“See here,” he said, “I've gone pretty far in with Silver stone.” “But you haven't signed?” “No.” “Nor taken his money?” “No.” Peter laughed shortly. “Do you think _he_ would consider himself bound by anything you may have said! Silverstone!” This was a point. He could see Zanin thinking it over. “How much do you need?” he asked again. “Well--” “What do you think will happen the minute Sue really discovers the sort of hands she's in? Even if she would want to stick to you!” This was another point. “Well”--said Zanin, thinking fast--“it needn't be lavish, like these big battle films and such. But it will take money.” “How much money?” “Three or four thousand. Maybe five or six. It means going south for the outdoor scenes. I want tropical foliage, so my people won't look frozen. And publicity isn't cheap, you know.” Peter gulped; but plunged on. “I'll tell you what you do, Zanin. Get another man--a littler producer than Silverstone--and have him supply studio, operators, and all the plant necessary, on a partnership basis, you to put in some part of the cash needed.” “Great!” said Zanin. “Fine! And where's the cash to come from?” “From me.” The front legs of Zanin's chair came to the floor with a bang. “This is new stuff, Mann.” “New stuff. I'm not rich, but I believe you've got a big thing here, and I stand willing to put up a few thousand on a private contract with you. This can be just between ourselves. All I ask is a reasonable control of the expenditure.” Zanin thought--and thought. Peter could see the shifting lights in his cold clear eyes. He moved over to the window and stared out into the area-way, where electric lamps and gas flames twinkled from a hundred other rear buildings. He came back to his chair and lit a cigarette. “You're on!” he finally said. “If you want to know, I _am_ worried about Silverstone. And I'm certainly in no position to turn down such an offer as this.” Which was the genesis of The Nature Film Producing Co., Inc., Jacob Zanin, Pres't. They talked late, these new partners. It was nearly one o'clock in the morning when Peter limped into the rooms. He found Hy pitting by the window in his pajamas, gazing rapturously at a lacy handerchief. “Aha!” said Hy, “he comes! Never mind the hour, my boy! I take off my hat. You're better than I am--better than I! A _soupçon_ of speed, ol' dear!”' Peter dropped limply into the Morris chair. “What's the matter?” said Hy, observing him more closely. “You look done. Where's Sue?” Peter composed himself. “I left Sue a long while ago. Hours ago.” “What on earth have you been doing?” “Exactly what I promised you I'd do.” This was a new, an impressive Peter. “I don't get you--” “You said Sue might not listen to my warning.” “Oh--and she didn't?” “She did not.” “And you--oh, you said you'd go to Zanin...” “As man to man, Hy.” “Good lord, you haven't... Pete, you're limping! You didn't fight!...”