New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1920-08-15
Picks the Hero Part


Picks the Hero Part
IT l were ambitious to be a moving
picture actor I'd want to be the hero.
l wouldn't be the fellow with the
little mustache and supercilious
smile that stands at the end of the
bar and performs the feat of keep
ing one eye on the cash register and
the other on the senorita without
getting cross-eyed. Nor would I be
the half-breed greaser that does the
other fellows dirty work and then
gets cheated out of the honorarium
agreed upon-not on your life. The
hero for mine every time. Now, l
want to tell you how, if l had such
an ambition, destiny, the univer-
sal corrector, would have set me
straight.
One hot afternoon l CHANGED into
the editorial rooms of big publish
ing house, name for obvious reasons
omitted. There I met my friend
Joseph Anthony, the novelist, who
recently was made manager of the
great campaign, subscribed to by all
our big publishers, for promoting
the reading of books throughout the
length and breadth of the land. Said
Anthony:
Il start for Cape Cod tonight. F."
1t was then 3 o'clock. "We've got
a caravan, wonderful little book
store on wheels, perambulating
through the Cape calling the atten-
ton of the farmers and fisher folk
to books. I'm going to meet repre-
sentatives of the news service Of
four great motion picture companies,
Pathe, international, Fox and
kinegram. They're going to make
pictures of the young ladies who
manage the caravan in the actual
act and operation of promoting
DOCK readlng.
"Gosh," I said, chat looks good
to me. I've never seen motion pic
ture men at work"
Come along" said Anthony.
"Chance of your life" He seemed
enthusiastic.
Too late for the bank. Will you
loan me the money to go?"
"You bet" said he. That showed
how sincere he was.
OFF for the Cope
We reached Falmouth-cn-the-C Cape
about noon, as thought, but it was
really only $50, for we'd left Fall
River at an unheard-of hour, just at
the amber of dawn. The air was
crisp, and we walked from the depot
to the heart Of the town through
wonderful trees and past white
houses with green blinds and tall
peaked roofs. What an atmosphere
Now for the first obstacle.
1t seems that the publishers had
thought that as Joe Lincoln was so
associated with the literature of
| Cape Cod it would be good scheme
for him to pose in the pictures, and
I understood that Lincoln had agreed
to do so. But it seems there had
been mixup of dates, and Lincoln
had gone away fishing for trout in
mountain stream instead Of re-
naming and fishing for publicity in
the streets of Falmouth. But An
thony was man of resource. Said
he: "We've got the caravan, which
I have learned is just pulling into
Falmouth. Well take that. And"
turning to me, chow would you like
to pose as AN contemporaries of
book-reading among the children
here?"
The idea didn't quite square with
my ambition to emulate Bill Hart or
Mitchell Lewis or Tom Mix or Doug
Fairbanks, but destiny, the corrector,
did seem to think it was more appro-
pirate for kindly, middle-aged gen.
tleman to pose in semi-pedagogic
way than to attempt to sit bucking
bronco or scramble up the corner of
hacienda. Furthermore, | was a
writer and as such, l deemed it my
duty to overcome any scruples
might feel, and, still furthermore
here's a secret was eager to do
it any way.
After some searching, we found
R. w. Sears, of the International,
who had been searching for us. OF
course, Sears was disappointed that
Lincoln hadn't turned up.
But" said he, resolutely, ~ came
down here from Boston to get some
thing, and I'm not going back with
out the goods, not if it takes leg"
So we proceeded to the edge of the
town, where, in the high school
grounds, we found the caravan,
which had just arrived from far-off