“I—­I hope you will be successful, Mr. Farrington,” said Ruth, faintly, not knowing what else to say.

“We shall be—­we must be—­I may say that we have got to be!” ejaculated the ex-Indian Bitters pedler.  “And I come to you, Miss Fielding, for your co-operation.”

“Mine?” gasped Ruth.

“Yes, Miss Fielding.  You are a coming writer of scenarios of a high character.  We geniuses must help each other—­we must keep together and refuse to further the ends of the sordid producers who would bleed us of our best work.”

This was rather wild talk, and Ruth did not understand it.  She said, frankly: 

“Just what do you mean, Mr. Farrington?  What do you want me to do?”

“Ah!  Practical!  I like to see you so,” said the man, with a flourish, drawing forth a document of several typewritten pages.  “I want you to read and sign this, Miss Fielding.  It is a contract with the Criterion Films—­a most liberal contract, I might say—­in which you bind yourself to turn over to us your scenarios for a term of years, we, meanwhile, agreeing to push your work and make you known to the public.”

“Oh, dear me!” gasped Ruth.  “I’m not sure I want to be so publicly known.”

“Nonsense!” cried the man, in amazement.  “Why! in publicity is the breath of life.  Without it, we faint—­we die—­we, worse—­we vegetate!”

“I—­I guess I don’t mind vegetating—­a—­a little,” stammered Ruth, weakly.

At that moment Mary Pease came racing down the walk.  She waved a letter in her hand and was calling Ruth’s name.

“Oh, Ruthie Fielding!” she called, when she saw Ruth with the man.  “Here’s a letter Mrs. Tellingham forgot to give you.  She says it came enclosed in one from Mr. Hammond to her.”

The excited girl stopped by Ruth, handed her the letter, and stared frankly at Mr. Amasa Farrington.  That person’s face began to redden as Ruth idly opened the unsealed missive.

Again a green slip fell out.  Mary darted toward it and picked it up.  She read the check loudly—­excitedly—­almost in a shriek!

“Goodness, gracious me, Ruthie Fielding!  Is Mr. Hammond giving you this money—­all this money—­for your very own?”

But Ruth did not reply.  She was scanning the letter from the president of the Alectrion Film Corporation.  Mr. Farrington was plainly nervous.

“Come, Miss Fielding, I am waiting for your answer,” he said stiffly.  “If you join the Criterion Films, your success is assured.  You are famous from the start——­”

Ruth was just reading a clause in Mr. Hammond’s kind and friendly letter: