It was in the comic scenes he appeared at his worst. Seeing no humour in them himself, he registered nothing beyond the suggestion of outraged dignity upon the film.
When Mr. Eastlake saw Eliphalet’s comedy—for he was in the habit of having the day’s work projected for his approval each evening on a miniature screen—he was exceeding wroth. Consequently he visited the studio next morning and engaged the old actor in conversation.
“Seems to me,” he said, “your comedy is not a strong point. Now, Bulmore told me you could be screamingly funny when you like.”
“Funny!” echoed Eliphalet. “I have never been funny in my life.”
“Well, that’s what he told me, and on the strength of it I made the engagement. Sorry to bother you, but if this film is to be released, you really must whack a bit of fun into your part.”
“I will do my best,” said Eliphalet loftily. “But ‘every tree is known by his own fruit. For of thorns men do not gather figs, nor of a bramble-bush gather they grapes.’ ” And having delivered this dictum, he bowed and walked away.
It is doubtful whether Eliphalet’s efforts to be funny would have given amusement to a village idiot. He was frankly at sea with the ridiculous—at sea in an unexplored ocean, and his flounderings were pitiful to behold.
So Mr. Eastlake and the producer held a conference and decided it was useless to proceed.
“We’ll burn the lot,” said Eastlake. “Pay him off and start afresh. That fellow Bulmore fairly sold us a dog.”
Next morning Eliphalet was politely informed that his services were no longer required. No reasons were given, nor any reproaches made. Film companies conduct their business on business lines. There is no “incompetent” clause in their contracts. When a performer has failed to give satisfaction, he is paid in full, and another is engaged. Eliphalet received a cheque for thirty-five guineas, and a polite “Good-day” from the cashier.