t ft Hi-;: sr f .AH^^aAMaHHI i«2 Scanned from the collections of The Library of Congress AUDIO-VISUAL CONSERVATION at The LIBRARY vf CONGRESS Packard Campus for Audio Visual Conservation www.loc.gov/avconservation Motion Picture and Television Reading Room www.loc.gov/rr/mopic Recorded Sound Reference Center www.loc.gov/rr/record -k m I DAVID HARUM- Living Portraits of All Your Favorites Gr:2"Rtrt:veTo'ry-W0MAN OF COURAGE Ji yy ^ /^^. BRENDA MARSHil Starring in "THE SMILING GHO a Warner Brothers Pictti THE SILVERWARE SERVICE of the STARS. All the glamour isn't in Hollywood ! Back east ... up north . . . down south — up-and-coming young Americans are glamorizing their tables with the selfsame lovely silverware their favorite stars select. Your silverware dealer v^ill show you that this is much, much easier than you'd believe ... for just think of it — services start at $19.95 and Planned Payments can make your choice — yours TODAY! 73-PIECE SERVICE for 8 $5750 106-PIECE SERVICE for 12 $6750 in the Miss America TABLE-CABINET (All Prices include Federal Tax) i/ioChz, VitlUilQ^ BUT HEADS WILL TURN •• If your Smile Is Right! There's magic in a lovely smile! Help yours to be sparkling — with Ipana and Massage. 100K about you, plain girl! The most ^ popular girl isn't always the pretti- est girL It's true in the world of the stage and screen— it's true in your own small world. Heads do turn— eyes do follow— hearts do respond— to even the plainest face if it flashes a winning, glamorous, spar- kling smile. Make your smile your beauty talis- man. Keep it as enchanting as it should be. Help it to be a smile that wins for you the best that life has to give. But remember that, for a smile to keep its brightness and sparkle, gums must retain their healthy firmness. "Pink Tooth Brush" — a warning! If you ever see "pink" on your tooth brush— jee your dentist right away. It may not mean serious trouble, but let him decide. He may say simply that your gums need more work . . . the natural ex- ercise denied them by today's soft foods. And like thousands of dentists, he may suggest "the helpful stimulation of Ipana and massage." Ipana is specially designed, not only to clean teeth briUiantly and thoroughly but, with massage, to help firm and strengthen your gums. Massage a little extra Ipana onto your gums every time you brush your teeth. Notice its clean, refreshing taste. «Vnd that invigorating "tang" tells you circu- lation is increasing in your gums— help- ing them to better health. Get a tube of Ipana Tooth Paste today. <'A LOVELY SMILE IS MOST IMPORTANT TO BEAUTY!" say hiauty editors of 23 out of 24 leading magazines Recently a poll was made among the beauty editors of 24 leading magazines. All but one of these experts said that a woman has no greater charm than a lovely, sparkling smile. They went on to say that "Even a plain girl can be charm- ing, if she has a lovely smile. But without one, the loveliest woman's beauty is dimmed and darkened." IPANA TOOTH PASTE A Product of Bristol-Myers JANUARY, 1942 JANUARY, 1942 VOL 17. No. 3 HnD¥EUVI§IOn MiRROR ERNEST Y. HEYN Executive Editor BELLE LANDESMAN, ASSISTANT EDITOR FRED R. SAMMIS Editor CONTENTS Love's New Sweet Song Judy Ashley 6 She refused him the first time he proposed — she should hove seen the danger! Woman of Courage Madeline Thompson 8 Beginning radio's popular marriage drama Final Glory Margaret E. Songster 12 It was the radio debut of yesterday's brightest star David Harum in Living. Portraits 15 Fascinating album photographs of the people you love to listen to Big Sister Norton Russell 20 Ruth Wayne finds comfort in the thought that she made the right decision What You Taught Me 24 Love mode her forget loyalty — and then love passed her by By Popular Demand 28 Presenting new and exclusive autographed pictures of Papa David and Chichi Plain Guy Fred Rutledge 30 How well con a woman know a man after a few romantic words? Mode For Each Other Jack Sher 33 Alan Bunce might never hove found romance if he hadn't opened that door Company at Ease Kate Smith 34 Try a buffet supper for your next party When We Met Dick Todd and Kathleen Carnes 36 Dick Todd sings Radio Mirror's Hit of the Month Superman in Radio 42 The mystery of the missing freight car is solved by radio's new hero A Queen's Gratitude 3 A broadcast of thanks to American women What's New From Coast to Coast Dan Senseney 4 Dick Todd Gallery 23 Inside Radio — The Radio Mirror Almanac 38 Facing the Music Ken Alden 43 Gifts of Loveliness 66 • ON THE COVER— Alice Reinheart, heard as Chichi in Life Can Be Beautiful, on CBS Kodochrome by Charles P. Seawood ItAUIO ANU TELKVISION MIKHOIt, published monthly bv MACFADDEN PUBLICATIONS, INC., Washington and South Avenues, Dunellen, New Jersey. General Olllces; 205 Kast ■fZnd Street. New York, N. Y. Editorial and advertising omces: Chanin Building, 122 East 42nd Street, New York. O. J. Elder, President: Haydock Miller, .Secretai-y; Chas. H. Shaltuck, Treasurer; Walter Hanlon, Advertising Director. Chicago office, 221 North LaSalle St., E. F. Lethen, Jr., Mgr. Pacific Coast Olllces: San Francisco, 420 Market Street, Hollywood: 7751 Sunset Blvd., Lee Andrews. Manager. Entered as scc-ond-class matter September 34. 193.5, at the Post Ofllce at Dunellen, New Jersey, under the Act of March 3, 1879. Price per copy In United States 10c, Canada 15c. Subscription price in United States and Possessions and Newfoundland $1.00 a year. In Canada, Cuba, Mexico, Haiti, Dominican Republic, Spain and Pos.sessions, and Central and South American countries, excepting British Honduras, British, Dutch and French Guiana, .$1.50 a year; all other countries, .'52.50 a year. While Manuscripts. Photographs and Drawings are submitted at the owner's risk, every effort will be made to return those found unavailable If accompanied by sudlcient flrst-class postage, and explicit name and address. Contributors are especially advised to be sure to retain copies of their contributions; otherwise they are taking unnecessary risk. Unaccepted letters for the "What Do You Want to Say?" department will not be returned, and we will not be responsible for any losses of such matter contributed. All submissions tjecome the property of the magazine. (Member of Macfadden Women's Group.) The contents of this magazine may not be printed, either wholly or In part, without permission. Copyright, 1941, by the Macfadden Publications, Inc. Title trademark registered in U. S. Patent Office. Printed in the U. S. A. by Art Color Printing Company, Dunellen, N. J. l^abllebftr'E blue. RADIO AND TELEVISION MHUIOR .vvi«'Lg«4//> A message of thanks to American women from the Queen of England, heard over the NBC-Red network I FIND it hard to tell you of our gratitude in adequate terms. So I ask you to believe that it is deep and sincere beyond expression. Un- less you have seen, as I have seen, just how your gifts have been put to use, you cannot know, perhaps, the solace which was brought to the men and women of Britain who are suffer- ing and toiling in the cause of freedom. Here in Britain our women are working in factory and field, turning the lathes and gathering the harvest, for we must have food as well as munitions. Their courage is magnifi- cent, their endurance amazing. I have seen them in many different activities. They are serving in the thousands with the navy," army and air force — driving heavy lorries, cooking, cater- ing, helping, and every one of them working cheerfully and bravely under all conditions. I speak for us all in Britain in thanking all of you in America. I feel I would like to say a special message of thanks to American women. It gives us strength to know that you have not been content to pass us by on the other side. To us, in the time of our tribulation, you have surely shown that compassion which has been for two thousand years the mark of the good neighbor. Believe me, and I am speaking for millions of us who know the bitter but also proud horror of war, we are grateful. We shall not forget your sacrifice. .The sympathy which in- spires it springs not only from our common speech and the traditions which we share with you, but even more from our common ideals. To you tyranny is as hateful as it is to us. The things for which we will fight to the death are no less sacred, and to my mind at any rate, your generosity is born of your conviction that we fight to save a cause that is yours no less than ours; of your high resolve, how- ever great the cost and however long the struggle, that liberty and freedom, human dignity and kindness shall not perish from the earth. I look to the day when we shall go forward, hand in hand, to build a better, a kinder, a happier world for our children. May God bless you all. JANTJAEY, 1942 Be Lovelier! So very Soon ! Go on the CAMAY 7MILD-S0AP DIET ! This lovely bride, Mrs. Alfred L. Powell of New York, N. Y., says : "I'm so devoted to the Camay 'Mild-Soap' Diet ! I tell all my friends about this wonderful aid to loveliness." Start this exciting course in beauty care ! It's based on the advice of sicin specialists-praised by lovely brides! WHISPERED praises in the moonlight —"Your skin is so lovely to look at, so delightful to touch". . . Every woman should hear these compliments. Do you? If not, then the Camay "Mild- Soap" Diet offers you a promise of new love- liness. For, unknowingly, you may be clouding the real beauty of your skin through improper cleans- ing. Or, like so many women failing to use a beauty soap as mild as it should be. Thousands of brides have found the key to loveliness in the Camay "Mild- Soap" Diet. One such bride is Mrs. Powell who says : "My skin has reacted so beautifully to the Camay 'Mild-Soap' Diet I'd never try any other beauty treatment!' Skin specialists advise regular cleansing with a fine mild soap. And Camay is milder than the 10 other famous beauty soaps test- ed. That's why we say "Go on the Camay 'Mild-Soap' Diet . . . TONIGHT ! " GO ON THE ''MILD-SOAP" DIET TONIGHT! Work Camay's milder lather over your skin, pay- ing special attention to the nose, the base of nostrils and chin. Rinse with warm water and follow with thirty seconds of cold eplashings. Then, while you sleep, the tiny pore openings are free to function for natural beauty. In the morn- ing—one more quick session with this milder Camay and your skin is ready for make-up. ^^OM CQ^^ Mickey Ross, above, stayed home and became KQV's ace bandleader. Eleanor Bryan, below, found suc- cess by going to WBT, Charlotte. IT'S December wedding bells for Virginia Dwyer and James Flem- ing. She's the young actress who plays Sally in the Front Page Farrell serial, and he's the announcer for John's Other Wife and Mr. Keen, among other shows. * • * They're predicting that Bob Hope's new movie, "Louisiana Purchase," now completed but not due to be shown until after the first of the year, will be one of the big hits of the sea- son and will boost radio's Tuesday night jester to a new high in popu- larity. * « * Dorothy Lowell will be at home to the stork around the first of the year. As Our Gal Simday, Dorothy has been a mother for some time, but it's a new experience for her in real life. * ♦ • CHARLOTTE, N. C— WBT's newest and youngest star is a gay dnd breezy lass who literally pestered her way to radio stardom. Her name is Eleanor Bryan, and she's heard on the famous WBT Briarhopper show between 4:30 and 5:00 every after- noon, Monday through Friday, and at 9:00 Saturday mornmgs. Eleanor began her campaign to get on the air when she was thirteen years old in Goldsboro, N. C. Her mother ran a boarding house, and some of her best guests were the Johnston County Ramblers, a singing By DAN SENSENEY He's a busy Bob Hope now — broadcasting on NBC Tuesday nights and wooing Zorina in his new Paramount picture, "Louisiana Purchase." and instrumental group that was very popular in the Carolina hill country, both on the air and in personal ap- pearances. They had many fans, but none more adoring than thirteen-year- old Eleanor. When the Ramblers got up in the morning, there was Eleanor out in the hall, starry-eyed, giving out with a hill-billy tune in her fresh young soprano, just to attract their attention. At meal times she nearly drove them crazy by yodeling to them between courses. When they went down town, if they weren't careful, she went with them. In fact, she made their lives miserable until, in utter despair, they decided to give her a chance to sing with them. You guessed it — she was a sen- sation. She had a yodel that out- yodeled the best of them, and a personality that made everyone's feet start tapping the minute she went into a mountain tune. Accompany- ing herself on the "gee-tar," she soon made a name for herself that over- shadowed the Ramblers' own. She sang with local bands at parties, made guest appearances, and at one time had a regular program with her eleven-year-old sister on Goldsboro's' station WGBR. When Claude Casey, WBT singing and yodeling star, made a personal appearance in Goldsboro a few months ago he heard Eleanor sing and lost no time in bringing her back to WBT to audition for Program Director Charles (.Contimied on page 44) RADIO AND TELEVISION lUUBROR What to do when you feel a COLD coming on WHEN you start to sniffle . . . when you feel a chill ... or gee a dry, rasping irritation in your throat, it's time to act — and act fast! A cold may be getting you in its grip. What can you do to ward it oflF? Unfortunately, in spite of all the time and money spent on studying the condition, there is no known positive specific. Certainly, we would not classify Listerine Antiseptic as one. Yet tests made during ten years of intensive research have con- vinced us that this safe, pleasant-tasting germicide often has a very marked effect. Over and over again these tests have shown that those who gargled Listerine Antiseptic twice daily had fewer colds, milder colds, and colds of shorter duration than those who did not. Kills Germs Associated with Colds The reason for this success, we believe, must be that Listerine Antiseptic kills vast numbers of germs on mouth and throat surfaces ... so called "secondary invaders" which, according to many authorities, are largely responsible for the distressing manifestations of a cold. Listerine Antiseptic kills these germs by the millions, before Tihey can invade the delicate membrane and aggravate infection. Tests Showed Outstanding Germ Reductions on Tissue Surfaces Qinical "bacteria counts" showed germ reductions on mouth and throat surfaces ranging to 96.7% even 15 minutes after gargling with Listerine Antiseptic ... up to 80% an hour after the gargle. Isn't it sensible, then, to use Listerine Antiseptic promptly and often to help combat a sore throat and keep a cold from becoming troublesome ? We do not pretend to say that Listerine Antiseptic so used will always head off a cold or reduce its severity once started. But we do say that it has had such a fine record in so many test cases that it is entitled to consideration as a reputable first aid. Get the habit of gargling with full strength Listerine Anti- septic morning and night; and if you feel a cold coming on, increase the frequency of the gargle and call your physician. Lambert Pharmacal Company, St. Louis, Mo. LISTERINE for COLDS and SORE THROAT 1 Go to bed at once, take a mild laxative if your doctor ad- vises it. Drinkplenty of w^ater and fruit juices. Eat lightly. XAW fr. 2 Gargle with~ Listerine Antiseptic, full strengtu, every three hours. Listerine kills millions of germs on mouth and throat surfaces before they can invade the delicate membrane and aggravate infection. NOTE HOW LISTERINE GARGLE REDUCED GERIMS The two drawings illustrate height of range in germ reductions on mouth and throat surfaces in test cases before and after gargling Listerine Antiseptic. Fifteen min- utes aftet gargling, germ reduc- tions up to 96.1% were noted; and even one hour after, germs were still reduced as much as 8096. 