Where most automobiles were stopped at the main gate, Henry Thorne sent his car rolling right on through and the gatekeeper waved and smiled. He stopped at a small office and a boy hurried out.

“Mr. Rexler wants to see you at once. It’s about your next picture.”

Henry Thorne scowled a little as he said, “Tell him I’ll be along in a few minutes.”

Turning to the girls, he explained, “Rexler is the general manager and I’ll have to see him, but I’ll take you to Roddy first.”

The creator of famous styles had his office and workshop in a rambling, one story white stucco building.

Roddy looked just as Henry Thorne had promised he would and Janet thought a good, strong wind might blow the little man away. But she liked him instantly, for his eyes twinkled when Henry Thorne explained his mission.

“And you’d like to have them look like real stars tonight?” he smiled.

“That’s the idea,” grinned Henry Thorne. “Maybe the publicity office wasn’t wrong in sending out the photographers and reporters this morning.”

Roddy stepped back and surveyed Janet and Helen with cold, analytical eyes.

“Nice hair, even features, not too heavy and not too thin, trim ankles,” he said, half to himself and half out loud.

“I’ll leave them with you, Roddy. I’ve got to see Rexler.”

“Another picture?”

Henry Thorne nodded.

“I hear they need another of your smash hits,” said the designer.

“You mean smash up or smash down?”

“Up. You never do flops.”

“But I have.”

“That was years ago when I was only a tailor. Go along now,” added Roddy. “I’ve work to do with these girls.”

He took them back into his private fitting room and called for silks and satins by the bolt.

“Something vivid for you,” he told Helen, taking a great bolt of crimson velvet and fashioning it around her with dexterous hands, pinning it here and there. Before Janet’s eyes he created a gown, stepped back, shook his head, changed a pin or two, and surveyed his handiwork again.

“Not perfect, but it will do for a hurry up job,” conceded Roddy.

Then, with a bolt of silver cloth, he quickly fashioned a waist length cape.

“Not too much makeup tonight,” he told Helen. “Just a touch of color to take off the pallor.”

Then he turned to Janet.

“This will be a little harder,” he told her. “Brunettes are always easier to design for than blondes, but I am glad you are not an artificial blonde.”

Janet smiled, but said nothing and Roddy called for various fabrics, finally deciding on a sheer, vivid blue and a cape of gold cloth.

“For you,” he told Janet, “more color in your cheeks. It will be needed with this blue. Use a blue band to tie your hair, but do not curl it any more than the natural wave it now has. Both of you carry white gloves and it will be better without bags. I shall be proud of you.”

Janet and Helen felt very much like fairy princesses as they left the designer’s office. In less than an hour they had seen stunning gowns created. True, they had to be put together, but they did not doubt that this would be done in time, for Roddy had a certain magic in his hands and his energy seemed to flow out to the others who worked with him.

They waited for a time for Helen’s father to return and when he finally arrived there was new enthusiasm in his eyes.

“I’ll bet you’re assigned to a new picture,” said Helen.

“Right, dear. I start work on the script tomorrow. The first draft is ready, but I always like to sit in on the finishing touches.”

“What’s it going to be?” asked Janet.

“The kind of picture I’ve always wanted to do, an epic of the air, a story of the air mail, but on broader, more sweeping lines than anything else ever attempted. We need one more big picture to bolster up the production schedule for next year and I’ve drawn the assignment.”

Helen’s father was as happy as a boy with a new bicycle, and he hummed to himself half the way home.

Suddenly he burst out. “I forgot all about your dresses. How did you get along with Roddy?”

“He’s grand, and we’re all fixed up. Mine is crimson velvet and Janet’s is some divine shade of blue. I have a silver cape and she has a cloth of gold cape. Oh, he planned everything for us, even telling us just how much makeup to use.”

“That’s Roddy. He’s a fine friend.”

They drove on in silence for a time before Helen’s father spoke again.

“I must be getting absent minded,” he said as they turned into the drive at the bungalow. “I ran into Billy Fenstow at the administration building at the studio. He said to send you to see him tomorrow morning. He’s going to start shooting on a new western next week.”

