Movie Pictorial (October 1, 1914)

THE MOVIE PICTORIAL you are the Lama or a submarine or what not! But that is beside the point, which is that Miss Cleveden produced the car. In a day when the army was using every known means of transportation, public or private, that was an achievement in itself. At any rate, it was not long before Taggart was guiding the car, with the girl to point out the road, through the pleasant Hampshire country. By that time it was dusk, but it was the prolonged dusk of England, where there is a real twilight, and night does not suddenly impinge upon day, as it does with us. And everywhere there were uniforms. Khaki, mostly, but there were a few anachronistic survivals of an earlier day. The old red uniforms appeared here and there, as they passed through villages. The girl’s eyes filled with tears at the sight of boys, drilling on the commons. “Volunteers,” she said. “And here—this is nothing! Up in the midlands and the north, in the districts about the factory towns— there’ll you see hundreds for every one down here! There they are massed—packed in.” She shuddered. “And they’re all going to be needed!” she said, with a sigh. “The pity of it! They’ve got to go over there and fight that awful machine the Germans have built up. These—and more. Look!” They were passing a garden, and there four young men were playing tennis—at nine o’clock at night, mind you, and without straining their eyes. “They’ll be going, too,” she said. “They haven’t waked up yet. But they will—and there’s time enough.” It was late when they reached London. And, well as Taggart knew that city, it was hard for him to recognize it. It was the same, and yet vastly different. “The Horse Guards?” said Taggart, suppos- ing she would want to make an immediate report to the War Office. “No. Downing street, please,” she said. “And then—where do you stay here? Or doesn’t it matter?” “Not a bit,” said Taggart “Then, if you’ll go to the Ritz they’ll look after you, no matter how crowded they are,” she said. “Give them this card. They’ll take care of the machine, too. I’ll get home all right. And in the morning I’ll tele- phone to you. You’ve done so much for me. You don’t realize how important it may be. And I can’t tell you. But I’m going to get even, as you Ameri- cans say. I think I can do something for you and your pic- tures.” Taggart bowed as she left the car. “If you can, I’ll be grateful,” he said. “That’s my first duty, of course. But please don’t think you’re un- der any obligation to me.” She smiled and was gone. And Tag- gart turned away. He drove through silent streets, and in a little while Billy Reynolds sat up and protested, sleepily. “You’re not going toward the Ritz,” he complained. “I know that,” said Taggart, cheerfully. “We’ve got some work to do yet. Got to make a test on those films. We may have to retake some of them—especially that dirigible smash.” If Reynolds had been just a little less tired he might have mutinied. But as it was he was so exhausted that he was completely under the domination of Taggart. And before they went to the Ritz he had visited the London office of Taggart’s company, aroused the man who was there on night duty, and developed enough film to know that they had wasted little or none. Then, with a new outfit to take the place of the one they had abandoned in Switzer- land, they went to the Ritz and to sleep. The Ritz had turned away two hundred that night, but it made room for them—such was the po- tency of the lines scribbled on Miss Cleveden’s card. Try to picture the comfort of that bed! The delight of the luxury that succeeded what they had been enduring since they left Rotterdam for the wild dash along the borders of Alsace and Lorraine, the trip through Switzerland, the adventurous journey through Germany back to Holland and the final crowded crossing of the sea to England! I doubt if you can do it. Taggart got up once, in the night, at a sound in the street that required explanation. He looked down. Pall Mall was full. Down the street, in perfect time, men were marching, men in khaki. There was something different about them. They had neither the volatile manner of the French, nor the heavy, stolid look of German conscripts. But they looked deadly; they looked like men who were off for the front because they wanted to go. They reminded Taggart of a college football team, at home, running out to take the field before its great game of the year. “Good luck!” he cried, softly, from his window. And then he went back to bed, and to sleep— to be aroused, hours later, by the insistent ring- ing of the telephone by his bedside. He an- swered sleepily; the girl’s voice, as fresh as if she had had nothing to tire her, was in his ear. “I made them keep on ringing,” she said. “It’s a shame—but it’s really important, too. Can you be ready, and have had some breakfast in an hour? If you can I’ll come to the hotel, and meet you in the lounge. I have news for you.” “I can,” said Taggart, briefly. “An hour, you say? Good—because it will take me most of that to wake Reynolds up.” He did a little better than that with Reynolds. If there was a scarcity of food in London, as the papers in Berlin had said, the Ritz did not show it. They had a breakfast fit for the gods, though, to be sure, they were in no mood to be critical. So many mornings, of late, had passed without any breakfast at all! And they were waiting for the girl when she appeared. She had changed a good deal; it was plain that she had found comforts, too. “We are to go to the war office directly,” she said, without prelude. “They were quite pleased with what I brought them—though, of course, it was the man who got the information who really did the work. And they’re very grateful to you for the way you helped me through. Do you know, Mr. Taggart, they were looking for you? They’ve heard of you, it seems. Didn’t you try to get permission to go with the army to take pictures?” “Yes,” said Taggart, flushing a little. “And they were so infernally polite I almost thanked them for turning me down! Quite different from the French. They said they’d shoot me if I tried it—so, of course, I knew just where I stood.” “Yes,” said the girl, with a smile. “Well, it seems they thought you might try to get your pictures, anyhow. You did something at an office in Victoria street last night, didn’t you? I think you’ll find a sentry there now!” Taggart stared. “That’s one on me,” he confessed. “One gets to thinking England doesn’t know how to play this war game—ex- cept in the field. But I guess that’s wrong.” “You mean to say they’ve swiped those films?” said Billy Reynolds, interrupt- ing suddenly. His face was red and there was a fierce gleam in his eyes. “I won’t stand for it! They belong to us! I’ll—” Taggart suppressed him. And then, leav- ing Billy behind—- not being a diplomat, he was considered dangerous — Taggart and Miss Cleveden betook themselves to the war office. “You’re going to see Lord Kitchener,” said Miss Cleveden, impressively. “He knows all about you and what you’ve done, so don’t try to tell him anything. Answer his questions —and as briefly as you can. He’ll decide about your films, you see. We’re not quite sure of anything in England—except him. And just now he’s king and prime min- ister and police and the courts of law, all rolled together. He’s the most absolute dictator we’ve ever had—because we all know that he can and will decide things, by himself. It isn’t legal and it isn’t constitutional. But—” “I know,” said Tag- © International News Service The Indian Native Regiments Who Constitute No SmaU Part of England’s Pighting Force