was eight thousand feet wasted--and believe you me I was sore
myself for we had shot that strangling sceene six times by then and my
marcelle wave was completely ruined by it, and I would of liked to of
had something to show for it.

But anyways, orders was to quit and so me and Ma and the two fool dogs
and Musette left the wilds of Jersey and after a stormy voyage across
the Hudson come safely home to our modest little apartment on the drive,
there to not work at 22 hundred a week until Goldringer got the studio
manager to get the scenario editor to get me a new story, which at the
price was not of long duration for while Gawd knows they dont care how
long a person stands around waiting to be shot, they just naturally hate
to pay you for doing the same thing at home in comfort.

Well anyways the bunk that scenario editor picked out was something
fierce. I wouldn't of been screened dead in it. But it just happened I
had a idea for a scenario myself, which come about through somebody
having give me a book for Christmas and one night, the boy having forgot
to bring the papers, I read it. And was it a cute book? It was! I had a
real good cry over it, and while it wasn't exactly a book for a dancer,
I could see that there was good stuff in it. So finally me and Ma
stopped into Goldringer's office after he had twice telephoned for me
and handed him a little surprise along with the volume.

"I got a idea for a picture, Al," I says, "and here's the book of it."

"Well Miss La Tour, what's the name of it and idea?" says he, chewing
on his cigar strong and not even looking at the book but throwing it to
the stenographer, which is a general rule always in the picture game and
one reason we don't see such a crowd of swell fillums.

"The name is Oliver Twist," I says. "It's a juvinile lead the way it
stands, but I want it fixed up a little, with me as Olivette Twist--the
editor can fix it so's that will be all right. It's really a swell part.
I could wear boy's clothes some of the time."

"Huh! Olivette Twist," says Goldringer, taking back the book and looking
at the cover of it. "Always thought it was a breakfast food! But if you
say its O.K. we'd better get it. Where is this feller Dickens? We'll
wire him for the rights. Friend of yours?"

You see, if anybody brings scenarios personally, a star in particular,
it's generally a friends.

"No," I says. "It was sent me by Jim along with a letter which shows the
bird is well