Screenland (Sept 1922–Feb 1923)

< MOUVWOOO « »UIOMi» K3) LOCATION STUFF (Continued from Page 62.) "Cat!" the maligned Julie had said to herself and strolled into the lobby. When she strolled out again Norval Chillingworth was with her. She was a fast worker. Mr. Bloom walked back toward the hotel and seating himself upon a soapbox in front of the dark and deserted Busy Bee General Store across the street from the noisy tavern began to do some intensive worrying. For Chillingworth had told him that he did not expect to work the next day. Mr. Bloom could see that bad as things were before Chilingworth had arrived they were due to become much worse. He stole a look across the street but brought his eyes back quickly when they fell upon Chillingworth and Julie Douglas in whispered conference. "Two artistic tempers together," he said to himself bitterly, " I'd give anything I've got, I'd give anything I could borrow, to be back in Hollywood." "Well?" asked a disagreeable voice at his elbow. He started. It was the voice of the rancher. "Well, yourself," answered Mr. Bloom with what courage he could muster. "Stand up. I want to talk to you," said the tanned and brawny native. "I'm very comfortable," protested the stranger within the gates. "Stand up," ordered the inflexible man. Mr. Bloom obeyed. "What's this I hear about you going round town saying I'm a robber?" asked the rancher, placing a ham-like hand upon Mr. Bloom's lapel. "I didn't," was Mr. Bloom's stammering but honest reply. "That's a lie," said the other briefly, "and now I'm going to take you across the street and prove it." Mr. Bloom held back. "There ain't no use of having words," he protested uneasily. "You could take me across the world and you couldn't prove it." "The landlord says he heard you," said the other and tightened his grip upon Mr. Bloom. "The landlord ain't telling the truth," protested Mr. Bloom. "Come on," ordered the other. "We'll see whether he is or not." He started to drag Mr. Bloom toward the edge of the sidewalk. Physical violence was a thing that Mr. Bloom abhorred. With the hand which was not clinging to the lamp post he struck out at his tormentor, then shut his eyes and waited for the worst. It did not come. Mi IR. BLOOM, his fist and his eyes shut tight, stood there and waited for what seemed to him to be a very long time. But he opened his fist and his eyes also when he heard the rush of feet on the sidewalk and then the voice of his new leading man, pitched very low but filled with sincerity, saying: "Bill, if you put a finger on my friend, Mr. Bloom, you'll have to lick both of us." The rancher whom the English leading man had addressed as Bill looked first at Mr. Bloom, then at Julie Douglas who had ranged herself beside him, then at Norval Chillingworth who had stepped in front of Mr. Bloom. His look at Norval Chillingworth was a long look. It ended in a laugh that echoed through the street. "Well, if it ain't Elmer Mason!" he cried, and extended a brawny paw to the favorite of Broadway and that street in London the name of which nobody seemed able to remember. The metropolitan favorite gripped the hand which only a moment before had gripped Mr. Bloom. "It's me, all right," he admitted. "You're the first one of the old gang I've seen tonight." Although the night was cool Mr. Bloom wiped his forehead. "The old gang?" he said puzzled, "Do you gentlemen know each other?" They laughed. "This is my home town." said Norval Chillingworth with a touch of honest pride. "I should say it is," affirmed the rancher just as proudly. Elmer's folks own the ranch and the hotel and the horses and " "You don't know how I am glad to hear it," cried Mr. Bloom, "Now it won't cost me so much to shoot the ranch." (Continued on Page 64.) 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