Complete Works of Earl Derr Biggers, page 300
“Molly!” he cried. “Molly! Molly!” But she had hung up the receiver.
He was madly pacing the floor when the door was unlocked and Jack Sherwin entered.
“Hello,” said Sherwin from the hall, “I seem to detect the spicy odors of the Orient. Lunch is on the way. That blessed Chink is in the kitchen. Oh, happy day!” He came into the drawing-room and took one look at his friend’s face. “I take it,” he said, “that something has happened?”
“Yes,” Bill Roberts replied; “something has happened. Last night I told you I was engaged. Now I have the honor to inform you that I am disengaged.”
* * *
JACK Sherwin whistled. “So soon? Tell your old uncle all about it.”
“Jack, when I came to you last night with my big story — did the idea occur to you? I mean, did you realize what I was up against? Newspaper reporters, camera men, publicity — all that?”
“Yes,” smiled Sherwin; “it did flash across my mind. I have a keen mind, my son — an unusual mind.”
“I remember now. You looked at me queerly, and you said, ‘Good heavens!’”
“Such was my look, likewise my sentiments. I saw at once that your career was ended. And — pardon me, old boy — I was afraid for a moment you’d throw everything over, and be content to become just — Molly O’Day’s consort.”
“Surely you have a better opinion of me than that.”
“Oh, of course; but — woman’s wiles. I was afeard. However, I should have known better. And I want to say, I think you’ve taken the only way out.”
“What do you mean?” Roberts asked.
“I lay awake thinking half the night, and there’s not a thing you could do except what you have done — break the engagement.”
“But I didn’t break it. Molly broke it.”
“Naturally. As a gentleman, you afforded her the opportunity to enjoy that harmless little pleasure. Well, it’s all over now. You’re a free man once more.”
“BUT I don’t want to be free,” Roberts protested.
“Not at the moment. You’re broken-hearted, of course. But it will wear off. Inside a week you’ll be able to sit up and take nourishment.
The bachelor’s life, my boy! Before long you’ll be cheering for it once again. The only life, take it from me. Women are charming creatures. Men should marry them — other men, not you and I.”
“Speak for yourself. I intend to marry Molly, and I don’t intend to be a public laughing-stock, either.”
“But how can you manage it?”
“I don’t know. But, first, I’ll see Molly.”
“Nothing doing. She’ll never speak to you again.”
“What makes you think so?” Bill Roberts was alarmed.
“You’ve hurt her pride. You’ve shown her you have some other interest in life besides her; something a woman never forgives. I may be ignorant in some ways, but I fancy I know the sex. An open book to me — every fluffy little specimen. Yes, sir; that girl is pau as far as you’re concerned.”
The telephone rang. Jack Sherwin answered. His face clouded. ‘What? Hello, Molly. Who? Bill? Oh, you mean Bill Roberts? Yes, he’s here. Say, listen, Molly — all right, all right. She wants to speak to you, Bill.”
“You know women,” laughed Roberts.
“You will find my resignation on your desk when you return,” replied Sherwin sadly.
“Hello, Molly, dear,” said Roberts at the telephone.
“Bill, can you ever forgive me? I was a little beast, wasn’t I? I’m so sorry. I can see your side of it — yes, I can, dear. I’ve thought it all over. You’re right, absolutely. But what are we to do? What are we to do?”
“I don’t know, Molly. But if you love me as much as I love you—”
“Mike Shore can’t cut our love in two,” chortled Sherwin.
“Shut up!” cried Roberts. “I was speaking to Jack, honey. I started to say, Molly, that if we just loved each other, everything would come out all right. I’m sure of it. Listen, dear. I invited you to lunch-
“But if you think we’d better not.”
“I think we better had — over here at Jack’s.”
“What’s that?” cried Sherwin.
“I’m inviting her here to lunch,” Roberts explained. “Jack says he’ll be delighted — very nice and cozy, and a new cook. What is it? By all means, bring your mother.”
“Oh, sure,” put in Sherwin. “Have her bring mother. What is home without a mother?”
“All right,” Roberts continued into the telephone, “inside half an hour. Don’t keep me waiting, honey. I’m anxious to see you. What is it? Oh, yes; if you will — my hat and coat — you might bring ’em along. You’re a darling, Molly.”
* * *
TWENTY minutes later, Molly and her mother arrived. The girl was gay and smiling; she presented Bill Roberts with his hat and coat, mute evidence of his precipitate flight. Mother was glum — there under protest, and she didn’t care who knew it.
When they were seated in the drawing-room, she spoke: “What’s this I hear, Mr. Roberts — I mean, that you’re ashamed to have it known you’re engaged to Molly?”
“Mother!” protested Molly.
“That’s hardly the word, Mrs. O’Day,” smiled Roberts.
“I guess you don’t know,” sniffed mother, “the men that girl could have married: the men who would have been proud of the honor.”
“No man,” said Roberts, “could have been prouder of the honor than I am. The news of the engagement — the mere fact itself — the world can have and welcome. I object to publicity for myself; there’s a reason. You know my profession—”
“A silly profession,” scoffed mother. “You’ll give it up sooner or later, if you marry Molly.”
“And live on her money, I presume you mean.”
“Whose money would you live on, if not hers?”
“I won’t have you saying such things, mother,” Molly protested. “Bill’s position is the right one, beyond question. We’re here to try and find some way out for him.”
“There’s only one possible way,” said the older woman. “Just forget this infatuation, both of you, and go back to your work. Molly has her public to consider.”
“THAT,” said Bill Roberts, “is the one impossible way. Eh, Molly?”
“I think so,” answered Molly softly.
“Oh, well, I’m an old woman.” Mother was reaching for her handkerchief. “I’m forty,” she added hastily. “Why should anyone listen to me? I don’t count. I gave up everything; but that’s an old story.”
Jack Sherwin ran briskly down the stairs, much to the relief of two people in the drawing-room.
“Hello,” he cried; “this is an honor. Lunch is waiting; come along — stars and common people and everybody.” He led the way. “Molly, I congratulate you. Bill’s the best ever. And as for him, the lucky stiff — if envy could kill, he’d fall dead at your feet this minute.”
Even mother was caught up in the genial breeze of Jack Sherwin’s hospitality. Ah Fong appeared, and the lunch got under way quite pleasantly.
“Jack,” said Molly some time later, “I suppose you know poor Bill’s predicament?”
“I do,” said Sherwin.
“Well, how are you going to get him out of it?”
“Me get him out of it? My dear girl, I’m no miracle man.”
“But suppose this were a scenario, and your hero were in a fix like this? How would you solve it for him?”
“I wouldn’t, probably. I’d put the script away in a drawer and wait for a stroke of inspiration from heaven. I’ve got a desk full of scripts now, all waiting for heaven to get around to them.”
“I’ve been thinking things over,” said Roberts. “Suppose nothing were said about the engagement. I go back to New York, get my business started, and Molly stays here and finishes her contract. Then she comes East, we get a license under her real name, get married in the morning, and sail for abroad the same day.”
“Impossible,” said mother firmly.
“I’m afraid it is,” said Sherwin. “You see, the trouble is, something has already been said about the engagement. The newspaper boys are hot on the trail. They won’t take no for an answer. By night they’ll have dug it up somewhere, and then they’ll find you wherever you hide.”
“Well, I don’t know what to do,” said Roberts hopelessly.
“I had an idea,” began Molly timidly; “oh, it wasn’t much of a one,” she added as the two men cried aloud to hear it. “I just thought we might go down and talk to Harry Spingold. I have to see him anyhow, about giving up my work.” Mother gasped audibly. “And he’s very kind, and as clever as they make them. He might have a suggestion.”
“His suggestion,” said mother, “will be the same as mine! Forget it and go back to work.”
“But Molly says that Spingold is clever,” Roberts protested gently.
“Is that so?” replied mother.
Luncheon came to an end with no better idea suggested, and Jack Sherwin called up the Studio to find out whether “the old man” was there.
