Scanned from the collections of The Library of Congress AUDIO-VISUAL CONSERVATION at The LIBRARY :-f CONGRESS Packard Campus for Audio Visual Conservation www.loc.gov/avconservation Motion Picture and Television Reading Room www.loc.gov/rr/mopic Recorded Sound Reference Center www.loc.gov/rr/record 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 York, N. Y., Post Office as Second-class Matter, under an Act of Congress of March 3, 1879. Canadian Subscription, $2.72. Foreign, $3.44. WARNING— Do not subscribe through agents unknown to you. Cunipiaints are daily made bj persons wuo have been thus victimiied. IMPORTANT Author*, agents and publishers are requested to note that this firm does not bold itself responsible for loss of unsolicited manuscripts while at this office or in trans!|; and that it cannot undertake to hold uncalled for manuscripts for a longer period than lix months. If the return of manuscript is expected, postage should be enclosed. VEARLY SUBSCRIPTION. $2.00 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 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 to $1800) .Postoffice Clerk ($800 to 31200) Panama Canal Clerk -1onn. .Postoffice Carrier (S800 to $1200) „ (»1200 to $1800) .Rural Mail Carrier 'S500 to $1200) Canadian Govern- . Customs Positions ($800 to $1500) ment Positions 25 Candidates Free (■'■■• '' i- I -•■f'-r-.- HOW TO WRITE PHOTOPLAYS Our new book, HOW TO WRITE PHOTOPLAYS, is the wonder of the motion picture world. Third edition, revised and enlarged, now ready. Shows HOW to write photo- plays, and HOW and WHERE to sell them. 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If you find it to be the best typewriter you ever saw and want to keep it, I will make you a price that is lower than wholesale — lower than c the lowest agents' prices and you c can let typewriter pay for itself out of what it earns for you. Full Stand- ard Equipmentwith machine. LIFE GUARANTEE. Because there are no American Typewriters going to Europe just now. I can make you ducement. BE SURE AND SEND TODAY for free Catalog and Full Details of this Greatest of Typewriter Offers. All information absolutely free. General Manager, TYPEWRITERS DISTRIBUTING SYNDICATE 1510-36 P Wabash Ave., Chicago (343) Modei No. 5 a wonderful price in- Learn to Write Photo- Plays By Our Exclusive Method Only sure method. This school turns out more successful scenario writers than all the other schools together. Tnere's a reason. You too can make big money. Send for free booklet of valuable information and Srecial Prize Offer. Don't delay — Act, before you turn page. 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Read the fascinating story of how at last Science has conquered Nature and has produced a glorious, radiant gem that has eclipsed the brilliancy of Nature s diamond. They cost 1-30 as much and wear forever. Do not delay a single instant. Put your name and address on the coupon now — get the free book im- mediately while this greatest of all jewelry offer lasts. Harold Lachman Co. L^SSmES&S :!.ii;i!;iJi!::;iiii1!i.iiil;iiiii.iiiiiL 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 this office or in transit; and that it cannot undertake to hold uncalled for manuscripts for a loneer period than six months. If the return of manuscript is expe-'ted. postage should be enclosed. YEARLY SUBSCRIPTION, S1.50 SINGLE COPIES, 15 CENTS ■ v '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 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 140 Hints for Scenario Writers 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 Hints for Scenario Writers 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 142 Hints for Scenario Writers 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 — Hints for Scenario Writers 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 144 Hints for Scenario Writers 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 Hints for Scenario Writers 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 10 146 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. Hints for Scenario Writers 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 148 Hints for Scenario Writers — 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 Ideas^liS Photoplays $25 to $200 Paid for Each Good One Your help needed to meet tremendous demand of 30,000 theatres changing program daily and clamor- ing for SOMETHING NEW. 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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. 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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- That Brings a Bigger Day's Work With Nearly a Third Less Effort All Sales Records Broken More Local Agents Needed at Once When experts first saw this revolu- tionary typewriter they predicted that we would have to raise our price. Yet the public would freely pay more, they declared, to secure a machine that vastly increases any typist's output and reduces exertion about a third. No Price Advance clerks, office and professional men, etc. — nearly every occupation is now represented in Oliver's world-wide sales army. No Experience We send the "Oliver School of Practical Salesmanship" FREE. 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Lightest Standard Touch rests the mus- cles. Automatic Spacer reduces labor and pre- vents mistakes. Apply Today Thousands are writing us, Don't wait till some other wide-awake person is award- ed the vacancy where you live. Life's prizes come to men of action. No obligation. MAIL THE COUPON NOW! \ I E I I Xame I I Addn I THE OLIVER TYPEWRITER CO. 1246 Oliver Typewriter Bldg., Chicago Send free, the book I have marked in the square. □ "Opportunity" with Oliver agency offer. Oliver typewriter book de luxe. 