“I declare!  I declare!” he murmured, over and over again.  “It is better than I thought.  A variety of scene, already for the action to be put into it!  Splendid!”

“And I am sure,” Ruth told him, “Uncle Jabez would not object to your filming the old place.  I could fix it for you.  He is not so difficult when once you know how to take him.”

“I may ask your good offices in that matter,” said Mr. Hammond.  “But not now.  Of course, Grimes could work up something in short order to fit these scenes here.  He’s excellent at that.  But I think the subject is worthy of better treatment.  I’d like a really big story, treated artistically, and one that would fit perfectly into the background of the Red Mill—­nothing slapdash and carelessly written, or invented on the spur of the moment by a busy director——­”

“Oh, Mr. Hammond!” cried Ruth, so excited now that she could no longer keep silent.  “I’d dearly love to write a moving picture scenario about the old mill.  And I’ve thought about it so much that I believe I could do it.”

“Indeed?” said Mr. Hammond, with one of his queer smiles.  “Did you ever write a scenario?”

“No, sir! but then, you know,” said Ruth, naively, “one must always do a thing for the first time.”

“Quite true—­quite true.  So Eve said when she bit into the apple,” and Mr. Hammond chuckled.

“I would just love to try it,” the girl continued, taking her courage in both hands.  “I have a splendid plot—­or, so I believe; and it is all about the Red Mill.  The pictures would have to be taken here.”

“Not in the winter, I fancy?” said Mr. Hammond.

“No, sir.  When it is all green and leafy and beautiful,” said Ruth, eagerly.

“Then,” said Mr. Hammond, more seriously, “I’d try my ’prentice hand, if I were you, on something else.  Don’t write the Red Mill scenario now.  Write some thrilling but simple story, and let me read it first——­”

“Oh, Mr. Hammond!” gasped Ruth, with clasped hands.  “Will you really read it?”

“Of course I will,” laughed the gentleman.  “No matter how bad it is.  That’s a promise.  Here is my card with my private address upon it.  You send it directly to me, and the first time I am at home I will get it and give it my best attention.  That’s a promise,” he repeated.

“Oh, thank you, sir!” murmured Ruth delightedly, smiling and dimpling.

He pinched her cheek and his eyes grew serious for a moment.  “I once knew a girl much like you, Miss Ruth,” he said.  “Just as full of life and enthusiasm.  You are a tonic for old fogies like me.”

“Old fogy!” repeated Ruth.  “Why, I’m sure you are not old, Mr. Hammond.”

“Never mind flattering me,” he broke in, with assumed sternness.  “Haven’t I already promised to read your scenario?”

“Yes, sir,” said Ruth, demurely.  “But you haven’t promised to produce it.”