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Moving Picture Girls, The

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<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> <h3>MR. DEVERE DECIDES</h3> Mr. DeVere sank into a chair. Ruth looked distressed as her father glanced over the dispossess notice, for such it was. But on the face of Alice there was a triumphant smile. For she saw that this was the very thing needed to arouse her father to action. Despite the distastefulness of the work, she felt sure he would come finally to like acting before the camera. The collector's call had been very opportune, though it was embarrassing. "This—this," said Mr. DeVere, haltingly—"this is very—er—very unfortunate. Then we are behind with the rent, Ruth?" "Yes, Dad. You know I told you——" "Yes, I suppose so," he added, with a sigh. "I had forgotten. There have been so many things——" He was lost in thought for a moment. "Do we owe much more, Ruth?" he asked. "Quite some, Daddy. But don't worry. You are not well, and——" "No, I am not well. I feel very poorly, but it is mainly mental, and not physical—except for my throat. And even that does not really hurt. It is only—only that I cannot speak." His voice trailed off into a hoarse whisper, which the girls could barely distinguish. "I—I must find something to do," went on the stricken actor. "I'll go out again this afternoon. Let us have a little lunch and I will try again. I'll do anything——" "Then, Daddy, why don't you let me tell about the moving pictures?" broke in Alice. "I'm sure——" "Alice, dear, you know that isn't in my line," replied her father. "It is very good of you to suggest it; but it will not do. I could not bring myself to it——" He paused, and looked dejectedly at the dispossess notice in his hand. "I—I could not do it," he added with a sigh. "I must try to get something in the line of my profession. Perhaps I might get a place in some dramatic school. I have trained you girls in the rudiments of acting, and I'm sure I could do it with a larger class. I did not think of it before. Get me some lunch, Ruth, and I'll go out again." "But what about the rent?" asked Alice. "We can't be put out on the street, Dad." "No, I suppose not. I'll see Mr. Cross, and get another loan. I'll pay him back out of my first salary. We must have a roof over us. Oh, girls, I am so sorry for you!" "Don't worry about us, Daddy! You just get better and take care of your throat!" urged Alice. "You might try the movies, just for a little while, and then——" "Never! Never!" he interrupted with vigor. "I could not think of it!" Again there came a knock at the door. "I'll go," offered Alice. "No, let me," said Ruth, quickly. She slipped out into the hall, and closed the door after her. There was a low murmur of voices, gradually growing louder on the part of the unseen caller. Ruth seemed pleading. Then Mr. DeVere and Alice heard: "It's no use. The boss says he won't send around any more meat until the bill is paid. He told me to tell you he couldn't wait any longer—that's all there is to it!" "Oh!" 'said Alice, in a low voice. "What does that mean?" asked Mr. DeVere, from the reverie into which he had fallen. "I think it means," replied Alice, with a laugh in which there was little mirth, "think it means that we won't have any meat for lunch, Dad." "Bless my soul!" exclaimed the actor. Ruth came in with flushed face. "Who was it?" asked her father, though there was no need. "Only the butcher's boy. He said——" "We heard," interrupted Alice, significantly. "Have we any eggs?" she asked, grimly. "This—this is positively too much!" said Mr. DeVere. "I shall tell that meat man——" "I'm afraid he wouldn't listen to you, Daddy," interposed Ruth, gently. "We do owe him quite a bill. I suppose we can't blame him," and she sighed. "I—I'll go at once and see Mr. Cross, my former manager," exclaimed Mr. DeVere. "He will make me a loan, I'm sure. Then I'll pay this butcher bill, and tell the insulting fellow that we shall seek a new tradesman." "Then there's the rent, Daddy," said Ruth, in a low voice. "Oh, yes—the rent. I forgot about that." The dispossess notice rustled in his hand. "The rent—Oh, yes. That must be paid first. I—I will have to get a larger loan. Well, get me what lunch you can, Ruth, my dear, and I'll go out at once." Alice did not say "movies" again, not even when the very modest and frugal lunch was set. And it was about the "slimmest" meal, from a housekeeper's standpoint, that had ever graced the DeVere table, used as they had become to scanty rations of late. Mr. DeVere said little, but he appeared to be