are and win a prize

-f

The answers to these questions are the names of actors or actresses well
known in the Motion Picture world. For example, the answer to num-
ber 1, "A favorite pet of the children," is, of course, "Bunny." For
the three best and neatest lists of answers received at .this office before July 15,
1913, we will give a handsome, leather-bound book of Popular Players, and
two other prizes of a year's subscription to The Motion Picture Story
Magazine. Address all answers to Puzzle Editor, 175 Duffield Street, Brooklyn
N. Y.

9.
10.
11.
12.
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
20.
21.
22.
23.
24.
25.
26.
27.
28.
29.
30.
31.
32.
33.
34.
35.
36.
37.
38.
39.
40.
41.
42.
43.

iodges (\T\f^m*S\

A favorite pet of the children.

A sleigh-riding necessity.

A question asked hy every prospective purchaser.

What every lawyer wants.

An attribute of all nice children and of their confections.

The landlord's salvation.

An American martyr.

A bird in hand is more valuable than two in it.

Result of contact with a hot stove.

Something children learn to do at school.

A member of one of America's foremost

Thirty-one days of very warm weather.

A thing that is impossible.

One-tenth of a bale of paper.

What you want when you have very little.

One who is not old.

The first of a pair of authors.

A common spice used in flavoring.

A representative body in the American Government.

A place for the pious and devout.

A political leader's nickname.

Refreshing to the thirsty hunter.

A bird whose plumage is highly prized by the ladies.

One whose business is to cultivate flowers and vegetables.

Usually the winning card.

A yachtsman's paradise.

Something accompanying the extraction of a tooth.

A swampy piece of ground.

An animal especially to be found in Russia.

A man who makes suits for men and women.

Name of an old-fashioned vehicle.

A house not built with lumber, brick or cement.

What a baseball player must be good at.

A small singing-bird.

Something told to children to amuse them.

One who will not ride.

The type of girl who has dark hair and eyes.

What children go to school for.

A wood-worker.

One who goes out with line and hook on a summer's day.

A quiet stretch of country, grown with grass or grain.

Name of a low order of savages in Australia.

A dark hole from which water is drawn.

What we all have to take, if we want to go far.

A great composor.

The children's favorite author.

127

RBSWfc

ionel Adams, Robert Dronet Robert Fiscber, Peggy O'Neil, Mardiel Turner, Ben
Hendricks and Ray Gallagher bare joined tbe Lubin forces.

Guy Coombs was recently asked to join a star cast for tbe revival of an old
Broadway success with which he has been identified, but he remained loyal to Kalem,
and says he has entered photoplay to stay.

Tefft Johnson, of the Vitagraph players, has a hobby which he seems never to get
away from. He is an ardent fisherman, and it is not an unusual thing for him to get
up at three or four o'clock in the morning for a little fishing-jaunt. He was caught
the other day casting bis line in the studio tank, presumably keeping in practice.

A Parisian modiste has provided several summer gowns for Alice Joyce, and we
shall doubtless see some superb creations in Kalem's coming society dramas.

Helen Case, formerly of the Vitagraph, and now of the Bison Company, is not an
Indian but an Indianian, and she plays both parts well.

Jane Wolfe'a portrayal of the Indian squaw in Kalem's "The Tragedy of Big Eagle
Mine" was one of the most artistic creations seen in many a day. As the Indian girl
and later as the decrepit old woman, she introduced fine touches of finesse.

George Gebhardt, formerly of the Patheplayers, now has a company of his own
under Universal auspices.

Phyllis Gordon recently left Selig to go with the American, and now she has left
American to go with tbe Bison Company.

Hindoo fanatics, looking for a chance to stand in well with Buddha, killed Selig's
sacred bull, "Sanskrit," so he would not be exposed to the sacrileges of photography.

♦ The Thanhouser Kid and the Mayor of Cleveland are now old cronies.

Alice Joyce sold one thousand autographed photos of herself at a fair for the
flood sufferers lately.

Edison's latest, "The Dance of the Ages," is quite a remarkable screen surprise.

King Baggot has gone abroad to associate, for a time, with other kings. Naturally,
he selected the Kaiser Wilhelm.

Gene Gauntier has written a Klu-Klux-Klan story that will make film history.

Attaches at Imp studio have their orders from King Baggot to return thousands of
gifts of flowers, painted china, embroidered slippers and handkerchiefs.

Jennie Nelson, of the Lubin Company, was recently married, with William
Chamberlain playing the masculine lead at the performance.

Cucumbers, tomatoes, green-peas, asparagus, strawberries and films are some of
the crops of Universal City.

129

130

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Did you see John Brennan in a suit of armor? The portly Kalem comedian
caused a riot of fun by capturing a comedy bandit whose bullets could not penetrate
the coat of mail.

Augustus Carney's fame is now established. He has had a toy named after him.
May the Alkali Ike doll grow as popular as the Teddy Bear.

Rosemary Theby, who has been a Vitagraph player for two years, has joined the
Reliance Company to play opposite Irving Cummings.

Francis X. Bushman is back with Essanay, and everybody is glad.

Louise Glaum has left the Nestor and has joined the Kay-Bee and Broncho forces
as leading woman.

Fred Mace is now with the Majestic Company.

Pauline Bush and Jessalyn Van Trump have left the American Company, and
Vivian Rich is now playing opposite Warren Kerrigan. ( Gracious ! but there are a lot
of removal notices this month ! )

Carlyle Blackwell recently spent a brief vacation at San Francisco, and was
greeted by many admirers as he rode along Market Street in his auto. He had the
honor of marching with Mrs. Rolf, the wife of San Francisco's popular mayor, in the
grand march at the Motion Picture Exhibitors' ball.

If you fell from the Mecca Building, one hundred and seventy-five feet high, into
Broadway, would you break your contract? Ask the Samarun Troupe of Dancers, who
recently did handsprings on the parapet for the benefit of Kinemacolor.

"Smiling Billy" Mason, of the Essanay Company, wont be cheated out of his
favorite golf because he works all day. He has invented a phosphorus ball that works
at night. Ruth Stonehouse beat him in his initial game.

The Pictures, an English weekly, gives the following nicknames, based on the
initials of the players : Mary Pickford, My Picturette ; Alice Joyce, Alias Joys ; Clara
Kimball Young, Keeps Captivating You ; Romaine Fielding, Realistic Fiend ; Maurice
Costello, Makes Custom. And by the way, the English call their feminine and mascu-
line leads "lady lead" and "gent lead." Perhaps they distinguish between gentlemen
and gents by the fact that the latter wear "pants."

Not many picture beauties are willing to make-up with burnt cork. Miss Marian
Cooper, however, attests her versatility by appearing in "Topsy" characters in several
of Kalem's Southern dramas.

In order to get the proper atmosphere for a Pilot comedy, Louise Vale spent two
days down in the Italian section of New York. Miss Vale played the part of an
Italian sweetheart in "Tony, the Tenor," and her characterization is excellent.

Mary Pickford is to be seen in the pictures again; this time in "A Good Little
Devil," which is being filmed.

Kinemacolor "style shows" have been increased by a film entitled "The Elegant
Parisienne in Her Boudoir/' which is to be shown only at special feminine matinees.

Eclair has gone North again for more of those Northwest thrillers.

"When Fate Decrees," a strikingly novel drama in which Alice Joyce recently
appeared, was written especially for the Kalem Company by "Little Mary," Mary
Pickford. Miss Joyce and Miss Pickford are warm friends, and the artistic production
was a signal triumph for author and actress.

"Pearl in Pants" again ! This time Pearl White plays the part of a street gamin
in "Girls Will Be Boys" (Crystal).

Marc MacDermott considers the East Side picture audiences his best critics. He
often visits these shows to watch the faces as one of his pictures is turned off.

Jack Carrigan, formerly of the Selig Company, is now with the Imp Company.

GREENROOM JOTTINGS 131

Ruth Roland has not declared herself on the suffragette question. However, she
recently demonstrated, in a Kalem comedy, what a lady can do when appointed to the
police force.

Laura Sawyer is exhibiting a magnificent collection of ostrich plumes and Mexican
chain-work, trophies of her visit West.

Kathlyn Williams is now playing leading parts in photoplays which she herself
wrote. Harold Lockwood is playing opposite.

So many good actors are promoted to directorship these days — Roger Lytton, of
the Vita graph, this time.

The remarkable costumes worn by Mary Fuller in the film, "When the Right Man
Comes Along.'' show her originality as a designer. For in addition to writing the story
of the play, she also evolved the semi-male attire in which she appears.

Mrs. Maurice, the famous old lady of the Vitagraph players, is a regular spelling
fiend. Her strong point is correct pronunciation, but, unfortunately, she cant show it
much on the screen.

Director Charles J. Brabin, Miriam Nesbitt, Marc MacDermott and Otto Brautigan
have been in Europe since May 3d.

Jack Kerrigan and Vivian Rich had a novel ride in an aeroplane at Ventura,
California, recently. The famous Gilpatrick exhibition of flying at Ventura was
utilized. This was Mr. Kerrigan's first flight.

Robert Gray and "Billy" West joined the American forces at Santa Barbara last
week. Mr. Gray has been with Kalem, Edison and Pathe.

Two alligators, a canary, a dog and a parrot are the pets of Julia Swayne Gordon,
of the Vitagraph. She made great friends with Prince, the tiger, and Nero, the Nubian
lion, with both of which she will be seen on the screen.

Robert Brower has a strong juvenile following in New Britain, Conn., headed by
his nephew, Robert Brower. The little fellow watches the picture theater posters like
a cat, and when he sees a film in which "Uncle Bob" appears, he does a regular Paul
Revere act, and the youngsters storm the theater.

Glen White, of Gem, has gone to Europe to stage a picture.

"The Lion's Bride," which is now engaging the attention of the Vitagraph Com-
pany, is an unusually strong drama founded on the well-known legend on which the
famous picture of that name by Gabriel Max is based. Julia Swayne Gordon will be
seen in the title part. The Vitagraph lion, Nero, will be her fellow "lead."

From Cambodia, Gaston Melies proceeds with his staff to Yokohama, where he
will probably remain about three months, employing the best Japanese actors and
actresses.

Some time ago we stated that those who secured 500 individual votes for their
favorite player would probably receive an autographed photo from the player. Carlyle
Blackwell writes : "Only too glad to send photo to anybody who takes the trouble to
send in even 100 votes for me." That is fine! All the players have granted our
request, except one Edison player, whose name we wont mention.

Adam Kessel, Jr., and not Karl Laemmle, bought the Screen Club autographed
program for $1,000. We thought it was a partnership buy.

Maude Fealy, the stage star, has joined the Thanhouser Company. Whitney Ray-
mond and Lottie Pickford have joined the Reliance Company.

Dont neglect your favorite in the Popular Player Contest. That is the least you
can do for those who have done so much for you.

John Bunny has his Flora Finch; Augustus Carney has bis Marguerite Joslin, and
that's the way it goes. Things always average up all right in most families.

Late news: Edwin August has left Vitagraph. Muriel Ostriche lias joined Than-
houser. Crane Wilbur and Fritzi Brunette have joined Reliance. Fred Mace is direct-
ing for Thanhouser.

iDqairie^s

This department is for information of general interest, but questions pertaining to matrimony,
relationship, photoplay writing, and technical matters will not be answered. Those who desire early-
answers by mail, or a list of the names and addresses of the film manufacturers, must enclose a
stamped, addressed envelope. Address all inquiries to "Answer Department," writing only on one side
of the paper, and use separate sheets for matters intended for other departments of this magazine.
When inquiring about plays, give the name of the company, if possible. Each inquiry must contain
the correct name and address of the inquirer, but these will not be printed. Those desiring imme-
diate replies or information requiring research should enclose additional stamp or other small fee;
otherwise all inquiries must await their turn.

Ruby R. C. M. — Joe King was the brother in "The Sharp-Shooter" (Broncho).
John Adolphi and Peggy Reid were the city couple in "When Dreams Come True"
(Thanhouser). Harry Benham was Sherlock Holmes in "The Sign of Four."

O. C, Chicago. — We are indeed sorry we haven't that cast.

S. C. H., South Carolina. — Hector Dion was Joe in "Joe's Reward" (Reliance).
Miss Ray was the wife in "The White Rose" (Pathe Freres). Myrtle Stedman was the
girl in "How It Happened." No answer on that Bison.

W. S., Bath Beach. — Barry O'Moore was Harry Dwight in "The Photograph and
the Blotter." Pathe dont answer all of our questions yet.

Evie. — Dont ask us if we have received your last letter. How do we know? The
joke is good. Isabella Rea and Dixie Compton were the sisters in "The Blind Com-
poser's Dilemma" (Kalem). No, we dont like your red ink, except when the letters
are red hot.

P. D., Thetford Mines. — Marshall Neilan was Bill in "The Mission of a Bullet"
(Kalem). Romaine Fielding was Don in "The Blind Cattle-King" (Lubin). Lottie
Briscoe appears to be Arthur Johnson's leading lady.

A Jewel. — Yes ; "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" has been produced by Thanhouser and
Imp. Yes ; Imp formerly stood for "Independent Motion Pictures" ; now it stands for
good pictures. Yes ; King Baggot played 'in "Human Hearts." Dont know whether
King Baggot will ever have a company of his own, but, being a king, he can if he wants.
Write to the Photoplay Clearing House about your scenarios. Street and character
costumes are furnished mostly by the players. We wont tell you which are stage names.
Certainly, we'll be your friend. An revoir.

Yolande, Mingo. — Yes, a new subscriber gets 500 votes, beginning with June issue.
Yes ; Florence Barker is dead. We never heard whether she was married.

Cathleen, N. Y. — Dorothy Phillips and Bryant Washburn had the leads in that
play. Yes, the Big Ben binder is a cloth (board) cover, and will hold six magazines.

H. H. F. — Miss Edith was Olga, and Mme. Susanne Grandais was the other girl in
"Olga, the Adventuress." Lillian Logan was Helen in "An Idyll of Hawaii."

TRixie C. — William Russell was Don Rodrigo in "The Ring of the Spanish Grandee."

Marjorie M. M. — Irene Boyle was Ruth, James Ross was Edward, and Earle Foxe
was Harold in "The Face at the Window." .

A. I. R. — You can get Jack Richardson's picture from American Co. Also see ads.

F. D. — Augustus Carney is always Alkali Ike. Romaine Fielding was the cringer.
Guy Coombs was the wanderer in "The Wanderer."

Blanche R. S. — Warren Kerrigan had the lead in "The New Cowpuncher."

132

ANSWERS TO INQUIRIES

133

Birdie Charmeuese. — William West was Harrison Grey in "The Redemption."
J. V. G. — We dont care what you want to know ; it is against the rules. Other
questions silly. No.

E. W., Pittsburg. — Arthur Mackley was the sheriff in "The Sheriff's Kid." Paul
C. Hurst was with Kalein last.

Orient. — Samuel Wiel was Robert, Ray Gallagher the adopted son, and William
Ehfe was Arthur in "The Castaway."

Nettie. — William Todd was the sheriff, and True Boardman was the cowpuncher
in "The Making of Broncho Billy." We cannot give you the addresses of our writers.

Dixie Boy. — Harry Cashman was the tramp in "The Money." Evelyn Selbie was
Jack's mother in "Jack's Burglar." Your letter was all right.

B. M., New York. — Evelyn Selbie and Bessie Sankey were the step-sisters in
"Broncho Billy and the Step-Sisters" (Essanay). Marie Weirman was Marie, and
Clarence Elmer was Tom in "Auntie's Affinity" (Lubin).

N. O'H. — Charles Brandt was the elder Mr. Brandt in "The Insurance Agent"
(Lubin). You refer to Joseph Allen.

F. K. H. — Your letter was interesting. You refer to Harry Myers.

Don F. — Who was the Pullman? Mr. Train. He has appeared in B. & O., N. Y. &
N. H., and Erie. We refer to "The Pretty Girl in Lower Five."

R. A. P. — You refer to Edna Payne in the Lubin. No answer on the Pathe. You
dont like Pearl White's leading man? We will see that she gets another.

Helen. — Alice Hollister was Pepita in "The Peril of the Dance-Hall." William
Williams is leading man in "His Date with Gwendoline."

M. I. H. — George Gebhardt was the male lead in "The Love That Turned." He is
now with Universal.

Mrs. H. S. — Harry Benham was the press agent in "Wanted — A Good Press Agent"
(Thanhouser). He also played in "Brains and Brawn." William Garwood's real name.

Viola O. — Yes, the boys were skating on the same pond where the other boys were
bathing in "Her Nephews from Labrador."

B. H., Ont. — Earle Foxe was Jim Houston, and Stuart Holmes was Tom in "The
Fire Coward." Anna Levitte was the child in "Until We Three Meet Again." Harry
Myers was Fred, and Ethel Clayton was Jane in "Heroes One and All" (Lubin).

Florence M. B. — Gertrude Bainbrick was the girl in "Near to Earth" (Biograph).
Bessie Sankey was the girl in "Broncho Billy's Sister." The black baby in "Bunny
Buys a Baby" is nameless, and you are not serious. Mary Pickford was the servant
girl in "The Unwelcome Guest." Mignon Anderson was the crippled sister in "The
Ghost in Uniform." Anna Drew in "The Idol of the Hour." Gertrude McCoy was
Grace, and Elsie McLeod was Hazel in "A Letter to Uncle Sam." Mary Fuller was
Mary. Pearl Sindelar was the wife in "Who Was the Son?" (Pathe).

Queenie K. St. — Glad to know you. Yes, the girl you refer to is Blanche Sweet.
Your letter was very interesting, but a little long.

Nancy Jane, 16. — Edward Dillon and Grace Lewis had the leads in "What a Boob !"
(Biograph). Mae Marsh was the girl in "The Little Tease" (Biograph). Edna Payne
was the girl in "Private Smith."

