Radio and television mirror (Jan-June 1942)

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A Wife in Need Continued jrom page 19 the understanding, the learning to know each other, the togetherness. Unable to say a word, I stood in the circle of his arms holding me close. Finally he said, loudly, "But now let's be practical. I'll get a job in a filling station until we can save enough — " "Indeed you will not! You're a geologist. You can locate oil wells. Anybody can find oil in a filling station. Mark, if you had a hundred dollars, could you go ahead — right away — with your idea about the lease?" "We might just hold out," he said thoughtfully. "But to borrow money now — " "No, not borrow. Wait a minute." I ran into the bedroom and opened my lingerie drawer. Tucked away in the back was a penny bank. Triumphantly I held it out. "Look, dear, it doesn't have pennies in it. Mother gave it to me. Years ago, when she and Dad were young, she saved money in this bank. She finally got a hundred dollars, got it changed into one bill and put it back and sealed it. See the seal?" "The hundred's still there?" "She kept it in case dad got in trouble. He didn't have to use it, after all, but it meant a lot to them to have a hundred dollars in reserve. It gave dad confidence. When we were married, mother gave it to me. Here — it's yours." Mark's eyes lit up and for the first time his face lost that awful closed, tight look. "Ellen, we'll do it! I'll get a well drilled!" He reached for me and our hands met and clasped over the foolish little bank. Somehow, in the touch of it, I could feel determination and sureness flow into each of us. "The first thing to do," he went on, "is invite Ed Kreuger to dinner. He's an independent oil operator and a great old fellow. He doesn't know it yet but he's going to be our partner. He's going to take the lease, drill the well, and give me a quarter interest." "Invite him tomorrow. What does he like to eat?" "Ham hocks, cabbage, and cherry pie. I heard him say so." "When I finish with him, ham hocks, cabbage, and cherry pie will be coming out of his ears!" WELL, they just about were. If I do say so myself, that dinner was perfect. The ham hocks were done to a turn, the cabbage was succulent, and the pie crust melted away if you looked at it. If feeding a man what he liked was the way to his heart, Mr. Kreuger was going to be won over that night if it killed him! He was a big, jovial man whom I liked on sight, and I loved watching him stow away helping after helping. I could eat hardly a mouthful myself, and poor Mark was nervous as a cat. After all, this was our one chance, the key to our big adventure. Finally Mr. Kreuger shoved away his pie plate, leaned back in his chair and sighed happily. "Well, Mark," he said, "you've sold me on that hundred and sixty acres." He laughed at our 58 COMING ATTRACTION! Watch for the full page gallery portrait of the bandleader who won Facing The Music's danceband poll — in the June issue RADIO AND TELEVISION M2IIB0B stunned faces, and went on. "That's all right. It's the way I like to be sold — a couple of fine kids, a wonderful dmner. I talked to your old boss today and I figure you've got a good property there. I'll take the property, drill the wells and carry you for a quarter interest. How's that?" It was the first time I ever saw Mark at a loss for words. "Gee, Mr Kreuger— that's wonderful! I mean, it's just what I had in mind — " Mr. Kreuger laughed again. "I know what you mean. Well, barring delays, we ought to sink a well in about six weeks. And we ought to come up with a good one. Of course, in this business you never can tell. I've drilled plenty of dry holes in my day." Six weeks! Barring delays . . . and maybe a dry well. Mark was lookmg at me. There was still time to back out. I glanced toward the bedroom, where the penny bank was, and then back at him, and smiled. He nodded, and his eyes were bright. He turned back to Mr. Kreuger. "It's a deal! We're partners." We were so excited that night after Mr. Kreuger left we talked till nearly dawn. Mark got the bank out of the dresser drawer and put it proudly on the mantelpiece where we could see it every day. We planned how we'd put off opening it until we absolutely had to, how the well would probably be a gusher and we'd be rich, how — if the impossible happened and it turned out dry — well, we still had the hundred to fall back on, didn't we? During the six weeks of waiting, we'd cut out this and cut down on that to save money. . . . Mark was really smoking too much anyway, and I didn't absolutely need a new permanent. It's a challenge to start with, to see how much you can do without that you thought was a necessity before. It's a game to see how cheaply you can plan meals that still are nourishing, how you can clean and press your own clothes, how you can listen to the radio every night or read a library book instead of going to an occasional movie. It's thrilling and fun — for a while. And then — some days it's not fun at all. It's grim and scary. No matter how you scrimp, the money disappears frighteningly fast. There's a subtle difference in doing all those things to save money and doing them because you have to, in order to exist. Suddenly your best stockings start a run and you know you can't buy any more. You have to go around with a long, unsightly darn and you're a little ashamed. Cheap meals get monotonous, and you walk miles to the super-market where things are a little cheaper. The well gets down to a thousand feet — still hard soil and rock — and you're excited for a while, but it « seems to take so long to get anywhere. I Little things you never noticed before come out. I saw for the first time how much soap Mark used when he came home, to get the grime off his hands. Soap costs money! So you laugh and chide him, and he laughs and doesn't use so much, and the