Clem Frobisher’s Man-sized Job By Allan Hawkwood
THE scenario writer and partner to Clem Frobisher let out a whoop in response to Clem’s proposal:
“Ed, let’s take a vacation. I’m getting tired of making films. Let’s go back to San Pedro, hire the old boat, and go fishing.”
“Wow! Say, cap’n, I had that notion myself! Do you mean it?”
“You bet I mean it!” Clem rose, and strode up and down, frowning. “I can be cooped up only so long, Ed; then something has to bust. Now that we’ve finished that big five-reel film, I’m going to get back to salt water for a few days.”
“Say, I can smell them fish now!” exclaimed Ed, in ecstasy. “An’ the engine-room oil an’ the ol’ bilge-water stink——Oh, golly! When do we go?”
“Catch a Pedro car, after lunch, charter the old Sadie, and off with us! Are you game?”
“Game?” The lanky Iowan grinned. “Say, cap’n, I’m so game that—that I’m growin’ horns right now!”
The Frobisher Producing Company, with Clem as its head, and Ed Davis as partner and scenario writer, had been established in Easthampton for some months. Further, it had made good, largely because of Clem Frobisher’s distinctive ability.
Before getting into the motion-picture business, Clem had run a fishing launch out of San Pedro, Ed being his engineer and chum. He had finally awakened to the fact that, despite his splendid body and brawn, he was backward in education; that ahead of him lay nothing but endless years of fishing and taking out tourists after tuna; and that, if he so chose, he could make something more of himself than this.
Clem had chosen promptly, had sold his launch to old Captain Saunders, and had started in to make the fight. Hampered financially, and by lack of prior education, he had, none the less, flung himself into the work with all his dogged, pugnacious will power. Ed Davis had accompanied him, largely for friendship’s sake, but also with the dream of getting rich by writing plays.
Events had favored the chums. Ed had been victimized by a fraudulent motion-picture concern, whereupon Clem had pitched in and fought the owners; the result had been that he and Ed Davis owned the film company. Since that time the chums had worked it up, until now it was really a well-established business, with a golden future.
Naturally, therefore, they were both ready for a vacation. Clem quite forgot that a man, and particularly a young man, can never entirely get away from his past.
In the old days, Clem had had a reputation along the Pedro water front.
He had never been a hanger-on at bars, or a pool-room loafer; but nature, combined with hard work at sea, had endowed him with a vigorous body and an inclination to use his fists. Along the water front he had been thrown in contact with fishermen, bucko mates, and ordinary seamen of all nations, and when it came to fighting, Clem Frobisher’s name was one to conjure with.
He had been whipped, of course. Yet he was locally known as the toughest young fellow to whip and the best fellow to stand beside in a scrap in all San Pedro; and it must be admitted that he did his best to justify the reputation. Not that he ever sought a fight, or forced one on the other chap, but when the fight came to him he went into it on the jump.
Clem had thought these old days gone forever; but, as he and Ed Davis climbed aboard their San Pedro car that afternoon Fate was waiting for them with a big stick.