the stick: “What’s the matter?”
“A little arch trouble. Nothing at all.” And Peter limped in.
Peter, as on former occasions, felt the power of the fellow. It was altogether in character that he should exhibit no surprise, though Peter Ericson Mann had never before appeared before him at that door. (He would never know that it was Peter’s seventh call within an hour and a half.)
Peter was at his calmest and most effective.
He looked casually about at the scant furniture, the soap boxes heaped with books, the kerosene stove, symbol of Zanin’s martyrdom to his art.
“Zanin,” he said, “two things stuck in my mind the other night when you and I had our little talk. One was the fact that you had got hold of a big idea; and that a man of your caliber wouldn’t be giving his time to a proposition that didn’t have something vital in it… The other thing is Sue Wilde.”
Zanin was tipped back in an armless wooden chair, taking Peter in with eyes that were shrewd and cold, but not particularly hostile.
“I didn’t realize at the time what an impression that girl was making on me. But I haven’t been able to shake it off. She has something distinctly unusual – call it beauty, charm, personally – I don’t know what it is. But she has it.”
“Yes,” said Zanin, “she has it. But see here, Mann, the whole situation has changed since then – ”
“Yes,” Peter broke in. “I know.”
“You know?”
Peter nodded, offhand. “Betty Deane has talked to Hy Lowe about it, and Hy has told me. I’m pretty well informed, as a matter of fact.”
“You know about – ”
“Silverstone? Yes. Tell me, have you closed with him?”
“Well” – Zanin hesitated.. He was disturbed. “Not in writing, no.”
“Don’t you do it, then.”
Zanin pursed his lips, hooked his feet around the legs of his chair and tapped on the front of the seat with his large fingers.
“It’s regular money, Mann,” he said.
“You said you could interest me. Why don’t you try?”
“Regular money is regular money.”
“Not if you don’t get it.”
“Why shouldn’t I get it?”
“Because Silverstone will. And look what he’ll do to your ideas – a conventional commercialist!” Zanin considered this. “I’ve got to risk that. Or it looks so. This thing can’t possibly be done cheap. I propose to do something really new in a feature film – new in groupings, new in lighting, new in the simplicity and naturalness of the acting. It will be a daring theme, highly controversial, which means building up publicity. It will take regular money. Sue is in just the right frame of mind. A year from now God knows what she’ll be thinking and feeling. She might turn square against our Village life, all of a sudden. I’ve seen it happen… And now, with everything right, here the money comes to me on a platter. Lord, man, I’ve got to take it – risk or no risk!”
They were about to come to grips. Peter felt his skin turning cold. His throat went dry again, as in the afternoon.
“How much” – he asked, outwardly firmer than he would have dared hope – “how much do you need?”
Zanin really started now, and stared at him.
“See here,” he said, “I’ve gone pretty far in with Silver stone.”
“But you haven’t signed?”
“No.”
“Nor taken his money?”
“No.”
Peter laughed shortly. “Do you think he would consider himself bound by anything you may have said! Silverstone!”
This was a point. He could see Zanin thinking it over.
“How much do you need?” he asked again.
“Well – ”
“What do you think will happen the minute Sue really discovers the sort of hands she’s in? Even if she would want to stick to you!”
This was another point.
“Well” – said Zanin, thinking fast – “it needn’t be lavish, like these big battle films and such. But it will take money.”
“How much money?”
“Three or four thousand. Maybe five or six. It means going south for the outdoor scenes. I want tropical foliage, so my people won’t look frozen. And publicity isn’t cheap, you know.”
Peter gulped; but plunged on. “I’ll tell you what you do, Zanin. Get another man – a littler producer than Silverstone – and have him supply studio, operators, and all the plant necessary, on a partnership basis, you to put in some part of the cash needed.”
“Great!” said Zanin. “Fine! And where’s the cash to come from?”
“From me.”
The front legs of Zanin’s chair came to the floor with a bang.
“This is new stuff, Mann.”
“New stuff. I’m not rich, but I believe you’ve got a big thing here, and I stand willing to put up a few thousand on a private contract with you. This can be just between ourselves. All I ask is a reasonable control of the expenditure.”
Zanin thought – and thought. Peter could see the shifting lights in his cold clear eyes.
He moved over to the window and stared out into the area-way, where electric lamps and gas flames twinkled from a hundred other rear buildings. He came back to his chair and lit a cigarette.
“You’re on!” he finally said. “If you want to know, I am worried about Silverstone. And I’m certainly in no position to turn down such an offer as this.”
Which was the genesis of The Nature Film Producing Co., Inc., Jacob Zanin, Pres’t. They talked late, these new partners.
It was nearly one o’clock in the morning when Peter limped into the rooms.
He found Hy pitting by the window in his pajamas, gazing rapturously at a lacy handerchief.
“Aha!” said Hy, “he comes! Never mind the hour, my boy! I take off my hat. You’re better than I am – better than I! A soupçon of speed, ol’ dear!”’
Peter dropped limply into the Morris chair. “What’s the matter?” said Hy, observing him more closely. “You look done. Where’s Sue?” Peter composed himself. “I left Sue a long while ago. Hours ago.”
“What on earth have you been doing?”
“Exactly what
