"I'm going to make a jungle picture," explained Potkin. "I got a
contract for a Tarzan picture, and I want a Tarzan. I'll make a test of
you tomorrow morning."
"You think I might fill the rôle of Tarzan of the Apes?" inquired
Clayton, as a faint smile touched his lips.
"You ain't just what I want, but you might do. You see, Mr. Puant,
here, can write a swell Tarzan story even if we ain't got no Tarzan at
all. And, say! it will make you. You ought almost to pay me for such a
chance. But I tell you what I do; I like you, Mr. Clayton; I give you
fifty dollars a week, and look at all the publicity you get that it
don't cost you nothing. You be over at the studio in the morning; and
I make a test of you, eh?"
Clayton stood up. "I'll think it over," he said and started across the
room.
A good-looking young woman came running in from the reception hall,
Brouke was pursuing her. "Leave me alone, you cad!" she cried.
The greying host was close behind Brouke. "Leave my wife alone," he
shouted, "and get out of here!"
Brouke gave the man a push that sent him staggering back against a
chair, over which he fell in a heap next to the wall; then he seized
the woman, lifted her in his arms, and ran out into the hall.
Clayton looked on in amazement. He turned and saw the girl, Maya, at
his elbow. "Your friend is getting a little rough," she said.
"He is not my friend," replied Clayton. "I just met him this evening.
He invited me to come to this party that is being given by a friend of
his."
The girl laughed. "Friend of his!" she mimicked. "Joe never saw any of
you guys before. You--" she looked at him closely--"you don't mean to
say you didn't know you were crashing a party in a stranger's house!"
Clayton looked bewildered. "They were not friends of these people?"
he demanded. "Why didn't they order us out? Why didn't they call the
police?"
"And have the police find a kitchen full of booze? Quit your kidding,
Big Boy."
A woman's scream was wafted down from the upper floor. The host was
staggering to his feet. "My God, my wife!" he cried.
Clayton sprang into the hall and leaped up the stairs. He heard cries
coming from behind a closed door; it was locked; he put his shoulder to
it, and it flew open with a crash.
Inside the room a woman was struggling in the clutches of the drunken
Brouke. Clayton seized the man by the scruff of the neck and tore him
away. Brouke voiced a scream of pain and rage; then he turned upon
Clayton, but he was helpless in the giant grip of those mighty muscles.
A police siren wailed in the distance. That seemed to sober Brouke.
"Drop me, you damn fool," he cried; "here come the police!"
Clayton carried the struggling man to the head of the stairs and
pitched him down; then he turned back to the room where the woman lay
on the floor where she had fallen. He raised her to her feet.
"Are you hurt?" he asked.
"No, just frightened. He was trying to make me tell him where I kept my
jewels."
The police siren sounded again, much closer now. "You better get out.
Joe's awful sore. He'll have all three of you arrested."
Clayton glanced toward an open window, near which the branches of a
great oak shone in the light from the street lamps in front of the
house. He placed a foot upon the sill and leaped into the darkness. The
woman screamed.
* * * * *
In the morning Clayton found Reece waiting for him in the lobby of the
hotel. "Great little party, eh, what?" demanded the young man.
"I thought you would be in jail," said Clayton.
"Not a chance. Billy Brouke has a courtesy card from one of the big
shots. Say, I see you're going to work for Abe Potkin, doing Tarzan."
"Who told you that?"
"It's in Louella Parsons' column in the _Examiner_."
"I'm not."
"You're wise. But I'll tell you a good bet, if you are thinking of
getting into the movies. Prominent Pictures is casting a new Tarzan
picture, and--"
A bell boy approached them. "Telephone call for you, Mr. Clayton," he
said.
Clayton stepped to the booth and picked up the receiver.
"This is Clayton," he said.
"This is the casting office of Prominent Pictures. Can you come right
over for an interview?"
"I'll think about it," replied Clayton, and hung up.
"That was Prominent Pictures calling me," he said as he rejoined Reece.
"They want me to come over for an interview."
"You'd better go; if you get in with Prominent, you're made."
"It might be interesting."
"Think you could do Tarzan?"
"I might."
"Dangerous part. I wouldn't want any of it in mine."
"I think I'll go over." He turned toward the street.
"Say, old man," said Reece, "could you let me have ten until Saturday?"
* * * * *
The casting director sized Clayton up. "You look all right to me;
I'll take you up to Mr. Goldeen; he's production manager. Had any
experience?"
"As Tarzan?"