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To the West Coast 151
terred us from entering that sanctum of tiles, porcelain, cold cream, and rose-water jars. Mr. C. B. DeMille was as yet a bit away in the offing, and Milady's ablutions and Milord's Gilette were still matters of a private nature — to the movies.
A load of wood was ordered from our neighbor, and the carpenters set about to fix up a stage and some dressingrooms: we couldn't dress and make up in our hotels, that was sure, nor could we do so in the open spaces of our "lot'1
Our stage, erected in the center of the lot, was merely a wooden floor raised a few feet off the ground and about fifty feet square, of rough splintery wood, and when we "did" Western bar-rooms — au natural — it was just the thing.
Two small adjoining dressing-rooms for the men soon came into being; then similar ones for the women. They looked like tiny bath-houses as they faced each other across the lot. They sufficed, however. There were no quarrels as to where the star should dress. When there were extras, they dressed in relays, and sometimes a tent was put up.
Telegraph poles ran alongside the studio and after our business became known in the neighborhood, and especially on days when we were portraying strenuous drama and got noisy, up these poles the small boys would clamber and have a big time watching the proceedings and throwing us friendly salutations which didn't always help along the "action."
A place had to be found where our camera men could develop the film and we could see the results of our work, for when a picture left Los Angeles it must be complete