3 At niglit, taite a hot batii,or at least a hot foot bath, before getting into bed. Cover up with plenty of extra blankets to "sweat the cold out of your system." 4 Don't blow your nose too hard. It may spread infection to other parts of the head. Sterilize used hand- kerchiefs by boiling. Paper napkins should be burned. JANUARY, 1942 She wanted to be sure that he really loved her, for there was nothing else in the world she desired more. So she asked him to propose again the next night. She should have seen the danger! A. .FTER Daddy died I couldn't stay any longer in Rockford. There was the little shingled house we'd lived in together for ten years, and Aunt Carolyn would have been glad to move in and stay with me, but somehow — I just couldn't. I'd never known my mother, and Daddy had always been everything to me. All eighteen years of my life he'd mothered me, taught me the music we both loved, walked and talked and played with me. Aunt Carolyn once said he was too impractical, and I guess he was, really; but if he'd been any different he wouldn't have been Daddy, and I wouldn't have been me. It wasn't any surprise when he died. I'd known it was coming, and we'd even talked about it. But still, when it happened, I felt stunned, as though his going had been a physi- cal blow. I even found myself hating the song we'd written to- gether, "Love's New Sweet Song." It had been published a few weeks before he died, and was an im- mediate success. And Daddy wasn't even allowed the comforts the money it was bringing in would buy! After a lifetime of dreaming, his first dream had come true too late. Cousin Eleanor's letter, inviting me to come to New York and visit her, was like the answer to a prayer. I wrote back to her by the next mail, saying I'd come. I could hardly wait, then, to leave Rockford and start all over again. Life seemed to have stopped since Daddy died, and I wanted to start it going once more. I thought I had my plans all made. I'd visit Cousin Eleanor for a while, and then I'd get a job — because I knew I'd have to think about earning a living eventually. The song was earning money now, but it wouldn't forever. 6 Luckily, I'd taken a business course in high school — my own idea. All Daddy had ever been able to think about was my singing. Armed with my short-hand and typing knowledge, I thought I might get an office job of some sort in New York. It was the first time I'd ever been on a train alone, and I felt better by watching the other passengers and having dinner in the dining car and going to bed in t,he berth the porter made up. But the next afternoon when I got off the train at Grand Central Station in New York I almost wished I'd stayed in Rockford. People were rushing past in all directions and Cousin Eleanor was nowhere to be seen. I knew her address, but she'd promised to meet me and I didn't think I ought to disobey instructions by taking a taxi, so I stood by the information booth with my two bags at my feet, waiting and feel- ing more and more unnecessary. I began to worry, too, for fear I wouldn't recognize her. It was two years since I'd seen her, and that was only for a day when she came back to Rockford to spend Christ- mas. I remembered a slim figure and a pretty, beautifully made-up face — but every woman I saw in the station seemed to have them. Cousin Eleanor had lived in New York for ten years, and she had her own shop on Fifth Avenue where she designed and sold very expen- sive dresses. Another in the series oj short stories based on outstanding plays broadcast on CBS' Silver Theater, Sundays, spon- sored by International Silver Co. Fic- tionized by Judy Ashley, the original script was written by True Boardvfian and the play starred Judy Garland. At last a young fellow in a whip- cord uniform came up and asked if I was Miss Rowe. When I said I was he explained that he was Miss Jamieson's chauffeur and that she'd sent him to meet me. "But I'm afraid, if you've been waiting long, there was a mistake in the time," he said apologetically. By then I was so glad to see some- body I didn't care how much of a mistake in the time there had been. He led me to an impressive look- ing car with velvety lilac-gray up- holstery, and then we were driving along a broad street so fast I didn't get a chance to see it was Park Avenue until we drew up for a red light. After about ten minutes he stopped in front of a tall apartment house and we went up in an elevator. As the elevator door opened I heard a babble of voices, and I walked right out of the car into the hallway of Cousin Eleanor's apartment. People stood around, men and women with cocktail glasses in their hands, and turned to look at me curiously. "Miss Jamieson is having a cock- tail party. Miss," the chauffeur said. "If you'd like to go directly into the drawing room, I'll take your bags." In a daze, I walked down the hall toward the room where most of the noise of talking and laughing seemed to come from, and stood in the doorway trying to find Cousin Eleanor. Nobody paid any attention to me. Some of the people were sitting around talking, but quite a few were gathered around the grand piano. I couldn't see who was play- ing, but I heard one of them say, "Come on, Phil — do the Spinster at Niagara Falls number." A man on the other side of the piano laughed unpleasantly. "Yes, after all, you can't waste an appre- RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR / pictured if all — he'd fake me in his arms for our first kiss. Illustration by John Sidrone ciative audience like us." The pianist struck a few chords. "Can't I?" he said in a bored voice. "What makes you think anyone in this room is worth singing for?" That sounded insulting to me, but the people around the piano howled with laughter. And then I saw Cousin Eleanor, standing beside the pianist and looking cool and beauti- ful in a deep-green hostess gown. "If you're going to do that song, Phil," she said, "please do it before Susan gets here." "Susan? Who's Susan?" a wo- man with vivid red lips asked. "Haven't you heard?" the man at the piano said, still in that in- different, tired voice. "She's Eleanor's little cousin, a tender young damsel from the West. Stars in her eyes and corn stalks in her hair. And," he added woefully, "she sings! Like this:" He played an introduction, with just enough wrong notes in it to be funny, and began to sing "Sweet Genevieve." But it wasn't funny to me. It's never seemed ftmny to me to ridicule other people, particularly when you haven't even met them. And "Sweet Genevieve" may be old, but it's still a lovely song. I forgot where I was, I was so angry. And suddenly I'd picked up the song and was singing it as well as I possibly could. I felt I had to sing it well, throw it back at that man, whoever he was, who was sitting at the piano and hating the world. The people at the other end of the room swung around, staring. I caught a glimpse of Cousin Eleanor, her mouth a long O of horrified astonishment. And then, beside her, I saw the man at the keyboard. He was like his voice. He was handsome, but tired and \in- happy and (Continued on page 62) JANUARY, 1942 (?p^ /^m^ s^m/^ She wanted to be sure that he really loved her, for there was nothing else in the world she desired nnore. So she asked him to propose again the next night. She should have seen the danger! jTxfTER Daddy died I couldn't slay any longer in Uockford. There wus the little shingled house we'd lived in together for ten years, and Aunt Carolyn would have been glad to int)ve in and stay with me, but somehow — I just couldn't. I'd never known my mother, and Daddy had always been everything 1(1 me. All eiglite{?n years of my lil'e li(('(l mothered me, taught me I he music we both loved, walked and talked and played with me. Aunt ('arolyn once said he was too inipracticul, mid I guess he was, really; but it he'd been any different lie wouldn't have been Daddy, and I woiddn't have been me. It wasn't any surprise when he died. I'd known it was coming, and we'd even talked about it. But still, wlien it happened, I felt stunned, as lliough his going had been a physi- cal blow. I even found myself haling the song we'd written to- gether, "Love's New Sweet Song." II liad been published a few weeks before he died, and was an im- mediate success. And Daddy wasn't even allowed the comforts the money it was bringing in would buy! After a lifetime of dreaming, bis first dream had come true too late. Cousin Eleanor's letter, inviting mo lo come to New York and visit her, was like the answer to a prayer. 1 wr.^; \iF'» a^^ t ^ fashioning a delicately carved figure out of wood, Lucy with her two boy friends, flirting, showing ofE for them, Tommy, deep in sleep, his small, bright face peaceful, now, all the distress and unhappiness, that had haunted him those first months after his father had dis- appeared and Martha had taken him into her home, as her own little boy gone now, erased by Martha's love for him. And Lillian. Martha could almost hear her sister's shrill voice complaining, about having to work, about her nonexistent aches and pains, mouthing each complaint, as if it were her only pleasure in life. And Jim would be listening to her, a patient, tolerant smile on his lips. Martha seldom permitted herself the luxury of dwelling on the past. But that evening, filled with a sense of well being, Martha allowed the past to creep back. And, strangely enough, in looking back at all that had happened since Jim's accident, it was the memory of the innate goodness and generosity of people that shone through all that long time of hurt and bewilderment. "pAIN. Yes, there had been pain and fear. Dr. Kennedy telling her that the falling scaffolding had in- jured Jim's spine, permanently, perhaps. That was pain. The thought of Jim, strong and proud of his strength, tied to a wheel chair for the rest of his life had hurt unbearably. Yet, out of this hurt had come the realization of the depth of her love for Jim, the clear understand- ing that Jim's outward strength meant little, essentially, that it was the inner man she loved, his gentle- ness, his wisdom and his love for her and Lucy. And his need. It was Jim's need that had driven all fear from Martha's heart. She had recognized, at once, that it fell to her to be all those things that Jim had been in the twenty years they had been married. It seemed to her, simply, that they were two, different parts of the same being and, now, the two parts had just changed roles. While Jim was still in the hos- pital, Martha had cast about for some way to earn a living. It was no small problem. There were no jobs for untrained women in Farm- ington. Then, inspiration had come out of the idle chatter of Jim's sister, Cora. "I declare to goodness," Cora had said one evening, "I wish there was a grocery store in this neighbor- hood. Main Street is so far and I always forget something." "That's it!" Martha had said. "That's what I'll do — open a grocery store." Cora had stared. "Martha," she'd sniffed, "sometimes you talk as if you didn't have the sense you were born with." But the more Martha had thought about it, the better she had liked the idea. So, with the money left from Jim's accident insurance, the closed-in front porch of the house had been enlarged and turned into a grocery store. However, Martha had soon dis- covered that the store was not enough. She was forced to sup- plement her income by renting out one of her rooms. At first, Jim had been against the idea. Martha knew it was his pride and she could understand that. It had taken persuasion and affectionate cajolery to win Jim around. Yet, it had worked out very well. George Harrison had been just a JANUABY, 1942 WOMAN OF Beginning radio's popuiar marriage drama told at a moving love story THE bells above the door tinkled and Martha looked up from her accounts. "It was a wonderful movie, Mother!" Lucy cried. I''or a motnent, I-ucy's blonde hair looked like a halo, with the street light caught in it. Then, the light was blotted out by two broad backs. Richey Kimble and Johnny Long followed Lucy into the Jacksons* grocery store. "Bette Davis was simply mar- velous!" Lucy said. IVlarthn couldn't liclp smiling at lier daughter's extravagant enthusi- :ism. Sometimes, it worried her Hint Lucy seemed to think of nothing but movies and boys. But then, looking at Lucy's radiant, lovely face and listening to the breathlessly gay voice, Martha I'ouldn't bear to be critical. "I'ni glad you liad a good time, dear," Martha said. "Take the boys inside and make them some cocoa." "You come, too, Mrs. Jackson," .lolmny Long said. "I'll be in soon," Martha said. "I've got some bills to make out lir.st." "Coriie along, Johnny," Lucy called. "And stop trying to get next to my mother." Their laughter faded as Lucy clo.sed the door between tlie store and the house. Martha sighed and tackled her accounts again. She always lingered on the accounts— anything to put olT the unpleasant task of making out bills. MarUia hated to ask people for money. The store was very quiet. Al- though she coidd not hear them, Martha was acutely aware of the people she loved being near. She could almost .see them back there in the house — Jim in his wheel chair, his strong capable hands he hring-room looked cheerful. Jii