Volume II: Filmography

(CRANSTON'S HALLUCINATION)

(Possibly made; not released)

Scenario published August 23, 1913

Length: ?

Character: Drama

Scenario: Clarence Herbert New

Note: The August 23, 1913 issue of Reel Life printed a full-page article-synopsis pertaining to a Thanhouser film titled Cranston's Hallucination, bearing the byline of C.H.N. (Clarence Herbert New). The subject matter of the scenario and the two illustrations from the film printed in Reel Life suggest that this subject, if indeed it was a film, was created around the same time that Thanhouser was filming Robin Hood (released in two installments of two reels each, on September 23 and 30, 1913). It is possible that the following article-synopsis was printed simply as a fantasy, not as a film scenario, based upon an individual who happened to be on hand when Thanhouser was filming Robin Hood. If that was the case, the presentation in Reel Life did not make this distinction. The author can locate no record that Cranston's Hallucination was ever released as a film.

ARTICLE-SYNOPSIS, Reel Life, August 23, 1913:

"Cranston vaguely remembered getting stiffly up from a park bench about sunrise and reaching for a copy of the morning World, fresh from the press, which a night-editor had dropped on his way home for his day's sleep. Turning to the 'ad' columns had become habit with him of late - and, with finger jumping from one to another, he rapidly skimmed through the list of 'help wanteds.' Of the lot, there were but four which looked in any way promising. Twenty minutes later he was camping on the steps of a downtown office in company with a dozen other men who had determined to 'beat the others to it.' But, as in many previous instances, there was something about Cranston which made each employer of manual or clerical labor hesitate, and finally reject him. One of the first qualifications in an employee - according to the average city merchant's conception of him - is that he shall dumbly do as he's told without any suggestions or back-talk, even if his education and experience have made his opinion worth listening to. Which is all very well in its way. One cannot run an extensive business without organization and discipline. A man of Cranston's type in an executive position is a jewel of price. But the same man in an eight-dollar job is misfit material.

"Five months previously, Cranston had supposed himself possessed of close to a hundred thousand dollars - which yielded a living income, so that he'd not been obliged to hold a business position, though he had done so at odd times after leaving college, for the sake of getting a little necessary knowledge of commercial affairs. Then his father died - and, in three short weeks of panic his capital had been entirely swept away. When the news reached him, he was in Rio Janeiro with less than a hundred dollars - his non-arriving draft being due the same day. In one way or another - taking any employment he could get, and beating his way on a steamer from Barbados to New York, he'd managed to reach home. He had but few intimate friends in the city, most of whom were away on vacations - and his former bankers were themselves ruined men, trying to keep body and soul together any way they could. Hence the gruelling round of answering advertisements each morning - picking up 10 or 15 cents in the afternoon by any means which presented itself. So far - with the razor which represented one of his last possessions, and a cake of soap taken from one of the hotel washrooms - he'd managed to keep his face clean - which was one reason for his getting anything at all to do. But for two weeks his daily average had been less than 20 cents. His clothes told their story to even the casual passer-by. And for 30 hours he had been conscious of a low consuming fever caused by insufficient nourishment and blazing summer heat.

"At noon, he had earned 15 cents by carrying a heavy suitcase for a girl from the Liberty Street Ferry to the subway. And after spending 10 of this for bread and coffee in a dairy lunch room, he became obsessed with the desire to get out of the blazing city streets - somewhere in the suburbs - out in the country, where he could lie down under a tree. So his remaining nickel went for a subway ticket which took him well up into the Bronx. With the hazy idea of getting somewhere near the water, where the breeze would be cooler, he started eastward - and presently accepted a lift from a garage motorist who was bound for Throgs Neck. When the man dropped him near Fort Schuyler the idea suddenly occurred to him that he might enlist in the army. He trudged wearily along toward the fort, wondering what the government qualifications might be. At a little distance from the granite walls he sank down on the grass to consider the proposition - and rest. His legs seemed ridiculously weak - his head was swimming dizzily.

