Radio and television mirror (Nov 1939-Apr 1940)

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To get your free copy, mail this coupon to nearest Information Office, listed above. Name Address. 64 . MF-4 "Never did like cities," Lively grumbled, but Jackey nodded his head sagely. . "Best place in the world to lose yourself is a big city," he remarked. Chicago — no longer a place to wander through for a few hours between trains, but a vast, unfriendly expanse of dirty-gray buildings; of noisy, dusty streets; of dingy brick-fronted houses. It frightened Sunday as they drove through the cheaper districts in search of a place to stay, and it frightened her more when they had settled down in a frowsy roominghouse and she had started out to look for work. For long hours she sat in the personnel offices of department stores, winning at last the privilege of fiveminute interviews with sharp-eyed, intelligent but dreadfully impersonal officials. She filled out application after application. She walked mile after mile, to save car fare. COMETHING seemed to be dead ** within her. Nothing mattered any more except a job, and money to buy food and clothes for herself and the three people dependent upon her. She didn't even think about the past — it didn't seem possible that she was the same girl who had danced her way across the Atlantic to marry Henry Brinthrope. "We'll let you know," the people in the employment offices told her. But they wouldn't, she knew. They would never let her know. Jackey and Lively, seeing her come in pale and exhausted at night, looked at each other in shame and sadness. One of them was always out looking for work too, while the other took care of Lonnie. But who would want an old man who had never learned any other work but mining? Late on an autumn day, she walked along La Salle Street, on her way to one more call — a mail-order house which might be taking on new people now that Christmas was coming. The light coat was becoming inadequate for the cold lake winds; she shivered as she passed the gloomy bulk of the La Salle Street station. "Sunday! Sunday!" She looked around, and then she began to run, stumbling a little in her high-heeled shoes over the rough cobbles of a cross-street; sobbing; fighting against an impulse to turn and run in the other direction, straight into the arms of the Lord Henry who had so miraculously appeared on La Salle Street, instead of away from him. He soon overtook her, held her struggling figure in his strong arms while he murmured brokenly, "Sunday, my darling! Do you know what a time I've had finding you?" But she couldn't answer. All she could do was sob against the velvet collar of his overcoat. It was to the prosaic surroundings of a Fred Harvey restaurant that he led her, a little later, to talk. "To think that if I hadn't walked out of the station for a breath of fresh air I'd never have found you!" he marveled, his eyes devouring her. "I've been down in Linden, giving everyone the third degree — Arthur, the Jenkinses, even the woman who owns the apartment house where you lived — and none of them knew where you'd gone. Sunday, darling, how could you be so heartless?" "I — I don't know. It just seemed better if we — never met again." "But I've so many things to tell you! God knows I don't blame you for leaving me — but aren't you going to give me a chance to tell you the truth?" A ray of sunlight from one of the high windows fell across her tearstained face. "The . . . truth?" "Yes — about Diane Bradford and the baby she said was mine. Sunday . . . maybe you won't understand, but here's the truth. When I was younger, back in England, I was a kid like any other kid. I ran around with a crowd that believed in having a good time — I — well, I suppose I sowed a few wild oats, as you say over here. One night I went to a party — Diane Bradford was there — everyone was drinking, and I drank too much, myself. Afterwards, I didn't remember what had happened. And I didn't see Diane again before I left for America. I stayed in New York more than a year before I went out to Silver Creek to look for Arthur, and in Silver Creek I met you, Sunday, and fell in love with you. "I swear I didn't hear from Diane at all until a few days before we were to be married. Then she wrote, telling me that she'd become the mother of my baby. I didn't know what to think. I got panicky. I wrote to her — the letter she showed you — and hurried up the plans for the wedding. Oh, I should have told you, and we could have postponed the wedding until I'd investigated. But I was afraid she might be telling the truth, and that I'd lost you, so I — " He made a helpless gesture. AND then, on our wedding day, she ** came to Brinthrope Manor with the baby and — well, you know what happened then. I couldn't deny her story. All I could do was stand by and watch that stricken, hurt look on your face. And by the time I'd come to my senses enough to try to do something — you'd gone, Sunday. I was like a madman then. I went after Diane and made her admit the truth — that she'd hoped to marry me herself, and thought she still would have a chance if she broke up our marriage. She intended to see you before the ceremony, you see. The baby wasn't hers at all — it was just one she'd adopted." For a moment Sunday's throat tightened, and she couldn't speak. The weary, aching months since she had left Henry flashed before her — all so cruelly unnecessary, so futile, so sad. "Oh, if I'd only known!" she breathed. "And I never even gave you a chance to tell me. Don't you hate me, Henry?" "Hate you!" he said with a smile that quivered a little. "If I did, would I have chased you all over the country? Oh — Sunday, I love you so! You're going to come with me now, and we'll adopt little Lonnie — poor little kid — and give him a real home, for once in his life. And — I suppose Jackey and Lively are still with you?" "Of course." "Well, we'll — we'll find them a mine to play with, somewhere." "Henry — darling — " Laughter was dancing again in Sunday's eyes. What happens to Sunday and Lord Henry after their unexpected reunion? For the further adventures of this delightful heroine and hero, tune in Our Gal Sunday on CBS Monday through Friday, 12:45, E. S. T. RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR