e
prominent.

Possibly a director would have told him that his Harold Parmalee beauty
was just a trifle overdone; that his face went just a bit past the line
of pleasing resemblance and into something else. But at this moment the
aspirant was reassured. His eyes were pale, under pale brows, yet they
showed well in the prints. And he was slightly built, perhaps even thin,
but a diet rich in fats would remedy that. And even if he were quite a
little less comely than Parmalee, he would still be impressive. After
all, a great deal depended upon the acting, and he was learning to act.

Months ago, the resolution big in his heart, he had answered the
advertisement in Silver Screenings, urging him to "Learn Movie Acting,
a fascinating profession that pays big. Would you like to know," it
demanded, "if you are adapted to this work? If so, send ten cents for
our Ten-Hour Talent-Prover, or Key to Movie-Acting Aptitude, and find
whether you are suited to take it up."

Merton had earnestly wished to know this, and had sent ten cents to
the Film Incorporation Bureau, Station N, Stebbinsville, Arkansas. The
Talent-Prover, or Key to Movie-Acting Aptitude, had come; he had mailed
his answers to the questions and waited an anguished ten days, fearing
that he would prove to lack the required aptitude for this great art.
But at last the cheering news had come. He had every aptitude in full
measure, and all that remained was to subscribe to the correspondence
course.

He had felt weak in the moment of his relief from this torturing
anxiety. Suppose they had told him that he wouldn't do? And he had
studied the lessons with unswerving determination. Night and day he had
held to his ideal. He knew that when you did this your hour was bound to
come.

He yawned now, thinking, instead of the anger expressions he should have
been practising, of the sordid things he must do to-morrow. He must be
up at five, sprinkle the floor, sweep it, take down the dust curtains
from the shelves of dry goods, clean and fill the lamps, then station
outside the dummies in their raiment. All day he would serve customers,
snatching a hasty lunch of crackers and cheese behind the grocery
counter. And at night, instead of twice watching The Hazards of
Hortense, he must still unreasonably serve late customers until the
second unwinding of those delectable reels.

He suddenly sickened of it all. Was he not sufficiently versed in the
art he had chosen to practise