Talking Picture Magazine (Dec 1930-Oct 1932)

March, 1932 TALKING PICTURE MAGAZINE Paee 31 she is ashamed of the coat she is wearing, having no wrap, Mary walks down the street before getting into a cab with Bob, to prevent being seen by the more fashionably attired guests. Later, she discovers to her horror, that she has lost the precious, borrowed pendant on the street, and no amount of searching produces the jewel which has fallen from its setting. Rather than tell Betty of the loss. Mary and Bob decide that they will somehow try to replace it. telling Betty, meanwhile, that the clasp is being fixed. Bob finds that the price of a diamond to fit the setting, is two thousand dollars, and their entire savings only amount to a few hundred, so. borrowing the additional money from a usurious money lender, to prevent embarrassing questions from being raised at the bank, the two young people are forced to move to a cheaper section of the town and practice the most stringent economies. After returning the pendant to Betty, who tells her how lovely she looked at the dance, and invites her to wear the jewel any time she wants to. Bob and Mary deprive themselves of all luxuries for a year to meet the high interest exacted on their loan. The only redeeming feature of their virtual retirement from friends and pleasures is that it effects a closer relationship between husband and wife, and teaches ilary, whose sense of proportion had been a little warped, a new tolerance. One day, soon after the young couple have celebrated the event of their complete extrication from debt, Mary meets Betty, who surprised at not having seen her for so long, invites her to tea. Mary decides to tell of her deception, and learns to her great astonishment that the jewel she has lost was a paste reproduction! However, as a climax to the revelations. Bob is told by the influential Newtons. that he has been made assistant cashier, a fine promotion. THE MAN FROM BURGUNDY Frances Ce File No. 6S24 ATTIRED in an abbreviated rehearsal costume which she still retained from her pre-marital days, Gloria Girod was pivoting gayly about her small living room as a radio band pounded out the latest tune. Then, startled out of her ecstacy by a key turning in the front door lock, the girl threw an apron over the entire costume and sat primly awaiting her husband's entrance. Gaston Girod, a handsome man, entered hastily and kissed his wife wearily. "Nothing," he said, dully, as though anticipating her question. Gloria looked up brightly. "Gaston, do you see any reason why I couldn't go back to my dancing — just for now — until you do get a job?" Suddenly, the apron came off and Gloria flitted about the living room as though on air while her husband, tired and wan, sat entranced by her grace as of old. "If it wasn't so darn dangerous and risky, I know of a good bootlegger job I could get— easy!" Gaston remarked, when his wife sat down breathlessly beside him. Gloria stormed angrily, forgetting the dancing. "You try it!" she wailed, "that's all I need! Not bad enough you lost the last job because that fool friend fed you liquor, eh?" The next day, Gaston remained at home to take a much-needed rest while his wife made a tour of the theatrical agencies \vherein she was known, before her marriage. The men greeted her warmly, but few showed any hope. Late that afternoon, however, a dancer from one of the better shows tripped and fell down in her bathtub. Gloria was engaged at once and rehearsed in record time. When she reached home, however. Gaston was anything but overjoyed. He had been dreaming all afternoon about the life in Burgundy — his native land— and about the wine, particularly. He was annoyed because no supper was ready, so Gloria had to fill her household duties with the aid of a little girl from downstairs, and then rush to the theatre for her first performance! When she arrived home, that night, the landlady greeted her at the door with a black-bordered letter. "F'r you. Mis' Girod," said the woman. "I couldn't give it to him because he's been up there ravnig wit' his friends all night!" Starting up the stairs, Gloria glanced at the postmark and saw it was Buryun II. When she arrived in her apartment, however, she did not speak about that or anything else until Girod shooed his friends away. "A fine fellow you are, my husband!" Gloria said, after they were gone, "and I suppose you supplied the wine, too!" Several moments later, the two, perusing the letter together, reacted differently. "Oh my poor uncle!" Girod was crying, but Gloria ignored this manufactured grief. "Look what he left you," she said, "if you think for one minute you deserve such good fortune— ". Gaston proceeded to chatter in rapid phrases at once. Gloria would leave the stage the next day. With a wine business, a home, and fifty thousand francs, why should she work? Gloria protested vigorously at having to leave her beloved New York, but soon realized that any country was all right so long as there was money! Besides, in Burgundy, Gaston would neither get drunk nor sick on bootleg! So it was, then, the Girod line, once broken, grew together again, there, in Burgundy! WINGS OF LOVE John Theo En File No. 6821 TWENTY-ONE, blonde, and lovely, few wondered why Irmgard Schubert was so popular. Some feline-mannered souls suggested that having a father who was the Saginaw Steel King had something to do with it, but there were others in her set who were equally rich and equally beautiful— but they were neither as simple nor as charming as Irma. This night, then, at llie social event of the year.— Mrs. Granville's exclusive costume ball, — IniKi arrived. knowing that Thomas Ressne, the radio idol would be present, but she was not therefore, affected and scheming as the other girls present. Ressne was attracted to Irma at once, and when he sang his Urcun .^o»g later, the girl looked into his eyes and knew she too had fallen this time! As the two left Mrs. Granville's, that evening, arm in arm, a buzz sounded through the hall. "Another feather in Irma's cap!" the girls cried, "and with no effort — while we stood there ogling and coquetting!" But Irma and Tom were driving in the moonlight, hardly stopping to think of the furore their departure and dancing had caused. Irma shed tears, when they finally said good-night, as though she had known Tom for years. "Must you return to work so soon?" she pleaded, "just when we've found one another?" But this was only one thing Irma was to grieve for. The other was the fact that Tom's Detroit contract was up, that day, and he would have to be leaving for the Pacific coast before long! When he finally did go to the coast, Irma wore herself down to a shadow, pining for him, yet she felt it almost indecent to display such grief over one she hardly knew. Her thoughts led her to her father who heard the story with a half-smile, and then suggested that she wait a few days in order to give him time to think it over. Irma retired to her room in despair. As she sat there, in her pajamas, she switched on the radio, positive sleep would not come. Suddenly, an announcer's voice shattered the quietude of her room. "We are pleased to present Thomas Ressne, the popular composer and baritone," he said, "in a^ composition of his own — t rlii it irb h ini,s of Lave." Irma listened, carried, she imagined, from earth to heaven! The next morning, the girl sent off a far -from -discreetly worded note. "Dear," it said, "I am waiting for two little words from your lips — m.m. Y^ou mnni know what this means!" He did, indeed, but Tom was proud. He would not ask her to marry him unless he himself could show enough to support her. He would not he accused of marrying for money! Tom answered Irma's letter indulgently, but made no reference to her remarks. The girl continued to write, but her tone changed, too. After all. Irma was much in demand, and as proud as this radio fellow! Schubert, the Steel King, watched the progress of the affair with amusement, positive that, as he had long expected, his daughter would marry some poor fellow so she could help him. "It might as well be Ressne!" he chuckled, to himself. Then, one day, Tom received a letter from his publishers— and a check. "Y'our two songs sold. $500,000 royalties for you already." Tom caught the next plane to New Y'ork. He had flown to his sweetheart with wings of love, and soon they were happily wed! SLEEPY-EYE Clark M. Price File No. 6813 A VERY HARD LIFE Enrilie Adams File No. 6817 IN a tiny French city, a little girl became known for her tireless devotion to her ill and widowed mother. The child, Betty, could be found at all hours, peddling her flowers to passersby who were glad, if they could, to help. One day, however, the little girl cuddled alongside her mother, who was also ill, and exclaimed that it would be impossible for her to go to school or with the flowers that day. The two might have perished there from hunger and illness had not a schoolmate of Betty's stopped by, on her way home from school. The little one wasted no time. Off she went to this doctor and that, but none would come because no fee was in sight. Dr. Larue, however, the town's foremost physician, responded generously and was at the house in a few minutes! He was attracted magnetically by the little family, the result being that, during the following week, Betty and her mother removed to the Doctor's where the little girl filled a void in the childless hfe of the doctor's spouse, and the mother acted as housekeeper! For many years, all went well, but, when Betty was sixteen, her mother died after a lingering illness. The doctor figured on sending the girl to his sister's, in America, but the woman wrote back saying she was busy enough raising her own son and daughter. Betty remained with her kind friends until, one day, a letter came from her mother's brother in New Y'ork. "Even if my sister has passed away," he wrote, "send the girl. She will comfort me in my old age and I have plenty of money to provide for her comfort and happiness." When Betty arrived at her uncle's, however, she was just one day too late! He had died, but the fortune left her was tremendous! Grieved, Betty wrote to the doctor, but all the comfort she got there was the news that his wife had died immediately after Betty's departure! Betty threw herself into social life after her mourning period was over, and fell in love with a French youth, Harry Ronceveau, actually the doctor's nephew! The doctor received the news with delight but said nothing. When Betty went to a party in her honor at the Ronceveaus', however, the doctor was there to greet her, with the rest! He had come over to America to pay a surprise visit! Harry and Betty were married not long after this party, but Harry did not turn out to be the model husband Betty had supposed he would be. Not long after the birth of Harry, Jr., Big Harry started to gallivant about town with other women — particularly Shirley, their maid! Ill and heartbroken, Betty might have collapsed had not the kind doctor stepped in once again. This time, he sent her back to France with her baby— but Betty could not remain there and be happy. Returning to New Y'ork, Betty's husband appeared before she got a chance to summon him. "Darling." he said, "I've been a fool, but do you think I could learn something in France, alone w-ith you?" Betty was happy as she, her two Harrys, and the doctor returned to France to start once again! LEA'VING his aged mother and father safe in their little cabin, John Harwood rides across the prairie into town, to arrange to sell his grain to stout Mr. Cottle. On opening the oflice door of that gentleman, however, he discovers that his business trip is to be a notable one, for he sees and is introduced to' Amy Brooks, Mr. Cottle's niece from New York. After a long conversation with her, and the satisfactory sale of his grain, Harwood visits his friend. Bill Garnet, a lad of much the same nature as himself, but with more of the western recklessness about him. Bill tries in vain to persuade Harwood to come to the harvest dance, to be given that night, but with the mention that the pretty stranger from the East will be there, and that Bill intends to make her his wife, Harwood quietly consents to go. Later, at the dance, Harwood dances with Amy. and realizes too, the depth of his feeling for her, but Bill claims the last dance, and the privilege of escorting her home. That night, as John Harwood waits for Bill to return to his home, where the former is sleeping over, as is his custom, John discards the notion of telling Bill that he too, loves Amy, and decides to step out of his friend's path. As he reaches home, he notices traces of disaster. A prairie fire has swept over his grounds! Frantically searching, he discovers his parents, who have saved themselves from the ravishing flames, but who are dazed from their terrible e.xperience. Tenderly, he effects their transport to Mr. Cottle's, where he knows the old people will be taken care of. Through the patient ministration of the entire household. Amy included, the aged couple are, within a few weeks, restored to health. On Sunday, Harwood is accustomed to visit them, and Amy finds that she has grown to anticipate their meetings. One day, as Harwood is slowly riding through the town to make his weekly visit, and is turning over the problem of his friendship for Bill as compared to his love for Amy, he hears an ominous crash in the "White Owl" saloon. He rushes in and sees the body of a man on the floor, and a man, whom he recognizes as Garnet, standing over it. It is clear that the dispute has arisen over a gambling controversy. The wounded man is Cottle! Garnet makes a dash to escape, and Harwood draws his gun to stop him, but does not fire. When the town awakens to the matter, Harwood explains that he could not fire because Bill has been his friend. After the miserable affair blows over, and Cottle recovers from the almost fatal wound, while Garnet is serving as short a term as possible in the state penitentiary, a wedding takes olace in "Sleepy Eye", at which John and Amy are at last united. VALUABLE SERVANT Mrs. C. Koehler File No. 6816 T T ^ITH the rhythmic movements of a young leop\/\/ ardess intent upon feeding, Dina Kolier paced ' her gay living room hours after her husband, Tom. had left for town. Modern in every way possible, Dina had, in addition to everything else, a fashionably high strung set of nerves. She was. at the present moment, crying aloud against the injustice of it all. Why hadn't her maid returned the preceding night? Why on earth had she paid her before letting her go on her day off— Sunday? Dina turned a million things over in her mind. Well, she would .o( clean up or wash dishes— and what's more, instead of cancelling the dinner parties she had on her calendar, that week, Tom would have to take their guests downtown to the speakeasy in which they occasionally entertained! Why, after all, should she suffer it all? Dina had been making telephone calls bv the score, to her best friend, Alta,— bulletins, as it were,— and it was to the sympathetic Alta that she was telling all these things. When Tom arrived home, that night, his wife met him at the door, her coat in hand. "Get washed, dear," she said, "so we can hurry downtown again, to eat." Tom moved through his shower and shave mechanically. Then, as he emerged in a bathrobe, a thought occurred to him. "Are you, bv any chance, a cripple?" he asked, of his wife, "if 'the girl Joes stay out a few hours extra, can't vou scare up something?" Dina felt more martvr-like than ever. She protested violently. The final result was a dinner ordered in from a nearby restaurant— with servicebut Tom considered his a moral victory! "I hate the blame girls hanging around anyway!" he told Alta's husband later, while Alta and Dina retired to Alta's boudoir to talk it over. "Honestly, if he's going to be that way, I can see myself facing a life of drudgery! I've never had to wash a dish before!" Dina told Alta, the sympathetic one. Tom did not kiss his wife, next morning, before going out to the garage to get the car, nor did he honk the horn three times for "I love you" as he eased down the driveway. Dina fretted herself into a nasty temper all morning, but she finally got over it. somewhat, inasmuch as Alta had gone out to her Jlother's for the day, and soon she was making beds and washing dishes in a semi-cheerful manner. Twice, when the bell rang, she thought it might be the girl, but no, it wasn't. Then, about two that afternoon, a policeman came to call. "Mrs. Kolier?" he asked. Dina blanched as she listened to his story of the maid's being discovered drowned in the nearby river— with Dina's old dress on! Dina could not believe that her circumspect Millie could have been living in sin and filth with the horrible man being held by the police for the murder! Tom was sympathetic but unperturbed. "I feel for you, dear, but how can you make such a fuss over it, Di?" he asked, "have you thought about getting another one?" That night, they took their guests to town for dinner, and Tom paid for his lack of sympathy. The next afternoon, Dina heard