“I haven’t witnessed one of those atrocious exhibitions for months,” announced Beth; “nor have I any desire to see one again.”

“Not our own special picture?” asked Patsy reproachfully.

“They had no right to force us into their dreadful drama,” protested Beth.  “Motion pictures are dreadfully tiresome things—­comedies and tragedies alike.  They are wild and weird in conception, quite unreal and wholly impossible.  Of course the scenic pictures, and those recording historical events, are well enough in their way, but I cannot understand how so many cheap little picture theatres thrive.”

“They are the poor people’s solace and recreation,” declared Mr. Merrick.  “The picture theatre has become the laboring man’s favorite resort.  It costs him but five or ten cents and it’s the sort of show he can appreciate.  I’m told the motion picture is considered the saloon’s worst enemy, for many a man is taking his wife and children to a picture theatre evenings instead of joining a gang of his fellows before the bar, as he formerly did.”

“That is the best argument in their favor I have ever heard,” admitted Beth, who was strong on temperance; “but I hope, Uncle, you are not defending the insolent methods of those picture-makers.”

“Not at all, my dear.  I consider the trapping of innocent bystanders to be—­eh—­er—­highly reprehensible, and perhaps worse.  If I can discover what picture manager was guilty of the act, I shall—­shall—­”

“What, Uncle?”

“I shall hint that he owes you an apology,” he concluded, rather lamely.

Beth smiled scornfully.

“Meantime,” said she, “two very respectable girls, who are not actresses, will be exhibited before the critical eyes of millions of stupid workmen, reformed drunkards, sad-faced women and wiggling children—­not in dignified attitudes, mind you, but scurrying from what they supposed was an imminent danger.”

“I hope it will do the poor things good to see us,” retorted Patsy.  “To be strictly honest, Beth, we were not trapped at all; we were the victims of circumstances.  When I remember how quick-witted and alert that manager was, to catch us unawares and so add to the value of his picture, I can quite forgive the fellow his audacity.”

“It wasn’t audacity so much as downright impudence!” persisted Beth.

“I quite agree with you,” said Mr. Merrick.  “Do you wish me to buy that film and prevent the picture’s being shown?”

“Oh, no!” cried Patsy in protest.  “I’m dying to see how we look.  I wouldn’t have that picture sidetracked for anything.”

“And you, Beth?”

“Really, Uncle John, the thing is not worth worrying over,” replied his niece.  “I am naturally indignant at being drawn into such a thing against my will, but I doubt if anyone who knows us, or whose opinion we value, will ever visit a moving picture theatre or see this film.  The common people will not recognize us, of course.”