Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1942)

"Yes, I am." Linda tried to blink away her tears. "You see what a fool your daughter is?" •'Yes," said Irene tenderly, "but I never realized she was this big a fool. Now, stop those tears." "I'm just ashamed, ashamed," Linda repeated. "You should be," Irene said. "But I'm glad you spoke about it to me. I thought it was something more real — I mean, something that actually happened. Darling, think only of the future — and if you must bother with the past, just make up your mind it began with the day you met Steve." Irene took a deep breath. "And another thing," she went on. "I think you should take the first train for New York tomorrow. You should go home, Linda." Tears sprang to Linda's eyes once more as she leaned over to kiss her mother. George Emerson started to protest the idea of Linda's leaving so soon and so suddenly. But even he was moved by the real gayety in Linda's voice and eyes that evening. But the next morning, as he waited with Linda on the windy station platform he tried to impress on Linda that Axminster was really her home and that she would be welcome back at any time she cared to come. "After all," he said gruffly, "New York is — well, it's New York. It's not like your own home town." "But New York is my home town now. Dad," Linda said. "Hm. Well, maybe some day you'll change your mind. Anyhow, it was good, having you home again, Linda, even if it was only for a few days." 'Maybe Steve and I will be able to come for a longer visit next time." "Yes, well — Steve — I hope he got your wire all right." "I'm sure he did, Dad. Don't worry. He'll be at the station to meet me." The train came roaring in. George Emerson stood, hatless, on the platform until it was out of sight. For Linda's own good, he hoped he was imagining things . . . w TEVE was at the station to meet her. Linda felt a surge of quick happiness to feel his arms around her. And Steve — he seemed to want to devour her with his eyes. "It's so good to have you back, darling," he kept repeating. It wasn't until they were home that Linda noticed how pale and tense he looked. She looked at him searchingly. What's the matter?" Steve asked. "Can't I look at you?" "It's not a very pleased look," Steve said. "Your face is so drawn, and your eyes — " Linda took his hand. "I just need a good night's sleep, that's all. I stayed up all night making the last changes on the score." "Were they good?" Linda asked. "I think so. At least, Jacoby seems satisfied." "Oh, Steve, it's so wonderful — I have the hardest time convincing myself it's all true — " "Don't convince yourself too hard. I don't want you to be disappointed in me," Steve said. But his arms went out to Linda. "Darling, darling, darling," he whispered. "I've missed you — I'm just beginning to realize now how much." <Me*tM<mtk The Living Portraits you'va all been asking for — vivid photographs of Dr. Jim Brent and all the other people you listen to on the dramatic daytime serial, Road of Life restlessness. The finished, accepted, days, Linda began his attitude. Symphony was And after a few to worry about k They went to one of their favorite restaurants for an early dinner. In spite of Steve's obvious fatigue his face was alight with eagerness as he explained the work he had done while Linda was away. Linda leaned back in her chair. Steve's voice painted such a clear picture. She could see it all — the orchestra, the crowded hall — Steve's great talent recognized and accepted. "When is the society going to play your music, darling?" she asked. "I don't know exactly, but it'll be some time this season. Soon, I hope." "Soon." It had been a dream worth having. But Steve couldn't seem to lose his '"THAT night they had come back from a long walk through the streets of New York. Linda had tried to awaken Steve's interest and enthusiasm as they walked along the noisy, crowded streets. But Steve had seemed moody. So they had just walked — walked until Linda complained of tiredness. "What's the matter, darling?" she asked as soon as they closed the door of their apartment. "Nothing." "Steve — Look at me. Don't you think I can tell that you're worried about something?" "It's nothing, Linda. Just me. You know what ideas I can get. All I can think of is the Symphony. If Jacoby would only call me and tell me that the date was set — " Linda laughed. "Don't laugh at me, Linda. Come over here and sit by me. I want you to understand." "But I do darling — " "No, Linda." Steve's face was tense. "All my life it seems I've been waiting for one moment — the time that I would know just how good my music was. It's not only because of fame or success. It's something I've got to know — for myself — " Linda leaned her head against Steve's shoulder. "You're a composer, darling. A great composer," she said. "And you should know — for yourself — how good your music is." "I'll know when I hear that Symphony played by the New York Symphony Society." "Yes . . ." As they sat there, Steve's arms about Linda, their dream seemed to come alive. Before long the anxious frown disappeared from Steve's forehead. Linda visualized every moment of that great occasion that was to take place. Little by little, she coaxed Steve's enthusiasm, and when he finally went to the piano to play some of his score, that old feeling of joy had returned. "That's what it is," Steve said, after he had finished playing. "I've got to keep on working. That's what my trouble is." "Of course, darling." "Well," Steve said. "I'll start something new tomorrow. Maybe that'll keep my mind off Jacoby and the Symphony." But it wasn't easy. Steve tried for several days, then gave it up as bad job. There seemed to be nothin to do but wait. Continued on page 68 30 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIBROR