this and turns pale. He seen we was all watchin'
closely for the grand reunion between him and his old college chum
Potts. He coughs a couple of times and takes a step forward. That boy
was game!

"How do you do, Mr. Potts?" he says. "Did you--er--have a pleasant
trip?"

"Yes," answers Potts, lookin' at him kinda puzzled. "What is your name
again? I don't seem to recall it!"

And the boss was supposed to be Harold's dear old college chum!

"Why--er--why--ha! ha!" pipes Harold, dyin' game. "That's odd! Surely
you recall--eh--Cuthbert, my name is, you must remember--eh--why in New
York we--eh--"

He's about eighty feet up in the air and still soaring with the whole
bunch watchin' him and enjoyin' the thing out loud. Potts is lookin'
him over like he's a strange fish or somethin'.

"I think you're mistaken!" pipes the boss, cuttin' in on Harold, "I
never saw you before in my life!"

With that he passes on, leavin' Harold flat and with no more friends
than China had at the Peace Conference.

After that little incident, it was about as pleasant for Harold in Film
City as it was for a German in Liverpool durin' the war. Genaro, Duke
and everybody else went out of their way to make him sick of the
movies, but Harold stuck around and took whatever odd jobs that come
his way with the remark that he could do it better than anybody else
and that was why they give it to him.

I made a mistake when I said everybody rode him--he had three little
pals. They was Miss Vincent, the Kid and yours in the faith. Miss
Vincent claimed that after all he was only a boy which would grow out
of lyin', if give enough time, and it was a outrage the way everybody
picked on him. The Kid said we couldn't all be perfect, and Miss
Vincent would give him back his presents if he laid off Harold. _My_
excuse for not shootin' Harold was that I liked one thing about him,
and that was the way he hung on, no matter how they was breakin' for
him. He was no good all over, but he wouldn't _quit_ and any guy that
could stand up under punishment like he did is worth a cheer any
time--and sometimes a bet!

I thought I'd brighten his life by tellin' him how he stood with the
three of us. I pictured him goin' down on his knees and thankin' me
with tears in his eyes, when I said that we was with him to the bitter
end. He must have had rheumatism or a pair of charley horses, because
he failed to do any kneelin' where I could see it, and his