The Moving Picture Girls in War Plays
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Laura Lee Hope >> The Moving Picture Girls in War Plays
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THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS
Or
The Sham Battles at Oak Farm
by
LAURA LEE HOPE
Author of "The Moving Picture Girls," "The Moving Picture
Girls at Sea," "The Outdoor Girls Series,"
"The Bobbsey Twins Series," "The Bunny
Brown Series," Etc.
Illustrated
The Saalfield Publishing Co.
Akron, Ohio New York
Made in U.S.A.
Copyright, 1916, by
Grosset & Dunlap
[Illustration: "HERE THEY COME!" YELLED PAUL, AS THE FIRST OF THE
SOLDIERS CAME INTO VIEW--_Page 78._
_The Moving Picture Girls in War Plays._]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE OLD NEWSPAPER 1
II OFF FOR OAK FARM 11
III HARD AT WORK 21
IV A REHEARSAL 30
V A DARING RIDER 40
VI A NEEDED LESSON 48
VII ESTELLE'S LEAP 61
VIII A MASSED ATTACK 70
IX MISS DIXON'S LOSS 79
X LIEUTENANT VARLEY 87
XI WONDERINGS 97
XII AN INTERRUPTION 103
XIII FORGETFULNESS 111
XIV IN THE SMOKE 120
XV THE HOSPITAL TENT 130
XVI A RETAKE 137
XVII ESTELLE'S STORY 143
XVIII "WHAT CAN WE DO?" 149
XIX A BIG GUN 158
XX A WRONG SHOT 164
XXI THE BIG SCENE 171
XXII ALICE DOES WELL 179
XXIII A BAD FALL 186
XXIV A DENIAL OF IDENTITY 192
XXV REUNION 199
THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS
IN WAR PLAYS
CHAPTER I
THE OLD NEWSPAPER
"There, I think I have everything in that I'll need at Oak Farm."
"Everything! Good gracious, Ruth, how quickly you pack! Why, I've oceans
and oceans of things yet to go into my trunk! Oh, there are my scout
shoes. I've been looking everywhere for them. I'll need them if I do any
hiking in those war scenes," and Alice DeVere dived under a pile of
clothing, bringing to light a muddy, but comfortable, pair of walking
shoes. "I don't know what I'd do without them," she murmured.
"Alice!" cried Ruth, her sister, and the shocked tone of her voice made
the younger girl look up quickly from the contemplation of the shoes.
"Why, what have I done now?" came in rather injured accents. "I'm sure I
didn't use any slang; and as for not having all my things packed as
quickly as you, why, Ruth, my dear, you must remember that you are an
exception--the one that proves the rule."
"I didn't say you used any slang, Alice dear. Nor did I intimate that
you were behind in your packing. I'll gladly help you. But it---- Those
shoes!" and she pointed a finger dramatically at the "brogans," as Alice
sometimes called them.
"Those shoes? What's the matter with them? They're a perfectly good
pair, as far as I can see; and they're mighty comfortable."
"Oh, Alice--mighty?"
"Well, I can't get over using such words, especially since we heard so
many strong expressions from the sailors when we were in those sea
films. Mine sound weak now. But what's the matter with the shoes, Ruth?"
"They're so muddy, dear. They will soil all your pretty things if you
put them in your trunk in that condition. You don't want that, do you?"
"I should say not--most decidedly! Especially since pretty things with
me last about one day. I don't see how it is you keep yours so nice and
fresh, Ruth."
"It's because I'm careful, dear."
"Careful! Bosh! Care killed a cat, they say. I'm sure I'm careful,
too---- Oh, here's that lace collar I've been looking everywhere for!"
She made a sudden reach for it, there was a ripping, tearing sound, and
Alice was gazing ruefully at a rent in the sleeve of her dress.
"Oh, for the love of trading stamps!" she ejaculated.
"Alice!" gasped Ruth.
"Well, I don't care! I had to say something. Look at that rip! And I
wanted to wear this dress to-day. Oh----"
"That's just it, Alice," interrupted Ruth, in a gentle, chiding voice.
"You are too impulsive. If you had reached for that lace less hurriedly
you wouldn't have torn your dress. And if you took care of your things
and didn't let your laces and ribbons get strewn about so, they would
last longer and look fresher. I don't want to lecture----"
"I know you don't, you old dear!" and Alice leaned over--they were both
sitting on the floor in front of trunks--and made a motion as though to
embrace her sister. But a warning rip caused her to desist, and, looking
over her shoulder, she found her skirt caught on a corner of the trunk.
"There! Did you ever?" she cried. "I can't even give you a
sisterly hug without pulling myself to pieces. I'm all
upset--excited--unstrung--Wellington Bunn doing Hamlet isn't to be
compared to me. I must get straightened out."
"I guess that's it--you're all tangled up in your packing," said Ruth,
with a laugh. "Truly, I don't mean to lecture, Alice, but you must go a
bit slower."
"Not with this packing--I can't, and be ready in time. Why! you are all
prepared to go. I'll just throw the things into my trunk and----"
"Now, don't do that. Don't throw things in. You can put in twice as much
if you lay the things in neatly. I'll help you. But--oh, dear----!"
Ruth made a gesture of despair.
"What's the matter now? What are you registering?" and Alice used the
moving picture term for depicting one of the standard emotions. The
girls were both moving picture actresses.
"I'm trying to register dismay at the muddy state of those scout shoes,
as you call them, Alice. They may be nice and comfortable, as you say,
and really they do look so. And I have no doubt you will find them
useful if we have to do much tramping over the hills of Oak Farm.
But----"
"Oh, we'll have to do plenty of hiking, as Russ Dalwood warned us,"
Alice put in. "You know, there are to be several Civil War plays filmed,
and they didn't have automobiles or motor cycles to get about on in
those days. So we'll have to walk. And it will be over rough ground, so
I thought these shoes would be just the thing."
"They will, Alice. I must get a pair myself, I think. But I was just
wondering how you got them so terribly muddy. How did you?"
"Oh, Paul Ardite and I were in that Central Park scene the other day.
You know, 'A Daughter of the Woods,' and some of the scenes were filmed
in the park. It was muddy, and I didn't get a chance to have the brogans
cleaned, for I had to jump from the park into the ballroom scene of 'His
Own Enemy,' and there was no time. We had to retake in that scene
because one of the extras was wearing white canvas shoes instead of
ballroom slippers, and the director didn't notice it until the film was
run out in the projection room.
"So that accounts for the mud on the shoes, Ruth. But I suppose I can
'phone down to the janitor and have him send them out to the Italian at
the corner. He'll take the mud off."
"No, I don't know that you can do that, Alice. We haven't any too much
time. If I had an old newspaper, I could wrap the shoes up in that for
you, and pack them in the bottom of your trunk. Then the mud wouldn't
soil your clothes."
"An old newspaper? Here's a stack of them. Daddy just brought them from
his room. Guess he's going to throw them away."
Alice reached up to a table and lifted the top paper from a pile near
the edge. She opened it with a flirt of her hand and was about to wrap
the muddy shoes in it when some headlines on one page caught her
attention. She leaned eagerly forward to read them, and spent more than
a minute going over the article beneath.
"Well," remarked Ruth finally, with a smile, "if you're going to do
that, Alice, you'll never get packed. What is it that interests you?"
"This, about a missing girl. Why, look here, Ruth, there's a reward of
ten thousand dollars offered for news of her! Why, I don't remember
seeing this before. Look, it's quite startling. A San Francisco
girl--Mildred Passamore--mysteriously disappears while on a train bound
for Seattle--can't find any trace of her--parents distracted--they've
got detectives on the trail--going to flood the country with photographs
of her--all sorts of things feared--but think of it!--ten thousand
dollars reward!"
"Let me see," and in spite of the necessity for haste in the packing,
Ruth DeVere forgot it for the moment and came to look over her sister's
shoulder to read the account of the missing California girl.
"It is strange," murmured Ruth. "I don't remember about that. I wonder
if she could be around here? The New York police are wonderful in
working on mystery cases."
"But the funny part of it is," said Alice, "that I haven't noticed
anything about it in the New York papers. Have you? This is a San
Francisco paper. Naturally they'd have more about it than would the
journals here. But even the New York papers would have big accounts of
such a case, especially where such a large reward is offered."
"That's so," agreed Ruth. "I wonder why we haven't seen an account of it
in our papers. I read them every day."
"What's that? An account of what? Have the papers been missing
anything?" asked a deep, vibrating voice, and an elderly man came into
the girls' room and regarded them smilingly.
"Oh, hello, Daddy!" cried Alice, blowing him a kiss. "I'm almost ready."
"Hum, yes! You look it!" and he laughed.
"It's this, Daddy," went on Ruth, holding out the paper. "We were going
to wrap Alice's muddy shoes in this sheet, when we happened to notice an
account of the mysterious disappearance of a Mildred Passamore, of San
Francisco, for whom ten thousand dollars reward is offered. There has
been nothing in the New York papers about it."
