The Photo-Play Journal (May 1916-Apr 1917)

PAGE 6. THE PHOTO-PLAY JOURNAL FOR AUGUST, 1916. Rene always gave him inspiration "No, we are a trio, Mr. Gordon," he commented, "where but a moment ago we were only two. To what do I owe the extreme pleasure of the additional presence ?" "Come, Wynne," crisply commanded the young man, as he lifted her cloak from a chair and moved toward the door, "let us decrease the size of your friend's party to one, since he seems in favor of small gatherings." "You misunderstood me, Chief," interrupted White with a smile as he laid aside his brushes and color and advanced toward the visitor, "it was to odd numbers I voiced an objection. However, if you can show your shield and have the wagon outside with gong unmuffled, I suppose you will take your prisoner despite me!" The "prisoner" could not suppress a giggle as Gordon stammered for a reply which would fit the insult and at the same time not lower him in his own estimation. "You intimate that this young lady would prefer to remain alone with you here than to accompany her father's friend to her home, sir. And by such inference you insult both her and me." "The same statement could never insult you both, my lord," bowed the artist. "What would be the grossest insult to Miss Mortimer would, when applied to you, be complimentary. Thus do I prove it !" And he took hold of the open door and bowed to both, smiling as he with his free hand placed Wynne's arm within her mentor's and turned back to his painting. Too irritated by his enemy's sarcastic calm to reason or ask an explanation of the girl, Gordon, finding her docile and silent, took her direct to William Mortimer's office, where they found the father immersed in affairs in no way akin to love or art. Glancing questioningly at Wynne as they entered, Gordon saw no sign of any intention on her part to speak, so he began at once. "I have just brought Miss Mortimer from the studio quarter, sir," he began. "She was visiting an artist we met at the exhibition last week, and in my surprise at finding them alone, I am afraid I brought your daughter away before she had quite done." "You did, Hugh, old dear," interposed Wynne as she noted her father's amazement and rising anger. "But I shall go back again as soon as you have tattled and heard me abused and then gone chuckling back to your office. So let's have it over with, dad ! "I was calling on David White at his invitation, which you both heard given, and he needed a type to complete a group in his latest painting which he could not find among the models — so I undertook to help him when he said I'd do. "Hugh came rushing in and insulted us both, and was very cleverly and properly rebuked for it ; but nevertheles he dragged me here and will tell you much more than I could probably — because I can only tell what happened, and I've done that already." And as her father rose and faced them both, showing his intention of approving the man's action quite plainly by his expression, Wynne turned and fled through the door, leaving them facing each other. That evening she faced her father with no slight uneasiness, and her fears were realized when he announced after dinner that he had a few words to say to her before she retired. "But can't they wait, father?" she asked; "1 may want to go out this evening, and one of your scoldings before going would spoil all my fun !" "Don't be alarmed, my dear," he replied, without heat, but with particularly disagreeable emphasis. "Your evening out won't be spoiled, because you are not going out. You are going to stay in until you promise me not to run wild through the 'tenderloin' when my back is turned or Hugh is not around to attend you. That young man is a business man, and very successful ;" he paused with satisfaction at this. "He has other affairs to attend to than strutting about with young women all day, or following them through questionable neighborhoods to rescue them from irresponsible characters with whom they may become infatuated. I only want to tell you, my girl, that you are to instruct your maid for the next week or so to tell all callers that you are not receiving any one." Wynne flushed rebelliously as she realized the full significance of his order and the humiliation she would suffer as a result of its enforcement. "You are ridiculous, father. I am not a child!" she stormed. "Then act like a young lady hereafter, and you will be so regarded, my dear." And her father kissed her lightly as he rose from the table and passed into his library. ;ji ^ ;|; ;j< % ^ % $z ^ The next morning found David White gazing despondently at his unfinished work. He found himself without the inspiration to begin and bereft of the perfect model of the day before, brooded miserably before his canvas. Rene attempted, with her usual light raillery, to cheer him. With instinctive understanding which exceeded even his own, she summoned all her sweet sympathy to bring to her idol diversion and comfort. But David was in despair. The painting must be completed within a few days in order to get a place in the exhibition. He saw no way to complete it without Wynne, and had no idea how he should ever see her again after yesterday's scene. Feeling herself unusually depressed, Rene retired to her dressing room and applied the usual stimulant — for her. She had been long addicted to the use of cocaine, and in moments like the present, resorted to the hypodermic with good results— at least temporarily. Much exhilarated after an injection, the girl thought of her lover's despondency and how quickly a few grains of the drug would set his mind on edge and hands at work. She hesitated but a moment. David had often seen her take the cocaine and remonstrated. But she had as often shown him the effect it had upon her, to his wonderment. Knowing it would be useless to urge him to use the needle, she acted on a more subtle impulse, which came with the mingling of the diluted drug with her blood. Returning to the studio and standing beside David, who was gazing moodily at his partly finished work, Rene mixed her powder with a few drops of water, partly filled the hypodermic barrel, and, shaking it lazily, she let her eyes follow his to the easel. "It's too bad you're not against the 'junk' like me," she intoned casually. "A speedball from the needle here would fix you so 'twould be no trouble at all to finish up !" And she motioned toward his work while wiping off the instrument and carefully inserting the needle into her wrist as she pressed the little plunger home slowly. David watched her curiously. He noted the added vigor in her movement as she withdrew the needle from her flesh. He observed the enlarged, brilliant pupils of her eyes as the cocaine took effect, and with a questioning glance to which he shook his head in reply. Rene tripped lightly from the studio, calling back that she'd return in an hour. Meeting Fritz, the kindly old janitor, on the stairway as she descended, Rene cautioned him against disturbing David while she was out. It occurred to her that her plan would fail if visitors were about. Fritz nodded his understanding, and the girl passed into the noonday crowds on the street. Left alone before his unfinished effort, David wondered what might have happened to his volunteer model of the day previous. Gazing dully up at where she had stood,