C. R. H. informs us that Lottie Collins was the girl in "Broncho Billy's Wife."
Maude Callohn was the girl in "Wife of the Hills" and "A Woman of Arizona."

J. A. L. — Francelia Billington played the wife in "The Two Runaways," "The
Usurer" and "The Boomerang."

D. K,. Fairmont. — We dont know when Warren Kerrigan will come East.

134

TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Yetive. — Mabel Harris was Bella, Isabelle Lainon was Joe, Jack Standing was
John, and. Richard Travis was Paul in "Diamond Cut Diamond" (Lubin). Mrs. Taylor
was Marion in "In the Days of War" (Pathe). Always glad to see you.

I. B. A. N., Chicago, wants to know if Florence LaBadie wants rain, will Margaret
Snow? If Jean Darnell were homeless, would Thanhouser? If Ormi Hawley is good
in Lubins, what is Ethel Grandin? If Little Mary loves Bunny, does she love Owen
Moore? These questions are too important to answer hastily. We'll think them over.

Helen, 19. — Yes, it's those little things that often spoil the illusion when one
notices them. Glad you like the picture of Mary Charleson. We are very gentle and
pathetic, and never sting intentionally.

Herman, Niagara, wonders why the companies do not produce more of the French
humorous classics. Perhaps there is material in the exaggerations of Rabelais, in the
questionable naivete of Montaigne, and in the comedies of Moliere. Why not try it?

Little Woman. — William West was the warden, and Marin Sais was the wife in
"The Honor System." Mrs. Mary Maurice still plays regularly. She is loved by all.

I. R. C, Akron. — No, they are the sons of a director. Harold Lockwood was
Richard, and A. E. Garcia was Jose in "The Spanish Parrot." Guess you mean Walter
Miller who looks like Thomas Moore.

No Name. — Thanks for the coin, but what's your name? Paul Panzer and Miss Ray
in "The Prodigal Brother." Lillian Christy was Conchita in "The Greater Love." Jane
Fearnley was Kathleen in "Kathleen Mavourneen" (Imp).

M. P. A., Buffalo. — Sallie Crute plays opposite Darwin Karr. Guy Coombs was
the bugler in "The Bugler of Battery B" (Kalem). Marshall Neilan was the cripple
brother in "The Will of James Waldron." Crane Wilbur and Mrs. Taylor in "In the
Days of War."

Y. G., Dayton. — Yes, the picture is of Mary Ryan. Julia Swayne Gordon was
Maria in "The Artist's Great Madonna." So you are in love with Crane Wilbur also?
Whitney Raymond has left Essanay.

R. J. S., Stoughton. — You had better get in touch with the Photoplay Clearing
House. Edith Lyle was May in "When the Last Leaf Fell" (Majestic). Liiia Chester
was the mother, and Harry Benham and Mignon Anderson were man and wife in
Half -Way to Reno." Yes, the girl was Marguerite Snow. Do you understand?

Dr. C. B. P. — Yes, we agree with you on that make-up. It takes the veterans to
discover those little things.

J. M., Chicago. — Charlotte Burton was Jennie in "Another Man's Wife."

M. E. L., Wichita. — Harold Lockwood was Jed in "Continental Spies." Olga is
fond of Carlyle Blackwell and Crane Wilbur.

H. M. S. — Junita Sponsler was Sally, and Marshall Neilan was Bobby in "Sally's
Guardian." No house is supposed to show Licensed and Independents at the same time.

Iowa Girl. — Wally Van was Cutey in "Cutey and the Twins." Guy D'Ennery was
Tom, and Clarence Elmer was John in "The Twilight of Her Life." Thomas Shirley
was George in "What George Did."

George, Montreal. — Frances and Marguerite Ne Moyer in "Fake Soldiers."

N. R., Houston. — Cines is pronounced "Sin-ease." "Saw-Mill Hazard" was takeD
in Florida.

Black Eyes. — Perhaps you mean E. K. Lincoln. He was Harry, the brother of the
twins, in "Cutey and the Twins."

Mrs. T. — Florence Lawrence is not dead. Dont believe all you hear.

M. E. H. — Francelia Billington was Mary in "Mayor's Crusade." Others answered.

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ANSWERS TO INQUIRIES

135

Heney B. R. — Your letter is very interesting. Robert McWade is deceased. No,
careful players do not show that they know where the camera is. Beginners are nearly
always camera-conscious. When two persons converse in everyday life they ordinarily
face each other, do they not? And, therefore, players should not turn their ears to
each other and their noses to the camera.

Janet. — William Clifford was the leading man in "His Brother's Keeper" (Nestor).
Neva Gerber in "The Water-Right War." Carl Winterhoff was Laura's fiance in "The
Pink Opera-Cloak."

Clay, 228. — We have our own staff of writers, and do not accept stories. The pic-
ture is of George Cooper. You refer to Martha Russell in "Neptune's Daughter."
Yes. we have met Francis Bushman, and he has our O. K. label pinned to his breast.

R. A. G. — Guy Coombs was the captain, and Alice Hollister was Rosalie in "The
Wartime Siren" (Kalem). Kalem have about six branches in operation. We haven't
the cast for "Notre Dame de Paris." It was taken by the French studio.

^Exeas. — Ruth Roland and John Brennan are in the Santa Monica studio. Dont
you understand? You know they can make more than one copy from the negative of a
photograph ; it's just the same with the film.

Meeely Maey Anne. — Alice Hollister was Pepita in "The Peril of the Dance-Hall."
Marie Weirman was the girl in "By the Sea." Ethel Clayton was opposite Harry
Myers in "Art and Honor." Romaine Fielding. We haven't the cast for "Cleopatra."

Sweet Peas. — Where did you hear that? Vitagraph release six a week. Lucie
Villa was Mrs. Black in "Gentleman Joe."

M. M. M., Richmond. — We are always glad to make new acquaintances. We are
trying to get another picture of Carlyle Blackwell.

Deaeie, IS. — Pauline Bush and Jessalyn Tan Trump were the girls, and Warren
Kerrigan and P. Morrison in "The Power of Love" (American).

F. W. R. — You refer to Dot Bernard ; she is playing on the stage.

Anthony. — No ; Jane Gale is not Mrs. Baggot. Crane Wilbur and Gwendoline
Pates are at the New Jersey studio, in the land of the mosquitoes.

Beenice F. J. — William Walters was the father in "An Old, Old Song" (Essanay).
We understand your French.

L. I. E., Tampa. — Edison is the only Licensed Co. producing talking pictures.

D. M. C, Beooklyn. — Hobart Bosworth was John Sharon, and Eugenie Besserer
was Mrs. Sharon in "Greater Wealth" (Selig). The daughter in "The Mountains Meet"
is unknown. Mildred Weston was Beatrice in "Love Thru a Lens."

Anthony. — Thanks for that baseball card. Dont see how we are going to introduce
you to Pearl White. Yes, Bennie of Lubinville is a walking encyclopaedia.

N. D., Spokane. — Florence Turner was June, and Tom Powers was John in
"A House in the Suburbia." Carl Winterhoff and Winnifred Greenwood had the leads
in "The Sands of Time" (Selig). They were commercials when you saw them.

M. M. H. — "Women of the Desert" (Lubin) was taken in Jacksonville. Now, dont
try to tease the Answer Man ; no telling what he might do.

T^ow^Vic/?

THE PICTURE STAR: HOW SOME PEOPLE IMAGINE HIM, AND HOW

HE ACTUALLY IS

136

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Dolores Mc. — Bertley McCollum was Dr. McCollum in "By the Sea" (Lubin).

Dorothy Hawkins. — Bessie Sankey was the sister in "Broncho Billy's Sister"
(Essanay). Your letter is very interesting.

F. E. G. — Earle Metcalf was John in "The Moonshiner's Wife."

Bing. — Irene Boyle was Ruth in "The Face at the Window." No; Marc Mac-
Dermott is not cross and cadaverous. He is as gentle as a lamb. We dont know about
the moustache. Red hair? My!

Myrtle B. — Irene Boyle was Grace in "The Open Switch" (Kalem).

C. H., Vancouver. — Elsie Albert was Snow White in "Snow White" (Powers). Jean
Darnell is with Thanhouser. Gertrude Robinson is with Victor. Warren Kerrigan
was the drummer, and Phyllis Gordon was his assistant in "Calamity Ann's Beauty."
George Periolat usually plays the part of the father. Phyllis Gordon is now with Bison.

F. A. K. — Yes ; Owen and Thomas Moore are brothers. We know of no Randall.

F. A., Minnesota. — William Bertram was Joe in "The Tattoo," and Charles Bart-
lett was Joe in "The Heroine of the Plains" (Bison).

A. B. — "Neptune's Daughter" was taken at Lake Superior. We dont know
whether Miss Fuller made the suit she wore in "The Letter to the Princess."

V. B. P. — Sorry, but we haven't the casts you ask for.

C. H., 15. — Lillian Christy and Edward Coxen had the leads in both "A Greater
Love" and "Latent Spark."

O. O., 16.— Pauline Bush was the wife in "The Thief's Wife."

A Child. — Warren Kerrigan was the wanderer, and the girl you refer to is Mabel
Normand, but she did not play in "Near to Earth."

Angela J. K. — Paul Panzer was Sing Lee in "Sing Lee and the Bad Man" (Pathe).
Lillian Hayward, Phyllis Gordon and Betty Harte were the ladies in "A Pair of Boots."
Mildred Bright and Helen Marten were the girls, and Guy Hedlund and Larmar John-
stone were the men in "For Better or Worse" (Eclair).

V. A., San Francisco. — We have not interviewed Bessie Learn as yet. New York.

Josie C. — Harold Lockwood was the husband, and Baby Lillian Wade the child in
"A Little Child Shall Lead Them." Edwin Carewe was opposite Ormi Hawley in "The
Soul of a Rose."

Frail — She was interviewed by two different interviewers. Romaine Fielding.

Ruth. — Edwin August is now playing in Vitagraph. Some actresses change their
names for stage names ; others for husbands. Vitagraph is the owner of Nero.

Gayle M. — Kathlyn Williams and Harold Lockwood had the leads in "TWo Men
and One Woman." William Duncan and Myrtle Stedman in "The Life-Timer." Billy
Quirk was Billy in "Billy Wins" (Gem).

P. D. Q. — Chances poor. Give us something easier, such as an axiom in Euclid.

Pawnee. — Dont be afraid; come right along. Irene Boyle was the girl in that
Kalem. No ; Helen Gardner played in that play before she left Vitagraph. Our candied
ill-temper must be taken as pickled good-nature.

Goldie. — Cleo Ridgely was the beauty in "Beauty and the Beast." We cant name
the play from your vague description.

Daisy. — For the ninety-ninth time, this is no matrimonial bureau. Love-struck
girls must find some other medium in which to express their mushiness. It is all right
to admire, but all wrong to adore. Keep your hearts; you will need them some day.
Do you know that the players get basketsful of soft letters, and that they only smile?
Some are even contemptible enough to pass them around for the whole company to
laugh at. Write all the love-letters you like; then tear them up. Players like to get
letters of appreciation, but not "mash" letters.

D. M. C, Brooklyn. — Marian Cooper was the girl in "The Turning-Point." Robert
Burns was the tightwad in "Training a Tightwad." William Hopkins was the police-
man. Frances Ne Moyer was Nell, and Marguerite Ne Moyer was Bess.

WttL >OU SUBSCRIBE TO (
TV4F FUND TO QE USED TO 1
PURCHASE OU2- PIANIST )
SOME NE0)SOK?Sl J

ANSWERS TO INQUIRIES 137"

Kitty V, B. — We try to print stories of films that have not yet been released, or
that are released about the time the magazine comes out. The film was held over.
Virginia Chester was Constance in "When Uncle Sam Was Young."

The Pest. — Yes ; Francis Bushman was here and told us that he met you.

Molly K., Glace Bay. — Robert Connely was the grandson in "The Grandfather"
(Kalem). Bessie Eyton was the girl in "The Revolutionary Romance."

Jane W. — Many thanks for your letter of appreciation.

E. A. — Robert Conness is playing in a stock company in Portland.

Nadyne B. — Ruth Roland was the sweetheart in "Parcel-Post Johnny." We noticed
that, when she was leaving for the West, in that play, she boarded a Pacific Electric.
Harry Beaumont was the secretary in "False to Their Trust."

C. H. G. — Send a stamped, addressed envelope for a list of manufacturers.

W. T. H. — Alice Joyce never appeared in Keystone, nor in "Near to Earth."

Y. H.. Detroit. — Alice Joyce was Mary in "William Burns in the Exposure of the
Land Swindlers."

Helen L. R. — Lillian Logan was the girl in "The Equine Detective." Alice Hol-
lister was the girl in "The Desperate Chance."

Beatrice K. K. K. — We haven't those Nestor casts, but perhaps you will see George
Gebhardt in Nestor plays now, because he has joined Universal.

Dot. — Elsie Greeson was the girl in "The Sacrifice." We dont know who painted
the pictures in "The Yengeance of Durand."

Herman. — No, friend, subtitles are not necessarily signs of weakness of construc-
tion. Too many of them is bad, and when we go to the pictures we go to see a play, not
to read a book. Yet some directors look on a subtitle as a sort of an introduction, like
the heading to a chapter. Yitagraph always begins with one, but that is questionable.

Geraldine, 15.— If we were to answer the thousands of letters to that puzzle in
February, we wouldn't be thru now. Miss Navarre was leading lady in "Race for
Millions" (Gaumont). Lillian Christy was the girl in "A Rose of Old Mexico." Warren
Kerrigan was Jonathan, and Louise Lester was Anne in "The Animal Within." Gene
Gauntier was chatted March, 1912. Better hurry if you want the colored portraits.

G. H. — Since it's your first letter, we'll let it pass. Mildred Weston on the tree.

Phcebe Snow. — Bessie Eyton was Magdalene in "The Dancer's Redemption"
(Selig). Wheeler Oakman was Jack.

Ignatz. — Henry Walthall was the husband in "The District Attorney's Conscience."
Mary Fuller was Maud in "The Convict's Parole." Scenarios are seldom copyrighted.
Yes; Thanhouser, Monopol and, we believe, Edison and Pathe produced "Carmen."

Bumble Bee. — Where is thy sting? Edwin Carewe was Grafar in "Women of the
Desert." That was Mrs. Walters on the June cover.

T. J. M. — The advertisement of the Exhibitors' Exposition at Grand Central Palace
appeared in the April issue. The chocolate sundae sounds good. The last pages of this
department usually go to press on the 25th now. That is, the 25th of May for this issue.

Miss B. D. — Margaret Fischer is playing for Rex the last we heard.

A. M. R. — Monopol released a "Carmen" and "As in a Looking-Glass." They intend
to produce three-reel subjects.

G. C. D. — Gertrude McCoy is still with Edison. Florence Lawrence left Victor
some time ago. You refer to Ormi Hawley.

Olga, Kentucky. — We haven't a one of those Universal casts you ask. Sorry, but
cheer up ; we'll be with you next time.

G. G., Texas. — It must have been a foreign play. We cant tell from your description.

Olivia. — You refer to Gene Gauntier. What do we eat? And has it come to this?
The Englishman likes his roast beef, the Italian his maccaroni, the German his sour-
krout. the Patagonian his red mud, the Kamchatkan his blubber, the South Sea
Islander his cold clergyman, the Peruvian Indian his chica, the Frenchman his table
d'hote, and the Irishman his corned beef and cabbage, but as for us, give us plenty of
buttermilk and whole-wheat bread, and we can write answers till the cows come home.
But hold — dont block up the wheels of industry thusly. Yes, that was "Tuff" Johnson.

138

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

W. P. Mc. — Thanks for your letter. So you want us to publish two copies a month
and charge twenty cents per copy? We'll think it over.

Patrica. — Mary Pickford did not leave Belasco to go back to Biograph. "The Grim
Toll of War" was released March 12, 1913.

M. D., Toledo. — William Garwood and Florence LaBadie had the leads in "An
Honest Young Man" (Thanhouser).

M. G. — Yes ; Marguerite Snow really rescued the child. It has not yet been decided
when the contest will close.

A. P. — Paul Kelley was Tim in "The Mouse and the Lion" (Vitagraph).

Miss Los Angeles. — Mildred Bracken, Fannie Midgely and William Clifford in
"A Man Worth While" (Melies). All three are no longer with Melies.

Edwina. — Ned Finley was Brother Bill, and Chester Hess was Jim in "Brother
Bill." Ormi Hawley was the wife in "The Moonshiner's Wife." Edwin Carewe was
Wilbur. We haven't that Pathe. Don't be afraid to ask your exhibitor for what you
want. He wants to accommodate you.

L. D., Gary. — Yes, your drawings were received. Thanks. So you dont like the
ending of most of the plays. Remember that all's swell that ends swell.

Miss L. M. N. — You refer to Edwin Carewe in "Tamandra, the Gypsy." He did
not play in that Selig.

O. H. W. Jumbo. — Ruth Stonehouse was the girl in "From the Submerged" you
mean. Peter Lang plays opposite Mrs. Mary Maurice. Miss Ray and Paul Panzer had
the leads in "The Prodigal Brother."

J. S., New York. — Bessie Sankey was the girl in "Broncho Billy's Brother." Irene
Boyle in "The Fire Coward." Mildred Bracken is no longer with Melies.

R. E. P. — Florence LaBadie and William Garwood had the leads in "An Honest
Young .Man." The director usually selects the player for the part.

Belle P. — Barbara Tennant was the girl in "The Stronger" (Eclair). Glen White
has been in Europe staging a picture.

Bess, Chicago. — It might have been Arthur Mackley that you saw. He has gone
to Scotland to visit his relatives.

L. M. — Marian Cooper was Kitty, and Alice Joyce was Mary in "The Exposure of
the Land Swindlers." We haven't the maid.

Avis, 16. — Mary Pickford was the servant in "The Unwelcome Guest" (Biograph).
Florence Klotz was the girl in "The Vengeance of Durand." Adele De Garde is still
with Vitagraph. Write direct to the manufacturers for pictures, or see advertisements.

