NEW PLANS
The sky seemed to open wide and a great torrent of rain descended on the heat-ridden earth, but Janet and Helen, in the shelter of the truck, were safe.
“All right, honey?” demanded Helen’s father, and, assured that his daughter was no more than bruised and weary, he turned to Janet.
“How about you, Janet?” he asked.
“Tired and dirty—that’s all,” she managed to smile.
“Here’s blankets,” he said, picking two off a pile on the floor of the truck. “Throw these around your shoulders.”
The air was chill now and the girls obeyed without hesitation for their own clothes were in a bad state of disrepair.
“How did you find us?” asked Helen when they were seated on the floor of the truck, and bouncing along toward the main highway which would take them back to Hollywood.
“Curt Newsom got through. We were frantic after the line went dead when you were talking to us from the ranchhouse. We were coming in the truck and met Curt and the other two cowboys along the trail. From what they told us we knew that none of you could stand it to be out in the storm and we made all possible speed.”
“How’s mother?” asked Helen.
“Terribly worried.” He turned toward Janet. “We’ll phone your folks as soon as we get home. The fact that a film company was caught in the center of the fire was broadcast over a national chain and I’m afraid they may be gravely alarmed.”
“I’ll call them at once,” agreed Janet.
They talked at length of their experiences and at last Helen’s father turned to Fenstow.
“Lose all of your last-day takes?” he asked.
“Don’t believe we lost a one,” replied the other director. “We put the film cans in the well. One of my boys shot some swell scenes of the fire if the camera didn’t get too hot and ruin the negative.”
“Then I suppose you’ll use a fire in your next western?” chuckled Henry Thorne.
“Can’t say,” replied Billy Fenstow. “That will be up to Janet.”
“Why Janet?”
“She’s going to do my next scenario.”
“You’re not joking?”
“Of course not. I’ve gone kind of stale and I thought she could inject some fresh material. At least she’s going to get a fair chance to see just what kind of a film story she can turn out.”
“Then I’m predicting that she’ll do a good job if it’s anything like the caliber of her usual work,” replied Helen’s father.
“Don’t count on me too much,” cautioned Janet. “This is a new field and I may get in so deep I’ll never get anything creditable.”
The truck swung around a sharp curve. Ahead of them was a blaze of light from the headlights of a score of cars which were parked along the paved road. Raucous squawks of horns greeted the approaching truck.
It was still raining hard, but a trim figure, clad in a raincoat, detached itself from a group in front of one of the cars and hurried toward the truck.
“Hello mother. Here I am,” called Helen. “Both of us are all right.”
She jumped from the truck and into her mother’s arms. After a brief embrace, her mother spoke quickly.
“We mustn’t stand here. You’ll catch cold. Here, get under my coat and we’ll hurry to the car. Janet, you stay in the truck until we can pull along here.”
Henry Thorne looked down at Janet.
“Pretty tired?”
“Just about all in,” she confessed and she found it hard to muster a smile.
“Had enough of Hollywood?” he asked quietly.
Janet looked up quickly.
“I don’t know, honestly I don’t. The way I feel right now all I want is sleep and lots of it.”
He nodded understandingly and just then the car drove up beside the truck and they jumped down and entered it.
Henry Thorne took the wheel while his wife and the girls made themselves comfortable in the back seat. Mrs Thorne very wisely made no effort to ask them about the events of the night, but tucked them in with blankets and before the car had gone half a mile both girls were sound asleep.
The next thing Janet knew someone was shaking her shoulder. It was Mrs. Thorne.
“We’re home and you can be in bed in five minutes,” she said. Janet rubbed a little of the sleep from her tired eyes—just enough so she could see to get into the house.
Helen, walking ahead of her, moaned now at every step, for her feet had been badly bruised by the stones.
Mrs. Thorne hurried ahead to run a tub of hot water while her husband drove the car around to the garage. With Mrs. Thorne helping them, the girls were soon in fresh pajamas.
Janet decided on a warm shower and Helen followed her under the spray. Then Mrs. Thorne treated the bruises on Helen’s feet and both girls piled into bed.
“Sleep as long as you want to,” she said as she snapped off the light.
Janet didn’t even hear the click of the switch. She dropped into a deep slumber, one so heavy that there were no dreams of fires and storms.
When she finally awoke it was broad daylight. Fresh, sweet air filled their room. There was no smell of smoke, no threat of storm, and she wondered, for a moment, if she could have been dreaming about the night before. It was just possible that it had been a nightmare. Then she stretched and the aching muscles of her legs told her that indeed it had not been a nightmare.
Janet looked over to Helen’s bed. Her friend was still sleeping heavily so Janet slipped out of bed quietly, donned her dressing gown, and went down to the bathroom.
Mrs. Thorne heard her moving about and looked in for a minute.
“We telephoned your folks last night,” she said. “They’d heard the radio broadcast and were greatly relieved when we told them both of you were safe.”
“Oh, thanks so much. I was so sleepy I forgot all about it,” confessed Janet.
“Helen getting up?” asked Mrs. Thorne.
“No, she’s sleeping soundly.”
“Then come in to lunch without going back to dress,” said Helen’s mother.
“You mean breakfast?” asked Janet.
Mrs. Thorne smiled. “No, I mean lunch, and a very late lunch at that. It’s well after two o’clock now.”
Janet, finishing her shower, rubbed her body briskly with a heavy towel, and slipped the dressing gown on over her pajamas. Then she joined Mrs. Thorne in the dining room.
“The morning papers made quite a story of it,” said Mrs. Thorne, handing Janet a copy.
A bold headline was blazoned across the entire top of the front page:
“MOVIE COMPANY ESCAPES FIRE!”
Then, in terse, action sentences, the story told of the narrow escape of Billy Fenstow’s western unit. Janet found Helen’s name and her own mentioned. She was glad that the story gave Curt Newsom full credit for the cool-headed work which had saved their lives. Curt deserved every word of it.
Helen joined them a few minutes later, limping a little for her feet were still aching from the bruises.
The girls passed the remainder of the afternoon resting and at dinner that night became involved in a serious discussion with Helen’s father and mother.
After the dessert, Henry Thorne pushed back his chair and looked at them quizzically.
“Summer’s about over,” was his opening remark and Janet knew that he had something on his mind. She had a hunch that she could guess what the trend of the conversation was to be.
“You girls made up your minds what you want to do?”
He seemed to have his eyes fixed on Janet, as though looking to her for the decision which would guide Helen.
“First of all I want to try to do the story Billy Fenstow asked me to do,” retorted Janet. “After that I think I’ll have had enough of Hollywood.”
“Getting tired of being an actress?”
“Not at all, I’m just realizing my limitations and after all, I do want more education—the type of broadening education that I can get in a university.”
Henry Thorne swung toward his own daughter.
“What do you think, Helen?”
“Why, I haven’t made up my mind yet, Dad. I like Hollywood, I’ve been having a grand time, but I guess I’ve never really thought of staying on here definitely. It was understood from the first that this was just a glorious vacation and that when summer ended Mother and I would go back to Clarion and I’d go to college.”
“I expect that’s right,” nodded her father. “It did start out to be just a vacation proposition and you girls can make it that if you want, but I’ve a new plan that may appeal to you. How would you like to go to Radio City in New York for several weeks?”
THE PREVIEW
The girls stared hard at Henry Thorne. It was so like him to toss off an important statement in an off-hand manner that it left them almost gasping for breath.
“Why, Dad, what do you mean?” demanded Helen.
“Just what I said,” smiled her father. “How would you and Janet like to go to Radio City for several weeks?”
“I’d like it fine,” put in Janet quickly and Helen chorused her own agreement.
“Now tell us what it’s all about,” insisted Helen.
“I’m a little vague on it myself,” admitted her father, “except that the studio is planning an extensive promotion stunt to boost my last picture, ‘Kings of the Air,’ and the general manager, Mr. Rexler, is going to send a part of the cast to New York City where they’ll put on a radio drama based on the action in the new picture. The whole idea is to whet the appetites of the film fans by giving them just enough of the story over the air to make them rush to the nearest theater and see the actual picture.”
“But where do we come in?” asked Janet. “We were only very minor members of the cast.”
“True enough, but some of the principals are now working on other pictures and it would be impractical to release them and send them east for a promotional stunt so some of the lesser members of the company will make the trip.”
“Maybe we’re lucky to be lesser members,” smiled Helen. “When do we start?”
“I don’t know exactly. The release date for ‘Kings’ is next month, so I expect you’ll leave here in a few weeks.”
“That will give me just time enough to try the scenario for Billy Fenstow,” said Janet. “Maybe I’d better start work on it tonight.”
“You look pretty tired. Better wait until morning when you’ll be thoroughly rested,” advised Helen’s father.
They adjourned to the living room where they gathered around a large table and discussed possible story plots that Janet could use. She made several notes and then, with Helen, retired early.
A second night of sleep found the girls feeling greatly refreshed. Henry Thorne loaned Janet his own portable typewriter and she set it on a low table beside the swimming pool, found some yellow copy paper in the house, rolled a fresh sheet into the typewriter, and sat down waiting for an idea to pop into her head.
“Hello, author!” said someone from behind her and she swung about to face Curt Newsom, who had walked up unheralded.
“Hello, Curt. Sit down. My, but I’m glad to see you. Are you all right after the fire?”
The cowboy smiled. “As right as I’ll ever be. I was scared half to death that night. Say, I saw Billy Fenstow this morning. The picture’s all together now and they’re going to screen it at the Bijou down the street after the regular feature. Better be there tonight.”
“I’ll be there in fear and trembling,” smiled Janet.
“Oh, I wouldn’t feel that way about it. I think you did a lot better than most of the girls I’ve had in the company.”
“Thanks, Curt. That was nice of you to say that, but I realize I have very definite limitations as an actress.”
“Well, I’m not so hot as an actor,” he admitted. “About all I have to do is stick on a horse and shoot a gun loaded with blank cartridges.”
“That isn’t all and you know it,” reproved Janet.
Curt looked at the typewriter and the blank sheet of paper.
“I’m keeping you from your work. I only dropped in to tell you about the preview tonight. I’ve got to get along.”
“I’m supposed to be generating ideas for Mr. Fenstow’s next script,” confessed Janet, “but the mental generator seems to have gone on a strike.”
“What’s the story going to be about?”
“You guess,” smiled Janet.
“Well, why don’t you have a young heiress, pretty much spoiled, who owns a ranch. She’s never seen it so she goes west for a trip and while there learns that most of her fortune has been wiped out through the declining value of securities and by embezzlement of some of her trustees. About all she has left is the ranch and a brother who is pretty much worthless.”
