Evening Star Newspaper, October 11, 1925, Page 88

! HEN Mr. Foote, of the World’s Worst Pictures Company, alias the Idol ium Corporation, came East to are the distributors to tell him to his face a few of the crude critfelsms they'd managed to get through the m he brought along with him Tom Kush, the director, and me and my camera. I hadn't heen in the Biz Burg for six years, but taking a_chance I gave 1 taxi driver the address of Sally Wynne's boarding house in one of the Yorties near Eighth avenue. Sally, vou must know, was an old friend of mine from the days when we were both in vaudeville, and for 20 vears we hadn't missed a postal card at as and on birthdays. during a lay-off in those old Sally’s youth or something went ind_she married a non- clishman. Two 3 after they had decided—on their honeymoon—that by her trouping around in vandeville and him living fonary in Toronto they might both out of jafl, he crossed the old River Jordan leaving a will in which he bequeathed all and sundry to his wandering wife. The all consisted of arms ring, and a case, and the sundry included papers which showed that Sally was not the ¥ one that loved him better a couple of thousand miles distant. For there § or document which indicated that his father in England, after a stroke of apoplexy, had concluded that he required a change of climate and it travel—on the boy's part sent the ring and the cigarette all the papers, including their marrlag the old =entle ntan and started out again looking for work; and not finding much. A long time after her 36th birth- Sally realized that her stuge future was behind her. So one day smiled a lease out of a renting ind opened up a boarding the profession, hoping that demandi a week's board in ad. nce from the first applicant she'd at least get something to eat for herself | That was the break in Sally's bad | Iuck. Her recipe for hash and prunes was so economical and vet filling th the following year she rented the joining he d the next year. with poroaching 40, her Eng lish father-inlaw suddenly decided that he'd seen everything anyway. and closed his eves for keeps, leaving his | iue to Sally, Nobody knew how much Sally re ceived. She mnever told any one Turning aside a few leading questions she wert right on running her hoard house, hiring and firing cooks and c me old enthusiasm cold meats and drinks :hts as gratis as before. So the bunch concluded that the old gentleman had done a Carnegle and had enfoyed the pleasure of s himself, . getting gold coat-of- uby-set clgarette A ted to see her ar s only the partly because it w ght thing to do. From past personal experience 1 knew that Sally operated ner busi ness on the theory that because a per- former is broke in August is no reason ke won't be dirty with money in Janu ary; and furthermore that an actor who looks as though he ate regularly nother shirt in the bure: s stands a better cha v argument with a manager fellow who looks as though ked wince the last time D. with the A. E. F. tevens. Sally greeted in a kiss for old tim stood looking st Six years, even the six she's added to the 40 <he’d owned to when last I'd seen her, hadn't changed Sally Wynne iler small, polv-poly fizure was < little pidmper and her dark L few more gray sisters, her brown eves were just volce Jju svements were just nd chippes er. vt ch wrinkle,” he hasn't he did K ete throwin Then we me sake h other I don't look a stion evervthing pened ws in . I'm not ount i0oks of » worry n the things vou either, 1 treat , but it's a ot of cems to me sctors Yerent than we were not inde- troubic these at_their pendent or “Why lot g worties you?" I suid. “\Which remir ot a room for me sal her head. “Sor: every room In the house fs fil “It would be—in the Summe; You running it," T said. 5 e, I'm ashamed < nickel by car- ugh Iny-off. Sooner or later he always sends me what he owes. ilalf the time I feel like it's a food-and-sicep loan office I'm running instead of a boarding- house. There's only one man—" She checked herself. Her mouth stralghtened out in as straight a line us it was capable of. Her chin lost one of its doubles as 1t protruded bel- ligerently. Then, suddenly, as an idea popped into_her boiling brain, she bounced to her feet. “I'll give you Monty's room.” sal 'Who's Monts 2" Montmorency du Bols—with a £mall d. His room is on the next floor, rear, two windows, the best room in the house. You'll like it, Pete.” “How ~will Monty =~ like evicted?” “He isn't being evicte ped. nnoy me; Pete; ith she being Sally snap- “He left—of his own fool wish— December."” You've been holding his room for £ix months?" 