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RADIO MIRROR
maybe Jimmy was all right. Yeah, and in two weeks, when McCabe's voice was good again, he'd be dead. Dead and never to see Madge. ...
Jake stuck his head in, and said: "Sing another. The same style you used last time."
Jimmy sang. But he couldn't help thinking how wonderful it would have been if this chance had come some other way; if Madge had been waiting to hear how the audition had come out. Now she'd never know, and after a while she'd forget about him, and marry someone else, and he'd be buried some place.
He sang again, and then Jake told him to do one in his regular style. That meant to fake it; Jimmy put on a record that was not just an orchestra, but an orchestra with Hal McCabe singing. Jimmy moved his lips in time to the singer's words. He had rehearsed to that record so often that he knew everything that was going to happen; he had spent grueling hours in the hotel room with Jake beating time for him, and Utsy sitting in a corner, saying nothing, showing no interest. It was a good fake.
JAKE said that was all. Jimmy went to the door, and rejoined the men. The cigar smoke was thicker than ever, and they had been drinking while they listened to him; he was safe. Maxey was talking: "So you're going to sign? You couldn't do better, gents, and you're getting this boy cheap. If I didn't like you, I'd hold out."
McLane shoved a contract over to Jimmy. "Sign up, McCabe. You're going to work for us."
"I sign for Mr. McCabe," Jake said quickly. "I have his power of attorney."
For a minute, Mr. Wallace looked puzzled. He looked up at Jimmy; so did everybody else. There was no mistaking what Maxey the Greek's look meant. "That's right," Jimmy said. "Jake has handled all my business since I was a kid. I'd be scared I'd spoil my luck if I signed a contract myself." Jake signed, Maxey signed, Mr. Wallace signed.
Jake took Jimmy's arm, and took him to the door. "Say good night," he hissed.
"Good night, Mr. Wallace," Jimmy said, automatically.
Maxey followed them out in the hall. From down the corridor, Utsy appeared. "Listen Maxey," Jake said, "this kid'll have to work at least another week till Hal gets over that operation. He's trained too fine, Maxey, I'm telling you he will snap, like this. He should get out, get some fresh air, see something."
Maxey the Greek was in a good humor. He said: "O. K. Utsy. Take Jake and the punk up to the hospital with you to call tor Hal. I want Jake to test his voice, anyway."
"O. K." Utsy said.
Madge Summers still didn't know. The papers said that Hal McCabe had signed a contract the night before; thirteen weeks at a phenomenal figure. She had bought every paper in town, trying to figure out what that meant; but there was no more to be read than the plain facts; Hal McCabe had signed a contract. And yet she knew that Jimmy must be connected with the matter in some way.
Lunch time came, and she put on her hat, powdered her nose. But she wasn't hungry.
When she got downstairs she turned, suddenly, and went over to the building directory. Leaving the board she hesitated again; and then, biting her lip, went to the elevators. If she didn't allay this terrible worry that was gnawing away at her, inside some place, that was making her lose sleep and make stenographic er
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