He told her he had just put in a hard week on the Holden lot, where things were beginning to pick up. He was glad she had missed him, and he certainly had missed his comfortable room, because the accommodations on the lot were not of the best. In fact, they were pretty unsatisfactory, if you came right down to it, and he hoped they wouldn’t keep him there again. And, oh, yes--he was almost forgetting. Here was ten dollars--he believed there were two weeks’ rent now due. He passed over the money with rather a Clifford Armytage flourish. Mrs. Patterson accepted the bill almost protestingly. She hadn’t once thought about the rent, because she knew he was reliable, and he was to remember that any time convenient to him would always suit her in these matters. She did accept the bill, still she was not the heartless creature he had supposed her to be. As he bade her good-night at the door she regarded him closely and said, “Somehow you look a whole lot older, Mr. Armytage.” “I am,” replied Mr. Armytage. * * * * * * * Miss Montague, after parting with her protege had walked quickly, not without little recurrent dance steps--as if some excess of joy would ever and again overwhelm her--to the long office building on the Holden lot, where she entered a door marked “Buckeye Comedies. Jeff Baird, Manager.” The outer office was vacant, but through the open door to another room she observed Baird at his desk, his head bent low over certain sheets of yellow paper. He was a bulky, rather phlegmatic looking man, with a parrot-like crest of gray hair. He did not look up as the girl entered. She stood a moment as if to control her excitement, then spoke. “Jeff, I found a million dollars for you this morning.” “Thanks!” said Mr. Baird, still not looking up. “Chuck it down in the coal cellar, will you? We’re littered with the stuff up here.” “On the level, Jeff.” Baird looked up. “On the level?” “You’ll say so.” “Shoot!” “Well, he’s a small-town hick that saved up seventy-two dollars to come here from Goosewallow, Michigan, to go into pictures-took a correspondence course in screen--acting and all that, and he went broke and slept in a property room down in the village all last week; no eats at all for three, four days. I’d noticed him around the lot on different sets; something about him that makes you look a second time. I don’t know what it is-kind of innocent and bug-eyed the way he’d rubber at things, but all the time like as if he thought he was someone. Well, I keep running across him and pretty soon I notice he’s up against it. He still thinks he’s someone, and is very up-stage if you start to kid him the least bit, but the signs are there, all right. He’s up against it good and hard.