merton of the movies-第32部分

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ce　in　a　profession　demanding　seriousness　of　purpose。　Still　it　would　be　foolish　to　go　again　to　the　set　where　she　was。　She　might　think　he　was　encouraging　her。

So　he　passed　the　High　Gear；　where　a　four…horse　stage；　watched　by　two　cameras；　was　now　releasing　its　passengers　who　all　appeared　to　be　direct　from　New　York；　and　walked　on　to　an　outdoor　set　that　promised　entertainment。　This　was　the　narrow　street　of　some　quaint　European　village；　Scotch　he　soon　saw　from　the　dress　of　its　people。　A　large　automobile　was　invading　this　remote　hamlet　to　the　dismay　of　its　inhabitants。　Rehearsed　through　a　megaphone　they　scurried　within　doors　at　its　approach；　ancient　men　hobbling　on　sticks　and　frantic　mothers　grabbing　their　little　ones　from　the　path　of　the　monster。　Two　trial　trips　he　saw　the　car　make　the　length　of　the　little　street。

At　its　lower　end；　brooding　placidly；　was　an　ancient　horse　rather　recalling　Dexter　in　his　generously　exposed　bones　and　the　jaded　droop　of　his　head　above　a　low　stone　wall。　Twice　the　car　sped　by　him；　arousing　no　sign　of　apprehension　nor　even　of　interest。　He　paid　it　not　so　much　as　the　tribute　of　a　raised　eyelid。

The　car　went　back　to　the　head　of　the　street　where　its　entrance　would　be　made。　〃All　rightready！〃　came　the　megaphoned　order。　Again　the　peaceful　street　was　thrown　into　panic　by　this　snorting　dragon　from　the　outer　world。　The　old　men　hobbled　affrightedly　within　doors；　the　mothers　saved　their　children。　And　this　time；　to　the　stupefaction　of　Merton　Gill；　even　the　old　horse　proved　to　be　an　actor　of　rare　merits。　As　the　car　approached　he　seemed　to　suffer　a　painful　shock。　He　tossed　his　aged　head；　kicked　viciously　with　his　rear　feet；　stood　absurdly　aloft　on　them；　then　turned　and　fled　from　the　monster。　As　Merton　mused　upon　the　genius　of　the　trainer　who　had　taught　his　horse　not　only　to　betray　fright　at　a　motor　car　but　to　distinguish　between　rehearsals　and　the　actual　taking　of　a　scene；　he　observed　a　man　who　emerged　from　a　clump　of　near…by　shrubbery。　He　carried　a　shotgun。　This　was　broken　at　the　breech　and　the　man　was　blowing　smoke　from　the　barrels　as　he　came　on。

So　that　was　it。　The　panic　of　the　old　horse　had　been　but　a　simple　reaction　to　a　couple　of　charges　ofperhaps　rocksalt。　Merton　Gill　hoped　it　had　been　nothing　sterner。　For　the　first　time　in　his　screen　career　he　became　cynical　about　his　art。　A　thing　of　shame；　of　machinery；　of　subterfuge。　Nothing　would　be　real；　perhaps　not　even　the　art。

It　is　probable　that　lack　of　food　conduced　to　this　disparaging　outlook；　and　he　recovered　presently；　for　he　had　been　smitten　with　a　quick　vision　of　Beulah　Baxter　in　one　of　her　most　daring　exploits。　She；　at　least；　was　real。　Deaf　to　entreaty；　she　honestly　braved　her　hazards。　It　was　a　comforting　thought　after　this　late　exposure　of　a　sham。

In　this　slightly　combative　mood　he　retraced　his　steps　and　found　himself　outside　the　High　Gear　Dance　Hall；　fortified　for　another　possible　encounter　with　the　inquiring　and　obviously　sympathetic　Montague　girl。　He　entered　and　saw　that　she　was　not　on　the　set。　The　bar…room　dance…hall　was　for　the　moment　deserted　of　its　ribald　crew　while　an　honest　inhabitant　of　the　open　spaces　on　a　balcony　was　holding　a　large　revolver　to　the　shrinking　back　of　one　of　the　New　York　men　who　had　lately　arrived　by　the　stage。　He　forced　this　man；　who　was　plainly　not　honest；　to　descend　the　stairs　and　to　sign；　at　a　table；　a　certain　paper。　Then；　with　weapon　still　in　hand；　the　honest　Westerner　forced　the　cowardly　New　Yorker　in　the　direction　of　the　front　door　until　they　had　passed　out　of　the　picture。

