merton of the movies-第34节

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o　cavil　about　minor　infelicities。　Ashes　wouldn't　hurt　any　one　if　taken　in　moderation；　you　couldn't　see　the　mould　in　a　perfectly　dark　hotel；　and　the　bread　was　good。

The　feast　was　prolonged　until　a　late　hour；　but　the　fingertips　that　had　accurately　counted　money　in　a　dark　pocket　could　ascertain　in　a　dark　hotel　that　a　store　of　food　still　remained。　He　pulled　the　blankets　about　him　and　sank　comfortably　to　rest。　There　was　always　some　way。

Breakfast　the　next　morning　began　with　the　promise　of　only　moderate　enjoyment。　Somehow　in　the　gray　light　sifting　through　the　windows　the　beans　did　not　look　as　good　as　they　had　tasted　the　night　before；　and　the　early　mouthfuls　were　less　blithesome　on　the　palate　than　the　remembered　ones　of　yesterday。　He　thought　perhaps　he　was　not　so　hungry　as　he　had　been　at　his　first　encounter　with　them。　He　delicately　removed　a　pocket　of　ashes　from　the　centre；　and　tried　again。　They　tasted　better　now。　The　mould　of　tender　tints　was　again　visible　but　he　made　no　effort　to　avoid　it。　For　his　appetite　had　reawakened。　He　was　truly　hungry；　and　ate　with　an　entire　singleness　of　purpose。

Toward　the　last　of　the　meal　his　conscious　self　feebly　prompted　him　to　quit；　to　save　against　the　inevitable　hunger　of　the　night。　But　the　voice　was　ignored。　He　was　now　clay　to　the　moulding　of　the　subconscious。　He　could　have　saved　a　few　of　the　beans　when　reason　was　again　enthroned；　but　they　were　so　very　few　that　he　fatuously　thought　them　not　worth　saving。　Might　as　well　make　a　clean　job　of　it。　He　restored　the　stewpan　and　spoon　to　their　places　and　left　his　hotel。　He　was　fed。　To…day　something　else　would　have　to　happen。

The　plush　hat　cocked　at　a　rakish　angle；　he　walked　abroad　with　something　of　the　old　confident　swagger。　Once　he　doubtfully　fingered　the　sprouting　beard；　but　resolutely　dismissed　a　half…formed　notion　of　finding　out　how　the　Holden　lot　barber　would　regard　a　proposition　from　a　new　patron　to　open　a　charge　account。　If　nothing　worse　than　remaining　unshaven　was　going　to　happen　to　him；　what　cared　he？　The　collar　was　still　pretty　good。　Why　let　his　beard　be　an　incubus？　He　forgot　it　presently　in　noticing　that　the　people　arriving　on　the　Holden　lot　all　looked　so　extremely　well　fed。　He　thought　it　singular　that　he　should　never　before　have　noticed　how　many　well…fed　people　one　saw　in　a　day。

Late　in　the　afternoon　his　explorations　took　him　beyond　the　lower　end　of　his　little　home　street；　and　he　was　attracted　by　sounds　of　the　picture　drama　from　a　rude　board　structure　labelled　the　High　Gear　Dance　Hall。　He　approached　and　entered　with　that　calm　ease　of　manner　which　his　days　on　the　lot　had　brought　to　a　perfect　bloom。　No　one　now　would　ever　suppose　that　he　was　a　mere　sightseer　or　chained　to　the　Holden　lot　by　circumstances　over　which　he　had　ceased　to　exert　the　slightest　control。

The　interior　of　the　High　Gear　Dance　Hall　presented　nothing　new　to　his　seasoned　eye。　It　was　the　dance…hall　made　familiar　by　many　a　smashing　five…reel　Western。　The　picture　was；　quite　normally；　waiting。　Electricians　were　shoving　about　the　big　light　standards；　cameras　were　being　moved；　and　bored　actors　were　loafing　informally　at　the　round　tables　or　chatting　in　groups　about　the　set。

