Motion Picture Magazine (Feb-Jul 1919)

/TTMvlOTION PICTURE When I magazine . rj Who Cares? (Continued from page 46) most astonishingly vivid lips. It was, of course, Toodles. Joan's hand felt for her heart. She said: "Pardon me. I'm intruding. How awkward!" Martin said something. So did Toodles. But Joan didn't hear. She was out again — out in the green and silver woods. Her blood was pounding in her temples. Her hands were twin lumps of ice clenched fiercely together. "Silly name," she found herself grumbling in her constricted throat; "oh what a silly name!" The next day Joan bade her grandparents an airy farewell. "House-party," she briefly informed them; "Hosacks, y'know. At the 'Hamptons. .Ta, ta, old dears, see you in church." Joan found "the bunch" at the Hosacks. A member of the bunch was Gilbert Palgrave. "Nothing and no-one but you," he informed her. "could make me stand the Hosacks' cocktail," "I appreciate this token of your love!" she laughed in his face. Joan was the life of the party.# Even "old man" Hosack pricked up his ears and opened his eyes as wide as the fleshy impedimenta about them would permit. Harry Oldershaw, a "nice boy," carried her golf-bag and her rubber bathing cap and performed similar services, and Gilbert Palgrave gnawed out his secret soul in anything but a secret manner. Joari played hard She flung her motto in the face of all who would heed, She flung it in the face of those who wouldn't. Gilbert was growing dangerous. She had had a scene with Alice. She hadn't recognized herself in the portrait Alice's usually gentle tongue had painted. But it had stuck. Then Harry Oldershaw told her that Martin was down at his Devon cottage. As soon as she knew this the old longing assailed her. This 'time there was a longing, too, to have a talk with him. She felt that a talk must clear up many things, She wheedled Harry Oldershaw into motoring her over Harry was reluctant. However, there was no gainsaying Joan, so he took her. Joan's hopes soared. She admitted to Harry she thought — well, pretty much _ of Mart, This didn't make pleasant hearing to Harry Oldershaw. He felt pretty sick when they drew up to the Devon cottage and a very white and yellow person in slim, svelte attire appeared in the doorway and informed them that she was Mrs. Grey, and that Mr. Grey was not at home. He heard Joan mutter "Who cares?" and he didn't like the sound of it. That evening Harry Oldershaw was further harrowed up. He Overheard Joan tell Gilbert Palgrave that she would drive out for dinner with him. Harry thought that a poor combination. What might they not do? Two young fools. Two sorry fools who thought their hearts were broken. He got out his trusty roadster that had convoyed Joan to Devon and back only that afternoon, and set out to unravel again the moon-powdered ribbon of road. He found Martin at home and told him what he thought of what was happening. Joan paid little heed to where Palgrave was taking her. She felt it didn't matter — now. When she saw that it was his cottage she shrugged. Once inside Gilbert wasted no time. "Joan," he said, "the game's up — or it's just begun. I know I'm thru — as it is. I love you. Consumingly. You are my Great Emotion. You, with your child's face and your woman's eyes and your heart . . . your untouched heart . . ." "Gilbert," interrupted Joan, beginning to be just a trifle afraid of the fanatical fire growing by leaps and bounds in the man's eyes, "Gilbert, you are wrong . . . not . ■ , untouched . , ." Palgrave didn't hear. He didn't stop. "But all this makes no difference" to me," he was saying, "your youth, your fineness, nothing. Perhaps if you hadn't played with me . . , hadn't fanned the flame . . , who knows? I dont. I'm past . . . long past , . . knowing. Now I, who was once a man, even a gentleman, have become a brute ... a beast, if you will ... a carnivorous, hungry, stalking brute. I want you. I want you. If I cannot have you," he drew a pistol from his pocket and placed it quiveringly against her soft heart, "well, I will," he rasped, "tho you and I — are dead " Joan just looked at him, Then her lips smiled. And they were not angry. They were not childlike They were sad, very sad, and wise, very, very wise, and mother-wise, and tender, "1 know, Gil," she said, ?'I — know. I . , . but what is there for me to say, Gilbert? I dont love you, I cant give myself to you. Not because I'm a kid now. Not that. Because I'm a woman — all at once. Because I love Martin Grey. I love him, only him, Oh, Gilbert, forgive me, I was a fool — a fool. Not a child, a fool." Someone took Gilbert's pressing, clutching fingers from her limp shoulders; Someone else drew Gilbert, incoherently resisting, out of the room Then someone drew her out, too, out into the moonlight. It was Martin. "I heard Joan," he whispered, "is it — is it — true.?" Joan tried to speak, but the old words, the gay words would not come. Too many things stood between. Martin was speaking again : "She — Toodles — " he was saying, "just a little waif, a stray, a poor little unfortunate. I — she has been nothing to me, Joan, nothing but someone I have been able to help. I have fed her — but I — have been starving . . ." Joan essayed another attempt at speech. "Such a — such a — fool — Mart," she achieved. Martin felt that hysteria, even nervous collapse, was imminent. He tried to laugh for her, who had been ever so ready with laughter. "Who cares? he quibbled, and drew her very near. Joan broke — pitifully. She gave deep sobs and pressed against his heart, clung to him, kist him. "Who cares?" she sobbed, who does? Why .../... / do ... I ... oh, Mart . . . !" BEST LAUGH OF THE MONTH Producer Hutchinson says he will pay $25,000 for a suitable scenario. Publicity is cheap these days, why not make it $50,000? 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