Russ said:

"This is where the films are made. It's all business here. They make
the inside scenes here--anything from the interior of a miner's shack
to a ballroom in a king's palace. Of course, for outside scenes they
go wherever the scenery best suits the story of the play. And here
the film negatives are developed, and duplicate positives made for
the projecting machines. This is Mr. Pertell's principal factory."

"Fancy a play-factory!" exclaimed Alice.

"That's exactly what it is--a play-factory," agreed Russ. "Come on
in."

If Alice was surprised at the exterior appearance of the building the
interior was more bewildering. They passed rapidly through the
departments devoted to the mechanical end of the business--where the
films were developed and printed. Russ promised to show her more of
that later.

"We'll go right up to the theatre studio," he said.

Alice looked about the big room, that seemed filled with all sorts of
scenery, parts of buildings, rustic bridges--in short, all sorts of
"props." She had been behind the scenes often in some of the plays in
which her father took part, so this was not startlingly new to her.
Yet it was different from the usual theatre.

And such strange "business" seemed going on. There were men and women
going through plays--Alice could tell that, but the odd part of it
was that in one section of the room what seemed a tragedy in a
mountain log cabin was being enacted; while, not ten feet away, was a
parlor scene, showing men in evening dress, and women in ball
costumes, gliding through the mazes of a waltz. Next to this was a
scene representing a counterfeiter's den in some low cellar, with the
police breaking through the door with drawn revolvers, to capture the
criminals.

And in front of these varied scenes stood a battery of queer
cameras--moving picture cameras, looking like flat fig boxes with a
tube sticking out, and a handle on one side, at which earnest-faced
young men were vigorously clicking.

And, off to one side, stood several men in their shirt sleeves
superintending the performances. They gave many directions.

"No, not that way! When you faint, fall good and hard, Miss
Pennington!"

"Hurry now, Mr. Switzer; get in some of that funny business! Look
funny; don't act as though this was your funeral!"

"Come on there Mr. Bunn; this isn't 'Hamlet.' You needn't stalk about
that way. There's no grave in this!"

"Hold on, there! Cut that part out. Stop