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to kindle the eye of a director needing genuine brushes。 In the early morning light he fingered a somewhat gaunt chin and wondered how long 〃they〃 would require to grow。 Not yet could he be taken for one of those actors compelled by the rigorous exactions of creative screen art to let Nature have its course with his beard。 At present he merely needed a shave。
And the collar had not improved with usage。 Also； as the day wore on； coffee with one egg proved to have been not long…enduring fare for this private in the army of the unemployed。 Still； his morale was but slightly impaired。 There were always ways； it seemed。 And the later hours of the hungry afternoon were rather pleasantly occupied in dwelling upon one of them。
The sole guest of the Crystal Palace Hotel entered the hostelry that night somewhat earlier than was usual； indeed at the very earliest moment that foot traffic through the narrow street seemed to have diminished to a point where the entry could be effected without incurring the public notice which he at these moments so sincerely shunned。 After a brief interval inside the lobby he issued from his window with certain objects in hand； one of which dropped as he clambered out。 The resulting clamour seemed to rouse far echoes along the dead street； and he hastily withdrew； with a smothered exclamation of dismay； about the nearest corner of the building until it could be ascertained that echoes alone had been aroused。
After a little breathless waiting he slunk down the street； keeping well within friendly shadows； stepping softly； until he reached the humble cabin where so lately the honest miners had enacted their heart…tragedy。 He jerked the latch…string of the door and was swiftly inside； groping a way to the fireplace。 Here he lighted matches； thoughtfully appropriated that morning from the cafeteria counter。 He shielded the blaze with one hand while with the other he put to use the articles he had brought from his hotel。
Into a tin cooking pot with a long handle he now hastily ladled well…cooked beans from the discarded heap in the fireplace； by means of an iron spoon。 He was not too careful。 More or less ashes accompanied the nutritious vegetables as the pot grew to be half full。 That was a thing to be corrected later； and at leisure。 When the last bean had been salvaged the flame of another match revealed an unsuspected itema half…loaf of bread nestled in the ashes at the far corner of the fireplace。 It lacked freshness； was； in truth； withered and firm to the touch； but doubtless more wholesome than bread freshly baked。
He was again on his humble cot in the seclusion of the Crystal Palace Hotel。 Half…reclining； he ate at leisure。 It being inadvisable to light matches here he ate chiefly by the touch system。 There was a marked alkaline flavour to the repast； not unpleasantly counteracted by a growth of vegetable mould of delicate lavender tints which Nature had been decently spreading over the final reduction of this provender to its basic elements。 But the time was not one in which to cavil about minor infelicities。 Ashes wouldn't hurt any one if taken in moderation； you couldn't see the mould in a perfectly dark hotel； and the bread was good。
The feast was prolonged until a late hour； but the fingertips that had accurately counted money in a dark pocket could ascertain in a dark hotel that a store of food still remained。 He pulled the blankets about him and sank comfortably to rest。 There was always some way。
Breakfast the next morning began with the promise of only moderate enjoyment。 Somehow in the gray light sifting through the windows the beans did not look as good as they had tasted the night before； and the early mouthfuls were less blithesome on the palate than the remembered ones of yesterday。 He thought perhaps he was not so hungry as he had been at his first encounter with them。 He delicately removed a pocket of ashes from the centre； and tried again。 They tasted better now。 The mould of tender tints was again visible but he made no effort to avoid it。 For his appetite had reawakened。 He was truly hungry； and ate with an entire singleness of purpose。
Toward the last of the meal his conscious self feebly prompted him to quit； to save against the inevitable hunger of the night。 But the voice was ignored。 He was now clay to the moulding of the subconscious。 He could have saved a few of the beans when reason was again enthroned； but they were so very few that he fatuously thought them not worth saving。 Might as well make a clean job of it。 He restored the stewpan and spoon to their places and left his hotel。 He was fed。 To…day something else would have to happen。
The plush hat cocked at a rakish angle； he walked abroad with something of the old confident swagger。 Once he doubtfully fingered the sprouting beard； but resolutely dismissed a half…formed notion of finding out how the Holden lot barber would regard a proposition from a new patron to open a charge account。 If nothing worse than remaining unshaven was going to happen to him； what cared he？ The collar was still pretty good。 Why let his beard be an incubus？ He forgot it presently in noticing that the people arriving on the Holden lot all looked so extremely well fed。 He thought it singular that he should never before have noticed how many well…fed people one saw in a day。
Late in the afternoon his explorations took him beyond the lower end of his little home street； and he was attracted by sounds of the picture drama from a rude board structure labelled the High Gear Dance Hall。 He approached and entered with that calm ease of manner which his days on the lot had brought to a perfect bloom。 No one now would ever suppose that he was a mere sightseer or chained to the Holden lot by circumstances over which he had ceased to exert the slightest control。
The interior of the High Gear Dance Hall presented nothing new to his seasoned eye。 It was the dance…hall made familiar by many a smashing five…reel Western。 The picture was； quite normally； waiting。 Electricians were shoving about the big light standards； cameras were being moved； and bored actors were loafing informally at the round tables or chatting in groups about the set。
One actor alone was keeping in his part。 A ragged； bearded； unkempt elderly man in red shirt and frayed overalls； a repellent fell hat pulled low over his brow； reclined on the floor at the end of the bar； his back against a barrel。 Apparently he slept。 A flash of remembrance from the Montague girl's talk identified this wretched creature。 This was what happened to an actor who had to peddle the brush。 Perhaps for days he had been compelled to sleep there in the interests of dance…hall atmosphere。
He again scanned the group； for he remembered； too； that the Montague girl would also be working here in God's Great Outdoors。 His eyes presently found her。 She was indeed a blonde hussy； short… skirted； low…necked； pitifully rouged； depraved beyond redemption。 She stood at the end of the piano； and in company with another of the dance…hall girls who played the accompaniment； she was singing a ballad the refrain of which he caught as 〃God calls them Angels in Heaven； we call them Mothers here。〃