"I should dearly love to watch you work,"she said to him frankly."But you see how it is;Mr.Burns hasn't got hold of himself yet.If he comes to his senses before he has a stroke of apoplexy,will you show me how you run that thing?""You bet I will,"the red-sweatered one promised her cheerfully.
"How much longer will it be before this bench is in the shade?"she asked him next.
"Half an hour,--maybe a little longer."Pete glanced again anxiously upward.
"And--how long do these spasms usually last?"Jean's head tilted toward Robert Grant Burns as impersonally as if she were indicating a horse with colic.
But the camera man had gone as far as was wise,if he cared to continue working for Burns,and he made no reply whatever.So Jean turned her attention to the man whose bulk shaded her from the sun,and whose remarks would have been wholly unforgivable had she not chosen to ignore them.
"If you really are anxious to go on making pictures,why don't you stop all that ranting and be sensible about it?"she asked him."You can't bully me into being afraid of you,you know.And really,you are making an awful spectacle of yourself,going on like that.""Listen here!Are you going to get off that bench and out of the scene?"By a tremendous effort Robert Grant Burns spoke that sentence with a husky kind of calm.
"That all depends upon yourself,Mr.Burns.First,I want to know by what right you come here with your picture-making.You haven't explained that yet,you know."The highest paid director of the Great Western Film Company looked at her long.With her head tilted back,Jean returned the look.
"Oh,all right--all right,"he surrendered finally.
"Read that paper.That ought to satisfy you that we ain't trespassing here or anywhere else.And if you'd kindly,"--and Mr.Burns emphasized the word "kindly,"--"remove yourself to some other spot that is just as comfortable--"Jean did not even hear him,once she had the paper in her hands and had begun to read it.So Robert Grant Burns folded his arms across his heaving chest and watched her and studied her and measured her with his mind while she read.He saw the pulling together of her eyebrows,and the pinching of her under-lip between her teeth.He saw how she unconsciously sheltered the little brown bird under her left hand in her lap because she must hold the paper with the other,and he quite forgot his anger against her.
Sitting so,she made a picture that appealed to him.
Had you asked him why,he would have said that she was the type that would photograph well,and that she had a screen personality;which would have been high praise indeed,coming from him.
Jean read the brief statement that in consideration of a certain sum paid to him that day by Robert G.
Burns,her uncle,Carl Douglas,thereby gave the said Robert G.Burns permission to use the Lazy A ranch and anything upon it or in any manner pertaining to it,for the purpose of making motion pictures.It was plainly set forth that Robert G.Burns should be held responsible for any destruction of or damage to the property,and that he might,for the sum named,use any cattle bearing the Lazy A or Bar O brands for the making of pictures,so long as he did them no injury and returned them in good condition to the range from which he had gathered them.
Jean recognized her uncle's ostentatious attempt at legal phraseology and knew,even without the evidence of his angular writing,that the document was genuine.
She knew also that Robert Grant Burns was justified in ordering her off that bench;she had no right there,where he was making his pictures.She forced back the bitterness that filled her because of her own helplessness,and folded the paper carefully.The little brown bird chirped shrilly and fluttered a feeble protest when she took away her sheltering hand.Jean returned the paper hastily to its owner and took up the bird.
"I beg your pardon for delaying your work,"she said coldly,and rose from the bench."But you might have explained your presence in the first place."She wrapped the bird carefully in her handkerchief so that only its beak and its bright eyes were uncovered,pulled her hat forward upon her head,and walked away from them down the path to the stables.
Robert Grant Burns turned slowly on his heels and watched her go,and until she had led out her horse,mounted and ridden away,he said never a word.Pete Lowry leaned an elbow upon the camera and watched her also,until she passed out of sight around the corner of the dilapidated calf shed,and he was as silent as the director.
"Some rider,"Lee Milligan commented to the assistant camera man,and without any tangible reason regretted that he had spoken.
Robert Grant Burns turned harshly to the two women."Now then,you two go through that scene again.And when you put out your hand to stop Muriel,don't grab at her,Mrs.Gay.Hesitate!You want your son to get the warning,but you've got your doubts about letting her take the risk of going.And,Gay,when you read the letter,try and show a little emotion in your face.You saw how that girl looked --see if you can't get that hurt,bitter look GRADUALLY,as you read.The way she got it.Put in more feeling and not so much motion.You know what I mean;you saw the girl.That's the stuff that gets over.
Ready?Camera!"
