The projection room was crowded as the first completed print of The War against the Innocents was run off. When the picture came to an end, the audience filed out silently and broke up into small groups in the corridor.

A selected audience had been invited to the preview of the picture. The country had been at war almost a week and interest in the picture was widespread. Representatives of the larger newspapers and press a.s.sociations, government officials, and prominent distributors and theater men had been among those present.

Now they were crowding around Peter and Joe offering their congratulations. They felt that the picture would do a great deal in telling the American public why the war had become necessary.

"An excellently made and brilliant piece of propaganda for our side," one of the guests told Peter. "You're to be congratulated for striking the Hun where it hurts."

Peter nodded his head. Something inside him had turned sick as he had watched the picture. Now as he heard the man's voice, he thought bitterly: "Congratulations I'm getting for making war against my own people and family." He couldn't speak, his heart was too heavy. He was glad when the last guest had gone and they could go up to Johnny's office, where it was comparatively quiet and he could sit down. Esther, Doris, Joe, and Johnny were there with him.

They didn't talk much-just looked at each other guiltily. There was a tension in the air that all seemed to feel, and each thought it was there for a different reason.

At last Peter spoke. "Have you got a little schnapps or something, Johnny?" he asked. "I feel a little tired."

Silently Johnny reached into his desk and took out a bottle and some paper cups. He poured some whisky into each cup and pa.s.sed them around to Joe and Peter. He held his cup toward them. "To victory!" he said.

They swallowed their drinks.

The liquor loosened Joe's tongue. "I made the d.a.m.n picture and yet, after seeing it, I feel like goin' out and enlisting myself."

Peter didn't answer. He picked up some papers from Johnny's desk and looked at them absently. They were exhibition contracts for the picture. He dropped them as if they burned his fingers. "Money I got to make from this yet," he thought.

Esther sensed how he was feeling. She walked over to him and stood there silently. He looked up at her gratefully; they understood each other.

Johnny's voice fell into the room like a sh.e.l.lburst. "What are you going to do about replacing me while I'm away?" he asked quietly. They looked at him startled. There was a smile on his lips, but none in his eyes.

Peter's accent was more p.r.o.nounced. "Vat do you mean?"

Johnny looked at him. "Just what I said," he answered, "I'm going to enlist tomorrow."

"No!" an anguished cry came from Doris's lips.

Esther looked at her daughter. A feeling of chilled surprise ran through her. Doris's face had drained of color. It was white, almost ashen in hue. "I should have known," she reproached herself silently. Now the many things that Doris had said and done suddenly made sense. It had always been like that. She went to her daughter and took her hand. Doris's hand was trembling.

The men didn't even notice them. "By Jesus!" Joe swore, "I'm goin' with yuh!"

Peter looked from one to the other. "This day I had to live to believe," he thought. "To see these men whom I love go out to war against my brothers." He got to his feet. "Do you have to go?" he asked aloud.

Johnny looked at him strangely. "There isn't anything else I can do," he answered. "It's my country."

Peter saw the look on Johnny's face. A feeling of hurt flooded through him. "Does he doubt my loyalty?" he thought. He forced a smile to his face. "Go if you must," he said heavily, "and don't worry about us. Just be careful, we want you both back." He reached out his hand to Johnny.

Johnny took his hand across the desk. "I knew you'd understand."

The tears began to flood into Doris's eyes. A whisper from her mother stopped them. She could hear the whisper in her mind for a long time afterward.

"You should never cry in front of your man, liebe kind," her mother said understandingly.

Johnny looked down at his desk. The last paper had been signed, all his work had been cleaned up. He placed the pen back in its holder and looked over at Peter. "I guess that does it," he said. "Any more questions?"

Peter shook his head. "No, everything's straightened out."

Johnny stood up. "Sure," he said. "Besides if anything turns up that you're not familiar with, ask Jane. She runs the place anyway." He turned to Jane and smiled at her.

She smiled back at him. "We'll try to get along while you're gone, boss," she said teasingly.

He grinned. "Don't kid me, Janey. I know better. I'm one of the boys." He took out his watch and looked at it. "Gosh," he said, "I'd better hurry. I promised to meet Joe at the recruiting station at three o'clock."

He walked over to the clothes tree and took his hat. He put it on and came back to Peter. He held out his hand. "So long, Peter," he said, "I'll see you after the party is over."

