Picture-Play Magazine (Mar-Aug 1927)

63 Film Struck Our terrified hero, in this installment, again tries to escape from the coils of the movies, but finds himself caught like a rat in a trap. CHAPTER XIII. DANGEROUS COMPLICATIONS ARISE. THE realistic fisticuff exhibition was Oscar's last appearance before the camera for the afternoon, as the director now turned his attention to intimate scenes between some of the principals. The motley background crowd dispersed, scurrying back to the dormitory tent to remove costumes and grease paint. Oscar thankfully shed his cowpuncher raiment, lathered his face with cold cream, and blossomed forth once more with rosy cheeks and youthful countenance. He noticed that Kirk was not in the tent, and gathered from bits of conversation that drifted about him that the man, after a visit to the doctor, had disappeared. The stout, bewhiskered individual who occupied the cot on Oscar's left, and who had seemed to be a friend of Kirk's, had little to say. It was noticeable, however, that he showed Oscar a wholesome respect. In fact, all those who, prior to the day's activities, had been inclined to raillery toward Oscar, now looked upon the newcomer with profound deference and perhaps a shade of envy. Whether this was the result of his pugilistic prowess or the honor that had been bestowed upon him by DuVal, Oscar was unable to judge. Nor, for that matter, did he care. That he was severely let alone contributed greatly to his peace of mind. And when he had scrubbed and dressed, and bought himself a cold drink at the stand, he felt in very good spirits. As he sauntered about the set, however, he gave DuVal a wide berth. He was taking no chances on being spotted, and perhaps again snared — he had had enough of picture-play acting and all the foolishness connected with it. There were, he saw, any number of extras still loafing about in costume and make-up. Their work for the day was over, they were to be called upon for no further appearances, yet they seemed loath to part with their borrowed wardrobe or to remove their artificial complexions. Oscar, surveying them as thev browsed about or stole furtive glances into their pocket mirrors, experienced a rising disgust and contempt. Like a bunch of peacocks, he thought. As is usual when a great set is thrown up on location, a crowd of curious onlookers had been attracted from the surrounding country. To those to whom the art of picture making is steeped in mystery, the chance to see a movie actually being filmed, and to brush elbows By Roland Ashford Phillips Synopsis of Preceding Chapters. Oscar Whiffle is the good-looking young chef of the Rosebud delicatessen in La Belle, Iowa. His eventual marriage to Gladys Padgett seems certain, though they disagree on one subject — the movies. She is a rabid fan, but Oscar scoffs at her enthusiasm. Lester Lavender, famous screen lover, makes a personal appearance at the local theater. Gladys' infatuation for him leads to a quarrel between her and Oscar. Later the same night, Oscar, coming upon Gladys and Lester in the park, pitches into Lester and knocks him cold. Thinking he has killed the star, he flees, boarding a train for the West. Alighting at a small station in the midst of the Arizona desert just as a troupe of movie people is deposited by a train from California, he is swept along with them without knowing who they are. Only when they reach the location camp does he become aware that he has stumbled onto the very thing he hates most — the movies ! One girl in the troupe, Penelope Hope, known as Penny, makes a friend of him, discovers he is there by accident, and urges him to bluff it out. But Oscar is determined to flee, until he wakes in the morning, discovers that his wallet has been stolen, and realizes to his horror that he will have to stay. Given, by a fluke, the name Oscar Watt, and hustled onto the set with the rest of the extras, he is singled out by the director, the great DuVal, to do a bit. Terrified, he bungles it. But the irate DuVal, instead of firing him, suddenly decides to experiment with this "lump of clay." Oscar is used in a fight scene with the man, Kirk, who he suspects has stolen his wallet, and in his wrath makes it so realistic that DuVal is elated over the future possibilities of his "discovery." But Oscar, having recovered his wallet during the fight, again makes plans to flee. Illustrated by Modest Stein ] with the actors and actresses, is something not to be missed. So now, groups of curious spectators, riding in from points beyond the horizon, had gathered upon the side lines of the camp to stare at those in grease paint, to make audible and sometimes uncomplimentary remarks, and to ask innumerable questions. DuVal's vigilant staff attempted to shoo them away, but without success. It occurred to Oscar that some of these outsiders must hail from Sapphire, and that they could give him instructions as to how to reach that town. He approached a knot of sun-scorched, spellbound individuals, who appeared as though they had ridden far, and put some questions to them. He learned, promptly enough, that Sapphire was three miles west, just beyond the queer, row of painted buttes. It was a considerable town, according to these citizens — up and coming — off the railroad, perhaps, but smack on the automobile trail that led toward California. And giving ear to all that was told him, Oscar felt prompted to visit the spot. During this conversation, which became more eloquent on the part of the natives when it was learned that Sapphire might soon entertain a visitor connected with the cinema industry, a newcomer joined the group. He was tall and gaunt and sunburned. He had stepped, a moment before, from a decrepit, boiling flivver, which he had left parked at the far end of the street. He stared long and hard at Oscar, blinked several times, and wound up by thumping the alleged Mr. Watt squarely between the shoulders. "Blamed if it ain't Oscar Whiffle!" he cried. 'What in thunder }ou doin' out here?" Oscar, considerably startled by the voice and attack, found himself looking into a familiar countenance. It belonged, he realized instantly, to Amos Hortle, and Amos had once called La Belle his home town. In truth, it had been through Mr. Hortle's letters home that Oscar had learned of Sapphire and turned his fugitive footsteps toward the vast open spaces. "Why, hello," he greeted, while Amos wrung his limp hand. "You haven't changed a dog-gone bit, Oscar," Hortle ran on enthusiastically. "As handsome as ever, I'll say. How'd you leave all the girls back in La Belle? Always had a hunch you'd be comin' out to a real country before long. See here," he added, "don't tell me you're in the movin' pictures!"