Photoplay (Jul-Dec 1926)

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section era-king his whip against the flanks of the muk's. Something happened! The pair of mules responded with immediate and amazing alacrity. Opus was pitched to a sitting posture and for perhaps forty feet of track he clung terrifiedly to the nethermost portion of his chariot. The crowd howled with genuine excitement as Mr. Randall regained his feet and struggled to get his mules under control. Eventually they paused quiveringly and Opus dismounted. Ayf R. RANT) ALL was not without suspicions. •'•"■He gave the whip a careful inspection and his fondest apprehensions were realized. In the very tip of the weapon he discovered a small piece of lead. He boiled wrathfully. So this, then, had been done to him. Director Clump had furnished him with a loaded whip. No wonder the mules had responded. Mr. Randall descended angrily upon the grinning group near the camera. "I thought," he roared to Clump, "that you was just givin' me a regular whip." The director smiled. " I aint responsible fo' what you think." " Did you put lead in the end of that whip? " "I did," responded Clump candidly. "I knew it! The minute them mules got active I knowed it wa'n't no plain whip." Opus moved menacingly closer. "How come you to double-cross me that away — not warnin' me about it?" J. Caesar waved airily. "Latimer's orders," he said. It was perhaps fortunate that Mr. Latimer was not at the moment in the immediate vicinity, else Midnight might have stood in need of a new president. The fact that others in the company made no attempt to control their mirth did nothing to lessen Opus's agony of soul. As from a distance he heard the director's voice — "All right, folks — us goes back across the track an' takes the finish in front of the gran'stan'. You, Welford, kind of slow them hawses down so's Opus's mules can git by. I crave to see Opus win by a length — I guess that'll be easy; them mules is kind of waked up now." The finish of the race was filmed amid much hilarity. The mules not only finished first but did not stop until they had circled half around the track. Opus left them where they were and strode magniloquently across the infield toward the grandstand, his toga fluttering in the breeze, face dark as a thundercloud. He spoke to nobody. Meanwhile, Florian Slappey had cornered Welford Potts. Mr. Slappey was grinning. " So it was you put the lead in the end of that whip, was it?" Welford shook his head. " Nope. " "You didn't?" "Nary lead. I didn't have nothin' to do with it." "But I thought you said — " "I said that what I has got in my head is brains. An' if you is willin' that I should get suggestive, I'd say fo' you just to keep watchin'." J. Caesar Clump was busying himself in front of the grandstand. In the royal box sat the ponderous and expansive Orifice R. Latimer, the Roman Emperor. Beside him was his scenario daughter — trophy of the chariot race. Various courtiers stood around in various night garments. The populace was massed in the background. "An' now," megaphoned J. Caesar, "we takes the scene where the victor gits a laurel wreath an' also the gal. There's gwine to be two cam'ras on this:, one takin' the closeup an' the other shootin' the crowd — so don't nobody cease bein' enthusiastic." "You, Opus, be standin' in yo' chariot. You bows to the Emp'rer an' th'ows a kiss to the gal. Then you get out and walk across the track. While he is doin' that, Welford — you stan' out yonder and register mis'ableness, on account two soljers has grabbed you an' is gittin' ready to th'ow you into the lake. Does ev'ybody understand?" There was a general nodding of heads. Caesar turned to the royal president. "You also undcrstan', President Latimer?" "Uh-huh." "Has you got the wreath?" "I aint got nothin' else." "Good!" Clump stepped out of range and once again the megaphone went to his lips. "Ready ev'ybody! Action! Cam'ra!" The crowd commenced howling and cheering. Florian, seated well away from the royal box, watched closely — wondering at the triumphant smile which decorated the lips of Mr. Welford Potts. He viewed the glowering approach of the fat and victorious charioteer; he saw Latimer and the princess snap into action in a highly professional manner. He was sorry indeed that he could not hear the speech which Latimer was making to Opus. Clump was bellowing directions and the crowd was applauding. Then, following directorial orders, Florian saw Opus Randall kneel at the feet of his emperor. Latimer stood. It was an impressive tableau: Latimer holding the laurel wreath over Opus's head: Mr. Randall kneeling humbly, awaiting his decoration. "All right!" Clump's voice rose above the din, "put the wreath on!" Latimer did. He crushed it solidly on the head of Mr. Opus Randall! For the briefest fraction of an instant Opus did not move. Then his mouth opened and a wild yell split the morning. He leaped backward and President Latimer followed, pressing the wreath more firmly on Opus's head. Another wild howl pealed from Mr. Randall's lips. Then another and another. While the cameras cranked merrily Opus tried to pull away — and as fast as he retreated the Roman Emperor followed. Then came a highly dramatic windup to the great feature picture. Mr. Opus Randall, charioteer, hooked snappily with his right. The blow landed flush on the royal jaw. Mr. Latimer staggered, then leaped into battle. The crowd roared deliriously and surged closer — only by sheer strength did Clump and his associates clear a path so that the camera could miss none of the action. HTHERE in front of the royal box a decidedly -* interesting rough-and-tumble battle was staged. Emperor and subject rolled all over the place — first one on top and then the other. Fists flew, blows landed on human flesh, profanity rent the air. And finally, when sufficient footage had been obtained, Clump permitted someone to separate the gory combatants. Inwardly, the director was chuckling. This was a rare and delicious bit of realism which was certain to improve the picture immeasureably. Latimer and Opus, both decidedly worse for wear, were led away by noisily sympathetic friends. And on the outskirts of the group which hovered in the vicinity of the royal box, Mr. Welford Potts seized the arm of his friend, Florian Slappey. "Hot diggity Dawg!" exulted Welford. "I done it!" "Done which?" "Caused that fight. You see, Florian, it was this away — " Welford's voice dropped confidentially— "I made that laurel wreath myownself." "You did?" "I sure did. And it was lined with pieces of cloth which was held together by safety pins." Florian shook his head. "I still don't understan' — " "Course you don't. But you will when I 'splains to you that them safety pins was open." 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