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MARCH, 1943
precisely nothing except that he liked me.
"Mr. Burns," he said, "don't you think you're taking up an awful lot of Eileen's time?"
"Jerry looked up quickly, and his eyes were strange. I thought foolishly of lighted windows when the shades are suddenly pulled down. But his voice was smooth and — well, almost gentle.
"You mean you don't like it?"
Sam wasn't used to dealing with a man like Jerry, and that ease of his rubbed Sam the wrong way. "All right," he said, shortly. "I don't like it."
"It seems to me," Jerry told him, his voice still deceptively level, "that it's up to Eileen to decide what she'll do with her time."
Sam shook his head. "Not entirely. She had a contract with me. And besides — well, I wouldn't like to see Eileen get hurt. I'm pretty fond of her, you know." His protective arm about my shoulders tightened in a little squeeze.
Anger flamed in Jerry's eyes, and a little tongue of fear shot through me to answer it. His chair screeched on the floor as Jerry pushed it back and got to his feet.
"Take your hands off her." Still his voice was controlled, but there was a kind of deadliness behind it now. And then Jerry reached out a hand, took me firmly by the wrist, and made for the door — and I, perforce, had to follow him. But I would have followed him anyway. Sam was my friend, but Jerry — Jerry was my destiny.
Jerry shot his car out of the parking lot, headed for the country.
"I'll lose my job," I said, presently, when I could feel that his anger had cooled a little.
"That doesn't matter. You're not going to work any more, anyway. If I can help it, you'll never set foot inside another place like that. You're going to marry me the first thing tomorrow morning."
J SUPPOSE I should have been sorry about Sam that night. We'd treated him shabbily. But there wasn't any room in my thoughts for anything but Jerry, and tomorrow.
And when tomorrow came, Judge Parker, who had been Jerry's father's best friend years ago, married us in his chambers. It wasn't the sort of wedding most girls dream about. There wasn't a church or a veil, or an organ to play Mendelssohn. There was just the little office, and the kindly old Judge with his solemn voice and his twinkling eyes, and rows of lawbooks, and a picture of George Washington looking down approv
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