Radio and television mirror (Jan-June 1942)

. '"-yj *#* Anril ShoV/etS if you use April ^ skin,luxunouslvP« ilof Uke wearing ajm-^^^^^^^ ?S:Sra--U.e.Uric rttaiTX^B^i- to bed every night and wake up with every morning. That is when cheerfulness becomes strained and family jokes get awfully feeble. It was when the tension seemed most unbearable that a Mr. Thorgensen called one night. He bought leases on speculation, rather like a gambler who offers you a price on something he thinks looks good. He wanted to buy our quarter interest. I'll never forget that telephone conversation. Mark listened to him for a while, then he said, "Just a minute, please," and turned from the phone to me, his hand over the transmitter. "He offers five thousand dollars for my share." His face was pale. "What do you think?" FIVE thousand dollars! What could I think? It was wealth beyond the dreams of avarice, it was the treasure troves of the world, it was dinner at the hotel with real steak. "Oh, yes," I murmured weakly, "let's take it." "If it's a good well, we'll make lots more than that, Ellen," Mark said. "On the other hand, if it's a dry well — oh, gosh — " His voice was like a thin, taut thread. Suddenly I couldn't stand to hear it like that. I said loudly, "Don't take it. We've gone this far. Let's see it through." He spoke into the phone. "Thanks, Mr. Thorgensen, but it's not for sale. Yes, I know it's a good offer, but — " he glanced toward the bank on the mantelpiece — "I can afford to hold on. No, please don't offer any more." He replaced the receiver and wiped his brow. "Whew, five grand and we turn it down! Maybe we're a couple of prize idiots, honey, but we've still got the hundred to fall back on. How much money have we got left, besides that?" "A dollar and eighty-four cents. You know, Mark, I don't like the radio any more." He looked speculatively at the radio. "I was thinking the same thing. Listening gets pretty dull, doesn't it? But, Ellen, what would we do for entertainment?" "We can always," I said firmly, "listen to the neighbors'. Heaven knows they keep it on loud enough." "You're right. Having one of ouj own is completely and absolutely wasteful." So the radio went the way of the watch, and our liquid assets were increased. Down to twenty-three hundred feet. Down almost to sand. Mark explained how oil is always found in a sandy formation. If you don't hit any sand — well, you just don't ask any questions. You forget all about it and go in another business. Then the well was down to twentyfour hundred, and we were down to pennies. That was when the crew dropped a tool and they had to fish for it, which meant another delay. I never knew before how complicated digging a well was, nor how tasteless warmed-over spaghetti can be three nights in a row. Several times I caught Mark fingering the penny bank, but he always put it back. "We recovered the tools today. It won't be long now till we know," he CHERAMY perfumer Men love "The Fragrance of Youth' said one night. We were in the living room. It had been a hard day. I had done the washing and it had taken hours to get Mark's shirts clean. I thought of the ironing I must do tomorrow and somehow I wished tomorrow would never come. Mark paced up and down the living room nervously. Suddenly he stopped in front of the mantelpiece. "I tell you what let's do. Let's break the seal. Let's take the hundred dollars and get dressed and go to the hotel. We'll order champagne and dance and forget about the well. Come on, honey, let's have a blowout." "Let's wait till the oil comes in," I said wearily. "I couldn't dance an inch tonight." "Yeah, I guess you're right," he said after a moment. "Champagne wouldn't go so good on top of spaghetti anyway. You go on to bed, Ellen. You've done enough work today to kill a horse." I dragged myself off to bed. I was glad Mark was sitting up a while because I was plunged into a black depression and I didn't want him to see it. For some reason, I kept thinking of Henry and Louise Field. They'd been friends of ours, last year. Things had gone bad for Henry. He'd lost his job and couldn't get another. And one morning Louise woke up to find Henry gone, and a note with some money in it on the dresser. She had showed me the note. "Take this money and go on home to your parents, dearest," it said. "I'll send for you when I stop being a flop." Louise had gone on home to wait, but somehow they'd never gotten together again. Things had gotten worse with Henry instead of better, and she was still waiting. What could happen to them could happen to anybody. It could happen — yes, it could happen — even to people like Mark and me. ... I buried my head in the pillow to muffle the sobs, and finally I fell into a troubled sleep. HOURS later I awoke. Instinctively I glanced at the other bed. It was empty! And the clock said twothirty. Mark wasn't there! The thought of Henry Field flashed through my mind, and for the first time in my life I knew what sharp, naked fear can be. Then I heard a creaking noise from the kitchen. Quietly I slipped out of bed, my heart pounding, and softly cracked the door. I'll always remember what I saw. Mark, his faded old bathrobe over his shoulders, was doing the ironing. A pile of folded shirts lay on the table beside him, and he was frowning with fierce concentration over the one on the board in front of him. At his feet lay the laundry basket with the rest of the clothes neatly rolled into sprinkled bundles. Choking with mixed tears and laughter, I noiselessly shut the door. Mark would never know I'd seen him. I went back to bed. No matter what happened to other people, the sight of a big, awkward man, in a dimly lighted kitchen, patiently doing a woman's work in the dead of night — that had happened to me. The next morning there was no sign of Mark's handiwork, and I made JUNIOR MISS NOW! Shirley Temple's become quite a young lady as you'll see for yourself with next month's beautiful color cover of Shirley, radio's lovely new star 60 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIHBOR