“The He people have finally come around to it. They want an audition Monday.” “I can’t give a good show Monday, Tony. You know what I can do when my voice is right.” Tony scratched his chin. “The He people don’t.” “But they won’t go on the air for another couple of weeks.” Tony continued to scratch his chin. “When a sponsor buys a show, he buys what he hears. You can’t sell him a package by telling how good it will be in two weeks. Why isn’t it good to-day?” “What time Monday, Tony? I might—” There was no need to finish. Tony seemed to have withdrawn into some further reserve. “I’ll give you a call, Joe.” Joe thought: “You may have to.” When Wylie told a man he was tops, he was tops. Where would they find another juvenile who was tops? This time the knob on the door of Vic Wylie Productions turned. Miss Robb’s desk was closed. The inner office door was open and Joe heard voices. With a shock of amazement he recognized his own voice, Stella’s voice, Bert Farr’s voice. Recognition widened and amazement grew. This was one of the early scripts of the _Sue Davis_ show. What—? He walked to the door. Wylie, his chin sunk in the palm of one hand, glumly listened to the playing of a platter. Two minutes, three minutes passed and the script reached its curtain. The shut-off clicked and the platter ceased to revolve. “Kid, what did the doctor say?” Wylie had not moved. Joe whispered: “A week or ten days. What’s that?” “Wylie insurance.” The producer was harsh. “I can’t afford to leave myself out on a limb. Suppose some member of the cast falls under a truck. Can I bring in a new actor and tell him I want him to read like So-and-so? Perhaps he’s never heard So-and-so. I give him So-and-so. Every once in a while I cut a platter. The cast never knows it’s being cut. When I have to recast, the new member of the cast gets a platter diet. Again and again, hour after hour. That’s his part; that’s the voice the audience associates with the part. When he goes on the air, not one in a thousand suspects a new voice.” Joe’s breathing was rapid and shallow. Wylie brooded. “Kid, Munson’s dishing out the ice. He says the show’s slipping. It is. It’s doing a nose dive. Five thousand radios have tuned us out in the last three days. When they start to yawn and tune in another station, it’s almost time to ring down the curtain. I don’t like to hand this to you, kid, but you got to get it straight. Show business pays off to the winner. You can’t have bacon and eggs without the bacon. You can’t have a mother-and-son without the son. Munson bought a mother-and-son show. He’s not getting it.” Joe stared at the platter and was cold. Tony, and now Vic! If he lost the Dick Davis part he’d be making the rounds again, haunting the offices of casting directors, putting on a nice new front every morning. “Who are you getting, Vic?” Wylie took his hand away from his chair. “No Baltimore nephew, anyway,” he snarled.