FOR a week Minnie arrived at the studio every morning at eight o'clock and remained until late in the afternoon, sitting, white-faced, in the waiting room adjoining Binns' office. There was no work for her, the office boy told her several times a day, and Binns refused to grant her an interview. Many times she tried to see Letcher but somehow or other he was successful in dodging her.
On the second day, Mrs. Lee had come into the waiting room and from her Minnie learned that Eleanor and Al Kessler were working at one of the New York studios called The Vitagraph. For two days they sat there side by side, Mrs. Lee's volubility checked by that dread atmosphere of uncertainty.
Sometimes the room was so overheated that the air became stagnant. A nasty moisture lay upon the red walls like the coating on a tongue. Often it was dismally cold, with a dank odor. Old people, young people, children; a solemn procession continually filed in and out again, and Minnie noticed how many wan, haggard, desperate faces there were among them.
What nights she passed at home! . . . The memory of them rose before her like so many distorted and hideous dreams. She closed her eyes to shut out the vision of Nettie's leering face, and her mother's, swollen with weeping. On the night that Eleanor had sent a note asking for five dollars more and warning her not to forget her bi-weekly