his wheel chair pulled close io fhe fireplace and fhe firelighf was warm on bis face. RADIO AMD TELEVISION MWBO^ Martha knew she loved Jim, so strong and proud of his strength, hating the wheel chair which held him. But she knew, too, that nothing— no one — had ever challenged her love before. And she was afraid fashioning a delicately carved figure out of wood, Lucy with her two boy friends, flirting, showing off for them, Tommy, deep in sleep, his small, bright face peaceful, now, all the distress and unhappiness, that had haunted him those first months after his father had dis- appeared and Martha had taken him into her home, as her own little boy gone now, erased by Martha's ' love for him. And Lillian. Martha could almost hear her sister's shrill voice complaining, about having to work, about her nonexistent aches and pains, mouthing each complaint, as if it were her only pleasure in life. And Jim would be listening to her, a patient, tolerant smile on his lips. Martha seldom permitted herself the luxury of dwelling on the past. But that evening, filled with a sense of well being, Martha allowed the past to creep back. And, strangely enough, in looking back at all that had happened since Jim's accident, it was the memory of the innate goodness and generosity of people that shone through all that long time of hurt and bewilderment. "pAIN. Yes, there had been pain and fear. Dr. Kennedy telling her that the falling scaffolding had in- jured Jim's spine, permanently, perhaps. That was pain. The thought of Jim, strong and proud of his strength, tied to a wheel chair for the rest of his life had hurt unbearably. Yet, out of this hurt had come the realization of the depth of her love for Jim, the clear understand- ing that Jim's outward strength meant little, essentially, that it was the inner man she loved, his gentle- ness, his wisdom and his love for her and Lucy. And his need. It was Jim's need that had driven all fear from Martha's heart. She had recognized, at once, that it fell to her to be all those things that Jim had been in the twenty years they had been married. It seemed to her, simply, that they were two, different parts of the same being and, now, the two parts had just changed roles. While Jim was still in the hos- pital, Martha had cast about for some way to earn a living. It was no small problem. There were no jobs for untrained women in Karm- ington. Then. inspiration had come out of the idle chatter of Jim's sister, Cora. "I declare to goodness," Cora had said one evening, "I wish there was a grocery store in this neighbor- hood. Main Street is so far and I always forget something." "That's it!" Martha had said. "That's what I'll do — open a grocery store." Cora had stared. "Martha," she'd sniffed, "sometimes you talk as if you didn't have the sen.se you were born with." But the more Martha had thought about it, the better she had liked the idea. So, with the money left from Jim's accident insurance, the closed-in front porch of the house had been enlarged and turned into a grocery store. However, Martha had soon dis- covered that the store was not enough. She was forced to sup- plement her income by renting out one of her rooms. At first, Jim had been against the idea. Martha knew it was his pride and she could understand that. It had taken persuasion and affectionate cajolery to win Jim around. Yet, it had worked out very well. George Harrison had been just a JANTJAHY. 1942 She couldn't shake that feeling of strangeness. She and Jim had gone to so many of these balls /o- gether. Now, though the same band was playing, she would be danc- ing in the arms of another man. boarder for about a week. After that, he was like one of the family. Tommy adored him, with all the intensity of a ten-year-old's hero worship, Lucy flirted with him out- rageously and, for Jim, George be- came a companion, a link with the outside world and the work Jim loved. George Harrison was the chief engineer on the Dam under construction nearby and he brought home with him the smell of ma- chines and the gritty sound of dry- ing mud, crackling underfoot, as it flaked off his boots. Yes, Martha thought warmly, George was a good friend to them all. Sometimes, perhaps, he'd let his impulses carry him away, but, thinking back on those times, Martha found she couldn't resent the things George had done. Like the time he had encouraged Jim to make something of his wood carving, vsrhich Jim did only to pass the time. Martha was ashamed, now, that she hadn't sensed at once — as George had — that Jim needed something to do to win back his self respect. It still twisted at her heart to re- member the look in Jim's eyes, the day George had returned from Twin Falls with the news that a gift shop had bought twelve of the fig- ures and would take as many more as Jim could turn out. Jim had held the money, fifteen dollars, as though it were a fortune. And, he had looked so proud, his voice had been so full and rich, as he gave the money to Lucy. "There!" he had said. "Don't say your father never gave you any- thing. Now, you can have that dress you wanted." Months later, when George was getting ready to go to New York on business, Martha had discovered accidentally that he had in his room a whole trunk full of Jim's carvings. Though she understood that George had only meant to be kind, by pre- tending he was selling the figures and, all the while, paying for them out of his own pocket, she knew, too, that the thought of being an object of pity and charity would be worse for Jim to bear than his former feeling of uselessness had been. Then, he had had no hopes, no illusions. RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRHOR George had found her standing by the trunk. "I — I'm sorry," he had said. "I didn't want you to know." "It wasn't fair — what you did," Martha had said. "I know," George had admitted. "But I had such faith in those things. I was sure they'd sell." "But it will hurt him so much more, now," Martha had said. "He'll have to know — we can't go on — George had smiled. "He won't have to know, now," he had said, pulling a letter from his pocket. "He can carry on all his business directly, after this. I got hold of an old friend in New York — sent him some of the figures. He wants more — and at a better price." Then, George had sat down and taken her hand. "I hope you're not angry, Martha. I hope I haven't hurt you. I'd lay down my life before I'd hurt you — any of you. This is the closest I've ever come to belonging anywhere — to anyone — to a family." AND Martha had understood, sud- denly, a great deal about the loneliness of people. The loneliness of wanderers like George and of people whom life had passed by, like Cora, and of the self-centered, like Lillian. And she had under- stood how much she and Jim had, of happiness, of fullness of being, enough so she could spare a little for these others. She could not be angry with George. In fact, she had missed him while he was away. The house had seemed empty, somehow, and Jim had looked forward eagerly to George's return, too, so they could resume their long talks and friendly arguments. They had been dis- appointed, however, when George did come back, for he didn't take his old room in their house. Instead — and without explanation — he stayed at the hotel in Twin Falls until the house he was having built was finished. He was back in Farm- ington, now, living alone in his little, charming cottage, high on Sunset Hill. It had seemed strange to Martha, at first, that he didn't come back to live with them. But then, she'd decided that, like every- one else, he probably needed to have a place of his own, some sort of roots, somewhere. The town clock chimed eleven and Martha started guiltily. Then, she smiled. The hateful task of making out bills could be put off for another day. She closed her account book with a snap and locked the store. The living room looked cheerful. Jim had his wheel chair pulled close to the fireplace and the firelight was warm on his face. He looked happy and, somehow, excited. Martha went to him and kissed the top of his head. Jim caught her hand. "Lillian's been telling me about a place where they work miracles for people like me," he said. "Really?" Martha smiled. "Yes, really," Lillian said, petu- lantly. "Why, when I was there, I actually saw a man, who'd been carried in on a stretcher, walk out of there, a healthy, strong man. And doctors had given him up as a hopeless cripple, too." Martha saw Jim's jaw tighten at the word. "It's very late, Lillian," she said. "You'll never be able to get up to make Mr. Schmidt's breakfast." Lillian made a face. "That old skinflint," she said. But she started putting on her things. From the door, she said to Jim, "I'll bring over the booklet on that sanitarium, to- morrow. You can see for yourself." She sighed. "Goodnight. I wish I had a car. I hate to walk." "Goodnight, Lillian," Martha said. "Sit down here, next to me, Martha," Jim said softly. Martha sat down on a footstool and leaned against Jim's blanketed knees. They were quiet and they could hear Lillian stop at the kitchen door and ask the boys to take her home. "As if anyone would molest Lillian," Jim grinned. "I guess she'll never stop hoping. Now, if it were you — " he patted Martha's head and she caught his hand and held it to her cheek. "All right, you two lovebirds," Lucy said from the doorway. "Could you stop cooing long enough to kiss a girl goodnight?" After Lucy went upstairs, Martha leaned her cheek against Jim's knee and stared into the dying fire. They sat like that, for awhile, not saying anything. A log crackled and broke in half. "A penny for your thoughts," Martha said. "Oh," Jim started, "I was just thinking how wonderful it would be, if what Lillian said was true." He sighed. "But what's the use of dreaming?" He lapsed into silence again, but now it was a heavy silence, heavy and hopeless. "You're thinking of money," Martha said. She forced the vision of the long list of unpaid credit ac- counts out of her mind. "The store has lots of steady customers, now. We'll ask Dr. Kennedy. If he thinks the sanitarium will do you good, we'll manage. Don't worry. Have we ever let each other down?" "No," Jim smiled. His eyes were on the future again, and there was hope and excitement in them. And Martha knew that she would do almost anything to keep that look there. She saw, suddenly, that it wasn't only for Jim's sake that she wanted him to get well. She wanted Jim back — in the old way — strong and sure of himself, to love her. It wasn't always as easy as she pretended to live this half-life. It was Cora who was most vehe- ment in her arguments against the scheme and then as usual who did everything she could to help. She took care of the store, the next morning, while Martha went to see the doctor. And, after Dr. Kennedy said the sanitarium might help Jim, if not to walk, certainly to make him much better, it was Cora who solved the financial problem. Grumbling characteristically, full of the pessimism she had developed through her lonely life, Cora never- theless went right down to the bank and mortgaged her house for the necessary amount. "Of course," she said, giving Martha the money, "I don't expect it will do him the least bit of good. But, he is my brother and he's the only one I have in the world. So, if I want to waste my money — " Martha hugged her and laughed. "Oh, you silly, Cora — always trying to make us believe that you're so hard hearted when really you're as soft as putty." Jim could hardly wait for all the arrangements to be made. He was excited and happy, like a little boy starting on a vacation. He was so pleased, he hardly knew what he was doing. He was sure of only one thing — that Martha was not to go with him, when he left. He hated {Continued on page 59) Tune in Woman of Courage, daily, Monday through Friday over the CBS network, sponsored by Octagon Soap in the East, Crystal White in the West. Photo illustration posed by Esther Ralston as Martha, Joan Tet- zel as Lucy, Albert Hecht as Jim. JANUARY, 1942 11 THE director frowned as he fingered the pages of a radio script. "It's the best show I've ever read," he told the sponsor, "but there's one missing link." "Going Darwin on me?" queried the sponsor. The director explained. "I've a perfect cast," he said slowly. "It's a hundred per cent perfect — with one exception. I haven't been able to contact my character woman." The sponsor laughed. "Good grief," he said between chuckles, "the woods are full of character women! I had to step over fourteen of them as I came into your office." The director refused to join in the laughter. "Trouble is," he said, "that I've an old actress in mind, and she's given me a fixation. I heard her do a sight reading once and it was a wow! The name's Lambert." The sponsor stopped laughing. "Not Addie Lambert?" The director nodded. "Yeah, Adelaide Lambert," he said. "How'd you happen to know about her?" The sponsor told him, "My father had a photograph of her in tights — it was faded as all get out, but he kept it under the handkerchiefs in his top bureau drawer. It was the last leaf of his salad days, I guess ... I didn't know that Adelaide Lambert was in radio — she must be close to eighty." "I guess she is pretty old," the director agreed, "and I guess she's down on her luck, too. Her clothes were pitifully shabby when I saw her last. Well, I sent her three special deliveries and a telegram but it's no dice." "Where did you send them?" asked the sponsor. The director said, "We've an agency address in the files." The sponsor told him rather severely, "You should have sent the letters to her home," and at the director's raised eyebrows, "She must have a home some- where. . . . Ask your secretary to do a little detective work for a change, and if she doesn't get to first base call on my secretary. My secretary" — ^his tone was a trifle smug — "has a talent for digging up hidden things such as" — he chuckled — "elderly troupers." The director was frowning. "But," he objected, "the show goes on tomorrow night. Our dress rehearsal is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon." The sponsor advised, "Take a chance and wait. You can always get somebody to go on at the last minute if you want to — and Lambert would make swell publicity 12 for our show. I'm not the only man who ever had a father." ' Adelaide Lambert was putting her house in order. It wasn't a very large house — not for a woman who had lived in mansions all over the world — but it was the only house she had now. "And lucky I am" — thought Adelaide almost without rancor, as she tore through half a dozen age-yellowed letters — "to have a roof over my head, not to mention a real fireplace." RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRnOR The fireplace was a luxury when you stopped to con- sider that it was part and parcel of a furnished room. Few furnished rooms boast fireplaces that will burn actual wood and that will also consume ancient love letters. Adelaide sighed and was glad that during the full years she had paid Lucille a munificenj salary. Lucille's savings had gone into the purchase of a room- ing house and Lucille's warm heart had turned what had once been the front parlor, into Adelaide's domain. "Eet ees not mooch," Lucille had told her ex -mistress JANUABY, 1942 By MARGARET E. SANGSTER Her seventy years sat as jauntily on her shoulders as the gay hat upon her head and the glistening buckles on her shoes, as Addie Lambert, with a silent prayer, set out gallantly for her radio debut Illustration by Marshall Frantz regretfully, when Adelaide came to her in quest of haven, "but weeth your so-o beautiful things—" She left the sentence unfinished. Adelaide Lambert sniffed a shade contemptuously. Her so beautiful things! Five years ago they had begun to vanish one by one. Her rosewood piano and her in- laid make-up box were God-knows-where. The heav- ily embroidered Spanish shawl, once draped above the fireplace, was draped there no longer. Decades ago a Grandee of Spain had wrapped it lingeringly around Adelaide's shoulders. ("Adelaide Lambert's white sloping shoulders are causing a furore in Madrid!") Her jewel casket was gone, and so were the shimmering contents of it — ^all except the garnets. There had once been many pictures upon the wall — peering out from heavy silver frames. The heavy silver frames had been replaced by wooden ones from the dime store — and they were going, too. Indeed, they made a lovely blaze. So, for that matter, did the pictures. Adelaide tore through the photograph of a smiling lad who had been a bearded general in the first world war — ^was it a quarter of a century ago? Yes, she was cleaning house. When a woman has passed three score and ten, it's high time that she sweeps the record free of encumbrances. Three score and ten! Even though she knew that she was living on borrowed time, Adelaide sometimes found it hard to believe that she was old. She had held youth close to her heart for so long — longer than any other actress on record. ... At thirty-five she had accepted certain crown jewels from an infatuated youngster — and had returned them later, and very graciously, at the request of a distraught, though kingly, parent. . . . At forty, in mist-shrouded London, a gentleman who could sign H. R. H. instead of a name, had gone senti- mental and had sipped champagne from one of Adelaide's satin slippers. At sixty she had pooh- poohed an offer from a motion picture studio because the stage was still so warmly kind. But now, with four score not very far away, even radio could do without her. For months past Adelaide had not even bothered to call the casting directors. She was tired of hearing some telephone operator say, "Nothing for you today. Miss Lambert." Reflectively, and with hands that were surprisingly 13 THE director frowned as he fingered the pages of a radio script. "It's the best show I've ever read/' he told the sponsor, "but there's one missing link." "Going Darwin on mc?" queried the sponsor. The director explained. "I've a perfect cast," he said slowly. "It's a hundred per cent perfect— with one exception. I haven't been able to contact my character woman." The sponsor laughed. "Good grief," he said between chuckles, "the woods are full of character women! I had to step over fourteen of them as I came into your office." The director refused to join in the laughter. "Trouble is," he said, "that I've an old actress in mind, and she's given me a fixation. I heard her do a sight reading once and it was a wow! The name's Lambert." The sponsor stopped laughing. "Not Addie Lambert?" The director nodded. "Yeah, Adelaide Lambert," he said, "How'd you happen to know about her?" The sponsor told him, "My father had a photograph of her in tights— it was faded as all get out, but he kept it under (ho handkerchiefs in his top bureau drawer. It was the last leaf of his salad days, I guess ... I didn't know that Adelaide Lambert was in radio — she must be close to eighty." "1 guess she is pretty old." the director agreed, "and I guess she's down on her luck, too. Her clothes were pitifully shabby when I saw her last. Well. I sent her three special deliveries and a telegram but it's no dice." "Where did you send them?" asked the sponsor. The director said, "We've an agency address in the flies." The sponsor told him rather severely, "You should have sent the letters to her home," and at the director's raised eyebrows, "She must have a home some- where. . . . Ask your .secretary to do a little detective work for a change, and if she doesn't get to first base call on my secretary. My secretary" — his tone was a trifle smug — "has a talent for digging up hidden things such as" — he chuckled — "elderly troupers." The director was frowning. "But," he objected, "the show goes on tomorrow night. Our dress rehearsal is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon." The sponsor advised, "Take a chance and wait. You can always get somebody to go on at the last minute if you want to — and Lambert would make swell publicity 12 for our show. I'm not the only man who ever had father." ' j| Adelaide Lambert was putting her house in order. ^ wasn't a very large house — not for a woman who ha lived in mansions all over the world — but it was the onu house she had now. . , "And lucky I am"— thought Adelaide almost witnov^ rancor, as she tore through half a dozen age-yelloW ^ letters — "to have a roof over my head, not to mention real fireplace." RADIO AND TEIEVISION The fireplace was a luxury when you stopped to con- sider that it was part and parcel of a furnished room. Few furnished rooms boast fireplaces that will bum actual wood and that will also consume ancient love letters. Adelaide sighed and was glad that during the full years she had paid Lucille a munificent salary. Lucille's savings had gone into the purchase of a room- ing house and LuciUe's warm heart had turned what had once been the front parlor, into Adelaide's domain. "Eet ees not mooch," LucUle had told her ex-mistress JANUASY. J942 By MARGARET E. SANGSTER Her seventy years sat as jauntily on her shoulders as the gay hat upon her head and the glistening buckles on her shoes, as Addie Lambert, with a silent prayer, set out gallantly for her radio debut IHtutratlon bi/ Marshall Frantz regretfully, when Adelaide came to her in quest of haven, "but weeth your so-o beautiful things—" She left the sentence unfinished. Adelaide Lambert sniffed a shade contemptuously. Her so beautiful things! Five years ago they had begun to vanish one by one. Her rosewood piano and her in- laid make-up box were God-knows-where. The heav- ily embroidered Spanish shawl, once draped above the fireplace, was draped there no longer. Decades ago a Grandee of Spain had wrapped it lingeringly around Adelaide's shoulders. ("Adelaide Lambert's white sloping shoulders are causing a furore in Madrid!") Her jewel casket was gone, and so were the shimmering contents of it — all except the garnets. There had once been many pictures upon the wall — peering out from heavy silver frames. The heavy silver frames had been replaced by wooden ones from the dime store — and they were going, too. Indeed, they made a lovely blaze. So, for that matter, did the pictures. Adelaide tore through the photograph of a smiling lad who had been a bearded general in the first world war — was it a quarter of a century ago? Yes, she was cleaning house. When a woman has passed three score and ten, it's high time that she sweeps the record free of encumbrances. Three score and ten! Even though she knew that she was living on borrowed time, Adelaide sometimes found it hard to believe that she was old. She had held youth close to her heart for so long— longer than any other actress on record. ... At thirty-five she had accepted certain crown jewels from an infatuated youngster— and had returned them later, and very graciously, at the request of a distraught, though kingly, parent. . . . At forty, in mist-shrouded London, a gentleman who could sign H. R. H. instead of a name, had gone senti- mental and had sipped champagne from one of Adelaide's satin slippers. At sixty she had pooh- poohed an offer from a motion picture studio because the stage was still so warmly kind. But now, with four score not very far away, even radio could do without her. For months past Adelaide had not even bothered to call the casting directors. She was tired of hearing some telephone operator say, "Nothing for you today, Miss Lambert." Reflectively, and with hands that were surprisingly 13 steady, Adelaide tore through an- other picture. It was the likeness of a young woman in a pompadour — and little else. 'pHERE was a knock at the door. Adelaide hastily shuffled to- gether a pile of old programs and tossed them upon the fire. And then she rose, not too stiffly, and went to sit in front of the mirror that hung above a cheap, chintz-skirted dress- ing table. It was only after she ap- plied powder to her nose and a dab of rouge to each wrinkled cheek, that she called — "Come in." The door swung open and Lucille stood on the threshold — Lucille who had been an apple-cheeked French maid in the long ago, and who was now sixty-six. Adelaide said, "Oh, hello," and ruffled the fringe of her dyed hair with slender, parchment- like fingers, as Lucille stepped into the room and closed the door care- fully behind her. Like most French women of her age and class, she wore rusty black, and her thin waist was bisected by the white of her volu- minous apron strings. "Mees Ad die," she exclaimed, "what 'ave you been doing?" Adelaide told her, "I've been tidy- ing up." Lucille raised her hands in hor- ror. "When there ees cleaning to be done," she said, "you should call upon me. I am your maid, Mees Addie." "You were my maid," corrected Adelaide gently, "now you're my landlady. There's a vast difference." "I am still your maid," Lucille said firmly. Her voice became sud- denly shrill. "Helas! There are so many blank spaces upon the wall. Where are the pictures and the pro- grams?" Adelaide made a scornful gesture in the direction of the hearth, and for a moment Lucille was at a loss. "But the Crown Prince, 'e ees gone," she muttered finally. "And so is the Grand Duke. And so are all the lovely portraits of you when you were in the chorus of 'Prima Donna.' And so are — " "Skip it," interrupted Adelaide tersely. "I told you I was tidying up! I'm not going to have a flock of bright reporters nosing through my room, getting copy for a sob story, when I'm gone." The French woman's eyes filled with quick tears. Her voice shook when she answered. "Mees Addie," she murmured un- steadily, "you weel be 'ere these many long days — these many long years. Eef you take care of your 'eart, you weel live to be a 'undred." "That's a swell outlook," sniffed Adelaide. "I don't want to be a 14 hundred, Lucille. It's bad enough to be halfway between seventy and eighty without a job or a friend — " Lucille's voice had grown even more unsteady. "You 'ave me," she said. "Mees Addie, 'ave I done anything to make you onhappy? Thees room — when I next collect the rents, I weel 'ave eet re-papered for you. . . . Maybe I can manage a new rug." For no reason at all Adelaide found that she, too, was blinking to keep back the tears. "Fiddlesticks, Lucille!" she said. "This room is perfectly adequate. It's far too good for me. I've made tons of money and I've never saved a cent. You earned a pittance and you hoarded every penny of it. Why should I be a grafter and nourish myself on you?" Lucille crossed the room swiftly. / Why does a wife become suddenly afraid when her husband smiles at another woman? Read as a complete novel the absorbing story of JOHN'S OTHER WIFE, the radio serial heard daily Almost she put her arms around Adelaide's old shoulders, but some- thing unexpectedly formidable made her draw back. "Mees Addie," she quavered, "don' you feel well? I've never known you to talk thees way! You 'ave been so — so optimistic. So full of the joie de vivre." "Anybody who can be full of the joy of life when there's nothing ahead, is a fool," Adelaide told her somberly. "I've always had an audience, Lucille — I've had applause and footlights and fan mail and pres- ents. Now I'm an old lady and they're in the dust bin — where I belong!" Lucille's fingers were nervously plucking at her apron. "But — but — " she stammered, "there ees the radio. There you 'ave still an audience." Adelaide was bitter. "That's what I thought about radio — once," she said. "But radio didn't give me a tumble. Radio's a young art, and there isn't any place in it for old fogies. I found that out after I'd walked my feet ragged, tramping from offlce to office — " She broke off for Lucille was delving into an apron pocket. "Then why," queried Lucille dra- matically, "'ave they sent to you a letter from the Radio Mart where the so beeg stories go on the air?" She smiled broadly as Adelaide reached, like an eager child, for the proffered envelope. "Life looks darkest before the dawn," murmured Lucille. "N'est ce pas?" TX7ITH fingers that were much less steady than they had been when she tore the photograph of a prince to shreds, Adelaide ripped open the square envelope. Heavy bond paper crackled as she unfolded a single sheet. And then her voice came — high and shrill and angry. "Lucille!" she stormed. "They've been trying to reach me for almost a week! Why didn't I get this sooner?" Lucille shrugged. "It came by the special post," she said. "Why, Mees Addie!" for Adelaide Lambert was crying. "Darn the luck!" she sobbed. "It's the first chance I've had to play a real part, and now it will be too late." Desperately Lucille tried to exude comfort. "But," she asked, "weel they not wait for you? After all, you are the Adelaide Lambert." "I'm a musty has-been," inter- posed Adelaide. "Glad of a bone of charity and a crust of human kind- ness. Radio can't wait, Lucille. This show they want me for goes on the air tonight. There must have been a dozen rehearsals already, and—" Lucille's voice was calm. "Many a time," she said, "you 'ave gone on a stage without a single rehearsal and 'ave per-formed miracles. 'Ave you lost your mind, Mees Addie?" "No — only my spunk," sobbed Adelaide, and then swiftly her face cleared. "Maybe I can make the grade, at that," she said, and her tone was brisk— "What'U I wear?" The question of clothes had once been a matter of selection. It was a graver thing now that there was small choice. . . . The black taffeta with the white lace fichu might do if the rehearsal room were dark. A good dressmaker had made it, and the lace was real and the style was fanciful enough to be un-dated. . . . The jacket of velvet with the bead- ing might also do, but the question of a hat— Adelaide snorted — and shoes! "A woman," she told Lucille, "can get by with a shabby frock, if her shoes and hat are smart. Folk notice ex- (Continued on page 56) RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRHOR IN LIVING PORTRAITS Presenting, in fascinating album photographs, the people you love to listen to on one of radio's most human dramas Here at the racetrax:k is where you'll tLsually find David Harum and his friends — left to right. Aunt Polly, David, Susan Price and Mr. Perkins. Sponsored by Bab-O Cleaner, David Harum is on the NBC-Red network. DAVID HARUM is a round-faced, stocky, kindly philosopher, ever willing to aid those who need help and quick to outwit schemers and evil doers. You've known him almost five years now and you began to love him when, as Homeville's town hanker, he rescued the Widder Cullom from the grasping hands of Zeke Swinney. Since then, he and Zeke have been constantly feuding. David loves to swap horses and is, the shrewdest horse trader in the county. The lovable old fellow is a confirmed bachelor. (Played by Craig MacDonnell) 16 AUNT POLLY is David's sister. Her bright blue eyes don't miss much that happens in Homeville. She is always fussing over David and believes he couldn't exist without her, but in spite of her busybody temperament, she's a very sweet, practical woman and does a great deal to make David's home a happy one. Recently, she thought David needed a wife and tried to marry him to an old school chum of hers, Amelia Truesdale, but, like most of her well-intentioned plans, it didn't jell. (Played by Charme Allen) SUSAN PRICE, the daughter of "townfolks," is a very pretty and talented young woman. She once worked in David's bank and he's always considered her almost a daughter. She married several years ago, against David's advice. Her husband deserted her and met his death in a far-off place. After that, still being the most popular girl in town, she had many proposals, but turned them all down to marry Zeke Swinney's son, Bryan Wells. She and Bryan have had a happy life, in spite of Zeke's meanness. (Played by Peggy Allenby) ZEKE SWINNEY is a tall, sour-jaced, slick-talking old rascal and skinflint. He loves to drive hard bargains and is constantly trying to get the best of his avowed enemy, David Harum. He's tried every mean trick in the book, but David is always too smart for him. Once, under David's influence, Zeke tried to turn honest, but it didn't work out. As Zeke said, "Never gonna try to be honest again, it's too much of a strain on my heart." Zeke is so miserable that even his own son dislikes him. (Played by Arthur Maitland) 19 Ruth had lived in dread of this moment when Michael would find a way to break down her defenses, to reach beyond her love and loyal- ty to her husband. Now, as he talked to her, she must decide finally what was in her heart THE STORY: ■DUTH WAYNE could not en- tirely delude herself when John, her husband, left her in the small town of Glen Falls and joined an American medical unit assigned to the war areas of Europe. He was doing a brave thing, helping in a cause he believed in — but also, in a way, he was deserting her. He was turning from the comparative dull- ness of the life and work he had always known to the romance and excitement of war. Still, she tried to carry on without him. She kept her job with Dr. Carvell, the elder- ly doctor who had once planned on turning over his practice to John. The job was a necessity, be- cause it was not easy to make in- come meet expense in the big frame house where she lived with Rich- ard, her infant son, her adolescent brother Neddie, and her sister Sue and Sue's husband and child. Her responsibilities helped to keep Ruth from being too lonely until she met Michael West, a young man who drifted into Glen Falls one night. Michael was stormy, sullen, and yet somehow appealing. He had been wandering about the coutitry for some time, earning a bare living by singing and playing his accordion in taverns and lunch rooms. Dr. Car- veil offered him a job and a room over the garage, and surprisingly he accepted. But he had been in Glen Falls only a few days when one of the young girl inmates of the nearby reform school escaped, and by accident Ruth discovered the girl, Gloria, in his room. Gloria's instant hostility opened Ruth's eyes to soinething she had deliberately tried not to realize — that she, her- self, had grown to care for Michael West. Nevertheless, she undertook to help Gloria gain a legal release from the reform school. It was the least she could do for the girl who claimed Michael had promised to marry her. IN mid-July the heat came down on Glen Falls, making the asphalt on the streets soft and spongy underfoot. The open air was as close and oppressive as that of a closed room. Day after day the heat mounted, until it seemed that any moment it must reach its climax and break in a thunder- storm— yet each afternoon clouds towered up on the horizon, only to dissolve and fade away as the sun went down. Ruth Wayne felt that events in her own life were waiting, too, breathless and poised, for the storm which might bring destruction be- fore it cleared the air. A month had passed since the night of Gloria Ward's escape from the Elmwood Training School for Girls. Gloria had been taken back to the school, and Ruth and Dr. Carvell had be- gun their task of obtaining her re- lease legally. It had been more difficult than they expected; delay followed delay, with red tape, affi- davits, appearances before the School's parole board, and so on. But now, after four weeks, Gloria at last was to be released to Dr. Carvell's custody. Ruth had tried to thank him for his offer to give Gloria a home. "First it was Michael, and now Gloria," she said. "You tease me be- cause you say I'm always wanting to help people, but you're the one who always ends up by giving the practical things, like places to sleep and food to eat." "I'm an old man, Ruth," he ob- served. "I haven't a great deal to show for my seventy years. I haven't done as much for the world as I thought I would when I was a young medical student. So any little bit more that I can do in the time left to me is something I'm glad to add to the total." How much the doctor's shrewd old eyes had seen of the situation between the three of them — Mich- ael West, Gloria, and Ruth herself — she did not know. This was one subject she did not dare discuss with him. Every detail of that hour in Michael's room over Dr. Carvell's garage remained in her memory. Her sudden impulse to visit him there — her discovery of Gloria, who had run to Michael for protec- tion after her escape — and Gloria's instant, intuitive jealousy . . . Jeal- ousy, Ruth told herself that was unfounded, that was only the na- tural reaction of a terrified girl who had always found the world's hand against her. After Gloria's return to the school, Ruth lived in nervous dread of the moment when Michael would find a way to slip past her defenses and say in words the things he had already said with his eyes. She did not want his love. 20 RADIO AND TELEVISION MHOIOR Now read in vivid fiction form the romantic drama of Big Sister, radio's popular serial of love, sponsored by Rinso. Tune in daily Monday through Friday on the CBS network. Illustration posed by Nancy Marshall as Ruth Wayne, Richard Kollmar as Michael. All month long she managed to avoid seeing Michael West alone. He always drove Dr. Carvell on his calls, and when he was in the house Ruth was usually with the doctor or at her desk in the busy waiting room. But on the day they knew Gloria would be released and would come to live under the same roof as Michael, the doctor went downtown to get a haircut, and Michael took the opportunity to seek her out. "Why don't you let me talk to you?" he asked bluntly. They were in the surgery, where Ruth had been cleaning the doctor's shining metal instruments. He closed the door behind him and stood with his back to it, as if barring the way to escape. She realized with a shock how much he had changed since the afternoon she had first seen him in Haley's Grocery Store. Then he had been insouciant to the point of im- pudence, carefree, swaggering. Now his dark eyes spoke of strain and unhappiness, and there was a kind of uncertainty about his manner, as if he could no longer be sure of any- thing, not even himself. JAKUASY, 1942 21 "There's been nothing particular- ly important to talk about, has there, Michael?" she parried the question. "Not important for you, maybe," he muttered. "The Doc tells me Gloria's going to get out tomorrow and is coming here to live." "Yes. She's so — so very happy about it." Ruth remembered Gloria's incredulous delight. Surely she had never believed that Ruth, whom she still obviously considered her enemy, would try to get her re- leased, much less that she would succeed. And that she was going to live so near her adored Michael, in daily contact with him, had been almost more joy than she could stand. CO I'll have to leave," Michael said. "I can't stay here with her." Deliberately misunderstanding, Ruth said, "Of course you can! Dr. Carvell is a perfectly good chap- erone" — and felt abashed at his clear look of surprise at her obtuse- ness. "That isn't what I meant. I mean I couldn't stay here, feeling the way I do about her. Every min- ute she'd be wanting me to show I loved her — but I don't, and I can't pretend I do. It was different be- fore I — I mean, it used to be dif- ferent. Back in Midboro, it didn't matter so much. She was only a kid, and we had fun together, and I thought we both knew nothing might ever come of it." He stopped, and Ruth felt that he was waiting for her to speak. But there was nothing she could say that he wanted to hear, and after a minute he went on: "It'll only make her unhappy, if I stick around. I can't hide the way I feel about things — I never could." Again he stopped, and again she knew he was waiting, hoping, for some sign from her that would let him release all the pent-up tor- rent of words that clamored to be said. But she could not let the silence continue forever. She said, at last, fighting to make her voice sound casual, friendly, "I'm sorry, Michael. The doctor and I will both miss you, but I suppose you must do what- ever you think is best." Michael's jaw tightened. Then he nodded. "Sure," he said in a dead voice, "I'll do what I think's best." She felt unnerved and weak when he had gone, for she knew she had failed him. He had come to her, asking for help, and she had re- fused to give it. Nor did it matter that the only help he had sought was beyond her power to give. The next day Michael and Dr. Carvell drove out to the School to get Gloria, and Ruth was at the house when they returned. Gloria wore a red cotton dress Ruth had bought for her, and she had lost the hunted look of the girl Ruth had first seen in the closet of Michael's room. She was bright, vivid, and alive with happiness. "We'll make you so comfortable every minute you'll wonder how you ever got along without us," she told the doctor. "Won't we, Michael?" Michael, standing beside her, smiled with his lips and said, "Sure." "Because I really car cook," Gloria said, dancing around the room, touching a lamp here, a chair arm there, .unable to stay quiet. "I used to cook my own meals in Mid- boro, and at the School they taught me more. And Michael will cut the wood and take care of the car and the yard and — oh. Dr. Carvell, you'll never be sorry you did this for me!" The doctor chuckled, but Ruth, standing a little apart, saw Michael's sombre face and knew with terrible presentiment that Gloria's happiness could not last. But she was totally unprepared for the news Dr. Carvell gave her three days later. All morning and afternoon he had been preoccupied. She had said nothing, thinking that whatever troubled him must be a personal affair, but at the end of the afternoon's appointments he said: "Will you wait a minute, Ruth? Something's going to go very much wrong, and I'm afraid you're the only one that can do anything about it." Ruth sank down in the chair on the other side of his desk. "What is it?" she asked. Instead of telling her at once, he observed, "I'm not trying to flatter you, Ruth, when I say you are one of the finest, most generous women I've ever known. I have to say it to explain what I'm going to tell you. Because fineness and gener- osity often bring their own par- ticular troubles along with them . . . Michael told me this morning he's going to marry Gloria." "Marry! ... Oh, no!" Ruth breathed. "He mustn't!" Dr. Carvell held her with a long look. "You're right," he agreed. "He mustn't. He'd break her heart — and his own. But you're the only one that can stop him." "I?" Ruth asked. "Yes. Michael also told me that you were what he'd been looking for all his life — but that since he couldn't have you he might as well marry Gloria. He took longer to say it than I have, but that was the gist." "He shouldn't have said that!" "Perhaps not," Carvell said dryly, "but he did, and that offers us a way to help him — and Gloria. Do you think you can show him how unfair it would be to both of them?" "I don't know," Ruth said tense- ly. "I . . . don't . . . know." He leaned forward to cover one of her hands with his own. "I understand how difficult it will be for you," he said kindly. "It would be so much easier — for you — to step aside and let him do whatever foolish thing he pleases. But you've never been one to take the easy way, Ruth." Ruth drew a deep breath. "I'll talk to him," she promised. "Only — Doctor, I'm afraid!" A ND then Dr. Carvell did a strange thing. He slammed a desk drawer irritably shut, and growled, "John Wayne should' ve had sense enough to stay home and take care of you instead of running off to Europe! He'd deserve it if he came back and found he'd lost you!" Ruth got to her feet. "Would you mind asking Michael to come and see me tonight? At my house — Jerry and Sue want to go to a movie, and I'll be all alone." It was twilight when Michael came, that evening, his eager urgency