and
he'd find a way to break the furniture."

There was never a part that "Doug" Fairbanks lay down on. To every role
he brought joy and interest and enthusiasm, and the night came
inevitably that saw his name in electric letters.

It is not claimed that his work as a star "elevated" the drama, but it
may safely be claimed that he never appeared in any play that was not
wholesome, stimulating, and helpful.

Nothing was more natural than that the movies should seek such an actor,
and they set the trap with attractive bait.

"Come over to us," they said, "and we'll let you do anything you want.
Outside of poison gas and actual murder, the sky's the limit."

Without even waiting to kick off his shoes, "Doug" Fairbanks made a
dive.

The movie magnates got what they wanted, and Fairbanks got what he
wanted. For the first time in his life he was able to "let go" with all
the force of his dynamic individuality, and he took full advantage of
the opportunity.

In "The Lamb," his first adventure before the camera, he let a
rattlesnake crawl over him, tackled a mountain lion, jiu-jitsued a bunch
of Yaqui Indians until they bellowed, and operated a machine-gun.

In "His Picture in the Papers," he was called upon to run an automobile
over a cliff, engage in a grueling six-round go with a professional
pugilist, jump off an Atlantic liner and swim to the distant shore, mix
it up in a furious battle royal with a half dozen husky gunmen, leap
twice from swiftly moving trains, and also to resist arrest by a squad
of Jess Willards dressed up in police uniforms.

"The Half-Breed" carried him out to California, and, among other things,
threw him into the heart of a forest fire that had been carefully
kindled in the redwood groves of Calaveras County. Amid a rain of
burning pine tufts, and with great branches falling to the ground all
around him, "Douggie" was required to dash in and save the gallant
sheriff from turning into a cinder. Hair and eyelashes grew out again,
however, his blisters healed, and in a few days he was as good as new.

"The Habit of Happiness" was rich in stunts that would have made even
Battling Nelson turn to tatting with a sigh of relief. Five gangsters,
sicked on to their work by the villain, waylaid our hero on the stairs,
and in the rough-and-tumble that followed, it was his duty to beat each
and every one of them into a state of coma. He performed his task so
conscientiously that his hands were swollen for a week, not to mention
his eyes and nose. As for the five extra men who posed as the gangsters,
all came to the conclusion that dock-walloping was far less strenuous
than art, and went back to their former jobs.

"The Good Bad Man" was a Western picture that contained a thrill to
every foot of film. Our hero galloped over mountains, jumping from crag
to crag, held up an express train single-handed in order to capture the
conductor's ticket-punch, grappled with gigantic desperadoes every few
minutes, shot up a saloon, and was dragged around for quite a while at
the end of a lynching party's rope.

"Reggie Mixes In" was one joyous round of assault and battery from
beginning to end. Happening to fall in love with a dancer in a Bowery
cabaret, _Reggie_ puts family and fortune behind him and takes a job as
"bouncer" so as to be near his lady-love. Aside from his regular duties,
he is required to work overtime on account of the hatred of a
gang-leader who also loves the girl. Five scoundrels jump _Reggie_, and,
after manhandling four, he drops from a second-story window to the neck
of the fifth, and chokes him with hands and legs. After which he carries
the senseless wretch down the street, and gaily flicks him, as it were,
through a window at the villain's feet. As a tasty little finish,
_Reggie_ and his rival lock themselves in an empty room, and engage in a
contest governed by packing-house rules.

Three days after the combat, by the way, the company