Janet Hardy in Hollywood Part 14

With its motors roaring a l.u.s.ty song of power, the monoplane waddled toward the concrete ramp. The pilot swung it smartly about and the ground crew blocked the wheels and rushed the landing stage up to the cabin door as the pilot cut the motors. The propellers ceased whirling just as the stewardess opened the door.

"There's Dad!" cried Helen and she ran toward the plane with Janet at her heels.

_Chapter XII_ ON THE STAGE

Henry Thorne was the first pa.s.senger to alight from the east-bound plane.

Tall, well-built, with a close-clipped mustache and iron gray hair that curled a bit around his temples, he was a man's man.

Helen threw her arms around her father and he gave her a tremendous hug.

"Golly, I'm glad to see you, hon," he said. "Where's mother?"

"She's coming. She couldn't run as fast as I," explained Helen, breathless with excitement.

Mrs. Thorne, her face flushed with happiness over her husband's coming arrived and they embraced affectionately.

Then Mr. Thorne saw John Hardy and Janet and her mother.

"Say, this is great of you to come over. I feel like a visiting celebrity, or something."

"You're very much a celebrity," smiled Janet.

"Not to you," he replied. "Well, let's start home. I've only this light traveling bag."

"Does that mean you won't be able to stay long?" asked Helen anxiously.

"I should say it doesn't. I can live for six months out of a traveling bag. Oh, of course, I wouldn't look like Beau Brummell, but I'd be acceptable in average circles."

The Thornes occupied the back seat and Janet and her mother sat in front.

The big car purred smoothly and Janet's father sent it humming away on the trip back to Clarion.

Janet got only s.n.a.t.c.hes of the conversation that was going on in the rear seat. She was anxious to listen, but it wouldn't have been very polite to have done so obviously. Anyway, Helen would tell her most of the news the next day.

From the few remarks she overheard, she realized that Henry Thorne was exceedingly happy to be home, and that the last year had been a strain even though all of his pictures had been money makers.

The lights of Clarion were in sight when he leaned forward and spoke to Janet's father.

"Get any worms located, John?"

"Plenty of them and right in my own back yard. You can dig to your heart's content."

"How about the fis.h.i.+ng?"

"I haven't tried it myself, but the boys say there are lots of bullheads in Indian creek. Remember it?"

"I'll never forget the time we were hunting rabbits and walked across the ice of the creek. It wasn't frozen thick enough and we dropped through into water waist deep. Going home was the longest, coldest walk I've ever taken."

"It wasn't very pleasant," nodded Janet's father. "Did you hear about the experience of the girls?"

"Haven't read a paper for weeks. I've been going day and night on retakes for the last picture. What happened?"

They slowed down for the edge of Clarion and Janet's father, briefly and vividly, recounted the events of that harrowing night in the storm and bitter cold of Little Deer valley.

"I should have known about this," said Henry Thorne quietly. "Why didn't someone wire me?"

"I thought of it," said Helen's mother, "but it all happened so quickly.

Then, after the girls were safe at home I thought wiring you would only prove disturbing and I knew you were going to the limit of your strength and endurance anyway."

"Perhaps you're right," he conceded, sinking back in the rear seat. "My, but it's great to be home."

John Hardy swung the car into the drive and they rolled up the grade to the porch.

"Pity you couldn't take a man to his own door," chided his friend.

"All right, I will if you want to miss the lunch that's waiting."

They bantered good naturedly, for John Hardy and Henry Thorne had been companions since boyhood. Now their correspondence was haphazard and infrequent, but each antic.i.p.ated their visits together.

Janet hastened to the kitchen to help her mother with the lunch, placing the delicious, thinly cut sandwiches on a large silver platter. There was a heap of them, but it was late and they were all hungry.

Her mother stopped halfway to the dining room, a stricken look appearing on her face.

"I completely forgot to stop on the way home and get ice cream."

Janet looked at the clock. It was 1:15 a. m.

"I'm afraid it's too late to find any place near here open. We'll make out anyway with sandwiches, cheese wafers and tea."

"There's some chocolate cake left over from yesterday," said her mother.

"Then I'll put that on. We'll have plenty."

They bustled about and almost before they knew it Janet was out on the porch announcing that lunch was ready.

The Hardys sat on one side of the table and the Thornes on the other, the conversation s.h.i.+fting back and forth. The pile of sandwiches dwindled rapidly, tea cups were refilled two and three times and Henry Thorne was noticed taking at least two slices of the thick, delicious chocolate cake. John Hardy accused him of taking three slices, but this he denied strenuously.

"If I'm to be accused of eating three slices of cake, I'm going home," he announced. "And I won't be back until there's more cake."

"I'll get up early and bake a fresh one. It will be ready by noon," said Janet's mother.

"That'll be just about the time I'm getting up. Come on folks. We've got to get some sleep tonight."

Goodnights were said quickly and with Henry Thorne in the lead, the visitors departed for their home.