“And then, to-day, Pop Bartell. That finished me. Sooner or later I’d have been finished, anyway. Vic says I feel too much. Maybe he’s right. I’m not sorry I tried show business. If I hadn’t, I’d probably always feel I’d thrown away a chance to see my name up in lights.” Smoke was a thick cloud around Tom Carlin’s head. “Joe, I apologize for what I said in the car. I didn’t understand.” “Does what I told you make a difference?” “All the difference in the world. Instead of being up in lights, your name will some day be on a store window.” “You mean I’m going into the store—now?” “Any time you’re ready.” Joe had never known it was possible to feel so good. “I’ll be ready Monday.” Tom Carlin knocked ashes from his pipe and refilled the bowl. “I found a script in your bureau, Joe,” he said serenely. Joe sat up straight. “I had copies made and brought the script back. I saw no use talking to you until I had something to talk about. I wrote to five publishers—four in New York and one in Boston. Three are willing to pay a fair share of the cost on a dramatization of their books. One is doubtful, and one is definitely unfavorable.” Joe’s voice was eager. “Are we going on the air?” The man caught that “we.” “I’m more than half convinced we’ll have a Carlin show next September.” Joe went hot and cold. Not because this was radio, but because it was _Thomas Carlin Presents_. Tom Carlin puffed his contentment. “Every day we have customers who telephone and ask to have some purchase delivered at once. That forces me to take a clerk from behind the counter and send him out. I’ve been thinking of hiring somebody to take care of some light work and make these deliveries. This Pop Bartell. Do you think he could fit into that job after forty years of show business?” Joe was hot and cold again. “After what happened to-day, Dad, he’d think somebody had given him a piece of Heaven.” “Send him in to see me.” “Perhaps,” said Joe, “I’ll run over a little later to where he lives. He’ll sleep better to-night.” After that they sat together in understanding silence. A light step sounded in the hall and the door was pushed open timidly. Kate Carlin stood on the threshold. Her eyes, clouded with concern, went from her husband to her son and back to her husband again. “Come in, Kate.” Suddenly her eyes were clear. She smiled. “This is a night you’ve looked forward to, Tom, isn’t it?” “Yes.” He held out his hand to her. “Come in, Kate, and sit with us. Carlin and Son are in conference.” End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of You're on the Air, by William Heyliger