“Mike says the old boy is in his office,” he announced, “and very anxious to see you, Molly. Now, you young people run along. It’s worth a try, anyway. I’ll stay here; I’ve got to labor.”
They gathered up their wraps.
“You can drop me at the house,” said mother grimly.
“Not at all,” Roberts told her. “You must come with us.”
“But I don’t count. I’m unimportant.”
“On the contrary,” he smiled, “next to Molly, I think you’re the most important person in the whole wide world.”
“Oh, do you? All right; I’ll come along if you wish.”
Jack Sherwin waved good-by from his veranda. “Good luck!” he cried. “I hope old Spingold cuts the Gordian knot.”
VII
THEY passed through the bare waiting room of the Peerless Studios, then down a long corridor, and suddenly they were in a room that was unexpected, magnificent. Here a king of Babylon might have held his court. Deep, soft carpets were underneath; rare tapestries hung on the walls; copies of the best in painting and sculpture were scattered about in careless profusion. At the far end of the great room, behind an enormous desk, sat the king himself.
Harry Spingold rose from his desk and came forward to greet them. Short, fat, bald, with small eyes that twinkled, there was nothing about him to suggest a lover of the arts — nothing, that is, save his hands. These were thin, with long, tapering fingers; they were utterly incongruous on the end of those short, lumpy arms.
“Hello, honey,” he said to Molly. “What’s this you’ve done to me?”
“Oh, Harry,” Molly cried, “I’ve gone and fallen in love.”
“So? Do tell! Hello, mamma. And this — this—”
“This is Bill Roberts, Harry. I’m mad about him. Only don’t let him find it out.”
“How do you do, Mr. Spingold?” said Roberts a bit uncomfortably.
“HOW are you?” growled Spingold without enthusiasm. He arranged chairs for them, then retired behind the grandeur of his desk.
“I guess you’ve heard all about it,” Molly began.
“I got the main points — yes,” Spingold said.
“Can you ever forgive me?” Molly pleaded.
“Oh, sure. ‘Sall right. Though it’s bound to hurt your pictures of course. The public sort of loses interest in a married woman, if she’s happily married, I mean.”
“But, Harry,” Molly told him softly, “I’m through with the pictures. I shan’t act again — after I’m married.”
The king of modern Babylon sat blinking at her. He did not speak.
“That’s only her foolish notion, Harry,” mother cut in. “Talk her out of it. You can do it.”
“Hush, mother,” Molly cried.
“Oh, well, I shouldn’t have come. Who wants my advice? Nobody.”
“Harry, believe me, I’m terribly sorry,” Molly said.
The king shifted in his seat. “‘Sail right,” he said finally. “I’m sorry too; but I can’t kick. I’ve made back all I spent to put you over, and a lot besides.” Again he was silent for a moment, looking at Molly O’Day out of his keen little eyes. “I ain’t exactly unprepared for this either,” he went on. “I knew it would come some day; so I made my plans. There’s a little girl on the lot — name’s Patricia Clark — guess maybe you know her—”
“Yes,” said Molly; “I know her.”
“BEEN sort of getting her ready,” went on Spingold, still studying Molly’s face. “She’s got the looks, the eyes and the hair; she films fine.
And she’s got youth. She’s five years younger than you, Molly.”
“Yes?” smiled Molly. “I wish you and Pat Clark all the luck in the world. And if there is anything I can do to help—”
The king of Babylon threw up his hands. “All right; I quit,” he said. He turned to Roberts.
“Young fellow, this little girl sure loves you — or so it looks to me.”
“I’m a very lucky man,” said Roberts.
“You are! You are!” The little producer sat staring at the two of them. Like most of his kind, he was absurdly sentimental; a bit of pathos in a film set the tears rolling down his cheeks. This, he reflected, was the real thing — youth and love — beautiful, beautiful! And a pretty penny it was going to cost him too. “I suppose you’ll finish out your contract,” he said to Molly.
“Of course,” she answered.
“THREE more pictures, ain’t it? I’ve got the stories; we’ll rush you through them if you say so.”
