Hi Nellie (Warner Bros.) (1934)

IW, OMAR Kictionization “HIE. NELLIE!” Based on the Warner Bros. picture of the same name, starring Paul Muni with Glenda Farrell, and coming soon to the Strand Theatre. Fictionization by Screen Romances Magazine CHAPTER III NLY one other person echoed that same hope. That was Dawes, who had cast an envious eye on the managing editor’s chair from the day he was promoted to assistant m. e. He had given it up as a vain dream when, with the unexpectedness of a bonus on a depression Christmas, Graham moved him up into Brad’s job. The constant sullen look vanished from his face, superseded by a selfsatisfied smugness that created a murderous urge in the hearts of his staff. For Brad had been popular with the men who had worked for him. They gladly would have gone to Hades and back if their dynamic young chief had sent them there for a story. His unswerving loyalty to his paper — and under his guidance the Times-Star had become the leading paper in town — had won their sincere admiration. To them he was the ideal newspaperman and to lose him was a severe blow. But each one of them, however devoted to Brad, joined in the general hilarity when it became known presently that he had been made the Heart-Throbs editor! Shammy slipped into Brad’s office one afternoon with depressing news. ‘‘T tried to see Mrs. Canfield today but she’s left town,’’ he reported dejectedly. ‘‘Gone into hiding in Maine.’’ Brad grimaced with disgust. “*Fust our_luck,’’ he muttered bitterly. ‘‘The one pérsonwho might set us straight—’’ ‘¢But I’m staying right on it, anyway, Brad_’’ Shammy hastened to assure him. ‘‘I even mosied over to the bank and had a talk with that cashier, Sheldon.’’ ‘¢Well?’? Shammy hesitated, reluctant to impart his news. He cleared his throat and said in a dull voice: ‘‘They got definite proof Canfield bowed out with that dough. Sheldon showed me the vouchers with Canfield’s signature.’’ Brad drew a deep _ breath. **Looks like I put my money on the wrong horse, after all.’’ Shammy placed a sympathetic hand on the other’s drooping shoulder. ‘‘ Listen, Brad,’’ he said huskily, ‘‘I’m stringing with you and for you, right or wrong, no matter what happens. You know that! ?? ‘Sure, boy, I know!’’ Brad smiled gratefully. He was deeply touched by the man’s loyalty. If Shammy had faith enough in him to tag along when the case looked hopeless, then certainly he dared not give up the struggle. A steely light of determination came into his eyes. He’d show them yet, he swore to him — he’d show the lot of them — Graham, Dawes, even the disdainful Gerry Krale! CHAPTER IV The Heart-Throbs column, never at best a high spot in the TimesStar, slipped steadily to a new low as the worst feature of the paper. And with it sank Brad. He was like a disreputable shadow of his former self, these days—unkempt, unshaven, as slovenly in his manner as in his work. His face was gaunt and haggard; the force and snap of his voice were gone, and in their place was a constant petulant grumble. pleased him, nothing Dawes bustled in officiously one day to call him down about his } work, he failed to rise to the in{ sult. ‘So you’re not satisfied with my ; eolumn,’’ Brad mocked with an indifferent shrug. ‘‘ Well, then, Mr. Managing Editor, you’re my boss, why don’t you fireme? Why don’t you tell Graham my column stinks because I won’t run it just the way you want?’’ Dawes glared at him, infuriated. ‘¢Still riding high, eh?’’ ‘¢Sure!’? Brad leaned back in his chair, propped his feet on the desk and calmly lit a cigarette. ‘‘Riding high, wide and handsome!’’ Coolly, mockingly, insolently, he gazed at Dawes. Dawes fingers itched to take hold of Brad and literally shake the insolence out of him. He restrained himself with an effort. ‘¢You’re not kidding me, Bradshaw,’’ he said finally, in a pitying tone that brought a flush to the other’s face. ‘‘You’re washed up —through! You were tops in this racket, but the skids are under you—you’re on the way down.’’ He walked to the door, then turned for a parting shot. ‘‘When you hit the gutter, Brad, remember your old pal Dawes told you so!’’ The shot struck home. Snarling, Brad half-rose from his chair, then slumped back as the door slammed on Dawes’ leering face. ‘<The dirty, miserable skunk— telling me!’’ he raged. ‘‘Why I taught him everything he knows— I—’’ he stopped and looked wildly about the office. The very sight of it inflamed his anger. With an oath he swooped down on the desk and overturned it, hurling typewriter and papers to the floor. Then, grabbing his coat and hat, he stalked to the door, kicking a chair out of his way for good measure. Passing him on her way to the city room, Gerry’s ‘‘ Hi, Nellie!’’ died in her throat as she caught sight of the savage, contorted expression on his face. She turned curiously to Jimmy Durkin, senior copy boy. Nothing | interested § him, nothing mattered. Even when {| “Sol? Gerry taunted, “You can dish it out, but can’t take it.” (Glenda Farrell giving Paul Muni a going-over in a dramatic scene from “Hi, Nellie!’’, the Warne: Bros comedy drama—coming to the Strand.) ‘¢What’s the matter with Nellie?’?? she asked with a chuckle. ‘“Too many mash notes?’’ Durkin jerked his head toward Brad’s office. ‘*I don’t know, Gerry,’’ he replied uncertainly, ‘‘but it sure sounded like he wrecked the joint!’’ Gerry crossed quickly to the office and gasped at the chaos that met her eyes. A more thorough, complete job of wrecking she had never seen. It meant but one thing—Brad was out on a binge! Determinedly, she shut the door and ran out of the office. Brad was at Pete’s bar gulping down the liquor as soon as it was handed to him, when Gerry walked in and deliberately sat down opposite him. He squirmed uneasily under the blazing scorn of her glance. ““So!’? Gerry taunted. ‘‘You can dish it out but you can’t take ss Sie ‘<Go home, will you, sister?’’ he grumbled drunkenly. ‘‘I don’t want you —I want to be alone—’’ Gerry rose and looked down at him contemptuously. ‘Sure, I’ll let you alone, pal,’’ she lashed at him furiously. ‘Goodby, sucker—stay drunk till they fire you. Take plenty—you/’]l need it! But with every shot, turn this over in that big brain of yours—’’ She leaned over and thrust her face close to his. ‘‘You broke Gerry Krale and she didn’t squawk,’’ she said bitterly, her voice choking. ‘‘ Hight months she battled that Heart-Throbs bilge without a peep! Three months is pretty good for you—because you’re short, mister—short of guts!’’ With a sob, she whirled about and left him. Brad stared after her—then, with a shrug, turned back to his glass. ‘“Said I couldn’t take it,’’ he muttered brokenly to _ himself. *“Could dish it out, but couldn’t take it—short on guts, mister— short on 7? With an angry snort he seized the glass and drained it in one gulp. Then, slowly, he crushed it in the palm of his hand until the blood seeped through his tightly closed fingers and dripped on the cloth. (Continued Tomorrow) “oH. NELLIE!” Based on the Warner Bros. picture of the same name, starring Paul Muni with Glenda Farrell, and coming soon to the Strand Theatre. Fictionization by Screen Romances Magazine CHAPTER V HAT binge paid Brad a surprise dividend. Thoroughly tight by the time he returned to the office, he tried to tackle his column but, somehow, the usual saccharine platitudes were not forthcoming. Instead, he found himself slamming out stinging, vitriolic words that packed a wallop and made no excuse for it. It was a column that mirrored perfectly his ‘‘ Take-tt-or-leave-it-but-that’s-how-I-feel!’’ at To his own amazement the fireworks he anticipated, when he sobered up and realized what he had written, turned into a meteoric shower of praise. Overnight the Heart-Throbs column became the most popular feature in the paper. Its spicy, straight-from-the-shoulder comments aroused an interest throughout the city that made a sensation in the newspaper history. Circulation soared sky-high; readers bought the Times-Star for Nellie Nelson’s column only. The public, believing implicity in the feminine wisdom of Nellie Nelson, was carefully kept in the dark as to the columnist’s true identity. Jimmy Durkin, therefore, was in a tight spot when a frantic young woman dashed into the city room one day pleading for an interview with Miss Nelson. He turned to Gerry in desperation. ‘“‘You gotta see this dame, Gerry,’’ he begged. ‘‘I can’t let her find out that Nellie’s a man.’’ Reluctantly, Gerry met the sobbing girl and led her into Brad’s office. Brad, typing at the desk when they entered, looked at them suspiciously. A sudden idea came Page Hight to Gerry and she grinned maliciously at Brad. Sobbingly, the girl blurted out a story of thwarted love. She was to have been married that day, but her father had suddenly called off the wedding because of a quarrel with his prospective son-in-law. Her father, an undertaker, and her fiance, a florist, had been doing business together amicably, but last night something had gone wrong. ‘¢You’ve got to talk to my father,’’? the girl pleaded tearfully. ‘¢He’ll listen to you because you’re from the newspaper.’’ ‘¢Very well,’’? Gerry nodded, with a triumphant look toward Brad who was watching the scene § bewilderedly. ‘‘We’ll talk to your § father. I may not be able to go myself, but I’ll send somebody. What’s your name and address?’’ Gratefully, the girl supplied the information. ‘‘Rosa Marinello— 530 West Houston Street. And Nick, my boy friend, lives just around the corner—the Elite Floral Shop.’’ When the girl had gone, Brad turned savagely on Gerry. ‘‘What’s the big idea—fooling that kid?’’ he demanded. ‘‘ You know you won’t see her old man— and you know I certainly won’t.!’’ Gerry regarded him with a cold stare. ‘‘So, Mr. Bradshaw, you wouldn’t waste your good talents on the simple tale of a kid whose heart is broken!’’ she flung at him. ‘Well, whether you like it or not, you’re it!’’ She threw the paper with the girl’s address on his desk and stalked out. CHAPTER VI PEECHLESS with rage, Brad ae down the corridor to his office. Shammy McClure was waiting anxiously for him with a great piece of news, but Brad, burning with hate, refused to listen to him. ‘‘T’m going to murder Nellie,’’ he raved, slamming papers and books to the floor. ‘‘I’Il show that old buzzard something he hasn’t seen yet—’’ Shammy tried to stop him. ‘‘If you’ll pipe down, Brad, I’ll tip you to something. Mrs. Canfield just got to town ond gave me an _address.’? He threw a slip of pa per on Brad’s desk. It fell next to the address of Rosa Marinello. Brad’s eye lighted on the two slips, and he stopped his ranting abruptly. The addresses were identical! ‘¢Marinello — Canfield—’’ he mumbled, then turned quickly to the puzzled Shammy. ‘‘Where’d you get this?’’ he demanded. ‘<¢Canfield phoned his wife from that address the day he dis appeared,’’ the reporter informed him. ‘‘Said he had an evening engagement at that place.’’ Brad jammed the slips into his pocket and grabbed his coat. ‘‘Come on, Shammy’’ he ealled impatiently. ‘‘We’re going to look into this.’’ Number 530 West Houston St. was typical of the tenements in the Little Italy section of New York—dingy, smelly and noisy. On the ground floor was the undertaking parlor of Marinello, but the two newspapermen decided to investigate the building before interrogating the Italian. Their search was fruitless until they came upon an empty room’ overlooking the backyard where Marinello’s undertaking equipment was piled. On the floor, in a corner of the room, was a torn newspaper, yellowed with age. Brad picked it up curiously. It bore an April 16th date-line—the day =< Canfield had disappeared! Their next stop was at Nick Grassi’s flower shop. Brad went in alone. ‘‘T’m an old school-teacher of Rosa’s,’’? he told the puzzled florist. ‘‘She asked me to help her get you and her father straightened out. You’re not going to let some petty squabble spoil your happiness, are you?’’ The Italian shrugged helplessly. = ‘But I did all I could, mister. “Where'd you get this?”, he demanded. (Ned Sparks and Paul Muni in a scene from Warner Bros. crack comedy-drama of the newspaper game, “Hi, Nellie!’’) I’d cut off my hand for Rosa, but nobody’s going to make a fool out of me and get away with it.’’ ‘<Maybe it was just a misunderstanding,’’ Brad suggested. ‘¢Misunderstanding my eye! I’ll show you in black and white!’’ Brad glanced through the proffered statements and stifled an exclamation of surprise. They were bills for floral decorations for burials of notorious gangsters and made out to Beau Brownell; ruthless henchman of Boss Thompson! (Continued Tomorrow)