HEPPNER GAZETTE TIMES, HEPPNER, OREGON, THURSDAY, APRIL 25, 1929.
PAGE THREE
Mr
BY
FRANK EABAJW
rPIttU5TRATED BY FRANK B. PRVEW
Second Installment
WHAT HAPPENED BO FAB
Tom BUbeck is the narrator. He in a
iat newspaper writer who drives a tumble-down
car he calls Grandmother
Page. He la In love with Maryella, his
rival being Jim Cooper. The three are
members of an amateur dramatic group.
Plans for a play at the Old Soldiers'
Home are under way. Grandmother
Page has engine trouble while Mary
ella is out driving with Bilbeck, and
Cooper. Daasintr In a hie ronHHtpr
taunts him. After Maryella has left
Bilbeck Is able to start his car again.
NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY
CHAPTER II.
Rhanul
Our version of "Pygmalion and
Galatea" would doubtless surprise
you if you are at all familiar with
the original, In which Pygmalion is
the artist and carves the lady in
the sketch out of a block of mar
ble. We started out to rehearse it that
way, but ran into difficulties when
the matter of costumes came up for
discussion. It seemed advisable
that the statue should wear white
tights and white grease paint on
the face in order to carry out the
illusion. All the ladles of the club
were quite content that it should
be so, but when it came to assign
ing the parts each and every one
refused to be Galatea.
For a time It looked as if we
would have to fall back on some
little sketch of Shakespeare's until
Maryella made the practical sug
gestion that we change the story.
Her idea was to make Galatea a
sculptorlne who hammers a hunk
of stone into a beautiful male statue
by the name of Pygmalion.
Can you imagine an anti-feminist
thinking up a thought like that?
Maryella's suggestion carried. As
the literary man of the organization,
I was appointed to doctor up the
manuscript to fit the change of
characters. Later, much to my sur
prise and in spite of my protests,
the stellar role of Pygmalion was
forced upon me.
To-night was to be the dress re
hearsal and on the following eve
ning we were scheduled to give a
trial performance in the barn at the
Old Soldiers' Home. The trial per
formance was for the double pur
pose of getting easy in our parts
and of making the old soldiers real
ize that war is not so terrible after
all.
When I returned to my bachelor
rooms in town I had only time to
change to some dry clothing and
hurry over to the rehearsal without
getting anything to eat Food did
not appeal to me anyway. Neither
did anything else least of all re
hearsing a lot of fool love-talk. My
own romance had suffered such a
disheartening set-back that I was
In no mood to enact the role of a
hand-hammered Romeo of myth
ology. But I went just the same. You
know how hard it is to step out of
the routine business of your life
Just because some disaster has be
fallen you. Your perceptions be
come numbed and you wonder
vaguely why the sun Is shining, but
you go on doing the things that are
expected of you just as you have al
ways done.
"Business as usual" is not the
motto of an exceptional nation. It
is the underlying principle of the
progress of the human race.
The Sheridan Dramatic Club had
borrowed for rehearsals the stage
of the local opera house, which was
vacant that week. It was there that
I wended my disconsolate way.
I was late, but it didn't make
much difference, as all during the
first act the statue of Pygmalion
was a papier-mache figure. Be
tween the acts I was supposed to
take the place of the statue in the
same pose so that a little later I
could come to life In response of
Galatea's wish.
When I came in they were re
hearsing with the dummy. Every
thing appeared to be going very
well. Maryella looked absolutely
ravishing in the Greek drapery, and
Jim Cooper was doing the best he
could to impersonate a skinny
Greek warrior.
He was even thinner than I had
suspected. As a Highlander he
would never be a conspicuous suc
cess. Any one could tell that at a
glance.
The part of a young sculptur's ap
prentice was taken by Mrs. Hem
mingway, a dazzling blond who was
worth going miles to behold in a
Greek tunic and sandals. She
wouldn't have fooled any one but a
blind man into thinking she was a
boy, but nobody minded that. She
had talents enough to get into a
Zlegfeld chorus any day.