On　this　the　bored　director　of　the　day　before　called　loudly；　〃Now；　boys；　in　your　places。　You've　heard　a　shotyou're　running　outside　to　see　what's　the　matter。　On　your　toes；　nowtry　it　once。〃　From　rear　doors　came　the　motley　frequenters　of　the　place；　led　by　the　elder　Montague。

They　trooped　to　the　front　in　two　lines　and　passed　from　the　picture。　Here　they　milled　about；　waiting　for　further　orders。

〃Rotten！〃　called　the　director。　〃Rotten　and　then　some。　Listen。　You　came　like　a　lot　of　children　marching　out　of　a　public　school。　Don't　come　in　lines；　break　it　up；　push　each　other；　fight　to　get　ahead；　and　you're　noisy；　too。　You're　shouting。　You're　saying；　'What's　this？　What's　it　all　about？　What's　the　matter？　Which　way　did　he　go？'　Say　anything　you　want　to；　but　keep　shoutinganything　at　all。　Say　'Thar's　gold　in　them　hills！'　if　you　can't　think　of　anything　else。　Go　on；　now；　boys；　do　it　again　and　pep　it；　see。　Turn　the　juice　on；　open　up　the　old　mufflers。〃

The　men　went　back　through　the　rear　doors。　The　late　caller　would　here　have　left；　being　fed　up　with　this　sort　of　stuff；　but　at　that　moment　he　descried　the　Montague　girl　back　behind　a　light…standard。　She　had　not　noted　him；　but　was　in　close　talk　with　a　man　he　recognized　as　Jeff　Baird；　arch　perpetrator　of　the　infamous　Buckeye　comedies。　They　came　toward　him；　still　talking；　as　he　looked。

〃We'll　finish　here　to…morrow　afternoon；　anyway；〃　the　girl　was　saying。

〃Fine；〃　said　Baird。　〃That　makes　everything　jake。　Get　over　on　the　set　whenever　you're　through。　Come　over　tonight　if　they　don't　shoot　here；　just　to　give　us　a　look…in。〃

〃Can't；〃　said　the　girl。　〃Soon　as　I　get　out　o'　this　dump　I　got　to　eat　on　the　lot　and　everything　and　be　over　to　Baxter's　layoutshe'll　be　doing　tank　stuff　till　all　hoursshipwreck　and　murder　and　all　like　that。　Gosh；　I　hope　it　ain't　cold。　I　don't　mind　the　water；　but　I　certainly　hate　to　get　out　and　wait　in　wet　clothes　while　Sig　Rosenblatt　is　thinking　about　a　retake。〃

〃Well〃Baird　turned　to　go〃take　care　of　yourselfdon't　dive　and　forget　to　come　up。　Come　over　when　you're　ready。〃

〃Sure！　S'long！〃　Here　the　girl；　turning　from　Baird；　noted　Merton　Gill　beside　her。　〃Well；　well；　as　I　live；　the　actin'　kid　once　more！　Say；　you're　getting　to　be　a　regular　studio　hound；　ain't　you？〃

For　the　moment　he　had　forgotten　his　troubles。　He　was　burning　to　ask　her　if　Beulah　Baxter　would　really　work　in　a　shipwreck　scene　that　night　at　the　place　where　he　had　watched　the　carpenters　and　the　men　on　the　sailboat；　but　as　he　tried　to　word　this　he　saw　that　the　girl　was　again　scanning　him　with　keen　eyes。　He　knew　she　would　read　the　collar；　the　beard；　perhaps　even　a　look　of　mere　hunger　that　he　thought　must　now　be　showing。

〃Say；　see　here；　Trouper；　what's　the　shootin'　all　about；　anyway？　You　up　against　ityes。〃　There　was　again　in　her　eye　the　look　of　warm　concern；　and　she　was　no　longer　trying　to　be　funny。　He　might　now　have　admitted　a　few　little　things　about　his　screen　career；　but　again　the　director　interrupted。

〃Miss　Montaguewhere　are　you？　Oh！　Well；　remember　you're　behind　the　piano　during　that　gun　play　just　now；　and　you　stay　hid　till　after　the　boys　get　out。　We'll　shoot　this　time；　so　get　set。〃

