anxiety. Suppose they had told him that he wouldn't do? And he had
studied the lessons with unswerving determination. Night and day he
had held to his ideal. He knew that when you did this your hour was
bound to come.

He yawned now, thinking, instead of the anger expressions he should
have been practising, of the sordid things he must do to-morrow. He
must be up at five, sprinkle the floor, sweep it, take down the dust
curtains from the shelves of dry goods, clean and fill the lamps,
then station outside the dummies in their raiment. All day he would
serve customers, snatching a hasty lunch of crackers and cheese
behind the grocery counter. And at night, instead of twice watching
The Hazards of Hortense, he must still unreasonably serve late
customers until the second unwinding of those delectable reels.

He suddenly sickened of it all. Was he not sufficiently versed in
the art he had chosen to practise? And old Gashwiler every day
getting harder to bear! His resolve stiffened. He would not wait
much longer--only until the savings hidden out under the grocery
counter had grown a bit. He made ready for bed, taking, after he had
undressed, some dumb-bell exercises that would make his shoulders a
trifle ire like Harold Parmalee's. This rite concluded, he knelt by
his narrow cot and prayed briefly.

"Oh, God, make me a good movie actor! Make me one of the best! For
Jesus'sake, amen!"