“I’m not particularly hungry,” Stella Joyce said slowly.
Archie Munn’s deep voice was casual. “Suppose we have a bite in here? Crackers, cheese and a container of coffee. Fifteen cents apiece ought to do it.”
Joe made the purchases. Archie took cups from one of Wylie’s filing cabinets and they spread the food on the sill of an office window.
“Mmmm!” Stella said appreciatively. “Good.”
And she had said she wasn’t hungry! The truth dawned on Joe. A thirty-five-cent lunch yesterday; a fifteen-cent lunch to-day; perhaps a ten-cent lunch next week. And Lucille borrowing a railroad ticket because she couldn’t afford to pay train fare. Show business!
Panic had him again. Vic Wylie had said: “The best cast in the city.” What would they do if their money ran out? Where would he be but for help from his father? He thought of Pop Bartell.
The urge to do something, anything, became imperative. Anything that wouldn’t let the hours pass as they were passing. Agencies, radio stations, producers—but where should he start? What would he say? And, if this was not the accepted time to look for parts, what sort of figure would he cut? Unable to make up his mind, he sat through the afternoon in the outer office.
Next day Lucille was back. How had it gone? She shrugged. New York put on a lot of dog. Uniformed attendants, a fortune spent on lavish furnishings, studios that were the last word in luxury. But the net result had been the same: “Thank you, Miss Borden.” New York might have been FKIP.
Then, all at once, Stella Joyce was gone.
“Summer stock,” said Archie Munn. “The Pasture Players. Forty miles up in the mountains; a vacation colony. A theater that was once a barn.”