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I
7
PICTURE-PLAY MAGAZINE
Vol. IV.
March, 1916, to August, 1916
INCLUSIVE
Copyrighted, 1916, by STREET & SMITH
STREET & SMITH
79-89 Seventh Avenue
new york, n. y.
INDEX
TO
PICTURE-PLAY MAGAZINE
Vol. IV —March, 1916, to August, 1916
INCLUSIVE
SHORT STORIES.
MONTH. PAGE.
Aryan, The Will H. Johnston May, 234
Call of the Cumberlands, The Charles Edward Rich May, 268
Catspaw, The Austin Stevens Mar. 1, 68
Clown, The W. C. MacDermott Aug., 51
Destroyers, The Will H. Johnston July, 236
Friday, the Thirteenth Matthew Allison Aug., 101
Green Stockings Kenneth Rand Apr., 75
Heart of Paula, The W. C. MacDermott. June, 84
La Boheme G. D. Richardson July, 278
Light that Failed, The .Will H. Johnston Apr., 64
No Greater Love Burns Patterson Apr., 108
Serpent, The Gorman West Mar. 1, 54
Turmoil, The W. C. MacDermott May, 250
World's Greatest Snare, The Will H. Johnston Aug., 69
SPECIAL ARTICLES,
American Studio, The Robert C. Duncan May, 187
Anna Little: Western Girl " Richard Willis July, 267
At Play with Dustin Farnum Peter J. Schmidt May, 205
Balboa Studio, The Robert C. Duncan June, 25
Behind the Scenes with Fatty and Mabel Wil Rex Apr., 46
Centaur Studio, The Robert C. Duncan July, 219
Confessions of a Comedian and a Comedienne Arthur Gavin, Jr.. Aug., 46
Day with Mary Miles Minter, A .Carmelita Geraghty June, 72
Dressing Room on Wheels, A Mary E. Porter Apr., 132
Early Days of Henry B. Walthall, The Edwin Williamson Aug., 83
Famous Teams — and Why Creighton Hamilton June, 42
Film Surgeon, The Burr C. Cook May, 220
Forrest Stanley: Nature's Son Warren Reed July, 304
From Home to Work with Virginia Pearson... Gail Cameron May, 280
Gertrude and Gertie Marion Louise Forrester June, 120
Girls Who Play with Death Creighton Hamilton May, 177
Harold Lockwood : Apollo in a Flannel Shirt Arthur Gavin, Jr July, 229
His Picture in the Papers Kenneth Rand June, 106
How They Have Changed Lloyd Robinson Apr., 17
Ince Studios, The Robert C. Duncan Mar. 1, 25
Is She Another Pickfordf July, 228
PICTURE-PLAY MAGAZINE
Vol. IV.
March, 1916, to August, 1916
INCLUSIVE
Copyrighted, 1916, by STREET & SMITH
STREET & SMITH
79-89 Seventh Avenue
new york, n. y.
INDEX
TO
PICTURE-PLAY MAGAZINE
Vol. IV— March, 1916, to August, 1916
INCLUSIVE
SHORT STORIES.
MONTH. PAGE.
Aryan, The Will H. Johnston May, 234
Call of the Cumberland's, The Charles Edward Rich May, 268
Catspaw, The Austin Stevens Mar. 1, 68
Clown, The W. C. MacDermott Aug., 51
Destroyers, The Will H. Johnston July, 236
Friday, the Thirteenth Matthew Allison Aug., 101
Green Stockings Kenneth Rand Apr., 75
Heart of Paula, The W. C. MacDermott June, 84
La Boheme G. D. Richardson July, 278
Light that Failed, The Will H. Johnston Apr., 64
No Greater Love Burns Patterson Apr., 108
Serpent, The Gorman West Mar. 1, 54
Turmoil, The W. C. MacDermott May, 250
World's Greatest Snare, The Will H. Johnston Aug., 69
SPECIAL ARTICLES.
American Studio, The
Anna Little: Western Girl
At Play with Dustin Farnum
Balboa Studio, The
Behind the Scenes with Fatty and Mabel
Centaur Studio, The
Confessions of a Comedian and a Comedienne
Day with Mary Miles Minter, A
Dressing Room on Wheels, A
Early Days of Henry B. Walthall, The
Famous Teams — and Why
Film Surgeon, The
Forrest Stanley: Nature's Son
From Home to Work with Virginia Pearson..
Gertrude and Gertie
Girls Who Play with Death
Harold Lockwood : Apollo in a Flannel Shirt.
His Picture in the Papers
How They Have Changed
Ince Studios, The
Is She Another Pickfordf
Robert C. Duncan May, 187
Richard Willis July, 267
.Peter J. Schmidt May, 205
Robert C. Duncan June, 25
Wit Rex Apr,, 46
Robert 'C. Duncan July, 219
Arthur Gavin, Jr Aug., 46
Carmelita Geraghty June, 72
Mary E. Porter Apr., 132
Edwin Williamson Aug., 83
Creighton Hamilton June, 42
Burr C. Cook May, 220
Warren Reed July, 304
Gail Cameron May, 280
Marion Louise Forrester June, 120
Creighton Hamilton May, 177
Arthur Gavin, Jr July, 229
.Kenneth Rand June, 106
.Lloyd Robinson Apr., 17
Robert C. Duncan Alar. 1, 25
July, 228
INDEX
MONTH. PAGE.
Just Kids Wilson Gardner July, 261
Just Viola Dana Ralph Strong May, 246
Knights of the Megaphone Jerome Beatty Aug., 19
Lasky Studio, The Robert C. Duncan Apr., 25
Latest Wrinkle, The — Silhouette Movies Tarleton Winchester Mar. 1, 40
Life a Picture Actress Leads, The Fannie Ward July, 199
Love Letters of a Movie Idol June, 97
Love Letters of a Movie Idol July, 271
Love Letters of a Movie Idol Aug., 92
Making an Eighth Wonder Kenneth O'Hara Aug., 25
Making a Million-dollar Picture Creighton Hamilton Apr., 35
Making People Laugh Chester Conklin June, 61
Masters Alike Spottiswoode Aitken June, 19
Much Photographed Mary Fuller, The H. H. Van Loan July, 215
Myrtle Stedman — Her Unknown Side Warren Reed Aug., 62
One Extra Girl , Ralph Strong Apr., 54
Our Scenario Contest June, 38
Our Scenario Contest July, 194
Our Scenario Contest— Picking the Winners Aug., 49
Past and Present Robert Grau May, 209
Past and Present Robert Graii June, 55
Picture-Play Magazine's Scenario Contest May, 201
Pictures that Made Stars... Al Ray Mar. 1, 15
Real Blanche Sweet, The Courtney Ames Aug., 98
Romances of the Studios ...Wil Rex July, 206
Shining Star, A — Lenore Ulrich Pete Schmidt Mar. 1, 49
Sneering at Satan Valeska Suratt Aug., 32
Successful Pals Bennie Zeidman Aug., 79
Three Thousand Miles from Broadway Mabel Condon July, 179
Universal City, Junior Robert C. Duncan Aug., 39
Violet Mersereau — The Girl Who Smiles H. H. Van Loan June, 51
Why Little Mary Isn't Jealous. ... .Bennie Zeidman May, 225
Where the Money Goes Gerald C. Duffy July, 187
SERIAL STORIES,
Golden Chance, The— First Installment Will H. Johnston Mar. 1, 83
Golden Chance, The— Conclusion Will H. Johnston Apr., 88
Not in the Cast — First Installment , H. Bedford- J ones July, 250
Not in the Cast — Second Installment H. Bedford-Jones Aug.. 122
Pickles and Pearls — Seventh Installment ....William Wallace Cook Mar.. 102
Pickles and Pearls— Eighth Installment William Wallace Cook Apr.. 122
Pickles and Pearls — Conclusion William Wallace Cook May, 284
VERSE,
Adventurer, The Robert Foster Mar. 1. 67
Crankin' Camera Man, The Walt House July. 193
Exploits of Molly, The Lyon Mearson Aug., 60
Heroes • Robert Foster Aug., 31
In the Dark Everett Leighton July, 245
Irony of Fate, The Marjorie G. Lachmund Alar. 1, no
Magic .. : Everett Leighton Aug., 24
Man with Many Lives, The Martin C. Newman Aug., 45
Ploddin' Playwright, The Walt House June, 24
Reel Classic, A : Clarence W. Hamilton June. 50
Shelved Dorothy Harpur O'Neill Aug., 48
Starry Firmament, The Will H. Johnston June. 70
INDEX
MONTH. PAGE.
Two Chapters O. Henry Aug., 82
Waiting List, The Arthur Gavin, Jr Aug., 64
When the World Was Young G. Lyon Garnett Aug., 97
DEPARTMENTS,
Before the Stars Shone....... Al Ray June
Before the Stars Shone Al Ray July
Before the Stars Shone.. Al Ray Aug.
Favorite Picture Players June
Favorite Picture Players July
Favorite Picture Players Aug.
Gallery of Favorite Picture Players Apr.
Gallery of Favorite Picture Players May
Hints for Scenario Writers Clarence J. Caine Mar. 1
Hints for Scenario Writers . . . • Clarence J. Caine Apr.
Hints for Scenario Writers Clarence J. Caine May
Hints for Scenario Writers.. Clarence J. Caine June
Hints for Scenario Writers Clarence J. Caine July
Hints for Scenario Writers Clarence J. Caine Aug.
Observer, The June,
Observer, The July,
Observer, The Aug.
Out of Range of the Movie Camera Mar. ]
Out of Range of the Movie Camera Apr
Out of Range of the Movie Camera May
Out of Range of the Movie Camera June,
Out of Range of the Movie Camera July
Pictures from the Stage and Screen Mar. 1
Picture Oracle, The Mar. 1
Picture Oracle, The Apr.
Picture Oracle, The May
Picture Oracle, The June
Picture Oracle, The July
Picture Oracle, The Aug.
Public Pulse, The Francis X. Bushman Mar. 1
Public Pulse, The Francis X. Bushman Apr.
Public Pulse, The.. Francis X. Bushman May
Screen Gossip Al Ray Mar. 1
Screen Gossip Neil G. Caward Apr.
Screen Gossip Neil G. Caward May
Screen Gossip .Neil G. Caward June
Screen Gossip .. Neil G. Caward July
PHOTOGRAPHS.
104
246
90
3
163
3
1
161
120
134
297
132
298
137
77
286
in
88
150
218
36
248
1
116
103
309
142
308
145
97
85
265
124
152
303
125
291
Conquering Hero, The. Aug., 38
Disclosed July, 205
Feathers May, 293
Frontispiece June, 18
Frontispiece July, 178
Frontispiece — Two Stars and a Comer Aug., 18
Girls — and Some Bathing Suits July, 232
Help! Help! Aug., 61
How Do You Like Them Best? June, 138
How the Stars Are Vacationing . Aug., 65
"July Snowballs" Aug., 89
Sand Fiddlers , Aug., 134
INDEX
MONTH. PAGE.
Just Kids Wilson Gardner July, 261
Just Viola Dana Ralph Strong May,
Knights of the Megaphone Jerome Beatty ... Aug.
Lasky Studio, The Robert C. Duncan Apr.
Latest Wrinkle, The — Silhouette Movies Tarleton Winchester Mar. 1
Life a Picture Actress Leads, The Fannie Ward July
Love Letters of a Movie Idol June
Love Letters of a Movie Idol July
Love Letters of a Movie Idol Aug.
Making an Eighth Wonder ...Kenneth O'Hara Aug.
Making a Million-dollar Picture Creighton Hamilton Apr.
Making People Laugh :. Chester Conklin June
Masters Alike Spottiswoode Aitken June,
Much Photographed Mary Fuller, The H. H. Van Loan July
Myrtle Stedman — Her Unknown Side Warren Reed Aug.
One Extra Girl Ralph Strong Apr.
Our Scenario Contest June
Our Scenario Contest July
Our Scenario Contest — Picking the Winners Aug.
Past and Present Robert Grau May
Past and Present Robert Grau June
Picture-Play Magazine's Scenario Contest May
Pictures that Made Stars Al Ray Mar. 1
Real Blanche Sweet, The Courtney Ames Aug.
Romances of the Studios Wil Rex July
Shining Star, A — Lenore Ulrich Pete Schmidt Mar. 1
Sneering at Satan Valeska Suratt Aug.
Successful Pals Bennie Zeidman Aug.
Three Thousand Miles from Broadway Mabel Condon July
Universal City, Junior Robert C. Duncan Aug.
Violet Mersereau — The Girl WTho Smiles H. H. Van Loan June
Why Little Mary Isn't Jealous... Bennie Zeidman May,
Where the Money Goes Gerald C. Duffy July
SERIAL STORIES,
246
19
25
40
199
' 97
271
92
25
35
61
19
215
62
54
38
194
49
209
55
201
15
98
206
49
32
79
1/9
39
51
225
187
Golden Chance, The — First Installment Will H. Johnston Mar. 1, 83
Golden Chance, The — Conclusion Will H. Johnston Apr., 88
Not in the Cast — First Installment , H. Bedford-Jones July, 250
Not in the Cast — Second Installment H. Bedford-Jones Aug.. 122
Pickles and Pearls — Seventh Installment ......William Wallace Cook Alar.. 102
Pickles and Pearls — Eighth Installment William Wallace Cook Apr.. 122
Pickles and Pearls — Conclusion William Wallace Cook May. 284
VERSE,
Adventurer, The Robert Foster Mar. 1. 67
Crankin' Camera Man, The Walt House July, 193
Exploits of Molly, The Lyon Mearson Aug., 60
Heroes - Robert Foster Aug., 31
In the Dark. Everett Lcighton July. 245
Irony of Fate, The Marjorie G. Lachmund Mar. 1. no
Magic Everett Lcighton Aug., 24
Man with Many Lives, The Martin C. Nczvman Aug., 45
Ploddin' Playwright, The Walt House June. 24
Reel Classic, A Clarence IV. Hamilton June. 50
Shelved Dorothy Harpur O'Neill Aug., 48
Starry Firmament, The Will H. Johnston June. 70
B
INDEX
MONTH. PAGE.
Two Chapters O. Henry Aug., 82
Waiting List, The Arthur Gavin, Jr Aug., 64
When the World Was Young G. Lyon Garnett Aug., 97
DEPARTMENTS.
Before the Stars Shone ...AlRay June
Before the Stars Shone. ..Al Ray July
E
F
F
F
C
C
Before the Stars Shone Al Ray Aug
Favorite Picture Players June,
Favorite Picture Players. July
Favorite Picture Players Aug.
Gallery of ^Favorite Picture Players.. Apr.
Gallery of Favorite Picture Players May
Hints for Scenario Writers Clarence J. Caine Mar. 1
Hints for Scenario Writers Clarence J. Caine ..Apr.
Hints for Scenario Writers Clarence J. Caine May
Hints for Scenario Writers Clarence J. Caine June
Hints for Scenario Writers .Clarence J. Caine July
Hints for Scenario Writers Clarence J. Caine Aug.
Observer, The June
Observer, The July
Observer, The Aug.
Out of Range of the Movie Camera Mar. 1
Out of Range of the Movie Camera Apr.
Out of Range of the Movie Camera May
Out of Range of the Movie Camera June
Out of Range of the Movie Camera July
Pictures from the Stage and Screen Mar. 1
Picture Oracle, The Mar. 1
Picture Oracle, The Apr.
Picture Oracle, The May
Picture Oracle, The June
Picture Oracle, The July.
Picture Oracle, The Aug.
Public Pulse, The Francis X. Bushman Mar. 1
Public Pulse, The Francis X. Bushman Apr.
Public Pulse, The Francis X. Bushman May
Screen Gossip .Al Ray Mar. 1
Screen Gossip Neil G. Caward Apr.
Screen Gossip Neil G. Caward May
Screen Gossip Neil G. Caward June
Screen Gossip Neil G. Caward July
PHOTOGRAPHS.
104
246
90
3
163
3
1
161
120
134
297
132
298
137
77
286
in
88
150
218
36
248
1
116
103
309
142
308
145
97
85
265
124
152
303
125
291
Conquering Hero, The Aug., 38
Disclosed July, 205
Feath e r s May, 293
Frontispiece June, 18
Frontispiece July, 178
Frontispiece — Two Stars and a Comer. Aug., 18
Girls — and Some Bathing Suits July, 232
Help! Help! Aug., 61
How Do You Like Them Best? June, 138
How the Stars Are Vacationing Aug., 65
"July Snowballs" Aug., 89
Sand Fiddlers Aug., 134
MAR C H 1,1916
Semi-month uy i\J Cts
ORE ULRiCH
HPOKTANT
NOUNCEMENT
PAGES
Important Announcement on Pages 98 and 99
a?
SEMI-MONTHLY
PICTURE-PLAY
MAGAZINE
Vol. IV
CONTENTS FOR MARCH 1, 1916
Pictures from the Stage and Screen
Gallery of Favorites
Pictures that Made Stars Al Ray .
Special Article
The Ince Studios .
Feature Article
The Latest Wrinkle— Silhouette Movies Tarleton Winchester
Special Article
A Shining Star — Lenore Ulrich
Special Article
The Serpent . .
A Short Story
The Adventurer ....
Verse
The Catspaw ....
A Short Story
The Golden Chance
A Two-part Story— Part One
Out of Range of the Movie Camera
Personal Views of the Players.
The Public Pulse ....
Feature Department
Pickles and Pearls
Chaplin Serial — Part Seven
The Picture Oracle
Question and Answer Department
The Irony of Fate
Robert C. Duncan .
Pete Schmidt
Gorman West
Robert Foster
Austin Stevens
Will H. Johnston .
Francis X. Bushman
William Wallace Cook
Verse
Hints for Scenario Writers
Department
Screen Gossip
Marjorie G. Lachmund
Clarence J. Caine .
Al Ray .
News of the Films
No. 1
1
15
25
40
49
54
67
68
83
88
97
102
116
119
120
124
L
Semi-monthly publication issued by STREET & SMITH, 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York City. Ormond G. Smith and George C
Smith, Proprietors. Copyright, 1916, by Street & Smith, New York. Copyright. 1916. by Street & Smith, Great Britain. All Highta
Reserved. Publishers everywhere are cautioned against using any of the contents ol this magazine either wholly or in part. Entered at New
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SINGLE COPIES. 10 CENTS
An unusual picture of Enid Markey, who has risen meteorically in the
hearts of film devotees.
Beverly Bayne, who is Francis X. Bushman's leading woman, is setting fashions both
before and away from the camera.
Yvonne Chappelle, in a very unusual pose. Miss Chappelle's popularity as a picture favorite
is rising with every film she plays.
Gertrude Vanderbilt's charm and personality would, without a doubt, be hard to find an
equal for on the legitimate stage.
Alice Eis, who has danced her way to popularity on the legitimate stage, but whose name
will be familiar to the older picture followers.
Valli Valli, of picture fame, whose achievements for the films has placed her name in
large letters before the theaters.
Desiree Lubowska, who is one of the most eccentric performers in some of
the most eccentric dances.
Grace Valentine, who has won her way to the top in exceptional
roles on the screen.
Gara Yora, one of vaudeville's important exponents during
the present season.
Bonnie Glass, who is attracting much attention on the
vaudeville stage.
The Dolly sisters, of screen popularity, who are now favorites with the
New York Broadway public.
that made
The beloved "Little Mary" in "Caprice" the picture which brought her into prominence.
IF a motion-picture player in these
days is a star, he or she deserves
the honor. No actor or actress
can be popular now unless it is by merit
— the public demands ability ; and,
shown that ability, it usually is appre-
ciated. At present there are two classes
of motion-picture players — those who
won fame on the legitimate stage and
have deserted the boards for the screen,
and those who came to pictures un-
known and worked their way to fame.
It is with the . latter class that this
article is to deal.
As mentioned above, the public is, as
a rule, quickly responsive when a new
player displays ability and is proven
worthy of credit. It is for this reason,
probably more than any other, that the
majority of the actors and actresses
in the pictures who have reached the
ranks of stars, attained that height by
their work in some one picture — some
one picture when the player's work
stood out sufficiently to attract the pub-
lic's attention.
Very few outside the profession
know exactly what film is responsible
for the rise of those whose names now
appear in larger type on the posters than
the names of the pictures themselves,
and it is interesting to look back and
see when the people first noticed that
the work of our present greatest play-
ers was actually the ray of a star.
There are three reasons that stand
out above all the others for Mary Pick-
ford being a public favorite. They are
D. W. Griffith, "A Good Little Devil,"
and the Famous Players' first Pickford
picture, "Caprice." Mr. Griffith took
Mary Pickford from the ranks of the
extra players, and made a leading lady
of her. She went to the Biograph stu-
dio one day, and worked in a picture
there under the direction of D. W.
Griffith as an extra player. He told
her to come around the next day, and
when she did, he cast her for the lead-
ing role in one of his pictures. This
was the beginning of the picture career
of Mary Pickford, now the highest-sal-
aried screen artist in the business.
The Universal took Miss Pickford
away from Biograph, but she returned
to that firm again. Later, she went on
the legitimate, playing the blind girl in
David Belasco's "A Good Little Devil."
This play had quite a good deal to do
with the making of Mary Pickford.
After she finished her engagement in
this play, she went to the Famous Play-
ers Company, and appeared in a feature
photo play entitled "Caprice," which
was received royally wherever shown.
After this picture, she was signed up
by the Famous Players at a large sal-
ary, which kept on increasing until it
reached the two-thousand-dollar mark.
You can't say that D. W. Griffith, "A
Good Little Devil," or "Caprice" alone
are responsible for Mary Pickford's
success. They must all be put together,
and there we have "what made Mary
Pickford."
Speaking of David Wark Griffith, we
may as well consider him next on our
list. He is, without a doubt, the greatest
director that the motion-picture indus-
try has ever known. He has done more
for the development of the motion pic-
ture than any other ten men in the
business. He is the inventor of the
"close-up," and was the first man to
use it. He also introduced several
other of his ideas to the screen, all of
which have proved successful. There
is not a company in the business to-
day that does not make use of the
"close-up." Seven years ago, he didn't
have a cent to his name, and now he is
drawing down a salary of one hundred
thousand dollars a year, and he is worth
every cent that he gets. There will
probably be more differences of opinion
as to what picture made Griffith than
any of the other leading lights we shall
discuss, but there is one picture that
Pictures that Made Stars
17
stands out alone, as the one which
caused his name to be passed around,
and every one to sit up and take notice,
and that was a four-reel Biograph, "Ju-
dith of Bethulia," the one which also
made Blanche Sweet, now a noted
Lasky star. It was a master production,
and has been rated by many experts
as even better than "Cabiria," al-
though not half as long as the latter.
Some of the scenes in "Cabiria" were
copied after the Griffith production,
such as the fights at the gates of the
city, and camping scenes. The Bio-
graph Company reissued this picture by
public request, and was praised as much
the second time it appeared as the first
by the papers, which is quite an
achievement when you consider the fact
that motion pictures have improved
quite a good deal. "Judith of Bethulia"
made David Wark Griffith. Right after
runs. It ran seven hundred and twen-
ty-five times at the Liberty Theater in
New York, at regular theater prices.
This beats by fifty-five performances
any run of a show.
Now we have Charlie Chaplin, of the
Essanay Company, that much-imitated,
hilarious comedian, whose feet are his
fortune. There are about fifty different
versions as to the picture which really
made Charlie Chaplin the recognized
champion of laugh creators, for with
each release for the past year and a
half he has gained new followers. The
first picture that brought Charlie into
the golden limelight was a two-reel
Keystone farce comedy entitled
"Caught in a Cabaret." After this pic-
ture, he was put in two-reel pictures,
whenever possible, and then he was cast
opposite Marie Dressier in "Tillie's
Punctured Romance," that six-part
Charles Chaplin and Mack Sennett can look back to ''Tillie's Punctured Romance" as the
comedy which really established them in the fans' minds.
this feature, Mutual signed Griffith up. comedy that received the largest book-
He is now supervising productions for ings of any comedy picture ever pro-
the Triangle. His "Birth of a Nation" duced, and which made the name of
has broken all records for consecutive Mack Sennett a password of the lovers
^2A
18
Pictures that Made Stars
of comedy pictures. Mack is the re-
sponsible party for Chaplin's great work
in this production. Sennett is the Grif-
fith of comedy, and his stars are al-
ways being sought by the rival pro-
ducers, because they realize the draw-
ing powers of any one of his famous
comedians and comediennes — and
goodness knows that he has made a
host of them.
Next on the list we have the greatest
emotional actor on the screen to-day,
Henry B. Walthall, of the Pssanay
Company. His work has attracted the
eyes of the foremost critics in the coun-
try, and they have proclaimed him the
dean of all photo players. He started
his motion-picture career with D. W.
Griffith, at the Biograph. When Grif-
fith went with the Mutual, he took Wal-
thall with him as leading man. Wal-
thall went with the Balboa Company
for one picture, and then returned to
Griffith, who cast him for the leading
role in the greatest of photo plays,
"The Birth of a Nation." The picture
Henry B. Walthall in his first big play, "The Avenging Conscience."
that made Henry Walthall, or, I should
say, brought him forward as one of
the few chosen ones of filmdom, was
"The Avenging Conscience," produced
by D. W. Griffith, taken from Edgar
Allan Poe's story of the "Telltale
Heart." Walthall exhibited emotional
qualities in this film that have never
been equaled, and shortly after this re-
markable performance he gave another
wonderful exhibition of his remarkable
skill as an actor in "Ghosts," a Mutual
masterpicture. His most recent success
was in "The Raven," but there was
nothing to the picture except the emo-
tional acting of Walthall. In the last
four reels of this play, there was prac-
tically no one in the picture except
him.
Now we have with us for discussion
Tom Ince, another great creator of
photo-play stars, and one of the great-
est directors in the business. He has
certainly made a name for himself, and
he well deserves all that is coming to
him, for he is a hard and consistent
worker. Kessel and
Bauman, the backers of
the New York Mo-
tion Picture Corpora-
tion, have but two peo-
ple to thank for the
success that this or-
ganization made.
One of the reasons
is Mack Sennett,
and the other is Tom
Ince. Tom Ince has
produced some
really wonder ful
photo plays, and
some wonderful
stars, and now we
have the great ques-
tion as to what pic-
ture was responsible
for the public first
getting wise to what
he was doing, and
we discover that it
Pictures that Made Stars
19
William S. Hart won his spurs through his appearance in "The Bargain." He is shown
here in one of the big scenes from that photo drama.
was a war play that first brought Ince
to light as one of the greatest directors
in the business. The picture had one
of the biggest bookings of any film pro-
duced, and was called 'The Battle of
Gettysburg." He followed this with
one of the greatest films produced, sec-
ond only to the "Birth of a Nation.'' It
was called the "Wrath of the Gods."
Since then, the play that bears the name
of Tom Ince as producer, or even as
supervisor, is a welcome treat for any
theater.
William S. Hart has certainly had a
short and glorious motion-picture ca-
reer. Almost from the start, the public
recognized him as a star and one of
their idols. The first picture that he
ever appeared in was "The Bargain,"
and this picture all but made the big
name for him that he now enjoys.
Then, right on top of this, Hart was
cast with Robert Edeson in "On the
Night Stage," and at the conclusion of
the picture the wonderful acting of
Hart was the only thing that remained
firm in the minds of the audience. Ede-
son, although his work w^as very good,
was put out of the limelight. This pic-
ture put Hart on the upper plane.
After this picture, the public conceded
that he was an actor of exceptional
merit, and he is to-day recognized, the
country over, as the greatest portrayer
of Western characters that the screen
has ever known. After "On the Night
Stage," Tom Ince made Hart a di-
rector, and he has been acting and pro-
ducing at Inceville ever since, and is
considered one of Tom's best bets.
Earle Williams, the Vitagraph lead-
ing man, is the gentleman that we shall
deal with next. He has been with the
Vitagraph organization for quite some
years, but there is one picture that es-
tablished him as a favorite with the
picture fans of the country — "The
Christian." The picture is often dis-
cussed to-day as one of the best ever
produced, and which also made the
director, Fred Thompson. Williams did
some very good acting after this pic-
20
Pictures that Made Stars
ture, but "The Christian" stands out
as his best work, and his work that is
best remembered. He is considered by
critics to be the Vitagraph Company's
best bet.
Our next star will certainly be much
in dispute as to the picture that made
him in the eyes of the public. Francis
X. Bushman is the one referred to, and
the company that is responsible for his
great popularity is the Essanay Com-
pany, for whom he worked for quite a
time. He was elected by popular vote
to play the lead in "One Wonderful
Night," and many people are of the
opinion that this is the picture that
made Bushman famous ; but such is not
the case, as it was a two-reel picture
that was first responsible for Francis
Xavier Bushman's rise to popularity,
and it was called "Dear Old Girl." He
certainly did some very emotional act-
ing in this film, and won praise from
all directions for his work. This pic-
ture was reissued very quickly, in fact,
quicker than any other film.
Earle Williams in "The Christian," the play which made him a star.
Pictures that Made Stars
23
was followed by numerous others in which,
while he was not as well cast, he distinguished
himself.
William Farnum, now a member of the Fox
Film Corporation, was "made" as a film star
when he took the leading role in "The Spoilers,"
a picture that will stand for some time
to come as one of the g
plays that has ever bet
on a screen. In this fil
ever-present movie f
selected Farnum righ
away as one of their
prime favorites.
Farnum did some
screen acting in
this film which
has only been
equaled by
two other
A scene from "The Cup of Life," the film which made Bessie Barriscale.
men — Walthall and Hart. "The
Spoilers" made such a tremendous hit
that the Selig Company has lengthened
it to twelve reels, and will reissue it
very shortly. William Fox made a
high bid for his services after this, and
secured him for his company. Farnum
is at present working for Fox on the
Pacific coast.
Emotional Bessie Barriscale is a title
that certainly suits the Tom Ince lead-
ing lady. She is one of the greatest
dramatic artists on the screen to-day,
and has the reputation of being one of
the best cryers. She can produce a
stream of tears in an instant, and is a
master of facial expression. There is
not a type that Bessie can't portray.
She can do the Pickford part almost as
well as little Mary herself, and is per-
fection in underworld or society parts.
There is one photo play that especially
stands out in the making of Bessie Bar-
riscale, and that is "The Cup of Life,"
which was termed by one of the fore-
most motion-picture critics as "the
perfect picture." This was a picture
that will long be remembered by any
i
24
Pictures that Made Stars
one who saw it as a photo-play master-
piece. Only once after this did Miss
Barriscale equal her wonderful work
in "The Cup of Life," and that was in
"The Mating," an entirely different
type of play.
How many of the companies are re-
alizing on the profits made by the stars
that they made? Very, very few, I can
assure you. The Famous Players
have Mary Pickford, who first
gained her recognition under Grif-
fith at Biograph. Triangle is gath-
ering in money on Griffith and Sen-
nett's reputations, which were es-
tablished at Biograph. Essanay
is. getting the benefit of the popularity
Charlie Chaplin got for himself while
with the Keystone forces, and is also
winning on Walthall, who gained his
spurs with Mutual under Griffith. The
Metro Feature Corporation is profiting
by Bushman's popularity, made when
with the Essanay Company. William
Farnum is packing the theaters using
Fox service, and Selig, who
made him, has lost out. You
will see from the foregoing
that it is very seldom that the
company which "makes" a
player ever derives any ben-
lit from it.
Because Robert Warwick was so perfectly fitted to the hero's role in ''The Dollar Mark" he
was hailed as a star upon his first screen appearance.
To take the readers of this magazine behind the scenes, into the studios of the large
film companies, take them where the big pictures are made, let them watch the players at
work, and introduce them to the famous actors and actresses — these are the purposes of a
series of articles of which this — the Ince Studios — is the first. Each article will be indi-
vidual— a single trip to that studio — so that there will be no connection between the parts
of the series except the general theme — and each will be up to date and complete. The
articles will appear in every issue hereafter, until all the big studios throughout the country
have been dealt with. — Editor's Xote.
D
AY after day. the picture-play
goers throughout the country
visit their favorite theater and
sit almost motionless while a Kay-Bee-
Triangle him, telling a worth-while
story in a worth-while way, is unfolded
on the screen before them. Then they
leave the theater, wondering how the
producer could ever "put over" a play
with so much life in it and with so
many spectacular effects.
I wondered about these plays, like
all the others, until I visited the studios
in which they are made. There are two
of these studios, and each one is a city
by itself. Inceville and Culver City
are the names given these two movie
cities, situated not so very far from the
him colony at Los Angeles, California,
and both are under the supervision of
Thomas H. Ince, the human dynamo of
the him industry. Day after day. at
these two wonder cities, an army of
diligent workers is engaged in produc-
ing these wonder pictures, and to watch
them at their task is much like visiting
a beehiye. Every one is busily engaged
about his or her work, and all are work-
ing to the one end — to make good pic-
tures.
Inceville is located about four miles
north of Santa Monica, California, and
is reached by a winding road along the
shores of the Pacific Ocean. It is built
upon seven hills, and covers approxi-
mately eighteen thousand acres. It has
been recognized by the United States
government as a town, for it has its
own post office. Everything required
for the making of gigantic motion pic-
tures is contained here. There are five
stages, the main one being three bun-
The Ince Studios
Scenes are taken in a big way at Inceville. Mr. Ince is seen here on the platform with
megaphone in his hand.
drecl by one hundred feet, while the
auxiliary ones are seventy-five by fifty
feet each. Two hundred dressing rooms
border the stages, and at either end are
the scene docks, where more than five
hundred distinct "sets" are kept in read-
iness for instant use. Then there are
the administration buildings, where all
of the business for the city is handled,
and where a working schedule is com-
piled every day ; the commissary, where
the hundreds of workers eat the noon-
day and often the evening meal ; the
arsenal, where thousands of firearms
and boxes of ammunition and explo-
sives are kept ; the wardrobe buildings,
containing hundreds of sets of various
clothing from evening dress to ancient
colonial costumes, and in which a mod-
ernly equipped tailor shop is to be
found; the saddlery and stables for the
horses, which number far into the three
hundreds ; a corral ; a power house
which furnishes electricity for the en-
tire city, and a reservoir which does
likewise with water. Besides these ne-
cessities, there are many "sets." which
are kept standing all the time and used
in pictures as required. Among these
are a Dutch village with a genuine canal
and windmill, a Japanese village, an
Irish village, Canadian stockades,
Southern log cabins, East Indian
streets, Sioux Indian camps, and a real
Scotch street which was used in Billie
Burke's first play.
The real wonders of Inceville were
not disclosed until I had visited every
one of the buildings,, however, for it
was then that the immense amount of
detailed thought incorporated in the city
was brought forcibly home. In the
property room, rows and rows of sol-
dier, Indian, early Western, East In-
dian, Canadian, Civil War, and every
other conceivable variety of costumes
are to be found. Leaving the wardrobe
building, I passed into the carpenter
shop, and here even a more impressive
sight met my eyes, for three hundred
full-fledged carpenters were at work
preparing sets and fixing up little odds
and ends that require repairing in the
city. Next to the carpenter shop, I
The I nee Studios
27
found the dressmaking department,
where every day all the many actresses
and extra girls at the immense plant
are fitted for costumes for forthcoming
plays. An interesting detail of the cos-
tuming of plays is the fact that styles
must be anticipated for months in ad-
vance in case of society plays. It is
often six months after the date of pro-
duction that a play is released, and the
Ince standard will not allow anything
that is not up to date. This means that
the head of the dressmaking depart-
ment must be in constant touch with
Paris, and must anticipate the Amer-
ican and European styles several
months before they are exhibited.
Another door led
me to the aft de-
partment, where a
staff of artists paint
real portraits and
mural decorations
for pictures which
are used in the vari-
ous scenes. The
subtitle department
is closely linked
with the art depart-
ment, inasmuch as
all subtitles are
decorated with
drawings typical of
the incident in the
play upon w h i c h
they bear. This is
an entirely new de-
parture in filmland,
and one that is al-
most certain to
make for more ar-
tistic pictures in time
to come. Next door
to the art depart-
ment is the make-
up expert's room.
Here, one man is
kept busy all day
long instructing
those who are new
at the game how to make up for the
motion-picture camera in order to gain
the best results. I learned that Miss
Billie Burke, the highest-priced star to
appear before the Ince cameras thus
far, spent several days of her valu-
able time here before appearing be-
fore the camera for anything but a
"test scene." As I left the make-up
room, I heard the soft purring of
a violin. It was apparently trying out
a new piece of music, for it stopped
quite suddenly and then began again.
I traced the music to the door of the
office across the way, and suddenly
found myself in the music department.
This division of the great institution, I
Thomas H. Ince, the master-mind of Inceville and Culver City.
The Ince Studios
learned, was another departure which
Mr. Ince has inaugurated. It is under
the direction of Victor Shertzniger, a
versatile composer, and consists of
about a half dozen other composers.
Their duty is to write music to accom-
pany every picture turned out by the
Ince studios. The music -'is written to
fit the picture perfectly, and
these musicians are re
quired to study the .
emotions which
will be
dreamed of ten years ago. Another
crew of men are employed here to
handle the "pr°ps" and lights, while
the carpenters from the shop are
going and coming continually. The
developing, printing, drying, tinting,
and toning and finishing rooms, where
the mechanical end of the work is
done, are other sights which
made me gasp. This
end of the business
is little known
to the public,
stirred by
the subject on
the screen, and
then write melodies
which will play upon
these emotions.
I wandered in and
out about Inceville and
saw more wonderful
things than I could ever hope to de-
scribe. The massive amount of de-
tails like those I have just mentioned
are to be found on every side. The
studio floors are things of wonder, for
they contain complicated light systems
and other devices used in gaining artis-
tic effects such as no human could have
Miss Billie Burke in one of the
many attractive spots in Inceville
during her stay there. Her beloved
dog "Ziegy" is seen by her side.
but is con-
sidered of the
greatest impor-
tance by the producers,
and Mr. Ince has gath-
ered in these depart-
ments the men and
women who are con-
s i d e r e d the best in
the country in their work. Here, as
in the other divisions, all is activity,
for the many, many prints which are
distributed to the exchanges throughout
the country must be prepared here ; and
this is one of the most grueling tasks
connected with the producing of mo-
tion pictures.
The Ince Studios
29
The set that cost eighty thousand dollars and that was only used for one hundred feet of film.
Culver City is not as large as Ince-
ville just yet, but it is a motion-picture
city in the making. Only recently Mr.
Ince decided to move part of his forces
to this place from Inceville, because he
was crowded for lack of space. It is
nearer the city, and easier to reach,
so most of the productions that require
special material in the way of "props"
or sets are done over here. The stage
at Culver City is also massive, as it can
accommodate about six hundred play-
ers at one time. The same complicated,
yet orderly, maze of dressing rooms,
workshops, studios, et cetera, are to be
found here, and every day they are in-
creasing in number. Society plays have
had the ruling hand at Culver City
since its opening, and those who have
seen the late Ince plays of this type
will agree that the effects which are
gained in them do credit to the studio
in which they were produced.
The city, too, is set among the hills,
and in many ways resembles Inceville.
For the purpose of speedy communica-
tion between the two cities, Mr. Ince
has an every-ready fleet of automobiles
which make the trip in about twenty
minutes. Most of the players who have
their favorite dressing rooms in Ince-
ville ride over to Culver City on ponies
unless the costume they are wearing
forbids such sport, as is the case when
they are playing in society dramas.
The number of artists on the pay roll
of the companies working at the Ince
cities is between six hundred and fifty
and seven hundred. There are eight
directors working under the personal
Inceville's full-blooded tribe of Sioux Indians.
30
The Ince Studios
A general view of the studio stages, executive buildings and dressing rooms at Inceville, taken
from one of the surrounding seven hills.
supervision of Mr. Ince, the busy men
being Raymond B. West, Charles
Swickard, Reginald Barker, Walter Ed-
wards, Charles Biblyn, Charles Miller,
Scott Sydney, and William S. Hart.
The latter is the only one who appears
in his own productions, and it is to be
hoped he will continue to do so, for
when he joined the Ince forces he
brought to the screen the true type of
Western man, and discarded from it
forever the dime-novel type of West-
ern hero, who was so prominent in the
early stages of motion pictures. He is
known as "Two-gun Hart" by his co-
workers, and one of the men closely
associated with him told me that he is
the best-loved man on the place.
Foremost among the other players
who have appeared, or will appear in
Ince pictures, are Bessie Barriscale,
Howard Hickman, Rhea Mitchell,
Clara Williams, Louise Glaum, Enid
Markey, Elizabeth Burbridge, Margaret
Thompson, Gertrude Claire, Fanny
Midgley, Ida Lewis, Aggie Herring,
Ethel Ullman, Estelle Allen, George
Fisher, Jerome Storm, J. Barney
Sherry, J. Frank Burke, Milton Ross,
Harvey Clarke, Lewis Durham, George
Mullen, Herschel Mayall, Joseph H.
Dowling, Roy Laidlaw, Jack Nelson,
Jack Standing, Louise Brownell,
Thelma Salter, Charles K. French,
Nona Thomas, Wedgwood Nowell, and
Alfred Hollingsworth.
Prominent "legitimate" stage stars
who have appeared or will appear un-
der the direction of Mr. Ince are :
George Beban, William S. Hart, Willie
Collier, Bessie Barriscale, Robert Ede-
son, House Peters, Edward Connelly,
Henry Woodruff, Dustin Farnum, H.
B. Warner, Frank Keenan, Willie Col-
lier, Katharine Kaelred, Frank Mills,
William Desmond, W. H. Thompson,
Billie Burke, Mary Boland, Jane Grey,
Orrin Johnson, George Fawcett, Bruce
MacRae, Willard Mack, Lola May, and
Marie Doro.
The Ince Studios
31
Willie Collier was working in a scene
the day I visited Inceville, as was Billie
Burke. Collier was the first of the two
noted stars that I met. He was dressed
in rags, had a "rough-and-tumble'' cap
pulled down over his eyes, and — hor-
rors ! — was standing at a dilapidated
bar trying to convince the "bartender"
that he should be given a drink on
credit.
"You didn't look much like this when
I saw you last in New York," I chided.
"You were playing in 'Hello, Broad-
way/ and you were dressed up to kill."
"But I wasn't so happy," came the
comedian's quick reply.
"Not so happy — and in New York!"
I was amazed.
"Well, you see, this is real beer that
I'm drinking, and to-morrow I have a
restaurant scene in which I will have
real food. Mr. Ince never has anything
faked. I had to work for my living in
little old New York, but now " And
he lifted the stein gently and gazed at
it for a brief instant. Then the director
foot of one of the neighboring hills.
As I rounded the corner of the build-
ing that had shut the bonfire from
my view, I saw what probably im-
pressed me the more because I had
not noticed it before. It w^as a
whole encampment of Indians. This
was an entirely new discovery for me,
and I set out at once to learn all about
them and their reason for being there.
My investigations brought me the infor-
mation that they are a full-blooded tribe
of Sioux, and that they are to be used
regularly from now on in Mr. Hart's
Western plays, as Mr. Ince is convinced
that the day has come for the public to
appreciate the dramatic Indian play
which is based upon fact and not of
the "hair-raising" kind which was
shown on the screens throughout the
country a few years ago. The Indians
live in their little village apart from the
rest of the force, and follow out their
own customs at their will. . They are
in charge of Chief Two Lance, and he
is the only one who is consulted by any
called "ac-
tion," and
the scene
continued.
I left the
studio floor,
attracted by
a huge bon-
fire at the
Thomas H. Ince and C. Gardner Sullivan, his scenario chief,
photographed in front of the capitol of the mythical city,
which is the setting for the anti-war play now being filmed.
one w h o
wishes to use
the Indians
for any pur-
pose. The In-
d i a n s still
have their
do
teasts,
and a careful
32
The Ince Studios
Raymond B. West, first assistant producer to Mr. Ince, directing one of the big scenes
from a platform.
watch is kept of all the dogs which
act in pictures to prevent their wander-
ing into the midst of the tribe.
This was the first thought that oc-
curred to the mind of Billie Burke when
she arrived and inspected Inceville, for,
as every one knows, one of her most
valued possessions is "Ziegy," a little
bundle of fluff which is called a doggie
by some, and which was given her by
her noted husband, Flo Ziegfeld, of
"Ziegfeld Follies'' fame.
When I met Miss Burke, directly
after leaving the Indian village, I subtly
suggested the matter to her, and she
at once became awfully serious.
"He won't get out of my sight a min-
ute while I'm here," she said positively.
"A nice, tender little doggie like 'Ziegy'
would be too dainty a morsel, wouldn't
he?"
The idea was too harrowing after I
had looked at the discussed subject, so
I changed the course of the conversa-
tion by asking the bromide question :
"Do you really like the films better than
the legitimate?"
"I love them, and I only wish I could
have had the experience they have given
me years ago. It teaches one so much
about acting to see one's self on the
screen. There are so many little man-
nerisms that one never thinks of. Also
one sees so many expressions which she
wishes she hadn't."
Others at Inceville had told me
all about Miss Burke's triumph in
"Peggy," her first screen play, but I
decided to learn what she thought about
it, so I prompted her by saying: "It
must have been like a first night in the
theater to go into the projection and
see yourself on the screen for the first
time."
"A first night wasn't a patch of it,"
she declared emphatically. "It was per-
fectly weird to sit in the dark and see
myself flutter about the screen. I had
a real case of stage fright all by myself
in the dark."
The Ince Studios
33
"But didn't you like 'Peggy'?" I per-
sisted, determined to know what she
thought of the play.
"Yes, indeed, I did ; more than I like
to admit, for I feel that I shouldn't
think too highly of my first effort in
the new art," she replied frankly. "I
hope the public will like it, too, for it
is really a most out-of-the-ordinary
play and one that will be a treat for
the fans who aren't used to the high
class of plays that Mr. Ince turns out."
Having seen Billie Burke and the
Ince studios, I couldn't help but won-
der how the public could ever fail to
appreciate "Peggy," and, from what I
have later learned,
they have appreciated
it and in a most cor-
dial manner.
The thing that drew
my attention after
leaving Miss Burke
was the extra people.
They seemed to be in
every nook and corner
that I looked, waiting
quietly to be called be-
fore the camera. And
when they were called,
the manner in which
they responded showed
that their whole heart
was in their work.
Each day in the life
of these extra peo-
ple is filled with
romance and possi-
bilities. Every small
"bit" for which they
are cast may mean
that they will leave
the "extra" class
and become salaried
players, with star-
dom before them.
Many of the Ince
players have
worked themselves
up from the extra
<3A
ranks, and there is seldom a week
passes but what some one of this class
does not advance to small playing
parts. Charles Ray, who recently won
a place for himself in the ranks of the
featured stars at the Ince studios,
worked himself up through all the di-
visions of players, and the young men
about Inceville and Culver City who
are trying to follow in his footsteps are
many. The girls have Enid Markey
to pattern after, for she advanced from
"extra" to minor parts and then to star-
dom. There is no director in the busi-
ness quicker to see talent in an extra
player and to develop it than Ince, and
'When East Meets West" — Chief Two Lance, in charge of the Indians
at Inceville and H. B. Warner, noted Broadway dramatic
star, now working in Ince pictures.
34
The Ince Studios
every one of his directors are trained
in his methods.
Mr. Thomas H. Ince himself seems
to be almost everywhere at once. He
never stops working while at either stu-
dio, and, while traveling from one to
the other, is working out plans he has
in mind. Since October, 191 1, when
he signed the lease on Inceville in the
name of Kessel & Bauman, the finan-
cial geniuses behind the great company,
he has steadily built up his studio and
increased his working force. Inceville
was selected first because of its many
natural advantages. It faces the Pacific
Ocean, and, as has been stated before,
is built on seven hills. Within its eight-
een thousand acres is to be found
everything that is required for un-
usual backgrounds — mountains, canons,
caves, steep ascents, ravines, grottoes,
desert stretches, jungles, and forests.
When Mr. Ince first located there, it
was practically a wilderness, but it soon
became a municipality, and to its nat-
ural advantages were added everything
requisite to the making of motion pic-
tures. It was first devoted to the pro-
duction of films for the old Mutual pro-
gram, these films being known as "Kay-
Bee." Later, the "Broncho" and "Dom-
ino" brands were added. When the Tri-
angle Film Corporation was formed,
the latter two brands were dropped,
and all the films are now released as
"Kay-Bee," the name being a combina-
tion of the first letter of the names of
the two owners of the company — Kes-
sel and Bauman. The name Inceville
was given to the city early in its career
by the owners of the company in honor
of Mr. Ince, who had founded it.
One of the greatest things Mr. Ince
has done is to demand a real story be-
An idea of the size of the Culver City studio stage may be gained from this picture. There were
one hundred and fifty people in range of the camera in this scene and about half as
many more who did not "register" but who were on hand to lend "atmosphere."
The Ince Studios
35
f
ni
tion. He was
one of the first
directors to
realize the im-
portance of the
scenario, and
the plays he is
making to-day are doubtless better in
this respect than those of the vast
majority of producers. He has a high
standard for his plays. They must
be big in theme and point a moral.
But they must always be dramatic. It
is the one great demand of the picture
business at present — big scenarios. C.
Gardner Sullivan has been the salva-
tion of this particular company, and is
turning out fine, whacking plays at a
wonderful rate of speed. But how long
he can keep it up is a question. There
are also seven other scenario writers
constantly at work supplying the de-
mand as rapidly and successfully as
possible, but Mr. Sullivan seems the
man at present best able to produce the
goods. His staff of assistants in the
scenario department include Richard
V. Spencer, J. G. Hawks, Monte M.
Katterjohn, Frank Tannehill, Lanier
Mr. Ince and Biilie Burke in front of the Scotch
street which was one of the most realistic sets ever
erected at these wonderful studios.
tt ,
ames Mont-
omery, and D.
F. Whitcomb.
Each scenario
is carefully
scrutinized by
Mr. Ince before
it is given to a
director for production.
About three-thirty in the afternoon,
after I began to feel the effects of the
busy day, I learned that the actual tak-
ing of pictures for the day was over be-
cause the light begins to get "yellow''
and makes the photography indistinct.
It did not complete the work for the
day, however, for here and there, in
corners of the big studio, were groups
of players gathered about their director,
listening intently to him while he ex-
plained certain parts of the play they
were working into them. Every one
was made understand what was re-
quired of him in such a way that when
he entered the scene set the next day
he would require but little rehearsing
before the camera started to grind. It
is another one of the things Inceville
is noted for — the utilizing of every odd
moment.
36
The Ince Studios
William S. Hart, who makes sterling Western pic-
tures for Ince. He is described by one of his associates
as "the most loved man on the place."
The autos and ponies began to arrive
from Culver City about three-forty-five,
and for the next hour there was a
steady stream of people pouring in.
That day, Mr. Hart and Miss Markey
had been over at Culver City with their
company, as had H. B. Warner, an-
other Broadway star. All arrived in
the same car, and were closely followed
by Bessie Barriscale and Frank Keenan,
both of whom had been working in dif-
ferent pictures at the other studio.
There was no confusion caused by the
arrival of the other force of artists and
workmen. Every one has a place as-
signed to them upon their arrival at
Inceville, and that place is "home" while
they are at the studios.
I had been longing all day to
talk with Mr. Ince, and one of his
ever-pleasant press representatives
had promised me that privilege the
moment he was at leisure. When
I saw 'the director general of this
wonderful plant coming toward
me, therefore, I
knew that my wish
was to be fulfilled.
I was a little timid,
I must admit, for
I feared that a
man with so many
responsibilities on
his shoulders
would be inclined
to be abrupt
and absent-minded
during an inter-
view.
To say I was
surprised would
be putting it
m i 1 d 1 y , for Mr.
Ince acted much
like one of the
press department
himself when he
w a s introduced.
He told me of his
activities, inquired
how I had fared during my day's visit,
and in every way made me feel as much
at ease as if this was his sole duty.
He suggested that we walk through
Inceville, and I gladly agreed, for I felt
sure he could point out much of in-
terest that I had not seen before.
"Does everything always run so
smoothly and perfectly here as it
seemed to run to-day?" I queried, as
we started our walk.
Mr. Ince smiled. "You should go
into the projection room sometimes and
see what flickers out on the screen. Just
now we have a picture where the star
wore white stockings — fatal to any
screen picture — and the director didn't
'get' it until after several thousand dol-
The Ince Studios
37
lars' worth of film had traveled through
the camera. You know we all admit
that the most inexorable, exacting,
truthtelling, uncompromising producer
in the business is the camera. Those
feet — Lord, we'd be sued for libel by
the actress and mobbed by the public
if they ever get to the public !"
"And there is no way to amputate
them 'successfully?"
"Perhaps. That is our problem just
now — one of them."
We could see the Indian encamp-
ment from where we were walking.
Mr. Ince noticed me looking at it.
''Quite a tribe, isn't it?" he asked.
I admitted that it was, and again he
smiled. "And quite an expense, too,"
he added. "Their forefathers may have
lived on what they could gather in the
forests or plains, but the twentieth-cen-
tury Indian don't believe in such things.
They like to hunt only as
long as it is sport for
them.
I have time, I like to study them. Most
of our Indian scenarios are based upon
the tales which have been told them
by their ancestors, and the ideas are
really quite new to the screen, so I con-
sider them a valuable asset."
We started to ascend the large hill at
the side of the studios, and directly be-
low us I noticed a set that reminded
me of a Fifth Avenue mansion. I re-
marked about its costliness, and Mr.
Ince said that it probably totaled close
to a thousand dollars to complete it.
This staggered me, but not as much as
when he added: "And we only used
forty feet of film we took in it, too."
"It doesn't always cost so much,
though," he went on, as he noticed the
expression on my face. "Every now
and then we get a scenario that calls
for almost all exterior locations, and
then the cost of production is surpris-
ingly low. We spend money
whenever we have to,
d no other time."
o s e few
words ex-
There seldom passes a day that a house of some kind is not hurned or blown up at one of the Ince
studios. This one was a real three-story structure.
38
The Ince Studios
plained his policy — he spends any
amount that is required to make a good
picture, whether it be a small amount
or a large one. And he knows just
about how much should be spent to
make every production a paying propo-
sition. It is this that makes him so
valuable to the owners of the company.
As we neared the top of the hill, I
again received a surprise. The white,
shining walls and dome of what ap-
There were other things on that hill-
top, besides, which claimed our atten-
tion before we reached the silent cap-
itol of the Mythical City. Back of it
were the blackened embers of a fire —
fifteen thousand dollars' worth of
Western shacks which had served their
usefulness had been burned to make a
fire and a smudge for "Hell's Hinges,"
one of Mr. Hart's Western plays:
"We sent out scouts in every direc-
Inceville photographed from the rear. The corrals are in the foreground, with the studio buildings,
executive offices and dressing rooms in the rear.
peared to be a capitol building loomed
up above us. I wondered how I could
have ever missed it while I was sight-
seeing during the earlier part of the
day, until I noted that it was so located
that it could not be seen from the
valley.
"This is one of the buildings to be
used in a peace play we are putting
on," Mr. Ince explained. "I'll tell you
all about it when we get over to it."
tion for miles around the country to see
that no marauding companies tried to
telescope that exclusive smudge," ex-
plained Mr. Ince.
"Surely such things are not done,"
I exclaimed, horrified at the idea.
"But they are," replied the one who
•knew. "We caught a company last
week operating in our Scotch street."
"And drove them away?"
"No, sent up men and put blankets
The Ince Studios
39
over those wonderful Scotch chimneys.
That fixed their Scotch village scene."
Mr. Ince's eyes gleamed with just
pride as we drew near to the "set"
which was in reality almost the size of
an executive building.
"We have to do it now, you know,
at this stage of the game. No more
painted scenery, but real things. This
set cost eighty thousand dollars, and
was built to be shown for one hundred
feet of film, which takes one and three-
fourths minutes to see."
Though I staggered again before the
figures, I managed to steady myself
and ask: "And now what will you do
with it?"
"Blow it up some day when we need
a high-priced explosion — no one has
the heart to do it yet."
I looked at the substantial quality of
the building of noble columns and the
enormous flights of steps, at the real
silk curtains at the numerous windows,
at the statue of the city hero in the
park in front, at the sculptured lions
and the concrete walks.
"This is the capitol of a mythical city
in one of the biggest antiwar plays ever
produced for the screen," explained
Mr. Ince. "It has taken nine months
to produce the picture, and three
months to assemble the films. We
hauled ninety thousand feet of lumber
to the top of this hill with bullocks ;
used two thousand dollars' worth of
glass ; the concrete and grading inclos-
ing the lawn cost five thousand dol-
lars ; twenty-five thousand people took
part in the mob scene ; sixty carpenters
worked three months on it ; there "
"Don't tell me any more !" I ex-
claimed. "I begin to see where the
money went." And this eighty-thou-
sand-dollar set is merely a one-and-
three-f ourths-minute incident ! What
must the whole story be !
"I know it costs money," he stated
thoughtfully, "but we owe a treat to
the public every now and then, and we
always try to give them their money's
worth in the pictures we turn out here."
Then he mentioned several figures
which were so large that I became con-
fused and lost track of them ; but when
Mr. Ince said good-by to me at the
foot of the hill I had a fair idea of
the money that was spent at this won-
derful place.
It seemed to me as if all the money
I saw pouring into the cashiers' win-
dows in front of the moving-picture
houses in New York and other cities
were rocketed across the continent and
fell in a golden shower over these pro-
ducing plants, so fabulous seems the
prices paid to stars and so high the
cost of production. Forty thousand
dollars is the average for each play at
Inceville, and one five-reel picture is
released each week. The salaries paid
the stars are as lofty as the "seven
hills" on which stand Inceville. Forty
thousand dollars was paid for five
weeks of Billie Burke's time with the
company. A contract for two years at
eight hundred dollars a week has been
signed with Frank Keenan, after his
success in "The Coward." William S.
Hart and Bessie Barriscale also draw
very high salaries as regular stars with
the company, and one can imagine what
inducement must have brought the fa-
mous Mary Anderson out of her seclu-
sion of so many years' standing. For
they say it is really true that Mary An-
derson is to be with the studio soon.
As I departed from this wonder
place of the motion-picture world, it
was with regret and a little envy to-
ward those who are permitted to spend
every day amid such ideal surround-
ings. I looked out from the window of
my car as we approached the summit
of the hill which would soon shut Ince-
ville from my view and thought what
a wonderful city of illusions it was, and
how far its influence reached — and how
fortunate many people are to be subject
to that influence.
eugzear drrinkle-
Silhouette <M>oiPies
e/air/e tdnllftitt chest at?
efUustrations by
cT.M.3mif^eAttea Gilbert
NEW ideas in any art or science
seem usually to be contributed
by outsiders, at least, in so far
as recognition goes. Moving pictures
s1
hen he
A silhouette picture of C. Allan Gilbert, who conceived the
idea of the new movies.
have been called both an art and a
science. There is truth in both charges.
Now it is "The Man Who Made the
American Girl Famous'' that has intro-
duced something new into the photo-
play art-science. His name is C. Allan
Gilbert. He is invariably spoken of in
the same breath with Charles Dana Gib-
son, Harrison Fisher, and Howard
Chandler Christy as a purveyor of
American beauty, and his invention is
called by him ''Silhouette Fantasies,''
meaning whimsical stories told in black
and white.
How much of an outsider he is may
uessed from the fact that
succumbed" to moving
Hires, a special article in the
York Sunday newspapers
chronicled the event.
Mr. Gilbert, as readers
of our popular magazines
do not need to be told, is
a versatile and amusing
painter of pretty girls. He
has helped to make the
chiseled, intelligent, clear-
eyed American jeune fille
— not known, that is too
weak a word ; one might
almost say he has helped to
create her.
How it came about that
he abandoned the task of
The Latest Wrinkle— Silhouette Movies 41
decorating our fifteen-cent literature
with debutantes for the more precari-
ous and exciting task of producing
original pictures was in this fashion :
For six or seven months, he had
mulled over the idea of moving-picture
shadows, silhouettes in black and white.
He wondered why it was. not put into
execution by others, and finally, the idea
interested him so strongly, he decided
to make an attempt to produce these
novel moving pictures himself.
Although his skill in depicting the
lovely goddesses of our American rosy-
cheeked mythology had brought him a
comfortable livelihood, it had not
given him enough to build that expen-
sive toy, a private moving-picture
studio. So he brought his plans to J.
R. Bray.
Mr. Bray had, for seven years, been
a newspaper cartoonist, as well as a
steady contributor to our humorous
weeklies. He had invented and had
had patented the ingenious process of
animated cartoons. He was the creator
of "Colonel Heeza Liar."
He had formed a company of his
own, and was a successful producer of
his own special pictures. It was a
shrewd move on Mr. Gilbert's part to
go to Mr. Bray, for the latter had the
acumen to see the striking quality of
Mr. Gilbert's idea and the foresight to
envisage its imaginative possibilities.
Silhouette moving pictures ! That sug-
gested a mechanical opportunity to Mr.
Bray. Inasmuch as the silhouettes were
in plain black and white, why not do
what are called "transformation" scenes
in actual line drawing, filling in with
black? It would be thus impossible to
tell, granted careful sketching on his
part, where the real moving picture
ended and the drawing began. Also,
the transformations could be seen un-
interruptedly and clearly taking place,
with no blur and no misty "dissolving"
film. Every step could be depicted.
Thus the basic principles of these new
pictures were evolved — Mr. Gilbert's
idea of shadow moving pictures com-
bined with Mr. Bray's clever process
of animated cartoons.
A drawing in preparation for the transformation — not a motion picture of real players.
42 The Latest Wrinkle— Silhouette Movies
An excellent scene from a silhouette picture, showing the care that is given to details.
With commendable promptness, the
man who makes a business of supplying
comic relief to moving-picture patrons,
Mr. Bray supplied the necessary funds
to set Mr. Gilbert up in business.
A subsidiary corporation to Mr.
Bray's original company was formed.
It is called the Bray-Gilbert Studio, and
the new films will be ''released" through
the gigantic distributing agency, the
Paramount Pictures Corporation. That
merely means that the pictures will be
shown in the better-class moving-pic-
ture theaters. Several "one-reel" stories
have been already completed.
Down in Washington Mews, the
quaintest little alley in old New York,
near the lovely spot where the delicate
tracery of the elms of the square weave
their magic designs against the glow-
ing sky line of the arch that frames the
miles of stately lights of Fifth Avenue,
the newest of moving-picture studios is
located. Wagons filled with strange
mechanical appliances and futuristic
black curtains rumbled over the cobble-
stones of the narrow alley, and de-
posited their burdens at the door of Xo.
44, while members of the colony — only
short-story writers call it a quarter —
gaped in astonishment.
The new " studio was originally a
barn, then an artist's studio ; to-day it
is a little, amusing spot stolen from
fairyland, and nailed to earth by heavy,
lens-eyed machines.
It is quite unlike any moving-picture
studio I have ever seen. The back wall
is entirely covered with a plain, white
drop of simple material. Strong, crude,
boldly and charily lined sketches Of
simple backgrounds give it the appear-
ance of a gigantic pastel. A few feet
ahead, a raised platform, or stage, is
built. All the lights glow and are de-
flected upon the background in shining
splendor — none of them are directed
upon the stage. A row of powerful
footlights encircle the rear part of the
acting platform.
The Latest Wrinkle — Silhouette Movies 43
The jinni appears in answer to the call of Inbad's wishing ring — from "Inbad the Tailor," the
first silhouette movie.
All the action by the characters in
the play is performed in front of the
lights, so that the figures stand out in
sharp, black relief against the radiant
background.
Plain black curtains frame the stage,
and so far in front that it crowds the
alley wall of the studio ; a sunken pit
contains the camera, its lens almost
level with the ground. "That," ex-
plained Mr. Gilbert, while his assistant,
Air. Henry Bryant, another artist,
gravely nodded assent, "is in order that
every inch of the figures may be re-
corded, down to the very shape of their
shoes."
Courtesy demands that too many of
the mechanical secrets should not be
given away, but there are a few salient
features about Mr. Gilbert's technical
methods of production which can be
mentioned without furnishing aid or
comfort to the many envious imitators
who would steal his idea on the first
opportunity.
It is, to begin with, an amusing, in-
genious, and plastic technique. I was
struck with the resemblance between
the studio at No. 44 and the stage of
the Park Theater, New York, when
Josef Urban was rehearsing the some-
what tedious but scenically beautiful
"Garden of Paradise," by Edward
Sheldon. The same atmosphere ex-
isted. The same new methods of stage-
craft were employed — simplicity, color,
economy, beauty. All the properties in
the main scene or foreground, for ex-
ample, consisted of plain black card-
board cut into the necessary shapes of
doors, flowers, bowls, et cetera.
The background, Air. Gilbert ex-
plained, could be colored without any
special difficulty. A simple change in
the focus of the camera brought out an
interesting effect of distance. A mere
44 The Latest Wrinkle— Silhouette Movies
tiny needle scratch on the film would
reveal a sinuous river coursing down
yonder mountain.
By leaving one character near the
lens and another on the platform near
the lights, a tiny pygmy could be shown
furiously attacking and worsting a Gar-
gantuan monster. Little, figured pieces
of flat, black cardboard, hung from the
curtain by invisible wires, could give
the effect of one character looking at
Inbad and his friend go in search of the pearl. The possibility of
action is demonstrated in this scene.
its ghost or double, with no necessity
for the director's frantically hunting for
a twin human likeness.
No end of astonishing effects but
could be produced by equally simple
means. Of course, constant ingenuity
was demanded. There was no conven-
tional way of doing anything.
One amusing feature of Mr. Gilbert's
method of production was the facility
of "make-up" for the actors. "My ac-
tresses," laughed the artist, "don't have
to worry about their complexions."
There is no despair at the missing of
the rouge stick in No. 44. Grease-paint
expenses are cut to the minimum. Of
course, an occasional false nose or a
wig are needed, but nobody worries
very much about his color.
But excellent profiles are in high de-
mand, and a well-turned calf is more
than a phrase reminiscent of the eccen-
tricities of Queen
Anne days. In
Mr. Gilbert's opin-
ion, it describes
something which
has a distinct com-
mercial value.
Now, it would
be decidedly un-
fair to imply that
when Mr. Gilbert
has completed his
part of the work
and the film is
taken to the Bray
studios, where
the transformation
scenes o r "odd-
effect" scenes are
sketched in, the
end of the long
process is a mere
mechanical "filling
in."
Mr. Bray's work
is much more than
that — it is integral.
Consider the op-
portunity for the exercise of imagina-
tion where, for instance, a witch
changes into a serpent. For these trans-
formation scenes are not like the sud-
den cloud of smoke and audible roll of
a trapdoor which accompany such
scenes on the stage, nor do they resem-
ble the soft blur of a transformation
scene in ordinary moving pictures, a
blur which ends in a quick snap, follow-
ing a fraction of a second of darkness.
The Latest Wrinkle— Silhouette Movies 45
Things that are not possible in the ordinary picture play may be accomplished by the newer
art, as is shown in this picture. In silhouette the features are not visible
thus making the dragon here more realistic.
Each step in these transformation
scenes is completely drawn in cold
black and white. Most of us would
have to exert ourselves to visualize a
creature half serpent and half hag. But
Mr. Bray has to draw exactly that —
and all the intermediate steps, as well.
Yet the effect of these scenes, in spite
of a similar technique, is radically dif-
ferent from Mr. Bray's own animated
cartoons. Even in the best of these, a
certain degree of jumpiness is inevi-
table.
In the silhouette fantasies, however,
there is a soft, flowing quality of mo-
tion, quite unlike anything seen be-
fore in the field of animated cartoons.
Mr. Bray has worked more or less
con amore on these, and has put an un-
common amount of patience and techni-
cal skill into them. Backgrounds can
be photographed with only the changing
figures sketched in. Our cartoonist has
availed himself of every resource of his
craft to reach a happy result, and he
has succeeded. The "fantasies" blend
actual photography and drawing in an
imperceptible, unexpectedly unobtrusive
fashion.
Of course, the greater part of the
action is the histrionic work of humans,
yet it would be precisely the minor por-
tions of the film which would mar the
effect of the whole film, were they jar-
ringly executed.
Mr. Bray has seen to it that they have
not been. Mechanically, at the least,
the new pictures are as near perfection
as they can be.
What, then, of their artistic possibili-
ties and limitations? To what sort of
story do they lend themselves? We
have seen that in the mere arrangement
of stage properties and decorations
considerable ingenuity is required, that
in the artistic effect of an entire scene
a very definite amount of aesthetic sen-
sibility and imagination are indispen-
sable.
And in the story itself, one is scarcely
46 The Latest Wrinkle— Silhouette Movies
A typical silhouette scene, which shows what may be expected of the black and white pictures.
surprised to discover that humor, nar-
rative power, literary discrimination,
and infinite tact are just these qualities
which differentiate a merely amusing,
skillfully burlesque, and fatuously
charming entertainment from a note-
worthy and genuinely beautiful and
charming experiment in a slowly evolv-
ing form ot art.
For the new pictures, as their dis-
cerning devisers realized, lend them-
selves with peculiar ease and aptness to
fantasy. Anything in the nature of a
fairy story can be pictured with satis-
fying suggestiveness.
''Silhouette fantasies," seem almost
planned for fable and allegory and non-
sense rhymes told as stories.
Mr. Gilbert is hard at work on a
series of amusing "bedtime" story plays
for children — which is precisely the sort
of thing the new pictures can do, as
well.
Because, after all, in stories or pic-
tures on this order, a certain quality or
artificiality and unreality is well-nigh
demanded. Most conventional moving
pictures pride themselves on a sort of
tawdry realism — except the "outdoor"
scenes, where an occasional gleam of
aesthetic conscience seems to be aroused.
But the "silhouette fantasies" keep
constantly in the shadowy dream world,
half real, half fantasy, where the locale
of such fables is properly placed.
Mr. Gilbert likes to juxtapose amus-
ing, everyday incidents or objects into
the childlike region of fairies, goblins,
and miracles. One of the conspiring
jinni in his first production makes his
final appearance — in a plug hat.
In certain types of story, Mr. Gilbert
doesn't want his characters to be taken
too seriously. The effect he is aiming
at is droll, not literal. But a retelling
of one of the stories will reveal more
than paragraphs of generalization. Let
us take "Inbad the Sailor," for illus-
tration.
A sailor is wrecked on a desert isle.
His only companion is a donkey, and
his only nourishment and stimulation a
bottle of tabasco sauce. But in a con-
venient jinni's chest, the sailor finds a
The Latest Wrinkle — Silhouette Movies 47
wishing ring, which he is allowed to use
four times, and four only.
His first wish transforms his donkey
into a human companion, and his sec-
ond gives him a Pullman car de luxe
magic carpet, on which he speeds away
to the Orient in search of adventure.
On tumbling off the carpet before the
gates of Bagdad, the two men are taken
prisoners and borne away to the sultan.
He is an amiable monarch, however,
and, learning of the wishing ring, de-
cides to commute a death sentence to a
reward of a life of bliss and luxury,
provided the two adventurers will find
a rare pearl stolen by a dragon in the
near-by mountains.
For reward, the sultan's beautiful
daughter is promised to the sailor to
wife. The two find the dragon, which
proceeds, without ceremony, to attack
them. Fired with the hope of winning
the promised reward, they think up a
remarkable scheme — that of pouring
tabasco sauce down the monster's
throat. The trick succeeds, for the
dragon hastily coughs up the pearl, and,
picking up the pearl and fleeing, the
two men turn back just in time to see
the dragon being destroyed by flames
kindled by the fatal tabasco. The sul-
tan is at once sought, but the supposedly
beautiful princess turns out to be an
ugly old trot.
The sailor is naturally disgusted, and
decides — his third wish — to turn the
companion of his trials back into a don-
key. Then his fourth wish — he sets sail
on his magic carpet for New York, in-
tending to dispose of the pearl. At a
pawnshop, he discovers the reward of
so much effort to be worth exactly
thirty cents, and the story ends with the
picture of his chagrin.
Certain things will be observed about
this little fable : its speed, its calm de-
piction of the preposterous, its romantic
setting, its odd mixture of fable and
modern everydayness, its straightaway
narrative, with no moralistic twist at the
A scene from "Colonel Heeza Liar's Waterloo," the series that won motion-picture fame for Mr. Bray.
48 The Latest Wrinkle — Silhouette Movies
end, its odd drollery. All these are hon-
estly entertaining qualities.
In the new motion pictures there is
opportunity for much that could not
be accomplished with the entirely acted
picture plays. The silhouette obviates
the necessity of showing expression —
one thing that was a detriment to fairy
stories and
m y t h o - • mi
logical films,
as the play-
ers could not
make up suf-
ficiently well
in many of
these to
avoid an .air
of unreality
that some-
times verged
on the ridicu-
1 o u s . The
black and
white, where
only figures
are visible,
o v e r c o m e
this difficulty,
and through-
out there is
the proper
atmos-
phere for
mythical pic-
tures.
But this is
not meant,
in any way,
to convey the
idea that only the lighter types of
stories can be represented in the sil-
houette films. Real dramas and plots,
with intrigue — provided it is not too
deep — may be clearly shown, and in
an interesting way. That action can
successfully be reproduced, may be
easily seen from the accompanying
illustrations that are scenes from a
silhouette picture.
Mr. J. R. Bray, who is cooperating with Mr. Gilbert in making
the silhouette pictures a success.
The new pictures are more than a
novel way of attracting the public,
though they have much value from this
one point. They have many advantages
in a hitherto untouched field, over the
ordinary acted motion picture. The
cost of production will be considerably
lessed, for one thing, and cardboard is
cheaper than
'Ml]ftNJ|| I actors. The
unusual ef-
f e c t s that
may be ob-
t a 1 n e d are
a valuable as-
set. Here are
artistry and
plot blended
pleasingly.
The chiaro-
scuro effects
are simple
and charm-
ing. Some of
the back-
grounds are
sugges-
tive vistas ;
others, skill-
fully pointed
delica-
cies. There
is an arrest-
ing vividness
in the flowing
pantomime in
sharp black
and white,
unlike any I
have ever
seen on the stage or even in moving
pictures. Certainly here is a result not
to be sneered at. Something new in mo-
tion pictures has been accomplished —
something that could not have been ac-
complished with the older art of the
screen. It is an unrivaled art — one that
lies between the acted drama and the
cartoon pictures, and has things that
are foreign to both of the others.
STARTING life in New Ulm, Min-
nesota, is somewhat of a handi-
cap for one who seeks to become
an idol of Broadway, but it didn't
bother Lenore Ulrich any. One of her
chief characteristics is persistency, and
when she set out to become a shining
light in the theatrical world there could
be but one ultimate result — that she
would attain the position she sought.
When her family left New Ulm far
behind, early in her girlhood days, and
went to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, the am-
bitious Lenore felt that this was a big
step toward the realization of her as-
pirations. True, the advantage of the
change, as far as her ambitions went,
may be questioned by some, but the fact
remains that she went to Milwaukee,
and it was Milwaukee that gave her the
big opportunity she so eagerly sought.
At first, her appearances in theaters
were confined to a regular seat in the
gallery. Every Saturday afternoon,
she devoted her weekly allowance of
twenty-five cents to procuring a seat,
from which she studied the people of
the stage. This was the tidbit of her
life— the thing she looked forward to —
and for this she had to work hard all
of the six days of the week, helping her
mother with the housework after school
<4A
and doing everything about the home to
make herself useful, including the tak-
ing care of several little brothers and
sisters.
One day, prompted by the ever-pres-
ent desire to go out in the world to pro-
vide for her mother and the little ones,
she summoned enough courage to call
upon the manager of the theater — one
of the old-fashioned stock establish-
ments— and applied for an engagement.
The manager, a fatherly old gentleman,
listened to her earnest pleadings for an
opportunity, and, with a not unkindly
smile, advised her to give up her aspira-
tions toward the stage and become a
stenographer, a dressmaker ; in fact,
anything but an actress. He pointed out
to her that the road to stardom was
long, hard, and tedious and demanded
extremely hard work. This had no ef-
fect upon the girl, but rather made her
more determined than ever to overcome
every obstacle and win fame which
would place her family and herself in
an easy way. Finally, realizing that the
aims of the determined child — for she
was little more than that — could not be
shaken, the manager gave her a small
part.
This was the real beginning of the
career of Lenore Ulrich, and it was not
50
A Shining Star— Lenore Ulrich
Miss Lenore Ulrich saying good-by to Forrest Stanley, leading man at the Los Angeles studio
of the Morosco Company. Grouped about them are the young Mexicans who acted
as Miss Ulrich's body guard during her trip to Mexico.
long before she was singled out from
the rest and given a more important
part. Step by step she rose from the
lowest parts to leading roles in the stock
company, and then joined Eddie Foy
in "Mr. Hamlet of Broadway/' when
the latter played a week's engagement
in Milwaukee. Musical comedy was
not her field, however, and she returned
to stock work. Experience came with
each part she played, and when, one
day, Oliver Morosco saw her on the
stage, her big opportunity came, for this
noted producer saw in Miss Ulrich the
very person to portray the leading role
in "The Bird of Paradise," a drama he
had wished to produce for some time,
but which he had held back, hoping to
find an actress to fit the leading charac-
ter. That Oliver Morosco's confidence
in Miss Ulrich's ability was not mis-
placed is now a matter of theatrical his-
tory. As in the case of Peggy O'Neill,
the well-known "Peg o' My Heart''
star, Lenore Ulrich became another ce-
lebrity of the stage developed by the
observant Morosco. The success of
this little artist is one of the most re-
markable triumphs ever recorded in
stage annals. From a mere slip of an
ambitious, but inexperienced, girl, she
plodded steadily until she became a
powerful box-office attraction — a fact
which is brought out by the record that
for the two seasons in which she starred
in "The Bird of Paradise'' it was con-
ceded to have drawn the largest receipts
registered by any road attraction in the
past ten years.
Soon after scoring another big suc-
cess at the Standard Theater, New
York City, last season, came the an-
nouncement that the famous "Bird of
Paradise'' star would temporarily dis-
continue her activities on the theatrical
stage in order to star in photo plays
for Oliver Morosco, who had become
associated with the Paramount Pictures
A Shining Star — Lenore Ulrich
51
Corporation in the motion-picture field.
Stars of the stage were at this time
streaming into the film fold, and the an-
nouncement that Miss Ulrich was about
to make her motion-picture debut
caused no great furor, inasmuch as
such decisions on the part of theatrical
celebrities had no longer become an un-
usual event.
While every one agreed that Lenore
Ulrich was a great success as an artist
of the spoken drama, this in itself
would not make her a film favorite, as
has been learned to the sorrow of many
film producers who have enlisted under
their staff well-known favorites of the
theatrical field. Both trade and public
conceded that she had wonderful screen
"possibilities," but so appar-
ently had others who
had failed miserably
on the screen
The result was
that, regardless
of what the
talented girl
had accom-
plished be-
hind the
lights, her
success a s
far as the
patrons of
high-class film
theaters
throughout the
country were con
cerned depended en-
tirely upon what she
could do on the screen.
After considerable search,
the producers finally
selected as her initial screen
vehicle "Kilmeny," a stir-
ring play that promised to prove of
particular merit inasmuch as it pre-
sented in its title character a part that
especially fitted the former leading lady
of "The Bird of Paradise." Again the
selection of Oliver Morosco resulted in
[iss Ulrich has
opened the door
picture fame at the
Morosco studio.
a triumph for both the little artiste and
himself. "Kilmeny" was played as only
Lenore Ulrich could play it. As the
little gypsy girl of the woods, Miss Ul-
rich just simply lived the part, and the
many quaint situations intrusted to her
were brought out with a natural touch
that "registered" among every viewer
of the film. In wide contrast to these
scenes, the star was called upon to por-
tray various situations of powerful dra-
matic theme which displayed most effec-
tively her wonderful versatility. At the
Broadway Theater, New York City,
where she appeared in person at each
showing of "Kilmeny" during its run,
packed houses were evident at all per-
formances, and show after show was
stopped by the enthusiastic
audiences, who would
not allow the enter-
tainment to con-
tinue before the
new film star
obliged them
with a few
remarks.
This metro-
politan h i t
of Miss Ul-
ricas first
screen play
was d u p 1 i -
cated through-
out the coun-
t r y w here
-I o r o s c o -
ramount pictures
were shown. In short.
just "Kilmeny," as portrayed
to by Lenore Ulrich, was a
great success and proved
conclusively that she was a
welcome acquisition to the
film field. On the completion of her
film work, Miss Ulrich again returned
to the speaking stage, but not for long,
as Oliver Morosco is hardly the man
to let such a star as she devote her
time and effort where her talent was
52
A Shining Star— Lenore Ulrich
not displayed to the very best advan-
tage. It was not long before he had
secured her signature to a two-year
motion-picture contract, and now the
pretty Lenore is back under this pro-
ducer's wing.
This brings us up to her present ac-
tivities, which presents a new side of
the winsome actress.
When Pallas Pictures, another Para-
mount organization, by permission of
Oliver M o -
r o s c o , se-
cured for
Miss Ulrich's
next film
play, "The
Heart of
Paula," a re-
m a r k a b 1 c
Mexican ro-
mance par-
ticularly
adapted t o
the talents of
the star, it
looked as if
the produc-
tion of this
subject
would, have
to be post-
poned should
it be decided
that the film
be staged in
the actual
surroundings. The dangers of war-
ridden Mexico seemed too great a risk
for the little star and her associates.
On being confronted with the ques-
tion as to whether the film should be
produced with artificial sets, or if she
would consider a trip to Mexico de-
spite existing conditions, Miss Ulrich
promptly assured her producers that
if her associates were willing, she
would be glad to secure proper back-
grounds for her photo play regard-
less of what the dangers may be.
-she is not on
the
the
"Me afraid?" exclaimed she, in an-
swer to the question. "Indeed not! I
realize that there are dangers to face,
but why shouldn't I face them if others
have? It's going to be great sport, and
I won't mind some adventure, provided
the others are willing. Of course, I
really don't want to get hurt, and I hope
everything will come out all right. We
must have these scenes real in order
to get the best possible effects, and. al-
though it
seems like a
lot of trouble
to go 'way
down into
Mexico, i t
will be worth
it. We can-
not d o real
things by sit-
ting d o w n
and wishing
that the y
would come
about ; we
must get out
and bring
them to a cul-
mination."
Such is the
spirit dis-
played by
this plucky
little girl,
w h i c h was
i m m e d i -
ately taken up by the entire company.
A bodyguard of twelve young Mexi-
cans was secured for the party, which
included a director, camera man, mem-
bers of the cast, and several technical
assistants.
The company went into the Sonora
country, in northern Mexico, where
Carranzistas and Villa troops recently
have clashed in several important en-
gagements. The Mexicans who ac-
companied Miss Ulrich were of the
more prominent families in Los An-
props — she is just ignoring
sign.
A Shining Star — Lenore Ulrich
53
geles. Well educated, and having a
thorough grasp of conditions in the un-
settled republic, their services were of
exceptional value.
Miss Ulrich's new Mexican photo
play, ''The Heart of Paula," afforded
her another opportunity to score on the
screen even to a greater extent than she
did in "Kilmeny." The Mexican tale
is replete with interest-compelling situa-
tions, and works up to a dramatic cli-
max such as Miss Ulrich presented in
"The Bird of Paradise.''
A bright future is predicted for this
girl star — who has still to reach her
twenties — in the silent drama, for she
has already won the approval of the
photo-play public. It is expected that
Mr. Morosco will make even a greater
film star of her than he did a theatrical
figure. There seems to be no reason
why this should not be so, as Lenore
Ulrich has proven herself worthy of be-
coming one of the most prominent
screen favorites of the future, and her
work has already attracted attention.
SEE THE REFLECTION ON THE CAR?
Miss Marjorie Daw, protegee of Geraldine Farrar, and Miss Farrar's pet goat. We were going to
say they were ready to take a little spin in the auto, but the reflection of the camera man, director, and
other players on the side of the car seems to indicate that they were merely posing. This shows one
of the difficulties that producers have to contend with.
ALL day long from the forest
came the sounds of the chase
— shots, shouts, and the stri-
dent blasts of horns. The muzhiks of
Strielna caught the echoes of the kill-
ing as the royal party cornered the boar
at dusk.
"The barin has returned from St.
Petersburg, as usual, I suppose, and will
go on with his sport all winter," sneered
Martsa Lazar over the supper table.
"Cruelty is his pastime."
"And why shouldn't it be?" roared
Ivan Lazar, her husband, and he took
up his portion of sheep's breast and
gnawed as if to emphasize his best in
animality. "A man cannot pass his life
in gossip and saying his prayers.
Work is a nuisance, too. So, to beat
a woman or kill a buck is about all
the fun left!"
"You forget the vodka, father, which
is more important still," laughed Vania,
his daughter, who, since babyhood had
seen her sire under the influence of the
drink each night of her eighteen years.
Ivan growled something unintelligi-
ble as he wolfed his mutton bones.
The mother of the girl winked at Ya-
nia. "Oh, vodka is like the breath of
life, my child, and one does not count
it," she said sarcastically.
"A man must have it to drown
women's tongues," explained Ivan.
"Come here, Peter," he continued, ad-
dressing the dog crouched at the door.
"You are my best friend, after all's
said and done. Take these bones, good
Peter, and enjoy yourself. See how
grateful he is for my kindness?" Ivan
turned to the two women. "I give him
bare bones, and he would die for me ;
I give you meat and dress, and you
would like me to die. Ha, ha, ha ! A
woman is less faithful than a dog, yet
she wants the world !"
Lazar laughed loud and long at his
bit of pleasantry.
"A lot of use it would be to us to
want anything, let alone the world,"
retorted Vania, her big black eyes
flashing the lightning of quick temper.
"Look at me — in rags day by day;
wearing a dress that was once my
grandmother's. And I'm to marry An-
drey in the spring without even a new
The Serpent
55
shawl, and I have to make over my
mother's wedding dress to wear. Yes,
we do want the world, but we don't
get it !"
Vania flounced out of the miserable
room. Her mother sighed and set
about a few household tasks with her
accustomed lassitude.
"What a spitfire is Vania !" ex-
claimed Lazar. "I pity Andrey Sobi
getting such a tongue as hers. But, by
the five wounds, he won't stand her
lashings for long, that I know. Very
properly will he take the knout to her,
and may his arm have strength !" The
man leered knowingly at his wife, and
then called shaggy Peter away from his
bones that he might again philosophize
over the animal's affection. Obedi-
ently, Peter came to his master and
suffered a maudlin mauling, though any
one might see that he was anxious about
his mutton bones. With several appli-
cations of vodka to Lazar, however,
Peter was released at the hands of the
brutish serf.
The foregoing scene was typical of
the Lazar family. More or less, it
might be said to be true of the average
Russian peasant household. Muzhiks,
or peasants, were not given to ameni-
ties or niceties of life. The men
worked for merest pittances, the women
elf
drudged drearily, and both accom-
plished as little as possible. Vodka
helped them to become indifferent to
conditions. Ivan Lazar ran true to
form. His wife Martsa was better
than the average Russian woman of her
class; she was lazy and dirty, but she
did not drink. Their daughter had no
antecedent in the family, apparently.
Vania was beautiful and ambitious, and
she dreamed of golden days to come.
Hourly she rebelled against her lot,
and of late had waxed bitter. Only
the hope of Andrey Sobi's future kept
her within conventional bounds. Ad-
venturous in spirit, and physically
strong, Vania would long ago have run
off to St. Petersburg, a two days' tramp
afoot, had not her faith in Andrey
bound her to the hated confines of
Strielna. She was sure that Andrey
would make a mark in the world. He
was gifted with clever hands, and
turned out beautiful vessels of copper
and brass. Vania, in her mind's eye,
saw him working for the czar, saw his
majesty decorate him for his designs,
saw their charming home in St. Peters-
burg. Oh, yes, Vania had it all ar-
ranged to suit her taste.
After her hot retort to her father,
Vania sought her shabby bed, not to
sleep, but to sit upon it and sew her
I
"A man cannot pass his life in gossip and saying his prayers," roared Ivan Lazar, and he took up
a portion of sheep's breast and gnawed it.
56
The Serpent
wedding garment, and with each stitch
she added to her golden dream. An-
drey and herself were out walking in
the metropolis, she in a red silk gown,
with earrings and bracelets gleaming on
her person. Her shoes — Vania had
never worn real shoes — were slim, and
bright with silver buttons. Andrey was
tailored to perfection. As they walked,
they attracted a great deal of attention.
A distinguished-looking gentleman in a
black beard and eyeglasses stared at
her. She smiled on him slightly, and
he bowed. Andrey saw it and was
furious
The dream Andrey fled before the
man in the flesh. Without ceremony,
he bounded into the room, all laughter
and high spirits
pretty sweet-
heart must not
put out her
dear eyes sew-
ing!" he cried.
"Father Ivan
has fallen
asleep over
his dram,
and Mother
M a r t s a is i
Come, come, my
With each stitch upon her wedding garment, she added to her
golden dream.
nodding under her favorite icon. Let
us rouse them with a song." From a
shelf he took an accordion, put it into
Yania's hands, and bade her play. Un-
der his surge of gayety, the girl was car-
ried out of herself. She played a boat
song that had its origin with the river-
men of the Volga. Andrey sang. The
sleepy elders awoke, Lazar to swear, his
wife to smile ; for the former had fallen
from his chair to the floor, and into a
pan of fresh lime. Peter leaped for-
ward to assist his master, but was re-
warded with a kick.
"For a kopeck Fd kill you. vou
mongrel!" shouted Lazar, wrathful
at his predicament, and the lime
smarting his cheek and hands. An-
drey and Yania rushed in to learn
the cause of the disturbance. When
his daughter saw him sprawling in
the lime pan, she laughed immoder-
ately. But Andrey hastened to help
the man to his feet, whereon he stood
rather uncertainly. Glowering at
Yania, Lazar launched into a diatribe
, on the duty of females to man in
general. Xoise and shouting out-
I side the hut interrupted the hom-
ily. Martsa flung open the door.
Dimly in the gather-
ing gloom the star-
tled f a m i 1 y dis-
cerned a file of
men headed for the
house. The snow
shed an eerie light
over everything. An-
drey and the Lazars
saw that some of the
men bore dead ani-
mals between them.
Others carried guns.
It was the hunting
party of the Grand
Duke Yalonoff !
What could it
mean ? Martsa be-
gan fawning even
though the barin
The Serpent
57
could not see her in the dusk. Her
husband sobered up marvelously and
tried to make himself more presentable.
The illustrious party paused at the
doorway to permit the grand duke to
come forward. Tall, bearded, com-
manding, he swept his followers aside
impatiently. "What son of Satan lives
here?" was his imperious opening.
"We need a guide at once. Our for-
ester has lost himself, and we desire
the shortest way back to the castle.
Look sharp, there, now !"
Both Ivan Lazar and his wife were
speechless before this royal outburst,
but Yania, her heart beating tumultu-
ously, volunteered to reply. "Barin,"
said she, "iVndrey Sobi will be happy
to show you the way." She pushed
her lover gently forward, and he bowed,
then straightened like a soldier at at-
tention. At that moment, Yania was
supremely proud of him.
"Yours, hand and foot," said Au-
drey to the grand duke.
"Excellent!" vouchsafed Yalonort,
but his eyes were devouring Yania's
face. In that 'phantom light of twi-
light and snow reflections, the girl
looked like some ragged princess. Her
voice and bearing were not of these
muzhiks, certainly, and the grand
duke's curiosity was piqued. It never
took much to interest him in the femi-
nine gender; in fact, the fair sex was
his hobby, and a waist or an ankle or
the curl of an eyelash had been known
to lead him far. Now the wonderful
black eyes, black hair, and creamy skin
of Yania held him as in a trance.
Never, he thought, had he seen such
extraordinary loveliness of coloring.
To get home to his castle became a sec-
ondary consideration.
"Ere we start, I'd like a cup of tea."
said the Grand Duke Yalonort, direct-
ing his words to Yania.
At the word, the girl flew into the
house and made a fresh brew of tea
in the samovar. The grand duke fol-
lowed her. His friends and retainers
held back. Martsa and Ivan Lazar,
58
The Serpent
still dumfounded at the nearness of
such aristocracy, stood together like
bashful school children. Valonoff sat
himself near Vania, and lit a ciga-
rette. From without, Andrey watched
the byplay, his lips set and white, his
hands clenched.
"Come, sit down beside me, lovely
child/' said the duke, motioning to Va-
nia, "and while the tea steeps, tell me
your dearest hope."
Shyly, she obeyed him. "The barin
is very kind to be interested in his
servant," murmured Vania.
"Nonsense, lovely child ; I am not
kind, only curious — you interest me,"
replied the grand duke. "Now, tell
me your cherished ambition, and thy
name."
Using the intimate "thy" to her made
Vania flush, and she grew confused ;
yet she found tongue to answer:
"Your highness, my name is Vania La-
zar; I am an only daughter of poor
muzhiks ; my only ambition is for pretty
clothes "
"How do you expect to get them,
lovely child?" As he asked this ques-
tion, Valonoff leaned forward and
stroked her bare arm.
Instinctively, Vania shrank from his
touch. He chuckled.
"I shall marry well and have what
I want !" said the girl, a note of de-
fiance in her voice, fire kindling in
her black eyes.
"By Heaven, I like your spirit, girl !"
laughed the duke. "I thought that
spunk was dead among the muzhiks.
I am astonished and pleased to find a
charming Tartar to brew tea for me.
Vania, you are a discovery !"
He stood up as if to emphasize his
words. Vania rose and poured from
the samovar a bowl of tea, offering it
to his highness timorously. The grand
duke took it eagerly, catching her fin-
gers around the vessel. And thus he
drank his tea. Vania was uneasy, but
flattered. Having quaffed his bowl in
this unique manner, Valonoff took out
his gold cigarette case again and helped
himself to a fresh smoke.
Meanwhile, his party waited his royal
pleasure, whispering among themselves
and nudging one another knowingly.
"The duke is still hunting," said one
of his cronies to a companion, and the
two men grinned. . Andrey overheard
them, but though hot with rage, he con-
trolled himself. He knew only too well
the awful penalty such as he incurred
if an exhibition of violence against no-
bility was made, even at greater provo-
cation. His own father had been sent
to Siberia for less. So the young fel-
low suffered in silence.
"Here, lovely child, are some rubles
for thee." Valonoff held out a palmful
of gold coins. "One for each smile
bestowed upon me." He was preparing
to leave the hut. "Next time we meet,
may you have those pretty things you
want so much !"
Vania stood in the middle of the
room, dazed by the sudden descent of
good fortune. In her hands the rubles
clinked and glittered. With an inward
oath, Andrey led the huntsmen off into
the night. The mother and father of
the girl recovered their senses finally,
and swooped down upon her.
"What did his highness give?"
queried Martsa, her face _alive with
greed.
"Let me have the money !" demanded
Lazar, and he grasped Vania brutally,
pinching her shoulders.
The girl put her hands behind her
back, glaring angrily at her father. "It
is mine — mine — and you shan't have a
kopeck of it for your rotten vodka.
It is for my wedding — I need all of it."
Ivan Lazar held her shoulders as in
a vise. Vania paled at the pain of his
digging fingers. Out of self-protec-
tion, she bent down her head and sunk
her strong, sharp teeth into his hand.
He howled a string of curses, and
hurled her from him across the room.
The Serpent
59
"You serpent of hell !" he shouted.
"Bite me, your father?"
Standing with the table between
them, Vania defied him, her eyes blaz-
ing, her lips a red line of rage and
hate. Maddened, Lazar snatched at the
knout hanging on the wall. The cruel
whip sang through the air. Martsa,
'his terrified wife, tried to stay his arm,
but he felled her with his elbow thrust.
The knout caught Vania across the back
as she cowered at its circling lash.
With a shriek, she flung the handful
beside the shaggy Peter. Fearful of
what had become of Vania, the mother
sat up, mumbling prayers to her patron
saints, the candle guttering beside her.
A shape flitted over the snow and ar-
rested Martsa's attention. She shuf-
fled to the door, opened it cautiously.
Andrey stood before her.
"Is Vania asleep?" he whispered.
The old woman shook her head, put
her fingers to her lips, and led him
softly into the room. She pointed to
Lazar, huddled in the corner with his
dog. "Ivan beat her, and she has
gone off," she said simply. Martsa
began to weep ; then her feelings
given rein, she told him of the
Dimly, in the gathering gloom,
the startled, family discerned a
file of men headed for the house.
of gold rubles into her father's face.
They stunned him momentarily, and
he put up his hands to save his eyes.
Vania ran out of the house, darted
across the fields of hardened snow to
seek shelter of a neighbor. \\ 'hen she
was gone, her father gathered up the
money, not before Martsa, however,
had slyly slipped a few of the rubles
into her boot.
"Til teach her a lesson yet, the ser-
pent!" muttered Lazar, fondling the
gold coins. To celebrate his wealth, the
man drank heavily of his vodka. In
an hour, he was snoring on the floor
events that followed his leaving with
the grand duke's party. "I shall be
happy when you two are married," she
sighed.
Andrey listened in silence. It was
nothing new to hear of men beating
women in Strielna — in any part of Rus-
sia for that matter. But it seemed
horrible that his Vania should undergo
the shame. Tears filled his own eyes.
He bowed his head and sobbed. This
night's events had been overwhelming.
o .
Martsa endeavored to comfort him m
an awkward attempt at lightness.
"I shall go after the poor girl." he
60
The Serpent
said, "and bring her back. If Lazar
again lifts a hand to her, he will rue
the day, mother ; I cannot stand by idly,
even if he be her father."
There came a soft call from the dark-
ness as he spoke. Vania had returned.
She flew to his arms. "My wounded
darling," he soothed. "Be patient only
a little longer, my love, and then we
will leave this wretched village and
its dreadful memories. You shall be
my adored wife, and the world will
wonder at our perfect happiness."
Yania sobbed on his breast. Martsa
slipped away, and left them alone. For
an hour longer, Andrey poured conso-
lation into her ears, and told her of
his wonderful love. Heart glad, she
listened to her lover. But Yania could
not forget the loss of her rubles.
Again and again she brought them to
mind. At length, Andrey led her to
the window, and said :
"You see that snow, Yanitsa? It
glitters and looks beautiful, but it is
cold and full of death. Just like gold,
dear. Don't brood over your lost
money. Besides, it was the duke's
cursed gold, which is full of death !"
Yania smiled at his earnestness as
she kissed him good night. "You talk
like Father Seraphim," she chided.
"He looks upon all gold, except his
own, as evil. Do you, too, dear hyp-
ocrite ?"
Laughing, they kissed once more.
Yania latched the door, and turned to
the supine figure of her father. Con-
tempt and loathing were written on
every feature. While mentally assign-
ing him to a thousand pains, a gleam
of gold on the table caught her eye.
She tiptoed over, thinking to find one
of her rubles. Instead, her hand fell
upon a gold cigarette case. The grand
duke's ! Confusion and struggle with
her father had almost covered it up
with table utensils. Yania clasped it
to her bosom, and stole off to bed.
Under her pillow, she hid it. But
its possession brought her a wakeful
night. A dozen times she started at
some imaginary sound, her head raised
tensely, fear in her sleepy eyes. Un-
able to get her rest, she let her mind
wander afar. And ever the question
was reiterated : "What will you do
with the duke's case?"
Solution of the problem came near
morning. Yania decided to take the
gold souvenir herself to the grand duke.
Doubtless, he would be glad to give
her many, many rubles for it, and
in this fashion could she thwart her
father and at the same time obtain the
finery she longed to have for her wed-
ding. The castle of the Valonoffs was
not more than an hour's journey
through the forest. Difficulties of ice
and snow would not deter her ; Yania
was strong, and could accomplish the
journey without any one being the
wiser. Amid all of her speculations
and plans, the unsophisticated muzhik
maid did not once question how the
grand duke could have forgotten his
cherished cigarette case. That he
might have left it there purposely never
occurred to her simple mind.
She was up and off on her journey
at daylight. It was a cold, difficult way,
and when she reached the castle, Vania
was half frozen. The servants had pity
on her and took her in. When they
learned her mission, they appeared
fearful. His highness would be wroth
to learn of the theft of his gold case.
Theft, they insisted it to be, and with
pig-headed stupidity — "glupovaty " Ya-
nia called them — could see only punish-
ment in store for her. However, Igor,
the grand duke's old and faithful body-
servant, consented to carry him the
message, which was to the effect that
Yania wished to place in his hands
personally the lost treasure — she would
trust no one else to do it. Poor Yania !
Her cupidity was to be her undoing.
The duke bade Igor usher in the girl
at once.
The Serpent
61
Yania was led to a sumptuous loung-
ing room, Oriental in coloring and fur-
nishing. Yellows and reds predomi-
nated. The carpet was golden velvet,
upon which was designed gigantic pea-
cocks. There was a subtle odor in the
air. She almost swooned at the beauty
of it all. Never in her wildest imagin-
ings had she conceived such magnifi-
cence. Grand Duke YalonorT smiled
and came forward. Yania noted that
he was clad in black velvet and looked
regal. She gave him the cigarette case
with hands that trembled in the fullness
of her emotional shock at all this
luxury.
"I expected you, lovely child.''
greeted the duke. "Sit down on this
divan and rest. Did you
walk all the way hither?
You are wet to the skin,
dear girl ! Have
you had any re-
freshment? No?
Then you must.''
He rang a brass
gong. Igor hurried
in after a lapse of
half a minute.
'"Bring food and
drink at once !"
commanded the
duke. "And send
Matusha here."
^ A woman with
Tartar features ap-
peared. "Take this child, Matusha,
and make her presentable. Bathe her
in asses' milk, perfume her tresses, and
clothe her in line garments, for she is
my guest to-day."
Yania was about to protest these or-
ders, but the duke was not to be denied.
He was the most masterful man she
had ever encountered. Matusha put an
arm around the girl's waist, and Yania
found herself walking as if in a dream.
The ceremony of the toilet was in
keeping with this wondrous adventure.
Softest laces and silks were put on her
body. And even the hard-eyed Ma-
tusha exclaimed at her loveliness. As
for Yania, she was enchanted with her-
self.
"Am I really awake?" she kept re-
peating. "But why all this?"
"It is the barin's whim," Matusha
would answer each time, "and you are
a lucky girl. Take all you can get,
my dear, and keep a still tongue."
That was Matusha's philosophy of life
in a nutshell.
When the grand' duke saw her, he
expressed unbounded delight, and drew
her down on the di-
Jg|HjH| van beside him. I^or
had brought some
'Now tell me your
cherished ambition and thy name,' the grand
duke said.
cold pheasant breast and wine. Gently,
his highness persuaded her to indulge
her appetite. Yania was hungry, in-
deed. But she refused the wine. Her
action hurt her kind host. In his com-
pelling way, he broke her resolution not
to taste the wine. One sip, two, then a
glass of it passed her lips. Yania felt
lifted to thrilling heights of pleasure.
And his highness proved so human and
humorous ! Quite like boon comrades
they became. Her tongue prattled on
and on. and YalonorT flattered her with
.grave attention or light laughter, ac-
62
The Serpent
cording to her mood. More wine was
poured and gayly quaffed. This is life
worth while, thought Vania. Without
her knowing it, somehow, the grand
duke's arms were about her, his lips
fastened to her own. She fought
against his power instinctively, but a
great blackness engulfed her.
Vania woke in a bed that on first
thought seemed heaven. It was as blue
as the sky in midsummer, and all about
her were cerulean draperies and dainty
furniture of the same exquisite hue.
But Vania felt weak, ill, and her head
ached. Hitherto, she had not known
an ache. She imagined she was dying.
With a heart that almost suffocated
her, she remembered the grand duke.
Shudderingly, she buried her face in
the pillows. To think of wThat had
happened was terrifying. What would
she do? What could she do?
Into the room tiptoed the enigmatic
Matusha, a bowl of broth on a tray.
"Don't feel badly, Vania," counseled
the woman. "Worse than this might
have happened. I call you a lucky girl
• — indeecl I do ! You would have mar-
ried a muzhik who would have beaten
you in a week. I did. And, oh, the
chances of rich men I had thrown
away ! Better to be a rich man's mis-
tress than a poor man's maid, I say.
You were born for the good things in
life, Vania. Take all you can get, and
keep a still tongue, is my advice.''
"Andrey, poor Audrey, was to marry
me soon, but now " sobbed the girl,
keeping her head in the pillows. Then
she raised her head in a determined
manner. "I shall kill him and my-
self !" For a moment, her old-time
temper asserted itself, but she broke
again into wailing her misfortune.
"There, there, my dear," comforted
Matusha, patting the dark head. "You
will soon be all right. Drink this soup
and smile at your good luck. Thou-
sands of girls would envy you. The
barin is crazy about you ; he will shower
wealth upon you ; you will have all your
heart's desires. Would you rather
marry a boor and starve for the rest
of your life, a dozen brats crying to
you for bread? Be sensible. Take all
you can get, and keep a still tongue !"
The Tartar woman left the room.
Vania pondered her words,- denied their
sophistry one moment, and agreed with
it another moment. Drinking the broth,
she felt better, and shortly fell asleep.
When she opened her eyes again,
morning sunlight streamed in the beau-
tiful boudoir, and the duke was sitting
beside the bed. Her first impulse was
to strangle him. Something of her
emotion came to the man.
"Do not hate me, lovely child," he
pleaded. "I love you — love you with
all my heart and soul. Let us be happy
together. Marriage does not matter
with those who love passionately. I
have a wife, you know, and a son — a
boy sixteen. But the duchess is not
happy with me. She does not love me.
I do not care for her. We live apart.
My son lives with me, however, and
he is all and all to me — or was till you
came into my life. Wnen I saw thee,
sweet, I simply had to have you. I
left that cigarette case on your table
designedly, feeling that you would
bring it to me, and then I would pos-
sess you. Forgive me, lovely child.
From now on I am your devoted slave.
And see what I have for you. "Look !"
He held out to her a pearl necklace
of fabulous worth. Vania surrendered
herself to him. "Will you love me al-
ways?" she whispered, as he took her
in his arms.
"Always, lovely child," he said.
Weeks of untrammeled joy came and
went. The Grand Duke Valonoff
seemed as intensely in love with Vania
as ever. Each day she wratched his
face to see if he were tired of her.
She dreaded that hour, yet told herself
it would never happen ; her conflict of
emotions was baffling. One thing that
The Serpent
63
puzzled and annoyed her was the duke's
set purpose to keep his son and herself
apart. He had promised over and over
to send for him — the young prince was
in St. Petersburg — but failed to fulfill
his word. It was the one attitude of
his that irritated her. At last, her con-
stant reference to the subject aroused
the anger of the duke. A breach fol-
lowed. They quarreled. Amazed at
her temerity, Duke ValonofT became
enraged. He ordered her to leave the
castle. Obstinately, she refused. Still
more amazed and enraged, the duke
sent to St. Petersburg for one of his
mistresses, a vulgar woman with a ven-
omous tongue. Nada made haste to do
his bidding. From that hour, Vania's
life was a series of insults in act and
word. The duke and Nada abandoned
themselves to coarse language and li-
centious behavior. Disgusted, disillu-
sioned, Vania left the vicious atmos-
phere.
With peasant shrewdness, she took
every belonging — dress and jewel —
that the duke had given her. In a
droshky she drove into Strielna, for she
really longed to see her mother once
more. But the populace — a hundred
spiteful souls — followed her droshky,
jeering at her. Scornful, she drove to
her old home. Ivan Lazar saw her
and called down every curse in the cal-
endar upon her.
"Serpent of hell !" he called her until
breath failed him.
Martsa tried to reach her erring
daughter, but Lazar drove her back into
the house.
"Where is Andrey? Where is An-
drey?" screamed Yania.
64
The Serpent
"He has sworn a podvig never to
close his eyes until he sleeps upon your
grave !" cried a mocking voice.
It was enough. Her cup of bitter-
ness was flowing over. Vania, white-
lipped and sick, told the driver of the
droshky to take her to the railroad
station, ten miles north. Glad of his
rich fare, the man whipped his animal
with fresh vigor. "We'll be there be-
fore sundown," he assured her.
In St. Petersburg that night, Vania
"You
see the
s u o w
said Audrey.
"It glitters and
looks beautiful,
but it is cold and full of death, just lik(
swore a terrible oath to the effect that
henceforth she would devote her life
to ruining men. Serpent, her father
had called her, and serpent she would
be, in truth. Lest her own poison, gen-
erated by her hate, act upon herself,
she would inoculate those beastly men
who sought her as their prey. A year
proved her purpose and her venom.
For her, or because of her, three men
had died violent deaths, two were ban-
ished to the salt mines, and one ruined
financially. Strange to remark, her
beauty thrived and increased on her
ghoulish fare. But eventually her trail
of ruin and death resulted in official
orders to leave Russia. They said she
was otchainy, which, in Russian, means
"past praying for."
To Paris, that mecca of sophistica-
tion and dalliance, Vania went. Within
a month, she was the talk of town;
within a year, its demimonde sensation.
Several men of genius were in her train.
A great author fell her victim, and
blew out his brains because she chose
a cabinet minister for a new lover.
The cabinet minister lost his posi-
tion in three months on her ac-
count ; she ignored him, and
he went to the depths of
degradation. Then she
tried the stage, calling
herself "La Serpent."
All Paris flocked to see
her. More men
w ere lured and
lost.
Five years
passed. Vania was
in the very zenith
of her dreadful
»
basilisklike beauty.
She w as only
twenty-three. Then
the European war
shook the Old
Wrorld to its foun-
dations. When the
wounded filled
Paris, it was her whim to give free per-
formances for them, not out of charity,
but out of vanity. By this time her
heart was dead. Even when she heard
from a soldier of Strielna that Andrey
had been killed on the field of battle,
she was unmoved. One day her eyes
were drawn to a young fellow's face in
her audience. It stirred a dormant
memory. She asked about him. He
was Prince Valonoff, and had been shot
in an engagement, she learned. Yes,
though a mere boy of twenty-one, she
The Serpent
65
could see his massive father, the grand
duke, in his head and carriage.
Subtly, she managed to become his
friend. How flattered he felt to have
this wonderful woman pay such pointed
attention to him ! When she invited
him to her house, he went with some-
thing of awe in his manner. She was
so beautiful, so famous. He had heard
terrible rumors about her, but he be-
lieved none of them. Prince Valonoff
was unspoiled, simple-hearted,
unlike his libertine father
as a son could be. The
duke, indeed, hac
striven to keep his
son pure and clean
in mind and body,
and was jealous
of the boy's un-
sullied nature.
Under pretense
of having him con-
valesce in her tender
care, Vania per-
s u a d e d the
young prince
to use her
mag. nifi-
cent house as
his quar-
ters until or-
dered again
to the front.
Only by arts
known to
herself did she ruthlessly despoil him of
his cherished morals and ideals. Vam-
pirelike, she sapped his character. In
less than three months, he was hitting
up the fastest pace in Paris. She drank
with him, a leer on her lips, hate im-
placable in her eyes, yet he believed
himself her beloved. Often she gazed
at him, one of her eyes squinted in cold
calculation — a trick of hers — and she
seemed to be weighing his chances, yet
he adored her to madness. Once she
ventured to reveal the hidden springs of
her conduct, if he had but known :
<5A
Slu
drank with him, a leer
in hei
"Why does not your father come on
to Paris to see you ?" she cooed.
"He is coming, dearest; I received
word the other day," he answered,
"but I wanted it as a surprise to you."
Vania was electrified, and from that
moment maintained vigilant watch. It
was to her advantage — long awaited —
that the grand duke should arrive at
the house in his son's absence, though
Prince Valonoff was expected any min-
ute. Without a tremor, she
received him in her salon,
asking him to be seated
in her most gracious
manner. The grand
duke placed him-
self one side of
the Louis XIV.
table, Vania on
the other. She lit
a cigarette, and
lowered her eye-
lids. Utter contempt
was on her mouth.
Valonoff did not
notice her man-
ner. That he
failed to rec-
o g n i z e her
was hardly
surpris-
ing. V an i a
had devel-
oped from a
crude slip of
a muzhik girl into a dazzling woman of
the world. And her hair, no longer
black, was the richest of somber reds.
"Madame has been most kind to my
boy," began the duke, "and I do not
know how we shall ever repay you.
He has written me the highest praise
of your care of him. Tell me, were
his wounds painful?"
"Only those of the heart, I imag-
ine," purred Vania, casting a languish-
ing glance at the man, who did not miss
its import.
"Boy love is mere vapor," laughed
on her
eyes.
ips, hate implacable
66
The Serpent
The duke buried his face in her white, sweet neck.
the duke. "But, do you know, ma-
dame, you remind me of some one I
have seen — possibly had for a friend?"
"Indeed ?" said Vania, smiling her
deadliest. She rose, and threw herself
upon a chaise longue indolently, sensu-
ally.
The grand duke was quick as ever
to take fire. Yania cast a glance of in-
vitation at him. That determined him.
He followed her, and bent over her
supine form. She reached her arm
around his neck. "If the prince would
only come!" she kept thinking. It was
the prayer of a fiend. Duke Valonoff,
his blood coursing through his veins
like molten lava, clasped Vania in his
arms. Bolt upright she sat. She heard
the prince's footstep. The duke buried
his face in her white, sweet neck.
Just at that vibrant moment, Prince
Yalonoff reached the doorway of the
salon. He strode two or three steps,
then paused. Petrified with horror, he
recognized his father as the man with
Yania. Supreme loathing mantled his
countenance.
"Father ! Vania ! Lovers !" he
gasped. "God help me !"
Impulsively, he drew his pistol from
his pocket, raised it to his temple, and,
before the grand duke could reach him,
pressed his finger firmly against the
trigger. The latter, with a hoarse cry,
had leaped toward his son. Too late !
The body of the prince crashed to the
floor and rolled to the father's feet.
Stricken a mortal blow, Duke Yalonoff
fell on his knees, and without con-
scious effort repeated the otkJwdnaya ,
the Russian prayer for the departing
soul. In that moment of terror- he
appeared to have shrunk to half his
size.
During the tragic scene, Yania sat
silent and stony as the sphinx. Her
face was waxen, her lips tight and
colorless. Suddenly she laughed de-
moniacally.
"The serpent's work is done !" she
cried. "The peasant Yania has de-
stroyed the princely house of Valonoff !
For this have I lived through a hun-
dred deaths ! Now for my own exit !
Illustrious barin, behold thy handi-
work !"
She removed from a finger a ring
set with a large red stone. It was
wrought in the form of a serpent.
Breaking the false jewel, it was seen
The Serpent
67
to contain a crimson powder, which
Yania swallowed. On his knees, heart-
broken over his beloved boy, the duke
nevertheless gazed 'fascinatedly upon
the woman as she took the poison. At
that instant, he recognized her.
"You! You !" he screamed. ''Yania,
the muzhik of Strielna?" His whole
world had given way beneath him.
"Almighty God, how Thou hast pun-
ished me !"
The girl heeded him not. She was
entering the valley of the shadow on
swift wings. For a moment, she held
out her arms to some vision. "And rev,
Andrey," she murmured, "do not turn
from me. The Evil One persuaded me,
Andrey, but I truly loved thee "
Those were her last words. Like a
hunted jackal, the Grand Duke Valo-
noff backed out of that room of death.
He crept away, babbling — a mindless
thing. Fleeing Paris on wings of fear,
he passed from mortal ken.
THE ADVENTURER
F^ID you ever get chased by a lion?
Or find yourself treed by a bear?
-Or hide where a tiger might spy on
Your palpitant, uprising hair?
Did you ever see stampeding cattle
Sweep over your suffering bones ?
Did you ever take part in a battle
Where they die without fussings or groans ?
Did you ever go round like a cave man,
Arrayed in a simple fig leaf ?
No wonder they call me a brave man;
Of adventurers I am the chief.
I've been beached on a cannibal island ;
Been linked with a native wife ;
Been flung to the sharks from the dry land —
You'd call it a hazardous life.
Oh, nothing on me had old Nero, .
Who fed on excitement and hate.
For I am a picture-play hero.
On the billboards they label me "great."
Robert Foster.
Mr
e/wytitj (Stetfeny
(Produced hif
($dison
The double is perfect," laughed St. John over the phone.
ed
THE moment after she had sign
the hotel register, Rokane Bel-
lairs went at once to her room.
She was conscious of all the stares
that followed her, but she realized
that in the game she was playing it
meant everything to appear mysteri-
ous. So she swept through the lobby
and into the elevator, apparently un-
mindful of the commotion she was cre-
ating among the other hotel guests.
Once in her room, she glanced fur-
tively about her, laid off her wraps, and,
going to the door, turned the key. Then
she went to the switch in the wall and
flashed the electric light twice. An in-
stant later, she heard a step outside the
window, and a soft sound as it was
shoved upward.
As Rokane stood waiting, a half sus-
picion of a scowl crossed her face. She
was thinking of something she had seen
only a few moments before, as she ar-
rived at the hotel. She had stood in
the entrance, unseen, and watched a ma-
chine drive up, saw a tall, well-dressed
man about town hand a smiling girl out
of the car with sufficient marked atten-
tion to arouse her own displeasure.
Rokane had pledged herself not to re-
veal that she knew Kittredge St. John,
this popular member of Milville society,
but she saw no reason why he should
take advantage of the secrecy by mak-
ing love to another woman. She was
sure he was kinder to that young de-
butante, Dorothy Paget, than was nec-
essary. Yet she knew that it would be
folly to upbraid him, for in all her past
dealings with Kift she had found him
fatally stubborn when she tried to force
him to anything.
All these thoughts shot through her
brain as she heard the noise at the win-
dow. A hidden pain and anger gnawed
at her heart, yet she knew it was useless
to object. She affected a joyful smile
as a dark form stepped into the room
and crossed to her.
"Kitt!" she whispered. "I knew
you'd come. It's seemed so long since
I saw you last — and we have only been
separated a month !"
"Yes, dear," assented Kitt, taking her
in his arms, "but much has happened in
the month. I've gotten in as soft as
velvet with the bunch in this town.
They ask me everywhere, and include
me in everything. The time is nearly
ripe to pull off our little job here.
That's why I sent for you."
"Well, here I am. I came as quickly
as I could, and as secretly. No one has
the least idea that we know each other,
and the guests who were downstairs to-
night— well, thev nearly looked their
The Catspaw
69
eyes out at me. There was one old duf-
fer, over near the door, who couldn't
stop staring. I never saw anything like
it!"
''That was Major Holbrook,"
laughed St. John. Then he added seri-
ously: "He's going to be one of your
victims. You've got to get after him
right at the start. I'll give you a list
of the ones you are to know, and then
it's up to you to find the way."
"That oughtn't to be hard," said Ro-
kane smilingly. "I am pretty, am I
not?"
Kitt laughed at her arch inquiry.
Then he-took her in his arms again.
"You bet you are !" he ejaculated.
"And, what's more, you've got brains.
I don't know what I'd do without you —
sometimes."
Rokane looked smilingly into his blue
eyes. All her vexation at seeing him
with Dorothy Paget vanished for the
moment. After all, she loved him, and
she believed that she was clever enough
to hold him. If not, there was always
some other man who could be used to
make him jealous, and jealousy is a
sure cure for indifference. Now it was
this Holbrook fellow, for instance, and
there had been another man, whom she
had not mentioned to Kitt. This sec-
ond one had watched her from behind
a screen of plants in the lobby. He
had thought he was unseen, but Ro-
kane'3 eyes were sharper than he sup-
posed. There was something about
him that made her think it best not to
mention him to Kitt.
And at that moment this individual
was sitting in the smoking room of the
Milville Club, thinking of the striking
young woman he had seen enter the
hotel that evening. What a fine-look-
ing creature she was, he pondered, and
what a dashing way she had of moving
about. Why, there was the grace of
a queen, the poise of an empress, and
yet the carefree swing of a young girl,
in the way she had crossed the lobby.
What a wonderful wife she would
make some man who was far up in so-
ciety ! He had found out her name in
the register, had found that she was
Mrs. Bellairs, and he wondered whether
she was a wife or a widow. Somewhere
down in his heart he wished she were
a widow. He had very little imagina-
tion, did Henry Bonwit, even though
he had risen to the presidency of the
Milville Bank ; yet he could easily pic-
ture this wonderful woman as his wife,
and a leader in Milville society.
"What's the matter, Bonwit?" put
in a voice from a near-by easy-chair.
"Thinking about stocks, or just dream-
ing?"
Bonwit turned smilingly to his neigh-
bor.
"Not quite," he laughed. "Just think-
ing that it was time I started for home.
There's a hot directors' meeting due to-
morrow, and I shall have to get some
sleep."
"Hard luck," the other clubman
sighed. "I was just going to ask you
to sit in on a hand of bridge."
"Sorry, but I really can't. I'll have
to go over some figures before I turn
in." He rose to his feet, still apologiz-
ing, and ambled to the coat room. He
was thinking again of the wonder
woman, and puzzling over how he
would be able to make her acquaintance.
For Bonwit was a man who made up
his mind suddenly, found out at the
start what he wanted, and then went
after it tooth and nail ; and he believed
now that he wanted the woman who
had registered as Mrs. Bellairs more
than he had ever wanted any woman in
his life. True, he had only seen her
once, but there was something about
her that enchanted him from that first
sight, and he was bent on a campaign
for her affections.
As he turned the corner, he passed
Kitt St. John, who, if he had only
known it, had just left Rokane's room
70
The Catspaw
Yes, why don't you take a chance?" they all asked him.
by way of the ready fire escape. The
plans had been completed for the
''cleaning up" of Milville, plans by
which Rokane and her confederate
planned to be the richer by several thou-
sand dollars. Milville, though near to
the city, had proved an easier victim
than they had foreseen. The inhabitants
had accepted Kitt without question,
simply because he had taken the pains
to display considerable wealth ; and one
short month had seen him lodged in the
best hotel, a member of the most exclu-
sive club, and a guest of the foremost
families of the town.
He had planned a new method, he
had told Rokane, back in the room,
which he had to keep secret from even
her. She had objected to this, and
had seemed just a little cool to him
during the remainder of the interview.
As he walked down the street, he won-
dered if it was not on account of his
goings about with Dorothy Paget.
Couldn't she see that he cared nothing
for that little doll face, though? She
was only valuable to keep him in a se-
cure social position. Rokane had said
nothing about her to him, but she had
objected firmly to his secrecy about his
plan. Yet he could not tell her — he
could not tell any one — because the
slightest leaking out of the facts would
ruin them both. After he had passed
Bonwit, he looked back toward him,
laughing to himself. Poor Bonwit, he
thought. Rokane certainly would at-
tend to him! And, still thinking of
Bonwit's coming experiences, he en-
tered his hotel and went directly to his
room.
Forty miles away, in the city, on the
following morning, a group of idle
actors were sitting around the break-
fast table, at the Comedy Club, poring
over the advertisements. It had been
a poor season, and half of them had
had nothing to do for months. How
rotten the theatrical game was, after
all, thought one of them. He thought
it so strongly that he said so to his
neighbor.
''You're right," agreed Bayard, who
had been a leading man in three of
Broadway's greatest failures that year,
"but here's a chance for somebody.
Here's a prime chance." And he passed
the paper across the table to the others.
They scanned the advertisement he in-
dicated with much interest :
The Catspaw
71
WANTED. — An actor to play the part of
a double in new play. Must be tall, fair, and
with clean-cut features. Five feet ten inches
in height. Man of refinement and education
absolutely essential. Good salary. Rm. 204,
Xelson Building, Broadway, X. Y. C.
"It's good stuff," said the second
man, "but I couldn't fill it. If the right
man turns up. it's a cinch."
Bayard, who had been gazing out of
the window, turned abruptly. He had
been watching some one come slowly
down the street toward the club. It
was Roger Sturges, a young college
man, who had been trying to get into
the theatrical business for two seasons
without much succcess.
The actor at the table turned to his
confreres.
"There's a lad who'd just fit the
part,'" said Holt, as a tall, rather poorly
dressed form passed the window.
"Roge Sturges."
The next moment, Sturges lounged
into the room. He looked ill-kempt and
down on his luck, so that even the
breakfasters, themselves without work,
felt sorry for him. They quickly put
the proposition before him.
"Yes, why don't you take a chance?"
they all asked him.
Sturges could see no harm in trying,
so he hurriedly took the subway to the
address mentioned in the advertise-
ment. There was a long line ahead of
him, and it seemed impossible that he
would ever even be interviewed. Fi-
nally his chance came.
"Say,'" exclaimed the agent, as he en-
tered, looking first at a picture he held
in his hand, and then at Sturges, "you
ain't a fellow named St. John, are
you?"
"No. My name's Sturges. I was in
the "Red Slipper' company last. What's
the idea?"
"Well, the idea is that if you ain't
St. John himself, then I've found what
I didn't think there was in the world,
an ab-so-lute double ! My Lord ! I
couldn't teli the difference if I had you
two together ! Sure you ain't fooling
me ?"
"Of course not !" answered the other
impatiently. He could not understand
the actions of this agent,
"Well, St. John is the man who wants
to hire the double. Only you've got to
grow a beard and mustache. If you'll
do that, you're hired. What do you
say? It will mean a hundred dollars
a week."
"Done !" wras Sturges' answer, as he
grasped the agent's hand. "It's a beard
and mustache as soon as I can. Then
what?"
"Then you get into a suit of dress
clothes and go to the address on this
card. I'll tell 'em you're coming. That's
all." And he rose, smiling. Sturges
walked away from the office uncon-
scious of all that was going on about
him. A hundred dollars a week ! It
seemed too good to be true.
But before the beard was hardly
grown he received another message
from the agent. That individual asked
for another interview, and. when
Sturges called, greeted him with the
statement that a new turn had come in
the matter, and that there were a few
more things which had to be settled.
Sturges' heart sank, for he was sure
that he was to lose the position. How-
ever, the agent reassured him at the
outset bv telling him that he was emi-
nently satisfactory, but that there was
some new information to be imparted
to him.
"Yrou see.'' began the agent, "there
has been a slight misunderstanding
about what you are to do. Y'ou are
not to play a part on the stage at all ;
this is a confidential matter with one
of the foremost men of Eastern society.
\\ "hen you were here before. I men-
tioned the name of Kittredge St. John.
Do you know him?"
Sturges admitted that he had never
heard of him.
72
The Catspaw
''Very good," went on the agent. "All
the better for our purposes. The idea
is this : This gentleman is in very poor
health, and wishes to withdraw from
all social life for a while ; but, as it is
very necessary, according to his busi-
ness, that he mingle a great deal in the
have only to be tactful, and follow his
directions implicitly."
"It sounds all right to me, then," con-
cluded Sturges. "I'll go to Milville to-
night."
"Good!" replied the agent. "I'll
phone that you are on your way."
Another series of rasps— a pause — and the second bar gave way
social world, he desires to engage you
to take his place, so that the public will
not recognize that there has been any
substitution. You are just the man
for the place. Do you understand
it?"
"Yes, I understand — but — are you
sure it's all square and aboveboard?
I'd hate to run any unnecessary risk,
though I need the money."
"It's perfectly fair, I assure you.
This St. John is well known in Milville,
the suburb where he is living, and you
are sure to have the experience of your
life, mingling with the best people, go-
ing to the best clubs, and all that. You
And so it was that Sturges stepped
off the train at Milville that evening,
and was driven in a taxi to the Cen-
tral Hotel. In his pocket jingled a new
supply of money, and in another pocket
lay a latchkey given him by the agent.
He was to walk into the St. John room
at the hotel as if it were his own.
As he entered the hotel, Mr. Bonwit,
the banker, passed, and greeted him
cordially.
"Well, well, well!" he gurgled.
"How's my old friend Kitt to-night?
Looking pretty well for a social lion,
eh?" He touched Sturges playfully in
the ribs.
The Catspaw
73
The double was taken aback at first,
then he rose to the part he was playing,
and replied in an offhanded manner.
He did not hesitate in the lobby, but
hurried to "his" room. As he opened
the door, he stepped back in amaze-
ment, for there, in dressing gown and
slippers, sat what he would have sworn
was himself. The two men looked at
one another in silence, for neither
could believe his eyes. Finally the one
in the gown spoke :
"It's a wonderful resemblance, I
swear! My dear fellow, you are super-
natural ! Sit down, and let's get the
thing straight."
Sturges leaned uneasily against a ta-
ble and let his host begin the conver-
sation, for he had no words with which
to meet the situation.
"I suppose you have had all the ex-
planations necessary," commenced St.
John. "You are to go about in the town
as if you were Kittredge St. John, the
social favorite, and you are to take di-
rections from me here and do exactly
as I say. There is only one thing I
must insist on — that you observe one
peculiarity I am noted for — you must
have a dislike for newspapers, and must
not -read them. I am noted for this
habit wherever I go. Are the terms
and conditions satisfactory?"
Sturges nodded, and then listened at-
tentively while Kitt proceeded to a mass
of minor directions. They were all easy
to bear in mind, and Sturges was con-
fident that here was one job in a mil-
lion. The adventure of it all was be-
ginning to appeal to him.
In the meantime, Rokane was busy
at her share of the plan, though it is
true she did not know what Kitt was
trying to do. She had trumped up an
acquaintance with the lawyer, Major
Holbrook, to whom she represented
herself as having a huge estate in Can-
ada ; and, moreover, she had lost no
time in getting into the circle of the
dazzled banker, Bonwit, who was fast
becoming more and more of a victim to
her personality. In Milville society,
where she had firmly established her-
self, it was being whispered about that
Rokane "did the trick" as readily as if it had just been discovered.
74
The Catspaw
she would shortly become engaged to
the banker.
And so it happened that one night,
after a dinner given in Rokane's honor
by the greatest social power in the town
— Mrs. Shackleton — Bonwit managed
to draw her into the conservatory for
the proposal that he had planned to
make from the day they met. Rokane
was well aware what was coming, but
she had made up her mind to let the
banker go his gait. It was all in ac-
cord with her purpose to engage herself
to him. As they strolled into the glass
room, two figures beyond a screen of
palms caught her eye. Rokane flushed,
in her eyes there burned a new fire of
jealousy, and she bit her lips to keep
back the exclamation she was almost
on the verge of making. She saw a
man bending over the laughing face of
Dorothy Paget, whispering something
into her pink ear. The man was Kit-
tredge St. John!
Then she heard Bonwit talking to
her in low, earnest tones, telling her
of his admiration for her, and finally —
she heard it as in a dream — he asked
her to be his wife. The sight of Kitt
leaving with Dorothy Paget robbed the
conquest of all its triumph for Rokane,
yet she did turn to Bonwit, and, with
a half smile, which he took for signs
of shyness, she consented. He seized
her in his arms eagerly, but she strug-
gled from his embrace and laid a finger
upon her lips.
"Hush !" she whispered. "Not now,
please ! There is something else to be
considered. I — I must — ask you to
keep our engagement a secret for a
short while. My husband's estate is
not yet quite settled, and I dare not
run the risk of having our engagement
known. Will you promise, dear boy,
just for a short time?" She smiled so
alluringly at her new fiance that the
banker could not find the heart to re-
fuse. He agreed to any length of time
she might wish, and Rokane saw at once
that here was the easiest victim she
had ever met. He escorted her home
early, and when she was alone she could
not help wondering what Kitt had been
saying to that Paget thing there under
the palms. At the thought of the little
debutante, her eyes gleamed anew with
a dangerous glow, and she tried to
plan a course to retain his love. Per-
haps he was at that very moment spin-
ning along under the moon somewhere
with her in her car. The thought was
maddening.
But as a matter of fact, Kitt was slip-
ping noiselessly along a shadowed area-
way that lay next to the Milville Bank.
He had planted the double successfully,
first at the Shackleton dinner dance,
and later at the Milville Club, with
Archie Varnum and Holbrook, and he
had decided that now the time had
come for his first coup. He glanced at
his watch. It was close to half past
twelve. By now, the Double would
have left the Shackletons to join the
two clubmen in a card game which had
long ago been arranged by the card
fiend Varnum for the sake of settling
a mock championship.
Kitt felt in his coat pocket. The jin-
gle of metal told him that the necessary
tools were all ready, and it remained
only to open a bar or two in the win-
dow and climb through. Beyond lay
half the wealth of Milville. He felt
cautiously for the bars ; it would be
fatal to be heard now, for discovery at
this stage would mean ruin. Then he
produced a tiny file and a metal saw.
The nearest passer-by could not have
detected a soft rasp as the instrument
bit its way into the painted iron. In a
few moments the first bar parted, and
he wrenched it to one side. Another
series of rasps — a pause. Then a gleam
of triumph crossed Kitt's face as the
second bar gave way. It was easy work
to one accustomed to such things.
Through the narrow opening he had
made he forced up the wnndow and
The Catspaw 75
dropped noiselessly inside. He turned,
replaced the bars, and silently lowered
the window. But not a moment too
soon. He saw a flash of light, heard
a step outside, and threw himself flat
on his face. It was the roundsman on
his beat.
For a minute, cold sweat stood out in
drops on his face ; then he breathed a
sigh of relief. The watchman had gone
on, unsuspecting. He tiptoed across into
the inner office, scarcely being able to
realize that he was alone with thou-
sands of dollars, and had only to open
the old-fashioned safe, which any child
could have mastered, to secure it.
Working quickly, yet with catlike
noiselessness, lie hung a square of black
cloth across the front of the safe to
shut out his light as he worked. Then,
like a child afraid of the night, he
crawled under it, and in two minutes
the iron door stood open.
Meanwhile., at the club, the Double
was having the luck of his life. For
the last four hands he had won
everything, and the little stack of
chips before him had grown to
skyscraping proportions. Here
was a chance to win as much as
he would earn in a month, and
Sturges held on eagerly. Finally
Archie Varnum parted with his
last chip.
''This cleans me
out," he said, with an
attempt to be careless
about it. "If I lose
this, I'll have to have
you charge it. I
never saw such luck.
Go ahead. Play up.
Whose lead ?"
It didn't matter
whose lead it was. for
the Double won, as
usual, and Varnum
produced his note-
book and gave his
first I O U. But it To the amazement
was only the start. When the party
finally moved to disband, Varnum rose
with a frank declaration that he had
been "snowed under.''
"I'll put it all on one note, if you
don't mind, Kitt," he said to the Dou-
ble, "and you can call me for it to-
morrow."
The winner was sure it was all right,
and pocketed the bit of paper. He was
about four hundred dollars to the good,
and it seemed to him, as he made his
way back to the hotel, that this was
surely the luckiest day of his life. What
with all the winning, and the good-fel-
lowship of these men, and — and Dor-
othy Paget had been divine to-day !
What chance, he wondered — what
chance would he have with her? Would
she ever care for him if she knew that
he was a masquerader — that without
his borrowed plumes he would be a no-
body, a starving actor, a college-bred
do-nothing? He smiled to himself
Kitt s calm voice came over the wire.
76
The Catspaw
hopefully, sighed, and turned in to
sleep.
But the watchman of the Milville
Bank was not asleep. True, he had
made his rounds, but somehow he could
not bring himself to feel that all was
secure. He decided that he had better
look over the plant again. He walked
back by the window, where something,
he never could tell what, moved him to
try the bars, one of which came away
free in his hand.
"There's burglary here," came his
first thought, and he immediately bent
down and beat a tattoo with his night
stick on the walk. Less than half a
minute passed before two bluecoats
came running.
At the sound of the club on the pave-
ment, Kitt dropped his tools on the
floor, gathered what packages of bills
he could and stuffed them into his in-
side pocket. His plan of escape was
formed instantly. It would be a des-
perate chance, but he must not be
caught. He put on his hat and made
for the main entrance. It opened easily
from within, and the next moment he
had vaulted down the stairs to the
street. The policemen were waiting for
him, but he was not dismayed in the
least.
"There's been a robbery here!" he
cried. "For God's sake, come with
me ! They're in there !" He waved
excitedly to the bank door behind him.
"Why, it's Mr. St. John!" exclaimed
one of the bluecoats ; but Kitt ignored
his remark.
"I'm a director of this bank. I saw
the thieves in the office," he insisted,
and turned to allow the officers to pre-
cede him into the building. As they
went in, he hung back till they had dis-
appeared into the dark lobby. Then
he jumped over the railing and disap-
peared around the corner. At that mo-
ment the town clock struck the quarter
past one.
The next morning, as Sturges was
leaving the Paget home, after his morn-
ing call, a bluecoat laid a hand on his
shoulder.
"You are under arrest for the rob-
bery of sixty thousand dollar from
the bank last night," came the quiet
tones in his ear.
"Bank !" repeated Sturges, in sur-
prise. "What bank? There must be
some mistake. You want me — Mr. Kit-
tredge St. John?"
"Certainly," the officer persisted.
"I'm sorry, Mr. St. John, but it's got
to be done. I saw you with my own
eyes. It's a "
"Saw me!" echoed Sturges blankly.
"Why, nothing of the kind! This is
absurd ! Why "
"That's what they all say, sir," re-
plied the bluecoat stubbornly, "but bet-
ter come along quietly, sir. The judge'll
fix it all up." After a few more use-
less protestations, Sturges went quietly
to the station.
But the judge did not fix it up. He
was sure of the man, for three officers
had identified him. He did consent,
however, to Sturges' being allowed to
summon Yarnum and Major Holbrook
to the court. They came in all speed,
protesting against this glaring stupid-
ity and indignity. Yarnum fumed and
threatened them all with impeachment,
while Holbrook, as the town's chief
lawyer, insisted that his word be taken.
This sounded like logic to the judge,
who, though he could not see where the
mistake could have come in, still was
disposed to treat the accused man
fairly. The appearance of the sheriff
himself settled it all.
"Why, judge," broke out that new-
comer, "your prisoner was with the
three of us last night, at cards, in the
clubhouse. It's impossible that it could
be he. Why, he came in with Yarnum
about twelve-thirty — I remember look-
ing at my watch to see why they were
so late — and he stayed with us all until
two-thirty. I remember it was half past
The Catspaw
77
two, because I had to take some medi-
cine every three hours, and just as we
put on our hats I saw that it was time
for my pills."
The judge smiled.
''There seems to be some mistake.
Surely, all these worthy citizens could
present to Rokane the next day, for she
had told him it was her birthday. The
fortunes of the Milville depositors had
nothing to do with his ability to give
her a parcel of securities valued at
more than twenty thousand dollars.
Bonwit was really courting Rokane, and
this had always been his idea of the
way to treat a fiancee. As for Rokane,
she had no sooner recovered from her
surprise at the richness of the gift than
she set about evolving a wav to realize
Xv
In the end the '"degree" came home to him and a lengthy document was secured from him
by the officers.
not be wrong about having been with
the prisoner, especially our good sher-
iff here, who is so careful of his medi-
cine. I can't see how I can hold the
gentleman. Discharged !"
The officers looked at one another
in wonder, and thought that the whole
affair was very strange ; but in the face
of what had happened they kept their
silence.
Another who was puzzled was Bon-
wit, the bank president ; but the affair
did not deter him from making a pretty
on them. It was the old. old trick of
borrowing money on a package of
bonds, and then, when the securities
have been examined and the money
about to be paid, to substitute for them
a package of which only the top and
bottom ones are genuine. Rokane se-
lected Major Holbrook as the victim,
called on him in his office and ''did the
trick" as readily as if it had just been
discovered.
It seemed to her that fortune was
favoring her in finances, but not in
78
The Catspaw
love, for she had seen the man she
loved, and who she thought was Kitt,
making daily calls on the Pagets. She
could find no necessity for it, save that
he no longer cared for her. This idea
was enlarged in her mind by the fact
that she had seen little of him since her
arrival in Milville. Therefore, she de-
termined to take him to task about it
that evening, when she should see him
at a dinner Mrs. Shackleton was to give
in honor of her birthday.
Yet, when Rokane arrived there, Kitt
was not at the house. She asked for
him casually, and received the crush-
ing response that he was not going to
be present, as he had accepted an invi-
tation with the Pagets for a week-end
at their country home. All Rokane's
passion rose to the surface. It was
plain enough he cared no more for
her than if she had been a stranger.
This empty-headed little debutante had
driven all this love for her out of his
head. Here she was, she thought,
standing by him, shielding him, trying
to aid him in a scheme to clean out the
well-filled pockets and safes of Mil-
ville, and instead of thanking her for
it he was spending his time with some
new creature, some fairer flower! She*
would get even with him, even if she
had to betray him.
That night, while they were all at
dinner, the Shackleton maid suddenly
screamed for help, and then came run-
ning into the dining room crying that
the house had been robbed. She ex-
plained that she had gone into the dress-
ing room just in time to see a man
helping himself to Mrs. Shackleton's
necklace from the open wall safe. And
the man — she swore it was Kittredge
St. John!
Rokane staggered to her feet, her
face pale and her hands twitching nerv-
ously. She wondered if this was the
end.
Mrs. Shackleton, after assuring her-
self that the jewels were really gone,
and that the thief had disappeared,
fainted. Yarnum called the police.
Bonwit went for water for Rokane.
Only Major Holbrook had presence of
mind.
"Get Asbury Park on the wire — the
Pagets !" he ordered. "We'll see if he
is there or not. This is all uncanny!"
A moment later, to the amazement
of all, they heard Kitt's calm voice
over the wire asking who wanted to
talk to him. Yarnum looked at Bon-
wit in amazement.
"It isn't natural !" he exclaimed un-
der his breath. "Even this servant
couldn't have been mistaken alto-
gether." But he kept his counsel, and
determined to investigate a little him-
self. ''Mr. St. John is there, all right,
that's certain," he said to the guests,
after hanging up the receiver ; "and,
what is more, he has given me some
very good news. I am sure we are all
glad to hear that he has just announced
his engagement to the youngest daugh-
ter of Senator Paget — Dorothy."
At that instant, Rokane made up her
mind. She rose abruptly and went
home. Within an hour she had writ-
ten two letters which would carry her
plan to a finish. One went to Kitt,
telling him to go to the Paget house
the next night, as some important plans
she had made depended on his doing
this. The second went to the chief of
police, telling him he should watch the
Paget house the next night if he would
catch the robber they were all seek-
ing.
Kitt's capture, his indictment, and the
efforts made to get him to confess, were
all matters of a few hours. Milville
had never been in such a seething pool
of excitement. Rokane sat back quietly
to enjoy her triumph ; Dorothy Paget
was prostrated ; Yarnum patted him-
self on the back as having suspected
something when the Shackleton house
was robbed. As for Kitt, he resisted
all efforts to wring a confession from
The Catspaw
79
him, but in the end the
"degree" came home to
him, and a lengthy
document was secured
from him by the offi-
cers, on the strength of
which he managed to
be let out on bail for
ten thousand dollars.
How he did it, few
could ever learn, but it
was rumored that
Senator Paget, still
believing him inno-
cent, had used in-
fluence and money
to gain him tem-
porary freedom.
Dorothy read the
news in the morn-
ing paper without
enthusiasm, for
she never wished
to see this man
again. Yet, even
as she raised her eyes from the paper,
he stood before her. The maid had
just admitted Roger Sturges, who had
come, innocently enough, to pay his
regular morning call. Sturges had
lived up to his promise to Kitt never to
read the papers, and all the happen-
ings of the day before had passed un-
known by him.
"Are we going out to the park this
morning?" he began gayly, but at the
sight of her tear-stained eyes broke off.
"What! Not been crying?"
"Monster! How dare you! How
dare you come here into my home and
talk to me after what you've clone?"
blazed out Dorothy, unable to control
herself in the face of what appeared
to be towering effrontery.
"What? Why, Dorothy, I don't un-
derstand ! What do you mean ?"
"Thief ! Monster ! Have you the
courage to come here and say that
Oh, it is too horrible ! Here are all the
papers
your guilt !" Dorothy cried.
papers blazing your guilt, and you have
the Oh— oh " She broke
down again, weeping pitifully.
Sturges seized the paper from her
hand. In a glance he had taken in the
headlines which told the story of the
case. Slowly he realized what had hap-
pened and why he had been hired.
Without another word, he left the house
and started for the police headquar-
ters.
Back in her room, Rokane gloated
over her victory. She had had her re-
venge, and there was nothing now but
to get out of town as soon as possible.
Suddenly the door opened, and in
walked Kitt. Rokane turned pale, for
her conscience told her that he had
come to settle with her, perhaps to kill
her. But not so. Fresh from the jail.
Kitt had come straight to her to tell
her of his good fortune in securing his
release. He met her eagerly and af-
fectionately, but Rokane was cold and
listless to his advances.
80
The Catspaw
"Why don't you give your embraces
to Dorothy Paget ?" she asked him
quietly. "You are going to marry her,
you know."
"Marry her!" broke in Kitt. "Why,
nothing of the sort ! It's my double
"Forgive me! Oh, forgive me, Kitt!"
she sobbed. *"It was I who gave you
away ! It was I who betrayed you !
Forgive me! I was jealous — I didn't
want her to have you !"
Kitt leaped to his feet, his eyes blaz-
ing in anger. He seized Rokane by the
wrist and towered
above her in his wrath.
"You — you betrayed
me ! Oh, m y God !
And I might have got-
ten away with it all !
You've ruined it all !
That's what you've
done !" he cried.
"You've ruined us
both !" For a mo-
ment, it seemed as
if he would strike
her. Then he re-
laxed his hold on
her. His love for
her swept over
him, driving before
it his anger. He
lifted her into his
arms and kissed
away the tears
from her eyes.
"It's all right,
little queen," he
whispered bro-
kenly. "There is a
way out, and we
will get away."
"Why don't you give your embraces to Dorothy Paget?" she asked
him quietly.
S t U r g e S
gone directly
lawyer and
had
to a
told
who's going to do that. I'm going to
marry you."
"Your double! Why, what do you
mean ?"
Kitt laughed, and, sitting down near
her, told her how his whole plan had
been worked. As it was unfolded, Ro-
kane bowed her head sorrowfully.
When he finished, she was weeping.
him the story, but
that gentleman insisted that everybody
knew St. John, and he was mad if he
claimed that he was not the man in
question. It was nonsense. The law-
yer would hear none of it.
So Sturges waited until the trial day,
and from a hidden place he had se-
lected watched Kitt mount the stand.
He saw Kitt's eves rest on him for an
The Catspaw
81
instant, he saw the prisoner begin to
frame his story. But at the first words
his blood turned cold. Kitt was look-
ing directly toward him. Leveling a
lean finger at him, the prisoner broke
out :
"There, gentlemen, sits Kittredge St.
John ! There is your man !"
A thousand murmurs went up as the
audience turned and saw the double
sitting among them. Two officers
stepped to the Double's side and took
charge of him before he had time to
offer a word. Kitt went on with his
tale:
"My name is Roger Sturges. This
man, seeing the startling resemblance
between us, hired me to take his place
in Milville, and while I'went among the
citizens as an honest man he found time
to commit his, crimes." Then slowly,
to the amazed mob, Kitt detailed the
entire story, going into all the facts as
if they had happened to him instead of
to the Double in the audience, who was
writhing for a chance to speak. At
length he had finished.
"Do you think there is any need of
keeping me any longer, judge ?" he
asked. There was a short consultation.
Two officers led the Double into the
prisoner's stand. Then the judge
spoke.
"I think not, Mr. Sturges ; you may
go this morning. If I want you, I shall
summon you to-morrow. The bail is-
sued in the name of St. John shall be
transferred to you until we have fin-
ished with the real culprit." He reached
out a fat hand, which Kitt seized smil-
ingly.
"You are a very wise man of law,
your honor," he said ; and, turning, he
strode from the courtroom.
As he passed out, the double leaped,
protesting, to his feet.
"It's a lie! It's a lie!" he shrieked.
"I am Roger Sturges ! I can prove it."
"How can that be?" asked the prose-
cuting attorney. "We have just heard
the story."
<6A
He seized Rokane by the wrist and towered above her in his wrath.
82
The Catspaw
"Yes, but he says he played cards at
the Milville Club the night the bank
was robbed. I was the one who played
the cards. Here — here"— he waved a
slip of paper above his head — "here is
Archie Varnum's I O U that he gave
me then. How do I happen to have it,
if I'm not the one who played the
game ?"
There was a sudden hue and cry to
have the released prisoner brought
back. Examination showed, that this
double must be telling the truth. He
had been made the cat's-paw for all the
other's robberies.
The double turned to Dorothy, who
was sitting near by. Would she believe
him now? Would she, even if she be-
lieved, marry a — cat's-paw? He fixed
his eyes steadfastly upon her. Then, as
he watched, he saw that she returned
his gaze, and he also saw that in the
corner of her mouth a tiny smile was
flickering, just to tell him — that she
would believe.
The nearest officers had rushed to the
door to bring back Kitt. Far down the
road they saw the outline of a racing
car containing the figures of a man and
a woman.
Officer Burke turned to his mate de-
spairingly.
"That road leads to the border line,"
he said.
'MR. AND MRS. SIDNEY DREW AT HOME.
Each night, after finishing the day's work of filming scenes for their justly popular comedies, Mr.
and Mrs. Sidney Drew motor to their charming home in the suburbs of New York City and forget all
about motion pictures until it is time tc start for the studio next morning. They are seen here enjoy-
ing a quiet Sunday morning on the steps of their home. This popular pair of producers of refined
comedies recently joined the Metro Company and will be seen in a series of one-reel pictures of the
same type which made them famous the world over.
eWiU 3C.cfohrtston
Two Part Story
''dM^, V;. Produced
CHAPTER I.
AN ADVENTURE IN FINE FEATHERS.
THE sewing room of Mrs. Hillary,
of No. 22 Harrington Drive,
was not only a practical work-
room, but a thing of beauty as well ;
and the cheaply clothed sewing girl
who had come from somewhere down
on the lower East Side to ply thread
and needle for ten hours at twenty-five
cents per hour, cast many an envious
glance at the sumptuous furnishings as
she sang her song of the shirt.
It was a song not only of shirts, but
of fine dresses and dainty lingerie —
garments that needed here and there
a stitch, or perhaps a little altering, ac-
cording to Mrs. Hillary's instructions.
In that sun-flooded room, with the rich
draperies at the windows, and the big
leather rest chair and settee, and the
three or four real paintings on the
walls to gladden the worker's eyes, the
passing hours were far from tedious
to the girl.
She was humming softly when, to-
ward late afternoon, Mrs. Hillary came
in. A lady whose age might have been
anything between thirty and fifty ; still
youthful of figure and gowned to per-
fection, eyes still bright, and with just
the merest hint of wrinkles — this was
Mrs. Hillary. She carried in her arms
a lace frock.
"Stand up for a moment, my dear,"
she said.
The sewing girl rose.
"Just let me see how you would look
in this."
Smiling, the girl held the frock in
front of her.
"Beautiful!" exclaimed Mrs. Hillary.
''With a tiny bit off the skirt it will
fit you, I believe, and, judging from
your lovely throat I think you can wear
a low-cut gown to advantage. White
becomes you wonderfully. My dear, I
am going to ask you to be a guest of
mine to-night. This will be your 'com-
ing-out' frock. Do you like the idea?"
The eyes of the little seamstress
84
The Golden Chance
"You mean I am to wear that?
sparkled. And when Mary Denby's
eyes sparkled one forgot the weary
droop at the corners of the mouth, the
cheeks pale with the pallor of the tene-
ments. The sparkle in the big hazel
eyes glorified the face and made you
think of sunlight on rain-wet flowers.
She pointed to her cheap waist, and
then longingly to the lace-covered gown.
"You mean I am to wear that?"
Mrs. Hillary nodded. "Yes. It is
just for one evening, and I will be
greatly mistaken if you do not wear
it with distinction. When you came
this morning in response to my adver-
tisement for a sewing girl I confess I
was greatly surprised. Your manner,
your speech, your youth, your lovely
features, are so different from the aver-
age sewing woman. If I were to meet
you on another footing and — excuse
me — in other clothes, I should say you
were well born."
"I have not always been a sewing
woman ; I have not always lived on
Cherry Street," said the girl, the pallid
cheeks growing pink. "But please —
please don't ask me about my past."
"A woman with a past ! Why, you
are hardly more than a child, and yet
you speak of a 'past.' "
"I have been married five years."
"Really you astound me," said Mrs.
Hillary. "I think the legislature
should prevent early marriages, espe-
cially among the poor. I suppose you
have several children, too "
"No, no. No children — thank God!"
The last words were a whisper, but it
was a whisper full of meaning, and
Mrs. Hillary, who considered it exces-
sively bad form to allow herself to be
perturbed, changed the conversation.
"Well, my dear, I want you to for-
get that you are a married woman for
to-night. You are to be my guest,
The Golden Chance
85
not my sewing woman. Your name
is — er — Denby, I think you said."
"Yes. Mary Denby."
"Now, listen ! As Miss Mary Denby
I am going to have you meet Mr.
Roger Manning, a young man who has
more money than a young man ought
to have. You will wear this gown and
be as nice to Mr. Manning as you pos-
sibly can be."
"That won't be very difficult in a
gown like this," said Mary, smiling.
"Mr. Manning is the son of an old
friend of my husband's, and a very es-
timable young man, I believe. I may
as well confess to you that it is all
important that he should be kept in
good humor. My husband has been
offered a big contract, but it will take
more capital than he can put his hands
on to take it up — several hundred thou-
sand, I understand ; and he is hoping
to be able to persuade Mr. Manning
to go in with him. We have invited
him to dine with us, and after dinner
my husband and he will talk business.
As a bait to him, I promised to intro-
duce him to the prettiest girl in the
city. I had Alice Martin in mind, but
Alice has taken sick, and I cannot find
anybody to fill her place. You see my
difficulty, don't you? Now the ques-
tion is, will you come to my rescue?"
"Oh, indeed, I will," said Mary.
"I'd love to."
Mrs. Hillary sighed her relief.
"That's settled, then. You can dress
in my room. Cecile, the maid, will as-
sist you. Try to keep Mr. Manning
interested in outside topics. Tell him
any story you like about yourself. You
have only recently come to New York
and have been introduced by a mutual
friend — Miss Martin, let us say. You
know little about me, and we have few
mutual acquaintances. This will spare
any embarrassing breaks. I see your
eyes shining with the adventure.
Child, you are very, very beautiful."
CHAPTER II.
TO WIN A HALF MILLION.
Half an hour before the arrival of
Mr. Hillary with his distinguished
guest, Mary was arrayed in the won-
derful gown ; her hair was dressed high
on her head, and just the merest touch
of rouge on her cheeks gave them color,
and made her look radiant when Mrs.
Hillary, inspected her through her
lorgnette.
"I am proud of you," she said hon-
estly. "The only thing you lack is
something to relieve the dead whiteness
of your throat."
She hastened away, and reappeared
with a necklace of pearls. She fas-
tened the pearl rope around the girl's
throat, then gazing at her for a mo-
ment, suddenly bent forward and im-
pulsively kissed her.
Soon afterward Mr. Manning was
being introduced — a tall, solidly built
young fellow, with fine eyes and a chin
that indicated strength of mind. Mary
was a little shy at first, but she found
the young millionaire a man without
any affectation, and they soon became
the best of friends. Very deftly she
put him off when he inquired about
her parents, and playfully told him that
some girls liked to ring themselves
about with mystery, and she was a girl
of mystery.
"I quite believe it," he said seriously.
"I have never met a girl more charm-
ing, more winsome, and yet I feel that
there is something about you that is a
real mystery."
All this was said at the dinner table,
while Mrs. Hillary was plying Mr.
Manning with dishes and endeavoring
to interest him in gossip about her
"set." Presently her more observing
spouse drew her attention surrepti-
tiously to the fact that the girl was
interesting their guest more than the
chatter about other people.
She had contrived in the few mo-
86
The Golden Chance
ments before dinner to draw him aside
and explain the absence of the young
lady who was to have been at the din-
ner to meet Mr. Manning. He was
shocked when she confessed that she
had impressed the sewing woman into
her service and planned the deception
on the young millionaire.
to the exclusion of the girl, but as he
watched her he had to confess to him-
self that he could find no fault with
her. Her speech and behavior were be-
yond criticism. He echoed the smile
of Mr. Manning, and relapsed . into
silence, save for an occasional comment
across the table to his wife. It was
\
"The only thing you lack is something to relieve the dead whiteness of your throat."
"If he finds out that we've done a
thing like this, it will be all up with
his half million and all up with the
Baldwin contract/' he stormed.
"Don't worry," she told him lightly.
"I am a good judge of people, and
this girl will make no faux pas."
He was by no means happy over the
deception, and he prepared himself for
the wrath of Mr. Manning when the
young millionaire should discover — as
undoubtedly he would discover — the
twofold character of the sewing girl
who had become the guest.
Nervously he endeavored to aid his
wife in monopolizing the conversation
quite evident that Manning was enjoy-
ing himself.
Mrs. Hillary beamed upon the young
people ; Mr. Manning would surely be
as wax in her husband's hands after
dinner. She nodded smilingly as the
young millionaire slipped an orchid
from the table vase and gave it to the
girl.
"You will allow me, I think," he
said. "Miss Denby makes me think of
flowers, and I should like to give her
this choicest of all flowers."
With a soft-whispered, "Thank you,"
Mary fastened the orchid in her cor-
sage. There was no need for rouge
in her cheeks now. She had become
The Golden Chance
87
part of the environment. The listless Denby, who had hoped to profit finan-
air had left her. She had become a cially by the marriage,
sparkling carefree debutante — for one It must be said for Denby that he
glorious evening. She forgot the sor- was fond of his wife in his own crude
did home on Cherry Street, where a fashion, and though there were times
drunken husband was waiting for her; when he treated her brutally he was as
forgot the five bitter years that had true to her as a man of his stripe could
followed her elopement with Stephen be. His race-track earnings grew
Denby, known to the Southern race smaller, and Mary begged him to give
tracks as a good fellow but too fond up the track and turn to something
of the bottle. She was a motherless which would give them a steady in-
girl, and her father, Judge McCall, of come, however small. They had come
Georgia, had had little time to devote to New York, but Denby's conception
to her. Her infatuation for the race-
track man had left him a broken man.
He had endeavored to make his daugh-
ter give up Denby, but loyalty was part
of her religion, and though she knew
she had made a bad bargain she per-
sisted in staying by her husband in the
face of her father's threat to disinherit
her. The old judge died a year later,
and his small fortune went to charity
— much to the disgust of Stephen
of work did not suit many employers,
and he drifted from position to posi-
tion, Mary managing to keep the wolf
from the door by sewing. Worse than
all, Denby had come in contact with
thieves, and he was fast being drawn
into the circle of the underworld.
x-\mid such sordid surroundings, it was
hard for the daughter of old Judge
(Continued on Page go.)
Maybe you think just because Helen Holmes spends most
of her time defying death in her effort to please the motion-
picture public, that she doesn't care about playing ''dress-
up" parts, but this picture seems to tell another story.
Most of the critics have admitted that
of them knew how true their words were,
in pictures, but also when she is far away
thing she enjoys doing most — aside from
Billie Burke is often photographed alone, but she prefers
to have her beloved "Ziegy" pose with her whenever possible.
"Ziegy" is a more-than-ordinarily intelligent doggy and was
given to Miss Burke by her husband, Florenz Ziegfeld.
Thomas H. Ince has other accomplishments besides being
capable of making good motion pictures. He is also a piano
player. Hist ! He played that instrument for a living once
upon a time, appearing in the vaudeville houses.
To look at Anna Luther standing peace-
fully by the seaside, one would never
believe she was capable of dodging pies,
in Mack Sennett's comedies.
Myrtle Steadman is an artist, but few
She is not only an artist while appearing
from the studio, for painting is the
creating characters in celluloid.
Dorothy Gish, the petite little Griffith
star, has one pet hobby. That is deco-
rating and redecorating her dressing
room. Note the picture!
Yes, this is Edith Story of Vitagraph, and the car is really her
own. What is more interesting, she drives it herself. The
number of pictures of five and more reels that she has been
playing in lately, however, do not allow much time for motoring.
Pat O'Malley has gained quite a name for himself by Lis
equestrian feats both in and out of range of the movie camera.
Of late, most of his riding has been away from the film, as his di-
rector, Bert George,has confined Pat's heroism to society dramas.
You know one of these men by sight and the other by
reputation. J. Warren Kerrigan and Otis Turner, his
director, work well together because they always agree!
90
The Golden Chance
McCall to keep her head above the
swirling waters of crime. But she had
grit as well as loyalty — and now had
come this one wonderful evening in
the luxurious home of the Hillarys, of
Harrington Drive, when time seemed
to have turned backward. She gave
herself up to the intoxication of the
moment; she was in her natural ele-
ment.
In the music room, Mrs. Hillary, who
was a brilliant pianist, tried to interest
her guest in Liszt and Chopin, but
Manning found the music of the girl's
eyes more compelling. He sat with
her in a palm-screened corner of the
big room, and talked in an undertone.
Mr. Hillary did, indeed, succeed in
inveigling him into the smoking room,
but the half-million-dollar deal made
no impression on Manning's mind.
"It's worth thinking about," he as-
sented, "but I'm not greatly anxious
to embark on any more financial affairs
just at the moment. I'm hurrying back
home to Chicago, and I'd rather wait
and talk it over with my secretary."
"But we've got to act without delay,"
said Hillary, running his hands nerv-
ously through his steel-gray hair. "I
took it as an intervention of Provi-
dence when you dropped in at my office
in Xew York, and quite candidly I may
as well tell you that I carried you
home with me to thrash it out and get
you in with me on the Baldwin con-
tract."
"You're right ; it was an intervention
of Providence," answered Manning.
''But it had nothing to do with busi-
ness. Providence has made it possible
for me to meet the most charming girl
in the world. I want to thank you
very heartily, you and Mrs. Hillary, for
introducing me to Miss Denby."
"Yes, yes, I understand all that," said
Hillary. "But "
"Now, my good friend" — Manning
"Don't worry," said Mrs. Hillary. "I am a good judge of people, and this girl will make no faux pas."
The Golden Chance
91
put his hand on his host's knee — "don't
bother me about business. I'm off for
the West to-morrow, and I promise to
write you within a few days."
CHAPTER III.
AN ORCHID IN THE SLUMS.
was over.
The wonderful evening
Manning had come and
gone, and Mary Denby
had put away the beau-
tiful gown and the
jewels, and pulled the
worn jacket about her
shoulders. In her
pocket were the three
dollars given her
by Mrs. Hillary
for her day's work
as a sewing
woman. In her
bosom was an or-
chid, given to her
by Roger Manning
—for what? With
her pulses throb-
bing, she vanished
through the serv-
ants' entrance and
made her way
through the driz-
zling rain to the
subway.
Manning had asked if he might ac-
company her home, but had been told
that the girl was staying overnight with
the Hillarys. What if they should meet
in the subway throng? Would he rec-
ognize her? She laughed at her con-
ceit. Mr. Manning was probably be-
ing whisked to his* hotel in a taxicab,
and had, no doubt, put her out of his
mind, as she was determined to put him
out of hers.
When she reached the dingy little
tenement on Cherry Street, her husband
demanded maudlinly where she had
been.
"I have been sewing, Steve," she told
him.
"Maybe you have, and, again, maybe
you haven't," he retorted. A spare,
loosely built fellow, with intensely black
hair and eyebrows, this husband of the
pretty sewing girl. His features were
regular enough, but the mouth hung
open, and there were furrows on his
He slipped an orchid from the table vase and gave it to the girl.
cheek that spoke of dissipation. "Like
as not you've been doin' the stores and
listenin' to free concerts and wastin'
your time on fashion shows. If you'd
only let me convince you there's money
to be made in shopliftin', without a
great deal of risk "
"Steve, I've told you over and over
again I won't steal."
Steve shrugged. "You always were
a fool. Well, you've been at work, you
say. What've you got to show for it?
Come across !"
Mary drew back. "Steve, you've
been drinking, and if I give you the
money you'll only drink more."
92
The Golden Chance
"Cut out the preachin'," he said
roughly. "Where's your pay for the
day's work? I want it — quick!"
"No, Steve, don't ask me. We need
things to eat. When you come to your
senses you'll say I'm right."
"That money, I said," he muttered,
and flung himself on her. It was a
short scuffle. It might have lasted much
longer, for Steve Denby's strength had
been sapped by too close association
with saloons, and Mary was by no
means a weakling. But the struggle
came to an abrupt ending when the
girl's waist was ripped open and the
orchid given her by Roger Manning
fell to the floor.
Steve's hands relaxed. The sudden
sight of the flower shocked him into
full consciousness. The film of drunk-
enness left his eyes. He stared un-
blinking at the delicate blossom. He
lifted his gaze dazedly to the blue-
veined flesh left bare by the torn waist.
Here against the lovely skin the orchid
had nestled
"So it has come to this," he said,
drawing a hand across his
sweating forehead.
"What do you mean, Steve ?"
she gasped. "Don't — don't look
at me like that. Here is the
r
..
Mary had put away the beautiful gown and pulled the worn jacket
about her shoulders.
money." And from her jacket pocket
she took the bills Mrs. Hillary had
given her and held them out to him.
"Keep it," he said bitterly. "I don't
want a cent of that money."
Her cheeks were aflame. "What hor-
rible suspicion is in your mind?" she
demanded. "I got this money honestly,
Steve, for my day's work."
"And the flower?"
"The flower !" She picked it up and
pressed it to her trembling lips. For
a moment the contrast between the Hil-
lary mansion and the sordid surround-
ings of the tenement flooded her mind
and left her speechless. Steve waited,
frowning. "The flower," she went on
hesitantly — "it was given to me by the
lady who employed me. She adver-
tised for a sewing woman "
"Who was she?"
"Somebody who is not on our call-
ing list, Steve," she said, with a wry
smile. "A Mrs. Hillary, who lives at
22 Harrington Drive."
"Wealthy, I judge? Orchids are ex-
pensive."
"Very. Why do you ask?"
"I was only thinking." Another
mood had taken possession of
him, His eyes sparkled. "Do
you go back again to-morrow?"
"No."
"H'm! That's a
pity. But you'd only
bungle it, anyhow."
"Bungle w hat,
Steve ? What are
you talking about,
anyhow ?"
"Nothing. I'm
going out to see
some of the boys,
and if I don't turn
up to-night or to-
morrow night, you'll
know I'm busy. A
little late work has
been offered me,
and — well, you're a
The Golden Chance
93
The bared shoulders and fair faces had their
appeal for most masculine eyes,
but not for Manning's.
good girl, Mary. Good night/' And
he lumbered off, leaving the girl mys-
tified.
CHAPTER IV.
THE ONE WOMAN.
Steve Denby did not come home that
night, and in the morning, while Mary
was scrutinizing the want ads, there
came a knock on her door, and she
opened it to admit — Mrs. Hillary.
"I thought I should never find your
place," she began, "but the taxi driver
could find a needle in a haystack, I
believe. My dear, you will have to
come back with me."
"Why, I thought we finished all the
sewing yesterday," said Mary.
"This has nothing to do with sew-
ing. I want you to be my friend Miss
Denby again."
"Impossible !" said Mary promptly.
"I must not. I enjoyed every moment
I was your guest, but coming back — ■
to this " She stretched out her
hand in eloquent gesture. "It is too
horrible."
"I know, my dear. But I will make
it worth your while. I'll give you a
hundred dollars — now please don't in-
terrupt. Listen ! Here's the whole sit-
uation. Mr. Manning is still hesitating
about going in with my husband in the
deal I told you about. He said he was
leaving for the West in the morning,
and we must keep him in the East at
all costs. After he returned to his hotel
last night I called him on the phone,
and held out the biggest bait I knew
— told him that you would be my guest
for the week-end "
"You did that !" cried Alary. "Oh,
you must tell him "
"Now, child, be reasonable. It won't
hurt you to be pleasant to him for an-
other day or two. I felt so sure I could
win your consent that I invited Mr.
Manning to bring his bag along and
become our guest. He jumped at the
suggestion, and will be at Harrington
Drive this afternoon, expecting to re-
new acquaintance with you. Xow say
you will come."
94
The Golden Chance
His gaze was fixed on the broad staircase.
Mrs. Hillary sat down on a rickety
chair, quite out of breath, for she had
rattled off her story with few stops.
A hundred dollars ! It was a tempt-
ing sum in Mary's circumstances. She
tried hard to say no, but Mrs. Hillary
finally had her way, and hope beat high
in her breast as she hurried the girl
to the taxicab waiting in the street
below.
'"You looked lovely last night, my
dear," said Mrs. Hillary after they were
settled in the cab; "but this afternoon
I have planned for you a frock of the
simplest of blue serge models. It may
need a little altering, but Cecile will fix
that — Cecile and you, if you want to
assume the double role of seamstress
and guest."
She laughed merrily, and Mary
caught the infection and smiled, too.
"Thats* right ; don't take the matter
so seriously," encouraged the elder lady.
"It's to be just a joke for you. But
you are to gladden the eyes of Mr.
Manning, and you will do it, with this
trim serge suit and a little blue poke
that wre are going to fasten over your
glorious hair. Then we will take a
motor trip, and maybe dine somewhere,
I
and this evening I will have a few
other frie-nds at the house to meet our
young millionaire and make things
pleasant for him. Now that's the pro-
gram."
Mrs. Hillary's program was carried
out exactly as she had planned. Mr.
Manning was duly impressed with the
blue serge, and" it is safe to say that
no automobile trip was ever so en-
jovable to him as the one he took that
afternoon sandwiched between the
lovelv Mary Denby and the happy Mrs.
Hillary.
They had an early dinner at Casby's
tavern in Tarrytown, and hurried back
to dress for the reception.
Cecile was putting the final touches
to Mary's evening gown in the guest
room allotted to the girl, when Mrs.
Hillary, resplendent in a Parisian cre-
ation of old rose, pronouncedly decol-
lete, came in.
She put her arms round the girl's
waist, and gave her a little hug.
The Golden Chance
95
"My dear, our little scheme has been
a complete success," she cried. "Mr.
Manning came back from the motor
drive in the best of spirits, and when
my husband buttonholed him in the li-
brary he wrote his check for the re-
quired amount without any hesitation.
Oh, the plan has been a wonderful suc-
cess !"
"I hope there's nothing — nothing
crooked about the scheme," said Mary
doubtfully, relapsing for a moment into
the language of Cherry Street.
"I think I understand what you
mean," answered Mrs. Hillary, with a
smile, "but I assure you it is all above-
board. My husband is a very shrewd
business man, and
w h e n he says a
proposition i s a
good one, you can
absolutely rely on
it being good. It
will net Mr. Man-
ning a big percent-
age, and it will
save us from bank-
ruptcy. My dear,
you have worked
wonders."
"Then I suppose
you won't need me
" began Mary.
■'Nonsense! Of
course I will need
you. You are go-
ing to stay over-
night and remain
my guest till our
. young millionaire
starts West. Now,
when you are quite
ready, come down.
I will try, with the
assistance of the
other guests, to
keep h i m inter-
ested till you put
in an appearance."
Mrs. Hillary
tripped off, shaking her fan roguishly
at the girl.
She found Roger Manning the center
of a group of girls. Laughing eyes in-
vited him, but failed to arouse more
than a passing interest. The bared
shoulders and fair faces had their ap-
peal for most masculine eyes, but ap-
parently not for Mr. Manning's.
Mrs. Hillary bore down upon him.
"Our little friend Miss Denby will join
us in a few minutes." she told- him.
His expression of listlessness van-
ished instantly. He exchanged a few
commonplaces with the hostess, but his
gaze was fixed on the broad staircase.
She came at last, a lovelv vision in
;I am only interested in — you.'
96
The Golden Chance
white, a radiant beauty, regal in her
bearing.
Manning left the circle, and met her
at the stair foot.
"I'm glad you could stay over, Miss
Denby," he said. "Somehow I am not
interested in these other people. I'm
only interested in — you."
Her lips parted in a bewildering
smile. "Mr. Manning, you -must not
say such things. But come, this is a
very conspicuous position. Let us join
the others." And, taking his arm, she
led him reluctantly away.
He considered that a lost evening, for
she gave him no opportunity for a tete-
a-tete, insisting that he divide his at-
tention among the other guests. He
had a whispered word with her as she
said good night. It was : "We'll have
you to ourselves to-morrow, Miss
Denby, thank the stars."
CHAPTER V.
THE BARRIER.
On the morrow came the climax
which Mary had dimly forecasted — and
dreaded. It came after dinner, when
Mrs. Hillary had blithely suggested that
probably the young people would like
to entertain themselves in the drawing-
room for a few minutes before she and
her husband joined them.
Manning boyishly welcomed the hint,
and, offering his arm, he escorted the
girl to the music room. She went at
once to the piano, and sang softly an
old Southern song.
There was a tremor in her voice, but
she bravely continued to the end of
the verse and nervously improvised an
interlude. Then his hand fell on
her shoulder— a hot electric touch —
it seemed like a touch of fire.
"I love to hear you sing," he said,
"but just now I want to talk to you."
"But supposing I want to sing "
She had risen from the piano, and
to be c<
stood swaying, with a hand on the lower
end of. the keyboard.
"Even then I must insist."
"Don't you think we had better ask
the others to join us?" she asked, forc-
ing herself to speak.
"No. I cannot wait longer to say
what is in my heart. Miss Denby, I
love you. Will you be my wife?" The
words came from him in a torrent.
"Oh, please " she began.
"Listen to me, Miss Denby — Mary
— I have only known you a few days,
but I know there can be no other
woman in the world for me. Won't
you give me hope "
"No, no, no!" she panted, pushing
him from her as he caught her hands.
"You dare not say you do not love
me," he went on in low tense tones.
"No, no! Please let me go."
He released her hands, and drew
back a step. "I will go away and try
to put you out of my life — if you say
you do not love me."
"It can never be," she told him sadly.
"I won't say I don't love you "
"Then " he broke in.
"Stop! I like you — like you a great
deal, Mr. Manning. You are the kind
of man — apart from your money — that
I should be proud "
"If it is money that is the obstacle,"
he interrupted quickly, "I'll out-Car-
negie Carnegie in giving it away."
"No, it isn't that," she said, with a
wistful smile. "It is a much more ter-
rible barrier. I told you I was a girl
of mystery, and I am. I can never be
your wife — that is definite. Please,
dear, don't ask me why, but take my
word for it. Oh, Roger, I wish it was
possible — but it isn't."
"You wonderful Mystery Girl, I
won't take this for a final answer.
Some day I will clear up the mystery,
and then "
He turned as Mr. and Mrs. Hillary
entered the room.
NCLUDED.
y
efhPcPuhtie cfiutsre
I AM going to discard, so far as this
article is concerned, any con-
sideration of my letters and cor-
respondents as such, and discuss a more
general issue in the moving-picture
field. We cannot take the movies too
seriously these days. In the course
of a year or so they will become the
chief artistic resource of so very many
people that their effect, inasmuch as
they are the medium of communication
to so limitless a public, is necessarily
destined to be a matter for national
concern. This has been more or less
clearly indicated already by the prev-
alence of that tendency among our
lawmakers, near lawmakers, and busy-
bodies, which may be described briefly
as the "censorship" habit..
The real truth of the matter is, that
all those who have a professional in-
terest in the moving-picture game
should concentrate their attention on
their public, on the business of supply-
ing that same public with what it wants,
letting the "censorship" movement look
out for itself. Give the public what
it wants, and the public will look out
for the censors and make them behave
and confine their activities within rea-
sonable and proper limits. Now, what
does the public want?
That is so large a question that I do
not care to plunge into it offhand. The
<7A
general tendencies of the past, however,
have been ably dealt with and com-
mented upon in a book which has
recently come to my attention. This
same book, with no slight degree of
insight, also ventures to point out the
way of the future. The contents of
this book, "The Art of the Moving
Picture," by Vachel Lindsay, I wish to
outline within the scope of a brief re-
view in the hope that my readers and
correspondents may be provoked there-
by into making some interesting and
illuminating comments on motion pic-
tures in general.
Mr. Lindsay, who, I am given to un-
derstand, is an art critic of no mean
measure of perspicacity and judgment,
divides moving-picture plays into three
kinds. There are the plays (i) of Ac-
tion, (2) of Intimacy, and (3) of
Splendor. This last-named kind the
author subdivides into plays founded
on fairy tales, on patriotic themes, into
crowd pictures wherein the "dramatic
asset is in showing changing moods
of informal public gatherings; putting
different types of mobs in contrast,"
and into plays of splendor with a re-
ligious signification.
This analysis of Mr. Lindsay's seems
to me a fairly accurate one, and be-
fore I go further I want to ask my
readers to express to me their prefer-
I ' .
AN ENLARGED AND IMPROVED
PICTURE-PLAY MAGAZINE
TO BE ISSUED MONTHLY
Picture-Play Magazine will be made larger and
be vastly improved, beginning with the issue that
will appear on your news stand on March ioth.
In its new form this magazine will be issued
once — on the tenth — every month.
Because of the added pages and the general
improvement, the price of Picture-Play Magazine
will be fifteen cents instead of ten, but, as the issues
will be once instead of twice each month, the
amount you spend will be reduced from twenty
to fifteen cents — and what you will receive will be
worth a great deal more.
By giving you a large number of special feature
articles — all profusely illustrated — about the players
and what they are doing, and about motion pictures
in general, as well as stories from the feature films
and the regular interesting and instructive depart-
ments— in short, by giving you what you want in a
motion-picture publication — Picture-Play Magazine
will be by far the best magazine of its kind that
you can get, in every way.
See opposite page for details of tbe first issue of the better magazine
MARY PICKFORD ON THE COVER
_ _
That will be the sign by which you can recog-
nize the first issue of Picture-Play Magazine in the
; bigger and better form. Here are a few of the
features to be found in the first monthly magazine:
MARY PICKFORD'S PERSONAL
VIEWS OF MOTION PICTURES
How a million dollars is being spent in Florida to stage
the greatest of all motion pictures, in which Annette Keller-
mann is to be starred.
Behind the scenes with Fatty Arbuckle and Mabel Nor-
mand — telling how this inimitable pair has to work to make
the people laugh.
An article that takes you inside one of the largest producing
studios in America, shows you around) and introdiices you to
your favorite players.
The fictio7i version of the best airi-ent feature films of
the greatest prodiicing companies.
DEPARTMENTS
A model scenario, showing the proper const7~uction of a
script, and invaluable hints for picture-play writers.
The interesting feature pages personally written for this
magazine by FRANCIS X. BUSHMAN.
Timely 7iews of the plays, players a7id companies, and of
the film world i7i ge7ieral.
" The Picture Oracle y' who k7iows every tJmig about
pictures, past, prese7it a7id future, a7id who answers any
questions you ask him.
WATCH FOR THE MARY PICKFORD COVER ON
YOUR NEWS STAND MARCH TENTH.
i
100
The Public Pulse
ences, and to tell me in what particular
way they prefer to see plays of this
kind handled. The statement of vari-
ous gentlemen who simulate the appear-
ance, if not the wisdom, of the owl, to
the contrary notwithstanding, we mo-
tion-picture people are largely depend-
ent on the public for our notions of
what themes to present, of how to han-
dle these same themes.
To continue now with my review.
Mr. Lindsay, reverting more or less to
the terminology of art criticism, says
that Action pictures are sculpture in
motion — or, to be exact, should be
sculpture of the best kind in motion.
Intimate pictures are painting in motion
— again the qualification as to degree of
excellence; and Splendor pictures are
architecture in motion. Later on he
states, as clearly as he sees, a funda-
mental consideration that we moving-
picture people should constantly re-
member, when he says "moving objects,
not moving lips, make the words of the
photo play."
Turning his eye to the future, with
the aim of indicating the lines along
which the motion-picture art should de-
velop, Mr. Lindsay well says that sen-
tences interpolated in the film — leaders,
that is — should be used to show changes
of time and place and a few such ele-
mentary matters before the episode is
fully started. He pleads with motion-
picture people to emphasize the points
wherein the photo play is unique. "The
supreme photo play," he declares, "will
give us things that have been but half
expressed in all other mediums allied
to it." Farther on, we find Mr. Lindsay
laying his finger, wTith admirable accu-
racy, on a fact that I myself have long
realized, namely that, in moving pic-
tures, "the speed limit is soon reached.
The limit of pictorial beauty cannot be
reached. The shoddiest silent drama
may contain noble views of the sea.
This part is almost sure to be good.
It is a fundamental resource."
In this Mr. Lindsay has said, about
as well as it can be said, what to my
mind is the primary mission of the
moving picture in this day and genera-
tion. We must strive to tell all our
stories against a background of pic-
torial beauty that wTill thrill the heart
of man as it is rarely thrilled. In this
lies the secret of success, but, as Mr.
Lindsay points out, great, natural ef-
fects and the splendid panoramas of
cities, architecture in motion, are by
no means the only pictorial possibilities
open to the moving-picture man.
There remain interiors — intimate pic-
tures. The question of interiors is a
problem in details that remains eter-
nally vexing. We can never know
surely how well our careful efforts have
brought out the effect we intended until
all the work is done — that is, until the
picture itself is on the screen. While
Mr. Lindsay's suggestions along this
line are interesting, they so largely pre-
suppose an intimate acquaintance with
masterpieces of painting that, consider-
ing the scope of this review, I think I
will omit any immediate discussion of
them.
That the movies have come into their
own no longer remains open to doubt.
What does remain is the mandate that
we shall make the very best of the pos-
sibilities of the new art we have been
successful in developing. To do this,
as I have indicated above, it is neces-
sary that our public should cooperate
with us and encourage us along the
new lines that we, who produce, may
feel justified in taking. Those who
show pictures to the public are not as
easily converted to new, experimental
ideas as is the producer, and right there
is where the public comes in with a
vengeance. Go to the box-office man,
my friends, and back up, with a per-
sonal word, any new ideas you are glad
to see making their appearance.
No more striking and stable testi-
mony to the more serious view being
The Public Pulse
101
taken of the movies these days is to be
found outside of the simple fact that
the demand to-day is for multiple
reelers, where yesterday is was for one,
two, and three-reelers. As long as mo-
tion pictures were a novelty, just so
long were they done in miniature ; now
that they are an established, artistic part
of the life of a great many people, the
logical development of a story through
whatever length it may need for proper
treatment becomes a necessity. The in-
teresting thing in this connection is that
people are demanding longer stories ;
they are reading movie novels now,
whereas they formerly read short
stories.
This is not all the story of the de-
velopment of motion pictures, however,
as you may gather from the few ex-
tracts from Mr. Lindsay's book which
I have quoted. The motion picture is
not purely story ; it is picture and story,
•principally picture. That accounts for
the feature film. Greater and more
splendid pictures, speedier and more
telling action. Splendor and speed are
the mystical passwords to motion-pic-
ture success, and, as Mr. Lindsay adds,
"the crisis must be an action sharper
than any that has gone before in or-
ganic union with a tableau more beau-
tiful than any preceding."
I have now given you a brief outline
of one of the most significant comments
upon motion pictures ever made in
book form, and I have said something,
too, of my own opinion in this matter.
What I want you to do for me is to tell
me what you think of all this, and
also along what lines you think moving
pictures should develop; not only that,
but also along what lines you would
really very much like to see them de-
velop. We are in a position now where
we see through a glass darkly, and we
need the/guidance of a friendly pub-
lic. None of us, as yet, know any too
much about this great, new art; we all
have lots to learn. The best sign of
any is that most of us are willing to
learn.
You, my readers, are as I am. In
the pictures which you see, very often
you miss something. What is it you
miss most often? Generalize about
what the movies lack in the message
they bring to you, so that we all get
together and make them what all we,
who are really interested, hope and
pray that they may be. On the founda-
tion of their wonderful past, let us build
a magnificent future.
I hope to receive many letters from
those who earnestly desire to assist the
producers in making better films, and
I assure you that all comments and
suggestions will be studied with care.
When writing me in regard to this mat-
ter, kindly address me in care of "The
Picture Oracle" department, and not
personally. This will aid me in handling
my mail.
SYNOPSIS OF PRECEDING CHAPTERS
LOLA McTODD. daughter of Silas McTodd, the pickle king, is known as "The Pearl of the
McTodds'' because of her beauty. When she was young, a gypsy made the prophecy that if,
when she was eighteen, she placed a wishbone over the door,' the first man to pass under it would
marry her. As her eighteenth birthday arrives, she finds herself with many suitors, chief among
whom are Duke Penruddock and Harold de Yere, a young millionaire. Lola believes she should
marry the duke, though she has never met him face to face, and her father favors the match.
Charlie Chaplin, who has long sought his favorite brand of pickles, learns that they are made
by McTodd, and applies to the pickle king for a place as night watchman at his plant. By mistake
Charlie is the first man to pass under the wishbone, and Lola is greatly excited. Charlie secures
the position, and starts work. The duke arrives unexpectedly, and Lola, who is unprepared, hides
in the factory. She is caught in some machinery, and Charlie saves her life. McTodd offers Charlie
a position in" Samoa as special representative of the firm, hoping to thus remove him from the sight
of his daughter, but Charlie refuses. The duke tries to do away with Charlie, but Harold de Yere
proves the man of the hour, and saves the hero. Later Charlie again saves Lola's life. McTodd
gives a ball to announce the engagement of, his daughter to the duke. Charlie bides in a bank of
palms, and sees Major Bright steal the famous tiara from Lola's neck. He accuses Bright of the theft,
but McTodd explains to him that it is part of a prearranged plan to securing valuable advertising
for the McTodd pickles through the newspapers — as they plan to give out a story about the jewel
being stolen. A fire breaks out in the house, and the* guests flee in panic. Bright steals the tiara
again during the confusion — this time in earnest. He also attempts to take McTodd's life, but
Charlie is on hand to rescue him. Harold also becomes a hero by saving McTodd's stenographer.
Gwendoline. Charlie is hired by the pickle king to trail Bright and secure the tiara, thus postpon-
ing his trip to Samoa. As Charlie begins his search, he learns that Harold is also after Bright.
They decide to work together, and their combined investigation leads them to suspect that the
Duke and Bright are working together, and are a pair of crooks. They trail Bright to Bunkum
& Brawley's circus, where both secure work. They pretend not to recognize Bright, who is a fire
eater with the show. The stampede of an educated pig causes Bright "to drop the tiara in front
of Charlie. A fight follows, in which Charlie vanquishes Bright and two friends who come to
his rescue. Harold seizes the tiara, and flees. Charlie quits the circus and sets out after Harold.
He loses the trail his friend has followed at a farmhouse, and remains at this place ten days,
feeling sure Harold will come to him. One morning he sees Bright, in disguise, heading for a
near-by village, and follows him. Bright comes upon Harold, also in disguise, in the village, and
the two fight in a box car of a train which is pulling out of town. Charlie comes to Harold's
rescue, and forces Bright to tell all he knows about Duke Penruddock. From this information our
heroes learn he is in reality Jack O'Bryne, a noted bank robber. Harold tells Charlie he has
read in the paper that Lola McTodd is to be married to the duke that afternoon. They figure that
the train will arrive in time to save the Pearl of the McTodds, but just as they reach this deci-
sion the train is wrecked. Unknown to them, the workers in the pickle factory, where the wed-
ding was to have been held, strike, and boldly declare they will prevent the ceremony unless their
wages are Raised. McTodd sends for the police.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
BOGGSYILLE, FORTY MILES AWAY !
CHARLIE opened his eyes, sat up,
and thoughtfully pushed a dent
out of the crown of his derby
hat. The branches of a lordly oak
shielded him from the rays of the morn-
ing sun.
Between him and the base of a high
embankment was a heap of kindling
wood and twisted iron rods. On the top
of the embankment stood many freight
ears, some on the rails and some cross-
wise of them, and showing a tendency
to totter into the right of way. A lo-
comotiYe, considerablY demoralized,
Pickles and Pearls
103
had plowed half through a gondola and
was nearly buried in twenty tons of
coal.
Wreckers were at work. A gigantic
derrick was clearing the wreckage
away, but operations had seemingly
only just begun. A man in blue over-
clothes passed Charlie, with a crowbar
over his shoulder.
''Just a moment, friend," called Char-
lie. "Will you tell me where I am?"
"You happen to be safe, for a won-
der," was the reply. "We thought you
were done for. You were carried to
that spot an hour ago, and haven't flick-
ered an eyelid until now. How did you
ever do it?"
"Do what ?"
"Get out of that junk heap alive."
"I give it up. There was a blank, a
hiatus, as it were. A little while ago
I was traveling toward Boggsville ; then
came a crash, and — and I went to sleep.
That was an hour ago, you say?"
"All of that."
"How far are we from Boggsville?"
"Forty miles."
"There were two friends with me in
the box car." Charlie's voice failed him
a little. "Where — where are they ?" he
faltered.
"We saw one man limping away at a
pretty good gait," was the answer.
"Did he wear a red uniform and
carry a paper bag?"
"I can't remember. The other man
was toted this way, and laid on the
other side of the tree. I guess it's a
fatality — the only fatality connected
with the smash. Engine crew jumped
when their old pop bottle hit the coal.
Head-end brakeman fell down on a box
car and hung on to the toe path. The
gang in the way car was only shook up.
I guess," the man added sarcastically,
as he moved on with the crowbar, "that
you'll think twice before you try to beat
the railroad company out of another
ride!"
"H'm!" mused Charlie, feeling
around for broken bones. There were
none, but he found several bruises.
"How did I do it?" he inquired of him-
self, climbing to his feet; "how could I
ever escape from such a comprehensive
wreck as that with hardly so much as a
scratch ? Ha ! Destiny has reserved
me for better things."
He missed his cane, and went to look
for it. One end of the bamboo stick
protruded from the kindling wood. He
drew the cane forth and found it to
be intact. "More luck," he ruminated.
"Let me see," he reflected, "what was
I doing when I encountered this
trouble?"
Already he had thought of Harold
and Pridby, and made inquiries. Xow
he thought of them again, and went
back to the tree and around to the other
side.
Harold de Vere was lying sprawled
out on the ground. His eyes were closed.
A paper bag was clutched rigidly in his
right hand.
"Poor Harold!" murmured Charlie.
"It looks very much as though he had
seen Fifth Avenue for the last time.
But he did not neglect to save the tiara !
I wonder how Pridby missed it before
he limped away?"
Charlie knelt down beside his uncon-
scious friend. With gentle hands he
removed the bag from the clutching
fingers. Strange ! The bag had not
even been torn. Opening the bag, Char-
lie removed from it the glittering, fate-
ful tiara. The McTodd jewels had
passed through many vicissitudes, but
never any like these !
Replacing the diadem in the bag,
Charlie began searching through the
pockets of the ragged red coat. It was
necessary to learn Harold's home ad-
dress in order to communicate with his
next of kin. Perhaps there was a card-
case, or a notebook, or
Charlie felt a thrill as he drew from
an inside pocket a picture of beautiful
Lola McTodd. It was a poster picture
104
Pickles and Pearls
of the peerless beauty, and the adver-
tising had been carefully cut away.
Charlie sat back with the picture in
his hands. As he gazed at the charm-
ing face, he sighed heavily ; then he
looked around warily, and, feeling posi-
tive he was unobserved, he pressed the
poster picture to his lips.
At last, in one keen, vibrant moment,
he had analyzed his elusive emotions.
It had required a train wreck and a nar-
row escape to bring the truth home to
him, but now he knew. Ah, yes, he had
succumbed to the charms of the fair
girl who was that day to be wedded
to a counterfeit duke ! He sighed again,
and again touched his lips to the pic-
ture of Miss McTodd.
"How dare you ! That picture be-
longs to me, if you please!"
Charlie almost dropped the picture in
his astonishment. He turned, to see
De Yere sitting up at the foot of the
oak, aye, and regarding him with bale-
ful eyes.
"Then you are alive !" exclaimed
Charlie.
"Certainly I am alive ! I have as
much right to be alive as you have.
You thought I had succumbed, and that
you could go on to Boggsville alone, re-
turn the tiara, and save the Pearl of
the McTodds from the designs and false
pretenses of Jack O' Byrne. But I am
entitled to as much credit as yourself
for unmasking this false pretender! If
Lola and her father are to choose be-
tween Harold de Vere, millionaire, and
Charlie, the night watchman, the result
is not difficult to forecast. I shall be the
favored one. But," and De Vere's
voice grew bitter, "you have deceived
me ! You yourself are in love with
Lola McTodd !"
"Talking about rights," returned
Charlie, with spirit, "did you ever read
a love story, De Vere ?"
"Have I not, indeed! But what of
that?"
"Tell me, did you ever read one novel
in which the girl failed to marry the
man who saved her life?" There was
triumph in Charlie's voice as he added :
"I have saved Lola twice — twice !"
De Yere dropped his head suddenly,
and pulled a splinter out of his red
coat. Too true, ran his bitter reflec-
tions, this Charlie had rescued the lovely
Lola McTodd more than once ; but
"I had more to do with preserving
Miss McTodd from that infernal ma-
chine than you had !" asserted De Yere,
throwing up his head quickly. "What
could you have done if I had not over-
heard O'Byrne talking with Pridby
there in the hotel? You basely left me
under the rim of the Italian fountain,
and went on to rescue Lola yourself.
And it was equally base of you to take
all the credit."
Physically, Harold had not been in-
jured in the least. Mentally, however,
he was in a terrible state.
Charlie did not wish to quarrel with
De Yere. They had worked together
for several days, and had passed
through grievous dangers and hard-
ships side by side. Now, it was too bad
that a woman should come between
them and kill their friendship.
"Harold," said Charlie soothingly,
"it must be ten o'clock."
"How do I know what o'clock it is?"
was the petulant rejoinder. "My watch
was stolen while I was hurrying to the
factory that night, to save you from the
infernal machine."
"Ten o'clock at least," pursued Char-
lie, "and Boggsville is forty miles
away !"
"Forty or four hundred, what is that
to me ?"
"But at three this afternoon the sup-
posed duke weds Miss McTodd ! Can
you so soon forget the fair Lola and
the net of deceit in which she has been
caught?"
"Ah, me, the wedding!" Harold
struck his forehead heavily. "I had
Pickles and Pearls
105
forgotten about the wedding! The
scoundrelly O'Byrne must be foiled !"
He got to his feet, swaying slightly
and supporting himself against the tree.
"We have a long way to go/' re-
marked Charlie, also rising; "and the
railroad is blocked to traffic. We can-
not ride to Boggsville in the cars, Har-
old, but must seek other means of trans-
portation. You and I were spared from
the wreck just for this work. Let us
be going. YVe will yet foil this pre-
tended duke."
"We will foil the duke!" repeated
HarolcLbetween his teeth. "That is for
me to do, and henceforth I shall work
alone. What has become of Pridby?"
"He escaped, and "
"So/' breathed Harold, ''you allowed
the wretch to escape ! I presume no
more was to be expected of you, now
that your perfidy has been revealed, and
I know you for what you are. I tell
you, I shall save Miss McTodd my-
self!"
Thereupon, he turned away in wrath,
waveringly climbed the embankment,
and tottered off toward Boggsville along
the railroad track.
"The next few hours will tell the
story, Harold de Yere," muttered Char-
lie, "and if I save the beautiful Lola
McTodd the third time "
He did not finish, but clenched his
teeth, flourished his cane, and aimed
straight for a wagon road that crossed
the landscape in the near distance.
Boggsville was forty miles away — but
what were forty miles to him?
CHAPTER XXXYII
OXCE MORE TO THE RESCUE.
The clocks in the little city of Lawton
were striking twelve as Charlie turned
into the main street. He had covered
eight miles between ten o'clock and
noon, and Boggsville was only thirty-
two miles away.
Although weary, he first proceeded
to the railroad station. De Yere, tramp-
ing the ties, had not yet been reported
in and out of Lawton.
"I am still in the lead," thought Char-
lie, and inquired his way to the nearest
garage.
A car and driver were to be had at
three dollars an hour. Charlie had not
three dollars in his pocket, but he had
Mr. McTodd's check for a hundred dol-
lars. He offered this to the proprietor
of the garage, who insisted on a re-
tainer.
The proprietor's name was Leeson,
and Leeson had cashed several checks
for strangers with melancholy results.
'Til have to find out if this is good,"
said he.
"Everybody knows Silas McTodd, of
Boggsville," explained Charlie. "Why,
he owns all Boggsville, including the
pickle works. His check is good for a
million."
"But maybe," and Leeson looked
Charlie over with a suspicious eye, "you
have forged this check. Wait till I run
over to the bank."
Charlie had to wait. While he cooled
his heels in front of the garage, a rattle
of wheels on railroad iron dinned in his
ears. He cast a glance in the direction
of the railroad track, and saw a hand-
car going north. Harold de Yere was
alone on the handcar, and, with tre-
mendous industry, was bending to the
bar that supplied the motive power. In
trepidation, Charlie watched until he
was out of sight. Something had to be
done, and quickly.
The roadster that was to take Charlie
on to Boggsville stood in front of the
garage. The man who was to do the
driving had just filled the radiator from
a bucket and was moving away. Char-
lie climbed into the car, and got under
the steering wheel.
"Hold on a minute!" shouted Leeson,
on his way back from the bank. "Mc-
Todd's all right for any amount, but I
106
Pickles and Pearls
can't take a chance on you. I have been
taken in too many times by "
Buzz-z-z! It was the self-starter get-
ting into action. Clank! The control
slipped into "low," and the clutch came
in with a jerk.
"Stop, I tell you!" yelled Leeson.
"You'll find this car in Boggsville,"
shouted Charlie, "and you can keep the
hundred !"
The wheels ground complainingly as
the control went over to second speed,
then no more than whispered as they
meshed in "high." Charlie, the un-
daunted, was off like a streak along the
main street.
Ten miles was the speed limit within
the corporate limits of Lawton, and
Charlie was going thirty, if he was
going one. A policeman got in front
of the car, and raised his club. A sec-
ond later, he dropped the club as he
jumped to keep from being run down.
The outskirts of the little city whirled
past the roadster, and Charlie came out
into the peaceful country, flanked with
woods on one side of the road and the
railway track on the other. He swept
by De Vere, tugging at the levers of the
handcar, and flung him a mocking, de-
fiant laugh. De Vere, startled by the
laugh, lifted his bent form to stare at
the racing car in the wagon road. He
shook his fist at his former comrade.
Charlie barely caught that menacing
gesture out of the tails of his eyes, when
De Vere and the handcar were swal-
lowed up in the distance behind.
At Hooperton, the next station, a
chain was stretched across the road.
Evidently the garage men had tele-
phoned from Lawton, and Charlie was
expected.
Hooperton was a village. The chain
was stretched between posts planted at
the edge of board walks reserved for
pedestrians. On one of the walks stood
a constable, with a large and prominent
star on the breast of his coat. This of-
ficial waved a heavy cane.
But did Charlie stop ? Not at all. He
knew how to drive a car with judgment
and skill, and he simply turned the ma-
chine to the walk, rattled over the
boards, and came into the road again
beyond the chain.
In his haste to dodge disaster, the
constable backed into the window of
the village store, and, when Charlie van-
ished across the sky line, the store-
keeper was out in front, giving the con-
stable a piece of his mind.
Right merrily, Charlie kept to his
winning clip. At the rate he was going,
he ought to arrive in Boggsville by one
o'clock, with two full hours in which to
return the tiara and convince Silas Mc-
Todd that the prospective wedding was
a mistake.
Motor cars, however, are noted for
proving unreliable in a pinch ; and this
pinch of Charlie's gave the roadster an
opportunity to go wrong. Suddenly
there was a sputtering, a few ineffective
explosions, and the engine gasped and
went out of business.
Charlie got down and looked things
over. No matter how much one may
know about an automobile, when the
crisis arrives, and the motor refuses to
mote, any one of five thousand things
may have happened, and it is always the
last thing you look for that has stalled
the machine. Patiently, Charlie began
going through the list of troubles that
might have caused the car to go wrong.
Minute after minute slipped away.
With feverish energy, Charlie pursued
his diagnosis, but he probed and pot-
tered to no avail.
After nearly an hour of unrewarded
effort, during which he spoke harshly of
all motor cars in general, and of that
one in particular, he found a loose brass
pin dangling from the end of a rubber
cord. As he slipped the pin back into
its socket and prepared to resume his
journey, the pur of another machine
struck on his ears.
He looked back along the road over
Pickles and Pearls
107
which he had come, and, on a little
"rise," he saw a touring car. Leeson
was at the wheel of the car, and be-
side him sat — Harold de Vere ! Char-
lie could make no mistake in identify-
ing either of the men, for they were in
plain view, and coming on at terrific
speed.
De Vere must have realized how lit-
tle hope there was in pitting a handcar
against an automobile, and winning out.
Undoubtedly he had come" down from
the railroad, and hailed Leeson as he
chased along in pursuit of the roadster.
But the whys and wherefores were of
small concern to Charlie. His ideas all
centered about Boggsville, and he put
the roadster in motion and speeded up.
For miles, there was a race such as
one might hope to read about occasion-
ally, but never to see. During all that
wild and fearsome driving, De Vere
was waving his arms wildly, and urg-
ing Leeson to a faster and faster pace.
The touring car was gaining, too, for
Leeson was reckless to the last degree,
while Charlie had his own safety more
or less in mind. Then, as usual, Char-
lie had one of his. happy thoughts. He
put his foot through the roadster's wind
shield, and fragments of glass were
scattered along the road. He listened
as he bent to his work of steering, and,
from behind, there came a sharp report.
The broken glass had caused a punc-
ture, and the touring car, as Charlie saw
by a swift glance behind, almost stood
on its searchlights for a moment. De
Vere shot one way and Leeson another,
while their machine settled down and
halted, with its nose against a telegraph
pole.
Charlie, at this point, struck a sec-
tion of rough road. He had to hang
to the steering wheel, to keep from
being thrown out of the roadster. The
engine labored. A smell of frying
enamel assailed Charlie's nostrils, and
smoke floated in clouds from under the
hood.
It was clear that he was burning up
his motor ; but it was equally clear that
he dared not stop to let the overheated
machinery cool off. Onward he flung,
spouting vapor and leaving a trail of it
far in his wake.
He was close to Boggsville when the
expanding metal under the hood choked
the pistons, and the tired engine popped
and sputtered its last. It died fighting,
behaving so valiantly that Charlie re-
gretted having roasted it.
Half suffocated by the rolling fog,
Charlie toppled from the car, and, with
the bagged tiara in one hand, and his
cane in the other, crawled to a distance
and filled his lungs with fresh, sweet
air.
. Getting his feet under him, he ele-
vated himself. From the little height
on which he stood, he was able to look
off toward Boggsville. Between his
point of observation and the town lay
the pickle works.
After all- those days of struggle and
peril and high achievement, how his
heart swelled as his gaze comprehended
those loved walls of the factory ! It
was as though he stood looking into the
dear features of a cherished friend,
from whom he had been separated for
years, instead of days ! He stretched
out his arms toward the gray walls, he
kissed his hand to them, and But
stay! Why were those automobiles
parked at the rear of the shipping
room? What meant that crowd near
the workroom entrance?
As he gazed and wondered, three
strokes of a bell rolled faintly toward
him from the factory clock. It was
three in the afternoon! Three, and the
hour of the wedding was at hand !
That bell galvanized Charlie into ac-
tion. Waving the bag wildly, he gal-
loped toward the factory. '"Wait for
me !" he shouted excitedly to the lower-
ing heavens. "This wedding must be
called off! Wait for me!"
108
Pickles and Pearls
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
NOT WISELY, BUT TOO WELL.
The situation at the entrance to the
workroom will be recalled. Hand-
somely gowned ladies, and gentlemen in.
frock coats and high hats, were barred
from the interior of the works by a
crowd of determined strikers. Mr.
McTodd, his authority set at defiance,
was facing Big Bill Hankins, foreman
of the shipping room, and spokesman
for his discontented fellow workers.
Bill Hankins, it was known, had
fanned the smoldering grievances of
the employees into a flame of out-and-
out rebellion. In fact, it was due to
his generalship that advantage had been
taken of that hour in pressing home the
demands of the strikers.
Perhaps it will also be recalled that
Blivens, the bookkeeper, had started for
the nearest telephone to send in a call
for the police. It was not the intention
of Big Bill to let a riot call be sent in.
"Stop, Blivens!' he roared.
Blivens stopped. There was a com-
pelling note in that bellowing command
that filled him with dismay and brought
him up short.
, "Go on, I tell you !" cried Silas Mc-
Todd frantically. "Send the police here
at the double-quick, Blivens ! I will see,
by George, if a respectable manufac-
turer is not to have protection against
his ruffianly workers !"
Blivens moved onward again, only to
be halted by an even more emphatic
shout from Bill Hankins.
"Try to call the police," threatened
Hankins, "and we will destroy all the
decorations in the tank room ! W e
will tear to pieces the banks of flowers
that cover the vats, rend to fragments
the great bell of cucumber blossoms,
smash the chairs, and damage and dis-
arrange the velvet carpet! Then," and
he leaned toward the white-faced and
gasping proprietor to breathe the final
unnerving threat, "we will set fire to
the works ! Sir, call Blivens back, or
all this will happen !"
A murmur ran through the ranks of
gathering guests. The power of the
lawless strikers was beginning to be un-
derstood. Silas McTodd fell silent,
and his trembling hand brushed his
brows. It must have been as a dream
to him, a terrible nightmare. He
swayed as he stood, and the faithful
Blivens sprang to support him.
There was a lull in proceedings.
Hankins had played his biggest card,—
and a pall of silence hung over the
scene. At that juncture, a voice was
heard, ripping through the stillness like
an explosion of musketry :
"Wait for me !"
Dazed, wondering eyes turned in the
direction from which the voice had
come. A young man, waving a bag
with one hand and a cane with the
other, was tearing around the corner
of the factory.
"Charlie!" whispered Silas McTodd,
in hopeless tones, and dropped his face
on the shoulder of Blivens.
"It is Charlie!' yelled Bill Hankins,
in an abandon of joy. "He'll be with
us, friends, and he is a host in himself.
According to our revised schedule of
wages, the night watchman is to receive
ten a week. There is a four-dollar raise
in this strike for Cheerful Charlie !"
Hankins did not know that Charlie
had been persuaded to go to Samoa.
The whereabouts of Charlie, during the
preceding ten or twelve days, had been
more or less of a mystery to the em-
ployees of the works.
"Charlie ! Charlie ! Charlie !"
shouted the workers, waving caps and
handkerchiefs. "Charlie is with us !
He is a striker, like all the rest !"
Charlie, entirely in the dark regard-
ing recent events at the factory, was ex-
ceedingly bewildered.
"What's the trouble here, Bill?" he
demanded.
"We're demanding our rights, Char-
Pickles and Pearls
109
lie," answered Hankins. "Eight hours'
work and more pay all around — except
for Blivens, Jorkins, and Miss Rives.
You are with us, of course?"
Charlie was popular with the men
employees, and lately he had stood
pretty high in the esteem of the lady
workers. If he did not join the strikers,
he would incur the general dislike of
the factory force. He wavered.
"Charlie," said Mr. McTodd, lifting
his face and directing an imploring
glance at his former night watchman,
"are you going to turn against me?"
That question, spoken just in that
way, would have melted a heart of
stone. How was Charlie to escape from
that snare, continue in the good graces
of his employer, and yet keep the
friendship of the employees?
"Bill," said he, "we must talk this
over. Mr. McTodd," he added, "a
word in private with you."
Charlie and the helpless proprietor
stepped aside.
"Why don't you cut down the hours
and raise the pay, Mr. McTodd ?" Char-
lie inquired.
"Because," was the dogged response,
"the McTodds have always run their
own business, and they have made it a
point of honor never to allow them-
selves to be intimidated. Honor, with
me, means more than life itself."
"H'm !" mused Charlie. "This strike
is the real thing? It has not been de-
veloped for — er — publicity purposes?"
"How can you ask such a question?"
"Pardon me. You are so remarkably
skillful in running down press notices,
that the question, I think, was excusa-
ble. By the way, I have recovered the
tiara."
"I expected that," was the calm an-
swer, "but the tiara has nothing at all
to do with this trouble. The men will
not let me into my own workroom. Is
it in your power to open the way ?"
"I will try, sir."
Charlie went back to the strikers and
addressed himself to Hankins.
"Bill," said he, "this is very unfor-
tunate. You have a daughter — in the
chow-chow department ?"
"I have, as you know," Hankins an-
swered. "Henrietta is with us in this
strike, and she is just as determined as
the rest of us. We are resolved to have
justice, Charlie."
"Bill," proceeded Charlie gently,
"suppose, on the very day Henrietta
was taken away from you, your job in
the shipping room was taken away as
well ?"
"I — I don't exactly understand,"
mumbled Hankins.
"This afternoon, according to plans,
Mr. McTodd is to be robbed of his only
child. The factory here is the source
of the McTodd millions. Can you not
picture to yourself the sad lot of your
employer, beset, as he is, on this day of
days ? His daughter is the apple of his
eye, even as this factory is his pride
and joy. Now — now " Charlie's
emotions welled up in his throat and
bothered him. "Bill, is our kindly em-
ployer to have his child stolen from him
by a duke, at the same time his factory
is closed against him by his employees?
Is he to be bereft of the love and com-
panionship of his devoted daughter,
and of the right to operate the pickle
works, in one dread afternoon? My
friend, pause ere it be too late !"
It was a most powerful appeal. The
words were simple, but they were as
direct as they were touching. Big Bill
swallowed a lump in his throat, and
winked away the furtive tears.
The workers, too, showed signs of
distress. It was clear that they, like
their leader, were wavering.
The ladies and gentlemen in the
background struggled to conceal their
feelings. Blivens smothered a sob, and
Silas McTodd passed a handkerchief
across his eyes.
It was a tense moment, exceedingly
110
Pickles and Pearls
tense. Charlie hoped that he could con-
trol himself until he had cleared a path
for Mr. McTodd into the factory. He'
went on.
"Don't bear down too hard on our
employer this afternoon, Bill ! Be
kindly. Allow him to enter these por-
tals without interference. Let him
range freely about the premises ; and
oh, Bill, brighten his declining years
with friendly cooperation. Thus, my
friend, you will win happiness for your-
self, while dispensing it to others !"
By that time, Big Bill Hankins was
crying on his coat sleeve.
"I — I don't know why you had to
c-come around and pull this soft stuff
on me right when we c-could strike a
telling blow, Charlie," said he plain-
tively, "but you have crushed the strike
for this afternoon, all right." He lifted
his head and waved his hand. "Let 'em
have the factory for the wedding,
friends," he called to the strikers. "We
can do this for Charlie, anyhow."
The workers cleared away and left
the silken canopy free for the passage
of Mr. McTodd and his guests.
"Wedding?" echoed Charlie, startled.
"Miss McTodd is to marry the duke
here at the works," answered Hankins,
"and we were holding up the ceremony
until we could get our rights. But it's
all right, now. You "
Charlie dropped, not easily and
gracefully, but with a suddenness and
abandon which indicated a most disor-
dered state of mind. He had used his
wonderful eloquence on the strikers,
not wisely, but too well. In fact, he had
helped along the very wedding which it
was his purpose to prevent.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE MISSING BRIDE.
A stream of ladies and gentlemen
poured into the great tank room,
wrought into a bowrer of beauty for that
festive occasion, and were shown to
seats by the ushers. Charlie came out
of his daze to hear Mr. McTodd giv-
ing orders to the bookkeeper.
"Use the office phone, Blivens, and
call up the manor. Tell my daughter
to come in ten minutes. Also, get the
Boggsville Hotel on the wire, and give
the same instructions to his grace, the
Duke of Penruddock. The ceremony
wiil be half an hour late, and I fear my
little girl will be worrying."
"i will do the telephoning at once,"
said Blivens, and hastened away.
Charlie got up. "Mr. McTodd !" he
called. "Just a minute."
The pickle king stepped to the side
of his employee.
"Again you have placed me in your
debt, Charlie," said he gratefully. "By
George, you -did that well! Where is
the tiara ?"
"Here, sir," and Charlie passed over
the paper bag.
Mr. McTodd looked into the bag to
make sure there was no mistake.
"Some time," said he, after convincing
himself that the tiara was really in his
possession, "you must tell me all about
how you recovered the jewels. I am
very busy this afternoon, however, and
have no time to listen to your story.
You look fatigued, my boy ! Go up into
the loft and rest."
"I can't rest, Mr. McTodd," returned
Charlie. "I can't rest a minute until I
make a few terrible revelations. Sir,
this wedding must not proceed ! The
The great man stiffened. "Must not
proceed!" he echoed. "What do you
mean ?"
"The man who calls himself the Duke
of Penruddock is not a duke," Charlie
continued. "He is a fortune hunter, a
dishonorable schemer, who "
"Careful!" cut in Mr. McTodd
angrily. "You are going too far !'
"The man who claims to be the Duke
of Penruddock is a scoundrel, and his
real name is O'Byrne, Jack O'Byrne.
Pickles and Pearls
111
The police want him for various crimes,
and very soon he will be arrested and
thrown into prison. He "
"Preposterous !" scoffed the pickle
king.
"Lately the man was ringmaster in
a circus
'"Stop!" exclaimed Mr. McTodd, in a
passion ; "I will hear no more. You,
you of all men, can come to me at a
time like this with such base fabrica-
tions !"
"O'Byrne is a designing "
"Cease! You are the designing one.
Having rescued my daughter twice, you
have presumed upon her gratitude and
mine, and have dared to aspire to her
hand yourself! How can you behave
so!"
"It was this so-called duke who sent
the infernal machine to me "
"Nonsense ! His grace would not
stoop to such questionable work. Why
should he send such a machine to you ?"
"He was afraid I would stand in his
path "
"You will drive me insane ! Leave
here at once. I will send you a check
to pay for your work in recovering the
tiara, but you shall not go to Samoa in
my employ, nor will I allow you to
work for me another instant."
But Charlie stood his ground.
'"Listen," he continued firmly, but re-
spectfully. "If this wedding proceeds,
I will use all the powers of my elo-
quence to stir up the strikers! Your
employees will sweep in on the factory
and halt the wedding by force, if neces-
sary. Mr. McTodd, I am a man with
a mission, and that mission is to save
your daughter for the third time."
Enraged though he was, this threat
gave the deluded manufacturer pause.
Charlie had demonstrated his powers as
an orator, and Mr. McTodd knew he
would be as good as his word.
Fate was back of all this, fate as that
gypsy, eighteen long years before, had
foreseen it and cast it into rhyme.
Could not the awful spell be broken?
Silas McTodd ground his teeth and
clenched his hands in a spasm of sud-
den helplessness.
At this moment, three men hurried
around the corner of the factory.
"There he is!" called one of them.
"Arrest him ! Do not let him escape !"
Charlie looked up and recoiled. Lee-
son was bearing down on him. Ere
Charlie could make a move either to
flee or to defend himself, a burly police-
man had him by each arm.
"What is the meaning of this?" in-
quired Mr. McTodd.
"This man," and Leeson leveled an
accusing finger at Charlie, "'stole an
automobile from me. I run a garage in
Lawton, and the fellow made off with
the machine. ' I took another machine
and followed, but the rascal managed to
keep out of my way until this moment."
Charlie shivered. He could not dodge
these blows of circumstance, but he
could face them with his customary
courage. This he did.
"I gave you a check for one hundred
dollars," said he. "Mr. McTodd's
check it was, and you would not accept
it."
"Wouldn't take my check for a hun-
dred dollars ?" bristled the manufac-
turer. "Do you mean to insult me?"
"Sir," answered Leeson, "I would ac-
cept your check for any amount, but the
man who presented it was a stranger.
How did I know the check was not
forged?"
"In those circumstances," said Mr.
McTodd, grasping at the chance to
eliminate Charlie for the afternoon at
least, "in those circumstances, sir. you
were entirely justified in refusing, the
check."
"I was in a hurry to reach Boggsville
and stop the wedding," Charlie ex-
plained, "and that is why I took the
car."
"Your interference with the wedding
was not desired." declared Mr. Mc-
112
Pickles and Pearls
Todd coldly, "and will not be tolerated.
Take him away, officers !"
"Wait !" begged Charlie. ''Mr. Lee-
son, you have recovered the machine I
used in coming to Boggsville ?"
"I have."
''Then keep the hundred-dollar check
and let me go !"
"You have damaged the car at least
two hundred dollars' worth,'" said Lee-
son, "and I am determined to proceed
against you."
Charlie had one more hope. "Mr.
McTodd, give Leeson what you are to
pay me for recovering the tiara, and
see if he will call our little account
square."
"Never!" answered the pickle king.
"Away with him ! Ah," he added, hur-
rying toward the front of the factory,
"here comes the duke !"
Charlie had done all that he could,
and had failed. Rude hands dragged
him away, past the scoundrelly Jack
O'Byrne, who, with his best man, was
just descending from his automobile.
O'Byrne saw Charlie in the grasp of
the officers.
"I always knew that man was a
rogue, Mr. McTodd,' said he. "What
has he done that brought him to this?"
"I was deceived in him," answered
the pickle king. "He stole an automo-
bile."
"My word !" And the polished
scoundrel looked after the hapless
Charlie and gave a mocking laugh.
"Come into my private office, duke,"
went on Mr. McTodd. "My little girl
will be here presently, and we will wait
there."
In the luxurious private quarters of
the pickle king, the proprietor of the
factory, the bridegroom, and the best
man waited for the coming of the bride.
They waited until a quarter of four,
and then Blivens came in to ask the
cause of the delay. The ladies and gen-
tlemen, gathered to witness the cere-
mony, were growing restless, and the
organist had been waiting for fifteen
minutes to play the wedding march.
"You called the manor when I told
you to, Blivens?" queried Mr. McTodd.
"Yes, sir."
"Are you sure Lola received the mes-
sage ?"
"She took the message herself."
Then Mr. McTodd himself called up
his residence. Hawkins answered. Ac-
cording to Hawkins,. Miss McTodd had
left the manor in the limousine at
twenty-five minutes of four.
"Could there have been an accident?"
queried the supposed duke, in alarm.
"We must discover what has hap-
pened," answered the anxious pickle
merchant. "I will take my roadster and
go over the road. Have no fears, duke."
he added, trying to be composed ; *all
will be well."
In ten minutes, Mr. McTodd was
back at the factory. His face was pallid,
and he reeled as he entered the private
room.
"Where is Miss McTodd?" was the
question flung at him.
The pickle king threw up his hands
and dropped heavily into a chair.
"Was there ever such a mystery as
this?" he groaned. "My daughter left
the manor for the works at twenty-five
minutes of four, and somewhere be-
tween our home and the factor}' she dis-
appeared completely. Ah, Heaven,
what can this mean?"
The bride was missing. There could
be no wedding without the bride. What
fearsome influences had been at work
to cross the plans of Silas McTodd and
his fair daughter, Lola?
CHAPTER XL.
THE ESCAPE.
Two of the largest members of the
Boggsville police force had been de-
tailed to accompany Leeson and arrest
the man who had taken the automobile.
Charlie looked up at these guardians of
Pickles and Pearls
113
the peace while walking jailward be-
tween them, and they seemed so for-
midable that he was badly discouraged.
"Mr. Leeson," said he, looking to-
ward the garage man who was walking
behind, ''would you mind telling me
what became of the gentleman in the
red uniform?"
''Gentleman !" sneered Leeson. "He
was a tramp, like yourself, and no
friend of yours."
"Do not be rash in your judgments,
Mr. Leeson. Many a true heart beats
beneath a ragged coat, and not every
man in motley is a vagrant or a vaga-
bond. I should like to know what be-
came of the man who was once my
friend."
"I picked him up in the road — he
hailed me, said he knew you, and was
eager to have a hand in running you to
earth. Thinking his information re-
garding yourself might be valuable, I
delayed my pursuit long enough to take
him aboard."
"That is all very interesting," said
Charlie, "but it does not relieve my
mind regarding my former comrade.
Was he injured when your machine
stopped so suddenly and threw you both
overboard ?"
Mr. Leeson exploded angrily. Char-
lie waited until the ebullition had sub-
sided, and then patiently repeated his
question regarding De Vere.
"We repaired the puncture and came
on to Boggsville," said the angry garage
man, "and the tramp got out of the car
when we arrived in sight of the town.
He explained that he had some busi-
ness, either at the McTodd manor, or
at the church."
"I suppose, then," murmured Char-
lie thoughtfully, "that he is waiting at
the church. There is nothing he can do
to stay the relentless progress of events,
and the whole matter is still up to me.
Gentlemen," he inquired of the officers,
"am I giving you much trouble ?"
<8A
They looked down on him, those two
giants in blue, and smiled sarcastically.
"There's nothing you can do to make
us trouble," said one. "Eh, Pollock?"
he appealed to the other policeman.
"Not if we know it first, Blake,"
chuckled Pollock.
"Yonder is a house," said Charlie.
"Would you mind leading me through
the gate in order that I may quench my
thirst at the pump in the back yard ?"
"I'm. thirsty myself," remarked Lee-
son, as the officers hesitated.
"I guess we can tarry long enough to
visit the pump," decided Pollock, "al-
though my idea of a thin time is to
round up at the pump of a householder
with the intention of assuaging thirst.
However," he added tolerantly, "I sup-
pose some people are built that way."
They walked through the gate,
around the side of the house, and came
to the well, which Charlie had glimpsed
from the road. There was something
else he had glimpsed besides the well,
namely, two hives of bees under a little
trellis of grapevines.
The bee Charlie knew to be an in-
dustrious insect, jealous of its preroga-
tive in storing up sweets, and quick and
fiery in resenting any and all interfer-
ence with its labors. Those two hives
were not more than six yards from
the pump.
"You are very kind to me," said
Charlie appreciatively, edging to a spot
between the pump and the rendezvous
of winged workers. "Shall I do the
pumping ?"
"You stay right where you are," Pol-
lock answered, "and I'll manipulate the
pump handle. Leeson, you hold the tin
cup."
Blake fastened his fingers in the col-
lar of Charlie's coat, while the other of-
ficer and the garage man began their
operations. It was a situation fraught
with many possibilities — Pollock and
Leeson bending at the pump, only Blake
114
Pickles and Pearls
to guard the prisoner, and all those bees
in the background.
Charlie opened the proceedings by
stepping suddenly and forcibly away,
from Blake. The latter's hold on the
coat collar failed.
"Here !" snapped Blake, moving on
Charlie with outstretched hand.
"They'll hand you a drink when ■
Ugh!"
i The breath was forced from Blake's
lips by a quick compression of his chest.
A large number thirteen, with paralyz-
ing suddenness, had found its mark. In
spite of the swiftness with which it was
delivered, that blow was a studied ef-
fort. The huge policeman was over-
ended in the direction of the bees. The
bench, on which stood the hives, was
struck with force, and the honey-
makers found themselves with homes
overturned and demoralized. Immedi-
ately, a cloud of buzzing and angry in-
sects surrounded the trellis, and began
seeking revenge. It is the nature of a
bee, when rudely treated, to attempt
reprisal ; and, in these attempts, it lacks
the power of discrimination. The in-
nocent as well as the guilty are apt to
suffer.
"Help!" shouted Blake. "The pris-
oner is getting away ! Pollock, look out
for "
Then Blake had other matters to
think of, and they did not even re-
motely concern the escaping prisoner.
A hissing sounded in his ears, and point
was given to the angry whispers by cer-
tain red-hot punctures of his epidermis.
"Ouch !" he roared, thrashing his
arms about him, arid bounding to his
feet. "Take 'em off! Do something!
Pollock — Leeson "
He ran toward the pump, and the
swarm flew with him. Pollock was
starting after Charlie, one way around
the trellis, while Leeson was going the
other way. The bees were not playing
favorites, and they marshaled in three
squads, and each squad sought a victim.
A lady ran out of the house to pro-
test against the wanton destruction of
her property. The intruders had
brought the situation to such a pass,
however, that the lady preferred to re-
main at a distance and urge a pet bull-
dog, that had come from the house with
her. to enter the melee.
The dog bounded joyously to his
work, and laid hold of the coat tails of
Mr. Pollock. A detachment of the bees
made for the dog, and the animal's dis-
position, none too gentle at best, was
prodded and spurred until particularly
malevolent.
Leeson led the flight toward the road.
Blake followed, and Pollock brought tip
the rear, with the bulldog firmly at-
tached.
Charlie saw no more. While the of-
ficers and the garage man, wrapped up
in their personal troubles, fled toward
the front of the premises, and blindly
sought the gate, Charlie was racing to-
ward the back fence. He himself was
not immune from that stinging malady.
A few of the bees deployed in his di-
rection, and helped him to a swifter
pace. He took the alley fence at a leap,
and then flung off down the alley itself
at a prodigious burst of speed. His
safety lay in flight ; but. while he felt it
highly desirable to preserve his liberty,
it seemed even more desirable to escape
the buzzing demons which insisted on
following him. In this he presently
succeeded, and found leisure to deal
with his whereabouts.
McTodd Park was away on the left.
The park, however, held unpleasant
memories, and he chose the woods that
lav to his right, and stretched between
the pickle works and the town. In a
few minutes, he was immured in the
thick timber, and could halt for breath
and consider what was next to be done.
Seating himself on an uprooted tree, he
fell to canvassing the present state of
his fortunes.
Pickles and Pearls
115
He was a fugitive from injustice. In
trying to be helpful to others, he had
suffered arrest, and would have suf-
fered detention but for that bit of bee-
yutiful strategy.
His reward for his labors had been
sorry, indeed. Silas McTodd would not
listen to his revelations, but had turned
against him. Charlie had thought bet-
ter of McTodd than that!
But should the fair daughter of the
deluded and headstrong pickle king
have her whole future wrecked because
of her father's folly? Xot if Charlie
could save her ! He was desperately de-
termined on that point.
Yet. what was there that Charlie
could do? The wedding was taking
place at the works — perhaps the cere-
mony had already been finished — and
the ducal pretender could snap his
fingers at interference. There was no
time for Charlie to find Big Bill Han-
kins and talk the strikers into raiding
the factory.
The outlook was exceedingly srloomv.
<_> - o
Charlie had achieved his liberty, but to
no purpose, it seemed, so far as the un-
fortunate Pearl of the McTodds was
concerned. The fugitive was at the
lowest ebb of his fortunes, and it ap-
peared best, even necessary, to take
himself completely and quietly out of
the country, bidding farewell to Boggs-
ville forever.
But he would be even with Jack
O'Byrne ! There were ways
His reflections were broken in upon
by a distant cry of distress. It was a
call for help, and in a woman's voice !
Thrilled, he sprang from the tree
trunk, shouted a gallant response to
the frenzied call, and galloped rapidly
through the woods. At last he halted,
paralyzed with amazement. In front of
him was a limousine, far off the road,
and crowded into the bushes. A stout
rope was bound around and around the
car, crossing the doors, and holding
them shut. Through the encircling ca-
bles peered the white, despairing faces
of two young women.
One of the faces was that of Jenkins,
the maid, while the other — ah, the won-
der of it! — was that of beautiful Lola
McTodd !
TO BE CONTINUED.
This department will answer questions submitted by our readers either of general
interest, or relating to pictures. Xo answers will be given to questions regarding matri-
mony, religion, " or photo-play writing. Letters should be addressed : Picture Oracle,
care of this magazine. 79 Seventh Avenue, Xew York City. Write only on one side
of the paper. Xo questions will be answered unless accompanied by full name and address,
which, however, will not be used. At the top of the paper give the name, or initials, by
which you want the question answered in the magazine. No questions will be answered
except through these pages. All questions will be answered in the order received, so that
failure to see the answer in the next number means that its turn will come later, as we
receive many letters a week, all wanting an immediate answer. "When inquiring about
plays, give the name of the play and the name of the company, if possible. Questions con-
cerning photo-play' writing should be addressed to editor of the scenario writers' depart-
ment, above address.
ELSIE. — My dear girl, you cer-
tainly have given me a long and
hard job! Don't let that trou-
ble you, though; the more I have to
work, the better I like it. Theda Bara
was born on an oasis in the Sahara
Desert, twenty-five years ago. No, she
is not a Jewess — her mother is French
and her father Italian. For all the de-
tails, read her own story of her strange
life in the issue of February 15th.
While it is against our policy to state
the salary of players. I am willing to
tell you that Miss Pickford draws a
salary of more than twice the amount
you mentioned. If you want to knowT
whether or not the field is overcrowded,
just walk along Broadw7ay, in the vicin-
ity of Times Square. You will find
hundreds of capable players parading
"the Great White Way"— jobless. If
you ever did become a screen player,
your hair, being red, wouldn't be
against you. Look at Mae Marsh. I
think, though. Elsie, that you had bet-
ter stick to the choir — you would be
much nearer home, and the work is
easier. I am very glad to hear that
singing in the choir never "affects" you.
In my opinion, humble as it may be,
the Ince Brothers should be ranked: I.
Thomas ; 2. Ralph ; 3. John. You see, I
am no respecter of ages, as John is
much older than the other two. Com-
pare Henry Walthall and Crane Wil-
bur, eh ? Walthall. I think, is the great-
est screen actor in the world. That's
the answer. Four versions of "Car-
men" have been produced. I rank them
as follows: 1. Fox Film Company,
starring Theda Bara ; 2. Lasky, Geral-
dine Farrar; 3. Thanhouser, Mar-
guerite Snow ; and" 4. Helen Gardner
Players. Helen Gardner. The
"vampires" you mention I rank thusly:
1, Theda Bara; 2, Louise Glaum; 3,
Grace Cunard, although it's been a long
time since the latter has played one of
The Picture Oracle
117
these ''soul-destroying" parts ; 4, Char-
lotte Burton comes next, and although
she is placed last, she is one of our
most fascinating little ''evil ladies" on
the screen. No, Elsie, Flora Finch is
not the widow of the late John Bunny ;
nor is she married to Hughey Mack. I
can't answer the next question, because
it is against the rules. Willard Mack
tells me that he cannot claim the honor
of relationship with friend Hughey.
Coss'ie. — David W. Griffith spent
eight long months producing the "Birth
of a Nation," and it is stated that the
cost exceeded half a million dollars;
Worth it, don't you think? Yes, Mae
Marsh was great in that picture — I en-
joyed her work more than that of any
of the other players. She was born in
Madrid, New Mexico, nineteen years
ago. Pretty May Allison had the lead
opposite Harold Lockwood, in "The
Buzzard's Shadow."
Jane \V. — Dear me, nothing but long,
hard questions this issue. I'm always
on the job, though, ready to serve you.
William Hinckley played Stuyvesant
Brown, junior, in "The Wayward Son"
(Reliance). Audrey Munson, a fa-
mous artist's model, was featured in
"Inspiration" (Thanhouser) ; the in-
comparable Bessie Barriscale was
starred in "The Mating" (N. Y. M.
P.) ; William S. Hart was the name of
the man you talked about after seeing
"The Darkening Trail" (N. Y. M. P.) ;
Harold Lockwood was featured in
"The Buzzard's Shadow" (American).
I think it's a toss-up between "The
Mating" and "The Darkening Trail"
for the honor of being called the best of
these four Mutual masterpictures.
William Farnum is now playing at the
Edendale, California, studios of the
Fox Company. His latest film, at this
writing, is "A Soldier's Oath." Husky
William was born in Boston, July 4,
1876. Theda Bara is working in the
Fort Lee, New Jersey, Fox studios. Her
last feature was "The Serpent." She
was born on the Sahara Desert twenty-
five years ago. Dorothy Gish is again
back at the Triangle Studios, in Los
Angeles. She has finished playing in
"Betty of Greystone,' at the Eastern
plant. Dot was born in Dayton, Ohio,
in 1898. Betty Brown, the winsome
little Essanay lady, first saw the light of
day in 1892. The place was Nyack,
New York. The latest film she has
played in is "The Reckoning Day."
Dustin Farnum was born the same time
and place as his illustrious brother Wil-
liam. He is at present working at the
Pallas-Paramount Studios, in Los
Angeles. His most recent offering was
"The Call of the Cumberlands." An-
tonio Moreno, that handsome Spaniard,
was born in Madrid, twenty-seven short
years ago. He was last seen in "A
Price for Folly," and is still working
for the Vitagraph Company. Robert
Mantell, Fox's new leading man, was
born in Ayrshire, Scotland, in 1854.
His latest release is "The Green-eyed
Monster." At present, he is heading
one of the many Fox companies in
Jamaica, West Indies. I've spent half
a day looking up your answers already,
Jane, and I haven't reached the end yet !
The men you mention for heavies are
now nearly all playing dashing heroes.
Of them all, I would choose Harry
Carey as the greatest screen villain, but
he is now an upholder of the right
fighting the "Graft" Trust in Uni-
versale big serial. Taking their best
heavy work as a criterion. I would rank
them as follows: 1, Harry Carey, Uni-
versal ; 2, Stuart Holmes, Fox ; 3, Bry-
ant Washburn, Essanay ; 4, Jack Rich-
ardson, American. Jack Richardson is
said to receive more mash notes than
any of the others, so he must be the
handsomest. I'm sorry, but I'm not al-
lowed to mention the salaries they re-
ceive. Mary Pickford receives the
largest salary of any dramatic star. The
same goes for Charlie Chaplin in the
118
The Picture Oracle
comedy end. Sorry, Jane, but it is
against the rules to tell ' 'who's married
to who." According to Metro's hard-
working press agent, Mary Miles Min-
ter is the youngest star. She is not
quite fifteen. ''Daddy" Manley, of
Universal, is the oldest of them all. He
forgets when he was born. It's so long
ago — over eighty years, in fact. The
best pictures? Triangle and Para-
mount, in my humble opinion. So peo-
ple tell you, you would make a good
film player ? Don't believe all you hear.
Allison Admirer. — Thank heavens,
a short question at last ! Barbara Gil-
roy was in the girl in "Bill Bunks, the
Bandit" (Falstaff). Glad you like the
magazine. That makes it unanimous.
I'll speak to the editor about Miss Alli-
son's picture.
M. Bond. — Shorter than the other —
thank you. You may address Mr.
Bushman in care of this magazine, or
the Metro Film Company, New York
City. You guessed the color of his
hair and eyes — light ' and blue re-
spectively.
Miss L. W. — I don't know of any
picture player of note who attended a
moving-picture school. A written ap-
plication to a studio would do you little
good. In fact, I think you would be a
great deal happier if you stayed at
home.
Babe Gentry. — Awfully glad you
enjoy the magazine so much, Babe. You
want to know what- has become of
"your" Florence Lawrence? She is
back in the fold, appearing in Universal
features. Now, aren't you glad?
C. A. Bushnell. — Pathe Freres,
New York City ; Universal Film Com-
pany, New York, and Mutual Film
Company, New York, all produce edu-
cational motion pictures.
C. E. F. — Thanks, a thousand times.
We wish you all the good luck you wish
us. Smiling Billy Mason is the chap
who played the lead in "You Know Me,
Al" (World). You may address him
in care of the Keystone Film Company,
Los Angeles. Billy is now dodging
bricks and pies at that address.
B. R. — Another Chaplin fan ? Yes,
Charlie is about the cleverest picture
comedian that was ever flashed on the
screen. According to Charlie, he was
born in France, of English parents.
EL D. E. — Young Jack Pickford
played the same part in "A Girl of Yes-
terday" (F. P.) as he does in real life —
"Little Mary's" brother. Burt L.
Standish writes the Frank Merriwell
stories. I can't tell you anything about
correspondence courses, as I never
studied any.
Cleo. — Cleo, you're beginning to
seem like an old friend. You haven't
missed writing me for several issues.
Yes, the Bushman Theater was named
after the one and only Francis X. The
late John Bunny had several theaters
named after him, as have Maurice Cos-
tello, Mary Pickford, Florence Law-
rence, and several others.
G. M. — Mae Marsh was born in
Madrid, New Mexico, nineteen years
ago. She entered the picture field five
years ago with Biograph, under Grif-
fith's direction. When he left for Mu-
tual, she accompanied him, and the
same thing happened when he affiliated
himself with Triangle. Miss Marsh has
never been on the stage. Her best-
known film is "The Birth of a Nation."
She has been sick in Colorado for sev-
eral weeks, but is again back at the
Triangle studios, in Los Angeles.
Sorry, but I can't answer the marriage
questions — against the rules, you know.
Willard Mack and Enid Markey
played opposite one another in "The
Conqueror" (Triangle). "Don Quix-
ote," produced by Edward Dillon for
the Triangle Company, and featuring
De Wolf Hopper, has proven a big sue-
The Picture Oracle
119
cess. It was necessary to prolong its
run in New York City. Personally, I
liked it very well. The work of Fay
Tincher and Julia Faye pleased me the
most. So you want interviews? Wait
and — watch !
Universal Fan. — The cast in "Mr.
Mcldiot's Assassination" (Universal-L-
KO) is as follows: Mr. Mcldiot, Ray
Griffith ; the Chief Assassin, Dan Rus-
sell ; the W oman, Louise Orth. In
my opinion^ the greatest pair of fun-
makers are Charlie Chaplin and Mabel
Normand. Charlie will have to look
out for his clever brother Syd. Bev-
erly Bayne is the beautiful girl who
plays with Mr. Bushman. Billie
Ritchie is funny, all right, but give me
Charlie Chaplin any day in the week.
E. Z. — George Walsh played the lead-
ing role opposite Theda Bara in "'The
Serpent." His clever brother Raoul
directed the production.
Maryanne. — So you think that Ed
Coxen and Crane Wilbur curl their
hair? Maybe they do — I don't know.
Winifred Greenwood plays opposite
Coxen, and Crane, of the flowing locks,
has Cecilia Santon as leading lady.
Very sorry, but the rules of the depart-
ment forbid my telling the wages — par-
don, I mean salary — that each receives.
Dizzy Dan. — Your name suits me,
after looking up these answers. Baggot
was born in St. Louis, 1870; Bush-
man, in Norfolk, Virginia, 1885 ;
Mary Fuller, in Washington, District
of Columbia, 1893 ; Arthur Johnson, in
Cincinnati, 1876; Mary Pickford, in
Toronto, Canada, in 1893; Lillian
Walker, in Brooklyn, 1888; and last,
but not least, the stately Earle Wil-
liams first saw the light of day in Sacra-
mento, California, in 1880. Didn't
.think some of them were so old, did
you?
Moore Admirer, Johnny, Peter
Pan, Frisco Fanny, V. T. E., Mary,
18; D. R., Raymond G., Belle o' th'
Boulevard, A. A. B., N. Brown, Den-
ver; Tommy, Lizette, Pickford Fan.
— Your questions have all been an-
swered above, or are against the rules.
Don't let this stop you from writing,
though ; the more often I hear from
you, the better I like it. Be sure to
read the rules under the title of this
department, and if your question is not
among those barred, send it along. By-
by till next issue.
THE IRONY OF FATE
I TAKE her to a picture play ;
She smiles, says 'Thank you!" and — I pay,
And then she lauds each leading man
From Francis X. to Wallie Van.
Moreno, Walthall, Wilbur, Drew,
Bushman, Williams, Lockwood, too,
Costello, Blackwell, Johnson, Hall,
Baggot Gosh ! She loves them all !
And I am better far than they,
I find the nicest things to say,
I'm just as handsome as can be —
But she won't even look at me I
Marjorie Gleyre Lachmund.
fiiiiiciiiHiiinitiuiiiiiimittiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiitniiMfiittuiiimiiiuiiiiiiiiini!,
oliitTtf /or
ofaenario ypritetzs
m Glctretice <J. Gctitte
UNPLEASANT SUBJECTS.
T" T may be highly dramatic to have
| your hero dying of consumption by
degrees while he hastens back to
his home to tell the girl he has always
loved that the man she believes untrue
to her is reallv the man for her to
marry, but — when you see something
similar on the screen, you will remark
that the man's death struggle is mighty
unpleasant to look at, and that the au-
thor of the scenario should have se-
lected a more agreeable theme.
That applies to all the other "ques-
tionable" dramatic situations which,
when worked into a scenario, do not
appeal to the artistic mind. The world
is so full of subjects which thrill and
grip the human heart that there is no
need for making use of that which re-
pels the finer senses. Now and then
something of this variety may be used
as a sharp contrast, or a play which
deals with it entirely, such as some of
the most noted Henry B. Walthall suc-
cesses, may be used, but in the average
photo play it is best to avoid it as much
as possible.
The photo-playwright must always
consider the women and children who
will be among his audiences. To their
minds, anything unpleasant is a poor
screen subject, and they will avoid the
theater at which they saw the picture
in the future. The exhibitor, therefore,
will suffer, and the manufacturer will
suffer through him. Therefore the sce-
nario editor is usually opposed to sub-
jects which are liable to offend any mo-
tion-picture-theater patron and on his
black list, with a big check mark oppo-
site it, is the unpleasant subject or any
variation thereof.
ANOTHER SAMPLE SCENARIO.
In the next issue of this magazine,
we will publish a sample scenario of
the multiple-reel variety so that our
readers who have studied our single-
reel sample may become better ac-
quainted with the difference existing
between the two. There will be explan-
atory matter to accompany the scenario
similar to that which was printed at the
time the one-reel sample script ap-
peared.
MR. WILLETS' VIEWS.
Gilson Willets, one of the foremost
scenario writers in the country to-day,
who is the author of most of the no-
table pictures put out by the Selig
Polyscope Company, recently expressed
his views on the art of writing for the
motion-picture screen in a few well-
written paragraphs. AYe reproduce
Hints for Scenario Writers
121
them herewith, without comment, as
they carry their own message :
There is probably an army of five hundred
thousand men and women in this and other
countries to-day who are ambitious to be-
come writers of the photo play. Out of that
great number, perhaps a few hundred are
consistently successful. Why? Because an
idea seemingly prevails that the profession
of photo-play writing is an easy one ; that all
that is needed is a typewriter and some pa-
per and — then to dash off a comedy or
drama and await payment thereafter.
Never was there a more mistaken concep-
tion ! The profession of photo-play writing-
is not an easy profession. Long study and
experience are necessary before one can suc-
ceed in other professions, and yet men and
women will not understand that the art of
creative writing is as difficult a profession.
To succeed as a photo-playwright, or as a
writer of fiction, one must possess the power
of observation ; one must have acquired an
insight into human nature; one must have
talent of originality; and, also, one must
have the power to put down on paper that
which he sees.
ONE' DANGER.
Very often, when working over a
plot, an author comes to a certain point
where he seems to travel in a circle.
He works harder, perhaps, than ever
before, and yet he can make no head-
way. He builds up carefully a certain
line of development, only to find that
he has to discard it because it leads to
what he is trying to avoid. Then his
mind refuses to penetrate the darkness
which envelops what he believes to be
the right road, and, try as he will, he
cannot effectively concentrate on the
plot.
The best thing to do when in a posi-
tion like this is to put away all work
and forget it for the immediate pres-
ent. It may be a rush order, but one
certainly can gain nothing by trying to
work when the mind is confused. A
half, or even a quarter, of an hour's
walk may bring one back to the work
refreshed, or a longer period of re-
laxation may be required.
Some say that one must either mas-
ter one's plot at once or be mastered by
it, and this is largely true. When one
gets off with a flying start on a story,
he will probably glide easily to the fin-
ish, even though the story may be most
exceptional when finished. At other
times, when the main idea is hard to
secure and the development has to be
forced, one may do what he consid-
ers his very hardest and very best work,
and when he looks over the script find
that he has created the worst sort of
stuff.
Each writer must understand himself
in this matter. He must study his pe-
culiarities and learn how he can best
avoid this danger. It is purely an indi-
vidual problem, and, like others we
have referred to in the past, must be
treated by each individual. The best
we can do is to call it to the attention
of all our readers and offer general
suggestions on the matter.
SCENARIOS AND COPYRIGHT LAW
AGAIN.
Senator Boies Penrose, of Pennsyl-
vania, has introduced a bill into -Con-
gress, which, if it goes through, will so
amend the copyright laws that motion-
picture scenarios will be subject to
copyright, the same as unpublished
books and unproduced plays written
for the speaking stage. It is provided
that any person entitled thereto under
the provisions of the act may secure
a copyright for a scenario by typewrit-
ing the same with notice of copyright
as required, and such notice must be af-
fixed to each copy of the scenario pub-
lished, typewritten, or offered for sale
in the United States by authority of the
copyright proprietor.
It is further stated in the bill that if
it be enacted into law. copyright may
also be had on a scenario by the deposit
of two typewritten copies of the title
and description, with cast of scenes
without prints or other identifying re-
productions thereof. After copyright
has been secured by the publication or
122
Hints for Scenario Writers
typewriting of the work, with the notice
of copyright as provided above, the
owner shall promptly deposit in the
copyright office or mail to the register
of copyrights, Washington, District of
Columbia, a complete copy of the
scenario, together with one print taken
from each scene or act, each to be ac-
companied by a claim of copyright. Xo
action or proceeding would be main-
tained for infringement of copyright in
any work until the provisions of deposit
of copies and registration of such work
shall have been complied with.
Section twenty-five provides that if
any person shall infringe the copyright
in any work protected under the copy-
right laws of the United States, such
person shall be liable (a) to an injunc-
tion restraining infringement, and (b)
to pay to the copyright proprietor such
damages as the latter may have suf-
fered, due to the infringement, as well
as all the profits which the infringer
shall have made from such infringe-
ment, and in proving profits the plain-
tiff shall be required to prove sales only,
and the defendant shall be required to
prove every element of cost which he
claims, or, in lieu of actual damages
and profits, such damages as to the
court shall appear to be just; and in
assessing such damages, the court may,
in its discretion, allow the following
amounts : In the case of the infringe-
ment of an undramatized or non-
dramatic work, or scenario, by means
of motion pictures, where the infringer
shall show that he was not aware that
he was infringing, and that such in-
fringement could have been reasonably
foreseen, such damages shall not ex-
ceed the sum of one hundred dollars ;
in the case of a copyrighted dramatic or
dramatico-musical work or scenario by
a maker of motion pictures and his
agencies for distribution thereof to ex-
hibitors, where such infringer shows
that he was not aware that he was in-
fringing a copyrighted work, and that
such infringements could not reason-
ably have been foreseen, the entire sum
of such damages recoverable by the
copyright proprietor from such in-
fringing maker and his agencies for
distribution to exhibitors of such in-
fringing motion picture shall not ex-
ceed the sum of five thousand dollars,
nor be less thar two hundred and fifty
dollars, and such damages shall in no
other case exceed five thousand dol-
lars, or be less than two hundred and
fifty dollars. This is not to be regarded
as a penalty, and the exceptions shall
not deprive the copyright proprietor of
any other remedy given him under the
copyright law, nor shall the limitation
as to the amount of recovery apply to
infringements occurring after the actual
notice to a defendant, either by service
or process in a suit or other written no-
tice served upon him. The court may
allow one hundred dollars for the first,
and fifty dollars for every subsequent
infringing performance.
ANSWERS TO READERS.
R. A. Doud. — In an early issue — per-
haps the next — this magazine will carry
a sample scenario which will be of the
multiple-reel variety. By studying this
script, you will be able to learn just
what the difference between a one-
reeler and a longer scenario is.
L. Z. Hauteaux, New Bedford,
Massachusetts. — We nave a list of all
the film companies, which we will send
upon receipt of a self-addressed,
stamped envelope. This will give you
the information you desire in regard to
the studios in New York City. If you
write these studios, and state just why
you wish to visit them, telling what ex-
perience you have had, and what your
ambitions are, we believe everything
would be made agreeable for you. It is
our honest opinion, however, that more
knowledge can be gained by studying
the screen than by visiting the studios.
If you follow our department closely,
Hints for Scenario Writers
123
you will receive enough hints as to how
the pictures are made to enable you to
"look behind" the scenes, as they are
flashed on the screen, and figure out ex-
actly how they were taken.
H. LeVine. — We do not understand
what you mean when you ask whether
you write the synopsis of scenario first.
If you mean in the script as it is sub-
mitted to the editor, the answer is the
synopsis, but if you mean which you
write first when working out your story,
there are several answers. Some
writers write out a detailed synopsis of
plot action for their own benefit before
beginning to write the scene action ;
others do this mentally, and write their
scene action before anything else. In
either case, the final synopsis prepared
for the editor is written last, after the
scenario proper has been completed.
The fact that it is written last seems to
contradict what we said in the begin-
ning of the answer, but it doesn't, for
when the script is retyped, the first
thing that is written is the synopsis, as
it is the first thing to be read by the
editor.
M. Murray. — It is best to* submit
scenarios to the scenario department,
rather than to the managing director of
a company. Some companies prefer
multiple reelers, while others are in
need of one and two-reel plays. Send
a self-addressed, stamped envelope for
our market booklet. By watching our
department from issue to issue, and by
carefully studying the screen and your
own plays, you will soon gain an insight
into the art. To perfect yourself, after
that, will mean much work and hard
study.
L. H. Porch. — Not all of the com-
panies produce comedies, but a fair por-
tion of them do. It is a question of pro-
ducing good comedies, not just com-
edies. Joker is produced by Universal,
and Starlight is a brand released by one
of the lesser programs.
H. Friedman. — We regret that we
cannot suggest any company of the class
you mention, as we are not well-
enough acquainted with them.
J. K. Bridgers. — If you will send a
self-addressed, stamped envelope, we
will send you our market list. The aver-
age price for scenarios is from twen-
ty-five dollars to one hundred dollars
per reel, depending entirely upon how
good the scenario is. We do not at any
time read or criticize manuscripts, so
to send them to us is a waste of time
and postage. We promptly return all
that .are sent us, unread, if return
postage is inclosed.
J. K. Osborne. — We do not use
scenarios here at all, as we are publish-
ers, and in no way a motion-picture
company. Read answer to J. K.
Bridgers in regard to our market book-
let, and to the prices paid for scenarios
by the producing companies.
P. D. Hatch. — Read the foregoing
answers, and you will learn where you
can secure a market list, and how.
LIVE-WIRE MARKET HINTS.
The Vim Comedy Corporation, 750
Riverside Avenue, Jacksonville, Flor-
ida, is in need of slapstick comedy
scenarios, and are willing to pay twenty-
five dollars per reel and upward for
suitable material. All material which is
submitted must have a story, and con-
tain original situations, in order to meet
with the approval of this concern.
Scenarios which offer star parts to
its two child players — about seven years
of age — and which contain action far
above the ordinary, are needed by the
Lubin Film Manufacturing Company,
Twentieth Street and Indiana Avenue,
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. These are
preferable in three reels, but a two or
a one-reeler might do. One-reel com-
edies of the polite variety suited to Bil-
lie Reeves are also in demand.
r~|^HE letters have been pouring in
at a lively rate of late, much to
the extreme satisfaction of ye
scribe. Mary Davis Carr obliges with
her opinions on the best smilers among
the actors and actresses, which she
ranks as follows : ( I ) J. Warren Ker-
rigan, (2) Crane Wilbur, (3) Carlyle
Blackwell, (4) Tom Moore, (5) Henry
Walthall. She wants to know if I
agree with her. In some cases I do,
and in some I don't, but every one has
his taste.
All of the above mentioned have a
winning smile of their own, but Miss
Carr has overlooked three of the best.
Did any one ever miss that Charlie
Chaplin smile? Of course they didn't.
Let me tell you that it is the most fetch-
ing smile that there is, a real, honest-
to-goodness smile. The same goes for
Douglas Fairbanks, of Triangle. Just
look at a photo of "Doug" smiling, and
you will find yourself smiling, too. You
can't help it. I know I couldn't. Henry
Walthall, although he very seldom
smiles, has one so genuine, when he
does, that you can't help ranking him
among the best. Miss Carr picked two
of the best, in my opinion, anyway.
Here is my list of the five with the
smile: (1) Charles Chaplin, (2) Doug-
las Fairbanks, (3) Tom Moore, (4)
Wallace Reid, (5) Henry Walthall.
She gets along much better with her
woman smilers, picking three of the
best, in my opinion. Her list is as fol-
lows: (1) Mary Pickford, (2) Mar-
guerite Clark, (3) Anita Stewart, (4)
Marguerite Cortot, (5) Constance Tal-
madge. She admits that Ruth Roland
is some smiler, but regrets that she can't
place her among her five. Ruth Roland
certainly has it on Constance Talmadge,
when it comes to smiling; in fact, she
is one of the best little smilers that we
have. Here is my list of the actresses
with the fascinating smile: (1) Mary
Pickford, (2) Marguerite Clark, (3)
Marguerite Cortot, (4) Violet Mese-
reau, (5) Ruth Roland.
An original serial by Jack London,
written especially for the Yitagraph
Company, and arranged in scenario
form by Charles W. Goddard, one-time
playwright, but now a full-fledged
photo-playwright, has been turned over
to that company, and is soon to be
filmed. It is a red-blooded tale of ro-
mance and adventure.
Florence Lawrence is hard at work
at the Universal studios, at Leonia,
New Jersey, after a long vacation spent
on her farm.
Marie Doro, formerly of the stage,
and more recently of the Griffith play-
ers, has joined the Lasky Company,
where she plans to become a regular
motion-picture player and give iip her
stage work.
Screen
The arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Sydney
Drew at the Metro studios recently
gives that concern four members of the
noted Drew-Barrymore family. Ethel
and Lionel Barrymore are the other two
representatives under the wing of the
feature company which has made them
all sit up and take notice.
And now we have with us a him
version of Rex Beach's "The Ne'er-do-
well," with Kathlyn Williams and
Wheeler Oakman in the leading roles.
Selig made the picture and sold it to a
Western exchange man for the fabu-
lous sum of one hundred and fifty thou-
sand dollars. It ought to be something
worth seeing.
The Signal Film Corporation, of Los
Angeles, which is putting on "The Girl
and the Game" serial, has added Rhea
Mitchell, formerly of the Ince players,
and Ray Meyers, one time a Griffith
director, to its list, and will make five-
reel masterpieces, edition de luxe for
the Mutual program.
Lou Tellegen and Geraldine Farrar
recently denied the rumor that the sun-
lit skies of California affected their
hearts while they were working at the
Lasky studios last summer, but a New
York paper insists that friends of both
are convinced that wedding invitations
are soon to be sent out. It would in-
deed be quite an honor for the home of
Lasky pictures to be the setting for the
beginning of a romance between two
such noted persons.
The Lieblers, one of the noted the-
atrical producing firms of a few years
ago, are about to enter the film game,
according to rumor, and have already
signed Cyril Maude to act before the
camera for them. Mr. Maude will be
Gossip 125
remembered for his wonderful por-
trayal of the character role in "Peer
Gynt" for the Morosco Company by
those who do not know of his remark-
able stage career.
The lights in the studio have proved
too much for Charles Richman's eyes,
and the noted Vitagraph Company's
leading man has been forced to take a
vacation. He has worked steadily in
the studio in Brooklyn for almost a
year, and has played the lead in such
big plays as "The Battle Cry of Peace,"
"One Night," and many others.
David Warfield, far-famed and
much-celebrated character, who has
long been associated with Belasco, the
producer, has flatly declared he will
never act for the films. It seems a pity
that his art should not be preserved for
future generations if he is really in ear-
nest, but other stars have said the same
thing, and then, when a producer beck-
oned— but why go on? It's the old
story.
Theda Bara has made a terrible dis-
covery, and hereafter will take utmost
care not to walk under ladders, not to
marry more than once on Friday, the
thirteenth, and not to do anything with-
out first crossing her fingers. Oh, yes,
the reason? "Theda" may be recon-
structed to spell "death."
Joe Jackson, who has made thousands
laugh in vaudeville houses throughout
the world with his "tramp" character
portrayal, is to be seen in a Triangle-
Keystone production.
Willard Mack, who did really won-
derful work under the direction of
Thomas H. Ince, has turned his atten-
tion to the scenario end of the game,
126 Screen
and signed a contract to write exclu-
sively for Lasky. George Bronson
Howard and Paul Dickey have also
signed similar contracts with the same
firm.
Gossip
Robert Harron visited New York a
short time ago on a sad errand. He
brought East the body of his brother
Charles, who was killed in an auto-
mobile accident in Los Angeles.
One of the big deals in the film-pro-
ducing game which has been hanging
fire for a long time, and which has only
recently been consummated, is the
merger of the World and Equitable
companies, through which the former
concern passes out of existence.
Tom Moore, of the famous Moore
family of screen favorites, has reen-
tered the field with the Lubin Company.
The Blue Bird Photo Plays, Incor-
porated, who are soon to set forth a
number of big plays featuring big stars,
has issued a statement which stamps
the concern as being quite different
from others of its class. It has said
that no stage star can secure an engage-
ment without having already made good
in at least one picture on the screen.
This means that every star they will
present will have a following in the
smaller photo-play houses, as well as
in the larger houses, because of his or
her combination of stage and screen
success.
William Fox, a producer who has
risen to the top of the game in the last
year, has laid plans to build a film city
on Long Island which will surpass any-
thing of its kind in existence. Five
fully equipped studios are to be in-
cluded in the city.
Tyrone Power has deserted the Selig
Company and joined Universal, where
he is working under the direction of
Lois and Phillips Smalley. His first
picture is "The 111 Born."
That the Famous Players Company
and Mary Pickford are not to sever the
relationship which has been so profit-
able to both is made certain by the for-
mation of a new company to be known
as the Famous Players-Mary Pickford
Company. In this newly organized con-
cern, "Little Mary" is said to own fifty
per cent of the stock. All her future
pictures will be made by this company
and released through Paramount, as has
been done in the past.
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II
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THE WESTERN REALITY
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The story is told by
13. M. BO^WE>R
Author of "Chip of the Flying U" and the widely
read " Happy Family " stories.
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can read it complete in
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w
MARY PICKFORD'5 PERSONAL
VIFWS OFMOTlbN PIfTIIRFS J
PICTURE-PLAY
MAGAZINE
| Vol. IV CONTENTS FOR APRIL, 1916 No. 2
Gallery of Favorite Picture Players
1
Unusual photographs of the leading actors and actresses
How They Have Changed .
Lloyd Robinson
17
Mary Pickford's personal views of motion pictures
The Lasky Studio
Robert C. Duncan .
25
A trip to another big producing plant
Making a Million-Dollar Picture
Creighton Hamilton
35
Filming a big play you will see very soon
T% 1 • 1 ■ 1 P 117* I 1 JiH 1 1
Behind the Scenes With ratty and Mabel
Wil Rex
46
Kxplaining how laughs are put into Keystone comec
ies
One Extra Girl ....
Ralph Strong
54
An unusual article about an unusual person
The Light that Failed
Will H. Johnston .
64
A short story
Green Stockings ....
Kenneth Rand
75
A short story
The Public Pulse ....
Francis X. Bushman
85
Feature department
The Golden Chance
Will H. Johnston .
88
A two-part story — conclusion
103
Question and answer department
No Greater Love
Burns Patterson
108
A short story
Pickles and Pearls
William Wallace Cook .
122
A Chaplin serial
A Dressing Room on Wheels
Mary E. Porter
132
How a screen star solved a difficulty
Hints for Scenario Writers
Clarence J, Caine .
134
A Sample Scenario
Out of Range of the Movie Camera
150
Pictures of stars when they are not acting
Screen Gossip ....
Neil G. Caward .
152
Timely news of the film world
Monthly publication issued by STREET & SMITH, 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York City. Ormond G. Smith and George C.
Smith, Proprietors. Copyright, 1916, by Street & Smith, New York. Copyright, 1916, by Street & Smith, Great Britain. All kights
Reserved. Publisher? everywhere are cautioned against using any of the contents of this m-.gazine either wholly or in part. Entered at New
York, N.Y., Post Uthce as Second-eiass Matter, under an Act of Congress of March 3, 1879. Canadian Subscription, SI. 86. toreign. 32.22.
WARNING — Do not subscribe through ajents unknown to you. Complaint? are daily made oy persons who have been thus viccimuea.
IMPORTANT— Authors, aeents and pub'ishers ire requested to note that thU firm d.ies not Hold itself responsible for loss of unsolicited manuscripts while at
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YEARLY SUBSCRIPTION, S1.50 SINGLE COPIES, 15 CENTS
■ v '<tJ
MAR 1 1 1916
WHICH IS THE PRETTIER?
This picture shows the two Mersereau sisters, Violet and Claire, both of whom have reached the
public's heart through Universal films. The former, who is the best-known, is at the left. Their directors
who have reached no decision, pass on to you the problem of which of the two is the more beautiful.
DOROTHY GISH
(Griffith-Triangle.)
CHARLES RAY
(Ince-Triangle.)
ANITA STEWART
(Vitagraph.)
WILLIAM GARWOOD
( Universal.)
WALLACE REID
(Lasky.)
GERTRUDE ROBINSON
(Gaumont.)
S3ENA OWEN
(Griffith-Triangle.)
HOUSE PETERS
( World-Equitable.)
RUTH BLAIR
(Fox.)
ROBERT WARWICK
( World-Equitable.)
VIVIAN REED
(Selig.)
ANN MURDOCK
{Essanay.)
BESSIE EYTON
(Selig.)
IRENE HOWLEY
{Metro.)
HELEN BADGLEY
(Thanhouser.)
©CI.B357076
MISS MARY PICKFORD
the idolized star of the Famous Players Company, has
approved the following article as being in corrobo=
ration with her own persona! views of motion pictures.
OWHERE is the tremendous
progress of the motion picture
more strikingly reflected than
in the audience which crowds the photo-
play theater to-day. In the short span
of years which measures the life of
this giant industry, the motion-picture
theater itself has grown from the cor-
ner grocery store to the palatial estab-
lishments which one finds in the heart
of the theater district of every great city
in the country.
But the theater is simply an indica-
tion of the character of its audience,
and the audience, in turn, is an index
of the quality of the films which are to
be found on the screen. For, as in
every other walk of life, a man is
known by the company which he keeps.
In the days of not so long ago, the
film enthusiast was lured into a gaudily
bedecked little theater of negligible
ventilation, which, in nine cases out of
ten, was a converted store. \\ nen he
had climbed over two or three dis-
gruntled citizens, and found an unoc-
cupied seat, if he was at all sensitive, he
automatically took stock of his sur-
roundings.
And what surroundings they gen-
The old way of making the public gasp and bringing success to a picture.
I
18
How They Have Changed
erally were ! To his left, there would
probably sit a man of pungent Latin
extraction, whose love of self-betraying
vegetables was annoyingly apparent.
On his right there sat, perhaps, a
squalling infant, who preferred to
place his feet in the visitor's lap, rather
than that of the totally unconscious
mother. Fate would generally place
our enthusiast immediately in front of
a pair of sight-seeing shopgirls, whose
audible enjoyment of their chewing
gum was only interrupted by such eru-
dite remarks as "Ain't it grand," ''Some
dress that," or "Pipe the eyes on that
guy, Josie."
Above the chorus of infantile wails
there arose at times the violent protests
of a helpless piano, which seemed
to be lifting its strident voice in protest
at the manhandling which it was receiv-
ing from a heartless brute.
Or, if our enthusiast went to a vaude-
ville theater to seek amusement, he suf-
fered equally, if not similarly. At the
end of the stage portion of the per-
formance, when the lowly film was an-
nounced, there was a stampede of those
who seemed to make it a point of never
being caught in the act of looking at
the "shiftin' pichers," as they were
eruditely called by one devotee. If our
enthusiast determined to see the films,
despite all comers, or goers, he gen-
erally drew his feet up under him after
the third or fourth person had trod
upon them, and then began frantically
dodging back and forth in a wild en-
deavor to catch at least a fleeting
glimpse of the screen between the scur-
rying forms of the departing spec-
tators.
Then, just as something of unusual
interest appeared on the screen, some
large woman, with a plume-bedecked
hat, would surge up out of her gallery
seat, and the picture would be obscured
by the shadow of her finery. By the
time that the woman had moved, the in-
teresting scene was gone, and he found
even his own determination baffled.
How different is the situation to-day,
when there is scarcely a big theater in
any city that has not been given over to
motion pictures at one time or another.
The palatial Strand Theater, in New
York, with its seating capacity of over
three thousand, is a striking example
How They Have Changed
19
of the tremendous upward step which
the silent drama has made within a very
few years. It is one of the most beauti-
ful theaters ever built in America, and
it was erected, for the sole purpose of
exhibiting motion pictures. The Strand,
however, is not an exception to the
rule of devoting great houses to the
newer form of amusement, but is rather
typical of what is being done all over
the country.
The progress of the motion picture,
measured by the architectural develop-
ment of the theaters, has a parallel in
the history of the advancement of the
quality of the productions. This,
strangely enough, has its counterpart in
the development of the modern stage
drama within the last
twenty-five years.
There are still many
who will remember such
thrilling stage produc-
tions as the Indian
dramas, "The Cat-
tle
the Continent," and others, in which
Buffalo Bill and some of the cele-
brated scouts appeared. Next there
came a deluge of thrillers, depending
chiefly upon mechanical ingenuity for
their effect: "A Ride for Life," "The
Still Alarm," "Ninety and Nine," and
others of that ilk, which introduced the
fire engine, locomotive, and other star-
tling things in the role of props.
Next came the spectacular offerings,
military plays that filled the stage with
troops and horses. "The Drummer
Boy of Shiloh," "Shenandoah," and
others too numerous to mention held
the boards. Then there followed the
society dramas, such as "Zaza," "Iris,"
"Sold," "The Mummy and the Hum-
Three poses that display "Little Mary's" versatility. Miss Pickford has risen to be the most popular
person in the world and has never appeared in a single "thriller"— which is proof
enough that the change in pictures has been for the better.
20
How They Have Changed
ming Bird," "Bought and Paid For,"
"Bella Donna," and hundreds of others.
It will scarcely be necessary to trace
the parallel for any motion-picture fol-
lower, for he will see in this very brief
sketch of the stage development an al-
most exact replica of the story of the
film. Biograph, Edison, and the other
early-day companies flooded the screen
with Indian films, and then, as trick
the "drawing-room" drama, which
reached its culmination with the intro-
duction of adaptations of many of the
great stage dramas, some of which have
already been enumerated. Though
there were some society plays produced
upon the screen in the early days of
the motion picture, the thrillers and
"stunt" pictures were so greatly in the
majority that it was not until 1912,
Helen Gibson is one of the few who survives as a player of thrillers — but even she has to be
an actress as well.
photography became more and more
thoroughly understood by the camera
men, they used all sorts of "effects."
Realism ever has been one of the great
assets of the motion picture, and this
fact was used to the utmost advantage
by the producers. The Civil War burst
forth on the screen in all its glory, and
the actor dead littered the fields for
miles around.
Then the next phase of the story was
when the Famous Players Film Com-
pany inaugurated the first feature pro-
gram devoted to the introduction of
stage stars and adaptations of theatrical
successes, that dramas of this character
became a potent factor in the motion-
picture industry.
To-day, they are in the great major-
ity with producers in general, the
African picture and other exotic set-
tings being in the minority.
How They Have Changed
21
Marguerite Clark's wonderful expression and acting are what carry
her pictures.
Another marked tendency away from
the old order of things is the trans-
ferring of .many of the
death-defying thrillers
from tragic and adventur-
ous stories to comedies.
The comedian to-day
must needs be a combina-
tion of india-rubber man,
clown, and bombproof
structure.
In the "old" days, if
one may apply such a
term to an industry so
young, the thrilling stunts
were done by brawny he-
roes, or little slips of
girls, of whom nobody
had ever heard until they
made their leaps through
space — and into ephem-
eral popularity. There
were many of these
iris who became stars,
deserted the stage
building up great
rule was Mary Pick-
ford, who has be-
come the foremost
of film stars without
ever risking her
neck in any of these
frantic films.
The remarkable
personality of Miss
Pickford, together
with her previous
stage training, made
it unnecessary for
her to enter into this
suicide race.
Though Miss Pick-
ford is essentially a
film star, as against
Marguerite Clark,
Geraldine Farrar,
Pauline Frederick,
Madame Petrova,
and others who have
for the screen, after
reputations on the
through
their daring rather than
through their histrionic ability. One of
the notable exceptions to the general
A "thriller" would i
This remarkable
way into the
spoil a Mary Pickford film.
star has learned the
people's very hearts.
22
How They Have Changed
former, her progress on the screen has
been marked by performances of ex-
actly the same type as those in which
her confreres have been starred. That
is, they are comedies and dramas of the
so-called society type, which have been
adapted from stage or book, or stories
which have been written expressly for
the individual.
With the possible exception of an
aeroplane flight, which she made in
California during the taking of "A Girl
of Yesterday," and which it was not at
all necessary for her to make so far as
the actual film was concerned, since the
use of a substitute would never have
been detected, Mary Pickford has never
starred in scenes where sheer physical
courage predominated over all histri-
onic requirements. It is, perhaps, due
to this fact to a degree at least, that
Miss Pickford has continued to hold
her prestige, while many of the girls
who were considered great film favor-
ites a few years ago have faded into
comparative inconspicuousness.
A very simple explanation of the fail-
ure of these exponents of the thrill in
motion pictures to hold sway undoubt-
edly lies in the fact that the public has
come to suspect the authenticity of
many of the feats which appear on the
screen. When the old trick picture was
at its height, and the public received
each new trick and each new thrill with
a "How do they do it?" it was inevitable
Geraldine Farrar is also an exponent of the newer art where impressive acting rules.
I
How They Have Changed
that this question should tempt many
writers to give answers to the inquiries.
The public wanted to know — why not
capitalize the market ability of such
stories and tell it ? So there appeared
in magazines of all kinds and sizes,
articles which explained in detail, with
profuse illustrations, the exact methods
by which many of these effects were
obtained. It was shown that the
heroine did not really pick the child up
off the tracks, as the rushing express
train bore down upon her, but that the
whole process was reversed, and that
she actually laid the child down on the
tracks as the engine backed away.
The agile gentleman who nimbly
crawled up the side of a house, to the
amazement of the audience, was shown
to have crawled safely across a studio
floor on his hands and knees upon a
huge piece of canvas, which was
painted to resemble the front of a huge
building. The daring leap from the
cornice of one skyscraper to the top of
the adjoining building was shown to
have been a very commonplace jump,
rendered perfectly safe by the fact that
the connecting roof between these ap-
parently separate structures was just
out of range of the camera. With this
concealed, the effect was that of a
yawning chasm, and the distant view of
the street confirmed the impression of
towering heights, whereas the only pos-
sible danger was that of a sprained
ankle, if perchance the jumper missed
his footing and fell to the connecting
roof a few feet below him.
Then the matter of substituting or
"doubling" extras for the stars in dif-
ficult roles was explained very thor-
oughly, and so many instances were
cited of cases where doubling had been
resorted to, that the canny ones pro-
ceeded to shake their heads wisely
every time a star turned her face away
from the camera. It was a sure sign
that somebody was doubling! They
knew, because they had read it all.
23
Thus, by the single act of exposing
a few of the incidents in which illu-
sions had been created, the picture men
robbed themselves of the great sustain-
ing power of mystery. Just so long as
the public remained in the dark con-
cerning the technicalities and the me-
chanics of film making, just so long
would it have retained its interest in
them. We all have a very wholesome
respect for everything that we do not
understand — the worship of the sun,
moon, and stars sprang from a great
awe of the unknown. But now, that
astronomy and meteorology have taught
us many physical facts concerning our
neighbors, we no longer look upon
them with the same feverish intensity
with which they were formerly re-
garded.
With the glamour of mystery once
removed, the pendulum of credulity
swung the other way, and the public
became so skeptical concerning every-
thing in the way of thrills which ap-
peared upon the screen, that scenes of
this nature became a drug upon the
market. Nobody would dare to admit
that he believed a spectacular stunt to
be real, for fear of bringing down the
ridicule of the initiated upon his head.
Shorn of the prestige which came
with their exhibitions of daring, the
actors and actresses who had made
them their -stock in trade found it
necessary to turn to other things. As
a result, most of these players have
abandoned this form of acting, with a
few exceptions, in which cases the play-
ers actually risk their lives. In these
the public has learned to lay faith, and
that is probably the reason for their
survival. Their number, however, is
very small, and this field is almost lim-
ited to Helen" Holmes, of the Mutual
Company, and Helen Gibson, of Kalem.
It was only natural that the stage
stars, when they became motion-picture
players, should have been presented in
plays which embodied nothing of the
I
24
How They Have Changed
Madame Petrova has found a better way of thrilling the public than by wrecking trains.
thrill variety. The line of demarcation
must be clearly drawn between these
players and those who had been film
favorites since the beginning, in order
to more forcibly stamp upon the minds
of the public the fact that the introduc-
tion of these celebrities meant a new era
in film production. Moreover, the stars
themselves, with few exceptions, would
have rebelled at the idea of casting
aside all the art which their experience
on the stage had developed in order to
provide shivers for the public.
So the powerful dramas which had
proven successful on the stage, were
adapted to the requirements of the
screen, and the stellar roles were in-
trusted in many cases to those who had
made them famous on the stage. The
appearance of these stars, and the pres-
entation of well-known plays on the
screen, attracted a new audience to the
motion-picture theater — those who had
previously scorned the "movies," as
they were pleased to call them with con-
tempt.
But there were very few houses
which were suitable for the presenta-
tion of these bigger pictures, and into
which the newcomers were willing to
go, and, as a natural result, "legitimate"
theaters were taken by the film men for
the exploitation of these features. As
the consequence of this step, enterpris-
ing men who foresaw that the motion
picture was more than a passing public
fancy, and realized that the business
was gradually molding into permanent
form, invested millions in the erecting
of great motion-picture playhouses or
renovated suitable theaters.
Hence, it may truthfully be said that
the progress of the film industry has
been due to natural and healthy growth,
in which film, theater, and public have
all reacted one upon the other in gradu-
ally building up new standards, and in
advancing the ideals of the producers.
"Lasky Lane," the dressing-room street in the Lasky studio yard.
To take our readers behind the scenes, into the studios of the large film companies, take them where
the big pictures are made, let them watch the players at work, and introduce them to the famous
actors and actresses— these are the purposes of this series of articles, of which this, the Lasky studio,
is the second. Each article will be individual, ond up to date — a single trip to the studio which is
its subject. The articles will appear in every issue, until all the big studios throughout the country
have been dealt with. — Editor's Note.
HOLLYWOOD used to be a quiet,
homy, conservative little sub-
urb of Los Angeles, about half
an hour out by electric cars. But that
was before the residents looked out of
their windows upon strange and devi-
ous things — in other words, before the
Jesse L. Lasky Feature Play Company
literally took possession of the town.
"Alas for Hollywood !" said one
resident whom I met upon my arrival.
"To the north, I see an automobile, with
two bears in the tonneau, dashing by.
To the east, I see another automobile
is scurrying past, loaded up with pretty
girls in Fiji Island scantiness of attire,
perhaps, rings on their noses and in
their ears. I hurry to my only remain-
ing window, which overlooks my gar-
den, where roses and orange trees min-
gle their sweet breath. There, I see
some one negotiating with a member of
the family to use the garden as a set-
ting for a scene. And I know, without
looking out on the veranda, that I will
find a group waiting the verdict, some
of whom will have on decollete gowns,
and others wearing full evening swal-
low-tail coats and yellow shirts. I am
equally sure that some one of the party
will be the particular friend of my
charming neighbor next door, and of
course I'll never refuse. It is inevi-
table. Hollywood, the peaceful, has
become but a memory, and we live in
a strange world !"
Armed with this information, and
prepared for any uncanny thing which
might happen, I started along a beau-
tiful avenue of pepper trees that had
dropped its red berries for so many
years over the staid heads of Holly-
26
The Lasky Studio
A general view of the open-air stage at Lasky's Hollywood plant, showing the inclosed glass-roof
scudio in the background and the dressing rooms to the extreme right.
wood's best citizens, and followed the
path hundreds and hundreds of "ex-
tras" and regulars have taken, and
which leads to the high inclosure that is
the outer wall of the Lasky studio.
I presented the letter that would pass
me within the gates.
Mr. Lasky, pleasant, genial, and ra-
diating that enthusiasm for the moving-
picture industry characteristic of all as-
sociated with it, kindly received me
and allowed me to ask a volley of ques-
tions.
And, what was still kinder, he an-
swered most of them.
He told me he had the best art di-
rector in the country in Wilfred Buck-
land, and the finest director in the busi-
ness in Cecil de Mille; and then he
asked me what could keep them from
having the best pictures on the market.
"Nothing does," it was easy to an-
swer.
I had heard a great deal about Wil-
fred Buckland, and knew he had been
David Belasco's right-hand man for
years in staging some of his finest pro-
ductions. And I had seen Geraldine
Farrar in "Carmen" just a night or
two before.
"I have a friend who has gone again
and again to see the wonderful 'close-
ups' in 'Carmen,' especially where she
tells her fortune by the red glare of
fagots. He calls it a fine old Rem-
brandt," I said.
"Yes — Mr. Buckland was striving
for just that effect. Splendid pictures
in light and shadow !" answered Mr.
Lasky, greatly pleased.
We were launched on the fascinating
subject of Farrar.
I got out a notebook and pencil,
ready for real figures.
"She must have been almost a price-
less lady," I suggested.
The Lasky Studio
27
"Well, one hundred thousand dollars
for eight weeks' work, six hours a
day," said the noted producer. "Add
about fifty thousand dollars for pri-
vate car to and from New York, all her
expenses out here, and it makes some
little expense bill — but Miss Farrar was
worth it. Every one was very fond
of her about the studio ; and Mr. Buck-
land even stood for "Mesha," Miss
Farrar's goat, making a choice diet of
his rare and valuable drawings. Some-
times Mesha prefers the asbestos cov-
ering over the radiators, however. She
took part in "Maria Rosa," the play
produced for the screen by Miss Far-
rar before she left Lasky."
He was thoughtfully silent a mo-
ment, then brightened up and added :
"Would you like to go out in the
yard and see the Plaza de Toros?" said
Mr. Lasky.
Of course I was delighted.
Out past the big stage and an attrac-
tive two-story bungalow which had
been Geraldine Farrar's dressing room,
into "Lasky Lane," as the little street
is called which reaches from the front
wall to the rear of the grounds, on each
side of which are the tiny buildings
used as dressing rooms and offices, and
into the big "yard" we wandered, and
into the streets of Seville, cobble-
stoned, quaint, Spanish as art and
knowledge could make it.
It was a perfect reproduction, even
to height.
"You see," explained Mr. Lasky, "if
Miss Geraldine Farrar in her cozy bungalow with which the Lasky Company provided her as
a home during her stay in California.
"When the opera season is over, Miss
Farrar will return and play several
roles in which she has been famous."
And naturally the subject of Farrar
and "Carmen" led to its setting.
there was a cornice or a scroll or a
stone missing or added, some one who
saw the picture and had been to Se-
ville would have it spoiled for them.
Xot even Geraldine Farrar's wonder-
28
The Lasky Studio
ful acting, at two dollars and seventy
cents a minute, would pacify them if
Seville was not Seville. You see, these
film-fan fellows are getting too canny
for us. We don't spare expense any
more. The Plaza de Toros cost us
five thousand dollars to build. We
used twenty-five tons of plaster of
Paris in it, and only show the scene on
the screen for thirty seconds."
And so I began to learn why the
Lasky pictures are such perfect ones.
Then we strolled over to the Villa
Marmosa, used in "Mr. Grex, of Monte
Carlo," also a perfect reproduction,
mightily expensive. And when we
walked around the corner, I found my-
self where Forsyth Street turns into
Houston, in New York.
"Around the world in fifteen min-
utes, I call this," said Mr. Lasky.
And immediately we were in China-
town, in San Francisco.
"Notice this Chinese lettering on the
window?" he questioned. "A China-
man did that. You never can tell when
a Chinese missionary or a Chinaman,
will visit a moving-picture theater."
Out of Chinatown, into a little Al-
gerian village on the edge of the Sa-
hara Desert, was the next startling
change. It was a set used for Lou-
Tellegen's picture play, "The Un-
known." I gazed upon it with awe,
and was brought back to my surround-
ings only when Mr. Lasky went on :
"We made an interesting discovery
when that was built. Something didn't
look right about it when they tried out
a picture. They sent for our most ex-
pensive director; they put the research
department at work, even called to the
thousand-a-week actor, who happened
to be passing by, for advice. Finally
the assistant camera man hit on the
trouble. It was dirt.
Director General de Mille instructing Miss Farrar in the technique of the
silent drama, at the Lasky studio.
The Lasky Studio
29
Geraldine Farrar and "Mesha," her pet goat, enjoying a sun bath
between scenes.
And that led to
"They had
to rub com-
mon dirt over
the walls in
places to look
as if the
Arabs of
the desert
had leaned
against them
for some
hundreds of years
another story :
Some black rats were needed for a
scene to be taken the next day.
"They cannot be found," said the
harassed property man.
"We don't know that word 'can't'
around here. Have those rats on hand
by.' ten to-morrow morning," said the
director.
"Say, get at that scene quick if you
want these rats in it," yelled the prop-
erty man — at ten the next morning.
"They are licking themselves white
again."
He had gone to an animal store in
Los Angeles and bought all the white
rats in the place and painted them with
lampblack.
During that trip about the yard of
many wonders, I learned that the Lasky
Company releases practically three five-
eatures
a month.
Some of the
biggest
scenes ever
put on b y
them have
been the
Plaza d e
Toros, in
"Carrae n,"
of Representatives for
scene in "The Woman,"
street scenes in "The
the House
Washington
New York
Cheat." They figure their productions
cost on the average about twenty-five
thousand dollars, exclusive of the star's
salary. The costliest scene ever taken
to date was the blowing up of a dam
holding back an immense volume of
water, and the flooding of a town at
its base. Several months were required
to prepare this scene, and at a cost of
more than fifteen thousand dollars. It
was used in the Yaleska-Suratt pro-
duction of "The Immigrant." The
breaking of the dam and the outpour-
ing waters ran about twenty feet of
film, or twenty seconds of actual time.
The inundated city was probably seen
for ten seconds.
The Lasky Company is considered
to have one of the best-equipped and
30
The Lasky Studio
modern motion-picture plants in the
United States. The studio occupies an
entire block at present. Before this
gets into print, they may occupy two
blocks, so fast do the needs expand
with the growth of the industry. One
end of the block is devoted to the ex-
ecutive offices and the huge stage. In
the rear end are the four laboratory
buildings and the double-deck paint
frame. One of
the most unu-
sual features
Charlotte Walker, Blanche Sweet, Vic-
tor Moore, Cleo Ridgely, Wallace Reid,
and Anita King.
There are three directors assisting
Director General Cecil B. de Mille —
his brother, William C. de Mille, George
H. Melford, and Frank Reicher. A
director and an assistant director, a
camera man and an assistant, two car-
penters, and a property man work on
every scene.
In the sce-
nario depart-
The drying room in the laboratc
''drums" which are seen in the pict
used in drying film after it has been
from the developing solution.
about the place is an automobile truck
carrying a portable electric-light plant,
taken on location and about the studio
grounds. The valuation of the Lasky
interests is some place in the neighbor-
hood of half a million dollars.
While the stock company does not
consist of more than fifty members, the
majority of them are stars or artists
of reputation. Foremost among them
are Fanny Ward, Theodore Roberts,
ment are to be found many noted writ-
ers— Margaret Trumbull, well-known
author of ''Keeping up with Molly,"
Marion Fairfax, famous as the author
of "The Talker" and "The Builder,"
Hector Trumbull, formerly dramatic
critic of the Xew York Tribune, and
Jeannie McPherson. Recently, four
other noted writers were added, viz.,
George B. Howard, Willard Mack,
Chanmng Pollock, and Rennold Wolf.
The Lasky Studio
31
A section of the carpenter shop, which is one of the big features of the Lasky studio. Buildings,
parlors of society homes, streets of European and American cities and every-
thing else imaginable are manufactured to order here.
We had just come to where carpen-
ters were at work on the interior of a
whitewashed cabin, in which a real lire
was lighted and busy in the fireplace,
when some one sent for Mr. Lasky.
"Here is the man who can tell you all
about this," he said, and introduced
me to Theodore Roberts, who took up
the work of enlightening me where his
employer had left off.
"I don't believe there is a person
about the studio who isn't interested
and happy in imparting their enthu-
siasm about moving-picture production
to the stranger within the gates," he
said, when he pointed to the cabin.
" 'The Haunted Cabin' for the 'Pud-
d'nhead Wilson' production," he in-
formed me.
"And. why the fire on this warm
day?" I queried.
"To smoke up things a little. It
won't do to have things look new, you
know."
Then I learned of the recent pur-
chase of the moving-picture rights to all
The business office and reception room.
32
The Lasky Studio
Mark Twain's stories, for which the
Lasky Company have paid one hundred
thousand dollars down, and pay a roy-
alty on each play produced.
"And who is to take the part of
Pudd'nhead Wilson?" followed natu-
rally.
"I am," said Mr. Roberts.
Just at that moment, Anita King,
known as "The Lasky Girl," came
actors. For instance, how Fanny
Ward fell off a bridge quite acciden-
tally during the taking of a scene in
the Lasky yard, with a twenty-thou-
sand-dollar fur coat on, and neither
Miss Ward nor the coat were dam-
aged. We talked about her five hun-
dred thousand dollars' worth of jewels,
and how much more precious was the
youth she maintained in spite of years.
A street in Seville, set up in the Lasky studio yard. This "set" was one of the many used in "Carmen."
The Plaza de Toros, shown in the background, alone cost five thousand dollars to build.
along, and I was introduced to her.
Miss King told me of her trip across
the continent in an auto all alone, and
Mr. Roberts broke into the conversa-
tion long enough to say it was the
greatest advertising "stunt" ever put
over by the company.
And then we talked about some of
the things that befall moving-picture
"It seems to be a very dull day.
There isn't much going on," said Miss
King, as we stepped on the stage.
I thought there was plenty going on.
A charming golden-haired girl, in a
lace-trimmed nightie and fetching bou-
doir cap, was being robbed of her jew-
els and horribly choked by a brutish
burglar in a "set" directly in front of
The Lasky Studio
33
The guiding minds of the Lasky Photoplay Company. Jesse L. Lasky,. Cecil B. de Mille
and Samuel Goldfish.
us. It seemed almost enough to be
going on any place. The terrorized
eyes of the woman, the projecting, ugly
lower jaw of the burglar, the click of
the turning camera, and an intense-
looking director held me spellbound.
Then, presto! the smiling eyes of Cleo
Ridgely looked into the laughing, genial
face of the burglar ; the director said
the scene was about as good as they
could get it, and they were all a happy,
carefree family in an instant.
Down a little farther on the stage
was a quiet, domestic household of a
generation ago, the living room or-
nately furnished, tidies, bric-a-brac,
clocks, and too many chairs and too
many tables, all the overfurnished cus-
tom of those few years back. The
young "mother" was literally adorned
in a vivid plaid waist with huge mut-
ton-leg sleeves, and a tutor tutored the
same kind of a bad boy that has no
period for his existence but belongs to
this generation, whatever this genera-
tion happens to be. He was a good
little actor, but it was the "tutor" that
came in for special notice.
3
"His name is Littleheld," explained
Miss King. "A few years ago, he was
the telephone boy around town, but by
constant study and observation grew
out of that and is now one of the best
character men in the company. A per-
fect marvel at make-up, so marvelous
that, while it is a fixed rule with us not
to have any one play two parts in a
picture, we gave him fourteen in 'The
Virginian,' and no one suspected he
played more than one."
Next we came to a "set" represent-
ing a dreary, sordid little room with a
plain wooden table and a few old
wooden chairs. A gas jet flickered at
one side of a shabby door. The only
bright thing in the room was a few
strands of golden hair that escaped
from under a cheap little cap on a cer-
tain person's head.
Yes, the certain person was Blanche
Sweet.
Was she acting "The Poor Little
Rich Girl"?
Her salary of one thousand dollars
a week and her present dress might
suggest it, but she wasn't. Only a scene
34
The Lasky Studio
for "The Pace." Of course, she will
be a lovely young thing in a bewitch-
ing gown in the end of the play, to
atone for those bedraggled clothes and
that disfiguring make-up.
A bald-headed man with piercing
black eyes was directing the scene. I
knew at once it was Cecil de Mille.
The most important part of the set-
ting seemed to be the gas jet. At least,
it needed more rehearsing than any one
in the scene, to be turned down prop-
erly for just the correct light effect as
Miss Sweet goes out of the door.
The next thing I saw made me feel
that the producers certainly do keep
you guessing.
First you discover that some one who
has fallen off a cliff one hundred feet
or so into the sea isn't a dummy at all,
but a real, expert diver ; that they
spend thousands of dollars for n set of
French furniture to have a scene the
genuine article, and then — they fake a
rainstorm !
I caught them at it.
It was a mob scene in the grounds
behind the studio stage.
There were groups of girl extras
with fluffy clothes and dainty hats, and
men extras with their best spring suits
caught in that rainstorm, and yet none
of them got wet. An iron frame set over
the space just within range of the cam-
era and in front of the actors. It was
fitted with pipes, and water turned on,
so that every one in the picture looked
as if they were in the rain. Of course,
a real rain in California is too scarce
a thing to depend upon.
"Is everything about this studio al-
ways as pleasant and playful as it seems
to-day?" I, a four-hour visitor, asked,
somewhat cautiously.
"Where is George Melford?" said a
voice near by. "Doesn't he want to
take a 'still'?" Then several who were
standing about laughed.
"That is your answer," said my in-
formant. "If you want to get an outflow
of language not always playful and
pleasant, you should be around when
Mr. Melford is taking a 'still' and some-
body moves."
But Mr. Melford was not around to
take the "still" in which somebody
might move, and the time of day had
arrived for the good old California sun
to withdraw to cheer another part of
the world. Every one was going home.
There wasn't much of a rush for the
exit doors at the Lasky studios, for no
one is allowed on the grounds except
those actors who take part in the day's
work, hence my impression of quiet
and peace remained.
As I passed beyond the door, out
the gate, and again found myself on
the avenue lined with pepper trees, I
saw the "family" coming "home" in
autoloads. Some Indians and some
ballet dancers ; some firemen and some
nuns ; some pirates and some German
soldiers. And "Mesha" and a bear !
Then I realized where the noise, ex-
citement, and hurry described by the
old Hollywood resident had been. Out
on location, and I had missed it !
But I had not missed a very good
time and a lot of very interesting infor-
mation about things I wanted to know.
Besides, I could see what the others had
been doing that day when their pictures
were thrown on the screen at my fa-
vorite theater.
<M>akirur a JfCillion
Dollar ^ietutr®
WiSk wit
I HAVE seen a million-dollar photo
play in the making!
Knowing that the pick of the
Fox Film Corporation is in Jamaica,
British West Indies, making a mar-
velous motion picture featuring An-
nette Kellermann, and that the dramatic
field and the film industry have been so
prolific of exaggeration and the tales of
big-salaried press agents, that really
large motion-picture achievements are
liable to fall under suspicion, the editor
sent me to Jamaica to see what really
was going on.
For over two weeks, I was the guest
of Mr. Herbert Brenon, the director
general, at the Osborne House, St.
Ann's Bay, where the entire cast of
principals are living, and I had the ex-
treme pleasure of seeing part of the
filming of this stupendous feature.
On my first morning there, I was
taken in one of the fleet of motor cars
to see the principal set — a magnificent
Oriental city. For a time, I thought I
had been whisked to the glories of an-
cient India. The city was gorgeous be-
yond description. We entered slowly,
so as to be able to examine the build-
ings, through the city gate. To the
left were the troops' barracks, next
came the bazaar, with multitudes of
natives clothed as in so many rainbows,
then a public market, and, opposite it.
the slave market, an exact replica of
the most famous institution of that kind
in the world. Soon the barracks of the
royal guard came into view ; facing it
was a beautiful mosque, and then, in
the background, surrounded by the most
glorious vegetation, was the royal pal-
ace. Kingston harbor glistened through
the apertures, and the branches of the
trees. All was aglow with life and
action, and the most thrilling and awe-
inspiring scenes were being enacted.
The picture is to be a huge surprise to
the public, and I am duty bound not to
divulge the story.
But, to get back to the Oriental city
— a city as opulent and colorful as Bag-
dad or Cairo. Few spectators of the
Kellermann picture will credit the fact
that this city was erected in its entiretv
36
Making a Million Dollar Picture
Annette Kellermann, the star of the production, with the two "baby mermaids," Catherine
and Jane Lee.
in less than two months, but such is the
fact, and I have Herbert Brenon's word
for it. Its sidewalks are of brick and
concrete, the buildings of stucco, built
firmly to withstand the ravages of the
tropical hurricanes, and every detail of
construction carried out as might be the
case with permanent structures. To
give credit where credit is due, I will
say that the work was carried out un-
der the general direction of Mr. Brenon,
assisted by Technical Director J. Allan
Turner and George Fitch, and Scenic
Chief Artist Joseph Braddon. It is
constructed within the two-hundred-
and-fifty-year-old walls of Fort Au-
gusta, some twenty miles from the cap-
ital of Jamaica.
The scenes, big as they were, that
were being rehearsed in this film city,
are minor ones in comparison to some
that were taken before I reached Ja-
maica. This seemed hard to believe,
until I saw parts of the earlier ones run
off in the projection room, which Mr.
Brenon has installed.
Next, we motored to the underwater
city that has been constructed. Here,
I saw something that would turn a mu-
sical-comedy director green with envy.
A bevy of beautiful girls, with fasci-
nating figures, were swimming about,
clad as mermaids. There were hun-
dreds of them, and right in their midst
I discerned little Kathie Lee, who made
such a big hit as the baby mermaid in
"Neptune's Daughter." This under-
water city is a marvel of beauty, and,
I am tempted to say, surpasses the
Oriental city we had just motored from.
Here, I met Miss Kellermann. She
was timidly gazing at a score of alliga-
tors, not one less than a dozen feet in
length. Bill Shay, who is playing op-
posite the diving Venus in this fea-
ture, was joshing her about something,
and Brenon, winking at me, said : "Not
getting nervous, are you, Miss Keller-
mann?" "N-n-o," she answered; but
her expression belied her words. I
didn't blame her when I learned what
they were talking about. A thrilling
scene in this great motion-picture spec-
tacle requires that Miss Kellermann, as
an Oriental princess, be thrown into a
watery den filled with immense sauri-
Making a Million Dollar Picture
37
ans. The swamps in the neighborhood
of Kingston fairly swarm with alliga-
tors ; a score of them were to be ob-
tained alive, which presented several
difficulties. Nobody could be found
who knew how to trap an alligator.
Finally, however, Colonel Antonio Mor-
ales, a swarthy South American ani-
mal collector, arrived in Jamaica on a
northbound steamer, with a collection
of live animals and reptiles.
"Could he capture twenty alligators
in the time before sailing?" He could
— with prop-
er help. That
night — it was
a bright
m o on -
light one, and
the best for
the gallant
colonel's
work — the
task began.
The 'gators
were roped
as they came
a-court-
ing, for it
was the
breeding sea-
son, and then
great blocks
of wood were
thrust into
their fero-
cious jaws. In less time than it takes
to tell, Mr. Brenon had his twenty
saurians, and alive, too. He thought
two hundred dollars each, the price
specified by the colonel, was reasonable
enough, considering the dangers. So
did I — he'd have to pay me a million
dollars to even go near one !
That night, at the hotel, I had the
pleasure of meeting the other members
of the company. Besides Miss Keller-
mann, Mr. Brenon, and Mr. Shay,
there was Claire Whitney, Rhy Alex-
ander, Violet Horner, Walter Miller,
Miss
Kellermann "cringing1
mands of
Hal de Forest, little Kathie, and Jane
Lee, and Alice, the pretty little daugh-
ter of J. Allan Turner, and hundreds
of good-looking chaps and girls who
were just as beautiful in regular clothes
as they were garbed as mermaids. They
are a delightful crowd, more like one
big family than a moving-picture com-
pany. Each one wishes success for the
other, and all wish success for the pic-
ture. They did everything possible for
me, while I was in Jamaica, and made
my stay more
than pleas-
ant. Later, I
learned that
this small
army of tal-
ent was only
a little part
of the cast
that will ap-
pear in this
picture. T o
get down to
cold figures,
figures that I
know to be
true, there
were twelve
hundred ac-
tors and ac-
tresses sent
from Xew
York ; there
will appear
in the picture thousands of Hindus in-
terned in Jamaica since the completion
of the Panama Canal; a thousand Brit-
ish cavalryman ; the English West In-
dian squadron of battleships ; and about
five thousand additional people re-
cruited among the native Jamaicans.
Dazzling, isn't it?
Now, I'll let you read some more
figures that will make you gasp : Last
August, Mr. Brenon took down to Ja-
maica a boatload of people, including
players, directors, technical men, and
artists. The following ships of the
before the directorial com
Mr. Brenon.
38
Making a Million Dollar Picture
The life of motion-picture mermaids, when not active!
United Fruit Company's great white
fleet were required as transports :
Tivives, Almirante, Carrillo, and Santa
Marta. The yacht Nemesis, late prop-
erty of Baroness de Forrest, was char-
tered to carry the principals, camera
men, mermaids, et cetera, among the
coral reefs of the tropics.
There were sent from America more
than one thousand tons of properties
and costumes, costing more than two
hundred thousand dollars. Tons of
photographic chemicals were shipped to
the Fox Jamaican laboratories.
Some more statistics will give you an
idea of the magnitude of the film.
There was constructed the biggest stage
in the world, five hundred and fifty by
two hundred and fifty feet for erecting
great sets — six companies working at a
time. Dressing rooms were built for
three thousand players. Property rooms
were erected capable of turning out the
most elaborate work from a freak head
to a huge and gorgeously caparisoned
elephant. Masonry works, with cement
mixers, had to be laid out. Carpenter
shops, employing three hundred work-
men, and equipped with American-made
machinery, were provided. Machine
shops, containing every appliance im-
aginable, auto-repair shops for a fleet
of fifty automobiles, gasoline store-
houses and supply stations for oil, tires,
and all other accessories, a medical staff
headquarters — all of these were pro-
vided.
A zoological garden was created to
house the lions, tigers, elephants,
camels, panthers, flamingos, swans,
baboons, and the rarer species, such as
birds of paradise, some costing as much
as two thousand five hundred dollars.
Any reader with even the faintest
conception of motion-picture costs can
see a good part of the million dollars
expended without further assistance.
I was speaking with Brenon, over the
cigars, of the difficulties of getting
chemicals and apparatus for developing
and printing his film, together with
other necessities. He smiled, and an-
swered : "Why, my dear fellow, every
week, Mr. Fox ships down any stuff we
may need, on the United Fruit steamers.
The last steamer that left New York
brought two elephants and three tigers
we had forgotten in our hurry !" Think
of that!
An amusing incident occurred one
39
The day's routine includes many splashes in the water — which may or may not be called work.
day during my stay. Secretary Harry
Lee had marked on the application of
one of the hundreds of black seekers
for work, "Q. K., H. Lee." The fol-
lowing morning, a policeman appeared
with the Jamaican in custody. He ex-
plained that the boy had been arrested
for a minor offense, and bore a letter
from the magistrate addressed to "Mr.
O. K. H. Lee," in which his honor,
Sam Burke, stated that rather than im-
pede the work of the William Fox
companies, he would release the boy.
Mr. Burke was thanked for his con-
sideration in the name of Director
Brenon, but was informed that the com-
pany did not desire to employ law-
breakers. The incident showed, how-
ever, the high esteem in which the
photo-play enterprise is held in Jamaica.
As has been the case since the arrival
of the companies on the island, Mr.
Brenon has been flooded with offers
from the military and civil authorities
to do everything in their power to aid
in making the million-dollar picture
''the greatest that has ever been
screened." Sir John Pringle, one of
the greatest dignitaries of the island, as
one example, has courteously placed his
magnificent plantation at the services of
the Fox Company, including his entire
stable of one hundred blooded stallions,
and the hundreds of black employees
working on his estate, the largest single
holdings in the West Indies.
My second day there, the fair and
beautiful Annette had the narrowest
escape of her life. She was motoring,
all alone, to a location when something
happened to the steering wheel, and she
lost control of it. The car was going at
a terrific clip, and she found it impos-
sible to shut off its power. L'tter de-
struction for Miss Kellermann seemed
imminent. Through the roads it tore,
and then, to the horror of the power-
less driver, she discerned the glisten-
ing waters of Kingston harbor beyond.
Approaching the edge of a low cliff, and
with no hope of stopping her machine,
the dauntless Miss Kellermann stood
40
Making a Million Dollar Picture
Players with Mr. Brenon's "million-dollar company" resting on the lawn.
up in her seat. The instant the car left
dry land, she jumped oft to one side
and plunged into the waters below. For
an instant, her body was not visible,
then it appeared, and swiftly and
adeptly she swam to the shore, where
she was met by Herbert Brenon, who,
at the wheel of his ninety-horse-power
racing Simplex, had followed her.
Eagerly and anxiously, he asked her if
she were hurt. "No," she replied; "but
wasn't it an awful shame no camera
man was on the job?''
Miss Kellermann, one night at a
dance in Kingston, told me that Her-
bert Brenon had written the scenario,
himself, for this unusual spectacle. It
is obvious that he "wrote his own
ticket" for trouble when he laid out the
large tasks he has to perform.
It is hardly too much to say that, on
a far less scale, of course, he faced
much the same situation that con-
fronted Colonel Gorgas when he was
sent to Panama to clean up the Isthmus.
There were many lengthy discussions
between Gorgas and Brenon before the
latter departed for Kingston, with the
vanguard of the hosts to follow.
Entering the- harbor of Kingston, the
director's eye spied the picturesquely
grim walls of ancient Fort Augusta,
stormed a score of times by pirates of
the Spanish Main, and set amid olive-
colored and drab mangrove swamps
denizened by crocodiles of immense size,
and other tropical reptiles. Flamingos
of gorgeous hue were visible in every
direction.
"Splendid!" shouted Brenon to Miss
Kellermann, who was standing by his
side on the captain's bridge. "Just what
I want for some of the battle scenes !"
"Humph !" said Captain Smith, of the
Carrillo. "I'd give Fort Augusta a
wide berth — it's the worst fever hole on
the island."
The director said nothing, but the day
after the ship docked, he took a launch
to Fort Augusta, there being no other
Making a Million Dollar Picture
41
way of reaching it. He found it a wild,
ruinous structure, the entire space
within its crumbling, but still impres-
sive, walls, overgrown with heavy vege-
tation from which rose a steaming mi-
asma that fairly shouted fever. The
prospect did not look encouraging, but
as he looked about him, Brenon realized
that he had found the ideal spot for one
of the most
impres-
sive scenes
of the pic-
ture.
"If Gorgas
cleaned u p
Panama, 1
guess I can
make this
place heal-
thy," he said
to one of
his assistants.
T h e m a n
shook his
head, but
Brenon per-
sisted.
That night,
on his return
to Kingston,
he consulted
with Doctor
Scott, official
bacteri-
ologist of the
island, who
at first shook
his head, but
later waxed enthusiastic. The result
was that the two men got together.
Tons of disinfectant were sent for from
New York, the old fort was cleaned up
and drained by a complete tidal system
of tiled drain pipes, and a field hospital
set up, where, every day, each one of
the workers was examined — no small
task — by a corps of students from the
Royal Kingston Medical School.
Fort Augusta, formerly Jamaica's
Herbert Brenon, the director general, under whose personal
supervision the picture is being produced.
pesthole, has now been turned into a
pleasure resort, where Kingstonians
flock to enjoy the breezes from the blue
Caribbean. When not actively engaged
in work, you will find countless pretty
girls of the Fox Company sporting in
its waters in bright-hued one-piece
bathing suits — for all the world like
their sisters on the coast of California.
It was
here, in an
impro-
vised audi-
torium, that
the photo
players gave
a wonderful
benefit per-
formance for
the Jamaica
Aero-
plane Fund.
This fund,
which has al-
ready pur-
chased a n d
sent one
aeroplane t o
fight for the
British cause,
had been la-
boring u n -
ceasing-
ly after ob-
taining the
first air fight-
er to raise
funds to send
m ore s k y
ships. It was a welcome proposition,
therefore, when Mr. Brenon offered
the services of the Fox Company to
appear in a grand benefit program of
unique vaudeville acts and sketches.
Every act was staged under the per-
sonal supervision of Mr. Brenon. I
was privileged to be present, and thor-
oughly enjoyed myself. As the photo-
play company contains many noted
names and brilliant stage performers, it
42
Making a Million Dollar Picture
was difficult to prune down and elimi-
nate acts, which, if it had not been
done, would have furnished a show
longer than the famous Chinese plays —
plays that last never less than a week
for one performance.
The bill, as finally presented, set
forth a variety of acts that were each
notable of their kind, and aroused the
vast audience to a high point of enthu-
siasm. The band from the Royal West
Indian Regiment was present, and fur-
nished the incidental music. His Ex-
cellency Sir William Manning, gover-
nor general of the island, and his
worship the mayor, as the program
described him, were the honor guests,
each occupying boxes that they had paid
five hundred dollars each for. The
black population packed the big gal-
leries, where Electrician Jimmy Sulli-
van had installed a battery of spot
lights to illuminate Miss Kellermann's
ballet number, which was the bright
particular spot of the entire bill.
Nearly every artist on the Fox staff
contributed their talent, and made a
wonderful success of the affair. As the
governor general declared, amid the
storm of applause, it was "the greatest
show ever seen in Jamaica!" A vote of
thanks was tendered Mr. Brenon for
the entertainment, which resulted in the
handsome receipts of nearly four thou-
sand dollars.
Some days later, I collared Johnny
Schneiderman, who is in charge of the
laboratory work in William Fox's Ja-
maica plant.
"Howt do you ever manage to get
good films in this tropical climate?" I
questioned him. His answer should be
of unusual interest to all lovers of the
photo play :
"The perfect development of film
and the proper care of it in tropical
climates has heretofore presented a
practically insurmountable obstacle to
the producer of the feature pictures,
for which reason such perfect and
exotic scenes as those presented by the
Island of Jamaica have not been
utilized. Since being engaged by Mr.
Fox to supervise the erection of an
analytical department in order to secure
the most perfect moving-picture prints
hereto turned out, I have made a care-
ful and detailed study of the conditions
surrounding picture making in the
tropics.
"One of the most important matters
to be observed is in the shipping of the
raw film from the point of production,
for, if the raw film is shipped from the
manufacturer already perforated, it will
have a decided tendency to shrink, as
the air of the tropics is almost sure to
penetrate the shipping cans. For pro-
ducing a film which will result in per-
fect projection, the perforation should
be made upon the spot when working
in tropical climates, as otherwise the
shrinkage of the film will cause a great
deal of unsteadiness when projection
ensues."
Greatly interested, I asked him to
what use they put the refrigerator plant
that has been installed.
"Our refrigerator plant is a very im-
portant factor in securing perfect re-
sults, as the temperature in Jamaica is
very rarely lower than eighty degrees,
but with the developer and other chem-
icals controlled at sixty-five degrees
through the use of our refrigerator, we
are able to get the best results.
"Mr. Fox has had installed a filtra-
tion system which removes from the
water all dust, dirt, deleterious matter
which might have a tendency to affect
the perfect development of the finished
picture. My analysis of the water here
discloses the fact that it is strongly
alkaline. Such being the case, we must
reduce the strength of the carbonate of
sodium, and it is important that this
work be done at night, as the air con-
ditions then are much better for good
work in the laboratory for the purpose
Making a Million Dollar Picture
43
of properly trying the film, a very nec-
essary and important part of my work.
"Mr. Fox has authorized me to in-
stall a system of fans, as the faster the
film dries in this climate the smaller the
grain will be. The drying room has
been made dust proof by using very fine
netting and placing a system of suction
blowers, by which the air is forced out
of the room. The air of this room is
positively controlled by this method in
conjunction with the refrigerating plant
at a positive temperature of sixty-five
degrees. The positive prints are made
under the same conditions.
"The projection rooms adjoining the
laboratory are equipped very elabo-
rately, so that Mr. Brenon and his as-
sistants may be able to be certain that
the best work has been done."
When Mr. Schneiderman had fin-
ished this lengthy talk, my brain was
in a muddle from all the technical
terms, and I hastened to the hotel and
jotted it down, with a cool Jamaican
drink by my side.
Later that night I met him again, and,
inspired by a clear Havana cigar, he
waxed enthusiastic. "Most of my staff
of assistants," he said, "inspired by the
liberality of Mr. Fox, and his deter-
mination to make this feature a world
beater, have spared neither time nor
pains to take full advantage of the
wonderful opportunities he has pre-
sented to them. When the picture is
finished, I am sure it will prove that
motion-picture photography in the
tropics, which has heretofore been sur-
rounded with difficulties, owing to the
financial inability of companies engaged
therein to make such elaborate prep-
arations as Mr. Fox, will be seen to be
not only entirely feasible, but even bet-
ter, as far as the sharpness and distinct-
ness of the film is concerned, than will
Mrs. Lee, the wardrobe mistress, costuming a native.
44
Making a Million Dollar Picture
A section of the carpenter shop at Kingston, Jamaica, which is the company's "ammunition plant.'
be possible even in the temperate re-
gions of the north."
Interesting as the subject was, the
terms began to mix me up again, and,
summoning a waiter, I told him what I
would like to drink.
"Same for me!" came from Johnny;
and then we talked of that little white
lane in little old New York called
Broadway.
The morning before I left Kingston
for New York, I accompanied Mr.
Brenon to Fort Augusta to see some
battle scenes. It was the most mar-
velous of all the motion-picture scenes
it has been my privilege to view. What
seemed like tens of thousands of sol-
diers, some on horses and some on foot,
and clad in the wildest and most fan-
tastic of costumes, "fought" as though
for their very life. Mr. Brenon, aided
by an even score of capable assistants,
directed this stupendous battle by un-
derground telephone — the same appli-
ance the mighty Griffith used in "The
Birth of a Nation." It was an awe-
inspiring sight, one that will never be
forgotten. For hours and hours these
dusky warriors "fought." Brenon was
like a wild man, shouting an order
through the phone one minute, placing
an extra camera man or two the next,
and then answering the dispatch of a
messenger from the "front," and send-
ing him off with a mighty shout.
Never have I seen a man put his
whole heart and soul in the production
of a film as Herbert Brenon did. He
was like a bundle of nerves controlled
by electricity, and doing the work, both
mental and physical, of a hundred men.
The day wore on, and a short rest
was called for a hasty luncheon. Then
the terrific battle started again. Soldier
after soldier would fall, seemingly
dead, until the ground was strewn with
them. The sun was setting in the West
when a halt was called for the day.
Then the "warriors" who had received
cuts and bruises on the "field of battle"
retired to the company's hospital, where
they were at once taken care of.
I can say no more — everything was
shown in confidence — so I am unable
to tell you the outcome of this battle,
what caused it, what the results were,
Making a Million Dollar Picture
45
and what part the pretty Annette Kel-
lermann and splendid Bill Shay took in
it. I will say, however, that it will
show them to the American public in a
way never before thought of.
Before I returned to the good old
U. S. A., Mr. Brenon and his staff bade
me an affectionate farewell, and had me
understand how really glad they were
to have had this opportunity of show-
ing me their masterpiece in the making.
Several players who were free for the
day went to the boat with me. It was
a merry crowd, while it lasted, and I
was sorry to leave them, even though I
heard Broadway "calling me."
Finally I was on the boat, trying to
remember some of the hundred mes-
sages I was to take to friends and rela-
tives in New York. As we left the
pier, I answered with my handkerchief
the waving hands of the players, and
listened to the strains of "Auf Weider-
shen," which the gentle breezes wafted
to my eager ears from the cafe at the
dock.
Losing sight of the players as they
faded from view, I turned my gaze on
old Fort Augusta, where the greatest
mimic battle of all times had been
waged. All the years of assault it had
suffered during the days of the Spanish
Main had not placed as much of a mark
on it as had the forces under the com-
mand of General Brenon, U. S. A.
Going to my cabin, I thought deeply
over this marvelous picture and the
strides that have been made in the art
of the photo play, and tried to prepare
myself to wait, in patience, for this, the
greatest feature film in the history of
the world.
WHAT ARE THEY TALKING ABOUT?
When a constellation of screen stars, such as this one, which consists, s'arting at the left, of Lillian
Gish, Fay Tincher, Dorothy Gish, Constance Talmadge and Mildred Harris, gets together, what they may
talk about is quite a question. From the expression of Dorothy Gish, who is the center of attraction,
it must be mighty interesting. Perhaps it is about her last scene, or maybe about the censorship question
—and then again, it might be something you said in that letter you sent her. It is a terrible advantage
these screen players have of being able to talk while you watch them, and yet not let you hear. But
what they say is a secret of their own, and the best any one can do is guess.
The Keystone Quartet — Fatty
Al St. John and Joe
OXE of the
most
W 0 11-
d e r f u 1 places
you can find
a n y w here is
Fort Lee, that
magic New Jer-
sey town across
the Hudson
from New York
City, where
murders, rob-
beries, and In-
dian chases take place while the police
force — his name is Pat — leans, yawn-
ingly, against a convenient lamp-post.
The home of the first Keystone comedy,
and now, because of the crowded stu-
dios of California, the "fun factory" of
Roscoe Arbuckle, Mabel Normand, and
their gang of devil-may-care comedians.
A better place to spend a day for in-
spiration, perspiration, and real, unvar-
nished hard work would be impossible
to find. So I was commissioned to
have my alarm clock in working order.
We met at the ferryhouse early in
the morning, and luck was with us. A
racing motor came tearing up, spitting
oil and smoke. Almost hidden behind
a huge steering wheel was Mabel Nor-
mand, the idol of the film fans. Im-
mediately we renewed our acquaintance
of years back — who wouldn't? — and the
little lady was kind enough to ask us
to ride with her.
Reaching the Jersey side of the river,
Arbuckle, Mabel Normand,
Sordeau — in action.
o u r adventures
soon began.
Every one who
motors k n o w s
that Fort Lee
Hill is one of
the most dan-
gerous spots in
the East. Mabel
started up this
at full speed,
but the noble
car got tired be-
fore we reached the top. Slowly, but
surely, it was stopping. I looked
around nervously, and my heart rose
when I saw the water far, far below.
"Maybe I'd better walk?" I suggested
nonchalantly. "The car might go easier
if I get oft."
Mabel just looked at me and laughed.
"Oh, this is nothing," she said lightly.
"Only yesterday, my machine backed all
the way down, and if it wasn't for the
ferryhouse, I would have been doing
some 'water stuff5 without a camera in
sight."
''Cheerful !" I remarked, and stealth-
ily started for the ground, but returned
to my seat meekly when I heard Mabel
laugh and murmur :
" 'Fraid cat !"
Strange as it may seem, we reached
the Keystone-Triangle Studios — one of
the largest glass-inclosed film factories
in the East — without further excite-
ment. Something was bound to hap-
Behind the Scenes with Fatty and Mabel 47
pen, though. Entering the yard, we
barely escaped sending Al St. John, ''the
Bouncing Boy of the Films," into the
next county. By a miraculous leap, he
jumped on the radiator, and rode away
to the garage with us. Keystone should
employ one camera man to do nothing
but follow Miss Xormand around.
The studio was bristling with activ-
ity. Roscoe Arbuckle, the elephantine
author-actor-director, was superintend-
ing the construction of a set, aided by
Ferris Hartmann, his coworker, and a
dozen prop men ; Elgin Lessley. the in-
trepid camera man, who has the repu-
tation of turning out the
clearest films of any Key-
stone crank turner, was
loading his magazines. A
dozen rough-and-ready
comedians were practic-
ing falls down a stairway.
The heavyweight director
turned and saw us.
"Oh, Miss Xormand,
get ready for the hall
scenes, please."
"Very well, Roscoe,
and — very good!"
The dainty little come-
dienne going to her dress-
ing room, I strolled over
to the busy throng and
exchanged greetings with
Arbuckle.
"How are you getting
along with your new pic-
ture?" I asked.
"Slow, but sure," was
the reply. "It's a new
theme, and I want to go
at it easily. I'm not try-
ing to be a 'highbrow,' or
anything like that, but I
am going to cut an awful
lot of the slapstick out
hereafter. If any one
gets kicked, or a pie
thrown in his face, there's
goingtobea reason for it."
"How about that staircase?" I
queried. "That looks as though some-
thing exciting was going to happen."
"Oh, nothing much," he answered.
''St. John and I are going to fall down
it, but that's about all. Here, I'll show
you," and I snapped the picture as he
did.
Oh, it's great to be a comedian — if
there's a hospital hand)- !
As we stood talking, I heard an ex-
cited altercation in French and Ger-
man, with an occasional word in good
old U. S. A. I looked frightened, but
Arbuckle only laughed.
When Mabel isn't making other
people laugh she is having a
good time herself in the big car
that she brought with her from
the Western coast.
48 Behind the Scenes with Fatty and Mabel
"Don't get wor-
ried," he said. ''That
noise is only the fa-
vorite indoor pas-
time of Miss Nor-
mand's maids. One
is a loyal French
girl, and the other
was imported from
the banks of the
Rhine. Everything
went nicely until the
excitement started
in Europe. Then
things happened.
The two maids con-
sidered themselves
envoys to carry out
the fight on this
side, and Mabel
hasn't yet been able
to change their opin-
ions.
As we spoke, a
pistol shot rang out.
''Do they shoot,
too ?" I inquired
mm mmmm mm mm mm m m mmmmmmmmm » ■ a 1 » s »
A Keystone comedienne's morning exercise.
John shooting apples
oft Joe Bordeau's
head. I'm going to
pull that stunt in my
next film !"
Miss Xormand
presently came out,
her hair in beautiful
curls, crowned with
a dainty boudoir
cap. The lights were
turned on, Lessley
got his camera into
position, and Mabel
and Fatty took their
places.
"Now, Mabel,"
instructed the direc-
tor, ''you start run-
ning down the steps,
then look over the
banister, and start to
fall. I'll rush down
and catch you be-
fore you go over.
Let's try it once."
Then to Ferris
Fatty is a hero every day — but it's hard work.
Mabel can tell things without speaking — she
is plainly asserting here that there is
a vacant seat beside her.
Behind the Scenes with Fatty and Mabel 49
worker nodded. "All right," said Ar-
buckle to Lessley, and the camera
turned.
Miss Normand ''registered" surprise
at the top of the stairs, and then started
running down. Suddenly she stopped
and looked over the railing. She
leaned too far, and started to slide down
the banister. At this moment, Ar-
buckle started after her, and caught
her on the way down. The scene was
ended, and the players, directors, and
camera men ^mm*
got together,
and talked it
over. Mabe
had some sug-
g e s t i o n s to
make — she's
quite a direc-
tor herself,
y o u k n o w .
Among other
pictures, she
produced
''Caught in a
Cabaret," with
Charlie Chap-
lin.
Once more
scene was taken
w
and
something
w ronu
buckle slipped all
the way down, head-
first. Mabel looked
on as though she
thought her side
partner had broken
his neck, but Ar-
buckle
scram-
bled up, and,
g r ant-
ing, said :
"Try it
again." Time
and again the
same scene
w a s filmed
4
The dog knows where to go when he doesn't want Fatty to
find him, and he manages to get into^the picture, too.
until it suited all present. "How many
times do you take the same scene?" I
asked the director.
"Till I can't do it any better," he
answered. "Often I use ten or fifteen
thousand feet of film for a two-reel
production. The average Keystone
costs nearly twenty thousand dollars,
you know, and we've got to do our best.
Generally, I take a month or more to
produce a picture that runs less than
thirty minutes on the screen. In one
HM^. of my films,
"Fickle Fat-
ty's 'Fall," I
spent just
one week
getting the
kitchen
scenes I was
in, alone. I
used over ten
thousand
feet of film
just for that.
In one part
of the play, I
had to toss a
pancake up
and catch it behind
my back. I started
nine o'clock in the
morning, did it on
first rehearsal, then
started the camera,
and didn't get it till
four-thirty ! Fd hate
to tell you how long
it took me to catch
the plate behind my
back in 'The
Village Scan-
dal'! I sel-
dom rehearse
since then."
A r b uckle
called to St.
John for a
scene. He
was to
hang
50 Behind the Scenes with Fatty and Mabel
from a chandelier and kick down a few
policemen who were on his trail. Oh,
no, no rough stuff in this picture — not
at all ! The very first time they re-
hearsed it, a little. English chap, play-
ing a cop, got in the way of St. John's
feet, and had his jaw damaged more
"Xothing to it at all," he answered;
"but I'll let you have it: Twenty-
eight years ago I was born in a little
two-by-twice town in Kansas. They
tell me my weight at birth was sixteen
pounds and a half. Maybe it was so
— I have to take their word for it, any-
way.
My first experience on the
in San Jose, Cali-
fornia, in 1904, when I acted
as a super on the stage at the
request of a hypnotist, who
wanted subjects to demon-
strate his hypnotic powers. I
thought that I made a hit, and
decided to take a chance my-
self. My first venture after
■
I wanted unusual pictures
and had asked for one of
Mabel looking sad. Someone
spied her talking to me —
and got one.
or less. Two minutes later,
Lloyd Peddrick, an old
friend of Mack Sennett's,
broke his nose in a scene in
which he was playing a but-
ler.
"Gee. you got your
in the way !" was the
comment from Fatty.
Later, I learned
there is not a member of the Keystone
Company who hasn't had bones broken.
Some of them retire after one picture.
By this time, luncheon was ready.
"Now that we have a little leisure,"
I asked Arbuckle, ''how about telling
me some of your career. It ought to
make interesting reading."
face
only
that
Mabel can dress as a society woman, sit be-
fore a fireplace, read a book — and what is a great
deal more — look natural — a real accomplishment
for a Keystone actress.
this was as a ballyhoo with a carnival
company, which lasted less than a
month.
"My next experience was a little dif-
ferent. It was singing illustrated
songs in San Jose. This job lasted a
year, and then I went to Frisco doing
the same stunt. From there, I worked
Behind the Scenes with Fatty and Mabel 53
than he does himself. Some of my
greatest stuff comes from the supposed
dull brains of 'supers.' "
Looking through the door, I spied
Mabel, all dressed up in velvet and
furs. I leaned over to a camera man
and told him I wanted an unusual pic-
ture of Mabel — one where she looked
sad — then I went over to where she
stood.
"Want to go for a ride?" she called.
The long, skinny fingers of fear
clutched my heart, but bravely I an-
swered: "Sure!"
She sent some one for her car, and
I helped her up on a window seat, and
asked her to tell me the history of her
life while waiting for the buzz wagon.
I saw my camera man come up
quietly, but paid no attention to him.
Later, I found that he had taken the
picture I asked for — while Mabel was
talking to me.
."I was born in New York," she said,
"and nearly all my life, it seems, has
been spent in moving-picture studios.
First, I was with the Vitagraph, then
played for Mr. Griffith at the Biograph
Company, and now I'm with the Key-
stone. You know, I am one of the
original Keystone players. Four years
ago, Mack Sennett broke away from
the Biograph, and took Ford Sterling,
Fred Mace, and myself with him. The
four of us organized the Keystone Film
Company.
"At first, it was a hard struggle.
Money was scarce, and it was a long
time before we were sure of our pay
check at the end of each week. Our
first picture was produced right here in
Fort Lee, but we soon went W^est. This
is my first trip back to good old New-
York in four years, that is, with the
exception of a few days a year or two
ago, when my mother was very ill.
"For a long time, I directed all the
pictures I played in, the best known of
which are the Chaplin series. Lately,
however, I have given up that end of
the game, finding enough to do with
acting."
That was all the information this
modest little actress would give on her
great life. I'll add something that Miss
Normand omitted, and say that she is
the most popular comedienne in the
world, and also the best. She is re-
markably pretty, more charming off
the screen than on, if that is possible,
and as lovely as she is pretty. She is
the champion woman swimmer and
diver of the Pacific coast, and I look to
see her capture many trophies East this
coming summer.
She is athlete to a degree, and is
fond of all outdoor sports, in many of
which she excels her male competitors.
Miss Normand's car was brought to
the door, and I hopped in, after bid-
ding "Good by !" to Arbuckle and his
various assistants.
"Going to the big city?" I queried,
looking for a nice ride all the way
home.
"Oh, dear, no!" she said. "I'll take
you to the ferry; but I've got to hurry
back to the studio to see the scenes we
took to-day run off. You know, Ros-
coe never leaves the place until he O.
K.'s or N. G.'s the day's work, and
I always look it over with him. It
keeps us busy."
A little more talk, and the ferry was
reached. "Too bad you can't come
across the river with me," I said, as
I was about to leave the pretty little
star.
"We might go right over, without
the ferry, if this car was a " Mabel
started, but I silenced her in time. This
isn't an automobile-joke book.
■
Just a little different from the others.
IT N every motion-picture studio one
I visits, star actresses and actors,
together with their directors, are
the persons that claim one's interest.
There are other players, standing about
or working in scenes, who have small
parts and no reputation, that are never
noticed by the visitors. Some of these
players are deserving of no notice, for
they work only for a day or. a week
"just for sport," and then flit away
from the studio, and forget all about it
— except when telling their friends of
their experience in the camera wonder-
land. But there is a class to be found
among this group who are deserving of
the attention of the visitors and of the
public who attend the picture theaters —
the extra girls, who are working toward
the top.
That is the reason for this little story.
The editor decided that in their ranks
there must be one who was typical of
the class, and commissioned me to find
her. The qualifications were not hard
to remember : she had to be pretty, am-
bitious, intelligent, and be in a posi-
tion where she worked in a studio al-
most every day, but was not on the
regular pay roll.
I started my search for her one bright
and sunny morning, submitting myself
to the unhappiness of traveling by sur-
face, subway, ferry, and interurban
trolley to the Universal Film Manufac-
turing Company's new eastern studio,
at Leonia, New Jersey. There I ex-
plained my mission to the powers that
be, and secured permission to wander
about the studio floor. This I did for
more than an hour, seizing every oppor-
tunity to talk with the extra girls and
test their possibilities of being the sub-
ject of the article.
Suddenly I found her.
I asked her if she were ambitious,
and if she were on the regular salary
list of the Big U. To the former, she
One Extra Girl
55
answered in the affirmative, and to the
latter in the negative. I did not have
to ask if she were pretty and intelli-
gent, for I am fortunate in being blessed
both with eyesight and reason.
She was called to work in a scene by
her director, and I hurried downstairs
to the office of Bert Adler, the official
man about the studio, and asked him
for her name.
He told me it was Miss Beatrice
Cloak," and at once launched off into a
rapid-fire line of publicity talk. You
know, Mr. Adler is one of the best lit-
tle press agents in film circles, as well
as being a studio man extraordinary.
I really would like to have listened, but,
realizing that the day was short, I
pleaded for a leave of absence, and hur-
ried back to studio floor just as Miss
Cloak finished working in the scene.
"How would you like to be inter-
viewed?" I asked her.
"Very much, indeed," she replied.
"But I think you could find a great
many better subjects in the studio, if
you tried."
"You are the one we want, though,"
I insisted ; and so we walked in and out
of a maze of scene sets until we found
a seat in the corner. There I explained
my mission to her.
"I'll be awfully glad to tell you all
about my work," she said, "if you really
think it is interesting. I didn't suppose
that any one noticed the extra people
enough to want to write about them.
As far as I am concerned, I haven't
ever thought of such a thing, because
there are so many other things which
claim my attention all the time. It's
really very hard work, and every day
seems to bring more and more difficul-
ties. I always keep mine to myself,
because I know that every one else
around the studio has troubles, too, and
no one would be interested in mine."
Her viewpoint of the work was just
■- -■ ...... J
Miss Cloak asking Julius Stern, manager of the Universal studio at Leonia, N. J., if he can
use her in a scene.
56
One Extra Girl
Though her idles are
seldom important, she
studies the scenario on
every possible occasion.
Seated directly behind
her in this picture is
Augustus Phillips, the
Universal star.
One Extra Girl
57
the one I had been seeking, I thought
to myself, as I asked her: "It isn't
'just fun' for you, then, like it is for
some people who play small parts, is
it ?"
""No, indeed!" was the quick reply,
and it was accompanied with a sort of
a wistful smile.
"You see, I have a
little apartment in
upper Manhattan
with my mother,
and when one has
to meet the land-
lady regularly with
one's rent, it
doesn't leave much
time for playing
before the camera
'just for fun.' I
think that those
girls and young
men who come to
this and other stu-
dios to work, when
they don't really
have to, shouldn't
be hired. They till
the places which
ought to go to the
people who are de-
pending on this
work for a living,
and I have seen so
many girls turned
away from the stu-
dio who really
needed the money
that I have come to
have a firm dislike
for the other
class."
"But isn't the
work fascinating enough to draw one to
it, even if money didn't enter into the
bargain?" I protested.
"I don't think I'd say that," Miss
Cloak answered, and from her manner
I could judge that she was really quite
as much of a business woman as she
part the next day.
Miss Cloak had been skating on the p
Central Park, New York City, just
fore this picture was snapped.
was an actress ; "but it is really very
much more interesting than any other
kind of work a girl can do. I go home
every night very tired, but I hardly can
wait until morning to get to the studio
again, if I know that I am to play a
You see, I am never
certain of just
what the next day
will bring. I may
or may not be
called on to work-
in a scene — but I
always live in
hopes. I have done
practically all my
work at the Uni-
versal studio, for
I believe that the
best way to break
into the ranks of
the regular play-
ers— and that is
my ambition just
now — is to con-
centrate my ef-
forts in one place.
All the directors
have my telephone
number, and call
me up whenever
they need me. It's
just a trip across
the ferry to the in-
terurban line, and
only a few min-
utes' ride to the
studio, so I can get
there much quick-
er than the girls
who live in other
parts of the city."
"Have you ever
had any important parts ?" was my next
question.
"Xo, I really haven't. They are
mostly small roles in the picture, char-
acters which have nothing to do with
the story, but which often allow me to
appear in scenes alone for several sec-
be-
58
One Extra Girl
onds or with one of the stars. Last
week, I had a scene with Harry Meyers
in which I was supposed to be a lady
barber in a shop into which he strolled
to be shaved. It was a comedy, and
was awfully funny. He told me after-
ward he wondered how I ever kept
from laughing; he doesn't know that,
no matter whether the scene is funny
or tragic, I take it very seriously. You
see, I look upon it as an art which I
must learn, and which I am willing to
admit to myself I have much to learn
about. I always study the other ac-
tresses when they are working in scenes
in the studio, and when I see them in
pictures on the screen. If I had chosen
stenography as my work, I would take
pains to learn how to increase my speed
in taking dictation, and now that I have
determined to make good in the movie
game, I am going to study just so much
harder to learn all that I can about act-
ing before the camera, because I realize
that while a stenographer has only her
employer to please, a motion-picture
actress has the whole world."
She paused a moment, and looked
across the studio, very interested. I
followed her gaze, and saw Miss Mary
Fuller going through the rehearsal of a
scene with Mr. Henderson, her director.
When they had finished, I turned to
Miss Cloak with another question.
"You ought to be in a position," I
said, "to tell the ambitious young girls
all over the country whether or not
they ought to try to work in pictures."
"I'd rather not answer that question
directly/' she replied, smiling, "because
I can't agree with you that I am in posi-
tion to judge their chances of success.
I didn't come over here because I was
stage-struck, but rather because I
wanted to take up some kind of work
which would enable me at once to take
care of my mother, and which would
offer me a future. I thought over all
the different things I could do, and de-
cided motion-picture acting was the
thing that looked most favorable. If
I didn't think now that I could be a
success I would give it up at once, but
so far I have been greatly encouraged
by the results of my efforts.
"I can assure you of this much,
though, the stories one hears about the
great dangers that threaten a young girl
in the motion-picture studios are greatly
exaggerated, and many of them are ab-
solute falsehoods. The gentlemen I
have met have been real men, whom any
one could admire. Most of them are
married, and have families, and their
families are about two-thirds of their
lives. They do their work at the studio
and do it well, and at night they go
home, the same as any other man of the
business or professional world does.
Of course, there are exceptions to this
rule, but one finds undesirable people in
any walk of life. All a girl has to do
is to avoid them, and, once they are
given to understand she has no use for
them, they do not try to force them-
selves upon her.
''The stage-struck girl is really in
more danger than the girl who comes to
the studio to earn her living by her
work. I am not subject to flattery, and
neither are the majority of the other
girls who depend on this work for their
income, but when a girl comes here who
is 'just crazy' about some person or
other, and who doesn't leave when she
learns that there is no work for the
day, I always can see the possibilities
for such stories as one hears about the
studios."
She paused a moment, and I took the
opportunity to secure more informa-
tion. "I suppose," I ventured, "that to
become a real star is your greatest am-
bition?"
"Yes, indeed, it is," she said, her face
lighting up with enthusiasm at the
thought of the goal before her. "That
is really the thought that is buzzing in
One Extra Girl
59
my mind all day long. I do hope I will
be able to realize it."
I glanced at her with no little admi-
ration. Her whole heart seemed to be
in the work, and I admitted to myself
I could not see how she
could possibly do other
than succeed.
"I haven't any
idle dreams
about the
future,
tinue to be just one of the extra girls
as long as I remain in their ranks. I
never forget my ambition, though, and
J am always planning and working for
the future that I am firmly convinced
in my heart awaits me."
"May I ask what you
are paid for each
day's work?" I
queried.
"We get five
dollars
though," she
went on ; "I never
allow myself to
think I am a coming
star, who has but to
wait her time to take
the place which is
rightfully hers. I like to consider my-
self just a student, and an industrious
one. I always try to keep my place
about the studio, and I hope I will con-
Miss Beatrice Cloak, one of the
thousands of extra girls.
every day that
~ any of the di-
rectors use us," she
answered. ''Some
weeks, when I only
work two or three
days, it isn't funny at
all ; but I also pose before the still
camera for a fashion company at the
same rate, and between the two I gen-
erally manage to draw a fair week's
Director Robert Hill, of Universal, explaining a scene to Miss Cloak, while Paul Panzer sits
waiting for the call of "action !"
salary. I have to, because mother and
1 have to live, and we can't unless I
keep busy. Mother has been working
for me a long time, and wants to work
again, but as long as I can take care of
her I am going to do it."
The last statement suggested that her
life had not been all happiness, and, in
response to a carefully worded query,
she told me of it.
Her father, Samuel D. Cloak, was
telegraph editor of the New York
W orld for twenty-three years. His
death was tragic, and he left his family
practically penniless. Miss Cloak's
mother determined to have a home for
the children, and secured work. Bea-
trice gave up all thoughts of a college
career, and also started work. It was
a long, hard fight for her mother and
herself, but it made the girl understand
the serious side of life. The posing she
did before the still camera and the way
in which her pictures were praised led
Miss Cloak to feel certain that she could
be a success in motion pictures. Then
came her consideration of the matter,
and her breaking into the work, both of
which were described to me during our
talk. I also learned another fact which
surprised me — that she is only eighteen
years old.
"There are some days when the five
dollars do not seem to be near enough
compensation," she said, following a
pause. "Those are the ones spent on
locations during the winter. Often I
wear thin dresses, and only have a loose
wrap about me when we are out taking
scenes along the Hudson River, and I
guess you can testify to the wind that
blows over from the Palisades."
I could, and sympathized with her.
Then our talk drifted back to the work-
in the studio, and another point in fa-
vor of the girl's success was brought
to life when she said :
"I see quite a few people here who
One Extra Girl
61
don't seem to be able to get along with
the others, and every time I see them I
become more determined that I will
never be one of their number. I al-
ways try to be accommodating and nice
to every one, and I am sure I never lose
by it, even though it does put me out a
little sometimes. When we are making
up for a picture, or selecting our ward-
robe, I always try to help the other girls
because several of the actresses have
been very kind in helping me. I often
bring my own dresses over to the studio,
and if I have no use for them during
the day I am always glad to let any of
the other girls take them."
I didn't make the remark aloud, but
I thought to myself that this was the
exact spirit of other girls who had
started at the very bottom and worked
their way to stardom — for instance,
Miss Beverly Bayne, who came to the
Essanay Company as an extra girl, and
who now is being featured with Francis
X. Bushman by the Metro Company.
"Are you personally acquainted with
very many of the stars?" I asked.
"Yes, I have fnet a number of them,"
she said, "most of them at the Universal
studio. Let's see, I know King Baggot,
Mary Fuller, Ben Wilson, Dorothy
Phillips, Matt Moore, Jane Gail, Harry
Benham, Charles Ogle, Paul Panzer,
August Phillips, Harry Meyers, Rose-
mary Theby, Hazel Dawn, and Mary
Pickford. Some of them I know bet-
ter than others, of course, but I like
them all very much. Miss Pickford is
the only one I didn't meet in the studio."
Here was something interesting, in-
deed, I realized, and hastened to ask
her to tell about meeting the far-famed
"Little Mary."
"I was at the beach one day," she
said, "and after I had been in the water
for some time, I went ashore to rest in
the sand. A little girl came over and
sat down near me. Pretty soon we be-
gan to talk, and she remarked that it
was quite a treat for her to get away
Arriving at the Universal studio in New Jersey for the day's work.
62
One Extra Girl
She knows that one way to learn is to listen, and that is what she is doing here, whil<
Director-Actor Harry Meyers instructs his leading lady, Rosemary Theby.
from her work for a day. Quite nat-
urally I was inquisitive about her work,
and she told me that she worked in the
Famous Players' studio. Then she slyly
said that I might have heard of her —
her name was Mary Pickford. I surely
was surprised, for I had often heard
her name. I would have known her at
once if I attended the motion-picture
theaters as often then as I do now. We
had a fine visit, and she offered to
introduce me to the directors at the Fa-
mous studio, if I wanted to work in
pictures, but I hadn't considered taking
up the work at that time. I met her at
the studio only recently, however, when
I worked in a few scenes in 'My Lady
Incog' as a telephone operator, and she
was just as nice as ever, and encour-
aged me greatly by her advice.
"It's funny that the camera has never
bothered me," went on Miss Cloak.
"Even the first day that I worked in the
studio I felt at ease before it. That has
puzzled a great many of my friends, for
I have never been on the dramatic stage,
and they can't figure how I could have
such confidence in myself.''
"Then you haven't had stage experi-
ence," I remarked, a little surprised.
"No. I almost joined the 'Maid in
America' Winter Garden production at
one time, but I decided I didn't care for
that sort of work."
Being an alert interviewer, I realized
that this was my chance to learn how
she actually broke into pictures. There-
fore, I put the question to her.
"I have Ben Wilson, the Universal
director, to thank for getting into the
picture game," she replied. 4T was liv-
ing in Washington, District of Colum-
bia, when he was there filming some
scenes, and I applied to him for a po-
sition. He told me he could use me in
a scene, but the weather was bad, and
One Extra Girl
63
the company returned to New York be-
fore the scene was filmed. Later,
mother and I moved to New York, and
I went over to Universal to see if Mr.
Wilson could give me any work. He
remembered me, much to my surprise,
and used me in two or three scenes.
Then the other directors started to give
me work, and now I am called by all
of them whenever there is a part I can
play."
"Any hobbies?" I asked.
"No, I haven't gotten that far yet,"
she smiled back. "I am just like any
other girl when I am not working in
pictures. I like to dance, as every girl
does, and I enjoy going to the theaters
— if the plays are good — but if they are
not interesting they get on my nerves.
During the winter, I like to skate, and
during the summer to swim. All of
these things come after the thing I like
best — home. I really think I can enjoy
an evening in my home better than be-
ing out pleasure seeking."
"Miss Cloak !" called her director,
and I knew that it was time for her to
return to work. We said good-by, and
I left the studio, satisfied with my chat
with her, for she certainly embodied all
the ideals of the extra girl I had hoped
for.
That she is certain to make good is
the honest opinion of those under whose
direction she has worked. Her atti-
tude toward the work, her enthusiasm,
her earnestness, her intelligent study of
the camera's requirements, her person-
ality, and her natural charms all tend
to make her future look exceedingly
bright. As I reported to the editor, I
couldn't help but feel a bit proud of
the fact that in the extra girl I had se-
lected to represent the many hundreds
of others of the class which are to be
found in the studios throughout the
country, I had chosen one who had far
more than an even chance of becoming
one of the screen celebrities within the
next few years.
"IN THE SPRING A YOUNG MAN'S FANCY
,rp\VAS on an afternoon in June
I saw her first, with joy attune.
She smiled at me — no harm in that ;
And I smiled back — just tat- for- tat.
I liked her eyes — I liked her hair,
I liked her self-reliant air.
Her loveliness my heart beguiled,
She won me by the way she smiled.
I felt a thrill of rare delight ;
It was a case of love at sight.
The girl for me beyond a doubt —
And then the film just faded out.
• Robert Foster
Jtmit thai ®$iiled
e/?oberr ^
1: I r""'*'r<
'Bite on the bullet, old chap, and don't let them think you're afraid.
THE lean years had passed, and
Dick Helder approved heartily
of the fat ones that were at
hand. Sitting with his friend Torpen-
how in his London studio, after a re-
turn from the East with a packed port-
folio of easily sold sketches, the young
artist felt that life was worth while.
''Famous overnight," he laughed.
"Almost," said Torpenhow. "When
you left London for Egypt, nobody
knew you."
"And then came the war, and I made
battles plain and fancy, and "
"And you never would have got any-
where if you had stuck to the job of
staff artist," interrupted Torpenhow,
tugging at his mustache.
"Right, Torp. And, as war corre-
spondent in the Sudan you had been
everywhere and seen everything ; you
steered me into the wickedest den in
Port Said "
"For color," hastily added the war
correspondent.
"Good old Binat's," said Dick, and he
lolled back in his long chair, and looked
at the watery autumn sunshine filter-
ing through the windows, and gave
himself up to thought. Presently :
"Will you ever forget the delight of the
seminude Zanzibar girl, when the old
Arab told her that an artist, meaning
myself, wanted her to pose for me?"
Torpenhow laughed. "The girl was
pleased, but the British jackies whom
she was entertaining were decidedly op-
posed to her leaving them."
"Typical of Port Said, wasn't she?"
said Dick. "Torp, old man, there's
iniquity in many parts of the world, and
vice in all, but I believe the concen-
trated essence of all the iniquities and
all the vices in all the continents finds
itself at Port Said."
"I wasn't thinking so much of that,
Dick, as of the fact that there you had
the choice of all the races of the East
and West for studies, and the ad-
vantage of seeing your subjects under
The Light that Failed
65
the influence of strong excitement, at
the gaming tables and the dance halls.
It was the color you got at Madame
Binat's that made you famous."
""Wrong and right, Torp. More than
all else, it was your discovery of Bes-
sie "
"The little gutter snippet."
"Never mind her character. I bless
the day you brought her here."
"She was starving on the street,
ready to collapse, when I carried her
to the studio and fed her. I'd have
turned her over to one of the charities
if you hadn't begun to rave over her,
Dick."
"And you'd have raved, too, Torp,
if you'd had the artist's eye, instead of
the correspondent's. Her face and fig-
ure will be worth thousands to me.
She's a model worth any price. That's
her ring now, Torp. Get out."
Torpenhow shuffled off into the ad-
joining room and passed through it by
a side exit to the street.
"Dickie boy, we're going to capture
London, ain't we?" Radiant, Dick Hol-
der's model came in ; flushed, eves
ashine, alternately hugging herself and
Dick, as she took off her wraps.
''We've almost completed the cap-
ture, Bessie," he laughed. "If my eyes
hold out, I'll put you in a picture that
will be the talk of the town, and peo-
ple won't be asking who's the artist,
but who's the model ? That's if my eyes
hold out, as I say."
"Your eyes !" she caught him up.
"Dick, you've spoken once or twice
about them. Is it something serious?"
"Very," he answered. "I had a spe-
cialist examine them, and he gives me a
few weeks, and then — oblivion."
"You poor boy !" She was all sym-
pathy. Her arms went round his neck,
and she kissed him.
Gently he put her away. "Run along
now, Bessie, and get your togs off. I
want to get a pose while the light
holds." His eyes were aching, but he
bathed them and settled himself to mix
the colors on his palette.
Bessie danced in, and, with business-
like promptness, stepped on the little
platform and took the pose that she had
held for some days.
"It's mostly your face I want to get,"
The British jackies, whom the girl was entertaining, were decidedly opposed to her leaving them.
66
The Light that Failed
"The world is waiting for you, Dick. Go out and capture it, and then come back to me.
he said. ''I haven't yet decided what
expression will fit the figure best." It
was the beginning of a soliloquy, and
Bessie knew better than to interrupt
him. For half an hour, he worked, and
then he put down his brushes.
"It's no good, Bessie ; the face will
have to wait for another inspiration,"
he said. "I've spent the last fifteen
minutes getting the right flesh tints in
the lovely curves of your body, and,
except for a hesitant stroke or two, I
haven't had the courage to attempt your
mouth or the bewildering beauty of
your eyes. Rest up, now, for a min-
ute or two, and maybe we'll try again."
Bessie stepped from the platform and
rolled herself, Eastern fashion, in a
gorgeous shawl.
"Cigarette?" he asked, sprawling
back in an easy-chair.
"Not now. My nerves are all
jumpy," she answered, and seated her-
self on the chair arm. "Let me light
one for you" Playfully she took a cig-
arette from the box, put it between his
lips, and lit it.
"Bessie, girl, you're certainly good to
me. I'll always be grateful to good
old Torp for rescuing my beautiful
Venus from the streets that day."
She sprang from the chair and stood
before him, the shawl drawn back from
her exquisite body. "Can't you think
of me as anything more than a beau-
tiful Venus, Dick?"
He gazed critically at the girl, and,
instead of answering, bent over in his
seat, caught up a brush, and began to
work on the canvas.
But she caught his arm. "Didn't you
hear what I said, Dick ?" she demanded.
"Don't — don't speak !" he pleaded.
"Your eyes had just the right expres-
sion "
"Bah!" she flung herself from him,
and, wrapping the shawl close around
her, sat down on the sofa to sulk.
Dick paid no heed. He painted like
one inspired. At last he stepped back
and eyed his work critically. Partly
satisfied, he whistled a strain from a
popular ballad, and covered the canvas.
"Now, Bessie, what were vou say-
The Light
ing?" He sat down beside her and
drew his hand across his tired eyes.
"Never mind, Dick. I want to ask
you a question : Have you ever been
in love?"
"I am," he answered. "You've heard
me speak of Maisie "
"Your schoolgirl friend? Tell me
about her."
"She's the most adorable "
"Cut that!"
"Why, Bessie, you aren't jealous?"
"Oh, no ; not a bit ! I've seen your
Maisie, and she's everything that's
sweet and good. And I — I am only a
model."
"The loveliest model in the world,"
he assured her. And then : "Maisie
and I went to school together. We
plighted our troth as boy and girl.
There was a verse we were fond of.
Want to hear it? It ran something
like this :
"And we shall be so happy
That if either lips were dumb
They wouldn't smile in heaven
Till the other lips had come.
That's pretty, isn't it?"
"Oh, very."
"Well, I wanted to run away with
her, but Maisie was very sensible. 'The
world is waiting for you, Dick,' she
raid. 'Go out and capture it, and then
come back to me.' "
"And now that you've captured it,
you've gone back to her?"
"Not exactly, Bessie. You see, Mai-
sie has become a bit of a painter her-
self, and she has a quaint idea that
neither she nor I will be able to work
out our own destinies if we are tied
together."
"So she's turned you down, eh?"
"Practically that, Bessie."
"That's why she has never come to
the studio?"
"Don't talk about it any more," he
said. "I'm so tired, and my eyes are
burning."
Impulsively she pulled his head to
that Failed 67
her bosom and held it there, patting his
hair and cooing to him as she would
to a child.
The studio door opened. Torpenhow
and Maisie stood there — Maisie, the
girl who had never before visited his
studio, but who had been brought there
by Torpenhow, who was anxious to re-
unite the young lovers. Maisie took
one horrified look at Dick clasped in
Bessie's arms — and fled. Torpenhow
slammed the door and raced after her.
Dick jumped to his feet. "Somebody
came in, Bess. Who was it ? I can't
see very well."
"Nobody," she answered. "The door
wasn't shut. It — it just slammed.
Draft or something."
Dick sat down and began to play
idly with a Japanese dagger lying on
the property table.
"Why don't you forget this Maisie
person?" asked Bessie.
"You don't understand," he said.
"You never would understand in a
thousand years. Maisie thinks and
moves in a different sphere from you,
and "
The door was flung open, and Tor-
penhow stormed in. "I say, you peo-
ple, when you want to do any love-
making, lock the door as a preliminary,"
he began acidly.
"What are you talking about, Torp?"
inquired Dick languidly, with half -
closed eyes.
"Talking about!" snapped Torpen-
how. "When you and Bessie were
fussing on the sofa, I had the bad for-
tune to bring Maisie in."
"Maisie — Maisie here !" cried Dick.
"Yes. Took a single, solitary look at
you, and then scooted. All my attempt
at explanation went for naught. She
wouldn't listen. The little lady is prob-
ably crying her eyes out, and telling
herself that Dick has turned out the
bitterest disappointment of her youn^
life."
68
The Light that Failed
"Can't you think of me as anything more than a beautiful Venus, Dick?"
"That's rot, Torp ! Maisie is sen-
sible."
"Maisie is a fool, or worse !" Bessie
broke in. "She's an artist, too, you
know, Torp, and probably she plays
the same game with the men who pose
for her "
Dick's face flamed. He caught up
the dagger, and made a lunge at the
girl. Torpenhow intervened. "Put that
thing away, Dick. We can straighten
out this affair without murder. Look
at Bessie's face now. I'm no artist,
but if you can put that expression into
a picture, I believe your fortune's
made."
Bessie had the look of a woman
scorned, intensified a thousandfold.
Hatred, malice, and, withal, a certain
melancholy, were written there.
Dick's filmy eyes glowed. The ar-
tist was foremost. "You're right,
Torp; always right." He grabbed a
sketch pad, and, with a few deft
strokes, transferred to it the concen-
trated hate that flamed in Bessie's face.
"There ! I've got it ! The thing I've
been praying for. Bessie's beautiful
figure is on the canvas over there, and
I painted in a face that I thought sat-
isfied me. Now I know I was wrong.
I'll paint it out in the morning and
make this new idea take its place. I'll
knock off for the day and rest. Up' at
daybreak, old man. Bessie, forget what
happened. Show up as early as you
can to-morrow. Pray God my eyes
hold out!"
The picture was finished — with Dick
partly in the dark, though the sun shone
gloriously. When he put the last stroke
to it, he was alone, and he stood back-
to gloat over it. A moment he strained
his throbbing eyes, then the light failed
utterly for him. The picture faded, the
details of the room faded. A horrid
darkness settled over him. Madly he
rubbed his fingers across the eyelids.
He felt them part, felt that his eyes
were wide open, yet he saw nothing.
Then a groan came from him. and a
The Light that Failed
69
series of strange cries. They brought
Torpenhow hurrying from the adjoin-
ing room.
"Torp, Torp !" he screamed. "I can't
see — I'm all in the dark — I'm blind —
blind, man !"
Torpenhow put an arm around his
friend's shoulders. "It was bound to
come, Dick," he said gently. "That
saber cut you got in the Sudan sealed
your fate. The doctors told you.
Don't take it so hard. Remember the
old fighting days." His grip tightened.
"Remember how you lay in the tent,
bandaged, all ready to give up. You
were younger then, not seasoned to
horrors, like myself. Remember how
I said to you: 'Bite on the bullet, old
chap, and don't let them think you're
afraid.' And you did it, Dick ; you did
it. And you're going to do it now."
His grip could draw no closer. Both
men were breathing heavily. Dick
threw his head from side to side, and
groaned.
Bessie had come in silently from the
dressing room. To be quite candid, the
picture on the easel interested her more
than the blind man. She stared at it,
and, staring, loathed it. It was a hide-
ous mask of herself she looked at ; a re-
volting face he had given her ; hate and
cruelty and vice were all written there
for the world to see. She swore under
her breath — good, round oaths that be-
longed to her past environment.
Swiftly she snatched the canvas from
the easel and carried it into the other
room. There she emptied half a bottle
of turpentine on a duster and began to
scrub the picture viciously. The paint
did not smudge quickly enough. She
took a palette knife and scraped, fol-
lowing each stroke with the wet duster,
in a few moments, the thing was a
formless, scarred mass of colors. Tip-
toeing back, she replaced it on the easel
and drew a cover over it.
"The picture," Dick was saying.
"Put that away, Dick. We can straighten out this affair without murder.'
70 The Light that Failed
Dick had turned out the bitterest disappointment of her young life.
"Thank God, it's done ! I'm going to
call it 'Melancholia,' Torp. No, don't
look at it now. Run out and bring the
critics — the best men you can find.
This is my masterpiece, old man. Bring
'em, Torp !"
Torpenhow hurried out, and returned
shortly with a group of men, among
them an oculist, who insisted on treat-
ing Dick's eyes, but Dick would not
listen to him.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I've done my
last picture. I'm blind. It's a ghastly
blow, but it didn't come till I had fin-
ished my great painting. Bessie, girl,
show them the 'Melancholia.' "
But Bessie was in the dressing room,
shaken, sobbing. She told herself that
she ought to get away from the place,
but something held her there against
her will. Through the half-open door,
she saw Torpenhow go to the easel,
draw aside the protecting cloth.
The critics stared, bewildered, silent,
horrified.
"A beauty, isn't she?" said Dick.
"No wonder you're all struck dumb."
He felt his way among them, and took
the canvas in his hands. "It's the big-
gest thing in my life," he went on.
"Bessie's lovely body was the easiest
thing to reproduce, but it wasn't till I
saw her in a white-hot rage that I got
the inspiration for the face. Pretty
hard on the little girl, yes, for I've
made her look like a woman from one
of the dives. But it's just the face to
fit the thing. It's striking, eh? Why
don't you fellows say something?"
Torpenhow half guessed what had
happened, and put his finger on his lips
to still the questions of the critics.
Then he began to praise unstintingly.
The others joined in, but the oculist
drew Dick away at last. "Get into your
street clothes, and come over to my
The Light that Failed
71
place. I want to see if something can't
be done to save your eyes. You're too
good an artist to lose." By coaxing and
command, he persuaded Dick to allow
himself to be dressed for the street.
As he was being helped into his over-
coat, there came the sound of some-
thing falling in the adjoining room.
Torpenhow ran to the half-open door.
"It's Bessie!" he gasped. "She's
fainted." The girl was lying in a hud-
dled heap on the floor.
"Poor little woman !" said Dick pity-
ingly. "Plucky for her to pose for a
picture like this, eh? She's worn out,
I'll bet. Somebody get a glass of
water — smelling salts — hurry — hurry !
Give me a hand, some of you fellows."
They led him to the anteroom, and
he knelt by the girl on the floor.
"She was the inspiration for my one
great painting," he said.
Bessie's eyes opened, and she stared
at Dick, stared at the group about her.
Shuddering, she whispered : "It was
awful — awful, I tell you !"
"She means the picture," said Dick
joyously. "Awful is the word — beau-
tiful, but awful. Gentlemen, when a
painting affects your model like that,
there's something in it. You're coming
around all right, Bessie, eh?"
The girl caught sight of Torpenhow,
and stretched out a hand to him. "Take
me away, Torp — please."
They operated on Dick at the hos-
pital, but it was of no avail. One of
the surgeons broke the news to him as
gently as he could.
"Sight permanently destroyed." Dick
caught up the words from the mass of
technicalities with which the surgeon
cloaked his tidings. "I'm not surprised,
She was the inspiration for my great painting," he said.
72
The Light that Failed
doctor. That scar on my head is from
a sword cut I got in the Sudan. I
made light of it at the time, but a wise
old physician told me that it would af-
fect the optic nerves. And he was
right. It was the East that blinded me,
doctor, and yet
I love the East.
I'd like to so
back. I
the way to Egypt. He had managed his
"escape," as he styled it — adroitly. By
telephone, he had arranged for a
courier, and had him book berths on
the next steamer. On the day of sail-
ing, he made Torpenhow wrap up his
last painting — for he was still unaware
that it had been ruined — and take it as
his gift to Maisie. Then, when his
friend had gone, he summoned the
courier, told him
w hat things she
wanted packed in his
"Torp, Torp !" he screamed. "I can't see, I'm
I'm blind, man — blind!"
painted my last picture. It's a great
painting, but fame doesn't seem to in-
terest me now. Maisie — that's the girl
I have loved, doctor — she's 'at outs with
me, and so Tell me, do you think
a blind man could make his way to
Egypt without much trouble?"
"A tourist agency could fix you up,"
said the surgeon. "You could hire a
man from there to go with you. Or
how about your friend Torpenhow, who
comes in every day ?"
"No, no ; Torpenhow would never
agree to my going. It's got to be the
agency — in a day or two — after I have
decided what I'll do with the painting."
The next day, Dick was back at the
studio — and within a week he was on
in the dark —
trunk, and was oft to
catch the mail steam-
er for Suez.
Maisie's eyes were
wet, as Torpenhow
unwrapped the can-
vas and displayed the
mutilated painting.
"He put his soul
into it," said the war
correspondent. "The
figure was marvelous
— I had seen him at work on it — but
it was the face that worried him, and
he did not get .an inspiration till Bessie
quarreled with him that day after you
and I visited his studio. Then he com-
pleted what he called his master work.
\\ "hen Bessie saw it, she hated it, and
impulsively destroyed it."
"And he> doesn't know that it is
ruined ?"
"What was the use of telling him?
Let him have all the comfort he can get
out of it."
"What became of Bessie?" she asked
abruptly.
Torpenhow shook his head. "God
knows ! She left — and that's all I know
about her."
The Light that Failed
73
"Dick was very fond of her," said
Maisie tentatively.
"Dick was nothing of the sort," he
answered hotly. "She was his model.
That's all Dick thought about her. In
all the world there was but one woman
for him — yourself. I know."
Maisie was sobbing into her hand-
kerchief-.
•"Poor Dick ! I have loved him al-
ways. But I thought — I thought "
She broke off. "Torp, take me to
him."
"That's the talk!" cried Dick's
friend.
He was all aglow when they reached
the studio, and he opened the door, with
a breezy: "Dickie, boy, here's a little
surprise for you."
But there was no answer. He stared
about in amazement. "Where are you,
Dick ?" he shouted, and ran to peer into
the adjoining rooms,# while Maisie
stood, panting, in the doorway, fear in
her eyes. A scrap of paper, affixed to
the easel, drew her eyes. There was
writing on it.
"Torp, maybe some one has taken
him out for a walk, and they've left
this message." She pointed to the
easel.
Torpenhow stared at the unfamiliar
writing — the writing of the courier
Dick had hired. He read it through
dazedly, and then slumped down in a
chair.
"What is it, Torp?" cried Maisie.
"Dick's gone ! Gone, I say ! That's
his farewell, written by some stranger.
Read it!" And Maisie read:
Old Man : I can't stand it any longer.
I'm off to lose myself somewhere, anywhere.
If you love me, don't try to find me. I am
glad Maisie has the painting. Tell her I
have always loved her, and my last thought
will be of her.
Torpenhow and Maisie labored hard
to find trace of Dick, but it was a full
week before they learned that he had
hired a courier to take him to Egypt.
Straightway, Torpenhow looked up the
dates of sailing.
"You're going out to try to find
him?" asked Maisie; and when he
nodded, she went on : "Take me, too,
Torp. I want to be with him."
Let Torpenhow tell the rest. It is an
extract from a letter written by him to
a certain red-headed girl in England:
"They died out there, Dick arid the
!'A beauty isn't she?" said Dick. "It's striking, eh? Why don't you fellows say something?'
74
The Light that Failed
girl he loved. Maisie and I traced him
to Madame Binat's, in Port Said, traced
him across the desert, and learned that
he had gone with a British expedition-
ary force. On the firing line we found
him, his bodyguard a burly Sudanese.
What the lovers said to each other when
they embraced, I do not know. They
both were happy beyond my words to
tell. But it was only a brief moment of
happiness, so far as this life was con-
cerned. They were shot down where
Dick wanted to die, amid the battle
smoke, and where Maisie was well con-
tent to die, in her lover's arms. I had
lost them in a sudden sortie x>f the at-
tacking forces, and when the smoke
cleared, I came upon them, united in
death, slain by the enemy's bullets. In
Dick's hand, I found a piece of paper
with a verse on it, a verse which I
had heard him repeat many times, and
which he and Maisie were very fond
of. It was written in the same hand
that inscribed his last message to me,
the hand of the courier who had guided
him from the studio to the East that he
loved so well :
And we shall be so happy
That if either lips were dumb
They wouldn't smile in heaven
Till the other lips had come.
Wffi
A NEW-FASHIONED GRANDPA
\VTHEN it's bedtime an' my grandpa
Lights his pipe an' says to me :
"So you want a story, sonny?
Well, climb up here on my knee !" —
Then I'll bet that no boy ever
Hears the kind of tales I do,
When my grandpa tells me what he's seen
And all that he's been through.
Why, shipwreck yarns are nothin',
Nor 'bout Civil War times, when
It comes to what he says he's seen,
Along with other men.
My grandpa sailed across the seas
When Chris Columbus did ;
And he was counted in the crew
Of bad, old Captain Kidd.
He marched with Roman soldiers
Against Gaul and Briton ; and
Among the Christian martyrs, too,
My grandpa took his stand.
He's been 'most ev'rything, an' yet
He's not so old. A supe
Is what my grandpa is, you see,
With a moving-picture troupe.
Keene Thompson.
I WON'T wear them again !"
Celia Faraday crushed the letter
in her hand. It was from home,
and announced the engagement of Phyl-
lis, her youngest sister, to Mr. Robert
Tarver. Another of the three Faraday
girls was going to be married. But still
Celia, the eldest, remained unwed.
That meant, by an ancient custom
which was still in vogue in the part of
England where her home was situated,
unless she could become at least be-
trothed in the meantime, that she would
have to wear green stockings at her
younger sister's wedding — as she had
already done when Madge, who was a
year and a half her junior, had mar-
ried Colonel Rockingham. Well did
she remember the latter occasion when
her sister — and in fact every one but
her aunt — had spurned her.
"I won't do it !" she repeated vehe-
mently. "I'll show them that I can
make one man propose to me at least
— I don't care how !"
For some time Celia sat there before
the dressing table, with her handsome
brows drawn together in thought. An
artist, or other expert judge of femi-
nine beauty, would have pronounced
her the fairest of the three Faraday
sisters, which made it strange that no
man had ever yet wooed her. It was
a fact; in all the twenty-five years of
her life, she had never had a suitor.
In addition to beauty, she had wit.
Perhaps that was where the trouble
lay. The keen sense of humor which
Celia possessed may have turned
would-be supplicants for her heart and
hand away — upon its being directed
against themselves.
The fact was, all the men of her set
Celia had so far met had only aroused
her derision. She hadn't wanted to get
married. Nor did she want to now.
Which accounted for the trend of her
thought as she sat gazing straight be-
fore her into space from under that
frown of concentration upon the prob-
lem she had set herself.
"The very thing!" she exclaimed,
jumping up with the frown cleared
away on her brow, while her eyes
danced with a mischievous light. "That's
what I'll do — with Aunt Ida's help!"'
76
Green Stockings
Her sister — in fact every one but her aunt — had spurned her.
Celia ran from the room to go in
search of her aunt, at whose country-
place she was paying a visit. With a
humorous outlook upon life which
matched her own, Aunt Ida and she
were the best of chums, despite their
twenty-odd years' difference in ages.
"Now what have you been up to?"
the old lady smilingly asked, looking up
from her embroidery in the summer-
house where Celia found her. "I can
tell from your face and manner that
you've been concocting something — out
with it, my dear !"
"I've been manufacturing a fiance,"
announced Celia, descending like a
whirlwind to a place beside her aunt
on the rustic seat that ran around the
interior of the summerhouse. "Listen!
I've got it all thought out; and it's a
plan that's bound to succeed, because
there isn't a flaw in it anywhere. But
you've got to help me "
"Why?" Aunt Ida bubbled into
laughter. "Does the fiance lack an arm
or a leg, that you want me to supply
for "
"He lacks everything," Celia hur-
riedly broke in; "head, arms, and legs>
to make him real, for he doesn't exist
— outside of my mind, that is. That's
where I meant I'd manufactured him.
Don't interrupt me, auntie, dear, while
I explain. I've just had a letter from
home. In it, father tells me that Phyl-
lis is engaged — to young Bobby Tar-
ver, who's gone in for politics of late.
Well, you know what that means for
me. Another chance to put on a pair
v c those hateful green stockings. Here
I sm, still single, though I'm six years
older than Phyllis. I just made up my
mind that I wouldn't do it "
"You mean that you wouldn't remain
"Oh, listen to me, please! No, I
don't mean anything of the sort. I've
not the least intention of getting mar-
ried. But I'm just as determined that
I won't wear green stockings at Phyl-
lis' wedding. I'm going to tell them
all, when I go home to-morrow, that
I'm engaged. To — let me think — yes,
that name will do as well as anv other.
Green Stockings
77
To Colonel Smith. Do you see now
what I'm driving at "
"I see," her aunt quickly inserted,
regarding her with a look of exagger-
ated alarm, "that you've apparently
taken leave of your senses "
"No, I haven't!" Celia rushed on.
"My scheme, as I told you, is without
a flaw — and so it can't help but suc-
ceed. I'll say that I met Colonel Smith
here. He wooed and won me in a
whirlwind courtship — such as a gal-
lant soldier would be expected to make.
On the same night that I left for home,
he departed for his post in — in South
Africa. That's how I get around the
fact of my turning up engaged, but
without a fiance. Of course, you've got
to help me out by telling them that
such a person as Colonel Smith ivas
paying you a visit here. But you'll do
that for me, won't you, auntie?"
The elder woman laughed — as though
despite herself — and shook her head.
"You goose !"
she chided the
girl beside her.
"What you're
proposing i s
preposterous be-
yond words. Do
you suppose you could keep up the
pretense of being engaged forever "
"No, and I don't intend to. I've
thought of that, too — I told you I had
thought of everything. I'll get rid of
my imaginary fiance after he's served
his purpose of saving me from wearing
those horrid green stockings, as easily
as I invented him."
"But how?"
"How do girls often lose the men
they're engaged to marry? In a month
or two, or maybe three, I'll announce
that he died, or was killed out there
in South Africa. Do you see how sim-
ple it's all going to be? Nobody can
prove that a real Colonel Smith, who
won my promise to be his wife some
day, never existed. Not if you'll say
you had him as a guest here, just for
the fun of it "
"As you know I will," her aunt ca-
pitulated, with twinkling eyes — "just
for the fun of it."
Celia hugged her, and then ran away
to begin packing for her departure, on
the morrow, back to her father's house.
Many a laugh she and her aunt had in
the hours that remained before it was
time for her to drive to the station,
over the
planning of
the details of
the story of
Celia's lover.
He was
blond, they
He discovered her and stood beside her — just staring and wishing
78
Green Stockings
decided, and, of course, tall and broad-
shouldered, with the bronzed skin of
one who has spent most of his life in
the open. His given name was Robert,
which Celia announced she had con-
verted into the nickname "Wobbles."
With these points talked over with her
aunt and settled upon, to the end that
their stories might stick together later,
Celia left to break the news of her en-
gagement to her two younger sisters
and her father.
They viewed her, upon hearing it,
she noticed, with increased respect.
But not only was the attitude of her
own family toward her changed. That
of the world at large was instantly al-
tered. From a girl who was wanted by
none, Celia, now that she appeared to
have been found desirable by one, was
sought by many men.
Among these was Bobby Tarver,
Phyllis' fiance. He had paid little at-
tention to Celia before. But the mo-
ment she came home with the story of
her betrothal, his eyes traveled compar-
ingly from Phyllis to her in a way that
said plainly as words that he was think-
ing he had made a mistake by propos-
ing to the youngest of the Faraday sis-
ters too soon, when all the time it was
the eldest who was the most beautiful,
talented, and altogether desirable. He
was ready to "flop," Celia saw, with
amused scorn, at the least sign of en-
couragement from her. Every time she
sought some quiet corner and sat down,
he discovered her and stood beside her
— just staring and wishing.
The dandies of London society who
now flocked eagerly round her, where
before they had been notable by their
absence — after coming once or twice
within range of her mockingly witty
tongue — she held in heightened con-
tempt.
Could any one of them compare with
her Wobbles, she asked herself. For
the truth was, a strange thing had hap-
pened to Celia. In the mental picture
she had drawn of the officer stationed
in far-away South Africa who had won
her heart, she had unconsciously por-
trayed her ideal. Writing to him every
day — as she did for the benefit of all
beholders — she had fallen seriously in
love with the man who did not exist,
as she had told her Aunt Ida, outside
of her own mind.
Why didn't such a man as the big,
fearless soldier she had visualized as
her fiance really exist? And, if he did,
why didn't she meet him? she often
asked herself, as she sat pouring out
her heart in those love letters to her
dear, imaginary Wobbles, which she
afterward secreted in a box in her
room upstairs.
It was while she was inditing one
of these letters in the library, one morn-
ing, a fortnight after her home-com-
ing, that Celia looked up to find the
maid standing on the threshold.
"The new army list has arrived,
miss," the girl announced, holding up
the folded paper which she bore.
"Would you care to see it?"
Celia jumped for her and literally
tore the paper from her hands. She
had told her aunt that she had thought
of everything to prevent the discovery
of the hoax she was perpetrating upon
her 'family and every one else who
knew her — and here she had forgotten
this ! She might have known that the
army list would arrive almost any day.
Issued regularly by the British war
office, and containing the names of all
the officers who had died or been pro-
moted, or who were still in the service
in their previous rank, a glance at it
would at once have exposed her to her
sisters or her father.
"Yes — yes, I would like to see it,"
Celia stammered out to the maid, who
stood regarding her in round-eyed sur-
prise. "Thank you, Rosalie. And —
that will do."
As soon as the servant had departed,
she consigned the list, unopened and
Green Stockings
79
Her hand dropped limply to her side and she raised her eyes toward the ceiling — the others thought
it was toward heaven.
unread, as she had received it from
the maid's hands, to the fire — with a
sigh of relief as she saw it take flame
and its smoke curl up for the narrow-
ness of her escape from the danger in
that forgotten quarter.
Another and graver one which Celia
had overlooked presented itself a few
weeks later — although she was uncon-
scious of it at the time.
Madge and Phyllis entered the li-
brary where she again sat writing, and
inquired if she was sending another
letter to her intended husband. She
replied, with what was the truth, that
she was. They teased her by trying
to look over her shoulder to see what
she was writing. At last, to get rid
of them, she brought the letter to a
close, and then sealed it in an envelope
and addressed it to "Colonel Smith,
Somaliland, South Africa." This was
to give the epistle an air of reality be-
fore her sisters' watching eyes.
At that moment, her Aunt Ida — who
had come two or three days before to
pay the Faradays a visit — called Celia's
name from upstairs.
Placing the letter in one of the books
that lay on the library table, she went
from the room to find out what her
aunt wanted. She had scarcely gone
when the butler appeared on the thresh-
old.
"I'm all ready to drive over to the
village now, miss," he addressed
Madge. "If you've got a letter to go,
you'd best let me have it at once —
I'll just have time to get it into the
mail for the next steamer to South
Africa."
Madge hastened out of the library
and upstairs to fetch the letter she had
written to her husband, Colonel Rock-
ingham, who was also stationed in
South Africa, from the dressing table
in her own room, where she had left
it. In a moment or two, she returned
to place the letter in the butler's hand.
"Wait!" Phyllis cried out, as the
servant was turning to depart. "Celia
will want her letter to go by this boat,
too," She addressed her sister: "Par-
ker says he hasn't time to wait if he's
going to catch this mail. Hadn't we
jast better take her letter out of that
80
Green Stockings
Her father, too, told her she must brave the "disappointment" somehow.
book, there, where she put it, and give
it to him — without losing the time it
would take to run upstairs and ask
her if she wants it to go?"
"Of course." agreed Madge, cross-
ing to the table and removing Celia's
letter from the book. "Take this with
you, too, Parker."
The butler departed with both
Madge's letter to her husband at his
far-away post in Africa, and Celia's to
her imaginary fiance. And thereby
hangs this tale, which proves again that
the best-laid plans of mice and men —
and women, too — oft go astray.
It was the middle of that night be-
fore Celia remembered that she had
left the letter in the book downstairs.
Jumping out of bed, she descended in
the dark after it. She bumped against
the table in the library. Three or four
volumes fell from it to the floor. By
the dim light of the fire, Celia saw an
envelope slip from one. Picking it up,
she threw it on the logs in the fireplace,
not knowing that it was an old letter
of Madge's, instead, which she had
cast into the flames.
In blissful ignorance that her own
letter was even then speeding upon its
way to the lover she had invented for
herself in Somaliland, Celia went back
upstairs and to bed — to dream that her
Wobbles had really turned up before
her in the flesh and claimed her for
his wife.
"It's time to kill him off," she in-
formed her aunt, several days later.
"Father and the girls are beginning to
think it's funny that I never get a let-
ter from him, when I go on writing to
him every day. The explanation to
account for that is that he's been ill
with a — a fever of some sort. And it's
proved fatal. I'll have to hold an onion
under my nose to bring tears to my
eyes, I suppose, and break the sad news
to them that my fiance is dead "
"But, hold on !" interposed her aunt.
"How can you be expected to know
that he's dead when you've never heard
from him?"
Celia's brows puckered into a
thoughtful crease.
"I have it!" she exclaimed at last.
"I'll stop in at the drug store in the
village on our way to the Millers for
tea this afternoon and telephone to the
Times. I'll notify them that Colonel
Smith has died at his post out in So-
maliland, and they'll print the item.
They won't know who it was that gave
Green Stockings
81
them the information over the tele-
phone, of course. Come, let's go right
away !"
That evening, when Celia came home
with her aunt, she was met at the door
by Phyllis, who flung her arms around
her with the tearful statement that "she
was so sorry. " Some one placed a
Times in her hand, and Celia read the
item announcing "Colonel Smith's"
death. Her hand dropped limply to her
side, and she raised her eyes toward
the ceiling — the others thought it was
toward heaven.
Madge embraced her likewise, with
moist eyes, and in a hushed voice as-
sured her that she had her deepest sym-
pathy. Her father, too, kissed her ten-
derly and told her that she must be
brave and weather the "disappoint-
ment" somehow.
"At least," Phyllis told her consol-
ingly, "it's better than if you'd never
been engaged at all, dear."
"Much better," Celia agreed, as she
moved slowly away to go to her own
room. "I'll never have to be haunted
again by the bugbear of wearing those
green stockings," she confided, in a
whisper, to her aunt, as she passed her,
"after this."
Celia had played the last card in her
game — and won. Nobody suspected
her of having invented the existence
of a man who had wooed and won her,
and later of his death of fever in South
Africa, when he had served the pur-
pose for which she had created him.
Everything had worked out exactly as
she had figured it.
And then — the blow fell.
One evening, just as the' Faradays
were sitting down to an early dinner,
in order to arrive in time for the bridge
party to which they had been invited
in the house of one of their friends
that was located an hour's motor ride
away, the butler announced the arrival
of a guest.
"Colonel Dorrelton, from Somali-
6
land, he says he is," the servant stated.
"And it's Miss Celia he wants to see."
With all the color drained from her
cheeks, Celia rose with a sinking sen-
sation in her heart and went into the
drawing-room, where Parker had in-
formed her the visitor was waiting.
"It is a sad errand that brings me
here," began the tall young man of
military bearing who rose to offer her
his hand as Celia entered the room.
"My poor friend, Colonel Smith "
"Who did you say?" Celia gasped,
staring at him.
"My late lamented friend and
brother officer, Smith," the caller went
smoothly on, regarding her. with in-
terest as he did so. "He asked me, on
his deathbed, to come to you, his fiance,
and turn over to you all his worldly
possessions. Here they are. This
watch and chain" — removing them
from his waistcoat as he spoke and
proffering them to her — "and this gold
pocketknife, cigarette case, and scarf-
pin ■"
"Do you mean to tell me," she
blurted, with her eyes still fixed upon
the sun-bronzed face of the man be-
fore her, in a stare of horrified incre-
dulity, "that such a man really existed
She clapped her hand , over her
mouth, drawing back a step.
"Allow me to offer you my sincerest
sympathy in your bereavement," the
man who had given his name as Colo-
nel Dorrelton continued. "I know what
a blow the news of his death must have
been to you. While you have lost an
intended husband, I have also lost a
friend, tried and true."
Taking the watch and chain and the
other articles of which he had stripped
himself, and hastily putting them down
on the table beside her, Celia de-
manded :
"How did — did you know where to
find me?"
He smiled as he watched her.
82
Green Stockings
"Well," he answered, ''that did give
me a bit of trouble. You see, Smith
died before he could tell me where-
abouts in England you lived. I looked
at the letter you wrote him, though,
and got the name of this town from
the postmark. Inquiry which
I made in the village upon my
arrival brought out the fact
that 'Celia,' the name signed
himself to be the friend of the man to
whom she had written that love letter,
just then.
The butler appeared and handed
Celia a package which she immediately
the new army list. She
sat for a moment looking in-
terrogatively at Colonel Dorrelton
before snatching the list from the
butler's hands, placing it on her
recognized as
She sat for a moment, looking interrogativel}7 at Colonel Dorrelton.
to the letter, was the eldest daughter
of Major Faraday, who lived in this
house, and who was known to be en-
gaged to an officer stationed in Somali-
land who — er — who had recently died.
So I did succeed in finding you, after
all."
"My letter " she began blankly,
and then pressed her lips tight shut
once more.
What had actually happened to that
letter she had written and placed in the
book in the library under her sister's
eyes, and later thought she had de-
stroyed, she instantly understood.
Either Madge or Phyllis must have
mailed it, and afterward forgotten to
say anything to her about it.
There was an interruption to her in-
terview with the officer who declared
chair and sitting on it. She was almost
trembling when the butler left, fearing
that her new friend would ask some
question about her actions with the list,
but her trouble was solved just then
when Major Faraday entered the room.
After Celia had introduced him and
Colonel Dorrelton, he announced that
the rest of the family would go on to
the bridge party without her. She and
the old friend of her dead fiance would
naturally have much to talk over be-
tween them, and they would be left
alone for the remainder of the evening
to do it.
There was no objection Celia could
openly voice against the arrangement
without unpardonable rudeness to the
man who heard it proposed. She
glanced up timidly at him and plainly
Green Stockings
83
showed that she would have given any-
thing she possessed to have been able
to avoid the ordeal of spending the next
few hours alone with him, in dread
every moment of the next question he
would ask her about Colonel Smith.
When, at ten o'clock, the family re-
turned, Celia had found out a great
deal about this handsome young officer
from distant Somaliland who had
dropped down at her feet from out of
the clear sky. The sum of what lie had
told her convinced her that here in the
ffesh she had met at last the embodi-
ment of her manly ideal.
But, nevertheless, she drew her aunt
aside at the first opportunity to con-
fide in her the determination she had
formed.
"Father's invited him to spend a
week with us, and he's accepted," she
whispered in her aunt's ear. "I'm
eoin? to run awav. Back to your house
with you. I've got it all arranged with
Bobby Tarver — he thinks I'm going to
elope with him, I believe, but no mat-
ter. Hurry and pack up your things.
Bobby's promised to have his machine
at the end of the driveway an hour
from now, when every one else is in
bed. He'll honk his horn to let me
know he's waiting and the coast's clear.
He'll drive us to the station, where we
can take that eleven-forty-two for your
place. Don't lose a minute's time, now,
but run upstairs and get ready."
Celia said "Good night" to every one,
and then hastened to her own room,
there to don a coat, hat. and heavy veil
and pack a few necessary things in a
satchel, with which she crept down the
stairway of the silent house, a half hour
later, to the library — where she found
her aunt already waiting.
"I told you you'd get into trouble,"
the elderly lady, who shared the panic
into which she had been thrown by the
arrival of the officer from Somaliland
upon the scene, addressed her, in a
tremulous whisper. "And now you're
in for it, and so am I, for ever being
foolish enough to help you "
"Oh, why doesn't Bobby honk that
horn?" Celia anxiously broke in, as she
paced the floor in a fever of impatience
to be off.
She glanced up timidly, and plainly showed that she would have given anything to avoid spending
the next few hours alone with him.
84
Green Stockings
"Father's invited him lo spend a week with us and he's accepted," she whispered in her aunt's
ear. "I'm going to run away !"
She seized her aunt by the wrist the
next moment.
"Listen! Don't you hear it?" she
hissed into her ear.
"Why, no," the elder woman pro-
tested, "I'm sure the horn didn't honk
Celia clapped one hand over her
mouth, shaking her shoulder warningly
with the other.
"I don't mean the horn," she whis-
pered. "I thought I heard somebody
stealing downstairs — and somebody is!
Quick ! We'll hide behind that screen."
They crouched down behind its shel-
ter, not a moment too soon. The door
opened, and the dim figure of a man
could be made out, advancing toward
the table in the center of the room —
on which lay the unopened new army
list which had arrived that evening.
Celia, peeping through a crack in the
screen, saw that it was Colonel Dor-
relton.
He picked up the army list and
started with it toward the fireplace —
and Celia, stepping boldly out from
behind the screen, confronted him.
"Why are you trying to destroy that
list?" she demanded sternly; and then
added shyly, but with a look that
showed she had guessed the truth :
"You don't need to answer — I know.
It is because you are afraid some one
might discover, by looking through it,
that there is no such person as a Colo-
nel Dorrelton! You are nothing but an
impostor "
With a laugh, he shrugged in a ges-
ture of surrender.
"Caught !" he acknowledged the
truth of her charge. "No such person
as Colonel Dorrelton does exist. He is
a purely fictitious person who was
brought into being by a girl's letter.
Two ingredients were used to create
him — 'curiosity' and 'loneliness.' A
poor duffer of a soldier, marooned at
an army post in the wilderness, wanted
to see if a certain girl was all that the
letter she wrote implied "
"You are " Celia faltered as she
stared at him with a return of the look
of incredulity to her eyes.
He stepped toward her with a ten-
derly derisive smile.
"Can't you guess?" he prompted.
And as he spoke he opened his arms.
"Tell me who I am," he urged, as
she remained silent.
Slowly Celia smiled back at him.
"Wobbles!" she sighed with content-
ment, as she allowed his arms to close
round her.
.. '\/Otrliien, and Gottducled by
A LETTER which came to me re-
cently, asked, among other
things, a question which the
men at the very top of the ladder of
success in the motion-picture world
often inquire of themselves, and occa-
sionally of each other. The question
is : "Why isn't there more cooperation
between the people engaged in filming
plays ?"
I am going to try to arrive a' a solu-
tion of this problem, by stating the
facts as my long experience before the
camera has allowed me to see them.
When you, my readers, see a picture
flashed upon the screen, unfolding the
plot of the story gracefully and with
apparent ease, you little realize the diffi-
culties which it was necessary to over-
come before that film reached the fin-
ished condition in which you see it.
I believe most of you know how
many people in various walks of life
assist in the making of every photo
play. In this great industry, perhaps
more than in any other, there exists a
strange combination of the mechanical
and the artistic, and the persons repre-
senting both are so closely associated
and so different in their ideals, that the
obstacles to be overcome are many. You
all know that the motion pictures of to-
day are the result of the blending of the
highest of Thespian arts and the great-
est science of photography the world
has ever known. The leaders of both
these classes are giving the best that is
in them to elevate the silent drama, and
the result is obvious. But the people
representing these two classes have en-
tirely different viewpoints of the work,
and therein lies the cause of the many
difficulties which arise.
First of all, we must consider the di-
rector, who is the pivot around which
every production swings. He must be
a master of both drama and photog-
raphy, for he is the man who draws to-
gether the two classes, and who allows
both to rule the production to just the
right degree. He must work with the
scenario writer, the actor, the actress,
the scenic or technical director, and the
film editor, all of whom are in their own
way true artists ; he must work with
the stage hands, the scene painters, the
studio manager, the laboratory superin-
tendent, and the camera man, every one
of whom are depended upon to make
the production a success through his
mechanical skill.
Closest cooperation exists at the pres-
ent time between the director players,
scenic or technical director, and the
camera man, and slowly but surely the
scenario writer is being allowed to en-
ter this charmed circle, where he really
belonged from the very beginning. I
86
The Public Pulse
am afraid the same cannot be said
truthfully about the cooperation be-
tween the director and the studio man-
ager, who really represents the stage
hands, scene painters, and others who
work about the scenes ; the laboratory
superintendent, who represents the
forces which develop the negative, print
and finish the positive, and the film
editor, whose duty it is to assemble the
subject and edit it to the form in which
it will be marketed. The breach is not
as wide at the present time as it was a
short time ago, but it still exists. I am
inclined to think that the only reason
for it is because the men in these
branches have failed to get together and
thrash out the ideas each has, and all,
therefore, think that the others are try-
ing to "run his department,'' to use the
vernacular.
I do not wish to carry the idea that
this condition. exists in every studio, for
my personal experience has taught me
that it does not, but in looking over the
many homes of photo plays throughout
the country, this is the general condi-
tion that one finds.
Time will doubtless erase this draw-
back, as it did the state of affairs be-
tween the camera man and director. I
can well remember my early days in
making pictures. It was disagreement
all the way, and I look back now and
smile, as many more do, at the way di-
rectors and camera men used to argue
about certain effects. The director, I
am sorry to say, was not always right in
those days. He did not know the cam-
era the way a present-day director does,
and he therefore often called for things
that were quite impossible. Then he
would refuse to listen to the camera
man. for most directors at that time
considered the camera man merely as a
part of the machine needed to make a
reproduction of a scene on film. In
reality, most camera men were brainy
fellows, and were usually right when
they argued a point with their director.
Slowly the directors came to realize
this, and the camera men, eager to co-
operate, gladly talked over things and
explained their viewpoint. The direc-
tors realized the value of these little
talks, and the result was an immediate
change for the better in the photo-
graphic qualities of productions.
Something similar existed between
players and directors in the beginning,
though not quite so noticeable. Many
of the early directors had a habit of
studying the script at home, and then
coming to the studio and ordering the
players to do this, that, and the other
thing in a scene without telling them
the why and wherefore of it. This, of
course, served to mystify the intelligent
player, and his work became more
or less mechanical, merely walking
through scenes and laughing or crying
for so many seconds, as directed. Then
the directors began to realize that if
they spent half a day reading over the
script with the leading players, and talk-
ing over their parts with them individu-
ally, the finished production would be
much better. This system was conse-
quently adopted, and has worked out
most successfully. There is nothing I
value more than going over a scenario
with my director, until the other play-
ers and myself thoroughly understand
the characters we are to portray.
Teamwork between the players has
existed here and there from the first,
and. while there is more of it to-day
than ever before, there still exists a
little too wide a breach in this respect
for the good of the industry. I have
been very fortunate in having one of
the most intelligent and talented leading
ladies on the screen — Miss Beverly
Bayne — work opposite me. We go
over our parts together, and when we
rehearse a scene, we understand exactly
what the other is to do. It is time sav-
ing, and has proven very effective when
the results are shown on the screen.
As I said before, the scenario writer
The Public Pulse
87
is slowly entering the conference be-
tween the "powers that be" during the
making of a picture. This is as it
should be, for not even the cleverest
director is capable of fully appreciating
the fine little details which an author
has incorporated into his plot and ac-
tion. When the day arrives for the
scenario writer and the director to go
over, inch by inch, the scenario of the
former before the latter confers with
his players and camera man, we will
then be nearing the perfection for
which we are all striving.
The directors who are possessors of
more or less mechanical minds, do not
find it so difficult to get results from
the technical or scenic director, the
studio manager, the stage hands, and
others, for they can explain matters to
these gentlemen with more sympathy
than their less fortunate brother di-
rectors, whose minds run chiefly to the
artistic. The men I have mentioned
in the mechanical end are slowly work-
ing toward the director in artistic
ideals, and I can foresee the day when
perfect cooperation will exist between
them. The results will astonish you,
my readers, when that day arrives.
You can easily realize the limited
time a director has to work in, and it
is not difficult, therefore, to appreciate
the reason he is not closer to the labora-
tory superintendent and the film editor.
It is really the place of these men to
make appointments with the director,
and talk over the film they are working
on with him. He can give them instruc-
tions and suggestions as to the effects
he was striving for, and often, through
their skill, these very effects can be
gained after they seemed hopelessly-
lost in the course of staging. The com-
panies which have their studios in one
part of the country and their labora-
tories and film editors in another, are
making a fatal mistake, in my estima-
tion, for there can never be the proper
cooperation with many miles separating
these two branches of the producing
forces — and I think all of you will agree
with me that success is achieved largely
by cooperation.
This answers the question my reader
asked, and covers my viewpoint on the
subject. I trust that others who have
an honest desire to see better motion
pictures on the screen, will write me,
and either ask for explanations of the
points which they do not understand,
or offer suggestions for bettering screen
subjects. We all enjoy good pictures,
and I assure you that those of us who
are engaged in making them, are at all
times willing to cooperate with those
of you who see them, if we can only be
drawn closer together.
I am going to ask you again, to kindly
address your suggestions and questions
in regard to this matter to this depart-
ment, and other letters to me person-
ally, as this is a great help to me in han-
dling my correspondence.
"Shut yer trap," commanded Steve. "Make a holler and I'll drop ye."
SYNOPSIS OF PRECEDING CHAPTERS
MARY DENBY. born of wealthy Southern parents, had eloped, when only seventeen years old.
with a man whose life was irivon over to gambling and drink. Five years later she finds
herself in New York, with no funds and her husband out of work. She secures a place with a
wealthy Mrs. Hillary, as a sewing girl. Mrs. Hillary's husband is anxious to interest Roger Man-
ning, a Western millionaire, in a business deal. and. as a lure to bring him to his home, promises
tn introduce him to the most beautiful girl in the East. The girl whom the Hillarys had in
mind is taken ill, and Mary is induced to pose as a society girl for a single evening, being arrayed
in fine clothes, which Mrs. Hillary supplies. Manning at once falls in love with her. She returns
1o her squalid home, after a wondrous evening, and finds her husband drunk. He forces her to
tell him of the society mansion where she sewed, and then goes away, with a remark that he has
formed a plan to get' some money. The next day Mrs. Hillary calls on Mary and offers her one
hundred dollars to pose as the society girl again during a week-end which Manning has consented
to spend at their home. She says her husband has not yet completed the business deal, and that,
unless Mary helps her again. Manning will return West, and they will be financially ruined. Mary
consents, because she needs the money. On the second day of the week-end. Manning proposes
to her. and. though she knows she loves him, she dismisses the thought and tells him that what he
hopes for can never be.
CHAPTER VI.
LOYALTY AND LOYE.
WITH admirable self-control
Roger Manning turned from
Mary Denby to greet their
host and hostess who had entered the
' room.
Said he: "You came at the psycho-
logical moment. Miss Denby and I had
embarked on a heated discussion that
threatened to end jm open warfare."
"Why, I thought I heard Miss Denby
singing!" exclaimed Mrs* Hillary.
"W on't you sing again, my dear?"
Mary's agitation was apparent to
Manning, if not to the others, and he
came to the rescue with : "No, please.
Miss Denby has a lot of sobbing South-
ern melodies that grip the heartstrings
and make you feel sad and foolish. Let
the piano sing to us, Mrs. Hillary —
something stirring and cheerful. Miss
Denby and I have talked ourselves
hoarse, and we will sit here and enjoy in
silence what music you give us." And
The Golden Chance
89
he drew the girl to a big divan and sat
down beside her.
Mr. Hillary beamed at everything
and everybody. He was in a mood to
agree to anything, for he had Roger's
check in his pocket, and that meant
the saving of the Baldwin contract.
He pulled a rocking-chair to the side
of the piano and sank into it con-
tentedly.
Mrs. Hillary played Chopin's "Mili-
tary Polonaise" with sparkle and vigor.
Execrable or brilliant, her playing
would have been all the same to the
sewing girl masquerading as guest.
Mary Denby's heart was beating
wildly, and she was grateful to Man-
ning for saving the delicate situation.
His passionate proposal still rang in
her ears, and she knew that despite her
loyalty to the wreck of "a man tied to
her for life, she loved this broad-shoul-
dered stranger
who had come
out of the West,
and, after a
few hours' ac-
quaintance, had implored her to be
his wife. She would have told him of
her miserable home on Cherry Street,
of the drunkard who was her legal
husband, but her lips were sealed by
the hundred dollars given her by Mrs.
Hillary, to play her rcMe of guest.
Cecile brought in coffee, and there
was more music, and Manning, con-
scious of the girl's preoccupation, art-
fully directed the conversation from
her and told a number of pointless
stories of financial deals in the West.
Mary pleaded a headache and re-
tired early — strangely enough to sleep
dreamlessly after the most momentous
experience in her life.
The Hillarys followed soon after;
but Manning declared he would go
down to the library and smoke a pipe
before going to bed.
Long after the lights had gone out
on the upper floors, Roger Manning
sat in an easy-chair in front of the
ibrary fire, unaware that the blazing
logs were dying down to ashes, unaware
of the lateness of the hour.
Mary's agitation was apparent to Manning, if not to the others.
90
The Golden Chance
"I love her," he said to himself over
and over again. "I love her and she
loves me. What is the barrier between
us? Some day I will ferret out the
mystery that surrounds Mary Denby."
CHAPTER VII.
IN THE UNDERWORLD.
"You've got the right dope," said
"Jimmy the Rat," known to the police
variously as "Flossie Jim," "Dopey"
McNeill, and "The Turk." Suspected
of many crimes, and suspected with
excellent reason, he yet had been able
to wriggle out of the clutches of the
law. Nobody had ever been able to
catch him "with the goods." He was
rather a director of others than a per-
former. To him had come Mary
Denby's husband, Steve. Jimmy the
Rat had given him one or two small
jobs which had turned out more or less
successfully.
On the same evening and at about
the same hour when Manning was de-
claring his love for Mary, her husband
was telling Jimmy the Rat the story
of his wife's return from Harrington
Drive, the struggle for the money, and
the discovery of the orchid which the
girl had concealed in her breast.
"When she told me she had been to
27 Harrington Drive, I knew I had
a hunch," Steve had babbled on. "Do
you remember a mare named Orchid
on the Southern tracks ? She was
among the also rans for a while, but
she loped in winner at New Orleans.
Do you remember the date? Twenty-
seventh of October. Twenty-seven —
same number as the house on Har-
rigton Drive, where Mary got the
orchid flower. Orchid — twenty- seven.
It's a hunch, Jimmy. Take it any way
you look at it. Orchids are expensive.
The people have money ; jewels, likely;
silver. What do you say if we make
a raid? It's a hunch, I tell you."
"You've got the right dope," re-
peated Jimmy the Rat. "Harrington
Drive is a long way from the dead line,
and if we tap a curious cop on the
bean, there won't be many reserves to
fill in the breach. Orchid — twenty-
seven it is."
CHAPTER VIII.
FROM POVERTY TO LUXURY.
No. 27 Harrington Drive was in
total darkness. Manning had snapped
out the electrics in the library before
sitting down at the open fire to puff
his bedtime pipe and try to unravel the
mystery of Mary Denby. A broad
porch extended across the front of the
house and around one side. Steve's
counselor, Jimmy the Rat, selected the
side porch as the place to begin opera-
tions.
"A bedroom is always the safest
place for a burglar," Jimmy had de-
clared. "Nine people out of ten pound
their ear so strenuously that they
wouldn't wake up if a Zeppelin
dropped a bomb at the bedside. Bed-
room windows are always open. There-
fore, us for the fresh-air-fiend sleep-
ing rooms."
Fortified by a stiff drink, Steve
climbed the porch pillar, crept along
the roof, and pushed up a window,
slightly open at the bottom. Revolver
in hand, he waited. He could hear the
deep breathing of some one in the
room. The even intake and expulsion
of breath reassured him that the occu-
pant was asleep, and sleeping soundly.
He put a leg over the window sill and
dropped noiselessly on the thick car-
pet. Electric flash in hand, he ex-
plored the room, which was partly
lighted by one of the street electrics.
A pearl necklace, lying carelessly on
the dressing table, gave Steve his first
gasp of surprise. "Oh, this is too
easy," he told himself. On a chair
was a heap of lingerie, rich in texture,
evidently well worth taking away. In
The Golden Chance
91
"Steve, Steve, you can shoot me if
you like, but, as God lives, I have done
nothing wrong!" She pushed the
covers from the bed and joined him at
the window. "I am Mrs. Hillary's
guest. I can explain "
"All right. You explain it when you
get home. Put your things on and
come."
"But, Steve, you didn't come here
for me, did you?"
"Xope. Swag," he an-
swered laconically. "Jump
into your fancy clothes,
a closet where he flashed his torch
were gowns that meant real money ;
silk stockings and costly fripperies —
Steve's hunch was working.
He stepped to the window to signal
an "All well" to Jimmy the Rat. As
the glare of the street light fell on him,
there came a muffled shriek from the
bed. He turned instantly, revolver
ready for action. His pocket flash
searched the room and rested on the
face of the awakened sleeper.
"Mary." It was a strangled cry,
choked back by his sense of caution
even in that supreme
moment when he
made the benumbing
discovery that the
woman whose luxuri-
ous bedroom he had
broken into was none
other than his wife,
the poorly clad sew-
ing woman of Cherry
Street.
Her hands were at
her lips. Her eyes
stared at him wildly.
"What are you do-
ing here ?" Steve's
question was a tense
undertone, wrathful,
menacing.
Her bosom rose
and fell in great
gasps. Dazedly she
raised herself from
the pillows and strug-
gled for speech. "It's
you, Steve?" she
whispered.
"It's me," he said
grimly; "but I didn't
expect to find you
here, dolled up in
laces fit for a queen.
What's the answer ?
Fine dresses and jew-
els and Oh, I
ought to shoot you !" She loved this broad-shouldered stranger who had come out of the West.
92
The Golden Chance
now, grab everything worth grabbing,
and "
There came a gentle tap on the door,
repeated more loudly.
Steve sprang to the window and
clambered out on the roof of the
porch. "Answer," he whispered to the
frightened girl, his chin on a level with
the sill. "Answer. But if you give
me away I'll shoot you !"
Her hands clutching her breast in
vain effort to quiet the pounding of
her heart, she called : "What is it ?"
"We thought we heard a noise,"
came Mrs. Hillary's voice. "We
thought we heard you speaking. Is
everything all right?"
"Yes, yes, everything!" cried the
girl. "I must have been talking in my
sleep." She switched- on the light and
opened the door. Mrs. Hillary, in bou-
doir cap and kimono, stood on the
threshold; behind her Mr. Hillary
blinked sleepily and pulled his room
robe closer about him.
"I'm so sorry to have disturbed you,"
Mary went on, speaking rapidly. "I
had the wildest kind of a dream, and
I dare say I shrieked out loud."
"We distinctly heard you call out,"
said Mrs. Hillary, "and then it sounded
as if you were holding a conversation
with yourself."
Mary laughed. "I'm so sorry."
"Well, for goodness' sake don't
dream any more to-night !" snapped
Mr. Hillary, shivering in the draft.
His wife looked at the open window.
"Aren't you afraid of the night air?"
she asked.
Alarm flashed in Mary Denby's eyes.
She darted a quick look at the sill, but
her husband's head was no longer
visible. Doubtless he was crouching
beneath, listening, and with his pistol
ready for use.
"No, no," she answered quickly. "I
am a real fresh-air fiend."
"And you are sure everything is all
right?" asked Mrs. Hillary, still un-
convinced.
"Indeed, yes. Everything. Xow
I'll sleep like a top. Good night."
"I hope to the Lord you do," yawned
Mr. Hillary, and led his w^ife away.
Mary closed the door and switched
off the light. She stood listening to the
retreating footsteps, and then, utterly
exhausted from the strain, flung her-
self on the bed, nerveless.
CHAPTER IX.
THE FIGHT FOR LIFE.
Steve stepped into the room again.
"Close shave," he whispered, sitting
down on the edge of the bed. "You
did good work, girl. I didn't think you
had it in you. But we got to hustle
now. Any other little trifles besides
the pearls that we want to take?"
She shook her head, speechless. He
stowed the pearls away in his pocket.
It would have been useless to reason
with him even had she been in suffi-
cient control of herself, and she made
no attempt to stop him.
"I'll risk a trip to the lower floor,"
he added, "and see what I can pick up.
Hustle now. Get into your street
things. Be ready when I come back,
and we'll make our get-away from the
porch."
He opened the door, stood for a mo-
ment to assure himself that the coast
was clear, and then cautiously de-
scended the stairs.
Near the bottom one of the steps
creaked, and
"Is that you, Mr. Hillary?" came a
voice from the gloom.
Roger Manning, who had fallen
asleep in his chair in front of the dead
library fire, awoke to the sound of
voices on the floor above him. He
rubbed his eyes and got to his feet
stiffly. He listened, but silence had
fallen on the house again. ~ Without
turning on the lights, he made his way
The Golden Chance
93
to the reception hall, and stood at the
stair foot, wondering if the sounds he
had heard were part of his dreams.
With his hand on the balustrade he
gave himself up to musing again. It
was here he had stood with Mary
Denby, the Mystery Girl, and eyes
spoke love to eyes that surely answered
love, though the girl had told him that
she could never be his wife.
"She shall be ; she must be !" he
whispered to himself happily.
He became aware that on the steps
above him something was moving.
"Probably my good host," he told him-
self; "come to send me to bed. Then
came his call : "Is that you, Mr.
Hillary?"
"Yes," came a muffled response, fol-
lowed by a noisy yawn. It was the
voice of Steve Denby, but it might
have been the voice of anybody,
cloaked as it was by the yawn. Steve
held a loaded revolver, but he had no
intention of using it
except in case of dire
necessity. It was a
moment when quick
thought and action
were demanded. If he ran back to the
room, the man who had hailed him
from below would arouse the house-
hold, and both Mary and he would be
in danger of arrest. Better to sneak
upon the unsuspecting man, whoever it
was, and trust to luck to be able to
club him into unconsciousness before
he could cry out.
But fate intervened. As Steve
crept cautiously down, Manning's hand
at the side of the stairs encountered a
push button. Mechanically his hnger
pressed it. The lights glowed in the
ceiling cluster, and
.Manning began an
apologetic speech —
to pause aghast
Battered and bruised and gasping for breath, Steve crawled to the bottom step and sat there, helpless.
94
The Golden Chance
'Now maybe you will tell me what this is all about?" said Manning.
after the first word or two. This was
not Mr. Hillary, but a man menacing
him with a pistol, a man with shabby
clothes and tangled hair, a man whose
evil face stamped him as an associate
of criminals.
"Shut yer trap !" commanded Steve,
in subdued, tense tones. "Make a
holler and I'll drop ye. No harm'll
come to you if you back over to that
door and open it."
If Steve Denby was quick of
thought, so was Manning. Obediently
he backed to the door, but as he did so
he passed a table on which lay a num-
ber of books. His hand dropped care-
lessly on one of the books, then he sud-
denly sent it whizzing at the burglar.
It caught him full in the face, doing
little damage, but it upset his balance
for a moment, drove him backward a
step, and in that fateful moment Man-
ning flung himself on the armed man.
Almost at the instant of the shock
of encounter the revolver was sent
spinning to the floor and Manning
kicked it out of reach. Steve felt that
this was to be a fight for life, and he
used every foul trick he knew. Roger
Manning was no milksop millionaire,
but a man with hardened muscles, and
in a fair fight the struggle would not
have lasted beyond a couple of blows,
but Steve grappled with him, and, fight-
ing tooth and claw, rolled with him to
the floor.
At last Manning got his hands on
Steve's throat, choked him into a satis-
factory attitude of nonresistance, and
then picked up the revolver. The fight
was over.
CHAPTER X.
THE LIE.
Steve Denby was a thoroughly cowed
man. Battered and bruised and gasping
for breath, he crawled to the bottom
step and sat there, helpless, while his
victor stood looking down at him, pistol
in hand.
"Now maybe you will tell me what
this is all about?" said Manning.
The Golden Chance
95
Steve had no words, nor was there
time for words, for the sounds of the
conflict had been heard in the rooms
above, and Mr. and Mrs. Hillary, now
thoroughly frightened, came hurrying
down the stairs. Mary, surmising what
had happened, followed more slowly.
Manning looked up, and even in the
stress of the moment he had a new
sense of the loveliness of the girl, a
plaintive little figure in her filmy robes,
her hair in a long braid, a beribboned
cap setting off the beautifully shaped
head. He smiled at her reassuringly.
"It's only a poor housebreaker," he
said. "The fellow and I had a bit of
a struggle "
"You're not— not hurt?" asked the
girl, fear in her eyes.
Steve Denby glanced around — and
saw a new avenue of escape. "Say,
you — put away that gun," he drawled.
"It might go off and give my wife a
scare."
''Your wife !" cried Mrs.
Hillary, appalled by the jf
possibility that the man
might be speaking the
truth. . •
"Sure. Didn't I /
come here to see
her?" Then, to Manning: "You're the
'angel,' I suppose. Well, none of you
flash guys can put anything over on
me. Stow that gun, I say. Don't you
see the little lady is quite frightened?
You'll have to forgive the lateness of
the call, ladies and gents, but a man
has a right to call on his wife at any
hour — eh ?"
Manning laughed. "You're an in-
genious burglar, very," he said. "Miss
Denby, this — er — gentleman makes the
most extraordinary statement I ever
heard in my life. He claims you are
his wife."
"Go on, Mary; tell him," prompted
Steve.
For a moment she hesitated. To
confess the truth would be to free
Steve, perhaps, but it would be to un-
cloak her own double identity and em-
broil Mrs. Hillary in the disaster.
"I don't know this
man," she said, with
whitening lips.
Steve made a
movement toward
her, but Manning
pulled him back.
"Say, you — put away that gun/ he drawled. "It might go off and give my wife a scare.
96
The Golden Chance
"I tell you she's my wife!" raved the
prisoner.
"Now, don't get excited," soothed
Manning. "You must be a fool to
think we'd swallow such a tale as that."
"He is a thief," said Mary, anxious
only to get the scene over with. "Search
him. He passed through my room and
I awoke and saw him take the pearl
rope which Mrs. Hillary let me wear."
Mrs. Hillary exclaimed in alarm.
Steve choked back the oaths that were
ready to leap from his tongue, and re-
lapsed into sullen silence. Manning
ran his hands over him, dived into his
breast pocket, and brought out the
pearls.
"Are these yours, Mrs. Hillary?" he
asked.
"Oh, indeed they are !" cried Mrs.
Hillary. "And thank you for prevent-
ing him getting away with them."
"That's settled, then. Apparently he
has taken nothing else. He probably
would have made a richer haul if we'd
given him time." Then, to Mr. Hillary:
"Can you use a gun?"
"Why — yes," answered Mr. Hillary
nervously.
"Then keep him covered while I
telephone the police." He put the pistol
into his friend's hand and ran to the
rear room, where there was a desk
phone.
Mrs. Hillary fingered the pearls and
looked from Mary to Steve.
"Was the man in your room before
or after you dreamed?" she asked, sud-
denly suspicious.
"Before — no ; I mean after "
"Then you could not have been very
sound asleep."
"Oh, I was — I was. I was dead to
the world." The girl was very near to
hysterics.
"And when you woke and saw this
man in your room, why did you not
give the alarm right away?"
"I — I was so dazed " She broke
off and suddenly grasping Mrs. Hil-
lary's hands, went on gaspingly: "I'll
tell you the truth. I must tell it. I
can't act a lie any longer. This man is
my husband."
"Good Lord !" exploded Mr. Hillary,
and lowered the pistol, while Steve
grinned.
"Then you and he have conspired to
rob me?" cried the astounded mistress
of No. 27 Harrington Drive.
"No, no; please don't believe that.
He did not know I was here. You can
lock us both up if you wish, but how
is Mr. Manning going to feel if he
finds that I am an impostor?"
Steve did not wait for further par-
ley. Springing to his feet, he was up
the stairs three at a time. Pluckily
Mr. Hillary pointed the weapon up the
stairs, shut his eyes, and fired blindly.
There was a deafening report, and
Steve's laugh rang out as the bullet
plunged into the calm features of one
of the Hillary ancestors on the landing.
CHAPTER XI.
THE NAKED TRUTH.
At the sound of the shot Manning
dropped the receiver on the hook and
rushed back to the reception hall. The
fleet-footed girl was already vanishing
up the stairway in the footsteps of the
burglar. The older folks were toiling
in her wake, Mr. Hillary bravely
brandishing his weapon.
"He's escaped !" he roared. "Gone
through one of the upstairs rooms !"
Manning leaped after them and
grabbed the pistol from Hillary's hand.
Mary stood at the door of her room,
panting.
Manning tried to pass her, but she
pushed him back.
"He went through here !" she cried.
"Oh, please, Roger, let the poor fellow
go. I hate to think of anybody in the
hands of the police."
"That's nonsense, dear," he said
gently. "Kindness shown to burglars
The Golden Chance
97
'Til tell you the truth. I must tell it. I can't act a lie any longer."
is the worst possible thing for them.
They thrive on kindness. Severity is
the best preventive of crime."
"Oh, please, please, dear!" she
begged.
But he would not be stayed. He
broke from her clinging hands and
dashed into the room. The light from
the street was streaming in at the open
window, and he guessed instantly that
the burglar had escaped through it.
He made his way to the window,
stumbling over a chair in the way.
Leaning out, he felt the roof of the
porch beneath. He stepped out on it,
and on the street below saw two men
running, one of them the burglar who
had been in his grasp a moment ago.
He sent a shot after them, but evi-
dently without effect, for the men van-
ished on the run around the corner.
Mary and the others had come into
the room and turned on the lights.
"You've got your way," said Man-
ning, a little disgusted. "The burglar
has gone — scrambled down from the
room and made a clean get-away."
"You saw him ?" asked Mrs. Hillary.
7
"Yes, and tried to shoot him. I
missed. He and his pal showed me a
clean pair of heels. Well, folks, run
along to bed now. You'll not be
bothered with the nighthawks again,
I reckon." And, closing the window,
he smilingly pushed his host and hostess
out of the room. "I'll phone the police
that they can call off the hunt, but I'll
sit up half an hour or so in case they
come to make inquiries."
"Good night, Mr. Manning, and
thank you for saving my jewels," called
Mrs. Hillary, as she and her husband
started along the passage to their own
room for the last time that eventful
night.
Manning lingered a moment for a
last word with Mary Denby at the door
of her room.
"That man" — he began — "he did not
harm you?"
"No, no."
"Thank God ! Mary, why don't you
give me the right to guard you; to be
always your shield in time of danger?"
"Because " She hesitated. The
great moment of her life had come.
98
The Golden Chance
Manning tried to pass her but she pushed him back.
Torn by conflicting emotions, she could
no longer keep up her deceit. She must
make the decision now that would af-
fect her whole future, and she made
it with a whispered prayer for help.
"Because," she said, in a dull under-
tone— "because I am the wife of the
burglar."
He put up his hand as if to guard
against a blow.
"You are unnerved," he said gently,
taking her hands and smiling down into
her eyes. "Come. Tell me that this
mystery that you hinted of is nothing
but a figment of the imagination. Tell
me there is no barrier to our eternal
happiness. I love you, dear heart —
love you beyond anything in the
heavens above or the earth beneath."
His arms were about her. Her senses
reeling, she felt his lips on hers. His
clasp left her breathless. Panting, she
struggled free and turned from him,
sobbing, to hide her head against the
portieres.
"I have told you the truth," she in-
sisted ; "the grim truth. I am that
man's wife."
"And I insist that you are the wife
of no man, for the fates have decreed
that you shall be mine," he retorted,
and would have gathered her into his
arms again. But she thrust his hands
away.
"Listen to me," she cried. "I am a
sewing" girl. Five years ago I ran away
from home with a race-track follower,
who dragged me down to a Xew York
slum. I might have been a woman of
the streets, but the good Lord stopped
me before I took the awful step. I
have been true to the man I married,
thief and burglar though he is. I came
here at the earnest plea of Mrs. Hillary,
and posed as her guest. She insisted.
I came as her sewing woman, but she
had expected to introduce you to a girl
in your own circle. The girl took sick,
and Mrs. Hillary begged me to take
her place. I saw no wrong in it then.
The Golden Chance
99
'Wear the clothes of a society woman,'
she said, 'and I will give you a hundred
dollars.' And I did it. I thought it
would be no more than a jest. Per-
haps I was wrong, but a hundred dol-
lars meant a fortune to me ; and so
She broke off and looked at him
pleadingly, with the eyes of a child.
"And then I met you — the man I had
seen in my dreams in days gone by ;
the man I must meet, talk with a few
glad days, then put out of my life for-
ever. Now let me go. I must leave
this house now, since you know the
truth. My poor Cherry Street clothes
are here, in this room. I will put them
on and take up the old life again and
say — say good-by to you."
He had listened in silence, and now
he broke out in recriminations, dis-
jointed, exaggerated. And when his
ouburst was expended, he stared at the
girl in silence, watching her heaving
shoulders, feeling no pity for her, but
an indignation against her and against
the host and hostess who had made her
party to the deception.
"I would have loved you, Roger," she
said brokenly, "if I had met you be-
fore— before " She could not finish
the sentence. Choking, she left him,
and the door closed on him.
He made his way down the stairs,
clinging to the rail like an old man.
The clouds had gathered about him.
The sunshine was gone from his soul.
Dully he telephoned a message to the
police, and, returning to the reception
hall, flung himself into a chair, the in-
carnation of despair. His dream of
happiness was shattered. If what Mary
Denby had said was true, then were
death desirable.
He sat for a long time, his thoughts
chaos.
In half an hour that seemed to him
an age, Mary Denby, clad in the cheap
coat and hat that suggested the lower
East Side rather than Harrington
Drive — Mary appeared. She passed
like a wraith. He held out a hand to
stay her, but she paused for only a
moment, then the outer door opened
and the girl who had meant so much
to him passed out into the night.
CHAPTER XII.
THE TRAP.
In a poorly furnished room on
Cherry Street three people sat talking
over the occurrences at Harrington
Drive. They were Jimmy the Rat,
Steve Denby, and his wife Mary.
"No use bein' worried," said the
philosophic Rat. "We made our little
get-away as slick as a Russian retreat.
You queered the game,' Steve, when
you popped eyes on your wife in that
swell room ; and, as I've been savin'
these many years, it's the skirts what
bring the best men to the pen. But
you've opened somethin' that looks
good to me. Now, Steve, what's the
matter wTith invitin' Mr. Manning, the
millionaire, to come here and help his
poor little friend Mary from bad men — -
meanin' you and me?"
Steve looked vacant. "I don't get
you."
" 'S easy, my boy. Little Mary's in
trouble. She sends him a cry from
Macedonia. Come and help. See?
We indite that same little cry. 'Dear
Freddie or Bert or whatever the guy's
name is. For GawTd's sake, come to
yer little girl's assistance. Bad men
have me in their clutches.' See?
'Clutches.' That always fetches 'em.
Friend Manning receives the sad little
whine and he lopes down here on the
run. 'Where's the lady?' says he to us.
Then we get in our little play. We say
to him, say we : 'Dear sir, you're up
against it. Fork up a million dollars
or whatever sum we decide upon, and
the girl is yours. Make a holler and
we taps you on the bean.' Oh, it's a
cinch, believe me !"
100
The Golden Chance
"I'll write no such letter," declared
the horrified girl.
"You'll do what I tell you !" snapped
Steve, grasping her arm and looking at
her maliciously.
"Cut the rough stuff, Steve, old boy,"
said the Rat. "It don't pay among
friends. And we want the little girl to
be our friend.
See? Ain't no
needcessity for
her to do the
"Mary, why don't you give me the right to guard
your shield in time of danger."
writin'. I'll fix it up. Get me pen and
a bit of paper."
Steve brought the writing utensils,
and Steve laboriously inscribed his
plaintive message and signed it "Mary."
But the girl, while the others were
hunting for an envelope, snatched the
pen and wrote on a corner of the note :
Don't come.
Mary.
CHAPTER XIII.
DAW N FOLLOWS THE DARKEST HOUR.
Next morning Manning had a bad
quarter of an hour with his friends,
the Hillarys. They pleaded with him
to forgive them, pointing out that they
had planned the deception for no other
purpose than to make his stay pleasant.
"You brought that girl here and in-
troduced her as Miss Mary Denby,"
he said, "and you allowed me to fall
in love with Miss Mary Denby, know-
ing all the time how impossible was
my suit."
"We did not know you felt that way
about her," answered Mrs. Hillary,
somewhat aggrieved. "How should we
know that she had a
husband who was a
burglar? I acted on
impulse, and I con-
tend that almost any
other woman would
have done the same.
I had planned you
should meet a real
beauty, and when
sickness prevented
my plans being car-
ried out. Providence
sent me this Denby
girl. She was well
educated, and she is
as much a lady as any
I have ever met."
"A great deal more
a lady than many I
have met," said Man-
ning, a little sadly.
"It is too bad you did not inquire about
her home life "
He was interrupted by the maid.
"A letter for Mr. Manning, if you
please/' she said.
Manning glanced at the crude super-
scription, slit open the envelope, and
read the badly written and badly spelled
note signed Mary, which Jimmy the
Rat considered a work of art. Two
words were written on the corner, and
these two words gave him more con-
cern than all the rest.
"More mystery," he muttered. "And
this time I'm going to beard the wolf
in his own den and find out."
you; to be always
The Golden Chance 101
Excusing himself, he abruptly left
the table. "I want to telephone, if I
may," he said.
He called his hotel and got his
Japanese valet on the wire.
"Jump into a taxi and come here
right away. We're going to make a
trip to the slums. Bring an automatic
with you," he instructed.
An hour and a half later a taxi
pulled up at the door of a tenement
cn Cherry Street. Roger Manning
stepped out.
"Wait for me," he said to the valet.
"If I am not back in ten minutes, get
a policeman and come up to the Denby
nat.
Jimmy the Rat met him at the door.
"You're Mr. Manning, sir," he asked.
"I been wait-in' for you. Mary Denby's
in hard luck. Her brutal husband has
been beatin' her, for tryin' to leave him,
sir, I believe. I'm a friend of the fam-
ily, sir. Come right up, sir; she'll be
glad to see you."
Rambling on, he mounted the stairs,
and Manning followed him, stern-
lipped, not knowing what kind of
trouble awaited him, but determined to
meet it face to face.
He was bundled into the Denby flat,
and the door locked.
Mary was standing in the little par-
lor, gazing out hopelessly at the unlovely
back yards.
"What is it?" he began.
She turned as he spoke, and the blood
surged into her cheeks.
"You !" she cried. "Roger ! You
came "
"Of course I came."
"But did you not see what I wrote
on the cor "
"Here ! Let me attend to this," came
a strident voice, and Steve entered from
another room. "You stay in there," he
said to the girl, and, thrusting her into
the bedroom, he locked the door. Then
he turned to Manning.
"I'm glad to see you again, my swell
friend," he said bitingly. "But this
time we've got you in our power. The
tables are turned. Oh, don't try to pull
any gun! My friend "Jimmy the Rat
will drop you if you do. The door is
locked, and you can't get out by any way
but the fire escape, and I'll see that you
don't leave that way. Now, sir, kindly
fork over what ready cash you have
handy in your jeans, and you can give
Mary a small check for ten thousand
dollars Here! Steady! None of
that !"
But Manning could contain himself
no longer. He made a swipe at the
burglar which would have felled him
had it landed, but Steve ducked, and
he and Jimmy the Rat piled onto the
husky young millionaire.
Manning got in a couple of terrific
blows that put Jimmy out of the fight,
but the ready Steve caught up a heavy
bottle and brought it down with stun-
ning force on Manning's head.
Then the door was smashed in, and
the Japanese valet and three policemen
entered. Denby jumped for the fire
escape, turning for a moment to drop
one of the officers writh a shot from his
revolver. His fire was answered with
another shot. The bullet caught him as
he scrambled out on the fire escape. He
swayed for a moment against the low
railing, then toppled through the hole.
When they reached him, he was dead —
killed almost instantly by the police-
man's bullet.
They carried the lifeless body back
into the room and laid it on a couch,
tovering it with a rug.
Manning had recovered from the
blow on the head, and, with strangely
mingled feelings, he bent over the silent
form — the barrier that had stood, but
stood no longer, between him and su-
preme happiness. He went to the bed-
room where Mary had been imprisoned,
and unlocked the door.
The girl was close to fainting, and he
put his arm around her.
102
The Golden Chance
"Oh, I am so glad you are safe !" she
cried.
"Why are you glad?" he demanded.
"Because — because Oh, don't
make me say it, Roger. My husband
"You have no husband, dear," he said
softly.
"Roger — the shots I heard — you
killed him !" she cried, horror in her
eyes.
He shook his head. "The man de-
served death, but I did not kill him.
He brought the fatal punishment on
himself. He shot and killed one of the
officers who broke into the room. And
one of the officers shot and killed him.,,
Mary, for a second, looked around
helplessly, uncertainly — then her eyes
returned to the grave, tender eyes of
Manning.
"And now" — she said brokenly —
"what shall I do now?"
For answer, he held out his hands to
her.
"Marry me," he said simply, "and let
us make the past as though it had never
been."
THE END.
FILMED
QEE a feller jumpin' from a forty-foot cliff!
See a bantam cowboy knock a greaser out stiff!
See a gal a-ropin' of a hoppin'-mad steer!
See a horse a-runnin' till you wanter just cheer!
See a tiger lookin' at yer, lashm' its tail !
See a shootin' desperado hitting the trail !
See an aviator do a double flip-flop!
See a forty-centimeter goin' plop-plop !
See the feller crankin' of these wonders for the screen !
Think of all the thrillers and the crazy stunts he's seen !
Gee!
I'd like to be
That camera man !
That lucky moving-picture camera man !
W. C. MacDermott.
This department will answer questions submitted by our readers either of general
interest, or relating to pictures. No answers will be given to questions regarding matri-
mony, religion, or photo-play writing. Letters should be addressed : Picture Oracle,
care of this magazine, 79 Seventh Avenue, New York City. Write only on one side
of the paper. No questions will be answered unless accompanied by full name and address,
which, however, will not be used. At the top of the paper give the name, or initials, by
which you want the question answered in the magazine. No questions will be answered
except through these pages. All questions will be answered in the order received, so that
failure to see the answer in. the next number means that its turn will come later, as we
receive many letters a week, all wanting an immediate answer. When inquiring about
plays, give the name of the play and the name of the company, if possible. Questions con-
cerning photo-play writing should be addressed to editor of the scenario writers' depart-
ment, above address.
IVAN W. DICKSON.— Barbara
Tennant is playing . with the
World Film Corporation. Jane
Fearnley and Alice Joyce are both rest-
ing at the present time. It is rumored,
though, that Miss Joyce will soon re-
enter film work via Gaumont. Phyllis
Allen is playing at the Keystone-Tri-
angle Studios, in Los Angeles. Mar-
guerite Snow's studio address is in care
of Metro Film Corporation, New York
City. Thanks for your kind words re-
garding the magazine. Hope you also
like the gallery, which you have been
asking for. So you want pictures of
Octavia Handworth and Louise Vale?
I'll speak to the editor.
J. J. — So you are one of the many
"Little Mary" fans? The cast of prin-
cipals in "The Foundling" (F. P.) is
as follows: Molly O., Mary Pickford ;
David King, Edward Martindell ; Mrs.
Grimes, Maggie Weston. Yes, I agree
with you — it was one of Mary's best re-
leases. My opinion of Blanche Sweet?
She's one of our greatest little stars.
I rank her very highly, indeed. Have
you seen her latest picture, "The Raga-
muffin" (Lasky)? It's great! Dainty
little Mae Marsh was born in Madrid,
New Mexico, 1897. I believe I have
answered this same question at least
twice each issue. Mary Pickford was
born in Toronto, Canada, 1893. An-
tonio Moreno, the Yitagraph star, was
born in Madrid, Spain, in 1888.
W. J. Phee. — Tom Santschi played
the part of the American who saved
Kathlyn Williams in "The Adventures
of Kathlyn" (Selig). Are they just
showing that serial out your way now ?
A Professional, Champaign, Illi-
nois.— Very glad, indeed, that you liked
our story version of "My Old Dutch"
(Universal) so much. I agree with
you that Florence Turner's work was
wonderful. It does seem good to see
her on the screen once again.
104
The Picture Oracle
Sweet Sixteen. — Sorry, but I can't
answer those marriage questions.
Against the rules, you know. No, as
far as I know, Crane Wilbur doesn't
use a curling iron. The other ques-
tions you'll have to ask him.
L. Serbring. — The great and only
Charlie Chaplin was born in France, of
English parents. Yes, I agree with you
that he is a wonderful comedian.
Kathryn. — Ah-ha, an admirer of
Guy Coombs ! Anyway, Kathryn, you
show good taste. Yes, he did splendid
work in both "Barbara Fritchie" and
"My Madonna," two excellent Metro
subjects. A little of his history: Guy
was born in Washington, District of
Columbia, 1882. His first professional
appearance was on the stage with Mrs.
Fiske, in "Becky Sharp." His great-
est legitimate work was while playing
opposite Charlotte Walker, in "Boots
and Saddles." He started his screen
career with Edison over five years ago,
and next went with Kalem, where he
played opposite Alice Joyce, Anna Nils-
son, and Marguerite Courtot. Recently
he joined the Metro Company, and can
be addressed either there or at the
Screen Club, New York City.
Curls. — Enid Markey played Kala-
niweo, in "Aloha Oe" (Triangle). A
marvelous picture, wasn't it? Flor-
ence Turner, the favorite of the good
old days, was Sal, in "My Old Dutch"
(Universal). Edna Goodrich had the
lead in "Armstrong's Wife" (Lasky).
Very happy to know you enjoy read-
ing this magazine so much.
E. Caporal. — So you want to be an
actor? Alas and alack, my boy, the
field is overcrowded ! You would stand
no chance in the world, especially as
you say you are a novice. Better stick
'to your regular job, and don't bother
with pictures, except to see them. It
will save you many heartaches.
G. A. P. — The American Film Com-
pany (Mutual) hasn't, as yet, an-
nounced any sequel to "The Diamond
From the Sky." In due time, however,
they will give all the particulars.
Val Siems. — Address Grace Cunard
at Universal City, California, and Pearl
White in care of Pathe Freres, New
York City. I imagine either one of
them would send you a photograph on
receipt of twenty-five cents, to cover
cost of mailing, et cetera. Yes, I be-
lieve Kathlyn Williams would answer
a letter. Why not try, and see? Your
letter was very nice, indeed.
M. R. W. — "Cabiria" was released by
Italia Film Company ; "The Idlers"
(Fox) ; "Trilby" (World) ; "The Mer-
chant of Venice" (Kleine and also Uni-
versal) ; "Two Orphans" (Fox) ; "The
Regeneration" (Fox) ; "The Rise and
Fall of Napoleon" (Kleine). Wilton
Lackaye played Svengali, and Chester
Barnet Little Billie in "Trilby"
(World). Max Figman and Lolita
Robertson had the leads in "The Hoo-
sier Schoolmaster" (Masterpiece).
Emily Stevens was starred in "Cora"
(Metro).
N. R. S. — I agree with you that
Charles Ray is a wonder. Yes, "The
Coward" (Ince-Triangle) was his
greatest piece of work. If you knew
how much I enjoyed your letter, you
would write more often.
Peggy. — Elsie Jane Wrilson played
opposite Harold Lockwood in "The
Lure of the Mask" (American). She
is with Universal now. Wheeler Oak-
man was Bunko Kid in "The Spoil-
ers" (Selig). You are right about Wil-
liam Farnum. "The Spoilers" was his
greatest picture. Grace and Mina Cu-
nard are sisters. No, I'm sorry, but I
can't tell you the brand of cigarette
Warren Kerrigan smokes. Want to
send him some?
I Ask U. — Very clever alias, very
clever ! Marshall Neilan is twenty-five
years old. Certainly bright for a
youngster, isn't he ? Yes, that's his real
The Picture Oracle
105
as well as reel name. He is now pro-
ducing for Selig, and will, I understand,
appear in his own pictures from time to
time. It would be a shame if he didn't,
wouldn't it? Your other question
about him is out of order. Look at
the heading of this department. Cecile
Arnold was The Peach in "The Sub-
marine Pirate" (Keystone-Triangle).
Don't you think the name suited her?
Cecile is one of our prettiest little film
players. Cannot answer your question
regarding the "clearing house" you
mention. Send a self-addressed,
stamped envelope to our Scenario De-
partment, and you will receive a reply
by mail. Yes, film companies are al-
ways glad to receive suggestions. I
doubt very much if you would receive
remuneration, however.
J. O. K. — More than sorry, but I
haven't the slightest idea how you could
become a screen player. As I have said
time and again before, the field is over-
crowded. If you could only have the
opportunity of walking down Broad-
way, New York City, you would see
scores of capable actors "at leisure."
"At leisure," in plain English, means
"out of a job." Ed Coxen is a leading
man for the American Film Company,
at Santa Barbara, California.
J. C. Anderson. — So you, too, want
to get in the film game? You show
better sense, though, in picking out cam-
era work. I know of no schools that
I can recommend. The best way is to
try to enter some picture concern as
"still camera man" — from your letter
head, I imagine you are a photographer
— and work yourself up until they give
you a crank to turn. It's a hard road,
though. The salaries run all the way
from as little as twenty-five dollars to
several hundred. I should say the av-
erage was about seventy-five. Sorry
I can't help you, but I get dozens of
similar requests, and have to tell them
all the same.
Cleo. — Welcome once again ! I feel
lonesome when I don't hear from you.
Releasing means placing the film on the
market, on which day it will be shown
at first-run theaters.
Anna Little Admirer. — Anna Lit-
tle was born in Sisson, California, 1894.
She was in comic opera for four years,
then joined the New York Motion Pic-
ture Corporation in 191 1, and stayed
with them for three and a half years.
She was starred in "The Battle of Get-
tysburg" by them. Miss Little joined
Universal in 1914, and played opposite
Herbert Rawlinson in "The Black
Box." Last fall, she deserted them and
signed a long-time contract with the
American Film Company. She is about
five and a half feet tall, and has brown
hair and eyes. Yes, I agree with you
that she is the foremost delineator of
Indian roles in the film world to-day.
Billy. — What, didn't you read
Theda Bara's own story of her life in
the February 15th issue? If you had,
you would have noticed that Miss Bara
was born on the Sahara Desert twenty-
five years ago. She has no real rival
as a player of "vampire" roles.
41 144. — Yes, you are right. Creigh-
ton Hale, the Pathe star, played in "The
Old Homestead" (F. P.). Rickety
Ann, in that play, was Margaret Sed-
don, while the sheriff wras played by
Russell Simpson.
I Want 2 No. — You want my opin-
ion of Helene Rosson? I think that she
is a remarkably clever little star, and as
pretty as she is clever. Helene, who
is just seventeen, has been playing leads
for less than six months, and see where
she is !
Inquisitive. — Yes, Ollie Kirkbv is
a sister of Nona Thomas, the little girl
wdio is making such rapid strides with
the Tom Ince forces. Ollie says her
ambition in life is to see Nona make
good.
Alaska Fan. — Glad to hear from all
106
The Picture Oracle
my friends in the frozen North. How
is the gum-drop market up there now?
So you want Pauline Frederick's latest
release. It is "The Spider" (F. P.).
Thomas Holding plays lead opposite the
divine Pauline.
A. A. C. — Write more plainly in the
future, won't you, as a favor? Really,
it was a difficult proposition making out
what you said. Thank you ! Mar-
guerite Marsh is Mae's sister. She was
born in Lawrence, Kansas, 1892. Her
hobbies are music and painting. No, I
have no doubt but that she will send
you a picture. Better send along a
quarter, though. Times are hard, you
know, and photographs cost money.
F. I. Y. — So you want to know who
the greatest actor is ? In my opinion,
no one can compare with Henry Wal-
thall. He is a past master in the art
of expression. At present he is work-
ing opposite Edna Mayo, in "The
Strange Case of Mary Page," Essanay's
serial story.
Cuban Film Fan.-— Arthur Shirley,
who is scheduled to play the leading
role in "The Fall of a Nation" for the
National Drama Corporation, was born
in Sussex, England, in 1886. Hector
Sarno (Universal) was born in Naples,
Italy, 1880. Wellington Playter
( Metro) first saw the light of day in
Yorkshire, England, thirty-three years
ago. John Oaker (Horsley) had the
same thing happen to him in Ottawa,
Canada, in 1893. Hamilton Revelle
(Metro) was born in Gibraltar thirty-
three years ago. Robert Mantell, the
famous Fox star, made his earthly ap-
pearance in Irvine, Scotland. The year
was 1854. All your favorites seem to
be foreigners, what's the matter with
the Americans — don't you like them ?
Jean. — Antonio Moreno's full name
is Antonio Garrido Monteaugudo Mo-
, reno — that's all. He was born in Ma-
| drid, Spain, in 1888, came to America
at the age of fourteen, and started his
professional career three years later in
stock, at Northampton, Massachusetts.
His first picture experience was gained
with the old Reliance, where he played
opposite Norma Phillips in "The Mu-
tual Girl." He then went to Vitagraph,
where he has been ever since. Yes,
Tony is one of our best little heart-
breakers.
Nelly. — Marjorie Daw's big oppor-
tunity came when Geraldine Farrar was
in California for the filming of "Car-
men" (Lasky). Geraldine fell in love
with the dainty little girl, and watched
over her with great care and interest.
I understand that she is fifteen years
old.
Question Mark. — So you read in a
recent publication that William Russell
is with Biograph? It's all wrong. Bill
has been playing with the American
Film Company for a good many
months, and he expects to remain with
them. He was with Biograph in the
bygone days.
Girlie. — No, Betty Marsh is not
Mae's sister. She is her niece. The
Marsh family is certainly clever. Mae,
Mildred, and Marguerite, the sisters, all
play leads with Griffith-Triangle. Betty,
the niece, is under Mack Sennett's wing,
and Leo, the brother, is one of the best
camera men with the Triangle forces.
Jack P. — Very glad you liked the
life of Theda Bara so well. Yes, I
agree with you that she is a very clever
writer. So yon think this magazine is
improving every issue ? We all do our
best to make it a success.
Winsome Winnie. — Your letter was
awfully long, but, at that, I was sorry
when I reached the end. Sorry I can't
help you out on -those marriage ques-
tions— against the rules, though. Mil-
ton Sills was Lake, in "The Deep Pur-
ple" (WTorld) ; Lucile, the dancer, in
"Whom the Gods Would Destroy"
(Lubin), was played by Rosetta Brice;
The Picture Oracle
107
Ina Claire and Tom Forman had the
leads in ''The Wild-goose Chase"
(Lasky) ; The Wandering Gentleman
in "Mr. Flirt In Wrong" (Universal)
was portrayed by Charles Winninger;
Craig, in '"The Black Box" (Univer-
sal), was Frank MacQuarrie, one of
the famous MacQuarrie brothers ; Edna
Mayo is Mary Page in "The Strange
Case of Mary Page" (Essanay).
R. S. — George Fisher was Jack Stur-
gess in "The Darkening Trail" (N. Y.
M. P.). Yes> he is a clever youth, and
getting better parts every day. Did you
see him as the Prince, in "Peggy" (Tri-
angle), with Billie Burke?
Tom. — The Thanhouser Twins, Ma-
rion and Madeline Fairbanks, are just
fourteen years old. They were for-
merly on the stage. No, Douglas Fair-
banks is not related to them.
B. W. C. — No, you won't see any
more Sidney Drew comedies on the
Vitagraph program. Mr. Drew and his
charming wife have just signed a long-
time contract to produce for Metro.
They will release a one-reel comedy
every week. Yes, they are about the
best polite comedies released.
H. E. S. — The reason that you
haven't been seeing much of James
Kirkwood lately is because he is spend-
ing all his time directing. Yes, he is
still with the Famous Players.
E. G.; Art; 333; T. H. O. ; Ravmo ;
B. H. T.; J. I. S.; Mary; Gwen ; Eng-
lish Fan; J. O. H. ; L. M. K. ; S., Ha-
vana, sorry I can't answer your ques-
tions, but they are against the rules.
Read the heading of the department,
and then I'll be glad to answer any or
all questions that comply with the rules.
DOES IT MAKE YOU GASP?
To furnish one thrill for a recent production of the American Film Company, a seven-passenger
touring car and a taxi were totally wrecked in a collision. The fact that a valuable leading man and
two drivers risked their lives in the same wreck was a mere detail. Their funeral expenses would have
been assumed and their families cared for in the event of death or their hospital bills and salary paid
in case of serious accident. When an "extra" who had volunteered to drive one of the cars failed to
appear, it cost the producers one hundred and fifty dollars to find a substitute, for ''extras" are not
inclined to be careless unless money or a leading part is their reward and in this play a leading part
could not be given. It is a way motion-picture makers have of "going through with'' things regardless
of cost, once those things are started.
Gently, yet firmly she pressed the revolver into his hand, keeping her lips to his.
GOME, Gaston, you are dreaming!"
The tall, black-bearded man,
leaning across the table in the
brilliantly lighted cafe on Montmartre,
lightly tapped his companion's arm.
"Dreaming? Yes," replied the other,
heaving a dolorous sigh. "Dreaming
of Sadunah — Sadunah, the beautiful.
Ah, but she was magnificent to-night !
Far more beautiful than I have ever
before seen her. And her dancing — it
was wonderful!"
"Everywhere I go the talk is of Sa-
dunah," said the other man, his tone
lightly scoffing. "Her name is on the
lips of every one. I am tired of hearing
so much about this woman, who, seem-
ingly, has driven all Paris mad!"
"Ah," exclaimed Gaston enthusias-
tically, "you have not seen her, or you,
too, would be charmed. She is the most
beautiful dancer that has ever appeared
in our city. Not only is she a wonder-
ful exponent of Terpsichore, but she
herself is beautiful. In the abandon of
her dance, her wonderful, jet-black hair
cascades over her shoulders of ala-
baster loveliness, while her laughing
eyes steal their way into the heart of
every spectator."
During Gaston's delineation of the
beauties of Sadunah, his companion
puffed quietly on his cigarette, and from
time to time sipped his tall glass of
absinth.
"I must see her," he stated at last,
more to himself than to the other, his
eyes dreamy through the haze of cig-
arette smoke.
Snatches of conversation from near-
by tables reached the ears of the two
men, and the name of Sadunah was
often repeated.
In the home of the great artiste, a
far different scene was being enacted.
No Greater Love
109
She who had listened to the plaudits
of artistic-loving Parisians had hastily
fled from an after-theater supper, given
by Comte de Chatonet in her honor, to
be with her daughter Editha, whom she
loved with a passionate intensity which
surpassed the usual mother love.
Seated on the edge of the bed in the
ivorv-and-gold bedroom of Editha, Sa-
dunah was holding her daughter's hand.
"Mother, were they pleased with you
to-night ?" questioned the girl, who
stood on the threshold of womanhood.
"Yes, yes, darling," replied Sadunah ;
"the audience was almost beside itself.
It is pleasant to be so loved by my dear
compatriots ; but their love and their
applause mean little to me. You are
the only person in the whole world who
means anything in my life," concluded
the dancer, crushing her daughter to
her breast and kissing her ripe, red lips.
"And you, mother, dear, are the only
one whom I have ever loved," rejoined
the girl.
Kissing her again, Sadunah rose.
"There, there, darling; you must go
to sleep now," said she. From the door-
way, she turned to murmur, with a
wistful smile at her daughter: "Some
day you will love another more than you
do me, I am afraid."
"Never, never, never!" returned
Editha, her eyelids fluttering sleepily.
Shaking her head, as she smiled her
wistful smile still, Sadunah passed from
the room. As she made her way to
her own sleeping chamber, her thoughts
were all of her daughter. Her happi-
ness and well-being were the supreme
things in the mother heart. For this
child, who was just entering woman-
hood, Sadunah was willing to make any
sacrifice, howTever great, if she could but
assure herself that the future pathway
of life would hold no thorns in the
roses with which she intended to pave
the way her daughter would tread.
Nothing should ever occur to spoil the
future happiness of this winsome maid.
Inevitably the dancer's thoughts
drifted to Henry Laroche. Her eyes
glittered ominously and her bosom tu-
multuously heaved, as she thought of
this man, whom she feared would wreck
her daughter's future happiness. For
weeks he had been paying eager court
to Editha. His suit had been frowned
upon by Sadunah, but with the per-
sistence of a man deeply in love he had
clung tenaciously to the hope that even-
tually the mother would relent, and per-
mit him to declare that which was i:i
his heart.
"He shall never have her," breathed
Sadunah. "What is he? Only the sec-
retary of Mostyn May. When my
daughter weds, it will be to a man who
will be able to give her every happiness
in the world. Laroche — pouf !"
As her maid aided Sadunah to dis-
robe, she wondered at the overwrought
condition of her mistress. There being
no other reason apparent, the maid put
down the display of temper to that
"temperament" with which all artistic
persons are endowed.
"Well, Henry," jubilated Mostyn
May, rubbing his hands together, "we
cleaned up pretty well on the Bourse
yesterday, and to-night I intend to have
a little jollification to celebrate the
event. Have you any suggestions to
offer?"
The man to whom he spoke was one
who by his audacity and the magnitude
of his operations had steadily forged
his way to the top rung of the ladder of
success, until he was recognized as the
peer of all brokers on the Bourse, had
labored until he had become a power
not only in the money market of France,
but in all exchanges where men made
their money work for them. Thor-
oughly absorbed in the business of mak-
ing money, he had lost practically all
touch with the world, which was the
delight and the joy of the average
110
No Greater Love
Parisian. So now he appealed to his
secretary, Laroche, to aid him in pro-
viding an entertainment which would
prove attractive to his friends.
"Why not have Sadunah dance? She
is the rage at present, and I am sure
that your guests will appreciate her."
k'Do you think she would dance for
me and my guests?" questioned May.
"It would be necessary for you your-
self to ask her," said Laroche. "If I
"Then I may hope?" asked May
were to ask her, I am sure that she
would refuse ; but, coming from you,
I am rather inclined to think that she
will consent to appear."
"Hum !" mused May, stroking his
chin. "What have you done to incur
the displeasure of the fair Sadunah?"
"Why, nothing," replied Laroche. "I
am simply in love with her daughter,
that is all."
"Which, to a jealous mother, is quite
enough," returned May. "But I will
dispatch a special messenger to her, and
I hope that she will grant my request."
He turned to his desk and for a brief
interval there was silence, save for the
scratching of a pen, as it moved rapidly
across the sheet of note paper. Sealing
the envelope, May summoned a messen-
ger and quickly sent the missive on its
way.
"There is nothing to do now but to
hope for the best," said the financier,
as he turned to take up various matters
of grave financial
importance.
