Radio and television mirror (Nov 1939-Apr 1940)

The action of Ex-Lax is thorough. yet gentle! No shock. No strain. No weakening after-effects. Just an easy, comfortable howel movement that brings blessed relief. Try Ex-Lax next time you need a laxative. It's good for every member of the family. 10< and 25* Our Gal Sunday's Romance {Continued from page 28) respect, as well as love. With them, love was fine and noble. Without them, it was only degradation. Then night would come, and standing alone at the rail on the deck, she felt heartache returning. Staring down at the hissing, foaming waters, the thought would come before she could close her mind to it — what if she should sink, down, down, into the darkness, away from memory, away from love? Almost she wished, once, that she had not taken Lonnie, that she had kept herself free to step out of life, quietly and softly, leaving no loose ends behind. AT first they had planned to return > to Silver Creek, but one night a steward brought Sunday a radiogram from Henry, begging her to wait for him in New York, and she knew then that he had not given up and that Silver Creek would be the first place he would look for her. "We'll have to go somewhere else, she told the two old miners. "At least —Lonnie and I will. I don't want to make you go, if you'd rather be in Silver Creek." "We're a-goin' wherever you are, Jackey said loyally, and Lively seconded him with a fierce "You bet!" Displays of emotion always embarrassed the two old men, so Sunday swallowed the lump that rose in her throat, and said, "Well, then— where shall we go?" Jackey scratched his head. "Durned if I know!" he admitted. "Got the whole United States to pick from," Lively pointed out, and in the end that was what they did — spread out a map of the United States on the floor of Sunday's cabin and settled on Blueridge, Kansas, because they all liked its name. It was only days later, when the train slowed to a stop and the conductor bawled "Blue-ridge!" that Sunday felt a wave of panic. To begin with, Blueridge sat grimly in the midst of the prairie. There was not a ridge to be seen, let alone a blue one — nothing but miles and miles of flat farmland, dull tan now under the pale autumn sky. It was not like Silver Creek, and it was not like New York. It was something different and strange, and it frightened her. The atlas said there were five thousand people in Blueridge. Five thousand people, and all of them strangers. Their money was going fast, and they couldn't afford a hotel. After some search they found a rooming house run by a tall, thin woman who eyed them with distaste before she reluctantly admitted that she might have some rooms for them. Nor was the rest of Blueridge any more friendly. Early on the morning of their first day, Sunday started out to find a job. In high school she had studied typing and shorthand, and she hoped to get work as a stenographer. But that night, and night after night for the next two weeks, she returned home sick with discouragement. Everywhere she went — and in Blueridge there weren't many places to go — she was met with the same answer. "Sorry, but we haven't anything." And one man, franker than the others, had said, "The truth is, miss we have plenty of local girls that need jobs. You can't blame us for giving them preference." At last she was ready to admit defeat. It was a frightened trio that conferred in Sunday's room. "Tell me the truth," Sunday begged. "How much money have we got left?" Jackey shuffled his heavy shoes over the worn carpet. "Not . what you'd call a lot, Sunday," he admitted finally. "Fact is — a little more'n two hundred dollars. Sounds like a good deal, but it won't last long when there's nothin' more comin' in." Sunday's nails bit into her palms in desperation. "If there were only something we could do!" she cried. "Oh, I'm so ashamed of getting you into a fix like this — I should have made you go back to Silver Creek!" " 'Tain't your fault," Lively assured her. "Trouble is, we should of picked a place where they was some minin' goin' on. That's all Jackey and me is good for." He brightened a little. "Y'know, they've uncovered a new strike up in the Gulch above Silver Creek. Maybe one of our old claims'll amount to somethin' now." Jackey was interested. "Is that a fact? Where'd you read that, Lively?" "Just got a letter this mornin' from Joe Henricks in the general store." Lively took an envelope from his pocket. "Joe says — " "Lively!" Sunday exclaimed in dismay. "You didn't! You didn't write to Joe Henricks!" WHY — why sure. How d'you s'pose he got my address if I didn't?" Lively asked innocently. "Well, you blitherin', well-eyed, half-witted coyote!" Jackey said in a blistering voice. "With us breakin our fool necks tryin' to keep Lord Henry from findin' out where Sunday is, you go to work an' write to Joe Henricks. When Lord Henry gets to Silver Creek — if he ain't there already— and starts askin' questions, don't you figger Joe's goin' to tell him he had a letter from you, and we're in Blueridge?" Jackey looked from one of them to the other in dumfounded horror. "Great hop-toads!" he breathed at last. "Durned if I ever thought o' that!" Sympathy made Sunday hide her concern. "Never mind, Lively," she said. "Maybe Lord Henry's stopped looking for us by this time. If he'd only leave me alone! If he'd only realize that I never want to see or hear of him again!" "You miss him, though — don't you, gal?" Jackey inquired softly, and Sunday nodded. "I'll miss him — all my life, I guess." She didn't add what she knew in her heart was the truth — that sometimes she missed him so terribly it was all she could do not to write him, tell him she forgave him. "Well," Jackey broke the silence that followed, "we got to move. Here's my notion. We can't afford train fares, so let's put about fifty dollars into a second-hand car. Then we'll have enough left to get us out West. I'll get you and Lively settled somewhere, and poke my nose into Silver Creek — find out if Lord Henry's been there, and what's doin'. Mebbe Sunday can't go back there, but anyhow we'll be near home." RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR