Front matter (continued 2)

“I’ll call them at once,” agreed Janet.

They talked at length of their experiences and at last Helen’s father turned to Fenstow.

“Lose all of your last-day takes?” he asked.

“Don’t believe we lost a one,” replied the other director. “We put the film cans in the well. One of my boys shot some swell scenes of the fire if the camera didn’t get too hot and ruin the negative.”

“Then I suppose you’ll use a fire in your next western?” chuckled Henry Thorne.

“Can’t say,” replied Billy Fenstow. “That will be up to Janet.”

“Why Janet?”

“She’s going to do my next scenario.”

“You’re not joking?”

“Of course not. I’ve gone kind of stale and I thought she could inject some fresh material. At least she’s going to get a fair chance to see just what kind of a film story she can turn out.”

“Then I’m predicting that she’ll do a good job if it’s anything like the caliber of her usual work,” replied Helen’s father.

“Don’t count on me too much,” cautioned Janet. “This is a new field and I may get in so deep I’ll never get anything creditable.”

The truck swung around a sharp curve. Ahead of them was a blaze of light from the headlights of a score of cars which were parked along the paved road. Raucous squawks of horns greeted the approaching truck.

It was still raining hard, but a trim figure, clad in a raincoat, detached itself from a group in front of one of the cars and hurried toward the truck.

“Hello mother. Here I am,” called Helen. “Both of us are all right.”

She jumped from the truck and into her mother’s arms. After a brief embrace, her mother spoke quickly.

“We mustn’t stand here. You’ll catch cold. Here, get under my coat and we’ll hurry to the car. Janet, you stay in the truck until we can pull along here.”

Henry Thorne looked down at Janet.

“Pretty tired?”

“Just about all in,” she confessed and she found it hard to muster a smile.

“Had enough of Hollywood?” he asked quietly.

Janet looked up quickly.

“I don’t know, honestly I don’t. The way I feel right now all I want is sleep and lots of it.”

He nodded understandingly and just then the car drove up beside the truck and they jumped down and entered it.

Henry Thorne took the wheel while his wife and the girls made themselves comfortable in the back seat. Mrs Thorne very wisely made no effort to ask them about the events of the night, but tucked them in with blankets and before the car had gone half a mile both girls were sound asleep.

The next thing Janet knew someone was shaking her shoulder. It was Mrs. Thorne.

“We’re home and you can be in bed in five minutes,” she said. Janet rubbed a little of the sleep from her tired eyes—just enough so she could see to get into the house.

Helen, walking ahead of her, moaned now at every step, for her feet had been badly bruised by the stones.

Mrs. Thorne hurried ahead to run a tub of hot water while her husband drove the car around to the garage. With Mrs. Thorne helping them, the girls were soon in fresh pajamas.

Janet decided on a warm shower and Helen followed her under the spray. Then Mrs. Thorne treated the bruises on Helen’s feet and both girls piled into bed.

“Sleep as long as you want to,” she said as she snapped off the light.

Janet didn’t even hear the click of the switch. She dropped into a deep slumber, one so heavy that there were no dreams of fires and storms.

When she finally awoke it was broad daylight. Fresh, sweet air filled their room. There was no smell of smoke, no threat of storm, and she wondered, for a moment, if she could have been dreaming about the night before. It was just possible that it had been a nightmare. Then she stretched and the aching muscles of her legs told her that indeed it had not been a nightmare.

Janet looked over to Helen’s bed. Her friend was still sleeping heavily so Janet slipped out of bed quietly, donned her dressing gown, and went down to the bathroom.

Mrs. Thorne heard her moving about and looked in for a minute.

“We telephoned your folks last night,” she said. “They’d heard the radio broadcast and were greatly relieved when we told them both of you were safe.”

“Oh, thanks so much. I was so sleepy I forgot all about it,” confessed Janet.

“Helen getting up?” asked Mrs. Thorne.

“No, she’s sleeping soundly.”

“Then come in to lunch without going back to dress,” said Helen’s mother.

“You mean breakfast?” asked Janet.

Mrs. Thorne smiled. “No, I mean lunch, and a very late lunch at that. It’s well after two o’clock now.”

Janet, finishing her shower, rubbed her body briskly with a heavy towel, and slipped the dressing gown on over her pajamas. Then she joined Mrs. Thorne in the dining room.

“The morning papers made quite a story of it,” said Mrs. Thorne, handing Janet a copy.

A bold headline was blazoned across the entire top of the front page:

“MOVIE COMPANY ESCAPES FIRE!”

Then, in terse, action sentences, the story told of the narrow escape of Billy Fenstow’s western unit. Janet found Helen’s name and her own mentioned. She was glad that the story gave Curt Newsom full credit for the cool-headed work which had saved their lives. Curt deserved every word of it.

Helen joined them a few minutes later, limping a little for her feet were still aching from the bruises.

The girls passed the remainder of the afternoon resting and at dinner that night became involved in a serious discussion with Helen’s father and mother.

After the dessert, Henry Thorne pushed back his chair and looked at them quizzically.

“Summer’s about over,” was his opening remark and Janet knew that he had something on his mind. She had a hunch that she could guess what the trend of the conversation was to be.

“You girls made up your minds what you want to do?”

He seemed to have his eyes fixed on Janet, as though looking to her for the decision which would guide Helen.

“First of all I want to try to do the story Billy Fenstow asked me to do,” retorted Janet. “After that I think I’ll have had enough of Hollywood.”

“Getting tired of being an actress?”

“Not at all, I’m just realizing my limitations and after all, I do want more education—the type of broadening education that I can get in a university.”

Henry Thorne swung toward his own daughter.

“What do you think, Helen?”

“Why, I haven’t made up my mind yet, Dad. I like Hollywood, I’ve been having a grand time, but I guess I’ve never really thought of staying on here definitely. It was understood from the first that this was just a glorious vacation and that when summer ended Mother and I would go back to Clarion and I’d go to college.”

“I expect that’s right,” nodded her father. “It did start out to be just a vacation proposition and you girls can make it that if you want, but I’ve a new plan that may appeal to you. How would you like to go to Radio City in New York for several weeks?”

Chapter Twelve

THE PREVIEW

The girls stared hard at Henry Thorne. It was so like him to toss off an important statement in an off-hand manner that it left them almost gasping for breath.

“Why, Dad, what do you mean?” demanded Helen.

“Just what I said,” smiled her father. “How would you and Janet like to go to Radio City for several weeks?”

“I’d like it fine,” put in Janet quickly and Helen chorused her own agreement.

“Now tell us what it’s all about,” insisted Helen.

“I’m a little vague on it myself,” admitted her father, “except that the studio is planning an extensive promotion stunt to boost my last picture, ‘Kings of the Air,’ and the general manager, Mr. Rexler, is going to send a part of the cast to New York City where they’ll put on a radio drama based on the action in the new picture. The whole idea is to whet the appetites of the film fans by giving them just enough of the story over the air to make them rush to the nearest theater and see the actual picture.”

“But where do we come in?” asked Janet. “We were only very minor members of the cast.”

“True enough, but some of the principals are now working on other pictures and it would be impractical to release them and send them east for a promotional stunt so some of the lesser members of the company will make the trip.”

“Maybe we’re lucky to be lesser members,” smiled Helen. “When do we start?”

“I don’t know exactly. The release date for ‘Kings’ is next month, so I expect you’ll leave here in a few weeks.”

“That will give me just time enough to try the scenario for Billy Fenstow,” said Janet. “Maybe I’d better start work on it tonight.”

“You look pretty tired. Better wait until morning when you’ll be thoroughly rested,” advised Helen’s father.

They adjourned to the living room where they gathered around a large table and discussed possible story plots that Janet could use. She made several notes and then, with Helen, retired early.

A second night of sleep found the girls feeling greatly refreshed. Henry Thorne loaned Janet his own portable typewriter and she set it on a low table beside the swimming pool, found some yellow copy paper in the house, rolled a fresh sheet into the typewriter, and sat down waiting for an idea to pop into her head.

“Hello, author!” said someone from behind her and she swung about to face Curt Newsom, who had walked up unheralded.

“Hello, Curt. Sit down. My, but I’m glad to see you. Are you all right after the fire?”

The cowboy smiled. “As right as I’ll ever be. I was scared half to death that night. Say, I saw Billy Fenstow this morning. The picture’s all together now and they’re going to screen it at the Bijou down the street after the regular feature. Better be there tonight.”

“I’ll be there in fear and trembling,” smiled Janet.

“Oh, I wouldn’t feel that way about it. I think you did a lot better than most of the girls I’ve had in the company.”

“Thanks, Curt. That was nice of you to say that, but I realize I have very definite limitations as an actress.”

“Well, I’m not so hot as an actor,” he admitted. “About all I have to do is stick on a horse and shoot a gun loaded with blank cartridges.”

“That isn’t all and you know it,” reproved Janet.

Curt looked at the typewriter and the blank sheet of paper.

“I’m keeping you from your work. I only dropped in to tell you about the preview tonight. I’ve got to get along.”

“I’m supposed to be generating ideas for Mr. Fenstow’s next script,” confessed Janet, “but the mental generator seems to have gone on a strike.”

“What’s the story going to be about?”

“You guess,” smiled Janet.

