JACK JEPSON
Hosmer DeVere's words and manner alike were alarming to his daughters.
Seldom had they seen him so moved, especially over such a seemingly
simple matter as the announcement of a new moving picture drama. He and
the girls, in common with the other members of the Comet Film Company,
had to portray many different scenes in the course of a season's work,
and though some of it was distasteful, it was seldom objected to by
anyone, unless perhaps by Pepper Sneed, the "grouch," or perhaps by Mr.
Wellington Bunn, an actor of the old school, who could not reconcile
himself to the silent drama.
"Why, Daddy, what is the matter?" asked Alice. "I think it will be
perfectly fine to have a little trip out to sea, especially now that
Summer is coming on."
"But not if the damp salty air is going to irritate his throat,"
declared Ruth.
"Oh, it isn't so much that," Mr. DeVere said, "but you girls evidently
don't know that the big scene in this drama is a shipwreck, and what
follows. I am to be 'cast' in that, and so are you."
"Well, what of it?" asked Alice. "It won't be a _real_ shipwreck; will
it?"
"Real? Of course not!" exclaimed Ruth. "The idea!"
"I certainly hope it won't be real," Mr. DeVere said, "But--Oh, well, I
suppose I may as well admit the truth. You'll probably call me fussy and
all that, and laugh at the superstition of an old actor. But you know we
have our traditions, though I am free to confess that I have lost many
of them since entering on this moving picture work. But I had a dream
about this same shipwreck, and that was before I knew we were to be in
it, for I might mention that Mr. Pertell has included you girls in the
drama, and has prominent parts selected for you."
"Oh, I'm glad!" cried Alice enthusiastically.
"I'm not," her father said, and he did not smile. "As I said I had a
dream about this drama before I knew we were to have parts in it. And in
that dream I saw----"
"Oh, Daddy! Now don't tell a depressing dream before tea!" begged Alice,
slipping her arms about his neck, and imprinting a kiss on a spot,
which, if it were not already bald, was fast becoming so. "Wait until
after supper--the rarebit will spoil if we don't eat it at once. Wait,
Daddy dear!"
"All right, I will," he assented with a sigh. "Perhaps I may have a less
gloomy view of it after a cup of tea."
And while the little family party is gathered about the table, I shall
take just a moment to tell my new readers something about the previous
books of this series.
Ruth and Alice DeVere were moving picture girls, which you have probably
guessed already. That is, they were actresses for the silent film dramas
that make so much for enjoyment nowadays. Mr. DeVere was also an actor
in the same company. He had been a semi-tragedian of the "old school,"
but his voice had failed, because of a throat ailment, and he could no
longer declaim his lines over the footlights. He was in distress until
it was suggested to him that he take up moving picture work.
This suggestion came from young Russ Dalwood, who, with his widowed
mother and little brother, lived across the hall from the DeVere family,
in the Fenmore Apartment on one of the West Sixty streets of New York.
Russ had invented a new attachment for a moving picture camera, and he
himself was a camera operator of ability.
At first Mr. DeVere had refused to consider moving picture work, but he
finally consented, and even allowed his daughters to take their parts in
the silent drama. In the initial book of the series, "The Moving Picture
Girls," I related their first experiences.
All was not smooth sailing. Though Mr. Frank Pertell, manager of the
Comet Film Company, was a most agreeable man, the other members of the
theatrical company were like those of any other organization--some were
liked, and some were not. Among the former, at least from the standpoint
of Ruth and Alice, was Russ; Paul Ardite, who played juvenile leads; Pop
Snooks, the property man and one who did all the odd tasks; and Carl
Switzer, a round-faced German, who was funny without knowing it.
But neither Ruth nor Alice cared much for Laura Dixon and Pearl
Pennington, two former vaudeville actresses who thought they were
conferring a favor on the cameras to pose for moving pictures. Mr. Bunn,
an actor of the kind styled "Hams", was in like case.
Mr. Bunn was always bemoaning the fact that he had left the "legitimate"
drama with a chance of playing "Hamlet", to take up moving picture
work. But he might have been glad--especially on paydays--for he had
made more out of camera work than he could have done on the regular
stage.
Pepper Sneed was never satisfied. He was of a gloomy nature, and always
looking for trouble. Sometimes he found it, and for a time he was happy
in saying "I told you so." But more often he proved a dismal failure as
a predicter of calamities.
This was the company, with others whom you will meet from time to time,
in whose fortunes Ruth and Alice DeVere had cast their lots.
After the girls' first introduction to the camera they went to Oak Farm
where a series of pictures were taken, and, incidentally, a mystery was
cleared up. Getting snowbound was another experience for our friends,
but they forgot the cruelties of Winter in the happy days under the
palms. And they had only recently come back from Rocky Ranch, where a
number of Western dramas had been filmed, when the little scene of our
opening chapter took place.
Those of you who have read the previous books of this series do not need
to be told much about moving pictures. And even those who select this
volume as their first venture in becoming acquainted with our heroines
must well know how the film pictures look from the front of the screen.
To the uninitiated I might say that in making picture plays a company,
somewhat like a regular theatrical organization, is gotten together. The
play is decided upon, but instead of the acts taking place before an
audience they are enacted before a camera and a man who acts as
director, or manager.
Some of the action takes place out of doors, amid the surroundings of
nature, but most interior scenes are "filmed," or taken, in the studio,
under the brilliant glare of electric lights. The pictures are taken in
succession on a narrow strip of celluloid film, of the same nature as
those in any camera. The strips are of a standard length of one thousand
feet, though some plays may "split," and take only half a "reel" while
others will fill several.
