Picture Play Magazine (Oct-Nov 1915)

20 PICTURE-PLAY WEEKLY "No," said the governor, "I suppose you were right, after all." Governor Lawrence's resignation, coming, as it did, upon the heels of Willet's release from prison, was the sensation of the State. The governor, it seemed, had publicly admitted the responsibility for Jim's escape to be his own, and he was to be indicted as an accessory after the fact. In this instance Dame Rumor proved a true prophet. He was indicted. William Lawrence and his wife daily drifted farther apart. He remembered that his wife had once loved Jim, and he was convinced that she still loved him. She, upon her part, was just beginning to realize what her father had meant when he had said that there was sometimes a great difference between brothers. She heard from Jim only once, when he wrote her from Argentina saying that he was in need of money, and alone. As she was reading the letter, Evelyn entered her room, and Helena showed it to her. Evelyn — still bitter over the loss of her lover — turned upon Helena, saying: "It is your fault! You led both of them on. He shot Strong because of you !" Helena knew that this was not true, but the unkind words cut her to the heart, and she began to feel that no one gave her credit for possessing human sensibilities. Her husband was kind, but he was silent. As the governor's trial progressed, she formed her great resolution. She knew that he was shielding her, and that a word from her would set him free. She threw her pride to the winds, and went upon the stand, where she told the whole truth concerning Jim's escape. The governor was acquitted, but he was still strangely quiet in her company. One day she stood beside the lake, looking down into its cool depths and wondering what it must feel like to let oneself down, down into the soft water, and forget everything, when, as if in answer to her question, her husband came quietly to her side and handed her a telegram. Jim was dead! Drowned in Argentina. She read it, dry-eyed. She handed it back to her husband. "I am sorry — for your sake," she said. "Not" — his trembling hand closed over hers — "not for your own?" "Oh, William, does a man never learn to read a woman's heart? I learned long ago that I could never love Jim — never could have loved him ; that there was only one man in the world whom I could love." "And he is?" "My husband !" she whispered, her head against his shoulder. Tributes to a Screen Star /^VNE of the most unusual things that ^— * has developed in the wonderful advance of the moving-picture play is the variety of ways the screen audiences express admiration for their favorites. One only needs to enter Miss Anita Stewart's dainty Brooklyn home, where she resides with her mother, to be immediately aware of the affection felt for her by her hosts of friends — admirers whom she has never seen — but friends, nevertheless, who express their loyalty and friendship by letters and gifts innumerable. Asked how many letters she receives, Miss Stewart replied with the pleasant, natural smile that has endeared her to thousands : "Why, lots and lots of times I receive over six hundred letters in a week, and every one is dear to me. Do you know that one feels that each is from a friend, for it really is a wonderful thing to receive so many expressions of praise from unseen and unknown admirers. "There are so many ways by which I am reminded almost every day that the friends with whom I come in contact are by no means the only friends I have, for often we actresses of the screen receive gifts from those who call us friends ; friends gained through the intimacy of the camera's eye ; and do you know that it is surprising the variety that these gifts take. Only the other day some one sent me a clock for my automobile ; another, learning that I was fond of music, sent me a copy of every "rag" number under the sun. As a matter of fact, tokens of appreciation run from a post card with the words, 'I saw you last night at the opera house,' to offers of sharing the name and fortune of a man I have never seen." One good thing about moving-picture actors is that you never see them posed around the lobbies in front of the theaters— but you see them postered. When "Queenie" Played 1 N Thomas Santschi's new anir * story, "From Out the Jagm Claws," four natives were supposed push a native cart and a leopard ir cage into a scene. Four colored n \ were assigned to the task. They were given their position on I cart, and the scene was started — so v the cart — but its progress was check when "Queenie," the star leopa reached a paw through the cage a struck at the exposed chest of one her "propellers." A loud yell follow Of course, Queenie was only playii and no damage was done, only to t. colored gentleman's equilibrium. T other three men made many amusi comments upon the affair. One as fi lows : "That spotted lady shore reached ou Another responded, "Yas, and dat's she will do to me — just reach out. I gone. Ef you pulled all her teeth a amputated all her toenails an' han cuffed two feet over her back, I would: go near her if she was in a safe! deposit bank with a time lock and I h the key!" Chaplin a Godsend. /^VYER in Scotland, they are era " about Charlie Chaplin, too. Th in spite of the war. A well-known dc tor of Edinburgh, commenting up< this, recently said : "There are some people who are ov raged at the idea of this country goii insane — that is the word they use — ov a motion-picture funny man when \ are in the midst of a terrible wi There are some who think it is an i dication of mental degeneracy far wor than the fiddling of Nero when Ron was burning. Rubbish ! Chaplin h saved more people from physical at mental wreck than a million tonic Personally, I think he's a godsend, r takes the minds of thousands off tl war when thoughts of the war a wearing them to pieces. "Mark my words, the best antido for war worries is a dose of Chaplii his." Are There Any Moore? Jl/I ARY MOORE, the sister of Owe Tom, and Matt Moore, has joint the Lubin forces. She will appear "The Great Divide," which is soon to 1 released by that company.