An hour later,
Mostyn May was
reading Sadunah's
reply. She would
be very happy to ap-
pear for the enter-
tainment of Mon-
sieur May's guests.
A delighted smile
played on the fea-
tures of the finan-
cier as he sum-
moned Laroche to
his side.
''See, Henry,"
said he, pushing the
reply toward La-
roche. "She will
dance for us."
"She is very
kind," was the oth-
er's only reply.
A wild, weird
blare of music burst
from the Oriental musicians squatted
on the floor in the drawing-room of
Mostyn May's palatial home. The ca-
dences from the reed instruments rose
and fell. A hush of expectancy set-
tled over the assembled guests. Garbed
in flowing robes, Sadunah entered the
room.
With undulating steps, she made her
way to the space which had been cleared
for her. Her every posture and move-
ment was gracefulness personified. She
danced like one inspired. The music
No Greater Love
111
from the reed instruments shrilled more
loudly. Sadunah whirled and postured,
completely captivating the eyes and
hearts of her spectators. There was a
prolonged burst of music, as the dancer
sank to the floor in a graceful curtsy,
her jet-black hair rippling over her
shoulders.
For a moment, there was silence,
which was quickly broken by the ap-
plause of Mostyn May's guests.
The affair was a great success — espe-
cially for the host ; and during the re-
mainder of the evening, Mostyn May
did little else than admire Sadunah.
"When may I have the pleasure of
seeing you?" he queried, as he aided her
to enter her car.
"To-morrow afternoon. Come and
have tea with me."
"I thank you," he returned, as he
raised her hand to his lips.
In a trice, she was whirled away, and
May stood beneath the light of the
porte-cochere, and gazed after the li-
mousine.
''To-morrow," he whispered, as he
made his way back to his guests.
"Tames, tea."
Quietly the butler withdrew from the
room, and in a few moments returned,
drawing in the tea cart.
"You have seen me only as the
dancer, Monsieur May," said the finan-
cier's hostess; "but- now you will see
me as the houseAvife."
"You are charming in either role,"
courteously returned Mostyn May.
Deftly, Sadunah poured the tea, and
passed it to the dignified English butler,
who was happy only at teatime, when
his mistress observed all of the customs
which are so dear to the heart of every
true Englishman, whether he be of high
or lowly birth. Obsequiously, James
handed the cup to May.
• Settling herself back among the lux-
urious cushions, Sadunah gazed at the
I financier through half-closed lids.
'"Your daughter," began May, as he
placed his empty teacup on a convenient
stand; "where is she?"
"Oh, Editha is out ;. but I am expect-
ing her back directly," replied the
dancer, and her eyes glowed as she men-
tioned her daughter's name.
"Then, may I remain and make her
acquaintance?" pleaded May.
"Most assuredly. It will be a pleas-
ure to have your company. In the
meantime, here is a photograph of
Editha. It hardly does the dear child
justice, though. But, for that matter,
no one can ever do her justice."
"Truly, you love your daughter
deeply."
"Love her? Ah, m'sieu, I love her
better than life itself."
Before May could reply, a door softly
opened, and the subject of their con-
versation entered the room.
"Editha, darling," cooed Sadunah,
fondly kissing her daughter. "M'sieu
May, permit me to present my daughter,
Editha."
Shyly the girl extended her hand.
"Charmed!" murmured May, bowing
low.
Almost directly after the meeting,
Editha withdrew from the room.
"Sadunah," began May, "you know
that I called this afternoon, not merely
for the pleasure of having tea with you,
but to repeat the question I asked you
yesterday."
The dancer vouchsafed him a smile.
Whether of encouragement or derision,
Mostyn May was unable to decide.
"Don't you understand, dear, that I
love you deeply?" pleaded May. "Can't
you realize what you mean to me? Sa-
dunah, will you marry me?"
For a moment, Sadunah closed her
eyes in dreamy meditation. As she
opened them, a smile played upon her
lips.
"I will give you your answer to-mor-
row." said she.
112
No Greater Love
"Then I may hope?" asked May, his
eyes lighting joyously.
"You will have my answer to-mor-
row," returned the dancer.
May arose, and lightly brushed Sa-
dunah's hand with his lips.
"To-morrow, at this hour, I will re-
turn;' said the financier, as he quitted
the room.
Scarcely had May withdrawn from
the room, before Editha entered. She
crossed to her mother, and sank down
Sadunah whirled on her husband
on a cushion at her feet. Sadunah
leaned over and lightly kissed her
daughter's cheek, as she lovingly
stroked the girl's hair.
"Ah, cherie, and how do you like
M'sieu May?" queried the mother.
"I think he is very, very nice, indeed,"
returned Editha.
"Could you love him as a father,
darling?"
The girl answered in the affirmative.
That settled it, so far as Sadunah was
concerned. Three weeks later she and
Mostyn May were married.
A large party had gathered in the
house of Monsieur and Madame May
to welcome them back from their honey-
moon. Among the more intimate
friends of the financier were the Earl
of Wansford and his son, Lord- San-
down. And Editha was also of the
party.
At dinner that night, notwithstanding
her new-found hap-
piness, Sadunah's
thoughts continually
strayed to her
daughter, and as,
from time to time,
her eyes glanced in
the child's direction,
the mother was con-
scious of the fact
that Lord San-
down's eves were
fixed on Editha. In
his gaze, Sadunah
read .a message of
love and adoration.
Shyly, Editha
would ever and
anon steal a glance
at his lordship. If
Sadunah read the
signs aright, it was
truly a case of love
at first sight.
With a woman's
natural quickness of
perception where matters of the heart
are concerned, she decided that this
young man was the one to whom she
could safely intrust her daughter's fu-
ture happiness. Satisfied on this point,
she decided to bring about a consumma-
tion of her hopes.
That night, when her husband came
to her in her boudoir, Sadunah em-
ployed all the wiles and arts known to
woman to compel him to aid her in car-
rying out her determination. So thor-
No Greater Love
113
oughly enamored was May with his
wife, that her slightest request was re-
garded by him as a command, and he
quickly promised to aid in bringing hap-
piness to the two young people.
Days fled on winged feet. Winter
had settled over Paris, the holiday sea-
son had arrived, and Sadunah was
dreaming of the balmy breezes of the
Riviera. A corps of servants had been
dispatched to May's chateau to prepare
for the huge holiday house party that
Monsieur and Madame May were to
entertain.
Among the guests were the Earl of
Wansford and Lord Sandown. To his
father, the young nobleman had im-
parted the secret of his heart. At first,
the father regarded such a marriage as
a mesalliance, but eventually the son,
through Mostyn May, had brought his
father to what he considered a proper
frame of mind, and the earl had con-
sented to an engagement, providing
Editha loved his son.
Perched high on the cliff and over-
looking the beautiful bay was the cha-
teau. Within were gathered the mem-
bers of the house party. During the
two days that had elapsed since his ar-
rival, Lord Sandown had been pressing
his suit with fervor. Editha, her heart
as free from other loves as a child just
from a convent, realized that she truly
loved this man. And, when he asked
her to wed, she gave him her whole
heart in all its purity.
"Permit me to announce our engage-
ment," said Lord Sandown, as he en-
tered the drawing-room, his arm about
Editha's slender waist. A light of pride
glowed in the young man's eyes, but the
girl blushed charmingly.
Immediately, Editha was the center
of the feminine portion of the party,
while the men gathered about Lord
Sandown and congratulated him upon
the successful termination of his love
affair.
Henry Laroche entered the room.
8
Quickly he understood the situation. A
snarl of disappointment twisted his fea-
tures. The death knell of his hopes had
been sounded. Recovering himself, he
made his way toward the happy couple
and uttered the usual commonplaces.
Alone in his library sat Mostyn May.
On the table before him was the follow-
ing letter:
My Dear Nephew: For the past few-
weeks my health has been rapidly failing. As
a result my physician has ordered a change
of environment. I will be deeply grateful to
you and my new niece if you will prepare the
little cottage at the Devil's Pool for the re-
ception of myself and the faithful Marks.
Affectionately, your uncle, Clifton Judd.
"It's too bad that Uncle Judd will not
join us in the chateau, but he will be
comfortable, and near enough, in the
cottage," mused the financier, as he
drew a sheet of note paper toward him-
self, and rapidly wrote a reply.
A few days later, Clifton Judd, the
millionaire, accompanied by his valet,
Marks, to whom liquor had become a
curse, arrived at the cottage overlook-
ing the Devil's Pool.
"This is the end," groaned the finan-
cier, his face a pasty white. "This is
the end !"
Sadunah whirled on her husband.
Her eyes widened in alarm as she noted
the haggard expression of her husband.
In his nervous fingers there fluttered a
letter. With hasty steps, she crossed to
his side, and took the letter from his
trembling hand.
Her face went white as she read :
M. Mostyn May: Unless you are able to
secure two hundred and fifty thousand dol-
lars by the end of the current month, to
cover certain operations on the Bourse,
which if they are not properly attended to.
will compel the board of governors not only
to suspend you. but also to institute criminal
actions against you. There is no question
but that you fully realize the illegality of
your actions, and unless this matter is prop-
erly adjusted you will be branded a thief.
Yours, Maurice Claudet,
Chairman Board of Governors.
114
No Greater Love
'Out of my sight, both you and your dancing wife !" he cried in a voice hoarse with anger.
Her husband a thief ! In that one
thought all the cherished dreams of her
daughter's future happiness were shat-
tered. All the scheming that she had
done was to go for naught. She felt
no sorrow for this man who had given
her his name. Her sole thought was of
her daughter. For Mostyn May she
had only loathing and contempt. She
had married him for the advantages
which such a marriage might bring to
her daughter.
Savagely she turned on him, as she
cried : "Then you are a thief !"
"No, Sadunah, not that — not that!"
mumbled May, his face twisted in a
grimace of mental anguish.
"What are you to do? In a month
you will be driven from the Bourse,
and probably to prison. Haven't you
any plan to save my name and that of
my daughter?"
"There is only one "
"Yes, there is only one," interrupted
Sadunah, "and that one is your million-
aire uncle, Clifton Judd. You must ap-
peal to him. Think, man, think of my
daughter and of me!"
"I am afraid if he knows the truth,
he will not help me," returned May.
"He will help you ! He must help
you !" cried Sadunah. "There is no
one else to whom you can go, and you
must ask him to aid you."
Slowly mental order was restoring
itself in the chaotic brain of the finan-
cier.
"I will ask him," said May, his teeth
coming together with a determined
snap, while a gleam of hope flickered in
his eye.
"When?" demanded Sadunah.
"Immediately," replied the financier.
"Will you accompany me?"
"Yes."
Quickly snatching up a wrap, Sadu-
nah and her husband left the chateau,
bound for the cottage balanced atop the
treacherous cliff that overlooked the
Devil's Pool. With the desperation
born of despair, the dancer urged
on her husband's lagging footsteps.
No Greater Love
115
Through her mind revolved many
schemes to save her daughter's honor,
should the millionaire deny aid to the
man accused of illegal operations on the
Bourse.
Diffidently, .May rapped at the door,
which was opened by Marks, whose
breath reeked with the odor of liquor.
"My uncle," began May, "I would see
him."
'"Yes, sir," responded Marks, leading
the way to the living room, where the
aged man sat.
"Ah, this is an unexpected pleasure,"
said Clifton Judd, as May and Sadunah
were ushered in. "To what am I in-
debted for this visit?"
"Uncle," began the financier, "I have
come on an errand of the utmost im-
portance. In your keeping lies my
honor — what there is left of it."
"What do you mean? Come, explain
yourself !"
"Some of my speculations on the
Bourse have gone amiss, and unless I
have two hundred and fifty thousand
dollars by the end of the month, I will
face a term in prison."
"A term in prison !" exclaimed Judd,
aghast. "Weren't the speculations hon-
est?"
"No," responded his nephew, his
agony of mind convulsing his features.
"Then, you — you are a thief?"
queried the millionaire in a voice that
was hardly audible.
"Yes," was the response.
Squaring his shoulders, the old man
leveled a menacing finger at the man
who stood in the shadow of prison bars,
and. in a voice that was hoarse with
anger, cried:
"If you had lost your money through
honest speculation, I would gladly aid
you. But you are a thief ! You have
dragged into the mire an honored name !
Out of my sight, you miserable scoun-
drel ! Out of my sight, both you and
your dancing wife !"
Gasping for breath, the aged million-
aire sank back into his chair.
Sadunah, her eyes glittering' omi-
nously, grasped her husband, who ap-
peared as in a daze, by the arm, and led
him from the cottage.
Xeither spoke as they made their
way back to the chateau. With a glance
of vindictive maliciousness at the man
who, by his acts, had ruined her daugh-
ter's future happiness, Sadunah turned
from him and made her way to the pri-
vacy of her boudoir, while he passed
into his library. She wanted to be
alone. She wanted to think.
All the air castles that she had builded
for her daughter's future were tum-
bling about her ears. The brilliant wed-
ding to Lord Sandown would not take
place. She herself would spend the
days to come in misery, branded as the
wife of a felon.
Like a tigress at bay defending her
young, Sadunah paced up and down her
boudoir, cudgeling her brain for some
plan to avert this disgrace which threat-
ened her daughter and herself.
Suddenly she halted in the center of
the room. Her eyes glittered with the
maniacal light of murder. There was
but one way out. Crossing to the bell
cord, she jerked it.
"Marie," said Sadunah, as the maid
entered, "ask M'sieu May to step here."
Quietly the maid withdrew, and a
few minutes later, Mostyn May entered
the room.
"What is it, dear?" he asked.
"I have thought of a plan to save us
from this disgrace which threatens us
all," returned his wife.
"And your plan?" questioned May
eagerly.
"There is but one way out: Your
uncle's death alone can save us." she
hissed. "You must kill him !"
"Not that ! Xot that !" cried the
financier in abject despair.
"You must kill him!" repeated Sadu-
nah in cold, hard accents.
116 No Greater Love
"You must do it !" Sadunah's demand was curt and final, and Mostyn May cringingly conceded.
"I cannot !" groaned May, as he stag-
gered from the room, with the awful
thought buzzing in his brain.
That night was one of misery for
both Sadunah and her husband. In her
room, the scheming wife slumbered fit-
full}-. As for May, he paced up and
down his sleeping chamber smoking one
cigar after another, pausing occasion-
ally to take a stiff drink of brandy. As
dawn was breaking, his face haggard
by the all-night vigil, May sought his
bed, and in his mind there was the re-
solve to make one more appeal to his
uncle.
Early in the afternoon, he dispatched
a note to Clifton Judd inviting him to
the chateau for dinner. By the same
messenger, however, came back the fol-
lowing reply :
I shall not even dine with a thief. Heaven
give me strength to reach town to-morrow
to revoke my will.
All was lost — wealth, love, honor,
friends. In the days to come, he would
be branded as a thief. As these thoughts
flashed through May's mind, he trem-
bled, and slowly- the insidious poison of
his wife's suggestion began to seep in
and take possession of his brain. Calmly
he contemplated the terrible crime.
All through dinner, he was strangely
preoccupied. With a woman's intui-
tive sense, Sadunah realized that her
suggestion was bearing fruit.
Slowly the tall clock in the library
chimed the hour of midnight. Flinging
his cigar from him. May rose to his feet
and slowly made his way to his wife's
boudoir.
"Are you yet willing to admit that
my plan is the only logical way out of
your trouble?" asked Sadunah, as the
financier seated himself.
"I don't know. I have been think-
ing it all over/' responded May huskily.
No Greater Love
117
The battle was half won. Again Sa-
dunah was exercising all of the wiles
and arts of the coquette to bring this
man to her feet. She glided to his side,
and climbed up on the arm of his chair.
Her soft, white arms stole around his
neck. Gently she kissed his cheek, as
she stroked his hair.
"Don't you realize, darling, that you
must carry out my plan ? Can't you un-
derstand that there is no other way to
save us from disgrace?" she wheedled.
"Won't you do this to save me?"
He looked into her eyes. How could
he deny this woman, whom he loved
even more than honor itself, anything?
Stretching forth her hand, she picked
up a small pearl-mounted revolver from
a near-by stand. Gently yet firmly she
pressed it in his hand. With her lips
on his, she murmured :
"You will do this for me?"
"Yes, darling. Anything."
"Then, come," she urged.
Like ghosts, they stole from the si-
lent house, and slowly made their way
to the lonely little cottage, high up on
the crest of the cliff.
"I can't do it," moaned May, fum-
bling with the key to the cottage. "I
can't do it!"
"You must do it!" Sadunah's com-
mand was curt and final, and her hus-
band cringingly conceded.
Staggering like one intoxicated, May
entered into the cottage. A night light
shed its soft glow in the little alcove,
where Clifton Judd lay sleeping. On
a near-by cot, the drink-sodden Marks
tossed uneasily in half-drunken
slumber.
A light breeze whisked a filmy cloud
from the face of the moon, and a shaft
of mellow light fell on the tense, eager
face of Sadunah.
The sharp, spiteful crack of a pistol
split the air ! Sadunah started. A sec-
ond report rang out ! Then all was
silent.
Clutching the still-smoking revolver
in his nerveless fingers, May stumbled
from the cottage.
"What was the second shot for?"
breathlessly whispered Sadunah, clutch-
ing the sleeve of her husband's coat.
"Marks. He interfered, and I killed
him," returned the financier, like one in
a horrible dream.
Sadunah felt her courage slowly slip-
ping from her. With an effort, she
threw off the momentary fear which
threatened to spoil her plans.
"The revolver? What did you do
with it?" she questioned.
"Here it is," returned May.
"Go back, do you hear, go back and
put it in the hands of Marks."
"I can't, my God, Sadunah, I can't!"
"Coward!" she hissed, as she
snatched the instrument of death from
his trembling hand and made her way
into the chamber of death.
Quickly stooping beside the inert
form of the murdered valet, she closed
his fingers over the pearl handle of the
pistol. A final glance about the room,
and she departed.
Back, down the tortuous slope to the
chateau, she led the man who had sac-
rificed everything in life to save the
future happiness of the woman he
loved.
Each sought their beds, but to toss
through the few short hours that re-
mained before dawn.
In the east, the red rim of the sun
was just peeping over the horizon, as
one of the gardeners on the estate dis-
covered the open, door of the cottage.
No response came to his knock. He en-
tered the room. In the bed in the al-
cove lay Clifton Judd, a gaping hole in
his temple, while a sanguine streak
stained his pillow. Crumpled up on the
steps leading to the millionaire's sleep-
ing chamber, was the' form of Marks.
In his right hand was clutched a pistol.
Dashing from the house of carnage,
the servant quickly made his way to the
chateau, where he quickly gathered the
118
No Greater Love
other servants about him and told them
of what he had just seen.
Laroche, the master's secretary, was
summoned, and the known details of
the crime were given to him. Attended
by a couple of manservants, the secret
tary hastened to the lonely cottage.
A cursory investigation, and Laroche
was convinced that Marks, in drunken
delirium, had murdered his master, and
then, realizing the enormity of his
crime, had turned the pistol on himself.
Suddenly his attention became riveted
on a near-by object. Quickly stooping,
he gathered it up and tucked it in his
waistcoat pocket, a smile of grim sat-
isfaction on his" lips.
All through the coroner's inquiry,
Mostyn May moved about like a man in
a dream. Before him constantly arose
the vision of the murdered men. The
coroner completed his work, and his
verdict was that the case was one of
murder and suicide.
"Can't you see, dear, that everything
has turned out for the best?" asked
Sadunah, twining her arms about her
husband's neck, following the announce-
ment of the coroner's verdict. "In a
day or two, you will come into your
uncle's money, and you will be able to
meet your obligations, and honorably
resign your seat on the Bourse. Noth-
ing will ever happen to spoil the hap-
piness of Editba or myself."
"I did it for you, darling," re-
plied the miserable man, pressing a
<iss on his wife's lips.
The succeeding day, Monsieur
Ducot, Clifton Judd's solicitor,
called. The terms of the will
under which May was to receive
practically the entire estate,
with the exception of a few
minor bequests to servants,
was read.
'Now, M'sieu May,
will you kindly
A night light shed its soft glow in the little alcove where Clifton Judd lay sleeping.
No Greater Love
119
sign here?" asked the lawyer, picking
up a pen and indicating the place for
the murderer's signature.
With nerveless fingers, May grasped
the pen. His face was ashen. Before
him rose the face of the murdered man,
a great, gaping hole in the temple.
Wildly he clutched at his collar, and,
with a shriek of agony, toppled across
the table — dead !
"What you ask is preposterous!"' de-
clared Sadunah. a month after the death
of her husband, as the former secretary
stood before her in the library of the
chateau.
''But, madame, I love your daugh-
ter," persisted Laroche. "I have loved
her from the first time I ever met her.
She must be mine !"
"Can't you understand that she is en-
gaged to Lord Sandown, and that to
rob him of her would be to wreck both
their lives?"
''I understand nothing except the dic-
tates of my own heart. I love your
daughter, and, by Heaven, she will be
my wife !"
"Do you forget, sir, to whom you
are speaking?" questioned Sadunah. her
eyes flashing.
"No; I realize only too well to whom
I am talking," retorted Laroche, draw-
ing a bit of crumpled lace from his
pocket. "Do you recognize that?"
Sadunah's face went livid with fear.
The bit of crumpled lace had been torn
from her gown on the night of the
double murder.
''Ah," said Laroche, a note of deri-
sion in his voice. "I see you do! That
bit of lace was found in the room in
which Clifton Judd and his valet
Marks were murdered. Your hus-
band, goaded on by- you. committed the
deed. I want Editha. Give her to me,
and I will remain silent."
Crushed and broken by the revela-
tion of Laroche, Sadunah stretched
forth her hand, as if to ward off some
expected blow.
"Come to me to-morrow," she whis-
pered, ''and you shall have my answer."
A smile of triumph and of satisfac-
tion played about the corners of his
mouth as Laroche quitted the room.
All through the silent watches of the
night, Sadunah was stretched on the
rack of mental torture. She had sacri-
ficed everything for her beloved Editha.
Would the supreme sacrifice — the lay-
ing down of her own life for the hap-
piness of her daughter, be too much?
At last, as dawn was breaking, the re-
solve was taken — no sacrifice would be
too great !
"Ah, M'sieu Laroche, you are, in-
deed, prompt V said Sadunah, as the
former secretary put in an appearance
for his answer.
As he gazed at the woman before
him, Laroche realized how great must
have been her torture during the hours
that had elapsed since his last visit.
Great, dark circles were beneath her
eyes. She looked old and haggard. All
the youth and buoyancy of spirit had
departed.
"So much depends upon your answer
that it was with difficulty that I waited
until this afternoon," returned Laroche.
"My answer, m'sieu." said Sadunah,
"'is no ! You cannot marry my daugh-
ter."
For a moment, Laroche was aghast
at the temerity of this woman, who
dared to refuse his request, when he
held her life in the hollow of his hand.
"Is that your final decision?"
"Yes."
"But suppose I were to inform your
daughter that you are a murderess "
"You wouldn't do that," interrupted
Sadunah.
"I would; and unless you permit me
to marry Editha, I shall tell her your
guilty secret. Permit me to make her
my wife, and your secret is safe."
The miserable woman cowered in her
No Greater Love
chair. All her hopes were blasted. She
must have time to think.
"Come to me to-morrow morning,
above the Devil's Pool. I can't think
now ; but you shall have your final an-
swer then."
Believing that he had won, and that
Editha would become his wife, Laroche
withdrew from the chateau, and made
his way to his apartments.
Dawn, with rosy fingers, was paint-
ing the sky in gorgeous hues. The day
bade fair to be such a day as is found
only on the Riviera. The little birds
were twittering happily in the trees. All
seemed at peace in the world. But in
the heart of Sadunah there was hate —
deep, abiding, black, malicious hate.
_ Editha and
WA% " e r betrothed,
Lord San-
down, were seated on the terrace, as
Sadunah, gowned in white, left the
chateau. Catching sight of her beloved
daughter, Sadunah quickly crossed to
the lovers. Fondly and lingeringly she
pressed a kiss on her daughter's brow,
but, as she turned away, a groan es-
caped her lips.
Up the winding path, to the heights
above the Devil's Pool, Sadunah made
her way. Beside the broken fence sat
Henry Laroche. A sinister smile curled
his lips, as he rose and greeted the
dancer.
Sadunah slipped her arm within his,
and, with her other hand extended,
pointed to the beautiful view that was
visible from the top of the precipice.
"See," said she, "the wronders of God
in nature. The beautiful azure of the
skies ; the singing of the birds ; the
rgeous beauty of the flowers and
shrubs; is it not all truly wonderful?"
"It is, indeed, beautiful," returned
Laroche, gazing about.
"And the river," continued
Sadunah, pointing down-
ward. .
The man peered over
the rail of the
broken fence and
No Greater Love
121
gazed into the depths below. With the
agility and ferocity of a panther, Sa-
dunah leaped upon him. For a moment
they swayed back and forth on the edge
of the precipice There was a crash,
as the fence gave way. The ever-widen-
ing eddies of the Devil's Pool broke on
the rocks, and then all was silent.
It was a supreme sacrifice — a sacri-
fice worthy of a better woman than Sa-
dunah — but when the waters of the
Devil's Pool closed over the head- of
the dancer and her victim, a new life
was laid open for Editha — and Sadu-
nah's unhonorable life could not have
ended in a more honorable way.
THE MOVIES EVERY TIME
COME people like to go to plays
To see the actors strut,
And hear them rant and rave, but say !
I think I'd be a "nut"
If I didn't know a better way
To spend my nimble dime.
You bet your life I do. Gimme
The Movies every time.
My dad he's great on school, and says
He thinks I ought to read
A lot of stuff for which I'm sure
I won't have any need.
I learn a good sight more about
The heights I have to climb
From the Moving Pictures. Shucks ! Gimme
The Movies every time.
I love to swing and hit a ball,
I like to skate and slide,
I'm keen on fishing, and I sail
My boat with wind and tide.
But for real, slap-up joy and bliss
There's nothing so sublime
As the Moving Pictures. Yeah ! Gimme
The Movies every time.
I wish I had a pot of gold,
I'd buy a Movie Show,
And then I'd sit and watch the screen,
And never have to go.
But you bet your bottom dollar when
I'm lucky with a dime,
I'll spend it good. Oh, gee ! Gimme
The Movies every time.
Everett Leighton,
SYNOPSIS OF PRECEDING CHAPTERS
LOLA McTODD, daughter of Silas McTodd, the pickle king, is known as "The Pearl of the
McTodds" because of her beauty. When she was young, a gypsy made the prophecy that if.
when she was eighteen, she placed a wishbone over the door, the first man to pass under it would
marry her. As her eighteenth birthday arrives, she finds herself with many suitors, chief among
whom are Duke Penruddock and Harold de Vere, a young millionaire. Lola believes she should
marry the duke, though she has never met him face to face, and her father favors the match.
Charlie Chaplin, who has long sought his favorite brand of pickles, learns that they are made
by McTodd, and applies to the pickle king for a place as night watchman at his plant. By mistake
Charlie is the first man to pass under the wishbone, and Lola is greatly excited. Charlie secures
the position, and starts work. The duke arrives unexpectedly, and Lola* who is unprepared, hides
in the factory. She is caught in some machinery, and Charlie' saves her life. McTodd offers Charlie
a position in Samoa as special representative of the firm, hoping to thus remove him from the sight
of his daughter, but Charlie refuses. The duke tries to do away with Charlie, but Harold de Vere
proves the man of the hour, and saves the hero. Later, Charlie again saves Lola's life. McTodd
gives a ball to announce the engagement of his daughter to the duke. Charlie hides in a bank of
palms, and sees Major Bright steal the famous tiara from Lola's neck. He accuses Bright of tbe
theft, but McTodd explains to him that it is part of a prearranged plan to securing valuable
advertising for the McTodd pickles through the newspapers— as they plan to give out a story about
the jewel being stolen. A fire breaks out in the house, and the guests flee in panic. Bright steals
the tiara again during the confusion — this time in earnest. He also attempts to take McTodd s
life, but Charlie is on hand to rescue him. Harold also becomes a hero by saving McTodd*s stenog-
rapher, Gwendoline. Charlie is hired by the pickle king to trail Bright and secure the tiara, thus
postponing his trip to Samoa. As Charlie begins his search, he learns that Harold is also after
Bright. They decide to work together, and their combined investigation leads them to suspect that
the duke and Bright are working together, and are a pair of crooks. They trail Bright to a circus,
and after many thrilling adventures corner him and force him to confess that the duke is in reality
Jack O'Byrne, a noted bank robber. Harold tells Charlie he has read in the paper that Lola
McTodd is to be married to the duke that afternoon. They figure that by stealing a ride on a
freight, they will arrive in time to save the Pearl of the McTodds, but just as they reach this deci-
sion the train is wrecked. Unknown to them, the workers in the pickle factory, where the wed-
ding was to have been held, strike, and boldly declare they will prevent the ceremony unless their
wages are raised. McTodd sends for the police. Charlie recovers from the effects of the
wreck, and determines to save Lola. Harold quarrels with him, and both set off alone for the
McTodd home. Charlie steals an auto, and is followed by its owner and the police. He arrives
in time to quiet the strikers, but when he tries to expose the duke. McTodd turns him over to the
police who have followed him. Charlie manages to escape, and finds Harold holding Lola a pris-
oner in her auto in the woods, having abducted her while she was on her way to the wedding.
O'Byrne, searching for Lola, is met by Charlie, who denounces him and turns him over to the police
who' had so recently sought Charlie. 'Then Charlie rushes back to release Lola from her prison, only
to learn she has escaped.
CHAPTER XLI.
PRISONERS OF THE LIMOUSINE.
HIST!" Charlie was staring at
the limousine, staring and rub-
bing his eyes, when a hissing
monosyllable reached his ears from a
thicket behind him. What did that
mean ?
Turning slowly, he pushed his way
into the thicket.
"Charlie," called a familiar voice, "I
am in trouble ! Let us forget our dif-
ferences so you can help me !"
Charlie was face to face with Harold
de Vere. Harold had been walking
back and forth, behind the curtain of
Pickles and Pearls
123
bushes, and had beaten out a path, there
in the timber, which spoke eloquently
of his worries.
He had clung to the disguise of a
second trombone until the disguise was
rinding it almost impossible to cling to
him. The red uniform was torn and
soiled, gilt buttons were missing here
and there, and the gilt trimming was
badly tarnished.
The face of the young millionaire
was smudged with grime. His eyes held
a haunted look. Destiny had played
strange pranks with Handsome Harold
since sending him forth on that
quixotic quest of his ideal !
"There are four of us in this patch
of timber, and we are all in trouble. But
the prisoners in the limousine — have,
you seen them, Harold? . Have you
heard their cries? Ladies first, you
know ! Come !"
Charlie would have left the thicket
forthwith and released the captives of
the car. had not De Yere stayed him.
"Wait \" exclaimed De Yere. "Re-
flect ! If you allow Miss McTodd and
her maid to escape, they will proceed
to the factory without delay, and the
wedding will go on. This must not be \"
"True V murmured Charlie, pausing.
"The situation of Miss McTodd is not
so unfortunate as it might appear at
first sight. W hile she is in restraint,
the wedding is impossible. How came
the lovely heiress to be involved in this
fortunate misfortune, Harold?"
" 'Twas my work," admitted De
Yere.
"Your work?" murmured Charlie,
wondering if he heard aright.
" Yes, mine !" breathed Harold heav-
ily. "See what love has done for me,
Charlie. It has made of me a ragged
wanderer, a menial, a calliope player, a
grocery clerk — and now," and he sighed
drearily, "a criminal !"
"Don't be downcast, Harold," said
> Charlie encouragingly. "What crime
' have you committed ?"
"I have abducted a bride on her wed-
ding day," was the answer. "And now,
what can I do? She and her maid are
in the limousine, but they cannot be
kept there indefinitely. If I leave them
in this wood as prisoners, they will
starve to death; if I release them, Miss
McTodd will marry the scheming
wretch ere nightfall ; if I wait till dark
and drive them into Boggsville, the
ignominy of arrest and incarceration
are mine ! The dilemma has nearly
driven me mad. For half an hour I
have walked up and down this dim for-
est aisle, trying to discover some way
out of my troubles — and I could find
none, none ! But," and Harold's voice
grew hopeful, "you have come, and you
will help me !"
It was a serious situation. Charlie
realized that.
"How did you manage to run away
with Miss McTodd and her maid, Har-
old?" he inquired.
"It was not difficult. I came into
town with Leeson. Thinking that
surely the marriage would take place
at the manor house or the church, I left
Leeson and went to the manor. The
limousine stood in front. I bribed the
driver to let me take his place, and
"How did you^bribe him? You told
me, Harold, that you had no money.
That was my reason, you remember, for
paying our way to Rapidan to over-
haul the show."
"I gave the fellow my diamond ring,"
Harold went on. "He had explained to
me that he was waiting to drive the
bride to the factory for the wedding,
and my one thought was to keep the
beautiful girl away from the factory. I
did not pause to consider what I should
do when Miss McTodd was on my
hands — I gave no heed whatever to that
vital point. So — so I took a leap in
the dark. The ladies came from the
house, got into the car, and when the
machine had turned into the woods, the
124
Pickles and Pearls
chauffeur jumped down, took my ring,
and fled. When the ladies saw me, they
swooned. It was my opportunity, and
I took advantage of it. To climb the
back fence at the manor required only
a moment, and there, in the rear o£ the
McTodd premises, I cut a clothesline
from its posts, and used the rope for
turning the limousine into a prison.
Afterward, I drove the automobile from
the road and into the depths of the
wood. Then, as my prisoners began to
revive, and to make outcries, I began
to reflect on the awful thing I had done.
My heart failed me, Charlie. Here,
tinder cover of the thicket, I have
walked up and down, harassed in body
and mind as never before in all my life.
What can I do?"
A small bag, somewhat damp, lay be-
side the path De Vere had worn in his
weary pacing. Charlie picked it up and
found it to contain two or three large
dill pickles.
"Whence came these, Harold?" he
inquired.
"I bought them with a few pennies I
had in my pocket," confessed De Vere.
"It was while I was with Leeson. I re-
membered how you had heartened and
strengthened me, the night of our trou-
bles with the infernal machine, by giv-
ing me those little gherkins. So I bought
the dills. But it was money thrown
away, for they proved of no aid what-
ever."
Charlie was hungry, but he did not
relish the dills. He ate part of one,
however, while considering Harold's
case, and the others he put in his
pocket.
"Harold," said he, "I have discovered
this afternoon that I am gifted in the
line of persuasive eloquence. What we
must have, in the present emergency, is
the cooperation of Miss McTodd. Sup-
pose I go to the limousine, tell Miss
McTodd that the supposed duke is not
a duke at all, but a fortune hunter, and
try to make her understand that the
prospective wedding would be a mis-
take ?"
"You could accomplish nothing, I am
sure," answered De Vere.
"It is the only thing to be done. Wrait
here until I see what I can do."
Charlie hastened from the thicket to
the limousine. The wan faces of the
two prisoners lighted up at his ap-
proach. He got up on the driver's seat
and placed his lips to the speaking tube.
"Miss McTodd," he murmured, "I
am grieved to find you in this sorry
situation."
"You are Charlie, the night watch-
man," answered the Pearl of the Mc-
Todds, "and I know you will help me in
my great distress. I started for the fac-
tory to be wedded to his grace, the
Duke of Penruddock, and our chauf-
feur basely deserted the car, and an-
other miscreant mounted the seat and
drove us away. My father, the duke,
the minister, the bridesmaids, and all
the guests, are waiting. They cannot
understand my absence. Oh, will you
not drive us at once to the works ?"
Charlie's heart was strangely stirred.
He pressed closer to the speaking tube.
"I want to save you, fair lady,,' said
he, "but I must first tell you the exact
situation. The man you know as Pen-
ruddock is not a duke, but a brazen im-
postor. He it was who planned the
theft of the McTodd tiara, and the per-
son known as Major Bright was merely
the supposed duke's confederate "
"Impossible !" gasped Lola.
"I do not wonder that you are
shocked and surprised," proceeded
Charlie. "The name of this man who
has been masquerading as a duke is
Jack O'Byrne, a notorious criminal. It
is fortunate that you were not allowed
to reach the factory in time for the
wedding."
Lola clasped her hands and fell upon
the cushioned seat. Jenkins opened a
small handbag and brought out a bottle
of salts.
Pickles and Pearls
125
''Do not faint, my lady," she begged.
''Here, this will help you."
Lola pushed the bottle away wildly.
''But there must be a wedding !" she
cried. "The guests have assembled, all
is in readiness, and I should be terribly
humiliated if the day passed without a
ceremony having been performed ! I —
I " Her voice died away in a stifled
sob.
Charlie peered at the beautiful girl
through the plate glass. Ravishingly
lovely she was in that filmy veil with
the wreath of orange blossoms. Why
should she be humiliated, or the assem-
bled guests disappointed?
"Miss McTodd," he cried, through
the speaking tube, "I should be glad to
take the place of the impostor ! If it
will relieve your distress, I will marry
you myself. Remember, I have twice
saved your life. If a lifetime of devo-
tion can win me a place in your affec-
tions, I "
He paused. Lola had given vent to a
piercing scream, and had fallen limply
into the arms of her maid.
It was a trying moment. Charlie
would have been utterly beside himself,
had he not heard a call from De Yere.
"This way, Charlie, quick! O'Byrne
is coming along the road in a car ! He
heard the scream, and he will be upon
us in a moment !"
Charlie leaped from the limousine
and hastened to join his companion.
"O'Byrne !" he muttered, between his
teeth. '' You should have abducted him,
Harold, and left Miss McTodd alone.
Xow I can meet the fellow, and have
this little affair out with him ! I owe
that scoundrel more than you think —
and I shall pay my debt !"
CHAPTER XLII.
LUCK AND ILL LUCK.
Charlie's nature was stirred to its
very depths. His usually pleasant
features were overcast with a look so
venomous, so inhumanly fierce, that De
Vere's blood curdled in his veins. Char-
lie pounded his breast, pulled his derby
down with both hands, pushed up his
sleeves, and started for the road. De
Vere grabbed at his coat.
'T never saw you like this before,
Charlie," whispered the young mil-
lionaire hoarsely. "Beware lest you
go too far ! Think what might happen
to both of us if — if you forgot yourself
and killed the ex-ringmaster. I would
be an accessory before the fact, and
equally guilty with yourself. Man, be
reasonable !"
"This is no time for soft words, De
Yere !" gritted Charlie. ''This pre-
tended duke sent me an infernal ma-
chine, and with the bomb he forwarded
a spurious message that dealt in a high-
handed manner with the name and fame
of a fair lady. Now that O'Byrne and
I are to come face to face," and Char-
lie struck an attitude, 'T shall make
him rue the hour in which he involved
Miss McTodd in his fiendish plots !"
"I cannot, I dare not, go with you
and look upon your awful work !" fal-
tered De Vere.
"All I ask of you, De Vere," re-
turned Charlie, "is to cut a few yards
of rope from the coils about yonder
limousine. Be ready with the rope
when I shall call for it. Not another
word ! Attend to your duty as I am
prepared to attend to mine."
Tearing himself free of De Vere's
clutching fingers, Charlie ran through
the woods in the direction of the road.
Peering from the bushes, after he had
proceeded far enough to make observa-
tions of what was going forward in the
highway, he saw Silas McTodd's road-
ster at a standstill, with McTodd's pri-
vate chauffeur and O'Byrne on the car
seat.
"I am sure that I heard a scream
from the depths of the wood," the im-
postor was saying. "\Ye must in-
vestigate. Will you come with me?"
126
Pickles and Pearls
"It will not do to leave the car alone,"
demurred the chauffeur. ''I am re-
sponsible for the car, your grace."
"Then I shall go forth single-
handed," said O'Byrne resolutely, and
stepped down from the roadster.
"Make one move from where 3*011
stand. Tack O'Byrne, and there will be
fireworks !"
It was a relentless voice that spoke,
and the bushes crashed as a figure flung
itself into the road.
"Charlie !" whimpered the chauffeur,
and cowered behind the roadster's dash.
It was plain that O'Byrne was both
startled and dismayed. He managed to
pull himself together, however, and to
show considerable spirit.
''Scoundrel !" he cried. "You dare to
threaten me with a deadly weapon ?"
Charlie's hand was lifted to a level
with his eyes, and in the shadow of the
trees the "deadly weapon" showed
dimly.
"O'Byrne," was the answer, "you
have reached the end of your rope. I
have been looking for you these many
weeks. You played a bold game, but
it has lost. My name is Chaplin "
O'Byrne's iron nerve was shaken. He
flung up his hands and tottered.
"No, no!" he exclaimed frenziedlv.
"Yes !" shouted Charlie. "Chaplin,
who lost every dollar he had in the
world when you robbed the Billing-
hurst Xational Bank and sent the in-
stitution to the wall ! All my little sav-
ings went to smash, and I swore that I
would never rest until I found you and
brought you to justice. I am confident
that you knew I was on your trail, for
my very name causes you to tremble !
O'Byrne. I intend to turn you over to
the police. Stand with your back to-
ward me, and put your hands behind
you."
'"Don't do anything rash," pleaded
O'Byrne. "You had only forty-two
dollars in the bank. Let me go, Chap-
line, and I will give you ten times that
amount. Think, man, what you could
do with four hundred and twenty dol-
lars ! Don't "
"You cannot bribe me," returned
Charlie firmly. "I will do my duty,
even if it involves shooting you down
where you stand. Will you turn your
back and put out your hands?"
O'Byrne's haughty air had forsaken
him. His silk hat had fallen into the
road, and he had bowed his head in
hopeless dejection.
"Don't shoot!"' he implored. "Let
me live, if only to undo some of the
wrongs I have committed !"
"I will let you live to pay the penalty
of your misdeeds. There is Pridby,
and Colonel Brawley's beautiful dia-
mond "
The black frock coat was suddenly
convulsed, and a boutonniere dropped
from the lapel.
"There is Silas McTodd's wonderful
tiara "
Again the frock coat heaved.
"And Silas McTodd's daughter," pro-
ceeded Charlie, piling one term of the
indictment upon another with savage
emphasis, "and the infernal machine
you sent to me in the name of the fair
girl who was to be your bride ! Mon-
ster ! You ought to have a dozen lives
and be sentenced to hard labor with all
of them in order to pay the penalty of
your crimes. Down on your knees,
scoundrel !"
O'Byrne slumped to earth as ordered,
his wig awry, his face hueless, and his
eyes turning over his shoulder for a
fearful look at the leveled weapon.
"Sav that you are not the Duke of
Penruddock !" stormed Charlie. "Say
it !"
"I— I am not the duke."
"You are Tack O'Byrne ?"
" Yes — yes ! Oh. turn that weapon
away from me, Charlie Chaplin! You
are excited, and in an unguarded mo-
ment vou might press the trigger. Man,
Pickles and Pearls
127
would you slay one who is completely
at your mercy ?"
Charlie lifted his voice. "Harold!"
he cried. O'Byrne was making such a
pitiable exhibition of himself that Char-
lie felt it necessary to cut the scene
short.
De Vere stepped into the road.
"Here !" he answered, looking about
him fearfully.
"Bind that man, De Vere," Charlie
commanded.
"We'll attend to that!" exclaimed a
voice.
Two men sprang into the highway,
opposite the point from which Harold
de Vere had emerged. They wore the
uniforms of policemen. De V ere smoth-
ered a cry of trepidation, and Charlie
himself felt somewhat ill at ease.
"How came you to be there?" he in-
quired.
"Don't you recognize us?" queried
one of the officers.
Charlie looked more closely. The
swollen faces of the policemen had de-
ceived him at first, but now he knew
who they were.
"Pollock and Blake!" he murmured.
"You followed me — I see it all," he
went on gloomily, "but the man on his
knees there is the one you want. He
is "
"We heard him acknowledge his
identity," said Pollock. "There is a
five-thousand-dollar reward out for
Jack O'Byrne. Leave that to Blake
and me," he added insinuatingly, "and
we will overlook Leeson's complaint
against you, as well as the trouble you
caused us on the way from the pickle
works to town."
"I will leave it to you for the pres-
ent," answered Charlie indefinitely.
"Take your prisoner and see that he is
safely jailed."
Handcuffs were placed about
O'Byrne's wrists, and he was lifted to
his feet. Pollock and Blake tried to
smile over the prospect of receiving at
least a part of the reward money, but
the effort was too painful.
"Better borrow Mr. McTodd's car
for the ride to the Boggsville jail,"
Charlie suggested. "I guess you can
crowd into it on a pinch."
They did crowd into it. Charlie fell
to eating the "deadly weapon" he held
in his hand, backing away the while to
allow the overloaded roadster to pass.
O'Byrne stared at his captor like a man
in a trance.
"What — why — what is that you have
there, Chaplin?" he managed to stutter.
"A dill pickle," was the unconcerned
response. "With this trusty dill, I held
you covered, and forced from you the
confession that will send you 'over the
road.' There is something for you to
think about, O'Byrne, during the long
years you are to pass in the 'pen.' "
"Pen !" roared O'Byrne, in an out-
burst of chagrin and passion. "Where
I ought to be sent is to some institu-
tion for the feeble-minded ! A pickle
— and I thought it was a gun ! Oh, if
I had only had the wit of a chipmunk
But the car had rolled on, and the
ravings of the captured thief died in
the distance.
"And now for the ladies in the
limousine, Harold !' called Charlie
blithely. "I will drive them to the
works and restore Lola to her waiting
and anxious father."
In his eagerness to rescue Lola for
the third time, he rushed into the woods
at top speed and to the car. To his
amazement, he found the limousine
empty — Miss McTodd and her maid
had flown ! The door was open, and
the rope that had secured it lay on the
ground.
"What has happened here?" shouted
Charlie. "Harold!"
De Vere showed himself cautiously
from behind the thicket where he had
tramped back and forth while seeking a
way out of his unforeseen difficulties.
128
Pickles and Pearls
"You told me to bring you a piece of
the rope," he explained, ''and, in secur-
ing it, the doors of the limousine were
left unfastened. By this time, undoubt-
edly, Miss McTodd must be in her fa-
ther's arms. Perhaps it was thought-
less of me, but "
Charlie fell back against the empty
limousine and thought bitter things of
De Yere. The opportunity for per-
forming a third rescue of Miss Mc-
Todd had gone glimmering.
CHAPTER XLIIL
A DAY OF REVELATIONS.
How Silas McTodd ever bore
up under the humiliation and worry
of that long afternoon was more
than he could understand. There
had been strikers to deal with,
and then Charlie. By a brilliant
stratagem he had played off Charlie
against the strikers, and afterward had
ruthlessly abandoned Charlie to the po-
lice. Later, when the bridegroom was
waiting for the bride, and the stage was
set for one of the most impressive wed-
dings that ever had taken place, the
bride had mysteriously vanished. The
so-called Duke of Penruddock had gone
rorth to look for the missing beauty,
while the sadly beset pickle king had
held the wedding guests in the factory
by declaring that in a very few mo-
ments the ceremony would certainly be
performed. His daughter, disheveled
and in tears, came on foot, with her
little white slippers torn and stained,
and her wonderful gowm ruined, and
Jenkins carrying her veil. And such a
tale as she poured into her father's
ears ! Silas McTodd's blood ran cold,
and it was with difficulty that his fury
could be restrained.
His daughter, the Pearl of the Mc-
Todds, imprisoned in her own limou-
sine, and spirited away by a tramp in
broad day! The pickle king tramped
his office, shook his fists, and muttered
fierce threats. But there would still be
a wedding! In spite of all, the mar-
riage should take place.
Then they waited for the bridegroom,
waited until the sun set and the sum-
mer's dusk fell upon Boggsville and the
pickle works, but no bridegroom ap-
peared. Finally, the horrifying news
was brought by the chauffeur that Pen-
ruddock was not a duke, that his real
name was Jack O'Byrne, and that he
had been made a prisoner by the former
night watchman, Charlie, and turned
over to the police as a bank thief.
This was the last straw. Lola
swooned for the third time that after-
noon, and, while she was being revived
by Jenkins, McTodd went out into the
beautifully decorated tank room and
dismissed the guests. A wedding was
out of the question.
That evening, Silas McTodd paced
the confines of his study and tried to
look his daughter's situation squarely
in the face. \Yas it humanly possible
to set aside the decree of that dread
prophecy? Charlie, the night watch-
man, had been marked by fate to enact
the role the supposed duke had sought
to usurp ; Charlie, Cheerful Charlie, a
common laborer, and a man whose fam-
ily name was a mystery ! The pickle
king clutched at his throat, and his sur-
roundings swam on his eyes.
He tried to think calmly. Charlie
had rescued Lola from the whirling ma-
chinery of the works, and he had pre-
served her from the infernal apparatus
at the risk of his life. Furthermore, he
had revealed the character of the sup-
posed duke to him — McTodd — early in
the afternoon, but his rambling words
had won scant recognition. Silas Mc-
Todd could chide himself now for dis-
regarding those revelations; he could
also feel grateful to Charlie for cap-
turing O'Byrne single-handed, turning
him over to the police, and thus avert-
ing a terrible catastrophe. But the
mere thought of having Charlie for a
Pickles and Pearls
129
son-in-law caused the pickle manufac-
turer to writhe.
What was to be the outcome of that
sorry state of affairs? Silas McTodd
could only hope that Charlie would be
obliging enough to disappear forever
from the corporate limits of Boggsville.
Yet, in view of the relentless workings
of that prophecy, perhaps even this was
too much to hope for.
Hawkins interrupted his master's dis-
agreeable half hour by presenting him-
self in the study door. "A gentleman
to see you, sir, hon very himportant
business," he announced.
Mr. McTodd took the card from the
salver. "Shrewsbury Ames, Solicitor,"
he read; and, in the lower left-hand
corner was the address : "No. 23 Scully
Lane, London, E. C."
"Bring Mr. Ames to me here, Haw-
kins," said the master of the manor.
■ Shrewsbury Ames arrived, carrying
the usual black bag of the English
solicitor, and wearing the placid smile
of one accustomed to dealing with the
quality.
"Mr. McTodd?" he said, with rising
inflection.
"At your service," answered the
pickle king graciously. "Glad to meet
you, Mr. Ames."
They struck hands, and the solicitor
was invited to seat himself while he
stated his business.
"You are the Mr. Silas McTodd, of
the McTodd Pickle Works?" asked
Mr. Ames.
"You have it right. You wish to con-
sult with me regarding the sale of our
pickles abroad?"
"Hardly that, hardly that. As you
will note by my card, sir, I am a pro-
fessional man, and not in trade. My
mission in America, Mr. McTodd, is
rather a peculiar and delicate one. I
am — ahem — searching for a gentleman
now living in the United States ; and
to that gentleman, sir, I am to tender a
vast fortune and a title."
9
"Ah, I see!" Mr. McTodd's unset-
tled family affairs made of this visit
from the solicitor a pleasant and re-
freshing diversion. "You have come to
me, I suppose, thinking that my wide
acquaintance among the best families
will, in some way, assist you in your
search ?"
Mr. Ames coughed behind his hand.
"I fear it is not among the best fam-
ilies that we are to look for the gentle-
man in question," he said, with a note
of apology in his tones. "The gentle-
man was a younger son, and quite head-
strong, not to say wild. He was sent
to this country to get him away from
home, so that new scenes and experi-
ences might help on his — ah — reforma-
tion. There was nothing distinctly evil
in his character, please understand. No.
He comes of an old and aristocratic
family, and noble blood will always tell
in the long run. This younger son ran
too much to animal spirits, if I may use
the term, and was hard to manage.
Since the young man came to America,
his elder brother has died, and the fa-
ther, Sir Arthur, has also passed away.
The missing gentleman is heir to the
title and the great estates of the
family."
This was all intensely interesting to
Silas McTodd. There was a joy in hav-
ing fate shuffle him into affairs that
concerned the nobility. That was bet-
ter, perhaps, than doing the shuffling
himself.
"Command me, Mr. Ames," said he
eagerly. "In what manner can I serve
you ?"
"Our last clew to the missing Sir
Charles," went on the solicitor, "places
him in the town of Boggsville. He was
working — which, while unusual in one
of his line, was most admirable — work-
ing, let us say, to secure the means for
his support. We are led to believe that
he was, or is now, engaged in your
pickle factory."
"Sir Charles !" murmured McTodd,
130
Pickles and Pearls
struggling with his excitement. "You
say his name is Charlie ?"
"Yes."
"And he looks — how does he look, if
you please?"
. "He resembles all of his family in
lofty cast of feature and high bearing.
But he has eccentricities of behavior
which early marked him for either a
person of prominence in the world, or
for a plain ne'er-do-well. He ran much
to cricket and other sports, not exclud-
ing— I say it with regret ! — the low ex-
citements of the prize ring. At one
time he was a featherweight champion,
whatever that may be. He has marvel-
ous sinews, and is capable of great feats
of strength. By these characteristics
you may be able to recognize him. Can
you offer me any information?"
Mr. McTodd's brain was whirling.
His thoughts were deep and complex,
dealing mainly with his own folly in
not recognizing Cheerful Charlie from
the first as a man of rank and station.
He saw it all, now ! The younger son,
disdaining any and all claims on his
noble father, working at humble tasks
to retrieve his name ! Ah, how credit-
able, how wonderful ! And McTodd,
in his obtuseness, had never dreamed
that Charlie, the night watchman, was
other than he had seemed !
"If you will leave me your address,
Mr. Ames," said the pickle king, "I will
take the matter up with my foreman
at the factory, and will communicate
with you further."
"Thank you." Mr. Ames scribbled
an address on another card, and handed
it to Mr. McTodd. "I shall be at that
address for a few days," he went on,
rising, "and may I ask you to be as ex-
peditious as possible?"
"You will hear from me very soon,
perhaps to-morrow," said Mr. McTodd.
When the solicitor had gone, the
astute pickle king rubbed his hands de-
lightedly. He saw a way out for his
little Lola. If she could not have a
duke, then why not a lord ? Sir Charles
might be able to help on the manufac-
turer's ambition to become "Purveyor
of Relishes to His Majesty the King!"
Mr. McTodd summoned Lola to his
study, and, in awed tones, laid before
her this latest, overwhelming discovery.
The lovely girl clapped her small
hands ecstatically. "I always knew,
papa," she cried, in a transport, "that
Charlie was above the humble sphere
in which a cruel fate had placed him !
Something told me — something," and
she lifted a hand to her fluttering heart
and blushed divinely, "here! But you
have discharged him !" she pouted. "Oh,
how could you do that?"
"I shall find him, my pet," averred
Mr. McTodd, "I shall move heaven and
earth to find him ! More than once, my
dear, he has saved your life, and I know
how deeply he cares for you."
"So do I," whispered Lola faintly;
"he declared himself while — while I
was a prisoner in the limousine ! How
romantic it all is, to be sure !"
And, together, father and daughter
built their air castles and laid their
plans.
CHAPTER XLIV.
A MILD ADVENTURE.
"Harold," said Charlie wearily, "you
have made a sorry blunder." He drew
away from the empty limousine, as a
crafty smile showed itself through the
grime of the millionaire's face. Charlie
had a disturbing conviction as he
watched that significant smile. "Or
was it a blunder?" he demanded. "You
cut the rope that bound the doors of
the limousine, and you neglected to tie
the severed ends. Was there a purpose
in that? Did you connive at the escape
of the ladies, De Vere?"
"An idea came to me like an inspira-
tion," De Vere answered. "What you
desired, I felt sure, was to drive the
limousine to the factory after capturing
O'Byrne. You wished to pose, for a
Pickles and Pearls
131
third time, as the rescuer of Lola Mc-
Todd. By leaving the door of the car
unsecured, I prevented that, and al-
lowed the ladies to rescue themselves.
Ah, I have not forgotten how you
turned on me immediately after the
wreck of the freight train !"
Charlie brushed the damp from his
forehead. He was disappointed in the
character of De Vere.
''You are mercenary, De Vere!" he
declared, in withering tones. "When
you are in difficulties, you ask for my
aid and profess friendship ; but when
you are done with the difficulties, you at
once show the disposition of a churl.
But, remember, McTodd will have of-
ficers out looking for the tramp who
abducted his daughter!"
"He dare not lay a finger on me !" as-
serted De Vere boldly. "I have had an
awakening, here in these woods. After
I had blindly abducted Miss McTodd,
and found myself in the unenviable
position of not knowing what to do
with her, it occurred to me that, should
I woo and win her at the altar, I might
again be in the position of not know-
ing what to do with her. She is a
spoiled child. Beautiful, yes, but with
a temper and a shallowness of intellect
that robs her fair face of all its charm.
So "
"Careful !" warned Charlie, lifting
his cane. "I will not allow you to cast
aspersions upon the Pearl of the Mc-
Todds !"
"Very well," was the calm ^answer,
"then the aspersions will be left un-
spoken. It has dawned upon me sud-
denly that my infatuation for a poster
girl was all a mistake. I am madly in
love, but not with Lola McTodd. I also
have saved the life of a lady," he
boasted, "and that lady I intend to make
Mrs. de Vere. I go from this place to
assume my proper rank and station.
You, in a poor spirit of revenge, may
declare to the authorities that Harold
de Vere, of Fifth Avenue, is none other
than the applicant for the place of night
watchman, the second trombone in the
orchestra, the calliope player for
Bunkum & Brawley, the grocery clerk,
the tramp who bribed the McTodd
chauffeur, and ran away with the
limousine and Lola McTodd. Declare
all that, I say, and who will believe you ?
I take shelter behind my millions and
my social position, and the whole world
will laugh at your revelations !"
"You intend to marry Gwendolyn
Rives," remarked Charlie, with quick
intuition.
"She is a treasure! A "
"Marry in haste and repent of your
treasure ! If I wanted revenge for the
way you have treated me, De Vere, I
could wish for nothing better than to
see you married to the stenographer of
the pickle works."
"You dare to say a word against the
woman I love?" asked De Vere, flutter-
ing his rags and drawing back a war-
like arm.
"Not at all ! Gwendolyn is a proud
beauty, and I can see her throwing your
millions around like a princess. You
saved her life, and you cannot escape.
Destiny has you by the throat, Harold !
Farewell ! In spite of your unreliable
disposition, there is something about
you that I like. I am sorry we part in
anger. Why can we not be friends?"
"P, a friend of an exhibitor of edu-
cated pigs ? Sir, I am a De Vere !"
"It is a pleasure to know you are not
a Chaplin. Good afternoon !"
They went their different ways, Har-
old de Vere toward the great city to
assume his proper station, and Cheer-
ful Charlie to begin his aimless wan-
derings and to smile in the face of
hardships.
TO BE CONCLUDED.
on Wheels
BESSIE EYTON, the clever little
leading lady of the Selig Poly-
scope Company, in Los Angeles,
California, has solved a problem which
has confronted the motion-picture
actresses from the day production be-
gan to be made on a de luxe scale.
The problem was that of changing
costumes while on a location many
miles from the studio, and that the so-
lution Miss Eyton has discovered is a
dressing room on wheels. Quite sim-
ple, isn't it? Still, it took all of six
months for Miss Eyton to perfect her
idea.
A motion-picture leading lady's
wardrobe is no small thing, and to ar-
range a two-seated automobile — yes,
that is the foundation of the dressing
room on wheels — so that there will be
room for a make-up table, one or
more changes of costume, and the star
herself, is no small task. I looked at
Miss Eyton's dressing room on wheels
in its completed form, and quickly de-
cided that I would very much prefer to
gaze upon it with awe in that form,
than to start at the very beginning and
try to arrange it as she had done.
Miss Eyton, who had graciously led
me to the car to show me her ''patent,"
as she called it, apparently read the
thought that came into my mind, and
smiled.
"I'll bet you are wondering how I
got so much into so small a space," she
said.
I admitted that I was, and she pro-
ceeded to show me just how much more
there was inside the little car than I
really imagined.
"It is modeled on the plan of a reg-
ular theatrical dressing room," she said,
"but on a much smaller scale, of course.
See the little 'take-down' dressing table
over in the corner? Inside of that,
there are many little mirrors and other
little things I find quite necessary.
Then there's that little shelf with pow-
der puffs, grease paints, and a few
more necessities. Right behind that is
the wardrobe closet. I fill that with
the costumes I need for the particular
character I am playing, which are re-
quired during the taking of scenes away
from studio."
She paused and looked into the little
car admiringly. I murmured a few
words of praise about it, and asked :
"Aren't you afraid others will copy
your invention?"
"Why should I be afraid?" she
queried. "If they want to use it, that
is purely and simply up to them. I be-
lieve that every actress in motion pic-
tures will have to have some such con-
venience in the near future. Speaking
for myself, I don't see how I got along
without it as long as I did. When I
go out on the locations now, I have
comfort, privacy, and an ideal place to
A Dressing-Room on Wheels 133
Three views of dainty Bessie Eyton putting her new dressing room in practical use.
rest during the waits between the
scenes in which I appear."
Miss Eyton asks no credit for her
dressing-room idea — in fact she never
claims any credit for anything. If she
is especially good in a certain part, she
will say that the scenario writer cre-
ated an ideal character. If a play
in which she has the lead is judged
to be of exceptional merit, she will say
that the work of the director was won-
derful, and that he handled herself and
the others in such a way that they could
not help but do their best way.
"Miss Eyton," called a director from
a near-by auto, which he was about to
enter, "we are ready to start."
A cheerful smile from the auburn-
haired star was bestowed upon me,
with an apology for having to leave
so abruptly. Then she climbed into her
dressing room on wheels, closed the
door, and carefully guided her car into
the road and followed the director.
A SAMPLE SCENARIO
ALONG time ago we printed a sample one-reel scenario which, we have
every reason to believe, helped many writers gain much information ill
regard to the correct form in which to prepare their scripts. From time
to time since then we have promised a multiple-reel sample script, and in this
department it appears. It is the script used by Director Ben Wilson in producing
"In His Own Trap," a three-reel Universal picture. William Addison Lathrop
is the author.
We sincerely hope that every scenarioist who studies this sample scenario
will not do so for plot, but rather for the manner in which the scenes are arranged
to bring out the best that is in the material the author had to work with. The
plot itself is not at all new or polished, but the scene action is worked out in a
manner typical of the working script, and as the action is laid out here it appears
on the screen in the finished picture, only minor changes having been made.
An explanatory list is to be found at the end, in which is mentioned a few
of the things to be found in the script. Only a few of them are listed, however,
and there are hundreds of others, equally important to writers in various stages
of development, which they can best learn by a careful study of the script accord-
ing to their own requirements.
Name of Author,
Street or P. O. address, Submitted at Usual Rates.
City and State.
IN HIS OWN TRAP.
A three-reel drama of the business and social
world of to-day.
Synopsis.
Helen Moore, a society girl who is given over to pleasure and extravagance,
is courted by Rodney Stone, a wealthy broker, and John Mayne, a rising young
lawyer. Though her mother favors Stone, Helen rejects him because he is too
Hints for Scenario Writers
135
old for her, and accepts John, whom she really loves. After a year of married
life, Helen's extravagance weighs heavily upon John, and he is deep in debt.
She wishes to give a ball, and though he asks her not to do it until he can get
on his feet again, she wins his consent. The ball is given, and is a gorgeous
success for Helen. All through the evening, John remains alone in the library,
worrying over his finances, and only appearing in the ballroom to greet the
guests. Stone spends the entire evening with Helen, and attempts to kiss her
hand as he leaves. She avoids him, but the evil look on his face clearly shows
he is not so easily put aside. Helen's extravagance continues, for she does not
consider the consequence. Stone learns of John's financial condition, and sets a
trap for him. He has one of his clerks, named Crampton, an old man, take
money and securities to John, and explain that, as he is going abroad for two
years, he would like to have John invest the money for him in first mortgages.
This John agrees to do. John's creditors allow him a short extension of time,
and that night, while Helen gives a theater party for a number of society people,
including Stone, John is tempted to take the money given him by the old man
and use it to pay his debts. He figures the old man will not return for two
years, and in that time he can replace the money. He succumbs to the tempta-
tion, and Stone's detectives, who have been watching John, tip off. the broker.
Then Stone springs his trap. He has Crampton send a letter to John, telling
him that he has decided not to go to Europe, and that he will call in a day or
two for the money and invest it himself. John realizes he is a thief, and is about
to commit suicide when Helen stops him. She sees what her folly has cost her
husband, and determines to help him out of his difficulties. She goes to Stone,
who once offered to do anything for her, and asks him to loan her money. He
says he will, but on one condition only — she must come to his home alone that
night. She is forced to agree to this. Crampton, who recognizes in Helen the
daughter of his dearest friend, determines to save her, and sets out to find John.
The latter is trying to borrow moi'.zy, however, and Crampton cannot find him.
That night Helen goes to Stone's home. About the same time Crampton finds
John, who has borrowed enough money from his father to replace that which
he took. Learning of his wife's danger, John rushes to Stone's home, and arrives
there just as the broker is trying to force his attentions upon Helen. The men
exchange pistol shots, and Stone sinks to" the floor, wounded. John gives him
the money and denounces him. Helen flees, and returns home. John follows
her, and when he looks into her eyes and sees that she is not only innocent of
wrongdoing, but that she is also thoroughly penitent of her folly in squandering
money, he takes her into his arms.
Characters.
Helen. — A young society girl, given over to pleasure and extravagance.
She marries a young lawyer, and when she sees him in trouble
the real woman's spirit awakes, and she sacrifices herself
for him.
John. — A rising young lawyer. Upright and of strong character. His
wife's debts force him into a position where he stoops to
a questionable act.
Stone. — A man of about fifty years. Unscrupulous and with little or
no character. His brains are devoted to creating evil schemes.
Crampton. — An old man working as clerk for Stone. An honest fellow,
136
Hints for Scenario Writers
but controlled by his employer. He rebels when he sees the
daughter of an old friend in danger.
Guests at ball given by Helen, Butler in John's home, Clerks in
John's Office, Clerks in Stone's Office, Society women for card
party, Maid, Detective at agency and one who trails John, Broker,
Society women for theater party, John's Father, Butler in Stone's
home, Chauffeurs for autos, et cetera.
Scene Plot.
Interiors.
Mayne's Law Office. — 16 — 52 — 57 — 64 — 66 — 70 — 75 — 109.
Library of John's richly furnished home. — 26 — 28 — 29 — 30 — 33 — 36 — 44 — 46" —
48— 49— 50— 67— 69— 71— 73— 95— 97— 99— 101— 107— 1 12— 1 12J4— 1 \2y2
—1 14— 1 14^4—1 14^—1 16— 1 19— 1 19J4— 1 19^—121—133—134—135.
Ballroom in John's Home. — 27 — 31 — 35 — 38 — 39 — 40 — 41 — 42.
Hallway in John's Home.— 32— 34— 37— 43— 45— 47— 54— 1 17.
Stone's Office. — 5 3 — 5 5 — 58 — 60 — 62 — 82 — 84 — 85 — 87 — 89 — 9 1 — 93 — 94 — 1 02 —
103 — 104 — 105 — 106 — 108.
Parlor of Society Home.— 56— 63 — 65.
Office of Private Detective Agency. — 59 — 61.
Box in Theater. — 68 — 72 — 74.
Office of Broker.— 78— 80— 86— 88— 90— 92.
Telephone Booth.— 81— 83.
Helen's Bedchamber. — 96 — 98 — 1 1 1 .
Stairway with Library (scene 26) seen in background. — 100 — 115.
Library of Elder Mayne's Home. — 113.
Sitting Room in Stone's Home. — 122 — 124 — 126 — 128 — 130 — 131 — 132.
Exteriors.
Garden of Moore Home. — 1 — 3 — 5 — 7 — 9 — 11 — 20 — 22 — 24.
Another View of Same Garden. — 2 — 8 — 10 — 13 — 15 — 17 — 21 — 23 — 25.
Drive in Another Part of Garden. — 4.
Drive in Garden (near location of scene 1). — 6.
Bushes (near scene 2). — 12 — 14 — 18.
Entrance of Moore Garden from Street. — 19.
John's Palatial Home. — 51 — 118.
Office Building. — 76.
Bank Building. — 77 — 79.
Loan Shark's Office. — no.
Stone's Rich Home. — 120 — 123.
Rear of Stone's Home. — 125.
Roof of Stone's Home. — 127.
Skylight of Stone's Home. — 129.
Scene Action.
Part One.
Sub-Title.— RODNEY STONE, A WEALTHY BROKER, SEEKS THE
HAND OF HELEN MOORE. HIS SUIT IS FAVORED BY
HER MOTHER.
1. — Garden of Moore home. — Helen and mother sitting in rockers — mother
Hints for Scenario Writers
137
trying to have her remain with her — Helen wants to leave — gets up and
runs off — mother inclined to be angry.
2. — Another view of garden. — Helen runs into scene — smiles back at mother,
amused at her anger — sits on bench in foreground.
3. — Garden — same as scene r. — Mother still angry — looks off to side — sees some-
thing which causes her to register pleasure and surprise.
4. — Drive in another part of garden. — Auto approaching in distance — Stone
seated in it.
5. — Back to scene 3. — Mother rises, still showing pleasure and surprise — looks
over hedge expectantly.
6. — Drive in garden, near location of scene I. — Auto drives in — Stone alights
from it — sees mother, and registers pleasure — gives instructions to driver —
auto off — Stone starts toward mother and leaves scene.
7. — Back to scene 5. — Mother greets Stone as he enters — seems very pleased
to see him — they talk — Stone looks about for Helen — mother notices this,
and explains she will get Helen — looks in direction Helen went, and calls her.
8. — Another view of garden — same as scene 2. — Helen sitting on bench — hears
mother call — looks off scene and sees Stone — shows displeasure.
9. — Back to scene 7. — Mother and Stone looking toward Helen — Stone says he
will go to see her — tips hat to mother, and exits toward Helen — mother
looks after him, pleased,
10. — Another view of garden — same as scene 2. — Helen seems disturbed as Stone
enters — she greets him kindly, however — he appears to love her — he asks
her to be seated and talk with him — she hesitates, then agrees — they sit on
bench — he starts to make love.
11. — Back to scene 9. — Mother looks toward Stone and Helen happily — decides
to hear what they are saying — exits cautiously toward them.
12. — Bushes near scene 2. — Mother enters cautiously — listens to what Stone
and Helen are saying.
13. — Close-up of Helen and Stone on bench — same positions as in long shot in
scene 10. — Stone tells her he loves her, and asks her to marry him — Helen
shows clearly she doesn't care for him — she is sorry for him, though — she
says :
Sub-Title. — "FORGIVE ME — YOU ARE TOO OLD."
Back to picture — Helen looks at him, sorry that she has led him to believe
she cared — Stone's expression is that of a man not easily beaten.
14. — Same as scene 12. — Mother hears Helen refuse Stone — shows anger to
think her daughter has turned down such a fine "catch."'
15. — Back to scene 13. — Helen talks to Stone, and tries to make him forget — he
listens to her with half interest — his expression suggests that he is planning
something in his mind.
Sub-Title.— HELEX IS IN LOVE WITH JOHN MAYXE, A RISING
YOUXG ATTORXEY.
16. — Mayne's law office. — John at desk, getting ready to leave — appears in a
hurry — gives instructions to clerk — clerk telephones — John leaves office for
street.
17. — Another view of garden — same as scene 2. — Full view of Helen and Stone
in same positions as in close-up of scene 15. — She still talking to him — he
seems to rouse self from dream — shakes off disappointment — talks to her.
138
Hints for Scenario Writers
18. — Back to scene 14. — Mother disgusted to think Helen passed up Stone — she
exits from scene in direction she came, angry.
19. — Entrance of Moore garden from street. — John comes in, carrying box of
flowers — turns into garden and hurries toward house to see Helen.
20. — Garden of Moore home — same as scene 1. — Mother enters, disappointed by
Helen's refusal of Stone — sits in rocker, angry — John enters with flowers
— mother not as pleased to see him as she was Stone, but does not dislike
him — she greets him — he asks for Helen — mother points off toward Helen
and Stone — John says he will go to Helen — exits toward the couple.
21. — Back to scene 17. — Helen and Stone talking — John comes in — Helen forgets
all about Stone as she greets John — John and Helen are very much in love,
and their actions clearly show it — both suddenly remember Stone — John
shakes hands with him — they pass a few7 remarks between the three of them
— then John and Helen again forget all about Stone in their interest in each
other — Stone sees he is not wanted — says he is going — John and Helen
say good-by to Stone — he exits, angry, but unwilling to show his true feel-
ings— Helen and John again forget everything, and talk.
22. — Garden of Moore home — same as scene 1. — Mother seated in rocker — Stone
enters, and she rises and meets him — he says he is leaving — mother unusually
nice to him because Helen has refused him— they talk.
23. — Back to scene 21. — Helen and John talking — again show their love — John
opens box of flowers, and gives them to Helen — she folds them in her arms
— he takes her hand — they look into each other's eyes.
24. — Back to scene 22. — Stone tells mother he must be going — she sorry he can't
stay longer — says she will walk to gate with him — both exit toward gate-
Stone does not show his true feelings at being refused.
25. — Back to scene 23. — Helen and John in a love scene — he asks her to be his
wife and she agrees — they embrace — slowly fade out.
Sub-Title.— AFTER A YEAR OF MARRIED LIFE. HELEN'S EXTRAVA-
GANCE WEIGHS HEAVILY UPON HER HUSBAND.
26. — Library in John's richly furnished home. — Helen seated at writing desk,
writing invitations — John enters, appears worried — gives hat to butler-
goes to Helen — she very enthusiastic about her social plans — shows him
invitations — starts to explain affair she is to give — he does not favor it —
says to her :
Sub-Title.— "CAN'T YOU POSTPONE THIS BALL? I AM VERY HARD
PRESSED FOR MONEY JUST NOW."
Back to picture. — Helen inclined to be angry — then smiles at him, and deter-
mines to win his consent — he seats himself in armchair — she sits on arm of
chair — coaxes him — he finally agrees — she kisses him — goes back to desk to
finish invitations while he sits in chair, worried — fade out slowly as he
worries and she writes.
^Director's Note. — From scene 27 to scene 50, inclusive, the action transpires
at night. The interiors should therefore be tinted amber and the exteriors blue.
Sub-Title.— THE BALL.
27. — Ballroom in John's home. — Its decorating suggests the great expense John
is under in giving the event — guests dancing — music stops and guests stop
dancing — Stone and Helen, who have been dancing together, stop in fore-
Hints for Scenario Writers
139
ground — other couples standing near them talk with them — Helen happy in
midst of gayety.
28. — Library in John's home — same as scene 26. — John at desk looking over
papers — they are bills, and he is worried by them — he takes several in hands
and inspects them.
29. — Close-range shot of bills in John's hands — show the various amounts for
millinery, flowers, music, caterer, gowns, et cetera, et cetera.
30. — Back to scene 28. — John takes out writing pad and starts to check over
accounts — appears to be in despair over the unpaid bills.
31. — Ballroom in John's home — same as scene 27. — Helen, Stone, and guests talk-
ing in foreground — other guests seated and walking about the room — Helen
looks for John — does not see him — seems annoyed by his absence — excuses
herself, and leaves room to find him.
32. — Hallway in John's home. — Guests seen in ballroom in the background —
Helen enters hallway — shows displeasure — calls butler — tells him to find
John — butler exits.
33. — Library — same as scene 26. — John working on list of expenses — butler enters
— tells John that Helen wants him to come to ballroom — John is absorbed in
his work, and does not pay much attention to butler.
34. — Back to scene 32. — Helen looks about, but cannot see John — is impatient —
decides to rejoin guests and make up for her husband's absence — reenters
ballroom.
35. — Ballroom — same as scene 27. — Guests walking and seated about room wait-
ing for music to start again — all are laughing and talking — animate scene,
with plenty of action and carry environment of gayety — Helen enters from
hall — goes to Stone and guests in foreground — talks and laughs with them.
36. — Back to scene 33. — John finishes checking over bills — turns to butler and
asks him what he said — butler explains that Helen wants him — John says he
will come at once — butler exits — John appears greatly worried by debts —
exits to ballroom.
37. — Hallway — same as scene 32. — Guests seen in ballroom in rear — John enters
from library — surveys gayety in ballroom with little interest — then braces up
and determines to be pleasant — goes into ballroom.
38. — Ballroom — much the same as at end of scene 35. — Helen and Stone talking
together with other guests around as before — John enters — goes to Helen
and Stone — appears cheerful as he passes other guests and greets them.
39. — Close-up of John, Helen, and Stone. — John and Stone shake hands — then
John turns to Helen with a tired, but apparently happy, face — they talk —
Stone looks at them — registers expression typical of the plotter on his face.
40. — Back to scene 38. — John leaves Stone and Helen, and passes among guests,
shaking hands and greeting them — Stone and Helen left alone, talk.
41. — Close-up of Stone and Helen talking — again show the expression on Stone's
face — he has determined to have Helen — he looks toward John with a cov-
ered sneer on his face.
42. — Back to scene 40. — John walking among guests, talking with them — the music
starts again, and guests start to dance — John stops at side of room, and talks
with some of the men guests who are not dancing — Helen dances with Stone
— as Helen and Stone dance near John, they stop and talk with him an
instant — then they dance on among the guests — John makes a few remarks
1 to the men — then excuses himself — exits to hallway — the music stops, and
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the guests again gather in groups and talk — Helen and Stone come to fore-
ground and sit down.
43. — Hallway — same as scene 32. — John enters from ballroom, worried over debts
— looks back on gayety, and knows he cannot join in it with the proper spirit
— exits into library.
44. — Library — same as scene 26. — John enters — the burden of his debts weighs
heavily on him — he stands at desk and thinks — very downcast — goes to safe
and gets papers — sits down at desk and writes.
Sub-Title.— AFTER MIDNIGHT.
45. — Hallway — same as scene 32. — Guests leaving — Helen saying good-by to them
as they pass out — Stone is last to leave — he pauses and talks to Helen — his
whole air suggests that he is planning something which is not of the best.
46. — Library — same as scene 26. — John seated at desk, working over papers —
appears very tired, but remains at his task.
47. — Back to scene 45. — Stone tries to kiss Helen's hand as they part — she with-
draws it — he looks at her menacingly — leaves — she turns toward library hap-
pily, satisfied that her ball has been a great success — exits to library.
48. — Back to scene 46. — John working at desk — Helen enters — sees John working
— looks at him with a tired smile — goes to him and sits beside him — tells him
the ball was a success— he glad she is happy — then tells her it will cost a great
deal — takes bills from desk and shows them to her.
49. — Close-range of bills in John's hand, with his finger ind: eating the items — the
same bills are used here as in 'scene 29.
50. — Back to scene 48. — John talks to Helen about the bills — it seems to bore her
— she tells him it isn't anything to worry about, and that it was worth it —
treats the subject lightly, and then dismisses it — kisses him good night, and
leaves room — he sits and stares into space, greatly worried over bills — as he
stares, slowly fade out.
Sub-Title.— NOT CONSIDERING THE CONSEOUENCES, HELEN CON-
TINUES HER EXTRAVAGANCES.
51. — Exterior of John's palatial home. — Helen comes from within — auto waiting
— she enters it and is driven off.
52. — Mayne's law office — same as scene 16. — John at desk, working — clerks also
at work — Helen enters — goes to John — they talk — she tells him she wants to
go shopping — asks him for money — he asks her to be careful of it for a
while, but she pouts and says she must shop to-day — he writes her a check —
she takes it, kisses him, and leaves — he sits at desk, worried over her extrava-
gance.
Sub-Title.— STONE SETS A TRAP FOR JOHN MAYNE.
53. — Stone's office. — Stone at desk in foreground — Crampton and other clerks in
rear — Stone stops working and thinks of Helen — as he thinks, fade into
54. — An exact repetition of the first part of scene 47, in which Stone tries to kiss
Helen's hand, but she withdraws it — as she does this fade back into
55. — Back to scene 53. — Stone thinking of Helen — he reaches a decision to strike
the blow which will bring her to him — gets papers from desk and writes notes
— calls Crampton, and gives him instructions — Crampton gets money box
from safe, and brings it to Stone — Stone counts out money — hands box to
Crampton — gives him more instructions — Crampton takes money box and
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141
leaves for the street — Stone sits and muses over his plan — his face is set, and
it is evident he is doing something crooked — fade out as he holds this pose.
Part Two.
56. — Parlor of a society home. — Society women sitting about table, playing cards
— Helen is one of the number — a maid is in attendance — Helen has lost a
hand, and pays her debts from her pocketbook.
Sub-Title.— MAYNE'S CREDITORS GRANT HIM AN EXTENSION OF
TIME.
57. — Mayne's law office — same as scene 16. — John standing beside desk, talking
to three creditors — he has explained matter to them — they decide to grant
him time — all shake hands with him and exit — John sits at desk again,
greatly worried.
58. — Stone's office — same as scene 53. — Stone seated at desk, working out plan in
his mind — decides on course of action — telephones.
59. — Office of private detective agency. — Chief detective answers phone.
60. — Back to scene 58. — Stone at telephone — talks to detective — says :
Sub-Title.— "KEEP TAB ON JOHN MAYNE AND REPORT TO ME."
Back to picture. — Stone gives his commands sternly — he has decided on his
course of action, and will let nothing stop him.
61. — Back to scene 59. — Chief detective acknowledges the order, and asks a couple
of questions — makes note on a writing pad as he talks — then finishes con-
versation and hangs up receiver.
62. — Back to scene 60. — Stone hangs up receiver and leans back in chair — lights
cigar and smiles with satisfaction at his plan.
63. — Parlor in society home — same as scene 56. — Helen and other society women
playing another hand of cards — Helen again losing.
64. — Mayne's law office — same as scene 16. — John walking up and down office, his
nerves cracking under the nervous strain caused by his debts.
65. — Back to scene 63. — Helen loses the hand of cards — opens pocketbook and
takes out check — seems embarrassed — she has not enough money with her
to pay her losses — tells others she will give I O U for the remainder — they
agree graciously — maid brings paper, pen, and ink to Helen — she indorses
check — then writes I O U — looks at both.
Insert. — Check for fifty dollars and I O U for thirty dollars. Former is to Helen
Mayne, and is signed by John Mayne, and the latter is signed by Helen
Mayne.
Helen gives check and I O U to women — says she will have to go — leaves
table, after bidding them good-by, and exits — women start to talk about her
having the nerve not to pay cash for her losses, the instant she leaves the
room.
66. — Mayne's law office — same as scene 16. — John seated at desk, trying to con-
centrate on work — Crampton enters with money box — tells John he wishes
to place the money in his hands — John asks him to sit down and talk matter
over — Crampton does, and explains, saying:
Sub-Title.— "I AM GOING ABROAD FOR TWO YEARS, AND I HAVE
TWENTY THOUSAND DOLLARS HERE I WISH YOU TO
INVEST IN FIRST MORTGAGES FOR ME."
Back to picture. — Crampton explains to John — John listens — then agrees to
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handle deal — counts money and securities in box, and gives Crampton a
receipt for them — they rise and shake hands — Crampton exits — John looks
at money — raises eyes slowly and looks off — suggest temptation entering his
mind — then he closes box and returns to work at desk.
*Director's Note. — From scene 67 to scene 74, inclusive, the action transpires
at night. The interiors should therefore be tinted amber and the exteriors blue.
Sub-Title.— THAT EVENING. HELEN GIVES A THEATER PARTY.
67. — Library — same as scene 26. — John seated at table, working over law books — ■
Helen enters in evening gown, ready for theater — she comes to him — coaxes
him to come, but he says he must remain at home and work — she asks him
for money to pay for evening — he gives her cash from pocket — she happy —
kisses him and leaves — John tries to work again, but cannot keep his mind
on it — worries about finance — diaphragm out as he does.
68. — Box in theater. — Society women and Helen in box waiting for show — talking
and laughing gayly — Helen is enjoying herself immensely.
69. — Back to scene 67. — John alone in library — again tries to study from book
before him — cannot — puts book away — thinks of the money in his charge —
struggles with self as he is tempted to use it — sits and looks toward camera,
into space — as he does fade out into
70. — Latter part of scene 66 duplicated. — John accepts the money from Crampton,
and counts it over — as he does fade back into
71. — Close-up of John at desk in same position as in long shot in scene 69. — He
is tempted to appropriate the money — then banishes the idea at once — runs
hands through his hair, and tries to keep his mind from the subject.
72. — Box in theater — same as scene 68. — Helen and women laughing and talking
— Stone enters box and greets ladies — seats himself beside Helen and pays
noted attention to her.
73. — Library — same as scene 26.— John seated in almost same position as at fade-
out in scene 69 — struggling with himself to keep from the temptation before
him — as he struggles DOUBLE EXPOSE the following wording on the
black wall behind him: "HE IS GOING ABROAD FOR TWO YEARS.
WHY CANT I USE THE MONEY, AND REPLACE IT BEFORE HE
RETURNS?" Words fade out — John continues to struggle with self for
a brief instant — then, in desperation, decides he will use the money.
74— Box in theater — same as scene 68. — Helen, Stone, and women in box — Stone
pays attention only to Helen — his manner toward her seems unduly free
when his position and hers are considered.
Sub-Title.— MAYNE DECIDES TO USE THE MONEY AND SECURITIES.
75. — Mayne's law office — same as scene 16. — Clerks at work — John enters, his
jaws set in his determination to go through with decision to take the money —
he goes to safe and takes out money box — takes money and securities from
it — gives clerk the box to return to safe, and exits to street — clerk places box
in safe.
76. — Exterior of office building. — John comes from within building and exits
down street — detective, who has been loitering at side of entrance, follows
him.
77. — Exterior of bank building. — John enters down street, and goes into building-
detective enters, trailing him, and looks through doors.
78. — Office of broker, with part-glass walls. — Broker at desk — John enters —
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143
shakes hands with broker, and sits down at his desk — explains he wishes to
invest.
79. — Back to scene 77. — Detective turns — registers he has seen enough to convince
him John has appropriated the money, and is going to invest it — hurries off
down the street.
80. — Back to scene 78. — John and broker discuss stock — John decides to buy with
the money left in his care — they transact the deal — John gives broker money
and receives receipt — they shake hands as they rise — John exits.
81. — Telephone booth. — Detective enters, excited — telephones to Stone.
82. — Stone's office — same as scene 53. — Stone at desk, dictating letters to stenog-
rapher— he answers the telephone.
83. — Back to scene 81. — Detective telephones Stone, saying he has seen John go
to broker's to invest the money — explains over the wire.
84. — Back to scene 82. — Stone surprised and pleased as he hears detective's re-
port— his plan is working out nicely — he hangs up receiver and smiles
broadly — dismisses stenographer — then his smile changes to a look of cun-
ning— he determines to verify the detective's report.
Sub-Title.— STOXE VERIFIES THE DETECTIVE'S REPORT.
85. — Stone's office — same as scene 53. — Stone telephones to broker.
86. — Broker's office — same as scene 78. — Broker working at desk — he answers
telephone.
87. — Back to scene 85. — Stone talking to broker over phone — he asks him if John
has invested money in stock through him — asks for names of stocks.
88. — Back to scene 86. — Broker reluctant at first, but decides to give the in-
formation to Stone — calls a clerk — clerk gets him papers with notations
about John's stocks — broker reads off notations to Stone.
89. — Back to scene 87. — Stone gets pad of writing paper and makes notes as he
listens to broker over the phone.
90. — Back to scene 88. — Broker reads more notes over the phone to Stone.
91. — Back to scene 89. — Stone continues to make notes — register his enthusiasm
as he secures the information which he knows will enable him to trap John.
92. — Back to scene 90. — Broker finishes reading off notes — makes a few other
remarks to Stone — hangs up receiver.
93. — Back to scene 91. — Stone hangs up receiver, happy in realization of his plan ■
— sits back and gloats over his success.
Sub-Title.— STOXE SPRINGS HIS TRAP.
94. — Stone's office — same as scene 53. — Stone standing at his desk, while Cramp-
ton sits at it. writing a letter in longhand — Crampton finishes letter and hands
it to Stone to read — latter looks it over, while Crampton addresses envelope
— Stone approves of the letter — registers aside that now he has John where
he wants him, and he will soon have Helen in a like position — Stone returns
letter to Crampton, and the latter puts it in the envelope, seals it, and starts
out to mail it — as he starts out, fade out slowly, with Stone in foreground — a
look of triumph on his face.
95. — Library of John's home — same as scene 26. — John seated at desk — butler
admits boy with letter — boy delivers letter to John and exits — butler also
leaves — John opens letter — reads :
My Dear Mr. Mayne :
I have changed my plans in regard to going abroad, and
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therefore shall be able to make my own investments. Will call
at your office Thursday for the cash and securities.
Yours very truly,
H. P. Crampton.
Back to picture. — John finishes reading letter — terror spreads over his face —
he realizes he has been caught, and that he is a thief — Helen comes into the
room — sees something is wrong with John, and goes to him — asks him what
is the matter — he turns toward her, a wild expression on his face — he does
not seem to recognize her — he hands her the letter — she reads — turns to
him for an explanation, as she does not understand — he rises and says :
Sub-Title.— "I STOLE THAT MONEY— YOUR EXTRAYAGAXCE
FORCED ME TO DO IT!"
Helen terrified — does not comprehend situation at first- — then draws away
from John — he does not look at her — buries head in hands — slowly she
realizes she is the cause of his downfall — the thought draws her toward him
— she places arms about him and tells him not to mind that she still loves
him — John faces her in desperation — exclaims fiercely :
Sub-Title.— 'BUT I AM A THIEF!"
Back to picture. — John sinks in chair and buries head in his hands — Helen
tries to comfort him — sees it is of no avail — she weeps and exits from room,
sobbing pitifully — John sits as one in a daze.
Part Three.
Sub-Title.— PENITENCE AND REPARATION.
96. — Helen's bedchamber. — Helen on bed, weeping violently — still in evening
gown, and has jewels on — she sits up on bed — looks toward mirror and
sees jewels — struggles with self an instant — then decides to sacrifice that
which has been so dear to her — she takes necklace and jewels off.
97. — Library — same as scene 26. — John standing beside desk — despair and wild
determination registered by his expression — he slowly turns and looks toward
drawer of desk — then opens it.
98. — Back to scene 96. — Helen rises from bed — she has reached her decision and
decides to tell her husband of it — exits to hall to tell him.
99. — Back to scene 97. — John takes pistol from drawer of desk slowly and with
grim determination — pauses an instant, contemplating action — then aims it
at his head.
100. — Stairway, with library (scene 26) seen in background. — Helen coming down
stairs — John standing at library table as in scene 99, with pistol raised to
head — Helen sees him — screams in terrified manner and rushes toward him.
101. — Back to scene 99. — Helen rushes into room — seizes pistol and takes it from
John — he falls limply into chair — she kneels beside him and puts arms about
him — kisses and weeps over him as she tries to tell him everything will
come out all right — fade out as this action transpires.
Sub-Title.— THE NEXT DAY. HELEN DETERMINES TO SACIFICE
HERSELF TO SAVE HER HUSBAND.
102. — Stone's office — same as scene 53. — Crampton working at desk — Helen
enters and introduces herself to him — he seems to recognize her — ask her
question about parents — Helen replies — he seems unusually glad to see
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145
her — shakes hands with her and asks her to be seated — as she is, he says
to her :
Sub-Title.— "I KNEW YOUR FATHER BEFORE YOU WERE BORX.
HE WAS MY DEAREST FRIEND."
Crampton and Helen talk — Stone enters as they do — he is pleased to see
Helen, and his look suggests his evil purpose — he goes to his desk with
look of determination to do something — Helen continues to talk with
Crampton — Stone calls stenographer and sends her from room with papers
— then calls Crampton, and also assigns him to work which will carry him
from room — he will then be alone with Helen — he asks Helen to come to
his desk and sit down — she does this as Crampton starts to leave room.
103. — Close-up of Crampton at door — he is going out — he goes outside door and
partly closes it — then pauses and looks back — he suspects his employer of
trickery.
104. — Back to scene 102. — Crampton not seen behind nearly closed door — Stone
turns to Helen pleasantly — she is under nervous strain — speaks to him
anxiously and nervously — asks him for financial aid — says :
Sub-Title.— "YOU SAID ONCE YOU WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR ME—
HELP ME NOW BY LOANING ME THE MONEY."
Helen leans toward Stone anxiously to await his decision — his eyes gleam
with light of evil — it is his time to play his ace card — his expression
changes to one of stern command — he looks at her and shakes his head
doubtfully — registers he cannot lend her the money without security, and
she has none to offer — Helen frantic — begs him to lend it to her — she
says :
Sub-Title.— "ISN'T THERE ANYTHING I CAN DO?"
Stone looks at her with hungry eyes — slow smile comes upon his face —
his expression suggests evil and cruelty — Crampton opens door a little and
listens — Stone says to Helen :
Sub-Title.— "IF YOU WILL COME TO MY HOME TO-NIGHT AT
ELEVEN, ALONE, I WILL GIVE YOU THE MONEY."
Helen shrinks from Stone, horrified, as she realizes his true character.
105. — Close-up of Crampton at door listening — he hears what Stone says, and
shows indignation and anger.
106. — Back to scene 104. — Helen refuses and starts to leave — Stone stops her —
talks to her and tells her of fate which awaits John if she refuses — she
breaks down and sobs — Stone talks on, trying to make her agree — Helen
conquers her tears and thinks, as she does, fade out to
107. — Exact repetition of scene 99, in which John decides to commit suicide —
(this scene is used to carry idea that she thinks he will try to take his life
again, unless she secures the money to clear him) — fade back to
108. — Back to scene 106. — Helen again breaks down and weeps — tries to plead
with Stone — he is unrelenting — Crampton at door listening — Helen in
despair — seems about to agree — Stone takes advantage of her condition —
says :
Sub-Title.— "TO-NIGHT, AT ELEVEN— SHALL I EXPECT YOU?"
Stone eagerly awaits what her decision shall be — Helen in despair — pleads
with him again — he refuses to alter his decision — tells her there is no
10
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Hints for Scenario Writers
other way — Helen breaks down completely — agrees to his proposition —
weeps — Crampton hears her — closes door softly and leaves — Helen starts
to leave — sobbing pitifully- — Stone very happy and pleased — pats her on
back, and tells her not to worry — as Helen makes her exit in this manner,
fade out slowly.
Sub-Title.— ALL DAY CRAMPTON SEARCHES FOR MAYNE TO TELL
HIM OF HIS WIFE'S PERIL.
109. — Mayne's law office — same as scene 16. — John not at desk as usual — desk
locked — Crampton enters — asks clerks where John is — they say he hasn't
been at office at all that day — they do not know where to reach him —
Crampton excited — determined to find John — leaves office hurriedly to
continue search.
Sub-Title.— MAYNE TRIES TO BORROW MONEY FROM A LOAN
SHARK.
no. — Exterior of loan shark's office. — John comes from within — registers disap-
pointment on face — he displays fact that he cannot borrow the money — is
in desperation — exits down street to continue his search for funds.
^Director's Note. — From scene in to 135, inclusive, the action transpires at
night. The interiors should therefore be tinted amber, and the exteriors blue
Sub-Title.— WAITING.
in. — Helen's bedroom — same as scene 96. — Helen waiting for hour to go to
Stone — is worn out by worry — dries eyes and tries to brace up — register
the intense strain she is under.
112. — Library of John's home — same as scene 26. — Crampton ushered into room
by butler — he asks butler where John is — butler does not know — Cramp-
ton says he will wait a while — butler leaves — Crampton looks at clock.
112%. — Close-range of clock, with hands pointing to 8.
II2T/^. — Back to scene 112. — Crampton takes money from pocket and counts it
out — is sure he has enough to save John — anxious about his whereabouts.
Sub-Title.— AS A LAST RESORT, HE APPEALS TO HIS FATHER.
113. - — Library of Older Mayne's home. — John's father talking with John — John
finishes telling of his difficulties — Father writes out check — gives it to
John — they shake hands — father warns him to be careful in the future —
John grateful and much relieved — hurriedly takes his leave to arrange
matters with the man whose money he took.
114. — Library — same as scene 26. — Crampton still waiting for John— he is grow-
ing impatient — looks toward clock again.
114. %. — Close-range of clock, with hands pointing to 10.30.
1 14^2. — Back to scene 114. — Crampton reaches decision he cannot wait longer
— gets writing paper and pencil from desk — writes a note.
115. — Stairway with library in background — same as scene 100. — Helen coming
down stairs to go to Stone's home — Crampton seen in library, writing note
■ — Helen sees him — frightened — fears he will see her — carefully makes
way down stairs so as not to attract his attention.
116. — Back to scene 114^. — Crampton still writing note — does not see Helen as
she passes door of library on way through hall.
117. — Hallway — same as scene 32. — Helen comes past library door quietly — then
hurries toward street to go to Stone — exits.
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147
118. — Exterior of John's home — same as scene 51. — Helen comes from within—
looks about nervously to make sure no one is watching — hurries off scene.
119. — Back to scene 116. — Crampton finishes writing note and looks at it — then
looks toward clock again, nervous and anxious.
119^;. — Close-range of clock, with hands indicating 10.45.
1 193/2. — Back to scene 119. — Crampton starts to leave room just as John enters —
John happy — shows Crampton check — tells him he can pay him at once —
Crampton disregards his talk — excitedly tells him of danger his wife is in
— says :
Sub-Title.— "HURRY, IF YOU HOPE TO SAVE YOUR WIFE!"
John starts in surprise — then becomes alarmed — then angry — determines
on course to pursue quickly — gets pistol from desk — Crampton frightened
by sight of weapon — tries to take it from John, but latter shakes him off
— then Crampton starts to plead and argue with John to keep his head.
120. — Exterior of Stone's rich home. — Helen walks up path and goes up steps
to the door.
121. — Back to scene 119^2. — Crampton tries to stop John, but the enraged man
dashes past him, pocketing the pistol as he goes, and exits — Crampton
starts to follow him — then stops and decides to remain until John returns,
as he thinks it will be better if he does not interfere.
122. — Sitting room in Stone's home. — Stone talking with butler — butler tells him
Helen wishes to see him — Stone dismisses butler and tells him to show
Helen in — butler leaves — Helen enters, frightened and mistrusting — Stone
takes her hand— reassures her — closes portieres — they sit down on couch.
123. — Exterior of Stone's home — same as scene 120. — John rushes into scene —
looks about — then looks toward house — dashes toward it — angry and
desperate.
124. — Back to scene 122. — Helen pleads with Stone — he pays little attention to
her tears — makes advances to her — she avoids him — he sits down — she
kneels at his side and pleads with him — it is of no avail — she rises, walks
to couch, and sinks down, exhausted — Stone watches her closely with evil
look.
125. — Rear of Stone's home. — John has placed ladder against it — climbs up
ladder quickly.
126. — Back to scene 124. — Stone rises and goes to Helen — stands above her —
takes money from pocket and shows it to her — she draws away from him
— he sits beside her, and tries to embrace her — she again avoids him.
127. — Roof of Stone's home. — John climbs to roof and hurries from scene to
find opening by which to enter house.
128. — Back to scene 126. — Stone again shows Helen the money — says to her:
Sub-Title.— "I AM READY TO KEEP THE BARGAIN— ARE YOU?"
Back to picture — Helen shrinks from him — her nerve fails her — Stone
roughly seizes her wrist — tries to embrace her — she struggles.
129. — Skylight of Stone's home. — John enters — smashes skylight and climbs
through.
130. — Back to scene 128. — Stone and Helen struggling — they hear John smash
the skylight — Stone frightened and excited — releases Helen — she terrified
—fears she will be found — rushes from room — Stone, in terror, takes
revolver from table drawer — turns lights out — (dark) — John dashes in
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— both Stone and John fire — (show this by two quick flashes of pistols in
the dark).
131. — Close-range of Helen in door. — Room is dark, but light from other room
shows up her face — register her expression of terror — she shrinks back
and exits from scene into the dark.
132. — Back to scene 130. — Lights still off — John turns them on again — Stone
sinks into chair, wounded — butler rushes into room, but John dismisses
him — says he is not needed — when butler leaves, John turns to Stone —
show his intense anger toward Stone — denounces him — takes check from
pocket and gives it to him — says :
Sub-Title.— "THERE IS YOUR MONEY— WHERE IS MY WIFE?"
Stone terrified as John stands over him angrily — he says he does not know
where Helen went — John doesn't believe him — chokes him — Stone help-
less with pain and fear — John releases him in contempt — looks about room
for Helen — cannot find her — believes she has gone home — calls butler —
tells him to lead him to door — looks toward Stone with contempt — then
follows butler from room — Stone sinks weakly down in chair — fade out.
133. — Library — same as scene 26. — Crampton at desk, worried over prolonged
absence of John, and fearing the worst — Helen rushes into room — sinks
into chair — the excitement of the evening overcomes her — she cries bit-
terly— Crampton goes to Helen — looks at her questioningly — believes her
innocent — consoles her — John enters angrily — goes to Helen and seizes her
in his arms roughly — looks into her eyes — she pleads with him to listen
to her.
134. — Close-up of Helen and John — she pleads with him that she is innocent —
his face is set — he looks into her eyes without speaking — what he sees
satisfies him she is innocent — he folds her in his arms, and they kiss
happily.
135. — Back to scene 133. — John and Helen in embrace — Crampton happy — John
sees him — frees one hand from Helen's waist and shakes hands with
Crampton — latter steals softly from room, while Helen and John have a
love scene — as the love scene transpires, slowly fade out.
NOTES.
Many of our readers who studied the first sample scenario, and who have
read our articles, advocating the use of the term "leader" in regard to printed
matter on the screen, will probably wonder why we use "Sub-Title" throughout
this script. The reason is just to convince those who seem to believe that
there is a difference in the meaning of certain technical terms. One is just as
effective as another, and the value of any certain term comes only through con-
stant use of it by a writer. Personally, we favor the use of the term "leader, " but
if you believe you like "sub-title" or "caption" better, use them; regardless of
which you choose, however, be sure that you stick to it religiously, and do not
mingle three or four terms meaning: the same thing. When "sub-titles" and
"captions" are broken into scenes, they are called by the same term as when
they appear between scenes, but when "leaders" break into scenes, they are known
as "cut-in-leaders."
The "cut-back" system is used throughout this scenario. This system, as we
have explained before, deals with the switching from one scene to another,
usually in order to heighten the suspense at a climax. Usually the scenes are
Hints for Scenario Writers
149
very short. An example of the judicious use of the "cut back" will he found
in scenes 122 to 132, while an abuse of this system is illustrated by scenes 85
to 93. In the former case, there is a reason for using several broken-up scenes,
but in the latter case it is a pure waste of scenes to allow nine of them for a
mere telephone conversation, which is merely incidental to the story.
The fading of pictures from the screen, known as the "fade out," is another
thing illustrated in this scenario in a clever manner. The beginner will note that
certain scenes are faded out, and easily recognize the end of an episode. These
fades must be used only where they are effective, for if they are "done to death"
they lose their effect. In scene 67 the scenario says "diaphragm out," and this
will doubtless trouble many students. To "diaphragm out" means to close the
shutter of the camera slowly, until only a small circle remains in the center of the
screen ; then that slowly disappears. By studying its position in the script, you
will note that it covers a break which was a little too sharp to gloss over with a
straight "fade out."
The correct manner and showing what a person is thinking of when the
full screen is used for the vision, is illustrated by scenes 70 and 107.
The manner of handling an unusual "double exposure" is shown in scene 73.
If it had been the figure of a man or a field of battle which were double ex-
posed, it would have been handled along the same general lines.
There are too many night scenes in this scenario. They are best to avoid,
and the amateur who is careful about them will find his work more popular with
the editors and directors than the one who uses them without reason. Before
scenes 27, 67, and 111 will be found notes which give directions for tinting the
night scene contained in the episode which they open. This saves a lot of
otherwise necessary instruction before each of the scenes. Where only one or
two night scenes are used in succession, each should be tabbed separately with
instructions in regard to tinting.
A bad point in the scenario construction will be noted in the fact that it
takes a man fifteen minutes to write a note between scenes 114^2 and 119V2.
It is little details like this that one must consider in giving one's script a final
smoothing out.
Several half-number scenes are used, such as 112^4, 112^, 119^2, et cetera,
and these will doubtless cause the beginner to wonder. They were inserted after
the scenario had been written, and wrere numbered in that manner to avoid a
change of numbers on all of the following scenes. It is best to avoid this as much
as possible, and we only left it in to show its possibility for the benefit of the
beginner who was unfamiliar with it.
"Close-range" and "close-up" are used at several points throughout the
scenario. The former, it will be noted, is used in reference to objects, while the
latter refers to people.
Look over the scene plot carefully, and note how it has been arranged to
centralize the action in as few interior sets as possible. Also remember that this
script was meant for winter production in New York, and that it, therefore,
carries more interiors than are favored by the California producers or by the
New York producers in summer. Nine to eleven are about the limit for these
people. Understand that this means sets, and not scenes.
The synopsis is well written, and is about the right length ; the list of
characters is carefully written out ; the arrangement of title, name, and terms of
submission on the head are correct; all are worthy of imitation in style.
Hitting the high spots is one of Miss Lucille Taft s
favorite pastimes. Ever since she was called npon by the
Gaomont Company to make a flight in a picture she has
been saving her director trouble in finding locations by
going up and "spotting them" from above.
Charles Ray, of Ince picture fame, asserts that
his trusty mount helped him win popularity and
shares it with him. Away from the lens as well
s before it, thev are steadfast friends.
Louise Glaum, who lures men from their homes in
Griffith productions, was caught here between scenes
engaged in a much less adventurous occupation.
[
Mr. and Mrs. Phillips Smalley, the latter who
is better known as Lois Weber, get off together
in a quiet spot sometimes just to be away from
the grinding of films and to talk things over.
Geraldine Farrar and Anita King, the two popular Lasky
stars, are close friends at the studio in Hollywood, Cali-
fornia. Miss King still has the automobile that took her
across the continent a few months ago and takes the
favored ones, among them Miss Farrar, for frequent spins.
Jack Conway, who aids Griffith in staging big
scenes, is seen here hard at work directing a
battle. Jack's enthusiasm rouses the actors, and
in this case even the horse shared in the spirit.
The mirror which adorns one wall of Madame
Petrova's elaborate dressing room is the birthplace
of many of the screen's most emotional expressions.
"Pigs is pigs" says Dustin Farnum, "but actors
aren't always actors." And "Dusty" is one of those
who relish in ducking around the side of his
house and acting natural for a change.
□EoranEDi
■□egmdhcv
FLORENCE LAWRENCE, who is
back once more in the ranks of
screenland favorites, via Univer-
sale multiple-reel production of "The
Elusive Isabel," the thrilling story from
the pen of Jacques
Futrelle, found
herself the victim
of a pretty severe
initiation when she
began work at the
Leonia, New Jer-
sey, studios of the
company, for Di-
rector Stuart Pa-
ton started in at
nine-thirty the first
m or ning, and
never let up until
one-thirty the next
morning. Miss
Lawrence and one
other member of
the cast spent the
entire sixteen
hours in and about
the sets, finishing
practically all of
the interiors with
the exception of a very few, which
were taken in Washington, District of
Columbia. The rest of the company
had an easier time of it, being let off
after some ten continuous hours of
work, but even they were pretty sleepy
before they were dismissed. Flo has
decided that the game is getting more
strenuous right along, but a little thing
like sixteen hours' steady work before
the camera can't mar her enthusiasm.
While on the sub-
ject of "The Elu-
sive Isabel," it is
worthy of com-
ment that a more
expensive cast has
rarely been seen in
one production.
Supporting Miss
Lawrence, among
others, are Paul
Panzer, Sidney
Bracy, W a 1 1 i s
Clark, WT i 1 1 i a m
Welsh, Curtis
Benton, and Paul
Crampton.
Horence Lawrence on her farm.
The Chicago
studios of the Se-
lig Polyscope
Company are once
more alive with
activity as a result
of the arrival of Director Colin Camp-
bell and a big galaxy of players from
the Los Angeles studios, who have
descended upon the Windy City with
several carloads of baggage, scenery,
costumes, and props, and have begun
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154
Screen Gossip
the filming of "The Crisis," the Wins-
ton Churchill story, which will follow
"The Spoilers" and "The Ne'er-do-
well" as a Selig States-right feature
film. Bessie Eyton, Thomas Santschi,
Wheeler Oakman, and Eugenie Bes-
serer are among a few of the prin-
cipals who are now in Chicago,
while thousand of young Chicagoans,
anxious to try their hand at mo-
tion-picture acting, are working as
"supes" in the big production now un-
der way. Within a few weeks, the en-
tire company will depart, for a brief
stay in St. Louis, where many of the
scenes described in the novel will be
staged in the actual places named in the
story. W. N. Selig, head of the Selig
Polyscope Company, is giving the pro-
duction his personal attention, and the
players are working their hardest in
an attempt to make the picture better
than the other two States-rights fea-
tures made under Producer Campbell's
direction.
Ben Wilson, popular delineator of
detective roles, is coming back to the
screen in a whole series of mystery
stories, each two reels in length, which
will be known under the general title of
"The Voice
on the
Wire." Ben
is always
popular i n
this style of
play, and it
seems likely
that he will
w i n still
more lau-
rels for
himself ere
the series of five stories is finished.
Each episode is to be a story in itself,
and yet each will have to do with the
voice on the wire.
Ben Wilson.
Flo la Badie.
Badie into embarrassment, but when
she appeared in person as the leading
attraction at the opening of a brand-
new Newark, New Jersey, theater, a
week or two ago, she found herself suf-
fering from a bad case of stage fright.
"The Five
Faults of
Flo," a Mu-
tual Mas-
ter p i c -
ture, w a s
the film
event of the
evening,
and at its
finish, Miss
la Badie
w a s intro-
duced to the audience from the stage.
She had carefully prepared a neat
little speech, during which she was
to express . her complete surprise
at being called on for some remarks,
and then thank her audience for
their enthusiasm. Well, when the time
came for her little stunt, Flo found her
tongue simply wouldn't say what she
had so carefully prepared, and so she
bowed gracefully, stammered a bashful
"Thank you," which she later stretched
into a neat little impromptu speech, and
backed oft the stage. Now that it's all
over, Miss la Badie thinks it was most
enjoyable to meet her friends face to
face, but she's thinking if the practice is
to continue, she'll have to arrange to
just appear, and bow, without being
called on for any remarks.
It usually takes a lot to startle Flo la
Being a film star is just one long,
sweet dream — not ! George Beban, in
his newest feature, had the following
experiences all in one week : He was
bitten by a bulldog, smashed over the
head with a Japanese jar, butted by an
angry ram, buried in the debris of an
exploding freight steamer, slashed
across the hand with a saber, and
thrown off the Palisades of the Hud-
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156
Screen Gossip
son. George is satisfied that he is earn-
ing every cent of the big salary paid
him, and wonders if even Mack Sen-
nett could invent a worse lot of stunts
for him to perform.
Grace Cunard recently underwent her
third operation in two years. The
trouble started
'way back in the
days when "Lu-
cille Love" was
being produced,
and Miss Cunard
was wounded in
one of the riot
scenes. Grace is a
firm believer in the
saying, "three
times and out,"
and, having fully
recovered from
her third opera-
tion, is hoping that
she will have no
further trouble.
Harry Carter, of
the Universal Com-
pany, who has
been a villain for
so long that he un-
consciously dodges
every time, he sees
a policeman, actu-
ally had a chance
to play a. kindly
role in "Get the
Boy," in which he
appeared as Cor-
mack 0' Donovan, a millionaire con-
tractor. It was such a relief from his
usual style of roles that Harry is hesi-
tant about resuming his "dirty work."
dine/' the recent Blue Bird release you
saw, is now quite at home in the New
York studios of the Big U organiza-
tion, to which he came several weeks
ago, at the personal suggestion of no
less an authority than Carl Laemmle,
president of the Universal. It had been
years since Henry had been on Broad-
way, and there was
one grand reunion
of old chums when
he strolled into the
Lambs Club, of
which he is a mem-
ber.
Grace Cunard off the screen.
Director Henry Otto, formerly of the
American Film Manufacturing Com-
pany's staff of producers, but more re-
cently associated with the Universal
Company, for which he produced "Un-
As this issue of
the magazine goes
to press, rumors of
all sorts regarding
the present where-
abouts and future
plans of the two
Chaplins — Char-
lie and Syd — are
floating about. One
hears everything
from the story that
both are to be
starred in a series
o f multiple-reel
comedies, for
which they are to-
gether to receive
over one thousand
dollars per day, to
the one that Char-
lie, on account of
his British citizen-
ship, is to be
drafted into Lord Kitchener's new army
and sent to the front, in the hope that
his antics between battles will result in
whole German regiments laughing
themselves to death. Honestly, though,
we don't believe a word of either ru-
mor. Charlie and Syd will undoubtedly
continue to make side-splitting come-
dies, but for whom, for how much, or
by what releasing agency they will be
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158
Screen Gossip
offered to exhibitors, time alone will
tell. ,
While temporarily residing in Los
Angeles, during the filming of "The
Cheat," a t
the Lasky
studios,
Fannie
Ward be-
came so en-
raptured
with the cli-
mate, the
people, and
the scenic
Fannie Ward. beauties
surrounding
the picture capital of the world, that
she decided to make her permanent
residence there. In Hollywood, she
has purchased a house at a cost of
fifty thousand dollars, and now is
nicely settled and at home to her
friends, within just a few blocks of the
Lasky plant.
Frank Minzey, who was for years a
featured member of the "Sis Hopkins"
attraction, while that production of the
speaking stage wras "on the road," is
now playing his old role at the Kalem
Glendale studios, where "Sis" is being
produced for the picture screens.
Speaking of the Kalem Company calls
to mind the fact that the Kalemites are
just now about as widely scattered as
a bunch of picture players all in the em-
ploy of the same manufacturer ever get.
One company is in New York, two are
in Jacksonville, Florida, and three are
in California, but each one of the six
companies occupies a studio by itself.
All of you picture fans don't live in
the United States proper — not by a jug-
ful! A projection machine was sold
last week by a San Francisco dealer in
motion-picture supplies, to the manager
of a house in a mining camp, one hun-
dred and fifty miles inland from Sew*
ard, Alaska. The machine was shipped
by boat' from Seattle to Seward, and
will be transported the rest of the wTay
by an Alaskan dog team and a sled.
Gee ! we'll bet the operator will stick
close to the lamp house on a cold night,
and thank his stars he has such a warm
job. Fire scenes, too, will probably "go
big" in that climate.
The Horkheimer Brothers, founders
of the Balboa Company, out at Long
Beach, California, have started a young
menagerie all of their own. The latest
additions were three trained bears and
an aviary of tropical birds, all of which
will be used in productions now under
way. Balboa recently signed a contract
with Jack Lait, Chicago newspaper man
of note and the author of several suc-
cessful plays, whereby Lait has agreed
to provide a series of new and thrill-
ing tales for the screen.
Brought Home" ?
Remember the two big deer heads
prominently displayed in one of the sets
used in Essanav's
Well, Dick
Travers, the
popular
leading
man of that
organi-
zation, shot
'em while
on a vaca-
t i o n hunt-
ing trip in
the Cana-
dian woods,
a few weeks before. Dick was so proud
of his skill that he had the heads care-
fully mounted, and his director, need-
ing just such a decoration for the scene
then about to be staged, confiscated
them. Dick willingly agreed to their
use as "props," for he thinks it pays to
have a celluloid record of one's con-
quests.
Richard C. Travers.
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EVELYN GREE
Vol. IV CONTENTS FOR MAY, 1916 No. 3
Gallery of "Favorite Picture Players . . . 161
Unusual photographs of the leading^'actors and 'actresses.
Girls Who Play with Death . Creighton Hamilton . 177
Describing the thrilling lives of certain heroines.
The American Studio . Robert C. Duncan . 187
Another trip to a big producing plant.
Picture-Play Magazine's Scenario Contest . A . 201
Of interest to every one with an imagination.
At Play with Dustin Farnum Peter i. Schmid . 205
What Dusty" does when he isn't working.
Past and Present .... Robert Grau . . . 209
Interesting" facts about stars which time has covered up.
Out of iRange of the Movie Camera . . . . 218
Unconventional snapshots of players minus their make-ups.
The Film Surgeon . . Burr C. Cook . 220
About a big, but unknown man in the film game.
Why Little Mary Isn't Jealous Bennie Zeidman . . 225
Telling of Owen Moore and his many leading ladies.
The Aryan . . . . . Will H. Johnston . . 234
A short story.
Just Viola Dana .... Ralph Strong . 246
An interview with a charming girl-woman.
The Turmoil W. C. MacDermotf . 250
A short story.
The Public Pulse .... Francis X. Bushman 265
A department linking the fans and producers.
The Call of the Cumberlands Charles Edward Rich . 268
A short story.
From Home to Work with Virginia Pearson Gail Cameron 280
The private life of a "vampire" woman.
Pickles and Pearls . William Wallace Cook . 284
Chaplin Serial — Conclusion.
Feathers 293
A character layout showing the versatility of some players.
Hints for Scenario Writers Clarence J. Caine . .297
Screen Gossip .... Neil G. Caward 303
The Picture Oracle 309
Monthly publication issued by STREET & SMITH. 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York City. ORMOND G. SMrTH and GEORGE C.
Smith, Proprietors. Copyright, 1916, by Street & Smith, New York. Copyright, 1916, by Street &. Smith, Great Britain. All Rights
Reserved. Publishers everywhere are cautioned against using any of the contents of this magazine either wholly or in part. Entered at New
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APR -8 1916
iiiiiiiitiHiiiiiiitiiiiir
Eavonte
Picture -Players
FLORENCE LAWRENCE
who retired from the screen a few years ago, to live on her New Jersey farm, has again harkened
to the call of the camera and joined the eastern forces of the Universal Company. She was the
original "Biograph Girl," and her teamwork with the late Arthur V. Johnson was one of the features
that will always stand out prominently when the early popularity of motion pictures is discussed.
El
ETHEL CLAYTON
came to the Lubin Company four years ago, after an extensive experience on the stage as leading
woman in many Broadway successes and in stock. She has won her way to the hearts of the fans
through her clever and appealing characterization in such big productions as "The Lion and the
Mouse," "The Wolf," "The Gamblers," "The House Next Door," and "The Great Divide." Miss
Clayton has perhaps as large a following as any screen favorite, with but very few exceptions.
HI
E
trrmT
IB
I 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 ii I I 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 u iTTTT
MINIMI
EDITH STOREY
was born in New Yo^ March 18, 1892, and appeared on the stage as a child before entering
films. She was presemed in Melies productions for a year; then joined Vitagraph, and is a popular
favorite with all the devotees of that company's pictures, having spent the last four years acting
for Vitagraph films exclusively. She is known to her friends as "Billie," and a firm disciple
of the outdoors. Riding, autoing, walking, swimming and tennis are her favorite pastimes.
GRETCHEN HARTMAN
is one of the leading ladies of the Biograph Company and is known wherever pictures are
shown because of the girlish charm she lends to every character she portrays. Miss Hartman had
considerable experience on the stage, appearing in dramas with Henry Dixey, Max Figman, Julius
Steger and Florence Reed, as well as in musical-comedy productions and in stock. She has been
with Biograph for about two years and has never worked for any other motion-picture company.
BESSIE BARRISCALE
was just as popular on the stage as she is on the screen now. She was starred in Belasco's
"Rose of the Rancho," Morosco's "Bird of Paradise" and other productions too numerous to
mention. Her first picture experience was with Lasky, after which she joined Ince, appearing
in Mutual Masterpictures for him and later in the Triangle subjects. Some of her best picture
plays are "The Cup of Life," "The Mating/' "The Golden Claw," and "The Green Swamp."
SIDNEY DREW
who was born in New York City on August 28, 1864, has become one of the foremost screen
comedians of the refined class during the past year. With .Mrs. Drew, he scored many suc-
cesses in Vitagraph pictures which he produced, as well as played in, and lately both joined
Metro to make one-reel comedies. He is a former stage favorite, having appeared under Charles
Frohman's management, in vaudeville, and at the head of several of his own companies.
CLEO RIDGLEY
rose from a chorus girl at the New York Hippodrome to a star of the Lasky Company because
of her untiring energy and earnest work. She was born in New York City, May 12, 1893, and
went on the stage because of the future it offered her. Previous to joining Lasky she played
with Kalem, Lubin, and Universal. Immediately after her work in the Hippodrome chorus she did
varied stage work, including stock. 'kThe Chorus Lady" is considered her greatest screen success.
Hi
inillllllllBlllllllllllfllllllllllfllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
KATHLYN WILLIAMS
has been with the Selig Polyscope Company for six years, this being her only motion-picture
engagement. She has taken the feminine leads in practically all the big features produced by this
concern, including "The Spoilers," "The Ne'er Do Well," 'The Rosary," "The Carpet From
Bagdad." and "The Adventures of Kathlvn" serial. She was on the stage for several years previous
to appearing before the camera. Miss Williams is now the best actress with animals in America.
DUSTIN FARNUM
was born in Hampton Beach, N. H., May 27, 1876, and went on the stage at the age of
twenty-one with Ethel Tucker's Company. Later appeared with Chauncy Olcott and starred
in "The Virginian," "The Ranger," "The Squaw Man," "'Cameo Kirby," and many other suc-
cesses. He entered motion pictures with the Lasky Company, and after working for Ince joined
Pellas-Paramount, where he is now located permanently, devoting all his time to screen work.
iai'linNlllllMlllllllllHIINItlllllllllMMMIMMIIIlllMlllllllllllllllllim
LILLIAN GISH
who is known as "the most beautiful blonde in pictures," has been with D. W. Griffith, the master
director, since 1912, going with hirn from Biograph to Majestic- Reliance and then to Fine Arts.
She was born in Springfield, Ohio, October 14, 1896, and spent all her early years on the stage,
playing child parts, appearing for the first time in 1902. Her greatest screen roles were in "The
Birth of a Nation," "The Battle of the Sexes," "Home Sweet Home," and "The Lilly and the Rose."
MARIE DORO
is really among the latest arrivals in filmdom from the stage. Although her first appearance
before the camera was made about a year ago in Famous Players' "The Morals of Marcus," it
was not until recently she announced that the majority of her time in the future will be devoted to
screen work. She started her stage career in 1901, and appeared later with William Gilette. Miss Doro
played with Fine Arts pictures and is now with Lasky. She was born May 22, 1882, at Duncannon, Pa.
RUTH ROLAND
was born in San Francisco, California, August 26, 1893, and went on the stage at the age of
four years. She was known as "California's Child Actress," and remained on stage, playing
in stock and under Oliver Morosco's management until she joined the Kalem Company. After
a year and a half with that concern she went to Balboa, where she has appeared in many
of its greatest successes, including the "Who Pays?" series and "The Red Circle" serials.
HELENE ROSSON
started her motion-picture career with the Universal Company when she was just a little over seven-
teen years of age. That was about a year ago and therefore she is now known as "the eighteen-year-
old star of the American Company," which concern she is now with. She has appeared in several
films released under the Mustang brand for American and has assumed the leading role in many
features, Among the best of her plays are "The White Rosette" and "The Pitch of Chance."
r ! - IB
GERTRUDE SELBY
was originally a dancer and singing girl, and had quite a bright future in musical comedy and
vaudeville awaiting her before she entered motion pictures. She appeared with Gertrude
Hoffman in dances on the vaudeville stage and Gus Edwards in musical stock, among others. In
1914 she joined the L-Ko Comedy Company, and has since appeared in many successful com-
edies produced under that concern's trade mark. She was born in Philadelphia, Pa., in 4896.
ANNA LITTLE
hails from California, having been born in Sisson, February 7, 1894. Her early experience on
the stage consisted of musical-comedy work. Miss Little's first motion-picture work was with
Thomas H. Ince's company, and she won much praise through her portrayal of Indian parts,
but latei assumed straight leading roles. She was with Universal for almost two years after
leaving Ince and then joined the American Company, with which she is now a featured star.
IN MEMORY OF ARTHUR V. JOHNSON
who was one of the first leading men to attain prominence in motion pictures, recently died at
Atlantic City, as a result of a nervous breakdown caused by overwork. His first appearance was
in the old Biograph Company's releases. With Florence Lawrence as his leading lady, he appeared
in some of the most popular films put out at that time. Later he joined Lubin, where he remained
until ill health forced him to retire. He was married to Florence Hackett, formerly of Lubin.
©CI.B358597
COMPLACENTLY you are lean-
ing back in your favorite the-
ater seat, when suddenly you
give a gasp and hold on to the arms of
your chair. There, right before your
eyes, is being enacted a scene that you
would not attempt for all the money in
the world. And, to make it all the more
thrilling and awe-inspiring, it is a girl
that is taking the frightful chance!
Possibly the best known of these
death-defying heroines is Helen
Holmes, the Mutual star of The Signal
Company, who has won fame in hun-
dreds of thrilling railroad pictures.
There are few girls, not to mention
men, who would dare undertake the
risks she enters in as casually as though
she were pouring afternoon tea. Al-
though she has never been badly in-
jured, she has experienced countless
narrow escapes.
Gertrude Selby seeing how closely she can miss a railroad engine with her automobile.
178
Girls Who Play with Death
Three scenes sr
In one of the episodes of
the "Girl and the Game,"
she had a thrilling hand-to-
hand fight on the roof of a
speeding train with Director
McGowan, who was also
playing the heavy lead. Neither she
nor the director took into account a
sharp curve they were approaching,
and, roundingf it, both slipped. Miss
were
rounding it, both slipped.
Holmes started to roll over the side of
the car, but McGowan miraculously
saved her from sudden death. He
braced himself against some tool boxes,
and, by a wonderful display of strength,
managed to hold the actress until the
train could be stopped.
Numberless times Miss Holmes has
jumped from trestles to fast-moving
trains below. This seemingly easy
"stunt" is one of the most dangerous
that is undertaken in the production of
railroad films. It is almost impossible
to keep your footing once you land on
the train. Helen Holmes generally
manages to do it, but once she lost her
balance and rolled off the car to the
ground below. She continued falling
until she had reached the bottom of a
steep and dangerous decline, and, al-
though she worked no longer that day,
the next morning, at the usual hour, she
reported at the studio.
Another time, during
filming of a fire scene, she was
badly burned, but refused
medical assistance.
Some time ago I spoke to
her regarding the frightful
chances she takes.
"No," she replied. "I have all the
confidence in the world in my director.
He has everything timed just right, and
I know that he will not forget one de-
tail of all the complicated mass, one
slip of which might mean the loss of
my life."
Another girl that has quickly risen
to the top is Helen Gibson, heroine of
"The Hazards of Helen," Kalem's rail-
road series, in which Miss Holmes was
formerly starred. She is known the
country over as "the girl who won't
take a dare."
Once a day, six times a week, over
three hundred times a year, this young
actress grits her teeth, mutters an in-
voluntary "do or die," and then stands
on the brink of death — just that the
picture fans may have sensations.
Helen Gibson is no common dare-
devil. She describes herself as "a spe-
cialist in thrills," with railroad hazards
the particular specialty. She rides on
the private road of the Kalem Film
Company — a road that boasts of an ac-
Girls Who Play with Death
179
cident a day. The reason for the boast
is that all the accidents are carefully
planned beforehand ; they are conceived
in the mind of a scenario writer, pre-
pared for by a master director, and
then, when the real danger comes, ex-
ecuted by "the girl who won't take a
dare."
Struggles with tramps on top of rac-
ing trains, the feat of letting herself
down from the top of a passenger
coach through one of the car windows,
allowing herself to be placed in a bag
and snatched from a mail crane like a
sack of mail by a flying train — these are
among the many ordinary events of a
day's work for Helen Gibson.
During the filming of a recent "haz-
ard," Miss Gibson was called to head
off a runaway train which was ap-
proaching an open trestle. The daunt-
less girl mounted the backs of two truck
horses, and took a short cut
to a near-by brid
from which a
r o
dangling, grabbed the rope, and swung
out on the train as it went rushing by.
The actual speed of this steam mogul
was over forty miles an hour, and Miss
Gibson was severely bruised and cut by
landing on the jagged iron.
In "The Broken Wire" she was to
swing through the air by aid of a cut
telegraph wire, and enter the box car
of a train which was being stolen. As
in the preceding film, this train was
going at a terrific speed, and in re-
hearsal Miss Gibson gauged the time
erroneously and swung against the side
of the car. She lost consciousness and
fell, the flying wheels missing her body
by a terrorizing margin. For over a
month she was in the hospital, but upon
her recovery pluckily went through the
same scene again — this time success-
fully.
In the filming of "The Tramp
Telegrapher" one of the
players who support
Miss Gibson in
her pictures
Just before Helen Holmes fell over the side of the train. The curve that was the cause of the
accident is shown in front of the engine.
Girls Who Play with Death
did some literal supporting, and in a
way that was not altogether pleasant.
He was forced to lie across iron rods
on the bottom of a railroad coach, have
nearly half his body project out from
the side of the car, and then allow Miss
Gibson to stand on his chest while the
train speeded on its way. Had he re-
laxed or in any way allowed himself
to slip from the rods, his death would
have been certain, and very probably
the daring girl whom he was supporting
would have been ground under the
wheels, for they were working in the
middle of the car.
Recently I asked this pretty actress
to tell me of her narrowest escape.
"Life is just cluttered up with perils,"
she answered thoughtfully, "but the one
which made me think I was nearest to
eternity was the time I had to go over
an open drawbridge on a hand car into
a river scores of feet below. I came
at a terrible speed down a hill just be-
fore reaching the bridge, and for a mo-
ment, as I looked
across the yawning
space into which the
car was to be hur-
tled, I wished that
I had never aspired
for a career of
fame on the
screen. It's weird, all the things you
can think of in a few seconds of dan-
ger. But above all other things I could
hear dozens of my friends saying dole-
fully, 'I told you so*!' You know, my
friends were never enthusiastic over the
career I had chosen.
"There wasn't anything left for me
to do but hang on, though. Then sud-
denly I reached the edge of the bridge,
and the next instant the water seemed
to rise up to meet me. I know that I
was not frightened, for I had presence
of mind enough to jump clear of the
hand car. To carry out the action of
the story I had to swim hurriedly to
shore and rush to the switch to prevent
a box car from taking the same dis-
astrous flyer into the river.
"Another unusually thrilling experi-
ence I had came in a picture that called
for me to leap from a hand car to the
cowcatcher of a locomotive that was
pursuing me. It had. all been carefully
planned and timed, but there is nothing
Margaret Gibson, with
her arms bound, defied
Girls Who Play with Death 181
pleasant in seeing a locomotive bearing
down on you ! At the right moment I
leaped for the cowcatcher, and then
something seemed to go wrong. We
had expected the hand car to be tossed
aside, but when the engine struck it,
the car seemed to climb up after me,
and I was very close to losing my slim
hold. Then the next second I was safe,
for when the full force of the impact
hit the hand car it was smashed to splin-
ters. However, I was badly hurt by
flying pieces of wood and iron."
Cleo Madison, the girl director of
the Universal Film Company, is another
one of the young women who risk their
lives for a living. Time and again has
she flirted with the grim specter of
death. In one episode she plunged
down a dangerous precipice with a
motor cycle. She" was severely lacer-
ated. In another episode she boarded
a freight train going at full speed and
crawled to the top, where she lay, pant-
ing, on the narrow wood. In still an-
other, she was lowered from the top of
a twelve-story building by a derrick.
The only comment that Miss Madison
would make on her death-defying
method of earning a living was :
"What my director wants — he gets !"
One seldom associates the name of
Mary Fuller with thriller pictures, but
she, too, has done things that make a
chill creep up and down your back. One
day, when she had a few moments' lei-
sure, I asked her to tell me her most
exciting experience.
"I was almost frightened to death
once," she replied. "I was taking the
part of a mermaid seated on a lonely
rock that projected thirty feet into the
air from an angry sea beneath. The
tail of the mermaid suit I had fashioned
myself. It worked perfectly, was a
wonderful fit, and was sure to stay in
place. On my breast I had placed water
lilies, and around my neck were strings
of coral. Suddenly I noticed, with fear,
that the tide was rapidly rising. I
called out, in alarm, to my director and
camera men, but nobody heard me.
The creeping tides were threatening to
•cover me. I couldn't get up and run —
the tail wouldn't permit it. I couldn't
find any one to save me; the camera
men were fascinated with the picture,
and continued to turn the cranks.
"The spray from the sea swept over
me ; splashes of water washed over my
face and body ; my coral and lilies were
swept away. I began to move, but not
toward the shore. My direction was
out to sea ! I was gasping with fear —
when finally the men saw my danger
and came out to me, and finally I was
carried back to terra firma, but the cam-
eras wTere caught in the tide and never
returned. I said then that I was
through with tempests and thrillers, but,
alas and alack, the scene had to be re-
taken the next day — all the finished film
was inside the cameras at the bottom
of the ocean !"
Little Nona Thomas, of the Ince-
Triangle forces, has been doing thrillers
of late. Speaking with her recently, I
noticed one gray hair among the mass
of black. Nona is still in her "teens,"
so I asked her the reason for the line
of gray.
She said: "Some months ago I was
on the sixth floor of a burning building.
I was handed a long rope and in-
structed to escape to the ground. Noth-
ing more was said. I had been told to
escape ; the rope was in my hands ; the
cameras were clicking. So, almost
frightened to death, I got a firm hold
on the rope — to my dazed mind it
seemed like the thinnest of thread —
and down I went. It was frightful —
my hands were blistered and bleeding,
my ankles were torn, my clothes seemed
to be flying above my head, and my
throat was full of smoke. When I
reached the ground I didn't have the
lovely disposition I possessed a few mo-
ments before. Luckily for all con-
182
Girls Who Play with Death
cerned, I was given the rest of the day
off!"
Recently she had another exciting ex-
perience. Playing a dope fiend in a
forthcoming Triangle release, she was
called upon to fall headlong down a
flight of stone steps. It sounds easy —
try it.
Nona's sister, Ollie Kirkby, the Ka-
lem star, recently was thrown bodily
from a fast-moving aeroplane, more
than fifty feet above a lake. Ollie is a
wonderful swimmer, but even so — there
was no fascination in the feat.
"As long as the fans are satisfied,
I am," says Ollie.
Kathlyn Williams, "the unafraid," as
her fellow Selig players call her, is the
foremost screen actress in the world
when it comes to playing with animals.
She has had countless hair-breadth
escapes.
"When were you nearest death?" I
once asked her.
"When we were filming 'A Sultana
of the Desert,' a few months ago," she
replied. "A cage had been fixed to rep-
resent the interior of a cave, and I was
to rush in through the entrance — which
was really the door of the cage — dis-
cover a lion inside, and back out again.
Just as I was to pass through the door,
*
Girls Who Play with Death
183
on the way out, it was arranged for the
door to be dropped, so that the beast
could not follow me.
"I rushed in, all right, with the cam-
era grinding, registered my fear, and
started out again, backward. But be-
fore I reached the door, my foot hit
a rock, and I fell. It did not take a
moment for the lion to see my helpless
predicament, and he sprang upon me
with a fierce bound, clawing at my flesh.
To make it worse, the man at the door,
who worked his part by time — for in
getting out of the range of the camera
he was unable to see what was going on,
and, therefore, released the cage door
by looking at his watch — locked me in
with the beast.
"Because of the cage having been
closed, it took longer for the director
and other men to reach me, but they
finally did, and, armed with crowbars
and spears, that are always kept within
reach while an animal picture is in prog-
ress, the lion was driven off, and I was
carried out — at least, they tell me I
was — although I didn't know it until I
regained consciousness that evening.
"That was the narrowest escape I
ever had, and a great deal narrower
than I ever care to have again. I still
carry scars that have been a warning
to me in my subsequent pictures."
Pretty little Margaret Gibson, of the •
Centaur Company, although not as pop-
ular as Miss Williams for her work
with animals, has been the leading fig-
ure in several daring thrillers in which
wild beasts played a part. In a recent
production, "The Arab's Vengeance,"
Miss Gibson's arms were bound tight to
her sides, and she was made to lie
within three feet of a full-grown and
healthy lion. The lion, as Miss Gibson
had hoped and chanced, stayed still
while the camera was grinding, but the
fear that he might rise and attack the
girl, who was helpless because of her
bonds, was great enough to make the
feat one that very few beside Miss Gib-
son would care to attempt.
Bessie Eyton, another Selig star, has
had some thrilling experiences with ani-
mals. Once, when she and Guy Oliver
were in a howdah on an elephant's
back, the huge animal took fright at
something, and started away on a gal-
lop. His speed was fairly fast* and, to
make matters worse, he raced, loudly
bellowing, directly toward a tree. Sev-
eral of his fellow animals joined in the
sprint, and the air was filled with their
roarings. Oliver was swept off by a
projecting bough. The impact forced
Miss Eyton out of the howdah, and she
went sliding down the elephant's side.
It was a bad fall, and it was by scant
inches that the feet of the frightened
beast missed crushing her to death.
Anna Little, the black-haired beauty
of western films, has often taken her
life in her hands to provide excitement
for the patrons of the film theaters.
In a recent picture, "The Valley
Feud," she was in a cabin surrounded
by enemies. Her object was to reach
her horse stationed without, and ride
away to escape the men. Suddenly,
during a lull in the firing, she burst
from a window to her horse. The di-
rector, to make the scene realistic, had
the mob of invaders fire real bullets, so
that the splintering wood would be no-
ticed on the screen.
Anna got away safely, but, to use her
own expression, "Never again !"
More than one deadly leaden bullet
tame within an inch of her, and the
edge of the building was riddled.
There is more than one girl in the
United States that shudders every time
she thinks of the risks structural-iron
workers take in climbing about the
edges of tall buildings ; but just consider
the danger of May Emory, in a Univer-
sal comedy, "Caught on a Skyscraper,"
when she walked along the cornice of a
fifteen-story building with her eyes
.tightly shut. According to the scenario,
184
Girls Who Piay with Death
she was supposed to be walking in her
sleep.
"It's good they let me close my eyes,"
said May, "for if I had ever looked
down, there would have been one
comedienne less in pictures !"
Gertrude Selby's leap from a fifth-story window is a feat that
few men would attempt.
Gertrude Selby, also in Universal
comedies, recently went flying off a high
dock in a motor car for a scene in
"Gertie's Joy Ride." She was not
doubled by a professional dare-devil,
for I saw the scene taken myself. It
was with difficulty that a rescue was
achieved. The following week, she
jumped from a fifth-story window of
a burning building into a net. This
seems commonplace for an actress, but
most people in real fires prefer other
means of escape.
One of Miss Selby's best thrillers was
when she and an actor rode in a large
racing automobile at a fast rate of
speed, in front of an onrushing train.
Both the locomotive and her car were
started a goodly distance from a cross-
road, because the director wanted to get
a long-range view of the
thriller, to make it more
impressive. This made it
harder to gauge the time
and distance, and, as a re-
sult, three retakes were
necessary before the car
was missed narrowly
enough — that is, to suit
the director — Miss Selby
thought that the huge
engine came entirely close
enough the first time.
I remember the good
old days when Miss Selby
was a member of the
Hackett-Morgan Stock
Company, in New York
City. At that time, she
played child parts only,
and I little dreamed that
a few years later she
would be risking her life
"for a consideration."
Grace C u n a r d plays
with death so often and
so calmly that her deeds
are too well known to
be recorded. In "Lucille
Love," "The Broken
Coin," and scores of other pictures, she
has jumped from bridges, fallen from
aeroplanes, hopped on moving trains,
been thrown from horses galloping at
full speed, and a thousand-and-one
other little "stunts" that coax nickels
and dimes and quarters into the thea-
ters.
Just a few weeks ago, Miss Cunard
was released from the hospital for the
fourth time from injuries that resulted
from one of her thrillers that did not
come out as successfully as planned.
"It's a great life — full of excitement,"
Girls Who Play with Death
185
Grace laughed, when speaking of her
work.
Pearl White is another girl of the
same type. In the various "perils,"
"exploits," and "romances," she has
done almost every conceivable feat.
Her most painful experience was in one
of the earlier "perils," and it was some-
thing not in the scenario. She lost her
footing on a dangerous cliff in the Adi-
rondacks, and fell to the bottom, and,
though it was not a very great height,
when the directors reached her, she was
more dead than alive,
and for weeks was in
the hospital, hovering
between life and the
great beyond.
When she woke up,
Pearl made her fa-
mous remark :
loop is just a scientific accomplishment.
You know that if you go over at the
right angle at the right speed you are
going to come out the right way.
"I just took a deep breath, and said,
'Here goes !' and over I went. That's
all there was to it. On the first loop,
I was so busy that I didn't have time to
think, but the other two I managed to
enjoy a little."
The hairbreadth escapes of the play-
ers working under Mack Sennett, at
the Keystone Company, are too well
"I should worry
Lucille Taft, the
new Gaumont star, is
out to make a reputa-
tion as a dare-devil
that will stand for
years to come. As
proof of her fearless-
ness in an important
part in "The Drift-
ers," in which she
plays the lead, Miss
Taft took a trip
through the air over
Jacksonville, Florida,
recently, turning her
monoplane three
times in the air be-
fore she landed.
Miss Taft has been
interested in aero-
planes for several
years.
"It's just like riding a nervous horse,
when you are sailing straight away, be-
cause the air pockets you strike with-
out warning are just like the swerves
of your horse," she says. "You have
to be constantly on the watch. But the
iff
May Emery did not simply walk along the edge of a high building,
but did it with her eyes shut to portray a 'sleepwalker.
'known to need general mention
and,
of course, as leading comedienne for
this organizatipn since its first release.
Mabel Normand has come in for her
share of thrills!
The one which will be remembered
186
Girls Who Play with Death
longest by her was not called for in the
scenario from which Mr. Sennett was
working, but originated in the mind of
the comedy king, and was put into exe-
cution by him without consulting Miss
Normand. It was one of the early Key-
stone pictures, and Mabel was supposed
to "go up" in a balloon. It was ar-
■ :
-
I
ranged to merely let the balloon up a
few feet, so that it would pass out of
range of the camera. This would give
the effect of it going way up on the
screen. A rope about forty feet in
length held the balloon to the ground,
and, when the camera started to grind,
Sennett loosened the rope and allowed
the balloon to ascend to the forty-foot
limit with terrified Mabel in it, scream-
ing for help. Then, to make it even
funnier, he ordered her to slide down
the rope, and trained the camera on
her while she was doing it. Mabel got
down all right, but Mack wasn't there
to greet her. He had anticipated her
feelings, and sought shelter. Later he
apologized to Mabel, for he . said he
didn't realize at the time what the con-
sequences would have been if the rope
hadn't held, and she had gone sailing
off into the skies ; or if she had lost
her hold when sliding down to terra
firma.
I
The amount of thrillers staged by the
motion-picture producers of late is con-
siderably less than was released as re-
cently as a year ago, mostly due to the
fact that, because of the exposure of
many of the tricks that were employed
to make the public gasp, when players
had, in reality, not taken any chances,
made the people who saw the pictures
•skeptical about believing the real thing.
There are still a few actors and ac-
tresses, however, whose work has be-
come known and trusted, and who
spend most of their time playing with
death. The foregoing are probably the
majority of the girls among these.
I
111:
t
■
If
III
III
To take our readers behind the scenes, into the studios of the large film companies, take them where
the big pictures are made, let them watch the players at work, and introduce them to the famous
actors and actresses — these are the purposes of this series of articles, of which this, the American studio,
is the third. Each article will be individual, and up to date — a single trip to the studio which is
its subject. The articles will appear in every issue, until all the big studios throughout the country
have been dealt with. — Editor's Note.
AS I neared the studio of the
American Film Manufacturing
Company, in Santa Barbara,
California, the first thing that impressed
me was the beautiful architecture of its
buildings. Surrounded by a medium-
sized wall of yellow stucco, the tops of
the numerous whitestone structures
rise majestically from within the in-
closure, and are set off to a pretty con-
trast on one side by the glass side of
an immense studio which stretches al-
most the entire length of the two city
blocks covered by the plant, and by the
small studio, whose glass roof rises to
a neat point in the center of the' in-
closure. Directly behind the studio are
long, sloping hills which lead to the
Coast Range Mountains.
As I passed through the gateway, I
found myself in a little garden, built
around a sparkling fountain, which,
when set off by the gleams of the
glorious California sunlight, became a
sight which should prove an inspira-
tion to the most artistic. A neatly ar-
ranged gravel path, lined with evenly
trimmed grass led to the business
office, and thither I went to meet Mr.
S. S. Hutchinson, the president of the
company and the man under whose su-
pervision this film wonderland is ope-
rated.
"I have come to look over the studio,"
I announced, as we seated ourselves in
the comfortable bench in the guests'
reception room.
"I guess you can do that without any
one objecting." Mr. Hutchinson smiled.
''We're not exactly in a settled condi-
tion just at present, though, and I'm
beginning to believe more and more
188
The American Studio
One end of the big glass studio, showing three sets ready for the camera, director and players.
every day that we never will be. You
see, we have doubled and then tripled
our output here within, the last year and
a half, and as we are adding pictures
to our release list all the time, we have
to keep building studios to allow all our
directors to work at once."
"Then, you haven't always had all
these buildings ?" I inquired.
"No, indeed," he replied, again smil-
ing. "When we started to produce out
here first, there was only a small glass
studio and a corral. We only made
Western pictures at that time, and, as
most of the scenes were taken on loca-
tions, there wasn't any need for a stage.
We had only one company, at first,
and that was headed by J. Warren
Kerrigan, Pauline Bush, Jack Richard-
son, George Periolat, Louise Lester,
and Marshall Neilan. Allan Dwan,
now an assistant to D. W. Griffith, was
the director. These players have scat-
tered, and Miss Lester and Messrs.
Richardson and Periolat are the only
ones that are still with us.
"Our first enlargement of the studio
here was about two and a half years
ago, when we decided to make society
and modern dramas, as well as West-
erns. From that time on, we have been
remodeling and enlarging all the time."
He paused an instant, then added:
"Come with me. and I'll take you
through the big studio we are just com-
pleting."
We walked through the business
office and entered a long hallway. As
we passed the doors opening onto this
hallway, Mr. Hutchinson explained the
departments which were to be found
behind each — the art, the publicity, the
purchasing, the bookkeepers', and sev-
eral others, whose duties consisted of
handling the business routine of the
plant. At the end of the hall, we
paused before an open door, and Mr.
Hutchinson said he wanted me to take
a good look at the scenario department,
because it was really more of an insti-
tution than a department.
And so it was ! The office was al-
most three times the size' of general
business offices, and was lined with
The American Studio
189
bookcases, in which were contained ed-
ucational and reference books of every
description. Six desks were in the
room and four busy writers were ham-
mering typewriters at four of these
desks, while the other two desks looked
lonesome because of their idleness. We
did not bother the inspired authors, but
as we continued our journey down the
hall, Mr. Hutchinson explained to me
that the writers we had just seen in ac-
tion were William Pigott, American's
scenario editor, William Parker, Calder
Johnstone, and Karl Coolidge. I recog-
nized all the names as belonging to men
who ranked among the best in their
profession.
The hallway led to a sort of open-air-
inclosed stairway^so described because
its construction defied further word
painting. This we ascended, and en-
tered the big studio which I had noted
as I approached the plant because of its
size.
"You see, we aren't quite finished
with this studio yet," Mr. Hutchinson
said, as he pointed out one side of the
vast inclosure where an army of work-
ers were engaged in putting glass in the
countless window frames, which com-
posed the wall.
I looked about, and indeed marveled.
One side of the studio was completely
glass — or, rather, would be, when ail
the glass had been put in — while the
other side and one end were of brick.
The remaining end was of wood.
"There are twelve stages here," ex-
plained Mr. Hutchinson, "and we plan
to work directors on every one of them
at the same time."
"Tell me something about how many
players and directors you have here," I
urged.
Then he launched off on a description
of the company, and the easy manner
in which he recalled statistics and fig-
ures convinced me that his work was
very, very close to his heart. By dili-
gent manipulation of my pencil over
the sheets of my notebook, I managed
Three of the "men behind" the American Company: President S. S. Hutchinson in the
upper right-hand corner, General Manager R. R. Nehls in the left-hand
corner, and Charles Ziebarth, the factory superintendent below.
The American Studio
190
to gather the most interesting of the
facts he disclosed.
First and foremost stands his asser-
tion that the pay roll at the American
studio amounts to something over nine-
teen thousand dollars every week,
which totals very close to the million-
dollar mark every year. This is for a
staff of about eighteen directors, sev-
enty-five to one hundred players, who
are on straight salary, and from one
hundred and fifty to five hundred ex-
tras, according to the requirements of
the pictures. This list is swelled by
the addition of from two to three hun-
dred stage carpenters and utility work-
ers, who are engaged in preparing sets
and prop articles for the scenes and in
remodeling the studio building, camera
men, assistant directors, wardrobe peo-
ple, property-room guardians, people to
handle the negative films after the
scenes have been taken, and those listed
under "miscellaneous," and whose work
is far too varied to attempt to list here.
Thomas Ricketts is the man in charge
of the artistic end of the productions.
He has been with American during the
past two and a half years, and prior to
that was with it at its very start, leav-
ing Essanay to make its first six or
seven pictures. Between engagements
with American, he directed for the
Nestor brand of the Universal program.
Mr. Ricketts is the man to whom credit
■ for American's change from Western
style of pictures to those of a general
nature really belongs. He has person-
ally directed most of its big pictures,
including the Mutual Masterpictures
and such special productions as "Dam-
aged Goods." Foremost among the di-
rectors under Mr. Ricketts are Arthur
McMakin, Charles E. Bartlett, Arthur
Maude, Thomas Chatterton, William
Bertram, Donald McDonald, James
Douglas, and Oral Humphreys.
The players here change quite fre-
quently, as they do in all studios, but
at the time of my visit those who were
regarded as the leading performers
were Art Acord, Sylvia Ashton, Frank
Borzage, Charlotte Burton, Nan
Christy, King Clark, William Carroll,
Ed Coxen, Constance Crawley, Ashton
Dearholt, Nell Frazen, George Field,
Eugenie Forde, Adele Farrington, Win-
nifred Greenwood, Carol Halloway,
Clifford Howard, Louise Lester, Anna
Little, Dick la Reno, C. P. Morrison,
Arthur Maude, George Periolat, John
Prescott, Larry Peyton, H,elene Ros-
son, Vivian Rich, Jack Richardson,
William Russell, John Sheehan, Wil-
liam Stowell, John Steppling, William
J. Tedmarsh, Lizette Thorne, E. For-
rest Taylor, Alfred Vosburg, Harry
von Meter, Beatrice Van, Chance
Ward, Lucille Ward, Oral Humphreys,
and Tom Chatterton.
Something like fourteen to eighteen
reels per week are actually made at
The rear of what is known as the big i( glass studio" though it is really composed of glass, wood and
brick. Note the brick on the left, the wood in the center and the glass on the right.
The American Studio
191
The lower picture of this group shows all of the players located at the Santa Barbara
studios grouped in front of the small glass studio, while the one above it to the right
gives a general view of the studio yard, and shows the small and large glass studios
and the office. The small picture to the left is Anna Little, the American star, and
her mother in the garden of their bungalow home.
this studio, and I think the fans
throughout the country will agree with
me that these reels are the real back-
bone of the Mutual program. There
are ten regular companies at work and
several special companies. The regular
companies have certain players who are
cast for leading roles under the same
director in all pictures. The special
companies are headed partly by special
directors and partly by regular direc- .
tors working on special pictures. Their
players for these companies are drawn
from the ranks of the general stock
company. There is a featured star in
every special company, supported by
one or two well-known players. The
regular companies are known by studio
names, while the special companies are
called Special No. i, Special Xo. 2, et
cetera. The names applied to the regu-
lar companies are Company Xo. 1;
Company Xo. 2, Company No. 3,
Beauty Company X'o. r, Beauty No. 2,
Mustang Company Xo. I, Mustang
X"o. 2, Clipper, Humphreys, and Fea-
ture.
"The Diamond From the Sky" was
192
The American Studio
made at this studio for the North
American Film Corporation, which is
controlled by the same financial powers
that are behind American, and was
actea by a special cast of players, sev-
eral of whom were added to the regu-
lar stock company. Of these players,
William Russell, Charlotte Burton, and
Eugenie Forde alone- remain, the others
having drifted off to other fields.
The natural beauty of Santa Bar-
bara gives American a big advantage
over less fortunate companies. At no
place on the coast is the Pacific more
majestic. A short distance from the
mainland are the Channel Islands, with
caves and grottoes as beautiful as those
of Bermuda. Stretches of desert are
not far away, and the mountains are
almost at its back door. The homes of
many Eastern millionaires are located
at Montecito, the most picturesque and
beautiful of the many suburbs of Santa
Barbara, and in these days of enthusi-
asm for the moving pictures, it is not
difficult to obtain the use of a rich in-
terior or lovely bit of garden in staging
society scenes. Then, too, the climate
is so fine that the cameras can "shoot"
about three hundred and twenty-five
days out of the year in the open.
Having digressed" from my story long
enough to give you a few of the facts
the energetic president crowded into
his description of "how many players
and directors were employed," I will
again bring you back to the studio.
Mr. Hutchinson piloted me through
the long glass inclosure to the other end
of the floor, and from there we de-
scended another stairway of the open-
inclosed variety, and into the carpenter
shops and property rooms, which lay
at the rear of the grounds. The former
buzzed with the industry of the men
who contributed so much to the success
of photo plays by their mechanical and
manual labor, while the latter was in-
deed one of the most amazing places I
have ever been in. I thought I had
seen more things gathered together than
at any other place in the world when I
visited one of the other studios, but
in this room was about twice the num-
ber of articles and infinitely more va-
riety. I looked wonderingly, and then
hurriedly wrote a single sentence in my
notebook to describe it. The sentence
was :
"They have everything on hand that
is needed in the prop line."
Just as I finished writing, I heard
the head property man calling to one of
his assistants, and, though the idea car-
ried by his words was a severe blow to
me, I managed to get this much of his
speech :
"Hey, John, are you ever goin' to
wake up and git that stuff I ordered a
week ago ? This is sure some place, and
what we don't need here is a shame.
Wait till Fve had another month on this
job. and we'll have a regular property
room."
I looked about me more carefully
when my amazement subsided, and,
while I dislike not to agree with the
man who is going to make it a "regu-
lar" property room in a month, I must
state, in justice to it, that he will have
to be quite an imaginative genius to sup-
ply anything which is not already there
Directly to the left of the property
room are two long rows of dressing
rooms, running parallel to a string of
exterior stages. There are fully sev-
enty-five of these dressing rooms, which
are used by the players who are at the
studio every day, but who are not ex-
actly in the class known as "stars."
These "stars" have their dressing rooms
on the same side of the grounds, start-
ing where the players' quarters finish
and extending to the fence which en-
circles the inclosure. The difference
between the players and the stars'
•dressing rooms seems very distinct,
from the exterior, the former being of
wood, while the latter is of cement and
stone, but the interiors of both are
The American Studio
193
really quite alike. It is more agreeable
in the stars' quarters, however, as the
heat does not penetrate the cement and
stone as easily as it does the wood.
Turning from my inspection of the
stars' dressing rooms, I saw at close
range the small glass studio, whose roof
I had noticed as I arrived at the plant.
It is situated almost in the exact cen-
ter of the yard, and is the remodeled
old studio. It is quite large now, be-
ing about sixty by eighty feet in diame-
ter. There were people working in it,
but Mr. Hutchinson insisted that I
must see the machine shops first.
Then, he said, I could visit the players
and directors who were working about
the grounds.
So I went peaceably to the machine
shops, half expecting to be bored, but,
quite to the contrary, I found them to
be among the most interesting things
within the inclosure. There are about
twenty expert machinists employed day
in and day out, together with a score of
3
trained helpers. Their duties are mani-
fold, for everything from the rivets in
the new buildings to the caps on the hub
of a buggy wheel, which is used in a
scene, is "fixed up" by them. It is
quite a noisy place, but because it is lo-
cated between the big glass studio and
\
the open-air stages, no sound is allowed
to creep beyond the stone walls which
inclose it. It would never do for a
pretty actress to be going through a
heavy, emotional scene to the tune of
an anvil, you know !
Despite the wonders of the machine
shop, I could no longer resist the de-
sire to meet and visit with the players,
so I made my way to the floor of the
big glass studio again. It seemed to
be deserted, except for the men insert-
ing the glass in the window frames.
Then I noticed that, at the far end,
where the glass side and the wooden
end of the studio come together, there"
'was a scene being taken — and I hurried
toward it.
A view taken from the office tower showing the other end of the studio yard. The small
buildings directly opposite the office are the stars' dressing rooms.
The mountains are seen in the background.
194
The American Studio
There were a group of men seated
about tables, playing cards, and the set-
ting was that of a millionaire's club. I
recognized the leading player, who was
seated in the foreground, as Jack Rich-
ardson, and an actor standing to one
side of the scene informed me that the
director was Air. Ricketts, whom Air.
Hutchinson told me about. I sat down
and quietly watched the scene being
taken. Air. Ricketts' methods of direct-
ing accounted for his success. He did
not use a megaphone, and he did not
raise his voice, but, despite these "han-
dicaps"— as the average director would
doubt but what it was exceedingly effec-
tive.
When they had finished working,
Alessrs. Richardson and Ricketts were
called by the obliging "extra man," to
whom I had expressed my desire to
meet them, and introduced to me.
"I think you will find Jack a much
more interesting subject to write about
than me," said Air. Ricketts. "He has
all the fans wondering how he can do
so many villainous things, and be killed
so often for them, and still retain that
grin of his."
Air. Richardson protested against the
Director Ricketts staging a scene
the scene. This
cluuroom set with Jack Richardson as the "lead in
the corner of the big glass studio.
term them — he had perfect control of
every one of the players in the scene.
He allowed Air. Richardson, who had
the only "big" part in the scene, to carry
out his own ideas of the "business"
during the rehearsal, and then talked
the scene over with him, expressing his
ideas in regard to bettering the action
in one or two places. Then he ex-
plained to the others just what he
wanted them to do, and, after another
rehearsal, ordered the scene taken. It
was all done quietly, and there was no
fact that all the fans were interested in
his doings, but I "cornered" him by
asking how many times he thought he
had been "killed" since his first appear-
ance in pictures.
"That is hard to say." he replied. "I
started to keep track of the number,
but when we were putting on Westerns
I used to get killed once or twice every
week, and the actual filming of these
scenes, plus rehearsals and retakes, ran
my 'death list' into such impossible fig-
ures that I gave it up."
The American Studio
195
"And then Jack got married, just to
show 'he wasn't afraid of anything,"
put in Mr. Ricketts, with a slow smile.
That was very interesting informa-
tion, and I sought the details. Mr.
Ricketts started to tell me, but Mr.
Richardson "took the story away from
him," and told it himself. It concerned
a romance of the motion-picture studio
which would be welcome music to the
ear of a fiction writer in search of ma-
terial, and in which the popular "Flying
A" villain and Miss Louise Lester
played the leading parts. They both
joined American when that company
first started and made a few pictures in
a little "two-by-four" studio in Edge-
wrater, Chicago, Illinois. When the
company was sent to Santa Barbara,
both were among those who made the
trip, and for almost two years they
played in picture after picture together,
without discovering they were in love.
Then the thought struck them suddenly,
and with equal suddenness they decided
to get married. It was quite a shock to
the players about the studio, and it took
them a long time to get over it, but Mr.
and Mrs. Richardson looked upon the
matter quite as something which des-
tiny had carefully planned. Both had
known Broadway in their earlier theat-
rical days, but since going to Santa Bar-
bara have been quite content to remain
there, neither having visited the dear
old East since taking up their residence
in the land of flowers and sunshine.
Mr. Richardson had just finished tell-
ing the story, and Mr. Ricketts had
added that it had also been about three
years since he had visited the East,
when the prop man announced that the
changes called for in the next scene had
been made in the clubroom "set." The
pleasing player and his equally pleas-
ing director answered the call of duty,
and prepared to film the next scene,
while I made my way down the rear
stairway and toward the open-air
stages. I had noticed them on my trip
around the rear end of the plant with
President Hutchinson, but only enough
to remember where they were located.
Now, I decided, I would inspect them
at close range, for they must be quite
as interesting as any glass studio.
I found them without any difficulty,
and was happy in the discovery that
two companies were working on them.
Before reaching these companies, who
were at the far end, near the long rows
of players' dressing rooms, I had to
walk almost a city block. This long
stretch can be used for about ten or
twelve sets at one time, but only when
the sun is shining, for there is no ar-
tificial lights used on this immense stage
at all. Some of American's most beau-
tiful scenes in society parlors, drawing-
rooms, and the like are taken here,
with nothing but the vast expanse of the
blue skies as a ceiling. That accounts
for the evenness in lighting, for the im-
portant scenes are taken at midday,
when the sun is directly overhead and
no shadows are cast by any object in
the scene. At times, when the sun be-
comes too warm to work under, or when
there is danger of shadows being
thrown, a thin and almost transparent
canvas is placed over the set. At all
times, the scenes are set within three
walls of canvas of this variety, the only
side being left open is the "front," from
which the scene is photographed.
The first company I came to was one
under the direction of Charles Bartlett.
Winifred Greenwood, George Field,
and Ed Coxen were the players, but I
missed seeing them perform, for they
had just finished their studio work for
the morning when I arrived. Messrs.
Coxen and Bartlett had several scenes
to take on a location, and hurriedly
jumped into an auto and were oft. Miss
Greenwood and Mr. Field insisted that
I take lunch with them at the studio
restaurant, and, wishing to secure a lit-
tle story from both, as well as have the
196
The American Studio
pleasure of their company during the
noon hour — and learn where the restau-
rant was. I readily agreed.
We had to- pass the stage, where the
other company was working, on our
way to the lunch room, which, they told
me, was located at the end of the row
of players' dressing rooms. Miss
Greenwood explained that tht company
at work was known as "Humphreys' "
band of players, and made Beauty
comedies under the direction of Oral
Humphreys. We stopped to watch
them, and the two stars at my side
showed quite as much interest in the
taking of the scene as though they
had not gone through the same rou-
tine themselves every day for the past
few7 years.
The setting Mr. Humphreys was us-
ing was a hotel lobby at the seashore,
and the players represented a group
of girlies about the hotel, a strict old
father, and his two sons. Director
Humphreys had just called "action,"
and the camera had begun to grind.
One of the "sons," whose good looks
proclaimed him the leading man, led
the other
"son" and the
"father"' to the
hotel register
with a jaunty
air. The "fa-
ther" appar-
ently did not
ike the id.ea
of being at the
seaside — in the
play — but the
sons were try-
i n g to over-
come his ob-
jections. Just
how the scene
Four members of the "Married People's Club" of the American studios. Reading from the top
down they are: Mr. and Mrs. Jack Richardson and Mr. and Mrs. George Fields. Mrs. Richard-
son is better known as Louise Lester and Mrs. Fields as Winifred Greenwood.
The American Studio
197
worked out, I never learned, for the
player taking the part of the father
thought of an effective bit of business at
a critical moment in the scene, and
tried to introduce it. It didn't quite
fit in with the director's views, how-
ever, and he called a halt to make a
few remarks, which have no place in
this article. Then he started to re-
hearse the scene all over again, and
Miss Greenwood, Mr. Field, and my-
self withdrew to the lunch room.
It is really quite a lunch room that
American has instituted for its players,
and reminded me of the Childs refresh-
ment palaces in dear old New York —
and elsewhere. There are about five
waitresses, all dressed in white uni-
forms, and, I was told, a like number
of men cooks— all of whom are French.
This promised a great deal for the food,
and I wasn't a bit disappointed.
During the meal, I learned of an-
other romance which had its beginning
at the American studio, and in which
Miss Greenwood and Mr. Field were
the leading characters. They were mar-
ried quite as suddenly as Mr. Richard-
son and Miss Lester, and the other
players were quite as much surprised.
It happened about a year and a half
ago, and neither has regretted it since
— and they say they never will.
I urged both to tell me of their ca-
reers, and Mr. Field suggested that
Mrs. Field tell me of hers first.
"It isn't very interesting," she said.
"I began on the stage, and played in
vaudeville and stock for a few years.
Then I headed my own stock company,
at South Bend, Indiana, for two years.
After that came motion pictures, first
with Selig, in Chicago, and, later, with
American, out here. I have been here
now a little over two years, and have
never enjoyed an engagement as much
as this one."
It was very brief, but I had to admit
it was also very comprehensive, so I
turned to Mr. Field for his story. He
was ready.
"I can sketch my career in fewer
words than that," he said. "I spent ten
years on the stage in musical comedy,
vaudeville, and dramatic stock. Then
I joined American, and I've been here
ever since."
I confessed that he had crowded a
great deal of information regarding his
career into a few words, and Miss
Greenwood gave him credit for "wast-
ing" less time than she had in telling
about it. Our talk drifted to other
things, including the beauty of the coun-
try and the many millionaires' homes
and estates to which American had
entrance in making its pictures. When
our meal was over, I parted with them
with regret, and wandered back into
the studio yard. The small glass studio
in the center of the inclosure again at-
tracted my attention, and I decided to
investigate its interior.
The large glass double doors which
face the main automobile entrance were
open, and, as no one was to be seen
about them, I strolled into the studio.
Director Tom Chatterton was staging a
scene in the center of the floor. Anna
Little, the pretty dark-haired girl, who
has won the hearts of so many fans,
was in the center of a group of lesser
lights. Mr. Chatterton was directing
the actual filming of the scene, and his
methods were very similar to those of
Mr. Ricketts. He was a little firmer in
his commands to the minor players, I
noted, and he also followed every ac-
tion from the script in his hand, read-
ing the directions aloud as the scene
progressed. There was no retake,
though, and Miss Little seemed to work
in cooperation with him every moment.
When they had finished and I had
cornered Miss Little, she told me of
how much better she liked Santa Bar-
bara than she did Los Angeles, where
she had worked for some time previous
to her American engagement.
198
The American Studio
The exterior stages in operation, showing three "sets" of distinctly different natures. The
canvas covering is to moderate the sun.
"I am naturally fond of the out-of-
doors, and I love the beauties of na-
ture," she said. "This place offers me
every advantage for swimming and rid-
ing, and it certainly is as beautiful as
any section of the country I have ever
seen — and I saw quite a bit of it during
my four years with the Ferris-Hartman
Comic Opera Company. I have a dandy
little bungalow with my mother, and
my ideal evenings are those I spend
playing my mandolin for her."
"You have played a great many parts,
haven't you?" I asked.
"Oh, yes," she replied ; "and under
a great many directors. I was with Mr.
Ince for two and a half years, playing
Indian-maiden parts first, and, later,
straights leads. 'The Battle of Gettys-
burg' wras the picture I liked best under
the direction of Mr. Ince and his as-
sistants. After leaving him, I worked
under several Universal directors, but
longest under Mr. Otis Turner, the dean
of Universal City. I played the lead in
'Damon and Pythias,' and 'The Black
Box' serial under him. Then I came
to American."
"Are you sorry you left Mr. Ince?"
I asked, for I had heard certain other
players say something about their wish-
ing they had stayed with the now fa-
mous Triangle producer.
"Xo, I cannot say that I am," she
replied. "I liked his style of direction
very much, and the parts he gave me
were always satisfactory, but I really
feel I am farther ahead in the game
than if I remained. The parts I am
given by American offer me every op-
portunity to do my best artistic work,
and I am quite sure that the advertis-
ing I have received is quite as effective
as that Triangle would have given me.
Of course, there are many who will not
agree with me, but I am the one who
is working out my career. We'll have
to wait and see who is right."
Mr. Chatterton came up and asked
Miss Little to change her dress for the
next scene, and she took advantage of
the occasion to commission him to tell
me of his career. I mentioned the fact
that Miss Greenwood and Mr. Fields
had vied with each other to see who
could sketch their careers in the fewest
The American Studio
199
The uncompleted end of the big glass studio which is now under construction.
words, and Mr. Chatterton said that a
director could outline his in fewer
words than any player, and proceeded
to prove his statement by this sentence :
"Stage, Ince, Universal, American."
"But there isn't any detail there," I
protested, hoping to have him enlarge
upon the subject.
"I don't believe in detail, except in
film plays," he replied laughingly ; then
added: "Here's Mr. Hutchinson."
The man in whose brain the plans for
this wonder studio originated came to-
ward us, and, after talking over Mr.
Chatterton's production with him in a
man-to-man fashion that left no room
for doubt that perfect cooperation ex-
isted between the big man and his em-
ployees, he turned to me and asked if
I would not like to ride up to the sum-
mit of one of the mountain ranges and
look out over part of the estate that
American owns. I said I surely would,
and, as a result, I found myself about
a half mile to the rear of the studio,
looking down over a plain which sloped
gradually to the base of one of the
Coast Range Mountains.
"We own the land for acres and acres
around here, and practically all our ex-
teriors, except those requiring special
residential settings, are photographed
on our own territory. You see, Santa
Barbara wasn't quite as well known
when we came here as it is now, and
land wasn't quite as valuable. W e were
convinced it was destined to grow into
quite a city, and, at the rate its popula-
tion has been increasing during the last
two years, it won't disappoint us. I
dare say this land is almost one and
a half times as valuable now as when
we acquired it.
"Quite a few of our players are out
on locations to-day. I believe there are
six directors some place over toward
the mountain or around those hills,
filming scenes. It's too bad you couldn't
see all of them at work, but it's quite a
ride out there, and they will probably
be coming back by the time we find
them now. Art Acord, who is playing
in the screen version of Buck Par-
vin's experiences — the ones Charles van
Loan wrote for the Saturday Evening
Post — is out with Director Bertram to-
day taking some roughriding scenes.
He certainly can ride, and I enjoy see-
200
The American Studio
ing him do his 'thrillers.' He is a real
cowboy, and we were, indeed, fortunate
in securing him to play the part of Par-
vin, as he was Van Loan's inspiration
for the original."
We drove slowly back toward the
studio, and Mr. Hutchinson informed
me that the American studio could also
be called the home of the Signal Film
Corporation and the Vogue Comedy
Company, both of which are located at
Los Angeles, as all the film developing
for these firms is done here. Many of
the props are also loaned these com-
panies from time to time, as they are
under the control of Mr. Hutchinson
and his associates. When he spoke of
his associates, Air. Hutchinson suddenly
seemed to think of something it would
grieve him to forget.
"When you are writing of our com-
pany," he said, "I want you to be sure
and give full credit to John R. Freuler,
now president of the Mutual Film Cor-
poration ; P. G. Lynch, our studio man-
ager out here ; R. R. Nehls, our general
manager, and Charles Ziebarth, our fac-
tory superintendent, for what they have
done to make us a success. Messrs.
Freuler and Nehls have been our main-
stays in the business end, and it is due
to their splendid management that we
have been able to capitalize our large
investment and our ever-increasing ex-
penditure. Air. Ziebarth has been
largely responsible for American pic-
tures being noted for the beauty of their
photographic effects, for he is a wizard
at handling both negatives and positives,
and Air. Lynch is the man whose untir-
ing energy has enabled us to produce
pictures regularly and at a nonprohibi-
tive cost."
Air. Hutchinson's statement gave all
the credit to the other leaders of the
organization, and seemed to leave noth-
ing for himself, but it is only fair to
say that he is really the guiding spirit of
the whole organization. Air. Freuler's
business interests in Xew York have
kept him away from the actual produc-
tions for some time, and the other men
are daily working directly under Air.
Hutchinson. He has the details of the
company's business, and of every pro-
duction in the course of making at his
finger tips at all times, and it is he that
decides all questions in regard to am-
end of the business which arise.
I left the studio of the American
Company, satisfied that during my stay
there I had seen the working of one of
the best organized and smoothest-work-
ing concerns in the business. Every one
within the vast inclosure has his or her
work to do, and all do it with the ut-
most care and skill. They, like the Ince
people I described in one of my early
articles, are all working toward one
cause, and that cause is the production
of better pictures by their company.
THE CENSOR'S EXCUSE
^^HEN actresses in scanty clothes
Walk blandly through a scene,
Blame not the censor — for he knows
There always is a screen.
Al. C. Xew man.
PICTURE-PLAY MAGAZINE'S
SCENARIO CONTEST
The greatest motion-picture contest ever held.
Get in it. You do not have to be a writer.
Whether or not you ever wrote anything be-
fore but your name, if you have a good idea
you have a good chance, for money and fame.
The Picture-Play Magazine and the Universal
Film Manufacturing Company believe that
there are people throughout the country who
would be successful motion-picture authors if
given the chance. They are giving you the
chance. Are you going to take it?
Remember — opportunity knocks but once! It
is seldom that anyone tells you when it does
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Here is the key to the lock of success.
Are you the person who is going to open
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READ THE FOLLOWING PAGES CAREFULLY FOR
DETAILS OF THE CONTEST— IT IS NOW OPEN.
Have You Any Imagination?
Here's your chance! If you have any imagi-
nation at all now is the time to use it. Get
an idea for a good picture play and it may
be worth money to you.
PICTURE-PLAY MAGAZINE
SCENARIO CONTEST
The contest is now open and will be until
noon, June 17th, 1916. By arrangement with
the Universal Film Manufacturing Company
$40.00 PER REEL
and a
SPECIAL PRIZE OF $50.00
is being offered for the plot that will make the best
film in which the leading role can be played by
MARY FULLER
the internationally famous motion-picture actress.
It will take you but a short time to write out
your plot — no scenario action is necessary.
You do not need to be a writer. All you
need is a good idea for a moving-picture play.
READ THE RULES ON THE NEXT PAGE
THE JUDGES
JOSEPH BRANDT MARY FULLER CLARENCE J. CAINE
General Manager of the World-famous actress Editor of "Hints for Scenario
Universal Film Manufac- who will be starred in Writers" Department in Picture-
turing Company. the winning picture. Play Magazine.
THE HUILES
All manuscripts must be submitted before 12 o'clock, noon, June 17th, 1916.
No manuscripts will be considered unless accompanied by the ap-
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any paper.
One person may send in as many plots as he wishes, provided a
separate application is sent with each one.
The main point is your plot.
Write it in synopsis form, giving the detailed action in as few
zvords as possible.
No scenario is necessary, although it may be sent if desired.
All manuscripts must be typewritten or neatly written in ink.
No definite number of reels is specified — the length depends en-
tirely on the plot.
The judges will decide what length is suitable for the story you
submit, and payment will be made accordingly.
Forty dollars ($40.00) per reel will be paid for the winning sce-
nario.
For instance, if the picture is five reels, two hundred dollars
($200.00) will be given.
The additional special prize of fifty dollars ($50.00) will be paid
to the winner, regardless of the length of the picture.
All stories must be original.
The leading character in the story must be one that can be played
to good advantage by Miss Mary Fuller. This is an important point.
Miss Fuller can best play strong dramatic parts, and those which are
typical of the American woman of any class.
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What the Winner Gets
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and Mr. Caine will decide on the winner as soon as
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magazine.
MARY FULLER
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the winning synopsis or scenario, which will be pro-
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Fill out this Application Blank, or make a copy of it, and send it with
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APFLICATiOM B LAM It
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Enclosed is my manuscript, which has been written in accordance with the rules.
The type of my story is:
(Fill out according to society, mystery, railroad, straight drama, etc.)
Name
Address . *
MOST stories about motion-pic-
ture actors begin in the par-
lor of the player's home or in
some secluded corner of the studio
where the interviewer met the famous
person whose fate is to be to have his
whole past brought to light. Neither
of these is the place where this story
opens.
It took Dustin Farnum, the Pallas-
Paramount, some time to cast aside the
cloak of artistry and screen dignity that
covered his natural self, but it fluttered
off in the stiff breeze that blew across
the Bucksport, Maine, bay. I was sit-
ting close to Dusty in the foremost seat
of his prized motor boat, The Virgin-
ian, as its sixty-horse-power engine
purred beneath us and the boat lurched
over the waters of the bay much as
though it were a stone scaled by a boy.
The wind swept through my hair, and
Dusty laughed as I let go of the side
of the. boat, to which I had been cling-
ing, and foolishly tried to rearrange it.
4Tt does muss up your curly locks a
bit, but it certainly is worth it !" he
shouted into my ear.
Those were the first words that the
popular screen star had uttered since I
met him that did not ring with the seri-
ousness that showed he was continually
thinking of me as writer searching ma-
terial. Type had vanished from his
mind as had the screen. He had thrown
aside work for play, and I envied him
when I thought that my work was just
about to begin. The real man in Dustin
Farnum, not the actor, was sitting be-
side me, and was chuckling because my
hair was mussed.
Suddenly the motor whirled faster,
and we shot ahead with even more
speed than before, though I had con-
sidered that impossible.
"Traveling some !" I muttered.
Dusty's voice rang out again in my
ear, and I heard him say :
"We are. I do it every day, and it's
a lot of fun — you know, this is the fast-
est motor boat in these parts, and I
wish you were with me all the time,
so that you could enjoy the speed the
way I do when some one else's craft
pokes its nose out from along the shore
and tries to catch me/'
206
At Play with Dustin Farnum
I looked out to the water at the side
of the boat, and noticed that we were
making a wide turn, and just then
Dusty announced :
"I'm steering her in now, because I
want you to take a look around my
farm. The water is only one of the
things that
bind me to
my home
here."
It was only
a matter of a
few minutes
before the
craft was
moored
against a lit-
tle pier on
the shore of
the bay, and
as I stepped
from The
Virginian, I
looked across
a vast ex-
pa n s e of
farm land
that was only
a part of
Dusty's prop-
erty. A short
distance
away, a
house loomed
up on the
1 a n d scape,
and directly
behind it was
the barn. It
seemed a s
though all of
Bucksport was owned by this wonder-
ful man who held among his treasured
possessions the hearts of a whole na-
tion. He seemed perfectly at home and
contented ; and his manner, for some
reason that I did not understand,
prompted me to ask him how long he
had boasted of this place as his home.
Dustin Farnum's happy smile is known from ocean to ocean.
'This farm has been in the family of
the Farnums for eighty years," he re-
plied. "My brother William and I both
spent our younger days on it. It has
been a great life, enjoying the health
of the open air, and I can't remember
when I wasn't a lover of outdoors.
"Whenever
I skim over
the bay in
The Virgin-
ian, I am re-
minded o f
the old days
when Bill
and I used to
rule the wa-
ters here-
abouts in a
little, rough-
hewn raft of
an affair that
we had built
together, and
that looked
for a 1 1 the
world like a
flatiron. 1 1
w a s rigged
with a main-
sail made
from one of
my mother's
bed sheets,
and had a
funny - look-
ing jib. The
sheet, I
guess, was
the most ex-
pensive part
of it; but we
were almost as proud of that craft as
I am now of my motor boat. I was
nine years old then."
By the time he had finished relating
this much of his past history, we had
reached the house. He led me around
to the barn, and, after he had seen me
safely propped up on the top of a bar-
At Play with Dustin Farnum
207
Three pictures of "Dusty" that show him when he is not acting. At the lower left li
sitting, with his director, Frank Lloyd, looking over his shoulder.
rel, balanced himself on a sawbiick with
all the grace of an acrobat. Perched
thus, content with all the world, as any-
one in Dusty Farnum's position should
be, he began to speak without being
questioned.
"This is a wonderful place," he com-
mented, glancing about at animals and
over the land. "It is one of the things
that help to keep me in such good phys-
ical trim. I'm always in the air when
I'm here, and I'm always here when I
can get away from the studio for a va-
cation, no matter how short. I'm up
with the sun ; and in about an hour or
so, if any one wants me, he will have
to have a faster horse than mine, for
'Monty' takes me for a great ride up
there through the hills every morning.
When I get back, a sort of second
breakfast is always welcome before I
go into the fields with the men to do
some 'laboring.' By the time
Look, look! See that pig?" He broke
off suddenly, and I followed with my
eyes the direction indicated by Dusty 's
ringer and beheld a large porker jogging
lazily over the ground.
"That's Juliette," he laughed, "and
there is Romeo coming along behind.
The man running after — romance even
runs in pigs."'
I laughed heartily as I saw the pleas-
ure that this man, known to most peo-
ple as a serious dramatic actor, derived
from life.
"I wish I had my friends through-
out the country here to keep me com-
pany," he continued, almost sadly, as he
thought of what his many admirers
were missing. "Once in a while some
of the neighbors who have known me
since I was a little wee kiddie come
over and 'b'gosh' for a while, but they
are here all the time and I'd like to
give the others, who only see me on the
screen, a chance to knock about a little
and catch some of the breeze that
208
At Play with Dustin Farnum
whisks by my face when I'm in The pleasant days that I had ever spent to
Virginian or leaving the country road an end. Dusty offered to take me to
behind in my auto." the station in his automobile, and I
"I'm afraid you'd find quarters quite gladly accepted. This was perhaps the
cramped if you tried to accommodate only toy of his that I had not played
them all," I laughed. with as yet. He drove the machine
Dusty said nothing, but his smile down, and almost before I had time to
"Dusty's" motorboat — with him as skipper — rules the waters near Bucksport, Maine.
showed that he appreciated deeply all
that the people throughout the country,
had done to bring success to him.
The rest of the day we spent around
Dusty's farm and in the country near
it. His horse, his other animals, and
practically all his playthings, which the
average person would call expensive
luxuries, he shared with me for the
time. Dusty's play is that of a real man
— such as is worthy of a Farnum. To-
ward evening, when it was beginning
to get dusk, I expressed real regret at
being forced to bring one of the most
climb into the seat next to him we were
tearing along the road toward the depot
at a rate that kept me continually won-
dering whether he was keeping slightly
within the speed laws or going just a
little bit faster than they allowed.
We stepped out of the car a short
while later, and when Dusty said
"Good-by" and grasped my hand, I
winced and told him that were he to
greet all his admirers with such a hand-
shake I didn't think there would be
quite so many people who would be so
very glad to meet him.
DEEP down in the heart of every
picture devotee who sits in the
semidark of the theater, and
watches the players as they enact their
roles upon the screen, there is a little
envy — a feeling that the actors and
actresses who have become so popular
the world over are just a little luckier
than other people. Then there is a lit-
tle longing, too, to be one of those
creatures who seem to get so much out
of life, and whose daily work seems to
be really nothing but play.
How different the players them-
selves feel about the matter, though !
Often during their career they have
4
wished that they were just "fans" back
home, where they could truly be con-
tented and happy, and where no trou-
bles ever burdened them. They are
happy in their work, but they can look
back over the years of hard fighting
they wrent through to gain their posi-
tions, and of the awful fear always be-
fore them — that they would be cast on
the wayside before they reached the
goal of success.
Glancing back over the careers of the
favorites of the screen whom we all
know, many interesting things can be
seen that mark the course of their climb
to the top. Some of the players came
210
Past and Present
from the stage with reputations, while
others gained their popularity through
their work before the camera.
Little Mary Pickford. the ''Queen
of the Movies." as her friends have
christened her, belongs to the latter
class. During the years of 1908. 1909,
and 1 910 — the years which really
shaped the future of motion pictures —
her smiling face and cutely appealing
little antics were known to practically
every patron of motion-picture theaters
throughout the land, but her name was
quite a secret, since the Biograph Com-
pany, following the custom of other
producers at that time, gave no credit
to its players.
To a few, she was known as "Little
Mary,"' while in her pay envelope the
sum meted out to her every week was
just one-fortieth of the sum she now
receives every week in the year as a
partner in the firm which makes her
pictures. Before the Pickfords — Mary,
Lottie, and Jack — were enticed into
filmdom, all three were following stage
careers, for they were, indeed, children
of the theater, brought up from infancy
in its atmosphere.
The writer recalls "Little Mary" in
"The Warrens of Virginia.'' a Belasco
production, in which the now idolized
screen star did so well that David Be-
lasco, who produced the play, never lost
track of Mary when she shifted her
activities to the screen. Belasco was
wont to go to the neighborhood theaters
regularly to see his little protegee, and
she was just commencing to achieve
world-wide fame, when the greatest of
stage producers sent for her to create
the part of the blind girl in "The Good
Little Devil.''
It is stated that Belasco had to pay
Little Mary just ten times as much as
was her weekly emolument when she
left his company a few years before.
Although Miss Pickford's name was
now emblazoned on the electric signs,
and the newspapers were full of por-
traits and eulogies of her stage por-
trayal, she was not happy when tread-
ing the boards of the Republic Theater,
in Xew York City. The desire to re-
turn to the domain of the camera man
was irresistible.
It was at this time that Daniel Froh-
man offered Mary twenty-five thousand
dollars a year to appear exclusively
with the Famous Players Film Com-
pany. Little did Mr. Frohman believe
that, when he signed Miss Pickford,
that even at live hundred dollars a
week he was making a big mistake in
executing the contract for a single year
only. Nevertheless, when it came to a
renewal. Mr. Frohman and his associ-
ates not only quadrupled Mary's
honararium, paying her two thousand
dollars a week, but it is only a truth to
say that Mary was offered still greater
inducements to sign with a competing
producing concern. In fact, in accept-
ing the almost unbelievable total of one
hundred and four thousand dollars a
year, Mary sacrificed almost as much
more in the belief that artistically her
future career would be enhanced by re-
maining with the company which made
her famous the world over. That her
choice was a wise one, has been proven
by her unbroken string of successes un-
der the Famous . Players banner.
Elsie Janis as recently as a decade ago
was famous as Little Elsie in the vaude-
ville theaters, and was "headlined" quite
as conspicuously as to-day. It was El-
sie's wondrous mimicry in the two-a-
day theaters that induced Milton Aborn.
the impresario of to-da\\ to assume her
management. Immediately he placed
her on Broadway at the roof garden of
the Xew York Theater, where a new
public paid her homage. So sensation-
ally did Elsie register in an unproved
environment, that George C. Tyler en-
gaged her as the stellar attraction of
"The Vanderbilt Cup." It is an ex-
traordinary illustration of the influence
of a Broadway "hit" when it is stated
Past and Present
211
that when Little Elsie became Miss
Elsie Janis her weekly honorarium
mounted from one hundred and
twenty-five dollars to
three thousand dollars.
Now Miss Janis makes
excursions from stage
to screen with all of
her consummate grace
and dignity, and scores
in the two fields alike.
Those who have seen
her in the Bosworth-
Morosco productions,
"Nearly A Lady" and
" 'Twas Ever Thus,"
will testify to this.
Russell Bassett
was specializing in
finely drawn
character-
izations t w o
and three
decades ago.
H i s fame*
rests greatly on his subtlety in por-
trayals ; no actor within memory has
typified the Jew so concretely and so
Two of the Ince brothers — Tom the
noted Triangle producer at the
top, and Ralph, of Vita-
graph fame, below.
artistically as the same
Mr. Bassett did in the two
greatest melodramas of
the last half of the nine-
teenth century, namelv.
'The World" and "The
Black Flag."
On the screen, Russell
Bassett, well known to the
212
Past and Present
fans because of his character creations
in Famous Players and Universal pic-
tures, is endeared perhaps to half of
mankind, despite that more often than
arch of the theater replied as follows:
"I believe the stage will be immeasur-
ably benefited by the amazing develop-
ment of the picture play. The technique
of the screen is unquestionably superior.
On the screen the directors caution you
'not to go over the line.' On the stage
the slogan is 'get that line over.' The
same dissimilarity is in evidence as be-
tween stage and screen technique, which
accounts for so many failures among
the most experienced players in the
newer field."
It is only a decade and a half ago
Lottie, the eldest of the Pickford family,
above, and Jack and "Little Mary,"
the two other members, in a
heart-to-heart confer-
ence, below.
not he is cast for the role of
the polished villain. Stage-
folk accord to Mr. Bassett the
palm for his truly artistic Dol-
beare in the film masterpiece,
"Sold." When asked by the
writer if he preferred the
screen to the stage this patri-
Past and Present
213
Russell Bassett.
Louise Beaudet.
that the name of Barrymore, now so
conspicuous on stage and screen, was
represented by none of the present
group of sterling players so endeared to
a public which then constituted only
a part of the seventy-five per cent of
mankind which now worships the
magic screen.
Georgia Drew Barrymore, the mother
of Ethel and Lionel Barrymore, of the
Metro Corporation, and John, of Fa-
mous Players, had already passed on,
leaving behind records of a glorious
stage career, but alas for posterity, the
development of motion pictures had
just reached the penny-in-the-slot stage
when her unexampled career was
brought to an end !
Greorgia Drew was the daughter of
Mr. and Airs. John Drew, whose
names are immortalized in the annals
of the theater of the nineteenth cen-
tury. The Drews conducted a model
playhouse on Arch Street, in Philadel-
phia, where Georgia's career was
molded in a stock company of a caliber
nowhere existent to-day. Here John
Drew, of stage fame, and Sydney
Drew, the noted screen comedian,
formerly with Yitagraph, but now with
Metro, appeared in the classics of stage
literature. It was at this playhouse
that the dear old comedies, such as
"The School for Scandal" ''Home,'''
"Money," "London Assurance," and
"Still Waters Run Deep." were pre-
sented year after year with casts never
surpassed in the history of the stage.
Georgia Drew married Maurice
Barrymore — a jeune premier who came
hither from England to become at first
a matinee idol, but remained to take
his place as the practical leader of the
American stage. In the last two or
three years of the nineteenth century,
Maurice Barrymore, now a widower,
decided, like so many others of his
calling, to hearken to the call of the
214
Past and Present
vaudevilles. The writer was selected
by the two-a-day magnates to tempt the
actor to bestow of his artistry for them.
Five hundred dollars a week was the
bait which induced Maurice Barrymore
to revolutionize vaudeville by present-
ing a serious playlet, "The Man of the
World."
Keith's Union Square Theater, in Xew
York City. The five-hundred-dollar
salary included his children, who played
minor roles, and revealing nothing to
indicate that but a few years later they
would achieve fame and a far greater
affluence on the very same stages where
Four prominent mem-
bers of the Barrymore-
Drew family. John and
Ethel Barrymore above
and Mr. and Mrs. Sid-
ney Drew below.
Past and Present
215
heart long before the even
ing of life, while his
artistic prowess was
in its zenith, nor
did he live to see
his children rise
m e t e o r i -
c a 1 1 y . The
dawn of the
new art of the
silent drama
was not yet in-
dicated on the
horizon. The
''movies" of
poor Barry's
day were yet
of that grade
which induced
the vaudeville
managers t o
utilize them as
"chasers." The
very sight of the
now magic screen
was the signal for an
exodus.
The same vaude-
ville managers who
were so reluctant to
mete out five hun-
dred dollars a week
for the Barrymore
family did not hesi-
tate a minute to pay
John Barrymore one
thousand five hun-
dred dollars a week,
while Ethel, practi-
cally unknown in her
father's day, received
three thousand dol-
lars a week on the
stage, later making
her debut on the screen and adding im-
measurably to her vogue with the pub-
lic the world over.
Time plays many pranks with us all,
but it is rare, indeed, it records such
Elsie Janis, loved
screen
of Maurice and Georgia
Barrymore.
Those who know their
New York of a gen-
eration ago were
familiar with the
spectacle of an
>old patriarch of
the speaking
stage, known
among his col-
leagues a s
"Pop" Ince,
walking along
upper Broad-
way with his
infant sons
Thomas,
Ralph, and
John, all of
whom were al-
ready before the
public.
The elder Ince, liv-
ing as he did in a
precarious stage
era, passed through
so many vicissitudes
that he became em-
boldened to start a
school of acting ad-
joining the Broad-
way Theater. It
was here that the
three boys, now
firmly intrenched in
filmdom, were pre-
pared for stage con-
quests. The father
was known to fame
as the best exponent
of the stage China-
man of the epoch in
which he lived. He
died before his children attained re-
nown. Moreover, the latter inherited
the vicissitudes of the father. As re-
cently as six years ago the new art of
the picture play had just beckoned
by patrons of both the
and stage.
startling evolutions as with the children them.
216
Past and Present
Of the three boys, Thomas H. was
perhaps the best known in 1910, but
it is only a truth to state that, on the
very day that the man who produced
"The Alien" applied for "work" in a
Xew York studio five years ago, his
greatest incentive was the goal of
securing a place of shelter for his wife
and baby, for Thomas H. Ince had
just returned from a disastrous vaude-
ville venture wherein he reached the
metropolis without a dollar.
In just five years, Ince has become
one of the pillars of a great industry.
Though reluctant to speak of his earn-
ings, it is known that these equal at
least those of the President of the
United States. But of far greater in-
terest is the story of this man's achieve-
ments as a producer for the screen.
Ralph and John have also been suc-
cesses as directors, the former being
one of the Yitagraph Company's pillars,
while the latter is making features for
Equitable.
Harry Myers, long with the Lubin
Company, and known as "Lubin's Boy,"
passed through more vicissitudes in his
search for fame and affluence that it
is not to be wondered at that he was
reluctant to leave the Philadelphia con-
cern, where he rose meteorically. Myers
was lured into filmdom originally in a
manner wholly different from that in
which he achieved renown. In fact,
the trail of disaster which followed
Harry Myers as an actor on the speak-
ing stage became so intolerable that, in-
stead of seeking to act for the movies,
he decided to tempt fate as an exhib-
itor, and, like so many others, "went
broke."
Then, having acquired some knowl-
edge of the technic of a new art,
Myers knocked at Lubin's door, mak-
ing an impression on the powers there
by his earnestness, and was put to work
in a small way. In almost no time,
Myers demonstrated that sort of film-
craft which has changed the aspect of
so many careers. Harry acted before
the camera in parts which revealed his
ingratiating personality; then he was
asked to direct. Making good, he be-
gan to write his own stories, and in
this triple capacity he soon was re-
warded with a weekly salary as high
as a cabinet officer's.
There came a day with Myers when
he believed a change was desirable.
This was shortly after he produced
"The Drug Terror." Also, Myers felt
that as his productions were invariably
sold in advance of release he ought to
seek a greater freedom to attain his
goal, so when the Universal Film Com-
pany beckoned him, Lubin's boy left
the Quaker City to become one of the
strongest arms of the big "U." In
this environment, Myers, indeed, rose
to the topmost rung, and when the
Lniversal decided to specialize in fa-
mous stage stars, Harry was selected
to direct the very best known of all.
Speaking of Myers naturally leads
one's thoughts to Rosemary Theby, for
the two worked together at the Lubin
studio and were later featured together
with the Universal. Miss Theby's suc-
cess on the screen is interesting be-
cause here we have a film star who
had not the least stage experience, but
who quickly demonstrated unusual fit-
ness for camera portrayals. Almost
from the day Miss Theby began in the
Yitagraph studio she was given "leads,"
and when she went to the Reliance
Company, under Oscar Appel, it was
greatly due to her splendid teamwork
with Irving Cummings that the Reli-
ance productivity became celebrated the
world over. Every stage star with
whom Miss Theby has played — and she
has supported such as Lawrence Dor-
say and Wilton Lackaye — has mar-
veled at her splendid technique. Yet
this fine actress never even studied for
the stage and her screen debut was due
to sheer accident.
Louise Beaudet was a name so em-
Past and Present
217
blazoned on Broadway a generation
ago that those who see her in the screen
to-day doubt that it was she who cre-
ated the role of 'The Little Duke" in
French and English at Booth's Theater,
when that majestic playhouse was ac-
tually directed by the great -Edwin
Booth.
This remarkable woman had all
New York at her feet in the eighties,
playing one day Lady Macbeth, the
next day Topsy. And this is the same
Louise Beaudet who created the role
of Madame Fiji at the Manhattan
Theater — now the site of Gimbel's
stores. In this part, Louise Beaudet
towered over all in the cast which in-
cluded Grace George and Ros •
Coghlan.
Romaine Fielding was on the stage
for fifteen years without contributing
any vital pages to stage annals. The
closest scrutiny of theatrical records
fails to reveal any remarkable achieve-
ment to the credit of this screen favor-
ite of whom it is said that he is the
Pooh Bah of the film industry.
The writer knew Fielding a decade
and a half ago ; in fact, was his man-
ager, yet so changed was Fielding when
he appeared before the camera that the
writer did not know he was the same
man until one day Fielding himself
recalled the past in a letter.
GIRLS— AND A MAN.
Director William (Silent Bill) Haddock is shown in this picture enjoying a breakfast party
given in his honor by the actresses of the Gaumont companies in Jacksonville, Florida, who are
working under his direction. The breakfast was in the nature of a reward for his success in
piloting them safely from Jacksonville to Atlanta, Ga., where they appeared in person at one
of the big photo-play houses. Haddock is seen in the center, and the ladies, from left to right,
are Iva Shepard, Mildred Gregory, Helen Martin, Gertrude Robinson and Mathilde Baring.
r^2
Ethel Teare is raising a little
pig. The reason, she says, is so that
when photographers come for a
picture of Ham and Bud, and either
one is busy dodging Kalem's papier-
mache bricks, she can substitute
the pig for the missing player, and
name him accordingly. Here Bud
Duncan got into the picture first.
off&mqe
of 3
Whether or not Raymond
Hitchcock heard of Ethel Teare's
milk-fed pig, shown above, no one
knows, but something prompted
him, when he ran out of gasoline
at Lubin's, to try a miik-f ed auto
mobile. Cow, car and Hitchy were
sufferers from the experiment.
Little Bobby Connelly, of Vitagraph
fame, doesn't believe in stuffed Teddy
bears — so he has real ones. During
leisure hours he may almost invariably
be found playing with his pets.
George Holt, who is well known as a character man
on the screen, has also a character in real life that few
people know. His recreation, whenever he can desert
his studio long enough, is to go off to a little cabin,
which he keeps in the woods, with his dog, and hunt.
Three is well known as a crowd,
but Doug Fairbanks thinks that
he got in with the wrong crowd
this time at the Griffith studios.
W. Christy Cabanne and Jane Grey
form the "company" that Doug
broke up. It is a pity that a mo-
tion-picture camera wasn't handy
to follow up the rest of this action.
Gattiera
Fanny Ward, of the Lasky. Com-
pany, is one of the most beauti-
ful and artistically inclined play-
ers at the studio. Any one who
wishes to know just what to do
to be fashionable should follow
her example — provided she can
also follow it at the bank.
Blanche Sweet is not always the flighty
little blonde that pictures show her.
When she is at home, Blanche '« safio-
V ii till sue is nume, uianuiie is Satis-
fied with a quiet life, and enjoy
ing — once in a while.
ys rest-
Another solitude-loving player who is known to
the picture followers as a strong, fighting hero, is
William Farnum, of the Fox Company. His enormous
pipe — it doesn't matter much if it is empty — and a
chance to think, form his idea of contentment.
Frank E. Woods, head of D. G. Griffith's cutting department talking over a film with W. Christie
Cabanne, one of the Griffith directors. The master producer considers Woods invaluable.
THERE is one man in the mov-
ing-picture business who never
is talked about very much, but
who plays almost as important a role
in the final evolution of the film play
as the actors themselves, or the cam-
era that takes the pictures. He costs
the average company in the neighbor-
hood of twelve or fifteen thousand dol-
lars a month, but there is no objection
— his real worth is well realized.
Although few moving-picture com-
panies are able to get along without one
of these important gentlemen, he is
generally tucked away in some remote
corner of the studio, like a faithful
servitor who knows too much to be al-
lowed to roam at large. His little
office is the last stopping place of the
newborn film before it is given to the
world. If a film play ever got out with-
out passing through his hands, though
beautifully acted and exquisitely pho-
tographed, it would appear about as
intelligible on the screen as the hiero-
glyphics on a Babylonian water jug.
Who is he? He is the film surgeon —
known variously to his studio associates
as film editor, trimmer, cut man, or film
supervisor.
Every moving-picture company em-
ploys a film surgeon — the head of the
''cutting" department. His visible
implements of business are a pair of
scissors and a can of cement glue. The
rest of his stock in trade he^keeps under
his hat ; it consists of a keen intel-
ligence, an eye for the proper propor-
tion of things, and an expert knowl-
edge of what the public doesn't want.
From eight o'clock in the morning until
five-thirty in the evening, he runs miles
of shiny film through his fingers, and
every time his eagle eye comes across
parts that he knows the public isn't
going to want, he takes his scissors and
cuts them out. That's his business —
or, rather, his art.
His amputations mount, in the av-
erage company, upward from thirty-five
The Film Surgeon
221
thousand feet of him a month.
W hen one considers that this
him represents the expendi-
ture of thousands of dollars
for settings, salaries of play-
ers and directors, and miscel-
laneous items, included in the
cost of filming a production,
it is easy to understand why
he must be a man of unusual
ability. There must be a good
reason for discarding every
inch of film that is cut. but it
is equally important that no
poor scenes be left
in.
A moving pic-
ture is as bad as a
Chinese puzzle
when it is first
taken. There is no
attempt to photo-
graph it in the or-
der in which it ap-
pears. For exam-
ple, the first scene
may be an exterior
and the one imme-
diately following
an interior, and so
on : but the direc-
D. Ripley heads the Fox Company's film-cutting
department, which consists of six people.
The cutting room at the Edison studio, with Mr. Dawley, the small
man with the black mustache, standing beside the young woman.
Edgar Scott, center of
the trio, Universal's
chief film surgeon.
tor takes all the
exterior scenes
called for in the
script first and
then goes to the
studio and films
the interiors — us-
ing one or two sets
at a time, and
thereby saving
time and trouble.
He may reverse
and take the inte-
riors first, or work
inside one day and out-
side the next, according
to the weather. Thus it
is that when a five-reel
film, for instance, comes
into the "cut" room it is
about as coherent in plot
as the narrative of a luna-
tic. And this is the first
cause for the art of the
film surgeon.
The finished film is
brought into the "cut"
room, accompanied by the
director who made it, or
by his memoranda of the
scenes in the order in
222
The Film Surgeon
which they should proceed, and the
surgeon gets to work. The first thing
he wants to know is the length of the
film; but instead of spinning it out on
a measuring wheel, he places it, intact,
on a set of finely balanced scales, which
give the exact length of the film in
ounces. One ounce is equal to twelve
and a half feet. It often happens that
a one-reel film of one thousand feet
comes into the trimming room almost
clip and assemble the scenes in the or-
der in which they shall appear, elimi-
nating the retakes, imperfect prints,
pieces of bad acting, and everything
else that tends to destroy the value of
the film as it will appear when finished.
During the process of cutting, the film
surgeon must eradicate the blunders of
bad actors, quicken the scene by remov-
ing superfluous action, ''match up" the
funny falls and impossible-looking
U. S. Andrews (wearing hat), chief of the cutting department for Thomas H. Ince, and his assistants.
two thousand feet in length. Great
latitude is allowed the directors of
many concerns in this matter, and they
can use as much film as they please, so
long as they get a good picture. Sto-
ries go the rounds of directors who
have been so prodigal in this respect
that they have put their companies into
bankruptcy. Special five-reel pictures
are often sent in with as much as nine
thousand feet of film. This means that
lit is up to the "trimmer" to take oft
"four thousand feet wherever he can.
The first task of the "cut"' man is to
jumps and other trick-photographic bits
in slapstick comedy. He is the one
who puts in many of the "flash-backs"
— long scenes which are broken up into
several shorter scenes for sake of con-
trast or other effect.
One of the big companies produced
a picture in which was a scene of a
young woman leaping from a rapidly
moving hand car to the cabin of an en-
gine. Of course, the picture had to be
taken while the engine and the hand car
were moving rather slowly ; and when
the film was turned into the trimming
The Film Surgeon
223
room, the actual leap from the car to
the engine appeared awkward and im-
possible. This particular scene was the
climax of the picture, and unless it
E. L. Mcintosh, of Vitagraph, is a pioneer
eighteen assistants.
could be "gotten over
the entire film
would be useless. Therefore its suc-
cess depended on the him surgeon. The
scene was only fifteen feet long — that
is, it only took fifteen sec-
onds' actual time in the
showing of the picture, as
one foot is projected
every second. The "cut"
man decided it would
have to be even shorter.
Consequently he pro-
ceeded to cut out one solid
foot of film. The result
was astonishing. From
the moment the young
J o
woman's foot left the
hand car to the instant
she alighted on the plat-
form of the engine, the
trimming was a work of
art. The jump was now
in tune with the speed of the picture,
so to speak, and the effect was one
quick, daring leap through the air, the
girl leaving the hand car one instant
and clinging to the engine the next.
All sorts of eccentric tricks in com-
edy are put in by the film editor. Ordi-
nary somersaults, tumbles, and jumps
can be made to appear ridiculous by a
knowledge of just what
part of the action to "cut"
and what to leave in. It
is said that Charlie Chap-
lin, Mack Sennett, and
other well-known come-
dians insist upon making
their own cuts, as they
know just what sort of
effect they were trying to
get, and if they missed it
in the acting they can re-
gain it, at least in part,
by proper cutting. Often-
times an actor makes an
exit through a door in one
scene, and a few seconds
later he is seen coining
out the other side. As
these pictures are not taken at the same
time, it often happens that in the sec-
ond scene the actor opens the door
much farther than he did when making
He has
Frank Mev
supervisor of film cutting for Famous Players.
his exit. This may bear some definite
relation to the plot, and the surgeon
has to be on the lookout and use his
amputating scissors to remedy it.
In pictures of explosions, the "cut"
224
The Film Surgeon
man must clip the film so that the en-
suing action following the explosion
will begin again almost before the
smoke has drifted away, or the effect
is lost. Where dummies are substi-
tuted in place of actors, he has to see
that the appearance of the substitution
occurs at the moment when the real
actor and the dummy are in exactly the
same position, otherwise the illusion is
spoiled. In a picture shown some time
ago, in which a dummy was substituted
on a ladder descending from a burning
window of a factory, the "trimmer"
man overlooked the flaw, and the ac-
tual picture showed two men suddenly
appearing where there had been but
one. Sometimes even the plots of plays
— or at least the development of the
plots — are changed when the picture
gets to the trimming room. A picture
recently released from one of the big
studios was put on almost entirely back-
ward. The film surgeon discovered
that by flashing on the last three or four
scenes first a decided suspense was cre-
ated which led up to the climax and
made the whole picture much more in-
teresting than the way it was written.
The film surgeon eliminates bad film,
when spotted, foggy, light-struck, or
streaked with "static." This last phe-
nomenon often occurs, especially in
cold weather, and is caused by the
friction of the film speeding through
the shutter of the camera. It creates
a spark of electricity which photo-
graphs on the negative very much like
lightning.
Within the past year or so, the trim-
ming department of the moving-pic-
ture companies has developed an im-
portance and efficiency which rivals
that of any department of the busi-
ness. Mr. B. S. Dawley, head of this
department at the Edison Studios, in
New York City, has made a number of
original inventions for this branch of
the profession. The number system,
now in use in nearly all of the studios,
was Mr. Dawley's idea. At the con-
clusion of each scene, a numbered card
is held before the camera and the num-
ber photographed at the end of the
scene. This greatly helps the trimmer
in assembling the film in the proper or-
der. As soon as a completed picture,
wTith its fifty or sixty separate rolls of
film of various length, reaches the trim-
ming room, it is filed away in small
numbered racks along the wall, in the
order in which the scenes are to follow
each other. The trimmer now begins
with the roll in the first rack and runs
through it, watching for possible cuts,
and following any instructions the di-
rector may have jotted down on the
scenario. He goes through this proc-
ess with each roll of film, cutting where
necessary, and joining the rolls with
his cement glue until finally the pic-
ture is complete in one continuous film.
It is now wound on a receiving wheel,
and is ready for projection. An elab-
orate card-index system keeps track of
every picture that goes through the
office, the amount of "cutting" neces-
sary, the date, and the names of the
director and photographer. Every foot
of film is accounted for.
It is the magic of the film surgeon
that puts the final skillful touch to the
photo play that will eventually help to
brighten the lives of millions of people.
Tucked away in his little office, he scans
and clips and pastes. W'ith his scissors
and his pot of cement glue, he is not
a romantic figure, but he is an impor-
tant one — probably as important, in his
own way, as any in the film business.
Why Little Mary Isn't Jealous
229
Biograph pictures, many of which will
live forever in the minds of those who
saw them.
Mr. Griffith believed in shifting his
players about, however, and in the
course of the changes which took place,
Owen and Mary were separated — on
the screen only. Owen played opposite
Marion Leonard in her first motion-
picture appearance. The picture was
called "Expiation," and the two did
very good work. Owen put his very
best efforts into the work, because he
wanted to have Mary praise it when
she saw it on the screen. It really
made very little difference to him who
the leading lady was while he was play-
ing in the scene. He always thought of
the one girl he was trying to please, and
his work was governed accordingly,
whether it consisted in making love to
a film heroine or pursuing the villain
through the crowded streets of the
Ghetto in an automobile.
Alternately, Miss Leonard, Florence
Barker, Fritzi Brunette, and Gertrude
Robinson were his leading ladies during
the remainder of his stay at Biograph,
and when he left that company to join
Imp, he again played with Florence
Lawrence in a series of light-comedy
dramas, which were produced in Cuba.
This was the first time Owen and
Mary had been separated since their
marriage, and was responsible for the
first of the many letters which have
passed between them since. Maybe
Mary had a struggle to keep just a
little sign of jealousy from creeping
into those early letters, but if she did,
no one ever knew it. She saw all of
the pictures with Owen and Miss
Lawrence, and studied his work — then
she wrote him about it. And she never
James Kirkwood, Owen Moore and Florence Lawrence in one of Griffith's Biograph successes. The
latter was Owen's leading lady up to the time Miss Pickford joined Biograph.
230
Why Little Mary Isn't Jealous
I. Iff fx
Florence Barker was another of Moore's Biograph leading ladies. They are seen together here, with
Mack Sennett, at present regarded as the king of screen comedy, and Jack Bryne, now a Key-
stone scenario writer, to the right of the picture. Both were playing "bits" in the production.
forgot to tell him to tell Miss Lawrence
what splendid work she had done.
Later, the Majestic Company was
organized to present Owen and
Mary in comedies, and at the con-
clusion of this engagement they |
were again separated, Owen
going to the Pacific coast
with Griffith, and ap
pearing opposite Fay
Tincher, in "The
Battle of the Sexes," and with Blanche
Sweet in the wonderful eight-reel fea-
ture. "The Escape." Miss Pick-
ford, in the meantime, started
her climb to the
topmost rung of
the ladder
of p o p n -
Dorothy Gish is now playing opposite Moore. He considers her entitled to a place among the
foremost actresses of the screen world.
Why Little Mary Isn't Jealous 231
X
Owen admits that he was a little bit afraid of the leading ladies of the stage being a little "up-
stage" when working with a mere film leading man, but this scene indicates that
he had little trouble while playing with Fritzi Scheff.
larity with the Famous Players Com-
pany. This concern later decided to
secure Mr. Moore also, and, after com-
pleting his engagement with Griffith,
he joined it and appeared as Virginia
Pearson's costar in "The Aftermath."
Again Owen became the lover of
"Little Mary" on the screen in Famous
Players' "Caprice," "Cinderella," and
"Mistress Nell." Perhaps those who
saw these pictures, and who had seen
j'|ers in which Moore played the part
i lover, noticed a difference in his
performance — and there is no reason
why they should not have.
Later he left Famous, this time to
accept an alluring offer from the Oliver
Morosco Photoplay Company. Again
Mary saw him on the screen, making
love to other leading ladies, and again
she wrote him letters in which no sign
of jealousy appeared. With Morosco,
he played opposite Fritzi Scheff, in
"Pretty Mrs. Smith," with Lois Mere-
dith in "Help Wanted," and with Elsie
Janis in her picture series that included
" 'Twas Ever Thus," "Nearly a Lady,"
and "Betty in Search of a Thrill."
Mabel Normand, perhaps better
known as "Keystone Mabel," was his
next leading lady, and "The School
Teacher" was their first Keystone
comedy.
When Griffith joined the Triangle,
he, for the third time, reengaged
Moore, and since joining the master
producer, he has costarred with tal-
ented Dorothy Gish, in three feature
productions, "Jordan Is a Hard Road."
"Betty of Greystone," and "Katv
Bauer."
There you have the list of Owen
Moore's leading ladies. It includes
some of the most beautiful and appeal-
ing screen stars, but still — I have said
it before, but I want to be sure to im-
press it on you — Mary Pickford isn't a
bit jealous.
But there's a reason why she
shouldn't be, and it is contained in
232
Why Little Mary Isn't Jealous
what Owen Moore told me about his
leading ladies.
My question was something to the
effect that I often wondered if the love
scenes on the screen were only acted,
or if they were not real sometimes.
"I can only speak for myself on that
matter," said Mr. Moore, with a smile,
Fay Tincher, as the vampire in "The Battle of the Sexes," had
Moore as a "lover."
"and I cannot say that all the love
scenes I have appeared in before the
camera were merely acted, for those
between Mary and myself were more
real than the public who saw them
realized. As far as the "love scenes"
with my other leading ladies go, how-
ever, I can truthfully say it was merely
acting. They were my friends, the
same as the other players about the
studios, and the fact that the picture
in which we were working called for a
love scene between us never made us
anything more than friends."
"It would be interesting, though," I
persisted, "to tell the fans your view-
point of each of the leading ladies you
have had."
He smiled, and then replied : "I sup-
pose you think, like many others, that
some of my opinions should be omitted,
but you are wrong. I have never ex-
perienced the unpleasantness of
a disagreement with any of the
girls I have worked with. They
have all been jolly good fel-
lows and true friends, and, I
am glad to say, I have never
been unfortunate enough to be
teamed with any of the so-
called 'temperamental' type.
Starting right at the very begin-
ning with Florence Lawrence,
my first leading lady, I can re-
call certain things in regard to
all of them which makes me
proud to state I
played opposite this
or that girl.
"What I admired
about Miss Law-
rence was that she
was an artist to the
finger tips. She
lacked any
tion or co?ic
harmo"'
way,
were v
screen.
"Marion Leonard I thoroughly en-
joyed working with. She was creative
in her work, and her valuable sugges-
tions always helped gain success.
"Poor Florence Barker, who recently
died, was a charming soul, and had a
splendid career paved for her. She had
a very good personality, and her per-
formances were excellentlv finished.
the results
isible on the
The Aryan
235
"Going on," said Steve promptly.
"Next train south."
"You've got a wait of an hour and
twenty minutes. Come -in and celebrate.
The drinks are on me."
'"One little drink, maybe," hesitated
Steve, and added : "I've got to go to
the post office. There may be mail
for me."
"I'll send for it. What's the name?"
"Steve Denton."
It is an old story — old as the world.
The tree of the knowledge of good and
evil lured Steve as it lured Adam. And
inevitably it spells destruction.
tables; of laughter and shrieks; of min-
gled profanity and song.
He knew he had taken part in a fight.
It had something to do with one of the
dance-hall girls whom they called Trixie
the Firefly, a girl with a baby stare who
affected the innocence and garb of a
country maid, a girl young in years but
old in wickedness.
He had shuffled through a dance with
her; and somebody — Trixie's lover;
Chip Emmett he had heard him called
— had suddenly burst on the scene and
threatened the girl. He remembered
that the Firefly had dropped on her
knees and Emmett stood over her with
The Firefly dropped on her knees and Emmett stood over her, his hand upraised.
How many drinks he consumed,
Steve could not have told. He had a
hazy memory afterward of women in
abbreviated skirts and bared shoulders
dancing with perspiring miners ; of bot-
tles and glasses on none too clean
his hand upraised. Then Steve had
flung himself into action, pulled his
fort}-- four, and would have blown the
trouble maker into eternity if he had
had a cartridge in his gun. But it was
empty.
236
The Aryan
He spoke with tense seriousness, but without raising his voice.
There followed a free-for-all tussle
in which Steve came off second best.
Trixie had come to him afterward, as
he sat at a table nursing an aching head,
and had called him her hero ; and, more,
she had brought Chip Emmett over,
and Steve and he solemnly shook hands
and celebrated the reconciliation with
more drinks, in which the Firefly
joined.
In the best of temper, then, Steve
insisted upon buying drinks for every-
body. Painted women and thirsty men
fluttered about him — fluttered about
him for the next day and the next week
— and he lost all sense of time and duty
and honor till a full month had £one
by and his last bit of gold dust had
been squeezed from his money belt.
Then, sober, but .dazed and unstrung,
they flung him out.
"Git I" said Ivory Wells. "When you
make your next pile, call again.''
And obediently Steve walked from
the dance hall. As he breathed in the
clear air, a sense of what had happened
came to him, startled him. A month
of his life gone like a puff of wind.
And the gold he had spent three years
searching for — gone, too! And his
mother
The thought of her stunned him. He
remembered that Wells had brought
him a letter from her — which he had
been too drunk to read and which he
had stupidly torn into pieces. He re-
membered, too, that some time during
the debauch a telegram had been
handed to him and he had thrust it in
his money belt under a momentary im-
pression that it was important. Fear-
fully he explored the belt, empty save
for a bit of crumpled yellow paper —
the telegram. With shaking hands, he
tore open the envelope. It was dated
two weeks ago and stated briefly :
Your mother died this morning at five
o'clock. Jake Cairns.
Steve staggered against the wall of a
building, a broken man. Pictures
The Aryan
237
formed in his brain — pictures that
brought him unspeakable agony. He
saw a gentle, frail old woman, dying,
her last thoughts of the boy who was
coming back to her. He saw his dis-
tant relative, Jake Cairns, standing
where he should have been — by his
mother's bedside.
"She might not have died if I had
been there," he whispered.
And then came the ghastly picture of
himself as he had been for the last
month, flinging about him the gold that
should have been his mother's.' Two
things had wrought his destruction :
drink and women. Women ! The word
echoed through his brain like an evil
chord. Women ! How he hated them !
They who had fawned upon him only
that they might fleece him. Chiefest
among them had been the Firefly, the
woman with the baby stare. And he
had bought their favor with his moth-
er's monev
The broken curse that welled up in
his throat gave way to a low-choked
snarl, a snarl that sounded the knell of
the Steve Denton that had been. There
was born in him a relentless hate for
womenkind. Soft, clinging things of
evil he pronounced them now. He
would deal with them as they deserved
to be dealt with. They had taken toll
of his heart, and he was resolved that
now they must pay.
An hour afterward, Steve's pony was
at the door of the dance hall. He dis-
mounted and strode into the room.
Unnoticed by the crowd at the gaming
tables, he made his way to a corner
where Trixie sat.
Her baby stare fell on him, and
amusement and scorn were written on
her face.
"You back again?" she drawled. "Did
you stick up somebody for his wad?"
"Xothing like it," he answered. "But
I've still got my pony, and I've bor-
rowed enough provisions to last me to
Devil's Hole."
"Coin' to hit the trail again, hey?"
"Yes, but I'm not going alone. Lis-
ten !" His dull brown eyes glowred with
"Don't you want to put up a little stake for the Firefly?"
238
The Aryan
a strange fire. There was something
in his manner that puzzled the Firefly,
frightened her. "I've been a fool," he
said.
"You have," she agreed. "The great-
est fool that's ever tumbled into the
Swinging Light."
"And you've helped me be just that;
you and women like you."
The Firefly laughed gayly. "You
compliment us, Steve. But I guess
you're right at that. You fell for the
baby stuff I pulled, just as if you'd
never seen a woman before." Feeling
more sure of herself now, the girl went
on, while Steve sat in somber silence :
"Remember how I came to you when
they got you to put up a little money
on the wheel? You weren't chucking
your dust away fast enough, and I
butted in. 'Don't you want to put up a
little stake for the Firefly ?' I asked you.
And you went to it like a bee to honey.
Went the limit, while I was tellin' my-
self: 'Gee, he's easy!' And that scrap
between me and Chip — that was a put-
up job to win your sympathy. And
you fell for that, too, you poor boob !
After that, it was just a fight between
us girls as to which of us could corral
the biggest share of your dust. But,
say, what are you doin' around here
again? Ain't you hittin' the trail?"
A moment he sat, stupefied by the
candor of the girl's words. Then he
leaped to his feet and clutched her arm
with a grip that hurt. "You have
damned me," he said, with lips drawn
back from his teeth. "But you'll never
have another chance to repeat. You
were a fair purchase." He laughed
hysterically. "And I bought you. You
are mine — body and soul. I did not
force the bargain. It was your own
offer. Perhaps you did not know what
it meant — few of your kind ever do.
I'm sick of maudlin tales of men who
wronged women. I know better now.
I know it is you and women of your
stripe who have ruined decent men.
And now you're going to be the first
to pay. I've got no further use for
you as a woman, but I'm going to see
that you never have a chance to throw
away a decent man's life again."
He spoke with a tense seriousness,
but without raising his voice, and the
Firefly plainly showed that his words
frightened her. But before she could
guess his intention, he caught her up
in his arms and carried her to the
street.
Then a realization of her peril came
to her. She struggled, sank her teeth
into his wrist. She screamed pitifully,
and he gave her back derisive laughter
in response.
His exit with the Firefly had been
made so quietly that few noticed him ;
but when the girl's screams rang out,
the men flocked to the sidewalk.
Steve did not stop to offer explana-
tion. He flung the Firefly onto his
pony, and, springing up beside her, gal-
loped clown the street. A few scattered
shots followed the fugitives, but they
went wild, and Steve and his captive
disappeared in a cloud of dust.
Pursuit was useless. His pony was
fleet, and he knew the trails to Devil's
Hole as few other men knew them. Out
across the desert he rode at top speed,
to draw rein only when he reached the
sun-scorched mountains of rock and be-
gan to pick his way carefully among the
canons.
In a pocket of the hills, not far from
where he had found the gold that had
been his undoing, he made camp. To
be more correct, the Firefly made it.
Sobbingly she did his bidding — built a
fire of dried branches and cooked the
beans he had brought with him.
When she refused to eat, he laughed
at her.
"Fine !" he cried. "A hunger strike !
I didn't think you had the courage. Go
as far as you like, so long as you don't
forget to see that I'm provided for.
The Aryan
241
trail and found her lying prone in a
little hollow a few feet below the rocky
path.
"She made me suffer," he said aloud
— not altogether pleased with himself,
for deep beneath his grief that had
driven him almost insane, he still had
the sense of justice characteristic of
the Aryan race. "She made me suffer,"
he repeated, "and it's only right that
suffering should come to her, too."
As he was about to lift the girl, some-
thing in the formation of the rocky soil
of the little hollow where she lay
caught his eye. He inspected it care-
fully, and then picked away till he dis-
lodged a fragment of rock. Running
through it was a fat streak of pay ore.
He had stumbled upon what zvas to be
the richest mine in the Territory!
Steve surveyed the ore coldly. With
the knowledge that he was again rich
came no elation — nothing but bitterness.
He turned and gazed at the crumpled
form of the girl.
"You have already begun to pay me
back," he said; "but this is only the be-
ginning." And, gathering her up in his
arms, he carried her back to the camp.
Devil's Hole — " 'way up in the moun-
tains, in behind the big sand rim" — was
a household word along the sparsely
settled Southwestern frontier; and, in
a day when there was no law and strong
men made their own code, Devil's Hole
was feared. Men spoke of it with awe,
and to the inquiring stranger would re-
count, with elaborate detail, the actual
and supposed doings of a crazed pros-
pector who, two years before, had stolen
a girl from Yellow Ridge and fled with
her to the mountains, where he had
found a mine of fabulous wealth.
There, he had slowly built up a town
of hate, a town made up of the off-
scourings of humanity, men and women
who lived without the law. Hate was
the watchword, the emblem of that hell
in the mountains, hemmed in by the
6
blistering desert. Hate summed up the
reason for its existence.
Here dwelt the strange, cruel man,
the Aryan, fair of skin, ruler of men,
hater of women. Here dwelt the
shadow of Steve Denton, sole owner
of the Devil's Mine. From time to time
shipments of ore came down the moun-
tainside and across the desert to the
frontier, shipments accompanied by
fierce men, outlaws, murderers, and
thieves, most of them half-breeds or the
worst type of Mexicans. The women
were most of them dance-hall girls,
picked up at various times by members
of Steve's gang. A slatternly company
of unfortunates, whose souls were dead.
Among them was Trixie, the former
magnet of the Swinging Light. No
longer the Firefly, but a ragged trav-
esty on woman, wrinkled, prematurely
aged, with matted hair and eyes long
dulled. Of all the women in the camp,
she was the only one who ever entered
Steve's home. And his attitude with
regard to her was that of master and
servant, of master and slave, indeed,
taking no thought of her as a woman
but as a household drudge.
Trixie shuffled into his room one day
with the report that a caravan of home-
steaders had camped at the foot of the
trail and had sought food and drink,
as their supply was exhausted.
Without speaking, Steve pointed to
a wall closet; and mechanically Trixie
brought down a bottle and glass and
poured him a stiff drink. He gulped
it, and for a long moment sat staring
vacantly at her. Then
"Homesteaders !" he said dreamily.
"Men of the type I might have been !
W^omen of the type you might have
been, Trixie !"
There was no gleam of interest in her
lackluster eyes. He rose and went out.
Along the unpaved street he paced,
buried in thought. Passing a drinking
hall, the sound of uproarious laughter
assailed him. He stopped and flung
242
The Aryan
open the door. Quiet settled on the
crowd. Steve strode across the rough
floor and flung himself into a chair. A
big, swarthy, shifty-eyed fellow, with
drooping black mustache, joined him.
This was Mexican Pete, his second in
command, as notorious a ruffian as ever
escaped the noose.
"What's this I hear about homestead-
ers, Pete ?" asked Steve.
"Trixie's been tellin' you, eh?"
''Never mind who told me. What
about them?"
"They're goin' on to a mile beyond
Yellow Ridge to take up a section of
gov'ment lands. Water an' chuck give
out. Sent a depitation for help."
"And you told them— "
"To drink all they wanted, but
wouldn't let 'em take a drop to their
women. Kinder thought that's
how yuh felt about women,
ain't it?"
"Women !" said Steve.
"They're vampires, all of
them. Let them die on the desert, if
they want to."
But an hour afterward, Steve Den-
ton was compelled to reverse himself.
He sat in the big chuck house, cynically
eying a dozen of the world's degen-
erates gulping coffee and making jest
of the plight of the homesteaders. Sud-
denly he found a girl in a dainty print
frock standing at his elbow. Scarcely
more than a child she was, with blue
eyes that sparkled with the wholesome-
ness of clean girlhood. A sunbonnet
had fallen back from her small, well-
formed head, and the sunlight made a
glory of her lustrous, fair hair.
He stared at her in bewilderment.
"Who are you? Aren't you afraid to
come here?" he rasped.
"Afraid? No," she answered, smil-
ing. "I belong with the homesteaders.
When our men brought back word that
you would not help us, I knew there
must be some mistake. So I came my-
self, and made them take me to the
chief man of the town."
"You made them take you ?" Steve
ejaculated.
"Of course." Again the bewildering
smile. "No one molested me." She put
her hand on his shoulder. "They told
me von were known as a bad man, but
The reflection showed a big, cruel-mouthed
man, who sat huddled up in a chair.
when I look into your eyes I cannot be-
lieve that. Please, please, vou will help
us?"
He brushed a hand across his fore-
head and rose stiffly. Without a word,
The Aryan
245
him to let no harm come to her friends
in the valley. Steve grasped the girl in
his arms, and bitter words tumbled
from his lips. But Mary did not trem-
ble. Instead
''Coward !" she cried, and, reaching
under his arm, plucked out his gun.
He dropped back from her, his hands
by his sides.
''Shoot!" he said bitterly. "I deserve
it."
What she said to him in response,
Steve has no clear remembrance. It
seemed to him she was driving home
the word "Aryan" with emphatic repe-
tition.
Within the next hour came the mir-
acle— the resurrection of the soul of
Steve Denton. He heard screams and
laughter, and, looking out, saw the nest-
ers of the valley being herded up the
trail.
Suddenly he turned to the girl, a
strange light flaming in his eyes. "You
call me an Aryan, and I'll show you
that you're right !" he exclaimed, and,
grasping the revolver from her, sprang
out to the defense of his race.
There was a fight. Two or three of
the outlaws had the hardihood to dis-
pute his authority. Steve could easily
have killed them, for he had a well-
earned reputation as a marksman. But
for some reason4 he contented himself
with "winging them" — rendering their
shooting arms useless.
There followed a parley, at the end
of which the mine was formally trans-
ferred from Steve Denton to Mexican
Pete, his second in command, with the
understanding that the homesteaders
were to be given food and shelter as
long as they wished.
And Steve joined the homesteaders.
Steve declares this is the most astound-
ing event in his life story. Many years
have gone since then, but the memory
of his setting out down the trail, hand
in hand with Mary Jane Garth, is still
vivid. He doesn't try to analyze his
feelings or explain why he, the owner
of a wealthy mine, should have given
it away because a girl insisted that he
was an Aryan despite his dark record.
He is content simply to dwell on the
eternally amazing fact that the girl be-
came his wife and that she still puts
her whole trust and confidence in. him.
Mary was a pretty forceful little per-
son, as Steve admits, and she made the
reclamation of Trixie her first enter-
prise. This accomplished, she was the
prime mover in an agitation that
brought law into Devil's Hole and made
it a city of progress and morals instead
of a den of vice.
There are two Steve Dentons now ;
one of them a chubby, sober-eyed
youngster who will some day under-
stand why his father is so persistent in
making the boy proud of the fact that
he is an Aryan.
THE LAWYER WHO LOST HIMSELF
H
E struck his brow ; he staggered back-
Impassioned was this barrister.
He heard a cry ; his soul grew black.
"Hey, there, it's joy you register !'
E. L.
VIOLA DANA was working very
conscientiously in a scene at the
big glass-covered Edison studio
when I arrived to interview her, and so
I sat quietly at one side and watched
her with interest, while she went
through the scene, and the clicking
camera registered her expressions— ex-
pressions that spoke louder than words
of the unhappiness of the girl-woman
character which she was portraying.
When the scene had been finished,
and I had been introduced to her, I
marveled that the tear-stained face
which had such a few moments before
been performing before the eye of the
world, should ever be wreathed in such
happy smiles.
"I don't like sad parts," she declared,
"because I always have to appear ever
so much more cheerful than I really am
after I finish playing them to keep my-
self from getting the blues."
"Then why do you always play the
part of the little girl who has so much
trouble in her young life?" I ques-
tioned.
"My directors say that is the only
part the people like me in," she an-
swered wistfully ; "they don't seem to
think I was meant to be happy, but I
am sure that I was, and I try to be all
the time. There isn't any reason why
all of us shouldn't be smiling most of
the time, in my estimation. There are
occasions, of course, when the brighter
side of life does seem far away, but
they pass ever so much sooner if we
make the best of them.
"I wish I were not so susceptible to
'gloom,' though, for everything that is
at all depressing makes me very down-
cast. I try never to appear that way,
though, and, as a result there is a con-
tinual war going on in my heart to keep
the smile on my face from being re-
placed by one of those woebegone ex-
pressions I see so many people wear-
ing, and which I dislike so much."
And this is typical of Viola Dana.
Her friends — and they number a legion
— know her as the sweet-sad, unaffected
girl that she is. Her heart is that of a
child, though her body is that of a
young woman. She is not an "actress"
in the cold sense of the word ; she is —
well, she is just as lovable little girl.
Her rise in the world of motion pic-
tures was remarkable. She started al-
most at the very bottom, but within a
few short months had risen to the
heights of screen popularity. Her suc-
cess in "The Poor Little Rich Girl"
on the speaking stage was marked, and
the character she portrayed will long
be remembered by those who saw it.
But I am getting ahead of my story,
for Miss Dana told me of her career,
and I will repeat her words to you.
"My ambition was to be a dancer,"
Just Viola Dana
247
she said, "but the Fates didn't seem to
favor me in this respect. I still love to
dance, and have been able to make use
of my training in this field in several
of the Edison features in which I have
appeared. I will never forget my first
dancing lessons. I wanted to do some-
nice, quiet family debate, and when the
matter had been fully considered I went
to dancing school."
A slight, roguish smile played about
her lips, as she paused, and I won-
dered if it was caused by thoughts of
Above, Viola Dana looking for trouble, and below, a snapshot of
the screen favorite and her mother. She is seen
to the right, in character make-up.
* i
thing that would be worth while, and,
as I was fond of dancing, I set my
mind on becoming a real artiste in this
line. I was only a little girl then, and
was, therefore, governed by my mother
and father. Mother favored my ambi-
tion, but father opposed it. We had a
the victory of mother and daughter over
father.
"I didn't find it very easy to learn
all the steps, my teacher wanted me to
in the beginning, and I certainly paid
the price for my stupidity, for she had
248
Just Viola Dana
a little ruler she used to tap my ankles
with.
"Parlor entertainments were my first
professional ventures, and I guess I
made a success of these, for I at once
developed a desire to go on the stage.
This I managed to do, after the trips
to the managers' officers, plus the heart-
aches which every beginner knows so
mm
Viola Dana as her family knows her.
well. My first engagement was as a
child with Dorothy Donnelly's 'When
We Dead Awake' company. This was
followed by three seasons in 'Rip Van
Winkle,' with Thomas Jefferson, and
a year and a half with Whliam Fa-
versham, in 'The Squaw Man.' After
that came a long training with the
Union Hill Stock Company, in New
York City. I returned to straight
drama again with Dustin Farnum, in
'The Littlest Rebel,' and later played
with WTilliam Courtleigh for some time.
A short and rather disastrous engage-
ment in The Model' company fol-
lowed, but it is to this play that I owe
my chance to play in The Poor Little
Rich Girl,' which, by the way, I liked
better than any of my other stage ve-
hicles. The author of
the latter saw me in
the other play, and
very kindly suggested
me to the man who
was to produce The
play as being the ideal
type for the leading
character."
I waited for her to
say more about "The
Poor Little Rich
Girl," but she didn't.
I guess there isn't
much need for my
writing much about
it, either, for all the-
atergoers remember
how she was hailed
a s "Broadway's
youngest star," and
how she lived up to
the prediction of the
critics that she
would be an un-
qualified success in
the role of the little
girl who had riches,
but lacked happi-
ness.
"After I had out-
she went on, "I found
myself with a week or so on my hands
before another role would be ready for
me. I had an idea that I would like
motion-picture work, and talked the
matter over with my mother — who is
my confidante and pal — and we decided
it would be worth trying, anyway. I
applied at the Edison studio, and didn't
try to make any impression with my
grown the part,'
Just Viola Dana
249
'stage experience.' I told them frankly
that I wanted to play small parts, and
that if I didn't like the work, I was
only going to remain a week or so. I
liked it, and remained, and here I am,
still working in the same studio, and
for the same company."
That was all she said about her pic-
ture work, and by this time I realized
it was, perhaps, all she would say about
it, for another of her very likable traits
is her absolute disregard of her achieve-
ments. Picture-play fans throughout
the country who saw Miss Dana in
''The Stoning," however, will long re-
member her work as being as realistic,
appealing, and clever as anything which
has ever been presented on the screen.
But she didn't mention any of these
things. Instead, she cleverly shifted
the conversation from herself to her
sister, who is known on the screen as
Leonie Flugrath, and who is also . an
Edison star. When she told of her sis-
ter's talent, and of the many fine parts
she had played, she was far more en-
thusiastic than when talking of her-
self. Leonie's work in "The Poor Lit-
tle Rich Girl," playing the part which
she herself had outgrown, especially
drew praise from Miss Dana, and she
spent some time in telling me how
much she had enjoyed seeing her sis-
ter play the character over and over
again.
At this point, John Collins, under
whose direction Miss Dana produces all
her pictures, came up and informed her
that she would not be needed for any
more scenes that day. We walked to-
gether to the bottom of the steps that
lead up to the dressing rooms, and she
left me, but not before she had made
perfectly clear to me the reason that
she captivates the hearts of all those
who see her on the screen, for when she
ran up the steps, I found myself stand-
ing at the bottom watching until her
little form disappeared around the cor-
ner of the landing.
TRIED OUT
ALAS, I'm not a "screen success,"
For, in the hero's strife,
I bow my head and must confess
I cannot save his life.
And when they burn a Western town,
And I am told to shoot,
I hold my weapon upside down,
While all the "cowboys" hoot !
I'm full of vim and vigor, too !
But managers just laugh
And say, "Your eyes are too light blue,
And will not photograph !"
So here I am — rejected — blue!
Less actress than a fan !
There's one thing, though, that I can do :
That's love the leading man !
Dorothy Harpur O'Neill.
JAMES SHERIDAN had two sons
— and Bibbs. True. Bibbs was
duly accredited as the offspring
of Mf. Sheridan, and was as much en-
titled to claim kinship with the great
capitalist as either of his brothers, but
when speaking of Sheridan's sons, peo-
ple thought only of Jim and Roscoe,
both excellent business men, chips of
the old block. Thev never thought of
Bibbs.
The principal reason for this was
that Bibbs failed to evince the slight-
est interest in the turmoil of business.
He could have told you more of Keats
and Shelley than of the mechanism of
the Sheridan automatic pump ; and yet
it was this same automatic pump that
had contributed largely to the immense
fortune piled up by his father, James
Sheridan, financial giant of the Middle
West, square-jawed, a bit uncouth, but
of strong personality ; a • man risen
from small beginnings, who, starting
with the philosophy that the world steps
aside to let any man pass who knows
whither he is going, had set himself
the task of making a million, and
proved beyond question that his philos-
ophy was right.
Bibbs disappointed him beyond meas-
ure. An anaemic youth, with slender
frame ; a dreamer, preferring books to
factories, setting thought above the dol-
lar, beauty above utility.
"You're lucky you don't have to hus-
tle for a living," his father scoffed
when he came into the library of his
ornate home one day and found Bibbs
bending over a half-finished "Ode to
Restraint." "When you get that rhyme
done to your taste, how much do you
expect to sell it for — ten dollars?"'
"I may never sell it, dad," answered
Bibbs, a smile in his big. serious eyes.
"But it gives me a lot of pleasure to
write it — to think it out."
"Huh ! When / think anything out,
you can bet your life there is money
in it," snapped his father ; "big money.
The Turmoil
251
I'll warrant you take half a day to
think out ten lines. Half a day! I've
made ten thousand dollars by half a
day's thought. Why don't you buckle
down like Jim and Roscoe and take a
man's interest in big business?"
"Those two brothers of mine con-
stantly amaze me," said Bibbs. "Jim
is the less surprise because he is un-
married. But Roscoe has an attractive
wife, and yet he gives less thought to
Sibyl than he does to the output of
automatic pumps."
"And quite right, too."
"I'm not so sure, dad. Sibyl, like
many other women, is liable to turn
for affection to the nearest man at hand
— Robert Lamhorn in this case — if Ros-
coe continues to be engulfed in the
turmoil."
"Rubbish ! I didn't come here to lis-
ten to a lecture on Jim and Roscoe—
from you, of all people. Pattern your
life by either one of them, and I'll take
my hat off to you."
"I'm afraid it can't be done, dad.
Money doesn't interest me. I mean
that literally. I am not posing. I
simply couldn't think figures and make
them my life interest."
"Too bad about you !" sneered James
Sheridan. "Well, if the money end
doesn't interest you, I'm going to insist
that the working end does. I'm just
about tired of your loafing, and I'm
going to turn you loose in the factory
and see if you can't get inspiration out
of the job of feeding pieces of zinc
into a machine to be cut into rings for
the automatic pump. You start work
Monday."
Every column of smoke that
streamed into the impure air of this
hustling Middle West city created by
James Sheridan was a column of joy
"Why, it was nothing but a great joke," Mary laughed.
252
The Turmoil
to him. It was Sheridan's smoke, he
was fond of telling himself ; coming
from Sheridan's fires, which turned the
Sheridan machinery that manufactured
the internationally known Sheridan
pump.
It had been a sparsely settled com-
munity of gentlefolks when he built
his first factory here. Since then, the
town had grown beyond belief. Rows
on rows of small houses took the place
of the winding country lanes. Villas
there were ; some of them cheap and
tawdry, many of them expensive and
still unlovely. Surpassing them all was
the flamboyant stucco mansion that
Sheridan had built for himself. He
was inordinately proud of this huge
building, and pointed with pride to it,
contrasting its magnificence with the
sober plainness of the old frame home
of the Vertrees family, whose estate
adjoined his own.
Yet of recent days had come a real-
ization that, while he had money enough
to buy a dozen such homesteads as that
in which Mr. and Mrs. Vertrees and
their lovely daughter Mary lived, the
Sheridans were outcasts so far as the
V ertrees society was concerned. "What
I want, I get," had been his favorite
bon mot; and he set himself to invade
the sacred social circle with the same
zeal that had made him famous in the
business world.
He began with Mr. Vertrees -himself,
a one-time successful holder of paying
stocks, who had been wheedled into the
purchase of paper in enterprises that
failed. In a pinch, Sheridan had helped
Mr. Vertrees, and he felt that he had
a hold on this gentleman of the old
school who despised the easy wealth
of Sheridan and his crudities of speech.
Mr. Vertrees and his wife and Mary
still presented a brave appearance to
the world, but they had mortgaged their
home and had to practice many an
economy to simulate prosperity.
Sheridan knew exactly how matters
stood in the Vertrees home, and he
laughed grimly as he thought of his
own treasure vaults. "Money is power/'
he told himself, as he got into his limou-
sine and ordered his man to drive him
to the Vertrees place.
The door was opened by a colored at-
tendant, and he registered a mental note
to dismiss his white door opener when
he returned and install a darky. Mr.
Vertrees was at home, and Sheridan
grasped the delicate hand extended in
greeting and gave it a squeeze that
made the dignified owner of the home-
stead wince.
"Howdy ! Just dropped in for a min-
ute's chat," boomed the big voice of
James Sheridan. "Been up to the neck-
in work, or I'd call oftener. Anything
I can do for you in the way of busi-
ness ?"
Mr. Vertrees shook his head. "Thank
you. You are very good," he said po-
litely.
"Don't mention it. Always glad to
help out. W e're neighbors, you know,
since I built my new hut. Pretty classy-
looking hut, too, eh? But, speaking
about neighbors, will you tell me why
my daughter Edith and your daughter
Mary shouldn't be friends? Now, that's
what I came over about. I want to take
Miss Mary along to call on Edith.
What do you say?"
"I'll bring the ladies in and consult
them — if you will excuse me." Mr.
Vertrees bowed and left the room, to
return presently with his wife, a frail
little woman with tired eyes, and his
daughter Mary, eighteen and lovely as
a flower.
"Kind of a reunion, isn't it?" said
Sheridan, shaking hands with fervor.
"I've not had much time to cultivate
society, but have just begun to realize
that I ought. So I brought the car
around for you, Miss Mary, and I'm
going to take you over to call on my
daughter Edie. You'll come, eh?"
"I am sure we thank you, Mr. Sher-
The Turmoil
253
idan," said Mrs. Vertrees stiffly. "But
Mary seldom goes out, and "
"But this is not a formal call, y 'un-
derstand. Just a little 'drop in,' so to
speak. What do you say, Mary?"
"Why, I think it would be fun. You'll
let me go, mamma?"
"Sure she will !" cried Sheridan bois-
terously. "I'll take good care of you
"Why, it was nothing but a great
joke to me," Mary laughed, when her
parents sternly demanded that she tell
them all about the visit. "Mr. Sheridan
is what they call a 'boss' in business
circles, and he tried to play the role
with me. He told me that he was plan-
ning my future for me ; and when I
grinned at him, he said I looked — what
"You take my breath away," she gasped. "I have only known you a few
'and bring you back in an hour. Now,
hustle !"
Mary smiled. And Mary's smile was
a thing to see and remember. It af-
fected James Sheridan in much the
same fashion as a check for seven fig-
ures. It radiated joy, and he knew that
however the misfortunes of the Ver-
trees family weighed upon the others,
Mary had been affected by them not a
whit. She ran off to dress for the call,
and a few moments later was ensconced
in his luxurious limousine.
Sheridan was as good as his word,
and within the hour he brought back the
smiling girl, bade her a vigorous good-
by, and waved his hand to her as he
was whirled off in the big car.
was it? — 'nifty,' and that I'd make the
loveliest daughter-in-law in the world."
Mr. Vertrees stuttered a horrified ex-
clamation, but his patient wife stopped
him with a gesture. "Mary," she said,
"you take life lightly, but it is a very,
very serious thing. You don't seem to
have changed an iota since the days of
our prosperity. Do you remember how
you used to plead with me to let Dinah
take you out in the victoria "
"Oh, yes, and when you finally con-
sented, I remember how you and papa
would come to the walk and deliver a
regular lecture to poor Dinah touching
on and appertaining to this yeah chile.
'Don't let Mary out of your sight for
one single instant !' I can hear you "
254
The Turmoil
"And I wish I could have some one
in charge of you now as I had then,"
said the mother.
"There is no need, mamma. I have
my serious moments, but I want to
smile my way through life. It almost
broke my heart when the carriages were
sold and I had to say good-by to good
old Dolly. But let's not think of sad
things. There is great happiness in
store for me — oh, very great happiness !
I am to marry Mr. Jim Sheridan, son
of the wealthiest man in the Middle
West."
"My child! Don't jest about mar-
riage," pleaded Mrs. Vertrees.
"It's only half a jest, mamma. That
is the real reason for Mr. Sheridan's
interest in me. His daughter is very
charming. One of his sons, Bibbs, is
an unknown quantity, for whose non-
appearance they made no apology. An-
other son, Roscoe, is married. But
the third son, Jim, is of vastly more
importance than any of the others.
Jim is a big, broad-shouldered man like
his father. The two of them have fixed
it all up. I overheard the dominant
James, junior, telling the dominant
James, senior, about me in one of the
rooms, the door of which they forgot
to close. You should have seen his at-
titude of determination. He doubled
his fist and — "She's a girl worth fight-
ing for," he declared, meaning me ; and
his dad nodded his head and hugged
his big son. 'It'll get us into the inner
circle of society,' says he- — only he
called it *'sassiety.' "
"But, Mary, this James Sheridan
hasn't proposed, has he?"
"Oh, no, mamma. This is just a
little peep behind the scenes I had while
scurrying along the corridors of the
great barn of a house. A surreptitious
listening-in, like a" telephone girl, but
the temptation was irresistible. I played
the inquisitive child, you know, and
scampered about unhindered. But what
do you think? I am the bearer of an
invitation for you and papa and myself
to dine with the Sheridans a week from
to-morrow, and ■ No, my dear,
don't say a word ; it is all settled. I
accepted on behalf of you both."
Mary Vertrees had represented the
possibility of her alliance with the house
of Sheridan as a subject for merriment,
but when at the dinner party the force-
ful Jim took possession of her as if the
matter were settled, her brows knit in
a frown of dismay.
James Sheridan, senior, beamed on
the young people who sat on his right,
and discoursed on the importance of
money with Mr. and Mrs. Vertrees,
who sat on his left.
The culmination came when the party
was on the point of breaking up. Jim
had drawn Mary Vertrees aside from
the groups in the reception hall, and,
without preliminary, offered her his
heart and pocketbook.
"I'm not a sentimental man," he told
her, "but my affection is deep. With
your beauty, you can marry almost any-
body. I know just about how your
folks stand financially, and you'll par-
don me for saying it. but you've got
to marry somebody with money. Well.
I've got the money. I am my father's
right-hand man, and I'll probably step
into his shoes when he quits. You see
how sensible a thing a union between
us would be. Come! Will you "
"Why, Mr. Sheridan, you take my
breath away !" she gasped. "I have only
known you a few days "
"That's true enough, but I only
needed a minute to tell me that you
were the girl for me. I loved you the
moment I saw you. Mary, what's the
answer?"
"Give me time — give me time," she
pleaded.
"What's the use of thinking any
more about it?" he asked. "You don't
love anybody else, do you ?"
"N-no."
The Turmoil
255
''Then marry me."
''Listen !" She caught his sleeve and
looked up at him through a mist of be-
wilderment. "I will give you your an-
swer within a week. That must satisfy
you. And now " She turned from
him, merriment dancing in her eyes, as
the elder James Sheridan came toward
her, offering a glass of wine. "And
now I'll give you a toast. 'Love and
laughter,' " she cried aloud ; and while
the others applauded and Jim held out
his arms to embrace her, she ran off to
join her parents in the anteroom.
" 'Love and laughter !' What did you
think of the toast, folks?" she de-
manded, as she drew her wraps about
her.
They did not answer. Mr. Vertrees
shook his head mournfully, and his
tired-looking wife regarded the ceiling
as if she saw written there a dire des-
tiny for her daughter.
On the tenth floor of the Sheridan
Building, Bibbs, the poet of the family,
was "doing his bit" as a feeder in the
machine shop. It was four in the aft-
ernoon, and Bibbs looked and felt
weary. A dreary business, this, he
thought ; indeed, everything connected
with business was dreary to him. A
lusty hand' fell on his shoulder, and the
big voice of his father boomed :
"Saw off, son, and talk to me for five
minutes. I've got to loosen up on
somebody. Did you hear the great
news ? About Jim and Mary Vertrees ?"
"Alary Vertrees?" said Bibbs. ''That
is the young lady in the beautiful old
mansion "
" 'Beautiful' is good," laughed Air.
256
The Turmoil
Sheridan. "It is a relic, very badly in
need of paint "
"But picturesque, dad. Compared
with our house, it is a genuine thing
of beauty."
"No accounting for tastes." The big
boss shrugged his wide shoulders.
"They're elegant people, the Vertreeses,
,and I'm putting one over by marrying
my son into society. Ever seen Miss
Mary? She's a pippin !"
"I have seen her," said Bibbs slowly.
"I caught a glimpse of her in her gar-
den one morning ; and she was not out
of harmony with the flowers. I — I
wrote a verse about her, dad. I called
her 'The Rose Maiden.' "
"Good for you ! We'll have it printed
on cardboard and put in a classy frame
and give it to the happy couple for a
wedding present. Great idea, what ?"
Bibbs flushed. "No, I wrote it for
my own satisfaction, dad, and I — #ell,
you wouldn't understand. But I don't
think either Jim or Miss Mary would
care for it."
"Nonsense, my boy ! I know what's
what. Well, I'm some little manager —
yes? Even when it comes to match-
making. I feel so good that I think I'll
promote you. Do you like work any
tetter ?"
"I am sorry to say I don't, dad. But
I'm trying to get your point of view;
trying to understand why you should
devote your life to the turmoil of get-
ting and spending."
"Keep on trying, son. You'll under-
stand by and by. . But don't overdo it.
You're not very strong. Better quit for
the day; I'll make it O. K. with the
foreman. Now I must run off and find
Roscoe."
In the suite of rooms set apart for
Roscoe Sheridan, there were half a
dozen men waiting to interview him.
His father smiled upon the group, con-
gratulating himself that at least two of
his sons appreciated the value of the
almighty dollar.
He pushed open the door of Roscoe's
private office, expecting to find his son
engaged with a caller. Roscoe was
alone — alone and sitting at his desk, still
wearing his overcoat and cap. His
hands were thrust deep in his pockets ;
snatches of a song were on his lips. A
half -empty bottle on the desk told its
own story.
His father stared at him in horror.
"Roscoe! My God!"
"'Lo. dad! 'Ave a drink?"
Mr. Sheridan took up the telephone
and called a number. "That you, Aber-
crombie? For God's sake, get down
here to Roscoe's office right away "
Out of his chair leaped Roscoe. He
clamped the receiver on the hook and
strove to wrench the instrument from
his father's hand.
"Don't disgrace me, dad." he pleaded
tearfully, one hand over the old man's
shoulder, the other grasping the tele-
phone. "I've been try in' to drown my
sorrows, 's all. My wife don't love me
n' more. Sibyl's a fine woman, yesshir,
but as a runnin' mate I'm 'way, 'way
off. She'sh taken up with Robert Lam-
horn "
"You're drunk !" thundered Sheri-
dan, and pushed Roscoe back into his
chair. "You don't know what you're
talking about."
" 'S all true, dad," muttered Roscoe,
somewhat sobered. "Sibyl and Lam-
horn are great pals. Only the other
night I came home and found them
drinkin' my Scotch. I felt like throt-
tlin' the fellow "
"Go on ! Tell me what you think
happened," said Sheridan wearily.
"Nothing. They filled a glass for
me, and Lamhorn said : 'Here'sh to our
friendship — mine and your wife's. For,'
says he, 'even if Sibyl's your wife,
she's not under obligation to renounce
her friends.' "
"I don't know what to make of your
drunken babblings, Roscoe. If any one
had. told me that you had let liquor en-
The Turmoil
257
slave you, I'd have knocked him down.
It was bad enough to see Bibbs turn out
a fool. Now you have turned out a
drunkard. I've only got Jim- — k"
"And Edith, dad. You've forgotten
my little sister, your spitfire daughter.
She's mixed up in the Lamhorn busi-
ness, too. Oh, don't swear like that.
It's beastly bad form, you know. Edith
has an eye on the fas'nating Lamhorn,
and I wish to the Lord she'd hook him.
But Sibyl isn't letting any fish get by
her net." He laughed boisterously over
his joke and went on maudlinly :
"Sibyl is calling on little Edie this
aft'noon, and they'll either be very
sweet to each other or very sour. Bet
it'sh worth your while to drop in, dad.
Good's a picnic, I'd take my oath."
Sheridan's man Abercrombie came in
at this juncture.
"Roscoe's been drinking," said Sher-
idan, without wasting words. "Take
him home and get rid of the men who
were waiting to see him."
It was a two-women circus that Sher-
idan floundered into when he ran up
the steps of his home and entered the
drawing-room. His daughter Edith
and his son Roscoe's wife, the festive
Sibyl, stood shaking a forefinger under
each other's nose, and seemed likely at
any moment to engage in a hair-pulling
contest. Mr. Sheridan sprang between
them and undertook to restore peace.
"Even if Sibyl's your wife, she's not under obligation to renounce her friends."
258
The Turmoil
''Let's talk it over," he said. "I be-
lieve in arbitration.''
As he separated them, both began to
pour their tales of woe into his ears.
"One at a time," he pleaded. ''You
first, Sibyl."
"Why, it's the most preposterous
story Edith has been spreading about
me." indignantly cried Sibyl.
"And it's all true, dad," interrupted
Edith. "She's not content with having
Roscoe for a husband, but wants to
He clamped the receiver on the hook and strove to wrench the in
strument from his father's hand.
keep Air. Lamhorn tagging at her
heels."
Sibyl laughed shrilly. "Isn't that
funny, father? Did you ever hear any-
thing funnier in the music halls?"
"You needn't try to laugh it oft."
countered Edith. "You know it's true."
"I know it's true that you'd give a
finger for the love of Robert Lamhorn,
and he doesn't "
"How dare you !'' flamed Edith, with
a menacing gesture.
''Now, now, don't come to blows, I
beg of you," Mr. Sheridan intervened.
"You are both very nice girls, and
there's been some small misunderstand-
ing that you are magnifying into a
mountain. This scamp Lamhorn isn't
worth a thought from either of you.
He's no good."
Both the girls began a heated defense
of the disturbing Lamhorn, but Sher-
idan decided that the discussion was
ended, and in no gentle fashion he took
Sibyl's arm and led her to the door.
"Cut out this wrangling!" he said.
"There's something of more importance
astir. Roscoe's been drinking. I left
him in my office al-
most stupefied. Ab-
ercrombie has taken
him home. Go to
him and do what
you can to win him
away from the
g h a s 1 1 v liquor
habit."
Sibyl expressed
no surprise. "I
might have thought
this sort of thing
would come," she
said. "He's spine-
less, and I supposed
3 ou'd have found it
out long ago."
Sheridan hardly
heard her. In si-
lence he watched
her go down the
steps. Then he shut the door and
wearily went to his own room.
Meanwhile, Bibbs had acted on his
father's suggestion and quit work for
the day. There was still fully an hour
of sunshine, and he gloried in the out-
doors, finding all the more satisfaction
in the thought that for several weeks he
had been shut in with machinery and
now he had for his own devices this
loveliest part of the day.
He stepped out briskly from the fac-
tory, glad to throw off the thought of
The Turmoil
259
business. As he passed the Vertrees
estate, he found himself slowing down
his pace till he came to an abrupt stop.
He stood looking over the low-
trimmed hedge, across the sun-flecked
lawn, bordered by rosebushes, to the
quaint old mansion, its many windows
reflecting the glow of the afternoon sun-
shine.
"I'm glad they haven't torn down
the splendid old homestead and built a
modern eyesore in its place/' he said,
and, unaware that he spoke aloud, he
was startled when a sweet, low-toned
voice made answer :
"I'm afraid our forefathers had a
fuller conception of beauty than we
have." As he turned to stare con-
fusedly into the glorious eyes of Mary
Vertrees, who had joined him silently,
the girl went on : "You are Mr. Sher-
idan—Mr. Bibbs Sheridan?"
He nodded and pulled off his slouch
hat.
"I have seen you, Mr. Sheridan, but
only at long range. You are either very
shy or you have done some terrible
things that make you stay in the back-
ground."
"It is not my sins of commission, but
my sins of omission, that are to blame,
Miss Vertrees," he said. "You are
right in both guesses, and it was my
shyness and love for my own society
that made me keep to my room while
you were making the acquaintance of
the rest of the family. But my chief
sin, in the eyes of my father and my
brothers, is that I cannot fire myself
with a great zeal for making money.
Isn't that enough to keep me in the
background ?"
"Quite enough," she smiled. "And
yet it is very interesting in these days
to meet a man who doesn't think of
dollars all the time. I am sure we are
going to be very good friends. Let's
call this an introduction."
He took the small hand she extended.
It lay in his palm for a brief moment,
and the touch of flesh on flesh sent a
thrill through him.
"I seem to know you very well in-
deed," he said hesitantly. "I confess 1
have watched you moving about this
lovely garden, and — and" — he laughed
confusedly — "I made you the subject
of some verses I wrote. I called you
The Rose Maiden.' "
Mary laughed unrestrainedly. "How
splendid !" she cried. "I never felt so
flattered in my life. Some day you
will show me the verses ?"
"Maybe," he said, with a certain dif-
fidence. "You see, I am trying to for-
get poetry and the finer things. My
father has insisted that I learn how to
make automatic pumps. I hate them,
but I am doing my best."
She smiled — that alluring smile which
had captured his father's heart and
which sent the blood to Bibbs' cheeks.
"You poor boy !" she said compassion-
ately. "I am in sympathy with you.
The talk of money-making all around
nauseates me, and I'm glad to get away
from it and think of other things. Po-
etry is your relaxation. Music is mine.
Just now, for instance, I am on my way
to a little chapel, where an organist, a
friend of my father's, an old German,
dreams over the keys for a half hour
before supper. Would you not like to
come with me and hear him?"
"Thank you." he said, and, turning,
he walked with her to the little chapel.
The old German was already on the
organ bench when they went in at the
side door, and, softly crossing the
transept, slipped into a pew.
The soul of the organ spoke to them
there in the darkened chapel. Eagerly
Mary Vertrees leaned forward, her
hands clutching the pew in front.
Caught in the spell of the music, they
drew closer together till their heads
touched. In sympathy, his hand cov-
ered hers on the rounded back of the
pew, and they sat thus silently till, in a
thunder of melody, the old organist
260
The Turmoil
reached his climax and lifted his hands
from the manuals.
They were strangely silent on the
way back. They had no need for
words, for in the quiet hush of the
chapel they had been stirred by the
same emotions and they felt a kinship
of souls that demanded no speech.
At the swinging gate of the Vertre.es
homestead, he left her.
"Thank you for
a n unforgettable
hour," he said.
She clung to his
hand. "Maybe you |
will come
\v i t h m e
again," she
whispered.
"I— I don't
know.''
He hesitated.
"You see,
dad insists
that I con-
centrate on
business, and
t h at means
giving up
every-
t h i n g else.
Don't you
see, Mary ?"
He used
h e r n a m e
uncon-
sciously, and
she flushed a
little, but did
not reprove
him. She waited, without speaking,
and he went on :
"I have heard that you and my
brother Jim "
She interrupted him: "Please don't
tell me what you have heard. I can
guess. But you never know what may
happen."
"Jim is a perfect tiger for work,"
said Bibbs. "I wish I were like him."
"I don't, Bibbs,
him abruptly.
she said, and left
will give
It was a two-women circus that Sheridan floundered mto
when he entered the drawing-room.
For the next few days, Jim Sheridan,
the younger, threw himself into work
with a diligence that astonished even
those of his friends who knew his ca-
pacity for hustle. Once or twice he
dropped business and thought of Mary.
He called at the Yertrees place
with the object of gaining per-
mission to announce his engage-
ment. Mary was noncom-
mittal, and avoided being
alone with him, though her
parents did
every-
thing that
was humanly
possible to
further the
young man's
plans.
"I have
told you that
1
you my an-
swer in a
week's time.
1 will write —
and, until
you hear
from me, I
refuse to con-
sider you on
any more in-
timate terms
than those o';
friend-
ship,'' she
told him, and from this position she
would not be moved.
Jim was content to wait, for he felt
there could be but one answer from the
girl.
Then came the second great blow that
left the elder Sheridan a mere shadow
of the forceful man he had been.
The week was almost up, and Jim
was looking forward to finding a letter
The Turmoil
261
from Mary when he reached home at
the end of the day. With enthusiasm,
he gave himself up to the planning of
a new wing for the factory. The steel
ribs were already sprawling into the
sooty atmosphere. Jim had climbed out
on one of the great girders to inspect
the work. It was fastened to a section
of the wing that was almost completed,
and Jim scrambled along the girder and
hauled himself up to the roof of the
section. It was a new-process roof — ■
a frail-looking thing, but represented
as being absolutely safe by the me-
chanical genius who had devised it.
The inventor himself was standing mid-
way of the roof, and Jim walked gin-
gerly across to him.
"It looks kind of shaky to
me," he said. "I shouldn't call
this roof capable of bearing
much strain."
The inventor laughed
business men are
fond of taking long
chances on financial
deals, but you hate
to have us mechan-
mured the words :
for the turmoil."
He gave his life
The weeks that followed were a
nightmare to Sheridan. Calamity had
followed calamity. His daughter Edith
had eloped with Lamhorn, and no word
had come as to their whereabouts.
Sibyl had separated from her husband,
and Roscoe had gone from bad to
worse, striving to forget his troubles in
a protracted spell of drinking.
"All I've got is Bibbs! God help
me
moaned the old man.
But if the terrible series of happen-
ings had their effect on fames Sheridan,
thev had still
m o
a s
founding ef-
f e c t s on
Bibbs. He
was stirred
He never finished
the sentence. The
roof shuddered be-
neath them, sagged,
broke ; there was a
roar as of many
waters, and the frail
thing collapsed, carrying Jim and the
inventor with it.
When they cleared the debris, they
found the inventor, dead. Jim Sheri-
dan lay with broken ribs, moaning piti-
fully. They carried him hastily to his
home, but the doctor's skill was un-
availing. In an hour the vigorous, hon-
est life of a truly great man had left
— Jim Sheridan, too, had died.
Broken-hearted, James Sheridan
stood looking down at the form of his
son. He bent his head forward, and
his whole soul spoke when he mur-
The soul of the organ spoke to them there in the chapel.
as nothing had ever stirred him by the
picture of his father, crushed, helpless
— a strong man who had lost his grip.
There was a 'coal grate in his room,
and he had a servant build a fire in it.
Then, when he was alone, he ransacked
his drawers for manuscripts and fed
them to the flames. Essays, articles,
stories, poems, ruthlessly he flung them
on the coals — all except a much-
thumbed sheet containing four verses,
headed "The Rose Maiden." This he
folded and put in his pocket.
He did not trv to analyze his feel-
262
The Turmoil
ings; he only knew that the joy of life
had faded from his father's eyes, and
that it was his duty to try to bring it
back.
The succeeding days brought amaz-
ing changes — changes that startled
James Sheridan even more than they
startled Bibbs. The dreamer became
the worker ; the boy who had been con-
tent to watch the whirling of the stars
and sing his songs of trees and babbling
"Nor did I, dad," answered Bibbs.
"But when Jim died, and you seemed to
collapse, of a sudden the turmoil caught
me in its embrace and — good-by to my
to the
clouds.
"Bibbs, my son, I once thought that
business was the only thing in the
world. It isn't. I begin to be afraid
that you "
"Don't worry, dad. I haven't lost
the sense of beauty, and I thank God
that, though I am plunged in finance
during the working day, I can still thrill
"He gave his life for the turmoil
brooks became the embodiment of big
business, the moving spirit in the manu-
facture and marketing of the Sheridan
Automatic Pump. He branched out
into new enterprises daringly ; and ev-
erything he touched turned to gold.
True, there was unlimited capital to
work with, and a skilled staff that was
ripe for his enthusiasm. Before a year
had passed, his father's surprise and
unbelief gave way to a vast satisfaction.
"I didn't think you had it in you,
Bibbs," he said one daw
spectacle of massed
crimson-tipped, in the
evening sky. That
sort of thing doesn't
appeal much to you.
dad, but there is one
other person in the
world who has the
same appreciation
for beauty that I
have — I mean Mary
Yertrees."
"Mary Yertrees?"
repeated the old
man, with a groan.
"Bibbs, has she ever
told vou about her
Jim ?"
"No. I spoke of
it once, but she
changed the conver-
sation."
"Vou did not
know that she had sent him a letter
just before he died?"
"No."
"I have it here. I opened it after
Jim was gone. I thought it might con-
tain some tidings that I had been wait-
ing to hear. It didn't." Then, with a
wan smile, as he delved into his pocket
and sorted out Mary's letter: "Read
it, Bibbs, and tell me what you think
of it." And Bibbs read:
Dear Mr. Sheridan : I have thought the
matter over carefully, and I have come to
The Turmoil
263
the conclusion that I must decline your pro-
posal of marriage. I like you, but I do not
love you. That is what I repeat to myself,
though I realize that such a union would
please our parents. I am in the unhappy
position of being the penniless daughter of
an aristocratic family; and you are in the
fortunate position of being the son of the
wealthiest man in the Middle West. It is
simply a case of money marrying into so-
ciety. This sounds harsh, but there are some
brutal things that must be said. I am sorry
for my father and mother, who are as anx-
ious for this marriage as are your parents — ■
particularly your father. But I will not sac-
rifice my happiness — and probably your own.
If we have to move from the old house, I
am willing; but I will not make a travesty
of what I consider the greatest thing in the
world — love.
You see, I am perfectly candid with you.
You and your father have apparently given
up your lives to the making of money. My
own ideals are entirely at variance with
yours. My belief is that the great achieve-
ments of life, in learning, science, art. litera-
ture, and all creative work, are much more
worth striving for, and produce vastly more
satisfaction than piling up money.
I hope always to remain, your friend,
Mary Vertrees.
"A wonderful letter," said Bibbs.
"Jim would never have understood it,
and I am glad he never received it.
Mary has the right idea — when men
lock up their lives for gold, the gold
key comes too late. I'd like to keep
the letter, dad ; it will help to keep me
sane amid the turmoil. Would it sur-
prise you to hear that I had grown
very fond of Alary?"
"I'm sorry to hear it, my boy, be-
cause I think you're doomed to disap-
pointment. \rou're a money-maker
these days, and Miss Mary turned Jim
■down on that very account.''
"Not on that account alone, dad, I
think."
Bibbs determined to put the matter
to the test without delay, and he went
over to the Vertrees mansion.
Mary greeted him, as always, with a
friendly handclasp.
"I want to talk to you very seriously
to-day," he began.
"I like you in your serious moods,"
she told him. "Come ! We will stroll
in the old rose garden, and you can tell
me what's in your thoughts."
He went with her through the rear
door of the wide hall and into the
shaded garden, sweet with the per-
fume of flowers.
"Now, Bibbs, what new, mighty proj-
ect have you come to talk to me about?
I hear you are a spectacular business
man, and I quite believe it. for I haven't
seen much of you of late."
"I was in danger of losing myself in
the turmoil, Alary, till I saw a letter
of yours."
"Of mine?"
"Yes, written to poor Jim. It came
on the day of his death. He never re-
ceived it, but my father showed it to
me only to-day, and it somehow pulled
me up with a jerk and made me ask
myself whether I was moving along the
right path. When Jim died, I deter-
mined on three things : First, to set
myself a goal, the goal of filling the
shoes of Jim and my unfortunate
brother Roscoe ; second, to lav aside
every weight, every impediment; third,
to get a proper equipment. I reached
the goal ; I have put away my attitude
of dreamer; I have mastered the science
of big business, have secured my proper
equipment."
"There is one other thing you should
have determined upon, Bibbs."
"And that?"
"To take a friend with you."
Shy eyes were gazing into his ; a
pulse was beating in the white throat
of the girl.
"Mary!" he gasped. "Do you mean
that you would be that friend?"
"More than friend, you poor, blind
Bibbs." Her hands reached up to the
lapels of his coat. She pulled his head
down and kissed him. "I know you
264
The Turmoil
"Mary, will you marry me?" he cried
breathlessly.
"If you promise to leave big business
once in a while and think of 'The Rose
Maiden/ "
JUST THE MOVIES
A HELTE RI N G- SKELTERI N G, laughing crowd,
Fashions Parisian, colors loud ;
Truncated skirts, and broidered sox,
Swarming around the ribbon box.
A rustle of greenbacks, music of change,
Faces expectant, joy within range;
Pulses hammering, eyes aglow,
Tumbling in through the gates, they go.
A Romeo and Juliet, a Jack and Jill,
Into the tropics, out of the chill ;
Diamonds in plenty, paste galore,
Love and blisses within the door.
A pretty-girl usher, a gripping chair,
Squeezing and jamming, and glad you're there;
Curtain uplifted, lantern a-flashing,
Canvas in motion, orchestra crashing.
A moan of anguish when blood is shed,
Terror and tempest in a screen of red ;
Hearts of sunshine and rainbow mist,
Villain conquered, maiden kissed.
A rattling of reel, ten thousand feet,
Ten thousand thrills in every seat ;
Clicking and breathless, hurrying through,
Bent on glory for me and you.
A drop of curtain, a sigh of regret,
Shuffling feet, crowding outlet ;
Rub-a-dub-dub, flare of the light,
Heltering-skeltering into the night.
Everett Leightox.
better than you know yourself, boy,"
she whispered. "You still have your
old ideals, but you need somebody to
help you to hold on to them in the tur-
moil."
MANY of my readers have writ-
ten to ask me what they can
do to assist the producers in
making better pictures, and I shall de-
vote this article to describing just how
every motion-picture-theater patron in
this big country of ours can do his or
her share.
First of all, I must consider the va-
rious types of people who attend the
performances in the homes of screen
plays. First, there is the ardent fan,
the person whose chief pleasure is
studying the movies, and whose hap-
piest hours are those spent in the, dark-
ened theater, watching the screen si-
lently unfold its stories through the
medium of the players' histrionic talent.
Then there is the person who enjoys
motion pictures better than the drama
or any like recreation, and who attends
the theater almost as frequently as the
ardent fan. Next comes the person
who ''drops in" and sees a picture
whenever nothing more important is on
hand, and who enjoys it in' a more or
less indifferent way. Then follows the
person who never fails to impress upon
those about him that the movies bore
him or her and who is seen at the the-
ater less frequently than any of the
other classes.
I have classed the motion-picture pa-
trons pretty generally in this outline,
not restricting my grouping to any par-
ticular social class, for my study of au-
diences and theaters has proven to me
that the richer classes attend entirely
different kinds of houses than do the
middle and poorer classes. These di-
visions of patrons I have mentioned are
to be found in each of the social classes
and are therefore a fair outline of
motion-picture-theater audiences as a
whole.
Considering these four types of pa-
trons, it is easily seen that the backbone
of this great industry consists chiefly
of the hrst two — this being written with
due regard to the other two classes and
the thousands they represent. The ar-
dent fan and the regular patron are the
ones who are closest to the producers,
and who are best in a position to help
them make better pictures. They are
the ones who see the defects in motion
pictures as a whole, as they attend the
theaters day by day and know what has
been used so often that it is no longer
attractive. If their voice could only
reach the ear of the producer, he would
gladly listen to them, and, by calling
upon the creative and artistic talent of
his players, remedy what is wrong and
supply that which they desire.
The fan wonders how he can raise
his voice loud enough to make the pro-
ducer hear; and the producer, who
266
The Public Pulse
knows the way but who has no time to
undertake the immense amount of detail
work incident to working it out, wishes
that the fan would discover the magic
trumpet. The film manufacturer is anx-
ious to know what his patrons want —
for therein lies his success. All that is
necessary is to speak to him on leaving
the theater or to write a letter to him.
Once the manager of a house knows
the general trend of his patrons' wants,
he will set out to supply them — if he
is a live manager. This he will do by
telling the film exchange — the renting
agency through which he secures his
programs daily — that he wishes them
to inform the producers who supply
them with films that such and such a
thing is not right, or that this or that
is very effective as a business builder
and should be used as a model in the
future. The exchange in turn commu-
nicates with its main office, and the
main office relays the request to the
manufacturer. The suggestion is
brought before the directors ; thus it
is that it goes into effect.
Do not think that I mean a single
request by a single fan, taken up by a
single exhibitor and then by a single
exchange, will have any weight with
the company ; for it very probably
would not. But were all the picture fol-
lowers who have the interest of better
pictures at heart to do their share, the
manufacturer would receive not one but
closer to ten thousand requests to do
certain things. The fact that so many
people should think the same way about
a thing may seem quite a presumption
to you, but it is a well-known fact that
the thoughts of the masses revolve
around a very few ideas in cases of
general appeal such as this.
Let us consider your viewpoint of
the matter now. Perhaps you think it
is the duty of the producer to supply
what you want, rather than to have him
appeal to you for suggestions. That is
true in a certain sense, but what if all
of the producers supply that which you
do not want ? You are not the only one
who is not pleased — there are thou-
sands who are just as displeased as you.
Then why not voice your sentiments
together? It is but little energy ex-
pended on your part, and the result
will allow you to go to the theater later
and see that which you desire.
Personally I get no end of enjoyment
from attending theaters and seeing pic-
tures of other companies and of learn-
ing all that I possibly can about vari-
ous players whom I do not know
personally but whom I have seen on the
screen. Really I am decidedly an ar-
dent fan, and am an admirer of this
class of picture-play-theater patrons.
The study of the screen for pleasure,
and the learning of its various ins and
outs through wrhat is written about it
is one of my hobbies. This is quite
apart from my studio work, and I am
just like any of you, my readers, in this
respect. I leave my motion-picture
work behind me when I leave the stu-
dio— unless it requires special attention
at home — and follow the screen, its
plays, and its players merely as a di-
version. Learning what I can about
this great art just as any outsider would
— for the joy the knowledge brings me.
But I am letting my enthusiasm on
the subject carry me away from my
theme. There is one thing more I
wished to mention in this article, and
that is a brief sketch of some of the
things which are puzzling the film com-
panies to-day. These I shall run over
briefly and without much detailed ex-
planation. First comes the question of
whether or not the public likes to be
shown long or short pictures. That is,
wrhether they like a film of the one, two.
or three-reel variety better than they do
a five-reeler or one which runs even
longer. Of course, we all realize this
depends upon the story, acting, direc-
tion, elements with a direct influence in
The Public Pulse
267
cases of particular pictures ; but the
problem deals not with particular pic-
tures, but with pictures in general. Ask
yourself honestly what length you
would prefer to have a picture run in
order to get the most enjoyment out
of it, and then convey your decision to
the manager of your favorite theater.
The other questions, which can effec-
tively be dealt with by each of you in
the same manner, are the value of com-
edy on a program, the variety of which
a program should consist — such as a
society drama, a mystery story, a good
comedy, and so forth — and the thing
you believe deserves the most attention
because of its lack of quality at the
present time; whether, in your opinion,
improvement should be made in the
plots of the stories, the acting, the di-
rection, the photography, the subtitling,
or any of the other component parts
which go to make up a picture.
These are only a few of the problems
you can help the producer to settle.
There are many others which will pre-
sent themselves to you as you sit in
your favorite theater and see the pic-
tures flit before you on the screen.
Let's all get together and see if we
can't work shoulder to shoulder for
better pictures, and let the manufac-
turers feel the public's pulse in regard
to his productions.
CAPTURING CHARLIE CHAPLIN
By outbidding all other concerns, the Mutual Film Corporation succeeded in securing Charlie
Chaplin's signature to a contract calling for him to act for Mutual. Chaplin is seen here sign-
ing the document which gives him an annual income reported to be neaiiv seven times that of
the President of the United States. John R. Freuler, president of the Mutual, is on the left, and
Sid Chaplin, Charlie's brother and business manager, also a well-known comedian, is in the center.
HENRY believed in law and or-
der. I did, too. -But they
wouldn't let us have it that
way. From this day on I'm goin' to
raise my boy to kill Hollmans !"'
Standing beside the mound of fresh
earth that marked the grave of husband
and father — victim of a Kentucky
mountain feud — the arm of the mother,
resting on the thin shoulder of her ten-
year-old son, tensed as she uttered these
words that dedicated her boy to a life
of vengeance.
As the father had lain dying from
the rifle wound delivered by an am-
bushed assassin, he had pointed to the
gun that hung above the hearth, and
the boy, young as he was, had nodded
and understood, for the blood of the
feudist ran strong in his veins.
One hundred years before his time,
two pioneers had come into the moun-
tain country and settled, one on the
banks of a brook that he called Misery,
because he was racked with rheuma-
tism ; the other by a tinkling stream that
he named Crippleshin, in commemora-
tion of a wound caused by a slipping ax.
Friends and comrades, they had made
their homes and founded each his race
there in the heart of the Cumberland
Mountains. Just what had been the
origin of the South-Hollman feud, none
of the present generation could have
told — whether a boundary line, or a dis-
pute over a wandering pig — but for fifty
years, with the exception of a few short
intervals of peace, lives had been
snuffed out like candles by the descend-
ants of the men who had come as com-
rades into the unsettled district.
Wearied and worn by the constant
vendetta, the widow had survived her
husband but two short years, and the
boy who was destined to become the
chief of the South clan grew up in his
Uncle Spicer's family, in an atmosphere
in which sudden death ever hovered
among the laurels. At twenty years of
age, Samson South had not yet "marked
down" the men who were responsible
for his father's killing, but his vow of
vengeance still burned strongly within
him.
The other faction of the feud was
led by Micah Hollman, who had estab-
The Call of the Cumberlands 269
lished himself in Hixon, the county
seat, and had gone into trade and poli-
tics. Across the street from the court-
house stood a large frame building, on
whose front was emblazoned the leg-
end, "Hollman's Mammoth Depart-
ment Store." To his title of store-
keeper he added that of magistrate, and
as Judge Micah Hollman he had be-
come a power in the county. No wheel
of commerce turned without a nod from
him, and he held the officers of the law
like puppets in his hands. And around
about him in the mountains there dwelt
the underchiefs of his clan, the Pur-
vys, the Asberrys, the Hollises, and
the Daltons.
Over across the mountain ridge that
had come to be known as the di-
viding line between the feudists
lived old Spicer South, the leader
of the South clan until his nephew,
Samson, should take command
Into this community of feudists there
came, one day, George Lescott, an art-
ist, from New York, with his paints and
his canvases, and it was this man from
another world who was to awaken in
the mountain boy that soul that was
to triumph over ages of primeval in-
stincts.
Lescott had wandered into the wilds
of the mountains on a sketching trip,
and had slipped and fallen from a high
rock, fracturing his arm. He had awak-
ened from the coma that had followed
his fall to find himself gazing into the
eyes of what, to his semiconscious
mind, seemed a nymph of the mountain
woodlands. She was scarcely sixteen,
but glorious in the bloom of mountain
Less than an hour later George Lescott, accompanied by Samson and Sally, rode down the mountain.
270 The Call of the Cumberlands
youth. Her coarse red calico dress,
brier-torn and patched, hung closely to
her lithe limbs, and beneath the short
skirt peeped small bare feet.
"Hello !" said the half-dazed artist.
"I seem "
"I reckon yer must have fell often
that rock." murmured the wood sprite.
"I am sure that I might easily have
fallen into worse circumstances, " said
Lescott, striving to raise himself upon
his broken arm. and falling back with
a wince of pain. And then he realized
for the first time that his left wrist was
bandaged in a wet red cloth, strongly
resembling the coarse fabric of the
nymph's torn petticoat. His head, too,
ached, and his hair was wet, as if some
one had bathed it ; and he knew instinc-
tively that the beautiful wild creature
who was looking down at him with
grave eyes had been the good Samari-
tan.
"May I ask to whom I am indebted
for this first aid to the injured?" he
inquired.
"I don't know what ye means," re-
plied the girl, eyes and lips sober.
Unaccustomed to the gravity of the
mountaineer in the presence of stran-
gers. Lescott feared that he had of-
fended the girl by his form of speech.
"Why," he laughed good-naturedly,
''I mean who are you?"
"Oh, I hain't nobody much. I lives
over yon."
"But surely you have a name?"
"Yes," nodded the girl. "Hit's Sally
Miller. How'd yer git hurt?"
''I was painting, up there, and stepped
backward to look at the canvas."
"You just wait where you are. an' I'll
fotch Samson an' his mule." said the
girl. Then she turned away quickly and
disappeared in the woods.
Climbing up steep and tangled slopes,
and running swiftly down, the girl has-
tened on her mission until she came to
a clearing on the mountainside, where
Samson South sat on a rail fence gaz-
ing absently at the outstretched pano-
rama before him. His feet were bare,
and his jean breeches were upheld by
a single suspender strap. Pushed back
on his head was a battered straw hat.
and from under its broken rim along
lock of black hair fell over his forehead.
In dress and appearance he was a typi-
cal Kentucky mountaineer, but his face
was strongly marked by individuality.
Against the fence rested his aban-
doned hoe. while within easy reach of
his hand was propped a repeating rifle,
although the present truce in the South-
Hollman war had now been unbroken
for two years, and it was said that no
clansman need go armed. It is doubt-
ful if the dreaming eyes were as cog-
nizant of what they saw as they were
of the things that his imagination was
picturing far beyond the haze of the
mountains' rim. The soul of the artist
within him was struggling upward.
"Hello, Samson!" called the girl, as
she made her way up the steep decliv-
ity.
The young man brightened up, and
greeted her as lovers do, but when she
had told him of the plight of the artist,
and urged him to get his mule and
''fotch" in the injured man, his face
darkened.
'"This hain't no fit time to be takin'
in folks we hain't acquainted with." he
said sternly.
"Why hain't it?" demanded the girl,
and then her eyes fell on the rifle, and
they filled with apprehension. She
crept close to him, and her voice sank to
a whisper as she asked :
"Aire the truce busted?"
"No, Sally, hit hain't jest ter say
busted, but 'pears like it's right smart
cracked."
"This here furriner hain't got no
harm in him, Samson." pleaded the girl.
''He's real puny. He's got white skin,
an' paints pitchers."
A glow came into the young man's
eves at the last words.
The Call of the Cumberlands 271
"Paints pitchers?" he demanded.
"How do you know?"
"I seen 'em. He was paintin' one
when he fell offen the rock."
Samson promptly slipped down off
the fence and rounded up his mule.
Less than an hour later, George Lescott,
astraddle of the beast, and with Sam-
son and Sally carrying his impedimenta,
rode down the mountain to the home
of Spicer South, where, in the rapidly
falling darkness, the forms of several
men could be distinguished dimly.
Samson helped Lescott to dismount,
and assisted him to the doorstep. Then
he turned to his uncle, to whom he ex-
plained the situation. The old man
nodded, but with evident annoyance.
"Where wuz ye last night ?" he de-
manded.
"That's my business," replied Sam-
son promptly.
"Maybe hit hain't," replied the old
mountaineer gravely. "Have ye heerd
the news?"
"What news?" asked the young man,
with apparently little interest.
"Jesse Purvy was shot this morning.
He hain't died yit, but his folks have
sent to Lexington fur bloodhounds."
Samson's eyes smoldered with hate.
"I reckon he didn't git shot none too
soon," he said slowly.
"Samson," said the old man gravely,
"when I dies ye'll be the head o' the
Souths, but so long as I'm runnin' this
hyar fam'ly I keeps my word to friend
and foe alike. I reckon Jesse Purvy
knows who got yore pap, but up till now
no South hain't never busted no truce."
"Aire you-all 'lowin' thet I shot them
shoots from the laurel?" inquired Sam-
son quietly.
One of the men who were gathered
in the dooryard now spoke :
"In the fust place, Samson, ef ye
did do hit, we hain't a-blamin' ye —
mu' h. But I reckon them dawgs don't
lie. an' ef they trails in hyar, ye'll need
us. Thet's why we've come."
272
The Call of the Cumberlands
That very evening, bedecked with a full-dress suit, Samson was introduced to Lescott's
circle of friends.
In the thickening gloom, Samson
faced the gathering. His eyes flashed
with deep passion, and his voice
throbbed with the tensity of bitterness
as he said slowly :
"I know'd all 'bout Jesse Purvy's be-
in' shot. Jesse Purvy hired somebody
to kill my pap, an' I promised my pap
Pel find out who thet man was, an' thet
Pd git 'em both — some day ! So help
me God Almighty, I'm a-goin' ter git
'em both — some day ! But I didn't do
the shootin' this mornin'. I hain't no
truce buster ! Ef them dawgs come
hyar, an' ef they hain't liars, they'll go
right on by hyar ! I don't allow ter
run away. Thet's all Pve got ter say
ter ye !"
Spicer South nodded, with a gesture
of relieved anxiety.
"Thet's all we wants to know, Sam-
son," he said.
The next day the hounds came, and
with them came the Hollman clan. As
they rounded a turn in the road, the
impatient dogs in leash, they halted in
amazement, for, while the hounds
yelped, Samson South sat calmly on the
top step of the stile, and beside him
stood his uncle. But in the cabin, eight
men rested on their arms, ready for
action.
"Ye're plumb welcome to let them
dawgs loose an' let 'em ramble,'' said
Spicer South affably to the Lexington
man who held them in leash. "But I
sees some fellers out ther thet mustn't
cross my fence."
There was a murmur of astonish-
ment from the road, for the Hollmans
were firm in their belief in the guilt
of Samson. The leashes were slipped,
and the dogs leaped forward. They
made directly for Samson, who still sat
unmoved on the stile.
And up the hillside, out of sight of
those below, Sally Miller watched the
scene, with bated breath and hands
clenched until the nails cut into the
flesh.
The dogs clambered over the stile,
one on either side of the unmoved Sam-
son. They circled around the yard, and
then climbed back over the fence.
Jim Hollman turned a black face to
the owner of the dogs as he rejoined
the group in the road.
"Them dawgs o' yourn come up Mis-
ery a-howlin' !" Hollman shouted. "On-
less they're plumb onery no-'count curs,
they come fur some reason. Ax them
fellers who lit out afore we got hyar!"
Until that moment, none of the"
Souths had noticed that Tamarack Spi-
cer had slipped away. Spicer South"
started to reply to Hollman, but Samson
The Call of the Cumberlands 273
stopped him with a slight nod of the
head, and back over the ridge the Holl-
man clan rode.
The days passed uneventfully after
that. Lescott, his left arm in a sling,
returned to his painting, and, much to
old Spicer South's disgust, Samson be-
came the daily companion of the artist,
for whom he had formed a strong at-
tachment. He carried his canvases and
his easel, holding his palette while he
worked. And all the while the soul of
the young mountaineer was struggling
nearer and nearer to the surface.
One afternoon. Lescott was painting
a scene that swept away over a valley
of cornfields to a range of tumbling,
distant mountains. He had just blocked
in a crude sketch, when Samson, who
had been eagerly watching him, broke
out abruptly :
"I'd give 'most eriything ef I could
paint that \"
"Try it," said Lescott, smiling; and,
rising from his stool, he handed Samson
the sheaf of brushes.
For a moment the young man hesi-
tated. Then, with set lips, he took the
artist's place, and fitted his fingers
around a brush as he had seen Lescott
do. He asked no advice, but, after gaz-
ing for a time at the scene before him,
he dipped a brush and experimented
for his color. Then, without hesitation,
he went to sweeping in his primary
tones.
For an hour the young mountaineer
worked, each moment gaining new con-
fidence, when suddenly he was inter-
rupted by a loud shout of derisive
laughter. The men looked quickly
around to find themselves surrounded
by a group of scoffing mountaineers of
both sexes and all ages. Among them
was Tamarack Spicer, whose eyes were
bloodshot from hard drinking.
"Ladies and gentlemen," announced
Tamarack, in a loud and hiccuppy
voice, "see the onlv son of the late
8
Henry South engaged in his mar-vel-
ous occupation of fancywork !"
A low murmur of laughter rose from
the crowd at the remark. Samson
reached for the palette knife, and
scraped his fingers. Then he rose de-
liberately and walked slowly to where
Tamarack was standing. Suddenly his
fist shot out. Tamarack's head snapped
back as he staggered into the arms of
the men behind him. The laughter of
the crowd died away as quickly as the
leader's speech.
"Git him on his feet! I've got some-
thin' ter say ter him !"
Samson's voice was dangerously
quiet.
They lifted his fallen cousin, who
showed no desire to continue his "amus-
ing" remarks.
"Why wuzen't ye hyar when them
dawgs come by?" demanded Samson.
"Why wuz ye the only South thet
runned away ?"
"I didn't run away!" flared Tama-
rack. "I went over into the next county
fur a spell. I wuz afraid I'd do some
hurt to them Hollmans when they wuz
a-stickin' their noses inter our busi-
ness."
"Thet's a lie !" said Samson. "Yer
runned away, an' ye runned in the wa-
ter, so them dawgs couldn't trail ye !
Ye done hit because ye shot Jesse
Purvy — because ye are a truce-bustin',
murderin' bully, thet shoots off yer
mouth an' is a-skeered to fight ! I've
knowed all 'long thet ye wuz the man,
but I kept quiet 'cause ye are my kin.
Now I'm goin' ter tell the high sheriff
thet the Souths spits ye outen their
mouths ! Take him away !"
When they had gone, Samson seated
himself at the easel again and calmly
picked up the palette.
After this incident there was no fur-
ther attempt made by the mountaineers
to discourage the artistic bent in Sam-
son, and finally, one day, Lescott
274 The Call of the Cumberlands
Then, at an art school, his study was rounded out.
broached the subject that for some
weeks he had been revolving in his
mind.
''Samson," he said, "you are wasting
yourself. I want you to come East and
study with me. You have too great a
talent to neglect."
The young man remained silent as he
looked away, seemingly taking counsel
with the hills.
"Hit's what I'm a-honin' fer," he said
finally. 'T'd give half my life to do
hit. I kin sell my land and raise the
money."
Then his eyes fell on his rifle, resting
against a tree, and his lips tightened.
"No," he said, shaking his head as
he picked up the gun. "Every man to
his own place. This here is mine."
But Lescott was not satisfied. He
came unexpectedly upon Sally one day,
returning from her milking.
"Miss Sally," he said, a sudden in-
spiration coming to him, "I want to talk
to you."
"Well?" said the girl, who was al-
ways grave and diffident with him.
"I've discovered something about
Samson," he began, but the girl's eyes
flashed dangerously. "Oh. it's some-
thing nice," he hastened to add.
"Ye don't need ter tell me, then,
'cause I knows it."
"He's a genius," said Lescott, smil-
ing. "He has great gifts — great ability
to become a figure in the world. I want
to take him back with me to - Xew
York."
The girl clenched her brown hands,
her bosom heaved, and her eyes blazed
with anger.
"Ye hain't !" she cried. "Ye hain't
a-goin' ter do no sich thing!"
Lescott waited for her to grow
calmer, and then he said softly :
"You don't understand me. Miss
Sally. I'm not trying to take Samson
awav from you. Every man needs his
chance. He cannot only become a great
painter, but he can come back equipped
for anything that life offers. He needs
an education, he needs to grow. I only
want him to go with me for a while
and see something of life."
The Call of the Cumberlands 275
The girl dropped on a rock, with a
sudden sob, her defiance suddenly giv-
ing way to her finer emotions.
"Think it over," said Lescott kindly,
"and see if your heart doesn't say that
I am Samson's friend — and yours."
Sally thought it over — thought it
over with pain and sorrow, but with a
true and open mind, and when Samson
went to see her that night, at the Widow
Miller's cabin, he found a miserable and
dejected-looking girl sitting on the stile.
As he approached her, she looked up
and asked abruptly :
"Aire ye goin' away, Samson?"
"Who's a-been a-talkin' to
demanded angrily.
"Hit hain't nuthin' ter git
mad about, Samson," she
said gravely. "The artist
man 'lowed as how ye had
a right ter go down ther an'
git an edication. I thinks
ye had oughter go, Samson.
There hain't nuthin' in these
hills fer ye. Down there
ye'll see lots o' things thet's
new and civilized an' — an'
lots o' girls thet kin read an'
write."
Samson reached for the
girl's hand, and whispered:
"I reckon I won't see no
girls thet's es good es you
be, Sally," he said softly.
"Honey, I reckon ye knows
thet whether I goes or stays,
we're a-goin' ter git married."
"You're a-goin' ter think different
after a while," insisted the girl. "When
ye goes, I hain't a-goin' ter be expectin'
yer ter come back, but I'm a-goin' ter
be hopin'."
"Sally," said the young man ear-
nestly, "don't ye see thet I wants ter
oughter do hit," said the girl wearily.
And so it was that one day, not long
after George Lescott had returned to
his home in the East, that he received a
message, in the form of a telegram, an-
nouncing that Samson was on his way
to New York ; and on the following
morning — the day set for the arrival of
the mountaineer — the artist received
another message, in the form of a tele-
phone conversation with the police of
the MacDougal Street station, announc-
ing that Samson had arrived and was
safely locked up for assaulting an
who had tried to take his
away from him'.
chance? Can't ye trust me?
a-goin' ter try ter 'mount ter
I'm plumb tired o' bein' just
onery an' no 'count."
"I've done told ye thet I thinks ver
have
r
somethin'.
At home he also worked, using Adrienne as a subject.
"Snappy work!" said Wilfred Hor-
ton, an admirer of Lescott's sister Adri-
enne, who happened to be present when
the artist made the startling announce-
ment to the family, all of whom were
looking forward with great interest to
meeting the "Barbarian," as Horton
called the mountaineer.
Lescott, whose influence was consid-
erable in the city, had little difficulty
in. obtaining the release of Samson,
whom the artist took at once to the
building1 where he had his studio, and
276
The Call of the Cumberlands
where he had had apartments fitted up
for him.
That very evening, bedecked with a
full-dress suit, Samson was introduced
into Lescott's circle of friends.
In the melting pot of New York, the
line ore, in the shape of the mountain-
eer's youth, courage, and brains, soon
showed its value, and he began to adapt
himself to the changed conditions of
his life. His starved mind reached out
in every direction. He said little, but
saw much, and bolted every morsel of
enlightenment. Lescott set him at work
at once to toil and sweat over the primer
stages of drawing, and several months
were spent laboring with charcoal and
paper over plaster casts in Lescott's
studio, while Lescott himself played in-
structor. Then, at an art
school, his studv was
rival that Samson was able to aid Adri-
enne and prove at the same time that
his thoughts had not been diverted from
Sally to her. Wilfred Horton, whose
love for George Lescott's sister was
kept no secret, was active in political
circles, and his opponents noticed, with
interest, the apparent intimacy between
Adrienne and the struggling young
artist, who were often seen together.
Hitting upon a plan, they invited both
to a dinner party and incited Wilfred
with jealousy by stories of Samson's
love for Adrienne. At the table the
conversation carried on by the poli-
ticians aroused Wilfred's anger, and,
blind to the facts in his wrath, he in-
sulted Samson. But the young moun-
taineer was quicker to understand the
situation, and, instead of
venting his anger on
Wilfred Horton,
as the plot-
He seized one of the party and thrashed him soundly.
hours, he also worked, using Adrienne
as a subject.
In the evenings, Samson turned with
insatiable brain hunger to the volumes
of instructive reading that Lescott
brought to him. Very rapidly great
changes were wrought in the raw mate-
rial that was called Samson South.
It was a few months after his ar-
ticians had hoped, he seized one of the
party responsible for the insult and
soundly thrashed him. Then, turning
to Wilfred, he said slowly :
"Come out of this ! You should have
been able to see through the scheme.
It was plain. I am not in love — with
your sweetheart — there is a little moun-
tain girl who can prove it."
The Call of the Cumberlands
277
The months passed into years, and
still the time rolled on, and down on
the banks of Misery the glorious colors
of Indian summer came and went.
Samson had
sent Sally a
few letters,
plainly
printed, s o
that she
might spell
them out her-
self without
the aid
outsiders,
love you"
words
of
"I
are
that
are easy to read in
almost any lan-
guage, and these
he always wrote.
And Sally had
not been idle,
either
long winter
During the
even
ings she struggled
with slate and
spelling book, and
when she had mas-
tered the easier
lessons by herself
she started to
school.
One winter t hex-
laid the Widow
Miller away in the
ragged burying
ground, and, when
the
"Yes," he answered soberly.
:'And yet you haven't gone back."
"No; but I soon shall."
"Is it necessary to throw your life
away ?"
"I must go
back — not to
relapse, but
to be a con-
struetive
force. I must
carry some of
the outside
world back to
Misery."
George Les-
cott, who had
just come from
town, joined them
at this point.
''Here is a letter,
Samson," he said.
"It arrived as I
was leaving the
studio."
He handed the
velope, and, with
an apology, Sam-
son tore it open.
His face turned as
pale as marble.
This is
read :
what he
summer vaca-
tion came, Miss
Grover, the school-teacher, came to
spend the time with the lonely girl.
Samson had just returned from a
year of art study in Paris when the call
of the Cumberlands came. He was
standing with Adrienne in the pergola
of the Lescotts' summer home on Long
Island.
"Are you ever homesick, Samson?"
asked Lescott's sister.
"Did vou think I wasn't coming back?'
Dear Samsox : The
truce has been bro-
en. Tamarack Spi-
cer has killed Jim
Asberry. and the
Hoilmans have killed
Tamarack.
Uncle Spicer is shot, but may get well.
There is nobody to lead the Souths. I am
trying to hold them down until I hear from
you. Don't come if you don't want to — bu:
the gun is ready. With love. Sally.
"No bad news, I hope?" said Lescott,
noting the expression on Samson's face.
"Bad news!" he cried. "No! The
war is on again, and I'm needed!''
He caught the first fast express, and
278 The Call of the Cumberlands
'I want you to learn to love her," he said meaningly.
iii thirty-six hours was in Hixon. On
the green river bank was spread a
tented street of the State militia, who
were on the scene and ready for action.
No one recognized Samson, and he
hired a horse at the livery stable. In
two hours he dismounted at Jesse
Purvy's store. As he was mounting the
steps, angry voices within halted him
suddenly.
"I've been yore executioner fer
twenty years," complained a voice,
which Samson recognized, with a start,
as that of Aaron Mollis. "I hain't never
laid down on ye yet. Me an' Jim As-
berry killed old Henry South, an' we'd
have got his boy ef you'd said the word.
I wants a ticket to Oklahoma, an' I gits
it, or I gits you !"
Samson stood rigid. Here was the
confession of one of his father's mur-
derers. The truce was off! Why
should he wait ? Samson South the old,
and Samson South the new, struggled
in the grip of two codes. Before a de-
cision came to him there was a report,
and the sound of a heavy fall. An ex-
cited figure came plunging through the
door. Samson seized him by the shoul-
der.
"Do you know me?" he cried.
"No! Damn ye, let me go afore I
kills ye!"
Aaron thrust his smoking rifle into
Samson's face.
"My name is Samson South !"
Before the astounded man could
crook his finger on the trigger, Sam-
son's revolver spoke. Aaron's rifle
blazed a little too late, and a little too
high.
Samson looked inside the store.
Purvy lay dead across the counter.
Samson's score was clean.
Dusk was falling when he reached
The Call of the Cumberlands
279
an empty cabin in a thicket well within
South territory. Shortly a candle flick-
ered inside.
Fifteen minutes later, dressed in a
rough suit of clothes, he stood, in the
moonlight, in front of the Widow Mil-
ler's cabin, and, lifting his head, sent
out a clear whippoorwill call — the old
signal to Sally. The cabin door opened.
Framed in the patch of yellow candle-
light stood a slender figure, eager, but
uncertain. In her right hand she
clutched a rifle — the rifle that he had
bequeathed to her in trust when he had
bidden her good-by.
Sally had been true to her trust. For
four years she had waited for the sig-
nal.
The man stepped out of the shadow
into the bright moonlight. With a glad
cry, the girl came running to him. He
stretched out his arms to her, and his
voice broke in a hoarse, passionate cry :
"Sally!"
And as she came into his arms, her
heart fluttering with joy, they closed
about her in a convulsive grip.
"Did ye think I wuzen't comin' back,
Sally?" he questioned softly, falling
back into the vernacular.
"Ye said ye wuz comin', an' I knowed
shore ye'd do hit," replied the girl, as
if she, too, had never made war on
crude idioms.
Ordinarily, this happy reunion of two
true hearts would be considered a fit-
ting ending for this story, but they
never relate it down in Cumberland
County without telling how the Holl-
man grand jury indicted Samson South
for the killing of Aaron Hollis and
Jesse Purvy; how Samson, warned by
Lieutenant Callomb, of the militia —
who had come to know the truth — had
slipped away to Frankfort, where the
governor, a cousin of the lieutenant's,
had not only pardoned him before trial,
but had made him high sheriff to suc-
ceed the Hollman incumbent ; how Sam-
son, authorized by the governor, had
organized a local militia company com-
posed of the younger South adherents,
and drilled by Lieutenant Callomb; and
how, when the Hollman faction held
the courthouse and refused to recognize
the authority of the sheriff, this rough-
and-ready company had taken the build-
ing by storm, although at the cost of
several lives.
When law and order had been re-
stored, some months later, George Les-
cott, accompanied by his sister and Wil-
fred Horton, who had lately entered
upon life together bound by the ties of
marriage, came to the Cumberlands to
organize the South-Horton Company
for the purpose of developing the natu-
ral resources of the country.
Samson introduced Adrienne to
Sally, and added meaningly the words :
"I want you to learn to love her."
"Learning is unnecessary," replied
the girl from the city. "I love her
already."
Then it was that Samson settled
down amid the grandeurs of 'nature's
land to paint the pictures that were
dearest to his heart, with love for his
easel and Sally for his model. And so
it happened that, one night when the
moon appeared particularly bright as it
smiled down upon the mountains, two
figures that seemed almost as one stood
in the shadows of the pines.
"I couldn't have stayed up there
without you, dear," spoke Samson
quietly, and Sally gazed up into his
eyes.
"And I wouldn't have stayed down
here if you hadn't come," she replied
softly.
YOU who, with bated breath, view
the passionate scenes in which
Virginia Pearson figures as a
modern Cleopatra, must wonder at the
home and home life of such a sorceress.
This radiantly beautiful enchantress of
the screen cordially invited me to visit
her at - her country place when I
broached the subject.
Accordingly, bright and early one
morning, I was admitted to the veri-
table palace in New Jersey which she
calls her heme. I was immediately
ushered into her breakfast room, where
she was busily engaged reading some
of the countless letters from unknown
admirers. Miss Pearson smiled and
arose.
"Won't you join me?" she interro-
gated.
I thanked her and sat down. Then
I gazed about the room in surprise.
Instead of the gaudy decorations of the
Far East, which I had expected to see
in the home of this famous vampire of
shadowland, everything was soft and
subdued. On the walls were a few
well-chosen pictures, the work, by the
way, of Miss Pearson herself. Here
and there were vases of roses and car-
nations.
Presently I asked this beautiful ac-
tress to tell me something of her life.
"I was born in Louisville, Kentucky,
she said, "a member of the Calloway
family. My mother. Mary Alice Cal-
loway, was a descendant of men who
opened the trail of civilization to the
West. My father, Joseph Pearson, was
a famous English artist."
"But tell me something about your-
self." I protested.
She smiled. "I came to Xew York
almost ten years ago, while still a young
girl. Fortunately I was successful from
the start. My greatest triumph, I feel,
was as the vampire in Robert Hilliard'5
'A Fool There Was,' and I played that
part for two years. I also appeared in
'The Hawk,' 'The Better Way,' and
numerous Shakespearean plays."
"And when did you enter the photo
play?" I asked.
"Oh," she smiled, 'T am a him vet-
From Home to Work with Virginia Pearson 281
eran. As long ago as 19 10 I played
with the. Vitagraph Company. How-
ever, I shortly returned to my first love,
the stage. It was a lapse of five years
before I reentered the silent drama,
and then only because of the pleadings
of the Famous Players Film Company.
I did one special feature for them —
'The Aftermath,' with Owen Moore.
Then I again joined the Vitagraph, and
starred in 'The Writing on the Wall,'
'Thou Art the Man,' 'The Vital Ques-
tion,' and 'The Hunted Woman.' This
last picture was written especially for
me."
"What do you do with your spare
time?" I inquired.
"A little bit of everything, I guess.
I ride, motor, swim, paint, write, and
play the piano."
What she didn't tell me was that she
has had several feature films accepted
for production, and that she receives
many commissions for oil paintings.
At the present moment, she is working
on a portrait of Charlotte Walker.
Very shortly we finished our delight-
ful little breakfast, and I asked my
hostess to show me the far-famed beau-
ties of her home.
"Gladly," she answered, and, rising,
escorted me throughout her delightful
apartments. The rooms were neat and
handsomely furnished ; but, look as I
would, I could see nothing unusual.
Everything was of the finest and most
expensive obtainable, but there was
nothing out of the ordinary.
I turned to Miss Pearson and stam-
mered : "It's all very pretty — but — but
I understood that your home rivaled
that of the original Cleopatra !"
She laughed heartily. "Xo, not as
bad as all that. My den, however, is
rather unique. I have saved that for
the last."
With these words, she opened the
door of a veritable fairyland. Eyes
opened wide in amazement, I gazed
about.
"Like it?" she murmured.
One of Virginia Pearson's favorite toys is her grand piano
282 From Home to Work with Virginia Pearson
I did not answer — words failed me.
To me it is doubtful if even the noted
Queen of Egypt herself whiled away
her leisure hours amid more luxurious
surroundings than does this star of the
film world. Her den is, she told me,
supposed to be an exact reproduction
of the galley in which Cleopatra sailed
up the River Cydnus to meet her de-
voted Antony.
The walls of the room are covered
with draperies of deep crimson, and the
hangings, the coverings of the tables,
cushions, and chairs all harmonized.
Huge blood-red roses filled the room
in utter confusion. Near her divan,
spied a silver urn. I turned to Miss
Pearson, with a question, as the
delicate odor of incense was wafted
to me.
She explained : "That is the urn
and together
Letters from admirers follow her even to the breakfast table
of life. I am very superstitious, you
know, and have been told that should
it cease smoldering, I should cease
being. Of course, I don't really believe
that, but I feel much more comfortable
when I know it is burning."
The impression formed from being
in this strange den is hard to determine.
One cannot say at a moment's notice
which of the senses is being played on;
yet you are conscious of the fact that
its appeal, its color, its atmosphere are
almost intoxicating.
'"It is getting late," announced Miss
Pearson, when I had finished feasting
my eyes on the gorgeousness of this
room. "I must hasten to
the studio. You will join
me, won't you?"
Gladly I nodded my
thanks
we entered her
mousine.
Presently the stu-
dio was reached. We
left the car and went
to the rear, where
there is a small me-
nagerie. Smiling,
Virginia Pearson
walked to the cage
containing several lit-
tle lambs.
"I'm just crazy
about these cute little
fellows," she in-
formed me, as she
fed them titbits from
her gloved hand. I
took the opportunity
and snapped a photo-
graph of her.
Just this little oc-
currence with the
lambs, trivial as it
may seem, showed
Miss Pearson's kind
n a t u r e — something
quite different from
that which you would
From Home to Work with Virginia Pearson 283
1 1 1 i ii mi «■<*■'
The lambs at the studio and Miss Pearson
great friends:
expect after seeing her work on the
screen. Little touches like this wi
show you the true character of a
person.
Reluctantly she left the animals and
we walked to the studio entrance.
"I am so glad to have seen you," she
said, and smiled sweetly. ''Come again,
won't you?" And with these words,
we parted.
On my way back, I thought over all
I had seen, and of the wonders of this
lady of the films. Miss Pearson is en-
dowed with a wonderful figure and
glowing complexion. It is her proud
boast that she requires little make-up
when before the camera, and no make-
up at all when off the stage. She is
violently opposed to rouges and the
makeshift coloring and beauty trick-
eries which doubtless contributed to the
picture Rudyard Kipling had in mind
when he described his "rag, a bone, and
a hank of hair."
Personally, Miss Pearson is far re-
moved from the vampire type of
woman. She is very different, too, both
on the surface and underneath, from
most other actresses.
During the day she lives a life that is
not her own, and her evenings at home
are so entirely different, that were
one of her screen admirers to drop in
unexpectedly, and find her as she natu-
rally lives, it would be a hard matter
to convince him that the Virginia Pear-
son known to the film world and the
woman as she is in private life is the
same person.
She is another example that those
who play repulsive roles on the screen
are often among the quietest and most
pleasing people whom one could meet,
entirely different from the screen char-
acter.
da's life. McTodd
lides in a bank of
ises Bright of the
securing valuable
out a story about
nic. Bright steals
to take McTodd's
SYNOPSIS OF PRECEDING CHAPTERS
LOLA McTODD. daughter of Silas McTodd, the pickle king, is known as "The Pearl of the
McTodds" because "of her beauty. When she was young, a gypsy made the prophecy that if.
when she was eighteen, she placed a wishbone over the door, the "first man to pass under it would
marry her. As her eighteenth birthday arrives, she finds herself with many suitors, chief among
whom are Duke Penruddock and Harold de Vere, a young millionaire. Lola believes she should
marry the duke, though she has never met him face to face, and her father favors the match.
Charlie Chaplin, who has long sought his favorite brand of pickles, learns that they are made
by McTodd. and applies to the pickle king for a place as night watchman at his plant. 'By mistake
Charlie is the first man to pass under the wishbone, and Lola is greatly excited. Charlie secures
the position, and starts work. The duke arrives unexpectedly, and Lola, who is unprepared, hides
in the factory. She is caught in some machinery, and Charlie saves her life. McTodd offers Charlie
a position in Samoa as special representative of the firm, hoping to thus remove him from the sight
of his daughter, but Charlie refuses. The duke tries to do away with Charlie, but Harold de Vere
proves the man of the hour, and saves the hero. Later. Charlie again saves L<
gives a ball to announce the engagement of his daughter to the duke. Charlie '.
palms, and sees Major Bright steal the famous tiara from Lola's neck. He acc
theft, but McTodd explains to him that it is part of a prearranged plan to
advertising for the McTodd pickles through the newspapers — as they "plan to give
the jewel being stolen. A fire breaks out in the house, and the guests flee in pa
the tiara again during the confusion — this time in earnest. He also attempts
life, but Charlie is on hand to rescue him. Harold also becomes a hero by saving McTodd's stenog-
rapher, Gwendoline. Charlie is hired by the pickle king to trail Bright and secure the tiara, thus
postponing his trip to Samoa. As Charlie begins his search, he learns that Harold is also after
Bright. They decide to work together, and their combined investigation leads them to suspect that
the duke and Bright are working together, and are a pair of crooks. They trail Bright to a circus,
and after many thrilling adventures corner him and force him to confess that the duke is in reality
Jack O'Byrne, a noted bank robber. Harold tells Charlie he has read in the paper that Lola
McTodd is to be married to the duke that afternoon. They figure that by stealing a ride on a
freight, they will arrive in time to save the Pearl of the McTodds. but just as they reach this deci-
sion" the train is wrecked. Unknown to them, the workers in the pickle factory, where the wed-
ding was to have been held, strike, and boldly declare they will prevent the ceremony unless their
wages are raised. McTodd sends for the police. Charlie recovers from the effects of the
wreck, and determines to save Lola. Harold quarrels with him, and both set off alone for the
McTodd home. Charlie steals an auto, and is followed by its owner and the police. He arrives
in time to quiet the strikers, but when he tries to expose 'the duke. McTodd turns him over to the
police who have followed him. Charlie manages to escape, and finds Harold holding Lola a pris-
oner in her auto in the woods, having abducted her while she was on her way to the wedding.
O'Byrne. searching for Lola, is met by Charlie, who denounces him and turns him over to the police
who' had so recently sought Charlie. 'Then Charlie rushes back to release Lola from her prison, only
to learn she has escaped. Lola returns home safely, but the chauffeur brings word of O'Byrne's
arrest, and the wedding is declared off. That night a solicitor from England visits McTodd. in
search of a lost Sir Charles, and the pickle magnate happily tells Lola she can now marry Charlie
and still obtain a title, for the description of the lost Sir Charles fits him perfectly. Charlie and
Harold part on bad terms, the latter announcing he doesn't care for Lola, anyway.
CHAPTER XLV.
THE WAYSIDE IX X.
I
T was morning,
a elorious morn-
ing, one day later, that Cheerful
Charlie halted on the road five
miles from Boggsville, to survey a sign
that hung before a roadside inn.
He
had been discharged from the pickle
works, and was tired and hungry, with
not even a Lincoln penny or a McTodd
pickle in his pocket, so, after having
spent the night in the shelter of a straw
Pickles and Pearls
285
stack, the Motorists' Retreat, which
the sign informed him was the name
by which the inn was called, summoned
him most naturally.
Why not walk into the Retreat, he
asked himself, order a meal in a lordly,
high-handed manner, and then — suffer
the consequences ? The consequences
could not pain him nearly so much as
the terrible famine with which he was
afflicted.
To think, with Charlie, was to act.
Brushing the straw from his clothes,
and adjusting his apparel with a few
deft touches, he pulled his hat down
firmly and entered the inn.
He was met by a stout gentleman —
not so stout as Capitola Rawlins-Jor-
kins, but taller. This gentleman was
apt to figure in the consequences, and,
for a second, Charlie's heart fluttered.
But the die was cast, and he must pro-
ceed.
"My machine was punctured a mile
down the road," Charlie explained,
"and while my chauffeur is repairing
it, I have come hither to partake of
breakfast."
The stout gentleman was surveying
Charlie hungrily, and in a manner hard
to understand.
"Just a minute," said he, and wad-
dled to a place behind the office desk
and picked up a piece of paper. "I have
a description here, and Wait a
minute !" the landlord broke off.
"On second thought," Charlie an-
swered, "I believe I had better return
to the machine and help the chauffeur.
He was still in fear of Leeson. Per-
haps his bargain with Pollock and Blake
had not proven satisfactory to the Law-
ton garage man. Again, it might be
that Harold de Yere had involved him
somehow in the abduction of Miss Mc-
Todd. If his description had been tele-
phoned into the country surrounding
Boggsville, certainly it must have been
for a purpose. What that purpose was,
Charlie did not care to stay and in-
quire.
Before he could reach the door, a
man who looked enough like the pro-
prietor of the inn to be his twin brother,
stepped into the office — and Charlie's
retreat was cut off.
"Is your name Charlie!" demanded
the man behind the desk, reading from
a paper.
Denial was useless. Realizing that
he was trapped, Charlie answered
"Yes."
"Used to be night watchman in the
McTodd "Pickle Works, didn't you?"
"I am the man you want. Before you
go to extremes, however, give me some-
thing to eat. Sir, I am famished !"
"What's the row, Tom?" inquired
the stout man near the office door.
"No row, Jerry," answered the man
at the counter. "Remember that tele-
phone message we got last night?"
"The one from police headquarters
in Boggsville, with a description?"
"Uh-huh. Here's the man."
"No !" wheezed Jerry, tossing his
arms and beaming at Charlie. "Well,
well !" He advanced upon the bewil-
dered young man with extended hand.
"Sir Charles, you do this humble inn
great honor," he went on fulsomely.
"We — my brother and I — are proud,
happy, and glad to have you beneath
this roof. We are the Tanglefoot broth-
ers. I am Jerry. Shake hands with
Tom. I own the hotel and Tom runs
it." Jerry picked a straw from Char-
lie's coat collar like a bosom friend.
"While you are in this hotel. Sir
Charles, the whole place is yours."
"You have but to command, your
lordship," said Tom, caressing Charlie's
hand, "and your every order will be
obeyed. Jerry," he added, in an aside
to his brother, "just put 'God Save the
King' on the phonograph."
By that time Charlie had made up
his mind that it was a private asylum,
and he thought it well to humor Jerry
286
Pickles and Pearls
and his brother. What he wanted was
something to eat, and the two brothers
conducted him with much ostentation
to the dining room. Tom excused him-
self presently to use the telephone, but
Jerry remained to wait on the noble
guest personally. It was "Sir Charles"
this and "your lordship" that, until
Charlie began to feel as though he had
a mortgage on everything in sight. It
was a rare state of affairs, but Char-
lie accepted the situation as he found it.
Why look a gift horse in the mouth, or
seek to explain away a situation so
manifestly to his benefit?
He conducted himself in a lordly
manner, and was both gracious and
condescending. A substantial break-
fast tended further to increase his con-
tent. He decided to stay right along
with the Tanglefoot brothers.
Following the morning meal, a hand-
ful of the most expensive cigars in the
house was presented to him. He was
also placed in an easy-chair on the
veranda, and furnished with a copy of
the morning paper.
In it he found a note that, short
though it was, almost made him for-
get his present position of dignity. It
was an announcement, buried in the
midst of other news of its kind, stat-
ing that Jorkins and Capitola Rawlins,
lion tamer, were to be married that
morning. It further stated that the
couple were to spend their honeymoon
touring with Bunkum & Brawley's cir-
cus, where he was to be employed, as
he had resigned from the McTodd
factory. Charlie heaved a long sigh
of mingled sympathy and relief.
Then, having finished with the paper,
he was already beginning to count the
hours between him and dinner. There
was nothing to do, according to his way
Of thinking, but to eat, sleep, and enjoy
himself. While he was contemplating
this blissful prospect, a limousine with
familiar lines halted before the inn. He
started up from his chair as though sud-
denly drenched by a bucket of cold
water. The door of the car had opened,
and Mr. McTodd had stepped out and
was turning to assist his daughter.
''Here's where I pay the piper,"
thought Charlie. "I might have known
the good time couldn't last."
He was turning to seek a secluded
spot somewhere in the Retreat, when
the voice of Mr. McTodd hailed him.
"Just a moment, Sir Charles !" called
the pickle king.
Ah, even Silas McTodd! Charlie
reeled, and clutched at the back of his
chair for support. .
CHAPTER XLYI.
A BEAUTIFUL DREAM.
Silas McTodd, it goes without say-
ing, had experienced some pangs of re-
morse. He knew to a certainty that
the wandering noble whom Shrewsbury
Ames was looking for was Cheerful
Charlie. It would not do, however, for
Shrewsbury Ames to find Charlie in the
Boggsville jail. So the solicitor was
not told at once that the new Sir
Charles was as good as found.
Mr. McTodd wanted time to re-
instate himself in the confidence and
friendship of his former watchman.
He wanted to get Charlie out of jail.
And it was only fair that Lola should
have the opportunity to display the
gratitude she naturally felt toward one
who had rescued her so many times.
The pickle king called up the jail, in
less than an hour after Shrewsbury
Ames had left the house. His daugh-
ter leaned over his shoulder as he used
the phone. It took about half a min-
ute for the chief of police to inform
Mr. McTodd that Cheerful Charlie had
administered a stinging rebuke to a
couple of officers, and then had taken
to his heels.
Mr. McTodd was horrified, ex-
asperated, and rendered very uneasy.
"He must be found, chief," said he.
Pickles and Pearls
287
' Telephone his description throughout
this part of the country. Let it be
known that Charlie is an English
milord and a close friend of Silas Mc-
Todd ; and that, wherever he is, he
must be treated as his rank and station
deserve — all at my expense. When Sir
Charles is located, notifv me immedi-
ately."
Thus it was that when Charlie wras
recognized by the proprietors of the
Motorists' Retreat, the pickle king was
informed by telephone of his where-
abouts.
Mr. McTodd was delighted by the
news.
"Do everything you can for his lord-
ship's comfort," said he ; ''spare no ex-
pense, and send the bills to me. And,
above all things, do not let him get away
from the inn before I arrive."
Lola accompanied her father, and the
limousine fairly flew over the smooth
road.
"There he is, on the veranda, my
pet," announced Air. McTodd, when
the machine had brought them within
sight of the Motorists' Retreat. "It
needs but a glance to detect the nobility
of his demeanor ! Strange how that
high bearing escaped me before !"
"We were both blind, blind!" mur-
mured Lola.
Presently the car stopped and the
■pickle king descended from it and as-
sisted his daughter to alight. His lord-
ship was hastily leaving the veranda.
"Just a moment. Sir Charles !" Mr. Mc-
Todd called, and his lordship turned
and leaned palpitatingly over the back
of the chair in which he had been
sitting.
Lola and her father ascended the
steps to the veranda. They were smil-
ing. Charlie surveyed them blankly as
they approached and halted before him.
"My dear fellow!" exclaimed Silas
McTodd. "Ah, what a fright you have
given us! I called up the police sta-
tion to order your release — the arrest
was all a mistake, and I had intended
all along to see that you were not im-
posed upon. We were told, Lola and I,
that you had escaped from the officers.
Our joy in learning that you had been
spared the ignominy of incarceration,
was tempered by anxiety as to where
you had gone. By my order, your de-
scription was telephoned to every part
of the country contiguous to Boggs-
ville ; and how happy we were, Lola
and I, to learn this morning that you
had been found. We came to you at
once. Sir Charles, without a moment's
delay. You thought you could hide
your true character from us, didn't you,'
by masquerading as a night watchman?
Ah, Sir Charles, Sir Charles," and the
pickle king shook a roguish finger in
Charlie's face, "you might have known
that sooner or later we would find you
out. You are to go home with us, your
lordship, and we are to have the priv-
ilege of entertaining you at the manor.
You must not deny us this happiness.
My love," and he turned to Lola, "en-
tertain his lordship while I seek the
landlord of the inn and reward him
suitablv for the service he has rendered
us."
Air. McTodd passed into the hotel,
and Charlie found himself alone on the
same veranda with the beautiful Pearl
of the McTodds. Never had the lovely
girl seemed so radiant. Her proud,
haughty air had melted into a most en-
gaging manner. In the great blue eyes
was mirrored a light which dazed and
blinded the ex-watchman.
''My dear friend," whispered Lola
sweetly, extending one of her small
hands, "I lack words to express my
happiness in meeting you again. Grati-
tude is a small thing, when one consid-
ers the great debt I owe you. As you
have, perhaps, heard, the McTodds al-
ways discharge their obligations. Your
lordship," and she blushed, and her eyes
fell, "you have but to ask my papa for
288
Pickles and Pearls
any reward you think your due, and he
will not deny the boon."
Charlie took the little hand. He was
really having a dream, a beautiful
dream, and he was disposed to enjoy it
as long as possible.
"I shall ask a reward/' he answered,
collecting himself, "a great reward, be-
side which all other rewards pale into
insignificance. Do you remember what
I asked you, through the speaking tube
of the limousine?"
The beautiful girl trembled. "How
can you ask, Sir Charles !" she ex-
claimed.
"In a little while, I am going to ask
that same question again," he said. ''For
the present "
He looked around hastily. The coast
was clear — except for Arthur, the
chauffeur, and he did not count — and
Charlie passed a quick arm about the
slender waist and snatched a kiss from
the ripe red lips.
He was not rebuffed. Drawing back,
he heaved a long sigh of rapture. Xo
wonder the pretended duke had dared
all to win that wonderful girl ! And
Harold ! Charlie could have laughed at
the millionaire's folly in turning from
this matchless beauty to pay his suit to
the stenographer. Certainly, that was
a rare, enchanting dream !
In a happy trance, he allowed him-
self to be driven to the stately home of
the McTodds in the luxurious limou-
sine. At the mansion, the cap sheaf of
joy was to face the lofty Hawkins, and
be addressed as "me lud." Hawkins
knew how to treat the nobility, and,
while his past experiences with Charlie
caused him some agitation, nevertheless
he sought to wipe out the past by a
studied servility.
Charlie was shown to the guest cham-
ber. He was told that he was to con-
sider the manor as he would his own
home. Charlie, seeing that it would
please his host, tried to do this. All
the servants endeavored to show him
that they knew how a real lord ought
to be treated.
In his study, Mr. McTodd wrote a
telegram. He felt that Sir Charles was
as good as landed, and that there could
be no risk in apprising Shrewsbury
Ames of the fact that his lordship had
been found, and was being cared for
as became his high station. The mes-
sage ran thus :
Sir Charles is with me. Have honor of
entertaining him in my own home. Come
at any time. McTodd.
Having written the message, the
pickle king took it downstairs. He
paused at the entrance to the drawing-
room. Charlie was in the drawing-
room, and Hawkins was with him.
"A cigar, Hawkins," Charlie was say-
ing. "One with a gold band, if you
please, and as expensive as any you
have in the McTodd humidor."
"Yes, me lud."
"And a match, Hawkins."
"Yes, me lud."
"I like to hear you speak in that way,
Hawkins. It reminds me of home."
"Hold Hengland, me lud? Hit
haurouses 'appy memories hindeed, me
lud."
As Hawkins came out, Air. McTodd
handed him the telegram. "As soon as
you supply the wants of Sir Charles,
Hawkins," said he, "have this message
sent to the telegraph office."
"Very good, sir."
Ah, what a difference between that
"me lud" and the "sir" ! Silas McTodd
felt his inferiority keenly.
CHAPTER XLVII.
A BOMB EXPLODES.
It was three o'clock in the afternoon
of a perfect day. Mr. McTodd had
spent a few of the morning hours at the
factory. He was in a frame of mind
that could best be described as exalted.
9
Pickles and Pearls
289
Blivens reported that Jorkins had re-
signed, and had been united in mar-
riage to Miss Capitola Rawlins.
Ordinarily, a sudden resignation
would have stirred up a tempest in the
proprietor's office. But Mr. McTodd
merely laughed.
''I had thought it would happen,
Blivens," said he. ''Send Jorkins fifty
dollars with my compliments."
"Miss Rives," continued Blivens,
"has also resigned. It is said that she
is engaged to marry a millionaire."
Still no explosion. The proprietor
laughed again.
"Bravo ! Send Miss Rives fifty dol-
lars, too. This is a beautiful world,
Blivens, and as we travel through life
we should scatter brightness about us.
Eh?"
"A noble sentiment, Mr. McTodd,"
said the bookkeeper, "and I concur in
it fully."
"You are getting twenty dollars a
week, are you not, Blivens?"
"Yes, sir."
"Give yourself twenty-five from now
on."
"You overwhelm me, sir !"
"I know how to reward faithful serv-
ice. Send Bill Hankins to me."
In due course, Bill Hankins entered
the private room.
"Hankins," said the proprietor, "your
demands are granted. Shorter hours
and a new schedule of wages, from now
on, for the employees of these works "
Hankins was electrified. "Mr. Mc-
Todd," said he, with feeling, "you have
a kindly heart ! I am glad Charlie per-
suaded us not to make any more trou-
ble for you yesterday than we did."
"You must not call him Charlie any
more, Hankins," answered Mr. Mc-
Todd. "He is an English milord, and
must be respectfully referred to as 'Sir
Charles,' in future."
"A lord, eh? Well, well! But then,
I always knew there was more to that
fellow than most people thought. Char-
9
lie — beg pardon, Sir Charles — was al-
ways quite friendly with Henrietta. I
wonder if Henrietta could be spared
from the chow-chow department long
enough to go and congratulate him?"
"It would not be fitting," returned
Mr. McTodd shortly. "Sir Charles is
out of his old sphere, and in a new one.
Be careful to remember that."
Bill Hankins went away, announced
to the employees the new wage scale,
and the shorter working hours, and a
wild cheer for Silas McTodd echoed
and reechoed through the factory.
Mr. McTodd, in a very pleasant
frame of mind, went home to his noon-
day meal. Charlie and Lola joined him
at table, and he smiled upon them with
paternal pride. Following luncheon,
the pickle king took his usual nap. From
this he was awakened by Hawkins, who
came with a telegram.
"Hi am sorry to disturb you, sir,"
said Hawkins, "but 'ere is a message
that just arrived."
He turned over the yellow envelope
to the master of the house, and silently
slipped away.
"From Shrewsbury Ames, I sup-
pose," mused Mr. McTodd smilingly,
"congratulating me on what I have
done, and stating the hour of his ar-
rival."
Then a bomb exploded. The tele-
gram ran in this wise :
Some mistake. I was in error regarding
clew that placed missing heir in Boggsville
Pickle Works. Man you have cannot be Sir
Charles. His lordship is here with me, and
we are sailing for England to-morrow.
Ames.
The words of the message swam be-
fore Silas McTodd's eyes. His face
grew purple, and his breath hung in
his throat. With trembling hands, he
unbuttoned his collar. Then he read
the message again.
A mistake! Charlie not Sir Charles,
not an English milord at all ! Heav-
ens, what a tangle !
290
Pickles and Pearls
Charlie had not denied that he was a
lord. He had failed to set the matter
right. He had allowed McTodd and
his daughter to be deceived.
Rage convulsed the pickle king. Was
there to be no end of deceptions? Was
his lovely Lola to be subjected to in-
dignity after indignity ?
The world had been bright. There
was no change in the weather, but a
tremendous change had been wrought
in the manufacturer's mental condition.
He saw no brightness anywhere.
''And I've raised everybody's pay!"
he muttered savagely. "And shortened
hours all around ! Fifty to Jorkins and
fifty to Miss Rives, and an increase to
Blivens ! All because Cheerful Char-
lie did not disclaim his right to a title !
By Heaven, this affair must be stopped
right where it is !"
He rushed from his study, found
Hawkins, and demanded to know
where he could find Charlie and his
daughter.
"His ludship and Miss McTodd are
somewhere in the garden, sir," said
Hawkins.
"His lordship — bah !" and the pickle
king flung from the house in a temper.
Yes, Charlie and Lola were in the
garden. It was a wonderful garden,
and fairly brimming with late-summer
blooms, while the air was musical with
the twitter of birds and the silvery
tinkle of water in marble fountains. A
more lovely place it would have been
hard to imagine.
To the enchanted precincts of the
garden, Charlie and Lola had come in
the early afternoon. They seated them-
selves side by side on a rustic settee,
and if Charlie had never known what
love was, he realized it then.
"Tell me, little one," and his arm
strayed to the slender waist, "dost re-
member the hour when first I came to
the factory ? How long ago it seems !
My innocent jest with the red card won
me the position of night watchman."
"Yes, Charlie, I remember, but there
is something you do not know — some-
thing I feel that I must tell you."
"I am waiting to hear, my pearl, my
Parnassus pearl !'
Then, in soft, low tones, Lola told
Charlie of the gypsy's prophecy. She
repeated the verse from memory. Fol-
lowing this, she described, with much
pretty confusion, the little subterfuge
by which she had sought to fasten upon
the supposed Duke of Penruddock the
responsibility for making the prophecy
come true.
A light dawned on Charlie. He could
now understand many things which be-
fore had been very obscure. He had
interfered with the operation of the
prophecy — in looking for a job, he had
blundered through the door and be-
neath the fateful wishbone. Xo won-
der the pretended duke had wished to
be rid of him. A new significance was
given that infernal machine, that offer
of one hundred thousand dollars to the
lady who would make off with Charlie,
that attempt to send him to Samoa !
Ah, how plain everything became!
"I suppose," he murmured, "that you
are sorry I interfered with the proph-
ecy ?"
"Do not speak in that way!" Lola
implored, nestling closer to him.
"Perhaps I should have effaced my-
self in some unknown place, and never
have allowed you to bring me to this
beautiful mansion!" he sighed.
"Will you persist in breaking my
heart ?" whispered Lola, taking his hand
and drawing it about her waist one:
more.
"But, if vou want to be a duchess
"Lady Lola has a sweeter sound in
my ears, Charlie ! There is a rhythm
about it, an alliteration that is quite
appealing."
"Then," he said sadly, "it is for the
title you care, and not for the man who
bears it !"
Pickles and Pearls
291
"Nay, Charlie, for if you had no title,
if you were no more than Charlie, the
night watchman, I would not, could not,
give you up !"
She spoke firmly, and he tried to
feel encouraged.
"Then, maybe," he asked, "you will
answer the question I put to you while
you were imprisoned in the limousine?"
"I have been eager to answer it. The
answer, Charlie, is Yes!" and she
threw herself into his arms.
The beautiful dream had reached the
climax. While Charlie saluted the red
lips again and again, Mr. McTodd
rushed toward the settee with a stricken
cry, seized his daughter, and drew her
away.
"Stop, my daughter!" he exclaimed.
"This has gone too far."
"Papa," returned Lola, surprised,
yet not allowing surprise to eclipse her
joy, "his lordship has asked me to be
his bride, and I have accepted."
"No, no ! I will not hear to it !"
"Why, what do you mean, papa?"
"See, here is a telegram!" and Mr.
McTodd shook the message with a
frenzied hand. "It is from Ames, the
solicitor. This is not the Sir Charles he
was looking for. Cheerful Charlie isn't
a lord at all !"
"It was a beautiful dream," muttered
Charlie, "and here is where I wake
up."
CHAPTER XLVIII.
WHEN DREAMS COME TRUE.
Charlie had been expecting something
like that to happen. Ever since the
Tanglefoot brothers had started the
lordship business, he had known there
must be a rude awakening. But he had
yearned to enjoy himself as long as pos-
sible. Now he accepted his ill fortune
as a matter of course.
Lola did not swoon, as she might
have been expected to do. She did not
even weep. On the contrary, she was
very calm.
"Are you quite sure about this,
papa?" she asked.
"Sure? Oh, Heaven, how can you
be so cool and collected, my poor child ?
There can be no doubt, I tell you ! Look
at the telegram ! Read it for yourself !"
Mr. McTodd opened the yellow sheet
and held it under his daughter's eyes.
"Do you see?" he stormed. "The solici-
tor says he made a mistake. Sir Charles
was not employed at my pickle works.
The real Sir Charles is now with Ames,
and the two are on the point of start-
ing for England. Penruddock was an
impostor ! And now Charlie turns out
to be one, too. He has deceived both of
us !"
"Pardon me," said Charlie, with dig-
nity, "but I thought this was all a
splendid dream. I had no idea that I
was deceiving anybody. You know
how dreams go — you think you are
what you seem to be. That's all. Of
course, I knew I had to wake up. I
have your charming daughter to thank
for a wonderful experience which, if
you will excuse me for saying so, was
all too brief. If you will excuse me, I
will be going."
He took his cane, galloped a little in
one spot as a means of putting himself
en rapport with changed conditions,
and would have made off along the
path. A voice staved him.
"Wait, Charlie!"
He turned in wonder. It was Lola
who had spoken. Her tone, her man-
ner, likewise seemed to surprise her
father.
"Why do you stop him, my child ?"
inquired Mr. McTodd.
"Because I have something to tell
him and you." Although she continued
calm, blushes mantled the rounded
cheeks, and the blue eyes glowed.
"What are dukes and lords, after all is
said and done, beside the nobility of
real manhood ? True courage has a
title of its own, beside which all other
titles are as dross to pure gold."
Pickles and Pearls
"Y\ hy — why, I never heard you ex-
press yourself like this before !" ex-
claimed Mr. McTodd.
"Because, papa," explained Lola, "I
never felt in this way before. My
grievous experiences have taught me a
lesson. I am not the wild, harum-
scarum girl I was a short time ago.
Charlie rescued me from the whirling
machinery of the works — his strong
arm stayed the great wheel, and. I was
spared by that act of heroism."
"We give him credit for that," said
Mr. McXodd."
"When that awful bomb was in my
hands," pursued Lola, "who caught it
away and flung it from the window ?"
"Charlie ! Yes, that was Charlie."
"And now," continued Lola, with in-
creasing vehemence, "who has captured
a base pretender, single-handed, turned
him over to the police, and saved me
from a worse disaster than any that had
threatened me before ?"
"No one can deny that Charlie did
that." admitted Mr. McTodd. "I am
indebted to him in many ways, my
child."
"Then be kind to him now. papa,"
begged Lola, "and be kind to me!"
"What's this? What are you think-
ing of ?"
"I have promised "to be Charlie's
bride, and I cannot, oh. I cannot, allow
him to go out of my life!"
There was silence, broken only by
the twitter of birds and the tinkle of
falling waters. Charlie waved his cane
in a perturbed manner. He doubted the
evidence of his senses. So did Mc-
Todd.
"Say that again, Lola," said the
pickle king hoarsely.
She repeated her words, deliberately
and with emphasis. There was not the
least doubt but that lovely Lola Mc-
Todd meant exactly what she said.
"But your ambition!" cried her
father.
"What is ambition beside love?" the
daughter countered.
"My ambition then — the ambition
to be appointed purveyor of relishes to
his majesty the king!"
"That is nonsense!" declared Lola.
"Why should I allow your vaulting, ill-
considered ambition to stand between
me and happiness ?"
"Well, since you feel that way about
it, I can make no protest." Silas Mc-
Todd had not yielded without a strug-
gle, but the struggle was over, and his
mind was at ease. "I might have
known that the prophecy could not be
set aside, and that we would have to
vield to its relentless decree first or
last. Charlie !"
"Yes, sir."
"Your hand."
Charlie put out his hand, and in it
the pickle king placed the hand of his
loved daughter.
"It is fate," said Silas McTodd re-
signedly, "and it is impossible to avoid
one's destiny by going 'cross lots. Be
kind to my dear girl, Charlie." and his
voice shook. "This afternoon I will
take you in as a partner in my pickle
business. When the engagement is
announced it will sound better if you
can be referred to as the junior partner
of the firm of McTodd & Chaplin. 1
hope you young people will be happy !"
The pickle king left them, then. At
a turn of the walk, he halted for a
rearwa rd glance. Charlie and Lola
were in each other's arms ! And Char-
lie was murmuring, although in a voice
which did not carry to any ears but
those of Lola's :
"It was a dream, all right, but it has
come true !"
"My hero!" murmured Lola
THE END.
To create almost two hundred characters, and to completely submerge one's own personality in
each, seems almost an impossible task, but that is what Marc MacDermott has done during the past
few years. Not alone has he excelled in creating characters which differ widely from one another,
but through his perfect command of expression has done dramatic acting which has won him the
distinction of being one of the foremost exponents of the finer art of playing before the camera.
The reason for the meteoric rise of Theda Bara, within the short space of a year's time,
from a moderately successful stage actress to the greatest heights of screen popularity, may be
readily appreciated by a glance at this page. Miss Bara's triumph over the hearts of the public
may be solely attributed to her wonderful portrayals of vampire characters, and ability to trans-
form herself into many different personages. The lower picture in the center is a scene from
her greatest film, and the one which brought her fame, 'kA Fool There Was." But the sneers,
the hate, the alluring charms of the woman of the world are quite apart from the pleasing per-
sonality and gentle manner of the actress herself, once the camera has ceased to grind.
Henry
MASTER OF
EMOTIONS
Roles which range from light comedy to weirdest
fantasy have received masterful treatment in the
hands of Henry B. Walthall— the Mansfield of the
screen. On this page are to be found a few of Wal-
thall's characters and on each face is seen a different
expression. The central figure is that of Edgar Allen
Poe, while the two small pictures directly below it
are scenes from "The Birth of a
Nation," in which he appeared as
the Little Colonel. These two char-
acters are considered by film critics
to display Walthall's best acting.
Grace Gunard
r=r ■
'7hc' Girl oC
The characters seen on this page
represent only a few of the many in
which Grace Cunard has appeared
since her initiation to the screen.
She has played everything from the
girl of the slums to the madcap prin-
cess and the vampire. In her own
opinion, none of her character por-
trayals compare with Lucille Love,
in the serial of that name, a scene
from which appears directly above.
Her versatility can be traced to her
clever manipulation of make-up and
to her wonderfullv expressive face.
iiiiiHtiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiuiiisiiiiiiiii
Scenario writers?
'"» Glcirence cZ Gciitie
CHARACTERIZATION.
ONE of the things in. which the
modern photo drama is unde-
niably weak is in characteriza-
tion. Very few of the screen subjects
seen to-day can compare with stage
productions and published novels and
stories in this respect. It is a fact not
admitted by the manufacturers them-
selves, but one which all those who
study the work closely are aware of.
Since the characterization must really
start in the scenario, it is up to the
scenario writer to see that he does his
share.
We know that many writers will say,
in answer to this, that they could work
day and night to develop a character
only to have the directors and actors
spoil it by careless handling, but we be-
lieve this to be a poor excuse. Every
picture that is made is working closer
to perfection — or should be — and the
directors and actors are learning bit by
bit that they must follow more closely
to the script prepared by the writer and
work in accord with it, rather than
against it, in order to gain the best re-
sults.
The work of characterizing in a
photo-play scenario is very difficult. A
single bit of business in a scene may
convey to the lay mind the type that
the character is better than pages and
pages of descriptive matter. Some of
the best writers in the game to-day
gain not only splendid characteriza-
tions, but also dramatic results, by sim-
ply using a little "color" in a scene.
One does not have to exaggerate the
action of a character in order to stamp
his type upon the minds of the audi-
ence. Rather, if it is done in a simple
and yet effective manner, it will be of
much more value. This is another
place where the writer proves himself
an artist — he either handles some par-
ticular bit of characterization so clev-
erly that it stands out as one of the
real attractions of the script, or he
passes over in a slipshod manner, and
it serves to deface rather than brighten
the work.
THE LOVE ELEMENT.
One of the most common faults
found with the scripts of the beginner
is that they run too much toward the
love element. This is very probably
due to the fact that whenever he at-
tends either a motion-picture or a legiti-
mate theater, or whenever he reads a
novel or short story, there is always
the love interest to be found. There-
fore the idea impresses itself upon him
that it is necessary to have the "man"
and the "girl" fall in love. With this
298
Hints for Scenario Writers
thought uppermost in his mind, he
writes his scenario with this as the
chief interest, and all else that occurs
is outshone by this interest.
Because there are only a certain num-
ber of things which can happen to alter
the course of true love, where the love
interest is considered alone, the result
is almost always a conventional story.
There is always the villain who wants
the girl, and who, when he is spurned
by her, does something to either cause
the downfall of the hero or to steal the
girl away for himself. All the action
springing from a plot of this kind is
what the editors tab ''old stuff," and
what they carefully avoid.
The thing to do is to find a new and
novel idea upon which to pin the plot,
and then work in the love interest as a
part of that idea. An abstract example
of what we mean is furnished by prac-
tically all good photo plays, plays, and
works of literature. One which comes
to our mind is Harold Bell Wright's
novel, "The Winning of Barbara
Worth." This novel contains a strong
love interest, and also has two men in
love with a woman, but after reading
the story you would be convinced that
it is entirely unconventional. The rea-
son for this is that the author has care-
fully subordinated his love story to a
greater and bigger idea upon which the
plot is founded — the reclaiming of a
Western desert and all the struggles en-
countered by the engineers in their
fight against nature.
With the cry for "something new"
coming from the editors, it is up to the
photo-playwright to answer it with
suitable material. Therefore, he must
set about to find a loophole by which
he may crawl out of the conventional.
There is no better way than by sub-
ordinating the love interest, for then
he is forced to seek a big idea upon
which he may hinge his plot, and by
seeking it with care and judgment, he
is almost certain to find something
which has not been used before. Of
course, there will always be a call for
the straight love story, but such sce-
narios should be based upon heart in-
terest rather than dramatic action.
When one sees a love story on the
screen which he thoroughly enjoys he
will seldom find that it has a typical
"villain" in it, and that its action is
highly dramatic or bordering on melo-
dramatic throughout. Rather, the love
story leans toward being an idyl in
modern guise. An example of this
class is "Pennington's Choice," a recent
Metro release. There is action in the
picture, and it has its thrilling moments,
but its trend is not toward the "ten-
twenty'-thirt' " style of "hero-girl-vil-
lain," by long odds. It is romantic, and
the love affair is treated in such a hu-
man way that it is easy to imagine that
it could happen in the life of any of us.
INDIVIDUAL THINKING.
There exists a certain type of writer
who does not believe in doing his own
thinking. He should not be a writer
at all, and he never will be a real one
until he gets out of this class; but it is
very difficult to impress this thing on
his mind. He is firmly convinced that
when a person tells him to do this or
that, he must do it exactly as it was told
to him ; and, if any minor details come
up for disposal, he must forget them.
This is generally the writer who uses
the plots thought out by other people,
and uses them in almost their exact
form. He thinks that because they were
successful once they will be successful
again, regardless of who created them.
This class of writers are outsiders to-
day, and they will be outsiders ten years
from to-day if they continue their easy-
going policy.
The successful writer is the man of
individuality. The man who does his
own thinking, and who thinks in accord
with, and yet differently than, the rest
of the world. He takes all the advice
Hints for Scenario Writers
299
that is given him, for he realizes its
value. Then he applies it to himself.
Some of it fits, and this he stores away
in his mind. More of it does not ex-
actly apply to him, and this he discards
and forgets. He studies the work of
other writers to see what is behind their
ideas, and what their command of tech-
nique is. He may stumble upon some-
thing of value to himself. If he does,
he uses it in his own individual way ; a
way so different, that when it has be-
come part of a finished product it is en-
tirely his own. He would never con-
sider taking the plot of another person's
work bodily, for he is trained to look
with contempt upon such an act. He
forges ahead because he does not try
to be carried forward by others. He
is an individual, and he stands or falls
by his own work.
It is, indeed, a wise writer that trains
himself from the very beginning to be-
long to the class of individual thinkers.
OUR SCENARIO CONTEST.
Arrangements have been completed
between the Universal Film Manufac-
turing Company and this magazine to
conduct a scenario contest to be known
as "Picture-Play Magazine's Sce-
nario Contest," the detailed announce-
ment of which appears on pages 201 to
204 of this issue.
The reward is well worth trying for,
for besides the cash prize which is
offered — forty dollars per reel and a
special prize of fifty dollars, regardless
of the length of the script — the Uni-
versal Company has agreed to buy all
other scenarios submitted which meet
its requirements. This may mean the
beginning of a valuable connection for
many of the writers who compete.
The judges will be Joe Brandt, gen-
eral manager of the Universal Film
Manufacturing Company; Miss Mary
Fuller, the Universal star, who will be
featured in the production made from
the winning scenario, and myself. In
choosing the best script, the judges will
consider the strength of the plot first
and will estimate its worth as com-
pared to the number of reels in which
it is worked out.
Writers may submit anything from
one to five reels with an equal chance
of taking the prize.
This contest should interest every
photo-playwright who has followed oui
department, as it is a sort of a test
of the ability of our readers. It is
open to all— even those who have not
as yet mastered the technical construc-
tion of a scenario — for the chief re-
quirement is a big, new idea and a
gripping, novel plot. The strength of
a story alone is enough to carry a
writer to victory. If those who have
become accomplished in writing work-
ing scripts desire to place their full sce-
narios before the eyes of the judges,
they will reap the benefits thereof if
it proves to be of unusual merit.
The contest opens with the appear-
ance of this issue on the news stands,
and continues until twelve o'clock, noon,
June 17, 1916. This will give every
writer ample time to lend his or her
best effort to the script which is sub-
mitted and will give the writers who
do good work rapidly a chance to sub-
mit more than one offering.
The plays should be written to fit
Miss Mary Fuller, the clever Universal
star, as the winning script will be picked
with the idea in mind of featuring her
in it. Her work is too well known to
need mention here. She can play al-
most any character, and is noted for
ability to "get over" the most trying
scenes. Although she has appeared in
comedy, she prefers to work in drama,
and script writers should consider this
in preparing their work. A part which
is typical of the American woman of
any of the social classes should be
ideally fitted to Miss Fuller. She has
appeared on the screen as a girl of the
tenements, a business woman, a society
300
Hints for Scenario Writers
belle, a schoolgirl, a country girl, and
countless other parts as widely differ-
ent as these.
We advise a careful study of all rules
regarding the contest, especially those
regarding the actual submission. Hav-
ing mastered these, every one who de-
cides to compete should search for and
find the very best idea possible, select
the number of reels to work it out in,
and then do the very best work he or
she is possible of doing. It is a golden
opportunity, and every ''outsider" wish-
ing to "break in" should eagerly seize
it and use it to the best possible ad-
vantage.
SOME REPEATS.
Ross Travis, an Ilion, New York,
photo-playwright, setids us a letter in
which he mentions a few of the things
which we used in a past edition, and
which he says have been picked by him-
self and several other writers as being
worthy of reprinting. What impresses
one group of writers as being especially
helpful should prove of benefit to
others. Here is the list he sent us :
There are no more than fifteen basic plots,
and possibly several of these spring from the
same root, if they are traced back far enough.
Care must be taken in selecting plot ideas
to avoid repeating those which have been
used before.
Every writer fears that he will use con-
ventional ideas or material when he begins
to write, although with the older writer this
fear is not so great, because he has gained
knowledge which enables him to pick and
choose with greater certainty of getting
something new.
The amateur, careful though he may be,
is almost certain to use something that is
threadbare.
Study and watch the life that is being
lived about you.
Knowing life, you will find it compara-
tively simple to cause a character to "live."
A good idea may be developed in many
ways.
If your story is true to life, you will not
need to force your characters to do some-
thing unnecessary just to give the required
action to the reel. Rather, the characters
will work out their own salvation, just as
you or your neighbors would.
Anything that you appreciated in your own
life, or in the life about you, you will natu-
rally find easy to write.
Result : Discovery of many new ideas
which have never appeared on the screen.
Furthermore, the subject, when presented as
a whole, looks entirely different, and is ac-
cepted by the editors as being entirely new.
Mr. Travis also says that he employs
a system of filing especially valuable
material which he secures along the
lines of hints in his work. He has a
file which is divided into sections con-
taining material dealing with plots, ac-
tion, characters, general development
of the writer, et cetera, and all the ar-
ticles on these various subjects which
he considers worthy of keeping he files
away in their proper place. Later on,
when the fire of inspiration seems to
dim, he takes them out and restudies
them. He says it is a certain cure for
lack of enthusiasm about one's work,
and that he hopes others will find it as
helpful as he has if they adopt the
method.
SHORT SHOTS.
It may surprise some when we state
that there is just as much thought re-
quired to write a five-reel photo play
as a three or four-act drama for the
stage, but it is a fact.
Many well-known authorities have
been quoted as saying that it is rare to
find a writer who combines brilliant
imagination and technical knowledge of
the movie game at the present time. It
is up to the present-day amateur to
master both ends of the work in order
to qualify for the future.
How many advertising men will wel-
come the day when they can bill the
plays of their company as being dis-
tinctly different in plot and construc-
tion !
Learn to study everything you come
in contact with. You can never tell
when you will be called upon to incor-
Hints for Scenario Writers
301
porate any inanimate object into a sce-
nario.
If you know other writers, get to-
gether with them and talk over your
work. It is enjoyable and profitable.
It is well to avoid dialect in writing
subtitles, unless it is absolutely neces-
sary to characterize a part or to carry
plot action.
Careful thought, before starting to
write, saves much disappointment and
labor after a subject has been com-
pleted. We have said that before, and
will say it again.
When you get a letter from some
one who is trying to sell you some-
thing you don't want to buy, you throw
it away. So does the editor.
One thought which comes to the
mind by itself may be as valuable as a
dozen which have to be sought.
Many wTriters know that the scenario
game is a business as well as an art,
but few seem to appreciate the fact.
LIVE-WIRE MARKET HINTS.
The Edison Company, Bedford Park,
New York, has withdrawn from the
General Film Company, and for the
present, at least, will make only fea-
tures of five reels. This means that
the market will be closed for the
smaller scripts for a while. It will
doubtless open up again, however.
The Kalem Company has secured the
services of Rose Melville, the original
"Sis Hopkins," and there might be a
possibility of selling a typical ''Hop-
kins" script to this concern. The sub-
jects are to be one-reelers. Kalem's
address is No. 235 West Twenty-third
Street, New York, N. Y.
One of the companies of the western
branch of the Universal Film Manu-
facturing Company, located at Univer-
sal City, California, has been sent to
the Orient under the direction of Henry
McRae to make pictures in that locale
Scenarios of this type are in imme-
diate demand, and, should the officials
of the company decide to establish a
permanent studio in that part of the
wrorld, a new held will be opened up
to the writers of scripts. One, two,
and three-reelers are needed at present.
ANSWERS TO READERS.
M. W. P. — Essanay is not buying
any outside material at the present time,
and we understand that Mr. Chaplin
and his associates supply their own
material. As far as we can learn, /Au-
gustus Thomas is in no way connected
witn Famous Players. You may have
Hugh Ford in mind. He is one of their
directors. WTe believe the reason that
your Russian play did not land was be-
cause the companies really do not pro-
duce plays of this kind unless they are
adapted from a well-known novel. A
costume play costs about twice as much
as a modern play to produce, and unless
its name has heavy advertising value,
the financial returns are seldom satis-
factory. We believe that the editors
are conscientious in their work, though
there may be exceptions to the rule.
The editors who shirk their work soon
lose their positions, the same as any
other person who is not pleasing his
employer. We do not doubt but what
some of the companies would pay you
for the suggestion you have in mind.
We thank you for the thought regard-
ing the contest, and will give it care-
ful consideration.
J. C. Hen nelly. — See answer to J.
M. Fiddock in this issue of the depart-
ment.
Miss E. M. Jones. — If you will send
a self-addressed, stamped envelope, we
shall be glad to send you our market
booklet, which contains all information
regarding the market for scenarios.
The amount of action used determines
the length of a reel. We believe it will
be worth while for you to make an ef-
fort to have your scenarios typewritten
302
Hints for Scenario Writers
as they stand very little chance of ac-
ceptance if written in longhand.
J. C. B. — In the next issue of this
department, we will print another
model scenario. The first one appeared
in the issue dated July 24th, 191 5.
T. R. Clarke. — The names of the
companies which will consider synopses
only will be found in our market book-
let which we shall be glad to send you
upon receipt of a self-addressed,
stamped envelope. Your other questions
relative to the companies' wants are
also answered in this booklet. Scripts
should be submitted to the Scenario
Department. A writer may receive
screen credit if only a synopsis is pur-
chased, providing his plot is unusual
and big enough to warrant the publicity.
A. Baker. — The way in which to
handle the incident of a girl turning
into a marble statue would be to call for
a double exposure. The rejection slip
you mention is a form, but doubtless
carries the real feeling of the editor.
N. T. L. — The various styles of sce-
narios which exist are at times confus-
ing to beginners, we know, but by an
intelligent study of the difference be-
tween them and a careful choosing of
the form one wishes to use the trouble
can be overcome. There exists no set
style. It would be well for you to
study the sample scenario which ap-
peared in our April issue and which
can be secured from the publishers for
fifteen cents. It is best to use a black
ribbon on your typewriter. Our mar-
ket booklet, sent upon receipt of a self-
addressed, stamped envelope, answers
your questions regarding the needs of
the companies.
W. A. B. — It is permissible to run
the synopsis of a five-reel picture to
seven hundred words if the actual de-
scription of the plot requires it. The
way to write a synopsis is to hold it
down as much as possible and still leave
out nothing of vital importance.
H. I. Robson. — Synopses are fre-
quently purchased, but it is always
preferable to submit a full script to
companies in the general market. Our
sample scenario in the April issue gives
you the correct form of a working
script. It can be secured from the pub-
lishers for fifteen cents. We know
nothing of the merits of the book you
mention, but would advise you to study
the screen and the worth-while text
matter that is printed about photo-play-
writing. If you will send us a self-ad-
dressed, stamped envelope, we shall be
glad to send you our market booklet,
which will give you the names and ad-
dresses of the concerns which would
be interested in the type of story you
mention. -A letter addressed to the
writer you mention would reach him at
that place.
E. V. T. — See answer to others in
this department in regard to our mar-
ket booklet which gives you the names
of the companies which purchase syn-
opses only. The price paid for a syn-
opsis depends entirely upon the value
of the plot.
P. W. Russell. — See the answer to
H. I. Robson in this issue, which tell?
you how you may secure our issue con-
taining the sample scenario All plays
should be typewritten in the form out-
lined in that issue.
To All Anxious Questioners. —
We endeavor to answer all questions
asked through this department as
promptly as possible, but a delay of one
or two issues is often caused because
of the amount of correspondence on
hand and the time required in prepar-
ing each issue of the book. When
stamped, addressed envelope is inclosed,
we very frequently send a personal re-
ply to save the questioner delay. We
request all those who have not yet re-
ceived a reply to their queries to be
patient ; we shall take care of them in
the near future.
THERE'S no longer any "A" in
Essanay — S and A — because
"Broncho Billy" Anderson, one
of the founders of the famous Chicago
film organization has disposed of his
stock in the corporation to his partner,
George K. Spoor, the S of Essanay,
and retired from active participation in
the filming of that company's produc-
tions. Just what Mr. Anderson's plans
are for the future is a question, since
he has declined to make any statement
of what he will do next.
Remember that big railroad-wreck
scene in Lubin's five-reeler, "The Gods
of Fate," released through V. L. S. E. ?
It is said to have been the most expen-
sive single scene ever screened by a mo-
tion-picture company, and it certainly
looks the part. Two trains, one a pas-
senger, consisting of an engine and
three coaches, and the other a freight
train made up of an engine and six
cars, met in a head-on collision, and it
surely cost money to produce.
Director Stuart Paton, who is mak-
ing the first of the Florence Lawrence
pictures, is just back from Washington,
District of Columbia, where many of
the scenes of "The Elusive Isabel," the
first Universal-Lawrence production,
were snapped.
Mary Pickford has added still
newer laurels to her career by appear-
ing in a seven-reel subject, entitled
The most expensive single scene ever screened.
304
Screen Gossip
Mary Pickford.
"Poor Little Peppina." The picture
is Mary's first film to be released
since the recent formation of the Mary
Pickford Film Company, in which she
is a part owner, and is likewise the
longest feature in which she has ever
acted. The story was specially written
for Miss
Pickford by
Kate Jor-
dan, and
during its
course she
appears as
a bootblack,
a stowaway,
a telegraph
messen-
ger, be-
comes
mixed, up with a band of counterfeiters,
attends school, blossoms into a beauti-
ful woman, and ends by marrying the
district attorney. Sidney Olcott di-
rected the production, and Jack, Mary's
brother, has a minor role.
The use of that word "released" in
the above item calls to mind the fact
that a "fan," whom we had always sup-
posed thoroughly familiar with film
terms, asked us the other day just what
was meant by the expression "release
date." Here's the explanation, in case
you are also wondering: Films are
made at the studios as fast as they can
be completed, but when the director
begins work, he himself doesn't know
just when the picture will be first
shown to the public. After the film is
all finished and the positive prints have
been shipped out to the exchanges —
which are the retail stores of the film
business — a date is given on which the
film can be released or rented to the
first exhibitor or theater manager who
wants to book it. This date is the
release date, and the film cannot be
shown until that date arrives, even
though it reaches the city where it is
to be
time.
shown several davs ahead of
Robert Edeson is cast for the title
role in the five-reel production of "Big
Jim Garrity," adapted from the A. H.
Woods play of that name. Mr. Edeson
numbers among his support such people
as Carl Harbaugh. who used to play in
the Pathe productions of some years
ago ; Lyster Chambers, who played the
villain in "At Bay" ; and Eleanor
Woodruff, known to film fans all over
the country.
Film fans all over the country* who
have seen "'Peggy," the famous produc-
tion featuring Billie Burke under the
direction of Thomas H. Ince, have
voted her one of the most charming
actresses who ever came from the
legitimate stage to filmland, and all of
them will surely be storing up their
dimes and quarters against the time'
when the Randolph Film Corporation,
a newcomer in the film world, will
begin the release of its twenty-part
serial, in which Billie Burke will play
the leading role. The new serial has
not as yet been named, but it will be
a mystery ,
tale of ab-
sorbing in-
terest, and
the great
majority of
i t s scenes
will be laid
amid the
homes of
the wealth-
i e s t Xew
York "smart set
an unlimited opportunity to wear "Lu-
cille" gowns and otherwise to dazzle
feminine patrons of the pictures with
the beautv of her raiment. Henry
Kolker is to have the leading role op-
Burke.
Screen Gossip
305
posite Miss Burke, and the picture will
be staged in the George Kleine studios,
in New York City, and at a Florida
studio temporarily maintained by the
same film magnate.
Fascinating little Ethel Teare, who
has long been featured in the "Ham
and Bud" comedies released by Kalem,
is now promoted to stardom, and will
be the featured player in a whole new
set of comedies, one of which will be
released on every Wednesday by the
Kalem Company, on the General Film
program.
@?
That Annette Kellermann feature
picture being made by Director Herbert
Brenon for the Fox Film Corporation,
is now more than half completed. This
feature, it is promised, will be even
more spectacular than was "Neptune's
Daughter," the picture in which the
famous Annette made her motion-pic-
ture debut. It is being produced in
Kingston, Jamaica, where the director
and his company have been busy since
last August. The long period so far
required to complete even one-half of
the big pro-
duction was
necessi-
tated by the
e n o rmous
amount of
cons trac-
tion and re-
c o n s trac-
tion work
that had to
be accom-
actual work of
William E. Shay,
Herbert Brenon.
plished before the
filming could begin.
Ricca Allen, Violet Horner, Violet
Rockwell, Marcelle, Florence Deshon,
Jane and Kathryn Lee, and many
others are appearing in the support of
Miss Kellermann, and many of the
unique scenes represent a kingdom be-
10
neath the sea, while hundreds of mer-
maids and odd sea creatures have im-
portant parts.
Louise Glaum, the famous vampire
actress of the Ince studios, is at last to
be rewarded for her hard work by being
elevated to stardom. Raymond B.
West, the director, is now producing
one of C. Gardner Sullivan's stories,
in which Miss Glaum, as a vampire
type, will be strongly featured, sup-
ported by a cast that will include
Charles Ray, Jack Standing, and How-
ard Hick-
man. Miss
Glaum, for
this produc-
tion, has de-
signed some
c o s t u mes
that are
said to be
d e c i dedly
out of the
o r d i narv,
Louise Glaum.
and two or three of them have already
been voted the most weird and uncanny
creations ever worn on the screen.
Remember that charming little play,
"Let Katy Do It," released by Fine-
Arts-Triangle some time ago ? It was
made by those two talented producers,
C. M. and S. A. Franklin, who have
time and again proven what wonderful
things they can accomplish with chil-
dren. The Franklins are now busy on
a five-reel feature in which Tully Mar-
shall and Norma Talmadge have the
leading roles. The supporting cast in-
cludes such favorites as W. E. Law-
rence, William Hinckley, Margie Wil-
son, Eugene Pallette, and George
Pearce. The working title of the forth-
coming feature is "The Deserted
House," but its title may be changed
before release day.
306 Screen Gossip
Governor Johnson of California (with glasses) . D. W. Griffith and Sir H. Beerbohm Tree, the
man in character dress.
Governor Hiram T. Johnson, of Cali-
fornia, with his wife, were recent visi-
tors to the Fine Arts studios, where
they were entertained by David Wark
Griffith and his corps of directors. The
governor much enjoyed meeting such
notables as Sir Henry Tree, De Wolf
Hopper, Fay Tincher, Mr. Griffith, and
G. W. Bitzer, the camera man who
filmed "The Birth of a Nation."
Thomas H. Ince and his Kay-Bee-
Triangle forces seem to need more and
more room - for the big undertakings
they have under way, or, at least, they
find it desirable to acquire more and
more land at Culver City, which is the
new home of the Ince organization,
now that the Santa Monica studio has
been all but given up. It was only a
few months ago that Director General
Ince purchased twelve acres of land at
Culver City and erected thereon one of
the best-equipped studios on the West
coast, and just a week or two ago a
deal was closed for thirty-one addi-
tional acres adjoining the first tract.
Already a force of men is grading the
new tract, so that large exterior sets,
such as streets, office buildings, in-
teriors of assembly halls, et cetera, can
be filmed there. Already in use at the
Culver City site are four stages, a big
scene dock, wardrobe and dressing
rooms, property buildings, and a film
vault, while the new administration
building will be ready to move into
within another two weeks. New struc-
tures already under way are carpenter
shops, a huge garage, receiving room,
cutting room, commissary, heating
plant, director's room, factory, hot-
house, a natatorium, having a tank of
one hundred and four thousand gal-
lons capacity, and four more big
stages.
Universal City being a long way out
of Los Angeles, and the street-car serv-
ice none too frequent, players not
wealthy enough to own their own auto-
mobiles have frequently found the
problem of transportation a hard one
to solve. Learning of the difficulty, the
Universal management has provided
Screen Gossip
307
two big sixteen-passenger inclosed cars,
and these now operate between the
studios and Hollywood at frequent in-
tervals. They are in special demand
between the hours of six p. m. and one
a. m., when many who have occasion
to work at the plant during the evening
— and stay late for any reason — find
them especially handy.
De Wolf Hopper has completed work
on "Sunshine Dad," his second release
on the Triangle program, and Edward
Dillon, his director, is now busy with
"The Philanthropist," an unusually
clever, original comedy by Chester
Withey, who prepared the adaptation
of Cervantes' "Don Quixote," and
wrote the scenario for "Sunshine Dad."
In the support of Hopper, in the next
production will appear Fay Tincher,
Chester Withey, Marguerite Marsh,
Max Davidson, and Director Dillon
himself.
We have been asked by a fan just
what is meant by General program,
Mutual program, Universal program,
Triangle program, et cetera. In order
to make it clear to all of you, let's begin
with the explanation that "program"
means the source through which the
various producing companies grouped
under that particular "program" release
their product. Thus, General program
offers to theater managers the films of
Biograph, Essanay, Selig, Kalem, Lu-
bin, Vim, and Vitagraph, though the
five and six-reel features of Vitagraph,
Lubin, Selig, and Essanay are released
on what is known as the V. L. S. E.
program, that being a special-feature
marketing company formed by those
producers. The Universal program
numbers among its brands such films
as Nestor, Gold Seal, Imp, Victor,
L-KO, Laemmle, Powers, Rex, Bison,
and Joker. The features made by these
same companies are marketed either
under the name of Red Feather Fea-
tures or Blue Bird Photo Plays, both
of which organizations are affiliated
with the Universal Film Manufactur-
ing Company. Mutual program con-
sists of the output of the American,
FalstafT, Thanhouser, Beauty, Vogue,
Mustang, Cub, Than-o-Play, and Gau-
mont brands. The features of this or-
ganization are known as Mutual Mas-
terpictures de luxe edition, and average
in length five thousand feet or five
reels each. Triangle program in-
cludes the releases of Kay-Bee, Key-
stone, and Fine Arts studios ; Metro
program, those films manufactured by
Columbia Pictures Corporation, Popu-
lar Play and Players, B. A. Rolfe
Photo Plays, Incorporated, and Quality
Pictures. The Paramount program is
made up of the output of the Famous
Players, Jesse Lasky, Oliver Morosco,
and Pallas studios ; World program
offers exhibitors Brady, Equitable, and
Shubert films, and Kleine Edison Fea-
ture Service, as its name implies, in-
cludes the releases of the George Kleine
and the Thomas A. Edison studios.
The youngsters who appear in pic-
tures out at Universal City aren't going
to have their education neglected — not
for a single minute. A regular teacher
has been engaged and a sure-enough
school opened within the studio walls.
There are between ten and fifteen chil-
dren at Universal City, and they will
be placed under the instruction of Miss
Flazel Hunt, who has been selected by
the board of education. School hours
will, of course, be such that the chil-
dren can take part in pictures for a
few hours each day.
Gertrude McCoy, former Edison
star, now with the Mirror Film Cor-
poration, is proudly displaying a gold
key and medallion which was presented
308
Screen Gossip
her by the mayor of Baltimore, when
she recently visited that city to assist
in the dedication of the Gertrude Mc-
Coy Theater, which has just been com-
pleted.
W. N. Selig, president of the Selig
Polyscope Company, has again hit upon
something new in the way of photo-
play offerings — it being a tabloid ver-
sion of the famous "Adventures of
Kathlyn," which was one of the first
big serial productions ever released.
Kathlyn Williams, the celebrated Selig
star, can now be seen in all the stirring
episodes of her adventures as "Kath-
lyn" at one performance,
for the extremely long,
multiple-reel feature has
now been cut down to an
entertainment which can
be shown within a cou-
ple of hours, and yet all
the "thrills" and "ad-
ventures" are as inter-
esting and interest com-
pelling as they originally
were. With "tabloid
movies" an a c c o m -
plished fact, "tabloid musical comedy,"
which has long been popular, has noth-
ing on filmdom.
Billy Sunday should rejoice. True
Boardman, who has been holding up
stagecoaches, robbing banks, and ter-
rorizing the country in general in the
title role of the "Stingaree" series of
films released by Kalem, has reformed
■ — you see, the series is now completed
—and in the future will be thoroughly
law-abiding, for he is to be starred in
a big, new series from the pen of
George Bronson-Howard.
Managing Director Ralph W. Ince,
of the Vitagraph Long Island studios,
recently returned from Port Henry,
New York, where he has been taking
Kathlvn Williams
final scenes for a big nine-reel feature
production.
Somewhere in this big land of ours
there lives a mighty lucky man. You
know, of course, that the Universal
Company is staging a contest which
seeks to locate among the many mil-
lions of good-looking men, the hand-
somest in America. When he is found,
he is to be offered a job as a star at
Universal City. Well, along with this,
pretty little Violet Mersereau is out
with the announcement that she plans
to wed the handsomest man in Amer-
ica, as soon as Universal finds him.
Now, doesn't that make
the prize doubly worth
winning — a chance to
star in films and accept
Violet's heart and hand?
But, gosh, what will
Violet do if the man,
when he is found,
proves to have a wife
and seven children — for,
isn't it pretty likely that
the handsomest man in
this wide country has
already been caught by a woman?
Little Violet isn't the only girl we know
who is searching for the best that
there is.
Xow that Burton Holmes, the travel-
ogue man, has made a success with
his pictures being released by Para-
mount, his fellow lecturer, Dwight
Elmendorf, is going into the film game,
only Dwight is game enough to organize
a film company all of his own, and
promises the public views of things it
never dreamed of before. We shall see
what we shall see — and one thing is sure
— the beauty spots of the world are
going to be seen and enjoyed by count-
less millions, who, in the past, have
never had an opportunity of seeing and
hearing either Burton or Dwight.
(f)racle
^QMepionj^l^j^etf about frffireen^
This - department will answer questions submitted by our readers either of general
interest, or relating to pictures. No answers will be given to questions regarding matri-
mony, religion, or photo-play writing. Letters should be addressed : Picture Oracle,
care of this magazine, 79 Seventh Avenue, New York City. Write only on one side
of the paper. No questions will be answered unless accompanied by full name and address,
which, however, will not be used. At the top of the paper give the name, or initials, by
which you want the question answered in the magazine. No questions will be answered
except through these pages. All questions will be answered in the order received, so that
failure to see the answer in the next number means that its turn will come later, as we
receive many letters a week, all wanting an immediate answer. When inquiring about
plays, give the name of the play and the name of the company, if possible. Questions con-
cerning photo-play writing should be addressed to editor of the scenario writers' depart-
ment, above address.
JEWELL BROADWAY.— Very glad to
start with your letter ; it was very in-
teresting. You certainly are the proper kind
of a picture fan to go the distances you do
to see the films. So the favorites in your
town are Charlie and "Little Mary," It
seems the same all over. Charles Chaplin's
address is care the Mutual-Chaplin studios,
Los Angeles, California. On February 28th
Mr. Chaplin signed a contract with the Mu-
tual Film Corporation at a salary reported
to be five hundred and twenty thousand dol-
lars a year, with a bonus of one hundred
and fifty thousand dollars, which was paid
when he placed his name to the contract.
His favorite sport? Making people laugh, I
guess. Yes, Lillian and Dorothy Gish both
play with Triangle-Fine Arts, Mr. Griffith's
company. They are not related to Mary
Pickford; just good friends. Henry Walt-
hall is considered the greatest picture player.'
He did his best work in "The Avenging Con-
science" (Mutual). The greatest actress?
Bessie Barriscale in my humble opinion.
"The Cup of Life" (Mutual) was her mas-
terpiece. For handsome man it's a toss-up
between Carlyle Blackwell and Wally Reid,
both heartbreakers. Blackwell's best work
was done in "The Man Who Couldn't Lose"
(Favorite Players). I liked Wally best in
"Carmen" (Lasky). The prettiest girl in
pictures is Lillian Gish, although many pre-
fer Mary Pickford. Lillian made her name
in "The Birth of a Nation" (Griffith). "The
Strange Case of Mary Page" (Essanay) is
now -showing. Lillian Walker's latest is
"Green Stockings" (Vitagraph). Your
other question is against the rules, but you
are wrong anyway. By-by, come again.
All Theda Bara Questioners. — Since the
publication in this magazine of Theda Bara's
own story, entitled "My Strange Life," a post-
man has been traveling continually between
this office and the place where the mail comes
in. The letters received have been of two
classes. One consists of mail marked "per-
sonal" for Miss Bara, and the other is con-
stituted of inquiries concerning the article
and the star's life.
Most of the latter class make such in-
quiries as "Did Theda Bara really write your
article about her life?" "Are all the things
in 'My Strange Life.' by Theda Bara. true?"
and so on.
The best reply we can make to all your
questions is to print a letter received by the
editor of this magazine from Miss Bara,
310
I he Picture Oracle
which accompanied the manuscript of "My
Strange Life." We reproduce it, therefore,
on this page. This is proof that the article
was written by your favorite star, and we
hope that Miss Bara knows enough about
herself to make no mistake in what she says.
All the "'personals" have been handed to
Miss Bara, and. through this department, she
desires to thank all those who sent kind
words to her about herself, her work, and
also for giving
them the first — '
true story of
her life.
In reply to
other questions
about T h e d a
Bara, I say :
Yes, she is a
charming, lov-
able young
lady. Yes, I
know her per-
sonally. Yes,
she is a won-
derful actress.
Yes, she is the
.greatest vam-
pire on the
screen. Yes.
she loves her
work. Her
latest picture
is "Gold and
the Woman"
(Fox). She
has just signed
a four-year
contract with
the Fox Film
Corporation at
a fabulous sal-
ary. I won't
tell you the amount, because you wouldn't
believe me — it's so large. When you write,
address her care of the Fox Film Corpora-
tion, Xo. 126 West Forty-sixth Street, Xew
York City. Miss Bara will be only too glad
to send you photographs, but be fair to her
and inclose a quarter to cover cost.
Send Ruth Roland's mail to the Balboa Com-
pany, Long Beach, California.
Jane. — The Blue Bird Films are not "offi-
cially" released through Universal,- though
most of the Universal stars, such as Kerri-
gan. Mary Fuller, Ella Hall, and Harry
Carey, play in this concern's pictures.
Alex. T. Seymour. — Miss Enid Markey
ma}- be addressed at the Ince-Triangle Stu-
d i o s , Culver
Helen Brown. — Y'our
was given to Miss Bara.
write you.
interesting letter
No doubt she will
C. P. B. — Address Pearl White in care of
Pathe Freres. Xew York City. The same
for Arnold Daly. Theda Bara's mail should
be sent to the Fox Film Corporation. New
York Citv.
M. N. — Your letter
short and sweet.
City, Cali-
fornia. I'm
sure she would
send you her
picture, but as
I have said be-
fore, always in-
close a quarter
when asking
for a photo-
graph. Y'ou
know, they cost
an awful lot.
J. A. M, X.
H.— Well, well,
you certainly
have a pile of
questions for
me. Have you
no pity for the
poor Answer
Man? Well,
here goes, even
if it takes me
all day ! Yes.
Theda Bara
"paints" her
face when be-
fore the cam-
era. In fact, all
actresses do. I
was speaking with Miss Bara the other day
away from the studio, and she had no make-
up on. So don't lower your opinion of her on
that account. See answer to Jewell Broad-
way in this issue for Chaplin question. Yes,
he played in "Charlie Chaplin's Burlesque on
Carmen" for Essanay. It has not been de-
cided as yet whether "Pickles and Pearls"
will be filmed. Mary Pickford was born in
Canada. Antonio Moreno in Spain, and the
Farnum brothers and Crane Wilbur are na-
tive Americans. X~o. I don't know anything
about Wilbur's barber. This question has
been answered before. I consider Charlie
the greatest comedian, and Walthall the
greatest dramatic star. Both Fox and Metro
are good, but I prefer the pictures of the
former. "Bud" Duncan is thirty. Yes, you
The Picture Oracle 311
are right in thinking William S. Han is the
best actor in Western roles. So you don't
think there are enough "Cowboy and Indian"
pictures? I'll see what I can do for you.
Kerrigan's latest film is "The Pool of Flame"
(Universal-Red Feather). Of the actresses
you mention I like Theda Bara's work the
best. I would like to do as you say regard-
ing "Little Mary," but alas and alack, I don't
believe she would let me.
Nellie S. — Address Dorothy Gish and
Constance Talmadge at the Triangle-Fine
Arts Studio, in Los Angeles ; Theda Bara,
care of the Fox Company, New York City ;
Mary Pickford, care of the Famous Players,
New York City; and Edith Storey, Yita-
graph, Brooklyn, New York.
George Burtz. — Sorry, my boy, but I can-
not tell you how to become a picture player.
Better stick to "home, sweet home."
H. L. R. — Olga Petrova was starred in
"What Will People Say?" (Metro'),
Wyoming. — Enjoyed your letter exceed-
ingly, and am still chewing the gum you sent.
Yery thoughtful of you. I am sure. Thanks.
The date of ATiolet Mersereau's birth is a
deep secret, but she is still in her "teens."
Yery kind of her to send you so many let-
ters and pictures ; you are a lucky youth !
Sorry, I cannot answer about Pearl White,
but it is against the rules. Why not write
her personally? The most versatile actress
on the screen? Bessie Barriscale without a
doubt. Did you see her in "The Cup of
Life," "The Mating," and "The Painted
Soul" (all Mutual) ? Each picture was dis-
tinctly different, and her portrayals were ab-
solutely perfect. Do I ever get tired answer-
ing questions? No, and I have to live, any-
way, you know.
Billy. — Your letter looked so nice and
short that I thought I was going to have an
easy time answering it. But I was wrong !
I take my life in my hands with the answer,
I know, but I'm a brave man. No one ever
'■trimmed" me yet — I run too fast ! You
want to know the greatest cast possible. All
right, here goes : Leading man, Henry
Walthall; leading lady, Bessie Barriscale;
juvenile, Wallace Reid ; ingenue, Mae
Marsh ; character man, Frank Keenan ;
character woman, it's a toss-up between Anna
Little and Norma Talmadge ; villain, Harry
Carey ; villainess. Theda Bara ; old man,
Thomas Commerford ; old lady, Mary
Maurice; little boy, Bobby Connelly; little
girl. Thelma Salter. The director for these
stars would be D. W. Griffith, of course, with
Billy Bitzer at the camera. C. Gardner Sul-
livan or J. G. Hawkes would be able to turn
out a scenario good enough for this all-star
aggregation. This has been an awful job,
but I've tried my best to be fair. Possibly
some of you readers can name a cast that
will equal this, but I defy you to give a bet-
ter one.
C. H. S. — Ah, ha! We have a comedian
with us ! Is Pearl White, you ask. She was
last time I saw her. Theda Bara's name is
Theda Bara. A photo-player's tears are sin-
cere— if he's crying over a cut in salary.
Your chance of becoming a star is about one
in half a million. Guess you'll stay home
now, eh, what? I spoke to Theda Bara the
other day, and said you wanted to know if
she played opposite Air. Campbell on the
Sahara Desert. She said no. Tell me the
company he is with, and I will look him up
— really. For your other questions, see an-
swer to Jewell Broadway.
Kully. — Dustin Farnum has played with
Lasky, Ince-Triangle, and is now with
Pallas Pictures, Paramount. Enid Markey's
latest release was "Between Men" (Ince-Tri-
angle), in which she played opposite William
S. Hart. Veleska Suratt is in Europe at the
present time, nursing and entertaining the
wounded soldiers. She expects to reenter
picture work late in the summer. See an-
swer to J. A. M. for "Pickles and Pearls"
questions. The "Thanhouser Kid' was in
vaudeville last time I saw her. I understand
that the Pennsylvania State Board of Cen-
sors has blackballed "The Serpent" (Fox).
Pity them in their career of folly! "The
Iron Claw" (Pathe) is now playing. "The
King's Game" (Pathe) was photographed in
northern New York.
Bagie. — I do not think that Dorothy Phil-
lips is related to Augustus Phillips. William
Courtleigh, Junior, who appeared in "Neal
of the Navy" (Pathe) is now with the
Famous Players. Yes, I saw "Neal," and I
did not like it at all.
L. A. X. — Yes, Warren Kerrigan is Irish,
and proud of it. He says so himself. He
was born in Louisville, Kentucky, however.
H. A. S. — Jane Gail is playing leads with
Universal. She owns up to twenty-three
summers. G. M. Anderson has left the Es-
sanay Company.
E. T. — Enjoyed your letter "muchly." No.
Creighton Hale hasn't an Irish accent while
talking. Pearl White is now appearing in a
serial, "The Iron Claw" (Pathe). I cannot
tell you her salary, but it's a lot more than I
get. Yes, I agree with you. Pearl is quite a
girl — poetry !
312
The Picture Oracle
M. F. G. — No, Charlie Chaplin doesn't
wear a wig.
E. R. Kilgore. — Address Pearl White, care
of Pathe Freres, Xew York City, and Joseph
Kilgour, Vitagraph, Brooklyn, Xew York.
These are their real names. Kilgour was
born in Ayr, Ontario, Canada; and Pearl
in Greenridge Missouri.
Cameraman. — You had better write per-
sonally to one of the camera manufacturers.
'Pathe does more scenic and educational films
than any other company. Other questions
answered above.
Dot. — Xice little letter, Dot. Xo, Charlie
Chaplin and Flo LaBadie refuse to let their
press agents kill them off. Do I think Flo is
prettier than Peggy Snow? You would like
to start something, wouldn't you?
Baltimore. — Yes, I agree with you that
Charlie Chaplin is the funniest comedian.
You will see more of his pictures very
shortly.
M. R. P. — '"Pieces of the Game" (Essanay)
was released January 15th. The life of a
film is about three or four months. After
that time it is all scratched and cut.
Mrs. Theo. B. Fant. — L-Ko Motion Pic-
ture Company is at Xo. 6100 Sunset Boule-
vard, Hollywood, California.
Forrest Taylor Admirer. — Forrest Taylor
will be interviewed some of these days. He
is a comparative newcomer to the screen,
you know. Yes, he is a handsome chap.
Roda. — Welcome ! Your letter was charm-
ing. Yes, a great many people complain be-
cause Anita Stewart and Earle Williams no
longer play opposite one another. It was a
nice team. Anita is twenty, and Earle tnirty-
six.
Rebecca Sternberg. — Are Bob Leonard
and Ella Hall in love, you ask. They should
be if they are not. Frances Xelson. Violet
Mersereau, and Mary Fuller are great, but
not as you say, the three best. How about
Bessie Barriscale, Blanche Sweet, Anita
Stewart, "Little Mary," et al.? Mary Fuller's
eyes are brown ; Warren Kerrigan's blue ;
Violet Mersereau's the same. Lincoln died
before I was born, so I never saw his eyes,
therefore I can't tell you. The last time I
looked in the mirror my glasses were so
dusty that I couldn't see the color of my
own eyes. As soon as I find out, I'll let you
know.
Leeds. — Harry Davenport is directing for
the Vitagraph Company, in Brooklyn, New
York.
Doris. — Yes. I agree with you, King Bag-
got is one of our best stars. Lately, however,
Universal has been putting him in trivial
comedies, which certainly will not help his
reputation as an actor. He was marvelous
in "Absinthe" (Universal). Grace Cunard
was born in Paris. However, she was edu-
cated in this country, at Columbus. Ohio.
She excelled in "The Broken Coin" (Uni-
versal).
Leighton H. Reid. — Thanks for your kind
letter. Charles Chaplin and Mary Pickford
have never announced their middle names,
if they have any. The subtitles are printed
on cardboard, and then photographed.
L. L. L. — Never heard of Herbert Rice.
Blanche Sweet has no permanent leading
man ; Carlyle Blackwell, Charles Clary, and
Tom Forman, all have played opposite her in
Lasky subjects. Dorothy Davenport is play-
ing with Francis Ford in Universal pictures.
Kerrigan did his best work in "The Dread
Inheritance." He, himself, likes it better
than any of his other films. His present
leading lady is Lois Wilson.
A. L. W. — Very nice letter — I appreciated
it. Personally, I think Walthall did his best
work in "The Avenging Conscience" (Mu-
tual). At the present time he is appearing
exclusively in . "The Strange Case of Mary
Page" (Essanay). Yes. I liked Henry and
Blanche Sweet more than any other team.
Miss Sweet can be addressed at the Lasky
Studio. Los Angeles, California.
M. D. — The letters you see on the screen
are generally the writing of some one in
the assembling room. Yes, I agree with you
about Theda Bara. She is great. Joe Moore
just seemed to drop out of sight. He will
most likely pop up one of these days. You
think Mutual has no one as good as Kerri-
gan. I guess you are right, at that. I don't
agree with you on the Mary Fuller question,
though. How about Anna Little or Flo La-
Badie? The Animated Weekly is on a par
with any of the others. I don't imagine
Harry Meyers and Rosemary Theby are
doing anything exciting at present, other
than changing their studio address. Other-
wise, they would be in the magazines more
often. I like their work very much. Theda
Bara and William S. Hart, in a feature pro-
duced by Griffith, would be wonderful. How
much would you pay for a seat? Come
again, I like your letter.
Wm. S. Hart Admirer. — You may ad-
dress William S. Hart at the Ince-Triangle
Studios, Culver City, California. Max Fig-
man was last seen in "The Adventures of
The Picture Oracle
313
Wallingford" (Pathe). Address him, care
of Pathe Freres, New York City. Mary
Pickford lives in an apartment house on
Riverside Drive, New York. Xo. Earle Wil-
liams and Anita Stewart no longer play op-
posite. Hart's best films are "The Bargain"
(Paramount), "On the Night Stage" (Mu-
tual), "The Darkening Trail" (Mutual),
"The Disciple" (Ince-Triangle) , "Between
Men" (Ince-Triangle), and "Hell's Hinges"
(Ince-Triangle). Xo trouble at all; come
again.
Bernice McIda. — Awfully sorry, girlie, but
I can give you no information as how you
could become a film player. Stick to what
you are doing and you will be happier. There
are a good many heartaches on the road to
film fame.
12 E. 21. — Yes, Walthall is still with Es-
sanay. At the present writing it is not known
just what Chaplin intends doing. We will
very shortly print the cast of the characters
appearing in the films on which our fiction
stories are based. Essanay has a studio in
Chicago. Very glad you are so enthusiastic
about our magazine.
E. M. B. — Address Violet Mersereau, care
of the Universal Film Company, Xo. 1600
Broadway, Xew York City.
Stubby. — "Undine" (Blue-Bird) was pro-
duced by Henry Otto, on the Santa Catalina
Island, California. That is one of the most
beautiful spots on the Pacific.
Violet. — Mabel X'ormand is twenty-two
and Roscoe Arbuckle is twenty-nine. You
may address him at the Keystone-Triangle
Studios in Fort Lee, Xew Jersey. Miss Xor-
mand is now playing under the direction of
Thos. H. Ince, at the Ince-Triangle Studios,
Culver City, California.
Bessie Lysle. — Of course I'm not angry.
Write as often as you wish, Cleo Madison
is at Universal City, California. Joe King
has left there for parts unknown.
L. J. Sedalia, Missouri. — Letters addressed
to Pearl White, in care of Pathe Freres,
Xew York City, will reach the young lady
safely.
Bushman's Admirer. — Of the players you
mention, Bushman is the best character man.
He is thirty-one, while Beverly Bayne is
just ten years younger. Anna Pavlowa
played in "The Dumb Girl of Portici" for
the- Universal. Kathlyn Williams played op-
posite Wheeler Oakman in "The Ne'er Do
Well" (Selig). Edna Mayo is a very good
actress, but Walthall is a better actor. In
fact, he is the best in pictures. Blanche
Sweet and Lillian Gish were his two best
opposites. Vitagraph have studios in Brook-
lyn, Xew York, and Hollywood, California.
Famous Players in New York City. Address
Francis Ford at Universal City, California.
Come again, Helen.
Joe Reader, Pittsburgh. — Welcome,
stranger! "The Broken Coin" (Universal)
has not yet been published in book form.
I understand, though, that Grosset & Dunlap,
publishers, Xew York City, contemplate put-
ting it out. Universal, New York City, will
forward mail to Emerson Hough. This gen-
tleman's proud boast is that he never at-
tended a professional ball game ! His favor-
ite indoor sport is "knocking" films, and he
has written them, too ! Maybe the market
isn't good for his stuff any more. Gretz-
hoffen, the locale of "The Broken Coin"
(Universal) is a mythical country. Ford,
Grace Cunard. and Eddie de Polo are not
appearing together at the present time. So
Francis and Grace didn't send their photos?
Very careless of them — write again, and I
think they will be good to you. Yes. Theda
Bara is Theda Bara. So you think I don't
know where the South Sea Islands are?
They are in the South Sea ! Xow will you
be good?
A Newcomer. — Glad to hear from you.
You're as welcome as the flowers in May.
Chester Conklin was starred in "Saved By
Wireless" (Keystone-Triangle). Ora Carew
was the girl. Pauline Frederick played both
/ 'alcrie St. Cyr (no relation to Jean Harald
St. Cyr, the walking fashion plate) and
Joan Marche, in "The Spider" (Famous
Players).
C. P. O. — Francis Ford seems to be quite
a favorite of yours. Yes, he's a regular fel-
low. You want to know something of his
history. Listen : He was born in Portland,
Maine, 1882. At the age of sixteen he left
school and started for the Spanish War. He
became sick before he reached Cuba, how-
ever, which may be a good thing for you
fans. Finally he got a job on the stage
with Amelia Bingham. Apparently she didn't
think him a wonderful actor, for she told
him to forget the stage and become a prop-
erty man. Finally, he started acting again,
and then it was a case of just climbing the
ladder. I liked "The She Wolf" (Universal)
better than any of Ford's other efforts. It
was only a two-reel subject, released a cou-
ple of years ago, but it was great. So you are
coming to Xew York to study for the stage.
I'd be delighted to have you look me up.
Dick B. — Glad you like this department.
The first full-length motion picture ever
314
1 lie Picture Oracle
produced was "The Great Train Robbery"
(Edison) with G. M. Anderson, who later
became Broncho Billy, playing the lead. It
has been reissued time and again, and is
still showing in parts of the country-. Ad-
dress Theda Bara, care Fox Film Company.
Xew York City; Anna Pavlowa. care Uni-
versal. Xew York City ; Pauline Fredericks.
Famous Players. Xew York City, and Anita
Stewart. Yitagraph. Brooklyn, Xew York.
, C. C. L. — Yery nice letter. Vivian Mar-
tin may be addressed, care Fox Film Com-
pany, Xew York City. Vivian Martin was
born near Grand Rapids. Michigan, twenty
years ago. She started her stage career at
the age of six with Richard Mansfield. She
is just five feet tall. About a year elapsed
between the filming of "A Butterflv on the
Wheel" (World) and "Merelv Mary Ann"
(Fox).
Pm I. — Is that so? And I'm I. too. Ses-
sue Hayakawa. the clever Jap. was born in
Tokyo, twenty-seven years ago. He is mar-
ried to a famous Japanese screen actress,
but the rules of this department forbid me
telling you who she is. Sorry. Address him,
care Lasky. Hollywood. California.
Mary. — The three most popular stars?
The3^ seem to be Charlie Chaplin. Mary Pick-
ford, and Theda Bara, in just that order.
R. W. — Your letter regarding Paul Mc-
Allister was most interesting. Yes. he is a
real man. Last I heard of Paul he was play-
ing with the World Film Corporation. Your
letter certainly was not a bother.
Halifax. — So you want Earle Williams
and Anita Stewart to fall in love? I'll do
all I can for you. Anita is again working at
the main studio of the Yitagraph Company.
Brooklyn. X'ew York. William Sheer has
played in several Fox productions, his best
work being in "Regeneration," in which film
he played the heavy lead. William Davidson
plaved Yalli Valli's lover in "Her Debt of
Honor" (Metro).
R. E. K. — Andy Clark is resting at present.
Xo. Myrtle Gonzales did not play in "The
Battle Cr}- of Peace" (Yitagraph). This
sensational feature was produced by the
Eastern branch of the Yitagraph, and Myrtle
works in the West, for Universal you know.
Little Tommy Trent was the boy in "A Boy
at the Throttle" (Kalem). The captain in
"As the Twig Is Bent" (Lubin ) was not cast.
Will M. Ritchev wrote the scenarios for
"The Red Circle" (Pathe).
T. B. — Clara Kimball Young and Paul
Capellani played the leads in "Camille"
(World). William Farnum is the best actor
with the Fox Company, and Theda Bara the
greatest actress with them. Her address is
elsewhere in this department. Yes. Charlie
and Syd Chaplin are brothers. It is rumored
that Betty Xansen will rejoin the Fox Com-
pany.
M. E. D. — Pearl White is starring in "The
Iron Claw" (Pathe) which has been running
for several weeks.
Wm. A. Pease.— Walter McXamara did
not produce "Traffic in Souls" (Universal).
He only wrote it : George Tucker directed
the picture. Mr. McX'amara may be ad-
dressed, care of Mirror Films. Glendale.
Xew York.
M. Toronto. — Marguerite Fischer was last
with Equitable-World. Xo, my child, Ella
and Donald Hall are not related.
D. E. M. — Clara Kimball Young had the
lead in "His Official Wife" (Yitagraph), and
Anita Stewart in "A Million Bid," same com-
pany. I don't understand 3-our question
about Hobart Bosworth. "Explain your-
self" and I will answer.
Theda Bara Fax. — Your letter was one of
the nicest of all the nice ones I got this
month. I'll leave 30U something in my will.
Yes. our covers are getting better and bet-
ter. Yes. Theda certainly can write. Don't
be frighttned. Charlie will soon be working
again. Belle Adair is with Eclair. Cleo
Madison is still acting and directing for
Universal. Florence Lawrence's debut pic-
ture is "Elusive Isabel" (Universal).
Theda's latest was "Gold and the Woman"
(Fox). I had an awful time trying to read
3-our letter, old man, be more careful next
time, won't you please? Thanks.
J. P. W. — The cast of principals in "The
Broken Coin" (Universal) are, Kitty Gray,
Grace Cunard ; Count Frederick, Frauds
Ford; King Michael, Harry Schumm; Ro-
Jeaux, Eddie Polo; and Count Sachio, Ernest
Shields. The addresses 3-ou desire are else-
where in this department.
M. F. L.— Lillian Walker's latest comedy
feature was "Green Stockings" (Vitagraph).
Addresses elsewhere in this department.
W. M. Powers. — You're quite a cartoonist,
m3T "D03-. You want to know whether actors
come from rich or poor families ? That's a
funn3T question. I guess actors and lawwers
and doctors and writers and pictures oracles
come from all classes, rich, poor, and me-
dium. So 30U want to be an actor? There
are thousands like 3-ou. Take my advice and
sta3~ right home. It will save 3-ou a lot of
The Picture Oracle
315
time and money and heartaches. Xo, I am
sorry, but there is no school that I can
recommend to you.
R. P. — Eddie Polo has been in scores of
pictures ; possibly his best was the Universal
serial, ''The Broken Coin." He was formally
a circus performer and joined Universal
about a year ago. Yes, he is one of the
strongest men in pictures. I might say the
strongest, if F. X. Bushman didn't read our
book. Eddie was born in this country thirty
years ago.
M. E. H., 12. — X'o. my dear girl, Harold
Lockwood and Jack Pickford are not dou-
bles. Where did you ever get that idea?
I have no way of finding out if Miss Pick-
ford writes the articles under her name in
the Philadelphia Evening Telegraph." Play-
ers are not allowed to look in the camera. It
is considered very bad work on their part if
they do. They then appear to be looking di-
rectly at the audience. They may "look past"
it while acting, however.
M. A. W. — Yes. child. Sessue Hayakawa
was wonderful in "The Cheat" (Lasky), but
you shouldn't have played truant from school
to see him. Study hard and some day you
may become a picture oracle. Letters sent
to Sessue. care of Lasky. Hollywood, Cali-
fornia, will reach him. Sorry, but I am not
permitted to tell whom he is married to. His
parents, I understand, live in Japan. You
will be much happier, my dear little girl, if
you get the idea of being a film favorite out
of your head. I really mean that.
Helex B— I'll tell you Blanche Sweet's
real name if you promise to keep it a secret
— it's Blanche Sweet. She says so herself.
Xo, House and Page Peters are not brothers,
as has often been stated. You want to know
whether blondes or brunettes are better in
pictures. I never heard of a Miss Blonde
but remember Fritzi Brunette ! Seriously,
the color of hair doesn't make an awful lot
of difference. ''Little Mary" is light-haired
— not light-headed — and Theda Bara, an
equally successful star, has locks the color
of midnight. Yes, Helen. I am sorry to say
that Arthur Johnson is dead. He was a
wonderful fellow, and a credit to the great
art of the photo play. Francis X. Bushman
now lives in Xew York City. Donald Brian
played in "The Voice in the Fog" (Lasky).
Owen Moore is under contract with Triangle
and "Little Mary" with Famous Players, so
they couldn't very well play together. Bev-
erly Bayne is just five feet tall. Sorry, but
I cannot learn how tall the others are that
you wanted. Earle Williams is playing in a
series with a different leading lady in each
picture. Anita Stewart's new leading man is
S. Rankin Drew. Your other questions are
against the rules, I'm sorry to say.
Miss G. Zorx. — Yes, the same person can
appear twice in the same scene by double
exposure. One side of the film is covered,
when the actor assumes one character, and
then the same thing is done with the other
side when he plays the other part.
Deax. — I enjoyed your interesting letter
very much, indeed. You seem to have quite
a collection of photos, you lucky girl. Sorry,
but your Thanhouser question is not clear.
Give the name of the character and I will
look it up for you. Art Acord is twenty-six.
I will also find out if Kathlyn Williams' and
Marion Leonard's parents are living. Carol
Halloway has no brother named Jake. Mar-
guerite Courtot's maid in "The Adventures
of Marguerite" (Kalem) is not cast. Once
again, I must say I am sorry, but I am not
allowed to give Miss White's home address.
Send her mail care of Pathe Freres, X'ew
York City.
Mariaxxe. — Yes. you hit the nail on the
head first time. William S. Hart is abso-
lutely the best portray er of Western roles in
the film game. His latest picture is "The
Aryan" (Ince-Triangle). Charles Ray's
greatest bit of acting was done in "The
Coward" (Ince-Triangle), in which picture
he ran away with all the honors, although
Frank Keenan was supposed to be the star.
Thera Bara is equally at home writing at
her desk, or playing in the studio. She is
one of the few actresses, who really can
write. The story of her life, which appeared
in a recent i-ssue, was said by many critics
to be the best article that has ever been writ-
ten by a photo-player. Yes, Mary Pickford
is now part owner of the Famous Players-
Mary Pickford Company. Lucky girl, isn't
she. Come again, I enjoyed your clever let-
ter muchly.
H. W., Kingston, Xew York. — Grace
Cunard's name is pronounced Qu-nard. Xo.
Grace, Francis Ford and Eddie Polo no
longer appear in the same pictures. Anna
Little is a member of the American-Mutuai
Company, while her former leading man.
Herbert Rawlinson. still draws his pay from
Universal.
Millard A. — All the players you mention
will be in the columns of this magazine in
time. You know, there are so many good
players and so few pages that it takes a long
time to get around to all of them, but we'll
succeed yet. Yes. Herbert Rawlinson is one
316
The Picture Oracle
of the best actors playing under the Univer-
sal banner. I, too, think Ella Hall is very
cute.
Theda's Admirer. — Pedro de Cordoba
played Julien in "Temptation" (Lasky).
Ruth Roland was born in San Francisco in
1893. How old is she? Yes, to you and a
million-and-one others. Theda Bara was born
in Egypt — she says so herself in the story
of her life which she wrote for us.
Miss C. Parker. — Sorry to keep you wait-
ing, but first come, first served. Francis
Ford majr-be reached at Universal City, Cali-
fornia. The Universal Film Company's Xew
Jersey studios are at Universal Heights,
Leonia, New Jersey.
J. E. F. Royal. — The only directors I know
of named Sterling are Ford Sterling, Key-
stone-Triangle, and Richard Sterling, whose
last film was "The Tarantula" (British Royal
Film Company). The latter may now be
reached at West Xew York, New Jersey.
Moore- Fan. — Owen Moore is playing leads
for the Fine-Arts Triangle; Tom Moore has
just signed a splendid contract to star in spe-
cial Gold Rooster features for Pathe. and
brother Matt is still directing and playing
leads for the Eastern Universal. How would
you like to collect the Moore family's pay
checks each week ? I wr.s speaking with
Alice Jo)7ce the other evening, and she has
not. as yet. decided whether or not she will
enter the film game again. Let's hope she
does — she's a wonder. You want to know
whether Mary Pickford gets a larger salary
than I do. Well, a trifle more. I think. Her
best picture? "Tess of the Storm Country,"
an early Famous Players subject, in my
opinion. It was a wonder.
Excelsior. — "The Battle Cry of Peace"
(Vitagraph) is estimated to have cost more
than one hundred thousand dollars.
Harold. — William Russell played opposite
Jane Cowl in "The Garden of Lies" (Uni-
versaFT. Mary Pickford's age? Take 1893
from 1916. What have you got? Twenty-
three? Right — go to the head of the class.
Mabel Black. — "The Paths of Happiness"
(Universal), starring Violet Mersereau, was
filmed in the Adirondacks.
Donald A. Burdett, Exeter Academy. — Of
course you haven't asked too many ques-
tions ! I have to do somthing to earn my
living, you know. Address. Mary Allies Min-
ter, care Metro Film Corporation. Xew York
City ; Blanche Sweet, care Lasky, Hollywood,
California. The other address has been
given a dozen times in this department, this
issue. Ask anything else you want to — I'll do
my best to answer you.
M. E. — The best-looking actor? Carlyle
Blackwell. with Wallace Reid running him
a neck-and-neck race.
Polly. — So you want the casts of the
stories in this magazine printed? We intend
doing that shortly. Helene Rosson and E.
Forrest Taylor played the leading parts in
"The Thunderbolt" (American). Always
give the name of the company.
Lucille. — Charles Kent has been playing
leads and character parts for Vitagraph for
ten years. See answer to Moore Fan above,
regarding Alice Joyce.
Pearl White Admirer. — Pearl White and
Creighton Hale are now appearing in a Pathe
serial. "The Iron Claw."' Yes, I think they
make a splendid team, in fact, one of the best
of the many good ones now playing in pic-
tures. Very glad you like everything in the
magazine so much. Are you getting enough
interviews now? There are plenty more
good ones coming, too.
E. A. A. — Henry Walthall and Edna Mayo
are being costarred in "The Strange Case
of Mary Page," and Sydney Ainsworth is
playing the bold, bad villain. Yes, it would
be much better if the company didn't try to
make a fashion show out of it. It's an aw-
ful shame to waste the precious time of won-
derful Henry Walthall in such drivel. So
you like Louise Glaum and Dorothy Green
as well as Theda Bara, eh? All three are
good, and there is plenty room for them
Louise Glaum's next picture is "The Aryan"
(Ince-Triangle). Xo, D. W. Griffith's new
picture to follow the "Birth of a X'ation"
(Griffith) has not yet been released. Be pa-
tient, and you will be rewarded. If not here,
then in the hereafter.
Faulhaber, Richmond, Virginia. — Minta
Durfee is a leading lady with Keystone-Tri-
angle. Her latest picture was "The Great
Pearl Tangle" opposite Sam Bernard. "A
Parisian Romance" (Fox) is a five-reel pro-
duction. Dorothy Green did splendid work
as the siren, but she wasn't in the picture
enough.
Eager. — I agree with you that Pearl White
doesn't have a great chance to do any real
acting, the thrills taking up all her time. It's
a shame, too, because she realty is a clever
actress. As soon as the serial craze dies
out — if ever — we will again see Pearl in
"regular" stuff. The rules forbid me to
answer your question regarding Lillian
Walker. Players whose first names are Vic-
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318
The Picture Oracle
tor? Victor Moore, Lasky; Victor Benoit,
Fox; Victor Heerman, L-KO ; Victor Rott-
man, junior, Horsley-Mutual ; that's all, I
guess.
Madeleine. — Awfully sorry, but have no
records on "The Typhon" (Ince). Your
other questions are not according to Hoyle.
Esther G. D. — Edward Earle was starred
in "Ranson's Folly" (Edison). He is still
with Edison, and may be addressed at their
studio in New York. Your other questions
are against the rules.
J. H. P. — Olga Petrova was born in Po-
land. Better write to some music-publishing
company for the translation of the Toreador
song from "Carmen." I sadly neglected the
languages when at college. Too bad, other-
wise I could have helped you. Forgive me —
and come again.
India, P. A. — Your letter interested me
exceedingly. All the questions you ask will
soon be answered in a long, special article.
It would take up too many pages of this de-
partment. Look for the story, it's a good
one. Yes, the chances are better in Cali-
fornia than in Canada, but if you go out
there and don't get a job — don't blame me!
Harry-Bud. — Never heard of John Dore
and Alan Law. Sounds like a poem. "The
Dumb Girl of Portici" is showing in all the
big cities at regular theater prices. Yes,
Helen Holmes is one of the most daring-
actresses in pictures. Read the story in this
issue of "Girls Who Play with Death." It
tells of all the others, too. "Tess of the
Storm Country" was produced in California
by Edwin S. Porter, formerly director gen-
eral of the Famous Players. It was Mary
Pickford's best subject. "Man and His Soul"
(Metro) is Beverly Bayne's and Francis X.
Bushman's latest.
Earle Williams Fan. — See answer to
Helen B. above. Earle's favorite sport is
going to picture shows — he says so himself,
and he ought to know. He's got a piano and
a victrola, so that will tell you what his
favorite instrument is.
M. G. Johnston, Pennsylvania. — Address
Lillian Lorraine, in care of Pathe Freres,
New York City. Other addresses given else-
where in this department.
Mary Elizabeth Parker, and a score of
others. — Your letters were immediately sent
to Miss Bara. She will, no doubt, answer
you at her earliest convenience.
Detroit Girl. — Antonio Moreno's latest
picture was "Kennedy Square" (Vitagraph) ;
Marguerite Clark last appeared opposite
Marshall Neilan, in "Mice and Men" (Fa-
mous Players). The latest Harold Lockwood
picture was "Life's Blind Alley" (Ameri-
can). Ella Hall was last seen in "The Win-
ning of Miss Construe" (Universal) oppo-
site Bob Leonard. Creighton Hale is now
appearing in Pathe's serial, "The Iron
Claw," in which Pearl White is starred.
Your other questions are answered else-
where in this department.
Miss Gertrude Houston. — See answer to
Polly in this department.
C. Sylis. — Dorothy Gish was born in Day-
ton. Ohio, but received her education at the
Allegheny Collegiate Institute, in Wheeling,
West Virginia, and from tutors.
Carolyn 15. — If you ask so many ques-
tions when you are only fifteen, what will
you do when you are fifty? Mary and Lot-
tie Pickford were born in Toronto, Canada.
Grace Cunard was born in Paris. She was
on the stage in this country for a good
many years, and has been in pictures for five
years. She has been sick, but is again back
at the studio. Yes, Grace Cunard is her
real name. Francis Ford plays leads and
directs. Crane Wilbur was born in Athens,
New York. He is twenty-seven. Yes,
Mary Miles Minter appears to be getting
TLiite a rival of Mary Pickford's. Anita
Stewart was born in Brooklyn twenty years
ago. Earle Williams was born in Sacra-
mento, California, thirty-six years ago. All
your other questions have been answered
elsewhere in this department, or are against
the rules. Come again, I like to hear from
Canada.
Pearl; T. E. G. ; Morrie ; Annie; L. T.
G. ; Willy Richards; B. L. T. ; Elsie de
Vere; A. S. T.; Reggie; S. T. G. ; McA. ;
G. H. T. ; Honey Boy; W. A.; Jacouline;
L. M. P.; S. T. H.; Mary M.; X.; Fifth
Ave.; S. T. H.; J. C. C. — Very sorry, my
good people, but you all have asked questions
contrary to one rule or another set forth
in the heading of this department. If you
will read over the regulations and then write,
complying with them, I'll be only too glad
to answer anything you may ask. One big-
mistake many of you make is neglecting to
give your name and address. Neither will
be used, I assure you, so please help me and
yourself by giving them.
To All My Friends. — If you don't see
your answers as soon as you think they
should be published, please consider the
amount of mail that this department must
handle. Yours will be answered in the order
in which it was received.
FAT IS FATAL
Fat is fatal to Health, Comfort,
Happiness and often fatal to Life.
Fat people 11 ed no longer despair, for
there is a simple, home remedy to be had
that safely reduces excess fat from any
part of the body. It is called the ADIPo
Treatment and to prove that it does the
work in a pleasant and perfectly harmless
way, we will send a
5Cc Box FREE
Ito any p rson who is ton fat rnd
[sends ns their name and ;.<ldress. We
'want to pr ve that ADIPO takes off fat
by restoring- the normal functions of
the system— without dieting, exercis-
ing or discomfort. Remember, we
offer to prove this to you at our own expense. Other diseases, like
Rheumatism, Asthma, Kidney or Heart troubles, that so often
come with obesity, improve as you reduce. This offer may not
he repeated, so write at once for a Free 50c Box of ADIPO and
interesting illustrated hook; it costs von nothing-. Addr< ss
THE ADIPO CO.. 36(54 Ashland UlAg., IVew York. NT. Y,
FAT
GET RIO
OF THAT
Free Trial Treatment
Sent on request. Ask for my "pay-when-re-
duced" offer. My treatment has reduce.! at
the rate of a pound a day. No dieting-, no
exercise, absolutely safe and sure method. Let
me send von proof at my expense.
DR. R. NEWMAN, Licensed Physician, State
36 East Third Street, New York, Des!t 431
Scenarios Wanted
By a new Company. One to five reels. It
makes no difference if your stories have been
rejected, send them to us. Enclose return postage.
Associated Motion Picture Co.,
Box 355-B, Station C, Los Angeles, Cal.
Don't Envy a Beautiful
Woman— Be One!
Most women do
not stop to think
what a few minutes
each day and a good
cream will do for
their complexion.
Carelessness is re-
sponsible for large
pores, rough skin
and bad complex-
ion. Beauty is at
best but skin deep.
Care for it and
treasure it, for it is
woman's best asset.
The regular use
of Clair Mignon will
remove all dust and
impurities from the
skin. A trial will
Crewe
MlGN ON
sent to any address on receipt of price.
prove this to the most discriminating. Clair
Mignon is a perfect cold cream and is used
regularly by New York's Elite Society women.
Take advantage at once of this Special Offer.
SPFriAI OFFFtt- Send 25c- in stamps for Purse-size
LiVlrltj VI 1 LiMV Aluminum Box of Cream and Box
of Clair Mignon Complexion Powder— enough for two or
three weeks. State sha de of powder.
MAIN OFFICE AND LABORATORIES
MIGNON CO., 540 West 165th Street, NEW YORK CITY
I will send my 25c book
Improve Your Eyes
For 10c stamps or coin
\ high-trrade exercise ai
hat quickly strengthen
iyes. Also a most benef
cises that will improi
temples and sides <>
tating mastication a
tion. Completely i
without apparatus.
massage method
md beautifies the
il system of exer-
the muscles of the
ice. thereby fncili-
vocal pronuncia-
strated. Euthely
Muscle Builder
A steel spring- exert- ser and che.-t ex-
pander, with a complete course of tu enty-
four selected exercises for developing all
the muscles of the body. It is equal to
any 83.00 exerciser. My price for a short
tim > only, $1.00.
PROF. ANTHONY BARKER
4081 Barker Building, 110 V/. 42d St., New York
AUTOGRAPHED PILLOW TOPS
OF MOVING PICTURE STARS
Made on old yold satine, 18x18 inches. 35c
each. Beautiful llxU Hand Colored 1 ic-
tures 25c each. Genuine Photo-Gelatin
rints, 5>£x7><>, two for a dime, or six for
a quarter. Silver Platinoid Photo
m Frames, 6x8, 60c each.
mkm special offer for this month
Hpl One each of the four articles listed
■ - \ ah,, v.-. $1 .25 w. .rth Pi SI .00 - :
""■•^(B money order). You may have a different
player with each article.
YOUR CHOICE OF THE FOLLOWING STARS
G. M. Anderson
King- Baggot
Theda Bara
Beverly Bayne
Carlyle Blackwell
John Bunny
Francis X. Bushman
Marguerite Clark
Maurice Costello
Howard Estabrook
Mary Fuller
Ethel Grandin
Arthur Johnson
Alice Joyce
Jack Kerrigan
Florence LaBadie
Mabel Normand
Norma Phillips
Mary Pickford
Marguerite Snow
Anita Stewart
Blanche Sweet
Emmy Wehlen
Pearl White
Crane Wilbur
Earle Williams
Clara Kimball Yoncgf
R. K. STANBURY, Dept. P. A., Flatiron BHg., New York City
Send two-cent stamp for folder.
^TYPEWRITERS AT
" $io
Typewriter prices smashed. Un-
derwoods, Remingtons, Royals,
L. C. Smiths, Fox, etc.— your I
choice of an7 standard factory I
rebuilt machine at a bargain, f
Every one perfect and guaran-
teed for 3 years — including all repairs.
My Free circular tells how to save 40 per cent to 60 per
Cent on each machine. Write for it. C. E. GAERTE, President.
DEARBORN TYPEWRITER EXCHANGE
Dept. 825 Chicago, Illinois
Make Your Hair Beautifully
Wavy and Curly Over Night
Try the new way — theSilmerine way —
and you'll never again use the ruinous
heated iron. The curliness will appear
altogether natural.
Liquid Silmerine
is applied at night with a clean tooth brush. Is
neither sticky nor greasy. Serves also as a splen-
did dressing for the hair. Directions accompany
bottle. Sold by druggists everywhere.
His Favorite Remedy—
These days physicians prescribe Home Billiards to keep the whole family
rolling in health! All that the doctor calls for now is to take his own medicine
on the Brunswick "Baby Grand." This famous home table brings 33 carom
and pocket billiard games. Year-round sport that banishes brain fag, aids
digestion and pitts new blood into folks who work all day!
Send for our catalog at once, and join this movement for "home preparedness."
BRUNSWICK
Home Billiard Tables
Now $27 Up— Pay 10c a Day
Whether mansion or cottage— there's a grown man's
Brunswick made to fit your home.
Brunswick "Grand" and "Baby Grand" are made
of genuine San Domingo mahogany richly inlaid.
Our "Quick Demountable" can be set up in a jiffy
anywhere, and taken down quickly when not in use.
"Convertible" Brunswicks serve as perfect dining
and library tables when not in play for carom or
pocket billiards.
Scientific Qualities
Every Brunswick is a scientific table with ever-level
billiard bed, celebrated Monarch cushions — life ! speed!
and accuracy! Why be content with a toy billiard
table when 10c a day buys a genuine Brunswick/
Balls, Cues, Etc., FREE !
Complete High Class Playing Outfit included with-
out extra cost— Rack, Markers, Balls, Cues, Cue-
Clamps, Tips, Chalk, expert book of 33 games, etc.
30-Day Home Trial
Accept our trial offer and let the Brunswick win
every member of the family. Factory prices, easy pay-
ment plan and all Brunswick Home Tables shown in
our handsome color-book — "Billiards — The Home
Magnet." It's FREE. Write or mail the coupon today.
TUis Brings Billiard Book FREE
1 The Brunswick-Balke-Collender Co. (514)
g Dept. 26W 623-633 S. Wabash Ave., Chicago
„ Send free, postpaid, your color-book—
"Billiards— The Home Magnet"
and tell about your free trial offer.
Sfaplypcwriti no
The OM Way
.earn the New Way — At Home
0 to 100 Words a Minute Guaranteed
irery stenographer — everybody who uses a typewriter or who would use one if they
tew how — should send in the coupon below or a post card or letter now for our won-
rful new free book about this marvellous New Way in Typewriting.
Doubles or Trebles Your Salary
This book, which we send free, describes the secret principles of a wonderful new
method of acquiring skill on the typewriter — a new method that has com-
pletely revolutionized the typewriting situation. Based on Gymnastic Finger
Training away from the machine! Already thousands of men and women who
never exceeded 30 to 40 words a minute are typewriting 80 to 100 words with
half the effort and with infinitely greater accuracy than ever before — have increased
their salaries from $10 and $15 a week up to #25, $30 and even $40 weekly.
Only 10 Lessons — Easy for Anyone
And the wonderful thing about the New
Way in Typewriting is that you learn it
at home in spare time, in only 10 lessons
and it is amazingly easy for anyone!
What's more, you begin to increase your
speed from the very first lesson and with-
out interfering with your present work.
Thousands of people are earning
vastly increased incomes simply be-
cause they have acquired high speed
and accuracy on the typewriter by this
surprisingly resultful New Way. If
you want to do as these others have
done, and earn S25, S30 or even $40
weekly, our free book about the
New Way in Typewriting will
show you how.
Entirely New
Don't confuse this New Way
in Typewriting with any sys-
tem of the past. There has
never been anything like
t before. Special Gym-
nastic Finger Training
Exercises bring results
in days that ordinary
methods will not
produce in months.
It is the greatest
step in typewrit-
ing since the
_ typewriter it-
"It is a genuine Iflgk self was in-
)leasure for me to vnk vented —
ecommend the Tulloss VHl already its
sTew Way. From 20 words ^HBL success
i minute, inaccurate work, has be-
o a speed of 80 words a min- XBHL come
ite, accurate work, a salary
ncrease that makes it now
sxactly double what it was when
: began the study — this is the
esult obtained in my case from
his most excellent course." — P. A.
^anslar, Oklahoma City, Okla.
Speed — Accuracy —
Doubled Salary
" Am now Chief Clerk to the Dept. of
Parks and Public Property. Salary is
sxactly double what it was when I took
up the study of the New Way. I can
only say if you desire to increase your
ability and salary, you will make no
mistake in taking this Course. The in-
struction is of the highest order." — Anna
S. Cubbison, 109 Hoerner St., Harrisburg,
Pa.
Read
What
rhey Say
nation-wide. Among the thousands of operators
who have taken up this system are hundreds of
graduates of business colleges and special type-
writing courses — many were so-called touch
writers — yet there has been hardly a single one
who hasn't doubled or trebled his or her speed
and accuracy, and their salaries have been in-
creased in proportion.
Sent to You on Trial
So overwhelming has teen the success of this New Easy Way in
Typewriting that we will send you ihe en ire course on trial. We
give you a positive Money-Back Hank Bond ffuaranteeing to bring
you buth expert speed and accuracy and to satisfy you with results
or the Couise will not cost you one cent. You are the judge.
Your word decidesit.
Kiglit now we are making a special low price to Tiew students in
each locality to help advertise the New Way in Typewriting. If
you are ambitious to get ahead, if you want to get more money in
your pay envelope, write us at once.
Free — Amazing Book
Our free book tells all about the New Way in Typewriting, and the
wonderful results it is bringing to typewriter users everywuere. It is
a big 48-page book, brimful of eye-opening ideas and va.uable informa-
tion. It explains how this unique new method will quickiv make your
fingers strong and pest its, bringing them under perfect con-
t ol make them extremely rapid in their movements how iD a
few short weeks you can transform your typewriting and
make it easy, accurate
and amazingly speedy — ■
how this will inevitably
increase your income. By
all means, mail the coupon
or just a postal or leiter
NOW. What So many
others are doing you too can
do. With the book we will
send our Special reduced
price offer. We ite today
before this opportunity is
past.
THE TULLOSS
SCHOOL
9605 College Hill
Springfield
Old "Touch" System
Can't Compare with
The New Way
Of all the stenographers who take
up the old "touch" system in busi-
ness schools less than 5% ever use
it in actual work. This is because
the old touch system is hard to
learn, hard to maintain, and hard
to use. The New Way is different,
based upon an absolutely new idea
as to the way to get speed. It
brings results in days that the old
touch system doesn't bring in
months. Get our free book and see
why. Mail coupon or postal NOW.
After Taking 3 Touch Courses
«'I had worked throuch 3 systems of touch
typewriting. However, my speed was low and
the keyboard incompletely mastered. I then
took up the study of the New Way and as a
result I am now able to strike any letter or
character blindfolded and without the slightest
hesi ation, and my speed has been brought up
to 80 words per minute." — C. H. Emerick,
Du Bois, Pa.
Salary exactly doubled.
From an Old "Touch" Writer.
"When I enrolled for the New Way I had
completed a typewriting course and was already
a touch writer, but I averaged only about 40
45 words a minute — also made frequent
errors. As to my pres
ability, I fiDd by
repeated actual tests
my speed from
shorthand no.es"
from 85 to 8
) co ying type
ritten or printed
latter I can
:aoh about 95
ords a minute;
familiar matter as
high as lluto 112."-
John H. JIarquette
Smith's Falls, Ont.
These are but a few of the
many testimonials on file
Ohio
f Mail This Today for Bigger Pay
f Please send your Free Book about the New Way in Typewrit-
f ing. I enclose 4c. in stamps to cover cost of packing", mailing,
j etc. Tins incurs no obligation on ir,y part.
/ Name
^ Address
S Occupation _
/ Mail to the TULLOSS SCHOOL, 9605 College Hill, Springfield, Ohio
Ideas Are Wanted for Photoplays
and this interesting 32-page free booklet shows how you can help supply them at
$25 to $200 each. If you attend the movies, you know the kind of ideas wanted.
New writers, if they possess imagination, are encouraged. It's IDEAS that count,
not previous experience or special education. Your chance to succeed is as good
as anybody's. Write today for my free booklet, "How to Write Photoplays."
Turn Your Happy
Thoughts Into Cash
In the lives of all people. ..in
your life.. .is material for many
strong and heart appealing photo-
plays...photoplays as good or bet-
ter than many you have actually
seen acted on the screen. More
than 30,000 movie theatres, chang-
ing programs daily, are continu-
ally calling for ''SOMETHING
NEW." Will you help meet this
demand? Investigate without
cost, by using free coupon below.
Earo$100to$300 aMoiith
Writing photoplays is the
most fascinating occupation in the
world. The thrill of seeing your
^creation acted on the screen ....the
^%^,^hought that it is entertaining
*%w&nd inspiring millions of people. ..this is a joy
W4|r-pf the keenest and deepest sort. Writing
£* KKK ^^^^photoplays is also most profitable.
g~\f\\ TT*/""\1VT you P°ssess invention and
'LUwl UI\1 imagination you should
r-,p.ft* %«tefc.be able to turn out
ELBERT MOORE ^H^one successful
Box 772 P5, Chicago .P h o t o p 1 a y
Send free booklet "How to Write Pho- ^r^^a week.
toplays"and all facts about your method and ^%^Su c h
Special Offer. No cost or obligation to me"#^
Name."* 5
Convincing Evidence of
Big Demand
A $10,000 Cash Prize is now being
offered for a Photoplay Idea!
The New York Times says:
'"It is the newest profession in the
world, this of scenario writing, and it
is giving the few men engaged in it
thousands of dollars."
Mrs. Louella O. Parsons, former Scen-
ario Editor of the Essanay Co., says:
"Scenario writing is the most fascin-
ating form of fiction. There is a bigger
future for scenario writers than for
writers in any other field. But you
must have something good to offer in
order to reap rewards for your efforts.
I am confident that the people — those who
go to the movies regularly and see what the
producers want— have unique and brilliant
ideas. But the vast majority do not know
how to put these into salable form. They
mast master technique and construction if
they would succeed."
a record is by no means uncommon,
and those who are doing this
can earn, from $100 to $300 a
month simply for spare time work
in their own home. Use free coupon
below and obtain full particulars.
Former Scenario Editor
Shows You How
Address
Writing photoplays enables
those who lack the experience neces-
sary for writing novels and stage
plays, to express the brilliant and
original thoughts which many of
them possess.
Mv complete and authorita-
tive COURSE OP INSTRUCTION
AND CRITICISM correctly devel-
ops your ability and gives you the
simple rules of photoplay writing in
clear and concise form. It includes a
224-page Text Book, covering every
branch of photoplay writing, 12 Screen
Talks prepared especially for my
Course by leading Producers. Scenario Editors and Actors.
6 Student Guides and my own Personal Instruction and
Criticism. Easy to read and understand. Strongly recom-
mended by men who know. As a former Scenario Editor,
with many years of inside experience in writing, purchasing
and producing photoplays, I speak with authority.
It Costs Nothing to Investigate
Use free, coupon now, and look into the wonderful op-
portunities of this new and profitable calling. If you pos-
sess Ideas, my careful, authoritative and personal method
of instruction is all you need for success. Especially lib-
eral terms to those who act at once and accept one of the
limited number of vacancies in the class I am now forming.
Use coupon and obtain free booklet "How to Write Photo-
^^|gS£ plays" and full particulars NOW. No cost or obligation.
ELBERT MOORE, Box 772 P5, CHICAGO
PICTU Rt HAY
JUNE 1916
15
CENTS
)LZT MERSEREM
"I couldn't &et alon&
without Ingram's
Milkweed Cream
and Velveola
Souveraine. Every
woman should £et
the 'beauty' that is,
truly, 'in every jar'
and in every Ingram
box and bottle, too."
(Signed)
MARY FULLER.
January 31, 1916
What Ingram's prod-
ucts do for famous
beauties they can do
for YOU-
Take
Advantage
of This Offer
Send us 6c in stamps to
cover cost of packing
and mailing, and get free
our Guest Room Package
containing Ingram's Face
Powder and Rouge in
novel purse packets,
and Milkweed Cream,
Zodenta Tooth Powder,
and Perfume in Guest
Room sizes. Address
F. F. Ingram Co.
31 Tenth St.
Detroit U.S.A.
Windsor, Ont.
OTARS of the
Movies, who
must stand
the severe test of the
camera, especially ap-
preciate the £reat value of Ingram's Toilet Creations.
To keep the complexion fair and free from Blemish,
skin disorders and sallowness, there is nothing, equal to
Ingt&m'S Milkweed Cream
by Mail, postpaid 50c and $1
Preserves Good Complexions — Improves Bad Complexions.
Ingram's }<f0l
ouvcrainc
is a face powder that beautifies,
conceals blemishes, and is sure
to stay on, 50 cents — 4 shades.
Ingram's Rou^e is the "pink of perfec-
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"Waters are "doubles" of real flowers.
See free offer in left-hand panel. Write.
FREDERICK F. INGRAM CO.
Makers of Milkweed Cream
Established 1885
Windsor, Ont. 31 Tenth St., Detroit, U.S.A.
MAY -6 1911
©CLB360018
^\TAT I1VT Till? f* \ CT Ry H- bedford-jones
lllvrl 11H IIIIj V/rmijl^ begins next month
_.. . . = E .... ,^
PICTURE-PLAY
MAGAZINE J
Vol. IV CONTENTS FOR JUNE, 1916 No. 4
Favorite Picture Players 3
Beautiful art pictures of the leading actors and actresses. The kind you
will cut out and frame.
Frontispiece . . . . . 18
Although David W. Griffith is the greatest producer of film dramas in
the world, he occasionally finds time to laugh. We caught him at it.
Masters Alike .... Spottiswoode Ait ken 19
A man who has played for both Augustin Daly, the marvel of the stage,
and David W. Griffith, the master mind of the films, tells why fame
honors them alike.
The Ploddin' Playwright . . Walt House ... 24
A bit o' verse that is rather different.
The Balboa Studio . . . Robert C. Duncan . 25
Continuing our trips to the big producing plants. An especially inter-
esting day is spent at Long Beach, California.
Out of Range of the Movie Camera 36
Unusual pictures of the way your popular favorites spend the time be-
tween scenes.
Our Scenario Contest . . . 38
You have an imagination, haven't you? Then here is your chance to
use it by writing a play for Mary Fuller, the darling of the screen,
and earning fame and money meanwhile.
Famous Teams — and Why . . Creighton Hamilton . 42
Of course you all know of the famous film team of Bushman and Bayne
but can you name the others and tell why?
A Reel Classic .. . . . Clarence W. Hamilton 50
The Spring poet chants for the films.
Violet Mersereau— the Girl Who Smiles . H. H. Van Loan . 51
This charming little heroine of the celluloid did not want to be inter-
viewed, but finally relented. Read how.
Past and Present . . . . Robert Grau ... 55
The interesting tale of the days of yore is concluded here. What the
stars did long ago and what they are doing now.
CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE
CONTENTS— Continued
Making People Laugh . . . Chester Conklin . . 61
The famous "Walrus," of the Keystone funmakers, takes you into his
confidence and shows the unhappy side of a comedian's life.
The Starry Filmament . . . 1Y/7/ H. Johnston 70
Something decidedly out of the ordinary. Read the poem and then see
if you can name the players.
A Day with Mary Miles Minter Carmelita Oeraghty 72
The very youngest of all the "youngest leading ladies" tells of her
unusually interesting life.
The Observer . . . . ..... 77
Authoritative editorials that cast a new light on the big things in the
motion-picture industry.
The Heart of Paula . . IV. C. MacDermott 84
A short story of Lenore Ulrich's latest film, and an unusual contest in
connection with it.
Love Letters of a Movie Idol . ..... 95
Some of the very romantic letters received by Francis X. Bushman, and
his replies to them.
Before the Stars Shone . . Al Ray . .104
No, all your popular heroes and heroines of the flicker world were not
always favorites. The first of a series.
His Picture in the Paper . . Kenneth Rand .106
Douglas Fairbanks is always funny, but never more so than he was in
the picture play from which this story was written.
Gertrude and Gertie . . . Marion Louise Forrester 120
The interesting little lady in this interview changes her name and
personality with her make-up.
Screen Gossip . . . . Neil Q. Caward .125
Hundreds of reels of the happenings in filmdom condensed into a few
live pages.
Hints for Scenario Writers . Clarence J. Caine . .132
Instruction and advice for amateur and professional picture playwrights,
with notes on where and what they can sell.
How Do You Like Them Best? 138
A layout of pictures taken from famous characters created by famous stars.
The Picture Oracle . . 142
Tells you everything you may ask about pictures — past, present and
future. A gold mine of information.
Monthly publication issued bv STREET & SMITH, 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York City. Ormond G. Smith and George C.
SKITH, Proprietors. Copyright, 1916, by Street & Smith, New York. Copyright. 1916. by Street & Smith, Great Britain. All Rights
Reserved. Publishers everywhere are cautioned against using any of the contents of this magazine either wholly or in part. Entered at New
York. N. Y., Post Office as Second-class Matter, under an Act of Congress of March 3, 1879. Canadian Subscription, $1.86. Foreign, $2.22.
WARNING — Do not subscribe through aerents unknown to you. Complaints are daily made by persons who have been tbus victimized.
IMPORTANT— Authors. agent6 and publishers are requested to note that this firm does not hold itself responsible for loss of unsolicited manuscripts while at
this office or in transit; and that it cannot undertake to hold uncalled for manuscripts for a loncer period than six months. If the return of manuscript is
expected, postage should be enclosei
YEARLY SUBSCRIPTION, S1.50 SINGLE COPIES. 15 CENTS
VIVIAN MARTIN
came to the World Film Corporation's studio to appear in a single picture, "The
Wishing Ring." It was her intention, after the filming of this, to return to
the stage, where she had been from the age of six, but she liked her picture-play
work and the public liked it, too, so Miss Martin became a full-fledged film star.
After appearing in several more World productions, she moved to the Fox
Company, where she is at present. Miss Martin's stage career includes many
successes, some of the most notable of which are "The Spendthrift," "Officer
666," "Stop Thief," "The Only Son," and "The High Cost of Loving."
LOIS MEREDITH
is now with the Balboa Company, after having appeared in films produced by Morosco,
Lasky, Metro, and World. Although only nineteen years old, she has been on the stage
for several seasons and has appeared behind the footlights in "Madame Sherry,"
"Peg o' My Heart," and "Help Wanted." Miss Meredith's talent extends to the lit-
erary field also, and she writes many French stories for publication in that country.
CARLYLE BLACK WELL
is now with Equitable after having been with Vitagraph, Kalem, and Lasky successively. Like
many other present-day stars he entered motion pictures when they were in their infancy, and
has at times tried his hand at scenario writing, producing, and the other incidental ends of
making pictures. At one time he was at the head of a company of his own. He was born and
educated in Syracuse, N.Y., and received his stage training in stock and with several road com-
panies, notably "Brown of Harvard," "The Great White Way," and "The Right of Way."
CLARA KIMBALL YOUNG
was born in Chicago and, at the age of three years, went on the stage with her
parents. She left the footlights at the age of seven to attend school but returned
again and played with several stock companies. Five years ago Mrs. Young
joined the Vitagraph Company and distinguished herself by her work in its most
notable productions. Later she signed with World-Equitable and was featured in five-
reel features and is now at the head of the Clara Kimball Young Film Corporation.
FLORENCE REED
now starring in Arrow-Pathe pictures, has been starred in many Broadway
successes on the stage, including "The Painted Woman," "The Yellow Ticket,"
and "At Bay." She has also appeared in the film version of the last subject.
She was born in Philadelphia in 1883, and educated in Sacrecolus Convent.
Her early training was secured with stock companies throughout the country.
Miss Reed has won as large a following in pictures as in the older art.
ANTONIO MORENO
has two names intervening between his first and his last ones which are omitted for the sake of con-
densation and utility. They are "Garrido Monteagudo. " He was born in Madrid, Spain, September 26,
1888, but came to this country when a mere boy. He went on the stage with an Eastern stock com-
pany and later toured the country with such stars as Mrs. Leslie Carter, Constance Collier, Wilton
Lackaye and William Hawtry. His first experience in motion pictures was playing "type" parts,
but in 1914 he became a "regular" with the Vitagraph Company and has remained there since.
THEODORE ROBERTS
was born in San Francisco, California, October 8, 1861, and went on the stage at the age of
nineteen. He has appeared with many famous stage stars, among whom are W. H. Crane,
Stuart Robson, Fanny Davenport, Bertha Kalish, and James K.[Hackett, as well as having
spent some years with various road shows and in vaudeville. Mr. Roberts' first motion-
picture engagement was with the Lasky Company, his present employers. He has played
in many of the notable Lasky successes, including "The Girl From the Golden West," "Pud-
din'head Wilson," "Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo," and "The Trail of the Lonesome Pine."
NEVA GERBER
who recently left the lkBeauty" brand of the American Film Company to become
featured star of the El Dorado releases, has risen rapidly during the past year.
Although she has appeared in pictures since 1912, having been a member of the
Kalem, Favorite Players, Balboa, and other companies, it was not until she took
Margarita Fisher's place as leading lady in "Beauty" films that she scored her greatest
triumphs. Miss Gerber was born in Chicago twenty-one years ago, and her father, S.
Nelson Gerber, was for many years one of the most noted criminal lawyers in that city.
MILDRED GREGORY
the clever ingenue lead of the Gaumont Company is one of the few girls who have
risen to fame in motion pictures without previous stage experience. She was born
in Grand Rapids, Michigan, twenty-two years ago, but until fours years back had no
idea of embarking on a professional career. One day Miss Gregory went to the Lubin
studio, saw several actresses at work, and felt she could succeed in portraying emo-
tions herself. She asked for a chance. It was given her — in time — and she made good.
Engagements with Essanay and Edison followed, after which she joined Gaumont.
THOMAS CHATTERTON
was born in Geneva, N. Y., and went on the stage after deciding he was not meant for the business
world. Stock companies and vaudeville gave him his early training and in 1913 he joined Ince's
New York Motion Picture Company. From here he went to Universal, where he directed and
played the leads in his own company, and later joined American, in the same double capacity.
He is now playing the leading role in a new serial. Mr. Chatterton is very athletic, play-
ing both baseball and football, and riding, swimming and rowing whenever time permits. He is
5 feet 11 inches tall, weighs 175 pounds and has a dark complexion and brown hair and eyes.
OLLIE KIRKBY
was born in Philadelphia and educated in Bryn-Mawr College. Her stage
career was not a long one, and was limited to vaudeville. She was chosen
by the manager of the Kalem Company's California studio to play small
parts while making a trip through the West, made good, and now Cali-
fornia is her "home." Miss Kirkby remained with Kalem and worked her way
up to the position of costar in the series "The Social Pirates." Her favor-
ite diversion is designing the hats and frocks she wears in the pictures.
TOM FORMAN
spent the early years of his life on a ranch in Texas. He broke into theatricals bv plaving
in one-night-stand" companies during his school vacations. Then followed an engagement
with the Belasco Stock Company in Los Angeles and later a tour of the West at the head of
his own repertoire troupe. His early motion-picture experience was gained with Kalem
and Lubm, and later he joined Lasky, where he has appeared in such big productions as
*°SSF- ^.mance^' "The Woman," "The Governor's Ladv," "The Wild Goose Chase,"
and Kindling." Mr. Forman now appears regularlv in leading, heavy, and juvenile parts.
ETHEL GRANDIN
who has just joined the Universal Company after an absence of three years, was one of the
early favorites of the picture-play theater public. With the Imp Company, and as the little
sister in "Traffic in Souls," she was very popular. After she left Universal, of which Imp is
a branch, she appeared in Kleine pictures, and at the head of her own company on the
United Program. She has been before the public on the stage and screen since she was
six years old. Though she enjoys comedy, her best work is done in dramatic productions.
HAZEL DAWN
is a native of Utah but was educated in England. She spent one year on the stage in London before
coming to this country. In the musical comedy "The Pink Lady" she scored her greatest success
on the stage. She joined the Famous Players' Company almost two years ago and has been with it
ever since, having given up stage work completely. Miss Dawn is one of the most versatile girls
in pictures, her accomplishments, aside from acting before the camera, being singing, dancing,
violin playing, riding, swimming, playing golf and tennis, and designing new clothes and hats.
2
D. W. Griffith, sitting on platform, directing a big scene, while a corps of camera men photograph
it, each from a different perspective.
THE world's master mind in photo
drama is David Wark Griffith,
and in his soul lives the spirit
of the drama, and the spirit of Augus-
tin Daly, the genius of the stage.
Augustin Daly! Who has not heard
that name? The name that was on the
lips of every actor in the profession ;
a name that conjured ambition out of
the most mediocre aspirant; a name
that, to a Daly actor, was the passport
through managerial closed doors ; a
name that was open sesame at every
box office and every show in almost
every city in the world. Go where he
liked, the Daly - actor was courteously
entertained, always admired, always
envied by less lucky exponents. It was
the ambition of the whole theatrical
world to have "Daly- on their calling
cards, and be able to answer the ques-
tion, "What are you doing this season ?"
with the magic word, "Daly." It was
enough. The name of the greatest
stage producer- — the greatest genius of
the footlights the world has ever seen !
What stars can you think of that
haven't been made by Daly? One had
to have some latent talent, or he could
never be engaged by Daly. Those dark
eyes that searched your very soul, and
made your body quake in your shoes,
discovered things in you that were un-
seen by others and unguessed by your-
self.
I well remember my first meeting
with Augustin Daly. I was a down-
and-outer in New York, having finished
a season in which my trunk had been
captured by a hotel keeper, and I had
to walk the rails to the metropolis, steal-
ing a ride on a wagon to escape paying
the ferry. A landlady, to my surprise,
trusted me with a very small dollar-
and-a-half room, and I started the
weary search along Broadway to every
agent and manager. No one wanted
me. I was so hungry and so seedy and
so tired that I could not blame them.
How I lived through this time I don't
know, only this — I scarcely ate for four
days !
Finally one agent told me Daly
needed supers for his revival of Shake-
spearean productions — fifty cents a per-
formance. With a sinking heart, I
said I would take it. He told me to
go around to the stage entrance on
Twenty-ninth Street, and see Daly per-
sonally ; so, with three others, I waited
in the reception room for the great
man. I did not know Daly then as I
did later, but when he appeared, some
chord unseen and unheard of leaped
into life, and I looked in his eyes and
he looked into mine. The great man,
whom all feared and admired, looked
into my eyes and held them there.
What was passing in his mind? I
felt entranced, enchanted. The fear
passed, and worship took its place. I
recognized in those eyes the master, the
genius ; and behind all, the heart, the
great, big, generous heart that fenced
itself around with its rough exterior so
none but those destined could see ; and
I saw ! He saw through me, through
and through me. He saw my wasted
cheeks and shabby clothes, but beyond
and through these he saw and felt the
heart bursting with ambition. I knew
he would engage me. I knew it. I
knew he liked me. I knew he would
feed the flames that would make me
ascend to heights undreamed, unthought
of only a moment before. He engaged
me ! Augustin Daly himself had en-
gaged me !
Yes, as a super ! The heart behind
his eyes retired, and the rough exterior
asserted itself. He would prove me,
test me, put me in the fire — the Daly
test — that made him offer leading mati-
nee idols twenty-five dollars a week,
when their usual salary was three hun-
dred and fifty. It was in Shakespeare's
"Twelfth Night" I appeared, with Ada
Rehan, the world-famous Daly star. I,
the super, and she, the star, had a scene
all alone! I carried a trunk, after the
shipwreck scene. It was only a mo-
ment, a flash, but my acting poured out
Masters Alike
21
of me, and I responded to her and she
to me. And when I got off the scene
Daly was there. He was always there
when you didn't expect him. "Come
to my room," he said harshly, I
thought. Was I going to be disgraced,
discharged for doing things which I was
never supposed to do as a super ?
In that gorgeous room, loaded with
Louis XIV. furniture and antiques of
unknown worth, he questioned me
about my past, my present, my future.
Finally he said, "You're engaged at
eight dollars a week." I must have
fainted, because I have no other recol-
lection than the words, "You're all right
now, old chap."
I shall not go into the details of my
dollars, developed into three figures in
the three years ; and when Daly died, I
cried — I confess it, or rather boast it —
I cried, and went outside the stage door
and lifted my face in grief to the moon
shining between the chasms of sky-
scrapers; and Herbert Gresham and
dear old Jimmy Powers and Elsa Ryan,
all wept silently in corners, alone, while
the chorus wondered. They had not
been told. But their grief almost out-
did ours when they did learn, and
surely there never was such a dismal
performance of such a merry play as
"A Runaway Girl." We realized we
had all lost our dearest friend.
