Picture Show (Nov 1919-Apr 1920)

0 The Picture Show, March liih, 1920. T OF Th e Derelict. SLEET and snow whirled like a merry-goround from the darkness of the sky. It cut into Richard Ferris's haggard face, and, melting, soaked the shabby clothing that covered him. His left hand, with a frayed tweed coatsleeve hanging like a fringe over his wrist, was thrust into his trousers-pocket, whilst his right hand clasped a small monkey who sought warmth against his body and shelter beneath his coat. ' A paroxysm of coughing shook him violently. Gasping for breath, he leant, exhausted, against a lamp-post. The light streaming down upon him, showed him a reckless, destitute man. Bill Graham saw the desolate figure as he crossed the street. He looked at the figure twice before speaking, but the sight of the monkey decided him. " Got a bit of a cold, 'aven't you, old chap ?" ho said. " Getting on that way," Ferris retorted nonchalantly. " Decent little animal," said Bill, stroking the monkey's head. " Brought him back -with me from the West Coast," Ferris answered; "and — and if there's a hell anywhere about, I should say it's the London docks on a night like this." " Only just got in ?" Ferris nodded. " My name's Graham," Bill volunteered. " And if you 'apperi to want to know all abaht me, ask the coves and Chinks down at the docks I'm known as ' Old Bill of the Emporium:' " •' The what '.'" asked Ferris. " Emporium's what they call my place. Got an animal and bird shop over there," lie added, pointing his. thumb backwards over his shoulder towards the Commercial Road. " I'm usually on the look-out for animals that chaps like you bring back with them from overseas." Ferris was coughing again, and he closed his eyes. Bill's voice reached him faintly ; his words were carried away by the wind. The moi.key star ted up. Bill's practised glance saw that he was not mistaken by his first impression. Yum-Yum was valuable, exceedingly small and docile. Just the kind of pet that the wealthy young lawyer, John Baird, had written to him about that morning. " Find me a small monkey," Baird had said. " Money no object if it's of rare breed and a suitable pet for a lady." " Like to sell him':" asked Bill. "Great Scott! No!" Richard, cried vehemently. " He's the only thing I've got left!" " No offCncc meant," Bill broke in: ' I'm after a chap like that, and I thoughtFerris straightened himself, and ho angrily : / "That I was a poor, half-starved devil, ready to sell my soul for a crust ! Well, you're wrong ! There's nothing doing !" He staggered back and almost fell. " You're really ill !" said Bill, seizing Ferris by the arm. "Nonsense!" Richard growled. "(.'old, that's all— cold and " He slopped himself abruptly; he had nearly said "hungry." Bill knew the docks, all about the flotsam and jetsam of life that floats upon its restless, tragic waters. He had gauged Fcrris's type from the first moment he nad seen him plopping himself up against the lamppost. "A black sheep— a prodigal!" had been Bill's mental comment. " I'll see you 'omc," he said goodnaturedly. " Then I wish you luck I" Ferris laughed bitterly. " J ain't iokin'," said Bill. " I'd do the tame for a lost dog, straight I would." Ferris stared hard at Bill, but the bluff By EDITH NEPEAN. This powerful story of love and human suffering begins to-day. old face was honest and full of sincerity. Ferris felt the road swaying around him. He was a helpless derelict cast on the vortex of human suffering. A sudden cry burst from him. " I've no home, no money, no friends ! It's the workhouse I want !" " Thought as much," said Bill, taking off his cap and scratching his head before replacing it, as was his custom when confronted by a knotty problem. " Better come along 'ome with me. There's only my daughter, Sylvie, and the woman who conies in and cleans up. I'll give you a shakedown for the night." x Richard did not answer. The next moment Bill's arm was slipped through his. Richard staggered along by Bill's side. It seemed an eternity to the stricken man before they reached the Emporium. The shop was closed. Graham released his grip of Richard, who leant against the wall whilst Bill produced a key. When they entered, Graham turned on the light. The walls were lined with shelves, on which were small birds in cages, and a sleepy parrot.' There were also toy dogs in kennels, and a group of Persian kittens slumbered on a pile of straw beside their mother. In the parlour a cheerful fire blazed in the grate, the kettle sang merrily on the hob. The table was covered by a spotless white cloth. It was laid for two persons. . " I put the grub on the table before I went out. Always take care supper's ready for my Sylvie when she gets back from the studios." But Ferris was not listening ; he was worn out in body and spirit. Yum-Yum struggled to free himself, and directly Richard sank on to a chair, he climbed on to his master's shoulder and looked longingly towards the food. " You'll 'ave to take off them there clothes and dry 'em," said Bill, " though I'm 'anged if I know how I'm going to rig you out while ihcy dry, except maybe there's a suit of our George's that would fit. He was killed at Mons," Bill went on gruffly. " Hallo, here's Sylvie !" She stood in the doorway, fresh as a May morning, her eyes blue as forget-me-nots, her lips like the petals of a rose, her skin soft and fair as the sweetest lilies. She laughingly took off her rain-sodden velvet Tam-o'-shanter. Her hair shone like a cloud of burnished gold. Richard staggered to his feet, Yum-Yum clinging to him. " Met him near the docks. Sylvie. Just arrived back from abroad. 'As no friends, no nuthink. Want you to find him a suit ; he'll get his death in them there wretched rags." . : The girl smiled into Richard's attractive well-bred face. ". You're very welcome," she-said, in her low, musical "voice. " My name's Sylvia Graham. What's yours?" For a moment Richard hesitated. " Blake," he said—" Richard Blake." " You're not one of our class, is he, dad?" she laughed, showing a row of small teeth, white as pearls. " You're a gentleman !" Richard flushed. Of course he was a gentleman! The Fcrris's of Courttield could Trace their ancestry back in an unbroken line to the Conquest. The baronetcy was now in possession of a distant cousin of Richard's — tin money and. the abbey. Richard had never made good. He was a rolling stone, tin rolling stone that gathers no moss, yet somehow or other manages to get over the ground, and often as not slips into a sunny niche. Deep down in his heart, in spile of his wild ways, Richard was immensely proud of the traditions of his race. No matter what he did personally, the name must bo kept from ignominy. Weak and ill as he was, tho thought came to him : " Any old name in a storm '" And he had answered on the impulse of a moment that he was " Richard Blake." " And the monkey, what ever in the world is he called?" asked the girl. " That's Yum-Yum," said Bill. " Now, 'op it, Sylvie, and find a suit for Mr. Blake, or we'll 'ave a funeral in two shakes '" Sylvia ran upstairs, and before long she came into the parlour again. " I've put a suit before the kitchen Crc." " Come along with me," said Bill. " I'll help to fix you up." Richard followed his host. Sylvia made the coffee and heated up some soup. When Richard returned, she gave a little cry of pleased surprise. '.' You do look the goods ! I wish our producer could see you !" " My Sylvie"s a cinema actress," Bill explained proudly. " I only walk on with the crowd at pre-" sent," Sylvia interrupted; "but I mean to be a star before I be finished!" Her young face was alight with enthusiasm. " We're starting ' Firefly Jack,' a new film shortly. It*s a ripping life !" she declared, as she placed hot soup before the guest. Richard crumbled some bread into his plate. He ate ravenously, and then he began to cough again, until, weak and exhausted, his head fell forward on his arm. " He's really ill, dad !" cried Sylvia. " Get him to bed. He can have my room. I'll sleep upstairs in the attic." Richard feebly raised his head in protest. "You mustn't turn out for. me, Miss Sylvia !" "Take no notice of him, dad. Good-night, Mr. Blake. I hope you'll sleep well." ' But the next morning RichaixTs cold had developed into a serious illness. Privation and exposure had weakened his fine constitution. Bill ran out for a doctor, and when the latter had made a careful examination of thi sick man, he ordered sleep and warmth. Richard grew restless as the doctor was speaking, then he started up and said to Bill : ' " You ought to kick me straight d~ut and send me to the hospital." „ "Lie quiet and don't worry. What do yeu think, Sylvie?" "Same as you, dad," she answered promptly. A few moments later she slipped into the rocm to smile good-bye. then passed out like a ray of sunshine to her work at the studio. Just as Bill was leaving the rcom, Richard jerked out : . . " I say. I must talk fo you about YumYum. I want you to sell him and keep the' monoy for my board." Graham made an emphatic gesture of iiissent; but Richard saw the light that came in his eyes. " Oh, I say, yeung 'un," he said, " I don't want to rush you like that." " You need have no feelings of that sort." said Richard. " Right is right. It's the least I can do." "You really mean it?" asked Bill. " Yes." said Richard firmly. " I won't be in too great a hurry." Bill answered. " If you're in the same mind when you are better, I'll drop Mr. Baird a line." Sylvia's King. FOR a whole fortnight Richard's condition was far from satisfactory. Sylvia had a. couple of days away from the studios, and she nursed him with untiring zeal. At last the great moment arrived when Richard came down the little staircase into the ( Continued cn page 8.)