s I know, all Half-way Henrys, you might call
'em. Too much brains to dig streets and not enough to own 'em!
Unhappy mediums that always calls _somebody_ boss!

We're sittin' in Duke's office one mornin', when without even
knockin'--a remarkable thing for a movie star--in walks Edmund De
Vronde. Edmund has caused more salesladies to take their pens in hand
than any other actor in the world. His boudoir is hung with pictures
of dames from eight to eighty and from Flatbush to Florida. If some of
'em was actual reproductions, them dames was foolish for sellin'
shirtwaists, believe me! Edmund is as beautiful as five hundred a week
and built like Jack Dempsey. Off the screen he's as rough and ready as
a chorus man.

"Hello, Cutey!" says the Kid, who liked De Vronde and carbolic acid the
same way.

"I've come to ask a favor," says De Vronde.

"Well," Duke tells him, lightin' a cigarette and lookin' straight at
the end of it, "we ain't gonna pay for no more autographed photos, we
won't fire the press agent, you gotta finish this picture with Miss
Hart and both them camera men that's shootin' this movie is high-class
mechanics and stays! Outside of that, I'm open to reason."

"What I want will cost you nothing," says De Vronde. "That
is--practically nothing. My dresser,--the silly idiot!--tendered me
his resignation this morning!"

"Well, what's all this gotta do with me?" he asks De Vronde. "I can't
be bothered diggin' up valets to see that you got plenty of fresh
vanilla cold cream every morning and that they's ample talcum powder on
the chiffonier! I got--"

"I have already secured a man," interrupts De Vronde. "He happens to
be a--a--friend of mine. The poor fellow is desperately in need of
work. He's in Denver at present, and I'd like to have him on as soon
as possible. If we're to begin that big feature on Monday, I'm sure I
can't be bothered thinking about where this shirt and that cravat is,
and just what color combinations will be best for my costume in the
gypsy cave."

"That's right!" grins the Kid. "Figure for yourself what would happen,
if Cutey forgot his mustache curler, for instance. The whole country
would be, now, aghast, and he'd be a nervous wreck in five minutes!"

"So if you'll kindly telegraph the fare to this address," goes on De
Vronde, ignorin' the Kid, "I'll be obliged."

With that he blows.

"And the tough part of it is," moans Duke, reachin' for a 'phone, "I'll
have t