  Janet had gone less than half a block when she heard someone calling to her. Looking back she saw Pete Benda leaning from an upper window of the Times office. He was waving Janet’s story in his hand. “Great story, Janet,” he shouted. “I’ll send you a box of candy. Thanks a lot.” Janet smiled and waved at Pete. It was just like the impetuous city editor to lean out his window and shout his thoughts at the top of his voice to someone down the street. But she was glad to know that the story met Pete’s approval. But as for the candy. Well Pete was always making promises like that. If he had kept them all he would have needed a private candy factory. Helen was waiting when Janet reached home and she waved a letter at her friend. “It’s from Dad,” she cried. “He says he’s about through on the picture he’s making at present and will be home without fail for my graduation. Wants me to send him the dates of the play, of the banquet and of everything. Also wants your Dad to make sure the fishing will be good and to line up a good plot where he can find plenty of worms.” “That’s splendid news. I’m so happy,” said Janet, who knew how much Helen missed her father’s companionship at times, for when he was in Clarion they were almost inseparable. But Janet realized that Mr. Thorne was exceedingly smart in keeping Helen in Clarion rather than taking her west with him to the movie city where she would be subject to all of the tensions and nervous activity there. Here in Clarion she was growing up in entirely normal surroundings where she would have a sane and sensible outlook on life and its values. “I phoned your Dad, and he says he’ll have to start hunting good creeks just as soon as the snow’s off.” “That kind of puts Dad on the spot, for he’s got to deliver on the worms and the fishing,” smiled Janet. “Oh, well, Dad doesn’t care so much about getting any fish. He just likes to get out and loaf on a sunny creek bank and either talk with your Dad or doze. He calls that a real holiday.” Janet went upstairs and got the mimeographed sheets with the synopsis of the play and the part she was to try out for. After the drama of last night, that of “The Chinese Image” seemed shallow and forced. The rÔle of Abbie Naughton, who was more than a little light-headed and fun loving until a crisis came along, was comparatively easy for it called for little actual acting ability and Janet was frank enough to admit that she was no actress. Helen, trying for the straight lead, carried by Gale Naughton, had always liked to think that she had real dramatic talent and Janet was willing to admit that her companion had more than average ability. At least Helen was pretty enough to carry the rÔle off whether she had any dramatic ability or not. Coaching each other, they gave their own interpretations of the parts which they were trying for. An hour and then another slipped away. The brightness faded from the afternoon and Janet turned on a reading light. “I think we’ve done all we can for one day. If we keep on we’ll go stale. Let’s forget the tryouts for a while.” “You can,” retorted Helen, “but I’ve simply got to win that part. What would Dad think of me if I didn’t?” “I don’t believe he’d think any the less of you,” smiled Janet, “but I’ll admit it would be nice for you to win the leading rÔle and I’ll do everything I can to help you.” “Of course, I know you will. It was awfully small of me to say that.” The doorbell rang and Janet answered it. A boy handed her a package. “It’s for Miss Hardy. She live here?” “I’m Janet Hardy.” “Okay. I just wanted to be sure this was the right place.” “This looks interesting,” said Janet, returning to the living room with the large box. Her mother, who had heard the doorbell, joined them. Janet tore off the wrapping, opened the cardboard outer box, and pulled out a two pound box of assorted chocolates. On top of the box was a clipping torn from the front page of the Times. Janet stared hard at the clipping, hardly believing her eyes. There was her story with her name signed to it. “Why Janet, your name is on this front page story!” exclaimed her mother. “What’s all the mystery?” demanded Helen, and Janet explained, rather quickly, about her summons to the Times office. “Pete Benda said he liked the story and was going to send me a box of candy, but I thought he was joking. You know he’s always telling people he’s going to send them candy.” “This is no joke,” said Helen as Janet opened the box and offered candy to her mother and to Helen. “In fact, I’d like a joke like this about once a week.” “Yes, but I wouldn’t like an experience like we had once a week,” retorted Janet. Helen’s mother phoned that they were having an early supper and Helen picked up the tryout sheets, put her coat over her shoulders, and started for home. “If I disappear, it’s just that I’ve been swept away in the flood,” she called as she hurried out. Janet looked after her. Helen wasn’t far from wrong. With the rapidly rising temperature, the afternoon sun had covered the sidewalks and filled the street with rushing torrents of water. Another day and there would be no sign of the storm of the night before. Mrs. Hardy called and Janet went into the kitchen to help her mother with the preparations for the evening meal. “I heard you rehearsing this afternoon,” said her mother, “and I wouldn’t set my heart too much on winning one of those parts.” “I won’t,” promised Janet. “Of course I’d like to be in the senior play, but I won’t be heart-broken if I don’t win a part.” “Perhaps I was thinking more about Helen than you,” confessed Mrs. Hardy. “She’s so much in earnest that failure would upset her greatly.” “I know it, but I can understand why Helen wants a part and I’m afraid I’d be just as intent if my father were the ace director for a great motion picture company. I suppose I’d think that I should have dramatic ability to be a success in his eyes.” “That’s just it,” said Mrs. Hardy. “Helen doesn’t need to get a part in the play. When he comes home, he likes nothing better than being with his wife and Helen. You know he never goes any place.” “Except fishing with Dad.” “Oh, pshaw. They don’t fish. They dig a few worms and take their old fishpoles along some creek that never did have any fish. It just gets them outdoors and away from people who might want to bother Henry Thorne.” “Well, no matter, Helen has set her heart on winning the leading rÔle and I’m going to do everything in my power to help her along.” |
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