“Are you by any chance suggesting radio?”
“Munson does it. He puts on a style show to sell women’s clothing. If we could put on a sort of book show ... why couldn’t it be done with books?”
Tom Carlin held up his hand. “Thanks, Joe,” he said with finality, “but one Carlin in radio is enough.” He went into the house.
CHAPTER 2
On Tuesday, three days after he had written his application, Joe Carlin received a letter from FKIP:
We have arranged a dramatic audition for you on June 22 at 2:15 P.M.
The reception clerk at the fourth floor desk will direct you to the proper studio.
Please bring with you to read for us two or three excerpts from plays. The selections need not exceed fifteen or twenty lines in length and should be varied in type.
An everyday Joe Carlin, not expecting to hear from the studio for several weeks, had taken the letter from the box on the porch. An agitated Joe Carlin had noted the FKIP in the corner of the envelop. An almost incoherent Joe Carlin burst into the house.
“Mother! A letter—”