hrough would be actors that were now reaping the reward of their
struggle and sacrifice; actors whom he thrilled to recognize as old
screen friends. These would saunter in with an air of fine leisure,
and their manner of careless but elegant dress would be keenly noted by
Merton. Then there were directors. These were often less scrupulously
attired and seemed always to be solving knotty problems. They passed
hurriedly on, brows drawn in perplexity. They were very busy persons.
Those on the bench regarded them with deep respect and stiffened to
attention as they passed, but they were never observed by these great
ones.

The waiting ones were of all ages; mostly women, with but a sprinkling
of men. Many of the women were young or youngish, and of rare beauty,
so Merton Gill thought. Others were elderly or old, and a few would be
accompanied by children, often so young that they must be held on laps.
They, too, waited with round eyes and in perfect decorum for a chance
to act. Sometimes the little window would be pushed open and a woman
beckoned from the bench. Some of them greeted the casting director as an
old friend and were still gay when told that there was nothing to-day.
Others seemed to dread being told this, and would wait on without daring
an inquiry. Sometimes there would be a little flurry of actual business.
Four society women would be needed for a bridge table at 8:30 the next
morning on Stage Number Five. The casting director seemed to know the
wardrobe of each of the waiters, and would select the four quickly.
The gowns must be smart--it was at the country house of a rich New
Yorker--and jewels and furs were not to be forgotten. There might be two
days' work. The four fortunate ladies would depart with cheerful smiles.
The remaining waiters settled on the bench, hoping against hope for
another call.

Among the waiting-room hopefuls Merton had come to know by sight the
Montague family. This consisted of a handsome elderly gentleman of
most impressive manner, his wife, a portly woman of middle age, also
possessing an impressive manner, and a daughter. Mr. Montague always
removed his hat in the waiting room, uncovering an abundant cluster
of iron-gray curls above a noble brow. About him there seemed ever to
linger a faint spicy aroma of strong drink, and he would talk freely to
those sharing the bench with him. His voice was full and rich in tone,
and his speech, deliberate and precise, more than hinted that