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diff --git a/old/56319-0.txt b/old/56319-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a81f664..0000000 --- a/old/56319-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4586 +0,0 @@ -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 56319 *** - - BOBBY IN MOVIELAND - - - - - _FATHER FINN’S FAMOUS STORIES_ - _Each volume with a Frontispiece_, - - CANDLES’ BEAMS. Short Stories - SUNSHINE AND FRECKLES - LORD BOUNTIFUL - ON THE RUN - BOBBY IN MOVIELAND - FACING DANGER - HIS LUCKIEST YEAR. A Sequel to “Lucky Bob” - LUCKY BOB - PERCY WYNN; or, Making a Boy of Him - TOM PLAYFAIR; or, Making a Start - HARRY DEE; or, Working It Out - CLAUDE LIGHTFOOT; or, How the Problem Was Solved - ETHELRED PRESTON; or, The Adventures of a Newcomer - THAT FOOTBALL GAME; and What Came of It - THAT OFFICE BOY - CUPID OF CAMPION - THE FAIRY OF THE SNOWS - THE BEST FOOT FORWARD; AND OTHER STORIES - MOSTLY BOYS. SHORT STORIES - HIS FIRST AND LAST APPEARANCE - BUT THY LOVE AND THY GRACE - - - - -[Illustration: In perfect good faith Bobby stepped forward, passed the -director, saying as he went, “Excuse me, sir,” and ignoring Compton and -the “lady” and “gentleman,” strode over to the bellhop. —_Page 69._] - - - - - BOBBY - IN MOVIELAND - - BY - FRANCIS J. FINN, S.J. - - Author of “Percy Wynn,” “Tom Playfair,” - “Harry Dee,” etc. - - [Illustration] - - NEW YORK, CINCINNATI, CHICAGO - BENZIGER BROTHERS - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY BENZIGER BROTHERS - - - Printed in the United States of America. - - - - - CONTENTS - - -CHAPTER PAGE - I IN WHICH THE FIRST CHAPTER IS WITHIN A LITTLE OF BEING THE 9 - LAST - II TENDING TO SHOW THAT MISFORTUNES NEVER COME SINGLY 18 - III IT NEVER RAINS BUT IT POURS 31 - IV MRS. VERNON ALL BUT ABANDONS HOPE 44 - V A NEW WAY OF BREAKING INTO THE MOVIES 58 - VI BOBBY ENDEAVORS TO SHOW THE ASTONISHED COMPTON HOW TO BEHAVE 72 - VII THE END OF A DAY OF SURPRISES 81 - VIII BOBBY MEETS AN ENEMY ON THE BOULEVARD AND A FRIEND IN THE 92 - LANTRY STUDIO - IX SHOWING THAT IMITATION IS NOT ALWAYS THE SINCEREST FLATTERY, 104 - AND RETURNING TO THE MISADVENTURES OF BOBBY’S MOTHER - X BOBBY, ASSISTED BY PEGGY, DEMONSTRATES A METHOD OF OBSERVING 114 - SILENCE, AND CELEBRATES A RED-LETTER DAY - XI THE END OF ONE SCENARIO AND THE OUTLINING OF COMPTON’S GREAT 128 - IDEA - XII BOBBY BECOMES FAMOUS OVERNIGHT 138 - XIII BERNADETTE’S TEMPERAMENT DELAYS THE SCENARIO, AND MRS. VERNON 150 - MAKES TWO CHILDREN HAPPY - XIV MRS. VERNON ATTENDS A MOVING-PICTURE SHOW AND FINDS IN IT A 160 - GREAT LESSON UNTHOUGHT OF BY THE AUTHOR - XV COMPTON’S GREAT SCENARIO IS FINISHED NOT A MOMENT TOO SOON 166 - XVI CONTAINING NOTHING BUT HAPPY EXPLANATIONS AND A STILL HAPPIER 180 - LOVE SCENE - XVII THE FOUR CHILDREN AROUSE SUSPICION, UNTIL WITH THE MOST 196 - MOMENTOUS EVENT IN THIS NARRATIVE, ALL IS MADE CLEAR - - - - Bobby in Movieland - - - - - CHAPTER I - IN WHICH THE FIRST CHAPTER IS WITHIN A LITTLE OF BEING THE LAST - - -“Say, ma; honest, I don’t want to go in. Just all I want is to take off -my shoes and socks and walk where the water just comes up to my ankles.” - -As the speaker, a boy of eight, was dressed in the fashion common to the -youth of Los Angeles and its environment, it is but fair to state that -with the taking off of shoes and socks the process of disrobing was -really far advanced. - -“My mother has let me take mine off,” put in a bare-legged little girl. -“We won’t go into the water really at all, Mrs. Vernon. Oh, please let -Bobby come along.” - -The time was morning—a clear, golden, flower-scented morning in early -July. The place was the sandy shore of Long Beach. There were few -bathers about, as it was Monday, when the week-enders had returned to -their several occupations, while the pleasure-seekers living or lodging -there were resting from the strenuous gayety of Sunday. - -Mrs. Vernon, a beautiful young woman, in half-mourning, was strolling -with her only child and the girl, an acquaintance made on the train, -along the sands. They were all transients, presently to take a train -north. - -Bobby Vernon was a highly interesting child to look at. Rather small for -his age, he was lithe and shapely. His complexion was delicately fair, -his chestnut hair rather long. All these things were enough to attract -attention; but above and beyond these were the features. Blue eyes, -cupid mouth, a sensitive upper lip, an eloquent, chubby little nose—all -had this in common that they were expressive of his every passing -thought and emotion. He had a face, in a word, at once speaking and -engaging. - -The girl, Peggy Sansone, a year or two older, was a brunette, a decided -contrast. She was a chance acquaintance, made by Bobby on the Pullman, -with the result that, once they had exchanged a few words, there was no -more sleeping during the daylight hours for the other occupants of that -car. - -Mrs. Vernon felt in her heart it would be more prudent to refuse the -request. She feared that she was making a mistake. But she was just then -preoccupied and sad. Now, sadness is weakening. - -“Well, Bobby, if I give you permission, you won’t go far? And you’ll be -back at the station in half an hour, and won’t get lost?” - -“I know the way back to the station,” volunteered the girl. “And I’ll -promise you to see him back myself. You know, I’ve got my watch.” Here -Peggy, with the sweet vanity of childhood, held up for view her dainty -wrist watch. - -“Whoopee!” cried Bobby, jumping into his mother’s arms, planting a kiss -on her brow, dropping down to the sand and, apparently all in one -motion, taking off shoes and socks. - -Light-heartedly, hand in hand with the girl, he pattered down the sands -to the water. The two little ones radiated joy and youth and life. To -them the coming half-hour was to be, so they thought, “a little bit of -heaven.” The girl had no premonition of the saddest day of her -childhood; the boy no thought of the forces of earth and water that were -about to change so strangely his and his mother’s life. - -It has already been observed that it was a day of golden sunshine; but -to one conversant with the waters of Long Beach there was something -ominous about the face of the changing sea. It was not high tide; but -the surf was showing its milk-white teeth in a beauty profuse and cruel, -with the cruelty of the sea which takes and returns no more, while the -rollers swept in with a violence and a height that were unusual. The -life savers were watchful and uneasy. To the two children, however, the -white-lipped ocean was as bland and as gay as the sunshine. - -As their feet were covered by an incoming roller the girl screamed and -Bobby danced—both for the same reason, for sheer joy. Hand in hand they -pattered along, making their way further and further into the pathway of -the breakers. In a few minutes they had advanced along the shore to a -spot where they were apparently alone. - -Then began a series of daring ventures. - -“Say!” said Bobby. “This is the first time in all my life that I ever -put my feet in the Pacific Ocean. But I know how to swim, all right, and -I’m not a bit afraid.” As Bobby spoke he was moving slowly out into the -water, which was now nearly up to his knees. - -“Hold on! You’re going too far,” said the girl, releasing Bobby’s hand -and slipping back. “I’ve been in often, but I’m afraid just the same.” - -“Girls are cowards,” Bobby announced. “Come on, Peggy; I’ll take care of -you.” - -Peggy by way of return fastened her large, beautiful dark eyes in hero -worship upon her companion. Nevertheless, instead of accepting his -invitation, she drew back a few steps more. - -“Now remember, Bobby, you told your mother you were only going -ankle-deep. You’re up to your knees now.” - -“That’s so,” said Bobby, pausing and turning his back upon the incoming -waves. “I ought not to break my word. Say, Peggy”—here Bobby’s face -threw itself, every feature of it, into a splendor of enthusiasm—“do -you think it would be wrong if I were to fall over and float? Then I -wouldn’t be more than ankle-deep anyhow.” - -Peggy’s large eyes grew larger in glorious admiration. - -Now Bobby being very human—even as you and I—was not insensible to the -girl’s expression. It spurred him on to do something really daring. He -was tempted at that moment to forget his mother’s words and to go boldly -out and meet the breakers in their might. For a few minutes there was a -clean-cut battle in the lad’s soul between love of praise and the still, -small voice we call conscience; as a consequence of which Bobby’s -features twisted and curled and darkened. The battle was a short one, -and it is only fair to say that the still, small voice scored a victory. - -However, the breakers were not interested in such a fight though it may -have appealed with supreme interest to all the choirs of angels. The -conflict over, Bobby’s eyes grew bright, and all the sprites of innocent -gayety showed themselves at once in his every feature. - -“Peggy,” he began, “you are right. A promise is a promise—always. And -then I made it to my mother. I would like to show you a thing or two, -but—Why, what’s the matter?” - -Her expression startled him. If ever tragedy and horror were expressed -by the eyes, Bobby saw these emotions in the beautiful orbs of Peggy. -Her face had lost its rich southern hue, fear was in her pose and in -every feature, but Bobby saw only the tragedy of the eyes. They were -unforgettable. - -“Bobby!” she gasped. “Run! run!” And the child followed her own advice. - -Bobby, infected by her terror, turned. But it was too late. Close upon -him curled and roared a huge roller, a white-crested wave. In the moment -he looked upon it Bobby saw the rollers in a new light. A few moments -before they were gay, frolicsome things, showing their teeth in -laughter. Now they were strange, strong monsters foaming at the mouth. - -“Oh!” cried Bobby in horror. He said no more; for as he spoke, the wave -caught him, spun him around, pulled him down, raised him up, and carried -him off in its strong, uncountable arms towards the deep sea. Bobby -kicked and struggled; but he was swept on as though he were a toy. - -Peggy, meanwhile having run back twenty or thirty paces, turned, and -wringing her hands, scanned the troubled waters. She saw no sign of the -boy. - -Peggy was young and timid. Upon her came an unreasoning fear. Bobby was -drowned and maybe it was her fault! Maybe she would be hanged for -murder! And how could she face a bereaved and already widowed mother? -For the first and only time in her life Peggy ardently wished she were -dead. Then, looking neither to left nor right, she ran back along the -shore. - -Bobby was drowned! But she would tell no one. For the moment a wild -thought of running away entered her soul. And she would have run away if -she only knew whither to fly. - -Still running, she wept and she prayed. She ceased her flight only when -she came to the spot where her tiny shoes and socks lay beside those of -Bobby’s. Then she sat down and gave loose to her grief. When the first -fierce desolation and agony had passed, she put on her shoes and began -to think. - -Suddenly her drawn face relaxed. Her mother! Had she not always brought -her griefs to that tender, loving soul? She would seek her at once and -tell all. She glanced at her watch. Forty-five minutes had passed! She -had exceeded her time by a quarter of an hour. It was nearly train time. -There was not a second to be lost. - -As she rose to her feet something unusual had occurred. The ground -beneath her seemed to be swinging up and down. - -Peggy was a native. In normal circumstances she would have been normally -excited; but in her present condition she hardly noticed that she was in -the throes of an earthquake. - -So calmly ignoring the shouts of men and the hysteria of women who came -running out in hundreds from house and hotel, Peggy went forward at a -smart trot to bring the awful tidings to Mrs. Sansone, her mother. - - - - - CHAPTER II - TENDING TO SHOW THAT MISFORTUNES NEVER COME SINGLY - - -To natives of Los Angeles, or to those who have spent some years in that -beautiful city—so beautiful that one could easily vision Adam and Eve -as its occupants before the Fall—an earthquake tremor is just something -more than of passing interest. They remain “unusual calm” when the house -shakes, the pictures flap upon the wall, and the crockery rattles in -noisy unrest. They regard their earthquakes as tamed creatures—not more -formidable, practically speaking, than “a thing of noise and fury, -signifying nothing.” When visitors show agitation at the coming of an -earth tremor, these old inhabitants—and five years’ residence in Los -Angeles makes one something little short of a patriarch—are almost -scandalized. Should these strangers go the way that leads to hysteria, -the old inhabitants grow properly indignant, and point out that all the -tremors in the history of Los Angeles County are as nothing, in point of -damage, as compared to one solitary cyclone of the Middle West. No doubt -they are right. - -However, to a stranger these pranks of mother earth are fraught with -terror. Many men and women are not only frightened, but actually become -sick. Dizziness and nausea are not uncommon, although the cause be only -a slight tremor of but three or four seconds’ duration. - -Among those affected on this day, so momentous in her life and that of -her only child, was Mrs. Barbara Vernon. When the shock came she was -resting on the sands under the shade of one of those gigantic umbrellas -rented out at the beaches as a protection from the ardent rays of the -sun. Beside her sat Mrs. Sansone, Peggy’s mother. - -“Oh, my God!” cried Mrs. Vernon, jumping to her feet and clasping her -hands. She would have run straight into the ocean had not Mrs. Sansone -laid upon her a restraining hand. - -“My dear,” said the old inhabitant, “don’t be frightened. It’s really -nothing at all. We who live here don’t mind it in the least.” She patted -Mrs. Vernon’s beautiful cheek as she continued: “Why, my little Peggy -sees nothing in them. The last time we had an earthquake shock Peggy -said that the earth was trying to do the shimmy.” - -“Oh,” said Mrs. Vernon, “I’m feeling so ill! Let me lean on you, dear. I -feel as though I should faint.” - -The sympathetic right arm of Mrs. Sansone wound itself about the other’s -waist. - -“Many strangers are so affected,” she said. “But really there’s nothing -to fear. God is here with us right now.” - -Mrs. Barbara Vernon unobtrusively made the sign of the cross. - -“Thank you,” she said. “My fear is gone; but I feel sick, sick.” - -“Lean on my arm, Mrs. Vernon. I will bring you to our Pullman, where you -can lie down and rest quietly.” - -“But the children!” objected Barbara. - -“Leave that to me. At the worst, Peggy knows the way, and she is really -a very punctual little girl.” - -They had walked but a few paces, when an automobile, moving along the -sands, came abreast of them and stopped. The driver, its sole occupant, -leaned out. - -“Beg pardon,” he said removing his hat, “but I fear one of you ladies is -rather indisposed. Anything I can do for you?” - -“Indeed you can,” replied Mrs. Sansone very promptly. “This lady is -suffering from nausea. The earthquake is something new to her. You would -do us a great favor by bringing us to the railroad station.” - -“Favor! It will be an immense pleasure to me.” As he spoke the young man -jumped out, threw open the door of the tonneau, and, hat in hand, helped -the two women in. He was rather a striking personality, thin almost to -emaciation, and despite the smile now upon his features, with a face -melancholy to the point of pathos. - -“Los Angeles,” he remarked as he seated himself at the wheel, “would be -the most perfect place in the world if the earth hereabouts would only -keep sober. If I had my way,” he continued, in a voice only less -pathetic than his countenance, “I’d give the earth the pledge for life. -It’s a perfect country when it’s sober.” - -Mrs. Sansone laughed. - -“Even at that,” continued the melancholy man, allowing himself the -indulgence of a slight smile, “what does it amount to, a little bit of -an earthquake like that? It is merely a fly in the amber.” - -“I agree with you absolutely,” said Mrs. Sansone. - -“Which means you’re a native. That other lady—” - -“Mrs. Barbara Vernon,” interpolated Mrs. Sansone. - -“Thank you, glad to meet you, ma’am,” said the stranger, turning his -head and smiling ungrudgingly. “You, I take it, don’t see it as we do. -Instead of a fly in the amber, you regard it rather as a shark in a -swimming pool.” - -“It is very kind of you,” said Barbara, “to go out of your way for me. I -can’t tell you how I appreciate your goodness. I shall pray for you.” - -The driver’s face changed from melancholy to reverence. - -“Please remember that,” he said. As he spoke he thought of the great -Thackeray’s great words on the preciousness of living on in the heart of -one good woman. - -Had Barbara been his own mother he could not have been more attentive. -He helped her from the car, placed her in her section, and furtively -slipping a dollar into the porter’s responsive fist, got that -functionary into a state of useful and eager activity which would have -filled, had he seen it, the Pullman superintendent’s heart with wild -delight. - -“Can’t I get you a physician, Mrs. Vernon?” pleaded the stranger. - -“I need none, thank you. You have done infinitely more than I had any -right to expect.” - -“Well, then, I am going to leave you in the hands of this lady—” - -“Mrs. Estelle Sansone,” supplied the owner of that name. - -“Thank you, Mrs. Sansone. I am glad to know your name. And,” he -continued, turning upon Barbara the most melancholy eyes she had ever -seen, while taking reverently her proffered hand, “I beg you, Mrs. -Vernon, to remember me in—in—to remember me as you said.” - -“Indeed and indeed I will. God bless you!” - -“Amen,” answered the young man thickly. His face twitched, he paused as -though about to speak, and then suddenly turned and left the car. - -“Isn’t he strange!” ejaculated Barbara. “I never saw a more melancholy -face.” - -“He is very strange,” assented Mrs. Sansone. - -There was a depth of meaning in her words, unsuspected by Barbara, for -the kind Italian woman had recognized the good Samaritan. This -melancholy man was, in her estimation, the greatest screen comedian in -the world. - -“And,” continued Barbara, when the porter had placed a second pillow -under her head, “with all his melancholy, he is so kind and so good!” - -“I don’t understand,” commented the Italian. Again the depth of this -remark was lost upon Barbara. For Mrs. Sansone knew much of the gossip -concerning the great comedian. She knew that he had figured in many -episodes which, to say the least, were anything but savory. And now she -had met the man in a few intimate moments and seen him kind, gentle, -gracious, and with a reverence for a good woman and a good woman’s -prayers that had filled her with a feeling akin to awe. As she -ministered lovingly to Barbara she meditated upon these opposing truths, -and so meditating took a new lesson in the school of experience, a -lesson the fruits of which are wisdom. - -“I am anxious about my boy,” said Barbara opening her eyes and -endeavoring vainly to sit up. - -Mrs. Sansone threw a quick glance about the car. Her gaze rested -presently upon an elderly woman whose face was eminently kindly. She was -every inch a matron. Mrs. Estelle Sansone stepped over to her. - -“Pardon me,” she said, “but the lady over there is quite ill, and she is -worrying about her little boy, who should have been back by this time. I -don’t like to leave her alone while I go in search—” - -“And,” broke in the other, “you want some one to take your place? I -thank you for asking me. I’ve been a widow for nearly fourteen years, -and since my husband’s death I have worked as nurse in the Northwestern -Railroad’s emergency ward in Chicago.” - -“Why, I couldn’t have made a better choice,” cried Mrs. Sansone. - -“It’s my first real pleasure trip—mine and my daughter’s—since my -widowhood,” continued the woman, “but the pleasures of travel are as -nothing compared with waiting on any good woman in distress.” - -The introductions were quickly made, and Mrs. Sansone left the car, -feeling that Barbara was in hands better far than her own. - -She looked about the station. The clock indicated that in about five -minutes the train would start. Mrs. Sansone grew anxious. She hurried -along the platform, looking eagerly on every side for some sign of the -children. A glance towards the beach rewarded her searching. Peggy, her -hair streaming in the wind, was running towards her. Mrs. Sansone’s -heart sank. Where was the boy? A sense of calamity seized her. She too -ran to meet the child. - -“Oh, mother, mother!” cried Peggy, throwing her arms about Mrs. Sansone -and bursting into a new agony of grief. - -“Dearest,” crooned Mrs. Sansone, raising the child to her bosom, “tell -me! What has become of Bobby?” - -“Oh, mother! I am afraid!” - -“Tell the truth, darling. No matter what—it is your mother who listens. -She will understand; she will not scold.” - -“Bobby is drowned!” - -“Oh, blessed Mary!” cried Mrs. Sansone, restoring Peggy to the sands and -clasping her hands in dismay. “I can’t believe it! Tell me, dear, how it -happened.” - -“Bobby was wading, and he was trying to be obedient. He got out too far, -and I reminded him of his promise to his mother. And he said he was -going to keep his promise. And just while he was talking to me a big -roller came on him—you see, his back was turned—and that roller -knocked him down and pulled him out, and when I looked—” - -Here Peggy fell to weeping again. - -“What, dear? Tell me quick.” - -“He was gone.” - -“And were there none around to go to his help?” - -“We were alone.” - -“And did you call for help?” - -“No, mother. I just ran away.” - -“And you said nothing, dearest?” - -“No. I was afraid they would think I was a murderer.” - -Mrs. Sansone had long walked the paths of wisdom. She knew how common it -was for little children, witnesses to a drowning or a like calamity, to -fly from the scene and in fear keep silent. She understood. - -“You were frightened, dearest. If you were older, you would have called -for help. But you are not to blame. God help us! Now, Peggy, come with -me. Or stay—I must break the news to his poor mother.” - -“And tell her,” said Peggy sobbingly, “that his last words were how he -must always keep his promises, especially those he made to his mother.” - -Then Mrs. Sansone wept. It was a bitter moment. - -“All aboard!” cried one of the trainmen. - -Peggy and her mother were just in time to mount the platform when the -train started. - -Then, with love and pity and all manner of gentleness, Mrs. Sansone told -the pitiful story. When the full horror of it was grasped by Barbara, -she asked for her crucifix, gazed upon it fixedly for several seconds, -kissed it, and fell into a faint. - -Then it was that all that was matronly shone forth in Mrs. Feehan. Then -it was that she and Mrs. Sansone, never for a moment neglecting the sick -woman, mingled their tears and their grief. The porter, the gayest, -chattiest porter in that section of the Pullman service, was their -willing slave. He too became a partner in their sorrow. In fact, every -passenger on the car and every employee of the road on duty duly caught -the spirit of sympathy, and before Barbara came to, dry-eyed and almost -despairing, lines and telephones were busy in a vain endeavor to get any -possible light on the drowning. - -“But,” cried Barbara when she became fully conscious of the dark -tragedy, “I must go back! I cannot go on without my boy!” - -The conductor was summoned. - -“I can let you off, lady,” he explained. “But I doubt whether you can -get any means of returning at this point. Besides, when we arrive at the -next station, we may expect an answer concerning the child. In that way -you will get word quicker than if you were to return at once.” - -“Mrs. Vernon,” urged the nurse, “it would be the worst thing you could -do to return. You are physically unfit just now to walk or make any kind -of exertion. You need several hours of complete rest. If you take my -advice, you will go on and not attempt to leave the car until the shock -has passed and your strength returns.” - -“But I must go back—I must!” cried Barbara hysterically. As she spoke -she suddenly rose and took a few quick steps. But the effort was too -much. She staggered, and despite her efforts fell back into the arms of -the kind matron. - - - - - CHAPTER III - IT NEVER RAINS BUT IT POURS - - -But Bobby was not drowned. Peggy and he, as the wave caught him, were -not alone. Seated on the ledge of a cliff, hidden almost completely from -view, a bather, tall and plump, once a professional life-saver, had been -watching the two children carefully. He had noted the roller even before -Peggy. He was at a considerable distance from the children; but as Peggy -turned to fly he was dashing, diagonally, across the beach. It was -nothing