“It’s a grand idea,” exulted Janet. “Then of course we could have a cattle war, some rustling, maybe a vein of gold found on the ranch, and plenty of action.”
“You’re supposed to write the story,” chided Curt. “Well, I must get along.”
“Thanks for the help. I’ll make you coauthor,” called Janet as Curt strode toward the street.
Curt’s suggestion gave her the nucleus of her story. It would be a little different treatment of the western theme. Janet started working, her fingers flowing rhythmically over the keys. She wrote simply. All that was required of her was a good, comprehensive outline of the story. The studio writers would put in the dialogue.
But Janet’s interest grew as the story progressed and she found herself putting in conversation and bits of description of the characters. She was so absorbed that Helen came and stood beside her for several minutes before she was aware of her presence.
“Going strong?” she asked.
Janet, barely interrupting the smooth flow of her story, nodded.
“Preview’s tonight at the Bijou after the regular feature. Curt Newsom stopped to tell us.”
“Then you’d better stop writing now. You’ve been at it steadily for more than hour. You want to feel peppy tonight when we go to see the preview.”
Janet finished the paragraph and pulled the sheet of copy from the machine. She had written eight pages and the top and bottom margins were narrow. She wanted to keep on writing, but knew that Helen’s advice was sound. She wanted to be rested enough to enjoy “Water Hole,” to see herself, for probably the only time in her life, as the leading lady of a motion picture.
They met Billy Fenstow at the box office and he handed them tickets for a few seats which had been reserved for his friends.
“Nervous?” he asked Janet.
“A little. How is it?”
“Wait and see. Here comes Mr. Rexler.”
The girls turned in time to see the taciturn general manager of the Ace studio stride into the lobby. Close behind him was Helen’s father. Janet felt her heart sink. Here was the chief of the studio on hand to pronounce final judgment on the picture. But Bill Fenstow seemed unperturbed and she forced herself to be calm.
They all went in together. The feature was a south sea love drama produced by a rival studio and it was typical program picture with nothing to make it outstanding in interest.
Then the picture they had been waiting for flashed on the screen. “‘Water Hole,’ directed by Billy Fenstow, starring Curt Newsom and produced by the Ace Motion Picture Corp.” Then came the credits for the story, photography, etc., and finally the cast of characters with Curt’s name at the top. Janet felt her heart stop for one breathless moment, Her name—Janet Hardy—was the second in the cast and directly under that was Helen’s.
Then the picture zoomed away to a fast start with the action that always characterized a Billy Fenstow production. Janet tried to be critical, but she couldn’t help enjoying the picture and her voice didn’t sound so terribly bad as it came out of the loudspeakers.
The picture ended all too suddenly. The house lights came up and Janet found herself staring at the others, waiting for their verdict.
Rexler was the first to speak. He leaned over and tapped Billy Fenstow on the shoulder.
“Nice show, Billy. Got the girl signed up?”
Billy turned to Janet.
“How about it; want to sign a contract to stay with my unit?”
Suddenly Janet knew that she didn’t. It had been a wonderful summer, climaxed in the picture she had just seen with herself as leading lady, but now she was just a little homesick. Then, too, there was the trip to Radio City.
“Not right now,” she told the director. “Later, perhaps, but not now.”
The general manager looked at her strangely.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if it is the smartest thing you could do. If you change your mind, let me know.”
He stood up and stalked down the aisle, but Janet knew now that she would never change her mind.
JANET TURNS AUTHOR
Early the next morning Janet returned to the task of writing the story for Billy Fenstow’s next picture. The story developed rapidly and she found plenty of opportunities to provide the hard-riding action for which Curt Newsom was famous.
She worked steadily until mid-forenoon when Helen joined her in the garden.
“How is it going?” she asked.
“It’s lots of fun, and I think I have a fairly good idea. Whether I’m getting it across is another thing,” smiled Janet. “I suspect the regular studio writers will think it pretty much a mess when they get their hands on it.”
“I wouldn’t care much what they think as long as Mr. Fenstow likes it. After all, he’s the one who will accept or reject it and the check you get will depend on his approval.”
Janet leaned back in her chair and gazed at the scudding white clouds far overhead.
“How much do you suppose they’ll pay if they accept the story?” she mused.
“Sometimes they pay thousands of dollars,” said Helen.
“But only for outstanding books or plays. I mean for little stories like this; the kind that perhaps have an idea in them that can be developed further by the studio staff.”
“Maybe a thousand dollars,” ventured Helen.
“That would be enough,” said Janet, a faraway look in her eyes.
“Now just what do you mean by that?” Helen wanted to know.
“A thousand dollars would go a long ways toward guaranteeing me a college education. Why, with what I’ve saved out of our salaries this summer, I’d have nearly two thousand dollars and I could make that go a long ways toward four years of college.”
“I’ve saved a lot this summer, too,” admitted Helen. “Dad and mother were talking this morning. We’re going back to Clarion.”
Helen was silent for a moment. Then Janet spoke.
“Soon; perhaps next week. But you and I will go on to New York to help with the radio promotion of ‘Kings of the Air.’”
“Will you be happy in Clarion after a summer here?” asked Janet, watching her companion closely.
