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Game
Programming
with Unity and C#
A Complete Beginner’s Guide
—
Casey Hardman
Game Programming
with Unity and C#
A Complete Beginner’s Guide
Casey Hardman
Game Programming with Unity and C#
Casey Hardman
West Palm Beach, FL, USA
iii
Table of Contents
Chapter 5: Prefabs�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 41
Making and Placing Prefabs������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 41
Editing Prefabs���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 42
Overriding Values������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 44
Nested Prefabs���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 48
Prefab Variants���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 49
Summary������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 50
iv
Table of Contents
Operators������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 73
Summary������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 75
Chapter 8: Conditions��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 77
The “if” Block������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 77
Overloads������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 79
Enums����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 80
The “else” Block������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 81
The “else if” Block���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 82
Operators for Conditions������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 83
Equality Operators����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 83
Greater Than and Less Than�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 85
Or������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 85
And���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 86
Summary������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 86
v
Table of Contents
vi
Table of Contents
Properties���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 158
Tracking the Velocity����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 159
Applying the Movement������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 166
Summary���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 170
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Table of Contents
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Table of Contents
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Table of Contents
Index��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 565
xiv
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different content
The telegram was certainly a work of art and ingenuity, and it
took art and ingenuity to understand it, with no punctuation marks
and some words evidently invented by a despairing operator in a
quandary over Madeline’s perfectly illegible handwriting. But the
general drift was that Madeline had been “on the way to” utter
despair,—because the heroine of her novel insisted on eloping with
the villain instead of the hero—when she thought of making a story
out of Patricia’s long-lost letters from “R.” While she was waiting for
her effort to come back to her, as usual, she scribbled off a college
tale about a girl who had a desk with a secret drawer and didn’t
know it. The first story was accepted—and paid for—by the
magazine that had been the goal of her ambitions all winter, and the
other had brought her a contract for a dozen college stories to be
written within a year, on terms that made a true Bohemian like
Madeline feel fairly dizzy with sudden wealth.
This splendid sequel to the hunt for Eugenia’s theme reminded
Betty of the papers which had filled her drawer, and which, in the
rush of other excitements, she had quite forgotten. If they had
anything to do with Patricia and “R.” perhaps Madeline might write a
sequel to her first story and score another triumph. But examination
proved that the nearest name to Patricia mentioned in them was
prosaic Peter, and the only “R.” a Robert Wales who signed one of
the papers in the minor rôle of witness for Peter’s signature. Betty
was interested at discovering her surname; but prosy old documents
make dull reading, even if witnessed by a possible ancestor.
However, she finally sent them to Madeline, for, as she told Georgia
Ames, you never can tell what a literary person will see in the most
commonplace things.
Of course Madeline was overjoyed at the happy outcome of the
Tally-ho’s crisis, and so was Babbie, who appeared in Harding with
the very earliest signs of spring.
“Florida was duller than ever this year,” she told Betty. “I’ve left
mother in Washington waiting for really warm weather, and I’ve come
to see about my branch of the Tally-ho. I’m sure it needs my
personal attention. Mr. Thayer certainly ought to give the poor
stocking-makers ice-cream for staying in and learning their lessons
now that it’s getting to be nice weather. You’re not a bit enterprising
about working up business through the night-school, Betty.”
“I have to leave that to you,” Betty told her solemnly. “The regular
affairs of the tea-shop, and Mr. Morton, are all that I can manage.
The ploshkins will be here to-morrow in full force, and Mr. Morton
has written to know if we can’t think of some small improvements
that can be made next week during the spring vacation. He can’t
bear to wait until summer for everything.”
“As if this place wasn’t just about perfect now!” said Babbie
scornfully.
But Mary Brooks, appearing in the midst of the discussion, took a
different view. “You’ve got to keep making them sit up and take
notice of something new over and over and over,” she announced.
“That’s business. The ploshkins will do for one thing, but if the
Morton millions are fairly languishing to be wasted on this property,
you ought to be able to think of some features to spend them on.
Just wait a minute—I have it—a tea-garden! Pagoda effects
scattered over the side yard. Lattice work, and thatched roofs,
Japanese screens to keep out the sun and the stares of the gaping
crowd, and lanterns for evenings. I’m sure it would take.”
“It’s commonplace compared to what I’ve thought of,” declared
Babbie proudly. “What we want is a Peter Pan Annex in our elm
trees. I presume you’ve never been to the original Café Robinson,
Mary, but we have, and it’s way beyond any tea-garden.”
Betty was in the window, peering out at the Harding elm trees.