Miss Jottic. — Yes ; Lillian Walker has been on the legitimate stage. Brooks
McCloskey was Jimmie in "His Children."

Mrs. O., Rochester. — Thomas Moore was Mr. Gregg, and Naomi Childers was
Edna in "The Panic Days in Wall Street."

EVERYBODY, EVERYWHERE. — Visitors will be welcome at our new home, 175
Duffield Street, Brooklyn, on July 7th, between 2 and #5.30 P. M. We will all be on
hand to greet you. We assume that everybody will be in New York that week to
attend the great International Exposition.

Lillie R. L.— Herbert Barry was Jan in "The Strength of Men."

V. B., III. — Yes ; Mary Ryan and Romaine Fielding in "The Family Next Door."
Robyn Adair was Roy Ford. Mary Pickford did not play in "My Hero" ; that was
Dorothy Gish. Tom Moore was the father in "Grandfather." Leo Delaney was the
clerk in "The Skull." Edna Payne in "The Water-Rats." She is no longer with Lubin.
Lucille Lee was the girl in "How Fatty Made Good." You're welcome.

F. E. G. — Bryant Washburn was the secretary in "A Bottle of Musk." Perhaps
you refer to Stuart Holmes and Hal Clements.

Nancy Lee. — We shall try to get a picture of Florence Turner to please you. Yes,
there is bound to be a defective copy of any magazine once in a while. Sometimes
thirty-two pages are duplicated in the binding.

Bertie. — Earle Foxe was Mr. Hastings in "Business Buccaneers." See our ads.

the REA90N UMV
THE FILM ENDED SO ABRUPTLY

/ hope you do. Although you have
never heard my voice, you have seen me
act, probably hundreds of times. And
now that I have left the "Movies"
and am playing Juliet in The Good
Little Devil" I am glad to tell
you how I came to make the change.

/■ !:ii

An interview with

Mary Pickford

M.P.-7

Cosmopolitan Magazine,

381 Fourth Avenue, New York

I enclose 25c, for which send me the July number
of the Cosmopolitan, containing: the interview with
Mary Pickford, and the two following numbers of
the magazine.
Name

Address .

was secured by the Cosmo-
politan Magazine at the request
oi a lady who wrote she was sure
"thousands of Mary Pickford's ad-
mirers would like to know some-
thing of her life." So Mr. Tyrell of
the Cosmopolitan called on her by
appointment, and she told him the
whole story, from the time before she
was ten years old, when she was an ' 'Uncle Tom-er, playing little Eva."

Three 15c Magazines for 25c

The interview, mostly in Miss Pickford's at the very low price of 25c for the three.

own words and illustrated with six beau- t? • /Ai r* \*.

4.-t i u u * u l u • • i JLvery issue of the Cosmopolitan contains

tiful half-tone photos of her, is in the • .. • Vu i *. j

T i r^ K. ait • interviews with popular actors and ac-

July Cosmopolitan. And here is a t **«••*• •«.* a

. j „ . ,i , . tresses, entertaining stories written and

special offer, to enable you to get this •„ ,' n / v j ' *« <.„

u I r 11 • , illustrated by famous writers and artists,

number and two following numbers — j - ■ "!• .- i u* *

AZ i x • and interesting articles on subjects

4o cents worth of magazines — ^u „ . . i • *.

& that everyone wants to know about.

Don't miss this special offer. It is made
only to readers of the Motion Picture
Magazine, and we cannot guarantee
to accept orders mailed after July 1st.
Fill in the coupon under Mary
Pickford's picture — mail to-
day with 25c —
^^ stampsorcoin
P=§ — at our
II k. risk.

140

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Lucienne of Montreal. — You must not believe all you hear — Alice Joyce's mother
is not an Indian. We shall print a picture of Mrs. Costello some day.

Dido. — The girl you refer to is Mildred Bracken. Yes; Lillian Walker has had
stage experience.

Flossie Caster Price. — Leah Baird was the girl in "Red and White Roses." Since
you say you have a screw loose, we advise seeing a plumber.

The Poet. — Yes, we believe Miss Snow has her bungalow, and has better things to
look at than love-letters from mere poets. She does not play abroad.

Miss A. M. — Paul Hurst was Bad Bill, Gertrude Short was Myrtle, and Judson
Melford the boy in "Driver of Deadwood Coach." Edna Payne and Edwin Carewe had
the leads in "The Silent Signal." Warren Kerrigan had the lead in "Matches."
Dorothy Kelley and Norma Talmadge were the girls in that Vitagraph.

Dona Sunny South. — Edwin Carewe was Jim, Edna Payne was Dorothy, and
W. Cullison was Captain Magee in "Down by the Rio Grande."

Loretta B. — Louise Yale was Virginia in "Paul and Virginia."
H. S., Newark. — Roland Gane was Betty's lover in "The Gate She Left Open."
Francis Bushman is not permanently located as yet.

H. N., New Albany. — Leo Delaney was the son in "Her Boy" (Vitagraph).
C. H., 15. — Louise Lester is usually the mother, and George Periolat the father in
the Western Americans.

Irene, Buffalo. — "Friend John" was taken in Philadelphia, at Lubinville. Yes, a
play should be judged by its acts, and a player by his actions.

Jack Tar,— Yes ; Romaine Fielding in "An Adventure on the Mexican Border."
C. D., Vancouver. — Lillian Walker and Flora .Finch were the stenographers in
"Stenographers' Troubles." Bessie Learn was the girl in "Barry's Breaking In."

Adolphus. — You refer to Mabel Normand in the Keystone. Yes, we occupy the
whole building, sixteen rooms. The printing and binding are not done in this building.
L. R. C. — Brinsley Shaw was the Indian in "An Indian Sunbeam."
Happy. — You will win that bet all right. The Ridgelys will be in California soon,
and they will do it on horseback. They are not related to Richard Ridgely, of Edison.
F. A., New York. — Elsie Greeson was the girl in "The Missing Bond" (Kalem).
B. M., New York. — Ruth Stonehouse was the girl, and Bryant Washburn Paul in
"The Broken Heart" (Essanay). May Buckley has left Selig. Mr. Halliday has left
"The Whip," and both are playing in stock at Cleveland.

H. S., Jackson. — Carlyle Blackwell was Red, Marin Sais was Mrs. Grey, William
West was Mr. Grey, and Jane Wolfe was Mag in "The Redemption."

Anthony. — We do not know about Pearl White's salary. Salaries appear to be an
important item with you people. Irene Boyle was the girl in "The Face in the Window."
J. H. — We know of no picture theater that suppresses the chewing of gum, and if
we did, we would try to suppress that theater. Cannot tell salaries of the players.
F. S., Ore. — Robert Connes formerly played with Edison. Thanks.

A Modern Eve. — We give you our word we
do not know Flossie, but we know her hand.
Harry Beaumont is still with Edison.

Dreamland Theater. — Francis Bushman
was the old man, Bryant Washburn the kind-
hearted collector, and Whitney Raymond the
bell-boy in "The Virtue of Rags."

Betty, 23. — Harold Lockwood was Richard
in "The Spanish Parrot-Girl" (Selig). We
are never malignant, thank you.

Brondine wants to know if Warren Kerri-
gan is an American, is King Baggot an Imp,
and if Pauline Bush can write, can Wallace
Reid? That was Edward Coxen in "The
Greater Love." Pauline Bush and Jessalyn
Van Trump have left American. Also Wallace
Reid. May 1st is not the only moving day,
particularly in Moving Pictures.

C. G, Plymouth. — Victor Potel is still with
Essanay. When he is not playing, he is Mr.
**""»' Anderson's private secretary- Edison publish
the Kinetogram, at Orange, N. J. Lottie
Briscoe is usually opposite Arthur Johnson.
It does seem stupid, but perhaps they pay
more money.

Florence, 15. — Mrs. Wm. Bechtel was Mrs.
SAY, MISTER, HERE'S MY NICKEL Van Renseller. Edna Payne and Edwin
— PLEASE TAKE ME in" Carewe in "The Moonshiner's Daughter."

THIRD LARGE PRINTING

JOSEPH PENNELL'S PICTURES
OF THE PANAMA CANAL

Beautifully printed on dull-finished paper, and artistically hound. Large 8vo. $1.25 net.

Postpaid, $140.

A set of the original lithographs cost about $400.00. The entire twenty-eight are

reproduced in this volume, together with Mr. Pennell's experiences and impressions. Aside

from their great value as works of art, these remarkable studies of the Canal will soon

have an inestimable historical value, as the water is fast being turned into the big ditch.

FRENCH ARTISTS OF OUR DAY

A NEW SERIES
Each volume will be illustrated icith forty-eight excellent reproduc-
tions from the best work of each artist. Bound in blue cloth, gilt
decorations with insert. Small quarto. $1.00 net, per volume.

EDOUARD MANET By LOUIS HOURTICQ

With Notes by Jean Laran and Georges Le Bas

PUVIS DE CHAVANNES by andre michel

With Notes by Jean Laran

GUST AVE COURBET By leonce benedite

Notes by J. Laran and Ph. Gaston-Dretfus
Other volumes will follow at short intervals
This attractive and artistic series of volumes, written by French critics, on the great
painters of the Nineteenth Century, will be very popular. Each monograph will contain
a short biographical and critical study of the master, followed. by forty-eight plates, selected
from his works. Each picture is described, its beauties are pointed out, its weaknesses
discussed, and other incidental facts connected with it are briefly stated. The chronological
order of. the illustrations, together with the comments, make these volumes a valuable
synopsis of each artist's career. Contemporary criticisms of the paintings are freely
quoted and compared with the judgments of the present generation. The series will form
a history of modern French art.

Sardou and the Sardou Plays

By JEROME A. HART

Illustrated. Small 8vo. Cloth, $2.50 net.
Postpaid, $2.65

Of the life of Yictorien Sardou very little
has been written in either French or Eng-
lish. In this thorough and exhaustive study
of Sardou's life and works, Mr. Hart has
gathered apparently all of the available data
relative to the great dramatist It is re-
plete with anecdotes, and tells of Sardou's
youth and early struggles, his failures and
eventually his great successes. The author
has divided the book into three parts. The
first is a biographical sketch ; the second is
made up of analyses of some two score of
the Sardou plays — not critical but narrative
analyses ; and ihe third is devoted to the
Sardou plays in the United States.

Photography of To-day

By H. CHAPMAN JONES, F.I.C.

Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50 net.

ADDRESS DEPARTMENT B

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

PHILADELPHIA

142

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Dolly J. C. — So you think Fred Mace has to massage three hours before he gets
his face straight after playing in a picture? You are wrong; four hours. Earle
Williams was the artist. Louise Lester was Calamity Anne.

L. M. C. — Guy D'Ennery was Alfred in "The House in the Woods" (Lubin).
Gert. — Glad to know you. We hope to hear from you again.

Olga, 17. — The page is from the Yitagraph Bulletin, which is $1 a year, published
monthly, but you cannot buy single copies. Bogota is a pretty little city on the Erie
near New York. Dont let the wife worry you, Olga ; we dont know her yet.
S. C— William Clifford is with Universal.

Stanford Girls. — You can reach Earle Williams direct at the Yita graph studio.
May T. — You refer to E. K. Lincoln. He is still with Yitagraph. Florence
Lawrence was with Lubin for about three years.

F. M. C. — Pearl White was Naughty Marietta, and she is now with Crystal.
Martin L., Troy, thinks that the pictures are getting too monotonous, and that
there is too much of a sameness to them. Quite so. Many companies keep on hand a
set of scenario editors who write practically all of the plays for that company, which
may account for the lack of novelty. Sooner or later they will all be begging our
Clearing House for fresh material. Some of them are doing it now.

Trixie. — Ethel Clayton and Harry Myers in "For the Love of a Girl."
D. F. — E. K. Lincoln was the twin's brother in "Cutey and the Twins." Marian
Cooper was the girl in "The Turning-Point." The value of films is not made public.

Isidore. — Mile. Napierkowska was Esmeralda in "Notre Dame de Paris." We
think that was part of the play.

Lottie D. T. — Brinsley Shaw was the puncher in "The Ranch-Owner's Blunder"
(Essanay). Yes; Blanche Sweet played in "The Battle," and that was a battle.
Address Mr. Bushman at the Screen Club, New York City. He usually answers letters.
Birdie Charmeuese. — Richard Rosson is no longer with Yitagraph. Lillian Drew
was Miss Green, and Ruth Hennessy was Mrs. Henry in "The Scratch."
Helen, 17. — James Harrison was James Calvin in "High and Low."
Anthony. — So you wouldn't want to be Howard Mitchell, always getting fooled by
Lottie Briscoe. E. H. Calvert was Frank, and William Bailey was Bill in "The Hero-
Coward" (Essanay). John Brennan was the cook in "The Fired Cook" (Kalem).

L. V., San Jose. — Dolores Cassinelli was Charazel in "When Soul Meets Soul."
Yes, we have inspected Lubin's studio. We have met the enemy, and we are theirs.

R. A. G. — The girls are Bessie Sankey and Evelyn Selbie. The studios do not tell
exactly how many copies of one film they make. The big companies sell over a
hundred of each.

A. Y. J. — We haven't heard that Arthur Johnson's acting is similar to James K.
Haekett's. We believe you are the first to mention it.

Effie T. T. — We decline to discuss Anderson's nose, Bunny's complexion, Johnson's
swagger, MacDermott's red hair, Crane Wilbur's eyebrows, Clara Kimball's eyes, Ormi
Hawley's plumpness, or Costello's conceit. We are neither phrenologist, physiognomist,
nor a beauty-doctor. Jack Standing, Yivian Prescott, Isabelle Lamon and Guy
D'Ennery have all left Lubin. They have had their spring house-cleaning. Charles
Arthur is with Edison.

Minnie H. — James Morrison was Billy Emerson in "A Marriage of Convenience."
William Duncan was Buck in "Buck's Romance" (Selig).

Harry H., Galveston. — Many thanks. Afraid Miss Payne wont get your letter,
unless Bennie of Lubinville forwards it to her, as she has left Lubin. She had been
with Lubin about a year, and Romaine Fielding has been with Lubin several years.

Mrs. May B. — So you were entranced with the music of Prof. Berg at the Savoy.
That's nice. We dont insert those ads., as they are not interesting to the general

public. Sweet are the uses of advertise-
ments.

W. B. S. — Please dont ask nationali-
ties. Dont know of any company that
has taken pictures at Gloucester lately.
Oh, yes, have received several.

Maxie, 20.— Yes; Mary Pickford is
Mrs. Owen Moore. You will have to
select your own goddess. Please dont
call us such names.

Rhodisha. — You refer to fames Moore
in "The End of the Quest." Guy D'En-
nery is on the stage.

A Jewel. — Yes, the Screen Club is a
social club for all the players. You think
William Shay resembles Maurice Cos-
tello? Nay, nay ! Letter very interesting.

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Plots Wanted

: : FOR MOTION PICTURE PLAYS : :

You can write them. We teach beginners in ten
easy lessons. We have many successful graduates.
Here are a few of their plays :

"Mixed Identities" . . . Vitagraph
"From Susie to Suzanne" . . Vitagraph
"The Amateur Playwright" . Kinemacolor
"The Lure of Vanity" . . Vitagraph
"Downfall of Mr. Snoop" . Powers
"The Cowboy's Bride" . . Universal
"A Motorcycle Elopement" . Biograph

^Insanity" Lubin

"Miss Prue's Waterloo" . . Lubin
"Sally Ann's Strategy" . . Edison
"No Dogs Allowed" . . Vitagraph

If you go into this work go into it right. You
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MOTION PICTURE ART

Will be held at the

NEW GRAND CENTRAL PALACE

New York City

July 7th to 12th, inclusive
TO THE MANUFACTURERS

Remember YOU have never before had an opportunity of demonstrating your goods to
1 0,000 theatre owners from all parts of the world. Act now, or you will be too late.

COME

TO THE PUBLIC

and see every device used in the production of Motion Pictures.

and meet your favorite Players — they will all be there.

and see the LATEST PHOTOPLAYS, " FREE," in the

FOUR MODEL MOVING PICTURE THEATRES.

ADMISSION, INCLUDING ALL ATTRACTIONS, 50 CENTS

Direct All Communications for Space, etc., to

F. E. SAMUELS, Secretary, German Bank Building, 14th St. and 4th Ave.

144

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

E. G., Baltimore. — Florence Hackett was Iris in "The Power of the Cross." That
Vitagraph was not taken by the Globe-Trotters.

Doris, 15. — The picture is. of Isabelle Lamon. It is pronounced La mon'. Marie
Weirman was Marie in "The Guiding Light." Yes, we moved into our new home, bought
and remodeled for our own sweet selves, on April 19th, and we are very proud of it.
We shall print a picture of it soon.

K. S., Chicago— We dont know why Clara Kimball Young lives alone with her
cat, but we will, have to believe the Chatter. You refer to True Boardman. We pre-
sume it is because Helen is seen more than Dolores, but both are popular. Brinsley
Shaw was Bessie Sankey's sweetheart in "Broncho Billy's Ward."

H. A. O. — No; Ormi Hawley plays under that name only. Florence Lawrence is
not playing at present. We know that Vitagraph produce six films a week, and that's
more than any other American company. Thanks.

Flossy,- Jr. — Winnifred Greenwood was Pauline Cushman in "Pauline Cushman,
the Federal, Spy." Gene Gauntier was chatted in March, 1912. Others have not .been.

Bess, Chicago.' — Yes ; James Cruze is. Mae Marsh in "The Little Tease," and Miss
Taylor in "In the Days of War." Films are guaranteed to run for seven months,
averaging six hundred times shown on the screen. Sometimes they last two or three
years, thru careful handling by the operators. The soda was excellent.

H. B., Pittsburg. — Your letter regarding Mr. Bushman is very interesting; sorry
we cannot publish it. We shall take particular pains to see that he gets this letter.

Anthony. — You know better than that. We cant answer about marriages, etc.
What you want is Utopia, where everything is perfect. Dont expect perfection in the
pictures at this early date. We are just getting started. But that's right, keep
knocking, and we will make them improve. Rome was not built in a day.

Naomi of St. Louis. — Walter Miller was the bashful lover in "Perfidy of Mary-"
Richard Rosson was Little Eagle in "Heart of the Forest." No; Ned Finley is now
with Vitagraph.

Mildred E.— Ray Myers was Richard in "The Light in the Window." He also was
the cowardly son in "Blood Will Tell."

Melinda. — No, alas ! the fees we receive dont go to buy baby a new frock. The
magazine gets them all. We benefit in a way, however, for the department is now
self-supporting, and when Christmas comes around

J. R. W. — Mrs. W. V. Ranous was Mrs. Frost in "Mystery of the Stolen Child."
She is with the Globe-Trotters.

MOLIXQUIZZER BREAKS LOOSE

■'©ear Answers Man, there are lot's o'thinqs
That I'd awfully like to know.
You please must answer everything
That 1 asK And don't be islow.

"Is Maurice Costello a Japanese ?
Ha s Barry O'More one white eye ?
Does Alice Joyce wear a rinq in her nose?
If not.can you tell me why ?
Vignola was born in Albany
So I've heard :- and its, true. I suppose
But. Answers Man, please tell me. why
He was not born in Cohoes'

iWhat Kind of corset does John Bunny wear r
Is he married toGertrude McCoy?
Is Missimer truly a suffragette ?
IS Yale Boss a girl or a boy ?

for squeaky shoes ?
>y arms when they're tanned

la Swayne

"Can you tel I me
What' 1 1. whiter

What price was that frocK worn by Ji
In the "Venqeance of Durand" ?
1 -Who tauqht Earl Williams that pretty smile ?

Ain't he "swell" when he's making love ?
What brand of cigars does 5tepplmg smoke
What's the size of Bushman's qlove ?
■"Are you married or single. Answers Man ?
Or. are n't you either one ?
Not that I care in the least you Know.
I'm askinq you just for fun

•Excuse my short letter, Answers Man
I ought to have written before
But, I'll promise to write you soon again
And ask you a whole lot more.
-Oh' the Bioqraph-.- yes, the Biograph.-
Now you really have' qot to tell.
Who •«■- - - ■ i-^SE*.-^

To the A

nswer

Is Crane Wilbur's hair black or gold?

Is Flora Finch very funny?
Is Helen Costello young or old?

How much hair has John Bunny?
Is Crane Wilbur a married man?

Is Octavia H. his wife?
Is the Divine Sarah a Movie fan?

Will she be that way the rest of her
life?
Does Alice Joyce sing or dance?

Is Buster, Arthur's son?

What has become of the "Pearl in Pants"?

How old is a "First Run"?
Is Mary Pickford on the screen?

Does Anderson wear a false nose?
Where can Crane Wilbur be seen?

Is Mary P. followed wherever she goes?
What is Crane Wilbur's dentist's name?

How is Crane Wilbur, too?
If you cant answer all, why, thanks just
the same.

Say, Answer Man, I'd like to know you.

"Flossie C. P.," per Delia Sheldon,
27G Vanderbilt Avenue, Brooklyn, N. Y.

ANDREW CARNEGIE

AND THE

NEW KING OF GREECE

have been added to the ever-growing
list of the world's greatest men who
appear in the world's greatest film,

PATHE'S WEEKLY

You see the making of the world's
history when you patronize the
theatres which show their anxiety to
serve you by showing

Pathe's Weekly

SEE IT EVERY WEEK

NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS
If It's Interesting It's in

Pathe's weekly

146

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Evie. — No, Erie, we are not for the Giants ; we root for the Dodgers every time.
Congratulations. We believe you are right on that writer. Your letter is very inter-
esting, but we cant chat with you here. Mary Fuller is Edison's leading leading-lady.

H. B. — Warren Kerrigan had the lead in "Matches" (American). We haven't
located Lillian Christy yet. Edward Coxen directs mostly now, but Vivian Rich has
played opposite him.

Agnes D., Colo. — Dont know where you heard that news, but Maurice Costello is
far from dead. He is busy playing and directing. Not Thomas Moore, but Owen.

Geraldine. — As we said before, most of the companies send us their casts in ad-
vance, and we enter these on cards for reference. We attend the picture theaters as
much as possible and learn a few things that way. Then what we do not know and
cant look up, we write to the companies for. Very simple when you know how.

Helen of Troy. — Glad to hear the good news. Hope to hear from you again. To
err is human ; to forgive unusual.

M. C. — We believe Mr. Anderson writes most of the Broncho Billy scenarios. True
Boardman was the brother in "Broncho Billy's Brother."

V. M., Ottawa. — Courtenay Foote was Frank in "The Woman." You were right.

Billie. — Cheer up — we are trying to locate Florence Lawrence. Haven't heard of
Arna Deck. Perhaps she plays minor parts. We can rain tears as well as bring smiles.

Anthony. — Clara Lambert was Mrs. Robins in "When John Brought Home His
Wife." Irene Boyle was Grace, and E. A. Miller the engineer in "The Open Switch."

Ernestine. — Dont blame the Answer Man if Elsie McLeod is not chatted. Her
turn will come soon. You refer to Blanche Sweet.

Camille. — Wheeler Oaknian was Pietro, and Phyllis Gordon and Betty Harte the
girls in "The Vintage of Fate." Charles Eldridge was Ben Bolt in "The Joke Wasn't
on Ben Bolt." William Wadsworth was the German, Richard Ridgely the Italian, and
Edward O'Connor the Irishman in "Title Cure." Baby Audrey was the child in
"The Sheriff's Child" (Essanay). She has left Essanay. Benjamin Wilson was the
bachelor, Charles Sutton the father, and James Gordon the nobleman in "The Day
That Is Dead." Harriett Kenton was the girl, and Franklin Hayes and Herbert
Stewart the rivals in "The Belle of North Wales." Answers to the others next month.

Roy A. Z. — Perhaps he had a wig on in the last picture. Myrtle Stedman and
William Duncan had the leads in "The Gunmaker's Daughter" (Selig).

Florencia. — Bessie Sankey was the wife in "Across the Great Divide." Miss Field
was not on the cast. Haven't the name of the last picture Florence Turner appeared
in. It hasn't been released yet.

Grace M. — You refer to Walter Miller, of Biograph. No, he is not another Moore.

Blanche M. H. — Crane Wilbur was the husband in "Pals" (Pathe Freres). True
Boardman was the lover, and the girl is unknown in "When the Mountains Meet." We
have never printed Myrtle Stedman's and William Duncan's pictures.

To the Answer Man

Now, Answer Man, there is something

I'm very anxious to know.
I've heard that you had the patience of
Job,

And I'm wondering if it's so.

When I think of the questions and letters

You receive with every mail.
To me it seems a wonderful thing

You are living to tell the tale.

Upon this broad, green earth of ours

I dont think there lives a man
Who could answer those tiresome ques-
tions

With the patience that you can.

So set yourself on a pedestal,

You Answer Man so rare ;
For among all who worship at your shrine,

You'll surely find me there.

FROM

A girl who hurries along

With all the rest of the gang;
But a very great admirer

Of patience in a man.

T-te: r-IOviNC,
PlCTur?£ BuC

knows Evei^-y PLaycf?
G-i (vane.niDoi-E name

WETHER Cifl(?(?lED-ETc
RRD6-IHT (?ElR.DE.f?
M R 5. M

«N Sw£R De.PT-
^'Tn0(_,T THE5E:
QwMU,p,caT,0fs(S

CO rx NOT Qe-

Com SiOERCO
tETNoi me:-

'ONCeR MOVIMC,

Picture DvjC.
RUWR Y5 «. QuC
NO CU(?E.WF\NTEO.

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do; and since you have done so without being
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THE A31BKEW COMPANY, Dept. 1954, Cincinnati, 0.

148

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Mrs. H. W. — Alice Hollister, Earle Foxe and Robert Vignola were the three leads
in "A Desperate Chance." Mildred Weston was leading lady in "The Discovery."
Mae Hotely was Sally in "Stage-Struck Sally." Eleanor Caines was Nora, and Jerold
Hevenor was the policeman in "Accidental Dentist."

Sweet Peas. — Betty Harte appeared in "An Assisted Elopement" (Selig). T. J.
Garrington was Prince Charming in "Cinderella." Edith Storey was the maid in "While
She Powdered Her Nose."

Mrs. S. K., St. Louis. — Thank you for your cheerful letter. It was mighty inter-
esting. Harold Lockwood was Jed Harmon in "Diverging Paths" (Selig).

F. A. M.— E. H. Calvert was Mr. Melborn in "The Melborn Confession." Ruth
Hennessy was the bride in "Odd Knotts." No ; Mr. Costello does not curl his hair
before he goes in a picture. Nature is his curling-iron.

Jean A. — Fred Truesdell was Henry Smith in "The Man Who Dared" (Eclair).
Edwin August was the crook in "The Law of Compensation" (Powers).

A. J. A. — You refer to Francis Bushman in "When Soul Meets Soul." True
Boardman was the foreman in "The Boss of Katymine."

Dot. — William West was the chief in "The Pride of Angry Bear." Marshall
Neilan was Billy in "The Mission of the Bullet."

V. E. R. A. — Mary Ryan was the girl in "The Power of Silence." Leah Baird was
chatted in September, 1912.

Walt of Delaware. — Elsie Greeson and Carlyle Blackwell in "The Mission Bonds."

Gladys. — Barbara Tennant was Gertrude in "The Love-Chase." Charles Arthur
was the lord, Eleanor Middleton the lady, and Peter Lang and Mrs. George Walters,
Darby and Joan in "Darby and Joan." Ruth Stonehouse in "The Road of Transgression."

Naomi of St. Louis. — Yes ; Earle Williams is very nice that way. You refer to
Walter Miller in 4;hat Biograph.

Claribel. — Hobart Bosworth had the lead in "The Count of Monte Cristo." Why,
Crane Wilbur is with Pathe.

D. M. C, Brooklyn. — Marshall Neilan was the husband in "The Peace-Offering."
Edwin August is playing in Western Vitagraph.

Betty. — Thanks for that Buffalo. May Buckley and Jack Halliday are back in
stock at Cleveland, Ohio.

John Bunny's feelings will probably be violently outraged when he opens this copy
of The Motion Picture Story Magazine and sees the cartoon, reproduced here. It is
the work of Dorothy Kelly, the popular Vitagraph girl, who has been causing lots of
excitement of late by her feeling caricatures of her fellow stars. Miss Kelly's draw-
ings always have a humorous touch, and her victims are forced to laugh at themselves
as she sees them. To be "Kelly Kartooned" is a sure index of popularity and a high
mark of favor. Miss Kelly has entitled the above drawing "The Soul Kiss— Maybe."

THE VITAGRAPH EAGLE
IE MODERN ATLAS

VITAGRAPH

Photographs of All the
Leading Vitagraph Players

7x9 inches. Price 20 cents each

THE VITAGRAPH MONTHLY
BULLETIN

With stories of all its "Life Portrayals." It is extensively
illustrated with pictures of the plays and portraits of the
players.

SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, ONE DOLLAR A YEAR

HOW AND WHERE MOVING
PICTURES ARE MADE

A full description of the making of Moving Pictures, pro-
fusely illustrated. Showing every detail employed in every
department of the work.

PRICE, TWENTY-FIVE CENTS

Have You Heard the Latest Song Hit?

MY VITAGRAPH SWEETHEART

FIFTEEN CENTS A COPY

Address PUBLICITY DEPARTMENT, THE VITAGRAPH COMPANY OF AMERICA

East 15th Street and Locust Avenue, Brooklyn, New York

150 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Peggy of G. H. S. — We are afraid there isn't much hope for a "professional elocu-
tion teacher and an artist's model combined." Apply to the companies direct. Whitney
Raymond was Seth Allen in "The Farmer's Daughter. He is no longer with Essanay.

Ruth G. — Vitagraph, Lubin, Kalem, etc., are Licensed. Mrs. George Walters was
Rosemary Sweet in "Brightened Sunsets." Kalem is pronounced with a long a, as in
day. Glad you liked the colored portraits.

Helen L. R. — Thanks. It was pretty good. Clara Williams was Ruth, and Walter
Briggs was Ned in "The Girl of Sunset Pass." Yes ; Rucker is all right.

Claribel. — Yes; Lillian Walker appears to be the owner of the Ostermoor Smile.
Myrtle Stedman was the girl in "How It Happened." Dorothy Davenport is now with
Edison. Call again. Pleasant company always accepted.

Max Y. — Pathe wont tell us that cute little child-player's name.

Bess. — Laura Lyman was Nell in "Teacher Wanted" (Majestic). We haven't the
girl who played in "The Jolly Good Fellow."

Miss Satex. — You can address your letter either to Chicago or to Santa Barbara.
Now dont get ruffled. Keep cool. Boil within, not over. Mistakes will happen. That
director simply overlooked the matter. They are not infallible.

C. S. K. — Your letter was very interesting. Pleased to hear from you regularly.

Uno.— That was not the director's fault. He probably made the scene longer, but
they afterwards found that the play was a little over a thousand feet, and, not want-
ing to make it a multiple reel, they decided to cut it down. We think, with you, that
they might have cut it at some other place, to advantage.

Claribel. — So you are fond of Carlyle also? And you think "when it comes to a
real principled man, it's Courtenay Foote"?

V. E. L. — Bessie Eyton had the lead in "Revolutionary Romance." We have no
ambition to be known as a funny man. We are stolidly serious.

W. A., North Carolina. — This picture is better — but we dont have a cat sitting
'longside of us. Your questions are correct.

F. B., III. — Earle Foxe was Jim in "The Fire Coward."

Frenchy. — Roy McKee was Reggie in "Suitors and Suit-Cases." Mary Pickford
has hair, but its color we dont remember.

Peggy, 16. — Rura Hodges was the daughter in "Child Labor."

Beatrice. — "St. Elmo" has been released some time. Florence Turner played
leading lady. She now has a company of her own.

Geo. L. — We dont know of a Forrest Stanley.

E. V. A. — Elsie Greeson is the girl in that Kalem. At that time Mary Fuller was
with Vitagraph. You know players change from one company to another.

C. H. E. A. — Yes, that means that this magazine was printed by the Hewitt Press.

Melva, St. Claire. — William Duncan was Joe in "The Bank Message." Dont judge
players by their parts. Many an honest heart beats under a ragged coat.

V. P., Holden. — Edna Maison and William Clifford the leads in "The Padre's Gift."

Buff, 15. — Thomas Moore was William, and Lottie Pickford was Gretchen in
"The Pilgrimage." Kathlyn Williams was the girl in "The Girl with the Lantern."
She is going to produce some plays which she wrote, aside from her Selig work.

H. G. M. — Adrienne Kroell in "The Empty Studio." Wallace Reid is with Universal.

Repose, N. J. — Why do you folks persist in leading us from the paths of virtue and
make us answer questions that have no license to be answered? This is no joke
department ; no matrimonial bureau ; no atlas ; no text-book on physiognomy, and no
place to say things that dont belong here. Begone ! On with the dance !

R. E. B., Chicago.— The Screen Club is located at 163 West Forty-fifth Street.
New York City. A letter addressed there will reach almost any player.

Helen L. R. — Edgar Jones was lead in "The Girl Back East." Florence Haekett
was Iris in "The Power of the Cross." Send along your remittance, and we will enter
your name for the Correspondence Club. The entrance fee is ten cents.

B. S., Texas. — Thanks muchly for your invitation, but Texas is a little too far off.
Our social activities are very meager.

Kalemite. — We are afraid that Alice Joyce and Carlyle Blackwell will not play
together, unless Miss Joyce goes to Glendale, which is not likely.

Juliet. — Why not send in one subscription and get that binder free? We know
of no James Lambert.

R. D. M., New Orleans. — Blanche Sweet was the girl in "The Stolen Bride."

Sweet Peas. — We haven't the names of the children in that Pathe. Edwin Carewe
was leading man in "The Soul of a Rose."

Sweet Sylvia. — Why dont you join the Correspondence Club? Everybody's doing
it. Yes, they are all real natives in the Melies pictures now.

C. M., Sacramento. — George Melford directs the Glendale Kalem. He plays, too.
C. H. M. — Mildred Bracken was Molly, and Ray Gallagher was Sam in "Molly's

Mistake" (Melies). The bell of Lubin signifies the Liberty Bell of Philadelphia.
La Petite E. — No. The picture you enclose is of Julia Stuart.

Earn $50 to $100 Weekly SHE? p"Kon

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THE WRITER'S MAGAZINE

(Formerly THE MAGAZINE MAKER)

A Journal of Information for Literary Workers
Helps you Write, Re-write and Sell Short Stories,
Books, Special Articles, Poems, Songs, Dramas,
Photoplays.

KEEPS YOU IN CONSTANT TOUCH WITH THE MARKETS

No Writer can afford to be without a copy on his desk
Send 15c. for a Sample Copy and see

THE WRITER'S MAGAZINE
32 Union Square, East, New York City

500 COPIES FREE!

Providing you think you can write stories, or know
you can, or want to try— otherwise don't send for one.
The copy we send you is a little book by the author of
"The Plot of the Short Story," and we call it

"THE SHORT ROAD"

• If you are interested you had better look into this
quick, for only 500 copies are FREE.

While they last a postcard will bring one postpaid

Henry Albert Phillips, Editor

Box 7-PA. 156 Fifth Avenue New York City

Photos and Drawings for Sale

Why Not Make a Collection?
It May Be Valuable Some Day

The prices range from 10 cents to $10. Let us know what you want, and we'll
try to fill your order.

