Dennis’ small office, crowded, sounded like a happy-go-lucky, madcap picnic. Joe, stranded in the hall’s overflow, was much wiser than he had been last June. This was the bread-and-butter hunt, restlessly anxious beneath the brightly vivacious surface of the tide. What did you do when you got in to Dennis, ask point-blank if he had a part for you? He should have asked Archie Munn. He hadn’t seen Stella or Lucille. Apparently when show business hunted radio’s bread and butter, it hunted alone. Listening, Joe discovered that nobody was asking about parts. The pattern became plain. You made light-talk and kept up a front. You showed yourself, day after day, so that casting directors wouldn’t forget you. A gale of laughter swept out of the room. A woman came into the hall and John Dennis’ voice followed her: “To-morrow at four, Babe.” Joe had it. You walked in and cracked a gag. You might not have a dime in your pocket but you made sure the gag was good. If they wanted you, they gave you the nod. A voice behind him said: “Dennis thought the _I Want Work_ show was a sure five-a-week. Yesterday they were glad to sell it for Tuesdays and Fridays.” Another voice said: “Bit parts. A lot of us will get a piece of that.” Joe Carlin’s feet itched to go into a Fancy Dan Carlin step. He was in at last. He’d have a bit in the first show. Hadn’t he been one of the cast that had cut the platter for Dennis? If you were good, you could make even a bit part stand out. By ones and by twos actors and actresses left John Dennis’ bread-and-butter shrine and made room for one or two waiting in the hall. Joe noticed how the unworried, smiling mask went on at once, how they stepped across the threshold with an entrance line to catch the casting director’s attention. The lines must have been good, for laughter was hearty and continuous. Joe got in at last. He couldn’t think up a gag—not a good gag. “Hello, Joe.” Fat John Dennis was cordial. “Have a good summer?” “Swell,” said Joe. He waited to be told to report for the _I Want Work_ show. Somebody else came in with a bright entrance, and there was more laughter. The circle of interest that had formed around Joe shifted to the newcomer. The bantering talk was full of allusions to happenings in radio last season. That had been before his time; he didn’t understand the allusions. He felt isolated, one of the crowd but not a part of it. An actress included him in a sally and he laughed with the others without knowing what it was that caused the laughter. He decided to get out before he began to look like a clown. “Guess I’ll be pushing along.” He took his time getting to the door. “Glad to have seen you again,” said John Dennis. Not a word about the show.