Casper Daily Tribune Newspaper, April 1, 1923, Page 18

. y hh bre! flery st of his pulpit < ic in the ghadow of a motion-picture actress. ‘The letter that ted such a thing would be al as one of the ernal machine people were the mails to shatter ever give up her ca- » grave of Cal- rful to play hk scene on the set, to revel in a mo- ment of Gramatic power, throw out hn tragic gesture, 100 mute appeal. day, to sit black pro- room and hear the small Erdup of witnesses murmur at her 8 and praise her graces. precious harvest of her toil was too to relinquish. She had just dropped her sickle into the edge of golden wheat and she must go 0 On the evening of tho arrival of Do Steddon’s letter two callers arepped in—Claymore and Holt The subject of all moving-p lk was still the Arbuckle case, © celebre that monopolized the headlines of the mewspapers for weeks, especially in Los Angeles, re two hostile camps were formed d the enemies of the free film took new heart and determined to chain and tame the beast once for ture a “Woe unto the world because tt needs be that offenses come, woe unto him by v the cumbered hilario ‘outave ad t revels had heen me lied | Bacchic a'sgust debauches, according as a. poet or | preacher described them. | After the prohibition law became law in the United States the enorm- amount of liquor still! consumed, ling tidal waves of crime, matter for jokes or ser-{ hot dei the same argu- apposite contentions hat’ mons or ments proving for both sides. On a certain day when there were probably ten thousand similar guz- gling coteries, a certain moving-pie- ture comedian of Falstaffian girth and vast popular! ed in his hotel room at San Francisco a number of men and women; one of the women fell {ll and died a few r and another woman told ry so garbled at the start that n ebuddered with the pain the ugliness of The story was contradicted in almost ever; cular by the prime witness" h . 4 by all the other conti and confusing ¥ esses. the tide of Jonal wrath could not be An ambitious dist: attorney 1¢- solved that the comedian should bo tried for murder in the first degree. Two juries and a judge declined to with him, bt 2 pulpits pr editorial columns, the legis Ia halls an® forums and the rire corners, roared with for somebody's destruction. All this was pitiful. hateful, Iament- dering and de- Iso very com: The same ava rted by a whis demand press it was human history. had been sta had engulfed whole races. political parties. reigning milies, churches, lodges, charities s-what mot not?—just as now the entire on-picture world was smothered Iter of abuse and condemna- With all the logte of a mob revel. in a chance to re {ts mob just it was assumed or pretended that t was something specif'cally of ving 1 In the a at quor Into ir mes with scruple horror motion-picture , having r his pos: he ery fer censorship arose with 1 fury, and there was no stop- ion th 1 hy picture clown was dr lightnings of the sky tion pleture people, churches contributing to the criminal an extraordinary number of Protestant minister in Ala- un © eating a Cath: er preacher ¢ found gu of drowning a lake; another of flogging fac: upon count of > violent | contemptible jart laughter | for ng on of| such lovely warr churches or suggested hip | I uck nobody as ludicrous or 20-year-old arished dur recorded blam had to for rs of | and would not bi A. whole feathered and tortured in every and fant ner. Bankers w! companies with f finished. Audiences fell the picture houses every The motion picture Goliat weakened with the maint hard times, stagge a shower of stones from the myriad Davids. While t lasted those were dra- matic days for bright children of was being tarred a the moving pictures. felt like gypst iding caroling through summer landseape and suddenly as sailed by farmers with pitchforks an abuse. The newcomer, Romember Steddon, Was espec'ally aghast delect le mountain she had ed climb was abruptly fenced off as a peak of h CHAPTER XXXVI Doctor Steddon had constantly be- sought from his pulpit forgiveness for his flock's woeful sins of omission and commission. He had cried to heav' that his people were miserable sin- ners incessantly backs'iding into every wickedness. Yet it was some- how different when a motion-picture player growled, as Claymore did nov “Well, we are rotten—rottener th any outsider knows—and we'r getting what was coming to us: Claymore was always the apolog! What he loved he distrusted. His wife had left him on that count He had felt compelled to correct her faults and lovingly chastise her. He had b a director in the theater and had gone about shamefaced on account of the misbehavior of so many of its peopie, the alleged standards of the successes, the lack of appreciation for Shakespeare, absence of a true senso of art Americans, the erious