The Moving Picture Girls Snowbound

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"He--he said you were not--quite yourself," spoke Alice gently.

"Oh ho! Another one! So there's two of you here!" laughed the man.
"Well, this certainly is a nice place. I guess I'll stay until the boss
comes back. That is, unless you have the five hundred dollars here, and
want to pay me," he added, with a sickly grin.

"You have been paid once," Ruth insisted.

"I have not--I never was paid!" Dan Merley cried. "I want my money and
I'm going to have it! Do you hear? I'm going to have it, and have it
soon! You tell your father that from me!" and he banged his fist on the
table.

Ruth and Alice looked at each other. The same thought was in both their
minds, and it shone from their eyes. They must leave at once--the door
was slightly open.

"No more monkey business!" cried the unwelcome caller. "I lent your
father that money and he never paid me back. He may say he did; but he
can't prove it. I hold his note, and if he doesn't pay me I'll----"

"What will you do?" interrupted a new voice, and with relief Ruth and
Alice looked up, to see Russ Dalwood entering the room.

"Excuse me," he said to the girls, "I knocked, but you did not seem to
hear. Possibly there was too much noise," and he looked at the man
significantly. "Is there any trouble here?" the young moving picture
operator asked.

"Oh, Russ, make him--make him go!" begged Alice, half sobbing. "He wants
to see my father--it's some sort of unjust money claim--and he wants to
enforce it. Father has gone out----"

"And that's just where this person is going!" announced Russ, advancing
toward the man.

"What's that?" demanded Merley in an ugly tone.

"I said you were going out. It's your cue to move!"

"I don't move until I get my five hundred dollars," answered the
visitor. "I've waited for it long enough."

"My father paid you!" protested Ruth.

"I say he did not!" and again the man banged the table with his fist.

"Well, whether he did or not is a question for you and Mr. DeVere to
settle," said Russ, in firm tones. "You will kindly leave these young
ladies alone."

"I will; eh? Who says so?"

"I do!"

"And who are you?"

"A friend. I must ask you to leave."

"Not until I get my five hundred dollars!"

"Look here!" exclaimed Russ, and, though he spoke in low tones, there
was that in his voice which made it very determined. "You may have a
valid claim against Mr. DeVere, or you may not. I will not go into that.
But he is not at home, and you will have to come again. You have no
right in here. I must ask you to leave."

"Huh! You haven't any right here either. You can't give _me_ orders."

"They are not my orders. This is a request from the young ladies
themselves, and I am merely seeing that it is carried out. You don't
want him here; do you?" he asked, of the two girls.

"Oh, no! Please go!" begged Ruth.

"I want my money!" cried the man.

"Look here!" exclaimed Russ, taking hold of Merley's shoulder. "You will
either leave quietly, or I'll summon a policeman and have you arrested.
Even if you have a claim against Mr. DeVere, and I don't believe you
have, that gives you no right to trespass here. Take your claim to
court!"

"I tell you I want my money now!"

"Well, you'll not get it. You have your remedy at law. Now leave at
once, do you hear?"

"Yes, I hear all right, and you'll hear from me later. I will go to law,
and I'll have my five hundred dollars. I'll bring suit against Mr.
DeVere, and then he'll wish he'd paid me, for he'll have to settle my
claim and costs besides. Oh, I'll sue all right!"

"I don't care what you do, as long as you get out of here!" cried Russ,
sharply, for he saw that the strain was telling on Ruth and Alice.
"Leave at once!"

"Suppose I don't go?"

"Then I'll put you out!"

Russ looked very brave as he said this. Ruth glanced at him, and thought
he had never appeared to better advantage. And between Russ and Ruth
there was--but there, I am getting ahead of my story.

"Are you going?" asked the young moving picture operator, again.

"Well, rather than have a row, I will. But I warn you I'll sue DeVere
and I'll get my money, too. It's all nonsense for him to say he paid me.
Where's his proof? I ask you that. Where's his proof?"

"Never mind about that," returned Russ, calmly. "It's your move, as I
said before. And you can give a good imitation of a moving picture film
showing a man getting out of a room."

With no good grace the man arose clumsily from his chair, and with leers
at Ruth and Alice, who were clinging to each other on the far side of
the room, the visitor started for the door.

"I'll see you again!" he called, coarsely. "Then maybe the laugh will be
on my side. I'm going to have my money, I tell you!"

Russ kept after the man, and walked behind him to the door. There Dan
Merley paused to exclaim, in loud tones:

"You wait--I'll get my money out of DeVere--you'll see!"