for him, tall and strong of limb, to plunge into the water, to -reach the very spot where Bobby had disappeared, and when Bobby’s head -came to the surface, to take a few strong strokes, reach the unconscious -boy, and bring him almost without effort to the shore. - -Bobby, I say, was unconscious; and the rescuer, for a moment, doubted -whether the little lad was alive. Paying no attention, therefore, to the -fleeing Peggy, the man, experienced in such matters, endeavored to -restore the lad to consciousness. Bobby had swallowed much salt water. -It was the work of a few moments to remedy that trouble. Then the man -put himself to the task of getting the boy to breathe. In the shade of -the cliff he labored long and arduously. Almost a quarter of an hour -passed before Bobby’s face showed the slightest sign of life. Eventually -he began to breathe. - -“Hey, boy! you’re doing fine,” cried the man. “Come on now, and wake -up.” - -Adjured in such like terms at least twenty times, Bobby at length opened -his eyes upon a world which he had almost left for good. - -“Howdy, Johnny? Are you awake?” - -Bobby looked gravely at his companion and, the inspection completed, -asked, as he closed his eyes again: - -“Where am I?” - -“Right here at Long Beach,” came the answer. “Here, let me put my coat -about you. You look pretty cold. How do you feel?” - -“I guess so,” answered Bobby, not even opening his eyes. - -Then the rescuer took the child, wrapped as he was in the heavy coat, -and folded him to his bosom. He held the boy tight. Bobby soon began to -warm up. - -“Where am I?” he inquired once more, opening his eyes as he spoke. - -“I told you we were at Long Beach, didn’t I?” - -“Maybe you did. Say, didn’t you pull me out of the water?” - -“I did, and not a second too soon, either. Now look here, Johnny. The -color is coming back to your face. But you must get that chill out of -you. Here, you must stretch your legs. Take my hand.” - -Bobby at first was barely able to walk. But gradually his strength -returned, his strength and his smile. But neither lasted long. - -“Say! I’m getting so tired!” he remarked after a few quick turns. “Would -you mind if I lie down?” - -The man laid Bobby down upon the sands, once more wrapping him, as he -did so, tightly in the coat. Bobby promptly turned on his side and, -resting his head upon his right arm, fell asleep. - -“My!” apostrophized the man, after a long contemplation. “I never saw -such an interesting face.” - -“Did you say something, sir?” asked Bobby, opening his eyes. - -“I said a mouthful,” came the answer. “But look you, boy; you are weaker -than you ought to be. What you need is brandy.” - -“I don’t drink,” objected Bobby. - -“None of us drink just now, for that matter,” the man dryly observed. -“Just the same, you need a bit of brandy. Now will you remain here till -I come back? I may be gone ten or fifteen minutes.” - -“Just now, sir, I don’t want to go anywhere. Oh, I’ll stay, all right.” - -And Bobby meant it. Nevertheless he did not stay. - -The man had hardly disappeared from view when Bobby sat up and stretched -himself. Then he arose and went through the same process. Bobby was -feeling once more that he was alive. Throwing off the coat, he quickly -put on his proper garments, already perfectly dry. Then Bobby bethought -him of his shoes. It would be easy to recover them and return within a -few minutes. Accordingly, with his light step and easy grace quite -restored, he trotted along the shore; and even as he moved, the events -that had led up to his mischance began to return to his memory—the -horrified eyes of Peggy, the big wave coming upon him, and then? What -was it happened next? At the moment he could recall no more. Seating -himself, he put on shoes and stockings, when all of a sudden as he -arose, the awful memory, unbidden, returned. Once more he felt the -waves’ might, once more he felt himself whirled and tossed about like a -cork, once more he choked as the water forced itself into his gaping -mouth. Here his memory ended. Bobby was more frightened by the memory -than he had been by the actual happening. - -And just then, when the horror of it all had seized upon him, the ground -beneath his feet began to oscillate. This was the last straw. Bobby -could bear no more. The sea but a short time before had tried to swallow -him up; now it was the land itself that would devour him. - -Utterly panic-stricken, urged on by a blind instinct in which reason had -no share, the little fellow ran at a speed born of fear away from that -awful beach. As it happened, there were stairs at that point leading up -to the cliff. Bobby took them two at a time. Ocean Avenue was thronged -just then with people, strangers in California, who failed, naturally -enough, to see anything of humor in an earthquake. Under normal -circumstances Bobby, flying at full speed along a highway, would have -attracted more than a little attention. But the circumstances were not -normal, and the fear which urged Bobby onwards was the same fear which -in a measure possessed nearly all of those whom with flying feet he -passed. - -Bobby had always been a good runner. On this occasion he surpassed -himself. On he went until he was alone on the open road; on past -orchards of oranges, peaches, lemons, pears and plums. The ground at -every step was, as he felt, growing firmer beneath his feet; and once -away from the outskirts of Ocean Beach he began to slacken his pace. It -was then that the sharp tooting of a horn behind him caused him to turn; -an automobile was bearing down upon him. - -Bobby, putting on full speed once more, darted to the left side of the -road, which at this point sharply curved, only to find another machine -bearing upon him swiftly from the opposite direction. There seemed to be -no chance of escape. Nevertheless Bobby jumped for his life, landing on -hands and knees at the side of the road, while the oncoming machine, now -fairly upon him, swung desperately away. It passed within an inch of the -boy’s feet as he flew through the air. Bobby did not arise. He collapsed -where he had fallen. The machine which had nearly done for him came to a -halt full thirty yards up the road, where from it descended a highly -excited young man, who, more than emulating Bobby’s burst of speed, ran -quickly and picked up the lad in his arms. - -“Say, little fellow, you’re not hurt, are you? Now don’t say you’re -hurt. It was a close call, but I never touched you.” - -But Bobby’s head hung limp, his eyes remained closed. - -The man grew pale with fear. Possibly he had frightened the child to -death. Gazing with extreme compassion upon the delicate features of the -sensitive face, he groaned aloud and, as though his burden weighed -nothing, sprinted back to his machine. There he laid the boy on the -front seat, and, getting out a water bottle from the tonneau, removed -the stopper and dashed a goodly portion of water into the child’s face. - -The effect was immediate. Bobby sat up, and looking into the frightened -face of his new aggressor, opened his mouth and bawled. Bobby, to do him -justice, was a manly little fellow, and manly little fellows of seven or -eight are not in the habit of bawling. But he had been through a fearful -series of ordeals. He was no longer himself. Panic had entered into his -very soul. The sea had tried to get him; the earth, lining itself up -with the sea, had shaken beneath his feet; and when he ran from one -automobile, another had borne down upon him to such effect that only by -a marvel short of the miraculous had he escaped with his life. So Bobby -went on bawling. - -This exhibition of tears and lungs had a very disconcerting effect on -the young man. He was, as the reader has a right to know, John Compton, -a promising comedian, engaged recently by a moving-picture company, the -head members of which counted upon his becoming shortly one of the -leading film comedians of the country. On that very day he had started -in upon his second picture. But an hour before he had rehearsed part of -the opening scene; and he would have still been rehearsing at that very -moment had it not happened that the property man was not on time with -the completion of an indoor set; as a consequence of which the director -had called off further rehearsal till two o’clock that afternoon. Not -thinking it worth his while to disturb his make-up, John Compton had -jumped into his automobile and gone out for a spin, with his face -painted a sickly yellow and eyebrows fiercely exaggerated. Bobby had -never before seen a moving-picture actor in his war paint. No wonder -that he continued to bawl; no wonder that he refused to be comforted. - -Mr. Compton was at his wits’ end. It was useless to advise the boy to -calm himself. To be heard Compton would be obliged to bellow at the top -of his voice. And why not? It was an inspiration. Standing outside his -own machine, John Compton planted his hands upon his knees, and stooping -till his face was on a level with Bobby’s, opened his mouth, a not -inconsiderable one, and bawled, too, with all the energy of desperation. - -At the awful sound Bobby, opening his eyes to their widest, ceased his -outcries and, with his mouth still wide open, stared in incredulous -amazement at John Compton. This gentleman, having stopped momentarily -for breath, started his strange performance once more. But there was a -different tone to the second attempt. Mr. Compton, gaining courage -through success, was beginning to perceive a certain humor in the -situation; and into his bawling went that sense of humor. The suspicion -of a grin came upon the boy’s face. Inspired by this, Compton entered -upon a third attempt, which really succeeded in being a clever -caricature of Bobby’s bawling. - -The boy grinned. - -“Never say die,” said the comedian, smiling pleasantly and winking. - -“I’ll say so!” returned Bob, and reproduced to a nicety Compton’s -identical wink. - -Compton’s perplexity was entirely gone. He liked Bobby from the first; -but with that wink he loved him. So, light of heart, John Compton forced -his features into the exaggerated smile which, in the opinion of his -director, would, when once known, be worth a fortune, and Bobby for the -first time since the roller came upon him burst into a laugh, clear, -silvery—sweeter, dearer at that moment to Compton than all the music -that had ever charmed his ears. - -“Hey! Do it again,” cried Bobby, standing up and wearing an air of -seraphic joy. Mr. Compton accepted the encore gratefully, but lost his -great smile almost instantaneously when Bobby, allowing for a smaller -mouth and more delicate features, reproduced the million-dollar grin. - -“Upon my word!” exclaimed the thoroughly amazed comedian. “I must say I -like you.” - -“And I like you.” - -“In fact, I like you very much.” - -“And I like you very much.” - -“What’s your name, little screecher?” - -“Bobby Vernon.” - -“I like that name very much. Mine is John Compton.” - -“And I like that name very much. Say, come in and sit with me.” - -“One moment. Where are you from?” - -“Cincinnati.” - -Compton, starting slightly, looked at the boy’s features searchingly. - -“Say, Bobby, what was your mother’s maiden name—her name before she was -married, you know?” - -“Barbara Carberry.” - -Compton buried his face in his hands. When he raised his head presently, -he discovered Bobby weeping. Stepping into the car, Compton took Bobby -in his arms and, gazing once more upon the child’s face, stooped over -and kissed him. - -“I knew your mother once,” he said quietly. - -“And you like her?” asked Bobby eagerly. - -“Like her! That’s no name for it. Tell me all about her.” - -It was the thought of his mother that had set Bobby to weeping again. No -wonder, then, that as he proceeded to recount the events of that morning -he was forced sobbing to halt in his narration several times until he -had mastered his grief. No child in deep trouble ever had a more -sympathetic listener. While Bobby went on with his tale of woe, Compton, -deeply attentive, was speeding at the rate of forty-five miles an hour -for Los Angeles. - -“You see,” he had explained to Bobby, “if I don’t hurry, I’ll be late -for that two o’clock rehearsal.” - -He stopped once on the road at a telephone station. - -“Bobby,” he said when he had returned from the booth, “I’ve made -inquiries. Your mother took sick. They say there was an earthquake.” - -“I should say there was! Didn’t I tell you how it started me to running -till I ran into you? - -“That’s true. In fact, I believe there was an earthquake. Seems to me I -noticed one myself; but I was so busy thinking about my part in the new -production that I didn’t pay much attention to it. Well, anyhow, it made -your mother sick. It often does affect strangers that way. And they -brought her to her car; and before she knew what happened I reckon the -old train started off to bring her to San Luis Obispo without you.” - -Bobby’s sensitive upper lip quivered. - -“Here, now, don’t you cry. I’ve sent a telegram which will catch her at -San Luis Obispo, telling her that you are with me and that I will keep -you safe and sound till I hear from her. Cheer up, Bobby! You’ll get -word to-morrow. There’s nothing to worry about.” - -Mr. Compton was a bad prophet. Bobby did not get word. In fact, owing to -the flood of telegrams consequent upon the earthquake, Compton’s message -was delayed nearly twenty-four hours, and though it duly reached San -Luis Obispo it was never delivered. Barbara Vernon was not there to -receive it. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - MRS. VERNON ALL BUT ABANDONS HOPE - - -John Compton had vainly attempted to get any details in regard to -Bobby’s rescue. It had been a bad day for swimmers at Long Beach. The -waters had been unusually rough, and in consequence several bathers were -drowned and nearly a score in imminent danger rescued. Over the -telephone he got a complete list of those whom the life-savers had -brought safely in, but in that list was no name in any wise -corresponding with that of Bobby Vernon. Had not the earthquake come -along at the wrong moment, Bobby would not, unconsciously breaking his -promise, have run away, and Mrs. Vernon would not have been whisked into -the Pullman and been borne northward on the wings of steam. No; Bobby -would have waited and Mrs. Vernon would have remained. They would have -come together very shortly, and this story would not, failing that -earthquake, be worth the writing. - -Nor would Mrs. Vernon have gone on toward San Luis Obispo utterly broken -in spirit. In reply to telegrams and long-distance telephone calls made -by Mrs. Sansone and the big-hearted nurse, they learned that no boy -corresponding to hers had been rescued, and that it was impossible at -the moment to give any adequate report of those who had met death in the -angry waters. - -As for Bobby’s rescuer, when he returned to the beach and failed to find -the boy awaiting him, he was highly disgusted. The boy had broken his -promise and gone off without so much as a word of thanks. Being a -native, so to speak, it did not occur to him that an earthquake might -put a lone little lad into a panic. Meditating grimly on the -ungratefulness of mankind in general and of a certain small boy in -particular, he turned himself with a glum face to the bathing house. He -was already long overdue in the city, and putting the incident out of -his mind as an unpleasant memory, he went his way, telling no man of his -morning’s adventure. Thus it came about that Bobby’s rescue was recorded -only in heaven. - -Thus too it came about that Barbara Vernon gave up all hope of her son’s -having been rescued. He was dead, and she was alone in the world. In -vain did Mrs. Sansone beg her to hope; equally in vain did Mrs. Feehan -fold her to her generous heart and whisper in her ear those sweet -nothings which love makes more valuable in such circumstances than -pearls of great price. Mrs. Vernon, dry-eyed and with set face, speaking -nothing, apparently hearing nothing, gazed into vacancy. Even Mrs. -Feehan, whose hope was as strong as her love, began to lose courage. -Something must be done or the poor bereaved widow might go mad. - -Resigning the unhappy lady to the care of the Italian, Mrs. Feehan -walked through the car, scanning quickly the face of each passenger. -Disappointed in her inspection, she went into the next car, and as she -entered, the smile returned to her face. - -Seated in a section near her entry was a venerable priest. His thick -spectacles failed to conceal the kindly old eyes; while the large, red, -weather-beaten face seemed somehow to tell the tale of myriad deeds of -consolation and kindness. To look upon him with unprejudiced eyes was by -way of loving him. He was sitting with folded hands. - -“Oh, Father,” exclaimed the nurse, “pardon me for disturbing you. But -there is a woman in the next car who, I fear, will go mad unless some -one can reach her. She is a widow, and her only boy has just been -drowned. She is a devout Catholic, and I am almost certain that if any -one can bring her out of her despair a Catholic priest can do it. I’ve -dealt with a number of like cases, and I know it.” - -The priest arose, and, as Mrs. Feehan observed, slipped his beads, -concealed in his folded hands, into his pocket. - -“I’ll talk to her, my good woman, and while I talk, do you pray.” - -As they entered the car the porter met them. - -“You will find the lady in the drawing-room. I put her in there myself.” - -“You’re a trump!” said the priest, patting the porter on the back. - -Mrs. Vernon, as they entered, was showing once more some signs of -improvement. She was gazing not without a touch of tenderness down upon -the tear-stained, almost despairing face of the beautiful little child -Peggy, who on her knees was imploring forgiveness. - -“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Vernon. I lost my wits. But do forgive me.” - -“She’s as good a girl as I know,” said the priest. “How are you, Peggy?” - -“Oh, Father Galligan, ask her to forgive me!” - -“I don’t know what it’s all about,” said the priest, “but I’m sure -little Peggy would not wilfully do anything wrong. As you expect God’s -help, my dear lady, in this trying hour, send this child away in peace -and quiet.” - -Mrs. Vernon raised herself up and threw her arms about the little one’s -neck. - -“There’s nothing to forgive, little dear. But pray, pray for me.” - -“I think, madam,” observed the priest, “that if ever you were fit to -receive all that comes with the blessing of the Church now is the time. -Here, Peggy, kneel down and pray; and you too, Mrs. Sansone. And you -too,” he added, addressing himself to the nurse; “though I’m thinking -that Peggy’s prayers are worth all yours and mine put together. Now, -speed her up, Peggy, while I recite the Gospel of St. John.” - -It was, in all seriousness, an exquisite prayer-meeting. If angels can -be influenced by human beauty, delicate innocence, and the awful faith -of childhood, legions of them must have pressed about the great White -Throne to tell the wondrous tale of Peggy’s praying. It is doubtful, -also, whether they could have been insensible to the ardent petitions of -the nurse and Peggy’s mother. However this may be, one thing is certain: -the authorized prayer of a priest uttered in the name of the Church has -an efficacy behind it which pierces high heaven. Such a prayer goes -flying upward, winged by the power of that Church, in whose name it is -uttered. - -“Now,” said Father Galligan, closing his little book and gesturing the -suppliants to rise from their knees, “you may all go outside and talk -about your neighbors; and the more you talk about them the -better—provided you speak of their good qualities. This lady is going -to entertain me.” - -“Well, we’ve all got to go now anyhow,” said Mrs. Sansone. “Los Angeles -is our home, and Mrs. Feehan with her dear little daughter is stopping -to visit a relation—” - -“But if you say the word, Father,” put in Mrs. Feehan, “I’ll go on and -see Mrs. Vernon through.” - -“I don’t think it will be necessary,” said the Father. “Take your -holiday and God bless you all. And don’t you forget, Peggy, to go to -communion every day you can. You need it, dear child.” - -“Indeed I won’t forget, Father. Good-by, Mrs. Vernon. You are just -lovely, and I’ll pray for you every day and for Bobby.” - -As Peggy left the compartment the priest lightly laid his hand on the -child’s raven-black hair and blessed her. - -“Poor child!” he remarked to Mrs. Vernon. “She’s as lovely now and as -good as an angel. But she has the fatal gift of beauty, and she’s going -to grow up. Lovely, untainted children—and the world is full of -them—quite upset me. I don’t want them to die and I don’t want them to -grow up. Confound original sin anyway!” - -“I’m sure my little boy is in heaven. But I am a mother. Oh, how I want -him! I can’t give him up!” - -“You don’t know what you can do. None of us knows till we try. Remember, -there is a faith that moves mountains.” - -“Thank you so much, Father,” said Mrs. Vernon. “A moment ago I was -tempted to take my life.” - -“I’m sure the angels didn’t notice it, and so it won’t go on the -recording book. You have had a great sorrow. But listen to the words of -an old priest who has spent his priestly life of forty-three years -supping with sorrow—other people’s mainly. When God sends us a great -sorrow, He sends us a great strength, if we will only accept it. And -more: if we bear our sorrows in simple faith, somehow, somewhere, God -will turn our sorrow into joy.” - -“Ah, Father, He can never give me back my son!” - -“I don’t know about that,” demurred the Father, taking a pinch of snuff. -“Didn’t Christ say, ‘Out of these stones I can raise up children to -Abraham?’ Never say can’t when you’re talking about God.” - -“I see, Father; you want of me the deepest faith.” - -“Exactly, my good woman, the faith that moves mountains. ‘Earth has no -sorrow that heaven cannot heal.’” - -“Father, I will try.” As she finished these words, Mrs. Vernon fell to -weeping. - -“Good for you!” commented the priest. “What alarmed me most when I first -saw you was the fact of your being so dry-eyed. But let us talk about -something else. You don’t belong out here.” - -“No, Father. I come from Cincinnati. My name is Barbara Vernon. Almost -two years ago I lost my husband. He died a good death; but he was a poor -business man, and the thing that bothered him most at his last hour was -that he had neglected to renew his life insurance. It lapsed just two -weeks before the day of his death.” - -“An artist, possibly?” - -“I think you might call him so, Father. He was an actor, and, if God had -given him a longer life, would have become a playwright. He was engaged -on the third and last act of a play when he took sick. I am confident, -not only on my own judgment, but on the authority of several critics, -that had he lived to complete it he would have made a fortune.” - -“These artists are all alike,” commented the priest. “They see -everything in the heavens above and the waters under the earth but their -own interests. They all die uninsured—most of them, anyhow. But what -brings you out here?” - -“The hope of straightening out my affairs. You see, my husband, on the -strength of his play, borrowed twenty-five hundred dollars on a note -which falls due September the first. I want to pay it. I feel it is my -duty. He borrowed from a friend who now needs the money. I have been -teaching elocution to private pupils ever since my husband’s death, and -have managed to put aside seven hundred dollars. Three months ago it -became clear to me that I could not possibly get the full amount -together. Now, there happens to live in San Luis Obispo a wealthy -relation of mine, an uncle whom I have not seen since I was a little -girl. He was very fond of me then, and he more than once asked me to -call on him if I were ever in trouble.” - -“You did very well to come, Mrs. Vernon. He lives, you say, in San Luis -Obispo?” - -“Yes, Father.” - -“Perhaps I know him. I spent three years at San Luis. In fact, I was -there all of last year.” - -“His name, Father, is Pedro Alvarez.” - -The start which the priest gave was almost imperceptible. Not for -nothing had he heard over four hundred thousand confessions. - -“Do you know him, Father?” - -“I do.” - -“And is he well?” - -“I am just wondering,” mused the priest evasively, “whether he has much -money. He was wealthy once, but he lost heavily on some oil -investments.” - -“But is he well, Father?” - -“It is two months,” pursued the priest, “since I was in residence at San -Luis Obispo.” - -At this moment the train stopped at a small station, and there was heard -a commotion without. - -“There’s something wrong, I fear,” said the Father, glad of an -opportunity to change the subject. He now regretted that he had bidden -Mrs. Feehan take her holiday at Los Angeles. - -“Reverend,” said the porter, entering suddenly, “there’s a man at the -station who’s been injured by a freight, and he is calling for a priest. -He may die any moment.” - -“Excuse me,” said Father Galligan, rising quickly. “When I come back I -have something to tell you.” - -Father Galligan did not return. The dying man needed him, and Mrs. -Vernon saw the priest no more. He only came and went, and touched her -life into a higher faith. - -That evening Mrs. Vernon stepped off the car at San Luis Obispo. The -station was almost deserted. However, she had little trouble in getting -information about Alvarez, once very prominent in the city. He was dead. -He had died seven months before almost penniless and prepared by Father -Galligan. This it was that Father Galligan had intended telling her. - -The train, while Mrs. Vernon was getting this information, departed. - -The poor woman was almost beside herself. Wringing her hands, she paced -up and down the deserted platform, calling upon the Mother of Sorrows to -come to her aid. Five minutes or more passed when she was interrupted. - -“I beg your pardon, Miss,” said a plainly dressed man to whose hands -were clinging a girl of twelve and a boy who evidently was her younger -brother; “but do you know anything about nursing?” - -The man’s face was troubled and eager. The two children had been -recently crying. Indeed, so it seemed to Mrs. Vernon, it had been a day -of calamity. - -“I took nearly two years’ course of training.” - -“Oh!” cried the girl, breaking into a smile. - -“Then for the love of God, come to my help. My wife will die unless she -gets good nursing. The doctor has said it. Look at these two children. -Think of them without a mother. I’m a ranchman living thirty miles from -here. Money is no object. Name your own terms. I know you won’t refuse. -All afternoon I’ve looked and looked for a nurse. Before you say no, -look at these little ones.” - -“Please!” cried the girl, clasping her hands. - -“Come on!” entreated the boy, catching her arm. - -Could the Mother of Sorrows have sent them? - -“I hardly know how to refuse you, sir; but my own little boy has this -day been taken from me by drowning, carried out by the undertow at Long -Beach. I was not with him at the time, and I must go back and find -whether his body has been recovered.” - -The ranchman took a careful and appraising look at Barbara. - -“Madam,” he said, “I think I understand. I know how you feel. But let me -make a suggestion. You are in no condition to return to Long Beach; nor -would you know what to do when you got there. Now, I’m familiar with the -place and the conditions. I have, in fact, some influence there. Now -I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If for the sake of saving my dear wife’s -life you will come with me, I’ll take you at once to our home and will -return in time to get the next train to Long Beach. And I promise you -that I will do all that you could do and more, to learn anything, -however trivial it may seem, concerning your boy. Oh, madam, for the -love of God, give your consent. I am sure He has sent you to us.” - -“Please, ma’am,” implored the girl. - -“My mama needs you,” added the boy. - -“In God’s name!” said the ranchman. - -Taking everything into consideration, Barbara Vernon could not resist -these sweet children, this fond husband, and so a few minutes later she -was on her way in the ranchman’s machine to enter upon a new phase of -life. - -Thus it fell that when the telegram from John Compton reached San Luis -Obispo the following afternoon no claimant for it could be discovered. - - - - - CHAPTER V - A NEW WAY OF BREAKING INTO THE MOVIES - - -Your true cloister of to-day is a moving-picture studio. The sign “No -Admittance,” or some wording of similar meaning, greets the stranger at -every door. There is, too, at each entry a dragon on guard, sometimes in -the guise of a gracious but firm young woman, sometimes, it may be, in -that of a forbidding old man; but no matter how various be the form of -these dragons, they are there to see that you don’t go in. To enter -without the Open Sesame incurs an excommunication seldom incurred, for -the reason that the dragons are always on duty. - -As John Compton, holding the hand of Bobby, made to enter the sacred -precincts of the Lantry Studio at the entryway provided for the actors, -the man on guard cast a severe and forbidding look at the youth. - -“You know my orders,” he grumbled, still gazing at Bobby while -addressing Compton. - -“Sure I do. But this boy is an aunt of mine—er—that is, an uncle. Oh, -dash it! what am I talking about? He’s my little nephew, Bobby Compton.” - -“Why don’t you get it right?” observed a bright young lady, one of the -“stars,” as she passed through the sacred gate. “Don’t you think, on -second thought, Mr. Compton, that he’s your grandfather? He looks more -like that than an aunt of yours.” - -The surly keeper of the gate perceived the joke. It was on record that -he had seen through a joke on three distinct occasions during his two -years of guardianship. To-day he scored for the fourth time. Bobby as an -aunt was really funny. But as a grandfather! The keeper dropped his pipe -and lost his scowl, and holding up both hands, palms outward, roared -with laughter. He was still in the throes of his mammoth mirth when -Compton pushed through the stile—I know no better word for it—and drew -Bobby after him. The cloister was violated. - -Now, Bobby had by this time wearied of holding Compton’s hand. Moreover -he had noticed a certain peculiarity in Compton’s walk which he desired -to study to better advantage. So, loosening his hold, and saying, “I’ll -follow you,” he dropped behind his newly-discovered uncle. - -Mr. Compton, dressed for his part in the rehearsal, wore a nondescript -jacket and a vest of startling color. Into the armholes of this vest his -thumbs were thrust, the free fingers of his hand extended and waving in -unison at each step. Bobby had already studied this peculiarity. Now he -was to study the secret of Compton’s strides. They were, to begin with, -notably long strides. But most striking of all was the part his feet -played. The right foot at each step was turned in, the left out. In -justice to Mr. Compton, this was not his proper gait. He was practicing -for his part. Bobby, however, liked it. In fact, he liked anything -connected with John Compton, and because John Compton did it Bobby saw -nothing funny in it at all. It was easy for Bobby to insert his real -thumbs into imaginary armholes and to wiggle his fingers with each step. -It was not so easy, by reason of the shortness of his legs, for Bobby to -catch his uncle’s stride. But he thought it worth while, and he did it. -Then Bobby, with surprisingly little difficulty, got his feet to working -as though one were going in one direction and the other in another; and -so serenely moved on the procession of two, a spectacle for angels and -Miss Bernadette Vivian, the young star who had brought to life once more -the gate-keeper’s sense of humor. - -It was Bernadette’s turn to laugh. - -“Look,” she cried to a busy and jaded-looking official, who was hurrying -past her with a sheaf of papers in his hands and a lead pencil in his -mouth. “Set your eyes on that boy. That’s Compton’s aunt or -grandfather—he’s not quite clear which—and of the two, I think, with -all respect to Compton, the aunt is the better comedian.” - -The official looked and grinned. - -“Maybe you’re right,” he observed, removing the pencil from his mouth. -“You’re working with Compton. Keep your eye on the kid. We may need him -if he’s not engaged already.” - -“Come on here, Bobby; you take my hand,” said Compton, turning sharply -and detecting his understudy in action. Another man might have been -annoyed, Compton was tickled beyond measure. - -Threading their way through a maze of sets and scenery, among which busy -men—carpenters, electricians, secretaries and what not—were winding in -what appeared to be inextricable confusion, they finally arrived at a -set arranged to represent the lobby of a hotel. - -To the left was a cigar counter, and beyond it an exit, or, possibly, an -entryway to some other part of the hotel. The rest, save for a bellhop’s -bench, was space. Seated or lounging about were several actors; among -them a young lady dressed as a salesgirl; a boy of about Bobby’s size, -though evidently several years older, gay in the buttons and livery of a -bellhop; a young man in society clothes; and finally a young woman who -was evidently a lady. - -Hurrying from one to the other of these and speaking quickly certain -instructions, was a young man whose intense face expressed infinite -patience and strong, though jaded, energy. He was tired—had been tired -for six months—but had no time to diagnose the symptoms. This was the -stage director, Mr. Joseph Heneman. - -“Halloa, John! Glad you’ve come. Everything’s set, and we’re going to -move like a house afire. Who’s that fine little boy with you?” - -“I’m his aunt,” said Bobby seriously. - -Heneman nearly exploded on the spot. - -“You young screech-owl!” said Compton, turning a severe face, though his -eyes twinkled, upon Bobby. “Who taught you how to lie?” - -“You said I was your aunt,” countered Bobby. - -“Your uncle—nephew, I mean. This young monkey,” he went on, addressing -the manager, the vision of Bobby’s latest mimicry still vivid in his -memory, “is my nephew, Bobby Compton.” - -“Why, I didn’t know you had a nephew,” said Heneman, still laughing. As -he spoke he shook hands with the interesting youth. - -“Neither did I till a while ago,” chuckled Compton. “Fact is I adopted -him and christened him on the way in. It’s a long story, but he’s in my -charge now. He’ll sit still and watch us working. Won’t you, Bobby?” - -“I’ll watch you working all right,” said Compton’s new relation. Bobby -had no intention of sitting still. - -“Halloa, aunty!” said Bernadette, suddenly appearing on the scene, and -smiling at Bobby, showing in the act a perfect and shining set of teeth. - -“How do you do?” returned Bobby, bowing gravely. “You’ve got it wrong, -though. He’s my uncle. He says so himself, and he ought to know.” - -Before the rehearsal began every one there heard the story from the fair -lady’s cupid-painted lips of the circumstances connected with Bobby’s -admission into the Lantry cloister. The story filled with joy all the -listeners save one. The bellhop did not even smile. The fact is, the -bellhop, yielding to a long-fought temptation, had obtained a quid of -tobacco from a stage carpenter, had indulged in his first and probably -his last chew, and was just now filled with feelings of wild regret and -a desire to lie down in some obscure spot and die. - -As a result of Bernadette’s story every one, excepting of course the -unhappy bellhop, was in a state of almost hilarious good humor when the -rehearsal was called; in such humor that even when the star halted -everything for several minutes by insisting that one of her shoes was -improperly laced—though to the naked eye there was nothing out of -order—and having her attendant do it all over again, no one grumbled. - -Mr. Heneman had counted on going on with the rehearsal “like a house -afire.” He had reckoned without his host, and the host was the bellhop. - -Before going further it may be well to observe that a picture in the -making is far from resembling a picture in the viewing. The former is a -very slow process. It may require a whole day to produce what one sees -on the screen in three or four seconds. Before the camera men “shoot” -there may be a dozen or more rehearsals; and the shooting may be -repeated seven or eight times. - -“Ready!” cried Mr. Heneman. “Positions!” - -At the word the salesgirl got behind the cigar counter and, to make -everybody understand that she was only a salesgirl, proceeded to chew -gum violently. In real life saleswomen sometimes do chew gum; but it is -rare to discover one who makes it an almost violent physical exercise. -Standing to the right of the saleslady—in the lobby—the young man in -the dresscoat, facing the young lady with not enough clothes on her back -to make a bookmark, began offering such original remarks as the state of -the weather generally evokes. Back of them all, in an alcove near the -exit, sat the bellhop, gloom and desolation upon his face. - -“Here, you! Don’t stand so the lady can’t be seen. Let the lady turn a -little to the right. That’s it. Go on and talk, both of you, and smile -as if you were each saying awfully witty things. Bellhop, hold up your -head! You look like a drowned rat. Look tough; you’re looking dismal.” -Here the director paused, and while the camera men were placing their -machines in position, and their assistants were arranging reflectors, -and an electrician, perched on high above the shooting line, arranged a -powerful light over the head of the salesgirl, he went over to the -bellhop, showed him how to sit, how to hold his hands, cross his legs -and drop one corner of his mouth. There was some improvement. - -“Now, once more!” ordered the director. “Positions! Smile, you two. -Talk, talk! Don’t overdo that chewing-gum stuff. Give a yawn, bellhop. -Good! Now come on, Compton.” - -From off scene to the right enters Compton. He is befuddled with liquor, -and on his face is an expression of utmost stupidity. It is doubtful, -indeed, if any live human being could be as stupid as he looked. In his -right hand he is balancing a cane with a crook. His walk is a marvel of -indecision. He hasn’t the least idea, apparently, as to whither he is -going. - -Bobby, just back of the director, is watching all this with breathless -interest. Previous to Compton’s entrance he had assumed the attitude and -pose of the “lady,” arms akimbo, head thrown back and a full smile. Upon -Compton’s appearance Bobby could at first hardly restrain the exuberance -of his delight. The highest admiration often expresses itself in -imitation. To the amazement and amusement of several actors stationed -behind him, the lad with scarcely an effort threw his features into a -close replica of Compton’s. - -“He’s as good a nut as Compton,” observed an old actor to a companion. - -“I’ll say so!” rejoined the other. - -Compton almost jostled the young lady in his onward progress. As it was, -the crook of his cane caught upon her elbow and hung there. Without his -cane, Compton showed a dim consciousness of feeling that something was -wrong. He felt his clothes, his pockets, his face, and then looking for -the nonce dimly intelligent, turned around, removed the cane from its -improvised hook, raised his hat, dropped it, stooped to get the cane, -picked it up, reached for his hat, dropped the cane, and so on. It was -simple fun, but made worth while by the manner of the actor. Bobby by -this time had a stick and a hat, and without knowing it was giving a -capital performance for the exclusive benefit of sixteen actors and -several outsiders. - -“Hey, salesgirl!” ordered Heneman, “call the bellhop, and tell him to -request with all possible politeness the gentleman in liquor to leave -the premises.” - -The bellhop came at her call, received her message, and strode towards -Compton. - -“Get back there and do it again!” bawled the director. “You walk as -though you were going to church or to your grandmother’s funeral. Turn -your shoulders in, drop your mouth, swing your arms. Just imagine you’re -going to lick somebody.” - -The bellhop tried again, with no sign of improvement. Again and again he -failed. No moving-picture actor in that studio, it is probable, ever -received such minute directions. But they were all lost on him. However, -they were not lost on Bobby. Utterly unconscious of the attention he was -exciting, Bobby was following out to the letter every hint coming from -Heneman’s mouth. - -Among the spectators was a wag. The parts he always figured in were -tragic or romantic roles, but in real life he was the most notorious -practical joker in the Lantry Studio. - -“See here, Johnny,” he said, whispering into the boy’s ear. “Would you -like to do an act of kindness?” - -“Sure,” said Bobby. - -“I’ve been watching you for some time. You know how that bellhop should -do his part. Go and show him. It’s no use telling him how. He doesn’t -understand. But you just go and show him.” - -“Will it be all right?” asked Bobby. - -“An act of kindness is always right,” answered the wag, with tragic -solemnity. “Look; he’s starting now, and he’s worse than ever. Don’t -tell any one I suggested your showing him. Keep it a dead secret. Now, -go to it.” - -In perfect good faith Bobby stepped forward, passed the director, saying -as he went, “Excuse me, sir,” and ignoring Compton and the “lady” and -“gentleman,” strode over to the bellhop. All this, happening though it -did in a few seconds, produced an unheard-of effect. The saleslady -stopped chewing, the lady and gentleman ceased smiling, Compton looked -surprised and intelligent, the director let his jaw drop, and the -audience, now swollen to double its size, pressed forward to the -cameras. The bellhop himself put on a human expression of inquiry. As -Bobby came face to face with the victim every one on the stage seemed to -be momentarily paralyzed. - -“You poor fish,” said Bob, kindness and energy ringing in his accents, -“just let me show you. It’s so easy!” - -The bellhop sank back into his seat. - -“Now look,” continued Bobby. The left-hand corner of his mouth sagged, -his shoulders bent in, and with a walk and a swerve redolent of the old -Bowery, Bobby advanced towards Compton, whose eyes were protruding. - -“You boob!” announced Bobby. “You are politely requested to make a noise -like a train and rattle out of here. Get me?” And as Bobby, not in the -way of kindness, laid his hand on Compton, cheers and laughter and -hand-clapping disturbed scandalously the quiet of the Lantry cloister. - -Bobby, nothing disconcerted, bowed, laying his hand over his heart, and -smiled affably. But when the star, Bernadette, came running over, her -face beaming with delight, and exclaimed, “Aunty, I’m going to kiss you -for that,” he blanched and fled to Compton’s arms. - -There was a pause and a deliberation. Compton and the manager conferred -together for five minutes. The result of their talk was that Bobby was -hired on the spot and the victim of tobacco given a vacation till -further notice. - -Thus did Bobby Vernon “break into the movies.” - - - - - CHAPTER VI - BOBBY ENDEAVORS TO SHOW THE ASTONISHED COMPTON HOW TO BEHAVE - - -“Well,” observed John Compton as, holding Bobby’s hand, he sauntered -along that Bagdad of a street, Hollywood Boulevard, “you’ve scored the -first time at the bat, Bobby. You’re under a contract at thirty-five -dollars a week, and a bonus of two hundred dollars if you make good.” - -“I like to make money,” cried Bobby. - -“Oh, you do? Have you made much?” - -“No. I never made a cent in my life; but I like to, just the same.” - -“Are you fond of money?” - -Bobby did not make an immediate reply. He was trying, not -unsuccessfully, to “take off” the mincing gait of a young lady in front -of him, who, considering the tightness of her skirt and the height of -her truncated cone heels, was doing very well. - -“No. I don’t care for money; but mother needs it. Say, this is a nice -place. I like flowers, lots of them, and nice white houses and palm -trees and bright sunshine.” - -“All these things,” observed John Compton “are our long suit in -Hollywood. If there ever was a paradise on earth, it must have been -here.” - -“Is that all you know?” inquired the lad, his lip curling in scorn. -“Why, of course there was a paradise! Didn’t you ever study catechism?” - -“Well—er, no.” - -“That’s all right,” said Bobby, relaxing from scorn to benevolence, -“I’ll teach you myself.” - -“Upon my word!” ejaculated Compton, and fell into meditation, from which -he was presently aroused by the strange behavior of the people on the -street. Were they staring and laughing at him? Turning, he discovered -Bobby, a little to the rear of him, doing the Bowery walk and wearing a -face becoming a hardened pickpocket. - -“See here, you young imp! You’re giving our show away.” - -“Oh, I never thought of that!” cried Bobby, putting on the air of a -Sunday-school superintendent. “I just can’t help it,” he went on. “I -just love to act.” - -“Why, have you ever acted before?” - -“No; but I just love to.” - -“Did you ever see a church more charmingly situated?” asked the -comedian. - -They were passing the Church of the Blessed Sacrament, a church hardly -to be seen from the sidewalk. It stood well back from the street, hidden -by large palms, pepper trees, and a profusion of flowers and foliage. - -“Is that a Catholic church?” the boy inquired. - -“It certainly is.” - -“Let’s go in and pay a visit,” suggested the lad. - -“I don’t go to church,” returned Compton. - -Once more Bobby’s lip curled. - -“You must be crazy,” he said. “Now, you come on in.” - -Bobby, it was clear, was in no mood for argument. Catching Compton by -the hand, he led that astonished young man along the lovely path towards -the church. - -“What’s that sign about up there?” asked Bobby. - -“It says,” answered Compton, “that it was here or in the immediate -vicinity that Father Junipero Serra said the Mass of the Holy Cross.” - -“I’ve heard of him and read a book about him,” said Bobby. “He must have -been a great man.” - -“Yes?” interrogated the skeptic. “I’ve heard it said that the Mass of -the Holy Cross is the same as the Mass of the Holy Wood; and that’s the -reason we call this section Hollywood.” - -“I like that name now more than ever, uncle.” - -On entering the vestibule Bobby hunted for and quickly found the -holy-water font. Dipping his finger in, he devoutly made the sign of the -cross, while Mr. Compton gazed at him as though he were seeing for the -first time an unusually occult rite. - -Bobby motioned him; then pointed to the font. Compton came forward -obediently enough, but he would not or could not understand what the -child further expected. - -“Here!” whispered Bobby, with unsmiling face. And catching Mr. Compton’s -reluctant right hand, he dipped its index finger in the font. - -“Now say what I say,” he adjured. - -Standing on tiptoe, Bobby placed the captive finger on Compton’s -forehead, brought it down to the breast, then to the left and the right -shoulder, while Compton, his face red as a Los Angeles geranium, -repeated after his young mentor, “In the name of the Father, and of the -Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” - -“You’ll do it better next time,” remarked Bobby consolingly. - -“Now come on!” And Bobby, pushing the comedian in front of him, -proceeded fully half way up the center aisle. - -“Now you genuflect,” he whispered. - -“Eh?” said Compton, looking like the “nut” he played. - -“Sh-h-h!” warned Bobby. “Look.” - -And Bobby bent his right knee, holding himself quite erect, till it -touched the floor. “Now do that.” - -Compton made the effort; and Compton, who could turn handsprings and -bend the crab and stop a grounder and catch a fly with a grace that had -won the hearts of the fair sex in many a city, bent his knee with the -effect of one suffering from locomotor ataxia. - -Once more Bobby’s lip curled. He was minded to make Mr. Compton do it -again, but on second thought changed his mind. - -“Get in that pew,” he whispered, in manifest disgust. - -There was nothing for Compton to do but obey. Bobby followed after him -and, a second time signing himself with the sign of the cross, knelt -down. Compton, looking, as he felt, inexpressibly stupid, seated -himself. - -Bobby stared at him severely, arose, and catching his friend by the arm -coaxed him to his knees. - -Once more Bobby made an elaborate sign of the cross, during the -performance of which the comedian, leaning back, braced himself -comfortably against the end of the seat. It came home to Bobby by this -time that he was “instructing the ignorant.” He must do it in all -kindness. After all, it might not be Compton’s fault. So, smiling -sweetly but with the severe restraint proper to a church where the Lord -of all was present in the tabernacle, he reached forward a tiny hand, -applied it to the small of Compton’s back, and pressed forward till -Compton was kneeling erect. - -“That’s the proper way to kneel,” he whispered kindly. “Now just keep -that way, and say your prayers.” - -There was a sound so like a giggle that it really could not have been -anything else proceeding from the back of the church, and three young -ladies, their handkerchiefs at their mouths, incontinently left the -church. Several other worshipers left, clearly for the same reason. Only -one worshiper remained, a man whose romances had thrilled hundreds of -thousands of readers. Restraining his features, he tiptoed up the aisle, -and knelt at an angle where he could see Bobby’s face. - -In no wise realizing that he had emptied the church, Bobby for the third -time crossed himself and, undisturbed by Compton, began to pray. It had -been for Compton a day of many surprises. But now it was a moment of -astonishment. Glancing sidewise, he took in Bobby’s face. Just a few -minutes before, he had reprehended Bobby for wearing the air of a -criminal; and now—-he was looking upon the face of an angel! And there -was a difference, too, of another kind, as Compton at once realized. -Looking like a criminal, Bobby was acting; looking like an angel Bobby -was himself, his natural self touched by faith into something strange -and rare. The boy’s eyes, large, earnest, beseeching, were fastened upon -the tabernacle; his lips were moving in a silent eloquence. His head, -erect, was motionless. So, for that matter, was his whole person—all -save those eloquent lips. At that moment, as Compton felt, there existed -for Bobby only two persons, God and himself. For the first time in his -life Compton was seized with a sense of the supernatural. He bowed his -head upon his hands and looked no more. It was the most sacred moment of -his life. If Compton did not pray orally, he did something better. He -meditated. - -The eminent author saw the vision, too. He had stayed for curiosity’s -sake; he remained to pray. Like Compton, the vision of lovely faith—and -what is there out of heaven so lovely as the faith of a child?