"Then you'll go and see the manager--I know he'll give your father a trial, and that's all that's needed, for I'm sure he can do the acting. And they're always looking for new characters. Come on!" Once more, in his enthusiasm, he tried to lead her down the street. But she hung back. "No, really, Russ," she said earnestly enough now, and her eyes took on a more grave and serious look. "It isn't that. It's only--well, I might as well tell you, though it may be rather mean after your kindness. But my father thinks the movies are so--so vulgar! There--I've said it." She looked at her companion anxiously. To her surprise Russ laughed. "So, you were afraid of hurting my feelings; were you?" he asked. "Yes," she answered, in a low voice. "Nothing like that!" he assured her. "I've heard worse things than that said about the movies. But I want to tell you that you're wrong, and, with all due respect to him, your father is wrong too. There's nothing vulgar or low about the movies--except the price." He was becoming really enthusiastic now. His voice rang, and his eyes sparkled. "I'm not saying that because I make my living at them, either," Russ went on. "It's because it's true. The moving picture shows were once, perhaps, places where nice persons didn't go. But it's different now. All that has been changed. Why, look at Sarah Bernhardt, doing her famous plays before the camera? Even Andrew Carnegie consented to give one of his speeches in front of the camera, with a phonograph attachment, the other day." "Did he, really?" cried Alice. "He certainly did. And a lot of the best actors and actresses in this and other countries aren't ashamed to be seen in the movies. They're glad to do it, and glad to get the money, too, I guess," he added, with a grin. "I think it would be the very thing for your father. Of course, if his voice had held out he might like it better to be an actor on the real stage. But in the movies he won't have to talk. He'll just have to act. Then, when his voice gets better, as I hope it will, he can take up the legitimate again." "Oh, I know his heart is set on that!" exclaimed Alice. "But don't you think he'd consider this?" asked Russ. He was very anxious to help--Alice could tell that. "I--I'm afraid he wouldn't," confessed the girl. "He thinks the movies too common. I know, for I've heard him say so many times." "They're not common!" defended Russ, sturdily. "The moving pictures are getting better and better all the while. Of course some poor films are shown, but they're gradually being done away with. The board of censorship is becoming more strict. "Common! Why do you know that it costs as much as $20,000, sometimes, to stage one of the big plays--one with lots of outdoor scenes in it, burning buildings, railroad accidents made to order, and all that." "Really?" cried Alice, her eyes now shining with excitement.