Evening star., 1922-08-27

A dun! BY registered mail! A no.
tice before suit, sent thus in order
| that his personal receipt desired
! card might be shown as evidence that
he had been duly notified.
Well, he had waited for the five
twenty-three mail. ,And what of it?
Only another claim against the busi-
ness. There was no saving it now.
This dun was the last goad. driving
him from this swiftly complicating
business dilemma.
LIE turned his steps down toward
the station. where he would wait
alone for the midnight train. By the
billboard he paused. Well. why not?
1t would help pass the time. and he'd
always liked Bill Hardy. He retraced
radiance of the theaters blazing en-
trance.
The second show of the evening
was just starting, the feature film"
prefaeed by a comedy. When the
feature flickered on the man was
ready for the story 1t narrated. Would
he not in three days be travelling
down that trail hfmself-he and the
one woman? Perhaps that is why the
film had more of his attention this
night than it might have had on ony
other evening. Then it would be
merely pleasure. Now it was .,ho-
phecy.
Bill Hardy, as type. had always
held a peculiar fascination for the
young manager of the MacKane
Woodenware Company. And the actor
was in one of his happiest roles this
~evening-a scout in the days of the
guide wagon train and a hundred
pioneers through the multitudinous
dangers of the old southwest. along
the Santa Fe trail/ The lives and
destinies Of his followers were COM
pletely in his care. And he was COM
petent' to command that trust. OF
course, there was a girl
But why repeat the story Of a cur
rent movie: The point is this-that
one man in that little Vermont thea
ter that night was moved by the por-
trayal as one in a hypnotic trance.
For the time being he lived on the
old Santa Fe trail of yesterday. He
became Bill Hardy!
Ah. those were the days. The glory
Of those pioneers of an unconquer-
able race that had pushed on through
precipitous mountain ranges. over the
death floors of alkali valleys and
blistering, toll-taking deserts, ad-
vancing, ever advancing-it had de-
parted. In place of such men were
today milk -and-water creatures-of
street cars. automobiles and night
lunch carts.
Came the great scene in the reel,
the climax. The girl for whom at
first the hero would have abandoned
the task that fate had set him had
been captured by marauding Indians.
The scout had one of two alternatives
he could desert the hundred souls
depending upon him to lead them
through In safety to the end Of the
trek, and could go after the woman
he loved better than he loved his life,
or he could leave her to her fate
the fate of one-in order that a hun
dred might reach the end of the jour-
ney in safety. Banal and trite as the
situation was, the moment was no
less tense, the audience no less cleo
trified. Yet every man, woman and
child knew there could be but one
outcome With the flicker Of long
age campfire playing upon his mobile
face, the man fought out his battle
with self and won.
{ He gave orders for the wagon train
to move-himself at its head. Fight
ing every inch Of the way-Indians.
drought, treachery. pitiless desert
forces-with no further thought of
self but with every thought for those
who had put their trust in him, he
came through clean! He stood by his
followers to the end of the trail!
A MOTION picture story-admission
"a 20 cents and war tax. That's
all. But the God of things as they
are has witnessed greater glories-1
unwept, unhonored and unsung-in
long forgotten actualities than the
scenario writer's Of hundred gen
erations might conceive.
: From that screen straight to the
soul of small-town manufacturer on
the eve Of running away from a
trouble to solve it pierced the mes
sage Of the fable.
At haif-past ten that night Mac
Kane found himself wandering around
outside of the Olympic theater. Hel