Aunt Janes Nieces Out West | Page 2

young ladies; that will do. Your
expression was simply immense and if this doesn't turn out to be the
best film of the year, I'll miss my guess! Your terror-stricken features
will make a regular hit, for the terror wasn't assumed, you know. Thank
you very much for happening along just then.'"

Patsy stopped her recital to laugh once more, with genuine merriment,
but her cousin Beth seemed annoyed and Uncle John was frankly
bewildered.
"But--what--what--was it all about?" he inquired.
"Why, they were taking a moving picture, that was all, and the
workmen and shopgirls and policemen were all actors. There must have
been a hundred of them, all told, and when we recovered from our scare
I could hear the machine beside me clicking away as it took the
picture."
"Did the wall fall?" asked Uncle John.
"Not just then. They first got the picture of the rush-out and the panic,
and then they stopped the camera and moved the people to a safe
distance away. We watched them set up some dummy figures of girls
and workmen, closer in, and then in some way they toppled over the
big brick wall. It fell into the street with a thundering crash, but only
the dummies were buried under the debris."
Mr. Merrick drew a long breath.
"It's wonderful!" he exclaimed. "Why, it must have cost a lot of money
to ruin such a building--and all for the sake of a picture!"
"That's what I said to the manager," replied Patsy; "but he told us the
building was going to be pulled down, anyhow, and a better one built in
its place; so he invented a picture story to fit the falling walls and it
didn't cost him so much as one might think. So you see, Uncle, we are
in that picture--big as life and scared stiff--and I'd give a lot to see how
we look when we're positively terror-stricken."
"It will cost you just ten cents," remarked Beth, with a shrug; "that is, if
the picture proves good enough to be displayed at one of those horrid
little theatres."
"One?" said Uncle John. "One thousand little theatres, most likely, will

show the picture, and perhaps millions of spectators will see you and
Patsy running from the falling wall."
"Dear me!" wailed Patsy. "That's more fame than I bargained for. Do
millions go to see motion pictures, Uncle?"
"I believe so. The making of these pictures is getting to be an enormous
industry. I was introduced to Otis Werner, the other day, and he told me
a good deal about it. Werner is with one of the big concerns here--the
Continental, I think--and he's a very nice and gentlemanly fellow. I'll
introduce you to him, some time, and he'll tell you all the wonders of
the motion picture business."
"I haven't witnessed one of those atrocious exhibitions for months,"
announced Beth; "nor have I any desire to see one again."
"Not our own special picture?" asked Patsy reproachfully.
"They had no right to force us into their dreadful drama," protested
Beth. "Motion pictures are dreadfully tiresome things--comedies and
tragedies alike. They are wild and weird in conception, quite unreal and
wholly impossible. Of course the scenic pictures, and those recording
historical events, are well enough in their way, but I cannot understand
how so many cheap little picture theatres thrive."
"They are the poor people's solace and recreation," declared Mr.
Merrick. "The picture theatre has become the laboring man's favorite
resort. It costs him but five or ten cents and it's the sort of show he can
appreciate. I'm told the motion picture is considered the saloon's worst
enemy, for many a man is taking his wife and children to a picture
theatre evenings instead of joining a gang of his fellows before the bar,
as he formerly did."
"That is the best argument in their favor I have ever heard," admitted
Beth, who was strong on temperance; "but I hope, Uncle, you are not
defending the insolent methods of those picture-makers."
"Not at all, my dear. I consider the trapping of innocent bystanders to

be--eh--er--highly reprehensible, and perhaps worse. If I can discover
what picture manager was guilty of the act, I shall--shall--"
"What, Uncle?"
"I shall hint that he owes you an apology," he concluded, rather lamely.
Beth smiled scornfully.
"Meantime," said she, "two very respectable girls, who are not
actresses, will be exhibited before the critical eyes of millions of stupid
workmen, reformed drunkards, sad-faced women and wiggling
children--not in dignified attitudes, mind you, but scurrying from what
they supposed was an imminent danger."
"I hope it will do the poor things good to see us," retorted Patsy. "To be
strictly honest, Beth, we were not trapped at all; we were the victims of
circumstances. When I remember