Radio romances (July-Dec 1945)

"And have everybody in town guess, by looking at me, that I'd just been kissing you?" I asked, forcing a shaky laugh. "No thanks! As it is, I hardly dare face Lilian Plumm." "I'm not so sure I can, either," he said wryly. All the same, we did, both of us; and we went downstairs to the busy small-town street corner, and said a polite goodbye there. I wouldn't go home just yet, I said; I had some shopping to do. . . . I haven't the faintest recollection of what stores I went into — or if, indeed, I went into any. My consciousness, my whole being, was filled with the memory of his kisses — with that, and the knowledge that we might never kiss again. Coming home at last, my eyes were drawn irresistibly to Charles' house, as if the mere sight of it could tell me what was happening inside. But the wood and glass of its front were inscrutable; it was a house, and nothing more. I had to tell Mother, as matter-offactly as possible, what had happened to Bob. She hadn't seen me bring him home, but she'd seen the doctor come and go, and she was understandably curious. One fact, of course, I kept to myself — that his injury had not been an accident. "My goodness, Myra must be throwing a fit at the idea of anything interfering with Bob's piano-playing," Mother was saying — not without relish — when the telephone rang. I picked it up carelessly; the last thing I expected to hear was Charles' voice, saying, "Can you come over, Fran? Myra wants to talk to you." His tone was completely flat, unreversing. "Why — yes, of course," I said. "Right away." And then, because I wanted to know before I faced Myra, I asked, "How's Bob's hand?" "The doctor doesn't think any bones are broken. He's going to have it Xrayed tomorrow." That should have relieved me, I thought as I let myself out the front door. But it didn't. If one of Bob's fingers were broken, there need never again be any question of his playing the piano — but if it healed Myra must somehow be convinced that she was wrong. And Charles was the only one who could convince her. CHARLES opened his door for me, and looking at him I thought that this must be how he appeared in the courtroom, fighting with all his power to win a case: all the lines of his face stern and sharp, his head lifted as if in challenge. He took me into the livingroom, where Myra sat erect, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, bitter resentment in the dark pools of her eyes. • "Will you tell Myra how Bob hurt his hand?" Charles asked me. She turned her head away from me as I began to speak; all I saw was the still whiteness of her profile. She might have been a statue, not a woman listening to the story of how her son had tried to maim himself rather than continue the kind of life she had ordained for him. And when I had finished there was a silence, until Charles said with a curious gentleness: "Do you believe it now, Myra? Or do you want me to go up and get Bob out of bed, and ask him to tell you?" Her only answer was a slow shake of her head from side to side. Be Lovely to Love You'll never worry about staying sweet and dainty if you use Fresh the cream deodorant that stops perspiration worries completely* It's gentle, stays creamy and smooth. Doesn't dry out.*** usable right to the bottom of the jar* 50^«»*25/**«10^ MOST FASCINATING AND INTRIGUIN6...TUNE IN "DAVID HARDING. COUNTERSPY," WED. NI6HTS, 10 E.W.T., AMERICAN (BLUE) NETWORK R R 65