Radio romances (July-Dec 1945)

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"I never would have thought of it. How did you know about it?" "Oh — read it somewhere, I guess," he murmured sheepishly. All the same, he was pleased. I told him I wanted him to help me train and raise Seamas; I asked his advice about letting him sleep in my garage, and was relieved when he said he didn't think it would be too cold, and that he'd fix a kennel there. "And I'll teach him a lot of things," he promised seriously. "You'll have a good dog here, Miss Wilson — and you need one, too. Everybody — " a little wistfully— "everybody needs a good watchdog." We were late getting home for lunch, and Myra whisked him inside as soon as we appeared. He was back within half an hour, though, and we spent the afternoon knocking together a doghouse out of odds and ends of lumber. Bob was clever with his hands, as longas they did not have to operate on the keys of a piano. ■ T was the beginning, the beginning of * something very happy. Bob, as I'd foreseen, could not separate Miss Wilson, the teacher, from the Miss Wilson who owned Seamas. He always came over the first thing in the morning, before school, to feed Seamus and play with him for a few minutes; and although he didn't walk to sdhool with me — that would never have done! — there was a special feeling between us in class, a friendly carry-over from the accumulated hours we spent together with the dog. And he told me things — how, when he got into high school, he wanted to learn about plants and animals, a science whose name he didn't even know was biology until I told him; how once, four years ago, he and his father had gone on a fishing trip, just the two of them. ("Maybe we'll go again, next summer, if Dad isn't still too busy then.") Little things, revealing things ■ — revelatory not so much in what he said as in what he left unsaid. For he never mentioned his mother, except to say, "I guess I better go now. Mom said to be sure to come in by six o'clock." His school work— and more important, his attitude in school — were both better now, and I didn't have to keep him in again. It was understood that he would do his afternoon's practicing on the piano as soon as he got home, then come into my back yard to play with Seamas. Once in a while, on afternoons when his mother was out, he was already with the dog when I got home. I knew, then, that he hadn't practiced, but I said nothing. Perhaps it was wrong of me; perhaps I should have sent him in — but I didn't have the heart. Once — one never-to-be-forgotten Saturday afternoon when the sun glistened on new snow — Charles came home early, and he joined us, and while Seamas frisked about hysterically we made a really majestic snow man, complete with coat and battered felt hat, with a pipe rakishly atilt in his mouth. I saw then that Charles had not forgotten how to play, because his laughter rang on the cold air, and the years fell away from him until his red cheeks and sparkling eyes made him again into the boy I'd fallen in love with so long ago. But suddenly Myra had come back from her shopping trip downtown, and was standing on her side of the gate