CHAPTER IV
AUNT JANE'S NIECES
The picture, which was entitled "The Sacrifice," proved--to use Patsy'swords--"a howling success." On Monday afternoons the little theatres areseldom crowded, so Mr. Merrick's party secured choice seats where theycould observe every detail of the photography. The girls could not waitfor a later performance, so eager were they to see themselves in a motionpicture, nor were they disappointed to find they were a mere incident inthe long roll of film.
The story of the photo-play was gripping in its intensity, and since Mr.Werner had clearly explained the lesson it conveyed, they followed theplot with rapt attention. In the last scene their entrance and exit wastransitory, but they were obliged to admit that their features werereally expressive of fear. The next instant the wall fell, burying itsvictims, and this rather bewildered them when they remembered that fullyhalf an hour had elapsed while the dummies were being placed in position,the real people removed from danger and preparations made to topple overthe wall from the inside of the building. But the camera had beeninactive during that period and so cleverly had the parts of the picturebeen united that no pause whatever was observable to the spectators.
"My! what a stuffy place," exclaimed Louise, as they emerged into thelight of day. "I cannot understand why it is necessary to have thesemoving picture theatres so gloomy and uncomfortable."
"It isn't necessary," replied Uncle John. "It's merely a habit thebuilders have acquired. There seemed to be a total lack of ventilation inthat place."
"No one expects much for ten cents," Arthur reminded him. "If thepictures are good the public will stand for anything in the matter ofdiscomfort."
"Did you notice," said Patsy, slowly, "how many children there were inthat theatre?"
"Yes, indeed," answered Beth. "The pictures seem to be an idealamusement for children. I do not suppose they can understand all thedramas and love stories, but the pictures entertain them, whatever thetheme may be."
"They are not allowed to go unless accompanied by a parent or guardian,"Arthur stated; "but I saw a group of eleven under the care of onecheery-looking old lady, so I suppose the little ones evade the law inthat way."
On Tuesday forenoon they drove to the office of the Continental FilmManufacturing Company and inquired for Mr. Werner. Every approach to theinterior of the big stockade was closely guarded in order to prevent thecurious from intruding, but Werner at once hurried out to greet them andescorted them into the enclosure.
"You are just in time," said he, "to witness one of the scenes in ourgreat picture, 'Samson and Delilah.' They're getting it on now, so youmust hurry if you want to see the work. It's really the biggest thing ourfirm has ever turned out."
They passed a group of low but extensive frame buildings, threadingtheir way between them until finally they emerged within a large openspace where huge frames covered with canvas were propped up in broaddaylight and apparently in great disorder. Huddled here and there weregroups of people wearing Oriental costumes of the Bible days, theirskins stained brown, the make-up on their faces showing hideously in thestrong light. A herd of meek donkeys, bearing burdens of faggots, wastethered near by.
"Follow me closely," cautioned their guide, "so you will not step overthe 'dead line' and get yourselves in the picture."
"What is the 'dead line'?" inquired Uncle John.
"The line that marks the limit of the camera's scope. Outside of that youare quite safe. You will notice it is plainly marked in chalk."
They passed around to the front and were amazed at the picture disclosedby the reverse of the gaunt, skeleton-like framework. For now wasdisplayed Solomon's temple in all its magnificence, with huge pillarssupporting a roof that seemed as solid and substantial as stone andmortar could make it.
The perspective was wonderful, for they could follow a line of visionthrough the broad temple to a passage beyond, along which wasapproaching a procession of priests, headed by dancing girls andmusicians beating tomtoms and playing upon reeds. The entire scene wasbarbaric in its splendor and so impressive that they watched itspellbound, awed and silent.
Yet here beside them was the motion-picture camera, clicking steadilyaway and operated by a man in his shirt-sleeves who watched the scenewith sharp eyes, now frowning and now nodding approval. Beside him attimes, but rushing from one point to another just outside the chalk-marksthat indicated the "dead line," was the director of this production, whoshouted commands in a nervous, excited manner and raged and tore his hairwhen anything went wrong.
