Part 28 (1/2)

”What are you gonna do?” I says. ”Speak quick, I can't stand excitement!”

For answer he takes me into the hotel across the street and leads me into the writin' room. He sits down and writes on a piece of paper for a minute and then he hands it to me.

”Cast your eyes over that,” he says, ”and if it's satisfactory--sign it!”

This is what I read,

”I, Alex Hanley, agree to hire one handsome, tall and perfectly built stevedore, longsh.o.r.eman, truck driver or some one engaged in a equally honest profession, one who has never appeared before a camera or upon any stage and who has no knowledge of theatricals, and within six months from date to make him a full fledged, acknowledged star of the moving pictures.

”In the event of said undertaking being successful, the undersigned agrees to pay Alex Hanley one thousand dollars. In the event of failure, Alex Hanley agrees to forfeit the same sum.”

I handed it back to him.

”Listen!” I says. ”Don't be a nut _all_ your life. You got as much chance of--”

”Did you ever see me fall down on anything?” he b.u.t.ts in, dippin' a pen in the ink and handin' it to me.

”Not even a banana peel,” I admits. ”But they is a limit to everything--even the war's over. In the first place, even if you could do this, it would cost you more than a thousand dollars and--”

”Leave that to me,” he says, pus.h.i.+n' over the pen. ”And sign here!”

”But--” I says.

”Hurry up, the ink will be dry,” he cuts me off.

I give in.

”Alex,” I says. ”This is a crime! If I ever win one bet in my life, I'll win this one. You'll make a movie star outa a stevedore, hey?

Why--”

”Want a thousand more?” he grins pleasantly.

”No!” I hollers. ”Let's go over and meet the girls.”

The search for the future king of the movies begins merrily the next day. I went with Alex to see that he didn't put nothin' over on me and at the end of the week he had dug up three promisin' leads. They was a plumber's helper which had a wonderful figure, but a scar on his cheek showed up in a snapshot Alex took of him and he was laid aside with a sigh. Then they was a waiter which was better lookin' than Mary Pickford, but a trifle stoop-shouldered. The third guy was hustlin'

baggage at Grand Central Station and was a perfect Venus except for some missin' teeth which queered him when he smiled and what's a movie hero without a smile?

Well, I'm havin' the time of my life kiddin' Alex, when one day as we are walkin' along Third Avenue in search of his prey, he grabs me by the arm, yells, ”I got him!” and starts across the street on the run.

They is a big truck standin' there and a husky on the back of it is engaged in coaxin' pig iron off of it on to the street. He stood about six foot three without bein' shaved and weighed accordingly, all bone and muscle not countin' his head. He turns around and--Oh, boy!!!!

Say! I seen some good lookers in my time, male and female, but this baby had it on 'em all! His hair is that black, wavy kind that the cabaret hounds wish they had and he's got a skin like a week old baby.

He must of painted his teeth with enamel twice a day and he's there with a pair of eyelashes that would make a chorus girl take carbolic.

On the level, he's so handsome he don't look real--and that with all the signs of honest toil at the truck on him, too! Alex taps him on the shoulder and he swings around.

”What's yours?” he growls.

”I have come to make your fortune,” announces Alex with a grin. Then he turns to me. ”Ain't he a peach, hey?” he says.