r this way? Like it, eh? That's good. And me having the
only freckles left in all Hollywood. Ain't I the little prairie flower,
growing wilder every hour?

"Say, on the level, pa needs work. These days when he's idle he mostly
sticks home and tries out new ways to make prime old Kentucky sour mash
in eight hours. If he don't quit he is going to find himself seeing some
moving pictures that no one else can. And he's all worried up about
his hair going off on top, and trying new hair restorers. You know his
latest? Well, he goes over to the Selig place one day and watches horse
meat fed to the lions and says to himself that horses have plenty of
hair, and it must be the fat under the skin that makes it grow, so he
begs for a hunk of horse from just under the mane and he's rubbing
that on. You can't tell what he'll bring home next. The old boy still
believes you can raise hair from the dead. Do you want some new stills
of me? I got a new one yesterday that shows my other expression. Well,
so long, Countess."

The creature turned to her parents.

"Let's be on our way, old dears. This place is dead, but the Countess
says they'll soon be shooting some tenement-house stuff up at the
Consolidated. Maybe there'll be something in it for someone. We might as
well have a look-in."

Merton felt relieved when the Montague family went out, the girl in
the lead. He approved of the fine old father, but the daughter lacked
dignity in speech and manner. You couldn't tell what she might say next.

The Montagues were often there, sometimes in full, sometimes represented
by but one of their number. Once Mrs. Montague was told to be on Stage
Six the next morning at 8:30 to attend a swell reception.

"Wear the gray georgette, dearie," said the casting director, "and your
big pearls and the lorgnon."

"Not forgetting the gold cigarette case and the chinchilla neck piece,"
said Mrs. Montague. "The spare parts will all be there, Countess, and
thanks for the word."

The elder Montague on the occasion of his calls often found time to
regale those present with anecdotes of Lawrence Barrett.

"A fine artist in his day, sir; none finer ever appeared in a hall
show."

And always about his once superb frock coat clung the scent of forbidden
beverages. On one such day he appeared with an untidy sprouting of
beard, accompanied by the talkative daughter.

"Pa's landed a part," she explained through the little window. "It's
one of those we-uns