ALICE CHANGES HER MIND
Filled with enthusiasm over his new project for aiding Mr. DeVere,
Russ Dalwood caught Alice by the hand, and guided her steps with his.
She had been about to turn off at a corner, to carry out her
intention of seeking employment in one of the many manicure parlors
on a certain street. Now she hesitated.
"Well," asked Russ, impatiently, "don't you like the idea?"
"Oh, it's fine--it's splendid of you!" Alice replied, with fervor,
"but you know----"
She hesitated, her cheeks taking on a more ruddy hue. There was an
uncertain look in her brown eyes.
"Well, what?" asked Russ, smilingly. "Surely you don't mind going
with me to the manager's office? It's a public place. Lots of girls
go there, looking for engagements."
"Oh, no, it isn't that!" she hastened to assure him.
"Or, if you don't like going with me, I can give you a note to Mr.
Pertell, the manager. I know him quite well, as I've been negotiating
with him about my patent."
"Oh, Russ, you know it isn't that!" she exclaimed.
"And, if you like, we'll go back and get Ruth. Maybe that would be
better!" he exclaimed eagerly, and as Alice looked into his honest
gray eyes she read his little secret, and smiled at him
understandingly.
"Oh, never that!" she cried gaily. "Ruth would be the last one in the
world to be let into this secret, until it is more assured of
success. Besides, I guess when you walk with Ruth you don't want me,"
she challenged.
"Oh, now----" he began.
"That's all right. I understand," she laughed at him. "No, we won't
tell Ruth."
"Then you'll go and see the manager--I know he'll give your father a
trial, and that's all that's needed, for I'm sure he can do the
acting. And they're always looking for new characters. Come on!"
Once more, in his enthusiasm, he tried to lead her down the street.
But she hung back.
"No, really, Russ," she said earnestly enough now, and her eyes took
on a more grave and serious look. "It isn't that. It's only--well, I
might as well tell you, though it may be rather mean after your
kindness. But my father thinks the movies are so--so vulgar!
There--I've said it."
She looked at her companion anxiously. To her surprise Russ laughed.
"So, you were afraid of hurting my feelings; were you?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered, in a low voice.
"Nothing like that!" he assured her. "I've heard worse things than
that said about the movies. But I want to tell you that you're wrong,
and, with all due respect to him, your father is wrong too. There's
nothing vulgar or low about the movies--except the price."
He was becoming really enthusiastic now. His voice rang, and his eyes
sparkled.
"I'm not saying that because I make my living at them, either," Russ
went on. "It's because it's true. The moving picture shows were once,
perhaps, places where nice persons didn't go. But it's different now.
All that has been changed. Why, look at Sarah Bernhardt, doing her
famous plays before the camera? Even Andrew Carnegie consented to
give one of his speeches in front of the camera, with a phonograph
attachment, the other day."
"Did he, really?" cried Alice.
"He certainly did. And a lot of the best actors and actresses in this
and other countries aren't ashamed to be seen in the movies. They're
glad to do it, and glad to get the money, too, I guess," he added,
with a grin.
"I think it would be the very thing for your father. Of course, if
his voice had held out he might like it better to be an actor on the
real stage. But in the movies he won't have to talk. He'll just have
to act. Then, when his voice gets better, as I hope it will, he can
take up the legitimate again."
"Oh, I know his heart is set on that!" exclaimed Alice.
"But don't you think he'd consider this?" asked Russ. He was very
anxious to help--Alice could tell that.
"I--I'm afraid he wouldn't," confessed the girl. "He thinks the
movies too common. I know, for I've heard him say so many times."
"They're not common!" defended Russ, sturdily. "The moving pictures
are getting better and better all the while. Of course some poor
films are shown, but they're gradually being done away with. The
board of censorship is becoming more strict.
"Common! Why do you know that it costs as much as $20,000,
sometimes, to stage one of the big plays--one with lots of outdoor
scenes in it, burning buildings, railroad accidents made to order,
and all that."
"Really?" cried Alice, her eyes now shining with excitement.
"That's right!" exclaimed Russ. "I'm just at the beginning of the
business. I've learned the projecting end of it so far. Almost anyone
can put the film in the machine, switch on the light, get the right
focus and turn the handle. But it's harder to film a real drama with
lots of excitement in it--outdoor stuff--cattle stampeded--the sports
of cowboys--a fake Indian fight; it takes lots of grit to stand up in
front of an oncoming troop of horsemen, and snap them until they get
so close you can see the whites of their eyes. Then if they turn at
the right time--well and good. But if there's a slip, and they ride
into you--good-night! Excuse my slang," he added, hastily.
"Did that ever happen?" she asked, eagerly.
"Well, if not that, something near enough like it. I've heard the
operators--those who take the negatives--tell of 'em many a time.
That's what I'm going to be soon--a taker of the moving picture plays
instead of just projecting them on the screen. Mr. Pertell has
promised to give me a chance. He's organizing some new companies.
