Boy's Cinema (1939-40)

" Because it may disturb the office for a day oi- so," Sylvia replied. "You see, the nirls I have in mind are your stenographers." "My stenographers?" "Tliey're the only possibilities." Billy drifted over to the radio set and switched it on, but his sister switched it off axain and reprimanded him. Mr. Dow re- covered his usual urbanity. "Well, why not?" he shrugged. "What am I paying them for? Tell them to buy some dresses—and those permanent things, liny some clothes for yourself and charge them all to :ne," Mr. Dow employed nine assorted steno- (iraphers and typists, every one of them attrac- iive to the eye. The amazing news was com- nnuiicated to them, and their excitement was matched only by their joy. Jean Peters, one <;f the nine, said that it was a crazy idea. "But Mr. Dow is serious, Jean." said Sylvia. "So am I," quoth her chum. " Ditl yon see that picture of Brainy Thornton in the paper? ] coidd be very serious about him." "You will not!" " Allah ! Is it a case ?" "Well, I haven't exactly told mother yet." Jean crooked a finger at her. "And all (his was just for Uncle Frank," she mocked. "If you're looking for romance, always be kind to your dear old uncle!" "You get out of here," commanded Sylvia. SACKED! THE dimier—officially styled a banquet— took (iluce in an elaborate domed and pillared room at the hotel on the following evening. The guests sat round a long hoise- fihoe table, and Uncle Frank occupied the seat of honour at the top of it. with Dutch Bron.'<on on his right and JNIr. Dow on his left. Above the proscenium of a little stage, behind these three, the seal of the State of Texas was dis- played, and beneath it there was a back-cloth u\ton which two grotesque bidls and a giant (.ictus ha I been painted. The girls from ]Mr. Dow's office looked ladiant. with members of the McKinley team on either side of each of them. Brainy had usurped another player's place to be next to SyKia, but Sylvia made no connnent about that because she had hoped he would do it. It was a very gay occasion, and wine flowed fieely—though not so freely for the members of the team when their trainer was watching. Course followed course, and cofl'ee had been Kcrvefl when Brainy said to Sylvia : "It was certainly nice of your dad to do all this for us." Sylvia felt mean and embarrassed; it seemed so unfair that her employer's generosity should be credited to her uncle, and somehow she didn't want to sail under false colours with Brainy. She was about to blurt out some sort of confession when Edgar Arthur Dow got to his feet, as chairman, and began to speak. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said. "I have to admit that I didn't go to McKinley, but a man of my age is entitled to a winning foot- ball team, even if he has to adopt a new- college to get it." r>aughter and cheers rewarded that sally, and that sally comprised practically the whole of the speech. Mr. Dow called u]x>n Coach Bronson to tell everybody all about the big game. Bronson lose. but he stated that something a great deal more important than a football game liad happened. "I'm referring to Mr. Higgins. here." he went on. " Lucky Higgins, the num that none of the real old-timers can ever forget. After all these years. Luckv has come back home to old McKinley. He's a very big success now—I'm proud to say—and will prove to be a great inspiration to everybody on the team— not only because his batdv-roll has become fat, but because he stands for everything that is best in McKinley men." He looked down at Uncle Frank, whose face was a little flushed with wine and who was feeling almost as though he were indeed the suc<esBful man he was supposed to be. " r,urky. will you say a few words?" Uncle P'rank stood up, and that was a signal for three loud cheers from the assembled students. Ffchruary "nth, 1940. BOY'S CINEMA "Lucky Higgiijs! 'Rah! 'Rah! 'Rah !" " Thanks, Dutch," bowed the hero of the hour, "and thanks everybody. I did want to say a few' words—only a few. Not about college, though, but about what happens after. That is the big item, especially if you fail to make the grade, financially, or in any other way." Sylvia was afraid he was going to betray himself as a failure, but for the time being he had forgotten that he was one. " Most boys have a funny idea about col- lege,'' he continued. "They seem to think that a diploma is just like a blank cheque—that all they've got to do is to fill it out." Abbott, who was standing against one of the pillars with Fitz, said in a low voice: "So if he gave the college a couple o' million would he miss it ?" "They seem to forget that colleges are nice, quiet, polite little places where nolx)dy care.^ much about making a living." L^ncle Frank went on. "But the world isn't like that. Not a bit—not a bit! I could say a lot more about the world, but what's the use? This is a McKinley reiniion." A buzz of conversation s\icceeded more ap- plause, and Brainy said to Sylvia: " I don't want to run o\it on the rest of the siieeches. but there isn't iimch time." "When is the Convention over?" asked Sylvia. " After the game—same night. But I'll be back in six months." "Six months?" she echoed. "Aien't yon going to graduate?" "For that piece of paper your dad was talk- ing about?" he scoffed. "Listen, I can get a job in a week in a banking house—and in si.x months save up enough to buy a ring and a house and " Sylvia got up from her chair and walked straight oiit from the room. But he followed her. and in the adjoining reception room he found her at a tall window, tracing a finger upon one of the panes. "Want me to