Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1942)

the children that you've come to know — the ones who haven't proper food and clothing. You can— Andrea, you can help me! I haven't food for my soul, and I'm shivering because I need love as much as those children need winter coats. Andrea, there isn't anyone else?" his tone grew apprehensive — "Tell me there isn't anyone else." Andrea reassured him slowly — "No, there isn't anyone else." Her existence, she realized, had been curiously devoid of close attachments. Since her father's going she'd squandered her every emotion on the youngsters that she taught in the eighth grade. "As the twig is bent — " the old proverb came to her often — "so is the tree inclined." She'd been busy seeing that the twigs who came her way were bent in the proper direction — it was a sacred trust, a trust that had kept her free of entanglements and sentimentality. Her days were spent in the schoolroom — her solitary evenings in her own small room back of Daddy Little's flower shop. Daddy Little — his image brought a faint smile to Andrea's face. The quaint old man with whom she boarded was her only masculine admirer. Or — she corrected herself — he had been, up to a few moments ago. For Frank Harrison's hand was touching hers almost shyly and he was saying, "Andrea, please. I'm incomplete without you — and Junior's incom RADIO'S ROMANTIC DRAMA TOLD AS A COMPLETE NOVELETTE plete, and — forgive me for saying it, dear! — you're incomplete without us, too. Any woman is incomplete when she hasn't a husband and a child. Andrea, you — you're too beautiful, too warm, too human to degenerate into an old maid school teacher with a dried up heart in her breast and a shriveled sense of humor." It was a cruel way to put it but Andrea realized the truth of Frank's summing up. It was the same old controversy she'd had with her father. "I — I like you, Frank," she said, "but I scarcely know you. And — " she laughed shakily — "I'm a tiny bit scared of you. You're such a formidable person." "I'll never be formidable with you," objected Frank. "Why are you scared, Andrea? Do you think that my wife left me, twelve years ago, because of — brutality?" His voice hardened. "That wasn't the case, I assure you — she left me for entirely selfish reasons.* Do you think that making money has made me so hard and unyielding that I haven't any softer side? Well, give me the chance and I'll prove that that's not so. Andrea, I won't even ask you to give up teaching school if your work's so vitally important to your peace of mind — I won't ask you to do anything that goes against the grain. Just marry me and — " there was something boyish and appealing, now, in his tone, "and let me teach you a few things for a change." Andrea felt suddenly tired. Frank Harrison, despite the sprinkling of gray on his temples, was a handsome man and a strong man. He'd protect her and shield her — it would be pleasant and restful to know that someone else was taking over the responsibilities, was doing the teaching. She heard herself whispering — "Well, perhaps, if you don't expect too much of me — " And then at his swift exclamation of delight — "I — I'll try to make a go of it, Frank — I am sorry for Junior and I'm sorry for you, too. And I'm very fond of Junior and I admire you immensely and — and that'll be a good beginning!" Frank Harrison breathed, "An lile Andrea searched her heart, the town was filled with mounting whispers of scandal OCTOBER, 1942 25 S