The picture concluded with the scene where Uncle John lifted the body into the automobile and dashed away with it to the hospital.
Maud Stanton, used as she was to seeing herself in motion pictures, was even more impressed than the others when observing her own actions at a time when she was wholly unconscious that a camera-man had his lens focused upon her.
“It’s a great picture!” whispered Flo, as they made their way out of the crowded theatre. “Why can’t all our films be as natural and absorbing as this one?”
“Because,” said her sister, “in this case there is no acting. The picture carries conviction with a force that no carefully rehearsed scene could ever accomplish.”
“That is true,” agreed her Aunt Jane. “The nature scenes are the best, after all.”
“The most unsatisfactory pictures I have ever seen,” remarked Uncle John, “were those of prominent men, and foreign kings, and the like, who stop before the camera and bow as awkwardly as a camel. They know they are posing, and in spite of their public experience they’re as bashful as schoolboys or as arrogant as policemen, according to their personal characteristics.”
“Did you notice the mob of children in that theatre?” asked Patsy, as they proceeded homeward. “I wish there were more pictures made that are suitable to their understandings.”
“They enjoy anything in the way of a picture,” said Arthur. “It isn’t necessary to cater to children; they’ll go anyhow, whatever is shown.”
“That may be, to an extent, true,” said Beth. “Children are fascinated by any sort of motion pictures, but a lot of them must be wholly incomprehensible to the child mind. I agree with Patsy that the little ones ought to have their own theatres and their own pictures.”
“That will come, in time,” prophesied Aunt Jane. “Already the film makers are recognizing the value of the children’s patronage and are trying to find subjects that especially appeal to them.”
They reached the hotel soon after ten o’clock and found “Ajo” seated in the lobby. He appeared much brighter and stronger than the day before and rose to greet Patsy with a smile that had lost much of its former sad expression.
“Congratulate me, Dr. Doyle,” said he. “I’m still alive, and — thanks to your prescription — going as well as could be expected.”
“I’m glad I did the right thing,” she replied; “but we were all a little worried for fear I’d make a mistake.”
“I have just thrown away about a thousand of those food-tablets,” he informed her with an air of pride. “I am positive there is no substitute for real food, whatever the specialists may say. In fact,” he continued more soberly, “I believe you have rescued me a second time from certain death, for now I have acquired a new hope and have made up my mind to get well.”
“Be careful not to overdo it,” cautioned Uncle John. “You ordered a queer supper, we hear.”
“But it seemed to agree with me. I’ve had a delightful sleep — the first sound sleep in a month — and already I feel like a new man. I waited up to tell you this, hoping you would be interested.”
“We are!” exclaimed Patsy, who felt both pride and pleasure. “This evening we have been to see the motion picture of your rescue from drowning.”
“Oh. How did you like it?”
“It’s a splendid picture. I’m not sure it will interest others as much as ourselves, yet the people present seemed to like it.”
“Well it was their last chance to observe my desperate peril and my heroic rescue,” said the boy. “The picture will not be shown after to-night.”
“Why not?” they asked, in surprise.
“I bought the thing this afternoon. It didn’t seem to me quite modest to exploit our little adventure in public.”
This was a new phase of the strange boy’s character and the girls did not know whether to approve it or not.
“It must have cost you something!” remarked Flo, the irrepressible.
“Besides, how could you do it while you were asleep?”
“Why, I wakened long enough to use the telephone,” he replied with a smile. “There are more wonderful inventions in the world than motion pictures, you know.”
“But you like motion pictures, don’t you?” asked Maud, wondering why he had suppressed the film in question.
“Very much. In fact, I am more interested in them than in anything else, not excepting the telephone — which makes Aladdin’s lamp look like a firefly in the sunshine.”
“I suppose,” said Flo, staring into his face with curious interest, “that you will introduce motion pictures into your island of Sangoa, when you return?”
