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JUDGMENT OF THE STORM
BY ETHEL STYLES MIDDLETON
"Judgment of the Storm," as printed herewith, is the Actionized version of an original photoplay written by Ethel Styles Middleton, a hitherto unknown writer, who learned the technique of photoplay writing under the guidance of the Educational Department of the Palmer Photoplay Corporation. This photoplay, which was purchased by the Palmer Photoplay Corporation for their initial offering under their recently announced schedule, and for which they paid the author $1,000 and a royalty, is now being produced at the Thos. H. Ince studios. It will shortly be released as a "Palmerplay ," and undoubtedly should be one of the most significant productions of the current year. Readers should bear in mind, however, that certain structural changes and the omission of much of the screen "business" which appeared in the author's detailed synopsis were necessary in rewriting "Judgment of the Storm" in short story style. Some of the dramatic qualities found in Mrs. Middleton' s original screen story were purposely sacrificed in order, that the literary charm required to make the story more interesting as a magazine offering might be added. Also for the sake of screen clarity the names of several of the characters have been changed in the photoplay version.
EVAN TREVOR awoke in the carefully darkened room of his luxurious apartments, with the jangling of the door-bell pounding on his eardrums. He stretched himself lazily, and called to his man.
"Collins, see who's at the door. Whoever it is, tell him I'm not to be disturbed before noon."
Collins glided into the room and tiptoed through to the hallway. A moment later came the sound of argument — Collins' horrified protests, mingled with the insistent demands of a good-natured, masculine voice — and a young man swept breezily into Trevor's bedroom. He stopped at sight of the recumbent figure.
"Well, of all the lazy loafers!" he ejaculated. "Do you know it's ten o'clock? How about that game of tennis?"
"Tomorrow, Hallam," yawned Evan. "I've got a luncheon engagement for today. Go 'way."
Hallam snorted and moved across the room to the bathroom door. Collins was drawing his master's bath.
"Great heavens!" exclaimed Hallam. "He's making it warm, Trevor!"
"Sure," replied that young man
easily. "That's the way I like 'em."
Hallam came back without speaking, and passed into the sitting room. His face had grown serious. He swept an appraising eye over the expensive, tasteful furnishings and at the many books. From a table he selected a small volume and opened it to the title page.
"Lyrics of Love," he read, "by Evan Trevor. Published by the Author."
Abruptly he returned to his bedroom, sat down on the edge of the bed, and regarded his friend intently.
"Evan," he began, "you need a legal guardian instead of that mannurse you've got. Too much money. You'll never learn to write until you buck up against something besides the pleasant things of life. — Do you know that Martin Freeland is in town?"
Evan Trevor came up suddenly, frowning.
"Hm-m," commented Hallam. "Thought that would make you sit up. Martin came to New York with Anne's brother, Carleton — going to show him the sights, I understand. Carleton's a good, clean lad and I hate to see him