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Second Husband Is brought to you In story form through the permission of Bayer Aspirin, sponsors oi the radio serial heard every Tuesday evening over the CBS network.
Illustrated by Alex Redmond
Thursday, March 10th . . .
DEAR DIARY: I'm frightened. I tell myself people like Dick and Fran and I don't go to the poor-house. But I'm not too sure . . . I've worried about money before. But it used to be when I woke up at three o'clock in the morning that I would lose all my courage. Now, underneath, I'm frightened all the time.
It does no good to tell myself "Tomorrow is another day!" That's just what worries me. Tomorrow is another day. And bread and milk at least must be bought and Dick and Fran will ask for pennies. And there'll be scarcely enough for this in my bag. There won't be anything over for the rent.
Right now I owe two months rent for the store and our living quarters. No one seems to buy dresses any more. The girls in Thompsonville seem to have given up trying to look pretty for their sweethearts. And the wives here never have made it a point to be attractive when their husbands came home.
Today I could scarcely face Ben Porter. I knew he hated to ask me for money. Ben's as kind as he is gruff and just about the best friend the children and I have. But this building doesn't belong to him. He's only the agent for Grant Cummings. And men as rich as Cummings are supposed to want their pound of flesh always!
Friday, March 11th . . .
Maybe it's because Grant Cummings is in town that I'm more worried than I ever was before. He might very well go over the accounts with Ben and insist I pay up or get out. When he's right here on the spot he seems more of a menace than when he's in New York.
He doesn't look like a menace at all. I've been telling myself that ever since he came into the shop this morning looking for Ben. His eyes have little sun wrinkles around them. They're the kind of eyes I'd like Dick to have when he grows up, the kind of eyes men get when they live out of doors and play golf and swim and sail a boat. And his voice is strong but gentle too. It was his voice, strangely enough, that reminded me how lonely I am.
I should scratch that last sentence out. It smacks of self-pity and if there's one thing I loathe that is it. Besides I have no right to be lonely. I have Dick and Fran.
March 14th . . . Grant Cummings has asked me to marry him! One thousand exclamation points should follow that announcement. He tells me, over and over,
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