troduce you to
her----"

"No, no!" said Mr. Farrington, waving a black-gloved hand with the gesture
_Hamlet_ might have used in waving to his father's ghost. "The lady
preceptress of your school has naught to do with this matter. It is
personal with you."

"But what _is_ it?" queried Ruth, rather exasperated now.

"Be not hasty--be not hasty, I beg," said Amasa Farrington. "I know I may
surprise you. I, too, was unknown at one time, and never expected to be
anything more than a traveling Indian Bitters pedler. My latent talent was
developed and fostered by a kindly soul, and I come to you now, Miss
Fielding, in the remembrance of my own youth and inexperience----"

"For mercy's sake!" gasped Ruth, finally. "What do you wish? I am not in
need of any Indian Bitters."

"You mistake me--you mistake me," said the man, stiffly. "Amasa Farrington
has long since graduated from the ranks of such sordid toilers. See my
card."

"I _do_ see your card," the impatient Ruth said, again glancing at the bit
of pasteboard. "I see that you represent something called the 'Criterion
Films.' What are they?"

"Ah! now you ask a pointed question, young lady," declared Mr. Farrington.
"Rather you should ask, 'What will they be?' They will be the most widely
advertised films ever released for the entertainment of the public. They
will be written by the most famous writers of scenarios. They will be
produced by the greatest directors in the business. They will be acted by
our foremost Thespians."

"I--I hope you will be successful, Mr. Farrington," said Ruth, faintly,
not knowing what else to say.

"We shall be--we must be--I may say that we have _got_ to be!" ejaculated
the ex-Indian Bitters pedler. "And I come to you, Miss Fielding, for your
co-operation."

"Mine?" gasped Ruth.

"Yes, Miss Fielding. You are a coming writer of scenarios of a high
character. We geniuses must help each other--we must keep together and
refuse to further the ends of the sordid producers who would bleed us of
our best work."

This was rather wild talk, and Ruth did not understand it. She said,
frankly:

"Just what do you mean, Mr. Farrington? What do you want me to do?"

"Ah! Practical! I like to see you so," said the man, with a flourish,
drawing forth a document of several typewritten pages. "I want you to read
and sign this, Miss Fielding. It is a contract with the Criterion Films--a
most liberal contract, I might say--in which you bind yourself