When Daly died, I thought the drama
died, and all the profession thought so.
One of Griffith's notable characteristics, to
which he attributes much of his success in
obtaining the best from his players, is mak-
ing friends with those who work under him.
three years with Mr. Daly, for that is
away from the theme of this writing,
but the great man was always my
friend, my adviser, my ideal, although
apart from business I never conversed
more than a minute with him; but it
was sufficient that my salary, from eight
too. He took from it, with his death,
the beauty of thought, all the soul, all
the love of art for art's sake, and left
behind the mercenary, the greed, the
gluttony of the dollar. Xo wonder that
money became paramount in art circles,
and the dollar was the sole topic of
22
Masters Alike
conversation. No wonder many actors
left the profession in disgust. Some
became so disheartened that they died.
Years elapsed, and the stage degen-
erated under the sordid reign of the
dollar, till thoughtful playgoers became
disgusted, too, and left the theaters to
seek amusement elsewhere. One by
one, the theaters closed their doors, and
vaudeville and burlesque, under dis-
guised names, took the place where
Shakespeare and Sheridan had held
sway, even to the extent that Daly's
own theater in New York finally was
usurped by the latter class of produc-
tions. But drama cannot die. It, too,
like Daly, died, to all appearances, but
the spirit of Daly and the spirit of
drama live to-day under another form.
The spirit of Daly lives in the soul of
as did the productions of Augustin
Daly.
And all that Daly did for the drama,
art, and actors, Griffith is doing in an-
other and no less artistic field, where
imagination reigns and brain words are
formed to suit each individuality ; and
in the darkness of the photo play, the
crying and longings of the soul remain
unseen, undisturbed, while soft music
heals the wounded heart. The drama
is not dead, but lives, reincarnated, in
the motion picture, under the master
mind of Griffith ; and actors are fast
gathering under his banner, for he car-
ries the spirit of Daly — but without
that rough exterior. He, too, has all
the qualities that Daly had for pick-
ing talent, and developing it, for bring-
ing out the best in an actor and mak-
David W. Griffith directing a battle scene.
His long range views of big settings
are the best that were ever produced.
that other great man, David Wark Grif-
fith, who developed the motion picture
from cheap penny-in-the-slot 'flickers,'
going at the rate of sixty miles an hour,
to the present film, where love, hate,
passion, envy, and every emotion hu-
mans are capable of, thrills and charms
ing him feel he has over him a master
of art — and a friend.
Mr. Daly used different methods
from Mr. Griffith for discovering tal-
ent, but the results were the same. Mr.
Daly watched his 'find' behind curtains
and scenes, and startled him by sud-
Masters Alike
23
■
Mr.Griffith is seen here expla:ning the workings of a studio
to a group of notables who recently visited his plant. De
Wolf Hopper is the tall man in the background at the left.
den appearances at most unexpected
times. Mr. Griffith, to study expression
and other qualities, makes a friend of
his find, and takes him about with him
and draws him unconsciously out.
Griffith never forgets a face, never
forgets a kindness, and never forgets a
friend. The great generous heart Daly
had, he has, and to compensate for the
lack of the rough exterior and manners
of Daly he uses men all about him who
freeze you out and set off in sharp con-
trast the true Griffith — a genial kindly
being, who finds his way into your heart,
who has a tear ready for your sorrow,
or a laugh for your joy, and a person-
ality that you just can't help loving.
When I was taken by a friend to
meet Mr. Griffith for the first time, he
Was living in an attic, where the roar
of the elevated and the clanging cars
made my ears ache. My friend had
poured into my skeptical ears that he
considered Griffith a greater man than
Daly. I thought he must have been de-
ceived, but when I met the kindly smil-
ing eyes and low determined tones of
Griffith I became convinced. I noticed
the artistic arrangement, as this room,
for a few cents, had been transformed
into a Japanese garden, and we drank
tea out of cups that resembled large
thimbles.
I was entranced by his talk on the
War of the Revolution, the Civil War,
and things disastrously theatrical, and
my sternly held views on these subjects
melted into air before the eloquence
and simple elucidation of Griffith, who
made problems as simple as nursery
rhymes by his masterly knowledge and
deep research. He was then writing
plays, and he told me that he was con-
vinced that the old-time melodrama and
old dramatic situations were over, and
naturalness and thought would take
their places.
He read to us one of his plays, and
had it been produced then the world
would have been staggered, for it
thrilled with life as we find it every day,
and the characters spoke in the lan-
guage of the people. Xo effort was ap-
parent in the play, but my interest in
it was so intense that time and place
were forgotten, and only the mobile
face and wonderful voice held me
thrilled, as in a dream.
24
Masters Alike
It is that same David Wark Griffith
who is now one of the world's^ most- re-
nowned creators of art, and with all of
his wonderful achievements, the most
recent one, in the form of the greatest
dramatic accomplishment in the history
of the world, I considered it a rare
honor to have been privileged to have
VOU seldom ever see his name
Flashed upon th' screen ;
He plods along in search of fame
With plays you've never seen.
He's shunned by all society,
In dark or in daylight.
His work, though, is propriety — ■
The ploddin'
poor
playwright.
If all his work is in deman'
He gets a check or two ;
An' when he does, th' best he can
He looks for praise from you.
But seldom ever does he get
Th' credit that is due him,
Because th' editors will fret
An' say there's nothin' to him.
His desk is 1ittered up with mail,
Rejection slips they are;
He sees, despite his work, he'll fail,
An' never be a star.
enacted a part in that stupendous photo
drama . which - rims the entire- gamut
of emotions and thrills.
David Wark Griffith has a wonderful
career behind him, and more remark-
able one ahead. He is the reincarnation
of Augustin Daly, doing for another
dramatic art what Daly did for his.
7?
Oh, Gawd, it is an awful life —
This ploddin' right along!
He thinks he's clear up out of strife,
An' finds he's all dead wrong.
He keeps his mind right on his work,
Won't let himself digress;
He never sits around to shirk
His big chance for success.
His friends will never say a word ;
His enemies just laugh.
He never has his fond hopes stirred ;
He gets only th' gaff.
Editors won't encourage him ;
They think he's staid an' stale.
Th' public will discourage him,
An' that's what makes him fail.
He's shunned by all society,
In dark or in daylight.
His work, though, is propriety —
The ploddin'
poor
playwright.
TH' PLODDIN' PLAYWRIGHT
By Wall House
Director Harry Harvey and his camera man getting the correct focus on a scene in which
Jackie Saunders and William Conklin are appearing.
THE Balboa Amusement Produc-
ing Company's studio occupies
the four corners at the intersec-
tion of Alamitos and Sixth Streets,
Long Beach, California, and, from all
outward appearances, as I approached
it, appeared to be a veritable hive of
industry.
I had just rounded the corner of
Sixth Street when I saw a child— a
mere baby — trip and fall just as the
wheels of an automobile grazed her lit-
tle body. I stood petrified with horror.
But I was the only one on the corner
who appeared at all disturbed. The
others had seen the rehearsal.
"Helen Marie, you are surely the
most wonderful little actress in the
world," said a thin, alert, wiry-looking
man, as he picked the child up from the
ground.
The baby looked up with perfect con-
fidence into the face of the director.
One of the "horrified-bystander ex-
tras" near told me the director was
Bertram Bracken and the child, Helen
Marie Osborn.
Then they started to stage another
scene, where the wheel is propped up
just a trifle, but looked as if it had
glided upon the prostrate body of the
child.
As I stood watching the players 'with
much interest, some one tapped me on
the shoulder and voiced a "welcome to
the city." I turned and saw the press
representative — who figures promi-
nently from now on — who had ar-
ranged for my visit to Balboa when
we had met in Los Angeles a short time
before,
"I've been on the lookout for you,"
26
The Balboa Studio
he said. ''Come over to the office and
I'll introduce you to Mr. Horkheimer,
our president and general manager.
Then we can go around the studio and
see the various points and persons of
interest."
I O. K.'d the suggestion, and we
started down the street toward the four
corners on which the Balboa plant is
located.
The attractive bungalow offices, with
a charming garden and pergola between
them, could be seen on one corner. The
high green wall, with white trimmings
and a medallion of Balboa painted on
it, was the inclosure of the big stage
that occupied another corner.
H. M. Horkheimer, "the man behind" Balboa, and
stage star, who appears in this concern's
"And over there," said the press rep-
resentative, pointing to a third corner
on which stood a little green-and-white
house, with a high tower behind it and
another tall green fence running around
it, "is all the Balboa Company there
was two years ago. Xow it is used for
dressing, sewing, assembly, and projec-
tion rooms."
There was one corner left, also bear-
ing unmistakable signs of Balboa pos-
session in more green-and-white walls
and buildings.
"I believe our pet bear and monkey
own it as a home," he explained.
"There are a few permanent 'sets' put
up and several acres of ground. \Ye
have thirteen acres over
on Signal Hill, also."
We entered the little
office bungalow, and
the press representative
inquired for Mr. Hork-
heimer. Some one in-
formed him that the
man who is responsible
for the upbuilding of
this model studio was
"somewhere about the
place," and the press
representative d i s -
patched a boy after him.
Then he graciously
agreed to sho w me
about the place and en-
deavor to keep me en-
tertained until the head
of the concern could be
found.
Knowing that press
representatives are very
well-informed individ-
uals, and wanting to se-
cure some interesting
facts in regard to the
Balboa studio, I seized
the opportunity as we
walked slowly toward
Lois Meredith, the the open-air stage, di-
productions. rectly behind the office.
The Balboa Studio
27
A section of the open-air stage. The players' dressing rooms are under the roofs to the right of the stage.
My host rose to the occasion splen-
didly and launched off into a descrip-
tion of this, that, and the other thing
about the studio, while I made notes
hastily as he talked.
He informed me that H. M. Hork-
heimer, the president and general man-
ager, and E. D. Horkheimer. the secre-
tary and treasurer, own all of the stock
of the Balboa Amusement Producing
Company. And it is something to own,
too !
It represents an investment of three
hundred thousand dollars, and includes
the studios, property rooms, paint and
carpenter shops, scene docks, dressing
rooms, wardrobe quarters, laboratory,
general offices, and miscellaneous de-
partments scattered through a dozen
buildings. In addition, there is an open
stage with an area of eight thousand
square feet and two thousand feet of
inclosed space, making it possible for
eight companies to work at the same
time. The producing capacity is twenty
thousand feet of negative film a week.
There are two hundred and fifty people
on the pay roll all the time, and this
number often doubles.
Balboa has not always had as easy
going as it is having at the present time.
When H. M. Horkheimer decided to
become a motion-picture impresario, in
the spring of 191 3. he took over the
studio that had just been vacated by
the Edison Company. Up to that time,
"H. M.," as he is best known, had never
seen a cinematographic camera. But
having had extensive experience in the
realm of the legitimate theater, he was
well fitted for the work. A contract
was secured to produce Jack London's
novels, but through legal difficulties this
was lost, and the firm received its first
setback. About the time, E. D. Hork-
heimer joined his brother, and together
they set to work to make motion pic-
tures which would claim the attention
of the world.
It was not very long before they did
this, but then they found another ob-
stacle before them — the releasing com-
28
The Balboa Studio
A panorama view of the Balboa studio. The intersection of the streets upon which the plant is built
laboratory, office buildings and site of the
panies were inclined to handle only
films made by companies having regular
contracts with them. Some time passed,
in which one picture was marketed
through this concern and another
through that. Then an alliance was
formed with Pathe, and this company
has since been a steady buyer of Balboa
pictures.
Many players of note, distinguished
on the stage as well as on the screen,
appear in Balboa productions. William
Elliott, in "Comrade John," is well re-
membered. Jackie Saunders has 'been
featured in half a hundred pieces. Lil-
lian Lorraine and William Courtleigh,
junior, appeared in a serial, and Lois
Meredith is now one of the leading
ladies, as is Ruth Roland, who has been
in stock more than a year. Among- the
other well-known Balboans are Mollie
McConnell, Frank Mayo. Madeleine
Pardee, Daniel Gilfeather, Andrew Ar-
buckle, Joyce Moore, Victory Bateman.
Lucy Blake, Ethel Fleming, Charles
Dudley, Corenne Grant, Henrv Stan-
ley, Lillian West. E. J. Brady, Ruth
Lackaye, Philo McCullough, Margue-
rite Xichols, R. Henry Grey, Frank Er-
langer, Fred Whitman, et cetera.
Some of Balboa's directors are Ber-
tram Bracken, Harry Harvey, Sher-
wood Macdonald, and Henry King.
The Balboa Company has made a
specialty of serials and series. Its pop-
ular "Who Pays?" series consisted of
twelve individual stories by Will M.
Ritchey, head of the scenario depart-
ment. A continuous strain of interest
ran through all of them. Ruth Roland
and Henry King played the leading
roles, and Harry Harvey was the di-
rector. So enthusiastically was the
series received by the public that Pathe
asked for a follow-up series. The "Red
Circle" resulted. Frank Mayo was fea-
tured with Miss Roland in this series.
The biggest thing Balboa has at-
tempted is the "Xeal of the Navy"
serial, consisting of fourteen two-reel
chapters, written by William Hamilton
Osborne. Lillian Lorraine and William
Courtleigh, junior, had the leads.
Some of the most pretentious of its
offerings, other than serials and series,
are a six-reel adaptation of Augusta
Evans' famous story, "St. Elmo,"
"Beulah," by the same author, with
Henry B. Walthall in the leading role,
"The Lady of Perfume," "A Message
from Reno," and "The Brand of Man."
As the press representative finished
his description of the company in gen-
eral and turned his oratorical talent
upon the open-air stage, which is even
more modern, if possible, than those to
be found in the other Pacific coast com-
panies, I noted a girl disappearing into
a dressing room on the far side of it.
"It is Miss Roland," explained my
The Balboa Studio
29
is seen at the right of the picture. The^exterior stages stretch across to the right of the picture. The
former studio occupy the other corners.
companion. "Do vou want to meet
her?"
Of course I wanted to meet Ruth
Roland, the famous Kalem girl of early
moving-picture years — and I did.
Miss Roland was "at home" in a neat,
pretty dressing room which had the ap-
pearance of being substantial and per-
manent. "Because we keep them years
and years, perhaps," explained the at-
tractive young screen heroine.
The press representative excused
himself at this point, and also set out
in search of Air. Horkheimer, leaving
me in Miss Roland's care.
"Tell me something about your ca-
reer before you joined the Kalem Com-
pany," I requested, for I knew of her
success at Kalem in comedies with Mar-
shall Neilan, and later in the "Girl De-
tective" series of dramas.
"I went on the stage at the age of
four years," she said, "and stayed there
until I entered motion pictures. First
I played the Orpheum Circuit, being
billed as 'Baby Ruth,' and then played
child parts with David Belasco. Later,
I was in 'Little Lord Fauntleroy,' 'Pink
Dominos,' and 'A Celebrated Case.'
Ingenue leads, of course, followed my
child parts, and then I became a full-
fledged leading lady in motion pictures.
The change from the stage to the studio
was a happy one for me, for it gave me
a chance to enjoy the home life I al-
ways longed for when I was traveling."
Our talk drifted to the Balboa studio,
and I remarked at the orderly appear-
ance, as compared to others I had seen
various times.
"It's really just like a New England
household," Miss Roland replied, smil-
ing. "Come over to the property room
with me and I'll show you something
you wouldn't believe if I told you."
We went.
"One hundred thousand items of
properties all card indexed," said Miss
Roland, as she pointed out an endless
number of compartmentlike rooms
where all sorts and conditions of furni-
ture of all times and periods were
primly arranged, looking as if their
very inner works would cry out if a
careless hand removed them to a spot
where the card index said they were
not. It seemed as if there were hun-
dreds of clocks, from the stately old
grandfather's down to the most friv-
olous of little French timepieces, in one
room alone.
Then we went over to the little house
on. the corner that was the first home
of the Balboa Company. Into the or-
derly halls and past the sewing room,
where an actor was cajoling the dress-
maker in charge to sew a button on his
coat, past the drying room, where the
films are put on huge rollers and dried
30
The Balboa Studio
after coming from the photographic where managers and directors fall out
dark room, and we went into one of with each other.
the most important departments of the I told Miss Roland that I had run
trade — the assembly room.
Ruth Roland likes to slip away from the studio to a nearby merry-go-round, occasionally, and gladden
the hearts of the kiddies by playing "conductor."
yards and yards of film that was piled
up in a huge, velvet-lined straw basket
at her side.
"What precious, priceless scene for
the wastebasket now ?" laughingly asked
Miss Roland.
"Jackie Saunders and the runaway
horse," came the answer. "The horse
may register all right as a horse, even
as a runaway in its lively moments, but
its pace is too slow in some of these
scenes. I'm cutting out the slow
places."
"Snip-snip" went the scissors. More
little squares fell to the floor. I gath-
ered up some and looked them over.
The woman who wielded the shears
began pasting loose ends together and
reeling more yards of film into the
basket. Then it was rolled on a reel,
and was declared ready for a trip to the
projection room, where critical eyes in-
spect it as it is flashed upon the screen.
Some call the assembly room the "re-
jection room." It is apt to be the place
into the thrilling auto accident on the
way to the studio, and had seen little
Helen Marie "crushed under the wheels
of the touring car."
"And would you like to see her 'die'
as a result of it?" she asked. "They
are getting the scene ready now, I think.
Let's go and see."
We went to view the death of a child,
with eagerness which seemed appalling.
The stage was all set for the death
scene at the other end of the studio.
A very humble little room, with the
child lying motionless in the bed, while
the old grandfather — played by Daniel
Gilfeather, once with Booth and Bar-
rett— was being rehearsed as to just
how to "register" grief, was the sight
that met our eyes. The sympathetic
attention of a pair of young lovers and
the entrance of doctor and friend also
came in for rehearsing. Helen Marie
did not flicker an eyelid.
"Camera !" called Director Bracken.
The players went through their "busi-
The Balboa Studio
31
ness," and then, at a quiet word from
the director to the baby on the bed, she
turned and sighed, and it was all over.
The lovers detached themselves from
their embrace, Helen jumped out of
bed, a lively child again, and ran to her
mother.
When I went over to speak to her
she demanded my hat, and when she
got it, played ''man'' to her heart's con-
tent while I talked with her mother.
"How did you ever dare risk such a
thing as that car accident?" was the
only question in my mind.
"Oh, I knew there was no danger.
They have such a careful driver ! Helen
Marie has never known what it was
to be afraid or distrust what any one
tells her. If she is told she will not be
hurt, she never questions it. And — and
they didn't tell me when they were
going to do that automobile trick this
Miss Roland, who had been chatting
with the director and players, brought
Mr. Bracken over and introduced him.
"He's a perfect dynamo," she said,
at the same time motioning him to keep
quiet until she described him. "All wire
and nerve, and has acquired a reputa-
tion for his eccentric methods. Fakers
in the business don't like to work with
him. His tongue is too caustic. But
real actors like nothing better than to
be under his direction, because they
learn something new every day."
"When I saw Helen Marie fall in
front of that automobile this morning
I began to think there were not so many
stunts faked in this trade, after all," I
said to him.
"Well, sometimes they are, and some-
times they are not," Mr. Bracken re-
plied.
"I've seen some rather thrilling
things .pulled ort in your 4Xeal of the
Norman Manning, studio manager, surrounded by a few ''types" from the studio.
32
The Balboa Studio
Navy' series, Mr. Bracken, and I'd like
to know if one of your handsome young
heroes really risked his life by falling
from the rigging of a ship into the
sea?" I queried.
"Far be it from me to question the
splendid courage of any of our hand-
some heroes," said Mr. Bracken, "but
the company doesn't take any chances
on losing a perfectly good leading man
when there are ways and means to
avoid it."
"And the ways and means?'
"Of course, the hero and his enemy
H. M. Horkheimer was supervising the "cutting" of a film with May Brotherton,
head of the assembling department when this was snapped.
are in the rigging of a real ship when
the trouble begins. On a roof in the
studio yard we have an exact duplicate
of the ship's rigging built. Here the
fight takes place and the actor falls,
but onto a feather bed, or something
equally as harmless. A 'close-up' shows
the fight. Then we flash a scene of the
ship again. A professional diver, made
up to look as much as possible like the
actor, falls from the rigging into the
sea, and then the actor comes in again
when the picture shows a close-up in
the water."
"And when the alligator swallows the
villain ?"
"Oh, that alligator business!" sighed
Director Bracken. "That picture had
to be taken over and over again."
"What a nice, obliging alligator you
must have found !"
"Yes, a stuffed one from a museum
or curiosity shop. We worked his jaws
with wires. A man in a boat jerked
him along in the water, and by careful
manipulation brought him to the sur-
face at the proper moment, opened his
jaws, and the victim fell in. But to
work the combination success-
fully, so it looked as though the
actor went into the alligator's
mouth when he really dived into
the water, was no small task. It
took days and days to get the pic-
ture. That is the sort of thing
that puts gray hair in the heads
of the long-suffering director!"
"And I saw a man
take a fearful leap
off a high cliff in
one of your pic-
tures."
"Off Signal Rock,
two hundred and
fifty feet high, over
there on the coast,
there is a ledge that
doesn't show when
the picture is taken
at the right angle.
Our man makes his jump and lands
on the ledge. The camera is moved to
the bottom of the cliff and a dummy
thrown from the top which is pictured
whirling through space to the bottom.
The real actor, or what is supposed to
be left of him, is then arranged at the
base and the final scene of the episode
photographed."
The Balboa Studio
33
The "set" was ready now for the
next scene which Mr. Bracken was to
direct. It was a later development of
the play in which Helen Marie had so
tragically met her death. The young
couple who had befriended the old
grandfather had married, and were in a
state of honeymoon absorption. The
old grandfather was serving
them at dinner.
A very young, intelligent-
looking girl stood by me, with
a director's scenario in
one hand and a pencil
in the other. She was /,
a most businesslike- Jf
looking young per-
son, with an eye
keenly noting
every detail of stage
and directing.
"Our Miss Bro-
die," said Mr.
Bracken, introduc-
ing us during h i s
brief rest after fin-
ishing his rehearsal and while waiting
for the camera man to "focus" the
scene. "It wouldn't do to write about
Balboa studios and omit a few words
about our Miss Brodie."
Therefore I at once became inter-
ested and started to secure facts about
her. She is an assistant director, only
twenty-one years old, and is making
good at an astonishing rate. Her first
name is Delia, and she is the daughter
of a wealthy family in San Francisco.
She came to visit a chum in Long Beach
one day and found her working with
the Balboa Company. She became so
interested and hung about the studios
so much that Mr. Horkheimer told her
she had better join their forces. She
did.
When Sherwood Macdonald, one of
the directors, was told he was to have
a woman assistant, he objected most
strenuously, but — they say nothing but
her marriage or death could influence
3
him to part with her when he can have
her as assistant, now.
Miss Brodie has her whole heart in
the moving-picture business. It is her
ambition to direct her own company,
and she probably will attain it in time.
"I hear such fabulous tales about the
money put into 'sets' around these stu-
Henry King directing Helen Marie Osborn, who justly claims the oft-used
title of "the youngest leading lady in pictures." Note how
the camera is lowered to photograph the tiny star.
dios," I said to her, "and I haven't had
a chance to find out what Balboa has
done in that line. I suppose they have
had a million-dollar castle built some
place "
"No," she answered, "we specialize
in beautiful exteriors. The Busch man-
sion in Pasadena and the Warner man-
sion, the palatial home of the man who
invented the speedometer, are examples.
Then for 'Neal of the Navy' we had a
real United States battleship."
Just then Director-Actor Henry King
called her, and she grasped the manu-
script a little closer in her hand as she
started toward him. I went along with
her.
"I am assisting Mr. King now," she
said. "He plays in many of his own
scenes, so I get a chance to do quite a
bit of directing myself."
A gay, happy-looking young person,
with dabs of green paint under her
eyes and carmined lips, paused to speak
34
The Balboa Studio
to Miss Brodie as she passed. I was
introduced to Jackie Saunders with the
telltale notebook in my hand. She had
such a lot of golden hair and such a
sunny-bright way with her that
I named her a ''California
poppy" at once !
Jackie Saunders has
been doing ' such good
work in "The Shrine of
Happiness," "Adventures
of a Madcap," "Rose
Among the Briers," and
other picture plays, that she
needs no introduction to the
moving-picture public. But she
gets this one, anyway !
They say she is the most
promising of Balboa stars, and
is a most versatile young actress,
doing as well in the more sedate
characters as she does in the
hoyden roles in which she is
oftenest seen. Some
call her the "Maude
Adams of the
Screen."
"Yes, I know you want
to hear all about that royal
dog!" she said, with a real
"Jackie Saunders smile,"
just as I was going to ask her some-
thing about her work. It belonged to
a very great Russian lady who fled to
Los Angeles on account of the war.
She was known here as the Countess
Slovwolfsky, although that is not her
name. The countess enjoyed the
friendship of the czar's family in hap-
pier times, and as a special mark of
esteem the present czar presented her
with a wolfhound from his kennels.
Among Slavs, this is one of the most
prized gifts possible to receive. Politi-
cal reasons forced her to flee from Rus-
sia, but she brought the dog with her.
In time she came to Los Angeles, and
was a guest at the home of a friend of
mine. The Russian police discovered
her retreat, and she had to flee again,
Delia Brodie, only twenty-
one years old, and an
assistant director.
but as the dog made it easy to trace her,
she gave it to me."
And so tha'c is how the popular, gay
Jackie obtained the wonderful Boris !
Almost simultaneously at this
moment Miss Saunders' di-
rector announced that the
automobile was ready to
take her* out to the loca-
tion on which they were
to film some scenes, and
the press representative
arrived to tell me that Mr.
Horkheimer was in the of-
fice, and would see me there.
Therefore, I bade the smiling
star adieu and" followed my
guide into the business office.
A very prosperous, busy-look-
ing, pleasant-faced man greeted
me cordially when the genial
press representative intro-
duced him as H. M. Hork-
heimer.
"I'm glad you came down to
look over our little plant," he
said.
"But I don't think it very
little," I replied.
He smiled and appeared to
let his mind drift back over
the days gone by, as he answered, "No,
I guess it isn't as small as it used to be,
but we don't notice its growth here
much. We just add little things here
and there when they are needed, and
these little things soon amount to big
things. I like to consider the plant as
little now and plan for a big one in the
near future."
"Do you consider it more to your ad-
vantage to produce in Long Beach than
in Los Angeles?" I asked.
"Yes, indeed I do," he replied quickly,
"and there are three reasons why I do.
We avoid the riffraff, clamoring for
work, that haunt the other studios, for
one thing. We have the busy and only
seaport in this part of the country at
San Pedro, not five minutes distant by
The Balboa Studio
35
car, for another, and we have one of
the most picturesque and beautiful
ocean beaches in the world for a third.
"There is one more element which
plays a big part in our making pictures
here, and which the public will never
appreciate. It is the loyalty of every
one working about the studio, from the
property boy to the stars. Everything
we have accomplished I credit
to the faithfulness of our
people. They are all work-
ing together, and the co-
operation Norman Manning,
our studio manager, receives
makes it possible for him to
accomplish wonders with the
people we place
at his disposal.
We try to
make our
all do their share, and are, at all times,
operating with great speed and effi-
ciency. As a result, the entire plant is
always working to the best possible ad-
vantage. That is why we are able to
turn out so many reels of film every
week.
"We have big plans for the future,
and when you come to see us again I
think you will find us occupying consid-
erably more space than we do at the
present time."
And with the conclusion of my
people one
big family,
One of the "small, light and efficient" machines used in transporting props to locations.
In this instance it is also being used to transport Luther Graham,
the noted cowboy, and his pet donkey.
and I feel safe in asserting that we have
been quite successful in our efforts.
"Our studio and factory remind me
of a well-oiled machine of many parts.
Every part does its share, and the re-
sult is that the whole machine is able
to operate speedily and at a profit. Our
departments, the various parts of the
Balboa 'machine/ as I consider them,
interview with Mr. Horkheimer, I felt
that the history of Balboa had been well
explained to me. It is a fighting organ-
ization— and a growing one — and the
future will undoubtedly mean that the
concern will rise from the ranks of the
ordinary producers and take its place
among the leaders in the motion-picture
field.
^ Very wrong, indeed, to teach a child of this age to smoke — but
j also very like a fat, jolly uncle. Obviously Macklyn Arbuckle of
>" Morosco, and his little nephew have no regard for conventions. *
Helene Rosson's letter has made J
Jjfs.v her think! Who do you suppose it J
could be from— but that is getting J
entirely too personal. Don't you like j
her, though, without her make-up? J
Out v
^ Some people choose odd places to discuss things,
s and not least among hhem are William Clifford,
* Horsley star, and his director William J. Bow-
; man. They are seen here talking in a lion's den.
This is an unusual picture of Helen Gibson,
because it shows her out of action. Usually she
is photographed "riding the bumpers," or per-
forming other "stunts" of her daily schedule.
King Baggot is very conscien- ^>
tious. Yes, indeed! Therefore,when
it is requested of the players not 'Jy4
to smoke in the studio, King at v/M"
once stops smoking — in the studio.
the
ovie
Camera
Ralph Ince and Earle Williams, Vitagraph ?
director and star, talking over a scene, on the '
rear end of a train, between "takes." They at- ;
tribute much of their success to cooperation. 5
Here are Bessie Eyton and the adored Baby
Jean Frazer, both of the Selig Company. They
are inseparable pals and Baby Jean looks
upon Bessie as a sort of a fairy godmother.
A FTER one month of our scenario
contest, the only person who is
complaining is the postman.
Since the announcement in the last
issue of this magazine of the greatest
motion-picture-scenario contest ever
held, the judges and every other person
concerned have been kept continually
busy. Whether the number of entries
received so far are just thousands, or
many thousands, we will not attempt
to say — there has been no time for
counting — but the contest department
urges us to say millions — that is the
impression they have.
WHY AND WHAT IS IT
For the benefit of those who have
not yet sent in their plots, or who
missed the first announcement, we shall
go into detail again. Picture-Play
Magazine's scenario contest is one that
can be entered by everybody. The rea-
son for this is that no scenario action
or technical knowledge of scene con-
struction is necessary — all that is re-
quired is a brief synopsis of your plot.
The decision will be made entirely on
the merit of the story.
Both this magazine and the Univer-
sal Film Manufacturing Company be-
lieve that there are many people
throughout the country who have im-
agination and would make successful
motion-picture writers if given the
chance, so they have agreed to offer this
opportunity. Of course, there can only
be one best plot, and that is the one that
will win the contest, but, in order not
to limit the gains, it has been decided
that any other stories that appeal to
the Universal Film Manufacturing
Company will be purchased at their
usual scenario rates. This gives every
one an unprecedented opportunity to
enter the motion-picture field directly.
The person who submits the plot that
is best suited for a picture play will
be paid forty dollars a reel, for what-
ever number of reels the judges decide
the story will cover. Beside this, re-
gardless of the length, the winner will
receive a special prize of fifty dollars.
For instance, if the picture runs to five
Our Scenario Contest
39
reels, the winner will get two hundred
and fifty dollars in all.
MARY FULLER TO ACT IN PLAY
The only restriction as to the type
of play is that it must be suited for pro-
duction with Mary Fuller, the famous
screen actress, playing the leading
role. Miss Fuller will be starred in
the winning picture as soon as the
contest has closed and the
best plot chosen. In order to
aid the writer, Miss Fuller
states that she prefers
drama to comedy,
and never appears
in burlesque, trav-
esty, or In-
dian plays.
tion is required, but you may send one
if you so desire. In any case, be sure
that you also send a synopsis. In order
for scripts to be considered, they must
be accompanied by the application
blank to be found on one of the fol-
lowing pages, or a copy of it made on
any paper.
WHY IT IS A CONTEST FOR
EVERY ONE
There are two bij
sons why we are
calling this a contest
for every one. The
main one is because
it offers opportunity
alike to both the
novice and the ex-
WHAT YOU MUST DO
Everything has been made as
simple as possible for the contest-
ants, and all unnecessary trouble
eliminated. Practically all that you
have to do is read over the rules care-
fully before writing your plot out, and
be sure that you comply with them. Be
sure that you make your story fit Mary
Fuller, and work out your plot as briefly
as possible. No scenario or scene ac-
perienced writer, for there is no one
who cannot, in a few simple words,
outline whatever plot he or she wishes
to enter in the contest. Literary talent
will not figure at all, as the value of the
plot will be all that will govern deci-
sion. The other reason is that the °;ain.
40
Our Scenario Contest
JOSEPH BRANDT MARY FULLER CLARENCE J. CAINE
General manager of the Universal Famous actress who will play the Editor "Hints for Scenario Writers"
Film Manufacturing Company. lead in the winning picture. department in this magazine.
while naturally greatest for the winner,
is not confined to him — it extends to
all whose plots appeal to the Univer-
sal Film Manufacturing Company for
production, as these will also be pur-
chased at regular scenario rates.
This offers an opportunity to those
known as "outsiders" to slip into a
position where they will be recognized
as being "on the waiting list" to enter
the studio. Some may even win a place
with the Universal Company, or an-
other, as a result of the contest and the
work they do immediately after it. In
reading over the scripts, the judges will
bear in mind not only the fact that they
must select the best script and the oth-
ers which show exceptional merit, but
will also study the ideas and style of
writers closely, and^ those whose work
shows exceptional promise of future de-
velopment will be asked to submit more
scenarios to Universal after the contest
has closed. The writers who prove
worthy of the confidence the judges
place in them will be developed under
the care of the Universal staff and the
personal coaching of Mr. Caine, sce-
nario expert of Picture-Play Maga-
zine.
The contest closes noon, June 17th.
Send in your script now.
THE JUDGES
The judges of the contest will be
three people high up in the motion-pic-
ture business who are well qualified for
the position. They are Joseph Brandt,
the general manager of the Universal
Film Manufacturing Company; Miss
Mary Fuller, whose name is well known
to all motion-picture followers ; and
Clarence J. Caine, the editor of "Hints
for Scenario Writers," that appear in
every issue of this magazine, and who
is himself an expert at writing scripts.
THE RULES
All manuscripts must be submitted before twelve o'clock, noon, June 17, 1916.
No manuscripts will be considered unless accompanied by the application
blank to be found on the next page, or a copy of it made on any paper.
One person may send in as many plots as he wishes, provided a separate
application is sent with each one.
The main point is your plot. The merit of this is what decides the winner.
Our Scenario Contest
41
Write it in synopsis form, giving the detailed action in as few words as
possible.
Xo scenario is necessary, although it may be sent if desired.
All manuscripts must be typewritten or neatly written in ink.
No definite number of reels is specified — the length depends entirely on the
plot.
The judges will decide what length is suitable for the story you submit,
and payment will be made accordingly.
Forty dollars ($40.00) per reel will be paid for the winning scenario.
For instance, if the picture is five reels, two hundred dollars ($200.00 J will
be given.
The additional special prize of fifty dollars ($50.00) will be paid to the
winner, regardless of the length of the picture.
All stories must be original.
The leading character in the story must be one that can be played to good
advantage by Miss Mary Fuller. This is an important point. Miss Fuller can
best play strong dramatic parts, and those which are typical of the American
woman of any class.
All manuscripts must be sent, in order to be considered, to Picture-Play Maga-
zine, Contest Department, 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York City.
Do not roll the paper — fold it.
If you desire your manuscript returned, should it prove unavailable, a
stamped, addressed envelope must be inclosed. It is best to keep a copy of your
manuscript in case, through any unavoidable cause, the original is not returned.
All manuscripts submitted will be carefully read and decision made according
to their merit.
Fill out this Application Blank, or make a copy of it, and send it with
your story. Otherwise the manuscript will not be considered.
APPLICATION BLAME
I hereby enter my application to Picture- Play Magazine's Scenario Contest.
Inclosed is my manuscript, which has been written in accordance with the rules.
The type of my story is:
(Fill out according to society, mystery, railroad, straight drama, etc.)
Name
Address. . .
Mr. and Mrs. Sidney Drew spending a serious and quiet evening at home after a day of transferring
fun to celluloid.
THE co-star system of teaming
two players is not unknown to
the stage — the "legitimate
stage," as the dramatic critics would
have us say — but few and far between
are the stars who have risen to na-
tional fame and popularity side by side
and whose association has extended
over more than a single engagement —
usually a short one. In the realm of
motion pictures, a far different state
of affairs prevails, for there are, or
have been, almost as many teams as in-
dividual stars.
The reason is not hard to understand,
especially when one considers that
many of these studio teams combine in
themselves both acting and producing
ability, while stage co-stars as a rule
merely act — and therefore both seek the
"center of the stage" at every available
opportunity. In a studio, a man and a
woman who are co-starring are contin-
ually engaged in working out new plays.
They study ahead, their minds always
occupied with thoughts of the future,
and because both are interested in the
same things — things which are ever
new — they forget the fact that they
are both . public favorites, competing
with each other, so to speak, for the
favor of the multitudes. Picture after
picture, produced under these condi-
tions, establish them in the minds of
the motion-picture audiences as an
evenly balanced team, and as such they
become popular. One name is never
mentioned without recalling the other.
Perhaps the most notable example
of teamwork existing in motion pic-
tures to-day is that of Francis X. Bush-
man and Beverly Bayne, of the Metro
Company. The reason that these two
have risen to fame together, passing,
in their climb, many other individual
stars and teams who at various times
Famous Teams and Why
43
have been popular, is that
they understand each other
perfectly. From the early
days when the Essanay
Company first discovered
that the team of "Bush-
man and Bayne" was more
popular than any other star
or pair of stars on
its roster, these two rps
have studied their I Hr
parts and worked III
them out to the best
advantage of both.
Their one thought-
has always been to
gain the best pos-
sible results in the
finished picture —
never to try to
"take" the audience
with an individual part. Contrary to
the belief of many, they are not mar-
ried. Xor are they in love. They are
just real friends. They simply work to-
gether, and, while they do not direct the
Two well-known teams. Ben Wilson and Dorothy
Phillips (upper) and Irving Cummings
and Lottie Pickford (lower).
pictures in which they ap-
pear, it is usually their
helpful suggestions to the
director which are re-
sponsible for the most ap-
pealing effects and bits of
"business."
Francis Ford. and Grace
Cunard probably
=H rank next in line as
jflf a popular team.
Ilj These two write
|| and direct, as well
| | as co-star, in their
III pictures, and are
I ill noted as two of the
£=i most consistent
performers in the
film world. Their
specialty is serials,
"Lucille Love" and
Coin" hav
"The Broken
such successes that they are now en-
gaged in making another. Miss Cunard
is the leader of Mr. Ford in the sce-
nario field, having written over two
Famous Teams and Why
hundred scripts ; but her dashing part-
ner is entitled to premier honors as a
director, for he has put on by far the
more pictures. As for acting — well,
they work together in every picture and
forget all about the glory. That is
why they gain results.
Another noted producing team is that
of Lois Weber and Phillips Smalley. It
is an unguarded secret that Lois Weber
isn't really Lois Weber at all, but rather
Mrs. Phillips Smalley; and therefore it
is not so difficult to understand how
they have been able to co-star and co-
direct since the early days of motion
pictures, when they made one-reel mas-
terpieces for the famous old Rex Com-
pany. Mr. Smalley thinks Mrs. Smal-
ley is the greatest actress-author-direc-
tor in the business, and Mrs. Smalley
thinks Mr. Smalley is without a peer
as an actor-author-director. The re-
sult is that the public thinks "the'Smal-
leys" come pretty close to being the
best in those three lines. "The Hypo-
crites," "The Dumb Girl of Portia,"
"Hop," "Scandal," and "Sunshine
Molly" are a few of the examples of
what this clever couple can do. Of late
they have given more time to the writ-
ing and directing end, and, needless to
say, their presence on the screen has
been missed.
Henry Walthall and Edna Mayo are
perhaps as well known as a team at
the present time as any other pair, al-
though their association has not been
of long duration. "The Misleading
Lady" was the first hit in which they
scored as co-stars, and this was fol-
lowed closely by "The Strange Case
Famous Teams and Why
45
of Alary Page" series. While Miss
Mayo is a clever actress of a distinc-
tive type, she does come near being the
ideal teammate for Walthall that
Blanche Sweet and Claire McDowell
were in the old Biograph days, under
D. W. Griffith's direction. The Wal-
thall-Sweet and the Walthall-McDow-
ell pictures will live long in the mem-
ories of those who saw them, for both
of these leading ladies were of the
same school, as was "the master of
emotions," and played their parts far
more in sympathy with him than has
any other leading lady he has had, even
those in his later Griffith-Mutual pic-
tures, and in "The Birth of a Nation."
Anita Stewart and Earle Williams
The team part of this trio is Mae
Marsh and Robert Harron. The
other person is Betty Marsh,
Mae's little niece who
is also an actress. *
were one of the most noted teams less
than a year ago, but the Vitagraph
Company has decided that each can be
used to better advantage as an indi-
vidual star. The followers of the pair
are inclined to think otherwise, but both
the players seem to share the belief of
the managers. Whether the change
will prove a successful move or a fail-
ure yet remains to be seen.
Marc MacDermott and Miriam Nes-
bitt are another pair whose work to-
gether has long been in favor. They
are both players of experience and ex-
ceptional ability, and each declares that
46
Famous Teams and Why
Jane Gail and Matt Moore, a successful team since their appearance in Universal's "Traffic in Souls."
much of their success is due to the
splendid cooperation of the other.
There is little need of singing their
praises, for every picture-play-theater
patron has seen them at some time or
another, and every picture in which
they have appeared has been noted be-
cause of their splendid work.
It is not often that a star — either man
or woman — comes from the stage to
work in a few pictures and finds an
ideal "opposite" in the studio. This is
true, however, in the case of Willard
Mack. He went to Inceville as a fea-
tured star, and made good. But Enid
Markey, who appeared opposite Mack
in his pictures, also made good — to
such an extent, in fact, that the two
were at once regarded as a perfectly
balanced team. When Mack left Ince,
of course, this team was broken up ;
but it is the hope of many that it will
be reestablished again some day.
Several other co-stars, who have
never risen to quite the heights of those
we have previously mentioned, but who
have won substantial followings, may
be mentioned. Among these are Har-
old Lockwood and May Allison, Anna
Nilsson and Guy Coombs, Alice Hollis-
ter and Harry Millarde, Ruth Stone-
house and Richard Travers, Pat O'Mal-
ley and Leonia Flugrath, Winnifred
Greenwood and Ed Coxen, Thomas
Santschi and both Bessie Eyton and
Kathlyn Williams, and Mabel Trunnell
and Herbert Prior.
'Tis said that from the sublime to
the ridiculous is but a step, and, assum-
ing this is true, we will next consider
a few comedy teams. Of course, the
one and only Charlie Chaplin comes
first, with his ideal little teammate,
Edna Purviance. Miss Purviance came
from the world of the unknowns and
filled the much-needed requirement of
the Chaplin-Essanay comedies — a pretty
leading lady. Her work opposite Char-
lie was just what was needed to set
off his comic antics ; and, because she
studied his style of comedy, and did
all in her power to help him "get over"
his scenes, she won for herself a posi-
tion as the female member of the
Famous Teams and Why
world's greatest comedy team. Mabel
Xormand also made an ideal foil for
Chaplin while the latter was with Key-
stone, and it is a pity that they did
not appear together in more pictures.
But the Fates are fickle, and they hate
to see a good thing last.
Miss Xormand, by the way, has also
been coupled with four of the funniest
men on the screen, at various times,
and has filled her place in each com-
bination to perfection. Mack Sennett,
Fred Mace, Ford Sterling, and Roscoe
— Fatty — Arbuckle formed the male
end of the four teams. Mabel was re-
cently asked which of the quintet —
these four and Chaplin — she had en-
joyed working with most, and she re-
fused to answer. We don't blame her.
She is also a clever director, and her
association with each of the comedians
was not only as a co-star, but also as a
co-director. A fact worth mentioning
in connection with this is that she per-
sonally directed "Dough and Dyna-
mite," the picture which is considered
the funniest of Chaplin's successes.
Mr. and Mrs. Sidney Drew, late of
Vitagraph, and now of Metro, have
worked together in producing their dis-
tinctive style of "polite" comedies for
several years. From the time one of
them gets an idea until the finished film
is flashed on the screen, both work over
it together. Their ideas coincide per-
fectly, and one is never at a loss as to
what help to expect from the other.
Perfect cooperation and confidence in
each other's ability is the secret of the
success of this pair.
Another team in which husband and
wife co-star and co-direct in the film
drama is the Helen Holmes-J. P. Mc-
Gowan combination. Their ''Hazards
of Helen" railroad series for Kalem,
and their ''The Girl and the Game," for
the Signal Film Corporation, have
proven immense successes. Leo Ma-
loney, who has been associated with
them in most of their productions, may
also be called a teammate of Miss
Holmes, as he has appeared with her
in. many productions which McGowan
directed, but did not appear in.
Phillips Smalley and
Lois Weber eating
breakfast in their
California bungalow.
The}7 are one of the
greatest acting-pro-
ducing-writing teams
in the film business.
48
Famous Teams and Why
Several director-actors have as team-
mates leading ladies who, while they
are not officially co-directors, are of so
much help to their associates during the
staging of productions that they might
easily be called such. This is true in
the cases of Harry Meyers and Rose-
mary Theby, Bob Leonard and Ella
Hall, Ben Wilson and Dorothy Phil-
lips, Matt Moore and Jane Gail, James
Kirkwood and Alary Pickford, Joseph
Kaufman and Ethel Clayton, Arthur
Maude and Constance Crawley, Harry
Pollard and Margarita .Fischer, and
Xed Finley and Edith
Storey.
In the days that
lave passed except for
memories, many no-
table teams gained
favor in the eves
Metcalf , Joe Smiley and Lillie Leslie, J.
Warren Kerrigan and Pauline Bush,
Irving Cummings and Gertrude Rob-
inson, Franklin Ritchie and Louise
Yale, D. M. Anderson and Marguerite
Clayton, Herbert Rawlins and Anna
Little, Clara Kimball Young and Mau-
rice Costello, Octavia Handworth and
Crane Wilbur, James Morrison and
Dorothy Kelly, Lottie Briscoe and Ar-
thur A'. Johnson, and Myrtle Stedman
and William Duncan? Or the come-
dies of Marshall Xeilan and Ruth Ro-
land, Wally Van and Lillian Walker,
and Pearl White and
Chester Barnett ? They
have all claimed their
places in public favor, but
when the teams were sep-
arated most of
:~=sgsa their members
: 1 1
J. Warren Kerrigan
and Pauline Bush, one
of the first teams to
become famous. They
were with American
originally, but later
joined the Universal.
Herbert Rawlinson and Anna Little (above) one-time
Universal co-stars and Henry B. Walthall and
Edna Mayo (below) at present being fea-
tured together by the Essanay Company.
Edith Storey and
Antonio Moreno, a
Vitagraph couple who
have come to the
front rapidly, midst
much popularity, dur-
ing the past year.
of the motion-picture public. Who will
forget the dramas of Florence Law-
rence and Arthur V. Johnson, Gene
Gauntier and Jack Clark, King Baggot
and Leah Baird, Carlyle Blackwell and
Alice Joyce, Tom Moore and Margue-
rite Courtot, Ormi Hawley and Earle
dropped out of sight. Some of these
stars have risen as individual favorites,
but none have found other teammates
with whom to climb the ladder of fame,
with the possible exceptions of Irving
Cummings, who teamed well with Lot-
tie Pickford, in "The Diamond from
Famous Teams and Why
49
the Sky," and Pearl White, who has
worked successfully with Creighton
Hall.
If every player who has been a mem-
ber of a successful team that was, could
be induced to tell his honest desires, it
is almost a certainty that the player
would declare himself in favor of again
appearing opposite the co-star with
whom he became popular. It makes all
the difference in the world if the per-
son you are working with is cooperating
with you instead of working against
you, and upon just this simple little fact
is founded the success of teams in the
motion-picture world.
There have been failures of teams
totaling quite a few in round figures —
when a leading man and a leading lady
whom the producer thought would
make an ideal pair have failed to agree,
4
but in proportion to the many successes
they are insignificant.
Looking back over the past, it can be
seen in which companies cooperation
was closest, for in studios where har-
mony prevailed many teams developed,
which, while they were not as popular
or as long lasting as many others,
showed that many players within the
studio could work together to advan-
tage. Especially typical of this class
was the Biograph studio, under D. W.
Griffith. The unending variation of
teams secured from the coupling of
such women stars as the Gish sisters,
Mae Marsh, Blanche Sweet, Claire Mc-
Dowell. Florence Lawrence, Florence
Baker, Marion Leonard, and others too
numerous to mention ; with men stars
of the type of Henry B. Walthall, Owen
Moore, Robert Harron. Alfred Paget,
50
Famous Teams and Why
James Kirkwood, and others, clearly
shows that the master director was suc-
cessful from the very start in keeping
the spirit of cooperation alive among
his players. Of these, the team of Har-
ron and Mae Marsh has become most
famous, and lasted beyond the others.
The Thanhouser studio furnished an-
other example of a like nature. All
the possible team combinations which
could be formed by the co-starring of
Florence LaBadie, Marguerite Snow,
and Mignon Anderson with James
Cruze, William Garwood, William Rus-
sell, and Harry Benham, were success-
fully offered to the public. While the
Cruze-LaBadie team is perhaps the
only one which gained lasting fame,
and that only through 'The Million
Dollar Mystery," all of the others were
decidedly popular with picture-play
devotees at times, and none of the play-
ers have since found any one who
teamed with them as well as any of
their old Thanhouser mates.
While we have mentioned only the
two studios which were most noted for
their cooperation, there are many more
unnamed of which all we said of the
two studios is also true. It is a re-
grettable fact, however, that it is not
the case with all studios, for in many
there exists no teamwork whatever,
players working together only in a sin-
gle picture. The cause is petty jealousy
and entire lack of cooperation. The
result is that no teams ever spring from
these studios to win fame for the
players and to make money for the
producers through their popularity.
A REEL CLASSIC
By Clarence Worthington Hamilton
TTHE lad was fair,
Quite debonair;
Perhaps a trifle bold.
The time was June,
A silv'ry moon,
And not a one can scold.
A golden curl,
A pretty girl ;
She really was quite chic.
The game was hearts,
They played their parts
And Cupid took the trick.
The villain came,
Got in the game,
So things were in a whirl;
Then tore his hair
In wild despair ;
The hero got the girl.
They now are wed,
The villain's dead,
No doubt you're glad to know.
Wait ! don't get gay,
For it's this way
At any movie show.
aDD>UUn«<IIUVVKVHM)(
efuer<s&r€>aii\
M; « « a jo si r si's BiasnaBn.vi» iv v\ c
T was the night before
her. To-day she
looked entirely different.
When I had been intro-
duced to her, she looked
down at me from the sad-
dle on a beautiful white
horse upon which she was
seated — looked down at
me with those entrancing
blue eyes — and smiled.
It was right then, in my own mind, that
I named her ''the girl who smiles."
All that I could see of Violet Mer-
sereau when we were introduced were
those blue eyes that shone through two
little holes in a black domino mask that
she wore, the long, golden curls that
fell in ringlets on her delicate shoul-
ders— and that smile. She was leading
the grand march at the Universal bal
masque in New York City, which was
the reason for her hiding her features
with the domino ; but, despite the fact
that her face was partly concealed, her
whole manner, and that of her which
was visible, made her appear to me as
the kind of girl that fiction writers pic-
ture. You know the type I mean —
Kipling, Stevenson, and all the rest
have described her over and over again.
Later, during the evening before,
just after she had been awarded first
prize — or, rather, just after she and
her Little Lord Fauntleroy costume had
been awarded first prize — Violet Mer-
sereau had promised to let me interview
her — not then, because she said she was
too busy; but the next day, if I went
to the studio at noon promptly.
It was noon now, and I was enter-
ing the big, glass-inclosed stage.
Violet Mersereau on the roof
garden of her home.
| SirTWho I
p « .\ \ >« v v v i a v s a v v\ a a « « v ,\ n n 1' A »
Violet Mersereau is a
peculiar institution. Al-
though she is to-day a
very popular star in film-
dom, he* admirers know
but little of the personal
side of her life. There is
a reason for this, too, for
Violet — unlike most pic-
ture favorites — has a
strange prejudice against
talking about herself.
But now she had promised to break
the silence. What inspired it I do not
know ; but she had promised, provided
I arrived promptly at twelve. And
here I was !
After a thorough search of the stu-
dio, I had found her seated in an East
Side ''set." To be more explicit, it was
a Chinese grocery store. I have men-
tioned before that she looked entirely
different at work from the way she did
on the night before. It was not that
she was any the less pretty, but be-
cause, instead of the dainty costume
of Little Lord Fauntleroy, Violet was
robed as a Chinese girl. Up until the
time that I saw her in the "set," I had
been a little afraid that I would not rec-
ognize her, for the domino had contin-
ually masked her face when I had seen
her before ; but the moment I saw a
smile that seemed to light up the entire
Chinese ''set," I knew that I had found
Violet. She is always smiling. She
appeared to be perfectly happy until
she saw me approaching, and then her
countenance fell.
"You see, I'm on time," I greeted her.
"That's the trouble with you chaps,"
she replied, "you're so horribly punc-
tual."
52 Violet Mersereau — the Girl Who Smiles
sigh—
you're
In character,
ready for a scene
"But you told me
to come," I added.
"You don't have
to be obedient now,"
she replied, with a
smile. "You're over
seven."
"I must be polite,
especially when the
subject is so charm-
ing," I ventured.
"Well"— and she
heaved a
"now that
here, I suppose T
must go through
with it," she contin-
ued. "I suppose you
want to know where I was born, when
it happened, how long I have been in
pictures, if I was ever on the stage, and
if so, why I deserted the footlights for
moving pictures. Then I must say that
I swim, golf, ride, motor, tennis, and
all the rest of the things that the aver-
age actress usually tells you."
"And of course anv other incidents
Making-up in
sing room.
which you think the
public would be in-
erested in reading,"
I added.
She paused a mo-
ment and reflected.
Then suddenly she
gave her golden locks
an emphatic shake, as
though she had
reached a final deci-
sion, and said :
"No, I must ask
you to forgive me,
Miss Mersereau (abov
(below) leaving
e) in her home, and
for the studio.
but I really can't sit
here and answer a lot
of questions about
myself. I don't know
why, but I guess it's against my nature.
Anyway, the public is interested in my
acting more than anything else. Xb one
cares who I am or what I do after I
leave the studio or before I come to it.
Don't you agree with me?"
I did not. But all I said about ad-
mirers wanting to know something of
her personal life was useless.
Violet Mersereau— the Girl Who Smiles 53
"You'll have to excuse me," she said
with finality. "I know you will think
me cruel, but I'm not; I'm just funny,
that's all."
Before I could interrupt her, she
added: "There, my director is calling
me! I've got to go. Good-by."
She went.
As I left the studio, a lot of thoughts
flitted through my mind, and they had
nothing in common with religion, either.
For that particular study was located
just far enough back
of the Hudson, in
Jersey, to upset the
character of a man
for a week, provid-
ing his errand has
been fruitless.
Imagine my sur-
prise when, later in
the day, I received
the following by
messenger :
"After you had
gone, I felt sorry
that I had treated
you so harshly. I
finished the scene
and went to my
dressing room and
thought it over. I
came to the decision
that perhaps I was
wrong, and so I am
sending you a bit of
my history. But if
you should use it,
please rewrite it in
the third person, as
I hate to read an ar-
ticle where every
sentence begins : T
did so and so.' You
must have been an-
gry when you left, and if you are now
over it, please listen to me.
'Born October 2, 1897, in New York
City. Dad, French ; mother, English.
Sister Claire and I have been on the
stage since she was seven and I nine
years old. My sister's first engage-
ment was with Maxine Elliott in 'Her
Own Way,' in which she played both
here and abroad. At the same time, I
was engaged for Margaret Anglin.
Mother traveled with sister, as she was
the youngest. The mother of another
little girl in my company took care of
me.
"At the end of the season, I was sent
back to school, as mother and sister
Miss Mersereau as Little Lord Fauntleroy, the costume which won
her a prize.
were going abroad.
While they were
away, I posed for artists, and later was
engaged by a stock company to play
little boys' and girls' parts. Xext came
my part as Flora in 'The Clansman.'
54
Violet Mersereau — the Girl Who Smiles
That is how I came to enter pictures.
They carried three horses with the com-
pany, and, while the horses were a
bit big, I was so little that anywhere the
horse took it into his head to go I sim-
ply had to go along.
"I remember one day the hostler sad-
dled one of the horses and lifted me
into the saddle, when the animal gave
a sudden twitch and tore madly oft
down the road. I had a long, new vel-
vet coat on which mother had just sent
me, and was more worried about this
than I was about my own safety. I
tugged at the reins, but with little suc-
cess. He tore all over the country, and
made a dash for a nice, muddy hill, and,
reaching the top, he cut several capers,
and then, before I knew what had hap-
pened, he gave me a friendly toss, and
I landed over his head and stuck in the
mud, my lovely new coat terribly
mussed. Then they say animals don't
know. I'm sure he never enjoyed any-
thing quite so much. But after that,
he behaved beautifully. However, this
was the way I learned to ride ; and
when I closed the season, some one
suggested to mother that she put me
in pictures. I was a bad age, being too
big for very little girls, and not old
enough for grown-up parts. So mother
dressed me up to look as old as possible
— although I wasn't quite steady on the
high heels. But I was the most dig-
nified person — so I thought — but now.
when I think of it, I can imagine how
funny I must have looked.
''The director engaged me to play
ingenue leads, and all that summer I
played in Western pictures and rode
from morning till night. Then mother
wouldn't hear of my giving up the stage
for pictures — you see, people didn't
really understand then how wonderful
pictures were. I was then engaged for
a part in 'Rebecca of Sunnybrook
Farm/ and went to London with the
original company, as understudy to this
role. After a successful season abroad
with this play, I was graduated from
understudy, and when we returned
to America, I was starred as Rebecca
throughout the United States. It is
interesting now to receive letters from
moving-picture fans who have seen me
play. Some say they miss not hearing
me talk ; others that they are glad they
are able now to see me so often. So
when people ask me which I like the
better, I really can't say, for each
art is so entirely different, and I have
such a great love for both.
"When I closed with 'Rebecca,' I was
engaged by the Famous Players to play
'The Spitfire.' Afterward I signed a
contract with the Universal, and I have
certainly been wonderfully happy since
then — let's say I have iived happily
ever after.' Sincerely,
"P. S. — How's that? Don't you think
it is a nice ending?"
When I had finished reading the let-
ter I found myself smiling — and did not
know why. Probably it was for the
same reason that others smile the mo-
ment Violet Mersereau appears before
them on the screen.
I might have written an account of
my experiences in getting an interview
with this little star — now that I held
her story safely — and had it end in the
same happy way as her letter, for she
had saved me from a predicament that
appeared as though it would force this
and the preceding three pages to run
blank. But why she had made me
worry so, only to send me the letter
after all, was more than I could tell —
except that, young though she may be,
she has already developed one charac-
teristic of a woman — that of not know-
ing what she may do next.
John Emerson, a stage producer who "made good" in pictures, studying a script between scenes. Sir
Herbert Beerbohm Tree, who appeared in the film version of ''Macbeth" under Emerson's
direction, is seen to the left foreground of the picture.
THERE is an unending truth in
the sage statement, "It isn't
what you used to be, it's what
you are to-day," which probably occurs
to many of the stage stars upon their
entrance into motion pictures. Not that
they are looked upon as 'has-beens" by
any manner of means, but rather in the
examples they see about the studio.
Take any of the leading companies, and
run down the list of its directors. The
names which grace the list are gener-
ally names which have made no mark
for themselves in the annals of the
stage. Yet these men are the powers
of the studios, and it has been through
their ability that motion pictures have
reached their present position. How
many of them would have still been
hidden away in obscure parts of the
country, playing in stock, if motion pic-
tures had not offered. a new field, can
only be guessed ; but it is certain that
not one of every hundred of them
would be directing Broadway stars on
the stage, as practically all of them are
doing in the studios at present.
The writer feels safe in asserting
that five of the most prominent men be-
fore the motion-picture public to-day
are D. W. Griffith, Charles Chaplin.
Mack Sennett, Henry B. Walthall, and
Francis X. Bushman. Take the past
career of any of these men, and search
it for achievements on the stage, and
you will find that nothing startling
marked their careers behind the foot-
lights. Griffith was only an actor, and
an unsuccessful playwright of the con-
ventional Broadway type ; Chaplin was
a fair success on a small-time vaudeville
circuit; Sennett was even less than
56
Past and Present
these two, and is wont to recall the days
of "spear carrying" before the movies
came. Bushman and Walthall were
successful to a degree, the latter more
so than the former ; but they never got
beyond the stage where worry over the
next engagement was paramount in
their mind.
Wallace Reid, who has come forward
by leaps and bounds this last year, the
writer recalls at the age of five listen-
ing intently to the reading of his fa-
ther's plays. Wallace is the perfect im-
age of his mother, a fine actress of the
old school. His father is Hal Reid,
apostle of melodrama. Wallace has
lived in the atmosphere of the theater
all his life, yet, like a few others who
found themselves first in the film stu-
dio, he seems to have reached the top
solely through his own initiative.
Paul Panzer, now famous as a screen
villain, was a long-time member of Au-
gustin Daly's stock company, as was
Hobart Bosworth, the well-known star.
Both were wont to appear in such pro-
ductions as "The Geisha," and in those
early days he indicated not a trace of
the gifts which have made their names
ones to conjure with on the screen.
When James Young, the well-known
Lasky director, was starring in "Brown
of Harvard," on the road, he must have
had already a keen film perspective, for
in that company, strolling from one city
to another, there was the nucleus of
what would now be regarded as an all-
star picture-play organization. Besides
Mr. Young and Clara Kimball Young,
two present-day matinee idols of the
screen were playing modest roles in
"Brown of Harvard," and both Carlyle
Blackwell and J. Warren Kerrigan lit-
tle dreamed then that less than four
years later they would be known to the
majority of mankind, nor did they even
imagine that they and the Youngs were
destined to draw down weekly salaries
which in each instance amounts to more
than the entire "Brown of Harvard"
company was paid.
But the public of to-day cares little
Bessie Barriscale and Pauline Fredericks, both of whom were famous upon the
legitimate stage before becoming popular in motion pictures.
Past and Present
57
about the past of
these men, for all
have proved their
worth ; and that
they should rise to
the exalted posi-
tions they now
hold in the new art
solely through
their own ability is
greatly to their credit. The list of
others who did little on the stage, but
who have done wonders on the screen
is long, far too long to bear retelling
in this article ; but it includes many of
the names of the most popular photo-
players of the day.
On the other hand, many stars who
have gained a niche in the hall of the-
atrical fame have done the same in
motion pictures. The Famous Players'
trio of women stars, including Pauline
Fredericks, Marguerite Clark, and Ha-
zel Dawn, is perhaps the most notable
example. Miss Fredericks will be re-
membered because of her performance
in "Samson," with William Gillette,
"Joseph and His Brethren," and in her
starring vehicle, "Innocent." Miss
Clark was perhaps best known as a foil
for De Wolf Hopper and in her plays.
•'Baby Mine," "Baby Doll," "Lights' o'
London," "Are You a Crook?" and sev-
eral others. Hazel Dawn was a well-
known prima donna, her greatest suc-
cess being scored as the star in "The
Pink Lady."
Truly Shattuck, now with Triangle,
under Thomas H. Ince's direction, is
another former light-opera and musi-
58
Past and Present
cal-comedy star to cast her lot with the
camera man. Miss Shattuck has al-
ready indicated by her work in released
pictures that the silent drama is not
beyond her gifts, and it is said that
Mr. Ince has cast her for important
roles in forthcoming releases.
Thomas Ricketts, who
was one of the vital
factors in the
cess of the An
ican Film Co
pany, and who
did more than
any one else
to change
that com-
pany's stand-
a r d from
mere Western
plays to its
present hi
grade
status, was
for years
not only
the come-
dian of his
own com-
i c - o p -
era com-
pany, but
was fa-
mous as
the most efficient stage director
musical productions in this country.
Marie Doro and her husband,. Elliott
Dexter, and Bessie Barriscale and her
husband, Howard Hickman, are two
notable stage couples who have "made
good" to a surprising degree in pictures.
The former couple are well known for
their many Broadway successes, while
the latter pair have appeared in the
best stage productions of the West.
Miss Doro and Mr. Dexter are now
with Lasky, though she has also ap-
peared with other companies, including
Famous Players and Fine Arts. Miss
Barriscale and Mr. Hickman have been
Marie Doro and her husband, Elliott Dexter, both of whom are
known to stage and screen followers.
for
with Kay Bee since entering the mo-
tion-picture field.
William S. Hart and John Emerson,
of the Kay Bee and Fine Arts divisions
of Triangle, are also favor-
ites of the theater public. The
former appeared in Shake-
spearean plays and in a
number of others
which bordered on
that rugged type
f American
productions for
which he has
become noted
in the silent
drama. Em-
erson was
best known
as a theatri-
cal producer,
having been a
stage man-
ager for
Leo Dit-
rich-
stein, Na-
zimova ,
F r o h -
man, and
others. He
also ap-
peared in
many pro-
ductions. As a director of motion pic-
tures, he has proven an unqualified suc-
cess, his greatest effort being the pres-
ent filming of "Macbeth," with Sir
Henry Beerbohm Tree and Constance
Collier in the leading roles.
Arthur Maude and Constance Craw-
ley, now engaged in making multiple-
reel features at the studios of the
American Film Manufacturing Com-
pany, were highly successful while play-
ing Shakespearean repertoire. At the
Greek theater, in Berkeley, California,
they established a new record, when
more than ten thousand people wit-
nessed a single performance. Their ad-
Past and Present
59
vent into pictures was due to their de-
sire to explore the vast possibilities of
the newer art.
Charles Kent, who has been with the
Yitagraph Company nearly ten years,
was not paid over one-sixth the sum
weekly when he joined that he was
wont to earn on the stage. The present
writer paid Kent five hundred dollars
a week in the vaudeville theaters the
year before he knocked at the door of
the big Brooklyn studio.
What Kent now receives
may only be conjectured,
but it is a certainty that
his income is enough to in-
and affluence. Cissie was one of the
very first of the "Gayety Girls" who
had all of New7 York's "Johnnies" at
their feet.
It was the same Cissie, looking not
a day older than in the Gayety days,
who winked her way to screen popular-
ity two decades later ; but, like not a
few other stage stars, Miss Fitzgerald
has made her conquest of the new art
in serious roles as well as comedy.
Laura Hope Crews was one
of that famous trio of 1900-
'02 which emerged from the
now-almost-forgotten Murray
Hill Theater, on Lexington
James Young (above) Las-
ky director; Clara Kimball
Young (below) screen star.
J.Warren Kerrigan, who played
small parts with this company
and who is now a screen idol.
Carlyle Blackwell,who also had /
a minor role and who is now a :
featured star with Equitable. »
-v^
v r >x>
- - vn .„.*._ _„ — . "
\ Four former members of the "Brown of Harvard road company.
duce him not to tread the boards again
on the speaking stage.
When Cissie Fitzgerald first came to
these shores, she was heralded as the
girl who had "winked" her way to fame
Avenue, New York City, where all
three, namely, Miss Crews, Frances
Starr, and Dorothy Donnelly, were en-
rolled in practically the very last of the
model stock companies that were once
60 Past and Present
sustenance of the speaking
the very
stage.
The combined weekly salaries of
Frances Starr, Dorothy Donnelly, and
Miss Crews did not exceed one hun-
dred and twenty-five dollars. All three
were practically enslaved in that play-
house from nine a. m. to midnight.
Two performances were given daily,
and rehearsals for each new play were
often necessary after the night per-
formance. Yet it was in just such an
environment that three fa-
mous stars of to-da^
were molded into
artistic greatness.
Strangely enough,
almost simultane-
ously with Miss
Crews' advent
as a Lasky star,
in "The Black-
birds," the Mur-
ray Hill Theater
has itself capitu-
lated to the lure
of the magic
screen.
Miss Donnelly's
screen debut
closely followed
Miss Crews', and
her work has been
such that it has
won her thou-
sands of admirers
among those who were never fortunate
enough to see her on the stage. In
Pathe's "Madame X" she was at her
best, and her portrayal of that difficult
character was a masterpiece of the
silent art.
When it was announced that Sam
Bernard would exhibit his artistry be-
fore the cameras, stage and screen folk
alike were puzzled as to the manner in
which this comedian's peculiar talent
could be transferred to the screen, for
here is one actor whose entire career
has depended on his consummate gift
Arthur Maude and Constance Crawley, another
noted stage couple now firmly entrenched
in the hearts of picture-play
theater patrons.
of toying with speech ; in fact, Sam was
distinctly a dialect comedian.
Nevertheless, as "Schmaltz," Sam
Bernard has scored just 3s big a hit as
he did on that eventful night when he
came, almost unheralded, to Broadway,
and shared with Weber and Fields a
triumph which forms one of the most
vital pages in the annals of the Ameri-
can stage. In truth, Sam Bernard had
the audiences holding their sides, in
"Schmaltz," from start to finish. Never
was he so prolific in producing
merriment.
That any one could have
really believed Sam Ber-
nard would fail to
score even in this dif-
ficult task, seems in-
credible to the writer,
who has watched his
amazing career al-
most from that day
when he joined the
"stock company"
of the Grand
Duke's Theater, on
Baxter Street,
New York, a the-
a t e r patronized
mostly by news-
boys, but from
whence have arisen
not a few of the
standard bearers
of the nineteenth-
stellar heights. "Five
Sam Bernard's
century stage to
dollars and cakes" was
highest weekly emolument at the Grand
Duke Theater three decades ago.
That his skill in pantomime was not
a "flash in the pan" has been proven by
his consistently good performances in
Keystone pictures on the Triangle pro-
gram. He is a dififerent Sam Bernard
than the one known to the stage, but
he is every bit as funny, and has al-
ready gained a following among the
motion-picture devotees, although his
film career is still young.
v"*^ Chester Conklin in an - attempt to make people laugh. He says that this did not make
one certain person laugh — and that was himself.
THE average person's idea of a
comedian is a man who is con-
tinually enjoying himself and
who can get fun out of anything from
a discarded shoe to a shaky aeroplane.
That idea is excellent — for any one but
a comedian.
The comedian's idea of himself is a
man who has to work harder than any
one else in the world — whose business it
is to discover the spot where the peo-
ple are ticklish, and then to tickle them.
Being a comedian, I am rather willing
to admit it, not through conceit, but
through love of food, for I depend on
my tickling qualities for a living. I am
of the opinion that the latter descrip-
tion is far nearer correct.
People go to see comic pictures — they
go to be amused — and then it is the
hardest thing I know of to make them
laugh, despite the fact that such is the
primary reason for which they go.
No comedian that I am acquainted
with has gained success merely through
the fact that he was born funny and
that his natural antics brought him lau-
rels. We all have to be more or less
psychologists, and every laugh that our
work — emphasis on the "work" — pro-
vokes is the result of study. For in-
stance, the pictures have lately been
subject to much unfavorable comment
for the alleged degrading element of
slapstick comedy. I make no claim that
we have elevated the minds of the peo-
ple through this form of humor, but I
emphatically deny that we have done
anything to degrade them.
The slapstick, like every other form
of comedy, is the result of study, and
for a long while was one of the most
successful methods employed in making
people laugh. Some one — probably
most of the credit is due to Mack Sen-
nett — noticed that when a man's hat
blew off in a crowded street nearly
every one who witnessed the incident
smiled. If the unfortunate person hap-
pened to be carrying an armful of bun-
dles and his foot slipped, scattering his
load in all directions, those who saw
him laughed out loud. Then this was,
in an exaggerated manner, reproduced
on the screen. The people fairly
howled — and the result was slapstick
62
Making People Laugh
Mabel Normand and Fatty Arbuckle.
Fred Mace and Anna Luther.
Sidney Chaplin.
comedy. It did nothing to lower the
minds of any one — it merely gave the
public what was wanted. That was
one form of comedy, and a form that
was the hardest work for the come-
dian, for he had to be continually de-
vising new things to do. Without a
doubt, the one person who has been
most successful with this way of mak-
ing people laugh is Charlie Chaplin, and
his recent contract, which is said to
bring him nearly seven times the in-
come of the President of the United
States, proves his success. Mr. Chap-
lin is deserving of all the credit he re-
ceives— he is the most successful public
tickler in the world.
Beyond study, there are other things
that a comedian must do. The main
one is work. Riding in automobiles
and picking our teeth with broom han-
dles aren't the hardest work we do.
Perhaps the best and most interesting
way I can impress you with the art —
or, as I have said, being a comedian,
I should rather call it work — of mak-
ing people laugh, will be to give you
incidents that have actually occurred to
comedians I know, including myself.
My experiences in working at the
fun emporium of Mack Sennett have
been many, and I have numerous
bruises and injured feelings as remem-
brances of those sad occasions when I
have attempted to make other people
laugh.
Mr. Sennett always has his plays
fairly well planned before we leave the
studio, and we know, in a general way,
what he expects of us. We always do
our very best to carry out all his in-
structions— and add more fun wher-
ever we can. Mr. Sennett supervises
the directing of every Keystone photo
play, and, although he has but very
little time to direct a picture himself,
every once in a while he manages it.
He is the key of Keystone.
Some of the dare-deviltry that is in-
vented at our studio would make peo-
ple shudder, should they see the very
same thing in a drama. In a comedy,
the thrilling feats are soon forgotten,
for the public, as a whole, is convinced
that they are some trick of the cam-
era, and think no more about it. But
put the very same piece of work in
a drama, such as hanging onto the edge
Making People Laugh
63
Charles Murray.
Mack Sennett.
Chester Conklin and Mack Swain.
of a roof by your hands, with your
body dangling dangerously over the
side, struggling to get back on the roof
again, and it will take a mighty long
time before it was forgotten by those
who saw it. Incidentally, it is never
forgotten by the actor who did the
deed.
The hospitals in the vicinity of the
Keystone plant do a rushing business,
and you can always find a surgeon on
hand at the studios, although it would
be a hard matter to spend much time
with one — they are usually very busy.
There is not an actor or an actress at
our studio who has not at some time
risked his or her life in the filming of a
picture. Probably the most daring
comedienne in the motion-picture busi-
ness is little Mabel Normand. There
is nothing that she will not undertake
to make a scene a success, and the
spirit of fearlessness with ■ which she
does her feats such as is not always
manifested by we menfolks. As a
result, there is many an accident that
she can give an account of that has
occurred with her playing the leading
role. Only recently, Mabel recovered
from a nervous breakdown which was
caused by her being hit with the heel
of a shoe during the filming of a Key-
stone production.
One of her many daring "stunts" was
to jump from an aeroplane just before
it crashed into a tree. She blames me
for the narrowness of the escape, for
I was driving the machine ; but I
was even less fortunate than Mabel,
for, being seated at the wheel, it was
impossible for me to escape at all, and.
after hitting the tree, all that I remem-
ber of the wreck was how I felt when
I awoke, lying on a soft bed in the
Keystone hospital and being attended
by Keystone nurses. A scar on my
head reminds me of the incident. No-
tice ''incident" — that's all it is to a co-
median.
During the taking of "The Subma-
rine Pirate," the scenario called for
Syd Chaplin, who was playing the lead
in the feature, to be chased by the fa-
mous Keystone police force along the
edge of several roofs, twelve stories
from the ground, thence along an iron
girder separating two buildings of equal
height, and from there he slid down
♦
64
Making People Laugh
a rope to the top of a passing auto-
mobile. It cost the Keystone Company
just ninety dollars to insure each one
of the police and Chaplin for the two
minutes it took for the roof scenes.
Luckily no one was injured, although
many close calls were experienced.
These scenes created much laughter
when they were shown on the screen,
but the people did not stop to think
what a dangerous task it really was.
If they had, they wouldn't
have laughed — that's all. ^
It seems to us comedians
that scenario writers strive to
fill their scripts with material
with murderous intent, anc
that the directors
gloat and add a thrill
here and there
throughout. Although
the actor does not
grow enthusiastic over
the idea, nevertheless
he carries it out in
every detail, at the di-
rector's instruction —
for that is his business.
When it is thrown on
the screen, the scenario
writer, director, and
the general public en-
joy a hearty laugh,
while the poor
player heaves a
deep sigh of re-
lief, thankful that
he is still alive
and able to wit-
ness what he "got
over."
One of the
closest calls that a
member of the
Keystone police
ever had was in
man Burglar,"
Charles Murray and Mack Swain as their friends
see them — that is, their personal friends.
'Raffles, the Gentle-
when, during a chase
along a very high roof, one of the force
turned his ankle and all but pitched
over the edge. Those who witnessed
the accident gasped, but the "cop" held
on with his hands and was pulled back
to safety by a man running in back
of him. He has never been the same
to this day, and admits that this un-
nerved him. Those who were lucky
enough to have seen this two-reeler will
no doubt remember this "thrill" — or
have they forgotten it? The night I
saw this particular picture, the "cop's"
slip brought forth a scream of laughter,
and a man sitting next to me
ventured his opinion to the
young lady he was sitting next
to in the theater. "Looks thrill-
ing, doesn't it?" he inquired.
"Well, it was a cinch for those
cops. They were all tied to
wires, so they couldn't fall off."
"But suppose the wires should
break?" the girl in-
quired.
"That only hap-
pens in press no-
tices," he replied.
Think of that! .
It goes to prove my
statement about the
public's viewpoint.
Here was the camera
shooting up at the roof
from the street, and
there was absolutely
nothing above the
police but the sky,
so how any sane
person could
have figured out
that wires were
attached to them
is more than I
could figure out.
Still, I know that
many left the the-
ater— and other
theaters where it was shown — con-
vinced that there had been some trick
employed to filming the narrow escape.
Speaking of close calls on roof edges,
I will never forget one experience that
Making People Laugh
65
I had. I was supposed to be an un-
welcome suitor for the girl's hand — ■
that is to say, unwelcome in the eyes
of the girl's father. When I refused
to part with the fond parent's daugh-
ter, he drew a revolver and began fir-
ing at me, and, in accordance with the
scenario, I took to the rooftops to es-
cape his wrath. But the father was
intent upon riddling me with bullets
from his weapon, so up he came after
me. I started off along the very edge
of the roof, looking back every few
feet to see how close he was. Well, to
make a long story short, I slipped, and
all but went over the edge to the street,
eight stories below.
I certainly was a
frightened young
man for the mo-
ment. I was sure
my end had come,
and I shut my eyes,
expecting to feel
myself plunging
through space to the
hard pavement be-
low. But fortune
kept me on that'
roof ; I cannot tell to
this day how. Quick-
ly I realized that my
life was still my
very own, and, get-
ting back to safety
comparative safety,
harrowing escape that I had been
through ; but I can't say truthfully that
I enjoyed it very much, even if it was
pretty good, according to Charlie Ray,
the Ince star, who accompanied me. I
went right
home after
t h e show,
and tucked
myself u p
in bed,
and pre-
red ''to
Chester Conklin is quite a different young man when he shaves off the
mustache that causes him to be called "Walrus."
-that is to say,
for every one
knows that the edge of a high building
is a very unsafe place — I continued
through the scene, although somewhat
dizzily.
It took some little while before I
got over the effects of that close call.
I told no one about it, but during the
rest of the scenes in which I took part
during the day, I remembered my es-
cape of a few hours previous. How I
ever managed to get through that day's
work will always remain a mystery to
me. I know that I went to a show that
night to try to get my mind off the
5
quite a time, but found I could not
sleep ; so I got up, dressed, and went out
and walked about the streets until late.
When I returned and finally managed
to get to sleep, it was not a very restful
slumber. It seemed that I hardly dozed
away when my alarm clock roused me
again, announcing that it was time to
hurry to the studio for another day of
— well, to please the fans, I'll call it
comedy this time.
I drove my car as fast as the Los
Angeles speed laws will allow to the
studio, and would probably have gone
a little faster, for it was late, except
for the fact that it is said that my li-
66
Making People Laugh
cense number is on file in the auto-
mobile drivers' rogues' gallery. They
say at the studio that every policeman
has learned to know the smell of my
gasoline.
When I reached the studio yard,
Mack Swain — "Ambrose,'1 we all call
him — greeted me.
''Hello, Chester!" he called. "You're
just in time to see yesterday's stuff run
off in the projection room. Come on
in !"
My heart gave a bound — or maybe it
sank ; I don't know which — when I re-
alized that I would soon see the scene
that nearly brought a sudden close to
the career of one Chester "Walrus"
Conklin.
Presently Mr. Serin ett, most of the
players, the writers, and directors as-
sembled to see the pictures shown. Mr.
Sennett always makes it a point to at-
tend these showings, and then tells
us exactly what he thinks
of our work — again em-
phasis on the "work."
When my
picture w a s
at last shown, I watched it intently, and
was sitting thinking of my close call
when I suddenly realized that some
one was speaking to me. I turned to
look into the face of Mr. Sennett, and
heard him say :
"Couldn't you have done that a little
better, Chester? It should have been
made more natural. You'll have to re-
take that scene."
I started to splutter an explanation
about it's being as natural as if 1 had
fallen to the sidewalk, but he turned
and had walked away before I could
make him understand.
That afternoon. I went to my cam-
era man and told him to retake the
scene then, so as I could have it over
with and get a good night's rest. He
laughed and walked away; and then,
for the first time, it dawned upon me
that Mr. Sennett had taken the acci-
dent as a joke
and was merely
trying to worry
m e for fun.
Later, I found
This should prove conclusively that Chester Conklin is well qualified to write of
the unhappy side of making people laugh.
Making People Laugh
67
that he had learned from Charlie Ray
about how the accident had troubled
me, and saw an opportunity for a good
laugh — at the expense of a comedian.
Some of the adventures of Keystone
players are humorous, even when they
are happening. One of these was when
Al St. John, then a member of the
"police force," was almost suffocated
in mud. He was in a rowboat with sev-
eral others of the company when the
lake was suddenly drained, leaving the
police boat stranded on the mud. One
of the boys fell overboard, and, in at-
tempting to climb back, upset the boat.
Al St. John was the first to land in the
mud, and he did it in a very realistic
manner. His foot slipped, and the re-
sult was a perfect dive, headfirst, into
the soft mud, policemen on top of him.
There was a loud roar of laughter
from where the director and camera
man stood, but when the policeman
managed to get up, St. John
was still lying, his head cov-
ered, in the mire. The director
was the first to realize the seri-
ousness of the situation, and
called to the
o t h e r s to help
him. A r o p e
was thrown out
and fastened
about Al's body,
and then he was drawn ashore, where
it was some time before he was re-
vived.
The camera man took the scene of
him being dragged through the mud
and a place was found for it in the pic-
ture. Things like this are considered
too valuable to miss. St. John main-
tains to this day that it was the closest
call he has ever experienced — but he is
still very young.
Probably the most talked-of experi-
ence of mine was the time when I was
blown many feet through the air by a
premature explosion of the big Key-
stone tank. So great was the force of
the explosion that it blew the concrete
bottom of the tank out completely, and
flooded the entire studio. The worst
part of it was the force upset camera
and all, and the scene was lost, so far
as the screen was concerned. I cer-
tainly looked as if I had been through
the war when I emerged from the
hospital, some time later. I was
bruised, cut, and stitched until I
felt that I must look like a saw-
dust doll which had been ripped
by a dog,
and which
some
clumsy
child had
tried to
Sidney Chaplin has proven the fact that a successful means of drawing a laugh is
to do something ridiculous — provided it is original.
68
Making People Laugh
patch up again. It was several hours
after the explosion before I realized
just what had happened — then some
one had to explain it to me in detail.
Some of the professional steeple-
jacks whose names may often be found
gracing the pages of newspapers may
think that they take chances, but just
let them try their luck and pluck against
the battery of Keystone scenario writ-
ers and directors — that is my challenge.
Of course, you all are aware of the
large proportions of Roscoe Arbuckle,
better known to picture followers as
"Fatty." On account of a forced
change in the ending of "The Milage
Scandal," one of the early Triangle re-
leases, he had to find a new finish with
a punch to it, so he decided to roll off
the roof of the country hotel, which
was one of the buildings in the com-
plete village erected for this picture.
Right under the roof that he planned
to roll off was a watering trough, just
exactly large enough for him to get
into without the use of a shoehorn,
so he decided to fall into this. A mis-
calculation would mean several weeks
the hospital, but this did not faze
m
Roscoe one bit. He climbed out on the
roof, and, after a hard tumble, rolled
right off the edge and
into the trough. His
only remembrance of
this occasion was a badly
bruised hip. Of course,
it- looked great in the
picture, therefore got a
tremendous laugh, and
that was all Roscoe
cared about.
One of the strangest
things that has happened
to me occurred when I
was playing in Wal-
ter Wright's aero-
plane comedy, "Dizzy
Heights and Daring
Hearts." We had an
aeroplane especially
constructed for this film by Keystone's
thriving young inventor, Joe Murray.
My role was that of Count Walrus, a
purchaser of aeroplane supplies for a
foreign nation, and. after having tried
my best to run away with the aero-
plane maker's daughter, action in the
scenario called for me to escape in one
of the aeroplanes. Running to the ma-
chine, I tried to start it by turning the
propeller. As this was too hard a task
for me, I threw my whole weight on
one of the blades — and it started. This
inspired the director, and he ordered
me to do it over again, making one com-
plete turn with the propeller and then
substituting a dummy to whirl around.
When I went through the action the
second time, I made the complete turn
— and several more — before the ma-
chine could be stopped and the dummy
put in my place. Xothing serious re-
sulted, but it took me some time before
I could get my bearings again, for play-
ing the role of a propeller is not the
hardest way to get dizzy.
In the same picture, one of the last
scenes called for a high chimney to fall
— apparently on me. Of course, the
bricks that found a resting place on my
head were of papier-mache and could
do no damage. But
flour and plaster were
used as mortar, and
when the avalanche of
bricks took place my
eyes were filled with
the dusty powder.
Luckily this
was one of the
final scenes, or
Raymond Hitchcock and
This is an illustration of
situation as a means of
I should have been
forced to delay the
picture, as I could
Making People Laugh
69
not see well enough to work for several
days after.
I have mentioned the foregoing in-
cidents merely to point out to the people
whom we are trying to coax to laugh
by means of the screen just what we
have to go through as a daily routine.
It has been found — I cannot say
whether it was found fortunately or un-
fortunately— that the life-risking form
of humor is one of the most success-
ful. This is used a great deal in mak-
ing the present-day films, although it
must be interspersed with other kinds
of laugh provokers.
Perhaps one of the best — and safest
— means of making people laugh is by
the sudden reversal of a situation. Ex-
actly what I mean by this may be seen
from the accompanying illustration, in
which Mack Sennett plays a valet and
Raymond Hitchcock the employer. By
a sudden change, making Mr. Hitch-
cock the valet and Mr. Sennett the em-
ployer, a ticklish spot was immediately
touched.
The art of making people laugh, as is
shown by the incidents of which I have
spoken, is far from being a life of con-
tinuous pleasure.
It is real hard
work, and work
that is not always
appreciated b y
the public. There
are very few peo-
ple who see the
pictures and sit in
judgment of
a player's ,.f
ability, who %.
Mack Sennett in action
the sudden reversal of
drawing a laugh.
go so far
think of
amount of
as to
t h e
studv
that the player has done before he ever
went before the camera to do the ac-
tual acting. How many people figure
what method of drawing laughs that
the various comedians employ? Or
does the average outsider know that
there are any different methods?
The variations of comedy are numer-
ous— in fact, so numerous that almost
every successful player has something
all his own, although the general style
may be in common with that used by
others. Take for instance myself.
While I appear almost entirely in com-
edy of the slapstick variety, I do many
little things along lines that are un-
touched by others, that, even though
the public does not understand the ex-
act reason for my performing them, I
notice, when I attend a theater that they
draw a laugh. I will not tell you just
what my methods are, though — because
they are too valuable to me — and a
comedian must eat.
The success of Charlie Chaplin and
his brother Sidney is excellent proof of
the fact that one reliable method of
making people see the humorous side of
life is by doing ridiculous things — pro-
vided they are original,
and not done in a ridicu-
lous manner.
If, after what I have
said in this article, there
is doubt in your mind
as to whether a picture
fun maker earns his
money or not, I suggest
that you go to a studio,
and when one of the
players meets with an
accident that pre-
vents him from
working for a few
days, apply for his
position and try to
make people laugh
for as long a time
as you can
the strain.
;tand
Is your favorite star twinkling here? If you cannot locate him
—or her— look on the "Screen Gossip" pages and read the names.
Mary Miles Minter listening to instructions from Director Edgar Jones.
WHEN I arrived at the home of
little Mary Miles Minter, on
the eighth floor of an apart-
ment building in Riverside Drive, New
York, quite early one morning, I made
my usual apology, saying I hoped I was
not late. The engagement with Miss
Minter was for seven o'clock. It was
now more than half an hour after that
time. Mrs. Charlotte Shelby, mother
of the screen's youngest star, answered
the door.
''Indeed, you are not late," she has-
tened to assure me. "The fact is that
Alary is still in bed. You can go in
and surprise her."
Mrs. Shelby led the way into Mary's
bedroom, a veritable dream place. Blue
chintz curtains hung on the windows
that looked out over Riverside Drive
and the Hudson River, and the blue
draperies and walls set off the white
furniture to advantage. Miss Minter
was propped up in bed, eating her
breakfast. Resting over her lap, a
wicker tray with a plate-glass top, and
two large pockets at either end. Her
breakfast consisted of toast and choco-
late. In the pockets of the tray were
the morning papers and her mail —
which consisted of scores of letters and
cards from admirers.
"I always have my breakfast in bed,"
she said apologetically, as she greeted
me, and then coyly looked toward her
mother. *Tt is my one luxury. Mamma
says it is laziness, but, really, you know
I am not lazy, don't you, mother, dear?"
"When Alary was younger," Airs.
Shelby hastened to explain, "and we
were traveling around the country, I
always had our meals served in our
rooms at the hotels. Alary never got
over the habit."
In another half hour. Alary was
dressed for a brisk walk along River-
side Drive, which is part of her daily
program, rain or shine. Aliss Alinter
wore a blue velvet suit, trimmed with
white spring furs, a small toque of
blue velvet, and white shoes. She was
irresistible in this attire, with her
bright, golden curls forming a deli-
cate frame for her sweet face.
A Day with Mary Miles Minter
73
After the walk, we motored down-
town to the Rolfe-Metro studios, where
Miss Minter was playing the stellar
role in a forthcoming Metro photo play.
Mrs. Shelby accompanied us, and we
went upstairs while Miss Minter put
on her "make-up."
Her dressing room is a dainty, cheer-
ful, and comfortable place, done in blue
and white, of course. A long closet
runs the length of it, hung with chintz
curtains. The windows, too, are hung
with this quaint chintz, which, Miss
Minter said, was sent her by a club
of girl admirers in England. The other
side of the room was occupied by a
cheval-glass mirror, and a large dress-
ing table upon which were strewn toilet
articles and the contents of her make-
up box. A boudoir couch, ornamented
by several blue silk, round cushions,
stretched its length invitingly in one
corner of the room. Several chairs, of
French design and white-enameled,
were arranged around the room. Alto-
gether it is a delightfully cozy place.
Mrs. Shelby attends to Mary her-
self. Unlike other stars, who have one
or two maids, Miss Minter prefers, and
not without reason, the loving services
of her mother. Just as Miss Minter
was dressed, her face covered with yel-
low grease paint, and her eyelashes
"beaded" with a black substance, the
call boy came through the corridor,
shouting her name. A few minutes
later, we were on the studio floor.
Every one, from the stage hands to the
directors, welcomed her as she passed
them. One would think that all this
affection bestowed upon Miss Minter
would spoil her, but it doesn't. She
74
A Day with Mary Miles Minter
takes it all with good grace and mod-
esty and considers it merely the kind-
ness of her friends.
Her director was waiting, and es-
corted Mary to the center of a parlor
set, where he gave her directions re-
garding the scene she was about to en-
act. She listened, with her great eyes
opened wide in wonderment, as if he
were relating an interesting fairy story
to her. All of the airy, free, vivacious
At home most of Miss Minter's evenings
are spent in reading.
manner which characterizes her in
real life now disappeared. She was
strictly business, and, to use a trite
expression, ' all ears." Mrs. Shelby
and I occupied box seats — that is to
say, we sat on two old boxes out of
the range of the camera. The strong
lights of the studio gave Miss Minter
and the other players a ghastly look and
caused me to wonder how the motion
pictures afterward appear so natural.
Between "takes,'' there would in-
variably be a crowd of admirers around
Mary. Visitors to this studio always
want to see this youthful star in flesh
and blood and to meet her, if possible.
But this doesn't keep Mary from her
A Day with Mary Miles Minter 75
studies, for she has a private tutor who
makes use of every golden moment
during the "rests" to advance Mary in
her French, Latin, ancient history,
sketching, and study of the drama.
Since Miss Minter's mother is opposed
to her studying nights, after working
all day, this is the only chance this busy
little girl gets to explore higher fields
of education.
Most of the performers eat lunch in a
dining room fitted up in the studio.
This arrangement is made to save time,
and also due to the fact that many of
them cannot take off
their make-up during
the short noon hour.
But Miss Minter and
her mother invariably
dine out. When we
reached the
street, on our
way to lunch, I
was surprised to
be led into a
tion-picture theater. In the theater, we
remained until fifteen minutes past the
time she was supposed to report back
at the studio, and Mary had to plead
with her mother for every one of those
"stolen" minutes.
About four o'clock in the afternoon,
the director announced that they were
finished for the day. All the scenes
to be photographed in the parlor set had
been made, and they were obliged to
step aside for the scenic artists and
carpenters to erect another set. Miss
Minter said she would like to have me
Between scenes she uses every available moment for study.
Miss Minter enjoying
a cup of tea with
Maxwell Karger,
studio manager.
with her to
her favorite tea
roo m , so
boarded
automobile.
"Next
we
the
t o
"quick-lunch" restaurant. Miss Minter
mounted one of the stools and asked us
what we were going to have. The idea
of eating in this place, Mrs. Shelby ex-
plained, was to satisfy Mary's passion
for motion pictures. She likes to eat
quickly and then go next door to a mo-
makmg people
wait at the crossings when we are in
our car, I like to have tea here," Miss
Minter announced, as we drove up to
the restaurant, with a great deal of the
childlike enthusiasm which lies beneath
her young-ladylike exterior.
"Mary! The very idea!" her mother
Miss Minter waiting for a scene at the Metro studio.
said, with a "scolding"' tone in her
voice.
"Well, that's true, mamma. I like
the muffins and the tea here — and it's
lots of fun to watch the people's ex-
pressions when Ave stop in front of
them."
After a meal that seemed more like
dinner than tea to me, Mrs. Shelby,
despite protests from Miss Minter, an-
nounced that our next stop was home.
And so we returned to the Minter
apartment.
Mary spent this evening just as she
does almost every evening that she does
not work at the studio. We talked over
some of her experiences, and she read
some of the letters she received dur-
ing the day to us. Then she asked
many questions about other subjects
which her mother and myself discussed
while she was supposed to be "reading"
a book.
The quietness of Mary Miles Min-
ter's life somewhat surprised me. She
seemed to be thoroughly satisfied with
the excitement that is found in the
studio and in her work before the cam-
era. Instead of dinner at elaborate
hostelries and the artificial tension
which can be enjoyed, or rather, en-
dured, in many such places, perhaps
the most wild events of her average day
are supper in the tea room and reading
at night.
At promptly ten o'clock, she retired,
for this hour has marked the end of
each day in Miss Minter's life ever
since she forsook the stage for the
motion-picture studio, excepting, of
course, those days when movie balls
or other entertainments of importance
required her presence.
Shortly afterward, when I left the
Minter apartment, I was convinced of
one thing — that a day with an actress,
at least with one of Miss Minter's type,
is one of the most pleasant ways of
spending time — and far different from
the way many people would expect.
IT seems a pity that so many big men
of affairs still regard the motion-
picture industry as a side issue,
rather than the national power which it
really is. And it also is unfortunate,
both to the industry and to these men,
that they have never taken the trouble
to study the new industry and art so
that they might be in possession of in-
formation regarding it equal to their
knowledge of other arts and industries.
So fast has been the growth of mo-
tion pictures, from the "penny-arcade"
class to their present stage, that condi-
tions have thus far been ever shifting.
Doubtless this fact convinced the big
men of the nation that the industry had
not been soundly founded, and that it
was merely groping its way to a begin-
ning. At any rate, they are woefully
apart from it, and since the organ-
ization of the Motion Picture Board of
Trade, motion pictures have forced
their way into a position where these
same big men must take notice of them
and comment on them frequently —
without knowledge of the subject.
More than one man of national repu-
tation has given out interviews or has
been quoted from a speech on motion
pictures, the utter incongruity of which
would be amusing if it came from any
person except one who is looked up to
by the masses. In motion-picture trade
circles, where disgust should greet every
false note struck by men of rank in
the political and industrial world, a lack
of interest seems to prevail. It is true
that the Board of Trade has done won-
ders to raise the plane of the motion-
picture industry to a higher level, but
it is a mere handful of men who are
active in the workings of their organ-
ization. The hundreds and hundreds
of others to whose advantage the plac-
ing of motion pictures in their rightful
place would be just as important, have
sat back and watched the struggle of
these few — some with interest, and
some without.
Had motion pictures been elevated
to a position of deserved recognition
when they first proved their right to the
ownership of the title, "fifth industry of
the United States," it is probable that
Arthur Brisbane, the eminent journal-
ist, would not have made some of the
remarks he did during a dinner given
by the Board of Trade during March.
Among other things, Mr. Brisbane
said : "The moving picture, so far as
it is merely a melodrama, a story, a
tragedy, a joke, or a comedy, is only a
money-making proposition, and whether
78
The Observer
it is censored or not, I don't care in the
least. All that the present motion pic-
ture amounts to to-day is that it is an
amusement, and its success is founded
upon the stupidity and lack of intellec-
tual development of the human race."
He also Avent on to explain that sev-
eral men of prominence in the industry
to whom he had spoken had failed to
agree on the six greatest motion pic-
tures, and used this to indicate that the
industry had not gone far enough yet
to produce six classics.
Granting that we ignore Mr. Bris-
bane's initial statement in his speech,
that the only dramatic motion picture
he had ever seen had been forced upon
him, we firmly believe that issue should
be taken with his other remarks which
we have repeated. He does not con-
sider the motion picture an art — though
it is one — and looks at it merely from
the commercial point of view. He does
not think it worth his while to take an
interest in censorship, but he may re-
verse his idea in this respect if censor-
ship of the screen should prove suc-
cessful in winning a place in our
statutes, for it will surely spread to the
press which Mr. Brisbane represents.
He thinks the motion picture is but
an idle amusement — a Coney Island at-
traction, so to speak — which proves he
is fully seven years behind its develop-
ment ; and he makes an assertion re-
garding the intellectual qualities of the
public which hardly requires comment
from us. What he defined that state-
ment with is immaterial. We take it
at its worth, as any one is privileged to
do. As for the failure of several per-
sons to agree on the six greatest pic-
tures, his statement is decidedly point-
less. We will select several persons and
ask them for the six greatest events in
any field of endeavor, and, regardless of
the scope of that field, the chances are
greatly in favor of each of the persons
giving at least three choices wThich differ
from those of the others.
Mr. Brisbane is used as an example
of one big man who should be far bet-
ter versed in regard to motion pictures
than he is. There are thousands like
him. It is the duty of every one con-
nected with the motion-picture business
to do all in his power to make the indus-
try important enough to force these
prominent men to study it. And when
they do, the standard of production will
be raised to a higher plane than ever
before.
HOW would you like to be Char-
lie Chaplin?
You know he is getting ten
thousand dollars per week and a bonus
of one hundred and fifty thousand dol-
lars for the coming year, and all he has
to do is to produce one comedy per
month. Pretty nice for a young fellow
of his years to ''pick up" that much
money so easily, you think; and then
you wonder if it wouldn't be a grand
young idea to "take a whirl" at pic-
tures yourself. Without wishing to
hurt your feelings, we feel it our duty
to stamp on that ''taking-a-whirl-your-
self " idea ; in regard to Charlie's easy
money, however, we must admit that
he has struck it pretty rich.
But — have you ever considered just
exactly what Charlie faced when he
boarded the limited in New York, bound
for the West to fulfill the big-figure
contract? Very probably not; there-
fore we will explain. He had been
employed by a big film company to
make money for them. His salary rep-
resented a heavy investment by this
company, and the returns from his pic-
tures would have to be greater than
those from any films of a similar
length ever produced before. He had
to make them better than anything he
ever did before. The public was wait-
ing for them — they wanted to see Char-
lie more than ever, because he had
suddenly outdistanced all other stars in
his earning capacity. They expected
The Observer
79
more from him than from any of the
others, and what he did in the past must
be improved upon, or they would say
he was loafing. And he knew that it
was their opinion — finally reflected in
the returns to the film company —
which meant his future. Therefore he
was under a nervous strain such as few
people have ever been forced
to undergo, when he faced the
year before him. And that
strain will not be lessened until
the end of the contract — in fact,
it will never be lessened while
he remains a public favorite.
He must be funnier with each
appearance ; and the con-
tinual search for ideas is,
at times, maddening, ac-
cording to Chaplin him-
self.
Therefore, don't envy
cheerful Charlie too
much. The money and
fame part is all very nice,
but the real hard work
and the wear and tear on
body and mind which
bring the money and
fame — well, yes, that's
different !
CHAPLIN'S phe-
nomenal success
and his popu-
larity with the masses
has led to many discus-
sions as to what makes a
motion-picture star popu-
lar. Many have held that
Chaplin would have
passed out of favor, just
as Ford Ster-
ling did, if
he had re-
mained with
the Keystone
Company, or
made an un-
fortunate
connection, and that the advertising
of the Essanay Company was the
thing which ''made'' him. If this were
true, it would be within the power of
every manufacturer to create stars as
desired, via advertising. But this has
been proven incorrect many, many
times. The public sits in judgment of
the star, not of the ability
of the advertising depart-
ment. The best that adver-
tising can do is to stimulate
an interest in a certain
player and cause the public
to go and see that player.
Those who like the player
will go again ; those who
do not will avoid seeing
him again.
Chaplin is successful
simply because the public
took a liking to his style
of comedy, and because
Charlie took advantage
of this liking to study
their wants and try to im-
prove his comedy to meet
them. His press agent has
trailed along behind him.
doing such things as the
public's demands forced
him to do — but. as far
as blazing the trail for
Charlie, he has been help-
ess. Xo film-company
press agent can convince
a Xew York theatrical
producer to use a chorus
made up to represent his
star just so that said star
will become popular — not
by a jugful ! The pro-
d u c e r who
used the
Chaplin
chorus did so
only because
by doing it
he scored a
hit with the
80
The Observer
public, who were already convinced
that cheerful Charlie was the funniest
thing which had appeared during the
twentieth century.
The popularity of all the other stars,
also, can be traced- back to the fact that
the public liked them only because of
themselves. Theda Bara and Mary
Pickford quietly entered motion pic-
tures, and slowly, through their own
work, have made their names known
to every attendant of the picture-play
theaters. This also applies to the many
other stars who entered the game minus
press-agenting, and who have really
made good.
There are some stars from the legiti-
mate stage, notably Marguerite Clark,
Pauline Frederick, and Bessie Barris-
cale, who have been heralded widely
and who have made good — but it was
because they pleased the fans, not be-
cause of their stage fame. Since it be-
came the fashion to feature stage stars
in pictures, dozens of players whose
work on the stage was really meritori-
ous have come to the films and proven
absolute failures. Publicity, based on
their past reputations, didn't help them
in the least. They crashed down amid
the ruins of their screen efforts simply
because they did not appeal to the pub-
lic as screen players.
Just why one player appeals to the
masses, and another does not, is a
question. The personality of the play-
er, as reflected from the screen, is a
big factor — and equally important is
the vehicle in which the player is of-
fered. We could name many stars who
faded from popular favor because of
the lack of good plays in which to pre-
sent them. This latter curse — for it is
a curse for all concerned — is what
doubtless has sounded the death knell
of many popular stage stars on their
initial appearance in films.
OXCE upon a time a company pro-
duced a five-reel film. It was
the first of its kind, and was
heralded far and wide. The company
made a small fortune on the bookings
it received. Other companies dupli-
cated the feat, and soon five-reel fea-
tures were quite common ; their value
was reduced accordingly. .
About two years ago, a wise man-
ager gave us "Cabiria," the longest film
marketed up to that time, and some-
Marguerite Clark, who is an example of a
stage star who has made good in the pic-
tures— but not through publicity prowess.
The Observer
81
thing very unusual. It was a success.
Then D. W. Griffith proved there was
room for another long film, and "The
Birth of a Nation" scored its triumph.
Now it appears that we are to be
swamped with long films, for no less
than nine are just finished or under
way, while many others are said to be
quietly in the process of making. Grif-
Angeles, and George Kleine, in Xew
York, is said to have "something big
under his hat.''
We wonder if this flood of big fea-
tures will not lessen their value to the
producers as money-making proposi-
tions.
CAN Florence Lawrence and Alice
Joyce come back?
This is a question of more
than usual interest, because we have
A scene from one of Florence
Lawrence's early Biograph
pictures. Mack Sennett
is at her right and
Owen Moore holds
the book.
fith has two in hand
— "The Mother and
the Law" and "Mac-
beth." The first
will be along "The Birth of a Nation"
lines, while the latter will be somewhat
shorter — probably nine reels. Thomas
H. Ince has an anti-war play called
"Civilization," which is scheduled for
de luxe presentations throughout the
country ; Universal has made a big sub-
marine film and have released "The
Dumb Girl of Portici" ; Selig's version
of "The Xe'er-Do-YYeir is on the mar-
ket; Herbert Brennon has just com-
pleted a long feature with Annette Kel-
lermann, in Jamaica, for Fox; "Ra-
mona" has been done by Clune in Los
6
As Miss Lawrence appears in "Elusive Isabel," her first picture
produced since "coming back."
here two of the most famous stars of
a few years ago in pictures, bidding for
fame in a newer and bigger field, yet
in the same art.
We truthfully admit we doubt if they
will prove successes in their new ven-
tures, but time alone can tell. Their
success or failure will probably depend
entirely on the work they do in the
new pictures ; and it is only natural that
the stars should revert to the individual
characteristic mannerisms that gained
them fame in the past. Will the public
again welcome these mannerisms after
82
The Observer
having seen the many varieties of films
which have been offered since these
players were popular, or will they re-
gard them as upast issues" and turn to
the newer style of screen heroine which
has developed within the last six or
eight months?
We do not doubt but what the first
picture in which these stars appear will
"go." That is only natural, because
The Observer
83
John Emerson directing H. Beer-
bohm Tree in Griffith's "Macbeth. '
people will want to • see the attempted
"come-back." But will they go back
to see the second picture, and the third?
This will be the acid test. The best
we can do is to watch with interest and
wish both girls every success.
EVERY motion-picture -actress —
without exception — should see
Anna Pavlowa's portrayal of
Fenella in 'The Dumb Girl of Portia."
This statement, broad though it may
sound, is true. There is none who could
not profit by witnessing the famous
danseuse on the screen, for the reason
that it is an excellent example of how
a player should "live" a character and
impersonate it as created by the author's
pen.
Mademoiselle Pavlowa could not play
in pictures of the ordinary kind, be-
cause she is not young enough and her
type is far different; but, given the
youth and screen beauty of Mary Pick-
ford or other famous film stars, she
would, should she live up to the
standard set in 'The Dumb Girl of
Portici," be in the highest ranks.
The part that she played in this pic-
ture was extremely hard and conversa-
tional leaders in connection with it could
not be used, inasmuch as Fenella is
dumb, but this obstacle is well over-
come by Mademoiselle Pavlowa's won-
derfully expressive acting. Her every
move means something and tells ex-
actly what it means.
While the acting itself is very good,
what impresses one most with Made-
moiselle Pavlowa in the picture is that
she has played the part just as that
part should be played — which is some-
thing that is unfortunately not the case
with all our films.
In regard to the picture itself, it is
advertised as a "spectacle." There are
spectacular scenes in it and the at-
mosphere is good, but shorter pictures
have been released that can favorably
compare with it. 'The Birth of a Na-
tion" and many of the earlier big fea-
tures surpass it, though it is better than
"The Battle Cry of Peace." It is, all
in all, a very good film.
These facts refer to "The Dumb Girl
of Portici" as a spectacle; but, consid-
ering one phase of it alone — Mademoi-
selle Pavlowa's acting — it must be
agreed that her initial appearance in
celluloid is a remarkable success.
THE HAPPY ENDING versus THE TRAGIC CLIMAX
Which do you prefer? — A handsome photograph personally autographed by
Lenore Ulrich, the famous screen and stage actress for the most intelligent replies
When "The Heart of Paula" was produced Miss Lenore Ulrich, who plays the
leading role, favored one ending while various people chose another. One is tragic
and the other happy. As a result both were made and are being shown through-
out the country according to the individual wishes of each exhibitor.
This magazine prints the story written from the film and gives both endings.
We ask you to read them both, choose the one you prefer, and send us a letter
giving your reasons. For the most intelligent replies we shall send a handsome auto-
graphed photograph of Lenore Ulrich.
Address, Editor Lenore Ulrich Contest, in care of this magazine.
ACROSS the border lay Mexico.
Land of Heart's Desire to the
Spanish conquistadores. Land
of Opportunity to Stephen Pachmann,
the young mining engineer, waiting im-
patiently in his hotel in the border town.
He thought more of its gold and silver
mines than of its storied "palm and
pine, and blood-red cactus flower." The
United States had withdrawn from
Vera Cruz, and there were high hopes
among American financiers that a stable
The Heart of Paula
85
government would be established and
the way made clear for- American en-
terprise.
Pachmann had expected, hours be-
fore, to be across the1 border. Instead
of which, here he was in the Hotel
Nogales, held up by a telegram from
his brother-in-law, Bruce McLean. It
said merely :
Await my coming before crossing bor-
der. Bruce.
Stephen Pachmann had been sent out
by the banking firm of J. W. Adams
Company to report on the Escondido
Mine in the mountains above Piedro
Blanco, which had been offered for
sale.
"It's a risky thing to send you into
Mexico in these troubled times," Mr.
Adams had said. But Steve had
laughed, and insisted that he liked risk.
While he was taking tearful farewell
of his wife, her brother Bruce had
come in and enthusiastically com-
mended him and wished him luck.
Steve did not look too happy over the
prospect of leaving his young wife ; but
Bruce told him that he would take good
care of Claire and see that she didn't
worry in her husband's absence.
So Steve had torn himself away, and
by this time should have been in the
hill country. But Bruce's wire had
come, and held him fretting at the Xo-
gales Hotel.
Bruce McLean came at last — a fine,
clean-cut young fellow, eyes aglow with
the buoyancy of youth.
"What the dickens is the matter,
Bruce?" Steve shot at him as he gripped
his brother-in-law's hand.
"Nothing to get fussed up about,"
answered Bruce lightly. "All's quiet
on the Potomac. This is just a little
pasear of my own. I've always craved
adventure, and I suddenly made up my
mind to take your job away from you."
"I don't get you."
"Listen: Claire was a bit worried
about you, you know. And I deter-
mined that instead of letting you risk
your life, the proper caper was to go
myself in your place. I'm no dub at
the mining-engineering business, and I
reckon I can prepare as good a report
on the Escondido as you. So hand over
the maps and credentials, and also your
name, for I'm going to be known, not as
Bruce McLean, but as the duly accred-
ited Stephen Pachmann."
Steve was against the proposal. "Did
you tell Claire about this harebrained
scheme?" he demanded.
"Not a peep! All your wife knows
is that I've come to join forces with
you. The other stunt I worked out on
the train. And it's a peach, isn't it?"
"I won't do it!" stormed Steve.
"Aw, don't be stingy !" pleaded
Bruce. "Why keep a chap out of his
one chance in a lifetime to meet up with
a death-defying adventure ?"
Steve laughed, and that laugh was
the beginning of his capitulation.
Bruce had a way with him that was
quite irresistible, and the duel of words
terminated in Steve throwing up his
hands.
"Go to it," he- said. "And if you
don't come back with a big story of
hair-breadth escapes I'll lick you."
Bruce, exulting in his victory over
his big, good-natured brother-in-law.
crossed the border, and in due time
reached the little town of Piedro
Blanco. He introduced himself with-
out delay to the American consul, Al-
bert B. Furman, a small, furtive-eyed
man, with lean jaws and whitening
hair. He spoke in little above a whis-
per, and seemed ever afraid that some
one would overhear him.
"I strongly advise you to return till
there is a stable government in Mex-
ico," he said, when Bruce had stated
his errand. "Every additional Ameri-
can in the country complicates a con-
sul's duty."
"Sorry," said Bruce, with a wry
smile. "But this is an errand that won't
86
The Heart of Paula
wait. I don't want to bother you, but
I'd like you to take a note of my name
— Stephen Pachmann — and the firm
that has sent me here — J. W. Adams
Company, of Chicago — so that you can
report to them if anything happens to
me. Where can I get a guide?"
,kA mozo is not hard to find, but I
shall have to consult with Emiliano
Pacheco, the guerrilla chief, who seems
tence and stared — stared quite rudely,
he afterward admitted. But Paula
was by no means offended. Instead,
she gave him back stare for stare, and
then her great, dark eyes were veiled,
and the pouting lips opened in the ghost
of a smile. A smile from Paula's pout-
ing lips had worked havoc among the
young gallants of Piedro Blanco. It
brought the blood mounting to Bruce's
1 ft
She gave him back stare for stare, and then her great, dark eyes were veiled.
to own most of the Mexicans here-
abouts, body and soul."
"Well, do me a favor and get this
Emiliano chap on the job pronto."
Furman accompanied him to the door
of the little adobe building that was
his office, and they stood for a moment
there in the sunlight.
Then Paula passed. Paula Figueroa,
whose striking beauty had been the
theme of many a passionate poem.
Bruce stopped in the middle of a sen-
cheeks, and compelled his gaze till she
was swallowed up in the crowd.
Mr. Furman cackled softly as he
watched the play of eyes.
"I'll try to have that mozo so you can
start for the mines to-night," he said.
But Bruce had lost his enthusiasm for
mining.
"There's no great rush, Furman," he
said. "A day or two's delay won't hurt
any. Er — by the way, that astonish-
ingly beautiful Mexican girl who
The Heart of Paula
87
passed — you don't happen to know
her?"
The little consul shrugged his shoul-
ders. " There's a saying here : 'Beware
the pretty eyes of Paula.' Oh, yes, I
know her — everybody knows the Seno-
rita Paula Figueroa, the beauty of Pie-
dro Blanco. I don't know how many
hearts she's shattered. I hear that even
Emiliano Pacheco becomes quite hu-
man when Paula smiles on him."
"Not betrothed to him, is she?"
"I think not, but her father has con-
siderable money, and it's the height of
prudence for the daughter of any
wealthy man to be polite to the guer-
rilla chief."
"Well, I won't keep you any longer,
Mr. Furman. Don't worry about that
guide for a day or two. I want to have
a look around the town."
The little consul watched the broad
back swinging down the street, and he
grinned. "I thought you'd feel like
that — after seeing Paula," he chuckled.
Forgotten was Bruce's role of
Stephen Pachmann, the mining engi-
neer. Cupid had become his master.
That night, instead of climbing the
mountain trail, he was thrumming a
guitar beneath Paula's window.
The curtains of her window parted.
The shutters were pushed apart. For
one- entrancing moment the moon
etched her matchless white-robed form
against the dark background ; then a
rose fell at his feet, and Paula was
gone.
It was in the plaza the next day that
Bruce saw the senorita again — when
the band was playing a languorous
waltz, all fire, seductive, breath of
orange flowers and acacia. With her
rose in his coat, he was one of the
promenaders on the graveled walks
where strolled the caballeros and the
senoritas of Piedro Blanco. Laughing,
half-veiled girls cast eyes at him and
flicked their fans flirtatiously as they
passed. For Bruce was good to look
upon and he was ever under a battery
of eyes.
Rounding the band stand he came
face to face with Paula, close followed
by a duenna, her chaperon. At sight
of him, her great black eyes held a
smile. The crimson flooded her cheeks,
her neck, her throat, and gave a tint
of rose on ivory to the lovely shoulders,
half disclosed by the fringed shawl
she wore.
She passed, urged on by the duenna,
while Bruce stood bareheaded, and eyes
spoke love to eyes that spoke again.
He saw her draw the duenna to a near-
by bench, and, calling a flower girl, he
gave her some coins and sent her with
her tray to the senorita. This was a
far better game than risking one's life
among the bandits of the mountains !
He watched her take a rose and press
it to her lips, and the glance she gave
him from her dark eyes was eloquent.
Then the duenna's broad back inter-
vened.
Presently they passed him again, and,
passing, the girl dropped a note at his
feet. By what means she had been able
to evade the hawklike eyes of the
duenna and scribble her message he did
not know, nor did he care. Enough
that she had written. Less than a dozen
words, but they thrilled him :
The garden, at the hour of nine. By
the south gate. Paula.
Under the spell of the tropic moon,
in the walled garden of the Figueroas,
with its thickets of roses and climbing
bougainvillaea, its jungles of coffee
shrubs and banana palms, Bruce
breathed the thoughts of his heart ; and
Paula, listening, snuggled closer in his
arms and told him that she loved him.
"I knew that some day. somehow,
you would come to me," she whispered.
"I have dreamed about you. wondered
what you would be like, and now "
88
The Heart of Paula
For answer he gathered her in his
arms and kissed the full lips.
"I heard something about a certain
Senor Pacheco," said Bruce teasingly.
"A man of battle. Every Mexican girl
loves a fighter. They tell me he adores
you."
Anger flamed in her eyes. "Emiliano
Pacheco! I hate him! He is a very
bad man. He is — how you say it —
corazon de lobo — heart of a wolf. I
do not love him. I love only you. But,
senor," she tightened her arms about
his neck, "tell me of the mountain jour-
ney you take. To the mines? You
will leave me and never come back?"
"I knew that some day,
somehow, you would
come to me," she
whispered.
town at night, when Bruce was prob-
ably serenading the Spanish beauty,
Steve did not wait to-pay his respects
to the American consul, but himself
hunted up a guide and took the trail
to the mountains. At the Escondido
there were no tidings of Bruce ; but
Steve's first business was his investiga-
Rounding the band stand he
came face to face
with Paula.
after
Bruce
The mines ! Bruce had forgotten
them. He had taken another man's
name and was supposed to be on an-
other's business. Strangely enough,
that other had had a change of heart
since Bruce had gone. No coward was
Stephen Pachmann, and, although he
had succumbed to Bruce's pleadings,
when he thought the matter over by
himself calmly, he determined, be the
risk what it might, to go himself to the
Escondido.
A man of action once his mind was
made up, Steve lost no time in getting
to Piedro Blanco. Arrived at the little
I tjon of the mine
that, a hunt for
McLean.
His brother-in-law, sitting on a stone
bench in the moonlight, with Senorita
Paula in his arms, had a qualm of con-
science as he visualized Steve Pach-
mann patiently waiting, as he thought,
at the border town.
"Yes, I must go," he told the girl.
"But I will come back to you."
And on the following day Bruce
started for the Escondido. With a
surly-looking, black-mustached guide
who, the consul assured him, knew
every inch of the trails, Bruce set his
face steadfastly toward duty.
They were far into the mountains by
The Heart of Paula
89
nightfall, and, in a little hollow under
the shelter of a beetling crag, Gonzales,
the mozo, made camp. An efficient man
this Gonzales, however sparing of
speech. He unsaddled the animals and
had a fire blazing in a few minutes.
He was by way of being an excellent
cook, too; and the frijoles and tortillas
and the steaming cup of coffee put
Bruce in a mood of perfect content-
ment with the world at large. He rolled
himself in his blanket and lazily
watched the stars till he fell asleep.
He awoke — to find himself staring
amazedly into the barrel of a pistol. He
was yanked roughly to his feet and told
to obey orders and say nothing. Bruce
was thoroughly awake now, and he
gazed about him, into the eyes of a
dozen men dressed in some kind of uni-
form, indistinct in the half light. Gon-
zales, his erstwhile servant, had now be-
come the master. It was he who had
menaced him with the gun. Bruce
dashed his fist into the fellow's face,
and his hand went to his belt. But,
while he slept, Gonzales had removed
his revolver. He was unarmed. A
tall fellow gripped him, and Bruce put
every ounce of his strength into an
uppercut which caught the giant on the
point of the chin and sent him sprawl-
ing. Then he was in the thick of it,
fighting for his life, striking, kicking,
throttling. No weakling, Bruce, he
might have won a way out, had not one
of the men on the outskirts of the
crowd clubbed a rifle and brought it
down over his head. Close to uncon-
sciousness, he was flung across the back
of a horse, and hustled back to Piedro
Blanco.
90
The Heart of Paula
In the cuartel where Bruce was
locked up, he had for his first visitor
Emiliano Pacheco, the guerrilla chief.
"So, Serior Pachmann, we have
clipped your wings," he said.
Bruce, lying on his straw cot, looked
up at the big, swarthy leader. A strong
man, mentally as well as physically, and
a cruel one, if eyes spoke the truth.
"What's the reason for the arrest?"
Bruce asked.
"You were in my way, senor,'' an-
swered Pacheco. "You had the so very
bad taste to make love to Senorita
Paula Figueroa. Paula is not for you
gringos. When you climbed the wall
last night, you did not suspect that you
were watched. One of my men told
me of your love tryst. It maddened
me. I knew of your plan to go to the
Escondido. I sent Gonzales to your
consul to recommend himself as your
mozo. And a very good mozo he was,
sefior. Yes ?"
"You sent him to guide me into the
trap !" cried Bruce.
"Si, senor. I had a little talk with
the intelligent Gonzales. I said to him :
'Get the Americano, dead or alive;
alive if possible ; it will be less trouble.'
He did his work well, and now you are
in the cuartel, at my disposal."
"On what charge?"
"We have not yet decided, but there
is no hurry. Mariana — to-morrow we
will think about that."
An hour later Paula was at the gate
of the cuartel. She had heard of the
American's incarceration, and love had
brought her to him. She coaxed the
guard with a packet of cigarettes, and
was allowed to pass.
She cried over her imprisoned lover.
"It tears my heart, amador," she
sobbed. "But do not fear. I will find
a way to save you."
"If you could smuggle me a file, I
might cut through the bars," he said,
kissing her.
"It shall be done. I will send a man,
and he will cut the bars from the out-
side. Is it not well?"
"Fine ! Send him to-night."
"No, no. Not to-night. Not to-mor-
row. You will be too closely watched.
But some night. I will send you word.
And then my American will be free!"
Close to his heart he pressed her. ''If
I can escape, I will come to you "
he began. But she covered his lips
with her hand. "No, no. You must
not. You must fly for your life. When
you cross the border, I will join you.
Is it not well?"
And, without waiting for his answer,
she kissed him passionately and was
gone.
At the gate she came face to face
with Emiliano Pacheco.
''So the American eagle is caged !"
he sneered. "He looks quite pretty be-
hind the bars, your pink-faced lover,
does he not?"
She pulled her mantilla closely about
her and shrank from him. Smiling, he
stood at the gate of the cuartel and
watched her glide away.
Pacheco had urgent business with
Furman, the American consul. He
came with the staggering announce-
ment that the man who had introduced
himself as Stephen Pachmann was a
spy and a would-be murderer, and that
he had been captured and would be shot
unless five thousand dollars in gold was
forthcoming. •
Furman strove to mollify the guerrilla
chief, but unsuccessfully; and he wired
the news to J. W. Adams Company, the
bankers who had sent Bruce's brother-
in-law, Stephen Pachmann, to inspect
the Escondido Mine. Furman did not
guess that the real Stephen was even
now at the mine ; he only knew that the
man who had called himself Stephen
Pachmann was in the hands of the guer-
rilla chief and that his life depended
upon the raising of five thousand dol-
The Heart of Paula
91
lars. So he wired,
telegram in reply :
and received this
Mrs. Pachmann leaving with gold to re-
prieve her husband. Advise safe arrival.
Adams.
The return wire was satisfactory to
Pecheco, and, with
a smile that held
something of mock-
ery, he thanked the
consul effusively
for his good offices.
It was in the hush of Sunday morn-
ing, while the bells were ringing, that
Paula, passing the cuartel, managed to
fling a stone with a note tied to it
through the bars of Bruce's cell. He
had been disconsolate, but when the
stone fell on the rough floor, he
pounced on it eagerly. He had been
waiting for Paula's message, and he
read it with eyes that burned :
Your escape has been arranged for to-
night. The bars will be cut. A guide, with
horses, will be waiting. A thousand kisses.
Paula.
Paula sent a note to Emiliano, warning him that his prisoner would try to escape that night.
During the next few days Paula
haunted the cuartel, but she was unable
to gain speech with Bruce. Once
Pacheco stopped her, and, catching her
wrist, hissed in her ear : ''Did you ever
ask the American if he had a wife in
his own country?" Whereat she let
loose a torrent of Spanish invective
that stung him. But, though his face
flushed, he smiled and offered for her
inspection the Adams telegram, which
he had begged from the consul.
Paula tore the paper to shreds with-
out even unfolding it. "It is one of
your lying plots !" she stormed. "I will
not believe it. He loves only me."
On the afternoon of that day Claire
Pachmann arrived at Piedro Blanco.
Emiliano Pacheco was a model of gal-
lantry while he counted the money and
assured her that her husband was safe.
"You may come and see him," he
offered. "Not yet can he be free. There
are a few formalities that must be at-
tended to before I release him."
He conducted her to the cuartel and
flung open the door, closing it behind
her and leaving her alone with the man
he thought was her husband.
"Why, Bruce, what are you doing
here?" she cried, aghast. "Where is
Steve?"
92
The Heart of Paula
"I'm Steve, for the time being," he
answered. And he told how he had
made his brother-in-law change places
with him.
"And Steve — you left him at the bor-
der?" she asked.
"Yes. And as soon as I get out of
this fix I'll be off. to the mines to inspect
the Escondido."
"No, Bruce. Mr. Adams will not
hear of anything further being done
till the country has become civilized.
I've just come from the consul's office,
and you will be free in a day or two.
Then we will go back and join Steve
and return to God's country."
At the gate of the cuartel, closely
watched by the guards, she put her
arms around her brother and kissed
him. "Thank you for all you tried to
do for Steve," she whispered.
Paula, lurking by the cuartel wall,
her heart pounding furiously, had seen
the comely American girl enter the
adobe prison. Fury in her eyes, she
watched till the gate opened and the
Americano, her Americano, the man
she knew as Steve Pachmann, stood
holding the girl in his arms. She saw
their lips meet, then the man was
pushed back into his cell and the gate
clanged.
Her finger nails biting into her palms,
Paula told herself that what Pacheco
had said about an American wife must
be true. Revenge took the place of
love. This gay Americano should pay
the price of treachery. She hurried
home and sent a note to Emiliano,
warning him that his prisoner would
try to escape that night.
The receipt of Paula's message de-
lighted Pacheco beyond measure. Her
love for the Americano had turned to
hate. Now his own chance had come
to win the beauty of Piedro Blanco.
That night, with his cot upended,
Bruce tried the bars and found them
sawed halfway through. He bent them
outward without much effort and
dropped to the ground — only to be
pounced upon immediately by Pache-
co's men, and beaten and pounded
mercilessly and flung back into another
cell in his unclean jail, more dead than
alive.
It was a night of torture to Paula ;
and, in the morning, eyes red with
weeping, she walked, with lagging step,
to the cuartel. On the way she came
upon Claire Pachmann, the girl she had
seen in her lover's arms. Flauntingly
Paula confronted her, and, the bitter-
ness of unrequited love in her rich con-
tralto voice, she scoffed : "The Ameri-
cano in the cuartel — you love him?
You are his wife? Well, he may have
loved you first, but he loved me best."
"I am not his wife," said Claire. "He
is my brother." And she told the girl
of her brother's impersonation of Ste-
phen Pachmann.
"The Americano your brother!"
Paula exclaimed, and rushed away in
panic.
To Emiliano she made her plea for
his life. But the guerrilla chief re-
fused to interfere with what he called
"justice."
"He has been tried by court-martial,
and found guilty. If you come to the
cemetery wall an hour hence, you will
see him die."
"He will be shot?" she gasped.
"Within the hour. There is but one
way you can save his life," he went on
placidly. "Be mine. Come to my head-
quarters to-night, and your Americano
goes free."
"No, no, I cannot. I hate you, de-
spise you, loathe you. The good God
would not allow such a union."
"Then " Pacheco shrugged.
She was silent for a moment.
"Listen, Emiliano Pacheco," she said
at last. "It is for his life I do this.
His life is more precious to me than
my own happiness. Put him safely
across the border and I will come to
The Heart of Paula
93
Beaten and pounded mercilessly and flung back into his unclean jail.
you to-night. I will be your wife-
cause I love not you, but him."
■be-
A dozen men, with rifles trained on
Bruce McLean standing against the
cemetery wall, awaited the order to fire.
A shout interrupted them. A girl was
running to them, waving a paper.
Paula had come with the reprieve.
"Take the Americano to the border at
once and give him his freedom,,,
Emiliano had written, and there was no
mistaking his sprawjing signature.
"Save your ammunition, you cow-
ards," cried Paula, with hand upraised
before the firing squad. "The man is
free."
Bruce caught her in his arms, and the
bitternesses and turmoils of the past
days were blotted out while their lips
clung.
The leader of the squad approached.
"My orders are to take you to the bor-
der at once," he said. "If you are ready
"One last kiss!" murmured the half-
fainting Paula.
"I will not go without you," said
Bruce.
"Yes," she whispered. "You must
forget me, dear heart. You must put
me out of your life."
"Never," he said. "Some day I will
come for you."
For one moment of ecstasy she lay
in his arms ; then the Mexicans led him
away.
At about the time set for the execu-
tion the consul at Piedro Blanco re-
ceived the most mystifying telegram of
The Heart of Paula
94 .
his life. It was from J. W. Adams
Company :
Must be some mistake about Stephen
Pachmann. We have a message from him
saying Escondido Mine worth ten millions
and advising us take up option and hold
till war is over. Have wired reply, "Will
do as you suggest.' Are carrying you for
an interest. Congratulations." Will you
please convey intelligence to Mrs. Pach-
mann?
Claire, who was consulted promptly,
unfolded the mystery of the change of
identity to the astonished consul and
hastened to the cuartel to tell her
brother the great news.
Emiliano received Mrs. Pachmann
courteously and expressed deep regret
that Bruce was unable to hear the splen-
did tidings from her lips.
"He is already on his way to the
States," he explained. "My men have
convoyed him to the border. I do not
know at what point they will take him
across, but no doubt you will hear from
him. You go to the Escondido, I sup-
pose?"
"As quickly as possible," she an-
swered. "And if Bruce — my brother —
the man you knew as Stephen Pach-
mann, communicates with you, will you
please forward the letter to me?"
"With pleasure." And the gallant
chief, more urbane than any one had
ever seen him, bowed her out.
That night Paula came to the head-
quarters of the guerrilla chief. With
shuffling steps she entered the patio and
slowly pushed open the door of his
office and living room. Emiliano was
alone. He was busy with some papers
at his desk, and merely nodded when
the girl came in. Paula dropped on a
couch and watched him with eyes that
held insanity as well as stupefaction.
Presently he put away his papers,
then rose, and, stepping to the door,
turned the key in the lock.
"Paula — mine at last," he said. But,
as he bent over her to kiss the lovely
lips, there was the flash of a knife.
Emiliano staggered back — but the
dagger was not meant for him. Into
her own white breast she drove the
blade.
"For you, my Americano," she
moaned. "I have kept myself for you.
We will — meet — again — some — day."
The rest was silence.
THE HAPPY ENDING.
THAT night Paula came to the
headquarters of the guerrilla
chief. With shuffling steps she
entered the patio and slowly pushed
open the door of his office and living
room. Emiliano was alone. He was
busy with some papers at his desk, and
merely nodded when the girl came in.
Paula dropped on a couch and watched
him with eyes that held insanity as well
as stupefaction.
Her thoughts went out to Bruce, who
many hours ago had crossed the bor-
der. She pictured him eventually re-
united with his friends; making plans,
perhaps, she told herself, with a sad
little smile, to send for her.
But if she had known how to apply
telepathy, a different picture would
have been registered in her brain. For
Bruce, on the journey to the border,
had re-lived that last farewell, and he
found in it something of mystery. It
dawned on him at last that Emiliano
must have some hold on the girl, and
that it was not beyond the bounds of
possibility that she had given her honor
and happiness for his freedom.
The thought maddened him. Me-
chanically he heard some one tell him
that he stood on American soil ; like a
man in a daze he watched the Mexicans
ride away. He was free. But what
was freedom without Paula? At what-
ever cost he would return and carry
her off to his own country.
The Heart of Paula
95
From a near-by saloon he heard lusty
voices chanting the doleful "Cowboy's
Lament." Acting on impulse, he went
in and told his story to the cow-
punchers.
"Will you help me rescue the girl
he asked them.
"Sure thing, pard ;
lead the way!" they
shouted, always
eager for a light,
and piled out, to
rustle their
bronchos.
'Save your ammunition, you
cowards," cried Paula.
"The man is free."
"Paula — mine at last," he said. But
as he bent over her to kiss the lovely
lips, there was the flash of a knife.
Pacheco had taken part in many
knife plays, and, quick as Paula's ac-
tion had been, his eye was quicker. He
"My orders are to take you to the border at once
Paula Figueroa's wildest dreams did
not include the return of Bruce. She
saw only one end to the grim comedy
of love. In silence, a terrible resolve
in her heart, she watched Pacheco.
Presently he put away his papers,
then rose, and stepping to the door,
turned the key in the lock.
To Emiliano she made her plea.
hurled himself at the girl
and grasped the wrist
that held the dagger.
Back and forth they struggled, and,
as they fought for possession of the
knife, Emiliano spat out Spanish oaths
in a voice that carried to the outer
courtyard, where Bruce and the cow-
boys were scaring the souls out of the
guerrilla chief's retainers and demand-
ing audience with their leader.
96
The Heart of Paula
Pacheco had at length succeeded in
wresting the dagger from the girl, and
he was holding her in a viselike grip
when Bruce sprang into the room.
There was a brief fight between him
and the Mexican, in which the latter
came out second best. Then, not satis-
fied with the fracas in the yard, the
cowpunchers, hungry for more fight,
rushed into the room.
"Shoot first and talk afterward when
you tackle a bad greaser," had been
their motto, and they applied it literally.
Half a dozen revolvers barked, and
Emiliano toppled to the floor. Bruce
caught the girl in his arms, and, carry-
ing her, half swooning, placed her on
his horse.
"You came for me — you came for
me !" he heard Paula whisper, as they
dashed toward the border.
"Sure," he said, laughing boyishly.
"Some day you can tell me about this
mystery, little girl. But not now — I'm
too happy. We'll make America the
Land of Heart's Desire."
Wouldn't you like to know about
The Life a Picture Actress Leads"
FANNIE WARD
the popular favorite, will tell her own story in the
July issue of this magazine. On sale June 9th
MY OWN DARLING: I've tried
— oh, you don't know how hard
I've tried — not to write you,
dear. Maidenly modesty and my natu-
rally shy and shrinking nature have
until now forbidden all such advances
on my part ; besides, I can imagine how
silly and stupid you must think all those
lovesick girls who write you poetry and
such things. I thought I was cured,
and I made up my mind not to write,
and then — then I saw you on the screen
the other night in a beautiful love scene,
and I became frightfully jealous of that
pretty girl you were making love to, and
I simply couldn't keep silence any
longer. I lay awake night after night
thinking of your big, honest eyes and
handsome face and manly ways ; think-
ing of you, and you alone. Now I can-
not help myself — I am driven to this
by an irresistible, uncontrollable im-
pulse. I must write you and pour out
my heart to you ! And you must read
every word of it, dear — every syllable !
As I write this your wonderful eyes
gaze at me from your photograph on
my desk, and I seem to feel your soft,
wavy hair and clear, smooth, ex-
quisitely chiseled features near my face,
and our breath comes and goes in warm
whispers of affection. I wonder — ah,
I wonder — if you can ever feel that
way toward poor little, insignificant
me! Me, a nobody in a small Western
7
city ; merely a humdrum teacher of ri-
diculously small hopefuls. Sometimes
I sit and stare at one of my boys and
fondly fancy that some day that bright-
faced little lad may be as famous as
you are, and on that day I am more
lenient with the children — because my
thoughts are of you, dear heart. Life
would be dull and dreary indeed for
me if I had not you to think of, if I
could not often see you in the pictures
smiling, breathing, talking, even making
love to some other girl ; and, although
your voice is silent, I seem to hear it
— it is low and sweet and musical ; it is
soothing, and at times lulls me to sleep,
and I have many pleasant dreams of
you, dearest.
The other night I had a particularly
vivid dream about you, my darling
Francis. I dreamed that we were mar-
ried, you and I — ah, what happiness !
possible only in a dream, I suppose —
and we were living in the cutest, dear-
est little apartment on Riverside Drive,
in the wonderful city of New York,
where you are acting. After the day's
work at the studio you would come
home to me and take me in your arms
and call me your truly own! Then,
just like in the pictures, our baby came
— and what a darling little thing he
was! The image of you, pet! As he
grew older, he grew more like you.
and I was so happy. The same high
98
Love Letters of a Movie Idol
forehead with beautiful hair tumbling
over it, the same fine, straight nose, the
same perfect lips and firm chin, the
same handsome, manly ways. And
when he was old enough, you took him
into the studio and taught him, too, how
to act before the camera ; and he be-
came great and successful like you,
dear.
And then I woke up in this dusty,
smoky, smelly Western town, and it was
time to dress and go to school and teach
a lot of horrid youngsters how to read
and write and spell and juggle with fig-
ures. My dream was over, but I could
sit and watch that little, bright-faced
boy in my class who looks like you.
That was some satisfaction ! And now
I've had the satisfaction of writing you,
whether you answer me or not. I've
kept nothing back. If I've been uncon-
ventional, well — I can't help it. I — I
love you, I love everything about you,
I love everything you do on the screen,
and oh! I do wish you could love me
a little in return. Then my cup of hap-
piness would be filled to overflowing.
Will you try, darling? Ever devotedly
yours, and yours alone,
Marguerite M .
My Dear Miss Marguerite : I read
your letter carefully,- and while I ap-
preciate all the nice things you say —
especially that you are sometimes more
lenient with your pupils on my account
— I must confess that I am astonished
to learn that you are a teacher. While
I receive hundreds of letters from girls,
yours is the first of its kind, I believe,
that I have received from a school-
teacher.
Without meaning to be rude, Miss
Marguerite, and with all due deference
to your profession, don't you really
think that the teaching might profit-
ably begin with yourself ? Suppose you
teach yourself self-control, for one
thing, and then, perhaps, you won't need
to try so hard not to write me.
Surely you ought to know, if you have
studied pedagogy — which I presume
you have — that one cannot impart
knowledge to others until one has first
mastered not only knowledge, but the
best methods of acquiring knowledge.
And, Miss Marguerite, to find out what
is the secret of all knowledge, you must
go back to Socrates, the Grecian phi-
losopher, who summed it all up thus :
''Know thyself !" Do you know your-
self ? Learn absolute self-control, self-
mastery, and then teach it to your
pupils. If we actors didn't have it,
we wouldn't rise very high either in our
own or in the public's estimation.
I don't usually write such extended
replies to letters such as yours, but I
have taken more than a passing interest
in you because you are engaged in
teaching the young, and unless you mas-
ter poise and hold the checkrein on
your emotions, I fear that your small
hopefuls will derive more harm than
good from your instruction.
Pray accept this letter in the kindly
and helpful spirit in which it is sent to
you, and believe me to be, sincerely,
Francis X. Bushmax.
My Dear, Dear Boy: Maybe you'll
laugh at me for writing you when you
learn that I'm fair, fat, and forty — you
see I'm not ashamed to confess it — with
five children (my eldest is just crazy
to act for the movies ; do you think you
could help her get in?). But I don't
care whether you laugh or not, so long
as you listen and help me.
I was left a widow a year and a half
ago ; my husband was a locomotive en-
gineer and made pretty nice money ;
but, you see, on account of his occupa-
tion, the premium was high, and he
couldn't leave me much insurance. So
it's been kind o' hard on the children,
especiallv as my eldest boy and girl are
not old enough to work in an office or
factory yet. But I thought you might
get my girl a place to pose for the films
Love Letters of a Movie Idol
99
— everybody here says she's exactly the
kind that would take great in the pic-
tures. I'm sending you her photograph
— and mine.
Now I suppose you'll wonder, Mr.
Bushman, why I'm sending you my
portrait. Xo doubt you'll say, "What
on earth will I do with this picture of a
big, fat widow, old enough to be my
mother?" But whether you do or not,
I don't mind telling you a little secret,
dear boy. I am reducing ! Wait until
you see the photograph I'll send you
soon — you'll be pleasantly surprised.
Then maybe you'll look at it and say,
"Charming ! No one would ever think
she was forty and had a girl of fif-
teen." And do you know why I'm re-
ducing, Francis, dear? Because I, too,
am anxious to act for the movies and
join your company, so that I and the
children can be near you always. All
of us are just crazy about your acting,
and every time the theater in our town
announces one of your pictures, all six
of us, including my youngest, are sure
to be there. Mary — that's my oldest,
the one who has talent — says she'd love
to act with you, you're so gentle with
ladies ! That's why I'm so fond of
you, Francis, dear; you're such a gen-
tleman. I wouldn't for the world say
anything against my late husband, be-
cause I loved him, too ; he was certainly
good to his family — but he couldn't
come up to you in gentlemanly ways
and such. He was more the rough-and-
ready sort, you know, while you are so
refined and aristocratic.
I hope you will write me soon and
let me know about Mary and myself
posing for the films. I know Mary will
make a hit in ingenue parts, and maybe
you can get me some part where I will
be in lots of scenes with you, my dear.
I have been very lonesome since Tom
left me, in spite of the children, and
I'm sure you will like me after I take
off about sixty pounds, which the doc-
tor says I can do in a short time with
strict diet and more exercising. Mean-
time tell me what you think of Mary's
looks for the movies. She's so sweet !
Hoping to hear from you real soon,
I remain, affectionately yours,
(Mrs.) Sarah .
Mrs. Sarah .
Dear Madam : Your letter, also the
photographs of yourself and daughter
Alary, were received. I am returning
the photographs to you in to-day's mail.
Xo, I did not laugh at you because,
as you wrote, you are "fair, fat, and
forty, with five children." Xot at all.
I am always glad to be of service, if I
may. But, my dear Mrs. , it
wouldn't make a particle of difference
if you were sweet, slender, and sixteen ;
your chances for securing a part in one
of the good studios would be no better.
The fact that you have had no experi-
ence bars you out entirely. The same
obstacle arises in the case of your eldest
daughter.
Every day people write or call, ask-
ing for work at the few large studios
in this country, and most of these are
turned away. Many of these applicants
are experienced, capable actors and ac-
tresses ; yet there is no work for them.
Therefore, madam, what chance is there
for you and your daughter? Alary is
certainly charming, but why spoil her
charm by trying to make an "actress"
of her? Let her marry some good man
and cast the radiance of her personality
about him and her home. Believe me,
yours sincerely,
Francis X. Bushman.
My Dear Mr. Bush max : Although
my salutation may be couched in formal
language, pray do not consider my feel-
ings toward vou lukewarm. If I dared
to write you the truth, they are far
from that, dear Air. Bushman. But we
society girls are taught from our earliest
years to be most discreet and circum-
spect, and it is dreadfully bad form
100
Love Letters of a Movie Idol
you know, to speak or write to a man
to whom one has not been properly
introduced.
Nevertheless, my dear, there are mo-
ments when we must thrust aside con-
ventionality, and, for a time, at least,
tear off the mask which society com-
pels us to wear. Actors are never re-
ceived into our set; they are quite de
trop with us, as you have probably read
or heard. Of course, we go to the very
best shows, and always to the opera, but
with us, actors and actresses are the
entertainers, never to be entertained.
Once in a long while an artist like
Mansfield or Sothern or Miss Barry-
more or Miss Marlowe flits across our
narrow social horizon, and as quickly
disappears ; but one cannot say they
have socially arrived. Their daily en-
vironment, you see, is not what we
should call comme il faut.
I mention these things, my dear, be-
cause I want you to feel that, in my
letters at least, I have broken down this
impassable barrier, as far as I may, in
order to become acquainted with you
by correspondence, and, I hope, some
day in person. Some day, perhaps, our
family may be traveling near where
you are acting, and I shall have my
long-looked-for opportunity of meeting
you face to face and knowing you bet-
ter than I could ever know you at a
distance.
I must tell you, dear Mr. Bushman,
how I happened to make your screen
acquaintance. Our family simply
loathes the pictures, as do many of the
precious souls who occupy the upper
crust of the social sphere ; but, as I told
you, sometimes I am rather unconven-
tional, and, when the spirit calls, I go
with a friend and really enjoy the thrills
and the deliciously romantic love-mak-
ing and the preposterous, impossible
clowns. Usually I endeavor to ascer-
tain when you, dear, are to appear in a
photo play, and I rarely forego the
pleasure of seeing you if it is at all
possible for me to do so without break-
ing important engagements.
It is really too bad that you have not
gained admittance to the inner circle of
society, but rules are rules, and bar-
riers, barriers. However, live in hope
that some day you will — and then I
shall meet you! I hope when I meet
you — for I feel that I shall some
day — I shall not be disappointed, as it
is said that many motion pictures, like
many still pictures, do flatter one im-
mensely. But you are so handsome,
so debonair, so graceful, and so
charming on the screen that I feel as
though you must be simply ideal off
the screen, in life, in the flesh! Ideal
men are so hard to find, dear Mr.
Bushman, that I, for one, had to go
to the "movies" to find mine. Please,
please do not fall from your pedestal
and shatter my idol !
I am sorry, but I dare not sign my
true name and address to this letter.
When I meet you in the flesh and you
learn who I am and how high my fam-
ily stands, you will understand and for-
give me — won't you?
Meanwhile, my dear, au revoir, and
remember that every time I see you on
the screen I throw you a kiss in the
dark. Fondly, E. W.
. My Dear Miss W : I thank you
for being so unconventional as to write
to me, a mere entertainer, and I hope,
if I ever have the honor of meeting you,
that you will not find me, at least, en-
tirely de trop. I am glad that you, at
any rate, have broken down the social
barrier and climbed through to greet
me, a humble member of a much-ma-
ligned profession. I thank you for your
candor, your obvious sincerity, but I
honestly fear that you will not find your
ideal man in the pictures or anywhere
else. He simply does not exist. There !
if I have fallen from the pedestal and
shattered your idol, I am sorry, but I
really and truly could not help it.
Love Letters of a Movie Idol
101
Before I, too, say au revoir, I must
thank you for throwing me those kisses
in the dark — or, rather, my shadow self
thanks you. And I am grateful for
your kind thoughts and prayers. Most
sincerely, Francis X. Bushman.
Dearly Beloved Francis: Night
after night, for months and months, I
have watched your darling features pass
and repass before my raptured vision.
Night after night I have watched and
waited for you in a frenzy of expecta-
tion, a fever of admiration, an ecstasy,
of joy! In mere prose I cannot ex-
press the glorious, gorgeous devotion to
a single blessed ideal, which you have
inspired within me. I must needs com-
mune with the muse and pour out to
you my innermost soul in a libation of
liquid verse.
(Inclosure)
a To Francis X. Bushman.
Thou'rt but a shadow, and thy voice
is still;
Thou'rt but a presence, and thy face
a ghost ;
Yet thou liv'st for me, thou art not
lost;
Thine astral body gives me pleasure's
thrill.
Thou liv'st, for thy warm personality
Transcends the ghastly silence of the
screen ;
I see in thee what doth remain un-
seen
To others ; to me thou art no myst'ry.
Behind that shadow breathes thy form
divine ;
Beyond that spirit moves thy living
soul ;
And, although dull, dumb years may
onward roll,
I'll faithful be — my fond heart's Pales-
tine. Dorothea B .
My Dear Miss Dorothea: Really
your poem is decidedly clever, and you
should send it to some magazine and
have it published. If my acting or per-
sonality continues to inspire you to
write verse like that, why, you are en-
tirely welcome. But, for pity's sake,
don't blame me if the editors won't
print your poems. I admit I'm preju-
diced in their favor, naturally; but edi-
tors have no prejudices.
Seriously, though, Miss Dorothea, I
think you have poetic talent and should
cultivate it. But why practice on poor
me? I'm sure others would appreciate
a stanza or two. Sincerely,
Francis X. Bushman.
Hero of My Heart: I am only a
farmer's daughter, and live 'way out on
a God-forsaken R. F. D., but I can
appreciate A-R-T all right, and you
are an A-R-T-I-S-T. An Artist at
Making Love ! You've won me, even
if you are only a picture. Such a figure,
and such eyes, and such a coun-te-
nance ! Jiminy-crickety, no wonder all
the female population of these U. S.
acts like a crazy colt about you I I
never saw anything in trousers to beat
you— not even that fussied-up jewelry
drummer over to the City Ho-tel a few
weeks ago.
I don't get into town very often,
account of having so many chores to
do on the farm, but every once in a
while pa and ma tumble into our Ford —
course we own a touring car, every
farmer does now — and take the kids
and me into Bloomsdale to see the pic-
ture show. I always make 'em go
where I can see you, my hero ! Oh, I
just adore you in the pictures ! Are you
just as nice in real life?
Say, that last moving picture I saw
you in was fearful exciting. Gee willi-
kins, but you certainly was a hero then !
I don't see how you did it. And you
won the girl, too. That was nice, only
I think she was too pretty. Can't you
get a homely girl to put your arms
round and kiss? It makes me feel bad.
102
Love Letters of a Movie Idol
I wish I could live in a big town like
St. Louis or Chicago and see you in the
pictures often. I don't get to see you
hardly at all. It's mean and cruel, dear.
Jiminy. if I lived in the city. I'd be
at the show every afternoon and every
night., looking for you and at you.
Why, other actors are pickles when
you're around. You're pie ! I love pie !
Some morning early I'm going to
steal that Ford — I can run it like pa —
and go to Eloomsdale for a couple of
days, just to see you in the movies.
I'll phone to the theater and find out
when you're coming — oh. what fun!
Course pa and ma will cut up like
blazes, "cause I ain't supposed to have
any fun. I guess, but I'll do it.
Georgie Jenkins — that's the young
fellow who lives on the next farm to
ours, his pa's got money — Georgie says
he don't care nothing about you. He
thinks Charlie Chaplin can walk away
from the whole bunch of movie actors
when it gets down to real act-ing.
Chaplin is all right as a circus side-
show, but he don't belong in the main
tent — with you. Francis. Georgie wants
me to marry him, but I said. "Nay,
nay. my lad. My star rides higher in
the heavens !" and with that he bade
me adoo, and the only time I saw him
since was a Sunday morning at church,
when he gave me a smile and a bow.
Any time I tell him yes. I guess I can
have him. but look at him — what is he?
An R. F. D. farmer's son. When I
take unto myself a mate for good or
ill. I want a man who has done big
things — an A-R-T-I-S-T like you, hero
of my heart! Not a man who knows
only pigs and potatoes !
But what's the use? Pa sent me to
school just long enough to make me dis-
sat-is-hed with this hum-drum life on
the farm. Do you think I could act
country-girl parts in the pictures, and
would you coach me? Gee willikins.
that would be great ! Lots of raw rural
rubes have made good in the big cities.
they say — why not me? I've read a lot
and kept up with what goes on — I'm
not as green as I look — and I don't
chew a bit o' hay. either. Say, hero
mine, be honest with me — what's my
chance? If there is none, tell me. I've
had worse dis-ap-point-ments.
I hear ma calling me to go out and
feed the chickens, so I'll say o revaw ^1
don't know much French, just oui and
non). I don't know how to address
you, but I guess the post of-fice will
rind you — you're so well known. Any-
way. I'm sticking your picture on the
en-ve-lope to make sure you'll get it.
That's my own idea, what do you think
o' it ? "
Please write and let me know your
home address.
With love and a hug and a kiss from
your R. F. D. girl. Susan .
My Dear Miss Susan : Well, little
girl — I presume you are a little girl — I
can understand exactly how you feel,
'way out there on that R. F. D. farm;
but. after all, don't you think you are a
thousand times better off than those
girls in the big cities who "sow the wind
and reap the whirlwind''? Do you
know what I mean? If you don't, ask
your minister or doctor — he will tell
you, and gladly.
Don't pine after the lights and the
tinsel and the turmoil of the city. Be-
lieve me. my dear, they are not worth
while. The only things really worth
while are the elemental things — the
things we come from and the things
we are glad to go back to in the end.
What are they? Home, nature, fam-
ily, friends, books, pets, honest toil,
sweet sleep, and peace eternal. These
are the things that count — the only
things. All the rest is artificial, false,
make-believe. We actors lead the fals-
est, most worthless, most unsatisfactory
lives. We have one sustaining force,
our art ; and those who are not artists
and never will be.
Love Letters of a Movie Idol
103
The very best thing you can do, Miss
Susan, is to marry Georgie Jenkins or
some other good, honest young fellow
and settle down with him on the farm
and make him a good wife and a good
mother to his children. Don't go run-
ning off after false gods. Don't be-
lieve everything you see and read and
hear about. Don't take books and plays
and motion pictures too seriously. The
great majority of them do not reflect
life at all, but are highly colored and
exaggerated for entertainment pur-
poses. There is but one thing you
should take seriously : your own life, the
life about you. Make that worth while
to yourself and others, and you will be
successful and happy.
I don't mean that you should stop
going to town to see the pictures and
enjoy yourself in other ways. Cer-
tainly not. But I ask you not to be
serious about it. And please, please
don't steal your father's car and sneak
away to Bloomsdale. It would be
dreadfully hard on your parents.
Now don't forget my advice, Miss
Susan, and when you marry Georgie —
or some other nice chap — remember
that I wish you good luck.
Sincerely,
Francis X. Bushman.
My Dear Francis: I fell in love
with you, dear Francis, the first time I
saw you in a picture. You are my ideal
— the ideal I was always looking for,
but could never find — until now.
I am honest enough to tell you that
I am a married woman. Why should
I deceive you? Married, yes — but un-
happily. My husband is far from being
the ideal I have always had in mind.
He spends his time in business, at his
club, and — neglects me. I am the most
lonesome, miserable woman in the
world. I spend most of my time at the
movie theater, watching you, dear one.
Oh, if I only knew you to speak to, if I
could only have you near me, to talk to
me and comfort me! But you are so
far away — so far !
Dearest Francis, with the dreamy
eyes and beautiful hair, I wonder if we
two shall ever meet. Sometimes I
think we shall. Once I read that two
mated souls, no matter how far apart
they may be on earth, are destined to
come together one day, in life or in
death. Ah, even that is preferable to
the miserable existence I am leading.
If I really thought I should meet you in
the Great Beyond, I might go ahead
and wait for you there. But what as-
surance have I of this?
It seems that all I can do is to keep
on suffering — and loving you. They
say that is woman's lot. I suppose so.
But it would be so comforting to have
a line from you, Francis, dear. Just
a line or two, won't you, to satisfy my
soul's longing, dear heart?
Thine until the end,
(Mrs.) Mabel H—
My Dear Mrs. H : If you will
accept a bit of advice, my dear madam,
you will at once forget about your ideal
and devote more attention to your hus-
band and your home. It is quite likely
that the reason he absents himself from
home and "neglects you," as you say,
lies in your treatment of him. The
average American husbands are a
pretty decent sort, it strikes me. Per-
sonally, I think many of them are
rather too indulgent, and, as a result,
many wives impose upon their good
nature and generosity, and become ex-
travagant. I don't know the circum-
stances, of course, but I would advise
you to consider your husband more and
yourself less in future, and happiness
will come to you both. And, for the
sake of yours and your husband's hap-
piness, forget me and all other out-
siders. Reserve your affection for the
man to whom you are married — he will
treasure them. Sincerely,
Francis X. Bushman.
Mack Sen-
net t , Key-
stone, world's
greatest pro-
ducer of com-
edy pictures,
started his ca-
reer as a mere
chorus man at the Casino Theater, New York City.
Marguerite Courtot, Gaumont, was an artists'
model before she decided to enter pictures. She lived-
near the Kalem studio, and went there one dav to
apply for a position. Her "'tests" before the camera
were so successful that she was given an important
role in "Rube Marquard Wins." She made good,, and
the result was that she was immediately placed in
stock at an excellent salary, playing leads opposite the
debonair Guy Coombs in. war films.
Exid Markey, Triangle-Kay Bee, started her career
with a traveling company that was playing "Forty-
five Minutes from Broadway." She was a Colorado
City belle at the time, and her parents were just com-
pleting arrangements to send her to Leland Stanford
University. But when the management of the show
advertised that they would take some of the town's
beauties along in their chorus, the temptation was too
strong, and she successfully applied for a "job."
Charlotte Burton, American, is one of the many
I stage children to find their way into motion pictures.
I Her first appearance behind the footlights was at the
age of eight years, as a fairy with a wand and spangled
I wings, in "The Brownies in Fairyland." Of course,
I she had to go to school later on. and really began her
stage career all over again after she was graduated,
this time with a Western stock company, in ingenue
roles, in which she was at once successful.
Charles Ray, Triangle, received his start in the
theatrical business by passing water in a theater, and
also acting as cashier. Then the manager got married
and put his wife to work as cashier, so they had to
find another job for Charlie. They gave him his first
part — a fireman in the "Still Alarm." He had three
words to say: "Fire! Fire! Fire!" and during in-
termissions he continued to pass around water. Later
Charlie joined one of the companies that played there.
Telling Tvlnaf
popular players
did prior fo be-
coming screen
favorites * -
Cleo Madi-
son, Univer-
s a 1 , began
her profes-
sional life by
answering the
ad of a dra-
matic teacher,
through whom she secured a road engagement.
Louise Emerald Bates, the beautiful Thanhouser
girl, could not see the use of spending all her precious
time writing short stories and not selling them. There-
fore, she finally decided to come to the great and only
New York City to seek a professional career. She
had always cherished a longing to play in a Broadway
production, so she applied for a position in the chorus
of the famous Winter Garden show, which she later
secured after a display of unlimited patience.
Tom Santschi, Selig, started out to be a watch-
maker, and worked at this trade for quite some time.
But it did not appeal very strongly to him, and he
sold out his business. He eventually landed a "job"
with a stock company, playing minor parts, until his
ability as an actor was recognized. Then he gradu-
ally rose until he was made a leading man. He has
never been with any film company other than Selig,
and scored his greatest triumph in ''The Spoilers."
Mae Marsh used to go to the Biograph studio to
watch her sister, Marguerite Marsh, work under the
direction of D. W. Griffith. She felt that she could
be an actress, too, if she were given a chance. Finally
she persuaded Marguerite to tell Griffith that her
movie-struck sister wanted to play in films, and the
master producer gave Mae a part that was unmis-
takably small. But Mae made so much of it that it
became a big part, and she became big with it.
Florence LaBadie, Thanhouser, started playing
extra parts with Biograph. She then applied to Than-
houser for work. Of course, they took her name, and
promised to send for her if anything ever "turned up."
That night, Mr. Thanhouser went to a picture show,
noticed the girl who had been there that afternoon
looking for a position, playing a very small part in a
Biograph film, and decided to watch her. Her work
pleased him immensely, and she was engaged at once.
THAT'S a cinch!" laughed Pete
Prindle. "If I wanted to, I'll
bet I could get my picture
spread all over the front page of every
newspaper in the country !"
Proteus Prindle, the millionaire man-
ufacturer of Prindle's Twenty-seven —
count 'em, twenty-seven — Varieties of
Pure-food Products, brought the peri-
odical which he held in his hand down
on the desk before him with an angry
bang.
The publication was the Vegetarians'
Gazette, and its frontispiece for the
month was a photograph of his two
daughters, Pearl and Pansy, showing
them gazing with loving pride at a
package of Prindle's Pressed Prunes,
on which they had both been raised, as
they held it up between them. They
were a pair of girls for a father to be
proud of. While his son
"This is the last straw, sir !" declared
the inventor of the Puffed Peanut and
the Life-preserving Lentil, beating the
book up and down on the desk in his
anger. "You have scoffed openly at
my products, calling them 'baled hay,'
and the like. Besides frittering away
your time here in the office, where I
have been paving you a bank cashier's
salary for performing the duties of a
clerk. And now you belittle the pub-
licity your two sisters have brought me
by saying that you could do better than
they have, if you set out to. Very well ;
I mean to take you at your word.
Here's a hundred dollars. Take it, and
clear out. It's the last cent you'll get
from me — until you've succeeded in
keeping the name of Prindle before the
public by ' getting your photograph
printed in at least one metropolitan
newspaper !"
Pete — taking the hundred — sauntered
out of his irate parent's office to make
His Picture in the Papers
107
good his boast. He repeated to him-
self, as he walked along the street out-
side in search of a telephone pay sta-
tion, the statement he had made to his
father : It was going to be a cinch.
All he would have to do to get his
picture printed in every newspaper
in town was something sensational
enough, and the deed would be an ac-
complished fact.
Entering a cigar store, Pete shut
himself into the telephone booth and
called up the residence of Christopher
Crimp, the head of the traffic depart-
ment of the Pennsylvania Railroad.
"Hello, dear !" the young man greeted
Christine, the railroad official's daugh-
ter, when her voice floated to him over
the wire. "Everything's all right — I'm
going to be a member of the firm !."
"Ah, fine !"
"Isn't it, though?" Pete jubilantly
gave back. "Your father'll have to let
me marry you then. He said when dad
gave me an interest in the business, he'd
unmuffle the clappers of the wedding
bells and let them ring out for us.
Well, I'm going to make him live up
to his word. I know pop will be so
tickled over the advertisement I'll
bring him and the Predigested Prune
and the rest of the silly old Twenty-
seven Varieties of imitation fodder he's
all wrapped up in, that he'll offer me
a partnership in the firm just as soon
as I've carried out the assignment he's
given me——"
"Pete! What is it you've got to
do-^— "
"Get my picture in the paper," he
lightly broke in. "That's all. I told
him it would be a pipe — that means,
dear, anything that's so easy as to be
like taking candy away from a baby.
And now I'm going to start out and
prove it. By-by !"
Christopher Crimp, who was the
warm friend and disciple of Proteus
Prindle, in reply to the request of the
health-food inventor's harum-scarum
son for his daughter's hand, told Pete
that when he turned over a new leaf
and worked hard enough at his father's
business to earn an interest in it, he
would consent to let him marry Chris-
tine, and not before.
Crimp had hoped in this way to re-
turn the favor Prindle, senior, had re-
cently done him. This had been to
block the plan of a gang of toughs,
known as the Gophers, who had sent
the railroad official a letter ordering
him to place a large sum of money
for them beside a certain rock in Cen-
tral Park.
Old man Prindle had taken the let-
ter to the police. As a result, on the
night named by the gangsters as the
one on which the money was to be left
near the rock, a squad of bluecoats
had been concealed near the scene, and,
when Crimp placed the money on the
prescribed spot and withdrew to- let the
blackmailers secure it, they had been
charged by the police, and two of their
number captured.
It seemed that the gang had been
made to abandon their attempt to hold
up the man they had first selected as a
victim, "because he don't eat no meat,
and'll be easy pickin' fer us !"
. But nothing was further from the
fact, in reality. The fate of their two
comrades who had fallen into the hands
of the police through the trap Crimp
and Prindle had set for them, had
aroused the remaining gangsters' im-
placable hatred against the vegetarian
head of the traffic department, and they
were only waiting for a chance to be
revenged upon him.
Pete, after he left the telephone
booth, sauntered on uptown, trying to
think of something he could do to get
his name and his picture into the paper.
Nothing practical suggesting itself to
him at the end of ten blocks, he stopped
on a corner to purchase a paper from
a newsboy.
He would see what other people
108
His Picture in the Papers
were doing to get into print. There,
on the front page of the paper he had
bought, he saw the photograph of a
rich young man beside that of a twisted
and smashed automobile, underneath a
scare head which proclaimed the fact
that the scion of one of the oldest and
wealthiest families in the city had met
with a serious accident while returning
home along a suburban boulevard from
a road house in the early hours of that
morning at a mere eighty-two miles an
hour.
"That's what I'll do!" Pete ex-
claimed, crumpling the paper and drop-
ping it at his feet as he turned, with
the sparkle of an idea in his eyes, to
look for another public telephone.
"That will be the best and simplest
way to go about it. I'll be the biggest
thing in print to-morrow morning, my-
self !"
He popped into the booth just inside
the front door of a drug store and
called up his father's office.
"Hello, dad!" he gayly hailed his
parent. "Do me a favor, will you?"
"No, sir !" promptly snapped Proteus
Prindle. "I told you that you'd get
nothing more from me until you made
good your boast, and I mean it !"
"But I don't want any money," the
young man protested. "That isn't the
kind of a favor I meant. I only want
to borrow the family automobile. Let
me have it. will you, pop, for just a
few hours "
"No, sir!" declined his father firmly.
"I will not." •
And he hung up the receiver. Pete,
there being nothing else he could do,
followed suit and emerged from the
telephone booth.
He ruefully continued his walk up
the city's main thoroughfare. Without
a car, how could he appear on the front
page of the newspapers the next morn-
ing as the central figure in an automo-
bile smash-up? He had set his heart
upon using that means of breaking into
print, too, and he hated the thought of
giving it up with the mental effort that
would involve of thinking up something
else.
Pete came to a halt, the frown lift-
ing on his brow. He had reached
"Automobile Row," as a section of
Broadway that begins a block or so
above Longacre Square and ends a
trifle beyond Columbus Circle, is
known. And beside him, in the win-
dow of a secondhand store, stood a car
of the vintage of 1899, bearing a card
with the appeal :
Take me home for $83.99.
"Fine business !". Pete murmured
elatedly, as he gazed at the antiquated
rattletrap that was within his means
as represented by the hundred-dollar
bill in his pocket. "That old buggy is
due for a trip to the scrap heap, any-
way— and that's just what I'll give it!"
Pete went into the store and pur-
chased the auto. Then he drove it over
to the Jersey Palisades. On the brink
of the highest point of the precipice he
could find, he brought the car to a
halt.
"Good-by, old boy !" he addressed
the ancient machine in mock-serious
adieu, as he hopped out of it. "You
may have been a good old jitney in
your day, but now you're going down
— and out !"
He started the auto going. It shot
over the edge of the cliff and down,
turning over and over, to the plain be-
low, where it landed upside down. A
moment later, a dull "boom" rose to
Pete's ears as the engine exploded. He
hastened down the side of the preci-
pice by a safe path he had marked
out.
Arriving beside the wrecked ma-
chine, he lifted up his voice in a loud
cry for help, followed by another.
Then he crawled under the car, and lav
still.
Three men. a bov. and a strav dog
His Picture in the Papers
109
came running, and Pete was pulled out.
While two of the men tried in vain
to revive him, the third — escorted by
the dog — went to phone for an ambu-
lance.
Pete was taken to a hospital and
placed in a private room, under the care
of a nurse. There he opened his eyes
and inquired if any reporters, notified
of the accident that had befallen him,
had arrived. He was gratified to learn
that no less than a dozen were then
waiting downstairs for news of the ex-
tent of his injuries. Pete insisted that
they be led to his bedside at once.
To each of the reporters Pete gave
his photograph, with a stock of which
he had had the forethought to arm
himself beforehand, and then, having
given a graphic account of how he had
driven unawares over the edge of the
precipice in the automobile, he rolled
over on his side to fall asleep, with the
blissful certainty that the morrow
would find the task he had set himself
accomplished.
Pete waked up at five the next morn-
ing, and called at once for all the news-
papers. His picture, he discovered
with a sinking sensation at his heart,
was missing on the front page of each.
An anxious search through all the
pages of all the papers disclosed the
fact that his photograph was nowhere
in them. There was not even an ac-
count of his accident. Yes — there it
was.
Under a heading, "Automobile Acci-
dents of the Day," tucked away in an
inconspicuous corner of an unimportant
page, in the finest of fine type, was
the name of Pete Prindle !
"Stung!" groaned Pete, dashing the
paper to the floor. "I thought I was
betting on a sure thing — and I lose!"
Forlorn and discouraged, Pete ab-
sent-mindedly proceeded to dress him-
self during the nurse's absence from
110
His Picture in the Papers
the room, and then sat on the edge of
the bed, staring into space. The doc-
tor, making his rounds, discovered him
sitting there in this position, and, be-
cause of certain remarks between them
which followed, Pete left the hospital—
with two dollars and eighty-nine cents
left in his pocket and his picture thus
far unprinted in any newspaper.
In the meanwhile, the Gophers, bent
upon taking revenge for their com-
rades' arrest upon Crimp, had sent one
of their members to "get" him.
The gangster, armed with a dagger,
was waiting beside the entrance of the
downtown skyscraper where the gen-
eral offices of the railroad were located.
Crimp, stepping out of one of the ele-
vators in the lobby, perceived that it
was raining outside, and stopped to
put on his overcoat, adjusting a bundle
which he carried under the garment.
It was to that move he undoubtedly
owed his life.
As the head of the traffic depart-
ment stepped out of the building, the
Gopher -leaped forward from his place
of concealment beside one of the pil-
lars of the entrance and stabbed his
quarry thrice with the dagger. Crimp
sank to the ground, as his assailant
swiftly ran off.
'Tve been killed !" the railroad offi-
cial weakly cried. "Help !"
A crowd collected round him with
the customary rapidity. Crimp was
lifted up, his overcoat unbuttoned to
ascertain the extent of his injury — and
the bundle he had been carrying,, which
was composed of half a dozen pack-
ages of Prindle's Live-preserving Len-
tils, fell out.
The wrapping paper around it gaped
in three places where the dagger of
his would-be assassin had pierced it.
Christopher Crimp himself remained
unharmed.
Once more the Gophers' plan had
gone awry — thanks to their victim's
friend, Prindle, the health-food king.
Pete, upon taking his hurried depar-
ture from the hospital, was plunged in
gloom. For the first time, a doubt
arose in his mind of its being so easy
for any one to get his picture in the
paper — when he wanted to.
He located a stray cigarette in his
pocket and begged a lone match from
a passer-by. Then he adjourned to a
neighboring stoop and seated himself
on the steps to plan a campaign. Pete
must have planned quite seriously, for
when he lit his cigarette he forgot to
cast away the match, and held it under
his nose, with sad consequences. The
burn, however, was soon forgotten,
as Pete reached an important deci-
sion— which was to call up Christine
and report his failure. He did, but,
after five minutes' conversation with
her, his spirits had risen, and, with
them, his courage.
He would succeed. Xo matter what
obstacles reared themselves in his path,
he would persevere until his smiling
countenance greeted the perusers of
every newspaper in the city.
It was in a barber shop, where he
had gone to be shaved, with the hope
that an idea would suggest itself to
him, as he had frequently heard of its
doing to other men while they them-
selves were engaged in scraping their
faces, of another way that he could set
about the business of breaking into
print, that. Pete's eye was caught by a
poster on the wall.
It announced that at the Sharkey
A. C, in Bridgeport, Battling Burke,
the Champion Middleweight of the
Eastern States, would meet all comers
at eight o'clock that night.
"Gee, if I could lick him!" Pete re-
flected, with his eyes still held by the
poster on the wall as he got out of
the chair and paid the barber. 'Til
bet the papers would all run my pic-
ture on their sporting pages. I'll go
up and take a wallop at this pug, just
on a chance, anyway !" '
His Picture in the Papers
111
Heading for the Grand Central Sta-
tion, Pete presented himself at the
ticket window, five minutes later, with
a request for a ticket to Bridgeport.
He clapped one hand to his pocket and
the other to his brow, when the man
mentioned the fare.
It was over a dollar more than he
had left out of the hundred his father
had given him, after the price he had
paid for the secondhand automobile he
had purchased on the day before had
been deducted from it.
"No, I'm not going off on any souse
party with that bunch of wild Indians,"
Pete heard a man in the line be-
hind him at the ticket window
saying to a
friend.
Scalp-
ers! The
word flashed
into Pete's
mind as he
you trying to slip over
This calls for a stout
beard "
"Ah, that's all right!'
with
on me, huh?
man with a
Pete gulped,
a friendly grin as the conductor,
though his heart had sunk into his boots
at this unexpected complication he had
confronted him with. "I've shaved off
my - whiskers since I bought that
ticket !"
"But you're not stout any more, are
you ?"
"No — no ! I've got rid of a lot of
weight, officer — er, I mean, conductor
— since I've been dieting," Pete went
on, trying to lie his way out of the
ituation. "You see, I "
"I see
you're riding
on a ticket
that don't be-
long to you !"
the conductor
snapped him
'1 never thought I'd be a barber to a goat," the young man muttered.
heard the mention of "Indians." Per-
haps he could find a ticket scalper who
would supply him with the means of
getting to Bridgeport at a reduced rate.
He left the line to go in search of one
of that tribe.
Luckily finding the man in charge
of the first office where he called in
possession of a one-way ticket to
Bridgeport, Pete purchased it and has-
tened back to the station to take the
next train for that town — with just one
cent left to his name.
The conducter looked at the ticket,
and then he looked at Pete.
"Say," the official growled, "what are
up, reaching for the signal cord over-
head, to stop the train, as he spoke.
"And that's against the rules of the
road. Off you get. Move lively!''
Pete, the ticket thrust back into his
hand by the glowering conductor, was
lifted by the coat collar out of his seat
the next moment, as he still sat there,
in disobedience of the latter's order,
and hustled down the aisle of the car
and off its step onto the sloping side
of the cindered roadbed — where he
stood watching the train move on with-
out him.
Walking disconsolately after it, Pete
came at last to a station two and a half
112
His Picture in the Papers
miles farther on. Here he invested his
last cent in a stick of chewing gum
from a slot machine, and sat down on
a bench in the waiting room to survey
the ticket in which he had foolishly
sunk all of his capital but that one
lone penny.
Until he could grow a beard and take
on fifty pounds or so of additional
weight, that ticket would be of no use
to him. Replacing it in his pocket,
with a sigh, Pete wandered forth to
draw inspiration for his next move
from a survey of the surrounding
countryside.
He stopped, a quarter of a mile away
from the station, at sight of a goat
tethered in a field. Stopped, with the
sparkle of another idea lighting up his
eyes.
The goat wore what Pete did not — a
beard.
Opening his pocketknife as he stole
up on tiptoe behind the unsuspecting
goat, Pete seized it firmly around the
throat in one arm, and began to saw
away at the hirsute appendage that
hung down from the animal's chin.
"I never thought I'd be a barber to
a goat!" the young man muttered to
himself, as he worked. ''But I'd do
anything to make a hit with the gov-
ernor and get an interest in the firm —
and Christine !"
Sticking the beard on his own chin
with the chewing gum, Pete hastened
back to the station. He had fulfilled
one of the requirements of that ticket.
He now wore whiskers. But how was
he going to meet the other, of present-
ing a thickset appearance to the world
at large and conductors in charge of
trains to Bridgeport in particular?
Pete saw the answer to that ques-
tion as he looked through one of the
parlor-car windows of a train that had
just drawn to a stop beside the station
as he reached it. The window was
open, and beside it an old maid sat, fast
asleep — with a pillow under her head.
Waiting until the train began to move
— in the direction of Bridgeport, as he
had found out — Pete snatched the pil-
low and ran, stuffing it under his vest,
toward the last car, swinging up on its
platform just as it was moving by him.
The conductor who came along ten
minutes later to inspect his ticket, saw
a stout man with a beard in possession
of it — and he passed on, leaving Pete
gloating over the ruse by which he
made use of the ticket, after all.
But, alas ! he gloated too soon. A
glance at his watch showing him that
it was getting late, Pete put his head
out of the window to see what time
the train was making. And — his
whiskers blew off!
There was no excuse he could make
to the conductor who had returned just
as the young man drew his head in out
of the window to inspect his ticket
again, for the disappearance from his
chin of the whiskers that had covered
it only a few minutes earlier — and once
more Pete was put off the train.
As he sat, with his head in his hands,
by the roadside a quarter of an hour
later, the sound of an approaching auto-
mobile reached his ears.
Pete bounded up, with the thought
that perhaps the driver of the car would
be a kind-hearted individual who could
be prevailed upon to take him to
Bridgeport.
"Hey !" Pete yelled at the hatchet-
faced, elderly man who was the sole
occupant of the automobile, waving his
arms at him to stop. "Where are you
bound ?"
"Bridgeport," was the laconic re-
sponse.
Pete's heart leaped with renewed
hope at the answer.
"Fine ! Will you give me a lift
there ?"
"No, I won't," the sharp-visaged
man in the car answered.
"You won't — why?" Pete blurted, in
surprise.
His Picture in the Papers
113
" 'Cause I won't," repeated the other.
"I ain't runnin' no jitney-bus line for
strangers, an' speshully them as I don't
like the looks of — as I don't yours.
That's enough for you, I reckon." And
he honked his horn once, as though
to terminate the interview with a pe-
riod, and started on.
But Pete was not to be cheated of
this means of arriving at the destina-
tion he had been struggling toward
with such difficulty, now that it was
within easy reach; and he jumped for
the back of the automobile as it went
by him, catching onto it, and so rode
into Bridgeport as the hatchet-faced
man's guest, without the latter being
any the wiser.
It was nine o'clock when Pete found
the Sharkey A. C, and ran up the dim
stairs toward a door behind which a
muffled tumult arose. The din was
emanating from a couple of hundred
men, Pete saw when he opened the
door and gazed across its threshold,
who had just witnessed the dropping
to the canvas-covered floor of the ring
in the center of the room, about which
they were seated, of another of Battling
Burke's challengers for the middle-
weight championship of the Eastern
States.
"Are there any more contestants?"
the referee shouted above the tumult,
as he finished the count over the title
holder's prone adversary. "Any more
contestants, before I toin over dis sil-
ver belt to Battlin' Boik, as de cham-
peen "
Pete lifted up his voice, as he stepped
through the door.
"Yes, I'd like to take a chance with
him !" he called.
Battling Burke smiled scornfully as
he looked over Pete's slender but well-
knit figure, when the latter stood in
the ring with him to give his name and
hailing place to the referee.
But the smile was wiped from
Burke's face, when, ten minutes later,
Pete, in borrowed fighting togs to
which he had changed in one of the
dressing rooms of the club, sailed into
him as the gong rang to mark the start
of round one.
The pugilist, having already met
three challengers before that evening,
wras tired, while Pete was fresh. He
could not block and counter all of the
blows the latter rained at his face ; and
so the very thing on which Pete had
been counting, happened. A "lucky
punch" laid the middleweight champion
low. The referee counted him out, then
turned to hold up Pete's hand as the
victor, and a host of reporters and
newspaper camera men clambered over
the ropes and surged around the new
title holder.
Pete joyously shouted his name over
and over to the reporters — to be sure
that they got it right — while he posed
in front of the cameras.
At last, he had done it ! Nothing
could keep his picture out of the papers
now
The front and rear doors of the hall
fell in with a crash. A blue-coated,
brass-buttoned, club-swinging horde de-
scended upon its inmates, shoving their
way through to the ring. Battling Burke
and the referee were seized and placed
under arrest. As he jumped out of
the ring and ran for his clothes to
escape from the place, Pete heard a
sound of splintering wood behind him.
Looking over his shoulder with a
groan, he saw the cameras that had
just snapped his picture being smashed
into kindling by the policemen's night-
sticks.
He had lost again. With the task
he had set himself, of earning a place
in the public limelight, accomplished —
the fight club had had to be raided !
While this was going on, the Gophers
had by no means fallen asleep upon
their sworn job of making Christopher
Crimp rue as the bitterest day of his
114
His Picture in the Papers
Enlisting the aid of two other men who were still able to walk he carried Pete out to a cab.
life, that on which he had been respon-
sible for sending two of their members
away to jail.
Another of their number had been
sent forth to accomplish the purpose
that his predecessor with the dagger
had failed to carry out — that of re-
moving Mr. Crimp as an encumbrance
upon this mundane sphere.
Armed with a bomb, this time, his
would-be assassin tracked the railroad
official along one of the city's principal
thoroughfares. When he saw his
quarry turn down a side street, the
Gopher followed at his heels, drawing
the bomb out to hurl it to the sidewalk,
at Crimp's feet. It was then, and then
only, that the gangster became aware
of the fact that others besides himself
were keeping the head of the traffic de-
partment under surveillance.
Christine, hearing the attempt which
had been made upon her father's life
after the one that had been vainly made
upon his pocketbook, had insisted that
Crimp employ eight husky guards to
shadow him wherever he went — to the
end that, another attack upon him being
made, his assailant might be prevented
from carrying out his murderous inten-
tion, and fall into the hands of the law,
as well.
Seeing him pull out the bomb from
under his coat, Crimp's bodyguard
His Picture in the Papers
115
loosed a simultaneous yell of alarm,
at the same time springing forward to
nab the holder of the infernal machine
before he could throw it.
Darting a frightened glance over his
shoulder, the gangster attempted flight.
In his haste, he tripped, the bomb
dropped from his hands, and he him-
self became the victim of its explo-
sion.
Naturally, after that, the Gopher
Gang was more than ever bent upon
Christopher Crimp's destruction, as a
constant menace to their organization
every moment that he remained alive.
In the meantime, beating his way
back to New York afoot along the
ties of the railroad, Pete was meditat-
ing suicide — the conventional recourse
of the failure who dreads the mocking
laughter of the world for his inability
to carry out a given purpose.
He was never going to get his pic-
ture printed in the paper. The thing
was beyond his merely human strength
to accomplish : a task before which a
superman, let alone an average mortal
who had boasted that it would prove
it a "cinch," might well quail. However
any of the other hundreds, the thou-
sands out of the population of the
United States managed to get their
photographs printed in the daily news-
papers, was a mystery to him.
Stooping to pick up the two-day-old
copy of a daily which lay fluttering be-
side the track, Pete glanced at it, and
the mystery was that no longer. His
eye had met an . advertisement for
Peruna, accompanied by an almost life-
size photograph of the user.
"By gollies !" Pete announced to him-
self, "I'm almost desperate enough to
resort to that. I will send a picture
of myself, with a red-hot testimonial,
to the manufacturers of this stuff.
They're bound to print it, since it won't
cost them a cent ; and I'll have lived
up to the terms of my agreement with
dad — I didn't say how I was going to
get my photograph run in the news-
papers, but only that I could do it !"
True to his resolve, as soon as he
arrived in the city, hours later, Pete
dropped into a hotel and helped himself
to an envelope and a sheet of its sta-
tionery, with which to indite a fervid
statement of the benefits he had re-
ceived by drinking Peruna from his in-
fancy on. Then, inclosing one of his
photographs, he went out to find a
mail box in which to post the letter.
He found that, all right. And some-
thing else — that he was without the
price of a stamp. Was a mere pittance
like two cents going to stand in the
way of his landing his picture in the
paper ?
As he stood before the lamp-post to
which the letter box was attached, Pete
took off his hat and scratched his head
over the dilemma in which he found
himself. A dear old lady, passing by
and seeing the attitude in which the
young man was standing there at the
curb, dropped a nickel in his hat — and
Pete's problem of mailing his letter and
photograph to the manufacturers of
Peruna was solved.
Two days later he opened a copy of
the "newspaper with the largest circu-
lation in Greater New York," and con-
fronted his likeness in an advertisement
that began with the statement in bold-
face type:
Pete Prindle, Son of the Prindle of the
Twenty-seven Varieties of Pure-food Prod-
ucts, Asserts That He Owes His Life to
Peruna, on Which He Was Brought Up
from Infancy.
Pete chuckled over the display ad,
of which his photograph formed the
principal part, like a maniac.
"Eureka !" he breathed to himself,
folding the paper and tucking it care-
fully away in the breast pocket of his
coat. "I've done it ! And now to show
this grand little advertisement for him
and his mock- food products to dad —
and win Christine !"
116
His Picture in the Papers
Hastening to the home of Christo-
pher Crimp, Pete prevailed upon both
him and his daughter to accompany
him to his father's office. There, be-
fore them all, the young man spread
out the paper which contained his pic-
ture at last — and stepped back to enjoy
his triumph.
It was as short-lived as snow in the
torrid blasts of August.
"You chump !" raged the health-food
m a n u -
facturer, af-
ter one glance
at the picture
of his son,
ingly at him, Crimp called his daughter
to his side.
"I forbid you," he charged her, "ever
to see or speak to this — this ingrate
again !"
Pete walked out of the office, crushed
in body and spirit.
It seemed that he was playing a los-
ing game all the way through. Even
when he succeeded in getting his pic-
ture printed in the paper, it didn't do
him any good.
The suicide
thought was
uppermost i n
which accom-
p a n i e d the
state-
ment that the
scion of the
house of Prindle owed his life to the
unremitting use of Peruna. "Do you
suppose I want it said that one of my
family has to use Peruna ! Get out of
here before I slay you — this will do
me more damage than I can repair by
six months of paid-for advertising in
all the papers and magazines in the
country ! I repeat, sir, you are a
fool !"
Drawing himself up with loyal indig-
nation, as Pete turned to look appeal-
Pete was in-
clined to do
ac roba t ie
"stunts'' over
the side.
Pete's mind again, when his atten-
tion was drawn to a placard which
bore the following announcement:
Madame Vera Crews, Clairvoyant and
Psychist; She Will Tell You the Future as
Well as the Past; Readings by Appoint-
ment; One Dollar.
Perhaps, Pete thought, it would be
a good idea for him to know whether
or not he was ever going to break into
His Picture in the Papers
117
print in a way that would redound to
his father's credit.
But he had no dollar to pay Vera
Crews for a reading of his horoscope.
Just then Pete saw that he was pass-
ing his club, and that on its steps stood
one of his friends, Smith by name.
"Lend me a dollar, old man, will
you?" Pete, accosting his friend, anx-
iously requested. "I want to see Vera
Crews."
"You expect to see Vera Cruz on a
dollar ?" Smith inquired, staring at him
in astonishment.
"Yes," Pete nodded. "Give me the
money, like a good fellow."
His friend complied. Then he in-
sisted that Pete come into the club with
him. There, in company with half a
dozen other young men whom they
met in the smoking room, they had
several. Midnight arrived before Pete
knew it. Then he was not aware of
the time — or of anything else, for that
matter. To put it plainly, he was "un-
der the table."
Smith, wrho still retained some ves-
tiges of sobriety, remembered that Pete
had told him he was going to Vera
Cruz. Enlisting the aid of two other
members of the party who, like him-
self, were still able to walk, he carried
Pete out to a cab, and installed him
in it, though Pete was inclined to do
acrobatic "stunts" over the side, when
he saw the others leave and only Smith
remain. But Smith lost no time in get-
ting him to the steamship pier.
Eight hours later, when Pete awoke,
he found himself in a berth on board
a vessel that was most undeniably in
motion. Rushing up on deck, in his
pajamas, he perceived that the steamer
was passing a low-lying strip of land on
the starboard bow.
"What place is that?" Pete, clutch-
ing a passing deck hand, demanded of
him.
"Atlantic City," the sailor answered.
The next second, Pete had vaulted
over the rail and was swimming toward
that well-known pleasure resort, with a
swift, overhand stroke that soon landed
him upon its beach.
He ran up on the board walk. There
a couple of policemen, catching sight
of his pajama-clad figure, naturally
took him for an escaped lunatic, and
started in pursuit of him.
Pete collided with a negro in charge
of a wheel chair. The colored man
went down. Thinking he had been
purposely assaulted by Pete, five of his
fellows left their chairs to go to his
assistance. A moment later Pete was
in the center of a lively mix-up.
He had just succeeded in bowling
over the last of his dusky adversaries,
when the policemen pushed their way
through the crowd that had gathered
around the melee, and placed him under
arrest.
A reporter emerged from the crowd,
presenting his card to the two officers
of the law and inquiring the cause of
the disturbance. Pete, hearing him de-
clare his identity as a member of the
press, eagerly shouted to him :
"I'm Pete Prindle ! I was raised on
Prindle's Products, and Eve just licked
six coons !"
To his joy, Pete saw the reporter
whip a folding kodak from his pocket.
He persuaded the policemen who had
hold of him to allow him to pose just
for one minute, in front of the news-
paper man's camera, before they
dragged him off to jail. Striking an
athletic attitude, Pete cried to the re-
porter to go ahead and take his picture,
which the representative of the press
did. Then Pete allowed the officers to
hale him away.
Released with only a reprimand by a
lenient magistrate, and in an outfit of
misfit clothing loaned to him by the
policemen, the next morning, Pete's
first act was to hunt up a new stand to
see if an account of his encounter with
118
His Picture in the Papers
the Ethiopian wheel-chair pushers of
the day before had got into the paper.
It had. The story was blazoned forth
to the world on the front page. But
without Pete's picture. "On account
of the eminent respectability of the
young man's family," the article an-
nounced, "his identity as the principal
participant in the disgraceful affair is
withheld."
No, he was never going to get his
picture in the paper. And, with that
gloomy reflection, Pete started to walk
along the railroad tracks, back to New
York.
Proteus Prindle, in the meantime,
had notified his friend Crimp that a
consignment of several carloads of his
health foods which he had ordered
shipped over the road of which the lat-
ter was the traffic-department head, had
not arrived, for some unaccountable
reason.
Crimp, accompanied by his daughter,
had set out over the road in an en-
deavor to trace the missing con-
signment of his friend's goods.
And the Gophers, seeing him go,
p 1 a n n e
their last at-
tempt, and
which they hoped would this time go
through without a slip-up, upon his
life.
Their dastardly scheme was simply
that of wrecking the train on which
Crimp was riding, when it should have
reached a point on the road an hour
outside of Atlantic City.
Pete, trudging the ties, came upon a
box car that lay derailed in the middle
of the tracks. Instantly, though with-
out knowing that the Gophers had
planned it, nor that Crimp was the
hoped-for victim of the criminal plot,
Pete saw Avhat was in the wind — a
wreck of the next train along.
He saw something else. That, by
climbing to the top of the car, he might
be able to wave a warning signal that
the engineer of an approaching train
could see as it rounded the base of a
hill, which stood several hundred yards
ahead.
Even then, the whistle of such a train
sounded in Pete's ears. He lost no
time in climbing
to the top of the
box car — the
roof of which
Pete Prindle's exile was at an end!
His Picture in the Papers
119
he noticed, as he reached it, had been
smashed open, probably from the shock
with which it had struck the ground
following its derailment.
With a yell, as they saw him climb
to the top of the car, the Gophers
poured forth from their hiding, and
Pete, seeking a weapon to use in re-
pulsing their attack, reached down
through the hole in the roof of the
car — and pulled out a bottle of Prin-
dle's Prohibition Punch.
The car was one of the lot that held
the health-food manufacturer's missing
consignment of goods !
Beating the gangsters back with the
bottle, Pete waved the train, which had
appeared around the hill, to a stop.
The Gophers fled in baffled rage.
And Pete climbed down, to receive the
thanks of the passengers — foremost
among them being Crimp and his
daughter Christine.
"Let me take your photograph, sir,"
Pete heard a voice at his elbow say-
ing.
He gave the reporter his name, and
allowed him to take a dozen snapshots
of him. All the time he kept telling
himself that it was only a dream.
But on the morrow his name and his
photograph did appear on not only the
front page of one paper, but on vari-
ous pages of hundreds of papers
throughout the country, as the young
man who had risked his life to save
others — Prindle's Pep having imparted
to him the necessary bravery to carry
out the deed. Pete Prindle's exile was
at an end !
"My boy !" his father beamed at him
later. "I herewith present you with a
half interest in the firm — take it, and
be happy !"
"Here's my daughter," Crimp loyally
echoed ; "take her and be happy !"
Pete did — and he was.
SOMETHING WORTH SEMEMBERSMG
H. BEDFORD-JONES
has just finished a remarkable story — a story of motion-
picture people in a motion- picture world; a story of
people who make big money and who earn every cent
of it. It is the livest and best work of fiction of its
kind ever written, and is called
"NOT IN THE. CAST"
Begins in the July issue of PICTURE-PLAY MAGA-
ZINE, ON SALE JUNE 9th
ORDER NOW— YOU'LL BE GLAD LATER
SHE is Gertrude Robinson of the
screen — just as dignified and
serious as the name requires her
to be. And she is just plain Gertie in
real life — fully as irresponsible and
carefree as that name suggests she
should be.
Her home is in New York — indeed,
she insists -she is a typical New York
girl— hut her winters during the past
few years have been spent far away
from the metropolis. Last year, it was
Los Angeles, California, and this year
it was Jacksonville, Florida. Produc-
ers have a way of carefully avoiding
the cold weather which accompanies the
winter on its visit to the East. I men-
tion all of this merely to explain how
I met Gertrude — and Gertie — so far
from the bright lights of Broadway ,
It was in the studio of the Gaumont
Company, in Jacksonville, that Gertrude
was introduced to me. She was just
as sweet and pretty as she appears on
the screen, but apparently the only
thing which claimed her interest was
her work. She talked about it, instead
of about what was going on in New
York, or about her career, during my
visit with her. Then she excused her-
self and answered her director's call to
work in a scene. I watched them re-
hearse and take that scene, and Ger-
trude's earnestness was far more in-
teresting to me than the action in the
scene itself. She listened to all the
instructions of her director. Then she
thought for a moment, and offered sug-
gestions for more effective "business"
in the scene. The director liked the
Gertrude and Gertie
121
idea, and Gertrude again rehearsed.
Then they took the scene — and all the
time Gertrude's mind was entirely on
her work. I don't believe she knew
that there were any people in the stu-
dio besides those working with her, or,
if she did, she did not give them a
thought.
Do you wonder, then, that I left the
studio with the impression that Ger-
trude Robinson was one of the most
serious-minded girls of her age — the
early twenties — that I had ever seen.
And this impression was only slightly
lessened when I saw her at supper that
evening, for she was seated alone — and
contented with being so — and her mind
seemed to be ever so busy, for again
she was apparently unconscious of any-
thing that was happening about her.
It was two days later that I
met Gertie. At the invitation
of a friend, I spent the
week-end at a country ^
club about fifteen
miles from Tack
sonville. One of the most noted squab
farms in that section of the country is
located a short distance from the club-
house, so of course I made it a point
to visit it.
The chickens, pigeons, et al., were
very interesting, and I could write sev-
eral pages about them if this were a
poultry journal. I had spent about an
hour studying them, when suddenly I
came upon a very pretty girl with dark-
brown hair and blue-gray eyes, clad in
a checkered apron dress, feeding a few
favored chickens. I thought her face
looked familiar, but I was quite sure I
had never met any girl from a Florida
squab farm.
But when the girl looked at me, I
received the shock of my life, for it
was Gertrude Robinson — or, rather,
Gertie. She noticed my puzzled
look as she recognized me,
^ and laughed — yes, the
very same girl who had
been so dreadfully
serious at the
Some of Gertie's most pleasant time is spent looking out over the river from her window.
122
Gertrude and Gertie
studio laughed. And the laugh was
quite as melodious and carefree as a
child's.
"Don't look so mystified and serious/'
she exclaimed, as I searched my mind
for words suitable for the occasion. "I
don't like serious people — when they're
away from serious things."
Then I began to realize that the care-
free little lady in front of me was quite
a different personality from the Ger-
trude Robinson I had seen in the stu-
dio. As. we talked, her conversation
drifted to many things — but never to
work. She explained she was having
a few days' vacation, and then told
me how much she loved the inmates of
the squab farm. I mentioned the stu-
dio and her work, and she at once ap-
peared distressed.
"I don't like to even think about pic-
tures when I am vacationing," she said.
"I am a firm believer in 'Work while
you work, and play while you play,'
and I'm sure it helps me to do better
work and to be happy all the time.
Really, I take my work very seriously
while I am at it, but when it is done,
I try to forget it completely. Come on,
let's go over and see the doves."
And I gladly went — also I gladly re-
frained from further mention of
studio. Her enthusiasm over
the
many little things about the farm which
would escape the average person's eyes
made obvious the fact that her whole
heart was in her play just as much, as
it was in her work.
Later in the day, I watched, with
much enjoyment, Gertie's demonstra-
tion of her ability to "play house" with
the children of owners of the squab
farm. She did this just as gracefully
as she does the numerous things re-
quired by her heroine's roles on the
screen. She entirely forgot that she
was the widely heralded Gertrude Rob-
inson, and was just a real girl — almost
one of the children.
She is Gertie not only when she goes
away from the city for a vacation, but
also in her own home, many evenings
after a day's work. There are many
things to amuse her and claim all the
attention she is wont to bestow on her
acting during the day. Her many, many
letters from admirers in all parts of
the world must be read and digested —
Gertie also studies them carefully —
and her hats, dresses, and all must be
given careful supervis-
mg at regular intervals.
Then she must stand at
her window, which, dur-
ing her stay in
| Jacksonville, over-
She was still Gertrude when she ate supper alone — and contented with being so.
Gertrude and Gertie
123
looked the St. John's River, and watch
the sunset. And of course her family
of canaries and the bowl of pretty gold-
fish also must come in for their share
of attention.
After all this has been done, Gertie
settles down a little and reads. As a
rule, she reads
nothing very seri-
ous, though. All
this is done by the
Gertrude of the
studio. There she
reads deeply that
s he may
be forced
t o think
likew ise.
But Gertie
at home
reads for
relaxation
Winkle," and "Ben Hur." Then came
her motion-picture experience; first
with Biograph, and then with Reliance,
where she scored her first big success
playing leads under the direction of
This doesn't mean that Gertie is con-
ceited— every actress's looks are part
of her stock in trade.
and amusement. She does not want
to think seriously when it is her play-
time.
There is much more that can be writ-
ten about Gertie, and all of it would be
interesting, but space is always at a
premium, so I will turn from Gertie
and say a few words about the
Gertrude who is so serious and
earnest.
She was born and educated in New
York City, went on the stage at the age
of four, and has appeared in "A Bonnie
Brier Bush," "The First Born," "A
Midsummer Night's Dream," "Rip van
James Kirkwood, and opposite the
dashing Irving Cummings.
Later, this charming miss was espe-
cially engaged by the Lasky Company
to take the leading feminine role in sup-
port of Edgar Selwyn. The picture
play was "The Arab,'' and in it Ger-
trude scored a personal triumph. This
was followed by a stay at the studios
of the Famous Players, where she
played the title role in "May Blossom."
co-starring with Marshall Neilan. Then
she heard the beckoning call of her
native city and hastened there, only to
leave it a few short months later to
124
Gertrude and Gertie
It is hard to imagine the Gertrude of the screen feeding chickens and playing house — but
here is the proof.
become one of the bright shining lights
of the Gaumont Company.
Gertrude is indeed a very busy girl,
and her image, as it flits across the
screen, testifies to the fact she is also
a very charming one. It is small won-
der she has so many admirers among
those who have come to know her via
the films and footlights. I cannot help
but think, though, what a pity it is that
every one of her admirers cannot know
the Gertie of real life, for I am certain
they would love her even better than
thev do the Gertrude of the screen.
Yes, Actresses Have Fallen in Love —
and with actors. Many of them have gone to the
extent of marrying the men they kissed in
the presence of camera men and directors. These
interesting love stories of famous people are told in
"Romances of the Studios"
In the next— the July— issue of Ficture-Play Magazine on sale June 9.
GEORGE BEBAN, who made his
film debut with Thomas H.
Ince, and was last seen in a
World-Equitable production, made in
the East, has once more returned to the
West coast, after signing his name to
an Oliver Morosco contract, and is now
hard at work on a feature entitled
"Pasquale," in which he again inter-
prets the role of an Italian. Among
his supporting cast will be such
notables as Myrtle Stedman,
Helen Eddy, Page
Peters, and Jack Nel-
son.
The press agent of
the Mutual Film Cor-
poration proudly
boasts that more lines
of editorial matter
appeared in the news-
papers of the coun-
try over the sign-
ing of a contract
by Charlie Chap-
lin, for a salary of ... .
$670,000 per year George
with the Mutual,
than anything that has ever been dis-
cussed in editorial columns, with the
exception of the war in Europe. 'Tisn't
so surprising, though, when we consider
that, according to that salary figure,
every hour ticked off by the clock dur-
ing the year brings Charlie $77.55.
Charlie is now at work in Los Angeles
on his first productions, and ere leav-
ing for the West boldly
declared he was am-
| bitious to play uHam-
1 let.'' Gosh, but
wouldn't you like to see
him try it !
Although the date
for beginning actual
work in pictures was
May 1st, E. H. Soth-
ern, famous legitimate
star, who is under con-
tract to appear in sev-
eral long productions
for the Yitagraph
Company , spent every
leisure minute he
had during the past
few months in and
about the Yita-
graph ''yard,"
studying the acting
in pantomime and
learning the new art of make-up ; for,
of course, you all know picture players
do not "make up" in the least like those
who appear behind the footlights.
Beban.
126
Screen Gossip
One of the biggest recent acquisitions
to the screen is William Gillette, famous
legitimate star, who has signed an Es-
sanay contract, and is now at the Chi-
show what
rooms.
William Gillette.
cago studios of the "Indianhead" firm.
He has produced "Secret Service/' and
is working on' "Sherlock Holmes," the
plays which he made famous on the
speaking stage.
Producer Maurice Tourneur, of the
World-Equitable forces,
has originated something
entirely new in the way
of settings in his New
Jersey studio. In one
scene of "The Hand of
Peril," nine rooms of a
house are shown on the
screen at the same time.
The house is constructed
with three rooms and a
hallway on each floor, and
the action of the scene will
show the flight of char-
acters from one room to
another. The showing of
all nine rooms simulta-
neously obviates the ne-
cessity of "flash-backs" to
is going
'm in various
True Boardman, who rose to fame
with the Western Essanay outfit, at
Niles, California, and has added still
more laurels to his career in the title
role of Kalem's "Stingaree" series, is
now going to prove that he is a veri-
table dare-devil by appearing in some
of the future episodes of "The Hazards
of Helen," the Kalem railroad series.
All filmland was surprised, a few
weeks ago, when the announcement was
suddenly made that Thomas H. Ince
had ready for release a twelve-reel film
spectacle as stupendous and thrilling as
"The Birth of a Nation," if not more
so. Work on this big subject, which is
entitled "Civilization," has been going
on at the Inceville studios for more
than six months, but so carefully has
the secret been guarded that not even
the Los Angeles film colony was aware
that anything unusual was under way
until the fact was announced that the
twelve-reeler was completed and ready
for release. This story deals with the
Maurice Tourneur's "new idea."
Screen Gossip
127
"peace" problem, and is from the pen
of C. Gardner Sullivan, Ince's fore-
most scenario writer. It is expected the
massive production will be offered to
the public in much the same way that
"Cabiria," "The Birth of a Nation,"
"The Battle Cry of Peace," and "The
Dumb Girl of Portici" have been.
E. H. Calvert, Essanay director and
player, discovered, much to his dismay,
that his car was frequently miss-
ing when he wanted it. Investi-
gation disclosed the fact that Lil-
lian Drew — in private life Airs.
Calvert — has learned to drive
the machine, and was having the
time of her young life skipping
about the boulevards in the high-
powered auto. "Cal" gritted his
teeth and then hit upon a solution
of the difficulty. He bought him-
self another car — a great, bi
powerful, rakish-looking craft-
and announced that "the
missus" could have the
other "old boat," but
that he would drive the
new machine himself.
After one look at what
she termed its "hideous
grimness/' Mrs. Cal said
she was satisfied, as no one but a speed
maniac would attempt to ride in the
latest arrival.
In "The Haunted Manor," the five-
reel Gaumont feature, released on the
Mutual program in April, Iva Shepard,
the "vampire" of the studios, breaks her
own oscillatory record by requiring
forty-five feet of celluloid to record a
kiss which she implants on the lips of
Earl O. Schenck. At the end of the
embrace, Earl is said to have come up
pale, but smiling, with the declaration
that it wasn't half long enough. Gee,
some men are born lucky !
One of the most efficient organiza-
tions among all branches of the film
industry is the Motion Picture Board
of Trade, which has among its mem-
bers representatives of every depart-
ment of the great "fifth estate." The
Board acts as a sort of supreme court
of the industry in cases where disputes
E. H. Calvert and
Lillian Drew.
occur. One of the most recent cases
heard by the Board was the protest of
Air. J. Stuart Blackton, of the Vita-
graph Company, against the action of
the Metro Company in inducing Air.
and Airs. Sidney Drew to leave the
Yitagraph ranks and join the Aletro or-
ganization. After hearing both sides
of the dispute, the Board rendered a
decision to the effect that the Aletro
acted entirely within its rights.
You surely recall "Sophie Clutts" and
"Mustang Pete," of the famous "Snake-
ville" comedies made by Essanay at its
Xiles, California, studios. Both have
128
Screen Gossip
gone over to Universal, where they are
to appear in the same company in which
Victor Potel — " Slippery Slim" — is be-
ing featured. Seems like sort of a fam-
ily reunion.
Jackie Saunders, famous Balboa
star, is at last to play the leading femi-
nine role in a serial production. Though
Jackie Saunders.
Miss Saunders has appeared in more
than fifty multiple-reel subjects during
her career wTith • Balboa, this will be
her very first chance to star in a con-
tinued story. A special company has
been engaged to stage the long picture,
and among the leads wrill appear Ro-
land Bottomley and Marie Empress,
both of whom have had notable ca-
reers on the legitimate stage.
Pretty Winifred Greenwood, of the
American Company, has won promo-
tion, for she is now at the head of a
newly formed Mutual Masterpicture
organization, and opposite her will ap-
pear Franklin Ritchie, famous as a for-
mer Biograph star, and before that a
member of several Klaw & Erlanger
companies.
Out at the American studios, in Santa
Barbara, a new serial picture is in the
making. And who do you think is play-
ing the male lead? Tom Chatterton —
he of the curly locks and handsome
looks — he who used to break so many
feminine hearts during the long period
he was featured with the New York
Motion Picture Corporation, when he
appeared in Kay-Bee and Broncho pro-
ductions. Juanita Hansen is playing
opposite Tom.
&
Film fans had better prepare for
more hearty laughter than ever before,
as the announcement has just been made
in Los Angeles that Mack Sennett now
has sixteen, and not twelve, Keystone
companies at work under his super-
vision. The increase in companies
doesn't mean that there are to be more
than two Keystones a week released by
Triangle, but that with more companies
at work, more time can be taken by
each director, and even better and fun-
nier comedies can be produced.
Donald Crisp scored a real triumph
with his production of "Ramona,"
which was made for W. H. Clune, pro-
prietor of Clune's Theater, in Los An-
geles, where such spectacles as "The
Birth of a Nation," "The Spoilers,"
and "Hypocrites" had their lengthy
runs. "Ramona," when (given its pre-
miere at the Clune Theater, startled
even that blase neighborhood by its
splendor and beautiful photography.
Now Messrs. Clune, Crisp, and Brown
— Mr. Brown is the manager of Clune's
— are in the East, handling the details
of the film spectacle's metropolitan
run.
Bessie Barriscale, Ince star, in the
production now under way at the Los
Angeles studios, is wearing a black wig
for the first time since she appeared in
"The Rose of the Rancho." Bessie
photographs beautifully in her own
Screen
blond locks, but in the picture she had
to appear as an Italian maid, and so
nothing would do but a big black wig.
Little Mary Miles Minter, whose real
name, by the way, is Juliet Shelby, and
who is a direct descendant of Governor
Isaac Shelby, first governor of Ken-
tucky, has been visiting. After a few
weeks' absence from the studios, during
which time she went with her mother to
appear in a number of Chicago and
Middle West picture houses, she is back
at work in the Metro studios.
Henry Walthall isn't a bit supersti-
tious— oh, no, of course not ! — but his
friends marvel at the fact that he never
fails to sign his name, "Henry B. Wal-
thall," the "B" always and invariably
being a part of the signature. The rea-
son? Well, you see, Henry discovered
by chance one day that there are ex-
actly thirteen letters in "Henry Wal-
thall,' so he decided to add the "B,"
raise the number of letters to fourteen,
and now he is sure the "jinx" is ban-
ished forever.
Still another famous name has been
added to the role of legitimate players
who have deserted the spoken stage for
the silent drama. This time it is none
other than Otis Skinner who has heard
the call of the "movies,'* and at the
conclusion of his present tour, the fa-
mous star will journey to San Fran-
cisco and the near-by studios of the
California Motion Picture Corporation,
where he is to do "Kismet," the fa-
mous story of the Orient which he en-
acted so wonderfully a season or two
ago. As the ragged beggar who be-
comes ruler of the city for a day, Skin-
ner has a wonderful opportunity to
create a new character for the screen,
9
Gossip 129
and those who know him and his pan-
tomimic talent are predicting he will
become instantly one of screenland's
foremost figures.
@s
Very few people have made good
in two distinctly different professions
to such an extent that they have won
national reputations in both; but this
is what Louis Durham, the "villain" of
Louis "Bull" Durham before he joined Centaur.
the Horsley Company has done. In
the days gone by, he was one of the
most noted pitchers in the big leagues,
playing with the Washington of the
American League and the Xew York
Giants and Brooklyn of the National
League. When an accident to his arm
130
Screen Gossip
ended his baseball days, he secured
work writh the New York Motion Pic-
ture Company's forces, and soon be-
came one of their leading "heavies."
He left this company to join Horsley.
Have you noticed that Anna Little
is riding a different-looking pony in
her latest pictures? "Ranger," her fa-
vorite saddle horse, and who has ap-
peared i n
w e 1 1 -
nigh every
film in
which Anna
has had any
riding to do,
broke both
his legs dur-
ing a moun-
tain jour-
ney, a few
weeks ago,
Anna Little. and had to
be shot.
Anna was all broken up for a few days,
and couldn't register anything but
"grief," her director said, but now she
has a new pony and the two are already
becoming great pals.
Ethel Clayton, the charming leading
lady who was with the Lubin Com-
pany for such a long time, is now a
member of the Equitable Company.
Her first appearance will be in a pic-
ture entitled "The Woman of It," with
Carlyle Blackwell and Paul McAllister
playing opposite her.
Several officials of the Fox studios
were discussing the past vocations of
the various Fox stars the other day,
and during the conversation it devel-
oped that only a few short years ago,
William Farnum was the boy cornetist
of Buckport, Maine ; Virginia Pearson,
the chief of the Booklovers Library at
Louisville, Kentucky; Claire Whitney,
a hat-shop model in Xew York City ;
Valeska Suratt, a milliner in Terre
Haute, Indiana ; Robert Mantell, a
Shakespearean actor ; William E. Shay,
a bank clerk in Minneapolis, Minne-
sota ; Annette Kellermann, a swimming
instructor at a salary of fifteen dollars
per week ; Vivian Martim a stage inge-
nue, and William H. Tooker, a cowboy
in Arizona.
At the time when Gertrude McCoy
was signed to appear in Gaumont Mu-
tual Masterpictures, it was announced
that she would make her debut in a
picture to be entitled "The Quality of
Faith." Xo sooner had this announce-
ment been made, however, than Gen-
eral Manager Bradford, of the Gau-
mont Company, received an original
manuscript from Paul M. Bryan, called
"The Isle of Love," which he felt sure
would prove a much more suitable' ve-
hicle for Miss McCoy's first appear-
ance as a
Gau m out
star. After
a few dol-
lars' worth
of tele-
grams, Ger-
trude found
herself the
leading
woman of a
totally differ-
ent piece
than the one
for which she
had orig-
inal!)' been chosen, but those of you
who have been fortunate enough to see
"The Isle of Love" well know that she
made the most of her opportunity once
a play was decided upon.
Gertrude McCoy.
Screen
Some time ago my predecessor
stated in this department that the Qual-
ity Pictures Corporation was in finan-
cial difficulties. This information came
from what we considered a reliable
source, but the statement has since
proven false, and in justification of
the Quality-Metro interests, we con-
sider it only fair to inform our readers
that they are one of the few concerns
in the game . at the present time not
greatly concerned over the question of
financial resources.
Mary Fuller, the idol of the fans and
Universal's greatest star, has just af-
fixed her signature to a new contract
with her present employers, which calls
for another year's work.
The Vim Comedy Film Company is
gathering together new talent thick and
fast. Harry Myers and Rosemary
Theby are to play opposite one another
Gossip 131
in a series of one-reel refined comedies.
Harry, quite naturally, will direct. An-
other of Vim's late acquisitions is Al
Ray, who enjoys the peculiar distinction
of being the youngest director in the
world. Ray will also appear in his own
productions, as well as write an occa-
sional scenario.
Bessie Love, who became famous
overnight because of her superb work
in "The Flying Torpedo," Triangle's
preparedness film, will hereafter be the
permanent leading lady in the Douglas
Fairbank pictures. Bessie's rise in pop-
ularity has been little short of mar-
velous.
While it was our original intention
to make you guess who was who in the
layout to be found on pages 70 and 71,
we decided that would be extremely
cruel, so we herewith list them accord-
ing to numbers. Some collection of
high-priced stars, believe us!
1. Francellia Billington.
2. Viola Dana.
3. Robert Warwick.
4. Grace Darmond.
5. Harold Lockwood.
6. Stella Razeto.
7. Tully Marshall.
8. Richard Travers.
9. Theda Bara.
10. Enid Markey.
11. Pat O'Malley.
12. De Wolf Hopper.
13. Jack Richardson.
14. Helen Gibson.
15. Gretchen Hartman.'
16. Annette Kellermann.
17. Pauline Bush.
18. May Allison.
19. Douglas Fairbanks.
20. Ford Sterling.
21. Thos. H. Ince.
22. Wallace Reid.
23. Frank Borzage.
24. Marshall Neilan.
25. Dorothy Gish.
26. Margaret Gibson. *
27. Henry King.
28. Forrest Stanley.
29. Geraldine Farrar.
30. Louise Glaum.
31. George Walsh.
32. Lottie Pickford.
33. Mack Sennett.
34. Anna Q. Nilsson.
35. Harry Morey.
36. Bobby Feuhrer.
37. Marguerite Clark.
38. Mae Marsh.
39. Alan Hale.
40. Bessie Barriscale.
41. Elizabeth Burbridge.
42. Norma Talmadge.
43. Bessie Love.
44. Florence Lawrence.
45. Marguerite Snow.
46. Tom Moore.
47. Helen Holmes.
48. Grace Cunard.
49. Jack Mulhall.
50. Mabel Normand.
51. Fred Mace.
52. Robert Edeson.
53. Ed Coxen.
54. Blanche Sweet.
55. Fay Tincher.
56. Thelma Salter.
57. Rhea Mitchell.
58. Bobby Harron.
59. Winifred Greenwood.
60. Charles Richmam
61. Edith Storey.
62. Francis X. Bushman.
63. Billie Burke.
64. Isabel Rae.
65. William Duncan.
66. Augustus Phillips.
67. Mary Pickford.
68. Thomas Santschi.
69. Tom Chatterton.
70. William Farnum.
71. Marguerite Courtot.
72. Owen Moore.
73. Mary Miles Minter.
74. Roscoe Arbuckle.
75. Mary Fuller.
76. Ruth Roland.
77. Charles Ray.
78. Genevieve Hamper.
79. Wm. Christie Cabanne.
80. Naomi Childers.
81. Stuart Holmes.
82. Lillian Gish.
Hints for
Scenario Writer's
/, -t, «t v, v, %, f/. n s> as a a es e is? » is ss ss
^CLARENCE J. CAINEMr
"" Z! % O 7c B >• • t 9. ~, • J 3 8 a E » fi !S K IP (S <S (!? iS <S S if S? W S BS SS
DO YOU KNOW?
WE wonder how many of our
readers know just what it is
that enables the producers of
motion pictures to take a picture and
place it upon a film which later is run
through a machine and thrown upon
the screen in the form of a finished
dramatic picture.
It would be well to know the funda-
mental principles of photography in
order to better appreciate just what a
wonderful art the making of movies
really is. It is not absolutely necessary
that it be known, for we can name many
big writers who have reached the top
without having acquired the knowledge,
but the man who knows everything
there is to be known about the work
in which he is engaged is the one who
is wanted by the man on top. It means
a lot of extra work, but it is almost
certain in time to be of value.
While we are on the subject of
''broadening out," we would like to have
our readers study a few remarks which
recently appeared in a Western news-
paper. They deal with much the same
subject that we dwell on continually,
but express some new ideas on the sub-
ject in a most pointed way. We offer
them for your benefit:
"Are you making any special effort
to improve each day?
"Are you advancing along your line
of work — growing into a bigger one?
"Do you work while you work and
play while you play, or do you carry
your social gayeties and happenings into
your work of the next day, and so slight
the duties of the office or home ?
"Are you anxiously awaiting the
hour when you may quit and go home
to prepare an evening's amusement?
"Are you the kind who says, 'I give
my time when I am there, and that is
all I'm paid for ; if they think I am
going to give all my thought to their
business they are much mistaken' ?
"If you belong to the above classes,
you are doomed to be a fourth-rater all
your life.
"The prospect does not please you?
Then jump into your work with your
whole heart. Do not divide your
thoughts. Give your work undivided
attention. It will go faster and be done
better, and thereby you will gain the
respect of your superiors, and when the
time comes for advancement you will be
in line and much more likely to realize
your ambitions.
"Keep your mind on your work."
IDEAS FROM NEWSPAPERS. ■
Perhaps one of the richest sources of
ideas for fiction purposes, aside from
real life, is the newspaper. Daily the
reporters on the metropolitan papers
make the rounds of their city and gather
all the bits of material that will prove
of interest to the reading public of that
particular city. That which has an in-
terest of wider appeal is sent to other
papers in various parts of the country,
and affairs which concern the world are
flashed all over the globe. When we
read our paper in the morning or even-
Hints for Scenario Writers
133
ing, therefore, we have before us a rec-
ord of practically all the interesting hap-
penings in our city, nation, and the en-
tire world. It is little wonder, then,
that the newspaper — which reflects such
a wide scope of life — should offer many
plots.
The mere fact that experienced edi-
tors, who know pretty well what the
public wants, have allowed an item to be
printed in their paper assures us that it
is of appeal to many readers. That
naturally means that it contains an idea
which, if properly put into photo-play
form, will probably have an appeal to
many of these same readers when it is
flashed before them on the screen. It
is also true, however, that many of
these items of news which might make
interesting photo plays contain ideas
which have been done so often before
that an editor would never accept a
script based upon them. Therefore, the
writer's problem is to search through
these items and find one which is either
new in itself, or which suggests an en-
tirely new angle to an old plot to him.
When it comes to developing a sce-
nario from the item — after an excep-
tional idea has been found — the writer
must read over carefully the news item
which is the reporter's story of what
really happened and then put it aside
and forget all about it. He must then
get his imagination in working order,
and figure out the story as it happened
in real life. He must think of what
the conditions were in the lives of the
parties involved before the incident oc-
curred. He must think of what led up
to it, and what the probable outcome
will be. He must study the people,
and shape them into characters of his
own brain as he does this. He must'
think of the many little things sur-
rounding the incident which the re-
porter failed to see in his hurry to get
his story to the office in time to make
the "final form." He must add action
to the story which he has imagined.
He must seek the outcome of the whole
affair, so that he may have a climax
upon which to hinge his plot.
When he has worked this far into the
idea he will find that he has varied
from the original news story so greatly
that all resemblance may be lost, and
no person, after reading both, would be
able to tell that one inspired the other.
If he does not get away from the news
story, the chances are that he will have
a very weak and a very trite story. The
work of an author is to create, not to
copy; and if he tries to ''get by" by
merely "fixing up" a newspaper idea in
correct scenario form, he will never be
successful. There can be no doubt
about the fact that the newspaper ofTers
a great field for gathering plot material,
but the one who wishes to use ideas
taken from this source must be sure that
he knows how to create a work which is
entirely different from the original
hunch.
CAUSE AND EFFECT IN COMEDY.
Cause and effect have been treated
in this department before, but just in
a general way. Therefore it would be
well to supplement what has already
been said on the subject by a more spe-
cific treatise of the same thing in re-
gard to comedy.
By cause and effect in a comedy we
mean this : If one character sees an-
other fall or meet with some other mis-
fortune, he begins to laugh. Then the
unfortunate looks about for a pie or
a brick and hurls it at the other's head,
generally with a very direct aim. There
you have it. The effect is the throw-
ing of the pie or brick — the cause is
one character laughing at another be-
cause of his misfortune. Had the char-
acter simply walked into a scene and
thrown a pie at the other, it might have
been funny and it might not have been,
depending on how well it was done.
We would have an effect there, but no
cause, and the mind automatically looks
134
Hints for Scenario Writers
for both in order to fully enjoy a com-
pleted action.
