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 will please see Mrs. Letts before going downstairs," he said. "Kindly report on the stage as soon as possible."

No loud voice, no freshness, no slamming of doors as he went out. What a strange fellow for an assistant, Minnie thought. Were there others like him in the movies?

She followed a group of girls hurrying toward the wardrobe room where Mrs. Letts held court. She didn't keep them long, merely looked them over, tied a sash here, adjusted a corsage of imitation flowers there, removed superfluous false jewelry, hair ornaments, a diamond stomacher from one girl, huge flaring buckles from the slippers of another, and so on down the line until she came to Minnie. She leaned back and smiled approvingly.

"I don't think I've ever seen you before," she said warmly, "that's a very pretty gown, dear. A little elaborate—but nice lines. Mr. Dorsey's set, of course."

"I don't think so," Minnie answered, "the man downstairs said the director's name was Porter." With a nod of triumph, "I'm going to play in Mary Pickford's picture."

Mrs. Letts threw up her hands and uttered an exclamation, "But someone has made a mistake!" she cried. "It's an afternoon tea."

"That's it," cried Minnie eagerly, "that's what I'm to be in."

"But, my dear," protested Mrs. Letts, "look at the gown you've got on."

Minnie's words were almost inaudible, "What's the matter with it? Ain't it good enough? It cost sixty-seven dollars at a sale. It photographs swell. I"

"It's an evening gown," interrupted Mrs. Letts, "don't you know that you can't wear a gown like that to an afternoon tea?"

"Oh, my Lord," and Minnie reached over to grasp Mrs.