Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1930)

Photoplay Magazine for February, 1930 beneath a headdress of creamy lace, fastened by a blood-red cactus flower. Abe's amazement was slowly replaced by a leer of triumph. "Zis moost be Senor Zoop," cooed Violetta. "You look so kind, joost like ze ozzer gentleman tell me." "Torrance is always right," gulped Abe, still resembling a freshly-landed codfish. " Didn't he swear you'd make the Queen from Sheba bust out crying from jealousy? Now if he's got as good judgment about that horse — " "We're just in time for the third race," interrupted Spook. "I'll get down a bet on that Hermit, if you'll excuse me." "Five hundred for me," Mr. Zoop called after him. "I feel lucky." "I 'ave good fortune, too," murmured Violetta. " You like me, yes? Xo?" A THIX layer of business caution overlaid -* * Abe's admiration as he watched her. "Of course," he shrugged, "maybe you wouldn't screen so well, but we'll find that out quick enough, and if you get by you'll be added to 'Betrayed in Barcelona.' " In his heart he knew that a brunette is the easiest of all types to photograph, and his ear throbbed appreciatively to the silken voice. "A real Mexican in Mexico!" he chanted. " To make it perfect, a song you could sing?" "Izinkso." " Fine," beamed Abe. Miss Velasquez nodded eagerly, and forgetting herself in her excitement, obliged with a stamping rendition of "Walking with Susie," complete with gestures. Mr. Zoop looked perplexed, then smiled blandly. "I didn't want no Yankee imitation," he said, "but it shows me you've got the makings of an actress. What I'd like is something swish-swish and Spanish, y'understand, like 'La Paloma.' " "I weel seeng eet for you later," promised Violetta. Mr. Zoop stumbled to the verandah, squinting through his field glasses, and one minute and nine seconds later he possessed the knowledge that a knobby dark horse had run the six furlongs fast enough to nip Hermit at the wire. His wails of anguish were checked by the purple-faced Spook who appeared, flourishing the useless mutuel tickets. "Can't understand it," frowned the ex-con man, as he watched the winning mount being lead away by its triumphant owner. "Hermit was the class of the field; there's something rotten." "Maybe it's you," said Abe rudely. "You been honest too long, that's what's the trouble." His glance turned on Violetta, who registered the most ravishing grief. " But I'm still ahead on the afternoon," he grinned. "I weep for you," declared the girl softly. " My heart she goes boomp wiz sorrow." "OAYE them tears for some director," said k-'the president. "Supposing you go over well, we got to publicize you. You come from a swell family, learned to play the harp in a convent and got big estates, I wouldn't be astonished?" "But no," sighed Violetta. "I am poor girl. I have nozzing but beauty." "You got to have estates; they all do," said Mr. Zoop firmly. "Mortgaged or not, it's fashionable. Furthermore, you got to be a madcap." Violetta hunched her lavender-bronze shoulders and gazed appealingly at Mr. Torrance. "That means you have to say 'damn' and 'hell' before interviewers," advised her discoverer. " Lots of pep, and all that rot." " The public demands it of the Latin temperament," seconded Abe. "But zat ees not real Mexico," pouted Miss Velasquez. "We like to have our siesta, our lofe, our moosic — all slow and dreamy like ze smoke from ze cigaritto. We — well, for crying out— I mean, oo, I have ze fright !" A handsome, sarsaparilla-complexioned !I7 A/\A'A Y\/\/)A)XA-Al\CrYTV7\ For six months we have been publishing this offer to millions of women: "Try one box of Modess. If you do not decide that it is finer than the kind you have been using, we will refund purchase price." Hundreds of thousands of boxes of Modess have been purchased, but as we write this only two women have asked us to return their money. 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