"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?"