Motion Picture Classic (Jan-Aug 1919)

MOTION PICTURE The February Magazine A Fairyland of Film Fantasy, Fun and Fiction DOUGLAS FAIRBANKS The effervescent Doug is caught in an irrepressible moment which results in a lively story. VIOLET MERSEREAU After a year’s absence from the screen, Violet has staged a charming return. Her fans have put in a session of Watchful Waiting. TOM MIX The daring cowboy star was not always a star. Wars and bad men were his passion in the olden days. MARY CHARLESON All about Henry Walthall’s fascinating leading lady who will appear with him again under his new affiliation. ELLIOTT DEXTER Elliott is such an every-day sort of person, with no eccentricities or hobbies, that it was hard to get a satisfactory interview— but we did. GLORIA JOY The newest baby star gleams with an individual glitt^er. She is unique. WILLIAM FARNUM This story of the virile Bill makes one think of the big and rugged lands of the Northwest. RUTH STONEHOUSE Ruth began by being a foil for Bryant Washburn’s vile schemes, and, since his reformation, she is a foil for Houdini. Motion Picture Magazine 175 Duffield St., Brooklyn, New York The Parisian Wife {Continued from page 73) the waiter had left them, then leaned to her, touching her hand. “Is it still Martin, dear?” he asked her, gently. “I had thought perhaps after all these months ” She shook her head with a sad little smile. “It is still Martin. It will always be Martin. I do not know why, but it is so.” That night Tony Ray wrote a long letter, which two days later Martin Wesley read, first with sick anger, then bewilderment, and last with a dawning humbleness. It told him of the wonderful love that he had thrown away because he was too poor and mean of soul to keep it. “I have been a pitiful fool,” he thought, heavily, “and I have found it out too late, but I must make what amends I can ” It was late on the following afternoon when Martin Wesley came out into the acanthus-shaded yard behind Fauvette’s studio, to find it gay with summer dresses and laughter and the clatter of tea-cups. Tony Ray, standing beside the hostess, was the first to see the silent figure in the doorway. He hurried across the pavement and drew him into the shadowy studio. For a moment the two men faced one another in silence, then Tony spoke, harshly, “Have you the right to be here in this room, Martin?” The other did not pretend to misunderstand. “That hotel bill was a lie” — his voice was dull, hopeless — “but there are more ways than one of being unfaithful. I — I listened to their whisperings, I, who had promised God ” His voice broke in a groan. He covered his quivering face with his quivering hands and stood so, not knowing when Tony left him, not hearing her when she came. Fingers light as moth wings on his bowed head — the old magic scent and sweetness of her hair — he looked up, caught her to him with a cry, “Fauvette ! Oh, my dear, my dear !” For one moment the past, the present, the suffering and parting of the barren months was forgotten, everything but the nearness of herj the wonder of her flower lips against his own. Then, remembering, he let his arms fall at his sides. “I came to ask your forgiveness, Fauvette. I am ashamed ” “Hush !” she said ; “it was that terrible old house, and the black fir-trees always moaning — and the shadows.” She shuddered; then the gray memory slid from her face, leaving it sweet and rose-pink and shy like a bride’s. “Was that all you wanted of me, Martin — forgiveness ?” she whispered. With a little, broken laugh, he caught her in his arms. Thru the dim pathways of the park late that evening Tony Ray wandered. But this time his face was serene and calm, as of one who had won thru to the other side of sorrow and had left self behind. The Extra Girl Becomes a Newspaper Reporter {Continued from page 47) while he was mentally arranging us with a view to obtaining the most artistic effect that a tiny grain of powder gave me a gentle little push up the ladder. “I need three reporters,” announced the director, “two men and a woman.” Of course, I didn’t mean to sneeze at that particular moment, but you all know how at times powder will produce that result. “I’ll take that young woman over there,” Mr. Franklin decided, recognizing the screening possibilities of that musical sneeze, and I was forthwith escorted to the reporters’ table, which, you will admit, is an added mark of distinction in this world of extras. Such is the luck that often attends the shooting of a leaping sneeze on the wing. “Who’s been winning whose affection from whom?” I inquired of my neighbor reporter. “Oh, this isn’t that kind of a court,” he informed me. “This is a night court, where they have raids and everything. Emmy Wehlen, who is Sylvia Fairpont, surprised her fiance. Jack Bradley, one evening by announcing: “ ‘Before I settle down I’m going to see something of life — some of the gay places. I want you to take me to dinner tomorrow night at the Beauliau Inn.’ “Jack was properly shocked, for the Beauliau Inn is the most notorious restaurant in New York City. He was wondering how he could possibly grant Sylvia’s request when he met Madame St. Claire, a clairvoyant, to whom he related his predicament. “ ‘Give a woman what she wants, let her have her own way and she no longer wants it,’ was her advice. ‘Take her to the Beauliau Inn, hire a couple of private dining-rooms and get some people she doesn’t know to create your own wickedness. Give her enough vice to sicken her.’ “Jack went the clairvoyant one better and arranged for three of his friends to dress up as policemen and conduct a false raid just to cure Sylvia of her hankering for the white lights.” “Oh, so this is only a fake court, and we’re only ” I suggested, beginning to doubt the reality of my day’s engagement. “Shush ! This is the sure-enough thing,” Cook’s chief guide hastened to reassure me. “You see, one of the hired funmakers in the next dining-room accidentally dropped a beer-bottle out of the window and just missed hitting a real policeman who happened to be in the vicinity — this is in the movies, remember— and everybody was hailed to court, policeman and all. That’s why we’re here.” I was so relieved. I am always troubled with an unnatural hankering to know why I am where I am. “What are you — a lady reporter?” a (Seventy-eight)