"Just as soon as I get my patent perfected he's promised to put it on
his machines. Then I'm going with his company."
"Did you hear any more about that man you say tried to steal your
invention?" asked Alice.
"Who, Simp Wolley? Oh, yes, he's been sneaking around after me, and I
told him what I thought of him. He's got another fellow in with
him--Bud Brisket--and he's about the same type. But I'm not going to
worry about it."
"Don't be too confident," warned Alice. "I've heard of many inventors
whose patents were gotten away from them."
"Thanks, I'll be careful. But just now I'm interested in getting your
father to take up this work. I know he'll like it, once he tries it.
Won't you come and see the manager? I'm sure he'll give your father a
trial."
Alice stood in deep thought for a moment. Then with a little gesture,
as though putting the past behind her, she exclaimed:
"Yes, Russ, I will, and I thank you! I told Ruth I was going to do
something, and I am. If father can get an engagement I won't have to
go to work. Not that I'm ashamed to work--I love it!" she added
hastily. "But I wouldn't like to be a public manicurist, and that's
the only situation that seemed open to me. I will go see your
manager, Russ, and I'll do my best to get father to take up this
work. It's quite different from what I thought it was."
"I knew you'd say that," chuckled Russ. "Come on."
"What would Ruth say if she saw me now?" Alice asked, as she and Russ
walked off together. "She would certainly think I was defying all
conventionality."
"Don't worry." Russ advised her. "It's the sensible thing to do. And
I'll explain to Ruth, too."
"Oh, I believe you could explain to anyone!" Alice declared with
enthusiasm. "You've made it so clear and different to me. But how do
they make moving pictures?"
"You'll soon see," he answered. "We're going to one of the film
studios now. This is about the time they begin to make the scenes.
It's very interesting."
Soon they found themselves before a rather bare brick building. It
had nothing of the look of a theater about it. There were no gaudy
lithographs out in front, no big frames with the pictures of the
actors and actresses, or of scenes from the plays. There was no box
office--no tiled foyer. It might have been a factory. Alice's face
must have shown the surprise she felt, for Russ said:
"This is where the films are made. It's all business here. They make
the inside scenes here--anything from the interior of a miner's shack
to a ballroom in a king's palace. Of course, for outside scenes they
go wherever the scenery best suits the story of the play. And here
the film negatives are developed, and duplicate positives made for
the projecting machines. This is Mr. Pertell's principal factory."
"Fancy a play-factory!" exclaimed Alice.
"That's exactly what it is--a play-factory," agreed Russ. "Come on
in."
If Alice was surprised at the exterior appearance of the building the
interior was more bewildering. They passed rapidly through the
departments devoted to the mechanical end of the business--where the
films were developed and printed. Russ promised to show her more of
that later.
"We'll go right up to the theatre studio," he said.
Alice looked about the big room, that seemed filled with all sorts of
scenery, parts of buildings, rustic bridges--in short, all sorts of
"props." She had been behind the scenes often in some of the plays in
which her father took part, so this was not startlingly new to her.
Yet it was different from the usual theatre.
And such strange "business" seemed going on. There were men and women
going through plays--Alice could tell that, but the odd part of it
was that in one section of the room what seemed a tragedy in a
mountain log cabin was being enacted; while, not ten feet away, was a
parlor scene, showing men in evening dress, and women in ball
costumes, gliding through the mazes of a waltz. Next to this was a
scene representing a counterfeiter's den in some low cellar, with the
police breaking through the door with drawn revolvers, to capture the
criminals.
And in front of these varied scenes stood a battery of queer
cameras--moving picture cameras, looking like flat fig boxes with a
tube sticking out, and a handle on one side, at which earnest-faced
young men were vigorously clicking.
And, off to one side, stood several men in their shirt sleeves
superintending the performances. They gave many directions.
"No, not that way! When you faint, fall good and hard, Miss
Pennington!"
"Hurry now, Mr. Switzer; get in some of that funny business! Look
funny; don't act as though this was your funeral!"
"Come on there Mr. Bunn; this isn't 'Hamlet.' You needn't stalk about
that way. There's no grave in this!"
"Hold on, there! Cut that part out. Stop the camera; that will have
to be done over. There's no life in it!"
And so it went on, in the glaring light that filtered in through the
roof, composed wholly of skylights, while a battery of arc lamps, in
addition, on some of the scenes, poured out their hissing glare to
make the taking of the negatives more certain.
Alice was enthralled by it all. She stood close to Russ's side,
clasping his arm. Many of the men engaged in taking the pictures knew
the young operator, and nodded to him in friendly fashion, as they
hurried about. Some of the actors and actresses, too, bowed to the
young fellow and smiled. He seemed a general favorite.
"Isn't it wonderful?" whispered Alice. "I had no idea the making of a
moving picture was anything like this!"
"I thought you'd change your mind," replied Russ, with a laugh. "But
you haven't seen half of it yet. Here comes Mr. Pertell now. I'll
speak to him about your father."