He wondered if by any chance Mr.Henshaw would call upon him to do a quadruple transition, hate, fear, love, despair.

He practised a few transitions as he went on to press his evening clothes in the Patterson kitchen, and to dream, that night, that he rode his good old pal, Pinto, into the gilded cabaret to carry off Muriel Mercer, Broadway's pampered society pet, to the clean life out there in the open spaces where men are men.
At eight the following morning he was made up in a large dressing room by a grumbling extra who said that it was a dog's life plastering grease paint over the maps of dubs.

He was presently on Stage Four in the prescribed evening regalia for gentlemen.

He found the cabaret set, a gilded haunt of pleasure with small tables set about an oblong of dancing floor.

Back of these on three sides were raised platforms with other tables, and above these discreet boxes, half masked by drapery, for the seclusion of more retiring merry-makers.