ART IS WRONG
Every time some guy goes over the top to notoriety and money in this
movie called life, they is some 5,678,954 also rans which wags their
heads from side to side and says, "Well--no wonder. He was born that
way and couldn't help himself!" Then, they go back to their dub jobs
and wish they was lucky.
That stuff is all wrong! A guy may be born with different color hair
from the next guy, but he's never born with any secret of success that
the kid in the adjoinin' crib ain't got. All you need to be born with
in order to get the world familiar with your last name is the usual
number of arms, legs and etc. and a mad habitual yearnin' to make good
that a sudden hypodermic of success don't kill. Anything but failure
is possible to a hustler, and by a hustler I don't mean one of them
breezy birds which makes a lotta noise, thinks they is only one letter
in the alphabet and that's the one after "H," but the guy which takes
setbacks as encouragement and quits tryin' the day the undertaker is
called in.
They's many a big artist whose ancestors thought paint was used for the
sides of barns only, they's many a famous actor whose father figured
Shakespeare was the name of a puddin', they's many a big league author
come from families which confined their readin' matter to the city
directory, and so it goes all along the line--Columbus's old man was a
cotton picker. You don't inherit success, you take it by force, usin'
your ambition, nerve and ability as the weapons.
The above information was handed on to me by Alex. He says Broadway is
too narrow and Vermont moonlight had it lookin' dark at night and he
then proceeds to wed one of the prettiest girls that ever looked over
the Winter Garden footlights--she makes homemade bread now, too! The
first time he went to the Metropolitan Opera House he claims he'd like
grand opera if they wouldn't sing and when does the acrobats come out,
yet the next week he's able to take a apartment on Riverside Drive.
This here is just a few of the things Alex done to break up the dull
monotony of life in a burg where that and death is mere incidents.
The wife and I is sittin' together in the parlor one night and she's
knittin' a sweater for me that will prob'ly make me off her for life,
whilst I'm readin' aloud to her from the only novel in which true love
and the like don't win out in the end. It's called "Simpson's
Universal Educator" and the subject we are on is how wet is the
Pacific, or some such hot stuff as that. They is a ring at the bell
and the wife grabs the book outa my hand and slings about thirty
dollars' worth of wool over my arms.
[Illustration: She's knittin' a sweater for me that will prob'ly make
me off her for life.]
"Sit up straight," she says, "and look interested in this! You're
helpin' me knit--get that? Look as if you like it and the minute the
door opens call me dear."
"What's the idea?" I says, sittin' there with my arms out straight and
stiff before me like a doll or the like. "I don't get--"
"Sssh!" she whispers. "That's probably Ruth Hopper and her husband.
She's trying to get him to quit playing pinochle all night and she
wants to show him what a ideal husband does."
"A pinochle fiend, hey?" I says. "Well, lead him on! We got a little
game down at the corner and he'll just make up the set. It's gettin'
around time for me to leave anyways. I been in a half hour now and--"
Well, at that moment our charmin' maid leads in no less than Alex and
his wife Eve. Speakin' of good lookers, this dame would make Morgan
forget about Wall Street, and she's wearin' a dress that must of put
some Fifth Avenue store over. But the wife begins bein' pleasant to
gaze upon and a delight to the naked eye where Eve leaves off. Why,
she's got a movie contract which she holds over my head every time I
stay out till ten o'clock and the like. Them two dames in the one room
is more than the average guy can stand and how they ever come to fall
for a coupla guys like me and Alex is a subject for bigger brains than
mine. They say women is peculiar, hey? Well, it's a good thing for
the average guy that they are!
"Well!" remarks Eve, lookin' from me to the wife. "How perfectly
sweet! If you two only knew what a pretty picture you make!"
[Illustration: "How perfectly sweet! If you two only knew what pretty
picture you make!"]
"Yeh," I says, gettin' up and dumpin' the near sweater on the table.
"You'd almost think we wasn't married, hey?"
