Joe was already on his way. Lucille Borden without a part in small-time radio; Lucille Borden, hungry; Lucille Borden behind a counter selling stockings. And then, when nobody expected it, Lucille Borden in the big time. Show business! The down elevator stopped at every floor and passengers took their time getting on and off. Joe stewed. The Munson store was only half a block away but, reaching the street, he ran. Lucille Borden, arranging boxes of hosiery, smiled at him. “Stockings, Infant? Don’t tell me you have a sweetie?” Words poured from Joe. “N.B.C. wants you. They called Vic’s office.” The smile was gone. “Another audition?” “A part. The show sold. You’re in, Lu.” Lucille Borden’s hands gripped the edge of the counter; the knuckles turned white. She said slowly: “At last.” As though in celebration of Lucille’s triumph, the morrow dawned in golden splendor; but as Joe rode downtown the day became clouded and gray. The dress rehearsal at Studio B went off without a hitch. “Kid,” Wylie said, “Lu leaves on the three o’clock.” Joe stopped at the Everts-Hall Agency to sign the fan mail replies. Lucille Borden on a coast-to-coast! One of Wylie’s people. If you were good enough for Wylie.... The pen that wrote “Joe Carlin” wasn’t steady. He was one of Wylie’s people. Walking into Wylie’s office and finding Lucille, Stella, and Archie Munn already there brought back the long, idle days of the summer when they had always been together. In the rush of eager talk yesterday’s hard road was forgotten; nobody thought of lunch. Stella, called for an audition at FFOM, was the first to leave; Archie, with a bit on a two o’clock FWWO show, soon followed. Joe carried Lucille’s bags to the station. “I’ll be listening,” he said. “Not only the opening—every day.” “Infant,” Lucille said with a catch in her voice, “I’m going to miss my old gang.” A mist was falling when Joe came out of the station. Then, while he was still two blocks from the FKIP Building, the skies opened and the mist became a torrent of rain. Royal Street broke into confusion with everybody running and getting in everybody else’s way. A river poured down upon him. Wet and cold, he reached Studio B. The studio was warm. He would, Joe decided, jump home when the show ended, change, and hurry back for the evening rehearsal; but by the time _Sue Davis Against the World_ signed off his chill had passed and he went to supper with Stella. For once the evening rehearsal was short. The cast sat around for an hour, and Vic sat with them, and they talked of Lucille Borden and the big time. Joe’s clothing had dried. He awakened to a new day with the early sun in his eyes. He said aloud: “I’m hungry enough to eat—” The words died away, and he lay rigid. Had that hoarse rasp come from him? He said again: “I’m hungry enough—” His body broke out in a sweat. At nine o’clock, worried and shaken, he walked into Wylie’s office. “Vic.” His voice was down to a whisper.