“Good work, Kid! That’s a gag, all right. The little bean’s sparking on all six, ain’t it? Drop around again. We need folks like you. Now, listen, Rollo—you there, Rollo, come here and get this. Now, listen—when the fight begins—”
Merton Gill turned decisively away. Such coarse foolery as this was too remote from Beulah Baxter who, somewhere on that lot, was doing something really, as her interview had put it, distinctive and worth while.
He lingered only to hear the last of Baird’s instructions to Rollo and the absurd guests, finding some sinister fascination in the man’s talk. Baird then turned to the girl, who had also started off.
“Hang around, Flips. Why the rush?”
“Got to beat it over to Number Four.”
“Got anything good there?”
“Nothing that will get me any billing. Been waiting two hours now just to look frenzied in a mob.”
“Well, say, come around and see me some time.”
“All right, Jeff. Of course I’m pretty busy. When I ain’t working I’ve got to think about my art.”
“No, this is on the level. Listen, now, sister, I got another two reeler to pull off after this one, then I’m goin’ to do something new, see? Got a big idea. Probably something for you in it. Drop in t’ the office and talk it over. Come in some time next week. ‘F I ain’t there I’ll be on the lot some place. Don’t forget, now.”