Mr. Lacey has now introduced me to Mr. Furley, with whom he divides the first floor, and whom we hear moving restlessly about overhead at all hours. On my mentioning this habit to him he said that he always walked when he was inventing. Asked what he was inventing, he said film stories. For Mr. Furley not only makes pictures of real events, which is the staple of his odd business, but devises dramas too. He has bought an estate near London, in Essex, where walled gardens with fine trees in them are so plentiful and cheap, and here he has erected a huge crystal palace for indoor photography as well as having natural surroundings for open-air episodes. Here, too, he has formed a stock company of actors and actresses to perform his plays. Mr. Furley sent a message in one fine morning to say that he had a drama in the making that day, and would I like to see it. I said I would, and we were soon dashing off to his suburb in his motor-car. We turned into the gateway of his estate, and there among the trees was a Red Indian encampment with a number of tethered horses--only a few yards from a busy High Street with electric trams in it. Cowboys on ponies waited near by, and an excited manager was shouting through a megaphone while the camera clicked off its myriad impressions. The whole effect was strangely bizarre, and I must admit it struck me as desperately silly. At least it seemed desperately silly that in a few days' time thousands of my countrymen all over England, and later, thousands of people all over the rest of the world, were going to pay to have their feelings worked up by such cynically manufactured heroics. "I had no idea," I said, "that these cowboy dramas were made in England." "Bless your heart, why not?" said Mr. Furley. "Nearly everything can be done in England. A background of trees in Essex is enough like a background of trees in Texas to satisfy most people. It's the movement and the humanity that they look at; they don't criticize. As a matter of fact, the cinema won't let them--it's too hypnotic. It lulls you." The cowboys having done their scene, a cardboard room was quickly erected and the unhappy heroine sat in it to receive a visit from a drunken lover whom she was to reclaim from whisky. There were but three walls, and the two side ones were set at an obtuse angle to the back.