1 asked surprised. “I_thought he’d be back. Every day I've kept thinking he'd come back the next day or the next week, just us he always has come back after— she stopped, steaming up again. I grinned. Sally always has struck me funny when she s excited. After one of his get-rich-quick schemes has flopped.” “Who is this Montmorency du Bois? A crook?” “He's ar old fool. I took him in about flve vears ago and graduated him into thas best room in the house. He's done a little bit of everything in his day; medicine shows, boat- troupes, carnival companies, small- time vaudeville—I think he had a magic act uptil the office got onto him. Anyway, he somehow managed 10 save and invest enough to give him an income that—that takes care of his board and room rent here. He's nearly 50 now, with the faith of a 15-year-old. “Every once-in a while he gets a job in a show or a picture—to pick up & little epending money, he says. 1 can always tell when he's saved up encugh for a wild-cat promoter® or stock salesman to take. He comes home full of enthusiasm and figures showing the millions he's going to make.” “He's a gambler.” “He's a simple!” Sally's eyes clouded and a little quiver crept into her voice. “Simple and sensitive. Every time 1've tried to talk a little reason to him he’s got huffy. The last time, last December, I got so furfous when I found he'd sunk $400 in a machine to extract gold from ocean water—it can be done, Pete, but Monty never thought fo ask could it extract enough &old to pay for operating the machine; which it can't—I was so furlous I asked Monty if I showed him plans for compressing mountain air and dew into diamonds would he give me the next money he earned. Right away Monty pulled himself into his shell, gave me the silent treatment the rest of the day-—and the next morning he was gone. Sally blew her mnose vigorously. ‘m glad of it. A man like that around the house is a constant irrita- tion. And trouble. There's lots of things Monty should never eat. I used to have to watch him like a hawk. Probably now he’s at some cheap hoarding house laying a solid foundation for lifelong indigestion. 1 know what Monty's income is. I know how much he can pay for room and board, and 1 know he can't get the"— Sally interrupted herself. “Come on, Pete. D'l show vou the room.” “Have vou heard from Monty since he left?” 1 asked following Sally up the stairs “Onc He's somewhere.” As Sally opened a door at the end the hall a mald from downstairs lled her. purself comfortable, Pete,” unch will be ready in up in Connecticut of e ok ok % ) the room. It was some At the rear of the house, le, it caught a river breeze ugh the windows— with _bright copper cent of the flowers in he hoxes outside the windows. There a big easy chair with broad arm- rests beside a couch, both covered with ecool, linen slip-covers. Besides a | standing ker's stand there were deep brass ash receivers on the| dresser, on a table near the window and on a small stand at the head of the deep box-spring bed, immaculately spreaded and pillow-slipped. Also, on this stand, there was a hooded reading lamp at the end of a long flexible metal neck, and on a lower shelf half a dozen of the latest masazines. rerything was spotlessly clean, dust- I couldn't help wondering at a ] acco on the table, its . and a box of a hundred in which there were exactly a hundred cigarettes, on the smoker’s stand. Looking at the date of a morning paper folded on the table T saw it had been placed there that very morning. And a few flowers in a_small vase on the dresser had not been standing there long enough to discolor the water. “Monty gets what 1 call serv- ice.” 1 told myself. There were two doors in the room besides the one into the hall. One, of course, gave into a clothes closet. I opened the other. Sweet curving gold- fish, a_private bath—with a shower— that the architect who designed the house never dreamed of. What puzzled me was this: It Monty could not afford to live at a decent boarding house out in the coun- try, how could he afford the de luxe boudoir he had been occupying in New Yorl 1 was nowhere near an answer when a bell summoned me below to a meal that satisfied me that Montmorency du Bols, laying the foundation of life- long indigestion up in Connecticut somewhere, was mentally below par. I had no chance to kid any curiosity quenching answers from Sally the rest of the day. And the next afternoon the boss he told me he'd made ar- cerhents to rent the Tesla Studio out in the Bronx—three blocks further than the subway will ever zo—and to report_for work early Tuesday morn- ing. T told Kally about it, thinking I could rinz in a couple of boarders for exira peopl Waitlng for one of them—a woman, naturally-—to finish dressing made me studio Tuesd A crowd ted and m Kush niz them over, hunting for ntroduced my two ringers fter they were signed on I > with Tom, 160 Job-seekers Tom called, pointing to a ar the outside door. flrst thing I noticed was the herblage the old cluck had let grow unweeded and untrimmed on his face. With his baldtop head and big round Lis stooped shoulders, rounded and old clothes, he looked as if he didn’t quite know what it was THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTO The Best Room At Sally’s BY WALTER DE LEON Sally at Her [lheatrical Boarding House Listed Mr. Monty as One of Her Liabilities. dress he gave made me chase out and phone Sally. I told her the studio wae 80 far out and I was zoing to be 50 busy I'd decided g move clokes tc the end of the line.