“Things,” said Janet, “are happening too fast. We only arrived this noon and have already been fitted for gowns. Tonight we go to a premiere and tomorrow we meet a director who may give us places in his next pictures.”

“That’s Hollywood for you,” grinned Helen’s father.

Chapter XX
AT THE PREMIERE

After a leisurely dinner that evening they enjoyed a quiet half hour beside the pool.

“There’s plenty of time; let’s take a swim. The trunks arrived this afternoon and mother’s found our suits,” said Helen, and Janet seconded the idea at once. It had been a hectic day and the water would relax them.

They had trim one-piece suits, Janet’s of cool green and Helen’s a sharp blue. For twenty minutes they splashed in the water or relaxed and floated just as the mood struck them. Finally Mrs. Thorne called.

“It’s less than an hour before we must start for the premiere,” she said.

Janet and Helen climbed out of the pool, rubbed themselves briskly with heavy towels, and hastened into their bedroom.

Large boxes were at the foot of each bed and from them they drew the gowns which Roddy had created.

Dressing that night was one of the thrills Janet would never forget. The costume was complete for just the right undergarments had been sent by the designer. The hose were the sheerest gold, with gold slippers to match, while Helen’s accessories were silver.

“How do you feel?” asked Helen.

“Something like a fairy princess and it’s hard to make myself believe that this is all real.”

“Then let’s enjoy every minute of it. We may wake up and find that it is all just a dream.”

Janet looked at herself in the mirror. She was sheathed in blue silk, ankle length, with just enough of a slit in one side to show her dainty, silken ankles. Helen helped her tie a blue ribbon around her hair and watched while Janet applied rouge judiciously.

“I imagine the lights will be bright as we go into the theater,” said Helen, “so remember what Roddy said about the color.”

In turn Janet helped Helen, fastening the crimson velvet dress. Like her own, it was a sheath of material with Helen encased inside.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to sit down. Dad may have to hire a truck and drive us to the theater in it. I’d hate to have this gown all mussed.”

“Mine looks awfully tight, but it feels very comfortable,” confessed Janet. “Oh, I feel grand – simply grand.”

“About ready?” called Helen’s father.

They caught up their capes and threw them around their shoulders with just the right touch of abandon. Even the gloves had been provided in the boxes sent by Roddy.

Mr. and Mrs. Thorne were waiting for them in the living room, Helen’s mother looking very beautiful in a brown velvet gown while her father was distinguished in his dinner jacket.

Henry Thorne caught his breath as he looked at the girls in Roddy’s gowns.

“I knew Roddy was a wonder worker, but I didn’t know he could perform miracles. I’d hardly know you if I saw you any place else.”

“That’s a real compliment, Dad,” smiled Helen.

“Here’s something I thought you’d like to see.” He handed a copy of one of the evening papers to them. On the front page was one of the pictures taken at the airport with Janet and Helen between Mr. and Mrs. Thorne.

“Famous Director Brings Daughter and Friend West to start Their Careers in Movies,” was the caption over the picture. Underneath the story said: “Moviedom will get its first chance to see Henry Thorne’s daughter, Helen, and her companion, Janet Hardy, tonight at the premiere at the Queen’s Court. Both girls are slated for movie careers if their screen tests turn out all right. Their initial rôles will probably be in a new western which Bill Fenstow is casting now and plans to put into production next week.”

“We look pretty much ‘midwesternish’ in that picture,” observed Helen.

“What if you do? There are too many Hollywood types. What we need in pictures is fresh faces on girls who have ability. Come on now, we’ve got to hurry or we’ll be late.”

The big sedan was in the drive and Helen’s father had summoned a driver he employed when he needed a chauffeur to drive them that evening.

They turned out of the side street on which they lived into a main boulevard and whirled rapidly toward the Queen’s Court.

Janet, attending a movie premiere for the first time, felt her heart quicken as she saw the blaze of light which marked the front of the theater.

The whistle of a traffic officer slowed them down and the driver was forced to produce a card before they were allowed to go past the police lines. The sidewalks were lined with people, anxious for a glimpse at some Hollywood notable.

The car fell into line behind several others and Janet caught her first glimpse of the theater. It was magnificent white marble, with the entrance an open court and down this court the honored guests had to walk, running the gamut of the stares of hundreds who backed the police lines.

Their car pulled up under a canopy.

“Here we are, girls. Take your time and enjoy it. Don’t be stiff. It’s just like going to the Idle Hour back in Clarion,” said Helen’s father.

He stepped out first, assisted Mrs. Thorne and then turned to the girls. Janet heard the master of ceremonies, standing at the microphone nearby, announce, “Henry Thorne, most famous of the directors for Ace productions, Mrs. Thorne, their daughter, Helen, and Janet Hardy.”

Janet stepped out into the glare of the floodlights. For just a moment a terrific wave of stage fright gripped her. Then she saw smiling, friendly faces, and she smiled back. Flashlights boomed as the photographers worked.

The announcer beckoned to Henry Thorne. “Just a word, Mr. Thorne.”

But the director shook his head. “This is the girls’ night,” he smiled, shoving Helen toward the microphone.

“All I can say,” gasped Helen, “is that I’m tremendously happy to be here.”

“Thank you,” said the announcer. “And now, Miss Hardy, please.”

“I like all of the smiles,” said Janet simply, and a burst of applause came back from the crowd.

“Well done,” whispered Henry Thorne and they started down the long walk past the sea of faces.

Janet felt supremely confident, perhaps it was just knowing that her gown and accessories were perfection, and more than one compliment on her costume came from the packed masses.

In the grand foyer there were film stars on every hand, some of them stopping for a moment to talk, and as Helen’s father introduced the girls to all of these, Janet thought she detected several frankly unfriendly stares from some of the actresses, who seemed to be little if any older than they were.

Then the picture started. Actually Janet saw very little of it. She was too busy drinking in the beauty of the theater and straining to catch glimpses of stars who had arrived late.

When they left the theater, various groups congregated in the foyer for brief visits and Janet saw a tubby little man, looking ill at ease in his dinner suit and mopping his bald head, struggling to reach them. He kept his eyes quite frankly on Janet and Helen as he neared them, but there was nothing offensive in his stare. He grabbed Henry Thorne’s arm.

“Say, Henry, are these the girls?” he demanded.

“Hello, Billy. Sure. I want you to meet my daughter, Helen, and Janet Hardy.”

“Girls,” he explained, “you want to be nice to this scamp. He’s in charge of the western unit and it will be his decision on whether you get into the cast. In other words, meet Billy Fenstow.”

“None other and none such,” grinned the affable little director. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a couple of stars in tow?” he chided Helen’s father.

“Are you willing to take a chance on them and promise them parts right now?”

The creator of western pictures looked a little surprised. “Well maybe not for sure. Tell you what. I’m going home and make some changes in my script. I’ll build up some stronger parts for the girls. Can they act?”

“Billy, I don’t know. I saw them one night when I thought they could, but you’ll have to find out for yourself. Now I’m going to take them home and see that they get some sleep or they won’t be able to act.”

“I’m glad I met you tonight,” said Billy earnestly. “See you in the morning,” as Helen and Janet moved toward the car.

He watched them through shrewd eyes, and if Janet could have turned around she would have noticed that Billy Fenstow was looking at her in particular.

“I think she’ll do,” whispered the little director. “I think she’s got just what I want for the new pix. Gosh, I wish this was morning.” He jammed on his soft, black hat and went out in search of a taxi.

Chapter XXI
SCREEN TESTS

Despite the excitement of the premiere, Janet and Helen were up early. Mrs. Thorne, tired from the trip, decided to remain in bed until later and Helen’s father had already gone to the studio, but not before leaving a note directing them on where to find Billy Fenstow.

Helen scanned a morning paper for an account of the premiere.

“Here’s a paragraph about us,” she exclaimed. “Listen.”

“I am,” said Janet.