—quite -overcame him. He gazed no more, but, lowering his eyes, prayed with a -new devotion. - -“I saw a little boy praying in church,” he said to his wife an hour -later, “and I understood as I never understood before that saying of our -Lord’s, ‘Unless you become as little children you shall not enter the -kingdom of heaven.’” - -Several minutes passed. A light touch brought Compton out of a virgin -land of thought. Bobby, tranquil and with a subdued cheerfulness, was -motioning him out. - -“Watch!” whispered Bobby, and genuflected. “Now try it again. Fine!” - -At the vestibule five minutes were spent, by which time Compton really -knew how to make the sign of the cross. - -“Bobby,” he said, as they got outside, “that’s my first visit to a -Catholic church, and I’ll never forget it as long as I live.” - - - - - CHAPTER VII - THE END OF A DAY OF SURPRISES - - -“Well, here we are, young man,” announced Compton half an hour later and -turned into a rather pretentious apartment building. - -“It looks very fine from the outside,” commented Bobby. - -“And I think you’ll like it inside, too,” returned Compton as they -entered the elevator. - -Compton had an apartment on the third floor—sitting room, bathroom, -bedroom and guest chamber. Bobby examined the suite with manifest -delight. Everything was modern and in a sense elegant. If there were -anything lacking to John Compton’s comfort, John Compton did not know -it, nor did Bobby discover it. Bobby’s critical faculty was not as yet -strongly developed. He had nevertheless an abundance of enthusiasm which -he was not slow in expressing, and which failed him only in his survey -of the pictures and photographs clustered thickly upon the walls of the -sitting room. They were, with the exception of several photographs of -Compton himself, all women, mainly actresses and all in every variety of -dress and the contrary. - -“Say, are all your friends women?” exclaimed the youth. - -Compton colored and looked uneasy. - -“_You’re_ my friend,” he replied. - -“There’s something queer about a lot of these pictures,” the boy went -on. “I don’t like them.” - -Mr. Compton changed the subject. Within twenty-four hours, nevertheless, -a good many of those pictures found their way to a place where they -properly belonged, and were seen no more in the land of sunshine. - -“By the way, Bobby,” he resumed presently, “You haven’t said a word -about your mother to-day.” - -“I know it,” said Bobby cheerfully. - -“Well, I have bad news to tell you.” - -“I’ll bet you haven’t.” - -“That telegram I sent may not be received by her.” - -“No?” - -“No. It was delayed. A lot of messages were delayed. You know, it was to -have been delivered to her at the station at San Luis Obispo. But -there’s no knowing whether it will be forwarded in time to catch her.” - -“Look here, uncle; I’ll tell you a secret. I have prayed, and I’m -sure—I just know—my prayer is all right. No harm will come to my -mother. She is safe; and she will come back when God wants her to.” - -“You seem to be on intimate terms with the Almighty!” - -“With who?” - -“With God.” - -“Why not?” inquired Bobby simply. “Don’t you believe in prayer?” - -“Upon my word!” gasped the comedian. “I could have answered that -question easily enough yesterday; but now I don’t know what I believe -and what I don’t.” - -What gem of wisdom might have dropped from Bobby’s lips in commenting -upon this strange declaration was lost forever when the janitor of the -building suddenly entered the room. - -“Beg pardon, sir. I wasn’t sure you were here. But I think there’s some -mistake. There’s a wagon down below with some furniture and a lot of -stuff directed to you, and you—not being a family man—” - -“Correct, Johnson. All the same, send them up. There’s no mistake. You -see, this boy is Bobby Compton, and he’s going to stay with me. He’s a -cousin of mine.” - -“Oh, I say!” cried Bobby. “If I’m your aunt or your nephew, I want to -know how I’m your cousin.” - -“Johnson,” said Compton magnificently, “when I say cousin I always mean -nephew. It’s the habit of a lifetime.” - -“Oh,” observed Johnson, scratching his head. “Well, I’ll bring them -things up anyhow.” - -“Well,” sighed Compton, throwing himself back in his chair, crossing his -legs, and cupping his hands behind his head, “I’m glad that’s settled. I -was afraid they wouldn’t come.” - -Bobby took the chair facing his uncle, crossed his legs, and cupped his -hands behind his head. - -“Afraid what wouldn’t come, uncle?” - -“Never you mind, little monkey. Just wait.” - -Bobby’s patience was not sorely tried. Up the stairs toiled four men -just then, Johnson in the lead, all laden with bundles and various -articles of furniture. - -“This way, boys,” said Compton, opening the door to the guestroom. “Just -wait one moment, Bobby.” And Compton, having seen to each one’s getting -through, entered himself and closed the door. He was out a moment later, -holding in his hand an attractively bound book. - -“Have you ever read ‘Through the Desert,’ by Sienkiewicz, Bobby?” - -“No. But I just love any good story.” - -“Here, take it. I’ll be busy for a while. The book is yours.” - -“Mine for good?” cried Bobby, raising his eyes from the charming -frontispiece. - -“Of course.” - -“Uncle, you’re a dandy!” - -The dandy blushingly withdrew, and Bobby forthwith entered into that -fairyland of childhood to be found in few books as in the one in his -hand. Perhaps one of the strangest phenomena of child life is the power -of complete absorption so many little ones possess when they read a good -story. People may come and go, laugh, talk and carry on in various ways, -while the child buried in his book follows the windings of the story as -though he were alone on a desert island. Now for fully three quarters of -an hour there went on in the guestroom a moving of furniture, loud -hammering, excited conversation, and all manner of noises. But to -Bobby’s ears came no sound, and time itself stood still. - -When the four men, followed by Mr. Compton, the latter breathing hard -and perspiring freely, issued forth, Bobby, seated in a chair with his -legs curled under him, was buried in the precious volume. The four men -gratefully received various coins and went their way, leaving Mr. -Compton gazing wonderingly at the juvenile bookworm. So far as Bobby was -concerned, he might without interruption have gone on gazing -indefinitely. - -“Bobby!” he finally called. - -Bobby’s eyes remained fastened on the page. - -“Bobby!” he bawled. - -The boy raised his eyes. - -“Oh, it’s great!” he said. “I’ve read fifty-four pages.” - -“You have read enough. Come, I want to show you your room.” - -“All right, uncle,” returned the boy, wistfully laying down the story. -“You’ve stopped me in a most exciting part.” - -Throwing open the guestroom door, Compton said, “Walk in; it’s all -yours.” - -With an attempt at enthusiasm, Bobby complied. In a moment the forced -enthusiasm became genuine. A small shining brass bed, a snow-white -counterpane, a case of books filled with the best juveniles, an electric -railroad, a baseball equipment, a tiny rocker, an easy chair, and a -variety of games—all these and more charmed his eyes into a new -brightness and marshaled out upon his features a myriad elves of -happiness. - -Before Mr. Compton could prepare for the worst Bobby jumped into his -arms and caught him a kiss square upon his unprepared mouth. - -For two hours Bobby flitted from toy to game, from game to book. He was -possibly at that moment the happiest boy in the State of California. - -“Now, look you, Bobby, it’s ten o’clock. Don’t you think you might give -that bed a tryout?” - -“Why, I never thought of that! Gee, but I’m tired!” - -Mr. Compton thought, as he closed the door upon his ward, that his -dealings with the boy were over till morning. He was mistaken. -Presently, clad in rainbow pajamas, Bobby came forth. - -“Now I’m ready,” he declared. - -“Well, if you’re ready, why don’t you go to bed?” - -“Ready,” explained the child, with reproach in his eyes, “for my night -prayers.” - -“Oh!” exclaimed the comedian. “I never thought of that!” - -The lad’s curling lip warned Mr. Compton that his remark was not -particularly happy. - -“Of course, of course!” he added hastily. “How very absent-minded I am -getting! By all means, Bobby, go on and say your prayers.” - -As Mr. Compton thus spoke he was lying restfully on a lounge, a cigar in -his mouth, a newspaper in his hands, and, within easy reach, a glass -filled almost to the brim with a golden liquid. What was his surprise, -thus situated, when Bobby plumped down on his knees and, planting his -elbows in the softest part of the comedian’s anatomy, made the sign of -the cross and recited the Our Father, the Hail Mary, and the Acts. And -he did not stop there. Raising his sweet voice a little higher, and -glancing during the first line about the walls of the room, Bobby -recited: - - “_Angel of God, my guardian dear,_ - _To whom His love commits me here._ - _Ever this night he at my side,_ - _To light, to guard, to rule, to guide._” - -Mr. Compton, whose cigar had gone out, laid aside his paper, and -forgetting his drink, glanced behind him, almost expecting to see -hovering over him some bright and glorious creature of another world. -Bobby went on: “May the soul of my dear papa and all the souls of the -faithful departed rest in peace. Amen. God bless mamma—and God -bless—uncle!” - -Compton dropped his cigar. - -“And,” continued Bobby, raising beautiful and loving eyes to the -ceiling, “Oh, blessed Saviour bring back my mamma to me!” - -Here Bobby broke down utterly. - -“Steady, Bobby! You know what you told me. Didn’t you say God will bring -her back?” - -Bobby at these words mastered his tears, made the sign of the cross, and -answered as he rose: “And I say so still. Good-night, uncle.” - -Bobby leaned over with pursed lips. Compton was perspiring. He raised -his head, which was enough for Bobby, who gave him a hearty smack -resembling in sound the explosion of a mild firecracker. - -About eleven o’clock that night Compton tiptoed into the guestroom. The -moon’s silvery rays revealed clearly the sleeping lad. How sweet and -calm looked the innocent face in the magic light! - -“Is there an angel watching over him?” the man asked himself. -Twenty-four hours earlier he would have considered it a silly question, -but now— - -He stooped lower and gazed more intently upon the child’s face. Was that -a tear upon the cheek? He felt the pillow. It was wet in places. - -“What a brave little chap he is!” he commented. “He’s feeling his -separation from his mother dreadfully. But he keeps it to himself.” - -Once more Compton gazed. And then for a moment he saw another -face—sweet, noble—the face of Bobby’s mother as he had known her in -her early teens. - -“Ah,” he considered, “she was the sweetest woman that ever came into my -life! What a fool I was not to have taken her advice! I left her for the -husks of swine.” - -Compton bent down, and with trembling lips touched the boy, lightly, -reverently on the brow, and with a suppressed sigh turned away to give -to sleep the last hour of the most remarkable day of his life. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII -BOBBY MEETS AN ENEMY ON THE BOULEVARD AND A FRIEND IN THE LANTRY STUDIO - - -It was a little after eight of the clock on the following morning that -the comedian took his way along the boulevard towards the Lantry studio. -Bobby’s eyes were dancing with mischief; the soul of the weather, gay -and bland, had entered into him. As he went his way he dispensed lavish -smiles to right and left, and poor indeed was he in human feeling who -failed to return smile for smile. Many a passer-by craned his neck, -having passed Bobby, to take an admiring look at the tiny dispenser of -joy who, attired in black broadcloth knickerbockers, a vest of the same -material cut away generously from the breast and decked with two shining -buttons where it met at the waist, a white shirt foaming into frills, -the sleeves of which were held up above the wrists by two bewitching -white ribbons, was really rather like to a lily of the field than -Solomon clothed in all his glory. - -Of course Hollywood, like all known civilized places where men do -congregate, had its array of camera fiends. - -“I beg your pardon,” said one of these, a tall severe-looking man with -dark glasses, “but would you mind my snap-shotting you?” - -Bobby turned, folded his hands, and grinned. - -“Shoot,” he said. - -“Thank you,” said the man, his severe mien drowned in a wave of smiles -almost as gay as Bobby’s. - -We have all heard of St. Francis preaching a sermon simply by walking in -silence through a thronged city. Does not many an innocent child as he -goes his happy way, smiling and wondering, preach a sermon that has for -its theme the charm of candid innocence, and the strange and alluring -possibility of every one who is so minded to become, by taking himself -in hand, a child again? And is it not true that such little children -bring a man’s thoughts regretfully and humbly back to the days when he -too was young, unsophisticated and unspoiled? - -“You’re getting quite popular, Bobby,” observed Compton as they resumed -their way. “Everybody seems to like you.” - -“So do I,” returned Bobby. - -“What’s that?” - -“I like everybody, too.” - -“Out of the mouths of children,” Mr. Compton murmured to himself. - -“I didn’t quite hear you, uncle.” - -“I was saying,” translated the elder, “that whether you knew it or not -you have given the true secret of popularity.” - -“Have we time to go in?” asked Bobby as they neared the Church of the -Blessed Sacrament. - -“Why, yes, and I’ll be glad to go in with you.” - -Mr. Compton’s sign of the cross was beyond criticism, his genuflection -not so bad; also, he knelt straight, and, in a word, showed the outward -signs of intelligence so lacking on the occasion of his first visit. - -“I say, uncle,” Bobby remarked as they came out, “you’ve improved a lot. -You didn’t look around a bit.” - -“Why should I?” - -“People often do, you know, when they’re praying; but it’s not right. -Did you notice me looking around at the walls when I said the prayer -‘Angel of God’ last night?” - -“Now that you come to speak of it, I believe I did.” - -“There was a reason.” - -“Oh!” exclaimed Compton, in a tone at once exclamatory and -interrogatory. - -“Yes. At home when I came to that prayer I always looked at the picture -of the guardian angel which hung just above mamma’s head.” - -“And you looked around my walls among the pictures to see whether you -could find a picture of the guardian angel, eh?” - -“Yes, uncle; but I didn’t find a picture anything like one.” - -“I should say not!” said Compton with energy. “But, Bobby, I was glad -last night when you prayed for me. I hope you’ll keep it up.” - -“Aha!” cried Bobby dramatically, jumping in front of his uncle and -shaking a triumphant finger at him. “So you do believe in prayer.” - -“In your prayers, Bobby. Put that finger down and stop your jigging; -everybody is looking at us.” - -As a matter of fact, Bobby had achieved a feat seldom achieved on the -Hollywood Boulevard. He had, unintentionally of course, excited the -attention of nearly every one he had encountered. Now on the gay and -festive Hollywood Boulevard, be it known, all varieties of dress and -action are to be seen, and nobody seems to bother about them. In the -solemn watches of the night cavalcades of cowboys on horseback may come -clattering along, shooting in the real sense of the word, and shouting. -Possibly some light sleeper may rouse sufficiently to grasp the -situation. Turning in his bed, he remarks: “There go them moving-picture -fellers again,” and resumes his interrupted slumbers. There’s an old -man, white-bearded, redfaced from exposure, bare-footed, clad in a -modern substitute for the garments of St. John, and wearing a staff. He -is frequently seen on the street, but nobody seems to be concerned so -much as to take a second look. - -I forgot to say that this imitation St. John the Baptist goes -bareheaded. Practically all the men on the boulevard go bareheaded. I -myself, I dare say, could patrol that famous thoroughfare in cassock and -biretta without exciting any further comment than, “I wonder what -picture that fellow’s made up for.” Painted ladies—painted so profusely -that their own mothers would not know them—would there escape comment -or criticism. It would be taken for granted that they were actresses. -The camera would mitigate their extravagance, and their presentment on -the screen would be entirely lacking the grossness of their real -flesh-and-blood appearances. But Bobby, gay and smiling, taking off now -the stride of his uncle, now the gait of a passing flapper, woke the -street from its passive acquiescence in all things queer. - -It remained for Bobby to create a sensation. He did so, and in the -following way. - -Mr. Compton, excusing himself and inviting the festive youth to survey -the scenery and fill his soul with its beauty, had passed into a shop to -renew his supply of cigars. He delayed a few moments, very excusably, to -tell a friend what a wonderful find his nephew was. - -Now, since their leaving the Hollywood Catholic church, there had been -shadowing Bobby, Chucky Snuff, bellhop of yesterday’s play. It had never -occurred to Chucky that Bobby’s attempt to help him had been made in the -way of kindness. Quite otherwise. In justice to the younger set of -moving-picture actors, it should be stated that Chucky Snuff was not up -to form. He was, as the girls said, mean. Nobody liked him. A fond -father and a foolish mother had accounted him, in his tender years, a -swan; and they so petted and spoiled him as to develop him—allowing for -difference of sex—into a goose. At the age of ten Chucky was stunted -and blasé. - -Taking advantage of Compton’s disappearance, Chucky picked up a piece of -wood and hastened to overtake Bobby. - -“Why, halloa!” said Bobby as Chucky, running in front of him, blocked -the way. - -By way of return the other put on a face which, had he assumed it in the -rehearsal, might have saved him his position. - -“There!” he said, placing the wood on his right shoulder, “you knock -that chip off my shoulder!” - -Bobby’s smile left him, and all the elves of merriment. Perplexity -wrinkled his brow. The aggressor was much encouraged. Bobby, he judged, -was a coward. - -“Go on,” he urged. “I’m going to knock your block off, you big stiff. Do -you hear me? Go on and knock it off!” - -Bobby perceived that he was in for it. His mind, as usual, worked -quickly. It came back to him then how his father had once said, “My son, -never indulge in vulgar fist-fighting if you can possibly help yourself; -but if you must, it’s a capital thing to get in the first blow.” -Accordingly, no sooner had his opponent ceased his adjuration than -Bobby’s left hand lightly swept the chip away, while at the same moment -his right shot out with what force he could put into it, and landed -squarely on the tip of the other’s chin. - -Pain, astonishment, vast astonishment, swept over the face of Chucky -Snuff. He turned, and with a howl which really attracted attention -dashed away for parts unknown. - -“Fine work! Excellent!” exclaimed a haughty young man with a -close-trimmed mustache and severely aristocratic features as he caught -Bobby’s hand, while an admiring audience gathered round to listen avidly -to one of the matinee idols of filmdom. “That was splendidly done. That -other fellow played the tough to a nicety. The way he had his chin stuck -out and the way you landed on it was perfect. Say, it was perfectly -rehearsed! You can shoot it right away. Where’s the camera man?” - -“Why, that wasn’t acting,” Bobby explained. “That was a real scrap.” - -“Oh!” said the actor, deeply chagrined and departing forthwith; and the -disappointed spectators, realizing that there was to be no encore, -melted away. Thus in Hollywood are real life and reel life confounded. - -When John Compton, airily smoking, returned, Bobby was rubbing a skinned -knuckle, the cause of which, on inquiry, he explained. - -“My fault!” acknowledged the comedian. “You’re in my care and I should -not leave you alone. However, perhaps it’s just as well. I know young -Chucky Snuff pretty well, and I’m sure he’ll not bother you again.” - -Presently Bobby, on his way in the mazes of the Lantry Studio to put -himself into the bellhop’s clothes, came upon a little miss seated -dolefully in a chair, her head buried in her hands, her shoulders bowed, -and dejection in her entire pose. She was dressed like a princess. The -elegance of her attire, however, did not impress Bobby; it was her hair, -raven-black in a wealth of curls. Where had he seen that hair before? He -looked at the hands. They were dark. A light came to him. - -“Halloa, Peggy!” - -At the words the girl raised her head, and her large wondrously -beautiful eyes rested upon Bobby. With a gasp, she sprang from her -chair, while her eyes grew larger and larger. Fear and wonder shone from -them. - -“Don’t you know me, Peggy?” asked the boy, smiling radiantly. - -Wonder and fear in those eyes changed to a joy that was nothing less -than bliss. - -“Oh, Bobby! You’re alive!” - -“I’ll say so!” - -“Bobby!” she screamed, and threw her arms about his neck. - -“Oh, I say!” protested the highly embarrassed youth, “cut out the rough -stuff.” - -“But, Bobby,” continued Peggy, whose face was irradiated with joy, “I -saw you drown myself!” - -“You did not. A nice, big man came and fished me out.” - -“Oh, thank God! Last night I couldn’t sleep a wink thinking of you and -your poor mother. Where is she, Bobby?” - -“I wish I knew, Peggy. Didn’t you see her last?” - -Then Peggy told Bobby her side of the story. - -“And so my mother thinks I’m drowned! I never thought of that, Peggy. -But I’ll tell Uncle Compton, and he’ll find where she is and let her -know that I’m alive.” - -“Uncle Compton! Why, is he your uncle?” - -“I don’t know; it all depends. First I was his aunt, and then his uncle, -and then his grandfather. He said so himself. Anyhow, I call him uncle. -He’s a dandy.” - -“Isn’t he, though!” exclaimed Peggy. “I just love him. He’s so kind to -children. You know, Bobby, I work with him.” - -“What!” cried Bobby, picking up the chair which Peggy in rising had -upset, and seating himself. “Why, yesterday you never said a word to me -about your being in the movies.” - -“I didn’t think it would interest you. I’m in his new play, and there’s -an awfully tough bellhop in it who takes a fancy to me, and I reform -him.” - -Bobby took in a deep breath, and expelled it in a sort of whistle. - -“I’m the bellhop,” he said, lowering his eyes, turning down a corner of -his mouth, drawing in and upward his shoulders. - -“Bobby!” panted Peggy, “let me have that chair.” - -Bobby, changing back to himself, arose and helped Peggy to seat herself. -Peggy was faint with joy. - -“Say,” cried the boy, “we’ll have dead loads of fun.” - -“Oh!” said Peggy. - -“And we’ll make it go.” - -“I know it,” said Peggy. “Just then you looked like the kind of bellhop -I’d like to reform. But tell me how you got here.” - -“Between the ax, Peggy,” said Bobby, magnificently, after the manner of -Compton explaining to the janitor. “I’ll tell you between the ax. I’ll -tell you then. I’m now going to dress or I’ll be late.” - - - - - CHAPTER IX - SHOWING THAT IMITATION IS NOT ALWAYS THE SINCEREST FLATTERY, AND - RETURNING TO THE MISADVENTURES OF BOBBY’S MOTHER - - -There was great headway made on the picture that day. Bernadette, -already in love with Peggy, took Bobby into her affections too. Bobby -and Peggy worked together like the clever and gifted pals they actually -were. Even the “hams” caught the infection of joy, alertness and -enthusiasm. - -“Say, old man,” said Heneman, in an aside to Compton, “we’ve got -something unusual here. Every man, woman and child in this picture is -all right from the toes up to the top of the head. None of them are good -just as far as the neck. We’re going to speed this thing up and have it -out in two weeks. We can do it.” - -“I never saw Peggy do so well before, and she always was a corking -little actress,” commented Compton. - -“It’s