The Moving Picture Girls; Or, First Appearances in Photo Dramas Read online

  CHAPTER II

  RUSS DALWOOD APOLOGIZES

  The portal was closed with a bang--so closed because Alice in a madrush threw herself against it and turned the key in the lock. Thenshe gained a place by her sister's side, and slipped an arm about herwaist.

  "He--he won't come in," Alice whispered. "I saw him going down thestairs."

  "Who--who was it?" faltered Ruth. She was very pale.

  "I don't know," Alice made answer. "I don't believe he meant to comein here. It was--was just an accident. But the door is locked now.Maybe it was some collector--like those horrid men who have been tosee us lately. The Dalwoods may be short of money, too."

  "I don't think so, Alice. Russ makes good wages at the moving pictureplace. Oh, are you sure the door is locked?"

  "Positive. Don't worry."

  "Let's slip down the back stairs to Mrs. Reilley's flat. She has atelephone, and we can call the police," suggested the taller girl, ina hoarse whisper, her eyes never leaving the hall door that had beenso unceremoniously thrust open.

  "Silly!" returned Alice. "There's no danger now. That man has gone. Itell you I saw him hurrying down the stairs. Russ sent him about hisbusiness, all right--whatever his business was."

  "Oh, it's terrible to live this way!" wailed Ruth. "With--with commonfighting going on in the halls! If poor mother were alive now--"

  "She wouldn't be a bit afraid, if what you tell me of her is true!"insisted Alice, stoutly. "And I'm not a bit afraid, either. Why, Russis just across the hall, and it was only the other day you weresaying how strong and manly he was. Have you forgotten?"

  "No," answered Ruth, in a low voice, and again the blush suffused hercheeks.

  "Then don't be a silly. I'm not going down and ask Mrs. Reilley to'phone for the police. That would cause excitement indeed. I don'tbelieve anyone else heard the commotion, and that was only becauseour door flew open by accident."

  "Oh, well, maybe it will be all right," assented the taller girl who,in this emergency, seemed to lean on her younger sister. Perhaps itwas because Alice was so merry-hearted--even unthinking at times;despising danger because she did not know exactly what it was--orwhat it meant. Yet even now Ruth felt that she must play the part ofmother to her younger sister.

  "Are you sure that door is locked?" she asked again.

  "Positive! See, I'll slip on the chain, and then it would tax even apoliceman to get in. But, really, Ruth, I wouldn't go to Mrs.Reilley's if I were you. She'll tell everyone, and there doesn't seemto be any need. It's all over, and those below, or above us, seem tohave heard nothing of it."

  "Oh, I wish daddy would come home!"

  "So do I, for that matter. That's sensible. What did he say," askedAlice, "when you went down to Mrs. Reilley's telephone to talk tohim?" For that neighbor had summoned one of the girls when shelearned, over the wire, that Mr. DeVere wished to speak with hisdaughters about his good fortune.

  "He didn't have time to say much," replied Ruth. "He just stole aminute or two away from the conference to say that he had anengagement that was very promising."

  "And didn't he say when he'd be home?"

  "No, only that it would be as soon as possible."

  "Well, I suppose he'll come as quickly as he can. Let's see what wecan get up in the way of a lunch. We may have to resort to thedelicatessen again. I do want father to have something nice when hecomes home with his good news."

  "So do I," agreed Ruth. "I'm afraid our ice box doesn't contain muchin the way of refreshments for an impromptu banquet, though, and Ipositively won't go out after--after what happened. At least notright away!"

  "Pooh, I'm not afraid!" laughed Alice, having recovered her spirits."On the ice box--charge!" she cried gaily, waltzing about.

  The girls found little enough to reward them, and it came, finally,to the necessity of making a raid on the nearest delicatessen shop ifthey were to "banquet" their father.

  In fact since the DeVere family had come to make their home in theFenmore Apartment House, on one of the West Sixtieth streets of NewYork City, there had been very little in the way of food luxuries,and not a great deal of the necessities.

  Their life had held a little more of ease and comfort when they livedin a more fashionable quarter, but with the loss of their father'stheatrical engagement, and the long period of waiting for another,their savings had been exhausted and they had had recourse to thepawn shop, in addition to letting as many bills as possible go unpaiduntil fortune smiled again.

  Hosmer DeVere, who was a middle-aged, rather corpulent andexceedingly kind and cultured gentleman, was the father of the twogirls. Their mother had been dead about seven years, a cold caught inplaying on a draughty stage developing into pneumonia, from which shenever rallied.

  Ruth and Alice came of a theatrical family--at least, on theirfather's side--for his father and grandfather before him had enviablehistrionic reputations. Mrs. DeVere had been a vivacious countrymaid--or, rather, a maid in a small town that was classed as being onthe "country" circuit by the company playing it. Mr. DeVere, thenblossoming into a leading man, was in the troupe, and becameacquainted with his future wife through the medium of the theater.She had sought an interview with the manager, seeking a chance to"get on the boards," and Mr. DeVere admired her greatly.

  Their married life was much happier than the usual theatrical union,and under the guidance and instruction of her husband Mrs. DeVere hadbecome one of the leading juvenile players. Both her husband andherself were fond of home life, and they had looked forward to theday when they could retire and shut themselves away from the publicwith their two little daughters.

  But fortunes are seldom made on the stage--not half as often as isimagined--and the time seemed farther and farther off. Then came Mrs.DeVere's illness and death, and for a time a broken-hearted manwithdrew himself from the world to devote his life to his daughters.

  But the call of the stage was imperative, not so much from choice asnecessity, for Mr. DeVere could do little to advantage save act, andin this alone could he make a living. So he had returned to the"boards," filling various engagements with satisfaction, and takinghis daughters about with him.

  Rather strange to say, up to the present, though literally saturatedwith the romance and hard work of the footlights, neither Ruth norAlice had shown any desire to go on the stage. Or, if they had it,they had not spoken of it. And their father was glad.

  Mr. DeVere was a clever character actor, and had created a number ofparts that had won favor. He inclined to whimsical comedy roles,rather than to romantic drama, and several of his old men studies areremembered on Broadway to this day. He had acted in Shakespeare, buthe had none of that burning desire, with which many actors arecredited, to play Hamlet. Mr. DeVere was satisfied to play thelegitimate in his best manner, to look after his daughters, and totrust that in time he might lay by enough for himself, and see themhappily married.

  But the laying-aside process had been seriously interrupted severaltimes by lack of engagements, so that the little stock of savingsdwindled away.

  Then came a panicky year. Many theaters were closed, and more actors"walked the Rialto" looking for engagements than ever before. Mr.DeVere was among them, and he even accepted a part in a vaudevillesketch to eke out a scanty livelihood.

  Good times came again, but did not last, and finally it looked to theactor as though he were doomed to become a "hack," or to linger alongin some stock company. He was willing to do this, though, for thesake of the girls.

  A rather longer period of inactivity than usual made a decided changein the DeVere fortunes, if one can call a struggle against poverty"fortunes." They had to leave their pleasant apartment and take onemore humble. Some of their choice possessions, too, went to the signof the three golden balls; but, with all this, it was hard work toset even their scanty table. And the bills!

  Ruth wept in secret over them, being the house-keeper. And, of late,some of the tradesmen were not as patient and kind as they had beenat first. Some eve
n sent professional collectors, who used all theirvarious wiles to humiliate their debtors.

  But now a ray of light seemed to shine through the gloom, and atentative promise from one theatrical manager had become a reality.Mr. DeVere had telephoned that the contract was signed, and that hewould have a leading part at last, after many weeks of idleness.

  "What is the play?" asked Alice of her sister, when they had decidedon what they might safely get from the delicatessen store. "Did dadsay?"

  "Yes. It's 'A Matter of Friendship.' One of those new societydramas."

  "Oh, I do hope he gets us tickets!"

  "We will need some dresses before we can use tickets," sighed Ruth."Positively I wouldn't go anywhere but in the gallery now."

  "No, we wouldn't exactly shine in a box," agreed Alice.

  "Hark!" cautioned her sister. "There's someone in the hall now. Iheard a step----"

  There came a knock on the door, and in spite of themselves both girlsstarted nervously.

  "That isn't his rap!" whispered Alice.

  "No. Ask who it is," suggested Ruth. Somehow, she looked again to theyounger Alice now.

  "Who--who is it?" faltered the latter. "Maybe it's one of thosehorrid collectors," she went on, in her sister's ear. "I wish I'dkept quiet."

  But the voice that answered reassured them.

  "Are you there, Miss DeVere? This is Russ Dalwood. I want toapologize for that row outside your door a few minutes ago. It was anaccident. I'm sorry. May I come in?"