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!”