“Well, why don’t you have a young heiress, pretty much spoiled, who owns a ranch. She’s never seen it so she goes west for a trip and while there learns that most of her fortune has been wiped out through the declining value of securities and by embezzlement of some of her trustees. About all she has left is the ranch and a brother who is pretty much worthless.”

“It’s a grand idea,” exulted Janet. “Then of course we could have a cattle war, some rustling, maybe a vein of gold found on the ranch, and plenty of action.”

“You’re supposed to write the story,” chided Curt. “Well, I must get along.”

“Thanks for the help. I’ll make you coauthor,” called Janet as Curt strode toward the street.

Curt’s suggestion gave her the nucleus of her story. It would be a little different treatment of the western theme. Janet started working, her fingers flowing rhythmically over the keys. She wrote simply. All that was required of her was a good, comprehensive outline of the story. The studio writers would put in the dialogue.

But Janet’s interest grew as the story progressed and she found herself putting in conversation and bits of description of the characters. She was so absorbed that Helen came and stood beside her for several minutes before she was aware of her presence.

“Going strong?” she asked.

Janet, barely interrupting the smooth flow of her story, nodded.

“Preview’s tonight at the Bijou after the regular feature. Curt Newsom stopped to tell us.”

“Then you’d better stop writing now. You’ve been at it steadily for more than hour. You want to feel peppy tonight when we go to see the preview.”

Janet finished the paragraph and pulled the sheet of copy from the machine. She had written eight pages and the top and bottom margins were narrow. She wanted to keep on writing, but knew that Helen’s advice was sound. She wanted to be rested enough to enjoy “Water Hole,” to see herself, for probably the only time in her life, as the leading lady of a motion picture.

They met Billy Fenstow at the box office and he handed them tickets for a few seats which had been reserved for his friends.

“Nervous?” he asked Janet.

“A little. How is it?”

“Wait and see. Here comes Mr. Rexler.”

The girls turned in time to see the taciturn general manager of the Ace studio stride into the lobby. Close behind him was Helen’s father. Janet felt her heart sink. Here was the chief of the studio on hand to pronounce final judgment on the picture. But Bill Fenstow seemed unperturbed and she forced herself to be calm.

They all went in together. The feature was a south sea love drama produced by a rival studio and it was typical program picture with nothing to make it outstanding in interest.

Then the picture they had been waiting for flashed on the screen. “‘Water Hole,’ directed by Billy Fenstow, starring Curt Newsom and produced by the Ace Motion Picture Corp.” Then came the credits for the story, photography, etc., and finally the cast of characters with Curt’s name at the top. Janet felt her heart stop for one breathless moment, Her name—Janet Hardy—was the second in the cast and directly under that was Helen’s.

Then the picture zoomed away to a fast start with the action that always characterized a Billy Fenstow production. Janet tried to be critical, but she couldn’t help enjoying the picture and her voice didn’t sound so terribly bad as it came out of the loudspeakers.

The picture ended all too suddenly. The house lights came up and Janet found herself staring at the others, waiting for their verdict.

Rexler was the first to speak. He leaned over and tapped Billy Fenstow on the shoulder.

“Nice show, Billy. Got the girl signed up?”

Billy turned to Janet.

“How about it; want to sign a contract to stay with my unit?”

Suddenly Janet knew that she didn’t. It had been a wonderful summer, climaxed in the picture she had just seen with herself as leading lady, but now she was just a little homesick. Then, too, there was the trip to Radio City.

“Not right now,” she told the director. “Later, perhaps, but not now.”

The general manager looked at her strangely.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it is the smartest thing you could do. If you change your mind, let me know.”

He stood up and stalked down the aisle, but Janet knew now that she would never change her mind.

Chapter Thirteen

JANET TURNS AUTHOR

Early the next morning Janet returned to the task of writing the story for Billy Fenstow’s next picture. The story developed rapidly and she found plenty of opportunities to provide the hard-riding action for which Curt Newsom was famous.

She worked steadily until mid-forenoon when Helen joined her in the garden.

“How is it going?” she asked.

“It’s lots of fun, and I think I have a fairly good idea. Whether I’m getting it across is another thing,” smiled Janet. “I suspect the regular studio writers will think it pretty much a mess when they get their hands on it.”

“I wouldn’t care much what they think as long as Mr. Fenstow likes it. After all, he’s the one who will accept or reject it and the check you get will depend on his approval.”

Janet leaned back in her chair and gazed at the scudding white clouds far overhead.

“How much do you suppose they’ll pay if they accept the story?” she mused.

“Sometimes they pay thousands of dollars,” said Helen.

“But only for outstanding books or plays. I mean for little stories like this; the kind that perhaps have an idea in them that can be developed further by the studio staff.”

“Maybe a thousand dollars,” ventured Helen.

“That would be enough,” said Janet, a faraway look in her eyes.

“Now just what do you mean by that?” Helen wanted to know.

“A thousand dollars would go a long ways toward guaranteeing me a college education. Why, with what I’ve saved out of our salaries this summer, I’d have nearly two thousand dollars and I could make that go a long ways toward four years of college.”

“I’ve saved a lot this summer, too,” admitted Helen. “Dad and mother were talking this morning. We’re going back to Clarion.”

Helen was silent for a moment. Then Janet spoke.

“When are you going back?”

“Soon; perhaps next week. But you and I will go on to New York to help with the radio promotion of ‘Kings of the Air.’”

“Will you be happy in Clarion after a summer here?” asked Janet, watching her companion closely.

“I’m sure I will. After all, I’m a small town girl and all this amazes and scares me a little. Perhaps when college days are over I’ll want to come back and try to make a name for myself in pictures. Dad thinks that would be wise.”

“What school are you going to go to?” Janet asked the question with bated breath. They had always planned on going to their own state university, Corn Belt U., but she thought it possible that Helen’s father might have expressed some other preference since their arrival on the coast.

“Corn Belt U.,” replied Helen. “Dad left that entirely up to me and of course I wanted to follow out our plans.”

Janet sighed heartily. She was elated at Helen’s words for it meant that the pleasant companionship they had enjoyed through high school days could continue through college.

“We’ll have lots of fun,” said Helen, “but if we go on to Radio City for the promotion work we’ll have to register late. Perhaps we can arrange for that while we’re home. It isn’t more than half a day’s drive from home to school.”

“I’m sure we can, especially if we explain that the trip to New York will enable us to earn more money for our college educations.”

“But, Janet, you know we don’t actually have to earn our way through school. Dad’s got plenty and your father is comfortably fixed.”

“I know it, but it’s a matter of pride. I’d like to have as much of my own money as possible for college. If I got in a pinch, I’d yell for Dad’s help, I suppose.”

They talked on about college plans and were finally interrupted when Mrs. Thorne summoned them to lunch,

More plans for their return to Clarion were made at the luncheon table. Packing would have to be started soon.

“Let’s pick out our college wardrobes here in Hollywood. Then we’ll be sure and have the latest styles.”

“Maybe Hollywood styles won’t be campus styles,” smiled Janet, “but I would like a chance to wear that wonderful gown Roddy made for me to a college party.”

It was pleasant to think of their first experience in Hollywood when Roddy, the famous designer of gowns at the Ace studio, had created gorgeous evening gowns for them to wear at their first movie premiere. Janet could imagine that wearing such gowns at a party on the campus at Corn Belt U. would create quite a sensation, and she thrilled pleasantly at the thought.

After luncheon was over, Janet returned to her writing and Helen joined her beside the pool, stripping the wrapper off a copy of the Clarion Times, which had arrived on the noonday mail.

“Look at this; what nerve!” exclaimed Helen, shoving the front page of the paper at Janet. She pointed to a story in the center of the page.

Janet stared at the headline with unbelieving eyes.

“LOCAL GIRLS FEATURED IN MOVIE.”

Her eyes followed down to the story, which heralded the fact that Cora Dean and Margie Blake, Clarion girls touring in the west, had been drafted for rôles in a western picture by Billy Fenstow, the famous director. Janet read on.

“Miss Dean and Miss Blake report that Janet Hardy and Helen Thorne also have rôles in the picture,” the story said.

It was then that Janet flushed. She could have told Cora and Margie just what she thought of them if they had been anywhere within hearing distance but fortunately for them, perhaps, they were a good many miles away.

“How do you suppose the Times got that story?” asked Janet, the flush fading from her cheeks.

“I know,” said Helen with emphasis. “Cora wrote to Pete Benda, the city editor, and gave him all of the information which is in the story. Imagine her telling him ‘that we are also in the picture.’ I’m certainly going to see that ‘Water Hole’ is shown in the theaters at home. That will kind of spoil their story.”

Janet laughed. “Perhaps Cora and Margie did feel that they had the major rôles. You never can tell what others will think is important.”

“It would be a joke on them if the film cutters left out the sequence they’re in,” chuckled Helen.

Janet looked at her quickly.

“Don’t you suggest that to anyone,” she warned.

“I won’t,” promised Helen.

Janet handed the paper back to her companion and went on with her work. She spent most of the afternoon at the typewriter and when she was through, felt that she had done a good day’s work. The manuscript would be ready with only another morning’s writing.

Billy Fenstow, dropping in after dinner for a visit with Helen’s father inquired about the story and Janet handed him the first draft of as much as she had completed.

