Other editions of book Tarzan and the lion man

A great safari had come to Africa to make a movie. It had struggled across the veldt and through the jungle in great ten-ton trucks, equipped with all the advantages of civilization. But now it was halted, almost destroyed by the poisoned arrows of the savage Bansuto tribe. There was no way to return. And ahead lay the strange valley of diamonds, where hairy gorillas lived in their town of London on the Thames, ruled by King Henry the Eighth. Behind them came Tarzan of the Apes with the Golden Lion, seeking the man who might have been his twin brother in looks – though hardly in courage!

Mr. Milton Smith, Executive Vice President in Charge of Production, was in conference. A half dozen men lounged comfortably in deep, soft chairs and divans about his large, well-appointed office in the B.O. studio. Mr. Smith had a chair behind a big desk, but he seldom occupied it. He was an imaginative, dramatic, dynamic person. He required freedom and space in which to express himself. His large chair was too small; so he paced about the office more often than he occupied his chair, and his hands interpreted his thoughts quite as fluently as did his tongue."It's bound to be a knock-out," he assured his listeners; "no synthetic jungle, no faked sound effects, no toothless old lions that every picture fan in the U.S. knows by their first names. No, sir! This will be the real thing."A secretary entered the room and closed the door behind her. "Mr. Orman is here," she said."Good! Ask him to come in, please." Mr. Smith rubbed his palms together and turned to the others. "Thinking of Orman was nothing less than an inspiration," he exclaimed. "He's just the man to make this picture.""Just another one of your inspirations, Chief," remarked one of the men. "They've got to hand it to you."