Then he stumbled on down the hallway, and Russ quickly closed and locked
the door.

"Oh, Russ!" exclaimed Ruth. Then she sank into a chair, and bent forward
with her head pillowed in her arms on the table.

"There, there," said the young man gently, as he put his hand on her
head. "It's all right--he's gone. Don't be afraid."

"Oh, but what a dreadful man!" cried Alice. "I could----"

"Don't, dear," begged her sister gently, as she raised her head. There
were tears in her eyes. Russ gently slipped his hand over her little
rosy palm.

CHAPTER IV

A FUNNY FILM

For a moment Ruth remained thus, while, Alice, with flashing eyes, stood
looking at the door leading into the hall, as if anticipating the return
of that unpleasant visitor. Then Ruth lifted her head, and with a rosy
blush, and a shy look at Russ, disengaged her hand.

"I--I feel better now," she said.

"That's good," and he smiled. "I don't believe that fellow will come
back. I'll stay here. Is your father out?"

"Yes, and all on account of that horrid man," answered Alice. "Oh, it
was so good of you to come in Russ!"

"I happened to be coming here anyhow," he answered. "When I saw the door
open, and heard what was said, which I could not help doing, I did not
stand on ceremony."

"It was awfully good of you," murmured Ruth, who now seemed quite
herself again. "I suppose you heard what that man said?"

"Not all," he made reply. "It was something about money though, I
gathered. He was demanding it."

"Yes, and after father has already paid it," put in Alice. "That's where
daddy has gone now--to consult Mr. Pertell as to the best course of
action."

Between them, Ruth and Alice told about Dan Merley's claim, and the
injustice of it. Russ was duly sympathetic.

"If I were your father I would pay no attention to his demand," the
young moving picture operator said.

"But suppose he sues, as he threatened?" asked Ruth.

"Let him, and fight the case in court when it comes up. Merley may be
only 'bluffing', to use a common expression."

"But it annoys daddy almost as much as if the case were real, you see,"
said Ruth. "Won't you sit down, Russ? Excuse our impoliteness, but
really we've been quite upset."

"Thanks," he laughed as he took a chair. "You need cheering up. You come
to the studio to-morrow and forget your troubles in a good laugh."

"Why?" asked Alice. "Ruth and I are not down for any parts to-morrow."

"No, but Mr. Switzer is going to do some comic stunts, and Mr. Bunn and
Mr. Sneed are in them with him. There are to be some trick films, I
believe."

"Then we'll go," decided Alice. "I think a laugh would do me good."

Gradually the little fright wore off, and when Mr. DeVere returned
shortly afterward the girls were themselves again, under the happy
influence of Russ.

"What luck, Daddy?" asked Alice, as her father came in. He shook his
head, as she added: "Russ knows all about it," for she gathered that he
might not like to speak before the young man. "What did Mr. Pertell
say?"

"He advised me to wait until Merley made the next move, and then come
and see him again. He said he would then send me to the attorney for the
film company, who would handle my case without charge."

"How good of him!" cried Ruth, impulsively.

"Mr. Pertell gave daddy the same advice Russ gave us," added Alice. "Oh,
it was so good to have him here when that dreadful man came in," she
went on.

"What man?" asked Mr. DeVere, in surprise. "Was someone in here while I
was gone--those camera scoundrels, Russ?"

"No, it was Dan Merley himself!" exclaimed Ruth, "and he was so horrid,
Daddy!" There was a hint of tears in her voice.

"The impertinent scoundrel!" exclaimed Mr. DeVere, in the manner that
had won him such success on the stage. "I shall go to the police
and----"

"No, don't Daddy dear," begged Ruth laying a detaining hand on his arm,
as he turned to the door. "That would only make it more unpleasant for
us. We would have to go to court and testify, if you had him arrested.
And, besides, I don't know on what charge you could cause his arrest. He
really did nothing to us, except to hurt our feelings and scare us. But
I fancy Russ scared him in turn. Don't go to the police, Daddy."

"All right," he agreed. "But tell me all about it."

They did so, by turns, and Mr. DeVere's anger waxed hot against Merley
as he listened. But he realized that it was best to take no rash step,
much as he desired to. So he finally calmed down.

"If I could only prove that I had paid that money," he murmured, "all
would be well. I must make it a point, after this, to be more
business-like. It is like locking the stable door after the automobile
is gone, though, in this case," he added, with a whimsical smile.

Russ remained a little longer, and then took his leave. Ruth saw to it,
even getting up out of bed to do it, that the chain was on the hall
door. For she was in nervous doubt as to whether or not she had taken
that precaution. But she found the portal secure.