“I suppose so,” he answered, a little absently. “I had not considered that seriously, as yet, but my people would appreciate such a treat, I’m sure.”
This speech seemed to destroy, in a manner, their shrewd conjecture that he was in America to purchase large quantities of films. Why, then, should Goldstein have paid such abject deference to this unknown islander?
In his own room, after the party had separated for the night, Mr. Merrick remarked to Arthur Weldon as they sat smoking their cigars:
“Young Jones is evidently possessed of some means.”
“So it seems,” replied Arthur. “Perhaps his father, the scientific recluse, had accumulated some money, and the boy came to America to get rid of it. He will be extravagant and wasteful for awhile, and then go back to his island with the idea that he has seen the world.”
Uncle John nodded.
“He is a rather clean-cut young fellow,” said he, “and the chances are he won’t become dissipated, even though he loses his money through lack of worldly knowledge or business experience. A boy brought up and educated on an island can’t be expected to prove very shrewd, and whatever the extent of his fortune it is liable to melt like snow in the sunshine.”
“After all,” returned Arthur, “this experience won’t hurt him. He will still have his island to return to.”
They smoked for a time in silence.
“Has it ever occurred to you, sir,” said Arthur, “that the story Jones has related to us, meager though it is, bears somewhat the stamp of a fairy tale?”
Uncle John removed his cigar and looked reflectively at the ash.
“You mean that the boy is not what he seems?”
“Scarcely that, sir. He seems like a good boy, in the main. But his story is — such as one might invent if he were loath to tell the truth.”
Uncle John struck a match and relit his cigar.
“I believe in A. Jones, and I see no reason to doubt his story,” he asserted. “If real life was not full of romance and surprises, the novelists would be unable to interest us in their books.”
CHAPTER XI
A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS
The day had not started auspiciously for the Stanton sisters. Soon after they arrived at the Continental Film Company’s plant Maud had wrenched her ankle by stumbling over some loose planks which had been carelessly left on the open-air stage, and she was now lying upon a sofa in the manager’s room with her limb bandaged and soaked with liniment.
Flo was having troubles, too. A girl who had been selected by the producer to fall from an aeroplane in mid-air had sent word she was ill and could not work to-day, and the producer had ordered Flo to prepare for the part. Indignantly she sought the manager, to file a protest, and while she waited in the anteroom for an audience, Mr. A. Jones of Sangoa came in and greeted her with a bow and a smile.
“Good gracious! Where did you come from?” she inquired.
“My hotel. I’ve just driven over to see Goldstein,” he replied.
“You’ll have to wait, I’m afraid,” she warned him. “The manager is busy just now. I’ve been wiggling on this bench half an hour, and haven’t seen him yet — and my business is very important.”
“So is mine, Miss Flo,” he rejoined, looking at her with an odd expression. Then, as a stenographer came hurrying from the inner room, he stop
ped the girl and said:
“Please take my card to Mr. Goldstein.”
“Oh, he won’t see anybody now, for he’s busy talking with one of our producers. You’ll have to call again,” she said flippantly. But even as she spoke she glanced at the card, started and turned red. “Oh, pardon me!” she added hastily and fled back to the managerial sanctum.
“That’s funny!” muttered Flo, half to herself.
“Yes,” he said, laughing, “my cards are charged with electricity, and they’re bound to galvanize anyone in this establishment. Come in, Miss Flo,” he added, as Goldstein rushed out of his office to greet the boy effusively; “your business takes precedence to mine, you know.”
The manager ushered them into his office, a big room with a busy aspect. At one end were two or three girls industriously thumping typewriters; McNeil, the producer, was sorting manuscript on Goldstein’s own desk; a young man who served as the manager’s private secretary was poring over a voluminous record-book, wherein were listed all the films ever made by the manufacturers of the world. On a sofa in a far corner reclined the injured “star” of the company, Maud Stanton, who — being half asleep at the moment — did not notice the entrance of her sister and young Jones.
