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Simple pleasures of home— eating kumquats off the tree! An ardent sunworshipper since he came west, he works hard at getting tan, strips to waist every time Sol peeps out!
nearby (Carmel-By-The-Sea) and rented a hotel room, then went shopping, to wit* One red and blue plaid wool shirt, one orange and yellow plaid shirt, one red silk cowboy neckerchief, one Paisley ascot scarf. On the double he returned to his room, shed his khakis and accoutered himself in his houndstooth checked slacks, his red and blue plaid wool shirt, and his red silk neckerchief— knotted at the side of his throat— and surveyed himself in the mirror. Very sharp citizen.
Emerging upon the streets, he set out in search of reading matter. The sale of dark glasses in Carmel rose 127% in an hour. As John stalked along he met a full colonel, and habit being stronger than his awareness of his civvies, he saluted smartly.
The colonel returned the salute, then smiled. "How long have you been out, son?" he wanted to know. "Five hours, sir," said John sheepishly. He bought a copy of Fantastic Stories and a tall bottle of— say— Pepsi Cola, and returned to his room. Pulling off his shoes, he plumped up two pillows, turned on the reading lamp beside the bed, and subsided Into the feathers with the magazine in one hand and the beverage in the other. A deep mattress, a sense of aloneness unknown in barracks, no lights-out order pending, no reveille. Ah, wilderness were Paradise enow.
The following day John varied his routine by wearing the salt and pepper trousers, the orange plaid shirt and the Paisley ascot. He was having a thick, rare steak at the Russian Inn at noon when two girls from Hollywood (one of them being Kay Hardy of Modern Screen) strolled past his booth, recognized him— despite a suntan darker than
Johnny got royal welcome from everyone he ever knew, including policeman on corner beat. In his 25 mos. service, he trained; in Tex., Utah Col was transferred to Ferry Command just before discharge.
It was great to be back in make-up room at Fox and sniff the beautiful smell of greasepaint again! Johnny started shaving at 10 . . . until Mom caught him at it!
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