ted pistol. Merton disposed of his rose in the same
manner. He admired the sheik for his stature, his majestic carriage,
his dark, handsome, yet sinister face with its brooding eyes. He thought
this man, at least, would be a true Arab, some real son of the desert
who had wandered afar. His manner was so much more authentic than that
of the extra people all about.

A whistle blew and the street action was suspended. There was a long
wait while cameras were moved up and groups formed under the direction
of Henshaw and his assistant. A band of Bedouins were now to worship
in the porch of a mosque. Merton Gill was among these. The assistant
director initiated them briefly into Moslem rites. Upon prayer rugs they
bowed their foreheads to earth in the direction of Mecca.

"What's the idea of this here?" demanded Merton Gill's neighbour in
aggrieved tones.

"Ssh!" cautioned Merton. "It's Mass or something like that." And they
bent in unison to this noon-tide devotion.

When this was done Henshaw bustled into the group. "I want about a dozen
or fifteen good types for the cafe," he explained to his assistant.
Merton Gill instinctively stood forward, and was presently among those
selected. "You'll do," said Henshaw, nodding. The director, of course,
had not remembered that this was the actor he had distinguished in The
Blight of Broadway, yet he had again chosen him for eminence. It showed,
Merton felt, that his conviction about the screen value of his face was
not ill founded.

The selected types were now herded into a dark, narrow, low-ceiled room
with a divan effect along its three walls. A grizzled Arab made coffee
over a glowing brazier. Merton Gill sat cross-legged on the divan and
became fearful that he would be asked to smoke the narghileh which
the assistant director was now preparing. To one who balked at mere
cigarettes, it was an evil-appearing device. His neighbour who had been
puzzled at prayer-time now hitched up his flowing robe to withdraw a
paper of cigarettes from the pocket of a quite occidental garment.

"Go on, smoke cigarettes," said the assistant director.

"Have one?" said Merton's neighbour, and he took one. It seemed you
couldn't get away from cigarettes on the screen. East and West were
here one. He lighted it, though smoking warily. The noble sheik,
of undoubtedly Asiatic origin, came to the doorway overlooking the
assistant director's work on the narghileh. A laden camel halted near
him, snee