Since we have over a thousand of these pictures, we cannot catalog them. Plain,
unmounted photos, 4x5, are usually valued at 20 cents each; 5x7, 30 cents; 10x12, 50
cents; but the prices vary according to their art value. Mounted photos, with hand-
painted designs around, range from 25 cents to $2 each.

Address: Art Editor, M. P. S. Magazine, 175 Duf field St., Brooklyn, N. Y.

152 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

L. E. D. — We will see about getting a picture of Harry Morey ; it's Ms turn now.
Harold Loekwood was Richard, and Eugenie Besserer was Mrs. Avery in "The Spanish
Parrot-Girl." Yes, we are as happy as a clam at high tide.

Trixie Jo. — You refer to Whitney Raymond, and the girl is Betty Gray.

Yorick. — Alas, poor Yorick ! we know not the answer to thy query.

Josepha, 18. — Jane Fearnley was Kathleen in "Kathleen Mavourneen." You
wonder why some of the players do so much talking to themselves when they are alone
in a scene. That is one of the things we wonder about, too.

Plunkett. — Edna Mae Hammel was Bob's sister in "Bob and Rowdy." Essanay
released only one, "The Clown's Baby." Rolinda Bannbridge was Betty in "The Cap-
ture of Fort Ticonderoga." We dont know about Romaine Fielding's work in Europe.

J. A. R., Newark. — "Boy Rangers" was taken at Van Cortlandt Park and Williams-
burg Bridge, New York City. Dont know where the talking pictures are taken.

V. S. — Mae Marsh and Charles West had the leads in "A Girl's Stratagem."

Snooks, San Fran. — Betty Gray was Betty in "The Beach-Combers" (Pathe
Freres). Earle Williams was not on the cast for "The Dandy." June Phillips was the
little colored girl, and A dele De Garde had the party in "Mamy's Ghost."

F. A. D. — -Brinsley Shaw the bandit in "The Sheriff's Story." Romaine Fielding
and Mary Ryan in "The Unknown." Herbert Barry was Jan in "The Strength of Men."

Gertie. — It was Gertrude McCoy. When you see two players enter a picture and
walk down the stage to the camera to show a letter or to talk, you know that they
have a bad director. Hal Clements was the superintendent in "The Fraud of Hope
Mine" (Kalem). Dont you know you should write on one side of the paper only?

C. E. A. — Myrtle Stedman had the lead in "The Range Law." Bessie Eyton was
Lavina in "The Story of Lavina."

Babe. — Gertrude Bainbrick was Marie in "Near to Earth." Surely we like fudge —
who doesn't? James Morrison was James in "High and Low."

Violette Edythia Lorraine. — Will have to charge an extra fee for all that. Earle
Williams was Ahadee, and Roger Lytton was Hallingford in "Papa Puts One Over."

C. Van H. — Perhaps you refer to Harry Pollard. Marion Leonard has a company.

Bessie R., Albany. — Your presumption is correct about M. C.

A. W. W., Glace Bay. — Leo Delaney was the clown, and Norma Talmadge was his
wife in "Just Show People." Bessie Eyton and Thomas Santschi had the leads in
"Whose Wife Is This?" John Lancaster was Sweeney in "Sweeney and the Millions"
(Selig). Mildred Bracken was the girl in "The Beach-Combers" (Melies). Mrs.
George Walters was the mother in "The Lost Son" (Lubin). You refer to Lillian
Christy in American. 'Tis to laugh ! Ha, ha ! he, he ! and likewise ho, ho !

Geraldine M. F. — Vedah Bertram was leading lady in "Broncho Billy's Gratitude."

Jewel, Staten Island. — Charles Arthur is now with Edison. Carl von Schiller
was Tom, and Irene Hunt was Helen in "The Lucky Chance."

C. E. B. — We did not get the cast for that Warner. Harry Pollard and Edna
Mason had the leads in "The Padre's Gift." Lillian Christy in "The Rose of Mexico."

The Pink Lady. — Please use thicker paper. All Licensed and Independent pictures
are passed by the National Board of Censors.

Baby Doll. — Marshall Neilan was Bobby in "Sallie's Guardian." Francis New-
burg was the fourth man in "Saving an Audience." Send along all those votes for
Francis Bushman. Yes, as full of information as a ram's head is full of horns.

Mrs. E. J. G. — Robert Lansey was Mike in "Mike, the Miser." Your letter was
interesting, but we take that paper ourselves. We read everything but the War Cry.

Lucille. — Francis Ford and Ethel Grandon had the leads in "The Deserter."

Mamie B. — Lillian Walker Was Gladys Cooper in "It All Came Out in the Wash"
(Vitagraph). Yes; Alice is a thing of beauty and a joy forever. Fine feathers do not
always make fine birds ; the birds make the feathers. But fine feathers make fine beds.

Laura F. W.— Guy Coonibs in "The Battle of Bloody Ford," and Ruth Roland
was Starlight in "The Indian's Maid's Warning." Mrs. Costello plays in the pictures.

F. W. M. — Laura Sawyer and Charles Sutton had the leads in "The Doomed Ship''
(Edison). They have returned to New York.

George M. — Ethel Clayton was Ethel in "Just Maine Folks." The back numbers
sell for fifteen cents each. Yes; Barry O'Neill, Lubin director, is the son-in-law of
Mrs. Walters. That was Mrs. Walters on the June cover.

Evie. — Hal Clements was Douglas in "The Grim Toll of War." Tom Moore and
Naomi Childers had the leads in "Panic Days on Wall Street." Your page of players
is very fine, hut we cannot reproduce them.

Dorothy D. — Isabelle Lamon the sister, and Edwin Carewe, Paul in "The Miser."

E. R., New York. — Perhaps you mean Harry Myers and Charles Arthur. They
resemble each other. The former has a game leg, but it is getting well.

Venus de Milo. — We dont happen to know to whom Alice Joyce was talking, on
page 149 of the April number. Your pen inclineth too much to levity ; serious matters
are before the house.

General Film Service

BIOGRAPH ESSANAY PATHEPLAY

CINES KALEM SELIG

ECLIPSE LUBIN VITAGRAPH

EDISON MELIES

The motion pictures designated by these trade names
comprise what is known among theatre owners as General
Film Service.

General Film Service is used in the biggest and best
theatres of the country. The pictures in it are carefully
selected for their general superior quality, and every one is
approved by the National Board of Censorship. Conse-
quently, when you see any of the above names on a poster
outside a theatre, you will know that the General Film
Company is serving that house, and you may look for a
first-class show inside.

To be doubly certain, just ask the ticket-seller, "Do you
use General Film Service?"

GENERAL FILM CO., 200 Fifth Ave., New York

BRANCHES IN THE PRINCIPAL CITIES

154 THE MOTION PIC TV HE STORY MAGAZINE

F. K. — Alas, alack ! your query we cannot answer, and it grieveth us much. We
haven't "When They Were Kids" and "Jimmie's Misfortune."

Hotel McAlpine. — Please sign your name next time. There is no chance of ever
seeing us as a hero in a Moving Picture play.

H. K., Corsicana. — Arthur Johnson was John Arthur in "John Arthur's Trust"
(Lubin). Charles Arthur was the justice of peace in "The One-Horse Shay."

Francis L. — We cant tell you why Harry Myers hugs Mae Hotely so much. He
is not playing opposite her now. She is in Atlantic City ; he is in the slow town.

Yetta G. — The G. G. Co. stands for Gene Gauntier Company. They are now
located in New York. Jack Clark will probably be with Miss Gauntier always !

Vivian— Edna May Hammel was the child in "The Ranch Owner's Love-Making."
Anna Stewart was the rich girl in "The Song of the Sea-Shell."

Bertha M. L. — Wallie Van. Yes, we can tell you who is the prettiest woman in
the business, but we wont. We are unlike George Washington in one respect — we can
tell a lie, but wont. We are so honest that we wouldn't even steal an umbrella.

E. G., Baltimore. — Francelia Billington was the girl in "A Life in the Balance."

E. K. S.— Ruth Roland was the girl in "The Sheriff of Stone Gulch."

Billie C. K. — Bunny is fat, fair and forty, and that is why he laughs, or vice
versa. Ethel Clayton was the girl in "The Last Rose of Summer." Edward Coxen
had the lead in "Hypnotic Nell." Ormi Hawley was interviewed in April, 1912.

F. E. G. — Harry Millarde was the reporter in "The War Correspondent." Glad
you like Tom Moore. Will have him chatted soon.

Marguerite IL— 'Sidney Olcott had the lead in "The Shaughraun." Crane Wilbur
had both parts in "The Compact."

Torchy. — Harold Lockwood had the lead in "Two Men and a Woman." At this
writing, Florence Lawrence is not yet located. Tho lost to sight, to memory dear.

Watso. — Lots of things have happened since February, when Biograph would not
identify their players. We didn't happen to have the cast for that old Biograph, that
was all. It would take up too much space here to tell the difference between Licensed
and Independents. Send in a stamped, addressed envelope. Your letter is interesting.

Helen L. R. — You are right about that. You dont like to see Bessie Sankey as
Mr. Anderson's sister, and in the next picture as his sweetheart. Blanche Sweet and
Henry Walthall in "Three Friends." W. Chrystie Miller was the elderly man in
"The Unwelcome Guest." . Gertrude Bambridge was the girl in "Brothers." It is better
to be wise than witty. That's why we decided not to be witty.

Janet. — Arthur Mackley was leading man in "The Western Law That Failed"
(Essanay). Guy D'Ennery played opposite Ormi Hawley in "Love and Literature."
Lionel Barrymore was the physician in "A Cry for Help." George Cox was the bank
cashier in "Sweeney's Million." Much obliged.

Christie Decamp. — True Boardman was the son in "The Western Law That
Failed." Miss Field left Essanay when Mr. Mackley went abroad.

T. Z. B., St. Louis. — Sorry, but we haven't the leading lady in "A Frightful
Blunder" (Biograph). Lillian Gish was lead in "A Misunderstood Boy" (Biograph).
Arthur Johnson was the minister in "The Power of the Cross" (Lubin).

G. B. — You mean George Periolat. We are right when we say Harry Benham had
the lead in "Miss Taku of Tokio." Wallace Reid the sweetheart in "The Way of Fate."

R. S., Cleveland. — Adrienne Kroell was Inez in "A Change in the Administration."
Charles Clary was Warren in the same. Guy Coombs was the clergyman, and Anna
Nilsson and Marian Cooper the girls in "The Battle of Bloody Ford." Charles Clary
was the secret-service man in "Pauline Cushman, the Federal Spy."

A. W. W. W. W. W. — Not for fifty cents would we tell you whether Beverley
Bayne was married. The Greenroom Jotter might. Helen Gardner has released her
first film, "Cleopatra." It is a State Right. It depends upon what class of film it is.
Barbara Tennant was the girl in "The Superior Law" (Eclair). Thanks.

Helen L. R. — Why dont you find out what company took that picture? Romaine
Fielding and Mary Ryan had the leads in "An Adventure on the Mexican Border."
Dolores Cassinelli and Ruth Stonehouse were the sisters in "A Wolf Among Lambs."
"The Guiding Light" (Lubin) was taken at Cape Elizabeth, Me. Grace Lewis was the
girl in "A Lesson to Mashers." Marguerite Loveridge was Margarita in "Margarita
of the Mission." Guy Coombs and Marian Cooper the leads in "The Woe of Battle."

The Pest. — Glad you joined the Correspondence Club. Perhaps you refer to Burt
King and Franklyn Hall. Your votes are still for F. X. Bushman, are they?

Babbie. — You refer to Alice Hollister. Calamity Anne is a lady every time. That's
Walter Miller in that Biograph. Fine!

Anthony. — Claire McDowell was the blind girl in "The Wrong Bottle" (Biograph).
William Ehfe in that Melies. What did you think of Pearl's picture?

Herman, Buffalo. — Yes, that is a bad habit that player has. It is a mannerism,
and he has several. He should beware, for, as Dryden says : "111 habits gather by
unseen degrees, as brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas." Bessie Learn.

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156 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

JoY, 450. — Dont be afraid to write ; he will answer you ; most players do.

Southern. — There was no grandmother on the cast for "The Adventure of the
Stolen Child" (Vitagraph). Sorry. Blanche Sweet was the bride. So you are aware
of the mountains of difficulty that confront us. Gadzooks ! also zounds !

Evelyn.— Robert Harron and Dorothy Gish were the runaways in "My Hero."
Lionel Barrymore was the brother in "The Burglar's Dilemma." Vivian Rich played
opposite Wallace Reid in "The Ways of Fate." Mr. Scott was the artist in "Just
Jane" (Reliance). Chick Morrison was the husband in "The Power of Love."

Miriam, 17. — Walter Miller was the brother in "Oil and Water." They say
Dorothy Gish is Mary Pickford's sister.

Olga, 17. — Good-morning, Olga. Where have you been? We did not go to the
Screen Club ball. Lillian Gish was the sweetheart, and Harry Carey the hero in
"The Left-handed Man." "Love Is Blind" is not a Biograph.

Little Miss Write. — Send for a list of manufacturers, with a stamped, addressed
envelope. See note at head of this department. Why dont you folks read it?

Melva. — Kathlyn Williams was Kate in "The Governor's Daughter." Henry Otto
was Autone, and William Hutchinson was William Barnes in "The Convicted Mur-
derer." So you think Lillian Walker opens her mouth too wide when she laughs, and
has no expression on her face. Oh, Melva ! She is very popular.

Mrs. A. L. — Carl Winterhoff was Bud in "The Cowboy Millionaire." Chat with
Frederick Church soon. The other players are old men. Always respect old age — •
except when you get stuck on a pair of old spring chickens.

Dorothy B. — Dixie Compton was Marie, and Isabel Rea was Florence in "The
Blind Composer's Dilemma." We could make this department forty pages long.

Cutey. — We would advise you to stay at school a little longer. Since you are only
twelve, you have a lot to learn before studying to become an actress.

Helen L. R. — Thanks for the pretty rose, also the fee. Marin Sais was the girl
in "The California Oil Crooks." Elsie Greeson and Jane Wolfe were the girl and
grandmother, respectively, in "The Sacrifice" (Kalem). Robert Harron and Mae
Marsh had the leads in "The Tender-hearted Boy." Grace Lewis and Florence Lee
the girls in "Oh, What a Boob!" Robert Vignola the soldier in "Prisoners of War."

D. M. C, Brooklyn. — Raymond and Albert Hackett were the boys in "Two Boys."

Janet. — William Clifford was Donald in "His Brother's Keeper."

The Twins. — George Reehm was lead in "Jim, the Burglar." Bessie Sankey was
the girl in "Broncho Billy and the Sister." Frederick Church and True Boardman
were both outlaws. They usually play with Mr. Anderson.

Florentina. — No ; Hudibras has not been filmed, that we know of. It is a classic,
but as we remember it, it has no picture possibilities.

Billie B. — Hobart Bosworth and Kathlyn Williams played in "Wise Old Elephant."

Kentucky Gil. — Where's your name and address? WTill excuse it this time.
Eleanor Middleton was Mrs. Smiley, and Ethel Clayton the girl in "Heroes, One and
All." Lillian Logan was the daughter in "The Equine Detective."

Ice-Cream Soda. — You refer to Mae Marsh in both plays. Herbert Barry in "The
Strength of Men." A picture of Mr. Anderson soon.

V. E. L. — Dorothy Phillips and Bryant Washburn had the leads in "Unburied
Past" (Essanay). Guy D'Ennery was Alfred in "The House in the Woods."

C. A. B. — Roger Lytton was Turner in "Checkmated" (Vitagraph). Lubin contem-
plates using the cast of characters at the beginning of their films.

M. E. D. — Robert Burns was the father, George Reehm was Bob, and Walter Stull
was Pete in "Angel-cake and Axle-grease." Lillian Hayward was the mother in "The
Hoyden's Awakening."

Flossie C. P. — Oh, so glad ! Seems like old times. So you want us to say that you
are neither red-headed nor bow-legged, dont bite your finger-nails, etc., and are just a
mere school-girl. Why dont you join our Correspondence Club? They all want you,
Interesting One. The girl was Ethel Clayton in "His Children" (Lubin). So you'd
rather have Betty Gray play opposite Crane Wilbur than any of the others. We shall
see to it. You mustn't stay away so long. Everybody misses you.

B. B., Scranton. — You may see the pictures that were taken at Scranton if you ask
for them. Lillian Walker is still with Vitagraph.

B. M. — Francis Bushman accepted the position with Vitagraph, but he did not play
in any plays. He is now back with Essanay. They would not let him go. Can you
blame them? Thomas Santschi and Eugenie Besserer in "Old Songs and Memories."

Grace, 16. — We are so sorry you were disappointed, but we cant guarantee to
print all poems. Dont know how long Miss Turner will remain in Europe, and think
she doesn't know, herself. You never can tell how such ventures will pan out.

Miss H. A. — Perhaps you mean Ray Myers. We dont get the Bison and Broncho.

Jumping Jack. — Mrs. Costello was the telephone girl in "Diamond Cut Diamond."
Yes, to your third question. We dont know who the highest paid player is, and
wouldn't tell if we did.

Vote for Your Favorite Player

"By Subscribing for

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A great opportunity is now given you to show your appreciation for your favorite pic-
ture player.

Those subscribing for The Motion Picture Story Magazine now will be entitled to
votes in our Popular Picture Player Contest. In this contest the picture players receiv-
ing the largest number of votes will be awarded valuable and beautiful prizes, and at the
end of the contest, the votes received by the different players will be forwarded to them.

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Name

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158 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Topsy S. M. — Af ter we prepare the questions for the printer, the letters go into the
-waste-basket. Would need a storage warehouse otherwise. Give name of company.

Beth. — Thanks. We shall be glad to get the canteloupes. You refer to Ray-
Gallagher, and the girl in Lubin's is Ethel Clayton.

Nell. — Anna Nilsson was the sister in "Mississippi Tragedy." Buster Johnson was
the son in "The Adopted Girl." He is not Arthur Johnson's son, but the son of
Director Johnson.

