Movie Makers (Jan-Dec 1930)

»I«»'«'HE IMi;%K.EBK» HE HURRIED TO HIS PLANE ANR RE TURNED WITH A PECULIAR LOOKING INSTRUMENT which passed under his chin. And on his back was a huge pack that vaguely resembled King Arthur's missing picture-box. As the knights stood staring, torn between curiosity and fright, the man pushed back the huge eye-holes of his hat, unbuckled the strap under his chin and strode toward the assembled throng. "Well," he said, smiling, "here we are." The King breathed a sigh of relief as the man spoke. This strange visitor was not unlike Sir Boss but one could not afford to be too cordial to total strangers. Besides, the King's presence of mind was growing in proportion to the increasing presence of his knights as they came out of hiding and joined him. Accordingly, he advanced and, in a voice intended to be stentorian, said, "Well?" "Bone swor the hamlet," said the stranger, smiling again. "Where's the Eiffel Tower?" King Arthur fell back a pace at this. He didn't understand, but the embattled towers of Camelot had always been a source of great pride to him. He swung his hand in an arc that included them all and his chest swelled until his armor squeaked. "There — all about you." The stranger squinted and looked from tower to tower. Then he pushed his queer-shaped hat to one side and scratched his head. He turned to the King. "What the devil!" he said, "ain't this Paris?" The King and his knights looked from the stranger to one another and back again. Then, in unison, they cried softly, "Paris?" It was the stranger's turn to stare. He muttered to himself. "Say! This isn't Hollywood, is it?" Again they looked askance. "Hollywood?" A puzzled look came over the stranger's face. "Well, I'll be — Say! Where in Hell am I, anyway?" King Arthur's armor clanked as he straightened sharply. He looked the stranger straight in the eye. "You are not in Hell, sir," he said, shortly. "You are in Camelot." The stranger looked around again. "There's a chance for a dirty dig. But tell me — where is Camelot? And who are you?" The King's armor clanked again. "I, good sir, am Arthur, ruler of Camelot," he said proudly. He paused a moment. Then — "And who are you, sir?" The stranger clicked his heels together and saluted sharply. "I, sir, am Edward Perkins, aviator extraordinary and, it seems, erstwhile New York-toParis flyer. I-I must have lost my bearings." His eye swept the curious faces and the shining armor of the assembled knights. Then — "As a matter of fact, I'm sure of it." "Sure of what?" "Sure that I lost my bearings." "You mean that you are lost?" "Nothing else but." "Then," said the King, "come with me to the Round Table and sit with me over a mug of the hnest ale my kingdom affords. Let me tell you of Camelot. And you, in turn, tell me of .Sir Boss and his people. Come, sir!" As they seated themselves at the Round Table, a page appeared with two mugs of ale. Arthur lifted his mug. "To Edward Perkins," he said, heartily, ■" — and to Sir Boss!" Perkins raised his hand. "Wait a minute!" he commanded. "What makes this ale smell so musty? Is it spiked?" The King looked bewildered. "Spiked?" he repeated, wonderingly. "Yeah — etherized, y' know. It smells kinda funny — sorta musty like. And a fellow's got to be 'careful these days, old thing." The King bent forward and sniffed long and vigorously of Perkins' mug. "Odds bodkins, fellow!" he cried, "that ale's the cream of the kingdom's kegs. It hath been in the wood these sixteen years or more. And — " "Pre-prohibition, eh?" Again the King looked bewildered. "Pre-what?" Perkins perked up. "Don't you know what Prohibition is?" The King shook his head. "I never — " "Never mind, old thing, here's luck." He raised his mug and drained it. When he placed the empty mug on the table, a beatific expression came over his face and he sighed happily. "Gad!" he muttered, "a barrel of that would be worth a fortune in New York. I think I'll stay a while in Cam — what did you say the name of this place is?" King Arthur was proud of Camelot and, ere he had sketched its history in detail, the count of emptied mugs stood even at ten each. At the twelfth mug, King Arthur began the discussion of state secrets. And at the fourteenth, he drew his chair closer to that of Perkins, looked cautiously about the room, and dropped his voice to a whisper. "Today," he confided, "I have suffered a great loss. Perhaps you can help me recover it." Perkins roused. "Whhic-what was it, old sock?" "The only picture-box in my entire kingdom — a gift from Sir Boss. And I shall miss it sorely next week — sorely, indeed." He dropped his head to his hand and seemed on the verge of tears. PERKINS EXPOSED EVERY LAST INCH OF HIS FILM Perkins lifted his feet to the Round Table and settled back. "By picturebox, you mean a camera?" "I know not what you call it," replied the King, "but with plates of glass and egg-whites and silver I can make images of people and things." (Continued on page 46) 31