Radio mirror (Nov 1936-Apr 1937)

RADIO M I RROR son exclaimed. "Let's see. That's right. You're Gwen Holmes." He stared thoughtfully at Gwen a minute. "Let's walk around and I'll show you the offices. But first," he added. "You must promise to call me Jack." "But those two people — " Gwen began. Jack smiled. "That was Mrs. Piatt. She's a wealthy widow — or was until she married Mr. Piatt — and she bought a golf ball factory. So she decided she wanted a radio program to advertise the golf balls. That's how it happens that I have to do business with her." Gwen began to see the light. "Are many sponsors that way?" Jack shook his head. "Do you think \ could keep my job this long if they were?" He led her out into the hall. When he spoke again, his voice was more serious. "About you," he said. "I wouldn't be going on the Rossman program, would I ?" Gwen asked, more as a stab in the dark than anything else. "What? You don't expect to drop into the top spot on the air in one fell swoop? Why Rossman's the star of the new Piatt golf ball program." "N — no," Gwen replied. "Besides," he went on, "we can't decide your whole future with one snap of the fingers." "Well, then," Gwen went on, determined to run the matter to the ground, "will you use me as an announcer or as a singer?" And, strangely, Jack Carson. Commercial's Program Director, blushed. "Well, you see, it's complicated. Here we have a lovely girl — ambitious — talented— we have to take time to decide what's best." "But surely, you're not going to let me sit around doing nothing to earn my salary?" Jack didn't speak for a moment, but walked straight ahead until they were at the elevators. "Listen, kid," Jack said, "promise me one thing?" He took Gwen's hand. "No matter what happens, always keep your chin up, will you?" And before Gwen, in her astonishment, could answer, he said, in his former business like way. "Give me your address. We'll let you know as soon as we decide what to do with you. In the meantime, if a week goes by, we'll send your check for your first week to you in the mail." He turned and walked away. The elevator operator said impatiently, "Down? Going down?" Gwen stumbled in, the door slid shut, and the express elevator dropped beneath her feet. A WEEK went by without another word from either Jack or Bob Miller. But Gwen had enough to see so that she didn't mind the wait too much. And just as Jack had promised, on Saturday a check came to her. It was the second week that dragged. By that time she had seen all of New York that she wanted to, alone. The other places she had always dreamed of seeing with someone — someone preferably tall, dark, with a boyish smile; someone, she had to admit, like Bob Miller. If she could only figure out to her own satisfaction why she had been brought here and then left to her own devices! Big companies, she thought she knew, didn't work that way. Or maybe they did. Maybe they had just forgotten her. So Gwen set a time limit for herself. She'd stay exactly two full weeks. Then she'd leave just as quietly as she'd come. Friday was the longest day she'd ever K*VH ****** My daughter, Joan, loves parties. She has plenty of friends too. But she never used to invite them into her home. One day I asked her if she was ashamed of it. After I coaxed her, she broke down and told me that the girls at school joked a lot about "tattle-tale gray." And Joan was afraid her friends would notice that my linens and things had it bad. I was plenty mad because I work hard. But Joan showed me one of your ads about how the wrong kind of soap gives clothes "tattle-tale gray" by leaving dirt stuck in the clothes. So just to please her I changed and tried Fels-Naptha Soap. And my, the difference it's made! All that gentle naptha along with that wonderful golden soap wash so clean. I've never had my things look so white ! © ,936i FELS a c<3. Banish "Tattle-Tale Gray" with FELS-NAPTHA SOAP! 59