Milton Hale, PH.D., eminent physicist, had finished broadcasting and the program was off the air.
“Thank you very much, Dr. Hale,” said the radio announcer. The yellow light went on and stayed. The mike was dead. “Uh—your check will be waiting for you at the window. You—uh—know where.”
“I know where,” said the physicist. He was a rotund, jolly-looking little man. With his busy white beard he resembled a pocket edition of Santa Claus. His eyes winkled, and he smoked a short stubby pipe.
He left the sound-proof studio and walked briskly Sown the hall to the cashier’s window. “Hello, sweet-heart,” he said to the girl on duty there. “I think you have two checks for Dr. Hale.”
“You are Dr. Hale?”
“I sometimes wonder,” said the little man. “But I carry identification that seems to prove it.”
“Two checks?”
“Two checks. Both for the same broadcast, by special arrangement. By the wav, there is an excellent revue at the Mabry Theater this evening.”
“Is there? Yes, here are your checks, Dr. Hale. One for seventy-five and one for twenty-five. Is that correct?”
“Gratifyingly correct. Now about that revue at the Mabry?”