Modern Screen (Jul-Dec 1945)

• The rain blew in a dismal grey curtain against the windows. Phyllis looked out, and said, "Maybe they won't come." Don smiled at her. When Don smiles, you could turn off the electricity -and let the furnace go out, and no one "would notice. "They'll come," he said confidently. "This is one furlough where everything's going to be okay." They did come, of course. "They" being Al Delacorte and Henry Malmgreen and me. And everything was very okay indeed. How could it be anything else when your host was Don Taylor, and he and Phyllis were getting such a bang out of the little apartment a friend had lent them? Don and Phyllis had lived in hotel bedrooms ever since they were married, and now here they were with a living room and a kitchen and everything. To be sure the kitchen was about the size of a 'cracker jack box, but it had a stove, and a sink, and a refrigerator. Besides, as Don pointed out, "Neither of us can do much more than boil an egg. We'll work up to a big kitchen gradually, through layers of cookbooks." "No cookbooks," said Phyllis firmly. "I don't care if we don't even have any furniture, when we get a house, but we're going to have a cook!" "You mean you won't be the efficient little woman and get up and cook my breakfast every morning?" Don tried to sound injured. "I'll get up, and I'll wear a nice, ruffly house dress and my best lipstick like the women's magazines say to, but someone else will cook the breakfast. That way we'll both be happy." They laughed at that, of course. They laugh at everything. They're a gay pair, these two. The first play they ever saw together was "The