Evening star. [volume], June 28, 1936, Page 11, Image 83

About Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972

Image provided by: Library of Congress, Washington, DC

                
Prince Pudden and Pie
Continued from pago four
inferior, just as, in Tudor days, the
jester or the server used to taste each
dish before the king — to protect
him against poison.
George wasn’t thinking of that; he
was merely annoyed at the impudence
of Hope-Hill, who, as he took it, was
slyly insulting him, trusting to his
ignorance of kava etiquette.
“That’s not my cup.” he began.
The Queen cut in. "Why you giving
Siorsi first?” she asked.
Hope-Hill was civilly explanatory.
“Your Majesty, strangers don’t know
jur customs, it seems rude to them to
serve other people first — particularly
servants. I meant to gratify the
Prince.”
Lisabeta leaned back against the
hrone. “Ah,” she said. “I see. But it is
tot custom. I not much like you
ireak custom. Siorsi understands is
and fashion. You call Maiera’s name."
There was a moment’s breathless
iilence. The lustres on the hanging
amps swung, tinkling faintly. Like
jells, George thought, warning bells,
iuch as are set on reefs to ring of
langer. The Eastern strain in the
Jsalmanazars spoke in the brothers,
low and then. Asia, home of mystery,
>f magic and prophecy, was whisper
ng in George’s ear. And what Asia
I he Queen had guessed. 1 he Queen
was ordering Maiera to execution.
Two people sprang to prevent the
Tarrying out of the sentence. George
md Hope-Hill. George was the first;
ic clutched at the cup which Maiera,
iclpless before the Queen, was already
aising to her lips. But Lisabeta was
tuicker, and not less strong. She
lung him aside with a sweep of one
jowerful arm, the while, with her free
land, she pinched Maiera's nostrils,
orcing the girl to swallow. It was over
n a moment; the draught was down,
md Maiera, hands before her eyes, as
f to shut out the sight of inevitable
ieath, had sunk upon the floor.
‘‘Get up and go down to the sea,”
George shouted. ‘‘Go and drink salt
water till you burst. Good Ixird, girl,
lon’t let yourself — ”
She did not move. George bent down
md took hold of her. He knew now
that Maiera, crazed with jealousy, had
ent herself to the purposes of Hope
Hill; clearly she and the Chamberlain
lad plotted to kill him, meant him to
swallow the poisoned drink.
Lisaueia nau caneu me guarns.
rhey came running from the gate.
‘Hold the girl,” she ordered. "Maiera
vill not leave the palace.”
“Let her go,” George pleaded.
'Lisabeta! When I ask you." He had
lis arms about her now; he was sure
hat he could persuade her, this crea
ure of flame and furious impulse.
Lisabeta he might have managed.
3ut not Lisabeta the Queen. She had
>een all woman until now. Now she
vas Royalty incarnate, with the power
>f a hundred tyrannical generations
;urging through her. Angrily, she
irokc loose.
"Keep to your job, Prince Con
»rt!” she cried in the native tongue.
‘I^et the Queen reign!”
It came upon George, in one swift
noment, that the title would never
ightfully be his. He was well served,
le had left the lily of the Vitis for the
chance of a crown, and now he couldn’t
take the crown when it was held out to
him. Not after seeing Maiera, whom
he’d kissed, lie dying at Lisabeta's
feet. George knew himself a beggar,
beggared of queen, of throne, and
worst of all, of love. For nothing in the
world was more certain, he felt, than
that Jennifer, lily of love, would
never come back to him.
Lisabeta looked at him inscrutably.
She had opened her lips. Often,
afterwards, he was to think about
that moment; to wonder what the
Queen was going to say, to do, if
nothing had happened. But something
did happen.
Down on the sea-beach, someone
began to scream. Others, far and near,
caught the cry and repeated it. George
knew that long, thin, sea-bird sound
ing cry, the call that stirs above all
other sounds, the heart of island
dwellers — "Sail-O! Sail-O!”
He left Maiera, left the Queen and
the guards, and in ten leaps was out
of the palace grounds. Dark though it
was, he could see the lights of a ship
coming in, make out, dimly, the shape
of her as she turned and glided
through the passage into the lagoon.
It was the High Commissioner’s
yacht, the "Coral Queen,” coming
direct from the Vitis. And instantly
George knew her errand. Only one
thing could have brought her so far;
the long-delayed, often threatened
annexation of the Hawongas. "Pro
tected” until now, they were at last to
fall, wholly and entirely, to the British
rrnwn
These things ran through George's
mind as he hurried back to the palace;
remained there, even while he was giv
ing out his astounding news; watching,
with some pity, the dismay of the
Queen; hearing her. hurriedly, dismiss
the guards and order the women to see
to Maiera. If the Great Governor were
coming — as once he had come be
fore, when first appointed — it be
hooved her to conceal all evidence of
trouble; things would be bad enough
without that. Lisabeta didn’t quite
believe what George was saying about
annexation; nevertheless, one must be
careful.
Careful? It was too late for that.
Not with all their efforts could the
women bring Maiera back to life.
There was no trial; no one, least of
all George, would give evidence against
the Queen; and the Governor, if in
deed he entertained suspicions about
the sudden death of the little maid-of
honor, was obliged to keep them to
himself. But it may be that those
suspicions had their weight with him,
when, a day or two later, in a speech
that fixed the fate of the Hawongas, he
took over sovereignty from the Queen.
George hadn't wanted to be present.
He went for a walk among the iron
woods. as far away as possible from
the yacht and the palace and all that
reminded him of his failure. He had
lost everything: but he was still young,
still full of hope and energy and if
there were no more princesses left in
the Pacific for Psalmanazars to marry,
there were other ways of living.
He’d have liked just once more to
see her, the lily of the Vitis, golden
Jennifer. But Jennifer, whom he had
once held in his arms, wouldn’t for
give him ever, and anyhow she was
fifteen hundred miles away.
So he walked round the corner of
the road, into the dusk of the thickly
planted murmuring iron woods, and al
most into the arms of Jennifer!
Jennifer spoke first. "You are —
engaged — to the Queen, I believe,
Mr. Psalmanazar?” It gave her a thrill
to call him Mr. Psalmanazar; after all
that had been, she hoped that it
hurt him. She wanted to be cruel.
"I broke it off,” George answered
her. She said. "When?” quite as if she
had a right to ask questions, and
George answered her with that dis
arming simplicity of his, “Why, be
fore I knew, Jenny.” In his turn, he
questioned her — “Did you know that
I was in the Hawongas?” and Jennifer
tried hard to lie, but the habit of truth
overcame her.
"I — I — I guessed,” she said, with
eyes looking down on the ground.
They had been standing apart, in
the scented dusk of the woods, but
upon that they were apart no longer,.
The people of Hawonga were away,
watching dismayedly the ceremony of
annexation; there was no one to look
in, and no one to listen, save the chat
tering banana-birds in the trees. And
all that the birds could hear was —
“Jenny!” and "Pudden-and-Pie!”
Tim t*i
So He Took the $50 —
Continued from page seven
came from Jed Harris requesting him
to join "Broadway” in Chicago.
From the Illinois city he went to
Milwaukee. He invited his parents to
bring all his near and far relatives to
see the show — at his expense.
It was a dangerous thing to do.
Dozens came from the hills and dales
of the Middle West. Street cars, taxis,
automobiles, patrol wagons — all were
loaded with O’Briens. They stormed
into the theater and demanded to see
the young member of their clan before
the show opened. A typical Irish
gathering, it was belligerently peaceful.
Soon O’Brien was called to New
York to play a bookmaker in “The
Up and Up.”
Into the theater, looking for an
actor to play the part of Hjldy John
son in "The Front Page,” wandered
the able director of ‘ 'All Quiet on the
Western Front,” Lewis Milestone.
After the performance, he telephoned
Howard Hughes, the producer, in
California, that he had found the actor
he wanted.
Before Hughes could put O’Brien
under contract, the latter was signed
by Gilbert Miller to play one of the
leads in "Tomorrow and Tomorrow."
His performance brought an ava
lanche of acclaim.
The salary offered him to play in the
film version of "The Front Page” was
three times the amount he was receiv
ing. He went direct to Gilbert Miller.
That gentleman agreed to let him go
— for a consideration. Ten thousand
dollars was given for O'Brien’s con
tract. At last he had found the pot of
gold at the end of his Irish rainbow —
Hollywood.
His debut in “The Front Page” as a
fast talking reporter came near to
making of him that most dreaded of
possibilities, a "type” in films. His
greatest struggle later was to survive
the role.
With Adolphe Menjou as the un
scrupulous editor, Frank McHugh as
the lazy, ukulele-strumming reporter
and Edward Everett Horton as the
hypochondriac scribe, the scenes de
picted by them were the most hilarious
ever filmed.
Producers did not completely forget
his role in "The Front Page” until his.
appearance as a serious young busi
ness man in "Oil for the Lamps of
China" opposite Josephine Hutchin
son, with whom he had played on the
stage during his early wanderings.
He recently signed a long-term con
tract. To celebrate the event, his
parents and Spencer Tracy were
guests at dinner.
Doleful as a funeral bell, his father
said, “There’s a dark spot in your
life, my son.”
“What is it?” inquired Pat.
“Tell him,” smiled the mother.
“He has suffered enough.”
“You were once a chorus boy.”
Pat glared at Spencer Tracy, who
said, “And that fifty I loaned you on
Broadway — ”
“Yes — what of it?”
“Your mother sent it.”
“You blessed Irish traitors,” said
Pat.
said was, ISeware.
George had been going to take the
:up, politely, lrom Maiera’s hand.
Rather than embarrass a lady — a
rharming lady whom he'd kissed
twenty times in secret — he was
going to swallow the insult that Hope
Hill had put upon him; drink the
slave’s cup of kara and pretend he
liked it. But with that whisper in his
ears, he stayed.
He saw Maiera, m the fading light,
:linch her small fingers about the cup
to keep herself from dropping it. He
saw Hope-Hill, frozen in the formal
posture of the *ara-caller, standing
ippalled, unable to speak. He caught
the flash in Queen I.isabeta’s eyes, as
she leaped to her feet, flung out one
long, magnificent arm and cried in the
very tones once used by her father,
ler grandfather, when fires were lit
ind victims prepared for sacrifice —
Drink!”
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