The Trufflers. Merwin Samuel
Zanin thinking it over.
“How much do you need?” he asked again.
“Well – ”
“What do you think will happen the minute Sue really discovers the sort of hands she’s in? Even if she would want to stick to you!”
This was another point.
“Well” – said Zanin, thinking fast – “it needn’t be lavish, like these big battle films and such. But it will take money.”
“How much money?”
“Three or four thousand. Maybe five or six. It means going south for the outdoor scenes. I want tropical foliage, so my people won’t look frozen. And publicity isn’t cheap, you know.”
Peter gulped; but plunged on. “I’ll tell you what you do, Zanin. Get another man – a littler producer than Silverstone – and have him supply studio, operators, and all the plant necessary, on a partnership basis, you to put in some part of the cash needed.”
“Great!” said Zanin. “Fine! And where’s the cash to come from?”
“From me.”
The front legs of Zanin’s chair came to the floor with a bang.
“This is new stuff, Mann.”
“New stuff. I’m not rich, but I believe you’ve got a big thing here, and I stand willing to put up a few thousand on a private contract with you. This can be just between ourselves. All I ask is a reasonable control of the expenditure.”
Zanin thought – and thought. Peter could see the shifting lights in his cold clear eyes.
He moved over to the window and stared out into the area-way, where electric lamps and gas flames twinkled from a hundred other rear buildings. He came back to his chair and lit a cigarette.
“You’re on!” he finally said. “If you want to know, I am worried about Silverstone. And I’m certainly in no position to turn down such an offer as this.”
Which was the genesis of The Nature Film Producing Co., Inc., Jacob Zanin, Pres’t. They talked late, these new partners.
It was nearly one o’clock in the morning when Peter limped into the rooms.
He found Hy pitting by the window in his pajamas, gazing rapturously at a lacy handerchief.
“Aha!” said Hy, “he comes! Never mind the hour, my boy! I take off my hat. You’re better than I am – better than I! A soupçon of speed, ol’ dear!”’
Peter dropped limply into the Morris chair. “What’s the matter?” said Hy, observing him more closely. “You look done. Where’s Sue?” Peter composed himself. “I left Sue a long while ago. Hours ago.”
“What on earth have you been doing?”
“Exactly what I promised you I’d do.”
This was a new, an impressive Peter.
“I don’t get you – ”
“You said Sue might not listen to my warning.”
“Oh – and she didn’t?”
“She did not.”
“And you – oh, you said you’d go to Zanin…”
“As man to man, Hy.”
“Good lord, you haven’t… Pete, you’re limping! You didn’t fight!..”
Peter solemnly shook his head. “It wasn’t necessary, Hy,” he said huskily; then cleared his throat. “What was the matter with his throat to-day, anyway?”
He sank back in his chair. His eyes closed.
Hy leaned forward with some anxiety. “Pete, what’s the matter? You’re white!”
Peter’s head moved slowly. “Nothing’s the matter.” He slowly opened his eyes. “It has been a hard day, Hy, but the job is done.”
“The job…?”
“I have saved her, Hy.”
“But the pictures?”
“They will be taken under my direction.”
“And Silverstone?”
“Silverstone is out. I control the company.” He closed his eyes again and breathed slowly and evenly in a deliberate effort to calm his tumultuous nerves. “Well!” said Hy, big-eyed. “Well!”
“Something to drink, Hy,” Peter murmured. “I put it over, Hy! I put it over!” He said this with a little more vigor, trying to talk down certain sudden misgivings regarding six thin little books with pasteboard covers that lay at the moment in the middle drawer of the desk, next the wall.
Hy got slowly to his feet; stood rubbing his head and staring down in complete admiration at the apparently triumphant if unmistakably exhausted Peter.
“It’s a queer time for them,” Hy remarked, solemn himself now. “But in this case cocktails are certainly indicated.”
He picked up the telephone. “John,” he said to the night man below, “some ice!”
Then he shuffled to the closet, struck a match and found the shaker.
In the amber fluid they pledged the success of The Nature Film Producing Co., Inc., these Seventh-Story Men! Dwelling, the while, each in his own thoughts, on the essential nobility of sacrificing one’s self to save another.
CHAPTER X – PETER THE MAGNIFICENT
IF she strikes you as a girl you’d like to kiss, I should say, as a general principle – well, kiss her.”
Thus Hy Lowe, musingly, seated on the decrepit flat-top desk between the two windows of the studio, swinging his legs.
Peter Ericson Mann met this observation with contempt. “Right off, I suppose! First time you meet her – just like that!”
The expert waved his cigarette. “Sure. Kiss her.”
“She murmurs her thanks, doubtless.”
“Not at all. She hates you. Won’t ever speak to you again.”
“Oh, really!” Peter was caustic.
“She didn’t think you were that sort; and won’t for a minute permit you to think she’s that sort.”
“And then?”
Another wave of the cigarette. “Slow down. Be kind to her. If she’s a cross old thing, forgive her. Let her see that you’re a regular fellow, even if you did start from third base instead of first. Above all, keep cool. Avoid tragedy, scenes. Keep smiling. When she does swing round – well, you’ve kissed her. There you are!”
Peter surveyed his apartment mate with gloomy eyes. “Sue and Betty are two very different girls,” said he.
“My son,” replied Hy, “I am not discussing persons. I am enunciating a principle. What may have passed between friend Betty and me has nothing to do with it.” He glanced at his watch. “Though I’ll admit she is expecting me around this evening. She doesn’t hate me, Pete… Funny thing about Betty – she was telling me – there’s a man up in her town pestering her to death. Letters and telegrams. Wants to marry her. He makes gas engines. Queer about these small-town fellows – they can’t understand a free-spirited woman. Imagine Betty cooped up like that!”
“I’m not likely to be kissing Sue,” growled Peter.
“My son, you’ve as good as done it already. From your own admission. Asked her to marry you. Right off, too – just like that! Can’t you see it’s the same thing in principle – shock and reaction! She’d have preferred the kiss of course – ”
“You don’t know that?”
“The trouble with you, Pete, is that you don’t understand women. According to your own story again, you startled her so that she