ared had been a
millionaire, you could have walked into his family circle and been made
welcome at the present moment. Why, I don't believe his own wife or
sister, if he had such appendages, would have been able to tell that you
weren't the man."

"Unfortunately," Bridges remarked, as he sipped the cocktail which the
cinema man had ordered, "this chap Romilly was broke, wasn't he?--did a
scoot to avoid the smash-up? They say that he had a few hundred thousand
dollars over here, ostensibly for buying material, and that he has taken
the lot out West."

"Well, I must say he didn't seem that sort on the steamer," Mr. Raymond
Greene declared, "but you never can tell. Looked to me more like a
schoolteacher. Some day, Mr. Ware, I want you to come along to my
office--it's just round the corner in Broadway there--and have a chat
about the play."

"You don't want to film us before we've finished its first run, surely?"
Philip protested, laughing. "Give us a chance!"

"Well, we'll talk about that," the cinema magnate promised.

They were joined by other acquaintances, and Philip presently made his
escape. One of the moments which he had dreaded more than any other had
come and passed. Even if Mr. Raymond Greene had still some slight
misgivings, he was, to all effects and purposes, convinced. Philip walked
down the street, feeling that one more obstacle in the path of his
absolute freedom had been torn away. He glanced at his watch and boarded
a down-town car, descended in the heart of the city region of Broadway,
and threaded his way through several streets until he came to the back
entrance of a dry goods store. Here he glanced once more at his watch and
commenced slowly to walk up and down. The timekeeper, who was standing in
the doorway with his hands in his pockets, watched him with interest.
When Philip approached for the third time, he addressed him in friendly
fashion.

"Waiting for one of our gals, eh?"

Philip stifled his quick annoyance and answered in as matter-of-fact a
tone as possible.

"Yes! How long will it be before they are out from the typewriting
department?"

"Typewriting department?" the man repeated. "Well, that depends some upon
the work. They'll be out, most likely, in ten minutes or so. I guessed
you were after one of our showroom young ladies. We get some real swells
down here sometimes--motor cars of their own. The typists ain't much, as
a rule. It's a skinny job, theirs."

"The young ladi