Photoplay (Jul - Dec 1916)

The Glory Road in YJT/HEN Briscoe entered the office that " afternoon, it was Holl who wenl at once to the subject. "Well, I'l'in," he said cheerfully, "after looking at your scheme from about < thousand angles, I've decided to try it." Briscoe grunted. "But that doesn't mean it'll go through," Holt hastened to add. "All 1 can do is to support it at the next directors' meeting, but I'll guarantee to do that." Then he smiled a little ruefully ami shook his head. it's the trouble with us Westerners," ho said. "We simply can't resist a gamble when wo soo one. 1 suppose you realize that wo'll bo risking about $40,000 on this venturo?" "No-, 1 do." 1 lolt laughed. "AH right. 1 only mention it so you'll bo properly grateful." In the sanctity of his apartment that night Briscoe growled gratitude for the adventurous western spirit. Nor was he at all nervous regarding the outcome of the directors' meeting, for a very reliable source of information had told him that Holt owned 51 per cent of the Graphic's Western company stock. But, as plans for beginning work surged through his head, he kept :ig himself, wonderingly, what consideration could have influenced Holt strongly enough to make him reverse his first and safer judgment. CHAPTER XIII The Ansonia, New York City, May 20th. JUNE dearest: It would be a queer sort of happy man who couldn't find some beauty and romance in this vulgar and cynical city. They're here if one can see them, though I'll confess it is the first time I haven't had astigmatism in over five years. When we were here in December and January, on our way down from the North, past events w-ere too recent. The city was like a first-aid station to me then ; a place where the cuts and bruises on my confounded ego could be dressed. Now it seems like a glorified circus parade. But after all, I suppose it's the kind of glass one looks through that colors what one sees, and things reflect according to the mood we bring to them. At least, that's the way it's always been with me, and it is more than ever so now, New York becomes Bagdad, or Whitechapel, or Nineveh, or the Tower of Jewels, or La Trappe, according to the way I am wearing my aura, or what I have had tor breakfast, or tin contents of your letter. And by the way, why is it thai women's 1« will require excess postage at the receiving end, ami yet be read in levs than halt a minute? Thej remind me of those meringue things confectioners serve sometimes which promise a lot. hut which disappear into ilun air at the in i crunch. All of which leads (have you guessed it?) to the fact that I am lonesome. Surrounded, submerged, buried in mankind, still 1 yell for a little company, for certain company, tor my guardian spirit, my other half, my absolute dear. But she, alas, is listening t<> one set of sad sea waves while 1 am listening to another. But no! Pardon me! That was the elevated, not the ocean. Above all things, truth even at a poetic moment. To discontinue, we arrived here on the ioth from the Mexican border. Of course, with the trouble down there we couldn't actually cross, hut the terrain (military expression) is just as had one side of the line as the other, so that didn't affect the local color or atmosphere any. By the way, if I wanted to get even with Mexico for all she's done to us I'd present her with large portions of our border States. Put enough desert in her way and she couldn't cross to raid us. Hence, security, peace, plenty. I shall write to the papers about this. I think the picture we took down there — they haven't got a name for it yet — is good. Stannard and the department heads made a noise like enthusiasm when it was run in the projection room, but you know how much that means ! Some of the worst flivvers get the biggest hands. I was nervous, of course, as it was my first big job, but nobody asked me to resign, so I look forward to my check as usual. By the way, they pay Monday here; keeps all hands poor against the temptations of the week-end. The men's wives approve of it, so I suppose they'll have a fervent testimonial from you presently, something as follows : "Sirs: Before you instituted your plan of paying the hands on Monday, it was all I could do to get my husband safely over the Sabbath. He was hopelessly addicted, and had been for years, to pineapple juice in its most vicious form. When night after night he failed to return home, I would say in despair to little Paul : 'Go, child, to the Dairy Lunch and bring your father home again,' and the lad, old with horror before his years, always found him there. My husband was incorrigible. I reasoned with him, pleaded with him. We tried everything, but to no avail. He would saturate himself with that awful poison. But now — " And so on. We begin our new picture next week in the Fort Lee studio, and Stannard told me just yesterday that it would be a case of hustle it through. You see, there has been quite a shake-up owing to Marguerite French's popping to Stellar, and we'll have to work nights, etc., in order to substitute releases and get them out on time. That's about all the news there is for me to tell you, and it isn't much on the surface, but oh, Snowbird, if you only knew how much