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These Good Old Days.
By Evan Stro?ig. Illustrated by Sys.
|E mourn the passing of the good old times. I wonder if in fifty years to come the screenactor will clothe himself in sackcloth and ashes in regret for the convivial days of the present, which will then have passed into the old lumber box of the things that have been 1 It is a merry life, this of the screenactor, hung to-day and pushed over a hu ndred-f eet
canyon to-mor
row; but what's | the worry 1 Insurance policies stand good, and the next man's feet are not too big for your shoes. That is the philosophy of the screenactor ; to the quarter -sessions with old Schopenhauer and his measly philosophy of pessimism ; will or no will, satisfaction or the reverse, we are a band of opti
mists, else there would be UD features.
Padding along a dusty road, dreaming as the wanderer dreams of good beer and walloping big cheeses, a spider-legged, threeweeks-to-a -shave, blotting-paper-tongued loon got a swollen nose from a big red fist for stopping a runaway horse with a trap and a young lady behind it. And that is how I came to join the ' movies."
When I came to, a hefty johnny asked me politely what I wanted to jump up like a punch and judy show (only that was hardly the expression) right in the middle of the picture and necessitate the exposing
of another couple of hundred feet of film, by the Lord Harry, and a few other noteworthies and picturesque celebrities.
I said I didn't really know, which was perfectly true, and withal in the circumstances a rather witty and useful remark.
" Do you know we are taking a picture 1 " threatened the burly one.
" Indeed, I was not aware of it," I reply. " May I ask where you are taking it to, if
its not too rude a question ■? "
Mind you I was not entirely recovered from the avalanche. It was an avalanche, wasn't it, or was it a typhoon 1 And I was rather surprised as this being an artist who might be carrying a valuable canvas to an exhibition, perhaps a picture on which he pinned his whole fortune in the future. I could have pinned all my hopes on a postage stamp at that moment.
''Where was I taking it to — I mean a ' movie,' you silly ass," bellowed Mr. Bull. I could have sworn his name was Bull, he was a picture of bovine ferocity. But I had no answer for him. " Movie " beat me all out and I felt like lying down and never moving again, so I just remarked :
" If you would inform me if this is really my nose or a stray balloon I should be very much obliged." You see I was suffering badly from the success of my first entrance into pictures and was a bit swollen-headed,
vX
Pardon me !