Читать книгу Beverly Gray's Career - Clair Blank - Страница 6

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After a wholesome breakfast the next morning the three went their separate ways. Lois was to see the man who, she hoped, would purchase some of her sketches. She went equipped with a portfolio of drawings. Beverly was to start making the rounds of the newspaper offices for a job as reporter. Lenora was out for anything. She had promised to meet Shirley for luncheon and the two were to go to a matinee. They had begged Beverly and Lois to accompany them but the latter two were adamant. They had no unlimited capital to draw upon. They were in New York to earn their way and they could not do it by playing around, as pleasant as that might be.

When Beverly returned to the apartment late in the afternoon she found Lenora already returned and comfortably ensconced in lounging pajamas on the window seat with a magazine and a box of chocolates.

“Home was never like this,” Lenora murmured with a grin as Beverly entered.

“You’re telling me,” Beverly returned wearily, flinging her hat aside and sinking into the nearest chair.

“Any luck?”

“Plenty! And all bad,” Beverly returned disgustedly.

“Oh, well, tomorrow is another day,” Lenora said optimistically and proffered the box of candy. “Have a chocolate?”

“Thanks.”

“Ah, another wanderer returneth to the fold,” Lenora said brightly as Lois opened the door and slammed down her portfolio vehemently. “Something tells me you didn’t do so good. Did you see Mr. Johnson?”

“Yes, I saw him,” replied Lois, dropping beside Lenora and helping herself to the chocolates.

“Well?”

“And I’ve come to the conclusion that as an artist I’m not so hot!” she finished slangily.

“Well, well, it seems New Yorkers are totally oblivious to the talent that has descended into their midst,” Lenora declared brightly. “But never mind, you will show ’em yet!”

“What happened with Mr. Johnson?” Beverly asked.

“Did he buy any of your sketches?” Lenora chimed in.

“No, he didn’t buy any,” Lois said frowning again. “He said they were amateurish, without a sense of color, and a lot of more nasty things that I decided to forget as quickly as possible.”

“He didn’t!” Beverly protested.

“Oh, he was very polite and regretful, but that was really what he meant,” Lois assured them.

“He doesn’t know art when he sees it,” Lenora said indignantly.

“Oh, yes he does,” Lois defended, “and I haven’t got it. He compared my sketches with some of the great artists he had. There was no doubt about it. Mine are terrible! However, he said with time and practice I might eventually draw something good.”

“Time is plentiful and you can practice to your heart’s content here,” Lenora said, “so go to it.”

“I suppose we must take the bitter with the sweet,” Beverly agreed sighing. “If we didn’t have to face disappointments and troubles we would only be living half.”

“And a writer has to experience everything to be able to write convincingly,” added Lenora. “So Lois shall go right ahead with her painting and sketching and you shall continue writing. This is only your first day. You can’t be discouraged so easily.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Beverly said. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

“And for many days thereafter,” murmured Lois, “if we can hold out that long.”

“Now you have a crying need for some food,” Lenora cheerfully stood up. “And, ladies, supper is already simmering in yonder kitchen.”

“No!” Lois murmured in surprise. “Don’t tell me you made it!”

“Elementary, my dear Watson!” scoffed Lenora. “Did you ever hear of a simple device known as a can opener? It will work wonders,” she declared.

“My, it smells good,” Beverly said as they entered the kitchenette.

“Let’s hope it tastes just as good,” Lois added.

“And look what I bought to decorate the radio with,” Lenora displayed her purchase proudly and received Beverly’s and Lois’s giggles with an injured frown. “Don’t you like him?”

“He’s a darling!” Beverly assured her between laughs.

“It’s ludicrous!” Lois declared.

It was a statue of a dog, about eight inches high, and painted a glaring red. But its expression was what attracted attention. It had a grin so wide and comical that it immediately provoked laughter. The lights sparkled alluringly on its “diamond” collar.

“Where ever did you pick that up?” Beverly demanded.

