Janet Hardy in Hollywood

Ruthe S. Wheeler

Janet Hardy in Hollywood

Chapter I

“THE CHINESE IMAGE”

Winter hung on grimly in the Middle West that year. Late March found the streets piled high with snow and on that particular morning there was a threat of additional snow in the air as Janet Hardy, a blond curl sticking belligerently out from under her scarlet beret, hurried toward school.

It was an important day for members of the senior class of the Clarion High School, for Miss Williams, the dramatics instructor, was going to hand out parts to read for the class play. For that reason, Janet walked more briskly than usual and she failed to hear footsteps behind her until another girl, running lightly, called.

“Slow up a minute, Janet. I’m nearly breathless. I’ve been chasing you for more than a block.”

Janet turned to greet Helen Thorne, who lived half a block beyond her own home and on the same broad, comfortable thoroughfare.

The girls fell into step, Janet slowing her pace until Helen could recover her breath.

“What chance do you think we’ll have of getting parts in the play?” asked Helen, her face reflecting her hopefulness.

“Just as good as any of the rest,” replied Janet. “I don’t think there are any Ethel Barrymores in school and I wouldn’t worry if there were. I won’t be heart-broken if I don’t get a part.”

“That’s easy to say, but I’m afraid I’ll be pretty much disappointed if I don’t get one. You have the Weekly Clarion to keep you busy.”

“It does that all right,” conceded Janet, who was editor of the page of high school news which appeared once a week in the local daily paper, the Times, under the title of “The Weekly Clarion.”

The girls turned into the street which led up the hill to the high school, a sprawling brick structure which covered nearly a block. The original building had been started in 1898 and as the city had grown additions had been made, seemingly at random, until hardly any one knew how many rooms there were and it was not unusual for a new student to get lost.

Janet was slightly taller than Helen. Her hair was a golden blond with just enough of a natural curl to make her the envy of most of the girls in school. Her blue eyes had a friendly, cheery look and her mouth had an upward twist that made it easy for her to smile.

Helen was a complement to Janet, with dark brown hair, brown eyes and a dusky skin. Because of her brunette coloring, she inclined to gayer colors than her blond companion.

It was half an hour before school when they reached the building, but a goodly number of seniors were already on hand and competition for rôles in the play would be intense. With 132 in the senior class, not many more than a score could hope to win parts.

“There’s so many it’s going to be a discouraging business,” said Helen as they went upstairs to the chemistry auditorium where the class was to meet.

“If a lot of the others think that, it will be easy for us,” smiled Janet. “Come on, tell yourself you’re going to win a part and you will.”

“I want to for Dad’s sake. He wrote that he would be home for my graduation and would attend all of the senior activities. So I’ve just got to make the play cast.”

“Keep up that kind of a spirit and you’re as good as in,” encouraged Janet, who secretly confessed that it was going to be quite a job to win a place in the play.

The chemistry auditorium was well filled when they arrived. Almost every senior girl was there and at least half of the boys.

Janet looked around the large room, gauging the mettle of the girls they would have to compete against. Well up toward the rostrum was Margie Blake, petite and blond and exceedingly vivacious. Margie was popular, confessed Janet, and probably stood a good chance of winning a part in the play for she had innate dramatic ability, while Janet, who had taken a leading rôle in the junior play, had been compelled to study each bit of action carefully.

Near Margie was Cora Dean, a pronounced brunette, who had already announced that she intended to have a leading rôle, and Cora had a reputation of getting whatever she went after, whether it was a place on the honor roll or a part in one of the drama club’s one act plays.

“I’m afraid Cora will be after the part I try out for,” whispered Helen. “She’s good, too.”

“She’s not a bit better than you are, and not half as pretty,” retorted Janet.

“But you don’t always win play parts on your looks,” said Helen.

Just then Miss Williams, the dramatics instructor, hurried in. In one hand she carried a large sheaf of mimeographed sheets while in the other was the complete book for the play. Several plays had been tentatively considered, but final approval had been up to Miss Williams and she was to announce the title that morning as well as give out reading parts.

The room quieted down as a few stragglers, coming in at the last minute, found seats at the rear.

Miss Williams sorted the mimeographed sheets into piles and at exactly 8:45 o’clock she rapped briskly on the desk with a ruler. The dramatics teacher was pleasant and almost universally liked. She smiled as she looked over the seniors who had gathered.

“It looks like we’re going to have real competition for the play parts this year,” she said. “I suppose, though, that first you’d like to know the name of the play.”

She paused a moment, then went on.

“I’ve read all the plays the committee recommended carefully and my final choice is ‘The Chinese Image.’”

There was a ripple of applause, for a number of seniors, including Janet and Helen, had read portions of “The Chinese Image.”

Helen leaned toward her companion.

“That’s the play I’ve been hoping would be selected. There’s a part I think I can win.”

“The leading rôle?” asked Janet.

“Well, hardly, but it isn’t a bad part.”

Miss Williams held up her hand and the buzz of conversation which had started after her announcement ceased.

“I have had parts for every character mimeographed and each sheet gives sufficient reading material for tryouts. There are 23 rôles in ‘The Chinese Image.’ I’m familiar with the ability of almost all of you and if you’ll come up as I call your names, I’ll give you tryout sheets. The first sheet contains a brief synopsis of the play with the complete cast of characters and the second sheet has the part I want you to try for. You will also find the hours on the second sheet when I want you to go down to the gym for the tryouts.”

Janet had to confess that she was more than a little nervous as she waited for Miss Williams to call her name. Senior after senior was called up to the desk and handed his sheets. To some of them Miss Williams added another word or two, but she talked too low to be heard by the main body of pupils.

As the tryout sheets were handed out, the seniors left the room for it was nearly assembly time.

Helen looked anxiously at Janet.

“I wonder if we’re going to be called? There are less than a dozen left.”

“We’ll know in a couple of minutes,” replied Janet. “There goes Margie Blake. Wonder what part she’ll get a chance at?”

“One of the leads, you can be sure of that. And there’s Cora Dean. I suppose Cora will get the part I try for. That happened in several of the one acts last year.”

“This isn’t last year and Cora’s a bit too temperamental. Well, we are going to be the last.”

All of the others had been called before Miss Williams spoke to Janet and Helen, and with a feeling of misgiving they advanced toward her desk.

Chapter II

LEADING RÔLES

Miss Williams smiled pleasantly as she looked up from the now slender pile of sheets with the tryout parts.

“Afraid I was going to forget you?” she asked.

“We were commencing to worry,” admitted Janet, “for after all there’s only one senior play.”

“Right. And I’m determined that ‘The Chinese Image’ be the best ever produced by Clarion High.”

The electric gong that heralded the opening of school banged its lusty tone through the hall.

“Never mind about opening assembly,” said Miss Williams. “I’ll explain to the principal that I detained you.”

The dramatics instructor looked quizzically at Janet and Helen.

“You make a good team, don’t you?”

“Well, we don’t exactly fight,” smiled Helen, “but there are times when we don’t agree.”

“Of course. That’s only human. What I mean is that when you get together with a goal in mind, you work hard to attain that goal. When Janet went out for editor of the Weekly Clarion last fall, you were working hard for her to win.”

“I did my best,” admitted Helen.

“And it had a lot to do with my winning out over Margie Blake,” said Janet whole-heartedly.

“Which is just the kind of spirit I’m looking for to put across the senior play. I’ll have to make a little confession or you’ll wonder why I’m so intensely interested in the success of this special play. A dramatic producing company has made me a tentative offer, but their final decision will be made after one of their representatives has seen the senior play.”

“But that would mean leaving Clarion,” protested Helen.

“I’m afraid it would, and while I wouldn’t like that, the opportunity offered by this company, if it finally develops, would be such that I just couldn’t afford to reject it.”

“I suppose there isn’t a whole lot of money in teaching dramatics in a high school,” said Janet.

“Not enough so I want to make it a life career,” replied Miss Williams. “But this isn’t getting along with my plan. Helen, I’m assigning you for a tryout for the leading rôle. Here’s your part. Read it over carefully and be ready tomorrow afternoon at 4:15 o’clock.”

Miss Williams handed the mimeographed sheets to the astounded Helen.

“They won’t bite,” she smiled.

“But the lead? I never dreamed you would want me to try out for that.”

“Why not? It calls for a brunette with ability and brains and I think you answer that description.”

Miss Williams turned to Janet.

“Here’s your rôle, Janet. It’s the second lead. You play a jittery little blond who hasn’t a brain in her head and probably never will have.”

“Does that rôle fit me?” asked Janet, her eyes twinkling.

“Well, hardly, but I think you’ll have a lot of fun working on such a part. Margie Blake is going to try for it, also.”

“Who will be trying for the part you’ve assigned me?” asked Helen.

“Cora Dean. I expect that with such competition both of you will be forced to do your best to win the part. Maybe it’s a little mean of me to match you against each other this way, but I’ve got to have a superlative cast for the play.”

“You’ll get it,” promised Janet, “for Helen and I are going to do our best to win these rôles. Why Helen’s father is planning on coming back for graduation week and Helen’s got to make the play.”

“Is he really coming?” asked Miss Williams, almost incredulously, for the name of Henry Thorne was a magic word in Clarion.

“He’s promised, and both mother and I are counting on it. We haven’t seen him since last fall.”

“Then I know one dramatics teacher who is going to be doubly nervous the night of the play. Just think of it – Henry Thorne, star director of the great Ace Motion Picture Company, watching a high school play. I’m afraid the cast may go all to pieces, they’ll be so nervous.”

“But Dad’s so entirely human,” said Helen. “That’s just the trouble. Because he’s made a success in films, people think he must be some kind of a queer individual who goes around with his head in the air thinking he is better than anyone else. He’s just like Janet’s father and when he gets home he likes nothing better than getting his old fishpole out, digging a can of worms, and going out along the creek to fish and doze.”

“I suppose you’re right, but his pictures have been so outstanding it seems that directing them must be some sort of a genius. I’ve never quite understood why you and your mother stayed on here, though.”

Miss Williams had often wanted to ask that question just to satisfy her own curiosity, but the opportunity had never opened before.

“Dad’s working under pressure on the coast, long hours and a terrific strain, and he says some of the things that are said about Hollywood are true. Most of the people are fine and hard working, but a small, wild crowd gives the rest a bad name and he doesn’t want to take any chance on my getting mixed up with that bunch.”

“But you wouldn’t,” said Miss Williams.

“I don’t think so, but Dad thinks it best for us to stay here in Clarion and mother and I are happy here with all of our friends. Of course we don’t see a whole lot of Dad, but when he does get home or we go out there, we have an awfully good time.”

Miss Williams glanced at her watch.

“It’s 9:10. You’d better go down to assembly. I’ll explain why you were late. Don’t forget, tryouts for both of you tomorrow afternoon and I’m counting on you to do your best.”

“We’ll try,” promised Janet, as they picked up the sheets with the tryout parts and left the chemistry auditorium.

In the hall Helen, her dark eyes aglow with excitement, turned to Janet.

“Just think; I’ve got a chance at the leading rôle. Of course Cora will probably get it, but at least Miss Williams is considering me.”

“Now let’s stop right here,” said Janet firmly, “and get one thing straight. You have a chance at the leading rôle.” Helen nodded.

“Cora has a chance at the lead.” Again Helen nodded.

“But,” went on Janet, “you are going to win the lead.”

“Oh, do you really think so?” There was a tinge of desperation in Helen’s voice.

“I know you are.” Janet spoke with a definiteness that she didn’t quite feel, for Cora was a splendid little actress. But Helen needed some real encouragement and Janet knew that if Helen felt confident from the start half of the battle was won.

The morning passed in a whirl of routine classes, but Janet found time to study her tryout sheets for several minutes.

“The Chinese Image” was ideally suited for a senior play, with an excellent mystery story to carry the action. A whole lot of dramatic ability was unnecessary for the rapid tempo of the story would carry along the interest of the audience.

The synopsis Miss Williams had prepared was brief and Janet read it twice.

“The Chinese Image” centered about a strange little figure which had been brought back from China in 1851 by Ebenezer Naughton, then captain of one of the clipper ships which had sailed out of Salem for far-away ports in the Orient. The strange, squat little figure had remained in the Naughton family ever since for Captain Ebenezer, in his will, had stipulated that it must never be given away or sold.

“When grave troubles befall my family, turn to ‘The Chinese Image,’” he had written, “and therein you will find an answer.”

But the Naughtons had prospered and the will had been almost forgotten until the family came upon hard times and its fortune dwindled. Two grandsons of Captain Ebenezer, now heads of their own families, quarreled bitterly and in the ensuing family feud the image became involved. It finally fell to the lot of Abbie Naughton, the rôle played by Janet, to solve the mystery of the image, which she did in as thorough a manner as might have been expected of the light-headed Abbie.

Janet chuckled over the lines she was to read in the tryout. The part of Abbie should be great fun, for Abbie did about every nonsensical thing possible and the giddier the part could be made, the better, decided Janet.

Helen’s rôle was more serious, for she was supposed to be in love with one of the boys of the other branch of the family and many were the trials and tribulations of their love affair. It was a delicate rôle, with much sweetness and tenderness, and it should prove ideal for Helen. Janet couldn’t conceive of Cora Dean, who had a certain harshness about her, getting the part. But then, Cora was capable and she might be able to play the rôle to perfection.

Just before noon the sky, grey since morning, turned a more desolate shade and the clouds disgorged their burden of snow. It was dry and fine and tons of it seemed to be coming down.

Janet met Helen in the hall.

“What about lunch?”

“I’m going to stay at school and have mine in the cafeteria,” replied Helen. “How about you?”

“I don’t relish the long walk home, but I didn’t bring any money with me.”

Helen smiled. “You wouldn’t accept a loan, would you?”

“I might,” conceded Janet, “because I’m more than a little hungry.”

“I’ve got fifty cents. That ought to buy enough food to last until we get home tonight.”

“But we’re not going home,” Janet reminded her companion. “Have you forgotten about the roller skating party at Youde’s?”

Helen flushed. “To tell the truth, I had. I’ve been thinking so much about the play I completely forgot the party.”

“Better not. It will be lots of fun.”

“I don’t know whether I ought to go. If I do, I won’t have much time to study over my tryout part.”

“There’ll be an hour after school and you haven’t more than two paragraphs to memorize.”

“I know them now,” said Helen.

“Then come on and go to the party. The bus is leaving school at five o’clock. We’ll be at Youde’s in an hour and there’ll be a hot supper and the skating party afterward.”

“It’s snowing hard,” observed Helen, gazing out into the swirling grey.

“You think of everything,” expostulated Janet. “Of course, it’s snowing, but the road to Youde’s is paved part of the way. If it gets too thick we can turn around and come back.”

Both Janet and Helen had one open period in the afternoon which came at the same hour and they went into the library to study their tryout parts.

Janet read her lines, stopping several times to chuckle over the nonsensical words which Abbie Naughton was required to say in the play.

“This is going to be great fun,” she told Janet. “How is your part going?”

“It’s a grand rôle, and lots of fun. I know the lines, but I’m supposed to be in love.”

“That shouldn’t be a hard part then. You rather like Jim Barron, don’t you?”

“Yes, but what’s that got to do with my part?”

“I heard this noon that Jim was trying out opposite you.”

“Honestly?”

“Honest true. Of course he may not get it.”

“Jim’s a grand fellow.”

“Seems to me I’ve heard you say that before,” chuckled Janet. “I have a hunch you’ll get that part all right.”

Helen went through her rôle while Janet looked on with critical eyes, suggesting several minor changes which she thought would improve her companion’s chances.

The bell for the final class period sounded and they folded up their parts and hastened back to the assembly. Their last class for the day was honors English, a group of advanced English students who also served as the editors and reporters for the Weekly Clarion, writing and editing all of the high school news which appeared each Friday in the Times, the afternoon daily paper published in Clarion.

It was the honors English class which was sponsoring the roller skating party at Youde’s and Jim Barron, the sports editor, was in charge of the plans.

There were seventeen in the class, including Cora Dean and Margie Blake, who wrote the girls’ athletic news. Miss Bruder, the instructor, was small and dark, but somehow she managed to keep her high-tempered class under control.

This was a mid-week period and the entire time was devoted to writing stories, which were turned over to Janet for final editing. It was Janet’s task to write the headlines, a job at which she had become exceedingly proficient.

Promptly at 3:30 o’clock the final bell sounded and writing materials were shoved hastily aside.

Jim Barron stood up.

“I’m counting on everyone being at the party. The bus will be here at five o’clock. We’ll stop at Whet’s drug store on the way out of town to pick up any of you who aren’t here when we start. Remember, we’re taking the money for the party out of the profit we’ve made from the Weekly Clarion and it won’t cost you a cent. Wear old clothes and plenty of warm ones. See you here at five.”

The class scattered, some of them remaining at school to finish up odd tasks, others hurrying home to change clothes and prepare for the party.

“Going home?” asked Helen.

“Right now. I’m certainly not going to fall down in these clothes while I’m skating. I’ve got an old tweed suit and boots I’m going to wear. Why don’t you change to your corduroys?”

“I thought I’d stay on and work on my part.”

“You know that almost to perfection now. Better get into some older clothes.”

Helen acquiesced and they donned their winter school coats and started down the hill toward home. The snow was still coming down steadily, as fine and dry as ever.

“I’m glad there’s no wind. This would drift terribly if there was,” said Janet, kicking her way through the fine spume.

Chapter III

THE WIND ROARS

Janet was home in plenty of time to dress in leisure for the skating party. Her mother looked in once to make sure that she had plenty of warm clothes on.

“I’m glad you’re wearing that old tweed outfit. It’s warm and at the same time nice looking.”

“Even though it’s old, mother?”

“Even though it’s old. Tweed always looks nice and that’s an especially pretty shade of brown. It goes so well with your hair. Wear your scarlet beret and don’t forget the boots.”

“I won’t,” promised Janet as her mother started downstairs again.

The Hardy home was pleasant, even though decidedly old-fashioned. There was a broad porch completely across the front of the house. The house itself was L-shaped, the base of the L having been added after the original structure was built. The exterior was shingled and creeping vines softened the sharper angles.

Janet’s room had a south exposure with two dormer windows that added to the many angles of the low-ceilinged rambling room. The wall paper was pink and white with gay farm scenes interspersed. Crisp chintz curtains were at the windows and a gay curtain hid the large, old-fashioned wardrobe at one end of the room in which she kept her clothes.

Her dressing table was between the dormers with a rose-colored shade on the electric light.

The bed, a walnut four poster, was against the wall nearest the hall. A gay, pink-tufted spread covered it. At one side was a small walnut stand with a shaded reading lamp.

Hooked rugs, reflecting the cheery tone of the room in their varied colors, covered the dark, polished floor.

Over in the far corner, where the roof sloped sharply, Janet had built a book case and stained it brown. It was filled with books, arranged in none too perfect order, showing the interest she had in them.

But Janet had little time now to relax in the charm of her room. Parting the curtain of the wardrobe she found her tweed suit far to the back. Her boots were back there too, but they had been well oiled and were pliable.

From a walnut chest of drawers which stood beside the wardrobe Janet drew woolen socks for it was an 18-mile ride to Youde’s and they probably wouldn’t be home until late.

Janet dressed sensibly, woolen hose, heavy tweed skirt, a blue, shaggy wool sweater and her tweed coat. The crimson beret would be warm enough.

She glanced at the clock. She had spent more time than she had anticipated, it was after 4:30 and Whet’s drug store where they were to meet the bus was a good six blocks away.

Janet hurried downstairs.

“I’ve a cup of tea and some cookies all ready,” her mother called.

It would be after six o’clock before they ate and Janet drank the tea with relish. The cookies, crisp and filled with raisins, were delicious and she put several in the pockets of her coat.

“I put your old fur coat in the hall,” said Mrs. Hardy. “Your scarf’s there, too.”

“Thanks mother. I’m certainly going to be too warm.”

Her mother went to the window. It was nearly dark and the snow still swirled down in dry, feathery clouds.

“I almost wish you weren’t going,” she said, “but there doesn’t seem to be any wind.”

“Oh, we’ll be all right, mother. The bus is large and if the weather should get bad we could stay at Youde’s until it clears. Remember Miss Bruder is chaperon and she’s extremely sensible.”