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 CLAIR MIGNON P ERFECT COLD CREAM Superior to all other creams. Made of pure in- gredients, its reg- ular use will remove all dust and impurities from the skin. A trial will prove this. Clair Mignon — Perfect Cold Cream — is used regularly by New York's Elite Society Women. CREME MIGNON MiGNON MFG. CO.. (t f' ■3 the size of regular 50c jar, which will be sent to any address on receipt of price. SPECIAL OFFER -Send 25c in stamps for Purse-size Aluminum Box of Cream and Box of Clair Mignon Com- plexion Powder — enough for two or three weeks. State shade of powder, This is a Special Introductory Offer. SEND AT ONCE TO Mme. C. BAER, 540 West 165th Street, New York City HAVE YOU IDEAS FOR PHOTOPLAYS OR STORIES? If so we will accept them in ANY form— criticise FREE— Sell on commission. BIG REWARDS! Hundreds making money. So can YOU. Write today for full details. Story Revision Co.. 56 Main. Auburn, N. Y. Wrinkles Thousands have successfully used this formula to remove traces of age, illness or worry: 1 oz. of pure Powdered SAXOLITE dissolved in M, pt. witch hazel ; use as a face wash. The effect is almost magical. Deepest wrinkles, crow's feet, as well as finest lines, completely and quickly vanish. Face becomes firm, smooth, fresh, and you look years younger. No harm to tenderest 6kin. Get genuine Saxolite (powdered; at any drug store. YOUR NEWS DEALER maintains his store at considerable expense. He must pay for help, rent and lighting. He carries many articles that you would never dream of ordering direct from manufacturers, and is, there- fore, of great service when you need a newspaper, a cigar, or a box of stationery. Then why not give him all of your custom and so help make his busi- ness profi table? Tell him to show you samples of Ainslee's, Popular, Smith's, People's, All Around and Top-Xotch magazines. Select those you want and he will gladly deliver them to your residence regularly, STREET & SMITH, Publishers, New Vork Motion Picture Acting" Will not only help you decide whether you are adapted for this profession, but will prepare you at home to face the greatest test ol'all —securing a position. Don't throw vour chance away. Let us help von decide. Let us tell you first- What the Director* Photo Test Js-How to Pre- pare for This at Home-Whether You Are Fitted tor Comedy or Drama— How the Director Works— Whom t<> Apply to tor a Position-Where the Studios are Located — What Personal Magnetism Is— Salary —Make Up— and a great many other important facts that are absolutely nec- essary for you to know. Don't Trust to Luck Looking for a position. The stakes are too big. Be sure you are right— then go ahead. Directors are con- stantly looking for Types. You may be the one to have the personality, the ability to make good. I am offering for a short time— to readers of this maga- zine—"Motion Picture Acting" for only fifty cents a copy. Enclose either stamps or money in an envelope with your name and address. My book will be promptly mailed an I j ust as promptly returned if yon are not satisfied. I guar- antee this to you and to "Picture-Play Magazine." H.X. GRIFFIN, 353East55thPlace, Chicago, III. *f (f% Cents a Day B ^JP Pays fcr This Cornet An astounding offer! Only 10c a day buys this superb Triple Silver Plated Lyric Cornet. Free trial before you decide to buy. Write for big offer. V/URLilZER Free Band Catalog^ kinds of instruments. Pay at rate of a few cents a day. Generous allowance for old instruments. Free trial. We supply the U. S. Government. Write today. The Rudolph Wurlitzer Co., Dept. 340- ' AthSt.. Cincinnati. O. S.WabashAv.. Chicago Carrying Case Free with this soperb triple silver plated Lyric Cornet. HOW TO WRITE PHOTOPLAYS Our new book, HOW TO WRITE PHOTOPLAYS, is the wonder of the motion picture world. Third edition, revised and enlarged, now ready. Shows HOW to write photo- plays, and HOW and WHERE to sell ti:em. Gives real facts, valu- able pointers, an actual model scena- rio, 5o valuable addresses of scenario buyers, a statement showing what kind of a scenario each one wants, etc. Just follow directions and write successful photoplays. Send or* for your copy to-day. Price 0«JC HYDE PUBLISHING CO. 3343 Lowe Ave., Chicago Make Your Hair Beautifully Wavy and Curly Over Night Try the new way — the Silmerine 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. 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. MORE VITAL ENERGY FOR YOU More Force, More Power and Youthful Vigor Our Magnetic Abdominal and Kidney Vitalizer does what all the medicine uii earth cannot do. It gives Life, Tone and Vigor to the blood and nerves, relieving congestion, soreness and pain, by rapid circulation of blood. Be Well and Strong through this wonderful invention which floods the system with magnetism and gives Strength to the Back, Kidneys, Liver, Stomach anj Bowels, instilling buoyancy, tone and rejuvenating vital- tr*°*^ 1 wmmm\ itv into the whole organism, making you feel like a new being. Send FREE BOOK EvnrY SICK. For By F. J. THACHER, HI. D. giving full information and instrucion re- garding the use of magnetism for restore ing lost vitality to blood a.d nerves. Describe your case fully and we will advise you free cf charge, how to apply magnetism for treating any weakness or disease, and will send you all the proof a;:d evidence, then you can be your own judge. THACHER MAGNETIC SHIELD CO., Inc. Suite 866, 110 So. Wabash Ave., Chicago, 111. $SOO.OO O-A-S paid for (original) tr:cks submitted to be used in 1917 pamphlet. Send for particulars if you have ever written before— you may be the lucky one. To gain an intimate idea of the sort of tricks we consider^ send for our new 1916 pamphlet of tricks which we de- scribe herewith : Black Art Book of Mystery, Contains 23 unknown (original) but easily performed tricks. Tells how to change silver into gold, how to take money and other articles from peoples' pockets without them knowing it, and to do things considered impossible. Your name stamped in gold on cover of book if you so desire'. Sent prepaid upon receipt of TEN CENTS. (3 for 25c.) Black Art Publishing Co., 62-64 Madison Ave., Patterson, N. J. I nni/ Learnto Write Photo-Plays II II K By Our Exclusive Method Only sure method. This school turns ■ ipikp out more successful scenario writers r lir than all the other schools together. H Bill There's a reason. You too can make 8LIIL big money. Send for free booklet of valuable information and Special Prize Offer. Don't delay — Act, before you turn page. Chicago Photo -Playwright College, Box 278 XY, Chicago, III. CET RIDPAT OFTHATP M I Free Trial Treatment Sent on request. Ask for my "pay-when-re- duced" offer. My treatment has reduced at the rate of a pound a day. No dieting, no exercise, absolutely safe and sure method. Let me send vou pro f at my expense. DR. R. NEWMAN, Licensed Physician, State New York, 36 East Third Street, New York, Desk 431 MOVIE STUDIOS WANT NEW TALENT There are 27 big motion picture studios in Los Angeles employing 25.000 people. Eighty-five per-cent of the films of the world are made here. Studios need new people all the time. Natural ability counts more than experience in this business, which pays big- salaries. If you have ambition to become a movie stnr write me. If you are 6f the right tvpe and have ability I may be able to help you. WYCLIFFE HILL, Director. Studio 1766 Allesandro St., Edendale, Los Angeles, California. and Safety Mary T. Goldman's Gray Hair Color Re- storer is the original preparation for safely and quickly restoring the natural color to gray, faded and bleached hair in a few days. Leaves the hair clean, fluffy and natural. Free Trial Package and special comb. Test it on a lock of hair. This test will prove more than anything we could say in anadvertisement. Write now and be sure to tell the original color before it turned gray. Was it black, dark brown, medium brown or light brown? Regular $1.00 size at your druggist's or I will fill your order direct. Clever imitators, not being able to imitate the preparation itself, have copied our labels almost word for word. 