Bones in London

Mr. Becksteine coughed again.

"I do not know anything about other worlds," he admitted.

"Now, this is my idea," said Bones, interrupting what promised to be afree and frank admission of Mr. Becksteine's genius. "I've worked thething out, and I see just how we can save money. In producingtwo-roller cinematographs – that's the technical term," explained Bones,"the heavy expense is with the artistes. The salaries that thesepeople are paid! My dear old Ham, you'd never believe."

"I don't see how you can avoid paying salaries," said Hamiltonpatiently. "I suppose even actors have to live."

"Ah!" said Mr. Becksteine, shaking his head.

"Of course, dear old thing. But why pay outside actors?" said Bonestriumphantly.

He glared from one face to the other with a ferocity of expressionwhich did no more than indicate the strength of his conviction.

"Why not keep the money in the family, dear old Ham? That's what I askyou. Answer me that." He leaned back in his chair, thrust his handsin his trousers pockets, and blandly surveyed his discomfited audience.

"But you've got to have actors, my dear chap," said Hamilton.

"Naturally and necessarily," replied Bones, nodding with very largenods. "And we have them. Who is Jasper Brown, the villain who triesto rob the poor girl of her legacy and casts the vilest aspersions uponher jolly old name?"

"Who is?" asked the innocent Hamilton.

"You are," said Bones.

Hamilton gasped.

"Who is Frank Fearnot, the young and handsome soldier – well, notnecessarily handsome, but pretty good-looking – who rescues the girlfrom her sad predicament?"

"Well, that can't be me, anyway," said Hamilton.

"It is not," said Bones. "It is me! Who is the gorgeous but sad oldinnocent one who's chased by you, Ham, till the poor little souldoesn't know which way to turn, until this jolly young officer stepsbrightly on the scene, whistling a merry tune, and, throwing his armsabout her, saves her, dear old thing, from her fate – or, really, from aperfectly awful rotten time."

"Who is she?" asked Hamilton softly.

Bones blinked and turned to the girl slowly.

"My dear old miss," he said, "what do you think?"

"What do I think?" asked the startled girl. "What do I think aboutwhat?"

"There's a part," said Bones – "there's one of the grandest parts thatwas ever written since Shakespeare shut his little copybook."

"You're not suggesting that I should play it?" she asked, open-mouthed.

"Made for you, dear old typewriter, positively made for you, thatpart," murmured Bones.

"Of course I shall do nothing so silly," said the girl, with a laugh.

"Oh, Mr. Tibbetts, you really didn't think that I'd do such a – "

She didn't finish the sentence, but Hamilton could have supplied thethree missing words without any difficulty.

Thereafter followed a discussion, which in the main consisted of jointand several rejection of parts. Marguerite Whitland most resolutelyrefused to play the part of the bad girl, even though Bones promised tochange the title to "The Good Girl," even though he wheedled his best, even though he struck attitudes indicative of despair and utter ruin, even though the gentle persuasiveness of Mr. Lew Becksteine was addedto his entreaties. And Hamilton as resolutely declined to haveanything to do with the bad man. Mr. Becksteine solved the difficultyby undertaking to produce the necessary actors and actresses at theminimum of cost.

"Of course you won't play, Bones?" said Hamilton.

"I don't know," said Bones. "I'm not so sure, dear old thing. I'vegot a lot of acting talent in me, and I feel the part – that's atechnical term you won't understand."

"But surely, Mr. Tibbetts," said the girl reproachfully, "you won'tallow yourself to be photographed embracing a perfectly strange lady?"

Bones shrugged his shoulders.

"Art, my dear old typewriter," he said. "She'll be no more to me thana bit of wood, dear old miss. I shall embrace her and forget all aboutit the second after. You need have no cause for apprehension, reallyand truly."

"I am not at all apprehensive," said the girl coldly, and Bonesfollowed her to her office, showering explanations of his meaning overher shoulder.

On the third day Hamilton went back to Twickenham a very weary man.

"Bones is really indefatigable," he said irritably, but yet admiringly."He has had those unfortunate actors rehearsing in the open fields, onthe highways and byways. Really, old Bones has no sense of decency.He's got one big scene which he insists upon taking in a private park.I shudder to think what will happen if the owner comes along andcatches Bones and his wretched company."

Sanders laughed quietly.

"What do you think he'll do with the film?" he asked.

"Oh, he'll sell it," said Hamilton. "I tell you, Bones is amazing. Hehas found a City man who is interested in the film industry, astockbroker or something, who has promised to see every bit of film asit is produced and give him advice on the subject; and, incredible asit may sound, the first half-dozen scenes that Bones has taken havepassed muster."

"Who turns the handle of the camera?" asked the girl.

"Bones," said Hamilton, trying not to laugh. "He practised therevolutions on a knife-cleaning machine!"

The fourth day it rained, but the fifth day Bones took his company in ahired motor into the country, and, blissfully ignoring such admonitionsas "Trespassers will be shot," he led the way over a wall to the sacredsoil of an Englishman's stately home. Bones wanted the wood, becauseone of his scenes was laid on the edge of a wood. It was the scenewhere the bad girl, despairing of convincing anybody as to her inherentgoodness, was taking a final farewell of the world before "leaving alife which had held nothing but sadness and misunderstanding," to quotethe title which was to introduce this touching episode.

Bones found the right location, fitted up his camera, placed theyellow-faced girl – the cinema artiste has a somewhat bilious appearancewhen facing the lens – and began his instructions.

"Now, you walk on here, dear old Miss What's-Your-Name. You come fromthat tree with halting footsteps – like this, dear old thing. Watch andlearn."

Bones staggered across the greensward, clasping his brow, sank on hisknees, folded his arms across his chest, and looked sorrowfully at theheavens, shaking his head.

Hamilton screamed with laughter.

"Behave yourself, naughty old sceptic," said Bones severely.

After half an hour's preliminary rehearsal, the picture was taken, and

Bones now prepared to depart; but Mr. Lew Becksteine, from whose hands

Bones had taken, not only the direction of the play, but the very excuse for existence, let fall a few uncomfortable words.

"Excuse me, Mr. Tibbetts," he said, in the sad, bored voice of anartiste who is forced to witness the inferior work of another, "it isin this scene that the two lawyers must be taken, walking through thewood, quite unconscious of the unhappy fate which has overtaken theheiress for whom they are searching."