By watching the various comedies
which draw real laughs from the house,
one will see that cause and effect fol-
low in rapid succession. In a dramatic
picture, the effect gained in reel five
may be traced back to a cause in reel
one or two. It is this difference, among
other things, that causes comedies to
move so much faster than dramas and
in their speed lies their ability to get
laughs.
THE OLD QUESTION.
One of our Florida readers has re-
vived the old question of whether or
not the scenario writer is not taking a
risk of having his material stolen if he
submits it to the producers. The fol-
lowing section of his letter gives his
viewpoint on the matter :
In a recent article in one of the large
weekly magazines it was stated that the plots
in photo plays submitted for sale are fre-
quently appropriated without compensation or
credit, the authors having no redress, as their
scenarios are returned, indorsed, not ac-
cepted. The article then went on to state
that the plots are used by writers in the regu-
lar employ of the studios to which the sce-
narios were submitted.
It is so easy that it seems such practices
may exist.
I am a newspaper man who has equipped
himself to write photo plays — have several
completed.
Kindly advise how I can get a square
deal in submitting MS.
Since he has called for advice, we
believe we will have to go over the mat-
ter in much the same way we have al-
ready discussed it. We are firmly con-
vinced that by playing the game on the
square all the way, an author will not
lose, and that few and far between are
the reliable companies who employ men
to read over their manuscripts who will
even think of appropriating the idea.
The companies are too big to bother
with stealing a play which they can pur-
chase for a comparatively small sum of
money. Then, too, they are realizing
more and more every day that the de-
mand for scenarios will in time be great
and that the companies that treat the
young writers fairly at the present time
alone will be able to secure suitable ma-
terial from them when they develop into
leaders of their art — and many of them
will develop, they reason, if they apply
themselves industriously to the task.
USING THE DICTIONARY.
The dictionary may be said to be the
most valuable tool of a short-story or
other literary writer, and it certainly
is a good thing for the scenarioist to
study. There is more than one time
that a photo-playwright finds himself
at a loss as to how to "get over" a cer-
tain idea he has in mind, and he won-
ders why. The reason is that he has
not the words at his command to ex-
press himself. Whenever this happens,
the writer may feel sure that he can
stand a little more dictionary study.
The book that is read more than any
other has many big words in it which
are very useless for practical purposes,
but it also has many small and medium-
sized ones which are seldom used but
which are very valuable to have in one's
vocabulary. Where one's writing is lim-
ited to brief instructions, such as are
embodied in a scenario, every word that
is used must serve a purpose. The best
writers have mastered the language
through the" dictionary, and are able to
put down the ideas they have in mind
in so very few words that a person
simply looking at the script wonders
how a director could ever be able to
get the exact idea the writer had in
mind. Upon careful reading, however,
it is found that the few words the wri-
ter has set down, drive over the idea
without any "beating about the bush."
Of course, the beginner cannot expect
to start his carer with any such mas-
tery of scenario style, and we believe
Hints for Scenario Writers
135
in allowing him to take quite a bit of
space for his initial efforts. He should
always work for condensation, how-
ever, and in time he will learn the art.
It is while he is striving to do this
that he should study the dictionary, and
if he does his task well, we are sure
he will surprise himself by rinding
within a short time he will be able to
use three words where he formerly
used five.
SHORT SHOTS.
The mere fact that your villain is
killed at the end does not give him
license to do anything he desires dur-
ing the development of the plot. The
censors must always be considered.
A close-up should be used to empha-
size a dramatic effect, and should not
be used as a "filler" when you think
you have not enough scenes.
When a person sitting behind you in
a theater starts to tell the friend who is
with him how much he knows about
scenarios and how poorly the one for
the film on the screen was written, you
may be sure he has still to earn his
spurs.
We wonder how many of our read-
ers imagine how their title would look
on the advertising matter outside the
theater before applying it. That should
be one of the tests of its worth.
When you see a good picture, go
home and write one so different from
it that it will be better than the original.
A writer must realize the value of his
theme and treat it accordingly.
Writing plays for one's favorite
player may be an excellent pastime, but
we would advise a study of market con-
ditions before this was attempted.
LIVE-WIRE MARKET HINTS.
Some time ago we told of the
needs of Harry O. Hoyt, editor of
Fox Film Corporation. Since then
Mr. Hoyt hast shifted to Metro and
is now located at the Rolfe Studio,
Xo. 3 West Sixty-first Street, New
York City, X. Y. He informs us that
he now needs five-reel synopses to fit
all the Metro stars, and advises a study
of Metro's pictures and of its players
before submitting.
Al E. Christie, the noted producer of
Nestor comedies, is in the market for
corking good one and two-reelers suited
to his company's style. He will pay
fifty dollars per reel for top-notch ma-
terial. His address is Sunset Boule-
vard and Gower Street, Hollywood,
California.
The Universal Film Manufacturing
Company, X'o. 1600 Broadway, New
York City, XT. Y., is in need of one and
two-reel comedies and dramas for its
Eastern companies, especially material
wmich can be used to feature such stars
as Mary Fuller, Violet Mersereau, Ben
W ilson, Matt Moore, Jane Gail, Harry
Benham, Billy Garwood, Dorothy Phil-
lips, King Baggot, Ethel Grandin, Ho-
bart Henley, and Edith Roberts. The
script desired should call for short casts
and few sets and with a plot or story
so arranged as to be well produced in-
expensively, in modern American en-
vironments. The comedies should be
spontaneously humoristic and should
not call for slapstick.
ANSWERS TO READERS.
J. G. — It is unnecessary to have a
scenario copyrighted before offering it
for sale. A charge of one dollar is
made by the government for copyright-
ing dramatic works, books, and the like.
The number of scenes per reel depends
entirely upon the length of the scenes.
This is governed by the amount of ac-
tion within the scenes. See our sample
scenario in the April issue, out March
10th, for more detailed study of this
point. Copies may be secured from
the publishers for fifteen cents.
136
Hints for Scenario Writers
Miss A. Nakielski. — See answer to
A. M. Hammond. All scripts should
be typewritten.
F. H. — "The Diamond from the
Sky" was syndicated by the Chicago
Tribune to several others newspapers
throughout the country. The Tribune's
address is Chicago, Illinois.
J. E. H. — Whether or not you allow
the audience to know who commits the
crime in a detective story, depends en-
tirely on the style you wish to work it
out in. If the audience is "kept in the
dark" as to the criminal's identity, then
they must see the story "through the
eyes of the detective," and must know
no more about the crime at any time
than he does. The climax, then, is led
up to by the detective building up his
evidence. On the other hand, if the
audience knows who is the guilty one,
the story naturally runs more toward
the criminal's attempts to escape detec-
tion than, to the detective's work. The
former is the more artistic — and the
more difficult to convincingly "put
over." American and possibly Uni-
versal are interested in Westerns. Selig
has Tom Mix, the "cowboy of the
screen," but he seems to be idling his
time rather than producing, and they
are buying no material for him. The
statement in the January 15th issue,
advising writer to send scripts to an
individual, was one exception to the
rule, and, as that individual has now
left the company we mentioned, he no
longer desires scripts sent to that ad-
dress. Wre agree with you that five-
reel working scripts are pretty bulky in
the mails, but not so much so if you
use sizes Nos. 11 and 12 envelopes,
instead of the Nos. 10 and 11 used in
sending shorter scripts.
L. H. M. — In making up your scene
plot, list all of the close-up and close-
range views taking place within a cer-
tain set as a part of that set, as the
scene plot is used merely to tell the
director how many sets must be spe-
cially built for the production.
Mrs. L. Thompson. — See answer to
A. M. Hammond.
M. Klinglesmith. — See answer to
J. G. in regard to securing a sample
scenario. All scripts should be type-
written when submitted in the regular
way to a company, as the readers have
no time to ponder over handwriting. In
special cases, such as our scenario con-
test, scripts written in longhand are
permissible.
Miss E. Turruso. — The arrange-
ment of a scenario should be as follows :
Title, synopsis, list of characters, scene
plot, and then the scene action, divided
into reels, if it is a multiple.
H. E. Wickes. — If you will study
the sample scenario in our April issue,
you will see that we drive home the
fact that Leader and Subtitle are
merely different names for the same
thing. The word "subtitle" is used in
place of "cut-in leader" where spoken
words are broken into scenes. The
word "insert" is used for all material
such as cards, newspapers, et cetera,
excepting where a finger or any other
part of a player's body appears on the
screen. Then it becomes a separate
scene, and is specially taken in the
studio by the director.
R. B. Boyd. — The address of the
Essanay Film Manufacturing Co. is
No. 1333 Argyle Street, Chicago, Illi-
nois, and of Thomas A. Edison, Incor-
porated, Bedford Park, Bronx, Xew
York, N. Y.
Mrs. E. McCuiXough. — It is not
necessary to "take a course in scenario
writing" in order to succeed. That
is, the kind of a course to which you
refer. A firm determination to suc-
ceed, plus an earnest study of the screen
and of text printed to help you in your
climb to the top, and a liberal supply
of ideas will bring you to the desired
Hints for Scenario Writers
137
goal. A sample scenario, giving the
correct form, is to be found in the
April issue of this magazine, which may
be secured from the publishers for fif-
teen cents. Scripts should be type-
written.
M. F. B.— -It is very easy to ask us
to tell you how to write scenarios, but
for us to even attempt to tell you of
the requirements of the work at a single
sitting would take up far more space
than is devoted to this entire depart-
ment every month. The best we can
do is to advise you to study the sample
scenario in the April issue, study each
installment of this department, and
apply all that is learned in an enlarged
study of both the pictures you see on
the screen and the scripts you write
yourself.
A. M. Hammond. — We are not in
the market for scripts, as we are not a
producing company, but if you will
send a self-addressed, stamped en-
velope, we shall be glad to send you
our list of motion-picture firms that
purchase scenarios.
P. K. Corrigan. — Judging from
what you wrote, we are led to believe
that a character who committed a mur-
der for a friend's sake is allowed to go
free. This would be unplausible and
would not please the censors. Is the
killing necessary? Why not have the
character do something else to punish
the villain, such as supply the informa-
tion which jails him, et cetera? Send
self-addressed, stamped envelope for
our market booklet, which will tell you
where to place your scripts. Then
study our "Live-wire Market Hints" in
each issue, as the market is continually
changing. ''Down stage" is an expres-
sion used on the speaking stage more
than in the studio. It means the front
of the stage. When the camera ad-
vances toward the actors, the effect is
secured by placing the camera on a
little, four-wheeled cart, which is
moved about as desired. It is a special
effect, not used by all companies, and
is not done in the same way as the
panoram. Anita Loos, ''the child won-
der" of the Pacific coast colony of
movie people was only seventeen years
old when she scored her first sales.
Therefore there's a chance for you !
H. O. J. — By studying the difference
between one, two, three, five, et cetera,
reelers on the screen, you will soon gain
the ability, which seems to be individual
to every successful writer, of telling
just about how much action makes' a
reel Of course, the methods of pro-
duction of the various companies makes
all the difference in the world, too, but
since you can't write for all of them at
once, you can easily concentrate your
study. A split reel is one-half of a
reel of film, or five hundred feet. See
answer to H. E. Wickes regarding the
"reading matter" in the scenes and be-
tween them.
Miss M. M. Williams, D. Lang-
ston, M. Williams, I. B. Sloan, R.
N. van Nostrand. — If you will send a
self-addressed, stamped envelope, we
shall be glad to send you our scenario-
market booklet. Do not send loose
stamps, envelopes without stamps or
without addresses, for the number of
requests we receive make it impos-
sible for us to send the booklets unless
the simple directions we give are fol-
lowed out.
C. J. Caperine. — The two companies
you mention merely are located in the
same office building. There is no con-
nection whatever between them or their
scenario departments. We know of no
such book on acting as you mention,
but thank you for your suggestion, and
will consider it.
THE MODEL SCENARIO.
Those of our readers who missed the
model multiple-reel scenario printed in
the April issue, should get a copy from
the publishers.
Bryant Washburn, while best known as a villain in the days gone by, has of late won fame as
a hero. But he is, indeed, a hero of the delusive type, for we never know whether the good
things he does are really good things for the other characters in the play or whether they are
done merely as part of an underhand plot — for frequently the Bryant Washburn who appears
to be a hero at the beginning of a picture, turns out to be a deep-dyed villain. He is also a
character man of rare ability having taken parts so different that it would hardly be thought
that the same man could play them. Mr. Washburn can be classed as one of the best all-
around players on the screen to-day.
Who hasn't seen Claire McDowell, of Biograph, in a variety of roles as widely different as the
customs of New York and Singapore? She has appeared in ancient and modern screen plays
and portrayed everything from heavy emotional to light comedy parts. Miss McDowell has
been the stern rich lady, the poor working girl, the maid, the neglected wife, the business
woman, the country maiden, the mistress of the sixteenth century and other characters far too
numerous to mention. Her work is always appreciated by the masses, because it is done with
them in mind. Because of her appeal to the public in general she is justly called the "girl
of the people.1'
William Russell is perhaps the most athletic-appearing man on the screen to-day.
His roles are many and varied, but he portrays them all, whether they are of the
hero or villain variety, in the same whole-hearted manner. There is only one way
to describe him accurately at all times and that is as just plain "Big Bill." His
greatest work has been done since he joined the American Company about a year
ago though he was with several other companies prior to that time.
,
■
fife
f, :
i
She has been called the intrepid Kathlyn, and rightly so, for she is one of the
very few actresses appearing before the public to-day who does not hesitate to
risk her life when some dangerous action is called for by a scenario; she never
has a "double" play her part. Her work with the animals from the Selig
Jungle-Zoo has made her famous, but Miss Williams has also done straight
dramatic work in such pictures as "The Rosary," "The Spoilers," and "The
Ne'er-Do-Well" which has won her the distinction of being one of the fore-
most character actresses of the silent drama as well as the best player with animals.
This department will answer questions submitted by our readers either of general
interest, or relating to pictures. No answers will be given to questions regarding matri-
mony, religion, or photo-play writing. Letters should be addressed : Picture Oracle,
care of this magazine, 79 Seventh Avenue, New York City. Write only on one side
of the paper. No questions will be answered unless accompanied by full name and address,
which, however, will not be used. At the top of the paper give the name, or initials, by
which you want the question answered in the magazine. No questions will be answered
except through these pages. All questions will be answered in the order received, so that
failure to see the answer in the next number means that its turn will come later, as we
receive many letters a week, all wanting an immediate answer. When inquiring about
plays, give the name of the play and the name of the company, if possible. Questions con-
cerning photo-play writing should be addressed to editor of the scenario writers' depart-
ment, above address.
Ray, was released December 23d last. Sure,
you are always welcome. That goes for
everybody, too.
Pete. — Grace Cunard played under Fran-
cis Ford's direction with the old Kay-Bee
Company, and left that concern when Ford
joined Universal, going with him. They are
not playing together now as much as in the
past, as both direct.
Walthall Admirer. — Yes, Henry Walthall
was very clever in "The Misleading Lady"
(Essanay). but it's an awful shame to waste
the world's greatest screen actor in such
trivial stuff. Oh, for the good old days
when he appeared in such masterpieces as
"The Avenging Conscience" (Griffith) and
"The Birth of a Nation" (Griffith). In my
opinion, and in that of every one I know.
"Hank" is miles ahead of the rest of the
bunch. I'd give next week's salary to see
him back under D. W. G.'s wing. But. why
dream ?
E. Q. Y. — Enid Markey is one of our great-
est little stars, in fact, she is fast treading
on the heels of Bessie Barriscale. Enid's
best pictures were "Aloha Oe" and "The
Despoilers" (Ince-Triangle) . I am anx-
iously awaiting to see her next subject. Yes.
"The Ne'er Do Well" (Selig) is a fine pic-
LITTLE MARY FAN.— My dear girl, you
are all wrong! "Little Mary" Miles
Minter is nine years younger than "Little
Mary" Piekford. Of course. Miss Minter
isn't married; she's only fourteen 1 I broke
the rules to tell you this, but every one should
know it, anyway. Yes, Roscoe Arbuckle is
the best heavyweight comedian in Shadow-
land. He hasn't even a rival. Roscoe writes,
directs, acts, cuts the film, supervises the
building of sets, and does a few other things,
but otherwise he doesn't work hard. No. not
at ail!
W. G. B. — I am very sorry, but I cannot
print Alice Joyce's address, as she is now in
private life. A letter to her, inclosed in one
to Tom Moore, care of Pathe Freres, New
York City, would, no doubt, reach her safely.
Mary Piekford is twenty-three, her sister
Lottie is twenty-five, and brother Jack is
twenty. Owen Moore is thirty-one, Tom is
thirty, and Matt is the baby — he is only
twenty-eight. Your other questions are
against the rules.
Mutual Nut. — "The Last Performance"
(Thanhouser) was released December 28th
last. It was a three-part drama. "The
Painted Soul" (Ince-Mutual), a five-part fea-
ture starring Bessie Barriscale and Charles
The Picture Oracle
143
ture, but it cannot be compared to "The
Spoilers." Wheeler Oakman did the best
work in the film, and he cannot be praised
too highly. He is a master in the art of
the photo play. More success to him.
Lizette. — All right, my child, I will give
you Thos. H. Ince's life in a few words. Lis-
ten: He was born in Newport, Rhode Island,
thirty-four years ago, the son of John E.
Ince, the comedian. At the age of thirteen
he was office boy for Daniel Frohman. He
then went on the stage playing a song and
dance part in "Poets and Puppets," with
James A. Heme, and also played in "Shore
Acres" with him. He played in several more
shows, each time getting more important
parts ; finally he became a headliner in
vaudeville, where he stayed for three years.
Then followed his motion-picture training.
In 1909 he was appointed director general of
the New York Motion Picture Corporation
in California. Since being with them he has
turned out some of the most famous pic-
tures in history, among them "The Battle of
Gettysburg," "The Wrath of the Gods," and
"The Alien." He is now producing for
Ince-Triangle, and is the man who put the
"Ince" in Inceville. Yes, he has two broth-
ers, Ralph with Vitagraph, and John with
Equitable.
Cleo. — At last you are here ! I was afraid
you were going to desert me this month, but
I see you didn't. Good girl. You haven't
any questions to ask, but your letter was
mighty interesting just the same.
L. M. N. — As I have told dozens of others
I will tell you: "Home, sweet, home" is the
safest place in the world, especially for a
little girlie of fifteen. Why, you ought to be
in school yet, instead of thinking of becoming
a "star movie player," as you say. Forget:
all about that funny little idea of yours, and
help mamma dry the dishes. What would
she do if you should desert her to be Kerri-
gan's leading lady? To begin with, he has
a very clever little lead now. Now, don't
cry, just dry your dishes — I mean — tears,
and study to-morrow's lesson.
Maybelle. — Sure, Mabel Normand is the
greatest comedienne on earth. Who said
otherwise?
A. C. E. G. — My, you certainly have
enough initials ! Kempton Greene was born
in Shreveport, Louisiana, twenty-six years
ago. Hobart Henley first saw the light of
day in Louisville, Kentucky, in 1887. Your
other questions are very much against the
rules.
A. Miller. — Don't get worried, William
Shay is still working for Fox. His last pic-
ture was "The Ruling Passion" (Foxi op-
posite Claire Whitney. At present he is in
Jamaica, B. W. I., playing with Annette Kel-
lermann in a feature film that will cost one
million dollars in real money. An article
concerning it appeared in the April number
of this magazine.
Duchess of Parma. — Behold, royalty is
with us ! If you can tell me which company
produced "Princess Elena's Prisoner," three
years ago, I'll get some "dope" about it for
you. I don't know whether Eulalie Jensen,
the Vitagraph star played in it or not. She
joined the Edison Company after several
successful seasons on the stage, and then
left them for Vitagraph. Rube Miller,
formerly of Keystone, is now acting and di-
recting for the Vogue-Mutual Company.
Yes, he did very clever work while with
Mack Sennett's aggregation. Clara Kimball
Young was born in Chicago twenty-five years
ago. She went on the stage at the age of
three, playing with her parents. After her
education had been completed, she again went
into theatrical life, and five years ago joined
the Vitagraph. From there she went with
the World Film Corporation, and is now be-
ing starred by the Clara Kimball Young Film
Company, in which concern she is financially
interested.
Nelly. — No, my child, for the hundred-
and-first time, Charlie Chaplin is not dead,
and has no idea of being in that state for a
good many years to come. George Larkin
played Alan Law in "The Trey o' Hearts"
(Universal). He is now with the Premier
Company.
Mrs. C. Nicolls. — Virginia Fordyce was
the little girl in "The Buzzard's Shadow"
(American). I am sure this company would
send a picture of her on receipt of twenty-
five cents. Yes, I believe Miss Pickford
would mail you a picture of herself. Ad-
dress her care of the Famous Players, New
York City.
A. C. — Yes, I did write that William S.
Hart is the greatest portrayer of Western
roles, and you are the first one to stick up
for "Broncho Billy." He is good, too. but
cannot be compared with Hart. "Broncho."
by the way, has left the Essanay Company,
selling his interests to Mr. Spoor, his former
partner. He has not, as yet, announced his
plans for the future. His hair and eyes
are brown.
Dottie Dimples. — You want to know how
old you have to be to be an actress. Why,
144
The Picture Oracle
Dottie, even babies with their eyes scarcely
opened have played in pictures. Selig has
one star, Jean Fraser, who is just three. On
the other hand, "Mother" Benson is a dis-
tinguished Universalite, and she admits that
she is eighty-three. Address Famous Players
and Kalem, at New York City; Vitagraph,
Brooklyn, New York; and Horsley, No. 71
West Twenty-third Street, New York City.
Happy. — Anita Stewart was born in
Brooklyn twenty short years ago. No, she
is not as pretty in real life as in reel — she is
prettier. Florence Turner is not sick, but is
working hard with the London Film Com-
pany. Her last picture shown in this country
was "My Old Dutch,'' released by Universal.
"Pickles and Pearls" hasn't been filmed yet,
but the new Chaplin-Mutual Company may
produce it. You say : "What would Jack be
if he were not Standing?" I'll bite — what's
the answer?
Lillian- Nelson. — So you don't know
whether to address me as "Dear Sir" or
"Dear Madam." Don't let that worry you —
I'm used to being miss-addressed. Charlie
the Great is producing pictures for Mutual
now, as you have doubtless heard by this
time. His salary is fair — ten thousand a
week, and a bonus of one hundred and fifty
thousand dollars. Oh, to have a funny little
mustache and big feet ! Clara Kimball
Young will be starred by the World Film
Company until July. After that by the
Clara Kimball Young Film Company. The
office address of the latter is Nos. 126-130
West Forty-sixth Street, New York City.
Robert. — How do you do? Thanks for
your kind words — they mean more than so
much gold. Yes, Walthall was considered
the greatest actor before he played in "The
Birth of a Nation" ( Griffith ). Previous to
that he did "Judith of Bethulia," "The
Avenging Conscience," "Ghosts," and sev-
eral smaller pictures, all for the great D. W.
Griffith. Lillian Gish has been in pictures
for four years, always under Griffith's wing.
Mae Marsh was born in Madrid, New Mex-
ico. She is nineteen. No. Little Mae never
attended a dramatic school: D. W. Griffith's
latest picture, which is entitled "The Mother
and the Law," the name of which, however,
will probably be changed, has almost been
completed. It is due for release soon. The
first full-reel photo drama produced was
"The Great Train Robbery," produced by
Edison. G. M. Anderson, later "Broncho
Billy," took the lead. Yes, Bobby, the good
old U. S. A. produces more pictures than
England, France, and Germany combined,
and then some.
X. — So you, too, enjoy the department.
That makes it pleasant all around ! The
qualifications for becoming a photo player
are many. Few, yea, very few, have them
all, or even any. You need brains, talent,
common sense, strength, both physical and
mental, and if you are good looking that
won't be held against you. The only way to
apply for a position is to go to the studios,
where a director or his assistant may see you
— and then again may not. You would have
to do "extra" work at the start, anyway.
"Extra" work, in other words, means filling
up space, or forming a background for the
principals. If you insist on becoming a
player, register at some agency, which sup-
plies the companies in your city with extra
talent. If you play often enough for the
same director, and show that you know more
than your name and address, he may give
you a small part in a year or two. Then,
again, he may not even notice you, as the
chances are he'll be too busy scolding the
stars who don't act as he thinks they should.
Oh, it's a great game — to keep out of ! You
say you have a good position ! Be sensible,
my dear girl, and stick to it ! I'm more sorry
than I can write that I am unable to give
you an answer full of hope and encourage-
ment, which you asked me to, but the bitter,
bitter truth must out — that is my policy in
all answers. Write me again, and tell me
I'm forgiven for dashing your hopes to the
ground.
Gay. — Hello, Gay ! You're Dottie Dim-
ples' twin sister, aren't you ? Oh, you can't
fool me! Address mail for American to
Santa Barbara. California; Essanay, Chi-
cago. Illinois; Thanhouser, New Rochelle,
New York, and Metro, New York City.
Mary Pickford was born in Toronto, Can-
ada, twenty-three years ago. I don't be-
lieve I have answered this question more
than a hundred times the past three months.
The other question is against the rules. I'm
sorry !
Alex Lindner. — Address Blanche Sweet
and Charlotte Walker, care of Lasky, Los
Angeles. California ; Alary Pickford, care
Famous Players, New York City. They will
all be glad to send you pictures, but in jus-
tice to them inclose a quarter in each letter.
The Jesse Lasky Feature Play Company,
New York City, will send you a picture of
Miss Farrar on receipt of twenty-five cents.
Florence C. Dean. — Your fears are
groundless. Pearl White asked me to con-
tradict the report of her death. To use
old Mark Twain's words, it was greatly ex-
aggerated. She is now appearing in "The
The Picture Oracle
145
Iron Claw" (Pathe). Besides the pictures
you mentioned, that prince of good lookers
and good fellows, Watty Reid, appeared in
* Maria Rosa," with Farrar; and ''The Chorus
Lady." with dashing Cleo Ridgely. These
are Lasky films.
Cleo. — Well, look who's here ! I'm glad
to hear from you, but why don't you ask
questions any more? But, then, I guess it is
a whole lot more interesting to read your
breezy and witty notes than to look up the
where, why, and when of this, that, and the
other player.
Girl of the Golden West. — Don't you
dare think that you are putting me to any
trouble. The pleasure is all mine ! Theda
Bara's address is care of the Fox Com-
pany, New York City. No, my child, Wil-
liam Farnum is not William Fox, not by a
long shot. Some one has been joking with
you. Grace Cunard was Kitty Grey in 'The
Broken Coin." She, Francis Ford, and
Eddie Polo are all at Universal City, Cali-
fornia. When you write them for pictures,
don't forget that all-important quarter. I
expect to hear from you again.
Skinney. — Many thanks for your kind let-
ter. It took about six weeks to produce
"The Foundling" (Famous Players). Yes,
Skinney, "Little Mary" shed natural tears in
that picture. It is one of the best things
she does. Awfully sorry to differ with you,
but Mary's mother was not cast. You want
to know what kind of stones Theda Bara
has in her rings? The big one that you
notice in all her pictures is a huge emerald
surrounded by pure white diamonds. It is
a beauty! She also wears an opal and a
sapphire. Billy Shay has been in the British
West Indies for almost a year playing in
Fox's "Million Dollar" picture. That is the
reason you have seen him in no late Bara
films. I am sorry that I have never been
introduced to Anna Held's three-thousand-
dollar dog . He travels in too high a class
for me. The name of this wonderful canine
is "Ting des Tourelles." Now, I suppose
you are going to write and ask me what that
means !
O. U. K. — Bessie Barriscale and Charlie
Ray had the leads in "The Painted Soul"
(Ince-Mutual). De Wolf Hopper and Fay
Tincher were featured in Triangle's produc-
tion of "Don Quixote." This picture was
directed by Eddie Dillon, who made the
Office Boy series for Mutual. Willard Mack
was John Adams in "The Corner" (Ince-
Triangle). He has also played in "Aloha
Oe." "The Edge of the Abyss." and "The
Conqueror,*' all Ince-Triangle subjects. His
10
best work was in "Aloha Oe," which was di-
rected by Richard Stanton. Since leaving
Triangle, Stanton has produced the "Graft"
series for Universal. Mae Marsh was- barn
in Madrid, New Mexico. William S. Hart
was starred in "Hell's Hinges" (Ince-
Triangle). Yes, he far surpasses all other
players in "Western stuff." Betty Nansen
was born in Denmark, Theda Bara in Egypt,
Robert Mantell in Scotland. Of the four
you mentioned, Chester Conklin was the only
one born in the good old U. S. A.
Clark Admirer. — Marguerite Clark says
that she was born in Cincinnati, Ohio, twenty-
nine years ago. Her favorite pastimes are
riding and swimming — the latter in sum-
mer, of course. - .
Irene. — You've gotten me mixed up, Irene.
No, I am not Francis X. "Pennington's
Choice" was filmed -in California. Glad you
liked the play — it was one of Bushman's
best. John Davidson played Stephen Might,
Jr., in "Man and His Soul" (Metro). Bev-
erly Bayne's latest films have been "Man
and His Soul" and "The Wall Between,"
both Metro subjects. Yes, I. am sure that
Miss Bayne wrould; gladly mail you her auto-
graphed photo on receipt of a quarter. Her
address is care of the Metro Pictures Cor-
poration, Broadway and Forty-second Street,
New York City. If you write the various
film companies for stills of their releases,
naming the players you wish, I have no
doubt but that they would sell them to you
for twenty-five cents each. From your let-
ter you seem to have a very clever little
son. You are very lucky.
M. Goldberg. — Your favorite, Theda Bara.
has been in this country for two years, all
that time with Fox. Yes, she could read and
write and also speak our language before
she crossed the Big Pond. I am not per-
mitted to mention the amount of her salary,
but it is larger than the sum you guessed.
You want to know when she lives ? All the
time, I guess. Just what do you mean ? No.
it is not essential that you speak perfect
English to become a photo player, but it is
a great advantage. Neither is it necessary
to be a graduate of a moving-picture school
to become an actor. I know nothing of
these schools, so I cannot write concerning
them.
A. R. T. — Yes, Wally Reid is considered
one of the best-looking actors in filmdom.
It's a toss-up between him and Carlyle Black-
well, as to whom the title of "Adonis of the
Screen" should be given to. I'm neutral !
Frank Keenan, of the Ince-Triangle forces,
was born in Dubuque. Iowa. Possibly his
146
The Picture Oracle
best work on the screen was in ''The Despoil-
ers" (Ince). J. Warren Kerrigan was born
in Louisville, Kentucky, 1889.
Bunny, Toronto. — Geraldine Farrar and
Wally Reid were the principals in Lasky's
"Maria Rosa." He's a great actor, don't you
think? So you want a picture of Dorothy
Davenport in the gallery. I'll see what I
can do for you. Your postscript is against
the rules, but the answer is, yes. Now, don't
say I never did anything for you.
Jeanne.— Address Dorothy Gish, Triangle-
Fine Arts Studio, Los Angeles, California ;
Marguerite Clark, Famous Players, New
York City; and Theda Bara and William
Shay, Fox Film Corporation, New York
City. The Fox Company will send a pic-
ture of Billy Shay on receipt of the enor-
mous sum of twenty-five cents, American
money. Send the same amount when writ-
ing players direct.
Billy Burke Admirer. — Your favorite is
just five feet and one inch tall.
R. A. B. — King Baggot is a really re-
markable actor, one of the best, in fact ; but
the Universal Company hasn't given him
very many big plays of late. His latest good
picture was ''The Haunted Bell" (Univer-
sal). In my opinion, and also that of David
Belasco, Lillian Gish is the most beautiful
screen player. I should have been polite,
and mentioned Dave's name before mine —
very thoughtless of me. When it comes to
"emoting," it's a toss-up between Mae Marsh,
Bessie Barriscale, Enid Markey, and Theda
Bara. They can register every emotion un-
der the sun before a camera, and then ask
the director when it is it time to start work.
Wonderful girls ! J. Warren Kerrigan's
latest feature was "The Pool of Flame" (Red
Feather-Universal) .
Yanouille. — Clara Kimball Young is an
American — she was born in Chicago. She is
working with the World Film Company of
New York at present. Yes, she was ex-
tremely good in "Camille" (World). You
speak about a popularity contest. You are
mistaken, I'm sorry to say. We held no con-
test. Your other questions are against the
ironclad rules.
Chas. A. A. — If you could have seen Wil-
liam S. Hart and House Peters after their
fight in "Between Men" (Ince-Triangle), you
would have realized it was no child's affair.
Both of them were badly beaten up, espe-
cially Peters. Hart was born in Newburgh,
New York. When he was still an infant, his
parents moved to the Dakotas, taking young
Bill with them. At the age of nineteen he
sailed for England, and played with Daniel
Bandmann's company. At twenty-four he
was a leading man on Broadway, support-
ing Modjeska. His first picture was "On
the Night Stage" for Thos. H. Ince, and he
has been playing for him ever since. Hart
now directs his own films. His latest is "The
Aryan" (Ince-Triangle).
R. Dessin. — Lou-Tellegen was born in
Holland. The Triangle Company releases
the best pictures, on an average. It is
against the rules to give home addresses. A
letter to cunning little Violet Mersereau sent
care of the Universal Film Company, New
York City, will reach her safely.
K. S. S. — Hazel Dawn is a Famous Play-
ers Film Company star. Anita Stewart
draws her pay from Vitagraph. The Fa-
mous Players Company is located in New
York City, and Vitagraph is in Brooklyn.
I'm sure these girls would send you photo-
graphs, but don't forget the— but I've said
it often enough. Sure, Charlie Chaplin is
still acting. Mutual is the lucky company.
Tommy. — So you think Hazel Dawn is a
funny name. What about Pearl White,
Louise Lovely, Bessie Love, Arline Pretty,
Blanche Sweet, June Dave, and Lovey
Marsh? What's in a name? That which
we call chewing gum would be chewed as
well by any other name !
Vergie Polk. — How inquisitive you are !
You want to know all about me. I am flat-
tered ! My age? I'm old enough to vote;
that means anything from the legal age up.
The color of my hair and eyes? I'm color
blind, or I'd tell you. My sex? I intend to
march in the next suffrage parade; but then,
you know, both men and women do that !
Come again.
Jane D. — Clara Kimball Young was born
in Chicago, and Anita Stewart in Brooklyn.
Neither are Jewish. "The Perils of Pauline"
(Pathe) made Pearl White famous. What
made me famous? Nothing — as yet!
Earle, Chicago. — Lillian Lorraine was
born in San Francisco twenty-four years
ago. She began her stage career at the age
of four, playing Eva in "Uncle Tom's
Cabin." She continued playing child parts,
and. at the age of sixteen, appeared in "The
Great White Way," with Blanche Ring.
K. K. K. — You certainly do seem inter-
ested in Ruth Roland and Henry King. It
shows you have good taste. Now, listen,
and I'll tell you all you want to know.
Henry was born in Christiansburg, Virginia,
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148
The Picture Oracle
in 1888. He is six feet tall, and weighs a
hundred and eighty-five pounds. His eyes
are blue, and his hair is brown. He is di-
recting now, you know. Ruth was born in
Frisco twenty-two years ago. She weighs
one hundred and twenty-two, her eyes are
blue — poetry — and she has beautiful auburn
hair. When away from the studio, she
spends her leisure time dancing, swimming,
riding, and she can play a good, hard game
of tennis. Yes, my child, Ruthie certainly
has a big bunch of admirers among the
stronger sex. I think, with you, that they
made an ideal couple in ''Who Pays?"
(Pathe). You want to know if they are
in love with one another. Neither one ever
said anything to me about it. Address them
care of Balboa Studios, Long Beach, Cali-
fornia. Surely, I excuse the "bungledness"
of your letter. Why shouldn't I ?
Lo. — You aren't "Lo, the poor Indian." are
you? Henry Walthall, as "The Little Colo-
nel, Ben Cameron," played lead in "The
Birth of a Nation" (Griffith), opposite Lil-
lian Gish, as Elsie Stoneman. Walthall's
parents in the picture were Spottiswoode
Aitken and Josephine Crowell. His sisters
were Mae Marsh and Miriam Cooper. Vio-
let Wilkey played the little sister before she
grew up. The brothers were George Beran-
ger and Maxfield Stanley. Miss Gish's
father was Ralph Lewis, and Bobby Harron
and Elmer Clifton were her brothers. Others
of importance in the cast were George $ieg-
mann, as the mulatto lieutenant governor;
Walter Long, as Gus, the renegade; Mary
Alden, as Stoneman's mulatto housekeeper.
Joseph Hennebery played Lincoln; Donald
Crisp was Grant; Howard Gaye imperson-
ated Robert E. Lee, and Raoul Walsh was
Booth, the assassin. Besides the players
mentioned, nearly every member of Mr.
Griffith's company played in the picture. The
characters above, however, were the ones
who played the principal parts.
Katie, Fourteen. — Address Miss Young,
in care of Clara Kimball Young Film Com-
pany, Nos. 126-130 West Forty-sixth Street,
New York City.
Lois A. Fields. — As explained in our last
issue, the Blue Bird films are not "officially"
released through Universal. Most of the
Blue Bird films so far, however, were played
by Universal stars. The two companies have
a working agreement that when the players
are not engaged in Blue Bird releases, they
may play in Universal pictures. We have
published several fiction stories of William
S. Hart's films, and will continue to do so.
How did you like "The Aryan"?
Gertrude Gillespie. — Personally, I liked
the Fox production of "Carmen," with
Theda Bara, more than Lasky's film, with
Geraldine Farrar. On the whole, however,
the Lasky cast was better. Fox made up
for that by more masterly direction on the
part of Raoul Walsh, and a better scenario.
Although Miss Farrar has played the opera
"Carmen" countless times, Miss Bara gave
a much more satisfactory screen perform-
ance. Address Mary Maurice, care of Vita-
graph, Brooklyn, N. Y. ; Miss Clark, care
of the Famous Players, New York City;
Francis X. Bushman, care of Metro, New
York City; and Wally Reid, care of Lasky,
Los Angeles, California.
J. E. S. — Yes, my child, I am very sorry
to say that dear old Arthur Johnson has
really passed on to the Great Beyond. He
had been working too hard — he never was
really strong, you know — and he suffered a
general physical and nervous breakdown.
Death was the result. Lottie Briscoe hasn't
been seen in pictures for nearly a day. It is
hoped, though, that she will soon again start
playing.
Dean. — So you want to be an actress, too !
There's no end to this endless chain. I
can't tell you how to become an actress.
Better read my answer to X in this depart-
ment. I can't give you the address of any
actress who would help you to become a film
player. Sorry. Address Mary Pickford,
care of the Famous Players, New York City,
and Theda Bara, care of the Fox Film Cor-
poration, New York City.
O. I. C— Of the companies you men-
tioned, the Kay Bee-Triangle produces the
best pictures, followed by Lasky. ' I liked
Theda Bara in "Carmen" better than Ger-
aldine Farrar. Charlie Chaplin's best pic-
ture? "Caught in a Cabaret" and "Dough
and Dynamite" (Keystone) were as good as
anything he ever did. It may surprise you
to know that Mabel Normand produced
them. Very clever little lady, say I. Wally
Van has graduated from comedy, and is now
producing dramatic features for Vitagraph.
K. G., California. — Address Mary Pick-
ford, care of the Famous Players, New
York City; Marguerite Clark, ditto; Blanche
Sweet may be reached at the Lasky Studios,
Los Angeles. Geraldine Farrar is now ap-
pearing in opera at the Metropolitan Opera
House, New York City. A letter addressed
there will reach her. D. W. Griffith produced
the "Birth of a Nation" under the auspices
of the Epoch Film Corporation. See my
answer in this issue to Lo, for the cast of
PICTURE-PLAY ADVERTISER
This Job Needs a Ira
TEAR OUT HERE
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150
The Picture Oracle
principals. The story of "The Birth of a
Nation" was founded on "The Clansman,"
and the film is known in some parts of the
country by that name.
Fitzpatrick, Paterson. — My dear fellow,
J. Stuart Blackton did not direct "The Battle
Cry of Peace" (Vitagraph). Wilfrid Xorth
was the man directly responsible for it. al-
though the scenario was written by Black-
ton, and he supervised the production.
Xorth is the man to get the credit, how-
ever. In "The Broken Coin" (Universal),
Eddie Polo played Roleau. I'm getting to be
quite a poet, eh, what?
Bloxdie. Detroit. — Welcome to our city.
Glad you think the magazine is "ripping."
So do I — wonder if you mean what I mean.
You wanted a picture of Mary Pickford on
the cover. How did you like the one on
the April issue? Wasn't it a dandy? Ed-
ward Martindell played Dai' id King in "The
Foundling" (F. P.). Charles Waldron was
the uncle in "Mice and Men" (F. P.). Mar-
shall Xeilan was his nephew. Mary Pick-
ford receives her mail at the Famous Players
Studio, in Xew York City, so it's queer that
you haven't heard from her. Mary has been
working very hard of late, but I'll speak
to her about it. anyway. I like Marguerite
Clark's work better than- "Little Mary's," but
they are both great. Most people like Mary
better. J. Warren Kerrigan, the heart de-
stroyer, is still with Universal. Your let-
ter was very, very nice, indeed, and I en-
joyed reading it.
A. F. G. — Lillian Lorraine and William
Courtleigh, junior, played the leads in "Xeal
of the Navy" (Pathe). Xo, Charlie Chaplin
is not deaf. Xor is he dumb. If he was.
how could he ask Mutual for six hundred
and seventy thousand dollars for a year's
work, and hear them when they said "yes"?
James Duffy. — Yes. my boy. both Chaplin
and "Broncho Billy" have left the Essanay
Company. I thought every one knew that
now. Alice Joyce hasn't played since she
left Kalem. Bert Tuey has had a quick rise
to fame. Lately he has been playing in
Metro subjects. His best work was that of
the heavy in "The Governor and the Boss."
in which ex-Governor Billy Sulzer starred.
Betwen you. I, and the lamp-post, Sulzer
made a sorry attempt as an actor. In fact,
Tuey saved the play. Al Thomas is a well-
known character man. He is now acting in
"Playing with Fire" (Metro), which vehicle
stars Olga Petrova. His best work was done
in "The Wolf Girl" (Federal) and "The
Soul Market" (Metro). In the latter film,
he created three different characters. His
work is always excellent. Mr. Thomas
started his theatrical career playing with
Anna Held in her first appearance in Amer-
ica. Xo. Jimmy, Mary Pickford hasn't left
the Famous Players, and doesn't intend to.
Don't let anybody "kid" you.
R. Y. — Irving Cummings is playing oppo-
site Hazel Dawn in Famous Players produc-
tions. Letters addressed to him care of their
studio in Xew York City, will reach him
safely. Yes. he did his greatest work in
''The Diamond from the Sky" (American).
Irving was born in X'ew York City twenty-
eight years ago.
Arizoxa Movie Fax. — So you just discov-
ered that Loretta Blake was an old school
chum of yours ! Well, what do you know
about that? Loretta is a dandy girl, and a
good friend of mine. I'll give her your
name and address. She is now with the
Famous Players. Address her care of their
studio in Xew York City. Xo, "The Birth
of a Xation" will not be published in this
magazine. Too bad you couldn't have seen
it — it was the greatest picture ever pro-
duced, absolutely. The players you men-
tioned have had their pictures in the gallery,
or will shortly. You know "there are so many
good actors and actresses that it takes a
long time to print all their pictures. So
you have discovered why Crane Wilbur
doesn't cut his hair. Wonderful! Mignon
Anderson's first name is pronounced Min-
yong. Enjoyed your letter immensely, and
want to hear from you often.
Mildred. — Many thanks for your very kind
letter. Yes, it is foolish for picture fans
to write such '"mushy" letters to the stars.
The Fairbanks Twins are very clever little
kiddies. They were born in Xew York City
in 1 901. They played on the stage together
in "Snow White" among other attractions.
They both have hazel eyes and light hair.
They are members of the Thanhouser Com-
pany.
E. E. J. — The main offices of the Metro
Pictures Corporation are in X'ew York City.
Helene Rosson, the clever seventeen-year-old
star, is playing with the American Film Com-
pany. Jackie Saunders was born in the thriv-
ing town of Philadelphia in 1892. Renee
Kelly played the lead opposite Henry Kol-
ker in "The Bridge" or "The Bigger Man"
(Metro).
Axxious. — Here we have another aspirant
to stage and screen fame. Working in the
automobile business, as you say you are,
might mean a real good job in time, whicl"
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152
The Picture Oracle
is a whole lot better than the uncertainty
of professional life. No, I know of no
dramatic school I can recommend. Awfully
sorry, because I'd like to help you if I could,
but take my advice and stick to your pres-
ent position. "A bird in the hand is worth
two in the bush," has ofttimes been printed
in this department, and I must say it again.
Deja Thoris. — Another one of the many
nice letters I have been getting. I thank
you, one and all. Florence Reed was starred
in "Her Own Way" (Metro). Fritz de
Lint played in both "Barbara Frietchie" and
"What Will People Say?" (Metro). Guy
Coombs was Captain Forbes in "Barbara
Frietchie" (Metro). So you think Crane Wil-
bur makes a jest of himself by wearing his
hair so long. Far be it from me to say any-
thing on the subject. Surely I think, or,
rather, know, that "The Birth of a Nation"
(Griffith) was the most remarkable picture
ever filmed. So you saw it twice? I beat
you. I found time to see it exactly twenty-
two times, and I'm going again first chance
I get. I agree, with you that it is a shame
"Walthall the Great" is no longer playmg
for Griffith, also "the Great." The parts
he gets with Essanay are far different from
what D. W. G. had him play in.
Anna Pergolizzi. — Address Pearl White,
care of Pathe Freres, New York City ; and
Genevieve Hamper, care of Fox Film Cor-
poration, New York City. I'm sure that both
these talented actresses will send you photos,
but be generous and inclose twenty-five cents
in each letter. At last accounts Betty Nan-
sen was in her native country, Denmark.
Jean Southern, who made such a hit in "The
Two Orphans" (Fox), is now working in a
big production. For some mysterious rea-
son the name of the company, the director,
and the play is being kept a deep, dark
secret.
D. S. — Yes, "Little Mary" was on the stage
before she entered film work. At the age
of five she made her stage debut with the
Toronto Stock Company, in Canada. Why
do I advise people not to try to become
film players? One succeeds where a hun-
dred fail, for one reason. Another — if every
one that wanted to enter pictures did so,
there would be no one to look at the pic-
tures. They'd all be acting in 'em !
The Nut Club. — Oh, you clever kids,
you'll be the death of me yet! In self-de-
fense I must refuse to answer your ques-
tions, but I'll print them and give my readers
a chance to get brain fever. "When will
Marguerite Snow? What is Charlie Chap-
lin's pet? Did Mary Pick — Ford to go on
the Peace Expedition? Does Chaplin smoke
'Camels,' 'Trophies,' or his own brand ? Do
all actresses like "Car Men"? Is Blanche
Sweet? Can Fatty Ar-buckle an ordinary
shoe? Is Ford Sterling? Will John Barry
More?" No wonder a Picture Oracle gets
gray hairs before his time !
John Davis. — Mary Miles Minter and
Thos. J. Carrigan were starred in "Dimples"
(Metro). Nance O'Neil and Clifford Bruce
in "A Woman's Past" (Fox). Marjorie Har-
mon, Wil Rex, and Al Ray in "A Woman's
Past" (Federal). Theda Bara and George
Walsh in "The Serpent" (Fox). Marguerite
Snow and George le Guere in "The Up-
start" (Metro). Helen Ware and Harry
Carey in "Secret Love" (Blue Bird). Henry
Walthall and Edna Mayo in "The Mislead-
ing Lady" (Essanay). Theda Bara, Jean
Southern, and William Shay in "The Two
Orphans" (Fox).
C. I. N. — I am sorry, but it is impossible
for me to give either Mary Pickford's or
Marshall Neilan's home address. Against
the rules. Address Miss Pickford, care of
Famous Players, New York City, and Neilan,
care of Selig, Los Angeles. He is one of
our youngest author-actor-directors. Jack
Pickford is twenty. Joe Moore is one of the
many players to drop out of sight entirely.
He is not working in pictures at present.
Yes, he grew tired of the "shorties," and
now is a regular man. with long trousers.
Marguerite Clark's age is just twenty-nine.
Ralph Kellard played opposite Dorothy
Green in Fox's production of "Her Mother's
Secret." Sorry, but your other questions
are very much against the rules and regula-
tions.
Ice Cream. — Very inviting name, especially
now that the weather is getting warmer day
by day. The stories of the films are gener-
ally printed in this magazine before they are
released. "Daphne and the Pirates" was Fine
Arts. Your other questions answered sev-
eral times to other correspondents in this
department of this issue.
Sis and Her Chum. — Your question is
rather hard, children. You want to know
where the most popular studios are located.
Every other person has a different favorite,
so it is rather difficult to know just what
you mean. As far as I am concerned, the
most popular studios are the Triangle ones.
They are located in Los Angeles, Inceville,
Culver City, all three California, and Fort Lee,
New Jersey. Write again, and explain more
clearly, and I'll answer.
PICTURE-PLAY ADVERTISER
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for five days' trial. If you are convinced that it is the best typewriter you ever saw / The title to remain ill you until
keep it and send me S2.00 a month until my bargain price of $34.15 is paid. If you don't . fully paid for. It is understood
want it, return it to the express agrent, receive your $6.15 and return the machine. / tint T Vcjva fiT-o rlnvc in vrhich tn
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154
The Picture Oracle
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FACE
BOOK
FREE
WRITE
Fan. — You want to know why the name and
address of all "questioners" must be given. This
is the rule of the office, but you can be assured
that neither your name or address will be used,
and you will never be embarrassed in any way.
Rest assured of that, and then shoot in as many
questions as you wish, and whatever you wish.
' Articles about Pauline Frederick, Marguerite
Clark, and Clara Kimball Young will be pub-
lished in this magazine in the due course of time.
The Famous Players have released "Molly Make
Believe" with little Miss Clark. Joe Moore, a
few years ago, was a well-known and clever boy
actor with Universal. For the last year or two
he hasn't been doing picture work.
J. P. Q. — Ethel Linn played the female lead in
"When Aunt Matilda Fell" (Nestor Universal).
Ethel is a very clever girl, as she is already play-
ing leads, and she's only been in the films a year.
Pretty as a picture, too. You'd like to meet her,
you say? Well, you live in Los Angeles, and she
works in Universal City, so what's to stop you ?"
No. 5457- — We will soon print the cast of prin-
cipals in our fiction stories of the films. You
don't want any advertising in this magazine.
Why, my dear chap, did you ever see a paper or
magazine of any kind that didn't contain ads?
Irene. — Marguerite Clark was born in Cincin-
nati twenty-nine years ago. Marshall Neilan was
Lieutenant Pinkerton in "Madame Butterfly" (F.
P.), playing opposite "Little Mary." The "Dia-
mond from the Sky" (American), was completed
several months ago, but it is still playing in many
parts of the country. Flora Finch is now play-
ing with Nat Goodwin in Mirror films — comedies,
of course.
Mildred N. Y. — Awfuly glad you liked Theda
Bara's story. It really was good, and goes to
prove that Miss Bara is as clever a writer as an
actress. Her birthday? Of course, anything for
you. She was born on the twenty-seventh day of
July. "Gold and the Woman" (Fox), which has
already been released in her latest picture at this
writing. H. Cooper Cliffe plays opposite Theda
in this film. We will continue to publish pictures
of Miss Bara, although we mustn't give her too
much space. There are so many other favorites.
Peggie. — No, Alice Joyce isn't playing at pres-
ent. All your other questions are against the
rules, I'm sorry to say, Peggie.
E. T. L. — Naturally I agree with you. If any
one else tries to tell you that "Bill" Hart isn't the
greatest portrayer of Western roles, just send him
to me — that's all. "Broncho Billy" was good in
his day, as you write, but times have changed,
my boy ; times have changed.
C. W. S. — Charlie, you certainly are going to
make me work! You want to know the five
greatest dramas produced in this country. Well,
nearly every month a list like this could be
changed, but at the present moment I would say:
i. "Birth of a Nation" (Griffith-Mutual) ; 2. "Ju-
dith of Bethulia" (Griffith-Biograph) ; 3- "Wrath
of the Gods" (Ince-Paramount) ; 4. "The Spoil-
PICTURE-PLAY ADVERTISER
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156
The Picture Oracle
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LEARN RAGTIME//
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3343 Lowe Ave., Chicago
ers" (Campbell-Selig) ; 5. "An Alien" (Ince-
Paramount). Now for the best all-around actors;
1. Henry Walthall; 2. William Farnum ; 3. Wil-
lard Mack; 4. J. Warren Kerrigan; 5. Charles
Ray. Wm. S. Hart leads them all in Western
roles. Next come the actresses : 1. Bessie Bar-
riscale; 2. Enid Markey; 3. Mae Marsh; 4. Mary
Pickford; 5. Blanche Sweet. In sirenic roles,
Theda Bara leads the world, with the rest far
behind. Beautiful actresses — ah, here's where the
real trouble starts: 1. Lillian Gish ; 2. Dorothy
Green; 3. Mary Pickford; 4. Blanche Sweet; 5.
Louise Lovely. Good-looking chaps next, eh?
Well, listen: 1. Carlyle Blackwell ; 2. Wallace
Reid ; 3. J. Warren Kerrigan ; 4. Herbert Rawlin-
son ; 5. Charlie Ray. Then you want to know
the officers of the Mrs. Club. If I told you that,
you would know who was married, and that is
against the rules. If there were a Slapstick Town,
you want to know who the officers would be:
Mayor, Charlie, of course ; clerk, Mabel Nor-
mand; treasurer, Syd Chaplin and Chester Conk-
lin would have to fight for the job, as Ford Ster-
ling and Fatty Arbuckle would for chief of police.
I am using your own words now, so if anything
happens, remember you are to blame ! You want
to know who would be dog warden. I refuse to
nominate any one for that position. Being a
mere student, rather than an advocate of woman's
suffrage, I can't answer your last. Come again,
but have a heart, kind sir !
C. Brandon. — You ask if visitors are "aloud'
in the studios. Yes — that's the reason they an
not "allowed." Deep stuff !
Typhon. — Sussue Hayakawa, now with Lasky,
was starred in Thos. H. Ince's "The Typhon."
He is twenty-seven years old, and has been ap-
pearing on the screen for three of them. You
may address him at the Lasky Studios, Holly-
wood, California. Your letter was no bother.
Come often.
Coxen's Admirer. — Ed Coxen was born in a
little English town thirty years ago. Address him
care of American Film Company, Santa Barbara,
California. Irving Cummings was born in New
York City in 1888. He receives his mail at the
Famous Players Studio, New York City. Henry
King, of the Balboa Company, Long Beach, Cali-
fornia, was born the same year as Cummings.
This happened in Christiansburg, Virginia. Ruth
Roland, who was born in Frisco in 1893, is with
the same company. Syd Chaplin was born in Lon-
don, twenty-nine years before this was written.
Address him care of Mutual Film Corporation,
New York City.
Miss Trilla A— Yes, child, both Mary Pick-
ford and Theda Bara "will send you photos ot
receipt of the fourth part of one dollar.
F. G. P. — Dora Rodgers was the dancing girl
in "Stolen Magic" (Keystone). She has been
in the film game for over a year, and has ap-
peared in several Keystone comedies. Her
parts were minor ones, however, and there is
no record of just which ones she played in.
The Picture Oracle
157
Yes, she is clever, but the competition is very
keen, and it's hard to climb the ladder in a
day.
E. T— Henry Walthall was born in the month
of March; Mary Pickford in April; Valli-Valli,
February; Marguerite Clark, ditto.
Peggy- Silverman— Yes, Peggy, Betty Riggs is
now Evelyn Brent— she thought it sounded bet-
ter. She played opposite Edmund Breese in "The
Lure of Heart's Desire" (Metro). We may have
an interview with her in time.
Canuc. — Madeline and Marion Fairbanks play
with the Thanhouser Company, at New Rochelle,
New York. How do you like the twins up in
Canada?
B. B.— Theda Bara's best picture, you say?
Well, that is hard, because they all are so good.
Personally, I'd say: i. "Carmen"; 2. "The Ser-
pent"; 3. "A Fool There Was." The only one
that I didn't care especially for was "Destruc-
tion." Most people liked it, however. You want
to know how I would class the vampires of
the screen ; 1. Theda Bara ; 2. T. Bara ; 3. Miss
Bara. You agree with me, don't you? I'm an
honest-to-goodness Bara fan. To you and all the
other anxious ones, her address is care of the
Fox Film Corporation, Nos. 126-130 West Forty-
sixth Street, New York City.
H. M. W. — Address Grace Cunard and Francis
Ford at Universal City, California. I am sure
they will send photos, but don't forget two dimes
and a nickel. Francis and Grace are again work-
ing together. They are directing and appearing
in "Peg o' the Ring," Universal's serial.
Dot Kelly and Violet McCarney. — The movie
germ doesn't care how young its victims are.
Here are two little girls, each eleven, who want
to act, and even pick out the company — Balboa.
I think you would be a whole lot happier at
home, with your parents. When you have grown
up, it will be a different thing, and, anyway,
you may have changed your mind by then.
B. R. F. — Pearl White is not playing with
Arnold Daly at present. Jeanne Eagels played
opposite him in "The House of Fear" (Pathe).
Warren Kerrigan formerly played in the Ameri-
can Film Company, but he did not own any of
the company.
Jessie Abner. — At this writing Dick Travers*
latest picture is "The Lightbearer" (Essanay).
Creighton Hale's latest work is "The Iron Claw"
(Pathe). He is still with them. Dorothy and
Lillian Gish are sisters — every one should know
that !
J. E. B. — Louise Welch, who has since changed
her name to Louise Lovely, was the Western
girl, Bessie Brayton, in "Father and the Boys"
(U).
Walter Wood.— Billie Burke was born in
Washington, District of Columbia, in 1886. She
is going to appear in a serial for George Kleine,
not Triangle. The Triangle is composed of the
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NERVE FORCE
Every reader of this Magazine who is under a nervous
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158
The Picture Oracle
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.Paragon Institute, 130 Coliseum St., New Orleans, La.
Statement of the Ownership, Management, etc., re-
quired by the Act of Congress of August 24,
1912, of PICTURE-PLAY MAGAZINE, pub-
lished monthly, at New York, N. Y., for April
1, 1916:
State of New York, County of New York, (ss.)
Before me, a Notary Public, in and for the State
and county aforesaid, personally appeared George C.
Smith, who, having been duly sworn according to
law, deposes and says that he is one of the publishers
of Picture-Play Magazine, and that the following
is, to the best of his knowledge and belief, a true
statement of the ownership, management, etc., of
the aforesaid publication for the date shown in the
above caption, required by the Act of August 24,
1912, embodied in section 443, Postal Laws and Regu-
lations, to wit :
1. That the names and addresses of the publisher,
editor, managing editor, and business managers are :
Publishers, Street & Smith, 79-89 Seventh Avenue,
New York, N. Y. ; editor, Gerald C. Duffy, 89 Sev-
enth Avenue, New York, N. Y. ; managing editors,
Street & Smith, 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York,
N. Y. ; business managers, Street & Smith, 79-89 Sev-
enth Avenue, New York, N. Y.
2. That the owners are : Street & Smith, 79-89
Seventh Avenue, New York, N. Y., a firm, composed of
Ormond G. Smith, 89 Seventh Avenue, New York,
N. 'Y. ; George C. Smith, 89 Seventh Avenue, New
York, N. Y.
3. That the known bondholders, mortgagees, and
other security holders owning or holding 1 per cent or
more of total amount of bonds, mortgages, or other
securities are : None.
4. That the two paragraphs next above, giving the
names of the owners, stockholders, and security
holders, if any, contain not only the list of stock-
holders and security holders as they appear upon the
books of the company but also, in cases where the
stockholder or security holder appears upon the books
of the company as trustee or in any other fiduciary
relation, the name of the person or corporation for
whom such trustee is acting, is given ; also that the
said two paragraphs contain statements embracing
affiant's full knowledge and belief as to the circum-
stances and conditions under which stockholders and
security holders who do not appear upon the books of
the company as trustees, hold stock and securities in
a capacity other than that of a bona fide owner ; and
this affiant has no reason to believe that any other
person, association, or corporation has any interest
direct or indirect in the said stock, bonds, or other
securities than as so stated by him.
GEORGE C. SMITH,
of the firm of Street & Smith, publisher.
Sworn to and subscribed before me this 27th day of
March, 1916, Charles W. Ostertag, Notary Public, No.
29, New York County. (My commission expires March
30, 1917.)
New York Motion Picture Corporation, compris-
ing Kay Bee, Broncho, Domino, and Keystone,
and the Reliance and Majestic Companies.
Charlie Chaplin, of course, is the comedian.
Anna Dineen. — Your letter was very interest-
ing. You want to know if I ever saw Louise
Vale ! In the bygone days, when I was acting.
I played with her. Last time I saw her, her
eyes were blue. Franklin Ritchie, who often-
plays opposite her, is a good actor, but he make;
a better heavy than lead. No, I don't know
whether she can read German, but Travers Vale,
her director, can. He will be able to interpet
the letter.
Bagie. — Ed Coxen plays opposite Winifred
Greenwood. Jack Kerrigan's twin brother does
not act. He is manager of the Universal ranch.
I prefer Kerrigan's w-ork to that of Bushman.
Bushman's second name is Xavier. "Neal of the
Navy" (Pathe) has not, as yet, been published
in book form, but it has appeared in newspapers.
Billy. — Yes, Mary Anderson is still acting for
the Vitagraph. Her latest feature release was
"The Human Cauldron."
Annette de Beuthillier. — Katherine Harris
plays the queen in "Nearly a King" (Famous
Players). Grace Cunard and Francis Ford had
the leads in "The Broken Coin" (U). Mary
Pickford lives on Riverside Drive, New York
City. I am not permitted to give any further in-
formation— sorry. Your other question was
against the rules — sorry, again.
Jersey Kid. — Marvel Spencer was the young
girl in "The Terror of the Fold" (Centaur). Ad-
dress E. Forrest Taylor, care of American Film
Company, Santa Barbara, California.
Betty. — Frank Mayo was born in New York
City in 1886, of American parents. Ruth Roland
was born in San Francisco in 1893. They made
their first appearance together in "The Red
Circle" (Pathe), which they have just finished.
H. D. E., Evart. — You've got my name wrong.
"Wrath of the Gods" (Ince) was wonderful.
Frank Borzage and Tsuri Aoki were the stars of
the picture. Yes, Ruth Stonehouse has left Es-
sanay. "Little Mary" did clever work as a boy
in "Poor Little Peppina" (Famous Players).
Visitors in a studio are in the habit of "nosing
about" too much and in many other ways annoy
the directors and players. That is one of the
many reasons they are not welcome. I imagine
that Francis X. Bushman and Beverly Bayne left
Essanay because they thought their opportunities
would be greater with Metro. "Wrath of the
Gods" (Ince) was produced at Inceville, Cali-
fornia. I believe that Billie Reeves was the
"original drunk" in "A Night in an English
Music Hall." Chaplin and Ritchie also appeared
in the part. Mary Miles Minter was born April
1, 1902. No, she is not an "April fool" ! Your
other questions have been answered above, or are
against the rules.
Hippy. — "Thanks for them kind words."
Charles Clary was Father Kelly in "The Rosary"
The Picture Oracle
159
(Selig), and Wheeler Oakman was Bruce Wilton.
Clary was born in 1892, and Wheeler Oakman
in 1890. He is playing with the Selig Polyscope
Company in Los Angeles, and, at last reports,
Clary was with Lasky, Hollywood, California.
Toby —Address Olga Petrova, care of Metro
Pictures Corporation, New York City. Letters
addressed to Emily Stevens, at the same office,
will reach her. Miss Joyce is not playing at pres-
ent ; is planning a "come-back." Mail sent to
Tom Moore, care of Pathe Freres, New York
City, will reach her. Jackie Saunders played Fay
Drake in "A' Bolt from the Sky" (Pathe). Elliot
Dexter was Philip de Mornay in "Daphne" (Fine
Arts-Triangle). Your other questions are an-
swered elsewhere.
Eleanor Perkins, Bobolink, C. P. B., Julia
J., A. A. B. — Your questions are answered else-
where in this department. Come again.
Violet, J. P., Missoula, M. P., P. F., L. W.
G., Bara Admirer, and all the rest of Theda
Bara's friends. — Miss Bara's letter, published in
this department, May issue, will answer some of
your questions. Address her care of the Fox
Film Corporation, Nos. 126-130 West Forty-sixth
Street, New York City. Yes, she says she will
be glad to send photos. Better inclose a quarter,
however, to cover cost of mailing, et cetera. Miss
Bara wants me to thank you all for your kind-
ness in writing.
Bonie, a Fan. — Hazel Dawn's latest film is
"The Saleslady" ; Pauline Frederick's "Audrey" ;
Marguerite Clark's "Molly Make Believe," all
Famous Players productions. Bessie Barriscale
was never with the Edison Company.
S. H. K. — Jane Novak has been playing in pic-
tures for three years. You want to know the
best thing for a young man to do who wishes
to become an actor. Forget it — it will be the
best in the long run.
Dorothy Perkins. — Vincent Serrano played
opposite Pauline Frederick in "Lydia Gilmore"
(Famous Players). Jack Curtis was the little
boy. Anna Held appears in Morosco pictures.
Your other- questions are answered elsewhere in
this department.
M. C. S. — Your letter interested me exceed-
ingly. I think, however, that so long as you have
a good position, you had better keep it, instead
of braving the uncertainties of the film game.
There is hardly any chance for a girl camera-
woman. In fact, there are only one or two in
the country. I know just how you feel, and
would like to help you, but just take my advice,
and stay close to your own fireside. It will be
lots better in the long run, girlie. Let me hear
from you again, telling me what you are going
to do.
Everybody, Everywhere.— Due to the enormous
amount of mail coming in to this department, it
is impossible to answer all questions through
these columns. In order to avoid delay, and give
all prompt answers, inclose a self-addressed,
stamped envelope, and I shall reply to those over
the space allowed me, personally.
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&CI.B361398
PICTURE-PLAY
MAGAZINE
Vol. IV CONTENTS FOR JULY, 1916 No. 5
Favorite Picture Players . . 163
Beautiful art pictures of the leading actors and actresses— the kind you will cut
out and frame.
Frontispiece . . . . . 178
Four popular actresses got together on the beach, and their shadows showed on
the sand. They couldn't help acting, and here's the picture on its lirst
release.
Three Thousands Miles from Broadway Mabel Condon .179
Broadway is the home of the actor and actress. A great, sparkling colony of stars
has located 3,000 miles from "home"— and every star is doing things that you
want to know about. Here's the story, with a lot of new pictures that you
have never seen.
Where the Money Goes . . Gerald C. Duffy . .187
"The Million-dollar Pastime" is what the picture industry might be called, and
the eagle has a very interesting tale. Authentic figures have been very
scarce until now, and you'll be surprised at some of these facts.
The Crankin' Camera Man . Walt House .193
A verse in honor of the unsung toiler.
Our Scenario Contest . . . 1 94
The final bugle call of opportunity. Money, fame, and a start in the world are
waiting for some one— not a lucky person, but the one with an idea. Now,
turn the pages— here's your last chance.
The Life a Picture Actress Leads Fannie Ward . 1 99
Sounds interesting, doesn't it? Fannie Ward, the famous actress, knew you'd like
to hear about it, so she wrote it herself.
Disclosed 205
A little secret of "how they do it" is revealed.
Romances of the Studios . . Will Rex . 206
One of the most aopropriate places for love is a studio, and some of the popular
players realize it, and have been important factors in romances that started
when they kissed before a director and camera man.
The Much-Photographed Mary Fuller . W. h. Van Loan .215 |
Bewitching Mary Fuller spends most of her charms on a photographer and his |
lens, but she found a little time between sittings to tell about them.
The Centaur Studio . . . Robert C. Duncan . .219
Another visit to a home of films, whereon we meet some famous people, and
watch them do the acting that has made them famous. Some of the most
mipressive players this time are animals.
Is She Another Pickford? 228
A glance into ihe future of a little girl who promises much, and some tilings you
don't know about her.
Harold Lockwood: Apollo in a Flannel Shirt Arthur Gavin, Jr. . . 229
Stumbling over Harold's sand-covered body on the beach— which many people are
likely to do— and spending a few intimate hours with him afterward— which
only a favored few may do, although thousands would like to.
CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE
CONTENTS— Continued
Girls — and Some Bathing Suits . ... 232
Hot weather and cameras have made possible this excellent presentation of your
favorites— as you never saw them on the screen. And if you are interested
in bathing-suit fashions there is no better place to find them.
The Destroyers .... IV/7/ H. Johnston . . 236
Can a woman make shipwreck of a man's life? This one was hired to do it, and
went about her work in a businesslike way. Tue fiction version of a feature
film.
In the Dark . . . . Everett Leighton . 245
An accident that might happen to any man if he isn't careful. Told in verse.
Before the Stars Shone . . Al Ray . . . 246
What the favorites of to-day in the world of flicker did before their names meant
fortune.
Out of Range of the Clicking Camera 248
Unusual photographs of unusual people taken when they were acting natural.
Not in the Cast . . . . H. Bedford-Jones . . 250
The beginning of a remarkable serial novel of the moving-picture world and the
moving-picture people. Get in at the start.
Just Kids ..... Wilson Gardner . .261
Some little tots who are doing bigger things than lots of grown-ups, and how
they do them.
Anna Little: Western Girl . . Richard Willis . . 267
Anna is one of the nicest girls you ever knew, and as good a boy as you've met
in a long while.
Love Letters of a Movie Idol . 271
Some heart-throbbing missives that Francis X. Bushman received in his daily
mail, and his replies to them.
La Boheme . . . . . (/. D. Richardson . 278
Love often conquers and is sometimes conquered. Both happen in this story. A
popular film in fiction form.
The Observer 286
An editorial light cast upon some of the important things in motion pictures,
that reveals some hitherto hidden facts.
Screen Gossip . . . Neil 0. Caward .291
Hundreds of reels of the happenings in filmdom, condensed into a few lively
pages.
Hints for Scenario Writers . Clarence J. Caine . . 298
Expert instruction in picture- play writing, with notes on where and what you can
sell.
Forrest Stanley: Nature's Son Warren Reed . .304
One hero of the films who d >ef=n't always v ear a frock coat— because he can't
when he is swimming— or doing other things he enjoys.
The Picture Oracle 308
Answering everything our readers may ask about motion pictures, past, present,
and future.
Monthly publication issued by STREET & SMITH, 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York City. Ormond G. Smith and George C.
Smith, Proprietors. Copyright, 1916, by Street & Smith, New York. Copyright, 1916, by Street & Smith, Great Britain. All Rights
Reserved. Publishers everywhere are cautioned against using any of the contents of this magazine either wholly or in part. Entered at New
York, N. Y., Post Office as Second-class Matter, under an Act of Congress of March 3. 1879. Canadian Subscription. $1.86. Foreign. S2.22.
WARNING— Do Dot subscribe through agents unknown to jou. Complaints are daily made by persons who have been thus victimized.
IMPORTANT— Authors, agents and publishers are requested to note that this 6rm does not hold itself responsible for loss of unsolicited manuscripts while at
this office or In transit; and that it cannot undertake to hold uncalled for manuscripts for a Ion jer period than six months. If the return of manuscript is
eipected, postage should be enclosed.
YEARLY SUBSCRIPTION. $1.50 SINGLE COPIES. 15 CENTS
MABEL NORMAND
the original "Keystone Mabel," and now being starred in Ince comedy-dramas, is a native New
Yorker. Score one for the Great White Way ! Mabel started her meteoric career with Vitagraph.
then jumped to Biograph, and when Mack Sennett started his Keystone Company, Mabel was the
first one signed to a contract. She is known as the foremost comedienne in filmdom and also has
an enviable reputation as a director, having been responsible for many of Chaplin's successes.
JAMES MORRISON
better known as "Jimmy," was born in Mattoon, Illinois, in 1888. After learning the three
uR's" at public school, Jimmy decided "an actor he would be." Accordingly, he joined the
American Academy of Fine Arts and then went into stock. The motion pictures were next in
order, and he secured a place with Vitagraph. He has played the lead in "Mother's Roses,"
"Wheels of Justice/' and "In the Days of Famine," among others. In "The Battle Cry of Peace"
Jimmy did possibly the greatest work of his artistic career, playing juvenile lead. Many critics
claim that Morrison's work was the most finished in the film, portraying every conceivable emotion
in a way that made the audiences believe that they were witnessing an episode of real life.
MYRTLE STEDMAN
leading lady for Pallas and Morosco, saw this world for the first time in Chicago twenty-five
years ago. After several years of training on the stage she joined the Selig Company in 1910.
She stayed with them until 1913 when an alluring offer made her cast her fortunes with Bos-
worth. When Oliver Morosco bought the company, Myrtle was one of the few to remain. She
played the leading feminine role in "Wild Olive," 'The Valley of the Moon," and "Peer
Gynt," among others. It has been said of Miss Stedman that the legitimate players who go
to the Morosco studios for a picture or two have nothing but the highest praise for her work.
She is an accomplished equestrienne and an all-around athlete.
DOROTHY KELLY
the vivacious Vitagraph star, was born in Philadelphia twenty-two short years ago. After study-
ing at the National Academy of Design in New York she became a rather well-known illus-
trator. The films appealed to her very much, however, and she visited the Vitagraph studios
five years ago. She has been with them ever since, playing opposite "Jimn.y" Morrison in
the majority of her picture plays.
SUSSUE HAYAKAWA
the handsome Japanese star of the Lasky Company, is one of the few players of his race in
pictures. He was born in Tokio twenty-seven years ago, and came to this country at the age
of twenty-two. He played on the stage for some years, and then was engaged by Thomas H.
Ince to appear in "The Typhoon." Following that he did several more pictures, possibly his
best work being in Lasky's production of "The Cheat."
(
DOUGLAS FAIRBANKS
the hundred-thousand-dollar comedian of the Triangle forces, first saw the light of day in Denver,
Colorado, thirty-three years ago. After leaving Harvard he went on the stage, and with the
exception of a business experience of a few months in Wall Street, remained a legitimate actor
until he was induced to enter the film field. His best-liked work on the stage was "Hawthorne,
U. S. A.," and in pictures 'The Lamb" and "His Picture in the Papers." At present he is
working on a series of Western comedies with Bessie Love.
PAULINE FREDERICK
known as the Famous Players' "polite vampire," scored emphatic success on the legitimate
stage before she fell in love with the camera. Possibly her greatest theatrical work was done
in "Joseph and His Brethren" and "Innocent," in which she was starred. Her best-known
pictures are "The Eternal City," "Sold," "Bella Donna," "Zaza," and "Lydia Gilmore."
Thomas Holding has been her leading man in all these films. Miss Frederick, who was born
in Boston, spends her few leisure moments walking, shooting, and driving her own motor car.
MARGUERITE COURTOT
is one of the youngest stars in pictures. She was born in Summit, New Jersey, eighteen years
ago. Her education, however, was obtained in Lausanne, Switzerland. Returning to America
she posed for Harrison Fisher, and then joined the Kalem Company, where she later was
featured in "The Ventures of Marguerite." A few months ago she left them for Gaumont and
has been starred in "The Dead Alive" and "Feathertop," both five-reel productions. A great
number of Marguerite's few years on earth have been spent in traveling, and it is still her
greatest pleasure, although about the only traveling she does now is to and from locations.
However, she manages to find solace in golfing and tennis.
EDNA MAYO
Essanay's Mary Page, is a twenty-two-year-old Philadelphian. Her first professional work was
done in "Madame X," and was followed by several other stage engagements. A little over a
year ago she entered filmdom via the Essanay route, and has stayed with that concern ever
since, playing opposite Henry Walthall in most of his pictures. Edna's greatest pleasure is
participating in all out-door sports, although she manages to find considerable time for her
"favorite indoor pastime" of being an amateur sculptoress. Strange as it may seem to people
who do not know of this side of Edna's accomplishments, she is rapidly becoming a very
clever modeler in clay, as well as wax.
HARRY BENHAM
who is now playing leading roles for the Universal Company, is a native of Valparaiso, Indiana.
Before becoming a screen player he gained a large following through his work on the stage in
such plays as "Madame Sherry," "Pinafore," "Floradora," and "Wang." His first film appear-
ance was with the Thanhouser Company, which he later deserted for his present berth. Harry's
best-liked pictures with Universal include "The Path of Happiness," "The Man Inside," "Joan
of the Hills," "Mignonette," and "Through Flames to Love." His favorite way of spending
his hours of leisure are skating when it is cold, swimming when it is warm, and riding and
golfing between times. He is an all-around, accomplished athlete.
VERA SISSON
until recently with Biograph, is just twenty-one years old, having been born in Salt Lake City
in 1895. With no previous stage experience she secured a position with the Universal Film
Company, and was soon playing leads opposite the debonair Warren Kerrigan. Biograph then
began to notice her exceptional work and made her an offer that it would have been folly to
refuse. Accordingly, she signed with them, and was their particularly bright star until the entire
company was disbanded a month ago. Of all her many excellent pictures with the Biograph pos-
sibly the greatest was aThe Laurel of Tears." People who know say that it rivalled "Weights
and Measures," a feature with Kerrigan, hithertofore considered her masterpiece.
HAROLD LOCKWOOD
who, with May Allison, presents one of the most attractive couples on the Metro program, is a
Brooklynite, having been born there in 1887. He was in musical comedy for several years, and
then joined the N ester Company in 1910. Other film concerns he has been with are N. Y. M.
P. Corp., Selig, Famous Players', and American. While with the Famous Players' he appeared
opposite Mary Pickford. He spends his leisure moments swimming and playing baseball.
MAY ALLISON
the Metro beauty, is a Southerner, having been born in Georgia twenty-one years ago. After a board-
ing-school education she induced her parents to allow her to go on the stage where she played
Beauty in "Every woman." After several successful seasons before the footlights, she joined the
Famous Players' a little over a year ago. From there she went to American, playing opposite Harold
Lockwood, and recently went with him to Metro. Motoring and tennis occupy her spare moments.
2
Photo by Brown Bros., N. Y.
The gayest part of the "Gay White Way" in the heart of New York City.
IT is night — ten o'clock.
In the pepper tree just outside
the window, sits an owl in a path
of light that blinds him, and he is quiet.
Soon he will move to a darker branch,
and will hoot of his freedom. Street
cars and autos, sparsely filled, pass con-
stantly— it is ten o'clock !
Downtown, a short jitney-ride dis-
tant, the theaters have a goodly attend-
ance. They are all picture theaters,
with the exception of five. At eleven
they will empty, and the cafes will fill.
Those connected with, or otherwise in-
terested in, the picture profession, will
go to Levy's, in South Spring Street.
But at no place will they dance. A
political "lid" sits tightly upon the City
of the Angels, interring the gladsome
"rag," the slow three-step, and the
one-two-three of the old waltz that is
newly popular. They who would dance,
early motor to the beaches, seventeen
miles away, where the cafes are guilt-
less of lidded restrictions. Here the
name Nat Goodwin electrically winks
into the night from the palace of
cuisine and dancing which rests on a
rock foundation in the Pacific; or the
dance-loving ones go to a newer cafe,
that of Sunset Inn, at Santa Monica,
which sends, the rays of its inquisitive
searchlight dancing over the seventeen
miles between it and Los Angeles. Or
the dance seekers speed out to the Ver-
non Country Club, just without the city
limits, and here, indeed, is the world
theirs !
Such is the frivolity of the angelic
city, with the softly warm days and
cool nights, where the climate is always
a subject of general discussion, never
failing to inspire new conversation or
to revive interest in a lagging one. It
is a charming city, however, with its
Hollywood nestling into the foothills of
mountains which stop just short of the
sky line and look down upon a colony
of picture studios without so much as
a shadow cast to hint of their still pres-
ence. And westward, seventeen miles,
is the Pacific, where bathing is a win-
ter sport, and beach girlies and eight-
een-inch bathing suits are always the
fashion.
If you would view the night life of
the photo player who is three thousand
miles from Broadway, you have just
180 Three Thousand Miles from Broadway
time to board a Hollywood car and
reach Levy's before he does. He will
be there in numbers — both the "he's"
and the "she's" of the photo-play world.
You get a corner table, near the door,
and from there see them all. By
eleven-thirty the place is filled — and
still they come ! If any of the Ameri-
can companies are in from Santa Bar-
bara, you will see them here. If Wil-
liam N. Selig, Harry E. Aitkin, Adolph
Zukor, Carl Laemmle, or any other
photo-play magnate is in town, he is
sure to gravitate toward Levy's.
Charlie Chaplin doesn't at all mind who
sees him juggle his spaghetti; Douglas
Fairbanks, De Wolf Hopper, Dustin
and William Farnum, Fannie Ward,
Ruth Roland, and Mary Pickford,
when in town, you'll see either here, at
the beach, or at Vernon.
And very often they furnish im-
promptu entertainment. If Wally Reid
and "Smiling" Billy Mason meet at the
same place on the same night, immedi-
ately they become the cabarets, Wally
appropriating the orchestra's violin,
Alice Forrest at the piano, and Billy
Mason rendering novelty songs in a
novel way.
Or maybe it is Charlie Murray who
has the floor, and the applause of every
one, as he has the knack of making
everything he says register a laugh.
Harry MacCoy is known as the "piano
fiend," and, as such, is popular. And
there are rare and enjoyable occasions
when Mae Murray is persuaded to give
a dancing exhibition.
Or it may be De Wolf Hopper rises
next from his chair to address the per-
sons present. Air. Hopper thinks of
Broadway — New York, of course — .
as the man you meet on the street
with his clay pipe turned upside down
does of Ireland. It is not very often
that he does offer to furnish part of the
extemporaneous program, but once in a
while he cannot overcome the impulse
to make a remark about the "Gay White
Way/' and cast a veil of sorrow over
the countenances that, until then, had
been lighted by smiles. The moment
he rises, the players at all the tables
begin to look glum, and unless some
one breaks in to change the subject,
Mr. Hopper will begin, as he did one
Douglas Fairbanks in a split-reel
comedy, "After a Night with the
Boys," by William Shakespeare.
Fairbanks shows his affection for
D. W. Griffith's car and Clarke
Irvine's movie mascot.
Three Thousand Miles from Broadway 181
"It is said that being married to one
woman seems to open a man's eyes to
the fascinations of all the others. That
statement is based on psychology.
Every one must admit it. Before we
left home — I mean New York — we re-
garded its attractions in
an ordinary light, and
even went to the extent,
perhaps, of complaining
if any little thing went
wrong. But the moment
we went away, we learned
to appreciate "
And then Doug Fair-
banks— he did it once — ■
will pick up a plate, put a
cigarette paper on it, and
hurry down the rows of
tables, paging "Mr. Hop-
per— Mr. Hopper." The
whole place will ring with
laughter, and Mr. Hop-
per will sit down. His
mission completed, Doug
will go back to his chair,
and the players will resign
to more quietude.
Many of the contracts
that mean a transfer of
big names from one com-
pany to another are signed
between eleven and two
on a napkin which bears
a West-coast cafe name. Camaraderie
seems to be the prevailing spirit exist-
ing between the photo players who are
in the West, and there is but little in-
dulgence in the quality called "up-
staginess."
To know anybody at all in the photo-
play colony, popularly referred to as
that of southern California, you must
first have spent some time in New
York. For everybody, with but few
exceptions, hails from that city. And
no matter how short or long a time they
have been away from there, they still
always and violently applaud a screen
flash of Times Square, of Liberty, the
New York sky line, or the lights of
Broadway. They are nothing if not
faithful. In fact, it is this quality in
the New Yorker that encourages the
son of the Native Son to assert this
Flora Parker De Haven, the Universal Broadway expatriate, ready
for her morning ride.
and other facts which have to do with
the fame of the Golden State.
But it is the day life of the West-
coast photo player that is a so-different
one from his of New York and Broad-
way. The screener who is not pos-
sessed of a bungalow with an orange
tree at the front door and a lemon one
at the back, and who does not ride in
his own automobile, is indeed a rare
specimen. Either he is looked upon
with suspicion or his statement believed
that he won't be able to stay away from
Broadway. But they who like the cli-
mate, the mountains, the bigness of
things, and "the life" generally are
182 Three Thousand Miles from Broadway
John Emerson, the Triangle director, introducing Sir Herbert Beerbohm-Tree to William Farnum
of the Fox forces. Constance Collier, who plays with Sir Herbert is seen in the back-
ground. (Below) left to right on Fine Arts-Triangle stage: Sir Herbert, Chester
Withey, Mrs. De Wolf Hopper, John Emerson, De Wolf Hopper and Fay Tincher.
manifold ; also they are happy and con-
tent.
Take William F. Russell, for in-
stance. Can the many who knew him
so well in New York picture him on
his ranch after studio hours or up in
the early morning, currying a horse,
feeding a pet goat — by which nothing
in paper, cloth, or tin is ever exempt
from consumption — a lordly turkey, and
dogs that are treated like human
beings? A queer little Chinaman who
walked from San Francisco to Santa
Barbara thirty-five years ago, and who
has stayed right there ever since, is
chef of Mr. Russell's El Poplar
Three Thousand Miles from Broadway 183
Rancho. And never are there less than
five or six friends as dinner guests any
evening. It would have to be an un-
usual offer that would take Mr. Russell
Eastward from the American studios
and his ranch at Santa Barbara.
Then, there's Anna Luther, who
plays opposite Fred Mace in Keystone
pictures. They called Anna "the Fifth
Avenue Girl" when she was in New
York, now she is the tomboy girl, who
rises at six every morning, rides her
horse over mountain trails, and reaches
the studio at eight-thirty, ready for any
variety of Keystone recklessness.
"It certainly beats the riding-acad-
emy class in Central Park !"
is Miss Luther's opinion,
though it was a whole year
before this golden-red-haired
girl could make up her mind
to take her furniture out
from New York and make
her bungalow truly her own !
William Christy Cabanne,
who for years haunted the
New York Biograph studios
in the wake of D. W. Grif-
fith, now occupies a twenty-
thousand-dollar home, and
has a moment of indecision
each morning as to which of
his three cars he will drive —
or let his chauffeur drive —
to the studio of the Fine
Arts, where for two years
he has been director.
Dustin Farnum and his
brother Bill spend week-
ends in the mountains with
their dogs and guns — they
say they will miss this coun-
try "from the heart out"
when they go back to Broad-
way !
And there are the Tal-
madge sisters. "Use 'fa-
mous' before 'Talmadge,'
please !" corrects Norma, in
fun and imitation of one
Bennie Zeidman, Fine Arts publicity
director. The Talmadges are having a
wonderful time screening in the West,
and Mrs. Talmadge visits with Mr-.
Marsh and Mrs. Sweet, and the girls
meet and have tea at the Chocolate
Shop on Saturday afternoons, where
Lillian and Dorothy Gish join them,
after having first deposited Mrs. Gish
at the Marsh, the Sweet, or the Tal-
madge bungalow. Of course, the girls
miss Broadway, especially when the
spring and fall styles are in the air.
But, then, there are orange blossoms
blooming in California, and everywhere
there is a flare of flowers and an over-
Nell Shipman, of Western Vitagraph, and Majorie Cole from
Universal City camping in San Gabriel Canyon.
184 Three Thousand Miles from
Broadway
head of green trees
and blue sky. At
least, it is wonder-
fully comfortable,
this living three
thousand miles from
Broadway !
And such oppor-
tunities as there are
for hikes and camp-
ing in the canons
and mountains ! Nell
Shipman's recrea-
tion is — or was, un-
til poison oak gave
her practical warn-
ing— to take a girl
chum, and, in some
secluded clearing,
build a hut, and fish,
hike, canoe, and just
loaf for a week or
two at a time.
Dainty Y o 1 a
Smith, for the last
two years a Bio-
graph lead, is an ab-
solute convert to
Mae Murray, at her Western bungalow, as Broadway never saw her.
William Duncan and George Holt, Vitagraph screen enemies, are pals off-stage.
Three Thousand Miles from Broadway 185
the West and its studios, and says she
is content to stay right here forever.
And Vola is only nineteen.
Mack Swain, the black-mustached
— when he wrears it — "Ambrose" of
Keystone's, has satisfied his heart's de-
sire in the West. It is the important
one of being owner of a large hog
ranch. "But the animals are kept a
comfortable distance from the ranch
house !" Mr. Swain finds that he some-
how, and always, has to explain when-
ever he invites a guest for the first time.
Wilfred Lucas owns a grape ranch —
anything on which anything grows in
California is always that particular kind
of a "ranch." Thither Mr. Lucas, plus
one or five guests, motors every week-
end. Rollin S. Sturgeon, between Vita-
graph pictures, roams the country in
his car, and refuses to consider return-
ing East. It is the hobby of De Wolf
Hopper to trail six or more cars full
of people on from-Friday-to-Sunday
trips weekly — and the beach is the
weakness of two-thirds of the Cali-
fornia film colony.
A chicken ranch, with a playground
for a cow, is the ambition of Billy
Mason; as yet it is unrealized, but he
writes another comedy, and goes to see
it wmen it is shown at a downtown
theater — so he still hopes.
"Big Bill" Hart, Tom luce's bad
man, is another of the farmer players.
Between holding up stagecoaches, as
per scenario, breaking bronchos, and
raising turnips, Bill never has an oppor-
tunity to yearn for the lights of Broad-
way. The same is true of Harry Carey,
another "wild and woolly" star.
There are many, however, who grip
with much strength and feeling the
hand of the fortunate one who has just
come back from a little run to the "big
city," and there are those who, with
their hearts at the point of their pens,
autograph their pictures, when pre-
sented to some one who also is from
New York: "With," et cetera, et cet-
186 Three Thousand Miles from Broadway
Helene Rosson and Ashton Dearholt initiating Helene's new car at Santa Barbara.
era, et cetera, "to an acquaintance from
America'
-meaning New York.
It is close to twelve — midnight.
After that hour, street cars and jitney
buses will run at fifteen-minute inter-
vals. The two-o'clock owl car to Holly-
wood leaves promptly one minute be-
fore that time. By two-fifteen all the
cafes will be dark, the entire city will
sleep, and pepper trees and owls, un-
molested by late lights, will have the
city for their own.
This, and thus, is the picture-play
colony as it is at its home three thou-
sand miles from Broadwav.
A Fine Arts outing at Santa Monica Beach. Tally Marshall, Norma Talmadge, Bernard McConville,
who writes scenarios, and Constance Talmadge.
The
H. Ince spent a small fortune in this one set used in his feature, "Civilization."
Most figures that have been set before the public in the past have been misinforming
because of inaccuracy. In writing this article it has been the aim of the author to show the
public the actual, not press=agent, financial status of the industry. Credit is due to the
Motion Picture Board of Trade of America for some of the figures quoted. —EDITOR'S NOTE.
E VER since the motion picture has
attained the position of fifth
among the greatest industries of
the United States — which has authori-
tatively been determined — so many vari-
ous people have attempted to state fig-
ures concerning the investment in films,
and so many different figures have been
stated in the attempt, that the reading
public is at a loss to know what to
believe. In most cases the mention of
money has incited publicity agents and
others whose position tempt them for
business purposes to exaggerate, to sit
back and give loose rein to the fer-
tility of their brains. Authenticity has
seldom been regarded.
For this reason the public has been
asking for real figures — figures that are
not elastic to any influence, and it has
been with this in mind that the author
and members of the Motion Picture
Board of Trade of America, which is
the official organization of the industry,
A eity built to order in Jamaica, British West Indies, for a Fox production. Both the trip of the
players and the city itself represent great expenditure.
188
Where the Money Goes
have sounded the depths of the film
business as far as is possible for the
sole purpose of obtaining correct fig-
ures, and have disclosed some surpris-
ing facts regarding the actual trans-
ference of money.
Five hundred and seventy-five mil-
lions of dollars — think it over ! — repre-
sent the total investment in motion
pictures for the year ending March 15,
1916.
This vast amount of money, and the
activity of business that it has incited,
have raised the films to a height where
they occupy fifth place among the in-
dustries of the United States, being sur-
passed, in the order named, by rail-
roads, the clothing industry in all its
various branches, iron and steel, and
oil. The automobile manufacturer is
minor in importance to the pictures and
holds sixth position. Agriculture is not
quoted in this estimate, as it can
scarcely be regarded as a commercial
industry. Statisticians of the Motion
Picture Board of Trade have compiled
these figures, and they consider it safe
to state that by March, 1917, the pro-
duction of films will surpass in im-
portance the oil industry.
One remarkable feature about the
position of the motion pictures is that
all of the four industries that surpass
it in importance are necessaries to the
life and work of man, while the films
are purely and simply sources of amuse-
ment. It is, indeed, surprising that
they should break into the financial cir-
cles of the nation with such great im-
petus.
There are two questions that are dom-
inant in the minds of the public. The
first is: "Where does all the money
come from?" and the second, "Where
A close view of one of the buildings in the city shown on the preceding page. This shows the
attention given to details and decoration.
Where the Money Goes
189
does all the money go ?" The first may
be answered by going to the direct
source of revenue — the theaters. There
are in the United States to-day about
eighteen thousand of these, with seating
capacities varying from one hundred
upward to thirty-
five hundred, and
even more. Many
theaters can accom-
modate the number
last named, and
houses are consid-
ered little over me-
dium when the
numbers of the
chairs reach to one
thousand. A con-
servative average is
seven hundred per-
sons to each theater.
Considering the
number of times
that the theaters
with small seating
capacity must play
each day in order to
profit, the many thea-
ters that have four
shows daily, and the
few playhouses that
exhibit a film but
once in twenty-four
hours, two daily
shows seems almost
too conservative an
average, but that is
the number that we shall figure, as
those who show often are the small
houses and those that play but one
program are large ones necessarily or
they could not make money. At this
estimate the average daily attendance
of all the theaters showing motion pic-
tures throughout the country is about
25,200,000 persons.
With an average charge of eight
cents to each person, the amount of
paid attendances daily should answer
to where the money comes from.
What the motion-picture producers
do with the money that they receive is
set forth in figures that have been
secured by the Motion Picture Board
of Trade, and they are doubtle-s
authentic, for most of the members of
"Little Mary'
Piekford's income last year was over $150,000 — and this
year her prospects are brighter.
that body are official heads of large
picture concerns themselves. It is es-
timated that the total profits yearly of
all the film producers is about fifty
million dollars. This, when said alone,
seems very large, but, taking in mind
the money that is put into the treasu-
ries each year, it is really small. The
income of the companies is greatly cur-
tailed by the enormous expense neces-
sary to produce pictures under the
present system.
Salaries of players are, without a
190
Where the Money Goes
doubt, the greatest drain on the pro-
ducers' bank accounts. This can be
readily realized when one brings to
mind the single man who draws a salary
that is nearly seven times that of the
President of the United States — Charlie
Chaplin. Mr. Chaplin alone costs the
Mutual Company $520,000 a year, and
when his contract was signed he re-
ceived in addition a bonus of $150,000.
Little Mary Pickford has for some time
received $104,000 per annum from her
employers, the Famous Players Com-
pany, and there is a rumor in circula-
tion to the effect that she is casting her
nets for even more. These two players
are the highest paid in the profession,
but they are so high-priced that it is
doubtful if there is any other profes-
sion in which any person could hope
to duplicate the salaries. But the
money received by many other actors
and actresses, while not as much as
that commanded by the services of Mr.
Chaplin and Miss Pickford, is by no
means small. A few instances will
prove this.
Douglas Fairbanks, who deserted the
legitimate stage for films, is being paid
$100,000 a year, and he is but a lone
example of many of his type. A great
many players have been lured from the
boards to play in a single film by offers
ranging between $15,000 and $40,000.
The number of players who draw en-
velopes every Saturday that are bulged
with amounts between $150 and $300
are almost too numerous to count.
Actors and actresses who are employed
as "extras" are paid from three dollars
to five dollars a day, with the last fig-
ure greatly in the majority, while play-
ers doing "bits" in pictures receive al-
most twice as much.
The Fine Arts division of Triangle
has fifteen .people, all players with the
exception of President Harry Aitken,
whose salaries aggregate one million
dollars a year. They are shown in the
accompanying illustration.
These figures should prove conclu-
sively that the income of a producer
is reduced to a considerable extent by
the salaries paid in only one depart-
ment— that of the actors. Another out-
let for the money that pours into the
theaters in nickels, dimes, and quar-
ters is directors' remunerations. These
are, in some cases, more than famous
actors and actresses receive, and are
never low. Camera men, scenario
writers, and the hundreds of others em-
ployed by producers all tend to take
much of the fat from their pocketbooks.
During the year terminating March
15, 1916, approximately 450,000 per-
sons derived weekly salaries from posi-
tions which are offered by the produc-
tion of screen amusement in the United
States alone. This figure is an increase
of thirty-five per cent over that of the
year previous, so the rapid growth of
the industry may be readily appre-
hended. Another point that emphasizes
the fact that films are continually and
speedily gaining in popularity and qual-
ity is brought out by the box-office end.
Only a year or so ago it would have
been hard to find a motion-picture the-
ater that charged admission in excess
of ten cents. As short a time ago as
last year we know of at least one house,
the Parkway, at One Hundred and
Tenth Street, New York City, that
showed matinees at a rate of admission
of two for five cents. During the past
few months several theaters demanded
two dollars for their choice seats, and
many are regularly receiving fifty cents.
The most popular playhouses in the
cities to-day sell seats at twenty-five and
fifty cents. This increase is, of course,
a sign of better pictures, and proves
that the public is glad, and more than
glad — anxious — to see good films and
pay whatever price is asked.
Even in Panama the picture craze is
apparent. Recently an enterprising
business man erected an outdoor screen
in De Lesseps Park in that country and
Where the Money Goes
191
showed pictures. The native "fans"
were so ardent in their desire to view
the screen that they gathered on both
sides of it, and those in back enjoyed
the show just as much as the ones in
front — despite the fact that they had
to read the leaders back-
ward.
This instance is but an ex-
ample of the grip in which
the picture plays have taken
hold of the world. From
the brightest lights of
Broadway to the darkest
corners of the earth that
civilization has crept into,
the people are seeing and
enjoying the films; they
even call the players by their
first names, feeling toward
them as personal friends, as
they have met them so often
through the medium of the
screen.
And all this is the symbol
of money- — it is a large dol-
lar sign that stretches over
the world — a dollar sign
whose both ends rest in the
United States, for this coun-
try is the home of the films.
The more the motion pic-
tures grow, and the more
money they earn, the more
prosperous is the United
States, for here is where
practically all the films pro-
duced are made and acted
for America supplies the
world.
And to localize the in-
industry in this country its center can
be named in a single city — a city that
is almost owned by the industry — Los
Angeles. In Los Angeles alone one
thousand miles of negative film — every
foot of which has passed through a mo-
tion-picture camera — are developed
each year. From this negative forty
thousand miles of positive are made —
enough to reach nearly twice around
the earth !
About eighty per cent of the films
produced in the world are made in
southern California, the reason being
the desirable climate and atmosphere.
Charlie Chaplin, whose salary is nearly seven times that of
the President of the United States.
To convey a fair idea of the amount
of money invested in motion pictures
— which bears out the old adage that
"it takes money to make money" — we
may make reference to some of the
larger companies who have holdings on
the Western coast, quoting figures for
the time ending with the first of Ian-
uary, this year.
192
Where the Money Goes
The Inceville plant, owned by the
New York Motion Picture Company,
at the beginning of 1916 represented
an investment of $30,000, exclusive of
eighteen thousand acres of ground
owned by it. Aside from Inceville, the
same company had just invested in the
neighborhood of $100,000 at Culver
City, California.
The Fine Arts studios, located in
wood. At East Hollywood the Vita-
graph Company has placed $1 50,000 in
a large studio. To the Oliver Morosco
Photo-play Company the mention of its
studio means an investment of $400,000.
From the figures here set forth the
amount of money that transfers hands
in the motion-picture industry is shown
to be surprisingly large — almost as-
tounding. But the investment— from
Fifteen people, whose salaries aggregate one million dollars a year. From left to right they are:
top row, Dorothy Gish, Seena Owen, Norma Talmadge. Center, Robert Harron, Harry E.
Aitken, President of Triangle; Sir H. Beerbohm-Tree, Owen Moore, Wilfred Lucas.
Seated, Douglas Fairbanks, Bessie Love, Constance Talmadge, Constance
Collier, Lillian Gish, Fay Tincher, and De Wolf Hopper.
Los Angeles, are valued at an amount
in the neighborhood of $150,000. Lasky
is said to have spent half a million dol-
lars on its Hollywood, California, plant,
and holds eighteen thousand acres of
land in the San Fernando valley. David
Horsley's investment in his studio in
the heart of Los Angeles is estimated
at $250,000, while the W. H. Clune
Motion Picture Company recently spent
the same amount for a studio at Hollv-
the viewpoint of results — is a good-
paying one. In maintenance of this
statement we have but to glance back
at the short history of the films. About
ten years ago the first picture play was
shown, and from that crude film has
sprouted a marvelous business — one
that has grown in the few ensuing
years to the fifth of importance in the
United States. Is there more that
could be asked in the wav of results?
Where the Money Goes
193
We go to a theater at night, pay our
ten, fifteen, or twenty-five cents, as the
case may be, and go inside. As we sit
in the semidarkness and dreamily watch
the scenes flit by on the screen, few of
us stop to consider further — to consider
the money that has been expended for
this night's entertainment — or to con-
sider that the little admission that we
paid at the door is our share toward
making possible the existence of one
of the world's greatest industries — an-
other conquest for America — a billion-
dollar pastime.
TH' CRANKIN' CAMERA MAN
By Walt
l-IE ain't no sparklin' honey boy
T' pose with filmy name.
Give him his joy: a cam'ra Moy,
An' he's a reg'lar Dane.
Th' actresses don't wink an' blink
At him, th' poor ol' ham !
But he's th' link thet has th' think—
Th' crankin' camera man.
Th' never shirkin',
Made fer wTorkin',
Crankin' camera man.
He never gits t' sit around ;
He's never on a spree.
He's always found an' hardly bound
T' nonsense — nope, not he.
Sumtimes he fails, most times he wins
He does th' best he can.
A-diggin' in clear t' th' chin —
Th' crankin' camera man.
Th' always willin',
Made fer "grillin',"
Crankin' camera man.
D'rectors gener'ly look his way;
He knows a thing er two.
On fade-out day he has his say,
An' I'm a-tellin' you
There ain't a single knowin' one
But says he's spick an' span.
Fer, lis'en, son, he gits th' mon — -
Th' crankin' camera man.
Th' steelin', reelin',
Happy feelin',
Crankin' camera man.
He makes no kick about his job,
He ain't gold-laced with fame.
He whips a sob of cam'ra throb
An' gits there jes' th' same.
Why, if he'd jes' onct see his grin
Spread on a page he'd scan,
He'd laff like sin, it'd tickle him—
Th' crankin' camera man.
Th' sweatin', gettin',
Never frettin',
Crankin' camera man.
A-knowin' thet he's got a cinch,
He grins an' cranks an' cranks. .
He'll never flinch when in a pinch,
Ner even look fer thanks.
So knowin' what th' actor's got.
He tripods his ol' cam,
An' grinds his lot right on th' spot-
Th' crankin' camera man.
Th' grin din', win din',
Always shinin',
Crankin' camera man.
WE have laid a lot aside for com-
parative judgment — and some
very good ones — but there is
always room for a best. We are anx-
ious to see what the last days will bring,
for people who have been working this
long on a story should have good plots.
Just tell every one there is still a big
chance — for a really good story."
This is what Mary Fuller, speaking
with the authority of one of the judges
of this contest, said in reply to a ques-
tion as to what we should tell the ambi-
tious throng of pen wielders who are
trying for prizes and a chance to make
good as picture-play authors. So you
see there is still time, during these last
few days, to send in something that will
find a spot on top of the many, many
manuscripts that have already been sub-
mitted.
Joe Brandt tells us that he is won-
dering whether he is the scenario editor
or general manager of the Universal
Film Manufacturing Company. Most
of his time, lately, has been spent in
passing on scripts, and he informs us
that the big rings under his eyes are
from keeping such late hours in the
company of thousands of pages of
typewriting and pen and ink.
And then there is Clarence J. Caine,
author of "Hints for Scenario Writers"
in this magazine. Three times in the
last few days we caught him trying to
take a nap at his desk. He makes the
same excuse for his sleepiness that Joe
Brandt does about his weary eyes.
And so we have decided that being a
judge is a good job — to get out of,
especially if one is subject to night-
mares. Yes, there are some pretty
good, lively, and vivid plots that would
cause one to roll around if one tried to
sleep.
The Last Bugle Call.
But then to get back to the facts, for
the benefit of those who haven't sent in
their stories as yet. From the number
of scripts that have been received it
seems that there can be but a few such
people, but we want to be sure to give
every one a chance.
The contest closes at noon, sharp,
June 17th.
This is your last chance, so you'd bet-
ter sit right down and think. You can-
not afford to let such an opportunity
slip by without making a try, and the
final bugle call is sounding. It is the
call of fame and money — the call that
beckons every one to take up their pens
and make a great attack against the
judges of this contest.
If you haven't sent in your story yet,
our best advice is to get busy right
away. Remember there is nothing to
lose — and everything to gain. You
wouldn't want to miss this chance,
would you? Keep in mind the date —
June 17th — that is your last day of
grace. The judges are waiting to see
your story.
The Returns.
The return for good efforts are mani-
fold. Merit alone will decide the win-
ner, and if your plot is the one that is
the best suited for a picture play featur-
ing Mary Fuller, you are going to re-
Our Scenario Contest
195
ceive a special prize of fifty dollars
from this magazine, and forty dollars
per reel for whatever number of reels
the picture will best make. The length
will be decided upon by the judges.
And then there is the opportunity of
having the purchasers of scenarios
know and appreciate your future work.
The key to the future is in your hand
— use it.
But the winner of the contest is not
the only one who is to gain. All other
scripts with plots that appeal to the
judges as being suitable for production
by the Universal Film Manufacturing
the personality of Mary Fuller, the
famous Universal star. All the others
are covered thoroughly by the rules
which follow, and every contestant
should read these over carefully before
starting to write. Miss Fuller is at her
best in emotional drama, and never
plays in Indian pictures, travesty, or
burlesque.
About the Contest Itself
For the benefit of those who have so
far neglected to send in the products
of their fertile brains, and for those
who have missed previous announce-
Mary Fuller playing in a scene in the Universal Heights studio, at Leonia, New Jersey. Lucius
Henderson is directing her.
Company, will be purchased at rates
commensurate with their merit.
The contest, you must remember, is
ruled entirely by merit.
What the Plot Must Be
There are but a few restrictions with
which the author must conform, the
chief one being that the play must suit
ments, we shall once more go into de-
tail concerning the contest itself.
Picture-Play Magazine's scenario
contest is one that may be entered by
any one from anywhere. The novice
stands as much chance of winning as
the expert scenarioist, for a person who
has never written a story is likely to
have something new and good in the
196
Our Scenario Contest
way of an idea — something bright and
bristling, that sparkles in the eyes of
the judges like so many Kohinoor dia-
monds, while the old writer is some-
what dried of his best plots. The con-
test, however, is open to all.
Another point that offers opportunity
Bear These in Mind
The main thing to remember is that
every script must comply with the rules
that follow. Read these over carefully.
Send all manuscripts to this maga-
zine at the address given at the end of
the rules.
The three judges at the left, Mary Fuller, Clarence J. Caine and Joseph Brandt, looking over a
day's contest-mail with Picture-Play Magazine's editor.
to the beginner is that no detail scene
action, known technically as a scenario,
is necessary. All that is required is a
synopsis of the plot, in as few words
as possible, but telling all of the story,
so that a scenario can be written from
it. It is not the length of the synopsis
that makes the number of reels, but the
amount of material that it contains.
Don't forget that Mary Fuller is to
play the leading role. Her personality
must be suited, and as she is one of the
judges, she will keep this in mind.
And, above all, remember that the
contest closes at noon, June 17th. The
time is growing short — you must act at
once. Not to-morrow, nor next week
—but to-day!
THE RULES
All manuscripts must be submitted before twelve o'clock, noon, June 17, 1916.
No manuscripts will be considered unless accompanied by the application
blank to be found on the next page, or a copy of it made on any paper.
One person may send in as many plots as he wishes, provided a separate
application is sent with each one.
Our Scenario Contest
197
The main point is your plot. The merit of this is what decides the winner.
Write it in synopsis form, giving the detailed action in as few words as
possible.
No scenario is necessary, although it may be sent if desired.
All manuscripts must be typewritten or neatly written in ink.
No definite number of reels is specified — the length depends entirely on the
plot.
The judges will decide what length is suitable for the story you submit,
and payment will be made accordingly.
Forty dollars ($40.00) per reel will be paid for the winning scenario.
For instance, if the picture is five reels, two hundred dollars ($200.00) will
be given.
The additional special prize of fifty dollars ($50.00) will be paid to the
winner, regardless of the length of the picture.
All stories must be original.
The leading character in the story must be one that can be played to good
advantage by Miss Mary Fuller. This is an important point. Miss Fuller can
best play strong dramatic parts, and those which are typical of the American
woman of any class.
All manuscripts must be sent, in order to be considered, to Picture-Play
Magazine, Contest Department, 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York City.
Do not roll the paper — fold it.
If you desire your manuscript returned, should it prove unavailable, a
stamped, addressed envelope must be inclosed. It is best to keep a copy of your
manuscript in case, through any unavoidable cause, the original is not returned.
All manuscripts submitted will be carefully read and decision made according
to their merit.
Fill out this Application Blank, or make a copy of it, and send it with
your story. Otherwise the manuscript will not be considered.
APPLICATION BLANK
J hereby enter my application to Picture- Play Magazine's Scenario Contest.
Inclosed is my manuscript, which has been written in accordance with the rules.
The type of my story is:
(Fill out according to society, mystery, railroad, straight drama, etc.)
Name
' Address
FOR some strange reason the public
is attracted by the life of an
actress. When the people hear
that they are to be told all about the
personal side of a player, they gather
around closely and listen with intent
ears — as though some forbidden secret
was to be revealed. The life of an or-
dinary person seems to attract little in-
terest— and yet, all things considered,
an actress is really nothing more than
an ordinary person, so far as her life
outside of working hours is concerned.
During working hours, of course, she
is different because her work is not of
an ordinary kind — and much harder, if
you desire my own opinion.
The life of an actress, whether on
the legitimate stage or on the screen,
is not by a long, long way what it is
reputed to be and what a great many
people erroneously think that it is. Per-
haps this is one reason why the per-
sonal side of a player appeals so much
to the general public.
The manner of living and the work
of an actress is fascinating. There is
always something happening — some-
thing out of the ordinary that could
not occur in any other profession. All
day we are impersonating imaginary
characters — very probable characters
that are as far unlike our own as pos-
sible ; and, while the work is hard, it
is fun at the same time.
The photo-dramatic life is so vastly
different from the stage life that the
two offer very little parallel. In New
York, with friends, I have frequently
supped at some restaurant at four
o'clock in the morning and have thought
or felt none the worse for it. In Cali-
fornia, in the last few months, I have
frequently breakfasted at five o'clock
in the morning, after a good night's
sleep — one hour later than I breakfasted
in New York — without any sleep — and
I have felt much better for it.
Some people appear to think that in
order to be an actress one must go to
bed when the ordinary person is about
to rise, and must live as differently
200 The Life a Picture Actress Leads
from those in other professions as
though they existed in another sphere.
This, to the actress, sounds so ridicu-
lous that we are almost tempted to
laugh, except for the fact that we real-
ize how serious a matter it is to our pro-
fession for this erroneous opinion of us
to exist.
It would be impossible for a screen
actress — aside from the fact that it is
not likely that she should care to — to
live in this fashion. In California, we
are often out and working on scenes
when most people are still in bed. We
have to get up early — it is essential to
our work, and our work is equally as
essential to our success — without it we
would not long be actresses. And if
we stayed up until late we should be
unable to be at work on time.
As I said before, the career of a mo-
tion-picture actress and that of a stage
player are entirely different. A little
incident, insignificant in itself, but full
of meaning to me in the things that it
recalled to my mind, will prove this
statement.
Not long ago, while I was making
a short journey to visit friends whom
I had known for years, I had occasion
to change trains at a little junction in
the country. It was a junction point of
two railroads, typical of the getting-off
and getting-on places which one finds
all over the United States wherever the
network of railways is extended. There
was a little depot — scarcely more than
a shelter — there was a small store, there
were a few loungers, there was an ex-
pressman, there was a telegraph opera-
tor, there was a train dispatcher — and
that was all.
In the group that stepped off the
train with me were a number of stran-
gers. Some were traveling men, some
were farmers ; there was a school-
teacher and an insurance agent. Each
of these was easily recognized by some
characteristic of dress or manner. I
overheard the farmer say something,
about crops, I heard the school-teacher
say that all children were alike except
every one's own particular child, and I
heard the insurance agent reciting an
exposition of vital statistics.
As I stood on the platform, there
was a group of eight or ten persons
some distance away which attracted my
attention. It did not take much imag-
ination on my part to place who and
what they were. They were, in brief,
actors and actresses making a jump
from one town to another. There was
the leading man, the leading lady, the
ingenue, the heavy villain, the come-
dian, and the company manager who
was a little of everything.
It has been only a brief twelve
months since I last appeared on the
stage, but it seems like twelve years,
so vast is the gap which has grown be-
tween me and the life I led and that
group of players standing near me and
the lives that they led. Yet only a short
while ago I was one of them. Xow
I will have you know I am a motion-
picture star, and the itinerant life of
the actress, the uncertain hotel, the late
train, the questionable food, and the
unhospitable small-town theater are all
things to me of a bygone day.
Although it has been some years since
I traveled with my company across the
United States, playing one-night stands,
it has been a brief time, indeed, since
I was on Broadway, viewing, as always,
with some little pride, my name in elec-
tric lights in front of the theater in
which I was" appearing. Although the
life of a stage star has its compensa-
tions, has its joys, it also has vicissi-
tudes which I know no more.
And as my train, which came noisily
and dustily into the junction, carried
me away to my friends, I reviewed in
my mind how great was the transition
that had come since I had given up the
stage and had chosen a new medium
of acting — the motion picture.
If one for years has not retired for
The Life a Picture Actress Leads 201
rest before two or two-thirty, o'clock in
the morning, things are going to seem
upside down when all one's new friends
and acquaintances say good night at
half past nine and at ten are in the
■ proverbial arms of Morpheus. It was
the most difficult thing I had to learn
when I came out to the Lasky studio
ments, of course, with reserve of vary-
ing conditions.
My usual hour of rising is six o'clock.
Not to know the joys of early morn-
ing, not to breathe the fragrance of the
fields in the light of the morning sun,
not to feel the great propulsion which
comes to the physical and mental being
j An old-fashioned fireplace in a new-fashioned -h
I house is a wonderful place 1
for a quiet evening.
T3
IV. V
for my first experience in motion pic-
tures. I had to make over my whole
existence. It is not that late hours,
which go hand in hand with Broadway
engagements, are necessarily bad, be-
cause the individual may recuperate
with long morning rest. The fact re-
mains, however, that the time for men
and women to be about their duties and
to do good work is when the sun is
shining, and not when the incandescent
lights are gleaming. I make these state-
as one starts about one's duties working
into action with increasingly busy na-
ture, is to deny one's self much of the
good that was given to earth.
I breakfast at seven o'clock. By eight
o'clock, I am either on my way to the
studio by automobile or by foot, breath-
ing in the ozone that incites activity.
By eight-fifteen, my wardrobe mistress
has my costumes for the day laid out
on the tables. Sometimes, in the mak-
ing of a photo drama, we wear as many
202 The Life a Picture Actress Leads
as fifteen or twenty different gowns in
one day. We go over the costumes care-
fully. Every morning, at my dressing-
room door, we receive from the produc-
ing headquarters of the company a full
list of all costumes which the day's
work will require. In this way we are
careful that, in case an interior scene
is to be made which follows an exterior
which had been made some weeks ago,
we all shall appear in the same cos-
tumes we wore when the exterior was
made. By eight-thirty, just when the
long shadows across the studio are be-
ginning to shorten as the sun rises
higher and higher, I am on the stage,
ready for work with my director.
Here I find that the same constant
cry of preparedness for action which
I had come gradually to make a part of
my daily existence is the slogan of every
one connected with the studio organiza-
tion. The moving-picture studio is just
one carefully laid plan after another.
One of the hardest things I had to
adapt myself to was having love made
to me in bright sunlight, before the
hands of the clock had reached nine.
Another thorn in my side was when I
had to eat a hearty diplomatic banquet
at ten-thirty o'clock in the morning.
Yet one must do these things if one
must appear before the all-seeing eye
of the motion-picture camera.
My scenes for the moment finished,
I step back out of the range of the
camera. The other players in the cast,
under the direction of the omnipresent
producer, decorate themselves in the
middle of a set. For the moment I am
not needed.
When I first acted for the camera, I
thought these moments would give me
time for relaxation. They do not. One
The dainty table, open hearth,
Japanese servant — and hus-
band and wife — present quite
an artistic appearance.
The Life a Picture Actress Leads
of the secrets of the success of the
Lasky organization is that every player
in the cast, from the star to super, must
know, and does know, every intentioned
move, expression, action, and incident
of the story which he individually, or
203
the insatiable moving-picture camera
absorbs action.
At about half past four o'clock in the
afternoon, the day's acting is finished.
We do not, however, go home, but stay
around, discussing what has and what
they collectively, are telling for the mo-
tion picture.
The morning flies. Luncheon time
has arrived. Usually we have luncheon
at the studio. The Lasky cuisine is of
the finest. I can highly recommend the
studio chef. He is a gentleman of great
understanding, extraordinary ability,
and exquisite judgment. The lunches
are in a class by themselves. I have
seen days when the studio has been
filled with extras, making various
scenes, when as many as a thousand
lunches have been served in the studio
yard. I may add that breakfast at
seven o'clock means good appetite at
twelve-thirty o'clock. We eat with glo-
rious enthusiasm.
The afternoon is a repetition of the
morning's producing work. Some days
are more interesting than others, but as
a general thing the time flies quickly as
has not been done during the day, plan-
ning for the next day and the next.
Successful motion-picture producing is
to a great extent the result of careful
planning and preparation. There is
nothing haphazard. At about five
o'clock, the word is passed that scenes
taken during the day are to be shown
in the projection room. Thither we all
go. This is the place above all others
at the studio where there is no such
thing as levity. Here is where we see
results. Here is the daily balance sheet.
Here is the record, in light and shadow,
of work done or work left undone.
It is evening. Several automobiles
filled with players who have been on lo-
cation within anywhere between fifteen
and twenty-five miles of Hollywood, re-
turning tired, dusty, and ready for rest.
The long shadows of the setting sun
have given way to a gradual darkness.
204 The Life a Picture Actress Leads
The great stage, glass-topped, is
dimmed in evening's half light. As one
passes to the studio entrance, one sees
lights gleaming in the directors' quar-
ters, in the cutting room, in the private
offices.
Sometimes I arrive home before my
husband, Jack Dean, who appears in the
Following our session at pool, we re-
tire to the dining room, which, between
an open fireplace, a dainty table and
chairs, and old-fashioned mantel, a Jap-
anese servant and — my husband and
myself — presents quite an artistic ap-
pearance.
When we have finished eating, Jack
And an evening with all
the comforts of home —
a sharp contrast to a
hard day in the studio.
i« jd
leading role opposite me "in most of my
pictures, and sometimes he gets there
before I do. When the latter is the
case, I usually can find him in the bil-
liard room, which was built in our
house solely because of his insistence.
Whenever Jack gets a chance, he prac-
tices pool and billiards so that he can
beat me when we play together — which
we do nearly every night for a while
before supper.
and I often sit together in the living
room, tucked cozily in a corner before
the fireplace, and talk about nothing in
particular that would interest any one
except the two of us. Even when I am
telling you the secrets of how I, as a
picture actress, live, there are little
things, you know, that I must keep to
myself.
About an hour of rest and quiet, to
balance the hustling, bustling time spent
The Life a Picture Actress Leads
205
in the studio during the day, with just
Jack and myself to enjoy it, I go up to
my room and answer my mail or read
for a while until it is time to go to
bed.
This is a typical day in the life of a
screen actress. Quite different, isn't it,
from the way many — yes, most — people
picture it?
. Sometimes the monotony of the eve-
ning is broken by a visit from friends,
and I look for them to arrive about
eight-thirty. They seldom stay later
than ten-thirty, by which time, as a rule,
we of Hollywood's cinema colony have
retired. The faint breeze, salt-laden,
comes from San Pedro Bay. Through
the open bedroom windows one hears
the music of California night. It is a
symphony of rustling leaves, punctuated
with rare fragrance. The perfume of
roses is infectious.
And far, far away, another city feels
the evening breeze. Broadway's pave-
ment throws back the scent of motley
humanity. The aroma is the fragrance
of cigarettes, of bottled beer, of cheap
perfume.
And another picture comes to mind:
The small hotel, in the second-class
town, the badly ventilated room, the
legitimate player who is prodded by
ambition, held up above conditions by
hope.
Faith, hope, and charity. These
three. And the greatest of these is
Broadway, the one-night stand, and
Hollywood, California. These three.
And the grandest of these is Holly-
wood.
DISCLOSED!
It's a mean thing to do, we know, but we are going to tell you a secret. Did you see the
Pallas picture "Davy Crockett?" Well, here is the way those exciting scenes in the log cabin
were taken — right inside the studio, with Dustin Farnum sitting, quietly looking on. Director
William D. Taylor is squatting down telling Winifred Kingston what to do. And they are all in
the cabin too — oh, the deceitful producers! Of course, you thought that they went way out in
the backwoods and hired some trapper's hut, but we refuse to let any producer fool you, so
the true story has been told.
I
Wallace Reid and his wife, Dorothy Davenport, called "the happiest couple in filmdom."
DOES studio love-making, with ca-
resses and kisses lavished at the
commands of a director, ever
result in real, ''minister-supervised"
weddings? And, if so, do these mar-
riages "take"? Withal, interesting
questions.
Naturally we shall begin our tale
with "Little Mary" Pickford and Owen
Moore. Long years ago, when films
were known and loved as the "flickers,"
these two players were in constant as-
sociation. With D. W. Griffith behind
the megaphone, Owen made love to
Mary morning, noon, and night — in the
studio. Soon it became difficult to find
one without the other, either on stage
or off.
"Are they going to be married ?" was
the question Florence Lawrence put to
Harry Solter, as did the other members
of the company.
A few brief weeks later, the inquiry
was answered. A justice of the peace
had linked the lives and fortunes of
these two sweethearts of shadowland
and made them "really and truly" man
and wife. The youthful couple were
rather timid about admitting their af-
filiation, and waited until they were on
the ocean, bound for a picture trip to
Cuba, before telling the interesting
news.
A great deal of nonsense has been
written about Mrs. Pickford's anger.
This is very untrue, as she was, and
still is, extremely fond of her hand-
some son-in-law. Again, it has been
Romances of the Studios
207
said that Mary and Owen were not hap-
pily mated. This is another fallacy.
A year or two ago, to comply with the
rules of the Catholic church, they were
remarried at Mission San Juan, Capis-
trano, California. If they were no
longer in love, do you think they would
have done this?
At the same time, another romance
of the flicker world culminated. Paul-
ine Bush, as star, and Allan Dwan, as
director, had long worked together in
Universal pictures. Their admiration
for the talents of each other grew into
a beautiful love. Both of these young
people were especially friendly with the
Pickford-Moores and thought it would
be rather roman-
tic to be married
at the same time.
Accordingly there
was a double wed-
ding at the mis-
sion, and w o r k
was suspended at
all the W estern
studios, so large
and distinguished
was the guest list.
It is interesting to
know that
O w e n has
lately been
appearing un-
der the direc-
tion of Mr.
Dwan in Tri-
angle films,
and that the
entire quar-
tet are the
same friends
that they were in the days of yore.
Another couple, already mentioned,
Florence Lawrence and Harry Solter,
were in the company of each other so
much that they decided "one and one,
equaling one," was very good mathe-
matics. Quite naturally they obtained
a license, gathered together a few
Harry Solter, his wife, Florence Lawrence, with Flo'
sister, Carma, in the center.
friends, and "presto chango !" the deed
was done.
Tom Moore thought it would be
wonderful to try out in real life what
he and Alice Joyce had been doing for
the flickering shadows. Right in the
middle of a scene, with the cameras
clicking and the director shouting, ro-
mantic Tom "popped the question."
Alice had often heard the same words
before, but this particular time she
sensed his meaning. Her answer
brought joy to his heart, and the next
day Miss Joyce became Mrs. Thomas
Moore. A short while later, she de-
serted the studio, and at present is
teaching little Alice Joyce Moore, the
second, that feet
were made to be
walked on — not
hands.
The case of
Donald Hall and
rankie Mann was
more fanciful. Hall
had seen and ad-
mired the screen
portrayals of Miss
Mann, and vice
versa. Donald im-
mediately
took himself
home and
penned her a
note, telling
how wonder-
ful she was.
Again — vice
versa ! The
post- office
depart-
ment w a s
soon complaining of the extra mail men
they had to employ. Now, Donald Hall
is very patriotic and hated to put the
good old U. S. A. in debt. Accordingly
he purchased a commutation ticket to
Philadelphia — Frankie was with Lubin,
you know — and very soon he had to buy
an extra ticket on his return trip to
208
Romances of the Studios
Brooklyn. They had decided there was
nothing at all in single-blessedness.
''The pen is mightier than the sword !"
Gretchen Hartman and Alan Hale's
love affair was somewhat similar. Hale
was breaking the hearts of the young
Edgar Jones directing Louise Huff, his wife, in a scene.
The Lubin plant seemed to be one of
the favorite playgrounds of Dan Cupid.
A year or two ago, Edgar Jones was
directing and playing the lead in a stir-
ring drama of the days of the Rebellion.
Louise Huff, the pretty little wisp
of femininity, was
playing opposite. It
was a case of love
at first sight; and
Jones, as director,
ordered that they
play opposite for
life. Louise nodded
very demurely,
mind you — and be-
came Mrs. Jones.
Ethel Clayton and
Joe Kaufman, of
the same studio, fell
victims to the darts
of the little god of
love, and shortly
after he placed a
golden band on her
ringer as the minis-
ter mumbled a few
words.
The B i o g r a p h
studio also has had
its share of love
matches. Fern Fos-
ter said she knew
the villainy of
Harry Carey was
confined to films.
"Do you mean
that?" he asked.
She nodded.
"All right — marry
me!"
girl patrons of Lubin films when the
same thing happened to him. Gretchen
came in a Biograph picture, was seen,
and Alan was conquered ! As soon as
conditions would permit, he severed his
connections with Lubin, joined Bio-
graph, and he and the dainty little star
decided to stroll life's pathway together.
The delightful lit-
tle lady nodded a second time, and they
stopped work for the day. After that,
checks were made out to Mr. and Mrs.
Harry Carey. At the same adventure
factory, Gertrude Bambrick and Mar-
shall Neilan were playing together.
Like the Joneses, of Lubinville, it was a
first-sight love case, but alas and alack,
Romances of the Studios
209
Mamma Bambrick said "No." Ger-
trude was too young — only a child.
Sensibly the young people obeyed her.
The next year' Marshall had been pro-
moted to a directorship, and was at
the Kalem studios, in California. Soon
Gertrude, still with Biograph, left for
their Western plant for the winter.
Again she and Marshall were together,
and, with mamma far away, they
couldn't resist the temptation, so they
"went and done it," with Mae Marsh
and Bobby Tarron as witnesses. A tele-
gram-was sent to Gertie's parents, read-
ing:
We are married. Forgive us, or we will
go to Mexico.
Needless to say, they didn't go to
Mexico.
One of the most interesting and
prominent studio romances of the year
was that of Geraldine Farrar and Lou-
Tellegen. Both were appearing in pic-
tures at the Lasky studios, and met for
the first time. Miss Farrar was play-
ing in "Carmen," Mr. Tellegen in "The
Unknown." Every moment they could
steal from their arduous duties they
were together — tea, motoring, the the-
ater. Finally Geraldine was cast for
"Maria Rosa." Lou-Tellegen had oft-
times enacted the principal male role of
this play on the stage, and accordingly
he was called for consultation. This
brought him and the operatic star to-
gether more than ever, and soon the
busy little love bee was buzzing. Upon
their return to New York, invitations
were issued, and their marriage re-
ceived more space in the newspapers
than any press agent has obtained in a
long time.
Another romance of the same studio
was that of Fanny Ward and Jack
Dean. Together they played in "The
Cheat," and Dean acted in such a mag-
nanimous manner as the wronged hus-
band that Fanny couldn't help but fall
in love with him. As for Jack, he, poor
fellow, had long worshiped at her
210
Romances of the Studios
shrine, but had been too bashful to
speak. "Faint heart ne'er won fair
lady," however, and when young Dean
saw the love light shining in his dream
girl's eyes he summoned up courage.
Result— wedded bliss.
At about the same time, Marie Doro
and Elliot Dexter, now members of the
Lasky Company, met at the Triangle
studios, where both were playing.
Mere acquaintance developed into
friendship, friendship into a beautiful
love, and love into marriage.
She saved his life, and then gave him
hers. The details : Nat was playing
and codirecting with the Reliance Com-
pany, in California, where Miss Blake
was leading lady. Looking for loca-
tions in San Marcos Pass, he lost his
footing and stumbled down the preci-
pice, his immediate destruction being
avoided by some bushes and shrubs.
At this time, Loretta, on her horse
Midnight, was cantering through the
pass. By mere chance, she discerned
Deverich and his dangerous plight.
Gertrude Bambrick and Marshall Neilan, who said
they would go to the wilds of Mexico if Gertie's
parents refused to forgive their marriage.
Wally Reid, called by many "the
handsomest man on the screen," is an-
other of Lasky's corps to admit a stu-
dio wooing and wedding. It happened
a long, long time ago, though, and the
Universal Film Company was the scene
of the romance. Dorothy Davenport,
who played with Wally in the good old
days, was the lucky girl.
The story of the marriage of Loretta
Blake and Nathaniel Deverich has a
dime-novel flavor, but still it is true.
Jumping from her trusty steed — as they
say in novels — she tied a lasso, that was
included in her make-up, about a tree
trunk and lowered herself. Reaching
the unfortunate actor, she tied the rope
around his waist, and together they at-
tempted to climb to the top. It was a
herculean task they were unable to ac-
complish. Fortunately an automobile
party came along and effected a rescue.
When the top was reached, Loretta,
plucky little girl, promptly fainted.
Romances of the Studios
211
Anderson, of the
This story is told you firsthand, because
I saw the rescue — I was one of the au-
tomobile party.
"Sunshine Mary
Western Vitagraph,
has a romance to
tell her children in
future years almost
as thrilling as the
one just related.
Some months ago,
she was doing ex-
teriors in the snows
of Big Bear Valley,
and one morning
w e n t wandering
aimlessly about.
Suddenly she dis-
covered she was
lost, and in knee-
deep snow, too ! At
the same time, her
absence was noticed
by the director.
Johnny Goodfriend,
the camera man,
who had long ad-
mired Mary from
afar, led the search
that followed.
Hours later, he
came upon her,
shivering and sob-
bing from cold and
fear. Heroic John-
ny promptly put his
arms around the lit-
tle star — to warm
her, of course ! —
and Mary nestled
her head on his
shoulder.
"My hero !"
"My sweetheart!"
Love, kisses, min-
ister, bungalow !
Other Vitagraph
couples, whose romances budded in the
lights of the Cooper-Hewitts, are Mr.
and Mrs. Sidney Drew, now with
Metro, and Ralph Ince, the boy direc-
tor, and his doll-like wife, Lucille Lee
Stewart.
They say all women love the sight
Geraldine Farrar and Lou-Tellegen on the steps of the New York
City Hall, after obtaining their marriage license.
of brass buttons. Some years ago, Guy
Coombs did nothing for Kalem but
Civil War pictures. Trtjly he was a
212
Romances of the Studios
heroic figure with his more than six
feet of perfectly proportioned body, an
officer's bespangled uniform, and rak-
ishly tilted hat. Anna Q. Nilsson, play-
ing opposite, was not immune to his
charms, and it needed but a word from
him to have her coyly nod her pretty
fearless, was lying, supposedly uncon-
scious, in the path of an onrushing lo-
comotive. The engineer was to stop i
few inches from her prostrate body.
As the train came tearing down, Mo
Gowan sensed that it would not stop
in time. He shouted to Miss Holmes,
Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Ince, far from the trials and tribulations of studio life.
little head and whisper, "Yes." Chalk
down another victory for the forces of
General Cupid !
The Kalem Company was respon-
sible for another union of screen sweet-
hearts when Helen Holmes and her di-
rector, J. P. McGowan, were married".
For months they had been working on
railroad pictures, and were together
constantly. During the filming of a
particularly daring thriller, Helen, the
whose eyes were closed — according to
the scenario — but she did not hear him.
The steam mogul was almost upon her.
Acting with rare judgment, McGowan
jumped through the air, seized the sur-
prised Helen, and flung her from dan-
ger. One week later, the hero and
heroine of this little life drama were
united in wedlock.
The Thanhouser studio, at New Ro-
chelle, has been the scene of a romance
Romances of the Studios
213
or two of national importance. Hand-
some Jimmy Cruze saved the life of
vivacious Peggy Snow so often, and put
the villains on her trail to rout so often,
that she thought he would make a great
protector throughout life. Jimmy
thought the same. Result — matrimony.
The other wedding was that of Mignon
Anderson and Morris Foster. For
months they had played at love with
one another. Finally, while motoring
from the studio to a location, Morris
plucked up courage and told Mignon
how well she would look at
the other end of the table
from him. She thought he
would look just as nice vice
versa.
"Shall we try it?" he mur-
mured.
''Why not?" was the reply.
And that night a New Ro-
chelle minister was several
dollars richer.
No man wants to marry a
vampire ; but Harry Edwards,
who knocks you off your seat
with his funny comedies,
knew that the "vamping" of
voluptuous Louise Glaum was
done for screen purposes
only. Although these player
did not work at the same
studio, they were together
every moment they could
spare, and Harry soon real-
ized what a sweet little girlie
Louise really was. Would
she marry him ? She would !
Wedding bells, uncon-
fined joy and bliss.
Last summer I was at
a tea given by the Gish
girls in their palatial
home, "Denishawn."
Mr. and Mrs. Harry
Edwards were
"among those pres-
ent." So were Eu-
gene Pallette, the
Triangle villain, and Ann Slater, who
is an ingenue for the same company.
Poor Eugene had pestered and annoyed
little Ann through thousands of feet of
film, and never had any chance for
love-making.
"Why should the curly-headed heroes
have a monopoly on your love?" he
asked.
"Why?" the dainty little girl replied.
And the Gish tea turned into a Pal-
lette engagement party. A month or
two ago this deliriously happy couple
Marie Doro and her husband, Elliot Dexter, on the porch
of their Hollywood home.
214
Romances of the Studios
were wed in the glory of the California
sunlight, with the Gish sisters and Mae
Marsh as bridesmaids.
During the production of "Neal of
the Navy," debonair young William
Courtleigh, junior, fell deeply in love
with Ethel Fleming, one of the prin-
cipals. It is only fair to relate that
Ethel herself had as serious a case.
"Can we have a day off?" Court-
leigh pleaded with Bert Bracken, the
director, and his request was granted.
Ethel and Bill promptly jumped into
his motor and whirled away. That
night they returned, and the coy and
bashful girl had a thin golden band on
one of the fingers of her left hand.
Congratulations, and a studio banquet.
"I know just how you feel," smiled
Director Henry King, who is married
to Gypsy Abbot. "Great, isn't it?"
Gypsy, you know, married Henry as
the result of picture love-making.
Many romances have resulted be-
cause of actors and actresses playing
opposite one another. The case of'
Ruth Stonehouse and Joe Roach is dif-
ferent. Joe was employed by the Ess-
anay Company to write leading parts
for Ruth, and to have Francis X. Bush-
man or Dick Travers make love to her
at the rate of a reel or two a week. For
a while Joe worked in perfect content.
Finally he woke up and asked himself
why he should furnish love potions for
other chaps when he was extremely
fond of Ruth himself. So he stole a
day from his duties and on bended knee
pleaded with Ruth to accept his heart
and hand. She couldn't help but say
"Yes," for she had long cherished a
secret admiration for the good-looking
young scenario writer. Of course, I'm
not sure about the bended-knee inci-
dent, but, anyway, that's the way it is
usually done. Look at the films and
see !
The famous American Film Com-
pany quartet, Winnie Greenwood and
George Field, and Louise Lester and
Jack Richardson, are also among the
lucky players whose courtships were the
result of studio association. They re-
semble nothing so much as carefree tur-
tledoves. Any moving-picture sweet-
hearts who are seriously thinking of
committing matrimony are respectfully
referred to the above-mentioned play-
ers. Better furnish a little bungalow
or flat first, however; you'll need it.
Or, if it happens that you are not ac-
quainted with these stars, call on Claire
McDowell and Charles Mailes, of Bio-
graph. They are also a Mr. and Mrs.
So are Octavia and Harry Handworth,
and Ethel Grandin and Ray Smallwood.
Laura Sawyer and J. Searle Dawley
trace their romance back to their days
with Edison.
Another case of one and one making
one started two years ago at D. W.
Griffith's studio, and just came to a
climax. It is that of Raoul Walsh and
Miriam Cooper. They made reel love
so often that it developed into real love,
and a few short weeks ago announce-
ments were sent out.
A wedding that had a very amusing
side was that of Ford Sterling, the be-
spectacled and bewhiskered Keystone
comedian, and petite Teddy Sampson.
This eventful happening took place in
Los Angeles, when Charlie Chaplin, the
great, was a member of the Keystone
forces. Mack Sennett, in all his glory
and a frock coat, was the best man, and
Charlie had the role of chief usher. It
is said that as the happy but nervous
couple were standing before the min-
ister, Mack wanted to take his job from
him. Chaplin, hopping on one foot, as
is his wont, reached him just in time.
"Remember, Mack," he said sol-
emnly, "this is no comedy !"
SHE had invited me to tea. And
then, just to prove that^she was
eternally feminine, or, perhaps
socially proper, she was terribly late. I
was on time, and, when one of two
people are late in keeping an engage-
ment, one of the two is going to become
impatient ; especially if the other one is
kept waiting too long.
I was the other one. Punctuality had
been a sort of religion with me ever
since an old-maid school-teacher, in my
home town, had escorted me before the
entire class and used a ruler on me,
very unfeelingly, for being tardy three
times consecutively. I decided then and
there I would try to keep all appoint-
ments with the school as punctually as
possible. When I left school, I carried
a similar resolution with my first posi-
tion, and I've carted it around with me
ever since.
When Mary Fuller phoned me,
earlier in the day, she had particularly
warned me against being late. I was
to come to her hotel promptly at seven,
and she would be awaiting me in the
parlor, just to the right of the entrance.
I had promised to obey her instruc-
tions, and had faithfully kept my prom-
ise to be at the appointed spot at the
appointed hour. In fact, I had been
studying the golden designs in the ex-
pensive tapestry which stretched half-
way across the wall of the room for the
past fifteen minutes. I had been com-
pelled to make such a close study of it
that I began to picture the Japanese
gentleman who had made it, and just
what condition his nerves were in when
he completed the delicate handiwork. It
is only at such moments as these that
one ever has the opportunity of study-
ing tapestries, wall paper, curtains and
ceiling effects, and I dare say that be-
fore the object of my visit arrived, I
had made a scientific observation of
everything within those four walls,
from the frescoed ceiling to the won-
derful Turkish rug which lay at my
feet, and resembled an infuriated dish
of chop suey.
Then she came. I knew it was she
before I saw her, for there's something
about some people which makes their
presence felt before you see them.
Mary Fuller is such an individual. I
have only known two such persons, and
the other is Theodore Roosevelt.
Theosophists and psychologists call it
216 The Much Photographed Mary Fuller
magnetic personality, and, as no one
has ever given a better explanation of
it, we will permit this description to
stand.
She entered the room like a soft eve-
ning breeze, and she brought with her
a smile which demanded forgiveness
for her tardiness. Like her thoughts,
her gown was conservative and ex-
tremely modest with its pale blue, and
"My. life seems to be spent in front of
the camera. Despite how busy my
many duties keep me, photographers are
constantly demanding the favor of a
sitting. It seems that all I do is pose,
pose, pose."
"Which shouldn't be very difficult,
considering you are a woman," I ven-
tured.
"It is difficult for me," she returned.
"I think a photograph is a testimony of
a certain egotism. Then, too, they sel-
dom tell the truth. They almost always
misconstrue the facts,
and never play abso-
lutely fair with the vic-
tim. Either you are
exhibited as extremely
Three of Mary Fuller's latest
photographs that portray as |j
many entirely different per-
sonalities
the gentle rustle which accompanied it
seemed to add a freshness to her com-
ing which was very appropriate. On
her arm hung a wonderful millinery
creation suspended from two ribbons,
and she looked as though she had just
stepped from the leaves of an interest-
ing novel, with every vestige of ro-
mance still clinging to her.
"I'm awfully sorry," she began. "I
know I'm late. Have you been waiting
long ?"
Then, for a reason I know not why,
I lied: "No, I just arrived."
"I've been to the photographer's,"
she explained, as she took a seat beside
me on the big divan.
"More photographs?"
"More photographs," she sighed.
beautiful or else discouragingly ugly. If
you happen to be unfortunate enough to
be ordinary in countenance, you are
presented with a wonderful piece of
photography which would pass a repro-
duction of the Venus de Milo or Helen
of Troy. And, if you possess a certain
amount of facial attractiveness, the
photographer usually succeeds in hand-
ing you something which requires a
considerable amount of study for you
to determine whether it is you, or if
he has mixed your plates with some
one else's.
"Both cause disappointment and em-
The Much Photographed Mary Fuller 217
right
barrassment. We are never
wholly pleased with the re-
sult. In other words, pho-
tographs are totally deceiv-
ing; they're dishonest. The
lens of a camera either un-
der or overestimates us.
Of course, few of us are
displeased when we are
flattered, but it is rather
distressing when we are
not given credit for the
good looks which happen to
be ours."
I interrupted her
there to tell her that
I agreed perfectly — ■
I had noticed she
said "we."
"I believe I have
posed in nearly
every studio in New
York," Miss Fuller
continued. "It has
grown so serious
with me that when I
pass a photogra-
pher's, my feet turn
instinctively toward
the entrance. I have
had my picture
taken with all sorts
of settings and atmospheres. Some
have been Oriental, others in skylight
parlors, some in skyscrapers, and again
in- flash-light cubby-holes. Daylight,
flash light, electric lights, and Cooper-
Hewitts have all figured prominently
'in my career, and I have had to be
taken in all kinds of poses.
So accustomed have I grown to mak-
ing these frequent trips to photogra-
phers' shops that I believe I would be
terribly morose were I to be denied
this labor. I say labor because going
to a photographer's is like going to a
dentist's. One makes you make faces
and the other makes faces that you
don't make."
Once more I made her wait — this
Mary Fuller can play
excellently on t h
piano — if she is unin-
terrupted by photo-
graphers long enough.
Below — "behind the
gun" herself at the
studio — she becomes
so engrossed that she
almost forgets to
crank the camera.
time while I laughed. Then she smiled
and went on :
"Some of the fans write me for
photographs portraying a certain mood ;
others write that they are collecting my
different photographs, and request me
to sit for another, so that they can add
a new one to their group. Some have
a hobby of collecting my different por-
traits and 'stills,' and others cut them
from newspapers and magazines and
place them in scrapbooks. Recently a
little schoolgirl wrote me that she was
making a collection of my different pic-
tures, and that she was in the habit of
trading wTith her friends, when she had
two of a kind, so as to obtain a new
one. Another little bov out West seems
218 The Much Photographed Mary Fuller
to spend most of his time sketching
reproductions from the photographs I
send him. He sends them to me, and
I have quite a few which he has made
in my scrapbook. He does them very
well, and some are very interesting.
"Of course, it is very tedious work
sitting for photographs continuously,
but if the fans ask for them, I usually
try to favor them, for, after all, they
are my dearest friends, and it shows
that they have not forgotten me. In
the last six months I believe I have
given away over ten thousand photos.
My bill for photographs last year ran
into the thousands, so you can see it is
rather expensive, isn't it?"
I nodded.
"Since the Picture-Play Magazine
started its scenario contest, I have been
deluged with requests for more," she
continued." "It seems that some of the
writers have an idea they can send in a
better scenario if they have some of my
pictures to study. Many of them have
asked me to pose for special photo-
graphs expressing different emotions. I
have tried to oblige them, for I want to
help every one of them to win the prize.
I shall take pleasure in appearing in the
winning scenario, and esteem it a great
tribute that I was chosen for this re-
sponsible task. I sincerely hope my
work will justify the confidence which
has been placed in me.
"Now I must go. I've got to go to
the studio to-night," she said, as she
arose.
"Working on a production?" I
inquired.
"No, I've been asked to pose in some
scenes to illustrate an article," she an-
swered, with a weary smile.
I started to go.
"Oh, by the way," I began. "May I
have one of your photographs?"
"Don't be cruel," she laughed. And
before I could convince her I was abso-
lutely in earnest, she was in the eleva-
tor, and the door was closed.
Alary Fuller can derive as much pleasure from reading a story as from acting one.
T
HE Centaur Film Company's
studio was the only one I vis-
ited where I was met with a
growl.
But the studio family is the pleas-
antest in the world for that, because
they have the famous Bostock collec-
tion of over one hundred and fifty wild
animals to do their growling for them.
Xot many motion-picture companies
are so fortunate.
After gazing about the famous
"yard," where I saw a viking calmly
smoking his pipe while speaking with
the Queen of Egypt, and an East Indian
shooting pennies with a supposed na-
tive of the Fiji Islands, I presented my
card at the office, and a delightful young
woman came out to meet me. It was
Theodosia Harris, the scenario editor,
and I was very glad to go behind the
scenes with her, as I felt sure I would
-get some interesting information.
As we entered 'the neat, trim park, I
noticed that in the center was a large
roofed auditorium, bearing the name,
"Bostock," in huge letters. This in-
closed amphitheater, I soon learned,
seats about fifteen hundred spectators,
and at times performances are given
for their benefit.
In a moment or two we had reached
the entrance of the auditorium, and
Miss Harris pointed to a troupe of
seven lions which were being put
through their tricks and obeying the
commands of a gentle-voiced man. He
wTas none other than Captain Jack Bona-
vita, the most celebrated animal trainer
in the world. All his life has been spent
with the creatures he loves and that
love him. But he has been without one
arm for eight years as the result of the
affectionate overtures of one of his
beast family, and expects to end his
eventful career through the all-too-lov-
ing attentions of one of these brutes of
the jungle.
"It is necessary to have them re-
hearsed constantly," said Miss Harris,
after introducing the fearless captain,
"otherwise they become sullen and
dull. We have some wonderful ani-
mals in this collection, you know. For
instance, there is Nero, the big lion,
who is as happy before the camera as
Charlie Chaplin. Nero has been trained
to crawl through an open window, take
a baby from a cradle, and run away
with it."
Naturally I shuddered.
"Oh, you can be sure that they make
it perfectly safe for the baby," my de-
lightful escort smiled at me, as she no-
ticed my expression. "Nero is as
friendly as a big, overgrown dog. The
220
The Centaur Studio
camera man has to urge him by every
known and unknown device to 'register'
more ferocity. You just can't train him
to be anything but playful. Then we
have old Leo, who is a famous 'dying'
lion, and knows enough to stay 'dead'
despite cavalry charges, screaming he-
roines, and furiously shooting heroes.
There are also boxing kangaroos,
the Centaur Company, and a man to
whose inventive mind the motion-pic-
ture industry owes much. He has in-
vented many of the labor-saving de-
vices to be found in the photo-play
studios at the present time, as well as
the David Horsley duplex double-ex-
posure camera, by which it first became
possible to make two exposures at one
A partial view of the dressing rooms — no two alike — which are often used as "locations.'
trained hyenas, elephants that stand on
their heads, and every other conceiv-
able kind of creature in our collection."
The lions seemed very affectionate
with Bonavita on the stage, and I re-
marked about it to Miss Harris.
"He wears a suit of boards under his
other clothes," she told me. "Some-
times, when the 'cats' are particularly
ugly, he carries a chair to ward off their
powerful paws, but even then he is
often lacerated and bruised."
We wandered past the huge semicir-
cle of animal cages and to the "arena,"
which is the most unique feature of the
plant. It is a product of the fertile
brain of David Horsley, the head of
time on the same negative ; the Horsley
film printer, and the Horsley film pol-
isher.
"But," Miss Harris remarked, "the
'arena' studio is the greatest achieve-
ment of his clever mind. When he de-
cided to add animals to his list of ac-
tors, he knew that to use them to the
best possible advantage something out
of the ordinary in the way of stage con-
struction would be necessary. There-
fore, he set out to fill the requirements
as his mind's eye saw them. The re-
sult is the 'arena' as it stands to-day."
This arena is a large affair built in
the shape of an enormous hexagon, and
divided into six separate sections by
The Centaur Studio
221
wire fences twenty feet in height, that
run from the center like the spokes of
a wheel. The ends are also closed in
by fences, and at the apex of each sec-
tion, which is in the form of a triangle,
there is a concrete platform from which
a earner can be focused on any sec-
tion. At the edge of this platform a
moat six feet wide divides it from the
arena itself which serves two purposes ;
one is that it keeps the animals from
reaching the platform, and the other is
that a player can escape the attack of
enraged beasts by jumping into it. The
different- sections are divided even in
the moat by trapdoors under water
that swing back or forward from the
top, so that a pursued player can jump
into the water and come up in the next
section, wet, but safe.
"Has it ever been
necessary for any one
to take to the moat?"
I asked Miss Harris,
in interest.
A young, handsome,
curly-headed man was
approaching us and
Miss Harris smiled.
"Ask Crane Wil-
bur," she said, and in-
troduced me to the idol
of girls the country
over.
I asked him.
"When I am go-
ing to work with
the Bostock collec-
tion of noble ani-
mals I certainly
want that moat
handy," he replied,
with a grin. "I was
strolling around in
this 'wild jungle'
one day, when Cap-
tain Bonavita sud-
denly shouted a
command to me to
jump. He never
raises his voice unless there is a reason,
and you can believe me when I say
that I jumped! I looked behind just
long enough to see three sinuous leop-
ards crawling toward me from behind
the rocks. When I had a real good
chance to look at them again I was
dripping from head to foot, but safe
over in the section across the way. One
of the leopards was angrily screaming
because it had lost
its balance and
fallen into the
moat, hitting the
netting of the cam-
era man's
cage. They
had to bring
Captain Jack Bonavita and Leo, foremost of the Centaur's animal actors.
222
The Centaur Studio
planks and trainers to get him out, and,
needless to say, I didn't help them.
Yes, indeed, the moat is used more fre-
quently than we like !"
There are six sections to the arena.
Section one is a jungle scene, with big
trees hung with moss and creeping
vines, a dense tangle of brush and
shrubs and native grass huts. An old
Boer wagon adds to the realism of it.
Arena number two portrays the
Rocky Mountains, with great ledges of
rock, a skillfully painted mountain
background, real spruce trees, and
caves which furnish dens for grizzly
bears. In the foreground are smaller
rocks among which the action of plays
is mostly taken.
Section three shows a scene in the
northern woods, while arenas four and
five present the wilds of the tropics.
The sixth section is the most cleverly
arranged of all, being a desert with
dreary patches of sand and ledges of
rock. By a clever device, this last arena
is so managed that it can be changed
into a marine view and other effects.
The animals enter each section by a
runway from their cages. This runway
incloses the entire arena, and by merely
closing a gate which separates one di-
vision from another, the animals can
be grouped in any section desired.
These gates are large enough to allow
the biggest animals, even the elephants,
and stagecoaches and caravans to pass
through. The circuit of the six sec-
tions can be made without turning
around. Steps run up to another run-
way that encircles the sections at the
top so that the spectators can look down
into the arena.
'They are taking a scene now.
Would you like to see it?" my compan-
ion inquired.
Would I ! I climbed to the runway,
and, sitting down in a little, concrete
platform, prepared to be thrilled.
The setting represented some partic-
ular part of ''Sudan." A director and
camera man were ready for business
just as near the moat as possible, and,
inside, the heroine, Nan Christy, was
supposedly tied to the floor with heavy
ropes.
The leading man of that particular
scene walked majestically from oehind
a hut, the central object of the "set."
It was Leo — ferocious and man-eating
Leo. With him came Bonavita, whip
in hand.
From the top of the hut an arm sud-
denly appeared with a rope in its hand,
from which dangled a huge piece of
raw meat. It swung temptingly in
front of the door. Leo was supposed
to jump for the meat and come down
with his paws on the door, which would
open and let him inside. Of course,
the meat was dangled out of range of
the camera.
Leo turned his back on both meat
and door, and, walking over to a
spreading palm, lay down. The palm
could not stand such proximity and
fell over on him. He yawned and got
up. No amount of urging at first
seemed to tempt him toward the meat.
Jack Bonavita disappeared inside the
door and held more meat to make him
nose the door. Even that refused to
entice any ferocity into the beast. Ap-
parently he was feeling particularly
peaceful that day. Finally another
trainer appeared and cracked his whip.
A couple of men with guns added shots
to the occasion. At length Leo made
a feeble leap for the dangling meat —
then a little -stronger one. Finally he
leaped high, and as he dropped back,
his paws opened the door and the cam-
era had finished its work.
It was a lesson in patience, and will
show the "fans" just a small bit of the
trouble involved to create excitement
and amusement for them.
Miss Harris was then forced to leave
me, having some writing to do, and
while waiting for another scene, I
strolled leisurely over to the west of the
The Centaur Studio
223
arena to the big, outdoor studio, which
has a stage seventy by one hundred and
forty feet. No acting was going on,
however, so I looked about to see just
what sort of a place it was.
The property room is on the east end,
and I counted sixteen big, steel trusses
which spanned the stage and carried
the light diffusers, which look to the
"Will you tell me why not any two
of these dressing rooms are alike, Miss
Gibson?" I asked, as I greeted her.
"Oh — another of Mr. Horsley's
clever ideas," she answered. "The
fronts are built to represent bungalows,
and not even any two doors or windows
are the same. By simply changing one
of the glass bungalow doors, the direc-
Filming a wild-animal scene that will make shivers creep up and down your back when you view
it in the theater.
layman like a roof. Then I noticed a
long row of little, bungalowlike rooms
on the north side, and not one room
was like the other.
Curious, as usual, I wondered why.
A wonderfully attractive girl came
out of one of these dressing rooms, and
I determined to ask her.
It was Margaret Gibson, one of the
youngest stars in filmdom, for she has
just passed nineteen.
tors have a combination of one hun-
dred and forty-four different designs
for use as exterior settings. Any kind
of a cottage can be put up for a scene
at a moment's notice."
Miss Gibson then escorted me into
the indoor studio, which, she told, has a
large stage, seventy by one hundred and
twenty feet. Property rooms, scen-
ery docks, all the equipment, are the
last word in studio furnishing. It was
224
The Centaur Studio
here that I again saw Crane Wilbur,
this time busy at work on "The Love
Liar." Any one that has the impres-
sion that Wilbur is but a handsome,
love-making matinee idol should have
seen him at work that day !
A terrible fist fight was being staged
between Wilbur and Roy Watson.
There was no rehearsal whatsoever, the
Finally, with a frightful swing of his
badly gashed right arm, Wilbur hit his
opponent in the face, and both men
dropped from exhaustion.
When he had recovered enough to
talk, I spoke to Crane about the fight.
"What was the use of you two fel-
lows punishing one another so badly?
Couldn't you have 'faked' it in some
way ?"
He looked at me and smiled.
"Nothing would have been
easier," was his reply,
"but I want to give
my admirers some-
men going at one another like the wild
animals so close at hand. Chairs, tables,
mirrors — in fact, every article in the
"set," was used in their terrific strug-
gle. Time and again blood would
stream forth as first one, and then an-
other, would land a telling blow. It
was a combat that would have delighted
the cruel populace of the Rome of old.
thing worth while when they
spend their money to see me act.
I am not what you might call
a 'stunt' actor, neither am I a
fearless dare-devil who cares
nothing for his life, but just the
same it is realism with me, first,
last, and all the time !" And with these
words he limped into another "set" to
continue his work.
As Miss Gibson and I went into the
yard again, I said:
"Don't you get very nervous when
playing with these animals?"
"Well, just this morning I had a
'race-for-life' scene with old Monte,"
The Centaur Studio
225
she smiled — and Margaret can smile ! —
"and I confess he was very much too
realistic for me, even though Crane
Wilbur might have thought it was just
the thing. The trainers hurried Monte
back to his cage, before he had fully
decided whether or not I would make
an appetizing morsel. I wonder some-
times if there won't be a fatal moment
when some of them will forget they
"Perhaps," laughed Margaret, "but
mother isn't going to wake you up if
one of Mr. Horsley's pet lions gets the
notion in his head to take a little bite !
Oh, and here is where the camera man,
or some trainer with a whip and a gun,
leads the beast off to his lair!" she
added.
We had come to the arena again,
where a scene for "The Leopard's
Margaret Gibson being
put through the paces
by her director, Wil-
liam J. Bowman.
are merely moving-picture actors and
really swallow me! They are such
treacherous beasts. When they are too
tame every one gets cross about it, and
when they are too fierce every one is
nervous. They never seem to do just
what the directors want — but it's a
great life, just the same !"
"To me it would seem like a night-
mare coming true," I suggested. "The
kind we used to have after Thanksgiv-
ing and Christmas. Just as some tiger
or lion opens its jaws to eat you,
mother comes in and wakes you up."
Bride" was about to be filmed. A great
many trees and big rocks served as
lurking places for the jungle beasts.
"I'm playing the lead in this picture
opposite William Clifford," explained
the little star. "I'm to be a native girl
— Nadje."
In the distance was the cabin in
which Miss Gibson, the girl victim of
the leopard, was supposed to be. The
villain, a real East Indian, came stroll-
ing nonchalantly — a way all natives of
India seem to have — through the jungle
wilds and disappeared behind a tree.
226
The Centaur Studio
Then the leopard came on. wild and
bloodthirsty. To enrage him even more
guns were repeatedly shot and whips
cracked. The director got a trifle closer
the moat, the men with the guns held
them a whole lot steadier, and the eyes
of the trainer were more alert. The
ferocious brute gave a sudden snort,
reared on its hind legs. and. with a
frightful rush of speed., sprang upon
the door. The picture was hurriedly
taken and the angry animal was Very
carefully led back to its cage after pro-
longed persuasion and as much diplo-
macy.
Every one breathed easier, including
Mr. Horsley himself, who had come
from his private office to catch a glimpse
of the scene.
I looked rather appealingly at Miss
Gibson. She understood the look, and
I got a few words with him.
"Was it true that you lost your en-
tire fortune in the moving pictures once
upon a time. Mr. Horsley?*'" I asked
him. bringing up ancient history.
"Yes," he shook his head sadly. '"All
that I had in the world — two hundred
and fifty dollars ! It spurred me on to
get it back again, however, and then
"And then.'* I finished for him, "you
commenced inventing things for the
motion-picture industry, and now you
have your own studio — and all in seven
years !"
Mr. Horsley again agreed with me.
Then he told me the story of the
invention of the light dirtuser. now used
in every motion-picture studio in the
world.-
"If a stage setting, representing, say,
a parlor, is erected in the sunlight, the
light beams cast well-defined shadows
from the furniture and the players.*' he
explained. "In the ordinary parlor
there are no shadows, so to overcome
this difficulty in moving pictures, white
cloth is stretched on frames over the
set. This softens, or diffuses, the light
so that it does not cast shadows, but
leaves it strong enough for photog-
raphy.
"My first producing company was
using a small back yard in Xew Yrork
City- as a studio." Mr. Horsley con-
tinued. "The yard was in the rear of
a big tenement house on one of the
upper floors of which lived a washer-
woman. She used to dry her clothes
on an aerial pulley line which ran di-
rectly over the little studio, and when
the wind blew the clothes flapped, and
the shadows they cast on the stage
settings below danced fantastically.
The dancing shadows were bad enough,
but quite often some article would drop
from the clothesline and come flutter-
ing down in the middle of an important
scene. Oh. it would have been great if
George Ovey was with us then !" he
laughed. "However, we were produc-
ing dramas, and it would be necessary
to take the scene all over again at con-
siderable trouble — not to mention ex-
pense. So I Anally decided to pay the
woman fifty cents to keep the wash oft
the line when a scene was being taken.
That plan worked all right until holdup
tactics were adopted. I was taking
some scenes on a sunny Sunday morn-
ing. The enterprising washerlady no-
ticed it, and hung her clothes on the
line quite needlessly. Then she doubled
her price because it was Sunday, and
charged a dollar for taking in the
clothes. That was too much for my
limited pocketbook. Accordingly I
stretched some muslin over the 'sets.'
The cloth caught the shadows from the
flapping clothes and prevented them
from falling into the picture. Also it
gave a soft, diffused light. The doing
away with the shadows proved to be the
most important part."
At this point some one came out and
requested Mr. Horsley's attention, so I
left him and went to watch a few more
scenes that were of the same nature as
the one just over, except that they were
The Centaur Studio
not quite as exciting. By the time these
were finished the number of players
about had dwindled to a very few, as
the afternoon was growing too late for
good photography. Mr. Wilbur was
just leaving for his dressing room, and
I hurried to catch up with him.
We walked slowly together, and T
asked him about the companies work-
ing at the Centaur studio.
"At present there are four," he
replied. "The feature output is un-
der the name of 'Cemaur,' and is
comprised of two companies, one of
which is headed by Margaret Gib-
son and Bill Clifford, and the other
by myself. I also direct the major-
ity of my plays. The other two
companies make single-reel com-
edies of the 'Cub' brand, featuring
George Ovey and Billy Armstrong.
Celia Santon, Mae Gaston, Nan
Christy, Lewis "Bull" Durham,
George George, and Roy Watson
are members of our happy family."
We were standing before his dress-
ing-room door when he finished, and I
left him there to go to my hotel. When
I found myself alone, walking off the
grounds, and not surrounded by wire
fences, I heard a growl from within.
I almost started to run, but turned
quickly around, and, seeing no animals
of the jungle dashing for me, breathed
easier.
But I am still of the opinion that the
streets around the Horsley studio
should be on the order of those of
Venice — for the safety of pedestrians.
IS SHE ANOTHER PICKFORD?
A LITTLE girl named Love — yes, Bes-
sie Love — looms brightest now as a
probable second Mary Pickford. She
is entirely different from the queen of motion
pictures so far as looks are concerned, but her
wistful eyes and appealing manner speak
loudly in her favor.
And, moreover, she was discovered by none
ether than David W. Griffith himself, who, it
will be remembered, was the man
to place .Little Mary" on the ped-
estal of public favor. Bessie is
only sixteen — which gives
her plenty of time to
build her future —
but has already
won her way
gave her a servant
to many
hearts. A very
short time ago she
went with her mother
to Mr. Griffith and applied
for work. The "'Master Mind"
role in ''The Flying
Torpedo." There was no private re-
hearsal. Mr. Griffith just told Bessie:
''You are a terrible Swede. Your
employer has been murdered. You
dash in to Mr. Emerson with the news.
Let's see, }-ou better yell : 'By Yiminy,
he yumped to hell/ "
"1 have to say that?" she queried in
wonder; and Mr. Griffith nodded.
She said it — and the story was re-
written to give her a leading part. She
has been playing leads ever since, and
at the Griffith studios Bessie is called
"Our Mary" — with a tone of prediction.
STROLLING along the beach at
Brighton, Long Island, in search
of Harold Lockwood, whom I
had been told I might find there, I was
scanning the line of bathers, trying to
discern him among them, when I stum-
bled over the form of a man lolling on
the beach and almost covered with the
white sand. Just as I was about to
apologize I turned the words into a
greeting, for there, right under my feet,
was the subject of my search.
As he leisurely stretched himself and
arose to answer my greetings, I care-
fully scrutinized this man — the idol and
hero of a nation of young people. He
strikes one as being a great, big, over-
grown boy in many ways — a boy who
is especially good looking, with a splen-
did— I might almost say marvelous —
physique, merry, dancing blue eyes,
blond hair, and a healthy, pink-cheeked
complexion.
"I always try my best to run out to
the beach whenever I have a spare mo-
ment,'' he explained. "I got into the
habit while on the coast, and I don't
think I could break it if I wished — and
I don't." He smiled.
"You prefer the West to the effete
East, anyway, I guess?" I questioned.
He hesitated. "Well, you know, I
always manage to enjoy myself wher-
ever I happen to be, but 'California, I
hear you calling me,' " and he started
to sing that popular song of a year or
two ago.
As we talked, a passer-by or two
recognized the handsome Metro leading
man and stopped to gaze at him out of
curiosity. Soon these few people were
augmented by a fast-gathering throng
of interested spectators, and Harold
began to fidget and get nervous.
"I think we had better get away from
here," he suggested. "I'll jump into my
togs and we'll ride to my cottage, where
we will have a little more privacy."
Suiting his words to actions, he
sprinted along the beach, an enthusias-
tic mob trailing, and was soon behind
the closed doors of his bathhouse.
Presently, dressed in his street
clothes, he sought me out and then led
me to his machine — one of his few ex-
travagances. I made him Jump into the
machine first, and then gazed at him in
approval. From the low seat of the
gray car only his head, in a plaid cap
of gorgeous colors, and his shoulders,
hunched over the wheel, could be seen.
Lower down, an apparently independ-
230
Harold Lockwood
ent pair of legs clad in pure white flan-
nels extended diagonally .forward, dis-
appearing into a cavernous region of
dials and levers. Withal, he was a
chap to incite admiration, especially at
a moment like this.
Quickly I found myself a seat, and
Soon I asked him the old, familiar
bromide- — how he became an actor. I
could plainly see he did not enjoy the
question, but politely he answered:
"Well, I went to school in Brooklyn
to acquire book learning and study
business methods — according to the de-
Harold is cptife «a murderer when if comes
killing "
soon we were hopping over the uneven
roads at a terrifying speed. If the
speed laws were not entirely broken,
they were very badly bent, indeed. In
a miraculously short space of time — a
time in which we had no opportunity
for conversation — his country place was
reached.
This "big man at his work" and "boy
at his play" I soon found to be an ear-
nest and emphatic believer in the effi-
cacy of exercise both of mind and of
body. He gives all his energies, all
his mentality to his work while he is
at it, but he does not eat, drink, and
sleep with his art — he leaves it at the
studio. He is a firm exponent of the
old saying: "Eight hours' work, eight
hours' play, and eight hours' sleep."
sire of my dad, but all the Latin and
mathematics I ever absorbed never gave,
me the pleasure I experienced in leav-
ing some of my schoolmates in the rear
during running matches. I was fortu-
nate enough to win several medals,
which I still have.
"My love for sports came from my
father, who owned several blooded
horses, and who allowed me to exercise
them and occasionally drive one to vic-
tory. I liked that kind of life, but when
the suggestion was made that I enter
a nice, reliable business — something in
the wholesale linen line, for instance,
my soul rebelled. You know, I had
spent much time in and around theaters,
and a couple of times - played part of
the background in mob scenes. These
Harold Lockwood
231
appearances of mine before the foot-
lights— although I was so far back I
couldn't see the lights — carved my fu-
ture out for me. The stage for me !
"I spoke to dad about it, and he said :
'It is up to you — act, if you must, but
woe betide you if you are a ham actor.
Aim high and go to it.' "
I will spare Harold the trouble of
having to praise himself, and will tell
the rest myself. For several years he
appeared in stage productions with
marked success, and was one of the
first legitimate actors to respond to the
beckoning of the camera. This was
with the old Rex Company, where he
Harold Lockwood is an
enthusiastic motorist, and
would rather drive his car
than eat — or even work in
the studio for that matter.
his first feature, "Hearts Adrift," with
the adorable Mary Pickford. This was
for the Famous Players.
After supporting many of the world's
greatest stars in productions of this
company, he sought new fields to con-
quer, and was soon being starred in
American films. Recently he and his
leading lady, May Allison, joined the
Metro forces, where they are to-day.
And, in passing, let me deny the oft-
repeated assertion that this young cou-
ple are married — for they are not.
However, they are more than plain
friends — they are the
best of pals possible.
played leads for Edwin S. Porter. It After a few moments in his garden
is strange to relate that after wander- and an hour or two on the lake, the sun
ing from one concern to another, he began to die down, and, bidding him
again appeared under the direction of good-by, I reluctantly went away to
Mr. Porter some years ago, playing in transfer my impressions to paper.
AS much to attest the fine manli-
ness of my friend, Phillip Cur-
tis, as to illustrate how a beau-
tiful woman may become a destroyer
of supreme happiness, I have set down
this personal narrative.
Up in the North country, among the
snows, where I had ceased to be Roscoe
Steele and was known as Peter God,
I had lost faith in humanity ; in the
darkest hour of my misanthropy it was
Phillip Curtis who was the means of
bringing me back to sanity and a residue
of life that promises to be full to the
brim with joy.
I start the story with this tribute to
one friend because it was the severing
of another friendship that set me adrift
upon an ocean of despair and agony.
This other friendship dates back to
childhood, when Robert Lawler and I
were playmates in a little Southern
town. Looking back, I can recall but
one trait of his that I did not like —
this was his peace-at-any-price policy.
Myself, I liked a scrap ; but Robert
Lawler would wriggle out of a difficult
situation without recourse to his fists —
much to my disgust.
He became a lawyer, and finally
drifted into politics, becoming eventu-
ally the boss of what I subsequently
learned was one of the most corrupt
political machines in the country. I had
gone into business, made money quickly,
and married a girl from the home town.
Lawler was welcomed at our home,
and many a night Josephine and I
laughed over his stories of politics with-
out suspecting that he was playing the
political game solely for his own pocket
and becoming wealthy at the expense
of the taxpayers.
He was in the running for governor
of the State, and we were ready, my
wife and I, to wish him success — then
the bomb fell !
I had been wheedled into accepting
the honorary position of head of the
Civic Reform League, and one of the
The Destroyers
237
officers came to me with an utterly in-
credible story. In effect, he proclaimed
Lawler a crook. I refused to believe it.
"I'll send you proofs in a day or
two," he told me. And he sent them.
The bulky envelope with its damning
evidence against Lawler came to me as
Josephine and I sat reading on the
swing seat of the porch. There was
never a couple as happy as Josephine
and I ; fortune smiled upon us, and we
hadn't a care in the world.
A maid: brought the letter, and when
I tore it open and glanced through its
contents my hands
shook, and there must
have been horror in my
face, for Josephine
grasped my arm, her
eyes wide.
"Is it some bad
news ?" she asked.
"The very worst," I
told her. "This is evi-
dence that my friend
Lawler is a grafter — a
thief ! I wouldn't have
believed it, but here is
proof positive. It is my
duty to the State to
make it public. That
means that it will defeat
my boyhood friend for
the governorship."
"Lawler a thief !" she
gasped.
It was a terrific blow
to me, and I determined
for friendship's sake to
interview Lawler: I
hustled into a coat and
set out for his home. He
had one of the show
places of the town, and
I shuddered as I pic-
tured how he had made his money. A
taxi was standing at his door, and be-
fore I could ring the bell Lawler him-
self emerged. He greeted me effu-
sivelv.
"Came to congratulate me?" he said,
smiling. "Speaking with all due mod-
esty, it looks to me like a walk-over."
"It would be a walk-over," I an-
swered, "if certain facts I have in my
possession are withheld."
The smile faded from his lips — hard,
cold, thin lips that were veiled by a
wisp of mustache that drooped over
them. There was cruelty, malice in his
eyes now. His brows came together in
a frown. It was an astonishing change
that came over his features.
"Speak quick !" he went on. "I've
Josephine snuggled closer to me and turned a most unfriendly
face to the French girl.
got to go to the club and talk over some
details with my henchmen. What have
you on your chest ?"
"Only this," I said bluntly. "I have
absolute proof that you are a crook."
238
The Destroyers
He flung up his hand, and I thought
for a moment he was going to strike
me. But he was never a man for direct
combat.
"What do you mean?" he blustered.
"What do you know ?"
"I know enough to send you to
prison."
He winced at that, and the hardness
went out of my voice. Then I talked
to him as friend to friend ; put the mat-
ter squarely before him, begged him to
cut loose from the grafting game. But
there was no answering friendliness in
his voice.
"Keep your fingers out of my busi-
ness !" he snapped.
"For the sake of the old days, Rob-
ert," I pleaded, "don't force me to show
you up as the meanest of all thieves —
a political grafter. Drop out of the
governorship race, and for friendship's
sake I will withhold the evidence."
We stood for a long moment, trying
to read each other's souls. Then Law-
ler spoke slowly, weighing his words.
"Roscoe," he said, "you've got me.
No use arguing the point. You've got
me. But every man has his price.
You're pretty well fixed, I know, but I
guess twenty thousand dollars wouldn't
come amiss. I'll pay you that for your
silence."
I had no answer for him. What does
a man say when he is offered a bribe?
I left him — left him without a word.
For a week I held up the evidence
of his guilt, hoping against hope that
Lawler would come to me and tell me
he was going to play the man. But no
word came from him, and I called in
the reporters. Rightly or wrongly, I
had determined to do what I conceived
to be my duty to the State. I gave the
reporters the story of Lawler's crook-
edness— not all of it, for there were
parts that brought the crimson to my
cheeks, and I withheld them for very
shame. It was a story that shocked the
community, and arresting headlines
screamed from the front pages of the
newspapers :
DISHONESTY AND GRAFT BARED
IN LAWYER'S LIFE BY THE
CIVIC REFORM LEAGUE.
I had no joy in the outcome, nothing
but regret that I had been compelled to
give my facts to the public. It was the
death knell of Lawler's ambitions.
Then began for me what was a night-
mare— a dastardly plot engineered by
Lawler which had for its object my
ruin. I did not learn the extent of his
machinations till long afterward, but I
set them down here consecutively.
In one of Lawler's trips to Europe,
he had met Coralie de Bar, a notorious
beauty behind whose smiling, red lips
lay the soul of a vampire. To Coralie
he cabled, and she came — not wholly
because he offered her a price, but, as I
later discovered, because she had for
him a feeling more akin to love than
she had given any other man.
A charming Frenchwoman, speaking
English with a winning accent, she
posed as an investigator of American
charities, and announced that she had
come to prepare a book on the subject.
Lawler found a way by which she was
introduced to me without my suspect-
ing that the defeated candidate for gov-
ernor was behind it.
No doubt I should have been more
wary ; but I was prone to accept people
at face value, and I gave her an hour
of my time at my office while I told
her in detail of the public and private
enterprises for the betterment of con-
ditions for the poor. My wife came in
while we talked, and she was as much
impressed with Coralie as I had been —
even went so far as to invite her to our
home.
The following afternoon she called,
and the three of us chatted gayly over
the teacups. She was most circumspect
— only once was there a jarring note.
The Destroyers
239
That was when she said, giving me a
side glance from her half -veiled eyes:
"Why is it that all the really nice
men are married?"
Josephine had never been jealous,
and I doubt if she was very greatly dis-
turbed by the question; but I saw her
eyebrows lift just a trifle and she ab-
ruptly changed the topic.
Coralie became a frequent visitor at
our home, and Josephine and she grew
to be excellent friends. I had at this
time not the slightest suspicion of Cor-
in my car to the Whiting home. I did
my full duty: danced with my wife,
with Coralie, with one or two of the
others, and I was getting fidgety and
anxious to return to my desk when
Josephine came to me.
';Mrs. Whiting would like us to stay
overnight. What do you say, dear?"
"It can't be done, Josephine " I
began. But she broke in :
"Oh, yes, it can, if I say the word,
sir."
"Then in pity don't say the word," I
"I demand the arrest of that woman, and my immediate discharge!"
alie, who conducted herself with ex-
treme care and a fine regard for the
conventionalities.
The awakening came two months
later. We were invited to a dinner
dance at the Whitings', and Coralie was
one of the guests. It was against my
will that I attended the function, for
my desk was piled high with letters that
demanded attention. But business
usually sufifered when Josephine's
wishes were concerned. Nothing in the
wide world was to be weighed beside
her happiness.
So I went, and Coralie drove with us
begged her. And while she smiled
roguishly up into my eyes, I went on:
"You know how busy I am, dear. I
simply must get back. But you stay, if
you like."
She demurred at first, but Mrs. Whit-
ing bore down upon us and assured me
that she would take good care of Jo-
sephine and bade me come for her in
the morning.
I had been chatting with Coralie de
Bar a few moments before, and I was
subconsciously aware that she was
standing near by, an interested listener.
Mrs. Whiting moved away, and Jo-
240
The Destroyers
sephine and I were about to steal a
good-night kiss when Coralie broke in :
''Your pardon. But I overheard Mr.
Steele say he was going to make his
adieus, and, as I, too, must leave, I
wonder if he would give me — how you
call it? — a lift in his car."
Josephine snuggled closer to me and
turned a most unfriendly face to the
French girl. "Of course he will be
glad to," she said
coldly. "Get your
wraps on. He leaves
instantly."
When Coralie
had gone, Jose-
home to say I was on the way back,
and my maid told me an oh. so sad
story of one of my friends who is in
distress. I must make that my first
call in the morning. Indeed, I should
go to-night. Oh, Mr. Steele, better stop
the machine and let me get out. I can
take a street car. My friend lives on
Lamont Street — No. 43. I know I shall
not sleep to-night if I do not give what
help I can. Tell the chauffeur
jggB to stop, please."
"N< msense !" I- said. She
jjgjj was fast becoming hysterical.
"I will drive you there. La-
mont Street, vou said? No.
I was hustled
phine, her head resting on my shoulder,
whispered : "Roscoe, dear, there are
times when I don't like that French-
woman."
"Nonsense, child !" I laughed. "Miss
de Bar is a very clever lady."
"Clever" was the exact adjective that
fitted her, but I did not know then how
very apt it was.
I ordered the motor and stood impa-
tiently at the entrance for fully ten min-
utes before Coralie joined me.
"So sorry to have kept you waiting,"
she murmured, as we settled on the
cushions. "But I just now telephoned
to the lock-up.
43 ?" And I gave the driver the address
and settled back, anything but pleased
at this new turn of events.
Coralie babbled on about her friend,
but I paid little heed. My mind was on
that pile of letters in my desk. We
drew up at No. 43 Lamont Street — a
modest, brick building, with an old-
fashioned, high stoop and an apology
for a garden in front.
"You'll come in with me — it will
probably make the visit shorter?" she
said.
Her argument appealed strongly to
me. Anything that would expedite mat-
The Destroyers
241
ters looked good to me. Without hesi-
tation I accompanied her.
A slatternly maid conducted us to
the parlor. I had no eye for details
just then, but I remember there was a
certain garish air about the place that
offended me. The door opened again,
and a large woman, who quite evidently
had made liberal use of artificial aids
to assume a beauty denied her by na-
ture, stretched out two capable, if un-
naturally white, arms by way of greet-
ing and addressed Coralie in voluble
French.
I was trying to make something of
the conversation when a door behind
me opened, and before I could turn, a
cloth was pulled down over my head.
Gasping, I strove to fight loose from
the thing. But it was a man — and a
strong man — who held the cloth, and it
took but an instant to subdue me, taken
unawares as I was. I was chloro-
formed.
When I recovered consciousness, I
found myself sitting at a table on
which were whisky and glasses. Cor-
alie, her hair hanging loosely about her
shoulders, her dress torn — a wild, di-
sheveled figure — stood looking down at
me. Dizzily I rose.
"What — what does it mean ?*' I asked
sleepily.
She laughed — and I hope I shall
never hear a woman laugh in that fash-
ion again.
"It means that you are what you
Americans call 'in bad.' "
I moved toward the door, but Cor-
alie sprang in front of me.
"It's locked," she taunted. "Locked
— and I have the key."
I was goaded to fury. I lost my
sense of proportion. I flung myself
upon her, and while we struggled, the
gong of a patrol wagon sounded and
half a dozen policemen broke in.
"Thank God you've come !" cried
6
Coralie. "This man took me to this
house and tried to assault me."
I said nothing. The woman's words
shocked me into full consciousness of
my position. I saw now that it was a
plot — engineered, as I shrewdly
guessed, by Lawler. This was his re-
venge. One of his followers had told
me that Lawler had sworn that he
would "pull me down to the gutter." I
had laughed at the threat, but now I
realized that he was in a fair way to
accomplish his task. He had cleverly
worked out the scheme with Coralie ;
had arranged with the police to have
the place "pulled" when he gave the
word — for his hold on the city govern-
ment was still strong. I understood
now why Coralie had kept me waiting
at the Whitings'. Coralie had been tel-
ephoning to Lawler. Her story ought
to have made me suspicious, but be-
cause my mind was on other things I
was led as a sheep to the slaughter.
Arraigned before the lieutenant, I
could not control my wrath.
"It's a frame-up !" I shouted. "You
know me, officer. I demand the arrest
of that woman and my immediate dis-
charge." I pointed to Coralie de Bar,
who stood, apparently a woebegone fig-
ure, one hand stuck viciously in the
pocket of her jacket, the other holding
her hat, which she had not fastened
on her head. I remember telling my-
self that the stage had lost a splendid
actress in this red-lipped destroyer of
human happiness.
But the lieutenant had no sympathy
for my position.
"Tell it to the judge in the morn-
ing," he said. And I was hustled to
the lockup.
It was through Lawler's influence I
was freed. He came to condole with
me ; said it was all a mistake and prom-
ised to fix it with the magistrate. I had
never seen him so oily. I hated him
then, hated him as I never thought I
should hate the friend of my youth.
242
The Destroyers
In the
morning I
was released,
and told that
Miss de Bar
would not
prosecute the
charge. I had
my freedom,
but it meant
nothing t o
me. The pa-
pers had the
full story,
and I knew I
could not
stamp out the
lie in many
years, if ever.
I hastened
home ; Jose-
phine would
stand by me
— and God
knows I
needed her
comfort.
But Jose-
phine was not
there. She
had left a
note for me.
There is no
need to give
it here. It
was the land
of note that
breeds mur-
der in a
man's soul ; and if Lawler had been in
the room, I would have killed him with
my bare hands. He had done his work
well — so well that my wife believed I
was a villain, and had left me. He had
sworn revenge, and well had he kept
his word.
It was a pathetic letter, telling me
that she had no words of censure for
me, that her happiness was ended. She
had gone South to her mother's home,
"She sent you to me? Man, man, do you know what you
are saying?"
and begged
me to make
no attempt to
see her again.
M y first
impulse was
to rush
South, to
force her to
realize that it
was a plant
of Lawler's
to ruin me.
But calmer
reason-
ing assured
me that I
would gain
nothing b y
impetu-
osity. For a
day or two I
shut myself
from my
friends and
did a little
stealthy de-
tective work.
Among other
things, I
found a
couple of let-
ters purport-
ing to have
been written
to me by Cor-
alie. One of
them told me
that she was
'would not en-
tertain the thought of advances from
a married man." The other threatened
to inform my wife that I was making
love to Coralie. The maid — who had
disappeared — had probably been bought
by Lawler and had placed the letters
where Josephine was sure to find them.
They had had much to do with the cre-
dence Josephine gave to the story of my
escapade in the Lamont Street house.
£a good woman" and
The Destroyers
243
I found other threads that led straight
to Lawler, and, instead of putting the
evidence in the hands of the police, I
took it upon myself to confront Lawler.
I was determined that I would drag
him to my wife and make him confess
his villainy. I went to see him at his
home. He was not there, but at his
office, I was told. He had a suite of
rooms in a downtown building. I went
there and found him alone. Entering,
I closed and locked the door and stood
with my back against it. What I said
to him I cannot recall. It was the kind
of thing that blisters a man's tongue
and incites to murder. Lawler was a
coward, but my words bit into his heart.
He yanked open the drawer of his desk
and pulled out a pistol.
I was on him before he could aim it.
It was a death struggle we had, each
of us fighting for his life. In the melee
the pistol exploded and Lawler crum-
pled up. Did I shoot him? I don't
know. Probably. If I did, he deserved
his fate. The pistol lay on the floor
beside the dead man. I staggered to
my feet and stared at one hand that
stuck up strangely — the hand of fate.
I backed away from it, backed out the
door and fled.
In the eyes of the law I had become
a murderer. How terrible was the gulf
that now separated me from Josephine!
Henceforth Roscoe Steele must be seen
no more among his fellows. I went
to Canada, drifted to Winnipeg, to Ed-
monton, to Athabasca Landing, to Fort
MacMurray; traveled up through the
Great Slave and the Great Bear coun-
try ; and finally began life anew at Fort
McPherson, a hundred miles south of
the Arctic coast, under the name of
Peter God.
I wrote to Josephine from there —
sent her a map of the place. I had
no reply. Years came and went — five
of them. I gave little thought to their
passing. I had lost all the joy of living.
My face unshaven, my hair matted, un-
cut, the Peter God I had become dif-
fered horribly from the well-groomed
Roscoe Steele of five years ago.
I became a victim of that scourge of
the wilderness — the smallpox. A red
flag fluttered in front of my shack.
Then came Phillip Curtis — the man
who was to bring me back my belief in
humanity. A fine, sturdy fellow of
about my own age, and a physician of
considerable repute.
"Didn't they warn you not to come
here — smallpox !" I shrieked at him.
He waved me to silence. 'T'm a doc-
tor," he said. Then suddenly: "Your
name is Peter God?" I nodded. "For-
merly known as Roscoe Steele," he
went on, while I stared at him, wide-
eyed. "I have been commissioned to
deliver a letter to you. It is from your
wife Josephine."
I sprang to him with a cry of joy,
but he backed away. "First thing is to
fix vou up, to make you well — then the
letter."
I was too weak to wrestle with him.
"She sent you to me?" I asked him
wonderingly. "Alan, man, do you know
what you are saying? Do you know
what it means to me ?" My heart was
pounding painfully, my words came as
a torrent.
"She sent me," he answered stolidly,
tonelessly. "And her message was that
she has learned that you were the vic-
tim of plotters and that if you want her
she will come to you."
"If I want her !" I cried, in agony.
"I have longed for her with a longing
that tortures. In the solitudes, her face
was ever before me. Waking and sleep-
ing " I broke off and laughed hys-
terically. "Of course, you can't un-
derstand," I said.
"On the contrary" — his voice was
trembling — "I know how you feel — I
have been in love with Josephine my-
self."
I stepped close to him and looked into
244
The Destroyers
his eyes. He gave me stare for stare
and added quietly: "It was a hopeless
love. Her heart was given to you long
ago, and it is still yours. When she
found that she had been wrong in be-
lieving you faithless, she begged me to
come to you and seek your forgiveness.
"God bless you both."
I loved her but I came to bring you
back to her/'
I stared at him, trying vainly to com-
prehend his greatness of soul. "You
loved her, and yet came here for me !"
I kept repeating.
"I did it because her happiness is of
more concern to me than anything else
in the world."
There was nobility for you ! My eyes
were moist as I strove to thank him.
But he would talk no more. "I've got
to save your life for her/' he said, and
set to work with his medicines.
For a day or two I lay only semi-
conscious. And then a feeling of health
took possession of me. Doctor Phillip
Curtis had put new life
into me, and I felt it
coursing through my
veins. His medical skill
and the dear letter he
had brought from Jose-
phine had snatched me
back from the brink of
the grave.
Then, on top of my
new-found happiness, as
I was convalescing, came
Josephine herself. She
had made the long trek
with the assistance of
two breeds.
As she ran into my
arms and kissed my
bearded lips, the world
was blotted out, and with
it the memory of live
years of bitterness.
It was fate that had
taken a hand in our
reconciliation. A rail-
road collision had oc-
curred near Josephine's
home in the South. She
had gone to help, and
one of the victims of the
disaster was Coralie de
Bar. The Frenchwoman
was dying, but as she
looked into Josephine's eyes and recog-
nized her, the burden of her guilt was
more than she could bear, and she told
her story — much the same story as I
had surmised it. She had plotted my
ruin because I had ruined the one man
she had loved. She confessed that she
had written letters incriminating me
and had arranged with the maid to pro-
duce these letters at the time thev would
The Destroyers
245
do the most harm. As I had guessed,
she had helped engineer the scheme to
get me to the Lamont Street house, and
had telephoned to Lawler just before
we had left the Whitings in my car.
The whole horrible business was laid
bare, and the distracted woman died
with a prayer for forgiveness on her
lips.
"And gladly I forgave her," added
my wife, nestling closer in my arms,
"for I felt in my heart that you and I
would come together again. I sent
Phillip to you — good, faithful Phillip,
who has been my best friend since you
went away. But when he had gone I
felt that I must come to you myself.
And here I am. Are you glad I came ?"
"Glad !" I cried, and for answer I
crushed her to my breast.
Josephine stands over me as I finish
this narrative. She bends over my
shoulder to whisper :
"Dear, why don't you set down Phil-
lip's last words to us?"
Right willingly I obey. They were :
"God bless you both!"
IN THE DARK
By Everett Leighton
LJER little, soft fingers lie close against mine
As we sit in the odd-numbered chairs.
I occupy 7 and she snuggles in 9 —
But I try to forget love affairs.
I struggle with conscience, and try to think right
As we sit in -the odd-numbered chairs.
I know that my heart is a heart full of fright —
Yet my tongue is a tongue full of dares.
The reel flickers on, and the figures dance through,
As we sit in the odd-numbered chairs.
At last "Intermission," a chance to see who
Thrills my soul while the lantern shaft flares.
The little, soft fingers I venture to press,
As we sit in the odd-numbered chairs.
"You wretch !" comes from 9 ; and from 7, "Heaven bless !
'Tis my wife ! Oh, ye gods, hear my prayers !"
Myrtle
Stedman, Pal-
las, started her
career when a
child, a s solo
dancer with
t h e Whitney
o!3efore the
Opera Com- r
pany, in Chicago. Later, Myrtle joined the chorus.
Henry Walthall, Essanay star extraordinary,
was always determined to go on the stage, even when
he lived on a cotton plantation in Alabama, where he
never had a chance to see a show. He broached the
subject to his mother, but she made him promise that
he would not act as long as she was alive. However,
after she had died, Henry went to New York with a
letter of introduction to the manager of the Murray
Hill Stock Company, and was given a position.
Bessie Love, Fine Arts, started right at the top
of the ladder. Mamma Love just took her daughter
straight up to D. W. Griffith and asked him to put
Bessie in the "movies." The master mind of the films
liked Bessie's type so well that he followed her moth-
er's advice and put her to work playing the lead in
"The Flying Torpedo." Since then, little Bessie has
been climbing the rocky road to fame with a rapidity
that is more than amazing.
Art Acord, Mustang, better known to screen pa-
trons as "Buck Parvin," began his professional career
as a dare-devil rider with a troupe of cowboys that
toured the country, playing in all small towns. He
was brought up on a ranch and won prize after prize
for all kinds of riding, until his name on the list of
competitors would scare the other opponents off.
Later he was offered a position with the Mustang
Company, and he accepted.
Louise Fazenda, Keystone, who reluctantly admits
that twenty summers have passed her by, went to
school until she was fifteen, and then, getting the stage
bee, as most every one does, joined a dramatic stock
company that was visiting her home town. She was
so full of tricks and made so much fun of things,
however, that the manager decided she was not cut
out to be a dramatic artiste, and gave her the usual
notice. Soon after that, she signed with Universal.
Telling What
popttlsLV players
did prior to be-
coming screen
flavor ife^ ^ -»
Thomas H.
I n c e, Kay-
Bee director
general, sec-
o n d only to
Griffith as a
producer,
started in the
game doing a song and dance in "Poets and Puppets."
Winifred Greenwood, American-Mutual, made
her stage debut in "Zigzag Alley" at the Xew York
Theater. The next year, she appeared in "Babes in
Toyland," and after this engagement she gave up
musical comedy for the legitimate and stock com-
panies. She decided to try pictures, thinking that there
was a great future in the moving-picture business,
and never went back to the stage. She has been play-
ing leads for the American for some years.
Webster Campbell, Vitagraph, left college bound
to be an actor. He obtained a position with a stock
company because of his good looks, and received the
magnificent sum of eight dollars a week — some
weeks ! However, he was contented, so long as he
was getting the experience. When he thought he had
gotten enough of that, he found himself a job with
another company at an increase in salary. Gradu-
ally he worked himself up to where he is to-day.
Helen Holmes, Signal, got her daring spirit from
spending a year in the desert with no other companion
than her brother. She was an artist's model in Chi-
cago before this. After her desert tour, she landed at
the Kalem studios on the coast and asked Director
McGowan for a position. She told him that she was
willing to take chances in the films no other girl would.
This statement appealed to McGowan, and after a
trial she was placed in stock.
Lee Moran, Nestor, wants every one to know that
he was born in Chicago and is Irish. He went to col-
lege, but decided that he was cut out to be an actor,
and accordingly left the dear old college joys to go on
the stage. His first part was in "The Prince of To-
night," and the next season was playing male lead in
"The Girl in the Kimono." Then followed several
vaudeville engagements, after which he heard the
camera calling him, and became a Nestorite.
©ufoffhe
aftanpeof
Frank Daniels, alias "Mr. Jack,'
far prefers his porch hammock
and a book to working in the
studio. To be sure that his rest
is not disturbed, his sharp-
toothed bull dog stands guard.
Marguerite Courtot became so popular in
Jacksonville that they even named ice-cream
sodas for her. Here we see dainty Marguerite
spending her spare time — and money — treat-
ing sister Juliette.
Irene Hunt is versatile, if nothing else. Of
course you know that she can act, write scena-
rios, and even help the director at times. But
seeing her behind the clicking camera is some-
thing new. That is where we found her recently.
Sydney Mason, Gaumont's
leading man, plays hide-and-
seek with his directors as
often as possible. Here we
see him driving "Old Iron-
sides," his favorite steed,
through the sleepy streets
of Jacksonville. The poor
mule looks tired now, but
just think how lucky he
is that his passenger is
not Roscoe Arbuckle!
the (clicking
On this side of the page we
have director Eddie Dillon and
his special pet "Don Quixote,"
after whom a feature picture-
play was named. How many
dogs are so fortunate?
For almost the first time in his eventful career
we present Mack Swain, the "Ambrose" of
Keystone funny-films, sans make-up. To make
it even better, Louise Fazenda is presenting
him with a rose from her own gardens.
When Mae Marsh works overtime at the studio
she just laughs at the alarm clock the next
morning and naps 'way late, but her time
seems to be so valuable that she is even
photographed asleep.
Al St. John and Joe Bor-
deau, two of the Keystone
knockabout comedians,
showing Al Ray, Vim's boy
author-actor-director, how
a comedy should be pro-
duced. Apparently, Ray
doesn't agree with them. Of
course they are not really
choking the defenseless
youth, but think how easy it
would be if they wanted to!
CHAPTER I.
GRIGGS, of the Greatorex, sat in
his room at the Monteleone
Hotel, and cursed — cursed the
Greatorex scenario department, the
Greatorex All-Star Company, Louisi-
ana in general, New Orleans in espe-
cial, and his unhappy director's luck
in particular.
"What in perdition do they think I
am ?" he raved at Lawrence, his camera
man and factotum on this expedition
into the wilds of the sunny South. "I
have to rewrite scenarios, act as ad-
vance agent, find a place to produce this
cursed six-reeler, look up supes, attend
to props — damn it all, am I a director
or a messenger boy?"
"Search me," giinned Lawrence, who
was so eminent a star in his own chosen
field that he could afford to be amused
even by the great Griggs. "Y\ 'hat you
kickin' about? You come back yes-
terday, sayin' you'd found the greatest
place ever was. Reg'lar old-time South-
ern mansion, rosewood furniture, nig-
gers hangin' on the fences "
"Yes, and nobody home !" glared
Griggs, and swore again. "That old
coon butler, Uncle Enos, he called him-
self, said that Marse Jules Gremillion
was done gone huntin' down de bayou,
but he'd sho come to see me this
mornin' "
"You ought to tackle character parts,
Griggs," and Lawrence assumed a criti-
cal air. Then he bounced out of his
chair as the telephone tinkled, and
caught up the receiver.
"Hello ! Yes, this is Mr. Griggs'
room. Who? Just a minute." Clap-
ping his hand over the mouthpiece,
Lawrence turned. "Guy downstairs
named Darrow askin' for you. Says
he come from that place you looked
up — that Gremillion place "
"Send him up ! Send him up !"
howled Griggs.. "Good Lord, can't you
do a thing "
Lawrence grinned anew, and ordered
Mr. Darrow brought up to the room.
There was some excuse for the ill
temper of the greatest director in the
business. He had been sent to Xew
Orleans to produce a six-reeler which
must be put on from start to finish
in Louisiana, since it included scenes
in New Orleans, an old-fashioned plan-
Not in the Cast
251
tation house which must be the real
article, bayous, negroes, and the Span-
ish moss of Louisiana — and there were
but a part of the natural "props" which
must be located. There was absolutely
no hope that the thing could be done
in Los Angeles ; not, at least, in the
style of Griggs, of the Greatorex.
Having come ahead to find the right
place, Griggs had spent a week in driv-
ing and motoring and railroading, then
had found it in Cypremort Island, on
the Gulf. But he had failed to find
the owner of the place.
Further, the All-Stars had been de-
layed two days by the Arizona floods,
and would not arrive until the evening
following. Then Griggs had discov-
ered inconsistencies in the scenario, and
was obliged to revamp it. All in all,
Darrow's entrance was staged at a most
inauspicious moment, it seemed.
Sun-browned, lithe, slightly under six
feet, Darrow was not particularly hand-
some; in fact, he was not at all hand-
some, from a picture standpoint. His
square jaw, humorous and yet steely
blue eyes, and too-determined mouth
were not designed for languishing
glances and softly sighing airs.
"One moment !" As he entered, he
held up one hand in admonishment,
crossed the room swiftly without no-
ticing the two men, and flung up one
of the windows. He stood there, his
head cocked in a listening attitude.
From the street canon far below, the
sound of a swift-banging gong pierced
the citified noises. The gong lessened
and died away. Darrow straightened
up and turned with a quick smile.
"It's all right — I was a bit afraid
they might trace me here."
"Eh?" demanded the amazed Griggs.
"Who?"
"The police." Darrow put out his
hand. "You're Griggs ? Good ! Glad
to meet you. I'm Darrow, Cypremort
— Prosper Darrow, at your service. I
was in the city to-day, and my uncle,
Jules Gremillion, wired me to see you
about leasing the property "
"Thank the Lord that luck's busting
my way at last!" ejaculated Griggs fer-
vently. "Here, sit down — have a cigar !
What's all this about the police?"
Beneath the nervous, irritable de-
meanor of the famous director, Darrow
sensed the man's fiery energy. Also,
he liked the looks of this alert and
capable Lawrence, to whom Griggs in-
troduced him.
"Nothing much," he observed, nod-
ding his thanks for a cigar. "I met a
couple of gentlemen out in front who'd
had a bit too much to drink. At least,
one of them had. He took the liberty
of inventing a pedigree for me, so I
threw him at his friend and left 'em
to fight it out. The cops grabbed them
both, I imagine — one of 'em's a State
legislator, so they'll not suffer. Well,
I'm ready to talk business with you."
Lawrence started to speak, but
checked himself; Griggs stared at his
visitor.
"Purple persimmons !" gasped the di-
rector. "Won't they arrest you?"
"Probably — unless I get back to
Cypremort on the noon train." Darrow
smiled coolly. "In that case, I'll not
be found, and my friend the legislator
won't give away my location for excel-
lent reasons of his own. Now, then,
about the plantation. My uncles leaves
to-day for a trip to Cuba and Trinidad,
and he's turned over the place to me
for disposition. How long do you wish
to use Cypremort? A month?"
"More'n that, maybe," and Griggs
eyed his amazing visitor. "That darky
butler of yours was telling me about
the family — -Creole, isn't it ?"
Darrow nodded. "My uncle is, of
course; most of our old families down
that way are of French stock. But my
father was a Northerner. I've lived
down here most of my life, and per-
haps I can be of some service in steer-
252
Not in the Cast
ing you folks around. Now, just what
would you want to use?"
"Everything. The place is magnifi-
cent !" averred Griggs. "I'd want to
use the house and grounds, go up the
bayous for a dozen scenes, rig up an
outdoor studio so we could use your
furniture — everything ! Cypremort is
the kind of place a director longs to
have at his disposal — sort of wishing
dream, you know. What kind of a
contract can we make? I'm limited in
my expense account."
"The place won't cost you a cent,
Mr. Griggs. There would only be one
condition attached to your use of it."
Despite himself, Griggs could not
conceal his unholy glee.
"Oh, certainly, Darrow ! We'll make
good any damage that's done "
"You misunderstand." Darrow's
blue eyes were unpleasantly steady now.
"Eh? Well, what's the condition?"
demanded Griggs, taken aback.
"You couldn't replace anything in'
that house, Mr. Griggs — most of it
dates back more than a century. The
condition is that you and your com-
pany come there, use the place as you
choose, as my guests, and guarantee to
remain for the space of one month at
least. A gentleman's agreement en-
tirely, of course."
"Purple persimmons !" murmured
Griggs feebly, leaning back in his chair.
"Are you in earnest?"
"I'll be honored by such guests,"
smiled Darrow. "Cypremort is lonely."
The director inwardly observed that
he would be eternally ding-donged to
perdition, and tried to collect his whirl-
ing brain. He had visions of a lopped
expense account — hotel bills, meals,
transportation — but much more than
this, a month's free rein to work with
such properties as are only found in a
good director's dream of paradise.
"You — you have room for eight of
us?" he queried.
"Room for eighteen," was the prompt
answer.
Griggs flung up his hands. "I'll take
you, Darrow. Er — I wish we could do
something to show our apprecia-
tion "
"Oh, the chance may come," and
again Darrow's strong lips curved in a
smile, although his blue eyes were
steely. "When may I expect you,
then?"
"Not for three days! The company
won't reach here till to-morrow eve-
ning. When are you going back— noon
train, you said? I wonder if Lawrence
couldn't go down with you and get to
work at the' outdoor studio?"
"I'll be delighted!" Darrow rose.
"Couldn't you come, too?"
"Nothing doing! I'm the Greatorex
pack mule. Thanks, though. Law-
rence, get your grip and toddle along.
Have that studio ready for us, or I'll
flay you alive !"
Ten minutes later, Darrow and Law-
rence were- sitting in a taxi on their
way to the railroad station. The more
Lawrence eyed his companion's firm,
serenely strong face, which at times
seemed all agleam with humor and at
other times seemed hard as rock, the
more he wished that he had seen Dar-
row at Cypremort throw the two in-
ebriated gentlemen together. But Law-
rence little dreamed what lay ahead.
CHAPTER II.
"What makes a houn' pup alius snap
at yo' nose, huh? Yas, suh, even if
he's yo' bestest friend, he'll sho snap
at yo' nose less'n yo' puts it right smart
close "
"Huh ! Houn' pups never snaps at
my nose ! Dis niggah ain't fool
'nough "
"Here, you !" From the windows of
the pilot house overhanging the wharf
protruded a great, leonine torso, and
at the leonine roar the two deck hands
Not in the Cast
253
of the Islander sprang to work. "Get
that firewood toted aboard, yo' lazy nig-
gahs ! Jump to it !"
Grumbling, Captain Dolly Campbell
leaned back on his cushioned seat be-
hind the wheel of the tiny steamer.
Within reach of his left hand leaned a
crutch, and on the seat under his right
hand was a cocked rifle. Standing in
the port doorway of the wheelhouse
was an ancient, wrinkled, white-headed
negro, who watched the shore with anx-
ious eyes.
"Mister Cap'n," said the old negro,
"does yo'-all reckon Mr. Prosper is
done comin' to-night, sho?"
Campbell nodded, glancing at a yel-
low slip on the wall. His rugged, pow-
erful face held a strange hint of re-
finement, as did his mellow, bass voice.
"He sho is, Uncle Enos, unless the
telegram lies. There's the train comin'
in now. Say, did Mr. Gremillion go?"
"He sho did, Mr. Cap'n. He tooken
de big launch an' tole me he was goin'
square to New Orleans. Po' Marse
Jules ! Dish yer debbil works sho has
aged him a heap — oh, lordy ! He's
a-comin', Mr. Cap'n !"
"Who?" queried Campbell, reaching
for his rifle.
"Sundown, suh."
It was uncertain to what Uncle Enos
referred, since the sun was just setting;
but Campbell threw up his rifle in grim
silence. A moment later a small launch
glided up to the wharf, just ahead of
the Islander, and a man leaped out.
He hitched his painter and walked up
toward the railroad station, where the
wheezy train was rocking in among the
vivid blue and red and green houses
of the settlement.
"Go on up an' meet Darrow, Uncle
Enos," commanded Campbell.
"Y\ ny, suh, I — I don't guess my
rheumatiz is goin' to let me walk, suh,"
faltered the old negro. "I sho has a
right queer feelin' to my stomach,
suh "
"Go an' meet him !" thundered Camp-
bell. "If Sundown Stagg bothers you,
I'll put a bullet into him ! Move along
now — up center with yo' !"
Uncle Enos shakily climbed down to
the wharf and advanced toward the
station. Campbell ordered his deck
hands to get out the lights, for evening
would fast be upon them.
Thus, as Darrow ushered Lawrence
into the little town of Fenris, which
connected by an inlet with the Gulf,
they found Uncle Enos greeting them
with eager appeals to hurry "an' get
abo'd de boat." Introducing Lawrence,
Darrow smiled at the old engro.
"What's the rush, Uncle Enos?' I
see Captain Campbell is here to meet
"So'm I, Darrow/' cut in a voice.
"I'm right glad to see yo'-all, too !"
Darrow turned, and a groan broke
from Uncle Enos. Standing watching
the three w7as a man who stood out
from the crowrd of Chinese, Filipinos,
and negro fishermen with remarkable
prominence. He was a huge man,
crowned with a shock of red hair, be-
neath which glowed the glinting eyes
and swTarthy features of a half-breed.
"Oh, it's you, Sundown!" Darrow's
face hardened. His blue eyes bit out
like bright steel. "Well?"
"I reckon there ain't much to say,"
drawled Sundown Stagg. The crowd
seemed to have suddenly melted away,
leaving the four standing in a wide-
open space at the wharf head. "I give
yo'-all warnin' to keep awav from here,
didn't I?"
"Well?" snapped Darrow again.
"Yo'd better climb aboard that train
an' skip, pronto," drawled Stagg, hands
in his ragged coat pockets. "What you
aim to do ? Speak quick !"
Darrow hesitated. Then into the si-
lence boomed a leonine roar from the
Islander.
"You, Sundown! Hoist them hands
254
Not in the Cast
from yo' pockets — quick! I got yo'
covered !"
The swarthy face of Stagg contracted
in a sneer, but he unpocketed his hands.
Then Darrow spoke :
"Here's my answer, Stagg. Guard
yourself, you hound !"
His right shot forward, and took the
half-breed in the mouth. Sundown
spat an oath, struck back, and rushed ;
Darrow met the rush squarely, slammed
right and left into the scowling face,
clinched, put out his foot, and threw
Stagg backward from the wharf into
the shallow water under a row of
shrimp-drying platforms.
"Get aboard !" Darrow turned to the
gaping Lawrence and wiped blood from
a cut lip. "Hurry ! Get aboard before
he can use his guns "
He grasped the arm of Lawrence and
hurried him along the wharf. Ahead
of them, Uncle Enos was toddling at a
rapid pace, a suit case in either hand.
They came to the Islander and stepped
aboard, Darrow nodding to the negro
deck hands. From a cubby-hole amid-
ships protruded the head of the negro
engineer, but it vanished suddenly at a
roar from above.
"Off with them lines!"
"Say, what's all this mean?" de-
manded Lawrence, as the boat began
to move.
"Tell you later. Come on !"
Darrow led the way up the ladder
and entered the wheelhouse, the camera
man after him. The Islander was
circling out, and behind her on the
wharf the figure of Sundown Stagg was
being dragged to safety by a crowd of
Chinese shrimpers.
"Cunnel Moberly, suh, yo' health!"
exclaimed Campbell, taking one hand
from the wheel and extending it to
Darrow grandiloquently. "It gives me
pleasure, suh "
"I greet you, Colonel Preston, suh,"
and Darrow laughed. "Here, Law-
rence! Shake hands with Captain
Campbell, once a leading star of the
American stage."
Poor Lawrence obeyed, very much
bewildered.
"Hardly a star, suh," declaimed
Campbell, twirling the wheel with his
left hand and glancing down at the
crutch which supported him. "I may
claim to have played, suh, with many
great men — you may have heard, suh,
of Adolphus Campbell, whose virtuos-
ity has been said to have been best dis-
played in the immortal drama of 'Ala-
bama' ?"
Lawrence glanced at Darrow, in such
absolute helplessness that Darrow
roared.
"Hold on, Dolly — our friend Law-
rence has been outspeeded a little.
Lawrence, Dolly Campbell was once a
great actor, master of everything from
the character of Colonel Preston in
'Alabama' to Shakespearean roles. Ow-
ing to an unfortunate accident, his left
leg was crippled by varicose veins some
years ago, since which time he has been
running this craft from Fenris to near-
by bayou and inlet points."
"Yes," nodded Campbell, "I gain me
a modest competence in such manner,
suh. After all, Mr. Lawrence, I do but
that which best becomes a man, in the
words of Shakespeare."
The camera man began to compre-
hend at last. As the Islander struck
out across the sunset-reddened waters
of the inlet, her wood-burning engines
chugging and churning, the keen eyes
of Lawrence gleamed with belated un-
derstanding.
"Say, you've been springing surprises
on me right along," he observed dryly.
"But I get this one. Cap'n Campbell is
an old legit star, eh?"
"Something of the sort," and Darrow
turned to Campbell with a frown.
"Dolly, I met Castine in New Orleans
this morning. One of Stagg's French-
men was with him. I had to chuck 'em
both into Royal Street. By the way,
Not in the Cast
255
you'd better strike Griggs for a job in
heavy parts. He might be glad to use
you — eh, Lawrence?"
"I reckon not, suh," but Campbell's
leonine features looked a trifle wistful.
"I was ten years, suh, working my way
from the bottom of the ladder in legiti-
mate endeavor. Too old to change now
— take me too long."
"I don't know, cap," returned Law-
rence. "It don't take any ten years to
work into star leads now. Look at
Marian Robson, our leadin' lady ! Only
out o' college a year, an' drawin' down
fifteen thousand salary!"
• At this, it was the turn of Campbell
to gasp. For the remainder of the trip
he listened with avid interest while
Lawrence discoursed on the moving-
picture industry in general, and Great-
orex films in particular. No more being
said about Castine or Sundown Stagg,
Lawrence did not recur to the subject.
He was extremely wise in his genera-
tion.
After an hour's trip, the Islander
drew into Cypremort landing, denoted
by a flaring flambeau tended by two
darkies. The boat merely drew in at
the dock, her three passengers stepped
off, and she drew away again.
"See you to-morrow!" roared Camp-
bell in farewell. "Good night!"
Uncle Enos and the other darkies
speeding ahead, Darrow and Lawrence
walked up toward the old plantation
house, which was lighted up to welcome
them.
As he gazed at the house amid its
dark gardens and giant trees, Darrow
thrilled to the romantic beauty of it.
Every one of those high, white columns
had a history, each piece of that price-
less rosewood furniture and ancient
tapestries, had its own story. For the
Gremillions had come to Louisiana with
Iberville, and Cypremort was old when
Lafitte was born ; and he, Prosper Dar-
row, was the last of the Gremillions, his
Uncle Jules being an old man, and
childless.
"This place is a dream — a dream!"
said Lawrence softly, pausing on the
wide steps and gazing through the open
doorway at the candle-lighted rooms
within. "No wonder Griggs was wild
about it !"
"Yo' come right in, ge'men." Uncle
Enos turned toward them. "If dem
slue-footed niggahs ain't done got din-
ner ready, I'm goin' fluctuate 'em, sho' !
Here, Mr. Lawrence, let me rest yo'
hat an' coat, suh."
Dinner was ready and waiting. Dar-
row and Lawrence dined in a high-
wainscoted room bedecked with Gob-
elins and royal silver, then adjourned
to enjoy coffee and cigars before a
mammoth fireplace in the library. As
they became better acquainted, Darrow
found his guest to be shrewd, well-
poised, alert — and able to keep silence.
Lawrence, knew everything about the
moving-picture business, but that was
not all he knew.
"I've been living here for three years
now," said Darrow reflectively, gazing
at the ashed tip of his cigar, "running
the rice plantation for my uncle, who's
away most of the time. It gets lonely
—the only ' other plantations in the
neighborhood are run by a big company
up North, or by absentee owners. Glad
your crowd is coming, Lawrence."
"So is Griggs," chuckled the camera
man. Darrow smiled grimly.
"I'm particularly glad that you came
down alone with me. Want to know
about this Sundown Stagg person?"
"Whatever you happen to be tellin'."
responded the other, with elaborate
carelessness.
"I'm telling all of it." Darrow's eyes
bit out suddenly. "A week ago I found
two of Sundown's men lashing a darky,
back in the rice fields. I kicked 'em
out. Stagg had the impudence to come
here and demand reparation for the
damage I did to his thugs. My uncle
256
Not in the Cast
tried to kick him out, but failed, and
I finished the job. So Stagg served no-
tice on us to quit the parish. My uncle
quit. I'm here."
Lawrence puffed at his cigar for a
moment. Evidently this Darrow was a
man who did things and stood not upon
the order of the doing.
"What's bad enough about this Sun-
down guy to make your uncle quit ?"
"He has a gang of thieves, river pi-
rates, and general ruffians at a place
called Carencro, up one of the bayous.
A tough joint. Most of his men are
half-breeds like himself — French and
Spanish. They're the type of man who
enjoy being desperadoes and bullies
while it can be done with safety. And
it can here, this district being largely
swamp land and much cut up by bayous
and creeks, besides being inhabited by
white, yellow, and tan and black men.
It's a grand place for criminals to hide
out."
"Huh ! Got a sheriff in this county ?"
"Parish, you mean. Sure. But the
sheriff doesn't bother Sundown Stagg.
One reason is that Stagg is too slick
to be caught at any rough work. An-
other is that Henri Castine is the man
behind Stagg, and Castine is in the leg-
islature. Further, Castine is anxious,
to buy Cypremort at a low figure."
Lawrence grunted comprehension.
"He's a Creole ? Got nigger blood ?"
"Go slow on that talk." Darrow
frowned. "Creoles have nothing but
the best of French blood, Lawrence
"Oh, say, I wasn't thinkin' of you!"
stammered the other in confusion.
"I know it, old man. But Creoles
are mighty touchy, so' be careful. Up
North we talk about Creoles as if they
were half-breeds, but you can't make
that mistake in these parts — and make
it twice. Well, are you behind the
scenes on Sundown Stagg?"
"Uh-huh. I get you." Lawrence
was still red with mortification. "This
guy Castine wants to run you out so's
he can buy in this plantation, eh? Well,
what can Stagg do ?"
Darrow stared at the burning logs,
his brown, rugged face hard set.
"He will do nothing, if I can help it,"
was his slow response. "But he'll play
Castine's game to a finish. That's why
I jumped at the chance to get your
crowd down here, Lawrence. That's
why I'm telling you the whole thing in
confidence. Don't tell Griggs unless
you have to, of course."
Lawrence nodded and looked at Dar-
row with a sudden warmth in his eyes.
"I — say, I don't want to horn in, but
can I do anything?"
"I was wishing you'd make the
offer," returned Darrow gravely. "I
wished for that when I met you this
morning, Lawrence. Stagg may spring
anything on me — I simply have to wait
for him to strike, then I can strike back.
But if, as I think, you're looking for
action, I'll guarantee that you'll get it."
Lawrence chuckled suddenly. "Do
you know, Darrow, I thought at first
you were a fan who wanted to get your
mug on the screen ; then I thought that
maybe you were a Northerner in bad
with the natives of the sunny South ;
but this — why, say ! Action is my mid-
dle name ! This is great ! Shake !"
CHAPTER III.
"Glee-ory! I can just see a fade-
out of Miss Robson standin' in that
front doorway o' yours "
"Miss Robson? Your leading lady,
eh? What's she like?" queried Darrow.
"Oh, judge for yourself !" and Law-
rence grinned. "Out o' Vassar a year,
and a star already. Can you beat it?"
Darrow's teeth clamped down on his
pipestem. "Huh! Some doll-faced
ingenue with languishing eyes and a
weak chin !"
The camera man did not respond,
but tipped Captain Campbell a sly wink.
Not in the Cast
257
And Dolly, although ignorant of the
joke, winked back.
The three were standing in the pilot
bouse of the Islander, which was head-
ing in for the Fenris wharf to meet the
noon train ; to meet, also, Griggs and
the Greatorex All-Stars. Campbell,
being under charter for the day, had
abandoned his usual habit of stopping
for freight or passengers at the plan-
tation landings along the inlet.
In the two and a half days that had
elapsed since Lawrence had arrived at
Cypremort, he had accomplished much.
His chief labor had been spent upon
the construction of an open-air interior
"set," where the magnificent furnish-
ings of Cypremort could be used to the
best advantage for the interior scenes.
"It is a great pity, Mr. Lawrence,
suh," observed Campbell, as the
Islander drew in to the wharf at Fen-
ris, "that Mr. Darrow cannot be pre-
vailed upon to take up the stage as a
profession. Why, suh, he would make
your bunch of one-night birds look like
picked crows! Such a carriage, suh!
Such ease of gestures and elegance,
suh "
"Stow that tommyrot and mind your
helm !" snapped Darrow, as Lawrence
grinned. "I see your friend Sundown,
standing beside his launch — come on
below, Lawrence."
The two descended to the lower deck
and stepped ashore as the boat scraped
against the spiles. A few yards farther
on, Sundown Stagg was standing beside
his own craft, eying them in a negligent
attitude. Darrow advanced straight to
the shock -headed man.
"Well?" he demanded curtly. "Look-
ing for me again ?"
Sundown cocked one eye toward the
wheelhouse of the Islander, wdience
protruded a rifle barrel and a leonine
head. Then he sent a flood of tobacco
juice into the water and favored the
two with a sour grin.
"I reckon not." His •rejoinder was
7
delivered with exasperating coolness.
"Not to-day. Got mo' impo'tant busi-
ness on hand."
Darrow strode on past him, without
reply. Inwardly he wondered why
Stagg was remaining here on the wharf
instead of advancing to the station,
where the train was even then pulling
in with agonizing whistlings.
"Sundown seems to have had an
eclipse," chuckled Lawrence. "S'pose
his gang is layin' for us ?"
"Not here," dissented Darrow. "It's
too public Hello — there's Griggs
Griggs it was, indeed ; and behind
Griggs five other members of the Great-
orex All-Stars were pouring down to
the station platform. Darrow was
hailed with a shout of delight, and was
introduced to Bowman, the heavy ;
Elsie Winkle, soubrette ; Oscar Hil-
dren, the famous star; and the two in-
imitable character portrayers, James
W. Hazen and Flora Meigs, the last
named being an elderly lady who bore a
parrot in a cage and spoke with just
the slightest touch of Scandinavian ac-
cent. So did the parrot.
Lawrence took charge of them and
led them off toward the wharf. Then
Griggs turned to the car steps.
"Ah, here's Miss Robson ! Miss
Robson, may I introduce our host, Mr.
Prosper Darrow— why, what's the mat-
ter, man ?"
For Darrow was gazing upward —
not at the leading lady, but at a trim,
smiling, handsome man who was hand-
ing her from the car platform to the
steps; and of a sudden Darrow's face
was stony, his blue eyes storm- clouded.
At Griggs' words, however, the look
vanished. He bowed, and for the first
time met the gaze of Marian Robson.
So direct, so disconcerting, so bewil-
deringly feminine were the puzzled
gray eyes of the girl, that Darrow was
startled.
"I was quite astonished !" he said,
taking Miss Robson's extended hand
I5S
Not in the Cast
and assisting her to descend. "I had
not known that an actress could be so
beautiful, save on the stage. Evidently
I must reconstruct my fancies of the
profession !"
"Thank you, Mr. Darrow. I'm sure
we're all perfectly wild to see your
wonderful place- — I don't know when
Mr. Griggs has been so enthusiastic
over anything! It seems like an impo-
sition for us to come here and make
capital out of "
"A lifetime of such impositions
would leave nothing to be desired from
paradise," said Darrow gravely. Griggs
cut in with swift impatience.
"Here, Darrow — shake hands with
Mr. Castine — maybe you know him al-
ready ? Rode down with us, knows this
country — I've asked him to come with
us to Cypremort for a few days, if
you don't mind. Castine is a whole lot
interested in the pictures "
The voice of Griggs died an unnatu-
ral death.
