[CHAPTER XIII]
The Mighty Gristmille gave her no time to recover but plunged right ahead with his ethological processes concerning herself.
“The story of this picture which I am about to make in order that it may ring down the ages is soul-grasping and spirit stirring,” said the director to Verbeena in a greatly animated manner, “and that’s all you need to know about it in order to know about what you are doing. In fact, there’s no particular reason that you should know what you are doing. But,” he grasped her chin sharply and threw her head back with an artistic touch that jarred her teeth, “it is important that you do what I say. And don’t you try to do anything else unless you are ambitious to end your life as a canned chicken.”
“But——” stammered Verbeena who was beginning to suspect deep down after all she perhaps was really a girl.
“But nothing—and throw away that cigarette butt too. I’m not against cigarettes. All heroes and vamps smoke yards of ’em on orders. But in this scene you’re a sweet thing—just a sweet thing—though God knows if I’ll be able to prove it to the camera eye or anybody else.
“Here—take this rose—smell it.”
“It doesn’t smell at all,” said Verbeena.