Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1942)

WITH A FINER BODY TALCUM j OF FACE POWDER QUAUTY* | COMPARE Cashmere Bouquet Talcum COMPARE v. ^ sJk with others you ye usea. i feel the total absence of gut. ina ,««. &S STARDUST, it falls on your ,en.iti»e .««• *■• •*•'« ea"'y' AND FOR D«AMATIC CLIMAX, you U ness to brand you as the "lady who forgot. In generone 10* and larger rnzes at all drug and toilet goods counters. Cashmere Bouquet Taleum Powder A Member of Cashmere Bouquet — the Royal Family of Beauty Preparations Only You Can Help Continued from page 28 someone who had all the smoothness and polish of a man like Preston Knight. And now I saw he was almost as nervous and frightened as I was. "Yes," I told him. "That's— my name. Are you — " "I'm Robert Wilmington. Mr. Monday." He came forward and his hat was off and I saw by the lamp-light that he was not bad looking. Brown hair and dark eyes and rather heavy eyebrows. You couldn't call him handsome, not the way Preston was, for instance. But there was something real about him. He said, "Miss Jones, this is a — a great honor and a pleasure." I didn't know what to reply to that so I just nodded and smiled. We stood there a moment without speaking and then he said, "Shall we — go to dinner?" "That sounds good to me," I answered. WE walked along in silence and when we reached a crossing he put his hand on my arm, a little timidly, and there was something exciting in his touch. I started to say something arid he started at exactly the same second and we both stopped. After a moment, I looked at him and said, "This is awfully silly, isn't it? I mean — this is what I meant by my problem." There was the faintest smile on his lips. "The trouble, Miss Jones, is that it's — well, it's my problem too. I agree with you emphatically that it is silly." "Your problem! But — you're on the radio. You give advice to people in love. And you always sound so sure of yourself!" He shook his head. "I know. But that's over the radio. I sit in a room by myself and talk into a microphone. I can go like a house on fire then. But the moment I get outside with — with a girl, for instance — I'm helpless, absolutely helpless as a — as a — " "Lamb?" I asked him, and we both laughed. That laugh was wonderful. It seemed somehow to bring the two of us together. We walked along a little more without saying anything. "We ought," I began, "we ought to get along well." "You think so?" His voice was pleased. "Say, you're right, Miss Jones. You and I — " I said, "Can't we start off by — forgetting our last names? Maybe that would make it easier for both of us." "I think you're right. You're — Grace, aren't you?" And when I nodded, he added with satisfaction, "I like that name." We reached the hotel where we were dining and went up to the roof garden. It was a wonderful place — Chinese lanterns strung across the night and a soft breeze blowing and an orchestra playing, not too loudly, in the distance. We followed the headwaiter to a table that overlooked the city and the waiter took our order. Then for a while we sat there looking at each other and in all my life I don't think I'll ever forget the strange warm feeling that swept over me. "This is — this is very lovely, Bob." "It is, isn't it? Like — a movie." "It's fun to get away from typing 56 and meals and more of the same all the time. It's — " "I know what you mean. You see, that broadcast — that's my job. And I write at home — stories and things. But I don't get much chance to go out. And I — as I said, you see — I don't get along well with girls." "It's the queerest thing," I said. "You're so wonderful telling other people how to cure their problems. But you can't solve your own." He began to tell me about himself. I remembered that Mary once told me just to let a man talk about himself and listen— and he'll think you're wonderful. But I really wanted to listen and he seemed so eager to talk. Most of his life he'd spent alone, working and trying to go ahead. First in an advertising agency and then on a newspaper, and all the time he was writing on the side and selling a few stories. But he never had the money to go on parties and things like that. "I guess the word for me is plain ordinary bashful," he confessed. I said it was marvelous that even though he didn't have a smooth line like most men, he could still give such help to others over the radio, and he said, "You see, I can think things out perfectly all right. As long as I can write them down and read them over the radio, it doesn't bother me at all. It's only when — " "But you don't seem bothered now." "It's because you don't frighten me. When I'm with a woman, usually, I'm scared. I think she's looking at me, making up her mind about me. With you — you seem so real, Grace." "That's what I was thinking about you," I told him. LATER that night, much, much later — we'd gone to a movie and visited two exciting little cabarets I'd r^ad about but never seen — I said I thought it was time to go home and Bob said why didn't we take a ride first through the park. "We'll hire one of those one-horse buggies," Bob declared. "I've always wanted to ride in one." I told him I thought it would be fun, so we got into one of those hacks that stand in front of the hotel, with a driver who wore a silk hat. We plodded and creaked our way through the deserted park. Bob put his arm along the back of the seat — hesitantly — and I leaned closer to him and his arm went around my shoulder. After a while, I said, "Bob, was it really because my letter was more interesting than all the others? Was that why you wanted to meet me?" Bob hesitated, seeming to fumble for words. "In a way, it was. You see, some of the executives in the office thought I wasn't getting out enough. They thought I ought to meet some of my listeners. A day or so ago, one of the bosses went through my mail and picked out a bunch of letters. Finally, he settled on yours. Said it would do me good to go out and learn what a person who wrote that kind of letter was like. He thought — " I sat up straight. The most horrible feeling ran through me. In those few words of his, I felt the whole evening had been destroyed. I felt sick and beaten and tears were close but I said very coldly, "I see. I was a — a RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR