Any Little Girl can be found in






Any Little Girl

Loring Brent

Reporter Harry Eltonhead writes an article about a fictitious girl, only to have her appear.

I.

MOTION-PICTURE directors, should they give the matter the slightest thought, would tell you in a flash that nine hundred and ninety-nine girls out of a thousand who harbor the notion that they are fitted for a career before the camera, are harboring nonsense. The remaining girl is usually ignorant of the fact that she is harboring sense, and she is usually discovered accidentally, for example, as Laura Corrigan was discovered.

Without going far into the technical explanation and not even mentioning certain events, there is every reason to believe that Laura Corrigan was a perfect screen type. Her features were well defined without being prominent. In effect, you recalled her easily. Her eyes were dark brown and clear, with the merest suggestion of the hypnotic in them. Through them was revealed the most priceless possession of any artist—personality.

That is rather a cold-blooded way of contemplating Laura Corrigan, but it is appropriate and vital in view of the problem that confronted her. How her problem was solved is an issue that must be taken up at some length, later.

The problem itself was rather complex. For two years Laura Corrigan and the office adding-machine had occupied an identical position in the affections of the established old firm of Blake & Blake, dealers in automobile accessories.

Laura performed her duties as stenographer with such well concealed fidelity, with such machinelike accuracy and dependability, that the firm, whose collective mind was always fixed upon novelty and originality, had come to look upon her as a cog that never required attention.

In demanding additions and subtractions from the adding-machine you pressed a variety of red and black buttons; the machine did the rest. In demanding intelligent transcriptions of your thoughts by Laura Corrigan you pressed the pearl button at the edge of your desk, and Laura, prompt as the next clock-tick, appeared noiselessly at your elbow. You spoke your thoughts; Laura did the rest.

Laura Corrigan believed that the supreme duty of the stenographer was to remove all possible irksome detail from the busy shoulders of the firm. Perhaps she made the mistake of not being aggressive enough, of submerging her identity too deeply.

On the anniversary of her second consecutive year with the firm, Laura took stock of herself and was not exactly gratified at the inventory. The unpleasant revelation was made that she, Laura Corrigan, was hard and fast in a rut.

When the buzzer over her desk sounded that morning, and the annunciator needle indicated that the elder Mr. Blake desired her presence, the expression of doubt vanished from her face and her bright eyes seemed to lose a portion of their luster; whereupon she drew her lip between her teeth and arose, sighing, no longer a pretty, determined young woman, but a mechanism. Squaring her slender shou...

This is only a preview of this story. The site administrator is evaluating methods to bring it to you.