“That’s right.” Stalkey nodded. He turned back to Peggy. “Tell me frankly. You didn’t know what to do when that happened, now did you?”
Peggy smiled. “No, I didn’t. I was a little frightened and terribly embarrassed.”
“And a little awed, too?” Stalkey asked, almost eagerly.
“Yes,” Peggy admitted. “I guess I was.”
The producer rubbed his hands together with pleasure. “And that,” he said exuberantly, “is exactly the quality we want for the young schoolgirl friend in Innocent Laughter. The only question is, are you good enough to play the daughter—even as an understudy?” Stalkey looked at Peggy searchingly, almost as if a careful examination of her face could reveal the extent of her talent.
It was an impossible question to answer. Peggy was saved from trying by a telephone that jangled suddenly.
Pam swooped down on it. “Yes?” she said crisply. “Who’s calling?” She listened for a moment, then covered the mouthpiece with one hand. “It’s Max Borden from Talent Incorporated,” she said. “Do you want to speak to him?”
Stalkey nodded wordlessly, and lunged for the phone. “Hello,” he rasped, “Max?” He began to move agitatedly back and forth across the room, cradling the telephone in his left hand. “Did you get him?” he asked eagerly.
There was a pause, and a look of frustration crossed Stalkey’s face. “Well, can’t he get out of his contract?” he said. “Yeah, well, I’m sorry too.” Another pause. Stalkey used it to shift his cigar over to the other side of his mouth. “Yeah,” he grunted. “Yeah, I know. No, I don’t have the faintest idea. Think about it and call me back. If we get any brain waves here at our end we’ll let you know. G’by.” He hung up the receiver and stared moodily at the telephone as if it had done him some personal injury.
“Charlie Forsythe can’t play the part,” he announced. “He’s tied up with a movie contract.”