els in the dark
with Japanese thugs and opium smugglers.

"Another day of it," he grinned, "and I'd have grown fins."

"Manhattan Madness" was really nothing more than St. Vitus's dance set
to ragtime. Our hero climbed up eaves-pipes, plunged through trap-doors
down into dungeons, jumped from the roof of a house into a tree, kicked
his way in and out of secret closets, and engaged in hair-raising
combats with desperate villains every few minutes.

It is not only the case that "Doug" Fairbanks made good with the movie
fans. What is more to the point, he made good with the "bunch" itself.
In nine cases out of ten, the "legitimate" star, going over into
pictures, evades and avoids the "rough stuff." To some humble, hardy
"double" is assigned the actual work of falling off the cliff, riding at
full speed across granite hedges, taking a good hard punch in the nose,
or plunging from the top of the burning building.

Many an honest cowpuncher, taking his girl to the show with him to let
her see what a daredevil he is, has died the death upon discovering that
he was merely "doubling" for some cow-eyed hero who lacked the nerve to
do the stunt himself.

"Doug" Fairbanks is one of the few movie heroes who have never had a
"double." He asks no man to do that which he is afraid to do himself. No
fall is too hard for him, no fight too furious, no ride too dangerous.
There is not a single one of his pictures in which he hasn't taken a
chance of breaking his neck or his bones; but, as one bronco-buster
observed, "He jes' licks his lips an' asks for more."

To be sure, few actors have brought such super-physical equipment to the
strenuous work of the movies. Fairbanks, in addition to being blessed
with a strong, lithe body, has developed it by expert devotion to every
form of athletic sport. He swims well, is a crack boxer, a good polo
player, a splendid wrestler, a skilful acrobat, a fast runner, and an
absolutely fearless rider.

There is never a picture during the progress of which he does not
interpolate some sudden bit of business as the result of his quick wit
and dynamic enthusiasm. In one play, for instance, he was supposed to
enter a house at sight of his sweetheart beckoning to him from an upper
window. As he passed up the steps, however, his roving eye caught sight
of the porch railing, a window-ledge, and a balcony, and in a flash he
was scaling the facade of the house like any cat.

In another play he was trapped