"That man might come back in the night," she thought. But she did not
confide her fear to Alice.

Morning revealed a new and wonderful scene. For in the night there had
been a heavy storm, and the ground of Central Park was white with snow.
A little rain had fallen, and then had frozen, and the trees were
encased in ice. Then as the sun shone brightly, it flashed as on
millions of diamonds, dazzling and glittering. Winter had come early,
and with more severity than usual in the vicinity of New York.

"Oh, how lovely!" cried Alice, as she looked out. "I must have a slide,
if I can find a place! Ruth, I'm going to wash your face!"

"Don't you dare!"

But Alice raised the window, and from the sill took a handful of snow.
She rushed over to her sister with it.

"Stop it! Stop it! Don't you dare!" screamed Ruth. Then she squealed as
she felt the cold snow on her cheeks.

"What's the matter with you girls in there?" called Mr. DeVere from his
apartment. "You seem merry enough."

"We are," answered Alice. "I've washed Ruth's face, and I'm going to
wash yours in a minute."

"Just as you like," he laughed. And then he sighed, for he recalled a
time when his girlish wife had once challenged him the same way, when
they were on their honeymoon. For Mrs. DeVere had been vivacious like
Alice, and the younger daughter was a constant reminder to her father of
his dead wife--a happy and yet a sad reminder.

Alice came rushing in with more snow, and there was a merry little scene
before breakfast. Then Mr. DeVere hurried to the film studio, for he was
to take part in several dramas that day.

"I know I'll be late," he said, "for the travel will be slow this
morning, on account of the snow. And I have to go part way by surface
car, as I have an errand on the way down town."

"We're coming down, also," Ruth informed him.

"Why, you're not in anything to-day," he remarked, pausing in the act of
putting on his overcoat. "You're not cast for anything until 'The Price
of Honor,' to-morrow."

"But we're going down, just the same," Alice laughed. "We want to see
some of the funny films."

"Come ahead then," invited Mr. DeVere. "Better use the subway all you
can. Even the elevated will have trouble with all this sleet. Good-bye,"
and he kissed them as he hurried out.

The girls made short shrift of the housework, and then left for the
place where the moving pictures were made.

As I have described in the first book of this series how moving pictures
are taken, I will not repeat it here, except to say that in a special
camera, made for the purpose, there is a long narrow strip of celluloid
film, of the same nature as in the ordinary camera. The pictures are
taken on this strip, at the rate of sixteen a second. Later this film is
developed, and from that "negative" a "positive" is made. This
"positive" is then run through a specially made projecting lantern which
magnifies the pictures for the screen.

As Alice and Ruth got out at the floor where most of the scenes were
made they heard laughter.

"Something's going on," remarked the younger girl.

"And it doesn't sound like Mr. Sneed, our cheerful 'grouch,' either,"
answered Ruth.

As they went in they saw Carl Switzer, the German comedian, climbing a
high step-ladder with a pail of paste in one hand, and a roll of wall
paper in the other. He was in a scene representing a room, which he was
to decorate.

"Is diss der right vay to do it?" Mr. Switzer asked, as he paused half
way up the ladder, and looked at Mr. Pertell.

"That's it. Now you've got the idea," replied the manager. "Begin over
again, and Russ, I guess you can begin to run the film now," for the
young moving picture operator was in readiness with his camera.

"You must tremble, and shake the ladder," advised the manager, who was
also, in this case, the stage director. "You want to register fear, you
see, because you are an amateur paper hanger."

"Yah. Dot's right. I know so leedle about der papering business alretty
yet dot I could write a big book on vot I don't know," confessed Mr.
Switzer.

"All ready now--tremble and shake!" ordered the manager.

The comic film that was being made was a reproduction of a scene often
played in vaudeville theaters, where an amateur paper hanger gets into
all sorts of ludicrous mishaps with a bucket of paste, rolls of paper
and the step ladder. It was not very new, but had not been done for
moving pictures before.

"Here I goes!" called Mr. Switzer. "I am shaking!"

"Good!" encouraged Mr. Pertell. "Now, Mr. Bunn, you come in, as the
owner of the house, to see if the paper hanger is doing his work
properly. You find he is not, for he is going to put the wrong sort of
paper on the ceiling. Then you try to show him yourself."

"Do I wear my tall hat?"

"Oh, yes, of course, and I think Mr. Switzer, you had better let----"

But the directions were never completed, for at that moment, in the
excess of his zeal, Mr. Switzer shook the step ladder to such good
effect that it toppled over and with him on it.