“Sit down, Mr. Jones; pray sit down!” exclaimed Goldstein eagerly, pointing to his own chair. “Would you like me to clear the room, so that our conversation may be private?”
“Not yet,” replied the boy, refusing the seat of honor and taking a vacant chair. “Miss Stanton has precedence, and I believe she wishes to speak with you.”
Goldstein took his seat at the desk and cast an inquiring glance at Flo.
“Well?” he demanded, impatiently.
“Mr. Werner has ordered me to do the airship stunt for his picture, because Nance Holden isn’t here to-day,” began the girl.
“Well, why annoy me with such trifles? Werner knows what he wants, and you’ll do as well as the Holden girl.”
“But I don’t want to tumble out of that airship,” she protested.
“There’s no danger. Life nets will be spread underneath the aeroplane,” said the manager. “The camera merely catches you as you are falling, so the thing won’t be more than twenty or thirty feet from the ground. Now run away and don’t bother. I must speak with Mr. Jones.”
“But I’m afraid, Mr. Goldstein!” pleaded the girl. “I don’t want to go up in the aeroplane, and these stunts are not in my line, or what I was engaged to do.”
“You’ll do what I tell you!” asserted the manager, with marked irritation. “I won’t stand for any rebellion among my actors, and you’ll do as Werner orders or you’ll forfeit your week’s pay.”
Here Maud half rose from her sofa to address her employer.
“Please, Mr. Goldstein,” she said, “don’t make Flo do that fall. There are plenty of other girls to take her place, and she — ”
“Silence, Miss Stanton!” roared the manager. “You’ll disrupt all discipline if you interfere. A nice time we’d have here, if we allowed our actors to choose their own parts! I insist that your sister obey my producer’s orders.”
“Quite right, Goldstein,” remarked young Jones, in his quiet voice. “You’ve carried your point and maintained discipline. I like that. Miss Flo Stanton will do exactly what you request her to do. But you’re going to change your mind and think better of her protest. I’m almost sure, Goldstein, from the expression of your face, that you intend to issue prompt orders that another girl must take her place.”
Goldstein looked at him steadily a moment and the arrogant expression changed to one of meek subservience.
“To be sure!” he muttered. “You have read my mind accurately, Mr. Jones. Here, Judd,” to his secretary, “find Werner and tell him I don’t approve his choice of Flo Stanton as a substitute for Nance Holden. Let’s see; tell him to put that Moore girl in her place.”
The young fellow bowed and left the room. McNeil smiled slyly to himself as he bent over his manuscript. Jones had gone to Maud’s side to inquire anxiously after her injury.
“I don’t imagine it will amount to much,” she said reassuringly. “Mr. Goldstein wants me to rest quietly until this afternoon, when our new photo-play is to be produced. I’m to do the leading part, you know, and he thinks I’ll be able by that time to get through all right.”
Goldstein overheard this and came toward them, rubbing his hands together nervously.
“That seems unwise, Miss Maud,” objected Jones. “To use your foot so soon might make it much worse. Let us postpone the play until some other time.”
Goldstein’s face was a study. His body twitched spasmodically.
“Oh, Mr. Jones!” he exclaimed; “that’s impossible; it wouldn’t do at all! We’ve been rehearsing this play and preparing for its production for the last two weeks, and to-day all our actors and assistants are here and ready to make the picture. I’ve already postponed it four hours — until this afternoon — to favor Miss Stanton, but, really — ”
“Never mind the details,” interrupted the boy. “I do not consider Miss Stanton able to do her work to-day. Send her back to her hotel at once and order the play postponed until she is able to attend.”
Goldstein was greatly disturbed by this order, issued quietly but in a tone of command that brooked no opposition. Again he glanced shrewdly at the young man, and in the manager’s face astonishment and fear were intermingled.
