THE YELLOW LADY
There could be no further haste about the making of the picture, "The
Long Lane's Turning." Although most of the big scenes were already shot,
those that remained to do held in them the more poignant action of the
piece and must be rehearsed over and over again.
Much time is sometimes spent upon a single scene--a few feet of a reel.
Infinite patience, repetition and experimenting go into the making of a
pictured story. Infinite detail and a close attention to that detail make
the successful picture.
To stage a "big" scene may seem to be a marvelous feat of the director.
But in a big scene, with a large number of actors, the latter are divided
into groups, each group has its captain, and each individual actor has to
follow the lead of his particular captain. The groups are trained and
perfected in every little motion before they come into the real scene
before the camera.
Thus the allegorical picture that was a prologue to "The Long Lane's
Turning" had been gone over and rehearsed again and again by the
principal actors in it, even before the company left New York City.
Now, with all these "big" scenes filmed, the more difficult work of
making the individual scenes of action came to the fore. Wonota had to be
coached over and over again in her scenes with Mr. Grand and Miss Keith.
Both the latter were well-practised screen actors and could register the
ordinary gamut of emotions as easily as they ate their breakfast or
powdered their noses.
With Wonota, however, it was different. In the first place, she came of a
tribe of people in whom it was bred to smother all expression of
emotion--even the most poignant. Wonota almost worshiped her father; but
did she ever look upon Chief Totantora with a smile of pride or with
affection beaming in her eyes?
"Not so you'd notice it," said Helen, on one occasion. "Ordinarily, as
far as her looks go, Totantora might be a stranger to her."
"Is there any wonder, then," sighed Ruth, "that we find it so hard to
make her register affection for Mr. Grand? And she already should have
learned to do that in that first picture we took out West."
"Maybe that's the reason," said Helen wickedly. "If she did not know Mr.
Grand's foibles so well, she might the better show interest in him.
Goodness knows he's handsome enough."
"Better than that, he can act," said Ruth thoughtfully. "Not many of
these handsome screen heroes can do that. But perhaps if Wonota did not
disdain him so much (and she does, secretly) she could play up to him
better."
"Is there much more for her to do?" Helen asked, with renewed interest.
"Several scenes--and some of them most important. Mr. Hooley can not give
all his time to her. I am trying to coach her in them. But there is so
much going on here at the island----"
"Why not take her away to some other place and just pound it into her?"
"Not to the Kingdom of Pipes!" laughed Ruth suddenly.
"No. Let the old pirate have that place to his heart's content. But there
are other islands."
"True enough. Fourteen hundred of them."
"Come on!" exclaimed the energetic Helen. "Let's get Willie and the _Gem_
and go somewhere with Wonota. You've all day to hammer at her. Get your
continuity and try to get it into Wonota's head that she is deeply and
desperately in love with Grand."
In spite of Helen's brusk way of speaking, Ruth decided that her idea
might be well worth following. Helen took some knitting and a
parasol--and a hamper. Ruth gathered her necessary books and script; and
likewise got Wonota. Then they boarded the launch and Willie took them up
the river to a tiny islet not far from the Kingdom of Pipes, after all.
"I don't see anybody moving over there," Helen remarked, as Willie landed
them at the islet selected. She was looking at the island on which Ruth
had had her adventure with the King of the Pipes. "It looks deserted
enough. We might have gone there just as well as not."
"I feel as well satisfied to keep away from that queer old fellow," her
chum said.
"Who's that?" asked Willie, the boatman, overhearing their remarks.
Ruth told him about the strange man, and Willie laughed.
"Oh! That old jigger? Was he the fellow the boss wanted we should shoo
off that island? Why didn't he say so? Old Charley-Horse Pond. We all
know him about here."
"Oh!" cried Helen. "Is he crazy?"
"Not enough to make any difference. Just got a twist in his brain. Calls
himself a king, does he? Mebbe he will be a duke or an emperor next time.
Or a doctor. Can't tell. He gets fancies."
"And of course he is not dangerous?" said Ruth.
"Just about as dangerous as a fly," drawled Willie. "And not so much. For
flies bite--sometimes, and old Charley-Horse Pond ain't even got teeth to
bite with. No, Ma'am!"
"But what are the 'pipes' he talks about? Why 'King of the Pipes'?"
demanded the insistent Helen.
"Got me. Never heard of 'em," declared Willie. "Now, you ladies all right
here?"
"All right, Willie," said Ruth as the _Gem_ was backed off the island.
"I'll come for you at half past three, eh? That's all right, then," and
the boatman was off.
The three girls, really glad to be away from the crowd and the confusion
of the moving picture camp, settled down to several hours of
companionship. Helen could be silent if she pleased, and with her
knitting and a novel proceeded to curl up under a tamarack tree and bury
herself for the time being.
Helen had not, however, forgotten the "inner woman," as she pronounced
it. When lunch time came she opened the covered basket which she had
brought in addition to the book and the knitting, and produced sandwiches
and cake, besides the wherewithal for the making of a cup of tea over a
can of solidified alcohol. They lunched famously.
It was while they were thus engaged, and chatting, that the staccato
exhaust of a motor-boat drew their attention to the Island of Pipes. From
the other side, a boat was poking around into the passage leading to the
American shore.
"My goodness!" exclaimed Helen, "the King of the Pipes isn't in that
boat, is he?"
"Not at all," Ruth assured her. "I see nobody who looks like him among
those men--"
"All are not men, Miss Ruth," interrupted Wonota, the keen-eyed.
"What do you mean, Wonota?" gasped Helen, whirling around to gaze again
at the passing launch.
But Ruth did not say a word. She had been examining the boat closely. She
saw it was the very speedy boat she and Chess Copley had seen out on the
wider part of the river several weeks before. The launch was not moving
rapidly now, but Ruth was sure that it was a powerful craft.
It was Helen who marked the figure Wonota had spoken of in the boat. It
certainly did not appear to be a man.
"Why Ruth! See! That is a woman!"
"A yellow-faced lady," said Wonota calmly. "I saw her first, Miss Ruth."
All three of the girls on the island stared after the moving motor-boat.
Ruth saw the woman. She was dressed plainly but in modern garments. She
did not seem to be one of the summer visitors to the islands. Indeed, her
clothing--such as could be seen--pointed to city breeding, but nothing
was chosen, it would seem, for wear in such a place as this. She might
have been on a ferryboat going from shore to shore of the Hudson!
"She _is_ a yellow lady," Wonota repeated earnestly.
"I should say she was!" exclaimed Helen. "What do you think of her,
Ruth?"
"I am sure I do not know what to say," the girl of the Red Mill answered.
"Does she look like a white woman to you, Helen?"
"She is yellow," reiterated Wonota.
"She certainly is not an Indian," observed Helen. "What say, Ruth?"
"She surely is not," agreed her chum.
"A yellow lady," murmured Wonota again, as the boat drew behind another
island and there remained out of sight.