ONE NEW YORK DAY
That "happy ending" became a matter of much thought on Ruth's part, and
the cause of not a little argument between her and Mr. Hammond when he
came up to Cheslow and the Red Mill to discuss "Brighteyes" with its
youthful author. He had come, too, to get a glimpse of Wonota in the
flesh.
One of the first things Ruth had done when the Indian girl came under
her care was to take Wonota to Cheslow and have the best photographer of
the town take several "stills" of the Indian girl. Copies of these she
had sent to the Alectrion Film Corporation, and word had come back from
both Mr. Hammond and his chief director that the photographs of Wonota
were satisfactory.
The president of the film company, however, was interested in talking
with Wonota and judging as far as possible through cursory examination
just how much there was to the girl.
"What has she got in her? That is what we want to know," he said to
Ruth. "Can she get expression into her face? Can she put over feeling?
We want something besides mere looks, Miss Ruth, as you very well know."
"I realize all that," the girl of the Red Mill told him earnestly. "But
remember, Mr. Hammond, you cannot judge this Osage girl by exactly the
same standards as you would a white girl!"
"Why not? She's got to be able to show on the screen the deepest
feelings of her nature--"
"Not if you would have my 'Brighteyes' true to life," interrupted Ruth
anxiously. "You must not expect it."
"Why not?" he demanded again, with some asperity. "We don't want to show
the people a dummy. I tell you the public is getting more and more
critical. They won't stand for just pretty pictures. The actors In them
must express their thoughts and feelings as they do in real life."
"Exactly!" Ruth hastened to say. "That is what I mean. My 'Brighteyes'
is a full-blooded Indian maiden just like Wonota. Now, you talk with
Wonota--try to get to the very heart of the girl. Then you will see."
"See what?" he demanded, staring.
"What you will see," returned Ruth, with a laugh. "Go ahead and get
acquainted with Wonota. Meanwhile I will be getting this condensed plot
of the story into shape for us to talk over. I must rewrite that street
scene again, I fear. And, of course, we are in a hurry?"
"Always," grumbled the producer. "We must start for our Western location
as soon as possible; but the New York scenes must be shot first."
It was a fine day, and the shore of the Lumano River offered a pleasant
prospect for out-of-door exercise, and after he had spent more than an
hour walking about with Wonota, the canny Mr. Hammond obtained, he said,
a "good line" on the character and capabilities of the Indian girl.
"You had me guessing for a time, Miss Ruth," he laughingly said to the
girl of the Red Mill. "I did not know what you were hinting at I see it
now. Wonota is a true redskin. We read about the stoicism of her race,
but we do not realize what that means until we try to fathom an Indian's
deeper feelings.
"I talked with her about her father. She is very proud of him, this
Totantora, as she calls him. But only now and then does she express (and
that in a flash) her real love and admiration for him.
"She is deeply, and justly, angered at that Dakota Joe Fenbrook. But she
scarcely expresses that feeling in her face or voice. She speaks of his
cruelty to her with sadness in her voice merely, and scarcely a flicker
of expression in her countenance."
"Ah!" Ruth said. "Now you see what I see. It is impossible for her to
register changing expressions and feelings as a white girl would. Nor
would she be natural as 'Brighteyes' if she easily showed emotion. Yet
she mustn't be stolid, for if she does the audience will never get what
we are trying to put over."
"The director has got to have judgment--I agree to that," said Mr.
Hammond, nodding. "Wonota must be handled with care. But she's got it in
her to be a real star in time. She photographs like a million dollars!"
and he laughed. "Now if we can teach her to be expressive enough--well,
I am more than ever willing to take the chance with her, provided you,
Miss Ruth, will agree to supply the vehicles of expression."
"You flatter me, Mr. Hammond," returned Ruth, flushing faintly. "I shall
of course be glad to do my best in the writing line."
"That's it. Between us we ought to make a lot of money. And incidentally
to make an Indian star who will make 'em all sit up and take notice."
Ruth was so much interested in "Brighteyes" by this time that she "ate,
slept, walked and talked" little else--to quote Helen. But Tom's sister
grew much interested in the production, too.
"I'm going with you--to New York, anyway," she announced. "I might as
well. Father is so busy with his business now that I scarcely see him
from week end to week end. Dear me, if Tommy only would come home!"
"I guess he'd be delighted," rejoined Ruth, smiling. "But if you go with
me, honey, you're likely to be dragged around a good deal. I expect to
jump from New York to somewhere in the Northwest. Mr. Hammond has not
exactly decided. The weather is very promising, and if we can shoot the
outdoor scenes before Christmas we'll be all right."
"Well, I do love to travel. Maybe we could get Jennie to go, too," Helen
said reflectively.
"She certainly would help," laughed Ruth. "I would rather laugh with
Jennie than grouch with anybody else."
"The wisdom of Mrs. Socrates," scoffed Helen. "Anyway, Ruthie, I'll
write her at once and tell her to begin pulling wires. You know, Mr.
