Then, with six mighty strides (three minutes twenty seconds had elapsed—forty seconds was left), Lee was back on the battlefield, looking into his pouch. There were bullets! Courtesy of the Liberty Loan extended by the handsome man-about-town. All it took was a few shots from his rifle, some quick work with the bayonet, and Lee had surrounded a whole platoon of Boche soldiers and was awaiting his medal.

His mission accomplished, he furloughed in Paris, where he sat in a café, toasting his comrades, and then the big surprise ending like a dream: who should run to his side but his mother, who was so worried about him that she had actually shipped herself to Europe. The end.

“Four minutes!” cried the prompter, and then it was over.

Lee stood alone onstage. He had an uncontainable feeling of joy. Toward the end, he had forgotten himself and had become everyone, all those sacrificing, all those fighting, everyone in the audience. It was as if he were an empty vessel and the rest of the world could imagine themselves being him. He hadn’t known it would feel so rich.

There was silence. He was trying to control his breathing, which had gotten out of hand with all his exertions. The ending, in particular, had almost made him cry real tears.

He heard clapping. It was one pair of hands. George Barnes had stood, and was giving Lee a solo ovation. The others stared at him. But Barnes would not be dissuaded. He began a whispered consultation with his peers: Lee Duncan was just what they were looking for.

“We didn’t understand half of what he was doing. Mr. Sims, did you understand what he was doing?”

“I liked the kick to the face.”

Mrs. Geary frowned. “I thought he was swimming.”

“It doesn’t matter if we understand it,” Barnes said firmly. “The camera will.”

“I thought gestures on camera were supposed to be smaller than those onstage,” Tonkovich said, hesitating.

“No,” said Barnes.

“He’s meant to be onstage,” Mrs. Geary said.

“Exactly. Do you want to be the one who tells Mr. McAdoo we could have had Lee Duncan for our cause, but Famous Players–Lasky got him instead?”

This was logic no one could argue with. Unless Lee Duncan was nabbed now, he would be chloroformed and kidnapped off the streets by ruthless talent scouts who would deliver him to Adolph Zukor, posthaste.

“Mr. Duncan,” said Mrs. Geary, “the board has made its decision. And you need to know this is highly unusual, but we want you to know right now that you have been accepted as a Four Minute Man.”

His eyes lit up. “Are you serious? Really? Seriously?”

“We’re most serious. Mr. Tonkovich will administer the oath, and …” She had more to say, but Lee hardly heard. At first, this was because he was almost drowning, swamped by the uncommon feeling of having all of his dreams come true.