I can turn the camera all right. Anyhow," I added firmly,
"I've been photographed enough. This film is going to look as if I'd
crossed the Cascades alone. Some of you other people ought to have a
chance."
But a moving-picture man after a picture is as determined as a cook who
does not like the suburbs.
I rode Buddy to the brink of the lake, and there spoke to him in
friendly tones. I observed that this lake was like other lakes, only
colder, and that it ought to be mere play after the day before. I also
selected a large ice-cake, which looked fairly solid, and pointed Buddy
at it.
Then I kicked him. He took a step and began to shake. Then he leaped six
feet to one side and reared, still shaking. Then he turned round and
headed for the camp.
By that I was determined on the picture. There is nothing like two wills
set in opposite directions to determine a woman. Buddy and I again and
again approached the lake, mostly sideways. But at last he went in, took
twenty steps out, felt the cold on his poor empty belly, and--refused
the ice-cake. We went out much faster than we went in, making the bank
in a great bound and a very bad humor--two very bad humors.
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