Peter gripped his hand silently. They held firmly for a few seconds, then parted.

Johnny walked over to Jane's desk. He reached over it and mussed her hair. "So long, baby."

She got up and kissed him quickly. "So long, boss," she said in a husky voice. "Be careful."

"Sure," he said. The door shut behind him.

Peter and Jane looked at each other after he had gone. "I-I think I'm going to cry," she said in a small voice.

He took out his handkerchief and blew his nose heavily. "Nu," he said, "go ahead. Who's stopping you?"

As Johnny stopped on the sidewalk in front of the office to light a cigarette, he heard a voice calling him. He looked up.

"Johnny! Johnny!" Doris was running toward him.

He waited for her to come up to him. "Why aren't you in school, sweetheart?" he asked sternly, but something in his heart had lightened when he saw her.

"I didn't go back yesterday," she said breathlessly. "I wanted to see you again before you went away. I'm glad I didn't miss you."

They stood there in the street looking at each other. Neither knew what to say.

Johnny broke the silence. "I'm glad you came, sweetheart."

"Are you, Johnny?" she asked, her eyes shining.

"Very glad," he said.

They fell silent again. This time it was Doris that broke the silence. "Will you write me, Johnny, if I write you?"

"Sure," he said. And again the silence. Awkward. Embarra.s.sing. Their eyes doing much more talking than their lips.

He took out his watch and looked at it. "I'm late," he said unnecessarily, "I've got to get going."

"Yes, Johnny." She looked down at the ground, her face lowered.

He put a hand under her chin and turned her face up to him. "Be a good girl," he said, trying to joke, "and wait for me. Maybe when I come back, I'll bring you something nice."

There were tears in the corners of her eyes. "I'll wait for you, Johnny, even if it's forever."

He felt embarra.s.sed at the intensity in her voice. Red began to creep over his neck and into his face as he flushed. "Sure, sweetheart," he said, still trying awkwardly to joke. "Do that an' I'll bring you a present."

"You don't have to bring me anything, Johnny. Just come back the way you are now. That's all I want."

"What can happen to me?" He laughed.

6.

The long khaki-clad line shuffled wearily to a halt. The hot, white sun beat heavily down on them. The dust had caked itself into thick clots on their skin where the sweat had turned it into mud.

The orders came echoing down from the head of the column: "Break ranks. Take ten."

Johnny threw himself on the gra.s.s by the side of the road. He lay on his back, hands over his eyes. His breath drew wearily in his throat.

Joe sat on the ground beside him. "Christ," he muttered, "my dogs are killing me." He took his shoes off and began to ma.s.sage his feet. He groaned.

Johnny just lay there quietly. A shadow fell across him. He took his hands from his eyes and looked up at it. It was the corporal. He moved over to make room for him on the small clump of gra.s.s. "Grab yourself a piece of gra.s.s, Rock," he said.

Rocco sank to the ground beside him. He looked at Joe rubbing his feet and smiled. "That's where being a barber gives you a break," he said; "your feet get used to being stood on."

"B. S." Joe said. "You just ain't human, tha.s.s all."

Johnny grinned at him and rolled over to face Rocco. "Did yuh find out where at we goin', Rock?"

Rock nodded his head slowly. "I think so. Some place along the Meuse River. The Argonne Forest or something."

Joe held his feet up and looked at them. "Do you hear that, doggies?" he said to them. "Now we know where we goin'."

Rocco continued as if Joe hadn't interrupted him. "They say there's a big push startin' off up there."

"How far off is it from here?" Johnny asked.

"About thirty, thirty-five miles," Rocco answered.

Joe let out a groan and sank back on the gra.s.s. They lay there silently for a few minutes. The hum of an airplane motor turned their gaze skyward.

Johnny shaded his eyes and looked up. A gray-painted Spad with French colors was winging its way diagonally across the horizon. Idly their eyes followed it.

"It must be nice and cool up there," Joe said enviously. "At least your feet don't bother you."

Johnny watched it. It was a graceful as a gull in a blue sky with the sunlight shimmering on it. Suddenly it veered sharply and came racing toward them. There was an element of frantic haste about the way it fled across the sky.

"I wonder what's the matter with him?" Johnny asked.

The question was answered for him. In the sunlight behind the Spad were three red Fokkers with big black crosses painted on their wings. They were flying in tight formation over the little Spad.