“We could,” she declared. “I always wondered how those two
trees happened to be so close together, and now it seems like fate
that they’re exactly right for a Café Robinson.”
“And easily tall enough for three stories,” cried Babbie, joining
her.
“We mustn’t forget the big one-two-three signs for the stories,”
chimed in Betty excitedly.
“Nor the basket to pull up with the extra things,” added Babbie.
“We’ll tell Nora to have some extra things in every order so they
can all have the fun of hauling up the basket.”
“The view will be perfectly lovely from the top,” declared Babbie.
“And isn’t it fine that our trees are in such a sheltered place, behind
the little white house?”
Betty nodded. “If Bob were here she’d shin up to the top this very
minute and tell us what you can see.”
“But Babe will surely say she likes the second story best,
because she and John made up their quarrel in the second story,”
laughed Babbie; and then they settled down to telling the bewildered
Mary about the house-in-the-trees café that they had discovered
near Paris, and how the going-away party held there for Madeline
had developed into an announcement party for Babe. And of course
Mary agreed that a Peter Pan Annex was the only thing for the Tally-
ho Tea-Shop.
“And as Madeline won’t let me call my night-school a branch of
the business, I shall write her how I thought up this,” Babbie
declared. “I will also hunt up that comical carpenter that Madeline
had such times with last fall, and show him how to build it.”
Now carpentry and the supervision of carpentry are no work for a
woman; and the Tally-ho’s trees were in plain sight from Mr. Thayer’s
office windows. So it was only natural, when Babbie’s slender figure
appeared on the lawn for the purpose of supervision, that Mr. Thayer
should join her for the purpose of applying an understanding
masculine intelligence and a firm masculine will to the direction of
the thickest-headed carpenter imaginable. Babbie had a careless
fashion of running out on the rawest day without a wrap. This made it
all the more necessary for Mr. Thayer to come over, bringing his
sweater to throw across her shoulders.
“I saw your Cousin Austin at Palm Beach,” Babbie had explained
shortly after her arrival in Harding, “and then at St. Augustine. At
Miami he took us on the loveliest cruise, and I drove his car at sixty
miles an hour on the beach at Ormond. It was ripping fun. Not many
men will risk your losing your head and smashing them up.”
“And don’t you ever lose your head?” inquired Mr. Thayer blandly.
“Not over your Cousin Austin,” said Babbie, with a flash of a
smile.
After that Mr. Thayer came oftener and stayed longer. Babbie
assured Betty and Emily Davis that they had no idea how
complicated a Peter Pan Annex seemed to an untraveled carpenter
of Harding.
“We’re so afraid it won’t have the real French air,” she said.
“That’s why we spend such ages in staring at it from all possible
angles.”
“And then it must be perfectly secure,” she explained on another
occasion, just after she and Mr. Thayer had sat for almost an hour in
the top story, among the branches that now made a most beautiful
feathery screen. “Think how horrible it would be if the railing was too
low and some silly little freshman fell out, or if the floor wasn’t strong
enough and gave way. Mr. Thayer knows all about such things. He’s
taking a lot of interest. We never could have done it properly except
for him.”
But in spite of the accommodating slowness and stupidity of the
untraveled carpenter, the Peter Pan Annex was finished at last.
“I’m a candidate now for the Perfect Patron’s Society,” Mr. Thayer
told Betty, “so I want to give an opening-day tea up on the top floor
for all the owners, managers, assistant managers, and small sisters.
It’s to be this afternoon at four. I also want another stocking factory
party, and hadn’t we better get it off our hands early, before
commencement begins to loom up ahead?” Mr. Thayer looked very
hard at Betty. “I suppose you are terribly busy?”
“Terribly,” returned Betty gravely, “but I think Babbie will help.”
Babbie would not.
“I’m going to your Cousin Austin’s Adirondack camp,” she
explained, “to see spring come in the woods. Mother is the
chaperon, and I have an awful suspicion that I am a sort of guest of
honor. Anyway, the spring part of it appeals to me. And secondly,
mother has been solemnly promised a reunion with her long-lost
daughter.”
Later in the day Babbie, in a kimono, which is the attire of
confidential intercourse, complained that “Mummy was as bad as
Margot about a multi-millionaire,” and that she hated the woods in
spring; they were always hot, and smoky from forest fires, there was
no shade and no shooting, and the canoes leaked from being dry all
winter.
