Screenland (Sept 1922–Feb 1923)

aaiywooA. SCREENLAND Cfcii&t™* 23 "So far as I'm concerned, 1 don't care that." He snapped his fingers and he was so elated to find that he had snapped them successfully that he snapped them again. The third snap being not so good he did not attempt a fourth. Instead he stood up and looked J. E. Popham squarely in the eye. "And if I hear of you bothering Miss Adair," he threatened, "Fll throw you off the lot." "You'll do what?" demanded the larger and heavier Popham, advancing upon him. "I'll have you thrown off the lot and, what's more, I'll have Bruce Wappinger do the throwing." Those were Mr. Bloom's spirited words. He stood his ground as he uttered them, and there must have been something either in the words or in the defiant, not to say, pugnacious manner in which they were spoken that led J. E. Popham to believe that the danger from Bruce Wappinger was imminent. For it is hardly to be imagined that, towering as he did head and shoulders above Mr. Bloom, he would have abandoned his warlike purposes simply because of Mr. Bloom alone. But abandon them he did and in lieu of the raised hand he substituted the lowered voice. "Don't get excited," he counseled. "Remember that your blood pressure is high. There is no reason that you and I should disagree. If you don't like the way I do business, buy me out." Mr. Bloom squirmed. "I don't like the way you do business," he answered, "but just now I haven't got the ready cash to buy you out." "Then I'll buy you," "said J. E. Popham. "I'll fire Wappinger. I'll hire a director that'll mind his own business. I'll produce pictures. I'll feature Miss Adair " "You'll go broke," phophesied Mr. Bloom. "Miss Adair is a very nice girl, but as an actress she ain't making Mary Pickford lose any sleep. She's doing fine just where she is — playing atmosphere for ten a day." "Fifteen." "Well, fifteen then, but she ain't worth five. If you try to make a starrer out of her it won't be because she can act " "Suppose you try minding your own business," suggested J. E. Popham, looking more like granite than ever. "Miss Adair is free, white and twenty-one " "Twenty-four," said Mr. Bloom. J. E. Popham ignored the interruption. "Under proper management " he began. "Which she won't get very much of with you," broke in Mr. Bloom. "Bah !" exclaimed his exasperated partner. "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but bahs will never hurt me," pointed out Mr. Bloom. "You're getting to be just like a heavy in a picture. All that's missing is the cigarette and the mortgage on the old homestead." His eyes traveled to the carefully tended hand of J. E. Popham. "Only the mortgage is missing," he said; "I see you've got the cigarette. Also you've got things kind of coming your way, but let me give you a tip that won't cost you nothing. The heavy never gets the girl. Because why? Because there's always a rush to the rescue." "Rush and be damned," snarled J. E. Popham, and went out and slammed the door behind him. NOT to be outdone in spirit, Mr. Bloom slammed it again when he went out a few minutes later. That nobody heard him slam it annoyed him, but that he found the company still grouped about the ballroom set annoyed him more. Yet that which caused him most displeasure was that when he reached the set the camera was grinding and he had to wair until the scene was shot before he could get the ear of BFuce Wappinger. "Excuse me for taking any of your valuable time," he said, "but I want to see Rose Adair." The big director ran his eye over the assemblage of young women in evening dress. "She was here a minute ago " he began. "Of course she was," said Mr. Bloom, with asperity. "In a studio whenever you look for anybody they were always here a minute ago. That don't help me half so much as knowing where she is." "I don't know myself," pleaded the director. "I'll send somebody to look for her if you say so." "Don't mention it," said Mr. Bloom, loftily. "If you got any people around here that all you do with them is send them on errands I wish you'd fire 'em right away. I'll do my own looking." "If you run across Popham tell him I'd like to see him, will you ?" the director asked, with a carelessness that did not deceive his employer. "If it's about business, you can talk to me, you know," he hinted ; "I'm still on the job." "I don't want to see him about business," said the other grimly. "No fights, Bruce Wappinger, no fights," he warned. "This picture ain't done yet." "There won't be any fight," said the director convincingly, "but if you don't want me to make a wreck of your new business partner, you'll tell him to keep away from Miss Adair." "You got a muscle like a box fighter," observed Mr. Bloom; "but if you ever hit Popham in the face you'll break your hand. But don't hit him at all till the picture's finished. Then, if I was you, I'd hit him in the stummick." "I don't want to soil my hands on him," said the director, "and I wouldn't give him a second thought if it weren't for his unwelcome attentions to Miss Adair. He seems to think that because he gave her a job here he owns her. She has nobody to protect her except me and I shall not disappoint her." "You talk like a title writer," said Mr. Bloom, who looked as if he himself were disappointed. "Every time I hear big words I know I ain't going to see a fight." "She's an orphan," said Bruce Wappinger, sadly. "Orphans twenty-four years old ain't exactly helpless," observed his employer. "I'm beginning to think that if you and Popham would worry less about Rosie and more about the picture, we'd get along faster. I don't believe in hiring trouble for fifteen dollars a day. I was going to tell her to keep away from both of you. Now I'm going to find her and fire her " "Fire Rosie?" cried Bruce Wappinger, in alarm as Mr. Bloom turned away. "Fire Rosie," repeated Mr. Bloom over his shoulder. "You'll regret it." Mr. Bloom stopped and faced the director, who had hur ried after him. "All my life I've been doing things I've regretted," he said tartly, "and right now I can't think of one of them. I guess another more or less won't make no difference." Muttering to himself, the director went back to his set. Muttering to himself, Mr. Bloom started in quest of Rose Adair. He did not have to go far for as he crossed a deserted property room he heard the throaty and seductive drawl of the twenty-four-year-old orphan. It came from the other side of a canvas wall and Mr. Bloom could see neither the drawler nor the person to whom she was drawling. But distinctly he could hear Miss Adair say: "You precious darling, I love you, love you, love you." And then a kiss. "This is no place for me," said Mr. Bloom to himself, with much earnestness, and, turning on tip-toe, he fled from the property room and toward the set where was Rose Adair's protector. "If she ever needs him she needs him now," he kept saying to himself. "That Popham must have her hypnotized." But stirred as he was by what he had heard in the property