Picture Play Magazine (Mar-Aug 1927)

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92 Film Struck Continued from page 66 And of the first man he met, he inquired the way to the railroad station. "Straight ahead," the man responded. "About a mile and a half." Oscar murmured his thanks and hurried on, thinking it unnecessary to make inquiries relative to the schedule of westbound trains. He expected to be on the station platform in half an hour, and to board the first train bound for the Pacific. Although it was distressing in a way, Oscar rather congratulated himself upon the subterfuge he had practiced to break away from Penny. It spared him a great deal, made things easier all around. Of course, Penny would feel hurt when she realized the truth, but it couldn't be helped. Amos Hortle had, after all, proven useful, but he was the last man in the world Oscar wanted to meet or talk with just now. It was fortunate, indeed, that he hadn't bumped into him this evening. That would certainly have complicated matters. He had scarcely covered another block, and was stepping along briskly, anxious to put the lights of Sapphire far behind him, when a familiar voice boomed in his ears and, with sinking heart, he turned to confront Mr. Hortle himself. "Hello there, Oscar!" Hortle cried happily. "Sort of figured you'd be driftin' around to-night, when I saw the bus load of picture folks rollin' into town. Glad to see you among us. Come along — I want to show you my establishment." Oscar held back. "I — I'm afraid I can't to-night, Amos," he wavered. "Fm with a young lady, and promised to meet her in the theater." "Why, the picture show's back the other way," the other declared. "Is it? Guess I'm lost in your big town." Oscar started to retrace his steps, only to have Amos firmly seize his arm. "Now say, look here," the man protested, "you just come along with me. I won't keep you five minutes. You've got to take a look at my store. I'll go back to the theater with you, if necessary, and square things with your lady friend. Besides," he added, his voice lowering perceptibly, "I've got something, mighty fine in the cupboard. The real goods — up from Mexico." In vain did Oscar remonstrate. Desperately he insisted that Miss Holt was expecting him, which was the. truth ; despairingly he insisted he did not care to sample Hortle's rare vintage, which also was the truth ; but his protestations failed to deter his companion. Joking, deaf to entreaties, Amos collared the panicky Mr. Whiffle and fairly dragged him along one street and down another, depositing him, at length, after unlocking doors and turning on lights, in the middle of a prosperous-looking store. Once there, a captive, resigned to his predicament, faced with what seemed inevitable delay, Oscar managed to quiet himself a little, endured his friend's conversation, and admired, to the best of his ability, all that was shown. The quicker it was over, he reasoned, the sooner his departure. And very much against his wishes, yet eager to prevent wordy argument, he accepted and downed a liberal pouring of some amber fluid which Amos proudly offered him. The concoction tasted and acted like molten lava — burned viciously as it passed his lips. He choked and strangled, tears sprang into his eyes, fiery stabs of pain tortured him. Hortle, watching him, chuckled. "You don't often pick up stuff like this," he confided. "Of course, I'm in a position to get a little. You understand how it is, Oscar — under your hat, though. I'm not a rum hound, but occasionally a bit of it comes in handy — in case of sunstroke or snakebite, or meetin' old friends. Here's how! Success and prosperity ! Don't be backward, Oscar. Have another." Presently, after a second liberal drink had been pressed upon him, and he had swallowed it, blindly, despondently — after an acute chill had passed — Oscar began to feel surprisingly better. Only one shudder accompanied the third glass. His mind grew calm, all misgivings vanished, and a warm, delightful glow permeated his being. He leaned back in the comfortable chair and accepted a cigar. After all, he reasoned, he might as well be sociable. He must play the game, avoid arousing his host's suspicions. And Amos, after all, for all his faults, was a pretty good scout. Talked a lot and bragged, but there were worse men. Oscar began to admire the store and its furnishings ; Amos continued to talk. Oscar nodded appreciatively, and once in a while managed to get in a word. More than once the glasses were refilled. Time sped by on winged feet, and when Oscar at last blinked up at the clock, remembering hazily that he had certain things to do, he got out of his chair with a start, and made for the door. "Have to be going," he announced. "Girl be giving me fits for staying so long." "I'll go 'long and — and square things," Amos declared gallantly. "All my fault. Got to protect — good friend." His voice was a trifle thick, and he swayed uncertainly. "Don't do it," Oscar protested, alarmed. "You stay where you are. I'll run along. See you later." Hortle called after him, but Oscar hurried from the store, almost ran, in fact. He did not want the other following, had no intention of going back to the theater. Besides, Amos had had too much to drink. He was actually staggering. Once outside, and alone, Oscar found his way back to the main thoroughfare and turned into it thankfully. Straight ahead, he remembered— a mile and a half to the railway station. It was a mighty good thing, he reflected, that his head was clear and his legs steady. He'd have had trouble if he hadn't taken care not to drink too much — like Amos. Funny, though, how different the street looked now. There were twice as many lights and twice as many people. Of course, he was bareheaded, and perhaps people judged him to be a picture actor, but it struck him he was attracting a great deal of attention from those who passed. Too bad about Amos. He hoped the man would have sense enough to stay indoors and not make a public show of himself. A man in his position would come in for much criticism. Strong drink was ruinous to one's character and career. Oscar now felt quite cheerful about his journey into the unknown. Even the thought of having left Penny, of having fooled her into the bargain, did not weigh too heavily upon him. He walked briskly and, when the sidewalk ended, stepped boldly into the sand. The lights of the town gradually receded, winking farewell. Presently they were gone, with but a yellow reflection against the sky to mark their resting place. But the read ahead was plain enough under the big stars, although in spots the sand made the going difficult, and Oscar spent considerable time emptying his shoes. A mile and a half was no great distance, he knew, so after he had been walking steadily for an indefinite period, he wondered why the station failed to appear. And presently he began to grow tired, his eyes heavy. He sat down on a rock to contemplate his surroundings. He knew he couldn't be lost, for he had kept closely to the road, the road was straight before him, and the station Continued on page 94