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 forgot whether Griffith makes movies or biscuits! Now—wait a minute, here's Hamilton."

He calls across the lot and Monsieur Hamilton steps away from some girls he was chattin' with and strolls over.

I liked this bird at the go in and I know the Kid did. Perhaps if it hadn't been for ravishin' Nada Nice we might of all become pals. It only goes to show how a good-looker can ball everything up, as Adam was heard to mutter on the ways out of the Garden of Eden.

Except for the telltale dent in his beak, Hamilton looked no more like a pug than the Kid did—in fact, they was much the same type. He was every bit as big as Roberts, about the same age, and with all his disarmin', white-toothed, kid grin he had a rugged business-like appearance. Hamilton looked genuinely tickled to shake hands with the world's champion and said so, and him and the Kid was gettin' along first-class, with little Van Dyke rubbin' his hands together and tellin' 'em to get used to each other, when along come Nada. Without no preliminaries she hooks her arm in Hamilton's, flashes him a dazzlin' smiile, and, completely ignorin' the rest of us, tells him to come on and show her the breathin' exercises he was tellin' her about. Hamilton gets a bit red, stammers a apology, hesitates—and she drags him off, flickin' a short, cold glance at the Kid. Van Dyke looks after 'em, frownin'.

"Eh—don't mind Nada, Kid, she's always that way," he says. "You know these stars—gotta humor 'em.