§ And when she wked me my real reason for giving 1p the best room In the house, 1 told her Monty was back in town—and wung up quick. * koo VWHAT with work, and a dinner, and a show, and after the show a big party the boss threw for a bunch of distributors, I dldn't get to see Sally that night. And neither Tom nor T was feeling any too blithe and juvenile when we walked into the studio the next morning to commence vork. “Good morning, Mr. Kush,” a voice sald as we entered. The speaker was a medium-sized, slightly stooped man in correct morning dress, cutaway coat, gray spats, choke collar, glov and stick, complete. Under his silk hat, round blue eyes smiled out of a face decorated and distinguished by a small mustache and little, French-cut beard. “Who are you?" Tom growled. Montmorency du Bois—smail d," smiled the old fellow. ‘Small @' Tom howled. “You mean big Da-double m! What have you done to yourself? Where are your whiskers “l trimmed them.™” “And trimmed vourself right out of the picture at the same time,” Tom shouted. “I engaged your whiskers—- not you!" The old fellow’s lip trembled. don’t remember truct about whiske to emile. T alw in_morning clothes. Tom'’s quick temper was cooling off. “Of all the dumbbells I ever met,” he growled. “Oh, well, stick around. T'll use you—somehow. Making friends with Monty wasn't rd, especially after he found that ally and T had been friends for 20 “p he sald, trying s play gentlemen, You know,” he told me one day between scenes, “Miss Wynne is one of the finest women on earth. She has only one fault. She thinks too much of money: a fine woman, but she val- ues money too high. 1 believe money is more trouble tha worth. Yes, xir; I conld’ve made a couple of fortunes In my day, but what's the w I've got enough to live on. That's enough, afn't it?" “The way vou live at Sally’s, it is,” T said.\ “That's a wonderful room you have there. “Best room in the house,” Monty promptly admitted, “and it don't cost no more than any of the other rooms No, sir; that's the best part of it You'd think, with Sally valueing money #o high, that she'd charge more for that than the rest “Why doesn’t she? “The way Sally explained it to me was this: just like every other bhoard inz-house keeper, she likgs permanent boarders. Understand? So them as are permanent she makes as comfort- able as she can. The oldest boarder, meaning the one that's been with her longest, gets the best room, the next oldest the next beet, and o on: under- stand? That's S1lly's system.” As long as Monty believed it, it wasn't up to me to muddy the situ- ation with my doubts. Seo I changed the subject. “Tt seems pecullar to me that if vou've got enough money already you keep working.” “I'll tell you, Mr. Stevens; I do it to keep my mind occupled. Yes, sir: that's why I went up into Connecticut last Winter—to keep my mind occu- led.” ‘What dld vou occupy it with “It was like this: I see a plece in the paper one day where somebody wanted a_caretaker for their Summer home. They offered a_good piece of money for the job. It wasn't the money I wanted—I ot a lot of atocks and bonds put away that are, going to be worth a lot of money some day. ves, sir; anyway, I took that caretak- er's job because I had an idea for a vlcture story and 1 figured up there, all alone, I'd have time and opportu. nity to write it. That's what 1 went up there for—to Write my scenarfo. And T done f.” Monty's eves glowed. “Yes, sir: and got it copyrighted. Took me six months, but I've got something able to sell for $10,000 v picture com I—T'd like His “I'd like t0,” T had to say. “You read it. and then tell me If it ain’t worth $16,000 to any one of the big picture companies.” Thinking of the sacrifice he had made, ziving up the comfort at Sally's r the loneliness of a Winter in an ~mpty house, came a clear hunch that 0ld Monty had been putting his pen- nies on last-hope long-shots for a pur- vose deeper than just the desire for jmickly secured wealth. I had a feel- all about “It's those whiskers I want,” Tom 1 SALLY GREETED ME WITH A told me as the Smith Brother came toward us. “Ever had any movie experence?” Tom asked him. “Yes, sir.”’ He mentioned bits he had played in several pictures. . “That's all right,” sald Tom. “I think I can use you. The part doesn't pay much, but it ruhs all through the picture—three weeks' work. How about——" He mentloned a fair salary. It was O.K. by Whiskers. “Good. Give vour name and ad- dress to the stenographer, Mr.—er, what 18 the name?” “Montmorency du Bois, with a small d,” replied the old fellow. The ad- ing that a big sum of money would mean something to Monty that nobody K’l’Sfl FOR OLD-TIME'S SAKE. else guessed. Maybe I've been filming cheap melodramas for too many years, but that was ll‘u :m:eh‘l got. 'HE next day Monty brought me his script. While we talked the boss had come in. With him was a good-looking man about half-way hrough his thirties, with the keenest, coolest eyes I ever saw in a human face. As the two of them walked around the studio I recognized the boss' manner as the one he used when he smelled money in the offing. Nothing servile or hypocritical; just the brisk, ready manner of & gooG saléesmasn, . nything in the con. | Watching the face of the keen- eyed chap, I guessed that movie studlos, sets, props, lights and so forth weren't anything exactly new to him. Either that or the boss' talk wasn't making any indelible {mpres- slon Before we quit work that afternoon rumors were crowded o close to- zether they were gusping for air. The bosk had landed a backer. The hose wan golng to sell out. A certain oil man, dripping with money, had guar anteed to back the hoss if he'd star the oil n's wife, an ex-chambermaid of Tulsa. The backer was a wealthy broker, a married man who'd forgot- ten it at certain occasions while in the soctety of a fading female star of the screen; and now the only way said could prevent the lady's self- respect from vanishing with her nopu- larity was to apply a chunk of his bank-roll to the production costs of a victure. The only person around the studio I found who knew anything definite was Monty. | “I just remember where I saw that fellow before,” he told me. “It was | when I was doing a picture with the Supreme Company. Remember last ¥ r they got into a jam—the Inter- 1w teleaxing Company refusing to | handle their picture had something to do with it—anyway, It lovked for a while as though the Supreme outfit | was gol to smash. | “Well, one day between few of us were wondering whether Sppreme could last long enough to finish the film we were on, when this same snappy young fellow come into | the Me walked around with Mr. € the president, just like he walked arcund here today. Two days later the Supreme ot a ioan that car- ried thern through thelr troubles. Cass Willlams, the press agent there, told me this young fellow was a lawyer, the personal representative of the” millionaire savior of the com- vany “What's his name?” “I forget. (‘ass might remember.” That night, crawling into bed and lighting a pipe to easa the strain of reading Monty's script, I thought I was already pretty tired, But it wasn't 8 marker to thd tired feeling that crawled fnto every crease and crevice system as 1 followed the weird adventures of Monty’s heroine, Olive Murphy, the shop girl who became the reigning dance sensation of Broadway. “Madame Irene, a Powerful Drama of Modern Life,” read the title page, and in the first reel Monty proved that Olive was no weakling. T understood why it had taken him six mw ths to write the story. Ile needed that time to think up all the things that hap. pened to Olive. He hadn't overlooked one single bit of hokum known to melodrama. One right after the other Ollve lost her job, her home, her ardent but distasteful admirer, her happiness, her pride and all but one dream. Having lost everything but her beauty and r virtue, she drags herself to an un | occupled bench in Central Park where {she lolls fainting, receptive to the| | thought that a life of shame wouldn't be 5o worse If it would seduce a steak, some fried potatces and a cup of coffee out of somebod There she is discovered by a high- minded young millionaire named | | Blake, who stakes Olive to a meal and | the very next day marries her to spite |a society gal who, he has discovered, intended to mar Blake for his money while reserving her affections for the other man. As Monty described it in his_script, “Blake is very kind to her and doesn’t ask 1o unnecessary ques- tions. Fade out.” But almost {mmediately after the wedding Olive finds out the real reason of her being unstigmatized. For some reason or other her heart nearly bhreaks to learn that the guy she's known about 26 hours not only doesn' love her with a lofty spiritual pas- sion which nothing can blot nor ob- literate, but instead has married her to double-cross another jane. And for the same reason, when Blake sees the woinded-deer expression in Olive's gazelle eyes, ho decides to catch the 4:20 train to the West, where men are men, and skles are ciean, and the air is blue, and the women are either ladles or not. Olive, left alone in the apartment with a liberal allowance, of course starts taking fencing lessons immedi ately. And soon after that, having nothing much else to do between meals, and no letters from her hus- band to answer, all by herself she creates a new and novel dance, 5o un- heard of that a Broadway cabaret manager engages her to fascinate his patrons with it. One night Blake comes on from Puyallop, Wash., and sees Mme. Irene dance, exclaims dramatically, “How beautiful!” tears around to her dress. ing room and grabs Olive in a strain- scenes a rt ing clinch for the final fade-out. € x x % T"E next morning I couldn’t remem- ber for a minute whether 1'd read the script or had a bad dream. And while remembering, I heard the gloom- patter of rain on the window panes. When I reached the studio I found that Tom had already dismissed the company and was up in the office with the boss. “Morning, Pete,” he nodded “What's that under your arm—the great American photoplay master- plece? “ ‘Madame Irene, a Powerful Drama of Modern Life,’" I quoted the title page. s it powerful?” the boss grinned. Like limburger,” I told him. “By Montmorency du Bols,” Tom read, over my shoulder. “What's that name?” the boss asked quickly. “Montmorency du Bois, with a small ar ‘The boss reached for the script; ran his_eve down the list of characters. “You've read it, Pete, you say.” 1 nodded. “What's the best thing you can say about it?"” “After reading it I fell into the soundest sleep I've had in months.” Instead of the grin I expected, th boss frowned, as though disappointed. “Has Monty been pestering you to read it?” I asked. “No. I don't believe I'd know du Bois if I saw him. I heard of this story through—er, outside sources.” The natural thing to guess was that Monty had placed his script with an agency. “I