Ben Gascon, it will be remembered, was at the time one of radio's highest paid performers, and well worthy of his hire for the fun he made. Earlier in life he had been a competent vaudeville artist. When, through no fault of his, vaudeville died, Gascon went into sound pictures and radio. He was a ventriloquist, adroit and seasoned by years of performance, and a man of intelligence and showmanship as well. Coming to the stage from medical school, he had constructed with his own skilful hands the small figure of wood, metal, rubber and cloth that had become known to myriads as Tom-Tom. Tom-Tom the impish, the witty, the leering cynic, the gusty little clown, the ironical jokester, who sat on the knee of Ben Gascon and, by a seeming misdirection of voice, roused the world to laughter by his sneers and sallies. Tom-Tom was so droll, so dynamic, so uproariously wicked in thought and deed, that listeners were prone to forget the seemingly quiet, grave, Ben Gascon who held him and fed him solemn lines on which to explode firecracker jokes--Ben Gascon, who really did the thinking and the talking that Tom-Tom the dummy might be a headliner in the entertainment world. Not really a new thing--the combination of comedian and stooge may or may not have begun with Aristophanes in ancient Greece--but Ben Gascon was offering both qualities in his own person, and in surpassing excellence. Press agents and commentators wrote fascinating conjectures about his dual personality. In any case, Tom-Tom was the making of him. It was frequently said that Gascon would be as lost without Tom-Tom as Tom-Tom without Gascon. But tonight Ben Gascon and Tom-Tom were putting on a show for an audience of one. Shannon Cole was the prima donna and co-star of the program. She was tall, almost as tall as Gascon, and her skin was delectably creamy, and her dark hair wound into a glossy coronet of braids. Usually she seemed stately and mournful, to match the songs of love and longing she sang in a rich contralto; but now she almost groaned with laughter as she leaned above the impudent Tom-Tom, who sat on the black broadcloth knee of Ben Gascon and cocked his leering wooden face up at her. Above Gascon's tuxedo his slender, wide-lined face was a dusky red. His lips seemed tight, even while they stealthily formed words for Tom-Tom. "Oh, Shanny," it seemed that Tom-Tom was crooning, in that ingratiating drawl that convulsed listeners from coast to coast, "don't you think that you and I might just slip away alone somewhere and--and--" The wooden head writhed around toward Gascon. "Get away, Gaspipe! Don't you see that I'm in conference with a very lovely lady? Can't you learn when you're not wanted?"