Motion Picture Classic (Jan-Aug 1919)

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If people with money liked to collect music lessons for waifs and milk for babies and eye treatments for wash-women and things like that instead of old masters and Venetian glass !” She sprang to her feet startlingly. “Why, do you know, John Graham — he’s the artist man — was in jail once? He told me so, and he told me why, too. A rich man he worked for did something that wasn’t honest and put the blame off on him, and that rich man was — my — grandfather!” The room was very silent. The old man in the broken arm-chair did not stir or speak, only looked steadily at the quivering face of the girl before him, shame-colored in its golden frame of curls. Then, slowly, “You seem to take it to heart, my dear. Is it because this young man ” Amy did not quite meet his eyes. “I was thinking about an old man,” she said. “If I could only tell the old dear what I’ve found out, but he wouldn’t listen. Grandfather believes nobody but himself, not even God !” Long after she had left him the man in the chair sat staring ahead of him with eyes that were curiously like the stern grey gaze of Alexander Guthrie, save for one thing. No one, not even his guardian angel, had ever seen tears in Alexander Guthrie’s eyes. Late the next evening two shadows approached the dark, silent bulk of the Guthrie mansion, with careful avoidance of the arc light on the street corner. “This way — round to the coal-chute at the back,” sibilated the short shadow. “I’ve always wanted to slide down it, and now I’m going to !” The descent was made safely, tho with some detriment to appearance and apparel. When his eyes rested on the small figure that admitted him thru the kitchen door, John Graham uttered a chuckle, stifled in its infancy by a sooty paw placed firmly across his mouth. “You’re a swell burglar, you are !” hissed Amy, indignantly. “Well, you see I’m an amateur,” he whispered remorsefully. “But seriously, Amy, I’m sorry I let you in for this now. It’s a bad matter to open a safe, even to find the proofs of a man’s good name. If we should be caught ” “Oh, can de sob stuff !” Amy of Craigen Street muttered. “Didn’t I tell you I ust’ woik f’r de guy dat lives here ? I know de place, and anyhow, the old dear — I mean de owner — is in Europe. Buck up an’ follow me !” She was leading the way thru the shadowy kitchen, but his hand on her arm restrained her; his voice, infinitely tender, was in her ears. “Amy, you brave little pal — Amy, why are you doing this for me?” She wriggled from him, breathing fast. “Oh, because — because I’m a hoodlum !” Before he could recapture her she was speeding up the stairs, and he perforce must follow as noiselessly as possible. And on the topmost step he stumbled violently and uttered a sharp exclamation. The two novices in the gentle art of housebreaking clung together, gasping. “Now,” said Amy, tragically, “you have upset the apple-cart !” Her foreboding was correct. In the upper regions feet sounded, doors opened, then the click of a switch filled the hall with blinding light, in which the tall, gaunt figure of Alexander Guthrie stood outlined on the landing above them. For a moment no one spoke, then the old man leveled a tragic forefinger. “Amy, you a housebreaker !” “I — I thought you were in Europe, old dear,” Amy faltered. “Grandfather, this is John Graham, the man you sent to prison, the man whose good name you’ve got locked up in your safe — that’s what we came to get back. It’s you that are the thief, for you stole it from him ” “Amy,” Alexander Guthrie begged her, brokenly, “Amy, I deserve it, I suppose, but I’ve had punishment enough.” He looked at the man before him wistfully. “It was a great wrong I did you, Graham. Words cant right it, tho of course I’ll see you’re cleared. I’ve been hard, hard and selfish, but it took Craigen Street to teach me just what a despicable creature I was !” Amy came closer, staring wonderingly up at him. “Why, then,” she faltered, “then — you’re Peter Cooper!” And suddenly she was sobbing in her grandfather’s arms, the tears making zigzag water-courses in the grime of her cheeks. Over the bright head the old man met the young man’s gaze. No words passed between them, but in the inarticulate language of the soul the one asked forgiveness, the other forgave. Then Amy lifted her head from her grandfather’s shoulder and looked at Graham thru her lashes with a wonderful, brave blush which even the coaldust could not conceal. “Do you know, old dear,” she said, irrelevantly, “I’ve changed my mind about some things, too? I think I’ve been a hoodlum quite long enough, and tomorrow morning at nine o’clock I’m going to start in growing up !” The Beauteous Yvonne {Continued from page 82) “That’s Mae Leslie,” turning to me. “She manages the Century Roof show. She’s a peach of a girl. I can have just as good a time going out with her and Flo as I can with any manly escort. In fact, I love girls. My girl friends. They’re so regular. “A regular girl? One whose moods aren’t top-heavy. One who can be as sensible as she can gay. One who cares for a good time. One who can make a good time — a real, companionable, happy, not boresome affair.” (Eighty-eight)