sounding in the very ring of his heels against the cement side- walk. Ruth was waiting for him on the porch. Far off, against the darkening curtain of the sky, flashes of heat lightning flickered, like dis- tant fireworks. He dropped down on the steps at her feet. "You asked me to come? ..." He sounded hopeful, and a little afraid. "Yes, Dr. Carvell told me you in- tend to marry Gloria . . . You mustn't, you know, Michael." He bent forward and said in an exultant whisper, "Ah, that's what I hoped you'd say. You've known all along, but you wouldn't let me tell you — " {Continued on page 65) RADIO AND TELEVISION JVnRROR DICK TODD Every season offers its newcomers to radio fame. This year, Dick Toda at twenty-seven, a young and handsome romantic baritone, is the new sing- ing star of Vaudeville Theater, heard Sattirday mornings over the NBC-Red network, and is the composer of Radio Mirror's hit song published iyi this issue. Dick was born in Canada, and began an engineering career at McGill University where he excelled in football, baseball and hockey. After gradu- ation and a trip around the world, Dick decided that a singing career would be more to his liking. He's five-foot-eleven, has red hair and blue eyes. JANUARY, 1942 23 ! Instanfly all my love and longing surged through me again, turning me faint. I realized what a fool I had been. I should have foreseen what would happen when I broke my contract with Steve's band to join Dick. And now I knew the hideous truth — all my dreams were ended 24 GOLDEN SUNSHINE, pouring through the lilacs above my head, made waving shadows on the telegram in my hand. A breeze lightly flicked a spray of lavender blossom across my face, envelop- ing me in perfume. I shivered — no sun could warm me on this day — and pushed the spray away. I had always loved lilacs, loved this tangled twisted cluster of shrubbery which had served me as playhouse and fairy castle, but for the rest of my life they would be hateful to me, reminding me of this day and the misery it had brought. I crumpled the telegram convulsively, then smoothed it out to torture myself again with the message it con- tained. "Frances and I married tonight. Wish us luck. Dick." The words danced before my eyes and I knew that if I were to read them over every hour until the end of time they would never lose their power to hurt me. I had been in love with Dick Mason as long as I could remember. My parents died when I was six and I was adopted by their friends John and Ellen Mason. No one could have welcomed a child with more warmth and affection than Uncle John and Aunt Ellen lav- ished on me, but it was their son, Dick, a laughing sturdy little boy of ten, who was my idol from the first; Dick who could lift me to heights of happiness by letting nne share his boyish adventures or plunge me into tears by barring me from them. It was Dick too who was responsible for my in- terest in music, for as soon as I discovered his youth- ful ambition to become an orchestra leader I began to dream of the day when I would sing with him. Even if music had meant nothing to me for its own sake I would have developed a passionate absorption in it as something that would bind me more closely to Dick and make me important to him. When, shortly after entering college, Dick organized an orchestra I was as proud and happy as he was. We wrote volumes of letters, each one filled with plans for the great day — we never doubted that it would come — when the "band" would become famous on the radio. I worked harder than ever at my singing, spurred by the thrilling realization that Dick relied on me for advice and understanding and that soon we would face the world together. But the thrill lasted only a short time for when, the summer following Dick's graduation, the orchestra was selected by the Bradford Utilities Corporation for its new radio pro- gram it was Frances Gregory, a well-known radio singer, whom he asked to sing with them. "I'm sorry, honey," he'd said. "But you know how it is. We're a new outfit and we just have to have a big name for our singer." And now Dick and Frances were married. How I lived through the weeks following their mar- riage I will never know. It was as though my un- happiness had built up a wall between me and the rest of the world, shutting me off so completely that I forgot there was a world or that I was part of it. UADIO ANU TELEVISION IVIISROR Gradually, though, I began to realize that I couldn't go on this way. I would have to forget my dreams — no, not forget them; I could never do that — but face the fact that I must make a life for myself independent of Dick. When I learned that Steve Burke's orches- tra, playing for the summer at the Lake Tamarac Casino, was looking for a singer I rushed out to the lake, determined to get the job if I had to sing for nothing. My first impression of Steve Burke was of a tall, casual young man with dark tousled hair and the bluest eyes I had ever seen. When I told him who I was and why I was there he grinned and said, "Are you really Kay Somers? Well, this is a coincidence. I was going to phone you today." "Phone me?" I repeated blankly. Steve nodded. "I've been scouting around for two days," he explained, "asking everyone I've met to recommend a singer and just about everybody sug- gested you. Your coming out this morning makes it practically unanimous." He was leading me to the rehearsal hall as he spoke and the next moment I was standing on the platform, a sheet of music in my hand, and Steve was sig- nalling to the orchestra. Then panic gripped me. Suppose I should fail! I glanced at Steve. He smiled encouragingly and as if by magic my self-confidence returned. I didn't need his enthusiastic, "Fine, Kay — simply great!" when I had finished to tell me that I had never sung so well in my life. Steve drove me back home at the end of the re- hearsal and on the way we arranged details about programs, my salary, rehearsals and so on. When he was about to leave he said, "I believe someone told" me you're a cousin of Dick Mason's." . I felt a sharp stab of pain. Even such casual men- tion of Dick's name could hurt. "No, we're not cousins," I said dully. "Dick — Dick's parents are my foster parents." "Oh, I see. Well," lightly, "I imagine he's pretty proud of your voice." For a moment I couldn't speak. More than anything else in the world I had wanted Dick to be proud of me. "I understand he was mar- ried recently," Steve went on conversationally. I bit my lips to choke back the sob in my throat but Steve was regarding me with siich a puzzled expression that I had to force myself to say "Yes." I couldn't have said more without showing my emotion, but apparently Steve didn't expect a more elaborate answer. "Thanks again, Kay," he said blithely. "I'll see you tonight," and the car shot away from the curb. As the summer went by my feeling of self-assur- ance increased and I began actually to enjoy singing with Steve. It's true that night after night instead of Steve's dark tousled head it was Dick's sleek blond one I pictured in front of me, true that when we were driving along dark pine-scented roads to my home at night it was Dick I imagined at the wheel, true, JANXJARy, 1942 Dick saw me at fhe same moment and started toward Kay," he called gaily. me Insianfly all my love and longing surged through me again, fuming me fainf* I realized what a fool I had been. I should have foreseen what would happen when I broke my contract with Steve's band to join Dick. And now I knew the hideous truth— all my dreams were ended 24 GOLDEN SUNSHINE, pouring through the lilacs above my head, made waving shadows on the telegram in my hand. A breeze lightly flicked a spray of lavender blossom across my face, envelop- ing me in perfume. I shivered — no sun could warm me on this day — and pushed the spray away. I had always loved lilacs, loved this tangled twisted cluster of shrubbery which had served me as playhouse and fairy castle, but for the rest of my life they would be hateful to me, reminding me of this day and the misery it had brought. I crumpled the telegram convulsively, then smoothed it out to torture myself again with the message it con- tained. "Frances and I married tonight. Wish us luck. Dick." The words danced before my eyes and I knew that if I were to read them over every hour until the end of time they would never lose their power to hurt me. I had been in love with Dick Mason as long as I could remember. My parents died when I was six and I was adopted by their friends John and Ellen Mason. No one could have welcomed a child with more warmth and affection than Uncle John and Aunt Ellen lav- ished on me, but it was their son, Dick, a laughing sturdy little boy of ten, who was my idol from the first; Dick who could lift me to heights of happiness by letting me share his boyish adventures or plunge me into tears by barring me from them. It was Dick too who was responsible for my in- terest in music, for as soon as I discovered his youth- ful ambition to become an orchestra leader I began to dream of the day when I would sing with him. Even if music had meant nothing to me for its own sake I would have developed a passionate absorption in it as something that would bind me more closely to Dick and make me important to him. When, shortly after entering college, Dick organized an orchestra I was as proud and happy as he was. We wrote volumes of letters, each one filled with plans for the great day— we never doubted that it would come — when the "band" would become famous on the radio. I worked harder than ever at my singing, spurred by the thrilling realization that Dick relied on me for advice and understanding and that soon we would face the world together. But the thrill lasted only a short time for when, the summer following Dick's graduation, the orchestra was selected by the Bradford Utilities Corporation for its new radio pro- gram It was Frances Gregory, a well-known radio smger, whom he asked to sing with them. "I'm sorry, honey," he'd said. "But you know how It IS. We're a new outfit and we just have to have a big name for our singer." And now Dick and Frances were married. How I lived through the weeks following their mar- riage I will never know. It was as though my un- happmess had built up a wall between me and the rest of the world, shutting me off so completely that I torgot there was a world or that I was part of it. RADIO AND lELEPISION MIBBOB Gradually, though, I began to realize that I couldn't go on this way. I would have to forget my dreams — no, not forget them; I could never do that — but face the fact that I must make a life for myself independent of Dick. When I learned that Steve Burke's orches- tra, playing for the summer at the Lake Tamarac Casino, was looking for a singer I rushed out to the lake, determined to get the job if I had to sing for nothing. My first impression of Steve Burke was of a tall, casual young man with dark tousled hair and the bluest eyes I had ever seen. When I told him who I was and why I was there he grinned and said, "Are you really Kay Somers? Well, this is a coincidence. I was going to phone you today." "Phone me?" I repeated blankly. Steve nodded. "I've been scouting around for two days," he explained, "asking everyone I've met to recommend a singer and just about everybody sug- gested you. Your coming out this morning makes it practically unanimous." He was leading me to the rehearsal hall as he spoke and the next moment I was standing on the platform, a sheet of music in my hand, and Steve was sig- nalling to the orchestra. Then panic gripped me. Suppose I should fail! I glanced at Steve. He smiled encouragingly and as if by magic my self-confidence returned. I didn't need his enthusiastic, "Fine, Kay — simply great!" when I had finished to tell me that I had never sung so well in my life. Steve drove me back home at the end of the re- hearsal and on the way we arranged details about programs, my salary, rehearsals and so on. When he was about to leave he said, "I believe someone told me you're a cousin of Dick Mason's." I felt a sharp stab of pain. Even such casual men- tion of Dick's name could hurt. "No, we're not cousins," I said dully. "Dick — Dick's parents are my foster parents." "Oh, I see. Well," lightly, "I imagine he's pretty proud of your voice." For a moment I couldn't speak. More than anything else in the world I had wanted Dick to be proud of me. "I understand he was mar- ried recently," Steve went on conversationally. I bit my lips to choke back the sob in my throat but Steve was regarding me with such a piuzled expression that I had to force myself to say "Yes." I couldn't have said more without showing my emotion, but apparently Steve didn't expect a more elaborate answer. "Thanks again, Kay," he said blithely. "I'll see you tonight," and the car shot away from the curb. As the summer went by my feeling of self-assur- ance increased and I began actually to enjoy singing with Steve. It's true that night after night instead of Steve's dark tousled head it was Dick's sleek blond one I pictured in front of me, true that when we were driving along dark pine-scented roads to my home at night it was Dick I imagined at the wheel, true, JANUAHY. 1942 Dick saw me at fhe same moment and started toward me. "Kay," he called gaily. too, that my longing for Dick was only intensified by Steve's near- ness. But even though I thought so continually of Dick I uncon- sciously began to absorb some of the spirit of the orchestra. Two things were obvious from the start — that the boys were united in their devotion to Steve and that Steve himself was a skilled musician and director. JUST before Labor Day Steve signed a contract for the orches- tra to go to New York to become part of a radio program sponsored by the Mortimer Food Company. When he asked me to go with them aU my old unhappiness swept over me again. Dick would be in New York and much as I longed to see him I didn't want to see him with Frances. I almost refused, then I literally made myself accept Steve's offer. I would have to see Dick and Frances together sometime. Be- sides, I tried to encourage myself, they had been broadcasting from Hollywood all summer and they were not scheduled to return to New York until late in the autumn. By that time I would in some way brace myself for the inevitable meeting. The Steve Burke orchestra went on the air early in October. Our opening broadcast was the sensa- tional triumph we had worked and hoped to make it and when it was over, when the cheers of the audi- ence and the delighted congratula- tions of the sponsors were only echoes in our ears, Steve led me out to his car. "Straight home?" he asked. "Yes, please." He put the car in gear. "I was hoping if you weren't too tired we might go for a ride," he said wist- fully. Instantly I was ashamed of my- self. This was the most important night in Steve's life; naturally he wanted to talk it over with some- one. "Oh, I'm not too tired to ride for an hour or so," I said gaily. "It will take me that long to tell you how proud I am of you Steve — how thrilled about your success tonight." "Your success, you mean." He headed the car uptown. "Yours and the boys'. You're the real stars of the show." We were still arguing this point amiably when Steve stopped the car in a secluded little park high above the Hudson River. A golden harvest moon hung low in the sky. For a moment Steve's head was silhouetted against it, then he turned and took me in his arms. "The success won't mean any- 26 thing, Kay," he said softly, "unless you share it with me." He drew me nearer, so that his lips were close to mine. "You know I love you, Kay." I shook my head helplessly, too dazed to speak. I hadn't known, hadn't even suspected. I'd been so immersed in my longing for Dick that I'd never thought of Steve's falling in love with me. I hated my- self for the blindness that had kept me from knowing in time to save him from unhappiness. I pulled myself out of his em- brace. "I'm sorry, Steve," I whis- pered. "So terribly sorry." His hands gripped my arms. "You don't mean that — ^I can't believe you do. Ever since I've known you I've wanted you for my wife." "I wouldn't have had this happen for the world," I said brokenly. "I do love you, Steve — but not the way you want me to." "But, Kay," pleadingly, "if you love me just a little — " "No, Steve!" I interrupted fran- tically. He slowly loosened his grip on my arms, searching rhy face with his eyes as though in the moonlight he were seeing me clearly for the first time. "No, you couldn't change," he said at last, "because — there's someone else, isn't there, Kay? "That's the thing that's puzzled me about you from the first," he went on without waiting for me to answer. "That remoteness of yours, the listening look on your face as though you were waiting for some- one you love — wondering why he doesn't come — " his voice trailed off and he was silent, staring into the moonshadows ahead. He turned to me again. "You're in love with Dick." It wasn't a question, just a simple statement of a fact he had suddenly become aware of. "I see it now. It's in your eyes. You never mention him and when anyone else does your eyes go dead with un- happiness— I noticed that the first time I saw you. It's Dick you love." "Don't, Steve," I cried. "You're only torturing both of us." He leaned over and kissed me. "Kay, darling, I'm so sorry." The compassion in his voice broke down all the defensive barriers I had so painfully built up. I felt the tears rushing down my face and then I was in his arms again, crying hysterically on his shoulder, telling him everything I had kept shut up inside me for so long. Ninety-nine men out of a hundred would have reacted violently to my confession that I was hopelessly in love with Dick, either avoiding me or adding to my unhappiness by trying to persuade me to change my mind. Steve was the blessed ex- ception, for he did neither of these things. Instead, from that time on, he was generosity and understand- ing itself. He seemed always to be aware of my moods, to sense' when I was unhappiest and to know whether it was gaiety or solitude I needed to restore my spirits. Many times I reproached myself for sel- I Losing my temper could only make matters worse. "I'm sorry, Dick," I said. "Forget I said anything." RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRBOR fishly accepting so much when I could give nothing in return, but in spite of my self-reproach I grew to rely more and more on his word- less sympathy. I was especially grateful for it when I met Dick again. We were just leaving rehearsal, Steve and I, making our way slowly through the crowd of performers, tourists and autograph seekers who always thronged the lobby when I saw Dick coming through the street en- trance. Instantly the throngs around me faded into nothingness and I was aware only of that gleaming blonde head and smiling face. All my love and longing surged through me again, turning me faint. Dick saw me at that same mo- ment and started toward me. "Kay," he called across the heads of the crowd. "What luck, finding you here like this. I was just going to telephone you." "Dick!" I tried to match my tone to his blithe one but it was a hoarse whisper. I felt my knees trembling and I would have dropped to the floor if it hadn't been for Steve's hand on my arm, steadying me. His firm hand restored my self- control so that I was able to greet Dick with a passable pretense of my oldtime ease and eagerness, to introduce Steve and to acknowl- edge my introduction to Frances with the blend of cordiality and naturalness the occasion called for, even to chatter as animatedly as they were doing. Dick hadn't changed at all. He was still the gay, confident and charming person he had always been and would always be to me. For Frances I felt an instant an- tagonism which I couldn't explain and which I felt I could never over- come. It wasn't jealousy alone, nor was it because the perfection JANUABY, 1942 of her clothes and her tall blonde beauty made me feel dowdy and unattractive. It was something with- in her, something so elusive that I couldn't define it, which chilled me, although outwardly she was graciousness itself. We continued to chat for a few minutes and made vague plans to meet again in the future, and then Steve and I were alone again. "Thank you, Steve," I told him gratefully, "for keeping me from making a fool of myself in front of Dick and Frances." Steve's only reply was a sympathetic smile. n^HAT chance encounter with Dick tantalized me by holding out the hope that other meetings would follow. Every morning I waked up thinking "Maybe I'll see him to- day," but each day brought new disappointment. I did see him once, but that was worse than not seeing him at all, for again he was with Frances, smiling down at her as she eagerly pointed out to him a lux- uriant mink coat in a Fifth Avenue furrier's window. While I watched, trying to nerve myself to speak to them, they turned away and, still .unaware of me, walked slowly, laughingly down the Avenue. It was a commonplace little scene, but somehow the intimacy of it intensi- fied my loneliness, a loneliness I couldn't dispel even though from that time on I threw myself into my work with greater energy. But while I couldn't see Dick, there was one way in which I could keep up the illusion of being close to him and that was through his broadcasts. They became meat and drink to me and although there were times when Dick's voice, in the mid- night quiet of my living room, made my wretchedness keener than ever, nothing in the world could have kept me from my radio when he was on the air. I don't remember when it was that I began to notice a subtle dif- ference in his, orchestra. At first it was barely perceptible, but little by little I sensed that it was not the smooth-performing organization it had once been; the programs be- came ragged, uneven, and they grew more so with each week's broad- cast. Impatiently I told myself that I was imagining things, but it wasn't long before other people, too, detected that something was wrong. Rumors began to float around radio circles that Dick Mason's band was slipping, that he had gone down in the latest popularity poll, that his sponsors were doubtful about re- newing his contract, that he was drinking too much — and that he and Frances (Continued on page 47) 27 too, that my longing lor Dick was only intensified by Steve's near- ness. But even though I thought so continually of Dick I uncon- sciously began to absorb some of the spirit of the orchestra. Two things were obvious from the start — that the boys were united in their devotion to Steve and that Steve himself was a skilled musician and director. JUST before Labor Day Steve signed a contract for the orches- tra to go to New York to become part of a radio program sponsored by the Mortimer Food Company. When he asked me to go with them all my old unhappiness swept over me again. Dick would be in New York and much as I longed to see him I didn't want to see him with Frances. I almost refused, then I literally made myself accept Steve's offer. I would have to see Dick and Frances together sometime. Be- sides, I tried to encourage myself, they had been broadcasting from Hollywood all summer and they were not scheduled to return to New York until late in the autumn. By that time I would in some way brace myself for the inevitable meeting. The Steve Burke orchestra went on the air early in October. Our opening broadcast was the sensa- tional triumph we had worked and hoped to make it and when it was over, when the cheers of the audi- ence and the delighted congratula- tions of the sponsors were only echoes in our ears, Steve led me out to his car. "Straight home?" he asked. "Yes, please." He put the car in gear. "I was hoping if you weren't too tired we might go for a ride," he said wist- fully. Instantly I was ashamed of my- self. This was the most important night in Steve's life; naturally he wanted to talk it over with some- one. "Oh, I'm not too tired to ride for an hour or so," I said gaily. "It will take me that long to tell you how proud 1 am of you Steve— how thrilled about your success tonight." "Your success, you mean." He headed the car uptown. "Yours and the boys'. You're the real stars of the show." We were still arguing Ibis point amiably when Steve stopped the car in a secluded little park high above the Hudson River. A golden harvest moon hung low in the sky. For a moment Steve's head was siUiouetted against it. then he turned and took me in his arms. "The success won't mean any- 2b- thing, Kay," he said softly, "unless you share it with me." He drew me nearer, so that his lips were close to mine. "You know I love you, Kay." I shook my head helplessly, too dazed to speak. I hadn't known, hadn't even suspected. I'd been so immersed in my longing for Dick that I'd never thought of Steve's falling in love with me. I hated my- self for the blindness that had kept me from knowing in time to save him from unhappiness. I pulled myself out of his em- brace. "I'm sorry, Steve," I whis- pered. "So terribly sorry." His hands gripped my arms. "You don't mean that — I can't believe you do. Ever since I've known you I've wanted you for my wife." "I wouldn't have had this happen for the world," I said brokenly. "I do love you, Steve — but not the way you want me to." "But, Kay," pleadingly, "if you love me just a little — " "No, Steve!" I interrupted fran- tically. He slowly loosened his grip on my arms, searching niy face with his eyes as though in the moonlight he were seeing me clearly for the first time. "No, you couldn't change," he said at last, "because — there's someone else, isn't there, Kay? "That's the thing that's puzzled me about you from the first," he went on without waiting for me to answer. "That remoteness of yours, the listening look on your face as though you were waiting for some- one you love — wondering why he doesn't come — " his voice trailed off and he was silent, staring into the nioonshadows ahead. He turned to me again. "You're in love with Dick." It wasn't a question, just a simple statement of a fact he had suddenly become aware of. "I see it now. It's in your eyes. You never mention him and when anyone else does your eyes go dead with un- happiness— I noticed that the first time I saw you. It's Dick you love." "Don't, Steve," I cried. "You're only torturing both of us." He leaned over and kissed me. "Kay, darling, I'm so sorry." The compassion in his voice broke down all the defensive barriers I had so painfully built up. I felt the tears rushing down my face and then I was in his arms again, crying hysterically on his shoulder, telling him everything I had kept shut up inside me lor so long. Ninety-nine men out of a hundred would have reacted violently to my confession that I was hopelessly in love with Dick, either avoiding me or adding to my imhappiness by trying to persuade me to change my mind. Steve was the blessed ex- ception, for he did neither of these things. Instead, from that time on he was generosity and understand- ing itself. He seemed always to be aware of my moods, to sense' when I was unhappiest and to know whether it was gaiety or solitude I needed to restore my spirits. Many times I reproached myself for sel- I fishly accepting so much when I could give nothing in return, but in spite of my self-reproach I grew to rely more and more on his word- less sympathy. I was especially grateful for it when I met Dick again. We were just leaving rehearsal, Steve and I. making our way slowly through the crowd of performers, tourists and autograph seekers who always thronged the lobby when I saw Dick coming through the street en- trance. Instantly the throngs around me faded into nothingness and I was aware only of that gleaming blonde head and smiling face. All my love and longing surged through me again, turning me faint. Dick saw me at that same mo- ment and started toward me. "Kay," he called across the heads of the crowd. "What luck, finding you here like this. I was just going to telephone you." "Dick!" I tried to match my tone to his blithe one but it was a hoarse whisper. I felt my knees trembling and I would have dropped to the floor if it hadn't been for Steve's hand on my arm, steadying me. His firm hand restored my self- control so that I was able to greet Dick with a passable pretense of my oldtime ease and eagerness, to introduce Steve and to acknowl- edge my introduction to Frances with the blend of cordiality and naturalness the occasion called for, even to chatter as animatedly as they were doing. Dick hadn't changed at all. He was still the gay, confident and charming person he had always been and would always be to me. For Frances I felt an instant an- tagonism which I couldn't explain and which I felt I could never over- come. It wasn't jealousy alone, nor was it because the perfection Losing my temper could only make maffers worse. 'I'm sorry, Dick, I said. "Forget I said anything- RADIO AND TELEVISION MHWOB JANUARV. 