The director was shouting a medley of orders through that wonderful megaphone of his. He seemed to be able to see everything that took place. Hugh compared him to what he had once read about the eminent conductor of orchestra and musical festivals, Theodore Thomas, who when more than a hundred musicians were practicing under his direction, with a fearful outburst of sound and melody, would suddenly stop the proceedings, and scold a certain player whose instrument had "flatted," or come in just an ace behind the regular time.
And every member of that vast company was keeping a wary eye on the director all the time seeming to be working like mad. They were waiting to catch the signal that was to inaugurate the final scene, where those on the walls were to weaken, allowing one after another of the ascending men on the ladders to crawl over the parapet.
The door was really giving way now under the bombardment brought to bear upon it. Indeed, not to be premature those who wielded the battering ram had to slacken their efforts more or less, though pretending to work as furiously as heretofore.
One thing alone seemed lacking, according to the mind of Billy, to make the battle seem the real thing. There were no cannon shots, and even the rattle of muskets and small arms appeared lacking.
Later on, when by chance in a carping, critical mood he mentioned this fact, he was greeted by a roar of derision from Monkey Stallings and Alec, who told him to brush up a little on history. He must remember that in those ancient days gunpowder had not been invented, and that consequently all missiles that passed through the air had to be hurled by machines fashioned after the style of the familiar rubber sling so well known to all boys.
"It's coming soon now, fellows!" shouted the Stallings boy, whose quick eye no doubt noted certain preparations for the final scene, such as a gathering of the assailants on the ladders, now no longer being overthrown, and also clinging to such projections of the stone walls near the escarpment as they could find.
Alec held his hand.
"Only one more picture!" he was groaning, disconsolately, at the same time determined that it should be the climax of the whole affair, when the castle walls were actually carried by the energetic horde pushing against them.
More wildly than ever waved those frantic appeals for "help" from the narrow window slits in the tower room. The "fair lady" was apparently doing everything in her power to encourage her knight and his followers to renewed efforts in her behalf.
Of course, it was a foregone conclusion that the gallants who were doing the assaulting would be victorious in the end. Motion-picture patrons differ from those who attend the grand opera, since they will not stand to have their drama turn out disagreeably. Right must always triumph over might, regardless of how it actually happens in real life; and the villainous knight was sure to be punished as soon as the heroic leader of the attacking party could force an entrance to the castle, and chase after him to the tower room.