Photoplay (Jul-Dec 1926)

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Write for testimonials and free booklet, which tells you how to obtain a perfect looking nose. Awarded Prize Medal by big Wembley Exposition. London. England. M. TRILETY, Pioneer Noseshaping Specialist Dept. 2526 Binghamton, N. Y. Teach Children To Use Cuticura Soothes and Heals Rashes and Irritations Cuticura Soap Keeps the Skin "Clear "An' the way it finishes up is this," he explained. " Welford and Opus is chariot drivers which is rivals fo' the hand of the Roman Emp'rer's daughter — which President Latimer hisse'f is gwine to be the Emp-rer. Well, they has made a bet that which one wins the chariot race gits the laurel wreath an' the gal an' the other one gits chucked in the lake. Kerrlump." "Kerflump!" It was Welford's sepulchral voice. "Tha's me!" "Now, how things goes is like this," the director continued severely. "Welford is the villain an' he tried to put one over on Opus. So the night befo' the race he slips into Opus's stall an' swipes his hawses an' puts in a couple of lady mules instead. He — " HEY! Wait a minute!" The gargantuan figure of Mr. Randall was very much in evidence. "What kind of animals was you mentionin', Caesar?" "Mules!" snapped the director. "Mules?" "Yeh, mules." Then with exquisite sarcasm — "Them is the step-chillun of hawses." "Oh Lawsy . . . I caint drive no mules in no chariot race." "Caint don't mean nothin' to me. Tomorrow you does so. An' the funny part of it is that them mules wins the race over the hawses which Welford drives." Opus Randall surveyed the room. His eyes roved from the triumphantly grinning countenance of Welford Potts down the line of smiling faces. "Wh-who thought of my hawses bein' mules?" he queried miserably. "President Latimer," came the prompt response. Somebody laughed aloud and a great and pervading anger suffused the enormous frame of Opus Randall. He protested loudly and passionately that he would not drive mules, but J. Caesar Clump could not be swayed. And so, when the meeting broke up, it was a fiercely angry star who stalked off by himself and vowed that if Latimer tried one more thing — just one li'I teeny mo' stunt — he'd take matters into his own hands. Welford Potts trailed his co-star. Mr. Potts was gleeful. Things seemed to be coming his way — but even yet he was not entirely satisfied. His plan was working excellently, but it needed a final artistic touch. That night Mr. Potts ate in solitary grandeur at Bud Peaglar's Barbecue Lunch Room & Billiard Parlor, and devoted himself to a very intensive period of thinking. A chariot race seemed to afford possibilities . . . infinite possibilities. If only he could evolve a scheme to terminate once and for all any possibility of further presidential favor to Opus. . . . Mr. Welford Potts did not crawl between the sheets until after midnight. But when he did there was a triumphant smile on his lips. And he was wearing that smile the following morning when he called for Florian Slappey and they started together toward Blue Lake Park where the hippodrome was to be staged. Florian was inquisitive — "Where was you at las' night, Welford?" "Busy." "Doin which?" "Thinkin' — an' workin'." "On what?" "Oh, somethin'." '"Splain to me, cullud boy: 'splain to me." Welford chuckled. *"Xemmin' no 'splanations, Florian. You is gwine see fo' yo' se'f." "See which?" "What I was contemplatin' about las' night." "Aw, c'mon — " " Don't cajole me, Han'some. All I tells you is this: keep yo' eye on them chariot race. Tha's all." "You — you is fixin' fo' Opus an' Orifice to split wider?" "I aint said nothin' an' I refuse to repeat it. You just watch!" And that was all the information Mr. Slappey could extract from his friend. Blue Lake Park was seething with friends, Romans and countrymen when Welford and Florian arrived. The wardrobe mistress was busy dispensing costumes and pinning them up into some semblance of proper shapelessness. In front of the grandstand Welford Potts strutted proudly, chocolate forehead banded by a broad, gleamy satin ribbon. Opus Randall was less prominent. He lounged in his elongated nightshirt and satin bandeau against a fence where his eye commanded a view of the gilded chariot which he was to drive. Attached to the forepart of that noble vehicle were two sad-eyed mules of ancient vintage. They seemed to strip the occasion of all magnificence, and Opus was the possessor of an uncomfortable hunch that something was destined to be filmed which was not in the scenario. He even sought the gorgeously white-robed figure of Orifice R. Latimer, the Roman Emperor. "What you fixin' to do to me, Latimer?" The president frowned. "You says words, Opus — but they don't mean nothin'." "Wasn't it yo' idea changin' my hawses fo' mules?" "Uh-huh." "Why?" The president replied blandly. "Guess milks is funnier fo' a chariot race, aint they?" "Huh! Why didn't you make Welford drive 'em?" "You is the lead in this pitcher, Cpus. An' you gits all the funniest part — like the mules." There was a taunt in the executive voice and Opus whirled away furiously. "You better watch out, Orifice." he flung back over his shoulder. "You sho'ly better not try to put nothin' over on me." Florian was cast as one of the spectators. He dressed slowly and emerged reluctantly from the dressing room. Mr. Slappey felt vaguely indecent. Somehow, a long white robe seemed a poor costume indeed in which to face the clear light of day: "Dawg-gone ol' nightgown — tha's all they give me to wear. 'Taint proper!" GRADUALLY this maidenly embarrassment wore away and he commenced to take an interest in what was transpiring on the racetrack where the chariot contest was to be staged. Out there the two cameramen were led onto the track and set in position for the filming of the start. Florian's eyes were all for Welford Potts. That little fellow seemed to have banished his uneasiness. He strutted here and there with vast pompousness and cast an occasional derisive glance toward his fellow actor. Florian's brain was busy; he was set for something — he didn't know what! Welford had fathered a scheme having for its object the permanent discomfiture of Opus Randall. Mr. Slappey was not minded to miss the hidden drama. The filming of the first scenes proceeded rather slowly. The mules which Opus drove seemed disinclined to overcome their inertia, a fact which did not seem to worry the little director. He took the start of the race three times; the fairly active team of horses which Welford drove getting away each time to an excellent start. Then the cameraman took several shots of the spectators cheering enthusiastically and finally a few long shots of the chariots and spectators combined. Then came a more tense portion of the picture. According to the plot, the heroic Opus, who was in the process of being defeated, was supposed to lash his steeds with a long whip provided for the occasion. Clump handed Mr. Randall the whip, after first readying the cameras. Opus accepted it guilelessly, he was quite positive that even a well-wielded whip could not unduly excite the mules. The crowd moved over and massed within camera range and the action started; Welford and his horses came tearing down the track followed by Opus's lazily lumbering mules. Then, while one camera continued to crank on the long shot, the other filmed a closeup of Opus Every advertisement PHOTOPLAT MAGAZIXE