Softly the small orchestra began a weird musical number, while from the projectors that threw the pictures onto the screen, their lenses showing colored lights instead through tinted isinglass disks, came a combined rose and blue that gave the stage, as the curtains opened, the effect of dusk coming on just after sunset.
Weird tom-toms thudded gently from the enclosure which pictured a forest background. Before this, around a small “practical” fire, well protected, sat some supers, made up as Indians.
“There’s John Ti,” murmured Chick to Garry.
“He’s going to sing!”
As Garry spoke the young Indian broke into a chant, with a melodious voice, standing against the soft light supposed to be the dying sun’s afterglow over the sea, to one side of the stage.
Three white people came into the scene, watching, all evidently campers, from their dress. They were extremely modern, both in pantomimic actions and in their garments. One was a girl, the other two were men, and their attentions to the girl spoke clearly of great interest in her.
To the increasing rapidity of the music after the song, those make-believe warriors seemed to be caught by the spirit of some old mood, and they rose, moving about, presenting a colorful, barbaric picture as they began a dance, to the thrum of the piano and the song of violins, while dull drumbeats punctuated the music.
From the wings, as the music became more wild, appeared the old Indian in blanket, feathered head-dress and other marks of his chieftainship.
One of the men began to make motions calculated to show his feeling of superiority toward the stalking old man, and the girl turned from him in a sort of distress, then the other man caught her hand, whereupon his rival glowered, and his hand moved toward his hip.
At once the old chief stretched out an arm—the dancers drew back and squatted, the chief approached the fire, beckoning to the girl.