Picture Play Magazine (Mar-Aug 1927)

66 Film Struck of the railroad station. He would walk there to-night, and wait for the first westbound train, passenger or otherwise — it mattered little. The afternoon was nearly spent, and as he wandered aimlessly about the set, with little to do until nightfall, Oscar saw that DuVal and his principals had ceased their labors. The director, his staff of yes men, and the players were heading toward their quarters. He made a wide detour to avoid being seen, and ran headlong into Penny. She was still in make-up, looked tired, but greeted him cheerily as usual. "Lordy, I'm weary!" she exclaimed. "Got by safely, though. DuVal even complimented me. I'm getting to be in your class, Oscar," she added. "Nothing to do till to-morrow now. Don't you think we ought to celebrate? Some of the crowd are going into town this evening. A good picture on, I hear. Shall we go? We've a bus at our disposal." Oscar hesitated, but onlv for an instant. "What town is it?" "Sapphire. It isn't far." "Sure — I'll go along." The bus, he figured, would spare him a long walk, and by leaving with the crowd, he would avoid suspicion. Once in Sapphire, it would be a simple matter to disappear. He would have to leave his baggage behind, but that didn't matter. In desperate cases, desperate measures must be resorted to. Still, he had his money again — that was a comfort. "I suppose we'll be leaving right after dinner," Penny told him, and darted off. Looking after the girl, he experienced an unmistakable pang of regret. In a few hours he would be saying good-by to her, parting with her forever. He felt, somehow, as though he had known Penny for years, instead of twenty-four hours. It would be a wrench leaving her without a word of explanation. He wondered what she would think, or do — and whether their paths would ever cross again. Oh, well, that was life — his life, at any rate, he reflected bitterly. Never again to know happiness or peace of mind — nothing but eternal flight. Exactly like a hunted creature. CHAPTER XIV. FOILED AGAIN ! The lumbering bus that left the Super-Apex location after dinner that evening carried a gay, chattering crowd, destined to sample the night life of Sapphire. Oscar was among the number, but he remained dumb, preoccupied. He found it impossible to join in the quips and jests of his carefree companions, found himself regarding them enviously. How fortunate they were ! No dread fear gnawing at their hearts, no danger lurking just around the corner. Not even Penny, cheerful and animated as usual, could stir Oscar into conversation, though he endeavored to show interest in what was being said. The bus jolted and labored across the limitless expanse of sand, its radiator pointed toward the painted buttes, bathed in the lingering afterglow of sunset. The world round about was vibrant with color — amber and pearl and topaz, through which gold dust seemed to be filtering. The air was perceptibly cooler. The winking lights of Sapphire blazed a welcome to the visitors as they were carried along the main street of the town. The crowd deserted the bus at the door of the picture theater, and all thronged in. Why these film people should, in their idle hours, choose for pleasure to sit through many reels of unwinding celluloid, puzzled Oscar. Instead of following their companions into the theater, he and Penny strolled along the street. The town itself was rather attractive, clean and up-to-date — and, at that hour, lively. An imposing array of cars was parked on each side of the street ; the sidewalks were thronged ; the stores were open and apparently busy. Oscar found himself thinking that, with an established business, he could settle down here and be very comfortable, and content. There seemed to him to be something warm and friendly about the people he saw, and in the voices that reached him. But, of course, none of this was for him, and he resolutely put from his mind all thoughts of staying. Presently, a big, shining car swept past. "There's DuVal and his bunch," Penny announced. "Going to take in the show." "That's some automobile," said Oscar, more interested in the machine than in its regal occupants. "I'd like to have it." "You'll have a better one pretty soon," the girl predicted. "I hope you give me a ride in it." Oscar smiled wanly. "You're dreaming," he told her. "I couldn't dream anything bigger or more impossible than's already happened," she returned, spiritedly. "Look what's happened in one day! Think what's bound to happen in the next hundred days! Why, you're sitting on top of the world, Oscar." On top of the world! If Penny only knew the truth Oscar walked on without response, miser able in heart and body. "There's something stirring in our camp," Penny declared presently. "There's been a row with Gerald Hobart, who was cast for the lead in the picture we're doing. I wondered why he wasn't on hand when we started shooting to-day. I understand he's quit — left DuVal flat — so that'll mean a new lead." But Oscar wasn't even mildly interested. DuVal, the Super-Apex, and leading men that came and went, meant nothing to him. Just at the moment he was wondering how he was to manage his parting with Penny. They were bound now for the theater, but he saw he would have difficulty in making a get-away once they were inside. Presently a plan occurred to him. "I wonder if you'd mind going into the show alone?" he suggested. "I — I met a friend to-day who lives here and I'd like to see him a few minutes while I'm in town." The girl pouted. "Is it necessary — to-night?" "I sort of promised him I'd call," Oscar said. So long as he was falsifying, he might as well make it sound logical, build up an argument. Penny subjected him to a disapproving look. He flushed, but he did not back down. Necessity lent him strength. "I won't be long," he promised. "Not more than five or ten minutes." "Oh, all right," she answered, in a resigned tone. "I'll be sitting in back somewhere. Don't be late." She turned away and walked off. He watched as she disappeared into the lobby, his heart stricken, a lump in his throat. And not once, he noticed, did she look back. So this, it rushed upon him, was good-by. "Oh, Penny!" he called, weakening a little, almost tempted to run after her. But his voice was husky, and carried not at all. Already the girl had vanished. Of course she didn't know, couldn't even suspect that it was good-by. It was cruel, perhaps, but it was the best way*. It was done and over with — nothing now but memories. He turned and strode along the street, fighting back the loneliness that overwhelmed him. Continued on page 92