Something went very wrong presently, for the director blew a shrill blaston his whistle and suddenly everything stopped short. The camera manthrew a cloth over his lenses and calmly lighted a cigarette. Theprocession halted in uncertainty and became a disordered rabble; but thedirector sprang into the open space and shouted at his actors andactresses in evident ill temper.
"There it is again!" he cried. "Five hundred feet of good film, ruined bythe stupidity of one person. Get out of that priest's robe, Higgins, andlet Jackson take your place. Where's Jackson, anyhow?"
"Here," answered a young man, stepping out from a group of spectators.
"Do you know the work? Can you lead that procession into the temple sothey will leave room for Delilah to enter, and not crowd her off theplatform?" asked the director.
Jackson merely nodded as he scrambled into the priest's robe which thediscomfited Higgins resigned to him. Evidently the bungling actor was indisgrace, for he was told to go to the office and get his pay and then"clear out."
So now the procession was sent back into the passage and rearranged inproper order; the signal was given to begin and in an instant the camerarenewed its clicking as the operator slowly revolved the handle thatcarried the long strip of film past the lenses. The musicians played, thegirls danced, the procession slowly emerged from the passage.
This time it advanced properly and came to a halt just at the head of thestaircase leading up to the entrance to the temple.
"Delilah!" shouted the director, and now appeared a beautiful girl whomade a low obeisance to the chief priest.
"Why--goodness me!" cried Patsy. "It's--it's Maud Stanton!"
"Nonsense!" returned Arthur, sharply; and then he looked again and drew along breath; for unless it were indeed the elder niece of Mrs. Montrose,there must be two girls in the world identically alike.
Mr. Werner settled the question by quietly remarking: "Of course it'sMaud Stanton. She's our bright, particular star, you know, and the publicwould resent it if she didn't appear as the heroine of all our bestpictures."
"An actress!" exclaimed Arthur. "I--I didn't know that."
"She and her sister Flo are engaged by us regularly," replied Werner,with an air of pride. "They cost us a lot of money, as you may imagine,but we can't afford to let any competitor have them."
If Arthur Weldon felt any chagrin at this, discovery it was not in theleast shared by the others of his party. Beth was admiring the younggirl's grace and dignity; Patsy was delighted by her loveliness in thefleecy, picturesque costume she wore; Louise felt pride in the fact thatshe had been introduced to "a real actress," while Uncle John wonderedwhat adverse fortune had driven this beautiful, refined girl to posebefore a motion picture camera.
They soon discovered Florence Stanton in the picture, too, among thedancing girls; so there could be no mistake of identity. Mrs. Montrosewas not visible during the performance; but afterward, when Samson hadpulled down the pillars of the temple and it had fallen in ruins, whenthe "show" was over and the actors trooping away to theirdressing-rooms, then the visitors were ushered into the main office ofthe establishment to meet Mr. Goldstein, the manager, and seated by thewindow was the aunt of the two girls, placidly reading a book. She lookedup with a smile as they entered.
"Did you see the play?" she asked. "And isn't it grand and impressive? Ihope you liked Maud's 'Delilah.' The poor child has worked so hard tocreate the character."
They assured her the girl was perf
ect in her part, after which Mr.Merrick added: "I'm astonished you did not go out to see the playyourself."
She laughed at his earnestness.
"It's an old story to me," she replied, "for I have watched Maud rehearseher part many times. Also it is probable that some--if not all--of thescenes of 'Samson and Delilah' will be taken over and over, half a dozentimes, before the director is satisfied."
"The performance seemed quite perfect to-day," said Uncle John. "Isuppose, Mrs. Montrose, you do not--er--er--act, yourself?"
"Oh. I have helped out, sometimes, when a matronly personation isrequired, but my regular duties keep me busily engaged in the office."
"May we ask what those duties are?" said Louise.