Bobby,” explained the director. “He’s got a diffusive sort of pep; -it’s catching. I’ve got a great scene coming. When Bob gets to admiring -Peggy—in the play, I mean—I’m going to have him show his admiration by -imitation. The boy is a born imitator. Of course he’ll have to -caricature it, especially her dancing. It’s going to be the very best -sort of light comedy.” - -“If imitation,” mused Compton, “is the beginning, middle and end of all -acting, Bobby will be a star. Between times he’s taking off every -carpenter, electrician or camera man around who happens to have any -peculiarity.” - -“I’d like to see him have a part where he could star,” said Heneman. “It -isn’t work to train him. It’s fun.” - -The days passed swiftly. Everybody concerned in the production was on -edge to get it through. There were no hitches, no delays. Bobby and -Peggy worked their parts into an importance undreamed of by the author -of the scenario. There was but one unpleasant episode. It happened on -the eighth day. A girl of fifteen enjoying a local reputation for -calisthenics had been secured to give a short exhibition of her grace -and skill. The young miss more than shared the good opinion of her -admirers concerning her own ability, and made no secret of it. While -awaiting her turn she watched the performers at work, with scarcely -veiled contempt. Several of the actors gave her an opportunity to snub -them, and in every case she embraced the opportunity. - -“You don’t mean to say,” she observed to Peggy, “that they pay you for -what you’re doing here.” - -“They pay me every week.” - -“That’s what you call easy money, isn’t it? And I suppose that little -boy there gets paid, too. And all he does is just to be natural. Now, -I’ve studied Delsarte for over five years, and fancy dancing for three; -and when I appear, though it’s only for four or five minutes, I’m -putting into my work the study of a lifetime.” Saying which, the young -lady with elevated brows and haughty carriage turned away to seek some -other person who ought to be snubbed. When it came to elevating brows -and assuming a haughty carriage Bobby Vernon was unusually gifted, as he -forthwith demonstrated to Peggy in a splendid caricature of the follower -of Delsarte. The girl’s mother was on hand and observed Bobby’s private -performance with strong disfavor. She did not like Bobby anyhow. It had -become a personal matter with her that Bobby was drawing a higher salary -than her own accomplished and superior child. - -Presently the dear child performed her stunt. It was really good, good -despite a certain superciliousness in the doing. Now Bobby could not -help noticing this defect, and it was so easily imitated. He watched -carefully for some time until he had got a fair idea of a few of the -young miss’s simplest movements; then calling Peggy aside he gave, all -things considered, a very good Delsarte exhibition, with a strong -injection of the supercilious. Peggy’s sweet voice rang out in laughter -which attracted several to the side-show; and Bobby, unconscious of the -addition to his original audience of one, went on, gaining in force of -caricature with each movement. It was when his nose was tiptilted to an -unusual angle and his eyebrows raised as far as he could get them that -the fond mother caught him by the hair and gave him, as she afterwards -triumphantly declared, “a good wooling.” It took the major part of the -spectators to separate the woman from her victim. However, Bobby got a -good lesson. It dawned upon him that in “taking off” people he met he -might give offense. From that day he became a little more careful. Mr. -Compton too, his best friend, let him know that it served him right, -although he did not express the opinion in terms so crude. Bobby -apologized, and sealed the apology with a box of candy. The young miss, -seeing herself as others saw her, received in turn a valuable lesson, -with the result that on repeating her part she did it in a way that -pleased everybody present, including Bobby himself. - -Meditating on all this that afternoon, John Compton got a bright idea. - -“Bobby,” he said, as they turned homewards, “for the next seven days I -want you to give your evenings to reading while I work.” - -“Work?” - -“Yes. I’ve just got the idea for a scenario in which you will star. It’s -a sure thing. As I see it now it will be something new and, if it goes -through as I think, you’ll earn enough money to pay off everything your -mother owes.” - -“Great!” exclaimed the boy. “Say; you know of course I believe all -right. But don’t you think God is taking His time about answering my -prayers?” - -“I thought you said that you left it all to Him,” remonstrated Compton. - -“I do, I do. But I do so miss her, especially at night.” - -No one knew this better than John Compton. When the boy’s thoughts were -occupied by the day’s work and incidents, he was apparently care-free; -but at night alone, as Compton could testify, his tears were frequent. - -“Never mind, Bobby. I’m as sure as you that no real harm has befallen -your mother. And we’re bound to find her. The detective agency I have -put on the case is working hard. Be patient, my boy, and each day of her -absence think that you are working for her.” - -While the two were thus conversing the object of their talk was standing -beside the ranchman’s wife. Like her child, love was the great force of -Mrs. Vernon’s life. From the moment she entered the ranchman’s home, her -heart went out to the frail, sweet woman upon whom the hand of death -seemed to have set his seal. She saw at once that nothing but heroic, -constant care and watching would avail. Day after day she gave herself -devotedly to the task of fighting with death for the prize of a single -life. She hardly slept, she ate little, but the very power of love that -had nearly driven her to madness nerved her for an ordeal sublime in its -self-sacrifice. - -In those eight days a change had come over Barbara. She was thin, -hollow-eyed, and a waxen pallor had come upon her face. The light lines -of utmost weariness were stamped upon her features. But the chin was -set, the mouth firm. The only relief to her constant vigils were the -visits of the children. They were grateful beyond their years, and their -gratitude manifested itself in little hourly attentions which only love -could have devised. It was but natural that Barbara should return their -affection, and she did so with interest. And in loving them she felt -that she was vicariously spending her love upon her dear lost boy. - -Upon this particular afternoon her haggard face, lovely even in its -haggardness, was touched by a new expression—satisfaction. Clearly her -invalid was better. Even as she gazed the doctor entered the room. - -“Good day, Doctor Meehan,” she said, “I’m so glad you came. Don’t you -notice a change?” - -“Let me look,” responded the doctor, drawing close and peering into the -invalid’s face. - -“Halloa!” he exclaimed, and felt her pulse. - -Jim Regan, the ranchman, with his two children, Agnes and Louis, had -followed him into the room. - -“By George, Regan!” said the doctor, straightening up and turning with a -smile of relief upon the family, “this is no age of miracles. But we -have a near-miracle here. Your wife is no longer ill; she’s -convalescent. All she needs is rest and food and ordinary care. Barbara -Vernon has, with her own hands, dragged her back from the grave. Halloa! -What’s the matter?” - -It was Mrs. Vernon who had drawn this question from the doctor. On -hearing the glad news that brought tears and smiles of joy from the -family, Barbara’s face flushed with a sense of relief, went pale again, -and, the suspense over, she would have fallen had not the doctor caught -her in his arms. - -He placed her upon a lounge and made a hasty examination. - -“I hope this is not a life for a life,” he said presently. “But the sick -person of this house is not your wife, but Barbara Vernon. She’s in for -a long siege, I fear.” - -“Doctor,” said the ranchman, “if love or money can help her, I’ll not -fail. Tell me what to do.” - -“I like that sort of talk,” said the physician. “She needs a nurse -badly, as badly as your wife needed one. Now, fortunately I have at my -disposal the very nurse I would have had for your wife.” - -“Can you send her, doctor?” - -“I’ll have her here before nightfall, and she’ll bring the necessary -medicines and directions as to the line of treatment I want carried out -for Barbara, who has collapsed completely. Now mind, it isn’t altogether -her care of your wife that has brought this on. If Barbara Vernon has -not had some terrible nervous shock before you met her, you may tear up -my diploma and put me to carrying a hod. Barbara is threatened with a -serious nervous collapse. Put her to bed at once, and keep her there -till further orders.” - -“And what about my wife?” asked Regan. - -“The simplest thing in the world. She hardly needs watching at all, and -that jewel of a girl of yours, Agnes, can do all that’s needed to the -queen’s taste.” - -“Oh, I love to nurse,” said the girl. “I’ve watched dear Miss Barbara, -and I’ve learned so much. I know I can do it.” - -“I believe you, my girl,” said the doctor kindly. “In fact, I’m sure of -you. Now your father and I will carry Barbara to her bedroom, and you -will then care for her till our nurse comes. I’ll lose no time in -getting her.” - -So Barbara was put to bed, and many and many a week passed before she -rose from it again. - - - - - CHAPTER X - BOBBY, ASSISTED BY PEGGY, DEMONSTRATES A METHOD OF OBSERVING SILENCE, - AND CELEBRATES A RED-LETTER DAY - - -“Say, uncle,” said Bobby one afternoon as the two were returning from a -very successful day’s work at the Lantry Studio, “do you know that Peggy -Sansone goes to communion every morning?” - -“Oh, she does, does she?” - -“Yes, at the seven-o’clock Mass. She used to go only once a week.” - -“Why has she changed?” - -“That is what gets me, uncle. She’s going every day in thanksgiving -because I was not drowned.” - -“That’s very nice of her.” - -“Isn’t it? And she offers up each communion for my mother.” - -“I wish there were more Peggies in the world.” - -“So do I. Now look, uncle—I want to go to communion, too. I’m old -enough to make my first communion.” - -“Sure, Bobby! You just go on and make it. Do you want to do it now?” - -“Look here, uncle; I’m—I’m surprised at you.” - -“Why, what have I done now?” - -“Don’t you know a boy must be prepared, and go to confession and get -permission of the priest to go to communion?” - -“You don’t say!” - -“Yes. And you can’t go any time. Why, uncle, if I were to go into the -church now and ask for communion the priest would think I was a nut. No, -you must go at Mass in the morning, and be fasting from midnight.” - -“What do you mean by communion, Bobby?” - -“Don’t you know that? It means the receiving of Our Lord’s body and -blood under the form and appearance of bread.” - -“Oh, I remember,” said Compton. “One day on our way down to the studio, -when we went into the church for your visit, the priest came down from -the altar and put small, white, round things on the tongues of some -people who came up near the altar. Is that what you mean?” - -“No, I don’t. He comes down and gives them Our Lord, and those small, -white, round things are the form and appearance of bread.” - -“And do you really believe that, Bobby?” - -“Believe it!” cried Bobby. “Why, of course I do!” - -“Please tell me why. You see, Bobby, if an honest man tells me something -about what I don’t see—for instance, that his horse is black—I believe -him. But no matter how honest he is, if he tells me the horse he is -riding on is black and I see the horse is white, how can I accept his -statement?” - -“Say, that’s easy,” said Bobby. “Not exactly easy,” he hastened to add, -“till it’s been explained right. You see, before I left Cincinnati I was -in a communion class, and we had the nicest priest, who seemed to love -every child in the class, and there were eighty of us, not one over -eight years. We left Cincinnati just one week before our communion day, -and that is why I haven’t made it. But he taught us a lot, and that is -one of the things he taught us. Do you want me to explain?” - -“I certainly do, Bobby.” - -“Well, listen. You believe in God, don’t you?” - -Compton looked irresolute. - -“Say, don’t you?” - -“Well, suppose that I do.” - -“All right. Now God is the creator of all things. He can make things out -of nothing. Can’t He?” - -“Go on, Bobby.” - -“Now, if He can create out of nothing, He can make a thing nothing again -if He wants to.” - -“That is,” suggested Compton, “He can annihilate.” - -“Say,” cried Bobby, highly gratified, “where did you get that word? It’s -the one our priest used, but I couldn’t think of it. It’s easy to teach -you. Now look—stand still here.” - -Mr. Compton stood still, facing Bobby. - -“You’re here now, aren’t you?” - -“That’s certain.” - -“Couldn’t God, if He wanted, annihilate you just where you are?” - -“Let’s suppose He could.” - -“Then there wouldn’t be any John Compton.” - -“I see.” - -“But if God could annihilate you, couldn’t He leave here where you stand -a form and appearance that would look just exactly like you?” - -“That would be a dummy.” - -“Now, you hold on, uncle! Couldn’t God put inside that form and -appearance of yours a spirit—an angel maybe—so that your form and -appearance, under the power of that angel, would talk and act exactly -like you?” - -“I don’t think an angel would talk and act like me.” - -“Say, you’re getting the idea. It isn’t a question whether an angel -would talk and act like you; the question is, could an angel do it?” - -“It sounds all right.” - -“Now,” said Bobby triumphantly, poking his uncle in the ribs, “suppose -that God just now annihilated you and put an angel in your place, how -could I know it wasn’t you?” - -“Why, you just couldn’t know. You would think it was me.” - -“Think again, uncle; it’s a hard question. It stumped the whole of our -communion class for five minutes, and I got the right answer, and the -priest gave me a holy picture for answering it.” - -Mr. Compton wrinkled his brows in thought. - -“There’s one thing sure,” he at length said, “God would know that the -thing in my place was not John Compton.” - -“Uncle, you’re getting hot.” - -“And therefore,” pursued Compton, speaking slowly, “if God told you—” - -“Hurrah!” cried Bobby, clicking his heels together as he jumped into the -air. “You go to the head of the class. I’d know it if God told me.” - -“But would you believe it?” objected the elder. - -Bobby’s lip curled. - -“Say, uncle, didn’t we agree that God could do it?” - -“Well, yes.” - -“Why shouldn’t we believe Him, then?” - -“I guess you’re right. But what’s that got to do with Holy Communion?” - -“Listen. At the Last Supper, Christ, who was God, took bread, and -blessed it, and said: ‘Take ye and eat; this is my body.’” - -“I remember hearing that.” - -“And didn’t the Apostles believe Him?” - -“I suppose they did.” - -“And yet what Christ held in His hands looked like bread, tasted and -felt and smelt like bread. Was it bread?” - -“Yes; I guess it was bread.” - -“Now, look here, uncle—who am I to believe, you or Christ?” - -“What’s that—Oh, why Christ of course.” - -“Well, you say it’s bread, and a whole lot of people say the same thing. -But Christ says it is His body, and His word is worth more than the word -of all the duffers in the world.” - -“Let’s walk on,” said Compton, and fell into thought. “Bobby, why do you -want to make your first communion?” - -“Because I want to pray for my mother and—and for you, and to get grace -and strength. You know, uncle, it’s the greatest thing in the world.” - -“Well, suppose we go in and see a priest?” - -“Uncle!” exclaimed Bobby, “you’re all right.” - -Father Mallory, a zealous, kindly young priest, received Bobby with a -rare cordiality, and while Compton sat by in respectful attention, -questioned the boy at length. - -“Mr. Compton,” said Father Mallory, before ten minutes had quite -elapsed, “this boy is as well prepared as any child I ever met. He has -brains and, what is immeasurably better, faith. Bobby, you may go to -confession, say, three days from now, and then to communion the next -day, Saturday morning.” - -“Oh, Father,” said Bobby, “thank you! And may I use that telephone?” - -“Certainly.” - -“That you, Peggy?—Yes, this is Bobby. Say, I’ve got great news.—No, no -news of my mother, but I know she’s all right.—Guess -again.—No.—You’re getting cold.—Now you’re getting warmer. Oh, say; -I’ll bust if I keep it in any longer. I’m going to make my first -communion next Saturday.” - -The two in waiting heard clearly a scream of delight. - -“Isn’t it great?” pursued the boy. “And if Father Mallory, who is a -jim-dandy, will let me, I’m going to go every day. Yes, I thought you’d -be glad to know. Good-by.” - -“I was talking to Peggy,” explained Bobby as he hung up the receiver. -“She’s mighty glad, too.” - -The next three days were crowded ones. Bobby, who had heard of retreats -before first communion, decided that he would try, so far as he could, -to make one. - -“Uncle,” he said the next morning, “I’ve been thinking last night, and -I’m going to keep silence for three days.” - -“Eh?” cried Compton. - -“Yes; I’m going to make a retreat before my first communion—that is, as -much as I can. Of course I’ll work just the same.” - -In like manner he conveyed his intentions to Peggy, who thought it a -capital idea. And during these three days the company derived no end of -innocent merriment from the pantomime performances of Peggy and the boy, -who really kept silence, but who nevertheless showed an extraordinary -ability in conveying his emotions by gestures and motions and facial -expression. On the whole, Peggy and Bobby during these three days had -the time of their lives. It must be stated that Bobby more than once -fell from grace, and made an attempt at starting a conversation. But -Peggy, older by two years, was resolute. Up went her finger to the -mouth, while reproach, gentle but sincere, shone from her eyes. - -Only once did Peggy fail in her duty as directress of this unusual -retreat. On the third day Bobby handed her a note. - - “Miss Peggy: I go to communion to-morrow at the eight-o’clock - Mass. This is to let you know. Your pal, - - “BOBBY.” - -Peggy in the course of these three days had received twenty-four written -communications from her pal. They were all carefully preserved among her -treasured possessions. - -“Oh, Bobby,” she exclaimed on the reading of this, the twenty-fifth, -“may I sit next to you, and go up alongside and receive with you?” - -“I was hoping you would ask that,” returned Bobby. “I won’t miss mother -so much.” - -And then with bright and flashing eyes they broke into a conversation -which would not interest the reader, but which, I am sure, was listened -to with loving attention by at least two angels. How long they would -have continued is beyond conjecture had not Miss Bernadette Vivian -happened along. - -“So you’re talking once more, are you?” she remarked. “Let me in, too, -on this conversation.” - -“Oh, I forgot,” said Bobby, looking contrite. - -“And so did I,” added Peggy. “Bobby!” - -Bobby looked into her reproving eyes and beheld a warning finger at her -lips. They talked no more that day. - -During this odd triduum Bobby made it a point on the way home to visit -the Blessed Sacrament. He remained on each occasion for half an hour, -during which time his uncle indulged in conversation with Father -Mallory. - -On the last day Bobby made his general confession, while Peggy waited -without on her knees, her eyes fastened on the tabernacle, her lips -moving in prayer that her pal might make it a good one. They parted -wordlessly without the vestibule, though it was a matter of five minutes -before their adieus were completed. Indeed, they might have gone on for -a much longer period in their making of farewells had not a bright-eyed -boy, an acolyte of the church, after watching them for a few minutes in -wide-eyed amazement, called out to a young friend on the sidewalk, “Hey, -Jimmie, come on here quick. There’s a couple of deaf-mutes here talking -the sign language.” - -Then they parted. - -The next morning the romantic little church at Hollywood had, -considering that it was a week day, an unusual number of worshipers at -the eight-o’clock Mass. The director, Joseph Heneman, was there, and -every actor in the play now nearing completion. Even the exponent of the -Delsarte system, a chastened young lady, was in attendance. Many were -non-Catholics. Many had come to see, but, I firmly believe, all remained -to pray. - -Just before the Mass Mr. Compton, looking like the last possibility in -the way of a comedian, walked up the aisle behind Bobby, who, with eyes -cast down and hands clasped in reverence, seemed oblivious, as in fact -he was of course, of everything and every one. Compton saw him into a -seat in the front pew and modestly took his own place in the pew behind. -A few seconds later Peggy appeared. She walked up the aisle rather -briskly. Nor were her eyes cast down. Peggy had business. It was no -difficult task to discover Bobby, and to him she went. Leaning over so -as to bring her head on a line with that of the kneeling boy, she handed -him an ivory-bound prayer-book, her own communion present for the lad. -Then she opened the book and pointed out to Bobby the prayers he should -recite in preparation for his first communion. - -Bobby and Peggy were dressed in white; and if ever that color, -emblematic of innocence, was appropriate to any occasion, it was -appropriate to this. To some gazing on the two it was a vision. A -non-Catholic, a man who had scored and been scarred in the battle of -life, whispered to his neighbor: - -“How those little ones love each other!” - -“You are right,” returned the other. “And it is a love which draws down -in admiration ‘the angels in heaven above,’ and sends ‘the demons down -under the sea’ scattering.” - -“That’s just what I mean,” said the first, and—a thing that had not -occurred in his life since early boyhood—fell to praying. - -Peggy, having accomplished her mission, now passed over to the opposite -pew, where, kneeling as immobile as a statue, she remained until the -time of communion. The two went up together, and as they passed up to -the communion railing a wave of the supernatural swept over every one -present; and when, having received the Body of the Lord, they arose and -turned, their faces were enough to make an atheist believe in God. - -The non-Catholics present were carried away; and they left the church as -though they had seen a vision. - -To describe the breakfast, with Bobby at the head and Peggy at the foot, -and every member of the company seated between, would be an anti-climax. -It was a happy party. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - THE END OF ONE SCENARIO AND THE OUTLINING OF COMPTON’S GREAT IDEA - - -On that very day the picture was to be finished. So far the going had -been unusually good, and the wind-up would take but a few hours. It -mattered little, therefore, that the director began work an hour late. -Present at this last rehearsal were a striking-looking boy of eight or -nine and an extremely beautiful girl of seven. Bobby’s eyes rested upon -them, and, as he showed by a grin, he was pleased. - -“Good morning,” he said. - -“Good morning, Bobby,” said the boy, reaching out the hand of -cordiality. “My name is Francis Mason. I’m in the movies myself. Say, I -saw you make your first communion. It was nice.” - -The little girl during this introduction was beaming impartially on -both. It was the sweet smile of trusting youth. - -“I was there too, Bobby,” she added. “I’m not a Catholic, but it was -just lovely. My name is Pearl Wright. I’m in the movies, too.” - -“We’ve come to see you and Peggy,” smiled Francis. - -“Yes,” added Pearl. “We’ve heard a lot about you; and it was very nice -of Mr. Compton to get us in.” - -Then Peggy came over, and a fellowship was there and then formed between -the four juvenile stars, which, in the retrospect, will take on all the -glory of romance. - -At about eleven o’clock Peggy and Bobby had completed their work. So far -as they were concerned the picture was done. Then it was that Compton -called the four children aside. - -“Say, Mr. Compton,” said Francis, “those two sure know how to act. It -beats anything I ever saw.” - -“That’s what I think,” Pearl put in. “I could just look at Peggy and -Bobby all day and all night.” - -“You don’t know, children, how glad I am to see you get on so well -together.” - -“We’re friends, you see,” smiled Pearl. - -“I believe you,” said Compton. “Now come with me.” Saying which he led -them into a set well screened off from observation. “There’s a little -dance in the play, Pearl and Francis, which is done by Peggy and Bobby. -It’s a very pretty thing, and is really the creation of Peggy Sansone.” - -“No, no,” dissented the Italian. “I just saw a minuet and a gavotte and -some other dances and pieced them together.” - -“It was fine piecing, at any rate, Peggy. Now what I like about it is -that it has all that is lovely you can find in any dance, and expresses -grace and springtime and innocent gayety without the least taint of the -low or the sensual. Now I want you two children to watch Peggy and Bobby -while they do it for your benefit. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” - -In point of fact he did not return until the word finis, almost two -hours later, had been pronounced. The picture was done. When he returned -he was in the company of Mr. Heneman. Their entrance was not observed; -the four youngsters were too engrossed to be easily aroused. Bobby was -placing Francis in a pose which called for some unusual control of one’s -equilibrium; Peggy was marking a line on the floor, upon which Pearl was -gazing as though it were an exhibit of diamonds. - -“Didn’t I tell you?” said Compton triumphantly. - -“You were a prophet,” answered the manager, smiling broadly. - -“Oh, goody!” cried Peggy, lifting her eyes and spying the visitors. -“You’re just in time. Francis and Pearl, just as soon as we finished, -started to do it themselves.” - -“Aha!” said Compton _sotto voce_. “Didn’t I tell you? Imitation!” - -“Yes,” added Bobby, “and they came mighty near getting it right the -first time. Didn’t they, Peggy?” - -“They did, Bobby.” - -“And then,” put in Pearl with dancing eyes, “Peggy started us to making -it a dance for four. And we’ve had such a good time that—” - -“That we didn’t miss you at all,” broke in Bobby. - -“And,” added Francis, looking at his wrist watch, “we didn’t even notice -it was an hour past dinner time.” - -“Look,” said Compton to the director. “Could you, from here to New York, -find four sweeter children?” - -“And they’re all first-rate actors, too,” said the manager, who looked -as happy as though he had come into a fortune. “Compton, I think you -have hit upon a big thing.” - -“I know it,” said Compton. - -The children meanwhile had put their heads together, literally and -figuratively. - -“You do it,” said Peggy to Bobby. - -“No, you do it. It’s your dance, anyhow.” - -“All right,” sighed Peggy. Then advancing to the two elders, she went -on: - -“Please, wouldn’t you like to see our little dance?” - -“Nothing would please us better,” answered Heneman. - -“Thank you. Come on now; we’re going to show them what we’ve learned.” - -It is hard to interest a seasoned director in such things, and almost -impossible to secure the interest of a Compton. But there are exceptions -to every rule. For five minutes or more the audience of two was -spellbound. - -It was a variation of the original dance, a wonderful variation, -retaining all its grace and beauty and springtime aroma, with little -touches, magical touches, which charmed it into the realms of fairyland. - -“By jove,” roared the manager, “that’s simply wonderful! Peggy, you’re a -genius!” - -“Listen, children,” said Compton. “You’ve done more than I expected. I -had a bet with the manager that if I put you together, Pearl and Francis -would go to work and pick up that dance. But you’ve done more. You’ve -saved me the trouble of getting up a dance to fit into our new scenario -which we start at the day after to-morrow. It is called ‘Imitation,’ and -you are all four to be in it.” - -The children gazed at each other in speechless joy and wonder. - -“There are to be four principals: Bobby, Francis, Peggy and Pearl. Mr. -Heneman and myself have chosen you because we know you can act, -and—and—” - -“Because we love you,” supplemented Heneman. - -Whereupon Pearl and Peggy threw their arms about each other’s necks and -the two boys rolled over in ecstasy. - -“So that is what you’ve been working on, uncle?” asked Bobby when he had -finally come once more to his feet. - -“Yes. You gave me the idea, Bobby. You know you’re always doing what -other people are doing. You’re always taking somebody off.” - -“Like a policeman?” inquired Pearl. “Well,” she went on to explain, “the -policeman on our beat sometimes takes people off. I saw him once -myself.” - -While Peggy, drawing Pearl aside, instructed her in the meaning of the -expression on this occasion, Mr. Compton proceeded: - -“The idea came to me on the day you took off that Delsarte girl and got -wooled for your pains. It struck me that I could build up a story on the -idea of four entirely different children, different in their -surroundings, their station in life, their education and their -refinement, being brought together. The tenement girl is thrown in with -the daughter of a magnate; and the son of the same magnate is thrown in -with a tough little kid who is by way of developing into a first-rate -pickpocket.” - -“Something like the first part of Oliver Twist?” ventured Peggy. - -“In a way, yes. But here’s the difference: No children are really bad, -and some who are on the way to wickedness may have splendid qualities. -And that’s the way it is to be in this play. All four children are to -have splendid qualities. Francis will be the tough boy; but he is -naturally kind and brave. Bobby will be the magnate’s son—good, but -sissified. Peggy will be a child of the tenements, rough in her ways and -uncouth. You, Pearl, will be the magnate’s daughter, nice as pie, but -babyish. And you and Peggy will fall to liking each other just the same -as Bobby and Francis. And here’s where the difference comes in from the -story of Oliver Twist. Because you like each other you will each try to -resemble each other. What Peggy admires in Pearl she will try to be; and -Pearl will try to resemble Peggy in her best qualities. You see the -idea?” - -“Where’s the action coming in?” asked Francis. - -“Oh, that’s another thing. A kidnaper steals the magnate’s two children. -He puts the girl in a tenement in charge of Peggy’s father, and puts the -boy with a friend who is a thief and a maker of thieves. Peggy and -Francis, their children, are won over by love to your side, Bobby. They -help you to escape. Francis and Bobby succeed in escaping first. Then -Francis traces you girls, and he and Bobby contrive to get you free. You -tramp along the road until, footsore and weary, you happen upon the home -of a kind and fairly wealthy married couple. It is there that Peggy and -Pearl, who have long danced together, teach you, and it is there that -Bobby’s and Pearl’s mother unexpectedly arrives, and clasps her children -to her arms, and Francis doesn’t have to pick pockets or Peggy sell -newspapers any more. The magnate and his family find that their boy and -girl have kept all their good qualities and gained many new ones, while, -as for Peggy and Francis, they have so changed that no friend of former -days would know them. And so you live happily ever afterwards.” - -“Say, that’s swell!” cried Francis. - -“I just love it!” exclaimed Peggy. - -“And am I to wear the tenement clothes in the dance?” asked Peggy. - -“That’s what I’d like to know, too—about my clothes,” said Bobby. - -“Oh, no. The nice gentleman and his wife, once they have seen you -rehearse, dress you up just fit to kill, and all four of you when you do -your dance will look like magnified humming birds.” - -“I am so glad to hear that!” said Peggy. - -“Did you ever see a girl,” observed the philosophic Francis, “who didn’t -like to fix herself up in her prettiest?” - -“You were just as anxious as I was,” flared Peggy. - -“Well, it’s going to be great,” said Francis. “I wish we could start in -right now.” - -The meeting broke up in happy shouts and merry laughter, and, I believe, -all four in slumber dreamed that night of happy things, not far off, but -coming towards them in the bright hues of romance. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - BOBBY BECOMES FAMOUS OVERNIGHT - - -“Well, how is your ‘Imitation’ getting along?” asked the head of the -scenario department in the Lantry Studio some three weeks later. - -“Getting on!” repeated Compton. “Getting on is no name for it. Do you -know, Moore, that, other things being equal, children are the finest -actors in the world? You see, they are docile. You tell ’em to do a -thing and how to do it; and if they get your meaning that’s enough. Of -course we’re extremely fortunate; we’ve got together four of the -brightest children in or out of movieland. And they are such pals! They -all stand up for each other; they all help each other. Of course they -have a little tiff now and then. Otherwise we wouldn’t know they were -human. We might conclude that they were not descended from Adam.” - -“Eh?” said the astonished Moore, taking his pipe out of his mouth. -“Where did you get that sort of talk? I thought you were a giddy pagan, -foolish but harmless.” - -“Well,” laughed Compton, reddening slightly, “I hope I’m getting more -sense.” - -“You need it,” said Moore dryly, replacing his pipe and puffing -comfortably. “But to return to our mutton—which one of your -heaven-descended quartet is doing best?” - -“That,” returned Compton, “is a question which Joe Heneman and myself -discuss every day. Sometimes we think it’s Peggy. Those large, dark eyes -of hers can be so wistful and, on occasion, so tragic. The next day we -settle upon Francis. In dealing with Bobby in the play he can be so -genial and smile upon him with the serene philosophy of one so much -older, so much more intimately acquainted with the ways of the world. By -the time we have settled upon Francis along comes Pearl with the -sweetest smile and the most gracious manner. Bobby is in the running all -the time. In the trick of imitating he leads them all. We haven’t come -yet to the great scene, the scene where he meets his mother after an -absence of four weeks. That, so far as the children are concerned, is -the last scene. I’m confident that Bobby, if he performs it as I think, -will bring tears to the eyes of millions; and if he does he will be the -star of stars.” - -“Did you know, Compton, that Bobby made his first screen appearance on -the Broadways of the big cities yesterday?” - -“That’s a fact! I had quite forgotten. Yesterday was the day of release. -I hope they’ll like me in it.” - -“I don’t think they’ll bother about you. It is Bobby they will like,” -said Moore. - -“And I forgot to look at the papers this morning,” mused Compton -regretfully. - -“I did not forget, but I haven’t had time. Wait a minute; there may be -something about it.” - -Moore returned shortly, wearing a smile and waving the Los Angeles -_Times_. - -“Say, that old thing of yours, ‘You Hardly Can Tell,’ has scored a -tremendous hit. Look at these headlines!” And Compton looked and gasped. -These were the headlines: - - WHO IS THE STAR OF “YOU HARDLY CAN TELL?” - - _Bobby Compton the New Juvenile Star or John Compton the Comedian? You - Hardly Can Tell._ - -“Say,” exclaimed Compton, running his eyes down the review itself, -“that’s good stuff! I’m a little jealous of my reputation, but there are -a few persons in the world who may outshine me, and I’m glad of it; and -Bobby is first of all.” - -“I think,” said Moore, “that you’ll have plenty of chance to be glad, -then.” - -“The boy comes by his gifts honestly,” continued Compton. “His father -was an actor, and as for his mother, though she never appeared upon the -regular stage, she was a wonder, both at the convent school and later in -society, as an amateur actress. Nothing could persuade her to go on the -stage, though she received before her marriage most tempting offers.” - -“You know a lot about her,” said Moore incredulously. - -“I didn’t live in Los Angeles all my life,” returned Compton. - -“Oh, say, uncle,” cried Bobby, all out of breath, “there’s a reporter -man here and he wants to take my picture.” - -The two men glanced at each other. - -“Behold the entrance to the gates of fame,” exclaimed Moore, airily -waving his pipe. - -“Come on, Bobby,” said Compton, “I’ll go with you.” - -“Say, uncle, what’s a Lothario?” - -“Eh?” queried the amazed comedian. - -“A L-o-t-h-a-r-i-o?” spelled the boy. - -“Why, that’s the name of a person.” - -“Is your name Lothario, uncle?” - -“Certainly not. What makes you ask that?” - -“Because I heard that new star with the doll face, Bennie Burnside, say -that you were a gay Lothario.” - -“Bennie Burnside,” said Compton severely, “on the outside is a fine -figure of a man from the soles of his feet to the top of his head. On -the inside he is absolutely perfect up to and including his neck. He is -a matinee idol.” - -“But, uncle, what is a gay Lothario?” - -“It is said of the kind of fool who is soon parted from his money; it -means a man whose most earnest endeavor is to make an ass of himself.” - -“But you’re not a fool, uncle.” - -“Thank you, Bobby. I will try to believe you. Anyhow, I may be a fool -now, but I am not the forty-three varieties of fool I once was.” - -Indeed, so great a change had come upon John Compton since the arrival -of Bobby that all the world—the moving-picture world, at any -rate—wondered. Nothing could persuade him to leave his quarters at -night. The dance knew him no more; the hotel lobby, whither a certain -set of foolishly joyous moving-picture men most did congregate, missed -him from his accustomed place. A local magistrate wondered what had -become of him. He had not been fined for speeding in five weeks. In a -word, John Compton had suddenly abandoned his mad quest of pleasure, -and, having abandoned the quest, was cheerier, happier than he had been -since attaining his majority. Compton was known to be a man of more than -ordinary intellect. His friends had for years expected great things of -him. In college days he had given promise of developing into a writer of -taste and imagination. But he had so far disappointed these high -expectations. His pen had been barren, his life had been strewn with -good intentions—till Bobby came. - -And now it was so different. He had written a scenario, “Imitation,” -which was new in matter, touching in treatment, and which, in the -opinion of the Lantry Studio critics, gave promise to set a high mark -for other scenario writers. He was already busy upon a second play. -Bobby was almost his sole companion in these days, Bobby and Father -Mallory, for whom he had conceived a strong liking, and whom he visited -regularly every afternoon. - -As the two made their way to an office where the reporter was cooling -his heels there came swooping upon them, dressed for their respective -parts, Peggy and Francis and Pearl. - -“Hey, Bobby!” “Gee, Bobby!” “Oh, Bobby!” they shouted in a splendid -enthusiasm, “you’re in the headlines.” - -They had the morning paper between them, and in each one’s endeavor to -show Bobby the place and the words they damaged the sheet considerably. - -“And we’re all so glad!” said Francis, who had himself starred in five -productions. - -“We’re proud of you, Bobby,” said Pearl, smiling angelically. - -“And we all love you,” chimed in Peggy, “and Mr. Compton,” she -thoughtfully added. - -“Just wait until I read this,” said Bobby. And while, moving his mouth -in the slow pronunciation of each word, the lad read his own praises, -Francis, in a dreamy ecstasy, seated himself, absently placing in his -mouth the pipe he was later to use in the production, and gazed upon the -loved one in happy and ungrudging admiration. - -“Oh, just wait till they see ‘Imitation,’” said Bobby, after glancing -over the text under the headlines. “Then they’ll have something to write -about. I don’t mean me. I mean you, Peggy, and you, Pearl, and you, -Francis.” - -“And just think of the heaps and heaps of fun we’re having,” chortled -Peggy. “People say we’re working during vacation. Do you call this -work?” - -“I should say not,” said the other three, one after the other in such -quick succession that their words almost chimed together. - -As they went on to chat gayly of their present joy and their future -plans, Compton was in earnest converse with Joe Heneman. - -“Look here, Heneman,” he said, “may I offer a suggestion?” - -“I’ve known you to do it before and come away with your life.” - -“Say, can’t you run the children through their parts right away and hold -up all the other parts till the little ones have finished?” - -“Why? What’s the big idea?” - -“The big idea is this: the detective agency has a hunch that Mrs. Vernon -is dead. They’ve sent me a story about some woman picked up dead near -San Luis Obispo, and they claim it is Barbara. That is, they claim it’s -Bobby’s mother. When I got that letter two days ago I nearly dropped.” - -“Did you tell Bobby?” - -“What kind of an idiot do you think I am? Of course I didn’t. And after -the first shock I did not believe a word of it.” - -“Why not?” - -“I believe that she’s alive, because Bob is certain. You ought to see -that boy pray! Why, that boy has all heaven on his side.” - -“Well, I’ll be—” Not finishing his expression of astonishment, Heneman -went on: “But what under the sun has this to do with hurrying the -children through their parts?” - -“Why, just this: Bobby’s picture is going into the papers. His mother -will see or hear of it. She’ll trace him up. You know she thinks he’s -dead. She’ll come here, and who can keep her from taking him away?” - -“You’re not half as foolish as they say you are,” was Heneman’s -comforting comment. “You’re right, Compton. Let me see. I think with -full time we can get them through by next Monday afternoon.” - -“Then go to it,” urged Compton. - -At this very moment Barbara Vernon, propped up in bed, pale and weak, -was for the first time since her collapse awakening to the existence of -a world from which she had well-nigh departed. - -“Oh, thank God, thank God!” little Agnes was saying. “This is the first -time nurse let me in to see you. And she says you will be all right in a -week or ten days at the most.” - -“Agnes, I know I am going to get well. I had such a beautiful dream last -night. My little son, my dear little son, appeared to me. He looked just -as alive as when I last saw him. And he said, ‘Mother, sweet mother, -faith can move mountains.’ And then he pressed his dear lips upon mine -and disappeared. I awoke then, but I felt that he had been with me.” - -“And do you now think he is alive?” - -“I don’t know, my dear. But I feel so happy. O God, give me the faith -that moves mountains!” - -Hereupon entered the nurse, wearing the mien of one who had fought long -and conquered. - -“It is a happy day,” she said blithely. “The doctor will be along before -noon, but we don’t need any doctor to tell that you’re getting well. Do -you know, Mrs. Vernon, that you were calling for your little Bobby day -and night all these weeks?” - -“Was I?” - -“Yes; and it was always in a tone of sadness or of despair. But last -night it was different. You called his name but once, and your voice -sounded as though you were gazing upon some heavenly vision, and your -face grew beautiful and joyous.” - -“I understand why,” said Barbara. “Agnes, do you tell her my dream.” - -And Agnes, almost word for word, repeated Mrs. Vernon’s account. - -“And now,” pursued the smiling invalid, “I’m going, with God’s grace, to -wait in patience and faith till that day ‘when dreams come true.’” - -“I think,” observed the nurse, “that there’s a lady outside that would -like to see you. Come in, Mrs. Regan.” - -And Mrs. Regan entered and fondly embraced the woman who had saved her -life. Then came Louis and then the father; and all lavished upon the -dear convalescent a wealth of simple, homely love. - -“Upon my word!” said Barbara, as, after a few minutes of affectionate -conversation, the visitors reluctantly departed, “I never imagined since -I lost Bobby that I could be so happy.” - - - - - CHAPTER XIII -BERNADETTE’S TEMPERAMENT DELAYS THE SCENARIO, AND MRS. VERNON MAKES TWO - CHILDREN HAPPY - - -It was Monday, the day on which Mr. Joseph Heneman had counted to finish -all that part of the picture in which the four children were to appear. -And it looked, in the morning, as though he would be right in his -reckoning. But in the closing scene, the scene in which Bobby was to -surpass himself, there came an unexpected hitch, and no other than our -friend, Miss Bernadette Vivian, was the cause. - -Like most rising artists, Bernadette was temperamental, which, in other -words, signifies that she was too easily swayed by her feelings. Now it -had happened that on the previous evening she had met a most pleasing -and engaging young man; and with the two it was a case of love at first -sight. On this day, therefore, her shapely head was filled with visions -of orange blossoms, bridal veils and a teasing wonder as to what kind of -engagement ring he would select. With all these matters on her mind, is -it at all surprising that she was in no mood to represent a mother -meeting her lost children? - -She was, in this particular scene, to register the agony of separation, -the ecstasy of meeting, and the tears of joy, all of which things Miss -Bernadette signally failed to accomplish. The only thing that could have -brought comfort to her soul and any expression of joy to her face would -be her young man advancing smilingly upon her, holding in his dear hand -a diamond engagement ring. In vain did Heneman expostulate with her; in -vain did Compton remonstrate. In vain, too, did the four children, whom -she really loved, cast upon her glances of friendly reproach. Nothing -could arouse her from “love’s young dream,” than which, we are credibly -informed by a poet, “there’s nothing half so sweet in life.” - -Up to this day Bernadette had been ambitious. She was a star in embryo, -and her laurels were in the winning. But the young man whose bright -smile still haunted her was very wealthy. Upon marrying him she would -retire at once. - -If Mr. Heneman said things that any proper censor would properly delete, -let it be said in his defense that he said them under his breath; for -the director, as no doubt four guardian angels urged in his behalf at -heaven’s chancery, ever cherished the highest reverence for children. - -By four o’clock of that evening the director was unnerved, Compton -almost frantic, the children in ill humor. They were all worn out. And -if the four youthful thespians did quarrel a little and sulk for almost -ten minutes, let it be said in their behalf that before going home they -all abjectly apologized one to the other, and proved once more the truth -of Tennyson’s lines: - - _Oh, blessings on the falling-out_ - _Which all the more endears!