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Write at once and get our b ig catalog and special offers before buying. Marvelous improvements. Extraordinary values in our 1916 price offers. You cannot afford to buy without getting our latest propositions. WRITE TODAY. Boys, be a "Rider Agent" and make Dig money tak- ing orders for bicycles and supplies. Get our liberal terms on a sample to introduce the new "RANGER." Tires, equipment, sundries and everything in the bicycle line half usual prices. MEAD CYCLE CO., DEPT. F-212 CHICAGO ^TYPEWRITERS AT Typewriter prices smashed. Un- derwoods, Remingtons, Royals, L. C. Smiths, Fox, etc.— your I choice of any standard factory | rebuilt machine at a bargair 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. 823 Chicago, Illinois TOB ACC HABIT Easily Conquered in 3 Days Picture No. 1 — Shows how tobacco has nearly wrecked a man's career. He has become nervous, dyspeptic and irritable; he cannot sleep well, has lost his energy and ambition. No. 2 — The doctor says: "I'm giving you this medicine but it will do you very little good, unless you stop killing yourself with tobacco. " No. 3 — Still a slave; another collapse. No. 4 — Wife reads advertisement of Mr. Woods. No. 5 — He writes for Mr.^ Woods' free book. No. 6 — Being convinced by multitude of proofs, he has ordered remedy which is in box postman is now delivering. No. 7 — Has begun to overcome tobacco craving. Already is feeling much better; vigor and ambition returning. No. 8 — Surprising improvement; all craving gone, filled with new courage and backed by good health. No. 9 — Beginning anew. No. 10 — Succeeding in business. No. 11 — No trouble to resist temptation of tobacco in any form. No. 12 — By clear-headed- ness, good health and energy, he has now become prosperous. Would You Like to Quit Tobacco Quickly and Easily and Enjoy Yourself a Thousand Times Better While in Robust Health? TP £\ TTh "W% ¥ T ¥ TVT T 1U Why continue to commit slow suicide when you can live a 7% B %W JC U i Y% I 1% 8t really contented lite, if you only get your body and nerves m ^M right? It is unsafe and torturing to attempt to rid yourself of tobacco YOUR LIFE contented lite, if you only get your body and nerves It is unsafe and torturing to attempt to rid yourself of tobacco by**suddenly stopping with "will-power" — don't do it. The correct way- is to eliminate nicotine poison from the system* and genuinely overcome the craving. Tobacco is poisonous and seriously injures health in several ways, causing such disorders as nervous dyspepsia, sleeplessness, gas belching, gnawing, or other uncomfortable sensation in stomach; consti- pation, headache, weak eyes, loss of vigor, red spots on skin, throat irritation, catarrh, asthma, bronchitis, heart failure, melancholy, lung trouble, impure (poisoned) blood, heartburn, torpid liver, loss of appetite, bad teeth, foul breath, lassitude, lack of ambition, weakening and falling out of hair and many other disorders. Overcome that peculiar nervousness and craving for cigarettes, cigars, pipe, chewing tobacco, or snuff. Here is an opportunity to receive FREE a carefully compiled treatise on the subject, containing interesting and valuable information that you should be glad to learn about. This book tells all about the renowned THREE DAYS' METHOD by which thousands and thousands saved themselves from the life-wrecking tobacco habit. Full particulars, including the book on tobacco and snuff habit, will be mailed FREE TO YOU, in plain wrapper, postpaid. All you need do is merely REQUEST IT. A postcard will do. Address EDWARD J. WOODS, 986 C, STATION E, NEW YORK, N. Y. NOTE— To those who are injuring their health, making themselves nervous, dyspeptic, etc., by excessive use of cigarettes, cigars, pipe, snuff or chewing tobacco: here is your opportunity to quickly and easily become your oum master. Lied treatise on the subject, containing interesting FREE RMtR MARGIN GUIDE PAPER REitASti i /•TABULATOR BAR ADJUSTMENT L s MARGINAL STOPS ^-rPUTEN RELEASE VARIABLE SPACES RIBBONHEVERSE TABULATOR BAH FREE TRIAL A Personal Word — It is my desi e to establish, through this advertisement, as friendly and as confidential rela- tions with you as I possibly can. I want t > impress upon you the fact that it is always my earnest en- deavor to give you full, honest value for every dollar you spend with me. I believe that is the only way to attain the greatest success, and the publishers of Picture- Play Magazine will v< uch for my squire dealings during the four years and more my ad- vertising has appeared. I have be^n building my business upon the firm foundation of hon- esty and square dealing. I am saving thousands of satisfied cus- t >mers thousa ds of dollars by supplying perfect, late style, visi- ble typewriters at a remarkably low price. Please read carefully and thoughtfully my amazing offer and remember I do business per- sonally with you direct, by letter only. /TYPEWRITER SENSATION Free TRIAL — Use As You Pay Send me only $2.50 a month until the low total price of $48.80 is paid* and the machine is yours This is absolutely the most generous typewriter offer ever made. Do not rent a machine when you can pay $2.50 a month and own one. Think of it — Buying a $100.00 machine for $48.80. Cash price, $45.45. Never before has anything like this been attempted. Standard Visible L- C. Smith Model Number 2 H.A. Smith Room 554-231 N. Fifth Ave., CHICAGO, ILL. Perfect machines. Standard Size, Keyboard of Standard Universal arrangement writing 84 characters— uni- versally used in teaching the touch system. The entire line of writing completely visible at all times, has the tabulator, the two color ribbon, with automatic reverse, the back spacer, ball bearing type bars, ball bearing carriage action, ball bearing shift action, in fact every late style feature and modern operating convenience. Comes to you