Janet Hardy in Hollywood

They slowed down for the edge of Clarion and Janet’s father, briefly and vividly, recounted the events of that harrowing night in the storm and bitter cold of Little Deer valley.

“I should have known about this,” said Henry Thorne quietly. “Why didn’t someone wire me?”

“I thought of it,” said Helen’s mother, “but it all happened so quickly. Then, after the girls were safe at home I thought wiring you would only prove disturbing and I knew you were going to the limit of your strength and endurance anyway.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” he conceded, sinking back in the rear seat. “My, but it’s great to be home.”

John Hardy swung the car into the drive and they rolled up the grade to the porch.

“Pity you couldn’t take a man to his own door,” chided his friend.

“All right, I will if you want to miss the lunch that’s waiting.”

They bantered good naturedly, for John Hardy and Henry Thorne had been companions since boyhood. Now their correspondence was haphazard and infrequent, but each anticipated their visits together.

Janet hastened to the kitchen to help her mother with the lunch, placing the delicious, thinly cut sandwiches on a large silver platter. There was a heap of them, but it was late and they were all hungry.

Her mother stopped halfway to the dining room, a stricken look appearing on her face.

“I completely forgot to stop on the way home and get ice cream.”

Janet looked at the clock. It was 1:15 a. m.

“I’m afraid it’s too late to find any place near here open. We’ll make out anyway with sandwiches, cheese wafers and tea.”

“There’s some chocolate cake left over from yesterday,” said her mother.

“Then I’ll put that on. We’ll have plenty.”

They bustled about and almost before they knew it Janet was out on the porch announcing that lunch was ready.

The Hardys sat on one side of the table and the Thornes on the other, the conversation shifting back and forth. The pile of sandwiches dwindled rapidly, tea cups were refilled two and three times and Henry Thorne was noticed taking at least two slices of the thick, delicious chocolate cake. John Hardy accused him of taking three slices, but this he denied strenuously.

“If I’m to be accused of eating three slices of cake, I’m going home,” he announced. “And I won’t be back until there’s more cake.”

“I’ll get up early and bake a fresh one. It will be ready by noon,” said Janet’s mother.

“That’ll be just about the time I’m getting up. Come on folks. We’ve got to get some sleep tonight.”

Goodnights were said quickly and with Henry Thorne in the lead, the visitors departed for their home.

Janet helped her mother clear away the dishes. It was too late to wash them and they were hastily stacked in the sink.

“How do you think Henry looks?” asked John Hardy coming into the kitchen.

“He’s too tired and looks like he’s been going on nervous energy for simply days,” replied Janet’s mother.

“I got the same impression. If we can manage to make him forget that strenuous business of his, of making successful motion pictures he’ll be able to build himself up.”

“He’ll find plenty to interest himself in the graduation program,” said Mrs. Hardy, “and if you take him on some fishing and loafing expeditions along the creek he’ll get a fine chance to relax.”

“Unless they send a rush call from the coast for him to return at once like they did a year ago just after he had settled down to a fine vacation. Well, staying up and talking doesn’t help the situation. Scoot for bed, Janet. It’s a good thing you aren’t in the class play, what with keeping such late hours as this.”

Up until the afternoon of the play Janet saw very little of Helen’s father. He was over to the house once, but Helen informed her that he had been sleeping and taking long drives around the countryside with her mother.

“They have so very much to visit about,” explained Helen, who was worn thin by the strain of the last rehearsals. The night before it had been midnight before they rang down the curtain. Janet had been up equally as late for her work on the meager lighting equipment kept her on the job as long as the cast rehearsed.

On Friday afternoon they made a final check of sets and lights and costumes and Miss Williams rehearsed one or two of the minor characters who had been causing more trouble than the leads in getting their lines in just the way she wanted them.

The gymnasium was filled with row upon row of chairs. The old curtain which shielded the stage had been refurbished and looked quite presentable in spite of the landscape scene which it depicted. Someday Janet hoped the school would be able to buy adequate stage equipment. The stage was large enough, but the sets were pitifully few in number and all of them several years old. They had been changed a little here and there by the stagecraft class, but underneath you could detect the same flats and doors and windows of other years.

It was five o’clock before they finally straggled away from the gym and the call for the entire cast and stage crew was 6:30 o’clock for Miss Williams wanted everyone on hand early. Janet had seen the instructor conferring with a rather distinguished looking man that afternoon and guessed that he was the representative of the producing company, there to see the production and make the final decision on offering a job to Miss Williams.

Janet, in spite of the fact that she was only a member of the stage crew, found it hard to eat even though supper that night was especially delicious and her mother, although silent, looked at her reprovingly.

Helen arrived before supper was over and Janet was surprised to see her so calm. Perhaps her father had been coaching her on composure.

Janet folded up a clean smock, tucked it under one arm, and joined Helen.

“Good luck, girls,” said her father. “We’ll wait for you after the show and all have a lunch down town to celebrate the event.”

“Do you know where your folks are going to sit?” asked Janet.

Helen shook her head. “Dad wouldn’t tell me; thought if I knew I would be looking for them and it might make me nervous.”

“This is the first time a high school class has ever performed before a famous Hollywood director,” said Janet.

“Oh, don’t think of Dad in that way. Now that he’s back home he’s just a neighbor and he wants to be thought of in that way.”

“All right, but you can’t keep the cast from remembering that an ace director is in the audience tonight.”

“I suppose not. I only hope it won’t make them too excited and upset.”

“How about yourself?”

“I had been wondering up until tonight. But now I’ve made myself realize that he’s just Dad and that makes all of the difference in the world. Sort of gives me the confidence that I need for I know that if I make mistakes he’ll understand. I wish you were going to be Abbie.”

“Well I’m not, and you’ll get along all right with Margie. I think she’s really been working hard.”

“Oh, she’s worked hard enough, but somehow she doesn’t seem real in the character.”

“You mean I’m just crazy and silly enough to make a very real Abbie?” chided Janet.

Helen’s face flushed quickly.

“You know better than that. Margie is light-headed enough for the rôle of Abbie, but she lacks some spark of sincerity that’s needed, for after all, you know, Abbie finally solves the riddle of the Chinese image and pulls out the string of priceless pearls which saves the fortunes of the Naughtons.”

The cast and stage crew reported on time and Miss Williams checked each of them in. She devoted her own energies to making up the principals while several other teachers, fairly adept in dramatics, helped with the makeup of the minor characters.