“I’m sure I will. After all, I’m a small town girl and all this amazes and scares me a little. Perhaps when college days are over I’ll want to come back and try to make a name for myself in pictures. Dad thinks that would be wise.”
“What school are you going to go to?” Janet asked the question with bated breath. They had always planned on going to their own state university, Corn Belt U., but she thought it possible that Helen’s father might have expressed some other preference since their arrival on the coast.
“Corn Belt U.,” replied Helen. “Dad left that entirely up to me and of course I wanted to follow out our plans.”
Janet sighed heartily. She was elated at Helen’s words for it meant that the pleasant companionship they had enjoyed through high school days could continue through college.
“We’ll have lots of fun,” said Helen, “but if we go on to Radio City for the promotion work we’ll have to register late. Perhaps we can arrange for that while we’re home. It isn’t more than half a day’s drive from home to school.”
“I’m sure we can, especially if we explain that the trip to New York will enable us to earn more money for our college educations.”
“But, Janet, you know we don’t actually have to earn our way through school. Dad’s got plenty and your father is comfortably fixed.”
“I know it, but it’s a matter of pride. I’d like to have as much of my own money as possible for college. If I got in a pinch, I’d yell for Dad’s help, I suppose.”
They talked on about college plans and were finally interrupted when Mrs. Thorne summoned them to lunch,
More plans for their return to Clarion were made at the luncheon table. Packing would have to be started soon.
“Let’s pick out our college wardrobes here in Hollywood. Then we’ll be sure and have the latest styles.”
“Maybe Hollywood styles won’t be campus styles,” smiled Janet, “but I would like a chance to wear that wonderful gown Roddy made for me to a college party.”
It was pleasant to think of their first experience in Hollywood when Roddy, the famous designer of gowns at the Ace studio, had created gorgeous evening gowns for them to wear at their first movie premiere. Janet could imagine that wearing such gowns at a party on the campus at Corn Belt U. would create quite a sensation, and she thrilled pleasantly at the thought.
After luncheon was over, Janet returned to her writing and Helen joined her beside the pool, stripping the wrapper off a copy of the Clarion Times, which had arrived on the noonday mail.
“Look at this; what nerve!” exclaimed Helen, shoving the front page of the paper at Janet. She pointed to a story in the center of the page.
Janet stared at the headline with unbelieving eyes.
“LOCAL GIRLS FEATURED IN MOVIE.”
Her eyes followed down to the story, which heralded the fact that Cora Dean and Margie Blake, Clarion girls touring in the west, had been drafted for rôles in a western picture by Billy Fenstow, the famous director. Janet read on.
“Miss Dean and Miss Blake report that Janet Hardy and Helen Thorne also have rôles in the picture,” the story said.
It was then that Janet flushed. She could have told Cora and Margie just what she thought of them if they had been anywhere within hearing distance but fortunately for them, perhaps, they were a good many miles away.
“How do you suppose the Times got that story?” asked Janet, the flush fading from her cheeks.
“I know,” said Helen with emphasis. “Cora wrote to Pete Benda, the city editor, and gave him all of the information which is in the story. Imagine her telling him ‘that we are also in the picture.’ I’m certainly going to see that ‘Water Hole’ is shown in the theaters at home. That will kind of spoil their story.”
Janet laughed. “Perhaps Cora and Margie did feel that they had the major rôles. You never can tell what others will think is important.”
“It would be a joke on them if the film cutters left out the sequence they’re in,” chuckled Helen.
Janet looked at her quickly.
“Don’t you suggest that to anyone,” she warned.
“I won’t,” promised Helen.
Janet handed the paper back to her companion and went on with her work. She spent most of the afternoon at the typewriter and when she was through, felt that she had done a good day’s work. The manuscript would be ready with only another morning’s writing.
Billy Fenstow, dropping in after dinner for a visit with Helen’s father inquired about the story and Janet handed him the first draft of as much as she had completed.
The little director read it with interest, the lines around his eyes gathering in little puckers as he skimmed through the typed pages. Janet almost held her breath through all the time he was reading and she saw Henry Thorne leaning forward, trying to read some reaction on Billy Fenstow’s face.
When the director had finished, he looked up and smiled at Janet.
“Reads well,” he commented. “Of course there are a lot of rough spots, but we’ll be able to use it.”
CLOTHES BY RODDY
Janet felt her pulse pounding. Acceptance of the story would mean a great deal toward swelling her college fund and she leaned forward eagerly.
“You mean you’ll accept it?” she asked.
“If your final chapters are as good as these, we’ll take it,” replied Mr. Fenstow. “Of course we won’t be able to pay a whole lot since the studio staff will have to whip it into shape, but we’ll make it worth your while.”
“How much do you think it will be?” this was from Helen, whose interest in the sale of the story was almost as great as Janet’s.
Billy Fenstow mopped his forehead.
“That will be up to Mr. Rexler. I’d say that it wouldn’t be more than a thousand dollars.”
“Really!” gasped Janet, who had visions of her college fund mounting in one great jump.
“Well, maybe not that much, but I’ll get all I can for you. Now you finish it up as rapidly as possible.”
“It will be ready tomorrow noon,” promised Janet.
Billy Fenstow left a short time later and after he had gone, Henry Thorne spoke to them about the journey back to Clarion.
“Now that Janet is practically assured the sale of her story, we’d better make our plans. Can you be ready to start home next Monday?”
