Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1942)

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At stores which sell toilet goods__^sg£S222*i 25( for 5 rinses I0£ for 2 rinses 78 It was like an answer to prayer when I heard the voice beside us. "Miss Janice — good evening — " It was an arresting sort of voice, low and vibrant, shaded with the carefully but incorrect accent of an educated foreigner. Even though I had heard it only briefly on the few occasions when Ferenc Vildar had come down from the Short Wave department to drop in on Dr. Dale, I was inordinately glad to hear it now. I would have been glad to hear any voice that would give me an escape from the scene I had been dreading. "Bruce, you know Ferenc Vildar, don't you?" I said, turning a little to let Bruce see the slight, lithe figure leaning on the railing of the bridge beside us. "You know, he makes one of those foreign broadcasts every night for which our station is so famous." It sounded inane in my own ears, and Bruce only muttered a few graceless words in acknowledgment. I hoped the gathering darkness hid his frown. But Ferenc did not seem to notice anything amiss. He bowed with perfect poise and turned to me. "You forgive me for interrupting?" he asked. "You see, with so many people around one, there is a loneliness— " He made a little gesture with his hands, and let his flashing smile finish the sentence. "You understand?" "Of course I understand," I told Ferenc almost too emphatically to make up for the answer Bruce did not make. "There is nothing to forgive. We were just trying to decide what to do next. Have you any ideas?" Most people make uncertain, useless answers to questions like that, and it was a pleasure to hear Ferenc's clear, concrete proposal. "I have passed a little cafe off Charles Street," he said. "Perhaps we might see if they have wine that is drinkable?" "I'd love it," I said quickly, before Bruce could object. Maybe a drink was what we both needed. WALKING to the restaurant I talked with unnatural vivacity to cover Bruce's glum silence. I was glad the lights in the restaurant were dim. Soon it would be all right, when we had sipped a little more of the cool white wine that Ferenc carefully ordered. He talked pleasantly about American wines, how it was a pity that our vineyards insisted on using French wine names so that their products seemed a poor imitation when they could have held their own under the good Indian or Mission names of their own New York or California counties. Neither Bruce nor I knew a thing about wines, but while I thought it interesting, Bruce sat back against his leather cushioned seat, his solid face as expressionless as the oak paneling above him. I began to feel really ashamed for him. Why did he have to be so boorish? If he didn't like Ferenc's kind of conversation, he should have helped to make some of his own. My efforts to fill in the gaps sounded more and more artificial and futile, and they were not a success. The bottle was only half empty when Ferenc rose, smiled swiftly at me, and said, "I am afraid I shall have to go." "Must you?" I asked with genuine regret. He said, "I shall be late for an appointment otherwise. You have been kind." He took my hand, bowed to RADIO MIRROR