Minnie Dupree was the star. Meeting Miss Dupree, I
asked her what sort of an actor Fairbanks was in those days.

"Well," she said judiciously, "I think that he was about the nicest case
of St. Vitus' dance that ever came under my notice."

William A. Brady got him next. Mr. Brady is quite a dynamo himself, and
there was also a time in his life when he managed James J. Corbett. The
two fell into each other's arms with a cry of joy, and for seven years
they touched off dramatic explosions that strewed fat actors all over
the landscape and tore miles of scenery into ribbons.

"Some boy!" was Mr. Brady's tribute. "Put him in a death scene, and
he'd find a way to break the furniture."

There was never a part that "Doug" Fairbanks lay down on. To every role
he brought joy and interest and enthusiasm, and the night came
inevitably that saw his name in electric letters.

It is not claimed that his work as a star "elevated" the drama, but it
may safely be claimed that he never appeared in any play that was not
wholesome, stimulating, and helpful.

Nothing was more natural than that the movies should seek such an actor,
and they set the trap with attractive bait.

"Come over to us," they said, "and we'll let you do anything you want.
Outside of poison gas and actual murder, the sky's the limit."

Without even waiting to kick off his shoes, "Doug" Fairbanks made a
dive.

The movie magnates got what they wanted, and Fairbanks got what he
wanted. For the first time in his life he was able to "let go" with all
the force of his dynamic individuality, and he took full advantage of
the opportunity.

In "The Lamb," his first adventure before the camera, he let a
rattlesnake crawl over him, tackled a mountain lion, jiu-jitsued a bunch
of Yaqui Indians until they bellowed, and operated a machine-gun.

In "His Picture in the Papers," he was called upon to run an automobile
over a cliff, engage in a grueling six-round go with a professional
pugilist, jump off an Atlantic liner and swim to the distant shore, mix
it up in a furious battle royal with a half dozen husky gunmen, leap
twice from swiftly moving trains, and also to resist arrest by a squad
of Jess Willards dressed up in police uniforms.

"The Half-Breed" carried him out to California, and, among other things,
threw him into the heart of a forest fire that had been carefully
kindled in the redwood groves of Calaveras County. Amid a rain of
burning pine tufts, and with g