place as if you were holding yourself above such things, even if you
do like to give the boys a good time. Now we'll try the entrance."

Cameras were put into place, and Merton Gill led through the front
door his band of rollicking good fellows. He paused inside to give
them bills from the paper sack. They scattered to their
dissipations. Their leader austerely posed at one end of the bar and
regarded the scene with disapproving eyes. Wine, women, and the
dance were not for him. He produced again the disillusioned look
that had won Henshaw.

"Fine," said Baird. "Gun it, boys."

The scene was shot, and Baird spoke again: "Hold it, everybody; go
on with your music, and you boys keep up the dance until Mother's
entrance, then you quit and back off."

Merton was puzzled by this speech, but continued his superior look,
breaking it with a very genuine shock of surprise when his old
mother tottered in at the front door. She was still the disconsolate
creature of the day before, bedraggled, sad-eyed, feeble, very aged,
and still she carried her bucket and the bundle of rags with which
she had mopped. Baird came forward again.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you. Of course you had your old mother follow
you out here to the great open spaces, but the poor old thing has
cracked under the strain of her hard life, see what I mean? All her
dear ones have been leaving the old nest and going out over the
hills one by one-you were the last to go-and now she isn't quite
right, see?