omide stuff, mind
you--mountain-climbing in Switzerland, cutting sugar-cane in Cuba,
picking cocoanuts in Ceylon. That sort of thing goes well enough on the
Chautauqua circuits, but it's as dead as the corner saloon so far as
the big cities are concerned. What we are looking for are unusual
pictures--tigers, elephants, pirates, brigands, cannibals, Oriental
temples and palaces, war-dances, weird ceremonies, curious customs,
natives with rings in their noses and feathers in their hair, scenes
that are spectacular and exciting--in short, what the magazine editors
call 'adventure stuff.' We want pictures that will make 'em sit up in
their seats and exclaim, 'Well, what d'ye know about that?' and that
will send them away to tell their friends about them."

"Like the publisher," I suggested, "who remarked that his idea of a
good newspaper was one that would cause its readers to exclaim when
they opened it, 'My God!'?"

"That's the idea," he agreed. "And if the pictures are from places that
most people have never heard of before, so much the better. I'm told
that you've spent your life looking for queer places to write about. So
why can't you suggest some to take pictures of?"

"But I've had no practical experience in taking motion-pictures," I
protested. "The only time I ever touched a motion-picture camera was
when I turned the crank of Donald Thompson's for a few minutes during
the entry of the Germans into Antwerp in 1914."

"Were the pictures a success?" the Napoleon of the Movies queried
interestedly. "I don't recall having seen them."

"No, you wouldn't," I hastened to explain. "You see, it wasn't until
the show was all over that Thompson discovered that he had forgotten to
take the cap off the lens."

"Don't let that worry you," he assured me. "We'll take care of the
technical end. We'll provide you with the best camera man to be had and
the best equipment. All you will have to do is to show him what to
photograph, arrange the action, decide on the settings, obtain the
permission of the authorities, the good-will of the officials, the
co-operation of the military, engage interpreters and guides, reserve
hotel accommodations, arrange for motor-cars and boats and horses and
special trains, and keep everyone jollied up and feeling good
generally. Aside from that, there won't be anything for you to do
except to enjoy yourself."

"It certainly sounds alluring," I admitted. "The trouble is that you
are looking for