Photoplay (Jul - Dec 1921)

32 Photoplay Magazine All of a sudden the girl shivered as though cold and turned in her chair and glanced quickly over her shoulder with such a curious expression in her eyes that Sol was startled. "Hello, Peggy!" said her husband. "You said you were warm!" " I am warm, " she said. For a moment she sat, gazing into the fire, with her hands folded in her lap, and then before Sol could remember what he was saying, she turned and looked over her shoulder once more, just as though she had heard someone approaching her chair. "Is anything the matter, Mrs. Wainton?" Sol asked. Beyond the range of the lamp that hung over the table, laid for supper, with a white cloth and silver and china cups and saucers and plates, the room was in deep shadow, nevertheless he could see clearly that there was no one in that part of the room toward which she was looking. "Why," she said lightly, "how funny!" "How do you mean, funny?" asked her husband. "Why do you keep turning round, Peggy . . . what's up?" She laughed. " I don't know. I guess, Mr. Gritting, you'll think I'm most strange . . . but I felt just now as clearly as anything that there was someone in the room with us ..." The husband broke into a shout of laughter. "Lord, Peggv! what next?" BUT Sol saw that the girl was, for some reason or other, worried. Her color had faded. She looked strangely tired. "It's gone now," she said doubtfully. "But I tell you, Tony, I felt there was someone trying to speak to me . . . someone who was unhappy and in need of help! Queer, isn't it! I've never been so silly before, have I? Me, of all people!" The kitchen door opened and Lucy appeared to say that supper was ready. "Here, Dad," she said, "you'd better take this tray Sol hurried toward her. It s a wise author w ho kr I'll bring along the other one." "It ain't much, Mrs. Wainton," she said when all the dishes were on the table, "but it's the best we can do at such short notice." Sol was amused. "She'd say that, Mr. Wainton, uh course. Guess I shouldn't be praisin' up what I'm pervidin' myself, but there's a bit of undercut steak thar an' creamed chicken an' French fried potatoes an' a savory omelette . . . an' hot biscuits . . . gosh! them biscuits 'ull melt in yer mouth! . . . an' a jug uh coffee . . . say, I don't believe you'd git a more tasty supper than this not even in one uh them swell joints in Market Street, San Francisco ... no, sir!" Half an hour later Mr. Wainton leant back in his chair and laughed. "Peggy, Mr. Gritting was right about the supper. I never tasted a finer apple pie in my life, did you?" "I never did," said the girl. "Mrs. Drackett's a wonderful cook. I'm almost ashamed of myself, I've eaten so much!" "Why, Mrs. Wainton," said Sol, "most folks eat a-plenty up in this air: they can't help it! Mr. Wainton, you'll have some more pie . . . my darter will be hurt if you don't . . . there's another in the kitchen!" "Mr. Gritting, if my future happiness depended on my eating more pie right now, why, I'd have to be miserable for the rest of my life. I passed my limit about two pieces back." He looked at his wife. "Now, Peggy, if you've finished, what about your going to bed? You're dead tired . . ." But the girl shook her head. "No, Tony, not yet." She rose to her feet. " I think I'll sit by the fire." Then as she moved across to the big rocking chair she stopped suddenly and seemed to be listening. And again Sol was startled. "Was there anything you wanted, Mrs. Wainton?" he asked. "No, Mr. Gritting . . . nothing, thank you." ' "Guess, then, I'll clear the table, if you've no objection, so that Lucy can git straight before bedtime." "Certainly," said the girl. She smiled at her husband who was standing by her side, staring down at her very seriously. "Mr. Gritting," she went on, "this is a very old house, isn't it?" "Yes, Mrs. Wainton," said Sol, "it is. An' if it wasn't too late fer you, I could tell you some things about it that would surprise you." He waited, wondering if these very pleasant guests of his would be sufficiently interested to ask him the question he hoped to hear. They were interested, obviously. "It's not too late for my husband and myself, Mr. Gritting," said the girl quicklv. "Is it too late for you?" Too late! When he had listeners at last?, Sol smiled. Only those, who did not know Sol Gritting would have said that. He felt that he had never before met a couple whom he liked so much at such short acquaintance. As soon as he had finished his work he said that he was ready to talk; that was, if they still thought that they would like to listen. "Sit down, Mr. Gritting," said the girl. "Tony, offer Mr. Gritting a cigar. That's better, isn't it? And now, tell me . . ." She leant toward him, her elbow on the arm of her chair, her chin resting in the palm of her hand, her cheeks flushed, her eyes very bright and watchful. A pretty girl, Sol decided . . . wonderfully pretty ... as pretty a girl as he had ever seen. "Mr. Gritting," she said, "tell me . . . did anything ever happen here ... at White Gap?" Sol inspected his cigar and smiled the smile of a man who knows that he has a story to relate that is as good a story as one could want. "Well, we ain't exactly off the map at White Gap," he said. "Didn't something happen once upon a time in this very room?" said the girl. "Something terribly tragic!" Sol opened his eyes very wide and gazed at her in amazement. "How did vuh know that, Mrs. Wainton?" "I didn't know ... I felt it!" Oh! so that was it, was it? Sol puffed at his cigar and rubbed his thin knees and nodded his head. She had felt that something tragic had happened in the room! That was queer, wasn't it? Darn queer! Women was queer, anyways, doggone it! All women, even a girl as pretty and as nice looking and intelligent as this girl! It (Continued on page 96) h. s own scenarios.