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 grinning Rex gazing over his shoulder, and then started out.

As he entered the enormous studio, crowded with actors, stage-hands, carpenters building sets in various corners, producing a deafening racket with their hammers, he felt as though everybody were staring at him. As a consequence he could scarcely walk steadily. Rex guided him to the proper set and once he was there he found that no one was aware of his presence at all. The director, the camera-man, and the art director were in the midst of a heated argument. It can't be done, the camera-man was yelling. I ain't never done it before and anything I ain't never done nobody can do. I tell you it can, declared the art director, with the finality of a person who knew. Well, it won't be. See! put in the director, setting his square jaw high. Not if I have my way. And I'm going to have it. It's my job to arrange the sets. What do you think I'm getting paid more'n anybody else around here for? To argue with a bunch of fish? By God, I'll see you all in hell if you don't do what I want!

At this seemingly crucial moment—to Harold the men seemed on the verge of murder—, round a corner of the scenery, set to represent a moving picture art director's idea of a somewhat flashy Parisian apartment, Harold saw Zimbule approaching, leading a leopard by a silver chain. She was wear-