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Chapter IX
BIG NEWS
Janet had gone less than half a block when she heard someone calling to her. Looking back she saw Pete Benda leaning from an upper window of the Times office. He was waving Janet’s story in his hand.
“Great story, Janet,” he shouted. “I’ll send you a box of candy. Thanks a lot.”
Janet smiled and waved at Pete. It was just like the impetuous city editor to lean out his window and shout his thoughts at the top of his voice to someone down the street. But she was glad to know that the story met Pete’s approval. But as for the candy. Well Pete was always making promises like that. If he had kept them all he would have needed a private candy factory.
Helen was waiting when Janet reached home and she waved a letter at her friend.
“It’s from Dad,” she cried. “He says he’s about through on the picture he’s making at present and will be home without fail for my graduation. Wants me to send him the dates of the play, of the banquet and of everything. Also wants your Dad to make sure the fishing will be good and to line up a good plot where he can find plenty of worms.”
“That’s splendid news. I’m so happy,” said Janet, who knew how much Helen missed her father’s companionship at times, for when he was in Clarion they were almost inseparable. But Janet realized that Mr. Thorne was exceedingly smart in keeping Helen in Clarion rather than taking her west with him to the movie city where she would be subject to all of the tensions and nervous activity there. Here in Clarion she was growing up in entirely normal surroundings where she would have a sane and sensible outlook on life and its values.
“I phoned your Dad, and he says he’ll have to start hunting good creeks just as soon as the snow’s off.”
“That kind of puts Dad on the spot, for he’s got to deliver on the worms and the fishing,” smiled Janet.
“Oh, well, Dad doesn’t care so much about getting any fish. He just likes to get out and loaf on a sunny creek bank and either talk with your Dad or doze. He calls that a real holiday.”
Janet went upstairs and got the mimeographed sheets with the synopsis of the play and the part she was to try out for. After the drama of last night, that of “The Chinese Image” seemed shallow and forced.
The rôle of Abbie Naughton, who was more than a little light-headed and fun loving until a crisis came along, was comparatively easy for it called for little actual acting ability and Janet was frank enough to admit that she was no actress.
Helen, trying for the straight lead, carried by Gale Naughton, had always liked to think that she had real dramatic talent and Janet was willing to admit that her companion had more than average ability. At least Helen was pretty enough to carry the rôle off whether she had any dramatic ability or not.
Coaching each other, they gave their own interpretations of the parts which they were trying for. An hour and then another slipped away. The brightness faded from the afternoon and Janet turned on a reading light.
“I think we’ve done all we can for one day. If we keep on we’ll go stale. Let’s forget the tryouts for a while.”
“You can,” retorted Helen, “but I’ve simply got to win that part. What would Dad think of me if I didn’t?”
“I don’t believe he’d think any the less of you,” smiled Janet, “but I’ll admit it would be nice for you to win the leading rôle and I’ll do everything I can to help you.”
“Of course, I know you will. It was awfully small of me to say that.”
The doorbell rang and Janet answered it. A boy handed her a package.
“It’s for Miss Hardy. She live here?”
“I’m Janet Hardy.”
“Okay. I just wanted to be sure this was the right place.”
“This looks interesting,” said Janet, returning to the living room with the large box. Her mother, who had heard the doorbell, joined them.
Janet tore off the wrapping, opened the cardboard outer box, and pulled out a two pound box of assorted chocolates. On top of the box was a clipping torn from the front page of the Times.
Janet stared hard at the clipping, hardly believing her eyes. There was her story with her name signed to it.
“Why Janet, your name is on this front page story!” exclaimed her mother.
“What’s all the mystery?” demanded Helen, and Janet explained, rather quickly, about her summons to the Times office.
“Pete Benda said he liked the story and was going to send me a box of candy, but I thought he was joking. You know he’s always telling people he’s going to send them candy.”
“This is no joke,” said Helen as Janet opened the box and offered candy to her mother and to Helen. “In fact, I’d like a joke like this about once a week.”
“Yes, but I wouldn’t like an experience like we had once a week,” retorted Janet.
Helen’s mother phoned that they were having an early supper and Helen picked up the tryout sheets, put her coat over her shoulders, and started for home.
“If I disappear, it’s just that I’ve been swept away in the flood,” she called as she hurried out.
Janet looked after her. Helen wasn’t far from wrong. With the rapidly rising temperature, the afternoon sun had covered the sidewalks and filled the street with rushing torrents of water. Another day and there would be no sign of the storm of the night before.
