“The time will go before you know it,” said her mother, “what with the packing we’ll have to do and the new clothes to buy.”
“Now let’s stop right there,” put in Helen’s father. “Packing is all well and good, but let’s cut out the new clothes. Instead of loading the girls up with things here, we’ll give Mother the money and she can let them have it in Hollywood when they see a dress in the shops out there that they want. I think they’ll feel a little more in style in Hollywood clothes than in Clarion clothes in Hollywood.”
“I suppose they would,” confessed Janet’s mother, “but I’m afraid the money for Janet’s summer clothes allowance won’t go very far.”
“She’ll be getting a regular salary each week and the company will furnish whatever costumes are needed for each picture.”
“Each picture,” smiled Helen. “I like that Dad. How long does it take to make a picture?”
“When I’m directing anywhere from six weeks to three or four months, but the western company moves pretty rapidly. They’ll grind the average one out in two weeks or three at the most. They’re after action and plenty of scenery.”
“Which explains why we were carted off to Hill and Dale farm and hoisted up on horses and jogged up and down for hours until I thought every bone in my body would be broken,” said Janet.
“Good guess. I’ve had this idea in mind ever since the night of the class play,” confessed Helen’s father. “If you think you’re going to get out of the riding class the rest of the time you’re in Clarion you’ll be sadly mistaken. I’m certainly not going to show up on the lot and ask Billy Fenstow to take on a couple of girls who can’t ride.”
“Who’s Billy Fenstow?” asked Helen.
“He runs our western unit. Billy writes most of the stories, does the supervising and directing and just about everything else about the picture. You’ll like him. He’s fat, forty, bald and lots of fun and if he likes you, he’ll invite you to the Brown Derby for dinner.”