CHAPTER VIII JEANNE'S DOUBLE
On reaching the Tavern Jeanne found herself in a high state of agitation.The hour was late. How late? This she could not tell. Had she missed herappointment? Would the movie queen be gone? She caught her breath at thethought. Something had told her that this meeting meant an open door, onemore great opportunity.
"Oh!" she breathed as, dropping into a chair, she looked at the clock."It lacks ten minutes of the hour."
Her eyes roved the room. "They are not here."
"Tea," she said to the waitress, "very black tea, one large pot of tea."
After that experience in the great dome she felt in need of this mildstimulant.
She was in a state of mellow glow imparted by the tea, when Florenceushered into the now all but empty room a person who on the instantbrought a gasp from Jeanne's pink lips.
For a full moment Jeanne and the stranger stared at one another inamazement.
"You," said Jeanne at last, "must be I."
"No," said the other quite positively, "it is you who are to be some oneelse. You are to be Lorena LeMar. That is what we are here to talk about.
"Waiter," she ordered, "bring us coffee, very black."
"One demi-tasse," Jeanne murmured.
It was only after the golden-haired movie star had drained the last dropof her coffee piping hot, that she turned to Jeanne.
"You see, I--"
"Won't you-all draw your chairs up to the fire?" It was Jensie Crider,the rosy-cheeked mountain girl, who stood beside them. "You see everyoneis gone. There is a cool breeze from the lake. The fire is so cheerful!"
"Yes, yes, let us do that!" Jeanne exclaimed quickly, touched by thegirl's simple kindness. "Yes, we shall do that, and you, my dear, shallsit with us."
"But this--" Miss LeMar's tone suggested caution. "This is to besomething of a secret."
"This," Jeanne said in a sharp whisper, "does not matter. In themountains secrets are kept as nowhere else in the world. Jensie is fromthe mountains. It is not so?" She turned to Jensie.
"It most certainly is true," Jensie agreed.
"Oh, well then--" Lorena LeMar moved toward the fire.
"You see," she threw out a petulant hand as they gathered about the fire,"I am on the lot over there in what they call 'Little Hollywood.' Fivedays from now I am to begin a picture--you know, show the people how it'sdone. There are seats for thousands out there, and all that. Bah! I don'tlike seats. And I hate people about, when I am making a picture!"
"But people, an audience!" Jeanne murmured, "That is wonderful!"
"Glad you like it. Not for me!" Miss LeMar tossed her head.
"And now," she went on, "comes the opportunity of a lifetime. Myopportunity. Rodney McBride, one of the richest men in Chicago, is makingup a yachting party to go north. Think of it! A yacht a hundred and fortyfeet long! Singing, dancing, drinking! Oh, yi! yi! Moonlit waters.Mackinac Island, the Soo Canal, Isle Royale in Lake Superior, speedboats, sailboats and all that!" She sprang to her feet in a gesture ofgreat impatience. "Think of giving up all that just to work out there onthe lot with five thousand people staring at you!"
"But think of having your name on the electric signs all over thecountry!" Jeanne murmured.
"Nix!" Miss LeMar stamped her foot. "When it's all over the thing's sureto be scrapped. The picture's too big for the lot.
"They've shot some fine little stories out there, short ones; but notthis. No! No!" Again she stamped her foot.
"I thought--" Her tone changed as she dropped into a chair. "I thoughtthat since you are my double, so perfectly, and since you'd been in lightopera, you might--" she cleared her throat--"you might be willing to takemy place on--on the lot."
"As Lorena LeMar?" Jeanne stared at her in unbelief.
"As Lorena LeMar. It wouldn't be hard, really." The movie star's tone waseager. "All you'd have to do would be to study the script, get thecontinuity and the lines, then just go on and--and do your bit.
"And really," she half apologized, "it's not as if the thing would everget across. It never will. One of those natural things, not spicy atall--don't you know? And besides, there's the lot--it's too small. Itcould only be done properly in Hollywood, really."
Jeanne looked at Florence. Florence was gazing at the fire. Jeanne knewwhat that meant. Florence was saying to herself: "She's off again! Firstit was light opera, then grand opera; now it's to be the movies."
"Tell me," Jeanne's tone was little more than a whisper, "the story ofthis movie."
"The story," Miss LeMar said lightly, "doesn't amount to much. As I'vetold you, it may never get as far as a preview."
"I must know," Jeanne murmured.
"Oh, it's just one of those mountain things." Miss LeMar's tone waslight. "The side of Big Black Mountain; that's the place, I think."
"Big Black Mountain!" Jensie, who had listened quietly until now,exclaimed. "That's my home!" Her cheek turned crimson.
"And down there somewhere Lincoln was born!" said Jeanne. There was atouch of reverence in her tone.
All this was lost on Lorena LeMar. "It's a love story, of course," shewent on. "Boy and girl standing on the side of a mountain. Springtime.Trees in bloom. Apple trees, I guess."
"Dogwood," Jensie corrected. She was leaning forward eagerly.
