Part 10 (1/2)

”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 princ.i.p.al 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 pa.s.sed 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.