"Oh, it’ll go all right," barked the whiskey-throat of Halson. "It’ll go. All that’s worrying me is this blamed fool Hampstead. How in time I sawed him off on myself is more than I can tell. However, I’ve engaged a new heavy for next week." John groped dumbly out into the day. But in the sunshine his spirits rallied. "They can’t take this part away from me," he exulted and then croaked resolutely: "I’ll show ’em; I’ll show ’em yet. They’re bound to like me when they see my finished work." And that was what he kept saying to himself up to the very night of the first performance. But that significant occasion brought him face to face with another problem,—his make-up. The matter of costume was simple. It had been rented for a week from Goldstein’s. It was fearsomely contrived. The trousers were red. Varnished oilcloth leggings, made to slip on over his shoes, were relied upon to give the effect of top boots. The coat was of yellow, with spiked tails, with huge, leaf-like chevrons, with rows of large, superfluous buttons, and coils on coils of cord of gold. But make-up could not be hired from a costumer and put on like a mask. It was a matter of experience, of individuality, and of skill upon the part of the actor. All John knew of make-up he had read in the books and learned from those experimental daubs in which his features had been presented in his own barn-storming productions. The make-up of Ursus had been almost entirely a matter of excess of hair, acquired by a beard and a wig rented for the occasion. This, therefore, was really to be his first professional make-up, and Hampstead was blissfully determined that it should be a stunning achievement. In order that he might have plenty of time for experiment, the heavy man entered the dressing rooms at six o’clock, almost an hour and a half before any other actor felt it necessary to appear, and went gravely about his important task. First treating the pores of his face to a filling of cold cream,—all the books agreed in this,—John chose a dark flesh color from among his grease paints and proceeded to give himself a swarthy Spanish complexion. Judging that this swarthiness was too somber, he proceeded next to mollify it by the over-laying of a lighter flesh tint; but later, in an effort to redden the cheeks, he got on too much color and was under the necessity of darkening it again. Thus alternately lightening and darkening, experimenting and re-experimenting, seven o’clock found him with a layer of grease paint, somewhere about an eighth of an inch thick masking his features into almost complete immobility.