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Moving Picture Girls, The

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<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> <h3>MR. DEVERE'S SUCCESS</h3> Amid laughter, now that it was seen that nothing serious had happened, the wreckage was cleared away, and the German actor, and his partner in the rural love scene, were assisted to their feet. "Are you hurt?" asked Mr. Pertell, anxiously, when quiet had in a measure been restored. "Only my feelings iss hurted!" replied Mr. Switzer, with an odd look on his round, fat face. "It iss not seemly und proper dot ven a feller is telling a nice girl vot he dinks of her, dot he should be upset head ofer heels alretty yet; ain't it?" "It certainly is," agreed Miss Dixon, a little spasm of pain flitting across her face as she limped to one side. "Oh, dear, I hope you're not hurt!" exclaimed Miss Pennington, hastening to her friend's side, and supporting her with an arm about her waist. "It's only my ankle; it's a bit sprained, I think. A good thing I haven't a dancing part," said Miss Dixon. "Will you be able to go on, when we make the film over again?" asked the manager anxiously. He did not make this inquiry because he was heartless, but the foremost thought with those who provide amusement for the public—whether they be managers or actors—is that "the show must go on." For that reason sickness, and even the death of loved ones, often does not stop the player from appearing on the stage. And, in a measure, this is no less so with those who help to make the moving pictures. "Oh, I think I'll be able to go on after a bit," declared Miss Dixon, sinking into a chair that Pepper Sneed pushed forward for her. "Go on! You'll never be able to go on inside of a week, little girl!" exclaimed the actor with the perpetual "grouch." He looked gloomily at those about him. "This is the worst business in the world," he went on. "Something is always happening. I know something will go wrong in that safe-blowing act I'm to do next. I——" "Say, you go do that act, and then let us know if anything happens!" interrupted the manager. "They're waiting for you over there," and he motioned to an office setting, in which a safe robbery, one of the scenes of another play, was to take place. "All right!" sighed Pepper Sneed, as he moved off to take his part. "But, mind what I'm telling you," he said to Miss Dixon. "You'll be laid up for a week." "An' it all de fault of dot property man!" exclaimed Mr. Switzer. "He made dot fence like paper yet alretty! It vouldn't holt up a fly!" "That was a good fence!" defended Pop Snooks. "The trouble was you leaned your ton weight on it." "Ton veight! Huh! Vot you tink I am? A hipperperpotamusses? A ton veight—huh!" spluttered Mr. Switzer. "Never mind now!" called the manager sharply, with a reassuring glance at Ruth and Alice, who were regarding this little flurry with anxious eyes. They glanced over toward their father. "Pop, make a new fence—a strong one—and we'll film that scene over again," went on Mr. Pertell. "To your places, the rest of you. Mr. DeVere, I think that will be all we will require of you to-day. But come into the office. I have a new play I'm thinking of filming, and I'd like your advice on some of the scenes. Miss Dixon, shall I send for a doctor?" "Oh, no, indeed, I'll be all right!" was her hasty answer. "If you're not, don't be afraid to say so," spoke Mr. Pertell. "I can understudy you——" "Oh, no, indeed!" she exclaimed, energetically. If there is one thing more than another that an actor or actress fears, it is being supplanted in a rôle. Of course, all the important parts in a play are "understudied"; that is, some other actor or actress than the principal has learned the lines and "business" so, in case the latter is taken ill, the play can go on, after a fashion. But players are jealous of one another to a marked degree, and rather than permit their understudy to succeed him, many a performer has gone on when physically unfit. Perhaps it was this that induced Miss Dixon to conceal the pain she was really suffering. Mr. Pertell glanced sharply at her, and then his gaze roved to Ruth and Alice, who were standing with their father. A musing look was on the face of the manager. Miss Dixon saw it, and arose. "I am perfectly able to go on, Mr. Pertell," she said, quickly. "There is no need of getting anyone in my place." She walked across the room, with a slight limp, and the spasm of pain that showed on her face was quickly replaced by a smile. But it was an obvious effort. Miss Dixon staggered, and would have fallen had not Alice stepped forward quickly and caught her. "You really ought to have a doctor," Alice said, anxiously. "A sprained ankle is sometimes quite serious." "I don't need a doctor!" exclaimed the ingenue, sharply. "I shall be all right. It will take some little time to repair the fence, and by then——" "You must let me attend to you," broke in a motherly voice, and Mrs. Maguire, who, as Cora Ashleigh, had finished her part in a little drama, came bustling over. "I'll put some hot compresses on your ankle, and that will take out the pain," went on the elderly actress. "Come along." And Miss Dixon was glad enough to go. Mrs. Maguire was really a sort of "mother" to the others of the company, and many a physical ache and pain, as well as some mental ones, yielded to her ministering care. "Now, then, Pop, how are you coming on with that fence?" asked the manager a little later. "Oh, I'll get her done some time to-day if you don't give me too much else to do," was the answer. "But I've had to quit work on that trick auto you wanted—the