"I'd stay if I were you, Margie," said Miss Williams. "What I have to say
should interest you."
And in those words Janet knew the decision. Helen had the lead and Margie
was to get the second rôle. She was out, but at least she could take it
without creating a scene like Cora.
_Chapter XI_
A FAMOUS DIRECTOR ARRIVES
Miss Williams looked at the three girls remaining and she spoke slowly,
choosing her words with care.
"I regret that Cora took that attitude," she said, "for there was no
influence used in my selection of Helen for the lead. She was much better
in the tryout than Cora."
Then the instructor turned to Margie.
"You did a nice bit as Abbie," she went on, "and I want you to take that
rôle. Janet was practically as good as you were on the lines, but you
seem a little more like the character. You're thinner and you flutter
around more than Janet, and Abbie is a very fluttery sort of a person."
Margie grinned. "In other words, Abbie is a dizzy sort of a gal and I'm
that type."
"Call it that if you want to," smiled Miss Williams. "Do you want the
part?"
"And how!"
"Very well. I will expect you and Helen to have your lines for the first
act well in hand by Monday night."
Miss Williams, followed by Margie, left the room and Helen turned to face
Janet.
"I'm sorry it turned out this way. I'd rather you had won a part."
"I'm not," said Janet, and she said it honestly, for a part in the senior
play had meant so much more to Helen. She knew she had done her best, but
she had to admit that after all Margie was better suited to the rôle than
she.
The air softened. April came and went, and the senior play neared its
final rehearsals. Miss Williams drove the cast without mercy for on the
success of the play would depend her own opportunity for advancement.
Helen, working every spare moment, became tired and irritable.
"I'll be glad when it's all over," she said. "I never dreamed it would be
so hard."
"You'll be well repaid when the play is given," said Janet, who had been
assigned to the stage crew. In this capacity she attended almost every
rehearsal and she couldn't help watching Margie go through the lines of
Abbie. It was a delightful part, easy to handle, and so breezy and
irresponsible.
Costuming took several nights, for Miss Williams was meticulous. Then
came the dress rehearsals, the first on Monday night. The play would be
given Friday. On the following week came the junior-senior banquet and
then graduation and the end of school days.
Janet, watching the play in rehearsal each night, came to know the lines
of almost everyone in the cast for the lighting of the show was in her
charge. It was up to her to get just the right amount of amber in the
afternoon scene and just the right amount of blue to simulate moonlight
for the evening scene from the rather antiquated banks of lights on each
side of the stage.
Brief letters and a telegram or two had come from Helen's father,
assuring her that he would arrive in ample time for the presentation of
"The Chinese Image." Janet's father had found a small plot at the rear of
their own large lot which yielded an ample supply of worms at almost
every spadeful and Indian creek, two miles north of Clarion, was said to
abound with bullheads that spring.
On Wednesday night, after a long and tiring rehearsal, Janet and Helen
walked home through the soft moonlight of the late May evening.
"I haven't heard from Dad today. He was going to wire what train he would
arrive on. It looks like he won't be in until the morning of the play."
"That will be plenty of time. He can stay on longer after the play's
over," said Janet.
"It won't be plenty of time if he has to do any more retakes on his last
picture. His letters have sounded awfully tired."
"Let's walk on down to Whet's for an ice cream soda. The walk will do
both of us good and the soda will be refreshing," said Janet.
Helen agreed and they walked leisurely, breathing deeply of the
flower-scented air; for it was a perfect evening. From far away came the
rumble of heavy trucks on a through street, but on their own there was an
air of peace and contentment.
"Dad will like this when he finally gets here. He always seems to throw
off his cares when he's back home."
"Which is why he anticipates coming home so much," added Janet.
"But it can't go on this way forever. He needs mother and I'll be going
away to school next fall."
"I wouldn't worry about that until after graduation. There'll be plenty
of time to discuss those matters then." Janet felt somewhat like a very
fatherly old man giving advice to a very young girl and she smiled to
herself.
At the neighborhood drug store they dawdled over their sodas, thoroughly
relaxing after the strenuous hours of rehearsal. On the way home they
again walked leisurely, discussing little things about the play that
appealed to them.
Helen's mother, waiting on the porch, called to them the moment they came
in sight.
"Hurry up, Helen. I've a telegram from your father."
Helen ran across the lawn with Janet close behind.
"He's coming, isn't he, mother?" And to Janet there was something pitiful
in Helen's extreme anxiety for she was so desperately intent upon having
her father see her in the leading rôle in the class play.
"He's coming tonight, dear. He wired saying that he would be on the
transcontinental plane which stops at Rubio at midnight. Janet's father
and mother are going to drive us over. You girls had better clean up a
bit. We're leaving right away."
"I'm so happy," said Helen. "I was afraid it was a message saying he
wouldn't be able to come."
Janet hurried on home. Her father had the large sedan out in the driveway
and her mother was bustling about the kitchen, making stacks of thin
sandwiches.
"Why the sandwiches?" asked Janet.
"I've never known the time when Henry Thorne wasn't hungry. He's been
that way ever since he was a little boy and his wife is too excited to
think about that. We'll have them all over for lunch after we get home."
"But it will be late. Way after one o'clock and Helen ought to be in bed.
She has been keeping terrific hours with the rehearsals."
"It won't do her a bit of harm this time. Being with her father will do
her more good than anything else. Wrap these sandwiches up and put them
in the breadbox so they'll keep good and moist. Then slice some lemon for
the ice tea and put the slices back in the ice box. We'll stop and get
some ice cream on our way in to town."
They hurried around the kitchen until Janet's mother noticed the disarray
of her daughter.
"For land's sake, Janet, you're a sight. Working with the scenery and
lights again at school? Well, hurry upstairs and clean up. Then slip into
that pale green print that makes your hair look golden. We'll be ready in
five minutes."
Janet forgot her fatigue and raced upstairs, splashed water on her
flushed cheeks, followed that with a few hasty dabs of a powder puff to
take the shine off her skin, and then went to her own room where she put
on fresh, sheer hose and the green print that was so becoming.
Her hair, with its natural curl, needed only a quick brushing to bring
out the highlights.
Down in the driveway her father pushed the horn button and her mother
called.
"We're ready, Janet."
But so was Janet and she hastened downstairs and joined them. The sedan
was one of those extra-broad stream-lined cars with room for three in the
front seat.
"You and Helen can sit up front with me while your mother and Mrs. Thorne
are in the back seat," said her father. "Coming back we'll put the
Thornes in the back where they can visit to their heart's content."
The car rolled down the drive and her father turned and stopped the
large, low machine in front of the Thorne home. Half a dozen lights were
turned on downstairs and the house fairly glowed with light.
Helen and her mother came down the walk, Helen in a pink, fluffy creation
that set off her dark coloring to its best effect.
"You're pretty enough to look like a would-be movie star trying to make
an impression upon a famous director," whispered Janet.
"Maybe I am," smiled Helen as she slipped into the front seat.
"Everybody ready?" inquired Janet's father. "I don't want to get half way
to Rubio and have one of you women remember that you've left something
important at home."
"You do the driving and we'll worry about what's been left at home,"
replied Mrs. Hardy with a chuckle.
The big machine rolled away smoothly and when they turned onto the main
state road to Rubio, John Hardy stepped on the accelerator and they
fairly flew down the straight, white ribbon which unrolled before their
blazing lights.
The speedometer climbed steadily, fifty, sixty and then seventy miles an
hour, and the needle hung there except when they swung around one of the
broad, well-banked curves. Then it dropped to fifty.
The rush of cool air was refreshing and Janet and Helen sank back in the
broad, comfortable seat.
When the lights of Rubio glowed ahead Helen spoke.
"It hardly seems possible that Dad will be here in a few minutes. It's
been months since I've seen him."
"Then you'll enjoy seeing him all the more. What fun you're going to have
the next few days."
"I hope it will be several weeks for I think Dad needs a good rest. He's
done three big pictures in the last year."
They rolled through Rubio to the airport, which was just beyond the city
limits. The clock over the hangar pointed to 11:50 and Janet's father
guided the sedan to a stop in the parking area behind the steel fence.
"I'll find out if the plane's on time," he said, and went over to the
office.
Janet thought she could hear the faint, faraway beat of an airplane, but
the noise of another car turning into the parking space drowned it out.
"Come on folks. The plane will be here in a minute," called Mr. Hardy.
They hurried out of the car and followed John Hardy through the gate and
onto the ramp. In the west were the red and green lights of an incoming
plane.
Suddenly the field burst into a flood of blue-white brilliance as a great
searchlight came on. Like a ghost, the huge, twin-motored plane glided
down its invisible path and settled easily onto a runway, little clouds
of dust coming up from the crushed rock as the machine touched the
ground.
With its motors roaring a lusty song of power, the monoplane waddled
toward the concrete ramp. The pilot swung it smartly about and the ground
crew blocked the wheels and rushed the landing stage up to the cabin door
as the pilot cut the motors. The propellers ceased whirling just as the
stewardess opened the door.
"There's Dad!" cried Helen and she ran toward the plane with Janet at her
heels.
_Chapter XII_
ON THE STAGE
Henry Thorne was the first passenger to alight from the east-bound plane.
Tall, well-built, with a close-clipped mustache and iron gray hair that
curled a bit around his temples, he was a man's man.
Helen threw her arms around her father and he gave her a tremendous hug.
"Golly, I'm glad to see you, hon," he said. "Where's mother?"
"She's coming. She couldn't run as fast as I," explained Helen,
breathless with excitement.
Mrs. Thorne, her face flushed with happiness over her husband's coming
arrived and they embraced affectionately.
Then Mr. Thorne saw John Hardy and Janet and her mother.
"Say, this is great of you to come over. I feel like a visiting
celebrity, or something."
