He felt better after this chat with his old friend, and the
following morning he pressed a suit in the Patterson kitchen and
resumed his vigil outside the gate. But now from time to time, at
least twice a day, he could break the monotony of this by a call at
the little window.
Sometimes the woman beyond it would be engrossed with the telephone
and would merely look at him to shake her head. At others, the
telephone being still, she would engage him in friendly talk. She
seemed to like him as an occasional caller, but she remained
smilingly skeptical about his immediate success in the pictures.
Again and again she urged him not to forget the address of
Giggenholder or Gooshswamp or whoever it might be that was holding a
good job for him. He never failed to remind her that the name was
Gashwiler, and that he could not possibly forget the address because
he had lived at Simsbury a long time. This always seemed to brighten
the woman's day. It puzzled him to note that for some reason his
earnest assurance pleased her.
As the days of waiting passed he began to distinguish individuals
among the people who went through the little outer room or sat
patiently around its walls on the hard bench, waiting like himself
for more companies to start shooting.
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