Plentywood herald. [volume] (Plentywood, Mont.) 1908-current, 1929-07-11
IN TWO PARTS-PART ONE
published by special Advancement with The
Chicago Tribune Syndicate)
CAPTAINS of industry. seated COM

CAPTAINS of industry, seated COM
fortably in their overstuffed, re-
volvlng chairs, tell the young MAJ
that if he ticks stamps harder than
any else has licked EN-, saves his
dimes, works twelve hours a day. and
goes to bed at nine, the top of the
tree, or the Ritz tower, will certainly
be his address. They never say any
thing, oddly enough. about that odd
little bit of luck. And luck plays a
big part in the game Of life-a bigger
part than the complacent coupon cut
ter is ever prepared to admit.
Take, for example. the case Of JIM
my Goodwin-James Palmer Goodwin
when you can see through the dirt on
his mail box card. A hundred per
cent fryer for fifteen years, he might
like many another good fellow, have
gone down to his grave an industrious
failure if luck, which he had hitherto
never met, had not butted in at last
and given him a friendly shove. And,
incidentally, the piece of good fortune
that made him dormy was responsible
also for his marrying n of the pref
test and most adorable girls that ever
stepped out OF stepins.
When Jimmy Goodwin came out of
college his father, who owned a big
artificial manure business, wanted him,
as fathers do, to go into his office. 1t
wasn't because he was snobbish and
had anything against that useful,
harmless, if somewhat smellful, COM
modify, but simply because he didn't
like business Of any kind, that the boy
refused. He just wasn't cut out for
toiling and moiling in the city marts.
He had a consuming urge TO write
stories, with an occasional play for fun.
Well-the old nan said that he
didn't think it respectable for his son
TO 90 through life without doing any
work, and the upshot of it was that,
after an argument which lasted a cou-
pie of months, Goodwin senior pulled
the old fashioned Don't darken my
doors again" stuff at the very top of
his voice.
Young Jimmy wasn't a Stacker. He
took a cheapish and sheepiSh room on
the west side Of the city and started in
to manufacture great literary gems. The
usual thing followed, Of course. Occa-
Sionally he turned out something good
enough to get by with an editor, but
SO rarely did he actually sell that there
was nc fear OF his developing either a
swollen head or stomach. 1t wasn't
that his work was horribly bad, but it
somehow was not quite smooth enough
to be singled out from the colossal
mass of material that the countless
army OF other inexperienced craftsmen
were submitting every day.
After a couple of years during which
he sweated day and night, Jimmy de-
cided that if he travelled and saw the
world he might eventually become bet
ter acquainted with something worth
writing about. But Majestics and
Aquitanias were not quite in his line.
And luckily for him he preferred the
smaller ships.
He worked his way from place to
place IN freighters, TO tell the truth.
He put in a stretch on a station in
Australia, saw sheep die by the scores
of thousands during a drouth, and for
six months worked in Papua for a GIN
nowned "blackbirder' in the old slave
dealing days.
In the blistering sun of Borneo he
planted cocoanuts. He spent some
time in China, Japan, Russia, and
India, sold the New York Times III
Paris, and acted as guide to frightened
ladies through the London fogs.
And during all the years he spent
abroad he continued to write with that
logged earnestneSs which sometimes
carries men to the presidency or puts
them into Jail. But his stories, like
the prOverbial black cat, invariably
came back.
The man was fairly tall. He had a
humorous mouth and whimsical china
blue eyes. And even in old clothes
and his were always ancient-he some
how looked cleaner than the handbook
men.
When he returned to settle again in
New York he was nearing his middle
thirties.
He managed to keep himself this side
of the earth by selling ar occasional
story and, if industry alone had
counted, would have been a million
aire. Every night he sat up till all
hours pounding out plays, moving pic
ture scenarios, and yarns about the
people and places that he had stored
up in his mind. And most OF them
were tolerably good. But
On n of those bleak, snoW threat
ening afternoons of which February is
SO fond. this logged lad emerged from
q Broadway cafeteria in which he had
DdlllI lCliColiCo LA a
Across the street a huge electric light
sign proclaimed the fact that a film
called THE Jeweled Sinner was be-
ing shown to an eager world. This pic
ture had made a big hit and Jimmy
felt that he ought to see it if only fol
the purpose of keeping in touch with
the type of thing that was meeting
with the approval of the crowd. He
had written many movie scenarios, but
none of them had sold. And, any
way, it would be warmer inside the
picture palace than in his hole in the
wall.
Though he never would have be-
lieved it, because his optimism was
thin, he was stumbling full steam
ahead toward IN undreamed-of stroke
Of luck. He was about to step with
both feet into the circle of success.
The orchestra, almost a hundred
strong. played something from Lucia
di Lammermoor" for no reason, but
did it very we'll. Then came a Rus
sian ballet-quite good in its way, ant
a recently discovered operate soprano
from Goshen, Ind.-not SO good.
Rather as an afterthought the pic
ture was flashed on the screen, anC
those who were not sleeping were In
formed by a series Of captions thai
1.-The Jeweled Sinner was an orig.
inal story, a Hugo Bortsch produc.
ton, directed by Hugo Bortsch, and
further, as if it we're a matter Of really
deep concern, that it had been made