XV
The proprietor of Eternal City wiped his perspiring forehead with
his napkin, and started rather hurriedly to make conversation. I
understood that he wanted to enjoy his dinner, and proposed to talk
about something pleasant in the meantime. "I vonna tell you about
dis picture ve're goin' to see took, Mr. Carpenter. I vant you
should see de scale we do tings on, ven we got a big subjic.
Y'unnerstand, dis is a feature picture ve're makin' now; a night
picture, a big mob scene.".
"Mob scene?" said Carpenter. "You have so many mobs in this world of
yours!"
"Vell, sure," said T-S. "You gotta take dis vorld de vay you find
it. Y'can't change human nature, y'know. But dis vot you're gonna
see tonight is only a play mob, y'unnerstand."
"That is what seems strangest of all to me," said the other,
thoughtfully. "You like mobs so well that you make imitation ones!"
"Vell, de people, dey like to see crowds in a picture, and dey like
to see action. If you gonna have a big picture, you gotta spend de
money."
"Why not take this real mob that is outside the door?"
"Ha, ha, ha! Ve couldn't verk dat very good, Mr. Carpenter. Ve gotta
have it in de right set; and ven you git a real mob, it don't alvays
do vot you vant exactly! Besides, you can't take night pictures
unless you got your lights and everyting. No, ve gotta make our mobs
to order; we got two tousand fellers hired--"
"What Mr. Rosythe called 'studio bums'? You have that many?"
"Sure, we could git ten tousand if de set vould hold 'em. Dis
picture is called 'De Tale o' Two Cities,' and it's de French
revolution. It's about a feller vot takes anodder feller's place and
gits his head cut off; and say, dere's a sob story in it vot's a
vunder. Ven dey brought me de scenario, I says, 'Who's de author?'
Dey says, 'It's a guy named Charles Dickens.' 'Dickens?' says I.
'Vell, I like his verk. Vot's his address?' And Lipsky, he says,
says he, 'Dey tell me he stays in a place called Vestminster Abbey,
in England.' 'Vell,' says I, 'send him a cablegram and find out vot
he'll take fer an exclusive contract.' So we sent a cablegram to
Charles Dickens, Vestminster Abbey, England, and we didn't git no
answer, and come to find out, de boys in de studios vas havin' a
laugh on old Abey, because dis guy Dickens is some old time feller,
and de Abbey is vere dey got his bones. Vell, dey can have deir
fun--how de hell's a feller like me gonna git time to know about
writers? Vy, only twelve years ago, Maw here and me vas carryin'
pants in a push-cart fer a livin', and we didn't know if a book vas
top-side up or bottom--ain't it, Maw?"
Maw certified that it was--though I thought not quite so eagerly as
her husband. There were five little T-S's growing up, and bringing
pressure to let the dead past stay buried, in Vestminster Abbey or
wherever it might be.
The waiter brought the dinner, and spread it before us. And T-S
tucked his napkin under both ears, and grabbed his knife in one hand
and his fork in the other, and took a long breath, and said:
"Good-bye, folks. See you later!" And he went to work.