genius for art in all foreigners. As soon as he had & » motion-picture in en decoyed 1d the the: from dis nee. It was as noble as an an- Uquity. And now all his wailings were agaainst the trash mi picture trade turned out and its realism compared wit accomplish: the nts of the theater, was n priest at an altar, tut he P ys So {sed the elder gous. era “They acted like dukes before eve The parties ing 0 The : ve'oped as spec stlo press agents magnified the ness of their clients. Divorces were cons'dered good rtising. “There are sots dope fiends among us, and immor enough to sink a ship.” Tom Holby was of another charac- ter. What he loved he adored, fought for, would not criticize or permit to be criticized “Hold on a minute, Claymore,” he broke in, “Is there any part of the country where booze parties are un known? The dope fends aren't all in Hollywood. Every other town has| noth were apire v about the same quota. Bast and West North and South, in Europe, the same. ll you the average morality is as high In Hollywood or Culver ns anywhere else in the world. re a bunch of hard workers and the women work as hard as the men. They're respected an¢ given every opportunity for wealth and fame and freedom. The public has béen fed up on a lot of ernyz, or! A few roducers have kept up the idea. A lot of bad women are at large in the movies, but most of ‘em were bad before they came in and they'd have been a lot worse if they had stayed at hame. The moving pleture ald m girls and boys off ll the pray meet ings ever held. They drove the sa- loon out of business more than any other power. The screen is the big- gest educational anc moral force ever discovered and it hasn't got a fault that fs all its own. TI tell you it's & cowardly shame to throw dirt on It. T hold my head just a little high er than ever, and I'm shouting just a] little louder than before that I'm al movie man.” | Mem looked on Tom Holby with| | | | and new eyes. e had never thought of him as a flery patriot in his art, Hi hot zeal was vastly becoming to him and cast into the shade the revering affection she bad gained for Cla miro, the {nspirer and encourager her personal skill. Her art was bi ger than herself and she was thr with almost reverence for Holby, | To the surprise of everyono, the most ardent defender of the movies wan the least expectable of all in such a gallery—Mrs, Steddon, the | minister's wife. Her demure, shy soul kept her quiet for ~ long while, but finally she} struck out with all the wrath of the| patient and the long-suffering. She| was, indeed, now a Hollywood moth-| er. She was the mother of all the} movies and she lashed forth in an} abrupt frenzy like an enraged kit- ten. | “Well, : it's a crying shame everybody to begin picking on | people who work #0 hard| jand have such good hearts an@ do| broken|s0 much to make the world brighter. make it better. You children mustn't hands elderly pa tent died in an agony of hones; the next most sp: der rase of th was gharged gainst 1 mar father was a 5 was the take it so “This much to heart. ig a lyr & count at ALE’---A Great Novel of Hollywood Lif BY RUPERT HUGHES and broken up and I wish I now he growled, “The iootton pictures have been riding fer a fal!., It's al due to a sud n of money to the head. Cow-| /, ys were yanked off the ranch and ent loco with the effort to sy thousand dollars a week. Brain- s village girls and artists’ models | were plunged into enormous publicity and dazzled with fortunes for ng a few faces every | moth pe that to free the slaves were treated worse than what movie people are, and when our church was young the other churches used to treat us terribly. The things they said about our early preachers 1 to thern—jail and whipping posis and abuse—good gracious! you’c. never believe it. ‘Look whe —one day t wanted —and dic aid to Admiral nation’s pet hero next y dog, They gave use for ft, and when he t in h’s wife's name, just to make for her, the people rose him worse than they tres And all he had done w to be nice to his wife.” From her of all people, came even a word of compassion for the object of the nation’s wrath. nd that peor young man who got into the trouble—he couldn't have me to do any harm, He was just a big, overgrown boy, andi he mads too much money too soon, and he drank tog much, Oh, the terrible s people go thrdugh who p drinking too much when what they've done. s a deacon in our chureh —a good man as ever was, but and then he'd go mad for liquor and he never knew what he might do. Once, after a long period of being perfect- ly nice, he tasted the communion wine and left the church and went crazy with whisky and—oh, Par, how he wept and prayed! Even my husband was scrry for him. Christ was sorry for everybody—even for the people that crucified him. “And thet young man, so big and fat and funny—all the world laughed |at hia and paid fortunes to see him act. And now people are after him lke wolves, and nobody says a good vord for him, “Even if he hac: done what they said he did, how broken-hearted he would be now! It seems to me that moat of people who howl for his mvelves crueler he was. ‘ peor girl came to her death, But the worst that's said was = net. half as bad as thous- cases that have gone on in ai:ppose tru there was a terrible thing happened. 1 hardly dast speak of it, but there was 2 pretty girl, a wild thing, but awful pretty, and some fellows got a lot of liquor, and she was alone with them, and after terrible solpgs-on— why, she die¢: the next day. ‘And that happened right in our home town cf Calverly long before moving pictures were even thougiht And not a line was published in a newspaper, not a sermon was to hush up and not isn't 2. t had town in the things like that Fappen. know the most pitiful things. il the preachers and doctors and and fathers would tell all pw—oh dear, what revela- ors t tions! “And so I say, why should every- body act like this young man was the first one that ever did anything terribie? Why should they say it had anything to do with tho business hoe was in? Why shoul@ they perse- ute the dear, good, nice people in moving pictures? I think it's just frightful and if I was in the movies I just wouldn't stand for it.” Mem throbbed with love of her mother for her ardor, but sho bent her head, realizing’ her cwn secret. aymore stared at the flaming little matron with gleaming s of ap proval. Leva Lemaire squirmed ashamed of her own acquiescence in the storm of abuse, But Tom Holby rose from his chair and, going to Mrs. Steddon, bent down and kissed her on the hair and wrung her little hand and Kissed it. And in that tribute he wooed Mem more campellingly than in any other possible wise. Mrs. Steddon clung to Tom Hol- by’s big hand and patted it, then rose and left tho room. When Mem would have followed she was sent back. Then Mrs, Steddon, in a fine frenzy, went to her table and wrote her hus- band an answer to his lett Dear Husband—I am ashamed you for writing such a mean Uttle note. Yes, I am praud to say that my Caughter is an ac- tress and is doing fine work. If you are not proud of her it is be- cause you don't know enough to be. Yau will some day, you'll soe. She is working hard and earn- ing lots of money, and I’m going to stay with her as long as she needs me. I guess you can get along without me awhile. If you can't, come on out and see for yourself how wrong you are. I hope your next letter will be an apolog Mem would send her love if she knew I was writing. Your Loving WIFr. this bamb exploded in teddon’s parsonage it pro- ot an astounding effect. The old When Doctor duc devil fighter was not afraid of all the legions of hell, He could even face his richest pewholder without flinching; he could dppose his bishop or a whole assembly of fellow min- isters, But he was afraid of that little wife of his. She alone could scold him with Immunity and by the mere with- drawal of her approval cart a cloud across his heaven. He was in an abject perplexity now. Mrs. Steddon was as much afraid of Mem as her hushand was of her, Sho dared not tell Mem that she had written the letter until afler it was maile’ beyond retrieving. Then she confessed and Mem star. ‘ious mur | And if you make it brighter you| tled her by a sudden collapse into bitter grief. ‘I have aome between you and papa. I have disgraced the family and led to him and dragged Away from him and set you ag m, I have taken you away from t| wrapping the! Casper Sundap Worning Cribune the other children, our beautiful home, were dead.’ Mrs, Stedcon poured out les with spendthrift zeal in the effort to com- srt her and restore her pride. “Your t ther needs a vacation, and your sis- the house than I did.” But Mem’s grief was irredeemable. heart was so abrim with tears that, wanted her to weep, he had only to call for tears and they gushed in tor - rente. And from this enhanced responsive- ness and the aggravated sympathy it aroused im his great peril that Tirrey the gril against—the peril haa warned herself away just for ness df the deed. CHAPTER XXXVIT. All this while the boy, Terry Dack, had been troubling Mem's conscience. She had induced the mother to give up her safe and sane career as washerwoman and undertake the p cullar offices of mother to « prodigy. But the prodigy had not yet found his chance to prove himself. The produgwrs did not seem to be so eager to engage the boy as Mem had expected. As soon as she was installed as an actress she ventured one ¢ay to ask Mr. Tirrey to see the child; he con- sented to make an appointment. Mrs. Dack laundered her son as carefully as if he were a week's wash, She starched and froned him and rend- ered him generally unnatural. She was In a panic of anxiety, but the boy's reaction to this was ono of stodgy reserve. Tirrey kept a number of famous candidates waiting while he bent to receive the tiny petitiumer. Tho child must have found something lacking in this effusive courtesy or some of- fense in its manife: ondescension, for be refused even vhake hande and retreatec: into his mother's bosom Uke a frightened rabbit. The more the mother scolded the mere the boy froze. The casting di- rector was patient, but plainly not encouraged. He gave up at length mnd asked h‘s ass‘stant, Mr. Dobbs to place in the files a pleture of the the gracious- “Well, I think it’s a erying shame to pick on such lovely people.” boy, with a record of his age, size, colo’ and the ominous words, "No experience.” Mem and Mrs. Dack left the office disheartened. Mre. Dack was tvo downcast to scold or punish. could only ask the boy why he had misbehaved. Sho might as well have asked why his hair was the tint it/ was or his features so shaped. He had simply not been in the humor, and he had not yet been trained pond to the call. ‘That night Mrs. Dack came to seo Mem to say that she would bave to go back to Palm Springs and her drudgery. She was afraid to attempt & washerwoman's metier in Los An- geles, though there wes need enough for artists in her line, She suffered tub fright in a strange ‘The boy felt guilty. He had suf- fered keenly when his mother broke down at home and wept. He suffered now when his beloved Mom appealed to him franticall “Ob, honey, why were you so mean to the gentleman who wanted to be 80 nice to you?” “{ don't know,” said the artist in embryo, “Something inside of me just wouldn't behave... I wanted !t to, but I couldn't make it.” Mom understood this language. She had once tried to smile and wink and laugh before a director and had found her muscles lead. Terry's failure had not been an intentional insolence, but a kind of menta! lockjaw, Even the salesman cannot be at his cunningest with every customer; and shoes, jewels, lands, and creods are as hard to well as souls when the ec: stasy is wanting. While Mrs. Dack wag trying to per: suade Mem not to blame horself for the fiasco, urging that Palm Springs was a nice place and washing a good-enough trade, Claymore dropped in to call. Mem and her mother and Mrs. Dack were in Mem’s bedroom when Leva brought word that Mem had a caller, Mrs. Dack sald that she would be saying gbod-by. When she put oat her hand, like a hook, for the child, who was usually within reach, ho did not affix bimself to it. When she and Mem looked about for him they found him tn the front room, perched on Claymore's lap and making vio- lent love, child love, to the captivated tyrant. big fawn eyes were Iu affection, the lit tle fingers were wrapping and ndri un: Clay | more’s hand ter Gladys is taking better care of Yet there was a benefit in this. Her nm a scene next day when Claymore heart came the not of having to sell herself, but of giving She | to coerce his moods to res-! The women stood back and watch- ed the two, unnot.ced. Terry star- tlea Claymore by saying: “Why do you scrooge up your eye brows thataway?” Do I?” gasped Claymore. ‘Yep, you do. Louky, this is how you go. 2 Reatieyanre fung back his head and laughed at the revelation of an unsuspected habit of mien, he caught sight of Mem in the embrasure of the door and demanded: “Do I scrooge up my eyebrows? ‘The tittle rat says I do.” “I hadn't naticed it, but you d said Mem, Terry was hilarjous with pride, and Claymore, who distrusted everything he loved, was a glutton for humiliation, Ho had chosen a profession, in which it is frequent, public and expensive. “I wish I bad th{s child on the lot,” he said. “We're getting close to a big scene in this next picture where a child is i, and delirious, Tho boy we had in mind has just had two front teeth knocked out in a fight-at school. ‘They won't look pretty in the picture. Claymore, directorlike, loved to dis- cover new talent, dig up gold quartz in chunks and refine them. He locked down at the up-looking boy. ‘Would you like to act for me?” Yep; you bet.” “Would you do what I asked you to?” | His mother said, | “'You bet." | good little tike—never cries or—" \ Claymare gasped. he’s mad.” “He's an awful | he'll ery for me, 1} guess, if I ask him to. Won't you, | old man?” | “You be | “You come over tomorrow and see | the casting director. I'l tell him to bring the boy to me, for a test. Does \he know anything about make-up?" Mem shook her head and answered with professiona! calm, ‘Ill make him up myself, tomorrow morning | early.” And now there was rapture in the | household of Dack. The widew was retrieved from the washtub at the desert’s edge. The son was rescued | from the dull lethargy of a sagebrush future. A