"Just opposite where he sat there was a row of lance-windows, presumably for riflemen, in the upper wall of the fort. And as his fevered brain struggled between consciousness and lethargy, the windows were suddenly filled with a line of men in leather jerkins and green worsted tights who discharged arrows in a most convincing way from great bows - apparently firing at a crowd of similarly attired men down by the water's edge. Cranston watched them stupidly for several minutes - as the archers appeared in the lance-windows, again and again, while arrows from the attacking crowd rebounded from the granite walls. 'Hmph! Those fellows down by the water seem to be darned poor shots! Hello! I dunno, though - two of those chaps in the window got theirs that time! What in blazes. Wonder where this place is - anyway? If it were in a theatre, now? But it's not! If that isn't real water - if those aren't real trees along the shore, beyond, I'm plumb crazy - that's all! The devil! Wonder if I am nutty?' He placed two fingers on his pulse, and found it racing. 'Hmph! - I'm in for a good old dose of coast fever again - sure. Funny turn this one's taking, though! Last time - down at P[balance of word missing] on the Amazon, it was gorillas and banana-trees that walked solemnly behind a chap, just like animated umbrellas. Where I got these bow-and-arrow chaps is a puzzler! Must be some book I read in my kid's days. Blazes! - That poor devil got his - bad! Look at the blood pumping through that leather jacket. Hmph! Never had an idea you could really shoot one of those dinky arrows through a man - but they're pulling that one out of him, or else I'm blind!'

"Presently, it seemed to Cranston that he dozed. He was dimly conscious of several archers passing by - pausing a moment to look down at him. There was a sensation of something cold against his hand. When they'd gone - a year or so later - he held up the cold something - a bottle of Anheuser covered with cool sweat. It was part of his hallucination, of course - still - he knocked off the neck of the bottle against a stone, and it really seemed as if he was drinking the cool, refreshing fluid. After all - he didn't care much about enlisting. What's the use of being a blooming sojer, anyhow!

"By this time, hours meant nothing to him. He was dimly conscious of walking - walking - miles. After a long time he came to what seemed a big stretch of forest and, pushing into it for some distance, he laid himself down under a big oak. From the angle of the shadows he drowsily thought it must be near sunset. After a while, he became conscious of several deer grazing near him. Decidedly, this was the most picturesque dose of fever he ever recalled. Gorillas and banana-trees were tame in comparison - and far more ugly. This sort of thing - the beauty of the graceful stags and the splotches of sunlight under the trees - appealed to his aesthetic sense. And instead of giving place to some horrid world of monsters and nightmares, it seemed to grow more beautiful. As he looked into the cool shadows he saw another of his archers, in a costume 500 years old, standing by the hole of a great oak - only, as he looked closer, the face and figure were unmistakably those of a woman - a beautiful woman - and - familiar, in a puzzling way.

"As he watched her she was joined by another archer - a good-looking, blond-bearded chap. Cautiously, they peered around the big tree and some bushes - at the deer - fitting arrows to their bows. 'Hmph! - Here's where poor 'staggy' gets his! Darned shame. Run, 'staggy' - run! Ah, beat it, you fool goat! Well - you would stay! Thought those dinky little sticks wouldn't do any more than tickle you, I s'pose! Hmph! - I'd have said the same thing, until a while back, today - or was it last year? And now you're a dead one - all bluggy [sic], poor devil - poor little 'staggy'! It was a rotten deal! Gee! - How my head buzzes! Worst of it is, it was Marian who shot you - Marian; who wouldn't hurt a fly! Only girl I ever really loved - and here she is in a leather jacket and tights - and I wish she'd wear 'em all the time! Got hobble-skirts stung four ways for Sunday! And I'm not Bert Cranston, at all - I'm some poor country devil out of a fool story book! And there ain't any subway or Woolworth Building. And suitcases won't be invented for 700 years, yet. I reckon I'm dead, and traveling backwards - that's what!'

"A few moments later, two figures in leather jerkins and tights bent over the unconscious figure. One of them stooped lower, with a gasp of surprise. 'My God! - It's Bert Cranston! - Down and out! I heard that he'd been ruined in the panic - but he was in South America, then.' She placed an arm beneath the man's neck and raised his shoulders gently to her knee. 'He's breathing - but horribly feverish! Bert! Bert, dear! - Don't you know me? It's Marian! Harry! - For goodness' sake, tell Brady to stop his reel and let us alone for a while! This is cut out of the film - positively. He - Mr. Cranston and I were engaged, once. Someone lied to him and made trouble between us. Then he went away to India. Papa lost all his money and we girls had to go to work. He never heard that part of it, I guess. Call some of the boys - we must get him home where I can take care of him'

"'Sure, we must! He looks as if he'd had a pretty hard deal! And - I say, Marian - er - If he really hasn't any money or job - why - there's room for him in our crowd, you know! One week'll put him on his feet again.' She looked up at him, gratefully - then gathered the unconscious man closer in her arms - and softly kissed the burning face. - C.H.N."

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