ormenting visions； a mere subtitle would flash in his brain； as where the old mother； when he first punished her insulter； was made by the screen to call out； 〃Kick him on the knee…cap； too！〃
But the darkness refreshed his tired eyes； and sun at last brought him a merciful outlet from a world in which you could act your best and still be funnier than a cross…eyed man。
He awakened long past his usual hour and occupied his first conscious moments in convincing himself that the scandal of the night before had not been a bad dream。 The shock was a little dulled now。 He began absurdly to remember the comments of those who had appeared to enjoy the unworthy entertainment。 Undoubtedly many people had mentioned him with warm approval。 But such praise was surely nothing to take comfort from。 He was aroused from this retrospection by a knock on his door。 It proved to be Mr。 Patterson bearing a tray。 〃Mrs。 P。 thought that you being up so late last night mebbe would like a cup of coffee and a bite of something before you went out。〃 The man's manner was newly respectful。 In this house； at least； Merton Gill was still someone。
He thanked his host； and consumed the coffee and toast with a novel sense of importance。 The courtesy was unprecedented。 Mrs。 Patterson had indeed been sincere。 And scarcely had he finished dressing when Mr。 Patterson was again at the door。
〃A gentleman downstairs to see you； Mr。 Armytage。 〃He says his name is Walberg but you don't know him。 He says it's a business matter。〃
〃Very well； I'll be down。〃 A business matter？ He had no business matters with any one except Baird。
He was smitten with a quick and quite illogical fear。 Perhaps he would not have to tear up that contract and hurl it in the face of the manager who had betrayed him。 Perhaps the manager himself would do the tearing。 Perhaps Baird； after seeing the picture； had decided that Merton Gill would not do。 Instantly he felt resentful。 Hadn't he given the best that was in him？ Was it his fault if other actors had turned into farce one of the worth…while things？
He went to meet Mr。 Walberg with this resentment so warm that his greeting of the strange gentleman was gruff and short。 The caller； an alert； businesslike man； came at once to his point。 He was； it proved； not the representative of a possibly repenting Baird。 He was； on the contrary； representing a rival producer。 He extended his cardThe Bigart Comedies。
〃I got your address from the Holden office； Mr。 Armytage。 I guess I routed you out of bed； eh？ Well； it's like this； if yon ain't sewed up with Baird yet； the Bigart people would like to talk a little business to you。 How about it？〃
〃Business？〃 Mr。 Armytage fairly exploded this。 He was unhappy and puzzled； in consequence； unamiable。
〃Sure； business；〃 confirmed Mr。 Walberg。 〃I understand you just finished another five…reeler for the Buckeye outfit； but how about some stuff for us now？ We can give you as good a company as that one last night and a good line of comedy。 We got a gag man that simply never gets to the end of his string。 He's doping out something right now that would fit you like a gloveand say； it would be a great idea to kind a' specialize in that spur act of yours。 That got over big。 We could work it in again。 An act like that's good for a million laughs。〃
Mr。 Armytage eyed Mr。 Walberg coldly。 Even Mr。 Walberg felt an extensive area of glaciation setting in。
〃I wouldn't think of it；〃 said the actor； still gruffly。
〃Do you mean that you can't come to the Bigart at allon any proposition？〃
〃That's what I mean；〃 confirmed Mr。 Armytage。
〃Would three hundred and fifty a week interest you？〃
〃No；〃 said Mr。 Armytage； though he gulped twice before achieving it。
Mr。 Walberg reported to his people that this Armytage lad was one hard…boiled proposition。 He'd seen lots of 'em in his time； but this bird was a wonder。
Yet Mr。 Armytage was not really so granitic of nature as the Bigart emissary had thought him。 He had begun the interview with a smouldering resentment due to a misapprehension； he had been outraged by a suggestion that the spurs be again put to their offensive use； and he had been stunned by an offer of three hundred and fifty dollars a week。 That was all。
Here was a new angle to the puzzles that distracted him。 He was not only praised by the witless； but he had been found desirable by certain discerning overlords of filmdom。 What could be the secret of a talent that caused people； after viewing it but once； to make reckless offers？
And another thingwhy had he allowed Baird to 〃sew him up〃？ The Montague girl again occupied the foreground of his troubled musings。 She； with her airs of wise importance； had helped to sew him up。 She was a helpless thing； after all； and false of nature。 He would have matters out with her this very day。 But first he must confront Baird in a scene of scorn and reprobation。