“Moreover,” added Babbie wearily, a “so-called camp, with a
butler and three other men, and a sunken garden, is going too much
for me. But when mummy really insists, the laws of the Medes and
Persians aren’t in it.” She gave a funny little mirthless laugh. “I
suppose one ought to be very sure that one isn’t foolishly prejudiced
against the popular idea of the idle rich.”
So Emily planned the factory party with much energy and
originality, and Mr. Thayer was duly grateful. But his rare smile came
only when Betty showed him a note from Babbie, inquiring carefully
about the date of the party and stating in a postscript, with vehement
underlining, that she never wanted to see spring come in anybody’s
woods again.
“There are mosquitoes, and other things much worse,” ended
Babbie enigmatically, with the blackest possible lines under the last
two words.
“Suppose you let me write her about the date of the party?”
suggested Mr. Thayer. “Then you needn’t bother.”
Evidently the change in correspondents did not displease Babbie
seriously, for she was back on the appointed day, with a bewitching
smile, flashed out from beneath a bewitching hat, for all her stocking
factory friends, including Mr. Thayer. The party was a sort of spring
fête held out on the grounds of the factory, in the late afternoon and
early evening. There were folk dances in costume, national songs,
and old-country games. Emily had made all the guests feel a
tremendous pride in doing whatever they could to entertain the rest,
and everything, from the Irish bag-pipe music to the Russian
mazurkas, went off with great spirit.
It was while Jimmie O’Ferrel was dancing a jig with all his might
and main, and with all eyes fastened upon his flying feet, that Betty,
happening to glance across the grounds, saw a bewitching hat slip
swiftly from the fence top down on the tea-shop side. But she had no
proof that Mr. Thayer was concerned in the disappearance of the
hat, until the smallest sister sought her out importantly, a little later.
“Do you want to know what I think?” she asked. “Well, I think
Babbie and Mr. Thayer are in love.”
“Why do you think that?” asked Betty laughingly.
“Because,” explained Dorothy, “I ran up in the Peter Pan Annex
just now to see how small people look ’way down here from ’way up
there, and I jumped ’most out of my skin ’cause there those two sat.
They never saw me at all, and he had his arm around her and she
didn’t care. She was smiling about it. So I came straight away. Was
that right?”
“Of course,” laughed Betty. “You hadn’t been invited.”
“I was invited to Mr. Thayer’s party, though,” objected Dorothy,
“and now he isn’t here. He’s over at our house. That’s queer.”
Up in the Peter Pan Annex Mr. Thayer was saying to Babbie, “I
must go back before any one misses me.”
“I can’t go back,” said Babbie sadly. “I tore my dress dreadfully
getting over the fence. You shouldn’t have made me do it.”
“I didn’t make you,” retorted Mr. Thayer. “I particularly advised
you to go around.”
“Exactly,” agreed Babbie, “and that made me want to go over.
Dear me! Do you suppose we shall ever really quarrel on account of
my not wanting to give in to your chin?”
“No, because I shall always want to give in to yours,” Mr. Thayer
told her.
“But I shouldn’t let you give in always,” declared Babbie. “I should
take turns giving in.”
“Don’t say ‘should,’” objected Mr. Thayer. “Say ‘shall.’ Haven’t we
settled it?”
“Of course.” Babbie gave a comical little sigh. “It feels so queer to
be settled—and so very nice. Now go back to your party, and I’ll get
Nora to lend me some pins so I can go back too. Oh, and we’ll tell
Betty, shan’t we, right away?”
Under the circumstances Betty wasn’t extremely surprised, but
she was extremely pleased.
“Now our tea-room is as successful as the famous one that
belonged to the cousins of the girl who lives over Mrs. Bob,” she
laughed. “It has produced an engagement, and a literary career to
match the artist person’s.”
Babbie frowned. “You mustn’t leave yourself out, Betty. You’re
mixed up in everything, and I don’t believe that other tea-room was
half as nice as this or made half as much money.”
“Neither do I,” agreed Betty happily. “I’m perfectly satisfied with
my profits, though they’re not so extraordinary as yours and
Madeline’s. Every morning when I unlock the door I’m in such a
hurry to look in and see that everything is all right and all here. It’s so
pretty and I love it so, that I’m afraid it will vanish some night like a
fairy palace.”
It was odd that the very next morning when Betty unlocked the
door, she should find that some marauder had been there before her.
She had locked her desk the night before, as she always did. But
during the night the lid had been forced back, the papers in the
pigeonholes tossed out on to the floor, the drawers opened and
emptied.
Her face was white and frightened as she rushed over to find
Babbie, who was staying in the little white house this time.
“The tea-room has been robbed!” she gasped. “Come over there,
quick.”
