Amidst the bustling crowds at the Gare St. Lazare the other Sunday evening sauntered leisurely a little man with sparkling eyes. He wore a mackintosh, and over one shoulder was slung his race glasses. Nobody turned to look at him, yet millions pay to do so most nights of the year. How strange! The man, as readers may have guessed, was no other than Max Linder. He must have had a bad day on the course, for never have I seen him look so gloomy. Parisian Notes. By John Cher. (The Bioscope, Aug. 21st 1913)