one that turns into an airship." "Pshaw! And I needed that, too. Well, go ahead. Do the best you can, and when you've finished I want a fake stone tower made for that fairy picture we're going to do next week." "All right," agreed Pop. "I'll do it." Nothing seemed too hard for him. He responded to the most exacting and diverse commands as easily as to the smallest. He was an invaluable property man. "Oh, Mr. Ardite," continued the manager to the leading juvenile, "I'm going to change your part in that runaway drama. I'll want some exterior scenes. One on the Brooklyn Bridge and another at the Grand Central Terminal. Get ready to go up there. Miss Fillmore will be here soon. She's in that with you. I'll send Charlie Blake up to film it. Here's the "register" list—look it over," and he tossed a sheaf of typewritten sheets to the young actor. "I wish we could go see that taken," whispered Alice. "You can, if you like," responded the manager, overhearing her. "I—I'll be delighted to take you along," said Paul, coloring as he glanced at Alice. Miss Dixon, who had come back from her room, after having her ankle bathed, looked up quickly at these words. She glanced from Alice to Paul, and back again, and then said something in a low voice to Miss Pennington. "May I go, Daddy?" asked Alice. "I'm so interested in these moving pictures." "Oh, yes, I think so," he assented. "Perhaps Ruth——" "No, I'll go home with you," Ruth answered. "I'm a bit tired to-day." "I'd never tire of this!" exclaimed Alice, with enthusiasm. "Come along then!" invited Paul. "Here's Miss Fillmore now," he added, as another member of the company entered. There was a sudden cry of pain from the other side of the studio, and a moving picture camera ceased clicking. "What's the matter now?" asked the manager, as he looked to where the safe robbery scene was being filmed. "Oh, I caught my hand in the safe door!" exclaimed Pepper Sneed. "Nearly took my finger off! I just knew something would happen to me to-day!" "Great Scott! Another scene spoiled!" groaned Mr. Pertell. "Well, do it over. Had you run out much film?" he asked the operator. "No, only a few feet." "Well, try again. And, Pepper, look out for your head this time, that you don't get that caught in the safe. You might lose it." "Uh!" grunted the human grouch. Russ Dalwood came out of the developing room. "That's going to be a great film!" he declared. It's one of the best I've ever seen. The pictures will show up fine." "Glad to hear it," remarked the manager. "That's some good news in this day of trouble." "Did I do all right?" asked Mr. DeVere, hoarsely. "I would like to see myself—as others see me—and that's possible now, in the movies." "Your pictures are fine," answered Ross. "And I want to congratulate you," went on Mr. Pertell. "You are doing splendid work, and we are glad to have you with us. It is not everyone who can come from the legitimate stage and go into the movies with success; but you have." "I am glad to hear it," declared the actor. "There was great necessity, or I should not have done it; but I am not sorry now. It is a great relief not to have to speak my lines." "And you mustn't do much talking now, Daddy," cautioned Ruth. "You want your throat to get well, you know." "Yes, I know, dear," replied her father, patting her on the shoulder. "Good-bye!" called Alice, who with Paul, Miss Fillmore, and the camera operator, were going out for the exterior scenes. "I'll be home soon." "I'll take care of her," promised Paul, and, as he and Alice went out, side by side, Ruth caught a sharp glance from Miss Dixon, who was narrowly watching the two. "Well, everything seems to be going on all right now," observed Mr. Pertell. "Here's Pop with the fence. Now, Mr. Switzer, and Miss Dixon——well, what is it?" he broke off with, as he saw Wellington Bunn approaching with an irritated air. "I must refuse, sir, positively refuse, to go on with the part you have assigned to me!" exclaimed the former Shakespearean player, striking what he thought was a dignified attitude. "I cannot do it, Mr. Pertell, and I wonder that you expect it of me." "What part is it you object to?" asked the manager. "Let's see, you're in 'A Man's Home;' aren't you?" "Yes, and in one scene I am supposed to come home from the office, and get down on the floor to play with blocks with the children. I do not mind that so much, but I have to play horse, and ride the children around on my back, and then, to cap the climax, I have to turn a somersault." "Well?" asked the manager, as the actor paused. "Well, I positively refuse to do that somersault! The idea of me—Wellington Bunn—who has played in Shakespearean dramas, groveling on the floor and turning somersaults! The somersaults positively must be cut out." "But they can't very well, Mr. Pertell!" broke in one of the other actors in the same drama. "Because when Mr. Bunn goes over that way he is supposed accidentally to upset the table, and the supper things fly all over, and the children laugh and think it's a great joke. The whole scene will be spoiled if Mr. Bunn doesn't turn his somersault." "Then he'll turn it!" announced the manager, grimly. "What! But I protest, sir! I protest!" cried the tragedian. "I will not do it! The idea of me—Wellington Bunn——" "Somersault—or look for another engagement," was the terse rejoinder, and with a gesture of despair Mr. Bunn turned aside murmuring; "Oh, that I should come to this! Oh, the pity of it! The pity! I'll never do it!" But a little later, for the sake of his salary, he turned the somersault. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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