Olga, 17. — Why, Lee Beggs is with Solax ; W. A. Bechtel is with Edison, and we
dont think the others are playing. WThy, we have a telephone operator here. The
Answer Man never answers questions over the phone, as we are too busy, and many
people would ask us too many questions.

Angel J. K. — Clarence Elmer was in "The Montebank's Daughter." Marie Weir-
man and Mabel Harris played in "Home, Sweet Home." The latter is no longer with
Lubin. Yes, that player has a fine figure, but sometimes figures lie.

D. M. F. — Edwin Carewe was Jim in "Florida Romance." Harold Lockwood in
"The Ties of Blood."

Chiquita. — Alice Weeks was Thelma in "Thelma" (Reliance). Francelia Billing-
ton was the girl in "A Life in the Balance."

A. H., Halifax. — That must be some place. Edgar Jones was John Craig, and
Clara Williams was Laura in "The Right Road." Guy Coombs, and Marguerite Courtot
was Roxana in "The Fire-fighting Zouaves."

Mici Gyurkovic. — Glad you like "From the Manger to the Cross." It was a won-
derful picture. R. Henderson Bland was Jesus. He is an English player. E. Y.
Brewster is not R. Ince. The latter is a player-director-artist.

Ethelyn. — Your letter is interesting. Eternal vigilance is the price of keeping track
of the players. They move quickly and often. Will have to call them shooting stars.

Delicia Hicks. — Ruth Roland was the maid in "Three Suitors and a Dog." Violet
Reid was Mabel in "The Poor Relation." Here is the "N."

Cathleen, N. Y. — Write to Vitagraph. You refer to Edwin Carewe. Howard
Missimer was Dicks in "Alkali Ike in Jayville."

Dottie Dimples. — You refer to Lillian Christy. Bennie from Lubinville is the
Lubin switchboard operator, among other accomplishments. He knows everything.

Olga K. — Marshall Neilan was the press-agent in "Trixie and the Publicity Agent."
Picture of Carlyle Blackwell very soon.

Stud. — Both are done by trick photography, and we haven't time to explain that.

H. S. Leeds. — No ; King Baggot and Florence Turner are not married. Dont know
how that paper ever printed that news.

M. W. S. — We cant help you to get a pin with the "Flying A" design on it, except
to say that any of the pin manufacturers would make one up for you. Gertrude Robin-
son left Reliance to join Victor.

Mrs. S. N. P.— William Duncan was the sheriff in "The Sheriff of Yarapai County."
Myrtle Stedman played opposite him.

G. O. — That is what is called double exposure, but we cant explain that here.
Talbot's book, "How Moving Pictures Are Made and Worked," tells all about it.

M. V. R. informs us that Virginia Westbrook was the lead, and not the maid, in
"The Winning of Helen."

L. V. T., Brockton — Helen Lindroth was the mother in "The Sawmill Hazard."

W. T., Bay Ridge. — Surely you may join the Correspondence Club. Ten cents,
please. Lottie Briscoe was the second wife in "The Power of the Cross."

Buffalo, 15. — We dont remember what your questions were. Send them in again.

M. E. D., New York. — Henry Alrich was Pedro in "Pedro's Treachery." Thanks.

Pansy.— The Photoplay Magazine has gone out of business. Edwin August was
the crook in "The Law of Compensation." That was Margaret Fischer in "The Great
Ganton Mystery." We never heard of that company, either.

F. L. N., Winnipeg.— We haven't the name and address of Kate M., Winnipeg.
Why not join the club? Victor is located in New York. Thanks.

Mrs. E. D.— Elsie Greeson for Number 2. Lillian Haywood in that Selig. Edna
Payne in "The Engraver." Hal Clements in "The Grim Toll of War" ; Clarence Elmer
in "The Higher Duty," and Charles Brandt in "When John Brought Home His Wife."

R. M., Canada. — That was the operator's fault ; he had the films changed.

H. J. G.— Two or more films are made of nearly every scene, and many beautiful
copies are made of every complete photoplay. Billy Quirk is with Gem.

Pinky, 16.— Elsie Greeson in "The Sacrifice." Mae Marsh in that Biograph.

Billy B.— Irving Cummings was Jim in "The Open Road." Jack Richardson was
the man of the jungle in "Women Left Alone."

G. G. G.— Marian Cooper was Virginia in "The Battle of Bloody Ford." Your
writing is better than some we get.

F. V. H., La Grange.— Thanks for your very interesting letter. We dont know
where Tom Hanlon is, but maybe some of our readers may.

Francis X. Bushman

Begs leave to announce that he is back with

ESSANAY

Direction of THEODORE WHARTON

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160 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Doris D. — Irene Boyle was Ruth in "The Face at the Window."
Betsy R. — Alice Hollister was Rosalie in "A War-time Siren."

R. A. G. — Harry Myers and Ethel Clayton had the leads in "Heroes, One and All."
You refer to Mae Marsh. Edith Beumann was Mona in "Thru Trials to Victory."

S. J., New York. — Marshall Neilan and John Brennan played in "Fatty's Decep-
tion." Edna Payne and Lucie Villa had the leads in "Private Smith." Earle Foxe in
"The Fire Coward." Shall probably publish an article on how to break into a company.

E. B., Toronto. — No ; Arthur Johnson did not play in the talking pictures.

Doris of Brooklyn. — Charles Clary in "The Wood-Chopper War." Irene Boyle and
Joseph Holland in "False Friend." Charles Hitchcock was E. H. Calvert's friend in
"Seeing Is Believing." Richard Leslie was Jack in "The Mouse and the Lion."

Phcebe Snow, New Rochelle. — Mary Ryan was the girl in "The Land of the
Cactus." Bessie Eyton was Sally in "Sally in Our Alley." William Duncan was the
deputy in "The Deputy's Sweetheart."

George, Montreal. — The girls all want you to join the Correspondence Club. You
cant believe half you see. Blanche Sweet is known as the Biograph Blonde.

Mary Ellen, St. Louis. — Ruth Hennessy was the girl in "The Tale of a Clock."
Yes, that was William Mason. Marie Weirman was the daughter, and Peter Lang was
Pete in "Pete, the Artist." Robyn Adair was Percy in "His Western Way." Winnifred
Greenwood was Edna in "A Husband Won by Election." Charles Clary was Walter
Force. George Gebhardt was the lead in "The Frame-up." Jack Clark was only
Joseph in "From the Manger to the Cross."

Pearl McM. — Harry Myers was John in "The Lost Son." Martin Faust was
George. Doc Travers was Ed Jennings. Lillian Leighton was the stout girl in "The
Collector of Pearls."

Gertrude B. — The exposition is from July 7th to the 12th.

Anthony. — Clarence Johnson was Tommy in "Tommy's Atonement." Why, of
course, Miss White and Chester Barnett are chums.

A. B. C. — We dont know who played in "Madame Sherry."

Dallas, Texas.— Thomas Santschi was Mike in "Mike's Brainstorm." So you think
that Santschi should change his name. What's in a name? If it is a Russian name,
we should answer, the alphabet. Hughie Mack was Fatty in "How Fatty Made Good."

Olga, 17. — R. Paton Gibbs was Swami in "In the Grip of a Charlatan." Glad you
liked the picture. Yes, that was Clara Williams in "The Evil One." Edgar Jones was
Fleet Foot. Pansy wants you to join the Correspondence Club. Wont you?

Pat, 18, Santa Barbara. — Gene Pallette was Edward in "When the Light Fades."
Ford Sterling was Heinz in "Heinz's Resurrection."

L. B., Passaic. — Thanks for the sympathy. Your letter much appreciated.

Molly K. — W. Chrystie Miller was Daddy Jim in "The Little Tease." We believe
Mr. Anderson is not quite so tall as Mr. Johnson, but we never measured them.

Little Girl. — Marin Sais was Nell, and Carlyle Blackwell was Ed in "The Buck-
skin Coat." Thomas Santschi was Tom in "Partners."

Eve. — Bessie Sankey was the sweetheart. Evelyn Selbie was the sister. Clarence
Elmer was Henry, and Marie Weirman was Rita in "Pete, the Artist."

Paul, Neb. — Kathlyn Williams was the girl in "Harbor Island." Gertrude Robin-
son was the girl in "The Open Road." Nancy Avril was the actress. Marian Cooper
was the girl in "The Turning-Point." Thanks for your nice letter.

Twin Pearls. — Jack Halliday in "Rice and Old Shoes." Interviews you want soon.

Lucy G. — Marie Weirman played opposite Harry Myers in "The Old, Oaken
Bucket." James Kirkwood is with Victor.

William J. S. — Guy D'Ennery was Tom in "The Twilight of Her Life." We are
not here to make you laugh, but to make you think. What little wit we serve is put
up in homoeopathic doses, but not to be taken too often.

F. L. A. — James Morrison was chatted in August, 1912.

Grau. — Paul Hurst was Todd in "The California Oil Crooks" (Kalem). Adelaide
Lawrence was the sister, and Jack Pickford the brother in "The Sneak." You refer to
Kempton Green in "Keeping Up Appearances."

H. H., Highwood. — We know of no company that has a permanent studio at Sara-
nac Lake. Vitagraph have taken pictures there.

Bunnie D. — You will seldom see Mr. Kerrigan in the same theater with Kathlyn
Williams and Harold Lockwood. No, no ! John Bunny is not dead.

Flower E. G. — Stuart Holmes was Poole in "The Pursuit of the Smugglers."
Irene Boyle was the girl in the same. Joseph Holland was Brave Eagle in "Back to
the Primeval." Irene Hunt was the girl, and James King was Harold Bigelow.

M. S., Mass. — Guy Coombs was the clergyman, not Carlyle Blackwell, in "The
Battle of Bloody Ford." Anna Nilsson and Marian Cooper were the girls in "Leonie."

Edythe. — Just send your questions every month, and we will take care of you.

Martha S. — Alice Joyce was Alexa in "The American Princess." Marguerite
Courtot was Roxana.

WHAT THE PHBLIC WANTS

EDISON FILMS are made on the principle that
the public wants only the best that can be
produced. The great success which has been
won by this company proves conclusively that we are
giving the public exactly what it wants. The careful
attention to apparently trifling details, the painstaking
thought that is given to Edison settings and costumes,
the presentation of educational films, historical episodes,
the dramatizing of well-known stories — these and many
other factors have been the foundation of the Edison
reputation.

The great three-reel tragedy, "Mary Stuart," is a
faithful reproduction of Schiller's famous drama based
upon the struggle for the English throne waged by
Mary and the great Elizabeth. History has told us
how it ended, but no written description could ap-
proach in vividness and pathos this photographic
masterpiece. The "What Happened to Mary" series
has created such a furore that a large number of ex-
hibitors are now repeating the entire series, despite
the fact that such a thing is almost unheard of in the
history of motion pictures.

But, after all, it is the company which can maintain
the highest standard of quality throughout its entire
program that holds the popular favor. Here Edison
is supreme.

Watch for the Edison Posters
THOMAS A. EDISON, Inc., 144 Lakeside Avenue, Orange, N. J.

162 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

B. P., Chillicothe. — Irene Boyle and Stuart Holmes in "The Open Switch."
Donald L. S. says of Alice Joyce, that she poses as if to say : "Love me little, love

me long." That is the long and short of it. She was chatted in August, 1912.

June. — Lottie Briscoe was the wife in "The Pawned Bracelet." Lillian Logan
and Thomas Carrigan were the daughter and son in "Love in the Ghetto." Bessie
Eyton and Thomas Santschi were the mother and father, and Roy Clarke and Baby
Lillian Wade the children in "The Little Hero."

Olga, 17. — What, again ! Mr. Levine does not act ; he is the manager of the Solax.
The other two you mention are not players. Why, of course, you are not a bore.
Your letters are a tonic. We use them for breakfast food.

Albekta. — Harry Northrup was the husband in "The' Dawning." Mary Pickford
was playing for Biograph.

Miss Dixie. — You say E. K. Lincoln is "no baby, nor is he pretty, but he is a hand-
some, noble and manly fellow." So be it.

Naomi of St. Louis. — Haven't heard of that play as yet; probably it hasn't been
released. We expect to have another chat with Crane Wilbur soon. Earle Williams
was chatted in June, 1912.

C. D. B. — Yes ; E. H. Calvert was leading man for Essanay while Mr. Bushman
was absent. He played in "The Hero-Coward."

Peggy M.— Evebelle Prout was the little girl in "The Catspaw." William Ehfe
was the captain in "Eileen of the Sea."

Marian. — Harry Myers and Ethel Clayton had the leads in "An Irish Girl's Love."
Humor, if true, is kind and reformatory. We are never malignant.

Peggy, Toledo. — Harry Benham was Sherlock Holmes in "The Sign of the Foilr."
Dont think Mae Hotely's picture is on the Christinas Tree.

Mrs. J. R. — Myrtle Stedman and William Duncan had the leads in "The Canine
Matchmaker." Julia Swayne Gordon was the widow in "Rock of Ages." Clara Kim-
ball Young was Mary in "When Mary Grew Up."

Esther, St. Louis. — Warren Kerrigan had the lead in "The Intrusion at Lompec."
Isabelle Lamon was Ruth in "Quarantined." .

Josephine, 17. — The Western Vitagraph have built a large, handsome studio at
Santa Monica. They have a strong company now.

Mary Ellen, St. Louis. — Harry Lambert and Richard Leslie in "The Fortune."
Ruth Stonehouse was Marie in "The Unknown."

Roy J. — Mayme Kelso was Mrs. Burleigh in "The Street-Singer." Betty Harte
was Mabel in 'How the Cause Was Won."

M. M., Chicago. — Cant tell you that player's name unless you tell what play he
has played in. Ray Myers was the lieutenant, and E. Philbrook was the captain in
"A Red Man's Country" (Broncho).

Babe. — You refer to Edward Coxen and Lillian Christy.

0. O. O., 16. — Your idea is good, but we cant see the sense of having the Answer
Man's picture on the first page of the Inquiries. David Thompson is a Thanhouser.

Jack, Ottawa. — Romaine Fielding was Ramon in "The Land of Cactus." Hazel
Neason is married.

1. M. A. — That's Georgia Maurice. Letter very interesting.

The Twins. — Chester Hess was Jim in "Brother Bill" (Vitagraph). Walter Stull
was the fixer in "The Fixer." P. Hartigan was Dick, and Ruth Roland was the girl
in "The Indian Maid's Warning."

Mrs. Ida M. — Robert Conness was formerly with the Edison. Thanks for the letter.

Hazel Mc. — Jessalyn Van Trump was the daughter in "Love Is Blind." She also
played in "The Dawn of Passion."

D. M. C. — George Reehm was Jim in "Jim, the Burglar." Jerold Hevener was
Mr. Jenks in "Mr. Jenks Buys a Dress." Ruth Hennessy was the wife in "Odd Knotts."
Adrienne Kroell was Irma, Dick Baird was Maxwell Sargent, and Jack Jenson was
the lover in "Dont Let Mother Know."

Leland S. — "The Stroke-Oar" was taken at Philadelphia. Miss Joyce first joined
the New York section of the Kalein Company. Faces are not everything; acting is
what counts most. Marc MacDermott may have a face like a benediction, and Bunny
one like a sunflower, but they must have varying expressions.

Billy J. B. — James Cruze was the minister, and Mignon Anderson his wife in "The
Finger of Scorn." Albert McGovern is now with Pathe.

Sophomore, H. M. S. — The picture is of Lillian Walker. Marion Leonard, of
Monopol, is not dead. You refer to May Buckley. (She's not dead, either.)

Germania. — That was caused by dust in the room where the films were dried.
You have not noticed it in Lubin films, we'll wager. Lubin has the air washed. We
mean this literally. Before the air reaches the drying-room, it has to pass thru a
fountain of running water, which washes away every particle of dust.

Pinky, 16, Lockport. — Charles West played opposite Blanche Sweet in "The
Stolen Bride" (Biograph). We dont quite remember you from the old town.

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164 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Peggy, Winnipeg. — Marian Cooper was the daughter in "Prisoners of War."

Bing. — What! You dont believe we are seventy-two? Well, some years we have
two or three birthdays. We work twice as long as most people, therefore our days are
equal to two or three ordinary days. Wrong on the sex question. Otherwise O. K.

T. S., Pittsburg. — Philip Smalley usually plays opposite Miss Weber in the Rex
films. We cant promise to print your poem.

H. N. — Your poem is mighty clever. Cant promise.

Miss O. M. O. — Your news was interesting, but we cant tell anything about mar-
riages. What do you care whether Crane Wilbur is married or not? He would act
and look just as well with or without a spouse.

Peerless William. — So Rita Davis is playing with Poli stock at Springfield, Mass.
We'll add that German coin to our collection — because we cant spend it.

Lilly C. — Glad you like Earle Williams. Yes, he has many admirers. Thanks.

Curious Clarence. — Marian Cooper was the girl in "The Capture by Strategy"
(Kalem). Harry Millarde and Irene Boyle in "The Secret Marriage" (Kalem).
Frances Ne Moyer was Sunshine Sue in that play. Edna Bunyea was the younger
sister in "Roses of Yesterday."

Banana. — Lucille Lee the girl in "How Fatty Made Good." Your letter was rich.

Flossie C. P. — The Queen of Questioners! Bon jour, Mademoiselle Flossie, mon
cher ami. Edwin August is now with Western Vitagraph, in Santa Monica, very near
you. Of course we think he's a dream. James Moore was Rocco in "The End of the
Trust." Will meet you here next month.

Question Mark. — Vivian Pates was the ward in "The Burden Bearer" (Lubin).
Blanche Sweet was the bride. Jack Standing and Isabelle Lamon had the leads in
"For His Child's Sake" (Lubin).

Fun. — Thanks for the stamps. You ask "Why dont the Vitagraph get ex-President
Taft for their collection of fat men, or isn't he quite large enough?" He appears only
in Pathe's WeeJrty, that's why. Then, he's high-priced. He got $50,000 a year.

