Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1948)

THE LIGHT IN THE WINDOW to place him. Oh, I know his people indirectly. They're friends of the McNeills', who are friends of mine. You probably know that Dr. McNeill runs the clinic here in Selby Flats. But the boy's face, and the way he talked — he's a lot like this one fellow inside you that I was talking about. The fellow who believes in something — " Ray's face was white. He rose, almost threateningly. "That has nothing to do with — " A SCREAM split the air, followed by -** scrambling, a crash. Somehow, Dr. Matthews and Ray got through the door into the hall at the same time. Down the hall, outside Charlotte Wilson's room, a man lay, his head bleeding, a shattered pitcher beside him. In her doorway Charlotte was screaming hysterically, "Get out! Get out! Get away from me!" Dr. Matthews bent over the fallen man, and suddenly the hall was full of people, thin-faced little Eddie Bingham, other boarders, and Mrs. Olson, martially commanding them to go back where they came from. Dr. Matthews took the man off to Dr. McNeill's clinic; Ray tactfully retreated to his own room until the house w.is quiet. Then he knoci ;ed on Charlotte's door. "Charlotte, it's Ray — Ray Brandon. Are you all right?" "Go away," she said in a thick voice. "Oh, well — " And the door opened. She was pacing back and forth in the small space, shaking all over. "That good-for-nothing heel. I'm still so mad I can hardly see straight." It was evident that she hadn't yet recovered from the tussle. Her hair was mussed, her eyes red as though her head had been buried in a tearwet pillow; her breathing came fast and uneven. Ray put a quieting hand over hers. "Who is he?" he asked quietly. "A rat," said Charlotte succinctly. "One Larry Lawrence. Somebody I don't want to know." "Obviously." Ray grinned slightly. "Also someone you knew once." "Eight years ago." She stopped before him, eyes brilliant, mouth trembling with rage. "I thought that was the last of him. And today he came back. A knock on the door — and him standing there like he didn't know me at first! 'Charlotte Wilson, of all people! I saw the name on a letter, an envelope down in the hall, but I didn't think it was possible. Charlotte, don't you remember me?' I remembered all right — " "I guess you did. That was a pretty nasty cut. Dr. Matthews has taken him down to the clinic." "Too bad it wasn't the morgue." He looked at her, startled. She READER BONUS Frank ( William sounded as if she meant it. "Charlotte, you couldn't hate anyone that much." "Oh, no? If you'd gone through what I have because of one person . . . What do you know about hate?" "What do I know?" He checked himself "Surely, Charlotte, it can't be as bad as all that. Eight years ago, you were just a kid — " She nodded violently. "You bet. Young and dumb and nice, a regular little Pollyanna. Sang in church every Sunday, a sweet small-town girl, young love's dream taken for a sleigh ride by Handsome Harry. I should have killed him — " He put his hands on her shoulders, forced her into a chair. "Charlotte, stop that. Now have a cigarette and relax. What's the use getting worked up over something that happened eight years ago? There— that's better — " She took the cigarette, looked up at him with eyes full of apology — and something else. "I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have flown off the handle that way. But I got so mad at him, and then mad at myself for being mad . . is he coming back?" "I don't know," Ray answered. "I heard him say he has a room here, but under the circumstances I don't imagine he'll be too anxious to stay." "That's what you think." She laughed bitterly. "All I've got to say is that this place isn't big enough for the two of us. One of us will have to go — me or Larry Lawrence." But she didn't go. Larry came back from the clinic; the days passed, and still Charlotte remained. Then, coming home from work one afternoon and passing her half-open door, Ray saw something that made him pause, push the door open the rest of the way. "Charlotte, what in the world are you doing?" "What does it look like?" she snapped, and went on with her packing. "I'm clearing out of here." He sat down heavily. "You can't," he said. "I — I won't let you do this." She straightened, staring at him. "You won't let _me? What's it to you, anyway?" "I like you," said Ray. "Except when you give in to these impulses — " "Like throwing pitchers at people?" He nodded soberly. "And — showing the Julie Collins (Mary Lansing) Collins Bouchey) Roger Collins (Sam Edwards) white feather. You're only running away, Charlotte. You're afraid to face yourself, and the past. If you'd care to talk to me about it ... if I can help — " Dimly he heard an echo — Dr. Matthews offering, his own voice refusing. But he wouldn't listen. What applied to him didn't necessarily apply to others. And Charlotte needed help. "Why should I tell you anything?" she demanded. "What do I know about you, the man of mystery himself? Besides, you wouldn't understand. I'm not like you, and you're not like me. I — I'm just not in your class." "Not — " His jaw dropped. "What are you talking about? We were talking about one thing, and now you've switched to another. Charlotte, don't be so — so female!" She blinked and folded her lips tightly against tears. Of course he wouldn't understand — because he would never in the world want to. Little Eddie Bingham had set her straight about that. Why don't you come down to earth, Charl? This Brandon guy ain't in your class. He's just slumming down here — he's not Selby Flats. He's a writer or something like that, maybe a professor. You know he told me he studied law for fifteen years? And still he ain't a lawyer. You see, you don't know anything about him. And you never will. One day he'll pack up and leave here just the way he came in. That's why she was going. It wasn't Larry Lawrence. So long as he stayed away from her room, she didn't care if he chose to live here. He didn't matter any more. But Ray Brandon did. Ray sensed it, knew that somehow her staying or going depended upon him, and he rebelled inwardly. This was one of life's traps, the impulse to reach out and stop her, to give of himself. And yet — hadn't she given to him? Talk, companionship, a woman's companionship, something he'd been as starved for as he'd been for the sight of his son. "We're not alike?" he asked. "Well, we are in one way. You see. Charlotte, I hate someone, too. Hate him in a way you can't even begin to imagine. Some day I'm going to — but never mind that. The point is, I'm waiting for that someday, but I'm not losing my head. I can't afford to make a fool of myself— " His own words stopped him short. No, he couldn't afford to make a fool of himself — and one quick, sure way of doing just that would be to talk too much. Her eyes were fixed upon his, and it seemed as if the very breath had stopped in her throat. "You're waiting — what (Continued on page 103) 65