Tight-lipped, steely of eye, Darrow
was gazing up at Henri Castine ; and
Castine, suavely smiling, but with a
slumbering devil behind the depths of
his keen black eyes, was gazing down
at Darrow of Cypremort.
"Certainly we know each other, Mr.
Griggs," said Castine, his voice liquid
and musical. "I'm sure Mr. Darrow
will not mind my joining the party."
Darrow did not reply for a moment.
Then his voice leaped out with sudden
irony.
"So you're interested in the pictures,
Castine ? How nice ! Yes, we're all
going up on Captain Campbell's boat —
delighted to have you, of course ! You
know Captain Campbell, don't you?
Perhaps }^ou expected to meet him ? Or
were you looking for Sundown Stagg?"
Griggs was by no means blind. He
noted the clenched gaze of the two men,
he noted how the crowd of ChLi c s e and
fishermen had mysteriously evaporated
at sight of Castine, and he mopped
frantically at his streaming brow.
"Purple persimmons !" he murmured,
in a strained aside to Miss Robson.
"My intentions always seem destined
to make paving stones for Sheol ! Put
my foot in it — as usual !"
Darrow's words seemed to convey a
subtle hint, or else Air. Castine had pri-
vate reasons for not wishing to make
the trip wTith Campbell. At any rate,
Castine descended from the car steps
and removed his silk hat, with a courtly
bow to Miss Robson.
"Ah, I was not aware that Air. Stagg
was here to meet me !" he observed
blandly. "Pray, let me promise myself
the pleasure, ma'am, of calling upon
your charming picture company in a
few days — yes, Mr. Griggs? Perhaps
it is best, after all, to give you all a little
time to get settled and in working shape.
Miss Robson, your servant, ma'am !
And yours, Mr. Griggs ! I trust that
we may all meet before very long —
until when, Air. Darrow, your servant,
sir!"
"Oh, I'm always at your disposal,"
returned Darrow dryly. He turned
away. "Come, if you please, Aliss Rob-
son— luncheon will be waiting for all
of you at the island, and we have an
hour's trip ahead of us. Get your bag-
gage together, Griggs, and I'll send up
the deck hands after it."
Castine's eyes followed them down
the wharf, and he made a gesture which
brought Sundown Stagg sauntering to-
ward him.
Reaching the Islander, Darrow sent
the negroes to fetch the trunks and
piloted Aliss Robson to the tiny ladies'
cabin, where he left her. For a moment
he stood at the rail of the boat, his eyes
on the station ; but his thoughts were
riotous.
So, Castine had seemed to have made
quite a favorable impression on every
one — even on Alarian Robson ! Castine
was smooth, of course ; a smooth law-
Not in the Cast
259
yer, a smooth politician, a smooth busi-
ness man, who never let his right hand
know what his left hand accomplished.
He invariably made an agreeable im-
pression.
Darrow was frankly taken aback by
this leading lady. He had expected to
find a simpering, affected girl ; instead,
he had met a woman, cool-eyed, capable,
excellently poised
"Say!" Hearing the voice of Law-
rence, Darrow turned to see the camera
man hastily approaching him, wearing a
look of keen curiosity. "Elsie Winkle
told me that a guy named Castine rode
down with 'em — a reg'lar fashion plate.
That wasn't your friend?"
"Same one." Darrow's eyes twinkled.
"Glee-ory ! You didn't meet him ?"
"Of course. He'll probably visit us
at Cypremort — later."
Lawrence stared at him in blank
wonder.
"Why— I thought "
"Don't think," chuckled Darrow.
"We're enemies, of course, but it isn't
my play to be discourteous when Griggs
invites any one to visit us. Besides,
now that Castine is on the ground, I'll
begin to watch out for deviltry. You'll
see ! Something will break loose in
mighty short order, Lawrence."
Five minutes later, Stagg's launch
circled out, Castine sitting in the stern
and waving farewell to the Greatorex
All-Stars. Captain Campbell listened to
a low-voiced explanation from Darrow,
and then chuckled to himself.
"I reckon Castine doesn't love me,
suh," he murmured. "He gave some
gin to my niggahs one night las' sum-
mer, and I put a bullet through his coat
tails. No, suh, I don't guess the Hon-
orable Henri Castine is pining to travel
with old Dolly !"
"So that's it, eh?" queried Darrow.
"You never told me you'd had a run-in
with him."
"Lots o' things I never told you, Pros-
per. Well, we're off!"
As the Islander headed out into the
open inlet and the cold Gulf breeze, the
All-Stars sought the protection of the
lower deck, and presently Griggs
ascended to the wheelhouse, where Dar-
row sat behind the skipper.
"Purple persimmons!" ejaculated the
director wrathily. "Darrow, why didn't
you slip me a hint? I never meant to
invite any one to your place whom you
didn't like "
"What's the matter?" inquired Dar-
row easily. "To what do you refer?"
"Why, that chap Castine, of course !
If I'd dreamed you and he weren't
friends "
"We are friends, Griggs — dearly be-
loved friends," asserted Darrow, with
an air of profound gravity. "I'll be
perfectly charmed to have him at Cy-
premort, and the sooner the better.
How did you get the idea that Ave
weren't friends?"
He stared at Griggs, his blue eyes
guileless and wondering. The perplexed
director met the look, then turned away,
with a snort.
"All right — confound you ! But you
know what I mean."
Campbell chuckled, as the figure of
Griggs disappeared.
"I always said, suh, that you should
take up the profession ! Yes, suh !"
The Islander churned on her labor-
ious way, and far ahead of her steamed
a speedy launch with a red-thatched
figure at the tiller, which turned off and
vanished in the mouth of the bayou that
threaded among the swamps — Carencro
Bayou. Darrow did not see Miss Rob-
son again until the party disembarked
at Cypremort.
Luncheon was served under the live
oaks, and, immediately it was over,
Griggs flung himself into the work with
savage energy.
Before dark, the "set" fashioned by
Lawrence was stained into a fair rep-
resentation of the wainscoted interior
of the house itself, and two of the
260
Not in the Cast
massy silver candelabra were fastened
through the thin boarding; Lawrence
announced that his paraphernalia was
in shape for immediate work, and,
under the supervision of Uncle Enos
and Aunt Alice, the guests of the house
were installed in their respective rooms,
Flora Meigs' parrot being hung in the
rear gallery to the edification of the
darkies. The parrot swore in a most
accomplished manner, and did it, as
Lawrence privately observed to Dar-
row, with a Scandinavian brogue. Miss
Meigs, like Captain Campbell, was a
graduate of the old school.
Early next morning Darrow was
wakened by Uncle Enos.
"What's on your mind?" he inquired
of the old negro.
"Well, suh, boss, dere's a white man
waitin' downstairs to see you-all."
"A man to see me? This time of
day?" Darrow's eyes widened. "Who
is it?"
*'He done come in a canoe, suh, and
'lowed he wanted to borrow a launch.
I done told him dat we Gremillions
didn't lend our launches, but he 'lowed
maybe you-all would go wid him, 'count
of five white men who come down de
inlet huntin' rice birds, and one of dem
done shot hisself last night, and de rest
ain't got no gas'line "
"Why the devil didn't you tell me
at first ?" Darrow cut in and sprang out
of bed. "Here, get my corduroys and
flannel shirt, then open up the boathouse
and see that the Macache is filled up
with gasoline. Run !"
Three minutes later, Darrow strode
out on the back gallery of the house.
Awaiting him was a stranger, evidently
a creole fisherman or shrimper— small,
black-eyed, crafty of face.
"What's this about a party of hunters
in trouble?" said Darrow crisply, in the
creole French patois of the district.
"I'm Mr. Darrow."
"I am Jean Grojean, m'sieu," was
the answer. Cap in hand, the fisher-
man told of having found, before dawn,
five hunters on an island four miles
out toward the mouth of the inlet; one
of them had been accidentally shot, the
others had run out of gasoline and could
get nowhere with their launch. Grojean
had hurried to find assistance.
Darrow led the way swiftly toward
a small creek mouth, a hundred yards
to the left of the house. Uncle Enos
had already opened up a long shed,
where lay three launches and several
canoes and rowboats, and was even then
pushing out the smallest launch, the
Macache, to the landing stage.
"All right, uncle — give me an extra
ten-gallon can of gasoline !" exclaimed
Darrow, stepping into the boat. "Take
the tiller, Grojean. Thanks, Uncle Enos
— good -by !"
The motor of the launch turned over,
thrummed out, and the craft sped from
shore. Darrow was busily oiling up the
engine, and could not see that Jean
Grojean was eying his broad shoulders
with a ^faint grin. Xeither did he see
that a figure stood on the wide upper
gallery of the old house, gazing out
across the waters at the new-risen sun
— but perhaps he would not have recog-
nized Marian Robson at the distance.
Two minutes later, Darrow straight-
ened up and gazed ahead, shading his
eyes against the sun glare on the water.
An exclamation broke from him :
"Where are you heading, Grojean?"
"For Carencro, m'sieu," and he
caught the Creole's chuckle behind him.
"Careful, m'sieu ! It would pain me in-
expressibly to do you any harm "
Darrow turned, and gazed directly
into the shining muzzle of a revolver
that rested on the knee of the smiling
Jean Grojean.
"Very neatly done, eh, m'sieu?"
TO BE CONTINUED.
Baby Jean Frazer, Selig's three-year-old star, evidently expects to become an animal player
when she grows up. .
THE presence of a little child in a
melancholy picture play can be
likened very much to an oasis
on the desert or a flower in a sick
room. The vision of the sweet-faced
little kiddie will erase a great amount
of the unpleasantness of the subject
from your mind.
It is interesting to watch the differ-
ent impressions acting in the pictures
produces on different children. Most
of them go in for the work for the
pure enjoyment of it, and are as de-
lightfully fresh and charming as they
were before they started posing. A
very small percentage of them become
old-fashioned and spoiled, which is a
pity, for it is not the fault of the kid-
dies— it is the well-meaning people who
spoil them. However, the great ma-
jority, possibly ninety-nine and a frac-
tion per cent, of the youthful screen
stars are best described as "simply
dear."
One of the cleverest children at-
tached to the Western studios is Baby
Early, who has acted under the direc-
tion of Harry Mathews for years.
Early, as every one calls her, is a trifle
old-fashioned, but this, if anything,
makes her more lovable; she is just a
natural-born actress, and acts as much
off stage as on. Many are the tales I
could tell of this little darling. Here
is one : Some time ago her aunt, Elsie
Albert, took her to the photographers
to have some pictures taken. Miss Al-
bert had previously had some taken in
the clinging robes of a vampire — a char-
acter she impersonated in one of her
films. Imagine her surprise when little
Baby Early spoke up and said: "Now,
mister, I don't want my pictures tooked
in baby clothes ; I want to be dwessed
snaky, like Aunt Elsie was !"
Kathie Fischer, niece of Margarita
Fischer, is another exceptionally clever
relative of a big star. She bids fair
to be as clever as her aunt in time, and.
by the way, she worships said aunt
262
Just Kids
above any one else. Kathie is a
comedienne to her finger tips, and is
a little actress who does not need much
coaching. Both at work and at play
the little tomboy is up to some kind
of mischief. She will jerk the table-
cloth off or hit some one with an orange
or apple, and the next second have the
most innocent expression on her face.
Where she really belongs is with Key-
stone.
Among Kathie's best friends are
numbered the Short children, Antrim
and Gertrude. They come of a the-
atrical family, their parents being in
the profession. Both children are very
clever, indeed ; Antrim recently being
costarred in "The Flirt,'' one of the
Smalley's latest offerings.
Then there is Billie Jacobs, that en-
gaging tot who did such clever work
with Ford Sterling. Billie, I believe,
has made more money in the last two
or three years than the average film
player. Just a few weeks ago he
bought himself a big touring car, and
also pays a French chauffeur out of his
own salary. Billie is playing with
Lasky at present, his latest work hav-
ing been done in "The Heart of Nora
Flynn" with Marie Doro. It is an open
secret on the coast that Marie is falling
in love with this actor, even though
she just has been married a few
months. Her husband doesn't appear
to be jealous, however, for you must
remember that Billie is just five!
Billie Jacobs, in addition to being a
player of more than usual ability, is
skilled in the technical side of picture
making; an unusual type of knowledge
that a child would not be expected to
have. He can make up perfectly and
requires the assistance of no older per-
son. During the making of a scene in
which he does not appear, he will stand
on the side lines in the studio, close
to the director, and. with one eye
aslant, study the make-up of some new
player doing his first "bit" in a picture.
And, before you know it, he has cud-
dled up close to the director and
warned him of a careless or inexperi-
enced bit of make-up, which might, in
the rush, get by, and into the film,
necessitating a retake later on.
Another master, or, rather, mistress
of make-up is Carmen Fay Derue, one
of the dearest little fairies in the pro-
fession. Carmen is one of my "bestest
sweethearts," and I take a great deal
of interest in her welfare. She has
done some splendid work in pictures
already, and I can see her as a future
Mary Fuller when she grows up, unless
she deserts the world of shadows. If
anything ever succeeds in winning
Carmen away from the movies, it will
probably be a typewriting machine.
This mechanism seems to possess a
Two film masters of emotion, Henry Walthall and the youthful Chandler House. Center, Kathie
Fischer and the Short children between rehearsals. Althea Worthy
and her loyal, guardian "Woozy."
Just Kids
263
strange fascination for her, and she
will spend hours pounding on the keys
without uttering a sound, so engrossed
does she become. She will scarcely
move, even though it is necessary for
her to sit on her crossed legs, Turk
fashion, and, as all of us know, little
legs and big legs, when sat on for
hours, have a habit of going to sleep
and tingling all over when you try to
move them.
Carmen is regularly employed at the
Fine Arts studio, with George Stone,
Violet Radcliffe, and Francis Carpen-
ter, all of them artists above the
average. George is a little rascal,
and is always very much in evidence
■ — constantly being up to some new
kind of mischief. He is a natural-
born comedian, too. These four
kiddies understand each other and
play their parts as though they were
living them. They made their big-
gest hit in 'The Children in the
House," produced
by the Franklin
brothers, who are
the foremost direc-
tors in the country
when it comes to
handling children.
Another youngster
employed at the
Griffith studios is
Chandler House — a
good-looking boy,
who is improving
steadily.
Gordon Griffith is
another pal o' mine.
He is one of the
most manly little
fellows I know, and
he likes to play "heavies," if you
please. Gordon is quite an old-timer
now, and has worked with several com-
panies. He is all boy, and not spoiled
one bit — and it doesn't seem as though
he ever will be.
Look at the picture of that petite
charmer, Georgie French, and T defy
you not to say, "How sweet!" Georgie
is sweet, and she is very friendly, too ;
she has lots of papas and mammas in
the pictures, for she has a way of call-
ing her director "Papa So-and-so," and
the leading lady of the moment,
"Mamma So-and-so." Possibly no one
has been acldresed by her in this man-
ner more than Lois Weber.
Thelma Salter, Tom Ince's wonder
child, is another who continues to smile
her way into our hearts. To see
Thelma at her best is to catch her at
Inceville astride her pony, for she loves
Billie Jacobs, the
"$1,000,000 boy";
Baby Georgie
French, as Cupid
— who wouldn't
fall in love? — and
Betty Marsh, who
is following in
Aunt Mae's foot-
steps.
to ride, and is a picture on either a
horse or a pony. Thelma has person-
ality, and cashes it in each week, to-
gether with the rest of the Ince stars.
Her one proud boast is her friendship
for William S. Hart, whom she con-
stantly tells the world is her only hero.
264
Just Kids
Also of Inceville is Fay Brierly, who
is now going to school, and will prob-
ably not work very much for a time,
but, from past performances, will con-
tinue to be popular. The daughter of
Tom Brierly, who is responsible for
the magnificent sets used at Inceville
and Culver Gity, Fay took naturally to
the profession, and is especially good
in waif and pathetic little parts. Mr.
Ince says that whenever he wants to
draw tears from the "fans," and
Thelma Salter is busy on another sub-
ject, he gives Fay a sympathetic role.
It never fails to work.
Next, please look at that dainty little
miss, Betty Marsh, a niece of Mae. Is
she not the most "cuddlable bit of
femininity" you ever saw? Betty is
one of the most lovable youngsters in
the profession; and, what is more, she
is a real actress, as was shown in "Lit-
tle Alary Sunshine," the recent Pathe-
Balboa feature, in which she played the
title role.
Althea Worthly, of Pallas-Morosco,
has already made a great name for her-
self. She is seen to her best advantage
in George Beban's starring vehicle,
"Pasquale." Althea's star is on the
ascent, as is that of Buster Emmons,
another film child of the golden West.
Among the many clever youngsters
at Universal City, none surpasses the
work of Zoe Beck. One of her recent
offerings, 'The Desperado," will never
be forgotten. To use a timeworn
saying, little Zoe ran the full gamut
of emotions, and her work
could not have been bet-
ter. Before coming
to Universal, she
Thelma Salter acting in a scene with William S. Bart, "her hero.
Francis Carpenter "registering" joy for the Fine Arts
camera, Seena Owen, assisting.
one of the quaintest children in the
game, and she is going to be as popu-
lar as auntie some day. Mack Sen-
nett, of Keystone, is her present
director.
Helen Marie Osborne, the diminu-
tive Balboa star, a chum of Betty's, is
Below,
made a name for
herself in Bio-
graph pictures.
The Selig Com-
pany proudly puts
forth Baby Jean
Fraser as the
youngest leading
lady in Movie-
land, and well
they might, for
this child is not yet three years old.
She loves the animals at the Jungle-Zoo
— in fact, she loves them wisely, but
not well. Upon several occasions she
has been rescued from the immediate
vicinity of some wild-animal cage just
in time to prevent a funeral for her lov-
Just Kids
265
ing family. Little Jean says, in her
cunning way, that she is never happy
unless playing with some lion, tiger, or
leopard cub. Whether these cubs are
also happy is another story.
The Eastern studios also have their
share of clever children, whose stars
Charles Dana Gibson called the most
beautiful child in the world, divides
her valuable time between the Fox and
the World studios. Mimi Yvonne, who
made her first big hit with E. K. Lin-
coln in "The Littlest Rebel," is now
drawing her salary from Lubin.
are daily shining-
brighter. Probably
the most notable of
these are with the
Fox Company,
which seems to have
a monopoly on
young talent. The
Lee sisters, Kathie
and Jane, who are
appearing in Fox's
''Million-dollar Pic-
ture," are probably
the best known of
them all. These
dear little kiddies have been gracing the
shadows since before they could toddle,
and their fame and popularity is world-
wide. Alice Turner gained her laurels
on the stage, and now is adding to them
in the pictures. Like the Lee sisters,
she is appearing in the big spectacle.
Other Fox children who add to the in-
terest of this concern's productions are
Kittens — yes, that is her right name —
Reichert, who has done a lot of work
with "Big Bill" Farnum ; Miriam Bat-
tista, from sunny Italy, with eyes that
will haunt you like the smile of Mona
Lisa; Jacqueline Morhange, the little
French doll; Alma Frederick, Runa
Hodges, and Ethel Kauffman, who is
beginning to yearn for long dresses.
Madge Evans, the petite blonde, whom
George Stone, Carmen Derue and Violet Radcliffe get all the pleasure
possible out of life.
The Vitagraph Company is particu-
larly fortunate in having the constant
services of Maurice Costello's brilliant
kiddies, Helen and Dolores, and also
Bobby Connelly, the cheery-faced little
star. One look at Bobby's smiling
countenance and you are sure to lose
whatever gloomy feelings you may
have. He guarantees this.
There are several other children em-
ployed more or less steadily in picture
plays, and there are many mothers who
are always trying to get their young
hopefuls in the directors' good graces ;
but, after all, while the majority of
them are lovable children — all kiddies
are that — there are few, other than
those mentioned above, who can really
act naturally; the majority are too self-
266
Just Kids
conscious and some do not screen well.
It will be most interesting to watch
their artistic rise in the motion pictures,
and those who see the kiddies act the
children parts will no doubt be glad to
compare the work of those same players
when they are grown and have donned
long trousers and frocks.
There are not very many popular
actors and actresses on the legitimate
stage who attracted the public's notice
when they were children, but the screen
offers much greater possibilities for .the
youngsters with born
histrionic talent, for,
while they coax
words of praise
from the audiences
by their cute actions
before the camera,
they are continually
building up a popu-
larity that is much
more extensive than
could be derived from
the same work on the
boards.
And there is every
reason in the world
why the baby actors
and baby actresses of
to-day should be the shining stars of the
screen of to-morrow. They are in the
films when the industry is still young
like themselves, and they have a chance
to grow up with it. And all those men-
tioned here have talent — real talent for
real acting, not merely looking attrac-
tive because of their chubby cheeks and
kittenish ways. They deserve a "place
in the sun."
We have our telescope focused on
them to watch them rise to stars. Xow
they are ''just kids" — but wait!
Katliie and Jane Lee,
who share honors with
Annette Kellermann, in
Fox's ''Million-Dollar
Picture."
•flTT TI7|\J D- W. Griffith produced "The Birth of a Nation" this magazine
published a story of how he made it — the greatest film up to that
time. And every one liked the story — hundreds wrote and said so.
'^Jf^W/' Thomas H. Ince has produced another spectacle — another film that
is going to take the world by storm. It is called "Civilization." Do
you want to know how he made it — the troubles and fun that went with the filming?
Do you want to know about all that took place while the raw film was being transformed
into a wonder-work, and see for yourself in photographs? This great story will be
IN THE NEXT (THE AUGUST) ISSUE OF
THIS MAGAZINE
ON SALE EVERYWHERE JULY FIRST
ANNA LIT-
TLE is a
s p 1 e n -
d i d example of
that fast-vanishing type
— the true Western girl,
literally a daughter of
the plains. She is a
child of the big open,
who combines the fear-
lessness of youth with
the womanliness of ma-
turity.
As soon as
fortunate
enough to
meet this
winsome girl,
who has en-
deared h e r -
self to all
f i 1 m - f a n -
dom, I real-
ized at once
that her great religion was the open air.
Her motto, oft repeated during my visit,
was "Let us go outside." The confines
of four walls seem to stifle her, and,
as a fish cannot live out of water, so
Anna would quickly pine if confined to
the house. Her mother told me that
she had one experience with her daugh-
ter along these lines, and never wants
another. After we had finished dinner
and gone outside, in accordance with
her wishes, I spoke with Miss Little
concerning this.
"Mother always brings that up,"
commented Anna ; "it was after a little
accident which kept me in bed
for a month. I was enacting
an Indian maiden, and was es-
caping from the tribe,
riding horseback. I
was careless, and when
my pony caught a hoof
in a prairie-dog hole,
and stumbled, I sailed
over his head for about
twenty feet, and lit on my
back, sustaining fractured
vertebrae, or whatever you
call them. Mother always
says that I
never stopped
crying, 'Oh,
gee, I want
to go outside,'
until she
wanted to
shake me.
"I can't see
why any one
wants to stay inside. I always feel
stifled. You see, I was born in Cali-
fornia, and have lived by the sea
or in the hills the best part of my life.
There was a time when we went to
Chicago for a while, but the winds only
served to harden me. I was glad to
get back again. Native daughter ? Yes,
you bet I am, and proud of it, too."
"Rather enthusiastic about the
West," I smiled.
"I certainly am," was her quick an-
swer; "I was born here, and I hope to
die here— only, of course," she added,
"I don't want that event to happen too
268 Anna Little— Western Girl
quickly. Life is
too good,"
"It's a won-
der to me," I re-
marked, "how
a girl like you
ever took up
theatrical work.
I'd much sooner
imagine you the
owner of a
ranch, domi-
neering over a
group of cow-
punchers, and
showing them
what was what.
And whenever
a broncho was
too 'bucky' for
some of your
employees, you'd break him your-
self. That is my idea of what
Anna Little should be doing."
She smiled. "Well, when poor
old daddy died, I had to do some-
thing, you know." A look of sad-
ness came over her face as she
spoke of her father. "I was just
seventeen, and was considered a
rather good singer. Personally, I thought
otherwise, but in times like that I always
agree with the other fellow. This time,
however, it happened to be a woman. She
took me to see Richard Carle, who looked
at me — heard me — and engaged me. It
sounds rather egotistical, but that is just
what happened. It all came in a breathless
sort of way, and I was far too surprised to
be nervous. Really, I felt like hugging Mr.
Carle, but hugged my teacher, instead."
"Then?" I queried.
"After a year with Mr. Carle, I was in-
troduced to Ferris Hartman, who had the
best comic-opera company on the coast.
With him it was almost the same as. with
Richard Carle. After
hearing my voice, which
had developed a great
deal, he immediately
signed me to a contract,
and I was with him for
nearly three years. Mr.
Hartman, you know, also
saw the writing on the
wall, and he is now in
pictures, codirecting with
Roscoe Arbuckle at the
Keystone studios. For
him I danced and sang,
and at times even acted.
Although I was really
getting along splendidly,
I never liked the stage —
couldn't get used to the
stuffy dressing rooms and
the heat of the footlights
Anna Little— Western Girl
269
— and when 'Broncho Billy' Anderson sug-
gested picture work to me, I jumped at the
chance. So, when the season was over, I
hied me to San Rafael, and, before, the pic-
ture was a day old, I said to myself, 'Anna,
old sport, this is the life.' "
"You didn't stay there long, did you ?"
"No, there was a fly in my joy ointment,
and that was a longing for Los Angeles.
Accordingly, I paid a visit to Mr. Thos. H.
Ince, and rode a bucking broncho for him.
He told me that if I could "act as well as I
could ride, I would do. I suggested he try
me out. He did — and I stayed. Possibly
my biggest picture with his company was
'The Battle of Gettysburg.' Later, I went
to Universal, and did sev-
eral features, including
'The Black Box.' Then I
accepted an offer from
the American — and here
I am !"
"You are surely getting
your full share of 'West-
erns' now, aren't you ?" I
smiled, and she returned
it.
"Yes, and I like them,
especially when they give
me an opportunity to
really act. I love to ride,
as you know, but I can
do that, anyway. I'll tell
you a secret if you prom-
ise not to repeat."
I crossed my heart.
" 'Way down deep in
my heart," she
confided, in a
stage whisper,
"is a great,
e v e r - burning
desire for very,
v e r y h e a v y
emotional
drama, which
will not lie dor-
mant. I so want
to play some-
thing deep. Did
you see me in
'Damon and
Pythias' a n d
'The Open
Shutters' ?
These were
parts I liked im-
mensely."
More than once I have won-
dered which was the most attrac-
tive side of Miss Little's charac-
ter— the boyish or the girlish side.
Very often she gives you the im-
pression of being a very hand-
some boy of about seventeen,
dressed in girl's clothes ; she rides,
runs, and swims like a bov, with
270
Anna Little— Western Girl
the same sheer love of exercise. Her
slim, straight figure suggests the boy,
and she is such a good fellow with all
the young actors that they gladly accept
her as a companion.
Then, the next time you see Anna,
she has her pretty frocks on, and is a
girl. The love she has for her mother
is a girl's affection, and the boys come
to Anna with their troubles, and she is
the sister at once, womanly, sympa-
thetic, and, above all, sensible. It is a
well-known fact that she is the best
loved girl in Santa Barbara.
Another notable thing about this girl
is her laugh. She never laughs out
loud ; her eyes and lips laugh, but no
person can ever say that they heard her
laugh. I questioned her about it.
"I don't know why ; I did not even
know my laughing abilities were silent.
I suppose it is because I am laughing
in my heart most of the time. I can go
from tears to smiles very easily. For-
tunately, I am generally feeling good,
and all the world looks sunshiny and
fine, but when I do get down, I "
Here her mother gave a low groan,
which testified eloquently to the de-
spairing depths that her daughter could
descend when depressed.
Later that night we had a motor ride
with Anna at the wheel of her big ma-
chine, an evening swim, and supper on
the beach.
Then said Anna : "Go now, Mr. Man,
I have to go to bed early and get a good
night's sleep, for I have to ride ten
miles to location in the morning."
Remembering all her words in praise
of the open air, I jeered at her:
"Well, well, well, so you're going in-
side to sleep \"
"Not a bit of it," she retorted; "my
sleeping porch is open on three sides,
and I might knock the other side out
except for the fact that it would open
the front of the house, and mother isn't
good enough friends with the night air
to stand for that.
"So, you see, you are wrong. They
call me a Western girl, and, in order to
be one truly, about the only time I can
afford to be indoors is when I am in a
three-sided, ceilingless room in a pic-
ture. Good night !"
Anna's Western characters did
not stop at cow-girls; she made
an almost perfect Indian maid.
j\ ffi(> mail s/f
If yL cS>ushinatt
II i/^^f^^ ttttft his x*eplx&<s
ii.
DEAREST FRANCIS: You'll
pardon my writing you, I hope,
when you know the distressing
circumstances from which I have been
suffering for several months and what
a consolation it is to me to turn to you,
my friend, in this hour of trial and
trouble.
I trust you will not be shocked when
I tell you that I am married, although
a young woman — only twenty-six, and
rather good looking, I'm told, and of
excellent family. Yes, unfortunately, I
am married, but I am separated from
my husband. I had to leave him last
spring ; he drank so heavily, cursed and
abused me so, and beat me so much that
I was forced to it. Thank heavens, we
had no children, or I don't know what
I would have done.
I am working in this city as a cloak-
and-suit model — a perfect thirty-six,
they say — and I live with another model
in a nice boarding house uptown. My
folks live down South, you see, and
though they want me to come back and
stay with them, I'd rather not. I'd
rather be independent up here in Xew
York, but I would go to them quickly
enough if they needed me. But they
don't, you see ; so I am living my own
life in my own way.
I told you in the beginning of this
letter that I have had trouble, and I am
writing you for consolation and advice.
I notice you are so kind and helpful
to other girls in the pictures, I wonder
if you will help me, too. I'd like to
get away from all this and join your
company, if you will give me the chance.
I reckon I could act ; if only small parts,
as I've had experience as an amateur
down South ; and I would be with you.
Not that I am so conceited to think that
you would fall in love with me. Not
that exactly ; but when I see you on the
screen, you are such a comfort to me.
I can sit in the theater for hours and
study your dear countenance and follow
every movement of yours, and when I
go back to my room at the boarding'
house I feel so consoled. Sometimes
you look straight out of the pictures —
at me, and then I am so happy ! My
roommate is so unsympathetic, she
doesn't like moving pictures, and has
no use for actors. She's crazy about
the opera and saves up to go there. She
admits you're very good looking and a
dashing young fellow, but she thinks
I'm a fool to carry on so about you.
I don't think so. We all have our hob-
bies— isn't that so? — and if I choose to
make you mine, that's my affair.
To-night I am going to see you in a
new feature in which you are the star.
I've succeeded in getting Patsy — she's
my chum — to go with me by promising
272
Love Letters of a Movie Idol
her a treat to a little supper afterward.
Did you ever hear of anybody falling
asleep over your picture? Well, that's
Patsy. When the music plays some op-
eratic selection she's all ears, but when
the films start flashing and flickering
she's all eyes, only they're shut tight.
I don't see how people can help liking
the movies, especially with an Adonis
like you in them (is that right —
Adonis?). Jollying? Not a bit of it!
I mean it.
I suppose you don't get many long
letters like this one, for if you did you
would have to employ half a dozen sec-
retaries and spend most of your time
reading and answering them instead of
acting. I reckon, as far as my answer
is concerned. I must live in hope and
die in despair. Well, I don't care, if
you'll only write me a line or two and
offer me a little help and encourage-
ment.
Wouldn't I have a pleasant surprise
if you really did answer this letter?
With lots of love, fondly,
Elizabeth T .
My Dear Mrs. T : First of all
I want to say, in reply to your letter,
that I am always glad to be of service
to any one, and I never object to being
called upon for aid and advice in a good
cause, provided it is a good cause.
But while I truly sympathize for you,
I fear that I can do nothing for you.
You will have to remain where you are
and courageously fight your own bat-
tles, as I know you are capable of doing.
It is out of the question to expect me
to obtain work for you in the studio
when so many experienced and compe-
tent professional players, right here on
the ground, cannot secure any. Do not
get the idea that it is easy to become
a professional actress, for it is not. It
requires the hardest kind of study and
effort to attain skill and proficiency in
the art of acting, and if it is exceedingly
wearing on a man, what must it be on
a woman? No, Airs. T . I should
not advise you to embark on an acting
career unless you feel the call very,
very strongly. Miss Julia Marlowe,
who recently retired from the stage, has
written a most illuminating article on
this subject. I would recommend that
you read it and take it to heart. Sin-
cerely, Francis X. Bushman.
My Dear Mr. Bushman : I have
not only seen you in photo plays very
often, but last summer, unknown to you,
I had the pleasure of watching you act
at the studio in California ; therefore I
feel that I know you fairly well — for a
stranger. I took a party of friends out
to the coast last year, and, of course,
they insisted upon our visiting the stu-
dio where you were then, and, indeed,
we found it amazingly interesting.
It may appear odd and rather bold
of me to approach you in this fashion,
but frankness sometimes is a virtue. I
am a woman of fifty, too old for most
men to seek as a wife except for the
fact that I possess what is considered
an abnormally large fortune. My
money is what they are after — not me.
Now I have a cold, calculating, cut-
and-dried, matter-of-fact proposition to
make you, my dear Air. Bushman, and
if you can accept it I shall be most
pleased.
You are a single young man, I under-
stand, and are helping to support mem-
bers of your family. I also understand
that you are a man of excellent habits,
temperament, and personality ; in short,
a gentleman, who would be received in
my own circle as one of them. Another
thing I like about you, from what I
am told — you care little or nothing for
the society of frivolous women. That
is a very strong point in your favor,
to my mind.
Now my proposition to you is this :
If you will give up your work in the
pictures, settle down to home life, and
enter into marriage with me, I will
Love Letters of a Movie Idol
273
share my money with you, so that you
need not concern yourself with acting
any longer. In fact, I would not care
whether you worked or not, and I
would really prefer that you devote
yourself to social duties and the man-
agement of my estate. My secretaries
will assist you, so that any work in this
connection would be light and would
not interfere with your social functions
or your happiness.
You will note that I have said noth-
ing on the sentimental side. I do not
care whether you grow fond of me or
not, although I really do believe, in my
heart, that you will like me a little after
a while. The point is, I like you very,
very much; I can't truthfully say that
I am in love with you, for I don't know
you quite well enough for that. But I
do know that your personality, your
life, your appearance, your manner,
your voice, your eyes, everything about
you suggests the man and the gentle-
man; offers possibilities which I am
willing to run the risk of seizing and
holding by offering in return — myself !
A unique, an unusual proposition —
something very extraordinary, is it not?
Now what do you say to this curious
arrangement, my dear Mr. Bushman?
Pray do not regard me as eccentric or
worse ; I assure you I am not ; I am
quite normal. Furthermore, as you
may judge from the several photo-
graphs I am sending you, I am not bad
looking for a woman of fifty — now am
1? My friends say they do not flatter
me ; I hope they speak truthfully. Be
as brutally frank as you like in your
reply ; yet I know you cannot be any-
thing but gentlemanly and courteous,
even though you disappoint me with a
refusal.
I await your answer with all the joy-
ous anticipation of a young girl watch-
ing and waiting for her affianced.
Cordially and sincerely,
Mrs. H. B. R.
P. S. — I have been married four times
8
already, but this fact need cause you
no concern. Two of my husbands are
dead and I have divorced the other two.
My Dear Mrs. R : In your let-
ter you make me, to use your own
words, "a cold, calculating, cut-and-
dried, matter-of-fact proposition." My
reply to your offer will be equally busi-
nesslike. I reject it. It does not inter-
est me in the slightest.
However, I do not want to stop here,
as a strict businesslike communication
would, since I would not have you re-
gard my answer as curt or abrupt. I
want to amplify my reply by explaining
why a true artist can never abandon his
art — no, not for all the millions and
the billions in the world. For art, to
a real artist, is an inseparable, indis-
soluble part of himself. I wonder if
you grasp my meaning. Perhaps I can
make it clearer with illustrations.
Shelley, it is universally admitted,
was an artist in lyric verse. When he
wrote his "Ode to a Skylark" the verbal
music flowed out of his very soul. He
did not write it for pay, nor did he
have any motive for writing it other
than his feeling, his desire to express
the emotions aroused by the singing and
the soaring of the skylark. When Bee-
thoven composed his sonatas, and Lizst
his rhapsodies, they were inspired by
their feeling for musical art, and by
nothing else. Corot painted landscapes
because his artistic eye caught their
beauty and his artistic hand knew how
to transmit it, in all its glories, to life-
less canvas ; his money reward was
small; he did it through sheer love of
his art ; he had to do it, because it was
a part of him. Thus with the actor who
is sincerely striving to be an artist. Xo
matter how little or how large the
recompense, he must be faithful to his
aims and his ideals always. Longfel-
low advised: uDo well whatever you
do, without a thought of fame." That
274 Love Letters of a Movie Idol
is the keynote of the genuine artistic
temperament.
One word more, and I have finished.
Aside from giving up his art or profes-
sion, can one conceive of any self-re-
specting American young man entering
into such a compact? I fancy there are
thousands of men who would jump at
the chance, but I prefer not to say what
I would call such creatures. If you will
pardon my frankness — you said I might
be "brutally frank" — don't you think
you have had quite enough of marriage,
after four experiences?
I have returned your photographs
under separate cover.
Sincerely,
Francis X. Bushman.
Dear Mr. Bushman : Lawyers, as a
class, are not sentimental ; on the con-
trary, they are staid, solemn creatures
whose blood runs cold and whose lives
are regulated by rule and precedent.
They breathe an atmosphere of tradi-
tion, and their daily abode is in the hol-
low shell of custom and conventionality.
This generality, which is so commonly
accepted as to be almost termed a plati-
tude, applies, of course, to men lawyers.
It does not apply to me, because, al-
though I am a practicing lawyer, I am
also — a woman.
It appears to me necessary to place
this introduction at the top of my let-
ter, first, because the idea of a busy
woman attorney stopping in the midst
of her work to write to a strange man
of matters foreign to law and business
may strike you as peculiar, even humor-
ous ; second, because the majority of
people, and rightly, are under the im-
pression that the emotions of a lawyer
are rarely, if ever, stirred ; and third,
because I wanted you to know, from
the very incipiency of the case, that I
am a woman first and foremost, and a
member of the legal profession next.
I am what people call a movie "fan."
Invariably I attend the picture theater
near our home two or three times every
week, and I have gone as often as every
night some weeks. It is a sort of fas-
cinating fever with me, and I don't
want to be cured. For years I have
been extremely fond of pictures, and I
have always loved to make sketches. If
I hadn't become a lawyer, I think I
would have become an illustrator, per-
haps some day an artist. Therefore
pictures, especially animated photog-
raphy, do appeal to me tremendously;
and this brings me directly to the object
of this letter.
You will agree with me, without a
doubt, that one cannot feel, enjoy, live
the pictures which one sees on the
screen unless one possesses a most vivid
and incisive imagination. I may go so
far as to assert that the very life of a
motion picture is not on the screen at
all, but in the mind of the beholder.
Before one flashes and dances the mere
shadow of life, not life itself. It is the
same on the stage, except that the illu-
sion is greater because of the actual
presence of human beings and the ac-
tual voices ; yet it is not life, merely a
reflection of it. Read a book, see a
painting or a piece of statuary, and one
with little imagination reads and sees
far less than one gifted with the fac-
ulty of looking behind the semblance of
a thing to discover the significance, the
soul of that thing. Do you not agree
with me? Is this not the true psychol-
ogy of the mental effects of motion
pictures ?
Now, dear Mr. Bushman, what am
I leading up to if not to the point which
has probably already occurred to you
as you have read these lines? In the
course of seeing hundreds of pictures,
in many of which you appeared, I was
gradually struck with the important fact
that, unless one exercised one's imagi-
nation to the fullest extent, the picture
really did not exist for that individual ;
and, when I came to analyze the mat-
ter further, I found that, without
Love Letters of a Movie Idol
275
the aid of an intelligent, sympathetic,
and skillful interpreter like yourself,
even the most highly sensitive and
gifted imagination would find the pic-
tures little more than shadows, little
more than lively magic-lantern exhibi-
tions. When you enact the principal
role in a picture play, you live the char-
acter— you are the character ! You
give the part and the play that sig-
nificance, that soul of which I speak.
Many other actors in screen plays are
mere projections, mere shadow selves.
There are few vital, breathing, living
men like you in that dream world of
silent faces. No music, no phono-
graphic accessory, not a sound or a syl-
lable is needed to add to or subtract
from the splendid, harmonious whole
of your art. Had the cinematograph
done nothing else but preserve for pos-
terity your mimetic skill, your singular
grace and charm, your handsome and
youthful features, your perfect phy-
sique, your wonderfully magnetic per-
sonality— had it done nothing else, dear
Mr. Bushman, it would have justified
itself to the world. Yet see how much
more it has done ! No wonder I am a
movie "fan." A Bushman "fan," to
be exact !
Recently I was retained in a case
where a woman was suing her husband
for divorce on the ground of desertion.
The woman was my client. She was
extremely ugly, had a shrewish tem-
per, and was about fifteen years her
husband's senior. She had but one re-
deeming feature in the eyes of her
young spouse : she was a woman of
means. After she had told me her
story, I asked to see a photograph of
her husband. One glance at his pleas-
ant, clean-cut, boyish face was suffi-
cient. I was really sorry for my client.
"I'm afraid your case is hopeless,"
I told her. "You say that your object
in bringing this suit is to try to win
him back. Look at that picture, then
think of all the pretty young girls you
saw on your way down to my office this
morning. Put youth, beauty, and health
together, and the combination is irre-
sistible. All of your wealth is of no
avail against it."
She was not convinced. She pressed
the suit, and lost. I managed to avoid
a jury trial, but the judge evidently
lost his heart to the young man and
decided against us. So there you are !
Before I close this letter, I want to
say that if you ever need legal advice
or assistance, if you ever feel that you
would like to consult or confide in a
true and loyal woman friend, please do
not hesitate to come to me, to write to
me, or even to telegraph or telephone.
I will help you, gladly pay for the op-
portunity of serving you. To me, you
are the daily inspiration of my profes-
sion, of my home life. I have no hus-
band or children ; unfortunately I am
a spinster well along in the vale of life.
But on my desk at the office, and on
my dressing table at home, stand two
excellent portraits of you, artist and
man. I don't know whether any one
ever told you that, in looks and phys-
ical appearance, you were the incarna-
tion of Shelley, the poet; and we all
know how loving and lovable Shelley
was.
Will you regard this letter as a
capias ad respondendum, to use a legal
phrase? In plain Uncle Sam, will you
take this writ as the defendant and an-
swer me, the plaintiff? I shall be de-
lighted to hear from you, no matter
what you say, for I'm sure whatever
you say will be delightful. Faithfully
your friend, R. C. M.
My Dear Miss M : Your letter
was decidedly interesting. I was par-
ticularly interested in that portion
where you speak of the psychology of
the mental effects of motion pictures,
and I certainly do agree with you in
your conclusion that a highly active
imagination is essential to the complete
276
Love Letters of a Movie Idol
comprehension and sympathetic appre-
ciation of what the author, the actor,
the director, and the producer of a
photo drama are endeavoring to accom-
plish. This subject has been given
some study by me, both in the studio
and in the theater, and my observations
have led to practically the same opinion
as you express. I have found that the
more imaginative and the more intelli-
gent the spectators are, the less visual-
ization is required and the easier it is
to "put across" subtle shades of mean-
ing and the finer effects.
While I appreciate all the kind things
you say about my work, I feel that you
rather overestimate my talent and abil-
ity. I am still a young man, and I be-
lieve my best work as an actor is yet
to come. Personally I regard my work
as neither better nor worse than that
of the average star, but it is a pleas-
ure to know that it is liked by so many
apparently intelligent people.
Permit me to thank you for your
tender of legal advice, and for your of-
fer of friendship, which I believe to
be sincere. And if it affords you any
comfort to think of me as "the incar-
nation of Shelley," you are entirely wel-
come to the delusion. I must confess
that is ''a new one on me." I asked
my secretary to get me a good portrait
of the poet so that I might make com-
parisons, but, to tell you the truth, I
couldn't see it. Still, I'm glad if you
can.
Have I responded to your capias
writ sufficiently? With best wishes,
sincerely, Francis X. Bushman.
Dearest Frankie Boy: I'm only a
small saleslady in a big department
store, but honest to goodness I'm just
crazy about you, Frankie boy ! I'd give
up my lucrative job any time you'd ask
me to. That's plain enough, isn't it? I
can't help saying just what I mean —
I'm Irish !
Say, Francis, I'm no good at "inditing
epistles," as they say in the novels, so
you won't mind this letter, will you?
My heart's in the right place, and that's
what counts. Listen, I got something
to tell you that will make you feel good.
Honest it will ! Maybe you'll laugh at
me for telling you. I fell for it strong,
all right.
The other day a young fellow came
to my counter to try on a pair of gloves.
I am usually in the ladies' glove depart-
ment, but that day they were short of
help and the manager sent me over
there. Well, as I was showing him the
gloves, I noticed something familiar
about him — his face or his hair or his
figure or something. I don't know ex-
actly what it was, but I knew I had seen
him before — many, many times. Then
all of a sudden it came to me. Gra-
cious, what a shock and what a pleas-
ant surprise I had !
"Why, I know you!" I cried. "You're
Francis X. Bushman, the moving-pic-
ture actor ! Oh, I'm so glad — I'm so
happy !" And I squeezed the hand I
was trying the glove on, and he
squeezed mine.
"Are you sure?" he replied, in a mu-
sical voice.
"Well, almost," I said. "If you're
not Francis Bushman, you must be his
twin brother. You're the perfect im-
age of him."
Then he laughed — such a musical
laugh — and showed two rows of white,
even, shiny teeth. "No, I'm not Fran-
cis Bushman," he declared, "and I'm
not his twin brother. I'm a cousin — a
distant cousin. By the bye, there's a
dandy picture of his on at the theater
to-night, a big feature, and I under-
stand he's got a corking part. You're
so fond of him — suppose you go with
me."
That was an invitation hard to re-
fuse, and, as Tom Bushman — that was
the name he gave me — was your cousin
and seemed like a nice, refined young
man, I didn't see why I should refuse.
Love Letters of a Movie Idol
277
So I met him that evening and went
with him to the show. Sure enough,
you were there, all right, and the pic-
ture was all right, too ; but I must say
your Cousin Tom is mighty bold. He
asked me to go to supper with him
after theater was out, but I couldn't
see that — not the first day I'd met him,
anyhow. He's been at my counter 'most
every day now, took me to lunch a few
times, but I haven't consented to the
supper yet. I thought I'd write and
ask you about your Cousin Tom. He
swears he's in love with me, but how
do I know? I don't know anything
about him, except that he looks like
you — that means he's handsome and re-
fined-looking— and he talks well and
dresses fine and he seems to have plenty
of money. He says he's an actor, too,
but on the stage, not in the pictures.
But I can't see how he can be if he can
go out nights — when can he act? I
like him ; I like him a whole lot, but I
can't say that I love him. Now if that
was you, Frankie, dear — well, I won't
say, but you can guess, can't you? You
wouldn't have to ask me more than
once ! Tom gets huffy every time I
talk about you. He says the girls all
over the country rave about you and
I'm just one of thousands — that I'm
wasting my thoughts on you. Well,
what of it? I think the main pleasure,
anyway, for a girl is in loving, not
being loved. You know they say, "It
is more blessed to give than to receive."
Doesn't that mean, ''It is more blessed
to give love than to receive it" ?
I wish you would write me about
your Cousin Tom. I thought it would
make you feel glad to know he was
such a friend of mine. Tom said he
would write you about me. He wants
me to give up my job at the store and
go on the stage with him. Y\ "hat do
you think, Francis? You see, I have
nobody to advise me, as my mother is
dead and my father travels — I don't see
him much.
Hoping to hear from you, dearest,
real soon. Your loving little
Cordelia.
P. S. — My last name is awfully com-
mon— but you can change it any time
you want.
My Dear Cordelia: When I read
your letter telling me about "my
Cousin Tom," who says he is an actor
and wants to marry you, I did not know
whether to laugh or shed a tear —
whether to take you seriously or not.
But after I had read it once or twice
over, it seemed to me that you really
were in earnest. Therefore I am going
to talk to you like a big brother, little
sister, and I hope you will listen and
remember and not be so foolish, so
very, very foolish again.
Of course, Cordelia, I have no
Cousin Tom who is an actor. The man
was simply taking advantage of your
fondness for me and your imagining
that he looked so much like me. I dare
say when you think of the fellow as a
fraud you will find that he bears very
little resemblance to me. Be that as it
may, it was very wrong of you, little
girl, to go to shows and lunches with
a stranger.
Xow take my advice, little sister, and
forget all about this would-be actor.
\\ nen he comes around again to the
store, tell the store detective of him and
give him a good calling-down yourself.
That will probably dispose of "my
Cousin Tom." And do try to be
more sensible. You are out in the
world now, and you must learn to take
it, and even- one in it. at face value.
With all good wishes to my little
friend, believe me, yours sincerely,
Francis X. Bushmax.
AND you will always take good
care of Mimi, Monsieur Du-
cros," said the old nun, as she
helped the girl climb into the high two-
wheeled cart to sit beside her new
master.
Mimi, a child of yesterday, and a
woman of to-day, looked with her wist-
ful, tender eyes up at the great pile of
gray convent buildings she was about
to leave forever. This was the only
home she had ever known, and the
wrinkled nun the only mother.
"Good-by, Sister Anastasia," she
said, for the sixth time.
Somehow^, despite the wonderful ad-
venture of entering upon the great, free
world, Mimi felt sad.
"As sure as I am Ducros, as honest
an innkeeper as there is in France — if
I do say it myself — I swear to you,
Sister Anastasia, I shall take care of
Mimi as if she were my own."
"Your papers proclaim you a good
man," the nun responded, "and your
looks indicate as much. And now the
child has grown up, and we must find
a home for her "
"Trust me, good sister," Ducros
broke in; and, as he jerked the reins,
as if for emphasis, his stout, spirited
horse started off in a sudden gallop.
In a moment the cart had thundered
out of the paved courtyard of the con-
vent. Ducros, the innkeeper, flicked
the horse's back lightly and continu-
ously with the whip, and thought what
a pretty new serving maid he was tak-
ing home, while Mimi clung to the seat
in the bobbing cart, and the farther
they drew away from the convent, the
more she began to fear the new and
the unknown.
But Ducros was as good as his word,
and he and his old housekeeper made
life as pleasant, however toilsome, for
Mimi as he had promised. Yet the
common room of an inn was a strange
place in those days, and in that of Du-
cros, Mimi had to serve all who en-
tered and take them as they came.
Thus, one bright summer afternoon
it happened that a raw, prosperous, and
conceited countryman took it into his
stupid head that Mimi was very pretty,
and deserved to be kissed. He bawled
out this conviction of his in a voice
that frightened the poor girl half to
death, as she fled from his approach.
Down the long room he went after her.
As she ran in terror, suddenly her ankle
turned under her, and she dropped in
a heap to the floor.
"Now, my pretty bird," said the
countryman gloatingly.
He stooped, and was for taking the
La Boheme
279
frail, pretty, quivering form in his
rough embrace — but he did not.
"Let the girl get up by herself !"
The words came in commanding tone
from a dark corner of the room. The
countryman looked in anger and amaze-
ment at the sturdy, well-dressed young
man who came forward as if from
nowhere.
But only for a moment was he puz-
zled as the countryman stared at this
surprising person.
"You're waking up out of your dead
sleep quite lively," he said sarcastically;
"but I'm going to take up this charm-
ing fledgling in my own arms. You are
late — too late."
"Am I ?" demanded the stranger.
As he spoke, he planted himself solid
on his feet between Mimi and the coun-
tryman. Before the latter really knew
the man was there, he found himself
sitting down hard in an oak chair and
felt two masculine hands twined, tough
as oak, at his throat.
"Please, sir, don't hurt him — he's a
good patron of the inn," Mimi pleaded,
as she got to her feet.
Ducros, the honest, if most practical,
proprietor, and his retinue of help, at-
tracted by the noise of the fracas, broke
in upon the scene.
"What do you mean by assailing
Monsieur Rudolphe Durandin, the
nephew of the great and wealthy Mon-
sieur Durandin ?" cried Ducros, as he
jerked the countryman free from Ru-
dolphe's hold and flung him to the oppo-
site wall of the room.
"I never did attack him," the coun-
tryman gasped, catching his breath.
"It's all right, Master Ducros," inter-
posed Rudolphe. "I didn't hurt him,
•nor did I mean to hurt him. I just
When bills arrived he would make a little packet of them and hand them carelessly to
the artist for him to worry over.
280
La Boheme
was giving him a lesson on behavior in
an inn."
And, without a word, Rudolphe Du-
randin hurried to the courtyard en-
trance of the inn of the Crown of Gold.
Mimi was running up the stairs, built
He would flaunt the bag tauntingly in the face of the landlord
against the stone wall of the house, that
led to her garret room.
"Not- so fast — not so fast!" Rudolphe
cried, as, in a few leaps, he caught up
with her midway in her flight.
"Oh, I did forget to thank you for
your kind and brave goodness to me,
didn't I?"
Trembling, she looked down upon
his solemn, perplexed face.
"Why, I'm not coming for your
thanks," he said.
"Then — why " She could say no
more, and began to cry softly.
"And I didn't come to make you
cry," he put in quickly. "I just wanted
to know if you noticed how I scared
that clown more even than he scared
you. I thought you'd laugh if I told
you that."
"But he is the third one to act that
way," she said, "and I can't — I won't
stand it."
"I knew that from the moment I
laid eyes on you as I came into the
Golden Crown. Won't you tell me your
name, so I can say to Ducros "
"My name is
| Mimi."
1 "Mimi — what?"
"Just Mimi. Mon-
sieur Ducros took me
from the sisters —
from the asylum."
Rudolphe caught
her hands and kissed
them.
"They're cold as
ice, and it's June," he
said tenderly.
Her heart rose
within her. The blood
flushed her cheeks.
"Perhaps I ought
to wear a muff even
in June — if I had
one," she told him,
laughing sadly.
"May I warm them
again ?" he asked humbly.
"They are warm as you hold them,
monsieur," she answered, her face
aflame with blushes.
"But just to keep them warm," he
murmured softly, as he held the little,
worn hand to his lips.
"Farewell for always, and thank you
for always, monsieur !"
Before he had wakened from the
dream spun by the touch of her hands,
the longing of her eyes, and the spell of
her voice, she was gone.
II.
Nevertheless, this fleeting vision of
embodied love did not bother Rudolphe
so much, young and ardent though he
was, as he went back to the common
room of the inn. The fact wTas that
he found himself in perhaps worse
plight than Mimi.
La Boheme
281
It is sad to be an orphan, or, worse,
to be the product of a children's asy-
lum. It is much worse, he reasoned,
to be the nephew of a rich uncle, who
controls every franc at your disposal,
especially when you can't and won't
marry the rich widow Madame de
Rouvre. "Marry or starve" sums up
all Uncle Durandin's arguments for
half a year or more. Now, while Ru-
dolphe was determined not to marry the
widow, he was not so determined that
he was prepared to starve. Behold
him then returned to the common room
people from Paris. He serves them
fast and free, for he knows they
never have money or get out to the
country more than once a year.
As a kind of country gentleman, Ru-
dolphe stands aloof. But there is no
resisting these Parisians, as one of
them says in loud tones manifestly
meant for Rudolphe.
"Gentlemen," he observes from his
distant corner, in still more distant
tones, "you think I'm a countryman
because you find me here. I threw out
one such for insulting a good girl not
Never had the world seemed so full of sunshine as one night during the carnival of Mardi Grus
of the Golden Crown to spend a little
more of his allowance in meditation and
doubt.
But the place is transformed. The
offensive countryman that he had
nearly choked is gone. Ducros is wait-
ing hand and foot on some young
more than half an hour ago, and I'll
throw out one or all of you "
"But there is no girl here now," one
of them vociferated, as Ducros brought
in the coffee for their luncheon, "so
you can't throw any one out. My
name's Marcel ; can you paint?"
282
La Boheme
"No," growled Rudolphe.
"Then you can't paint me out."
"Can you think?" asked another.
"Not with a wild crowd like you
people," retorted Rudolphe.
"I'm a philosopher. I can think even
with you here. Call me Colline," said
the speaker.
The third man, who had not said a
word or showed any apparent interest
in the conversation, kept on whistling
softly a gentle, haunting tune.
"You !" exclaimed Rudolphe, glaring
at the whistler, "if you'll only give me
that air a little longer, I'll put down
words to it just as I sit here."
The instantaneous and tremendous
impression Rudolphe expected to make
by this remark did not appear precisely.
Instead, Colline, the philosopher,
said :
"From your looks, except for your
obvious prosperity, you are a poet, and
can write words for Schaunard's mu-
sic. But Paris will have to say whether
it is music that Schaunard writes, or
you are simply talking drivel for what
you call poetry."
Rudolphe stood away from them
angrily, saying :
"Did you people come down from
Paris simply to make fun of the first
man of intelligence you should meet?
If you did "
The menace of hib manner and tone
was suddenly stopped.
Humbly Ducros, the innkeeper, in-
tervened to request that Monsieur Ru-
dolphe retire to meet a messenger from
his uncle, the rich Monsieur Durandin.
Rudolphe, on his way back to his
uncle's chateau, read over and over
again the card Schaunard, the musician,
had slipped into his hand during the
conversation :
Poet or not, as the event may prove, dare
to show yourself if ever in Paris at 29 rue
Saint e Genevieve !
Schaunard, Your Friend.
A couple of hours later Rudolphe
returned to the inn to tell Schaunard
he had finally broken with his uncle be-
cause he would not marry Madame de
Rouvre.
"The little money I have saved from
my allowance and the poems I have
written in the last year are all I have
in the world," he was prepared to tell
the visitors from Paris. But they were
gone.
"Only fly-by-nights — the whole
flock," said Ducros. "You should
have known better than to expect to
see them again. Besides, a gentleman
of your standing- — well "
Abruptly Ducros stopped. Whatever
he had intended to say Rudolphe
never learned, for at this moment the
old housekeeper rushed in to tell him
that Mimi had left the Golden Crown.
"What !" Rudolphe exclaimed, his
face very pale. "Did she — no — no —
she didn't go with those Parisians?"
"She must have gone just about the
time they came," the housekeeper ex-
plained. "I wondered why she wasn't
serving in the big room, but was too
busy to look after her. When I did
get the chance and went up to see
whether she was sick, or anything, I
knew, at sight of her quarters, that she
had cleared out. Ungrateful puss," the
housekeeper remarked, and gave Ducros
the farewell note Mimi had left.
"She says it's too rough and noisy
in an inn," the proprietor reflected
aloud ; "well, I hope she finds it quieter
in Paris, where she says she's going.
And to think I paid her yesterday !"
"And only to-day I met her and loved
her," thought Rudolphe, as he walked
away; "and now she has vanished, and
I shall never see her again."
HI.
Never wTas a man more delightfully
disappointed. Hardly three days had
passed since Rudolphe, after the final
break writh his uncle, had come to Paris,
when he met Mimi in the street. She
La Boheme
283
was carrying a huge bunch of artificial
roses.
"To think of seeing you in this great,
big city, sir."
"Call me Rudolphe, Mimi," he whis-
pered, as he held her hand very tight.
"I am no longer 'sir' to you."
Then they walked away together,
and he told her of his coming to Paris
and half-starved existence there as he
Their meeting was the beginning of a
long happiness, though Mimi toiled hard
and long to earn a scant livelihood in
making artificial flowers and Rudolphe
fared worse, if possible, with his
writing.
There was always that difficulty
which they could not overcome — money.
Mimi managed to struggle along, and
was content to suffer poverty since ^he
Musette accepted the attentions of a young -viscount, whom she met through notes sent secretly
by a gargon.
tried to make a living by writing arti-
cles and poems for the newspapers.
"But I have friends," he added cheer-
ily ; "Marcel, painter, Schaunard, mu-
sician, and Colline, a philosopher, whom
you shall meet and like, Mimi."
"I'm sure I shall," she said shyly.
"And are there no ladies among your
friends ?"
"What — jealous already?" he asked
chaffingly. "Yes — there's Musette.
Marcel adores her, and she adores him
— but not so much, I think."
had Rudolphe's love. He, on the other
hand, though his poems brought him
little, carried an indifferent air that was
worth more to him than wealth. Liv-
ing in the studio with Marcel, when
bills arrived he would make a little
packet of them and. hand them care-
lessly to the artist for him to worry
over. And, when his verse did bring
in a few shillings, he would change them
to coins of the smallest denomination,
put them in a bag. and flaunt the bag
tauntingly in the face of the landlord,
284
La Boheme
telling him to take them for the rent,
with the same indifference of tone in
which he told him at other times that
he would have to wait.
Yet the days went along happily
enough — in fact, so happily that Mimi
sometimes feared she was living in a
dream and that when she wakened it
would be to sadness. But all such panic
was far from her mind one night during
the carnival of Mardi Gras. Never had
the world seemed so full of sunshine.
Never had Rudolphe seemed so lovable
to her and to love her more. Yet before
the dawn there came a blight that turned
all this gladness to tears.
Musette, fickle as always, accepted
the attentions of a rich young viscount,
whom she met through notes sent se-
cretly by a garqon. She would have
had Mimi do likewise with one of the
young man's friends. But Mimi had
no eyes, no mind, no heart for any one
except Rudolphe.
Yet the latter was led to believe that
Mimi was as much a butterfly as Mu-
sette. Furious with rage and jealousy,
he abandoned her — not merely for the
evening, but he left her love and tried
to cast her from his heart forever, going
to live alone where she could not find
him, nor could any one else except Mu-
sette, with whom he left his address.
Sure of her innocence, Mimi did not
guess the real reason for Rudolphe's
action, for had she not had a letter
from Monsieur Durandin, his rich
uncle, warning her that she was ''ruin-
ing the young man's chances in life?"
Of course it was the uncle who had
forced Rudolphe to act so cruelly, to
wound her within an inch of death.
Winter drew nigh, and with its com-
ing she discovered to her horror that
she had a hacking cough that no effort
seemed able to cure. And then there
were days when she felt sick all over —
when her hands were too trembling and
weak to make flowers.
She was so anxious to have him back,
and felt so sure that he would be loyal
to her, that she frequently sought solace
and information from Marcel. Al-
most every day Mimi went to the ar-
tist's studio, but he could only tell her
the truth — that he did not know the
whereabouts of Rudolphe, when he
would come back, or if he would at all.
Her little store of savings went
dwindling faster and faster day by day.
"I love him — I shall always be true
to him — and I shall keep away from
him lest I be a burden."
This was her talk to herself through
those dark winter days when the shad-
ows kept coming sooner at the end of
each, and seemingly blacker, as well.
One evening in her room — which was
still under Rudolphe's lease — a strange
giddiness overcame her. Her hands
were freezing cold, her head burned
with fever.
"He always said he would buy a
muff," she remembered, as she threw
herself on the bed and pulled the
threadbare counterpane round her. "He
used to say my hands were so cold be-
cause my heart was so warm."
This memory echoed in her mind
long after her voice was too feeble to
repeat the words, and even when a great
blackness came with her illness and shut
out everything from her for days.
"No, it is not a dream this time,"
said Musette cheerily, as Mimi stared
up at her in wonder.
Wan as death she looked, yet her eyes
brightened as she discovered Rudolphe
kneeling by the bed. Back of him stood
Schaunard and Colline. Musette,
when she had found Mimi alone and so
sick, had brought them. Rudolphe had
been the hardest to induce to come, for
he was still of the idea that Mimi had
been untrue for the viscount's friend
— the reason he had left her. But he
had finally conceded.
Marcel held Musette close to him
and said :
La Boheme
285
"See, Mimi, we are all friends again.
No stupid viscounts will ever again take
my Musette's mind off her artist."
"Positively," affirmed Musette. "And
as soon as I knew the fool I'd been,
I came here to find you, Mimi, talking
about cold hands and a muff."
"But I have it now," said Mimi, with
Suddenly hurried steps were heard in
the hall. In came Monsieur Durandin
and Madame de Rouvre.
"Rudolphe, nephew and heir," said
Monsieur Durandin, "I come to make
up our quarrel and forgive Mimi, for
I've heard from your friends how
deeply, truly she loves you."
Hi
He could only tell her the truth, that he did not
an attempt at laughter, "and my Ru-
dolphe gave it, I'm sure." She stroked
the white fur caressingly.
She was so happy they never told
her how they had all bought the muff
together. Marcel's masterpiece was in
pawn. Schaunard's pipe and famous
French horn were sold, and Colline
pawned his few precious books.
With brave faces, they watched
Mimi's frail thread of life near the
breaking point. And, though they kept
the tears from their eyes, their bosoms
ached with anguish.
Night fell. Candles were lighted, and
still they watched over Mimi.
"And I come to welcome her as your
" Madame de Rouvre was saying.
"Alas," Rudolphe broke in, "you
came to bid her with us, her devoted
friends, a last good-by."
His hands went out toward Mimi,
and he laid his face, weeping, against
the little, white muff in which reposed
little, white hands that should never
again "suffer cold."
"Sad as this is," said Colline, the
tears streaming down his face, while he
tried to talk very bravely, "yet it proves
once more, as we philosophers know,
that love conquers everything in life —
even death.
MOTION-PICTURE theater pa-
trons throughout the country
are at present mystified over
the reports of the merger in the him
business. It is not to be wondered at,
that the person who is interested in see-
ing good pictures, but who knows noth-
ing of the inside workings of the
''game," should be groping in the dark
to find out what it all means. Con-
sciously or unconsciously he wonders
what the result will be to him, whether
or not he will see better and more enjoy-
able screen productions after all has set-
tled down to peace and quiet again.
We can assure him that there is no
cause for concern on his part. At this
writing the Triangle Company informs
us that Famous Players, Jesse L. Lasky
Feature Play Company, and the various
angles of the Triangle have combined
to release their best picture plays
through one general exchange stanchly
supported financially by Wall Street in-
terests. This would, if all these com-
panies put out all their oictures to-
gether, leave but one organization, the
Oliver Morosco Photo Play Company,
to release through the Paramount Ex-
change. But this is unlikely to be the
case. To us it appears that the Para-
mount branches, exclusive of Morosco,
desired to get some of the big money
that has been pouring into the Triangle
purse. In order to do this, one thing,
at least, was necessary — competition
had to be abolished. Therefore the
merger was the natural result. If our
surmise is correct, Lasky, Famous Play-
ers, and Triangle will release the best
pictures through one exchange, but the
Paramount will be able to supply the
smaller theaters with other productions
of Lasky and Famous Players — ones
that do not feature the biggest stars,
and, by paying better prices, can prob-
ably secure some of the more important
pictures.
Whatever the exact outcome of this
merger may be after everything is
settled, as we have said, the motion-pic-
ture theater patron, who cares nothing
about who produces a picture so long as
it is good and furnishes good entertain-
ment, need worry not at all. It is not
the mergers that interest the "fan" — it
is what they stand for. In this case it
appears to be the symbol of better pic-
tures with better players, and none of
the competition among exchanges that
supply the theaters which made it hard
for the public to see exactly what it
wanted at the nearest theater.
From all indications, under the new
plan, there have been the greatest group
possible of film stars congregated. And.
it has been announced by one of the
companies interested, that new studios
with the best equipments will be built
both in the East and West.
And. it is quite within the range of
possibilities, since Triangle, with D. W.
Griffith, and Famous Players, with
Mary Pickford, are concerned, that the
The Observer
287
renowned combination of former days
may be again formed — in other words,
that Mr. Griffith may again be director
of the pictures in which "Little Mary"
Pickford will be featured.
All of which should directly interest
the "fan," inasmuch as everything points
to better pictures.
He can lean back
and w a tc h the
mergers and com-
binations, and, so
long as his home
theater does not
burn down, can
stoop to the ver-
nacular enough to
mumble: "I should
worry !"
To-day Mr. Anderson is no longer
playing before the camera, having sold
his interest in the Essanay Company,
while Hart is perhaps the most popular
star on the program of the popular Tri-
angle Company, unless Douglas Fair-
banks can be considered a worthy rival.
/^X with the new
^ —off with the
old ! How true this
trite statement
seems when applied
to a certain little
quarter of this big
film world — the
Western drama ! It
was not so very,
very long ago that
"Broncho Billy'' An-
derson was the idol of the public in this
field. His Western "thrillers," made at
his Niles, California, studio, were re-
leased every week and were circulated
to all parts of the globe. Tom Ince
was making Western pictures, too, but
Anderson defied him — who did Ince
have to compete with "Broncho Billy"?
Ince didn't have any one at that time,
but he went out and got some one, and
that some one was none other than the
famous stage star, W. S. Hart. Hart
started meekly, in a secondary role.
But he was easily the most interesting
character in the picture, and Ince at
once started to groom him for public
favor in the film world. And as Hart
advanced, "Broncho Billy" declined. fairly successful at that time.
The old and the new in the world of Western drama.
IT has always been a question in the
minds of both motion-picture and
dramatic critics as to just how much
of an attraction a screen star is on the
stage. Many players of more or less
popularity have appeared behind the
footlights after a successful career in
shadowland, but none have registered
startling successes. The late John
Bunny was an example of an exceed-
ingly popular motion-picture favorite
who failed to become equally popular
on the stage when he went on a tour
to tell people how pictures were made
and incidentally to play a part in a mu-
sical production. Bunny had appeared
on the stage when younger, and was
288
The Observer
Two recent tests of the screen star's
popularity with theater audiences were
the engagements of Ruth Stonehouse
and Richard C. Travers in vaudeville.
Both became famous as Essanay stars,
and both did ''single acts," that is, acts
by themselves. Their success was luke-
warm.
The cases of stars of the speaking
stage who have deserted the footlights
for a few pictures and then returned
to their first love are many, and the
change seems to have little or no ef-
fect on their standing. Geraldine Far-
rar, Bruce McRae, John Barrymore,
and many others of prominence belong
to this class.
It is our opinion that the strictly
screen actor or actress — who has had
little or no experience on the stage be-
fore entering the studio — is as ill at
ease when he or she attempts to appear
before an audience as the merest ama-
teur would be. On the other hand, if the
film star has had the benefit of stage
training, there is no reason why he or
she should not be as popular behind the
footlights during a limited engagement
as when appearing on the screen in
image.
OYE of the most inconceivable and
petty meannesses of that great in-
dustry— the motion picture — is the mi-
serly attitude of the film magnates to-
ward their scenario writers.
A playwright will create a drama for
the stage and receive a large initial pay-
ment, but his remuneration will not
cease there. During the entire run of
the play, both in the large cities and on
tour, he will constantly be the recipro-
cal of royalties. On the other hand, a
writer for the screen will have to be sat-
isfied with a few dollars — possibly
twenty-five a reel, sometimes more, very
often less, for his brain child — and that
is given him grudgingly. To suggest
paying the script writer a royalty on
the films he has written the stories for
would deeply insult the man with the
pocketbook. He doesn't take into ac-
count the fact that scores of his films
of the same subject are being exhibited
in different parts of the world at the
same time, while it is out of the ordi-
nary if more than half a dozen com-
panies are appearing in the same legiti-
mate show at the same time. Never-
theless, the stage writer receives his
royalty, but the poor photo-play author
— alas and alack, he sits himself down
and turns out more scenarios to keep
the wolf away from the door. A few
years ago, writers were being paid just
a trifle less than they are to-day, and
yet consider the present superiority of
the plots !
It is hard to understand this "save-a-
penny-spend-a-dollar" attitude of the
producers. It is not that they are really
mean, for they spend thousands of dol-
lars on "sets" that are used but a few
seconds in a picture ; they pay salaries
to stars that are entirely out of propor-
tion; and they will take one scene of a
picture play in Xew York and then
jump to Honolulu or the Sulu Seas for
the next if they think it necessary. The
trouble is that the manufacturers have
not yet realized the value of the photo-
playwright, when in reality he is the
very foundation of the whole produc-
tion.
If the owners of motion-picture com-
panies would only "loosen up," to use
the vernacular, they would by far be
the bigger gainers. They would not
only otter the incentive and inspiration
to their regular writers to turn out ex-
ceptionally clever stories — money oils
the brain, you know — but the foremost
stage authors of the day would turn
their attention to the world of celluloid.
This would insure producers getting
really great and original plots, in addi-
tion to the few famous plays and novels
that are now available.
AYe feel happy in saying that of late
several of the more important com-
The Observer
289
panies, having seen the error of their
ways, are doing this by announcing they
will pay really big money for really big
stories by really big men. This is a
sign for the better, but it is only a drop
of water in the .ocean in comparison to
the great majority of companies that
feel they are being robbed when they
pay a few pitiful dollars to the men
who are making their success possible.
Why? We ask it, but cannot answer.
Must we wait for the millennium?
\7 AMPIRES— why ? Countless people,
especially those who are notorious
for their narrow-mindedness, raise their
hands in horror when a "vampire" ap-
pears on the screen. Little do they seem
to realize that the actress playing this
part does a great deal more for the
public than the sweet-faced ingenue or
the regal leading lady. Very seldom,
if ever, does the screen villainess tri-
umph in the end. And if she does, it
is because some means of reclaiming her
lost soul have been found. Plainly the
fate of these women, and all those who
come in contact with them, show that
"the wages of sin is death" — or even
worse. Of all the ways to teach good,
there is no doubt that the best is show-
ing the effects of bad. A baby never
plays with fire after burning itself or
seeing some one else burned. The same
way a man will never play with human
fire once he knows the effect of so
doing.
Then why do some people declaim
the vampires of the screen? Theda
Bara, and others who play like types,
are, perhaps, doing more public good
than any other players.
290
The Observer
"P\ID you ever sit through a mis-
cast picture and wondered why,
oh, why the director ever assigned such
and such a player to such and such a
part? If you have — and we think there
are few patrons of the silent drama that
have not — we need not dwell upon the
tediousness of the event.
The leading lady of a certain com-
pany was "flitting" across the screen,
trying pathetically to impersonate a
young girl, the other day, as we sat in
the projection room of one of the large
companies. One of the officials — not in
complete charge — made a remark about
said leading lady's effort to be "girlish"
that was far from official.
"Why don't you put her in character
roles? She's fine in them," came from
an innocent onlooker.
A grunt and a look that spoke vol-
umes was the answer.
Being "in on the know," it became
our duty to take the innocent onlooker
to one side after the picture had been
run off and tell him the "whys and ifs"
of the situation. It was a short story
— the president of the company was
firmly convinced that said leading lady
was an ingenue instead of a character
lead, and his word was law ; therefore
she plays ingenue parts, and will prob-
ably continue to do so indefinitely.
There are directors in the organiza-
tion who know what the leading woman
to whom we refer is best fitted to play,
and we have heard the lady herself ex-
press her desire for good, strong char-
acter parts. But a one-man opinion
rules the world in this case, despite the
fact that it is warped.
We thank the stars there are not
many such characters in the motion-
picture industry, and that in most stu-
dios such a procedure would be looked
upon as a joke. Nevertheless, there
are a few companies whose leaders have
very badly cramped ideas. The public
knows these companies by their inferior
grade of pictures, and hey know the
other companies by their superiority.
The sooner the inferior ones leave the
field, the sooner motion pictures will
begin to show even a more marked im-
provement than they have within the
last two years.
^/"ITH the coming of the summer, the
exhibitor who owns a small house
counts his cash on hand, looks about
to see what ushers he can get along
without, removes the electric-light dis-
play in front, and otherwise prepares
for a financial siege. Experience has
taught him that the summer months are
bad ones for his business, though he has
just as good pictures and tries just as
hard to please his audiences.
Just why this should be the case is
quite a question. We quite readily ad-
mit that a walk in a cool park is prefer-
able to a seat in a hot theater on a
warm summer evening. But we take
issue with the statement that the same
kind of a walk is more enjoyable than
a seat in a nice, cool theater. And all
exhibitors who are worthy of their
name carefully arrange to have a cool-
ing system installed in their theaters
long before the sultry heat of summer
arrives. The trouble often is that a
person is carrying about a remembrance
of a decidedly unpleasant evening spent
in a motion-picture house on a summer
night a couple of years ago. He re-
fuses to take a chance of being "caught
in the same fix" again, and will not go
to a film theater during the hot weather.
Very foolish, of course, and enough of
this type prove very detrimental to the
exhibitor of the neighborhood house
who has given such good service all
winter. Unless he receives some sup-
port during the summer, too, he may
not be at the door to greet you next
winter, when you start to attend the
shows again. And maybe his successor
won't be able to show you just what
you wanted to see as this exhibitor did
during the winter season past.
SINCE the last issue of this maga-
zine went to press, the players
have been jumping about from
one company to another like so many
Mexican beans. Francis Ford and
Grace Cunard have flown from Uni-
versal City, and, at this writing, are
still carefully guarding the secret of
their new connection. Harold Lock-
wood and May Allison have shaken
the dust of the Santa Barbara studios
of the American from their feet, and
have already released their first Metro
feature picture of five reels. Ben
Tupin, fun maker supreme with the
Essanay Company for a long period, is
now frolicking in Vogue comedies;
Florence Lawrence is through with
Universal, and Ruth Stonehouse is the
heroine of the new Universal serial,
"Peg o' the Ring." Besides all these,
a dozen or more other changes of im-
portance have occurred within the last
few weeks, and still more are about to
take place, it is said.
€^
Margarita Fischer, her talented hus-
band, Harry Pollard, Joseph Harris,
and others who deserted Equitable to
form the Pollard Picture Plavs Com-
pany, have all been dreadfully busy in
Tijuana, Mexico, where "The Pearl of
Paradise," a nine-reel feature in which
the fair Margarita is being starred, is
nearing completion.
Charlie Chaplin's newest grouch de-
stroyer, ''The Floorwalker," is now on
the screens of the country — this being
his first picture since joining the Mu-
tual organization; and, judging from
the laughter that rocks the houses
when Charlie demonstrates his suavity
as a floorwalker in a big department
store, it bids fair to be proclaimed the
funniest film he has ever made.
Admirers of Tom Chatterton — and
Lord knows there's millions of 'em —
are growing more and more enthusias-
tic over their favorite as they watch
his playing in the new American serial.
"The Secret of the Submarine," in
which he plays the role of Lieutenant
Hope, of the U. S. X., opposite pretty
Juanita Hansen, as Cleo Burke. The
story, as every one knows by this time,
is founded on the disaster which over-
took the submarine craft of the real
United States navy in the harbor of
Honolulu some months ago.
@>
Vivacious Mabel Xormand, who has
romped through countless Keystone
292 Screen
comedies opposite popular "Fatty" Ar-
buckle, is no longer a Keystonite. She
is back in Los Angeles once more, and
still with the New York Motion Pic-
ture Corporation, but this time it is
under the direction of Thomas Ince,
Mabel Norm and, now with Ince.
and she is to be starred in light com-
edies, something of the type of
"Peggy," in which Ince introduced Bil-
lie Burke to the screen. Mabel's motto
is now said to be "More Plots and
Fewer Pies." Mabel is sure to be
liked, no matter what the vehicle in
which she appears, but there will be
plenty of fans who will sincerely miss
her from the Keystones.
Just two pictures were made by Flor-
ence Lawrence following her return to
the screen via the Universal organiza-
tion, for, after completing "Elusive
Isabel" and "Spring Time and Tillie
Tod," the world-famous Imp star of
Gossip
olden days announced that she was
through, and, as no contract had yet
been signed by her, President Laemmle,
of Universal, found himself unable to
insist upon her staying.
The house of Pathe, famous the
world over for its serial productions,
has a new one. This time it is "The
Grip of Evil," a story by Lewis Tracy,
author of "Wings of the Morning"
and a number of other "best sellers,"
and the film version of the story fea-
tures Jackie Saunders and Roland Bot-
tomley.
Vivian Martin, who has long been
a World Film star, is now in Los
Angeles, at the Pallas-Morosco studios,
where she went, the latter part of April,
to work in big-feature productions for
release on the Paramount program.
Popular Pete Schmid, publicity man of
the Pallas outfit, is said to have worn
out several dictionaries in his hunt for
new adjectives with which to describe
pretty Arivian — and at that we guess he
won't be far wrong, no matter what
selection he finally makes, for little
Miss Martin numbers her admirers by
the million.
@*
Harry Todd, known the world over
as "Mustang Pete" of the Essanay
Western comedies, is now a leading
comedian with the Rolin Film Com-
pany, which has just moved into its big,
new studios on Santa Monica Boule-
vard, Los Angeles. With Todd went
Bud Jamieson, who was also formerly
a member of the Essanay aggregation
at Niles, in the days before Broncho
Billy closed down the Western plant
and went East to become a real-estate
operator. Oh, yes, Broncho Billy is
now a full-fledged Xew Yorker, for
he has purchased a large interest in the
Longacre Theater Building.
Screen Gossip
293
Tom Ince's big, new spectacle, first
christened "He Who Returned," and
now showing in some of the larger
cities of the country as a whole eve-
ning's attraction a la "The Birth of a
Nation," under the title "Civilization,"
is even bigger than was promised, and
easily entitles Producer Ince to an extra
niche in the Hall of Fame. They'll
have to get up early in the morning
when they beat "Civilization."
Though Mary Pickford is estimated
to have something like 4,684,567,420,-
743,981 >4 devoted admirers, that num-
ber is going to be further increased, for
the Famous Players organization has
sent a representative to Africa to close
an arrangement whereby all the pro-
ductions released by Famous Players
will be shown on the Dark Continent.
At the showing of the Mary Pickford
productions, the popular Alary received
even more applause than she does in
the States.
@
Another band of wanderers to re-
turn to the metropolis was the Gau-
mont and Thanh ouser players who
have wintered in Jacksonville, Florida,
and are now once again quartered in
the Mutual studios at Flushing and
New Rochelle.
J. P. McGowan, husband and di-
rector of pretty Helen Holmes, has as-
sembled a company of regular giants
for the "Whispering Smith" picture, in
which both Miss Holmes and himself
are appearing. Los Angeles is marvel-
ing at the aggregation whenever it ap-
pears en masse, for, of the seventeen
men in the cast, eleven are more than
six feet in height and weigh from one
hundred and ninety to
two hundred and thirty
pounds. The giants are
J. P. McGowan, F. M.
van Norman, Paul Hurst,
Tom Lingham, N. Z.
Woods, Leo Maloney, C.
H. Wischusen, Sam Ap-
pel, J. C. Perkins, Ed
Roe, and C. V. Wells.
Helen Holmes as she will appear in "Whispering Smith."
294
Screen Gossip
Margaret Green has been chosen
from among twenty leading ladies of
the stage to play opposite Nat Good-
win in the production he is making for
the Mirror Company. She is a Broad-
way favorite of long standing, having
appeared in "Seven Keys to Bald-
pate," "Broadway Jones," and "Ready
Money."
There
seems to be
no end to the
serials. One
of the latest
and best is
"The Mys-
teries of
Myra," pro-
duced by the
Interna-
tional Film
Sendee, o f
which Wil-
liam Ran-
dolph Hearst,
the newspa-
per man, is
head. How-
ard Ester-
brook and
Jean Sothern
are costar-
ring in this
serial, which
is being directed by
the Whartons — Theo-
dore and Leopold.
Earle Williams and
YVally Van, those fa-
mous Vitagraphers, don't give a snap
of their fingers for superstition — at
least, that is the case if one can judge
by the fact that one is starring in and
the other producing a new Vitagraph
serial in thirteen chapters. Earle ap-
pears as a hero of the speedways, being
a famous motor driver and dare-devil.
In fact, the new serial runs the gamut
of human emotions, is fraught with a
thousand thrills, and, in spite of the
fact that much of the production was
made during the winter months, it has
a bewildering variety of outdoor set-
tings. A notable cast of Vitagraphers
appears i n
support o f
Williams,
and Wally,
who is the di-
rector of the
produc-
tion, declares
it is the su-
preme effort
of his career.
Joseph
K a u f m a n ,
who has
many Lubin
produc-
tions of note
to his credit,
besides a n j
number of
stage suc-
cesses, is now
in the Fa-
mous Players
fold, and hard
at work on an
adaptation of E.
Phillips Oppen-
heim's story, "The
Great Gamble," in
which Pauline Fred-
e r i c k is being
starred. Previous to
Mr. Kaufman spent
Howard Esterbrook in "The Mysteries
of Myra."
his picture work
seven years in association with Charles
Frohman, during which time he was
stage manager for Maude Adams, Wil-
liam Collier, Mrs. Patrick Campbell,
Virginia Harned, and Marie Doro.
Screen Gossip
295
William S. Hart has a worthy rival
for Western honors in Douglas Fair-
banks, the hundred-thousand-dollar
star with the million-dollar smile. Lov-
able Bessie Love is playing opposite
"Doug" in these "wild-and-woolly" pic-
tures, and Allan Dwan is directing
them, under the supervision of D. W.
Griffith. -Triangle releases them — this
makes an unbeatable combination.
One of the biggest surprises of re-
cent occurrence is the switch of Marc
McDermott from the Edison studios
over to the Vitagraph plant, for Mr.
McDermott has been an Edisonite so
long that his
mere ap-
pearance on
the screen
indica ted
that it was
a n Edison
produc-
tion. His
first picture
with Vita-
graph is to
be a five-
reel Blue Ribbon feature, the title of
which is still a deep, dark secret.
Gus Leonard, veteran of the vaude-
ville stage, is now a member of the
Kalem comedy company in Los An-
geles, and will play with Ethel Teare
and Jack MacDermott.
Theaters all over the country are
running the new Billie Burke picture,
"Gloria's Romance," made at the
George Kleine studios in New York,
and based upon the novel and scenario
by Mr. and Mrs. Rupert Hughes. In
this new production, which is a serial
in twenty feature chapters, Miss Burke
appears as Gloria Stafford, a young
Marc McDermott who has
joined Vitagraph.
Billie Burke, star of ''Gloria's
Romance" serial.
society girl, and is scoring an even
greater success than in " Peggy," her
first appear-
ance. Femi-
nine fans in
partic-
ular are
finding
much to in-
terest them
in "Gloria's
Romance,"
on account
of the won-
derful Lu-
cile, Henri Bendel, and Balcom frocks
worn by Miss Burke. In this respect
the film is growing a veritable fashion
bazaar.
Remember Arline Pretty, who used
to be King Baggott's leading woman?
She's been with Vitagraph for a long
time, but it has only just been an-
nounced that she is the heroine of the
new Vitagraph serial, "The Secret
Kingdom," to be released through the
V. L. S. E. exchanges. Most of the
scenes of the new serial were snapped
in and around San Antonio, Texas, un-
der the direction of Theodore Marston.
Charles Richman has the leading male
role, opposite Miss Pretty, and others
in the cast are Dorothy Kelly, Joseph
Kilgour, Ned Finley, Robert Whit-
worth, and William E. Dunn. While
taking the
picture, the
compan y
found them-
selves in the
midst of the
a r m y en-
camped
along the
border, and
Miss Pretty,
w h o is a
former
Washington belle, found many of her
Arline Pretty, starring in the serial
"The Secret Kingdom."
296
Screen Gossip
old friends among the officers and their
wives. She was several times enter-
tained at the home of General and Mrs.
Funston, in Fort Sam Houston.
place in which to spend the winter
months, little old Xew York looked
mighty good to them.
Violet Horner, the Fox star, recently
returned from the West Indies, where
she had been appearing in feature films,
with an ape for a pet. Violet has the
Bag and baggage, the Ince business,
scenario, and publicity departments
moved from Inceville to Culver City,
the big, new plant of the Xew York
Motion Picture Corporation, the latter
Gossipers say that Violet Horner is in love with her new chauffeur.
pesky little creature so well trained
now that he even helps her drive her
motor at times — "it is said."
Though there have been a number
of companies which ceased activities
in Xew York studios on account of the
recent curtailment in production, some
of these gaps in the acting ranks have
been offset by the return of the P'ox
Company, under Oscar Apfel, which
has occupied the Selig plant, in Los
Angeles, all winter. William Farnum,
Dorothy Bernard, and the other mem-
bers of the Apfel company, declared
that though Los Angeles was a glorious
part of April. The migration leaves a
very small staff at the old Santa
Monica plant, but a few are being main-
tained there to look after the Western
and mountain-country pictures which
will still be produced at that studio.
David Horsley has secured the serv-
ices of Director Charles Swickard, long
affiliated with the Xew York Motion
Picture Corporation at Inceville, Cali-
fornia. A company playing two-reel
dramas, with the famous Bostock ani-
mals as ''atmosphere" in most of the
productions, will be under the super-
vision of Director Swickard.
Screen
Though the first five chapters of the
Universal serial, "Peg o' the Ring,"
show Francis Ford and Grace Cunard
in the leading roles, and were made
under Mr. Ford's personal direction,
Chapter VI. will introduce dainty Ruth
Stonehouse as the heroine in place of
Miss Cunard, and all the future install-
ments of the serial will be made under
the supervision of Jaques Jaccard.
The former Essanay star, it is ex-
pected, will find unusual opportunities
for her ability in the new serial, and
will probably add still further laurels
to her brow.
Once more Director Calvert, of the
Essanay forces, and a large company
of players have descended upon Chat-
tanooga, Tennessee, for picture-making
purposes. Mr. Calvert spent many
weeks last summer on Signal Moun-
tain, which is in the vicinity of Chat-
tanooga, and, while there, won many
warm friends, for it was like a home-
coming for him to again visit the Ten-
nessee metropolis. Included in the
company working under Director Cal-
vert's supervision are Margaret Clay-
ton, Louise Annie Walthall, Lewis
Stone, and A. H. Davis.
@
Pearl White, famous Pathe star, and
more recently the heroine of the serial
"The Iron Claw," was highly indignant
when the story that she was secretly
married to Frank Moran, the heavy-
weight pugilist, gained considerable cir-
culation in the East. She emphatically
denies the story, and asserts that she is
not contemplating matrimony with any
one, being wedded to her art.
@
Douglas Gerrard, of the Universal
forces, is proudly displaying to his
friends a book he has just received
from Sir Henry Beerbohm Tree, the
Gossip 297
eminent English actor-manager, in
whose London company Gerrard used
to play juvenile parts. The book is
entitled "Thoughts and Afterthoughts,"
and the author is Sir Herbert himself.
Augustus Thomas' latest stage play,
"Rio Grande," has been scoring such
a tremendous success on the road and
in the larger cities of the country,
where it has enjoyed long runs, that it
is now to be filmed. The Raver Film
Corporation is the organization which
will undertake the putting of "Rio
Grande" into celluloid.
The Metro press agent calls atten-
tion to the fact that Viola Dana is an
expert boxer, and can also walk on her
hands. Well, well, we should never
have suspected it to see Viola on the
screen, but then, if her popularity ever
wanes with the film fans — but it never
will — she can perhaps land a job with
Ringling Brothers.
"Smiling Billy" Mason, who used to
be an Essanay comedian, and of late
has twinkled at the Keystone studio,
is now with Universal, and is to direct
and play leads in his own company.
A series of Billy pictures is being con-
sidered, in which the Smiling Billy can
disport himself through a long series
of adventures, each complete in itself.
Lionel Barrymore, star of the Rolfe
aggregation, who has been photo-
graphed millions and millions of times
in the studio, it is positively asserted
posed for his first regular photograph
in more than five years in the studio of
a New York photographer the other
day. Gosh, how Lionel's pulse must
have fluttered!
Hints for
Scenario Writers
(BP
CLARENCE J. CAINE
BREAKING IN.
ONE of our readers recently wrote
us that he had determined to
break into the scenario game,
but that he had no idea of just how he
was going to do it. He had, however,
spent many months in the picture the-
aters, watching the screen closely, and
had studied our articles on the work,
so that he had a fairly good knowledge
of just how to write a script. What
he wanted to know was if it would be
best to resign his position, come to Xew
York, and try to secure a place with
some company, or if it would be better
to remain at his place and write a few
scripts first.
The case is typical of hundreds who
wish to break into the game but who
do not know just how to go about it.
This man had the right "hunch," to
a certain extent. He allowed himself
to become fully acquainted with the
work on the screen, and also studied the
construction end of the art before even
beginning to write. What he lacked in
this preparatory work was ideas. He
should have started to gather them at
the same time he started to study pho-
to-playwriting. Also he lacked the
right idea on how to "break in," for
that cannot be done by coming to New
York and asking for a position or by
writing a few scripts before coming.
The way to break in is to work.
Hard, brainy, conscientious work;
work that calls forth every resource
of the writer, and that may bear no
fruit at first, is the thing that trains him
for future activities.
This gives him that ability to turn
out acceptable work that comes only
in this way and that is absolutely neces-
sary to a man who seeks a position as
staff writer. All of the big scenario
writers of the present day have started
where the beginners of to-day are
starting now. They have had to work
their way up the ladder, and the fact
that they have reached the top shows
that they have not shirked their work.
It is a grind at times, to be sure, but
it is also a pleasure to create material
that one knows will serve to entertain
the whole world.
WTe believe that a writer should think
the matter over carefully and fully de-
cide in his own mind that scenario
writing is the game he wishes to fol-
low. Then he must go into it with his
whole heart and be prepared to fight
the long battle against discouragement
that will mean so much to him if he
wins. As we have said before, the man
who fights on and on, refusing to let
anything interfere with his work, will
be the man who wins ; and the one who
fights for a while and then allows his
ambitions and determinations to be
crushed by adversities is the one who
loses. The man who enters the game
in an indifferent way and cares but
little about work, and who always looks
forward to the check, is the one who
drops out of the game very soon. He
loses his time, but that is about all, for
he has not given over his whole heart
to the work, and success or failure
means little or nothing to him.
Hints for Scenario Writers
299
STUDY.
We have often advised our readers
to study the screen, and to explain what
we meant we have said to go to a thea-
ter and select some certain play, and
then see just exactly what it was made
of and how it was put together. We
know that is a rather difficult task, at
first, but by concentration the mind can
be trained to absorb all the points nec-
essary for study purposes by seeing the
picture once.
We think the best system for a be-
ginner is to first watch the plots of
produced pictures. See the pictures on
the screen, and then come home and
write out a brief synopsis of each. Take
these synopses and study them care-
fully. Imagine you are the one who has
written the play. See what the main
idea is, and how the plot is formed
around it. Try to better the plot skele-
ton itself. Then see how the incidents
are arranged, and try to better their
handling. Look over the characters,
and learn why each was given its place
in the story. Then try to shape the
characters' actions a little differently,
so that the plot interest will be bene-
fited. Study the crises and the big cli-
max, and see just how they are worked
up. And, above all, study the ideas that
are incorporated in the story itself.
They may be new or old, but be sure
to satisfy yourself as to their worth
before you leave them.
As you progress in your work, and
can conscientiously say that studying
the plots of all the pictures you see has
almost become second nature, then be-
gin to study the so-called screen tech-
nique. Watch the methods used by the
different companies in working out
their productions, and you will soon
learn that style that is characteristic of
each. For instance, one company is
given over to a great many close-up
scenes and an almost equal number of
stupendous long "shots." Another com-
pany believes in having all its film made
at about the same distance from the
camera — say the fifteen-foot line —
which shows the entire person on the
screen. Learn also just what is done
when an automobile or some other ve-
hicle is dashed over a cliff. Study how
a sudden flash scene of the auto drop-
ping down the cliff follows the close-up
scene where the auto is seen to dash
over the edge, and which is taken from
the top.
These are but a few of the things
which must be noted. The way to study
the minute details of the technical ar-
rangement is to consider each scene as
entirely separate. This requires quick
thinking, for some scenes last only a
few seconds, and the longest will sel-
dom last more than a minute. It means
that the mind must analyze the scene
and estimate its worth to the production
the instant the action within it occurs.
Then the mind must be ready to do the
same to the next scene as it flits by.
A beginner cannot go into a theater
to study the screen, for the first time,
and expect to absorb all the salient
points at once. He must train himself
to this, just as he must train himself to
many other things, in order to become
a successful writer. It is a source of
genuine pleasure to most professionals,
however, to go to a theater and study
the screen with a mind which is trained
to absorb and analyze all it sees. When
they do their own work, then they are
just so much more certain of them-
selves.
PLAYS OF PURPOSE.
Louis Reeves Harrison, writing for
The Moving Picture World, one of the
trade papers, recently touched upon a
subject of far greater importance than
has, as yet. been recognized by the mo-
tion-picture industry — the production
of plays of purpose. Mr. Harrison
says :
"The author ceases to be a true artist
300
Hints for Scenario Writers
the moment he is so devoted to struc-
tural form, preparation, exposition,
and climax, that he becomes detached
from the people and events encountered
in daily existence. Without purpose,
and sincerity of purpose, not in close
touch with his times, unaffected by the
significance of what is going on in the
world, he will rarely sound notes which
awaken response. He may even be lost
in the clouds of self-sufficiency, where
the light of human sympathy cannot be
expected to penetrate. It is all right
to be conversant with fundamental con-
ditions in order to reach an audience
with the story he has to tell, with the
punch he hopes to deliver, but the way
to success will be clearer when he con-
siders the story as merely an entertain-
ing medium for the solution of a per-
plexing problem or to popularize some
phase of modern thought.
''It is natural to suppose that new
ideas, and fresh methods of presenting
them, may interest an audience; they
at least provide a refreshing change
from what we have been getting. Yet
that is no reason why an author
should not infuse new vigor in an old
play, if it is within his power to do so ;
but he need not expect to succeed even
as a corpse reviver unless there is an
underlying sincerity of purpose in his
work. The fresh blood used to revital-
ize an old drama must come almost en-
tirely from the author of the screen ver-
sion, and that fact is more generally
than openly recognized. The new sap
is drawn from the depths of human na-
ture as it exists, as the audience recog-
nizes it, and from the social environ-
ment in which we all exist.
"When a screen play of purpose holds
an audience, it is because of all engaged
in its production, an art in itself, not a
reflex of some other similar art. When
this is fully recognized, the rewards and
credit will not go to those who contrib-
ute nothing to the transformation from
raw material — some of it is very raw —
to the finished product, but to those
whose ability made possible the success-
ful transformation. The high element
in every successful screen play is that
emanating from the capable forces con-
tributing to its artistic and scientific pro-
duction. What is used of the older
form is only raw material. The poorer
the raw material, the more creditable
its successful use.
"It is inevitable that plays of purpose,
entertainingly produced, will take high
rank, and the sooner this is grasped by
men engaged in creating photo dramas,
the better for all who cherish the ulti-
mate power of this new art. If we are
to hold public respect and interest, we
must take higher ground than that of
imitating others. We must stand on
our own ground. We have our own
medium and our own methods of visual-
izing the unseen world of passion and
thought. This art has an individuality
all its own. The more strongly this in-
dividuality enters into the interpreta-
tions, the more real the interpretation
becomes, the more satisfying, the more
convincing, the more true.''
DETAILS.
In a recent issue of The Editor,
Hapsburg Liebe, a short-story writer,
set down several pointed remarks about
the lack of care in details in the average
motion-picture production. Following
is his article :
"Some of them are, I know, but these
are too few. The magazines can't put
such glaring wrongnesses across. Are
the 'moviegoers' any less intelligent, as
a class, than the magazine , readers ? I
think not. The dear public notices these
wrongnesses in the pictures. You'll
hear of it frequently in the little dark
theaters. Why not make the pictures
true to life, and have a still greater fol-
lowing? I am speaking for myself, if
you please, John Alden. I don't write
scenarios — I write stories — but I like to
Hints for Scenario Writers
301
see the pictures, and I don't like to be
disgusted, even in a little way.
"Yesterday I paid a special price to
see a special feature. A Mexican army
spy enlisted in the United States army,
and was promoted from the ranks to
second lieutenant in an amazingly short
time because the colonel liked him. He
wore a captain's shoulder bars. A cap-
tain in the same regiment wore a star on
his shoulder straps. It was supposed
to be a story of the present, and yet the
soldiers carried a rifle that was dis-
carded so long ago that even the militia
of the States do not use it. If it was a
story of the past, of course the old
Springfield was all right. But if it was
a story of the past, that regiment should
have been a negro regiment, according
to its number.
"I have seen a millionaire go hunting
with a three-dollar one-eyed shotgun.
When he came back home he shot at a
mark — with a shotgun ! — on a barn door
fully seventy-five yards off. It was
bird shot — for he had been bird hunt-
ing— and yet the millionaire accidentally
killed a man who was hiding behind the
barn door. The door was an inch thick.
I saw it. Bird shot would scarcely pen-
etrate a man's clothing at that distance.
I have seen a man husking corn at a
moonshine still that was high and dry
on a mountaintop. They don't make
whisky of whole corn — they use it in
the form of coarse meal — and a still
must be where there's water, running
water, or it can't 'still.' I have seen a
woman in a before-the-war picture
reading a modern magazine. I have
seen a man in a before-the-war picture
wearing a hat of the vintage of the
present. I have seen But that's
enough.
"Yes, the dear public notices that
which isn't right. It makes them be-
lieve that Tt never really happened.'
The moviegoers are as intelligent, as a
class, as the people who read the maga-
zines."
THE CUT-BACK SYSTEM.
Skillful handling of the cut-back sys-
tem of developing the plot of a sce-
nario is an art all by itself. It is not
a new proposition to those who have
been writing for any length of time, but
it is one of the things which a beginner
finds very hard to understand. Its ad-
vantage is to heighten suspense, and its
danger is to chop a story up so that
one will not be able to recognize it.
Every situation worked out by means
of the cut-back system is a problem
all by itself, and no general rule can
be applied. It is one of those things
which the writer must figure out for
himself wherever he comes upon it, ap-
plying such knowledge as he has gained
via the printed page or spoken word
from a more experienced writer.
Rather than try to explain the theory
of the cut-back, we believe it would be
well to take a certain situation and de-
velop it both with and without this sys-
tem. If our readers will study the dif-
ference between the two closely, they
will be able to get the idea which would
probably require a full printed page to
describe.
For the situation, let us take that of
a man discovering his wife, who is
false to him, in the arms of a former
suitor. The action may take place in
the parlor of the man's home, and he
may be returning from a business trip.
Without the cut-back system, the ac-
tion would probably be worked out
something like this :
Scene 44. — Parlor of Man's Home.
— Wife and suitor discovered on settee.
Suitor is making love to her. She does
not repel his advances.
Scene 45. — Exterior of Man's
Home. — He drives up in taxi — leaves it
and enters house.
Scene 46. — Back to Scene 44. — Wife
and suitor still in love scene — husband
enters at rear of room — sees them —
stops in horror — advances — registers
302
Hints for Scenario Writers
anger — upbraids them, et cetera. The
scene would be played out from here
according to the plot.
Taking the same situation exactly,
and applying the cut-back system, we
would be able to tighten up the sus-
pense greatly. It would work out some-
thing like this:
Scene 44. — Exterior of Railroad
Station. — Man comes from within, bag
in hand — just off train — enters taxi and
drives off toward home.
Scene 45. — Parlor of Man's Home.
— Man's wife and suitor discovered in
love scene — she encourages his ad-
vances— then rises and says he had bet-
ter go — fears that husband will come.
Suitor remonstrates, then agrees to go
— starts to leave — cut.
Scene 46. — Close-up flash of taxi-
cab. — Husband on way home — relaxed
attitude.
Scene 47. — Back to Scene 45. —
Suitor starts to go again — stops and
kisses man's wife — they have a love
scene — cut.
Scene 48. — Exterior of Man's
Home. — Man drives up in taxi — leaves
it and enters house.
Scene 49. — Back to Scene 47. —
Man's wife and suitor hear him com-
ing— fear — wife hides suitor behind
curtains — looks hurriedly about to see
no evidence remains — turns to greet
man. Man enters — kisses wife — re-
moves overcoat — talks — walks toward
curtains — cut.
Scene 50.— Close-up of suitor behind
curtains — he shrinks in fear as he sees
man approach — register expression on
face.
Scene 51. — Back to Scene 49. —
Man does not notice suitor behind cur-
tains— turns from them and goes to
wife again — registers he is glad to be
back with her — suddenly sees glove
which suitor dropped near curtain —
registers surprise — picks it up — wife in
terror. Suitor behind curtain moves.
Man sees curtain move — looks at wife
questioningly, then at curtain — walks
slowly to curtain and jerks it down
quickly. Suitor disclosed. Man shows
intense anger — seizes suitor — shakes
and strangles him — then releases him —
upbraids wife and suitor, et cetera. The
scene would be played out in the same
way as the other.
The difference is obvious. One style
requires three scenes, while the other
requires eight. One goes straight to
the point, while the other circles about
the mark before striking, and gives sus-
pense to the situation. One is just as
valuable as the other, in its proper place
— the proper place to be determined by
the importance of the situation to the
plot. If it is of value to make a great
deal of the situation which is under
treatment, the cut-back system should
be used ; but if the situation is in reality
incidental to some other big action in
the plot, then it should be handled as
easily as possible and in as little amount
of action as will cover it. This treat-
ment corresponds to the light-and-shade
effect of painting, and it is according
"to the ability of a writer to handle it
effectively that his worth as an artist
may be judged. We believe that the
cut-back system is one of the things
which is worthy of careful study and
much painstaking practice, but a wri-
ter should be sure that he has a gen-
eral idea of what is required before
starting. A thoughtful study of the
foregoing matter should supply this.
ANSWERS TO READERS.
H. E. Dickinson. — About the only
way a writer can discern the number of
reels that his scenario will require is
by the action in his story. Watch the
pictures on the screen closely and see
the intricacy of the plot and the action
that is required to tell it. This should
help you greatly. If, when you send a
script to a producer, you divide it into
reels, either time the action by your
own brain or do it by watching pictures
Hints for Scenario Writers
303
that have been produced. A reel takes
sixteen minutes to be run, so sixteen
minutes of action, or thereabouts, will
show you your dividing point.
J. B. Wiebe. — The companies that
have Japanese actors in their employ
at present, and who will consider your
scripts, are The Lasky Feature Play
Company, Hollywood, California ; Cen-
taur Film Company, Los Angeles, Cali-
fornia, and Universal Film Manufac-
turing Company, Universal City,
California. Other producers who are
buying may be found in our market
booklet which will be sent you on re-
ceipt of a stamped, addressed envelope.
Harry Le Vine. — There is no set
number of words for a synopsis ; its
length depends entirely on the action.
If you are submitting only synopsis and
no scenario, it is best to make it around
twelve hundred words long, in order
to give the detailed incidents. If you
are submitting a scenario, give the out-
line of the plot. . The best rule to fol-
low is to tell the body of the story in
just as few words as possible.
John Daly. — We do not know of
any scenario writer who prepares
scripts from other people's ideas, but
there are several companies with whom
you might deal with your synopses.
Famous Players Film Company, No.
130 West Fifty-sixth Street, New York
City, and Metro Pictures Corporation,
Longacre Building, New York City, are
looking for good five-reel synopses.
Famous Players stories should feature
women. •
J. E. Ormsby. — See answer to H. E.
Dickinson.
S. L. Martin. — Long explanatory
leaders are bad. Play up your action
so that it is descriptive and use leaders
only when they are essential to convey
something of importance. Make them
as short as possible.
Robert Edmunds. — Being one of the
judges in the contest, I am able to as-
sure you that just as soon as is possible
you will be informed of the decision.
We receive such a great amount of
stories that it is necessary to retain the
manuscripts for some time.
L. M. Turner. — Cause and effect
are two component parts of a plot. In
the ordinary story, the cause becomes
known to the audience before the ef-
fect. Detective stories are an excep-
tion to this, however, and in some cases,
for the sake of dramatic possibilities,
the order is reversed. It is best, though,
to work incidents in the proper se-
quence.
T. G. McIntosh. — See answer to
John Daly.
D. A. Jefferson. — Our market book-
let, which will be sent to you on re-
ceipt of a stamped, addressed envelope,
gives all the possible markets for scripts
and the producer's address. It will an-
swer your questions fully.
LIVE-WIRE MARKET HINTS.
Harry O. Hoyt, scenario editor for
the Metro Pictures Corporation, who
may be addressed in care of the Rolfe
Studio, No. 3 West Sixty-first Street,
New York City, informs us that he is
looking for plots that will fit any Metro
stars except those with the Popular
Plays and Players Company. He will
be glad to consider synopses only for
dramatic pictures. Five reels is the
length of the plays he desires. Air.
Hoyt is also on the alert for good, po-
lite scenarios — emphasis on the polite,
which means no slapstick — for Air. and
Mrs. Sidney Drew. Metro pays one
hundred to three hundred dollars per
reel for good scripts.
Thomas A. Edison, Incorporated,
Bedford Park, New York City, is on
the market for good one and two-reel
dramas. This is a fresh market, as
Edison has lately rejoined the General
Film Company, which will again handle
its releases.
Forrest Stanley doing some "water stuff" after hours in the tank of the Los Angeles Athletic Club.
FORREST STANLEY, the dash-
ing film hero, was once employed
in the prosaic business of build-
ing contractor ! However, his fellow
workers — not to mention countless
girls ! — kept informing him for so long
how really handsome he was, that he
decided there must be a premium on
good looks.
Accordingly, he quite naturally
turned to the stage, and was soon the
bright shining light of the Morosco
Stock Company at the Burbank The-
ater, Los Angeles. In the course of
events, the motion pictures came next,
and while still playing for the same
manager, Oliver Morosco, it is now his
celluloid self that greets the theater-
goers.
Of all Stanley's accomplishments,
possibly the most interesting is his ath-
letic prowess. Had he continued his
early career as a building contractor,
this fact would hardly have had any
effect upon his present athletic inclina-
tions. For, always a lover of physical
sports, he would most likely have been
the all-around athlete he is to-day re-
gardless of what vocation he might
have permanently selected. The swim-
ming tank, the handball court, or the
golf links would probably have received
just as much attention as far as Stanley
is concerned, were he at present a mo-
gul in the building industry or the cap-
tain of an ocean liner.
However, now that he is a motion-
picture actor — and particularly a mo-
tion-picture hero — his athletic ability
proves itself to be more than a desir-
able accomplishment ; it is a most valu-
able asset. What modern profession
demands more of its follower in the
way of a good right arm, a sound body
with the agility of a panther, and a
steady nerve than the silent drama does
of its ideal hero? When he is called
upon to face overwhelming foes in a
combat that often proves only too real-
istic, when the scenario demands that
he leap from a high cliff on the back
of a horse into the swirling waters
Nature's Son— Forrest Stanley
305
below, to rush into a building that is
really on lire, or to risk any one of the
many actual dangers with which he is
confronted, the film hero of the real-
istic-demanding producer of to-day pri-
marily has to be at least physically
capable in appearance. If he is phys-
ically capable in reality, his worries are
placed at a minimum.
In Forrest Stanley we have a film
hero who, besides possessing rare talent
as an actor, commands the respect of
many gymnastic authorities. A promi-
nent and loyal member of the Los An-
geles Athletic Club, the handsome Mo-
rosco leading man is always in splendid
condition. His severest dissipation i.s
an occasional puff at an old jimmy pipe
when at home or on a hunting trip. It
is true that the camera catches him with
a cigar or a cigarette between his teeth
once in a while, but this is only when
the director requests it.
In his private life, Stanley is far
from the debonair manikin of the
flicker world. Lest you mistake my
meaning, I will explain. The greater
part of the time he is appearing before
you in the shadows, he is clothed in the
garments of formality. Away from the
glitter of the Land of Make-Believe,
nothing pleases this red-blooded youth
more than to don a rough-and-
ready woodman's suit, put a
tweed cap on where it feels
most comfortable, and tramp
the woods in search of bi
game. Occasionally
he gathers a group
of old friends to-
gether, and, forget-
ting all the trials and
— so-called — is farming. In the back
of his bungalow he has laid out a min-
iature model farm, and it is the delight
of both he and his friends. W hen any
one at the Morosco Studios is partic-
ularly desirous of obtaining vegetables
that they want to be sure are fresh, they
are sure to take their troubles to For-
rest, and next morning, bright and
early, he appears at the studio looking
more like a farmer than an actor. In a
recent picture, ''He Fell in Love with
His Wife," many of his admirers were
astonished to see him handle a farm
plow behind a pair of monstrous horses
with the ability of an adept. Now you
know the reason, and another mystery
of this great world has been solved !
The rest of his leisure time — oh, yes,
his directors are kind at times — this
man who never tires takes a club in his
hand and knocks a poor little, defense-
less ball all over California. Golf is
the name of this game — probably you
are a victim yourself. Young Stanley
is a rather proficient player, but his
best scores
^ are always
made on
the nine-
teenth hole.
In justice to
tribulations of arti-
ficial city life,
spends a week or two, as time allows,
amid the glory of the California woods.
His bungalow in Los Angeles contains
many trophies of these golden days, and
he is continually adding to them.
Another one of his wild dissipations
10
On one of these trips he'd shoot a "movie" camera man at sight.
him, though, the writer must admit that
it is the same with him ; in fact, all
golfers claim the same honor.
In town our film hero will be found
on the gym floor or in the pool during
many of his spare moments — does the
306
Nature's Son — Forrest Stanley
man never work? Each morning be-
fore breakfast a game of handball and
an ice-cold — br-r-r — shower is in order.
A turn at the rowing machine is also
included to stimulate a hearty appetite
for the morning meal, which some-
times, however, he fails to find time to
indulge in, for Stanley makes it a point
to be in his dressing room as the town
clock is striking nine. On a day when
he is not required at the studios, and
he doesn't feel like hunting or handling
a plow, he rubs the dust off his trusty
bicycle and spins all over the city. Many
are the quips poked at the handsome
one by his friends because of his great
love for the "workingman's steed," but
these fail to affect the pleasure he de-
rives from his two-wheeler. A story —
not yet verified — says that the wheel
Forrest uses is the one Abe Lincoln
used to go to school on years ago. Per-
sonally, I think this is untrue, for in
tales of Lincoln we learned that he ob-
tained his education at home.
A strange coincidence in connection
with all of Forrest Stanley's athletic in-
clinations and his work before
the motion-picture camera is
the fact that his best pal,
Howard Davies, who,
on the screen, appears
opposite him in villain ./
characters, is also an
ardent member of the
Athletic Club. In fact,
Stanley and Davies
are constantly match-
ing their skill in
various sports gjj
on the gym floor
in boxing,
wrestling, hand-
ball, et cetera.
In justice to
both it must be said that they are evenly
matched. Both of practically the same
build, these two friends are always
pitted against each other on the screen
when the story calls for a scuffle be-
And Forrest loves athletics enough even to row one
of those things that don't get you anywhere.
tween the hero and the villain. The net
result is a corking good fight until the
director gives Davies the word to let up
and give in to the hero. That the di-
rector has a difficult time of it trying to
get Davies to give in — especially when
the latter feels that he is putting in
some good licks — can well be appreci-
ated.
Probably the only sport in which the
hero is more than a match for the vil-
lain is swimming. In fact, there is no
comparison here because of the fact
that Davies cannot swim a stroke, while
Stanley is an aquatic expert. While
engaging in a most realistic fight in a
recent photo play the story demanded
that both fall into the river from the
end of a high dock. Although not being
able to swim, Davies agreed to take the
ducking, feeling safe in the fact that
his pal — the hero — would also fall in
with him and keep his head above water
until they could be pulled out. The
fight started between the two as usual
and the camera man commenced to
grind. After a lively combat for a few
minutes, the director yelled for
them to get near the edge of the
dock for the final plunge and fall
in. With their clothes half torn
from their backs and several real
bruises, the two came to-
gether once more, and,
swaying near the edge of
the dock, fell over,
clutched in each other's
arms. In falling,
Stanley's head
hit a project-
i n g plank
which rendered
him uncon-
scious, with the
result that both
were swallowed by the muggy river.
For a few seconds that felt like hours
to those on the dock, no sign was evi-
dent of the actors, and when they finally
bobbed to the surface, it was Davies
Nature's Son — Forrest Stanley 307
who reached out for a life pre-
server, and was dragged to shore
clutching his companion. After a
little working over Stanley, he was
brought to and a rather ugly-look-
ing wound dressed. Ever since the
players josh Stanley over the fact
that the expert was saved by one
who could not swim instead of vice
versa.
Forrest Stanley's success the past
four seasons as head of the Morosco-
Burbank Theater Stock Company has
become one of this well-known organ-
ization's traditions. Immensely popular
and an artist of the greatest diligence,
his withdrawal was the occasion for
many expressions of genuine regret.
However, what the stage has lost the
screen has gained, and that this talented
young actor is rapidly becoming one of
the most popular picture players is read-
ily conceded. Among recent films in
which he has been featured are ''Ma-
dame la Presidente," opposite Anna
Held, of the misbehaving eyes, and
"The Heart of Paula," playing with
Lenore Ulrich, the dark-haired beauty.
Forrest Stanley presents the ideal
leading man of the film drama— and the
genuine athletic screen hero.
"The Early Days of Henry B. Walthall," written by a boyhood chum of
the world's greatest screen actor, and telling many of the things that took place
with Walthall in the leading role before motion-picture cameras were invented,
with interesting photographs to illustrate, will appear in the August issue of
Picture-Play Magazine, on sale July 1st.
<5l
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^QMeytiony^c4ftjp^etj about "frffit'eeth
This department will answer questions asked by our readers relating to motion pic-
tures. No questions regarding matrimony, religion, or scenario writing will be answered ;
those of the latter variety should be sent to the editor of the scenario writers' depart-
ment. Send full name and address, and write name or initials by which you wish to
be answered at the top of your letter. Address : Picture Oracle, care of this magazine,
79 Seventh Avenue, New York City. All questions are answered in the order received ;
failure to see your reply in one issue means that it will come later. If you desire an
early answer, inclose a stamped, addressed envelope, and a personal answer will be sent
unless there is space in the magazine for it.
ABBIE. — Well, you are the favored one this
month, and I will start with your ques-
tions. You want to know what kind of
cigarettes Harry Spingler smokes, eh? I
hate to give any company free advertising
space, but I must always speak the truth.
Harry is partial to Pall Mall. Rather ex-
travagant taste, don't you think? Address
him at the Screen Club, where he has been
receiving his mail for three of his twenty-
seven years. Certainly I think Theda Bara
is a great actress, don't you? Address
Charlie Ray, care of Ince Studios, Culver
City, California; Billy Garwood, Universal
Film Company, New York City ; Wallie
Reid, Lasky Feature Play Company, Holly-
wood, California ; Crane Wilbur, Centaur
Film Company, Los Angeles, California ;
Robert Warwick, World Film Corporation,
New York City ; William Farnum, Fox Film
Corporation, Los Angeles, California : Henry
Walthall, Essanay Film Company, Chicago,
Illinois. Yes, I imagine these heroes of the
celluloid would oblige with photographs, es-
pecially if you inclose a quarter to cover
cost of mailing, et cetera.
Cleo. — Ah, you are near the top this
month! Some of these days you will be
first, and then you will be happy, I sup-
pose.
B. F. F. — Yes, it was Theda Bara who
starred in "The Serpent" % (Fox). George
Walsh played opposite, and his brother
Raoul directed the production. The story
was written jointly by George and Raoul.
F. W. — You are right about Bill Farnum
being patriotic. But why shouldn't he be?
He was born on the fourth of July, 1876 —
just one hundred years after the signing
of the Declaration of Independence. Three
cheers !
J. A. Y. — Mary Pickford's two latest pic-
tures are "The Eternal Grind" and "Hulda
from Holland," both Famous Players pro-
ductions. Yes, "Little Mary" generally sends
pictures of herself. Marguerite Clark is
still with Famous Players. The studio ad-
dress is 130 West Fifty-sixth Street, New
York City.
Vera S. — Even though you may be a suc-
cessful actress in your home town, that
doesn't say that you would make a screen
star. I judge from your letter that you are
a very young girlie, so don't be discouraged
when I tell you to stay at home for the
present, at least, even though you asked me
not to say so.
Kathleen. — Clara Kimball Young's latest
picture is "The Feast of Life" (World).
Yes, Paul Capellani is appearing in World
Features. Your other questions answered
above. Thanks very much for your cour-
teous letter.
The Picture Oracle
309
Question Mark. — Bessie Barriscale is the
greatest actress appearing in films, and
Henry Walthall the greatest actor. In
Western roles William S. Hart stands alone.
You are right in saying that he made people
forget "Broncho Billy" was ever in exist-
ence.
H. I. K. — May Allison was born in Georgia
in 1895. She is now with Metro.
G. N. W. — Marguerite Clark was born in
Cincinnati on Washington's birthday, 1887.
She went on the stage in 1889 with De Wolf
Hopper, and remained a theatrical leading
lady until the Famous Players signed her.
I believe that if you write to the publicity
department of the Famous Players, New
York City, you may be able to purchase
stills from them.
G. E. — You seemed rather timid — never be
afraid to ask me questions. "The Fox
Woman" was produced by the Reliance-
Majestic Company, and starred Teddy
Sampson as the Japanese girl and Seena
Owen as the woman. Seena Owen is with
the Triangle Company, and Miss Sampson
is now taking life easy. However, she tells
me that she will soon be playing again.
B. B. K. — Louise Glaum is the "official
vampire" of the Ince-Triangle Company.
Her portrayals are really excellent.
Margaret. — A feature film is one that runs
three thousand feet — three reels — or over.
If I took a dozen pages to explain the mat-
ter, I couldn't do it more thoroughly than
I have in that one sentence. Come again —
the latchstring is out.
Dippy Dicky. — I certainly enjoyed your
letter, even though your name doesn't suit
you. Dippy? My word! Everything but
that. No, Mary Pickford and her "hubby"
do not play for the same company. Mary
is with the Famous Players, New York City,
and Owen Moore plays for Fine Arts-Tri-
angle, Los Angeles. Anita Stewart is still
with Vitagraph. Theda Bara's latest "vamp"
film is "The Eternal Sapho" (Fox). If you
are a scenario writer, why not enter the
contest we are running? It's rather late
now, but you may still have time to win
the coveted prize. See the full details on
another page.
All Chaplin Questions. — Yes, Charlie
Chaplin is with the Mutual Company. His
first picture for them was "The Floor-
walker." Naturally, it was a scream. His
studio is located in Los Angeles. His lead-
ing lady is still Edna Purviance, who used
to cavort with him during his reign at
Essanay. His salary is $520,000 a year in
real money, and in addition he received a
bonus of $150,000 — also real money — for
signing. People like to believe that this sal-
ary is "press-agent money," but in a recent
court affidavit this was the amount men-
tioned. You have to tell the truth in court.
S. A. Y. — Charles Clary is now with the
Fox Film Corporation at their Pacific coast
studios — likewise Wheeler Oakman, who had
the title role in "The Ne'er-do-well"
(Selig).
M. T. — My dear little girlie, I am sorry to
have to discourage you, but there is no
chance in the world that I can see of you
becoming a film player. Better get the idea
out of your head, and you'll be much hap-
pier.
Sal. — Yes, I have said a dozen times be-
fore, it's an even race between Wally Reid
and Carlyle Blackwell as to which one is
the more handsome. Both are heart-break-
ers of the first water.
G. G. G. — Princess Mona Darkfeather was
born in Los Angeles in 1889. Arline Pretty
first saw the light of day in Washington,
District of Columbia, twenty-two years ago.
Pearl White had the same thing happen
to her in Greenridge, Missouri the same
year Princess Mona was born. Hobart Bos-
worth played the title role in "The Sea
Wolf" (Bosworth).
S. A. C. — House Peters, who has been
likened to a Rex Beach hero in the flesh,
lives in New York City. He is appearing
in productions of the World Film Corpora-
tion, his latest being "The Closed Road," in
which he is costarred with Barbara Tennant.
H. G. E. or H. G. C. — I've just had a busy
ten minutes trying to decipher your initials.
Have a little pity on me, won't you please?
Remember I get so many letters, and when
they are badly written it takes up valuable
time reading them — oh, all right, thank you
verrah much ! Henry Walthall was the
Little Colonel in "The Birth of a Nation"
(Griffith). May Miles Minter, according to
the Metro publicity department, was born
in Shreveport, Louisiana, April 1, 1902.
Familiar date, isn't it? I didn't see all the
episodes of "The Goddess" (Vitagraph"). but
those I did were very good. Yes. I saw
"Where the Heather Blooms." with Eddie
Lyons and Betty Compson. Very droll. I
thought. Nestor-Universal produced it. and
Eddie is still with them. We will have all
your favorites in the gallery in time.
Anxious. — I, too. became anxious when I
saw the list of questions you had prepared
310
The Picture Oracle
for me. Helen Holmes is with Mutual and
Helen Gibson plays for the Kalem Company.
They are two entirely different girls. Har-
old Lockwood is twenty-eight and May Alli-
son twenty-one. They are now costarring
for the Metro Company. William Russell's
leading lady is Charlotte Burton. Roy Stew-
art was Detective Blake in "The Diamond
from the Sky" (American-Mutual). No,
W. J. Tedmarsh is not a hunchback, al-
though he gave an extremely clever imper-
sonation of one in the above-mentioned
serial. Yes, Mary and Lottie Pickford are
sisters, and Jack is their brother. Orral
Humphrey's whiskers are only for picture
purposes. Off stage he is always clean
shaven. No, they didn't make "Big Bill"
Russell drink real whisky in "The Craven"
(American). That's all — at last the end has
been reached !
L. M. L. — Thank you very much for your
interesting letter. We always appreciate
letters such as you wrote. George de Beck
played Brewster Bradford in "The Cave
Man" (Vitagraph). At the present moment
Maurice Costello is taking a vacation. He
certainly deserves one, considering the way
he has worked all these years. Yes, your
favorites' pictures will be printed ere long.
Bee. — Yes, Anna Luther would answer a
letter from you, I am sure. Address her
care of the Keystone Company, Los Angeles.
Evart Overton was the heroine's brother in
"The Battle Cry of Peace" (Vitagraph).
All "Temptation" Questions. — It seems
that a million and one fans have asked who
played one role or another in "Temptation"
(Lasky). The complete cast of principals
is: Renne Dapree, Geraldine Farrar ;
Julian, Pedro de Cordoba; Otto Mutter,
Theodore Roberts ; Madame Maroff, Elsie
Jane Wilson; Baron Chevrial, Raymond
Hatton.
Ivan W. Dickson. — Your letters are both
kind and interesting. Send mail for Alice
Joyce care of Tom Moore, Pathe Freres,
New York City. You ask me what photo
play is the best, and then tell me not to say
"The Birth of a Nation" (Griffith). Why,
man alive, this picture is so far ahead of all
the others that you cannot even speak of
it in the same breath ! "The Battle Cry of
Peace" (Vitagraph) is a pretty good pic-
ture, of course, but for goodness 'sake, don't
class it with "The Birth of a Nation !" No,
Adele Lane is no longer with Universal, and
as far as I can learn she is not working
at present. Clara Kimball Young leaves the
World on July 15th to head her own com-
pany, as Margarita Fischer has already done.
Muriel Ostriche is still under contract with
World. Am sorry, but can say nothing re-
garding the other magazine you mentioned.
Yes, Vitagraph and Lubin will be included
in the studios visited. Regarding fees and
presents, I take this opportunity to tell you
and all my other friends that accepting them
is not in my line. Yes, I understand that
other motion-picture publications do it, but
that is their business. I receive a salary for
answering queries, and I certainly do not
wish to be paid twice for the same thing.
Thank you just the same, though. "The
Adopted Child" (Pathe) was released sev-
eral years ago, and I have no record of it
— sorry. I don't know why the World Film
exchanges refuse to sell pictures of their
players. The safest way to get photographs
is to write the stars and inclose twenty-
five cents to cover expenses. Some players
send in their pictures regularly to the mag-
azines, and in other cases the company they
work for does. Yes, we have several pic-
tures of Octavia Handworth in our files.
I agree with you regarding what you say
of magazine covers. The cast of principals
in "In the Aisles of the Wild" (Biograph
reissue) are: The hunter, Henry Walthall;
his friend, Harry Carey; the sisters, Lillian
Gish and Claire McDowell. For years Bio-
graph refused to give the casts of their
pictures, as they wished the company name
to become famous rather than the players
themselves. None of the big producing com-
panies in Los Angeles intend moving to
San Francisco. Violet Horner's studio ad-
dress is the Fox Film Company, New York
City. Florence Turner is working in Eng-
land at present. The Universal Company,
New York City, recently released one of
her features, and they most probably would
forward a letter to her. The entire Biograph
Company was disbanded recently, and many
of the players have not as yet signed with
other companies. Yes, the Vitagraph films
are possibly the best released through V.
L. S. E. Myrtle Gonzalez is still with Uni-
versal. Address Barbara Tennant care of
the World Film Company, New York City.
The old Eclair Company was absorbed by
the World. Ormi Hawley is now with Fox.
Her World picture, "The Social Highway-
man" has already been released. The old
Excelsior Company just died a natural
death. Mary Pickford is still in New York
City. Well, I have been at your questions .
a long time. Be more considerate in the
future, won't you, please? You know there
are so many questions and so few pages.
The Picture Oracle
311
Bushman's Admirer. — Glad you are back,
Helen. Yes, Anna Luther is considered a very
clever comedienne. She is with Keystone-
Triangle. Tyrone Powers is with Universal,
and is an exceedingly able actor. He is not
to be classed with Walthall, though. Edna
Goodrich is with Lasky again. She did bet-
ter work on the stage than in the films, but
at that she is a popular picture player. Marin
Sais is with Kalem, costarring with Ollie
Kirby in "Social Pirates/' Personally. I
think Bill Farnum is a much better actor
than his brother Dustin. Both are very
clever, though. Yes, David W. Griffith is
acknowledged to be the world's foremost
director. Following him come Tom Ince
and Colin Campbell. The picture of a pretty
actress seems to be more popular than that
of an actor, so accordingly they get the
covers — see ? It's a toss-up between Jackie
Saunders and Ruth Roland both as to beauty
and ability. So you like Kathlyn Williams
better than Bessie Barriscale. Well, every
one to his or her taste, but Bessie is known
to be the peer of any celluloid actress. Yes,
Bushman is a very good actor, but of course
doesn't compare with the one and only
Walthall. He is also good looking, but how
about Wally Reid and Carlyle Blackwell?
Although Fannie Ward looks sixteen, she
admits that forty-one summers have passed.
Isn't she wonderful? She went on the stage
in 1890 and played both here and in Europe
until she signed with the Lasky Company
last year. By-by !
B. R. — Several companies will produce
films on the New England coast this sum-
mer, as usual. At this writing, however, it
is not known which companies intend doing
this. Theda Bara's latest picture is "The
Eternal Sapho" (Fox). Earle Fox played
Dave in "The Trail of the Lonesome Pine"
(Lasky).
Leslie H. Vaz. — Vivian Rich is still with
American, playing opposite Alfred Yosburgh.
Yes, Mr. Bushman answers letters. Address
him care of the Metro Film Company, New
York City. There is no standard rate paid
for stories by magazines. It all depends on
the subject. Very glad this publication is
so well liked in Panama.
All Theda Bara Questions. — To save
space I will answer all questions regarding
Miss Bara here. She is twenty-five years
old. and was born on the Sahara Desert.
Her mother was French and her father
Italian. Question — what is Theda's nation-
ality? Her first picture was "A Fool There
Was" (Fox), for which subject she was
recruited from the Paris stage. Her latest
picture is "The Eternal Sapho" (Fox) and
was produced by Bert Bracken. Her mail
should be addressed care of the Fox Film
Corporation, 126-130 West Forty-sixth
Street, New York City. Yes, she stands
without an equal as a player of vampire
roles.
J. H. P. — Send your address to Miss Olive
M. Harris, Box No. 750, Texarkana, Texas,
for she has very kindly offered to send you
the translation of the Toreador song from
"Carmen."
Olive M. Harris. — Thank you very much
for your offer. See answer just above.
Dot. — Address Warren Kerrigan care of
Universal, Universal City, California; Flor-
ence Lawrence, Universal Film Company,
Xew York City; Geraldine Farrar, Lasky
Feature Play Company, Xew York City.
W. A. S. H. E. M.— Quite a bunch of ini-
tials, my boy. Where did you get them all?
Y'es, Viola Dana starred in "The Innocence
of Ruth" (Edison). At present she is with
Metro and should be addressed care of their
offices, Xew York City.
R. R. K. — Yes, Rudolph, Billy Garwood is
a very good actor. I am sure he would
send his photograph, especially if you in-
closed a quarter. Address him care of
Universal Film Company, Xew York City.
Wallace Reid played in "The Birth of a
Xation" (Griffith), although his part was
cut out in several sections of the country. It
was too rough for the finicky board of cen-
sors. Address Wally care of Lasky Feature
Play Company, Hollywood, California.
To All W ho Want Pictures of Players.
— Yes, the great majority of actors and
actresses are very glad to present their pic-
tures to admirers. In all cases, however, it
is best to inclose twenty-five cents to cover
cost of mailing, et cetera. Many of the
players will return your money, but it is
better to be on the safe side.
E. M. — Address Marguerite Clark care of
Famous Players Film Company, Xew York
City.
Maria. — Your letter was very kind and re-
freshing— thanks. Address Thomas Meighan.
care of Lasky Feature Play Company, Holly-
wood, California. So he is rather popular
in Paterson. eh ? It seems so all over.
Lady Fitznoodle. — Well, look who's here!
This magazine seems to be gaining favor
among the royalty. For 3-our marriage ques-
tions read "Romances of the Studios" in
this issue. A great number of secrets are
exposed. Address Francis X. Bushman and
312
The Picture Oracle
Olga Petrova, care of Metro Film Com-
pany, New York City. Lillian Gish may be
reached care of Fine Arts Studio, Los An-
geles, California. Fritz de Lint played with
Petrova in "What Will People Say?"
(Metro). Henry Walthall is on the very
tiptop of the world of shadows, but I cer-
tainly cannot say the same for Marguerite
Clark. Some people like her, though. Come
again, Lady.
Ola Luetta. — Marguerite Clark will prob-
ably be interviewed in time. Personally I
do not approve of her actions. She is mak-
ing her living with the aid of motion pic-
tures, and yet she spends all her spare time
"knocking" them. It seems a rather poor
policy. She is supposed to be twenty-nine
years old, but when I was a little kid she
was playing leads on the stage ! Maurice
Costello is resting at present. Please don't
send the dynamite!
Ruth. — Address the Fairbanks Twins care
of Thanhouser Company, New Rochelle,
New York. I'm sure they would write you.
Yes, there are countless clever kiddies in
pictures. Read the article in this issue, "Just
Kids."
Shorty. — No, Mabel Normand is not
"died." One person can play two parts in
the same film by means of double exposure.
R. E. R. — Address Jimmy Cruze, care of
Metro Film Company, New York City. Other
address given several places above.
Coleman. — My dear girl, don't be disap-
pointed when I tell you that it is almost as
easy to live without eating as it is to be-
come a photo player. Crane Wilbur, the
curly-headed hero, is twenty-six. Address
him care of the Centaur Film Company, Los
Angeles, California. Address Edna Mayo,
care of Essanay Film Company, Chicago.
"The Beloved Vagabond" (Pathe) was
staged in suburban New Jersey. Address
Mary Fuller, care of Universal Film Com-
pany, New York City.
Belasco's Admirer. — Mr. Belasco's address
is 115 West Forty-fourth Street, New York
City.
A Blonde, English. — See answer to Cole-
man above. Sorry I cannot help you more.
Walter Wilkin.— Sure, Marshall Neilan
is a fine-looking chap. See his picture in
our "Romances of the Studios," this issue.
His latest picture was "The Cycle of Fate"
(Selig), which he wrote, directed, and also
played in. Address him care of Selig Poly-
scope Company, Chicago, Illinois.
A. G. G.— Read about Mary Pickford's
marriage in "Romances of the Studios," this
issue. Billie Burke's real name is Airs. Flor-
ence Ziegfeld. She was born in Washington
thirty years ago. Her latest work is in
"Gloria's Romance" (Kliene). Address her
care of George Kliene Studios, 807 East
One Hundred and Seventy-fifth Street, New
York City. Dusty Farnum is forty.
Teddy. — Any relation to Colonel Roose-
velt? Frank and Edna Mayo are not re-
lated. Robert Warwick was born in 1881.
"The Strange Case of Mary Page" (Essa-
nay) is certainly not a suitable vehicle for
the great and only Walthall.
Dolly. — Yes, Louise Glaum formerly
played in comedies for Universal. Ella Hall
is nineteen, and, as you say, is verrah sweet.
No, I don't think Grace Cunard was foolish
in "Lucile Love" (Universal); in fact, she
portrayed some exceptional clever comedy in
it. The series by Gail Kane, which you
speak of, is running in hundreds of papers
throughout the country. No, that wasn't a
real mustache you saw on Francis Ford.
It was a picture one.
Flo B.— Harold Lockwood and May Alli-
son present one of the most attractive cou-
ples in filmdom. May is a blonde, and
Harold's hair is brown. Pearl White's hair
is blonde. Morris Foster's hair is very dark.
Harris Gordon and E. Forrest Taylor are
two entirely different players.
Anna Kolbeck. — Forrest Stanley played
opposite Lenore Ulrich in "The Heart of
Paula," and Harold Lockwood opposite Mar-
guerite Clark in "Wildflower" (F. P.).
Daphne Bell. — Personally, I think the
Fox films are superior to Metro's. No, Mary
Miles M inter cannot very well be called a
rival of Mary Pickford. Don't be impa-
tient if you don't hear from the players
shortly after they receive your letters. You
know their time is taken up with so many
things.
A C. M. — Pauline Bush is not playing in
pictures at present.
M. D. — Your letter was very interesting.
Marshall Farnum is a brother of Bill and
Dusty. Keystone releases through Triangle,
not Mutual. William S. Hart played on the
stage for several years before he became a
screen actor, appearing in countless produc-
tions. Franklin Ritchie plays leads for the
American Company. No, he is not related
to Billie of the same name. Yes, for the
thousandth and first time, Theda Bara did
write the story of her life for this maga-
zine.
The Picture Oracle
313
Jane. — Yes, girlie, I certainly agree with
you when you say that Bessie Barriscale is
the world's greatest screen player. Nearly
every one thinks so, too.
Pete. — William S. Hart played the title
role in "The Aryan" (Ince-Triangle). Bes-
sie Love was the sweet little girl, a very
appropriate name, too, and Louise Glaum
was the bold, bad girl. This was a won-
derful cast, as Hart is certainly the greatest
Western player in nlmdom ; Louise Glaum
ranks next to the incomparable Theda Bara
as a vampire, and Bessie Love is just the
sweetest little girlie in all the world.
R. E. M. — Yes, of course, Walthall is my
favorite, but Robert Warwick is a great
actor also. Warwick was born in Sacra-
mento, California, in 18.81. He was edu-
cated in Europe, and also studied music
there. Losing his voice — or rather his sing-
ing voice — he returned to America and went
on the stage, where he played for Belasco
and Brady. His greatest stage play was
"The Dollar Mark," and in film form it also
served as his greatest screen vehicle.
Tommy. — Yes, my boy, I certainly do con-
sider William S. Hart a much finer actor
than "Broncho Billy" ever was — or could be.
Hart's film portrayals are absolutely perfect.
Mrs. F. H. G. — So Harry Lonsdale is an
old friend of yours? Well, isn't that nice?
One of his latest big pictures was Selig's
stupendous production, "The Ne'er-do-well."
You may address him care of that com-
pany, Chicago.
Moore Fan. — Tom Moore is now appear-
ing opposite beautiful Anna Q. Nillson in a
Pathe serial, "Who's Guilty?"
R. H. — The cast of principals in "April"
(American) is as follows: April, Helene
Rosson ; Jeffery Gordon, E. Forrest Taylor
Tim Fagan, Harry von Meter ; Martha Fa-
gan, Louise Lester.
H. I. G. — Address Marcia Mcore care of
Universal Film Company, Universal City,
California.
Cliff. — William Clifford as Captain Morey,
and Margaret Gibson as Nadje, were the
leading players in "The Leopard's Bride"
(Centaur).
A. S. T. — Address Herbert Rawlinson care
of Universal Film Company, Universal City,
California. The same address goes for
Mina Cunard, Ruth Stonehouse, Eddie Polo,
Marc Fenton, and Lois Wilson.
Hal. — Harold Lockwood and May Allison
were costars in "Life's Blind Alley" (Amer-
ican).
Los Banos Fan. — Marshall Neilan played
opposite Mary Pickford in "Rags" (F. P.).
Claire Whitney had the female lead in "The
Idlers" (Fox), and not Kathlyn Williams.
Cleo Ridgely was Mary Denby in "The
Golden Chance" (Lasky).
M. E. S. — Robert Edeson was the star in
"Big Jim Garrity" (Pathe), with Eleanor
Woodruff playing opposite him.
Peggy and Betty. — I hate trouble, so I
can't answer whether Mary Pickford or
Theda Bara has the sweetest disposition.
I know, of course, but — safety first ! War-
ren Kerrigan is twenty-seven. His present
leading lady is Lois Wilson, who was one
of the winners of the Universal beauty con-
test. King Baggot is thirty-seven. His eyes
are blue, his hair is brown, with a streak
of gray, and his height is just six feet —
withal a handsome man. Mae Marsh has
red hair, a few freckles, and yet she is a very
pretty girl.
Bio. — The cast of "The Rejuvenation of
Aunt Mary" (Biograph) is as follows:
Betty, Gertrude Bambrick ; Jack, Reggie
Morris; Aunt Mary, Kate Toncroy. It is
a three-reel production.
Jack. — Arthur Maude was starred in
"Powder," the American war picture, and
William Russell in "The Bruiser," produced
by the same company.
Hart Admirer. — William S. Hart was born
in Newburgh, New York, but when a baby
his family moved to Dakota, where Bill grew
up among the Indians. This is one of the
reasons he is so capable in Western roles.
Claude Cawthorne. — Alice Brady, Clara
Kimball Young, and Gail Kane all appear
in World films. Marguerite Clark is twenty-
nine, and Francis X. Bushman is two years
older. All other questions answered else-
where in this department.
N. M. E. — Charles Mailes was the curio
seller in "The Avenging Shot" (Biograph).
Minnie— Mae Marsh, who, as you say.
was one of the brightest lights in "The Birth
of a Nation" (Griffith) was born in Madrid,
New Mexico, in 1897. Rather young to be
such a clever star, and that is her right age.
too.
K. K. — True Boardman was the star in
"Stingaree," the Kalem series. The two lead-
ing women were Ollie Kirby and Marin Sais.
Yes-, Ollie Kirby is a sister of Mona Thomas,
of the Ince studio. Helen Gibson has been
playing the leads in "The Hazards of Helen"
ever since Helen Holmes deserted that or-
314
The Picture Oracle
ganization for Mutual. These pictures are
being produced by James Davis. Harry Mil-
liarde wrote and played the lead in "The
Money Gulf" (Kalem), with Alice Hollis-
ter as his sweetheart. Ethel Teare and Bud
Duncan were the leading players in "Min-
nie, the Tiger" (Kalem). Inez Bauer was
starred in "The Glory of Youth" (Kalem),
and the supporting cast was headed by Rob-
ert Ellis, who also directed the production.
My goodness, man, don't they show any
other pictures in your town than the Kalem
films?
Jennie. — What, another Kalem letter ! The
complete cast of principals in "The Bandits
of Macaroni Mountains" (Kalem) — some
name, by the way, is Troatore, Bud Duncan ;
Concha, Ethel Teare ; Doughbags, Jack Mac-
Dermott ; and Mrs. Doughbags, Myrta Ster-
ling.
W. S. T. — Yes, Lillian Gish is considered
by many to be the most beautiful actress
in the world of celluloid.
Eman. — The companies releasing through
the Triangle Film Corporation are Fine Arts,
headed by D. W. Griffith ; Kay Bee, of which
Thomas H. Ince is director general; and
last, but not least, Keystone, which put out
those screamingly funny comedies produced
by Mack Sennett and his corps of funny
fellows. Triangle releases the best films
produced.
Gish Admirer. — It was Lillian Gish who
played Elsie Stoneman in "The Birth of a
Nation" (Griffith) and not her cunning lit-
tle sister, Dorothy. Dot wasn't in the pic-
ture.
Pickford the Second. — Edward Martin-
dale played opposite "Little Mary" in "The
Foundling" (F. P.). He is no longer with
the Famous Players, but draws his salary
from Metro.
Crazy Cid. — Where did you get that name?
Robert Mantell and Genevieve Hamper were
costars in "A Wife's Sacrifice" (Fox). Bev-
erly Bayne and Francis X. Bushman had the
leading roles in "The Wall Between"
(Metro). Charming Cleo Ridgely and that
prince of good lookers, Wally Reid, were
the players in Lasky's production of "The
Golden Chance."
Harry. — Sure that was Douglas Fair-
banks in "His Picture in the Papers" (Fine
Arts-Triangle). Who did you think it was?
Loretta Blake played opposite.
Sonny. — Three cheers, you hit it the first
time ! Charlie Chaplin the Great was born
in France of English parents. His first
Mutual release is "The Floorwalker."
Rebel. — Mimmi Yvonne played the title
role in "The Littlest Rebel" in pictures, and
Mary Miles M inter in the stage production.
Yes, I am sorry to say that "Pop" Manley
and Arthur Johnson are both dead. But,
believe me, they are not forgotten.
Cunard Fan. — At this writing, neither of
your favorites, Francis Ford or Grace
Cunard, are with Universal. They left this
company nearly two months ago, and so far
have announced no new connections.
B. A. — Enid Markey played the part of
Kalauiweo opposite Willard .Mack in Ince-
Triangle's superb production of "Aloha Oe."
This film was directed by Richard Stanton,
who later played in and produced "Graft,"
Universalis highly successful serial.
Chappie. — What size shoe does Charlie
Chaplin wear, you ask ! Why, my dear fel-
low, there isn't space enough in this maga-
zine to put clown all the figures of the size.
It starts 999,999, and continues till the cows
come home !
Faty. — Yes, Roscoe Arbuckle, that very
funny Keystone fat man, is Al St. John's
"the bounding boy of filmdom's" uncle, and
Minta Durfee is his aunt by marriage. What
relationship exists between Minta and Ros-
coe? If you can't tell, down to the foot of
the class you go — so there!
To the Many, Many Boys, Girls, Men
and Women Who Want to Become Picture
Players. — For the benefit of this multitude,
which increases daily, I will repeat an answer
published in this department some time ago.
Clean your glasses, summon up your cour-
age, and read ! More than sorry, but I
haven't the slightest idea how you could
become a screen player. As I have said
time and again before, the field is more than
overcrowded. If you could only have the
opportunity of walking down Broadway,
New York City, you would see scores — yes,
hundreds, of capable players "at leisure."
"At leisure," in plain English, means "out
of a jo"b !"
Rachelle— Charlie Ray played the title
role in "The Coward" (Ince-Triangle) , and
it was considered his greatest work.
J. J. W. — So you want my candid opinion
of Louise Glaum as an actress? She ranks
next to Theda Bara as a player of "vamp"
parts, and is also a very clever comedienne,
as was shown during her engagement with
"LTniversal Ike," formerly "Alaki Ike."
Furthermore, she also played straight parts
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The Picture Oracle
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Atlas Publishing Co. 424 Atlas Bldg., Cincinnati, O.
with Carlyle Blackwell in Kalem pictures of a
couple of years ago. Yes, she surely is versatile.
Jacque— Betty Marsh, the Keystone kiddie, is
not Mae Marsh's sister. She is her niece. Mae's
sisters are Mildred and Marguerite, also known
as Lovey. The three sisters all play for Griffith.
Tony. — No, Douglas Fairbanks is not the fa-
ther of Thanhouser's Fairbank's twins.
K. I. G. — No, my boy, "Fatty" Arbuckle does
not wear pillows inside his clothes when he does
those bone-breaking stunts. He's so fat that he
can't be hurt! The name of the dog that plays
in so many of his pictures is "Tige."
I. L. K. — Mr. and Mrs. Sidney Drew release
their films through Metro, having left the Vita-
graph Company several months ago. They turn
out the best polite comedies filmed.
Main Street. — Not only the inhabitants, but
even the streets and avenues of the different cities
and towns write in to this "gold mine of film in-
formation" ! That's nice. Address Olga Petrova
care of Metro Film Company. Also Harold
Lockwood, May Allison, Viola Dana, Arthur
Hoops, Edmund Breese, and Fritz de Lint
Metro's address is Broadway and Forty-second
Street, New York City.
F. T. — Bobby Harron had the leading role op-
posite Mae Marsh in "Hoodoo Ann" (Fine Arts-
Triangle). Dorothy Gish and Owen Moore were
costarred in "Little Meena's Romance," produced
by the same company.
Cholly. — William Farnum and Dorothy Ber-
nard were the leading players in "The Bondman"
(Fox).
Lizette. — So you are as big as Arbuckle and
want to play with him in comedies? The only
thing I can tell you to do is to write and ask
him. You certainly would make a great pair !
Jimmy. — Barbara Gilroy was the girl in "Bill
Bunks, the Bandit" (Falstaff).
Girlie. — Awfully glad you like the magazine
so much. That's what they all say, and I natu-
rally agree.
M. A. R. — Raoul Walsh, who is now the best
director working for Fox, played Booth in "The
Birth of a Nation" (Griffith). Henry Walthall
was the "Little Colonel," and Mae Marsh his
youngest sister. Yes, as I have always said, this
is the most marvelous feature picture ever con-
ceived. It stands without a rival.
V. E. T. — Francis X. Bushman was born in
Norfolk, Virginia, 1885; Mary Fuller in Wash-
ington, District of Columbia, 1893; Mary Pick-
ford in Toronto, Canada, 1893; Earl Williams in
Sacramento, California, 1880. I forget when and
where this little thing happened to me, so, of
course, cannot tell you.
G. L.— The cast of "An Adventure in the Au-
tumn Woods," produced in one reel several years
ago by D. W. "Griffith, follows : The girl, Mae
Marsh; her father, Lionel Barrymore; her grand-
The Picture Oracle
317
father, W. Chrystie Miller ; her lover, Walter
Miller; the bad men, Harry Carey and Charles
H. Mailes. It was a wonderful picture in its day
and still is.
John. — The three greatest directors in order?
I know you will agree with me when I say, D.
W. Griffith, Thomas H. Ince, and Colin Camp-
bell.
H. J. L. — Kathlyn Williams and Wheeler Oak-
man were costarred in "The Ne'er-do-well" (Se-
lig). It was produced in Panama by Colin Camp-
bell from the novel by Rex Beach.
J. Q. — Nance O'Neill had the title role in Fox's
production of "The Witch.''
W. R. J. — William S. Hart directs the pictures
he stars in, and also suggests scenario subjects.
Chaplin Fan. — Yes, the latest Chaplin-Essa-
nay release is "Charlie Chaplin's burlesque on
Carmen," in four acts. It is not as good as the
average Chaplin release, as he is not in the pic-
ture enough. He cut it for a two-reel film, and
after he left, the Essanay Company put through
an additional two reels piecemeal. It has raised
all sorts of trouble, too. Charlie is suing them
because the picture is not funny enough, and
they in turn are suing him because he broke his
contract. All Essanay wants is half a million
dollars — that's all. Oh, the joys and peace of
poverty !
A. T. — Olga Petrova is starred in "Playing
with Fire" (Metro), and she is supported by an
all-star cast including Arthur Hoops and Al
Thomas.
Mackie. — Yes, it was the same Willard Mack
who wrote "The Lost Bridegroom" (F. P.) and
played in "Aloha Oe" (Ince-Triangle). Of all
the Barrymores, I prefer Lionel's work on the
screen — and of the Drews, S. Rankin.
W. T. H. — No, I cannot say that I cared for
the work of Constance Collier in "The Code of
Marcia Gray."
T. S. — The cast of "The Little Samaritan"
(Essanay) is as follows: Joyce, Joyce Fair; her
grandfather, Thomas Commerford ; her father,
Fred Malatesta ; her mother, Frances Raymond.
The cast of "In the Moon's Ray" (Essanay) :
Richard Neal, Francis X. Bushman ; Meredith
Blake, E. H. Calvert ; "Spider," Bryant Wash-
burn; Judith Hamilton, Gerda Holmes. This was
produced several years ago, and has just recently
been reissued.
Paul. — It required a period of more than eight
months to film "The Birth of a Nation" (Grif-
fith). Foremost in the cast were Henry Wal-
thall, Lillian Gish, Mae Marsh, Miriam Cooper,
Elmer Clifton, Walter Long, Ralph Lewis, Bobby
Harron, and George Seigman. In fact, nearly
every member of Griffith's all-star company
played in this spectacle.
Art. — Gladys Brockwell, now playing leads for
William Fox, was born in Brooklyn, New York,
in 1894. She went on the stage when a child,
and then when pictures became prominent she
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The Picture Oracle
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joined the Lubin Company. From there she went
with Thomas H. Ince, then to Griffith, and Uni-
versal was her next salary station. Finally came
a splendid offer from Fox, and Gladys accepted.
L. K. E. — J. Raymond Nye, formerly with Bio-
graph, is now a Universalite. He was born in
Tamaqua, Pennsylvania, 1889.
Park. — Francis X. Bushman plays opposite
Beverly Bayne in Metro pictures.
J. — Katherine Franek, who played one of the
spies in "The Battle Cry of Peace" (Vitagraph).
was not born in Germany, as you intimate, but in
De Land, Florida.
George T.— Address Alary Miles Minter, care
of American Film Company, Santa Barbara, Cali-
fornia ; Bushman, Bayne, and Lockwood, care of
Metro. Broadway and Forty-second Street. New
York City; Ella Hall and Bob Leonard. Univer-
sal Film Company, Universal City, California.
Gladys. — Again I say it — Bessie Barriscale is
the greatest screen player, living or dead !
L. B. — Ruth Blair was born in Williamsport.
Pennsylvania, twenty-three years ago.
J. A. A. — Wheeler Oakman, who did such
splendid work with William Farnum in "The
Spoilers" (Selig), is again playing with Bill, this
time in Fox pictures.
T. C. C. — H. Cooper-Cliffe played opposite
Theda Bara in "Gold and the Woman" (Fox).
T. R. B. — The complete cast of "A Life Chase"
(Biograph) follows: Bouval, Jack Drumier: his
wife, Louise Vale ; Vaubert, Jose Ruben ; Alvi-
mar, Franklin Ritchie ; Mcloit, Gus Pixley ; Grc-
nier, Herbert Barrington. This film was released
January 19th.
Thomas. — Yes, Crane Wilbur still is one of the
Centaur studio stars. Read about him in "The
Centaur Studio" article in this issue. It shows
Wilbur in a new light.
Dixie. — Your long letter was very sensible and
also of great interest. I rather think you are
wrong, though, in speaking of the "masses" going
to picture plays. Of course they do, but likewise
the "classes." In fact, from kings and presidents
down to day laborers you will find ardent admir-
ers and pupils of the great art of the cinema. As
you say, the films are vastly more important in
showing the ins and outs of life than all the lec-
turers in the country. "Ramona" (Clune) was
produced under the direction of Donald Crisp,
who received practically all his film training from
David W. Griffith. I understand that it is the in-
tention of the company exploiting this feature
to show it all over the United States and Europe
in time, exactly similar to the way it was pre-
sented in New York and Los Angeles. Yes. it
is too bad that all motion-picture companies do
not cast their players on the screen, but they are
slowly turning in that direction. Yes, Marguerite
Clark is a good actress, but she will grow un-
popular with the "fans" if she continues to
"knock" the photo-play industry every opportu-
nity she finds.
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JUL -I 1916 *
Vol. IV CONTENTS FOR AUGUST, 1916 No. 6
Favorite Picture Players . 3
Beautiful art pictures of the leading actors and actresses— the kind you will cut
out and frame.
Frontispiece — Two Stars and a Comer .18
Marion Warner and Vivian Reed welcome a baby camel into the Selig family.
Knights of the Megaphone . Jerome Beatty 19
"The actor is the fowl, the scenario writer furnishes the recipe, but the director is
the chef." Head how he flavors the film of spage.lt i that will be served on your
screen to-night.
Magic — Verse . . . Everett Leighton . . 24
Making an Eighth Wonder . . Kenneth O'Hara 25
An interesting and amusing account of the difficulties experienced during the film-
ing of the great Ince production, Civilization. When they use real bullets in
battle scenes, things are bound to happen.
Heroes — Verse .... Robert Foster . 31
Sneering at Satan . . Valeska Suratt 32
An intimate confession of the relations of the famous vampire with His Satanic
Majesty— philosopher, friend, confidant and stage director.
The Conquering Hero . 38
Wherein Douglas Fairbanks is revealed as the great lover.
Universal City, Junior . . . Robert C. Duncan . 39
Being the inside story of the adventures and impressions of a reporter who visited
the Universalis eastern studio not as a sight-seer, but in the guise of an actor
applying for a job. And he got it.
The Man With Many Lives — Verse . Martin C. Newman . 45
Confessions of a Comedian and a Comedienne A rthur Gavin, Jr. . 46
The sad life of the fun maker, as recounted by Mr. and Mrs. Sidney Drew.
Shelved — Verse .... Dorothy Harpur O'Neill . 48
Our Scenario Contest — Picking the Winners 49
It's a big problem, and the judges are in it up to their necks. Announcements will
be made next month.
The Clown W. C. MacDermott . . 51
The story of a circus performer whose merry antics concealed a breaking heart.
The Exploits of Molly — Verse Lyon Mearson . 60
Help! Help! . 61
Vola Smith, of Universal, finds a friend indeed.
Myrtle Stedman — Her Unknown Side Warren Reed ... 62
Accomplishments of the popular Morosco star which find no place on the screen.
The Waiting List — Verse . . Arthur Gavin, Jr. . . 64
CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE
CONTENTS— Continued
How the Stars are Vacationing . ... . . 65
What your favorites are doing when resting from the moving lens— as caught by the
ever-pursuing camera.
The World's Great Snare . . 1V/7/ H. Johnston . . 69
It's a wise girl who knows her own lover. Myra thought she did— and she was the
type who usually thought right— but the snare closed about her and it all hap-
pened strangely, as it is very likely to with one whose life is confined to
cabarets and a little furnished room.
Successful Pals . . . . Bennie Zeidman . . 79
When there is a talking, laughing crowd of players in the Fine Arts studio, and it
finally breaks up, you will always find that two of them adjourn to a corner
together. kThey are "Dot" Gish and "Bobby" Harron. Chums? Well, they
might be called so, but it takes three pages to explain.
Two Chapters . . . .0. Henry . . .82
A poetic version of the famous " before and after."
The Early Days of Henry B. Walthall . Edwin Williamson . . 83
A boyhood chum of the world's greatest screen emotionalist has brought to light
some interesting anecdotes and equally interesting pictures that tell of Walt-
hall's rise from the time he appeared first in public on the little schoolhouse
"July Snowballs" 89
What would you do if you were too hot in summer ? A company of players found the
most comfort in taking off their wraps and eating snowballs. What ? No, we're
not silly— they did.
Before the Stars Shone . . At Ray . . .90
Some of the brightest luminaries of to-day twinkled very faintly but a short time ago.
It is often surprising to look back over great careers.
Love Letters of a Movie Idol 92
" Right-from-the-heart " letters that Francis X.Bushman has received in his daily
mail, and what he says in answer to each.
When the World Was Young — Verse G. Lyon Garnett . . 97
The Real Blanche Sweet . . Courtney Ames . . 98
Not the fleeting figure that flits by in the semi-darkness across the screen, but the girl
herself— the real Blanche Sweet who was young when the motion pictures were
—and gresv up with them.
Friday, the Thirteenth . . . Matthew Allison .101
A fatal day on the Stock Exchange: the day chosen by Fate to bring a girl's :air-
castles tumbling about her ears— Friday, the Thirteenth.
The Observer . . . . Ill
Editorials that speak with knowledge concerning the important things in the motion-
picture world that will interest you and everyone else.
Not in the Cast . . . . H. Bedford-Jones . .122
The second installment of a gripping novel in which the heroine is the star of a
moving-picture company making a feature in the South. We have written the
synopsis in detail in order that you may start the story now.
Sand Fiddlers . . . 134
Photographs of decorative specimens, who escaped from the studios, snapped on
the beaches.
Hints for Scenario Writers . Clarence J. Caine . .137
Expert instruction i£ picture-play writing, with notes on where and what you can
sell.
The Picture Oracle . . 145
Answering everything our readers may ask about motion pictures, past, present and
future. /
Monthly publication Issued by STREET & SMITH, T9-SP Seventh Avenue. New York Cltv. Ormond G Smith and GEORGE C.
Smith. Proprietor!*. Copshgbt. 1916. by Street &. Smith. New York. Copyright, 191b. by Street & Smith. Great Britain All Rights
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r I
VIOLA DANA
was but eleven years old when she first appeared on the stage in ''Rip van Winkle." Since then
she has made an enviable reputation for herself by the excellent work she has done before the foot-
lights in "The Little Rebel," 'The Model," and "The Poor Little Rich GirL" She was born in
Brooklyn just eighteen years ago, and attended school in New York, where she received her early
training. Miss Dana has been with the Edison Company since deserting the stage for the screen.
EARLE WILLIAMS
went on the stage for the first time in 1901, with the Baldwin-Melville Stock Company at New
Orleans. This marked the beginning of a long series of engagements, which was culminated by
his appearances with Rose Stahl in "The Chorus Lady," with Helen Ware in "The Third
Degree," and with George Beban in "The Sign of the Rose." When he left the stage, it was
to join the Vitagraph Company, with which he has been since.
JUANITA HANSEN
has never appeared on the stage. Born in Des Moines, Iowa, she went to the Pacific coast
when she was but seven years old. She started to play as an extra girl with Bosworth while
at high school; and soon after graduating she joined that company. She then went to the
Famous Players and the Keystone Companies, and is at present starring in Mutual's latest
serial "The Secret of the Submarine."
ANNA Q. NILSSON
was born at Ystad, Sweden, and started her stage career in that country. She obtained her
first engagement when still a small girl. Her beauty, of a rare type, and the latent talent she
then possessed, helped her to forge ahead; and from that time she has continued to climb until
she attained the high place in the foremost ranks of the screen's stars she now holds. She
came to America in 1907, and played before the footlights until 1911, when she joined the
Kalem Company. Here she played leads with Guy Coombs, and then became affiliated re-
spectively with the Fox and Pathe-Arrow concerns. She is now doing the greatest work of
her career in Pathe's latest serial, "Who's Guilty?'''
MAE MARSH
began her meteoric career with D. W. Griffith at the Biograph Company's studio, a short time
before Mr. Griffith left that company to take up his work with the Reliance-Majestic concern.
Miss Marsh remained under his directorship when the change was made and later followed
him to Triangle. She was born in Madrid, New Mexico, in 1897, and received her education
at various convent schools in California. Her sister was playing with the Biograph Company
about two years ago, and Mae was strictly forbidden to go to the studio. But she did go, and
the discerning eye of Director Griffith was quick to recognize the ability she possessed.
PEGGY HYLAND
has just come to America from England with a reputation that promises another screen favor-
ite for you. She has appeared abroad in musical comedy and with Cyril Maude and George
Edwardes, as well as in some successful English films. Half of Peggy Hyland is her smile,
and she has just finished using it impressively in "Saints and Sinners," the Famous Players
picture, in which she makes her bow to the American public.
HOWARD ESTABROOK
has not always been an actor. His early career, after he completed his education at the
Central High School, of Detroit, the city in which he was born, was taken up with. a strictly
business occupation. In the early days of his stage life, he played opposite Elsie Janis in
'".Misinformation." Having been starred with various film companies, he is now plaving the
lead in the International Film serial, lkThe Mysteries of Myra."
CLARA WILLIAMS
is a native of the West. Born in Seattle, Washington, she received her education in Los
Angeles. An engagement with Richard Jose in "Don't Tell My Wife" marked the beginning
of her stage career. She went on tour in vaudeville, and took up her work before the camera
with Essanay. The Lubin Company also starred her, but her talents are at present devoted
to productions of the New York Motion Picture Corporation.
FORREST STANLEY
undertook to learn the theatrical business thoroughly. He first was an apprentice to a stage
carpenter and scene painter; and after becoming proficient, he managed a company of his wn.
At the Burbank Theater, in Los Angeles, he attained a wide reputation by his acting, which was
done under Oliver Morosco's direction. When the Oliver Morosco Photoplay Company was
organized, Forrest Stanley joined it, and has been connected with its productions ever since.
EDNA PURVIANCE
has been playing leads with Charlie Chaplin in that famous comedian's most recent productions.
She was "discovered" by Chaplin, then with Essanay, while playing in an amateur performance
in San Francisco, and was immediately engaged. Miss Purviance was born in Paradise Valley,
Nevada, in 1894, and was a student at Vassar when she entered upon her theatrical career in
1915. When Chaplin left Keystone he looked for a good leading lady. Miss Purviance filled
the bill in every respect, and she is n'ow playing opposite Charlie in his Mutual productions.
DONALD CRISP
prepared for his career with a course at the famous English college, Eton. He saw service in
the Boer War, and was wounded three times. He was heard singing at a benefit in New York
by John C. Fisher, and was engaged for a part in "Floradora." He remained with the com-
pany for a year, and later played with George M. Cohan and others in numerous popular suc-
cesses. Mr. Crisp first appeared on the screen under D. W. Griffith's direction. His latest
accomplishment, which does him honor, is the production of the spectacle "Ramona."
GAIL KANE
is at present starring with the Equitable Company. "Seven Keys to Baldpate," "The Miracle
Man," and "The Hyphen" represent some of the plays in which she has had a prominent part.
Philadelphia, is her birth place, and her education was acquired at Newburg. Her screen
career has been divided between the All-Star, Metro, World, Pathe, and Equitable Companies
CHARLES CLARY
of the Fox Film Corporation, entered the motion-picture acting game in 1910, with the Selig
Company. He has been engaged by Reliance-Majestic and Fine Art Films at various times.
Mr. Clary was born in Charleston, Illinois, in 1892. He entered upon a stage career in a stock
company, and has appeared in "The Road to Yesterday," "Glorious Betsey," and "Vasta Home."
MARGARET GIBSON
began her stage life at twelve years of age, with a Western road company. After extended
tours throughout the important cities of the West and Middle West, she entered upon a two-
year engagement with the Lorch Stock Company, of Denver, Colorado. When this was ter-
minated she took up work for the screen. Her career from that time has been as varied as it
has been successful. Her initial bow to the film public was made with the Vitagraph Com-
pany, in the well-known production, "The Call of the North." She has since played for sev-
eral concerns, including N. Y. M. P., Universal, and Horsley, with which she is now connected.
She was born at Colorado Springs, September 14, 1896.
MARGARET CULLEN LANDIS
unlike the majority of screen actresses, has had no stage experience. She enlisted in the ranks
of the Balboa Company's army of players a little over a year ago, appearing before the camera
as a fancy dancer; but her studies, which she had been taking with Mrs. Scovall in Los An-:
geles, made it possible for her soon to advance to taking "parts" in various picture plays, and
she is now appearing as ingenue in Balboa productions. It was in Nashville, Tennessee, that
she first saw light in this world on August 31, 1896. Playing in pictures is about the most
strenuous thing she does, as most of her time is spent in reading — and, of course, dancing.
TWO STARS AND A COMER
kkYoung and promising." That is what Marion Warner and Vivian Reed, two popular Selig stars,
say of the actor they are trying to develop. The young and promising one is the baby camel that they
are petting in this picture. Isn't it strange that these actresses should pick out an animal, when there
are so many young men in this country who would love to be made actors — by Marion and Vivian?
Jffinitfh£s of Yfze
IIL
Director Taylor, of Morosco, commanding an army of actors.
George Beban is at his right.
WHATEVER the motion picture
is — I shall not pause to de-
cide on that matter now —
the director is the cause. If it is the
acme of all means of dramatic expres-
sion, if it is a plaything for children and
ignoramuses, or if it is neither — the
director, the chap who stands behind
the camera man and calls for tears or
train wrecks, and yells offensively until
he gets them, is the man responsible.
Motion-picture actors will prattle of
their "art," scenario writers will rant
about their "message" — praises be, most
of them have their tongues in their
cheeks when they do it! — but boiled
down, it is the knight of the megaphone
who has made them what they are or
what they are not.
The actor is the fowl, the scenario
writer furnishes the recipe, but the di-
rector is the chef. Like all chefs, he
seldom follows the letter of the recipe.
Many a good photo play has been
ruined by incompetent direction, scores
of bad ones have been made passable
by clever handling.
The actor obeys orders and seldom
knows what the picture is all about
until he sees it in the projecting room.
"I don't let an actor move a finger
unless I order it," says Maurice Tour-
neur, the Paragon-W orld director, who
now is handling Gail Kane and House
Peters. "I can put a company through
a picture, and until they see it they will
not know whether it is a comedy or a
tragedy."
A director may take a close-up of a
star looking off to the right and laugh-
ing heartily. When the picture is as-
sembled the star may be horrified to see
that the film is so arranged that he is
presented as being highly amused at the
spectacle of a pirate cutting off the ears
of little children.
Out in Los Angeles a certain director
is in bad standing with the proprietor
of a billiard room, because he took what
seemed to be an innocent picture of a
young man speaking pleasantly with the
proprietor and a number of his friends.
"Hand him money and tell him to go
out and buy a box of cigars," the di-
rector ordered. The proprietor was
glad of the opportunity to appear as a
picture actor.
But the proprietor, a citizen re-
spected in the community, when he
went home one evening, some time later,
was told by his wife that she had seen
him in a moving picture that showed
him paying a gunman to go out and
kill the chief of police !
Directors vary in their methods. D.
W. Griffith and the Griffith school of
20
Knights of the Megaphone
directors usually call for every move
an actor makes before the camera.
Frank Lloyd, of the Morosco forces,
Bertram Bracken, who now directs
Theda Bara, and J. Charles Haydon,
who directed Henry B. Walthall and
picture. What flashes past your eyes
in thirty seconds may have taken eight
hours to make.
Some directors lack perfect poise. A
big company in California recently em-
ployed a dramatic actress for a feature.
Theda Bara usual-
ly has the upper
hand in her pic-
tures, but at the
studio she sits
quietly and takes
instructions from
Bertram Bracken.
He is seen here
very much occu-
pied in telling her
"how and when."
Edna Mayo in "The Strange Case of
Mary Page," are among the many men
who believe in telling their players all
about the story, suggesting the action
and letting them express themselves as
much as they see fit. At least, the
orders are so delicately put that the ac-
tors think they are doing their own in-
terpreting.
A director must have the patience of
an army of Jobs and the diplomacy of
the leader of a political party. He
works all day and produces, on the
average, between two hundred and
three hundred feet of usable film. Per-
haps half of it will get into the finished
It was her first screen experience, and
she did not understand directors nor
how they handled players.
She had worked but a few hours
when she burst wildly into the office
of the general manager of the company.
She was sobbing.
"Mr. Blank, Mr. Blank," she cried.
"I cannot go on. You know that I am
an artist, don't you ?"
The general manager said he did.
"I was in the midst of a big mo-
ment. My soul was pouring out my
sorrow at the death of my baby. I
was living it all. I heard some one cry,
'Stop, stop!' I gave no heed. Then
Knights of the Megaphone
21
the director seized me roughly by the
shoulder. 'Didn't you hear- me tell you
to stop?' he asked me. I looked up at
him, bewildered. 'What's the matter?'
I asked. Then he said — he said — oh, I
xan't tell you !"
"What was it he said?" asked the
general manager soothingly.
The sobbing actress finally found her
voice. "He said to me, 'Suffering cats,
you're rotten!' 'Suffering cats, you're
rotten!' 'Suffering cats, you're rot-
ten!' "
And crying out that terrible line, she
rushed from the office and to her dress-
ing room. The next day a more patient
director was provided for her.
No directors ever try very hard to
keep down the expense of a picture,
which often makes them unpopular
with the general manager. Thomas
Ricketts, American-Mutual director,
once thought he could enliven a picture
with a train wreck, so he bought eight
freight cars and an engine
and ran them off an em-
bankment. Then he told the
general manager about it.
"Did he fire
you for the ex-
"No, he died of heart failure," Rick-
etts answered, "before he could issue
the order."
It isn't always the actor alone who
takes the risks. Edwin Middleton,
Gaumont director, once put a powder
keg and two actors in a building and set
it on fire. He ordered his camera to
start and yelled for the actors to come
out. They did not appear. Mr. Mid-
dleton needed those two actors,, and
went into the burning building and
found they were unconscious from
smoke. Just as he was dragging the
second one out the powder exploded,
burning Mr. Middleton quite badly. He
was very angry, for he had to take the
scene all over again.
When Hugh Ford and E. S. Porter
made "The Eternal City," in Rome,
they used two scenarios. One was the
plot of a tale about a lost girl being re-
deemed by the church. The other was
the real scenario. The first was shown
Edwin Carewe and Emily Stevens
in her dressing room at Metro's
studio, telling each otber what
to do about a scenario.
pense r
was asked.
Ricketts
Knights of the Megaphone
Ralph Ince, Vitagraph director, smiling — no, not at a pretty
actress, but at a good actor.
to all inquirers, for the Swiss Guards
would have objected to the filming of
'The Eternal City," but they allowed
scenes to be taken around the Vatican
and St. Peter's for what they thought
was a "lost-girl" tale.
Desirous of finding out more about
the life of the knight of the
megaphone, I asked one who
is now working with a big
star in the East :
"How do you start your
day?"
"Well," he drawled good-
humoredly. "I arrive at the
studio about ten o'clock."
"Then ?"
"Then I ask if Miss ,
the star, has arrived."
4 'Next ?"
"I sit down and wait for
her to get here."
As a matter of fact, a
director does little sitting
down. Taking a scene is
only part of his work. He
and his assistant must give
orders for work to come.
Sets must be built, extras
must be ordered from the
casting director, property
lists have to be made out.
Film already printed must be
approved and perhaps re-
taken.
And the scenario must be
reconstructed. "Mutilated" is what the
scenario writer calls it.
The retaking, or filming over of
The Franklin Brothers,
seated on either side
of the camera, show-
ing how they make
children famous.
Knights of the Megaphone
23
scenes, is one of the hardest things with
which a director has to contend, for
there are many causes which might
make it necessary. It all means time ;
and time, to a producer who is paying
big salaries, means money.
Not long ago, at the Morosco plant,
in California, Constance Collier was en-
gaged for one picture at a fabulous out-
lay. In order to make the film appro-
priately elaborate, expensive scenes
were used, and one interior in partic-
ular cost one thousand dollars. Five
days were spent on the action in this
alone. After the director had taken
and retaken to his satisfaction all the
scenes, the "set" was taken down and
most of it, which had been hired from
Los Angeles, returned. Although the
expenditure was heavy, the company
felt repaid, inasmuch as the results
promised to be worth all that had been
spent.
But when the film was developed, it
was found that the camera man — who,
by the way, is one of the most impor-
tant accessories to a studio — had fo-
cused poorly. The consequence was
that the pictures were blurred in parts,
and those parts that were not blurred
did not develop at all. By the time this
was discovered, Miss Collier had left,
and it was necessary to pay a goodly
amount to have her return, as well as
to again hire all the scenery, once more
erect the costly set, and do all the work
Over. The next time the scenes were
taken, they came out well — and one
camera man, in attempting to find a new
position, didn't dare to mention a cer-
tain Morosco director as reference.
A director's work is about the hardest
of any one in a studio. He has to vis-
ualize all the action, explain it to the
players, and then see that they do it to
properly coincide with his ideas. Here's
about the way the director's orders go
as he photographs his action. He has
already rehearsed his players, prob-
ably acting himself to show how he
wants it done. The actors who are
"discovered" as the scene opens are in
their places, those who are to enter
later are standing out of the field of
the camera.
"Go!" says the director. "All right,
Charley, come in. Hand him the tele-
gram. Sneer, George. It's the one
you're expecting. It tells that your
rival has been killed by your gang.
Exit, Charley. Tear it open. Care-
lessly. Confidence. Turn to the right
24
Knights of the Megaphone
Bob Ellis instructing Kalem players in the art of dying. He finds it difficult work, but has
his revenge by making them do it four or five times before
allowing the camera man to grind.
a little. Now! Look at it! It's all
wrong. They've bungled! The police
are after you! Up to your feet!
Quick, toward the door ! Stop ! Good !
Return! Hand to forehead! What'll
you do ? To the telephone ! Hand
trembles a little. Not too much. Call
the number. Calm a little ! Calm !
You're ruining it ! Cut ! W e've got to
do it over again."
And after they've worked on the
scene for, perhaps, two hours they fin-
ish it to the director's satisfaction. But
when the negative is developed, perhaps
they find the photography was bad and
it has to be retaken.
"Such is life," says the director
philosophically, and tries again.
One can be quite philosophical on a
salary of three hundred dollars a week.
MAGIC
'"THE waves break soft on a sun-kissed, beach ;
A ship sets sail; and round about
The sea birds wheel, and a thrill you feel —
Then somebody hollers : "This way out."
Everett Leighton.
LONG after twelve on a typical
California night in the early
spring of 1915, a man still sat
in the study of his beautiful California
villa, where he had gone as dusk began
to fall. A gigantic intellect was con-
templating a colossal thought ; a genius
was piecing together the loose ends of
a stupendous conception. When he
arose, amid the smoke lazily curling
from the last ciga-
rette consumed, a
mighty determina-
tion was formed ; a
determination that
was to arouse a na-
tion— Thomas H.
Ince had decided to
produce "Civiliza-
tion."
In order to por-
tray properly
glimpses of a nation
at peace ; the horri-
fying effect upon
both aristocrat and
plebeian of the
dread news that war
had broken out ;
graphic scenes of
land and naval encounters brim full of
action ; and, finally, a picture of the
truth that civilization has failed to ac-
cept the teachings of Christianity, it has
been necessary for Mr. Ince and his
vast army of assistants and coworkers
to spend months in tedious labor, and
to keep thousands of hands at work
for the greater part of a year.
Ince's first move, upon deciding to
C. Gardner Sullivan
durin
, the author of "Civilization," dictating scenes
g the writing of the production.
26
Making an Eighth Wonder
produce that which is now the film
spectacle, "Civilization," was to con-
fer with that high-powered literary
dynamo, C. Gardner Sullivan, his
wizard of photo-dramatic construction.
This conference was held the day fol-
lowing Ince's nocturnal meditation, and
lasted throughout six successive hours,
during which time these two thinkers
did more profound thinking, perhaps,
than at any other period in their re-
spective careers.
Then Sullivan went to work. The
papers on his desk containing notes
and memoranda relative to the great
undertaking, proverbially — and at times
literally — flew ; swift, nimble fingers
began pounding typewriter keys. Each
day the master scenario builder con-
structed an addition to his verbal
Olympus, and each day he exhibited
the literary structure to his chief.
Finally came the day when Ince pro-
nounced the manuscript ready for pro-
duction. Assembling his staff of de-
partmental heads about him, the ''Little
Xapoleon" took them behind closed
doors, where undesirables are not wont
to congregate, and outlined to them the
task that lay before the organization.
Perspiration, not inspiration, was the
keynote of the meeting ; for, when
they emerged, their brows glistened
with fluid beads. And each man, from
that day on, was ''of, by, and for"
"Civilization" with everything that
was in him.
For weeks and weeks the work of
preparation continued. Yet, not a cam-
era crank was turned. The making of
costumes, the search for locations, the
accumulation of properties, and, above
all, the construction of "sets," occupied
the time, so that when Ince was ready
to shout for the first time: "Camera,
start your action !" he felt assured that
hitches would be few and far between.
The first scene for "Civilization,"
which was a simple pastoral one, and
Tom Ince, when directing a scene from his chair by the camera, acts the part of the hero,
the villain and the lovers.
Making an Eighth Wonder
27
At left, Thomas H. Ince
focusing a camera for
an interior,and,at right,
camera men and direc-
tors filming a nava
battle aboard U. S. S
San Diego.
which, strangely enough, was eventu-
ally chosen for the opening picture of
the spectacle, was photographed on
June 6, 191 5. Children abounded
in it, and proud mothers looked on in
rapture as Ince, gently cajoling the
youngsters, brought out their natural
dramatic instincts. Under his direc-
tion they worked like beavers, thor-
oughly delighted with the fun it was
for them, and enjoying their activities
to the full.
By the end of June, the battery of
cameras employed in the filming of the
picture had exposed some twenty thou-
sand feet of negative, which repre-
sented approximately one-sixth of the
entire amount to be taken, but which
actually is just twice the number of
feet of celluloid in the finished pro-
duction.
During that month a noteworthy in-
cident occurred, one that will long be
remembered by those who witnessed it.
"The old man," as some of his friends
affectionately call Tom Ince, was on
one of the seven hills just outside of
Inceville, looking over the construction
work that was being done on a portion
of what is known in photo-play circles
as "Ince's big set" — the elaborate "pal-
ace," occupied by the king in "Civiliza-
tion," where the interior decorations
and fittings were true to a kingly abode
in each elaborate detail — a cost almost
as much as a monarch's — when he re-
ceived word that a small fire had
broken out, threatening to cause seri-
ous trouble, as the building containing
the costly costumes, which had con-
sumed months of work to make, were
in imminent danger. Ince glanced
about hastily, to find a means of trans-
portation, in order to get to the seat of
the trouble, for he had directed that
his own car should not call for him
until two hours later. Catching sight
of a motor cycle, he jumped onto the
saddle, and had just started downhill,
toward Inceville, at a mad pace, when
his rear tire blew out. The force of
the explosion was so great that the
motor cycle veered to one side with a
jolt too sudden to be mastered at the
moment. The driver was hurled into
a ditch, and landed, fortunately, on a
heap of dried weeds which had been
cut from the side of the roadway, and
which were waiting to be burned. He
escaped with a few bruises and a severe
28
Making an Eighth Wondei4
shaking up, and was picked up by an
automobile before he reached the vil-
lage. He was whirled to the scene of
the conflagration, only to find that it
had been put out before it had had a
chance to do any serious damage.
The entire month of July was de-
voted to the filming of the naval war-
fare, which is one of the most graphic
depictions in the spectacle. To pho-
tograph the scenes didn't require a
whole month, but there is a lot more
to obtaining realistic scenes of sea bat-
tles than simply going out and ''shoot-
ing" a panorama of the United States
fleet. Washington had to be consulted.
Wires raced back and forth across the
continent, and finally permission was
given Ince to focus on that part of the
Pacific coast squadron, which, at the
time, was lying in San Diego harbor.
A few hours after receipt of the per-
mission, nearly a hundred men —
sturdy sons of Inceville — were on their
way to San Diego, singing, as they went,
to the tune of "John Brown's Body :"
"Tom Ince's sailor boys are on their way to
war,
Tom Ince's sailor boys are on their way to
war,
Tom Ince's sailor boys are on their way to
war,
To fight with shot and shell!"
Such was the good-natured spirit in
which the "regulars" of Ince's "little
army" entered into their work — work
that meant hazards.
Arriving in San Diego, the men were
divided into groups, each of which was
assigned to certain duties, and each
under a subordinate director. Day
after day, for nearly two weeks, the
company sailed out from the harbor
and engaged with the "jackies" of
Uncle Sam's vessels in the mimic war-
fare. And during each noon hour the
actors mingled with the jackies and
explained to them some of the fascina-
tions of studio work, with the result
that Ince actually was besieged by the
uniformed boys with requests for em-
ployment upon termination of govern-
ment service.
Making an Eighth Wonder 29
Thomas H. Ince and one of his camera men at work on the "directors' platform," from which
large exteriors are taken. Reginald Barker, Ince's right-hand man, is at the right.
The most memorable event of the
San Diego trip was the sinking of the
famous old whaling bark Bowhead.
This historic vessel was purchased and
converted into a warship of the
Bliicher type. The Bowhead was
towed out to sea, and two torpedo-
boat destroyers took up their respective
positions as her protectors. At a word
from the commander of the fleet that
everything was in readiness, Ince bel-
lowed out his order for action ; and
the San Diego, her decks cleared, began
firing on the Bowhead with the eight-
inch guns.
The first salvo from the turret guns
struck the after mast and fore funnel
of the Bowhead, smashing them into
kindling wood and hurling the splin-
tered mass a distance of two hundred
feet into the sea. Closing in at top
speed, the San Diego then began firing
her eight and six-inch batteries simul-
taneously, and shortly thereafter the
Bowhead became a battered, helpless
derelict. Fires started both fore and
aft and continued with unabated fury
until the only mark the gunners on the
San Diego had to aim at was the col-
umn of smoke pouring from the
charred and blackened hull. Although
filled with several hundred tons of
rock and sand, the famous old whaler
did not sink until a volley of eight-
inch projectiles, fired at close range,
ripped open the hull. The craft then
sank, stern first, in fifteen fathoms
of water.
During the engagement, a small craft
in which were several of the actresses
from the Ince studio, ventured too
near the ''firing line." When the first
shot was fired, it came so unexpectedly
to the occupants of the boat that a
general shudder of alarm resulted.
Three or four of the girls nervously
30
Making an Eighth Wonder
jumped to their feet, in a mad endeavor
to embrace one another until they
should overcome the momentary ex-
citement. The consequence was that,
when the weight was shifted to one
side, the craft capsized, plunging its
burden of screaming, terrified fem-
ininity into the foaming waters. When
a quick rescue had been made by the
occupants of several near-by boats, it
was discovered that no one was any
worse from the mishap.
With the naval warfare over, Ince
gave his attention exclusively to the
land engagements. And it was the film-
ing of this part of the production that
kept residents of Santa Monica and
other outlying districts "on pins and
needles" for many days. Rumbling of
heavy cannon, whining of shells, and
the staccato crack of rifles brought
hundreds of inquisitive visitors to the
picturesque Inceville domain, in the
hope that they could catch a glimpse
of the terrific encounters being waged.
But Ince was making pictures, not
operating an amusement attraction, so
the tourists were compelled to return,
disappointed, to their homes.
The infantry and cavalry charges
staged on the spacious plateau at Ince-
ville were, perhaps, the most thrilling
events of the entire production. At
times there were as many as five thou-
sand men working before the lens, yet,
in spite of the congestion, in spite of
the rearing horses, in spite of bursting
bombs and flying timbers, not one life
was sacrificed. Many, it is true, were
injured, yet the sight of an ambulance
doing actual duty did not in the least
dampen the enthusiasm of the oppos-
ing armies on the field.
In taking the picture of a small skir-
mish, real bullets, which are not cus-
tomarily used, except, as in this case,
for effect, as they "bite" the earth
where they hit, were brought into serv-
ice. The bullets were to be seen hitting
the breastworks of the forces from
whose lines the picture was to have
been taken. Just as the firing was at
its height, an assistant on the directors'
platform noticed an old soldier throw
one of his legs over the pile of sand-
bags. "Cut !" he shouted. "Stop the
picture ! That man will get hit, sure !"
The camera stopped clicking, the firing
ceased, and from the distant trench
came the words : "It's all right, lads ;
it's only a wooden one."
Los Angeles found occasion to re-
joice over the making of Ince's battle
scenes, for it was relieved, temporarily,
of the responsibility of caring for its
unemployed. Each morning, at sun-
rise, fifteen mammoth motor trucks,
filled to capacity with the unfortunate
jobless ones, thundered from the city
to Inceville, and unloaded, to return for
more. And thus were several thousand
worthy men prevented from going
hungry for nearly three weeks. Young
and old, lean and fat, alike entered into
the work vigorously, and, in the face
of bruises, scratches, and powder stains,
indicated dejection when they learned
they would be needed no longer.
As the days of summer wore on, and
fall appeared, the work upon the big
set drew near completion. The con-
struction of this set had been going on
for months, and, from day to day,
towers and domes had arisen majes-
tically. The setting represents, besides
the palace before referred to, the house
of parliament, prison, royal court, and
adjacent buildings in a mythical king-
dom, which is the locale of the picture.
Its construction entailed in all an enor-
mous expenditure. Thirty carloads, or
approximately six hundred thousand
feet, of lumber were used, while glass
valued at four thousand dollars, and
tons upon tons of cement and plaster
were some of the other principal ma-
terials employed. The sidewalks about
the set, with their curbings, measured
some twelve thousand feet, and trees,
shrubbery, and lamp-posts adorned
31
Transferring the costly "set" and an army of actors to celluloid, that they might be seen
by the world.
various places within their boundaries.
The entire setting covered an area of
six and a half acres. The interior
scenes necessitated an elaborate outlay,
as well as months of untiring effort in
order to perfect them according to the
Ince standard of excellence, which sig-
nifies nothing but the best.
The big set was used for the last
time early in November, and from then
on Ince occupied his time in making
the numerous other scenes, which,
though lacking the element of spectacle,
are highly material to the story. He
worked by day and planned by night,
and so systematically swift were his
labors that he was able to call his pro-
duction finished before Christmas. . A
brief rest prepared him for the tedious
task of cutting and assembling the film,
which is said to have measured, prior
to this process, more than one hundred
and twenty thousand feet. The cut-
ting reduced the actual picture, as the
public will see it, to ten thousand feet,
or ten reels.
Such is the story of a tremendous
work. Yet, the world can never learn
from the printed page how Thomas H.
Ince toiled to accomplish it. He says
its mission is to graphically depict "the
screaming of shells, the crashing of
monstrous guns, all the ghastly sym-
phony of the reddest war mankind has
ever known," that "a shocked and ap-
palled world may henceforth devote
itself more earnestly to the cause of
peace and a better 'civilization.' "
HEROES
fJIVE me no drawing-room dude turtle-dove.
Whose living is earned by the way he makes love ;
But a two-fisted hero — a man despite art ;
My vote every time goes to William S. Hart.
Robert Foster.
IF, to-morrow, the dishonorable Mr.
Satan should go out of business,
the prime asset of many of our
stage luminaries would be lost to them.
He is such a handy fellow to have about
the house ; he looks so well in print ; and
you can trust him to get attention where
milder methods of attraction fail ut-
terly.
The stage adventuress uses him to
enhance her prestige, by boasting a close
intimacy with his various, diabolical
weaknesses. The stage ingenue em-
ploys the glamour of his name by
loudly denouncing him and by "shrink-
ing into herself" — whatever that may
mean — whenever he answers the roll
call.
As for me — well, the cloven-hoofed
rascal and I have been 'im^ed in so
many bits of gossip — that I should feel
justified in abbreviating his first name
and chucking him under the chin,
should I ever come face to face with
him, going through the Stygian gates,
on my way to Hades Boulevard.
Artists the world over have made a
grave mistake. If they started out to
create a fear and abhorrence of crim-
son-coated Old Nick, they have failed
utterly — because in all his portraits he
is whimsical. Now, no matter what a
person's wickedness may be — a whimsi-
cal up-twist to his mouth corner or a
mischievous, trick eyebrow softens his
criminal expression. One is apt to med-
itate : "Oh, yes, he's a bad un, all
right — but a fascinating bad un, at
that !"
That's why I've never taken the poor
dear seriously. From a professional
and financial standpoint, he has been a
life-saver to me. But, really and truly,
when I get him behind closed doors, I
snap disparaging fingers under his
aquiline nose and set him dead to rights.
You know, I didn't really pick him
as a camarade de combat — he was
wished on me. Because I am tall,
svelte, wear gowns as well as can be
expected, and have a certain kind of
eye, the first manager who passed upon
my possibilities as a stage star set the
pace by billing me, not quite as "a
daughter of Satan," but as some more
distant relation of his overlarge family.
My own family tree has sunk into
insignificance. I am ticketed and filed
away on a branch along with a lot of
other Satans and Satanettes — and every
time they get out a new poster to an-
nounce my act they have the artist work
in a Satanic emblem, in a quiet, unob-
trusive way. The only thing that re-
Sneering at Satan
33
mains is to use the cloven hoof and
forked tail as units in a conventional
border, instead of the overworked egg-
and-dart design of the ancient Greeks.
Often, friends of mine, possessed of
more sensitive natures than I have the
good fortune not to possess, ask me
why I don't rebel. They assert forcibly
that I have sufficient standing, box-
office value, and general professional
reputation to put my foot down, once
and for all, on old Satan as a sparring
partner.
Why ? Long, long ago, before he and
I shared the headline position in life's
bill, I read about the old goose who
laid the golden eggs. And it made a
greater impression on me than "Cin-
My public mur-
murs,
"A true
satellite of
Satan!"
34
Sneering at Satan
derella" or ''Snow White" or any of the
impossibly saccharine tales upon which
they bring up nice little girls.
I made up my mind right there that,
no matter how mangy looking or
declasse my goose turned out to be, I'd
feed him. well and wait on him, hand
and foot, as long as he didn't lie down
on his job. Well, as matters
now stand — and have stood,
since the beginning — it
seems as though his Sa-
tanic majesty were the
only goose I'll ever have,
and I'm bound to treat
him well — in public.
If I swathe myself in
barbaric combinations o
vivid scarlet and royal pur
pie, my public murmurs :
"A true satellite of Sa-
tan !" If I put on a debu-
tante costume of white tulle
and pearls they accuse : "An
infidel in the garb of an
innocent !" Should I don a
bathing suit they expect to
hear the waves sizzle as I
step into them. All this is
what Satan, Suratt & Co.
has done for me. Yet I do
not complain. In his "Hand-
book to Home Wreckers," the
subterranean G. B. S. decrees
that gorgeous raiment is the
surest means to the end.
Therefore my modiste bills are
colossal. "The devilish tilt of
a hat has often proved the un-
doing of a Galahad" — I am
still quoting from
the handbook — there-
fore my milliner can
dine on Astrakhan
caviar and diamond-
backed terrapin, on
the net profits from
my monthly pur-
chases. The author
also recommends slim
ankles, silk-sheathed, and trim feet,
slickly shod, as actions that speak louder
than words. My hosiery bill reads like
a banker's income-tax statement.
As to Satanic magic and all that sort
of thing, you understand, of course,
that it would be hardly ethical to give
the old chap away after all he has done
3g[ . for me. I should have
mentioned before that
our friendship is
mrely Platonic, but
even on a philo-
sophic basis a
trust is sacred —
if you know
I what I mean.
Yet there is no
harm in elucidat-
ing a few minor
\ points.
* "Valeska,"
confided to me one
"if you want to be
devilish, wear red.
maroon, vou know,
There is just one peculiarity about my
clothes — only Valeska Suratt
can wear them.
he
day,
real
Xot
not
even crimson, but flaming
scarlet — red, red, red ! It
is the charm diabolic. Try
■ to imagine Priscilla throw-
ing off her drab-gray smock
to slip into a raving, pas-
sionately scarlet evening
gown. Red and virtue never
mix — remember that."
It is conceivable that some
of you wise ones, remembering
that the screen registers only
black and white, will imagine
that I had to discard this ad-
vice when I went
into pictures. Xot at
all. I have played
opposite at least one
masculine star — not
to mention any names
— w h o seemed to
think I was a sweet
girl graduate. He
made love to me —
Sneering at Satan
35
me, understand, the "Daugh-
ter of Satan" — he made love
to me ! I could never permit
that. If there is any love-
making to be done, I do it.
How could I be a true daugh-
ter of Satan unless I were re-
sponsible for the necessary -
tragedies? I wore a black
dress in rehearsals, but when
the picture was made I ap-
peared in a gown so fiercely red
that he curled like a scorched
moth. He was supposed to
register fear, fascination, hor-
ror. He did.
You see, I am an apt anc
willing pupil. I do as I'm told,
and do not criticize my in-
structor's method. He is re-
sponsible when I am dubbed "a
freak" on account of my
clothes. In the beginning, I
rebelled at getting myself up
in some of the weird costumes
he designated. But he delib-
erately misquoted and warned
me, "Blow your own horn — be
it ever so queerly — lest it be not blown
at all. If your gowns look like a de-
signer's brain storm or a pousse cafe,
the public is bound to talk about you.
And, after you have them talking, you
can wear anything you please." And it
has worked out beautifully. There is
only one peculiarity about the clothes I
wear on the stage and screen nowadays,
and that peculiarity is — only Valeska
Suratt can wear them.
When Mr. William Fox offered to
make me a screen star, I wondered
whether Old Nick, my Siamese J: win,
was going to be left out of the bargain.
Not so. "The Soul of Broadway," my
first feature picture, gave him a star
part, and he was holding my hand
tightly all the time. The picture was a
success. So now, I'm in fear and trem-
bling lest they give me a story that
hasn't a big enough part for the lire-
Am I not Satan's ward, in the eyes of my audiences?
and-brim stone pet, and he'll get tem-
peramental and quit. If ever there was
a Waterloo — that will be mine — when
Satan, my patron fiend, my mascot, and
my trade-mark, and I part company,
I'm knocking on wood while I write it.
But now I'm going to let those of
you who have suffered to read so far
into a secret. All this kotowing to
Old Stick in the Mud is done in my pro-
fessional life only. The minute I leave
the stage — or the studio, when I'm in
pictures — Nick gets the gate — he is per-
sona non grata in my home.
The huge, comfy chairs I sit in have
never borne his sulphurous weight ; the
mirrors I look into do not reflect his
swarthy face over my shoulder; and I
don't have to pour his coffee in the
morning. In other words, when I'm at
home I scorn him and all that he stands
for.
36
Sneering at Satan
But when I start out on my working
day and meet him at the curb, as I get
into my motor, my neck slips under his
yoke as naturally and automatically as
a small child slips her hand into her
mother's when she crosses a crowded
street.
I have often thought of going into
trade when I tire of the stage and
screen. My tutelage under Satanic in-
spiration, in designing, has fitted me to
be coutriere to the elite — and I would
They have the artist work in a Satanic emblem, in a quiet, unobtrusive way.
enjoy making soul gowns — I believe
that's the sort you get the biggest
money for — for the various leaders of
our social sets. But what troubles me
is the wording of the bronze shingle I
will have to put over the door. I can
hardly acknowledge the Old Boy as a
factor in the concern — and I'm sure
he'd kick strenuously at being a silent
partner. Almost anything in fashion
goes, here in America, if the French
twist is given it — so I guess the logical
firm name will be
"Diable, Suratt,
Ltd." And I'd get
away with it, at that !
One day, when I
was playing in
vaudeville, in one of
the larger cities of
the Middle West,
there was a crowd
of matinee girls and
boys waiting at the
stage entrance of
the theater to see me
as I came out.
That sort of thing
is rather unpleasant
in Xew York, be-
cause the youngsters
are so insistent in
their demands for
photographs
or souvenirs. But
out West they are
content to stand
quietly and see their
stage idol of the mo-
ment get into her car
and whisk away.
So I was really
taken by surprise
this day, after the
matinee, w hen a
pretty young girl of
perhaps seventeen
rushed from the
crowd and seized my
hand.
Sneering at Satan
37
"Oh, Miss Su-
ratt," she ex-
claimed earnestly,
"I don't believe
you're a daughter
of Satan at all ! I
don't think you
have anything to
do with him. Do
you ?"
On the impulse
of the moment I
answered : "Don't
even know him by
sight."
"I thought so ! I
knew it I" she went
on, still clinging to
my hand. "I think
they're awfully
mean when they
keep on talking as
though he were
your best friend. I
think you're love-
iy-"
By that stage of
the game I had
managed to get in-
to my car. The
chauffeur started
her up and I rolled
off and left her.
But so deeply is. a
certain superstition concerning Old
Nick ingrained in me that, at the night
performance, I looked for something
either unpleasant or unfortunate to hap-
pen— simply because I had disavowed
him in public. Needless to say, it didn't
— but the fear was there just the
same.
On the screen they've got — well, I
was going to say a speaking likeness of
old Satan — but that wouldn't be it,
either. But they have a way of intro-
ducing him as a character or an influ-
ence thai conveys all his sinister qual-
ities as well as his lighter moments of
diablerie. With fade-ins and fade-outs,
And after you have them talking, you can wear
anything you please
Faust.
he pervades a pic-
ture as a spirit. On
the speaking stage,
he is such an ob-
vious thing, usually
bathed in a fiery
glow at his every
entrance or else an-
nounced by a blare
of trumpets.
And that's not
how Mr. Satan
works at all. He's
insidious. I ought
to know. Am I not
his ward, in the
eyes of my audi-
ences ? Yes. The
movies have done
much for this, our
most disgraceful
citizen. They have
made it possible
for him to intrude
in places where he
has been barred.
They have given
him a new raison
d'etre.
In the old days,
the most adept im-
personation w a s
that of the usually
obese Mepliistoph-
Oh, what a libel
eles in
on the sleek-footed, slippery-tongued
ruler of the inferno ! Poor old Mephis-
topheles is more like a modern ad for
a fire extinguisher, even though he got
the renowned Faust to sell him his soul
for a natural blonde with a violet eye.
But now it's all off. The new school
of publicity agents succeeding Messrs.
Goethe and Shaw have dyed the devil
his proper hue. The movies have got
Mr. Satan — or he has the movies — and
he'll soon be as well advertised as Char-
lie Chaplin or Pears' Soap. All of
which puts ducats into the coffers of
Valeska Suratt & Co. !
Players on the studio stage getting ready for work in the morning.
I WAS simply tired of writing about
a studio through a tour of the
place. These tours are so cut and
dried. The studio press agent takes you
by the arm and shows you the very
same objects of interest the S. P. A.
of the last studio you visited did. and
spiels about 'em in the very same way:
"That is Mr. Bignoodle, there to your
right, taking an underworld scene; in
the set next to his, Mr. Highfalute is
finishing his Mary Doughbags feature ;
these are the camera men's rooms to
your left — very model, don't you think?
The prison set going up is for "
And so the tale goes on, studio after
studio. The boys don't mean to repeat,
but I suppose they do it because the
interesting points of moving-picture
studios are all about the same. Acquit
the S. P. A. !
So when the time came for me to
visit the Universal Eastern studio, I
decided to do it on a new tack. I crossed
from New York City to Fort Lee on
a ferryboat loaded with movie actors'
automobiles, then trolleyed to Universal
Heights. The Universal Eastern stu-
dio boasts a main entrance that would
do credit to a government institution.
Indeed, it forces you to sense that here
is an institution ! But the magnificent
main entrance was not for me. The
seeker after work must apply at a side
entrance — there are so many of said
seekers that there must be a special en-
trance for them ! I was told to ask for
Mr. Adler.
Mr. Adler proved to be none other
than the once celebrated — maybe still —
Bert Adler, who first put punch and sys-
tem into film selling and advertising.
For the last three years he had been
devoting himself to the studio end of
the business, leaving the management
of the old Jersey studio at Coyotesville,
when that place closed down, to become
cast director and interview man at Uni-
versal Heights under Manager Julius
Stern. I didn't have to wait long for
him, as he seemed to possess a knack
at speedily examining applicants, and
40
Universal City, Junior
The Universal Eastern studio as it appears from the street. The glass stages are at the rear
he appeared to note my youth and
clothes — which luckily were neatly
pressed — with some degree of enthu-
siasm. As he spoke to me, I could tell
that there was work of some sort await-
ing men of my type. Finally
"What is your experience?" was
asked.
I could see that the questioner's en-
thusiasm took a slight drop when I ad-
mitted to no acting experience what-
soever.
"However," Mr. Adler said. "I might
put you in a dress suit and place you
with Director Hill to-day. You look as
if vou could wear clothes. The scene
is for this afternoon. Could you go
home and get your dress suit and be
back here by, say, one-thirty ?"
I assured him I could, and made
good on the assurance. At one-forty-
live I was one of a slumming party set-
ting out to visit the basement settle-
ment in "Temptation and the Man."
We were calling on Sydell Dowling
there. She was a wealthy girl who had
founded the settlement. (Notwith-
standing, I heard her admitting to Ho-
bart Henley later that she never spent
more than thirty-five cents a day for
her lunch!) Hobart Henley was play-
ing a tough who had been won back to
The closed stages, in which the pictures are taken.
Universal City, Junior
41
good works by the wealthy girl — he
was managing the settlement for her.
With so fair a coworker as Miss Dow-
ling, who was always smiling sweetly
at him in the scene, he was to be en-
vied for giving up the life of a tough.
All the toughs of New York would be
managing settlements if there were
Miss Dowlings around to keep them
company !
Well, we came autocratically down
the basement steps, congratu-
lated Miss Dowling on her
success with the settlement,
looked sympathetically at
Henley (!), and told Miss D.
we were sure the poor fellow
would yet die happy. Then
we coddled a lot of poor chil-
dren that came into the set-
tlement. One of the poor kids
was the daughter of an actor
that gets three hundred and
fifty dollars a week the year
round. Finally, having given
Miss Dowling one last expres-
sion of approval, and Henley
one last look of sympathy, we
passed up the steps and out.
Xow was my chance to ex-
amine a studio from the new
angle. Lucky for me that I
was rigged out in full dress,
proving that I was ''working."
Curiosity seekers are not al-
lowed on studio stages —
you've got to prove you're
"working" — and the full dress
proved it for me. I sauntered jacj-
the length of that stage floor
without interference. Indeed,
full minute's walk in the rear is the
laboratory building. The idea of sep-
arating the two is that in case of fire
— movie fires, it appears, usually start
in the laboratory — no damage will
be done to the producing department,
no halt caused in the producing work,
be the blaze ever so fierce. Hardly any
him stock is kept in Universal Heights
studio overnight, and the chances of
fire are almost nothing. Nevertheless,
I covered the whole building
without
was my
interference. That dress suit
badge. I found the Universal Heights
studio made up of two separate build-
ings. The entire producing department
was in the structure where I had
worked : two stories high, and I should
say one hundred and thirty by one hun-
dred and sixty feet in dimension. A
Cuhn, editor of the Universal Animated Weekly,
at his desk.
the Universal heads had "fire walls''
placed in the interior partitions, the
openings of which are protected by au-
tomatic-shutting "fire doors." A sprin-
kler system covers the entire studio.
Personally, I'd venture to sleep at Uni-
versal Heights studio even if there was
a feller with a lighted cigarette and a
tank of gasoline in the adjoining room.
42
Universal City, Junior
Perhaps the officials have been guided
in their making- the place so gosh-aw-
fully fireproof by the fire-insurance
rates. That's the only explanation I
can offer. And I respectfully hold it
forth because I hear that no manufac-
turing plant of its size in any line has a
lower rate. You see, I fear the officials
are what Colonel Roosevelt would call
"practical men."
The stage on which I had been slum-
ming is on the second floor of the struc-
ture. On the first floor, coming down
from the stage, you find the dressing
rooms, directors' offices, scenario de-
partment, manager's office, main en-
trance— from which I had been shooed
originally — cutting room, and restau-
rant, in just that order. The restaurant
was a model of neatness, and the one,
no doubt, where the wealthy founder
of basement settlements lunched daily
for thirty-five cents.
And then I was discovered ! King
Baggot, whom I had interviewed some
time before, came out of the lunch
room and straight toward me with a
cheery greeting. I asked him to speak
in whispers — just like a stage villain —
and explained what the disguise was all
about. King immediately pledged him-
self to secrecy and led me back to his
dressing room so that we could chat
without fear of — I almost wrote ar-
rest ! Getting the story from the new
angle was really exciting ! I began to
feel like a war correspondent from
London seeking for news in Berlin.
The "King of the Movies" — ask the
Universal advertising department — told
me he had just gotten back from Sa-
vannah, Georgia, where his director had
been taking some exterior scenes, that
it had been very warm in Savannah, and
that he had been very glad to get back
to his cool dressing room at Universal
Heights. Baggot's dressing room — in-
deed, the majority of the dressing
rooms here — opened right onto a vast
court. There are sixty-four dressing
rooms at Universal Heights for regular
members of the stock company, and
four rooms of extra size for "extra
people." These "extra people's" rooms
Th|| large stage from the inside. The "set" in the center shows how scenes in rooms are made.
The lighting system is also shown above the "set."
Universal City, Junior
43
have all the advantages of the stock
members' rooms except privacy. When
I "made up" for the slumming scene,
I was surprised what a gentlemanly lot
the "extra men" working that day were
— courteous and anxious to assist each
other. Small wonder that the '"extra"
room is so often productive of movie
ladies' side Violet Mersereau's adjoins
Mary Fuller's, implying that birds of
a feather flock together — and he was
on his way to it to puzzle out how one
of his pictures, just completed, could
be reduced one reel. Baggot told me all
about the Wilson trouble later. The
him was entitled "The Gentle Volun-
Ben Wilson and Dorothy Phillips looking over a scenario before filming a scene at Universal Heights.
stars. The answer is that unless an
actor has great reputation, he has little
chance of getting into regular movie
"stock." Therefore it's "extra" work
for him until appearance in a number
of pictures has proven he has the nec-
essary screen qualifications. And then,
like as not, it's a small salary he gets
until the girls start writing him admir-
ing letters and the critics of the trade
press admit he's great. Baggot told
me he started at — well, an exact sixth
of his present salary.
As I left the Baggot throne room, Ben
Wilson passed by in a quandary. His
room adjoins Baggot's — just as on the
teer," and had been made in four reels.
It seemed that an order went out to
the directors at Universal Heights that
they skip four-reel productions, be-
cause the "market" didn't want them.
Ben's notice on this got mixed up some-
where, and the first he knew of the rule
was when Manager Julius Stern told
him of it and gave him back "The Gen-
tle Volunteer" to "cut." As he had
started a new picture, the instructions
to "cut" came at an inopportune time.
But. as Benjamin Franklin Wilson is
esteemed a "good cutter" in the studio,
and has an assistant who is clever at
the same line of work, we doubt not
44
Universal City, Junior
that he got through with his extra la-
bors eventually. You see, movie direc-
tors don't always have pleasant out-of-
town trips and nothing to do till to-
morrow !
There was a Moore trouble present
also. Matt had been making a comedy
on the stage next to Mr. Hill's, in which
Jane Gail and an expensive cast were
employed — including a particular type
of goat. The P. T. of goat had died —
maybe it was my work in the slumming
scene alongside that did it — in the mid-
dle of his scene, and Matt Moore was
wild writh — no, not grief — he was boil-
ing angry at that goat for dying before
the picture was finished. As I said
above, it was a particular type of goat.
Unless his double could be procured,
this day and several preceding days'
work would have to be thrown into the
ash can. We must write "ash can" into
a goat story. There was that expensive
cast to consider. Matt was so excited
about it that I am sure if he had known
ahead the animal would die in the mid-
dle of a scene, he would for revenge
have shot her first himself.
I was rather unlucky in securing
work in the afternoon rather than in
the morning. Most of the directors —
there are ten at Universal Heights —
had finished their interior
sets in the a. m., and were
working outside now. This
was the case, for example,
with Mary Fuller's direc-
tor, Edna Hunter's, Edith
Robert's — but not, praises
be, with Violet Mersereau's !
One Universal lady star
was within ! There was
beautiful Violet, eluding a
vile-appearing Oriental in a
Chinese joss-house set.
The scene over, Violet
dropped into an easy-chair
at the side of the set and
became engrossed in deep
thought. What was she
thinking of, this wondrous
blond beauty ? Of a man —
a prospective husband ?
Yes! I'll tell you about it
in a minute, after I have
made you read of the studio
lighting system, a part of
my word picture that may-
be you'd "cat" if I didn't
place it before my exposure
of Violet's thoughts !
The overhead lighting equipment here
is arranged on a trolley system that en-
ables the studio electrician to "flood"
any foot of stage desired fifty seconds
after the director gives the order. That
is fast work ! When Director Hill
wanted the lights for my set — said like
a star ! — they were all overhead a
"dead" set at the farthest corner of the
studio where Harry Benham had been
working. "Lights !" shouted Mr. Hill
The "prop rooms," where ten thousand and one articles are kept
handy, is built to represent a prison so that
it can be used in films.
Universal City, Junior
45
to Electrician Kelly, and whiz came
those lights down the trolley and over
our set.
Continuing technical, as it were, I
might write that I found the carpenter
shop, scenic department, and property
room fronting immediately on the stage,
and all of them as full of daylight as
the stage itself. Speaking of the ward-
robe room, which is below the stage
Violet Mersereau's thoughts? They
were : Ought she, or oughtn't she ? Sac-
rifice herself to the publicity gods, or
nay? The company was exploiting a
"Handsomest Man in America" contest,
and the publicity department, to add
zest to the affair, wanted to know if
they could promise Violet and her sal-
ary to the winner, provided he was un-
married. There was no doubt this
would improve the interest in the con-
test one hundred per cent, one publicity
shark told her. Now, then, would' she ?
just like that !
But to Violet, who has her share of
nice, admiring beaus, the question was :
Ought she? She was sure, of course,
that the press agent, mad about pub-
licity as he undoubtedly was, would
somehow, somewhere, some way, save
her from actual marriage! The judges
would mayhap be kind and pick a mar-
ried man. That didn't worry sweet
Violet, sitting there in Chinese garb and
deep thought. What would her beaus
think? That was the trouble! They
would never understand publicity-de-
partment methods, quiet business men,
most of them, who knew naught of the
wild ways of the modern publicity pro-
moter.
How did I, aimless actor, know all
this? Because "Billy" Garwood walked
over to the reflecting girl just then.
And Violet spoke to Billy — they play
together now, and often exchange ad-
vice— and what Billy replied to her
seemed to cheer her greatly.
And Billy, to whom I disclosed my
identity for the sake of the story, gave
me the entire tale going back to Xew
York on the ferryboat that was full
of movie actors' automobiles. Violet
had cheered up because Billy solved the
great problem by promising to run into
each of the beaus and explain that pub-
licity matter beforehand !
I met him later, about four days aft-
erward, as he was hurrying along
Broadway, and he told me that he
hadn't realized what a job he had un-
dertaken, for he had been busy ever
since he had made the promise — but
still had a long list of young men to see.
THE MAN WITH MANY LIVES
| AST night I watched a strong man die:
Caught in the whirlpool of events
In Mexico, while I stood by,
He bowed his head — without a cry
Received a rifle's grim contents.
Behold a miracle ! To-day
I saw the strong man stricken dead.
"A fake !" I thundered in dismay.
"That fellow got his yesterday!"
"He dies a thousand deaths," they said.
Martin C. Xew man.
46
Sidney Drew has to autograph his own pictures — because a wife or private secretary can't do it for him.
BEING funny is no laughing matter.
Mr. and Mrs. Sidney Drew
would like to have that under-
stood before we go any farther. Mr.
Drew, especially, wants it known that,
contrary to the general idea, his life is
not one grand, glittering, and gorgeous
jest. As a general thing, his soul is
soggy with sorrow.
It's hard work to make a laughable
moving picture, especially a "parlor"
comedy, in which the Drews specialize.
Almost any one, says Mr. Drew, can put
on one of these ordinary comedies in
which young men
slap young women m:
with blackberry pies
and in which four
grotesque policemen
are drowned merrily
in every hundred feet
of film.
Let it be herewith
stated that Mr. Drew
admits brazenly that
he never — in the pic-
tures or out — has hit
his wife on the nose
with a blackberry pie.
Xo, not with a black-
berry— n ever. He
never has tossed her over a cliff or into
a flour barrel. The Drews have to
make one comedy a week, and he
doesn't want her all broken up.
It is not on record that Sidney Drew
ever grasped a couple of revolvers and
chased Mrs. Drew through the house,
firing at her heels.
Mr. Drew finds that a wife appre-
ciates kind treatment, and never as long
as he lives does
he believe it
will be neces-
sary for him to
Mr. Drew insists that he is, besides being a comedian, a complete
scenario department.
Confessions of a Comedian and a Comedienne 47
earn his living by dropping a hod of
bricks on Mrs. Drew's head.
"Our home is an ideally happy one,"
says Mr. Drew, who is fifty-one years
old. Mrs. Drew is twenty-six. "I
have my wife under perfect control. I
direct our pictures. As her director,
I can order her to act any scene I may
designate. If at home she fails to sew
the buttons on my pajamas, for instance,
the next day I can write into a comedy
a part for her in which she will have
to lie down on the street and let a motor
car run over her. I, therefore, never
have buttonless pajamas."
Mr. Drew wasn't known as a first-"
rate comedian until he became stoop-
shouldered and furrows filled his brows.
As a youth he was cheerful and full of
antics, so his parents knew that he
would become a famous tragedian. He
didn't do well in tragedy, and his failure
so sorrowed him that he was immedi-
ately turned into a comedian.
Mr. Drew confesses that he doesn't
know what makes people laugh. He
admits that sometimes he works up a
scene that ought to rock the house, and
when it ap-
pears on the
screen be-
fore a bi|
crowd it
After reading the scenarios, Mr
authors — with
falls flat, and the house rocking will be
done by some bit of business that never
was expected to attract undue attention.
"People seem to like to see me in
unfortunate predicaments," he says.
"They laugh at my troubles. The more
I worry the worse my disposition gets,
and many is the time I have grouched
my way through what turned out to be
a good comedy."
Mrs. Drew — Shh ! Come over here in
the corner where Mr. Drew can't hear
and she'll whisper it to you — thinks her
husband is the greatest actor the world
ever saw.
Their friends will tell you that she is
the balance wheel. She it is who pats
her husband on the back and tells him
cheerily that he has been doing fine
work and that he had better make one
more scene — even if he is tired out —
before he quits for the day.
It is Mrs. Drew who coaxes the car-
penters to stop their pounding when
Mr. Drew is nervous and is fighting his
way through a hard scene, and it is she
who stands by the camera and tells him
how it looks when he is working in the
scene alone.
And it is Mrs. Drew who knows her
husband's idiosyncrasies and warns the
interviewer :
"Young man, do vou value vour life?
Then don't say to my
husband, Tt must be
cheerful work, being
a comedian !' "
So the interviewer
asks Air. Drew what
he thinks of a come-
dian's life.
"Comedian I" he re-
plies— at least, he re-
plied so this one time.
"Every one knows me
as a comedian. That's
only part of my pro-
fession. I'm a sce-
nario department, di-
rector, expert autog-
Drew asks to be introduced to the
malice aforethought.
48 Confessions of a Comedian and a Comedienne
rapher of my own pictures, and won- sire is to murder every scenario author
derful little soother to tell my wife I in the world."
like her cooking when it's good — or One thing that makes Mr. Drew's
otherwise. soul so briny is that he can't take part
"So far as my scenario work goes, in a sensible discussion without being
Maxwell Karger, the studio manager, laughed at. Everybody expects him to
takes great delight in picking out days be funny.
when everything is gloomy and march- Once he was carving a roast and the
knife slipped and cut
one of his fingers, and
his guests laughed so
heartily that their ap-
petites were doubled,
and they ate twice as
much as the Drews
had counted upon.
''It drives me wild,"
he said the other day.
"Everything I say
people think is funny.
Watch."
He scrolled over to
a corner of the studio
where several persons
were standing,
"This war is a ter-
rible thing," he af-
firmed.
"Which war?" eaid
a camera man. "Mex-
ico or Europe?"
ing up to me with a vast batch of scripts. "Both," said Sidney Drew.
He says, 'Use the one you like best,' "No doubt of it," said the camera
and then I go home to read them. After man, and the others nodded solemnly,
going over three or four, as a rule, I Nobody laughed.
ask to be introduced to the writers — Mr. Drew wheeled. The interviewer
with malice aforethought. My sole de- laughed and fled.
SHELVED
J WAS your "reel" and only love,
At least, you told me so ;
And, now, I am a cast-oft glove,
A faded "film," you used to "show."
On Cupid's screen you wrote "surcease."
So I am "on the road"
Featuring your last "release :"
Beginning with an episode!
Dorothy Harpur O'Neill.
AXD now it's all over but the work
— and glory.
When the three persons who
are to decide on the winners of our
scenario contest agreed to act as judges
they did not realize the work that they
were putting on their shoulders. In the
last two months manuscripts have been
pouring in so heavily that by the time
they had finished reading a promising
script there were a hundred others on
their desks waiting for consideration.
By now, however, most of the stories
that are not possible have been sorted
out, and Miss Fuller, Mr. Caine, and
Mr. Brandt are busy on those that must
be dealt with carefully in order to give
each the consideration of which it is
worthy. The number of synopses that
are really good has surpassed all ex-
pectations. The plots range greatly in
variety, and Miss Fuller has several
times told how glad she is of this fact,
for she can now act in a picture that
exactly fits her type and feels that the
winner of the contest is not the only
one who is going to profit, for she will
be able to select a plot that offers every
opportunity for her to portray a char-
acter which is in accord with her own
views.
Many names prominent in the mo-
4 —
tion-picture industry and in the fiction
field have been recognized among the
entries of many thousands of un-
knowns, and it will no doubt interest
those in the latter class who have sent
in stories to know that theirs are being
read just as carefully as would one of
Shakespeare's were he alive to submit.
Eleven actresses of note and nine
actors whose names make money for
exhibitors and producers have mailed
us stories. Almost all of them told us
to conceal their names — unless they
won — for fear that their own companies
would wonder why they had not handed
the plot to their directors. One of them
admitted that her story had been turned
down by her scenario department, and
she was sending it in hopes that it would
be chosen winner so that she could
prove the inefficiency of her editor. An-
other girl wrote in that she was doing
"extra" parts and "bits" for a company
in Los Angeles, and that she had writ-
ten the story because she knew that, if
it won, the publicity that she would
derive would help her greatly. We are
sorry that we cannot help them all out.
