Indianapolis Times, Volume 41, Number 184, Indianapolis, Marion County, 12 December 1929 — Page 12

PAGE 12

OUT OUR WAY

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SYNOPSIS When Jacqueline Bordini. famous movie star, returns to the little town In which she had grown up, Howell Sheffield Is filled with dissatisfaction. He Is studying medicine, preparing to follow the steps of his father, a hardworking doctor. Howell's father, tired and overworked. dies of pneumonia. Howell, bitter and rebellious against such sacrifice, decides to leave medical school and go to Hollywood, there to win quick wealth in the movie game. On the train he meets an older woman, who calls herself "Lambie” and offers him friendship. In Hollywood. Howell finds himself a room and goes to the Bince Studio, where he is offered a course in movie acting. He meets Sally Osbourne, who tells him that the Bince Studio is a fake school for suckers. She does not think much of his ambition to be a movie actor. Sally, a reporter, gives him a pass to one of the studios and Howell is thrilled to see the actual work of a picture being filmed. He determines to register at the Central Casting Office for a job as “extra " CHAPTER EIGHT (Continued) Howell had an Inspiration. “If I had a ‘personal’ acquaintance with a studio executive, would it make any difference?” Mr. Collins blew a little cloud of cigarette smoke into the air. “Unfortunately, yes. If you came to me with a request from such a person I should be forced to register you. Central Casting is run for the benefit of the studios and if a director wished to use ,a certain person it is his privilege to register him and offer him work. “Even so, it would not necessarily follow that you would make enough to support yourself. Although $lO a day sounds like a lot of money, doesn’t it?” “Very good to start with,” admitted Howell. “I wouldn’t expect to remain an extra long.” “Well, that's where you’re wrong because the chances are ten to one that once you’re an extra you’ll remain an extra.” Howell said he had reason to believe he would be an exception. “They all think that.” “You absolutely refuse to register me then?” “Under the circumstances I can’t. We aren’t taking registration and haven't taken any for months.” His tone had a finality with which Howell dared not argue. Forcing a grin, he cried, “Well, never say die. I’ll be back with a recommendation from somebody.” The other already turning to the Waiting Italian, smiled. “In that case, It may be different.” ft ft ft BRAVADO! Howell walked to the elevator smarting with defeat! Against a stone wall! If they would not even let him register, how would he have a chance to show what he could do? The man in the casting office had exhibited a patient frankness which was more discouraging than violence. The expression in his eyes, the very tone of his voice, showed that he had said these same things time after time, day after day. But, thought Howell, "people DO get in. What about Jacqueline Bordini?” Four years ago! The situation evidently had changed since then. Why not accept defeat and go on home. He pictured himself sneaking back to Fairfax, received with goodnatured jibes by the neighbors, with tears and gratitude at home. “Howell, we’re glad. Now you can go back to school.” His picture in the university annual. “Our Movie Hero (?)” “I should say not!” Not if he had to walk the streets. He couldn't go back. Queer how the passing of a few weeks time could so definitely cut off retreat. Howell hadn’t realized before Just how impossible going back would be. The knowledge carried him, soberly, along the boulevard, mentally recounting what remained to him of SSOO. How many weeks would that scant sum last, divided by room and boarK? And board did not include lunches. If only he could refrain from eating at noon. But the very thought of it made him hungry. He wouldn't do without food until it became absolutely necessary. All right, but what was he going to do? Here was a situation which offered no alternative. He couldn't be an extra unless he was registered at Central Casting. Central Casting was not taking registrations except when recommend-

ed by directors, studio executives, etc. Howell had no such acquaintance nor any means of making any, unless Sally But the idea of asking help from that source made his blood run cold. After dinner that night he found himself unable to respond to her challenge, “What luck, Valentino?” “None at all,” he admitted, grimly. “They aren’t taking registrations.” “I could have told you that,” she said, quietly, “but I thought you’d better find it out for yourself.” It was ridiculous the way she was able to upset him. And he resented her protective, motherly air even more than he had her laughter. “Well. I’m not discouraged,” he said, definitely. “Because some way some time I’m going back there with a letter from some director.” Her eyes met his, indifferently. “Yes, that’s the proper movie spirit, isn’t it? Well, good luck! I’m off.” tt tt tt SHE disappeared into the night with startling abruptness. It was raining, but she probably didn’t mind. She was such a peppy, little, creature, with such seemingly boundless vitality. Howell strolled across the ya~d to his own room. Turned on the light above the felt covered table which served as a desk and began a letter to Eunice. “Hollywood is great! I was in one of the studios yesterday watching Mary Dixon ” His pen dragged across the paper into meaningless scrawls, until suddenly he realized he had written “Sally Osbourne” across his letter to Eunice. What was the matter with him, anyway? With a wave of self-dis-gust, he tore the paper into shreds and tossed it into the waste paper basket. What he needed was more masculine companionship. He hadn’t talked with a fellow of his own age since coming to Mrs. Benton’s. He missed the hilarious fellowship of the university. Friendships of three and a half years are not lightly tossed aside. Seizing his college slicker, he dashed forth into the rain. Walking up Sunset to La Brae, crossing to Hollywood and out the boulevard until the sidewalk stopped. Lord, but he was lonely! Wonder what they were doing at school? What had they said, what did they think when they discovered he wasn’t coming back. What would they say nos if he suddenly walked into the “house.” "Look, who’s here! Sheffield, you ole fool! Come on, now, Sheff, give us the lowdown on Hollywood!” And much useless, light-hearted profanity! Bitterly conscious of the salt taste of hastily swallowed tears, he strode on . . . It was almost midnight when he stopped at a candy shop and ordered sandwiches and coffee. A radio was crooning. “Dream Kisses, Dream Kisses, From That Dream Girl of Mine. . as Howell lifted tracic eyes to give his order. * “For crying out loud.” murmured the petite, lavender-clad waitress at his side. “I beg your pardon,” Howell replied. He found himself staring into a face like a pansy. An upturned, childish facp with coal black hair, smoky black eyes, warmly white skin and a painted wistful mouth. “Did you speak to me?” he repeated. She leaned closer sending a little rush of fragrance tingling along his nerves. “See that guy over there,” she whispered as if she had known him always. “That’s Martin B. Walker, the movie director.” CHAPTER NINE HOWELL, staring in the direction which she pointed, saw a tall, thin man. sitting alone at a little table. His face was worried, almost haggard looking. His keen, dark eyes held an expression of sadness. “Are you sure?” he demanded. Any one more unlike his conception of a movie director could scarcely be imagined. This man

