LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

laughed,” Luck pointed out laconically. Then his eyes twinkled suddenly. “‘Laugh and the world laughs with you,’” he quoted shamelessly, and took a long, satisfying suck at his cigar.

      “The world won’t step up and pay damages to Bently Brown,” Martinson reminded him, “if that picture is released as it stands. How many have you made, so far?”

      “I’m finishing the third; getting funnier, too, as they go along.”

      “You’ve got to cut out that funny business. You’ll have to retake this whole thing, Luck; make it straight drama. We can’t afford a lawsuit, these hard times—and injunctions tying up the releases, and damages to pay when the thing’s thrashed out in court. You’ll have to retake this whole picture. Nice bunch of useless expense, I must say, when I’ve been chasing nickels off the expense account of this company and sitting up nights nursing profits! We’ll have to cut salaries now, to break even on this fluke. I’ve left the payroll alone so far. That’s the worst of a break like this. The whole company has got to pay for every blunder from now on.”

      Luck’s eyes hardened while he listened. He did not call his work a blunder, and the charge did not sit well coming from another.

      “Buy off Bently Brown,” he advised crisply. “Offer him a new contract, naming this stuff as comedy. Advertise them as the famous comedies of Bently Brown, the well-known author. Show him some good publicity dope along that line. Give him the credit of making the stories live ones. This series will be a money-maker, and a big one, if ever they reach the screen. You’re old enough in the business to know that, Mart. You saw how this film hit the bunch, and you know what it takes to rouse any enthusiasm in the projection room. And take it from me, Mart—this is straight!—that’s the only way in God’s world to make that series take hold at all. As drama the stuff is hopeless. Absolutely hopeless. It’s only by giving it the twist I gave it that it will get over. You do that, Mart. You kid this Bently Brown into being featured as the humorist of the age, and pay him a little something for swallowing his disappointment as a dramatic author. I’ll go ahead with my boys, and we’ll deliver the goods. You do that, and you’ll be setting up nights counting profits instead of nursing them!”

      Martinson began to stir up the litter on his desk,—another bad-weather sign. “I can’t waste time talking nonsense,” he snapped. “I’ve got plenty to do without that. That stuff has got to be retaken; every foot of it, if you’ve gone on burlesquing the action. I happen to know that Brown wouldn’t consider such a compromise. You’ve made a bad break, and I believe you made the first one when you brought that bunch of cowboys back with you. If they can do straight dramatic acting, all right; if not, you’d better let them out and start over with professionals.”

      For a peaceable man, Martinson was angry. He had taken some trouble in smoothing down the ruffled temper of Bently Brown, even before viewing the trial run of the picture. Martinson hated disputes as a cat hates to walk in fresh-fallen snow, and the parting tirade of Bently Brown had affected him unpleasantly.

      For a full two minutes Luck smoked and did not speak, and as he had done once before, Martinson repented his harshness when it was too late. “Personally, your version struck me as awfully funny,” he began placatingly.

      “Who gives a cuss how it struck you personally?” Luck stood up with unexpected haste. “You trim and truckle to every one that comes along with a gold brick, and that’s why you have to sit up nights to nurse the profits. If you had a little stiffening in your back, the profits would show up better. You paid good money for this bunch of rot, and turned it over to me to whip into a profitable investment. You can make the rounds of the studio and get a vote on whether I’ve done it or not. Put it up to your Public; they’ll mighty soon let you know whether the film’s a money-getter. If it is, your business as general manager and president of the Acme Film Company is to get Bently Brown in line for the production to go on. A clause such as you mention in the agreement with him shows a bigger blunder on your part than anything I’ve done or ever will do. If you’d had as much sense as Ted, you’d have kept that clause out. If you’d had half as much brains as the comedy burro out in the corral you’d never have loaded up with that stuff, anyway; you’d have seen at a glance that it was rotten.

      “Now, I’ve shown what I can do with those stories. I’ve taken your bad bargain and put it into a money-making shape. As to the break I made in getting those boys out here, you’ll have to show me—that’s all. They seem, to have made good all right, judging from the way that film took with the crowd. And if you ask my opinion as a director, they beat any near-professional on the Acme pay roll. My work, and their work, goes right along as it has started—or it stops. If you want those stories worked up in a lot of darned, sickly, slush melodrama, you can set some simp at it that don’t know any better.” Luck stopped and shut his teeth together against some personal remarks that he would later feel ashamed of having uttered. He turned to the door, swallowed hard, and forced himself to a dignified calm before he spoke again.

      “You know my phone number, Mart. By seven in the morning I’ll expect to hear from you. You can tell me then whether I’m to go ahead with these stories the way I’ve started, or whether to pull out of the Company altogether. One or the other. I’ll want to know in the morning.” Then he went out.

      “Dammit, who’s running this company—you or I?” Martinson called after him heatedly. But Luck was already standing on the steps and hoisting his umbrella against the drizzle, and he did not give any sign that he heard.

Chapter Eight. “There’s Got to be a Line Drawed Somewheres”

       Table of Contents

      By seven o’clock in the morning,—since that was his ultimatum,—Luck was standing in his bare feet and pajamas, acrimoniously arguing with Martinson over the telephone. Usually he was up at six, but he was a stubborn young man, and the day promised much rainfall, anyway. He would have preferred sunshine; the stand he meant to take would have had more weight in working weather. But since he could not prevent the morning from being a rainy one, he permitted more determination to slip into his tones.

      Martinson had spent an unpleasant evening with Bently Brown, or so he declared. He had called up several stockholders of the Acme, and had talked the matter over with them, and—

      “Well, cut the preamble, Mart,” snapped Luck, trying to warm one foot by rubbing it with the other one. “Do I go on with the work, or don’t I?”

      “From the looks of the weather—” Mart began to temporize.

      “Weather cuts no figure with this matter. You know what I mean. What’s the decision?” Luck scowled at the pretty girl on his wall calendar, and began to rub his right foot with the left and to curse the janitor with that part of his brain not occupied with the conversation.

      “Well, listen. You come out to the office, after awhile, and we’ll go into this matter calmly,” begged Martinson. “No use in letting that temper of yours run away with you, Luck. You know we all—”

      “What did Bently Brown say? Did you put the proposition up to him as I suggested?”

      “Luck, you know I told you Brown wouldn’t consider—”

      “Say, Mart, get all those rambling words out of your system, and then call me up and tell me what I want to know!” And Luck hung up the receiver and went shivering back to bed. From the things he said to himself, he was letting that temper of his run away with him in spite of Martinson’s warning.

      He had just ceased having spasms of shivering, and had found his warm nest of the night, and was feeling glad that it was raining so that he could stay in bed as long as he liked, when the phone jingled shrilly again. Had he been certain that it was Martinson, Luck would have lain there and let it ring itself tired. But there is always the doubt when a telephone bell calls peremptorily. He waited sulkily until the girl at the switchboard in the office below settled down to prolong the siege. Luck knew that girl would never quit now that she was sure he was in.

Скачать книгу