"Mr. Carpenter has just done me a great service," I explained. "I
got badly mauled in the mob--"
"Oh!" cried the other. "At the Excelsior Theatre!" Here was
something to talk about, to cover his bewilderment. "So you were in
it! I was watching them just now."
"Are they still at it?"
"Sure thing!"
"A fine set of boobs," I began--
"Boobs, nothing!" broke in the other. "What do you suppose they're
doing?"
"Saving us from Hun propaganda, so they told me."
"The hell of a lot they care about Hun propaganda! They are earning
five dollars a head."
"What?"
"Sure as you're born!"
"You really know that?"
"Know it? Pete Dailey was at a meeting of the Motion Picture
Directors' Association last night, and it was arranged to put up the
money and hire them. They're a lot of studio bums, doing a real mob
scene on a real location!"
"Well, I'll be damned!" I said. "And what about the police?"
"Police?" laughed the critic. "Would you expect the police to work
free when the soldiers are paid? Why, Jesus Christ----"
"I beg pardon?" said Carpenter.
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