"SEEING OURSELVES AS OTHERS SEE US"
"I want to tell you girls one thing," said Jennie Stone, solemnly. "If I
get through these examinations without having so low a mark that Miss
Brokaw sends me down into the primary grade, I promise to be good
for--for--well, for the rest of my life--at Briarwood!"
"Of course," Helen said. "Heavy would limit that vow to something easy."
"Perhaps she had the same grave doubt about being able to be good that the
little boy felt who was saying his prayers," Belle said. "He prayed: 'Dear
God, please make me a good boy--and if You don't at first succeed, try,
try again!'"
"But oh! some of the problems _are_ so hard," sighed Lluella.
"'The Mournful Sisters' will now give their famous sketch," laughed Ruth,
as announcer. "Come, now! altogether, girls!"
"'Knock, knock, knock! the girls are knocking----Bring the
hammers all this way!'"
"Never mind, Ruthie Fielding," complained Lluella. "We don't all of us
have the luck you do. All your English made up for you in that
scenario----"
"And who is _this_ made up, I'd be glad to have somebody tell me?"
interposed Jennie. "Oh, girls! tell me. Do you all see the same thing I
do?"
The crowd were strolling slowly down the Cedar Walk and the individual the
plump girl had spied had just come into view, walking toward them. He was
a tall, lean man, "as narrow as a happy thought," Jennie muttered, and
dressed in a peculiar manner.
Few visitors came to Briarwood save parents or friends of the girls. This
man did not even look like a pedler. At least, he carried no sample case,
and he was not walking from the direction of Lumberton.
His black suit was very dusty and his yellow shoes proved by the dust they
bore, too, that he had walked a long way.
"He wears a rolling collar and a flowing tie," muttered the irrepressible
Jennie. "Goodness! it almost makes me seasick to look at them. _What_ can
he be? A chaplain in the navy? An actor?"
"Actor is right," thought Ruth, as the man strutted up the walk.
The girls, who were attending Ruth and Ann and Amy Gregg a part of the way
to Mrs. Sadoc Smith's, gave the strange man plenty of room on the gravel
walk, but when he came near them he stopped and stared. And he stared at
Ruth.
"Pardon me, young lady," he said, in a full, sonorous tone. "Are you Miss
Fielding?"
The other girls drifted away and left Ruth to face the odd looking person.
"I am Ruth Fielding," Ruth said, much puzzled.
"Ah! you do not know me?" queried the man.
"No, sir."
"My card!" said the man, with a flourish.
Jennie whispered to the others: "Look at him! He draws and presents that
card as though it were a sword at his enemy's throat! I hope he won't
impale her upon it."
Ruth, much bewildered, and not a little troubled, accepted the card. On it
was printed:
AMASA FARRINGTON
Criterion Films
"Goodness!" thought Ruth. "More moving picture people?"
"I had the happiness," stated Mr. Farrington, "of being present when the
censors saw the first run of your eminently successful picture, 'The Heart
of a Schoolgirl,' Miss Fielding, and through a mutual friend I learned
where you were to be found. I may say that from your appearance on the
screen I was enabled to recognize you just now."
Ruth said nothing, but waited for him to explain. There really did not
seem to be anything she could say.
"I see in that film, Miss Fielding," pursued Mr. Farrington, "the promise
of better work--in time, of course, in time. You are young yet. I believe
you attend this boarding school?"
"Yes," said Ruth, simply.
"From the maturity of your treatment of the scenario I fancied you might
be a teacher here at Briarwood," pursued the man, smirking. "But I find
you a young person--extremely young, if I may be allowed the observation,
to have written a scenario of the character of 'The Heart of a
Schoolgirl.'"
"I wrote it," said Ruth, for she thought the remark was a question. "I had
written one before."
"Yes, yes, yes!" exclaimed Mr. Farrington. "So I understand. In fact, I
have seen your 'Curiosity.' A very ingeniously thought out reel. And well
acted by the Alectrion Company. Rather good acting, indeed, for _them_."
"I have not seen it myself," Ruth said, not knowing what the man wanted or
how she ought to speak to him. "Did you wish to talk to me on any matter
of importance?"
"I may say, Yes, very important--to yourself, Miss Fielding," he said,
with a wide smile. "This is a most important matter. It affects your
entire career as--- I may say--one of our most ingenious young writers for
the screen."
Ruth stared at him in amazement. Just because she had written two moving
picture scenarios she was quite sure that she was neither famous nor a
genius. Mr. Amasa Farrington's enthusiasm was more amazing than his
appearance.
"I am sure I do not understand you," Ruth confessed. "Is it something that
you would better talk to Mrs. Tellingham about? I will introduce you to
her----"
"No, no!" said Mr. Farrington, waving a black-gloved hand with the gesture
_Hamlet_ might have used in waving to his father's ghost. "The lady
preceptress of your school has naught to do with this matter. It is
personal with you."
"But what _is_ it?" queried Ruth, rather exasperated now.
"Be not hasty--be not hasty, I beg," said Amasa Farrington. "I know I may
surprise you. I, too, was unknown at one time, and never expected to be
anything more than a traveling Indian Bitters pedler. My latent talent was
developed and fostered by a kindly soul, and I come to you now, Miss
Fielding, in the remembrance of my own youth and inexperience----"
"For mercy's sake!" gasped Ruth, finally. "What do you wish? I am not in
need of any Indian Bitters."
"You mistake me--you mistake me," said the man, stiffly. "Amasa Farrington
has long since graduated from the ranks of such sordid toilers. See my
card."
"I _do_ see your card," the impatient Ruth said, again glancing at the bit
of pasteboard. "I see that you represent something called the 'Criterion
Films.' What are they?"
"Ah! now you ask a pointed question, young lady," declared Mr. Farrington.
"Rather you should ask, 'What will they be?' They will be the most widely
advertised films ever released for the entertainment of the public. They
will be written by the most famous writers of scenarios. They will be
produced by the greatest directors in the business. They will be acted by
our foremost Thespians."
"I--I hope you will be successful, Mr. Farrington," said Ruth, faintly,
not knowing what else to say.
"We shall be--we must be--I may say that we have _got_ to be!" ejaculated
the ex-Indian Bitters pedler. "And I come to you, Miss Fielding, for your
co-operation."
"Mine?" gasped Ruth.
"Yes, Miss Fielding. You are a coming writer of scenarios of a high
character. We geniuses must help each other--we must keep together and
refuse to further the ends of the sordid producers who would bleed us of
our best work."
This was rather wild talk, and Ruth did not understand it. She said,
frankly:
"Just what do you mean, Mr. Farrington? What do you want me to do?"
"Ah! Practical! I like to see you so," said the man, with a flourish,
drawing forth a document of several typewritten pages. "I want you to read
and sign this, Miss Fielding. It is a contract with the Criterion Films--a
most liberal contract, I might say--in which you bind yourself to turn
over to us your scenarios for a term of years, we, meanwhile, agreeing to
push your work and make you known to the public."
"Oh, dear me!" gasped Ruth. "I'm not sure I want to be so publicly known."
"Nonsense!" cried the man, in amazement. "Why! in publicity is the breath
of life. Without it, we faint--we die--we, worse--we _vegetate_!"
"I--I guess I don't mind vegetating--a--a little," stammered Ruth, weakly.
At that moment Mary Pease came racing down the walk. She waved a letter in
her hand and was calling Ruth's name.
"Oh, Ruthie Fielding!" she called, when she saw Ruth with the man. "Here's
a letter Mrs. Tellingham forgot to give you. She says it came enclosed in
one from Mr. Hammond to her."
The excited girl stopped by Ruth, handed her the letter, and stared
frankly at Mr. Amasa Farrington. That person's face began to redden as
Ruth idly opened the unsealed missive.
Again a green slip fell out. Mary darted toward it and picked it up. She
read the check loudly--excitedly--almost in a shriek!
"Goodness, gracious me, Ruthie Fielding! Is Mr. Hammond giving you this
money--_all_ this money--for your very own?"
But Ruth did not reply. She was scanning the letter from the president of
the Alectrion Film Corporation. Mr. Farrington was plainly nervous.
"Come, Miss Fielding, I am waiting for your answer," he said stiffly. "If
you join the Criterion Films, your success is assured. You are famous from
the start----"
Ruth was just reading a clause in Mr. Hammond's kind and friendly letter:
"Don't let your head be turned by success, little girl. And I
don't think it will be. You have succeeded in inventing two very
original scenarios. We will hope you can do better work in time.
But don't force yourself. Above all have nothing to do with
agents of film people who may want you to write something that
they may rush into the market for the benefit of the advertising
your school play will give you."
"No, Mr. Farrington," said Ruth, kindly. "I do not want to join your
forces. I am not even sure that I shall ever be able to write another
scenario. Circumstances seemed really to force me to write 'The Heart of a
Schoolgirl.' I am glad you think well of it. Good afternoon."
"Can you beat her?" demanded Jennie, a minute later, when the long-legged
Mr. Farrington had strutted angrily away. "Ruthie is as calm as a summer
lake. She can turn an offer of fame and fortune down with the greatest
ease. Let's see that check, you miserable infant," she went on, grabbing
the slip of paper out of Mary's hand. "Oh, girls, it's really so!"
Ruth was reading another paragraph in Mr. Hammond's letter. He said:
"The check enclosed is for you, yourself. It has nothing to do
with the profits of the films we now release. It is a bribe. I
want to see whatever scenarios you may write during the next two
years. I want to see them first. That is all. We do not need a
contract, but if you keep the check I shall know that I am to
have first choice of anything you may write in this line."
The check went into Ruth's bank account.
That very week "The Heart of a Schoolgirl" was to be shown at the local
Opera House. Mrs. Tellingham gave a half holiday and engaged enough stages
besides Noah's old Ark, to take all the girls to the play. They went to
the matineé, and the center of enthusiasm was in the seats in the body of
the house reserved for the Briarwood girls.
The house was well filled at this first showing of the picture in
Lumberton, and more than the girls themselves were enthusiastic over it.
To Ruth's surprise the manager of the house showed "Curiosity" first, and
when she saw her name emblazoned under the title of the one-reel film,
Ruth Fielding had a distinct shock.
It was a joyful feeling that shook her, however. As never before she
realized that she had really accomplished something in the world. She had
earned money with her brains! And she had written something really worth
while, too.
When the five-reel drama came on, she was as much absorbed in the story as
though she had not written it and acted in it. It gave her a strange
feeling indeed when she saw herself come on to the screen, and knew just
what she was saying in the picture by the movement of her lips--whether
she remembered the words spoken when the film was made or not.
Everything went off smoothly. The girls cheered the picture to the echo,
and at the end went marching out, shouting:
"S.B.--Ah-h-h!
S.B.--Ah-h-h!
Sound our battle-cry
Near and far!
S.B.--All!
Briarwood Hall!
Sweetbriars, do or die--
This be our battle-cry--
Briarwood Hall!
_That's all!_"