"Speaking of pictures," says the wife, allowin' Alex to kiss her--a
thing I loathe, "let's all go down and see 'Wronged By Mistake.' They
tell me--"
"Nothin' stirrin'," I butts in. "I wanna see Beryldine Nearer in 'The
Woman Which Lost.' She's some dame, believe me! If I was the leadin'
man in her pictures I'd work for nothin'."
"Is that so?" says the wife, her voice as cold as Cape Nome. "Why
didn't you marry her then instead of me?"
"She didn't ask me till it was too late," I says, grinnin' like a wolf.
"Here, here!" says Alex. "How is it you people is always quarrelin'
every time I come here for a visit?"
"We figure you'll get sore and beat it," I says.
"Now, boys," says Eve, "let's forget we are all one family and be
friends. Why aren't you folks out celebratin' peace to-night?"
"We wasn't invited," I says. "And I have bought my last ticket from a
speculator."
"Invited?" says Eve, which always takes everything except Alex serious.
"Why, all New York seems to be on Broadway!"
"That's what people from Chicago always thinks," I says. "But they's
more to the town than that."
"Oh, hush that near comedy," says the wife. "C'mon, we're going to see
'Wronged By Mistake.'"
"I'll see Beryldine Nearer," I says in a loud and angry voice, "or we
don't go nowhere!"
We went to see "Wronged By Mistake."
The movin' picture company which is responsible for this film claims it
cost them $100,000 to make the picture. Maybe it did, I don't know.
What I do know is that it cost me $1000 to see it! Why? Lend me your
ears, as the dumb guy said.
The hero of this here picture was no less than Carrington De Vire.
This guy's name is familiar in burgs where they don't know if Wilson or
Washington is still president of the United States. His name is on
more collars than you ever seen and he gets more money a week than you
and me makes in six years, even if you cut his advertised salary in
half. He's prob'ly caused more girls to take their pens in hand than
any massage cream in the world and to say he is a handsome dog is like
remarkin' that the Grand Canyon is pleasant to look at. The only
magazine which ain't printed his photo at least once with a auto, a
country place and a coupla trick dogs at his side is the _Hardware
Trade Review_ and the _Steamfitters' Friend_.
The minute Carrington De Vire appears on the screen and gives the
natives a treat by presentin' one and all with a pleasant smile, the
wife and Eve begins to rave about him out loud. He kisses the leadin'
woman and they let forth a sigh which would of made me jealous only I
got too much brains. The villain slams him, prob'ly because he got
sick of lookin' at the big fathead, and the women groans. He knocks
the villain kickin' and they applaud their hands off and when he fights
his way through a gang of supes which will lose their jobs if they
don't fall when he hits 'em, I thought most of the female part of the
audience would pass away with joy!
"I think he's simply wonderful, don't you?" murmurs Eve to the wife.
They is no argument about it.
Alex give a snort.
"If they's anything wonderful about that feller," he says, "then I'm
more astonishin' than wireless. Anybody can do that stuff! Why--"
"Why, the idea!" butts in Eve. "I actually believe you're jealous. I
think Carrington De Vire is simply divine--marvelous!"
"Wait till you see Niagara Falls," I says.
"Both of them are jealous," says the wife. "I'm surprised at Alex
saying that any one could act as well as Carrington De Vire. Why, I
think he's got Faversham beaten a mile. You have to be born with
talent like that!"
"I think the wife's right in one thing at last," I says. "I like them
male movie heroes and carbolic acid the same way, but you got to hand
it to this bird--he's _some_ actor! Yep, Alex, you can't learn that
stuff out of no book, you gotta be born with it."
"You're all crazy!" announces Alex, with another snort. "I can go out
right now and dig up a dozen fellers which never seen a camera in their
life and they'll duplicate anything Carrington De Vire ever did on a
screen. Where does he get off to be wonderful? Some feller with
brains writes a play, another feller with money puts it on and then
another feller with technical knowledge tells De Vire, which ain't got
none of them things, where to stand and the like while he acts it.
Why--"
"Ridiculous!" butts in Eve. "Carrington De Vire has extraordinary
talent. He has thousands of admirers all over the country.
Why--why--he's famous!"
