TO THE VICTORS THE SPOILS
The Happy Family squirmed guiltily and made way for Applehead, who was sidling toward the open door, his face showing alarming symptoms of apoplexy. Their confusion Luck set down to a becoming modesty. He went on planning and perfecting details. Standing as he did on the threshold of a career to which his one big success had opened the door, he was wholly absorbed in making good.
There was nothing now to balk his progress, he told himself. He had his company, he had the location for his big range stuff, he had all the financial backing any reasonable man could want. He had a salary that in itself gauged the prestige he had gained among producers, and as an added incentive to do the biggest work of his life he had a contract giving him a royalty on all prints of his pictures in excess of a fixed number. Better than all this, he had big ideals and an enthusiasm for the work that knew no limitations.
Perhaps he was inclined to dream too big; perhaps he assumed too great an enthusiasm on the part of those who worked with him—I don't know just where he did place the boundary line. I do
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