So the show had been sold!
“We’ll go on at FFOM. I surely wanted you, Joe. Not that Sonny didn’t give me a good show. Smooth as oil. But ... well, you seem to work better with Pop Bartell. If anything turns up—”
“Sure,” said Joe.
Kate Carlin was back in the room.
“I’ve lost that show, too,” Joe said.
“Oh!” The word held distress.
“Something’s bound to turn up; shows keep coming along.” But Joe didn’t try to tell himself that if you were good enough for Wylie, you were good enough for any of them. He had been good enough for Wylie—and he was out. And shows didn’t keep coming along this late in the season.
Tom Carlin came home an hour earlier than usual. Coming down the stairs, Joe heard low-voiced talk in the kitchen. Conversation died away with his appearance.
“Didn’t the show seem to have more body to-day?” his father asked.
Evidently there was to be no telling him the show had been bad. He was grateful for that. What good was family loyalty that blindly deceived itself?