Ambrose Carver was aghast. “You expected fifty dollars? Fifty?”
“I didn’t expect to work for nothing.”
“But fifty dollars....” Amby bleated in horror.
“I thought there was big money in radio.”
“Sure there’s big money. Does Jack Benny work for peanuts? Use your head. Does Edgar Bergen work for three cheers? Does—”
“I did.”
Amby mopped his face with an agitated hand. “Wouldn’t I like to see you make a fortune? Don’t I get half?”
“Not a fortune. Fifty dollars.”
“But what for?” Amby began to squeal.
“Didn’t I rehearse a show? Didn’t I cut a platter? Isn’t there a scale?”