"Baird? Not the Buckeye comedy man?" He was chilled by a sudden fear.
"Yes, Jeff Baird. You see he is going to do some five-reelers and this first one has a part that might do for you. At least, I told him some things about you, and he thinks you can get away with it."
He went moodily at her side, thinking swift thoughts. It seemed ungracious to tell her of his loathing for the Buckeye comedies, those blasphemous caricatures of worth-while screen art. It would not be fair. And perhaps here was a quick way to discharge his debt and be free of obligation to the girl. Of course he would always feel a warm gratitude for her trusting kindness, but when he no longer owed her money he could choose his own line of work. Rather bondage to some Hollywood Gashwiler than clowning in Baird's infamies!
"Well, I'll try anything he gives me," he said at last, striving for the enthusiasm he could not feel.
"You'll go big, too," said the girl. "Believe, me Kid, you'll go grand."
In Baird's offices he sat at the desk and excitedly undid the package of stills. "We'll give 'em the once-over before he comes," she said, and was presently exclaiming with delight at the art study of Clifford Armytage in evening dress, two straight fingers pressing the left temple, the face in three-quarter view.
"Well, now, if that ain't Harold Parmalee to the life! If it wasn't for that Clifford Armytage signed under it, you'd had me guessing. I knew yesterday you looked like him, but I didn't dream it would be as much like him as this picture is. Say, we won't show Baird this at first. We'll let him size you up and see if your face don't remind him of Parmalee right away. Then we'll show him this and it'll be a cinch. And my, look at these others here you're a soldier, and here you're a—a—a polo player that is polo, ain't it, or is it tennis? And will you look at these stunning Westerns! These are simply the best of all—on
