“You’ve heard _One Man’s Family_, Tony? A honey of a script, but what a cast. Without a cast, what have you? I’m standing pat. Munson’s option on _Sue Davis_ runs out Monday. Monday I’m throwing the show open.” The door closed with a soft click and Tony’s reply was lost. But to Joe the dark day was no longer dark. There was still hope. This was Tuesday. Six more days to Monday. Pop Bartell waited outside the building in the street. “Joe, I happen to find myself in a little difficulty. Momentarily, you understand; only momentarily. A mere trifle. I expect to be called for a part. Could you—” The old man coughed. “Only until I’m called for the part, of course. Do you—” Again the cough. “Do you happen to have a spare dollar?” This, Joe thought with a pang, was what a good trouper came to after forty years. “Make it two dollars, Mr. Bartell.” “Joe, you place me eternally in your debt. As soon as I’m working—” Pop Bartell went off through Royal Street, his stride youthful. Again on Wednesday, Joe made the rounds in vain. There was no word from Tony Vaux. Thursday was also barren. He counted days. Four more days left of the Munson option. Thursday Lucille Borden returned from her N.B.C. audition in New York looking tired and pale. Make-up could not completely hide her pallor. “One of the producers liked my work,” she said. “He held me over another day for a sponsor audition.” That meant big time. Joe asked eagerly: “Did it go?” “Infant,” Lucille drawled, “a sponsor audition gives you a beautiful view of a lot of frozen faces.” Joe knew. He had had one sponsor audition. Then it was Friday. The days of hope had dwindled to three. The searching bread-and-butter hunters had developed a stock question. Joe heard it on Royal Street and in the elevators. “Anything yet?” And there was a stock reply that fooled nobody, that was part of the front. “No, but I’m expecting a part next week.” Pop Bartell expected a part next week. Joe knew it was all hollow and unreal. John Dennis was not at his office at FKIP. His secretary said: “Mr. Dennis has you down for something.” “I’ll be back,” Joe told her. Perhaps, he thought in growing disillusionment, Dennis wanted to ask him had he had a good summer. He went on to FFOM and from there to FWWO. Gillis said: “Two o’clock to-morrow, Carlin. We have an open spot that must be filled in a hurry.” A sustaining show that would pay no salary. And yet Joe walked out going hot and cold by turns. His first call from a station since the _I Want Work_ platter. True, one of the smallest stations in the city, but a call. Now, if there was something at FKIP.... Not wanting to miss Dennis again he called from a booth in the lower hall. “Joe,” said John Dennis, “I have a part I want to hear you read.” Joe’s hand was hot on the receiver. “To-day?” “To-morrow at two.”