Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1950)

and she fairly blinded me so I couldn't really get to see what the others looked like. It wasn't till we had passed into the room and had found ourselves a kind of corner that I had a chance to look back, casual-like, and get myself a peek at them. I saw that Evey was doing the same, and so was Joseph — practically everybody in the room, in fact, excepting Ma, who had too good manners to stare. Too good self-control, too. She sat down next to Marcella Purdy and was calmly chatting away. But not the rest of us. We were too busy trying to size up the visitors. This Sinclair fellow, now ... he was a tall, thin chap. Bony. I was surprised to see there was some gray at the side of his hair. Not so awfully young, then. Not one of these young smartalec types. He had a thin, bony face, with small dark eyes that looked very piercing. "Why, it's a nice face," I thought. "Smart-looking but not wiselooking. He looks like a real intelligent feller." Passing on to the girl, I saw why Joseph hadn't been able to take his eyes off her ever since we'd come in. I'd noticed that — he acted as though his eyes were stuck to her or something. Beautiful? I wouldn't say that. She was on the tall side too, but not so very thin Her dress was gray, and her eyes were light — maybe gray, too. They were so enormous I could see that much even way across the room. Her hair was short and curly, and reddish. But what was making Joseph stare wasn't anything you can put it in words. It was a something — a certain kind of personality that you could see in her face and in the rest of her too, that kind of caught you and made you look twice. I felt suddenly sorry for Joseph, and yet in a way I envied him too . . . for being young, I guess. For being able to feel that struck by a girl, and hope she might throw a look his way. "Gee, she's beautiful." Evey's voice came out in a sigh. Fay, beside me, nodded, without looking toward Anne Morrison. She'd seen enough in that first look, I guess, as a woman can. "Very," she answered her sister. "She's very sophisticated-looking, too. So is he." "Just what I was thinking," Evey said. She cast a dissatisfied glance at Willy's gabardine suit. "I wish Willy would get himself one of them . . ." her voice trailed off. It was plain enough that no matter what Willy ever got himself he wasn't going to end up looking like Alfred Sinclair. Even Evey could see that. She sighed and turned her attention to the rest of the room. "Some party!" I thought to myself. Why, the few people who were speaking were doing it in whispers, like in a museum. I got to do something about it, I decided, and cleared my throat to begin. I don't know what I would have said, but just that minute I caught Willy's eyes, and I saw he was doing the same as I was, trying to think of something to say. So I shut up and let him do the thinking. He coughed. "Say, Shuffle," he bellowed. "How's about . . ." Then he stood there with his mouth half open, just looking at me. He hadn't meant to shout like that. He hadn't any idea just how his voice was going to come out. But it echoed around that quiet room something terrible. We stared at each other, and then I couldn't help it — the corners of my mouth began to twitch. Gosh knows what would have happened if one of them maids hadn't come round right then with a tray with some glasses on it. She shoved it be tween us, and Willy took one and I took one, and the bad minutes passed over. Without meaning to, we had helped things somewhat. After that noise Willy made people started to talk a little louder. One or two laughs came sounding down the room. Things were warming up a bit. Folks began moving around from place to place, and I was reminded of a movie I'd seen down at the Cameo with one of those big cocktail parties in it, where dressed-up people rushed around from group to group, chattering away and nobody being able to hear a thing anybody else said. That was what Mathilda Pendleton wanted us to do, I guess; act like those people in a Hollywood movie. Well, she'd be lucky if she got any kind of a party at all, the way things were going. Rushville Center folks just ain't the cocktail-chattering type, and you couldn't make them into it by sending out a printed-up invitation. "Say, when do we eat?" Willy's voice was low now, but worried. "I'm hungry. We got to do something besides stand around." Just as he spoke, some doors at one end of the room were opened, and people began going into another room. It looked as though it might turn out to be food, so we went too. It was food all right. Around and around we went, and you never saw such a table. All I could think was the Pendletons must have hired the plates and silver and stuff. No one family ever could've outright owned anything like that. It was like a palace. It was just too good to be true. And furthermore the danged food looked so fancy nobody had the heart to lay a fork to it. We just kept pushing one another round and round. Finally I decided I'd had enough, and I got myself a plateful of something I still can't make head nor tail of. But it didn't matter, because right about then I happened to look up and see Joseph and Anne Morrison, and my appetite went anyway. There they stood, just staring at each other. It's a mystery to me how they ever got together, but as I said it was a big room, and crowded, and plenty of things went on I never got to see. Somehow or other Joseph had managed to make her feel the way he was looking at her, and evidently she'd been interested enough to start looking at him. I felt suddenly that I had to get Joseph out of it. I don't know out of what, or why, but it was like I'd heard a cry for help. She was so outright glamorous, and so different from him, as they stood there. Like two different worlds. "Notice him or not," I thought, "it won't help him any if she does. More likely she'd hurt him. He's not her kind . . ." With a confused feeling that I must help I put down my food and turned to go to them, but just then I felt a hand on my arm. It was Ma. She looked over where I'd been looking, where Joseph and Anne Morrison were now at last starting to talk to each other. She shook her head. "But Ma," I said, "it's no good for Joseph to get interested in a woman like that. She—" "He's only just met her, Shuffle, dear," Ma said softly. "Oh, I know what you mean — I saw how he was looking at her, when we came in. I know he's not just talking to her like to any stranger . . . maybe there's got to be something between them, when there was such a look in his eyes. I don't know." She hesitated. 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