One　actor　alone　was　keeping　in　his　part。　A　ragged；　bearded；　unkempt　elderly　man　in　red　shirt　and　frayed　overalls；　a　repellent　fell　hat　pulled　low　over　his　brow；　reclined　on　the　floor　at　the　end　of　the　bar；　his　back　against　a　barrel。　Apparently　he　slept。　A　flash　of　remembrance　from　the　Montague　girl's　talk　identified　this　wretched　creature。　This　was　what　happened　to　an　actor　who　had　to　peddle　the　brush。　Perhaps　for　days　he　had　been　compelled　to　sleep　there　in　the　interests　of　dance…hall　atmosphere。

He　again　scanned　the　group；　for　he　remembered；　too；　that　the　Montague　girl　would　also　be　working　here　in　God's　Great　Outdoors。　His　eyes　presently　found　her。　She　was　indeed　a　blonde　hussy；　short…　skirted；　low…necked；　pitifully　rouged；　depraved　beyond　redemption。　She　stood　at　the　end　of　the　piano；　and　in　company　with　another　of　the　dance…hall　girls　who　played　the　accompaniment；　she　was　singing　a　ballad　the　refrain　of　which　he　caught　as　〃God　calls　them　Angels　in　Heaven；　we　call　them　Mothers　here。〃

The　song　ended；　the　Montague　girl　stepped　to　the　centre　of　the　room；　looked　aimlessly　about　her；　then　seized　an　innocent　bystander；　one　of　the　rough　characters　frequenting　this　unsavoury　resort；　and　did　a　dance　with　him　among　the　tables。　Tiring　of　this；　she　flitted　across　the　room　and　addressed　the　bored　director　who　impatiently　awaited　the　changing　of　lights。　She　affected　to　consider　him　a　reporter　who　had　sought　an　interview　with　her。　She　stood　erect；　facing　him　with　one　hand　on　a　hip；　the　other　patting　and　readjusting　her　blonde　coiffure。

〃Really；〃　she　began　in　a　voice　of　pained　dignity；　〃I　am　at　a　loss　to　understand　why　the　public　should　be　so　interested　in　me。　What　can　I　say　to　your　readersI　who　am　so　wholly　absorbed　in　my　art　that　I　can't　think　of　hardly　anything　else？　Why　will　not　the　world　let　us　alone？　Hold　ondon't　go！〃

She　had　here　pretended　that　the　reporter　was　taking　her　at　her　word。　She　seized　him　by　a　lapel　to　which　she　clung　while　with　her　other　arm　she　encircled　a　post；　thus　anchoring　the　supposed　intruder　into　her　private　affairs。　〃As　I　was　saying；〃　she　resumed；　〃all　this　publicity　is　highly　distasteful　to　the　artist；　and　yet　since　you　have　forced　yourself　in　here　I　may　as　well　say　a　few　little　things　about　how　good　I　am　and　how　I　got　that　way。　Yes；　I　have　nine　motor　cars；　and　I　just　bought　a　lace　tablecloth　for　twelve　hundred　bones〃

She　broke　off　inconsequently；　poor　victim　of　her　constitutional　frivolity。　The　director　grinned　after　her　as　she　danced　away；　though　Merton　Gill　had　considered　her　levity　in　the　worst　of　taste。　Then　her　eye　caught　him　as　he　stood　modestly　back　of　the　working　electricians　and　she　danced　forward　again　in　his　direction。　He　would　have　liked　to　evade　her　but　saw　that　he　could　not　do　this　gracefully。

She　greeted　him　with　an　impudent　grin。　〃Why；　hello；　trouper！　As　I　live；　the　actin'　Kid！〃　She　held　out　a　hand　to　him　and　he　could　not　well　refuse　it。　He　would　have　preferred　to　〃up…stage〃　her　once　more；　as　she　had　phrased　it　in　her　low　jargon；　but　he　was　cornered。　Her　grip　of　his　hand　quite　astonished　him　with　its　vigour。

