“Listen, my friend,” said the other.
“You can doubtless get by without trouble; but
I would surely rouse their anger, and I have no mind
to be beaten for nothing. I have seen the picture
several times, and can talk about it with you just
as well.”
“You make me ashamed of myself,” I cried—“and
of my country!”
“No, no! It is what you should expect.
It is what I had in mind when I spoke of the surgeon
contracting the disease. We German intellectuals
know what war means; we are used to things like this.”
Suddenly he put out his hand. “Good-bye.”
“I will go with you!” I exclaimed.
But he protested—that would embarrass him
greatly. I would please to stay, and see the picture;
he would be interested later on to hear my opinion
of it. And abruptly he turned, and walked off,
leaving me hesitating and angry.
At last I started towards the entrance of the theatre.
One of the men in uniform barred my way. “No
admittance here!”
“But why not?”
“It’s a German show, and we aint a-goin’
to allow it.”
“Now see here, buddy,” I countered, none
too good-naturedly, “I haven’t got my
uniform on, but I’ve as good a right to it as
you; I was all through the Argonne.”
“Well, what do you want to see Hun propaganda
for?”
“Maybe I want to see what it’s like.”
“Well, you can’t go in; we’re here
to shut up this show!”
I had stepped to one side as I spoke, and he caught
me by the arm. I thought there had been talk
enough, and gave a sudden lurch, and tore my arm free.
“Hold on here!” he shouted, and tried to
stop me again; but I sprang through the crowd towards
the box-office. There were more than a hundred
civilians in or about the lobby, and not more than
twenty or thirty ex-service men maintaining the blockade;
so a few got by, and I was one of the lucky ones.
I bought my ticket, and entered the theatre.
To the man at the door I said: “Who started
this?”
“I don’t know, sir. It’s just
landed on us, and we haven’t had time to find
out.”
“Is the picture German propaganda?”
“Nothing like that at all, sir. They say
they won’t let us show German pictures, because
they’re so much cheaper; they’ll put American-made
pictures out of business, and it’s unfair competition.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed, and light began to
dawn. I recalled Dr. Henner’s remark about
producing a great many ideas out of a very little food;
assuredly, the American picture industry had cause
to fear competition of that sort! I thought of
old “T-S,” as the screen people call him
for short—the king of the movie world, with
his roll of fat hanging over his collar, and his two
or three extra chins! I though of Mary Magna,
million dollar queen of the pictures, contriving diets
and exercises for herself, and weighing with fear
and trembling every day!
