Part 12 (1/2)

Johnny smiled at her as he sat down. ”You ought to be in pictures.”

Her face was flushed as she left the room. She was back in a moment. ”Mr. Sharpe will see you in a few minutes,” she said. She sat down at the desk and tried to look busy.

Johnny picked up a copy of Billboard and glanced through it. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her watching him. He put the paper down. ”Nice day, isn't it?” he asked pleasantly.

”Yes, sir,” she answered. She put a sheet of paper in the typewriter and began to type.

Johnny got out of his seat and walked over to her. ”Do you believe that your handwriting will reveal your character?” he asked.

She looked puzzled. ”I never thought of it.” Her voice was pleasant. ”But I guess it could.”

”Write something on a sheet of paper,” he told her.

She took a pencil in her hand. ”What shall I write?”

He thought for a moment. ”Write: 'To Sam from'-whatever your name is.” He smiled at her disarmingly.

She scribbled on a sheet of paper and handed it to him. ”There it is, Mr. Edge, but I don't know what you can make of it.”

Johnny looked at the sheet of paper in his hand. He looked up at her in sudden surprise. She was laughing. He grinned back at her and read the writing on the paper again.

”You could have asked me,” it read. ”Jane Andersen. Further details upon request.”

He joined her laugh. ”Jane,” he said, ”I might have known you were wise to me.”

She started to answer, but a buzzer sounded next to her desk. ”You may go in now,” she said, smiling. ”Mr. Sharpe is free.”

He started toward the inner door. At the door he stopped and looked back at her. ”Tell me something,” he said in a stage whisper. ”Was Mr. Sharpe really busy?”

She tossed her head indignantly, then a bright smile crossed her face. ”Of course he was,” she replied in the same kind of whisper. ”He was shaving.”

Johnny laughed and went into the other room. The second room was a duplicate of the first, only a little larger. The same pictures were on the wall, but the desk was a bigger one. A small man in a bright gray suit sat behind it.

As Johnny came into the room, he got up and held out his hand to him. ”Mr. Edge,” he said in a thin, not unpleasant voice, ”I'm glad to meet you.”

They exchanged greetings and Johnny came right to the point. ”Magnum Pictures is purchasing the motion-picture rights to The Bandit and we would like Warren Craig to play the lead in the motion picture.”

Sharpe shook his head sadly and didn't answer.

”Why do you shake your head, Mr. Sharpe?” Johnny asked.

”I'm sorry, Mr. Edge,” Sharpe replied. ”If it had been any one of my clients other than Warren Craig, I would say you might have a chance of getting him. But Warren Craig-” He didn't finish his sentence, but spread his hands expressively on the desk.

”What do you mean, 'But Warren Craig'?”

Sharpe smiled at him soothingly. ”Mr. Craig comes from one of the first families of the theater, Mr. Edge, and you know how they feel about the flickers. They look down upon them.

”And besides, from a more practical point of view, they don't pay enough money.”

Johnny looked at him speculatively. ”How much money does Warren Craig rate, Mr. Sharpe?”

Sharpe returned the look. ”Craig gets one hundred and fifty dollars per week and you flicker people won't pay more than seventy-five.”

Johnny leaned forward in his seat; his voice dropped to a confidential tone. ”Mr. Sharpe,” he said, ”what I am about to tell you is in the strictest confidence.”

Sharpe looked interested. ”Sam Sharpe will respect that confidence, sir,” he said quickly.

”Good.” Johnny nodded, and pulled his chair closer to Sharpe's desk. ”Magnum does not intend to make an ordinary flicker out of The Bandit. Magnum is going to make a brand-new high-type production, something that is so new it will be fit to take its place among the finest works of the theater. That is why we want Warren Craig to play the role he created on the stage.” He paused impressively.

”For playing that role we are prepared to pay him four hundred dollars a week, with a minimum guarantee of two thousand dollars.” Johnny leaned back in his chair and watched the effect of his words on Sharpe.

From the look on his face Johnny could tell that he was interested, that it was the kind of deal Sharpe would like to make. Sharpe sighed heavily. ”I must be honest with you, Mr. Edge,” he said regretfully. ”Your offer seems to me a most generous one, but I don't believe I can persuade Craig to accept it. I repeat again, he does not approve of the flickers. He even goes so far as to despise them. He believes them beneath the dignity of his art.”

Johnny stood up. ”Madame Sarah Bernhardt does not believe them beneath the dignity of her art, and if she is making a picture in France, maybe Mr. Craig will consent to make one here.”

”I had heard about that, Mr. Edge, but I didn't believe it,” Sharpe said. ”Is it really true?”

Johnny nodded his head. ”You can believe it,” he lied. ”Our representative in France was very close to the deal and he a.s.sured us it is signed, sealed, and delivered.” He hesitated for a moment, then added as if it were an after-thought: ”Of course we would pay you the same sort of bonus that Madame Bernhardt's agent received. Ten percent over the guarantee for yourself.”

Sharpe stood up and faced Johnny. ”Mr. Edge, you have been most convincing. You have sold me on the idea, but you will have to sell Mr. Craig. On a matter of this type he would never listen to me. Will you talk to him?”

”Any time you say,” Johnny answered.

Johnny walked out of the office with an understanding that Sharpe would call him as soon as an appointment with Craig could be arranged.

He stopped at the girl's desk as he left. He smiled down at her. ”About those further details, Jane,” he said.

She handed him a typewritten sheet of paper. He looked at it. Her name, address, and telephone number were neatly typed on it.

”Don't call later than eight o'clock, Mr. Edge,” she smiled. ”It's a boarding house and the landlady doesn't approve of telephone calls later than that.”

Johnny grinned. ”I'll call you here, sugar. Then we won't have to worry about the landlady.”

He left the office whistling jauntily.

Johnny didn't get to the studio until late in the afternoon. Peter looked up from his desk as he came in.

”Where were you?” he asked. ”I been looking for you all day.”

Johnny perched himself on the edge of Peter's desk. ”I had a busy day,” he said, smiling. ”First thing this morning I saw Warren Craig's agent. Then I thought I'd have lunch with George since he was in town today.”

”What did you go to lunch with George for?” Peter asked.

”Money,” Johnny replied blithely. ”It looked like we're going to get Craig this morning, so I thought it wouldn't hurt to start getting some dough for the picture. He's going to let us have a thousand.”