A NEW TRAIL
One genial morning a few days later the sun shone in across the desk of Baird while he talked to Merton Gill of the new piece. It was a sun of fairest promise. Mr. Gill's late work was again lavishly commended, and confidence was expressed that he would surpass himself in the drama shortly to be produced.
Mr. Baird spoke in enthusiastic terms of this, declaring that if it did not prove to be a knock-out—a clean-up picture—then he, Jeff Baird, could safely be called a Chinaman. And during the time that would elapse before shooting on the new piece could begin he specified a certain study in which he wished his actor to engage.
"You've watched the Edgar Wayne pictures, haven't you?"
"Yes, I've seen a number of them."
"Like his work?—that honest country-boy-loving-his-mother-and-little-sister stuff, wearing overalls and tousled hair in the first part, and coming out in city clothes and eight dollar neckties at the last, with his hair slicked back same as a seal?"
"Oh, yes, I like it. He's fine. He has a great appeal."
"Good! That's the kind of a part you're going to get in this new piece. Lots of managers in my place would say 'No—he's a capable young chap and has plenty of talent, but he lacks the experience to play an Edgar Wayne part.' That's what a lot of these wisenheimers would say. But me—not so. I believe you can get away with this part, and I'm going to give you your chance."
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