ival from the barbaric
Congo. He was also thinking that the Montague girl ought to be kept away
from people who were trying to do really creative things, and he was
bitterly regretting that he had no silver cigarette case. The gloom of
his young face was honest gloom. He was aware that his companion leaned
vivaciously toward him with gay chatter and gestures. Very slowly he
inhaled from a cigarette that was already distasteful--adding no little
to the desired effect--and very slowly he exhaled as he raised to hers
the bored eyes of a soul quite disillusioned. Here, indeed, was the
blight of Broadway.

"All right, first rate!" called Henshaw. "Now get this bunch down here."
The camera was pushed on.

"Gee, that was luck!" said the girl. "Of course it'll be cut to a flash,
but I bet we stand out, at that." She was excited now, no longer needing
to act.

From the table back of Merton came the voice of the Montague girl: "Yes,
one must suffer for one's art. Here I got to be a baby-vamp when I'd
rather be simple little Madelon, beloved by all in the village."

He restrained an impulse to look around at her. She was not serious and
should not be encouraged. Farther down the set Henshaw was beseeching
a table of six revellers to give him a little hollow gayety. "You're
simply forcing yourselves to have a good time," he was saying; "remember
that. Your hearts aren't in it. You know this night life is a mockery.
Still, you're playing the game. Now, two of you raise your glasses to
drink. You at the end stand up and hold your glass aloft. The girl next
to you there, stand up by him and raise your face to his--turn sideways
more. That's it. Put your hand up to his shoulder. You're slightly
lit, you know, and you're inviting him to kiss you over his glass. You
others, you're drinking gay enough, but see if you can get over that
it's only half-hearted. You at the other end there--you're staring at
your wine glass, then you look slowly up at your partner but without any
life. You're feeling the blight, see? A chap down the line here just did
it perfectly. All ready, now! Lights! Camera! You blonde girl, stand
up, face raised to him, hand up to his shoulder. You others, drinking,
laughing. You at the end, look up slowly at the girl, look away--about
there--bored, weary of it all--cut! All right. Not so bad. Now this next
bunch, Paul."

Merton Gill was beginning to loathe cigarettes. He wondered if Mr.
Henshaw would mind if he di