Modern Screen (Dec 1937 - Nov 1938)

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Michigan Prove by test how gentle and efficient these tablets often are to help clear the skin of this tjTPe of embarrassing, aggravated eruptions. STUART'S c OMPOUND 64 Robin Hood Throws a Party {Continued from page 27) party. "We was sittin' talkin' the other day. And Errol says, 'Sailor,' he says, I'd like to get acquainted with the boys. I don't know most of 'em. Bring 'em over to the house, and we'll start 'em ofif with a headache,' he says. So when we got through work today, we took a bath and here we are. "Some stars throw you a party when the picture's over. Errol, he's the only one that throws it first. He don't want to be no star. And again, he don't do it to be a good fella, see what I mean? He don't go 'round slappin' people on the back, and then when they leave, call 'em bum. He does it because he likes to be friends with the boys and have fun. He likes to laugh. Damn if I ever see such a guy for laughin'." "What's he blathering about?" inquires Flynn, coming up behind us. "Did he tell you he was champion boxer of the Navy? Did he tell you he's been fired more times than he's been on his back in the ring?" "Errol," stage-whispers Sailor, "what about them carrots?" Errol wheels and disappears into the house. A few minutes later a procession issues forth. Sheffield and a Japanese boy bear laden trays. Behind them stalks Flynn, a lordly salver poised on the fingers of his right hand, on the salver two carrots. Left hand at his hip, he changes his rhythm and swings, a la Salome, toward one of his guests. Dropping his head demurely, he presents the carrots. "Thanks, slave," says the guest, picks up the carrots and starts crunching. "Gentlemen," calls Flynn. "Three cheers for the company horse." "He ain't no horse," Sailor whispers kindly in the midst of the uproar. "Only a vegetarian." The garden is full of talk and laughter. A slim, dark-eyed girl slips through the door and stands watching the scene for a moment before she's spotted. "What ho! Damita !" calls Flynn. But Sailor gets there before him, arm gallantly crooked. "Boys!" he booms proudly. "Errol's Missus !" LILI'S clear laugh rings out as she ^ spies the carrots. "Did Fleen put a joke on you? When Fleen puts a joke on me, I geeve it right back to heem. Like this. You pair-meet?" Eyes dancing, she takes a bit of carrot from the vegetarian and of¥ers it to Fleen. He nibbles at it gravely from the palm of her hand, then lifts his head and nickers. Wild applause. Damita's struck a homer, first crack. She's in. "Fleen darling," begs Lili. "Show them Shefif and the captain." "Well," Errol complies, "I must first explain that Shefif is a landlubber and gets seasick on the boat, which fills the old skipper with disgust. So he takes every chance he can get to show ShefT up. Now here's the captain, bringing the boat along the wharf. Sheff's standing in the bow." "Dual role impersonated by Muscleman Flynn," someone announces. Muscleman Flynn bows, then cups his hands round his mouth. "Hi, there ! Take a line 1 Get a line ashore !" Now he's Sheffield, shoulders hunched, standing miserably in the bow. He turns his head. "Line?" he quavers. "Don't you know a line when you see one?" he bellows as the captain. "Not so loud," giggles Lili. But by now Flynn is immersed in his art. A nimble step this way or that turns him from Sheff to the captain, and back again. "Oh, you mean this thing, ' says Sheff. He stoops and picks it up gingerly between two fingers, lips curled in distaste. "It's a rope," shouts the captain, "not a bloomin' caterpillar. Throw it ashore." With the silly movement of a girl throwing a ball, Sheff casts the rope. It drops into the water. Flinging up his arms, he lurches this way and that and comes to rest with a thud on the deck. The captain strides past him. "Want a lollypop?" he snorts. "Fleen, you're making it up !" squeals Lili. "And here's Shel¥ getting his own back on the skipper when he comes to the house." He shuffles in, twiddling his hat brim between his fingers, a straight old man, self-respecting, a little stiff, a little uneasy in alien surroundings. Enter Shefif, looking down his nose. He speaks with his lips pursed. "Mr. Flynn is in the garden. You may put your cap there." The captain lays his hat warily on a chair, and starts out. Sheff's eyes dart downward. "Perhaps you'd better wipe your feet," he suggests impersonally. "Fleen! Shefif would never be so rude." protests Lili, into the gale of mirth that sweeps the audience. As darkness falls, lights gleam from within the house. "Mrs. Flynn, do you mind if we turn on the radio? There's a program some of the boys would like to hear." "But, of course. I like to hear it, too." She leads the way in, surrounded by boys. A dozen hands move to get her a chair, but she plumps herself down on the floor, laughing, "Here I sit best." AT the other end of the lamplit living' room someone strums "A Pretty Girl Is Like a Melody," on the piano. They start humming it. There is a gradual drift from the canned to the living music. One by one the masculine voices join and swell in the song. Sailor nudges Flynn. "Sing, Errol." The others take it up. _ "Sing, Errol." Obediently, he lifts up his voice At last they've had enough. Or so Sailor thinks. Sailor doesn't believe in hints. "Time to go home, boys." "A stirrup cup in the garden," suggests Flynn. They troop out into the garden, filled now with the chirp of crickets. The moon sails overhead. They lift their glasses. "To Robin Hood. And Mrs Robin Hood." "And all of you," amends Flynn, his arm round his wife, tiny and childish-looking beside his tall figure. "Thank you. _^Goodnight. We've had a lovely time." It's the formula of well-mannered children. This is no crowd of Hollywood sophisticates, but a group of simple men whose mothers taught them long ago how to take leave of their hosts. Damita and Flynn trail with them through the living-room and out to the front door. Motors start, purr, drive away into darkness. Flynn drops a kiss on his wife's head. "Tired, darhng?" "Oh, no. They are such grand boys." Her eyes turn mischievous. "I theenk I go weeth you to location, Fleen." From far away, its rollicking note undimmed by distance, a singing voice floats back. The two on the lighted threshold break into laughter as they go in, closing the door behind them.