William Heyliger

“ Heat baked the city, and a torpid world of radio counted the weeks until September.
For Joe Carlin, life had changed: the dusty McCoy Building and the stage-effect microphone in Ambrose Carver’s office became something that had happened in the past. His days were now spent in Vic Wylie’s office. If Wylie, in the agony of putting together six shows for the fall, could give him only half an hour, that half-hour became something to look back upon. If the disheveled, wild-haired producer could give him no time at all, there was always the possibility of a half-hour to-morrow. ”

“ Joe gripped the books. He had read about agents and the part they played in show business. No actor could get any place without an agent; but no agent would bother with an actor unless the actor was good. His head swam.
They rode down to the lights and the ebb and flow of visitors, to the cheerfulness and blue leather of the fourth floor. The receptionist looked questioningly at Joe; he put his hands together and shook them. The blonde seemed pleased. The loudspeaker gave them Lucille Borden tough-girling through another episode of Years of Danger. ”

“ The Fox patrol had a box of blacking and a brush, and two scouts were polishing their shoes. The Eagles had a needle and thread, and one scout, under the watchful eye of his patrol leader, was sewing on a button.
"This is going to be a fight," Andy went on. "Those scouts are in earnest."
"That's the way for a scout to be," said Don. The prospect of a struggle sent a sparkle into his eyes. "We'll have to do that."
"Needles and thread and shoe-brushes?" Tim demanded.
Don nodded.
"Not for me," said Tim. "I'm no kid. Nobody has to tell me to clean myself." ”

“ Joe had to half run.
“Where are we going, Uncle David?”
“To the toll-bridge.”
Horseshoe Lake rippled with golden sun. Sid Malloy, the bridge-tender, collected toll and Captain Tucker, grim and dour, with a ghastly black hole in the top of his cap, inspected the inside of every car. He frowned at sight of Dr. Stone, the boy and the dog.
“Doctor,” he said bluntly, “this is no place for a blind man; and as for a boy——”
“Go inside, Joe,” the doctor said mildly. “Keep out of the way. If trouble starts, duck low and hug the floor. Is your gun handy, Captain?” ”

“ Joe trembled. “Are you standing for that, Tony?”
“I’m not Vic Wylie,” Tony said with bitter regret. “Vic answers to nobody but himself. If he wanted to give Sonny the hook, he’d give it to him. I’m a salaried employee. They give me a script; they expect a production. Pop’s a stooge in this show; Sonny’s the star. Suppose I go after Sonny the way Vic did? How long will I have a show? How long before they’ll have me on the carpet inside? Am I a producer? Then what’s wrong with me? Why don’t I produce? That’s the only question they ask. Why don’t I produce a show?” ”

“ There was a race to see which patrol could get all its fires going first.
Each scout was to cook for himself.
"I'll chop," cried Tim. "Somebody get my fire going." His strong, muscular arms made short work of the dry dead wood that littered the ground under the trees.
"We win," shouted the Foxes. But their last fire went out as it was lighted, and a flustered scout prepared to try again amid cries of, "Not more than two matches." This time his wood took the flame. But now the Eagles and the Wolves also had their fires going. Mr. Wall declared the race a triple tie. ”

“ Others have fallen into the habit of shuffling feet and groping walk, with body bent forward and hands outstretched. Some never have walked down stairs unaided. These are things which must be unlearned if the dog is to bring independence. At The Seeing Eye the student is taught to free himself from these habits of helplessness, so that self-reliance and courage gradually return. Anticipation replaces despair as the dog opens a new world for her master, one he dreamed of but never hoped to have again.
All the practice work of the student with his dog takes place on the streets of Morristown. ”

“ Tony Vaux said. “I don’t mean it’s a bad show.”
Joe began a hesitant: “Perhaps—”
“Again, Joe?” Tony chuckled. “What is it this time?”
“Perhaps Mr. Bartell comes in too fast. He’s supposed to be a retired old man with no worries except baseball. Sits around in the shade and enjoys life. Never in a hurry—that’s what I mean. Doesn’t Pop come in too crisply? You sort of lose the mellow, unhurried old man. If he came in leisurely, a little drawly....”
Joe knew that Vic Wylie was watching him intently. Had he been too free with his opinion? Tony rolled the cigar across his lips. ”

“ Every scout knew at once that Tim had said something. Don shut his lips tightly.
"I guess Tim forgot," Andy suggested.
Don grasped at this straw. Not that he believed it, for he didn't; but it gave him a chance to ease the tension. He forced a smile and said that Tim might come bolting in at the last minute. The moment the roll call was completed, he turned the talk to the Scoutmaster's Cup. He didn't want to give the scouts a chance to sit there and think.
"We're in the lead now," he said, "and it's up to us to stay there. It will be easy if every fellow will do his part. ”

“ Joe spoke in a whisper. “What crime, Uncle David?”
“Embezzlement. You heard that telephone talk of Landry’s? He’s lost heavily in the deal that wrecked Bruce. He’s probably lost money that didn’t belong to him—Allan’s money. Somebody has planned that Allan shall die. Is it the man who would be sure to become wealthy, or the man who might save himself from jail? Who undermined this bridge?” Without haste he knocked the ashes from his pipe. “Come, Joe; we’re going back.” ”

“ Now that he was at liberty, no actor, beginning to look a little seedy, led him into a quiet nook to negotiate a small loan. None of the show people mentioned the Sue Davis show. Nothing else had changed. There was the same sharp anxiety that showed itself only in off-guard moments, the same glib talk of fat parts about to turn up, the same business of having a bright gag ready for casting directors, the same sham front that fooled nobody. ”

“ Andy cried excitedly. "Get him by the shoulders, Tim."
It took them but a moment to lay Bobbie in the stretcher. Tim sprang to the front of the staves, Andy to the rear. They swung the stretcher from the ground.
"'Ray for the Wolves!" cried Wally's voice.
All Tim thought about was getting to Mr. Wall with his burden. He broke into a walk that was almost a run.
"Look at the Wolves!" The cry could be heard above the noise. "That's no way to carry an injured person."
Tim looked around, startled. What was wrong? He saw the Eagles and the Foxes carrying their loads slowly, with precious care. ”

“ Bryan Smith, the president of the bank, agitated and flushed, appeared in the doorway of the little room, saw the blind man and cried out:
“Doctor! Doctor Stone! This way, please.”
Joe Morrow, still clutching his two dollars and his pass-book, went with his uncle and the dog, and the door closed upon them. Inside the room three men stood about the bank president’s desk. The veins in Mr. Pelle’s neck were swollen with rage; Albert Wall, the cashier, tapped his fingers against the desk and frowned, and a third man, who looked lost and bewildered, held on to the back of a chair near the window. ”

“ Why should Tony have shied away from his offer to come in to-day unless the Everts-Hall Agency producer had known Sonny was on his way? Vic Wylie, brooding over a platter, must have vetoed a suggestion that Mrs. Munson’s Baltimore nephew step into the Sue Davis cast. But Vic had not known that Sonny was back in town. Joe was sure of that.
He raked slowly. If you took your time, raking could kill the crawling hours of fate. Thinking built up facts, and facts fitted together like bricks in a wall. Ambrose Carver still had Mrs. Munson’s ear. ”

“ There was no doubt but that Tim knew his job. Short and stocky and agile, he seemed made in a catcher's mold. He could reach second base with a forearm throw while squatting on his heels, and a snap of the wrist was enough to send the ball to first or to third.
"He's got an awfully strong arm," said Don to himself.
"All right, Don," called Ted.
He shed his sweater and went back to the mound. One by one the batters were called in to hit against him. He watched for Tim's signals, and tried to put the ball where Tim wanted it. The batters hit him freely. ”

“ Allan Robb’s house was gay with noise and with laughter. Young people seemed to be everywhere—on the porch, on the lawn, back toward the stables. Joe, walking with his uncle and the dog, was conscious of curious glances and voices that flattened out and became silent. ”

“ There isn’t any game in the world that’s tougher. I’ve seen it around the country: stage-struck kids working in crummy night clubs or picking up a few dollars from movie houses that run Saturday vaudeville. I’ve seen it at Hollywood: movie-crazy kids storming the Central Casting Bureau because they’ve won a two-bit beauty contest or have a straight nose. But at least, if you work at Hollywood, you get paid. There’s no such thing at Hollywood as a sustaining movie. Hollywood doesn’t fatten itself on gratis talent. Radio’s just a little tougher than any other part of show business. ”

“ Ted Carter walked out between the boys, "That will be all from you, Tim. When you come out on this field, you come out to play ball. If you can't play ball, you quit."
Slowly Tim pulled off his mitt. He was the only regular catcher. Ted was trying to bluff him. And his temper was flaring because he had been rebuked in front of Don.
"Think you can get anybody to play any better for you than I play?" he asked flippantly.
"You bet I can," said Ted. "I can use a fellow who'll be in the game every minute." ”

“ And so they went up to the porch to be met by Allan in the great hall.
“Glad you came, Doctor. Joe, I’ll show you the mare—” His voice broke off. “Bruce, here’s an old friend.”
Joe edged back a step. Bruce Robb, proud and imperious, had often driven him from Allan’s acres, and he was still a little in awe of the man. But the Bruce he met today was morose and restless, and given to a habit of gnawing on a clipped, black mustache.
Alec Landry surged down the hall. “Hi, Doctor. A party to be remembered. Well, why not? It isn’t every day a man comes of age.” ”