Joe’s front was perfect. “This Lucille gal should work for a newspaper. She gets all the news.”
“Amby talks,” said Lucille.
Archie’s deep voice said: “I’d figure myself in until Vic told me I was out.”
“Has Munson bought the show?” Joe demanded.
Archie Munn shook his head. “Not yet.”
All at once the outer office was brighter, and the charming, crisp talk all around Joe seemed gayer. If the show had hit a snag, he was the snag. Wylie wanted him in the part. Violent Vic Wylie was fighting for him.
A voice called: “Hello there, Pop.”
Pop Bartell was among the gay group, the pin-stripe suit without a wrinkle, his linen spotless. Miss Robb, watching for him, stood up at her desk.
“I have a call for you from Mr. Vaux, Mr. Bartell.”
The old trouper stopped short. “Tony Vaux? Of course. I’ve been expecting—” He had to clear his throat. “You’re sure it was from Tony, Miss Robb?” The quavering voice was stark with a pleading appeal.