"You're very much a celebrity," smiled Janet.
"Not to you," he replied. "Well, let's start home. I've only this light
traveling bag."
"Does that mean you won't be able to stay long?" asked Helen anxiously.
"I should say it doesn't. I can live for six months out of a traveling
bag. Oh, of course, I wouldn't look like Beau Brummell, but I'd be
acceptable in average circles."
The Thornes occupied the back seat and Janet and her mother sat in front.
The big car purred smoothly and Janet's father sent it humming away on
the trip back to Clarion.
Janet got only snatches of the conversation that was going on in the rear
seat. She was anxious to listen, but it wouldn't have been very polite to
have done so obviously. Anyway, Helen would tell her most of the news the
next day.
From the few remarks she overheard, she realized that Henry Thorne was
exceedingly happy to be home, and that the last year had been a strain
even though all of his pictures had been money makers.
The lights of Clarion were in sight when he leaned forward and spoke to
Janet's father.
"Get any worms located, John?"
"Plenty of them and right in my own back yard. You can dig to your
heart's content."
"How about the fishing?"
"I haven't tried it myself, but the boys say there are lots of bullheads
in Indian creek. Remember it?"
"I'll never forget the time we were hunting rabbits and walked across the
ice of the creek. It wasn't frozen thick enough and we dropped through
into water waist deep. Going home was the longest, coldest walk I've ever
taken."
"It wasn't very pleasant," nodded Janet's father. "Did you hear about the
experience of the girls?"
"Haven't read a paper for weeks. I've been going day and night on retakes
for the last picture. What happened?"
They slowed down for the edge of Clarion and Janet's father, briefly and
vividly, recounted the events of that harrowing night in the storm and
bitter cold of Little Deer valley.
"I should have known about this," said Henry Thorne quietly. "Why didn't
someone wire me?"
"I thought of it," said Helen's mother, "but it all happened so quickly.
Then, after the girls were safe at home I thought wiring you would only
prove disturbing and I knew you were going to the limit of your strength
and endurance anyway."
"Perhaps you're right," he conceded, sinking back in the rear seat. "My,
but it's great to be home."
John Hardy swung the car into the drive and they rolled up the grade to
the porch.
"Pity you couldn't take a man to his own door," chided his friend.
"All right, I will if you want to miss the lunch that's waiting."
They bantered good naturedly, for John Hardy and Henry Thorne had been
companions since boyhood. Now their correspondence was haphazard and
infrequent, but each anticipated their visits together.
Janet hastened to the kitchen to help her mother with the lunch, placing
the delicious, thinly cut sandwiches on a large silver platter. There was
a heap of them, but it was late and they were all hungry.
Her mother stopped halfway to the dining room, a stricken look appearing
on her face.
"I completely forgot to stop on the way home and get ice cream."
Janet looked at the clock. It was 1:15 a. m.
"I'm afraid it's too late to find any place near here open. We'll make
out anyway with sandwiches, cheese wafers and tea."
"There's some chocolate cake left over from yesterday," said her mother.
"Then I'll put that on. We'll have plenty."
They bustled about and almost before they knew it Janet was out on the
porch announcing that lunch was ready.
The Hardys sat on one side of the table and the Thornes on the other, the
conversation shifting back and forth. The pile of sandwiches dwindled
rapidly, tea cups were refilled two and three times and Henry Thorne was
noticed taking at least two slices of the thick, delicious chocolate
cake. John Hardy accused him of taking three slices, but this he denied
strenuously.
"If I'm to be accused of eating three slices of cake, I'm going home," he
announced. "And I won't be back until there's more cake."
"I'll get up early and bake a fresh one. It will be ready by noon," said
Janet's mother.
"That'll be just about the time I'm getting up. Come on folks. We've got
to get some sleep tonight."
Goodnights were said quickly and with Henry Thorne in the lead, the
visitors departed for their home.
Janet helped her mother clear away the dishes. It was too late to wash
them and they were hastily stacked in the sink.
"How do you think Henry looks?" asked John Hardy coming into the kitchen.
"He's too tired and looks like he's been going on nervous energy for
simply days," replied Janet's mother.
"I got the same impression. If we can manage to make him forget that
strenuous business of his, of making successful motion pictures he'll be
able to build himself up."
"He'll find plenty to interest himself in the graduation program," said
Mrs. Hardy, "and if you take him on some fishing and loafing expeditions
along the creek he'll get a fine chance to relax."
"Unless they send a rush call from the coast for him to return at once
like they did a year ago just after he had settled down to a fine
vacation. Well, staying up and talking doesn't help the situation. Scoot
for bed, Janet. It's a good thing you aren't in the class play, what with
keeping such late hours as this."
Up until the afternoon of the play Janet saw very little of Helen's
father. He was over to the house once, but Helen informed her that he had
been sleeping and taking long drives around the countryside with her
mother.
"They have so very much to visit about," explained Helen, who was worn
thin by the strain of the last rehearsals. The night before it had been
midnight before they rang down the curtain. Janet had been up equally as
late for her work on the meager lighting equipment kept her on the job as
long as the cast rehearsed.
On Friday afternoon they made a final check of sets and lights and
costumes and Miss Williams rehearsed one or two of the minor characters
who had been causing more trouble than the leads in getting their lines
in just the way she wanted them.
The gymnasium was filled with row upon row of chairs. The old curtain
which shielded the stage had been refurbished and looked quite
presentable in spite of the landscape scene which it depicted. Someday
Janet hoped the school would be able to buy adequate stage equipment. The
stage was large enough, but the sets were pitifully few in number and all
of them several years old. They had been changed a little here and there
by the stagecraft class, but underneath you could detect the same flats
and doors and windows of other years.
It was five o'clock before they finally straggled away from the gym and
the call for the entire cast and stage crew was 6:30 o'clock for Miss
Williams wanted everyone on hand early. Janet had seen the instructor
conferring with a rather distinguished looking man that afternoon and
guessed that he was the representative of the producing company, there to
see the production and make the final decision on offering a job to Miss
Williams.
Janet, in spite of the fact that she was only a member of the stage crew,
found it hard to eat even though supper that night was especially
delicious and her mother, although silent, looked at her reprovingly.
Helen arrived before supper was over and Janet was surprised to see her
so calm. Perhaps her father had been coaching her on composure.
Janet folded up a clean smock, tucked it under one arm, and joined Helen.
"Good luck, girls," said her father. "We'll wait for you after the show
and all have a lunch down town to celebrate the event."
"Do you know where your folks are going to sit?" asked Janet.
Helen shook her head. "Dad wouldn't tell me; thought if I knew I would be
looking for them and it might make me nervous."
"This is the first time a high school class has ever performed before a
famous Hollywood director," said Janet.
"Oh, don't think of Dad in that way. Now that he's back home he's just a
neighbor and he wants to be thought of in that way."
"All right, but you can't keep the cast from remembering that an ace
director is in the audience tonight."
"I suppose not. I only hope it won't make them too excited and upset."
"How about yourself?"
"I had been wondering up until tonight. But now I've made myself realize
that he's just Dad and that makes all of the difference in the world.
Sort of gives me the confidence that I need for I know that if I make
mistakes he'll understand. I wish you were going to be Abbie."
"Well I'm not, and you'll get along all right with Margie. I think she's
really been working hard."
"Oh, she's worked hard enough, but somehow she doesn't seem real in the
character."
"You mean I'm just crazy and silly enough to make a very real Abbie?"
chided Janet.
Helen's face flushed quickly.
"You know better than that. Margie is light-headed enough for the rôle of
Abbie, but she lacks some spark of sincerity that's needed, for after
all, you know, Abbie finally solves the riddle of the Chinese image and
pulls out the string of priceless pearls which saves the fortunes of the
Naughtons."
The cast and stage crew reported on time and Miss Williams checked each
of them in. She devoted her own energies to making up the principals
while several other teachers, fairly adept in dramatics, helped with the
makeup of the minor characters.
Janet put on her smock and checked the lighting instructions which had
been mimeographed and placed it beside the small switchboard. Actually
she knew them all by heart, but she wanted to be sure there would be no
mistake; no dimming of the lights when they should be brightened nor a
sudden blackout in the middle of a love scene.
Margie Blake came up from one of the dressing rooms. She was glorious in
salmon-hued taffeta and golden slippers.
Margie, fully aware of the striking picture she made, walked slowly
across the stage, which had been set for the opening scene, the garden of
the Naughton home.
Ed Rickey was standing nearby and Janet saw his eyes widen as they took
in the beauty of Margie and her costume. And Janet felt her own heart
tighten. Here she was in a smock, with her hands none too clean, no
wonder that Ed had eyes only for Margie.
One of the sky drops was hanging unevenly and Miss Williams sent one of
the boys in the stage crew up into the loft to adjust the lines and even
the drop. The dramatic instructor stood in the middle of the stage
motioning for first one end of the drop and then the other to be lifted
or lowered.
Suddenly there was a cry from the loft and Janet, looking up, saw one end
of the heavy drop sagging. It hung there for a moment. Then there was the
sound of rending wood and the drop hurtled down toward the stage.
Miss Williams leaped backward instinctively, but Margie, seated on a
garden bench, didn't have a chance.
Janet tried to shout a warning, but the cry jammed in her throat. Margie
looked up and Janet caught one terror-stricken look on her face. Then the
drop thudded to the floor, a tangle of painted canvas enveloping Margie.
_Chapter XIII_
JANET STEPS IN
Ed Rickey was the first to reach Margie. With desperate hands he tore
away the pile of canvas, splintered wood and snarl of rope. Jim Barron,
who had rushed from the dressing room with his makeup only half on,
helped Ed lift Margie to a nearby bench.
Then Miss Williams took charge. Margie was breathing regularly, but her
eyes were closed. There was a nasty bump over her forehead and her dress
looked like it might have been run over by a ten-ton truck, for a mass of
dust and grime had come down with the drop.
