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^Vlore Than
Hunger
f •»
By Herman Petersen
Illustrated by
J. W. Collins, III
"But what made you go up?" she asked.
"Hunger," Neil North told her.
"What is there, my dear, that will make a man more desperate than hunger?"
HE had a murderous scowl on his freckled face, so murderous that people stopped to look after him as he went down the street. And he was muttering angrily, half aloud — "War! And pictures of war! Propaganda for future wars they're making, no less than that. I'll have no traffic with them — my belly be damned!"
Even for Hollywood it was a bright and sunny day; but about the sandy head of Neil North a black cloud settled, and fierce hunger gnawed within him. Ravenous hunger it was, that tore at him with the terrible fangs of emptiness and all but consumed him, bent him against the hurt beneath his tight belt so that he walked
with more of a stoop than usual to his tall, lanky form. For relief against the pangs he sucked greedily at a stubby, thick-stemmed pipe, cold and guiltless of tobacco, clenched between firm teeth and held in one corner of a thin-lipped mouth.
Not since the morning before had a morsel of food, nor drink more than a few swallows of water, found way to his painfully protesting stomach, and then but three small, hard doughnuts and a cup of bitter coffee; and now it was evening again, evening of the second day. He puffed quickly at his cold pipe. Twenty hours that stubby thing of black bowl and thick stem had been unwarmed by the burning of tobacco; for as he must
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