Picture Play Magazine (Oct-Nov 1915)

Record Details:

Something wrong or inaccurate about this page? Let us Know!

Thanks for helping us continually improve the quality of the Lantern search engine for all of our users! We have millions of scanned pages, so user reports are incredibly helpful for us to identify places where we can improve and update the metadata.

Please describe the issue below, and click "Submit" to send your comments to our team! If you'd prefer, you can also send us an email to mhdl@commarts.wisc.edu with your comments.




We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.

Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.

'Twas Ever Thus (MOROSCO) A. Lincoln Bender This, the second and last part of the picture-play written and starred in by Elsie Janis (the first installment of which was printed in this magazine last week) bears out the contention previously demonstrated in such entertaining style, i. e., that the way of a young man with a maid has not changed throughout the passage of the centuries. The fact that this is the concluding installment of a two-part story need not interfere with your enjoyment of it, if you were so unfortunate as to have missed the first half; for the story below — as a glance at its opening lines will prove — is complete in itself. Sharing the stellar honors in the photo production with Miss Janis, were Owen Moore and Hobart Bosworth. THE sharp staccato of the busy typewriter greeted Marian's ears as she entered the office of the publishing firm of John Rogers & Son. "Is my — have you accepted my manuscript?" she inquired of the young man who sat at the mahogany roll-top desk. He looked up with a pitying sort of glance, and turned to his stenographer. "Let me have that story." Securing it, he passed it to Marian. Her eyes wide in expectation, now dropped with disappointment. "Sorry, miss," said the young man. "Did Mr. Rogers reject this?" she asked. He nodded. "Did he say why?" she pressed. "No. I'll find out for you." He picked up the phone, and an instant later was speaking with the head of the firm. Suddenly he handed the phone to Marian. "He wants to speak with you." With a smile, Marian took the instrument. "Good morning, Mr. Rogers. Yes, I am Marian Foster. What is thai? I write well, but I don't know what I am writing about? I should get the real facts? Oh, thank you. Good-by !" She picked up the manuscript, and walked slowly out the door. "So," she murmured, "he says I should get the real facts, and then write. Well, I shall ! I'll turn out a novel that will set the country wild." In his private office, young John Rogers, junior, loafed in his chair. "Wuf!" he exclaimed. "That was some session last night. I'm not awake yet. Guess I'll call up Cutey." Another five minutes, and he had made an engagement, seized his hat, and started off. Walking slowly along the street, Marian, deep in thought, decided to go after her material firsthand. Marian was dressed as a bride in a portiere pulled from the doorway and a table-cover. An employment agency offered th best inducements. Her turn came almost immediatel) and, through fortune, she did not kno\ whether good or bad, she was assigne to the residence of John Rogers, th, publisher, to secure the position c kitchenmaid. "Here's where I get some inside ir formation," she gleefully told hersel as she made her way to the place wher she was to be employed. Her ears were always open for mz terial for her writings, and the first ir dication of any came that evening s she heard a conversation between fathi and son in the library. "Jack," said Mr. Rogers, senior, really can't see why you don't settl,down. These escapades of yours ar-, becoming tiring. Once it's an actresr then it's the daughter of a coal heave Why, it's — it's unbearable ! Cut it ou my boy!" Jack smiled up into his father's eye "Why, dad," he exclaimed, "it's all i a lifetime. Let me have my fui What's the difference?" Mr. Rogers shook his head in exa: peration. "What's the difference!" I exploded. "Such an answer. Whyyou're incorrigible !" And he stalke out of the room in disgust. Down in the kitchen Marian ran t struggle with the intricate duties of . kitchenmaid. These being over, sh the old couple also employed in tl household, and a visiting policema gathered about. Then Marian "brol loose," and in an instant she had the in stitches at her queer antics. "An imitation of Fred Stone," si announced. "Watch me!"