The little director read it with interest, the lines around his eyes gathering in little puckers as he skimmed through the typed pages. Janet almost held her breath through all the time he was reading and she saw Henry Thorne leaning forward, trying to read some reaction on Billy Fenstow’s face.

When the director had finished, he looked up and smiled at Janet.

“Reads well,” he commented. “Of course there are a lot of rough spots, but we’ll be able to use it.”

Chapter Fourteen

CLOTHES BY RODDY

Janet felt her pulse pounding. Acceptance of the story would mean a great deal toward swelling her college fund and she leaned forward eagerly.

“You mean you’ll accept it?” she asked.

“If your final chapters are as good as these, we’ll take it,” replied Mr. Fenstow. “Of course we won’t be able to pay a whole lot since the studio staff will have to whip it into shape, but we’ll make it worth your while.”

“How much do you think it will be?” this was from Helen, whose interest in the sale of the story was almost as great as Janet’s.

Billy Fenstow mopped his forehead.

“That will be up to Mr. Rexler. I’d say that it wouldn’t be more than a thousand dollars.”

“Really!” gasped Janet, who had visions of her college fund mounting in one great jump.

“Well, maybe not that much, but I’ll get all I can for you. Now you finish it up as rapidly as possible.”

“It will be ready tomorrow noon,” promised Janet.

Billy Fenstow left a short time later and after he had gone, Henry Thorne spoke to them about the journey back to Clarion.

“Now that Janet is practically assured the sale of her story, we’d better make our plans. Can you be ready to start home next Monday?”

The girls looked blankly at each other. Of course they had known that their stay in Hollywood was near an end, but to put the date so soon was something of a shock.

Mrs. Thorne spoke first.

“I’m sure we can, Henry. But we’ll almost need a truck to take back all of the things we’ve accumulated.”

“I’ll have some professional packers come out and make whatever boxes are needed,” her husband assured her.

“But we’ve got to get clothes,” wailed Helen. “We want to wear Hollywood styles when we go to college.”

Her father bit the end of his cigar and looked at it thoughtfully.

“Why don’t you call on Roddy?”

“But he wouldn’t do clothes for us; we couldn’t afford it,” said Helen.

“He might do it for you as a special favor to me,” grinned her father. “As a matter of fact, I think he mentioned something about it the other day. Wanted to know when you were leaving and said he might be able to do something for you.”

“We’ll see him the first thing in the morning,” said Helen.

“I won’t,” spoke up Janet. “I’ve got to finish the story whether I have clothes made by Roddy or not.”

“That’s the fight, Janet,” said Henry Thorne.

“When do we go on to Radio City?” asked Helen.

“You’ll have only a couple of days at home. Then you’ll have to go on to New York.”

“How long will we be there?” Janet wanted to know.

“I’m not sure. At least ten days; perhaps more.”

“Which means we’ll have to hurry back home and start in to school as soon as our work at Radio City is over,” put in Helen. “I wonder how it will seem to be before a microphone?”

“Not any worse than before a camera,” said Janet.

They talked on at length of plans for their college days and although it was late when they went to bed, Janet was up early and working at her typewriter. The final two chapters of her story unrolled easily and rapidly and at eleven o’clock she leaned back in her chair. The job was done.

Helen had gone on to the studio to talk with Roddy and Janet was to join her after lunch. Janet stood up and stretched. Her back ached from the strain of bending over her typewriter and she went into the house and changed into her trim swimming suit. Fifteen minutes in the pool washed away the aches and when she emerged she felt greatly refreshed.

Janet dressed carefully for she wanted to look well when she talked to Roddy. Mrs. Thorne was the only other one at home for lunch and they enjoyed a pleasant meal.

Janet picked up the finished manuscript and took it with her to the studio. She left it at Billy Fenstow’s office and went on to the building where Roddy had his office and where the wizard of design created the gorgeous fashions that were worn by the stars in the big productions at the Ace studio.

Helen was in Roddy’s own fitting room and Janet joined her there. Roddy appeared in a few minutes and after greeting her warmly, set about the task of providing her with a new outfit.

“Tell me just what you want,” he smiled.

“Honestly, I don’t know. I’m going to college,” said Janet.

“Then let me decide,” he begged and Janet agreed.

The next hours passed in a swirl of fittings and cloth which was draped this way and that around them, and when they were through neither girl knew exactly what had happened.

“That’s all,” said the little designer. “I’ll send them to your home. It will be a week before they’re ready.”

“Thanks so much,” said the girls as Roddy waved them out of the office.

“What do you suppose he’s going to make?” asked Janet.

“Well, I know there’ll be a sport outfit and an afternoon dress; perhaps something for the classroom; about three apiece.”

“But how will we ever pay for them? The materials alone will be more than we can afford.”

“Let’s not worry about that. I have a hunch that there will never be a bill for them.”

They met Helen’s father near the studio entrance and they all drove home together.

“I’ve had a long talk with the general manager,” he said. “You’ve got to be in Radio City in about ten days.”

“That won’t mean much time at home,” said Janet.

“Nor much to get to Corn Belt U. and get our late registrations fixed up,” added Helen.

“Don’t worry about that. All those details can be taken care of,” said her father. “Just plan to have a good time in Radio City when you get there.”

Both girls knew that they would enjoy their broadcasting experience in New York to the utmost. There might be a little fear of the microphone but they knew that facing a camera couldn’t be any harder than one of the silent “Mikes.”

At dinner that night they told of their hours with Roddy and speculated again at the creations which his fertile mind would turn out for them.

“No use to try and guess,” warned Helen’s father. “You never can predict what Roddy will do.”

On the following day Janet received a telephone call from Billy Fenstow.

“Can you come over to the studio?” he asked.

“Just as soon as a taxi can get me there,” she promised.

Helen and her mother were down town shopping and Janet phoned for a taxi. She slipped into a fresh dress while she was waiting and then was whirled away to the studio. Envious eyes watched her go through the gates which were shut to so many.

Janet found the little director in his office back at stage nine, her pile of manuscript in front of him.

“I’ve finished the story and Mr. Rexler has gone over it,” said the director, after greeting Janet and waving her toward a chair.

She waited breathlessly for his next words.

“We both think it will do. Mind, it isn’t anything sensational, but it does have a new twist or two and can be made into a Curt Newsom feature very well.”

He paused and picked up a check which was on his desk.

“There will have to be a great deal done to the story by our own writing staff, so we felt seven hundred and fifty dollars would be a fair price to offer for the story,” he said handing the check to Janet.

She took it mechanically and turned it over. Then looked at the name on the face of the check. It was payable to Janet Hardy.

“Thanks so much, Mr. Fenstow. It’s very satisfactory.”

“Too bad you won’t stay on. I’d give you the lead,” he urged.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve made up my mind. Perhaps when college days are over, I’ll come back and apply for a job.”

“You’ll get one if I’m still on the lot grinding out westerns,” he promised.

Janet left the little office and walked across the sprawling motion picture plant. It was probably her last visit for the hours left before their departure would be filled with thoughts of packing. It was a dull time at the studio, with only one or two pictures in production, but with the coming weeks every sound stage would be humming with activity as new celluloid dramas were rushed to completion for the entertainment of millions of movie fans. Janet knew that she would not be a part of it, but there was a tremendous satisfaction in recalling the experiences of the past weeks and looking forward to the new ones that were bound to come at Radio City.

Chapter Fifteen

HOMEWARD BOUND

Hours filled with packing and last minute details took their time up almost until the actual hour of the departure of their plane. They finished finally at midnight and they were to take the four o’clock eastbound plane for the midwest. New schedules had been inaugurated since they had come west and they would be home in time for dinner that night.

Helen’s mother came in.

“You girls must get some sleep, or you’ll look pretty much worn out when you reach Clarion.”

“I’m too excited to sleep,” confessed Janet.

“Then let’s take a swim in the pool. That ought to relax us,” urged Helen.

They slipped into their suits and for nearly half an hour enjoyed the pool. The moon was well up in the cloudless sky and it was an ideal night. Neither girl said very much, just floated on the pool, wondering what the coming weeks would have in store for them.

When they finally emerged from the water they were ready to call it a day and they were sound asleep by one o’clock.

Mrs. Thorne called them at three. It was still dark, but a hot breakfast was ready for them in the dining room. Even up to the last minute it seemed as though there were a host of things to do and they took a final survey of the house before they closed their bags. Two cabs were waiting; one for them and the other to take their bags.

It was exactly three-thirty when they started for the airport. The streets were deserted and lights were on in only a few of the homes. Their cab swung on to a boulevard and flashed past the entrance of the Ace studio. Janet caught only a glimpse of the plant, but she felt a queer tightening of her heart, and she wondered if she had been wise in deciding to leave Hollywood. But it was too late now. She had made her decision.

At the airport the big twin-motored transport was on the ramp, its motors idling and flickers of blue flame coming out of the exhaust under the wing.

An attendant at the gate checked the tickets Henry Thorne held in his hand and they were escorted to the plane where their stewardess assigned their seats. The cabin of this ship was even more luxuriously furnished than the one in which they had flown west and Janet settled herself comfortably into the thickly upholstered chair. Their baggage was stowed in the tail of the plane and then she saw the pilots come out of the office.

