“Tut, tut, Tony. Something has turned up.” Pop was actually twinkling. “As a matter of fact, this relieves me from a distressing predicament. I was going to ask you for my release if you could let me go without putting the show in a hole. I have friends in Cleveland and there’s a part coming up. To be exact, it has come up. A character part that’s a lead. Something of a tear-jerker—_Sunset of Life_. The part’s waiting for me. How soon could I be released?” “Friday week.” “This is providential, Tony. They’d like me to be at Cleveland Saturday week. Actually providential.” Joe’s heart lifted. This couldn’t be front. This was too real, too sincere. Tony had his hat and coat; Tony was booming again. “Then everything’s jake, Pop? I’m auditioning a specialty for the Sunday night variety. If I’m not back by five, Joe, run along. I’ll be seeing you, Pop.” Tony was gone. The lift in Joe’s heart became song. “Mr. Bartell, that’s swell.” “All but the ride to Cleveland,” Pop Bartell said whimsically. “I had ten years of one-night stands, Joe; I could live happily without ever seeing a railroad. In case I don’t get over this way again”—his hand made a sweep—“_au revoir_, Joe, and lots of good luck.” “Send me your notices,” Joe said eagerly. “From what I’ve been told, Joe, this new show should get some nice notices. Some very nice notices.” Youthful and light of step the veteran walked out of the office. Joe Carlin’s lips were parted in breathless exultation. Kicked out of one show and stepping right into another. Oh, but this was grand! This was one of those moments that paid for the heartache of the bread-and-butter hunt. Without warning the strain of the day took its toll and his nerves were limp and ragged. He went to the cooler, but water was flat. What he needed was a quick pick-up, coffee hot and strong. He went along the corridor through which Tony and Pop had preceded him and paused at the reception-desk. “I’ll be back in five min—” His voice went dead. Pop Bartell stood near the elevators staring into vacancy. The mouth of the girl at the desk opened to ask a question and Joe touched her arm for silence. Abruptly Pop roused from his abstraction and stepped toward the elevators. There was no change in his jaunty, youthful stride. He touched a button. A down light flashed and he moved over toward the indicated door. And then, in the interval of waiting, a quick, sick change took place in him. Suddenly he seemed to shrink and to sag. His coat wrinkled like an old coat across the shoulders, and his head drooped as though there was no longer strength to hold it upright. An elevator stopped, and he entered it with a faltering, uncertain step. All in an instant he was a beaten, broken, hopeless old man. “What did you say, Mr. Carlin?” the girl asked. “Nothing,” Joe said hoarsely.