Vida is tickled to see me and takes me right in where they’re beginning to act a gripping feature production.  Old Bill Grouch is there in front of a three-legged camera barking at the actors that are waiting round in their disguises—­with more paint on ’em than even a young girl will use if her mother don’t watch her.  The grouch is very polite to Vida and me and shows us where to stand so we won’t get knocked over by other actors that are carrying round furniture and electric light stands and things.

They got a parlour in a humble home where the first scene is to be.  There’s a mother and a fair-haired boy of twenty and a cop that’s come to pinch him for a crime.  The play at this point is that the mother has to plead with the cop not to drag her boy off to a prison cell, and she has to do it with streaming eyes.  It was darned interesting.  The boy is standing with bowed head and the cop is looking sympathetic but firm, and mother is putting something into her eyes out of a medicine dropper.  I whisper to Vida and she says it’s glycerine for the tears.  She holds her head back when she puts ’em in and they run down her cheeks very lifelike when she straightens up.

So mother comes forward with her streaming face and they’re all ready to act when the grouch halts things and barks at the boy that he ain’t standing right.  He goes up and shows him how to stand more shamefully.  But the tears on mother’s face have dripped away and have to be renewed.  She was a nice, kind-appearing mother all right, but I noticed she looked peeved when this delay happened.  Vida explains that glycerine don’t damage the eyes really, but it makes ’em smart a lot, and this actress, Miss St. Clair, has a right to feel mad over having to put in some more.

But she does it, though with low muttering when the grouch calls “All right, Miss St. Clair!” and is coming forward to act with this here second batch of tears when the grouch stops it with another barking fit.  He barks at the policeman this time.  He says the policeman must do more acting.

“You know you have a boy of your own,” says he, “and how you’d hate to have him arrested for this crime, but you’re also remembering that law is law and you’re sworn to uphold it.  Try to get that now.  All ready, Miss St. Clair—­we’re waiting for you, Miss St. Clair!”

I’d watched this actress the second time her tears was spoiled and her expression didn’t fit a loving mother’s face one bit.  Her breath come as in scenes of tense emotion, but she hotly muttered something that made me think I must of misunderstood her, because no lady actress would say it, let alone a kind old mother.  However, she backs off and for the third time has this medicine dropper worked on her smarting eyes.  Once more she comes forward with streaming eyes of motherly love, and I’m darned if this grouch don’t hold things up again.