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TED
By LeBERTHON
of the ascetic islander the sybaritic Harry Myers !
At the end of the scene they were cinemashooting, he loped over to me and ventured the suspicion that I was hovering about to hold profound and lordly speech with him. My silence betrayed my guilt.
"Well," he began, "as long as the world has signified its curiosity by sending an envoy, I will inform the peoples of all quarters of this absurd planet, that I am the hardest worked 'artist' in our magnificent Hollywood film
colony."
"H o w and w h y ?" I hazarded, shifting slightly away from the windward.
He thrust upon me a look of
Said Harry Myers: "I am the hardest worked 'artist' in our magnificent Hollywood film colony. I'm in every scene but seven, and I'll say there's three thousand scenes before the final flicker in the thirty-sixth reel!"
goat-ski n's
superb contempt and pity.
"Dont you know that the story of Robinson Crusoe is based on the contention that a man can live without human aid ?"
I nodded affirmatively, in my usual dissimulative manner.
"Well, Robinson Crusoe, or anybody else, can live better without than with human aid. He was far better off than his twentieth-century incarnation, yours truly. Why, he didn't have to keep an eye on a realistic director, a studio menagerie, poniard-hurling descendants of the Aztecs, and indiscriminating cactus," exclaimed the disguised Myers, in sonorous tones that issue from the very recesses of his goat
seenled to innermost skins. Having
nothing to say, my profound and
silence was ubiquitous.
He continued, "This naive Universal bunch went down and earnestly looked me over in 'The Connecticut Yankee.' They saw how hectic an existence was mine in those dozen, nerve-racking, neck-breaking reels ; and said to themselves : here's the hardworking peasant for us."
I smiled a nondescript smile.
He bent over and looked into my
eyes searchingly, as tho hoping
for a minute sign of intelligence
{Continued on page 117)
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