Part 7 (1/2)

”That is what seems strangest of all to me,” said the other, thoughtfully. ”You like mobs so well that you make imitation ones!”

”Vell, de people, dey like to see crowds in a picture, and dey like to see action. If you gonna have a big picture, you gotta spend de money.”

”Why not take this real mob that is outside the door?”

”Ha, ha, ha! Ve couldn't verk dat very good, Mr. Carpenter. Ve gotta have it in de right set; and ven you git a real mob, it don't alvays do vot you vant exactly! Besides, you can't take night pictures unless you got your lights and everyting. No, ve gotta make our mobs to order; we got two tousand fellers hired--”

”What Mr. Rosythe called 'studio b.u.ms'? You have that many?”

”Sure, we could git ten tousand if de set vould hold 'em. Dis picture is called 'De Tale o' Two Cities,' and it's de French revolution. It's about a feller vot takes anodder feller's place and gits his head cut off; and say, dere's a sob story in it vot's a vunder. Ven dey brought me de scenario, I says, 'Who's de author?'

Dey says, 'It's a guy named Charles d.i.c.kens.' 'd.i.c.kens?' says I.

'Vell, I like his verk. Vot's his address?' And Lipsky, he says, says he, 'Dey tell me he stays in a place called Vestminster Abbey, in England.' 'Vell,' says I, 'send him a cablegram and find out vot he'll take fer an exclusive contract.' So we sent a cablegram to Charles d.i.c.kens, Vestminster Abbey, England, and we didn't git no answer, and come to find out, de boys in de studios vas havin' a laugh on old Abey, because dis guy d.i.c.kens is some old time feller, and de Abbey is vere dey got his bones. Vell, dey can have deir fun--how de h.e.l.l's a feller like me gonna git time to know about writers? Vy, only twelve years ago, Maw here and me vas carryin'

pants in a push-cart fer a livin', and we didn't know if a book vas top-side up or bottom--ain't it, Maw?”

Maw certified that it was--though I thought not quite so eagerly as her husband. There were five little T-S's growing up, and bringing pressure to let the dead past stay buried, in Vestminster Abbey or wherever it might be.

The waiter brought the dinner, and spread it before us. And T-S tucked his napkin under both ears, and grabbed his knife in one hand and his fork in the other, and took a long breath, and said: ”Good-bye, folks. See you later!” And he went to work.

XVI

For five minutes or so there was no sound but that of one man's food going in and going down. Then suddenly the man stopped, with his knife and fork upright on the table in each hand, and cried: ”Mr.

Carpenter, you ain't eatin' nuttin'!”

The stranger, who had apparently been in a daydream, came suddenly back to Prince's. He looked at the quant.i.ties of food spread about him. ”If you'd only let me take a little to those men outside!” He said it pleadingly.

But T-S tapped imperiously on the table, with both his knife and fork together. ”Mr. Carpenter, eat your dinner! Eat it, now, I say!”

It was as if he were dealing with one of the five little T-S's. And Carpenter, strange as it may seem, obeyed. He picked up a bit of bread, and began to nibble it, and T-S went to work again.

There was another five minutes of silence; and then the picture magnate stopped, with a look of horror on his face. ”My Gawd! He's cryin'!” Sure enough, there were two large tears trickling, one down each cheek of the stranger, and dropping on the bread he was putting into his mouth!

”Look here, Mr. Carpenter,” protested T-S. ”Is it dem strikers?”

”I'm sorry; you see--”

”Now, honest, man, vy should you spoil your dinner fer a bunch o'

d.a.m.n lousy loafers--”

”Abey, vot a vay to talk at a dinner-party!” broke in Maw.

And then suddenly Mary Magna spoke. It was a strange thing, though I did not realize it until afterwards. Mary, the irrepressible, had hardly said one word since we left the beauty parlors! Mary, always the life of dinner parties, was sitting like a woman who had seen the ghost of a dead child; her eyes following Carpenter's, her mind evidently absorbed in probing his thoughts.

”Abey!” said she, with sudden pa.s.sion, of a sort I'd never seen her display before. ”Forget your grub for a moment, I have something to say. Here's a man with a heart full of love for other people--while you and I are just trying to see what we can get out of them! A man who really has a religion--and you're trying to turn him into a movie doll! Try to get it through your skull, Abey!”

The great man's eyes were wide open. ”Holy smoke, Mary! Vot's got into you?” And suddenly he almost shrieked. ”Lord! She's cryin'

too!”