Photoplay (Jul - Dec 1916)

122 Photoplay Magazine far things had gone and how irrevocable they were. Unreasonably, she was hurt. Then she realized that Paul was playing the game, and she was reduced to shame. "If he can be brave, why can't I ?" she asked herself. "Have I no pride or selfrespect left? I suppose not. Or perhaps he doesn't need to be brave — now." She turned heroically toward the house, where sounds of revelry indicated that the company had arrived and that, if measured by noise, the occasion was a complete success. ^\NCE again on the Boulevard, Paul ^"^ Temple could have taken a car up to the hotel more than a mile away. But he did not. It was part of his plan to avoid all publicity for the immediate present, and he had managed to accomplish this so far. On approaching the bungalow from his cab that night and becoming aware of festivities, he had waited his opportunity and rung the bell when Elsie was near the door, drawing her outside with a warning of silence when she answered. Now he proceeded west to Citrus Street, where he turned north toward the hills. He walked absolutely oblivious of the soft, luminous night about him ; habit and memory, acting independently from his aching brain, directed his steps. Following his own advice given to June, he refused to ponder upon or examine the disaster that had come upon him. He encouraged the dull lassitude that seemed to have numbed all his faculties, and^ prayed that it would last until he could have slept and recovered balance and judgment and the power of decision. Reaching a large, rectangular, threestory apartment house with tall, white pillars in front, Paul turned in and entered the hall. It was half past nine. Familiar with his surroundings, he mounted the stairs to the second floor and tapped on the door at the right of the hall. A bull-like voice adjured him to enter, and he did so, to find himself, as he had expected, in Tom Briscoe's apartment. The director was in his shirtsleeves and seated at a table littered with papers. At sight of his visitor he leaped up. "Well, what the devil! — how! — by thunder !" "Hello, Tom. Can you give me a bed?" "Six or seven of 'em! Well, you old cuss !" The greeting was rarely warm and affectionate. Then, after the usual preliminaries: "What you out here for?"' Twitching with frayed nerves, Paul lit a cigar, and in colorless, bloodless speech told him, managing to keep his emotions well in hand with the aid of the leaden weariness of five days and nights of travel and uncertainty. "So you see," he concluded, "every thing's off between June and me, Tom. We're wrecked." Briscoe made guttural noises of helpless sympathy. "And this is what's come of your scheme," Paul went on bitterly, but without personal animus. "I wanted to marry June, but you wouldn't let me. You wanted to make an actress of her. and you wouldn't let us be together. And you wouldn't let us marry and be separated. And this is what's happened." Briscoe stood, his hands in his pockets, his unbuttoned vest hanging loose, an unbeautiful figure; but on his rugged, square face was tragic regret the more bitter because he was helpless. He was deeply fond of Temple. "Say it. Paul," he said, humbly. "I deserve it. Oh. I wouldn't have had this happen for the world!" "I know. Tom, but it's happened." Before that unanswerable logic Briscoe averted his eyes. Then suddenly an oath like a hot coal leaped from his lips. "Look here! I'm responsible for this. Now listen. If you've lost June through me. I'll get her back again — somehow. I don't know how, but I'll do it. Just leave it to me." Paul shook his head. "I don't want you to do anything. If I can't win her back myself you couldn't help me." "Couldn't! Rot! I could and I will. You'll see. I'm going to do this." Temple said nothing. He was too wean* even to think of argument or resistance. Will Paul win back the heart of June or will Holt triumph? The next instalment of The Glory Road will appear in the December issue of Photoplay.