〃Well；　how's　everything　with　you？　Everything　jake？〃　He　tried　for　a　show　of　easy　confidence。　〃Oh；　yes；　yes；　indeed；　everything　is。〃

〃Well；　that's　good；　Kid。〃　But　she　was　now　without　the　grin；　and　was　running　a　practised　eye　over　what　might　have　been　called　his　production。　The　hat　was　jaunty　enough；　truly　a　hat　of　the　successful；　but　all　below　that；　the　not…too…fresh　collar；　the　somewhat　rumpled　coat；　the　trousers　crying　for　an　iron　despite　their　nightly　compression　beneath　their　slumbering　owner；　the　shoes　not　too　recently　polished；　and；　more　than　all；　a　certain　hunted　though　still…defiant　look　in　the　young　man's　eyes；　seemed　to　speak　eloquently　under　the　shrewd　glance　she　bent　on　him。

〃Say；　listen　here；　Old…timer；　remember　I　been　trouping　man　and　boy　for　over　forty　year　and　it's　hard　to　fool　meyou　working？〃

He　resented　the　persistent　levity　of　manner；　but　was　coerced　by　the　very　apparent　real　kindness　in　her　tone。　〃Well；〃　he　looked　about　the　set　vaguely　in　his　discomfort；　〃you　see；　right　now　I'm　between　picturesyou　know　how　it　is。〃

Again　she　searched　his　eyes　and　spoke　in　a　lower　tone：　〃Well；　all　rightbut　you　needn't　blush　about　it；　Kid。〃　The　blush　she　detected　became　more　flagrant。

〃Well；　Iyou　see〃　he　began　again；　but　he　was　saved　from　being　explicit　by　the　call　of　an　assistant　director。

〃Miss　Montague。　Miss　Montaguewhere's　that　Flips　girlon　the　set；　please。〃　She　skipped　lightly　from　him。　When　she　returned　a　little　later　to　look　for　him　he　had　gone。

He　went　to　bed　that　night　when　darkness　had　made　this　practicable；　and　under　his　blankets　whiled　away　a　couple　of　wakeful　hours　by　running　tensely　dramatic　films　of　breakfast；　dinner；　and　supper　at　the　Gashwiler　home。　It　seemed　that　you　didn't　fall　asleep　so　quickly　when　you　had　eaten　nothing　since　early　morning。　Never　had　he　achieved　such　perfect　photography　as　now　of　the　Gashwiler　corned…　beef　hash　and　light　biscuits；　the　Gashwiler　hot　cakes　and　sausage；　and　never　had　Gashwiler　so　impressively　carved　the　Saturday　night　four…rib　roast　of　tender　beef。　Gashwiler　achieved　a　sensational　triumph　in　the　scene；　being　accorded　all　the　closeups　that　the　most　exacting　of　screen　actors　could　wish。　His　knife…work　was　perfect。　He　held　his　audience　enthralled　by　his　technique。

Mrs。　Gashwiler；　too；　had　a　small　but　telling　part　in　the　drama　to…　night；　only　a　character　bit；　but　one　of　those　poignant　bits　that　stand　out　in　the　memory。　The　subtitle　was；　〃Merton；　won't　you　let　me　give　you　another　piece　of　the　mince　pie？〃　That　was　all；　and　yet；　as　screen　artists　say；　it　got　over。　There　came　very　near　to　being　not　a　dry　eye　in　the　house　when　the　simple　words　were　flashed　beside　an　insert　of　thick；　flaky…topped　mince　pies　with　quarters　cut　from　them　to　reveal　their　noble　interiors

Sleep　came　at　last　while　he　was　regretting　that　lawless　orgy　of　the　morning。　He　needn't　have　cleaned　up　those　beans　in　that　silly　way。　He　could　have　left　a　good　half　of　them。　He　ran　what　might　have　been　considered　a　split…reel　c