the bell buttons above each apartment number. She hated the jangling
of the hall telephone, the scurrying to answer, the prodding of
whichever bell button would summon the tenant asked for by the caller.
She hated the meek little Filipino boy who swept that ugly hall every
morning. She hated the scrubby palms in front. She hated the pillars
where the paint was peeling badly. She hated the conflicting odours
that seeped into the atmosphere at certain hours of the day. She hated
the three old maids on the third floor and the frowsy woman on the
first, who sat on the front steps in her soiled breakfast cap and
bungalow apron. She hated the nervous tenant who occupied the
apartment just over her mother's three-room-and-bath, and pounded with
a broom handle on the floor when Lorraine practised overtime on
chromatic scales.

At eighteen Lorraine managed somehow to obtain work in a Western
picture, and being unusually pretty she so far distinguished herself
that she was given a small part in the next production. Her glorious
duty it was to ride madly through the little cow-town "set" to the
post-office where the sheriff's posse lounged conspicuously, and there
pull her horse to an abrupt stand and point quite excitedly to the
distant hills. Also she danced quite close to the camera in the
"Typical Cowboy Dance" which was a feature of this particular
production.

Lorraine thereby earned enough money to buy her fall suit and coat and
cheap furs, and learned to ride a horse at a gallop and to dance what
passed in pictures as a "square dance."

At nineteen years of age Lorraine Hunter, daughter of old Brit Hunter
of the TJ up-and-down, became a real "range-bred girl" with a real
Stetson hat of her own, a green corduroy riding skirt, gray flannel
shirt, brilliant neckerchief, boots and spurs. A third picture gave
her further practice in riding a real horse,--albeit an extremely
docile animal called Mouse with good reason. She became known on the
lot as a real cattle-king's daughter, though she did not know the name
of her father's brand and in all her life had seen no herd larger than
the thirty head of tame cattle which were chased past the camera again
and again to make them look like ten thousand, and which were so
thoroughly "camera broke" that they stopped when they were out of the
scene, turned and were ready to repeat the performance _ad lib_.

Had she lived her life on the Quirt ranch she would have known a g