Jim politely suppressed a yawn and said that a life devoted purely to
art was a laudable sacrifice.

"As example!" explained Puma, all animation and childlike frankness;
"I pay my artists what they ask. What is money when it is a question
of art? I must have quality; I must have beauty--" He shrugged: "I
must pay. Yes?"

"One usually pays for pulchritude."

"Ah! As example! I watch always on the streets as I pass by. I see a
face. It has beauty. It has quality. I follow. I speak. I am frank
like there never was a man. I say, 'Mademoiselle, you shall not be
offended. No. Art has no frontiers. It is my art, not I who address
you. I am Angelo Puma. The Ultra-Film Company is mine. In you I
perceive possibilities. This is my card. If it interests you to have a
test, come! Who knows? It may be your life's destiny. The projection
room should tell. Adieu!'"

"Is that the way you pick stars?" asked Jim curiously.

"Stars? Bah! I care nothing for stars. No. I should go bankrupt. Why?
Beauty alone is my star. Upon it I drape the mantle of Art!"

He kissed his fat finger-tips and gazed triumphantly at Jim.

"You see? Out of the crowd of passersby I pick the perfect and
unconscious rosebud. In my temple it opens into perfect bloom. And Art
is born! And I am content. You comprehend?"

Jim said that he thought he did.

"As example," exclaimed Puma vivaciously, "while in conversation once
with Mr. Sharrow, I beheld entering your office a young lady in
mourning. Hah! Instantly I was all art!" Again he kissed his gloved
fingers. "A face for a picture! A form for the screen! I perceive. I
am convinced.... You recall the event, perhaps, Mr. Shotwell?"

"No."

"A young lady in mourning, seated beside your desk? I believe she was
buying from you a house."

"Oh."

"Her name--Miss Dumont--I believe."

Jim glanced at him. "Miss Dumont is not likely to do anything of that
sort," he said.

"And why?"

"You mean go into the movies?" He laughed. "She wouldn't bother."

"But--my God! It is Art! What you call movies, and, within, this young
lady may hide genius. And genius belongs to Art. And Art belongs to
the world!"

The unthinkable idea of Palla on the screen was peculiarly distasteful
to him.

"Miss Dumont has no inclination for the movies," he said.

"Perhaps, Mr. Shotwell," purred Puma, "if your amiable influence could
induce the young lady to have a test made----"

"There isn't a chance of it," said Jim bluntly. T