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The Story-Book Girl
Marjorie Daw. See-Sawed Into Fame By MARGUERITE SHERIDAN
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OU all know how it happened. It was such good press stuff. Marjorie Daw's "great chance," I mean. Farrar was making her first picture, "Carmen," at studio — the tiny, brown-eyed extra-girl who gazed with school-girl worship at the magnificent diva as she immortalized her art in the celluloid — Marjorie, a member of the Pall Mall chorus in the factory scene where Geraldine staged that mighty battle with Jeannie MacPherson — the great singer's interest in the little girl — her request that Cecil De Mille give her a contract — it all reads like a fairy tale, press-agenty in the extreme.
I can just see the cynical and world-weary as they shrugged their thin shoulders on reading this story and sniffed, "Pooh, more hot air !" But being neither cynical nor world-weary, I gloated over it. Personally, if I couldn't be discovered by Mary Pickford, I'd choose Geraldme Farrar as my fairy godmother. And it's ever so m u c h m o r pleasant to ri to fame by "discovery" than to arrive after a h e a breaking sie with hall bed rooms and the usual Cafe L'Enfant sustenance.
But be all this as it may, the little dis
Marjorie Daw as she appeared in 1915, when Geraldine Farrarfirst sawher, and two glimpse of her wit Douglas Fai banks in 1918
covery drama between Geraldine Farrar and Marjorie Daw really happened. The Marjorie of the summer of 1915 was a doll-like child of fourteen, with long brown curls and appealing dark eyes. During vacation, she had played extra parts in some Universal films, and the crowd drifted over to the Lasky studio for some picture or other. She photographed well and proved adaptable, so almost every morning found her waiting for a chance to depict a maid answering a telephone or darting in to hand Leading-Lady Blanche Sweet or Cleo Ridgely her evening coat.
"I was going thru a severe attack of 'admiration' in those days," admits Marjorie, "and it was a great privilege for me to be allowed to serve the feminine stars at the studio. One week I was certain Blanche Sweet was the most wonderful emotional star in the world, and the next I had succumbed to the charms of that lovely woman, Charlotte Walker. The fact that I was acting in motion pictures myself almost escaped my mind. "While Miss Sweet reigned supreme in my heart, I draped my hair across my forehead and imagined myself beautifully pensive, and
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