The girls looked blankly at each other. Of course they had known that their stay in Hollywood was near an end, but to put the date so soon was something of a shock.
Mrs. Thorne spoke first.
“I’m sure we can, Henry. But we’ll almost need a truck to take back all of the things we’ve accumulated.”
“I’ll have some professional packers come out and make whatever boxes are needed,” her husband assured her.
“But we’ve got to get clothes,” wailed Helen. “We want to wear Hollywood styles when we go to college.”
Her father bit the end of his cigar and looked at it thoughtfully.
“Why don’t you call on Roddy?”
“But he wouldn’t do clothes for us; we couldn’t afford it,” said Helen.
“He might do it for you as a special favor to me,” grinned her father. “As a matter of fact, I think he mentioned something about it the other day. Wanted to know when you were leaving and said he might be able to do something for you.”
“We’ll see him the first thing in the morning,” said Helen.
“I won’t,” spoke up Janet. “I’ve got to finish the story whether I have clothes made by Roddy or not.”
“That’s the fight, Janet,” said Henry Thorne.
“When do we go on to Radio City?” asked Helen.
“You’ll have only a couple of days at home. Then you’ll have to go on to New York.”
“How long will we be there?” Janet wanted to know.
“I’m not sure. At least ten days; perhaps more.”
“Which means we’ll have to hurry back home and start in to school as soon as our work at Radio City is over,” put in Helen. “I wonder how it will seem to be before a microphone?”
“Not any worse than before a camera,” said Janet.
They talked on at length of plans for their college days and although it was late when they went to bed, Janet was up early and working at her typewriter. The final two chapters of her story unrolled easily and rapidly and at eleven o’clock she leaned back in her chair. The job was done.
Helen had gone on to the studio to talk with Roddy and Janet was to join her after lunch. Janet stood up and stretched. Her back ached from the strain of bending over her typewriter and she went into the house and changed into her trim swimming suit. Fifteen minutes in the pool washed away the aches and when she emerged she felt greatly refreshed.
Janet dressed carefully for she wanted to look well when she talked to Roddy. Mrs. Thorne was the only other one at home for lunch and they enjoyed a pleasant meal.
Janet picked up the finished manuscript and took it with her to the studio. She left it at Billy Fenstow’s office and went on to the building where Roddy had his office and where the wizard of design created the gorgeous fashions that were worn by the stars in the big productions at the Ace studio.
Helen was in Roddy’s own fitting room and Janet joined her there. Roddy appeared in a few minutes and after greeting her warmly, set about the task of providing her with a new outfit.
“Tell me just what you want,” he smiled.
“Honestly, I don’t know. I’m going to college,” said Janet.
“Then let me decide,” he begged and Janet agreed.
The next hours passed in a swirl of fittings and cloth which was draped this way and that around them, and when they were through neither girl knew exactly what had happened.
“That’s all,” said the little designer. “I’ll send them to your home. It will be a week before they’re ready.”
“Thanks so much,” said the girls as Roddy waved them out of the office.
“What do you suppose he’s going to make?” asked Janet.
“Well, I know there’ll be a sport outfit and an afternoon dress; perhaps something for the classroom; about three apiece.”
“But how will we ever pay for them? The materials alone will be more than we can afford.”
“Let’s not worry about that. I have a hunch that there will never be a bill for them.”
They met Helen’s father near the studio entrance and they all drove home together.
“I’ve had a long talk with the general manager,” he said. “You’ve got to be in Radio City in about ten days.”
“That won’t mean much time at home,” said Janet.
“Nor much to get to Corn Belt U. and get our late registrations fixed up,” added Helen.
“Don’t worry about that. All those details can be taken care of,” said her father. “Just plan to have a good time in Radio City when you get there.”
Both girls knew that they would enjoy their broadcasting experience in New York to the utmost. There might be a little fear of the microphone but they knew that facing a camera couldn’t be any harder than one of the silent “Mikes.”
At dinner that night they told of their hours with Roddy and speculated again at the creations which his fertile mind would turn out for them.
“No use to try and guess,” warned Helen’s father. “You never can predict what Roddy will do.”
On the following day Janet received a telephone call from Billy Fenstow.
“Can you come over to the studio?” he asked.
“Just as soon as a taxi can get me there,” she promised.
Helen and her mother were down town shopping and Janet phoned for a taxi. She slipped into a fresh dress while she was waiting and then was whirled away to the studio. Envious eyes watched her go through the gates which were shut to so many.
Janet found the little director in his office back at stage nine, her pile of manuscript in front of him.
“I’ve finished the story and Mr. Rexler has gone over it,” said the director, after greeting Janet and waving her toward a chair.
She waited breathlessly for his next words.
“We both think it will do. Mind, it isn’t anything sensational, but it does have a new twist or two and can be made into a Curt Newsom feature very well.”
He paused and picked up a check which was on his desk.
“There will have to be a great deal done to the story by our own writing staff, so we felt seven hundred and fifty dollars would be a fair price to offer for the story,” he said handing the check to Janet.
She took it mechanically and turned it over. Then looked at the name on the face of the check. It was payable to Janet Hardy.
“Thanks so much, Mr. Fenstow. It’s very satisfactory.”
“Too bad you won’t stay on. I’d give you the lead,” he urged.
“I’m sorry, but I’ve made up my mind. Perhaps when college days are over, I’ll come back and apply for a job.”