"Well, anyway, there's the girl, about sixteen, and a boy about eighteen.Lovers. Boy's going away. They're saying good-bye. No clinches. Toobashful for that. Just a touch of the hand. Girl throws her apron overher eyes after he's gone--that sort of thing.
"The girl--her name's Zola Setser--hears some one singing. She listens.She looks. A donkey appears around the rough path. An Italian, with bigbrown eyes and all that, rides the donkey bareback. He is singing 'O SoleMio.'
"She listens and watches. A horse comes into view. A downcast sort ofwoman is riding the horse; two ragged children are hanging on behind.
"Of a sudden there comes the clatter of hoofs and a fat youth, dressed tokill, all leggings, silver spurs, you know, comes dashing along on ablooded horse. He bumps into the woman, knocks the children off thehorse, bumps into the Italian and sends him sprawling.
"'Damn poor white trash!' the fat youth swears, as he leaps from hissaddle. 'Damn Dago!'" Miss LeMar waved her hands.
"The mountain girl's dog," Lorena LeMar's voice went on, "a long-earedsort of hound, comes out barking. The fat youth gives the poor hound akick that sends him away with a wild howl.
"Then he puts on a grand air, and favors the beautiful Zola with aflattering smile while he asks the way to Pounding Mill Creek.
"Zola tells him the way. But you can see she'd much rather shoot him.
"'Damn poor white trash!' the Italian repeats, picking himself up fromthe dust after the fat youth has ridden on. 'Damn Dago!' Everybody likeus, eh? Ha! Getta 'long fine. I gotta ten dolla', gotta one donkey. Whatsay we start a coal mine?'
"Zola laughs at the joke.
"But the Italian is serious. He makes good his word and starts a mine.Zola's father owns some rough land full of coal. He and this Italian,Tony Riccordio, join as partners.
"And that," Miss LeMar yawned, "is what you might call the first act."
"It's a fine beginning," Florence enthused. "And I suppose the mineprospers. Zola marries the dark-eyed Italian, and they live happily everafter."
"No, no, you're wrong. That's too simple." Lorena LeMar took a freshstart. "They mine coal and ship it. The fat youth from the outside, whois supposed to be rich, mines coal and ships it too.
"But there is intrigue in Louisville. Tony Riccordio has his coal held onthe rails. Costs pile up. He is about to go into bankruptcy and Zola'spapa with him.
"So Zola hides in a load of soft coal and rides to Louisville. Theswitchmen dig her out and wash her up. When they see what a swell lookershe is, they swear allegiance to her cause, and the day is won.
"Zola goes back. There is a dance. Mountmorris Mortimer, the fat youth,ins
ults Zola. Tony throws him over a cliff--not a very high cliff. Onlytwo ribs are broken. They ship him out in a freight car.
"It turns out that Mountmorris has lost all his money. His mine closes.Tony gets rich--"
"And he marries--" Jeanne put a hand over Florence's mouth.
"No," Miss LeMar smiled, "the handsome mountain boy Zola was tellinggood-bye in the beginning comes back. He and Zola go into a clinch. Tonyadds his blessing, sells his share in the mine, stuffs his pockets withmoney and goes riding back over the mountains, singing 'O Sole Mio'.
"That," Miss LeMar added with a drawl, "is the drift of the story. Ofcourse there's a lot more to it. But you can see. What do you say? Is ita go? I'll see that you get five hundred dollars a week. Two full weeksif you'll only do it."
"Five hundred dollars for just one week!" It was Jensie, the littlemountain girl who spoke in a whisper.
"That, dearie," Lorena LeMar favored her with a smile, "is nothing, justnothing at all.
"I'm sorry," she half apologised to Jeanne. "It's all I can spare justnow."
"Oh, it--it's all right." One could see plainly enough that Jeanne wasnot thinking of the money at all, but of the strange circumstances thathad brought this unusual opportunity to her door.
"To _be_ some one else for two whole weeks," she was saying to herself."To forget that Petite Jeanne lives at all. To act in the movies when onehas never crossed a movie lot before. It seems quite impossible. Andyet--"
"It sounds like a beautiful story," she murmured after a time.
"It _is_ beautiful!" Jensie exclaimed. "But they could make it so muchmore beautiful if they only knew."
"Knew what?" Miss LeMar opened her eyes wide.
"Knew the mountains."
"But that--" The movie star's voice was low, almost sad. There was aboutthe little mountain girl an all but irresistible appeal. "That does notmatter. It's only an exhibition. It'll never go on the screen."
"It could be made very beautiful," Jeanne repeated musingly. Thensuddenly a new light sprang into her eyes.
"All right, I'll do it!"
"Wonderful!" Miss LeMar leaped to her feet.
"I shall have to see a great deal of you in the next few days," Jeanneinsisted. "I must copy your character."
"See me all you like, so long as I can get off on that yacht cruise.Good-night. I'll be seeing you." The great movie star, Lorena LeMar, wasaway, leaving in her wake surprise, anticipation, eager hope and blankdespair.
"Why did I say 'yes'?" Jeanne murmured at last. "Who in the world couldever do that?"
"Only one person," Florence smiled. "And her name is Petite Jeanne."
But could she?