In answer to the questions flung at me I simply pointed heavenwards in speechless horror.
High up in the wooden tower puffs of dense smoke were swirling around the beautiful form of Thelma Tasty and the vicious crackle of flame came clearly from below her. Instantly the studio was in the wildest confusion—here was an unscheduled thrill! Camera men, extras, carpenters, electricians, actors and visitors began milling back and forth in terrified excitement and the great Gordon Daft himself turned pale and also ran madly around calling for the fire department. Trapped high above the ground, with the flames below her already curling upwards, Thelma Tasty screamed piteously for help, but the panic-stricken mob below had all lost their heads and simply fell over each other like stampeded cattle, honestly! Harold Lorraine stood—stock-still staring up at his leading woman's plight, apparently petrified with amazement, while a hastily formed and wofully ineffective bucket brigade dashed past him. A pail of water, jostled from somebody's grasp, half drenched Harold and he found his voice.
"For heaven's sake!" he yells wildly, "Somebody climb up there and get her out! What's the matter with all you people? Get ladders, get—oh, hurry! She'll burn to death while you fools stand there looking at her!"
