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55
Medley
gossip gleaned from the playYork for work or pleasure.
John-Brenon
off now, you know — Miss Farnum sent a sheaf of telegrams bidding her friends meet her round the festive board at the Ritz-Carlton.
Over the lapis-blue glasses provided for liquid refreshment of one sort or another, Miss Farnum confided that her mission to France was half business and half pleasure, the business consisting of taking shots of the American Legion during the convention in Paris, later to be incorporated into a picture, and the pleasure being a tenweek holiday, subject to call from the studio.
Being an energetic young woman with as much vitality as brains, she has a notion tucked away in her busy mind
Margaret Livingston is undiscouraged by the slowness of the right role in coming her way.
that during her holiday she will journey down to Spain in search of a stor}^ for Ramon Novarro.
But in the meantime her quest for legionaries and their doings worthy of reproduction in celluloid, will be the subject of first importance, ^s the Leviathan slipped down the Hudson and out to sea with the last contingent of Parisbound legionaries. Miss Farnum waved farewell from the deck, while a broad, gray-suited figure stood at attention on the bridge. It was General Pershing. The waters surrounding the vessel were alive with craft whistling a salute, and high above floated the airship Los Angeles. An escort of airplanes circled between the dirigible and the vessel, and the bands plaved "Hinky Dinkv Parley Voo" and other tunes reminiscent of the late unpleasantness.
Noise and good humor marked the departure of the legionaries off to join some sixteen thousand of their comrades already on
Phf'to by Melbourne Spurr
Photo by Ruth Harriet Louise
Dorothy Farnum might have been a star had she not chosen to be a star scenarist.
French soil. Their joyous uproar was a vivid contrast to the silent departure of the self-same ship ten years ago, when outside the harbor warships waited, and a glance at the skyline was the last glimpse many a soldier had of his native land.
"Who is Dulcy Jayne?" Wherever film folk gather within the confines of jNIanhattan for teatime chitchat that question is sure to be asked. It is usually followed by "Daniel K. Leland is certainly Griffith, and don't you think Heniy Horney is the image of Charles Ray?"
In case all this is cryptic, as it is sure to be, let it be known that the conversation is about a book, the latest novel of the movies, called "Starring Dulcy Jayne." Whenever fiction about the movies is published, those in the know invariably jump to the conclusion that it is more truth than fiction. Usually they are right.
Whether "Dulcy Jayne" was inspired by facts or not, it is a delightful novel and out of the ordinary, because it is not about Hollywood and the flitter of the Boule