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C~Jhey MO
(\No one res]?ecls shining truth more than a sophisticated cynic and no one falls deeper in love.
K)NALD Castan's profile, as he turned, was etched sharply against the stream of illusive light from the projection room. His friend, watching it, thought of an eagle, a hunter — but a hunter, he added to himself, who had found all the game he set out for. Certainly not a motion picture magnate in embryo.
"What's the verdict on my picture, Ronald?" demanded Colonel Francis.
Castan stared without expression at the black and white heiroglyphics on the silver sheet before him.
"Gorgeously terrible!" he groaned. "Walter, I think I shall buy a film company just to prove to myself that it's possible to make a good picture. Is this the best you can do?"
Colonel Francis shrugged and took a tentative pull at his fastidious white mustache.
"It isn't quite that bad," he averred. "For one thing, the
platitudes are beautiful, Ronald. And Tessa Quent
They'll eat it up, with her in it. Since venturing into Holly wood, I've come to the absolute decision that what they eat up — is art!"
Castan smiled quietly. He liked his friend's cool cynicisms, his acceptance of life on the terms life held out to him. It had been his own experience that such acceptance was best.
At twenty, Castan, a poor boy, had had ideals and dreams. At twenty, he had wanted to be a great film director. At twenty-five, after an interim of world tramping, he had lost many of the ideals; but he had discovered that the world was quite as wonderful a place as a studio.
At thirty, he was on his way to becoming rich. The next year he had lost everything he owned. At thirtyfive, he held no more ideals and owned too much money ever to lose anything. Soldier of fortune, gentleman adventurer, gambler the Cambodian jungles had at last yielded up a wealth of tin to the man strong enough to wrest it from them.
Thirty-five found Ronald Castan wealthy and bored. Hollywood had been like a magnet. Perhaps he could^ return there and rebuild lost youth, lost ideals. He was becoming rapidly disillusioned.
But suddenly he sat forward in his seat. The film, which was being unreeled at a private showing for a few of Colonel Francis' friends, was nearing its close. On the screen there was a close-up of Tessa Quent, its star.
Castan caught his breath. That brooch she wore!
He had forgotten. Suddenly years {Continued on page 100)
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