There were a dozen other parts
played with Intent to kill in the
good old amateur way. I discovered
former male friends hidden behind
bushy beards that dropped off oc
casionally at a critical moment,
leaving the actor bald-faced and
speechless; and ladies I used to
know disguised as Hellenic maidens
by doing their hair into a Psyche
knot and trimming their best night
ies with a Greek key-design and an
occasional swastika.
Off stage, doing a piece of em
broidery while she waited for her
cue, was Mrs. George P. Lillielove,
the wife of the most popular under
taker in town. In Greek robes Mrs.
Lillielove looked almost exactly like
a haystack with a tarpaulin over it
I slipped into my dressing-room
unobserved. My costume was there.
I had not seen it before, so I was a
trifle surprised at the bulk of it.
The whole thing could have been
put in the pocket of a dress waist
coat without spoiling the shape of
it any. It was silk and white, but
it seemed awfull thin. I played
safe by wearing my underwear be
neath it
There was no full-length mirror
In my room, so I could not get the
entire effect, but it looked all right
as far as I could see. It was easy
to make up my face all white and
put on a white wig which was pro
vided for me. I slipped on my over
coat over the costume to step up
on the stage.
The curtain was down between
the acts. I took my place on the
pedestal, slightly nervous but deter
mined to get through somehow if
the seams of the tights did their
part. The stage was dimly illum
inated with blue moonlight. Just
before the curtain rose I dropped
the overcoat behind me.
I stood motionless during the In
troductory music. There was a
nutter of surprise among the mem
bers of the club who were not on
the stage at that moment and had
stepped out into the auditorium to
steal a look from the other side of
the footlights. It must have been
beautiful. I know I was conscious
of looking well in that pose and
lighting. I flexed my muscles to
make them stand out better.
Galatea entered. She was dressed
in a gold-trimmed robe. On her
neck was a single strand of beau
tiful pearls. I recognized them as
Mrs. Hctnmingway's. Maryella had
borrowed them because their owner
couldn't wear them for the perfor
mance, as she was playing the part
of a boy.
It is Astonishing
-what an improvement can be made in a plalnj
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and paint. The old house is transformed. A'
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two and you would scarcely know the old house.'
The shifting of a partition a new oak floor,
built in kitchen cabinets or a window seat wilT
often render the interior home more inviting
and comfortable. A few hundred dollars spent
for material in improving an old house frequent
ly adds a thousand to its selling price. Come in
and let us tell you how reasonable, remodeling
costs are just at this time.
Remodeling Books With "Before
and After" Pictures At Your Service.
Galatea's eyes were on the floor,
pensive. She came slowly to the
pedestal on which I stood. She
knelt She looked up.
She held her pose for a long time
without saying a word without ex
pressing even a whispered wish that
I would came to life. Maryella was
wordless.
"What's the trouble?" inquired
the coach, who stood, book in hand,
just over the foot-lights "Miss
Waite, your line is, 'My dearest
wish' "
"No," she stopped him impatient
ly. "I know my lines. It's the
statue."
Her tone was full of vexation.
"What's the matter?" I inquired,
without abandoning my attitude.
"This is the same pose I've been
taking every night at rehearsal ever
since we began."
"It isn't that' You are bow-legged."
She spoke accusingly, as if I had
made a blunder of some sort on
purpose.
"Oh!"
That was a sensitive subject with
me.
"I didn't know there was any
thing criminal in being slightly
curved. It really comes from
strength. Lots of men are."
"But no one ever saw a bow-leg
ged statue before," she argued pet
ulantly. "I don't care personally.
I suppose that lots of really estima
ble men have personal peculiarities;
but can you imagine a sculptor cre
ating a statue intentionally bow-
legged? Why didn't you tell me?"
"Well," I temporized, "I didn t
think I knew you well enough for
that."
'The play is ruined," she declared.
"Not at all," I said with as much
injured dignity as I could command
in white tights. "You can easily
get someone else to play this part.
If you look around the club you can
doubtless find someone with legs
like bean-poles."
She knew whom I meant without
my explaining more particularly.
"Come, people," interrupted the
coach pleasantly. "We mustn't
waste time. Remember there is a
lot to do before we leave here this
evening."
"Don't be silly," she replied. "No
one else could learn the part in
time."
"Why not try Btanding sideways
to the audience all the time," sug
gested Jim Cooper, who with his
nose-glasses on and a cigarette in
his mouth was the beau ideal of a
Greek warrior.
"I know what to do."
Mrs. Hemmlngway came to the
rescue with a practical suggestion.
"You can buy a pair of those
things that chorus girls wear some
times symmetricals, I think they
are called."
"Oh!" said several of the ladies at
once, looking pointedly at Mrs.
Hemmingway's shapely substruc
ture. "No, I don't wear them myself,"
she assured them in response to the
unspoken question, "but I've heard
that there are such things."
"All right," said the coach. "Go
on with the dialogue."
The balance of the act was plow
ed through somehow. I had to play
several love-scenes with Maryella,
but I was so acutely conscious of
her criticism that I did them very
badly.
The only scene that I played with
any enthusiasm was one in which I
was supposed to wrestle with Jim
Cooper in the role of the Greek
warrior. Even that turned out ill
for me because it made his head
ache where I bumped it on the
stage, and Maryella hovered over
him like a hen with chickens all
during the intermission while they
were setting the stage for the third
act
I got tired of listening to her sym
pathizing with him and went out
in the auditorium by myself. I did
not care to talk to any one. To
criticize my acting was one thing,
but to make personal remarks
about the shape of my legs was go
ing too far.
I made up my mind to withdraw
from the Sheridan Dramatic Club
as soon as the performance of "Pyg
malion and Galatea" was over. I
would not leave them in the lurch
now, as I might do and wreck the
entire performance; but as soon as
it would not be conspicuous I would
assert by dignity and resign on the
ground that it took too much of my
time. I admired Maryella, but she
could hardly expect me to stand for
being made .fun of before Jim
Cooper.
"I think it is an awfully funny
play, don't you " inquired a voice
behind me.
I looked around. In the aisle
stood Mrs. Hemmlngway, a plump
sylph in the half-light of the audi
torium. She apparently wanted to
sit down, so I made room for her
beside me.
"You think it is quite funny?" I
repeated interrogatively.
"Yes. I didn't realize it so much
until I saw the costumes. I didn't
know you were going to be a clown."
She pointed to my white face.
I suppose she would have laughed
herself sick at the Venus de Mllo.
Mrs. Hemmlngway Is a movie fan,
and her sense of humor must have
been curdled by this comic-fall stuff.
Here I was gotten up to represent a
beautiful work of the sculptor's art
and she had missed the idea entire
ly and thought I was meant to be
funny!
"The best scene, she went on, in
nocently endeavoring to flatter me,
"is where you tell Maryella you love
her there in the garden. It was bet
ter than Charlie Chaplin."
And that scene was pure poetry!
I wrote it myself, so I am sure of it
'Thank you very much for your
appreciation," I said, wishing that
she were a man so that I could say
what I really thought. "You've no
idea how your praise makes me
feel."
"I'm glad. I thought you were
sort of blue over here all by your
self so I decided to cheer you up."
Then she added hastily for fear
she had ruined the effect of her
praise!
"I really meant what I said
though about your being funny.
The dear little featherhead was
trying to make me feel good! She
was prompted by the instinct that
makes one woman try to heal the
hurts inflicted by another. I was
a bear not to accept her tribute in
the spirit in which it was offered.
"Thanks ever so much," I assured
her, and reaching over carelessly I
patted her hand, which lay idly on
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her knee.
As I did so a strong hand came
down on my shoulder and, heavy
man though I am, I was hoisted
bodily from my seat to the aisle.
"I caught you, didn't I?" hissed
an angry voice. "I've suspected
there was some man in the case
to make my wife so crazy about act
ing all of a sudden."
(Continued Next Week)
Between 400 and 600 high school
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campus this week end to take part
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