scepter was put in his ‘hand and he would be raised aloft to such glory and such empire as no infant monarch had ever known. If he succeeded, millions of men and wemen in every Iand would gaze up at his ving moving portrait, and pay hom the homage that greets childhood when it is beautiful in the sunlight. ‘Terry Dack was about to be struck off in innumerable portraits and showered upon a grateful wor!d. At the age of five he would com- mence bis business career with a sal- ary of $2,000 or $2,000 a year. it was dazzling, yet some people called it a dull age in a dull world, | and looked back to mediaeval France | for romantic happening: And many exceedingly good poo- ror at such cruel treatment of a ple would hold up their hands in hor- child. Turning from the hideous rey- elations of immemorial precocious de pravity from the ghastly records of the children’s courts founded by Saint Ben Lindsey from the loath. some spectacles of the streets and ‘alleys of ancient and modern times | Where children were flung Ike gar- bage, gocel people would revile the movies as a degradation of children. The police and lawmakers would re- gard the studious with a jealous e: |if young Mr. Dack falled to receive at least four hours of schooling on lany day; if ho were permitted to work more than four hours on any {day the guilty director and every- body concerned would be Hable to heavy fines and imprisonment. {| But the Dacks did not realize into what odium they were descending. | They felt that they were being lifted up out of despair into a cloud realm of bliss. Mrs. Dack's gratitude was so dire that it put Claymore to flight. He went away raging. He had called to pay court to the fascinating Miss Steddon, and he had adopted a child and a mother whose silly enthusiasm drenched him ike a capsized tub of warm suds, Mrs. Dack scurried away to her bleak lodgings to unpack her bundles. Palm Springs might pine for its lost | laundress, but the world would be happier for its new-found lamb. ‘Terry was forever getting to sleep that night. He Wes tolling his mother what palaces he would buy her, what silks he would dress her in; she should ride in two solid-gold Fords at once, with @ policeman for driver. The next morning the Dacks were at Mem's door before she was up. They sat on the steps watching the red-faced sun rise yawning from his bed on the mountains. They saw the newsboy on his bloycle fling the morning paper on the dewy graas, and Terry decided to buy himself a gold bicycle. His mother tried in vain to hush his prattie. Finally the rattlesnake whirr of an arm clock within shook the bungalow from its repose and they made thelr presence known. | After breakfast, Mem made up her | own face first In order to get {t out of |the way, and also as a model for Mrs. Dack to copy. Terry’s hands clutched at the various pigments with all the primeval instinct of a savage desire for paint. He repeated tho names of the various layers of grease and colur as a most delightful lesson. When was ready to begin on his face he held it up like a little balloon for adornment. Leva had taken over the automobile of the housemate who bad gone back east to the middle west. She drove the Dacks and Mem to the studio. The streets were full of actors and actresses in automobiles of every sort. Most of them made up their faces at home and some of them put on their costumes there. The town had the appearance of a carnival’s morning after and strang- ers found the sight astonishing. But to the established populace it was nothing but the dally exodus to the factories of the working classes in thelr overa!ls and caps. The make-up boxes the toilers carried were merely their tool kits, The iron grills at the studio en- trance were wide open and a throng poured in. Automobites were parked along the curbs and famous artists, extra folk, camera men, execut'ves, cabinetmakers, electricians, chemists scene painters, decorators, cowbcys, Chinese, Arabians, cooks, waitresses a smali cityful—flocked to the num- berless tasks that combined to build a shew of pictures. Claymore was waiting for his pro- tege and carried him off to his set. where be pit him through an ordeal he was too young and too eager to rd as anything but the pastime ymore pretended it was. The boy's magnetism was instant with everyone. Everyone smited at the sight of him. He put a live coai ni every heart to warm its cockles. The camera man smiled and joked as he turned the crank. Terry Dack had that which gives certain poems, dramas, painting, sta- tues, orations, an irresistible fascin- ation. His wheedling pout migh be known for a mere trick; cynics might resent his big eyes, b's babylsh pret- tiness, and rebel against his tears. but they would find their eyes moist their lips quivering, their hands ach- ing to caress him or spank him. He could not be ignored. Mr. Bermend, on an early round of inspection, stopped to watch the test being made, to ask who the child was. and to mumble to Claymore, “Sign him up! He paused also to shake hands with the young tyrant, to toss him in the air and hug him tight with a heartache he dared not confess. 