She　sped　off；　with　a　last　backward　glance　of　questioning。　He　waited　but　a　moment　before　leaving。　He　was　almost　forgetting　his　hunger　in　the　pretty　certain　knowledge　that　in　a　few　hours　he　would　actually　behold　his　wonder…woman　in　at　least　one　of　her　daring　exploits。　Shipwreck！　Perhaps　she　would　be　all　but　drowned。　He　hastened　back　to　the　pool　that　had　now　acquired　this　high　significance。　The　carpenters　were　still　puttering　about　on　the　scaffold。　He　saw　that　platforms　for　the　cameras　had　been　built　out　from　its　side。

He　noted；　too；　and　was　puzzled　by　an　aeroplane　propeller　that　had　been　stationed　close　to　one　corner　of　the　pool；　just　beyond　the　stern　of　the　little　sailing…craft。　Perhaps　there　would　be　an　aeroplane　wreck　in　addition　to　a　shipwreck。　Now　he　had　something　besides　food　to　think　of。　And　he　wondered　what　the　Montague　girl　could　be　doing　in　the　company　of　a　really　serious　artist　like　Beulah　Baxter。　From　her　own　story　she　was　going　to　get　wet；　but　from　what　he　knew　of　her　she　would　be　some　character　not　greatly　missed　from　the　cast　if　she　should；　as　Baird　had　suggested；　dive　and　forget　to　come　up。　He　supposed　that　Baird　had　meant　this　to　be　humorous；　the　humour　typical　of　a　man　who　could　profane　a　great　art　with　the　atrocious　Buckeye　comedies；　so　called。

He　put　in　the　hours　until　nightfall　in　aimless　wandering　and　idle　gazing；　and　was　early　at　the　pool…side　where　his　heroine　would　do　her　sensational　acting。　It　was　now　a　scene　of　thrilling　activity。　Immense　lights；　both　from　the　scaffolding　and　from　a　tower　back　of　the　sailing…craft；　flooded　its　deck　and　rigging　from　time　to　time　as　adjustments　were　made。　The　rigging　was　slack　and　the　deck　was　still　littered；　intentionally　so；　he　now　perceived。　The　gallant　little　boat　had　been　cruelly　buffeted　by　a　gale。　Two　sailors　in　piratical　dress　could　be　seen　to　emerge　at　intervals　from　the　cabin。

Suddenly　the　gale　was　on　with　terrific　force；　the　sea　rose　in　great　waves；　and　the　tiny　ship　rocked　in　a　perilous　manner。　Great　billows　of　water　swept　its　decks。　Merton　Gill　stared　in　amazement　at　these　phenomena　so　dissonant　with　the　quiet　starlit　night。　Then　he　traced　them　without　difficulty　to　their　various　sources。　The　gale　issued　from　the　swift　revolutions　of　that　aeroplane　propeller　he　had　noticed　a　while　ago。　The　flooding　billows　were　spilled　from　the　big　tank　at　the　top　of　the　scaffold　and　the　boat　rocked　in　obedience　to　the　tugging　of　a　ropetugged　from　the　shore　by　a　crew　of　helpers　that　ran　to　the　top　of　its　mast。　Thus　had　the　storm　been　produced。

A　spidery；　youngish　man　from　one　of　the　platforms　built　out　from　the　scaffold；　now　became　sharply　vocal　through　a　megaphone　to　assistants　who　were　bending　the　elements　to　the　need　of　this　particular　hazard　of　Hortense。　He　called　directions　to　the　men　who　tugged　the　rope；　to　the　men　in　control　of　the　lights；　and　to　another　who　seemed　to　create　the　billows。　Among　other　items　he　wished　more　action　for　the　boat　and　more　water　for　the　billows。　〃See　that　your　tank　gets　full…　up　this　time；〃　he　called；　whereupon　an　engine　under　the　scaffold；　by　means　of　a　large　rubber　hose　reaching　into　the　pool；　began　to　suck　water　into　the　tank　above。

The　speaker　must　be　Miss　Baxter's　director；　the　enviable　personage　who　saw　her　safely　through　her　perils。　When　one　of　the　turning　reflectors　illumined　him　Merton　saw　his　face　of　a　keen　Semitic　type。　He　seemed　to　possess　not　the　most　engaging　personality；　his　manner　was　aggressive；　he　spoke　rudely　to　his　doubtless　conscientious　employees；　he　danced　in　little　rages　of　temper；　and　altogether　he　was　not　one　with　whom　the　watcher