After supper he turned on the radio. He swung from station to station, recognizing the cast of every local show. The old hunger was on him. How close had he come to getting any of these parts, or had he been considered at all? “Joe,” his mother said gently, “you look done in.” Not done in, he told himself; discouraged. He couldn’t shake off a sense of shock. Archie Munn picking up a few stray dollars as a pallbearer! The telephone rang. “Joe,” Tony Vaux said jovially, “I’m calling you and Pop in for a reading. The He people are warming up. Early. About nine-thirty.” Joe was no longer discouraged. “An audition,” he called back over his shoulder. The bell rang again. This time Lucille Borden’s voice sang over the telephone. “Joe, I’m rushed; only a minute. N.B.C.’s called me to New York for a committee audition. Wish me luck.” Joe didn’t know what a committee audition was. But whatever it was, it was good. The people Wylie picked were beginning to get the breaks. They were going places. The morning brought one of those dark days of lowering skies and gray gloom. Pop Bartell was already at the Everts-Hall Agency, his one shirt spotless. “Hear about Lucille?” Tony Vaux boomed. “The first local artist to get a committee audition in three years.” “What is a committee audition?” Joe asked. “The real thing, Joe. One producer hears your first reading at N.B.C. If he turns you down, you can’t go back for a year. If he passes you along, you’re called before a committee of five producers. Usually you’re called back in a week. Somebody must have slipped on Lu.” Joe thought with envy: “Five producers; big time.” His heart lifted. Good luck, Lucille! Ceiling lights burned in the room, and the misty day, dark and damp, pressed against the windows. Pop was as slim and straight, as sprightly and spry, as a stripling. Joe scanned the _Bush-League Larry_ script: Sound—Train Coming on Mike and Stopping at Station Conductor (above escaping steam): Ticeville. Here’s where you get off, young fellow. All a-a-aboard. Sound—Train Panting Leaves Station. Fade to Ike: Looking for somebody, stranger? Larry: I’m looking for Bud Wilson. Ike: If you’re a salesman trying to sell Bud some baseball equipment, you’re wasting your time. Bud’s Ticeville team ain’t been doing so good. When a team in these parts don’t win— Tony said with a chuckle: “All right, folks. Take me out to the ball game.” He made sound effects of a sort and Pop Bartell came in on his cue: Looking for somebody, stranger? Joe was surprised by the character richness of the old man’s voice. He thought: “Pop, this is going to be swell.” He spoke his own line: I’m looking for Bud Wilson. Pop was on the mike again: If you’re a salesman trying to sell Bud some base—ball e—equipment, you’re waste—you’re wasting your time. Bud’s Tice—ville team ain’t—been going so good—