could forget the worries of an
exacting profession and lead a simple home life. All the husbands and
wives were more than that--they were good pals; and of course they read
and studied a great deal. Many of them were wild about books.

He was especially interested in the interview printed by Camera with
that world favourite, Harold Parmalee. For this was the screen artist
whom Merton most envied, and whom he conceived himself most to resemble
in feature. The lady interviewer, Miss Augusta Blivens, had gone
trembling into the presence of Harold Parmalee, to be instantly put at
her ease by the young artist's simple, unaffected manner. He chatted of
his early struggles when he was only too glad to accept the few paltry
hundreds of dollars a week that were offered him in minor parts; of
his quick rise to eminence; of his unceasing effort to give the public
something better and finer; of his love for the great out-of-doors; and
of his daily flight to the little nest that sheltered his pal wife and
the kiddies. Here he could be truly himself, a man's man, loving the
simple things of life. Here, in his library, surrounded by his books,
or in the music room playing over some little Chopin prelude, or on the
lawn romping with the giant police dog, he could forget the public that
would not let him rest. Nor had he been spoiled in the least, said the
interviewer, by the adulation poured out upon him by admiring women and
girls in volume sufficient to turn the head of a less sane young man.

"There are many beautiful women in the world." pursued the writer, "and
I dare say there is not one who meets Harold Parmalee who does not
love him in one way or another. He has mental brilliancy for the
intellectuals, good looks for the empty-headed, a strong vital appeal,
a magnetism almost overwhelming to the susceptible, and an easy and
supremely appealing courtesy for every woman he encounters."

Merton drew a long breath after reading these earnest words. Would
an interviewer some day be writing as much about him? He studied the
pictures of Harold Parmalee that abundantly spotted the article. The
full face, the profile, the symmetrical shoulders, the jaunty bearing,
the easy, masterful smile. From each of these he would raise his eyes
to his own pictured face on the wall above him. Undoubtedly he was not
unlike Harold Parmalee. He noted little similarities. He had the nose,
perhaps a bit more jutting than Harold's, and the chin, even mor