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THE SIGN OF THE BOSS 159 deploying an army of civilians for a battle scene, itself a lolling job. DeMille had shot take after take. It was then well beyond the luncheon hour. Briefing the players on the meaning of the next scene, his eye fell on a feminine extra talking to someone next to her. He called her up to the microphone, suggested that if what she was saying was that important she should tell it to the entire company. The woman hesitated. "Go on, dear lady, tell us," urged the producer in a polite tone. She was a cool-spirited lass, obviously no newcomer to pic- tures. She bent on him a glare of resentment. "All right, if you insist. I said, *Why doesn't the bald-headed old bastard let us go to lunch?'* DeMille's eyes danced. He loved this kind of spirit. He released a charming smile. "An excellent idea. Company dis- missed." The boss looked upon each scene as a personal challenge. Having spent months in preparation, his mind encompassed every step in the script, first to last. There rarely was need for a caucus on the next move, each sequence laid out ahead of time in bold outline. Delay, therefore, meant only one thing: someone had blundered. Assistants on the sets spent a good deal of time running from cameraman to electrician to "props" to dialogue director, inquiring, "Mr. DeMille wants to know what's holding us up." Once, his patience shattered over the time taken in changing Betty Button's trapeze bar, he roared into the microphone: "I opened the Red Sea in less time than this." Another severe test of his patience took place on the huge "Pennsylvania forest" set for Unconquered, spreading across two Paramount sound stages. Midway in the shooting, a sound was heard, like a dove cooing. Someone spied the bird—an Indian dove. That morning it was in splendid voice. DeMille was familiar enough with Allegheny wildlife to know this