EXPLANATORY NOTE.

In writing this I ought to explain that I am a tottering old man of forty-six.  I was born too soon to understand moving pictures.  They go too fast.  I can’t keep up.  In my young days we used a magic lantern.  It showed Robinson Crusoe in six scenes.  It took all evening to show them.  When it was done the hall was filled full with black smoke and the audience quite unstrung with excitement.  What I set down here represents my thoughts as I sit in front of a moving picture photoplay and interpret it as best I can.

Flick, flick, flick!  I guess it must be going to begin now, but it’s queer the people don’t stop talking:  how can they expect to hear the pictures if they go on talking?  Now it’s off.  PASSED BY THE BOARD OF—.  Ah, this looks interesting—­passed by the board of—­wait till I adjust my spectacles and read what it—­

It’s gone.  Never mind, here’s something else, let me see—­CAST OF CHARACTERS—­Oh, yes—­let’s see who they are—­MADELINE MEADOWLARK, a young something—­EDWARD DANGERFIELD, a—­a what?  Ah, yes, a roo—­at least, it’s spelt r-o-u-e, that must be roo all right—­but wait till I see what that is that’s written across the top—­MADELINE MEADOWLARK; OR, ALONE IN A GREAT CITY.  I see, that’s the title of it.  I wonder which of the characters is alone.  I guess not Madeline:  she’d hardly be alone in a place like that.  I imagine it’s more likely Edward Dangerous the Roo.  A roo would probably be alone a great deal, I should think.  Let’s see what the other characters are—­JOHN HOLDFAST, a something.  FARMER MEADOWLARK, MRS. MEADOWLARK, his Something—­

Pshaw, I missed the others, but never mind; flick, flick, it’s beginning—­What’s this?  A bedroom, eh?  Looks like a girl’s bedroom—­pretty poor sort of place.  I wish the picture would keep still a minute—­in Robinson Crusoe it all stayed still and one could sit and look at it, the blue sea and the green palm trees and the black footprints in the yellow sand—­but this blamed thing keeps rippling and flickering all the time—­Ha! there’s the girl herself—­come into her bedroom.  My!  I hope she doesn’t start to undress in it—­that would be fearfully uncomfortable with all these people here.  No, she’s not undressing—­she’s gone and opened the cupboard.  What’s that she’s doing—­taking out a milk jug and a glass—­empty, eh?  I guess it must be, because she seemed to hold it upside down.  Now she’s picked up a sugar bowl—­empty, too, eh?—­and a cake tin, and that’s empty—­What on earth does she take them all out for if they’re empty?  Why can’t she speak?  I think—­hullo—­who’s this coming in?  Pretty hard-looking sort of woman—­what’s she got in her hand?—­some sort of paper, I guess—­she looks like a landlady, I shouldn’t wonder if—­

Flick, flick!  Say!  Look there on the screen: 

   “YOU OWE ME
    THREE WEEKS’ RENT.”

Oh, I catch on! that’s what the landlady says, eh?  Say!  That’s a mighty smart way to indicate it isn’t it?  I was on to that in a minute—­flick, flick—­hullo, the landlady’s vanished—­what’s the girl doing now—­say, she’s praying!  Look at her face!  Doesn’t she look religious, eh?