Radio mirror (July-Dec 1947)

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C. /^uorantted b]r^ VCMd Hounke«pin| / The Pony Who Talked {Continued from page 31) him like a magnet. Near it was a bookcase. There was something pathetic in the way he pretended to look at the titles of those books — none of which he could possibly have understood— running a chubby finger down their covers, while all the time his whole self was in quivering attention upon the laughter and the game going on outside that window. A child like that is too sensitive to be questioned openly. I picked up a newspaper, and started to read from it in a kind of mumbling undertone, until he got used to the sound of my voice. Then I began to talk to him — using the newspaper as an excuse — " — all this trouble in the world. Too bad people can't get along with each other. Take my son, Jim, for instance. Friendly as all get-out. All you got to do is smile at that boy and he's your friend. Just walk up there, Burke, and say, 'Hi, Jim!' and you'd be right in the games with the other boys — even if he is older than you. But walk up to him with a stiff look and a cold eye — why, he's as ready for a fight as the next one. People take you at your face value, Burke. You be friends and they'll be friends with you." WITH his attention still focused on what was going on outside that window, Burke's defenses were down. "Not me, Mr. McConnell. Kids don't like me. If I go outside now, they'll just stay away from me or call me a sissy. You know that!" Score one for Burke. I did know that — and with a kid's realistic appraisal of himself and other children, Burke had neatly punctured my wellmeant but fatuous generalities. The other boys had seen him when he first came in the door — they must have instantly labeled him a mamma's boy and a Little Lord Fauntleroy. If he were to go outside now, it would take more courage and cleverness for him to try to break down that barrier between himself and the others than most people possess. My annoyance at the Gittlesons turned into something like anger. I set myself to make friends with Burke. He wasn't an easy one to thaw, but gradually he began to talk about himself — what he had done that morning; how he was going to be a sailor when he grew up; about the star he got on his spelling paper that week. "I'll bet your father's proud of that star, too, son," I reminded him, gently. He was sitting now on the stool beside me, his eyes dreamy, his chin cupped in his hand. "Oh, he isn't my real father, Mr. Smilin' Ed. I'm adopted. My own, real father was a sea captain and he was lost in a storm, but they, think maybe he's still alive somewhere and he'll come back and get me soon." Ordinarily, I'd never fall for that one. Lots of kids — when they're mad at their folks or disappointed, daydream about being the long-lost son of some very glamorous figure. But Burke was so serious when he spoke and he had seemed so unimaginative all during our conversation that it fooled me. Anyway, I nearly dropped another brick. They were at the door, saying goodbye— Mr. Gittleson shaking hands — when his wife spoke up. "I'd like it very much, Mr. McConnell, if your son could come over and play with Burke. I'm afraid he doesn't have many friends. We can't understand what's the matter — our back lawn is filled with swings and slides to attract the children of the neighborhood, but Burke seems to be always alone." That's when I almost lost Burke's friendship. "Glad to, Mrs. Gittleson. I'll bring him over sometime — I think he'd enjoy going through that old sea chest — " I happened to look down at Burke. His eyes were filled with a kind of panic and something that begged with me not to betray him. In a second I realized. I knew that Burke had been making up the whole story of the sea captain and the wonderful sea chest he had left for his son and that was supposed to be in Burke's room! Lamely I went on, in the face of the Gittlesons' bewildered looks— "sorry — I guess I was thinking of something else. Another boy I know. Has a sea chest." I wasn't wiggling out of it very well, but at least Burke's eyes had given me back his trust. "Sure — I'll be glad to come over and bring my son. We'll let them get together, but I warn you to put Burke in overalls or blue jeans. Kids these days can get themselves pretty dirty, playing the way they do." Well, I don't believe in forcing youngsters together, so I let the invitation ride. In fact, it was many months before I heard anything at all of this family. And then my memory was jogged because a neighbor of mine sold the Gittlesons a pony. This was good news. A pony can be a fine companion for a lonely boy and it was more than idle curiosity that prompted me to question this neighbor after the pony had been delivered. He told me: "Never saw a kid so excited in all my life. His folks are going to have a hard time keeping him out of that stable all day and all night. He went for Pinto with his whole heart the minute I brought the pony into the stable yard." GOOD news, indeed. Pinto might help to fill up that lonely gap in Burke's life. After years of broadcasting to children, I know their natural hankering for animals. Why, Froggy, the gremlin, who entertains with me every Saturday gets more fan mail from children than I do. It was quite by accident that I met the Gittlesons again. My own family was away, visiting, and I had tried to console myself with a visit to the local movie house. And coming out I bumped right into the Gittlesons. They lived close by, and Mrs. Gittleson urged me to run over for a moment with them for late coffee and cake. It was while we were in the living room, waiting for Mrs. Gittleson to bring in the cake tray, that I asked Henry about Burke and Pinto. I thought his hand trembled a little as he tried to light his pipe. "Pinto?" He kept his eyes on the flaming match. He seemed to be trying to evade the answer, then abruptly he put down his pipe and leaned toward me in his chair. "Nothing but trouble, Ed." We were on first names by now. "From the