out front of the store showin' that new line of gingham house frocks?
Put that down and handle it careful! Mebbe you think I got them things
down from Chicago just for you to play horse with. Not so! Not so at
all! They're to help show off goods, and that's what I want 'em doin'
right now. And for Time's sake, what's that revolver lyin' on the floor
for? Is it loaded? Say, are you really out of your senses, or ain't you?
What's got into you lately? Will you tell me that? Skyhootin' around
in here, leavin' the front of the store unpertected for an hour or two,
like your time was your own. And don't tell me you only been foolin' in
here for three minutes, either, because when I come back from lunch just
now there was Mis' Leffingwell up at the notions counter wanting some
hooks and eyes, and she tells me she's waited there a good thutty
minutes if she's waited one. Nice goin's on, I must say, for a boy
drawin' down the money you be! Now you git busy! Take that one with the
gingham frock out and stand her in front where she belongs, and then put
one them new raincoats on the other and stand him out where he belongs,
and then look after a few customers. I declare, sometimes I git clean
out of patience with you! Now, for gosh's sake, stir your stumps!"

"Oh, all right--yes, sir," replied Merton Gill, though but half
respectfully. The "Oh, all right" had been tainted with a trace of
sullenness. He was tired of this continual nagging and fussing over
small matters; some day he would tell the old grouch so.

And now, gone the vivid tale of the great out-of-doors, the wide plains
of the West, the clash of primitive-hearted men for a good woman's love.
Gone, perhaps, the greatest heart picture of a generation, the picture
at which you laugh with a lump in your throat and smile with a tear in
your eye, the story of plausible punches, a big, vital theme masterfully
handled--thrills, action, beauty, excitement--carried to a sensational
finish by the genius of that sterling star of the shadowed world,
Clifford Armytage--once known as Merton Gill in the little hamlet of
Simsbury, Illinois, where for a time, ere yet he was called to screen
triumphs, he served as a humble clerk in the so-called emporium of Amos
G. Gashwiler--Everything For The Home. Our Prices Always Right.

Merton Gill--so for a little time he must still be known--moodily seized
the late Estelle St. Clair under his arm and withdrew from the dingy
back storeroom. Down