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22
Merton Among the Latins
There never was a more retiring star on stage or screen than Glenn Hunter.
"He's a wonderful kid," said Nita warmly. "Have you seen him in 'Merton?' " she asked Bebe.
Bebe had, and what was more, she was "crazy about him."
Moreno called him over. Smiling gently, timidly, he came. There was no way o£ knowing, from his manner, that here was the reigning matinee boy of the metropolis, Merton himself come to gaze upon his favorites of Silver Screenings at work. A casual glance would never tell you that this was the lad whose picture adorned every vanity table in every finishing school within Saturday-afternoon distance of Broadway. He was no Eugene O'Brien, no Francis X. Bushman, no gray-fedoraed nonesuch airing his person for the benefit of the world at large.
Whether his naive, diffident manner is a cleverly adopted pose, I do not know. If it is, let it be said that it is a supremely successful one. There is a
world of shyness about the boy. (He will never again see twenty-five, but you instinctively speak of him as a boy.) He is the blushing violet of the profession. In his heart he may be thinking "I am, in truth, the kitten's purr! I'm a youthful knockout! I've just signed a giltedged contract with Mr. Lasky and Mr. Zukor, and I'll make enough money in five years to retire, if I feel lazy. I'm Glenn Hunter. Turn on the signs !" But if he is thinking anything like that — which, after all, would be the logical, healthy thing for the suddenly famous young man to think — there is not the slightest outward indication of such interior activity. There never was a more retiring star of stage or screen. Indeed, he struck me as a masculine Lillian Gish.
On one side of him stood the darkly glowing Naldi. On the other lounged Moreno, black eyes flashing, white teeth gleaming. And there was Glenn Hunter — Merton among the Latins — listening appreciatively, smiling agreeably, contrasting completely the vivid lady and the volcanic gent on either side of him.
La Nald'i's eyes never left Hunter's face. She gazed at him with all of the admiration that might have marked a high-school girl. (Never before or since has Nita reminded me of a high-school girl.)
"I've seen you in 'Merton' twice," she confessed. Again, as she spoke, she might have been one of the Flushing belles — with modifications. "I'm crazy about that part where you kneel and pray, 'Oh God, make me a good movie actor !' • I swear you've got me doing it." She laughed.
"I get down on my knees every night and pray, 'Oh Lord, make me a movie actress.' "
good
In the course of the general chatter that ensued. Hunter revealed himself as the soul of tact. He is a baby Asquith, a junior edition of Chateaubriand. Moreno or I would mention some one scathingly; Glenn would offer neither a word of agreement nor complaint. The world is his friend, and, if it is in his oower, he intends to keep it so. He is not destined for long in this evil sphere. The good, remember, die young.
"Who's going to direct 'This Side of Paradise' for you ?" Continued on page 92