e was not
at this time overwhelmed with offers for his art.

He had for what seemed like an interminable stretch of time been
solitary and an outlaw. It was something to have been spoken to by a
human being who expressed ever so fleeting an interest in his affairs,
even by someone as inconsequent, as negligible in the world of
screen artistry as this lightsome minx who, because of certain mental
infirmities, could never hope for the least enviable eminence in a
profession demanding seriousness of purpose. Still it would be foolish
to go again to the set where she was. She might think he was encouraging
her.

So he passed the High Gear, where a four-horse stage, watched by two
cameras, was now releasing its passengers who all appeared to be
direct from New York, and walked on to an outdoor set that promised
entertainment. This was the narrow street of some quaint European
village, Scotch he soon saw from the dress of its people. A large
automobile was invading this remote hamlet to the dismay of its
inhabitants. Rehearsed through a megaphone they scurried within doors
at its approach, ancient men hobbling on sticks and frantic mothers
grabbing their little ones from the path of the monster. Two trial trips
he saw the car make the length of the little street.

At its lower end, brooding placidly, was an ancient horse rather
recalling Dexter in his generously exposed bones and the jaded droop of
his head above a low stone wall. Twice the car sped by him, arousing no
sign of apprehension nor even of interest. He paid it not so much as the
tribute of a raised eyelid.

The car went back to the head of the street where its entrance would be
made. "All right--ready!" came the megaphoned order. Again the peaceful
street was thrown into panic by this snorting dragon from the outer
world. The old men hobbled affrightedly within doors, the mothers saved
their children. And this time, to the stupefaction of Merton Gill,
even the old horse proved to be an actor of rare merits. As the car
approached he seemed to suffer a painful shock. He tossed his aged head,
kicked viciously with his rear feet, stood absurdly aloft on them, then
turned and fled from the monster. As Merton mused upon the genius of the
trainer who had taught his horse not only to betray fright at a motor
car but to distinguish between rehearsals and the actual taking of a
scene, he observed a man who emerged from a clump of near-by shrubbery.
He carried a shotgun