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

PAGP 24. THE PHOTOPLAY JOURNAL POR DECEMBER, 1916 "What brings you'se up here, fellers?" the slovenly individual asked them. "We got yer signal, boss," one of them replied. "See," the burly one said, turning to Rothwell, "before ye kin blink yer eye twenty times I kin have enough men here to kill forty little shrimps like you'se. And, be sure to get de meanin' of it all — it means yer not to open yer head to anyone 'bout a bloke named Jimmy Hite if ye got any of de said desire to keep on livin', dat's all. Come on, gang." And without even so much as casting a fleeting glance at the much surprised young bookkeeper, the whole crowd left the office and quickly descended adjacent stairs. Rothwell remained immovable in his chair for fully five minutes. He found it impossible to think, a state_ of paralysis having seemingly rendered his mental machinery helpless. Then all too suddenly one all-shocking thought struck him. What if that gang of ruffians discovered his deception within the next ten minutes! Forthwith he jumped out of his chair and fairly scrambled for the door, and at that very instant the telephone bell rang. He paused and debated on whether or not to lose the time to answer the phone, but upon realizing it was undoubtedly the soothing voice of his girl Maude he would hear, he took a chance on whatever terrible fate might be in store for him should the worst happen. "Hello, dearie," he stammered into the phone. "Yes, it's me, but I'm in a hurry to get out of the office ; I just had an exciting experience. Yes, a bunch of thugs were up here threatening my life. Yes, honest ; and, listen, sweetheart, I — I — think it will be for the best that I duck out of town and disappear for good. Why? So they can't find me to kill me. Huh?" Then he silently listened, evincing a keen interest in what he heard over the phone, but finally he assumed a protesting attitude. "I tell you, dearie, I must beat it — I can't explain everything to you except to tell you I haven't done anything wrong. I'm just a victim of circumstances. Huh?" He listened again and then said as if repeating after the voice over the telephone : "Don't run away ! You mean I mustn't run away at all? You hate a coward ! Huh?" After a moment he said, "All right then, dearie ; I'll be right down." After hanging up the receiver and looking all around cautiously, he walked rapidly to the door, turned off the lights and go out of the office and the building in ji"time, hopping a street car which landed him in front of Maude Thome's home thirty minutes later. She met him on the sidewalk, announcing that they would take a little stroll while they chatted. Maude Thorne was one of those buxom, little, golden-haired, young women, whose blue eyes seemed to always be dancing for joy, and whose pretty pinkish face was a veritable rendezvous for smiles of the variety that made a fellow feel like life was worth its privations after all. On this particular occasion she wore a fluffy, pale pink summer dress which augmented her beauty to the extent of attracting eyes on all sides. And the minute Don Rothwell joined her he was a vastly different young man. He seemed actually jolly and carefree almost instantaneously. "Oh, honey ; you can't begin to know how glad I am that you did keep me from acting on the impulse of the moment and running away. But it was a harrowing experience I had tonight," he began, following this with a detailed account of all that transpired in his office. "And because of a little excitement like that, you'd run away and leave me with a broken heart, when you know how I hate cowardice," she said reprovingly after 1 ■ had finished, but she smiled just as sweetly as ever. "Well, Maude dear, th — there are other reasons why it might be best for me to go," he stammered half in the notion of at last apprising his fiancee of his financial embarrassment. "What are the other reasons?" she very promptly asked, refusing to get serious. "Oh, I don't know, honey, only I'm afraid you're not going to be happy with me," he said immediately, beginning to change his mind about making any confessions. "That's for me to decide beforehand, dearest," she reminded gently and without concern. "I'm pretty sure you're the only SEVERED HEARTS? YEA, "BUSTED" / loved thee in life's morning, When the sunbeams kissed the dew; I loved thee in its springtime, When the rose was budding new. We parted in the summer, When the winds of June didst blow; My heart was aching, darling, But not with yours, I know. Fate, that barrier so bold. Didst keep me all "in twain." And through all the mist and gloom Came Hard Luck's refrain. E'en now that years have rolled between And Youth's bright shore we leave, I still remember thee, ah e'en I love thee in life's eve. And why have we been e'er apart? Why did not thee e'er join The crowd nearest to my sad heart, Oh, ye elusive Coin! — By a Movie Actor, Who Moved Backward. boy in the world I love, and there's no reason why I shouldn't wed you if you're willing." "God knows I'm willing and anxious ; but, I — er — well, you deserve a better man than I am," he finally blurted out. "What in the world has gone wrong with you tonight, Don?" she asked, much puzzled. "This is the first time I ever heard you 'knock' yourself. Usually you are your own best, little booster, talking about all the money you're making and all the nice things you're going to get me." "I guess I'm upset, Maude ; don't let it worry you." "Indeed, I'm not going to let it worry me, because right away I'm going to change the subject by telling you all the wonderful plans I made today for our future," she chimed in cheerily. "You know you suggested that we take a summer cottage down at Atlantic City — " "Yes, I think it would be great to run down there every evening and get away from the stifling heat of the city," he replied. "But it would be too expensive, honey, so I've decided it would be much better to furnish up a nice little apartment now, somewhere uptown near the Hudson, where it's just as cool as it is at Atlantic City. You see, Don, I've figured it would cost a little more now, but in the end we'd be better off, because we'd have an all-theyear-round home right from the beginning." "How much do you figure it would take to carry out your plan of furnishing up the apartment?" he asked endeavoring to hide the consternation he felt within him. "It will take exactly one thousand dollars, paying cash for all the furniture we need and a couple months' rent in advance," she replied enthusiastically. "A thousand dollars !" he exclaimed, panic-stricken at the realization that he would experience difficulty in raising a hundred. "Yes," she replied. "You were talking about paying $5,000 for a little Long Island home." "Er — yes — of course a thousand dollars is easy," he assured the girl. "We'll carry out your plan." "Oh, do tell me when," she begged in ecstacy. And, she could not have possibly made Don Rothwell feel more uncomfortable ! Out of sheer desperation he yanked off his straw hat and ran his fingers roughly through his long, black, wavy hair. He felt impelled to pull out a hand full of that hair, hurl it to the pavement and run away from his chosen one. He made a mental note of how all-prevailing that desire to get away from all his worries was rapidly becoming. It annoyed him perceptibly, because a frown had encompassed his whole countenance and his snappy, black eyes cast wild fleeting glances at Maude Thorne, but instead of giving vent to any curiosity she might have felt, she simply patted his soft, boyish and almost beardless cheek. "Do emit worrying about those toughs," she urged. "They could have no reason for doing you any serious harm. And, above all, stick, because that's the way to show them they haven't bluffed you." For nearly two hours the young couple walked and talked, and, when finally they parted for the night after he had assured her and reassured her they would start the happy task of furnishing up an apartment without further delay, Don Rothwell was in the throes of extreme desperation. He was completely ingulfed in a quandary — he could not see an avenue of escape. He had persisted in deceiving Maude to the very end relative to his financial circumstances, and besides, he had the haunting memory of the threats made against his life. It was, therefore, a terrible night he spent in his room. Insomnia gained mastery over him, and he could only roll and toss in his bed. Frequently he caught himself groaning. Once, at least, he wished to die, for he actually leaned far out his window and wondered if his death would be painless should he throw himself down the seven stories to the roof-top below. It wac the young man's good fortune to revert his mind to thoughts of a happy, little home ruled by the one girl he loved that held him in check by buoying up his hopes. It was daybreak when Rothwell finally succeeded in going to sleep, and at nine o'clock he was suddenly awakened by a loud knocking on his door, which he hastily opened, to be confronted by a uniformed policeman.