Our one automobile deposited its quota--Mr. Griffith and party--in San Juan Capistrano in the late afternoon. The evening train brought the rest of the actors. There was one little Inn, the Mendelssohn--now fixed up and boasting all modern conveniences; then merely an airy wooden structure evidently built under the prevailing delusion that southern California has a tropical climate. There was a tiny office; the only parlor, the proprietor’s personal one, which he was kind enough to let us use. He had a stove and it felt mighty good to get warmed up nights before turning in. The bedrooms were upstairs. To reach them you had to go out in the yard, the back-yard, climb the rickety stairs to the porch, on to which each little bedroom by means of its own little door, opened. The bare-floored bedrooms were just large enough to hold a creaky double bed, wash-bowl and pitcher, and a chair. We must see the Mission before dinner. The idea of dinner didn’t thrill us much, and the thought of going to bed thrilled us less. But why expect the beauty of old things and modern comfort too? The thought of seeing old San Juan in the dim light of early evening should have sufficed. Beautiful old ruin! The peace and the silence! We might have been in the Sahara. Every member of the company was to work in this picture. There were no more than ten little bedrooms in the hotel. Actors slept everywhere, two and three in a bed; even the parlor had to be fixed up with cots. Miss Leonard and others of the women had been domiciled in a neighborly Spanish house--the only other available decent quarters. Dell Henderson, who had put himself wise to the arrangement of sleeping partners, had copped little Jack Pickford as his bedfellow. Dell was one of our very largest actors and Jack being about as big as a peanut, Dell had figured that with the little fellow by his side he might be able to catch forty winks during the night. Few of us managed to get unbroken winks. Between the creaking of one’s own bed and the snores from other rooms down the line (the walls were like paper) and the footsteps on the shaking porch, of actors going from room to room looking for something better than what had been allotted them, it was a restful night! All through it, at intervals, Charlie Craig kept calling to his bedfellow, “Don’t squash me--don’t squash me.” But the most disgruntled of all was Sennett. To every room he came calling “Hey, how many in this bed? Who’s in there? Got three in my bed; I can’t sleep three in a bed.” But responses were few and faint, and from Dell Henderson’s room came only silence. So after waiting in vain for help in his difficulty, and thoroughly disgusted, Mack returned to what must have been very chummy quarters.