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Updated: June 2, 2025
And the war dance with radium flares in the camp fires to give the light-effect? That film's in big demand yet, they tell me. I'll never be able to put over stuff like that with made-up actors, Martinson. You know I can't." "I don't know; you're only just beginning to hit your gait, Luck," the manager soothed.
"I expect I could get a punch by burlesquing " "Punch!" Martinson pushed his chair back impetuously. "Punch? Why, my godfrey, man, that stuff's all punch!" Luck curved a palm over his too-expressive mouth while he skimmed the central idea from two or three synopses. Martinson watched him uneasily.
So he went as a champion rather than as a culprit to face the powers above him. Martinson and Bently Brown were waiting for him near the door. They were not going to stay and see the next picture run, and that, in Luck's opinion, was a bad-weather sign. But he came up to them cheerfully, turning his hat in his fingers to find the front of it before he set it on his head. "Ah Mr. Brown, this is Mr.
Some one's been telling him he practically made us a present of his stuff." "Hell!" said Luck. "Why didn't you say so?" "Why didn't you say that you were turning that stuff into farce-comedy?" Martinson came back sharply. "I could have told you it wouldn't get by. I knew Brown wouldn't stand for anything like that; and I knew he could put the gaff into us on that 'manner befitting' clause."
There's somethin' I want to find out about somethin' that I ought to know; but it's a very private matter with me, and " He paused to think and conjecture, looking at Mr. Martinson the while. The latter understood his peculiar state of mind. He had seen many such cases. "Let me say right here, to begin with, Mr.
Martinson, having heard the rumors, felt that they confirmed his own suspicion that Luck had made a big blunder in bringing those cowboys into the company. They were not actors. They did not pretend to be actors. You will see that it was a critical audience indeed that gathered there in the projection room that rainy afternoon to see the trial run of The Soul of the Littlefoot Law.
Martinson claimed to keep one finger pressed firmly upon the public pulse wherever that may be found and to be ever alert for its warning flutterings. Martinson claimed to know a great deal about what the public liked in the way of moving pictures.
That's why I'm here. This man has a house on Girard Avenue Nineteen-thirty-seven. You can find that out, too, when you get over there." "Yes," agreed Mr. Martinson. "Well, it's him that I want to know about him and a certain woman, or girl, rather." The old man paused and winced at this necessity of introducing Aileen into the case. He could scarcely think of it he was so fond of her.
I happen to know that Brown wouldn't consider such a compromise. You've made a bad break, and I believe you made the first one when you brought that bunch of cowboys back with you. If they can do straight dramatic acting, all right; if not, you'd better let them out and start over with professionals." For a peaceable man, Martinson was angry.
"Dammit, who's running this company you or I?" Martinson called after him heatedly. But Luck was already standing on the steps and hoisting his umbrella against the drizzle, and he did not give any sign that he heard. By seven o'clock in the morning, since that was his ultimatum, Luck was standing in his bare feet and pajamas, acrimoniously arguing with Martinson over the telephone.
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