Suddenly one peeled off from the formation and dove down toward the little gray Spad. The Spad veered off sharply. It flipped up one wing and banked into a sharp turn and the Fokker dove past it.

Johnny laughed aloud. "The little frog fooled the Heinie." They watched the Spad now fleeing toward the east. "I think he's going to get away from them," Johnny said.

Another Fokker came tearing down at the Spad. They could hear the chatter of its guns over the roar of the motors. It reminded Johnny of the typewriters in the office. "Why doesn't he turn and shoot back at them?" Johnny yelled.

"That's what they want him to do," Rocco said. "Then they can box him in. He's playing it smart trying to outrun 'em."

Again the Spad escaped and the Fokker shot below it. The first Fokker was climbing slowly, but it was far behind the Spad. It would never gain height in time to make another pa.s.s at it.

"Only one to go," Joe said. "If he gets away from this one he's in the clear."

As he spoke, the third Fokker went into its dive. They held their breath as they watched. The planes were too far away for any sound to reach their ears now, the whole movement seemed to be enacted in pantomime. Again the Fokker shot under the Spad.

"He made it! He made it!" Johnny was yelling. He turned to Rocco. "Did you see that?"

Rocco didn't answer. He touched Johnny's arm and pointed.

Johnny turned and looked at the Spad. A thin stream of black smoke was pouring behind it. It seemed to waver in the air like a stricken bird. Suddenly it turned on one side and began to slip toward the earth. They could see the flames licking along the wing. It began to rush toward the ground with frightening speed. A small black object detached itself from the burning plane and fell toward the ground.

Johnny jumped to his feet. "The poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d jumped," he said bitterly.

Rocco pulled him back on the ground. "Stay down," he said sharply. "D'yuh want the Heinies to spot us?"

Johnny sank back on the ground. He felt oddly exhausted. He threw his hands over his eyes to keep the sun from them. Against the black of his lids he could see the small black object detach itself from the burning plane. He took his hands from his eyes and looked toward the sky. The Fokkers were circling in the sky over the spot where the Spad had gone down. After a few seconds they turned and went back toward the German lines and the sky was empty, a clear, tranquil blue. He began to feel the heat again, the weariness seeping through him.

The shrill of the sergeant's whistle startled him. "On your feet, men," he heard the voices calling. He got wearily to his feet. Joe was lacing tight his shoes, Rocco was adjusting his pack. He turned and walked toward the road where the men were forming a column.

Night was beginning to fall as they marched into the little village. The sides of the streets were lined with people who were watching them with quiet imperturbable eyes. Occasionally they could see someone holding a small American flag.

They walked automatically, one foot falling in front of the other, their eyes straight ahead. They were too tired to be curious about the people, and the people were too weary to get excited over the soldiers. They were aware of each other, they felt warmth and sympathy and even understanding toward one another, but they were too tired to show it.

Only Joe felt different from the others. At the first sign of a village he perked up. When he saw the people standing there, he looked at them. He smiled at some girls. He nudged Johnny. "Dames," he chortled, "hot zig!"

Johnny plowed along silently. He didn't look up when Joe spoke to him. He was thinking about the last letter he had received from Doris. She had said that motion-picture folks were in the forefront of all the Victory Bond drives. Mary Pickford, Doug Fairbanks, and all the stars had gone out on tours to sell Victory Bonds. Others went on hospital tours. The women were rolling bandages. Peter had made shorts and pictures for the government plugging various home-front activities. Business was booming. Many new theaters had opened and now pictures were being shipped from Hollywood all over the world. In England and the rest of Europe, where the studios had been forced to close down because of the war, American pictures were being avidly demanded and enthusiastically accepted.

Mark had grown a great deal in the past year. He had finished grammar school and Papa had sent him to a military school. He was hoping the war wouldn't be over before he was old enough to go.

Two new stages had been added to their studio and now it was one of the largest in Hollywood. Edison had demonstrated a talking film-a cylinder hooked up to and synchronized with motion-picture film. Papa, along with many other leading production men in the industry, had looked at it. It wasn't practical.

Johnny cursed to himself silently. This was a h.e.l.l of a time for him to be away. They were crazy. Couldn't they see that if pictures could be made to speak, they would completely achieve the level of the stage? He wished he were there so he could see this machine of Edison's.