For the rest of that morning, no one saw nor heard of either of the young people, but at luncheon, there was such a babel of voices that Mr. Fabian rapped upon the table and called all to order.
“Hear, hear! The camera-man wishes to say a word!” laughed the Count.
There was instant silence.
“I have been handed three chapters of the scenario and I wish to say, if the other three are as good as the first ones, we will have a thriller. In the words of the publicity man, we shall produce a ‘gripping, heart-melting drama of unprecedented greatness and magnificence.’ For quintessence of perfection in pictures, this latest production of ours promises to ‘skin ’em’ all to the bone.’ Fellow-craftsmen! Go back to your work as soon as this bit of sustenance for the inner man is over, and dream of the success your pen is bound to win!—the glory and honor about to rest upon your noble brows for achieving such a great thing as the breathless, throbbing, soul-moving, passionate story of ‘Gladys the Shop-Girl’!”
The amateur play-wrights laughed merrily at their manager’s comment upon their dramatic work, but they lost no time in gossiping at the table, that noon. Before the dessert had been served, the girls excused themselves and ran back to their work.
That evening all efforts were in Count Chalmys’ hands and he was besieged for a report on the progress of the drama. He sent out word that he was to be left absolutely in peace for an hour and then he would appear with the hinged together chapters of a six-reel play.
After dinner, that night, a curious and impatient group of authors sat in one of the smaller saloons, watching the Count assemble the pages of the scenario. He had actually typed them on his folding typewriter and now came across the room, smiling encouragingly upon his company.
“Well, we haven’t such a tame play as everyone thought we would be sure to produce. All told, you will find the six reels fit in pretty good, one to the other, in continuity, but I shall have to exchange the chapters by Nolla and Dodo, as to priority. ‘Now listen, my children, and you shall hear’ etc.—you know the rest!” The Count laughed as he sat down.
“A-hem!” he cleared his throat as a starter. “The name of the play has been suggested by six writers, so I will have to have the title chosen by vote. A closed poll, probably, to avoid the usual fight in politics. First title:
“‘Life’s Thorny Road.’ This was submitted by Ruth Ashby.