Mrs. Hardy called and Janet went into the kitchen to help her mother with the preparations for the evening meal.
“I heard you rehearsing this afternoon,” said her mother, “and I wouldn’t set my heart too much on winning one of those parts.”
“I won’t,” promised Janet. “Of course I’d like to be in the senior play, but I won’t be heart-broken if I don’t win a part.”
“Perhaps I was thinking more about Helen than you,” confessed Mrs. Hardy. “She’s so much in earnest that failure would upset her greatly.”
“I know it, but I can understand why Helen wants a part and I’m afraid I’d be just as intent if my father were the ace director for a great motion picture company. I suppose I’d think that I should have dramatic ability to be a success in his eyes.”
“That’s just it,” said Mrs. Hardy. “Helen doesn’t need to get a part in the play. When he comes home, he likes nothing better than being with his wife and Helen. You know he never goes any place.”
“Except fishing with Dad.”
“Oh, pshaw. They don’t fish. They dig a few worms and take their old fishpoles along some creek that never did have any fish. It just gets them outdoors and away from people who might want to bother Henry Thorne.”
“Well, no matter, Helen has set her heart on winning the leading rôle and I’m going to do everything in my power to help her along.”
Chapter X
VICTORY FOR HELEN
The rest of the week slipped away quickly. The harrowing experience in Little Deer valley became a memory and the seniors concentrated upon winning rôles in the class play.
By Saturday morning the snow had vanished, the temperature was above freezing and the grass was starting to turn green – such are the miracles of the early spring.
Janet and Helen rehearsed their tryout parts so many times that Janet found herself mumbling her lines in her sleep.
Most of the seniors assembled promptly at 9:30 o’clock that morning for the tryouts. A few of them, feeling that they had no chance, did not come, but Janet noticed that Margie and Cora were well to the front of the room where Miss Williams would be sure to see them.
“I want you to do your best this morning for on your work now depends whether you will have a place in the play,” she warned them, and Janet felt a little twinge. School was near an end and the senior play was her last chance. Of course it wasn’t as important to her as it was to Helen, but it would be nice to have the part of Abbie, for Abbie was such a delightfully irresponsible character.
Miss Williams called for tryouts for minor rôles first and Helen sent an anxious glance toward Janet and nodded toward the hall.
They slipped out of the assembly quietly and Helen voiced her fears.
“Perhaps I’d better try for one of these minor parts as well as for the lead. Then if I don’t get to play Gale Naughton, I may win another rôle.”
“I wouldn’t,” counseled Janet. “Concentrate on the main part. I think you’ll make it all right.”
“I wish I had your confidence.”
“I’m not confident about winning a part myself, but I’m sure you will,” replied Janet. “Let’s go back and watch the tryouts.”
“Perhaps I ought to go over my lines again?”
“Nonsense. You can even speak them backwards. If you work on them any more you may do that, which would be fatal. Let’s see the mistakes of the others and then we’ll know we aren’t the world’s worst actresses.”
Miss Williams was conscientious. She wanted every boy and girl who felt he had a chance to have the utmost opportunity and she worked with them carefully. At noon she was fairly well down the cast, but the four major rôles remained, two for the boys and two for the girls, including the parts of Gale and Abbie Naughton which Helen and Janet sought.
“We’ve been at this long enough,” announced Miss Williams as the noon whistles sounded down town. “Everyone take a rest, have lunch, and be back here at one o’clock. Then we’ll go on until we finish. For those who have been assigned parts, the first rehearsal will be Monday night at 7:15 o’clock. I’ll expect you to have your first act lines memorized.”
The group broke up, some of them going home to have lunch and others stopping at the luncheonette of a nearby drug store. Janet and Helen were among this group, which included Cora and Margie. The latter, seated with two companions, appeared confident that they would win the leading rôles, but Janet overheard a spiteful remark by Cora.
“Of course, I haven’t the pull Helen has, for her father’s a famous director,” she said, and Janet saw Helen’s face flush.
“That’s isn’t fair,” said Helen. “You know Dad wouldn’t use any influence to get a part for me.”
“So does Cora. She’s saying that just to be mean.”
When they reassembled it was a small group, Jim Barron, Ed Rickey and two other boys who were trying for the male leads, Cora, Margie, Helen, Janet and Miss Williams.
The instructor worked with the boys first and it was evident that Jim and Ed were to have the major parts. In less than half an hour they were assigned, Ed getting the lead and Jim the second rôle. If Janet won the part of Abbie, Jim would be playing opposite her. That would be fun, for Jim was wholesome and pleasant.
After the boys had departed, Miss Williams turned to the girls.
“Now we’re down to the two major parts, for the play hinges on the characters of Gale and Abbie.” She looked at the four hopeful, anxious faces.
“I want Cora and Margie first. Take your places and give me an interpretation of the action you think should go with the lines you have memorized.”
Cora, dark-eyed and confident, stepped to the platform. Margie, a wispy, blonde girl, followed. Both girls used excellent diction, spoke clearly and with feeling, but somehow Cora’s work lacked a convincing touch. Perhaps she was trying too hard and Janet felt her spirits rising.
Helen should walk away with the rôle unless she got scared when she stepped on the platform. But Janet was more than a little concerned about Margie. The blonde senior was doing an excellent job, putting just the right amount of enthusiasm into the rôle. There was nothing forced. Every word and gesture seemed spontaneous and lines that had sounded silly in their own rehearsals were very logical and convincing when they came tumbling from Margie’s lips.
Janet smiled grimly. Of course she wanted the part, but even more, she wanted Helen to win the rôle of Gale.
Cora and Margie finished the part Miss Williams had assigned, and looked anxiously toward the dramatics teacher.
“That was very nicely done,” said Miss Williams. “Janet and Helen next and put plenty of feeling into your interpretations.”
From the platform Janet could look down on Cora and Margie. There was a thin sneer on Cora’s lips and Janet felt Helen, standing close beside her, tremble.
“Ready?” she asked. Helen nodded.
Janet’s lines opened their brief tryout rôles. She spoke them clearly, but somehow the spark needed to add vigor and brilliance was lacking. She was thinking too much about Helen.
The lines and action snapped to Helen and she picked them up instantly. Janet thrilled. Helen had forgotten Cora and Margie. She had forgotten even Miss Williams. She was living her part. She was Gale Naughton, the dark, lovely heroine of “The Chinese Image.” The lines came smoothly and without effort.
Then they were through, a little breathless, their hearts beating rapidly. Janet was the first to turn toward Miss Williams and before the instructor spoke, she knew Helen had made a deep impression with her interpretation of Gale.
“Splendid. I liked that very much,” said Miss Williams, who was not given to compliments. “If you’ll be good enough to wait a few minutes, I’ll be back.”
“Will you announce the winners then?” asked Cora, her dark cheeks flushed with excitement and her brown eyes glowing.
“Yes,” promised Miss Williams, hurrying from the room.
“Why do you suppose she left to make her tabulations?” asked Helen, her voice low.
“Probably didn’t want us to know just how she rated us. She’s got a percentage system all her own she uses in casting parts. It won’t be long now,” said Janet.
“The sooner the better. I’m all fluttery inside.”
“Maybe you think Cora and Margie aren’t. They can’t even sit still.”
Which was true. Cora and Margie were walking restlessly up and down the far side of the assembly, looking anxiously toward the double doorway through which Miss Williams would return.
Five minutes slipped away. Then another five and it stretched out into fifteen minutes before the quick footsteps of the dramatics instructor could be heard in the hallway. Involuntarily Cora and Margie joined Janet and Helen at the front of the large assembly room.
Miss Williams came in briskly, a slip of paper in her right hand, and Janet, who was nearest, saw two names written on the slip.
“Sorry I kept you so long, but I’m trying to be very fair in making the final selections,” explained Miss Williams.
“Go on, go on,” burst out Cora. “Who won?”
Miss Williams frowned.
“Well, I’m sorry, Cora.”
The dark-haired senior interrupted her sharply.
“You mean I didn’t win?”
“I mean that Helen gave a more convincing interpretation of the part. She gets the leading rôle.”
Cora’s eyes flashed.
“I might have known that. Too bad I don’t have a father with some influence.”
Cora picked up her coat. “Come on, Margie. We’ve just wasted our time.”
“I’d stay if I were you, Margie,” said Miss Williams. “What I have to say should interest you.”
And in those words Janet knew the decision. Helen had the lead and Margie was to get the second rôle. She was out, but at least she could take it without creating a scene like Cora.
Chapter XI
A FAMOUS DIRECTOR ARRIVES
Miss Williams looked at the three girls remaining and she spoke slowly, choosing her words with care.
