“Get that black with the kinky hair and the shoebrush mustache!”
“Dat’s Figger Bush!”
The three actors were conducted to the front of the camera and Rouke gave his directions:
“Lalla, you and Sour Sudds sit down in the chairs beside that little table. Sour, you make love to the girl with all your might. Hold her hand, make goo-goo eyes, act like you loved her more than any other woman in the world——”
“Lemme do dat!” Skeeter Butts broke in.
Had there been a proneness to apoplexy in the Rouke family, Shirley would now be dead. As it was, Skeeter Butts never knew how near his interruption had brought him to a sudden and violent death. It is safe to say that nothing like that had ever happened before in the moving picture world.
“Buck up, Rouke!” Pellet spoke sharply. “Don’t scatter the beans!”
Rouke swallowed four times, then spoke in a voice as gentle as the tones of a butcher conducting some Mary’s little lamb into the slaughterhouse after the said lamb had butted him down:
“No, Skeeter. I’ll tell you what to do in a minute. I might also tell you where to go and some other things, but duty restrains my inclination.”
Then he turned to Figger Bush: