Radio and television mirror (Jan-June 1942)

One Life to Live looked at her scornfully, and turned back with renewed fury to his brother. "I ought to kill you!" he grated. "And I'm not sure I won't. God, how I hate a coward — and it's worse when he's my own brother!" "Please, Whitey!" Jim Denny begged. "Don't start anything in here. I'll go outside with you if you want — but not in here — please!" "Fallen for a dame — is that it? Is that why you went soft on me?" "No, 1— " "No, I guess not. I thought that stalling you've been doing lately before every light was a gag of some sort, but now I know what it really was — you're just yellow." Deliberately, he swung at Jim Denny and knocked him down. Standing over him, fists sti'l clenched, he said, "And now I'm through with you. I only came out after you to do this. It's why I stopped at every gas station along the road until I found somebody that remembered you and your fancy cream-colored car — it ought to be yellow!— and knew where you were." JULIE had dropped to her knees beside Jim, assuring herself with her quick fingers that he Was moving, lifting his head. She said, "Please go away now. Please go away at once." "Don't worry, sister! You can have him!" He turned on his heel. The front door slammed behind him. Painfully, Bill pushed himself upright, shaking his head at Julie's worried questions: "Does it hurt? Are you all right?" "Doesn't matter," he mumbled. "I had it coming to me. But nobody but my brother could have got away with it. She sank back upon her heels. "But I don't understand. How could your own brother do this to you?" "He wanted to be a fighter himself,' Jim said wearily, "but he couldn't make the grade. So he trains me, wanting me to be the champ he never could be. Huh! I can see now that knocking me down must of let loose something that's been squirming inside of him for years." "And that's what you're afraid of," she breathed. "You're afraid to fight the champion." "Yeah. That's it." Continued from page 24 "But you've fought before. Why are you suddenly so afraid to fight him? Were you afraid before your other fights?" "No," Jim said, "as long as they were setups and nobody paid much attention to whether I won or not, I didn't mind. It's only been lately — " "I still don't understand what you're afraid of!" Julie made a puzzled, unhappy gesture — one hand outstretched, as if to pick the answer out of the air. "It's what everybody will say and think about me if I lose. Ever since I've been taking on big-timers and getting my picture in the papers, this has been coming on me. As long as nobody paid any attention to me I was all right — I knew I was a good fighter and I did my job — but now everybody is watching me and millions of people are expecting me to be the champ." "You mean," Julie asked, "you're not in the championship class? You're not good enough?" "Who says I'm not?" Jim inquired truculently. 'I could knock that palooka off his pins in three rounds! I'm in better condition than he is and I've got six years on him. But I — I can't explain, Julie. It's the way I feel inside when I get to thinking about the night of the fight. And I got no control over it. When I think about it, my heart starts pounding like a hammer and 1 get hot and cold all over. Then I think about how it's like after I lose the fight. I'm walking down the street, people are looking at me and laughing. I went around Chicago for days last week — I couldn't sleep — I couldn't eat — I was sick. So I decided to give it all up and run away." "I think I know how you felt," Julie whispered. "I can understand now — in my own way. I had a time when I was dreadfully afraid. When the doctor told me I was never going to see again, I was so frightened that I wanted to die. I had always been afraid of the dark, and when I realized that I would always be in this terrible darkness I had always feared, I — " At the memory she faltered, biting her lips. "For months I was really ill — and Mother thought I would die. . . ." "Gee — " he said, caught up by the remembered pain in her words, for getting everything but the picture of a little girl with silver-gilt hair and midnight blue eyes that would always look out upon darkness. "Then Mother, who is one of the greatest people on this earth, began to talk to me and reason with me. She helped me see that the darkness I dreaded was only a darkness if I let it remain that. She said I had an imaginary fear made right in my own thought-factory . . . And soon I began to see more wonderful things than I could ever have seen with my real eyes. And the fear was gone." "It was gone — " SHE took a deep breath and smiled suddenly, dazzlingly. "Jim, you're a young man, you're well trained, you're honest. You have a manager who really believes in you and you have millions of people fighting with you and praying for you — so how can you lose?" "Why, 1 — I guess I — can't lose — can I?" "Of course you can't!" Julie cried, and it seemed to him he had never seen anything more beautiful than the confidence and certainty in that delicate face. "And will you be one of the millions that's fighting with me and praying for me to win?" "Oh, I will! I will!" He scrambled to his feet. "Say, I'm going to see if I can't catch Whitey before he gets too far out of town!" Then, suddenly doubtful — "Do you suppose he'll take me back? He might not, you know." "Now — no more being afraid, Jim — not of anvthing!" she reminded him, and his face cleared. "Sure, he'll take me back! I know he will. Say, you'll come to the fight, won't you?" "You couldn't keep me away!" "I'll have a seat for you right at the ringside!" Julie said with a smile, "It won't make any difference where I sit. I won't really be able to see the fight." Jim took her hand, pressed it tightly, wanting to kiss her but knowing he could not until after the fight. After he'd won. "No," he said, "I know you won't. But I'll be able to see you!" The Story of Mary Marlin the note, the scene in David's office, everything. When he came in, one sight of his face killed that hope. "There's no use beating about the bush, Mary," he said. "I wish it all weren't true — I wish it had never happened. But it has, and now — if there was only something I could do to make you happy!" She said faintly, "You've always made me happy — until now. I thought I had made you happy too." "Yes — well, I've changed. I don't want the same things any more. We might as well face it, Mary. I — I haven't loved you for a long time. It v/ould be better if you'd go your way and — let me go mine." Continued from page 21 "A divorce?" "Yes." She wanted to scream, to beat her hands against his chest, anything wild and terrible. Instead, she said, "I can't believe it. I can't! Joe — look at me. Do you really love that — girl?" He raised his eyes, and for a long moment she read the message that was so plain to see there. She sank back. "Yes," she said hopelessly. "You do. You do mean it when — when you ask for a divorce. All right, Joe. I won't try to hold you when you don't love me." "Mary — I knew you'd be kind — " "Kind!" She laughed hysterically. "I'm sorry." She could feel him wanting to get away, feel him being pulled toward the door. "Just tell me one thing," she asked with unexpected courage. "Did you stop caring for me because I'm not — as young — any more?" "I can't tell you why I changed — " "It is the reason! Oh, but I didn't think that mattered. I thought our love was too big to be touched by — superficial things. And now I'm the same as I always was — the same as when we were married. Only the outside has changed." He was deeply touched, and because he felt a pity he was unwilling to show, he sounded gruff. "Nonsense! I tell you I don't know how Continued on page 50 48 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR