es published a story in which a
reporter who had been interviewing the leading woman of a theatrical
company was caught on the stage as the curtain rose on the first act.
The leading woman was supposed to be "discovered" at the rise of the
curtain, but the newspaper man was both surprised and embarrassed by
_his_ being discovered. Nevertheless, having his overcoat on and
carrying his hat in his hand, with great presence of mind he turned to
the actress and said: "Very well, madam; I will call for the clock at
three this afternoon." Then he made a deliberate exit, and the leading
woman read her first speech. But, as the play progressed, there was
scarcely one in the audience who failed to wonder why the "actor" who
had spoken the line about the clock did not reappear according to
promise. At a certain point in the action of the drama, just where the
intervention of someone from outside would have been most opportune,
the audience expected that the "jeweler" would make his reappearance;
but of course he did not, the play ended as the author had intended it
to end--and the audience went out feeling that something had gone
wrong somewhere--as it had.

The lesson to the photoplaywright is plain: Never introduce into the
early scenes of the scenario any incident that is likely to mislead
the spectator into thinking that it is of sufficient importance to
affect the ultimate denouement, when it really has no bearing upon it.
Reverse this, and you have another good rule to follow in writing the
scenario. As one critic said in substance, if you intend to have one
of your characters die of heart disease toward the end of the play,
prepare your audience for this event by "registering" in an earlier
scene the fact that his heart is affected. Do not drag in a scene to
make this fact clear, but, in two or three different scenes, have him
show that his heart is weak, and be sure that every one of these
scenes serves the double purpose of registering this fact and
introducing other important action relevant to the plot. In other
words, make the slight attacks which the man experiences all through
the story merely incidental to the scenes in which they occur. Then
when the fatal attack comes, the audience is prepared for it, yet
they have not been actually looking forward to it through several
scenes. While speaking of heart disease, we would call the attention
of the writer to an observation lately made by the photoplay critic of
_The