The elevator shot them up to the twenty-seventh floor in a dizzy, breathless rush and they stepped out into the reception room. A page took them to studio K and there were only two others there when they entered—Ben Adolphi, their director, and Curt Newsom. The cowboy star looked a little pale.
“Sick?” asked Janet.
Curt shook his head. “Not exactly, but I didn’t sleep very well last night. Too much noise here in the city. I’m going to move. My hotel’s right on Times Square.”
“Why, we’re staying there too,” said Helen. “Our hotel is the Dorchester. We slept fine.”
“I’m staying there,” replied Curt, “but I don’t see how you slept. I heard fire engines and police patrols and street cars and newsboys all night. I might as well have been down in the subway trying to sleep on an express train.”
The radio director looked at Janet.
“Manuscript ready?” he asked.
Janet stared at him and he repeated the question.
“Haven’t you got it?” she asked.
“Certainly not,” he snapped, evidently a little provoked at what he considered dull wits.