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34
UnVeiling Olive's "Past"
Miss Borden is visited by one who knew her before she became famous, and who finds no grounds for
the criticism most often aimed at the star.
In a city of beautiful women, Miss Glass finds Miss Borden the lovelies t of all.
By Madeline Glass
T
Plioto by Autrey
O tell this story of Olive Borden, it will be necessary to include a bit of personal history, and to make considerable use of the personal pronoun.
It all began about five years ago, in a Los Angeles telephone exchange. I was then an operator in one of the largest offices — and not ashamed of it. Speaking from wide experience, I know ot no business that maintains a finer or more intelligent class of young women.
One morning the chief operator took me from the switchboard and introduced me to a very young student operator. The student was small, exceptionally pretty, and seemed oddly out of place in that darkened room, which hummed like a giant beehive. She looked. curiously at the rows of girls whose eyes never left their boards, and whose nimble fingers manipulated the intricate equipment with astonishing speed and dexterity. The student's name was Borden, but having an extremely poor memory for names, I promptly forgot it. I was asked to show Miss Borden her locker and to impart any necessary information about rules of the office. Since I couldn't remember her name, and because she seemed so childish and sweet, I began calling her "Little Girl." And Little Girl it was thereafter.
It seems that Miss Borden's memory was also defective, for after a day or so she shyly dubbed me "Nice Lady."
I liked Miss Borden immediately, but to my surprise, she did not seem to be popular with the other girls. To this day, I do not know why. Certainly they were not jealous of her attractiveness ; beauty does not make a woman unpopular with her own sex. Possibly they sensed that she was not one of them. Olive was born for a more colorful career.
Shortly after her arrival, I came upon her in the middle of the operating room looking somewhat petulant.
"What are you peeved about, Little Girl ?" I inquired. "I'm not peeved," said she, brightening instantly. I surmised that she was trying to make the best of a wearying situation. Certainly I never heard her complain.
A day or so later I found her in the locker room putting on her hat and coat.
"Good-by, Nice Lady," she said. "They're transferring me to Hollywood."
Genuinely sorry to lose her, I tried to say something consoling. She was pathetically forlorn and bewildered.
Suddenly she ran and threw her arms about me, blinking her big eyes to keep back the tears. When she had gone, I spoke kindly of her to another operator who, oddly enough, didn't seem impressed.
"She is very affectionate," I argued.
"And affected," added the girl, with such smiling composure that I wanted to throw the switchboard at her.
Continued on page 116