“You’ll get one if I’m still on the lot grinding out westerns,” he promised.
Janet left the little office and walked across the sprawling motion picture plant. It was probably her last visit for the hours left before their departure would be filled with thoughts of packing. It was a dull time at the studio, with only one or two pictures in production, but with the coming weeks every sound stage would be humming with activity as new celluloid dramas were rushed to completion for the entertainment of millions of movie fans. Janet knew that she would not be a part of it, but there was a tremendous satisfaction in recalling the experiences of the past weeks and looking forward to the new ones that were bound to come at Radio City.
HOMEWARD BOUND
Hours filled with packing and last minute details took their time up almost until the actual hour of the departure of their plane. They finished finally at midnight and they were to take the four o’clock eastbound plane for the midwest. New schedules had been inaugurated since they had come west and they would be home in time for dinner that night.
Helen’s mother came in.
“You girls must get some sleep, or you’ll look pretty much worn out when you reach Clarion.”
“I’m too excited to sleep,” confessed Janet.
“Then let’s take a swim in the pool. That ought to relax us,” urged Helen.
They slipped into their suits and for nearly half an hour enjoyed the pool. The moon was well up in the cloudless sky and it was an ideal night. Neither girl said very much, just floated on the pool, wondering what the coming weeks would have in store for them.
When they finally emerged from the water they were ready to call it a day and they were sound asleep by one o’clock.
Mrs. Thorne called them at three. It was still dark, but a hot breakfast was ready for them in the dining room. Even up to the last minute it seemed as though there were a host of things to do and they took a final survey of the house before they closed their bags. Two cabs were waiting; one for them and the other to take their bags.
It was exactly three-thirty when they started for the airport. The streets were deserted and lights were on in only a few of the homes. Their cab swung on to a boulevard and flashed past the entrance of the Ace studio. Janet caught only a glimpse of the plant, but she felt a queer tightening of her heart, and she wondered if she had been wise in deciding to leave Hollywood. But it was too late now. She had made her decision.
At the airport the big twin-motored transport was on the ramp, its motors idling and flickers of blue flame coming out of the exhaust under the wing.
An attendant at the gate checked the tickets Henry Thorne held in his hand and they were escorted to the plane where their stewardess assigned their seats. The cabin of this ship was even more luxuriously furnished than the one in which they had flown west and Janet settled herself comfortably into the thickly upholstered chair. Their baggage was stowed in the tail of the plane and then she saw the pilots come out of the office.
They stepped into the cabin and walked up the narrow aisle to their own compartment. Both of them were youthful and Janet wondered that they had the marvelous skill in their hands necessary to guide the huge plane on its flight.
Two more passengers hastened up to the gate and were escorted to the cabin. Then the stewardess checked the list of reservations. In addition to Henry Thorne and his party, there were only the two late-comers, both of whom were men.
The motors roared and the plane rolled ahead, gaining speed rapidly. Before Janet knew it they were off the ground and soaring into a half light of the early day. A blanket of lights unfolded beneath them, but the lights were strangely dim and the plane headed away for the mountains, climbing steadily to have safety in crossing the dangerous peaks.
Night faded rapidly now and they were well into the mountains at sunrise. They were heading northeast, flying now over great stretches of desolate land where there was nothing but sand and sagebrush, and sometimes precious little sagebrush.
Salt Lake City was beneath them almost before they knew it and when the plane landed there Janet and Helen got out to stretch their legs while the crews were changed and the plane refuelled. Then they were in the air again, climbing once more to get above the continental divide and after that came the descent to Cheyenne. Lunch was served aboard the plane with Omaha the next stop and they roared on east as the sun rolled westward.
Janet was watching the landscape below closely now for this was her home state—a land dotted with many farms and huddles of houses that were the villages, tied together by strips of white highway and an occasional train that seemed to be puffing along a ladder which had been laid on the ground.
Almost before she knew it the motors of the plane lessened their roar and a town appeared underneath. It was Rubio, the nearest regular stop on the transcontinental line.
The giant transport settled down easily. Janet felt the wheels touch and she looked eagerly through the heavy glass of the window for the first glimpse of her father and mother.
She saw them on the ramp, gazing anxiously at the plane as it wheeled up to the concrete slab.
Janet, the first out of the plane, ran to greet them. Her mother embraced her affectionately and her father gave her a hearty hug.
“My, but it’s good to see you!” he declared. “We’ve missed you so much.”
“And I’ve missed you, but I’ve had a grand time,” replied Janet, locking her arms in theirs.
The Thornes came up and there were greetings all around. Then Henry Thorne and Janet’s father supervised the loading of the luggage into the Hardy sedan.
The car was crowded, but they had so much to talk about and were so eager to say it that the inconvenience of short space mattered little.
Taking turns, Janet and Helen, rather breathlessly, told the story of their summer in Hollywood while John Hardy whirled them smoothly and safely along the ribbon of concrete that led from Rubio to Clarion.
They stopped at the Thorne home and unloaded most of the luggage there.
“You’re coming over to dinner,” Mrs. Hardy told them. “Is six-thirty all right?”
“We’ll be there,” promised Mrs. Thorne, who was anxious for all of the news of her friends in Clarion.
When they were home, Janet and her father and mother sat down in the comfortable living room and she told them more in detail of her adventures in the west, of the making of the western films and of their narrow escape from death in the fire.
“We were greatly worried by the radio report,” said her father, “but the call from the Thornes reassured us.”
Janet’s mother spoke up.
“Are you going on to New York City?”
“Yes, mother. We’ll only have a few days at home. Then Helen and I are to go on to New York for a few days for a promotional broadcast on Mr. Thorne’s new picture, ‘Kings of the Air.’ You know, we had minor rôles in it and some members of the cast are being sent east to take part in this promotion work. I think it will be great fun.”
“But how about college?” her father wanted to know.
“That’s one of the things I’ll have to see about while I’m home this time. Maybe you would drive Helen and me over to Corn Belt U. some time tomorrow or the next day so we could see about registration? We’ll have to arrange to enter classes late.”
“We can go tomorrow,” nodded her father. “I’ve arranged to spend most of the rest of the week at home. Mother and I want to hear all about Hollywood.”
“I didn’t see it all,” smiled Janet. “But it’s a grand place, at least in which to spend one summer.”
The Thornes arrived promptly at the dinner hour and they visited at length over a leisurely meal. At eight o’clock Henry Thorne glanced at his watch.
“The manager of the Pastime telephoned just before dinner to say that he had received a print of ‘Water Hole,’ a new western, and would add it to his regular program tonight. Think you’d like to go?”
“Why, Janet, isn’t that the picture you and Helen were in?” asked her mother.
Janet nodded and turned to Henry Thorne, who was smiling.
“I believe you had that print of the film shipped east on the plane with us,” she accused.
“What of it?” he parried.
“Of course we’ll go,” said Janet’s mother. “We’ll leave the dishes right on the table. It isn’t every day that I get such an opportunity.”
Helen slipped away from the table and Janet could hear her at the phone calling for Pete Benda, the city editor of the Times.
“Pete? This is Helen Thorne. Yes, I’m back in town. Drop in at the Pastime this evening if you’d like to see the parts that Cora Dean and Margie Blake took in that western picture they wrote you about. No, never mind a story about us now. We’ve had plenty of publicity.”
Helen hung up the receiver and turned to face Janet.
“Do you think that was nice?” asked Janet, but there was an upward twist of her lips.
“Maybe it wasn’t exactly nice, but it was a lot of fun,” conceded Helen.
There was just a tang of fall in the air and they slipped on light jackets, deciding to walk to the theater, which was less than half a dozen blocks away.
Janet’s father insisted on buying the tickets for the party and they had excellent seats well down in the front of the theater. Janet thought she saw Pete Benda slide into a seat ahead of them, but she couldn’t be sure.
The regular feature came to an end and the western, which had been added, flashed on the screen. Janet felt her pulse quicken as the title and the cast of characters, with her own name under Curt Newsom’s. The action started and she glanced at her father and mother. They were completely absorbed in the picture.
Janet enjoyed it thoroughly. After all, it was a pretty good picture for a western and the clothes Roddy had designed for Helen and her added just the right touch of smartness.
The action came to a driving climax and then the picture was over and people around them started to leave. As they walked down the aisle Pete Benda joined them.
“Congratulations, girls. That was a nice show. Say, where were Cora and Margie?”
“Didn’t you see them?” asked Helen naively.
“Don’t kid me,” growled Pete. “Where were they?”
“If you had been looking closely at the crowd in one of the scenes in the town you would have seen them,” smiled Helen. “Better come tomorrow night and look again.”
“Maybe I will,” admitted Pete, “but if I do it will be to look at Janet and you. Say, what’s this I hear about you going on to Radio City?”
“That’s something that will keep,” said Helen. “See you later.”
On the way home Janet’s father and mother told her how proud they were of her work and she felt a real sense of elation, for compliments from them meant more than from anyone else.
It was well after midnight when she finally went to sleep in the bed in her own attractive room. Tomorrow there would be the trip to Corn Belt U. and then on to New York in a few days.
GORGEOUS GOWNS
The next morning both the Hardy and the Thorne households were up early for it had been decided to make the trip to Newton, the seat of Corn Belt U., during the morning. The girls could complete their plans for registration during the afternoon and in the evening they could return home in good time.
Janet was nearly through breakfast when an express messenger called at the door.
“Package for Miss Janet Hardy,” he announced. “Air express, too.”
Janet signed for the package. It was long and unusually well wrapped and when she saw the return address, “Ace Motion Picture Corp., Costume Department,” she tingled all over, for she knew that inside were the dresses George Roddy, or Adoree as he was know professionally, had created for her.
Janet’s mother helped her rip aside the heavy brown paper with which the cardboard box was wrapped. Inside were layers of tissue and then they gazed upon the first dress, a sport outfit of green wool in lines so plain that its daring was startling. The jacket fitted snugly with a tie about the throat and the ends extended over Janet’s shoulders.
After that came an afternoon dress, a rich brown velvet that caught and threw back at them the morning light. The skirt was plain with the upper half of the dress in a Russian blouse design with the plain roll collar of cloth of gold.
“Why, it’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” exclaimed Janet’s mother. “How did this all happen?”
Briefly, Janet told how Roddy had taken an interest in them and in seeing that they had attractive and striking clothes.
There was one more dress, a garment designed for classroom wear. This was a corduroy—a deep blue that was dazzling in its intensity.