The boy who had been in the scene loft scrambled down.
"The pulleys let go!" he cried. "Honestly, Miss Williams, I couldn't help
it."
"Of course not, and I don't think Margie is badly hurt. She'll come
around in a minute or two."
Someone brought a glass of water and Miss Williams raised Margie's head
and forced some water between her lips.
After a time Margie opened her eyes.
"Where was the storm?" she mumbled. Then, recognizing the anxious faces
of the members of the cast about her, struggled to sit up.
"What hit me?" she demanded thickly.
"The pulleys gave way and a drop came down," explained Ed.
Margie tried to stand up, but sat down abruptly.
"My head," she moaned. "It feels ten sizes too large."
"Carry her downstairs," Miss Williams said to Ed and Jim. While the boys
were obeying instructions, Miss Williams went to a telephone and summoned
a doctor.
It was 7:15 o'clock then and the curtain was set for eight. In just
forty-five minutes the show must go on and Margie had a splitting
headache and her costume was ruined at least for the night.
When Doctor Bates, the school physician arrived, it was 7:30 o'clock and
Margie, stretched out on a couch in the girls' dressing room, was holding
cold cloths on her head.
Doctor Bates' examination was quick but thorough.
"Mild concussion, I'd say. She must go to bed at once and remain there,
perfectly quiet, for at least twenty-four hours."
Margie struggled to her feet and was as promptly returned to the couch by
the doctor, who forced her to choke back her words.
"Sure, I understand," he said. "You've got a part in the play and you've
got to go on. That's the tradition of the theater. But this isn't a
theater. This is a high school play and young lady you're not going to
risk serious injury to yourself by doing any such thing as attempting to
appear in this play. I'm going to take you home right now."
Doctor Bates, who usually had his way, helped Margie out to his car. It
was a tearful and protesting Margie, but Miss Williams joined in
insisting that she go home and there was nothing else for her to do.
By the time Margie was on her way home the first rows of the gym were
filling with spectators and Miss Williams, a look of desperate intent
upon her face, called the cast together on the stage.
"We've got to go on for this means so much to me and to you. Try and
forget, if you can, what has happened to Margie. Do everything you can to
help the girl I'm going to push into Margie's rôle. If she stumbles on
her lines or forgets them, fake until you can pick it up again."
Then she swung toward Janet.
"Can you get anything from home you can wear for the first act--something
very light and pretty. You'll be able to wear the costumes intended for
Margie in the other two acts."
"You mean you want me to step in and take Margie's rôle?" asked Janet.
"That's exactly what I mean. You've got to do it. You're the only one who
knows the lines."
"But I'm afraid I'll make a terrible mess of things; I'll spoil the whole
show."
"You can't, Janet, you can't." There was desperate entreaty in Miss
Williams' words. "I've heard you repeating Margie's lines to yourself at
rehearsal. You know them all and you know the action. Just imagine that
you were originally picked for the rôle. You can handle it, I know."
"Come on, Janet. This is our chance. We'll be playing together tonight. I
need you to steady me." It was Helen speaking, saying she needed Janet to
steady her.
Janet smiled to herself. She would be the one who would need bolstering.
Miss Williams came up.
"I've found one of the boys with a car. He'll take you home and bring you
back with a costume for the first act. I don't want to hold the curtain
unless absolutely necessary."
"I'll make it," promised Janet.
There was no one at home and she rushed upstairs and dove into the large
wardrobe in her room. She had been wondering all the way home what to
select. Probably that pale green silk print. She'd only worn it once or
twice, and never to anything at school.
Janet seized the dress, slipped out of the smock and everyday dress she
had worn under that, and wiggled into the cool, crisp silk. Stockings and
shoes were changed in a flash. Pausing just a moment before her mirror,
she brushed her hair vigorously until the light caught all of its natural
golden glints. Then she ran down stairs, breathless from the rush.
It was two minutes to eight, just two minutes before the curtain was
scheduled to go up, when Janet reached the stage. Miss Williams was
pacing nervously when she hurried on, but she stopped instantly and eyed
Janet approvingly.
"Splendid, dear, splendid. We'll start on time. If you forget some of the
lines, just make up a few sentences until you can recall them. The rest
of the cast will help you carry along."
Helen, dark and radiant, came out of the wings.
"You need a little more color on your cheeks. You look as pale as a
ghost."
"I feel pretty much like a ghost," confessed Janet as they slipped into a
dressing room where Helen adeptly applied a touch of rouge, used an
eyebrow pencil sparingly, and then finished the makeup with just enough
lipstick to accentuate the charm of Janet's lips.
"Everybody ready?" It was Miss Williams, calling the cast together for a
final checkup.
Fortunately Janet would not go on until the middle of the first act. It
would give her an opportunity to regain her full composure, to get into
the swing of the play, and to brush up on any lines she was afraid she
might forget.
The music of the high school orchestra, which was playing in the pit out
front, reached a crescendo and died away. Janet faintly heard a wave of
applause for the efforts of the orchestra. Then the girl who had taken
her place at the switchboard dimmed the house lights, shoved the switch
that sent the electricity surging into the footlights, and the curtain
started up.
There was that little breathless pause before the action of the play
began. Then Helen, the first character on the stage, started her lines.
Clearly, confidently, she spoke, and Janet's fears for the play, fears
for any mistakes of her own, melted away. Helen was going magnificently,
perfectly at ease and seemingly living the very rôle of Gale Naughton.
Janet slipped into the mood of the play. It wasn't hard for she had
attended every rehearsal and knew the lines of almost every character.
On the other side of the stage Miss Williams, the prompt book in her
hands, was obviously pleased.
Then came a cue that awoke Janet from the pleasant glow. She was on next.
With hands that fluttered just a little she picked up a mirror on the
tiny dressing table in the wings and made sure that her hair was right.
It was time for her to go on, a rollicking, bouncing sort of entrance
that one would expect from gay, light-hearted Abbie Naughton, and Janet
did it perfectly.
The blaze of light from the footlights shielded her from the audience.
She didn't need to care what they were thinking. All she needed to do was
to go through her part, playing it to the utmost. Later she would know
what the audience thought, but then it would be too late to matter.
Janet and Helen had a fast exchange of lines, Helen reproving Janet for
her gayety when the family funds were so low. They carried that hard bit
of repartee off successfully and when the conversation swung to another
character, Helen whispered under her breath.
"You're grand, simply grand. Keep it up."
"Double the compliment for yourself," replied Janet, her lips barely
moving yet the words were audible to Helen.
The first act was over suddenly. The curtain came down, smoothly,
silently, and as it bumped the floor a gathering wave of applause echoed
throughout the gym. Miss Williams nodded and the curtain went up again,
the members of the cast smiling and bowing.
Then came the rush for the second act. The stage must be reset and the
girls, especially, had to put on new costumes. Miss Williams stopped
Janet in the wings.
"Margie's costumes for the last two acts are laid out in the dressing
room. I'm sure they'll fit." Then she laughed. "They'll have to, Janet.
We can't stop for a costume, can we?"
"Not after the first act," replied Janet.
But Margie's costumes did fit. It was as though they had been made for
Janet.
The action of the play moved more rapidly, swirling closer and closer
around the Chinese image on its pedestal in the garden.
Finally came the third act with Janet, clumsy, jubilant Janet,
accidentally knocking over the image, which burst open when it struck the
stage floor and there, inside the figure of clay, was the secret of the
image and the continued comfort of the Naughtons--a ruby, so perfect, so
beautiful, that it was worth an exceedingly large fortune.
Before Janet knew it the curtain came down for the final time and on its
echo came a sustained wave of applause. First the cast, then Miss
Williams, and then the cast, answered the steady calls for their
appearance. When Janet and Helen, coming out hand in hand, took a bow,
the applause reached a new peak and then died away as the audience,
satisfied as having paid tribute to the two stars of the show, prepared
to leave the spacious gymnasium.
There was the usual crowd on the stage, parents and friends rushing up to
congratulate members of the cast and over in one corner Janet saw Miss
Williams signing her name to a paper that looked very much like a
contract. Without doubt the dramatics instructor had earned her contract
with the producing company.
"I'm tired," announced Helen, in a very matter-of-fact manner.
"I suppose I am, too, but I'm still far too excited to realize it,"
replied Janet. "Here come the folks."
Her father and mother, closely followed by Helen's parents, were pushing
their way through the crowd.
"I'm mighty proud of you two," said John Hardy as he gave each of them a
hug.
"I'm more than that," chuckled Helen's father. "I'm tempted to sign them
to contracts and take them back to Hollywood with me."
_Chapter XIV_
JUST FISHING
Henry Thorne's words echoed in Janet's ears as the girls changed their
costumes in the dressing room. Of course he must have been saying it
lightly, paying them a pleasant compliment for their work. She forced
herself to dismiss it from serious consideration.
They changed quickly, hung up their costumes, and hurried out to join
their parents for Henry Thorne was entertaining at dinner down town.
"What was the idea of telling us you were in charge of lighting when you
actually played the second lead?" Janet's mother asked after they had
left the gym and were rolling down town in the car.
"But mother, I told the truth. I was in charge of lighting until about
twenty minutes before the curtain went up. Then one of the drops broke
away and fell on Margie. She suffered a minor concussion and it was up to
someone to step in and take the part or the show would have flopped right
then and there before the curtain went up."
"You mean you stepped in cold and handled the second lead?" asked Henry
Thorne, turning around in the front seat to gaze incredulously at Janet.
"But it wasn't hard. You see I tried out for that rôle and then I
attended every rehearsal. Of course I sort of lived the character I tried
out for. I missed some of the lines tonight, but the others knew I might
and they covered up for me."