Perhaps the most amusing incident
that has occurred during the contest
took place the other day. Bert Adler,
assistant studio manager at the plant
50 Our Scenario Contest — Picking the Winners
where Miss Fuller is working, was in a
happy mood and secured a scenario of a
picture that Miss Fuller played in
nearly a year ago. He sat down and
wrote a synopsis of it and entered it in
the contest — under an assumed name. A
few days later, he went into the judges'
office and rummaged around until
he discovered the script in the return
box — started to laugh — and told the
history of the plot. It had been turned
down, and Miss Fuller had not recog-
nized the plot at all, probably because
of the many pictures she has put on
since. None of the judges could see
much fun in the joke, and Bert, edging
to the door, remarked : "I just wanted
to see how good a story had to be in
order to be accepted — and incidentally
to find out what Miss 'Fuller thought of
her pictures of a year ago. But then
I suppose she could make almost any
plot good by her acting." He went out
smiling, and Joe Brandt's face lit up in
a grin that promised something when
the door had closed. That was on a
Friday evening. On Saturday Bert
Adler dashed into the office all excite-
ment and minus every symptom of fun
and good humor. Joe Brandt proved
to be the object of his coming, and he
stood beside the general manager's chair
waving a little slip of paper in his hand
■ — the little slip was — blue.
"What's the idea — why " Bert
stammered. "Say, who fired me,
anyway ?"
"I did!" Joe answered, without look-
ing up. "For wasting the studio's time
writing synopses for pictures !"
And then he got up, smiled, took the
blue slip from Bert's hand, and tore
it up.
But you who are waiting to hear what
has to be said about the scripts that
they have sent in are not much inter-
ested in the little things that have come
up during the contest that do not bear
directly on the result. Here are the
things you want to know :
The name of the winner, his or her
picture, and the synopsis of the plot
that won the contest will be published
in next month's Picture-Play Maga-
zine. The names, and perhaps the pic-
tures, of all the others whose stories
are purchased because they appeal to
the Universal Company will also be
printed.
By the time the next issue is on the
stands it is expected that the filming of
the winning story will be well under
way. The taking will require about
four weeks ; but, as the picture will be
commenced as soon as the judges have
decided on the best scenario, it will be
shown as a feature at the theaters be-
fore very long. In other words, just
as soon as it is possible the film will be
exhibited throughout the United States
and Canada. If you want to see a good
picture — a picture that has been chosen
for a star by the star herself and that
is considered the best of hundreds of
thousands, see the one that wins our
scenario contest. And get the next
issue.
Oh- — we almost forgot something.
The money. When the decisions have
been made and the judges have set the
number of reels to which the film will
run, a check for forty dollars for each
reel will be sent to — but we can't tell
until next month. And, moreover, a
check for fifty dollars — Picture-Play
Magazine's special prize — will be for-
warded to the same person.
That is only for the winner. Beside
him— or her — those whose scripts
please for production will also be paid
at Universal's regular rates.
Those of you who inclosed postage
in your manuscripts will have your
story back just as soon as we can so
convenience you. If it doesn't arrive,
just drop a line and we'll look for it —
or tell you at what theater you may look
for it — all acted out and made into a
wonderful tale in celluloid.
PIFFLE calls it a mere episode in
his life. But Piffle is a clown ;
his business is to jest. An epi-
sode of this sort — -it lasted for five years
— -would have seared the soul of any
ordinary man ; but Piffle is extraor-
dinary— extraordinary among the merry
makers of the Colossal Consolidated
Circus, and extraordinary in the larger
life outside the "big top," where Fate
is the jester and sensitive men and
women the victims.
The episode began on the opening
night of the Consolidated at Los An-
geles— began with the ecstatic yell, "Oh,
you Piffle !" hurled across the tanbark
by a grinning boy who sat in a box at the
ringside.
Piffle heard the delighted yell and
waved a hand that looked as big as a
ham. Talk about getting close to the
people ! Nobody was ever as close to
the people as Piffle. He took them com-
pletely into his confidence and shot out
many a good-natured rally at the indi-
viduals who made up his vast audiences.
That friendly wave of the hand sent
the boy into fresh explosions of mirth.
A lame boy he was, but he forgot the
crutch that lay beside his chair ; forgot
everything but the tremendous fact that
Piffle had waved to him.
"He's some clown, Jackie!" pro-
nounced the dignified gentleman who
sat in the adjoining chair — his father,
the distinguished Judge Leroy, who
temporarily had forgotten his dignity
and unconsciously descended to the ar-
got of the circus.
The great chariot race was in prog-
ress, but it divided interest with the
frolics of Piffle, who, in the center of the
big ring, was declaiming from a book
labeled conspicuously, "Shakespeare's
Plays" — which he held upside down !
To Jackie, Shakespeare had never
sounded so fascinating ; but the immor-
tal bard of Avon would have shuddered
had he heard the Piffle paraphrase of
Hamlet's soliloquy, for instance, -put
into the lips of a suffragette and begin-
ning:
"To vote or not to vote ; that is the
question."
The Clown
A side glance Jackie gave to the ca-
reening horses, but he was rocking with
laughter as snatches of the revised
"Hamlet" came to his ears. Then he
heard an ominous groaning of timbers ;
there was a crash behind him ; the floor
sagged and swayed ; shouts and screams
made a clamor that was deafening. A
crowded bank of seats had given way,
and the audience was in panic ! Men
and women swarmed over the seats
away from the danger zone, hugging
for the track. The horses were fright-
ened by the tumult; they could not be
stopped. There was only one thing for
Piffle to do. He did it — catapulted him-
self on top of the boy while the mad-
dened animals crashed over him.
There were many injured in the
stands, but the hearts of the multitude
stood still at the horrid thought that
Piffle was dead — Piffle, the beloved of
the children.
But Piffle was not dead — "just a
"It's not the kid we're thinking about; it's good old Piffle."
children to their breasts, moaning, cry-
ing, cursing, and praying. They*
plunged into the boxes. Judge Leroy
interposed his big body between the
frightened people and his son. He was
flung aside, knocked down, and in the
mad scramble for safety Jackie was
hurled over the frail box rail and fell
directly in the path of the flying horses.
A cry of agony came from the boy's
lips. Piffle heard it, and, flinging away
his make-believe Shakespeare, he raced
skinned heel, a smashed elbow, two or
three ribs broken, and a fractured skull ;
otherwise all right," was the pleasant
way he put it when some one asked
him about it later.
Judge Leroy pushed his way through
the crowd that gathered around Jackie
and the clown.
"My boy !" he groaned. "Oh, tell
me S Is he dead ?"
"The kid's all right," some one an-
swered gruffly. "He's yelling for some
The Clown
53
guy to bring him his crutch. It's not
the kid we're thinking about ; it's good
old Piffle."
The circus ambulance corps admin-
istered first aid, but the judge insisted
on taking Piffle to his splendid home.
Here the circus clown had the care of
the best physicians in the city, and
within a fortnight he was moving about,
well on the way to health.
Expressions of regret and sympathy
poured in on Piffle ; they came from
young and old and from all sorts and
conditions of people. But there was
one boy who had no regrets. This was
Jackie Leroy, whose delight at being
under the same roof with the famous
clown knew no bounds. That Piffle
should have risked his life to save a
lame boy was too big a thought for
Jackie to grasp, but he was profoundly
grateful. It was a task for the nurse
to keep him out of Piffle's room, and,
to complicate matters, the child-loving
clown was party to the boy's desire to
''visit." Between the two the nurse had
to capitulate.
Jackie and the circus favorite be-
came excellent friends, and during his
convalescence Piffle and he were seldom
apart.
But Jackie did not have him all to
himself. He had a sister who, Piffle
decided, needed cheering quite as much
as Jackie. Millicent Leroy was nine-
teen, sturdy, well developed, and pretty.
She should have been a tomboy, Piffle
thought, but instead she was reserved,
a bit wistful of face — and the clown
felt it was his duty to chase the wist-
f ulness and conjure a smile to the lovely
lips.
He had some of his "properties" sent
over from the circus, and, with Milli-
cent and Jackie as his audience, he "did
stunts for them."
When he gave them an imitation of
the Russian Charlie Chaplin, Jackie
shrieked with laughter ; but, though
Millicent smiled, there was still a haunt-
ing sadness in her eyes that troubled
the anxious entertainer.
"What's on your mind, Miss Milli-
cent?" he said bluntly to her one day,
adding apologetically : "Though, bein'
a clown, I guess I've got no right to
ask."
"I — I don't understand," she an-
swered. They had the parlor to them-
selves, and Millicent was dreaming over
the piano keys while Piffle sat, propped
up with pillows, in an extension chair.
"Don't stall — I mean don't pretend
you don't know what I mean," he went
on. "I'm some bright little student of
human nature, Miss Millicent — that's
part of my job as circus clown. You've
got something on your mind, as I say.
Come on and tell me about it and let's
laugh it away. I'm not old enough to
be your father, but I'm old enough to
be your older brother, so — come on !"
She shook her head. "It's nothing,
Piffle. You're just thinking things."
"Sure I'm thinkin' things. Now
listen. You remember I jumped in
when Jackie's life was in danger, and
I'm not sayin' I wouldn't do the same
and take a bigger risk if Jackie's sister
was in danger. At any rate, I want to
see that stony look hustled out of your
eyes."
"You're not trying to be funny, Pif-
fle?" There was momentary merriment
in her eyes, and Piffle smiled in concert.
"That's the stuff," he encouraged.
"A little more of that and I'll be as
tickled as a nigger kid in a melon patch.
You know that old one about 'Laugh
and the world laughs with you ?' Now
come on, lay the cards on the table, and
let's give 'em the ha-ha. What's the
trouble ?"
"It's nothing, really, Piffle — that is.
nothing that I could tell you."
"Some day, little girl, you're goin' to
come to me and say: Tm sorry, Piffle.
I didn't take you up on that proposi-
tion.' "
"Some day — perhaps. It's good of
54
The Clown
He gave them an imitation of the Russian Charlie Chaplin.
you, Piffle," she said gratefully. And
then her hands crashed on the keyboard
of the piano, for Jackie had come back
from school, and there could be no fur-
ther confidences even if she had wished
to continue them.
As the days went by, Piffle found his
thoughts more and more occupied with
Millicent. He was beginning to dream
possibilities that were, on the face of
it, impossible. Nigh thirty years he had
lived in the atmosphere of the circus.
Life had been for him nothing but a
jest. Man,, woman, and child, he linked
them together — metaphorically put his
arms around them, bade them smile,
lived to please them without much
thought of himself. And now this wist-
ful-eyed girl had awoke something
within him that he had never known
before. The circus clown was in love
with the daughter of Judge Leroy !
The astonishing realization came to
him one night after the lights had gone
out in the big mansion, and he was sit-"
ting at the open window in his room,
smoking a last pipe in the darkness.
"Piffle, old son," he upbraided him-
self, "this won't do. You got to cut it
out. The soft stuff ain't your line.
You're a clown — get me? Your job's
to be funny, not sentimental. Here
you're lettin' crazy ideas run you off
your feet. This little girl's a hum-
dinger, but she's booked to tie up with
some wealthy guy who's got eddication
and an accent. She's just pleasant and
chatty with you, Piffle, because you did
a movie stunt and saved her kid brother.
Otherwise and apart from that, you're
no more to her than the dust on her
little shoes. Remember that, Piffle — no
more to her than the dust on her little
shoes ! You go back to the big top to-
morrow. S'long, Millicent. Get me?"
His pipe had gone out. He put it
on the table and leaned out over the
The Clown
window sill to draw in a long breath
of the fragrant night air and exhale it
in a sigh.
Overhead, a wisp of moon sailed, its
rays dancing on the tree-lined lake
where Millicent and he and the irre-
pressible Jackie had spent many golden
hours.
As he looked, a deeper shadow ap-
peared on the margin of the lake. It
caught his attention ; he wondered at it
vaguely. Then the shadow moved for-
ward ; he heard a splash ; a faint cry
came to his ears. Stunned for a mo-
ment, he stared into the semigloom ;
then, scrambling through the window
onto the roof of the rear porch, he slid
down the low awning, dropped to the
ground, and raced for the lake.
A moment a white face gleamed
above the water, then it disappeared.
Piffle plunged into the lake. His hand
came in contact with a woman's skirt ;
a woman's unbound hair floated in his
face. He grasped the limp body and
swam wTith it to the beach. There, lay-
ing his burden down, he felt the world
reeling about him. The moonlight fell
on the one face of all others that he
loved.
"Millicent !" he breathed, staring in-
credulously.
He set to work to bring the girl back
to consciousness. His methods of re-
suscitation were rough, but effective.
The wet eyelids opened.
"Why didn't you let me die?" she
moaned.
He put his arms around her and
raised her. "It couldn't be done, Milli-
cent— not if I was around."
"I wish you hadn't interfered, Piffle."
She was crying against his shoulder.
"That's all right, little girl. I'm al-
ways buttin' in. That's my job; it's
what's got the big laugh over and over
again in the big top. This came near
being a tragedy instead of a comedy,
but we come out on the right side, so
Let me carry you back to the
house. Or do you want to tell me
what's the trouble? We're pretty
moist, but there ain't much danger of
catchin' cold, not in 'Los' in the sum-
mertime, eh ? So maybe it'll relieve your
mind to come across with the trouble-
stuff. I'm guessing it's about some gay
buckaroo who's run off and left you —
yes?"
"He's dead, Piffle." Then haltingly
she told him of the coming of a young
clubman — Dick Ordway — into her life.
He made ardent love, and she recipro-
cated. Her father objected. There
were clandestine meetings, plans for
the future. Then came the crash of
Ordway's fortunes. Being young and
vigorous, he went into Death Valley
with a friend who had heard of a great
copper field that awaited the lucky
finder. A dangerous quest, but Dick
was eager for the adventure. He had
hoped to make his fortune, overcome
Judge Leroy's opposition, and live hap-
pily with Millicent ever after.
A newspaper which had come into
Millicent's hands a few hours before
announced the death of the young treas-
ure seekers. The body of Dick's friend,
almost unrecognizable, and a sun-
bleached skeleton near by had been
found by some prospectors, and the
news flashed to Los Angeles.
"We were married in the sight of
God," Millicent insisted tearfully, "al-
though no civil ceremony was per-
formed. When Dick came back we in-
tended to have a wedding that would
be talked about. And now he is dead.
I don't care what happens to me, or
whether my child ever sees the light
of day."
"But I care," said Piffle, after a mo-
ment of silence. He held her close to
him. "I love you, Millicent. I would
never have told you about it. but I've
got to now. Will you marry me, let me
guard you, care for you, shield you
from slander?"
"You are good to me. Piffle." she
56
The Clown
whispered. "I can never love anybody
but Dick; but if you want me, I will
marry you."
So it happened that when Piffle went
back to the circus he took with him a
wife. Millicent and he were married
by a justice of the peace in the pres-
ence of a few circus "pals," and an
imaginative press agent wrote a color-
ful story about it.
Judge Leroy read the colorful story,
and, mortified and wrathful, set out for
the town where the circus was then
"playing."
Millicent tried to appease him, spoke
of Piffle's native worth, brought to her
father's remembrance the clown's hero-
ism when Jackie's life was in danger.
"He is a circus clown — that is the
chief, the only question," said Judge
Leroy. "Either give up this man or I
give you up."
"Oh, daddy, you don't mean that !"
cried Millicent. "Won't you give your
daughter a chance for happiness in her
own way?"
He shook his massive head and
stamped out. The interview was ended.
"It's all right, Milly," said Piffle.
"He feels badly just now, but I'll bet
my pet goose he'll forgive you before
the year's out."
Piffle was right. Before the year was
gone the judge was reconciled. Milly
declared it was the baby who did it —
Dick Ordway's baby, but Piffle grew to
love it as he would have loved his own
child. They had sent the judge a snap-
shot of the boy, and he had come, more
from curiosity, to look at his grand-
child. _ The baby fingers entwined them-
selves about his heart.
"Now I want you and Millicent to be
sensible," he said to Piffle afterward.
"You know very well that the environ-
ment of the circus is not the best in
the w^orld for a child." The clown
flared up at this, but the judge waved
him to silence. "The question isn't ar-
The body of Dick's friend and a sun-bleached skeleton near by had been found by prospectors.
The Clown
57
guable. Let me get you a position in
the city, and you and Millicent can take
your places among the conventional
members of society."
It was a bitter struggle for Piffle to
give up the circus life which he loved,
but for the sake of Millicent and little
Rollo — so named after the great "Rollo,
roy secured him an opening, and by dint
of hard effort he rose to a creditable
position. The years passed swiftly; but
for Piffle they were lost years away
from the tanbark and the magic of the
"big top." There were times when he
wondered if he had not made a mis-
take in marrying Millicent. They were
"Either give up this man or I give you up.
the Strong Man," of circus fame — he
bowed to the judge's will. The younger
member of the family, too, was loath to
leave the tinsel and glitter. The mem-
ories that will live longest with Rollo
cluster around the canvas. He was in
the seventh heaven of delight when
Piffle got him a miniature clown suit
and showed him the mysteries of
make-up ; and, tiring of this, he would
fling the make-up box at Piffle's head
and hold his small sides as the clown
shouted, in mock dismay:
"Pley ! Somebody find the guy this
kid belongs to and tell him I want a
vacation !"
Piffle's knowledge of figures were of
advantage in the bank where Judge Le-
very good friends, but he realized that
he would never be able to gain her love.
He lavished his affection on little Rollo,
and wondered if some day he would
have the heart to tell him that his father,
was a man who adventured into Death
Valley and had perished there.
The problem wTas settled not by Pif-
fle, but by fate. Dick Ordway, re-
ported dead on the desert, was, as a
matter of fact, very much alive. Xot
only that, but he knew that Millicent
and Piffle were man and wife. Escaping
the doom which had been his friend's,
Dick had staggered on, half crazed by
thirst and hunger, and finally fate led
him to the camp of an old desert "rat"
who had come upon a valuable copper
58
The Clown
prospect and who needed capital. Dick,
regaining his full strength, had come to
Los Angeles to round up investors. He
had telephoned to Judge Leroy's home
for news of Millicent. A servant had
answered that the girl was married.
Dick was stunned, and as he stood at
the telephone trying to adjust himself
to these blighting circumstances, the
servant's voice came over the wire :
"Who shall I say inquired?"
And Dick answered bitterly: "Just
— a friend."
Dick had sincerely loved the girl —
so sincerely that he would do nothing
to interfere with her new-found happi-
ness.
"Keep it quiet that I am alive," he
said to a wealthy friend whom he had
tried to interest in the copper "find,"
"The girl I hoped to marry believes I
am dead and has consoled herself with
another fellow. I don't want her to
suffer torture, which she'd most surely
do if she knew I wTas still aboveground.
I want her to have all the happiness she
can find. She is the best woman in the
world, and she deserves the best that
Heaven can give her. So keep it dark
that I'm here in the flesh."
He plunged into finance, using an as-
sumed name ; promoted a company, and
presently found himself a wealthy man.
Some four years afterward, Fate
again took a hand in the lives of the
lovers. Piffle's home was in the sub-
urbs ; a cottage on a palm-lined avenue
— Judge Leroy's wedding present.
Business brought Dick to the neighbor-
hood one spring afternoon. Over an
hour he had talked with a gouty and
irascible capitalist, and finally emerg-
ing, with a sigh of relief, into the fail-
ing sunshine, he wandered down the
palm-lined avenue, unconscious of the
fact that Judge Leroy's daughter lived
there.
As he passed, Millicent saw him. She
was out on the lawn, leaning listlessly
on a sundial and thinking long, long
thoughts, when the tall, straight figure
came into view.
"Dick !" she gasped, her hands at her
breast.
He turned swiftly. "Millicent!" The
loved name leaped from his lips. He
moved toward her, then he stiffened,
and, raising his hat, would have passed
on and out of her life, but' she held out
a trembling hand, and he grasped it as
a drowning man grasps a straw.
Piffle bought a bunch of violets on
the way to the train. Milly was fond
of flowers, and he could see her wist-
ful smile as he gave them to her. It
seemed to him that her smiles came
even more seldom than in the old days.
Rollo had to do most of the smiling for
the family. He expected to find the
little chap waiting for him at the sub-
urban station, perhaps even Millicent.
Neither of them was to be seen. More,
when he reached his cottage there was
no face at the window, no whoop from
the lips of a joyous youngster.
He stepped down the path, pushed
open the door — the sound of voices
stayed him. Millicent had a caller. He
started up the stairs, intending to make
himself presentable. A part of the con-
versation floated to him, and he stood
stock-still ; his hands opened and shut
convulsively ; the little bunch of violets
fell, unheeded, to the floor.
"So you see, Dick," his wife was say-
ing, "it's better as it is. Piffle has been
awfully good to me. I could not leave
him. But, oh, Dick, if I had only
known you did not die on the desert I
would have waited, I would have borne
any disgrace."
"I know, I know, little girl," he said.
"Before God we pledged our love, and
it was only the thought of that love that
nerved me to go through that hell in
Death Valley. When I heard you had
married I bore the blow as I have borne
other hard blows. Your happiness was
my chief thought. I kept away from
The Clown
59
you. If I had known you lived here,
I would never have come; but you saw
me as I passed, saw me and called to
me. We have spoken again, we have
clasped hands. You have let me see my
son — and for that I am grateful; I will
think of it often. Now good-by. I
will leave the West and try to forget —
a task, dear, that I'm afraid I'll never
accomplish "
The door opened, and Piffle, the old
smile in his eyes, entered.
"You're Dick Ordwav, I saiess.
"Oh-
■" she began. But he stole
the words from her.
"Oh, piffle !" he said, choking back a
sob and breaking into a forced laugh.
But he pressed her close to him and
kissed the lips she raised to him. "You
won't mind a last kiss, Dick. Say
good-by for me to Rollo. In the nurs-
ery, he is? Well, don't call him. I
guess we'd both break clown, the kid
and me, in a final scene."
Piffle, back in the ring, is once more
the laughter-provoking clown. If deep
Dick staggered on, half-crazed by thirst and hunger.
Shake! I overheard part of your talk,
and I'm glad to know you. You're a
real man." He stuck out his hand, and
it closed around Dick's fingers with a
firm pressure. "Ordway, I'm a misfit
here. Milly and I are the best friends
in the world, but she has always loved
you, and always will. You and Milly
fix it up and let me drift back to the
canvas, where I belong."
Millicent ran to him, flung her arms
about his neck.
in his heart there is sadness and regret,
he keeps a smiling face and makes the
world smile with him.
"Don't you ever get lonely, Pif?"
a saucy bareback rider asked him.
"W'ouldn't it be nice to have a wife and
three or four kiddies toddling round?''
For a moment the tears welled up in
his eyes. Then :
"Lonely !" he laughed. "Me lonely ?
Why, all the kids in the world belong
to me !
A winsome maid she is, and sweet,
0 Molly Moran McGee!
Her hair the hue of autumn wheat,
As small as pixies own, her feet,
Daintily down the village street
Trips Molly Moran McGee.
She hears a rumble on the track,
She gazes wild-eyed at the
rail,
It is old Thirty-Two— alack!
She stops, her face is deathly
pale;
(I mean the maiden, not the
train,
A train could not turn pale, you
know)
Her duty in the case is plain,
Her's not to question — quid pro
quo.
Her petticoat, of course, is red,
(They always are to suit the
screen)
For although petticoats are said
To be de trop this year, I ween
This story would not be com-
plete
Without it, so I must assert —
(Although I know it is not meet
To mention Molly's under-
skirt)—
The petticoat is in this plot,
You know the reason, do you
not?
You're right! She whips it off and
stands
Right in the center of the track,
A lonely figure that commands
The flying train to halt — Clack,
clack!
The Thirty-Two is speeding fast,
Oh, will she stop? Oh, will she
stop?
Nearer and nearer! Ahoy! Avast!
(Those are not railroad terms,
old top,
They're owned by stories maritime,
But they are needed for the rhyme.)
At last they see her, Thirty-Two
Stops with her noisy brake's
alarms,
Sweet Molly faints, as maidens do
In pictures, in the train crew's
arms.
They bring her to; she tells her tale:
The track is gone, the Ninety-
Three,
The lightning bearer of the mail,
Had just torn up the track, you see.
They handed her her petticoat,
And went away to catch their goat.
HELP! HELP!
ONE half of an actress makes the
actress.
Queer mathematics, but that
is one way in which you can sum up
Myrtle Stedman, the popular Morosco
star who tries unsuccessfully to -divide
her playing hours equally between the
camera and golf. The camera gets the
better end. It sounds puzzling at first,
but it is really very simply and equally
true.
Myrtle is an actress — no one will
deny that. Well, those who see her
act on the screen see only half of the
histrionic talents of Myrtle Stedman.
The other half is a little secret that can
only be enjoyed by her friends and any
one who succeeds in sneaking up behind
her when she is happy, and listening
to her — yes, listening to her — sing. Her
voice ; that's the other half. Before she
came to the screen it was the means of
her livelihood — together with her act-
ing ability ; and naturally, when Myrtle
left the footlights for the camera, she
was forced to abandon the vocal end.
That left only half of the original Myr-
tle Stedman, who had already earned
an enviable reputation, to be enjoyed
by the picture public. But still we have
a star, a real actress ; so is proven the
first statement of this article.
Right here is the proper point for
you who read this to throw up your
hands and call for help. We will let
Miss Stedman — or Myrtle, as you
please to call her, for she emphasizes
the fact that you are all her friends
and have a right to call her as you like
best — come to your aid and tell you the
little story that we have beautifully
mixed up above, as she told it to us in
the studio with interruptions of acting.
"I started when I was twelve" — Miss
Stedman talking, please — "with Fred
Whitney's opera company by doing a
solo dance and singing in the chorus,
in Chicago. The manager took my
mother aside one day, and in about
three minutes had formed my whole
future. All that he told, her was that
I had a voice which could be cultivated,
and that the proper thing to do would
be to have me take vocal lessons.
Myrtle Stedman — Her Unknown Side
63
"Mother acted on the suggestion, and,
although I went into vaudeville with
my dancing act for two years afterward,
there were but a few of my spare mo-
ments that I did not spend annoying
both the people about me and myself
with vocal flights
up and down the
scale. Then, after
the vaudeville en-
gagement was com-
pleted, my folks
moved to Colorado
— to a little log
cabin nearly eleven
thousand feet
above sea level,
where father could
supervise the work
over his mining
land there. It
seemed a long, long
way from civiliza-
tion to me after my
stage life, but soon
I found that it
wasn't quite so bad,
after all, for there
not so very far away
ensuing three years,
Myrtle Stedman as she
stage for th
was Canon City
where, for the
I made regular
me
trips to a vocal teacher who helped
wonderfully with my voice. In the
evenings I spent most of the time
after supper playing on the
baby-grand piano that occu-
pied about half the space in
one of the rooms.
"Then, at Canon City, there was a
penitentiary where I sang every Sun-
day morning to the poor .men in stripes
who were there for punishment — and
who did not dare to make any remark,
even complimentary, about my efforts.
"At length, when
I could not keep
away from the
boards any longer,
I returned to Chi-
cago, and was for-
tunate enough to
secure a position
immediately sing-
ing in light opera,
again under the
management o f
Mr. Whitney. Sev-
eral seasons I spent
with this company
and others, playing
at one time the
part of Siebel in
'Faust' for the
Castle Square Op-
era Company, and
Fra Diavalo.'
"And then the pictures came into
prominence. At first I held them some-
what in contempt, but finally was in-
duced to join the Selig Company. Thac
was when I lost half
of my talent — so
far as the public
is concerned — in
appeared when on the
e first time.
again Zerlina in
Golf and Myrtle are great friends — and the car is chaperon.
64
Myrtle Stedman— Her Unknown Side
•ector
a suggestion or has he just patted
Myrtle on the shoulder?
Choose for yourself.
But I keep it up at home, and when
I make a good drive on the golf links,
I sing — and sometimes I find solace sim-
ilarly when I make a bad one."
It was at this point in her conversa-
tion that Myrtle Stedman was called
away by Frank Lloyd, her director, but
he let her remain long enough to leave
but little for me to say.
Myrtle and golf — in fact everything
in the open air — are great friends. She
will drive her car to the links and then
become so engrossed in the game that
she almost forgets to go back for the
car when it is over
Myrtle might be a gardener if she didn't act.
As I walked out of the studio, I
stopped at the set where she was taking
a moment's rest, and had a word of
farewell with her between "takes."
"Thanks very much for the pleasant
afternoon," I said. "It is really too bad
that you have to drop one art for an-
other,"
"I don't know how bad it might be,"
Myrtle jocularly replied, "for the peo-
ple who would have to listen to me on
the stage. I can't help remembering
the poor prisoners at Canon City."
And she smiled and went away —
THE WAITING LIST
|F every picture heroine
With long, enticing curls,
Should really love each hero, then
They'd all be "extra" girls.
Arthur Gavin, Jr.
5
The house on the Walthall plantation, Selma, Alabama, where the greatest emotional actor
of the screen was born March 16, 1878.
HENRY B. WALTHALL, that
paragon of screen actors, made
his first appearance on the
stage in the little schoolhouse at Wil-
sonville, Shelby County, Alabama, when
he played the lead in "A Barrel of
Monkeys." Henry was the barrel, the
staves, the hoops, the bottom, the top,
and the whole barrel — filled with mon-
keys. The writer, who was a boyhood
chum of this charming actor, remem-
bers only one thing about that play —
the acting of Henry Walthall. Not
another character does he remember,
not another name of a person who took
part in the play can he recall.
Henry Walthall's power to entertain
was manifest at the age of four. There
was a protracted meeting in progress
at the village church, and the minister
was drawing large congregations. One
morning when the church was over-
flowing with people, the minister hesi-
tated in his discourse to level his eyes
on a group of church members who,
seated near a window, were greatly in-
terested in something on the outside.
In a few minutes he was astonished at
seeing one after another of his congre-
gation quietly leaving the building, and,
thinking this a strange procedure, he
stepped down from the pulpit to in-
vestigate the cause of the disturbance.
Outside he found a large portion of the
congregation crowded around little
Henry Walthall, who was perched on
top of a soap box reciting poems that
his mother had taught him. It was not
the words of the poems that attracted
and held the people, but the manner in
which they were spoken by the grace-
ful, chubby- faced, curly-headed, brown-
eyed little boy.
Henry Walthall's father was a na-
tive of Virginia. He served as captain
in the Confederate army, and later in
84 The Early Days of Henry B. Walthall
life was a well-known character in Ala-
bama politics, being at one time sheriff
of Shelby County. Captain Walthall
was of the old school of chivalric
Southern gentlemen, a commanding fig-
ure, tall and erect, with genteel man-
ners and a gift of perfect speech. He
was a well-educated man,
being fond of good books,
English and American
classics, and the best lit-
erature of the day. Shake-
speare and Edgar Allan
Poe were his favorite au-
thors. It is said that the
genial captain could
quote from memory
many long passages A
from the works of }■
these great authors.
At an early age
Henry became in-
terested in the
works of Poe. "The
Raven" is his fa-
vorite poem, which
he always recited at
entertainments, and
when he
was called
upon by
his mother
to recite
for c o m -
pany.
If hered-
i t y has
anything to
do with the
posses-
sion of talent, one may attribute Henry
Walthall's success, in a measure, to an
inheritance from his mother, who was
known by a large circle of friends as
a great mimic Mrs. Walthall was a de-
vout church member. She objected to
Henry's going on the stage, because in
those days most churchmen in the rural
districts looked upon the stage as one
of Satan's workshops. For this reason
Henry B. Walthall at the age of four.
Henry did not enter upon his chosen
profession until after the death of his
mother.
As the artistic strain is discernible
in both branches of Henry Walthall's
family tree, one does not wonder at
the propensity of the progeny.
Henry Walthall could have no
more easily remained off the stage
than Napoleon could have refused
the throne of France. He was born
an actor. An Infinite Power foresaw
the days of the moving picture and
created Henry Walthall to be one of
the brightest stars in the
galaxy of moving-picture
/ \ artists. It was not until
moving pictures became
works of art, demanding
le talent of artistic actors,
that he was elevated
f r o m a 'successful
peaking stage career
to the rank
of a celeb-
rity.
Captain
Walthall first
endeav-
ored to
make a sci-
e n t i f i c
farmer out
of his tem-
peramental
son, then a
lawyer ; but
he soon
r e a 1 i zed
that the
boy's talents were of a different nature.
Neither farming nor law appealed to
Henry. On the contrary, they were re-
pulsive to him. He seemed to be like
a peculiar piece of a puzzle that would
not fit in any place. When Henry was
sent to the field to look after the farm
hands, his father would often find him
sitting in the shade under a tree, reading
Poe's stories and poems, while the negro
The Early Days of Henry B. Walthall 85
The old oakon bucket ; \ place. No, the boy
on the Walthall ^mh is not Henry.
laborers were in another shady spot en-
joying a feast of luscious watermelon.
On one occasion Henry's father sent
him to the village to sell a bale of cot-
ton. The merchant agreed to pay
eleven and three-quarter cents per
pound for the cotton, which weighed
five hundred and forty-nine pounds,
and, being busy with a customer, told
Henry to make the calculation. Henry
made a vast array of
figures on pieces of
wrapping paper
without being satis-
fied with the result,
and was about
ready to give it up
when he saw his
cousin, Wales Wal-
lace, walk into the
store. "Come here,
Wales," he said,
"and help me. I've
used nearly all the
wrapping paper on
the roll, and my fig-
ures now show that
Mr. Smith owes me
five dollars. In another minute I shall
be in debt to the merchant."
On another occasion, when Henry
was about ten years of age, he received
a hickory tanning from the hands of
his father, for staging a Wild West
show in the pigpen. Henry was wear-
ing an Indian suit, with a headpiece
made of feathers which he had plucked
from a rooster's tail, and his face and
hands were stained a brilliant red with
the juice of pokeberries. The hogs
represented the palefaces. Henry was
brandishing a hatchet and flourishing a
kitchen knife while yelling in imitation
of an Indian warrior. Captain Walt-
hall heard the pigs squealing and
reached the pen just in time to prevent
a second scalping, as Henry had al-
ready cut a tuft of hair and skin from
the head of one of the pigs, which was
dangling from his belt.
Henry was sent- to Howard College,
at Birmingham, but the life of a stu-
dent was too methodical for the roman-
tic nature of Henry Walthall, and he
returned home, to be taught by Mrs.
Kate Wallace, an aunt, who is a most
intelligent and highly educated woman.
There was never a serious love affair
in this clever actor's life before he be-
came known as a professional, but he
The schoolhouse in Selma where the embryo star made his first
public appearance.
86 The Early Days of
Henry B. Walthall
has always been a great ladies' man.
There was a young man in the village,
a splendid young fellow, who was
studying for the ministry. One night
this young theological student was the
beau of two young ladies whom he
escorted to a party at Major Wallace's
home. Major Wallace was Henry's
uncle, and, of course, Henry would be
at the party. The young ladies were
perplexed as to what topic of conver-
sation would be interesting to their es-
cort, and after floundering around with
a number of subjects in which he did
not appear to be interested, they began
talking about Henry Walthall — what
genteel manners he had and what a
brilliant conversationalist he was.
"He has the sweetest smile," ex-
claimed one of the girls.
"And one simply cannot resist the
love twinkles in his eyes," added the
other.
Having made a start, they conversed
about nothing but the handsome young
Walthall all the way to
the party. Their escort
was too well bred to ap-
pear bored or to make
sarcastic remarks, and
joined in the conversa-
tion the best he could.
Upon arriving at Major
Wallace's home, the
young man escorted the
ladies into the parlor,
and while the hum of
conversation had ceased
for a
the new
a r r i v als,
he called
to Henry
Walt-
hall, and
in tones
that be-
t r a y e d
f e 1 i c i ty
said :
He seemed to be like a peculiar piece of a puzzle that would not
fit in any place.
"Ladies, permit me to present the
subject of your conversation this eve-
ning. I trust that you will enjoy bask-
ing in the sunlight of Mr. Walthall's
smiles, and that the love twinkles in
his eyes will be just as irresistible this
evening as you have always found them.
I " But the girls had beat a hasty
retreat with their hands to their faces ;
not to stay, however, as Henry soon
had the music going, and before any
one was aware of it he and his Cousin
Wales were dancing in the hallway
with the two girls, while the student
of theology sat in the room, conversing
with some of the other guests.
Henry was always the star in every
amateur theatrical performance staged
by the young people of the village, and
it was always Henry's acting that
pleased and thrilled the audiences. At
a time in his career, when he was
spoken of as a brilliant amateur, he
electrified a number ' of audiences in
Shelby and the adjoining counties with
his impersonation of Shy-
lock in "The Merchant of
Venice."
Swimming and horse-
back riding come as natu-
ral to Henry Walthall as
does acting. There is a
creek flowing through the
Walthall plantation in
which are numerous deep
holes where Henry swam
and romped with the
farmer boys of the neigh-
borhood. This screen star
has ex-
pe rienced
the un-
happy
feelings of
the boy
who comes
from the
s w i m -
ming hole
and finds
The Early Days of Henry B. Walthall 87
The main street in Selma when Henry was a boy.
his shirt sleeve wet and tied in a hard
knot, and he has spent many an hour
on the sand bank of the creek waiting
for that familiar, wonderful hair to dry
so mother would not reprimand him
for going in swimming too often.
Henry learned to ride when a very
small boy, and was never happier than
when galloping over the farm or rid-
ing to the village. This energetic youth
cared not for equestrian quality if the
animal traveled with vim. He was just
as happy when riding one of the old
carriage horses or a mule from the
field as he was when astride of his
father's favorite high-spirited saddle
horse. Does not his skillful riding in
"The Birth of a Nation" show the
effects of early training and instinctive
adaptability ?
When a very young boy, Henry de-
veloped a fondness for music. His
cousin, Miss Rosa Wallace, who is a
splendid musician, taught him vocal
music, which has been of great use to
him in a commercial way, as well as
being a valuable social asset. Henry's
rich baritone voice is one of the fac-
tors that led to his success on the stage.
He learned to play the mandolin when
a young man, being the leader of a
little group of musicians who, with
mandolins, guitars, French harps, and
horseshoes for triangles, often sere-
naded the young ladies of the village.
The program always included a selec-
tion of plantation melodies and ended
with "Home, Sweet Home," after which
one would hear the clapping of hands
inside the room, and quite often a win-
dow would be raised several inches,
while a fair hand silently placed a
waiter of fruits and cake on the window
sill and quickly lowered the sash.
When Henry was a baby, Captain
Walthall purchased the Mallory place,
which adjoined his farm, and moved
into the old Mallory home — a stately
building of the true antebellum type.
Part of the old Walthall home was
afterward torn away, and it was con-
verted into a tenant house.
The writer recently had the pleasure
of driving over the Walthall plantation,
which is still the property of the Walt-
hall children. The old home where
Henry was born has been a tenant
house for a number of years. One can
hardly imagine this antique building to
be the birthplace of one of the greatest
moving-picture actors in the world.
The old fields are now grown up in
88 The Early Days of
Henry B. Walthall
His favorite authors are Poe and Shakespeare. To-day he is called the "Poe of the screen."
sedge grass, and new fields are being
tilled where large trees grew when
Henry was a boy. In the yard near
the old home is a deep well of pure,
freestone water that needs no ice to
make it cool.
It was in the snow-white cotton fields
and in the fertile valleys where the
luxuriant corn grew that Henry B.
Walthall spent the days of his youth.
The songs and dances of the picka-
ninnies while they cheerfully went
about their work, the whistling of boh-
white in the meadows, the cacophonous
notes of the locust, the humming of
the bees, the chirrup of the cricket, the
musical notes of many Southern wild
birds — all were sweet music to the soul
of Henry Walthall.
Two miles from the Walthall home-
stead, which formerly belonged to the
Mallorys, is the old Wallace home, a
large, two-story structure of the before-
the-war Southern type. The Wallaces
and the Walthalls were closely related.
The large number of congenial boys and
girls in each family delighted in enter-
taining. Big dinners were prepared by
negro cooks and served in elegant style
by young negroes. Both sets of the
young people were musicians and splen-
did dancers, so it made no difference
whether there were visitors present or
not. These people always enjoyed
themselves. They were not selfish, by
any means, but were marvelously hos-
pitable. Hardly an evening passed but
that a crowd of young people would
gather at the Wallaces' or the Walt-
halls' to have a good time. Such was
the atmosphere in which Henry Walt-
hall was reared.
Always congenial, happy, smiling,
singing, or wmistling, Henry Walthall
never had an enemy. Everybody was
fond of the handsome young man. But
he was not one of the village in nature
or temperament. He was foreordained
to portray the emotions of human na-
ture for the entertainment of the na-
tion. The villagers moved along in
grooves and circles, as such people do.
The Early Days of Henry B. Walthall 89
The sons of merchants became propri-
etors of their fathers' stores. The sons
of farmers became farmers. The
young men married the daughters of
their father's competitors. But the lit-
tle fellow who was a misfit in the
make-up of the village silently folded
his tent and stole away.
The schoolhouse where Henry Wal-
thall learned to read and write is the
same little schoolhouse ; but the faces in '
it are new. The desks are carved with
initials of boys and girls, as they were
when Henry was a boy, but the initials
are not the same. One day when Henry
carved on his desk the initials, H. B.
W. — A. T. G., his playmates became
curious to know who his new sweet-
heart was, for the initials, A. T. G.,
did not belong to any girl in school.
When pressed for a reply, Henry smiled
and told them that A. T. G. meant "all
the girls."
Thousands have marveled at Walt-
hall, but to this writer Henry B. Walt-
hall does not seem to be acting. His
manners, smiles, and facial expressions
are natural. Those who knew him
when a boy can almost hear him say :
"Now, fellows, watch me. This is how
Ben Cameron looked." Or : "This is
an impersonation of Edgar Allan Poe."
And : "What I am going to do now
will show you the strange thoughts that
were in Poe's mind."
Acting? No. Henry Walthall does
not act. He is as true to the character
he represents as a photographic plate is
to the scene whose impression is upon
it. It is not acting with Henry Wal-
thall. It is life — the reincarnation of
every character he represents.
'JULY SNOWBALLS"
The scenario for one of the coming Selig features called for several scenes in Alaska. In film-
dom, as every one knows, Alaska is any place where they have snow on the ground. A suitable
setting was finally discovered above the snow line on a high mountain, and the company was
forthwith bundled in furs and overcoats, and shipped to the scene. At midday, however, the sum-
mer sun became so warm that the coats were unnecessary, and then Bessie Eyton, the heroine of
the picture, had an idea. "Any red lemonade, Mr. Campbell," she inquired. "No," replied the
director, "only hokey pokey. What flavor, please?" Miss Eyton is seen meeklv eating a snowball
out of Colin Campbell's hand, and the gentleman in the high hat is Tom Santschi.
William S.
Hart, Trian-
gle-Kay Bee,
left the legiti-
mate stage to
play Western
parts in a
a(3efot~e the
more accurate " 1
manner than he thought they were being portrayed.
Theda Bara, Fox star, started upon a stage career
in Paris, in 1908. Her mother, who was also an
actress, obtained an engagement for her through her
friend, Jane Hading, in this famous actress' own com-
pany. She was first cast for a vampire part in the
Grand Guignol Company ; and when she received a
handsome offer from William Fox while she was
leading lady at the Theater Antoine, she left Paris,
and has played for the screen ever since.
Herbert Rawlixsox, Universal, first played in the
opera house at Toronto, Canada, for the sum of six
dollars a week. When he left the company for a
long succession of engagements, he was the highest-
paid man at the opera house. He then undertook to
manage several successful road shows, entered film-
dom via Selig Company in 191 1, and later went to
Universal. Among the best known of his screen tri-
umphs is his work as star in "Damon and Pythias."
Doris Grey, Thanhouser, is just getting. her start
in the theatrical world ; but it is a big start, at the
outset of her career. Edwin Thanhouser offered a
prize to the prettiest girl at the Boston exhibitors'
movie ball, and after a host of aspirants had presented
themselves for inspection, Doris was selected as win-
ner of the contest. She was immediately given lead-
ing roles in picture plays produced by Thanhouser.
Her first appearance was in "What Doris Did.''
William Clifford, Centaur, began in the theatri-
cal business at the age of eighteen. His first engage-
ment was with Robert B. Mantell and Mildred Hol-
land. The part he had was most strenuous, as he
was called upon to be a silent messenger in the first
act, and to carry a spear in the third. He entered
upon his moving-picture career in 19 10 with Gaston
Melies, and has since been playing roles that tower,
each like a Colossus, over his initial one.
Telling Whaf
popular players
did prior fo be-
-coming screen
Grace Cu-
nard, Univer-
sal star, when
v e r v young,
begged for a
stage life un-
til her mother
took her to a
manager who gave her the title part in "Dora Thorne."
Tom Chatterton, American, started his stage
career at the age of fourteen in his home town,
Geneva, New York. He got the stage fever, and,
together with several of his schoolmates, lined up a
theater in an old barn. Chatterton wrote all the plays
they produced, and starred in them. Later, he left
school, and took a position as general utility man with
one of the Shubert stock companies at Syracuse, Xew
York. His first film engagement was with N. Y. M. P.
Francis Nelson, World Film star, made her stage
debut in Lew Fields' company, "The Wife Hunters."
She always had a desire to go on the stage, and,
after graduating from high school at St. Paul, Min-
nesota, she came to Xew York, seeking an engage-
ment. When she had made good with the Fields
production, she played in stock for several seasons, as
well as leads with Tom Wise. She has been featured
in many big productions since.
Roscoe Arbuckle, Keystone's Fatty, started in the
showT business as a subject for a hypnotist, and became
so interested in the theatrical game that he decided
it was the only one for him. Soon afterward he
obtained an engagement singing illustrated songs, and
a little later he put on a clowning act. He started
with Keystone as an extra man, and in a remarkably
short time was playing leads. He not only continues
to play these parts, but directs his pictures, as well.
Eugenie Besserer, Selig character woman, started
her stage career as a professional fencer, in an act
that was most original. She has always been an ex-
pert with the foils, and at one time had the distinc-
tion of being the champion lady fencer of the United
States. This led to an offer to appear on the stage ;
and, after much deliberation, she accepted. She has
since played with Xance O'Xeil and Wilton Lackaye,
and joined the Selig Company in 19 10.
DEAREST FRANCIS: Why
don't you smoke cigarettes? In
every one of the pictures I have
seen of you, I never yet saw you smok-
ing anything but a cigar. Maybe you
wonder why I ask. The reason is just
this : I love you with all my heart,
and every time I sit down at my bench
where I work in a cigarette factory, I
say to myself, "Oh, I wonder how
many of this lot will reach him." Then
I sigh and try to be content with the
thought that some day I may get a job
in a cigar factory, and do nothing from
morning till night but make cigars just
for your use. Francis, I love you so !
It pains me more than I ever can tell
to know that I am doing nothing for
you, not even making cigarettes that
there is some chance you will use.
When I'm working in the factory,
I'm dreaming of you 'most all day long.
I get up in the morning, and, gee ! I
ain't able to do a thing until I have
picked up your photograph from the
rickety dresser in my little room and
looked into them adorable eyes of yours
and returned the smile you seem to be
giving me and tenderly kissed the paste-
board lips. And then, when I get to
work, a picture of you is in my mind's
eye every minute. Never do I miss see-
ing you on the screen. I would think
I had done something terrible if I
passed up the chance to admire some
of your wonderful acting. You are al-
ways just the loveliest, noblest man in
the world, and I don't see how any-
body watching you act could think oth-
erwise.
One or two of my girl friends at the
factory told me it was far more man-
nish to smoke cigars than cigarettes,
and that I would be foolish if I men-
tioned it when I wrote to you; but I
always reply to them that they do not
know what kind of smoking things
please men most, and that the only way
is to let a man decide for himself what
he likes to smoke best. I often see fel-
lows smoking cigarettes in pictures with
you, Francis. Don't you think you
could go to one of them and get him to
teach you to do it, too? I do so much
want to know I am helping, if only a
little, to please you. They say I make
fine cigarettes, and I'm fearfully afraid
it will be a long time before I can locate
a place where I can make cigars. So
if I knew you were smoking cigarettes,
and our particular brand, it would give
me happiness beyond words to roll each
one a little more deftly, and to give
them all an extra pat — ever so gently
— for you !
I know you will not mind it because
I call you by your first name. The hum
of the factory machinery, the rattle of
the tissue paper, the noise of the pack-
ers slamming boxes together, the racket
Love Letters of a Movie Idol 93
of the workmen's tools, all seem to echo
the name — Francis — from my heart as
I sit through the long, weary days at
my work.
I am just dying to hear from you.
Won't you please write? Believe me,
always most devotedly yours,
Lily .
My Dear Miss Lillian : Permit
me to acknowledge the tribute you pay
my acting, and to compliment you on
your broad-minded viewpoint concern-
ing a man's taste in smoking. You are
entirely right when you say that a man
should be privileged to choose what he
likes best — if it is necessary for him to
smoke at all. It frequently causes me
great concern that so much smoking is
done ; but when the habit is once begun,
it is one of the hardest to break.
Cigars have always been my prefer-
ence, because they are cleaner and less
detrimental to a person's health than
the other things. I am quite sure it is
most unlikely that I shall ever take to
the use of cigarettes ; so that I fear your
endeavors are misplaced.
In closing, let me caution you against
the folly of entertaining the thought of
leaving your apparently good position,
where you are successful, to undertake
a new and seemingly uncertain occupa-
tion. Sincerely,
Francis X. Bushman.
Mister Bushman: I want to tell
you I've only been away from Ireland
about a year. I come from Belfast
way; my brother and I took ship soon
after the war broke out. He's working
on the docks, and I'm serving with a
well-to-do family as chambermaid. We
came to America to seek our fortune,
and while we haven't found it as yet,
sure we've managed to live, and that's
more than some of our kin folk in old
Ireland have done.
You'll be wanting to know my pre-
sumption in writing to you. I was
a-coming to that, Mister Bushman. Up
Belfast way, it was my habit to fre-
quent the picture halls, the same as they
are pleased to call picture-play theaters
in America ; and once in a while I would
see you in a picture, my boy. Fancy
that, in far-off Ireland ! Yet I suppose
your divine face and form goes trav-
eling all over the earth, eh? Sure, and
I wouldn't mind the idea of being a film
myself ; it must be jolly good sport, I
haven't a doubt. Well, sir, since I and
my brother landed on these hospitable
shores, we are regular attendants at the
picture palaces — I mean the theaters —
and we have seen you, Mister Bushman,
many, many times.
I am anxious to change my occupa-
tion, and I thought you probably could
help me. Do you think I might pose
for the pictures ? I'm not a bad looker,
they say, for a fresh Irish lass, and my
friends up Belfast way said I was a fair
mimic and a clever dancer for a young
one. ■ .
But, lordy me, sure and I'm talking
about myself all the time and never a
word about my liking you in the pic-
tures. Ah, Mister Bushman, you are
grand ! I like you the best of all my
picture heroes. You are so fresh and
sweet, just like a young lass in a field
of clover ! So boyish, supple, and grace-
ful, yet with such manly poise and
strength. Ah, and it is no wonder that
you are the idol of the screen !
You're a grand character and a grand
actor, and no mistake! I'm proud of
you. I'd love to meet you and gaze at
you and clasp your hand. There's many
a lass would be proud to have you be-
stow upon her your name and fame,
indeed and she would. Mister Bushman.
But such is not for the likes o' me,
sakes alive ! My fate is to be a house-
maid and grow wrinkled and bent with
service, unless some lad takes pity on
me and asks me to marry him. Well,
arid I'm not an ignorant lass, either ;
father sent me to convent school near
94
Love Letters of a Movie Idol
Dublin, and the sisters are good teach-
ers. At any rate, Mister Bushman, they
teach a girl sense, which many a highly
educated lass lacks, to be sure.
And now I will take up no more of
your time, for I know you're busy and
successful and famous and all that, and
why should you waste a spell on a poor
immigrant serving maid? Ah, me, ah
me, 'tis a hard, cruel world, it is ! The
mistress is calling me, and sure my time
is up. Heaven bless you, Mister Bush-
man, and I hope you may write me a
line or two. A heart full of good wishes
for you from your true Irish friend,
Kate .
My Dear Miss Kate: I enjoyed
your letter exceedingly. It was like a
sprig of shamrock fresh from the Em-
erald Isle. I can picture to myself just
the sort of girl you are, and I fancy
your brother must be rather fond of
such a clever sister.
I am sorry to say there is little or no
opportunity for you to act before the
camera at our studios. Even though
you had the necessary experience, it
would probably be some time before
you would be offered a minor part by
one of the directors. I can hold out no
encouragement for you and the hun-
dreds of other inexperienced girls and
young men who are constantly writing
me for positions. I would advise you
to remain in your present position until
some more favorable opportunity pre-
sents itself right there in your city. If,
as you write, your good convent sisters
taught you sense, you will, I am sure,
on second thought, see the advisability
of staying where you are and working
out your own destiny.
Many thanks for your words of kind-
ness and appreciation and for your good
wishes, and believe me to be, sincerely,
Francis X. Bushman.
The verses which follow were re-
ceived by Mr. Bushman from an un-
known person, presumably a woman,
who believes in the transmigration of
souls. The only clew to her identity
consisted of the return address written
on the back of the envelope in which
these stanzas were inclosed. No letter
accompanied them, and there was no
signature; but the handwriting of the
manuscript is evidently feminine — that
of a woman of culture. — The Editor.
Ah, Leander, I knew thee in the years far
gone,
When thou didst breast the Hellespontine
stream ;
I saw thee in the bold, Caesarian days
As young Augustus, imperious in thy beauty ;
As Cromwell I found thee leading Britain's
host ;
As Robespierre, beneath Bastillian walls ;
I heard thee sing with Shelley's magic voice ;
I heard thee, Mozart, play upon the lute,
And send thy spell to ears of all mankind.
And now I see thee in thy latter guise,
A young Lothario of the silent mask,
Thy features unchanged from olden time,
Thy figure such as I was wont to know
And love in the brave Leander,
Swimming strong and far to his lady fair,
Or in the poet roaming English fields,
Warbling to nature's sympathetic heart
Those deathless songs of spiritual grace.
I see thee often in thy ghostly guise,
Hearing not thy voice as oft I did ;
But I do not know thee. Thy modern name
And manner doth not deceive mine eyes :
Thou art the noble Augustus still,
Thou art mine Oliver, Puritan stern,
Thou art the idol of the French Commune.
I know thee as I've ever known thee,
For, spirit mine, I've never lost thee.
Destined are we, both thou and I,
To wander onward, but to never meet ;
Thou and I together, noble Greek,
Imperial Roman, publican, and Puritan,
Hero of the rabble, singer of the cloister.
Now sceptered upon the histrion's mimic
throne.
I greet thee, fair youth, I summon thee
To join my spirit in our next abode.
Perchance we there at last shall clasp and
speak.
To the Unknown Poetess: I re-
ceive quite an extraordinary amount of
verse from women correspondents, most
Love Letters of a Movie Idol
95
of it extraordinarily bad verse, so far
as I am able to judge ; but I was rather
impressed by your four stanzas. Not,
mind you, because they were so unduly
flattering, but because of the true po-
etic conception and expression of the
lines. I fancy you must be a girl or
woman of considerable intellect and cul-
ture, possibly a college student. And, by
the bye, yours is the second communi-
cation I have received lately in which
I am compared with Shelley, the poet.
Is it possible, after all, that I bear some
resemblance to that famous but ill-
starred young singer? You should
know, for you are a poetess. I can't
agree with your theosophic philosophy
or your transmigration theory, but I do
think you write very clever verse and
I am pasting yours in my scrapbook.
Francis X. Bushman.
Dear Mr. Bushman: I shall be
very frank with you from the start and
candidly admit that I am a rabidly fa-
natical suffragette — what woman of
sense is not, these days? — and that, as
an enthusiastic champion of our truly
just and noble cause — which must tri-
umph in the end — I am writing you on
behalf of a matter which is very close
to my heart — the treatment accorded
to women in motion pictures.
"Good heavens," I can fancy you say-
ing, after reading the above, "Now I
must wade through page after page of
suffrage arguments ! What a bore !"
But hold ! This is nothing of the sort.
This is .a plea, not an argument. This
is an appeal to chivalry and manliness
and the nobler instincts of manhood,
not a piece of suffrage literature.
You may not have noticed it, because
you are a man, but the fact is that
women are frequently treated with the
greatest condescension, even disrespect,
contempt, and brutality, in many photo
plays. I shall not here name the in-
stances in specific detail ; it will suffice
to speak of them in general terms with-
out alluding to the titles or the pro-
ducing companies. The fact remains,
as I have stated, that in far too many
cases the simplest rights of woman-
kind are ignored or deliberately tram-
pled upon in the pictorial delineations
on the screen. And why do I write to
you about it? Because you have im-
pressed me as the one man who can help
us remove this blot upon the motion-
picture screen. The educational power
of the movies is so widespread, so enor-
mous, that woman should occupy her
rightful place therein. And the pur-
pose of this letter is to show what that
rightful place is, not to argue in favor
of votes for women, for that argument
is known to all intelligent men and
women and requires only repetition and
elucidation for the ignorant. More-
over, the suffrage movement embraces
many more things than votes alone ; and
it is one of the most vital of these things
about which I am writing you.
If you have a mother or a sister or
a daughter, ask yourself how you would
like that mother or sister or daughter
to be placed in the humiliating, degrad-
ing, and dishonorable positions in which
we find so many women in the pictures.
Ask yourself why it is that in so many
instances the worst types of women and
the worst elements in such women are
paraded forth on the screen, without re-
gard to any moral lesson or ethical aim.
Ask yourself why the type of woman
who stands for militant decency, pur-
ity, and wholesomeness in the home, in
the theater, and in private and public
life generally — the type of woman who
believes in, and wants others to believe
in, the single standard for all men and
women — why that type is seldom or
never pictured on the screen or on the
stage. Shall I tell you why? There
is no use in evading the answer. It is
because the producers of plays for
screen and stage are guided almost en-
tirely by commercial considerations. In
other words, they are producing pic-
96
Love Letters of a Movie Idol
tures and plays for the purpose of mak-
ing money ; and there is no surer way
of making money than by catering to
the wishes of the average person.
Of course, you are an actor and are
paid to interpret certain roles. I pre-
sume that you have no control over the
class of pictures or characters which
are selected for production. But as a
prominent star in one of the leading
companies, your voice raised in protest
against the degrading handling of the
sex question in photo plays ought to
have some effect
But what is more to the point, dear
Mr. Bushman, the crux of the whole
matter lies in the effect of such pictur-
izations upon the susceptible minds of
women and children all over America.
There would be no need for censorship,
the "bogy man" of the motion-picture
industry, if authors and producers
would recognize the dangers that lie in
that direction. The screen should be
made a source of good, not of evil.
Women and children constitute prob-
ably seventy-five to eighty per cent of
the total patronage of the movies. All
element of moral contamination should
and must be eliminated if the motion
picture is to survive and expand and
develop into one of the greatest edu-
cational and ethical forces in the world.
This is particularly obvious in the case
of children and^ young people; the
moral menace of the movies must go.
It is superfluous to add that if the
American women had the vote, this
menace would speedily pass. And I
may add, several other menaces to the
welfare and happiness of our race
would likewise pass into oblivion.
Now, Mr. Bushman, what shall we
do about it? Will you help us appeal
to the higher instincts and nobler im-
pulses of the directors and the pro-
ducers? You impress me, from your
work in the pictures, as a young man
of character, energy, determination,
and moral force. Why not lend your
aid in this good cause? You occupy a
commanding, I may say an influential,
position in the motion-picture world.
Your voice would be heard, your coun-
sel would be hearkened to. Whether
or not you believe in woman suffrage
is beside the question. You do believe
in the uplifting, spiritual, regenerating
power of purity and goodness and help-
fulness in the great majority of women,
don't you? You do believe in the in-
nate innocence and purity of the larger
portion of womankind, don't you? Of
course you do, when you think of your
own or some other man's mother or
sister or daughter. Then we ask : Stand
by us, speak up for us, help us in our
fight to keep motion pictures — one of
the strongest moral forces we have to-
day— pure, clean, elevating, ennobling,
a power for good, a worthy and hon-
orable example to our men, women, and
children.
Will you be good enough to favor
me with a reply, stating your frank and
honest opinion and advising whether
you can or will help us in the matter?
Earnestly, (Mrs.) D. E. J
My Dear Mrs. J : I read your
interesting letter very carefully — all the
more carefully because it was so dif-
ferent from the general run of letters I
have received from women.
In regard to the matters of which you
speak, I am in hearty accord with you.
I have always believed, and still believe,
that we should have more of the so-
called "uplift" pictures, and should do
away, if we can, with the "down-grade"
kind. I agree with you entirely in your
views and your commendable purpose,
but you must remember that the mo-
tion-picture industry is, first and fore-
most, a commercial business, and its
prime object is to make money for its
promoters. And, as you put it, they
have been, up to this time, catering to
the public taste.
When the proper time arrives for the
Love Letters of a Movie Idol
97
development of moral and educational
motion pictures on an extended scale, I
am certain that American business men
with capital, ability, energy, and enter-
prise will not fail to seize upon the
opportunity. Meanwhile, they will
probably continue, with the censors' ap-
proval, in the sordid business of making
money by pleasing the people who at-
tend the thousands of picture-play the-
aters throughout the country.
I must not close this letter without
adding one thing more. Replying to
your questions toward the end of your
letter, I want to say most emphatically
that I do believe profoundly in the pur-
ity, the spirituality, and the helpful, re-
generating power of most women ; and
I think that I, at least, am one of the
men who look upon women as equals,
rot inferiors, and regard every woman,
high or low, as a potential mother, sis-
ter, or daughter. It is unfortunate that
women are often treated shabbily, not
in the pictures alone, but under all sorts
of conditions. But, to be perfectly fair,
you must admit that in many cases they
bring this treatment on themselves. On
the other hand, there is no reason why
men should ever forget their chivalrous
duty toward women under all condi-
tions and circumstances.
I regret that I cannot be of any prac-
tical assistance to you and your asso-
ciates in the good work you are engaged
upon. I am sorry that I can do no more
than write you this letter of sympathy
and encouragement. I am an employee
of one of the largest producing com-
panies, and as such I must faithfully do
my duty.
Francis X. Bushman.
WHEN THE WORLD WAS YOUNG
I N the golden East, when the world was young,
And the Arabs close to their white tents clung,
Came a memorable day
When a story-teller gay
Told them tales of love and war — when the world was young.
And he bade them laugh, and he bade them weep ;
And they cried aloud, or a silence deep
Fell upon them as they sat,
In a circle round his mat —
Thus the Arabs heard the tales, when the world was young.
In the golden East of a later day
There are tales thrice told in another way.
Silent story-tellers now
To the Arabs make their bow
On a screen; and at the "movies," lo! the world grows young.
G. Lyon Garnett,
7
WHEN Blanche Sweet graduated
just a month ago into voting
age under California's suf-
frage law, she also graduated from
girlhood into a very chic young woman-
hood.
In all that colony of celebrities which
graces the highways and byways of
Hollywood, California, there is no
individual more picturesque in her en-
vironment, more distinguished by rea-
son of her own extraordinary personal-
ity, than Blanche Sweet. You see her
as she walks jauntily down the prom-
enades under the shade of the semi-
tropical trees, usually alone. She goes
and comes by herself, accepting the dic-
tates of no one, acceding to no one's
wishes in the matter of come and go
except her own. They will tell you at
the studio of the Jesse L. Lasky Fea-
ture Play Company, of which she is
now a star, that Miss Sweet, in the
studio, is as pliable as the proverbial
child actress, that she, with the experi-
ence gained only through years of act-
ing before the camera, is the most at-
tentive of all the workers around the
huge plant.
It is thus reported :
'Tor the reason that the motion-pic-
ture business and I have grown up side
by side during the past ten years, I feel
a certain personal interest in the whole
industry," said the blond Blanche.
"Whenever anybody speaks well of
motion pictures, I feel happy; whenever
I hear ill spoken, I feel like fighting.
"Both the motion picture and I were
very young when we started out to-
gether to make a success of things. I
suppose I feel very much the same way
about the motion picture as Robert
Fulton felt when he saw the first steam-
ship actually move, or as Graham Bell,
when he heard in New York a voice
The Real Blanche Sweet
99
that had its origin in San Francisco.
And like them, too, I have lived to see
the day when the motion picture is no
longer sneered at, but is given its full
measure of credit for what it lias done
and is doing.
"Last autumn I was in Xew York for
a few days — my first trip East from the
Lasky studios in more than a year. I
walked along Broadway one evening,
and up near Forty-seventh Street saw
a big crowd going into a wonderful
theater. And there, over the door, I
saw my name in bright electric lights.
I stepped back to the curb, and then
crossed the street to get a good look.
I was alone.
It w a s not
the first time,
by an y
means,
that I had
seen my
name in elec-
tric lights
and had
watched
people go
into a mo-
tion - picture
theater, b u t
s o m e h o w
the combina-
t i o n of
Broad-
w ay's bril-
1 i a n t illumination,
beautiful theater,
and happy crowds
stirred me. I felt a
sort of throb for a
moment. Really, it
was the first time
that the whole thing
had — as you might
say — touched me.
"I like company,
friends, and good
times just as much
as any other young
When Blanche
Sweet graduated
just a month
ago into voting
age under
California's
suffrage law
she also graduated
from girlhood
into a very chic
' young woman.
girl who is ridiculously healthy. Some-
times I like to be by myself, and this
night I walked down the street a block
to a little square where there were
benches. Park benches and Blanche
Sweet are old friends. We are a good
deal together.
"Just as it is a good thing once in a
while to look at yourself in the mirror
and try to see yourself as others see
you, it is also a good thing to sit down
quietly and think of yourself as others
think of you. One of the best ways
of knowing where we are going in
life is to review the road over which
we have traveled in the past.
"I was a
stage child
from the time
I began to
w a 1 k . Chi-
cago, Illinois —
may its smoke
never turn
white ! — was
my birthplace.
The date was
June 18, 1896.
At three years
I appeared
with Marie
Burroughs in
'The Battle of
the Strong.'
and I have
been battling
along ever since.
"I went to school
in California. I liked
books, but I loved
the stage. At four-
teen, having come to
New York, I ob-
tained a position in
Gertrude Hoffman's
company, 'The
Spring Song.' and
later I had a child's
part in 'Charlotte
Temple.'
100
The Real Blanche Sweet
Summer came. The theaters closed.
I was an actress — rather small, to be
sure, but, nevertheless, an actress — and
I was out of work. With a girl friend,
I went to the Biograph studio, having
heard a good deal about motion pic-
tures, This was in the days when the
Sometimes I like to be by myself. I love nature'
well as the crowded city streets
vaudeville managers used to put on a
motion picture to drive the audience
home. Frank Powell was working at
the Biograph, and the first thing I knew
I was tucked away in a corner in a
production called 'A Corner in What.'
Later, I obtained steady work with
the Biograph Company, and then came
the news that they were sending a com-
pany to California. I wanted to go, too.
"While preparations were on, D; W.
Griffith said to me one day: Tf you
were two years older I would make you
an ingenue with the company at a salary
of one hundred dollars a week/ I wept,
but tears made no difference. I didn't
go.
'Tt was about this time that I met
Mary Pickford. She was the only one
around the studio who had a regular
contract. I remember the first day I
ever saw her. She
wore a simple blue
dress and a blue
beaver hat, from
underneath which,
in great, soft folds,
h u n g the lovely
Pickford curls. I
have seen Mary
Pickford in nearly
every picture she
has ever done, but
she always will re-
main in my mem-
ory as a little girl
in a blue dress.
"Meanwhile, I
was getting a lot of
experience. M r .
Powell one day
gave me the lead in
'A Man with Three
Wives,' and they
said I did so well
that they gave me
other leading parts.
My grandmother
thought I ought to
go to school again,
and I said I would be happy to go back
to.. California. I wTas there only a few
months, however, when I went to Los
Angeles and joined Mr. Griffith's com-
pany. I have lived in California ever
since.
"No girl in the world is happier in
her work than I am right now with the
Lasky Company. I love the life of
motion-picture playing."
"And are you always going to be just
Blanche Sweet?" she was asked.
"Well, you never can tell — I get pro-
posals by every mail !" replied the star.
coziest nooks as
HIS hand covered the revolver.
He realized that it was a cow-
ardly finish to the hitherto un-
daunted career of Judge Lee Sands, of
Virginia — but it was the only way out.
Big- money had tempted him — big
money and the millionaire broker,
Brownley, of Wall Street. With con-
siderable funds of his own, and sev-
eral thousands of which he was only
the trustee, he had "plunged" — and lost.
When he had seen the figures chalked
up on the board in the local "stock
exchange" — a "bucket shop" in the rear
of Tony's Tonsorial Parlors — it had de-
manded all his fortitude to bear the
blow without collapsing. In some fash-
ion he had reached his home. He made
straight for his library, and, sitting
down at his desk, wrote a farewell let-
ter to his daughter and brought out a
revolver.
"It's the only way," he groaned.
"There's a better way, dad." His
daughter had come in. "A child" he
still thought her, but, unknown to him.
Beulah Sands had grown to young
womanhood ; a child only in spirit, but
in physical form a girl of striking
beauty, with a certain masterfulness
lurking behind the soft, drawling tones
of her voice. She took the pistol from
his fingers and pushed it back into the
drawer of the desk. Then she swung
him around in his chair and seated her-
self. Turkish fashion, on the rug at his
feet.
"Now listen, daddy," she went on.
"I'm going to make a long speech, and
I expect you to pay strict attention and
obey me. sun."
A hint of a smile broke through the
gloom on Judge Sands' features.
"Why, Beulah, child. I can't see as
there's any way out but "
"There is a way out, dad. I know
102
Friday, the Thirteenth
He had "plunged" — and lost.
how deep you are in the financial pool.
I have watched you for several weeks,
though you wouldn't tell your little
daughter anything about it. You have
been — like a lot of these no-accounts in
the barber-shop stock exchange — drunk
on figures. I put a few questions here
and there, and I've followed the mar-
ket, and I know the whole story. Oh,
it's nothing to be ashamed of, daddy.
I know you meant well. But you were
taking a whole heap of risk by not
consulting me. Now, for instance, if
I had known that you had plunged on
a tip from Peter Brownley, of New
York — as I know now you did plunge
— I should have said: 'Pull out, or
you'll get stung !' "
''It's too late now, Beulah," he said
bitterly.
"I deny it," she retorted promptly.
"It's never too late till the preacher
says : 'Dust to dust.' Here's my propo-
sition, dad: We'll become a pair of
conspirators; our object, the downfall
of Brownley and the restoration of our
fortunes. I'll be the principal actor.
You'll watch the game from down here
in Virginia, while I am taking the war
into the enemy's camp in New York.
Then, when the big moment arrives,
I'll wire you, and you can come in at
the death. Daddy, my scheme is to get
into touch with Brownley, maybe get
a job in his office — you know I'm some-
thing of a typist "
"I don't see how " he was begin-
ning ; but she stopped him :
"Now, no objections, dad! You
think I'll have trouble getting a footing
in the big city. Pouf , suh ! You don't
know your daughter ! They tell me
that good looks go a long way there,
and can you sit there and tell me that
Miss Beulah Sands is deficient in that
respect ?"
Friday, the Thirteenth
103
She jumped to her feet and stood
looking demurely down at him, her
hands clasped in front of her. His
eyes glowed in spite of his dejection,
and he smiled with her.
"Don't you think, dad, if you were
an employer, you'd give me a job? An-
swer me, suh !"
''I reckon I would," he said soberly.
"You dear, flattering old dad 1" Her
arms were around his neck, and she
was kissing the top of his head, '"Then
that's all settled. I go to Xew York
to-morrow — and I take the pistol with
me."
He tore up the letter he had written
and kissed her. It was her answer.
Chiefest of those on Wall Street who
had become wealthy through War Ba-
bies were the Brownleys, father and
son. They had added to their office
staff; and Peter Brownley, the father
of the lucky partnership, decided he
needed a confidential secretary at just
about the time Beulah Sands arrived in
Xew York. He had voiced his needs
to a broker, who in turn had passed on
the news to another, which third party
had been approached by Beulah to beg
his influence in securing her a position
on the Street. She was passed along
the line to Peter "Brownley, who needed
no more than a two minutes' interview
to determine that she would make an
efficient assistant. She had given her
name as Beulah Lee, of Virginia, and
he did not associate her with Judge
Sands, the man he had ruined. Brown-
ley's hatred of Judge Sands had been
of long standing, but he had never met
Beulah, had never known, indeed, that
the girl existed.
Beulah, spurred by her father's ab-
sorbing interest in the stock market, had
familiarized herself with the quota-
tions ; and this, coupled with her reten-
tive memory and her adaptability,
gained her the ready confidence of her
employer.
She did not meet the younger Brown-
lev — Robert — till the second morning
He was staring: at her with undisguised admiration.
104 Friday, the
after she had been installed in her new
position. She was waiting while Peter
Brownley signed the letters she had
typed, when Robert came in.
"My son, Robert ; my new secretary,
Miss Lee," said Brownley, senior, for-
mally.
Beulah looked up shyly at the stal-
wart son. She had not anticipated a
battle against two foes; and this junior
partner had a strength of face that be-
tokened keen fighting powers. She
bowed and then quickly lowered her
gaze, for he was staring at her with
undisguised admiration.
There were many times during the
next few weeks during which Beulah
was forced to forget that her principal
business was revenge, and she had to
listen, instead, to a still, small voice that
spoke to her in secret of "the greatest
thing in the world." For Bob, although
he did not voice the thoughts that
stirred his soul, gave undoubted evi-
dence of his growing interest in the girl
from Virginia.
He fancied that he had so steeped
himself in finance that it were an im-
possibility for him to spend a moment's
thought on a woman. Too. his outlook
on the marriage state was a bit warped,
a bit cynical. He had cause for cyni-
cism. His position in the Brownley
household was a peculiar one. His
mother had died a few years before, and
his father had married a second wife,
who was the antithesis of what a wife
and mother should be. Simone Brown-
ley was, in a word, characterless. A
beauty, she played the butterfly, and
when chided mildly by her much older
husband, who doted on her, she could
melt him with a kiss from her pouting,
red lips.
She treated him with scant regard,
if the truth must be told, finding her
keenest pleasure in flirting with Bob's
acquaintances. She even attempted to
play the coquette with Bob himself, and
laughingly told him that it would be a
Thirteenth
"rare joke" on the "old man" if he
eloped with her. Whereon Brownlev,
junior, swept by a storm of indignation,
told her exactly what he thought of her.
It was a very candid statement — and it
made her his enemy for life.
"I don't want to be compelled to tell
Mr. Brownley of your atrocious con-
duct with Count Verneloff— a titled
roue whose favorite remark to his serv-
ant, when the morning mail arrives, is :
'Bless their little hearts ; they all love
me !' The servant has repeated the
phrase so often that it has become a
bon mot among clubmen — and yet this
Count Verneloft doesn't resent the no-
toriety— rather enjoys it, indeed. I
should think you'd be ashamed. Keep
up your acquaintance with him, and
you know what's going to happen.
Think it over."
Simone turned her back on him for
answer. But she thought it over; and
the more she thought, the more deter-
mined was she to pursue her course,
and she added to that determination the
prayer that some day she might have
the chance to bring ruin to this plain-
speaking young fool.
In striking contrast with Simone was
the winsome girl from the Southland,
and Bob's heart expanded under her
sunny influence.
Meantime, the Brownley operations
in Salanico Steel came under Beulah's
observation, and by keeping eyes and
ears open she learned of many priceless
tips that were promptly passed on to
her father, enabling him in some meas-
ure to make a new fortune, investing
the money secured in a mortgage on
their estate.
Beulah was well satisfied with the
success of her experiment, and would
have called the matter settled. But
Judge Sands wanted a real revenge that
would include the ruin of the Brown-
leys, and he came to Xew Vork to goad
his daughter to the task.
"You know what anguish I have suf-
Friday, the Thirteenth
105
fered," he pleaded, as they sat in her
room in the boarding house. "You
know that I was on the point of taking
my own life."
Much more he said, and so grim was
the picture he painted that she gave
way and promised to give herself, body
and soul, to the business of full and re-
morseless revenge.
"Now I want you to tell me all you
know of their biggest financial transac-
hind a mask of indifference when he
ventured to advance from the stage of
business friendship to something more
intimate.
Perhaps it was that the conduct of
his stepmother had blinded him to a
true perspective; but, whatever be the
cause, he began to suspect that his fa-
ther and the Southern girl were acting
toward each other with a degree of sym-
pathy not necessitated by business.
'Bless their little hearts; they all love me."
tions," said the stern old judge; and
obediently, but without enthusiasm, she
laid before him the secrets of her em-
ployers.
Bob held in check his infatuation for
Beulah. Some day, he told himself, he
would declare himself, but he must not
be too abrupt. Meantime he was jeal-
ous of everybody who won a smile from
her. She was chary of her smiles where
he was concerned, and hid herself be-
One day he came into his father's
study to find the elder Brownley and
Beulah seated at a writing table, an un-
mistakably pleased expression on both
their faces. He had entered unnoticed
by his father, but Beulah had seen him
come in — and gave him not a thought.
For at that moment she had forgotten
everything but her own success in win-
ning the confidence of her father's re-
morseless enemy.
"I've got him just where I wanted
106
Friday, the Thirteenth
him," she was whispering to herself.
''I can do what I like with him."
The elder Brownley wrote, and
smiled as he wrote ; then he gave the
paper to the girl, and, ignorant of, or
careless of, his son's presence, he patted
her hand and crossed the room to the
hatrack.
Beulah would have left the room, but
Bob caught her wrist in a fierce grip.
The elder man was apparently too much
absorbed with his pleasant thoughts to
notice the byplay, and, adjusting his silk
hat to a rakish angle, he stalked off,
humming a popular air.
The girl was puzzled and a little
frightened. Under her long lashes she
glanced up at the younger Brownley,
who was eying her with a thundercloud
on his brow "When you get tired hold-
ing my wrist " she suggested.
"I want to see what my father gave
you !" He released her, and, looking
still more puzzled, the girl held out to
him a check.
"It's my first month's salary," she
told him. "Have you any objections —
or do you think I'm too expensive a sec-
retary? You have reason, for your fa-
ther has expressed himself as so well
satisfied that he has made out the check
for double the amount he offered me.
I am sorry you don't like me. Mr.
Brownley."
"Like you! My God!" Bob's fin-
gers bit into his palms in the stress of
the fight he had to keep back the pas-
sionate words that trembled on his lips.
A moment he stood at the window,
looking down into the street. "For-
give me, Miss Lee," he said, turning.
"I am unstrung, nervous. The stock
fever during business hours and the
never-ending quarrel at home between
my father and his second wife — they
have made me unable to think clearly.
Do believe me. I have only your best
interests at heart. This is a strange
household you find yourself in, and I
want no taint of the poison to touch
your own soul. That's how much I
think of you. Forgive me." He went
'I want to see what my father gave you.
Friday, the
out, a big seriousness in his splendid
eyes. "He is a foolish boy, but I like
him," she mused. She stood looking
after him thoughtfully. "I don't quite
know what he means, but it's for my
benefit he is thinking, and I'm grateful.
Oh, I do hope he isn't hurt much when
the crash comes. "
Judge Sands carried the business se-
crets Beulah had given him to Stevens
& Co., rival brokers of the Brownleys
and old friends of the judge. Their
first move was to set afloat a rumor
that Salanico Steel was about to declare
a dividend. The false tip came to Bob
Brownley, who had flung himself fever-
ishly into finance, determined to think
only in terms of dollars, though a lovely
face persisted in peering up at him from
his desk.
It was on a Friday — Friday, the thir-
teenth— that he received the tip. And
it so excited and exhilarated him that
he marked the date on his calendar with
a red circle.
"Who says there's bad luck in that
combination?" he chuckled, and sent
out hot messages to buy Salanico — to
the huge delight of Stevens and Judge
Sands, who were able to unload their
holdings of the stock upon the Brown-
leys and their associates. They sold
short, to make the crash all the more
complete.
It was a wild day on the Stock Ex-
change that Friday, the thirteenth.
Bob's frantic buying induced other bro-
kers to follow suit, and through the
day sweating men surged to and fro
on the floor of the Exchange, screaming
till their voices became as the croaking
of ravens.
Half an hour before the market
closed, Beulah received a cablegram
from the Brownleys' representative at
a secret conference of the European
powers. It was in code, but she had
access to the secret drawer in Bob's
desk where the code book was kept.
Thirteenth 107
There were just three words, but they
were of tremendous importance :
War to continue.
Peter Brownley and his son were on
the floor of the Exchange. In half an
hour the business day would end. If
she sent that cablegram to her employ-
ers, they would conclude they had had
a right tip and continue to buy — and to
buy Salanico now was the surest road
to wealth.
The message staggered her. Stevens
had insisted that Salanico was a "goner"
— that "peace was in the air." The
cablegram stared her in the face, its la-
conic sentence burning into her brain.
With the continuance of war, Salanico
would have a new boost — and her fa-
ther would grip hands with ruin a sec-
ond time. It was not to be thought of.
Half an hour ! What could she accom-
plish in half an hour?
Bob Brownley, disheveled but happy,
tore open the message which had come
to him from the office. A cablegram — -
he held it above the heads of the thronsr
and read it with staring eyes. Three
words in code it contained, the last word
a bit blurred, but all too legible, and be-
neath was a typewritten translation,
signed "B." Three words :
War to cease.
' White-lipped, he gathered his father
and their associates about him. "Sell!"
he shrieked. "Sell — at any price!"
Like madmen they strove to get rid
of their holdings. The bottom would
drop out of steel on a declaration of
peace — and that meant stark, staring
ruin. Men lost their heads in the wild
panic that ensued. It was a scene un-
forgetable. Young men, old men, hag-
gard men, bearded men, and men clean
shaven were jumping about and waving
papers as if they had suddenly been
attacked by St. Vitus5 dance.
In the midst of it Bob s waved. Diz-
108 Friday, the
ziness swept over him. He caught his
father's arm.
"Dad, I've got to quit. I'll go mad
if I stay. It — it may be a false report,
after all. Put a limit on the sale."
Out on the street, he drank in a deep
breath of the open air — sweet to him
as the wind above a clover field after
that inferno he had left. A taxi pulled
up at the curb, and the chauffeur looked
inquiringly at him. He got in and gave
his office address. The dizzy feeling
was leaving him, but the realization of
the doom spelled by the cablegram be-
numbed him. At the door of his pri-
vate office, he stood for a moment.
Beulah was in there — Beulah, whose
lovely face had been forgotten in the
surges of the maelstrom on the floor
of the Exchange, Beulah who must go
with the crash of his fortunes.
Her voice came to him, low-pitched.
She had a visitor — no, it was a tele-
phone communication. Faintly the
words reached him, then clearer and
clearer they seemed to ring on his brain
with the sound of trumpets :
"So, dad, you see, I had to change
the cablegram. If he had known that
war was ended "
Bob shook himself. This was some
madness of his brain. But the girl's
soft voice went on:
"It means ruin for us, dad. I've
been trying to get you — trying franti-
cally—
Bob pushed open the door. The girl
turned her head. "Good-by," she whis-
pered, and hung up the receiver.
"I heard you," he said. He was
calm — unnaturally calm. "You did not
send me the cablegram you received —
or you altered it. What was the exact
message, please?"
"It said, 'War to continue/ " she an-
swered mechanically. His eyes held
her. She could have given him no
other answer but the truth. He wrote
hurriedly, called a messenger, and dis-
patched him to the Change.
Thirteenth
Five minutes before the close of busi-
ness in the human maelstrom, the mes-
sage arrived. It produced a new riot-
In five minutes Salanico jumped fifty
points. In five minutes those who had
bought made millions ; those who had
sold short — and among them were Ste-
vens and Judge Sands — went down to
despair, broken men
When the door closed on the mes-
senger, and Bob and the girl were left
alone in the room, Beulah bent her head
on her arms and sobbed. Bob came
close to her and put his arm around her
shoulder.
"Tell me why you did this thing —
tried to ruin me."
Brokenly she told him she was the
daughter of Judge Sands; told him of
the enmity between Brownley, senior,
and her father; told how the old judge
had been impoverished and ready to
take his own life; how she had forced
him to live by presenting to him the
possibility of revenge ; and how finally
she had wormed her way into the con-
fidences of the elder Brownley, and.
learning his secrets, had set out to bring
his fortune tumbling about his ears.
It was a heartbreaking story ; but,
instead of enraging the man who lis-
tened, he tightened his clasp about the
girl, and there was a mist in his eyes
as he spoke :
"Beulah, I understand. I would have
done the same thing myself."
She looked up at him through her
tears.
"Bob, you don't mean you can for-
give me?"
/'Not only forgive, little girl, but love
if vou will let me. Is there a chance
for me? Will you be my wife?"
She lifted her lips to his. "Bobby,
boy, I had to fight my love for you all
the time I was planning dad's revenge
and your ruin."
Brownley and his right-hand man.
Wilder, were closeted with their asso-
Friday, the Thirteenth
109
ciates in the Brownley library. Beulah
Lee had disappeared; so, too, had
Brownley, junior. But his father had
more pressing matters to think of at
that moment. They were comparing
notes about the day's riot of business.
It was eight o'clock, and a measure of
calmness had come to them. There
entered upon the conference the pa-
thetic figure of Judge Sands, of Vir-
ginia— white-haired, his hands shaking,
his face convulsed. With fist thrust in
Brownley's face, he cried :
,4In cold-blooded fashion you ruined
me ; in cold-blooded fashion I will kill
you !"
Brownley drew back a step. "Don't
be foolish," he said. His voice was
shaking, but he was outwardly calm.
"Come to me here in half an hour, and
I will make good your losses."
Half an hour later, Bob Brownley
entered his home. He was accompanied
by Beulah — no longer Beulah Lee
Sands, but Beulah Brownley, for the
young people had determined to unite
their lives and their fortunes without
delay. To Bob's astonishment, the
house, though lighted, seemed deserted,
even by the servants. Leaving Beulah
in the salon, he went into the library,
where a single droplight was burning
dimly.
On the floor lay something that sent
a shudder through him. Face down-
ward in a pool of blood was Judge
Sands, the father of his bride — mur-
dered or a suicide.
From a curtained recess he heard
what sounded like a quick intake of
breath. He dragged the curtains aside
— to find his father, trembling, ashen.
"Dad — you killed him!"
"No, no, as God is my judge, I am in-
nocent !" cried Peter Brownley. "I told
him I would see him here after the con-
ference was finished. I came — and
110 Friday, the
found this." He pointed with trembling
hand at the gruesome thing on the floor.
"I heard some one come in at the front
door. It was you, but I didn't know.
I was afraid, and hid. Bob, Bob, you
can't think I would take a man's life.
But the police — they will come, and
I "
''They are here now," said his son,
hearing hurried footfalls in the hall.
"Tell your story simply. The truth al-
ways wins."
The door opened, and two plain-
clothes men came in. One of them
bent over the body. The other's eyes
roved about the room and finally fas-
tened on a folding screen. The detec-
tive pushed the screen aside — to reveal
a woman crouching in terror — Simone,
the wife of Peter Brownley.
"I didn't do it— I tell you I didn't !"
she shrieked. Her words came like a
rushing stream: "I was to meet Count
Yerneloff here in the library — we were
going to elope. I'm making a full con-
fession. I hate the man I married.
While I was waiting for the count, a
man came in — the man who lies dead.
I got behind this screen. Then Bob —
Robert Brownley — entered and fired the
pistol."
''Who is this man?" The detective
had turned the body over. Bob and
his father stared, bewildered. It was
not Judge Sands who lay dead there.
It was Wilder, Brownley's business as-
sociate. They were somewhat similar
in appearance, the formation of the
back of the head and the shoulders was
almost identical — but there was no mis-
taking the face.
Then, at the moment when climax
had piled on climax, Judge Sands him-
self entered, dragging with him a hu-
man derelict.
"Here's the man who shot Wilder,"
he said.
"Why, judge, I thought it was you
had been killed !" cried Peter Brownley,
relief in his voice.
Thirteenth
"I'm still very much alive," answered
the judge. "But I did a good turn for
you, Brownley, suh. I was waiting here
as per our arrangement when I heard
what I reckoned was a suspicious noise
at the door of that anteroom. Don't
know why I did it, but I dimmed the
lights and got under the table to await
events. The anteroom door opened and
this fellow came in. He went over to
your safe, and then I placed him. He
was a burglar. I got to my feet, in-
tending to throttle him. He heard me,
and turned, with a pistol in his hand.
What fate sent Wilder into the library
just then I don't know, but he walked
straight between the burglar and me.
and got the bullet intended for me. I
shouted for help and made a grab at
the burglar. He got away, jumped for
a window. He'd sprained an ankle on
the drop to the ground, and I caught
him. I choked him a bit to show him
who was boss, suh, and here he is."
"Oh, daddy, I'm so happy!" It was
a girl's soft, drawling voice.
"Huh ! I'm glad somebody is happy,"
snapped the judge. "What's happened,
daughter?" He looked questioningly at
Beulah, who was standing close, very
close to Robert Brownley.
"Daddy, dear" — she had taken his
arm and was dragging him across the
room — "shake hands with your son-in-
law. WTe were married an hour ago."
"I'll be " Two voices blended in
an explosive exclamation — the voices
of Judge Sands and Peter Brownley.
And there, in the room of tragedy,
the newly wedded pair told their story
— told it with such persuasiveness that
the bitterness of past years was blotted
out from the memories of the sworn
enemies. Peter shook hands with Judge
Sands, while their children looked on
with supreme content.
"I've lost a wife," said the elder
Brownley, "but thank God for my new
daughter !"
>i;/i>«'"
us*"" A
ij odif oi*i<a!s on matters of* tlie screen, ||
of interest to eVertjone. If
ONE thing th^t is decidedly noticeable among the pic-
tures released by the various companies is the
handling of the subtitles. Probably a slip in the
detail of direction or a bad bit of acting may get by, but the
chances are that if there is a severe blunder in the subtitle,
an entire audience will "light" upon it immediately.
Credit is due to the Fine Arts Company for the new
style of subtitles which they have introduced in their films. These appear to read
as a book, and all are clear and concise. Where humor is called for, it is spon-
taneous, and the writer has seen more than one audience laugh at the wording
of a Fine Arts subtitle in a comic situation, while the same audience was im-
pressed when a dramatic title occupied the screen.
Of course, there are many other companies who handle their subtitles care-
fully— far too many to mention here, but it is regrettable to say that there are
also many concerns who absolutely neglect this decidedly important part of the
photo play.
Old and
New
Subtitles
IT would seem that in the natural evolution of motion pic-
tures we are about due for a change in the style of pro-
duction. In the beginning, pictures were looked upon
merely as "chasers," to end vaudeville programs and the
like, but this condition slowly but surely changed into the
one, two, and three-reel motion pictures of the early day,
wThich, while crude, nevertheless were such an improvement
over the old chasers, that they practically established the art of cinematography.
For a while these one, two, and three-reel pictures traveled a rather rough path, but
the gain in popularity was steady, and, with the arrival of the five-reel picture,
with a famous star featured, pictures took a great bound into popularity.
Now, the very thing which so greatly helped establish the popularity of pic-
tures threatens to upset it, for the present market is filled with inferior five-reel
pictures, and an exhibitor finds it difficult to pick films which he believes will
please his patrons.
For a long time film folks have been talking of "the open market," and it
appears that that condition will soon be with us. At least, in part, the open market
is really nothing more or less than giving the exhibitor absolute free choice of
Those
Five-
Reelers
112
The Observer
all subjects put out during the week, and permitting him to use his own judgment
as to which he desires to book and which he believes undesirable for his theater.
Some time ago it would have been considered quite impossible wTithin the
trade to allow an exhibitor so much latitude in choosing his program, but the
present-day motion-picture-theater manager understands his business thoroughly,
and realizes that he must use all his intelligence in the pictures he is to present
in order that his patrons will be pleased.
That the change which seems certain to occur will affect the present lengths
of films is certain. There really is no reason why five reels should be regarded
as the correct length for a feature. Many can be impressively made in three reels,
while others should be put into nine or ten reels. We believe it will be a ques-
tion of judgment on the part of the producers as to the worth of the material they
are working with, and then we will be able to see pictures whose lengths are
governed by their worth.
THE active . entrance of William A. Brady into the
moticn-picture-producing world is an event of no
small importance, and one which will undoubtedly
be watched with more than passing interest by close stu-
dents of the game. Mr. Brady has proven an unqualified
success in handling the production of stage plays. He
started with practically nothing, and forced his way to the
top, where he was recognized as one of America's foremost producers.
Now he has taken over the management of the World Film Corporation, and
is serving both as general manager of that corporation and general producing
director for all concerns contributing.
He has many stars at his disposal, and many excellent directors on his staff.
Mr. Brady has studied pictures for a long time in his quiet Avay, and undoubtedly
the future will show the result of these things.
AT the present time in many parts of the country there
is much agitation regarding the censorship of
motion pictures; agitation which promises to bring
on many legal battles between the censor people and the
Motion Picture Board of Trade, which represents the film
interests. We have watched the growth of the censorship
movement for several years, and, as the popularity and
stability of motion pictures increased, their enemies became louder in their pro-
tests against them. That legalized censorship is a failure has been proven in
more than one place, but the "cranks" still insist that they have the right to judge
the morality of screen subjects.
The basic idea of motion-picture censorship is unconstitutional, and time
will bring but one result — the failure of all censor boards except, perhaps, a
board of reviews operated by the manufacturers. The cranks will probably never
disappear from the motion-picture field, and we confidently expect that this means
we will learn of some select board of "butters-in" demanding that a local board
of censorship be established at once to prevent the innocent children from walk-
ing from their homes and into the doors of motion-picture theaters where
immorality unconfined exists.
Some One
Worth
Watching
C elisor ship
Whys and
\ Why Nots
The Observer
113
As a matter of fact, no reliable concern is producing such pictures at present,
and most probably never will. The film industry has suffered greatly from the
bad way in which it has been painted by people who have not bothered to investi-
gate properly. This end should be left to the public that demands certain kinds
of film and the manufacturers who make them.
The censorship problem has given the motion-picture industry considerable
trouble, and it will probably give considerably more for a while, but we believe
in time conditions will be adjusted, and, with a normal state of affairs at hand,
the censor menace will become a thing of decidedly minor importance.
THE controversy between Charles Chaplin, comedian,
and George K. Spoor, president of the Essanay
Film Manufacturing Company, has occupied the
limelight for quite a spell, and probably will do so again in
the near future, when the various lawsuits, et cetera, that
the pair have filed against each other are called to trial.
The trouble came when Essanay added two reels to ''Charlie
Chaplin's Burlesque on Carmen" after the comedian had cut the film to two reels,
which he considered proper length. Essanay, seeing larger profits if the film was
released through V. I. S. E. as a four-reeler, added two more reels, much of which
consisted of retake scenes. When the film was released, Chaplin immediately
brought suit against Essanay, claiming that they had a contract with him which
provided he should make nothing but two-reelers. Inasmuch as Chaplin had
delivered to Essanay, and Essanay had released, a one-reeler during the summer,
this so-called contract claim disappeared at once. Then Mr. Spoor proceeded
to sue Mr. Chaplin for alleged breach of contract, saying he had loafed while in
the employ of the Essanay Company, and had failed to produce as many pictures
during the year as he had agreed to.
The entire affair may have been a neatly arranged press-agent stunt, but
we doubt it, and granting that it was really founded on solid facts, it is decidedly
regrettable that it occurred. Both men are far too prominent to be squabbling
over such a matter, although we agree with Mr. Chaplin that Essanay should have
put out his "Carmen" as a two-reeler if a good picture was the sole aim. His
mistake, however, occurred when he stirred trouble after the film had been re-
leased as a four-reeler, for it was quite obvious that nothing could be done. The
fewer affairs of this kind that happen in filmdom, the better it is for the good
of the industry.
WE often wonder if the motion-picture-theatergoing
public has no thought of the rules of etiquette.
More than once we have witnessed acts in theaters
by persons, whom we knew to be far above the average
social standing, which fell little short of rowdyism. It is
anything but pleasant to arrive at a neighborhood theater
and be told that the next show will begin in five or ten min-
utes, that you will have to join the throng standing outside until then. But if
every one keeps his temper and does all in his power to make the action one of
gayety, the time will soon pass.
After getting inside the theater, there is a little thing we have often noticed
8
Chaplin
vs.
Spoor
Politeness
Pays
'
116 Screen
was seated on the running board,
and the lurch threw him out on his
back. Apparently his injuries were
slight, and he soon recovered enough
to return to his duties. A few weeks
afterward he decided to devote his en-
tire attention to magazine work, and
later joined the editorial staff of Pic-
ture-Play. A sudden attack of cere-
brospinal meningitis, believed to have
had its origin in his previous injuries,
was the cause of his death.
Air. Rex had many friends in the
film industry, including many of the
most prominent figures, and messages
of sympathy were received from all
parts of the country by his parents, Mr.
and Airs. Peter A. Johansen, and his
sister, Miss Hessie Johansen.
As Dixon's "The Fall of a Nation"
is to succeed the other great spectacle,
"The Birth of a Nation," so J. Stuart
Blackton, of the Vitagraph Company, is
to follow up his "Battle Cry of Peace"
Gossip
preachment with another tremendous
offering to be known as "The Battle
Cry of War." This latter production
is already well under way, and is ex-
pected in every way to outdo the
earlier offering as "Preparedness"
propaganda.
Somewhere about July 1st the pub-
lic will have its first glimpse of the
wonderful million-dollar Annette Kel-
lermann picture which was made for
William Fox at Jamaica, under the di-
rection of Herbert Brenon. Director
Brenon is back in New York wTith more
than two hundred and twenty thousand
feet of film negative and hard at work
cutting this enormous production down
to a presentable length, for, of course,
nobody wants to sit through a picture
show that lasts thirty-three hundred
hours, which is the time it would take
to project the entire two hundred and
twenty thousand feet of film. Y\ nen
completed, it is expected a show of ten
to twelve reels will be offered, and the
A scene from Thomas Dixon's "The Fall of a Nation.'1
Screen
production will be sent out as a tour-
ing attraction, much after the fashion
in which "The Birth of a Nation" was
presented.
Triangle film fans are delighted over
the prospect of seeing their favorite
stars in two-reel pictures as well as
those of five reels or more. Douglas
Fairbanks, who will never be forgotten
for his work in 4 'His Picture in the
Papers," is one of the first of the Fine
Arts players to go into the two-reel pro-
ductions. John Emerson is the director
of the first of the shorter-length plays,
and Fairbanks .will be supported by a
cast which includes A. D. Sears, Alma
Ruben, W. E. Lowery, Eagle Eye,
George Hall, and Bessie Love. An-
other of the two-reel subjects will have
as its star Fay Tincher, supported by
Max Davidson, Jack Cosgrove, and Ed-
ward Dillon.
Remember those bloodthirsty beasts
of- the jungle, known as the Bostock
animals, which have been featured in
any number of Horsley productions on
the Mutual program? Those of you
who live in or near New York will
have a chance this summer to see the
animals in real life, instead of on the
screen, for David Horsley has installed
them at Coney Island in one of the
Luna Park concessions. More than one
hundred and thirty animals are included
in the collection, and during the sum-
mer-amusement-park season they will
be used in motion pictures that will be
taken before the public, and later re-
leased on the Mutual program.
Charles Clary, who, on the speaking
stage, has supported such stars as Mary
Mannering and Airs. Leslie Carter, and
who more recently was a Griffith player
at the Fine Arts studios, is now enrolled
under the Fox banner. He is at work
in a picture being made in California,
Gossip 117
Arizona, and other sections of the West
under the direction of Raoul A. Walsh.
Rumor has it that Marin Sais is to
be starred in a big new fifteen-episode
series immediately upon her comple-
te* star
in a new
Kalem
serial.
tion of "The Social Pirates," the Kalem
serial in which she has gained such tre-
mendous popularity.
Yes, there's something new under the
sun in the way of motion pictures al-
most every day. The latest is what is
known as Paramount Plastiques, and
are being produced for release on the
Paramount program by Director Ashley
Miller, formerly an Edison producer.
Mr. Miller's latest novelty bears the
same relation to cartoon films that
sculpture does to the pen-and-ink draw-
ing, for the action is carved out on a
background in high relief, and his fig-
ures and effects are said to produce
scenes that are both beautiful and fas-
cinating.
At last Selig's production of "The
Crisis" is completed, and now it only
remains to be seen whether or not Tom
Santschi, Bessie Eyton, W heeler Oak-
120
Screen Gossip
will be seen in action on the screen
as a result of the latest Selig enter-
prise, one might mention Jess Willard.
Frank Gotch, Joe Steelier, Pack}- Me1
Farland, Mike Gibbons, Freddie Welsh,
Zybszko, Hussana, Cutler, Doctor Rol-
ler, and others.
The honest (?) press agent of the
famous screen serial, ''The Mysteries
the hero
and brim
was to appear
Miss Sothern back to earth
again. He went through the "business"'
suggested by the director, but Myra
refused to return to consciousness. It-
was then discovered that she had been
actually hypnotized by the whirling ap-
paratus in front of her, and medical
assistance had to be called in before she
was restored to her normal self.
Jean Sothern of "Mystei
Myra" f;
of Myra/5 made by the Whartons at
Ithaca, New* York, and released
through the International Film Serv-
ice, alleges that pretty Jean Sothern. the
star of the "Myra" production, under-
went a most unusual experience during
one of the episodes of the story. As
Myra, 'Miss Sothern seated herself be-
fore a large hypnotizing machine, which
was set in motion. After a proper
length of time, Howard Estabrook, as
Speaking of J. Stuart
Blackton calls to mind the
fact that since the last issue
of Picture-Play Magazine
appeared on the news stands,
the Yitagraph Company of
America has figured promi-
nently in the newspaper dis-
patches and financial chron-
icles on account of its reor-
ganization as a twenty-hve-
million-dollar corporation.
J. Stuart Blackton and Al-
bert E. Smith, two of the
original founders of the Yi-
tagraph Company, still re-
main as the heads of the
business, though ''Pop"
Rock, who also was a pio-
neer in the organization of
the original Yitagraph con-
cern, is dropping out. Nev-
ertheless, Pop still retains a
big slice of stock in the new
organization. The increase
3. in capitalization is said to be
due to a desire on the part
of Messrs. Blackton and Smith to make
bigger, better pictures than ever before.
Among the featured stars will be Edna
May, E. H. Sothern. Anita Stewart,
Dorothy Kelly, Earle Williams, Edith
Storey. Frank Daniels, Charles Rich-
man. Lillian Walker, Joseph Kilgour,
and Harry Morey.
A series — "right- f rom-the-hearr' let-
ters to Yiolet Mersereau from loving
voung men — begins in the next issue.
Screen
Bewitching Mabel Normand — the
same jolly, laughing Keystone Mabel,
is hard at work at the new studios on
Sunset Boulevard, in Hollywood, Los
Angeles, which were erected especially
for her by Producer Thomas Ince, and
which are to be the home of the Mabel
Normand comedy dramas. Richard
Jones, associated with Keystone since
its formation, is directing Miss Nor-
mand in her first picture under the Ince
banner. The story was written by J.
G. Hawkes, of the Ince scenario staff,
and is said to afford Miss Normand
splendid opportunities for her unusual
talents. All her future releases will be
four reels in length.
You girls who just hate to pause for
a change of clothes during the day can
perhaps sympathize with dainty Myrtle
Stedman, the Morosco-Pallas star, who
is being featured in a new five-reeler,
entitled "The American Beauty." For
Myrtle appears in three parts — as a girl
in her teens, the same girl grown up,
and also in the role of the girl's mother.
The three parts caused Miss Stedman
to change costume and make-up no less
than eighteen times in one day, and
then it was discovered that, through an
accident, the negative had been spoiled.
It was necessary to retake all these
scenes on the following day. Poor
Myrtle nearly fainted when told that
those eighteen changec would all have
to be made again the next da}-.
Since the last appearance of this de-
partment, several new stars have been
added to the roster of the American
Film Corporation, with studios out at
Santa Barbara, California. Richard
Bennett, who will be instantly recalled
for his American appearance in "Dam-
aged Goods," is again in the American
ranks as the star of a whole series of
rive-reel dramas, while little Mary
Gossip 121
Miles Minter has been induced to sign
an American contract, and will soon
begin to twinkle on Mutual screens all
over the country.
Kitty Gordon, according to an an-
nouncement just made by the World
Film Corporation, has abandoned the
Kitty Gordon, who has deserted the stage, to
appear in World Film productions.
speaking stage entirely. For the next
three years, at least, she will appear
in World "Brady-made" features.
Now that rumors have ceased to fly,
and it is definitely established that Fa-
mous Players and Lasky are to be par-
tially merged at least with the Tri-
angle Film Corporation, a score or
more of mathematical sharks are busy
trying to figure out what Triangle be-
comes when it sustains an addition of
two more sides. Students of geometry,
please Avrite.
SYNOPSIS OF PRECEDING CHAPTERS.
JX an attempt to purchase, at a low figure, a rice plantation owned by the uncle of Prosper
Darrow at the island of Cypremort, not far from Xew Orleans, Henri Castine, a legis-
lator, hires the leader of a band of river pirates, Sundown Stagg, to make trouble. Darrow's
uncle interferes in the brutality of Sundown, and leaves the parish after receiving a notice
to go. Captain Campbell, a retired actor who runs a boat plying between the surrounding
islands, has also incurred the enmity of Castine. Griggs, the director of the Greatorex
All-Star Company, in the South to take a six-reel moving-picture film, goes to Cypremort
with his company as the guests of Darrow, to start work on the production. The morning
after the arrival of the company. Jean Grojean, one of Sundown's men, uses a clever ruse
to get Darrow on a launch headed for Carencro, the pirate leader's island headquarters.
CHAPTER IV.
CARENCRO lay huddled upon a
stretch of rising ground, on a
bayou of the same name which
led into the swamps and wild-rice
marshes.
The town knew no roads, save the
water road ; no government, save the
will of Sundown Stagg; no restraint
in debauchery, save the passions of
men. Yet the place flourished and
grew exceedingly, and even boasted a
hotel, owned — like the saloon and store
— by Stagg. For this hotel, and for
the very town itself, there were excel-
lent reasons.
Lying between Fenris, the railroad's
end, and the rice and timber country
on the inner Gulf shore, Carencro was
the halfway point for lumber gangs,
fishermen, shrimpers, and hunters. It
lay upon the corner of a plantation
owned by Castine, and its one ostensi-
ble industry consisted of Castine's
shrimp-drying platform, while from the
swamps an occasional gang brought out
some of Castine's timber.
The town itself consisted of several
dozen unpainted frame shacks, in the
center of which, near the rotten
wharves, stood Stagg's hotel, saloon,
and dance hall. Canoes, dugouts,
launches, and small sailing craft lined
the water approach ; the two filthy lit-
tle streets of the place were usually
lined by blear-eyed men and painted
Not in the Cast
123
women. It was here that Darrow, of
Cypremort, came, passive under the re-
volver of Grojean, an hour before noon.
His reception was remarkably unlike
that which he had anticipated. The
whole place seemed deserted ; not a
soul was in sight to meet him, save
Henri Castine, who stood on the low
dock and wore a suave smile of greet-
ing.
"Welcome to Carencro, Mr. Dar-
row !" he exclaimed genially. "We're
glad to see you !"
Darrow stepped from the Macache,
and came eye to eye with Castine. He
was caught, and realized that a display
of anger would avail him nothing. - Gro-
jean was behind him with a pistol, and,
despite the deserted appearance of
Carencro, a hundred pairs of eyes were
probably trained on the wharf at that
very moment. So Darrow merely
nodded in curt acceptance of the situ-
ation.
"No use masking facts, Castine," he
returned. "What's the meaning of this
outrage ?"
"My dear sir, outrage is a hard
word," replied the Creole in velvety
tones. "Is it an outrage to wish for
such a guest as Darrow, of Cypremort?
Why, my dear Mr. Darrow, I am as-
tonished that you would construe such
a compliment into meaning an out-
rage."
"So?" Darrow's steady eyes bit into
the man. "Then why Grojean and the
revolver ?"
Castine shrugged his shoulders help-
lessly, regretfully.
"Why? Because I could see no other
way of getting you here at this place
and time, and I wish to have a chat
with you. My friend Grojean will take
you back to Cypremort after luncheon,
I hope."
The meaning of those last two words
was not lost on Darrow.
"Well, then— talk!" he said quietly.
Castine smiled and quickly demurred.
"Not here, my dear fellow. Come
up to the hotel and let us lunch ami-
cably together. You know the proverb,
'Qaand vente crle zoreyes sourde' when
the belly cries, the ears are deaf."
"True — then let us lunch, my host."
Darrow's clouded features broke into
a swift smile. He must step warily,
he considered ; he must match Castine
at Castine's own subtle game, delay as
far as possible any hot words, and in
the meantime watch for a chance to
get away.
"Perhaps I should not have taken
offense at the abruptness of Grojean,"
he went on, laughing. "After this I
shall know how to measure your hos-
pitality, Castine — and I'm ravenous.
Can you equal Cypremort cooking
here ?"
Castine chuckled, turning toward the
hotel and leading the way along the
refuse-heaped street.
"Oh, I have the finest cook in New-
Orleans, Darrow ! You see, he put a
knife into a nigger in the city, and had
to lie perdu for a while "
"And he knew where to come, eh?"
put in Darrow genially. "Well, lead
on the food and we'll talk busine-s
later."
As the two men passed into the hotel,
finding it apparently empty, Darrow
perceived that he had done wisely.
Carencro was filled with outlaws —
hunters and fishermen who lived with
their weapons ; he did not doubt that
Castine, in meeting him alone, had
thought to precipitate a fight, an ex-
cuse for his assassination by some hid-
den marksman. In this, however, he
was mistaken.
Darrow knew that here he was be-
yond the law ; that here he was in the
grip of the man who hated him in-
tensely; and that if he ever saw Cypre-
mort again, it would be little short of
a miracle. But he did not betray this
knowledge in any fashion.
"Guile," he thought, as they strode
124
Not in the Cast
through the empty corridor and office,
to the wide stairway which commanded
the entrance of the hotel. "Guile ! I
have to use wits and words and worth
if I'm to pull out of this."
Neither Sundown Stagg nor his
minions put in an appearance. Dar-
row followed his host and guide to the
upper floor of the ramshackle building,
and at the head of the wide stairway
Castine threw open a door and bowed.
''Sir, luncheon is served !"
Though no one was in the room be-
fore him, Darrow observed a table set
with steaming dishes of silver and fine
china ; the room was one of a suite,
comfortably furnished and well ap-
pointed.
"Pray be seated," and Castine indi-
cated one of the two chairs at the table,
taking the other himself. "My private
apartments — at your entire disposal.
Armarid ! Enter!"
Darrow seated himself, and saw a
gigantically fat man appear in the door-
way. The fat one was adorned with
white apron and chief's cap, also with
two waxed points of mustache; he
bowed in silence and stood awaiting
orders.
In this whole reception there was
something fantastic, grotesque, unnat-
ural; it was carefully planned, of
course, and was calculated to inspire
a dreadful apprehension in the breast
of the visitor. Darrow wondered how
many other men had come to this place
in such manner. He felt scorn of Cas-
tine's stage setting, scorn of Castine
himself; but he ate an excellent lunch-
eon and discoursed on the shrimp in-
dustry with no sign of his inner feel-
ings.
Armand, the immense monster of a
cook, bowed and jauntily twirled his
mustaches when Darrow complimented
him on the meal ; then he deftly
whisked away the dishes, laid a humi-
dor of cigars and cigarettes on the
table, placed glasses and a bottle of
black-label Bacardi beside it, with a
small basket of limes — then bowed him-
self out. and shut the door.
Castine mixed himself a Cuban cock-
tail, lighted a cigar, leaned back, and
allowed his jetlike eyes to calmly scru-
tinize his prisoner guest.
"We are here convened, my dear
Darrow," he suavely began, "to dis-
cuss a small but important matter of
real estate. Perhaps you can guess the
subject ?"
"You refer to the Cypremort planta-
tion?" queried Darrow in a casual
manner.
"Allow me to compliment your pene-
tration. You know that for some time
I have been desirous of buying Cypre-
mort from your uncle, Mr. Gremil-
lion ?"
"So he informed me," returned Dar-
row dryly. "He has given me a deed
to the plantation "
"And has gone to the West Indies."
Castine smiled weakly. "Very wise of
him. It will be a vast benefit to his
health, I believe. In the event that
anything happened to you, may I in-
quire what would become of Cypre-
mort ?"
Darrow inspected his cigar tip.
"Well, I have foreseen such a con-
tingency, and, having no immediate
family, have willed the estate to a
friend of mine in Chicago, who is a
distant connection of the family."
"I see. Very thoughtful of you, I'm
sure." Castine smiled blandly. "It
would be a great disappointment to me,
however, to see the fine old place go
into Northern hands. As you know,
I can boast no such ancestral mansion,
although I own land enough in the
parish. The lordship of Cypremort,
however, carries a great moral author-
ity with it ; it would add tremendously
to my influence in the legislature and
elsewhere. Really, Darrow, I have set
my heart on owning the plantation."
Darrow seriouslv considered knock-
Not in the Cast
125
ing down Castine and making a break
for liberty. However, he knew very
well that beneath Castine's velvet glove
was a steel hand; that such an attempt
would probably suit Castine excellently,
and that he had no chance in the world
of getting away from Carencro by day-
lieht.
He merely gave Castine a cool, smil-
ing glance, and said : "Well, then, the
answer is obvious. If you want to buy
the place, I'm willing to sell it."
For a moment the black eyes across
the table gleamed with swift eagerness.
Then the Creole chuckled in apprecia-
tion of Darrow's mood.
"Oh — you nearly fooled me, my
friend. You'll not sell for ten thou-
sand, I suppose?"
"Hardly. My price is three hundred
thousand, Castine."
The other nodded, pressed out an-
other lime, poured in another shot of
rum, tasted the liquid amber, and
looked up again at Darrow.
"But you might come down in your
price ?"
"I admit the possibility."
Castine's thin lips curved cruelly, and
he studied Darrow through narrowed
lids.
"Then vou recognize such a possi-
bility, eh?"
Darrow nodded pleasantly.
He was not matching words with
Castine through delight in his own clev-
erness by any means. While he smoked
and parried with his opponent, his mind
was working in terrible earnestness,
seeking for some opening, some hope
of escape without surrender. Sign
away Cypremort he would not, at what-
ever cost.
"If I could get safely out of this
confounded hotel," he commented in-
wardly, "there might be a chance. Here
I'm trapped absolutely. But if I could
get into a canoe or launch, or even into
the woods, I'd give Castine's crew a
run for their money before they cor-
ralled me again."
Somewhere near by, Sundown Stagg
and the choice riffraff of the bayous
were waiting, he knew well. Indeed,
through the open window floated the
ribald laugh of a woman from one of
the shacks adjoining the hotel. Dar-
row could imagine how this impious
herd were chuckling over the way Cas-
tine had insnared him, and how they
would take a savage enjoyment in heck-
ling and baiting their prey when once
Castine gave the aristocrat, the rice
planter, the owner of Cypremort, over
to their pleasure.
"I am glad that you are open to
conviction, Mr. Darrow," said Castine,
the fiery bite of the rum sending a
flush to his sallow cheeks. He leaned
back, elbows on the table, finger tips
joined, and considered his guest for a
moment, in his black eyes a flickering
light of malicious enjoyment.
"For several reasons," he went on
smoothly, "I am anxious to buy Cypre-
mort as soon as possible. Those mov-
ing-picture people interest me vastly,
for one thing. I believe they would be
much interested in Carencro — perhaps
they could use it in their scenes."
"Yes?" said Darrow, in subdued
voice. "But your friends and cronies
might object to being photographed.
Police from all over the South would
also be much interested in Carencro."
"True." Castine nodded gravely.
"For another thing, however, I found
that charming leading lady of theirs
very attractive. I had considered
bringing her to Carencro for a visit;
but after careful thought I have re-
vised my opinion of actresses. A State
legislator must not take chances, you
know; there have been too many scan-
dals at Baton Rouge. Perhaps vou will
agree that the best plan is to marry
her?"
Darrow's features were rocklike. He
reached out for the bottle of rum, and
126
Not in the Cast
Castine's hand slid swiftly to a pocket.
But Darrow, almost instantly, mastered
his quick flood of passion ; he must not
let himself be tempted, but must use
his wits, for wits alone would save
him.
Instead of smashing the bottle in
Castine's face, he poured a little rum
into his glass, his brown hand firm and
steady. Then, cutting into a lime, he
squeezed out the juice and sipped the
liquid.
"I think," he said slowly, "that your
plan is excellent, Castine."
Into the Creole's eyes crept a gleam
of admiration. With a silent chuckle,
Castine took the bottle and filled his
own glass anew.
"Go slow on that stuff," cautioned
Darrow. "It's fifty per cent alcohol,
and hits the brain like a hammer. You
need your brain clear, Castine."
"Oh, we of the South are used to
rum !" Castine laughed, for in Dar-
row's demeanor he perceived helpless
surrender. As he tossed off the rum,
and again took up the thread of his dis-
course, the effect of the liquor was per-
ceptible. The mask of suavity began
to slip aside, revealing the ruthless
power of the man behind.
"Darrow, why do you suppose I had
you fetched here to-day, eh? Answer
me!"
"Well, I'm not quite clear on that
point myself," drawled Darrow. "Was
it to talk about moving-picture people,
to buy Cypremort Island, or to show
off the genius of your fat Armand?"
"All three." Castine tossed away his
cigar and lighted a cigarette "I want
Cypremort, and I mean to have it — and
at once. We may as well throw aside
pretense, Darrow. You're here, and
you know cursed well you can't help
yourself, so talk turkey."
"I've already told you that I was
willing to sell Cypremort."
Castine showed his teeth — literally.
"You fool, do you think I'll give
you your price? I intend to have
Cypremort at my own price. I want
the place here and now — understand?"
"Why the rush?" queried Darrow
carelessly. He seemed much more ab-
sorbed in filling his glass with rum and
attaining the proper mixture of lime
juice than he was in bartering for his
heritage. His deliberate mixing was
an inspiration to thirst.
With an oath, Castine seized the bot-
tle and poured out more rum for him-
self, and drank the fiery stuff neat.
"Why the rush?" he repeated a trifle
thickly. "Because I'm going to Cypre-
mort to-morrow, as its lawful owner,
and before those players have been
there a month, that Robson girl is go-
ing to be mine — understand?"
"I understand." Darrow nodded,
and glanced at his fingers holding his
cigar ; he wondered a little at their
steadiness, for a passionate desire was
upon him to' take Castine by the throat.
"I understand. But let us suppose,
merely for the sake of argument, that
I were fool enough not to coincide with
your wishes, Castine ; what, then, would
happen to me?"
"Sundown Stagg will take care of
you," said the Creole, with a harsh
laugh.
"But how would you attain your ob-
ject, in the event of my demise?"
"How? Why, very simply. If you
could resist the persuasion which my
friend Stagg would employ, I'd make
out the bill of sale for both of us. With
you out of the way, I can produce
plenty of witnesses to anything which
will serve my purpose."
"Ah, very good," Darrow nodded.
"I perceive that you are quite deter-
mined to have Cypremort, eh?"
"And that Robson girl. Yes, I'll
have her in any event, but I want 'em
both."
"Of course," mused Darrow, "it's
sheer, bald-faced robbery, Castine. It's
Not in the Cast
127
hard to credit that you could pull it
off successfully."
"Bah !" sneered the creole. "You
couldn't fight me, and you know it,
either by law or by force. If you sign
up, then go away and try to fight me
in the courts, I'll frame you — by the
powers, I'll frame you and have you
in a road gang inside two weeks ! I
can do it; I've done it to better men
than you, Prosper Darrow."
Darrow nodded again. His face was
white, and Castine sneered anew.
"How long will you give me to think
it over?" demanded Darrow slowly.
"Until I've swallowed this drink, and
no longer," was the jeering response.
With a slender, white hand which shook
visibly, Castine poured out more rum.
"It's yes or no, and the papers signed
here and now."
Darrow set his cigar between his
teeth and affected to stare at the ceil-
ing in reflective thought.
So far as the Creole's boasts went,
they were fully justified. Castine could
get a dozen of his men to swear to
anything, and possessed enough influ-
ence to railroad into the chain gangs
almost any one he wished. While Dar-
row himself was not without influence
and standing, he had not been long
enough known as the master of Cypre-
mort to contend with a man of Castine's
ability, unscrupulous ambition, and
evil power; further, he was well aware
that the bayou thieves and outlaws of
the district would be only too anxious
to swear to anything, or to commit any
crime that would place their protector,
Castine, on the throne at Cypremort.
"What's your price — joking aside?"
asked Darrow.
"Ten thousand."
"Why, man, it's an outrage !" For
the first time Darrow assumed an ex-
pression of incredulous anger. "The
bare furniture of the house couldn't be
bought for that "
"Ten thousand is my figure," came
the cool response. "You're lucky to get
that much, too."
Darrow stared at his captor host,
helplessness in his blue eyes, and re-
ceived a silent snarl of mockery in re-
turn.
"Cash?"
"\Vithin a few days." Castine spoke
thickly, and unconsciously lapsed into
Creole French, which Darrow spoke
fluently. "I'll have to sell some of the
stock in my shrimp cannery near Biloxi
to get the cash, but I'll get it. What's
your answer — yes or no? Come on,
you fool — speak up !"
Darrow shrugged his shoulders.
"I'll agree, of course. But I'll draw
up the agreement myself — you're too
much of a law shark, Castine. And I'll
do it on only one condition ; namely,
that I be permitted to leave this place
immediately. You knowT that the signed
agreement will be a legal bill of sale?"
Castine leered at him across the table.
"Oh, ho ! You think you can fool
Henri Castine — you think Castine is
drunk and you can put a trick clause
in the paper? My friend, you'll find
out something! Yes, yes, I assent to
your condition, upon your word of
honor that the agreement will be ful-
filled."
"You have it," and Darrow nodded.
"You can provide witnesses, of
course ?"
Castine rose, went to the door, and
tugged a bell cord. As he returned to
the table, he lurched slightly in his
walk.
CHAPTER V.
The door opened to admit Armand,
bowing and grandiloquently twirling his
mustaches.
"Bring ink and paper and — and
pens," commanded Castine, with a hic-
cup. "Send Jean Grojean and Mr.
Staler here."
Armand disappeared. Darrow took
a fresh cigar, lighted it, and inspected
128
Not in the Cast
the ceiling beams with calm and un-
troubled gaze. But the brain behind
his blue eyes was keenly alert, keenly
reckoning every chance of getting out
of the hotel at the very least.
"If I can put it over!" he thought to
himself. "There's a bare chance, and
no more. Well, lay on, Macduff!"
He glanced suddenly at Castine, who
was again tipping the bottle toward his
glass, and spoke aloud :
"This is the twenty-sixth of the
month, Castine. Could you find the
cash before the first of next month?
If I sold Cypremort for ten thousand,
I'd skip out of the country, and I'd
want to go at once."
"I'll do it," assented Castine boast-
ingly. "I can find fifty thousand in a
week. Yes, that will suit me excel-
lently."
Darrow watched the other man
drink. There came a heavy thud of
feet upon the stairs and a knock at the
door. At Castine's cry of "Enter !"
the door swung open, and the huge, red-
thatched figure of Sundown Stagg ap-
peared, the crafty black eyes of Jean
Grojean glowing at Darrow over his
shoulder. Stagg bore writing materials.
"Come in — shut the door !" growled
Castine. "Give Monsieur Darrow the
— the paper."
Stagg advanced and placed the writ-
ing materials before Darrow ; but the
latter looked at Castine and made a
gesture of dissent.
"I do not wish these men to know
the conditions on which I sell Cypre-
mort," he said coldly. "The price is
between you and me alone, Castine.
Let them witness the signatures, and
no more."
Castine leered suspiciously across the
table. For a moment his eyes bit into
the calm gaze of Darrow, then he
nodded heavily.
"Very well. Wait outside the door,
you two, until I call !" There was
eager triumph in his air — a dominance,
an exultant, brutal power, which well
betrayed the inner nature of the man.
All his mask of deliberate poise had
been burned away in the fires of liquor,
and unleashed deviltry sat in his eyes.
The two witnesses withdrew. Dar-
row uncorked the ink bottle, dipped the
pen, and after a moment began to write
swiftly and without hesitation. His
serenely strong features gave no hint
of uneasiness beneath the flaring eyes
of Castine, which were fastened upon
him steadily.
"I suppose," he said calmly, as he
glanced up, "that this does not have
to be couched in legal phraseology to
be binding?"
Castine hiccuped.
"You — you know quite well it
doesn't. If you try — try to slip in any
trick, I'll have Stagg tar and feather
you !"
Darrow's blue eyes widened as if in
surprise.
"Trick? Why, Castine, how could
there be any trick? You turn over the
money, I give a clear deed to the plan-
tation. Nothing could be simpler. By
the way, can you get back to Cypre-
mort with the money in three or four
days? You'll have to get it in New
Orleans ?"
Castine nodded. "Say three days."
Darrow again fell to writing. Grad-
ually the flaming suspicion died from
the Creole's eyes, as he watched the
cool, unruffled man across the table.
"I always thought you were a cursed
fool, Darrow," "he broke out suddenly,
with a harsh laugh. "You were a fool
to try and whip me."
"So my uncle said when he deeded
the place to me." Darrow smiled,
without glancing up from his work.
"I didn't give you credit for such re-
sourcefulness, you see."
"Mind this," put in Castine, with new
suspicion, "you've given your word of
honor that you'll stick to the bargain!"
Not in the Cast
129
Darrow looked at him, a frown of
annoyance creasing his brow.
"Well, don't I know it? Of course
I'll stick to it !"
"Hurry up, then."
Setting the pen in the ink bottle, Dar-
row held up the paper, inspected it,
and read aloud what he had written :
"Upon the receipt of ten thousand dollars,
in legal currency of the United States, from
Henri Castine, I, Prosper Darrow, of Cypre-
mort, do hereby bind myself to give said
Henri Castine on the thirtieth day of this
month a full, free, and unencumbered title
and deed to Cypremort plantation, consist-
ing of Cypremort Island and all the build-
ings and properties now attached thereto.
''This agreement is signed in the presence
of witnesses, and is to be considered legally
binding upon Henri Castine and Prosper
Darrow, under the terms set down herein."
Darrow shoved the paper across the
table and picked up his cigar.
"You'd better look it over, Castine.
As you can see, there's no trickery
about it, and you're lawyer enough io
know."
The creole seized the paper in wa-
vering fingers, and traced it through,
word by word. Darrow's blue eyes
watched him closely, and flashed mo-
mentarily as Castine reached the sec-
ond paragraph without comment. But,
when the creole looked up, Darrow was
staring at his cigar critically.
"Oh, I see !" Castine sneered, his
white teeth showing evilly. "You think
you can prevent me from turning over
the money, eh? That's why you
wanted to leave here at once, is it?"
"Not at all," was the quiet response.
"I do not see how I could evade that
agreement in any way."
"No? But I do, my dear friend.
You'll slip out and disappear until next
month, perhaps?"
Darrow made a gesture of irritation.
"Confound it, Castine — haven't I
given you my word of honor to abide
by the bargain? Change that agree-
ment any way you wish. Pay over
Q
the money to my lawyers in New Or-
leans, if you prefer. Make it payable
any time you like. All I want is to get
away from this hole of yours, I tell
you."
Castine emptied his glass, then leaned
over the table, his thin lips curled back.
He did not observe that Darrow's jaw
was clenched hard ; nor could he know
that with this last speech Darrow had
staked everything on a final bluff. If
that bluff were called, or if Castine's
fogged senses suddenly perceived the
hidden catch word, all was lost.
"The agreement shall stand," said the
creole bitingly. "You shall be sent
back to Cypremort immediately. But
— be careful ! My men will be watch-
ing. If you try to go into the bayous
for a few days, if you leave Cypremort
for any purpose, you may expect no
mercy."
Darrow leaned back wearily.
"Why waste breath, Castine? I've
passed my word that I'll not evade our
bargain, and I repeat it. Call in your
friends, sign the paper, and let me out
of this."
"Stagg! Grojean!"
At Castine's call, the two men en-
tered. Sundown Stagg met the cold
blue eyes of Darrow, and his brutal
face contracted in a scowl of suppressed
hatred; but Grojean favored the pris-
oner with a fleeting grin.
"You — you are to witness this agree-
ment," said Castine, addressing his
henchmen. "Monsieur Darrow sells
Cypremort to me. I sign the agree-
ment."
He seized the pen and wrote his name
at the foot of the paper.
"Now Monsieur Darrow signs."
He passed the paper and pen across
the table. Darrow took them and wrote
his name below that of Castine. Then
he paused.
"You've slipped up on one thing, my
cautious friend," he said ironically.
"This agreement is not dated. Eh?
130
Not in the Cast
Now I suppose you'll not doubt my
good faith farther. What day is this
— the twenty-sixth?"
Castine nodded, frowning assent, and
muttered a curse. Darrow dated the
paper and passed it to the two wit-
nesses. They signed also.
Setting the paper before him, Castine
ordered Stagg to fetch two more
glasses, and, now that the agreement
was sealed and signed, his moodiness
fled away.
"A toast !" he cried out gayly, coming
to his feet a trifle unsteadily. "Join
us, Darrow ; join us ! A toast to the
master of Cypremort !"
"With the greatest of pleasure."
Smiling, Darrow rose and lifted his
glass and drank the toast.
"Now," he said quietly, "I presume
that you will fulfill your part of the
bargain and allow me to return home?"
''Certainly." Castine bowed grand-
iloquently. "Monsieur Grojean, escort
our guest back to Cypremort immedi-
ately. Au revoir, Monsieur Darrow !"
"And may our next meeting be our
last," answered Darrow, returning the
:DOW.
Grojean held open the door, and
Darrow left the room.
As the fisherman joined him, Darrow
heard a quick step within the room,
and caught the deep tones of Sundown
Stagg :
"Here, Castine! Yo'-all let me see
that paper !"
Turning swiftly, Darrow strode after
Grojean down the wide stairway. The
hotel office below them was deserted,
as before.
"Make all haste," commanded Dar-
row coldly. "I am anxious to get out
of here, Jean."
"I understand perfectly, m'sieu," the
other made chuckling answer. "Come !"
They left the hotel, and as they
walked rapidly down the filthy street
to the wharf, Darrow, of Cypremort,
drew a deep breath of relief. Five min-
utes more and he would be safe !
Would he gain even so brief a respite ?
The long dock was deserted, save
for two silk-clad Chinamen who were
padding along toward the shrimp-dry-
ing platforms beyond, at the edge of
the line of shacks. Grojean stepped
down into the launch from Cypremort,
turned over the wheel, and cast off the
lines as Darrow joined him.
"Will you take the helm, m'sieu?"
Darrow looked back at the hotel.
Despite the throbbing roar of the ex-
haust beside him, he caught a single,
furious yell, and knew that the mo-
ment had come.
Whirling swiftly, he caught Grojean
from behind, locked both arms under
the man's throat, and jerked back the
fisherman in the deadly strangle hold.
"Arms up — quick !"
Gro jean's arms flew up. Darrow re-
leased one hand, whipped the revolver
from Gro jean's pocket, and released his
captive.
"Up the wharf with you !"
The fisherman scrambled up to the
landing as the Macache darted out.
Darrow crouched low in the craft, and
glanced back over the gunwale, at
sound of a roar of voices behind.
From the hotel was running Stagg.
with Castine lurching after him. The
other buildings were vomiting forth
men and women, and somewhere a rifle
cracked out, the bullet singing over
Darrow's head. But Darrow was not
watching them ; he was swiftly inspect-
ing the line of craft along the landings.
"Two speed launches !" he exclaimed
in dismay. "That means I can't run
back to Cypremort — I'll have to hit up
the bayous and try to throw 'em off the
trail."
He whirled the side wheel of the
launch, and she spun swiftly about to
the right, away from the inlet toward
the bayous. Another rifle cracked, and
another, the bullets smashing through
Not in the Cast
131
the craft a foot from Darrow. His
rugged face broke into a laugh.
"Fooled you, Castine ! Tricked you
on your own ground, you confounded
rogue. You forgot that this was the
month of February, eh? And that
when the thirtieth day came around you
His hand still clenched on the steer-
ing wheel, Darrow sagged forward and
lay motionless across the thwarts. A
slow spot of scarlet crept out on his
temple and trickled down across his
brow, as though in answer to the rifle
cracks behind. The Macache chugged
blindly onward, while from the Caren-
cro landing a dozen craft darted out
in swift and savage pursuit. And, from
the bayou mouths ahead, appeared two
more launches, cutting off the escape
of the fugitive.
CHAPTER VI.
Noon of the day of Darrow's de-
parture found Griggs, of the Greatorex,
in blissful mood. Two admirable love
scenes between Hildren and Marian
Robson had been run off, with very
little rehearsing on the part of the prin-
cipals, and with the fine doorway and
side gardens of Cypremort as locations.
Such acting and such locations would
put any director in the seventh heaven
of delight, and Griggs was only human.
Not until luncheon did any one have
time to discuss the nonappearance of
their host, though Uncle Enos had re-
lated the tale told by Grojean.
"It's odd that Darrow doesn't show
up with the rescued ones," observed
Bowman, the heavy.
"Maybe he took them back to Fen-
ds," suggested Lawrence. "How about
it, uncle?"
"It sho is puzzling, suh," and the old
darky shook his white head solemnly.
"Dem folks was out at de motif o' de
inlet "
"What — out beyond here?" Law-
rence glanced up quickly. "Then if
Darrow took them to Fenris, he'd pass
here ?"
"Dat's what I 'lowed, suh. But we-
all ain't seen dat Macache go by."
There was a moment's silence, the
others around the table gradually get-
ting their sense of local directions un-
tangled. Then Marian Robson leaned
forward.
"Do I understand, Mr. Griggs, that
Mr. Darrow went out to the west — out
toward the Gulf ?"
Griggs glanced at Uncle Enos, who
nodded assent.
"Yas'm. Leastways, dat's where dem
fool white folks was laid up."
"But he didn't go that way at all!"
exclaimed the girl in surprise. "I was
out on the front veranda — gallery, you
call it — and I saw him leave. The
launch went in the opposite direction,
back the same way we came yester-
day."
Uncle Enos scratched his white wool
in perplexity, and could offer no solu-
tion, save that he never had trusted that
no-account white trash who had taken
Darrow away on a supposed errand of
mercy. Upon finding that Darrow had
taken extra gasoline and was very thor-
oughly acquainted with the country.
Griggs dismissed the discussion with a
careless wave of the hand.
"He's all right," was his comment.
"No need to worry at all. not a bit.
Now, if you've finished lunch. Miss
Meigs, I'd like to run over that scene
between you and Mr. Hildren — shy-
spinster business, you know — Massa-
chusetts Yankee with antebellum ideas
of the South — mistakes Southern chiv-
alry for flirtation on the part of the
hero "
Lawrence left the party, lighted his
pipe, and strolled along the side gal-
lery to the kitchen building, behind the
house itself. He did not intrude upon
Aunt Alice, who was vociferously di-
recting two other colored women, but
132
Not in the Cast
waited until Uncle Enos came from the
front of the house.
"Hold on, uncle/' and the camera
man extended a cigar, which was ac-
cepted with a bobbing curtsy. "What's
the best way of getting to Carencro
from here?"
"Carencro? Why, Mr. Lawrence,
suh, you ain't speculatin' on goin' to
Carencro ?"
"I never speculate, Uncle Enos. It's
a bad habit. Come on, now, loosen
up with some real dope ! How do you
get there? By road or water?"
"Ain't no road, suh. Yo' got to go
back up de inlet a spell, start off into
de Carencro bayou, foller dat around
like a coon dog follers a he-rabbit, an'
bimeby you-all gets to Carencro if yo'
ain't lost or hung up on a snag or took
by ha'nts."
"Then there are haunts up that way,
eh?"
"Dey ^ho is, suh ! Bayous plumb
chock-full o' ha'nts an' ghostesses."
"H"xii ! I suppose you couldn't guide
any one that way?"
"Who — me? Why, suh, boss, us Gre-
millions don't have no truck wi' dem
bayous, no, sir ! Ain't many folks
'round here does, neither. I reckon
Cap'n Campbell knows all de bayous,
but less'n you goes to Fenris an' gets
some o' dem fishermen guides, it' aint
policy to 'sturb dem ha'nts, suh; it sho
ain't !"
Lawrence pondered this advice for a
moment.
"When does the Islander come this
way again, uncle?"
"Why, suh, she done went up de inlet
jest a little while back — reckon she's
goin' stop at some plantation for freight.
She don't come down till after de night
train gets in. Dat's what train you-all
an' Mr. Prosper done come on."
"Oh! Well, much obliged to you."
"Not a-tall, suh."
Puffing reflectively at his pipe, Law-
rence strolled back whence he had come,
found Griggs busy rehearsing Flora
Meigs, and wandered down to the boat-
house. There he found two very good
shotguns incased on the wall, with
boxes of shells. After some trouble
he picked the lock of the case, set one
of the guns in the nearest launch, with
a box of shells, and added to it a heap
of oily cotton waste. This done, he
refilled and lighted his pipe and strolled
back to Griggs, whose orders he obeyed
with silent precision for the rest of the
afternoon. When work was over for
the day, Lawrence again sought out
Uncle Enos.
"Uncle, you leave that boathouse un-
locked until further orders, see? I'm
going out by myself right after dinner
to get a mess of catfish. Get me?"
"Catfish? Mr. Lawrence, suh, does
you 'low to get catfish in de inlet?
And at night?"
"Well, make it herring or perch or
whales," Lawrence grinned, and handed
Uncle Enos a coin. "The point is,
I'm going fishing. If any one asks
about me, tell 'em just that."
"Oh, yas, suh ! I 'predates yo* rea-
soning now, suh." Uncle Enos bobbed
assent, but when Lawrence had left
him, he gazed in perplexity at the coin
in his hand. "I reckon po' Mr. Law-
rence ain't right bright," he muttered
commiseratingly. "Wnoever done
heard tell o' fishin' fo' cat an' whales
at night?"
Before the coffee was served that
evening, Lawrence left the dinner table,
pleading a headache, and was no more
seen that night.
While Griggs and his personally con-
ducted tourists were discussing the mys-
terious absence of their host, a half
hour afterward, the director was drawn
from the comfortable warmth of the
log 'fire in the library by Uncle Enos,
who excitedly announced that visitors
were at the landing. Griggs followed
the old butlei to the front door, saw
lights on the wharf below, and hastily
Not in the Cast
133
strode out to greet the arrivals in the
hope that Darrow was returning.
It was not Darrow, however. Griggs
was met by Henri Castine.
"Proud to shake hands with you
again, Mr. Griggs !" exclaimed the Cre-
ole warmly. In the flare of the dock
light his haggard paleness was well
masked. "You didn't expect me, eh?"
''Hardly so soon, after your parting
words," said Griggs, shaking hands a
trifle stiffly. He was not at all sure
of his ground, and showed it. Castine
laughed merrily.
"Well, I bring good news. Mr. Dar-
row is safe at Carencro."
"Darrow? At Carencro? Isn't that
the little town you were telling me about
on the train?"
"Yes — charming place, so picturesque
and carefree."
"But what's happened to Darrow?"
"Nothing. He found a party of hunt-
ters in distress, and brought them in to
Carencro, so I ran over in his launch
to let you know all was right. By the
way, when I told you about the town,
you said that you'd like very much to
use it in some of your pictures ; Mr.
Darrow thought you might like to run
over at once, with your company."
From the exclamations of Uncle
Enos, Griggs gathered that the launch
at the landing was, indeed, Darrow's
launch, and that the fisherman sitting
in it was the same who had led Darrow
away early that morning. Very natu-
rally, the director's manner thawed.
'"Why couldn't you come back with
me?" asked Castine.
''H'm !" Griggs repressed his inclina-
tion to explode ; he was in a quandary.
He wanted very much, indeed, to put
on several scenes at Carencro. for Cas-
tine had painted the town to him in
glowing colors, and it seemed to be
more promising than did Fenris.
On the other hand, he was beginning
to get his players into action at Cypre-
mort, and disliked extremely the idea
of leaving the place until his scenes
there were safely in the take-up box.
Perhaps Castine guessed something of
his hesitation.
"Here is another plan," suggested the
creole blandly. "I'll come over first
thing in the morning with two launches
and take you to Carencro. You can
spend a few days there, get whatever
pictures you wish, then return here
with Mr. Darrow. Eh? I only urge
you to come at present, because it is
uncertain how long I will be able to
remain away from Baton Rouge, and
I'd like to make things smooth for you
at Carencro."
This at once decided Griggs. The
blow-off of his story was to be staged
at a village such as Carencro was in
Castine's description, and since his ex-
pense account was being considerably
lopped by Darrow's hospitality, he
could afford to spend a little more time
for the sake of better pictures and
friendly aid in getting them.
"I'll do it, Mr. Castine — and thanks
for your interest in the matter," he
agreed promptly. "Let's see — yes. that
would do fine ! I can leave Lawrence
here and operate a camera myself at
Carencro. You see, Mr. Castine, I'll
only need to take the principals there
— Miss Robson, Mr. Bowman, and Mr.
Hildren. You can get us some supes,
and while we're gone Lawrence can
be cleaning up some character stuff
here with the others. Sure ! That'll
work fine !"
"Good ! Then I'll be here early in
the morning to take you over. Good
night !"
''Good night, and many thanks," re-
turned Griggs, shaking hands warmly.
He felt rather ashamed of his previous
coldness. Darrow and this chap must
be good friends, after all.
TO BE COXTIXUED.
I
Hints for
ScenarioWrifers
■ 11
^CLARENCE J. CAINE^
PRAISE OR ASSISTANCE?
THIS subject would appear to have
very little to do with the actual
writing of scenarios, but we
know what we are saying when we state
that it has a great deal to do with the
final success or failure of the persons
we try to help in their climb to the top.
The subject in question — as you may
have guessed from the title — is the sim-
ple question, "Are you one of our stu-
dents that you will be praised above oth-
ers, or are you working under us be-
cause you want us to be of every
assistance possible to you?"
We know most of you will jump at
the latter class at once, but suppose you
think the matter over in a little different
light. Consider some of the very, very
hard things we have told you you must
do before you can win success ; some
of the things that made you feel just a
little bit discouraged because it all
seemed so hopeless for the time being.
Wouldn't it have been ever so much
more joyful to you if we had said that
it was only a question of a week or two
until you would begin to write scripts
that would make the editors sit up and
take notice, and that inside of a month
or two you would be well known in film
circles as a writer? We think it would,
and therefore we think that maybe you
should not feel so sure about belonging
to the class listed under the latter part
of the "Praise or Assistance ?" question.
Xow, have you ever stopped to think
of just why we tried to help you?
Maybe, and maybe not. Anyway, we'll
explain !
We know the vast majority of writers
in all parts of the country are in the
game because they have thought the
matter over and decided that it offered
either a splendid vocation or an attrac-
tive avocation. Naturally, these writers
are all struggling toward the top — all
anxious to reach there just as quickly
as they possibly can. Therefore we
treat the matter from this viewpoint,
and our comments are of a construc-
tive nature rather than of an applaud-
ing variety. WTe say that which we
believe will do our student most good.
All this is written because one writer
sat down at her machine and typed four
pages of a letter to tell us how discour-
aged she was because she had just taken
out a recent copy and read our article
entitled "The Outsider," in which Ave
told just what the free-lance beginner's
position was in the game to-day, and
what he faced before success came to
him. The article carried many cold
facts, and, being of faint heart, the
young lady lost her nerve. The theme
of her letter was that she thought she
would quit writing because she felt sure
she could never overcome the difficul-
ties which lay before her.
Such a thought is ridiculous. We
all have a will, and within this will lies
the power to drive us to success in what-
ever we undertake. The brain may be
anything but powerful at the start of
one's career, but it can be educated if
the will so demands.
To all those who have looked with
hopelessness on the seeming obstacles
in the way of success in photo-play
138
Hints for Scenario Writers
writing, we have but one thing to say —
banish these distressing and unhealthy
thoughts and bring your will into power
to overcome everything which rises be-
fore you. It makes but little difference
whether you try to write scenarios or
try to become a clerk in a country store
— if you lack the ability to conquer ob-
stacles as they appear before you and
surmount every one of them, you will
be a failure.
Praise is very nice at times if it is
truly deserved. But at the most it is
but an empty cloud which passes away
quickly and is forgotten. It may ap-
pear to cheer for the moment, but how
different the effect will be when the
person who has been "cheered" learns
that the "cheery words" were really
words of deceit, and that they sent him
off on the wrong course, whereas a few
words of advice at the time the cheer
was given would have started him in
the right direction — the direction in
which he would face stern realities and
would fight against odds many times ;
but the direction in which success lay.
ACTION AND BUSINESS.
Many new writers get action and
business mixed up. and seem to think
they are the same thing. As a matter
of fact, they are quite different in the
broad meanings of the words. Action
is accepted by professional writers to
mean the big incidents or situations
which carry the plot of the film for-
ward, while business is a finer term de-
noting the detailed acts of the players
in a scene. It is also action in a certain
sense of the word, and it grows from
the real action of the play. In other
words, it is the means used to "get
over" the action of a scene.
In the action of the play lies the op-
portunity to introduce much that is new
and novel and which will raise the fin-
ished product to a level where it will
be easily distinguished as being "some-
thing new." If the action of a play, as
a whole, is old, no matter how new the
idea upon which it is founded is, the
production will leave a bad flavor when
it is seen on the screen.
In the business lies the chance of the
director to prove he is a master of the
finer emotions. Griffith's business has
made him famous because he studies it
out with as much care as he does the
plots themselves. The fine way a per-
son can tell another something of vital
importance is one example of clever
business. The writer who can describe
such a scene, or any other one of special
interest, with unlimited detail and with
true-to-life touches is the writer of the
future. In the days of old this fine
"shading" was unknown, but advance-
ment has brought changes, and future
advancement will bring more.
THOUGHT.
A Hearst editorial, copyrighted by
the Star Company, attracted our atten-
tion recently. Its subject was thought
— the thing that rules the world. We
reproduce it herewith and recommend
a careful study of it :
Two centuries back a young man of
twenty-three sat in the quiet of the evening
—thinking.
His bod}' was quiet; his vitality, his life,
all his powers, were centered in his brain.
Above, the moon shone, and around him
rustled the branches of the trees in his
father's orchard.
From one of the trees an apple fell.
No need to tell you that the young man
was Newton; that the fall of the apple
started in his ready brain the thought that
led to his great discovery, giving him fame
to last until this earth shall crumble.
How splendid the achievement born that
moment ! How fortunate for the world and
for the youth Newton that at twenty-three
his brain had cultivated the habit of thought !
Our muscles wTe share with everything that
lives — with the oyster clinging to his rock,
the whale plowing through cold seas, and
our monkey kinsman swinging from his
tropical branch.
Hints for Scenario Writers
139
These muscles, useful only to cart us
around, help us to do slave work or pound
our fellows, we cultivate with care.
We run, fence, ride, walk hard, weary our
poor lungs and gather pains in our backs
building the muscles that we do not need.
Alone among animals, we possess a po-
tentiality of mind development unlimited.
And for that, with few exceptions, we care
nothing.
Most of us, sitting in Newton's place and
seeing the apple fall, would merely have de-
bated the advisability of getting the apple to
eat it — just the process that any monkey
mind would pass through.
A Newton, a brain trained to think, sees
the apple drop, asks himself why the moon
does not drop also. And he discovers the
law of gravitation which governs the exist-
ence of every material atom in the universe.
Young men who read this, start in now to
use your brains. Take nothing for granted,
not even the fact that the moon stays in her
appointed place or that the poor starve and
freeze amid plenty.
Think of the things which are wrong and
of the possibilities of righting them. Study
your own weaknesses and imperfections.
There is power in your brain to correct them,
if you will develop that power.
As surely as you can train your arm to
hold fifty pounds out straight, just so surely
can you train your brain to deal with prob-
lems that now would find you a gaping in-
competent.
You may not be a Newton. But if you
can condescend to aim at being an inferior
Sandow, can't you afford to try even harder
to be an inferior Newton?
Don't be a muscular monkey. Be a low-
grade philosopher, if you can't be high grade,
and find how much true pleasure there is
even in inferior brain gymnastics.
Take up some problem and study it :
There goes a woman, poor and old. She
carries a heavy burden because she is too
sad and weak to fight against fate, too hon-
est to leave a world that treats her harshly.
There struts a youngster, rich and idle.
How many centuries of hell on earth will
it take to put that woman's load on that other
broad, fat, idle back?
Answer that one question ; better still,
transfer the load, and your life will not have
been wasted.
It is thought that moves the world. In
Napoleon's brain are born the schemes that
murder millions and yet push civilization on.
The mere soldier, with gold lace and sharp
sword, is nothing — a mere tool.
It is the concentrated thought of the Eng-
lish people under Puritan influence that
makes Great Britain a sham monarchy and
a real republic now.
It is the thought of the men of independent
mind in this country that throws English tea
and English rule overboard forever.
Don't wait until you are old. Don't wait
until you are one day older. Begin now.
Or, later, with a dull, fuzzy, useless mind,
you will realize that an unthinking man
might as well have been a monkey, with fur
instead of trousers, and consequent freedom
from mental responsibility or self-respect.
POINTING UP A CLIMAX.
The value of pointing up a climax,
once a writer has secured a big idea for
the same, cannot be overestimated.
Many a picture has been made or
broken by the author's skill in this par-
ticular line.
The manner of handling a climax to
the best advantage must be decided by
the author with the climax of each par-
ticular play which he works upon.
There can be no general rule for this,
as one plot is set oft to best advantage
by sudden and unexpected climaxes,
while another requires a slow-moving
but powerful climax which is obvious
almost from the start of the action.
After outlining his plot fully, the writer
should carefully go over it and take
care of the many little things which can
be turned to good advantage in its de-
velopment. Then he should concentrate
on the climax for a considerable period
of time and see that it is ''worked up"
in the best possible way.
A correspondent's message.
One of our correspondents in Florida
in a recent letter made the following
remarks which are worthy of the study
of any beginner. Following is his letter
in part :
"First and most essential is that ele-
ment, the possession of which is needed
140
Hints for Scenario Writers
for the battle — a determination to work !
A determination which rejections and
disappointments will not batter down.
There is a surprising lack of spirit
shown by many beginners when their
first few offerings are not purchased by
the company. Many of them consider
it an easy way to acquire the necessary
'pin money,' but very soon this idea is
trampled down by the hobnail boots of
the all-powerful scenario editors and
their assistants. Such writers revive
sufficiently to pick up their spurned
offering and regain enough voice to rail
violently against the iron-hearted edi-
tors, and then either retreat hastily from
the field with much feeling of having
entered sacred grounds and violated a
no-trespass ordinance or gather up suf-
ficient courage to prepare and submit
another script, this time much wiser in
the ways of the film game in general
and the scenario editors in particular,
and these latter are the ones who will
eventually win recognition, always, pro-
viding, of course, the ability is there.
"Then there is the matter of inspira-
tion and forced concentration. Inspira-
tion is, of course, necessary, but it is
nothing if that most indispensable run-
ning mate, "willed attention," be not
at instant command. Very few are the
films which carry with them sufficient
inspiration to start, finish, and revise a
script. Every petty detail, it seems, ab-
sorbs its bit from our fund of inspira-
tion, and when we go so far we find
that we must reply upon our will power
to pull us on to a finish. This is more
true of the multiple-reel scripts than of
the single reelers, though the latter also
come under this head.
" 'Slow, but sure,' is an excellent
motto for all amateurs. Suppose we do
read of so and so turning out an almost
unbelievable number of reels per day
or per week. That is no reason why
we, new in the game as we are, should
attempt to do likewise. We must re-
member that the editor looks on the
outside for scripts unusual in ideas and
treatment. At the present time this is
more true than previously, I believe,
because the supply of novels and short
stories is slowly dwindling away and
original scripts are more in demand.
"Therefore, let us go slow giving al-
ways the best that is in us and striving
to inject into our scripts purity and
ideals that will tend to raise the entire
status of the motion-picture industry."
POSERS.
One regrettable thing about a few
misguided photo playwrights is the fact
that they seem to enjoy going about
before their friends and in their neigh-
borhood or village and posing as a per-
son not built with ordinary clay.
Many of these beginners allow their
hair to grow long and spend much of
their time inventing eccentric things to
do, because they have heard that this
was the way of geniuses. That these
writers seldom get anywhere need not
be chronicled here, but it seems a pity
that they should place the entire photo-
play-writing profession in an unfavor-
able light in certain localities.
Neighbors and friends of these
"posers" not only ridicule them, but
actually believe they are different from
other people and that "they are not
quite right in the head." Thus the im-
pression spreads that the same applies
to all photo playwrights, and this is de-
cidedly unfavorable.
The real scenario writer is most prac-
tical. Those who work in studios ar-
rive at a certain time in the morning
and punch the clock. They leave at a
certain time in the evening and punch
the clock again. Nothing very eccentric
about that, is there ?
Every beginner should be very care-
ful to see that he does not pose before
his friends, as the effect is never an
official, and quite often proves harm-
ful. The majority of writers who have
Hints for Scenario Writers
141
made a success of the work have gone
along for months without telling even
the members of their immediate family
what they were doing. After they reg-
istered a sale or two, they told, with
becoming modesty, what they had been
trying to do and to what extent they
had succeeded. This is the proper spirit
to enter into the work with, for it is
the worker, not the poser, that succeeds
in the scenario game.
THE SHORTAGE.
A well-known motion-picture mag-
nate recently remarked that in his opin-
ion there were less than fifty per cent
enough photo playwrights in America
to-day. and we are firmly convinced that
he spoke the truth.
The reason is probably very much of
a debated question, both the manufac-
turers and the scenario writers having
a "say in" on the matter. The manu-
facturer has been going along for sev-
eral years now using such start writers
as he needed and buying occasional
scripts from outside. At no time has
he gone especially out of his way to
develop a new writer with thoughts of
the future. This is quite different
than the policy of a publishing house,
for large publishers are always looking
into the future and developing new
writers.
A manufacturer has taken too much
for granted in regard to photo play-
wrights. He has figured that they would
come and go just as easily as actors
and actresses, but it appears that things
are working out differently, and that
while certain writers are going, the ex-
pected rivals have failed to put in an
appearance.
The photo playwright's viewpoint of
the situation is that he has not been
treated quite fairly. AYhether this is
true or not it is worthy of consideration,
since the claim is insistent. The ohoto-
play writer has not been developed as
a young fiction writer would have been,
but has been forced to peddle his wares
to whatever companies he could, and
has, therefore, become disinterested in
any particular company, his sole interest
being to sell each particular script. This
regrettable condition will continue just
as long as promising writers are not
taken under the direction of companies
and developed to fit that company's
needs. It is not necessary that the com-
pany buy everything that the photo
playwright turns out, but an occasional
purchase, with many letters of encour-
agement and considerable coaching, will
prove quite sufficient to hold the writer
to the company.
Since it is the manufacturer who is
just waking up to the shortage of sce-
nario writers, it seems altogether natu-
ral that he be the first one to make ad-
vances to the army of writers who have
really proved their worth, but who have
never quite "got inside." If the manu-
facturer will come halfway, we believe
he will find the writer ready to meet
him, and with cooperation between the
two. the shortage will cease to exist and
the number of good pictures which will
be seen on the screen will greatly in-
crease.
oxe student's progress.
About a year ago a young lady in
Bedford, Maine, wrote us that she in-
tended to become a scenario writer and
asked us how, which, why, when, where,
et cetera. We replied politely that it
would be impossible for us to take her
as an absolutely unskilled amateur and
turn her into a finished writer with a
few simple letters through the mail.
However, we outlined the plan which
we usually do for beginners, viz.. to
study our department carefully and to
apply from what she learned from it
to the construction of the films she saw
on the screen and to the scenarios which
she wrote herself.
Recently we received another letter
142
Hints for Scenario Writers
from the same young lady. She told
of the many hardships she had encoun-
tered during her year of "experience,"
but said she was considerably encour-
aged by the fact that she had sold two
two-reel scenarios and one five-reel
synopsis.
Her method, as she described it, did
not vary in the least from the one we
suggested. When she received our let-
ter she sat down and began to think
and realize that if she was to be a suc-
cess it would be because she worked
for it. Then she applied herself to the
careful study of our department, and
also began to attend the picture shows
regularly — not for amusement purposes,
but for as serious a study as she had
ever attempted in her life. She saw just
how the pictures were put together and
noted many different ideas, situations,
and incidents that went to make up
every film.
These she dissected carefully while
in her study, and in time she began to
feel that she had an insight into the
work. Then, for the first time, she tried
to write a photo play herself, although
she had been saving ideas for that ever
since she decided to join the ranks of
the writers. Her first effort did not
please her, and she set it aside for a
couple of weeks. Then she continued
her study of the screen. When she re-
turned to the script, she quickly saw
its weak points and revised it. Then
she submitted it ; but, as the first sce-
narios of writers usually do, it came
back, but this did not bother her in the
least, however, for she had determined
to succeed, and nothing could stop her.
Six months rolled by in which it was
all work and no pleasure, for not a
single sale was registered. Then one
of the two-reel scenarios failed to come
back, and a check was mailed in its
place. This served as an inspiration,
and she worked all the harder during
the last six months, with the result that
the other two sales were registered.
This woman would be typical of thou-
sands if they only had the grit and
determination to go through with the
task they have started. There may be
times when rejections pile up and dis-
couragement runs high that one would
like to give up everything, but success
awaits those that persevere, and the
man who enters the fight in a merely
lukewarm manner will never win his
v/ay to the top.
PLOT DEVELOPMENT.
If the writer is rushed during the
composing of a scenario, there is a great
danger that the plot development will
be something to bring tears to the eyes
of an intelligent person. An excellent
idea can easily be spoiled by the writer
dashing through, and instead of giving
it such development as it really re-
quires, just "filling in" enough to make
the required footage, whatever it be.
While this is a fault more common
with staff writers than with free-lancers
and beginners, nevertheless it is one
that the latter two classes should be
warned against. Very often a free-
lance writer believes he has a splendid
idea, and takes hope with the thought
of getting it to the studio as quickly as
possible for fear some one else will
"beat him to it."
The development of a plot is a
process which requires much thought,
as a rule. Occasionally a complete plot
may bob into the mind of the writer,
and he will be able to sit down and
write the play out without stopping to
think out the details, as they seem to
be alread^ there. This is sort of a
phenomenon, however, and happens
very seldom. In the majority of cases
the writer gets his idea for his story,
and then it is up to him to work it
out in the best possible manner.
It is the little things in plot develop-
ment that count even more than the big
things, and it is only natural that when
Hints for Scenario Writers
143
the writer is forced to hurry through a
script the little things are slighted, al-
though the big things are handled in a
rough way. Examples of this can be
seen on the screen daily in films put
out by companies whose scenario staffs
are literally "rushed to death." The
scripts are inconsistent, and the pos-
sibilities for logical development and
for the injection of appealing action are
naturally ignored. On the other hand,
the films of the companies who are sev-
eral weeks ahead of the release dates
and whose scenario writers have much
more time to round the niceties into
their scripts stand out very well in com-
parison.
Never be afraid that the time you
spend in finding new and appealing
situations and action within your plot,
if you have roughly outlined it, will
be wasted, for more than one sale has
been made simply because the writer
seemed to show an insight into human
life and the editor was struck at once
by his story.
TYPES.
As we have often said before, one
of the largest channels through which
freshness can be injected into the photo
drama is by a careful selection of un-
usual types from life. The successful
photo-playwright, like the successful
dramatist or novelist, must learn to
classify people according to types the
moment he lays eyes on them on the
street. Not that there are a certain
number of hackneyed "types" which the
mind can easily absorb and file every
one that passes before it ; rather, there
is no standard at all, and the word type
is taken to mean individual rather than
class.
Some of the greatest and biggest
photo plays have grown out of the abil-
ity of the scenario writer to find a new
type. Directors and actors immediately
recognize this, and are inspired to do
their best work in the picture which
presents a type which is not trite to the
screen.
To select types, one must be a stu-
dent of human nature, and to become
a student of human nature one must
know not only one's self, but also the
entire plan of life, and ever seeking to
better it. When he sees a type that is
different from the many which pass
him every day, he seizes upon it imme-
diately. It may not develop into any-
thing, but at the same time an idea may
arise from it which will eventually be-
come one of the screen's best produc-
tions.
THE PHYSICAL "PUNCH."
The day of the physical "punch" is
rapidly passing, for motion-picture pa-
trons are no longer thrilled by a phys-
ical smash-up which more than often
showed no uncertain evidences of being
"staged." The entry into the field of
players capable of doing more dramatic
work through expressions sounded the
death knell of the "dare-devil." Their
death has been slow, and, perhaps, we
will be forced to retract the statement
regarding the death knell, as there may
at all times be an opening for a certain
amount of thrillers. At the present
time, however, it is a fact that producers
care more for a novel idea and a clev-
erly worked-out play, together with a
smashing, logical climax, than they do
for all the thrills and excitement that
a scenario writer could imagine in
months.
It is only natural that the public's
choice should prove this way and carry
the exhibitors' demand with it. As the
public tired of melodrama on the stage
years ago, it is certain that it would
tire of melodrama on the screen in time.
This is but another sign that the time
is near when the photo playwright will
be recognized in his full worth, and
when that time comes we hope that
many of our readers will be among the
foremost in the profession.
144
Hints for Scenario Writers
LIVE-WIRE MARKET HINTS.
The Fine Arts Griffiths Studios, No.
4500 Sunset Boulevard, Los Angeles,
California, have announced they will
release a series of two-reel pictures
shortly. No details are given except
that Douglas Fairbanks and Fay
Tincher will appear in these. Whether
the scenarios are to be prepared by staff
'men or purchased from the outside has
not been stated, but an inquiry might be
worth while.
ANSWERS TO READERS.
John McCulloch. — Unless the
dance which takes place in your sce-
nario has to be a certain kind, it is un-
important that the author state what
kind it is. There is no reason to de-
scribe it in detail. An author generally
can best tell how many reels his sce-
nario is intended for,
Jno. E. Jarvis. — The use of a dou-
ble subtitle should be avoided, but
where necessary the effect can be
gained by writing the first title and
then either stating that a new piece of
film is necessary, or if one title fades
into the other handle it just the same
as a fade. Most scenario writers sim-
ply use the word "vision" when they
want a vision scene. It is quite all that
is necessary for the director to know
what is wanted. Close ups and close-
range views should always be num-
bered separately unless some special
j cause arises, and an individual script
] alters this rule. If you wanted to re-
] turn to scene one from some scene be-
t yond that point, and show continuous
action, you would probably say back
; to scene one, but if there is no continu-
£ ity in the action, and the only connec-
( tion between the scene is the sameness
\ of the setting, the expression, "Same as
T scene one," could be used. If you use
a title which had been previously copy-
righted, you would lay yourself liable
to punishment by the owner of the
copyright if he desired to take the mat-
ter up. It is advisable to be very care-
ful in such matters.
A. J. Kuh. — The Universal Film
Manufacturing Company, No. 1600
Broadway, New York, the Vitagraph
Company of America, East Fifteenth
Street and Locust Avenue, Brooklyn,
or the Lubin Manufacturing Company,
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, might be
interested in your story.
Charles L. Dupre. — There is no
company that we know of which makes
a specialty of historical plays, though
any of them will consider such mate-
rial. Just now, however, modern so-
ciety dramas are most popular, and the
historical films produced within the last
few months have been taken, almost
without exception, from famous books
and plays. Lasky is probably your best
chance.
G. D. Benson. — The answers to all
of your questions are covered fully in
our market booklet, which we will be
glad to forward you upon receipt of a
stamped, self-addressed envelope. De-
tailed* information is given concerning
the wants of all the companies.
A. G. B. — It is probable that your
manuscript did not have enough stamp-
to carry it. If it had been delivered
with the other mail, undoubtedly it
would have been opened. On account
of the volume of letters received on
which additional postage is required,
however, most film companies make a
practice of refusing to make any extra
payments whatever, and all mail bear-
ing insufficient postage is returned.
This is the only explanation we can
think of.
^pLueytionyA/InfuJet'j about frlfcreen
This department will answer questions asked by our readers relating to motion pic-
tures. No questions regarding matrimony, religion, or scenario writing will be answered ;
those of the latter variety should be sent to the editor of the scenario writers' depart-
ment. Send full name and address, and write name or initials by which you wish to
be answered at the top of your letter. Address: Picture Oracle, care of this magazine,
79 Seventh Avenue, New York City. All questions are answered in the order received ;
failure to see your reply in one issue means that it will come later. If you desire an
early answer, inclose a stamped, addressed envelope, and a personal answer will be sent
unless there is space in the magazine for it.
GIRL OF SEVENTEEN.— Yes, Ben Wil-
son always appears with Dorothy Phil-
lips. Quite a pair, don't you think? He was
born in Corning, Iowa. The last time I saw
him, he had black hair and brown eyes. He
is five feet eleven and three-fourths. Miss
Phillips was born in Baltimore on October
28th, 1882, and has brown eyes and hair.
Address them care of the Universal, No.
1600 Broadway, New York City. The "Jug-
gernaut" has long been released. So you are
going to be a movie star? Go to it, if you
insist, and good luck ! A large neck might
interfere with your becoming an actress, but
it all depends on how large it is. Actresses
curl their own hair. Stage paint is never
used on their faces in the movies. It shows
up black on the screen. Ben likes to row,
swim, and ride in his auto. My eyes are
the same color all year round.
Meek & Leek. — Ah ! An easy answer at
last ! Edward Abies, in that play. Leo Ma-
loney opposite Helen Holmes in "The Girl
and the Game." Yes, Francis Ford has a
brother. Billie Ritchie originated the Chap-
lin make-up. Herbert Rawlinson is quite an
athlete. Anna Little is still with Mutual.
Elaine T. — Henry Walthall is resting at
the present writing. Griffith's "Mother and
the Law" is said to surpass even the "Birth
of a Nation." It will be about the same
length. Robert Harron and Mae Marsh will
be seen in the leading roles. Wallace Reid
IO
is with Lasky, Cleo Ridgley opposite him.
Don't think Lillian and Dorothy ever heard
of that town. Henry's turn is coming. Her
hair is brown. Henry Walthall is five feet
six inches tall. You bet you're welcome any
time.
Frances O'Connor. — Against the rules,
young lady. Address Mary Pickford, care
of the Famous Players' Film Company, New
York City. She will surely get it. That
doesn't sound like Mabel Normand. Suppose
you write to her again, and tell her about it.
Maybe she didn't get your letter. Address
her at the New York Motion Picture Cor-
poration, Culver City, California.
Elizabeth Drew. — Haven't seen the fifty-
thousand-dollar smile, but am sure it must
be a little overestimated. Haven't seen or
heard of the picture as yet.
Mary Miles Minter Admirer. — Your first
is against the rules of this department. Of
course not! She is only fourteen years old.
Her latest picture has not been named as yet.
You must read the magazine more carefully.
Mary is one of our favorites. Thanks muchly
for the invitation.
E. B. — Whew ! Why didn't you bind your
questions in book form? Here goes, how-
ever ; I'll do my best. Toss up between
Wally Reid and Carlyle Blackwell. Am
getting to like Wally better every day.
Ghosts are made to appear and disappear by
146
The Picture Oracle
means of double exposure. Give me the one
with the homely face and the talent. To both
hard, earnest training and naturalness. Cer-
tainly .they are decent, respectable people.
Art is art, you know. Some look better off
than on, and the other way around. Farnum
depends on his acting, and not his physique.
The scenario is the working basis of a film
production, the story analyzed in scenes.
I prefer Dorothy Gish. Henry Walthall and
Mary Pickford, Walthall has a little the
better of it. Triangle and Lasky produce
the best at the present time. From six weeks
up to make a five-reel picture. Yes, the pla>T-
ers really speak when they open their mouths,
and talk. Carrying a dialogue helps them
with their acting. Very few use music for
rehearsals. The "Birth of a Nation" is still
being shown all over the country. It is the
biggest money-getting picture that has ever
been seen, and well deserving, as it is also
the best picture that has ever been produced.
Wixfield, Kans. — So you're back again?
Welcome home! Jack Pickford with Selig,
in Chicago. Jack Kerrigan can be addressed
at Universal City, California. Glad you agree
with me, Bessie.
Poughkeepsie. — Wallace Reid is with
Lasky. You can address him in care of that
company at Los Angeles, California. Wally
will most certainly send you a photo for
twenty-five cents to cover the cost of the
plioto and mailing. Let's hear more from
you.
Buck. — Would suggest that you try to get
a position as assistant camera man with
some film company, or get in some studio
in any capacity that will enable you to get
a chance to study the camera. It is a hard
job to learn to master that end of the busi-
ness.
Amelia.— Hello ! Back again, I see! Wel-
come to our column ! Yes, Irving Cummings
was very good indeed in "The Saleslady."
\ ou can. look for him again shortly in an-
other Famous Players picture. He closed his
contract with Mutual right after the filming
of "The Diamond from the Sky" serial. Mr.
Bushman's next film will be announced
shortly. "Romeo and Juliet" is announced as
the latest picture of Bushman and Bayne.
Come again. I like your letters.
I. M., Toronto. — That's the way. Toronto
is getting to be one of our favorites. Quite
some questions from Toronto fans now.
Keep up the good work. Yes, as you stated
in your postscript, your answer is against
the rules of the department for me to give.
Beverly Bayne, Grace Cunard, and Blanche
Sweet are all certainly very good actresses,
as you state. Goodness ! Six pictures of
Blanche around you at this very moment !
Guess she would feel highly honored if she
knew of it. Yes, she had the same hard
climb as most of the stars. Ability and hard
work are the only roads that lead to fame
as a motion-picture actor, and you have to
travel both of them to get to the top. Paul
Capellani is the leading man to whom you
refer in your last question. Be sure to
write us often.
Allen. — Both of these serials are unques-
tionably very fine. It is all a matter of per-
sonal opinion as to which is the better. "The
Iron Claw" has been very good indeed. "The
Mysteries of Myra" are released by the In-
ternational Film Service, and produced by
the Wharton Brothers. "Peg of the Ring"
is declared to be even better than the Cu-
nard-Ford serial, "The Broken Coin." Helen
Holmes is to be seen in "Whispering Smith,"
in ten reels. Sounds very good, doesn't it?
Xo, both Mary Pickford and Charlie Chaplin
have appeared in several pictures since the
"Eternal Grind" and "Carmen." Marshall
Neilan played opposite Mary Pickford in
that picture. Stewart Holmes with Theda
Bara in the "Galley Slave." Alexander
Gaden in "The Drifter," Gaumont. Leo Ma-
loney was the leading man of the "Girl and
the Game" serial. Harry Watson is still
appearing in the "Musty Suffer" series of
comedies for George Klein. Yes, the Uni-
versal is the larger company of the ones you
mention. "The Mother and the Law" is the
name of Griffith's new picture that is sup-
posed to be better than his "Birth of a Na-
tion." The "Trey o' Hearts" was an excep-
tional serial, and ranks with any that have
been produced so far. It will always be re-
membered as a thrilling piece of work by all
who were fortunate enough to follow it up.
All right, I'll be looking for your letter next
week.
Cupid ! — Well, another Toronto well-
wisher ! That's the way. We like to hear
from our readers all over the United States,
Canada, or any place, and are always will-
ing to answer anything within our ability.
Wally Reid sure is a handsome chap. His
name is William Wallace Reid, and he was
born in St. Louis in 1891. He is six feet
two inches tall, and weighs one hundred and
eighty-five pounds. Sessue Hayakawa was
educated in both Japan and America. Fannie
Ward may be in time, but at present I don't
think she is quite her equal. You certainly
must be some movie fan, and at that rate
The Picture Oracle
147
ought to see quite a number of pictures. Well,
be sure and let us hear from you soon again.
W. T. B. A. — So you two sixteen-year-
olders want to be "movie actors," and want
some advice about how to get in. Our ad-
vice is to keep out. There are thousands of
boys just like you who write us the very
same thing. Home, sweet home, is where you
belong at your ages. Now, don't get angry.
Sammy Otis. — You're all wrong, Sammy.
Kerrigan is a good actor, but he cannot be
compared with Henry Walthall. Harry
Carey is absolutely the best heavy in the busi-
ness, but his playing leading roles has noth-
ing to do with the case. Wally Reid has the
looks on Kerrigan. Our readers have proven
that they think so by the number of letters
they have written saying so. The public is
fully aware of the "Peg of the Ring" serial.
Come again, and stay a while.
Vera S. — Sorry, Vera, but we cannot help
you out. Hundreds have written us the same
thing. There is no man that we know of
who makes a successful practice of taking
girls who want to act and making picture
stars out of them, although some one may
profess to do such a thing. Why don't you
apply for extra work at the different studios,
and in this way get used to things?
June. — Whew! Some little questioner you
are, take it from me! Well, I'll do my
best. She is twenty-eight. Yes, I think they
would answer your letters, all right, al-
though they are all so busy that it might
take a long time. Address Lillian Walker
in care of the Vitagraph Company, New
York City. Anna Little can be addressed
at the American Film Company, Santa Bar-
bara, California. She is twenty-two years
old. I am neither old nor young. It all
depends on what time I get up in the morn-
ing. No, I must admit that Mary Pickford
gets a few more cents than I do.^ I earn a
lot, but I don't get it. Every one wants my
photo, but I am all out of them and am so
busy answering questions that I never get
time to have any taken. Are you pretty?
How do I know? I haven't seen you, but I
will take your word for it. Yes, most actors
and actresses answer all the letters they get.
but it takes lots of time. All right, thanks
for letting me off so easy this time. All
right, anything you want to ask I will an-
swer, providing it isn't against the rules. A
very readable hand, indeed. Wish all the let-
ters I receive were as plain as your own.
Dixie. — Your very interesting little ( ?)
letter received. I quite agree with you that
the moving pictures are a godsend to the
masses. Marguerite Clark is being inter-
viewed. Yes, Ramona will be seen in the
West shortly. Most of the companies do
print their cast before the beginning of each
picture.
Lottie Pickford Admirer. — Your question
is not within the rules of this department.
I don't know why she changed her name.
He is twenty- four years old. Yes, they are
brothers and sisters. Beulah Poynter is still
acting — considerably so. So you like the
married-club idea? Very good. Write again.
F. O'Connor. — Yes, Blanche Sweet is a
very good actress, indeed. You must spend
all of your time at the movies, don't you?
"Stolen Goods" was produced in California.
Carlyle Blackwell has it on him in looks.
You say you think he is handsomer because
he sent you a photograph of himself, .and
Carlyle didn't. Why don't you write Carlyle
and ask him for one?
M. D. — Marguerite Clark, in "Seven Sis-
ters." Alan Dwan is directing for Triangle
now, since he left the Universal. Alice Hol-
lister was the first real "vampire." She
played that part in the "Vampire," a Kalem
production. Theda Bara, however, has be-
come recognized as the greatest portrayer
of the alluring female on the screen. Louise
Glaum, of Triangle, is also rapidly ascend-
ing the feminine seducing gallery ladder.
The companies are using stage stars mostly
for the reputation they have attained on the
spoken stage.
Lord Hazenback No. 7771. — Wow, me
lord ! Where on earth did you dig up the
title? It's long enough, to be sure, but why
the No. 7771 ? Reminds one of the rogues'
gallery. Hope your conscience is clear, how-
ever. No, I only answer questions for this
magazine, and am just old enough to know
better. Some boy for my age, eh, what?
L-ko stands for Lehrman, ko — company.
Billie Ritchie goes under his own name, is
an Englishman, and was born in his native
country. Billie Jacobs' "ma" got him into
the movies. King Baggot is his real name,
although he never sat on a throne outside
of the movie realm. So you, too, want to
become a motion-picture star. Ye gods !
Have I one reader who does not possess that
desire? Don't all speak at once. You are
some poet, but modesty forbids me to print
such a tribute to myself. Thanks, just the
same.
Ruth ie H.— Hello, Ruthie ! So this is
your first offense? Such a little bit of a
letter, too. However, I hope you will im-
prove as we get better acquainted. Xo, Wil-
148
The Picture Oracle
iiam Courtleigh, junior, and Lillian Lorraine
are not playing together any more. They
were only engaged to play opposite each other
for the "XTeal of the Navy" serial. Lillian
Walker is still with the Vitagraph. There
is no one by that name with the Vitagraph
Company. Come again soon, and stay a little
while longer.
W. E. M. — Thanks muchly for the box of
candy. It was delicious — the little I had of
* it — but some hungry- editor was around when
I received it, and all but devoured the dainty
morsels. I don't know whether to blame the
candy or the editor's salary for this out-
break. Against the rules, little lady. Sydney
Ainsworth resides in Chicago. So Valeska
Suratt had a fall on the stage? I wonder
if she enjoyed her trip? Couldn't you think
of any more questions that you would like
to have answered? Don't be bashful about
it. That's what I get my three thousand a
week for — letters, I mean.
May Feine. — All we can describe Mary
Pickford as is a "little bundle of joy." Don't
you think it fits her case very well? Guess
the name of Pickford appealed to her. You
can address her at the Famous Players Film
Company, Xew York City. Anita Stewart
has a sister in pictures, now starting with
the Vitagraph. Her name is Lucille Lee
Stewart. You hit her age right. Mary Miles
Minter acknowledges that she has seen four-
ten summers, and as many winters. Mar-
guerite Clark is twenty-nine. Mary Pick-
ford's birthday is on April 8th. Mary Miles
Minter also has her birthday in April, on
the very first day. M arguerite Snow on Sep-
tember gth. Washington and Marguerite
Clark were born on the same day. but not
the same year. February 8th for Geraldine
Farrar. Against the rules, young lady. Of
course Mary Fuller is cute. Yes — again —
she draws a cute salary. Xever asked Mary
about the articles. Another question against
the rules. Better luck next time.
H. H. — Yes, there are quite a number of
openings at times for people in your line in
the motion-picture business. You would
stand a much better chance by applying for
the position in person than you would by
merely writing to a firm and stating your
ability. Here's luck to you !
"Dot." — Xo. Charlie Chaplin and Florence
Lawrence are still very much alive. Yes, one
does hear a great number of reports about
certain motion-picture people dying off every
once in a while, but you must let that go
in one ear and out of the other, unless you
see it published in Picture- Play. You can
address Florence La Badie in care of the
Thanhouser Film Corporation at New Ro-
chelle, New York. Myrtle Stedman played
with Dustin Farnum in "The Call of the
Cumberlands." I quite agree with you that
"Dusty" is some chesty little hero. Bessie
Love played lead with William S. Hart in
the Triangle production of "The Aryan."
Enough ?
"Babe." — Al Thomas is the man who took
the part. No, you're all wrong. They are
entirely two different persons. The William
Shea who played in "My Lady's Slipper"
is not the William Shay who played in the
"Clemenceau Case" and "Soul of Broadway."
The former is a comedian with the Vitagraph
Company, while the latter is a leading man
with William Fox. Xow you go and spoil
it all by asking a question that is against the
rules of the Picture Oracle. Don't you ever
read the rules? Dustin is older than William
Farnum. Claire Whitney is about five feet
eight inches tall.
C. K. L. — Arnold Daly is not appearing in
Pathe's new serial, the "Iron Claw." He is
back on the stage again, appearing in "Beau
Brummel" at the Thirty-ninth Street The-
ater, in Xew York. You can address him
care of Pathe, New York City. Gilbert M.
Anderson has not been with the Essanay for
some time. He is not appearing in the
movies for the time being, and the chances
are that he will retire.
Gussie L. P. W. — So you are going to be
a star? Glad to hear it. Be sure to send
me an invite to the grand event. By the way.
I notice you sign yourself "lovingly" now.
Evidently you are getting to like us better
each day. You can address Anna Little in
care of the American Film Company, at
Santa Barbara, California. Warren Kerri-
gan at Universal City, California. The same
address will reach Herbert Rawlinson. Car-
Iyle Blackwell in care of the World Film
Corporation, Xew York City. Mary Miles
Minter and Charlie Chaplin at the Mutual
Film Corporation. New York City, and Mary-
Fuller at the Universal Company, Xew York
City7. You sure will have some collection of
stars when you get the above. You had bet-
ter send twenty-five cents with each request,
and then you will surely get one in return.
You know, photographs cost the actor and
actress quite a good deal of money, and
they get many such requests each day. If
they kept supplying every one with photos
free, they would soon be bankrupt. Come
again.
Miss Ambitious. — Ambition! That's the
stuff that makes us great men and women,
eh, what? So you are infected with the
The Picture Oracle
149
ambition fever also? And you liked the
Violet Mersereau cover very much? It cer-
tainly was very nice indeed. You must ask
your theater manager to get her pictures if
you want to see her, as she is appearing in
them regularly with William Garwood. You
can address her in care of the Universal
Film Company, New York City. Certainly
Helen Holmes is still playing in pictures.
Didn't you see ''The Girl and the Game" se-
ries? You can also see her in "Whispering
Smith." You are right, she is quite some
dare-devil. Mary Miles Minter is with Mu-
tual. She does not use rouge on her face at
all while acting before the camera. None
of the actresses do, as it photographs black
on the screen. Your poetry is vera, vera good,
but I have to hold over some answers as
it is until next month, so it will have to go
unpublished until we can scrape up some
room for it.
Leona. — That moniker for the Picture Or-
acle reminds me of suburban lots for sale.
Madame Petrova was born in Poland. You
can address Paula Shay in care of the Ivan
Film Corporation, New York City. Beatriz
Michelina can be addressed at the California
Motion Picture Corporation, San Rafael,
California. Yes, I am sure that she will send
you a photograph of herself if you inclose
a quarter as you state in your letter. Yes,
we will have something about Madame Pe-
trova very shortly in Picture- Play. You
have the right idea, Leona. The only reason
we can't put them all in at once is that we
haven't got the room, and, besides, if we
put them all in at one time, we wouldn't have
any left for the next issue. Wish some of
the other readers could see the way you do.
"Movie Fan." — So this is your first of-
fense? All right. That being the case, we
will have to forgive you this time, on one
condition, and that is that you let us hear
from you more, often. Anita Stewart, Wally
Van, and Earle Williams can be addressed
in care of the Vitagraph Company, Locust
Avenue, Brooklyn, New York; Lillian Gish
at the Fine Arts Studio, Los Angeles, Cali-
fornia, and Henry Walthall in care of the
Essanay, at Chicago, Illinois. Lillian Gish
is but twenty years old, Anita is also the very
same age she is. Earle Williams is thirty-
six years old, and Henry Walthall is but
two years his senior. Mary Pickford is
twenty-three years old, or should we say
twenty-three years young? You can address
her at the Famous Players Film Company,
New York City. Better send a quarter to
each one of them if you are after one of
their photos. Don't know whatever makes
people think that Charlie Chaplin is deaf or
dumb. Any one that can get six hundred
and seventy thousand dollars a year cannot
very well be considered dumb, do you think?
He is the liveliest dead man you ever saw.
"Bagie." — Yes, William Courtleigh had the
lead in that production. We prefer Ruth
Rolan to Florence La Badie, although she is
exceptionally clever. Jack Kerrigan has ap-
peared in serials. How about the Terrance
O'Rourke series with him? Morris Foster
with Florence La Badie. Don't be bashful.
Come again, and often.
''Irving Cummings Admirer." — Just look
at all the space your title takes up, and all
the space I have used up in telling you about
it. Oh, dear, and space so valuable in this
magazine, too ! Irving Cummings is but
twenty-eight years of old age. Yes, he did
some splendid work in "The Diamond from
the Sky," the American serial. Can't an-
swer that question, as it is against the rules.
He played opposite Hazel Dawn in "The
Saleslady." Address him in care of the Fa-
mous Players, New York City.
E. T. — Thanks for them kind woids. We
most heartily appreciate your interest. Don't
mention it. We will do our best to answer
anything that is hurled our way, except when
it does not come within the rules of the de-
partment. When a moving-picture company
supplies a costume, the actor or actress does
not keep it. The costumes are returned to
the wardrobe room of the company for fu-
ture use. Pearl White and Creighton Hale
are very good, indeed, but are not my own
favorites. We can't all be alike, you know.
Your letter was very interesting indeed.
Don't fail to call on us at any old time. I
might get lonesome without a line from you.
D. H. C. — William Farnum was born on
July 4th, 1876. No, not 1776. He likes the
coast very much, and spends his spare time
out there when not engaged before the cam-
era, which is mighty seldom. William is very
popular. Are you sure you have the right
name of that Lubin picture? Can't find any
by that name in the past three years. Yes,
Mary Pickford will send you a photograph
of herself if you will inclose a quarter.
Arnold N. R. — Seven years ago is a little
too far back to be able to get names of play-
ers. You can address Antonio Moreno, in
care of the Vitagraph Company, at Locust
Avenue, Brooklyn, New York. No, I don't
see any one generally underrating Francis X.
Bushman. No, I don't think he is as good an
actor as Henry Walthall, but I do agree
that he is a "corker." just the same. Chap-
lin has appeared in hundreds of pictures. I
150
The Picture Oracle
can't tell the reason you haven't seen him in
a "blue moon," as you say, because he is
acting regularly. Better inquire the reason
from your theater manager. No, I wouldn't
mind earning his salary for fifteen years.
F. H. B. — You can address William Gar-
wood in care of the Universal Company,
New York City. Lillian Gish can be ad-
dressed care the Fine Arts Film Company,
Los Angeles, California., Billie Burke at
George Kleine Film Company, New York
City, and Charlie Ray at Kay-Bee Film Com-
pany, Culver City, California. Wallace Reid
is twenty-five years old. - Yes, he used to
play with Dorothy Davenport in old Univer-
sal pictures. Quite some actor, as well as a
handsome chap, don't you think? Can't
answer that question about the price of con-
tributions. It all depends on the MSS.
M. E. R. — There is no record of such a
picture ever being produced by the Amer-
ican Film Company. Is it about an unre-
turned scenario ? Give me more details on
the subject, and maybe I can help you out
on it. Am willing to find out all I can for
you.
Jimmie. — My, but aren't you the inquisitive
little feller? Nope, you're all wrong in your
surmises, although they are very good indeed.
Yes, Farnum and Bushman are two very
good actors. We prefer Farnum to Bush-
man. Of course Violet Mersereau, Mar-
guerite Clarke, and Beverly Bayne are sweet !
You can address Billie Burke in care of
George Kleine Film Company, New York
City. Of course William Farnum will send
you one of his pictures if you inclose a quar-
ter. The poetry is very cute indeed, and I
am turning it over to the editor. If he can
find some spare space, I am sure he will use
it. Have hopes.
Eudora. — William Russel is six feet two
inches tall, weighs two hundred and three
pounds, and has dark-brown hair and eyes.
Against the rules, young lady. Don't you
know that we don't answer any marriage
questions in the Picture Oracle? No, you
are wrong. Lottie is the youngest. Char-
lotte Burton is considerable "vampire lady,"
as you say. She played that type of part
in the "Diamond from the Sky." ''The Se-
cret of the Submarine" is making quite a
hit now. Theda Bara is twenty-six, and is
about five feet nine inches tall. Mary Miles
Minter is with the Mutual, and can be ad-
dressed at the Mutual Film Corporation,
New York City. We don't mind the paper a
bit. We would like it on any kind, just so
it's readable. That's all we ask.
F. C. B. — Sorry, old man, but I can't help
you out. If you could give me the name
of the picture, or even the company that
put it on, T could find out for you. But to
give me only the name of a character and
want the name of the person who played the
part, the company, and the name of the pic-
ture is a little too much for me to do. Don't
fail to call on me for anything else.
"Movie Fax." — Joe Moore is about four-
teen years old. He used to play with the
old Imp Company, but is not playing in pic-
tures at the present time. He was considered
an exceptionally clever child actor. A good
friend of mine, by the way. Marcia Moore
is eigh-teen years old. She was born in Chi-
cago, Illinois. We were right about the ages
of the Moores. Owen is the eldest. Matt
is only twenty-eight years old. Joseph By-
ron Totten was born in Brooklyn, and edu-
cated at St. Francis Xavier, in New York.
He is a feature director with the Essanay
Company, and plays in pictures as well. He
is five feet eight and one-quarter inches tall,
and has blond hair and blue eyes. Jack Pick-
ford is five feet nine.
Violet, N. J. — Theda Bara in "A Fool
There Was," "Gold and the Woman," "The
Serpent," "The Clemenceau Case." "Lady
Audley's Secret," and "The Eternal Sappho."
Geraldine Farrar in "Carmen," "Temptation,"
and "Maria Rosa." Betty Nansen in "A
Woman's Resurrection," "The Song of
Hate," "Anna Karenina," "The Celebrated
Scandal," and "Should a Mother Tell?"
Mae Whitefield. — Hello, May! You sure
are a veteran reader of the magazine. Glad
you like it so well, and accept our thanks for
those kind words about us, especially about
this department. We will have chats with
them all, and almost everything as soon as
we get a little space for everybody. So you
would like to see some of Kerrigan's love
letters ? Naughty girl, but I don't think I
would object to reading a couple. They
must be very interesting. Sorry 'you burned
your hand. You know that old saying about
trying to kill two birds with one stone. This
applies to ironing and reading Picture-Play
at the same time. Never let ironing inter-
fere .with your reading — Picture-Play. So
we have about the same favorites? Well,
I am surely glad to hear that. You're right.
Next to Griffith. Thomas Ince is the greatest
director. So 3<6u are sorry Al Ray is not
conducting "Screen Gossip?" Well, he has
little time for anything else now but his
directing. He is with the Charter Features
Company now, producing the "Life of Lin-
coln." He appeared in fifteen Vim comedies.
The Picture Oracle
151
Glad you think Picture-Play is the best of
them all. We admit it as well as yourself.
Boats. — Nope, nothing doing on the roast-
ing. We are going to let you off easy this
time. Theda Bara was really born in Egypt.
Didn't you read her '"Strange Life," written
by herself in Picture- Play ? Under her own
signature she says that she was born in
Egypt, and don't you think the lady ought to
know better than any one else?
Susie Jones. — Yes, Earle Fox has been
featured in quite a few pictures. You think
him a likable villain, eh? Why not a likable
hero as well? So you like all those that
other people don't like? Quite strange, to
be sure. Yes, I guess we will see House
Peters in some more Western plays soon.
Geraldine Farrar is not at the Hollywood
studios of Lasky any more. She is not play-
ing in pictures for the time being. Don't
mention it.
A. A. — Sure, you can ask any old thing
that is within reason and the rules. The
Famous Players have a studio in New York
City. They take pictures of outdoor life
by going outdoors and taking it. Did you
suppose they took the exterior scenes in the
studio also? Most actors and actresses look
better off the screen than they do on. Violet
Mersereau is eighteen years old. Yes, she
played the lead in that picture, and was
just as old as she is now at the time.
Lady Ethel. — This is what I call a very
high-sounding and dignified title, to be sure.
So you like Irving Cummings very much?
He is a good actor, but we consider Francis
Bushman superior to him. Irving was born
October gth, 1888, is five feet eleven inches
tall, and weighs one hundred and seventy
pounds. He has black hair and brown eyes.
So you, too, are going to be a movie actress?
Why so, with school-teaching so successful?
The big movie studios in Florida are in Jack-
sonville, but they have been vacated for the
summer. In the winter they will open again,
however. The Vim, Thanhouser, Kalem,
Eagle, and Gaumont studios are there.
Thanks for the wishes. Call again.
Virginia. — Norma Phillips isn't playing at
present. There you go asking questions
against the rules. However, as this is your
first offense, I will excuse you this time, if
you promise not to let it happen again. We
are looking forward to a real Walthall pic-
ture very shortly. Leona Hutton has not
been with New York Motion Picture Cor-
poration for some time. Ethel Grandin is
back with the Universal as before. Another
question against the rules, young lady. The
Costello one. So you are collecting the
photos from the paper. Very good idea.
Yes, the scenario contest is a great thing,
as you say. You can be sure that your sce-
nario will be read and given every consid-
eration. There are no favorites played in
this contest. Y'ou ought to see more of Flor-
ence. Why not inquire of your theater man-
ager?
Marian B. — Certainly, here they are :
Mary Pickford's hair is really curly. She
is a blond. Mary is the oldest. Marguerite
Clarke is older than Mary Pickford by six
years. Quite a surprise to you, eh ? You
can address Marguerite in care of the Fa-
mous Players Film Company, New York
City. Yes, you can get some good pictures
to save out of the magazine. We like the
etching work, too. Ask as many questions
as you like, just so you keep within the rules
of the department. We answer all, outside
of those.
M. J. Cellar. — Yours was a very inter-
esting letter indeed. Two theaters can run
the same picture at the same time, because
they have two different prints, or duplicates,
made from the original negative. The Chap-
lin pictures have four hundred prints playing
at the same time, which is an example of the
number of prints they can make from one
negative. No, scenarios are not used more
than once, although the same idea has been
used in more than one picture. Kathlyn
Williams is twenty-nine. Yes, she is won-
derful, and so is Wheeler Oakman. He is
now with Fox. Maurice Costello always did
rank among the best of the photo players.
He will be seen shortly on the screen again.
Haven't paid any attention to Bushman's love
letters. I have been too busy reading letters
of my own, some loving and some not so
much, but mostly all interesting and asking-
questions. Be sure to write again.
Jack, Detroit. — Henry Walthall is prob-
ably the shortest star in pictures. He is only
five feet six inches tall. Short in stature
as he may be, he is also the biggest of the
bunch. The little giant of the films, so to
s^eak. Quite a short letter for one's first
rap, don't you think?
The Twins. — Goodness gracious, Twins,
what on earth happened to the first part
of your letter? Did you discover that it
was against the rules and cut it out ? Norma
Talmadge is being featured in Griffith-Tri-
angle features. She used to be with the Vita-
graph, and played feminine lead in the "Bat-
tle Cry of Peace." Wallace Reid is with
Lasky. He is twenty-five years old, six
feet two inches tall, and weighs one hun-
dred and eighty-five pounds. He is con-
152
The Picture Oracle
sidered about the handsomest man in. pic-
tures.
E. M. B. — Why did I give up acting? Too
strenuous for my health. I have a better
job making others do the acting. Got you
guessing, all right, haven't I ? No, you are
wrong on that twenty-seven-years-of-age
stunt for Mary Pickford. Where on earth
did you get it "straight," as you call it?
Xix, youngster, it's crooked dope. So you
agree with me on the advice to stage-struck
girls to stay in "home, sweet home?"
Hooray! Another advocate! Pearl White
in "The Iron Claw." Write again. Your
letter is very interesting.
"Teddy." — Deelighted ! As soon as we get
the chance, Teddy, we will publish them.
Miss Williams is twenty-five and very pretty.
She is still with the Selig Company. Miss
Dawn. She is a blonde, with hazel eyes, and
is five feet four inches tall. She is with the
Famous Players.
Anxious. — You can obtain a photograph
of Henry Walthall by writing him for one
at the Essanay Company, Chicago. Earle
Williams and Anita Stewart at the Vitagraph
Company, Brooklyn, New York. May Alli-
son and Harold Lockwood in care of Metro,
New York City. Mae Marsh and Lillian
Gish at Fine Arts Company, Los Angeles,
California. Francis X. Bushman is also
with Metro. Wallace Reid in care of Lasky,
Los Angeles, California. Inclose a quarter
with each request. It amounts up to some-
thing at that, doesn't it, Anxious ?
Wallace Reid Son. — Wrallace was born in
1891. If you write him, and inclose only a
quarter, not fifty cents, as you suggest, he
will send you an autographed photo of him-
self. Address him in care of the Lasky
Photo Play Company, Los Angeles, Califor-
nia. Cleo Ridgely was born in New York
on May 12th, 1893. Yes, she will send you
a photo if you inclose a quarter to cover the
cost. Address her same as Wrally Reid.
Glad to hear you like the magazine. Come
once more.
Allison Clark Admirer. — You can ad-
dress George Washington Maurice Costello
at the Screen Club. That question is against
the rules. Isabel Rae with Biograph. Louise
Fazenda is being featured by the Keystone
Company. Can it be possible that you
haven't seen her lately? Don't fool yourself.
Theda Bara is not thinking of wearing a
Mary Pickford wig, whatever that may be.
Grace Cunard and Francis Ford are still
with the Universal.
Casey. — You can address Billie Burke in
care of George Kleine Film Company, New
York City. Of course anything is possible,
Casey, and if 3^ou think you have enough
talent to be a moving-picture star, you must
find out by experience. I guess nearly every
one thinks they have the talent, but when it
comes to a show-down about one out of ten
thousand prove it. You might try getting
some extra work at the studios ; but why,
when home is such a fine place?
Jackie F. — All the players of prominence
will be interviewed in time. Mary Pick-
ford's two latest film subjects are "The Eter-
nal Grind" and "Hulda from Holland," both
Famous Players productions. So you think
that some of the old-time players are "get-
ting stale." You know, "old wine and old
books" are the best — why not old photo
players? Fannie Ward, as you say, is an
exceptionally talented actress. Yes, Louise
Glaum is expert at "vamping," but, of course,
Theda Bara comes first. Jack Pickford can
be addressed care of Selig, Chicago, Illinois.
S. F. G. — Mail for Francis X. Bushman
should be sent him care of the Metro Film
Company, New York City.-
Inquisitive. — Marguerite Snow, or Mrs.
James Cruze, if you like that name better,
was born in 1891. William Clifford played
opposite her. in "Rosemary" (Metro).
Peggy is still with that company, but Clifford
is now appearing in releases of the Centaur
Film Company. "The Half-million Bribe"
(Metro) is Peggy's latest picture. In this
she is costarred with Hamilton Revelle. Lot-
tie Pickford is younger than her sister, "Lit-
tle Mary." Marguerite Clark's home is in
New York City, but I am not permitted to
give her house number. Mail sent care of
the Famous Players Film Compan}% that city,
will reach her safely.
Iona Ford. — Where did you get that
name? Send a quarter to each of the play—
ers you mention, and they will gladly mail
you photos. "The Broken Coin" (Univer-
sal) was in twenty-two episodes.
Al Ray G. de L. — Quite a long name, my
boy. At first I thought friend Al Ray was
writing me. He's the fellow you want to
know about, anyway. At present he is in
Jacksonville, Florida, with the Vim Comedy
Company. His latest release was "Hired
and Fired." He is the world's youngest
comedy director, being just twenty-one.
Webster Campbell draws his pay from Vita-
graph. His last picture was "Pansj^'s
Papas." Jane Novak may be addressed at
Universal City, California. She is at pres-
ent appearing in "Graft."
{Continued on page 155.)
1A SUR.ATT
PERSONAL MESSAGE TO
Revealing Secrets That Have Made Her One of the Most Beautiful
of Screen Actresses
By VALESKA SURATT
G
ETTIXG down to "brass
tacks" is mighty good
business — sometimes.
Remember when
father used to use that brass-tack
tone of voice, and we wondered
if he knew just how bad our
school report was or if mother
had told him how long we sat out
on the porch last night with Jack?
The same "jumpy" feeling came in
our throats a few years later, when
hubby got down to brass tacks
about that bill for the new spring
bonnet.
Xow don't get scared, girls, I'm
not going to scold you for your
school reports, for holding hands,
or for not being able to resist that
peachy spring bonnet.
Xot I, because I plead guilty on
all those counts myself. But I am going
to get down to brass tack^ about your per-
sonal appearance. By personal appear-
ance I don't mean whether you should
wear a short skirt and high shoes or
whether you should wear the new hoop
skirt and low shoes. That's up to your
individual taste. What I do want to do
is- have a real serious, chummy talk
with you about the care of your hair —
your complexion — your facial appearance
in general.
I want to impress upon you that to
neglect your appearance is about the most
foolish thing you can do, because such
neglect will some day make you very
unhappy. I want you to try my ■.. „
formulas that I know, from per-
sonal experience, are truly and
remarkably effective. They are
easy to prepare, and the cost is so
reasonable that you cannot afford
to miss the opportunity.
I had a great many failures
before I struck the right thing.
Whether you are satisfied with what you are
using now or not. just try one of these formulas,
and I am sure you will agree with me that they
surpass anything you have ever used. The simple
ingredients for making up these formulas can be
VALESKA SURATT
She has her own ideas about
Beauty Making that have
made her famous.
have
tonic,
stores,
is to
Simply
obtained at drug stores and
many department stores.
Try these first, and if you
cannot obtain them
easily, write to my
secretary in C h i -
cago, whose ad-
dress you will
/ J find later on,
/ / and you will be
supplied quickly,
m ™ by return mail, at the
same cost which you
would have to pay the
druggist.
Xow let's get down to the brass
tacks. Suppose we start with the
hair. Making the hair grow was
a great problem to me. Thick
bunches of hair would come out
on my comb. I really feared bald-
ness. Finally I came to the in-
evitable conclusion that the hair
must have nourishment instead of
mere "stimulation to keep it in good
condition. With this proper nour-
ishment, it is remarkable indeed
what results may be accomplished in
hair growth. I have known cases
where, as a result, hair would stop
falling after a certain formula of mine
had been used only a few days. There
were no more thick strands of hair
coming out and entangling itself on the
comb.
I believe I could make a great real of
money with this formula by putting it
up in form ready to use, and selling
it, but I am content to give it here for
the lasting benefit of all womankind.
If you will be faithful in its use, and,
above all, use it liberally, I know you
will be mighty glad you read this
little chat.
In making up this formula your-
self at home in a few moments, you
over a pint of this unexcelled hair
This would cost about two dollars at the
so you see how economical this formula
you — and it gives real results, besides,
mix half a pint of alcohol with the
Please mention this magazine when answering advertisements.
same amount of water, or, if you prefer, use
a pint of bay rum and add one ounce of beta
quinol. The beta quinol will cost you fifty cents
at any drug store. In applying this, simply
pour a little in a small glass or eyecup, and then
dip a toothbrush into the tonic and apply to the
scalp, rubbing freely. The toothbrush should be
used for no other purpose, of course — or any
small brush will do. In this way it will take
you but a couple of minutes to go over the scalp
thoroughly. Do this every day.
Now, there's another important point about
hair health. This is a cleanly scalp. When oily
accumulations and scurf form on the scalp, as
they always do, the vigor of hair roots is affected.
Soap and brush will not completely dissolve these
accumulations. Here is a suggestion: Dissolve
a teaspoonful of eggol in a cup of hot water.
Apply to the hair for a head wash. Use like
any ordinary shampoo.
You will be astonished how wonderfully clean
the hair and scalp will be, every particle of scurf
and dirt eliminated from the smallest pores. This
allows the hair tonic given above to produce its
results more quickly and decisively. At the drug
store you can get enough eggol for twenty-five
cents to give you a dozen delightful shampoos.
As for wrinkles — I used to look upon them
much as the drying of an apple skin foretells the
passing of youth that can never return. Since
I have worked out for myself the problem of rid-
ding myself of these check marks of nature's
bookkeeper, I have changed my mind. I think
there is no excuse nowadays for the presence
of wrinkles. Results from the use of my wrinkle
formula have proven this to be true.
I want every girl and woman who reads
Picture- Play Magazine to try this formula:
Into a bowl pour half a pint of hot water. Add
slowly two ounces of eptol and stir constantly
until it begins to cream. Remove from the fire
and add a tablespoonful of glycerin, stirring until
cold. This will give you a large quantity of fine,
white, satiny cream. Use it freely and your face
will resume the freshness and vigor of youth.
Enough eptol to make the above formula will
cost you only fifty cents at any first-class drug
or department store. Lines of age, crow's feet,
the flabbiness of the flesh, all' will be replaced
by a plump fullness. I mean it will absolutely do
this very thing if you are faithful, and, above
all, liberal in its use.
Now for the complexion. This was another
hard nut to crack, because everything I had pre-
viously used seemed to take an age to produce
even the slightest result. Finally I hit upon a
formula which I prize among my greatest — it is
indeed a jewel. This must be used very liberally
and every day — twice a day, if possible. You
will find it economical enough to do this, and you
will succeed. Besides, it is very simple to make,
and takes but a few moments. Here it is: Bring
a pint of water to the boiling point. Add slowly
one ounce of zintone, and stir until all is dis-
solved. Then add two tablespoonfuls of glycerin.
Fifty cents' w'orth of zintone will make a pint
of this excellent beauty cream.
There is no reason for having a sallow, muddy,
spotty complexion. This gives a most adorable
purity to the complexion, your mirror will make
you happy, and you will realize I have given you
something really worth while.
To remove blackheads, big and little, get some
powdered neroxin from your druggist for about
fifty cents. Sprinkle a little on a hot, wet sponge,
and rub briskly for a minute or two over the
blackheads. You will be surprised how they will
disappear in a few minutes. It is injurious to the
skin to try to pick out or sweat out blackheads.
Sweating makes the pores large. The method I
suggest is entirely unique, and works in a few
moments.
There is nothing that will remove superfluous
hair so magically and so perfectly as sulfo solu-
tion^ It simply dissolves the hair instead of
burning it off like pastes and powders, and will
not redden, irritate, or injure the skin. It can
be- used on the tenderest parts of the body. It
removes all the superfluous hairs perfectly,
whether heavy or bristly, and leaves the skin soft
and smooth. No one can tell you have used a
depilatory. You can secure sulfo solution for
one dollar from your druggist. There is nothing-
else that will actually dissolve hair away. This
will, and it is safe.
I have tried a great many kinds of face powder,
and with poor satisfaction. I finally worked out
one of my own, that is now sold by most depart-
ment and drug stores and known as the Valeska
Suratt Face Powder, at fifty cents for an extra-
large box in flesh, white, or brunette. You will
notice the extraordinary fineness of this powder.
It is unlike nearly all others I have ever used,
being entirely free from chalkiness and being "in-
visible" when applied. It gives, for this reason,
a charm to the skin almost impossible to produce
by any other face powder I know.
In closing, I want to call your attention to the
coupon below, which I asked to be added to this
article, because if no drug store is convenient, or
if your druggist happens not to have the articles
you want on hand, it will be easier for you to
send the coupon instead of writing a letter. I
have arranged to have a supply of each of the
necessary articles on hand to supply those who
cannot reach a drug or department store to get
them. Simply cut out the coupon below, fill in
with your name and address, indicate what
articles you want, inclose the price, and mail it
to "Secretary to Valeska Suratt, 394 Thompson
Bldg., Chicago, 111."
Last, but not least, I want to give you an
unusual opportunity to get a nezv and extraor-
dinary perfume. It happens to be named after
me, 'but I think it is worthy of my friends, so
delicate, so lasting, so nezv and uniquely fascinat-
ing in scent, "Valeska Suratt Perfume.5' If you
will send only fifty cents to the address given
here, a full-sice $1.00 bottle of this surpassing
perfume will be sent you at once.
I feel now I have done my part in aiding thou-
sands of my sisters in attaining the charms the}r
all have a right to have, a skin adorable, queenly
hair, and an unspeakable atmosphere of elegance
and sweetness. Always yours,
Valeska Suratt.
Secretary to VALESKA SURATT,
394 Thompson Building, Chicago, III.
Please send me, at once, transportation paid, the fol-
lowing articles, for which I enclose the sum of
Name
Street
City State
Please mention this magazine when answering advertisements
The Picture Oracle
155
(Continued from page 152,)
Happy. — Anita Stewart is not playing oppo-
site Earle Williams any more. She is work-
ing with S. Rankin Drew. We prefer Earle to
Rankin, although others may not. Williams is
an American, born in Sacramento, California, on
February 28th, 1880. Anita Stewart is also an
American, and was born in Brooklyn, New York,
just twenty years ago. Our favorite actor and
actress are Henry Walthall and Bessie Barris-
cale ; our favorite clothes model Crane Wilbur.
We are even getting to patronize his barber, we
have been so busy. What say you? Crane Wil-
bur hasn't seen a barber in ages? Well, neither
have we. Who am I ? Why, I'm the person
who thinks he's me, but he isn't. I am. No, I
don't answer questions in any other magazine.
I have all I can do to answer them in one.
Paper must be very dear in your town, judging
from the size of the envelope you used.
Miss Grace Cunard Fan. — Back again with
some more, I see. Welcome home ! Whatever
kept you away so long? The bracelet was given
Grace Cunard by an admirer. I should say we
do know her, and she is one sweet little girl, take
it from whence it cometh. We don't know
Grace's present poundage, and, besides, do you
think it fair to give her a- weigh? Why so stingy
this time? You might have used another sheet
of paper.
"Si." — So you girls had an argument, you did?
Yes, Charlie Chaplin played two parts in "A
Night in the Show." He played himself as well
as the character of Mr. Rowdy. This was an
Essanay production, and Charlie Murray is
doing his stunts for Keystone. Lewis J. Cody
was Dick Ames, opposite Bessie Barriscale in
'"The Mating," an exceptional picture. Air. and
Mrs. Carter De Haven played the leads in "The
College Orphan." Johan Junior was the cub re-
porter. Violet Mersereau is eighteen years old.
Still Waiting. — Quite a title, but where does
it come in? You haven't favored us before with
a letter of questions, so what are you waiting
for — to graduate? So in two years you will be
out of high school? That's fine. A very funny
coincidence about Charlie Ray, to be sure ; but,
little lady, you are wrong, as Charlie's father did
not call himself Charles, because his son would
have had to add "junior" to his name if he did.
Charlie and his parents hail from Jacksonville,
Illinois. The "Coward" was a wonderful produc-
tion, to be sure. The same is the case with
"His Picture in the Papers." You can get a
photograph of Charlie Ray, like the one in the
April issue, and autographed, by sending to me.
I'll see that it is forwarded. His address is care
of Ince Studios, Culver City, California. So you
like Picture-Play, and admit it is the best maga-
zine of its kind on the market. Thank you. So
do we.
R. D. K. — Yes. anxious one, Henry B. Walthall
is with the Essanay Company. The World-Equi-
table releases a feature every week. "The Law
Decides," the Vitagraph feature released on
Positions
Guaranteed!
Every day we receive requests from
Marinello Shops everywhere for our graduates.
But requests come faster than our students
graduate. We absolutely guarantee to secure
a good position for you upon grad-
uation, if you do not wish tc
open a shop. No other school does
this. The Marinello School is a
high class, reliable institution. You
risk nothing when you join— your
future is assured.
Marinello graduates earn $15
to $25 weekly, while others who
open Shops enjoy incomes of
from $2000 to $6000 yearly.. Can |
you ignore such possibilities?
Then mail the coupon!
Become a
Beauty
Culturist
— master the famous Marinello
Beauty System— get your share of the
millions spent yearly by women every-
where for beauty treatments. Beauty Cul- \
ture is today your opportunityforprosperity, ^
independence and happiness. It is woman's x-
natural calling, and the only profession that
affords steady employment and large salaries.
Don't waste your life as an underpaid stenog-
rapher, clerk, nurse, dressmaker, etc. Such jobs are
unsteady— unimportant— pay small wages. Mail coupon!
IllA*^* World's Largest
>»* Beauty School
Do not confuse us with ordinary resident or \
correspondence schools. Bear in mind this is the
world's largest and foremost institution of its
kind— operating and teaching on entirely different
and advanced principles.
Marinello students attend our big college in Chi-
cago—enjoy actual daily practice and study under em-
inent authorities. Don't waste your time and money
trying to iearn Beauty Culture by mail. Mail Coupon!
The complete Marinello Course teaches you Mas-
saging, Shampooing, Hair Dressing, Manicure
ing. Chiropody — hoio to remove warts, pimp-
les, moles, bir'tJi-marks— teaches you every-
thing about Beauty Culture according ? 3
to the latest principles. Mail Coupon!
Start NOW!
The openings await -*— ^ „ 1 '
you! The requests X».
for our graduates /
will increase. Be- f\
gin at once. Mari- * ^ .A;„,.,.
nello graduates jT
never fail ! The yfe N
hundreds of women V
of all ages who have \
come to us are today \ ^"niti 1 jj
prosperous and happy. i
Send the free coupon
now. Success awaits
you. Mail it NOW I
Marinello I
.,Dept.lO,Maller* |
Bldg., Cbicago, III. I
Send, without cost or obligation
to me. Marinello Catalog- telling all
about graduates' success, low tuition fees
and opportunities open to me.
Name,
Citv State
156
The Picture Oracle
DELATONE
Removes Hair or Fuzz from
Face. Neck of Arms
DELATONE is an old and well-known scientific prepara-
tion, in powder form for the quick, safe and certain
removal of hairy growths — no matter how thick or
stubborn they may be. You make a paste by mixing: a
little Delat>ne and water; then spread on the hairy
surface. After two or three minutes, rub off the paste
and the hairs will be gone. When the skin is washed, it
will be found clean, firm and hairless— as smooth as a
baby's. Delatone is used by thousands every year, and is
highly recommended by beauty authorities and experts.
Druggists sell Delatone; or an original
one-ounce jar will be mailed to any
address upon receipt of One Dollar by
The Sheffield Pharmacal Company
339 So. Wabash Ave., Dept. D. C, Chicago, Illinois
WRITE FOR MONEY
Send us YOUR IDEAS FOR PHOTOPLAYS,
STORIES, etc. We will accept them in ANY
form— correct FREE— sell on commission. Big
Rewards! Make money. Write to-
day for full details.
WRITER'S SELLING SERVICE
15 Main, AUBURN. N. V.
"BATH HOUSE 23" "KEEP OUT"
Our Latest Novelty
Bath house in wood veneer with
swinging door and brass fastener:
size 5x8 inches; with the door open
you see a beautiful, hand-colored
picture of an OSTEND BATHING
GIRL. Comes boxed, prepaid, for
25 cents to introduce our new cata-
log of pictures for The Den, "'all
winners!" Catalog alone 10 cents.
Our pictures make fine gifts for men.
CELEBRITY ART CO.
49 Columbus Ave.. Boston, Mass.
SCENARIOS, PLOTS,
Wanted by a new company. Submit in any form. Also
rejected manuscripts. Protection guaranteed. No corre-
spondence school agency. Enclose return postage.
California Scenario Company, Inc.,
Los] Angeles, California.
WHY BE STOUT?
To prove that ADIPO, a pleasant, harmless
Obesity Treatment, will take fat off any part of
the body, we CAp Rftv FRFF toanV one
will send a **UA who is too
fat. Adipo requires no exercising or diet-
ing, nor does it interfere with your usual
habits. Rheumatism, Asthma, Kidney and
Heart troubles, that so often come with
Obesity, improve as you reduce. Let us
prove it at our expense. Write today for
the FREE 50c Box and illustrated book
Address ADIPO CO., 3046 Ashland
Building, New York City.
the V. L. S. E., was seven reels in length. Harry
More}', Dorothy Kelly, and Bobbie Connolly were
the featured players. House Peters is with the
World Film Corporation now. Lottie Pickford
is with American, Jack is with Universal, and
Mary is with her own company.
Letme No— Well, well, well! Will you letrne
no where on earth you rank this letter of yours
below the standard set by one Cleo? Letme tell
you now that yours was about the wittiest I have
received in many ages. This is going some, as
we have a witty bunch who wield the pen with
deadly effect. Cleo has lost her title. Your letter
was very funny, especially when you said you
were going to take the plunge and become a
movie actress. That was the best joke of the lot.
No, indeed, Pra not going to tell you to wash the
dishes, study your lessons, and marry somebody.
Atlantic City is a beautiful place, and has some
dandy lawns that need to be kept constantly
mown. Besides, any one with your wit wants to
do something funny, and becoming a movie ac-
tress or getting married are two things that are
as far from being funny as some of these so-
called comedies we have been compelled to sit
through lately. You had better write to Wally
Reid about it, because if he got the twenty- five he
would surely have sent the picture. Let me know
what made you guilty of such humor? Any one
with actorial intentions should cease to smile.
Does Wallace Reid his own letters? You may as
well ask is Pearl White? Or can Jewel Hunt?
How much does Edna Mayo? How much is
Octavia Handworth? Is Anna Little? And is
Carlyle Blackwell, or Blanche Sweet? You see.
I am troubled with frequent attacks of supposed
wit myself. No, I am not what you suppose. I
am a dissipated, clean-living old man of twenty-
two. Have no bad habits. I drink, swear, smoke,
gamble, paint, powder, and wear socks. The hair-
dresser is my only luxury, and I'm not married.
My husband doesn't want me to do this, but my
youngest son came to me the other day and said :
'"Pop, I hear you and Charlie Chaplin earn the
same salary." I replied, with maidenly modest}-:
'"Yes, we earn the same salary, only he gets his."
No matter how you look at it, you will always
miss-address me. Now do you know who I be?
Here, young lady, this will never do. You just
caught yourself in time. Let me hear more from
you, Letme No.
Della B. — Certainly I will. Marguerite Clark
is twenty-nine years old. You wouldn't think it,
would you? Against the rules. X in Bushman's
name stands for Xavier. Bobby Connelly is but
five years old, and some actor, too. Jack Pick-
ford is twenty. Lester Cuneo was Bushman's
rival. Yes, you have Mary Miles Minter's age
correct. Don't be bashful; come back again.
You ar? among friends.
M. D. — Hello, doctor! Say, the only way you
can safely address me is to call me dear Picture
Oracle. Yes, you were right. John Dore re-
ferred to Robert Leonard, and x\lan Law to
George Larkin. No. it was not the old-timer.
PICTURE-PLAY ADVERTISER
Dorit telfMi©'
you never Had a chance!
"Four years ago you and I worked at the same bench. We were both discontented. Remem-
ber the noon we saw the International Correspondence Schools' advertisement:1 That woke me
up. I realized that to get ahead I needed special training, and I decided to let the I. C. S. help
me. When I marked the coupon I asked you to sign with me. You said, 'Aw, forget it!'
"I made the most of my opportunity and have been climbing ever since. You had the same
chance I had, but you turned it down. No, Jim, you can't expect more money until you've
trained yourself to handle bigger work." . TEAR OUT HERE ,
' INTERNATIONAL CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOLS
There are lots of ' Jims" in the world — in
stores, factories, offices, everywhere. Are you one
of them? Wake up! Every time you see an
I. C. S. coupon your chance is staring you in the
face. Don't turn it down.
Right now over one hundred thousand men
are preparing themselves for bigger jobs and better
pay through L C. S. courses.
You can join them and get in line for pro-
motion. Mark and mail the coupon, and find
out how.
INTERNATIONAL CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOLS
Box 4228, Scran ton, Pa.
25th
Anniversary
I. C. S.
In October. 1916, the International Correspond-
ence Schools will celebrate the completion of
25 years of successful educational work in the
interest of technical and industrial preparedness.
More than 130,000 men and women are NOW
STUDYING I. C. S. Courses, preparing for ad-
vancement and increased earnings and greater
service to their employers and their country.
Box 4228, SCRANTON, PA.
Explain, without obligating me, how I can qualify for the posi-
tion, or in the subject, before which I mark X.
ELECTRICAL ENGINEER
Electric Lighting
Electric Car Running
Electric Wiring
Telegraph Expert
MECHANICAL ENGINEER
Mechanical Draftsman
□ Machine Shop Practice
Gas Engineer
OIT "
IVIL ENGINEER
Surveying and Mapping
MINE FOREMAN OR ENGINEER
Metallurgist or Prospector
STATIONARY ENGINEER
Marine Engineer
ARCHITECT
Contractor and Builder
Architectural Draftsman
Concrete Builder
Structural Engineer
PLUMBING AND HEATING
Sheet Metal Worker
CHEMICAL ENGINEER
□ SALESMANSHIP
□ ADVERTISING MAN
□ Window Trimmer
□ Show Card Writer
□ RAILROADER
□ ILLUSTRATOR
□ DESIGNER
□ BOOKKEEPER
□ Stenographer and Typist
□ Cert. Public Accountant
~ I Railway Accountant
I Commercial Law
I GOOD ENGLISH
I Teacher
I Common School Subjects
] CIVIL SERVICE
] Railway Mail Clerk
AGRICULTURE
Textile Overseer or Supt.
jNarigator □Spanish
□ Poultry Raising □ German
□ ATTOMOBILES □French
□ into Repairing Cltalian
Occupation
& Employer
Street
and No.
City.
If
State.
of Course you want is not in this list, write it below
158
The Picture Oracle
1 Note the >\,
' Big Change*
Beautiful
Eye-Brows
Eye-Lashes
give a face charm, expression
Society women and actresses get them by using
It promotes in a natural manner the growth of Eye-brow9 and
Eye-lashes, making them thick, long and silky, giving depth and
soulful expression to the eyes. A guaranteed Pure and Harmless
treatment. Send 25c (coin) and we'll mail package prepaid in
plain sealed cover. Get our FREE Beauty Book.
Beware of worthless imitations —
Genuine Lash- Brow -Ine sold only by
Maybell Laboratories, i„dia?f aU., Chicago, Illinois
lll!l!
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