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