“How did Vic Wylie do it?”
“Platters. He must have had Sonny listening to platters of the show for hours. Any good actor can mimic a voice if he hears it often enough and practises an imitation.”
“Do you think he played the part well?”
The admission was hard to make. “Yes.”
The woman stood up abruptly. “I like you better.”
“You’re swell,” Joe whispered huskily. Was his reading better or was his mother voicing blind Carlin loyalty? Munson would like Sonny, but how about Vic Wylie? How about Tony Vaux? If the Larry show had not been auditioned to-day for the He people, if something had gone sour and put the audition off, his voice might be right for the postponed audition. At least, he wouldn’t have to rake a yard and let Sonny walk off with the plum.
He reached for the telephone. “Joe Carlin, Tony,” he whispered.
Tony boomed jovially. “Hello, Joe. How are you? Glad to hear from you. You’re beginning to sound like yourself.”
Tony, Joe thought with cynical understanding, was putting on his “Howdy, folks” act. To-day it seemed like the artificial sweetness on a doctor’s bitter pill. “Did you audition to-day?”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t have you, Joe.” Tony sounded as though his heart was torn. “If there was a chance to postpone— But you know how it is, Joe. When a sponsor’s ripe on the tree, that’s the day you have to pick him. We couldn’t get the spot we wanted at FKIP.”