“I saw it sitting in the window of a shop and fell in love with him,” Lenora answered. “Isn’t he cute? We shall have to find a name for him.”

“How about Archibald or Percy?” suggested Lois helpfully.

“Now I ask you, does he look like a Percy? I like Oswald much better,” Lenora answered.

“We’ll vote on it,” Beverly said.

They did and the dog was christened Oswald with appropriate ceremony and then the girls went to their supper. The little interlude with the dog and the sight of the warm food helped marvelously to dispel much of Beverly’s and Lois’s depressed feelings and when they retired to the living room they were almost gay again.

Lenora picked up her magazine and toyed with the radio dial. Lois established herself with her sketching board while Beverly brought out her portable typewriter. The three of them were silently engrossed when Shirley appeared.

“Greetings, my studious friends,” she said gayly. “What in the world is that?” Her gaze had settled on the most noticeable thing in the room—Lenora’s latest addition.

“That’s Oswald,” Lois replied. “Handsome, isn’t he?”

“He looks like a circus freak,” was Shirley’s opinion.

“I won’t have you talking like that about our prize possession,” Lenora said tearfully. “I want you to understand Oswald is a perfect gentleman. Aren’t you Oswald?”

The dog responded with his mirth-provoking grin, his eyes fixed dreamily before him.

“See? He is insulted,” Lenora told Shirley.

Shirley laughed. “What have you busybodies being doing today?”

“Nothing,” Lois replied immediately. “That is, we’ve done plenty but nothing has come of it.”

“No success?”

“None,” Beverly shook her head.

“Hard, but perhaps tomorrow will be better.”

“How about you? Has Mr. Crandall returned yet?” Beverly asked.

“Nope, and until he does my career is at a standstill. None of the other dramatic companies will give me a chance. They are flooded with ambitious youngsters,” Shirley answered.

“How about the movies? Have you forgotten what a success you were in the picture made at Vernon? Everyone, even the director, seemed to think you were made.”

“There are too many trying to get into the movies now,” Shirley replied. “No, Mr. Crandall promised me a job after college and I’m going to make him keep his word.”

“If you don’t die of old age waiting for him to come back from the continent,” Lois said dryly. “Couldn’t your father use his influence to get you a job?”

“I don’t want that kind of a job,” Shirley said instantly. “My father and mother refuse to believe I have any talent whatever because they don’t want me to be an actress. If my father did get me a part in a play it would be merely because I was the rich Shirley Parker. Mr. Crandall offered me a part because I really could act—at least he seemed to think so.”

“You can, too,” her friends agreed instantly.

“Then you understand,” Shirley said. “I want a part because I have talent, not because my father has a lot of money.”

“Bully for you,” Lenora applauded. “More power to you, and may Mr. Crandall hurry back to the good old U. S. A.”

Thereafter the girls discussed their problem and drifted, as they never failed to do, to talking of their college days. It was late when Shirley finally said good night and went home and the girls retired.

When they had purchased their furniture they had bought one full sized double bed. Beverly claimed a studio couch which could be opened into a full bed for her own while Lois and Lenora shared the bed.

Long after her two friends were asleep and dreaming Beverly lay awake staring up into the darkness. She rose and tiptoed to the window. She could see the dancing lights far below her. The hum of the traffic drifted up on the night air. She had wanted so much to come to New York and obtain a position as reporter and now that she was here it was almost impossible to get the position she craved. Today she had tried office after office and the answer had always been the same. An explosive NO.

But she wasn’t finished yet. Two years ago, when the Alphas had spent Christmas vacation with Shirley, she had become good friends with Charlie Blaine, then a reporter on the Tribune. Tomorrow she would go to the Tribune office and if it was possible she would see Charlie Blaine. Perhaps he could help her. Then she could write the good news to her parents and to—Jim Stanton. She wondered what Jim, away down in South America working at his chosen profession, was thinking of this latest venture of hers.