"Of course," says the wife. "It's too silly to talk about. Alex has
reached the stage now where he thinks he can do anything!"
"Yeh?" says Alex. "Well, I reached the stage where I thought I could
do anything about three minutes after I was born! I'll bet right now I
can go down to the docks or some place and get a handsome stevedore and
make him as big a star as Carrington De Vire in six months!"
"Don't be idiotic," laughs Eve. "Imagine a stevedore as a moving
picture star!"
"Why not?" demands Alex, lookin' like the idea had made a hit with him.
"Ain't a stevedore as good as anybody else? I'll bet a thousand
dollars even that I can catch one or somebody like him and make him a
movie star. What d'ye say?"
"I'll say this," I says. "We come here to see this picture and not to
hear you make a speech. This here's a theatre and not no race track
and forget about that bettin' thing. If you can make a movie star out
of a stevedore, I can make a watch outa a hard boiled egg!"
They is some people behind us which can't see the picture on account of
us talkin' and they begin to hiss at us. It bothers Alex the same as
rain worries a duck.
"Is they steam escapin' somewheres?" he remarks, turnin' his head.
"Why, brakemen have became railroad presidents," he goes on,
"bootblacks have became bankers, prize fighters have turned evangelists
and the United States has went dry. Why shouldn't a stevedore become a
movie star?"
"We'll all become throwed outa here if you don't keep quiet!" I says.
"Ssh, Alex," says the wife. "Don't get so excited about it. There's
no use attempting the impossible and--"
"They ain't nothin impossible!" butts in Alex. "I'm willin' to prove
it. Why don't somebody bet me, hey?"
"Why don't you hire Madison Square Garden for that speech?" hisses a
guy behind us. "Heavens, what a pest!"
"Call the usher," puts in a dame with him. "Them people has did
nothin' but talk since they come in here!"
"What d'ye want us to do--sing?" growls Alex.
"Alex, be still!" whispers Eve. "I've missed the whole picture through
your talking. Now we'll have to stay and see it all over again."
"Have a nice time," says Alex, gettin' up and grabbin' my arm. "We'll
wait outside for you. One dose a day of Carrington De Vire is all I
can take!"
The bunch in back glares at us and says somethin' about what a crime it
is to let drunken men come into a theatre.
Outside on the pavement, Alex lets forth a snort and whiffs the fresh
air like it was wine.
"Think of my wife sittin' in there and worshippin' that big stiff," he
snarls. "And yours, too!"
"We all have our faults," I says. "I knowed a guy once which was crazy
over fried parsnips."
"They ain't nothin' to laugh at in this," he says, slappin' his hands
together. "I ain't a jealous man, but no movie hero is gonna be no god
to my wife!"
"Why don't you go in the movies yourself, then?" I says. "They might
hire you for a picture with Carrington De Vire in it, and you can knock
him kickin' in five reels or the like."
"Huh!" says Alex, "what do I care about the movies? I got a better
plan than that and it will accomplish the same purpose. I'll show Eve
and the rest of you how easy it is to be a movie hero--I'll make money
out of it, too!" he adds, with the old glitter in his eyes.
"What are you gonna do?" I says. "Speak quick, I can't stand
excitement!"
For answer he takes me into the hotel across the street and leads me
into the writin' room. He sits down and writes on a piece of paper for
a minute and then he hands it to me.
"Cast your eyes over that," he says, "and if it's satisfactory--sign
it!"
This is what I read,
"I, Alex Hanley, agree to hire one handsome, tall and perfectly built
stevedore, longshoreman, truck driver or some one engaged in a equally
honest profession, one who has never appeared before a camera or upon
any stage and who has no knowledge of theatricals, and within six
months from date to make him a full fledged, acknowledged star of the
moving pictures.
"In the event of said undertaking being successful, the undersigned
agrees to pay Alex Hanley one thousand dollars. In the event of
failure, Alex Hanley agrees to forfeit the same sum."
I handed it back to him.
"Listen!" I says. "Don't be a nut _all_ your life. You got as much
chance of--"
"Did you ever see me fall down on anything?" he butts in, dippin' a pen
in the ink and handin' it to me.
