Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1942)

like a flower. She looked at him. "You have." "How could I help it?" Michael wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her, but something held him back. Was it because his desire lacked real strength? "You seem so much older, Michael." Edith was restless. Michael knew they were simply saying polite things, but he didn't know how to stop it. With Carol he had never had that trouble. Always they had been able to say what they felt. Then he began to think of Carol that last day. How her lips had been soft under his. "Would you like to hear some music?" Edith was saying. "That would be very nice." POR a long time they kept up the in* consequentialities, then Michael got up to leave. Edith came close to him. "Did Ed tell you we were going to be married soon?" she said. "No, he didn't, but I'm very glad to hear it. You know you have my best wishes." Edith came still closer, and Michael bent and kissed her quickly on the mouth. Edith smiled. Michael wished her all the best, and then he left. He felt an immense relief. He knew now that all the years he had kept her enshrined in his heart had been wasted time. He could breathe deeply now, fully. There was no longer any reason for not thinking of Carol. But then his racing thoughts faltered. It wasn't that easy. He hadn't come back to Riverfield only to see Edith, although that had been part of it — a big part. He had come to fight and conquer the doubt and resentment he felt all around him — to prove to Riverfield and everyone in it that the old business of Kinnick and the indictment hadn't turned him into a wanderer. He could think of Carol, but he couldn't claim her. Not until he had a home and a position in Riverfield. The next day he started on the hunt for a job. This time he wouldn't compromise; always before he had taken the first job that came along, and never mind what it was. But in Riverfield it had to be a job in a lawyer's office. Nothing else would do — noth ing else was good enough for him to lay at Carol's feet. But it was hard. As one man told him, "You see, Mr. West, a lawyer must be above reproach. That old matter of the indictment is nothing. I attach no importance to it, since you have been thoroughly cleared. I believe your friend Ed Reardon saw to that. But there is the matter of your habits for the past five years. To say the least, you've been — footloose. Clients don't like that in a lawyer. They want to feel he is a stable man, more stable than themselves." For days Michael tramped the streets. He had called on every lawyer in town at least once, without success. For a while his spirit was high, but no man can remain an optimist in the face of repeated discouragement, and finally he was willing to admit what so many had told him, that it was impossible just now to locate with a law firm in Riverfield. Impossible for him, at any rate. Then the letter from Carol came, just when he was at the lowest ebb of discouragement. He had written her only the briefest of notes, for although he had tried to frame a letter telling her what she must want most of all to know — that he loved her — it had been no use. It was impossible to say that until he could also ask her to come to him. The letter began, "Darling — I know it's brazen of me to write before you've answered my last letter, but if you won't answer because of your silly pride, I must. How are you? Do you keep your feet dry?" There was more light-hearted chatter that made Michael smile, then — "But remember, Michael, if no one else thinks you can do it, I still know you can." He sat on the side of the bed for a long time. He was as close to tears as he had been for a long time. Another day, and another. He would find one man, he told himself, who was a little less positive in his refusal than the others. He would hound that man until a job came forth. But he could not find such a man. He came home to his small cheap room early one evening after a dinner of soup and meat-loaf and overdone vegetables. He was desperately Portrait of two canaries — Frances Longford of Bob Hope's NBC program, and her pet, Billy — who has been giving her lessons in bird psychology. 78 tired and didn't even look around the dingy lobby on his way upstairs. A man moved' to stand in his way and he looked up, startled — into his brother's face. "Ray!" He was surprised, but hardly pleased. He had made no further effort to see Ray since that first coldlyreceived telephone call. But now Ray was smiling. He linked his arm through Michael's and said, "Let me come up to your room, Mike? I want to talk." Mike. Michael felt a sudden lump in his throat. No one but Ray had ever called, him that; the harsh, rather ugly monosyllable carried him back to the days when they were both boys, when Ray, the older, had been everything that was wonderful and perfect in Michael's adoring eyes. Awkwardly, he said, "Sure, come on up." In the room, Ray sat down on the edge of the bed. For a moment he seemed uncertain, at a loss for words; then he said bluntly: "Mike, I'm a good deal ashamed of myself. You've made me ashamed of myself. When you first came to town I thought you'd drifted back and would drift on again as soon as — well, yes, might as well admit it — soon as you'd touched me for some money. So I cold-shouldered you. I — didn't act much like a brother." Michael swallowed. A warm wave of gladness swept over him. But all he could say was, "That's all right." His brother's lined face wore a rueful smile. "It's not all right, but it's good of you to say so. Anyway, I'm sorry." Tentatively, he held out his hand, and Michael took it. They laughed, with the embarrassment of men faced by emotion, and Ray said briskly, relievedly, "Well — that's over. You haven't drifted on again, and I'm proud of the way you've stuck, trying to get a job." "Trying is right," Michael said. "Yes, I know. Don't be too hard on 'em, Mike. It takes time to convince people you mean to stay. But that's what I came to tell you. A friend of mine — a lawyer in Eastwood — wants to open up a practice here and he'll need a good man to keep the office going. I don't see any reason why you can't have the job. Arthur asked me to recommend someone . . ." When Ray had gone Michael felt exultation bursting within him, He wanted to shout, to laugh, to run. But most of all he wanted to write a letter to Carol. He dragged out paper and pen — sat down at the rickety table — And then, like an answer to his desires, there was a swift knock at the door, and Carol stood there. Without a word, she was in his arms — responsive there, love incarnate. After a moment, she whispered, "I drove all day to get here. Somehow, I knew you wanted me. I don't know why. But I was sure." "Wanted you! — " He held her closer. "Tomorrow we'll be married." Tomorrow was a beautiful word, he thought. For there would be many tomorrows. Carol's faith had stiffened him and made him strong. Now he knew it. There would be tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, and in each tomorrow Carol would be with him, in his arms, in his thoughts. Listen to the further exciting drama of Michael and Carol on Bright Horizon, heard every week-day on the CBS network. RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR