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Glad. Grpi
and-lace clad figure. A warm little hand just jumped into mine and pulled me in, while a voice that sang with the joy of living said:
"Golly, you poor dear, you must be frozen." And somehow, King Winter, with his grouchy troupe of physical discomforts, vanished as if by magic. Here were warmth, youth, joy and summer, daisy fields and new-mown hay. Thus Gladys Leslie.
I almost expected her to slip a pink sunbonnet over her gold-kist locks and invite me out into the garden. Not that Gladys is pastoral. But her aura is. Matter-of-factly, she appeared very much as any other young girl would in a silken negligee. Prettier than most, perhaps, but supremely unconscious of that fact. "My, I'm glad you got here safely," she said. Thus I discovered the keynote of the little Leslie's character.
BROOKLYN was all bound up in the icy embrace of King Winter. / was all balled up in Brookryn. But with head bowed to the fates — and the winds — I blundered blocks to the right.
on, two
Twenty-second Street."
Somehow the counted five blocks down and two blocks over failed to bring me to Twenty-second Street, but after several attempts, my addition came out correctly, and the Leslie street, number and home loomed tip out of the cold.
Now that I had found the place, would Miss Leslie keep me waiting? Would she be like the weather, frigid and hard to get along with ? Fortunately, my mind had little opportunity to flounder in the pessimistic sea of what might be.
Before I had
reached the porch
the door was
flung open wide.
~ I caught a glimpse
f\of a slender pink
A/S£
Gladys Leslie reminds one of a sunkist buttercup, whom vagrant chance has blown into a hothouse bouquet o f screen roses
, L