ADVENTURE FOR TWO

Auckland Star, Volume LXVI, Issue 186, 8 August 1935, Page 22

ADVENTURE FOR TWO

Author of By r j "°cierki"' cfo ank Holloway Horn *i> w J

(CHAPTER Vll.—Continued.) They reached the Flora Hotel in the early afternoon, and, as Maisic had foreseen, there was no difficulty about a room. Mrs. Dalroy, the lady who ran it, had been a dancc-r years before, and proved to bo large and rather overblown. True to type, she was tolerant and genial, but there was something furtive about her which made Rossiter vaguely uncomfortable.

"I'm going out when I've fixed up my room," Maisie had told him as they turned into the Euston Road. '"I haven't a rag to my name. I simply must buy a few things. I'll meet you at half-past six?" "Good. I shall be there." They dined pleasantly in the Strand, and although she kept a brave "front he was aware that it was ail effort; that behind her cheerfulness was some vague disquiet. She was wearing a little black frock she had picked up in Oxford Street, and her fur coat, which, as she had told him before, had once been good. Most of the other women in the restaurant lacked her youth and freshness, even if their clothes were smarter or more expensive. "What's on your mind?" he demanded suddenly, with a smile. "Why? Do I seem down?" "No. But you are." "Well—l'm not too pleased at parting with you, Barney, for one thing," she replied, after a perceptible hesitation. "But we aren't going to 'part'—in that way. We shall keep in touch." "People don't," she said. "Not people like us, I mean. We're jerked up by the roots too often." "But I'm going to keep in touch with you. I like you. You said I was dependable. You are, too. Besides, with a bit of luck, we shall both get jobs in London. You're all rightfinancially, I mean—for a bit?" "Yes, thanks. I never worry over money. Let's get on, or we'll not get seats. I don't think I've ever felt so completely satisfied after a meal in my life." Proposal In The Street. She managed to obtain seats at the first theatre they went to. She went up to the box office with the most convincing casualness and after a few words with the funny little bald man inside, took the tickets he gave her with a pleasant smile. It was not a particularly good play, which possibly explained the ease with which she had obtained the seats, but it served. "Let's walk," she said when they emerged Into the Strand. "Feel like a spot of supper?" "Good gracious, no! You'll be on the rocks, Barney, if you go on like this." "Surely we can have a 'bit of a bust on our first night in town!" he pro- . tested. i "No. I just want to walk along with , you. Sometimes I hate all these people." ( "I like crowds. The London crowds, anyway." "So do I, when I'm on the top of the world." i "Come on, Maisie." he said, and took i her arm. "Things arc going to turn up for both of us." "Sorry, Barney. I know I'm dull i to-night. But I always am just before I start a round of the agents. What ! arc you doing in the morning?" "I'm going down to that place I told you about—at Sunbury—to see the producer I know." I "The films?" < "Why not?" ; "And then you'll go to Mossford, I i suppose ?" "Yes. See old Ellen again." "I shall be here for some time," she ] said wistfully, and for a while they i walked along in silence. s They had reached one of those quiet squares near the Euston Road. Round . the corner, a hundred yards or so away, 1 was the Flora Hotel and London, but < there was not a soul besides themselves in the silent square. He looked down 1 at her at his side. Her face was pale; i there were shadows beneath her eyes. "Sorry I've been a wet blanket," she r said and smiled at him bravely. Then it was he noticed the tears in her eyes, t "Rot!" he protested, anxiously. I "Surely we're sufficiently good friends not to pose with each ther!" "You're a dear!" she said, quietly. He slipped his arm round her waist f proteetingly. I "Barney!' she said. His name on her lips suddenly told him what everyone at r the Rosary—even ma! had known all along. She loved him. I And in that pale electric light, in the middle of the deserted London square, o he realised with disconcerting clearness a that he loved Maisie, loved her as he had never loved any of the others. When Meriel had quietly dropped him h it had merely amused "him; this, lie y knew, was different. a "We must go!" she said, for they were standing still 'by the railings of s' the square. t! "I love you, Maisie!" he said awk- li wardly. "I've been a chump! All this silly talk about being just friends when t: I've loved you all the time!" tl "Barney!" she cried. "And you love mel" he went on as tl there, in the pale electric light, he took o: her unresistingly in his arms. P

"Can't help it!" she whispered. "But h e I do! I know it's stupid." e- "Good!" he interrupted her. a And with that he kissed her. 1,1 "That's the first time you've ever 1(1 kissed me, Barney," she said with a smile. He kissed her again: "Funny I should e ° only find it out to-niglit. Now what about drifting apart? Don't you dare speak of it again!" y "We shall probably have to," she said. ,j "But I shall always remember that you y loved me. And that you told me so." u "Drift apart, my aunt!" he said. "We'll talk it over in the morning." She shook her head: "What's the use, j Barney? We've neither of us a bean. ' I love you. I have loved you for a long , time, but what good would a girl like me be to you?" "But we love each other!" he pro- ® tested. "Yes. I think wo do," sho said. "I'm glad. Whatever happens, I'm " glad!" e The sound of voices reached them and ~ they stood apart. 1 She smiled at him: "You're a dear," she said and kissed him yet again, i "Let's go, Barney; I'm not depressed any more." "But . . . you don't treat it seriously," he complained. "Of course I don't, my dear. You're " a child!" "I'm older than you are." "In years, Barney." t "Anyway, we're engaged!" ■'Right-ho!" she laughed. t "Look here, I'm serious." 1 "You usually are, Barney. I think that's partly why I love you." i "I tell you what, let's get tho Yellow 3 Teril out of the garage—it's open all , night—and tootle off down to . . . Rich- ; mond, say. Richmond Hill. Or we - could run out into the beech woods at Berkha instead." Sho shook her head. "It's a gorgeous ; idea, Barney. But I'm too fond ol ) you as it is for my peace of mind. To- • morrow you'll get a job." : "I hope so." "Won't the Magnets be surprised?" he ' said suddenly, as he fell in at her side, i 1 "No," she said. 1 "No. I suppose they won't," he said < with a sudden smile. < "But they don't understand," she ' went on. i "How do you mean, understand?" "Just that. A wife, my dear Barney, would be a very heavy millstone round your neck. And I should 1 hate to be a millstone. The part doesn't appeal to me." "But we are engaged," he insisted again. "Rather!" she laughed. "But now ... home. We've both got a big day in front of us!" i She had nearly finished her break- ' fast when he came down that morning i and looked up with a smile as he entered the painfully Victorian dining i room. "What about that day ofT?" he < demanded. Off To A Studio. Sho shook her head: "I've just been , on the 'phone to Barry Isaacson. I'm seeing him at ten-thirty." "An agent?" "And a good one. I always get a straight deal from him." "Well, I shall go down to the River Studios at Sunbury." "Wish me good luck, Barney." "You know I do." ' "You will have it, I'm certain. You , know," she went on, looking at him closely, "you might very easily become a star. You are fearfully easy to look at." "What about you?" ! "Pretty girls are twopence a dozen. 1 Looks matter more in an actor than in a girl, really, in spite of what they say." "Supposing I could get you a job? After all. Prebble Scot is a friend of < mine and a kind of relation. Ninth < cousin, or something." 1 1 "You get yourself fixed up, Barney, f I shall be all right. I feel I'm looking # my best this morning." * 1 "You arc lovely, Maisie," he said r quietly. f "If you talk like that on the screen there's nothing on earth can stop you " becoming a star," she smiled. "What about to-night?" "Aren't you going to Mossford?" "No. I'm going there on Saturday, for the week-end. I shall have to tell Ellon about you." "Then you'll get a few home truths, my lad!" "To-night we're going in the Yellow Peril to those beech woods," She shrugged, her shoulders: "If one or the other of us has got a job," she agreed. "No. Anyway," he insisted. She shook her head: "I shall be back here about half-five." she said. "If you're here . . . good! But don't be an ass, Barney. Get that job!" He read his paper and smoked after she had gone, intending to arrive at the River Studios in time for a quiet lunch with Prebble Scott. After all, Scott would not have hesitated to ask him if ho wanted anything. Ho had a little difficulty in finding the studios, which were some way out of the village. He turned the Yellow Peril through gates on which a notice

said: "To the studios," and found himself in pleasant ornamental grounds. Round a bend and behind a clump of trees he came on the studio itself. It had once, apparently, been a country house, but other buildings of a much more modern type were clustered around it. A brilliant blonde, who looked like an actress, but was in fact a typist, answered his inquiry and, dazzling as she was, replied very amiably to him. "Doesn't matter about a card," he said. "Tell him it's Barney Rossiter." "Sit down, will you? I'll find him." Rossiter was dressed in flannel bags and a tweed coat, but there was something about him —at least in the opinion of the brilliant blonde—which marked him out from the ruck of those who usually demanded to see the officials of the studio. The room in which she left him was decorated with the vivid bills of various films, and on the little table was a pile of the trade papers. He was glancing through one of these when Scott burst in. "Barney!" he cried. "What on earth brought you here?" "Hallo, P. S. What time is lunch?" "Now. Come on." "Fine. I'm hungry. And then I want a job." "Come and tell me all about it. I've been wondering what the devil's happened to you. I called at your place, you know —oh, months ago." Dull; But Democratic. They lunched in what had been the hall of the country house. Scott explained that the firm stood lunch for the entire staff—they were miles from anywhere—and Rossiter looked around him with interest.

"Rather mixed," Scott suggested. "What kind of a film are you doing?" "Low life. Hence these bandits. See that chap at the table by the door? The one with four days' growth of beard ?" "Yes." "He's a super. In real life he's a poet. Can't make a cent out of poetry, poor devil, so he comes down here." "Why, it's Jennings!" Rossiter said, recognising a man who had been at St. Crystobel's with him. "The same. Funny, isn't it? Still the same old Jennings. We'll have a word with him presently." "As a matter of fact, I really want a job, P. S. I'm a pro. I've spent the summer as a member of a concert party at Westville." "Well, well . . ." said Scott with a smile. "It went splendidly. But it's all over now and I want something else." "You know, Barney, people think that any fool can walk into the pictures and immediately earn big money. There was never a greater mistake. Many of these supers —none of the principals are here to-day—are competent and experienced actors. And London actors at that," "Then I'll be a super." P.S. shook his head. "It's a heartbreaking job, Ba-rney. You" may get one or two days' work a week. If it's regular it's not too bad, but it never i.3. This film's all fixed up, anyway. But there is a new one starting in a fortnight's time of quite a different type. I'll take you over to the casting office. There are several hotel scenes and we shall want actors of a different type. They must be decently dressed, for ont thing." "My dear P. 5.," smiled Rossiter, adjusting his tie. "But what the devil have you been doing? You wero modern languages, weren't you?" "Yes. But I've always wanted to go on the etage, and here I am! Now I want a chance in a film." "You'll be very useful. After all, if a man has a dress suit it's an asset." J "I've got two," said Rossiter. "Joking apart, P.S.. I've got to do soimething. You knew that my father was dead?" Scott nodded. \ "Well, it was rather a crash. Poor old dad!" For a moment they were silent before Rossiter asked: "You're a director here —a financial one as well, T mean? ,, Scott nodded again. "Hero's Lorinsr, the chairman," he said, and Rossiter looked to we a tubby little man making his way across the hall. (To be continued daily.)