Joe knew the question must be for him. He still looked at Wylie. “Tony wants you to read a part,” Vic said. Another show? Joe Carlin’s world became a world of exultation. That gave him a chance at two parts. Later he remembered that neither Wylie nor Tony Vaux had said anything about his reading, about the quality he had given the lines. They had spoken only about his voice. It didn’t seem important at the moment. With a noon appointment at the Everts-Hall Agency, there was nothing to take him to Wylie’s office next morning. And yet the never-failing excitement of a roomful of actors and actresses, the vitality of their crisp conversation, was a potent lure. He arrived early to find Stella Joyce at a window looking down at the street. “Anything wrong?” Joe asked. The girl had expected to stay in summer stock until Labor Day. Stella made one of her quick, bird-like gestures. “Nothing that hasn’t happened before. Rain; poor business. If I want to eat beans out of a can there are lots of beans down here; I don’t have to play in cowbarn drama.” Joe didn’t understand. Stella said: “The ghost had bunions.” She gave a wry smile that trembled at the corners. Joe understood that. In show business the ghost walks or the ghost doesn’t walk. A walking ghost is a paying ghost. When the ghost doesn’t walk, there’s no money. “The cast hasn’t been paid in three weeks,” Stella added without rancor. Joe was learning—the mask, the off-hand casualness, the front. “Well,” he said, “that’s show business.” His mouth held a bitter taste. Noon found him at the agency. The Everts-Hall people had an entire floor in a downtown building. The reception-room was a wide, fan-shaped space of floor facing the elevators. The reception clerk telephoned inside. “Mr. Carlin to see Mr. Vaux.” A boy led him to Tony’s room. The room was vast. There were eight windows, an immense rug, stacks of scripts, shelves of books, some of which might later be dramatized for radio, and a great table of magazines. And there was red-faced Tony Vaux in a vivid pepper-and-salt suit. “Howdy, Joe. Right on the minute; never keep a curtain waiting.” The inevitable script appeared. “This is a show for the He crowd. A Curt Lake script.” Joe experienced a sense of confidence, as though he had walked into a room with uncertainty and had found it peopled with friends. _Sue Davis_ was also a Curt Lake script.