with everything complete, tools, cover, operating book and instructions, ribbon, practice paper— nothing extra to buy. You / cannot imagine the perfection of this beautiful reconstructed typewriter until you / have seen it. I have sold several thousand of these perfect latest style Model * No. 2 machines at this bargain price and every one of these thousands of satis- * fled customers had this beautiful, strictly up to date machine on five days' / free trial before deciding to buy it. I will send it to you F. O. B. Chicago for / five days' free trial. It will sell itself, but if you are not satisfied that this is / the greatest typewriter you ever saw, you can return it at my expense. You / Ship me a No. 2 L C. won't want to return it after you try it— you cannot equal this wonderful / Smith F.O.B.Chic'aeo,as de- value anywhere. £ scribed in' this advertise- __ _ _ _ ._. . , — . _ _ , _ „. g ment. I will pay you the You Take No Risk— Put In Your Order Now / ^JgfS&iSL&kgZ When the typewriter arrives deposit with the express agent $8.80 and take the machine » the rate oi Per month, for five days' trial. If you are convinced that it is the best typewriter you ever saw, t The title to remain in you until keep it and send me $2.50 a month until my bargain price of $48.80 is paid. If you don't m fully paid for. It is understood want it, return it to tlie express agent, receive your $8.80 and return tbe machine / that I have five davs in which to tome. I will pay the return express charges. This machine is guaranteed just m pvaminpanHtn-thPfrnpwritpr Tf T as if vou paid $100.00 for it. It is standard. Over one hundred thousand people ' examine ana Trj me typewriter^ u i own and use these typewriters and think them the best ever manufactured. / choose not to keep It I Will carefully Tha supply at this price Is very limited, the price will probably be raised when my / repack it and return it to the express next advertisement appears, so don't delay. Fill in the coupon today— mall to me / agent. It is understood that you eive -the typewriter will be shipped promptly. There is no red tape. I employ no / the standard guarantee for one year. solicitors— no collectors-no chattel mortgage. It is simply understood that I W 6 retain title to the machine until the full $48.80 is paid. You cannot lose. It is g the greatest typewriter opportunity you will ever have. Do not send me one W 2?ame cent. Get the coupon in the mails today— sure. » HARRY A. SMITH, 554-231 N. Fifth Ave., Chicago / Address — - ' (MM Yoa Have Never Seen Anything Like This Before The fragrance of a thousand blossoms — the true odor of the flowers themselves in a hexagonal vial two inches high. The most exquisite perfume ever produced. When you get the trial bottle, you will declare with Miss Taliaferro, and thousands ojF other well-known women, that it is rightly named "Flower Drops." Send 20c for the trial bottle. You will be delighted. Trad« MarKRegisterecT When once you scent the true floral odor of this exquis* ite perfume you will realize what a wonderful advance has been made in the art of perfume making. Take your choice of six odors— Lily of the Valley, Rose, Violet, Garden Queen, Mon Amour or Lilac. ~ . Price only $1 .00 an ounce; in 50c and $1 .00 bottles. In concentrated form. Flower . Drops comes in handsome hexagonal 4k cut glass bottles with long glass PAUL RIEGER, ^ stoppers at $1.50 each (Lily of the ^"™Ma=^r 111 First Street, Valley, $1 .75). Either at your dealers or you may order direct from this advertisement. Money refunded if you are not more than satisfied. "^^^ O I - Just send 20c (silver or stamps) Mabel Taliaferro one of the five stars of ' ' The New Henrietta, " well known to the readers o f Picture Play, writes: Dear Mr. Rieger:— Your exquisite per- fume is very appropriately called"Flow- er Drops" and I am enthusiastic about it. Each drop seems to carry the frag- rance of the very flowers themselves, 1 ik j no other perfume I have ever Ufled. ' ' Yours sincerely. San Francisco, Cal. Gentle -Enclosed find 20c for which please send me trial bottle of Flower Drops Per- fume, same size as shown in this coupon. I want odor checked below □ Rose □ Violet □ Lily of the Valley □ Garden Queen □ Mon Amour □Lilac Name Send the Coupon with the coupon or a letter for trial bottle illustrated in the coupon. Be sure to indicate which odor you prefer. Test this exquisite perfume for yourself. Write today — send only 20c. San Francisco, Cal. San Francisco Address ^ Paul Rieger, 111 First St., ~:w4m 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 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. WARXIXK — Do not subscribe through agents unknown to you. Complaints are daily made by persons who have been thus victimiied. IMPORTANT— Authors, agents and publishers are requested to note that this firm does not bold itself responsible for loss of unsolicited manuscripts while at this office or in transit; and that it cannot undertake to bold unrated for manuscripts f.>r a Innrer period than six months. If the return of manuscript is expected, pustage should be snclosed. YEARLY SUBSCRIPTION, S1.50 SINGLE COPIES, 15 CENTS 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 knock. But your attention is now being called to it. Here is the key to the lock of success. Are you the person who is going to open it? It cannot do harm to try — consider what it may mean to you! 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- plication 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. 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. 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 unavail- able, 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. READ THESE RULES CAREFULLY AND BE SURE THAT YOU COMPLY WITH THEM What the Winner Gets After the contest has closed Mr. Brandt, Miss Fuller and Mr. Caine will decide on the winner as soon as possible, and announcement will be made in this magazine. MARY FULLER will play the leading role in the picture made from the winning synopsis or scenario, which will be pro- duced by the Universal Film Manufacturing Company. The author will be paid $40.00 PER REEL for as many reels as the picture runs, will be given credit on the screen, and will receive an additional SPECIAL PRIZE OF $50.00 Fill out this Application Blank, or make a copy of it, and send it with your story. Otherwise the manuscript will not be considered. APFLICATiOM B LAM It / hereby enter my application to Picture -Play Magazine's Scenario Contest. 