unge right into it. Why, it isn't up to your knees,
Mr. Bunn, and the weather is hot."

"All right, here I go!" he said, resignedly.

"Wait! Go back and do that last bit over again," ordered the manager.
"Russ, cut out the last few pictures and substitute these that are to
come. Now, Mr. Bunn!"

The Shakespearean actor started over again, and he was "game" enough to
pretend that he did not in the least mind floundering into the bog hole.
As he came to the edge of it, in he plunged.

He went down much deeper than to his knees, and as he felt himself
sinking he called out:

"Help! Help! Save me! Save me!"

"That's it! That's the way to do it! That's being what I call realistic!"
shouted Mr. Pertell, who always waxed enthusiastic over a new idea.

Mr. Bunn continued to sink in the bog. He pulled and struggled to get
out, apparently without success. Then his tall hat fell off from the
violence of his exertions, and he barely saved it from a muddy bath.

"Help! Help! I'm sinking!" he cried.

"Good! That's the way to act it!" encouraged Mr. Pertell. "Now, Mr.
Towne, you come up to the rescue in a few seconds. Don't mind the mud,
either. Go right out to him. You can't be much worse off."

"Indeed I cannot," agreed the other, as he glanced at his soiled suit.

"Wait just a minute more," said Mr. Pertell to the prospective rescuer.
"Give him a chance to struggle more. It will look better."

"No, let him come at once and save me! Save me at once!"

"Why?" the manager wanted to know.

"Because I really am sinking! This isn't play! The quicksand has me in
its grip!"

And, as Mr. Pertell looked about, unable to tell whether the actor was
saying that as part of the "business," or because he was in earnest, the
unfortunate man cried out in real anguish:

"Save me! Save me! I am in the quicksand and it's sucking me down!"

"That's right! He is in a quicksand bog!" cried one of the steamer hands
who had helped hew a path through the swamp. "He'll never get out if you
don't help him quick!"

CHAPTER XVI

A STRANGE ATTACK

It was true, then. The frantic appeals of Mr. Bunn were not in the
interests of acting for moving pictures, but because he felt himself in
actual danger. None of his friends had thought of that, until the man
from the steamer offered confirmation. They had all thought the actor was
doing a realistic bit of work.

"Quicksand! Do you mean it?" gasped Mr. Pertell.

"I certainly do," answ