He walked back to where Tom still hung idly over the cigar case.

"Who is running this show outfit?"

"That big fellow writing at the table. His name 's Albrecht,"
suspiciously. "But see here, I tell you there ain't any use of your
hittin' him for 'comps'; he 's tighter than a drum."

"'Comps'? Oh, ye of little faith!" exclaimed Winston genially. "It is
n't 'comps' I 'm after, Tommy, it's a job."

Albrecht looked up from his writing, scowling somewhat under his
heavily thatched brows, and revealing a coarse face, with little
glinting eyes filled with low cunning. At that first glance Winston
instinctively disliked the fellow; yet he put his case in a few brief
sentences of explanation, and, as the other listened, the managerial
frown slightly relaxed.

"Actor?" he questioned laconically, when the younger man paused, his
glance wandering appreciatively over the sturdy, erect figure.

"Well, hardly that; at least, merely in an amateur way," and the
applicant laughed lightly. "You see, I imagined you might possibly
make use of me in some minor capacity until I learn more about the
business. I don't care very much regarding pay, but I desire to get a
taste of the life."

"Oxactly, mein frient." And the worthy Albrecht became almost briskly
cordial in manner. Perhaps here was an "angel" waiting to be plucked
in the holy name of art; at least, he appeared well dressed, looked