“Sir,” he said in repressed tones, for he was really angry and had been accustomed to wield the power of an autocrat in this establishment, “you are placing me in an embarrassing position. I am expected to make every day count, so that the Continental may pay a liberal profit to its owners. To follow your instructions would burden us with an enormous expense, quite useless, I assure you, and — ”
“Very well. Incur the expense, Goldstein.”
“All right, Mr. Jones. Excuse me a moment while I issue instructions for the postponement.”
McNeil rose and faced the manager.
“Are you really going to postpone this important play?” he demanded, in a voice of wonder.
Goldstein was glad to vent his chagrin on the producer.
“No insolence, sir!” he roared. “Come with me, and,” as he dragged McNeil to the door and paused there, “if you dare lisp a word of what you’ve overheard, I’ll fire you like a shot!”
When they had left the room Maud said with a puzzled air:
“I can’t understand your power over Goldstein, Mr. Jones. He is a dictator — almost a tyrant — and in this place his word is law. At least, it was until you came, and — and — ”
“Don’t try to understand it, Miss Stanton,” he answered in a careless manner. “Do you think you can manage to crawl to the automobile, or shall we carry you?”
“I’ll bet Goldstein has murdered someone, and Mr. Jones knows all about it!” exclaimed Flo, who had been an interested witness of the scene.
Maud stood up, with her sister’s support, and tested her lame ankle.
“It still hurts a little,” she said, “but I can manage to hobble on it.”
“Get your sister’s wraps,” the boy said to Flo, “and we’ll send her straight home.”
“I expect Goldstein will dock my salary, as well as fine Flo,” remarked Maud musingly, as she waited for her hat and coat. “He obeyed you very meekly, Mr. Jones, but I could see a wicked glitter in his eye, nevertheless.”
“I am sure the manager will neither dock nor fine either of you,” he replied reassuringly. “On the contrary, you might sue the company for damages, for leaving that lumber where you would fall over it.”
“Oh, no,” she returned, laughing at the idea. “We have signed contracts waiving any damages for injuries sustained while at work on the premises. We all have to do that, you know, because the business is hazardous at its best. On the other hand, Mr. Goldstein has a physician and surgeon always within call, in case of accident, and the service is quite free to all the em
ployees.”
He nodded.
“I know. But the fact that you signed such a contract, under compulsion, would not prevent the court from awarding damages, if you sustained them while on duty.”
“This hurt is nothing of importance,” she said hastily. “In a day or two
I shall be able to walk as well as ever.”
Flo came running back with Maud’s things. Aunt Jane followed, saying that if Maud was to go to the hotel she would accompany her and take care of her.
“I’ve examined the ankle,” she said to young Jones, “and I assure you it is not a severe strain. But it is true that she will be better off in her own room, where she can rest quietly. So I will go with her.”
“How about Miss Flo?” asked the boy.
“Flo is very self-reliant and will get along to-day very nicely without me,” replied Mrs. Montrose.
Mr. Goldstein entered, frowning and still resenting the interference of this Mr. A. Jones of Sangoa. But he ventured no further protest nor did he speak until Maud, Flo and Aunt Jane had all left the room.
“You’re not going, Mr. Jones?” he asked.
“Only to see Miss Stanton started for home. Then I’ll come back and have a little talk with you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
CHAPTER XII
PICTURES, GIRLS AND NONSENSE
“Well, Aunt Jane,” said Maud Stanton, when their car was rolling toward the hotel and the girl had related the remarkable interview in the office, “what do you think of Ajo now?”
“He is certainly an amazing young man,” was the reply. “I cannot in any way figure out his connection with Goldstein, or his power over the man. The Continental Film Manufacturing Company is a great corporation, with headquarters in New York, and Mr. Goldstein is the authorized head and manager of the concern on the Pacific coast. I understand his salary is ten thousand a year. On the other hand, young Jones has only been in this country for a year, coming from an insignificant island somewhere in the South Seas, where he was born and reared. Much of the time since he arrived in America he has been an invalid. Aside from this meager information, no one seems to know anything about him.”
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 511
