Stalkey snapped his fingers impatiently. “Sure, sure,” he said. “We know all that. But I’ll settle for someone who can get us the laughs.”
“Why not get somebody who can do both?”
Stalkey snorted. “Stop dreaming,” he said. “They don’t make them like that any more.”
“There’s one person who just might be able to do it,” Peter said slowly. “If we can get him.”
“Who?”
Peter grinned. “This is the crazy part,” he said. He paused as the others waited expectantly. “Tom Agate,” he finally blurted out.
“Tom Agate!” Craig Claiborne said in a puzzled voice. “Isn’t he dead?”
Peter scratched the back of his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. “The last I heard he was still living here.”
“Tom Agate,” Oscar Stalkey murmured slowly. “Tom Agate.” He spoke the name a second time as if relishing the sound, then looked up at Peter sharply. “How do you know about Tom Agate?” he demanded. “I thought only us old-timers remembered him.”
Peter laughed. “Oh, I used to be crazy about him. My father took me to see Tom Agate every time he played a USO show anywhere near where my father was stationed during World War II.”