Mr. DeVere, an old-time actor, and now employed, with his daughters, by
a large motion picture concern, reached forth his hand for the paper.
He gave one look at the article, and then his eyes went up to the
date-line. He laughed.
"No wonder there hasn't been anything in the New York papers of to-day
about this case," he said. "This paper is four years old! But I remember
the Passamore case very well. It created quite a sensation at the time."
"Poor girl! Was she ever found?" asked Ruth.
"Why, yes; I believe she was," said Mr. DeVere, in rather dreamy tones.
He was looking over other articles in the paper.
"Who got the reward?" asked Alice.
"Eh? What's that?" Her father seemed to come back from a mental journey
to the past.
"I say, who got the reward?"
"What reward?"
"Why, Daddy! The one offered for the finding of Miss Passamore. The girl
we just told you about--in the paper--ten thousand dollars. Don't you
remember?"
"Oh, yes. I was thinking of something else I just read here. Oh, the
reward! Well, I suppose the police got it. I don't remember, to tell you
the truth. I know that her disappearance at the time created quite a
sensation."
"And are you sure she was found?"
"Oh, yes, quite sure. Look here!" and with a smile on his face he
leaned forward, one rather fat finger pointing to the article he had
just been reading. "I was wondering how you girls got hold of this old
back-number paper, but I see it's one of several I saved because they
had printed notices of my acting. This is a very good and fair criticism
of my work when I was appearing in Shakespearian drama--a very fair
notice, ahem!" and Mr. DeVere leaned back in his chair, a gratified
smile on his face.
"A fair notice! I should say it was!" laughed Alice. "It does nothing
but praise you, and says the others offered you miserable support."
"Well, it was fair to _me_," said Mr. DeVere. "Yes, I remember that tour
very well. We were in California at the time of this Miss Passamore's
disappearance. Helen Gordon was my leading lady then. Ah, yes, that was
four years ago."
"No wonder there wasn't anything in to-day's New York papers," said
Alice. "Well, let me wrap up my shoes, and I'll try to have this packing
done in time to get out to Oak Farm."
"Yes, I just stopped in to see how you were coming on," put in her
father. "Mr. Pertell wants to get started, and it won't do to disappoint
him. There are to be several thousand men and horses in the production,
and the bill for extras will be heavy."
"I'll hustle along, Daddy!" cried Alice. "Do you want that paper?"
"No, you may take it. I'll just tear out this page with the theatrical
notice of myself."
He handed the remainder of the paper to his daughter, who, with the help
of her sister, wrapped up the muddy shoes.
Then the girls proceeded with the putting in of other articles and
garments that would be needed during their stay at Oak Farm.
"I wonder----" began Alice, when there came a knock on their door, and a
voice demanded:
"I say, girls!--are you there?"
"Yes, Russ. Come on in!" answered Alice.
"Oh, and with the room looking the way it is!" remonstrated Ruth.
"Can't be helped. Russ knows what packing is," Alice declared, as a
tall, good-looking young man entered.
"Come on!" he cried. "No time to lose."
"What's the matter? Is the place on fire?" asked Ruth.
"No. But there's got to be a retake in that last scene of 'Only a
Flivver,' and Mr. Pertell sent me to get you. It won't take long, but
they're in a hurry for it. Come on! Paul is waiting outside in the
machine and I've got the camera. Hustle!"
CHAPTER II
OFF FOR OAK FARM
"What's that, Russ? A retake?" asked Alice.
"Yes, of that auto scene in the park."
"Is that the one I'm in?" Ruth inquired.
"Yes. You're both in it, and so is Paul. It's the scene where Mr. Bunn
is struck by the auto mud-guard--not hurt, you know, and you, Ruth, jump
out to give first aid."
"What's the matter with the scene?" asked Alice. "I certainly struck him
all right with the mud-guard."
"Yes, that part was all right," Russ admitted. Alice had been running
the automobile in the scene.
"And didn't I do my first aid business well?" Ruth demanded.
"Yes," Russ acknowledged. "Your part came out perfect. But just at the
critical moment--you know, where Mr. Bunn was supposed to think he was
dying and wanted to right the wrong he had done in cutting his daughter
off in his will with only a dollar--some boys got in the way of the
camera. They were outsiders, butting in, the way they always do when we
film stuff in the park. It wouldn't have been so bad, only one of the
youngsters began to pull off some funny stuff right in range of Mr.
Bunn's agonized face. I didn't see him at the time, or I'd have stopped
the running of the film. It was only when we got it in the projection
room that we discovered it.
"So Mr. Pertell ordered a retake of that one scene, and it's got to be
done in a hurry. It won't take long. Mr. Bunn will meet us in the park.
Be sure and wear the same things you had on that day. It won't do to
have you get out of the auto in one dress, Ruth, and, a second later,
kneel down beside Mr. Bunn in a gown entirely different."
"All right, Russ, I'll be careful."
"Oh, dear! But my packing!" sighed Alice. "I'll never get it done, and
we must start for Oak Farm----"
"Mr. Pertell will have to make allowances," said Russ, quickly. "Come
on--move the boat! You won't be needed in the real war scenes for a
couple of days, anyhow, though I suppose there'll be rehearsals. But it
can't be helped. This retake is holding up the whole film, and it's to
be released next week."
Delaying only long enough to put on the proper dresses and to tell their
father where they were going, Ruth and Alice DeVere were soon on their
way to Central Park, where the scene was to be filmed, or photographed
over again--a "retake," as it is called, the bane alike of camera men
and directors.
And while the girls--the moving picture girls--are on their way to do
over a bit of work, I shall take the opportunity of telling my new
readers something about Ruth and Alice DeVere.
I have called them just what they are: "The Moving Picture Girls," and
that is the title of the first volume of this series, which depicts them
and their adventures.
Their mother had died some years previously, leaving them to the care of
their father, Hosmer DeVere, at one time a talented actor in the
legitimate drama. But a throat affection forced him to give up his
acting and, at the opening scene in the first volume, we find him and
his daughters in rather straitened circumstances, living in a
second-rate apartment house in New York.
Across the hall dwelt Russ Dalwood, with his mother. Russ was a "camera
man." That is, he took moving pictures in the big studios and out of
doors for the Comet Film Company, of which Mr. Frank Pertell was manager
and director.
It was Russ who suggested to Mr. DeVere a way out of his troubles. He
could not act in the "legitimate," as his voice was gone; but no voice
is needed to appear on the films for the movies, since a mere motion of
the lips suffices, when any speaking is to be done. The "silent drama"
has been the salvation of many an actor who, if he had to declaim his
lines, would be a failure.
At first Mr. DeVere would not hear of acting before the camera, but he
soon came to know that greater actors than he had fallen in line with
the work, especially since the pay was so large, and finally he
consented. An account of his success and of the entrance of his
daughters into the field is given in the initial book.
Ruth, the elder girl, was, like her father, of a romantic turn. Also she
was rather tall and willowy, as Mr. DeVere had been before he had taken
on flesh with the passing of the years; and she was cast for parts that
suited her type. She was deliberate in her actions, and in "registry."
Alice, like her late mother, was warm-hearted and impulsive, plump,
vivacious and full of fun. Both girls were excellent movie actresses. In
the company they had joined was Mr. Wellington Bunn, an old actor, who
hoped, some day, to appear in Hamlet--Hamlet in the legitimate.
Paul Ardite, who played light parts, had become very fond of Alice.
Russ Dalwood had a liking for Ruth, and the four had many pleasant hours
in each other's company.
Pearl Pennington was the leading lady at times, and was rather disposed
to domineer over our girls, as was her chum, Laura Dixon. Mrs. Maguire
was the "mother" of the film company. She portrayed old lady parts, and
her two grandchildren, Tommie and Nellie, the orphans, were cast for
characters suitable to them.
Carl Switzer, a German-American, did comedy parts and was a good fellow,
though occasionally he would unconsciously say some very funny things.
His opposite in character was Pepper Sneed, the grouch of the company.
But Pepper could do valuable work, especially as a villain, and so he
was kept on. As for Pop Snooks, the company could not have got along
without him. It was Pop, the property man of the company, who made many
of the devices used when the company went to "Oak Farm," as told in the
second volume, where scenes for farm dramas were filmed. Pop could use a
drawbridge in one scene, and, in the next, convert it into a perfectly
good cow-barn. Pop was a valuable man.
There were other members of the company, of more or less importance,
whom you will meet as this story progresses.
It was in the third volume of the series, "The Moving Picture Girls
Snowbound," that Ruth and Alice succeeded in getting "the proof on the
film" that saved Mr. DeVere from an unjust charge.
From the cold and frostiness of Deerfield the girls went to Florida,
where "Under the Palms," many stirring acts were filmed. It was here
that Alice and Ruth helped find two girls who were lost in the wilds of
the Everglades.
"The Moving Picture Girls at Rocky Ranch" gave Ruth and Alice a taste of
cowboy life, and though rivals tried to spoil some of the valuable
films, they were not altogether successful, even though a prairie fire
figured in their schemes.
The girls, with their father, had recently returned from a perilous
trip. This is told about in the volume immediately preceding the one you
are reading--"The Moving Picture Girls at Sea." In that Alice and Ruth
proved, not only their versatility as actresses, but also that they
could be brave and resourceful in the face of danger. And they more than
repaid the old sailor, Jack Jepson, who saved their lives, by doing him
a good turn.
"Well, life at Oak Farm will be vastly different from that on the _Mary
Ellen_," remarked Alice, as she looked from the automobile as it swung
along through the New York streets on the way to the park.
"Yes," agreed her sister. "But I like it up there."
"There are going to be some strenuous times," said Paul. "We've got to
do some hustling work."
"All the better," declared Russ. "I like to keep the film running. This
sitting about all day and reeling off only ten feet makes me tired."
"You like action!" laughed Ruth.
"Yes; and plenty of it."
Oak Farm was the property of the Apgars. There was Mr. Belix Apgar, the
father, Nance, his wife, and Sandy, an energetic son. The farm was
located in New Jersey, about forty miles from New York, and it provided
a picturesque background for the scenes evolved by Mr. Pertell and his
company. It was during a scene on the farm, some time before, that a
valuable discovery had been made, which endeared the moving picture
girls and their chums to the Apgars.
"How did Mr. Pertell come to pick out Oak Farm for the war plays?" asked
Ruth, as the automobile bounced along.
"Well, I suggested it to him," answered Russ. "I remembered the
background, and I felt sure we could get all sorts of settings there to
make the proper scenes. There are hills, mountains, valleys, streams,
bridges, waterfalls, cliffs and caves. Everything needed for perfectly
good war dramas."
"How did they come to want that sort of stuff?" asked Paul.
"Oh, war stuff is going big now," Russ answered. "All this talk of
preparedness, you know, the war in Europe, and all that. The public is
fairly 'eating up' war pictures."
"I hope we don't have to fire any guns!" exclaimed Ruth, with a shudder.
"You'll see and hear plenty of 'em fired," Russ told her. "There are to
be some big battle scenes and cavalry charges. But one of you will be
back of the firing line, I believe."
"How is that?" asked Alice.
"Well, one of you girls is to be cast for an army nurse, and the other
will be a spy. The spy has to carry a revolver."
"I'm going to be the spy!" cried Alice, impetuously. "I know how to
shoot a gun."
"I'd rather be the nurse," murmured Ruth, and truly she was better
fitted for that part.
"'A Girl in Blue and A Girl in Gray' is to be the title of the war
play--or at least one of them," went on Russ. "There will be some lively
scenes, and I'll be on the jump most of the time."
"Are you going to film them all?" asked Paul.
"Oh, no. I'm to have several assistants, but I'll be in general charge
of the camera squad. So, girls, look your prettiest."
"They always do that," said Paul.
"Thank you!" came in a feminine duet.
A little later the place where the retake was to be made was reached.
Mr. Bunn was on hand, wearing his air of "Hamletian gloom," as Alice
whispered, and the work of retaking the scenes was soon under way.
This time all went well. Alice drove her "flivver" at Mr. Bunn, who was
properly knocked down and looked after by Ruth. No small boys, with an
exaggerated sense of humor, got in the way, and the girls were shortly
back in their apartment. They had moved to a more pretentious home since
their success in moving pictures, and the Dalwoods had taken an
apartment in the same building.
"And now to get on with my packing!" sighed Alice. "All I am sure of is
that I have my 'brogans' in."
"I'll help you," offered Ruth.
Two days later the Comet Film Company, augmented for the occasion, was
at the depot in Hoboken, ready to take the Lackawanna train out to Oak
Farm, New Jersey, where it nestled in the hills of Sussex County.
"I don't see how they are going to take battle scenes with just this
company," observed Alice, as she surveyed her fellow workers. "And where
are the guns and horses?"
"They'll come up later," Russ informed her. "There are to be two big
companies and a couple of batteries, but they won't be on hand until
they are really needed. It costs too much to keep them when they are not
working."
"Are you all here?" asked Mr. Pertell hurrying along the seats with a
handful of tickets--"counting noses," so to speak.
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