Motion Picture Magazine (Feb-Jul 1919)

WRITERS FREE BOOK A wonderful book — read about it! 'T'ELLS how easily Stories and Plays are conceived, writJ ten, perfected, sold. How many who don't DREAM theycanwrite.suddenlyfinditout. HowtheScenarioKings and the Story Queens live and work. How bright men and women, without any special instruction, learn to their own amazement that their simplest Ideas may furnish brilliant plots for Plays and Stories. Howyour own Imagination may provide an endless gold-mine of Ideas that will bringryou Happy Success and handsome Cash Royalties. How new writers get their names into print. How to tell if you AR E a writer. How to develop your "story fancy," weave clever word-pictures and unique, thrilling, realistic plots. How your friends may be your worst judges. How to avoid discouragement and the pitfalls of Failure. HOW TO WIN! This surprising book is ABSOLUTELY FREE. No charge. No obligation. YOUR copy is waiting for you. Write for it NOW. Just address WRITERS* SERVICE Dept. 41 Auburn N.Y. niiiiiiiniiM Telephone 5499 Main — <The — IDm. Q. Hewitt — Press — PRINTERS ■ AND — BINDERS Sixty-one to Sixty-seven Navy St. Brooklyn, N. Y. Ridpath's History EWorld AT A BARGAIN We will name our special low price and easy terms only in direct letters to those mailing1 us the Coupon below. Tear off Coupon, write name and address plainly, and mail now before you forget it. This is your last opportunity to buy before the advance in price on account of greatly increased cost of manufacture. Mail the Coupon Now. The Unpardonable Sin (Continued from page 102) bomb-shelled thoughts, Dimny and Noll and her people were on their voyage home. On Dimny's return from the ill-fated chateau she found Noll awaiting her. "I have found, them!" he told her, "found them — at last." Dimny sank to her knees. Now that she was to go to them, was to see them, comfort them, assure them, the task seemed to rob her of strength. She felt suddenly weak, futile, inadequate. What could she have to say to such as they? What words could her lips utter that would reach them? Their wound was the gaping wound of Belgium and there was no staunching of the blood? These were not her mother and sister to whom she must go, but women who had waded thru the valleys of red humiliations — who had looked on the raw loins of unutterable shame nor could not look away. "Noll— I cant " she sobbed. But when she saw them, huddled together there in a pitiful drawing-room fearful of her coming, more terrified of her white spotlessness than she of their woeful shame, she ran to them and gathered them against her breaking heart. She wept over them and told them incoherently that she didn't care, that Dad didn't care, that nobody cared, that she loved them and that they were martyrs and saints and God was very good. After awhile her mother smiled on her, and kist her in return and smoothed her fluffy hair, and Alice's eyes lightened in her stark, young face. "I shall never be the same." she told her sister, grimly, "but oh, Dimny, I am glad you found us." A few weeks later Mrs. Parcot gave birth to a small daughter, and Alice to a lusty son. "She has no one on all the earth to love her," Mrs. Parcot told Dimny, "and I have been thru the world and know how hard a place it would be if love did not sustain us. I think I must love her, Dimny. She is the least of the offenders." "Of course," Dimny said, "and wept overthe small, inadequate face. Alice turned away from the small bundle they gave her. Her young, desolated face was grimmer than before. "I hate it," she declared, "I loathe it. Take it away. / do not care what becomes of it." When Stephen Parcot met what remained of his serene and once tranquil family in New York harbor, he found only Dimny, his wife, her baby and Noll Winsor. The steamer on which the little party had fared forth had been submarined, and when the rescued were taken account of Alice was not there, nor the baby she had loathed. Mrs. Parcot and Dimny grieved for her, but not so bitterly as they might have done. Life would never have softened for Alice. She had gone, an abortive bride, not to Love, but to bestial Hate, and the bridegroom had branded her. Under the washing, deep green seas, she might find forgetfulness and the cleansing she had craved. For the babe Mrs. Parcot held to her husband's tear-blind eyes, he had only an infinite compassion. "My other children came as the price of your beautiful love," he told her. "That love is none the less beautiful, none the less holy, my dear, that you have walked over burning ploughshares and suffered hell alone. This child is the price of your pain and it is reverent to me." In the next room Noll Winsor faced Dimny eagerly. "Can you be less than he is?" he was demanding; "your father — why, Dimny, he is splendid ! He knows values ! He loves your mother — more — much more — he loves her — anyway — ■" He stopped and his long-hungry eyec sought hers. Dimny looked up at him. She felt suddenly surfeit of blood and pain, of horror and of fear. She held out her arms. She smiled as she had smiled that day his music won her back from death. "I love you, too, you splendid comrade," she told him, then added from the shelter of his breast, "anyway . . . ." The Ages of Young (Continued from page 56) months then ending she had spent more than $50,000 for dress alone. This figure, tho high, is not beyond the bounds of reason when it is considered that all careful motion picture actresses make it a rule to provide entirely new costumes, including not only gowns, but wraps and furs, for each production. The selection — and the wearing — of these things so dear to every woman's heart may be said to be one of Miss Young's greatest pleasures. And yet there is another side to this picture, for the well-known star is just fond enough of "roughing" it to have taken great joy in doing not a little of the manual k.bor incident to the installation of her parents in the beautiful home in Los Angeles which she recently purchased for them. She will always remember that the several coats of paint which were necessary to make the front porch look just as it ought to look and match in with the hue of the semi-tropical flowers that fall over it in endless profusion, were applied by her own hands and that the clothes she wore were overalls and a jumper that could have been easily purchased by the humblest department store girlie spending her vacation in some farmerette community. . Miss Young is intensely human. She likes the contact of life. Not many months ago, returning to New York from Los Angeles, she was pressed into service by the military authorities on the Coast for the purpose of influencing recruits for the United States Navy. In San Francisco, Portland, Tacoma, Seattle, and Spokane she addressed enthusiastic audiences— and she testifies that she enjoyed every moment of the work. ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE In future the World Company will take only the most important principals when it goes to other parts of the country to make scenes. It will depend wholly on. local talent to fill the other roles. In future the acting in World films will be even worse than it is now. Impossible, you say? 'FESS UP, TOM ! Tom Moore's latest : The four-year-old daughter of his host met the Goldwyn star after he had spent the night under her father's roof. "Mr. Moore," she prattled, "do you sleep in pants, nightgowns or dress nightgowns?" Tom prom^1^ fhans^ed the subject. 1AS£