The dimly lit circular stairway leading to the dressing rooms drummed under a hundred scurrying feet. The walls reverberated with inarticulate voices. Strange faces, stark and white in their make-up, leapt out of the darkness. An atmosphere of ghostly unreality prevailed. It seemed to Minnie as if she were rushing through the chaos of a grotesque nightmare.
They paused outside a door on which there was a sign reading: Extras. Female.
"Here's where you're to make your change," said Al, handing her the paper parcel containing her party dress.
"Come on in there with me," pleaded Minnie, dreading to face a new world of hostile strangers.
"I can't," whispered Al, "it's against the rules. Only the assistant directors are allowed in the dressing rooms. You go in, take your place at one of the tables in front of a mirror, and put the make-up on just the way I showed you. If you get stuck, ask the girl next to you. That is—but maybe you'd better not. You've got to be awful careful who you confide in. The place is full of stool-pigeons and I'm scared to death that Binns'll get on to you."
"What'll I do when I get the make-up on? Shall I come out in the hall again?"
"No, wait there until I get hold of Letcher. He'll go in and look you over. He's Bacon's assistant director."
"Is he anything like Binns?" asked Minnie.
"I should say not," laughed Al, "he's as soft as mush. Big fat slob, just as fresh as he can be but he don't mean anything by it. Put the works on him, and he'll fall for you like a ton of bricks."
"How will I know him when he comes in to see me?"
"You'll know him all right," answered Al. "He's so loudmouthed you can hear him a city block. But remember, Min,