“Two of the most stunningly gowned girls seen at the Queen’s Court last night were Helen Thorne, daughter of Director Henry Thorne, and Janet Hardy, a friend from the midwest. It is rumored their gowns were special creations of Adoree. Both girls are to get film tests.”

“I must clip the picture in last night’s paper and the story this morning and send them to dad and mother,” said Janet.

While Janet clipped out the items she wanted, Helen telephoned for a taxi and they were soon speeding toward the studio.

The driver looked at them a little suspiciously as he slowed down at the main gate of the studio. Evidently he had seen too many girls like Janet and Helen get turned away, but Helen produced a note from her father which gained them instant admission. They paid the cab driver and a boy was assigned to direct them to Billy Fenstow’s office.

They found the director of the westerns at an office well to the back of the lot and he greeted them warmly.

“We might just as well make a test the first thing,” he said. “I’ve got a camera crew over on stage nine where there’s an old interior that hasn’t been struck. You girls any lines you can go through?”

“Only from our senior play,” confessed Helen.

Billy Fenstow looked aghast. “That sounds pretty bad, but we’ll try it.”

Stage nine was one of the smaller sound units on the Ace lot, but the director had a camera crew, the sound men and an electrician awaiting their arrival.

He tested the lights quickly.

“Just walk onto the set, do your lines and action, and forget about the rest of us,” he said. “We’ll take part of it, maybe.”

Janet’s knees felt very weak and when she touched Helen’s hand it was damp with a chill perspiration.

“This is awful,” whispered Janet. “I wish your Dad could be here.”

“I’m glad he isn’t,” said Helen fervently.

“Go ahead, girls,” urged the director, and Janet and Helen, who had already agreed on the scene, started their lines. The action and words were simple, but both of them were scared stiff and they acted like wooden people.

“Wait a minute,” said Billy Fenstow. “I’m human. I won’t bite and I don’t expect you to be world beaters. Now try that over and loosen up.”

Janet laughed a little and Helen found a handkerchief and wiped the palms of her hands. Both of them felt better. The lights brightened until it was impossible to see the camera crew; it was more like being on the stage of the gym with Miss Williams over in the wings with her prompt book in her hands.

Both girls entered into the spirit of their bit the second time, talking and acting as they had the night of the class play. For the moment they forgot the camera crew and failed to hear the soft whirring of the camera as Billy Fenstow signaled the cameraman to pick up the sequence. They ran through the scene and the lights dimmed.

Billy Fenstow stepped forward.

“That was better. We shot it and I’ll have it put through at once. There’s a couple of others have a final word on the casting and they’ll want to see the test.”

“When will it be ready?” asked Helen.

“Tonight. Suppose you bring your father over at eight and we’ll send it through with rushes of other stuff that’s been taken today.”

“We’ll be here,” promised Janet.

On their way out they overheard several electricians talking.

“One of the kids was Henry Thorne’s girl,” said one. “What did you think of her?”

“She’s not bad looking, but their skit was lousy.”

“Yeh, I thought so too.”

Helen looked at Janet and for some reason or other, felt like laughing. Why hadn’t her Dad warned them about the test? He should have given them something to rehearse that would have been impressive.

It was nearly noon when they reached home and after lunch Janet sat down and wrote in detail of the things that had transpired since they left Clarion. In the letter she enclosed the picture and the newspaper paragraph.

In the late afternoon Henry Thorne came home, tired but elated.

“I’m delighted with the first draft of the script for the new picture.”

“Haven’t you seen Mr. Fenstow?” asked Helen.

“No, why?”

“I’m afraid it wasn’t so good.”

“Nonsense. You made out well enough. What did he put you through?”

“That’s just it,” explained Janet. “He had us do a scene from the high school play and we felt like awful nit-wits.”

“I suppose so,” conceded Helen’s father. “When will the test be ready?”

“Mr. Fenstow said to come over at eight. He said several others had to have a word about the casting.”

“Sure. The supervisors always want the last word.”

After dinner they drove to the studio, Mrs. Thorne accompanying them.

Helen’s father took them directly to the projection room. Billy Fenstow was waiting and half a dozen others were in the room. Most of them spoke to Henry Thorne and he introduced several to Janet and Helen, but Janet couldn’t remember their names.

