The girls walked along the path and settled themselves on the ground amongst the bright flowers and soft ferns. Now that Fanny had stopped crying, it was astonishing how much she resembled Linda. Both Linda and Dot watched her intently, eager to hear her version of the story.
“Well,” she began, finally, “I’ll tell you first of all that I’m an orphan. I was brought up in a children’s home—I don’t remember my parents at all. But I had a pretty good education, and took a business course after I finished high school. My first job was with an airplane construction company.”
“Yon mean you had a flying job?” interrupted Linda, with interest.
“No. I was a stenographer. But the boss did give me a chance to learn to fly—on the side. But there wasn’t any hope of a job in aviation—I just worked inside the office for twenty-five dollars a week. And, like every other girl in the world, I never had enough money.”
“Where did you work?” asked Dot. “What city, I mean?”
“San Francisco. That was the trouble, I suppose. Too near Hollywood. I got the craze to go into pictures. Everybody told me I was pretty—and other girls succeeded—so why shouldn’t I?”
“Naturally,” commented Dot.
“Well, I had some money saved up,” continued Fanny, “and I tried to register at all the studios as an extra. But I soon learned how impossible it is to get into the movies in times like these. I couldn’t land a thing—not even a part in a crowd!”
“I’ve heard they’re using old actresses and actors for those parts—people who used to be stars—and even ex-directors,” remarked Linda.
“It’s true! And even some of those people can’t get anything at all! People with years of experience go absolutely broke!... Well, my money dwindled and dwindled until I finally met Mr. Sprague. Not in a studio—but at a party. That was last June—only a little while after you made your famous Atlantic Ocean flight.”