On the car he became aware that far back in remote caverns of his mind there ran a teasing memory of some book on the shelves of the Simsbury public library。 He was sure it was not a book he had read。 It was merely the title that hid itself。 Only this had ever interested him； and it but momentarily。 So much he knew。 A book's title had lodged in his mind； remained there； and was now curiously stirring in some direct relation to his present perplexities。
But it kept its face averted。 He could not read it。 Vaguely he identified the nameless book with Tessie Kearns； he could not divine how； because it was not her book and he had never seen it except on the library shelf。
The nameless book persistently danced before him。 He was glad of this。 It kept him at moments from thinking of the loathly Baird。
CHAPTER XIX
THE TRAGIC COMEDIAN
Penetrating the Holden lot he was relieved to find that he created no immediate sensation。 People did not halt to point derisive fingers at him； he had half feared they would。 As he approached the office building he was almost certain he saw Baird turn in ahead of him。 Yet when he entered the outer room of the Buckeye offices a young woman looked up from her typewriter to tell him that Mr。 Baird was not in。
She was a serious…eyed young woman of a sincere manner； she spoke with certainty of tone。 Mr。 Baird was not only out； but he would not be in for several days。 His physician had ordered him to a sanitarium。
The young woman resumed her typing； she did not again； glance up。 The caller seemed to consider waiting on a chance that she had been misinformed。 He was now sure he had seen Baird enter the building； and the door of his private office was closed。 The caller idled outside the railing； absently regarding stills of past Buckeye atrocities that had been hung upon the walls of the office by someone with primitive tastes in decoration。 He was debating a direct challenge of the young woman's veracity。
What would she say if told that the caller meant to wait right there until Mr。 Baird should convalesce？ He managed some appraising side… glances at her as she bent over her machine。 She seemed to believe he had already gone。
Then he did go。 No good talking that way to a girl。 If it had been a man。 now〃You tell Mr。 Baird that Mr。 Gill's got to see him as soon as possible about something important；〃 he directed from the open door。
The young woman raised her serious eyes to his and nodded。 She resumed her work。 The door closed。 Upon its closing the door of Baird's private office opened noiselessly to a crack that sufficed for the speaking voice at very moderate pitch to issue。
〃Get Miss Montague on the 'phone；〃 directed the voice。 The door closed noiselessly。 Beyond it Mr。 Baird was presently speaking in low； sweet tones。
〃'Lo； Sister！ Listen； that squirrel just boiled in here； and I ducked him。 I told the girl I wasn't to be in unless he was laughing all over； and he wasn't doing the least little thing that was anywheres near laughing。 See what I mean？ It's up to you now。 You started it； you got to finish it。 I've irised out。 Get me？〃
On the steps outside the rebuffed Merton Gill glanced at his own natty wrist…watch； bought with some of the later wages of his shame。 It was the luncheon hour； mechanically he made his way to the cafeteria。 He had ceased to rehearse the speech a doughtier Baird would now have been hearing。
Instead he roughly drafted one that Sarah Nevada Montague could not long evade。 Even on her dying bed she would be compelled to listen。 The practising orator with bent head mumbled as he walked。 He still mumbled as he indicated a choice of foods at the cafeteria counter； he continued to be thus absorbed as he found a table near the centre of the room。
He arranged his assortment of viands。 〃You led me on； that's what you did；〃 he continued to the absent culprit。 〃Led me on to make a laughing…stock of myself； that's what you did。 Made a fool of me； that's what you did。〃
〃All the same； I can't help thinking he's a harm to the industry；〃 came the crisp tones of Henshaw from an adjoining table。 The rehearsing orator glanced up to discover that the director and the sunny…faced brown and gray man he called Governor were smoking above the plates of their finished luncheon。
〃I wouldn't worry too much；〃 suggested the cheerful governor。
〃But see what he does： he takes the good old reliable； sure…fire stuff and makes fun of it。 I admit it's funny to start with； but what'll happen to us if the picture public ever finds that out？ What'll we do then for dramaafter they've learned to laugh at the old stuff？〃
〃Tush； tush； my boy！〃 The Governor waved a halfconsumed cigarette until its ash fell。 〃Never fear。 Do you think a thousand Jeff Bairds could make the picture public laugh at the old stuff when it's played straight？ They laughed last night； yes； but not so much at the really fine burlesque； they guffawed at the slap…stick stuff that went with it。 Baird's shrewd。 He knows if he played straight burlesque he'd never make a dollar； so notice how he'll give a bit of straight that is genuine art； then a bit of slap…stick that any one can get。 The slap…stick is what carries the show。 Real burlesque is criticism； my boy； sometimes the very high…browest sort。 It demands sophistication； a pretty high intelligence in the man t