understood,” continued the boss, “that the principal theme was the old, sure-fire Cinderella thing.” “It is,” 1 started, “but——" For no reason at all there flashed into my mind the picture of Monty begging me to read his story and tell him if it wasn't worth $10,000 of any pro- ducer’s money. And again came the hunch that that ten thousand would mean something trémendously more vital to him than He wanted any one to know. “‘Listen, boss,” I hedged. “Candor compels me to admit that Monty’s story isn’t 6o very much more putrid than one or two of the films the Idol Company has been guilty of perpetrat. ing. And it has two scenes that might—I say might—bée developed into something akin to novelty. “What are they?” Mr. Foote asked crisply. ‘A scene in & cheap, East-side caba- ret; patrons at tables; three-piece jass band playing on a slightly raised plat- form; Olive, the shop-girl heroine, sit- ting at a table, afrald to go home to “EVER HAVE ANY MOVIE EXP! ERIENCE?” TOM ASKED HIM. her drunken father and simple sister becatise she's lost her job and can't find another he’s waiting for the big hurly bouncer of the cafe who has asked her to marry him; Olive dreads his coming; =he's” almost sure she's going to say yes. “An old hanger-on, derelfct, urged hy a group of joy seekers, starts deserib- ing an oceasion in which he was sum- moned to appear before a ropean court to entertain: ag he talks, the cheap cabaret d radually into a pal r i room player dissolves into King the lady cornetist into Queen; the trap-drummer becomes the firince The tough trons at the tables dissolve into lord \adies, nobility in silks and Olive alone with the rest, in the same relative positions were in the cabavet.” othing particularly new in that Tom Kush interrupted. 2 But he lonty's » royal rec tough Bouncer, mouth, brown derby over one low shoes and all. As he starts to Olive, looking like a whatho he scene quickly be olving back into the cheap cabarct again, with Olive erus ing in her hand a bill for last month's rent as the Bouncer approaches her.” “Umpl unted the bo: his e squinted, try to picture the scen “What's the other scen “The stage setting for Oliv dance, after she becomes Ma Trene. It's a huge gilded bird set in the well of a curving flight wide stairs. \When th curtain ris Olive is In the cage, dressed as a bird. eat comes on 2 topped as the hoss reached for the why we ail like foole Is because he take u week and lawver consent to malke up his mind. “Clear out, boys; I'm going to read this. the girl at the telephone board de that I don't want to be disturbed. T was still kidding with the girl at the board when the boss ~ame out of his office about three-quarfers of an hour later. “Where can 1 find M rency du Bols?" he askes “I'll go with you,” I offered, feeling he needed a guardlan. The hoss must have read m ‘Don’'t wor he grinned. “I'll take Newman, my lawyer, along with me. The fact is,” he lowered voice xo it wouldn't reach the at the switchboard, “I think I can get in touch with 2 wealthy par the finest sort of moving-picture busi- ness connections and who would back a picture like Madame Irene.” Naturally 1 gave him the address and_telephone number at Sally’s “Thanks, Pete.” He turned to the witchboard operator. “Get me Mr. Smithson's office, Bryant 90009, I think. I'll be waiting inside.” “Smithson,” I said, taking a long chance as I hung over the top of the telephone board. “That's the fellow the boss was showing around the studio vesterday, Isn't {t?" The girl nodded. “Um-hu nifty looker with the gray eyes. * % k% ATURDAY nights I'd been taking fally to the theater, so when I called for her that night 1 asked if Monty was at home, anxious to find out if anything had happened. Sally told me that a phone call had come for him just hefore noon; that after answering it Monty had gone out and hadn't returned yet. “Was it the boss, Mr. Foote, who called Monty?"” 1 asked. Sally shook her head—no. “Was it 2 man named Smithson?" “I think that was the name.” Sally didn’t seem any too positive. *“Who is he, do you know?"" I told her all I could, and also how the hoss had seen enough in Monty's story to nerve him to brace a backer for production costs, “Can vou imagine—that script?” 1 finished. It didn’t make me laugh,” Sally re- turned, a bit tartly. “There are lots of pictures making money that woyldn't_listen any better on paper than Monty's.” * “But those titles, Sally; those spoken dialogue titles—"" “The town Is full of good scenario writers out of jobs who'll title a pic- ture from beginning to end for a couple of Hundred dollars,” Sally in- terrupted. “Sure. But no director or continu- ity writer—"" “Directors and continuity writers,” Sally snocted. “When they finish tinkering with any story what's left of it but the idea? I'll bet you, Pete, when this company that's filming the ‘Discovery of Amerlca’ finishes cutting and titling Columbus himself wouldn't recognize it."” Sally threw a cloak over her shoul- ders ana started for the door. “It’s the idea in a picture story that counts, Pete; nothing but the idea. If that isn't swamped in the making, if the star can draw at all, the rest is explojtation and making it worth the distributors’ while to shove the sales."” “Where did you learn so much about the