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GRIF'S mother came hurrying through the gate that morning, calling me, waving the telegram.
"I got one too," I cried, running out upon my little square porch to meet her. "Oh, Mother Baird! He's really coming home!"
She stood at the bottom of the porch steps with the sun glinting on her high silvery rolls of hair, and even in the midst of my excitement a part of my mind paused to marvel at her beauty and her untouched look.
Mother Baird laughingly called herself a "farm gal" since they had moved to the remodeled farmhouse on the outskirts of Rosemead; but she looked as little like a farm gal as the neat new Baird subdivision looked like the worthless weed-grown farm which Father Baird had taken in on a mortgage during the depression. With the mushrooming of the plane assembly plant in Rosemead, bringing sudden life to this sleepy little town and in influx of workers clamoring for houses, Father Baird had been quick to subdivide the old dry farm and to build the rows of neat little stucco cottages which sold like hotcakes to the plant employees.
"We'll have a party to welcome Grif home," Mother Baird was saying, "a really gay one, Peggy, with all his old school friends."
All his old school friends! The old familiar sense of loneliness swept over me, making me feel left out, a stranger. I didn't belong to Grif's old school crowd. While he was finishing high school in a whirl of senior class festivities and football triumphs, I had been working in the Y.W. cafeteria and going to night school, taking a secretarial course.
' We had met by accident. I was taking the cut-off across the park on my way to school one evening when my dropped handbag skidded across the
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STARS OVER HOLLYWOOD STORY
^JThis slbry was adapted from "And The
Sparks Flew", an original Stars Over
■ Hollywood story written by Ralph Rose.
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