Babbie, who always breakfasted late, was pinning her collar, and
she gave a start that jabbed the pin straight into her thumb. “Ouch,
but that hurt!” she groaned. “What did they take?”
“I was so frightened I didn’t stop to see. I thought they might be
hiding in the loft.”
Babbie dropped a skirt over her head, and started down the
stairs, hooking it up as she ran.
“They wouldn’t do that. They’d want to escape in the dark,” she
called back encouragingly.
But at the door of the tea-shop she paused. “There is something
moving up there,” she whispered cautiously. “See! Over in that
corner by the curtain.”
Betty couldn’t see anything moving, but when Babbie started in a
hasty retreat toward the little white house she banged to the big door
and followed. Just then Bridget came waddling breathlessly up the
hill.
“Wat’s up now, Misses?” she called. “Why are yez afther shuttin’
of me out?”
Bridget’s fat figure was very reassuring. Simultaneously Betty
and Babbie ran toward it, gasping out the news.
“COME ALONG NOW”
“In the loft? Well, we’ll finish ’em thin.” Bridget seized a brass-
handled poker, the latest addition to the tea-shop’s stock of antiques.
Then she laid it down again, carefully removed her neat black
bonnet, and as carefully laid it on a table. “No use of spilin’ that in a
fight. Come along now wid yez,” she ordered.
Betty seized an umbrella that some one had opportunely left in a
corner, and Babbie chose as weapon a tall brass candlestick. Then
the procession started, Bridget waddling and wheezing in front,
Betty, still white with terror, following, and Babbie, beginning to smile
again at the absurdity of the search, bringing up the rear. But they
hunted conscientiously, exploring every hiding-place into which a
man could possibly squeeze himself and some that would have
cramped a self-respecting cat.
“They ain’t here at all,” announced Bridget at last, removing her
eye from a knot-hole in the wall into which she had been spying
laboriously, and standing upright with more puffings and pantings.
“It’s downstairs we go. Thim stalls are foine for burgulars, and
mebbe they’re in me kitchen this minute, ating up me angil-food that
’ud riz light as a feather. Oh me, oh me.”
“They aren’t here now. I’m sure they’re not,” protested Babbie.
“Think how absurd it would be for a burglar to hide in here, just
waiting around to be caught. I’m going to see what we’ve lost.”
Bridget persisted in completing her search, and Betty would not
desert her. But when the fat cook was satisfied and had sat down to
fan herself into a semblance of calmness that would make possible
the successful cooking of waffles for the “Why-Get-Up-to-Breakfast
Club,” Betty joined Babbie, and together they straightened out and
looked over the papers from the desk.
“There’s nothing gone. Of course they wouldn’t want grocer’s
bills, even if they were receipted,” Betty declared. “But I left six
dollars and thirty cents all rolled up in one of the top drawers. Emily
forgot it when she went to the bank. I suppose they’ve got that.”
“Drawer wide open, and one—five—yes, six dollars and thirty
cents all here,” Babbie reported. “That’s very queer. Burglars that
hunt as hard as this and then don’t take the money when they find it
are certainly particular. Well, did they like our old brasses, I wonder,
or our plated silver spoons?”
But the candlesticks—except the one Babbie had seized upon—
and the Flemish lamps were all in place. The gargoyles grinned
serenely from their accustomed niches. The silver drawer had not
been tampered with. In the kitchen the angel-food was just as
Bridget had left it.
“It’s a mystery,” declared Babbie at last, “a thrilling and
impenetrable mystery. When do burglars not burgle?”
“When they are frightened off,” answered Betty prosaically.
“But it wouldn’t have taken a second to dip out that money,”
Babbie objected. “It was all mussed up, so some one’s hand must
have been in there, since you left it in a roll——”
“Yes, in a tight little wad,” put in Betty.
“And that some one could have pulled back his hand full just as
quickly as empty,” Babbie went on. “I tell you it’s a horrible mystery.
I’m going to ask Robert to come over this minute and see about it.”
Meanwhile Emily, who had been doing the day’s marketing,
arrived; but neither she nor Mr. Thayer could solve the “thrilling,
impenetrable, horrible” mystery, though Mr. Thayer found “jimmy”
marks on the shed door, and that, as Betty said, proved beyond a
doubt that the burglars had been the real thing.
“Real, but very eccentric,” laughed Emily. “Let’s hope that all the
Tally-ho’s burglars will belong to the same accommodating tribe.”
CHAPTER XIX
THE AMAZING MR. SMITH AND OTHER
AMAZEMENTS