The Moving Picture Girls | Page 5

and farther off. Then came Mrs.
DeVere's illness and death, and for a time a broken-hearted man
withdrew himself from the world to devote his life to his daughters.
But the call of the stage was imperative, not so much from choice as
necessity, for Mr. DeVere could do little to advantage save act, and in
this alone could he make a living. So he had returned to the "boards,"
filling various engagements with satisfaction, and taking his daughters
about with him.

Rather strange to say, up to the present, though literally saturated with
the romance and hard work of the footlights, neither Ruth nor Alice had
shown any desire to go on the stage. Or, if they had it, they had not
spoken of it. And their father was glad.
Mr. DeVere was a clever character actor, and had created a number of
parts that had won favor. He inclined to whimsical comedy rôles, rather
than to romantic drama, and several of his old men studies are
remembered on Broadway to this day. He had acted in Shakespeare, but
he had none of that burning desire, with which many actors are credited,
to play Hamlet. Mr. DeVere was satisfied to play the legitimate in his
best manner, to look after his daughters, and to trust that in time he
might lay by enough for himself, and see them happily married.
But the laying-aside process had been seriously interrupted several
times by lack of engagements, so that the little stock of savings
dwindled away.
Then came a panicky year. Many theaters were closed, and more actors
"walked the Rialto" looking for engagements than ever before. Mr.
DeVere was among them, and he even accepted a part in a vaudeville
sketch to eke out a scanty livelihood.
Good times came again, but did not last, and finally it looked to the
actor as though he were doomed to become a "hack," or to linger along
in some stock company. He was willing to do this, though, for the sake
of the girls.
A rather longer period of inactivity than usual made a decided change
in the DeVere fortunes, if one can call a struggle against poverty
"fortunes." They had to leave their pleasant apartment and take one
more humble. Some of their choice possessions, too, went to the sign of
the three golden balls; but, with all this, it was hard work to set even
their scanty table. And the bills!
Ruth wept in secret over them, being the house-keeper. And, of late,
some of the tradesmen were not as patient and kind as they had been at
first. Some even sent professional collectors, who used all their various

wiles to humiliate their debtors.
But now a ray of light seemed to shine through the gloom, and a
tentative promise from one theatrical manager had become a reality. Mr.
DeVere had telephoned that the contract was signed, and that he would
have a leading part at last, after many weeks of idleness.
"What is the play?" asked Alice of her sister, when they had decided on
what they might safely get from the delicatessen store. "Did dad say?"
"Yes. It's 'A Matter of Friendship.' One of those new society dramas."
"Oh, I do hope he gets us tickets!"
"We will need some dresses before we can use tickets," sighed Ruth.
"Positively I wouldn't go anywhere but in the gallery now."
"No, we wouldn't exactly shine in a box," agreed Alice.
"Hark!" cautioned her sister. "There's someone in the hall now. I heard
a step----"
There came a knock on the door, and in spite of themselves both girls
started nervously.
"That isn't his rap!" whispered Alice.
"No. Ask who it is," suggested Ruth. Somehow, she looked again to the
younger Alice now.
"Who--who is it?" faltered the latter. "Maybe it's one of those horrid
collectors," she went on, in her sister's ear. "I wish I'd kept quiet."
But the voice that answered reassured them.
"Are you there, Miss DeVere? This is Russ Dalwood. I want to
apologize for that row outside your door a few minutes ago. It was an
accident. I'm sorry. May I come in?"

CHAPTER III
THE OLD TROUBLE
For a moment the girls faced each other with wide-opened eyes, the
brown ones of Alice gazing into the deep blue ones of Ruth. Ruth's
eyes were not the ordinary blue--like those of a china doll. They were
more like wood-violets, and in their depths could be read a liking for
the unusual and romantic that was, in a measure, the key to her
character. Not for nothing had Alice laughed at her sister's longing for a
prince, on a milk-white steed, to come riding by. Ruth was tall, and of
that desirable willowy type, so much in demand of late.
Alice