Aunt Jane\'s Nieces Out West - Edith Van Dyne
Aunt Jane's Nieces Out West
By Edith Van Dyne
1914
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I CAUGHT BY THE CAMERA
II AN OBJECT LESSON
III AN ATTRACTIVE GIRL
IV AUNT JANE'S NIECES
V A THRILLING RESCUE
VI A. JONES
VII THE INVALID
VIII THE MAGIC OF A NAME
IX DOCTOR PATSY
X STILL A MYSTERY
XI A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS
XII PICTURES, GIRLS AND NONSENSE
XIII A FOOLISH BOY
XIV ISIDORE LE DRIEUX
XV A FEW PEARLS
XVI TROUBLE
XVII UNCLE JOHN IS PUZZLED
XVIII DOUBTS AND DIFFICULTIES
XIX MAUD MAKES A MEMORANDUM
XX A GIRLISH NOTION
XXI THE YACHT "ARABELLA"
XXII MASCULINE AND FEMININE
XXIII THE ADVANTAGE OF A DAY
XXIV PICTURE NUMBER NINETEEN
XXV JUDGMENT
XXVI SUNSHINE AFTER RAIN
CHAPTER I
CAUGHT BY THE CAMERA
"This is getting to be an amazing old world," said a young girl, still in
her "teens," as she musingly leaned her chin on her hand.
"It has always been an amazing old world, Beth," said another girl who
was sitting on the porch railing and swinging her feet in the air.
"True, Patsy," was the reply; "but the people are doing such peculiar
things nowadays."
"Yes, yes!" exclaimed a little man who occupied a reclining chair within
hearing distance; "that is the way with you young folks--always
confounding the world with its people."
"Don't the people make the world, Uncle John?" asked Patricia Doyle,
looking at him quizzically.
"No, indeed; the world could get along very well without its people; but
the people--"
"To be sure; they need the world," laughed Patsy, her blue eyes
twinkling so that they glorified her plain, freckled face.
"Nevertheless," said Beth de Graf, soberly, "I think the people have
struck a rapid pace these days and are growing bold and impudent. The law
appears to allow them too much liberty. After our experience of this
morning I shall not be surprised at anything that happens--especially in
this cranky state of California."
"To what experience do you allude, Beth?" asked Uncle John, sitting up
straight and glancing from one to another of his two nieces. He was a
genial looking, round-faced man, quite bald and inclined to be a trifle
stout; yet his fifty-odd years sat lightly upon him.
"Why, we had quite an adventure this morning," said Patsy, laughing
again at the recollection, and answering her uncle because Beth
hesitated to. "For my part, I think it was fun, and harmless fun, at
that; but Beth was scared out of a year's growth. I admit feeling a
little creepy at the time, myself; but it was all a joke and really we
ought not to mind it at all."
"Tell me all about it, my dear!" said Mr. Merrick, earnestly, for
whatever affected his beloved nieces was of prime importance to him.
"We were taking our morning stroll along the streets," began Patsy, "when
on turning a corner we came upon a crowd of people who seemed to be
greatly excited. Most of them were workmen in flannel shirts, their
sleeves rolled up, their hands grimy with toil. These stood before a
brick building that seemed like a factory, while from its doors other
crowds of workmen and some shopgirls were rushing into the street and
several policemen were shaking their clubs and running here and there in
a sort of panic. At first Beth and I stopped and hesitated to go on, but
as the sidewalk seemed open and fairly free I pulled Beth along, thinking
we might discover what the row was about. Just as we got opposite the
building a big workman rushed at us and shouted: 'Go back--go back! The
wall is falling.'
"Well, Uncle, you can imagine our dismay. We both screamed, for we
thought our time had come, for sure. My legs were so weak that Beth had
to drag me away and her face was white as a sheet and full of terror.
Somehow we managed to stagger into the street, where a dozen men caught
us and hurried us away. I hardly thought we were in a safe place when the
big workman cried: 'There, young ladies; that will do. Your expression
was simply immense and if this doesn't turn out to be the best film of
the year, I'll miss my guess! Your terror-stricken features will make a
regular hit, for the terror wasn't assumed, you know. Thank you very much
for happening along just then.'"
Patsy stopped her recital to laugh once more, with genuine merriment, but
her cousin Beth seemed annoyed and Uncle John was frankly bewildered.
"But--what--what--was it all about?" he inquired.
