Radio and television mirror (Jan-June 1950)

hind all that high color and excited chatter. • A nice man, too, it appeared. His name was Bill Hooper; he was a young medical student with a year of study still ahead. Then there would be interneship, then the choice between practice and research . . . Absorbed in Doris's excited recitation, Marsha wasn't immediately aware that their voices were covering up a silence at Joe's end of the table. After a time she looked over at him, and stopped in mid-sentence, startled. Frowning and somber, he was staring at the tablecloth. What on earth had happened to make him almost grim? Then, with a rush of loving sympathy, she knew. Poor Joe! Doris, the kid sister who was still in blue jeans as far as he was concerned, getting married! He'd been Doris's masculine ideal all his life; it was going to be hard to get used to her with a husband of her own to look up to ... Or was that it? His voice, when it came, was bleak. "What are you two kids going to live on? Sounds like a long stretch before Bill can earn his keep." Doris looked a little nervous. She caught Marsha's eye before she answered, as though for support. "That's the thing, Joe. I — I have it planned out but I need your okay. Since you're the executor of Dad's estate . . ." she trailed off uncertainly. "Good heavens, girl!" Joe sputtered. "You mean to tell me this guy is prepared to live on your money?" "We don't look at it that way, Joe. What's the good of my having the money if I can't be happy — and I can't be happy spending the next five years waiting for Bill to be able to support me. I've got it all figured out, and it'll last nicely." "It's the principle! No decent man — " "Oh, Joe, don't be silly," Marsha cut in. "What's marriage if it isn't sharing? We both know Doris is sensible. She's making an investment — an investment in happiness, actually — and what could be more worth doing with the money?" The argument wrangled on. And as Joe's antagonism grew, rather than lessened, so did Marsha's impression that he was worried not by Doris's proposal, but by some difficulty of his own connected with it. It was almost as if he couldn't let her have her money, not as if he merely wouldn't. Money . . . what else had either of them thought of for the past two days? Money. Banks. Bankbooks. As though two loose wires had made sudden contact, the truth blazed through Marsha's mind. Doris's bankbook had been on Joe's desk this morning, among the other papers he had been working over last night. What was it doing there? If Doris would only go, so that they could settle this once and for all! But the argument went on. . . . It was very late when Doris finally rose. She got her things from the hall closet and flung noisily out of the house. Behind her, Marsha heard Joe locking up. He went briskly from the front door to the veranda windows, more slowly around the far end of the room which she couldn't see (What was he doing? Emptying ashtrays? Stalling?). Then, slower still, she heard him go to the desk and open a drawer. She turned. "What are you looking for?" she asked. His head moved jerkily. "Some papers." "Or a bankbook? Doris's bankbook?" He looked up at that. "What are you getting at?" he asked irritably. "What's all this? Can't a man — " "Steal from his own sister?" Marsha came toward him, so close he had to look at her. "I think not, Joe. I don't know exactly what you have in mind, but I want to tell you this : if it involves your touching one penny — one single penny, do you hear me? — of Doris's money, I will walk out of this house and out of your whole world without a backward look." "Fine words." Joe said. He pulled out the book he wanted and slammed the door shut. "If you'd listen a minute, I could tell you — it's the biggest thing I've ever come across, Marsha. You don't know anything about business, you can't see what a sure thing this is. Flatoe and Jobson and me — we're the only ones who know, see? Except this highway engineer Flatoe knows who's on the inside. We know where the new highway's going. We buy up the land. In a few days, when the council announces its plans, our property is worth a million dollars — " Marsha said nothing, letting his words drop into a silence in which they echoed dismally. She thought desperately "Even he must hear how it sounds! How can I bear it if he doesn't hear — if he won't admit that what he plans to do is plain thievery? How can I go on living with a liar and a coward?" The stillness prolonged itself, winding tighter around them. Almost not breathing, Marsha waited. Then Joe's hands dropped. He gave his head a shake and looked up at her. His face and his voice were weary. "Okay, Marsha. You win. I can't do it. I've been trying to tell myself it was okay to take Doris's money because I'd be making more for her and for us with it, but what's the use — I've got no right to touch that money." He gave a feeble grin. "It just hurt to see a million dollars flying past me!" "Oh, Joe. Darling." Marsha was on her knees beside him, pressing her aching forehead against his hands. "I don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't said that. Oh, sweetheart, we'll be all right. We've got so many things to do now, so many plans to make — you'll be so busy saving pennies you won't have time to worry about that million. Besides — " she smiled at him, " — they'll probably put the highway somewhere else." Joe laughed harshly. "Not a chance. It's not one of those blow-hot, blowcold things. This is set. Oh well." There was no chance that night to talk about the corner-cutting Marsha had planned. 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