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There had been times lately when； upon his tree bench； he would try to dramatize Mrs。 Patterson as a woman with a soft heart under that polished society exterior； chilled by daily contact with other society people at the Iowa or Kansas or other society picnics； yet ready to melt at the true human touch。 But he had never quite succeeded in this bit of character work。 Something told him that she was cold all through； a society woman without a flaw in her armour。 He could not make her seem to listen patiently while he explained that only one company was now shooting on the lot； but that big things were expected to be on in another week or so。 A certain skeptic hardness was in her gaze as he visioned it。
He decided； indeed； that he could never bring himself even to attempt this scene with the woman； so remote was he from seeing her eye soften and her voice warm with the assurance that a few weeks more or less need not matter。 The room rent； he was confident； would have to be paid strictly in advance so long as their relations continued。 She was the kind who would insist upon this formality even after he began to play； at an enormous salary； a certain outstanding part in the Hazards of Hortense。 The exigencies； even the adversities； of art would never make the slightest appeal to this hardened soul。 So much for that。 And daily the hoard waned。
Yet his was not the only tragedy。 In the waiting room； where he now spent more of his time； he listened one day to the Montague girl chat through the window with the woman she called Countess。
〃Yeah； Pa was double…crossed over at the Bigart。 He raised that lovely set of whiskers for Camillia of the Cumberlands and what did he get for it？just two weeks。 Fact！ What do you know about that？ Hugo has him killed off in the second spool with a squirrel rifle from ambush； and Pa thinking he would draw pay for at least another three weeks。 He kicked； but Hugo says the plot demanded it。 I bet； at that； he was just trying to cut down his salary list。 I bet that continuity this minute shows Pa drinking his corn out of a jug and playing a fiddle for the dance right down to the last scene。 Don't artists get the razz； though。 And that Hugo； he'd spend a week in the hot place to save a thin dime。 Let me tell you； Countess； don't you ever get your lemon in his squeezer。〃
There were audible murmurs of sympathy from the Countess。
〃And so the old trouper had to start out Monday morning to peddle the brush。 Took him three days to land anything at all； and then it's nothing but a sleeping souse in a Western bar…room scene。 In here now he issomething the Acme people are doing。 He's had three days； just lying down with his back against a barrel sleeping。 He's not to wake up even when the fight starts； but sleep right on through it； which they say will be a good gag。 Well； maybe。 But it's tough on his home。 He gets all his rest daytimes and keeps us restless all night making a new kind of beer and tending his still； and so on。 You bet Ma and I； the minute he's through with this piece； are going pronto to get that face of his as naked as the day he was born。 Pa's so temperamentallike that time he was playing a Bishop and never touched a drop for five weeks； and in bed every night at nine…thirty。 Me？ Oh； I'm having a bit of my own in this Acme pieceGod's Great Outdoors； I think it isanyway； I'm to be a little blonde hussy in the bar…room； sitting on the miners' knees and all like that； so they'll order more drinks。 It certainly takes all kinds of art to make an artist。 And next week I got some shipwreck stuff for Baxter； and me with bronchial pneumonia right this minute； and hating tank stuff； anyway。 Well； Countess； don't take any counterfeit money。 So long。〃
She danced through a doorway and was goneshe was one who seldom descended to plain walking。 She would manage a dance step even in the short distance from the castingoffice door to the window。 It was not of such material； Merton Gill was sure； that creative artists were moulded。 And there was no question now of his own utter seriousness。 The situation hourly grew more desperate。 For a week he had foregone the drug…store pie； so that now he recalled it as very wonderful pie indeed； but he dared no longer indulge in this luxury。 An occasional small bag of candy and as much sugar as he could juggle into his coffee must satisfy his craving for sweets。 Stoically he awaited the endsome end。 The moving…picture business seemed to be still on the rocks； but things must take a turn。
He went over the talk of the Montague girl。 Her father had perhaps been unfairly treated； but at least he was working again。 And there were other actors who would go unshaven for even a sleeping part in the bar…room scene of God's Great Outdoors。 Merton Gill knew one； and rubbed his shaven chin。 He thought； too； of the girl's warning about counterfeit money。 He had not known that the casting director's duties required her to handle money； but probably he had overlooked this item in her routine。 And was counterfeit money about？ He drew out his own remaining bill and scrutinized it anxiously。 It seemed to be genuine。 He hoped it was； for Mrs。 Patterson's sake； and was relieved when she accepted it without question that night。
Later he tested the handful of silver that remained to him and prayed earnestly that an increase of prosperity be granted to producers of the motion picture。 With the silver he eked out another barren week； only to face a day the evening of which must witness another fiscal transaction with Mrs。 Patterson。 And there was no longer a bill for this heartless society creature。 He took a long look at the pleasant little room as he left it that morning。 The day must bring something but it might not bring him back that night。
At the drug store he purchased a bowl of vegetable soup； loaded it heavily with catsup at intervals when the attendant had other matters on his mind； and seized an extra halfportion of crackers left on their plate by a satiated neighbour。 He cared little for catsup； but it doubtless bore nourishing elements； and nourishment was now important。 He crumpled his paper napkin and laid upon the marble slab a trifling silver coin。 It was the last of his hoard。 When he should eat next and under what circumstances were now as uncertain as where he should sleep that night； though he was already resolving that catsup would be no part of his meal。 It might be well enough in its place； but he had abundantly proved that it was not； strictly speaking； a food。
He reached the Holden studios and loitered outside for half an hour before daring the daily inquiry at the window。 Yet； when at last he did approach it； his waning faith in prayer was renewed； for here in his direst hour was cheering news。 It seemed even that his friend beyond the window had been impatient at his coming。
〃Just like you to be late when there's something doing！〃 she called to him with friendly impatience。 〃Get over to the dressing rooms on the double…quick。 It's the Victor people doing some Egyptian stuff they'll give you a costume。 Hurry along！〃
And he had lingered over a bowl of soggy crackers soaked； at the last； chiefly in catsup！ He hurried； with a swift word of thank