2 And so Terry's fortune was made. Or at least, it was assigned to him to get. It would not be so easy to earn as it seemed. He would not realize, him . what intellect he was developing, what intultional proc- esses he was perfecting in the labor- atory df his soul. He was sent home that day with n Promise of a verdict on the morrow. He left the stud‘o with bitter regret anda gnawing terror. His fierce imagination dramatized the defer ment as exile. His mother took the contagion of fear from him, and they were in an anguish until Mem returned that eve- ning with the glad news that the test film had been rushed through the lab- oratury and had evoked vast enthu- sS:asm in the projection room. It was always a problem whether the charm would photograph. In Terry's case the picture was beyond the reality. His skin had an incan- descence. His emotions were graphic upon his features. The next day was Terry's first birthday as an artist. Mem an- nounced herself as his true mother, and Claymore said, “Then I am his father!" They looked at each other with a kind ¢f fright. They were already linked in a wedlock of art, and a child was born of the union of their souls. And this had terrifying implt- cations, : CHAPTER XXXVIII It helped Terry's art somewhat to be told that he must play a little girl. That angered him and anger gave him pathos. His hum ation wos only a child's humiliation, but the pint cup brimming with bitterness is as overcharged as a tun of malmsey. His mimetic genius, after the first shame of belng clad in a girt's bon- net, slip, and short socks, found de- Ught in a satire on the poses and carriage of litte womankind. The stage was a magic playground te him. He had to have his school- ing—they gave him a private teach- er who put him through his spelling and sums in the environs of the scene where he was called now and then to enact his role. Work was re cess to him, and he scampered from his textbooks to the set as to a wholesale toy shop, The electricians told him all about the big light machines. The property men tet him help them with their la- bors. The assistant director lent him the megaphone for a toy and he bel- lowed through it like an infant Sten- tor, The lady who had to make her- self look very old with all manner of paint was as gentle an ogress as ever ate a child. The beautiful star held him in her lap, and he learned to keep his hands off her make-up and kiss her behind the ear. He was as close to heaven as a child may climb on this doteful footstool. He had even the supreme pride of condescension; for an even younger actor than he was in the cast. He felt the dignity of a veteran as he watched the scenes in which his little baby “brother” was engaged. This child was too young to be asked to act. The scenes he played in had to be played as games and they wero costly games, for every minute spent could be charged off as five dollars gone. Even if Claymore had been a brute be would have found it necessary to dissemble, because little children can- not be coerced to drama, though they may be whipped, starved, scolded, or frightened with hell fire and bogies to be “good.” Claymore had the patience of a born mother. The baby’s own mother was vexed and easily moved to anger. She scolded, yanked and threatensd, and Claymore had to protect the child from her and keep her out of sight while he conducted the strenu- ous pretense. He lay on his stomach on the floor and devised seductive wiles while the cameramen and the light crew watch- ed for his signal to begin their record. Part of this p.cture was a domestic comedy, and this baby was supposed o escape from its nurse and ts anx- ous mother; to find a loaded pistol, play with it, look down the barre, and bite the fatal muzzle. Of course the pistol was not reatly loaded, but it was hoped that the effect would give tho audience that bit cf blood curdle for which it loves to pay its best mone; Claymore would hand the baby a morsel of candy, drop another down the barrel fdr the child to peer after and try to extract. Then Claymore would scuttle backward out of the Tange of the cameras, mation the electricians to hit the Ughts and the cameramen to crank. He cooed to the baby in prattling: terms, struggling to keep {t so ab- sorbed in its task that it w@uld not jook out toward the camera and be- tray to future audiences the presence of a coach. Time after time something diverted the baby's mind. Just ag the scene was rifling perfectly the child would look away and fling the