Then the lights went out and they settled back into comfortable leather-upholstered chairs.

Scenes from a number of pictures in production flashed before their eyes. Suddenly Janet and Helen saw themselves on the screen, moving and talking, and Janet dropped her eyes for a minute. To her it looked pretty terrible, but her voice was well modulated and pleasing.

After that the lights came on and Henry Thorne went over to speak to Billy Fenstow. When he returned a few minutes later Janet couldn’t even guess what the decision had been.

“The action was punk,” Helen’s father said frankly, “but the supervisors liked your voices. You’ve got good faces and figures. In other words you report Monday morning and both of you go into ‘Broad Valley,’ Billy’s next picture.”

Chapter XXII
WESTERN ACTION

In the days intervening Janet and Helen found plenty to do. Billy Fenstow sent over scripts of his new western and they had a chance to familiarize themselves with the general theme of the play. The story, briefly, was the efforts of a band of ruthless men to gain control of “Broad Valley,” a great cattle ranch which had been left to young Fred Danvers by his father. There was plenty of action, some gunplay, and a love theme in which Fred fell in love with the leader of the band of men who sought his property. The theme was as old as western pictures, but Billy Fenstow had a knack of dressing them up and making them look new.

Janet and Helen reported at stage nine at eight o’clock Monday morning, Henry Thorne driving them over himself. He left as soon as they reached the lot.

Nearly a score of people were clustered around the chubby little director and he nodded as Janet and Helen joined the crowd. Janet nudged Helen.

“There’s Curt Newsom, the western star. I’ll bet he’s got the lead.”

“He looks nice,” replied Helen, “but older than he appears on the screen.”

A rather artificial blonde was seated at Billy Fenstow’s right, idly thumbing through the sheaf of script from which the picture would be shot.

Mr. Fenstow spoke sharply. “Attention everybody. All of you have had a chance to study the script; all of you should be familiar with the parts. We’ll make plenty of changes as we go along, but in general you know what we’re aiming at. We’ve got two weeks assigned for the shooting and that means we’ll be done in two weeks, and not three.”

He looked around at each of them, then went on.

“Curt Newsom goes into the lead as Fred Danvers and Miss Jackson will play the rôle of Ruth Blair, the girl he falls in love with.”

He ran on down the list. “The green cousins from the east who come to visit Bill will be played by Janet Hardy and Helen Thorne.”

Janet felt her heart bound. She actually had a part and it mattered little that it was an insignificant rôle.

Bertie Jackson, the blonde in the chair, turned and looked sharply at the girls, then sniffed. “I should say they would be well qualified to play such rôles.”

Billy Fenstow caught the sneer in her voice and turned quickly.

“You know, Miss Jackson, you don’t have to work in this picture if you don’t want to. There are plenty of blondes would jump at the chance to play this lead.”

“Oh, calm down, Billy. Just because one of the girls is Henry Thorne’s daughter, you don’t need to get on your high horse when I make a harmless wisecrack.”

But Helen had her own ideas about Bertie Jackson’s wisecrack and she resolved to watch the pallid blonde. Bertie, if it served her own purpose, was quite capable of doing any number of mean tricks.

The morning passed rapidly with costume assignments being made. There were a number of interior shots of the ranch house which would be necessary and these scenes had already been erected on stage nine.

Janet and Helen would have their first scenes tomorrow, but they remained on hand to watch the first shots of the picture and to attempt to get acquainted with other members of the company. Most of them were friendly enough, but they seemed to feel that the girls had deliberately been put into the cast through Henry Thorne’s influence and Helen voiced her belief quietly.

“We’ve got to expect that,” admitted Janet, “but we don’t need to let it spoil all of our fun.”

Whatever she might have thought of Bertie Jackson from a standpoint of personality, Janet had to admit that the actress was a thorough workman and she went through her rôle in an easy and screen-appealing manner. In makeup Curt Newsom appeared much younger than the forty years he was willing to admit.

