"O, Good Lord," again and again reverberated in the ears of Verbeena, "you squint so with that snub-nosed face of yours! You--gently--gently, gently into his arms. You're not wrestling him--you're loving him--you--not that sidelong glance--a big look into his eyes and now then--remember although we've only begun here, this is the end of the picture--the final close-up--now, extend lips in full, both--stick 'em way out--that's it--now then, kiss--kiss--hold that--hold it--kiss, kiss, kiiiiiiiisssssssssss!" "You know nothing of kissing! Nothing! And you're supposed to have had Oriental training too! Here--come here--like _THIS! Kiss--kiss--LIKE THIS!!_" A gleam of anger shot into Verbeena's tired eyes but she was powerless. The compelling quality of this terrible creature, the force with which he held her, the exultant, horrible, heavy, hot, and, she could feel, relentless, half savagely cruel, indifferent way he was doing it to her! [Illustration: WHEREIN THE MOVIE MAHOUT INFORMS VERBEENA SHE WILL NEXT BE REQUIRED TO BE SHOT OUT OF A PALM TREE BY HER LOVER IN MISTAKE FOR A SQUIRREL.] She dropped to her knees at the end of it begging for mercy. He laughed at her coldly. "You must get the idea of it--the sooner the better," he said with a hauteur that made her cringe back into her old caterpillar crouch. "Now the next scene--and we must hurry up or the light will be bad--is where you are shot out of the top of a palm tree by your lover in mistake for a squirrel. "Come now--action--Cameras!--Cameras train on that palm tree over there. The tallest one, of course. Remember, Mrs. Amut, you fall dead--a dead fall--right straight out of the tree on your face. What's that? Dangerous? Nonsense! And what if it is? What do you suppose we are paying you for? What's a cracked nose for art's sake! No more nonsense, no more words--up you go!" Verbeena climbed. Sometime later on being restored to consciousness wherein she knew what was going on around her, she heard the great Gristmille saying: "Very well, hop up there, leading woman! All ready for the next scene." "What--what is it?" faltered Verbeena. "How dare you ask questions? Your instructions will all come in due time. And now's the time! "In the next scene you fall from your horse--you're shot or something, perhaps struck in the back with a lance--I haven't quite made up my mind--and then you will be run over by a herd of wild Arabian horses with Mr. Arbuckle pursuing in the hope of rescue borne by eleven camels, one for the hope and ten for Mr. Arbuckle. "Come now--quick--and remember you are not to look frightened as the horses--about two thousand of them--rush over you. As a heroine you are calm-eyed in the face of certain death. If you do we'll have to keep repeating the scene and I don't want to give too much time to it.