Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1942)

SEAL-COTE Sensational New Aid To LONGER NAILS 1 • SEAL-COTE is amazing! A thin coat applied daily over your polish quickly forms a crystal-hard, microscopically-thin transparent film that gives protection to nails. Seal-Cote also protects polish from chipping and fraying — adds lustre. SEAL-COTE 25<t at Cosmetic Counters Scal-Cote Co., Hollywood, Calif. ROLLS DEVELOPED 25c Two 5x7 Double Weight Professional En rn . „ largements, 8 Gloss Deckle Edge Prints. 1>UIN CLUB PHOTO SERVICE, Dept. 19, LaCrosse, Wis. EARN EXTRA MONEY QUICK Mazing Christmas lard Sellers Complete lino of Assortments— 21 Christmas Cards. Etchings, Reliprious, Humorous. Gift Wrappings, etc. Also Personal Stationery, 51. Samples on approval. Start earning now — writel FRIENDSHIP STUDIOS. 495 Adams. Elmira. N.Y. EMBOSSED PERSONAL CHRISTMAS CARDS 50 for $1 fELGIN WATCH J , yours r LATEST ,tyl,d «."9 1 ,i*k Bc.n.d Gold Pl,< ih.nl &tn,., Sl.rlm YOUR CHOICE of Jeweled Elgin. Waltham or Swiss wrist watch. Latest styled case. Reconstructed movement. Accuracy guaranteed. Given with every Simulated Diamond ring when ordered and paid for on our purchase privilege plan. Payments: S3.50 down, within 20 days after arrival, at your post office. Balance of $4.89 anytime the following month I total only $8.39, plus 1 0 % Federal Defense Tax ). Remember, cost of watch is included in price of ring. Extra Surprise free gift enclosed for promptness. Send NO money with order. Just rush name. ess, ring sixe. It comes by return mail n special gift box. postpaid. L. KENDALL JEWELERS Topeka. Kansas Dept. WG-1042 COLOR LIGHT BROWN to BLACK Gives a natural, youthful appearance. Easy to use in the clean privacy of your home; not greasy; will not rub off nor interfere with curling. For 30 years millions have used it with complete satisfaction. $1.35 for sale everywhere. I FR" SAMPLE-^------. BROOKLINE CHEMICAL CO. Dept.MClo-42 I 79 Sudbury Street, Boston, Mass. Name Street I City State | GIVE ORIGINAL HAIR COLOR FARRs F0R CRflV Hfl|R afford the luxury of cream — I found I couldn't eat a single mouthful, and left the table in tears. Paul followed me into the other room and put his arms around me. "Now, Honey," he said placatingly, "don't cry. Just keep that chin up a little longer and something will happen. I'll write a story for Dan Bailey — he said he'd buy a Western adventure yarn if I'd write it. Come on, now, wipe those tears away and finish your supper. I'll get at that darn story first thing in the morning." He didn't write the story, though. The next morning he saw something in the paper about neutrality agreements that made him furious and he sat down and wrote a long bitter letter to the editor. THINGS went on like that for some time. Then one day when I came home from the weary routine of tramping from one agent's office to another in the eternal hunt for a job, I found Paul sitting on the curb in front of our apartment — with our bags and personal belongings piled haphazardly around him. "Paul," I cried, "what's happened? What are you doing out here? What are all these things here for?" He grinned up at me wryly and pushed his hat to the back of his head. "Sit down, Olivia," he said, motioning to the curb, "public property — nobody can stop you from sitting here." "But I don't understand," I faltered, on the verge of tears, "What — " And then suddenly I knew. The rent money! "Paul — what happened to the rent money?" Paul shrugged his shoulders in an attempt to maintain his air of bravado, and said, "Darling, somehow or other the rent money got mixed up in the food money. After all, we had to eat, you know." I wavered between despair and anger. "And so we've been evicted?" "Absolutely correct, professor." "Paul!" I stamped my foot. "Don't talk like a — a clown! What are we going to do now?" Paul's shoulders drooped, then. His whole body seemed to slump and he buried his face in his hands. "I don't know, Olivia, I honestly don't know," he said thickly. I stood there for a minute, wildly racking my brain for an idea. Finally I told Paul I'd be right back and went over to the corner drugstore and telephoned Joe Blaney. Good old Joe! He'd been my guardian angel for a long time, and once more he proved his loyalty. "Come on up to my place," his big voice boomed over the phone. "You can stay here for a few days until things get straightened out. I'll bunk in with my kid brother uptown." "You're an angel, Joe," I told him, with a catch in my voice. "Forget it, sugar. I expect to be repaid with dividends when you hit Broadway." "I hope so, Joe, I hope so," I said, and hung up the receiver. Paul got to his feet as I came up the street toward him. "Any luck?" "Joe Blaney says we can stay at his place for a while," I said, and picked up one of the suitcases and a pile of books. Paul gathered up the rest of our things and we walked to the subway. "Olivia," he said quietly, "it sounds like a gag, but I don't know what I'd do without you. I'd be absolutely lost. Don't ever leave me, darling — 80 don't ever, ever leave me." That was one of the moments when I knew why I couldn't stop loving him. No matter what scrapes his improvidence landed us in, he was mine, as much a part of me as my heart. Joe was gone by the time we got to his place, and had left his key for us with the superintendent, sparing us the humiliation of explaining our predicament to him face to face. Sometimes the nicest things people do are the things they don't do, although I'll admit that sounds mixed-up. We unpacked some of our thrhgs and right then and there Paul started writing a Western story for Dan Bailey. He wrote three stories during the week we stayed at Joe's, and Dan bought all of them. With the checks from the stories, we found a new apartment and moved in. Paul seemed to have turned over a new leaf, and worked steadily on his Westerners for a while. We had enough money to live decently and I was beginning to get a few radio jobs. Things looked really bright for us for the first time since we'd been married. And then it all began to happen again. I came home one afternoon to find Paul tapping away vigorously at his typewriter. "New story?" I asked brightly. "Not exactly," he said vaguely. "No — not a story. I'm writing a letter to World Magazine. Did you see that terrible article they had in this issue about the dignity of labor? Who do they think they're fooling, anyway?" SO the checks from Dan Bailey got fewer and fewer, and pretty soon we were back to canned milk in our coffee again. It was about this time that I met John Wade at a cocktail party given by an actress friend of mine. John Wade was one of the most successful publishers in New York, and when I told Paul about it later, he threw up his hands in mock despair. "I've been trying to meet that guy for months, and you just casually run into him at a party!" "But, Paul," I told him, "he wants to meet you. He wants you to call him up and make an appointment and bring some of your manuscripts over." "He wants to meet me? How does he know about me?" "I told him about you, silly. He wants to meet you." "Olivia!" Paul was shocked. "You can't do that — cornering a man at a social party and pinning him down for a business appointment." "But I did," I said serenely, "and he didn't seem to mind either. Of course I gave you a tremendous build-up!" "You're the limit," he said affectionately, shaking his head. But the next day he called Mr. Wade's office and made an appointment. We had quite an argument about what manuscripts he was to take over. I wanted h'im to take a variety of the different types of things he had written, but he felt that his recent "letters to the editor" kind of thing would be better. "They're more virile," he told me. "They show that I'm aware of what's going on in the world." So he took his manuscripts over to Mr. Wade's office, talked to Mr. Wade and left the manuscripts there. It was almost no surprise to me when his material came back a week later with a polite note saying that it wasn't quite the type of thing the Wade Pub RADIO AND TELEVISION jMIKROB