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"Arthur, here she is! Sunday, may I present Arthur Brinthrope?" Sunday saw his delighted smile, caught the look of sly malice in his eyes.
&al Sunday, heard Monday through Friday, sponsored by Kolynos Toothpowder and Anacin.
— this is my wife," he said shortly.
Mrs. Jenkins' greeting was cordial enough — in fact, she seemed to Sunday a friendly little person, perhaps a little vain and nighty, but generous in heart and mind. Bubbling apologies, she perched on the edge of a chair, insisting that she would wait until her husband had finished his business with Sunday.
" — So," Jenkins resumed, while Sunday's heart sank, "I'm afraid my
APRIL, 1940
answer would have to be the same — even if you had a family to support."
"Oh, but I have," Sunday said eagerly. "I have a little baby — and two old men — well, they're really my guardians, but they're not able to work much. And I can do any kind of work you have. I don't care what it is!"
His businessman's face softened, and for the first time she saw that
■ At least this once it could happen — a broken heart miraculously mended when Sunday discovers Henry's love is stronger than deceit or hatred or disillusionment
he was not really so forbidding. "I'm sorry, my dear — I really am. I wish I could help you, but — "
"Brad!" Mrs. Jenkins was bouncing in her chair with excitement. "I have a job for her! Of course! I've been looking for a secretary, and Mrs. Blake would be the very person."
"A secretary? But what in the world do you need a secretary for, Laura?"
"Oh — " vaguely — "lots of things. If Alice Garretson has to have a secretary, I guess I need one too."
The shadow of a smile touched Brad Jenkins' lips. "I see. Perhaps you're right. At any rate, Mrs. Blake, I'm glad we're able to do something for you."
And so it was settled. Sunday was to report at the Jenkins home for. work the next day, at a salary of twenty dollars a week — which seemed far too much to her, but Laura Jenkins said she wouldn't pay a cent less.
In the days that followed Sunday knew happiness for the first time since that horrible moment when Diane Bradford had showed her Henry's letter, tacitly admitting that he was Lonnie's father.
Jackey and Lively arrived one afternoon, with Lonnie propped up with blankets in the back seat of the rusty old second-hand car and crowing lustily. Sunday, feeling the warm softness of his hands against her cheek again, cried a little and was not ashamed of it. She had found a tiny apartment, one room and kitchenette, for herself and the baby, and (Continued on page 60)
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