Radio romances (July-Dec 1945)

fully. "Is Bob around? I need his help." "Why — yes, of course. Come in." She held the door open for me. "He's upstairs, dressing — he has a piano lesson this morning, you know." 1 NODDED. "I wanted to catch him before he left." I sat down at the table in Myra's gleaming, immaculate breakfast nook, and for a few minutes we talked commonplaces — which, as a matter of fact, were all Myra and I had ever talked. It's difficult to explain my feelings toward Myra. They were simply negative. I was not jealous of her, I did not dislike her. She had some fine qualities — she had made a beautiful home for Charles, she had excellent taste, she was kind, according to her conception of kindness. But — she was Myra, who had laughed from her heart for the last time on the day she and Blair Kinkaid came flying down Pine Hill. Except for her | beauty, I couldn't see that she had a single qualification for making a man like Charles happy. But I admitted to myself that I was prejudiced. There was a scuffling sound in the hall, and Bob appeared, a music roll under his arm. "All right, Mom, I'm — " He caught sight of me and stopped, his mouth open. "Hello, Bob," I said. "I came over because I want you to do me a favor. If I meet you after your lesson, will you drive out to the country with me and help me buy a dog?" I felt, rather than saw, Myra's involuntary movement beside me. I was watching Bob. There was a flicker of interest, even excitement, in his eyes, but all the same he was cautious, suspecting a trap. "Sure, I guess so," he said, casually, "if you want me along." "I do, very much. I've decided I need a dog, but I don't know what kind to get, and I wouldn't know a good one from a bad." "Well, I don't know so very much about 'em myself," Bob said, thawing enough to be judicial. "O' course, you don't want to get a real thoroughbred anyway, I guess. You — " "Bob," Myra interrupted. "It's nearly time for your lesson. You and Miss Wilson can discuss the kind of dog you're going to buy later." "Yes, you run along now," I told him. "And I'll pick you up in the car at — what time is your lesson finished?" "Eleven." "A few minutes after eleven, then, wherever you say." He told me where to meet him, and left. Perhaps it was my imagination, but it seemed to me he was already walking more briskly, more purposefully. "I hope you don't mind," I said to Myra, "but I remembered how he loves animals, and I thought he'd enjoy it." Myra lifted her shoulders in a shrug. "If you really want a dog — I warn you, though — the one time I let Bob have one, he almost drove me frantic." "I'll take my chances," I laughed. I didn't think it necessary to tell her that Mother, when I told her my plans, had had practically the same reaction. Behind the wheel of the cheap little coupe I'd bought before the war, I was waiting for Bob when he arrrived at the street corner near his piano teacher's house — and from the start I was able to create a holiday mood. I suppose I was aided by Bob's own feeling of relief at having the hated lesson safely behind him. We plunged into a spirited discussion of the various breeds of dogs — I had never realized there were so many, and it worried me to find that Bob's preference leaned strongly toward a Great Dane — which lasted until we'd reached the kennels in the country. Fortunately, they had no Great Danes there, but it seemed to me they had every other kind. Bob immediately went into a kind of dreamy transport of delight, moving from kennel to kennel, while I tagged along behind him. My head was beginning to ache from the barking, but I told myself that simply proved I was a spinster and a school teacher. And a dozen headaches would not have been too much to pay for the privilege of watching Bob with the dog we finally selected. 'T'HE man said he was an Irish terrier, •* but he looked more like an animated doormat. His legs were twice as long and big as they should have been, and they were always betraying him into toppling forward on his face. He had no dignity, but he had something better— love for all the world. Bob held him on his lap all the way home. His hands, when he touched the dog's wire-rough coat, were gentle and sensitive, and his sullenness had vanished into a glow of delight. We talked about names, and I suggested all the dull standbys, Duke and Brownie and Sandy and Rex. But it was Bob who christened him. "Let's call him Shaymus," he said, and I repeated in puzzlement, "Shaymus?" "Yes," Bob said, and kindly explained. "It's spelled S-e-a-m-a-s. He was an Irish king, I think. Anyway, it's an Irish name, and this is an Irish No curative power is claimed for PHILIP MORRIS but *>-. X%L *</ m?M?M< a3l 'V AN OUNCE OF PREVENTION IS WORTH A POUND OF CURE PHILIP MORRIS are scientifically proved far less irritating to the nose and throat. Eminent doctors found— as reported in an authoritative medical journal— that: WHEN SMOKERS CHANGED TO PHILIP MORRIS, SUBSTANTIALLY EVERY CASE OF IRRITATION OF THE NOSE OR THROATDUE TO SMOKING -EITHER CLEARED UP COMPLETELY, OR DEFINITELY IMPROVED! PM/PMOMS MA Ft*t£K flAVOA-PWS MA. MOK£ PKOr£CTH>Af R R 91 ^m