The next morning Janet and Helen reached the lot early. Although not their first scene in the picture, the first one in which they were to be shot showed them arriving at the ranchhouse.

Simple travelling costumes had been assigned by the wardrobe department, but Roddy stepped in and quietly added a touch or two that made them distinctive. Janet could almost hear Bertie Jackson hissing. It was an unheard of thing for Roddy to pay any attention to the costume worn by a minor character in a western or any other character in a picture of that type.

“Your lines are simple, girls. You’ve just gotten out of a buckboard after a long ride from the nearest railroad station. You’re tired and stiff and a little mad because Curt didn’t come to meet you. Janet, remember that you’re a little giddy and anything crazy you do will fit in all right.”

“She’ll do plenty of that,” said Bertie Jackson, under her breath.

Billy Fenstow didn’t believe in rehearsals. He told his people what he wanted, then asked them to do it, and started the cameras grinding. If it was too bad, he had to shoot it over, but if it was fair, he let it go, with the result that once in a while he got some exceptional shots.

“All set, girls?” asked the director.

Janet, her mouth dry, nodded.

“Let’s go. Camera!”

They stepped into the range of the cameras, Helen in the lead and Janet, a rather vacant stare on her face, following. There was a bear-skin rug in front of the door and some way her feet became tangled up in it and she pitched forward, only the strong arm of Curt Newsom preventing her from falling. Curt, a veteran trooper, faked a line and Janet had enough presence of mind to come back with a cue. Then they went on with the scene, which was extremely brief, ending with a cowboy, laden with baggage, trying to get through the door.

“Cut it,” waved Billy. “What are you trying to do, clown this?” he demanded of the red-faced Janet.

“No, Mr. Fenstow. You see, I slipped. I didn’t mean to do it,” she explained.

“Well, whatever it was, it was a nice bit of action and I think we’ll keep it. It ought to be worth a laugh or two.”

The next morning they left early by bus for a location back in the mountains. Billy Fenstow had every ranch possibility listed in a small black book and this was one of his favorites. He had used it several times, but a studio carpenter crew, by going out several days in advance, had changed the barns and corrals enough to disguise them. They arrived shortly before noon and a delicious meal was waiting for them.

Janet and Helen had little to do for the next two days, most of the shots being confined to action on the range, with the camera, mounted on a special truck, racing ahead of the pounding horses while the broad valley resounded to volleys of blank shots as the cowboys, led by Curt Newsom, chased and were chased by the marauders.

Then Janet and Helen got their chance in a comedy sequence called for their first riding. Neither of them felt any qualms until they were mounted. Then their horses seemed to explode and both girls hung on for their lives, their faces registering surprise in no uncertain terms.

Helen lost her grip and flew through the air to land in an undignified position in a cloud of dust. Janet, either more fortunate or a better rider, clung on for another minute, then found herself dumped into the open water trough. Splashing furiously and sputtering at a great rate, Janet got her head above water. Her hair was plastered to her head and she was soaking wet. The camera crew, in spite of their roars of laughter, had kept grinding away.

“Great stuff, Janet. You’ve got a natural born sense of comedy,” chuckled Billy Fenstow as he wiped the tears out of his eyes.

“It looks like I’m all wet as an actress,” admitted Janet.

“Oh, I don’t know. Getting all wet may make you one,” countered the director. “Get into some dry clothes. We’re through with this sequence, anyhow.”

The days on location passed swiftly and in the main pleasantly. Curt Newsom took an interest in the girls, which only heightened Bertie Jackson’s jealousy. He taught them several tricks about riding and they spent every extra hour in the saddle.

One of the last sequences to be filmed at the ranch was one calling for a wild ride by Janet to take news of a raid on the ranch to the sheriff’s office in a near-by town.

With the camera crew in the truck ahead, the action started. Janet rode hard, but was careful to keep in camera range. Suddenly she felt her saddle slipping and she grabbed desperately at the mane of the galloping horse. Alarmed by the looseness of the saddle, the beast increased its stride and Janet, a stifled scream on her lips, plunged headlong. She felt the shock of the ground as she struck and then a mantle of merciful darkness descended upon her.