Motion Picture Classic (Jan-Aug 1919)

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MOTION PICTURE CLASSIC WRITERS FREE BOOK! A WONDERFUL BOOK -READ ABOUT IT! Tells how easily Stories anti Plays are conceived, written, perfected, sold. How many who don’t DREAM they can write, suddenly find it out. How the Scenario Kings and the Story Queens live and work. How bright men and women, without any special experience, learn to their own amazement that their simplest Ideas may furnish brilliant plots for Plays and Stories. How your own imagination may provide an endless gold mine of Ideas that will bring you Happy Success and Handsome Cash Royalties. How hew writers get their names into print. How to tell if you ARE a writer. How to deveiop your “story fancy,’’ weave clever w'ord pictures and unique, thrilling, realistic plot.“. How your friends may be your worst judges. How to avoid di.= couragement, and the pitfalls ' '' Failure. HOW TO WIN ! This sui prising book is AHSOHJTEI . FREE. No charge. No obligation. YOUR copy is waiting fo' you. Write for ii NOW. Just address AUTHORS’ PRESS Dept. 42, Auburn. 48 Photos of Movie Stars reproduced in half tone. On cardboard, suitable for framing. Arliuckle, Bara, Chaplin, Pickfords, .\nita Stewart, Pearl White, etc. doth male and female STARS are dl here in CLASSY PO.SES. By nail postpaid 15 cents. Stamps or ■ i;n. ARDEE PUBLISHING CO. Dept. 150 Stamford, Conn. THERE’S ONLY ONE WAY to SECURE A SATI N SKI N " APPLY SATIN SKIN CREAM, THEN SATIN SKIN POWDER. The Marvelous PORT-O-PHONE is an aid to the DEAF that really AIDS. Prove this at our expense. Let Its send a PC) RT-O-P H OX K to you for FIFTEKX 1)AVS’ FRICK TRIAla, without deposit or any ol>ligation on ynur part. Prove in your own way that tlie PORT-O-PHO.VK Qives you immeasurably IC.AS I ICR. HKT'riCU an<l t'l.IC.MDCl'J hearing than \K>\\ cm oht.-'.iu li'.rorgh any other me. ins. Its (listbictively natural, mellow touo.s 1)i'ought so soothingly to vour ear, will A.STOI'ND YOU. Our booklet “HOW DEAFNESS IS AIDED,” is yours for the asking. Write for your copy today. Or call for booklet, free demonstration and advice. THE PORT-O-PHONE CORPORATION 1929 Broadway, New York City Canadian Offices: 514 New Birks Building, Montreal Living Down the Name of Percy — {Continued from page 31) And enthusiastic. We were armed, fore-armed, with the facts that Mr. Marmont was a Londoner and that he had but just toured the world. Also that he was stopping over in New York longer than he had anticipated. “Why” — we asked. “I got aw’fly interested in the movies,” Mr. Marmont rather tactfully replied, “and tliey then wanted me for ‘The Invisible Foe’ — and, all told, it was so jolly interesting, so jolly hospitable, dont you know ...” We “shot” a few more inquiries, such as. “Were you born right in London?” “Indeed, yes. Born and bred there. In the part of London that would correspond to iqitown here in New York. I’m a cockney, you know, a genuine cockney. Pure cockney. The streets of London ... all my childhood and youth were •4pent there.” “An actor? You were destined for that?” “Not by my parents. Oh, no! I was educated for the bar. Studied for the bar. And I was most wretchedly unhappy in the work. I shall never forget i'lst how unhappy I was. I hated the life. Hated the confinement. It was all so colorless to me. Then — well, I had a fi'iend, the proverbial friend, who was connected with the stage. He offered to give me a chance. I — ran away.” \\Y thought, there in the dimming office, that we could vision it all . . . the fall, pale, eager youth bent, unwillingly, over the musty, fusty law-books . . . staring past them . . . beyond them . . . to a land of chameleon scenes ... to the art that beckoned him with a myriad mystic tongues. Law makes a dingy thing for such an one. “Stock first,” Percy was saying, in his light, pleasant voice, ‘‘a great many of them London plays which never reached here. Then came this trip about the world. We played every sort of a play, even to ‘East Lynne’ and ‘Lorna Doone.’ We played in the farthermost corners of the earth. Afidcan veldt, in the Australian bush, in all the cities, great and small. We were chased by a German submarine, we had all manner of adventure. It was quite tremendous. It is amazing how keen Africa is about the stage. Johannesburg is quite, quite modern. Very New Yorkish. Well, then, .\merica. I had no idea of remaining here. It was simply en route.” “What of America ?” I suggested. “What do you think of it? Do you like it, or the reverse ? What of New York ?” “I am quite mad about it,” said Percy, “quite. The West is stupendous. I cant get it into my head. I never imagined such vastness (pronounced ‘varstness’) . I was totally unprepared for the West. New York is much as I imagined. Not so different from London. Except, perhaps, down about Wall Street. There it is unbelievable in its energy. When I am down there I feel like saying, ‘Oh, stop, please stop, just for an instant. It is too much!’ ” “The American girls?’’ I interpolated, tentatively. “Comparatively, I mean.” Percy laughed and lit a cigaret and | said: “Aren’t girls the same — everyzvhere?” “.ire they?” J “Pretty much so. Nice. Just girls. I Comparatively . . . well, the New York girl is different from the English girl chiefly in that she has more ‘pep’ and much more sophistication. I think the cafe life probably makes for that — the getting away from the family earlier, too. Then the American girls are more consciously independent, rather morel effete, dont you know ? Strange, too, that it should be so in a country so much newer, so much younger. But I suspecti that is a great deal surface . . . they arei really very young, your American girls, and wholly delightful. Cf course, I have had experience only with the people in the profession. I found Miss Fergu-^ son absolutely delightful — oh, absolutely.”! Nice response. I asked him where he had elected tO; live, coming here a stranger to a strange i land. He said Long Island. Bayside, J believe, or Bayshore, or Bay something' or other. i He said that he had moved to Longi Island that he might have a garden. ‘‘If has been one of my dreams,” he said? He added, “But I haven’t had the timei Cne doesn’t have much of that here ir^ America.” “You are married,” I asserted. ' “What should I answer?” he laughed i “The truth, of course,” with severity i “Well, then, yes. Yes, I am.” “I knew it.” He elevated his facile eyebrows. “Because,” I enlightened him, “other i wise you would not be living suburbanly:' on Long Island.” “The garden ” he reminded me._ “You haven’t it.” ' Ii “Caught !” he laughed. ' He has a charming accent, English which we all know, but somehow dis tinctly delightful. He thinks zve liavi an accent, too, which is. quite amusing-| to us. He said when he first got here h; used to love to sit back in his chffir an' say to people, “Ch, please go on an talk. I want to listen.” I “I feel especially proud of an' achievements of my own,” he said, i! conclusion, “because I was born wit such a frightful handicap — or nearli so.” , My interest was intrigued, to state th case mildly. What I didn’t imagine! ■ It s hardly fair, Percy was pursuinj behind spirals of smoke, “to handicap | chap so early. But I was. I dont kno' that I can ever quite forgive my parent |, They named me Percy. Percy, concei\ of it ! Do you think I can ever live ; down ? Do you ?” , “No,” I said, and rose to go. jl His face fell. There was a disiu ■ silence. ‘I “You already have,” I said; “it mu ■ have been awful— but you’ve done it!” H ( Scvcvly-ticaj ifl