Aunt Jane's Nieces Out West
By Edith Van Dyne
1914
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I CAUGHT BY THE CAMERA
II AN OBJECT LESSON
III AN ATTRACTIVE GIRL
IV AUNT JANE'S NIECES
V A THRILLING RESCUE
VI A. JONES
VII THE INVALID
VIII THE MAGIC OF A NAME
IX DOCTOR PATSY
X STILL A MYSTERY
XI A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS
XII PICTURES, GIRLS AND NONSENSE
XIII A FOOLISH BOY
XIV ISIDORE LE DRIEUX
XV A FEW PEARLS
XVI TROUBLE
XVII UNCLE JOHN IS PUZZLED
XVIII DOUBTS AND DIFFICULTIES
XIX MAUD MAKES A MEMORANDUM
XX A GIRLISH NOTION
XXI THE YACHT "ARABELLA"
XXII MASCULINE AND FEMININE
XXIII THE ADVANTAGE OF A DAY
XXIV PICTURE NUMBER NINETEEN
XXV JUDGMENT
XXVI SUNSHINE AFTER RAIN
CHAPTER I
CAUGHT BY THE CAMERA
"This is getting to be an amazing old world," said a young girl, still in
her "teens," as she musingly leaned her chin on her hand.
"It has always been an amazing old world, Beth," said another girl who
was sitting on the porch railing and swinging her feet in the air.
"True, Patsy," was the reply; "but the people are doing such peculiar
things nowadays."
"Yes, yes!" exclaimed a little man who occupied a reclining chair within
hearing distance; "that is the way with you young folks--always
confounding the world with its people."
"Don't the people make the world, Uncle John?" asked Patricia Doyle,
looking at him quizzically.
"No, indeed; the world could get along very well without its people; but
the people--"
"To be sure; they need the world," laughed Patsy, her blue eyes
twinkling so that they glorified her plain, freckled face.
"Nevertheless," said Beth de Graf, soberly, "I think the people have
struck a rapid pace these days and are growing bold and impudent. The law
appears to allow them too much liberty. After our experience of this
morning I shall not be surprised at anything that happens--especially in
this cranky state of California."
"To what experience do you allude, Beth?" asked Uncle John, sitting up
straight and glancing from one to another of his two nieces. He was a
genial looking, round-faced man, quite bald and inclined to be a trifle
stout; yet his fifty-odd years sat lightly upon him.
"Why, we had quite an adventure this morning," said Patsy, laughing
again at the recollection, and answering her uncle because Beth
hesitated to. "For my part, I think it was fun, and harmless fun, at
that; but Beth was scared out of a year's growth. I admit feeling a
little creepy at the time, myself; but it was all a joke and really we
ought not to mind it at all."
"Tell me all about it, my dear!" said Mr. Merrick, earnestly, for
whatever affected his beloved nieces was of prime importance to him.
"We were taking our morning stroll along the streets," began Patsy, "when
on turning a corner we came upon a crowd of people who seemed to be
greatly excited. Most of them were workmen in flannel shirts, their
sleeves rolled up, their hands grimy with toil. These stood before a
brick building that seemed like a factory, while from its doors other
crowds of workmen and some shopgirls were rushing into the street and
several policemen were shaking their clubs and running here and there in
a sort of panic. At first Beth and I stopped and hesitated to go on, but
as the sidewalk seemed open and fairly free I pulled Beth along, thinking
we might discover what the row was about. Just as we got opposite the
building a big workman rushed at us and shouted: 'Go back--go back! The
wall is falling.'
"Well, Uncle, you can imagine our dismay. We both screamed, for we
thought our time had come, for sure. My legs were so weak that Beth had
to drag me away and her face was white as a sheet and full of terror.
Somehow we managed to stagger into the street, where a dozen men caught
us and hurried us away. I hardly thought we were in a safe place when the
big workman cried: 'There, young ladies; that will do. Your expression
was simply immense and if this doesn't turn out to be the best film of
the year, I'll miss my guess! Your terror-stricken features will make a
regular hit, for the terror wasn't assumed, you know. Thank you very much
for happening along just then.'"
Patsy stopped her recital to laugh once more, with genuine merriment, but
her cousin Beth seemed annoyed and Uncle John was frankly bewildered.
