Carpenter signed to me and to Everett, the secretary, and the four of us went out of the room.  I was as much mystified as the picture magnate, but I held my peace, and Carpenter led us to the elevator, and down to the street.  “No,” said he, to T-S, “there is no need to get into your car.  The place is just around the corner.”  And he put his arm in that of the magnate, and led him down the street—­somewhat to the embarrassment of his victim, for there was a crowd following us.  People had read the afternoon papers by now, and it was no longer possible to walk along unheeded, with a prophet only twenty-four hours from God, who healed the sick and quelled mobs before breakfast.  But T-S set his teeth and bore it—­hoping this might be the way to land his contract.

XXX

We turned the corner, and soon I saw what was before us, and almost cried out with glee.  It was really too good to be true!  Carpenter, in the course of his talks with strikers, had learned where their soup-kitchen was located, the relief-headquarters where their families were being fed; and he now had the sublime audacity to take the picture magnate to lunch among them!

The place was an empty warehouse, fitted with long tables, and benches made of planks that were old and full of splinters.  Here in rows of twenty or thirty were seated men and women and children, mixed together; before each one a bowl of not very thick soup, and a hunk of bread, and a tin cup full of hot brown liquid, politely taken for coffee.  It was a meal which would have been spurned by any of the “studio bums” of T-S’s mob-scenes; but now T-S was going to be a good sport, and sit on a splintery plank and eat it!

Nor was that all.  As we pushed our way into the place, Carpenter turned to the magnate, and without a trace of embarrassment, said:  “You understand, Mr. T-S, I have no money.  But we must pay—­”

“Oh, sure!” said T-S, quickly.  “I’ll pay!”

“Thank you,” said the other; and he turned to an official of the union with whom he had got acquainted in the course of the morning.  He introduced us all, not forgetting the secretary, and then said:  “Mr. T-S is the moving picture producer, and wants to have lunch with you, if you will consent.”

“Oh, sure!” said the official, cordially.

“He will pay for it,” added Carpenter.  “He has brought along a thousand dollars for that purpose.”

T-S started as if some one had struck him; and the official started too.  “WHAT?”

“He will pay a thousand dollars,” declared Carpenter.  “It is a fact, and you may tell the people, if you wish.”

“My Gawd, no!” cried T-S wildly.

But the official did not heed him.  He faced the crowd and stretched out his arms.  “Boys!  Boys!  This is Mr. T-S, the picture producer, and he’s come to lunch with us, and he’s going to pay a thousand dollars for it!”