It remained for English exhibitors first to name the Biograph players. For Biograph, long after all the other picture companies had made the actor’s name public, still refused to come out into the open. Over in London the fans were appeased with fictitious names for their favorites. Beautiful names they were, so hero-ish and so villain-ish, so reminiscent of the old-time, sentimental, maiden-lady author. I recall but one and a half names of our players. Dell Henderson was given the beautiful soubriquet of “Arthur Donaldson” and Blanche Sweet became “Daphne ----” something or other. But the yearning American youths and maidens continued to receive the cold, stereotyped reply, “Biograph gives no names.” The Biograph was not thinking as quickly as some of its players. Our friends from Cuddebackville, the Goddefroys, being in New York one time this summer, Mr. Griffith thought it would be rather nice to arrange an evening. They were interested in our California pictures, as they were planning a trip there. We fixed up the projection room and ran the better of the Western stuff. Afterward with our guests and a few of the leading people we repaired to Cavanaugh’s on West Twenty-third Street. Busy chatter about the pictures, every one raving over Mary Pickford’s work in “Ramona,” when Mary, quietly, but with considerable assurance said, “Some day I am going to be a great actress and have my name in electric lights over a theatre.” I turned pale and felt weak. We all were shocked. Of course, she never meant the movies, that would have been plumb crazy. No, she meant the stage, and she was thinking of going back. The thought of losing Mary made me very unhappy. But just how had she figured to get her name in electric lights? What was on her mind, anyway? This summer of 1910 Mr. Griffith signed his third Biograph contract. This contract called for a royalty of an eighth of a cent a foot on all film sold and seventy-five dollars per week, but the name “Lawrence” which had been signed on the dotted line the two preceding years, was this time scratched out and “David” written in. “David” had gone into the silence and decided that the movies were now worthy of his hire, and couldn’t dent his future too badly, no matter what that future might be. David W. Griffith and Mary Pickford were certainly growing bold. CHAPTER XXIII THE FIRST TWO-REELER Though the licensed picture companies--The General Film Group--kept a watchful eye on one another, each had pride in its own trademark and was satisfied with the little company of actors bringing it recognition.