. He'd seen lots of 'em in his time, but this
bird was a wonder.

Yet Mr. Armytage was not really so granitic of nature as the Bigart
emissary had thought him. He had begun the interview with a smouldering
resentment due to a misapprehension; he had been outraged by a
suggestion that the spurs be again put to their offensive use; and he
had been stunned by an offer of three hundred and fifty dollars a week.
That was all.

Here was a new angle to the puzzles that distracted him. He was not
only praised by the witless, but he had been found desirable by certain
discerning overlords of filmdom. What could be the secret of a talent
that caused people, after viewing it but once, to make reckless offers?

And another thing--why had he allowed Baird to "sew him up"? The
Montague girl again occupied the foreground of his troubled musings.
She, with her airs of wise importance, had helped to sew him up. She was
a helpless thing, after all, and false of nature. He would have matters
out with her this very day. But first he must confront Baird in a scene
of scorn and reprobation.

On the car he became aware that far back in remote caverns of his mind
there ran a teasing memory of some book on the shelves of the Simsbury
public library. He was sure it was not a book he had read. It was merely
the title that hid itself. Only this had ever interested him, and it
but momentarily. So much he knew. A book's title had lodged in his mind,
remained there, and was now curiously stirring in some direct relation
to his present perplexities.

But it kept its face averted. He could not read it. Vaguely he
identified the nameless book with Tessie Kearns; he could not divine
how, because it was not her book and he had never seen it except on the
library shelf.

The nameless book persistently danced before him. He was glad of this.
It kept him at moments from thinking of the loathly Baird.

CHAPTER XIX. THE TRAGIC COMEDIAN

Penetrating the Holden lot he was relieved to find that he created no
immediate sensation. People did not halt to point derisive fingers at
him; he had half feared they would. As he approached the office building
he was almost certain he saw Baird turn in ahead of him. Yet when he
entered the outer room of the Buckeye offices a young woman looked up
from her typewriter to tell him that Mr. Baird was not in.

She was a serious-eyed young woman of a sincere manner; she spoke with
certainty of tone. Mr. Baird wa