Photoplay (Jan - Jun 1943)

ing he had known. She was flopping with it as he had done. Suddenly he was infuriated at the audience. She wasn't that bad. He even recognized there was a charm in her work, and a tomfoolery which no man could get into it. He could not let her down. He could not let her be crucified as he was. Phil didn't stop to think. Tearing a sheaf of checks from his checkbook, he passed through the audience waving them as the bookies wave their paper money. He called out prices, summoned to his command a clever patter of horse and racetrack jokes, and stopped for split seconds at tables to collect bets and scribble receipts. The audience, caught suddenly by the appearance of a partner from nowhere, half rose, craned to see what was happening, began to laugh. Phil knew he was gathering that audience together, that when he finally reached Betsy, all attention would then be focused on her. She was a good enough trouper to realize what he was doing. When he got halfway down the room, she had adjusted herself. She was craning, too, calling to him, "Yoo-hoo, Mr. Bookmaker!" "Oh dear, he's going to sell all his tickets." "I called you first, my good man. Over here — over here." She danced a little and she sang a bit as the excitement mounted, and when finally he reached her, she was keyed to hairline sensitivity. She'd pick up every cue he gave her. He was here beside her. This moment which he had believed was truly the darkest of her life had become a triumph. He was here. If they didn't put the sketch over — all right. He had come to save her in a way she believed he would never take again. This was Success. They tossed dialogue at each other as if it had been rehearsed. Fun and eager ness and fire transmuted the very air about them. And finally when Phil muttered to her, as the winner was coming in, "You'll collect the bet," she nodded. She collected her bet, and spontaneously threw her arms about him. Their kiss was realistic, and they made it long, cheered on as they were by the audience. Nobody believed that this duo had not been arranged. Out of their desperation had come genuine satire and comedy, out of tragedy, fun and laughter. They were recalled six times. The manager pranced about them and said he was calling Lonergan at once. He wanted them for weeks, for months, for as long as they would stay. He'd give them better spots, three acts. Did they know there was a talent scout out there tonight, one of Van Dirk's scouts? He'd asked about them. Well — well! They looked at each other and burst out laughing. BETSY was sitting at the kitchen table and drinking hot milk. The fragrance of dawn drifted in through the open window, but the sky was still dark. Phil sat opposite, watching every spoonful, adoring her. "We caught something there, Betsy," he said. "Did you feel it too, Phil?" "Maybe it was just for the night — " "I don't think so. We caught something and pinned it down, Phil. It's ours forever. I know." "It looks like it, Betsy," with wonder in his voice. "Why are you so surprised, Phil?" "We did it together." She put down her glass and locked her arms around him. "And you thought you were only doing it to save me." "I wouldn't have rushed out, if I'd stopped to think." And so in saving her he had saved himself, restored himself, fulfilled her dreams. "I always said I wouldn't work with anybody." "Am I — anybody?" "You're everybody to me, Betsy." "Oh Phil, there's no disgrace in needing a partner. We need partners for living — husbands and wives." He agreed. Maybe nobody worked alone, even if the partner wasn't visible or known. Indeed, holding her close, he realized there was a wonderful sustaining beauty in partnership, especially of two who would be husband and wife, a joyous service each could perform for the other. "So there was a Van Dirk scout there tonight!" Betsy murmured, laughing. "So tomorrow he'll call Lonergan, and Lonergan will call us — " "So we'll say not yet, thank you — " "That's right. This time we don't care to rush. Anyway, tomorrow we have a date with the preacher." "Phil!" "Did you think I'd forgotten? Didn't you know how hard it was for me?" She was almost asleep in his arms. He kissed her softly, lingeringly, unwilling even to relinquish her to sleep and dreams. "We can wait to break into pictures," he murmured. "We have two lifetimes for waiting now — yours and mine. But the preacher won't be kept waiting a moment." She was really asleep now. He carried her into the bedroom, laid her gently down and went swiftly out into the dawn that was creeping through the city. As he crossed the court he raised his arms high, stretched slowly as far as he could reach, as far as the stars, twinkling up there on the biggest marquee of all. The End. H ow MUCH are YOU smoking? ♦Government figures show smoking at all-time peak. WHETHER you are smoking more — or smoking less— note this: When smokers changed to PHILIP MORRIS, every case of irritation of nose or throat— due to smoking— either cleared up completely or definitely improved! That was reported in medical journals by distinguished doctors— their findings in work with actual men and women smokers. NOTE we do not claim curative power for Philip Morris. But this evidence clearly proves them less irritating to the nose and throat. PHILIP MORRIS America's FINEST Cigarette RBA'lCTORYl ; £M BUy[ KSf'Qt,