Pertell. "But don't run into danger, Russ. We've got lots of plays
yet to film."
"I won't," laughed the young operator, and as he went off after
Sandy, Ruth gazed after him with rather anxious eyes.
"I knew something like this would happen!" exclaimed Mr. Sneed,
gloomily. "That track thirteen----"
"Say, if you don't drop that you can look for another place!" cried
the manager, sharply. "Everything that happens you blame on that
silly superstition."
"And things aren't done happening yet, either," went on the "grouchy"
actor, but he took care not to let the manager hear him.
"To what low estate have I fallen!" soliloquized Wellington Bunn,
wiping his heated brow. He was wearing a slouch hat, instead of his
beloved silk one, and was attired in shabby garments, as befitted his
character of a farmhand. "The idea of a man who has played the
immortal Shakespearean characters falling so low as to consort with
wild bulls. Ah, it is pitiful--pitiful!" he murmured.
"You didn't consort mit dat bull very much!" put in Mr. Switzer, with
a cheerful laugh. "I saw you trying to git behint a corn stalk, to
consort mit 'im alretty yet!"
"Certainly, I did not wish to be trampled on," replied Mr. Bunn, with
dignity--that is, with as much dignity as he could muster under the
circumstances.
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