The Argosy, Vol. 82, No. 3 — page 100: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

474 until I saw how this thing came out; but since Petey’s managed a miracle, I may as well confess to you that about thirty thou- sand dollars of this is going to build one of the slickest suburban homes in the State!” “You’re going to build yourself a house?” “T mean to build a house for—ws!”’ cor- rected Darton. “I’m going to be married in another two months.” “Sibyl Dane?” “Yes! It was settled last week, just be- fore she started on that visit to her Chicago sister’s. It’s a fact, Tommy; she’s actually willing to marry me!” breathed the writer; and then nodded sharply: ‘‘Well, why not congratulate me?” Thomas Morely smiled with that odd lack of enthusiasm so frequently apparent when one’s best friend is about to leave the bachelor state and drift away forever. “T do congratulate you, Jimmy. She’s— er—a wonderful girl. I—do congratulate you, of course. I’m sure you'll both be very happy.”’ “Still, don’t work yourself all up about it, like that,’’ Darton remarked. “Don’t cheer and prance around like that and—Tommy!” “What?” One hand on his amazing collection of money, Darton grew quite solemn. “This seems to be my big day,” he said, “Shall I tell you the rest of it?” ‘Has anything more happened to you?”’ “One other exceptionally nice thing is about to happen,” grinned the writer. ‘Next week the ‘Fate of the World’ is going to be bought by the Trimmer Film Corpora- tion!” Morely’s eyes opened. “The big feature picture you’ve been working over so long, Jim?” “The scenario of the very biggest motion picture any one ever attempted!” said Dar- ton. “I spent three solid months working that out, Tommy; I made up my mind that I’d do the biggest photoplay in the history of the business, and—I don’t want to brag, but I do believe ‘The Fate of the World’ is just that!” The artist nodded thoughtfully. “So the Trimmer people are going to buy it, ehe” “Tt seems to be settled. Park, the head of the scenario department, told me last Thursday that he stood ready to buy it and make it the greatest feature picture up to date, and that he was only waiting for the O. K. of Thorndyke Trimmer, the head of THE ARGOSY. the firm. Park said that he’d put it through this week and about next Tuesday or Wednesday a check and a contract should be here.” ‘How much?” Morely inquired. ‘Park couldn’t put a price on it until he had talked to Trimmer, and I wouldn’t fix one because I think they’ll pay more than I'd dare ask,” said Darton. ‘That picture, you kndéw, is something I’ve taken more seriously than anything I ever wrote before, Tommy. You may think it ridiculous, but I do believe that once that thing is shown my reputation as a motion picture writer will be established for good. Foolishly or other- wise, I’m counting on it to put me at the top of that particular ladder with one jump . they can hardly offer less than ten thousand for it, [ think. Id take that.” Mr. Morely, lips parted wonderingly, leaned forward. “James,” said he, ‘‘do you really believe that any motion picture producer is going to give up ten thousand real dollars for—” Luckily, perhaps, since a sudden scowl had appeared on young Mr. Darton’s face, the telephone gave him pause at this point. The writer of super-pictures, listening, frowned and then said: Wel os ask him to come up, of course. Don’t look around for your hat; it’s only Bostwick.” “What Bostwick?” ‘“Sibyl’s father’s partner—Bostwick & Dane. You’ve met him—yes, you have; you met him at the Danes’ six months ago, the night they gave the dinner.” ‘The kiln-dried old man?” “You can stand him for ten minutes,” laughed Darton, as he slid the money into the table drawer. “We can beg off after that. But what under the sun is he doing up here at this time of day?” : The artist shook his head and settled back again with a somewhat resigned sigh. Usually he gave one the impression of sup- pleness and quick motion and good cheer, but his joints all but cracked as he rose to shake hands with elderly Mr. Bostwick aad his smile was almost painful. — Not that there was anything tiresome or repulsive about old Mr. Bostwick, of course, but he grated on Morely, who was not engaged to his partner’s only daughter; it may have been the quick, razor-edged glances that shot from the pale, small blue eyes; it may have been that Mr. Bostwick affected a glistening, old-fashioned silk hat JOOKS (C@) AMUNG (C@)