They stepped into the cabin and walked up the narrow aisle to their own compartment. Both of them were youthful and Janet wondered that they had the marvelous skill in their hands necessary to guide the huge plane on its flight.

Two more passengers hastened up to the gate and were escorted to the cabin. Then the stewardess checked the list of reservations. In addition to Henry Thorne and his party, there were only the two late-comers, both of whom were men.

The motors roared and the plane rolled ahead, gaining speed rapidly. Before Janet knew it they were off the ground and soaring into a half light of the early day. A blanket of lights unfolded beneath them, but the lights were strangely dim and the plane headed away for the mountains, climbing steadily to have safety in crossing the dangerous peaks.

Night faded rapidly now and they were well into the mountains at sunrise. They were heading northeast, flying now over great stretches of desolate land where there was nothing but sand and sagebrush, and sometimes precious little sagebrush.

Salt Lake City was beneath them almost before they knew it and when the plane landed there Janet and Helen got out to stretch their legs while the crews were changed and the plane refuelled. Then they were in the air again, climbing once more to get above the continental divide and after that came the descent to Cheyenne. Lunch was served aboard the plane with Omaha the next stop and they roared on east as the sun rolled westward.

Janet was watching the landscape below closely now for this was her home state—a land dotted with many farms and huddles of houses that were the villages, tied together by strips of white highway and an occasional train that seemed to be puffing along a ladder which had been laid on the ground.

Almost before she knew it the motors of the plane lessened their roar and a town appeared underneath. It was Rubio, the nearest regular stop on the transcontinental line.

The giant transport settled down easily. Janet felt the wheels touch and she looked eagerly through the heavy glass of the window for the first glimpse of her father and mother.

She saw them on the ramp, gazing anxiously at the plane as it wheeled up to the concrete slab.

Janet, the first out of the plane, ran to greet them. Her mother embraced her affectionately and her father gave her a hearty hug.

“My, but it’s good to see you!” he declared. “We’ve missed you so much.”

“And I’ve missed you, but I’ve had a grand time,” replied Janet, locking her arms in theirs.

The Thornes came up and there were greetings all around. Then Henry Thorne and Janet’s father supervised the loading of the luggage into the Hardy sedan.

The car was crowded, but they had so much to talk about and were so eager to say it that the inconvenience of short space mattered little.

Taking turns, Janet and Helen, rather breathlessly, told the story of their summer in Hollywood while John Hardy whirled them smoothly and safely along the ribbon of concrete that led from Rubio to Clarion.

They stopped at the Thorne home and unloaded most of the luggage there.

“You’re coming over to dinner,” Mrs. Hardy told them. “Is six-thirty all right?”

“We’ll be there,” promised Mrs. Thorne, who was anxious for all of the news of her friends in Clarion.

When they were home, Janet and her father and mother sat down in the comfortable living room and she told them more in detail of her adventures in the west, of the making of the western films and of their narrow escape from death in the fire.

“We were greatly worried by the radio report,” said her father, “but the call from the Thornes reassured us.”

Janet’s mother spoke up.

“Are you going on to New York City?”

“Yes, mother. We’ll only have a few days at home. Then Helen and I are to go on to New York for a few days for a promotional broadcast on Mr. Thorne’s new picture, ‘Kings of the Air.’ You know, we had minor rôles in it and some members of the cast are being sent east to take part in this promotion work. I think it will be great fun.”

“But how about college?” her father wanted to know.

“That’s one of the things I’ll have to see about while I’m home this time. Maybe you would drive Helen and me over to Corn Belt U. some time tomorrow or the next day so we could see about registration? We’ll have to arrange to enter classes late.”

“We can go tomorrow,” nodded her father. “I’ve arranged to spend most of the rest of the week at home. Mother and I want to hear all about Hollywood.”

“I didn’t see it all,” smiled Janet. “But it’s a grand place, at least in which to spend one summer.”

The Thornes arrived promptly at the dinner hour and they visited at length over a leisurely meal. At eight o’clock Henry Thorne glanced at his watch.

“The manager of the Pastime telephoned just before dinner to say that he had received a print of ‘Water Hole,’ a new western, and would add it to his regular program tonight. Think you’d like to go?”

“Why, Janet, isn’t that the picture you and Helen were in?” asked her mother.

Janet nodded and turned to Henry Thorne, who was smiling.

“I believe you had that print of the film shipped east on the plane with us,” she accused.

“What of it?” he parried.

“Of course we’ll go,” said Janet’s mother. “We’ll leave the dishes right on the table. It isn’t every day that I get such an opportunity.”

Helen slipped away from the table and Janet could hear her at the phone calling for Pete Benda, the city editor of the Times.

“Pete? This is Helen Thorne. Yes, I’m back in town. Drop in at the Pastime this evening if you’d like to see the parts that Cora Dean and Margie Blake took in that western picture they wrote you about. No, never mind a story about us now. We’ve had plenty of publicity.”

Helen hung up the receiver and turned to face Janet.

“Do you think that was nice?” asked Janet, but there was an upward twist of her lips.

“Maybe it wasn’t exactly nice, but it was a lot of fun,” conceded Helen.

There was just a tang of fall in the air and they slipped on light jackets, deciding to walk to the theater, which was less than half a dozen blocks away.

Janet’s father insisted on buying the tickets for the party and they had excellent seats well down in the front of the theater. Janet thought she saw Pete Benda slide into a seat ahead of them, but she couldn’t be sure.

The regular feature came to an end and the western, which had been added, flashed on the screen. Janet felt her pulse quicken as the title and the cast of characters, with her own name under Curt Newsom’s. The action started and she glanced at her father and mother. They were completely absorbed in the picture.

Janet enjoyed it thoroughly. After all, it was a pretty good picture for a western and the clothes Roddy had designed for Helen and her added just the right touch of smartness.

The action came to a driving climax and then the picture was over and people around them started to leave. As they walked down the aisle Pete Benda joined them.

“Congratulations, girls. That was a nice show. Say, where were Cora and Margie?”

“Didn’t you see them?” asked Helen naively.

“Don’t kid me,” growled Pete. “Where were they?”

“If you had been looking closely at the crowd in one of the scenes in the town you would have seen them,” smiled Helen. “Better come tomorrow night and look again.”

“Maybe I will,” admitted Pete, “but if I do it will be to look at Janet and you. Say, what’s this I hear about you going on to Radio City?”

“That’s something that will keep,” said Helen. “See you later.”

On the way home Janet’s father and mother told her how proud they were of her work and she felt a real sense of elation, for compliments from them meant more than from anyone else.

It was well after midnight when she finally went to sleep in the bed in her own attractive room. Tomorrow there would be the trip to Corn Belt U. and then on to New York in a few days.

Chapter Sixteen

GORGEOUS GOWNS

The next morning both the Hardy and the Thorne households were up early for it had been decided to make the trip to Newton, the seat of Corn Belt U., during the morning. The girls could complete their plans for registration during the afternoon and in the evening they could return home in good time.

Janet was nearly through breakfast when an express messenger called at the door.

“Package for Miss Janet Hardy,” he announced. “Air express, too.”

Janet signed for the package. It was long and unusually well wrapped and when she saw the return address, “Ace Motion Picture Corp., Costume Department,” she tingled all over, for she knew that inside were the dresses George Roddy, or Adoree as he was know professionally, had created for her.

Janet’s mother helped her rip aside the heavy brown paper with which the cardboard box was wrapped. Inside were layers of tissue and then they gazed upon the first dress, a sport outfit of green wool in lines so plain that its daring was startling. The jacket fitted snugly with a tie about the throat and the ends extended over Janet’s shoulders.

After that came an afternoon dress, a rich brown velvet that caught and threw back at them the morning light. The skirt was plain with the upper half of the dress in a Russian blouse design with the plain roll collar of cloth of gold.

“Why, it’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” exclaimed Janet’s mother. “How did this all happen?”

Briefly, Janet told how Roddy had taken an interest in them and in seeing that they had attractive and striking clothes.

There was one more dress, a garment designed for classroom wear. This was a corduroy—a deep blue that was dazzling in its intensity.

Before Janet could get it completely out of its heavy tissue wrappings the telephone rang and when she answered Helen’s excited voice came tumbling over the wire. She, too, had received her box from Roddy—a sports outfit, an afternoon dress and another dress for classroom wear.

“Let’s wear one of our new dresses when we go to the university to register,” said Helen, and Janet agreed. Each of them had corduroys and they decided to wear these.

Janet took the last garment, the corduroy one, from its wrappings and hurried upstairs to try it on. Her mother hastened after her, as eager as Janet to see how the new dress fitted and looked.

Janet wriggled into the cool, smooth garment and whirled to face her mother. Her hair was a bit touseled and her cheeks flushed from the excitement and the vivid blue of the dress only heightened her youthful charm.

“You look beautiful, dear,” breathed her mother. “I’ve never seen anything more lovely.”

Janet turned back to her mirror and gazed at the dress Roddy’s agile mind had conceived for her. It was striking.

The blue corduroy hung well, fitting closely around her slim hips and opening at the throat with a semi-military cut. A neat little pocket was placed just above her heart. The sleeves were wrist length, rather full at the shoulders and tapering to a close fit just above her hands where they were caught and tied with two silver bands.