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- friendship g^jiy |2$ BRACELET LINK1 NG SILVER TROLLED Start a Frlandshlp-Mald>Llnk«Braeele(, latest New York fashion. We give one link absolutely FREE to each Bracelet. Your friends give or exchange others. What more beautiful token or sentiment could be expressed. Send tc-day for one or more LINKS (t 2c. each) 3 Initials engraved Free state initials and whether ROLLED GOLD, STERLING SILVER, BEADED or PLAIN design wanted. With your first order for one or more Links we send FREE a beauti- ful black velvet ribbon so you can start wearing your Links at once, while your Bracelet is being completed. Friendship Jewelry Co., 83 C Wbers St ,Dept.24 j ,N,Y. Bring Out the Hidden Beauty Beneath the soiled, discolored, faded or aped com- plexion is one fair to look upon. 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F=212 ©KiCAGO L01 HERE Learn to Write Photo- Plays By Our Exclusive Method Only sure method. This school turns more successful scenario writers out than all the other schools together. There's a reason. You too can make big money. Send for free booklet of valuable information and Special Prize Offer. Don't delav — Act, before \ ou turn page. Chicago Photo- Playwright College, Box 278 XY, Chicago, 111. HOW TO WRITE PHOTOPLAYS Our new book, HOW TO WRITE PHOTOPLAYS, is the wonder of the motion picture world. Third edition, revised and enlarged, now ready. Shows HOW to write photo- plays, and HOW and WHERE to sell them. Gives real facts, valu- able pointers, an actual model scena- rio, 5d valuable addresses of scenario buyers, a statement showing what kind of a scenario each one wants, etc. Just follow directions and write successful photoplays. Send QC^ for your copy to-day. Price OOC HYDE PUBLISHING CO. 3343 Lowe Ave., Chicago fASQUE OMB/ lllllltllllllllllllllllllillM Designed by "Vogue Coiffures" 1 for RUTH ROLAND § The Famous ★ STAR * Photo-Player = Cluster of 10 Curls, instantly attached to your hair by the Jeweled - : Shell Casque-Comb. Extra fine quality human-hair, . = matched perfectly to the color and texture of \ our san = pie. By mail, postpaid, Price $2.50 each, including the = Casque-Comb, for every shade of hair except gray. = Write for price of gray. Money back if not satisfactory. H Write for VOGUE COIFFURES ^ Our new illustrated hair-aoods catalog. m I* is FREE ESSm >- jj Frances Roberts Co., Dept. 66, No. 100 Fifth Ave., N.Y. g jillllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllW I will send my 25c book Improve Your Face By Making Faces for 10c stamps or coin This book contains a complete course of instructions in Physical Culture for the Face More than 90.000 persons are following: these instructions to-day. They will do more to build beauty than all the paint and powder in the world, for they get right at the root of your facial defects and overcome them. Not simple or silly. Just physical culture applied to the facial muscles; common sense— that's all. If you \\ ant to improve your looks, send 10 cents for this book, to-day, at once, while Us "^sg^gg^ on your mind. PROF. ANTHONY BARKER, tfSViSZfluWFSS; FILM FAVORITES OF YOUR OWN CHOICE Send the names of Eighteen and twenty-five cents or S- dollar for a hundred in splendid poses on postcards. 8 poses of Mary Pickford, 2 of Marguerite Clark, 2 of Chaplin, 3 of Theda Bara, a new picture of Lillian Lor- raine, Hazel Dawn and Olsa Petrova. an autographed picture of Jack W.Kerrigan, and many new feature stars. Also actual photos, size 8 x io at 50c each RHO B_IQT SENT WITH ALL ORDERS %J>%J\J ft- I v? a OR FREE ON REQUEST THE FILM PORTRAIT CO.. 1 27N 1st Place BEAUTIFUL Eyebrows and Lashes Why use makeup? When you can grow them long and thick by applying CREO-MOL LASH BEAU- TIF1ER NIGHTLY. Sure in results. Pure and harmless. Sent sealed for 25 or 50 cents and 3c in stamps with a large sample of CREO-MOL Face Powder — The powder that won't rub off. SPECIAL : CREO-MOL Face Powder, regular Toe size, for 35c. Send to-day. CREO-MOL CO. BOSTON, MASS. BOX 5073. NOTE V^f'^W THE BIG CHANGE Beautiful Eye-Brows and Eye -Lashes Give a face charm, expression, loveliness. Actresses and Society Women get them by using L ASH-BROW- 1 NE It makes lashes and eye-brows long, silky, giving depth and soulful expression to the eyes. Pure and Harmless. A guaranteed treatment. Send 25 cts. (coin) and we will mail you package pre- paid in plain, sealed cover. Genuine Lash-Brow-Ine sold only by Maybell Laboratories, lndP.™*AHve. Chicago, Illinois 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 ;. 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. 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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 }" 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«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 Largest Independent Typewriter / Without exnpnsp Dealers in the World > Without expense and, remember, we do not ask you to / or obligation to me, buy an Underwood at once; you S you may may rent them: if you decide to f buy, the rental you have pai will be applied on purchas price Send for special Bar- > gain Offer No. 688. f 'IV EMPORIUM CHICAGO tell me all about your Underwood Offer No. 688. 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 You've reached your limit. You can't expect to step into a job that pays a big salary until you've prepared yourself for it. It's a serious question, this problem of getting ahead. There is only one solution — you must have training; you must be able to do work that others can't do, or your pay will stay on a level with theirs. The business of the International Correspondence Schools is to help just such men as you to get good positions and hold them. Right now over one hundred thousand ambitious men are preparing themselves through I. C. S. courses for the bigger jobs ahead. Last year nearly five thou- sand reported increased pay as the result of I. C. S. trainingo These men got their training in spare time and in their own homes. What the I. C. S. have done for others they surely can do for you. But you must make a start — the same start that they made — and the way has been made easy for you. Mark and mail this coupon. n I. C. S., Box 4226, Scran ton, Pa. Reports on 27,000 typical I. C. S. students show 14,990 now receiving $1500 a year or more; 2451 receiving $2500 or more; 413 receiving $5000 or more; 20 receiving $10,000 or more; and 8 with annual incomes of $25,000 or more. WHAT OTHERS HAVE DONE YOU CAN DO INTERNATIONAL CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOLS Box 4226, 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 B Telegraph Expert MECHANICAL ENGINEER Mechanical Draftsman iMachine Shop Practice Gas Engineer CIVIL 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 Railway Accountant Commercial La □ GOOD ENGLISH _ Teacher □ Common School Subjects □ CIVIL SERVICE □ Railway Mail Clerk AGRICULTURE Textile Overseer or Supt. Navigator □ Spanish Poultry Raising □German AUTOMOBILES □ French Auto Repairing Cltaliao Occupation & Employer. Street and No. City. 