"Well, I'll be darned. I thought you had been rehearsing it from the
first and had told us you were on lights just to surprise us," said the
famous director. "Anyway, you did a swell job. Maybe I will take you back
to the coast with me."
"Now Henry," protested his wife, "don't start saying things you don't
mean. You'll get the girls all excited and then you'll have to rush away
to start work on another picture and you'll forget all about your
promises to them."
"Probably you're right mother, but they're smart, good looking girls,
even if one of them is my daughter, and heavens knows we could use some
really smart, level-headed girls in one of my companies."
Janet's father wheeled the car in to the curb in front of the restaurant
where they were to have dinner and in the bustle of getting out of the
car conversation switched to another topic, but Henry Thorne's words
persisted in sticking in Janet's mind.
Henry Thorne had planned and ordered the supper himself. It was a man's
meal and Janet and Helen, now tremendously hungry after the strain of the
play, enjoyed it to the utmost.
First there was chilled tomato juice and in the center of the table a
heaping platter of celery, olives and pickled onions that they ate with
relish through all of the courses of the dinner.
Then came great sizzling steaks, thick and almost swimming in their own
juice, french fried potatoes, a liberal head lettuce salad, small
buttered peas, hot rolls and jam. And after that there was open-face
cherry pie and coffee for those who cared for it.
"So this is your idea of a meal, Henry?" asked his wife, surveying the
welter of dishes on the table.
"Well, perhaps not every day and every meal, but once in a while I'd say
yes. This is my idea of a meal."
"I think it's been grand," spoke up Janet's mother, "especially since I
didn't have to do any work toward it."
"That does make a difference," conceded Mrs. Thorne, "but I'd hate to
think of Henry's waistline if he had a meal like this every day."
Conversation turned to neighborhood issues and talk of the town, for
Henry Thorne maintained a tremendously active interest in the affairs of
his home city.
When they finally started home, it was well after one o'clock, but
routine school days for Janet and Helen were at an end. Exams were over
and there was only the junior-senior banquet and then commencement.
Janet slept late the next morning and it was after ten o'clock when her
mother finally awakened her.
"Helen and her father just phoned they are coming over. I thought you
might like to go with them. After they get some worms out of the back
yard they're going fishing. I'll put up a lunch."
Janet hurried into her clothes and met Helen and her father as they
arrived. Henry Thorne was armed with an ancient cane fishpole, had on a
venerable straw hat, cracked but comfortable shoes, old overalls and a
blue shirt.
"I think he's thoroughly disreputable looking," said Helen, laughing at
her father.
"Granted, my dear, but I'm most thoroughly comfortable, which is the main
thing. I wouldn't trade this old fishing outfit for the best suit of
clothes in the world."
Janet showed them a corner of the back lot that promised to be productive
of worms, and then went in the house for her own breakfast. She ate on
the kitchen table while her mother packed a basket of lunch to be taken
by the anglers.
It was a grand morning for a fishing expedition and especially if those
going fishing really didn't care whether they caught any fish or not.
Just before they left Janet's father arrived and hastily changed into old
clothes.
"Want to go to the creek in the car?" asked John Hardy.
"Not on your life. We're walking, both ways," grinned Henry Thorne, and
the men, the cane poles over their shoulders, started for the creek.
Helen carried the can of worms and Janet took the lunch basket.
Indian creek was a pleasant stream, meandering through the rolling hills
north of Clarion. Its waters were clear, alternating in quiet pools and
swift little riffles over its gravel bed.
The air was mild and there was scarcely a cloud in the sky. They went up
the creek for more than a mile before Henry Thorne found a pool that
looked like it might have a few bullheads. The foliage overhead was thick
and the water here looked almost turgid, far different from the clear
stream which danced along its bed farther down.
The men baited their hooks and Janet and Helen sat down to watch the
fishermen.
Helen's father got the first bite, but he failed to land his fish. After
that there was a long interval when the fishermen failed to talk and the
fish failed to bite. Then the bullheads all seemed hungry and Janet's
father was the first to land one, but Henry Thorne was right behind him
with a larger catch.
"Cut a willow stick for a stringer," said Helen's father, tossing a knife
to her, and Helen, knowing exactly what was needed, found a forked willow
and trimmed it down.
In less than an hour they had eleven bullheads on the willow stick.
"That's plenty," decided Janet's father. "There's no use spoiling the fun
by taking more than we need. Shall we have them for supper tonight at my
place?"
"Nothing doing. We'll have them right here. Remember when we were kids
and used to clean them along the creek, put them on a stick, and try and
cook them over a fire?"
Janet's father nodded.
"That's what we're going to do right now. We'll clean the fish while the
girls get some dry sticks and build a fire."
Thus they had their noon meal, bullheads off the spit, crisp and hot,
with just a sprinkle of salt on them, sandwiches and fruit from the
basket, and cool, sweet water from a nearby spring.
Henry Thorne, his appetite appeased, his mind and body relaxed, stretched
out on the grass and looked meditatively into the creek.
"What a life this would be--no strain, no thoughts of tomorrow, no
temperamental stars to worry about, no stories to doctor, no budget to
watch."
"But after what you've had this would tire in a few weeks. Why, you're
thinking about getting back into the harness right now," said Janet's
father.
Henry Thorne flushed guiltily.
"Caught that time," he admitted. "Sure I was thinking about getting back
on the job. I'm too much of a work horse, I guess."
"But you'll stay until after graduation, won't you?" asked Helen
anxiously.
"That's one thing you needn't worry about," promised her father. "I'm
thinking now of what's going to be best for you after high school days
are over; whether you and mother will prefer to stay here in Clarion or
would like to come west with me. You're pretty much of a young woman now,
Helen, and from the play last night, quite a capable little actress."
"Not much of an actress, I'm afraid, Dad, but I did want to be in the
class play because you were coming home and I wanted you to be proud of
me."
"I was very proud of you, dear. Just how proud you'll never know, and
I've been trying to think of something I could do that would show you
just how pleased I was over the work you and Janet did in the class
play."
They were silent for a time, all of them enjoying the quiet charm of the
afternoon. Henry Thorne puffed slowly on a venerable pipe while Janet's
father dozed, his hat pulled down to shield his eyes from the sun. The
embers of their fire turned black and then grey as they cooled.
Janet thoroughly enjoyed relaxing on the creek bank. School days were
almost over and she couldn't help wondering what the summer and the
coming year would hold in store for her. Of course there would be college
in the fall, but just where had not been determined. It was generally
understood at home, though, that she would be allowed to make her own
choice providing it was anywhere near within reason.
Janet knew that Helen's plans were very uncertain. Her friend wasn't even
sure that they would continue to make their home in Clarion.
Just then Henry Thorne knocked the ashes out of his pipe and squinted at
the sun.
"Better be starting home," he said. He picked up a small stick and tossed
it at Janet's father, who awoke with a start.
"Come on sleepy-head. Time to go."
Janet finished packing the few utensils that went back into the lunch
basket while the men wound up the lines on their fishpoles.
They started home, walking leisurely in the warm afternoon, the men
leading the way.
Half a mile down the creek they came upon a farm boy, riding bareback.
The horse was a beautiful, spirited animal, and the lad rode with amazing
grace. They paused for several minutes to watch the horse and rider until
they finally disappeared over a nearby hill.
"Can either of you girls ride?" Henry Thorne asked the question almost
sharply.
"A little, but not much nor very well," confessed Janet.
"I belong in the same class," added Helen.
"Is there any place in town where we can find good horses and a good
instructor?" Helen's father shot the question at John Hardy.
"Hill and Dale farm keeps a fine string of horses. I'm sure I could
arrange for instruction there."
"I'll go with you this evening and we'll see what can be done. I want the
girls to become proficient at riding as soon as possible."
"But what's the idea?" asked Helen.
"Just another quirk of mine," smiled her father.
As soon as they reached home Henry Thorne urged Janet's father to
accompany him to see about riding lessons for the girls and just before
dinner returned.
"Your first lesson will be at eight o'clock to-morrow morning," he
announced. "Look up some old duds that won't be hurt if you fall off."
"But how about the girls?" demanded his wife.
"They'll have to take a chance on that," he smiled.
_Chapter XV_
HOLLYWOOD BOUND
Janet remained awake for some time that night, wondering what the
significance of Henry Thorne's decision to have her and Helen learn to
ride, and ride well, could be. Finally she gave it up as a bad job,
realizing that he would tell them in his own good time.
Graduation week passed in a mixed whirl of events, with the junior-senior
banquet and actual graduation exercises interspersed between the long
hours passed at Hill and Dale farm where Janet and Helen underwent an
intensive series of lessons on horsemanship. Both girls were agile and
anxious to learn, and both soon came to enjoy the riding thoroughly.
Their instructor, an older man, found them eager pupils and Helen's
father encouraged them at each lesson, for he went with them on every
trip to the farm.
Like the senior class play, the graduation exercises were held in the
gymnasium and Helen stopped for Janet. They were going on ahead of their
parents for they had to be at school half an hour before the start of the
program.
"I hope I don't smell like a stable," smiled Helen, radiant in her crisp,
white organdie dress. "We've been at the farm so much I almost say
'Giddap' every time I start to do anything."
"I feel almost the same way. One good thing, though, I can sit down
comfortably now and I couldn't after the first two days."
When they came down from Janet's room, Helen's father and mother were
there.
"We're early, but I want to talk to your folks," Henry Thorne told Janet.
"You youngsters run along and we'll be there in plenty of time."
When they were on their way to school, Helen spoke.
"Dad's been acting so mysteriously the last two days and mother seems to
be unusually happy about something. This morning Dad put in a call for
Hollywood, but he wouldn't talk from home; went down to a pay station. I
asked mother what was up, but she said not for me to worry as long as she
wasn't."
"Perhaps he isn't going back west," suggested Janet.
