of a motion picture actress, Mr. Daft hauled off and bought the film rights to "My Wife's Husband," a book which had the literary world and the censors positively agog. Honestly, this horrible example of what can be done with pen and ink in the wrong hands was as risqué as the tourists hope the Folies Bergère is and was selling like cheese at a rats' convention. If you happened to read it I'm satisfied you'll heartily agree that comparing that novel to cheese is a good thought. However, Hazel was awarded a nice little part in the picture which left me deserted in New York with only seven million other people for company. That's a trifle too many to crowd into my living room, really, so I didn't even try it, but stayed lonesome.
Mr. Daft took the troupe to Synthetic, Maine, on "location," as about fifteen miles of this film called for a rural setting and Pete Kift sold the director the idea of using a farm belonging to his parents. Pete's a smart boy and will argue himself into affluence yet. For the benefit of the lay reader, not so familiar with the technical language of the magic lantern game as I am, I'll tear the veil of mystery from the term "location." Going on location means that the boys and girls leave the studio, the watchful eye of the production manager, cost department, sightseers and spies from the New York office, hide away on a chartered yacht, an unpoliced island, hick town, desert, etc., and—clown.