Stone is as 'sot as the everlasting hills'--and it takes something to
move the hills, you know. He will have to be convinced, maybe, that
Jennie's health demands a change of climate at just this time."
"She looks it."
"Well, one might expect her to fade away a bit because of Henri's
absence. I wonder if she's heard from him since the armistice?"
"If she hasn't she'll need something besides a change of climate, I
assure you," laughed Ruth again. "She hates ocean voyaging, does Jennie;
but she wouldn't wait till she could go in an ox-cart to get back to
France if Henri forgot to write."
There was one thing sure: Jennie Stone was a delighted host when Helen
arrived in New York a few days ahead of Ruth and Wonota. Ruth had not
intended to go to the Stones; she would have felt more independent at a
hotel. She did not know what engagements Mr. Hammond or the director of
the picture might make for her. So she tried to dodge Jennie's
invitation.
When the train got in from New England, however, and Ruth and the Indian
girl, following a red-capped porter with their bags, walked through the
gateway of entrance to the concourse of the Grand Central Terminal,
there were both Jennie and Helen waiting to spy them.
"Mr. Hammond told me to come to the Borneaux. He has made reservations
there," Ruth said.
"That's all right for to-morrow," declared Jennie bruskly. "Hotel rooms
are all right to make up in, or anything like that. But you are both
going to my house for to-night"
"Now, Jennie--"
"No buts or ands about it!" exclaimed her friend. "If you don't come,
Ruthie Fielding, I'll never speak to you again. And if Wonota doesn't
come I declare I'll tell Dakota Joe where she is, and he'll come after
her and steal her. In fact," Jennie added, wickedly smiling, "his old
Wild West Show is playing right here in the Big Town this week."
"You don't mean it!" exclaimed Ruth, while the Indian girl shrank a
little closer to her friend.
"Sure do. In Brooklyn. A three-day stand in one of the big armories over
there, I believe. So a telephone call--"
"Shucks!" exclaimed Helen. "Don't you believe her, Wonota. Just the same
you folks had better come to the Stone house. Mr. Stone has taken a
whole box to-night for one of the very best musical shows that ever
was!"
Ruth could see that the Indian girl was eager to agree. She did show
some small emotions which paleface girls displayed. She laughed more
than at first, too. But she was often downright gloomy when thinking of
Chief Totantora.
However, seeing Wonota wished to accept the invitation, and desiring
herself to please Helen and Jennie, Ruth agreed. They telephoned a
message to the Hotel Borneaux and then went off to dinner at the Stone
house. It was a very nice party indeed, and even busy Mr. Stone did his
best to put Wonota at her ease.
"Some wigwam this, isn't it, Wonata?" said Helen, smiling, as the girls
went upstairs after dinner to prepare for the theatre.
"The Osage nation does not live in wigwams, Miss Cameron," said Wonota
quietly. "We are not blanket Indians and have not been for two
generations."
"Well, look at the clothes you wore in that show!" cried Jennie. "That
head-dress looked wild enough, I must say--and those fringed leggings
and all that."
Wonota smiled rather grimly. "The white people expect to see Indians in
their national costumes. Otherwise it would be no novelty, would it?
Why, some of the girls--Osage girls of pure blood too--at Three Rivers
Station wear garments that are quite up to date. You must not forget
that at least we have the catalogs from the city stores to choose from,
even if we do not actually get to the cities to shop."
"Printer's ink! It is a great thing," admitted Helen. "I don't suppose
there are really any wild Indians left."
The four girls and Aunt Kate were whisked in a big limousine to the
play, and Wonota enjoyed the brilliant spectacle and the music as much
as any of the white girls.
"Believe me," whispered Jennie to Ruth, "give any kind of girl a chance
to dress up and go to places like this, and see other girls all fussed
up, as your Tommy says--"
"Helen's Tommy, you mean," interposed Ruth.
"Rats!" murmured the plump girl, falling back upon Briarwood Hall slang
in her momentary disgust. "Well, anyway, Miss Fielding, what I said is
so. Wonota would like to dress like the best dressed girl in the
theatre, and wear ropes of pearls and a plume in her hat--see that one
yonder! Isn't it superb?"
"The poor birdie that lost it," murmured Ruth.
"I declare, I don't believe you half enjoy yourself thinking of the
reverse of the shield all the time," sniffed Jennie Stone. "And yet you
do manage to dress pretty good yourself."
"One does not have to be bizarre to look well and up-to-date," declared
the girl of the Red Mill. "But that has nothing to do with Wonota."
"I did get off the track, didn't I?" laughed Jennie. "Oh, well! Dress
her up, or any other foreign girl, in American fashion and she seems to
fit into the picture all right--"
"'Foreign girl' and 'American fashion'?" gasped Ruth. "As--as _you_
sometimes say, Jennie, 'how do you get that way'? Wonota is a better
American than we are. Her ancestors did not have to come over in the
_Mayflower_, with Henry Hudson, or with Sir Walter Raleigh."