"Not even a banana peel," I admits. "But they is a limit to
everything--even the war's over. In the first place, even if you could
do this, it would cost you more than a thousand dollars and--"
"Leave that to me," he says, pushin' over the pen. "And sign here!"
"But--" I says.
"Hurry up, the ink will be dry," he cuts me off.
I give in.
"Alex," I says. "This is a crime! If I ever win one bet in my life,
I'll win this one. You'll make a movie star outa a stevedore, hey?
Why--"
"Want a thousand more?" he grins pleasantly.
"No!" I hollers. "Let's go over and meet the girls."
The search for the future king of the movies begins merrily the next
day. I went with Alex to see that he didn't put nothin' over on me and
at the end of the week he had dug up three promisin' leads. They was a
plumber's helper which had a wonderful figure, but a scar on his cheek
showed up in a snapshot Alex took of him and he was laid aside with a
sigh. Then they was a waiter which was better lookin' than Mary
Pickford, but a trifle stoop-shouldered. The third guy was hustlin'
baggage at Grand Central Station and was a perfect Venus except for
some missin' teeth which queered him when he smiled and what's a movie
hero without a smile?
Well, I'm havin' the time of my life kiddin' Alex, when one day as we
are walkin' along Third Avenue in search of his prey, he grabs me by
the arm, yells, "I got him!" and starts across the street on the run.
They is a big truck standin' there and a husky on the back of it is
engaged in coaxin' pig iron off of it on to the street. He stood about
six foot three without bein' shaved and weighed accordingly, all bone
and muscle not countin' his head. He turns around and--Oh, boy!!!!
Say! I seen some good lookers in my time, male and female, but this
baby had it on 'em all! His hair is that black, wavy kind that the
cabaret hounds wish they had and he's got a skin like a week old baby.
He must of painted his teeth with enamel twice a day and he's there
with a pair of eyelashes that would make a chorus girl take carbolic.
On the level, he's so handsome he don't look real--and that with all
the signs of honest toil at the truck on him, too! Alex taps him on
the shoulder and he swings around.
"What's yours?" he growls.
"I have come to make your fortune," announces Alex with a grin. Then
he turns to me. "Ain't he a peach, hey?" he says.
The big guy drops the pig iron and looks from Alex to me.
"What kinda stuff is this?" he growls. "What d'ye mean I'm a peach?"
"You are the luckiest man in New York," says Alex. "I have come to
make you famous and rich!"
The big guy grins.
"Listen!" he says. "They're awful tough on hop fiends in this burg now
and they'll be a copper along in a minute, so you better duck. I know
you guys is no less than J. P. Morgan and John D. Rockefeller, if not
more, and you'll gimme a million dollars in nickels if I'll tell you
where to get a layout. But I ain't got the time, I gotta get this
stuff off here and--"
With that he turns around and goes to work again.
"Drop that iron!" says Alex. "You'll never soil your hands with manual
labor again."
"Hey!" snarls the big guy. "Git away, will you? I always feel sorry
for you dope fiends, but if you guys don't lay off me, I'll bounce the
two of you. Now, beat it!"
"Well," I says to Alex, "he's ignorant anyways. We got that part all
settled and--"
"Look here!" says Alex, darin'ly grabbin' the big guy by the arm.
"We're neither dope fiends nor maniacs. I want to ask you a few
questions and, if your answers suit me, I'll hire you for a hundred
dollars a week to do special work for me. To show you I'm not foolin',
take this for your trouble whether we do business or not."
With that he hands him a twenty dollar bill.
"Aha!" yells the big guy. "Coupla counterfeiters, hey?" He snatches
the bill and grabs Alex. "So you guys want me to pass this for you--I
got it!" He starts to drag Alex along the pavement and half Third
Avenue stops to watch it. "I'll git a reward for this!" I heard him
mutter.
Alex throws him off--he's stronger than he looks.
"You better not take that head of yours into no pool room," he snarls,
"or somebody'll get two billiard balls and play with it for a set.