pistol down or wave its hand and grin at some one in front. Then the task had to be begun again. The child had an impish gift giving the camera mex fale starts and then ruining the most promising take-offs, The director, groveling about the floor, would not despair, but returned to the toll with a persistence much praised in spiders and anis and other stubborn industrials. The author of the continuity had to leave the set and tear his hair and curse to get rid of his nerves. ‘The production manager, whose bus ness it was to keep the picture go- ing at high speed and low cost, fumed and figured the expense. He said to the directar, “That damned brat has cost the picture $3,000 so far without a foot of film to show for it.” Claymore, whose sympathy was in- exhaustible as lonz as there was an honest effort, resonted the insult to one of his cast. And evéntually ho won his point, decoyed the baby through tig: scane, and caught it with two cameras. The audience would never dream of tie toil or the cost as it smiled at the brief frivol- But then it is the pride of the true artist to conceal his toil as something obscene, a disgrace if dis- covered. Terry Dack had no such patience for his bungling junior as the di- rector showed. He was impatient to get ta his own scenes, and when at Jast they were reached he began life anew. He romped and whooped with laughter during the long waits be- tween the brief takes while the lights were being brought up, the camera angies discussed, the properties ar ranged. The moment the word “Action!” rang out he became the earnest ar- tiet, Already he knew that, while tragic scenes may be played in a cheerful atmosphere, comedy must be approached solemnly. He agon ized over his humor, but he did not lose self-control in pathos. Once, between the first take and the segond of a pathetic scene, he began to tell a funny story to the camera. man. Claymore said: “Den't laugh in this scene, now. It's very serlous.” If a super had told Edwin Booth not to giggie when he went on in The Soliloquy, he might have received a glance of similar barb. Claymore apologized hastfiy, But Terry's pride in his superiority to the bungling baby was doomed tc fall. There was a scene where he and his brother painted each other's Ups with their stage mother's rouge stick, There was a scene where they said their prayers at the actress’ knes. In these he shone and in mo- ments of childish pathos. But by and by the crisis arrived when Terry must play a lost and abandoned wa't freezing in a. dark doorway and sob- bing in lonely dismay as he groped bilndly for his mdther and called her name. He had responded to al! the de- mands upon his armory of smiles and glooms, but when Claymore ap- pealed for tears they would not flow. Torry tried and tried. He squeezed his eyes. He stared at the lights. He tried to think of sad things, but never a bit of brine responded. Even the groping of his hands was awkward and unreal. Claymore explained, “I want you to do just what you do when you are sick or afraid at night and you reach out in the dark and feel for your mother,” “Oh, but I never do! said Terry, with a certain loftiness of demurrer. This ended that. Claymore pond- ered. “Did you ever play _blind- man’s bluff?" ‘You bet!* “Do you remember how you would put your hands out when your eyes were shut?” “Oh, yes! I see what you mean now. Like thisaway.”’ And he clenched his eyes and put his plump hands forth, stroking the air to find his mother’s cheek. “Great! We'll take it!’ said Clay. The camera man called, “Hit The glare poured from the concentrated arcs. The music struck up a sobbing tune. The di- rectar called: “Action! Camera! And Terry groped pitifully. So far so good. But next was the crying scene and the weeping must be real. Glycerine tears would be an insult to both audience and actor. Claymore tried to tune the actor up to the climax by explaining the situation. Terry nodded Nke an old scholar, But no tears rose. Clay. mare appealed to the boy's sympa- thies for the character, for himself. He spoke in his most tear-compelling intonations. But not a tear would mes from the desert of Terry's dry orl ‘Think of your mother being awful sick and dying, far away from you!" But Terry was too much of an ac tor to take this bait, What's my SUNDAY, APRIL 1, 1923. es mother got to do with this movin‘ pitcher?” he asked, in fine sincerity. Claymore took up other weapons. He hammered that usually maleabls Uttle soul almost raw. Three hun- dred dollars had gone to the wasto »” basket already and not a foot of film“ was even spoiled yet. Claymore did not lose his temper, for he could see that the child was wrestling with his own unresponsive tear ducts. Bu: he grew anxious for his story. Tt was cxsential that the child should weep und thousands of feet had already been