y way。 He could have left a good half of them。 He ran what might have been considered a split…reel comedy of the stew…pan's bottom still covered with perfectly edible beans lightly protected with Nature's own pastel…tinted shroud for perishing vegetable matter and diversified here and there with casual small deposits of ashes。
In the morning something good really did happen。 As he folded his blankets in the gray light a hard object rattled along the floor from them。 He picked this up before he recognized it as a mutilated fragment from the stale halfloaf of bread he had salvaged。 He wondered how he could have forgotten it； even in the plenitude of his banquet。 There it was； a mere nubbin of crust and so hard it might almost have been taken for a petrified specimen of prehistoric bread。 Yet it proved to be rarely palatable。 It's flavour was exquisite。 It melted in the mouth。
Somewhat refreshed by this modest cheer； he climbed from the window of the Crystal Palace with his mind busy on two tracks。 While the letter to Gashwiler composed itself； with especially clear directions about where the return money should be sent； he was also warning himself to remain throughout the day at a safe distance from the door of the cafeteria。 He had proved the wisdom of this even the day before that had started with a bounteous breakfast。 To…day the aroma of cooked food occasionally wafted from the cafeteria door would prove； he was sure； to be more than he could bear。
He rather shunned the stages to…day； keeping more to himself。 The collar； he had to confess； was no longer； even to the casual eye； what a successful screen…actor's collar should be。 The sprouting beard might still be misconstrued as the whim of a director sanctified to realismevery day it was getting to look more like thatbut no director would have commanded the wearing of such a collar except in actual work where it might have been a striking detail in the apparel of an underworldling； one of those creatures who became the tools of rich but unscrupulous roues who are bent upon the moral destruction of beautiful young screen heroines。 He knew it was now that sort of collar。 No use now in pretending that it had been worn yesterday for the first time。
CHAPTER X
OF SHATTERED ILLUSIONS
The next morning he sat a long time in the genial sunlight watching carpenters finish a scaffolding beside the pool that had once floated logs to a sawmill。 The scaffolding was a stout affair supporting an immense tank that would； evidently for some occult reason important to screen art； hold a great deal of water。 The sawmill was gone； at one end of the pool rode a small sail…boat with one mast； its canvas flapping idly in a gentle breeze。 Its deck was littered with rigging upon which two men worked。 They seemed to be getting things shipshape for a cruise。
When he had tired of this he started off toward the High Gear Dance Hall。 Something all day had been drawing him there against his will。 He hesitated to believe it was the Montague girl's kindly manner toward him the day before； yet he could identify no other influence。 Probably it was that。 Yet he didn't want to face her again； even if for a moment she had quit trying to be funny； even if for a moment her eyes had searched his quite earnestly； her broad； amiable face glowing with that sudden friendly concern。 It had been hard to withstand this yesterday； he had been in actual danger of confiding to her that engagements of late were not plentifulsomething like that。 And it would be harder to…day。 Even the collar would make it harder to resist the confidence that he was not at this time overwhelmed with offers for his art。
He had for what seemed like an interminable stretch of time been solitary and an outlaw。 It was something to have been spoken to by a human being who expressed ever so fleeting an interest in his affairs； even by someone as inconsequent； as negligible in the world of screen artistry as this lightsome minx who； because of certain mental infirmities； could never hope for the least enviable eminence in a profession demanding seriousness of purpose。 Still it would be foolish to go again to the set where she was。 She might think he was encouraging her。
So he passed the High Gear； where a four…horse stage； watched by two cameras； was now releasing its passengers who all appeared to be direct from New York； and walked on to an outdoor set that promised entertainment。 This was the narrow street of some quaint European village； Scotch he soon saw from the dress of its people。 A large automobile was invading this remote hamlet to the dismay of its inhabitants。 Rehearsed through a megaphone they scurried within doors at its approach； ancient men hobbling on sticks and frantic mothers grabbing their little ones from the path of the monster。 Two trial trips he saw the car make the length of the little street。
At its lower end； brooding placidly； was an ancient horse rather recalling Dexter in his generously exposed bones and the jaded droop of his head above a low stone wall。 Twice the car sped by him； arousing no sign of apprehension nor even of interest。 He paid it not so much as the tribute of a raised eyelid。
The car went back to the head of the street where its entrance would be made。 〃All rightready！〃 came the megaphoned order。 Again the peaceful street was thrown into panic by this snorting dragon from the outer world。 The old men hobbled affrightedly within doors； the mothers saved their children。 And this time； to the stupefaction of Merton Gill； even the old horse proved to be an actor of rare merits。 As the car approached he seemed to suffer a painful shock。 He tossed his aged head； kicked viciously with his rear feet； stood absurdly aloft on them； then turned and fled from the monster。 As Merton mused upon the genius of the trainer who had taught his horse not only to betray fright at a motor car but to distinguish between rehearsals and the actual taking of a scene； he observed a man who emerged from a clump of near…by shrubbery。 He carried a shotgun。 This was broken at the breech and the man was blowing smoke from the barrels as he came on。
So that was it。 The panic of the old horse had been but a simple reaction to a couple of charges ofperhaps rocksalt。 Merton Gill hoped it had been nothing sterner。 For the first time in his screen career he became cynical about his art。 A thing of shame； of machinery； of subterfuge。 Nothing would be real； perhaps not even the art。
It is probable that lack of food conduced to this disparaging outlook； and he recovered presently； for he had been smitten with a quick vision of Beulah Baxter in one of her most daring exploits。 She； at least； was real。 Deaf to entreaty； she honestly braved her hazards。 It was a comforting thought after this late exposure of a sham。
In this slightly combative mood he retraced his steps and found himself outside the High Gear Dance Hall； fortified for another possible encounter with the inquiring and obviously sympathetic Montague girl。 He entered and saw that she was not on the set。 The bar…room dance…hall was for the moment deserted of its ribald crew while an honest inhabitant of the open spaces on a balcony was holding a large revolver to the shrinking back of one of the New York men who had lately arrived by the stage。 He forced this man； who was plainly not honest； to descend the stairs and to sign； at a table； a certain paper。 Then； with weapon still in hand； the honest Westerner forced the cowardly New Yorker in the direction of the front door until they had passed out of the picture。
On this the bored director of the day before called loudly； 〃Now； boys； in your places。 You've heard a shotyou're running outside to see what's the matter。 On your toes； nowtry it once。〃 From rear doors came the motley frequenters of the place； led by the elder Montague。
They trooped to the front in two lines and passed from the picture。 Here they milled about； waiting for further orders。
〃Rotten！〃 called the director。 〃Rotten and then some。 Listen。 You came like a lot of children marching out of a public school。 Don't come in lines； break it up； push each other； fight to get ahead； and you're noisy； too。 You're shouting。 You're saying； 'What's this？ What's it all about？ What's the matter？ Which way did he go？' Say anything you want to； but keep shoutinganything at all。 Say 'Thar's gold in them hills！' if you can't think of anything else。 Go on； now； boys； do it again and pep it； see。 Turn the juice on； open up the old mufflers。〃
The men went back through the rear doors。 The late caller would here have left； being fed up with this sort of stuff； but at that moment he descried the Montague girl back behind a light…standard。 She had not noted him； but was in close talk with a man he recognized as Jeff Baird； arch perpetrator of the infamous Buckeye comedies。 They came toward him； still talking； as he looked。
〃We'll finish here to…morrow afternoon； anyway；〃 the girl was saying。
〃Fine；〃 said Baird。 〃That makes everything jake。 Get over on the set whenever you're through。 Come over tonight if they don't shoot here； just to give us a look…in。〃
〃Can't；〃 said the girl。 〃Soon as I get out o' this dump I got to eat on the lot and e