Photoplay (Jul - Dec 1921)

Three dolls and a dog. Beg pardon? Why yes — that's Hope Hampton with the curly pig-tails. A Broadway Farmerette Hope Hampton — an improved model By DELIGHT EVANS BROADWAY, to most, means that section of Manhattan between 42nd and 48th Streets. In terms cinematic, it means from the Rialto Theater to the Capitol. That section is always illuminated. On pleasant days, the sunlight seems brighter there and more material than anywhere else. The glass windows of the haberdasheries and the polished shirt-fronts of the actors and the sparkling surfaces of sundry cabs all give back the glare. At night — ah, at night! As some great man, visiting Broadway, said: "If only one could not read, what a street!" The electric signs advertise actresses and garters and automobiles and underwear — all. one is at liberty to believe, encircling the globe. The myriad electrics twinkle messages from the producer to the consumer; the — but it has all been told so many times before. I have a vastly different tale to tell. My tale is of Broadway. But my tale is not of the Broadway you know. It's of a Broadway — farm! Hope Hampton lives there. To get to Hope's farm you have to go through the Broadway everybody knows, into the Broadway nobody but Hope Hampton and I — apparently — ■ know. And you may not believe it, but our Broadway is nicer than yours. She has a Colonial house and lots of lawn. She has dogs, and dogs arid fountains, and dogs. She has a garden with vegetables and another garden with flowers. She — with a little assistance from her attendants — gardens both. She is the latest improved model Farmerette, and if the overall people only knew it, she is the best walking advertisement the} could ever get. Only her overalls were especially designed for her. And her garden hat and her shoes and stockings cost almost as much as the a\ ?rage farm yields in a year. And she forgot to take her biggest diamond off, and it rolled into the pansy bed. And I suppose one should say that the sweet flowers showed the hard glittering stone up, and that Hope realized it. and threw the ring away. She didn't. She picked it up and put it on again. Her farm has it all over the ordinary farm. It's so near New York that when she wants to buy a new swing for the back yard she jumps into her car and is whirled away down Broadway in two shakes of her pet lamb's tail. She has horses and chickens, too. Her house is just a simple little place of twelve rooms. On the second floor are Hope's bedroom, Hope's boudoir, and Hope's bubble room. In the latter she keeps all her frocks. To get out of this room she has to put several of the frocks on. She has such simple gowns — just right for the country-. Her jewels may not have such eclat as those advertised in the mailorder catalogues, but what's the difference? They're good enough for Hope. She says she never can hope to have a real farm, because there isn't room enough, and besides, the house has all the modern conveniences. Once when she was tired out after a hard day's work at the studio, she came home to her farm with a feeling of thankfulness. Here, at last, was peace; here was quiet. Then the telephone rang and the modiste who makes Hope's simple little smocks called up and wanted to fit that new satin evening gown. Hope settled down again — for a second. Her butler came in and said the chauffeur would have to take one of the cars and go to the grocery for some provisions for dinner, as the delivery wouldn't get there on lime. Hope told him to take the Packard limousine, as the Rolls-Royce was a little too small for that sort of thing. Then her huge watch-dog, pictured elsewhere on these pages, began to cry and Hope picked him up and carried him to the third floor, where he — and the other dogs — have a room to themselves, with furniture especially built for them and everything. The little children of the neighboring farms all love Miss Hampton. In fact, they firmly believe that while there's life there's hope. They are standing at her gate every morning, when she leaves for the studio. At night the same delegation meets her again. They pop out from behind trees and shrubs and look at her. They hide in the flower beds. They plant themselves all over the lawn and shoot up at her. If she were a middle-western hausfrau with ten children she wouldn't have nearly as much trouble. She could chase them away, you say? Of course she could. But she doesn't. They bother her and they bore her — she's human even if she is a movie queen; but she wouldn't hurt their feelings for the world. It is said that there is a certain perfume that one could not find on Hope's dressing table in her silken rose-colored boudoir, but I am unable to discover the name of it. She loves to lead the simple life advocated by Benjamin Franklin: "early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise." That is, she'd probably love it if she ever tried it. As it is, she has to make (Continued on page 104) 43