"You don't know Dad. I heard him mumbling just this afternoon about some
kind of a story idea. You know he usually sits in on the final drafting
of all of the stories he produces. I expect that as soon as graduation is
over he'll start back."
"Has he said anything more about taking you with him?"
"Not a word lately and that's what I'm puzzled about. Neither Dad nor
mother have talked about what I'm to do next fall. You know I'd like to
go to school with you."
"And I'd like to have you, Helen. I'll be lost if we aren't able to hit
it off together. We've had such good times through high school and
especially this last year."
The final meeting of the seniors, as a class, was held in the assembly,
the girls in their snow-white dresses and the boys all in their dark
suits made a pleasing contrast. Some of them were visibly nervous while
others remained unusually calm. To some it was a momentous event while
others took it as the last step in a tiresome school career.
Margie Blake, still white and feeling none too strong, was near the door
when Janet and Helen entered.
Janet started to speak, but Margie deliberately turned her back, and
Janet, shocked and hurt, looked at her sharply.
"Now why do you suppose she did that?" she asked Helen.
"I wasn't going to tell you, but you might as well know," said Helen.
"Margie is hinting around that she suspects you had something to do with
the injury she suffered."
"You mean that I contrived to have that piece of scenery fall on her just
so I could get her part in the play?"
"That's exactly what Margie's hinting. Of course she isn't saying that
openly, but she doesn't give you much room to guess what she means."
"Then I'm going to have a word with Margie right now. That's one thing I
won't stand for." Janet's face was flushed and she was furiously angry
when she confronted Margie.
Margie's eyes widened and Helen thought she saw her hands tremble just a
little. Perhaps she surmised that Janet was on the warpath and that she
was the cause of it.
"Margie, I've been told that you are insinuating I was responsible for
the accident which forced you out of the play and gave me your place. Is
that so?"
Janet's words were low enough so that only Margie and Helen could hear,
but there was a compelling force in them that would not be denied.
"Why, no, that's not so. I never said you caused the accident." Margie
stammered and flushed hotly.
"You've no right to accuse me of this thing," she added defiantly.
"I've a very good right if you are dropping hints about me and the
accident the night of the play. If you've been doing that all I've got to
say is that you're smaller than I ever dreamed you could be. You're
simply below contempt."
Janet whirled and left Margie with tears in her eyes. Helen paused a
moment for Margie seemed about to speak.
"I'm sorry about what I've said," Margie managed to say. "I guess I was a
little indiscreet, but you tell Janet I won't say anything else."
"I'll tell her and I think you'll be a very wise girl if you decide to
let the whole thing drop," advised Helen, turning to rejoin Janet, who
had gone to the other side of the room.
The principal was giving his final words of instruction.
"As your names are called for the presentation of diplomas, each of you
will come from your places to the platform, receive a tube of paper, and
return. After the exercises are over come to me in this room and I will
present your real diplomas. If you can not come here after the close of
the exercises, call at my office tomorrow."
He paused a moment, then added, "and I should like to say that I am
extremely proud of this class. I think it is the finest to graduate from
Clarion High in the eight years I have been principal."
"Which," whispered Helen, "is quite a compliment, if you ask me. It's the
first he ever paid this class."
"He sort of made up for the lack before by these last words," smiled
Janet.
Again they went onto the stage of the gymnasium, but this time not as
actors and actresses in a play of make believe, but in the very serious
business of graduating from high school.
The gymnasium was filled with parents and friends of the seniors. The air
was close, portending the storm that was to break later. Fortunately the
program was simple, the address by the superintendent of schools lasting
only fifteen minutes. Then the names were called and one by one they went
forward and when they came back their high school days were over.
It had been grand, being in school, decided Janet, and now she felt just
a little scared. Life was ahead and life was so vast and uncomprehending
and she knew it could be cold and cruel and merciless.
They bowed their heads at the benediction, there was a final swell of
music from the orchestra and the lights in the gymnasium glared. It was
over and Janet, in that moment, felt years older. She was a high school
girl no longer....
Parents and friends of the graduates crowded around them and Janet saw
her father beckoning.
"Get your diplomas," he called. "We'll meet you outside."
Janet and Helen went up to the assembly where they turned in the paper
scrolls which had been presented to them at the program. In return they
received their real diplomas.
Outside they found their parents.
"We were tremendously proud of both of you," said Janet's mother. "You
were by far the prettiest girls on the stage."
"I'll cast my vote in support of that statement," put in Helen's father,
"and that's from someone who should know a pretty girl when he sees one."
They had planned a light supper at Thorne's and all of them enjoyed the
walk home for the air was close. Dark banks of clouds, illuminated once
in a while by flashes of lightning, were mounting higher and higher in
the west.
"Looks like we'll get a real one tonight," said Janet's father, and the
others agreed.
"Do you realize that the folks haven't given us anything for graduation?"
whispered Helen.
"Well, not exactly any concrete gift just now, but they've given me a lot
of character and a sense of realization of the finer and honest things of
life."
"Oh, silly, of course I realize that, but Dad has been so mysterious
today I know something is in the wind."
When they reached Helen's home they sat down to an informal supper in the
dining room.
On two plates were envelopes, one marked "Janet" and the other "Helen."
Helen's father was puffing rather furiously at his pipe as he watched the
girls, their fingers clumsy from their haste, rip open the envelopes.
Long green slips of paper, looking very much like railroad tickets, came
out of the envelopes. Helen was the first to read hers.
"Why, Dad," she cried. "It's a round trip ticket by airplane to Los
Angeles."
"So is mine," gasped Janet. "What does this mean?"
Her father chuckling, nodded toward Henry Thorne.
"I'd say that it meant a round trip to Los Angeles. Also, if you'll dig a
little further into your envelopes, you'll find reservations for the
westbound plane out of Rubio just one week from tonight."
"But Dad, we didn't know anything about this," gasped Helen.
"Of course not. It wouldn't have been a surprise," chuckled her father.
"Seriously though," he added, "I liked your performances in the high
school play and I've talked it all over with Janet's folks and with
mother here. You're going back to Hollywood to spend the summer with me
and this morning I contracted the production unit of our company which
makes cowboy films and both of you are to have a chance in the cast of
that picture. You're Hollywood bound, girls."
_Chapter XVI_
THRILLING HOURS
Janet was speechless and Helen was the first to give vent to her thoughts
in words.
"Oh, Dad, it's grand of you, but it doesn't seem possible." She looked at
the ticket again, feeling it to see if it actually was real.
Tears brimmed into Janet's eyes.
"I'm so happy I could cry," she confessed. Then added quickly, "But I
don't know how I can thank you."
"Don't try now," smiled Henry Thorne. "I'll be more than repaid if you
two make good in the western pictures I'm going to try to put you in."
"But Dad, we've never had any experience like that," protested Helen.
"We'll probably be awful flops."
"Nonsense. It doesn't take much acting ability to get by in the 'horse
operas' as we call them. You just act natural, look pretty, and you'll
have all of the cowboys in the cast asking you for dates."
Janet looked at her mother, wondering just how she had been won over to
letting them go to Hollywood, even though Helen's father would be there
to oversee things in general.
Just then Mrs. Thorne spoke, pulling an envelope from a pocketbook.
"You're not the only lucky ones," she reminded Janet and Helen. "I'm
going along and see that you are properly chaperoned when these dashing
cowboys ask you to go places with them."
That explained to Janet why her mother had consented for with Mrs. Thorne
along she would have little to worry about.
"Does that mean we're going to leave Clarion for good?" asked Helen.
"Well, hardly," boomed her father. "I'd be lost if I didn't have Clarion
to come back to for a rest when I get fagged out and I don't know what
the bullheads out in Indian creek would do without me. We're going to
keep the place here for you never know when even a famous Hollywood
director will start turning out poor pictures and once you hit the
toboggan out there, it's hard to come back. I've been at it so long now,
that another year will just about see me through. Then I'll want to
retire to some quiet city and Clarion suits me."
"I'm glad of that, Dad, for I've grown up here and it would be so hard to
think of cutting all of the ties of friendship at just one sweep."
"You won't have to do that, Helen, and maybe, if you two youngsters can't
make the grade with our western company, you'll be back here before you
know it."
"But we're leaving in just a week. It doesn't seem possible," said Janet,
half to herself and half to the rest.
"The time will go before you know it," said her mother, "what with the
packing we'll have to do and the new clothes to buy."
"Now let's stop right there," put in Helen's father. "Packing is all well
and good, but let's cut out the new clothes. Instead of loading the girls
up with things here, we'll give Mother the money and she can let them
have it in Hollywood when they see a dress in the shops out there that
they want. I think they'll feel a little more in style in Hollywood
clothes than in Clarion clothes in Hollywood."
"I suppose they would," confessed Janet's mother, "but I'm afraid the
money for Janet's summer clothes allowance won't go very far."
"She'll be getting a regular salary each week and the company will
furnish whatever costumes are needed for each picture."
"Each picture," smiled Helen. "I like that Dad. How long does it take to
make a picture?"
"When I'm directing anywhere from six weeks to three or four months, but
the western company moves pretty rapidly. They'll grind the average one
out in two weeks or three at the most. They're after action and plenty of
scenery."
"Which explains why we were carted off to Hill and Dale farm and hoisted
up on horses and jogged up and down for hours until I thought every bone
in my body would be broken," said Janet.
"Good guess. I've had this idea in mind ever since the night of the class
play," confessed Helen's father. "If you think you're going to get out of
the riding class the rest of the time you're in Clarion you'll be sadly
mistaken. I'm certainly not going to show up on the lot and ask Billy
Fenstow to take on a couple of girls who can't ride."
"Who's Billy Fenstow?" asked Helen.
