When he awoke it was dark and quiet. For some moments he failed to recognize his whereabouts. Then he saw that stars were out in the California sky and that he was somewhere alone — no — he was held tight in someone’s arms. But the arms were of iron and he realized that he was still in the metallic¹ casing. And then it all came back to him — up to the moment when he heard the approach of the car.

As far as he could determine he was unhurt — but why out here and alone?

He struggled to get up but found it was impossible and after a horrified² moment he let out a cry for help. For five minutes he called out at intervals³ until finally a voice came from far away; and assistance arrived in the form of a studio policeman.

‘What is it fella? A drop too much?’

‘Hell no,’ cried Pat. ‘I was in the shooting this afternoon. It was a lousy trick to go off and leave me in this ditch.’

‘They must have forgot you in the excitement.’

‘Forgot me! I was the excitement. If you don’t believe me then feel what I got on!’

The cop helped him to his feet.

‘They was upset,’ he explained. ‘A star don’t break his leg every day.’

‘What’s that? Did something happen?’

‘Well, as I heard, he was supposed to drive the car at a bump and the car turned over and broke his leg. They had to stop shooting and they’re all kind of gloomy.’

‘And they leave me inside this — this stove. How do I get it off tonight? How’m I going to drive my car?’

But for all his rage Pat felt a certain fierce pride. He was Something in this set-up — someone to be reckoned with after years of neglect. He had managed to hold up the picture once more.

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