Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1930)

Photoplay Magazine for March, 1930 127 clubby, see? We ain't advertised you as 'America's Girl Friend' for nothing. Out comes prancing the unit, and after a while you'll be discovered in an Easter egg or maybe a bale of cotton, and you'll walk to the footlights all sweet and girlish, and say, 'Thanks from the heart for your gorgeous welcome. You've seen my clever company, and it would ill behoove me to imitate them, so I'm just going to tell you all about Hollywood,' and then you let loose a line of gab I'll have written for you. " "A monologue?" said Sheila, doubtfully. "That's not so easy. A girl could die standing up if she happened to strike a dumb audience. " "Since when am I a mental midget?" inquired Abe. "Wait for the blowoff, baby. I got a system that will make your exit a riot. You go down into the aisles and work your way up one and down the other, shaking hands with what is known as all and sundry. 'I simply got to greet my fans in Providence,' you say, or wherever it may be. " "You're a prince," said the little actress. "It's a better finish than to be pitied around here because you're idle. " Mr. Zoop regarded her paternally. "A tip I'll give you. Grab yourself a husband!" The cloudy image of J. Pennypacker Mawlings, 4th, sifted through Sheila's mind, and she nodded without enthusiasm. "Maybe I will," she said, slowly. "It don't have to be forever," urged the practical Abe. "Just trap one of these rich playboys that are always underfoot around here. They're all generous at the start, but when he won't give up like a gentleman no more, you can always get some judge to soak him for mental cruelty. True love or the talkies— look, I'm laughing!" THE green Verdugo Hills were being painted with the dying glories of sunset, ranging from rose to smoky orange, then quickly dulled to slate. Dusk spread its shawl across the world, fragrant, cool, and apparently eager to cloak the manifold blemishes of J. Pennypacker Mawlings, 4th, who reposed on the nape of his neck behind the wheel of his gleaming roadster. "Packy, dear," cooed Miss O'Shaughnessy, snuggling closer. "Let's go back to Beverly Hills now. Isn't it fun to have a cosy bungalow waiting at the end of the day?" "How do I know?" snorted Mr. Mawlings with bitterness. "The blooming family won't let me come home until they're through entertaining some plaintive Siberian who used to be a baron. Unfeeling, I call it, what?" " But, Packy dear, why don't you establish a home of your own?" "Wouldn't know what to do with it," said Mr. Mawlings, after pondering the subject for half a mile. "Terrible nuisance for a free soul to be saddled with." "But just suppose you had a nice little wife. The Mawlings name must be perpetuated, you know." "A wife!" bawled the matrimonial target, peering suspiciously at his companion. " I say, are you hinting at marrying me, and all that? " "Of course not," dissembled Sheila, registering horror. "I was only making a suggestion. I think you like me a little, but I wouldn't presume to think you'd propose — at least, not yet." "Glad to hear it," said Mr. Mawlings, relapsing into his customary stupor, "because I haven't the faintest idea of doing any such thing. In fact, the six weeks are almost up." Miss O'Shaughnessy stiffened. "What are you talking about?" " CIX weeks is absolutely the ultimate limit I ^can stand anyone," bleated Packy. "You're a good sport, Sheila, but we adventurers crave change. It gives me a kick to be seen tottering about with a movie star, but you don't seem to be making so many films these days, and consequently I don't notice so many envious stares. However, I shall go delving around for several years yet, after which I probably shall marry some frigid Philadelphia n and settle Are You to YOUR and HIS ? Your powder! 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