taken with this seeno in ~iew. At length he remembered what Ter ry 4 motker had sald, “He onty cries when he is mad.” And. now he shifted his approach. He made all ready for the shot, Ms pretended a deep disgust for Terry. but him off his lap with a curt: “You are a quitter. The trouble with you ‘s that you're not trying.” ‘I am so trying!” Terry gasped, astounded, Claymore enacted contempt. “No, you're not! You're just in an usly stubborn mood. You can seo that e're all waiting here, the light crew. the camera men. You know the pic ture can’t go on till we get this easy seene finisked. Mr. Woburn (the au. thor) has to have this scene in his story or it's spoiled. But what do you care? Mr, Bermond has paid you money and wants to pay you more, but just to spite him and all of us you bold back your tears,” The injustice of this outraged the child's soul. He stamped his foot in protest, “That a’n't so!” “It is so. so!” Claymore snapped back, and again he flaunted the red flag. “You can cry as well as any: body. You know that I've been friends with you, and I thought you were friends with mo and with the tar and Miss Steddon here. But you're worse than the little baby who wouldn't play with the pistol. Ho didn't Know any better. But you— there's only one thing keeping you from crying.” : “Wha-a-at?” whimpered Terry, his Ups shivering, his chin puckering as with a drawstring, his throat gulping pill Mem could hardly keep from das: ng to his rescue. Claymore: snarled: “It's your mean. ness, You're a dirty little alley cat, @ spiteful little alley cat."* “I'm no-ot a nalle; “Yd sobbed. Ary TEN, “Of course you are, You don't he- long on the screen. Go on back to your alley, you cat. Go on back to the desert with’ the other cootes. We don’t want won't you here, because you so cry! Beo-hoo—t ymore tossed his voice In sc » you might make a let of + but you wouldn't dream of « ing Uke a lost child, ‘I want ny ma!” I want my mamma!” Terry how! 1. The flood broke from a eudd- > blackened sky. Sobs shook hs trea Tears spilied und darted a fat cheeks. The childish treile rm wid. Carpenters working on disia t sets paused with the heart stal a child's cry thrusts into the breae The electricians, the property m. the actors and uctresses, gulped clenched ‘their hands. Terry did not sce the Hghts' come on at Claymore’s signal. He did not seo Claymore tap the etbows of the camera men nor hear the cranks scut- tering. He sobbed and sobbed while Clay- more goaded him on, giving him his cue disguised as abuse, “I want iny mamma. You alley cat!’ in anti- phony with Terry's increasing an- guish, “T want my mamma! Shut up! I want my mamma. I want my mam- mat!” There was something uncanny api cruel about it in Mem's mind, It was a form of torture, a Spanish in- quisition not after beliefs or confes- sions, but after stored-up emotions. Mem's blood ran cold at the shame- ful business of flogging that young Soul to such old woes. She was ready to rush into tho sa cred circle of the set and attack Claymore for his brutality. She would lose her own career, but she Would escape complicity in such a ‘ow trade. | Just before she sprang to the at- tack she heard Claymore stop the cameras with the ward, “Cut!” The first camera man called to the chief electrician, “Rest ‘am!’ Then the relentless torturer, Claymore, ran ‘orward, picked Terry up in his arma, augged him to his heart, and kissed him, mumbling: ra “That's my boy! Thnt's the good, brave artist I thought he was.” The briny victim peered through the dripping caves of his drenched eyelashes and said: ‘Was ‘at all right? Honest? Did T cry good’ And when Claymore groaned, “Great! Terry taughed aloud and twisted Claymoro's ear, kissed him, and throttled his neck with his shcrt arms as ke yelled: “Mammi Mamma! Mister Clay- more says ‘at was great!’ Mrs. Dack ran forward to embrace him, her heartaches turned to aches of pride. In the good old days children had been beaten incessantly; stout rods were spoiled religiously to spare the children from the perils of hell, Stor- jes of goblins c€ ogres, of child-eating witches and wolves, had filled the nursery books and the nursery talk. Myriads of children had been slain to annihfate their races. In Russia at this time children dead of starvation were heaped in windrows by the thousand. Endless armies had been sent to the coal mines, the factories, to the starvation and duress of foun. dling asylums, poor farms, In old England two little girls of eight had been kept in solitary cells for over a year, hundreds of children wero hanged for theft. The babies of devout parents had been doomed to gloomy homes and dour repressions for their souls sakes. Little children had been trained to sob and weep for the sins they inherited from dam and for the fires of hell awaiting their least mis-step.