"PAY YOUR RENT, OR----"
Alice liked the appearance of Mr. Pertell, manager of the Comet Film
Company, from her first glimpse of him. He seemed so sturdy, kind and
wholesome. He was in his shirt sleeves, and his clothing was in
almost as much disorder as his ruffled hair. But there was a kindly
gleam in his snapping eyes, and a firm look about his mouth that
showed his character.
"Oh, Mr. Pertell, can you spare a moment?" Russ called to him.
"Oh, hello, Russ; is that you?" was the cordial greeting. "How is the
patent? I could use it if I had it now. Spare a minute? Yes, several
of 'em. They've spoiled that one act and it's got to be done over. I
don't see why they can't do as they're told instead of injecting a
lot of new business into the thing! I've got to sit still and do
nothing now for ten minutes while they fix that scene up over again.
Go ahead, Russ--what can I do for you?"
He sat down on an overturned box, and motioned for Russ and Alice to
occupy adjoining ones. Clearly there was not much ceremony about this
manager. He was like others Alice had observed behind the scenes in
real theatres, except that he did not appear so irascible.
"This is Miss Alice DeVere," began Russ, "and she has come to you
about her father. He has lost his voice, and she and I think he might
fit in some of your productions, where you don't need any talking."
"Yes, sometimes the less talking in the movies the better," agreed
Mr. Pertell. "But you do need acting. Can your father act, Miss?"
"He is Hosmer DeVere," broke in Russ. "He was with the New Columbia
Theatre Company. They were to open in 'A Matter of Friendship,' but
Mr. DeVere's throat trouble made him give it up."
"Hosmer DeVere! Yes, I've heard of him, and I've seen him act. So he
wants an engagement here; eh?"
"Oh, it isn't exactly that!" interrupted Alice, eagerly. "He--he
doesn't know a thing about it yet."
"He doesn't know about it?" repeated the manager, wonderingly.
"No. He--I--Oh, perhaps you'd better tell him, Russ," she finished.
"I will," Russ agreed, with a smile. And, while Alice looked at some
of the other dramas being enacted before the clicking eyes of the
cameras, her companion told how it had been planned to overcome the
prejudice of Mr. DeVere and get him to try his art with the "movies."
Alice was tremendously interested, and looked on with eager eyes as
the actors and actresses enacted their rôles. Some of them spoke, now
and then, as their lines required it, for it has been found that
often audiences can read the lips of the players on the screen. But
there was no need for any loud talking--in fact, no need of any at
all--whispering would have answered. Indeed some actors find that
they can do better work without saying a word--merely using gestures.
Others, who have long been identified with the legitimate drama, find
it hard to break away from the habit of years and speak their lines
aloud.
"Oh, I'm sure father would like this," thought Alice. "And he
wouldn't have to use his poor throat at all. I must tell him all
about it."
She looked at two girls--they did not seem much older than herself
and Ruth, who were playing a scene in a "society" drama. They were
both pretty, but Alice thought they were rather too flippant in
manner when out of the scene. They laughed and joked with the other
actors, and with the machine men.
But the latter were too busy focusing their cameras, and getting all
that went on in the scenes, to pay much attention to anything else.
The least slip meant the spoiling of many feet of film, and while
this in itself was not so expensive, it often meant the making of a
whole scene over again at a great cost.
"Well," Mr. Pertell said at length, "I am greatly interested in Mr.
DeVere. I know him to be a good actor, and I greatly regret his
affliction. I think I can use him in some of these plays. Can he ride
a horse--does he know anything about cowboy life, or miners?" he
asked Alice.
"Oh, I'm sure daddy wouldn't want to do any outdoor plays," the girl
exclaimed. "He is so used to theatrical scenes."
"Well, I might keep him in "parlor" drama," Mr. Pertell remarked.
"Please tell him to come and see me," he went on. "I would like to
talk to him."
"Thank you, so much!" returned Alice, gratefully. "I shall tell him,
and--well, there's no use saying I'm sure he'll come," she went on
with a shrug of her shoulders. "It's going to be rather difficult to
break this to him. It--it's so--different from what he has been used
to."
"I can understand," responded Mr. Pertell. "But I think if he
understood he would like it. Tell him to come here and see how we do
things."
"I will!" Alice promised.
Russ escorted her to the street, and then, as he had to see about
some changes in the working of his proposed patent, he bade her
good-bye. She said she would find her way home all right.
"Well?" asked Ruth, as Alice entered the apartment a little later,
"did you do anything rash?"
"Perhaps!" Alice admitted, as she took off her hat, jabbed the pins
in it and tossed it to one chair, while she sank into another.
"Oh, Alice! You--aren't going to be one of those--manicures; are
you?"
"I hope not, though there are lots worse things. A manicure can be
just as much a lady as a typist. But, Ruth, I have such news for you!
I have found an engagement for dad!"
"An engagement for daddy?"
"Yes. In the movies! Listen. Oh, it was so exciting!"
Then, with many digressions, and in rather piece-meal manner,
interrupting herself often to go back and emphasize some point she
had forgotten, Alice told of her morning trip with Russ. She enlarged
on the manner in which the moving pictures were made, until Ruth grew
quite excited.
"Oh, I wish I could see how it is done!" she cried.
"You may--when dad takes this engagement," said Alice.
"He never will," declared her sister. "You know what he thinks of the
movies."
"But he thinks wrong!" exclaimed Alice. "It's so different from what
I thought."
"He'll never consent," repeated Ruth. "Hark! Here he comes now.
Perhaps he has found something to do."
Footsteps were heard coming along the hallway. Alice glanced at the
table before which her sister was sitting.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Looking over our bills, and trying to make five dollars do the work
of fifteen," answered Ruth, with a wry smile. "Money doesn't stretch
well," she added.
Mr. DeVere came in. It needed but a look at his face to show that he
had been unsuccessful, but Ruth could not forbear asking:
"Well, Daddy?"
"No good news," he answered, hoarsely. "I could hardly make myself
understood, and there seem few places where one can labor without
using one's voice. I never appreciated that before."
"But I have found a place!" cried Alice, with girlish enthusiasm. "I
have a place for you Daddy, where you won't have to speak a word."
"Where--where is it?" he whispered, and they both noted his pitiful
eagerness.
"In the movies!" Alice went on. "Oh, it's the nicest place! I've been
there, and the manager----"
"Not another word!" exclaimed Mr. DeVere. "I never would consent to
acting in the moving pictures. I would not so debase my profession--a
profession honored by Shakespeare. I never would consent to it. The
movies! Never!"
There was a knock at the door.
"I'll see who it is," offered Ruth, with a sympathetic glance at
Alice, who seemed distressed. Then, as Ruth saw who it was, she drew
back. "Oh!" she exclaimed, helplessly.
"Who is it?" asked Mr. DeVere, rising.
"I've come for the rent!" exclaimed a rasping voice. "This is about
the tenth time, I guess. Have you got it?" and a burly man thrust
himself into the room from the hall.
"The rent--Oh!" murmured Mr. DeVere, helplessly. "Let me see; have we
the rent ready, Ruth?"
"No," she answered, with a quick glance at the table where she had
been going over the accounts, and where a little pile of bills lay.
"No, we haven't the rent--to-day."
"And I didn't expect you'd have it," sneered the man. "But I've come
to tell you this. It's either pay your rent or----" He paused
significantly and nodded in the direction of the street.
"Three days more--this is the final notice," and thrusting a paper
into the nerveless hand of Mr. DeVere, the collector strode out.