Gill. His face merely stared from the last money brought from
Simsbury, Illinois, and the stare was not reassuring. It seemed to say
that there was no other money in all the world. Decidedly things must
take a turn. Merton Gill had a quite definite feeling that he had
already struggled and sacrificed enough to give the public something
better and finer. It was time the public realized this.

Still he waited, not even again reaching the heart of things, for his
friend beyond the window had suffered no relapse. He came to resent a
certain inconsequence in the woman. She might have had those headaches
oftener. He had been led to suppose that she would, and now she
continued to be weary but entirely well.

More waiting and the ten-dollar bill went for a five and some silver. He
was illogically not sorry to be rid of Andrew Jackson, who had looked
so tragically skeptical. The five-dollar bill was much more cheerful. It
bore the portrait of Benjamin Harrison, a smooth, cheerful face adorned
with whiskers that radiated success. They were little short of smug
with success. He would almost rather have had Benjamin Harrison on five
dollars than the grim-faced Jackson on ten. Still, facts were facts. You
couldn't wait as long on five dollars as you could on ten.

Then on the afternoon of a day that promised to end as other days
had ended, a wave of animation swept through the waiting room and the
casting office. "Swell cabaret stuff" was the phrase that brought the
applicants to a lively swarm about the little window. Evening clothes,
glad wraps, cigarette cases, vanity-boxes--the Victor people doing
The Blight of Broadway with Muriel Mercer--Stage Number Four at 8:30
to-morrow morning. There seemed no limit to the people desired. Merton
Gill joined the throng about the window. Engagements were rapidly made,
both through the window and over the telephone that was now ringing
those people who had so long been told that there was nothing to-day.
He did not push ahead of the women as some of the other men did. He even
stood out of the line for the Montague girl who had suddenly appeared
and who from the rear had been exclaiming: "Women and children first!"

"Thanks, old dear," she acknowledged the courtesy and beamed through the
window. "Hullo, Countess!" The woman nodded briefly. "All right, Flips;
I was just going to telephone you. Henshaw wants you for some baby-vamp
stuff in the cabaret scene and in the gambling hell. Better we