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The Little Girl in the Parsonaee
T
By MONTANYE PERRY
|HE Girl in the Limousine!" We all saw it last winter, and we agreed that of all the flock of bedroom farces it was the bedroomiest! Beautifully staged, brilliantly done, of course. Didn't Al Woods do it? But even the most hardened first nighter caught his breath more than once at the daring lines and situations. Immensely clever, of course, and uproariously funny, but really —
And the Girl herself! FUtting about the pink and green bedroom, or tucked up in the silken hung bed, wearing a winsome smile, a fluffy mop of bronze-gold hair, and, at times, so very little beside! Clever, sophisticated, audacious, radiant!
Yes, radiant! That is the word which best described this Girl in the Limousine. She was so full of hfe, apparently enjoying every one of her lines, delighting in the uproarious appreciation of her audience. And yet, all the evening, I wondered, and wondered, and wondered—
You see, I knew Doris Kenyon very well. I had not seen her since her successes on screen and stage. But before that — I kept remembering —
Up in Syracuse, New York, there was an old-fashioned house in Harrison Street, set back a little, with a green yard and a big tree. It was a Methodist parsonage, and one day when I went there with some proof for the Reverend James B. Kenyon to look over, they showed me a roll of white flannel, pink ribbons and lace which they said was their very newest baby — Doris!
"She's going to be a beauty!" was what the mother said.
"And a good woman, who'll help make the world better," was what the father said.
"Waa-a-a-a!" was what baby Doris said.
It seemed no time at all before she was pulling herself up by the window ledge and waving friendly little hands at the cool green branches of the old tree. Then, quite suddenly one day when a golden throated oriole perched on the tip of a bough, Doris made her first remark.
"Birdie!" she said, pointing a fat little finger. "Sing!"
And, most obligingly, it sang.
That's the way it was with Doris, always. She said to birds, or to people, or to circumstances, "Sing." And they sang! Just because she was so sunny, so sure of the joy of life. She knew that everything and everyone was going to be all right, so it just was all right!
Not that Doris was spoiled. Discipline in the parsonage was very firm. Ministers' little daughters must never, never be late to Sunday School; they must save their pennies for the little Armenian orphans; they must be plainly dressed; and they couldn't ever go to dancing school!
These last two rules were almost
Who o;rc\v to be The Girl in the Limousine.
enough to dim the radiance of sunny Doris! She did so want pretty frocks! And why was it wrong to dance, when one was happy? Wistfully, she searched her Bible and brought it to Father, pointing with a determined little finger to the passages she had underlined with firm, black strokes.
"For all her household are clothed with scarlet!"
"Praise Him with the timbrel and with dance!"
But even this Biblical backing did not help her until Father gave up preaching to devote himself entirely to the literary ( Continued on page 133)
Her minister father knew she d be a good woman, who would help make the world better.
Ahrcd Chcnty Jolinstoo.
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