he streets have any idea that we act for the
'movies.' Sometimes we appear publicly in the streets, in characteristic
costume, and proceed to enact our play where all may observe us; but
there are so many picture companies in this neighborhood that we are no
longer looked upon as a novelty and the people passing by pay little
attention to us."

"Were you in that picture of the falling wall?" asked Beth.

"No. We were rehearsing for 'Samson and Delilah.' But sometimes we
are called upon to do curious things. One night, not long ago, a big
residence burned down in the foothills back of our hotel. At the
first alarm of fire one of the directors wakened us and we jumped
into our clothes and were whisked in an automobile to the scene of
the conflagration. The camera-man was already there and, while we
had to dodge the fire-fighters and the hose men, both Flo and I
managed to be 'saved from the flames' by some of our actors--not
once, but several times."

"It must have been thrilling!" gasped Patsy.

"It was exciting, at the moment," confessed Maud. "One of the pictures
proved very dramatic, so an author wrote a story where at the climax a
girl was rescued from the flames by her lover, and we took our time to
act the several scenes that led up to the fire. The completed picture was
a great success, I'm told."

"Those directors must be wonderfully enterprising fellows," said Beth.

"They are, indeed, constantly on the lookout for effects. Every incident
that occurs in real life is promptly taken advantage of. The camera-men
are everywhere, waiting for their chance. Often their pictures prove of
no value and are destroyed, but sometimes the scenes they catch are very
useful to work into a picture play. A few weeks ago I was shipwrecked on
the ocean and saved by clinging to a raft. That was not pleasant and I
caught a severe cold by being in the water too long; but I was chosen
because I can swim. Such incidents are merely a part of our game--a game
where personal comfort is frequently sacrificed to art. Once Flo leaped
over a thirty-foot precipice and was caught in a net at the bottom. The
net was, of course, necessary, but when the picture was displayed her
terrible leap was followed by a view of her mangled body at the bottom of
the canyon."

"How did they manage to do that?" asked Patsy.

"Stopped the camera, cut off the piece of film showing her caught by the
net, and substituted a strip on which was recorded Flo's