A NEW STAR
Layton Boardman was fine looking, far better looking than he appeared on
the screen. He had one of those faces that appeal to the imagination,
usually immobile and inscrutable, yet capable of a surprising play of
expression when aroused emotionally. He had black hair and dark gray,
rather long eyes, deep set in his head and adding to the inscrutable
expression of his face when at rest. If it had not been for his flashing
and utterly friendly smile one might almost have been afraid of Layton
Boardman.
A wonderful face, a splendid personality for the hero of her western
drama--a screen strong man who was as strong off the screen as on!
Something surged up in Ruth--exultation at having secured such a prize.
Then fear gripped her again. Suppose he should refuse her offer--want
more than she was prepared to pay? Well, she would soon put that
question to the test.
“It was nice of you to come so quickly. The fact is,” she faced him with
her frank smile, “I was wondering whether you were free to accept an
offer from the Fielding Film Company.”
Boardman made a wry grimace.
“I am certainly at liberty,” he said grimly. “So much so,” with his
quick smile, “that I long for bonds again!”
“Then I hope I shall be the one to slip them on.” Ruth was again at her
ease. Something told her that she and Layton Boardman would get on.
She fingered some of the papers on her desk, looked from them to
Boardman.
“I have a new script here and I need just such a man as you to take the
lead. I don’t mind admitting,” she looked across at him with a quizzical
smile, “that I had you in mind when I wrote the story.”
“That is about the nicest thing I ever had said to me,” he told her. “I
hope more than I can tell you that I will be able to live up to that
compliment.”
“You’re sure you’re perfectly free? No loose strings that might get
tangled up in the midst of the story and spoil the whole thing?”
“Not a string!” said Boardman.
“Then listen to me and see if we can come to terms. We haven’t any time
to lose, for I’m anxious to keep my company together and start for
Montana in two weeks at the outside.”
There followed a surprisingly short business conference, during which
the two young people seemed to find it very easy to agree on everything.
Ruth felt excited and very much pleased with herself. She had done a
good morning’s work. She had not dreamed she would be able to procure
the services of Layton Boardman at so low a price and--this after she
had twice glanced up to find his eyes fixed broodingly upon her--he
would certainly make a very pleasant addition to the company.
Ruth heard Tom enter unceremoniously, heard his familiar whistle and his
affectionate greeting of Aunt Alvirah. She called to him and checked
young Boardman when he rose to go.
“I want you to meet my partner, Tom Cameron,” she explained. “His
signature will be very necessary on the contract.”
Tom hesitated in the doorway, taking in the tableau presented. His next
emotion was annoyance. It would be enough to annoy any young fellow to
find Layton Boardman, good looks and magnetism apparent even to a man,
in private conference with the girl he was--well, was fond of.
Ruth caught the expression on Tom’s face and tried to keep her vivid
face straight as she explained hurriedly.
“Glad to see you, Boardman,” Tom said then, extending his hand. Boardman
clasped it heartily. “I have an idea I can feel contracts in the air.
Ah--” as Ruth thrust into his hands the agreement she and Boardman had
drawn up. “Let me see--”
His very palpable hesitation seemed funny to Ruth. Tom always left the
signing up of new actors to her judgment. He had often declared that she
knew far more than he concerning such things. He had never made a fuss
about anything like this. Was he going to start now?
As his hesitation continued Ruth became really uneasy. When he finally,
though somewhat reluctantly it seemed, gave his approval, she drew a
deep breath of relief.
As soon as the business was over with three signatures signed to the
contract and Aunt Alvirah’s added as a witness, Layton Boardman took his
departure. He had, it seemed, important matters to attend to in town and
he left the Red Mill despite Aunt Alvirah’s hospitable urging that he
stay and have a bite of lunch with them.
Long after the door had closed upon the new member of Ruth’s company Tom
remained silent and thoughtful. Ruth tried to start a conversation with
him, for she was full of excitement and pleasure over what she
considered a triumph. But when he failed to respond to her advances she
finally retired to her study, leaving Tom to his own devices.
She had scarcely had time to become engrossed in her work again,
however, before a shadow fell across her page and she looked up to find
Tom glooming in the doorway. Ruth tapped her pencil on the edge of the
desk in helpless exasperation.
“What is wrong with you, Tom Cameron?” she cried. “You look as if you
had lost your last friend and never expected to make another. What in
the world _is_ the matter?”
“I don’t like that fellow, Boardman,” said Tom, frowning. “He’s too good
looking to be honest.”
Ruth gave a gay little laugh.
“Layton Boardman has a reputation for honesty----”
“Oh, I suppose he has all the virtues in the pack!” Tom was almost
barking at her in his irritation. “The good looking ones can get away
with anything. How about that row he had with Sol Bloomberg?”
A shadow crossed Ruth’s face. Sol Bloomberg was the lone fly in the
ointment of her content. She had been trying to forget Sol Bloomberg.
But now she shrugged her shoulders, trying to make the gesture
nonchalant.
“Knowing Sol Bloomberg, I prefer to think the fault was his,” she said.
“I think so, too,” said Tom with native honesty. “But there are two
sides to every question, you know, and there is always the chance that
Boardman’s side wasn’t a pleasant one. Then, too,” his gravity deepened,
“if there wasn’t anything more to it than a question of Bloomberg’s
enmity, it would be worth considering--and hesitating over. Bloomberg
isn’t going to be very happy when he learns that we’ve signed up his
star at a good salary.”
“His ex-star,” Ruth reminded him.
“Ex-star or not, Bloomberg wants Layton Boardman, and if I know anything
of the man in question, he’ll get Boardman, no matter how many promising
young moving picture concerns he has to trample over in the process.”
“But do you suppose,” Ruth flamed at him, “I intend to let a chance like
this slip simply because I’m afraid of Sol Bloomberg?”
“A great many people, both powerful and wise, have been afraid of Sol
Bloomberg,” retorted Tom and, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets,
strode from the room.
Ruth tried in vain to coax back her mood of the early morning. But try
as she would, it would not come. Tom had effectually destroyed all her
enthusiasm with his talk of Sol Bloomberg. The worst of it was, Ruth
admitted, that his viewpoint was a reasonable one. The owner of Palatial
Films would be furious over her capture of Boardman, and Bloomberg was
not a man to swallow his anger.
With an impatient movement she began to gather up her scattered papers
when Helen Cameron and Jennie Marchand, arms about each other in
old-time style, charged in at the front door.
“Ruthie! Ruthie Fielding, where are you?” called Helen. “I have the very
most elegant news you ever listened to! Let me tell it, else I die!”