d him outside the set on which he
would work that day. Again he had been made up by the Montague girl,
with especial attention to the eyebrows so that they might show the
Parmalee lift.

"I just want to give you the general dope of the piece before you go
on," said Baird, in the shelter of high canvas backing. "You're the only
son of a widowed mother and both you and she are toiling to pay off
the mortgage on the little home. You're the cashier of this business
establishment, and in love with the proprietor's daughter, only she's a
society girl and kind of looks down on you at first. Then, there's her
brother, the proprietor's only son. He's the clerk in this place. He
doesn't want to work, but his father has made him learn the business,
see? He's kind of a no-good; dissipated; wears flashy clothes and plays
the races and shoots craps and drinks. You try to reform him because
he's idolized by his sister that you're in love with.

"But you can't do a thing with him. He keeps on and gets in with a rough
crowd, and finally he steals a lot of money out of the safe, and just
when they are about to discover that he's the thief you see it would
break his sister's heart so you take the crime on your own shoulders.
After that, just before you're going to be arrested, you make a
getaway--because, after all, you're not guilty--and you go out West to
start all over again--"

"Out there in the big open spaces?" suggested Merton, who had listened
attentively.

"Exactly," assented Baird, with one of those nervous spasms that would
now and again twitch his lips and chin. "Out there in the big open
spaces where men are men--that's the idea. And you build up a little
gray home in the West for yourself and your poor old mother who never
lost faith in you. There'll be a lot of good Western stuff in this--Buck
Benson stuff, you know, that you can do so well--and the girl will get
out there some way and tell you that her brother finally confessed his
crime, and everything'll be Jake, see what I mean?"

"Yes, sir; it sounds fine, Mr. Baird. And I certainly will give the best
that is in me to this part." He had an impulse to tell the manager, too,
how gratified he was that one who had been content with the low humour
of the Buckeye comedies should at last have been won over to the better
form of photodrama. But Baird was leading him on to the set; there was
no time for this congratulatory episode.

Indeed the impulse was swept from his