Motion Picture Classic (1923, 1924, 1926)

simplicity and her beauty which was half that of a wild wood creature, and half the age-old lure of Eve. vaguely disturbed him. Rose . . . Rose, a flower of the forest instead of the garden. Last night, in his board shack he had written a poem about her, called her "Tiger Rose." "You know about thas loupgarou?" she asked, pausing abruptly in her song. Under the elfin masses of her hair her eyes grew wide and solemn, her voice dropped a full octave to the deeps of awe, "he is ver' bad to fall in love wiz, because on'y half he is nize han'some young man and the res' of the time he is a wolf. The loupgarou eat the heart ri' out of a girl who love wiz heem. Yes, thas so ! Ask anybody !" Bruce leaned against a tree, arms folded, watching the play of emotion on the vivid face under lazy eyelids. "You dont believe that, Rose! Aren't you a Christian?" She nodded with conviction, "Yas, I'm a Christian, sure as hell !" she affirmed, and looked startled at his shout of laughter, "all the same I know what I know ! Me, I saw a woman thas had her heart eaten by the loupgarou — always she put the hand over the place where the wolf man hurt her, always she hunt for heem wiz face that mek like this !" Amazingly the young, fresh curves before his eyes took on haggardness, the eyes were haunting wells of tragedy. Bruce TIGER ROSE Fictionized by permission from Warner Brothers' production of the adaptation by Edmund Goulding of the play by Willard Mack. Directed by Sydney Franklin and personally supervised by David Belasco. The cast, starring Lenore Ulric: Rose Bocion ("Tiger Rose") Lenore Ulric Michael Devlin Forrest Stanley Father Thibault. . .' Joseph Dowling Pierre Andre De Beranger Dr. Cusick Sam De Grasse Bruce Norton Theodore Von Eltz CLASSIC Michael Devlin of the Northwest Mounted finds Rose Bocion drifting down the river on a raft toward the Anger o' God Rapids, pulls her out just in time, carries her back to the trading post, where she collapses Norton straightened as tho a whip lash of memory had flicked him on the heart. His face grew grim. "There are men who make a woman look like that — damn them !" he said slowly, "I knew one once. Wolf man fits him very well. Wolves are dangerous. They should be killed." He got hold of himself hurriedly, smiled at her. "Go on ! Tell me more. I know you're not Mr. McCollins' real daughter, but I dont know whose daughter you are. Perhaps you just growed like Topsy — that's the way you seem, like a part of all this " his gesture brought the dappled forest, the blue rushing river with the surveyors staking out a line along it, the far hills into the woods. Sitting lightly, swinging her feet in their Indian moccasins, Rose told him her simple Odyssey, her lonely childhood in the 'far deep woods with only her trapper father and the tame wildcat for companionship, her father's death "I buried heem," she said simply, "the ground was froze and it was ver' hard work. He wanted a priest to read prayers before he died. He theenk mebbe he go to hell wizout. Me, I don' theenk so. Monsieur le bon Dicu is a gentilhomtne." What a child she was, Bruce thought, feeling her words tug at his heart. Before such marvelous simplicity he felt old and disillusioned and paternal. He was only twentyfour, and one can be older at twentyfour than at any other age. "Then you came to the settlements?" he prompted, for she had fallen into one of her rich silences. That was the reason he had noticed her first and taken her from his general category of women who talked incessantly. If Rose hadn't anything to say, she said nothing. "I mek a raft," she nodded, "but the river he is ver' bad. I goin' be drown mebbe but Michael Devlin hear me yell and comes. Papa McCollins got no daughter. I stay. Thas five year now." "Michael Devlin," Bruce (Thirty)