Screenland (Sept 1922–Feb 1923)

20 Ptomaine Hall! That was the joyful title given the Planet Studio cafeteria by the actors and actresses who crowded through its swinging doors at noon each day. At a little table that faced a wide window that looked upon the studio yard the friendly' little president, Mr. Bloom, met and conquered one of his most interesting problems. It all began -during the noon hour, and the cafeteria in the Planet Studio in Hollywood was crowded. From the bright sunshine outside, actors and actresses, all in evening dress and with make-up on their faces, came through the swinging doors, passed down an aisle on one side of which was a lunch counter and on the other, tables at each of which there were four chairs, picked up trays, silverware and paper napkins from a shelf, stopped in front of a steam-table, where they were served by three white-aproned young men and one man whose apron once had been white, and then, each carrying his or her laden tray, steered for the first unoccupied chairs ihey could find. Fifteen minutes after the noon gong rang in the studio, there was in Ptomaine Hall only one table that was surrounded by empty chairs. This table faced the wide window that looked upon the studio yard and differed from its fellows in that it was covered with a cloth, held napkins that were of linen instead of paper, and was flanked by chairs that were of wicker instead of pine. These wicker chairs were the seats of the mighty and were reserved for Mr. A. Bloom, president of the Planet Film Corporation, Inc., his studio manager, his director and his scenario writer. His star and her mother always lunched in the • star's dressing room, where, although the food was colder, the company was more exclusive, and the leading man never lunched at all. Mi LR. BLOOM, the plump little president, whose waist-line was the least of his troubles, was the first of the linen napkin set to arrive for lunch this bright autumn day. He came in nodding and smiling, for he was a friendly little man, who always took it for granted that everybody else was as glad to see him as he was to see them. There was genuine warmth in the smiles and nods that answered his, and this pleased him so much that he continued to smile and nod, until after seating himself in a chair whose wicker back was toward the window, he noticed that in the cafeteria there were several more actors and actresses than he had expected to see. "The pay-roll has got inflammation again," he muttered to himself, and turning to the market page in the morning newspaper, which as yet he had not had time to read, he said aloud : "Bowl of bread and milk, please." "No room here for kids," replied, surlily, the manager of Ptomaine Hall, a corpulent and consequential person, who did his own eating elsewhere, but who always made it a point to wait upon Mr. Bloom. The latter, looking up in justifiable surprise, saw that the manager had spoken not to him but to a boy of about ten who stood just inside the door. "What is it, sonny?" asked Mr. Bloom, who had no children of his own. "I'm looking for Dad," said the bov ; "he told me he would be here for lunch." "Stand outside and wait for him," directed the man who managed the cafeteria. "Sit down and wait for him," countermanded the man who owned it, and when the boy, smiling gratefully, dropped into one of the wicker chairs, Mr. Bloom smiled back and said : "How about having a bite to eat?" UN1SH By LOUIS Illustrated by "No, thanks," answered the youngster, "I'll just sit and wait." He looked at the door and Mr. Bloom looked at him. "What are you thinking about?" asked the man. "My dad," said the boy promptly. "Got a nice dad?" "You bet your American word of honor," was the obviously prejudiced reply. "Got a nice mamma?" pursued Mr. Bloom, who was a conversationalist who always kept in practice. "Y«s, sir," said the boy, "but I'm sorry to have to say that she isn't very well." "She'll get well," was Mr. Bloom's comforting assurance. "Either you get well or you die. She ain't going to die, so she must be going to get well." "She's pretty sick," said the boy, seriously. "Of course, she doesn't know just how sick she is. She thinks she'll be well before spring, but dad and the doctor and I know better." "She probably knows more than you," contended Mr. Bloom. "Any