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" PICTURE-PLAY ADVERTISER wmmmmmm. Up mm 17 N JOY the stimulating influence of new clothes. They 1 give you fresh interest in life. With new things you work better and play better — undertake your daily tasks with new spirit and greater confidence. New garters add largely to your comfort and contribute much to the personal satisfaction that comes from the knowledge that one is really well dressed. " Bostons 99 give more service and more comfort for their cost than any other article you wear. Keep yours fresh and at top-notch efficiency at all times. Boston Garter SILK 50c. LISLE 25c. 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. 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Wnile you have a half hour to spare have your "sag" 1 \fVt\ 1 m lifted and go through the rest of your life looking better. DOES NOT SHOW OR INTERFERE WITH YOUR WORK. Call or write for book and full particulars. DR. PRATT HOURS UNTIL 5 P. M. DAILY NEW YORK, 40 West 3411) Street DETROIT, 213 Woodward Avenue CHICAGO, 177 North State Street 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 YOU HAVE In this day and age at tention to your appear anee is an absolute neces- sity if you expect to make the most out of life. Not only should you wish to appear as attractive as possible for your own self-satisfaction, which is alone well worth your efforts, but you will find the world in general judging you greatly, if not wholly, by your " looks," therefore it pays to " look your best' atall times. PERMIT NO ONE TO SEE YOU LOOK- ING OTHERWISE; it will injure your welfare ! 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Make comparison with any house. You will be ^^convinced tbat we are MONEY-SAVERS in Diamonds, Watches, Jewelry and igfe ^-v. Silverware. Write for Special Catalogue 103. Our prices are net cash Ft^i^XrS with examination privilege. *t% rl% S. RAiVES^Co : : ' - 166 Fifth AiX.NmroJtK 156 The Picture Oracle DELATONE Removes Hair or Fuzz from Face. Neck or 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 Delatone and water; then spread on the bairsy 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 LEARN RAGTIME// ■ Let me teach you Rag-Time Piano Playing by Mail. You learn easily— in just a few lessons, at home. , My system is so simple you'll play a real ragtime piece at your 5th lesson. Whether you can play now, or not, I'll teach you to play anything in happy ragtime. "Money Back Guarantee." Write at once for special low terms and testimonials. AXEL CHRISTENSEN, "Czar off Ragtime," Room 90 526 So. Western Ave., Chicago, HE, ATTENTION, SPECIAL OFFER SEND $1.00 WITH YOUR PHOTOPLAY-OR IDEA— AND JOIN "THE MASCOT DOLLAR CLUB." ADVANTAGES— SIX MONTHS' MEMBERSHIP. One photoplay CORRECTED so that YOU can rewrite into proper SALABLE FORM. Leading FILM PRODUCERS' names and addresses- What they want. RELIABLE ADVICE AND INSTRUCTION ABOUT PHOTOPLAY WRITING GIVEN all Club Members for HALF YEAR. Experience and correspondence course NOT neces- sary. Your IDEAS worth MONEY. We show you HOW to put YOUR IDEAS into acceptable shape. Producers pay 825.00 to $100.00 for good photoplays. DON'T DELAY-ENROLL YOUR NAME FOR MEMBER- SHIP AT ONCE-Address- "MASCOT SERVICE," Dept. M, P. O. Box 142, MORRISTOWN, NEW JERSEY. HOW TO WRITE PHOTOPLAYS Our new book, HOW TO WRITE PHOTOPLAYS, is the wonder of the motion picture world. Third edition, revised and enlarged, now ready. Shows HOW to write photo- plays, and HOW and WHERE to sell them. Gives real facts, valu- able pointers, an actual model scena- rio, 5» valuable addresses of scenario buyers, a statement showing what kind of a scenario each one wants, etc. Just follow directions and write How To Wri Photoplay successful photoplays. Send ofi for your copy to-day. Price "OC HYDE PUBLISHING CO. 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 Ten Free Trial Days' Without one cent advance payment we will ship you this late model UNDERWOOD TYPEWRITER equipped with the late improvements, 2-color automatic ribbon, back spacer, tabulator, etc. After you have tried the machine you pay your express agent our cash price of $43.85 (less than one-half manufacturer's price) and the machine is yours. We can arrange easy payment plan if desired. Every machine guaranteed for five years. The quantity is limited so write today METRO. TYPEWRITER CO. 75 Front Street, Brooklyn, N. Y. BEAUTIFUL Eyebrows and Lashes Why use makeup? When you can grow them long and thick by applying CREO-MOL LASH BEAU- T1FIER NIGHTLY. Sure in results. Pure and harmless. Mailed on receipt of 25 cts. in coin and 3 cts. in stamps, and receive a sample of CREO- MOL Face Powder Free. The powder that won't rub off. SPECIAL : CREO-MOL Face Powder, regular 75 cts. size, for 50 cts. Send to-day. CREO-MOL CO. BOSTON, MASS. P. O. BOX 5073. A! VIFNF SCHOOLS— Est. 20 Yee f\Lt V lllilll^ The Acknowledged Authority Each department a Iarg;e school in it- self. Academic, Technical, and Practi- cal Training. Students' School, Theatre and Stock Co. Afford New York Ap- pearances. For catalogue, write D. IRWIN, Secretary Mentioning Study Desired 225 West 57th Street, near Broadway ears on DRAMA TIC STAGE PHOTO- PLAY AND DANCE ARTS New York Exhausted or Debilitated NERVE FORCE Every reader of this Magazine who is under a nervous strain, lacks nerve force, power and energy, and par- ticularly those who are subject to weakness and exces- sive drains on the nervous system, should not fail to send to Winchester & Co., the Pioneer Manufacturers of Hypophosphite Preparations (Established 58 years), 791 Beekman Building. New York, for their free litera- ture on Nervousness. "I know of no remedy in whole Materia Medica equal to your Specific Pill in Nervous Debility." Adolph Behre, M. D., Professor of Organic Chemistrv, New York. No C. O. D. or Treatment Scheme. Price $1.00 per box or bottle. Sent prepaid in the U. S. 158 The Picture Oracle Wrinkles Thousands have successfully used this formula to remove traces of age, illness or worry: 1 oz. of pure Powdered SAXOLITE dissolved in Y^. pt. witch hazel; use as a face wash. The effect is almost magical. Deepest wrinkles, crow's feet, as well as finest lines, completely and Quickly vanish. Face becomes firm, smooth, fresh, and you look years young-er. No harm to tenderest ekin. Get genuine Saxolite (powdered) at any drug store. DATS PARAGON Shorthand Speed comes with use. Speed capacity practically un- limited. Wonderfully easy to read. Writers in service of U. S. Government and offices of largest corpora- tions. System already adopted by number of cities for High Schools. Write now for full proof. .