"He runs our western unit. Billy writes most of the stories, does the
supervising and directing and just about everything else about the
picture. You'll like him. He's fat, forty, bald and lots of fun and if he
likes you, he'll invite you to the Brown Derby for dinner."
"What fun that would be," exclaimed Janet. "Why that's where all of the
stars go."
"You usually find a few of them eating there," admitted Helen's father.
They talked for another hour, the girls, in their excitement, planning
things that could never come true, but their fathers and mothers,
indulging them the sheer joy of their mood, let them ramble on.
It was nearly midnight when they finally pushed their chairs away from
the table and the Hardys started for home.
"I'll see you first thing in the morning," said Helen, "but I don't
believe I'll sleep a wink."
"I'm afraid I won't either," replied Janet, "but I'm so excited I don't
care."
On the way home she linked her arm with her father and mother and they
walked slowly.
"Happy?" her father asked gently.
"Gloriously happy," replied Janet softly, squeezing her mother's arm. "Of
course I want to go to Hollywood, but I'm going to miss both of you
terribly."
"We'll miss you, too. You know that," replied her father, "but it's an
opportunity that comes to few girls. Don't be too disappointed if you
fail to remain in the cast of that western picture. You're going out
there for a lark and not with the serious intent of becoming a motion
picture actress."
Janet bit her lips. Of course her dad was right. She couldn't seriously
hope to be a motion picture actress, but for just a moment she had found
herself dreaming of real fame and fortune in Hollywood. Why it WAS just a
lark, a sort of super vacation that only Helen's father could make
possible for them.
In the fall, after the summer on the film lots, they would probably come
back to the middle west for Janet knew her father favored her entering
the state university, Janet resolutely set her mind right. She must
realize that it was to be only a vacation lark. Then she could come back
happy and without regret when the summer was at an end.
_Chapter XVII_
ON THE WESTBOUND PLANE
The week following graduation was a hectic one for Janet and Helen. There
were the riding lessons each day, their wardrobes to be gone over, new
shoes and hose to be purchased and they finally decided that each of them
needed at least two new dresses to last until they could get into the
shops in Hollywood and select things they desired there. It was fortunate
that Janet's father was a successful lawyer and Helen's a famous director
or their personal pocketbooks would have been much thinner at the end of
the shopping expeditions.
Neither Janet nor Helen told their friends of their plans, but somehow
the story got around that they were going to Hollywood and had already
signed for rôles in a new picture. Some said they were to have parts in
Henry Thorne's next production while others claimed the girls were going
to be bathing beauties in a series of comedies.
"Now wouldn't that make you boil," said Helen, as she related a
conversation between Cora Dean and Margie Blake which she had overheard.
"I was half way minded to step in and tell them the truth, but then I
realized that was just what they wanted."
They were sitting on the Hardy's front porch and the telephone summoned
Janet inside. She called Helen to her a few seconds later.
"It's Pete Benda of the _Times_. He says he's heard the story and if we
won't confirm it he will print all of the rumors going the rounds,
including the one that we're going to be bathing beauties. What shall I
tell him?"
"Tell him we're going to Hollywood with Dad for a vacation and if we get
in any pictures we'll send him an autographed picture," suggested Helen,
which Janet promptly did.
"Pete isn't satisfied, but I guess he won't print all of the rumors,"
reported Janet as she hung up the telephone.
"You can just bet that Cora and Margie ran up to the _Times_ office and
filled Pete full of hot air," said Helen. "I thought maybe after we were
out of high school things would be different. I'd like to be friendly
with them for they can be delightful when they want to be, but both of
them are still carrying a chip on their shoulders."
There was only one more afternoon of fishing and loafing along the banks
of the creek and John Hardy went with Janet, Helen and Henry Thorne on
the outing. Their luck was with them again and they hooked a fine mess of
catfish and fried them over an open fire. Through the late afternoon
Janet and Helen talked incessantly of their hopes and plans while at a
distance their fathers dozed along the creek bank.
It was dusk before they started home, walking slowly through the
twilight.
"This is the last night at home," Janet's father reminded her. "Tomorrow
night we go to Rubio and you take the west-bound plane for Hollywood."
"It hardly seems possible, but it must be so," said Janet. "Everything is
like a dream."
"It will be until you actually arrive and start work in the studio."
Janet's father was silent for several minutes. When he spoke again his
voice was so low that it could not be overheard by Helen and her father,
who were walking a short distance ahead.
"I'm not expecting you to turn into a motion picture actress, but I want
you to do your best out there. The change will be a fine vacation and
when you're actually on the lot working before the cameras, give it
everything you've got. That will add to the pleasure you'll have in later
years when you look back on this summer."
"I'll do it, Dad. I'll do the best possible job."
"Sure, I know you will. It's going to be lonesome here," he added, "but
the break had to come sooner or later."
"But I'm not going away for good, Dad. Only for the summer."
"Of course. You'll be home in the fall and we'll make plans for school
then. Have you thought anything more about the university?"
"Too bad I wasn't a boy, Dad, then I could have tried for football
there." There was just a note of seriousness in Janet's voice for her
father was an All-American halfback at Corn Belt U. and she knew he had
always secretly been a little disappointed when she proved to be a girl,
for there was no chance of a girl becoming an All-American halfback.
"Football isn't everything," replied her father. "I'm satisfied," and he
said it with a conviction that brought joy to Janet's heart.
Through the evening hours Janet and her mother checked over the last
minute packing. Trunks had been sent ahead by express and only the
essentials were going to be carried in the bags they would take on the
plane.
Janet's luggage was attractive, but not expensive, for her father had
never believed in undue waste of money.
That night Janet found it difficult to get to sleep. Tomorrow night they
would be winging westward at three miles or more a minute and by the noon
of the second day would be landing at the Grand Central airport at
Glendale, from where they could motor over to Hollywood.
Finally sleep came and Janet dropped into the dreamless slumber of youth.
It was mid-morning when she finally awakened as her mother shook her
shoulders.
"Time to get up," said Mrs. Hardy, "for there's much to be done today
before you start for Hollywood."
Janet leaped out of bed for in spite of all of the preparations they had
been making through the last week there were a hundred and one small
things that remained to be done.
The hours fairly melted away. She made three or four trips down town on
hurried errands and as many over to Helen's, where the same hurry and
bustle prevailed.
At dinner time her mother made her slow down.
"Everything's done," she announced. "Of course you may have forgotten one
or two things, but they aren't important, and they can be sent on later.
Now you take it easy and enjoy dinner for this is the last one you'll
have with your father and me for some weeks. My Janet, but we're proud of
you," she added, with a happy smile.
"I'm just afraid I won't make good; that's the only thing that scares
me," confessed the usually self-reliant Janet. "Everything out there is
going to be so strange and as actresses, I'm fearful that Helen and I
will be about the worst that ever struck Hollywood."
"Impossible," smiled her mother encouragingly, and after Janet mentally
reviewed some of the pictures she had seen, she decided that quite likely
her mother was right.
Her father arrived home promptly and they passed more than an hour at a
leisurely dinner, visiting about a score of different incidents, none of
them important in themselves, but all of them important in that they kept
them around the dinner table, prolonging their last dinner hour.
Janet's father finally looked at his watch.
"You'd better dress, dear. The westbound plane leaves Rubio at eleven
o'clock and there's no reason to rush the trip over there."
He reached into his coat pocket and drew out a small case which he handed
to Janet.
"Here's a little present mother and I want you to have."
Janet opened the case with hands that shook visibly. Inside was a tiny
wrist watch with a thin, silver chain to go around her wrist. It was a
beautiful creation of watchmaker's skill and Janet looked up with just a
trace of a tear in her eyes.
"It's wonderful, but you shouldn't have done this after giving me the
trip to Hollywood."
"You'll have to have something to keep time by so you can get to the
studio on time. Maybe I should have gotten you an alarm clock," grinned
her father.
"I packed one in her trunk," smiled Mrs. Hardy. "Now hike and get into
your things."
Janet, tremendously happy and so thrilled she felt she was walking on
air, hurried up to her room. After a quick bath, tapered off with a cool
shower, she started dressing. Her outfit was new from the silken
underthings to the sensible but attractive summer linen suit. The skirt,
snug and well tailored, fitted beautifully and a small but bright blue
tie added a note of color to her heavy, white silk shirtwaist.
The night air was warm and Janet decided to carry her coat. There was no
use in putting it on and getting it mussed until necessary.
Standing in front of her dressing table, Janet looked around her room and
a queer little lump caught in her throat. It was such a pleasant room;
she would miss it, she knew, in the months to come.
Then her father called and she caught up the small traveling bag she was
to carry on the plane, snapped out the light, and hurried down stairs.
"Step right along," her father warned, and they hastened into the car and
rolled around in front of the Thorne home down the block.
Henry Thorne, pacing up and down the porch, called to his wife and Helen,
who appeared almost immediately. Both carried small overnight cases. As
they came down the walk to the street, Henry Thorne turned off the lights
in the house, locked the door, and followed them.
Now that the time of departure was near there seemed little to say. They
had talked of it for so many hours it hardly seemed possible that they
were on their way.
John Hardy sent his big car over the road at a smooth, effortless pace.
The lights of Clarion dropped behind and they sped through the open
country where there were only the occasional lights from farmhouses to
mark the blackness of the night. Later there would be a moon.
Tonight they were in the heart of the mid-west and to Janet it was almost
incredible that by noon tomorrow they would be in the city made famous by
the movies.
When they reached the airport at Rubio several hundred cars were parked
near the entrance for the coming and going of the night planes always
brought out a crowd if they arrived before midnight.
Henry Thorne, who had their tickets, took them into the office to have
them validated. When he returned he announced that the plane would arrive
in 25 minutes.
"There's a good tail wind up high tonight and they're stepping right
along," he explained.
A field attendant took their bags and stowed them on a small luggage
cart.