"Why, they were taking a moving picture, that was all, and the workmen
and shopgirls and policemen were all actors. There must have been a
hundred of them, all told, and when we recovered from our scare I could
hear the machine beside me clicking away as it took the picture."
"Did the wall fall?" asked Uncle John.
"Not just then. They first got the picture of the rush-out and the
panic, and then they stopped the camera and moved the people to a safe
distance away. We watched them set up some dummy figures of girls and
workmen, closer in, and then in some way they toppled over the big brick
wall. It fell into the street with a thundering crash, but only the
dummies were buried under the debris."
Mr. Merrick drew a long breath.
"It's wonderful!" he exclaimed. "Why, it must have cost a lot of money to
ruin such a building--and all for the sake of a picture!"
"That's what I said to the manager," replied Patsy; "but he told us the
building was going to be pulled down, anyhow, and a better one built in
its place; so he invented a picture story to fit the falling walls and it
didn't cost him so much as one might think. So you see, Uncle, we are in
that picture--big as life and scared stiff--and I'd give a lot to see how
we look when we're positively terror-stricken."
"It will cost you just ten cents," remarked Beth, with a shrug; "that is,
if the picture proves good enough to be displayed at one of those horrid
little theatres."
"One?" said Uncle John. "One thousand little theatres, most likely, will
show the picture, and perhaps millions of spectators will see you and
Patsy running from the falling wall."
"Dear me!" wailed Patsy. "That's more fame than I bargained for. Do
millions go to see motion pictures, Uncle?"
"I believe so. The making of these pictures is getting to be an enormous
industry. I was introduced to Otis Werner, the other day, and he told me
a good deal about it. Werner is with one of the big concerns here--the
Continental, I think--and he's a very nice and gentlemanly fellow. I'll
introduce you to him, some time, and he'll tell you all the wonders of
the motion picture business."
"I haven't witnessed one of those atrocious exhibitions for months,"
announced Beth; "nor have I any desire to see one again."
"Not our own special picture?" asked Patsy reproachfully.
"They had no right to force us into their dreadful drama," protested
Beth. "Motion pictures are dreadfully tiresome things--comedies and
tragedies alike. They are wild and weird in conception, quite unreal and
wholly impossible. Of course the scenic pictures, and those recording
historical events, are well enough in their way, but I cannot understand
how so many cheap little picture theatres thrive."
"They are the poor people's solace and recreation," declared Mr. Merrick.
"The picture theatre has become the laboring man's favorite resort. It
costs him but five or ten cents and it's the sort of show he can
appreciate. I'm told the motion picture is considered the saloon's worst
enemy, for many a man is taking his wife and children to a picture
theatre evenings instead of joining a gang of his fellows before the bar,
as he formerly did."
"That is the best argument in their favor I have ever heard," admitted
Beth, who was strong on temperance; "but I hope, Uncle, you are not
defending the insolent methods of those picture-makers."
"Not at all, my dear. I consider the trapping of innocent bystanders to
be--eh--er--highly reprehensible, and perhaps worse. If I can discover
what picture manager was guilty of the act, I shall--shall--"
"What, Uncle?"
"I shall hint that he owes you an apology," he concluded, rather lamely.
Beth smiled scornfully.
"Meantime," said she, "two very respectable girls, who are not actresses,
will be exhibited before the critical eyes of millions of stupid workmen,
reformed drunkards, sad-faced women and wiggling children--not in
dignified attitudes, mind you, but scurrying from what they supposed was
an imminent danger."
"I hope it will do the poor things good to see us," retorted Patsy. "To
be strictly honest, Beth, we were not trapped at all; we were the victims
of circumstances. When I remember how quick-witted and alert that manager
was, to catch us unawares and so add to the value of his picture, I can
quite forgive the fellow his audacity."
"It wasn't audacity so much as downright impudence!" persisted Beth.
"I quite agree with you," said Mr. Merrick. "Do you wish me to buy that
film and prevent the picture's being shown?"
"Oh, no!" cried Patsy in protest. "I'm dying to see how we look. I
wouldn't have that picture sidetracked for anything."
"And you, Beth?"
"Really, Uncle John, the thing is not worth worrying over," replied his
niece. "I am naturally indignant at being drawn into such a thing against
my will, but I doubt if anyone who knows us, or whose opinion we value,
will ever visit a moving picture theatre or see this film. The common
people will not recognize us, of course."
You must not think Beth de Graf was snobbish or aristocratic because of
this speech, which her cousin Patsy promptly denounced as "snippy." Beth
was really a lovable and sunny-tempered girl, very democratic in her
tastes in spite of the fact that she was the possessor of an unusual
fortune. She was out of sorts to-day, resentful of the fright she had
endured that morning and in the mood to say harsh things.
Even Patricia Doyle had been indignant, at first; but Patsy's judgment
was clearer than her cousin's and her nature more responsive. She quickly
saw the humorous side of their adventure and could enjoy the recollection
of her momentary fear.
These two girls were spending the winter months in the glorious climate
of Southern California, chaperoned by their uncle and guardian, John
Merrick. They had recently established themselves at a cosy hotel in
Hollywood, which is a typical California village, yet a suburb of the
great city of Los Angeles. A third niece, older and now married--Louise
Merrick Weldon--lived on a ranch between Los Angeles and San Diego, which
was one reason why Uncle John and his wards had located in this pleasant
neighborhood.
To observe this trio--the simple, complacent little man and his two young
nieces--no stranger would suspect them to be other than ordinary
tourists, bent on escaping the severe Eastern winter; but in New York the
name of John Merrick was spoken with awe in financial circles, where his
many millions made him an important figure. He had practically retired
from active business and his large investments were managed by his
brother-in-law, Major Gregory Doyle, who was Miss Patsy's father and sole
surviving parent. All of Mr. Merrick's present interest in life centered
in his three nieces, and because Louise was happily married and had now
an establishment of her own--including a rather new but very remarkable
baby--Uncle John was drawn closer to the two younger nieces and devoted
himself wholly to their welfare.
The girls had not been rich when their fairy godfather first found them.
Indeed, each of them had been energetically earning, or preparing to
earn, a livelihood. Now, when their uncle's generosity had made them
wealthy, they almost regretted those former busy days of poverty, being
obliged to discover new interests in life in order to keep themselves
occupied and contented. All three were open-handed and open-hearted,
sympathetic to the unfortunate and eager to assist those who needed
money, as many a poor girl and worthy young fellow could testify. In all
their charities they were strongly supported by Mr. Merrick, whose
enormous income permitted him to indulge in many benevolences. None gave
ostentatiously, for they were simple, kindly folk who gave for the pure
joy of giving and begrudged all knowledge of their acts to anyone outside
their own little circle.
There is no doubt that John Merrick was eccentric. It is generally
conceded that a rich man may indulge in eccentricities, provided he
maintains a useful position in society, and Mr. Merrick's peculiarities
only served to render him the more interesting to those who knew him
best. He did astonishing things in a most matter-of-fact way and acted
more on impulse than on calm reflection; so it is not to be wondered at
that the queer little man's nieces had imbibed some of his queerness.
Being by nature lively and aggressive young women, whose eager interest
in life would not permit them to be idle, they encountered many
interesting experiences.
They had just come from a long visit to Louise at the ranch and after
conferring gravely together had decided to hide themselves in Hollywood,
where they might spend a quiet and happy winter in wandering over the
hills, in boating or bathing in the ocean or motoring over the hundreds
of miles of splendid boulevards of this section.
Singularly enough, their choice of a retreat was also the choice of a
score or more of motion picture makers, who had discovered Hollywood
before them and were utilizing the brilliant sunshine and clear
atmosphere in the production of their films, which were supplied to
picture theatres throughout the United States and Europe. Appreciating
the value of such a monster industry, the authorities permitted the
cameras to be set up on the public streets or wherever there was an
appropriate scene to serve for a background to the photo-plays. It was no
unusual sight to see troops of cowboys and Indians racing through the
pretty village or to find the cameraman busy before the imposing
residence of a millionaire or the vine-covered bungalow of a more modest
citizen. No one seemed to resent such action, for Californians admire the
motion picture as enthusiastically as do the inhabitants of the Eastern
states, so the girls' "adventure" was really a common incident.
CHAPTER II
AN OBJECT LESSON
It was the following afternoon when Uncle John captured his casual
acquaintance, Mr. Otis Werner, in the office of the hotel and dragged the
motion picture man away to his rooms to be introduced to his nieces.
"Here, my dears, is Mr. Werner," he began, as he threw open the door of
their apartment and escorted his companion in. "He is one of those
picture makers, you'll remember, and--and--"
He paused abruptly, for Beth was staring at Mr. Werner with a frown on
her usually placid features, while Patsy was giggling hysterically. Mr.