—By Williams

i had the melancholy air of an ascetic. Even the customary sweater and knickers were missing. The little waitress tossed her head. “Well, rather I used to be in pictures myself.” She was pretty enough. Howell wondered why she had not continued her career, not knowing yet that there is only one reason girls in Hollywood ever give for having changed from that profession. At the moment, however, his interest was concentrated in the man at the other table. It was almost midnight and the place was practically deserted. What an opportunity to present his case to a wellknown director! What a victory to stroll back into the casting office with a letter from him. Howell ordered and when the waitress had departed, rose and walked, determinedly, across the room. Mr. Walker, may I speak with you a moment?” Martin B. Walker lifted whimsical eyebrows and sighed. “I don’t know you, do 1?” “No, sir! My name is Howell Sheffield.” “What do you want to see me about? Work?” “Yes, sir.” "Well, I can’t do anything for you. You’ll have to go to the Central Casting office.” "But, Mr. Walker,” Howell cried desperately, “I’ve been up there. They won’t register me without a recommendation. I’m from Missouri. I don’t know anybody. I haven’t even a chance of meeting anybody, and I gave up my medical studies to come out here.” At last there was a flicker of attention in the tired eyes. Howell explained, concluding "You see I have to make good. There’s so much at stake.” The famous director regarded him for a moment then to Howell’s amazement and joy, said, quietly: “Sit down, Mr. . What was the name?” "Sheffield!” “Oh, yes! Now, Mr. Sheffield, I’m going to do something I practically never do ” Howell’s face lightened. “Don’t misunderstand me I’ve no intention of offering you the recommendation you desire. I am simply going to spend a few moments of my very valuable time telling you why you’ll have to go back home.” He was off, speaking so rapidly that Howell could scarcely follow him. b m a “TT7HAT you don’t realize is that VV being an extra is a casual employment only. Extras are not actors. They’re people. They're usually exactly what they’re pretending to be. (To Be Continued)

THE BEASTS OF TARZAN

For ten minutes after Tarzan’s departure, Jane, Lady Greystoke, restlessly wandered about the luxurious living room. Her mind was in an anguish of hopes and fears. Her intuition told her that grave dangers were waiting now for both her husband and son. Perhaps that telephone message was but a trick to lure Tarzan into the hands of the Implacable Rokoff.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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FRECKLES AND HTS FRIENDS

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SALESMAN SAM

MOM’N POP

The more she thought about It, the more convinced she was that Tarzan had been trapped. Summoning her maid and chauffeur, Lady Greystoke issued instructions rapidly. So it came that as Tarzan and his guide disappeared into the shadows upon the dark wharf, a heavilyveiled woman pushed bravely into the same vile den whose address she knew had been given to her husband. _ _ . _

—By Martin

Timidly she asked a girl some questions. A sailor, hearing the queries, said he had seen two men rowing toward a steamer. “Ten pounds if you will take me to it,” cried Lady Greystoke. And thus Jane found herself upon the apparently deserted ship, vainly searching for her husband and child. One by one she opened cabin doors, only to find empty interiors. Nor did she note the sudden purring of the engines.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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By Edgar Rice Burroughs

As she reached the last door upon the right, she was seized from within by a powerful, darkvisaged man and drawn hastily into the stuffy, ill-smelling interior. “Well, this is luck!” grinned the man. The sudden shock of fright that this unexpected attack had upon her, drew a single, piercing scream from her throat. Then the fellow clapped a dirty hand roughly over he* mouth. , __ . __ _

.DEC. 12, 1929

—By Ahern

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Taylor