Someone came pounding up the stairs. It was Helen, who burst into the room like a young hurricane. Like Janet, she was attired in one of her new dresses. It was corduroy, but of an umber hue that was set off to perfection by Helen’s dark hair and the olive coloring of her face. There was just enough difference in the two dresses to make them varied, yet at a glance an observer could tell that they had been created by the same master hand.

Helen even had on brown hose and shoes that matched her dress.

“Where are your new shoes?” she demanded.

Janet delved further into the box. At the bottom was a shoe box and she opened it with shaking fingers. This was more than she had ever dared imagine. She drew forth a pair of blue kid slippers and tucked in them were three pairs of blue hose to match her dress and shoes. She changed shoes and hose and stood up again, whirling in front of the mirror. The costume now was perfection itself. She ran a comb through her golden hair and knew the thrill that comes from knowing a costume is perfect.

“Do you suppose we’ll be asked to join a sorority at school?” asked Helen.

“If they see you in these dresses I imagine you can join any or all of them,” smiled Mrs. Hardy. “Come now, we must be ready when the men want to start.”

On the echo of her words a horn sounded below. Janet dabbed a little powder on her face and joined Helen as they hurried down stairs. Even their fathers were elated over the new dresses and both girls felt that their cups of happiness were filled to overflowing.

“Honestly,” confided Helen, “I hate to wear this in the car. I’d like to take it off and then put it on when we get near school.”

“I suppose you’d like to ride all of the way wrapped up in a blanket or something,” chided Janet. “But I’ll admit that I hate to sit down in this dress.”

It was a beautifully clear morning and John Hardy sent his big car speeding over the paved road at a fast pace. They were in Newton in ample time to drive around the university grounds and have a leisurely lunch before going to the office of the dean of women to take the first steps in registering.

The campus of Corn Belt U. was lined with stately elms that had watched over the destiny of the school for more than three quarters of a century. The main buildings were of Indiana limestone with a few of the older ones of red-faced brick, now well covered with a rich growth of English ivy.

Janet knew that she would enjoy going to school here. There was a spirit of calm and dignity about the campus that appealed to her.

At lunch they talked of plans for school and of what they would take.

“I’m going to get all of the dramatics and English I can absorb,” declared Helen. “Perhaps a little history, too.”

“How about you, Janet?”

“I think my major courses will be journalism, and perhaps just a little in the way of dramatics.”

“Not thinking about going back to Hollywood and joining Billy Fenstow’s company when you’re through, are you?” chided the director.

“Well, I might have that idea in mind if no newspaper will take me on as a reporter,” conceded Janet.

Luncheon over they went directly to the administration building where, after a short wait, they were ushered into the office of the dean of women.

Mrs. Laird was a pleasant woman of about fifty and Janet saw her keen eyes take in every inch of their costumes in a glance and she thought she saw just a trace of suspicion arise in the dean’s eyes.

Janet’s father explained their mission, pointing out that because of their coming trip to Radio City they would be late in taking up class work.

“It’s a little unusual to arrange registration in this way,” said the dean, “but I believe you can be accommodated.”

For an hour they went over class schedules, the dean advising them on the courses best suited to what they had in mind. She assisted them in filling out the final registration cards and paused at one question.

“Do you hope to join a sorority?” she asked.

“We won’t be here in time for the rushing parties,” replied Janet. “Perhaps that had better wait until another semester, that is, if any of the groups should want us for membership.”

The dean’s cool eyes surveyed the fashionably dressed girls.

“I rather imagine you could take your pick of the sororities right now if the girls were here,” she said.

The registration was over. The girls were to have rooms in Currier Hall, an old but comfortable dormitory.

“The dean seemed a little cool,” said Helen.

“I noticed that, too,” Janet said. “Evidently she doesn’t think much of the plans which call for us hurrying away to New York.”

“Can’t be helped; we’re going,” said Helen.

When they returned home a telegram was waiting for Henry Thorne.

“This interests you girls more than it does me,” he said, handing the message to his daughter.

Helen read it eagerly.

“Have Janet and Helen report next Monday morning at Radio City at ten o’clock,” she said.

“That means we’ll have to leave here Saturday night. Why, that’s only tomorrow night!” gasped Janet.

Chapter Seventeen

HELLO, NEW YORK

They were so busy until after dinner that night that Janet had no time to scan the evening paper. When she picked up the Times it was with pleasant surprise for in the middle of the front page was a story by Pete Benda, reviewing “Water Hole” and describing the rôles Janet and Helen played.

“Miss Hardy gave a most pleasing portrayal in the rôle of the heroine,” Pete had written, “and a good many local people will enjoy this picture to the utmost. It is far above the average western.”

Near the end was a line. “Cora Dean and Margie Blake, local girls who were also in the picture, may be seen in a crowd scene at the village.” Janet smiled as she thought of the humiliation that Cora would feel. Well, it had been a mean trick of Cora’s to write Pete Benda that she and Margie had leading rôles.

Helen’s father made complete plans for their trip to New York for the Ace company was paying all expenses as well as salaries to Janet and Helen while they were in the east.

Both Janet and Helen packed the new dresses Roddy had sent them in the large bags which they were taking with them. There might be little actual opportunity to wear them, but they wanted to be prepared.

Their train for Chicago left at ten o’clock and they arrived at the station in ample time, Janet’s father conveying them there. He had reserved a drawing room for them and they felt elated over that.

The Chicago Limited was on time to the minute, the puffing locomotive drawing its long string of Pullmans to an easy stop. The girls had drawing room A in car fifty-seven. The porter took their bags as they turned to say good-bye to their parents.

“Got plenty of money?” Janet’s father asked in a whisper.

“Plenty, Dad. And I’ll get paid while I’m in New York.”

But he slipped her a small, black book that resembled a check book.

“Put this in your purse. It will come in handy if you have an emergency,” he said.

Calls of “Bo-o-oard,” rang along the train. Final good-byes were said and the girls stepped into the vestibule of their car. The train started easily and they waved to their parents. Then they were out of the train shed, picking up speed rapidly for the remainder of the night run to Chicago.

They retired to their drawing-room, finished in restful tones of rose and gray, and slipped into pajamas. Both being tired, they went to bed at once, Janet in the upper berth and Helen in the lower.

The car was air conditioned and they slept restfully, neither one of them awakening until they were in the outskirts of Chicago.

“What are you going to wear today?” asked Helen, stretching luxuriously between the crisp, cool sheets.

“My corduroy dress,” said Janet. “It’s excellent for travel; comfortable and it won’t muss easily.”

“That appeals to me,” replied Helen, slipping out of bed and starting to dress while Janet lowered herself out of the upper.

The train was past Englewood by the time they were dressed and their porter came in to take their bags.

“Going to wear a hat?” asked Janet.

“Not with this dress; I haven’t anything that goes well with it.”

Janet tipped the porter and a red cap, waiting on the platform, took their bags. Their New York train was only four tracks away and would depart within an hour so their bags were taken directly to the Pullman, where another drawing room had been reserved for the Chicago-New York trip.

After making sure that their bags were in the drawing room, Janet and Helen went into the great, high ceilinged dining room in the station. They enjoyed a hearty breakfast of delicious country ham and eggs with crisp toast and a cool glass of milk.

Janet bought several morning papers and they returned to the train shed. Trains which had been rushing across the plains all night in their dash for Chicago were still arriving, while on other tracks long strings of coaches, ready to start carrying passengers away from the city, were being backed down the tracks.

Re-entering their New York train, they found seats in the luxurious limousine-lounge car at the rear of the train where the observation platform was enclosed in glass. A radio was tuned softly and all of the latest magazines were available.

Travel was light that day and at the start of the trip they were the only ones in the lounge car as the train rolled smoothly out of the station.

There was a brief pause at Englewood, then they were off again, picking up speed as the train skirted the southern edge of Lake Michigan where great industrial plants were perched along the shore and lake freighters seemed to spring out of the prairie as the rails crossed canals.

At lunch time they were well into Indiana. Only a few more passengers had boarded the train and they had the dining car practically to themselves.

As the afternoon advanced they dipped into Ohio and stops were more frequent. By late afternoon the train was well filled and space in the lounge car was almost at a premium.

Janet and Helen went to bed early that night for the coming day promised to be an unusually busy and exciting one for them—they would have their first glimpse of New York, visit Radio City, and receive their assignments for the radio play they were to be in.

“What are you going to wear tomorrow?” asked Helen as she snuggled down between the crisp sheets.

“I don’t know, perhaps the corduroy dress I had on today,” replied Janet. “It’s so comfortable and I think it’s becoming.”

“I guess I’ll vote that way, too,” said Helen, and a minute later both girls were asleep.

They were up early the next morning, breakfasting as the train sped out of the Jersey hills and straightened out for its dash across the tidewater flats to Jersey City. They shot past commuter trains at almost regular intervals for their limited had the right of way.

As they neared the terminal, the porter took their bags and Helen handed him a tip. Her father had deliberately routed them over a line which ended in Jersey City so that they might have their first real glimpse of the towering New York skyline from a ferryboat.

The passengers poured off the train and onto the nearby ferry. Bells clanged, smoke rolled from the twin stacks, and the bulky boat nosed out into the river.

