They read the script five times. Tony was always a bland, kindly mentor sugaring his criticism with a chuckle. There was no hair-tearing, no stricken horror, no mortal agony. The telephone tinkled. Tony said: “Ask him to wait,” and mumbled Ike Totten’s lines for the sixth time. Joe began to vision two systems. Tony Vaux got results, too. But no Tony Vaux show, he suspected, would have the passionate perfection of minor details, the small refinements of a Vic Wylie show. “That’s reading,” Tony pronounced mellowly. “You get it over.” He shook hands. Joe thought with a quick, tingling lift of the heart: “This part’s mine.” It would be the beginning. He’d be on the air. He reached the fan-shaped reception-room; and there, all in a moment, the tingling uplift oozed out of him. Ambrose Carver stood with his back to the room, intently studying a painting on the wall. So Amby was the person Tony had asked to wait! Then the agent knew about the He show and was going to bat for Sonny Baker. Sonny would come speeding east. Perhaps Sonny would fly east and be in town to-morrow. Perhaps Amby would have him in Tony’s office reading the Larry Logan part to-morrow afternoon. Joe had only one thought—to get out of there before the agent faced about. He didn’t want to look at a little trick mustache; he didn’t want to listen to what the brisk Amby might have to say. He pressed a down button and a door slid open. As he stepped into the car a startled voice called his name. The door closed and the elevator plunged toward the main floor. A clock in the lobby gave the time as one-thirty. Archie Munn would have gone out for coffee and sandwiches; a Ritz à-la-Wylie lunch would be over. He debated about food without interest and ended by going to the thirty-five-cent restaurant. He ordered, but he scarcely touched what the waitress brought. He was afraid. Sonny could bring to a part two or three years of experience. Summer stock and radio experience. And all he had behind him was two auditions and a bit part in an FKIP platter. At three o’clock he returned to Vic Wylie’s office. “Joe!” Miss Robb cried. “Where have you been? I’ve telephoned every place. They’re auditioning the _Sue Davis_ show.” Joe was instantly breathless. “Where?” “FKIP. Studio D. Mr. Wylie’s frantic.” “What time?” “Four o’clock.” Joe bolted. He had plenty of time—a whole hour. And yet he went along narrow, crowded Royal Street as though a gale were at his back. Sonny might audition for Tony Vaux to-morrow, but to-day the field was clear. Loudspeakers blared in the FKIP building. He rode to the fourth-floor reception-room of blue leather. Stella Joyce and three others of the _Sue Davis_ cast were grouped at the window-seats. With them were Archie Munn and Lucille Borden. “There’s Joe,” Stella called, as though she had been watching the elevators. Archie Munn hastened toward the glass-walled studios to the right.