Dr. Monica (Warner Bros.) (1934)

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SPECIAL ‘GET AC Not for you—for the fans. The 7-day serialization starting on this page gives them a chance to get acquainted with one of the strongest dramatie stories of the season.—And in case you’re not acquainted already with the value of our fictionizations, cast your glims over the first installment below— it’s swell reading! The entire story in mat form, complete with illustrations, is yours for $l. Write: Merchandising Plan Editor QUAINTED’ OFFER! Copy for advance announcement ad. Pick up illustration from ad section and use to conform with desired size. A STORY NEVER WHISPERED ... EVEN BY WIFE TO WIFE! You women who someday hope to clasp a baby to your breast. . . You women who long for the touch of baby fingers. .. You women who know the triumph of motherhood. . . Bring all your pity—all your tears— when you read this drama of women denied life’s greatest ecstasy. “DR. MONICA” Coming to the Strand Theatre on......... with Kay Francis in the title role. Warner Bros. Pictures 321 West 44th Street New York City. Adapted by Fred Ruslander from the Warner Bros. drama, starring Kay Francis. CHAPTER I. HE group in Anna Littlefield’s apartment were discuss ing Dr. Monica Braden. Her friends usually were discussing her, regardless of her presence, and when they were not arguing about her, they were lecturing to her. She worked too hard, she undertook too much, she was too generous, both of her time and money; she was too much in love with John, her novelist husband, she had saved another expectant mother from the grave, she had written another treatise that had startled the medical world; her plan for community lying-in clinics had gained another prominent supporter or a malignant enemy—yes, Dr. Monica was a subject of conversation. She was a handsome woman, this 30 year old obstetrician, who had reached great fame in her profession, and who willingly enough pleaded guilty to the indictments brought against her. She did work too hard, she admitted, but how, she asked, could one stop foolish women from having babies at inopportune times? She did love her husband too much, she said, but how, she again inquired, looking at him with pride and adoration, could one help it? So the group awaiting her in Anna Littlefield’s apartment was not surprised when, exactly as she entered the room, she was called to the telephone. “Hospital calling,’ announced the maid. John Braden was sitting on the couch between Mrs. Hazlitt and Mary Hathaway. Mrs. Hazlitt, fifty if a day, dowdy in appearance, who incessantly smoked cigarettes, but who was none the less, the most famous book reviewer of her day, looked at her handsome neighbor good humoredly enough. His 35 years did sit lightly on his broad shoulders. He looked more like a handsome actor than a serious writer, and Mrs. Hazlitt, who liked him far more than she admired his books, always thought of him as a rather petulant boy. Mary Hathaway, strangely silent for a 21 year old beauty, looked at John and said nothing. Her eyes sought the man’s, timidly. “You should travel more,” Mrs. Hazlitt was saying. “Your last book shows immaturity of viewpoint.” “Telephone, doctor,” interrupted the maid, as Dr. Monica, immaculate and exquisitely groomed, entered the room and started toward her husband. Dr. Monica’s face looked a little older than her years warranted; even her eyes were tired, but her step was snappy and her body erect. She did not look like a doctor, but as she picked up the telephone receiver, she changed into one. “Yes, I know the ease,” she A Social Battle ‘‘He’s going to travel—for six months,’ Doctor Monica told the critic, who had found her husband’s books ‘immature.’ (Kay Francis, Warren William and Verree Teasdale in a scene from Warner Bros.’ great drama “Dr. Monica’ ) said. “She’s perfectly able to nurse her baby, and see that she does it. I don’t care if she doesn’t want to spoil her figure. Put the pump on her and we’ll see how she likes that—and give her wu bottle of stout to help along.” “You won’t have to go back will you?” asked Anna anxiously. “No, Anna,” the doctor replied. “Tm free for the night, I think,” and stooping a trifle, she kissed her friend. Anna’s honest, kindly glowed with affection. “Come and meet a little capsule of dullness over here, named Pettingill, with oodles of money,’ she whispered. “I’ve been selling him your idea of the lying-in homes.” “Wait—Il’m seeing that precious husband of mine for the first time in two days,’ Monica said and walked over to the eyes couch. “T recently read your article advocating district lying-in hospitals,’” Mrs. Hazlitt said as she was introduced. “It’s a splendid suggestion, and so ably written.” “Tt should be,” Moniea smiled proudly. “John wrote it for me.” “But they were Monica’s thoughts,” John demurred. “I scarcely knew what I was writing about.” “Tt suggest you get acquainted with some of your wife’s ideas— they’re pretty big,” remarked the eritie. “Mrs. Hazlitt has been tearing into my last book,” said John. Anna entered, bearing a cocktail in her hand. “Let’s all go and have a spaghetti dinner with real red ink,” she said. “Sorry,” said John. “I must dine with Mansfield—I’m selling him a serial.” “I can’t come either,” said Mary, with a half glance at John. “Then I shan’t see you again for hours,” pouted Monica. “The only way you two love birds can get together will be either for Monica to give up delivering babies, or John his writing,” Anna smiled. “Ym willing,” said John. “But how shall we decide which?” “You'll come back soon?” Monica asked John. “Yes, mother,” he replied. “T should be your mother,” the doctor said. “You’re just a little boy.” A look of disappointment clouded Dr. Monica’s face as she re-entered the living room. (To Be Continued) Page Nine