Depositing Barnes' pack on a chair in the little bedroom at the end of
the hall upstairs, he favoured the guest with a perfectly unabashed
grin.

"I'm not doing this to oblige old man Jones, you know. I won't attempt
to deceive you. I'm working out a daily bread-bill. Chuck three times
a day and a bed to sleep in, that's what I'm doing it for, so don't
get it into your head that I applied for the job. Let me take a look
at you. I want to get a good square peep at a man who has the means to
go somewhere else and yet is boob enough to come to this gosh-awful
place of his own free will and accord. Darn it, you LOOK intelligent.
I don't get you at all. What's the matter? Are you a fugitive from
justice?"

Barnes laughed aloud. There was no withstanding the fellow's sprightly
impudence.

"I happen to enjoy walking," said he.

"If I enjoyed it as much as you do, I'd be limping into Harlem by this
time," said Mr. Dillingford sadly. "But, you see, I'm an actor. I'm
too proud to walk."

"Up against poor business, I presume?"

"Up against no business at all," said Mr. Dillingford. "We couldn't
even get 'em to come in on passes. Last Saturday night we had out
enough paper to fill the house and, by gosh, only eleven people showed
up. You can't beat that, can you? Three of 'em paid to get in. That