Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 17, 1924 — page 133: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE EYE OF Bonwell happened to glance at her once during the scene and was not entirely dis- pleased, which is usually as far as a di- rector goes with an extra. Later on he said: ‘‘ Fred, have the dead fish back for the funeral scene—she ought to be thoroughly adequate for that.” So Myrtle was in the funeral scene, and cried heartily and frankly. Funerals had often figured in her dreams. Again Bon- well was not entirely displeased. But in the projection room, when the print was being run, he did not notice her. She hadn’t been in any close-ups or semi close- ups, always in full or long shots, so he did not distinguish her except as a part of the background. Then he forgot all about her. This was in the summer. Bert Haswell, however, had her name and address in the casting files, and used her occasionally. She was always ready, and always prompt, and she never smiled at him, and asked him to remember her in the next picture. Sometimes she worked one day a week, sometimes two, sometimes only once in three weeks— but she got along somehow. It seemed cruel that ambition should have selected Myrtle’s soul for a lodging place at this time. It was a very small am- bition, but it took firm root. She began to try to act before her mirror. The results were not encouraging—a negative, if not positively homely face, looked back at her from the glass, but she persevered. Love Dora had moved away. She want- ed to be nearer Universal City, where she was getting more work than at the Acme in Hollywood, so Myrtle was alone. One day she met Love Dora on the street. “How are you getting along?” Love Dora asked. “ All right.” “ Still at it?” “Yes.” “ Well, don’t let the wild life of Holly- wood get you.” Love Dora laughed and went on, Myrtle felt a warm glow at her heart. It took even this little to call her gratitude into being—she was grateful to Love Dora for her interest. At this time Myrtle hadn’t had any work for a long time, and THE CAMERA. 283 she hadn’t had a real meal in longer yet. She was thinner, paler—more of a shell than ever. But underneath her dreams were unimpaired, and to them had been added those dreams connected with the day when she would be a real extra—her serv- ices often in demand. Then she was brought to Bonwell’s at- tention again by Haswell’s sending her out to him as a type for a slum picture Bon- well was shooting. She looked so pathetic, so undernourished, so anemic, that she was precisely what he was looking for. ‘Fine, Miss Skinner—you’re just what I want.” The scenario writer had opened this pic- ture with a sub-title which, divested of florid wording, meant that it was night in New York, and to prove it, had written a number of shots showing life after dark in the great city. In one of these—they had no further connection with the picture— Bonwell thought he could use Myrtle. So Myrtle appeared at the window of a slum room in a long shot. The camera, ap- parently in the street below, was in reality on a platform outside the window. She was silhouetted against the light from a lamp. Her action was that of setting a potted geranium on the window ledge. At the end of the scene Myrtle came to herself with a start. She had been dreaming a dream of dire poverty. She looked appre- hensively at Mr. Bonwell, hoping he had not noticed. Bonwell frowned, and stroked his chin. He hesitated, then said: “ What do you think, Kenneth—shall we try a semi-close up of that?” The star shrugged. try.” The camera was moved forward to the four foot line. The Kleigs were massed in- “ Might be worth a side the window and out. Spots and Lilliputs added their quota of light. “ Lights!” “* Camera!” Myrtle set the geranium on the window ledge. Again the dream had gripped her. She felt it was the only friend she had in the world. She bent over the plant with a soft caress of her fingers. <4 Cat.” COnmmicloool< (C@