“So do I,” said Uncle John.  “They’ll combine the phonograph with the pictures, for one thing, so that the players, instead of being silent, will speak as clearly as in real life.  Then we’ll have the grand operas, by all the most famous singers, elaborately staged; and we’ll be able to see and hear them for ten cents, instead of ten dollars.  It will be the same with the plays of the greatest actors.”

“That would open up a curious complication,” asserted Louise.  “The operas would only be given once, before the camera and the recorder.  Then what would happen to all the high-priced opera singers?”

“They would draw royalties on all their productions, instead of salaries,” replied Arthur.

“Rather easy for the great artists!” observed Patsy.  “One performance—­and the money rolling in for all time to come.”

“Well, they deserve it,” declared Beth.  “And think of what the public would gain!  Instead of having to suffer during the performances of incompetent actors and singers, as we do to-day, the whole world would be able to see and hear the best talent of the ages for an insignificant fee.  I hope your prediction will come true, Uncle John.”

“It’s bound to,” he replied, with confidence.  “I’ve read somewhere that Edison and others have been working on these lines for years, and although they haven’t succeeded yet, anything possible in mechanics is bound to be produced in time.”

CHAPTER IV

AUNT JANE’S NIECES

The picture, which was entitled “The Sacrifice,” proved—­to use Patsy’s words—­“a howling success.”  On Monday afternoons the little theatres are seldom crowded, so Mr. Merrick’s party secured choice seats where they could observe every detail of the photography.  The girls could not wait for a later performance, so eager were they to see themselves in a motion picture, nor were they disappointed to find they were a mere incident in the long roll of film.

The story of the photo-play was gripping in its intensity, and since Mr. Werner had clearly explained the lesson it conveyed, they followed the plot with rapt attention.  In the last scene their entrance and exit was transitory, but they were obliged to admit that their features were really expressive of fear.  The next instant the wall fell, burying its victims, and this rather bewildered them when they remembered that fully half an hour had elapsed while the dummies were being placed in position, the real people removed from danger and preparations made to topple over the wall from the inside of the building.  But the camera had been inactive during that period and so cleverly had the parts of the picture been united that no pause whatever was observable to the spectators.

“My! what a stuffy place,” exclaimed Louise, as they emerged into the light of day.  “I cannot understand why it is necessary to have these moving picture theatres so gloomy and uncomfortable.”