"No."
"Well, you might be all right at that. You don't have to be a Barrymore
to play Tarzan. Come on, we'll go up to Mr. Goldeen's office."
They had to wait a few minutes in the outer office, and then a
secretary ushered them in.
"Hello, Ben!" the casting director greeted Goldeen. "I think I've got
just the man for you. This is Mr. Clayton, Mr. Goldeen."
"For what?"
"For Tarzan."
"Oh; m-m-m."
Goldeen's eyes surveyed Clayton critically for an instant; then the
production manager made a gesture with his palm as though waving them
away. He shook his head. "Not the type," he snapped. "Not the type, at
all."
As Clayton followed the casting director from the room the shadow of a
smile touched his lips.
"I'll tell you what," said the casting director; "there may be a minor
part in it for you; I'll keep you in mind. If anything turns up, I'll
give you a ring. Good-bye!"
* * * * *
Later in the day as Clayton was looking through an afternoon paper he
saw a banner spread across the top of the theatrical page: CYRIL
WAYNE TO DO TARZAN. FAMOUS ADAGIO DANCER SIGNED BY PROMINENT PICTURES
FOR STELLAR ROLE IN FORTHCOMING PRODUCTION.
* * * * *
A week passed. Clayton was preparing to leave California and return
home. The telephone in his room rang. It was the casting director at
Prominent Pictures. "Got a bit for you in the Tarzan picture," he
announced. "Be at the studio at seven-thirty tomorrow morning."