Pete, you pick it up just as she gets to the horse's shoulder and starts to turn.

Don't forget that sob, Gay.

Ready?
Camera!" Jean was absorbed, fascinated by this glimpse into a new and very busy little world,--the world of moving-picture makers.

She leaned forward and watched every moment, every little detail.

"Grab the horn with your right hand, Miss Gay!" she cried involuntarily, when Muriel stooped and started to pick up the saddle.
"Don't--oh, it looks as if you were picking up a wash-boiler! I told you--" "Register that sob!" bawled Robert Grant Burns, shooting a glance at Jean and stepping from one foot to the other like a fat gobbler in fresh-fallen snow.
Muriel registered that sob and a couple more before she succeeded in heaving the saddle upon the back of the flinching sorrel.