got to
think about my own individuality, haven't I?"

"Sure, sure you have! But you were fine--your imitation wasn't a bit too
close. You can think about your own individuality this afternoon when
you're watching him."

Late that day in the projection room Baird and the Montague girl
watched the "rush" of that morning's episode.

"The squirrel's done it," whispered the girl after the opening scene. It
seemed to her that Merton Gill on the screen might overhear her comment.

Even Baird was low-toned. "Looks so," he agreed.

"If that ain't Parmalee then I'll eat all the hard-boiled eggs on the
lot."

Baird rubbed his hands. "It's Parmalee plus," he corrected.

"Oh, Mother, Mother!" murmured the girl while the screen revealed the
actor studying his photographs.

"He handled all right in that spot," observed Baird.

"He'll handle right--don't worry. Ain't I told you he's a natural born
trouper?"

The mail was abandoned in humorous despair. The cigarette lighted in
a flawless Parmalee manner, the smoke idly brushed aside. "Poor, silly
little girls," the actor was seen to say. The girl gripped Baird's arm
until he winced. "There, old Pippin! There's your million, picked right
up on the lot!"

"Maybe," assented the cooler Baird, as they left the projection room.

"And say," asked the girl, "did you notice all morning how he didn't
even bat an eye when you spoke to him, if the camera was still turning?
Not like a beginner that'll nearly always look up and get out of the
picture."

"What I bet," observed Baird, "I bet he'd 'a' done that album stuff even
better than he did if I'd actually put his own pictures in, the way I'm
going to for the close-ups. I was afraid he'd see it was kidding if
I did, or if I told him what pictures they were going to be. But I'm
darned now if I don't think he'd have stood for it. I don't believe
you'll ever be able to peeve that boy by telling him he's good."

The girl glanced up defensively as they walked.

"Now don't get the idea he's conceited, because he ain't. Not one bit."

"How do you know he ain't?"

She considered this, then explained brightly, "Because I wouldn't like
him if he was. No, no--now you listen here" as Baird had grinned. "This
lad believes in himself, that's all. That's different from conceit.
You can believe a whole lot in yourself, and still be as modest as a
new--hatched chicken. That's what he reminds me of, too."

The following morning Baird halte