"But--what--what--was it all about?" he inquired.
"Why, they were taking a moving picture, that was all, and the workmen
and shopgirls and policemen were all actors. There must have been a
hundred of them, all told, and when we recovered from our scare I could
hear the machine beside me clicking away as it took the picture."
"Did the wall fall?" asked Uncle John.
"Not just then. They first got the picture of the rush-out and the
panic, and then they stopped the camera and moved the people to a safe
distance away. We watched them set up some dummy figures of girls and
workmen, closer in, and then in some way they toppled over the big brick
wall. It fell into the street with a thundering crash, but only the
dummies were buried under the debris."
Mr. Merrick drew a long breath.
"It's wonderful!" he exclaimed. "Why, it must have cost a lot of money to
ruin such a building--and all for the sake of a picture!"
"That's what I said to the manager," replied Patsy; "but he told us the
building was going to be pulled down, anyhow, and a better one built in
its place; so he invented a picture story to fit the falling walls and it
didn't cost him so much as one might think. So you see, Uncle, we are in
that picture--big as life and scared stiff--and I'd give a lot to see how
we look when we're positively terror-stricken."
"It will cost you just ten cents," remarked Beth, with a shrug; "that is,
if the picture proves good enough to be displayed at one of those horrid
little theatres."
"One?" said Uncle John. "One thousand little theatres, most likely, will
show the picture, and perhaps millions of spectators will see you and
Patsy running from the falling wall."
"Dear me!" wailed Patsy. "That's more fame than I bargained for. Do
millions go to see motion pictures, Uncle?"
"I believe so. The making of these pictures is getting to be an enormous
industry. I was introduced to Otis Werner, the other day, and he told me
a good deal about it. Werner is with one of the big concerns here--the
Continental, I think--and he's a very nice and gentlemanly fellow. I'll
introduce you to him, some time, and he'll tell you all the wonders of
the motion picture business."
"I haven't witnessed one of those atrocious exhibitions for months,"
announced Beth; "nor have I any desire to see one again."
"Not our own special picture?" asked Patsy reproachfully.
"They had no right to force us into their dreadful drama," protested
Beth. "Motion pictures are dreadfully tiresome things--comedies and
tragedies alike. They are wild and weird in conception, quite unreal and
wholly impossible. Of course the scenic pictures, and those recording
historical events, are well enough in their way, but I cannot understand
how so many cheap little picture theatres thrive."
"They are the poor people's solace and recreation," declared Mr. Merrick.
"The picture theatre has become the laboring man's favorite resort. It
costs him but five or ten cents and it's the sort of show he can
appreciate. I'm told the motion picture is considered the saloon's worst
enemy, for many a man is taking his wife and children to a picture
theatre evenings instead of joining a gang of his fellows before the bar,
as he formerly did."
"That is the best argument in their favor I have ever heard," admitted
Beth, who was strong on temperance; "but I hope, Uncle, you are not
defending the insolent methods of those picture-makers."
"Not at all, my dear. I consider the trapping of innocent bystanders to
be--eh--er--highly reprehensible, and perhaps worse. If I can discover
what picture manager was guilty of the act, I shall--shall--"
"What, Uncle?"
"I shall hint that he owes you an apology," he concluded, rather lamely.
Beth smiled scornfully.
"Meantime," said she, "two very respectable girls, who are not actresses,
will be exhibited before the critical eyes of millions of stupid workmen,
reformed drunkards, sad-faced women and wiggling children--not in
dignified attitudes, mind you, but scurrying from what they supposed was
an imminent danger."
"I hope it will do the poor things good to see us," retorted Patsy. "To
be strictly honest, Beth, we were not trapped at all; we were the victims
of circumstances. When I remember how quick-witted and alert that manager
was, to catch us unawares and so add to the value of his picture, I can
quite forgive the fellow his audacity."
"It wasn't audacity so much as downright impudence!" persisted Beth.
"I quite agree with you," said Mr. Merrick. "Do you wish me to buy that
film and prevent the picture's being shown?"
"Oh, no!" cried Patsy in protest. "I'm dying to see how we look. I
wouldn't have that picture sidetracked for anything."
"And you, Beth?"