_ - -During all this Miss Bernadette, happily seated and with crossed legs, -powdered her nose, consulted her hand mirror and, for the nonce an -unmitigated flapper, gazed heavenward with a smile that would have been -absolutely idiotic on a young lady less favored of feature. The distress -of all her friends impressed her not in the least. In fact, it never -dawned upon her consciousness that anybody was distressed. Truly, love -is blind. - -“Attention, please!” called Heneman when it was nearing five o’clock. -“The weather is rather close and it has been a trying day. Perhaps -that’s the reason we can’t get this reuniting business over. I’m sorry, -but we’ll have to try it over to-morrow at ten. The play is going to be -a big thing, and so far you’ve made it a big thing. But we don’t want an -anti-climax to spoil it all.” - -“What kind of an aunty is that?” asked Bobby. - -This remark sent them all off in good humor. - -Bobby went to confession before going to the suite. He confessed, by the -way, every week, and went with Peggy to communion every morning. Also, -he lingered to make a special and earnest prayer for that falling star, -Bernadette, and I fear that if Bernadette, in the light of what happened -that evening, were to have learned the import of that prayer, she would -have waylaid Bobby and given him a sound spanking. - -“O good Lord”—such was the import of Bobby’s prayer—“bring that nice -young lady, Bernadette Vivian, to her senses; and do it in a hurry so -that to-morrow we can shoot that scene the way it ought to be shot, and -be done with it.” - -That night the lovers met and there were five minutes of unbroken bliss. -In these five minutes they plighted their troth over and over. Nothing -in the heavens above or the earth beneath or the waters under the earth -could ever dissever their souls. In the next five minutes there arose a -slight difference about the style of the engagement ring; and before the -quarter was quite ended both were in a towering rage and vowed -repeatedly never, never to look upon each other’s face again. Then the -idol of her heart went out and got drunk—a weakness of his of which -Bernadette was entirely ignorant—and left his fond one bathed in tears. - -It was a bad night for Bobby, too. An inconsiderate friend of Compton’s, -Benny Burnside, meeting Bobby as he returned from confession, asked the -boy whether it was true that his mother was dead. - -“Of course she is not dead,” answered Bobby resolutely. - -“Oh, I’m so glad to hear it! So that woman they found dead in the woods -at San Luis Obispo was not your mother after all,” continued the admired -one of every flapper in the land. It was he who had said that Compton -was a gay Lothario. - -Bobby’s lips quivered. - -Thereupon Mr. Benny Burnside told him, not without some embroidery to -make the story more convincing, of the reports of the detective agency -on the case. If Mr. Burnside did not fully convince the lad of his -mother’s death, it was not due to any lack of effort on his part. - -Bobby, on retiring, had several sleepless hours. Faith struggled with -alleged fact, and the struggle brought with it agony and tears. But the -boy was not alone in the fight. To his aid he summoned the Mother of -God, his guardian angel, his patron saint. Before midnight confidence -returned; and Bobby, his face still wet with tears, fell into a -dreamless sleep. - -On that same day, in the morning hours, Mrs. Barbara Vernon, seated on -the ranchman’s front porch, a deep peace upon her face, touched once -more with the glow of health, looked out calmly upon a world made -strangely beautiful through the magic given only to the eye of the -convalescent. Never, even in the first blush of maidenhood, had she -looked more beautiful. Sickness had etherealized her beauty. Upon her -features was the resignation which, falling short of joy, gives -contentment touched with melancholy. - -“Oh, Mrs. Vernon!” cried two eager voices, their owners rushing through -the front door in a race to reach her first. Agnes and Louis were -flushed with unusual excitement. Something big had come into their -lives. - -“What is it, my dears? Good news?” - -In answer to which, Louis, raising his voice to a shrill pipe, poured -forth a volume of sound as intelligible as though his mouth were -cluttered with pins. - -“But what is it?” asked Barbara, breaking into a smile. “I can’t make -out a word you say.” - -“Let me talk, Louis,” said Agnes, making sure of the success of this -request by clapping her hand over the excited youth’s mouth, and keeping -it there. “Mrs. Vernon, there’s a matinee at the moving-picture house of -San Luis Obispo this afternoon, and—and—” Here Agnes manifested her -excitement by losing her breath, taking advantage of which, Louis, very -much handicapped by the restraining hand still held over his mouth, made -an effort to say, “Won’t you come?” giving the effect, however, of a -bulldog’s growl. - -“And,” continued Agnes, “it’s a swell show. And, oh, Mrs. Vernon, -wouldn’t you like to come with us?” - -“I don’t think,” Barbara made answer, “that I am in a mood just yet for -anything like that. I am sure you can go by yourselves.” - -The hand of Agnes dropped, as did her jaw. Louis dug his fists into his -eyes. The girl’s lips quivered. - -“But if you would like to have me,” amended the convalescent, reading -sympathetically the signs of woe in the children, “why, of course—” - -“Whoop-la!” yelled Louis, running at breakneck speed towards the door -and yelling in his flight. “Hey, dad! she’s going to go.” - -“Oh, you are so kind, Mrs. Vernon!” cried Agnes. “Just now papa got a -long-distance telephone call from San Luis Obispo. There’s a friend of -his there who went to the picture show last night, and he called dad up -to tell him what a nice, clean picture it was. He says that it’s a -first-run picture. The proprietor of the movie house there generally -uses older runs, but there’s some kind of convention in the town this -week, and so he engaged this new picture and raised the admission price -from twenty to forty cents, and added three matinees. And the man said -that if dad wanted to go he would hold five tickets for us. And dad said -he would go and take ma and us children, provided you would go. Oh, -isn’t that a treat? We’ll start in an hour. Dad thinks that the ride and -a picture like that will do you a lot of good.” - -“Why didn’t you let me know at first that you couldn’t go unless I went? -Indeed I’m sure it will make me happy, if for nothing else than that it -will give joy to two of the dearest little children I have ever met.” - -And so fifteen minutes later Barbara, Mr. and Mrs. Regan, and the happy -children were speeding onward to San Luis Obispo. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV -MRS. VERNON ATTENDS A MOVING-PICTURE SHOW AND FINDS IN IT A GREAT LESSON - UNTHOUGHT OF BY THE AUTHOR - - -The lobby of the San Luis Obispo moving-picture house was thronged, and -there was a crush at the ticket office. As Regan and his party pushed -their way to the entrance, the ticket seller was announcing that the -house was sold out. - -To get through this unheard-of crowd Mr. Regan was forced to use his -elbows freely. Mrs. Vernon and his family, according to his directions, -followed him in close single file. None of them had an opportunity to -notice the posters and the pictures of various scenes in the much -heralded play. Had the lobby been less thronged, it is doubtful whether -they would have attended the performance. - -“To accommodate all,” cried a strong voice as they reached the ticket -taker, “there will be another performance at four o’clock sharp; and -until a quarter to four positively no more seats will be sold.” - -At two-thirty to the second, but a few minutes after the Regan party had -seated themselves, the lights went out and the “News of the Week” was -flashed upon the curtain. The assembled crowd, filling every seat, had -not come for the “News of the Week”; hence they were in no wise -disappointed when it was taken off, with most of the news left out. The -manager with a view to the second performance was shortening his -program. - -There was a moment’s pause, and then there flashed upon the screen the -words, “You Hardly Can Tell”; whereupon everybody sat up and adjusted -himself for the promised treat. - -Perhaps the only exception was Mrs. Vernon. Seated between Agnes and -Louis, she was affectionately watching now one, now the other, and -rejoicing in their eager joy. - -The story at the first moved slowly, a close-up being given of a few of -the leading characters, including first and foremost the fair Vivian. - -“Isn’t she sweet!” exclaimed Agnes breathlessly. - -“She has a nice face,” returned Barbara, raising her eyes momentarily to -the screen and then turning them once more upon Agnes. - -Suddenly the girl’s face changed from admiration to merriment. - -“Oh, look! Ain’t he funny!” - -Mrs. Vernon did look and gasped. - -There grinning upon them all with a fatuous face, made still more -fatuous by the arrangement of his hair, was her old friend—and more -than friend—John Compton! There came back vividly to her the memory of -their last meeting, something over ten years ago, when she had parted in -sorrow and he in anger, and, as he said bitterly, forever. She was glad -to see his face once more—glad and disappointed. She had expected more -of him. His name by this time should have been known far and wide, not -as a wearer of the motley, but as a writer, a thinker, a leader of men; -and why had he disappointed her expectations? At the moment a feeling of -remorse came upon her. She meditated. - -“I was just. But was I kind? It is true I could never bring myself to -marry a man who refused to believe in God. But was I not brutal in the -way I refused him? Possibly, if I had been gentle and patient, he might -have been brought to the truth. Forgive, O my God, the offenses of a -proud and unthinking youth.” Thus meditating she was suddenly brought -back to the present by a roaring and laughing and stir that were little -short of tumult. Agnes jumped to her feet, and remembering herself, sat -down again exclaiming, “Oh! oh! oh!” Louis had risen uttering yelps of -delight, and remained standing until a justly aggrieved man behind him -dragged him back to his seat. - -Mrs. Vernon raised her eyes and saw Bobby Vernon! - -“O God! O my God!” she exclaimed, jumping up herself and for a moment on -the point of rushing up the aisle to catch her Bobby in her arms. Her -long discipline of self-restraint, however, asserted itself. She -reseated herself, and catching a hand of Agnes in her own, squeezed it -until the child winced. - -Yes, it was her own Bobby. The twisted mouth, the bellhop uniform, the -serio-comic face—these were all, in a way, no matter of surprise to -her; for Bobby, as no one knew better than herself, was a born mimic. -But he was alive! Bobby was alive! “O God!” she whispered, “there is a -faith that can move mountains. Blessed be Thy name!” She followed the -picture now, but in a way almost unheard of. It was to her a long, sweet -meditation. Over and over she murmured, “My son that was dead has come -to life again!” “With God all things are possible.” “Oh, my son, my -son!” Tears coursed down her cheeks, tears of joy incredible. But no one -noticed her. All were absorbed in the play, and when the lights were -turned on and the performance over, Agnes was astounded beyond measure -at Barbara, who embraced her almost violently and said: - -“It was the sweetest, most touching thing I ever saw. It has taught me -never to fail in trusting in God.” - -Now Agnes thought it was the most mirth-provoking thing she had ever -seen, and, as to trusting in God, that lesson, like the flowers that -bloom in the spring, had nothing to do with the case. - -Before leaving the theater Mrs. Vernon, excusing herself, had a few -words privately with the manager. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - COMPTON’S GREAT SCENARIO IS FINISHED NOT A MOMENT TOO SOON - - -Of course the next morning, as Bobby arose and dressed for Mass, gave -with its golden sunshine and balmy air every promise of a perfect day. -This was the only thing to be expected. Los Angeles, as far as Bobby -knew, had only one kind of weather. All the days since his arrival had -been gay, fragrant, cloudless, sunshiny days. The inhabitants of Los -Angeles never bothered to discuss the weather; it was not the fertile -topic of conversation that it is in the East. When they spoke of it, it -was simply to burst forth into paeans of praise, generally expressed in -the exclamation “Isn’t it a wonderful day!” and that always ended -further discussion. - -“Good morning, Bobby,” said Mr. Compton, to Bobby’s surprise shaved and -dressed. - -“Why, halloa! What got _you_ up?” - -“I just thought, Bobby, I’d go along with you to Mass this morning.” - -“Oh,” said Bobby, puckering his brows. “I suppose,” he went on after -some close conjecturing, “that you are going to church to pray for the -success of that part that didn’t go right yesterday.” - -“That is one of the things I am going to pray for.” - -“Anything else, uncle?” - -“Bobby,” said Compton, ignoring the question, “did you sleep well last -night?” - -“Not at first, uncle.” - -“I thought so; you do not look quite up to form.” - -“I need Holy Communion, uncle. Then after breakfast—I need that -too—then you watch me!” - -“Bobby, I want to ask you another question. Did you hear anything -yesterday that worried you?” - -“Oh, it’s all over now, I guess,” evaded the child. - -“You were crying last night.” - -“Who told you?” - -“I thought I heard you moaning, and before I went to sleep I went into -your room. There were stains of tears on your pillow.” - -“Uncle, there was a man yesterday, Benny Burnside, who tried to make me -think my mother was dead.” - -Mr. Compton squeezed his lips together, and sparks shot from his eyes. - -“If all the fools in Los Angeles were sentenced to death and all were -pardoned except one, he’s the one who would go hang. He’s a handsome -creature; but all his beauty isn’t anywhere near enough to make up for -the tremendous vacancy in his head. And did you believe him, Bobby?” - -“He almost made me believe. That’s what I was fighting about before I -could get to sleep. But I did feel so mean!” - -“There’s no sense, my boy, in giving up hope till you have to.” - -“I say, uncle, you were worrying too last night. You don’t look right -yourself.” - -As a matter of fact John Compton had passed a long and sleepless night. - -“Well, suppose we toddle along,” he said, with a forced smile. So forth -went the two, each struggling for faith against an uneasiness born of a -foolish detective’s rash report. - -Francis and Peggy were at Mass and went to communion. They wanted Bobby -to “put it over,” and directed the intention of their communion -accordingly. Pearl, though not a Catholic, was there too. She came to -pray, rather startling the worshipers at her entrance by going up the -aisle and making her prettiest little curtsy before the tabernacle. This -curtsy had won the hearts of many a stranger in the moment of -introduction. No doubt our Lord’s love for her, already great—for the -dear Lord who was once a child loves all children in a special way—went -out to her in a new excess. - -Pearl, at the end of Mass, repeated the curtsy, which would have won her -distinction in any earthly court—and why not in the heavenly?—and went -outside, where she continued to smile and bow at the returning -worshipers as though they were all friends of hers. And so far as she -was concerned, so they were, God bless her! - -“Good morning, Bobby; good morning, everybody!” she cried, as she shook -the hand of Compton, Bobby, Francis and Peggy, dispensing as she did so -a running stream of smiles. “It’s going to be all right. I just know -it’s going to be all right. Bobby, you’re just sure to put it over.” - -“It’s going to be the greatest day of all,” chimed in Francis. - -“We’ll be finished before noontime,” added Peggy. “And you’ll see, Mr. -Compton,” she went on, fixing large, earnest, questioning eyes upon -Compton, “that we haven’t been praying for nothing.” - -“I believe you, my dear,” returned Compton humbly. - -And Peggy, who knew something about Compton’s religious, or rather -irreligious, convictions, wondered. - -“I’m hungry,” said Bob. - -“So am I,” said Pearl. “You see, I couldn’t go to communion, but I could -fast and I did.” - -“Then,” said Compton, greatly cheered by the simple, loving little -company, “we’ll all breakfast at the restaurant right below here.” - -The two girls and Francis protested that their mothers would be worried; -whereupon Compton let loose their arrested joy by assuring them that he -would telephone each proper home and make himself responsible for the -whole party. - -The breakfast was a success, an abundance of watermelon and cream cakes -being large factors, and off they hopped and danced, light as birds and -immeasurably gayer, to the last rehearsal. - -Miss Bernadette Vivian had preceded them. She too had had a white night. -The day before she had confided to the amicable clerk who kept the -visitor’s gate and answered the telephone at the Lantry Studio the story -of her great romance. She had made it clear to that amiable young lady -that her engagement was as good as settled, that her Romeo, in addition -to a personal pulchritude beyond power of words to describe, was as -wealthy as Colossus—meaning, no doubt, Crœsus—that he had four -automobiles and a country villa in addition to a home worth at least -thirty thousand dollars: to all of which the gentle and sympathetic -young lady, discounting each of these statements by at least fifty per -cent, lent an attentive ear. Now it occurred to Vivian that, since there -was no secrecy enjoined, the young lady might make her romance known. -Hence it was that, unable to sleep, she hastened down to the studio -bright and early with her revised version of love’s young dream. - -“Do you know,” she said, after an affectionate exchange of greetings, -“that I am thinking seriously of entering a convent?” - -“That would be very sweet of you,” said Miss Cortland. “But you don’t -want to break the heart of that young man, do you?” - -“That young man,” said Miss Vivian darkly, “has no heart to break!” - -“Dear me! Aren’t you going to be engaged to him?” - -“We were engaged.” - -“But you didn’t tell me that.” - -“It only happened last night. We were engaged for over ten minutes.” - -“And then?” interrupted Miss Cortland. - -“Oh, I’m sick and tired of all men!” ejaculated Vivian, clasping her -hands. “They have no ideals! They are so—so common! I’ve always found -that out before it was too late. I’d like to hear what they’ll say when -I go into a convent.” - -“Did you have a quarrel, Vivian?” - -“I never quarrel,” returned the young lady with dignity. “We had a -difference of opinion, and I discovered that his ideals were not mine.” - -By ideals Miss Vivian must have meant diamonds. The kind she wanted for -her engagement was the kind her swain disliked. - -“Well, anyhow, I’ve learnt a good lesson. And, oh, I’m so miserable! I -slept badly, and I feel like going to Ocean Park and throwing myself -into the sea. Upon my word, I believe I will!” - -Miss Cortland was minded to point out to the distressed damsel that -throwing herself into the ocean and entering a convent were hardly -compatible; but, thinking better of it, she observed: - -“This is your fifth case, isn’t it?” - -“My seventh,” retorted Vivian, indignantly, and left the office in a -huff. - -To set at rest the minds of Miss Vivian’s many admirers, it may be -stated that she did not enter a convent, nor has the ocean received her -into its insatiable maw. She realizes still that there are lots of good -fish in the sea, and, though she nets one every month or so, she has not -yet caught a fish that quite measures up to her expectations. Her -present romance is now number eleven. - -“Say, Bobby,” whispered Francis, as they repaired to the scene of their -final rehearsal, “do you want to shed real tears in the part where you -meet your mother?” - -“I’d like to,” returned Bobby. - -“Well, I’ve got a trick to do it. It’s a pinch I learned from a fellow. -It doesn’t make a mark, but it will smart like fun and bring the tears. -Now, if you need it, just let me know; we’ve got to put this across.” - -As the event proved, Francis was not called upon to reduce Bobby to -tears. Bobby, thinking of his own dear mother, and grieving for her the -more bitterly for the ugly rumor which had left him sleepless, found it -an easy task to imagine Bernadette to be Mrs. Vernon, with the result -that his acting was clearly more perfect than it had been on the -preceding day. As for Vivian, that volatile young lady, a flapper -yesterday, was now persuaded that she was refined by a bitter -experience, that all love leading toward matrimony was vanity and -affliction of spirit, and that children were the most interesting and -lovable things in the world. Thus chastened by these reflections, she -put on a more mature air, diffused an atmosphere of sorrow akin to -despair, and, to the astonishment and delight of Heneman, Compton and -all the players, went through her part in a manner that touched the -hearts of all. - -“Great!” cried Heneman. “Now get ready for the camera! Ready? Shoot!” - -Pearl, Peggy and Francis were all in the set. Pearl, as the magnate’s -daughter, had already met her mother when Bobby entered. He sees the -magnate’s wife standing palpitating and holding out tender arms. He -stares, breaks into a radiant smile of happiness, cries out “Mother!” -rushes into her arms and weeps upon her bosom. - -“Done!” announced Heneman, rubbing his eyes. “It’s perfect.—Why, what’s -the matter, Bobby?” - -For Bobby, released from Vivian’s arms, was weeping bitterly. - -“Are you ill, my boy?” asked Compton, rushing over and putting an arm -about the lad’s neck. - -“I—I was th-thinking of my own dear mother,” sobbed Bobby. As he spoke -he raised his eyes. A moment later they grew wide in astonishment, -wonder and incredulity. - -“And there she is!” he exclaimed, darting forward to meet a woman now -hurrying toward him. - -In a moment Bobby, weeping and laughing, was rushing into the arms of -his own dear mother. - -It was a tensely dramatic moment. Those concerned in the play gazed in -awe; then realizing the tremendous strain thus taken off mother and son, -they entered into the joy of the moment. - -Compton was the first to advance and greet the happy mother. - -“You remember me, Barbara?” - -“Indeed and indeed I do! I was thinking of you yesterday—thinking of -the past. And I have something that I want to say to you.” - -“He’s the best man in the world, mamma,” said Bobby enthusiastically. -“He’s treated me as though I were his own son. Why, uncle, why have you -got your head down?” - -“I didn’t know it,” said Compton. “But anyhow, I do not feel fit to look -upon your dear mother’s face.” - -The impending awkwardness was averted by the quick approach of the three -children. - -“Oh, Mrs. Vernon!” exclaimed Peggy, her dark eyes luminous and her olive -complexion alive with rosy emotion, “I’m almost as happy as you!” And -Peggy threw her arms about Barbara’s neck. - -“Dear little Peggy,” and Mrs. Vernon returned the embrace. - -“And,” Peggy went on, running her words into one another, “you know it -was so stupid of me to tell you Bobby was dead. Oh, I’m so glad!” - -“May I kiss you, ma’am?” said Pearl, with her charming smile and her -graceful curtsy as Peggy slipped aside. “I’m one of Bobby’s friends, -too.” - -“And I too,” said Francis. And Mrs. Vernon, flushed and radiant, fondly -kissed the two children, who in their expressions of delight fell little -short of Bobby himself. - -By this time many of the elders had gathered about the reunited pair, -and all in their various ways extended their felicitations. Bernadette -Vivian was so overcome with emotion that she had to be led away by her -attendant. It was a moment of tension. - -“Come, Mrs. Vernon,” whispered Compton; “my automobile is waiting -outside. I am sure you want to get away and have Bobby to yourself.” -Saying which, he conducted her away with her boy still clinging to her, -and was presently whirling homeward. - -“But, mother,” said Bobby, resting in her arms, “what became of you? -Uncle John had detectives looking all over for you.” - -Mrs. Vernon explained in a few words the reason of her long -disappearance. - -“And,” she added, “when I saw you on the screen yesterday, I went to the -manager of the theater and found out where you had been working. He was -most kind. He inquired and learned that a train three hours late would -pass at eleven o’clock that night. He took care of me and saw me aboard. -Mr. Regan and his family wanted to see me off. Bobby, if we wish, we can -have a home with them.” - -“Bobby’s not poor,” said Compton. “There’s twenty-four hundred dollars -to his credit in the bank just now.” - -“And it’s all yours, mother. I was working for you.” - -When they entered John Compton’s suite, Barbara gazed about the -sitting-room in pleased surprise. There was a change in the room since -Bobby’s first entrance there. Most of the photographs were gone, and -most prominent of all the pictures adorning the walls was a beautiful -engraving of a guardian angel tenderly watching his innocent charge, a -little boy, in years and appearance resembling Barbara’s son. - -“What!” she exclaimed, blushing prettily. “Do you believe in angels, -John Compton?” - -“I do! Indeed I do! And I learned that sweet belief from your own little -boy’s example.” - -“Then,” pursued Mrs. Vernon, “then you must believe in God.” - -“Barbara,” responded Compton, with a catch in his voice, “it must have -been God who sent your boy to me. He has changed my life. For several -weeks, though Bobby doesn’t know it, I have been receiving instructions -from Father Mallory—” - -“What’s that?” cried Bobby eagerly. - -“And to-morrow I am to be received into the Catholic Church.” - - - - - CHAPTER XVI -CONTAINING NOTHING BUT HAPPY EXPLANATIONS AND A STILL HAPPIER LOVE SCENE - - -The hours that followed were given to mutual explanations. Bobby, at -great length, related his adventures from the time he was carried away -by the breakers to the present moment. Then John Compton gave his -version, pointing out that he had done everything to trace up Mrs. -Vernon and that from his knowledge of Bobby picked up in the first hour -of meeting he had judged that, all things considered, the best way to -watch the lad and keep his mind off the sorrows of separation was to -engage him in moving-picture work. - -“Anyhow,” he said, “before I had quite made up my mind to do it, Bobby -settled the question by actually breaking in; and just as soon as I saw -him show Chucky Snuff how to do his part, I don’t think I could well -have chosen any other way of meeting the situation.” - -“And now, mother dear,” said Bobby, “we want you to tell everything -about yourself, and don’t leave anything out.” - -The eager interest of Bobby and John Compton inspired Barbara to a full -and enthralling narrative of her mischances. - -“And to think,” mused Compton, “that all this strange series of events -should have come about just through the most trivial thing in the -world.” - -“How’s that, Uncle John?” asked Bobby, nestling in his mother’s arms. - -“Why, through a little earth tremor. Of course you, Mrs. Vernon, and -you, Bobby, were not used to it; but actually it doesn’t disturb us who -live here, especially the native-born, as much as a loud clap of -thunder. Three months ago we had an actual thunderstorm here, and there -was one flash of lightning and one clap of thunder like the kind that -are so common in Cincinnati. Now Father Mallory told me that the -children in his school were so frightened that for a moment there was -danger of a panic. And I have no doubt that the children who were most -frightened were natives and, because they were natives, would have -hardly paid any attention to an earth tremor.” - -“That is so, Uncle John,” broke in Bobby. “Peggy was at school that day -and she told me all about it. She said that when the thunderclap came -she screamed at the top of her voice, and started for the door. The -Sister got there before her, and blocked her and a dozen other children, -and made them go back to their seats.” - -“By the way, Bobby,” said Compton, “did you ever think to ask yourself -why you were carried out by that wave?” - -“They all say it was the undertow.” - -“Yes; but in ordinary circumstances it would not have caught you, as you -were not far enough out. In my opinion, the sea was affected by the -impending earthquake and that wave was not a normal wave.” - -“Well, thank God,” said the mother, “that it is all over.” - -“And I,” said Compton, “thank God that it all happened. These days with -Bobby have been the happiest of my life. And also—they have brought you -to my home. And that reminds me; till further notice, Barbara, this -suite is yours. Everything has been arranged. I have taken a room across -the way. You and Bobby are in command in this suite.” - -“And you’ll come in any time at all, won’t you, Uncle John?” - -“That reminds me,” said Compton. “Please don’t think I am an Indian -giver. But I’m arranging a little party for to-night; and may I use -these rooms? Of course you are both to be among those present.” - -“Don’t be absurd, John,” laughed Barbara. “These are your rooms. By -to-morrow I’ll try and arrange to get a place for myself and Bobby.” - -“We’ll see about that,” returned Compton, with a meaning in his words -that escaped both his hearers. “To-night, Barbara, we’re going to have -Peggy and Pearl and Francis and their mothers.” - -“Great!” cried the boy. - -“It is to be a special celebration to honor the successful end of our -play ‘Imitation.’ By the way, wasn’t it a peculiar coincidence that you -should appear just as Bobby finished his part of the scenario?” - -“I’m afraid,” returned Mrs. Vernon, “that I’m partly responsible for -that coincidence. The man who so kindly let me in to the Lantrey Studio -casually informed me that Bobby was engaged in finishing up his part of -the picture. I came in, and seeing him working, remained watching and -hiding for ten minutes. It occurred to me that if I came upon Bobby -while he was working he might not be able to act. So I watched my little -boy till all was done.” - -“Mother,” said Bobby, “if you had come sooner, you might have ruined -that part. I could never do it again that way, because I was thinking of -you.” - -“But there’s another reason for this little party,” Compton went on. “I -want you to meet and to know Bobby’s three pals. I think you will agree -with me that I have managed to keep him in really good company. These -children are innocent, bright and exceptionally good, and that they are -so is due in no small part to their mothers, who are always in -attendance, always with them. And that is why I am inviting the mothers, -too.” - -How John Compton managed all the details of this banquet is one of the -secrets of his efficiency. He used the telephone three or four times and -the thing was done. After a two hours’ spin along roads so perfect that -they are the admiration of Eastern travelers, the three returned and -found a table in the sitting-room, laid for a banquet, fragrant with -flowers and fruits, and with a caterer in attendance, who announced that -everything was ready. - -“Very good,” said John, glancing approvingly at the preparations. “Be -ready to serve dinner in ten minutes. You’ll excuse me, Barbara; the -three children with their mothers are now gathered together and waiting -for me at the home of Francis Mason. I’ll have them here in a jiffy.” - -Compton was true to his word. Ten minutes later gales of light laughter -and happy shouting made known to everybody in the apartment house that -Mr. John Compton was receiving friends. - -Take a good meal, season it with love and satisfaction over work well -done, dash it over with the joy of reunion, and you have a banquet fit -for the gods. - -The children chattered gayly and, somehow or other, ate very heartily at -the same time. Nothing was allowed to interfere with this latter -function. But as all for the greater part of the meal spoke and laughed -at the same time, it would be impossible, even were it worth while, to -reproduce what they said. - -Towards the end, when the babbling and laughter were at their loudest, -Mr. Compton tapped his glass. - -“Excuse me for interrupting all of you,” he said, “but I’m afraid, if -you don’t moderate yourselves, that a patrol wagon will drive up and -we’ll all be hauled to the station house for disturbing the peace.” - -As Mr. Compton smiled and made a comic face the assembled guests, the -children especially, raised a tirra-lirra of silvery laughter. One would -judge from their enjoyment of it that Mr. Compton had cracked the best -joke in the history of the world. - -After a full minute, Mr. Compton tapped his glass again. - -“It is a pleasure to try being funny before such an appreciative -audience. But don’t you think it would be worth while to take turns in -talking and not all talk at once?” - -Whereupon all present answered together in different phrasings that it -certainly would be worth while. - -“Very good; then, Mrs. Vernon, it’s your turn.” - -Mrs. Vernon promptly said that the voices of the children were music to -her ears, and that this was an occasion on which children should be both -seen and heard. And so substantially declared the three other happy -mothers. - -“Well, then, Francis?” adjured Compton. - -“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Francis, rising and bowing, “I am going to -tell you the story of my life.” - -It was upon this declaration that the grown folks broke into laughter, -whereat the little ones wondered where was the joke, anyhow! - -“At the age of three years and a half I went into the moving-picture -business. Since that time I have starred in five big productions, not -counting this one. And the finest time I have had in all my life has -been the time that Peggy and Pearl and Bobby have worked with me. In -conclusion, I beg to state that I have been married five times.” - -The amazed children joined the startled elders in applause and laughter. - -“In moving pictures, I mean,” said Francis, and sat down, the orator of -the day. - -“And now, Pearl?” resumed Compton. - -Pearl arose smiling and made her curtsy. - -“Encore!” cried everybody, led by Compton. - -Pearl was always ready to smile and curtsy. Nothing loath she repeated -the performance three times handrunning. - -“I want to say,” said Pearl, “that my best love and wishes go to Bobby -and his mother. And, Mr. Compton, Peggy has brought her violin along. -She thought, perhaps, that some one might ask her to play.” - -“Fine!” said Compton. “We’ll not forget that. And now, Peggy, it’s your -turn.” - -Peggy arose radiant. - -“I’ll say what Pearl said,” she declared. “For Bobby and his mother I -have heaps of love. And Pearl has brought along her dancing shoes. She -told me that some one might ask her to dance.” - -“Splendid! We’ll have an entertainment presently. Now, Bobby?” - -“I say,” cried Bobby, “that Uncle John is the finest man in the world.” - -This speech was the hit of the evening. - -“Bobby,” said Compton, brushing away in a comic gesture an imaginary -tear—not altogether, imaginary, at that—“you have unmanned me. But now -let’s have a little council of war. First of all, our play is finished -and you’re all out of a job.” - -“It’s really school time, anyhow,” said Francis consolingly. “I’ve never -had a regular year at school. How I’d like that!” - -“So should I,” said Peggy. - -“And I’m old enough to start now,” ended Pearl, “and I think Ma will -allow me to go.” - -“Upon my word!” exclaimed the host. “This is the first time in all my -life that I heard a bunch of children expressing a desire to go to -school. Shakespeare has set for all time the picture of the schoolboy -with a snail’s pace trudging unwillingly to school.” - -“Ah, ah!” said Pearl’s mother. “But Shakespeare never lived in Los -Angeles and in the days of the moving picture.” - -“True,” assented Compton. “All rules fail in Los Angeles, a city which -may rightly be called ‘different.’ I’m glad you are all ready for -school. I’ve got good news for you. ‘Imitation’ has brought me in a -large sum of money. But I don’t think it is really mine at all. Bobby -here, imitating everybody, gave me the first idea—the germ of the -story. Then I got to thinking of what sort of people were most likely to -imitate. There was just one answer—children. Next I thought of you -three, Peggy, Pearl and Francis. After that it was easy to work out the -plot. Now, while I am keeping a comfortable sum for myself, I have here -in my pocket a check for each one of you calling for fifteen hundred -dollars: and that has nothing to do with the salary you draw. I have -already spoken to your mothers, and they are all willing for you to take -nine months’ vacation from moving-picture work and go to school. The -check is intended to pay for your education; and who knows but by next -June I’ll have another scenario for just you four!” - -There was a moment of wondering silence. - -Then Pearl arose, smiling more engagingly than ever. - -“Oh, thank you, dear Uncle Compton,” and curtsied deeper than on any -former occasion. - -Bobby next arose, and with a smile not unlike Pearl’s said: - -“Oh, thank you, dear Uncle Compton,” and duplicated the curtsy of Pearl. - -Francis and Peggy, wondering what the laughter from the grown folks was -all about, each in turn made the selfsame speech in the selfsame way. - -Mr. Compton in struggling to keep a straight face while witnessing the -new “Imitation” feared for the moment that he was on the point of an -apoplectic seizure. - -“Suppose we say grace,” he suggested. - -Within a few minutes, the table was cleared, everybody taking a hand. -The next thing was the entertainment. - -“Look here, Mrs. Sansone,” whispered Compton. “Do you and the other -women take the children into Bobby’s room and arrange a program. Besides -Peggy’s violin playing and Pearl’s dancing, we want Bobby and Francis to -do some little stunt, too. Get them ready in fifteen minutes at the -least. Meantime, I want to have a word with Mrs. Vernon.” - -Presently the two were alone, standing beneath the picture of the -guardian angel. - -“Barbara, you remember your remarking this morning that you had -something to say to me?” - -“Distinctly, John. But since that time I have seen and learned so much -that I have ever so many things to say to you.” - -“But what was it you intended this morning?” - -“This, John: when I saw your face on the screen in San Luis Obispo last -night, I went back to the years when you and I were so much together. I -recalled how I had refused you because I couldn’t bring myself to marry -a man who did not believe in God. I think still that I was right in my -decision, but I feel that I should have been gentler, more patient. I -was young and severe. And last night I felt that, if ever I met you -again, I would try to explain how sorry I was not for what I did, but -for the way in which I did it.” - -“And I,” returned Compton, “have been thinking of you always, indeed, -but almost constantly since I picked Bobby up from the roadside, and -I’ve recalled bitterly my leaving you as abruptly and in a temper. Every -night for the past three weeks I have said over and over again Newman’s -‘Lead, Kindly Light,’ and I have over and over reflected each time in -sorrow and, I hope, true contrition on the line, ‘Pride ruled my will: -remember not past years.’ Barbara, my father was an infidel and my -mother never bothered about religion.” - -“I should have considered that,” said Barbara. - -“However, that only extenuates my conduct. Now, Barbara, I want to ask -you a very serious question. Did you love me in those days?” - -“I don’t know, John dear, whether I can make myself plain in answering. -I liked you immensely and I was so close to the border line of love that -it was only by a strong struggle that I didn’t cross it. Had I yielded -to your request that night, love would, I am sure, have come in the -yielding.” - -“Oh, what a fool I was!” exclaimed Compton. “I was at the gate of -Paradise and turned my back on it, and went out into the night; and I -have been dwelling in outer darkness since. Barbara, since I left you, -I’ve been no good. I have been light, frivolous, irresponsible. My -career has amounted to nothing. If God gave me any talents, I have -buried them. All this was true till the coming of Bobby. Bobby came and -he brought _you_ back. Before God, I believe I am a changed man. I have -seen the light and to-morrow I will arise and go into my Father’s house. -To-morrow I am to be received into the Church, and on Sunday I go to -Holy Communion. Of course, I do not know the future. How do I know -whether I shall be able to persevere and not go back? But honestly, I -believe I am a changed man. I believe and I hope.” - -“I have known faith to move mountains,” observed Barbara. - -“Now, Barbara, you know how I love your little boy.” - -“And more,” assented Barbara, “I know how he loves you.” - -“Taking this into consideration, do you think you could possibly love -me?” - -“John,” said Barbara, holding out her hand to him, “there’s no thinking -about it after this wonderful day. I love you with all my heart.” - -“Oh, I say,” cried Bobby, a second later, and seeing what he saw -suddenly ceased to speak. - -“Come here, Bobby,” said Compton, recovering his composure quickly. “I -want to ask you a question. What relation are you to me?” - -“First,” answered Bobby, “you were my aunt; then you were my -grandfather, then you were my nephew. Just at present you are my uncle.” - -“And, dear Bobby, how would you like me to be your father?” - -Bobby looked at his blushing mother and understood. Catching now one, -now the other, he delivered a hearty kiss and a hug to each, then -throwing himself flat on the floor, he closed his eyes and said softly -but joyously: - -“Good night!” - - - - - CHAPTER XVII -THE FOUR CHILDREN AROUSE SUSPICION, UNTIL WITH THE MOST MOMENTOUS EVENT - IN THIS NARRATIVE, ALL IS MADE CLEAR - - -“Say, folks,” screamed Bobby, arising and rushing into his own room, -“we’re going to have a marriage in our family.” - -Then, truly, did pandemonium break loose. There was no need of further -explanation: the situation was too clear; one had but to look on Compton -and Barbara to know that they were betrothed. The three mothers fell -upon Barbara, while the children, who one and all loved the transformed -Compton, smothered that embarrassed young gentleman with hugs and -kisses. - -“Attention!” cried Compton as with kind but firm hands he disengaged -himself from the four affectionate aggressors. “Listen, please. Each and -every one of you here present is cordially invited to be present at the -wedding.” - -“When?” cried all. - -“Let me see,” and Compton, as he spoke, wrinkled the brow of -calculation. “On next Sunday, the banns will be read, also on the second -and third Sunday. Then the wedding will follow on some day of that very -week. What day shall it be, Barbara?” - -“Saturday,” she promptly made answer. - -“I don’t want to be critical, Barbara, but why put it to the very end of -the week?” - -“First, John, Saturday is Our Lady’s day.” - -“Good!” said Peggy. - -“And secondly, it’s the day when the children are free from school.” - -Thereupon the children were by way of initiating a new pandemonium; but -the resourceful Compton, bellowing that it was time for the performance, -bundled them all out of the room and called for the first number. - -Peggy played with taste and feeling. She was of Italian blood, of a race -that for art stands, I believe, first and foremost in the modern world; -and her art went into her graceful fingers and returned in the sweet -notes that rippled from her bow. Francis recited and, of course, -acquitted himself to the taste of every one present. Pearl’s dance, -under the circumstances, was an incarnation of spring—a spring of -smiles and youth and fragrant innocence. Then arose Bobby and brought -the spectators out of fairyland. - -“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, “I will now give you a correct -picture of Uncle John when he is shaving himself.” - -Standing without any properties of any sort, Bobby dipped an imaginary -brush in imperceptible water, rubbed his face, and then lathered himself -with invisible soap. Next he honed an unseen razor upon a similar strop, -and proceeded to go through the motions of shaving. To such an extent -did he succeed in reproducing the faces Compton was wont to make, that -the victim of all this fun lost two buttons from his vest, both of them -flying off when Bobby went through the motions of cutting himself. - -“That settles it,” said Compton, when Bobby had ended his performance -with a caricature of Pearl’s curtsy. “We’ve had enough for to-night. The -hour is early—it’s only ten—but to-morrow I am to be received into the -Catholic Church, and I think I ought to have a little solitude.” - -“Are you going to shave?” asked Francis. - -“Why?” asked Compton, restraining himself lest he should loose another -button. - -“If you were,” answered the youth, “I should like to look on.” - -Thereupon the happy party broke up. - -“Good night, dear,” said Compton to Barbara, when all had left the room, -including Bobby, who had graciously accompanied the departing guests to -the street. “Aren’t they a wonderful set of children?” - -“They show to some degree what God originally intended us all to be,” -said Barbara. - -“What a pity that they must all grow up!” said the happy man. - - * * * * * - -“Is it possible,” asked John Compton two weeks later, “that our four -children are getting worldly-minded?” - -“I hope not, John,” answered Barbara. - -It was a lovely afternoon. The two were seated in Compton’s former -suite, which, since the engagement, had remained Barbara’s and Bobby’s -temporary home. - -“Well, they show such an unusual interest in our wedding clothes,” -Compton went on, “that I do not know what to make of it. Every time I go -to my tailor, I discover Bobby and Francis either with him or hovering -about the neighborhood, and they always look guilty when I come upon -them. Once Peggy and Pearl were there, too. I asked the tailor what it -all meant, and he laughed and answered that the children were very much -interested in my bridal garments. I don’t like to see children of their -age making such a fuss about styles.” - -“Now that you bring the subject up,” said Barbara, “I recall that Peggy -and Pearl every time they come here—and there’s not a day that they -don’t—ask to see my trousseau, and show an interest that I cannot -account for. They ask all sorts of questions.” - -“There’s another thing,” resumed Compton. “Several times I have caught -the four of them discussing something or other with intense earnestness; -but no sooner am I seen than they grow embarrassed and drop their -engrossing subject. For all that, they are, in every other respect, so -lovely, they’re all studying so well, that I can’t bring myself to think -they are getting worldly.” - -“And besides, John, Bobby and Peggy and Francis go to communion every -day. Not only that, but they make a longer thanksgiving than most grown -people. They are the last to leave the church; so I can’t imagine -anything wrong about them. And sweet little Pearl, who reminds me of the -Peri at the gate of Paradise, not exactly disconsolate, but wistful, -comes every morning with them, and says her little prayers with all the -reverence and devotion of childish love and innocence.” - -“My idea of Paradise,” John meditated, “is a place like Los Angeles, -with beautiful smooth-shaven, green lawns thrown in—flowers and foliage -and sunshine to remain ‘as you were.’ But the inhabitants of this -Paradise are to be all children in their innocence, unalloyed by the -little failings which go to show that they are descended from Adam, and -who are never, never to grow up.” - -Then in a body entered the little four, who, after a cordial interchange -of greetings, timidly begged to see the bridal dress. - -The betrothed pair looked at each other. They were mystified. - -“Say, Uncle John,” said Bobby, who, with Francis, quickly lost interest -in the modiste’s “Creation,” “is it true that you’ve been promoted?” - -“I’ve been made a Director for the Lantry Studio, if that’s what you -mean, Bobby, and they have accepted my new scenario at a price bigger -than what they paid for ‘Imitation.’” - -“You’re going to be rich, uncle.” - -“I don’t know about that. But whether I’m rich or not, you are provided -for, my dear. At least, putting together the money you have earned this -summer with what I have added to it, and turning it into Liberty Bonds, -which I have been able to buy up at a price yielding six per cent on the -investment, the income will yield enough to carry you through your -school-days, and when you are done with classes, the principal will be -intact and enough to give you a fair start in life.” - -“But,” objected Bobby, “I thought the money I earned was going to Mama -to help her pay off that debt.” - -“You needn’t worry about that, Bobby,” exclaimed Mr. Compton. “Yesterday -your mother sent a check canceling the entire obligation. She wasn’t as -poor as we imagined.” - -“And then, John,” put in Barbara, “when you gave me—” - -But Compton smiling amiably put his hand over her mouth. - -The two girls were still studying the dress. - -“Can it be vanity?” the two asked themselves. - -All they could do was to suspend judgment. - - * * * * * - -It was Saturday morning, brighter, more fragrant, more Paradise-like -than any morning, so John and Barbara averred, in the golden weather -history of Los Angeles. The wedding was over, the most notable wedding -ever held in the Church of the Blessed Sacrament. The moving-picture -world was there, the moving-picture world, and his wife and daughters, -and, to a surprising extent, his sons. The church, a bower of beauty, -was filled. All was over, and the happy couple, preceded by a flower -girl, no other than Agnes Regan, by the best man, Mr. J. Heneman, and -supporting the weeping bridesmaid, Bernadette Vivian, were moving in -stately fashion down the aisle. As they left the vestibule, there were, -thank goodness, no showers of rice and other idiotic performances, -idiotic, because out of place at the church. Nevertheless, there was -another form of demonstration. Two camera men from the Lantry Studio -were on hand with their moving-picture cameras, and with them Ben Moore, -the head of the Scenario Department. - -“Stop where you are,” commanded Ben. “We’re going to take you.” - -“Don’t object, my own,” whispered Compton. “We really owe it to the -Lantry people.—Go on, Ben, and tell us what to do.” - -“By the way,” continued the groom, “what on earth has become of the -little four? I haven’t seen or heard of them all the morning.” - -“They told me they had permission to go up in the choir loft,” answered -Mrs. Compton. “Bobby left at six, one hour and three-quarters before we -started for church. He had something on his mind.—Well, Ben, why don’t -you go on and shoot?” - -“Wait,” said Ben severely. - -The groom and bride were standing before the main door of the church, -with the best man and bridesmaid next them on their proper sides. - -“Move back, you two men to one side, and you two women to the other to -give place to the procession. Now, boys, shoot,” commanded Ben. - -As the bridal party obeyed Moore’s curt injunctions, there issued forth -from the church, Bobby, dressed in every detail like Compton; on his -arm, Peggy, arrayed like Mrs. Compton. Behind them, came Francis, -another Heneman, his arm supporting Pearl, an improved replica of the -fair Bernadette Vivian. - -“By George,” cried Compton, never for a moment thinking of the cameras -now in operation. “This explains the whole thing.—The little monkeys!” - -The young mischief-makers, well out of the church, placed themselves in -front of the real bridal group, in front of their respective replicas. -Four innocent faces then broke into smiles, while their owners made -Pearl’s famous curtsy to an imaginary audience. - -Upon this, Bobby turned and presenting a rose to Compton, said: - -“‘_Imitation._’” - -“_Is_,” announced Peggy, presenting the flower to Barbara. - -“_The Sincerest_,” added Francis, with a rose for Heneman. - -“_Flattery_,” ended Pearl, addressing the fair Bernadette. - -Then Compton caught Bobby in his arms; and Barbara caught Peggy in her -arms; and Heneman caught Francis in his arms; and Bernadette caught -Pearl in her arms; while the cameras clicked furiously, until they -stopped, and Ben Moore announced that, without rehearsal, they had shot -the finest thing ever seen in any moving picture. - - THE END. - - - - PRINTED BY BENZIGER BROTHERS, NEW YORK - - - - - TRANSCRIBER NOTES - - -Mis-spelled words and printer errors have been fixed. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 56319 *** |