They talked almost aimlessly and Janet suddenly felt very empty and more
than a little afraid of what her reaction would be when she got into the
plane and the ground started dropping away from her.
Then a ripple of excitement ran through the crowd and she heard someone
call.
"Here comes the plane!"
Out of the east twin stars suddenly appeared, coming rapidly and very
low, and then she heard the steady beat of two powerful motors. Like some
great bird of prey, a-wing in the night, the silvery monoplane swung over
the field, circled sharply, and dropped down far out on the runway and
rolled smoothly toward them, its propellers flashing in the bright rays
of a floodlight which bathed the entire field in a mantle of brilliant
blue.
Janet watched the scene with fascination. The ground crew rolled a small
platform up to the door of the passenger cabin and a girl, not much older
than herself and dressed in a smoke grey suit with a jaunty overseas cap
perched on a mass of brown curls, stepped out. After her came several
passengers, alighting for a bit of air and to stretch their legs before
settling down for the long flight over the plains and into the higher
altitudes that would take them over the Rockies.
Janet's mother hugged her hard.
"We'll miss you, dear. Write often and remember to do your best if you
get a chance in any pictures."
"I will, mother," she promised.
"Goodbye, Dad."
"Goodbye, Janet. Hit the line hard."
"I'll tackle it with all I've got."
"I know you will," he said with a confidence that Janet wished she could
have felt.
Then Helen's father touched her arm.
"Time to go," he said, and Janet and Helen walked toward the plane while
the Thornes said a final word of goodbye to their old neighbors.
"You have seats four and five on this side," said the stewardess as the
girls reached the plane.
Helen went in first with Janet close at her heels. The interior was much
like a bus, thought Janet, and she found her seat unusually comfortable.
Helen's father and mother took seats across the aisle from the girls and
the stewardess came along and snapped on the safety belts.
"You can take them off as soon as we're away from the field," she
explained.
The landing stage was pulled away, the starters hummed deeply as though
struggling with stubborn motors, and finally the mighty engines burst
into a deafening roar, but were soon throttled down.
Lights in the cabin were turned low and Janet, pressing her face close to
the small, round window, could see her father and mother standing on the
ramp. She waved, and they waved back. Then the plane started forward,
rolling smoothly along the concrete. When it came to the crushed rock
runway it bumped slightly, but before Janet knew it they were in the air
and when she looked down again, the field was several hundred feet below.
She was actually on her way to Hollywood.
_Chapter XVIII_
HELLO, HOLLYWOOD!
Janet and Helen found that by leaning close together they could converse
but with the steady beat of the engines in their ears, a sense of
drowsiness soon overtook the girls and they relaxed in their chairs.
Janet dropped into a deep sleep that was not broken until their plane
dropped down at Cheyenne well after midnight to change pilots and refuel.
Here the stewardess offered them a selection of fruit and Janet ate
several oranges with relish. Then they were off again, meeting the
sunrise east of Salt Lake City with the most glorious panorama Janet had
ever seen unfolding beneath her eyes.
After that they swung southwest in an almost direct line for Los Angeles,
climbing dizzily over the Sierras and then dropping down into lower
California.
Helen glanced at her watch and Janet, still unused to her own, followed
suit. They would be at the Grand Central airport in less than half an
hour.
Helen, leaning back, cried, "We're almost there," and Janet nodded
happily.
It seemed almost on the echo of Helen's words, although it was actually
minutes later, when the plane wheeled and settled gently down on the
runway of a huge airport.
Janet, looking eagerly from the window, saw a group of cameramen standing
at the gate which led to the field. There must be some celebrity on their
own plane or on a ship due in soon. She scanned the passengers in their
own cabin. None of them appeared unusually famous and she decided the
cameramen were there to meet some other plane.
A landing stage was rolled up the moment the plane stopped and the
stewardess opened the door.
"Take your time," said Helen's father. "We'll all be a bit stiff after
this long ride. You girls want to look your best."
Janet stood up and smoothed out her skirt. It had remained remarkably
fresh and the heavy silk shirtwaist showed only a few wrinkles. Her
jacket would cover that up and she got that garment down from the rack
over her head. Helen, who had worn a brown silk suit, had fared almost as
well, and after a hurried glance into the mirrors in their handbags, both
girls pronounced themselves ready to see what Hollywood looked like.
Helen's father and mother were out of the plane first with the girls
close behind them.
A uniformed airport employee nodded to Mr. Thorne.
"I've had your bags put in your car," he said, and Janet saw the famous
director hand over a bill.
The cameramen were still clustered at the gate and instead of looking for
the arrival of another plane, seemed to be watching them as they
advanced.
"Hi, Mr. Thorne," greeted one of them, a chunky little fellow half hidden
behind a huge camera. "Have a nice trip?"
"Fine, Joey. Couldn't have been better."
"Get any fish?" another one called.
"You guess," smiled Helen's father.
"That's far enough," said the photographer called Joey. "Just line up
with the girls in the middle. What's the idea trying to sneak in on us
like this?"
"What do you mean?" parried Mr. Thorne.
"The Ace publicity office just tipped us off that you were coming in this
noon with a couple of girls from the midwest and that you think they're a
couple of great film possibilities. I don't call that playing very fair
with us."
"So the office phoned and said I was bringing in a couple of new stars?"
"That's right. Now girls, smile a little. We won't bite even if the
cameras do look big."
Janet and Helen, more than a little perplexed by the sudden turn of
events, couldn't help smiling while the photographers clicked their
machines.
Then several reporters, who had remained in the background until the
photographers were through, pushed ahead.
"Give us the dope, Mr. Thorne--who they are, where you found them, what
you have in mind for them? Do you really think they're good?"
"Good?" asked Henry Thorne slowly. "Good? They're two of the finest
possibilities that ever struck Hollywood. Boys, you don't know how
enthusiastic I am."
"Think they'll be big box office?" one reporter asked.
"As far as I'm concerned, they're box office attractions right now and
they are going to be under my personal management and supervision."
Janet chuckled quietly for she could see the trend of Henry Thorne's
conversation.
"Sure, sure, we'll admit they're good," said another reporter, "but who
are they and where did you find them?"
Henry Thorne paused a moment as though deciding a question of tremendous
importance.
"Well, gentlemen, of course I hadn't expected the office would tip you
off on my arrival. I'd rather planned on slipping in quietly and giving
these girls a chance to get used to Hollywood, but I suppose I might as
well tell you now. I want you to meet my daughter, Helen, and her friend,
Janet Hardy."
Reporters and photographers stared.
"You're kidding us!" one of them protested.
"I'm very serious," replied Henry Thorne. "You boys let yourselves in for
this. I've always played fair with you and you thought I was pulling a
fast one on you so I let your imaginations run along for a while."
"Then they're not new stars?" asked one photographer, who had taken
unusual care to get some excellent shots.
"I didn't say they weren't. Now here's actually the story. The girls
graduated from high school last week and this trip west is a present to
them. Both of them have brains, better than average looks, and both of
them can ride. Billy Fenstow is going to put them into his next western,
but whether they'll be any good is another question. I'm willing to bet
that they will."
The photographer called Joey looked at Janet and Helen critically.
"I'll string along with you," he decided. "Those girls look like winners
to me."
"Thanks Joey. I'll remember that."
"Any time you have a picture scoop," Joey retorted.
The Thornes and Janet went on to a waiting sedan where a driver was ready
to whirl them to the home Henry Thorne maintained in Hollywood.
"That was quite an experience," grinned Helen. "We almost became
celebrities."
"Just another fool stunt of the publicity office, but I guess it didn't
do any harm," admitted Helen's father.
Half an hour's ride took them to a comfortable, sprawling bungalow set
well back on a side street.
"I've been living in an apartment, but when I got the idea of bringing
you back with me I leased this place," Henry Thorne told his wife and
daughter. "I've installed George, my negro cook, and there ought to be
something in the way of lunch ready for us."
The bungalow was delightful with a tremendous living room clear across
the front and two long wings to the rear, one housing the dining room,
kitchen and servants' quarters while the other contained a series of
bedrooms with baths between. At the rear, flanked by a high hedge, was a
medium sized swimming pool with a diving tower.
"Dad, this is wonderful," exclaimed Helen. "I don't care now whether I
ever get before a camera. I'll be happy right here, spending my days in
that pool."
Mrs. Thorne took charge, made instant friends of George, the smiling
cook, and assigned the bedrooms, Janet and Helen sharing one large room
with twin beds. It was at the very rear of the house with a door that
almost opened onto the pool, which pleased the girls.
"Clean up and we'll have lunch. George informs me that it will be ready
in fifteen minutes," said Helen's mother.
"How about a swim?" asked Helen.
"What in?" asked Janet.
"The pool, silly."
"But I hear it's even against California laws to go in a pool in your
birthday suit."
"I forgot. Of course we'd put our suits in the trunk and I suppose it
will be a couple of days before they arrive."
After a more prosaic shower, they felt tremendously refreshed and the
luncheon which George had prepared was delicious.
"See about a maid at once to do the housework, mother," said Henry
Thorne, "and with George to do the cooking you can have a little fun,
too."
"But I want something to do," protested Mrs. Thorne.
"There'll be plenty just keeping track of Janet and Helen."
"How would you like to attend a premiere of a new picture at the Queen's
Court tonight?" he asked.
"Fine," replied Helen, "but what's the Queen Court?"
"It's the newest of the deluxe motion picture theaters here. You'll see a
lot of stars. What do you say now?"
"Count us in," declared Janet.
"What'll we wear? Our trunks aren't here?"
"Mother'll take you shopping this afternoon," promised Henry Thorne. "Or
better, I'll take you around to Roddy at the studio."
"I'm not a mind reader. Who's Roddy?" Helen asked.
