Evening Star Newspaper, July 20, 1930, Page 83

“You will help me, won’t you? I'll— I'll give you this ring if you will” *“I don’t want the ring.,” Margaret an- swered. ARGARET had never seen Hor- tense Dana’s husband, but she knew he existed. Somewhere I the background was a pompous, but inoffensive, little man with a long bank roll who financed the productions that Hortense graced with her sparkling vola- tile presence, and whom the rest of the com=- pany called the star’s “sugar daddy.” Hortense wore his picture in a locket on a platinum chain, and an enlarged photograph of him always rested on her dressing room shelf, so Margaret was familiar with his features; his bald head, rather protruding light eyes, wisp of a mustache and round bulging cheeks. Hor- tense made a great pretense of adoring him, pausing now and then in her makeup to place a feathery kiss on the glass covering the card- board, or hugging frame and all with an out- burst of affection against her bosom, but no one was deceived, not even Margaret, who was very new in the theater. For Hortense was nothing if not indiscreet. In the two months since Margaret had become a member of her company there had been at least six men who had followed the star from city to city and upon whom she had lavished smiles in return for much more substantial tributes than photographs and lockets on platinum chains, MARGARET had at first been amazed, then shocked, then sickened. After all, Hor- tense was the star of a dignified drama, and Margaret, playing her first part, had been vastly flattered at the friendship the older girl offered her. But when she realized that Hor- tense had chosen her from among the others merely to use as a blind, she had recoiled in disgust. It had been rather wonderful that first week out when Hortense had suggested that they room together in Buffalo, and when Margaret had demurred, saying she could not afford a hotel so expensive as the one the star chose, to have Hortense say she would pay the difference, but not once during their stay in the city had Hortense shared the blue and gray suite, nor offered any explanation as to where she was. However, Margaret had seen her several times in the restaurant with a dark, dissipated-look- ing man who was certainly not her husband. As Margaret was no gossip, she did noi know that the rest of the company was laugh- ing at her gullibility and wondering how soon she would become wise to Dana, or if she was of the same caliber as the star. Her engage- ment meant too much to her, both from an ambitious standpoint and from necessity, for her to quibble about the morals of others, so as gracefully as she could she extricated her- self and thereafter roomed alone. Hortense merely lifted carefully plucked eye- brows when Margaret told her she felt as though she was accepting charity in letting her pay the difference in hotel rates, and from then on the star paid scant attention to the little ingenue. Now, as she unpacked her suitcase in a sec- ond-rate hotel in Cleveland, Margaret found herself puzzling over Dana’s latest flame. He had been down to the station in Detroit to bid Hortense good-by, and Margaret had seen his embarrassment when Hortense had flung her arms about him and kissed him in the presence of the company. He was such a clean-looking boy, with clear gray eyes and a whimsical mouth that indicated a sense of humor, a general air of wholesome- ness that smacked of the outdoors and had nothing in common with stage-door johnnies. Where had Hortense picked him up? Did he know she was married? Margaret felt certain that he didn't. He might have fallen in love with her across the footlights, for beauty Hortense certainly pos- sessed, but he did not appear to be the type of person who would poach on another's pre- serves. A knock on her door made” her pause abruptly in her unpacking and inquire rather breathlessly, “Who is it?” She knew no one in Cleveland, so the knock was startling. “Unlock your door,” answered a feminine voice, unquestionably belonging to Hortense. For a second Margaret hesitated before obeying the command, then she crossed to the door that separated her room from the one ad- Jeining and shot the bolt. Hortense, like a huge poppy in a flame-colored negligee, her black hair hanging in thick lustrous waves over her shoulders, stood smiling at her. ‘ MARGAR!:T made no attempt to hide her surprise at seeing Hortense in such in- ferior quarters, but she stepped aside to per- mit the star to enter, “Some dump,” Hortense drawled. She blew & puff of smoke from the cigarette she held in her nicotine-stained fingers. “My Gawd! I zt;:t..be in love to spend a week in a joint like “I don't quite understand,” Margaret stam- mered. Her fearless eyes, as blue as the other’s THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, JULY 20, 1930. P Helping Hortense A Dramatic Story of Life Back Stage and a Mix-Up in a Star’s Romances. By Beulah Poynter. Illustrated by George Clark n 1y w. There was a rattle of the doorknob, the soumi of a scuffle, then the door opened and Wilcox stood framed on the jamb. He was holding his wife, draped in Margaret’s only neglige, by one slim arm. were green, looked steadily at the petulant face turned toward hers. “There’s no reason you should come here if you don’t like it.” Hortense laughed. “That's all you know pbout it. Didn't you see my sweetie at the train? That blond sheik who came to see me off?” Margaret nodded, a wave of shame for the woman'’s brazenness causing her to avoid her glance. “Well, I'm expecting him here tonight. Like- wise Friend Husband is due to arrive some- time this week—so—now do you get me?” “Not quite.” Hortcnse dropped on the sagging bed and hugged her knees. “I see I'll have to draw a map. Daddy, meaning Hubby, has a nice little bhabit of dropping in unannounced, but he'd never look for me here. I always live at the best, see? And I've had my hotel trunk sent to the theater, and as you're the only one of the company stopping here, he’ll have to sur- prise me at the show shop or not at all.” She giggled at her own cleverness. “But the boy . . .” Margaret asked in a choked little voice. “Oh, everything’s set for him. He knows where I'll be. Say, isn't he a love? Honestly, I've an awful crush on him.” “Does he—know you're married?” Hortense stretched slim arms over her head, letting folds of flame chiffon fall back in a shimmering billow. “No. He's as innocent as a babe, even if he is 24, I'm sure—after tonight he’ll ask me to marry him.” “You wouldn't let him!” Margaret gasped. “Why not? There’s more ways than one to get rid of a ball and chain if you don’t want him. I might decide to annex this lad for life; he’s sweet and—and—" She studied the toe of her slipper speculatively, “he’s rich, I found in Detroit.” Margaret turned abruptly to her trunk, and lifting her one evening gown from its hanger, carefully shook it out and placed it in the shabby wardrobe before she trusted herself to remark. “But suppose he—should learn you bad a husband?” Hortense gave a brittle little chuckle. “How could he? The public thinks I'm single. Ben Wilcox is business man enough to prefer a paying star to a wife; he’s kept our marriage a secret from all the profession. I don’t think there’s any one in my company fool enough to try to spoil anything for me. A girl tried once—and got her notice P. D. Q. No, I'm not afraid of that. I mind my own affairs, and trust others to mind theirs.” Margaret shivered. What a rotter the woman was! Was she warning her—or merely talking? Of course, what Dana did was none of her business, but she wished she had not seen the boy, wished he was not so unlike the others Dana had chosen. When the disillusionment came he would be hurt—bitterly hurt. How silly of her to care whether he was hurt or not! He was 24, older than she, capable, sup- posedly, of taking care of himself. If he touched pitch, he must expect to be deflled—only he didn't know he was touching pitch, that was the pity of it! She scarcely heard Hortense as with “So long, see you at the theater,” she slid into her own room. All during the per!ormanoe'that night Mar- garet kept thinking of the boy, wondering if he had arrived. Once she missed a cue when she fancied she saw him in the audience. Why did Hortense Dana have to choose her hotel for a rendezvous? Was she without any sense of shame? Did they boy have any inkling of what manner of person she was? Or did his looks belie him? THE curtain had just rung down on the last act and the orchestra was playing the exit march when her dressing room door burst open and Hortense Dana flung herself into the overcrowded space, littered with discarded clothing, shoes, cosmetics and theatrical para- phernalia. She was very pale and Margaret could see that she was trembling. “Listen,” she gasped in a throaty whisper, “I know you've got no time for me, none of this bunch really has, but you've got to help me out of a tight hole If you don’t, I'm done for!” “What's happened?” Margaret asked o'oolly. “Ben Wilcox is here. He’s out on the stage now waiting for me. Darn him! I knew he was coming some time this week, but I didn’t expect him so soon.” A revulsion of relief swept over the younger girl. “Ye—es?” she queried. “Thank goodness, he's only stopping between trains on his way to Chicago, taking the 3 o’clock train, but it's just 11:30 now—and—that kid—he’s waiting for me—at the hotel. I can’t phone him—and I can’t shake Ben. What'll Jimmy think or do? My head’s splitting— you've got te help me out on this, whether you want to or not. I'm batty about him. I don’t care for Ben—but—Jimmy—he mustn't know about Ben. You will help me; won’t you? I'll— I'll give you this ring if you will!” She began to tug feverishly at a diamond cluster on her little finger. “I don’t want the ring,” Margaret answered coldly, “but I'll help you if you'll tell me what to do.” “Go to the hotel. Tell Jimmy—that my manager—understand—my manager came to town and that I have to go to supper with him. Lie like