Radio and television mirror (Jan-June 1941)

had been only an obscure reporter on this same paper. Odd fellow — moody, reticent about himself. And he was still being reticent. He was a radio star now, but no one knew anything about his background or his family. Dr. Ruthledge wasn't his father, of course — but who was? And who was his mother? Might be a story there. Experience had taught Spike Wilson that there was usually a story in anything a famous person didn't tell of his own accord. He decided to ask a few questions down in Five Points and see what he could find out. Ned Holden himself was on his way back to Five Points from a hurried trip to San Francisco — a trip taken solely for the purpose of se°ing Torchy, his wife. Sitting in the Pullman section while green fields of corn flashed past his unseeing eyes, he went over and over the strange — the incredible— interview he had had with the girl who now called herself Myrna Reynolds. He'd had the unpleasant feeling, talking to her, that this wasn't Torchy at all, but a complete stranger. It didn't seem possible that a girl could have changed so entirely in a few months. Not only in appearance, though even there she was different enough. But mentally and — and spiritually. Torchy had prospered since leaving him, there was no doubt of that. She'd found a job singing in a night club at the San Francisco Fair, and had made an unexpected success with her throaty, somehow tragic, voice. Now she had a pleasant apartment overlooking the Bay, she wore expensive clothes, she had learned how to enhance her natural beauty, and her speech had lost its slang and grammatical imperfections. More than anything else, she was self-confident, assured. And hard. Surely success alone hadn't brought about this staggering change in her, he thought. Some other influence had been at work — some influence which was now and perhaps would always remain a mystery to him. . . . He dismissed all speculations as vain and fruitless. Just now his mind was too full of his mission to concern itself with the puzzle which was Torchy's new character. After talking to her for five minutes he knew why she had answered none of his letters suggesting a divorce. I TOLD you when I left Five Points I ' wouldn't divorce you, but I'd let you divorce me," she said. "Well, I've changed my mind. You're my husband, Ned. I wish we could live together, like any married couple. Apparently we can't, without fighting and making each other miserable. But — ■" and her jaw took on a firm, uncompromising line — "if I can't have you, no one else is going to." "You left me almost six months ago," he said. "If I wait another six, I can sue you for divorce on the grounds of desertion." Torchy's eyes narrowed. "You do that, Ned, and I'll tell all I know about you — that your father was a thief and your mother a murderess. And that I picked you up out of the gutter, right here in San Francisco. That won't be so very nice for the 50 The Guiding Light (Continued from page 32) famous radio star, The Spectator." Cold fear struck him. He could not comfort himself by thinking she was bluffing. She would do exactly what she said. Under that newly-acquired veneer of sophistication, she was as primitive as she had ever been — but with an added quality of ruthlessness that she had not had before. And so he left her, knowing that for the time at least she held all the winning cards When the train pulled into the station he went directly to his room in Five Points. He had a column and part of a broadcast to write, and he worked all afternoon, stopping only to telephone Mary and arrange to meet her in a restaurant that evening. They had given up meeting at the parsonage because of Dr. Ruthledge's opposition. He was at the restaurant before her, and was seated in one of the booths when he saw her come in through the swinging doors. Mary had fought so bitterly against letting him once more into her heart. But he, unheeding, had battered down her defenses, one by one, until, sobbing, she confessed that she still loved him, would always love him. And now he could not face the trust in her eyes and destroy it by telling her there was no way they could be happy together. She came up to his table. "Ned!" she said softly. "I'm so glad you're De Wolfe Hopper Junior guest-stars on his mother's program, Hedda Hopper's Hollywood, over CBS. back — I've missed you terribly — and listening to the broadcast you did from San Francisco didn't seem to help." She sat down, waiting tremulously for his news. "You saw Torchy?" "Yes. She — " His brown hand went across the table to cover hers. No, he could not hurt her again. "She won't give me the divorce. But I'm tired of waiting — tired of being afraid. As soon as it's a year since she went away, I'll file suit anyhow." Would he have that much courage? He wondered. It was such a small item in the so ciety column. You could see that even the reporter who wrote it didn't think it was particularly important. Yet it made Rose Kransky's hands tremble and her face go perfectly white. "Mr. and Mrs. Charles Cunningham have adopted a baby boy." That was all. Two lines of type that were like the opening of a door. It was all so plain now! Cunningham had instigated the Child Welfare investigation— and also he was the unknown visitor at the nursery who had seen the baby and wanted to adopt him. But that had been a woman — Miss Miller had said so ! Mrs. Cunningham, then, the new Mrs. Cunningham. Of course she couldn't know whose child it was — or did she? Charles must have known, or he would not have brought the investigation against her. But surely not his wife — how could she have willingly adopted the child of her husband and another woman? LjATRED for Charles Cunningham ' ' awoke fiercely in Rose. In the few weeks since she had given up her baby she had existed in an emotional vacuum. She had expected to be free, unfettered at the loss of this responsibility. Instead, she had felt strangely alone, empty, unwilling to admit even to herself that she wanted him back. Now, realization that she had given her son to the one man in the world she hated, unleashed all her pent-up feelings and made her into the mother she had refused to be before. She went straight to Charles Cunningham's office, the same office where she had worked in that era Which now seemed so long ago. Cunningham half rose from his chair as she entered — then sank back, staring at her almost in terror. The pain of seeing him again was so great that for a moment she could not speak. His long face, with the deep lines about the mouth, swayed before her, then steadied, and she saw with a sudden clarity that he was at her mercy. "The baby you and your wife adopted— it's mine, isn't it?" she asked. "Johnny . . . ?" "Is that what you call him? I thought Charles was a nice name." He frowned painfully. "Rose — I'm sorry." "Really? Somehow, I got the impression you were never sorry — for anything you did." "You have a right to be bitter." This humility was something for which she had not been prepared. It made her uneasy, fearful that some little bit of the old love might return. "I want my baby back," she said fiercely. "But you gave him up of your own accord," he reminded her. "It shouldn't make any difference to you who adopted him, as long as he's in a good home. And I — I can assure you he is." "Don't you know I'd rather die," she cried, "than let you have him? Haven't you hurt me enough? Do you have to hurt him too?" "I don't want to hurt him, Rose," he said gravely. "I love him — and my wife loves him." "Your wife! Does she know who his father is?" RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR