Screenland (Oct 1924–Apr 1925)

SCKEENLAND 79 Q Nothing Today— from page 38. Save the dishes, and. . ." Peggy was off down the stairs. She scuttled past Miss Cousins' door, out the front entrance and was off up the street like a flash. J CM Dion, casting director of the Crimerian Films, Incorporated, was half an hour late when he stamped into his office in a growly mood. There had been the customary delay on the Jersey railroad that brought him from his suburban home and, in his opinion, this particular Tuesday morning was the worst on which such a thing could have happened. He grabbed at the telephone receiver, staring belligerently the while at the rim of faces visible through the little sliding window that opened onto the corridor. He jammed the receiver back and glared angrily about. "Where's Altman?" he demanded. "Reported sick. Grip." Joe Bird, messenger and man of all work about the studio, answered laconically. "My God," groaned Dion. "What next? We've got enough work for a dozen casting directors and Altman has to be sick. Didn't he know . . . ? "Sure did," interrupted the imperturbable Joe, "but grip's grip ... an' sometimes we do git it." "Go to thunder," growled Dion and turned to the doorman who had just appeared. The newcomer, Lucius Cornwall Jackson by name, refused to be awed by the casting director. He remained unruffled by the short, snappy comment that was hurled at him. It is said of Lucius that one day, as he mounted guard over the portal leading to the casting director's office, he found himself face to face with his Satanic majesty in the person of one of the actors in a fanciful picture in course of filming. Some of the women in the corridor fluttered with excitement. Lucius touched the actor on the -shoulder. "Young man," he said calmly, "go back to where you belong an' cease frightening the ladies from without." Lucius never lost his dignity. "There's a gentleman out there," was his reply to Dion's short comment. "He says he's a rough rider." "Tell him to go west, or to a hotter place." Dion fairly shouted the instructions. "Yes, sir." Lucius was yet calm and even more dignified. "And the Grand Army man is likewise without. And the sweet little lady with the little girl in a pink gingham dress. I . . ." Dion exploded. "Get out! Damn it, get out! Tell 'em to come tomorrow. I haven't got time to attend to any extras today." "Tomorrow, sir?" Lucius was apologetic. "Yes, damn it. Can't ycu hear? Tomorrow. Tomorrow! Let Altman and his grip handle them." "Yes, sir." Lucius retired to the outer doorway. There he paused, placed one hand inside of his tightly buttoned coat and dramatically announced: "Ladies and gents, I am sorry, but there ain't nuthin' for nobody today. You will . . ." He stopped. Then, with alacrity, "Right this way, Mr. Blystone. Yes, sir. How is your cold, sir?" "I'm all to the mustard, Lucius," replied Ned, smiling. The odor of musterole, placed on his chest by a doting mother the night before, still wafted to his nostrils. "You're looking fit as usual." "Yes, sir," and Lucius bent in dignified acknowledgment of the comely young actor who held the friendship and admiration of every member of the Crimerian staff. Ned Blystone was one of those rarities that seldom come in the course of a day's work in the picture industry; a handsome man, with every physical attribute, who had learned to maintain a mental balance. Tall, well set up, his clothes the last word in perfection, he moved with the easy grace of an athlete in absolute trim. He had as much personality off the screen as on and possessed the invaluable art of seeming to be one of the crowd without ever losing the restraint that necessarily must be part of the stock in trade of a successful actor. There was laughter in the depth of his eyes, his forehead was good, his hair didn't marcel and he had a mouth and chin that bespoke determination. First, last and always, Blystone was a real, red-blooded, likeable man. He slid out of the spring topcoat that Lucius anxiously waited to take. "Has Miss Thomas arrived yet?" Conway Tearle, next to he seen in "The Great Divide." "Yes, sir. Miss Thomas was early this morning," replied Lucius eagerly. Then confidentially, "I don't think she's feeling quite herself, sir. Seemed a little put out. Her chauffeur said she had a long-run grouch. But, of course, that's only a chauffeur's opinion, sir." "We had a long day yesterday," said Blystone thoughtfully. "This game isn't as easy on a woman as some people think, Lucius." "Right, sir." Lucius' manner clearly showed that he understood what his favorite was getting at. "If any one else asks about Miss Thomas," added the young actor, with a friendly smile, "I'd say that she was in the best of spirits, if I were you, Lucius. Women are bound to have their moods and what the world doesn't know it doesn't have to worry about." And with that Ned Blystone, film favorite and human being, passed into the sacred precincts where Gloria Thomas, decidedly out of sorts, was haranguing her maid because one of the lights in her dressing room had spluttered a moment before, and gone out. This particular morning the world was wrong in the eyes of Miss Thomas, and everyone but herself was to blame for the fact. PEGGY, her cheeks scarlet from running, her breath coming in quick little gasps, dashed up to the studio entrance. Then, with the uncanny wisdom of her sex, she paused, snapped open her vanity case, observed her face in the tiny mirror and deftly dabbed away all outward signs of haste. Experience had taught Peggy that looking like a cool, enticing sweet pea was an asset in a picture studio, or anywhere else for that matter. She waved a friendly hand at the crowd. It was the same sort of a gathering, even at this early hour, that could be found at almost any New York motion picture studio. Tall girls, short girls; blondes, brunettes; sleepy girls and wide-awake little persons who might have made a trip from Brooklyn instead of the forties, but showed no signs of the fact. Peggyknew most of them. She had waited with them. She had swapped bits of business gossip. She liked most of them and, curious as it may sound, almost without exception they adored her. On this particular morning the gathering of hopeful extras was even larger than usual. Word had gone forth, by the underground route, that Crimerian was going to use a lot of extras. How they learned this, some of them, was a mystery. No call had been sent to the agents. « But by that endless chain of comment, tossed back and forth in the little eating places that these girls haunt