Werner, a twinkle of amusement in his eye, bowed with exaggerated
deference.
"Dear me!" said Uncle John. "Is--is anything wrong!"
"No; it's all right, Uncle," declared Patsy, striving to control a fresh
convulsion of laughter. "Only--this is the same dreadful manager who
dragged us into his picture yesterday."
"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Werner; "I'm not a manager; I'm merely what
is called in our profession a 'producer,' or a 'stage director.'"
"Well, you're the man, anyhow," asserted Patsy. "So what have you to say
for yourself, sir?"
"If you were annoyed, I humbly apologize," he returned. "Perhaps I was
unintentionally rude to frighten you in that way, but my excuse lies in
our subservience to the demands of our art. We seldom hesitate at
anything which tends to give our pictures the semblance of reality."
"_Art_, did you say, Mr. Werner?" It was Beth who asked this and there
was a bit of a sneer in her tone.
"It is really art--art of the highest character," he replied warmly. "Do
you question it, Miss--Miss--"
"Miss de Graf. I suppose, to be fair, I must admit that the photography
is art; but the subjects of your pictures, I have observed, are far from
artistic. Such a picture, for instance, as you made yesterday can have
little value to anyone."
"Little value! Why, Miss de Graf, you astonish me," he exclaimed. "I
consider that picture of the falling wall one of my greatest
triumphs--and I've been making pictures for years. Aside from its
realism, its emotional nature--'thrills,' we call it--this picture
conveys a vivid lesson that ought to prove of great benefit to humanity."
Beth was looking at him curiously now. Patsy was serious and very
attentive. As Uncle John asked his visitor to be seated his voice
betrayed the interest he felt in the conversation.
"Of course we saw only a bit of the picture," said Patsy Doyle. "What was
it all about, Mr. Werner?"
"We try," said he, slowly and impressively, as if in love with his
theme, "to give to our pictures an educational value, as well as to
render them entertaining. Some of them contain a high moral lesson;
others, a warning; many, an incentive to live purer and nobler lives.
All of our plots are conceived with far more thought than you may
suppose. Underlying many of our romances and tragedies are moral
injunctions which are involuntarily absorbed by the observers, yet of so
subtle a nature that they are not suspected. We cannot preach except by
suggestion, for people go to our picture shows to be amused. If we
hurled righteousness at them they would soon desert us, and we would be
obliged to close up shop."
"I must confess that this is, to me, a most novel presentation of the
subject," said Beth, more graciously. "Personally, I care little for your
pictures; but I can understand how travel scenes and scientific or
educational subjects might be of real benefit to the people."
"I can't understand anyone's being indifferent to the charm of motion
pictures," he responded, somewhat reproachfully.
"Why, at first they struck me as wonderful," said the girl. "They were
such a novel invention that I went to see them from pure curiosity. But,
afterward, the subjects presented in the pictures bored me. The drama
pictures were cheap and common, the comedy scenes worse; so I kept away
from the picture theatres."
"Educational pictures," said Mr. Werner, musingly, "have proved a
failure, as I hinted, except when liberally interspersed with scenes of
action and human interest. The only financial failures among the host of
motion picture theatres, so far as I have observed, are those that have
attempted to run travel scenes and educational films exclusively. There
are so few people with your--eh--culture and--and--elevated tastes, you
see, when compared with the masses."
"But tell us about _our_ picture," pleaded Patsy. "What lesson can that
falling wall possibly convey?"
"I'll be glad to explain that," he eagerly replied, "for I am quite proud
of it, I assure you. There are many buildings throughout our larger
cities that were erected as cheaply as possible and without a single
thought for the safety of their tenants. So many disasters have resulted
from this that of late years building inspectors have been appointed in
every locality to insist on proper materials and mechanical efficiency
in the erection of all classes of buildings. These inspectors, however,
cannot tear the old buildings down to see if they are safe, and paint and
plaster cover a multitude of sins of unscrupulous builders. Usually the
landlord or owner knows well the condition of his property and in many
cases refuses to put it into such shape as to insure the safety of his
tenants. Greed, false economy and heartless indifference to the welfare
of others are unfortunately too prevalent among the wealthy class. No
ordinary argument could induce owners to expend money in strengthening or
rebuilding their income-producing properties. But I get after them in my
picture with a prod that ought to rouse them to action.
