Mr. Griffith kept all the girls worried. All but Mary Pickford. She was the only one who dared demand. With Mother, Mary came up to the new studio to see what she could put over in the way of a job. She’d now a legitimate reason for making herself costly. In January, 1913, Miss Pickford made a second appearance on the dramatic stage under David Belasco’s wing. On her opening, the papers said that the success of Miss Pickford as the little blind princess was so marked that it practically precluded her return to the screen. Adolph Zukor had followed up his first Famous Players picture, the four-reel “Queen Elizabeth” with James K. Hackett in “The Prisoner of Zenda” and Mrs. Fiske in “Leah Kleschna.” Astute business man that he was, as soon as “The Good Little Devil” closed, he secured the play for the screen with the dramatic company intact and Mary as a Famous Player. No, her dramatic success would not preclude her return to the screen. It would merely fortify her with great assurance in making her next picture contract. I am told it happened thus: Mother and Mary bearded the lion in his den. “Well, what are you asking now?” queried Mr. Griffith. “Five hundred a week,” answered Mrs. Smith. “Can’t see it. Mary’s not worth it to me.” “Well, we’ve been offered five hundred dollars a week and we’re going to accept the contract, and you’ll be sorry some day.” They could go ahead and accept the contract as far as Mr. Griffith was concerned. Indulging in his old habit of walking away while talking, he brought the interview to an end, calling back to the insistent mother, “Three hundred dollars is all I’ll give her. Remember, I made her.” And so the Famous Players secured Mary Pickford for a series of features, the first of which was “In the Bishop’s Carriage.” But whether Mr. Griffith has ever been sorry, nobody knows but himself. Kate Bruce, the saintly “Brucie” to so many, pillowed in her lap or on her shoulder by turns, all the feminine heads of sufficient importance, and at times, with her arm about me, it was even “Oh, dear Mrs. Griffith.” But Miss Bruce was thoughtful, indeed, for her little room often made night lodging, when we had an early morning call, for the girl whose home was distant. Dorothy West, who lived in Staten Island, often accepted Miss Bruce’s hospitality. For Lillian Gish, “Brucie” had an especially tender heart. Miss Gish, at this time, affected simple, straight, dark blue and black dresses. She had long ago reached the book-carrying stage, being one of Mr. Griffith’s most ambitious girls. Many times she’d arrive at the studio an hour or more ahead of time and have Billy Bitzer make tests of her with different make-ups. With a tight little hat on her head, and a red rose on the side of it from which flowed veils and veils, and a soulful expression in her eyes, Miss Gish was even then, so long ago, affecting the Madonna.