Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1942)

w but '***'& Drab-lookin HAIR Stole h f APPEAL "WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH ME?" cried Ellen as she gazed into her mirror. "Why don't the boys ever date me?" Just then Joan walked in. Joan, Ellen's best friend, worked in a beauty shop. "Nothing's the matter with you," Joan said. "It's your hair! It's dull and mousy-looking. Men go for girls whose hair is full of sparkle and highlights. Why don't you try Nestle Colorinse? You'll be thrilled at the difference it will make in your hair." That very night Ellen used Colorinse and listen to what she told Joan— "I NEVER THOUGHT my hair could look so lovely. Colorinse has given it a warmer, richer tone— filled it with highlights that catch the light and sparkle every time I turn my head. And now my hair's so much softer and silkiereasier to manage, too." K41 PLENTY OF DATES NOW! For Ellen's learned that one guide to glamour is hair made lovelier by Nestle Colorinse. P. S. Take a tip from Ellen. Use^/*Nestle Shampoo BEFORE and j^ Nestle Superset AFTER Colorinsing. \ j Buy WAR SAVINGS STAMPS at your favorite 5 and 10" store. had been doing very badly. There'd been no money in for two weeks, and it began to look as though the shop would have to close. Of course, Lucky knew nothing about that. One night we were listening to a story the Laughing Cowboy was telling and Lucky was sitting there by the radio, his face all screwed up and intent. When it was over, the announcer said something about how if you sent five box-tops from some breakfast food— and ten cents in stamps — they would send you a wonderful cowboy holster and toy gun. "Gee, Mommy," Lucky said, "gee, if I could get that — " I smiled. "We'll get it, Lucky. In a little while." I couldn't tell him that we were short of funds, that I couldn't afford to go out right away and buy five packages. TWO nights later, Mrs. Bascom * called me to her room. She said there wasn't any use trying to go on. She would have to close the business. I'd realized this was coming. Yet it hadn't seemed so close, so real. After all this time, I was without work, without a way of caring for Lucky and myself. "You know what I'd do if I were you?" Mrs. Bascom said. "I'd go back to my husband. That's where you belong." She sat there knitting and not looking at me. How could I tell her the truth — that there was no chance of going back to my husband, that the love we had known was dead? "No," I said. "There'll be something. I've taken nothing from him since — since that night. I won't start now. I'll get some kind of work, I'm sure of it." I wasn't quite as sure as I tried to sound. Jobs in factories were open, but most of them required special training and I had none. "You'd be better off," she said, "at home — where you belong." She got up slowly and smiled and said goodnight. After she was gone I sat in the room alone. Her words rang in my mind. Better where you belong — home. Only I had no home. I went to my room, sat on the bed and counted all the money I had left in the world — two dollars and fiftyeight cents. I wasn't used to worrying about things like that. I had to find a way, somehow — The doorbell was ringing, a loud, blatant, frightening ring. It was almost ten — Mrs. Bascom would be asleep. I hurried downstairs. It was dark in the hall. As I opened the door, I could make out the form of a man outside. I stood there an instant, wondering. The man didn't speak and at last, I said, "Yes? Is something — " "Anne!" Anne. The word echoed in my heart. Because it was Bill — Bill's voice. And for that second, I hadn't known him. My heart pounded in my breast. What had brought him here, how he had found me, I didn't know. Only at that moment it didn't seem to matter. I tried to hide the racing excitement of that instant. "Bill!" It was hardly a whisper. "Bill — " "I hope — I hope it isn't too late." His voice was husky. "May I — may I come in?" "Why — of course, Bill." We went into the living room and I switched on the lamps. For a moment, panic swept through me. How was my hair — did I look all right? The thought came to me that I should look my best for this stranger who was my husband. I was looking at him. The same Bill, I thought. Not changed at all. The dark eyes still with their laughter and the mussed hair and the lips with their odd sort of grin. I said, "Bill — you're looking well." His eyes met mine. "You look — wonderful, Anne. And — and Lucky?" "He's wonderful too." Silence then. It was awkward, difficult to find words. "What made you come, Bill? I mean — I'm so glad to see you — only, I wonder why — " "You don't really know?" I shook my head, wondering if I did know, wondering if the strange force that was taking hold of me as I looked at him, something that seemed to be stronger than I — wondering if that could be love, love I thought long ago had died. "Bill, I don't know. I — •" Very slowly he said, "It's only one word, Anne. You. I still love you." I tried to make my voice calm. "You came to tell me that, Bill? And how about Olga? Is she — " He was standing close to me. "Anne — Olga never meant anything to me. Most of it — most of it was really — ambition. I thought she would help me to get that dream. Even that night — she really had told me we were to meet a producer there. Maybe I was, well, flattered. Maybe a little infatuated. I was angry that night, Anne. Angry. But after you had gone and — and wouldn't let me see or talk to you — " "It was because I wanted you to make your own way without — -without me and Lucky holding you back." • ©♦©♦o»o*o* 66 t)c*AA rreluLo lo^ PETER DONALD — who plays the young English lad, Jack, in the NBC serial, Stella Dallas. Peter has been a radio actor, comedian and writer -for the last fifteen years — even though he is only 24 now. When he's not acting he's busy writing radio adaptations of plays and short stories. As the youngest member of the Lambs, famous Broadway actors' club, he always writes most of the skits and songs for the organization's annual "Washing," or vaudeville show, and he's the co-author of a musical comedy which will be produced in New York next fall. Peter's hair is strawberry blonde. He's thin and of average height. His mother was Irish but that doesn't keep him from being an expert at Hebrew dialect. RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR