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motion picture classic
I
Viola Dana has already planted her California garden. She confidently expects a big crop, for she planted her potatoes and onions so close together that the onions will make the potatoes’ eyes water, thus doing away with danger from draught.
Bert Lytell is the newest star to be added to the Metro constellation. He played in Herbert Brenon’s “Lone Wolf.”
During Norma Talmadge’s recent trip to Palm Beach she tried her good luck at the roulette-wheel in the Casino, and, with the good fortune that invariably follows her lead, all but broke the bank.
Travers Vale, the veteran director, signalizes the renewal of his contract with World with Montagu Love and Barbara Castleton in “The Swami.” The locale of this new picture is India, the land where ancient and modern history meet face to face.
Mrs. Douglas Fairbanks is developing into a billiard champion, since she nearly beat her husband in a recent game. The latter is an expert and would make any champion look like a discouraged salesman.
Mary Pickford says that riding in the side-car of a motorcycle contains more thrills to the linear foot than any other sport. No, Mary doesn’t indulge as a regular thing, only for screenic purposes in “Amarilly of Clothes-line Alley.”
Hugh Thompson has been engaged to play leading-man to Doris Kenyon in her first De Luxe Pictures release, “The Street of Seven Stars.”
Theodore Roberts would shave off his whiskers if he could, but they wont let him. He has to wear the hirsute adornment in “M’liss,” Mary Pickford’s new Artcraft picture.
In Wallace Reid’s forthcoming Paramount picture, “The House of Silence,” there are a number of scenes at a Red Cross Bazaar. When Director Crisp started to rehearse him, Wally raised his hands in protest and said it was unnecessary, as he had had enough practice from his Eastern trip. “I know exactly what to do,” said Wally; “spend all my money and get out.” The star promptly emptied his pockets and headed for his dressing-room. Crisp, calling him back, declared that no vacation had yet been declared.
J. Stuart Blackton, who is in the West making Paramount pictures, has decided never to return East to produce for the screen. Commodore Blackton has been joined in California by his family.
A Star That Doesn’t Shine in the Dark
Crane Wilbur, at a recent Elks’ Benefit held in Santa Monica, was called upon for a reading. He went triumphantly thru Robert W. Se'-viss’ “The Odyssey of ’Erbert ’Iggins,” from “The Rhymes of a Red Cross Sian.” That is, Mr. Wilbur’s triumph was complete until he neared the concluding lines :
“It’s my silly old feet wot are slippin’,
It’s as dark as a ’ogs’ead o’ sin.”
Not for all the fame, fortune and Motion Picture contracts that could have been laid at his feet could Mr. Wilbur remember the word “’ogs’ead.” Afterward he stated that he knew it was something that meant absolute darkness. But at the time the only thought that came to him in regard to the hero of the poem was that he had “reached his destination safely.” So he nonchalantly informed his audience, “Oh, well, he got there all right, anyhow !”
And the Elk assemblage laughed its loudest and applauded its hardest.
( Seventy-seven )
The Tiger Man
( Continued, from page 26)
laughed at it — but it’s — so. I’m sorry — but it’s — so. But if I — took you — I
couldn’t forget neither. I couldn’t take you, shrinkin’. I couldn't — lay hands on a saint.”
He took her back on his horse, and as he gave her into the trembling, joyous clasp of the Reverend Luke she smiled up at him. “You are good,” she said, softly, gratefully; “I knew it. And I will ... I will pray for you.”
Two weeks later, as Sheriff Sandy Martin and his deputies were sitting in the sheriff’s “office” glooming over the slender chance the sheriff had for reelection, owing, chiefly, to his slip-up on the Tiger Man, that desperado himself suddenly appeared in the doorway and covered them.
“Hands up !” he said, coldly.
All hands shot up. The various facial expressions of consternation and bewilderment would have made a fortune for a film magnate.
“Mister Sheriff,” then said Hawk Parsons, “you’d like almighty well to coop me up — isn’t that about right ?
“Straight,” agreed the sheriff, rather quaveringly.
“Then,” said Hawk Parsons, “you can do a little trick for me, and if you do it and do it straight I’ll come back and hand myself over. You can lock me up for keeps, and — you’ll be sheriff of Cactus County again. How are you on it ?”
“Shoot !” said the sheriff.
“There’s a sky-pilot here name of Luke Ingram,” said Hawk, “who has been puttin’ up, near as I can make out, a pretty stiff fight for some services on Sunday. The gamblers in this hell-hole are against him — nat’rally. It aint clear to me yet if you are against the gamblers — or with them. I’m goin’ to find it out — and find it out now. You and your white friends here are the logical ones to see that the little pard of the Almighty gets away with his prayerfests. He
wants ’em. His wife wants ’em. So do I. You see that he gets ’em — and / see that you get — me? Are you on ?”
“What’s your game, Hawk?”
“That aint a part of the contract, pard,” and Hawk Parsons narrowed his evil eyes, in whose narrow depths, while he was speaking, a light unbelievingly soft had been showing; “that’s mine — the reason. Shoot !”
“I’m on,” said Sandy Martin.
“World without end, amen/’ said the Reverend Luke Ingram, and raised his saintly face to heaven.
“Amen,” repeated Ruth, and smiled to see the awed faces in the crowd before them.
“Hell — without — end — amen,” whispered Hawk Parsons, locked, doublelocked and guarded in his prison cell. And his huge chest rose and fell.
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