take back that part about the ring?" he asked. She turned and looked at him with troubled eyes. "Biainy." she .said, known each other?" "Whv? ' he questioned. "Two days, isn't it?" "Just aho\it." he agreed, six hours together." "Five and a half," she corrected. "Does it make any difi'erence?" "No. But when you're crazy it's more fun to know about it." "Sylvia." His voice was gruff with emotion. " Do yon feel as if somebody had slaimned a door in your face and knocked yoii dizzy?" " Uhuh." she nodded. "But I didn't mind the door—it was the grand jjiuno that dropped on my head. Brainy. I'm not " She broke off' because she realised that she could not tell the truth alioiit herself without telling the truth about her luicle. "What is it?" Brainy insisted anxiously. "It's getting late," she prevaricated. "I'm worried about father." She left him standing there and slipped back into the banqueting-rooin to whisper to her uncle, and ten minutes afterwards she and the old graduate of McKinley College were out on the pavement of Madi.son Aveime, he with his tweed overcoat turned up about his ears and his hat at an angle, she in an expensive cloak for which Mr. Dow was going to jiay. She saw that he was none too steady on his feet, and she saw that the hotel doornuin had stopped a taxicab for them as a nuitter of coiuse. "Here," she said, slipping a five-dollar note into her uncle's hand. "Now you'll have to hurry because you're late." "What's a mere job, my dear?" He waved his arms. "Signifyiu' nothing. McKinlcy's come to tow II!" "Oh. please!" she implored, and tugged him to the cab. "Yes, I know, my dear," he .said expan- sively. "Buildings imist be built! Com- munities m\ist grow! Progress is at stake!" He stumbled in over the step, and he called out to the driver: "Corner of Tenth Avenue and Twenty-eiKhth." ' how long have we " Tired of me ?" " But we've spent Every Tuesday The cab shot off across town, reached tlie specified destination, and drew uj) bv tine Ixjurd fence. Cncle Frank got out from tlie.Gub into the middle of the roailway and thrust the hve- dollar note upon the driver. "Tha'sh all right, iny boy," he said with the air of a tipsy millionaire. "IC,€cp the change and buy yourself a new car.". He went in at the wicket and reached the wooden shanty. A light was shining in it, and a man was in its doorway—a tall and rather rough-looking fellow, years younger than him- self. He addressed the intruder sternly: "It's against the rules, my good man, to snatch hunber, or to loiter upon these premises." "You Higgins?" demanded the man. "Yes." "I'm the new night-watchman. HigginB|" Uncle Frank was digesting this stat^enr when the foreman of the wohks arrived on the scene. He was an ugly and overbearing person whom L'ncle Frank always had detested. "You!" roared the foreman. "Oh. good-evening. Air. Ueraglity," bowed Uncle Frank. "Oood-evening. Mr. Higgins." returned the foreman w ith fierce formality. " What did you expect—that I'd wait all night ftu- you?" He perceived the dress clothes beneatiiHhe tweed overcoat. "Get a load o' those tog.s. will ye?" he said to the new night-watchman, and then : "Wheie've you been all this time? On a diunk?" "This i.s the last straw, Mr. Geraghty," said Uncle Frank with great dignity. "There is nothing worse than a man w'ith small autliorifv who abuses it. I've delayed telling you- this for some time. Good-m"ght!" He turned about and swayed back to the wicket, leaving the foreman to stare blankly after him. and he travelled home by subivay from the station in Twenty-eighth Street. It was after mi<luiglit when he reached the flat, and a violent headache had develoijcd on the way. S>lvia. like the other members of the family, was in bed; but she was not asleep, and she heard him fumbling with his key in the latch of the front door and guessed at what had happened. In a dressing-gown and slippers she admitted him and led him off to his room. He sprawled on the bed in his shirt and trousers, after she had helped him off with his overcoat, his hat, his coat, and his waist- coat, and he told her about his encounter with Geraghty while she applied a wet cloth to his aching head. "I'm glad yon don't have to go back to that, awful ijlace," she said. "There'll be other jobs—and better ones." "Yes, natnially." he responded. "The president of the Higgins Construction C'oiu- pany worrying about a little thing like a job would be ridiculous." "You were woiuleiful to-night, really." "Yeah? But I can't go on with it, Sylvia. I can't ! I just can't!" "I don't want to, either." she declared. "Heiress to the Higgins millions! At least you are a AIcKinley man. It Avas such a ganu-. at first, but it wasn't fair. Now I can never tell biiii —never!" "Him?" Uncle Frank looked up at her i'.» concern. "Not—not Biainy?" She nodded unhappily. " Serious?" "I don't know what to call it." "So quickly?" "We talked about that," she sighed. "It didn't liglp." "Oh. forget him, Sylvia. That boy is all wrong! No, don't aigue with me. I Ttnow that disease—that insane notion that you've inherited the earth just because it's there. I was the most likely to succeed. I was voted the most likely to succeed, wasn't I? I was a football hero, wasn't I ?" He started to sit up, but she coaxed his head back to the )iillow. "I was doing well in business, too," he went on with bitter self-iepro.'ich, "but when my business started to collapse what ha|)pened to this conquering hero who never dicinied of failure? He deseited—ran out. Didn't he?" "Try to get a little sleep," she i)!e:!ded. "If you knew 13rainy bettei^ " "I'm just an old fool." He patted the hand