Merton of the Movies | Page 6

that revolver lyin' on the floor
for? Is it loaded? Say, are you really out of your senses, or ain't you?
What's got into you lately? Will you tell me that? Skyhootin' around in
here, leavin' the front of the store unpertected for an hour or two, like
your time was your own. And don't tell me you only been foolin' in
here for three minutes, either, because when I come back from lunch
just now there was Mis' Leffingwell up at the notions counter wanting
some hooks and eyes, and she tells me she's waited there a good thutty
minutes if she's waited one. Nice goin's on, I must say, for a boy
drawin' down the money you be! Now you git busy! Take that one with
the gingham frock out and stand her in front where she belongs, and
then put one them new raincoats on the other and stand him out where
he belongs, and then look after a few customers. I declare, sometimes I
git clean out of patience with you! Now, for gosh's sake, stir your
stumps!"
"Oh, all right--yes, sir," replied Merton Gill, though but half
respectfully. The "Oh, all right" had been tainted with a trace of
sullenness. He was tired of this continual nagging and fussing over
small matters; some day he would tell the old grouch so.
And now, gone the vivid tale of the great out-of-doors, the wide plains
of the West, the clash of primitive-hearted men for a good woman's
love. Gone, perhaps, the greatest heart picture of a generation, the
picture at which you laugh with a lump in your throat and smile with a
tear in your eye, the story of plausible punches, a big, vital theme
masterfully handled--thrills, action, beauty, excitement--carried to a
sensational finish by the genius of that sterling star of the shadowed
world, Clifford Armytage--once known as Merton Gill in the little
hamlet of Simsbury, Illinois, where for a time, ere yet he was called to
screen triumphs, he served as a humble clerk in the so-called emporium
of Amos G. Gashwiler--Everything For The Home. Our Prices Always
Right.

Merton Gill--so for a little time he must still be known--moodily seized
the late Estelle St. Clair under his arm and "withdrew from the dingy
back storeroom. Down between the counters of the emporium he went
with his fair burden and left her outside its portals, staring from her
very definitely lashed eyes across the slumbering street at the Simsbury
post office. She was tastefully arrayed in one of those new checked
gingham house frocks so heatedly mentioned a moment since by her
lawful owner, and across her chest Merton Gill now imposed, with no
tenderness of manner, the appealing legend, "Our Latest for Milady;
only $6.98." He returned for Snake le Vasquez. That outlaw's face,
even out of the picture, was evil. He had been picked for the part
because of this face--plump, pinkly tinted cheeks, lustrous, curling hair
of some repellent composition, eyes with a hard glitter, each lash
distinct in blue-black lines, and a small, tip-curled black mustache that
lent the whole an offensive smirk. Garbed now in a raincoat, he, too,
was posed before the emporium front, labelled "Rainproof or You Get
Back Your Money." So frankly evil was his mien that Merton Gill,
pausing to regard him, suffered a brief relapse into artistry.
"You fiend!" he muttered, and contemptuously smote the cynical face
with an open hand.
Snake le Vasquez remained indifferent to the affront, smirking
insufferably across the slumbering street at the wooden Indian
proffering cigars before the establishment of Selby Brothers,
Confectionery and Tobaccos.
Within the emporium the proprietor now purveyed hooks and eyes to
an impatient Mrs. Leffingwell. Merton Gill, behind the opposite
counter, waited upon a little girl sent for two and a quarter yards of
stuff to match the sample crumpled in her damp hand. Over the suave
amenities of this merchandising Amos Gashwiler glared suspiciously
across the store at his employee. Their relations were still strained.
Merton also glared at Amos, but discreetly, at moments when the
other's back was turned or when he was blandly wishing to know of
Mrs. Leffingwell if there would be something else to-day. Other
customers entered. Trade was on.

Both Merton and Amos wore airs of cheerful briskness that deceived
the public. No one could have thought that Amos was fearing his
undoubtedly crazed clerk might become uncontrollable at any moment,
or that the clerk was mentally parting from Amos forever in a scene of
tense dramatic value in which his few dignified but scathing words
would burn themselves unforgettably into the old man's brain. Merton,
to himself, had often told Amos these things. Some day he'd say them
right out, leaving his victim not only in the utmost