Screenland (Sept 1922–Feb 1923)

24 lujywood. SCREENLAND a»ufi«*fe room, there were within him stores of indignation still untapped, and these flowed freely at what he saw on the set. Seven male extras of whose existence he had, until then, been in ignorance were now gathered about a card table in a corner of the sumptuous ballroom and with cards and chips were deep in a game which Mr. Bloom had no difficulty at all in identifying as draw poker. Only the fact that they were in evening clothes and that the lights were shining upon them and the camera pointed in their direction saved their game from instant dissolution. "You're paying these fellers to play cards?" gasped Mr. Bloom as he caught Wappinger's sleeve. "It's in the script," answered the director pettishly, "and when I'm satisfied with the rehearsal I'm going to shoot it." "Don't gzt satisfied," cried Mr. Bloom, in warning tones. "This thing wasn't in the script when I saw it." "We needed it and put it in." "Take it out." "I can't. I need a flash of cardplaying JftUTTLE HINTSfti 'X'HE EXEMPLARY THEATRE, by Harley Granville-Barker, is an excellent perspective of the commercial theatre's contribution to society, and its contents apply with as great force to motion pictures as to the legitimate drama, for which it was prepared To students of photodrama, this work is well worth $2 net. Little, Brown & Co. "But seven card players at ten dollars a day!" gasped the man who would have to pay them. "For goodness sake, have a bridge game if you've got to have something. That only takes four people, or better yet have a pedro game or a casino game. They only take two." Wappinger glared at him. "I suppose I could have one man play solitaire," he said in his most sarcastic manner. "Why not?" "Please, please go away/' cried the director, and lowering his voice he whispered, "These extras aren't charging anything for the card game. I wish you'd let me get through with it. I want to shoot a close-up of Miss Adair before she goes home." Mr. Bloom started, guiltily conscious that finance had made him forget chivalry. "Never mind the card game," he cried, excitedly; with me. Maybe it ain't too late to save Rosie Adair EIGHT COMEDIES FOR LITTLE THEATRES, by Percival Wilde, is a valuable textbook of models for dramatic students. It presents a varied assortment of light playlets, each of which bear a distinct literary quality', at variance with popular professional comedy. The simplicity of the action, settings and stage business should popularize them for amateur production. $1.50 net. Little, Brown & Co. us come Wappinger wheeled upon him with panic in his eyes. "Save her?" he gulped. "Save her from what?" "It ain't from what, it's from who," explained the agitated producer, pulling at his sleeve. "If we hurry we may get there in time. When I left 'em all they was doing was kissing." HE had no breath with which to say more for he and the director were now running toward the property room. As they reached it, Mr. Bloom was ahead, a fact, which, as he rounded the canvas wall and dashed toward Rose Adair, he had every reason to regret.. For if Mr. Bloomhad hot been . in the lead, J. E. Popham would not have knocked him down. J. E. Popham did not mean . to knock him down. J, E. Popham had no idea that he was there. J. E. Popham^ who himself had just been knocked down and had scrambled to his feet with nothing in his head but thoughts of flight, was not, at that moment, a free agent. His collision with Mr. Bloom sent him again to the floor from which he had so lately risen. He must have thought that he was safest there, for he made no effort to rise. Nor did Mr. Bloom seek to get up. He was sure that just then the floor was the best place for him. Standing above him was Rose Adair. She was in the evening gown in which she had appeared in the ballroom set, but also she was in company that had not been with her there. Her left hand rested upon the curly head of a manly looking little chap of about six, and her right hand clung trustingly to the left hand of "Kid" Chester, the champion middleweight pugilist of California. "As soon as he gets up I wish you'd knock him down again," she was drawling in her rich, throaty contralto. "Me?" cried Mr. Bloom, his eyes fascinated by "Kid" Chester's workmanlike right fist. Rose Adair laughed, and tightened her grip on the prize-fighter's left hand. "Not you," she drawled ; "I've told my husband all about you. He thinks you're all right." "Much obliged and many of them," answered Mr. Bloom from the bottom of his heart. "Your husband?" gasped Bruce Wappinger from the doorway. "Kid" Chester darted at the director a look that had intimidated many opponents in the ring. Then he turned deferentially to his wife. "Dearie," he asked, "shall I nail that one, too?" "No, precious," she said languidly; "he's been very nice. That one on the floor was the only one that bothered me." She could not have meant Mr. Bloom, for Mr. Bloom was no longer upon the floor. He was bending over the son of Mr. and Mrs. "Kid" Chester showing him the works of his watch. "Oh, that feller?" said Mr. Bloom; "he's been bothering everybody. I don't care what you do to him." But when he saw the pugilist gently disengage himself from Rose Adair and saw both of his hands were fists now instead of one, Mr. Bloom's humanitarian instincts got the better of his dislike of J. E. Popham. "I take that back," he said hurriedly ; "I do too care. I'm afraid you'll hurt him. I'll just throw him off the lot myself." He moved majestically to his fallen partner. "Get up," he ordered, "get up and get out." J. E. Popham arose and began to brush the dust from his clothing. .' Mr. Bloom menaced him with an oratorical forefinger. "I said 'up and out,' not only 'up,' " he reminded him, "I have money invested here," protested Popham, although not too vigorously.. "Not no more you haven't," Mr. Bloom told him. "I'll give you a check for everything you put in. I got a letter today with my monthly statement. The letter says you're a had boy." . "What's the statement say?" asked Bruce Wappinger, whose art was not wholly free from a tinge of commercialism. "The statement," said Mr. Bloom, taking it from his pocket, "the statement shows I'm making money. The slump is over." T"HE RUSTLE OF SILK, by Cosmo Hamilton, contains an element of thoughtful writing that distinguishes it from much current romantic fiction. A love story that embraces a social study of postwar England. $1.90 net. Little Brown & Co. T^HE SECRET PLACES OF THE HEART, by H. G. Wells, is a didactic history of the world slightly disguised as a love story. Rather heavy summer diet for frivolous tastes. $2 net Doubleday, Page & Co. V/f AN SIZE, by William MacLeod Raine, is a Northwestern tale involving the usual elements of N. W. M. P., bringing back the bad man through the blizzard, etc., but a readable, easyfitting action tale for all that Price $1.75. The MacMillan Co.