A loudspeaker in the reception-room hammered out FKIP’S program, baseball play by play. Archie Munn was back. “That’s one worry off Vic’s mind. You had him four miles in the air, Joe. He was flying kites.” The elevator brought up Tony Vaux and a party of men and women. Tony led them toward the studios. Joe could feel himself tightening. The clamor of the loudspeaker got on his nerves. Who cared about baseball to-day? How would the audition go? Couldn’t they shut that speaker off? Wylie, rumpled and wild, burst into the reception-room, stopped abruptly, stared with unseeing eyes at his cast, swung about and went back toward the studios. Almost instantly he was again in the reception-room, this time lugging the brief-case. An elevator carried him down; five minutes later another elevator brought him back. He was talking to himself as he made for the studios. Joe’s right knee began to tremble. He shifted his weight to the other leg, but the tremor grew worse. His hands were clammy. Was he going to get mike fright? He had to keep up a front. Maybe he ought to talk. Talking might help. He said: “Does it always affect Mr. Wylie that way?” “Sponsor audition?” Archie Munn’s voice was bitter. “You don’t know the strain, Joe. The uncertainty. Munson won’t come in with a few of his store executives and the Everts-Hall people. He’ll bring in his uncles, and his cousins, and his aunts. He’s likely to drag in a couple of his office stenographers and a taxi driver. What do they know about whether a show’s good or bad? Somebody says: ‘I just don’t like it,’ and Munson gets cold feet. Isn’t this show for the public, and isn’t this somebody who doesn’t like it one of the public? Perhaps the show really isn’t good. You can’t blame a sponsor for being careful. A coast-to-coast hookup may cost $250,000. Even a single-station, local show is expensive. The sponsor has to pay for script, production, cast, radio time, perhaps music. It runs into money. But if a sponsor wants advice, why doesn’t he rely upon people who know? You see what Vic’s up against? He spends weeks and weeks whipping a show into shape, and then any little nit-wit can throw in a monkey wrench. Or the sponsor may throw the wrench.” Joe was sorry Archie had told him. His left knee began to tremble. “Radio has a name for it,” Stella said. “Sponsor trouble.” Jovial Tony Vaux appeared suddenly. “All right, folks; we’re ready for you.”