CHAPTER X
THE MAN IN THE KITCHEN
Let it be said of Alice that, even in this moment of triumph, she didnot gloat over her victory--for victory it was. Had she planned it,events could not have transpired to better purpose. The combinationof circumstances had forced her father along the line of leastresistance into the very path she would had chosen for him, and shefelt in her soul that it was best.
But she did not say: "There, I knew you'd come to it, Daddy!" Many agirl would, and so have spoiled matters. Alice merely looked demurelyat her father--and gave him the address.
The girl was perhaps wiser than her years would indicate, andcertainly in this matter she was more resourceful than was Ruth. Butthen chance had played into her hands. That meeting with Russ haddone much.
"Yes, I think I must come to it," sighed Mr. DeVere. "It is beingforced on me--the movies. I never thought I would descend to them!"
"It isn't a fall at all, Daddy!" declared Alice, stoutly. "I'm gladyou are going into them. You'll like them, I'm sure."
"The actors--and actresses--if one can call them such--who take partsin moving picture plays must be very--very crude sort of persons," hesaid.
"Not at all!" cried Alice. "I was there and saw them, and there weresome as nice as you'd want to meet. They were real gentlemen andladies, even if the men were in their shirt sleeves."
"But they can't act!" asserted Mr. DeVere. "I have seen bills upadvertising the moving pictures--all they seemed to be doing--theso-called actors, I mean--was falling off horses, roping steers--Ibelieve "roping" is the proper term--or else jumping off bridges orstanding in the way of railroad trains. And they call that acting!"
"Oh, you wouldn't have to do that, Daddy!" cried Alice, with a laugh."Mr Pertell is putting on some real dramas--just like society plays,you know. Of course all the scenes won't take place in a parlor, Isuppose. You won't have to do outdoor work, though, and I'm sure youwon't have to catch a wild steer, or stop a runaway locomotive."
"I should hope not," he replied, with a tragic gesture.
"But that is real acting, all the same," went on Alice. In thatlittle while she had come to have a great liking and interest in themoving picture side of acting. "You should see some of the scenes Isaw. Why, Daddy, some of the men and women were just as good as someof the actors with whom you have been on the road."
"Oh, yes, if you include the road companies of the barn-stormingdays, perhaps," admitted Mr. DeVere. "But I refer to the real art ofthe drama, Alice. However, let us not discuss it. The subject is toopainful. I have decided to take up the work, since I can do nothingelse on account of my unfortunate voice--and I will do my best in themovies. It is due to myself that I should, and it is due to you girlsthat I provide for you in any way that I can."
"Oh, Dad!" exclaimed Ruth. "It is too bad if you have to sacrificeyour art to mere bread and butter."
"Tut! Tut!" he exclaimed, smiling and holding up a chiding hand. "Idon't look at it that way at all. I am not so foolish. Art may be avery nice thing, but bread and butter is better. We have to live, mydear. And, after all, my art is not so wonderful. I hope I have notexaggerated my worth to myself. I am very willing to try this newline, and I am very glad that Alice suggested it. Only it--it wasrather a shock--at first. Now let us consider."
They talked it all over, and Alice went more into detail as to whatshe had seen at the moving picture theatre. Mr. DeVere grew more andmore interested.
"It is very kind of Russ and Mr. Pertell to think of me," he said. "Iwill go and see this manager to-morrow."
The interview must have been a very satisfactory one, for Mr. DeVerereturned from it with a smiling face--something he had not worn oftensince the failure of his voice.
"Well, Daddy?" queried Alice, as she entered the dining room, whereshe and Ruth were trying to make the most of a scanty supply of food."How was it?"
For answer he pulled out a roll of bills--not a large one, but of asize to which the girls had not been accustomed of late.
"See, it is real money!" he cried, and he struck an attitude of oneof the characters in which he had successfully starred. He was theold Hosmer DeVere once more.
"Where did you get it?" asked Ruth, with a little laugh. She foresawthat some of her housekeeping problems bade fair to be solved.
"It is an advance on my salary as a moving picture actor," hereplied, hoarsely, but still with that same gay air. "See, I have putmy other life behind me. Henceforth--or at least until my voicepromises to behave," he went on, "I shall live, move and have mybeing on the screen. I have signed a contract with Mr. Pertell--avery fair contract, too, much more so than some I have signed withmanagers of legitimate theaters. This is part of my first week'ssalary. I have taken his money--there is no going back now. I haveburned my bridges."