Take your hands off me and listen. That bill is as good as the inside
of a church. C'mon into this store and I'll prove it!"
They's somethin' about Alex that makes this guy hesitate, and Alex
pulls him into a cigar store, whilst I shoo away the disappointed crowd
which looked for manslaughter at least.
In a minute they come out. The big guy has twenty single bills in his
hand and a dazed look on his face. Alex is grinnin'.
"Now are you satisfied?" says Alex.
The big guy shoves the dough in his overalls.
"The sugar seems O.K.," he says. "Say! I gotta work a week for that
much dough, so I might as well give you five minutes of my time.
What's the idea, hey?"
"Now, Delancey Calhoun," says Alex, "how would you--"
"Wait a minute!" grins the other guy. "I knowed they was a ball up
somewheres. Where d'ye get that Calhoun stuff? My name's Tim O'Toole."
"Not no more!" says Alex, returnin' the grin. "From now on it's
Delancey Calhoun--get that?"
"A nut is a funny thing," says O'Toole, pressin' the dough in his
pocket. "But--sure, I'm Delancey Calhoun! That's a swell name at
that--it sounds like a Lenox Avenue apartment house. What d'ye want me
to do, outside of that?"
"How would you like to be a actor?" says Alex.
"Nothin' doin'!" says Delancey. "I got a steady job and I'm too fond
of eatin'."
"Don't be a fool!" says Alex. "That stuff about actors not eatin'
regular is a thing of the past. These days a actor makes more money
than a banker. Did you ever appear on the stage anywheres in your
life?"
"I did not!" snarls Delancey. "And I can lick the guy which claims I
did!"
"Fine!" says Alex, lookin' at me. "Now of course you've seen movin'
pictures, hey?"
"Sure!" says Delancey. "What d'ye think I am--ig'rant?"
"Not at all," says Alex. "Do you think if you had a chance and was
well paid for it, you could do the things them heroes does in the
movies?"
Delancey Calhoun, nee Tim O'Toole, throws out his chest from here to
South Dakota.
"Do I _think_ so?" he says. "Why, say, pal--that stuff would be soft
for me! I ain't no second Mary Pickford or the like and Chaplin might
grab off more laughs to the reel than me, but when it come to this here
cowboy and full dress stuff--Oh, lady!!!"
"You're hired!" hollers Alex, slappin' him on the back. "Startin'
right now your salary is a hundred a week. Drive that truck back to
where it belongs and throw up your job."
"A hundred a week, hey?" says Delancey, rollin' his eyes. "Oh, lady!!
In a month I'll have Carnegie gnashin' his teeth!" He breaks off and
swings around on Alex. "Look here!" he says, "I been drivin' this
truck for two years. I got a good steady job from eight in the mornin'
till ten at night, and I get twenty berries a week for it. I don't
know nothin' about this nut job of yours, but if I don't get my hundred
every week--well, they's gonna be a funeral with you bein' featured in
it, get that?"
"That's all right," says Alex. "I'll deposit your first six months'
salary in the bank for you--how's that?"
"What could be sweeter?" says Delancey. "They's just one other thing."
"Speak up!" says Alex.
"As long as I'm gonna be a movie actor," says Delancey, "do I get a
dress suit to wear?"
"Sure!" says Alex. "Why?"
"Well," grins Delancey, "I never had one of them open faced suits on in
me life and in fact I was savin' up to get one now. I'm simply nutty
to put on one of them layouts and knock the innocent onlookers silly.
If you hit a tough week, I might take ninety-five bucks and let the
rest go over a few days, but I gotta have the dress suit and that goes!"
"It's yours," says Alex, diggin' me in the ribs.
"All right," says Delancey, "I'll go down now and make the boss faint
by quittin'. I'll meet you anywheres you says to-morrow."
"You will not," says Alex. "I'll ride right down on that truck with
you now!"
About two weeks later, Alex comes up to the flat and tells me to put on
my hat and cane. He says he's gonna take me over to the studio and
show me Delancey Calhoun's first picture.
"So you're really goin' through with it, hey?" I says. "What company
did you get him landed with?"
