Modern Screen (Dec 1931 - Nov 1932 (assorted issues))

Modern Screen cleverer excuse for staying away from his own engagement dinner than to say he fell asleep at five o'clock that afternoon and didn't wake up till after one o'clock the next morning. Solomon could have told a far less idiotic story than that, I'm sure." "He couldn't, if he told the truth!" flared Clay. "I explained to you fifty times that I had been working nearly all night long, for a week, at the studio, on account of that special we had to finish on schedule; and I was dead on my feet. You know it was my big chance ! I got home at five o'clock and I thought an hour's nap would brace me up. I didn't wake up till — " "Till you had made me the laughing stock of the whole movie colony," she finished. "I told you then that there was nothing more to be said about it. Please give me my dog. I must get home." "I'll give you my dog, if you insist. But as you sent back all the other things I gave you — " "Wait !" she broke in. "I know how we can settle it, past all doubt. I bought Roddy from Chief Boyle. The Chief raised him from a puppy. He'd know him, at one glance. I'm going over to that service station and telephone to police headquarters and ask the Chief to drive up here, right away, and settle the matter." CHE vanished into the service station's ^ scarlet-painted office, leaving Clay and the Scottie blinking after her. Presently she was back again, triumph in every line of face and slender body. "The Chief will be up here in ten minutes," she announced. "And from my description, he's certain it must be Roddy. Of course, that means you'll have to sacrifice ten whole minutes talking with me, here, till he arrives. I'm sorry to inflict such an ordeal on you ; when really there seems to be nothing we can say to each other. But it can't be helped, I suppose. He says — where are you going?" she broke off with something akin to dismay. For, tucking the Scottie under his arm, Barry Clay also vanished into the service station. Ruth took an uncertain step after him. Then she paused, standing irresolute. In three minutes Clay emerged from the office and rejoined her. As he crossed the street toward her he was laughing — rather unaccountably. "You said ten minutes, didn't you?" he said to her, still grinning. "That'll be about right — Boyle is just starting. I told him to bring along the snapshot of Jock he showed me the day I bought the dog from him." A S Ruth listened the lines around her mouth softened considerably. Then, suddenly, seemingly for no reason, the two of them burst out laughing. "Didn't Solomon say something about profiting by past foolishness and false pride and all that miserable sort of thing?" asked Barry, his eyes holding Ruth's. "If he didn't, it's time somebody did. And I can go him one better in something else : instead of cutting the dog in two, let's own him, jointly, shan't we? And we can call him 'Roddyjock.' It's a swell name. How about it?" "But — but where is he going to live, then?" "With us, of course. In the Beverly Hills house we're going to build." Ruth's eyes grew very soft and she smiled and caught hold of Barry's arm. As they drifted away, with Roddyjock scampering rocking-horse-like at their heels, a fat man bustled into the service station. "May I use your phone ?" he asked the clerk excitedly. "I've just seen a dog of mine that was stolen some days ago. He is following a man and a girl. I want to call up Chief Boyle and tell him." "Sorry," said the clerk sullenly. "There've been too many people using the phone already this morning." "But, my dog!" The man cried. "It's a Scottie ! I must get him." The clerk yawned wearily. "Say, listen," he said sagely. "Forget it. No one can tell his own Scottie from anyone else's — I know. I've had three — and lost them all." "I don't care if you had fifty Scotties, I've got to talk to Chief Boyle!" the man thundered. "He raises them. He'll know my dog." "Don't waste your time," the clerk said wearily. "A girl was just in here — and after she left, a man. They both called the Chief. I could tell from what they said that the Chief went to Pasadena this morning and isn't expected back till tomorrow. So long." Stepchild of the Royal Family (Continued from page 75) shame. His admiration goes to the fighters of life . . . not the romantic and colored figures of sentiment. Personally, he does not consider himself a stepchild of the Royal Family ... or any other family — "Hell, no!" The real reason for revealing the fact that Barrymore is suffering continually from an affliction is that it might possibly explain so much of Barrymore's personal and professional restlessness. That terrific pain in his knee . . . the swelling of his right hand . . . the taut expression in his face ... all of these might help to build a basis for his present attitude towards Hollywood people and the world. 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