Photoplay (Jul-Dec 1923)

98 Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section $15.00 an ounce The Most Precious Perfume in the World CT)1EGER'S FLOWER DROPS ^/y are unlike anything you have Vs_» ever seen before. The very essence of the flowers themselves, made without alcohol. For years the favorite of women of taste in society and on the stage. The regular price is $15.00 an ounce, but for 20c you can obtain a miniature bottle of this perfume, the most precious in the world. When the sample comes you will be delighted to find that you can use it withoutextravagance. It is so highly concentrated that the delicate odor from a single drop will last a week. Sample Send 20c (stamps or silver) with the coupon below and we will 6end you a sample vial of Rieger's Flower Drops, the most alluring and most costly perfume ever made. Your choice of odors, Lily of the Valley, Rose, Violet, Romania, Lilac or Crabapple. Twenty cents for the world's most precious perfume! Other Offers Direct or from D ruggisU Bottle of Flower Drops with long glass stopper, containing 80 drops,* supply for 80 weeks; Lilac. Crabapple. $1. 60 Lily of the Valley, Rose, Violet $2.00 Romanza $2.50 Above odors. 1 oz. $15 H"$8 Mon Amour Perfume sample offer, 1 oz. $1.60 Souvenir Box Extra special box of five, 25c bottles of Bvo different perfumes ...... $1.00 If any perfume does not exactly suit your taste, do not hesitate to return and money will be re* funded cheerfully. PER F Ta^E&JJOI^TAVATER nowwBrops ••^Send The Coupon Now!^ S Paul Rieger & Co., (Since 1872)^" 145 First Street, San Francisco Enclosed find 20c for which please send me sample bottle of Rieger's Flower Drops in the odor which I have checked. D Lily of the Valley D Rose D Romanza D Lilac D Violet D Crabapple Name. Addrest. D Souvenir Box — ft. oo enclosed. D $ enclosed. Remember, if not pleased your money will be returned. r mingle with the mob; let 'em make a fuss over her." "I don't dare. I was that way myself once and I know what the 'mob' did to me. And from the way letters and telephone calls are coming in it looks like the whole world was after her. Worse than it ever was in my day. If I let 'em get hold of her they'll give her a thousand exciting things to think about — men, love, society, pleasure — everything but her work!" "I see . . . Well, that's your job, and you'll have to handle it. I've got all I can do at the studio." "Oh, I'll do my best; don't worry. I'll lie and fight and scheme; but I get so tired sometimes. I'm going day and night: manager, mother, maid, press agent — some job, Sam!" A ND indeed it was some job. For, as Nancy ■**-had said, the world was after the girl. They loved her, but in their mass affection they would have mauled her to death. The girl didn't appreciate that, however, and her resentment at being shut off from the world she had won grew greater. Finally, as a small concession, Nancy swung open for her one small window onto the world — she turned over to her the mass of mail that poured in from the adoring film fans; let her have them unopened and uncensored to do with as she liked. Nita was delighted. The letters were wonderful "close-ups" of the intriguing outside world whose many phases of life had always been presented to her in the "long shots" or "soft focus" of carefully selected books and plays. She treasured them; read and re-read them, and labored conscientiously over her replies. Some time, some one of them would more than repay her for all of her trouble. She was sure of that. Nancy, noting her absorption in her correspondence, felt somewhat easier. The novelty would wear off of that adventure in time, but for the present it would keep her occupied during her idle moments, and certainly no harm could come of it Nancy, not being of a "literary" turn of mind, did not realize, you see, just how disturbing the written word may be; how completely it may annihilate distance; how intimate and warming it may become. Thus it came about that Stanhope, poet, raconteur, soldier and adventurer, loitered unchallenged beneath Nita's window and smote his trembling lyre. His first letter came to her at the studio: a thin, typed envelope that didn't look in the least interesting. She opened it indifferently . . . probably a "knock" from some would-be critic; or a disguised "ad" . . . Greenwood, Indiana, January 2, 191 7. My Dear Miss Knowles: May a lonely invalid in a strange land thank you — and your little play "Faith" — for one perfect hour in an atmosphere of peace and beauty and love; and may he further thank you for a vision of the most beautiful young woman he has ever seen on a cinema screen? In a bit of poetry written while at the front in Flanders I tried to tell how our troubled hearts turned back to scenes of beauty and peace and love. I enclose a clipping of that poem, trusting that it may serve to vouch for the very sincere sentiments of, Yours truly, Franklin Stanhope. P.S. — You will pardon me for writing a letter of this character on the typewriter, won't you? You see, my right arm is "somewhere in France." F. S. When Nita finished the letter, she sighed with ecstasy; sat for a moment in dreamy thought, then picked up the clipping with reverent fingers. It was, she found, from a magazine that was not in the habit of publishing anything of doubtful literary merit, and duly credited to one Franklin Stanhope. Nita wasn't exactly a connoisseur of poetry, but that little poem "registered." In fact, I don't think Ann Hathaway ever responded to any of Will Shakespeare's efforts as Nita responded to > Stanhope's sad little song of longing and loneli i ness. He sang straight into her heart — for, | wasn't she lonely, too? Of course, Nita never told her mother about that letter, nor about any of the others that followed. It wasn't the kind of a secret you | could entrust to a person like Nancy. She wouldn't understand. She probably had never I known anyone like Stanhope, for her world had \ been hard and coarse; besides she lacked senti 1 ment and imagination as all older people do. Sometimes, though, the wonderful joy of the adventure was almost too much for one small girl to keep all alone. Such perfect understanding! Such beautiful sentiment and thought! Little by little he grew in her imagination and heart until each letter summoned up a shadowy presence of someone tall and brave and handsome — sad and suffering, perhaps, but gentle and kind alway. And why not? The great war in Europe had called the high hearts and poet souls from every land. There was Seeger and Brookes and Kilmer — oh, so many of them! Why might not this be one of them, too? ***** A LONG in March the end of the Beaux Arts -**-contract drew in sight, and Nita had one more picture to do — a "big" picture. Into it old Sam proposed to put everything at his command, and of the girl he expected to demand more than he had ever dared demand before. It was to be the grand finale of her career with the Beaux Arts and her bid for stellar honors with greater companies. Everything depended on the success of that last picture, and the success of the picture depended on the girl. Sam and Nancy spent a great deal of time and thought over the undertaking, for with it they rose or fell. Nita, they agreed, must be at very best. "For God's sake," Sam adjured, "keep her up on her toes from start to finish, and don't let her get sick. Knock wood; pray — do anything!" Nancy, who had been well satisfied with the girl's dreamy content the past few weeks, felt very confident. "Leave it to me. She'll eat, drink, dream and sleep that picture from the first rehearsal to the last ' cut' ! " "No parties; no foolishness — no nothing. Just her part in the picture." "The picture, and nothing but the picture! — then my girl a star! Think of it, Sam. Why, I couldn't — just couldn't — let her fail now!" "All right, it's all in your hands. If she's right, everything's right." "All in my hands, Sam — and if she fails I'll take all the blame. You've done your part." And it was on that propitious day that Nancy discovered the enemy within her guard! Digging in the girl's wardrobe, inventorying costumes for the forthcoming picture, she found the cherished package of letters from Stanhope, and with a fine disregard for the ethics of the thing, read them through. There was nothing soft or sentimental about Nancy, but she had been young once and hadn't forgotten it; therefore she didn't need any psychologist to tell her just how destructive those letters would be to a girl like Nita. For awhile she was "floored." What could she do? Have it "out" with Nita? Never! The girl wouldn't recover from the battle for weeks. Tell Sam and ask his help? No; he would blow up and "spill the beans" — besides he would bawl her out unmercifully. What then? Something had to be done. Hours wpre precious, but it took her a whole day to "dope out" an acceptable plan and find a suitable ally. Then she reverted to habit and called Jimmy in. "Jimmy," she blurted out, "Nita's in trouble, and I want your help!" It had been her intention to spring it on him in a way that would enlist his whole sympathy, but when she saw how white he got, she felt ashamed. Every advertisement In PIIOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.