Hollywood (Los Angeles, Calif.) -- Fiction; Motion picture industry -- Fiction
“Hullo, Kid,” he began brightly. “Here’s your watch.” Her doubting
glance hovered over him as he smiled down at her. “You giving it to me
again, Merton?” She seemed unable to conquer a stubborn incredulity.
“Of course I’m giving it to you again. What’d you think I was going to
do?”
She still surveyed him with little veiled glances. “You look so bright
you give me Kleig eyes,” she said. She managed a wan smile at this.
“Take it,” he insisted, extending the package. “Of course it won’t keep
Western Union time, but it’ll look good on you.”
She appeared to be gaining on her incredulity, but a vestige of it
remained. “I won’t touch it,” she declared with more spirit than could
have been expected from the perishing, “I won’t touch it till you give
me a good big kiss.”
“Sure,” he said, and leaned down to brush her pale cheek with his lips.
He was cheerfully businesslike in this ceremony.
“Not till you do it right,” she persisted. He knelt beside the couch and
did it right. He lingered with a hand upon her pale brow.
“What you afraid of?” he demanded.
“You,” she said, but now she again brought the watch to view, holding
it away from her, studying its glitter from various angles. At last she
turned her eyes up to his. They were alive but unrevealing. “Well?”
“Well?” he repeated coolly.
“Oh, stop it!” Again there was more energy than the moribund are wont to
manifest. There was even a vigorous impatience in her tone as she went
on, “You know well enough what I was afraid of. And you know well enough
what I want to hear right now. Shoot, can’t you?”
He shot. He stood up, backed away from the couch to where he could
conveniently regard its stricken occupant, and shot gaily.
“Well, it’ll be a good lesson to you about me, this thing of your
thinking I was fooled over that piece. I s’pose you and Baird had it
between you all the time, right down to the very last, that I thought
he was doin’ a serious play. Ho, ho!” He laughed gibingly. It was a
masterful laugh. “A serious play with a cross-eyed man doing funny stuff
all through. I thought it was serious, did I? Yes, I did!” Again the
dry, scornful laugh of superiority. “Didn’t you people know that I
knew what I could do and what I couldn’t do? I should have thought that
little thing would of occurred to you all the time. Didn’t you s’pose I
knew as well as any one that I got a low-comedy face and couldn’t ever
make the grade in a serious piece?
“Of course I know I got real pathos--look how I turned it on a couple o’
times in that piece last night--but even when I’m imitating a bad actor
you can see it ain’t all acting. You’d see soon enough I was a bad actor
if I tried to imitate a good one. I guess you’d see that pretty quick.
Didn’t you and Baird even s’pose I’d found out my limits and decided to
be what God meant me to be?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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