He led the way into a great hall,
as large as an armory and broken intermittently with busy sets and
blinding rows of unfamiliar light. Each piece of scenery was marked in
large white letters "Gaston Mears Company," "Mack Dodge Company," or
simply "Films Par Excellence."
"Ever been in a studio before?"
"Never have."
She liked it. There was no heavy closeness of greasepaint, no scent of
soiled and tawdry costumes which years before had revolted her behind
the scenes of a musical comedy. This work was done in the clean
mornings; the appurtenances seemed rich and gorgeous and new. On a set
that was joyous with Manchu hangings a perfect Chinaman was going
through a scene according to megaphone directions as the great
glittering machine ground out its ancient moral tale for the edification
of the national mind.
A red-headed man approached them and spoke with familiar deference to
Bloeckman, who answered:
"Hello, Debris. Want you to meet Mrs. Patch.... Mrs. Patch wants to go
into pictures, as I explained to you.... All right, now, where do
we go?"
Mr. Debris--the great Percy B. Debris, thought Gloria--showed them to a
set which represented the interior of an office.
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