“I mean, just as you did before. Frances and Betty squatting anyhow in the snow; Austin standing up with his legs apart, his cap pushed back, his hands in his pockets, and looking awfully ashamed of himself; Max down on one knee, holding the broken bottle, and with such a dismal face.” Florry caught hold of the camera and led the way back to the roadside. She had an idea.
“It will be a picture—we’ll call it ‘Disaster!’,” she went on rapidly. “Frances and Betty will be showing each other the wasted jelly and beef-tea. It won’t be acting—it will be real.”
The young people threw themselves with their usual enthusiasm into Florry’s plan. As they grouped on the snow, Florry, who was careful of details, requested Austin to turn up his collar in consideration of the wintry atmosphere she wished to preserve in the composition of her picture, and implored him to look at the ruin he had wrought, and not to stare, round-eyed, at the camera.
“Is it a quick plate?” she asked him.
“No;—I’m sorry. My handbook says slow plates are best for snow-effects; and when we came out, I meant—”
“Never mind! Just wait a moment, as quiet as you can, while I draw my shutter. But when I say ‘Now!’ mind you don’t wink an eye.”
“Winking an eye,” began Austin eagerly, “wouldn’t show on a slow plate. It—”
“Hush—sh—sh! We sha’n’t hear Florry’s ‘Now!’”
The group waited and listened.
“I’ve done,” said Florry calmly. And she capped her lens as she spoke.