"The Par-Excellence Feature Film Company," he says.
"I never heard tell of it," I says. "Who's in back of it?"
"A young feller by the name of Alex Hanley!" he comes back, grinnin'.
"What?" I hollers. "D'ye mean to say you started a movie foundry to
put this guy over?"
"I'll leave it to you," he tells me, "when we get to the studio. Let's
go!"
On the way over he shows me a lot of the advertisin' copy with which
he's gonna introduce Delancy Calhoun to the waitin' world. I must say
it was hot stuff! It claims that Delancey Calhoun is the sole heir to
the $20,000,000 left by the late Artemus Calhoun which died twenty
years ago. The will was given to his lawyers, Sandringham, Bellew and
Fitch, with instructions not to open it for twenty years. When it was
opened, it was found that them twenty millions was left to his only
nephew, Delancey. Alex has opened a law office downtown under the name
of Sandringham, Bellew and Fitch, so's to take care of the reporters
and other guys of a inquisitive nature. Then comes the kick.
Delancey, a handsome and accomplished young giant, is tired of the
"sham and deceit" of his own "exalted social set" and it's his ambition
to wed a girl of the common people and let her enjoy some of the
millions his hard-fisted uncle wrung from their toil. He also has
another aim in life and that is to accomplish a sweepin' reform of the
movie game. He's always been a great fan himself, but he's sick of the
impossible plays which has been foisted on a innocent and nickel
spendin' public. Therefore, he has organized his own movie company,
will produce his own pictures from real life stories of the eternal
struggle, and last but not least, he'll appear personally in them
himself, to gratify a whim he's had since he first looked over the side
of a cradle. He thinks the average movie hero is sickenin', and he
wants to show the world how a real hero would act. He will appear in
twelve pictures only. Each will be a episode in the greatest mystery
story ever written entitled, "What was Hector's Choice?" Every single
female in the country is invited to see this picture and send in their
solution of the mystery. _The one that comes nearest to the correct
answer will become the bride of Delancy Calhoun and his twenty million
bucks_.
Oh, boy!!!
"Alex," I says, "I'll tell the world this is great stuff! It must be
gonna cost you a bunch of money. Where do you get off?"
"Your head and glue is the two thickest things I ever seen," he says.
"Where do I get mine, hey? I get it from the sale of the pictures this
bird makes. In a coupla months they'll be riots in theatres all over
the country to see this guy in the movies!"
"Maybe," I says. "But how are you gonna pull 'em in? Right off the
bat he's gotta compete with Chaplin, Mary Pickford and the like."
"I didn't wanna spring my ace so soon on you," he says, "but I guess I
got to. How am I gonna pull 'em in? This way--_single women will be
admitted free at every theatre where this picture is shown_!"
Wheee!!!!
"You're there, Alex!" I admits. "But suppose the men and married women
stays away?"
"Stays away?" he says. "They'll break their way in! The married women
will wanna see Delancey and get a idea of what they missed, and the men
will wanna see what this big fathead looks like, if only to kid him."
"What kind of a actor is he?" I says.
"Wait till you see him," says Alex. "He's got the studio standin' on
its ear! He thinks he's the greatest actor the world ever seen and
everybody else from the director to the camera men is dubs. He refuses
to fake any of the fight scenes and I gotta pay supers ten bucks a day
to take his wallops. The first time he had a love scene with the
leadin' lady he thought it was on the level and went out and got a
marriage license. He argued two hours in favor of real bullets for the
duel he fights with the villain and refused to play a scene supposed to
be in Alaska because the studio's in Jersey. He claims the guy which
wrote the scenario escaped from a lunatic asylum and he plays the
second two reels his own way. I've had three different casts work with
him because he gets them all sore by his kiddin' them about art. He
takes everything in dead earnest and tried to beat up the villain on
the street twice because he's supposed to hate him in the picture.
But--this first episode is _some_ film!!!"
I seen the picture in the private projectin' room and Alex told the
truth when he called it "_some_ film." In fact that there would of
been as good a title for the whole picture as the one they had. They
was more adventures happened to Delancey Calhoun in them five reels
than Robinson Crusoe, Columbus, Kit Carson and Davy Crockett had in
their combined lives! He was a heart-breaker one second and a
head-breaker the next. He had insisted to Alex that one villain wasn't
enough for him to foil, so they had about a dozen and he trimmed 'em
all. They was also several heroines for him to save and clasp on his
manly bosom, which same he did in evenin' clothes only. It was nothin'
for him to save a maiden in distress from a sinkin' ship and the next
second appear in a lifeboat with a dress suit on, rowin' for shore. No
matter if the scene was mornin' or night, Alaska or the Sahara Desert,
Delancey was there in his little dress suit. He would of parted with
that and his left eye with the same willingness.
Apart from the film itself, which might of been good or might of been
bad, but certainly was excitin' for your life, Delancey was a riot! He
was the handsomest thing I ever seen on a screen and I don't blame all
the dames in the studio for fallin' for him. In that treasured dress
suit of his which cost Alex as much as a limousine, they ain't no woman
on earth that wouldn't get a thrill when she looked at him, provided he
didn't start no conversation. He looked class--that's all they is to
it!
When we come out from seein' the picture, Delancey is walkin' around
the studio, still with the dress suit on. He's tellin' one of the best
directors in the country how to properly produce a movie and said
director is takin' it hard. He breaks off when he sees us.
"Hello!" he says. "Well, what d'ye think of me? I'm a knockout, hey?"
"Easily that," I admits, shakin' his hand. "How d'ye like bein' a
actor?"
"Rotten!" he says. "This stuff is the bunk and them actors gimme a
pain. I think they're all nutty. How they get money for this hop is
past me! All I do all day is pretend I'm this and pretend I'm that and
the foreman of this layout keeps yellin', 'Register fear!' and stuff
like that at me. I don't know why this friend of yours is givin' me
money for this, but I bet they's a catch to it somewheres!"
"Isn't he simply delicious?" says the leadin' woman, with a fond glance
at Delancey.
"Delicious, hey?" he snorts. "What d'ye think I am--a pie?"
They is a vampire there and she turns up her nose.
"I think he's impossible!" she says. "He hasn't the slightest
conception of art."
"Lemme alone!" growls Delancey. "I'm as good a actor as you guys is,
if not better. Where d'ye get that art stuff?"
"Heavens!" says the vampire. "You must have worked all your life to
acquire ignorance, for no one was ever _born_ as stupid as you! All
you have is your looks."
[Illustration: "Heavens!" says the vampire. "You must have worked a
your life to acquire ignorance, for no one was ever _born_ as stupid as
you!"]
"Yeh," snarls Delancey. "And all Rockefeller's got is a billion!"
At this point Alex stepped in and prevented bloodshed.
Well, Delancey is as big a success as a movie star as Boston is as a
town, and within a month he's swept the country like a new dance. That
stuff about him bein' a millionaire and willin' to marry the girl which
guesses the answer to the mystery in "What Was Hector's Choice?" caught
on with the ladies like cold cream and his handsome map did the rest.
His picture is plastered all over the country and kids which barely
knowed their A, B, C's, is familiar with his name. His mail arrives
daily in freight cars and Alex had four guys workin' on nothin' but
autographin' his photos for "A Admirer" and "Your Unknown Friend."
Alex got a quarter the each for said photos to cover the "wrapping and
mailing charges" and made a nice little profit on the side.
With all this success, though, Delancey Calhoun kept his head. He
never appeared at no banquets, addressed meetin's on "The Future of the
Motion Picture Industry," or as much as glanced at the daily slew of
mail. When the dames around the studio cast languishin' glances at his
handsome form, he glared at 'em like a infuriated turtle. If one of
'em remarked that it was a nice day by way of startin' a slight
flirtation, Delancey would answer that he couldn't help it, and walk
away. He never spent a nickel foolishly or at all, and when the auto
agents swooped down on him, he borrowed cigars from them and beat it.
[Illustration: When the dames cast languishing glances at his handsome
form, he glared at them like an infuriated turtle.]
