Janet Hardy in Hollywood

Her hair, with its natural curl, needed only a quick brushing to bring out the highlights.

Down in the driveway her father pushed the horn button and her mother called.

“We’re ready, Janet.”

But so was Janet and she hastened downstairs and joined them. The sedan was one of those extra-broad stream-lined cars with room for three in the front seat.

“You and Helen can sit up front with me while your mother and Mrs. Thorne are in the back seat,” said her father. “Coming back we’ll put the Thornes in the back where they can visit to their heart’s content.”

The car rolled down the drive and her father turned and stopped the large, low machine in front of the Thorne home. Half a dozen lights were turned on downstairs and the house fairly glowed with light.

Helen and her mother came down the walk, Helen in a pink, fluffy creation that set off her dark coloring to its best effect.

“You’re pretty enough to look like a would-be movie star trying to make an impression upon a famous director,” whispered Janet.

“Maybe I am,” smiled Helen as she slipped into the front seat.

“Everybody ready?” inquired Janet’s father. “I don’t want to get half way to Rubio and have one of you women remember that you’ve left something important at home.”

“You do the driving and we’ll worry about what’s been left at home,” replied Mrs. Hardy with a chuckle.

The big machine rolled away smoothly and when they turned onto the main state road to Rubio, John Hardy stepped on the accelerator and they fairly flew down the straight, white ribbon which unrolled before their blazing lights.

The speedometer climbed steadily, fifty, sixty and then seventy miles an hour, and the needle hung there except when they swung around one of the broad, well-banked curves. Then it dropped to fifty.

The rush of cool air was refreshing and Janet and Helen sank back in the broad, comfortable seat.

When the lights of Rubio glowed ahead Helen spoke.

“It hardly seems possible that Dad will be here in a few minutes. It’s been months since I’ve seen him.”

“Then you’ll enjoy seeing him all the more. What fun you’re going to have the next few days.”

“I hope it will be several weeks for I think Dad needs a good rest. He’s done three big pictures in the last year.”

They rolled through Rubio to the airport, which was just beyond the city limits. The clock over the hangar pointed to 11:50 and Janet’s father guided the sedan to a stop in the parking area behind the steel fence.

“I’ll find out if the plane’s on time,” he said, and went over to the office.

Janet thought she could hear the faint, faraway beat of an airplane, but the noise of another car turning into the parking space drowned it out.

“Come on folks. The plane will be here in a minute,” called Mr. Hardy.

They hurried out of the car and followed John Hardy through the gate and onto the ramp. In the west were the red and green lights of an incoming plane.

Suddenly the field burst into a flood of blue-white brilliance as a great searchlight came on. Like a ghost, the huge, twin-motored plane glided down its invisible path and settled easily onto a runway, little clouds of dust coming up from the crushed rock as the machine touched the ground.

With its motors roaring a lusty song of power, the monoplane waddled toward the concrete ramp. The pilot swung it smartly about and the ground crew blocked the wheels and rushed the landing stage up to the cabin door as the pilot cut the motors. The propellers ceased whirling just as the stewardess opened the door.

“There’s Dad!” cried Helen and she ran toward the plane with Janet at her heels.

Chapter XII

ON THE STAGE

Henry Thorne was the first passenger to alight from the east-bound plane. Tall, well-built, with a close-clipped mustache and iron gray hair that curled a bit around his temples, he was a man’s man.

Helen threw her arms around her father and he gave her a tremendous hug.

“Golly, I’m glad to see you, hon,” he said. “Where’s mother?”

“She’s coming. She couldn’t run as fast as I,” explained Helen, breathless with excitement.

Mrs. Thorne, her face flushed with happiness over her husband’s coming arrived and they embraced affectionately.

Then Mr. Thorne saw John Hardy and Janet and her mother.

“Say, this is great of you to come over. I feel like a visiting celebrity, or something.”

“You’re very much a celebrity,” smiled Janet.

“Not to you,” he replied. “Well, let’s start home. I’ve only this light traveling bag.”

“Does that mean you won’t be able to stay long?” asked Helen anxiously.

“I should say it doesn’t. I can live for six months out of a traveling bag. Oh, of course, I wouldn’t look like Beau Brummell, but I’d be acceptable in average circles.”

The Thornes occupied the back seat and Janet and her mother sat in front. The big car purred smoothly and Janet’s father sent it humming away on the trip back to Clarion.

Janet got only snatches of the conversation that was going on in the rear seat. She was anxious to listen, but it wouldn’t have been very polite to have done so obviously. Anyway, Helen would tell her most of the news the next day.

From the few remarks she overheard, she realized that Henry Thorne was exceedingly happy to be home, and that the last year had been a strain even though all of his pictures had been money makers.

The lights of Clarion were in sight when he leaned forward and spoke to Janet’s father.

“Get any worms located, John?”

“Plenty of them and right in my own back yard. You can dig to your heart’s content.”

“How about the fishing?”

“I haven’t tried it myself, but the boys say there are lots of bullheads in Indian creek. Remember it?”

“I’ll never forget the time we were hunting rabbits and walked across the ice of the creek. It wasn’t frozen thick enough and we dropped through into water waist deep. Going home was the longest, coldest walk I’ve ever taken.”

“It wasn’t very pleasant,” nodded Janet’s father. “Did you hear about the experience of the girls?”

“Haven’t read a paper for weeks. I’ve been going day and night on retakes for the last picture. What happened?”