Lily C. — The picture is of Alice Joyce. Miss Ray was the girl in "The Wrong
Road to Happiness." Yes, we answer Biograph questions.

Bessie B. — Aidio Serena and Amelia Catteneo had the leads in "At Napoleon's
Command" (Cines). It takes time to get these casts. You refer to Kate Bruce.

Bee. — Vivian Rich was the daughter of the murderer, and the son was an extra
for the occasion. We haven't his name.

Miss F. G. — William Stowell was the chief clerk in "The Change of Administra-
tion." Mildred Weston in "The Discovery-" Winnifred Greenwood in that Selig.

Pandora. — You refer to Marshall Neilan. Laura Lyman was Flora in "The Wrong
Miss Wright." Harry Spergler was Philip in "Study of Sociology." Clara Williams
was Ruth in "The Girl of Sunset Pass." Lottie Briscoe was the girl in "When John
Brought Home a Wife."

Billie Burke. — Blanche Sweet was the girl in "The God Within."

Rodothy. — You jump at conclusions. If you could draw a check as easily as you
can draw inferences, you might paper the universe with greenbacks and have enough
left for a border. Because we quote a correspondent, it does not follow that we ap-
prove. We do not hold ourselves responsible for the freaks, fads and fancies of our
friends. Romaine Fielding.

H. C. J., Pasadena. — Pathe Freres try to have camera-men all over the country, so
that when an event takes place they are Johnny-on-the-spot.

V. B., Waco. — That was Edwin Carewe in the Lubin, and Marc MacDerrnott in the
Edison. That Biograph is too old. We haven't the casts for the old Biographs.

E. W., St. Louis. — Lionel Barrymore was the lead in "The Burglar's Dilemma"
(Biograph). Lottie Briscoe was the girl in "The Gift of the Storm."

Tom. — Edward Coxen was Joe in "Lonesome Joe" (American). Lonesome? It is
not good for man to be alone — buy a dog. Marguerite Snow in that Thanhouser.

Othellc\ M. J. — There are two William Wests — one with Kalem and one with
Edison. Rosemary Theby was Beatrice in "The Web."

The Texas Kids. — Helen Gardner produced "Cleopatra." Florence LaBadie in
"The Merchant of Venice." You mean Henry Walthall.

O. L. K. — M. Joube was Antonio in "Shylock" (Eclipse). Romaine Fielding was
Fernandez in "Courageous Blood" (Lubin).

Florence M. B. — Mary Charleson was Bedelia in "When Bedelia Becomes a Lady"
(Vitagraph). Adrienne Kroell was the girl in "A Lucky Mistake" (Selig). Dolores
Cassinelli was the girl in "The Price of Gold."

A. W. W.— Walter Miller was the boy in "The Musketeers of Pig Alley." We
think two months is long enough for any company to hold a scenario. Fifteen scenes
is all right for a photoplay, but it may make only a half-reel.

Molly K. — Biograph cant or wont tell the name of the child in "Oil and Water."
Mae Marsh in "Brutality" (Biograph).

Cynthia. — Ormi Hawley and Edwin Carewe the leads in "The Moonshiner's Wife."

Westward Ho!
For the Ridgelys

Cleo Riclgely, the charming Motion Picture actress, and her husband, J. M.
Ridgely, who, under the direction of The Motion Picture Story Magazine, are making
a horseback trip from New York to San Francisco, are now at Jackson, Mississippi.

Their trip has been full of adventure and interesting incidents, as well as some
accidents.

At Pittsburg, Pennsylvania, they were compelled, on account of cold weather, to
turn south to a warmer climate, thus adding more than a thousand miles to their
course as at first laid out.

In Virginia they were lost at night in the woods in a terrific snowstorm and
escaped being frozen almost by miracle.

At Henderson, North Carolina, the <stables in which their horses were housed
were burned, and Mr. Ridgely rescued the horses, "Babe" and "Steve," at the risk of
his own life.

But the plucky Ridgelys are still steadily pushing toward the West. They are not
trying to make a record trip. In fact, they often stop from two to six days in a town.

Those exhibitors who are lucky enough to make engagements with them, fill their
theaters to overflowing.

We regret that all of our readers do not live along their route and, therefore,
cannot meet Mr. and Mrs. Ridgely.

We join with our thousands of readers in wishing them good luck for the rest of
their arduous journey.

Their route from now on will be :

Vicksburg, Miss. Abilene, Texas. San Bernardino, Cal. Watsonville, Cal.

Shreveport, La. El Paso, Texas. Los Angeles, Cal. Santa Cruz, Cal.

Marshall, Texas. Deming, Texas. Ventura, Cal. Alameda, Cal.

Dallas, Texas. Tucson, Ariz. Santa Barbara, Cal. Oakland, Cal.

Fort Worth, Texas. Yuma, Ariz. San Luis Obispo, Cal. San Francisco, Cal.

Indian Chief Red Eagle will accompany the Ridgelys thru the states of New
Mexico and Arizona.

Exhibitors desiring to have them appear at their theaters should correspond with
us direct.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

175 Duffield Street - - Brooklyn, New York

166 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

Georgia and Pauline. — Sidney Gummiugs was the baby in "Under the Make-up"
(Vitagraph). We haven't Jack in "Laughs at Locksmiths."

Isabel D. — Ethel Clayton was the girl, Harry Myers the man she married,
Richard Travers was Jim, and Martin Faust was Jack in "Heroes, One and All"
(Lubin). Mrs. Costello was not on the cast for the two plays you mention. Yes.

Hattie S. — Virginia Chester was the chaperon in "The Matrimonial Venture of
Bar X Ranch." John Brennan was Jim.

Gertie. — Mildred Hutchinson was the child in "In the Days of War." Hal
Clements was Covington in "The Battle of Bloody Ford" (Kalem). Your questions
did not disturb our equanimity. Your notes are perfect.

M. M., Chicago. — Jack Pickford was the brother in "The Sneak." Ray Myers was
the grown-up son in "The Light in the Window."

A. C, New York. — Marie Courtot was the girl in "The Fighting Chaplain." Robert
Thornby was leading man in "The Wrong Pair" (Vitagraph).

Admirer of H. B. — Vivian Rich and Wallace Reid in "The Way of Fate."

A. B. and C. D. — Lillian Gish was the girl in "The House of Darkness" and in
"The Left-Handed Man." Gwendoline Pates is still with Pathe Freres. Ray Gallagher
is now with Lubin ; his picture in the Gallery was printed before we knew this.

Topsy S. M. — Yes, that was Mrs. Costello in "One Good Turn." Dorothy Phillips
was the girl in "The Swag of Destiny." Florence Turner in "Under the Make-up."

Bandana L. G. — That fire scene was made in a lot near the studio. They had
carpenters build the house, or part of a house, and then they burned it down. It was
not a complete house — only part of one. That other scene was another house entirely.
They could not afford to burn that fine house.

Doris M. F. — Roger Lytton was the artist. Henry Walthall was the valley man
in "The Little Tease."

F. E. G. — Dorothy Phillips and Bryant Washburn had the leads in "The Unburied
Past." Charles Clary was Dave, and Winnifred Greenwood the girl in "The Lesson."

Jenny. — Mignon Anderson was the girl in "Babies Prohibited."

Florencia. — Perhaps she had a wig on, but it was Lillian Wiggins in "The Clutch
of Conscience." Carl von Schiller, Harold in, "The Split Nugget." He has left Lubin.

Francais. — Anne Schaeffer was leading lady in "According to Advice." The play
you mention was not a Melies.

Renie W. — Guy Coombs was James in "A Mississippi Tragedy." Charles West was
the hero, and Kate Bruce the mother in "A Frightful Blunder."

Jewel F. — That was Isabelle Lamon. Write direct to Essanay for William Mason.

Cicely Arden. — Miss Ray was the girl in "The Wrong Road to Happiness."

Henry L. M. — Elsie Greeson in that Kalem. No questions about nationality.

Johnnie the First. — Harry Benham was the editor, and Mignon Anderson the
girl in "The Girl and the Grafter" (Thanhouser). Fred Mace is playing for Majestic.
Pearl White is with Crystal.

FOR ONE AND ALL.— Lillian Gish was the wife, Walter Miller the husband, Kate
Bruce the mother, and Gertrude Bambrick the dancer in "The Mothering Heart"
(Biograph). Romaine Fielding and Mary Ryan in "The Weaker Mind." Pearl White
and Chester Barnett in "Out of the Past." Miriam Nesbitt and Marc MacDermott in
"Mary Stuart." Hughie Mack was the star in "Roughing the Cub." Guy Coombs.
Alice Hollister and Anna Nilsson in "Shenandoah." Barney Gilmore was Kelly in
"Kelly from the Emerald Isle." All these are in this issue.

Dorothy. — Thanks very much for the fudge. Your make? It was good. Yes, we
have a sweet tooth.

Olga, 17. — Wheeler Oakman was the dreamer in "In the Long Ago." We did not
see the picture, Olga. Thanks for the fee, but our name is not Henry.

Piggy. — Yes, it is because Hobart Bosworth directs also. That was the way we got
that item from the company. We dont know about Captain Bonavita's other arm.

Florence M. B. — Romaine Fielding and Mary Ryan had the leads in "An Adven-
ture on the Mexican Border." Florence Klotz was the girl in "The Vengeance of
Durand." We are sorry, but Broncho will not tell us who the girl was in "The Way
of a Mother." Their Western company is very slow to give us information.

Betty L. — Blanche Sweet and Henry Walthall were the parents of the child in
"If We Only Knew." The child really went out in the water; it was done splendidly.

Carlyton D. — The Correspondence Club has started. Yes; J. Stuart Blackton is
the owner of "The Baby Reliance" motorboat.

D. E. — Wallace Reid is directing for American. We haven't the little girl in "The
Two Social Calls." Pictures are sometimes taken at night, with electric light. Maurice
Costello was chatted in April, 1912.

Anthony. — So you refuse to join the club; all right. Yes, that was the original
Wallace and Hal Reid in the "Deerslayers." Yes, a chat with Pearl White soon.

Mary P. — Why, May Buckley was with Selig for about a month. Yes, that picture
was taken from another aeroplane. Your verses are fine.

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Popular Player Contest

of the

Motion Picture Story Magazine

Ten Votes for

168 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

J. W., Penn. — Your verse for Mr. Walthall is very good. It will go to him.
Biograph is at 11 East Fourteenth Street, New York City.

Kittie M. K. — Sorry you did not get your answers. Why not vote for Harry
Northrup and put him up in the contest? Francis Bushman is back with Essanay.

Teddy C. — Yes, send the picture to her, and she will autograph it. Ethel Clayton
was the girl in "His Children."

William F. — Harry Myers and Marie Weirman had the leads in "Memories of His
Youth." John Steppling was Hiram, and Ruth Hennessy was the daughter in "The
Gunman" (Essanay). Wheeler Oakman was Joe in "Her Education" (Selig). Winni-
fred Greenwood was the girl in "The Sands of Time" (Selig).

Dorothy B. — Yes ; Blanche Sweet was the girl in "Three Friends." Anna Nilsson
and Marian Cooper were the girls in "The Battle of Bloody Ford" (Kalem). The
picture was taken at Jacksonville.

Maggie C. A. — Burton King and Clara Williams in "The Ranch Mates" as sister
and brother. Harry Lockwood in "A Little Child Shall Lead Them."

Yetta. — Carl Winterhoff was the male lead in "A Midnight Bell." Alice Hollister
was the girl in "A Desperate Chance" (Kalem). Yes, write to the player. He will
like your appreciation. The applause of the multitude is a great comfort.

Marion C. C. — Anna Stewart was Agatha in "The Web" (Vitagraph). So you like
Courtenay Foote. He hasn't left Vitagraph yet.

Diana. — Ethel Grandin played in "The Invaders." Thomas Carrigan and Lillian
Logan had the leads in "The Equine Detective."

Elena C. G. — Oh, yes ; Peter Wade enjoyed that tobacco. Most assuredly he is
young. Adelaide Lawrence was the child in "The Sneak." We dont know Roy Gordon.

Edna Q. — Blanche Cornwall was the mother, and Vivian Walker the daughter in
"Mother and Daughter" (Solas).

L. E. S. — Harry Myers was the sweetheart, and Marie Weirman the girl in "The
Old, Oaken Bucket." That was the director's fault. Between two evils, he chose both.

E. H. — Yes ; James Morrison in "A Vitagraph Romance," not James Young.

The Pink Lady. — We are out of it when it comes to the kind of cigars Mr.
Kerrigan smokes. Dont know whether he would care to receive any ; he may have
his own exclusive brand. Yes ; Romeo and Juliets and La Carolinas are fine.

Betty. — But you must not ask about matrimonial affairs.

F. H., St. Paul. — Marin Sais was the girl in "The Honor System." Eleanor
Blevins was Helen in "The Woodsman's Daughter" (Selig).

Marion C. — Herbert Rawlinson was Robert, and Kathlyn Williams was Zara in
"A Wise Old Elephant." What, Leah Baird fat? No, just plump.

L. F. F.— No, guess again. We are not William Lord Wright. He is Wright, and
you are wrong. Your letter was very interesting.

Eddie M. — Irving Cummings in "The Judge's Vindication." Gertrude Robinson is
now with Victor. Mae Hotely is still playing for Lubin.

K. C. J. — You know Melies produce only one a week, but in time you will see more.

Flo N. T. — We have been at that place. Ray Gallagher was the lead in "Molly's
Mistake" (Melies). So you think Victor Potel would make a fine Ichabod Crane in
"The Legend of Sleepy Hollow." Aye, aye!

Pandora. — That was Clara Kimball Young in "The Mystery of the Stolen Jewels."

Jane W. — Lillian Christy was the girl in "A Renegade's Heart" (American). Jack
Richardson was George Field. Dont get discouraged. Be contented with your lot — ■
particularly if it is a corner one.

Francis. — Yes, patience is a virtue, and we dont go to Sunday-school every Sunday.
Isabelle Lamon and Ernestine Morley were the sisters in "The Supreme Sacrifice."

Eva H. — Perhaps you refer to Mary Pickford, now with Famous Players, or
Florence Lawrence, not connected with any company. Letter very interesting.

Paul V. C. — Such pictures as "Cleopatra" are released thru exchanges who buy
the State rights, and they rent them to the exhibitor.

I. L., Stamford. — Philip Smalley was the father in "In the Blood." Gertrude
Robinson was the girl in "The Vengeance of Heaven."

Lonely Leona. — Miss Mason the mother in "Fate's Decree." No personal questions.

Richardia. — Do you want us to make a farce of this department? Avast! You
will want John Bunny as Hamlet next.

Dirigo. — Edward Coxen and Lillian Christy in "When the Light Fades." Florence
LaBadie was the girl in "Her Neighbor."

Electric Fan. — Beth Taylor in "A Ranch Girl's Trial." Blanche Sweet's picture.

F. E. G. — So you think Mr. Bushman is a master of make-up. Send us the pictures.

Roe of P. A. — Pathe cant, or wont, tell us who the girl was in "Mother."

Eleanor. — Tom Moore was the young man in "In the Power of Blacklegs"
(Kalem). Joseph Levering was the store manager. Lillian Hines was Rosa.

V. E. L. — We haven't the name of the author of "The Elusive Kiss." The idea
has been done many and many a time. Afraid there would be no sale for it.

LAST CALL

For the Twelve Beautiful Portraits
of Motion Picture Players

FREE TO SUBSCRIBERS ONLY

ONLY A FEW NOW LEFT

YV/1TH the May number of THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE
* * we discontinued inserting colored portraits of picture players in
magazines going to subscribers.

Twelve Portraits and a One Year's Subscription to
THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE, $1.50

Dont delay until the supply is exhausted, but order now. Just fill out blank
below and mail with remittance.

Each subscriber will also be entitled to 500 votes for his or her favorite player.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

175 DUFFIELD STREET, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

Gentlemen: Enclosed please find $1.50 ($2.00 Canada, $2.50 Foreign), for which please send

me THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE for one year, beginning with

issue, including the 1 2 colored portraits of Motion Picture Players. Also, in accordance with the terms of
your Popular Players Contest, you are requested to enter votes for

Popular Player.

Name

Address

m =m

170 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

The Twins. — Lord Robert was the midget in "A Midget." Irving Cummings and
Mae Bottie had the leads in "The Woman Who Knew" (Reliance).

Billy Johns. — Just look it up in your Latin dictionary. It's there. Edna May
Weick is still with Edison. You have some of the facts, but you have them twisted.
A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.

Helen. 17. — Oarlyle Blackwell was the husband in "A Buckskin Coat." The ghost
walks every Friday morning around here, about eleven A. M.

Jennie. — Ruth Stonehouse was the mother in "The Little Mother." Thank you.

A. U. — Norman Fowler was Robert Hale in "Robert Hale's Ambition." You refer
to Mr. Carewe as the thief.

Jack Tar. — Julia Swayne Gordon was the wife in "The Meeting of the Ways"
(Vitagraph). Tefft Johnson was the captain in "The Child Crusoes." Robert Vignola
was Feely in "Arrah-na-Pogue." August Phillips in "The Shadow on the Blind."

I. M. K. — You dont like to see the cowboys mount their horses by holding the
stirrup in their hand. Romaine Fielding played both parts in "The Toll of Fear."

Edythe H. — Florence Hackett and Vivian Pates were the girls in "The Burden
Bearer." True Boardman was the gambler in "Broncho Billy's Gun-play."

Anthony. — Miss Sindelar was the bride in "The Italian Bride" (Pathe Freres).
William Stowell was William in "Dixieland" (Selig).

Ed S. — Zena Keefe wras Vera in "Sisters All."

Flo C. G. — Edgena De Lespine was leading lady in "The Judge's Vindication."

Olga, 17. — Kathlyn Williams was the stepmother in "The Stepmother" (Selig).
We dont know the names of the children. The greatest acting consists in disguising
the acting. B natural is the sweetest note ever struck by a director.