picture game?” I asked, admit- ting she was pretty close to the truth. “You learn a lot of things running a boarding house.” Sallv smiled. her g00d nature reappearing as we turned toward the bright lights of Broadway. EE O DIDN'T learn anything on Monday. Neither the boss nor Monty showed up at the studio all day. About 7 o'clock that evening I rang up Sally. “Monty there?” I asked. “Not ye! He'll be in hefore 8, though.” Bhe seemed positive. “What makes you think so?” I kidded. "“This 1a MondaFilen't 117 N big ame age, f Montmo- the scream Py | 3 ¢ who has | o do [ “What's that got to do with §t2" ‘We always take In the show at the | Palace Monday nights."” ‘Oh. Any news?" ‘No. Any news out there?” | “Not a_ thing. Well, enjoy your- selves. ‘Night.” morning, waiting for Tom work, I felt a touch on my It was Mont “Mr. Stevens,” hands to hide the | Foote has just sen ontract | knd was rubbing his trembling, “Mr. for me—to sign a He's buying my sto ou v. You-—you're responsible and I'd like, if you don't mind, 1'd like for you'ta come with me, just to see that ing's—all Fight. In'the office with the hoss were New- man, his attorney and the quiet ithson. After introductions were done with, Newman started reading the contract It stated that for $15,000 in the hand d and other valuable considerations, luding a fat percentage of the gross | profits, Montmorency du Bois was to | e the Idol Flim Corporation the| |entire_and exclusive picturization | | vizhts of his etory. And that, In turn, { the 1dol Film Corporation agreed to [ produce satd picture within a certain | | specified time. with the further guar- | | antee that Mae Murdock would appear | i the role of Olive. And ulso that the | 1dol Film Company contracted to ex-| !pend a certain named ample sum_for {exploitation purposes and further- { more to kecure the Castle Theater situ- ite in Broadway, New York City, for | the period of (wo weeks in which to | | exhibit the picture. And herewith and | appended hereto was a copy of the | contract signed by the Infer-World Relearing Company wherein they {agreed to take over said film and dis- { tribute it, of . ete. | | About half-way through the reading 1 that Monty mentally had wooned. I couldn’t blame him. The | ing that kept me haneing on joy on the boss' account. For | - contract put the hoss and an Idol m product on the books of the In { ter-World Releasing Company, the hig. | gest and most powerful of them all! | | Ana Mae Murdock! A genuine star whose pictures of Broadway night life | b ade millions for the Supreme & nee they had slgned her itoa She was the one woman |in businees to play Olive. Just ring her in the part made th, | whole story seem alfve. With her hus. { | band directing her—he always directed | | her pictures—and the Inter-World | !back of it, the picture was a success | | before & camera crank was turned! | Knowing the tough inside of the pic |ture game, to me it sounded like a| | falry tale in which Monty had rubbed o ring and & good fairy had suddenly appeared, wav a wand which sprinkled certified checks where they'd {do the most good. The most good. { That's what the backer, represented | by the keen-eyed Smithson, had ac- | comnplished for us all: for Monty, for| | Foote, for the Idol organization, for even Mae Murdock, who spent half her life looking for stories of her type and worrying the other half because they were 5o hard to get. 1 wondered who the good fairy could be. Monty finally revived enough to slgn | his name to the contract and take the check the boss offered him. “And now, Mr. du Bois,” Mr. Foote &ald, “if youw'll step into the inside office I'll “introduce yvou to Russell Delan. Do you know him?" T understand exactly why Monty grabhed the back of a chair to steady himself. Russ Delan, whose price for writing continuities was $1,000 per reel, was getting it because he hadn't turned out a flop in three years. “He'll make the continuity for Madame Irene,” the boss continued. “Before starting, he wants to run through the script with you, to get your ideas.” It took all three of them, Foote, Newman and Simpson, to steer Monty's tottering steps into the next room. ¥ I EFT alone, thinking over the good luck that had swooped down on Monty, checking one clause of his con- | tract agalnst another started me won- 'dering, puzzllng over several odd | things, especially the unknown backer and the ungodly influence he appeared to exert. Taking for granted that he was the same party the boss had sald he was going to get in touch with, he had, according to Mr. Foote, “the finest moving picture business connec- tions.” All right. But that did not explain why Hard Egg Rosencratt had signed to run in his private mint a picture that hadn’'t even been cast yot. When it came to business, Hard Egs had no connections. The Inter- World had not forced him to book the picture. They'd tried that game once on Hard Egg—and hadn’t placed & picture In the Castle for seven months afterward. Rosencratt was #ole lesses, manager and booker, and he ran only pictures that he himself liked. Who had made him like a plc- ture that nobody yet had seen? ‘What had {nduced the Inter-World to agree to take over the picture before seeing & foot of film? Not be- cause Mae Murdock was to be the star. There