The most astonishin' thing, though, was the way he acted about the
movies durin' his career as a star. He never stopped claimin' that the
whole thing was the bunk and that it was idiotic for a grown person to
put on a wig and take off the old banker or the like, when they was
only a fifty buck a week actor. He insisted that anything as silly as
the movies was could never last and they was more real money in the
truckin' business for a man that knew the game as he did and had plenty
of wagons. When Alex argues with him and says that many of the big
stars makes fifty thousand a year, he tells Alex to stop usin' opium
because it'll get him in the end.
At the end of three months, Delancey has made Alex pay him a percentage
of the receipts and a salary of a thousand a week, but his opinion of
the movie business is unchanged. He explains the fact that he's makin'
plenty of money out of it by sayin' that Alex must be takin' it out of
his own pocket and is simply makin' pictures to cover up his real game,
which is prob'ly safe crackin'. Alex throws up his hands and lets him
be after that one.
Fin'ly the last picture is made and Alex gives out the information to a
expectant world that a girl in Brisbane, Australia, has won the
guessin' contest and Delancey Calhoun's hand, and the famous star will
sail immediately to wed her. The newspapers all prints pictures of 'em
both, Alex gettin' the lucky dame's by photographin' his stenographer.
A couple of papers didn't get neither and runs pictures of Brisbane,
Australia, so's to be on the job anyways. Then Alex collects the
thousand bucks I bet him that he couldn't make a movie star outa a
truck driver and prepares to break the news to his wife and mine that
he has done the same. He figures this will kill forever their wild
infatuation for Carrington De Vire, the idol of the screen.
At that point, Delancey Calhoun walks into the office.
"Ah, Delancey," says Alex, "I was just gonna send for you. Now that
our original contract has expired, let me congratulate you. You done
great and far better than even I expected. You're famous the world
over and must have a good sized bankroll if you've stayed in at nights
and kept away from race tracks and the like. I only intended this as a
experiment, but it has gone over so big that I want you to sit down
here and sign a contract for five years at the biggest salary you ever
heard of. We'll make the greatest pictures the world--"
"Wait a minute!" butts in Delancey. "Don't rave no more. My name is
Tim O'Toole again and not Delancey, which sounds like a collar. I'm
sick and tired of movin' pictures and that big salary stuff is as much
bunk as the rest of it. I ain't goin' around rescuin' nutty dames,
beatin' up supes which is supposed to be the desperate smugglers and
divin' off bridges no more! I'm goin' to make a honest livin' and I've
bought out the truckin' business I was workin' for when you come along
and made a movie star and a simp outa me. I'll be takin' in money
there long after the movies is gone and all the pictures I'll ever move
from now on will be loaded on one of my wagons. Fare-thee-well, and I
hope they's no hard feelings. If they is, I ain't gonna sob out loud
over it!"
For a minute Alex was speechless. Then he comes to and works a hour
tryin' to get the ex-Delancey Calhoun to change his mind. They was
nothin' doin'. In fact, Delancey walked out and left us flat in the
middle of Alex's wail.
Well, anyways, Alex still had one satisfaction left and that was to
prove to Eve and the wife that he had put over a truck driver as a
movie star. He done it after dinner that night and if he caused any
sensation, I failed to see it with the naked eye.
"Well," says Eve, "that proves my argument."
"Proves _your_ argument?" hollers Alex. "Didn't you claim movie stars
was born, and didn't I take a truck driver and make him famous at it?"
"Yes," says Eve. "And then he went back to the trucking business,
because he wasn't born an artist and the whole thing seemed silly to
him. He couldn't stand the make-believe any longer, because he had no
imagination, no art--nothing but the stupid ability to make money!"
Alex sinks down in a chair and throws up his hands.
"Can you beat a woman?" he asks me.
"Not in this state," I says. "It's against the law."
"Come!" says Eve. "You boys are just in time. Carrington De Vire is
down at the Palace in 'The Arctic Sunflower.' I'm crazy to see it. I
think he's wonderful!"
THE END