Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1948)

Dr. Charles Matthews (played by Hugh Studebaker) watched and waited as Ray Brandon struggled with his problem. He knew Ray's secret goal. 64 for her years. Just now it was a soft blur in the June night. "He doesn't need any encouragement. Not like some people I know." Quickly she went on, "How was the graduation?" RAY was touched. She was always making little slips that betrayed her attitude of casual friendliness, and then hurriedly changing the subject as if she were afraid of forcing him to take notice of her. Earlier in the evening she had suggested a walk in the Flats' rather dusty little park; when he had told her where he was going and had invited her to go with him, her face had lighted with longing — but she had refused, sensing that he wanted to go alone. "All right," he answered, and couldn't help adding, "One part of it was wonderful. A young man, the class valedictorian, spoke — " "Yes — " She was watching his face intently. "What did he have to say?" He was afraid to go on, afraid she would divine more than he wanted her to know. "Oh — just what all young people have to say," he answered carelessly. "What I felt and said myself when I was young. Charlotte, I'm very sorry. I completely forgot that you might be waiting." She laughed. "You know, you're a nice guy," she told him. "I didn't have you figured as the kind of guy who'd say I'm sorry." He smiled thinly. "Not quite in character, you mean?" "Not quite something. I had you figured as a Charlotte (Hetty Lou Gerson) hard guy — hard, not tough. But I guess you're nice — nicer than I am. I stopped being sorry — for anything — a long time ago. You live today. That's all that matters. And speaking of today — there's still time for that walk in the park." A walk in the park, Ray thought; not a bad idea. It might help him forget tonight, and the boys and girls moving down the aisle to processional music, and a face that was his own face, fifteen years younger, on a stage. He didn't mean to get too friendly with Charlotte. In a sense they were both fugitives from life, and that was what drew him to her. She was a pianist; she had a night-club act billed as "Charlotte and Her Piano" — when she worked. Ray suspected that it was a good act, and that, if she cared to exert herself, she had warmth and drive enough to put it across. But he suspected, too, that she didn't really care much about anything, and that she worked only enough to keep herself and to pay for her modest room at Mrs. Olson's. She was always around when he came in from work, not intruding herself upon him, nor seeking attention, but just there, in case he should want to talk with her or walk with her or to play a game of gin rummy. Often he avoided her — tactfully, so that he wouldn't hurt her feelings. He was a man with a purpose. The purpose would have to wait a while because the man at the other end of it was out of town, but in the meantime he didn't want to become interested in anyone, nor did he want anyone to become interested in him. No emotional pride must tangle his clear purpose. THEN one night Dr. Matthews left his study at the Church of the Good Samaritan, just up the street from Mrs. Olson's, and paid him a visit. "Don't get the wrong idea," he told Ray. "I know how you feel about me, and I'm not going to make a habit of dropping in on you like this. But I know what you're up against . . . and if there's ever anything I can do, you know where the parsonage is." Ray laughed shortly. "I've a very good view of it from my window — one of the drawbacks of the room. And thanks — but my future is pretty well laid out. You needn't concern yourself." "I wonder," said Dr. Matthews slowly. "Every time I talk with you, I've the feeling I'm talking to two men. One is lost, bewildered; he wants to believe in something, wants to believe that the world is a decent place, in spite of everything. The other — well, I don't like what I see in his eyes." Ray narrowed his eyes instinctively, as if guarding them. Then he snorted. "You're all alike, you ministers. Why don't you practise what you preach? You're just curious. There's someone new in the neighborhood, someone you can't tag — " "I wouldn't say that," said Dr. Matthews drily. "You forget, Brandon, that I've learned a great deal about you without going out of my way at all. And just the other day I had a talk with a fine boy who's just starting out in life. He was graduated just the other evening— class valedictorian — " Ray's head snapped up. "You — what?" "Now, wait a minute. It happened quite by accident. The boy knew I was going to give the convocation, so he figured, we ought to have a talk. He's a fine boy," Dr. Matthews repeated. "He wants to work as counselor at the Young People's Club here in Selby Flats this summer, and in the fall he wants to go to U. C. L. A. because it's the university his father — his real father — attended." "Look here, Dr. Matthews, if you told him — " "I didn't tell him anything," said Dr. Matthews. "I was occupied with trying RADIO MIRROR Waterman)