nd sprawling
writing she turned over, face down upon the table. Ruth grew so absorbed
in the story that she did not note the passing of time. She was truly
aware of but one thing. And that seized upon her mind to wring from it
both bitterness and anger.

"Want to go back to the port, Miss Ruth?" asked Mr. Hammond. "I want to
mail my letters."

His question startled her. She sprang up, a spot of crimson in either
cheek. Had he looked at her, the manager would certainly have noted her
strange look.

"I'll come in a minute," she called to him in a half-stifled voice.

She laved her eyes and cheeks in cool water, removing such marks of her
emotion as she could. Then she bundled up the hermit's scenario and joined
Mr. Hammond in the car.

"Did you look at this?" she asked the producer as he started the motor.

"Bless you, no! What is it? As crazy as the old codger himself?"

"Do you really think that man is crazy?" she asked sharply.

"Why, I don't really know. Just queer perhaps. It doesn't seem as though
a sane man would live all stark alone over on that sea-beaten point."

"He is an actor," declared Ruth. "Your director says so."

"At least, he does not claim to be, and they usually do, you know,"
chuckled Mr. Hammond. "But about this thing----"

"You read it! Then I will tell you something," said the girl soberly, and
she refused to explain further.

"You amaze me," said the puzzled manager. "If that old codger has
succeeded in turning out anything worth while, I certainly shall believe
that 'wonders never cease.'"

"He has got you all fooled. He _is_ a good actor," declared Ruth bitterly.
Then, as Mr. Hammond turned a puzzled frown upon her, she added, "Tell me
what you think of the script, Mr. Hammond, before you speak to--er--John,
or whatever his name may be."

"I certainly am curious now," he declared.

They got back to the place where the director had arranged to "shoot" the
sewing circle scene just as everything was all set for it. Mother Paisley
dominated the half circle of women about the long table under the trees.
Ruth marveled at the types Mr. Hooley had found in the village. And she
marveled further that any group of human beings could appear so wooden.

"Oh, Ruth!" murmured Helen, who was not in this scene, but was an
interested spectator, "they will surely spoil the picture again. Poor Mr.
Hooley! He takes _such_ pains."

It was like playing a child's game for most of the members of the