“Acting experience, my foot!” Stalkey said. “What the dickens does that mean? The man’s been on the stage for most of his life!”
“You’ve got to admit,” Claiborne replied patiently, “that playing a sustained role is a lot different from coming out for a few minutes every night with a song or two and some jokes.”
“Oh, I know, I know.” Stalkey brushed him away. “You may be right. But I still think it’s worth a chance. I’d like to hear him read for the part.”
“I don’t know,” Claiborne said dubiously. “It’s taking a big chance.”
“Not as much as you think,” Stalkey said earnestly. “Besides, I bet there are people all over this country who still remember Tom Agate and would come to see him. His old vaudeville admirers, his movie and radio audiences, the men he entertained during the war. He might be quite a drawing card.” He hopped over to Peter and clapped him on the back.
“Peter,” he chortled, “I think you’ve hit it.”
“If you can find him,” Claiborne added.
Stalkey nodded. “Do you think you can track him down?” he asked Peter anxiously.
Peter shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I’ll certainly try.”
“You’ll have to locate him within the next three days,” Stalkey warned.