"Shall I write another one?" Minnie asked, ashamed under his scrutiny.
"No, never mind." Then Binns slunk deeply into his chair and puffed at his cigarette for several moments before he asked her, completely ignoring what Al had said to him. "Had any experience?"
"Yes, sir."
"What studios?"
"The Biograph Studio, and once over to the Vitagraph Studio."
"Ever given a part to play?"
"Yes—no, sir. I'm an extra girl."
"I see you are."
Behind the mask of his disconcerting immobility, his keen, incisive mind built up this index: Features good. Eyes will screen well. Posture bad, but figure attractive. Hair negative, will go black and uninteresting. Vain and arrogant if she gets by. She's lying about the experience. But she's better than the average, has possibilities, no intelligence or ability, but if handled right could seem to have them all. She might be a bet, I'll let her get by.
While he was making these mental calculations the ticking of the clock irritated Minnie almost to the point of an hysterical outburst. It was a sudden let-down when he spoke again. "Who's going to help you make up?"
Al stepped forward with something of his familiar poise. "When she gets it on, I'll be glad to look her over, Mr. Binns."
"I thought so."
Al's shifty eyes narrowed at the sting of sarcasm, but he dared make no protest. "Miss Flynn's brought a dress along in case you can use her in the ballroom scene that Bacon is shooting today."
