So it was not this new boarder's whiskers and his long hair which centered the collective eye of the dining-room so much as it was his tall, slim, almost straight old figure, his ruddy and distinguished but rather vacuous face, his high white collar and black string tie, his black frock coat with the three upper buttons of the waistcoat unfastened so that the genteel white pleated shirt bosom ballooned out of the vent, his slim "low quarter" shoes. More than these it was his bearing, so courtly, which meant so old-fashioned, and most of all it was the sweeping low salute he rendered to Mrs. Scofield and to Miss Clayton before he sat down and drew up. It was as though he said: "As examples of fair womanhood I render tribute to you both. Through you I honor all the gracious sex of which you two are such shining ornaments." You almost could hear him saying it; your imagination told you this was precisely the sort of high-flown, hifalutin language he would use, and use it naturally, too. For here was a type come to life, a character bit in the flesh. And that's a rare bird to find even in Hollywood where types do so freely abound. He asked Miss Clayton a question or two, and she made hurried and, one might have thought, confused answers before she escaped to the veranda where Tobe Daly, that canny squire of dames, was holding space for her alongside him on the top step. "Gee," began Tobe, "did you make it?" "Make what?" she asked, settling and smoothing her skirts. "The old pappy guy, who else?" "He's nice," said Miss Clayton, still engaged in the business of drawing the skirt down over her knees. "He's a freak," said Mr. Daly. He cocked a shrewd appraising squint at her side face. "Say, I was piping it off through the front window when the old battle-ax towed him in and interduced him to you gals, and the way it looked to me you kind of ducked soon as he began shooting conversation at you." "Never mind that part of it," she countered. "Who is he and where did he come from? Or, don't you know? All I caught was his name. Teal, something like that." "Teal, huh? Swell name for an old duck, I'll claim. Jimmy Hoster yonder was just giving me the low-down on him. It seems like Chief Gillespie--you know, director with the Lobel outfit--well, Gillespie he piped him off down there in Alabama or wherever it was down South that he's had his bunch on location, shooting stuff for that new costume picture that Winifred Desiree and Basil Derby are being featured in. So Gil brought him along with 'em when they got back this morning, figuring, I guess, on using him in that picture or else in something else.