Screenland (Nov 1940-Apr 1941)

EASY. . . SQUEEZY New nail glamour • Now you just squeeze a manicure! The tube is the brush. It paints your nails in a flash. Try it, and you'll never go back to bottles. Carry the light little tubes with you, keep a set in your desk. Never mind a chip... whip out PLEDGE wherever you are and repair it! Glamorous nails for every date, this new easy-squeezy way. Choose from 15 thrilling new colors. At leading variety chain store cosmetics counters. Complete manicure in 4 tubes * LIQUID NAIL ENAMEL ... Almost applies itself . . . from new brush-tube. * polish remover . . . Felt-tip tube does the job ... no cotton necessary. * cuticle softener . . . Flows from tube into small NYLON brush-tip. * nail cream . . . Felt-tipped tube is cleverly shaped to massage the nails. COPYRIGHT 1941, THE OH IP COSMETICS CO. -FREMONT. OHIO -NEW YORK CI' 86 wharf. Food gone, throats parched, life a husk, they crept home. Ray really got it that time — with a toasting-fork four feet long, the first thing his father could lay hands on. Next day he was gazing into the_ window of a shipping agency, wondering how long it would take him to coax enough pennies from his sisters for passage to Canada at seventeen pounds ten. Canada and Texas were his Meccas. He read all the Westerns he could lay hands on, and cried his heart out one night because the cowboys in his current opus didn't wear guns. His taste for travel was gratified in a minor way when his father, an industrial engineer, moved the family to Cardiff for business reasons. School absorbed him for a while. Adventures of the -mind compensated for the lack of physical adventure. A brilliant student, he was entered for Kings College at twelve, and a half, with other advanced students t6o young to go to the university. Presently he was fifteen, still too young for Cambridge, and with feet that itched all the more for their long inactivity. His uncle owned a small shipping line that traded in the Mediterranean. He coaxed his father to let him go as a cabin boy. It wasn't the sea that lured him, but the sound of faraway names and the smell of strange ports. Indeed, he soon got his fill of sailing. The Mediterranean venture was followed by a cruise to Australia with his mother, on the understanding that he would ship back from Port Lincoln as member of the crew of a fivemaster. The privations and terrors of that trip round dreaded Cape Horn, with two boys washed overboard — one under his horrified eyes — gave him an appreciation of commonplace earth that he'd lacked before. Milland the elder, pleased that his scheme had worked, beamed approval as the returned rover took his exams, passed them and^ entered Cambridge. He stayed exactly six months, having reached the considered conclusion that four years were an awful lump out of a man's life and that precious little learning was done at Cambridge anyway. His long-suffering parent was understandably outraged. "Well, what in the name of God do you want to do?" "I'd like to try the army." The next several years proved completely satisfying. After eight months as lieutenant in the Cheshire Yeomanry, he was accepted for the Household Cavalry, the King's personal bodyguard on state occasions. As a member of that traditionally romantic organization, he was in social demand — -a demand which his personal dash did nothing to weaken. He wore eyefilling uniforms, as becoming to him as he was to them. He went to riding school and became an expert horseman. He went to Paris and became a connoisseur of wine, women and song. His father, relieved to have got his changeling child settled, supplemented his pay with an allowance. He had a whale of a time till a banking crash hit his father. Among other luxuries, one cavalryman had to be dropped from the budget. At twenty-one, without money, job or profession, Ray was catapulted from glamor into reality. One evening the phone rang in the flat of Estelle Brody, an English actress now married in Hollywood. A friend was asking if he could bring a young man around, said young man being on his uppers, untrained to labor, so the only thing left was the stage. The friend was prayerful and insistent. He. arrived, accompanied by something resplendent in tails and a dark male attractiveness. "Is this what needs a job!" gasped Miss Brody. Persuaded at length that the tails represented a last faint glimmer of glory, she told him to meet her at the studio next morning. SCREENLAND Bette Davis and Arthur Farnsworth are pictured cutting the wedding cake following their surprise marriage. Watch for our next month's fiction ization of Bette's new film, "The Bride Came C. O. D.," which co-stars Jimmy Cagney. He was engaged for the day as atmosphere. "Where's your makeup?" bellowed whoever was paid to bellow. "I don't know. What's that?" An extra took him away and made him up, he swears, to look like Theda Bara. He'd been on the set an hour when a couple of guys came over and examined his eyes, his teeth, his nose. "What am I?" he asked. "A horse up for sale?" They sent him to the casting office, he was signed for the picture and shipped to Scotland, where he loafed at six dollars a day. They didn't even use him for atmosphere. From this he drew the canny conclusion that acting was the only profession that paid you for not knowing your job. It was therefore custom-tailored for him. He managed to get himself a spot with a small provincial company, where they taught him to walk across the stage instead of running like hell for the nearest exit. Returned to London, he talked an agent into handling him. "I can't get you another sharpshooter," he heard this agent shouting over the phone one day. "What do you want me to do? Pick one off a telegraph post?" "Who wants a sharpshooter?" asked Ray. The agent named a director who was making a picture called "The Informer." The German sharpshooter he'd hired was down with pneumonia. "I'm going after that job," said Ray. "Hey, they want a real sharpshooter," the agent yelled after him. "I'm pretty good," Ray yelled back. The director asked for his credentials. "What do you mean, credentials? I was British Army champion for three years." "You're not a professional?" "You don't have to be a professional to be good." They escorted him to a set forty feet long, fixed a sixpence to the wall, chalked a ring around it and gave him a Browningrepeating rifle, which has fourteen shots in it. Ray took one shot. The direction Was perfect, the elevation low. He adjusted his arm and shot the other thirteen into one and the same hole. The effect was spectacular. They thought he was William Tell. He wiped is forehead, knowing that in a thousand years he couldn't repeat. Luckily, he didn't have to. He was given the job at eleven dollars a day.