Before Janet could get it completely out of its heavy tissue wrappings the telephone rang and when she answered Helen’s excited voice came tumbling over the wire. She, too, had received her box from Roddy—a sports outfit, an afternoon dress and another dress for classroom wear.
“Let’s wear one of our new dresses when we go to the university to register,” said Helen, and Janet agreed. Each of them had corduroys and they decided to wear these.
Janet took the last garment, the corduroy one, from its wrappings and hurried upstairs to try it on. Her mother hastened after her, as eager as Janet to see how the new dress fitted and looked.
Janet wriggled into the cool, smooth garment and whirled to face her mother. Her hair was a bit touseled and her cheeks flushed from the excitement and the vivid blue of the dress only heightened her youthful charm.
“You look beautiful, dear,” breathed her mother. “I’ve never seen anything more lovely.”
Janet turned back to her mirror and gazed at the dress Roddy’s agile mind had conceived for her. It was striking.
The blue corduroy hung well, fitting closely around her slim hips and opening at the throat with a semi-military cut. A neat little pocket was placed just above her heart. The sleeves were wrist length, rather full at the shoulders and tapering to a close fit just above her hands where they were caught and tied with two silver bands.
Someone came pounding up the stairs. It was Helen, who burst into the room like a young hurricane. Like Janet, she was attired in one of her new dresses. It was corduroy, but of an umber hue that was set off to perfection by Helen’s dark hair and the olive coloring of her face. There was just enough difference in the two dresses to make them varied, yet at a glance an observer could tell that they had been created by the same master hand.
Helen even had on brown hose and shoes that matched her dress.
“Where are your new shoes?” she demanded.
Janet delved further into the box. At the bottom was a shoe box and she opened it with shaking fingers. This was more than she had ever dared imagine. She drew forth a pair of blue kid slippers and tucked in them were three pairs of blue hose to match her dress and shoes. She changed shoes and hose and stood up again, whirling in front of the mirror. The costume now was perfection itself. She ran a comb through her golden hair and knew the thrill that comes from knowing a costume is perfect.
“Do you suppose we’ll be asked to join a sorority at school?” asked Helen.
“If they see you in these dresses I imagine you can join any or all of them,” smiled Mrs. Hardy. “Come now, we must be ready when the men want to start.”
On the echo of her words a horn sounded below. Janet dabbed a little powder on her face and joined Helen as they hurried down stairs. Even their fathers were elated over the new dresses and both girls felt that their cups of happiness were filled to overflowing.
“Honestly,” confided Helen, “I hate to wear this in the car. I’d like to take it off and then put it on when we get near school.”
“I suppose you’d like to ride all of the way wrapped up in a blanket or something,” chided Janet. “But I’ll admit that I hate to sit down in this dress.”
It was a beautifully clear morning and John Hardy sent his big car speeding over the paved road at a fast pace. They were in Newton in ample time to drive around the university grounds and have a leisurely lunch before going to the office of the dean of women to take the first steps in registering.
The campus of Corn Belt U. was lined with stately elms that had watched over the destiny of the school for more than three quarters of a century. The main buildings were of Indiana limestone with a few of the older ones of red-faced brick, now well covered with a rich growth of English ivy.
Janet knew that she would enjoy going to school here. There was a spirit of calm and dignity about the campus that appealed to her.
At lunch they talked of plans for school and of what they would take.
“I’m going to get all of the dramatics and English I can absorb,” declared Helen. “Perhaps a little history, too.”
“How about you, Janet?”
“I think my major courses will be journalism, and perhaps just a little in the way of dramatics.”
“Not thinking about going back to Hollywood and joining Billy Fenstow’s company when you’re through, are you?” chided the director.
“Well, I might have that idea in mind if no newspaper will take me on as a reporter,” conceded Janet.
Luncheon over they went directly to the administration building where, after a short wait, they were ushered into the office of the dean of women.
Mrs. Laird was a pleasant woman of about fifty and Janet saw her keen eyes take in every inch of their costumes in a glance and she thought she saw just a trace of suspicion arise in the dean’s eyes.
Janet’s father explained their mission, pointing out that because of their coming trip to Radio City they would be late in taking up class work.
“It’s a little unusual to arrange registration in this way,” said the dean, “but I believe you can be accommodated.”
For an hour they went over class schedules, the dean advising them on the courses best suited to what they had in mind. She assisted them in filling out the final registration cards and paused at one question.
“Do you hope to join a sorority?” she asked.
“We won’t be here in time for the rushing parties,” replied Janet. “Perhaps that had better wait until another semester, that is, if any of the groups should want us for membership.”
The dean’s cool eyes surveyed the fashionably dressed girls.
“I rather imagine you could take your pick of the sororities right now if the girls were here,” she said.
The registration was over. The girls were to have rooms in Currier Hall, an old but comfortable dormitory.
“The dean seemed a little cool,” said Helen.
“I noticed that, too,” Janet said. “Evidently she doesn’t think much of the plans which call for us hurrying away to New York.”
“Can’t be helped; we’re going,” said Helen.
When they returned home a telegram was waiting for Henry Thorne.
“This interests you girls more than it does me,” he said, handing the message to his daughter.
Helen read it eagerly.
“Have Janet and Helen report next Monday morning at Radio City at ten o’clock,” she said.
“That means we’ll have to leave here Saturday night. Why, that’s only tomorrow night!” gasped Janet.