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. Try This Wonderful Beauty Builder You will be convinced and delighted with Dr. James P. Campbell's Safe Arsenic Complexion Wafer If you want to restore and preserve your beauty, use this priceless beauty builder and your skin will gradually but surely take on the finer texture and y reater clearness andfreshness that thesteady use of Campbell's Complexion Wafers always brings. This wonderful toilet aid is guaranteed to clear the complexion of pimples, blackheads, wrinkles, redness, sallow skin and all facial blem- ishes, and a new skin apnears with the firmness and fineness of youth. READ THIS testimon aj from a beautiful woman. Gentlemen: Without wishing to appear conceited, I wish to say I am considered one of the best looking married women in onr small city, and I owe it all to your wafers. Send today for Campbell's Wafers — 50c to $1.00 per box by mail in plain cover on receipt of price. Richard Fink Co., Dept. 49, 396 Broadway, N. Y. Every druggist can get Dr. Campbell' s Arsenic Wafers for yoti from his -wholesale dealer. NOTE THE BIG CHANGE Beautiful Eye-Brows and Eye-Lashes Giveafaeecharm, expression, loveliness. — Actresses and Society Women get them by using LASH-BROW- 1 NE It makes lashes and eye-brows long, silky, giving depth and soulful expression to the eyes. Pure and Harmless. A guaranteed treatment. Send 25 cts. (coin) and we will mail you package pre- paid in plain, sealed cover. Genuine Lash-Brow-Ine sold only by Maybell Laboratories, mdiinl*Ave. Chicago, Illinois FILM FAVORITES OF YOUR OWN CHOICE Send the names of Eighteen and twenty-five cents or a dollar for a hundred in splendid poses on i ostcards- 8 poses of Mary Picliford, 2 of Mariruerite Chirk, 2 of Chaplin, 3 of Theda Bara, a new picture of Lillian Lor- rsiine, Hazel Dawn and Olga Petrova, an autographed | picture of Jack W.Kerrigan, and many new feature stars. ! Also actual photos, size 8 x zo at 50c each I. 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Beautiful blue, black and gold covers. This volume is being sold for 50 cents for a limited time only. AH photoplay enthusiasts will welcome this opportunity to have such a wonderful col- lection of their screen friends in permanent form. The first book of this kind ever issued. Don't wait — send fifty cents — money order, check or stamps for your copy, and it will be sent parcel post, charges prepaid to any point in the U. S. or Canada. PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE, 356 NORTH CLARK STREET, CHICAGO, ILLINOIS G. M. Anderson King Bag-got Theda Bara Beverly Bayne Carlyle Blackwell John Bunny Francis X. Bushman Marguerite Clark Maurice Costello HAND PAINTED Autographed Pillow Tops of Moving Picture Stars Wonderful likenesses, theones the Stars themselves like best, size 18x18 inches. Beautiful Gifts and Prizes Two of these make a complete pillow, with one of your favorites on each side. 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Brunswick "Baby Grand" "Grand,""Convertible" and "Quick Demountable" Billiard Tables This family of Brunswick Tables lead the world because they are scientifically built. Fast, ever-level billiard beds, famous Mon- arch cushions — life, speed and accuracy of angle. Sizes and styles to fit all homes* regardless of room. $27 Up— Pay 10c a Day "Grand" and "Baby Grand" Brunswicks are made of genuine San Domingo mahogany, with rich inlaid design. We can use these beautiful woods because we are building for thousands yearly, and quan- tity output cuts our factory cost way down. "Quick Demountable" Brunswicks can be set up anywhere in a jiffy and easily taken down after play. "Convertible" Brunswicks are handsome li- brary and dining tables that give you grown-up carom and pocket billiards, too. 30-Day Trial— Balls, Etc., FREE! Yes, complete High-Class Playing Outfit in- cluded without extra cost — Balls, Cues, Rack, Markers, Expert Book of 33 Games, etc. Accept our home trial offer and let the table win every member of the family. Color-photos, low prices, and easy terms all shown in our handsome book — "Billiards — The Home Mag- net." It's FREE. Lest you forget, mail the coupon now. "Baby Grand" Combination Carom and Pocket Table with Accessory Drawer that holds fun playing outfit, This Brings Billiard Book FREE The Brunswick-Balke-Collender Co. Dept. 31 T 623-633 S. Wabash Ave., Chicago Send free postpaid your color photo book "Billiards— The Home Magnet" and tell about your home trial offer. Name. JUN -2 1916 &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& 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 ~~ (f)racle ^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 PICTURE-PLAY ADVERTISER YmCanBridtfeThisGulf In life there is a gulf. On one side live the untrained who work for small wages in jobs that thousands can fill. On the other side live those men who have trained themselves in skilled trades or professions which bring them independence and good salaries. On which side of the gulf are you ? If you are on the wrong side, you don't have to stay there. The International Correspondence Schools have helped tens of thousands of men to travel over to the right side on the bridge called "training." This bridge is open to you. All you have to do now is to use this , T« coupon. In return the I. C. S. will j explain how they can help you to pre- | pare, without losing a minute's time i from your work, for a position of real earning power. Wherever you live, whatever you do, I no matter how limited your education, | the I. C. S. can fit you for the position | you want, in the work you like best, i Mark and mail the coupon now. kR OUT HER a- INTERNATIONAL CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOLS Box 4227, SCRANTON, PA. Explain, without obligating me, how I can qualify for the posi- tion, or In the subject, before which I mark X. INTERNATIONAL CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOLS Box 4227, Scranton, Pa. Reports on 27,000 typical 1. C. S. students show 14,900 now receiving $1500 a year or more; 2451 receiving $2500 or more; 413 receiving $5000 or more; 20 receiving $10,000 or more; and eight with annual incomes of $25, 000 or more. 