"Really, Uncle John, the thing is not worth worrying over," replied his
niece. "I am naturally indignant at being drawn into such a thing against
my will, but I doubt if anyone who knows us, or whose opinion we value,
will ever visit a moving picture theatre or see this film. The common
people will not recognize us, of course."
You must not think Beth de Graf was snobbish or aristocratic because of
this speech, which her cousin Patsy promptly denounced as "snippy." Beth
was really a lovable and sunny-tempered girl, very democratic in her
tastes in spite of the fact that she was the possessor of an unusual
fortune. She was out of sorts to-day, resentful of the fright she had
endured that morning and in the mood to say harsh things.
Even Patricia Doyle had been indignant, at first; but Patsy's judgment
was clearer than her cousin's and her nature more responsive. She quickly
saw the humorous side of their adventure and could enjoy the recollection
of her momentary fear.
These two girls were spending the winter months in the glorious climate
of Southern California, chaperoned by their uncle and guardian, John
Merrick. They had recently established themselves at a cosy hotel in
Hollywood, which is a typical California village, yet a suburb of the
great city of Los Angeles. A third niece, older and now married--Louise
Merrick Weldon--lived on a ranch between Los Angeles and San Diego, which
was one reason why Uncle John and his wards had located in this pleasant
neighborhood.
To observe this trio--the simple, complacent little man and his two young
nieces--no stranger would suspect them to be other than ordinary
tourists, bent on escaping the severe Eastern winter; but in New York the
name of John Merrick was spoken with awe in financial circles, where his
many millions made him an important figure. He had practically retired
from active business and his large investments were managed by his
brother-in-law, Major Gregory Doyle, who was Miss Patsy's father and sole
surviving parent. All of Mr. Merrick's present interest in life centered
in his three nieces, and because Louise was happily married and had now
an establishment of her own--including a rather new but very remarkable
baby--Uncle John was drawn closer to the two younger nieces and devoted
himself wholly to their welfare.
The girls had not been rich when their fairy godfather first found them.
Indeed, each of them had been energetically earning, or preparing to
earn, a livelihood. Now, when their uncle's generosity had made them
wealthy, they almost regretted those former busy days of poverty, being
obliged to discover new interests in life in order to keep themselves
occupied and contented. All three were open-handed and open-hearted,
sympathetic to the unfortunate and eager to assist those who needed
money, as many a poor girl and worthy young fellow could testify. In all
their charities they were strongly supported by Mr. Merrick, whose
enormous income permitted him to indulge in many benevolences. None gave
ostentatiously, for they were simple, kindly folk who gave for the pure
joy of giving and begrudged all knowledge of their acts to anyone outside
their own little circle.
There is no doubt that John Merrick was eccentric. It is generally
conceded that a rich man may indulge in eccentricities, provided he
maintains a useful position in society, and Mr. Merrick's peculiarities
only served to render him the more interesting to those who knew him
best. He did astonishing things in a most matter-of-fact way and acted
more on impulse than on calm reflection; so it is not to be wondered at
that the queer little man's nieces had imbibed some of his queerness.
Being by nature lively and aggressive young women, whose eager interest
in life would not permit them to be idle, they encountered many
interesting experiences.
They had just come from a long visit to Louise at the ranch and after
conferring gravely together had decided to hide themselves in Hollywood,
where they might spend a quiet and happy winter in wandering over the
hills, in boating or bathing in the ocean or motoring over the hundreds
of miles of splendid boulevards of this section.
Singularly enough, their choice of a retreat was also the choice of a
score or more of motion picture makers, who had discovered Hollywood
before them and were utilizing the brilliant sunshine and clear
atmosphere in the production of their films, which were supplied to
picture theatres throughout the United States and Europe. Appreciating
the value of such a monster industry, the authorities permitted the
cameras to be set up on the public streets or wherever there was an
appropriate scene to serve for a background to the photo-plays. It was no
unusual sight to see troops of cowboys and Indians racing through the
pretty village or to find the cameraman busy before the imposing
residence of a millionaire or the vine-covered bungalow of a more modest
citizen. No one seemed to resent such action, for Californians admire the
motion picture as enthusiastically as do the inhabitants of the Eastern
states, so the girls' "adventure" was really a common incident.