The first little cinema drama of which he was the author and which was immediately put into the works was “Old Isaacs, the Pawnbroker.” Very bitter in feeling against the Amalgamated Association of Charities was this story of a kind-hearted Hebraic money-lender. On May 6th, with “Lawrence” Griffith the star, was released “The Music Master,” but not David Belasco’s. Then came “Ostler Joe” of Mrs. James Brown Potter fame, scenario-ized by Mr. Griffith. He also played the part of the priest in the scene where the child dies. In early July came “At The Crossroads of Life” and “The Stage Rustler.” Biograph’s sole advertising campaign at this time consisted of illustrated bulletins--single sheets six to ten inches, carrying a two by three inch “cut” from the film and descriptive matter averaging about three hundred and fifty words. They were gotten up in florid style by a doughty Irishman by the name of Lee Dougherty who was the “man in the front office.” He was what is now known as “advertising manager,” but the publicity part of his job not taking all his time, he also gave scripts the “once over” and still had moments for a friendly chat with the waiting actor. Although every day was not a busy day at the Biograph for David Griffith, he felt the best policy would be to keep in close touch with whatever was going on there. So he did that, but he also looked in at other studios during any lull in activities. Looked in up at Edison and was engaged for a leading part in quite a thriller, “The Eagle’s Nest.” Lovely studio, the Edison, but not so much chance to get in right, David felt--it was too well organized. Looked in at Kalem too, but Frank J. Marion, who was the presiding chief there, could not be bothered. Entirely too many of these down-on-their-luck actors taking up his time. There were whispers about that Lubin in Philadelphia needed a director. So David wrote them a letter telling of all his varied experiences, which brought an answer with an offer of sixty dollars a week for directing and a request that he run over to Philadelphia for an interview. Now one had to look like something when on that sort of errand bent. I had to get our little man all dressed up. Could afford only a new shirt and tie. This, with polished boots and suit freshly pressed, would have to do. But, even so, he looked quite radiant as he set forth for the Pennsylvania Station to catch his Every-hour-on-the-hour. But nothing came of it. Lubin decided not to put on another director or make a change--whichever it was. The husband of Mrs. Mary Carr, the Mrs. Carr of William Fox’s “Over the Hill” fame, continued there, directing the movies which he himself wrote. After dinner each night he would roll back the table-cloth, reach for pad and pencil, and work out a story for his next movie.