“There, you see?” interrupted Mr. Untz, slipping into a pause. “That’s all there is to it. So now let us please get down to business.”
So they got down to business. And it was not easy business, photographing these monsters. Keeping the cage wires out of focus required a critical distance for each lens but whenever a camera came too near a fibrilla would shoot forward—at the glass, no doubt—and scare the wits out of the cameramen.
The shorter lenses got too much of the surrounding area into the picture. The crew tried and tried. One technician muttered darkly that the organization contract didn’t cover this sort of thing. Mr. Untz pleaded and cajoled and heckled and moved about and tried to keep things going. Somehow, anyhow.
Eddie Tamoto, the chief cameraman, finally came up to him and said, “It’s no use, Max. These cages simply don’t allow us to do anything. Why don’t we put them in the cages they use for jungle pictures? They’re big and camouflaged, and the mesh size is right.”
“So maybe we’ll have to do that,” said Mr. Untz.
Dr. Mildume dipped his head. “I don’t know. I’d like to see these other cages first.”
“Look,” said Mr. Untz. “Don’t worry about it. If they hold lions they will hold your whatever-you-call-thems. I’ll get the animal trainer, Flaubert, to stand by. He practically talks to animals—except horses, which is his hard luck.”
The jungle cages were duly summoned and so was Etienne Flaubert of the Golden West Animal Education Studios on Sunset Boulevard. While they waited Mr. Untz stood aside with Harold Potter. He mopped his brow—he gestured at the whole group. “This,” he said, “is the story of my life.”
“It is?” asked Harold.
Mr. Untz nodded. “Me, I am an expert on musicals. Musicals 57 I can do with my left hand. But ever since I am in Hollywood I do everything but a musical. And always something gets fouled up. Always there is trouble. You will not believe this, Harold, but I am an unhappy man.”