Helen crowded close to Janet as the full majesty of the skyline was unfolded. To their right was the lower city with its cluster of skyscrapers while to their left was mid-town with the Empire State towering almost into the clouds. A little beyond that the sharp spire of the Chrysler building rose skyward.

On the New York side of the Hudson liners were sandwiched into the docks and Janet grabbed Helen’s arm and pointed to one. It was the Europa, famed speed liner. A little further along was the Rex, pride of the Italian merchant marine.

Then the ferry was nosing into its pier. Gates clanged, their baggage was loaded aboard a taxi, and almost before they knew it they were whirling away toward the heart of the city. Helen had given their hotel address.

Up onto an elevated roadway sped their cab where it rocketed along at forty-five miles an hour. Then they shot onto an incline and eased down into a street below. Traffic lights slowed them up now, but in less than ten minutes after leaving the ferry they were in Times Square, the very heart of the throbbing city, where Broadway and Seventh Avenue cross to form a great triangular opening.

At the hotel desk Janet registered for both of them.

“We were to have reservations,” she said.

The clerk checked the registration list and marked their names off. Then they were whisked away to their rooms, high up and on the inside, where they could sleep in something like quiet. They had two rooms with a connecting bath.

“Well, what do you think of the city?” asked Helen.

“I’m still a little breathless,” admitted Janet. “Los Angeles was large—but New York—it just seems to swallow you up.”

They dressed carefully in preparation for their trip to Radio City and at nine-thirty o’clock went down stairs and inquired the best way to reach their destination. The clerk on duty suggested that they walk.

“It’s only a short distance. Go one block to Sixth Avenue, turn to the left, and continue six blocks to Radio City.”

The morning air was clear and cool as they set forth, walking briskly and taking in everything about them. On Sixth Avenue elevated trains rumbled overhead, but up the street they could see the towering building which housed Radio City and their steps quickened.

They reached their destination in a few minutes and turned to the right to the entrance which led to the offices of the World Broadcasting Company, the chain which was to put their program on the air. The lobby was of chromium and black and they stepped into a modernistic elevator that whisked them upward so rapidly they were breathless.

They stepped out at the twenty-seventh floor and into a luxuriously furnished lobby where there were comfortable chairs and restful lights. A young woman at the reception desk looked up as the girls advanced.

“We’re to join the company from the Ace studios,” Janet explained.

“Your names?” The inquiry was purely impersonal.

“Janet Hardy and Helen Thorne.”

The young woman checked their names and called a page.

“Take them to studio K,” she directed.

Janet and Helen turned and followed the page, who was leading them to a new chapter of their lives—one more thrilling than they could have imagined even in their deepest dreams.

Chapter Eighteen

IN RADIO CITY

The page ushered them into the studio and the first person they saw was Curt Newsom, the tall cowboy star who had also had a part in “Kings of the Air.”

Curt hastened to greet them.

“When did you get in?” he asked.

“This morning,” replied Janet. “My, but it’s good to see you again. I didn’t know you were going to be in this promotional unit.”

The cowboy flushed and grinned somewhat sheepishly.

“Well, to tell the truth, I’ve always wanted to try broadcasting a little and I finally pestered the general manager out on the coast until he sent me along and ordered them to give me a part. Come on and meet the director of this unit.”

Curt led them over to a small group where a rather slender, dark-haired man was speaking. He turned to face them as they approached and Janet noted that he wore unusually thick glasses, indicating that his eyes were in need of heavy correction.

“This is Mr. Ben Adolphi,” said Curt, by way of introduction. “Mr. Adolphi has been assigned by the World Broadcasting Company to handle this promotion work.”

He introduced each of the girls to the radio director and Mr. Adolphi smiled pleasantly.

“I shall get at your parts presently,” he said. “Please be seated.”

They found comfortable chairs at one side of the studio and Janet enjoyed the opportunity to look around the room for it was here that they would put on their radio show. The ceiling was high and evidently covered with a cloth which absorbed sound readily. The walls were also covered with a cloth of heavy texture and the carpet on the floor felt an inch thick.

At the rear of the room was a low platform which might be used for an orchestra and to the left, through a heavy plate glass window, was the control room where the engineers regulated the volume of the program and fed it out on the air. Near the door was a desk with a microphone on it for the announcer, and beyond that was a tall steel stand with several microphones, attached to adjustable arms, on it. These could be placed in any portion of the room to pick up the program to the best advantage.

Mr. Adolphi joined them within a few minutes. He carried a handful of script with him and handed one section to Janet and another to Helen.

“You understand that this company is comparatively small when you think of the one used in the production of the picture?” he reminded them. “It will be necessary for you to take several parts, but all of them will be minor rôles since I understand neither of you have had any experience in broadcasting.”

The girls nodded their understanding, and the director plunged on.

“We are going to give only the high spots of the film story over the air, but in addition we are going to weave in some of the actual drama and the thrills attached to the shooting of the picture—some of the behind-the-scenes incidents. Understand?”

Again they nodded.

“We have not been able to get all of this material that we desired and Mr. Newsom has informed me that you have a fair ability at writing.”

This was aimed at Janet and she replied promptly.

“I enjoy writing,” she said, “but the question of ability hasn’t been very well determined yet.”

“But you sold a script for film purposes only recently,” pressed the director.

“Yes, that’s true, but I think it was more luck than anything else.”

“Be that as it may, I’d like you to write some of the intimate and unusual things that go on in the production of such a picture. Get in all of the thrilling material possible. Get me?”

“I think so,” replied Janet, recalling the vivid hours that had marked the production work on “Kings of the Air” when the company was out in the desert and she had been kidnaped.

“Then take the rest of the day off and try to get some of the material into my hands tomorrow morning. We’ll have it whipped into shape by the studio continuity writers, for this program goes on the air day after tomorrow.”

“I’ll do my best, Mr. Adolphi,” promised Janet, and the director hurried away to give further instructions to others in the company.

Helen looked at Janet admiringly.

“Well, you certainly get yourself into all kinds of work,” she smiled. “Now you’ll have to go back to the hotel room and pound away on a rented typewriter while I go down and see a show in the Music Hall.”

“Oh, don’t do that,” begged Janet, who was anxious to see the interior of the world’s largest theater. “Wait another day until I can go with you. There’ll be plenty for you to see in New York beside the Music Hall.”

“All right,” agreed Helen. “We’ll plan on that for tomorrow afternoon.”

As they left the studio they bumped into a slender, dark-haired girl who was hurrying in.

“Clumsy fools,” Janet heard the other girl murmur as she went on and Janet’s face flushed for it had been as much the other’s fault as their own.

They dropped down to the street level in the elevator and Janet started back for the hotel while Helen walked toward Fifth avenue to enjoy a window shopping tour along the exclusive shops that had made the avenue famous throughout the world.

Chapter Nineteen

A MANUSCRIPT VANISHES

Janet went directly to their hotel and asked at the desk about renting a typewriter. Arrangements were made to have one delivered at her room within half an hour and she went to change into an older dress, something that wouldn’t be hurt by wrinkles that were bound to come as she labored over the typewriter.

The machine was delivered promptly and Janet used a supply of the hotel stationary for her writing material. At first the idea of setting down intimate little things about the filming of the picture had appeared easy, but now that the task was before her, the words and ideas did not come freely.

Janet wondered if she dared to record the story of the sabotage when the company was on desert location. She could imagine that it would make grand material for broadcasting purposes and so she set resolutely about the task. The worst that could happen would be for Mr. Adolphi to reject it entirely. Janet finally got started and once under way the flow of words came smoothly and her fingers moved rapidly over the keyboard.

She worked steadily for more than an hour, got up, stretched, walked around the room and returned to the writing. She wasn’t attempting to make it a complete story, just giving the sequences as they had happened during the filming of “Kings of the Air” and the mysterious events which had taken place out on the desert. It was natural that Janet should hint that the plotting was the work of another concern for it had been common talk in their own company later that Premier Films, also producing an air story, had attempted to keep their own film from a successful conclusion. But it had only been talk for there was no definite proof.

Helen came hurrying in just as Janet finished her work.

“How is it going?” she asked.

“All through,” replied her companion. “Have a good time?”

“Grand. I never knew there could be so many beautiful shops in such a small area. Come on now. I want to ride a subway.”

“I’ll have to change clothes,” said Janet.

“Never mind changing for a subway trip. We’ll go down to the Battery. I inquired the way at the desk.”

Janet slipped on a light brown coat and followed Helen down and across to the Times Square subway station where they found themselves engulfed in the crowd and the noise. Helen dropped two nickels in the turnstile and they went through the gate, Helen still in the lead and striding along as though she were the veteran of many a ride in the subway instead of a rank beginner.

A train roared out of the darkness of the tube and Janet saw a sign, “South Ferry,” on the windows.

“This is our train,” cried Helen, shoving her companion ahead of her and into one of the seats. Other passengers piled in, the doors clanged and they were roaring through the tunnel far under the street level. Their train was an express and occasionally they shot past a slower local. The air was close with an odor that is peculiar to a subway, but Janet enjoyed the ride, watching the crowd in the car. It was evident that most of them were accustomed to using the subway several times a day and they were either visiting or reading evening papers, which they had folded so they would take up the least possible room.

At the South Ferry station they walked up to the street levels and entered Battery park. Janet paused a moment, struck by the beauty of the harbor in the late afternoon. Beyond the Battery was the Statue of Liberty and even further the tidewater flats of Jersey.

Several freighters, which had cleared their docks a few minutes before, were going down the harbor and Janet and Helen, standing along the Battery wondered for what distant port they might be bound.

They walked past the Aquarium. On another afternoon they would come back and spend several hours going through that fascinating building.

“I’m tired,” confessed Janet. “Let’s get back to the hotel now, clean up, and have dinner. Perhaps we’ll go to a show after that.”

Helen readily agreed to the suggestion and they returned to the South Ferry station where they caught an uptown express that took them to Times Square at a dizzy pace.

When they emerged from the tube, the shadows were lengthening in the heart of the city. Sidewalks were crowded with hundreds of men and women on their way home after a day’s work in the city. They paused for several minutes to watch the teeming mass of humanity and then turned and entered their hotel.

Janet was the first to step into their rooms and the instant she passed the threshold a feeling of foreboding gripped her and she stopped so suddenly that Helen bumped into her.

“What’s the matter?” asked Helen, looking up quickly.

Janet looked a little sheepish. “I don’t know. For some reason I thought there was something wrong in here.”

“Want me to scream?” smiled Helen. “I can do a good job of that and I guarantee to get someone here in less than a minute with one scream.”

In spite of the banter Janet was far from reassured for a feeling of unrest had settled down upon her. She snapped on the lights in the room and looked around.

Apparently nothing had been disturbed and Helen walked past her and went on into her own room. A puff of wind stirred the curtains at the half-opened window and Janet walked over and looked out. There was no fire escape nearby and it would have been impossible for anyone to have gained access to their room in that manner. But then, she asked herself, why would anyone want to enter their room. They carried no personal jewelry of any value and the money they had left in the room was of such a small amount that it would not make robbery worth while.

In the next room Helen was humming to herself as she undressed and prepared to take a shower. Janet dropped down on the bed to rest a moment. It had been a hectic day and she was tired. Her eyes dropped and she fell into a deep sleep.

Helen finished her shower, looked in at Janet, then returned to her own room, where she partially dressed, put on a dressing gown, and sat down to write a letter home chronicling the events of her first day in New York.

Janet awoke as suddenly as she had fallen asleep. Helen had turned out the light in her room and it was quite dark now, the only light coming through the half-opened door that led to the bathroom and on to Helen’s room.

Janet turned on the light over the desk where she had been writing and glanced down at the manuscript she had been working on. She turned and called sharply to Helen.

“Did you pick up the manuscript I finished this afternoon?” she asked.

“Haven’t seen it since we left for the Battery,” replied Helen. “The last I knew it was right beside your typewriter. Maybe you’re too sleepy to see it.”

“I’m not that sleepy,” retorted Janet.

Perhaps she had put it on the dresser and she turned toward that article of furniture but there was no sign of the manuscript there. She pulled open the drawers, but the manuscript was not there and Helen joined her in the hunt.

“Sure you haven’t taken it to your room and mislaid it?” asked Janet, a deep pucker of worry lining her forehead.

“We’ll look to make sure,” said Helen and they hastened to her room, but the search there was just as fruitless as the one in Janet’s room. Janet even looked in the closets, but there was no encouragement there. In a last hope, she went through the wastepaper basket, but she was doomed to disappointment and turned to Helen, her voice shaking with emotion.

“There’s no doubt about it now,” she declared. “Someone entered our rooms while we were away and stole the manuscript I had been working on!”

Chapter Twenty

THE MYSTERY DEEPENS

The girls stared helplessly at each other and Helen was finally the first to speak.

“But Janet, that can’t be possible. It must be here somewhere.”

Janet shook her head firmly. “It isn’t here and we both know it. My premonition when we entered the room was right. Something is decidedly wrong.”

“But what can we do about it?” asked Helen.

“I’m going to call the clerk,” said Janet, picking up the telephone. She explained briefly what had happened. “The assistant manager is here. He’s coming up in five minutes,” she said when she replaced the instrument on the stand.

Helen rushed back to her own room to finish dressing and was fully clothed when the assistant manager arrived. He made a careful examination of the door and the lock and then went all over the rooms with the girls, but as Janet had felt convinced, there was no further trace of the missing papers.

“I regret this deeply,” said the hotel official, “and can only promise that every effort will be made to see that the papers are returned if they are still in the building.” He excused himself to question the housekeeper about any maid who might have been working in the room while the girls were away.

In less than five minutes he returned, a maid following close behind him.

“I think the mystery is solved,” he explained. “The maid says she came in to put fresh towels in the bathroom and someone knocked at the door. She answered and a man from the World Broadcasting Company said he had come to get your manuscript. He came right on in and picked up the papers beside the typewriter. Of course she should not have admitted him, but he appeared to know just what he wanted.”

“What did he look like?” Janet asked the maid.

“Well, I didn’t pay particular attention, but he was small and I guess you would call him dark. He had on a hat and it was pulled down over his forehead. He took the papers and went on out. Said they’d be waiting for you at the broadcasting office tomorrow.”

“I believe this solves the mystery,” said the assistant manager.

“I hope so,” agreed Janet. “We’re sorry to have caused you so much trouble.”

When the hotel official and the maid had taken their departure, Helen turned to her companion.

“I didn’t know the radio people were in such a hurry for the material you were working on,” she said.

“Neither did I,” replied Janet, “but I guess it is all right. Let’s have dinner now and then perhaps a show. I feel tremendously relieved about the manuscript.”

They added a dab of powder and a touch of rouge to their faces and went downstairs. Further down the block they had noticed an attractive Old English Inn and they walked there where they enjoyed a leisurely dinner.

“What shall we do now?” asked Helen as she finished the dish of ice cream which was their dessert.

“Shall we go back to Radio City and see the Music Hall?” asked Janet.

“I’d like nothing better. We’re on our way.”

They strolled along at a leisurely pace, turned into Sixth Avenue and headed north toward the great mass of gray limestone which was Radio City. Overhead the trains rumbled along the elevated, but Janet and Helen had eyes only for Radio City.

Ahead of them opened the doors of the world’s largest theater and with their hearts beating faster than usual they purchased their tickets and walked into the grand foyer, the most majestic, breath-taking enclosure either of them had ever been in. Their feet sank into the heavy pile of the great carpet and their eyes feasted on the beauty of the towering bronze doors which led into the theater itself.

Then they went on into the Music Hall, which with its sixty-two hundred seats, was the largest of the world’s modern theaters. A great expanse of space greeted their eyes, the theater sloping gently forward to the huge stage. An orchestra, in full dress, was rising from the depths of its pit as though lifted by the hand of some unseen giant. The orchestra broke into a full swell of music and Janet and Helen, sinking into deep, comfortable seats, were enraptured. Above them hidden lights changed the color effect of the ceiling continuously. Then the overture was over and the curtains of the stage parted and for half an hour they enjoyed a musical entertainment based on Coney Island, the famed fun center of the city. After that came the feature picture, and they enjoyed every moment of the nearly three hours of entertainment.

When it was over they walked out slowly, for the Music Hall was one great part of Radio City. Tomorrow, across the street and up on the twenty-seventh floor, they would be in another but very vital part of Radio City, in the broadcasting studios of the World Broadcasting Company. As they walked down Sixth Avenue they glanced aloft and far up in the building a blaze of light shone from windows. Some company was busy up there tonight, providing thousands of radio fans with drama or music for their entertainment and they thrilled at the thought that within a very short time, they, too, would be a part of the radio world.

Back in their rooms that night Janet glanced at the place beside the typewriter where the manuscript had disappeared. She would have liked to have telephoned Curt Newsom and told the lanky cowboy about the incident but he had not mentioned where he was staying. She thought of telephoning Mr. Adolphi, their radio director, but dismissed that for she felt that he might think her foolish. Undoubtedly he had sent for the manuscript.

They were up early the next morning, refreshed after a night of sound sleep. A quick shower was followed by a rapid but thorough toilet and they were ready for what they might have in store for them. They had breakfast in the grill room which opened off the main lobby of their hotel and then started for Radio City.

There was a touch of fall in the air and they walked briskly, pushing through other hurrying throngs of men and women who were on their way to work.

The elevator shot them up to the twenty-seventh floor in a dizzy, breathless rush and they stepped out into the reception room. A page took them to studio K and there were only two others there when they entered—Ben Adolphi, their director, and Curt Newsom. The cowboy star looked a little pale.

“Sick?” asked Janet.

Curt shook his head. “Not exactly, but I didn’t sleep very well last night. Too much noise here in the city. I’m going to move. My hotel’s right on Times Square.”

“Why, we’re staying there too,” said Helen. “Our hotel is the Dorchester. We slept fine.”

“I’m staying there,” replied Curt, “but I don’t see how you slept. I heard fire engines and police patrols and street cars and newsboys all night. I might as well have been down in the subway trying to sleep on an express train.”

The radio director looked at Janet.

“Manuscript ready?” he asked.

Janet stared at him and he repeated the question.

“Haven’t you got it?” she asked.

“Certainly not,” he snapped, evidently a little provoked at what he considered dull wits.

“But the maid at the hotel said someone from the studio called yesterday afternoon for it. It’s gone!”

“Certainly I didn’t send for it,” he retorted. “Evidently it was some one’s idea of a practical joke.”

“I don’t think it was much of a joke,” said Curt quietly. “If the manuscript Janet was working on has disappeared, it vanished because someone was afraid of what she might write.”

Chapter Twenty-one

INSINUATIONS

At the cool words of the cowboy star, the radio director whirled to face him.

“Just what do you mean by that,” he demanded, his face flushing.

“I mean just this,” retorted Curt. “There was a very real attempt made on the coast to stop the filming of ‘Kings of the Air’ and it begins to look like that attempt is being carried on even in New York in an effort to stop the promotion of the picture. All I’ve got to say is that someone had better be careful.”

“Are you insinuating anything?” demanded the radio director.

“I’m not insinuating; I’m just saying,” said the cowboy star firmly.

The director turned back to Janet.

“You’re sure the manuscript was stolen?”

“It was unless someone in the studio here has it,” she replied.

“I’ll make inquiries,” he promised, “but I am sure no one in the studio would have sent for it.”

Mr. Adolphi left studio K and Janet, Helen and Curt Newsom were alone.

“You’re not kidding about the manuscript being missing?” Curt asked.

“No, Curt, I’m terribly serious. We went out for a time yesterday afternoon. While we were gone the maid came in to leave clean towels and while she was in the room a man came in. He said he was from the studio here and had come for the manuscript. Naturally the girl didn’t object and he walked out with the papers.”

“What did you have in the story?”

“Oh, a lot about the final days in the desert. How the attempts were made to stop the picture, the bombing from the sky and my own kidnaping.”

“Did you hint that some other company was responsible for this?” The question was snapped at Janet.

“Come to think of it, I did, but of course I didn’t mention any company by name.”

Curt scratched his head in frank worry.

“You know,” he confessed, “this thing has got me puzzled. There is some powerful agency at work to stop the picture Helen’s father made and I believe its influence must extend right here into this studio. You girls be sure and watch your step and especially at night.”

“But nothing will happen to us,” protested Helen.

“No, I don’t suppose there will, but you keep on the alert just the same,” Curt warned them.

Mr. Adolphi returned and shook his head in response to Janet’s inquiring gaze.

“I’ve checked everyone in the studio,” he said, “and no one knows anything about it. Can you do the manuscript over?”

“Probably,” assented Janet, “but I’d prefer not to under the circumstances.”

The director did not insist and Janet thought perhaps he even seemed a little relieved.

Other members of the company arrived. Several of them had been in the film company on the coast but most of them were from the regular stock company which the studio maintained for its dramatic needs. Most of them were pleasant enough. Only one of them turned Janet against her and that was the small, dark-haired actress who had bumped into her the day before and called her a “clumsy fool.” That was Rachel Nesbit and Janet thought her eyes a trifle too close together and her mouth too hard. It looked as though it was difficult for Rachel to look pleasant and there was a sulky twist to her lips.

Janet soon found that Rachel was the pampered member of the studio’s stock company. She was considered an actress of ability and she arrived late and left early during rehearsals. Her one redeeming grace was that she came through when she was before a microphone. Janet also learned that Rachel was writing in addition to her acting and that she had had several of her skits produced on the air.

As soon as the company was assembled, Director Adolphi plunged into the task of rehearsing. Sound men brought in the necessary paraphernalia and through the hours of the morning they went over the first scene which was to be presented in their radio show. The program was to be unusual, running half an hour for five consecutive nights, each of them increasing the tempo and mystery of the action. Janet, reading the script, could feel the thing getting into her blood and she was anxious for the hour to come when they would actually go on the air.

She had no fear of the microphone, now, for that had vanished while she was working for Billy Fenstow in the westerns with Curt Newsom and Helen.

The trio had lunch together that noon, and returned immediately to the studio, where rehearsals continued into the afternoon and at the close of the day the director rather grudgingly conceded that the company had made excellent progress.

“Be here tomorrow sharply at nine,” he cautioned as he dismissed them for the day.

Members of the company scattered quickly, some of them hurrying away to catch trains for their suburban homes.

Janet, Helen, and Curt Newsom walked slowly toward the elevators. The corridor down which they walked was practically deserted for none of the studios flanking it were in use. They entered the main lobby of the World Broadcasting Company office. From a loudspeaker on the reception desk came the voice of a world-famous crooner which Helen recognized instantly.

“That’s a program I’d like to see,” she told Curt.

“Come on, then. Now that we are members of a radio company, we ought to be able to crash the gates.”

The cowboy star inquired the way to the proper studio and they turned and walked down a long corridor to Studio A, the largest and most costly of all of the broadcasting rooms of the World Company. It was like a little theater, with sloping seats and a stage upon which the performers worked before the microphone. At the back was a large orchestra, while up to the front of the stage the famous crooner was singing into a “mike.”

“Why, he doesn’t look at all like I thought he would,” exclaimed Helen as they peered through the plate glass windows which flanked one wall of the studio. “He’s much older.”

“Many of us are disillusioned about our heroes and heroines,” said Curt quietly. “Let’s eat. I’d like a steak.”

“Sounds good to me,” agreed Janet, and even Helen was willing to leave the studio after another minute or two of gazing at the crooner.

They ate in a small but attractive restaurant off Sixth Avenue and after a leisurely meal Curt hurried away to keep an appointment and Janet and Helen, though tired from the long day’s grind of rehearsals, strolled over to Fifth Avenue to look into shop windows. After half an hour on the avenue, they started back to their Times Square hotel, heading west on one of New York’s dark and little-frequented cross streets.

They were halfway down the long, dimly lit block when Helen seized Janet’s arm.

“Someone’s following us!” she whispered.

Chapter Twenty-two

SHADOWED!

Despite Helen’s whisper of warning, Janet never missed a stride. If anything, she quickened her pace.

“Keep up with me,” she replied, “and don’t look around.”

From somewhere behind Janet could hear steady footfalls that quickened as they walked faster.

“Are you sure someone is following us?” asked Janet.

“Positive,” replied Helen. “There was someone back of us on the avenue and he turned onto this street right after we did.”

“But it must be coincidence,” insisted Janet.

“But remember what Curt said about our knowing too much of the mysterious events that went on during the last days of the filming of ‘Kings of the Air,’” said Helen. “He warned us to watch out.”

There was no answer to that for Curt had warned them and Janet was glad that they were near the bright lights of Broadway. She felt safer now. As the noise of that great artery of traffic deepened, they slowed their pace and Janet turned and looked around.

There was no one on the street behind them. She grasped Helen’s arm and both girls stopped.

“There’s no one following us,” smiled Janet. “It was just imagination.”

“It wasn’t imagination and you know it,” declared Helen. “Whoever it was could easily have slipped into a doorway. Maybe he’s watching us this very moment.”

Janet felt a shiver of nervousness race along her spine. It was not pleasant to think of being shadowed, especially in New York where there were so many people and so few friends.

They turned into Times Square and entered the lobby of their hotel. At the desk they inquired for mail and each received letters from home.

Once up in the privacy of their rooms, they undressed, slipped into comfortable pajamas and dressing gowns, and read their letters. There was little actual news from Clarion, but just hearing from their fathers and mothers was nice.

“Dad is anxious to hear the first part of the program,” said Helen as she finished her letter. “He says they’ll all be over at our house grouped around the radio when we go on.”

“Nervous about it?” asked Janet.

“Not particularly about the program, but there’s something about the whole thing that has me uncertain. The company seems to be on edge as though there was some danger hanging over the heads of everyone.”

“Perhaps talk about the trouble on the coast has reached them,” suggested Janet.

“That may be. But I’m so anxious for the program to be a success. This picture has meant so much to Dad; it’s the air epic that he has wanted to do for years. If it goes over in a big way, the Ace Company will renew his contract for a substantial time and give him a big increase in salary.”

Shortly after that they retired and both girls slept soundly.

Next day at the studio the pressure was on again and Director Adolphi whipped them through the rehearsals at a terrific pace. Several changes in script were necessary and the director sent a page to the scenario department on the run. He returned in a few minutes with Jim Hill, the writer who had handled the continuity for the radio play.

“Listen, Jim,” he snapped. “This sequence is punk. It will fall flat on the air and too much money is being spent on this program. Get some punch into this or I’ll see that another writer gets the job.”

Jim Hill was tall, lean and pleasant, with dark eyes that shot back sparks at the director’s criticism.

“You okayed this script once,” he reminded Adolphi, “but I’ll see what I can do about it.”

Dark, pretty Rachel Nesbit stepped forward.

“I’m pretty good at that sort of thing,” she declared, flashing a winning smile at Jim Hill. “Perhaps I could help on the rewriting.”

The continuity writer looked at her glumly.

“Your stuff is all right for lighter things, but this is straight action drama,” he said shaking his head.

“But I can at least try,” insisted Rachel, and the worried continuity writer finally acceded to her insistent requests. He left the studio with Rachel accompanying him.

Janet turned to Curt Newsom.

“I thought all of the work on this script was being handled with the utmost precaution and that no one outside was to do anything on it?”

“I guess that’s right, but Rachel can hardly be called an outsider since she belongs to the studio’s stock company.”

“But she sells some of her radio skits free lance,” insisted Janet.

“That’s right,” agreed Curt. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

He hastened over to Director Adolphi.