Jonny Jones. — That was a mistake in the contest. James Cruze is still with
Thanhouser, and not Kalem. We haven't the Broncho casts you ask. Sorry.

E. R., Texas. — Mary Fuller was the daughter in that Edison. Darwin Kan* and
Fannie Simpson had the leads in "Love's Railroad" (Solax). Billie Quirk and Vinnie
Burns had the leads in "Planting Time" (Solax).

L. H., Iowa. — Mignon Anderson was the pansy lady in "The Children's Con-
spiracy." We haven't the cast for "Indian Blood" (Bison).

Rodolph S. — Jane Fearnley was the wife, and Gertrude Robinson was her friend
in "Jealousy" (Reliance). Jack Richardson and Jessalyn Van Trump in "An Unas-
sisted Elopement." Cleo Ridgely in "Beauty and the Beast." Oh, yes, you will see Jean
again ; every dog has his day.

Dorris, 18. — James Harrison the chauffeur in "Matches." We haven't Kay-Bees.

C. D. P. D. — Anna Drew was the maid in "When Dreams Come True." Florence
LaBadie has been with Thanhouser since June, 1911. Mildred Bright was Myrtle in
"For Better or Worse." Thanks.

M. A., Buffalo. — Pearl White and Chester Barnett had the leads in "When Love
Was Young." Ray Myers and William Clifford were the spy and brother in "His
Brother" (Bison). Violet Neitz was the girl in "Calamity Ann's Trust."

M. W. M. M. — William Garwood was the boy, Victoria Bateman the mother. James
Cruze and Marguerite Snow the man and wife in "For His Son's Sake." Blanche
Sweet was the bride, Charles West the groom, and Harry Carey the Mexican husband
in "The Stolen Bride." Thanks.

Anthony. — George Molinari was Peter, and Deomira Jacobini was Dorothy in
"The Miser's Millions" (Cines). Pearl White and Chester Barnett in "Who's the
Goat?" (Crystal). Didn't you recognize Pearl?

C. F. — Sorry, but we cannot obtain the Bison casts. We dont think they keep a.
record of them.

C. S., Canada. — You also ask us Bison questions. Sorry we cannot tell you.

J. B. C— Carl Winterhoff was the thief in "A Midnight Bell." Earle Metcalf was
the villain in "Kitty and the Bandits." Lester Cuneo was the cowpuncher in "The
Mail-Order Dress-Suit."

Helen L. R. — Thomas Santschi was the lead in "The Early Bird." Mrs. George
Walters was the "dear-looking lady" in "Granny." She feels quite proud of that, too.
Eleanor Caines was the girl in "Such an Appetite." Charles Clarey and Adrienne
Kroell had the leads in "A Change of Administration." Miss West and Miss Ray in
"A White Rose." Miss West is now with American.

Tracy J. — Walter Briggs was Ned Burton in "The Girl of Sunset Pass."

V. S., New Jersey. — Marshall Neilan was the husband in "One, Two, Three."
Jack Richardson's picture was in January, 1913.

Clark E. M. — You are right about "A Tale of Two Cities." William West was
Harrison Grey in "The Redemption."

Florence M. B. — Florence LaBadie was Imogene, and James Cruze Leonatus in
"Cymbeline." David Thompson was the bandit in "The Honor Squad." Jean Darnell
the witch in "Th3 Woman Who Did Not Care." David Thompson the one-legged man.

Inquisitive.— Naomi Childers was the girl in "The American Princess."

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Tommy's Patriotism

By ELIZABETH PINSON

Tommy Jones had earned some money running errands after school ;

He was saving up to buy a brand-new gun.
For July the Fourth was coming, and it seemed to be the rule

That the boys who made most noise had all the fun.
My ! it looked a lot of money when he'd counted thirty-four —

He felt proud, indeed, to think he owned so much ;
He'd soon have enough to buy the gun, but then he wanted more

For some fire-crackers, rockets, punk and such.
There were still three days, however, and he knew he'd get a dime

From his dad with which the cause to celebrate ;
So he felt supremely happy, looking forward to the time

And the noise he'd make on that eventful date.
Meeting Bobby Green, he made him "cross his heart that he'd keep
mum,"

Then exultantly disclosed this wondrous news,
But to Tom's dismay there came no joyous outburst from his chum,

Who, quite unconcerned, said he had "other views/'
Piqued and sorely disappointed, Tommy's indignation rose,

But when Bob explained there dawned on Tom a light.
Bob intended, on the Fourth, to see two Motion Picture shows —

One a matinee ; another one at night.
They would be at different places, each would have a special bill :

"Major Andre's Capture," "Nathan Hale Betrayed,"
There'd be "Washington at Valley Forge," war dramas and a drill — ■

Only military music would be played.
"Gee! that's great!" cried Tom, with fervor. "We can see real heroes
then,

Fighting hard to save our country from its foes,
And we'll see Old Glory hoisted by those brave and gallant men —

I dont want the gun — I'll see those picture shows!"

4* &

Lest We Forget

By DOROTHY DONNELL

I'd a'most forgotten that the sun was shinin' brightly
On green hills an' clean hills in a land across the sea.

I'd forgotten, a'most, that the colleens were so pretty,
An' the prettiest an' wittiest was waitin' there for me.

But I saw a Moving Picture that was taken in Killarney,
An' tomorrow I'll be sailin' to the land across the sea.

I'd a'most forgotten, but the picture set me thinkin'

Of the ould days an' the ould ways that one time I used to know

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An' my heart is filled with achin' for the ould home country —
The dear land, the queer land, that I left so long ago.

The lassie in the picture was a winsome little creature ;

But, oh, the grace, an' oh, the face o' Aileen far away !
I mind me how she came barefoot across the highland pasture,

To meet me an' to greet me at the breakin' o' the day.
'TIs strange I had forgotten how the heather smells at dawnin'—

Oh, heart o' me, across the sea, so far an' far away!

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WANTED BY U. S. GOVERNMENT:

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office Clerks. Salary $65.00 to $75.00 month to commence. No
'•lay-offs." Short hours. Annual vacations. Position would be
yours for life. Common education sufficient. Parcel Post
means several thousand appointments. 'Pull" unnecessary.
Farmers eligible. Write immediately for sample examina-
tion questions and large copyrighted book telling the duties
and giving full particulars.
FRANKLIN INSTITUTE, Dept. 0-128, Rochester, N. Y.

SUBSCRIPTION REPRESENTATIVES WANTED

THE MOTION FTCTTTRE STORY MAGAZINE
WANTS SUBSCRIPTION REPRESENTATIVES

in all parts of the country.. The work is easy and profitable.
There is a very rapidly increasing demand for our magazine.
Whether you are a man or woman, you can make big money by
taking advantage of our proposition. Write today for partic-
ulars. Address. Department C. Motion Picture Story Magazine,
175 Duffield Street. Brooklyn, N. Y.

"y OUNG MAN, would you accept and wear a fine tailor-made
1 suit just for showing it to your friends? Or a Slip-on
Rain-coat Free? Could you use $5 a day for a little spare
time ? Perhaps we can offer you a steady job ? If you live in
a town smaller than 10.000, write at once and get beautiful
samples, styles and this wonderful offer.

Banner Tailoring Company, Dept. 386, Chicago

DECOME a Photoplay Actor or Actress.

*-* One of the most pleasant and well paid

of professions. Send stamp for particulars.

THE P. A. BOOKING OFFICES

ASHLAND, OHIO

I WILL START YOU earning $4 da'ily at home in
spare time, silvering mirrors; no capital. Send for free
instructive booklet, giving plans of operation. G. F.
Redmond, Dept. C.-S., Boston, Mass.

^Fl I Hfl^lFRY' guaranteed against holes or new hose free;
OLLL nUOILill j build a permanent trade; big profits; ex-
perience unnecessary. MfTERXATlONAL MILLS,
Sept. O., West Phila., Pa.

$100

MONTHLY". Spare time. Report information to
us. NO CANVASSING. Send stamp. National
Information Sales Co.-BCW-Cincinnati, O.

TYPEWRITERS— SUPPLIES

A MASTER-MODEL

That Solves "Typewriter Problems"

$75

No Extras

ONE Standard Model for
ALL purposes-one typewriter
with the combined advantages
of many!

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IMPORTANT

If you are not using A. & W.
Brand Typewriter Ribbon and
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losing money. There is a rea-
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THE AULT & WIBORG CO. of N. Y,
57 Greene Street, New York

AfiFTVT^l' PT?Tf!"FS One Machine at Wholesale price to
JUxUUAO JTllACXi^ introduce our g00ds> Bargains in

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Phone 3818 Main

ARTISTIC BOOKBINDING

Why not have the complete set of The Motion Picture
Story Magazine

Bound— 90 cents cloth. $1.00 canvas.
$1.75 Half Morocco, gilt top.
Let me estimate on other work before you give an order.

WILLIAM VON HEILL

349 ADAMS STREET, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

175 DUFFIELD STREET, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

175 Duffield Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

Sirs :— Enclosed find $1.50 ($2.00 Canada, $2.50 Foreign), for which send me The Motion Picture

Story Magazine for one year, beginning with the number, together with the

twelve colored art portraits as announced.

Street

City

State

Send Us Your Scenarios

We Read, Revise, Reconstruct, Criticise, Typewrite
and Market Photoplays of Every Description . .

THE PHOTOPLAY CLEARING HOUSE has been organized only a few months,
but it has already made its influence felt and successfully handled many hundreds
of plays. It has made a commercial study of studio conditions and can now
announce that it has what is probably the largest and most complete listing systems
in the world for the reading, criticising and selling of Motion Picture Plays. Not only
have all the studios learnt to respect our system and the quality of the scripts we are
producing, but they are placing standing orders with us, ordering by telephone and
supplying us with important information as to their coming needs. We have even
received orders for Talking Picture scripts, and this branch of the business promises to
be remunerative for authors.

Our Patrons Are Pleased

We naturally expected that unsuccessful writers would lay the blame at our door
when all their scripts did not sell, but to our surprise nearly all of our large number
of patrons have expressed warm approval of our work, even when their scripts were
unsuccessful. Miss Helen Johnson, of 10 Thompson St., Hyde Park, Mass., sends us
her thanks "for the honest and capable criticism" of her script, and adds: "It has
given me an idea of what is wanted in a Photoplay — that is, I understand more fully.
I will forward to you the manuscript after I have reconstructed it." Theodore C.
Weeks, of 236 Greene Ave., Brooklyn, writes: "I beg to acknowledge receipt of your
check for $45 ($50 less 10%) in payment for my Scenario entitled, 'The Spirit of
Mahomet,' which you were successful in marketing to the Vitagraph. I thank you for
your promptness and competence. Your institution is a boon to the many who have
entered the field of Photoplay writing. One of the necessary things to know is the
specific wants of the various producers at any given time, and by placing his work in
your hands a writer is relieved of much work and responsibility. Your constructive
criticisms enable the writer to see at a glance wherein he has fallen short." This is the
second script we have sold for Mr. Weeks. Charles E. Currier, of 16 Third St., S. E.,
Washington, D. C, writes us: "Allow me to thank you for your prompt return of my
Scenario (No. 447), as well as for the criticism, which contains many helpful hints and
suggestions. ... I shall not hesitate to speak a word in your favor." Miss Jose-
phine W. Phelps, of 1381 Commonwealth Ave., Boston, writes: "I thank you very
much for your fine criticism of my Photoplay. I have gone over it carefully, following
your suggestions, and am returning it to you. Will send more of my work soon." E. R.
Carpenter, of 723 Washington St., Hoboken, a successful playwright who has sold many
scripts, writes: "According to your advices, I have rewritten 'The Sword of Damocles,'
making radical changes. I sent it out and it is being held for consideration by one of
the Licensed. ... I was very much interested in your revised copy of 'Peter Grey.'
You certainly improved it vastly." Edward G. Temple, of 43 Poplar St., Bridgeport,
Conn., writes us approvingly for having sold his "The Painter and the Figure-Head" to
the Edison Company. Leo A. Goebel, Ph.B., of Forty-third St. and Chester Ave.,
Philadelphia, writes: "Permit me to thank you for your splendid glossaries. . . .
All my works in preparation (6 plays) will be sent you; in fact, I intend not to deal
any more directly with the manufacturers." And thus we could go on indefinitely,
quoting from the letters of our pleased patrons. The Pilot Co. was so pleased with
"The Power of the Sea," by Henry R. Clark, of 413 E. Seventeenth St., Brooklyn, that they
have asked for more scripts, and they have even had the kindness and wisdom to advise
authors to send their scripts to us for revision. We have seen one of their letters that
they sent to a writer, and we quote therefrom: "We do not know anything about their
(Photoplay Clearing House) terms, merely having received some Scenarios from them
which they had re-edited, and which proved to be very good Photoplays. In fact, we
have accepted some that they re-edited and sent to us for consideration." Even the

big Universal Company, controlling twelve film companies, are negotiating with us to
supply them with Photoplays in quantities. Will T. Henderson, of 3505 Michigan Blvd.,
Chicago, writes that he is "delighted with the manner we have handled" his scripts, and
adds: "I want to say that it is clear to me that you understand your business." And
why shouldn't we understand the business? During the past thirty months we who
have been editing THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE have received and
read over 600 Photoplays that have been produced by over twenty different companies,
and we have made frequent visits to many of the studios, to say nothing of innumer-
able letters and telephone talks.

We Have a Competent Staff

and it is being added to by taking on the best available men and women in the business.
Criticism, revision and reconstruction is personally conducted by well-known, estab-
lished editors and photoplaywrights, such as A. W. Thomas, Edwin M. LaRoche, Wm.
Lord Wright, Dorothy Donnell, L. Case Russell, Florence Thiel, and others. While the
Photoplay Clearing House is an independent institution, it is supervised by THE
MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE, and conducted, in part, by the same
editors.

THE PHOTOPLAY CLEARING HOUSE IS NOT A SCHOOL. It does not
teach. But it corrects, revises, typewrites in proper form, and markets Plays. Tens of
thousands of persons are constantly sending to the various film companies manuscripts
that have not the slightest chance of acceptance, and in many cases these Plays contain
the germs of salable ideas, if sent to the right companies. The Scenario editors of the
various companies are simply flooded with impossible manuscripts, and they will wel-
come the PHOTOPLAY CLEARING HOUSE, not only because it will relieve them
of an unnecessary burden, but because it will enable them to pass on only good, up-to-
date Plays that have been carefully prepared.

What Do the Companies Want?

We are intimately connected with the Motion Picture business and in close touch
with the manufacturers. We are advised of all their advance releases, their require-
ments and the kind of scripts they want. As suitable ones come to us, in salable shape,
they are immediately sent to the proper studio. No stale, imperfect or copied plots are
submitted.

The Plan of the Photoplay Clearing House

All photoplaywrights are invited to send their Plays to this company, advising as to
what manufacturers they have been previously submitted, if any. Every Play will be
treated as follows:

It will be read by competent readers, numbered, classified and filed. If it is, in our
opinion, in perfect condition, we shall at once proceed to market it, and, when we are
paid for it, we will pay the writer 90% of the amount we receive, less postage ex-
pended. If the Scenario is not in marketable shape, we will so advise the author,
stating our objections, offering to return it at once, or to revise, typewrite and try to
market it. If the manuscript is hopeless, we shall so state, and in some cases advise a
course of instruction, naming various books, experts and schools to select from.

The fee for reading, filing, etc., will be $1.00, but to readers of THE MOTION
PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE it will be _ only 50c, provided the annexed
Coupon accompanies each script. For typewriting, a charge of $1.00 for each
Play will be made, provided it does not run over 10 pages. 10c. a page for
extra pages. The fee for revising will vary according to work required
and will be arranged in advance. No Scenarios will be placed by us
unless they are properly typewritten. Payment in advance is expected ^r coupon

in all cases, lc. stamps accepted. ^r is good

PHOTOPLAY CLEARING HOUSE

175 Duffield Street, Brooklyn, N. Y. / <£ Du^^l^n?™ *£'

for 50 cents.
When accom-
panied with 50c.
more it will enti-
tle holder to list one
scenario with the Pho-
toplay Clearing- House.

MOVING PICTURES

How They Are Ma.de a.i\d Worked

^^" By FREDERICK A. TALBOT

THE BOOK OF THE YEAR

It will prove of great value
to—

MOVING
PICTURE
OPERATORS

AND

MANUFACTURERS

SCENARIO

WRITERS

PHOTOGRAPHERS

AUTHORS

PLAYWRIGHTS

AND

EVERY ONE
INTERESTED IN
MOVING PICTURES

The future of the rapidly developing Moving Picture business offers unusual
opportunities for every one. At the present time there are many thousands of people
in its employ, altho the business is still in its infancy. Skilled operators and workers
are needed; film manufacturers are on the lookout for new suggestions and ideas in
their work, and there is a premium on new and original picture plays. This work
contains full information regarding every phase of the subject and will be found sug-
gestive of ideas. It is scientific enough for the practical Moving Picture man, and at
the same time can be readily understood by any one. Every process is described,
from the preparation of the blank film to the making of the projecting machines and
the construction of plays and trick pictures.

340 pages; cloth bound; size bxSVz; nearly 2 inches thick; full of drawings,
engravings, portraits and diagrams

LAVISHLY ILLUSTRATED
PRICE, $1.50

Sent by express to any address upon receipt of price. Add 15 cents and we
will mail the book to you at once, carefully wrapped, postage prepaid

THE M. P. PUBLISHING CO., 175 Duffield Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

.; ::

This Attractive Photograph

(7x9 inches in size)

Autographed by

Msss Alice Joyce

25 cents each, postage prepaid

Kalem Company

235.239 W. 23d Street, New York

_Z7

PRESS OF WILLIAM G. HEWITT, 61-67 NAVY S

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Full text of "The Motion Picture Story Magazine (Feb-Jul 1913)"

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