"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Werner; "I'm not a manager; I'm merely what
is called in our profession a 'producer,' or a 'stage director.'"

"Well, you're the man, anyhow," asserted Patsy. "So what have you to say
for yourself, sir?"

"If you were annoyed, I humbly apologize," he returned. "Perhaps I was
unintentionally rude to frighten you in that way, but my excuse lies in
our subservience to the demands of our art. We seldom hesitate at
anything which tends to give our pictures the semblance of reality."

"_Art_, did you say, Mr. Werner?" It was Beth who asked this and there
was a bit of a sneer in her tone.

"It is really art--art of the highest character," he replied warmly. "Do
you question it, Miss--Miss--"

"Miss de Graf. I suppose, to be fair, I must admit that the photography
is art; but the subjects of your pictures, I have observed, are far from
artistic. Such a picture, for instance, as you made yesterday can have
little value to anyone."

"Little value! Why, Miss de Graf, you astonish me," he exclaimed. "I
consider that picture of the falling wall one of my greatest
triumphs--and I've been making pictures for years. Aside from its
realism, its emotional nature--'thrills,' we call it--this picture
conveys a vivid lesson that ought to prove of great benefit to humanity."

Beth was looking at him curiously now. Patsy was serious and very