"And--are you sorry?" asked Alice, softly.
"No, little girl--no! I'm glad!" And truly he seemed so.
"Tell us about it," suggested Ruth, and he did--in detail.
"Then it wasn't so bad as you expected; was it, Daddy?" asked Alice.
"No, I found many of the company to be very fine characters, and somewith exceptional ability. Mr. Wellington Bunn, by the way, is a manafter my own heart."
"Oh, yes. He seemed very anxious to play Shakespeare," remarkedAlice, with a smile. "I heard Mr. Pertell caution him about notletting Hamlet get into the parlor scene they were presenting," andshe laughed at the recollection.
"Of course it was rather new and strange to me," went on Mr. DeVere,"but I dare say I shall get accustomed to it. There were some of theyoung ladies, though, for whom I felt no liking--Miss PearlPennington, who plays light leads, and her friend, Miss Laura Dixon,the ingenue."
"They were in vaudeville until recently," remarked Alice. "So Russtold me. Miss Pennington seemed very pretty."
"Passably so," agreed Mr. DeVere. "Well, our living problem is solvedfor us, anyway. Now I must study my new part. It is to be a sort ofsociety drama, and will be put on in a few days. Mr. Pertell gave mesome instructions. I shall have to unlearn many things that aretraditional with those who have played all their parts in a realtheatre. It is like teaching an old dog new tricks, but I dare say Ishall master them."
"You're not really old, Daddy!" said Alice, slipping her arms abouthim, and nestling her cheek against his.
"There--there!" he returned, indulgently, "don't try to flatter yourold father. You are just like your dear mother. Run along now, Imust take up this new work. What a relief not to have to declaim mylines! I shall only move my lips, and who knows but, in time, myvoice may come back?"
"I hope it will," answered Ruth, with a sigh. Somehow she could notquite bring herself to like her father in moving picture roles. Alicewas entirely different.
"But, even if it does come back," said the younger girl, "you maylike this new work so well, Dad, that you'll keep at it."
"Perhaps," he assented. "Here, Ruth, take care of this money--myfirst moving picture salary," and he handed her the bills.
As he went to his room with the typewritten sheets of his new part,Alice whispered to her sister:
"Hurray! Now we can have a real dinner. I'll go and buy out adelicatessen store."
The meal was a great success--not only from a gastronomic standpoint,but because of the jollity--real or assumed--of Mr. DeVere. He wentover the lines of his new part, telling the girls how at certainplaces he was to "register," or denote, different emotions."Register" is the word used in moving picture scenarios to indicatethe showing of fear, hate, revenge or other emotion. All this must bedone by facial expression or gestures, for of course no talkingcomes from the moving pictures--except in the latest kind, with aphonographic arrangement, and with that sort we are not dealing.
"Oh, I'm sure it will be fine!" cried Alice. "Can we go and see youact for the camera, Daddy?"
"Yes, I guess so," he replied. "Would you like it, Ruth?"
"I believe I should!" she exclaimed, with more interest than she hadbefore shown
. "It sounds interesting."
"Maybe we'll act ourselves, some day," added Alice.
"Oh, no!" protested her sister. "But let's sit down. The meal isspoiling. Oh!" she cried, with a hasty glance at the table. "Not abit of salt. I forgot it. Alice, dear, just slip across the hall andborrow some from Mrs. Dalwood."
Humming, in the lightness of her heart, a little tune, Alice crossedto the apartment of their neighbor, not pausing after her first knockat the rear kitchen door.
She heard a rattling among the pots and pans, and naturally supposedMrs. Dalwood was there.
"May we have some salt?" Alice called, as she entered the kitchen,but the next moment she drew back in surprise and fear, for a strangeman, rising suddenly from under the sink, confronted her.
He, too, seemed startled.
"Oh--Oh!" gasped Alice. "Isn't Mrs. Dalwood here?"
"I--I believe not," stammered the man. "I--I'm the plumber--there's aleak----"
"Oh, excuse me," murmured Alice, but even in her embarrassment shecould not help thinking that the man looked like anything but aplumber. She backed out of the kitchen, after picking up a saltcellar, and was more startled as she observed the man following her.