“Harry, you’re a prince.”
“Oh, no, I ain’t. But I know when I’m licked. Nothing more to be said, I guess, except — the reporters are getting pretty restless. When are you going to announce this thing?”
“Oh, Harry” — Molly rose and came close to him— “we’re in a fix about that! You see, poor Bill here—”
“I know,” said Spingold. “Mike Shore told me all about it. It was the only laugh I’ve got out of this affair — so far.” He stared with interest at Bill Roberts. “So you don’t like the spotlight?” he said.
“Well, you see, my business—”
“Uh-huh. Boy, you’re a novelty around a motion-picture lot — a real novelty. However, I don’t see how you can dodge it.”
“He’s got to dodge it,” Molly insisted.
“How can he?”
“Well, Harry, we thought maybe you — you would have an idea.”
“Me? Honey, I’ve got troubles of my own. I can’t see any way out. You’ve got to announce that you’re engaged — to somebody. It’s the only way you’d ever get rid of the newspaper bunch. Besides, I insist on it. It would double the interest in your final pictures. So what are you going to do?”
“What are we? Think, Harry, think; you’re so clever.”
“See here, young fellow!” Mr. Spingold swung suddenly on Roberts. “Are you really in earnest about not wanting publicity?”
“Absolutely,” said Roberts.
“Oh, Harry,” Molly cried, “you have got a plan, after all?”
“Sit down,” said Spingold. “Molly, the only thing that hurt me about this whole business — if you had to fall in love with somebody, why wasn’t it one of the boys on my lot? An actor, I mean. Do you realize what it would have meant to me? A cool million dollars, more or less. Anyone on my pay roll — I don’t care who — I could have starred him at once and cleaned up. The man Molly O’Day was going to marry — why, the public would mob the theaters wherever we showed his pictures. He’d have been a knock-out.”
“Yes,” said Molly, “it’s too bad. But I fell in love with Bill.”
“SO YOU did. But I was thinkin’ how rotten it was for me it wasn’t one of my actors, when Mike Shore come in and told me your Bill wasn’t keen on the limelight. And I sort of — well, it occurred to me—” He teetered thoughtfully in his chair. “I’ve got a lad working for me who hasn’t been much of a wallop. I don’t know what the reason is. I tried to star him, but he don’t seem to have the drawin’ power of a last year’s porous plaster. The exhibitors tell me that to put his name out in front of their houses is just the same as if they should hang out a card that says, ‘Small pox! Keep out!’ I’m speakin’ of Arnold Stevens. Know him?”
“I’ve seen him about,” said Molly. “I don’t believe I’ve met him.” Spingold pressed a button at the side of his desk. A pale young man appeared immediately.
“Stevens come yet?” inquired the great man.
“He’s outside.”
“All right. Send him in.”
“Harry,” Molly gasped. “What do you mean? What—”
“Wait a minute. You asked for my help. Now hear me out without any argument till I finish.”
A FEW seconds after Harry Spingold had made his mysterious reference to Arnold Stevens while trying to help Molly O’Day solve the problem raised by her engagement to Bill Roberts, the door of Harry’s office opened and a tall, very actory sort of man of about forty entered. His face was handsome but weak; he was dressed within an inch of his life, and his stride down the long room was redolent of the celluloid.
“Did you want to see me, Mr. Spingold?” he inquired.
“I sent for you, didn’t I?” Mr. Spingold’s manner was a decided change from that with which he had greeted his biggest star. “Now, listen; I ain’t got any time to waste. How would you like to tackle the biggest role of your life?”
“Why, Mr. Spingold, you know I’d like it. And I’ll put it over, too, if hard work—”
“Well, your stuff ain’t set the country on fire; you know that.”
“And I’ve told you why. It’s the direction — my direction was all wrong — and your press department has a grudge against me.”
“Never mind that now. I’m offering you the chance to be the best-known man star in America for the next few months. What do you say?” ‘Why, what should I say? I’m — I’m much obliged.”
“The rôle I’m offering ain’t in the films. It’s in real life.”
