“No new business,” Stella said. “Curt had to drop lines.” Joe was relieved. After that he waited with growing impatience. Stella picked up a magazine from Wylie’s desk and turned the pages idly. There was an awful emptiness in the boy’s stomach. Was she watching the time? Presently the actress put the magazine down. “Joe,” she said impulsively, “I’m glad you’re playing this. If Sonny Baker were in town, Amby would probably have sold him to Munson. Vic would have auditioned him. He might have walked off with it.” “I followed him in _City Boy_ last season,” Joe said soberly. Against his three months of radio experience, Sonny could show two years. “I thought he was good. Is he?” Stella nodded. “Quite upstage, but good. Lucille despises him. He’s a show stealer.” “He won’t steal this one,” said Joe and followed the girl out. Studio B was dark. Stella turned on lights. The sound engineer’s equipment was already in place. A clock in the control-room told them they had an hour to wait. Bert Farr arrived and was followed by two minor characters. A page opened the door from the gallery. “Mr. Wylie wants a cast report.” “All ready,” said Stella. The afternoon they had given the Munson audition, with listeners in chairs along the walls, chairs and people had seemed to hem them in closely. This afternoon, with only the cast of five present, Studio B was a yawning cavern. Joe felt swallowed up, shrunken, and small. Had the clock stopped? Nervous, he took script from his pocket. “Don’t do that,” Stella warned. “You’re perfect in the part. You’ll confuse yourself.” Bert Farr said: “Four o’clock. Vic’s other show’s on.” Half an hour more! In reception-hall, corridors, elevators, and lobby the Vic Wylie show was coming out of FKIP speakers. Here there was only silence. The sound engineer arrived. An announcer strolled in and walked about, looking bored. “The other show’s off,” said Farr. The tips of Joe’s fingers were ice. If the other show was off, where was Vic? The control-room began to fill as it fills for an opening. The technician who would regulate volume came in first. Munson arrived with the President and the Vice-President of FKIP. John Dennis was there next with Curt Lake. People gathered in the gallery and stared in through the glass. Then a storm burst upon them, and the storm was Wylie. His face was lined with strain. “Everybody got the new script?” Everybody had. “Watch the control-room. Come in on my signs. Don’t start too fast. You’ll be in the groove in half a minute.” Wylie was gone, to appear next in the control-room. And now, in the deeper, significant silence, Farr cleared his throat. A minute to go. To Joe, that became the longest minute he had lived. The cast gathered at the mike. There was a moment when he thought he was choking. Suddenly the silence was broken. The announcer was reading: