d have lain
there and let it ring itself tired. But there is always the doubt when a
telephone bell calls peremptorily. He waited sulkily until the girl at
the switchboard in the office below settled down to prolong the siege.
Luck knew that girl would never quit now that she was sure he was in. He
crawled out again, this time dragging the bedspread with him for drapery.

"H'l-lo!" There was no compromise in his voice, which was guttural.

"Luck? This is Martinson. You are to retake all of the Bently Brown
pictures which you have made so far, under the personal supervision of
Bently Brown himself, who will pass upon all film before accepted by the
company. This is final."

"Martinson? This is Luck. You and Bently Brown and the Acme Film Company
can go where the heat's never turned off. This is final."

Whereupon Luck slammed the receiver into its brackets, trailed over to a
table and gleaned "the makings" from among the litter of papers,
programs, "stills," and letters, and rolled himself a much-needed smoke.
He was sorry chiefly because he had been compelled to use such mild
language over the telephone. It would be almost worth a trip to the
office just to tell Martinson without stint what he thought of him and
all his works.

He crawled back into bed and smoked his cigarette with due regard for the
bedclothes, and wondered what kind of a fool they took him for if they
imagined for one minute that he would produce so much as a sub-title
under the personal supervision of Bently Brown.

After awhile it occurred to him that, unless he relented from his final
statement to Martinson, he was a young man out of a job, but that did not
worry him much. Of course, if he left the Acme Company, he would have to
look around for an opening somewhere else, where he could take his Happy
Family and maybe produce....

Right there Luck got up and unlocked his trunk, which was also his chest
of treasures, and found the carbon copy of his range scenario. He had
not named it yet. In thinking of it and in talking about it with the
boys he had been content to call it his Big Picture. If he could place
himself and his Big Picture and his boys with some company that would
appreciate the value of the combination, his rupture with the Acme
Company would be simply a bit of good luck. While he huddled close to
the radiator that was beginning to hiss and rumble encouragingly, he
glanced rapidly over the meagerly described scenes which were to