The Washington times. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1902-1939, 1923-02-03

Guernsey, the too foppishly dressed
office manager, told her. ''She
left this for you"
This was an envelope which
Clancy quickly opened. 1t con-
tanned, not her discharge, which
she had vaguely expected-why
should her employer write to her
otherwise?-but $25, half a weeks
salary. And Clancy was down to
her last dollar!
I'VE close at 1 on Saturdays"
Guernsey informed her. He him.
self was beating the closing time
by three-quarters of an hour, but
Clancy waited until 1 o'clock.
Then she left. She called upon
Miss Conover, but the plump,
merry little dressmaker had
nothing ready to try. ION her new
est customer.
It didn't matter. Nothing mat
tered. Zenda had caused a test
to be made of her-and Clancy
Deane would be upon the screen.
She wondered just what sort of
parts Zenda would give her. OF
course, she'd have to begin with
little bits as Fanchon had
called them. But soon-oh, very
soon!-she'd work up to great
roles. She wanted emotional
parts; she felt that she could
bring to the screen something
new in the way of Interpretation.
All the Clancys Of the world,
whether it is acting or writing or
singing that they wish to do, feel
the same.
She took in a matinee in the
afternoon. She supped, in lonely
splendor, at the Trevor. And,
equipped with a novel, she went
to bed early But she could not
concentrate. Her mind wandered;
and it didn't wander to the mys.
terry of Morris Beiner's death, or
to the possibility that some one in
Vanderven's office would def
nitely decide that she was Florine
Ladue. nearly so often as it wan
6ered to the Zenda studios.
She had fooled Philip Wander
vent yesterday. Grannis and
Weber had passed, so she believed,
out of her life. Why should she
worry? She had done no wrong.
Resolutely she refused to fret.
Instead. she went off to sleep,
prepared for roseate dreams. She
had them, but the awakening was
not so roseate.
Mrs. Gerand, who, by request,
reused all her dodgers on week
days, permitted them to slumber
as late as they chose on Sun.
days. The lodging house, usually
from o'clock until 8 a noisy
place, filled with the hustle of
departing men and women, was
silent as the tomb on Sunday
morning. And Clancy slep until
IL o'clock, to be awakened by the
landlady.
"I hate to do it, Miss Deane,"
she apologized, but when letters
come by special messenger they're
important as kilograms, 1 think.
So I brought this up"
Clancy, sitting up in bed, took
the note from Mrs. Gerand's hand.
After the landlady had gone she
opened it. And then she put her
head upon the pillow and wept.
For Zenda had written:
Dear Miss Deane:
l am at the studio, where 1
had them run off your test of
yesterday morning. You see, ]
didn't waste any time. And I'm
sorry to tell you that you won't
do for the screen. One cannot
explain it. Your skin, your
features, your hair-everything
about you is beautiful. And you
have brains. But the camera is a
tricky and unreasonable thing.
All of that beauty and charm
which is yours fails to register
upon the screen. l cannot tell
you how sorry / am, and I shall
be only too glad to let you see
the test yourself, so that you will
not possibly doubt my good faith.
If. in any other way, l can be of
service to you, please command.
Yours faithfully, ZENDA.
All her illusions were shattered.
She didn't wish to see the test.
She believed Zenda.
Slowly her sobs ceased. She
had no lack of courage. Also, she
was young, and youth turns from
defeat to future victory in mo-
ment's time.
Carefully, as she bathed, she re-
moved the traces Of tears. Dressed,
she breakfasted at the Trevor.
Then, feeling more lonely than
she had ever felt in her life.
she went out upon Fifth avenue.
Groups of people were entering a
church a block away. She was
not particularly devout young