“How much time?”
“Another week—perhaps ten days. Nature does her own healing; she can’t be rushed.”
Ten more days meant ten more scripts in which Curt Lake held the broken threads of a show and tried to patch with the wrong colors.
“Can’t you rush this a little, Doctor?”
“Now, my boy, you mustn’t be impatient,” the doctor answered tolerantly.
Joe wondered what Dr. Zinn would think of patience if he were a radio actor out of a show that was going to pieces. Vic Wylie’s office was locked. The boy went to the Everts-Hall Agency. There were only three letters to be signed.
“Tony wants to see you,” the publicity department told him.
Genial Tony Vaux was no longer the hail-fellow-well-met who boomed jovially. He was quiet and thoughtful, almost reserved. “How’s the throat coming, Joe?”
Joe shook his head.
“The He people have finally come around to it. They want an audition Monday.”