“I regret that Cora took that attitude,” she said, “for there was no influence used in my selection of Helen for the lead. She was much better in the tryout than Cora.”
Then the instructor turned to Margie.
“You did a nice bit as Abbie,” she went on, “and I want you to take that rôle. Janet was practically as good as you were on the lines, but you seem a little more like the character. You’re thinner and you flutter around more than Janet, and Abbie is a very fluttery sort of a person.”
Margie grinned. “In other words, Abbie is a dizzy sort of a gal and I’m that type.”
“Call it that if you want to,” smiled Miss Williams. “Do you want the part?”
“And how!”
“Very well. I will expect you and Helen to have your lines for the first act well in hand by Monday night.”
Miss Williams, followed by Margie, left the room and Helen turned to face Janet.
“I’m sorry it turned out this way. I’d rather you had won a part.”
“I’m not,” said Janet, and she said it honestly, for a part in the senior play had meant so much more to Helen. She knew she had done her best, but she had to admit that after all Margie was better suited to the rôle than she.
The air softened. April came and went, and the senior play neared its final rehearsals. Miss Williams drove the cast without mercy for on the success of the play would depend her own opportunity for advancement.
Helen, working every spare moment, became tired and irritable.
“I’ll be glad when it’s all over,” she said. “I never dreamed it would be so hard.”
“You’ll be well repaid when the play is given,” said Janet, who had been assigned to the stage crew. In this capacity she attended almost every rehearsal and she couldn’t help watching Margie go through the lines of Abbie. It was a delightful part, easy to handle, and so breezy and irresponsible.
Costuming took several nights, for Miss Williams was meticulous. Then came the dress rehearsals, the first on Monday night. The play would be given Friday. On the following week came the junior-senior banquet and then graduation and the end of school days.
Janet, watching the play in rehearsal each night, came to know the lines of almost everyone in the cast for the lighting of the show was in her charge. It was up to her to get just the right amount of amber in the afternoon scene and just the right amount of blue to simulate moonlight for the evening scene from the rather antiquated banks of lights on each side of the stage.
Brief letters and a telegram or two had come from Helen’s father, assuring her that he would arrive in ample time for the presentation of “The Chinese Image.” Janet’s father had found a small plot at the rear of their own large lot which yielded an ample supply of worms at almost every spadeful and Indian creek, two miles north of Clarion, was said to abound with bullheads that spring.
On Wednesday night, after a long and tiring rehearsal, Janet and Helen walked home through the soft moonlight of the late May evening.
“I haven’t heard from Dad today. He was going to wire what train he would arrive on. It looks like he won’t be in until the morning of the play.”
“That will be plenty of time. He can stay on longer after the play’s over,” said Janet.
“It won’t be plenty of time if he has to do any more retakes on his last picture. His letters have sounded awfully tired.”
“Let’s walk on down to Whet’s for an ice cream soda. The walk will do both of us good and the soda will be refreshing,” said Janet.
Helen agreed and they walked leisurely, breathing deeply of the flower-scented air; for it was a perfect evening. From far away came the rumble of heavy trucks on a through street, but on their own there was an air of peace and contentment.
“Dad will like this when he finally gets here. He always seems to throw off his cares when he’s back home.”
“Which is why he anticipates coming home so much,” added Janet.
“But it can’t go on this way forever. He needs mother and I’ll be going away to school next fall.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that until after graduation. There’ll be plenty of time to discuss those matters then.” Janet felt somewhat like a very fatherly old man giving advice to a very young girl and she smiled to herself.
At the neighborhood drug store they dawdled over their sodas, thoroughly relaxing after the strenuous hours of rehearsal. On the way home they again walked leisurely, discussing little things about the play that appealed to them.
Helen’s mother, waiting on the porch, called to them the moment they came in sight.
“Hurry up, Helen. I’ve a telegram from your father.”
Helen ran across the lawn with Janet close behind.
“He’s coming, isn’t he, mother?” And to Janet there was something pitiful in Helen’s extreme anxiety for she was so desperately intent upon having her father see her in the leading rôle in the class play.
“He’s coming tonight, dear. He wired saying that he would be on the transcontinental plane which stops at Rubio at midnight. Janet’s father and mother are going to drive us over. You girls had better clean up a bit. We’re leaving right away.”
“I’m so happy,” said Helen. “I was afraid it was a message saying he wouldn’t be able to come.”