"The picture opens with a scene in the interior of a factory. Men, girls
and boys are employed. The foreman observes a warning crack in the wall
and calls the proprietor's attention to it. In this case the manufacturer
is the owner of the building, but he refuses to make repairs. His
argument is that the wall has stood for many years and so is likely to
stand for many more; it would be a waste of money to repair the old
shell. Next day the foreman shows him that the crack has spread and
extended along the wall in an alarming manner but still the owner will
not act. The workmen counsel together seriously. They dare not desert
their jobs, for they must have money to live. They send a petition to the
owner, who becomes angry and swears he won't be driven to a useless
expense by his own employees. In the next scene the manufacturer's
daughter--his only child--having heard that the building was unsafe,
comes to her father's office to plead with him to change his mind and
make the needed repairs. Although he loves this daughter next to his
money he resents her interference in a business matter, and refuses. Her
words, however, impress him so strongly that he calls her back from the
door to kiss her and say that he will give the matter further thought,
for her sake.
"As she leaves the office there is a cry of terror from the factory and
the working people come rushing out of the now tottering building. That
was when you two young ladies came walking up the street and were dragged
out of danger by the foreman of the shop--in other words, by myself. The
owner's daughter, bewildered by the confusion, hesitates what to do or
which way to turn, and as she stands upon the sidewalk she is crushed by
the falling wall, together with several of her father's employees."
"How dreadful!" exclaimed Patsy.
"Of course no one was actually hurt," he hastened to say; "for we used
dummy figures for the wall to fall upon. In the final scene the bereaved
father suddenly realizes that he has been working and accumulating only
for this beloved child--the child whose life he has sacrificed by his
miserly refusal to protect his workmen. His grief is so intense that no
one who follows the story of this picture will ever hesitate to repair a
building promptly, if he learns it is unsafe. Do you now understand the
lesson taught, young ladies?"
Mr. Werner's dramatic recital had strongly impressed the two girls, while
Uncle John was visibly affected.
"I'm very glad," said the little man fervently, "that none of my money is
in factories or other buildings that might prove unsafe. It would make
my life miserable if I thought I was in any way responsible for such a
catastrophe as you have pictured."
"It seems to me," observed Patsy, "that your story is unnecessarily
cruel, Mr. Werner."
"Then you do not understand human nature," he retorted; "or, at least,
that phase of human nature I have aimed at. Those indifferent rich men
are very hard to move and you must figuratively hit them squarely between
the eyes to make them even wink."
They were silent for a time, considering this novel aspect of the picture
business. Then Beth asked:
"Can you tell us, sir, when and where we shall be able to see this
picture?"
"It will be released next Monday."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that we, as manufacturers, supply certain agencies in all the
large cities, who in turn rent our films to the many picture theatres.
When a picture is ready, we send copies to all our agencies and set a
day when they may release it, or give it to their customers to use. In
this way the picture will be shown in all parts of the United States on
the same day--in this case, next Monday."
"Isn't that very quick?"
"Yes. The picture we took yesterday will to-night be shipped, all
complete and ready to run, to forty-four different centers."
"And will any picture theatre in Hollywood or Los Angeles show it?"
"Certainly. It will be at the Globe Theatre in Los Angeles and at the
Isis Theatre in Hollywood, for the entire week."
"We shall certainly see it," announced Uncle John.
When Mr. Werner had gone they conversed for some time on the subject of
motion pictures, and the man's remarkable statement concerning them.
"I had no idea," Beth confessed, "that the industry of making pictures is
so extensive and involves so much thought and detail."
"And money," added Uncle John. "It must be a great expense just to
employ that army of actors."
"I suppose Mr. Werner, being a theatrical man, has drawn the long bow in
his effort to impress us," said Patsy. "I've been thinking over some of
the pictures I've seen recently and I can't imagine a moral, however
intangible or illusive, in connection with any of them. But perhaps I
wasn't observant enough. The next time I go to a picture show I shall
study the plays more carefully."
CHAPTER III
AN ATTRACTIVE GIRL
On Saturday they were treated to a genuine surprise, for when the omnibus
drew up before the hotel entrance it brought Arthur Weldon and his
girl-wife, Louise, who was Uncle John's eldest niece. It also brought
"the Cherub," a wee dimpled baby hugged closely in the arms of Inez, its
Mexican nurse.