a trooper! Keep him interested until I get there, If I take Ben to the hotel I'll go into your room—but don’t let on you hear us. Jimmy mustn’t know I'm married!” “You want me to spend three hours or more with a strange man!” Margaret said slowly. “I'm afraid I can’t do that.” “Oh, do not be such a prude. He won't hurt you. He’ll be more scared than you. Just this once—1I'll never forget it as long as I live.” Perhaps if Hortense had given her time to consider she would never have consented, but the star was gone before Margaret could frame a refusal. She was in for whatever might follow. Her heart was pounding wildly as she tim- idly opened the door adjoining her own im the hotel. A young man sitting by the window with a magazine in his lap, sprang to his feet with a cry of welcome that changed to amaze- ment when he saw a total stranger. “I am Margaret Annesley,” the girl man- aged. “Miss Dana sent me to tell you . . .” “Has something happened? An accident?” Be interrupted. Margaret had seen his embarrassment when Hortense had flung her arms about him and kissed him. “No. Her—our manager stopped over on his way to Chicago—she had to see him—on business—she—she’ll be here presently.” He drew back a step, and in doing so kicked a very new traveling bag. As he did so, hid eyes, gray, long-lashed, clean, met hers. A slow scarlet crept upward under his bronzed skin His glance wavered. He coughed with very evident and very shy embarrassment. Margaret had an irresistible desire to giggle. Such a boy! So ashamed! Darn Dana, anyway! ‘Won't you sit down?” he fumbled, seeing she had no intention of leaving immediately. “Take the chair, please, I'll—I'll sit on the bed.” Margaret thanked him. What could she say to him? She looked nervously at the magazine in his hand and forced a casualness in her manner as she asked if he was fond of reading. It was a trivial question, but Margaret felt ‘ that she must avoid speaking of Hortense. She was not a good liar—if he asked questions she knew she would nave to answer truthfully, She had not promised to keep silent—only to keep him entertained until Hortense arrived. ) 3 HE leaned forward rather eagerly. “I—I saw you in the play last week. I thought you were bully.” “Yes?” Her lips parted in a pleasing smile that made her very lovely. “I have a wvery small part, you know.” “Yes. But I liked you. I asked Hor—Miss Dana to tell you. she?” “No. Perhaps she forgot, or it isn't pro- fessional for a star to pass on compliments to a beginner.” “Are you a beginner?” “My first season.” “No, really? Then I'm sure you'll be a star yourself before long. You—you kind of grip a fellow. Know what I mean?” “Magnetism?” she helped him. “Yes, and more. Something made me—" he paused abruptly with a shy laugh. *“Miss Dana is great, isn't she?” “Yes. She’s an awfully good actress.” “Have you had any supper yet? Maynt I order something up for you? I'd take you out only——" He glanced at his watch, “Yes. She’ll be here soon.” “Rummy sort of place, isn’t it? Why do you stop in such hotels when there are better ones?” “Can’t afford the better.” “pardon. But Miss Dana can, can't she? I thought actresses received good salaries.”s Margaret’s quick ear caught the sound of footsteps passing, a man’'s and a woman’s. She tensed, and looked at the boy. “Yes, some re- ceive good salaries,” she said in a half whisper. She heard a key turn. They were in her room. She could hear the floor creak under their feet. In spite of herself a shiver shook her, - “What’s the matter?” the boy asked solici- tously, “chilly?” “No. Nothing’s the matter.” A rumble of voices came from the room ad- joining, a masculine grumble, and a faint, very faint tinkle of laughter. Margaret's hands gripped tightly tcgether in her lap. “Your room, is it near this one?” the boy asked quietly. She looked at him, startled for the momen@ at the question. But there was nothing subtle in his expression. “Yes, on the same floor,” she answered. “Perhaps you are tired. I'm keeping you. Don't mind me, please, I can wait alone for Miss Dana.” “Am I boring you?” - “Of course not. Only you are pale, and I thought maybe—— Do you know you've awfully pretty hair?” “You think so? red hair.” If Hortense didn’t suppress her laughter he'd recognize it. It had a brassy ring, individual, shallow like the woman herself. Didn’t she realize how thin the walls were, how pene=- trating her voice? Margaret raised her own voice, speaking in & much louder tone than before, hoping to drown the sounds in the room adjoining. She was conscious of the boy’s surprised look as abruptly she began an anecdote about the stage that was not apropos of red hair or anything that they had been discussing. She had a feeling thas she was improvising lines, Pausing a moment for breath she heard Ben Wilcox say distinctly, “Sounds like the little Annesley girl; are you sure she isn't stopping here?” Margaret half started to her feet, then drope I liked you a lot. Didn’t Lots of people don't like Continued on Twenty-first Phoc