Picture Play Magazine (Mar-Aug 1927)

17 Film Struck The first installment of a gay and understanding serial of the movies, in which is introduced a character who will become as well known as your favorite player on the screen. By Roland Ashford Phillips Illustrated by Modest Stein CHAPTER I. THE GERM IS PLANTED. THE ROSEBUD, with its plate-glass front and gay flower boxes, was the most attractive delicatessen store in town ; and behind its gleaming counters and steam tables, in a white starched apron, Oscar Whiffle was the most popular chef to be found in all La Belle, which was no small honor if one paused to reflect upon the sharp competition existing in that community. Tantalizing odors floated out through the open doorway, and the window display, changed daily, was so much bait spread to lure the hungry passer-by. Within, like prize exhibits at a county fair, were rows of fragrant cheeses, heaping mounds of delectable salads, savory roasts oozing _ goodness, baked hams freckled with cloves, delicately brown chickens, pots of toothsome beans and pans of stuffed peppers. And pastries ! Flaky crusts and ambrosial fillings that made poets out of truck drivers. The shelves against the walls fairly sagged with bottles and jars and cans of palate-tickling delicacies, from the lowly sardine and oxtongue to anchovies and truffles; from humble apple jelly and sausage to caviar and terrapin; from soda crackers to cream puffs. Along one side ran a lunch counter ; and there, perched upon a stool, one could command, from Oscar's nimble and gifted fingers, superb toasted sandwiches that were the envy and despair of every amateur or professional food provider in the whole of the county. Oscar easily held the open championship when it came to that sport. In addition, Oscar could brew the best cup of coffee that ever gushed from nickeled urn; and whether one sipped it daintily from a spoon or guzzled it from a saucer, the taste, color, and aroma never varied. That was another chalk mark in his favor. A customer, once in the store, usually spent twice what he had anticipated, for the viands were too alluring to resist and, moreover, Oscar could deliver a most persuasive line of sales talk. He could dispose of a salad and a generous helping of corn beef and cabbage, and perhaps a pie, to a housewife who had come in with the intention of purchasing a pair of dill pickles and a pound of salt. He could have made a fortune in one winter in Florida by applying the same tactics to real estate instead of provender. And he wouldn't have looked badly at all in plus fours. Oscar had been chef, clerk, cashier, and general-utility man at The Rosebud for six years. He could slice a roast, draw coffee, sell a jar, of olives and make.. change Meet Oscar Whiffle He is the hero of "Film Struck," whose story is so appealing that as soon as you begin it you will understand why PIC= TURE=PLAY opens its pages to fiction for the first time in several years. Really, it could not keep them closed against the honest human interest, the mounting suspense, and the unique charac= ters so shrewdly drawn by Roland Ashford Phillips in what we consider by far the best story ever inspired by life in the movies. It is a privilege to offer the first chap= ters of "Film Struck" to readers of PIC= TURE=PLAY for the pleasure that is sure to follow, but in providing this treat a word of friendly warning must be given. It is— DON'T MISS A NUMBER OF PICTURE= PLAY FROM NOW ON! all at the same time, sometimes with only one hand, and always with the fewest possible movements. He knew every can and jar and box in the establishment, and he could put up orders in the dark: It was a privilege to watch him handle the long glittering knives or stir up an omelet. Oscar knew his onions all right. He was the housewife's best bet. Brides cried for his catering and, after a few weeks, desperate bridegrooms insisted upon it. He wasn't stingy with his recipes, either — for all the good that came of his generosity. Most every one called him by his first name, and The Rosebud generally was referred to as Oscar's place, although the establishment was owned by Herman Glotz. But Glotz rarely showed himself, except when his hardworking employee wanted a little time off, which was seldom. Taking it altogether, Glotz was nice enough to him and certainly appreciated Oscar's worth, paying him thirty dollars at closing time each Saturday. There were few other delicatessen clerks making that much in La Belle. Oscar opened the store as early as six in the morning and usuallv closed it at midnight ; but of course, between times, when he wasn't cooking or waiting on trade, he could sit down. Despite his hours, Oscar liked his job. You could tell that by his genial manner and happy, smiling face. He hadn't looked at the cornfields outside of his own county in twelve years and, what's more, he didn't care to travel new trails. He heard plenty of news, for most of his customers broadcast along with the mocha ; and what wasn't on the air wasn't, so Oscar reasoned, worth worrying about. Oscar was credulous and gullible in a way. He hadn't time to do much reading, although he did look at the pictures on the screen and in magazines and sometimes wondered a little at the things he saw — but that was as far as it went. Some of his more cosmopolitan customers, breezing in from their travels, kidded him and told him bedtime stories, winking among themselves. Oscar took it all good-naturedly and seldom resented being laughed at. Once or twice, though, he took exception to what was. said or done and demonstrated that his fists were something more than ornaments. Wrestling with pickle barrels and case goods had kept his muscles in trim and, on the rare occasions when he did get into action, damage followed — damage to the other fellow. Given half a day off, Oscar usually spent it in company with Gladys Padgett, taking a spin in Glotz's wheezy flivver; or when he had an evening free, he and Gladys attended the Palace, where those of the celluloid world performed their tricks.