Down he came on top of Wellington Bunn, in all his dignity and the glory
of the tall hat, and paste flew all over, liberally spattering both
actors.

CHAPTER V

A QUEER ACCIDENT

"Get that Russ! Every motion of it!" cried the manager. "That will make
it better than when we rehearsed it. Spatter that paste all over Mr.
Bunn while you're at it, Mr. Switzer."

"Stop! Stop, I say! I protest. I will not have it!"

"Vell, you goin' to git it, all right!" cried the German, and with the
brush he liberally daubed the Shakespearean actor with the white and
sticky stuff. All the other players were laughing at the ridiculous
scene.

"More paste!" ordered Mr. Pertell. "More paste there, Mr. Switzer. Don't
be afraid of it, Mr. Bunn! It's clean!"

"Oh, this is awful--this is terrible!" groaned the tragic actor. "My hat
is ruined."

And such did seem to be the case, for the shining silk tile was filled
with paste, the outside also being well covered.

Mr. Bunn tried to get away from the slapping brush of Mr. Switzer, but
the German was not to be outwitted. The two had fallen to the floor
under the impact of the comic player, and were now tangled up in the
ladder.

"That's good! That's good!" laughed Mr. Pertell. "Get all of that, Russ!
Every bit!"

"I'm getting it!" cried the operator, as he continued to grind away at
the crank of the moving picture camera.

Again Mr. Bunn tried to get up and away, but the ladder, through which
his legs had slipped, hampered him. Then a roll of the paper got under
the feet of both players. It unreeled, and some paste got on it. The
next instant part of it was plastered over Mr. Switzer's face, and,
being unable to see, he pawed about wildly, spattering more paste all
over, much of it getting on Mr. Bunn.

"Better than ever. Use some more of that paper!" ordered the manager.
"Paste some on Mr. Switzer, if you can, Mr. Bunn."

"Oh, I can all right!" cried the older actor. "Here is where I have my
revenge!"

He scooped up a hand full of paste, spread it on a piece of paper, and
clapped it over the face of the German, for that player had removed the
first piece that was stuck on. And thus they capered about in the scenic
room, making a chaos of it.

Russ took all the pictures for the future amusement of thousands who
attended the darkened theaters.

Of course it was horseplay, pure and simple, and yet audiences go into
paroxysms of mirth over much the same things. The love of slap-stick
comedy has not all died out, and the managers realize this.

"I don't know when I've laughed so much," confessed Alice, holding her
aching sides as she sat down near Ruth, when the little comedy was over.

"Nor I, my dear. I think the old saying is true, after all, that 'a
little nonsense, now and then, is relished by the best of men.'"

"This was certainly nonsense," admitted Alice. "Oh, come over and let's
see Miss Pennington and Miss Dixon in that new play--'Parlor Magic.'
It's very interesting, and rather funny."

The two older actresses were to play in a little scene where a young
man--in this case Paul Ardite--attempted to do some tricks he had been
studying. He was supposed to come to grief in making an omelet in a silk
hat, and have other troubles when he tried to take rabbits out of parlor
vases, and such like nonsense.

This was one of the trick films--that is, it was not a straight piece of
work. It depended for its success on the manipulation of the camera, on
substituting dummies for real persons or animals at certain points, the
interposition of films and many other things too technical to put into a
book that is only intended to amuse you.

"How are you?" asked Miss Pennington, as Ruth and Alice came over to
their side of the studio. "You are looking quite well."

"And we are well," answered Alice. "We want to see you act," for the
filming had not yet begun.

"For instruction or amusement?" asked Miss Dixon, and her voice had
something of a sneer in it. She and her chum were not on the most
friendly terms with Ruth and Alice.

"Both amusement and instruction," responded Alice, sweetly--in a doubly
sweet voice under the circumstances. "One can learn from anyone, you
know," and she pretended to be interested in one of the tricks Paul was
practicing while getting ready for the camera.

Alice could say things with a double meaning at times, and probably this
was one of them.

"Oh!" was all Miss Dixon said, and then she called: "Paul, come here;
won't you? I want you to fasten my glove."

"Certainly," he agreed, with a look at Alice which was meant to say: "I
don't want to do this, but I can't very well get out of it."

Paul, I might add, had been quite interested in Miss Dixon before the
advent of Alice, and the vaudeville actress rather resented the change.
She took advantage of every opportunity to make Paul fetch and carry for
her as he had been wont to do.

The parlor magic play was successfully filmed and then, as Alice and
Ruth had some shopping to do, to get their costumes ready for their
appearance before the camera next day, they prepared to leave. They
stopped for a moment, however, to watch their father in his play--"A
Heart's Cavalier." This was rather a pretentious drama, and called for
really good acting, the nature of which appealed to the veteran player.

It was really a delight to watch him, for he gave a finished
performance, and the loss of his voice was no handicap here. He could
whisper the words, or utter them in a low tone, so that the motion of
his lips might be seen by the audience.

If you have ever seen motion pictures, and I am sure you all have, you
know that often you can tell exactly what the characters are saying by
watching the form of their lips.

Deaf persons, who have learned to know what other persons are saying,
merely by watching their lips, are able to "hear" much more than can the
ordinary individual what goes on in moving pictures. In this they have a
distinct advantage.

But of course the story the celluloid film tells is mostly conveyed by
the action of the characters, and Mr. DeVere was an expert in this.

"Good-bye, Daddy," called Alice, when he was out of the scene for a
moment. "We'll be back, and you can take us out to lunch."

"All right," he laughed. "Make your poor old daddy spend his hard-earned
money, will you?"

"You know you're just crazy to do it," said Ruth. "Come on Alice."

The next day called for hard work for both the moving picture girls, and
there were a number of outdoor scenes to do. They were glad of this
change, however.

Some of the scenes Ruth and Alice had parts in, as well as Paul Ardite,
were filmed out in Bronx Park, with the still natural wildness of that
beauty spot as background. One scene was down near the beaver pond, and
with the snow on the ground, and the sleet still on the trees, the
pictures afterward turned out to be most effective. Special permission
had to be obtained to use the camera in the park, there being a rule
against it.

Alice had one part which called for feeding the birds with crumbs
scattered over the snow. And, just when they wanted this not a
bird--even a sparrow--was in sight. In vain they went to different parts
of the park, looking for some, and scattered many crumbs.

"I guess we'll have to give it up, and come back some other time," Russ
said finally. "I don't want to make another trip, either," he went on.
"It wastes so much time, and we're going to be be very busy soon."

"What about those new plans?" asked Ruth.

"They are to be announced to-morrow, I believe," was the answer. "A lot
of snow dramas are to be filmed."

"Good!" cried Alice. "I love the snow."

"Oh, quick! There are some birds!" called Ruth. "See, over there, Alice.
Scatter the crumbs!"

Russ had them in his pocket in readiness, and soon the snow was covered.
The birds did their part well, and as Alice stood near them, throwing
crumbs to the hungry sparrows and starlings, they fluttered about her,
and flocked at her feet.

"Good!" cried Russ, who was busy with the camera. "It couldn't be
better. This will make a fine film."

Alice presented a pretty picture as she stood there in her furs,
scattering crumbs to the birds, and the little feathered creatures
proved the best sort of actors, for they were not self-conscious, and
did not stop to peer at the camera, the clicking of which they did not
mind in the least.

"Well, that's done; now I think we'll go back," Russ said, when he had
ascertained, by looking at the register on the side of the camera, that
enough feet of the film had been used on that scene. For, in order to
have each scene get its proper amount of space, both as regards time and
length of film a strict watch is kept on how much celluloid is used.

A manager, or director, will decide on the importance of the various
scenes, and then divide up the film, giving so many feet to each act.

The standard length of film is a thousand feet. It comes in thousand
foot reels, but some plays are so elaborate that two, three or even
seven reels have been given up to them. Great scenic productions, such
as "Quo Vadis?" use up many thousand feet of film.

Russ and the two girls, with Paul, started back from the Bronx. They
were to stop in at the studio, but on reaching there the girls found
that their father had gone home, leaving a note saying he was going to
see the doctor about his throat.

"Poor daddy!" murmured Ruth. "He does have such trouble!"

"Has Merley bothered him again?" asked Russ.

"No, he has heard nothing from him," answered Alice. "But daddy worries
about it. Five hundred dollars means more to him now than five thousand
may later. For I hope daddy will get rich some day," she finished, with
a laugh.

The three walked on together to the subway, and got out at the station
nearest their house. On the way they had to cross one of the surface car
lines, and, just as they reached the corner, they heard a shout of alarm
or warning, evidently directed at someone in danger from an approaching
electric car.

"What is it?" cried Ruth, clinging to Alice.

"I don't know," answered the younger girl. "Oh, yes, there it is!" she
cried, pointing.

Three men were on the car tracks, and two of them seemed to be trying to
pull one away, out of the path of an approaching car. The shouts came
from a number of pedestrians who had seen the danger of the man.

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