"I'm the reader of scenarios."
"Dear me!" exclaimed Patsy. "I'm sure we don't know any more than wedid before."
"A 'scenario,'" said the lady, "is a description of the plot for aphoto-play. It is in manuscript form and hundreds of scenarios aresubmitted to us from every part of the country, and by people in allwalks of life."
"I shouldn't think you could use so many," said Beth.
"We can't, my dear," responded the lady, laughing at her simplicity. "Themajority of the scenarios we receive haven't a single idea that is worthconsidering. In most of the others the ideas are stolen, or duplicatedfrom some other picture-play. Once in a while, however, we find a plot ofreal merit, and then we accept it and pay the author for it."
"How much?" inquired Arthur.
"So little that I am ashamed to tell you. Ideas are the foundation ofour business, and without them we could not make successful films; butwhen Mr. Goldstein buys an idea he pays as little for it as possible, andthe poor author usually accepts the pittance with gratitude."
"We were a little surprised," Uncle John ventured to say, "to find youconnected with this--er--institution. I suppose it's all right; but thosegirls--your nieces--"
"Yes, they are motion picture actresses, and I am a play reader. It isour profession, Mr. Merrick, and we earn our living in this way. To befrank with you, I am very proud of the fact that my girls are popularfavorites with the picture theatre audiences."
"That they are, Mrs. Montrose!" said Goldstein, the manager, a leanlittle man, earnestly endorsing the statement; "and that makes them thehighest priced stars in all our fourteen companies of players. Butthey're worth every cent we pay 'em--and I hope ev'rybody's satisfied."
Mrs. Montrose paid little deference to the manager. "He is only a detailman," she explained when Goldstein had gone way, "but of course it isnecessary to keep these vast and diverse interests running smoothly, andthe manager has enough details on his mind to drive an ordinary mortalcrazy. The successful scenario writers, who conceive our best plays, arethe real heart of this business, and the next to them in importance arethe directors, or producers, who exercise marvelous cleverness in stagingthe work of the authors."
"I suppose," remarked Arthur Weldon, "it is very like a theatre."
"Not so like as you might imagine," was the reply. "We employ scenery,costumes and actors, but not in ways theatrical, for all our work issubservient to the camera's eye and the requirements of photography."
While they were conversing, the two Stanton girls entered the office,having exchanged their costumes for street clothes and washed the make-upfrom their faces, which were now fresh and animated.
"Oh, Aunt Jane!" cried Flo, running to Mrs. Montrose, "we're dismissedfor the day. Mr. McNeil intends to develop the films before we doanything more, and Maud and I want to spend the afternoon at the beach."
The lady smiled indulgently as Maud quietly supported her sister'sappeal, the while greeting her acquaintances of yesterday with her sweet,girlish charm of manner.
"A half-holiday is quite unusual with us," she explained, "for it is thecustom to hold us in readiness from sunrise to sunset, in case ourservices are required. An actress in a motion picture concern is theslave of her profession, but we don't mind the work so much as we dowaiting around for orders."
"Suppose we all drive to the beach together," suggested Mr. Merrick. "Wewill try to help you enjoy your holiday and it will be a rich treat to usto have your society."
"Yes, indeed!" exclaimed Patsy Doyle. "I'm just crazy over this motionpicture business and I want to ask you girls a thousand questionsabout it."
They graciously agreed to the proposition and at once made preparationsfor the drive. Mrs. Montrose had her own automobile, but the partydivided, the four young girls being driven by Mr. Merrick's chauffeur inhis machine, while Uncle John, Arthur and Louise rode with Mrs. Montrose.
It did not take the young people long to become acquainted, and the airof restraint that naturally obtained in the first moments gradually woreaway. They were all in good spirits, anticipating a jolly afternoon atthe ocean resorts, so when they discovered themselves to be congenialcompanions they lost no time in stilted phrases but were soon chatteringaway as if they had known one another for years.