The Crimson Tide Part 32

"Yes, sir," he said, flashing a brilliant smile, "I am all heart. But my heart is for art alone! I dedicate it to the film, to the moving picture, to beauty! It is my constant preoccupation. It is my only thought. Art, beauty, the picture, the world made happier, better, for the beauty which I offer in my pictures. It is my only thought. It is my life."

Jim politely suppressed a yawn and said that a life devoted purely to art was a laudable sacrifice.

"As example!" explained Puma, all animation and childlike frankness; "I pay my artists what they ask. What is money when it is a question of art? I must have quality; I must have beauty--" He shrugged: "I must pay. Yes?"

"One usually pays for pulchritude."

"Ah! As example! I watch always on the streets as I pa.s.s by. I see a face. It has beauty. It has quality. I follow. I speak. I am frank like there never was a man. I say, 'Mademoiselle, you shall not be offended. No. Art has no frontiers. It is my art, not I who address you. I am Angelo Puma. The Ultra-Film Company is mine. In you I perceive possibilities. This is my card. If it interests you to have a test, come! Who knows? It may be your life's destiny. The projection room should tell. Adieu!'"

"Is that the way you pick stars?" asked Jim curiously.

"Stars? Bah! I care nothing for stars. No. I should go bankrupt. Why?

Beauty alone is my star. Upon it I drape the mantle of Art!"

He kissed his fat finger-tips and gazed triumphantly at Jim.

"You see? Out of the crowd of pa.s.sersby I pick the perfect and unconscious rosebud. In my temple it opens into perfect bloom. And Art is born! And I am content. You comprehend?"

Jim said that he thought he did.

"As example," exclaimed Puma vivaciously, "while in conversation once with Mr. Sharrow, I beheld entering your office a young lady in mourning. Hah! Instantly I was all art!" Again he kissed his gloved fingers. "A face for a picture! A form for the screen! I perceive. I am convinced.... You recall the event, perhaps, Mr. Shotwell?"

"No."

"A young lady in mourning, seated beside your desk? I believe she was buying from you a house."

"Oh."

"Her name--Miss Dumont--I believe."

Jim glanced at him. "Miss Dumont is not likely to do anything of that sort," he said.

"And why?"

"You mean go into the movies?" He laughed. "She wouldn't bother."

"But--my G.o.d! It is Art! What you call movies, and, within, this young lady may hide genius. And genius belongs to Art. And Art belongs to the world!"

The unthinkable idea of Palla on the screen was peculiarly distasteful to him.

"Miss Dumont has no inclination for the movies," he said.

"Perhaps, Mr. Shotwell," purred Puma, "if your amiable influence could induce the young lady to have a test made----"

"There isn't a chance of it," said Jim bluntly. Their limousine stopped just then. They got out before one of those new apartment houses on the upper West Side.

Mr. Skidder, it appeared, was in and would receive them.

A negro servant opened the door and ushered them into a parlour where Mr. Elmer Skidder, sprawling over the debris of breakfast, laid aside newspaper and coffee cup and got up to receive them in bath robe and slippers.

And when they were all seated: "Now, Mr. Skidder," said Jim, with his engaging frankness, "the simplest way is the quickest. My client, Mr.

Puma, wants to purchase your property; and he is, I understand, prepared to pay considerably more than it is worth. We all have a very fair idea of its actual value. Our appraiser, yours, and other appraisers from other companies and corporations seem, for a wonder, to agree in their appraisal of this particular property.

"Now, how much more than it is worth do you expect us to offer you?"

Skidder had never before been dealt with in just this way. He squinted at Jim, trying to appraise him. But within his business experience in a country town no similar young man had he encountered.

"Well," he said, "I ain't asking you to buy, am I?"

"We understand that," rejoined Jim, good humouredly; "_we_ are asking _you_ to sell."

"You seem to want it pretty bad."

"We do," said the young fellow, laughing.

"All right. Make your offer."

Jim named the sum.

"No, sir!" snapped Skidder, picking up his newspaper.

"Then," remarked Jim, looking: frankly at Puma, "that definitely lets us out." And, to Skidder: "Many thanks for permitting us to interrupt your breakfast. No need to bother you again, Mr. Skidder." And he offered his hand in smiling finality.

"Look here," said Skidder, "the property is worth all I ask."

"If it's worth that to you," said Jim pleasantly, "you should keep it." And he turned away toward the door, wondering why Puma did not follow.

"Are you two gentlemen in a rush?" demanded Skidder.

"I have other business, of course," said Jim.

"Sit down. h.e.l.l! Will you have a drink?"

When they were again seated, Skidder squinted sideways at Angelo Puma.

"Want a partner?" he inquired.

"Please?" replied Puma, as though mystified.

"Want more capital to put into your fillum concern?" demanded Skidder.

Puma, innocently perplexed, asked mutely for an explanation out of his magnificent dark eyes.

"I got money," a.s.serted Skidder.

Puma's dazzling smile congratulated him upon the acc.u.mulation of a fabulous fortune.