By fall, with four and five companies working, there were so many actors that it wasn’t interesting at all any more. There was Millicent Evans and Georgie O’Ramey, Louise Vale, Travers Vale, Louise Orth, Jack Mulhal, Thomas Jefferson, Lionel Barrymore, Franklin Ritchie, Lily Cahill, Donald Crisp, Dorothy Bernard, Edwin August, Alan Hale, William Jefferson--oh, slews and slews of new ones, besides the old guard minus Mary Pickford. From Chatsworth’s lonely stretches and prehistoric atmosphere to the spic-and-span-ness, and atmosphere-less Bronx studio came “Judith of Bethulia” to receive its finishing touches. “Judith” was about the last of Blanche Sweet in anything as pretentious directed by Mr. Griffith. Mae Marsh was coming along and so was Lillian Gish. Lillian was beginning to step some, and it was interesting to watch the rather friendly rivalry between the three, Blanche, and Mae, and Lillian. Dorothy Gish was still a person of insignificance, but she was a good sport about it; a likable kid, a bit too perky to interest the big director, so her talents blushed unnoticed by Mr. Griffith. In “The Unseen Enemy” the sisters made their first joint appearance. Lillian regarded Dorothy with all the superior airs and graces of her rank. At a rehearsal of “The Wife,” of Belasco and De Mille fame, in which picture I played the lead, and Dorothy the ingénue, Lillian was one day an interested spectator. She was watching intently, for Dorothy had had so few opportunities, and now was doing so well, Lillian was unable to contain her surprise, and as she left the scene she said: “Why, Dorothy is good; she’s almost as good as I am.” Many more than myself thought Dorothy was better--for she was that rare thing, a comedienne, and comediennes in the movies have been scarcer than hen’s teeth. She proved what she could do when she got her first real chance as the bob-haired midinette in “Hearts of the World.” * * * * * Four or five companies working on the big stage these days made things hum like a three-ring circus. From the dressing-rooms a balcony opened that looked down on the studio floor, and here Blanche Sweet could often be seen, her feet poked through the iron rails of the balcony, her elbows resting on the railing, her chin cupped in the hollow of her hands, her eyes bulging as she watched every move the director made. For Blanche was worried. Would Lillian or Mae be chosen to play in the next big picture?