were several stars whose plctures the Inter-World plugged harder than Mae's. Speaking of her, if she was, as everybody in the busi. ness knew she was, the Supreme’s big- gest money-maker, who was the bird that coul®turn down the screws tight enough to make Supreme lend her to the 1dol? And why, oh, why and what yhad steamed up the backer to the point of putting on all the pressure he had applied? A puff of breeze through the office window lifted some papers on the desk. Absorbed in my riddles, I walked to the desk to put a weight on them. Across the top of the upper- most paper I couldn’t help but see— “Private Agreement Between B. B. Foote and 8. W. Crumbely.” | party by That name carried me vears. and it is expressly agreed that . Crumbely, in name or person, is to be mentioned in no manner in connection with the production of Madme Irene, neither as backer nor partner’— Grabbing my hat, office. You can find anvthing in New York if you know where to look for it. #pent no more time in the Inter-World office than it took to ask two short questions and get two short answers. The second answer referred to a Mr. Smithson, attorney-at-law. Dogging it over to the Supreme of- fice, 1 was Jucky enough to find Cass Willlams, their press agent, who'd been a buddy of mine before ever there were any five-reel dramas. Let- ting me know that the information was Masonic, he answered my first question. “Thanks, Cass. Who {s this fellow Crumbely? What's his business?” “Search me. Wa never saw any- thing of him except his attorney, Smithson.” A few minutes later the girl in the box office at the Castle gave me a blank look instead of an answer and then referred me to the doorman, who referred me to the head usher, who referred me—I kept being referred in and out of offices in several different I ran out of the bulldinis for an hour before I found’ out what I wanted. And the fellow that finally satisfled me added: “I'm sure I'm right, but you had better ik Mr. Smithson.” Ie handies umbely's interest.” * X x W O it was late that afternoon when 1 reached Sally's house and walk- ed into the living room, where she was sewing. What have you been doing all day, Pete?" she nsked soclably. “Digging up dope on S. W. Crum- bely,” T told her. “I was surprised to find what a busy party Crumbely Yes?" gald Sally, her eyes on her needle. “Yes. Quite by accident T happened to learn that this Crumbely party is backing a picture the Inter-World contracted to handle without knowing anything much about it. That struck me as mighty queer. Wouldn't it u 7" Yes, indeed,” said Sally, her thim- ble flashing back and forth. “Well, when I grew curious enough to ask the president’s stenographer if they knew anything much of a that name the steno told me that there was an §. W. Crumbely on their board of directors. That ex- plained that. But In the elevator, going downstairs, I got itching to know how Mae Murdock could break her ironclad conract with Supreme to do a picture for anybody elee. Cass Williams, their publicity man, ex- plained it by saying that Supreme didn't mind _lending - their biggest drawing card on this occasion, be- cause the check for the money that saved them last year was signed ‘S. W. Crumbely.” " Sally's head was bent over, so I couldn't see the expression that went with the surprised tehk-tchk T heard. “Passing the Castle a few ininute: later, I couldn't help wondering wh Hard Egz was so willlng to hook a picture on which the working conti- nuity hasn’t been even thought out yet. Knowing that Rosencratt owns everything around the joint except, maybe, the ground it's bullt on, I dropped into a real estate office to ask who the property belongs to. The agent told me—&. W. Crumbely. “But the funny part, Sally," I said, taking her sewing out of her hands, “the funny part is that nobody knows this 8. W. Crumbely by sight. All deals, loans and everything else are handled by an attorney named Smith. son. All anybody has ever seen of thig Crumbely party ix the signature, §. W. Crumbely—Crumbely, if I re- member right, being the name of the b you marrfed twenty-odd years £ I felt like a dirty deuce when I saw Bally was crying. But before I could gather any words she'd dried her tears and was looking at me with assault in one eye and battery in the other. “Pete Stevens, if you ever breathe a word of what you've found out to Monty*"—— “I won't,” I promised, “if you'll give me the explanation.” Sally was silent @ moment. “Can you understandy Pete, that I didn't want the money old Mr. Crumbely left me? I—I hadn't earned it. So I tried to spend it. First I engaged an expensive lawyer—by the year. Gave him a long contract, and he's done nothing but make more money for me ever since. “For instance, one of my boarders told me he couldn't pay his bill be- cause his company was on the verge of bankruptcy and wasn't paying any salaries. So T called Smithson in and told him to lend my boarder's boss some meney, so he could pay my boarder, 8o my boarder could pay me. Yes.” Sally sniffed. ‘“The outcome of that was that I acquired so much stock fn the Inter-World that they had put me on the board of direc- tors. * k¥ SALLY jabbed her needle into a cushion viclously. “When I bought the property where the Castle is now in order to