Her father looked at her in astonishment. Then grinned. "Sure, you
wouldn't know Roddy. Well, he's a thin little fellow, almost bald, but he
creates the most sensational clothes worn by the stars at our studio. His
credit line on the screen is always signed Adoree, but that's just for
publicity. Roddy wouldn't be a good name for a creator of ultra
fashions."
"You mean you'll have Adoree do dresses for us for tonight?" asked Helen.
"You'd better not call him Adoree or he'll stick you full of pins. He's
just plain Roddy around the studio."
Janet's throat suddenly felt dry. Here, on her first day in Hollywood,
she was to have a gown created by a famous designer and attend a premiere
at the Queen's Court.
_Chapter XIX_
GORGEOUS GOWNS
Henry Thorne telephoned for an appointment with Roddy and then drove the
girls to the studio.
The Ace plant, one of the largest in Hollywood, was built in a rambling
Spanish style.
Where most automobiles were stopped at the main gate, Henry Thorne sent
his car rolling right on through and the gatekeeper waved and smiled. He
stopped at a small office and a boy hurried out.
"Mr. Rexler wants to see you at once. It's about your next picture."
Henry Thorne scowled a little as he said, "Tell him I'll be along in a
few minutes."
Turning to the girls, he explained, "Rexler is the general manager and
I'll have to see him, but I'll take you to Roddy first."
The creator of famous styles had his office and workshop in a rambling,
one story white stucco building.
Roddy looked just as Henry Thorne had promised he would and Janet thought
a good, strong wind might blow the little man away. But she liked him
instantly, for his eyes twinkled when Henry Thorne explained his mission.
"And you'd like to have them look like real stars tonight?" he smiled.
"That's the idea," grinned Henry Thorne. "Maybe the publicity office
wasn't wrong in sending out the photographers and reporters this
morning."
Roddy stepped back and surveyed Janet and Helen with cold, analytical
eyes.
"Nice hair, even features, not too heavy and not too thin, trim ankles,"
he said, half to himself and half out loud.
"I'll leave them with you, Roddy. I've got to see Rexler."
"Another picture?"
Henry Thorne nodded.
"I hear they need another of your smash hits," said the designer.
"You mean smash up or smash down?"
"Up. You never do flops."
"But I have."
"That was years ago when I was only a tailor. Go along now," added Roddy.
"I've work to do with these girls."
He took them back into his private fitting room and called for silks and
satins by the bolt.
"Something vivid for you," he told Helen, taking a great bolt of crimson
velvet and fashioning it around her with dexterous hands, pinning it here
and there. Before Janet's eyes he created a gown, stepped back, shook his
head, changed a pin or two, and surveyed his handiwork again.
"Not perfect, but it will do for a hurry up job," conceded Roddy.
Then, with a bolt of silver cloth, he quickly fashioned a waist length
cape.
"Not too much makeup tonight," he told Helen. "Just a touch of color to
take off the pallor."
Then he turned to Janet.
"This will be a little harder," he told her. "Brunettes are always easier
to design for than blondes, but I am glad you are not an artificial
blonde."
Janet smiled, but said nothing and Roddy called for various fabrics,
finally deciding on a sheer, vivid blue and a cape of gold cloth.
"For you," he told Janet, "more color in your cheeks. It will be needed
with this blue. Use a blue band to tie your hair, but do not curl it any
more than the natural wave it now has. Both of you carry white gloves and
it will be better without bags. I shall be proud of you."
Janet and Helen felt very much like fairy princesses as they left the
designer's office. In less than an hour they had seen stunning gowns
created. True, they had to be put together, but they did not doubt that
this would be done in time, for Roddy had a certain magic in his hands
and his energy seemed to flow out to the others who worked with him.
They waited for a time for Helen's father to return and when he finally
arrived there was new enthusiasm in his eyes.
"I'll bet you're assigned to a new picture," said Helen.
"Right, dear. I start work on the script tomorrow. The first draft is
ready, but I always like to sit in on the finishing touches."
"What's it going to be?" asked Janet.
"The kind of picture I've always wanted to do, an epic of the air, a
story of the air mail, but on broader, more sweeping lines than anything
else ever attempted. We need one more big picture to bolster up the
production schedule for next year and I've drawn the assignment."
Helen's father was as happy as a boy with a new bicycle, and he hummed to
himself half the way home.
Suddenly he burst out. "I forgot all about your dresses. How did you get
along with Roddy?"
"He's grand, and we're all fixed up. Mine is crimson velvet and Janet's
is some divine shade of blue. I have a silver cape and she has a cloth of
gold cape. Oh, he planned everything for us, even telling us just how
much makeup to use."
"That's Roddy. He's a fine friend."
They drove on in silence for a time before Helen's father spoke again.
"I must be getting absent minded," he said as they turned into the drive
at the bungalow. "I ran into Billy Fenstow at the administration building
at the studio. He said to send you to see him tomorrow morning. He's
going to start shooting on a new western next week."
"Things," said Janet, "are happening too fast. We only arrived this noon
and have already been fitted for gowns. Tonight we go to a premiere and
tomorrow we meet a director who may give us places in his next pictures."
"That's Hollywood for you," grinned Helen's father.
_Chapter XX_
AT THE PREMIERE
After a leisurely dinner that evening they enjoyed a quiet half hour
beside the pool.
"There's plenty of time; let's take a swim. The trunks arrived this
afternoon and mother's found our suits," said Helen, and Janet seconded
the idea at once. It had been a hectic day and the water would relax
them.
They had trim one-piece suits, Janet's of cool green and Helen's a sharp
blue. For twenty minutes they splashed in the water or relaxed and
floated just as the mood struck them. Finally Mrs. Thorne called.
"It's less than an hour before we must start for the premiere," she said.
Janet and Helen climbed out of the pool, rubbed themselves briskly with
heavy towels, and hastened into their bedroom.
Large boxes were at the foot of each bed and from them they drew the
gowns which Roddy had created.
Dressing that night was one of the thrills Janet would never forget. The
costume was complete for just the right undergarments had been sent by
the designer. The hose were the sheerest gold, with gold slippers to
match, while Helen's accessories were silver.
"How do you feel?" asked Helen.
"Something like a fairy princess and it's hard to make myself believe
that this is all real."
"Then let's enjoy every minute of it. We may wake up and find that it is
all just a dream."
Janet looked at herself in the mirror. She was sheathed in blue silk,
ankle length, with just enough of a slit in one side to show her dainty,
silken ankles. Helen helped her tie a blue ribbon around her hair and
watched while Janet applied rouge judiciously.
"I imagine the lights will be bright as we go into the theater," said
Helen, "so remember what Roddy said about the color."
In turn Janet helped Helen, fastening the crimson velvet dress. Like her
own, it was a sheath of material with Helen encased inside.
"I'm not sure I'll be able to sit down. Dad may have to hire a truck and
drive us to the theater in it. I'd hate to have this gown all mussed."
"Mine looks awfully tight, but it feels very comfortable," confessed
Janet. "Oh, I feel grand--simply grand."
"About ready?" called Helen's father.
They caught up their capes and threw them around their shoulders with
just the right touch of abandon. Even the gloves had been provided in the
boxes sent by Roddy.
Mr. and Mrs. Thorne were waiting for them in the living room, Helen's
mother looking very beautiful in a brown velvet gown while her father was
distinguished in his dinner jacket.
Henry Thorne caught his breath as he looked at the girls in Roddy's
gowns.
"I knew Roddy was a wonder worker, but I didn't know he could perform
miracles. I'd hardly know you if I saw you any place else."
"That's a real compliment, Dad," smiled Helen.
"Here's something I thought you'd like to see." He handed a copy of one
of the evening papers to them. On the front page was one of the pictures
taken at the airport with Janet and Helen between Mr. and Mrs. Thorne.
"Famous Director Brings Daughter and Friend West to start Their Careers
in Movies," was the caption over the picture. Underneath the story said:
"Moviedom will get its first chance to see Henry Thorne's daughter,
Helen, and her companion, Janet Hardy, tonight at the premiere at the
Queen's Court. Both girls are slated for movie careers if their screen
tests turn out all right. Their initial rôles will probably be in a new
western which Bill Fenstow is casting now and plans to put into
production next week."
"We look pretty much 'midwesternish' in that picture," observed Helen.
"What if you do? There are too many Hollywood types. What we need in
pictures is fresh faces on girls who have ability. Come on now, we've got
to hurry or we'll be late."
The big sedan was in the drive and Helen's father had summoned a driver
he employed when he needed a chauffeur to drive them that evening.
They turned out of the side street on which they lived into a main
boulevard and whirled rapidly toward the Queen's Court.
Janet, attending a movie premiere for the first time, felt her heart
quicken as she saw the blaze of light which marked the front of the
theater.
The whistle of a traffic officer slowed them down and the driver was
forced to produce a card before they were allowed to go past the police
lines. The sidewalks were lined with people, anxious for a glimpse at
some Hollywood notable.
The car fell into line behind several others and Janet caught her first
glimpse of the theater. It was magnificent white marble, with the
entrance an open court and down this court the honored guests had to
walk, running the gamut of the stares of hundreds who backed the police
lines.
Their car pulled up under a canopy.
"Here we are, girls. Take your time and enjoy it. Don't be stiff. It's
just like going to the Idle Hour back in Clarion," said Helen's father.
He stepped out first, assisted Mrs. Thorne and then turned to the girls.
Janet heard the master of ceremonies, standing at the microphone nearby,
announce, "Henry Thorne, most famous of the directors for Ace
productions, Mrs. Thorne, their daughter, Helen, and Janet Hardy."
Janet stepped out into the glare of the floodlights. For just a moment a
terrific wave of stage fright gripped her. Then she saw smiling, friendly
faces, and she smiled back. Flashlights boomed as the photographers
worked.