“Yes, yes, I know.” Baird waved a sympathetic hand. “Poor old Jack. He’s trying hard to do something worth while, but he’s played in those cheap comedy things so long it’s sort of hard for him to get out of it and play serious stuff, if you know what I mean.” “I know what you mean,” said Merton. “And he’s been with me so long I kind of hate to discharge him. You see, on account of those eyes of his, it would be hard for him to get a job as a serious actor, so I did think I’d give him another part in this piece if you didn’t object, just to sort of work him into the worth-while things. He’s so eager for the chance. It was quite pathetic how grateful he looked when I told him I’d try him once more in one of the better and finer things. And a promise is a promise.” “Still, Merton, you’re the man I must suit in this cast; if you say the word I’ll tell Jack he must go, though I know what a blow it will be to him--” “Oh, no, Mr. Baird,” Merton interrupted fervently, “I wouldn’t think of such a thing. Let the poor fellow have a chance to learn something better than the buffoonery he’s been doing. I’ll do everything I can to help him. I think it is very pathetic, his wanting to do the better things; it’s fine of him. And maybe some day he could save up enough to have a good surgeon fix his eyes right. It might be done, you know.” “Now that’s nice of you, my boy. It’s kind and generous. Not every actor of your talent would want Jack working in the same scene with him. And perhaps, as you say, some day he can save up enough from his wages to have his eyes fixed. I’ll mention it to him. And this reminds me, speaking of the cast, there’s another member who might bother some of these fussy actors. She’s the girl who will take the part of your city sweetheart. As a matter of fact, she isn’t exactly the type I’d have picked for the part, because she’s rather a large, hearty girl, if you know what I mean. I could have found a lot who were better lookers; but the poor thing has a bedridden father and mother and a little crippled brother and a little sister that isn’t well, and she’s working hard to send them all to school--I mean the children, not her parents; so I saw the chance to do her a good turn, and I hope you’ll feel that you can work harmoniously with her. I know I’m too darned human to be in this business--” Baird looked aside to conceal his emotion. “I’m sure, Mr. Baird, I’ll get along fine with the young lady, and I think it’s fine of you to give these people jobs when you could get better folks in their places.” “Well, well, we’ll say no more about that,” replied Baird gruffly, as one who had again hidden his too-impressionable heart. “Now ask in the outer office where that Wayne film is to-day and catch it as often as you feel you’re getting any of the Edgar Wayne stuff. We’ll call you up when work begins.”