"I'm to film Bently Brown's blood-and-battle stuff, am I ?" He grinned, with the corners of his mouth tipped downward so that you never would have suspected it of ever producing Luck's famous smile.

"I might turn them into comedy," he suggested.

"I expect I could get a punch by burlesquing--" "Punch!" Martinson pushed his chair back impetuously.

"Punch?
Why, my godfrey, man, that stuff's all punch!" Luck curved a palm over his too-expressive mouth while he skimmed the central idea from two or three synopses.

Martinson watched him uneasily.
Martinson claimed to keep one finger pressed firmly upon the public pulse--wherever that may be found--and to be ever alert for its warning flutterings.