Aunt Janes Nieces Out West | Page 9

out."
They passed a group of low but extensive frame buildings, threading
their way between them until finally they emerged within a large open
space where huge frames covered with canvas were propped up in
broad daylight and apparently in great disorder. Huddled here and there
were groups of people wearing Oriental costumes of the Bible days,
their skins stained brown, the make-up on their faces showing
hideously in the strong light. A herd of meek donkeys, bearing burdens

of faggots, was tethered near by.
"Follow me closely," cautioned their guide, "so you will not step over
the 'dead line' and get yourselves in the picture."
"What is the 'dead line'?" inquired Uncle John.
"The line that marks the limit of the camera's scope. Outside of that you
are quite safe. You will notice it is plainly marked in chalk."
They passed around to the front and were amazed at the picture
disclosed by the reverse of the gaunt, skeleton-like framework. For now
was displayed Solomon's temple in all its magnificence, with huge
pillars supporting a roof that seemed as solid and substantial as stone
and mortar could make it.
The perspective was wonderful, for they could follow a line of vision
through the broad temple to a passage beyond, along which was
approaching a procession of priests, headed by dancing girls and
musicians beating tomtoms and playing upon reeds. The entire scene
was barbaric in its splendor and so impressive that they watched it
spellbound, awed and silent.
Yet here beside them was the motion-picture camera, clicking steadily
away and operated by a man in his shirt-sleeves who watched the scene
with sharp eyes, now frowning and now nodding approval. Beside him
at times, but rushing from one point to another just outside the
chalk-marks that indicated the "dead line," was the director of this
production, who shouted commands in a nervous, excited manner and
raged and tore his hair when anything went wrong.
Something went very wrong presently, for the director blew a shrill
blast on his whistle and suddenly everything stopped short. The camera
man threw a cloth over his lenses and calmly lighted a cigarette. The
procession halted in uncertainty and became a disordered rabble; but
the director sprang into the open space and shouted at his actors and
actresses in evident ill temper.

"There it is again!" he cried. "Five hundred feet of good film, ruined by
the stupidity of one person. Get out of that priest's robe, Higgins, and
let Jackson take your place. Where's Jackson, anyhow?"
"Here," answered a young man, stepping out from a group of
spectators.
"Do you know the work? Can you lead that procession into the temple
so they will leave room for Delilah to enter, and not crowd her off the
platform?" asked the director.
Jackson merely nodded as he scrambled into the priest's robe which the
discomfited Higgins resigned to him. Evidently the bungling actor was
in disgrace, for he was told to go to the office and get his pay and then
"clear out."
So now the procession was sent back into the passage and rearranged in
proper order; the signal was given to begin and in an instant the camera
renewed its clicking as the operator slowly revolved the handle that
carried the long strip of film past the lenses. The musicians played, the
girls danced, the procession slowly emerged from the passage.
This time it advanced properly and came to a halt just at the head of the
staircase leading up to the entrance to the temple.
"Delilah!" shouted the director, and now appeared a beautiful girl who
made a low obeisance to the chief priest.
"Why--goodness me!" cried Patsy. "It's--it's Maud Stanton!"
"Nonsense!" returned Arthur, sharply; and then he looked again and
drew a long breath; for unless it were indeed the elder niece of Mrs.
Montrose, there must be two girls in the world identically alike.
Mr. Werner settled the question by quietly remarking: "Of course it's
Maud Stanton. She's our bright, particular star, you know, and the
public would resent it if she didn't appear as the heroine of all our best
pictures."

"An actress!" exclaimed Arthur. "I--I didn't know that."
"She and her sister Flo are engaged by us regularly," replied Werner,
with an air of pride. "They cost us a lot of money, as you may imagine,
but we can't afford to let any competitor have them."
If Arthur Weldon felt any chagrin at this, discovery it was not in the
least shared by the others of his party. Beth was admiring the young
girl's grace and dignity; Patsy was delighted by her loveliness in the
fleecy, picturesque costume she wore; Louise felt pride in the fact that
she had been introduced to "a real actress," while Uncle John wondered
what adverse