Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1942)

me in the decorating department of Wendell's, Incorporated, with a salary sufficient to swing a little apartment for Mother and me where she could settle back and take the rest she needed after her years of struggle which had literally worn her out. It was good and satisfying, this life I saw ahead; even exciting, for my work held more thrills than any date with men had given me — up till then. But that was before, at a party, I met Jay Dawes. Dr. Jay Dawes — not that it made any difference to me that there was a "doctor" before his name. He might as well have been a lawyer, merchant, or chief. And now, this Commencement night was to be our last together. It must be, if I were to carry out my obligations to my mother and Jay were to make realities of his dreams. If there had been nothing else in the world but our love for each other, things would have been so simple . . . But we could not build a life together without hurting someone else. l^OR Jay had his obligations, too. He was an interne in the University Hospital now, but in a month his internship would be over. To another man that would have meant freedom to start a practice, to marry and have a home. To Jay it meant only another step toward the future he and his father had planned for him when he was a boy. His father was a doctor in a little town called Grey Mountain — the only doctor in the midst of a not very prosperous farm community, and painfully overworked. It had been his dream — and Jay's, too — to establish a cooperative clinic there in Grey Mountain, a practical experiment in preventive medicine. But he could not do it alone. He must have Jay's help. That was the goal Jay had set himself, for which he was preparing now — years of patient, poorly paid toil in the service of an ideal. Before he was ready for Grey Mountain and his father, there must be another year of training as resi 20 dent surgeon at the University Hospital; and even when that was over he would not be able to afford a wife. Least of all a wife who had a mother dependent on her. There was no way out of the dilemma. No way at all. The minute I heard Jay's step on the porch, I knew he shared my tenseness. I don't know how I knew, but my ears — like the rest of me — had taken on acuteness, sensitivity that was actually painful, responding to the slightest flicker of change in Jay's mood. But there was something more I sensed tonight, even before I saw him. The half-tormented, halfecstatic look of strain that had been on his face these last few weeks was gone. For some reason he shared only my excitement, and not my dread. He grinned down at me, his teeth flashing white in the dim light of the porch. "How come the gardenia pallor?" he asked. "Don't tell me you're scared to graduate." So that was his line, pretending there was nothing at stake tonight but a roll of imitation sheepskin with a ribbon around it. All right, two could play this game. "Petrified," I told him, managing a smile. "You understand," Jay said as we walked down the avenue, "that my reference to your gardenia pallor was not derogatory. You happen to be looking very, very exquisite tonight." See how he talked? That was Jay, his words always light and casual, with a sort of extravagant artificiality that contrasted breathtakingly with the tone in which he said them: a little husky, almost brusque, like a boy who speaks with extra toughness to keep his voice from breaking. And the look in his dark hazel eyes — the way he narrowed them so that they were just glints and shadows between the thick black absurdly curly lashes, as if he had to focus intensely to make sure he missed none of me. Another thing was the way he held his lips — such red lips for a man — held them tensely firm, but with their corners moving just a little so that I could see the deep clefts that must have been dimples once, appear and disappear in the lean planes of his cheeks. Oh, Jay — I can't write any more of how you looked, I can't bear it now — But you see why I went to my graduation almost unaware of what was going on around me. I don't remember anything I did after Jay left me in the clamor of the Auditorium basement while he went to the hotel for Mother. Somehow I must have arrived at the proper place beneath the swaying Chinese lanterns when my name was called, for I remember the fresh-pine smell of the platform mingled with the scent of roses when I caught that momentary glimpse of Mother and Jay down there among those faces. ' I saw Mother's eyes shining with tears but her face soft with happy peace. Oh, I must keep it that way! She had been so brave, so cheerful, We touched me with a doctor's hands. "Here, my dear." And he made me drink something bitter and fizzy he had mixed. RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR