“Luck, you know I told you Brown wouldn’t consider—­”

“Say, Mart, get all those rambling words out of your system, and then call me up and tell me what I want to know!” And Luck hung up the receiver and went shivering back to bed.  From the things he said to himself, he was letting that temper of his run away with him in spite of Martinson’s warning.

He had just ceased having spasms of shivering, and had found his warm nest of the night, and was feeling glad that it was raining so that he could stay in bed as long as he liked, when the phone jingled shrilly again.  Had he been certain that it was Martinson, Luck would have lain there and let it ring itself tired.  But there is always the doubt when a telephone bell calls peremptorily.  He waited sulkily until the girl at the switchboard in the office below settled down to prolong the siege.  Luck knew that girl would never quit now that she was sure he was in.  He crawled out again, this time dragging the bedspread with him for drapery.

“H’l-lo!” There was no compromise in his voice, which was guttural.

“Luck?  This is Martinson.  You are to retake all of the Bently Brown pictures which you have made so far, under the personal supervision of Bently Brown himself, who will pass upon all film before accepted by the company.  This is final.”

“Martinson?  This is Luck.  You and Bently Brown and the Acme Film Company can go where the heat’s never turned off.  This is final.”

Whereupon Luck slammed the receiver into its brackets, trailed over to a table and gleaned “the makings” from among the litter of papers, programs, “stills,” and letters, and rolled himself a much-needed smoke.  He was sorry chiefly because he had been compelled to use such mild language over the telephone.  It would be almost worth a trip to the office just to tell Martinson without stint what he thought of him and all his works.

He crawled back into bed and smoked his cigarette with due regard for the bedclothes, and wondered what kind of a fool they took him for if they imagined for one minute that he would produce so much as a sub-title under the personal supervision of Bently Brown.

After awhile it occurred to him that, unless he relented from his final statement to Martinson, he was a young man out of a job, but that did not worry him much.  Of course, if he left the Acme Company, he would have to look around for an opening somewhere else, where he could take his Happy Family and maybe produce....

Right there Luck got up and unlocked his trunk, which was also his chest of treasures, and found the carbon copy of his range scenario.  He had not named it yet.  In thinking of it and in talking about it with the boys he had been content to call it his Big Picture.  If he could place himself and his Big Picture and his boys with some company that would appreciate the value of the combination, his rupture with the Acme Company would be simply a bit of good luck.  While he huddled close to the radiator that was beginning to hiss and rumble encouragingly, he glanced rapidly over the meagerly described scenes which were to his imagination so full of color.