tear down the dirty old ramshackle theatrical hotel on it, because every boarder that came from there brought something with him into my nice, clean house, could I guess that my busy little lawyer would instigate a corporation to build a movie house there that'in 25 years will be mine without it costing me a nickel except the commission I pay the agent for collecting the ex- orbitant rent.” ““Great., Scot. Sally, you talk as though you were sore about it?” I} “I am. And T'm scared to dea! Monty will find out all about it. Tt it would just shout break his hes Pete,” Sally's volce softened, *f four years Monty has tried ever known way to roll a 10-cent piece i1 4 thousand-doliar &take overnielh: And it wasn't until last night, whe he knew his story was going to | bought, that I knew for a positi certainty why.” “Why was it?” I asked, realizing r hunch was right. “What is the mont going to mean to Monty?” “Mont of an older ge eration, Pete, when a man belie he should have enough money bef marrying to support his wife fn ti style to which she was accustomed You see,” Sally’s eyes dropped. S smoothed the silk over her plumi hips. “Monty hopes I'll say ves whe he ask arry him.” “Marr: You! Sally—er- would ¥ “He “hasn't asked me yet,” Sallv hurried on. “‘And he never would he should happen to learn that TI'i always have more than enough for us—until T fire Smithson. That was why I felt so good when he read me his scenario, the story he'd written as a last forlorn shot at a fortune. It gave me the chance to put him in a position where—where he could It criminate himself.” “Sally! You are going to Mo— “You'd told me the troubles Mr Foote was having," Sally rattled or “so all I had to do was whisper few words {nto my demon attorne: ear, and— "' Sally faced me anxiou: ly. “They signed the contract today, didn’t they? 1 nodded. “I figure it will cost me a lot of money, but—-=" “Cost _you money?” T shouted, “You're lucky if you make less than forty thousand out of it." sally started to answer, stopped as looked through window toward FEighth uvenue. followed her glance. There came old Montmorency du Bofs, head up, shoulders thrown back, heels hitting triumphantiy on the pavement. striding wide and free, and on his old face an expression of determination that brought a lump to throat and a little sigh from marr then the I che Sally's. . “Listen y.” T sald, picking up my hat, locks as though there'd be some rearrangements in the Hc soon. In case you can give me t room on the nd floor- . “The best room in the hou Sally shook her head. “I'm sorry, Pete. I guess I'm growing foollsh in my old age, Monty's—the Col(_)“rs Vof Diamonds. JEXPERTS hold that the most beau tiful of all preclous stones is the red diamond, thought to excel even the ruby in beauty. Such u dianiond is extremely rave. One of the most notable red diamonds fs that whicl was purchased by the Emperor I'a of Ru a for $100,000. This stone weighs 10 karats. Of blue dinmonds the most notabic are the “Hope” and the “Bismarek." ‘These, by some authorities, held to be, indeed, ouly known spec mens of the “true blue diamond Dark Dlue diamonds, resembling the sapphire, but displaylng the same beautiful play of colors peculiar the diamond. are handsome gems. Very rare are diamonds of the black and rose colored cties. The green diamond is much more common. Tho “‘grass-green” variet however, i3 scarce, but when it does occur fs ze erally of & brillianc the emerald. History at a collection < that fs held to be of the finest, but at the Museu:n in Dresden is to be seen the most per- fect specimen of this_color. In the Museum of Vienna there is a wonderful collection of diamonds of many colors. They are in the form of a bouquet, the natural colors of the flowers being represented by diamonds of the same hues. These stones were colleoted by u Tyrolese, Virzin von Helmreicher, who passed many years in the diamond mines of South Africa and Brazil buying many of his finds from the mine owners. —————e Ribless Umbrella. SOME time ago there was invented an umbrella without ribs. The cover and its supporting member are made so that, when closed, they will be brought into interfolded relation, maintaimng a perfect folied or creased condition necessary for the successful manipulation of the um brella. The cover is made of a stiff waterproof or paper which is crimped to form alternating radial ridges ani furrows. The cover is permanently secured to a stick at the point hero the ridges and furrows fssue.’ Tho supporting member is also crimped to form alternating ridges and furrows The number of ridges and furrows in the supporting member correspond to the number in the cover, so that they will interfold when the umbrells is closed. The supporting member is attached to the cover with the ridges inverted by means of tabs fastenel 1o the outside of the cover. The men:- ber is secured at its center from which the ridges and furrows issue to a collar. This collar is adapted to slide freely upon the stick and is heli in place at one end thereof by resilient latch. One similar in con struction is adapted to receive the collar in its inner position. The move: ment of the collar controls the suj- porting member and cover, makin: the opening and closing of the ribless umbrella easy.