When the film has been exposed, it is developed in a dark tank, and from
that one "master" film, any number of "positives" can be made for use in
the projecting machines. Doubtless you know that the same machine which
takes the pictures does not show them on the screen.
But enough of this detail.
"Was the rarebit good?" asked Alice, smiling up into her father's face,
as the supper progressed.
"You may give me some more, which is the best answer in the world, my
dear," he replied, smiling.
"Be careful!" Ruth warned him. "You may have dreams, Daddy!"
A shadow seemed to pass over the face of the old actor. He had been
jokingly gay during the meal, but now there seemed to be a sense of
depression.
"Might as well tell us, and have it over with," suggested Ruth. "We
don't believe in dreams, anyhow. Do we Alice?"
"Not a bit, and I've named the corners of my bed ever so many times,"
and she laughed at that old sweethearts' superstition.
"Well, my dream was very vivid," Mr. DeVere said. "I don't usually
believe in omens, but this one impressed me. I dreamed we were all at
sea, on a vessel in a storm, and, somehow, we became separated. I saw
you girls going down with the ship, while I was taken up on a life
raft."
"Well, what of it, Daddy?" asked Alice. "I've often had unpleasant
dreams myself. Probably you ate something you ought not to have taken.
I'm rather sorry, now, I made this rarebit."
"Oh, not at all! It was excellent!" he exclaimed. "I would perhaps,
have thought nothing of my dream had not Mr. Pertell, a short time ago,
told me something of his plans for the future. He spoke of a great
marine drama he had in prospect, and we are to have prominent parts in
it. But I was startled when he told me that one scene--the great one, in
fact--was to be a shipwreck. He has engaged an old vessel for this
purpose, and he is going to sink it with all on board."
"All on board!" cried Ruth. "You don't mean----"
"Well, that's how it will appear in the camera, anyhow. You girls are to
be well in front, and your swimming abilities will be very necessary,
for you will have to go into the water."
"I hope it is warm," murmured Alice.
"Oh, it will be Summer before we get to the shipwreck part," went on Mr.
DeVere. "But what worries me is my dream in connection with the drama. I
almost told Mr. Pertell we would have nothing to do with it."
"Oh, Father! You can't do that!" exclaimed Ruth. She, as housekeeper,
knew how much money was required in these days of the high cost of
living. Though Mr. DeVere and his daughters received fair salaries,
there were many expenses to be met, and if they refused present
engagements they might not find it so easy to get others.
"Oh, of course I didn't actually turn it down," said the old actor, "but
it gave me quite a turn, I must say. I haven't gotten over it yet,
seeing you girls disappear under the waves."
"Don't think of it, Daddy!" urged Alice. "Have some of this apple slump.
Mrs. Dalwood sent it in."
"Your idea is that a man's mind is in his stomach, isn't it, daughter,"
laughed her father. "Well, I will have some of the dessert. Oh, but I
almost forgot, you will have to go down an hour earlier in the morning
to the studio."
"Why?" Ruth wanted to know.
"A heavy day's work on, and Mr. Pertell wants to sketch out the
preliminary scenes of the marine drama. We are actually going to sea, I
believe, and he has engaged some old sailors, or at least one so far, to
give it a proper nautical flavor. It's only for tomorrow that we have to
go earlier than usual."
Mr. DeVere seemed more like himself after he had told his daughters of
his vision. It did not so depress him now, and the rest of the meal
passed off in a much more jolly manner.
In the evening Russ Dalwood came in from across the hall, and they
played bridge whist, of which Mr. DeVere was fond.
"Fancy daddy, Russ," laughed Alice, "wanting us to give up a chance to
go to sea just because he dreamed of a shipwreck!"
"Oh, I didn't actually want you to give it up," her father remonstrated.
"Perhaps I was foolish even to mention it. But I can't forget it--I
can't!" and he seemed to look through the walls of the room on some
distant and fateful scene.
"Well, I must be getting back," Russ said. "You've won the rubber, as
usual, Mr. DeVere. Lots to do tomorrow, and I have a new assistant to
break in, so I'll say good-night."
There were busy times for all next day, in the studio of the moving
picture concern. In the big room brilliant with electric lights as well
as from the illumination that came through a sky-glass, there were
several scenes from different dramas being filmed at the same time.
When Ruth and Alice DeVere entered with their father, Mr. Pertell, the
manager of the Comet company, was engaged off to one side, evidently
instructing a man in what he must do before the camera. The man was a
sailor, and it needed but a glance to show that he was a real one, and
not "made up" for the occasion.
"You see," said Mr. Pertell, "you come into the shipping office, and
pretend to hand over the papers. But you slip the clerk the wrong ones,
and while he is examining them you reach over behind him and take the
documents you want."
"Avast there! Belay!" came the hoarse voice of the sailor. "I do that
there, do I?"
"Yes."
"Steal the papers?"
"Well, it isn't _stealing_, exactly. It's only----"
"Stealin' is what I call it, and it can't be called by another name to
my way of thinkin'. It won't do, sir, it won't do! Jack Jepson got into
trouble once, but he isn't goin' to do it again. No sir! That stealin'
won't do for Jack Jepson. You've got to get someone else to sign them
articles for you. No stealin' for Jack Jepson!" and the figure of the
old sailor turned and, with a rolling gait, he started across the big
studio room.