Modern Screen (Jan-Jun 1945)

gave with the sweet talk. Not to her, you understand, but to one another, like, "My, my what lovely scenery. Inside the car, I mean." Etc., etc. Finally, on Joanne's umpteenth trip, one of them — eager to uphold the Navy's tradition for valor in approaching any objective— arose, bowed charmingly, introduced himself and asked, "You seem to be pretty busy. Is there any way in which we can be of service?" "There certainly is," said Joanne, leading the way to her drawing room. She opened the door and was followed into the space by three eager boys in blue. "I haven't had anything to eat except some sandwiches that I packed and some fruit, since I left New York. Will you mind the baby while I go to the diner?" naval strategy . . . The American fighting man is staggered by no battle development, however unforeseen. All three of them arose instantly to the emergency. When, after a grateful dinner, Joanne returned to her drawing room, she found lines strung and a complete baby wash napping in the breeze. One man was sudsing out the last kimono in the metal wash basin; one was telling Skippy about his most recent tour of duty; the third was dry cleaning some spots from his uniform, after having burped Junior Haymes somewhat too successfully. Dick met his family at the Pasadena station and heard the story with a hearty laugh. "After living in a drawing room on a train for four days, you're going to think our apartment is colossal. Just wait until you see it! And all furnished— even the living room," he boasted It was really something. A penthouse atop one of Hollywood's swankiest apartment buildings, it had a view that you could have sliced and sold at art exhibits; the bathrooms were large enough to house small echoes, and the rugs were so deep that Dick had thought of providing guests with skis for ease in crossing the living room. "How much rent do we have to pay?" gasped the Little Woman. Dick reeled off a glib figure. "And how much are we making?" Dick mentioned the same figure he had quoted for rental. "Tell you what," he suggested, grinning, "we'll pay our rent every day. That way we won't miss it." "And when. do we eat?" said the practical member of the household. Dick was crestfallen. "But, honey, I wanted to have a nice place for you and Skippy." "It's a palace," laughed Joanne, rushing into her husband's arms. "You're a princely provider— no mistake about that." But the next day she started apartment hunting and within three weeks had found a charming place at one-third the rent By May 13, 1944, the Haymes family had moved to a sprawling, comfortable house in San Fernando Valley; they owned and operated as pets two dogs, Bonnie— a Dalmatian— and Bobby— a Schnauzer; they also owned Skippy and his newlyborn sister, Helen Lane Haymes. While Miss Haymes had been in the angel factory getting properly outfitted with fingers, toes and big, curious eyes, she had been referred to in the family circle as "Sister Susie." Hearing a reference to this Sister Susie person one day, Skippy asked, "Who Susie? "She's going to be your new baby sister. Were going to bring her home from the hospital by and by," explained Skippy's mother. When this momentous event took place Skippy gurgled and cooed and made a fuss over the newcomer. "My lil thithter Be Lovely to Love You'll never worry about stayirij sweet and dainty if you use Fresh the cream deodorant that stops perspiration worries completely. It's getitle, stays creamy and smooth . . . 50£, 250, 10£ 107