  Janet was speechless and Helen was the first to give vent to her thoughts in words. “Oh, Dad, it’s grand of you, but it doesn’t seem possible.” She looked at the ticket again, feeling it to see if it actually was real. Tears brimmed into Janet’s eyes. “I’m so happy I could cry,” she confessed. Then added quickly, “But I don’t know how I can thank you.” “Don’t try now,” smiled Henry Thorne. “I’ll be more than repaid if you two make good in the western pictures I’m going to try to put you in.” “But Dad, we’ve never had any experience like that,” protested Helen. “We’ll probably be awful flops.” “Nonsense. It doesn’t take much acting ability to get by in the ‘horse operas’ as we call them. You just act natural, look pretty, and you’ll have all of the cowboys in the cast asking you for dates.” Janet looked at her mother, wondering just how she had been won over to letting them go to Hollywood, even though Helen’s father would be there to oversee things in general. Just then Mrs. Thorne spoke, pulling an envelope from a pocketbook. “You’re not the only lucky ones,” she reminded Janet and Helen. “I’m going along and see that you are properly chaperoned when these dashing cowboys ask you to go places with them.” That explained to Janet why her mother had consented for with Mrs. Thorne along she would have little to worry about. “Does that mean we’re going to leave Clarion for good?” asked Helen. “Well, hardly,” boomed her father. “I’d be lost if I didn’t have Clarion to come back to for a rest when I get fagged out and I don’t know what the bullheads out in Indian creek would do without me. We’re going to keep the place here for you never know when even a famous Hollywood director will start turning out poor pictures and once you hit the toboggan out there, it’s hard to come back. I’ve been at it so long now, that another year will just about see me through. Then I’ll want to retire to some quiet city and Clarion suits me.” “I’m glad of that, Dad, for I’ve grown up here and it would be so hard to think of cutting all of the ties of friendship at just one sweep.” “You won’t have to do that, Helen, and maybe, if you two youngsters can’t make the grade with our western company, you’ll be back here before you know it.” “But we’re leaving in just a week. It doesn’t seem possible,” said Janet, half to herself and half to the rest. “The time will go before you know it,” said her mother, “what with the packing we’ll have to do and the new clothes to buy.” “Now let’s stop right there,” put in Helen’s father. “Packing is all well and good, but let’s cut out the new clothes. Instead of loading the girls up with things here, we’ll give Mother the money and she can let them have it in Hollywood when they see a dress in the shops out there that they want. I think they’ll feel a little more in style in Hollywood clothes than in Clarion clothes in Hollywood.” “I suppose they would,” confessed Janet’s mother, “but I’m afraid the money for Janet’s summer clothes allowance won’t go very far.” “She’ll be getting a regular salary each week and the company will furnish whatever costumes are needed for each picture.” “Each picture,” smiled Helen. “I like that Dad. How long does it take to make a picture?” “When I’m directing anywhere from six weeks to three or four months, but the western company moves pretty rapidly. They’ll grind the average one out in two weeks or three at the most. They’re after action and plenty of scenery.” “Which explains why we were carted off to Hill and Dale farm and hoisted up on horses and jogged up and down for hours until I thought every bone in my body would be broken,” said Janet. “Good guess. I’ve had this idea in mind ever since the night of the class play,” confessed Helen’s father. “If you think you’re going to get out of the riding class the rest of the time you’re in Clarion you’ll be sadly mistaken. I’m certainly not going to show up on the lot and ask Billy Fenstow to take on a couple of girls who can’t ride.” “Who’s Billy Fenstow?” asked Helen. “He runs our western unit. Billy writes most of the stories, does the supervising and directing and just about everything else about the picture. You’ll like him. He’s fat, forty, bald and lots of fun and if he likes you, he’ll invite you to the Brown Derby for dinner.” “What fun that would be,” exclaimed Janet. “Why that’s where all of the stars go.” “You usually find a few of them eating there,” admitted Helen’s father. They talked for another hour, the girls, in their excitement, planning things that could never come true, but their fathers and mothers, indulging them the sheer joy of their mood, let them ramble on. It was nearly midnight when they finally pushed their chairs away from the table and the Hardys started for home. “I’ll see you first thing in the morning,” said Helen, “but I don’t believe I’ll sleep a wink.” “I’m afraid I won’t either,” replied Janet, “but I’m so excited I don’t care.” On the way home she linked her arm with her father and mother and they walked slowly. “Happy?” her father asked gently. “Gloriously happy,” replied Janet softly, squeezing her mother’s arm. “Of course I want to go to Hollywood, but I’m going to miss both of you terribly.” “We’ll miss you, too. You know that,” replied her father, “but it’s an opportunity that comes to few girls. Don’t be too disappointed if you fail to remain in the cast of that western picture. You’re going out there for a lark and not with the serious intent of becoming a motion picture actress.” Janet bit her lips. Of course her dad was right. She couldn’t seriously hope to be a motion picture actress, but for just a moment she had found herself dreaming of real fame and fortune in Hollywood. Why it WAS just a lark, a sort of super vacation that only Helen’s father could make possible for them. In the fall, after the summer on the film lots, they would probably come back to the middle west for Janet knew her father favored her entering the state university, Janet resolutely set her mind right. She must realize that it was to be only a vacation lark. Then she could come back happy and without regret when the summer was at an end. |
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