"Sure is. And that's him we hear singing."
"But at night. How can he be on the radio if he's in a show? They wouldn't be doing a broadcast from the stage every night."
Typical, thought Kleiber. In the wrong, so now he attacks. He couldn't say I was wrong or you were right or sorry or anything. "Okay, he's still around." Big deal. And now boring in about the broadcasting. Well, the hell with him. They were getting too many of his kind from the Academy nowadays. The know-it-all, you-heard-it-here-first type. He was coming up for an advance in pay-grade on the first of the month. He had big plans to get married. Well, let him stay in the barrel a while longer. It wouldn't hurt him. Pat or Peg or whatever her name was could wait. He made a mental note to get Ferraro's fitness report form from the clerk when they got back to the precinct house.
"Can you turn that down a little?"
The girl shrugged and turned the volume control on the tiny radio. A sudden blare of sound crashed and echoed in the quiet studio. "Sorry," she called, hastily twisting the knob the other way.
"Damn it, Nell, you do that every time. You've had that thing a year now."
"Every time! You always exaggerate when you're mad. The other one was just the opposite, is all."
He didn't answer. He turned back to the canvas and worked silently for several minutes. It was not going well but he kept at it doggedly, frowning in concentration, his lower lip trapped between his teeth.
Suddenly he whirled. "Nell, turn that thing down or get it out of here!"