Janet hurried on home. Her father had the large sedan out in the driveway and her mother was bustling about the kitchen, making stacks of thin sandwiches.
“Why the sandwiches?” asked Janet.
“I’ve never known the time when Henry Thorne wasn’t hungry. He’s been that way ever since he was a little boy and his wife is too excited to think about that. We’ll have them all over for lunch after we get home.”
“But it will be late. Way after one o’clock and Helen ought to be in bed. She has been keeping terrific hours with the rehearsals.”
“It won’t do her a bit of harm this time. Being with her father will do her more good than anything else. Wrap these sandwiches up and put them in the breadbox so they’ll keep good and moist. Then slice some lemon for the ice tea and put the slices back in the ice box. We’ll stop and get some ice cream on our way in to town.”
They hurried around the kitchen until Janet’s mother noticed the disarray of her daughter.
“For land’s sake, Janet, you’re a sight. Working with the scenery and lights again at school? Well, hurry upstairs and clean up. Then slip into that pale green print that makes your hair look golden. We’ll be ready in five minutes.”
Janet forgot her fatigue and raced upstairs, splashed water on her flushed cheeks, followed that with a few hasty dabs of a powder puff to take the shine off her skin, and then went to her own room where she put on fresh, sheer hose and the green print that was so becoming.
Her hair, with its natural curl, needed only a quick brushing to bring out the highlights.
Down in the driveway her father pushed the horn button and her mother called.
“We’re ready, Janet.”
But so was Janet and she hastened downstairs and joined them. The sedan was one of those extra-broad stream-lined cars with room for three in the front seat.
“You and Helen can sit up front with me while your mother and Mrs. Thorne are in the back seat,” said her father. “Coming back we’ll put the Thornes in the back where they can visit to their heart’s content.”
The car rolled down the drive and her father turned and stopped the large, low machine in front of the Thorne home. Half a dozen lights were turned on downstairs and the house fairly glowed with light.
Helen and her mother came down the walk, Helen in a pink, fluffy creation that set off her dark coloring to its best effect.
“You’re pretty enough to look like a would-be movie star trying to make an impression upon a famous director,” whispered Janet.
“Maybe I am,” smiled Helen as she slipped into the front seat.
“Everybody ready?” inquired Janet’s father. “I don’t want to get half way to Rubio and have one of you women remember that you’ve left something important at home.”
“You do the driving and we’ll worry about what’s been left at home,” replied Mrs. Hardy with a chuckle.
The big machine rolled away smoothly and when they turned onto the main state road to Rubio, John Hardy stepped on the accelerator and they fairly flew down the straight, white ribbon which unrolled before their blazing lights.
The speedometer climbed steadily, fifty, sixty and then seventy miles an hour, and the needle hung there except when they swung around one of the broad, well-banked curves. Then it dropped to fifty.
The rush of cool air was refreshing and Janet and Helen sank back in the broad, comfortable seat.
When the lights of Rubio glowed ahead Helen spoke.
“It hardly seems possible that Dad will be here in a few minutes. It’s been months since I’ve seen him.”
“Then you’ll enjoy seeing him all the more. What fun you’re going to have the next few days.”
“I hope it will be several weeks for I think Dad needs a good rest. He’s done three big pictures in the last year.”
They rolled through Rubio to the airport, which was just beyond the city limits. The clock over the hangar pointed to 11:50 and Janet’s father guided the sedan to a stop in the parking area behind the steel fence.
“I’ll find out if the plane’s on time,” he said, and went over to the office.
Janet thought she could hear the faint, faraway beat of an airplane, but the noise of another car turning into the parking space drowned it out.
“Come on folks. The plane will be here in a minute,” called Mr. Hardy.
They hurried out of the car and followed John Hardy through the gate and onto the ramp. In the west were the red and green lights of an incoming plane.
Suddenly the field burst into a flood of blue-white brilliance as a great searchlight came on. Like a ghost, the huge, twin-motored plane glided down its invisible path and settled easily onto a runway, little clouds of dust coming up from the crushed rock as the machine touched the ground.
With its motors roaring a lusty song of power, the monoplane waddled toward the concrete ramp. The pilot swung it smartly about and the ground crew blocked the wheels and rushed the landing stage up to the cabin door as the pilot cut the motors. The propellers ceased whirling just as the stewardess opened the door.
“There’s Dad!” cried Helen and she ran toward the plane with Janet at her heels.
