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Sweetheart
Charles Ray says; and as his own appear that he practices his precepts.
St. Johns
I ask you. does it sound like the opening of a Robert \V. Chambers' rom.ince. or does it not? Is it to be wondered th.u I was in a receptive — luy. one micht almost say a mellow mood? Could any sane novelist refuse either my setting or my hero?
I had been warned about Mr. Ray. I knew all about the •"Hay Foot Straw Foot" type of hero he has been creating of late — the decent, rural voung man above reproach. But I instantly rejected the popular twisting of an old saying. ■Nobody loves a good man." I found in the face of the very young man who had taken a big brown chair opposite me the kind of charm that wins love from both men and women. There were the earnest, one-track eyes of the practical idealist, the broad, open contour that spoiled his chances of being handsome, but which to a physiognomist conveyed mental honesty, open mindedness. almost gullibility. There was strength in the poise of the round, rather obstinate head, su
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Apexed on terraced green lawns, the home of Mr. and Mrs.
Charles Ray is one of the most charming residences in Beverly
Hills, an aristocratic suburb of Los Angeles noted for the
refinement and distinction of its luxurious dwellings.
persensitiveness in the wide, sweet mouth, the intense power of concentration of a student in the high, round forehead, breeding in the well-set ears.
.Any type of woman in the world might fall in love with Charlie Ray— be she good or bad. In fact. I decided that there were just as good vamps in the sea of respectability as have ever been caught. I spoke some such thought to the young star, who seemed a bit shyly waiting for me to open the conversation and from the apprehensive expression on his face not right sure whether I might not ask to look at his teeth and his heels.
"Wherefore the idea that a man who isn't a regular devil must be prosaic and unattractive and wear funny collars?" I demanded.
"Oh. that's because the regular devil is a natural-born press agent." he said, in a nice, boyish voice.
He has a_trick of forgetting to finish his sentences — as though the thought were complete in his mind and should have been grasped by his listener without further waste of time and breath.
"Vou can talk up a market for most anything. Why, I even knew an old lady who left all her money to an orphan asylum becau«e she said orphans couldn't be ungrateful to their parents. Somebody had talked up a market for those orphans. We hear such a lot about the fascinations of the roue, the lady's man, the lounge lizard, the free love artist, the crook, the ne'er-dowell, the 'male vampire.' as he has recently been styled, that for a time we forget the merits of the good, reliable three hundre<l and sixty-five days in the year guy.
"There are a lot of fellows who aren't home wreckers or safe cracker"! from sheer disinclination — not from inabilily. Personally. I've studied, portrayed and advocated the sfjuarc