In a back corner of the studio reposed a small, oak, roll-top desk, which the new director graced in the early morning hours when getting things in shape, and again in the evening when he made out the actors’ pay checks. When the welcome words came from the dark room, “All right, everybody; strike!” the actors rushed to the roll-top, and clamored for vouchers--we received our “pay” daily. Then the actor rushed his “make-up” off, dressed, passed to the bookkeeper’s window in the outer office, presented his voucher, and Herman Bruenner gave him his money. And then to eat, and put away a dollar towards the week’s rent, and to see a movie for ten cents! A little group of serious actors soon began to report daily for work. As yet no one had a regular salary except the director and camera man. “Principal part” actors received five and “extras” three dollars. In August this first year Mr. Griffith began turning out two releases a week, usually one long picture, eight to eleven hundred feet, and one short picture, four to five hundred feet. The actors who played the principal parts in these pictures were Eddie Dillon, Harry Salter, Charles Inslee, Frank Gebhardt, Arthur Johnson, Wilfred Lucas, George Nichols, John Compson, Owen Moore, Mack Sennett, Herbert Pryor, David Miles, Herbert Yost, Tony O’Sullivan, and Daddy Butler. Of the women Marion Leonard, Florence Lawrence, and myself played most of the leading parts, while Mabel Stoughton, Florence Auer, Ruth Hart, Jeanie Macpherson, Flora Finch, Anita Hendry, Dorothy West, Eleanor Kershaw (Mrs. Tom Ince), and Violet Mersereau helped out occasionally. Gladys Egan, Adele DeGarde, and Johnny Tansy played the important child parts. Though I speak of playing “principal parts,” no one had much chance to get puffed up, for an actor having finished three days of importance usually found himself on the fourth day playing “atmosphere,” the while he decorated the back drop. But no one minded. They were a good-natured lot of troupers and most of them were sincerely concerned in what they were doing. David had a happy way of working. He invited confidence and asked and took suggestions from any one sufficiently interested to make them. His enthusiasm became quite infectious. In the beginning Marion Leonard and I alternated playing “leads.” She played the worldly woman, the adventuress, and the melodramatic parts, while I did the sympathetic, the wronged wife, the too-trusting maid, waiting, always waiting, for the lover who never came back. But mostly I died.