“Give it a go, Pop.”
Joe was amazed at the changed shading, the difference in timing, that Pop gave his lines. He didn’t have to wonder if this were better. Vic Wylie would still have struggled for greater perfection; but Tony Vaux, rocking back and forth on his heels, exuded a bluff, red-faced pleasure.
“Folks,” he said heartily, “that’s a show. If the He people don’t cool off, we’ll lay them in the aisles.”
Joe thought: “That’s always the trouble with show business—the if.” You had to sell a sponsor while he was hot; next day or next week he began to wonder if the show was as good as he had thought. That was the sticker with Sue Davis Against the World. Too much time had passed since the audition. And these two shows were the only hopes he had.
Pop Bartell departed. Joe had a shrewd idea the old actor would have nothing to do with eye-glasses. Glasses would take from his front of lingering, gallant youth.
The door closed slowly as Joe followed Pop. Vic Wylie’s rasp of irritation was audible:
“You’ve heard One Man’s Family, Tony? A honey of a script, but what a cast. Without a cast, what have you? I’m standing pat. Munson’s option on Sue Davis runs out Monday. Monday I’m throwing the show open.”
The door closed with a soft click and Tony’s reply was lost. But to Joe the dark day was no longer dark. There was still hope. This was Tuesday. Six more days to Monday.
Pop Bartell waited outside the building in the street. “Joe, I happen to find myself in a little difficulty. Momentarily, you understand; only momentarily. A mere trifle. I expect to be called for a part. Could you—” The old man coughed. “Only until I’m called for the part, of course. Do you—” Again the cough. “Do you happen to have a spare dollar?”
This, Joe thought with a pang, was what a good trouper came to after forty years. “Make it two dollars, Mr. Bartell.”