Radio and television mirror (Jan-June 1942)

There was a deeper change, too, people realized as they greeted her. She wore tranquillity like a garment, like one of those severely plain and startlingly expensive gowns you find in exclusive shops. People chuckled with good-natured malice over Joe Marlin's expression when he first saw her. "He was simply dazzled! No wonder, of course — but it did my heart good, after the way he treated her." "He's still pretty thick with that Gibbons girl, though." "Oh, yes. But I wouldn't be surprised if he's thinking maybe he made a bad bargain." NO one read Joe's thoughts, though. Mary herself could not read them when, on Easter Monday, he came to see her. She was in the garden, digging with bare hands, and this helped to break the initial strangeness and tensity between them, for she was applying some fertilizer she had found in the garage, which Joe said was poor stuff. Before either of them quite realized what was happening, he was on his knees beside her. He looked at her quizzically. "You know, of course, you've changed." "Yes, I know. But it's really quite simple. You remember Henriette Gordon, Joe?" "Of course. Funny little dark kid, wasn't she? Used to pal around with you in grammar school?" "That's the one. Only now she's Madame Henriette, Inc., of Fifth Avenue. I just happened to run into her after I'd been in New York a few days — the most amazing coincidence." (Yes, New York had taught Mary many things. Once a phrase like "most amazing coincidence" would have been as strange upon her lips as Latin.) "She took me in hand and made me over. I've been staying with her at her penthouse." Beyond the hedge, the clear young voices of Bill and Cynthia Adams were raised. Obviously, they were coming to see Mary. "Oh, Lord," Joe said. "I wanted to talk to you. Can't we escape the kids?" Mary laughed. "Only if we run right now. And I don't know where to run." "Come on — get in my car and we'll take a ride. Quick!" "All right." He couldn't help noticing the grace with which she leaped to her feet and ran with him to the car. Then they were rolling down the length of Main Street, out into the odorous countryside. After a time he stopped the car and they walked a little, through a patch of woods where the ground was still spongily damp. There was a pleasant feeling of companionship between them, as if they were two strangers who had only recently met, rather enjoyed each other's company, but had no real common bond. It was a safe feeling. If they could only hold to it, Mary thought, this hour would be agreeable and uneventful. Suddenly she decided she did not want it to be uneventful. "Have you been all right, Joe?" "Oh — so-so," he said guardedly — and then, in abrupt decision. "No, not very. In fact, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I might want to sell the house, if you'd agree." "Sell the house!" She was shocked. Selling that house was like — like selling years of her life. "Well, things haven't been so good," MARCH, 1942 ATatS^/'^kW ITI ! Here, Dear Reader, we give you an intimate close-up of The Outraged Husband ... A rip-roaring, fire-breathing Male . . . sans shirt, sans temper — sans just about everything except a swell case of Righteous Indignation. And what is the Ultimatum he delivers? Something like this, perhaps: 'This does it 1 I'm through looking like a ghost in a gray shroud. If I can't have a white shirt, I'll go where the only shirt a man has to wear is the one he gets with his birthday suit. Goodbye!' {with appropriate gestures) And how does his Lady respond? Elementary, Mrs. Watson. She tiptoes to the telephone and in quavering tones tells her grocer, 'Please send me some of that Fels-Naptha Soap right away. Send a lot. And hurry!' [Aside TO THE Ladies] This isn't all kidding. Better take a peek at Papa's shirts. He may not he as tame as you think. You never know. Go/c/e/7 daror Go/c/en c^^s r t L j" N A r I H A 6anis/ie/7aff/e-7a/e Gro}^ I 51