"Isn't that a fact?" laughed Jennie. "I certainly am forgetting
everything I ever learned at school. And, to tell the truth," she added,
making a little face at her chum, "I feel better for it. I just
_crammed_ at Ardmore and Briarwood."
Helen heard this. She glanced scornfully over Jennie's still too plump
figure. "I should say you did," she observed. "You used to create a
famine at old Briarwood Hall, I remember. But I would not brag about it,
Heavy."
"Crammed my brain, I mean," wailed the plump girl. "Can't you let me
forget my avoirdupois at all?"
"It is like the poor," laughed Ruth. "It is always with us, Jennie. We
cannot look at you and visualize your skeleton. You are too well
upholstered."
This sort of banter did not appeal to the Indian girl. She did not, in
fact, hear much of it. All her attention was given to the play on the
stage and the brilliant audience. She had traveled considerably with
Dakota Joe's show, but she had never seen anything like the audience in
this Broadway theatre.
She went back to the Stone domicile in a sort of daze--smiling and happy
in her quiet way, but quite speechless. Even Jennie could not "get a
rise out of her," as she confessed to Helen and Ruth after they were
ready for bed and the plump girl had come in to perch on one of the
twin beds her chums occupied for the night.
"But I like this Osage flower," observed Jennie. "And I am just as
anxious as I can be to see you make a star actress out of her, Ruthie."
"It will be Mr. Hammond and the director who do that."
"I guess you'll be in it," said Helen promptly. "If it wasn't for your
story they would not be able to feature Wonota."
"Anyway," went on Jennie, "I want to go West with you, Ruth--and so does
Helen. Don't you, Nell?"
"I certainly do," agreed Ruth's good friend. "Heavy and I are going to
tag along, Ruthie, somehow. If there is a chaperone, father said I could
go."
"Not Aunt Kate!" cried Jennie. "She says she has had enough. We dragged
her down East this summer, but she will not leave Madison Avenue this
winter."
"No need of worrying about that. Mother Paisley is going with the
company. I have a part for her in my picture. She always looks out for
the girls--a better chaperone than Mr. Hammond could hire," said Ruth.
"Fine!" cried Helen. "We'll go, then."
"We will," echoed Jennie.
"I wish you'd go to bed and let me go to sleep," complained the girl of
the Red Mill. "I have a hard day's work to-morrow--I feel it."
She was not mistaken in this feeling. At eight Mr. Hammond's assistant
telephoned that the director and the company would meet Ruth and Wonota
at a certain downtown corner where several of the scenes were to be
shot. Dressing rooms in a neighboring hotel had been engaged. Ruth and
her charge hastened through their breakfast, and Mr. Stone's chauffeur
drove them down to the corner mentioned.
It was a very busy spot, especially about noon. Ruth had seen so much of
this location work done, that it did not bother her. She was only to
stand to one side and watch, anyway. But Wonota asked:
"Oh! we don't have to do this right out here in public, do we, Miss
Fielding?"
"You do," laughed her friend. "Why, the people on the street help make
the picture seem reasonable and natural. You need not be frightened."
"But, shall I have to be in that half-Indian costume Mr. Hammond told me
to wear? What will people say--or think?"
Ruth was amused. "That's the picture. You will see some of the
characters in stranger garments than those of yours before we have
finished. And, anyway, in New York you often see the most outlandish
costumes on people--Turks in their national dress, Hindoos with turbans
and robes, Japanese and Chinese women dressed in the silks and brocades
of their lands. Oh, don't worry about bead-trimmed leggings and a few
feathers. And your skirt in that costume is nowhere near as short as
those worn by three-fourths of the girls you will see."
Aside from Wonota herself, there were few of the characters of the
picture of "Brighteyes" appearing in the scenes at this point. Mr.
Hammond had obtained a police permit of course, and the traffic officers
and some other policemen in the neighborhood took an interest in the
affair.
Traffic was held back at a certain point for a few moments so that there
would not be too many people in the scene. Wonota could not be hidden.
Ruth stood in the street watching the arrangements by the director and
his assistants. Two films are always made at the same time, and the two
camera men had got into position and had measured with their tapes the
field of the picture to be taken.
Ruth had noticed an automobile stopped by the police on the other side
of the cross street. She even was aware that two men in it were not
dressed like ordinary city men. They had broad-brimmed hats on their
heads.
But she really gave the car but a momentary glance. Wonota took up her
closest attention. The Indian girl crossed and recrossed the field of
the camera until she satisfied the director that her gait and facial
expression was exactly what he wanted.
"All right!" he said through his megaphone. "Camera! Go!"
And at that very moment, and against the commanding gesture of the
policeman governing the traffic, the car Ruth had so briefly noticed
started forward, swerved into the avenue, and ran straight at Ruth as
though to run her down!