Mr. Hammond leaned across the desk, his steady gaze holding McCarty’s.
“Jim, I think there is one person who can pull our fat out of the fire—if she will!”
“‘She’?” repeated McCarty, bewildered. “And now who have you in mind?”
“Miss Fielding,” the other replied quietly. “If I could get her to direct this picture—I feel sure she could do it with credit to every one concerned!”
McCarty considered and gradually his expression became less mournful. A ray of hope shone through his clouds of depression. Suddenly he leaned forward, bringing his big fist down on the table with a decisive thump.
“Say, I bet you’ve struck the right lead, old man!” he cried. “That girl can swing it if anybody can. Look at the work she has done already!”
“Tremendous!” cried Mr. Hammond, delighted at his friend’s enthusiasm. “Her last pictures are going across like wild fire. She’s on her way not only to fame, but wealth.”
“Yeah—that’s just it!” McCarty’s clouds of depression descended again, almost as black as before. “What makes you think she is going to step aside from her own business just to help us out of a jam? Don’t sound reasonable. Not human nature—movin’-picture-business human nature, anyway. No, old man, wake out of your pleasant little dream. She’d never do it. Wouldn’t be reasonable to ask her to.”
Mr. Hammond remained thoughtfully silent for a moment or two. Then he looked at McCarty and smiled.
“I’m not so sure you’re right, Jim. As you say, the motion-picture business is more or less of a cutthroat proposition—but then, so is all business, for that matter. But I believe that there are some individuals in the game who are unselfish enough to reach out a hand to a comrade in distress. I’m pretty sure—and I’ve known her for a long time—that Miss Fielding is one of these.”