You don't actually break down, but you nearly do." The scene was rehearsed again, to Baird's satisfaction, and the cameras ground.

Merton Gill gave the best that was in him.

His glad look at first beholding the old lady, the yearning of his eyes when his arms opened to enfold her, the tenderness of his embrace as he murmured soothing words, the lingering touch of his hand as he left her, the manly determination of the last look in which he showed a fresh resolve to release her from this toil, all were eloquent of the deepest filial devotion and earnestness of purpose.
Back at his desk he was genuinely pitying the old lady.

Very lately, it was evident, she had been compelled to play in a cabaret scene, for she smelled strongly of cigarettes, and he could not suppose that she, her eyes brimming with anguished mother love, could have relished these.
He was glad when it presently developed that his own was not to be a smoking part.
"Now the dissipated brother's coming on," explained Baird.

"He'll breeze in, hang up his hat, offer you a cigarette, which you refuse, and show you some money that he won on the third race yesterday.