"I quite agree with you," said Mr. Merrick. "Do you wish me to buy that
film and prevent the picture's being shown?"

"Oh, no!" cried Patsy in protest. "I'm dying to see how we look. I
wouldn't have that picture sidetracked for anything."

"And you, Beth?"

"Really, Uncle John, the thing is not worth worrying over," replied his
niece. "I am naturally indignant at being drawn into such a thing against
my will, but I doubt if anyone who knows us, or whose opinion we value,
will ever visit a moving picture theatre or see this film. The common
people will not recognize us, of course."

You must not think Beth de Graf was snobbish or aristocratic because of
this speech, which her cousin Patsy promptly denounced as "snippy." Beth
was really a lovable and sunny-tempered girl, very democratic in her
tastes in spite of the fact that she was the possessor of an unusual
fortune. She was out of sorts to-day, resentful of the fright she had
endured that morning and in the mood to say harsh things.

Even Patricia Doyle had been indignant, at first; but Patsy's judgment
was clearer than her cousin's and her nature more responsive. She quickly
saw the humorous side of their adventure and could enjoy the recollection
of her momentary fear.

These two girls were spending the winter months in the glorious climate
of Southern California, chaperoned by their uncle and guardian, John
Merrick. They had recently established themselves at a cosy hotel in
Hollywood, which is a typical California village, yet a suburb of the