“We’re cast. You got to begin as an extra, anyhow. There’s nothing else to it, girlie——”
Something jerked his line; gingerly he lifted the rod, not “striking”; a plump trout fell from the hook into the water.
“Lost him, by jinx!” he exclaimed. “What the devil did I do that I hadn’t oughto I dunno?”
“You should jerk when a trout bites. You just lifted him out. You can’t hook a trout that way.... I hope you will be kind enough to give me your name and address, and help me to get into pictures.”
For a while he stood silent, re-baiting his hook. When he was ready he cast the line into the water, laid the rod on the bank, drew out and lighted a large, pallid cigar.
“Of course,” he remarked, “your parents are against your going into pictures.”
“My mother is dead. My stepmother only laughs at me.”
“How about papa?”
“He wouldn’t like it.”
“Same old scenario,” he said. “And I’ll give you the same old advice: if you got a good home, stay put. Have you?”