doing considerable thinking and Alice allowed him to do it without interruption. She seemed to know how, and when, to hold her tongue. When he had gone out Ruth and Alice talked matters over. First they counted up what money they had, and figured how far it would go. If they paid the rent they would not have enough to live on for a week, and food was almost as vital a necessity as was a place to stay. There were other pressing bills, in addition to those of the butcher and the landlord. "Don't you see, Ruth, that daddy's going into the movies will be our only salvation?" asked Alice. "It does seem so. Yet could he do it?" "He could—if he would. I saw some very poor actors there to-day." "But is the pay sufficient?" "It is very good, Russ says. And it increases with the fame of the actor. I wish I could get into the movies myself." "Alice DeVere!" "I don't care; I do! It's just lovely, I think. You don't have to act before a whole big audience that is staring at you. Just some nice men, in their shirt sleeves, turning cranks——" "In their shirt sleeves?" "Why, yes. It's quite warm, with all those arc lights glowing, you know. And besides, what are shirt sleeves? Didn't dad act in his during the duel scene in "Lord Graham's Secret?" Of course he did! Shirt sleeves are no disgrace. Oh, Ruth, what are we to do, anyhow? What is to become of us?" Alice put her head down on the table. "There, dear, don't cry," urged her sister. "There must be a way out. Father will get a loan—his voice will come back, and——" "It will be too late," replied Alice, in a low voice. "We will be put out—disgraced before all the neighbors! I can't stand it. I'm going to do something!" She arose quickly, and there was a look on her face that caused Ruth to give start and to cry out: "Alice! What do you mean?" "I mean I'm going to see Russ Dalwood and ask him if I can't get work in the movies. If father won't, I will! And I'll ask Russ for the loan of some money. I can pay him back when I get my salary!" "Alice, I'll never let you do that!" and Ruth planted herself before the door. For a tense moment the sisters confronted each other. "But we—we must do something," faltered Alice. "Yes, but not that—at least, not yet. We have some pride left. Wait—wait until father comes back." With a gesture Alice consented. She sank wearily into a chair. It was tedious waiting. The girls talked but little—they had no heart for it. Around them hummed the noise of the apartment house. Noises came to them through the thin, cheap walls. The crying of babies, the quarrels of a couple in the flat back of them, the wheeze of a rusty phonograph, and the thump-thump of a playerpiano, operated with every violation of the musical code, added to the nerve-racking din. Ruth made a gesture of despair. "Beautiful!" murmured Alice as the paper roll in the mechanical piano got a "kink," and played a crash of discords. Ruth covered her ears with her hands. There was a step in the corridor. "There's father!" exclaimed Ruth. "I wonder what success he had negotiating a loan?" observed Alice. Mr. DeVere entered wearily. The girls waited for him to speak, and it was with an obvious effort that he croaked: "I—I didn't get it. Mr. Cross wouldn't even see me. He sent out word that he was too busy. He is getting ready for the first performance of 'A Matter of Friendship,' to-night." "A matter of friendship," repeated Alice. "What a play on the words!" "I sent in my card," explained Mr. DeVere, "and told him I must have a little money. He sent back word that he was sorry, but that he had invested so much in the play that he could spare none." There was a period of silence. The girls looked pityingly at their father. "Something must be done," he declared, finally. "I can try elsewhere. I will go see——" A knock at the door interrupted him. Before Alice could speak Ruth had gained it. She tried to close it, but was not in time to prevent the caller from being heard. "The boss says there's no use orderin' any more groceries, until youse has paid for what youse has got," said a coarse voice. "Take it from me—nothin' doin'!" "Oh!" Ruth was heard to murmur. Mr. DeVere started from his chair. "The insulting——" he began. Alice touched him on the arm. "Don't!" she begged, softly. Mr. DeVere turned aside. He slipped his arm around Alice, and, as Ruth came in, with tears in her eyes, she, too, found a haven in her father's embrace. Then the actor spoke. "Alice, dear," he faltered, "What is the address of that—that moving picture manager?" <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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