Part 20 (2/2)

”And hurry up about it,” came his slow but icy tones as she hurried tentwards to hurry up just as fast as she hasten well could.

”Let's see,” he conceded on his second sight of her, ”that's awful as the other but--O well--come here then--here is him whom is to be your leading man in this heart-stirring and world-thrilling romance of my forthcoming creation. He is to be your leading man, but I will attend in all respects as to where he will lead you.”

Verbeena saw as she was introduced to this young man that he was exquisitely handsome, his face only saved from effeminacy by a firm chin. He was tall, lithe, slender as a wand. Although she had never been introduced to him before she recognized him instantly for it was Fatty Arbuckle!

CHAPTER XIII

The Mighty Gristmille gave her no time to recover but plunged right ahead with his ethological processes concerning herself.

”The story of this picture which I am about to make in order that it may ring down the ages is soul-grasping and spirit stirring,” said the director to Verbeena in a greatly animated manner, ”and that's all you need to know about it in order to know about what you are doing. In fact, there's no particular reason that you should know what you are doing. But,” he grasped her chin sharply and threw her head back with an artistic touch that jarred her teeth, ”it is important that you do what I say. And don't you try to do anything else unless you are ambitious to end your life as a canned chicken.”

”But----” stammered Verbeena who was beginning to suspect deep down after all she perhaps was really a girl.

”But nothing--and throw away that cigarette b.u.t.t too. I'm not against cigarettes. All heroes and vamps smoke yards of 'em on orders. But in this scene you're a sweet thing--just a sweet thing--though G.o.d knows if I'll be able to prove it to the camera eye or anybody else.

”Here--take this rose--smell it.”

”It doesn't smell at all,” said Verbeena.

”They don't when made of paper,” said the great Gristmille. And for some reason she saw that he suddenly gently smiled. He regarded Verbeena with a new light in his eye--one nearly of approval. ”Just about the right intelligence,” he was murmuring to himself, ”out of which to mold a great star. I'll show Dave Belasco where he stands yet.”

But his terrifying eyes blazed anew at Verbeena Mayonnaise.

”Now--here don't hold that flower like it was a flagpole in a Suffragette parade! Turn your wrist a bit, give a flaunting yet a timorous grace to it and now you step over--lots of hip work-hip-hip-hippy--O, for G.o.d's sake, hippy! The boyish beauty's off the map in the scene--hip work now--hip work--rotten--rotten--rotten--hip work, hip, hip, hippy--and you give the flower to our hero.”

”Why am I giving him the flower?”

”None of your d.a.m.ned business! Give it to him--that's all you have to do. I'm doing all the knowing why for this outfit.

”Heaven save the day, I didn't tell you to hit him with it! Give it to him--timidly--timidly--you are afraid of him.”

There was just a flash of the old dear, boyish Verbeena.

”I don't care who he is, I'm not afraid of him,” she declared stoutly.

”Is that so?” said the director severely. ”But remember you are afraid of _me_! And don't try to tell me you are not!”

”I----”

”Don't ever open your mouth like that when speaking! You are a heroine--not a walrus! Now then--the tender scene--giving the flower to Rinaldo--shush, I didn't mean to let that much out as to the story but--well, you might as well know right now that the hero is Rinaldo Ringrose--that's Mr. Arbuckle's name in the picture.

”Now then, advance--hip, hip, hip--that's better--a little better--except that you still look like a boy in skirts, one of those d.a.m.n pretty ones and a d.a.m.n silly one at that.”

Verbeena gasped. Through her thick lashes she regarded this man of the gyratory wealth of gestures whose dominating spirit it was manifest was to be seen. She feared--began to fear--almost started to be afraid that the Verbeena of old was dead or nearly corpsical. Her old doughty self, she grovelingly began to consider, was starting to decline. Her fighting stamina she felt would soon be selling for date seeds on the Sahara Exchange.

And yet how n.o.ble he was!

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