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Street and No. I City. 316 The Picture Oracle The Joy of a Beautiful Complexion* IS YOURS-IF YOU WILL USE Dr. Campbell's Sale Arsenic Com- plexion Wafers guaranteed to cjuickly beautify the complexion, clearing the skin of pimples, blackheads, wrin- kles, redness and sallow skin. They will delight and astonish you— no matter how many things you have tried without success or how discouraged - try Campbell's Wafers— they will be a revelation to you. Try Campbell's Wafers— they put you in perfect condition, build up the system, removing all impurities from the blood, the real cause of all skin affections. Act now — send for a box— 50c. and $1.00 by mail in plain cover on receipt of price from the RICHARD FINK CO., Dept. 49, 396 Broadway, New York Every drug-gist can get Dr. Campbell's Arsenic Wafers for you from his wholesale denier. A I VIFNF SCHOOLS— Est. 20 Years V ILiIILi The Acknowledged Authority on Each department a larg-e school in it- self. Academic. Technical, and Practi- cal Training. Students'School. Theatre and Stock Co. Afford New York Ap- pearances. For catalogue, write D. IRWIN, Secretary Mentioning Study Desired 225 West 57th Street, near Broadway, New York DRAMATIC STAGE PHOTO-PLAY AND DANCE ARTS DON'T YOU LIKE My Eyelashes and Eyebrows? You can have the same LASHNEEN, a hair food, applied once each day, will absolutely produce thick and long eyebrows and eyelashes. Easy to apply— sure in results. Lash- neen is an Oriental formula. One box is all you will need. Not sold at Druggists. Mailed on receipt of 25c coin and 2c postage, or Canadian money order. LASHNEEN COMPANY, Dept. 28. Philadelphia. LOOK Learn to Write Photo- Plays By Our Exclusive Method Only sure method. This school turns ■ mm mm out more successful scenario writers \m r IJ wT than all the other schools together, n ff" K 1 There's a reason. You too can make I I mm § I ^m big money. Send for free booklet of valuable information and Special Prize Offer. Don't delay — Act, before you turn page. Chicago Photo- Playwright College, Box 278 XY, Chicago, 111. LEARN HOW TO SING Our new Method teaches you how to Sing at home — We teach the " Bel Canto" System, the only one used by such Great Singers as Caruso, Scotti, Ruffo, Melba. We give absolutely free 12 popular songs (sheet music) with our first lesson. Money refunded if not Satisfied. Send 25 Cents. VICTOR CONSERVATORY OF MUSIC Parkway Building Philadelphia, Pa. DO YOU WI8II I^O KIVOW f% whether you will prosper or not in your undertak- J ings? Whether you will marry or not? Have sick- I ness or health ? Travel or stay at home? Win or ■ lose in speculation? Business to follow, etc? YOUR planets WILL TELL YOU. No guess work. Clear answers to all questions. Will send you hundreds of addresses of people who have been pa- trons of mine for 10 years, and vou can write to them and verify my statements. GRASP your OPPORTUNITY and you will gain your desires. Send birth date and 10c. for a trial reading. L. THOMSON, Dept. 109, Kansas City, Mo. Write Movin£Picture Plays Short Stories and Poems $io to $300 Each -Constant demand. De- vote all or spare time. Correspondence course is NOT required. Start work at once. Details FREE. 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. 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Corner Wabash & Monroe, Chicago, U.S. A. :: POCKET EDITIONS :: USEFUL SUBJECTS 10c. EACH Sheldon's Twentieth Century Letter Writer; Sheldon's Guide to Etiquette; Physical Health Culture; National Dream Book; Zingara Fortune Teller; The Key to Hypnotism; Heart Talks With the Lovelorn; Frank Merri well's Book of Physical Development. Street & Smith, Publishers, 79-S9 Seventh Ave., New York DELATONE Removes Hair or Fuzz from Face. Neck or 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 Delatone and water; then spread on the hairy surface. After two or three minutes, rub off the paste and the hairs will be pone. Wlien 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 318 The Picture Oracle Don't Envy a Beautiful Woman— Be One I Most women do not stop to think | what a few minutes | each day and a good H 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 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. CREfvflf Ml G N MIGNON MFC C0» N. -3 the size of regular 50c jart which will be sent to any address on receipt of price. ^PFflAI AFFFP~Send 25c- in stamps for Purse-size aiEi^lriL UTIEilY Aluminum Box of Cream and Box of Clair Mignon Complexion Powder— enough for two or three weeks. State shade of powder. MAIN OFFICE AND LABORATORIES MIGNON CO., 540 West 165th Street, NEW YORK CITY Bud Cigarettes Plain or Cork Tip. Made of Selected Pure Turkish Tobacco, with a dis- tinctive blend which is appreciated by- smokers of discrimination and taste. 50 Bud Cigarettes securely packed in Mahogany Wood Boxes, with Brass Hinges and Spring Catch. Send us $1.00 for box of 50. Sent postpaid to any address. You'll be glad to smoke 'em. The Bud Cigarette Company, 2 Rector Street, New York City. 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. PICTURE-PLAY ADVERTISER i '/eg with the times, buy wholesale, to pay, you get Price, Quality O-N-E-H-A-L F. Any Diamond you d your money's worth. Send to-day for your Diamond, Watch or Jewelry_and sa O.N-E-H-A-UF. We ship C. O D. wilh Fre. animation Privilege. Full money back guar, wilhirOOdays if not satisfactory. 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GEORGE FROST COMPANY, BOSTON Boston Garter Baby Midget r HOSE SUPPORTER Lisle 10c Silk 15c At stores or by mail prepaid errs 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 Reserved. Publishers everywhere are cautioned against using any of the contents of this magazine either wholly or in part. Entered at New York. N.i\, Post Office as Second-class Matter, under an Act of Congress of March 3, 1879. Canadian Subscription. S2. 16. Foreign. $2.52. WARNING — Do not subscribe throueta aeenis unknown to you. Complaints are daily made by persons who have been thus victimiied. IMPORTANT — Authors, aeents and publishers are requested to note that this firm does not bold itself responsible for lose of unsolicited manuscripts while at this office or in transit; and that it cannot undertake to bold uncaged for manuscripts for a loneer period than six months. If the return of manuscript is expected, postage should be enclosed. YEARLY SUBSCRIPTION, S1.80 SINGLE COPIES, 15 CENTS 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