stood before him revealed as
none other than the Gordon daughter.

Hubert Throckmorton had lost his wager. Slowly, as the light of
recognition dawned in his widening eyes, he gathered the beautiful girl
into his arms. "Now may I be your leading lady?" she asked.

"My leading lady, not only in my next picture, but for life," he
replied.

There was a pretty little scene in which the wager was paid. Merton
studied it. Twice again, that evening, he studied it. He was doubtful.
It would seem queer to take a girl around the waist that way and kiss
her so slowly. Maybe he could learn. And he knew he could already do
that widening of the eyes. He could probably do it as well as Parmalee
did.

* * * * * * *

Back in the Buckeye office, when the Montague girl had returned from her
parting with Merton, Baird had said:

"Kid, you've brightened my whole day."

"Didn't I tell you?"

"He's a lot better than you said."

"But can you use him?"

"You can't tell. You can't tell till you try him out. He might be good,
and he might blow up right at the start."

"I bet he'll be good. I tell you. Jeff, that boy is just full of acting.
All you got to do--keep his stuff straight, serious. He can't help but
be funny that way."

"We'll see. To-morrow we'll kind of feel him out. He'll see this
Parmalee film to-day--I caught it last night--and there's some stuff
in it I want to play horse with, see? So I'll start him to-morrow in
a quiet scene, and find out does he handle. If he does, we'll go right
into some hokum drama stuff. The more serious he plays it the better. It
ought to be good, but you can't ever tell in our trade. You know that as
well as I do."

The girl was confident. "I can tell about this lad," she insisted.

CHAPTER XIII. GENIUS COMES INTO ITS OWN

Merton Gill, enacting the part of a popular screen idol, as in the play
of yesterday, sat at breakfast in his apartments on Stage Number Five.
Outwardly he was cool, wary, unperturbed, as he peeled the shell from a
hard-boiled egg and sprinkled salt upon it. For the breakfast consisted
of hard-boiled eggs and potato salad brought on in a wooden dish.

He had been slightly disturbed by the items of this meal; it was not so
elegant a breakfast as Hubert Throckmorton's, but he had been told by
Baird that they must be a little different.

He had been slightly disturbed, too, at discovering the faithful valet
who brought on the simple repast was the cross--eyed