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Moment of My Life
The rise of Ruth Chatterton as a dramatic actress has in itself been dramatic. Her screen life is invariably dramatic. But her real life? Hardly expecting to be believed, she at first assured us that her history was prosaic. And then out of the past came this memory — dramatic, unforgettable. No role she has ever played can compare with this unexpected role she actually lived. — Editor's Note.
ey both know their drama: Ruth Chatterton with Dorothy zner, who directed her in "Sarah and Son" and "Anybody's Woman "
f dly threw on some clothes and had barely finished dressii; when a knock came on the door. If I had only known
'i.Tt that impatient knock was to mean — if I had realized It it was the beginning of a series of the most startling •'ents ever to occur to me — I wonder if I should have had
e courage to open the door.
It is difficult for me to describe my thoughts as I saw ly unexpected midnight visitor standing before me.
Clothes torn to shreds . . . dirty and grimy . . . hatless and unshaved. He looked suddenly old, and he was barely twenty-one. I had seen him only ten days before, on the trip across. At that time, he had been youthful, full of the joy of living, well dressed, anticipating the pleasures of his first visit to the gayest city in the world. What dreadful thing could have happened ?
An Escaped Prisoner
HIS story came falteringly. Briefly, it was something like this: He had stopped off in a small town about thirty miles from Paris to look about. While there, he had been thrown into jail for the crime of stealing an automobile. He had protested his innocence (in which I certainly believed), but his protests had carried no weight with the police. Then, even more serious, after two nights in the local jail, he had managed to escape and make his way to Paris. He knew they were searching for him and would probably take him back. He wanted me to help him out of the trouble. He hated to call on a woman in this emergency— but I was the only person he knew in France, and he couldn't speak a word of the language. After that much of the story, he collapsed from sheer exhaustion. My maid and I got him to the lounge and tried to make him comfortable.
As he lay there, I tried to get a clear conception of the whole thing through my very startled brain. Here was a {Continued on page g8)
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