gar and
grind coffee and measure dress goods and match silks; he must with the
suavest gentility ask if there would not be something else to-day; and
he must see that babies hazardously left on counters did not roll off.

He lived in a vortex of mental confusion, performing his tasks
mechanically. When drawing a gallon of kerosene or refolding the shown
dress goods, or at any task not requiring him to be genially talkative,
he would be saying to Miss Augusta Blivens in far-off Hollywood, "Yes,
my wife is more than a wife. She is my best pal, and, I may also add, my
severest critic."

There was but one break in the dreary monotony, and that was when Lowell
Hardy, Simsbury's highly artistic photographer, came in to leave an
order for groceries. Lowell wore a soft hat with rakish brim, and
affected low collars and flowing cravats, the artistic effect of these
being heightened in his studio work by a purple velvet jacket. Even in
Gashwiler's he stood out as an artist. Merton received his order, and
noting that Gashwiler was beyond earshot bespoke his services for the
following afternoon.

"Say, Lowell, be on the lot at two sharp to-morrow, will you? I want to
shoot some Western stuff--some stills."

Merton thrilled as he used these highly technical phrases. He had not
read his magazines for nothing.

Lowell Hardy considered, then consented. He believed that he, too, might
some day be called to Hollywood after they had seen the sort of work he
could turn out. He always finished his art studies of Merton with great
care, and took pains to have the artist's signature entirely legible.
"All right, Mert, I'll be there. I got some new patent paper I'll try
out on these."

"On the lot at two sharp to shoot Western stuff," repeated Merton with
relish.

"Right--o!" assented Lowell, and returned to more prosaic studio art.

The day wore itself to a glad end. The last exigent customer had gone,
the curtains were up, the lights were out, and at five minutes past nine
the released slave, meeting Tessie Kearns at her front door, escorted
her with a high heart to the second show at the Bijou Palace. They
debated staying out until after the wretched comedy had been run, but
later agreed that they should see this, as Tessie keenly wished to
know why people laughed at such things. The antics of the painfully
cross-eyed man distressed them both, though the mental inferiors by whom
they were surrounded laughed noisily. Merton wondere