1912 of her clothes and her tall blonde beauty made me feel dowdy and unattractive. It was something with- in her. something so elusive that I couldn't define it, which chilled me. although outwardly she was graciousness itself. We continued to chat for a few minutes and made vague plans to meet again in the future, and then Steve and I were alone again. "Thank you, Steve." 1 told him gratefully, "for keeping me from making a fool of myself in front of Dick and Frances." Steve's only reply was a sympathetic smile. T^HAT chance encounter with Dick tantalized me by holding (Hit the hope that other meetings would follow. Every morning 1 waked up thinking "Maybe I'll see him to- day." but each day brought new disappointment. I did see him once, but that was worse than not seeing him at all. for again he was with Frances, smiling down at her as she eagerly pointed out to him a lux- uriant mink coat in a Fifth Avenue furrier's window. While I watched, trying to nerve myself to speak to them, they turned away and, still unaware of me, walked slowly, laughingly down the Avenue. It was a commonplace little scene, but somehow the intimacy of it intensi- fied my loneliness, a loneliness I couldn't dispel even though from that time on I threw myself into my work with greater energy. But while I couldn't see Dick, there was one way in which I could keep up the illusion of being close to him and that was through his broadcasts. They became meat and drink to me and although there were times when Dick's voice, in the mid- night quiet of my living room, made my wretchedness keener than ever, nothing in the world could have kept me from my radio when he was on the air. I don't remember when it was that I began to notice a subtle dif- ference in his, orchestra. At first it was barely perceptible, but little by little I sensed that it was not the smooth-performing organization it had once been; the programs be- came ragged, uneven, and they grew more so with each week's broad- cast. Impatiently I told myself that I was imagining things, but it wasn't long before other people, too. detected that something was wrong. Rumors began to float around radio circles that Dick Mason's band was slipping, that he had gone down in the latest popularity poll, that his sponsors were doubtful about re- newing his contract, that he waa drinking too much — and that he and Frances (Continued on page 47) 27 BY PoPUiAi^ OBMAA/D Because so many readers were unable to obtain the recently published por- traits of these two beloved radio characters, we are happy to present new and exclusive autographed pictures of Papa David and Chichi, stars of Life Can Be Beautiful. Tune in this inspiring message of faith, written by Carl Bixby and Don Becker and sponsored by Ivory, Monday through Friday on the CBS network. Photos by CBS HELEN CARLSEN had corrte to the town of Latimer from a farm fifty miles north on high- way U. S. 30. She had never been a waitress before, but when Bill Jack- son, who owned the lunch room across the street from Latimer's only factory, had offered her the job she had said yes. She had needed the job and it had seemed like much better employment than housework. But the first time the men had come tumbling in to Bill's lunch room, shouting and joking, she had been scared almost speechless. She had walked stiff and erect in her blue and white starched apron dress, which did not entirely conceal the. curves in her lovely, young body and she had waited on them mechanically, not daring to look into their faces. Now, as she stood behind the counter, waiting for the factory whistle to blow, she smiled as she thought how silly she must have seemed to them the first few days. They were just ordinary working men, but they had treated her fine and had waited until she had gotten over her fright of them before warming up to her. Now, she knew all of them by their first names. She even knew some of their wives and their kids. The factory whistle shrilled. Helen's round, blue eyes came alive. The water glasses weren't filled and the knives, forks and spoons weren't even on the counter! Her hands moved swiftly. "Hi'ya, Helen," Joe Herman, a husky tool maker was first to the counter, "how's my baby, today?" Helen smiled. "Baby's busy. Do you want the special? Corned beef hash today." "Sling it at me," Joe Herman grinned. "Now if I didn't have a wife, you'd — " But Helen didn't hear the rest of Joe's blarney, be- cause knives and forks were rattling and husky, hungry men were calling for nourishment. She worked feverishly, sliding food up and down the counter, re- filling coffee cups, joking and kidding as she moved from customer to customer. About half of the men had eaten and left before Helen noticed the new man sitting between her friends Pete and Tom. He was young, with a strong, rugged face and deep, moody brown eyes. When he looked up at Helen, for some unexplainable reason, she felt her heart beat a little faster. He wasn't exactly good- looking, Helen decided as she re-filled his water glass, but he had strength and honesty in his face. Helen guessed he was angry about something. And a second later she heard him say, "What's all this mistering about around here? I told you my name was Ernie Dell. Ernie, get it. You got any objections to calling a guy by his front name?" His remark was addressed to Tom, who reddened. "No," Tom said, "we ain't got any objections." Tom stood up. "Well, guess I'm about through." "Me, too," Pete said, getting up. Helen was amazed. Pete was leaving a plate half full of food. That wasn't like Pete. "Guess I'll get a little air," Pete added, lamely. The young man's face tightened. "Little air, huh? Well, don't let me keep you," he said accenting the word me. Pete and Tom shifted their weight uneasily. "Aw," Tom .said, "you don't have to take it that way." "I'll take it any way I like," the young man said. "Well, what are you waiting for? Grab up that fresh air before it goes stale on you." After Pete and Tom left, the young man sat staring disinterestedly at his food. The others in the restau- rant filed out. Helen walked over to where the young man sat and put her elbows on the counter. "Anything wrong with the food?" she asked. The young man didn't look up. "Mnn," he mumbled. Helen laughed. "Gee! That's a swell answer." The young man looked up,. his eyes stormy. "It was okay, I guess," he said. "Aw," Helen teased, "is that a way to be? Don't you know you're supposed to say it's good, even if it wasn't? And," she smiled, "I'm supposed to thank you RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRBOn His brown eyes gof softer.. "Thanks!" he said. "Will you smile for me again?" How well can a woman know a man after a few romantic words on a moonlight night? Helen had been so sure about Ernie and their love, but now she knew there was something he had not told her and she could no longer believe her own heart Adapfed from a radio script of a Llneoln Highway broadcast Saturday, over the NBC-Red network and sponsored by Shinola, starring Burgess Meredith. JANUABY, 1942 and tell you to call again." "Yeah," the young man said, "and are you supposed to smUe at me like that?" Helen's smile got broader. "Anything wrong with a smile?" "Wrong?" the young man said bitterly. "Look, you're the first person who's talked to me like a human being all day. Wrong? If anything's wrong it's with me." "I don't see anything wrong with you," Helen said, knowing she was getting too familiar and not being able, to stop herself. "Look me over real good," the yovmg man said. "I am," she smiled. "You mean you think I'm okay? I don't look like poison to you? You wouldn't take me for anything but a — a plain guy?" Helen's face became serious. "I don't know what you're getting at," she said, "but, well, you look okay to me. I mean," she stammered, "you don't look like poison." The young man managed a half smile. "Thanks!" he said. "They had me worried." His brown eyes got softer. "Sure sister! I'll call again. Now will you smile for me again?" Helen blushed. "Why?" she said. The young man got up. "Because," he said seriously, "if things keep on this way, I'm going to be needing that smile of yours. I'm going to be needing it bad. Something tells me I'm going to be awful lonesome in this town." "LTELEN stood at the counter a long time after he left. An hour before she had felt peaceful, serene, happy. Now, well, somebody walks in, she thought, somebody you don't even know and looks at you a certain way and you look at him and then all the peaceful feeling inside you is gone and you feel different. She couldn't figure out whether she liked feeling different, but she knew she had to see him again. She knew he would be back. All that afternoon she thought about him. Ernie. That was his name and he didn't like being called Mister. Maybe, she thought, the guys are just kidding him like they sometimes kid newcomers. She would have to tell Pete and Tom to cut it out. And, she smiled to herself, she would have to help Ernie get over being so sensitive. Pete and Tom were swell guys, they didn't mean any harm. They were just plain guys like Ernie was and they ought to get along. When Ernie didn't come in for dinner that night, 31 H' had said yes. ■ELEN CARLSEN had come to the town of Latimer from a farm fifty miles north on high- way U. S. 30. She had never been a waitress before, but when Bill Jack- son, who owned the lunch room across the street from Latimer's only factory, had offered her the job she She had needed the job and it had seemed like much better employment than housework. But the first time the men had come tumbling in to Hill's lunch room, shouting and joking, she had been scared almost .speechless. She had walked stiff and erect in her blue and white starched apron dress, which did not entirely conceal the.curves in her lovely, young body and she had waited on them mechanically, not daring to look into their faces. Now, as she stood behind the counter, waiting for the factory whistle to blow, she smiled as she thought how silly she must have seemed to them the first few days. They were just ordinary working men, but they had treated her fine and had waited until she had gotten over her fright of them before warming up to her. Now, she knew all of them by their first names. She even knew some of their wives and their kids. The factory whistle shrilled. Helen's round, blue eyes came alive. The water glasses weren't filled and the knives, forks and spoons weren't even on the counter! fler hands moved swiftly. "tli'ya, Helen," Joe Herman, a husky tool maker was (irst to the counter, "how's my baby, today?" Helen smiled. "Baby's busy. Do you want the special'/ Corned beef hash today." "Sling it at me," Joe Herman grinned. "Now if I didn't have a wife, you'd — " But Helen didn't hear the rest of Joe's blarney, be- cause knives and forks were rattling and husky, hungry men were calling for nourishment. She worked feverishly, sliding food up and down the counter, re- filling coffee cups, joking and kidding as she moved from customer to customer. About half of the men had eaten and left before Helen noticed the new man sitting between her friends Pete and Tom. He was young, with a strong, rugged face and deep, moody brown eyes. When he looked up at Helen, for some unexplainable reason, she felt her heart beat a little faster. He wasn't exactly good- looking, Helen decided as she re-filled his water glass, but he had strength and honesty in his face. Helen guessed he was angry about something. And a second later she heard him say, "What's all this mistering about around here? I told you my name was Ernie Dell. Ernie, get it. You got any objections to calling a guy by his front name?" His remark was addressed to Tom, who reddened. "No," Tom said, "we ain't got any objections." Tom stood up. "Well, guess I'm about through." "Me, too." Pete said, getting up. Helen was amazed. Pete was leaving a plate half full of food. That wasn't like Pete. "Guess I'll get a Uttle air," Pete added, lamely. The young man's face tightened. "Little air, huh? Well, don't let me keep you," he said accenting the word me. Pete and Tom shifted their weight uneasily. Tom^ said, "you don't have to take it that way. "I'll take it any way I like," the young man said. 'Well, what are you waiting for? Grab up that fresh au- before it goes stale on you." 30 "Aw,' After Pete and Tom left, the young jnan sat staring disinterestedly at his food. The others in the restau- rant filed out. Helen walked over to where the young man sat and put her elbows on the counter. "Anything wrong with the food?" she asked. The young man didn't look up. "Mnn," he mumbled. Helen laughed. "Gee! That's a swell answer." The young man looked up,. his eyes stormy. "It was okay, I guess," he said. "Aw," Helen teased, "is that a way to be? Don't you know you're supposed to say it's good, even if i* wasn't? And," she smiled, "I'm supposed to thank you RADIO AND TELEVISION IvUBBOB Adapttd from a radio tcrlpt of a Uacola Highway broadcast Safurday. over rto NIC-Red network and sponsored by Stlnolo, starrleg tarqen Ueredltl). How well can a woman know a man after a few romantic words on a moonlight night? Helen hod been so sure about Ernie and their love, but now she knew there was something he had not told her and she could no longer believe her own heart and tell you to call again." "Yeah," the young man said, "and are you supposed to smile at me like that?" Helen's smile got broader. "Anything wrong with a smile?" "Wrong?" the young man said bitterly. "Look, you're the first person who's talked to me like a human being all day. Wrong? If anything's wrong it's with me." "I don't see anything wrong with you," Helen said, knowing she was getting too familiar and not being able, to stop herself. "Look me over real good," the young man said. "I am," she smiled. "You mean you think I'm okay? I don't look like poison to you? You wouldn't take me for anything but a — a plain guy?" Helen's face became serious. "I don't know what you're getting at," she said, "but, well, you look okay to me. I mean," she stammered, "you don't look like poison." The young man managed a half smile. "Thanks!" he said. "They had me worried." His brown eyes got softer. "Sure sister! I'll call again. Now will you smile for me again?" Helen blushed. "Why?" she said. The young man got up. "Because," he said seriously, "if things keep on this way, I'm going to be needing that smile of yours. I'm going to be needing it bad. Something tells me I'm going to be awful lonesome in this town." ■LJELEN stood at the counter a long time after he left. •^ An hour before she had felt peaceful, serene, happy. Now, well, somebody walks in, she thought, somebody you don't even know and looks at you a certain way and you look at him and then all the peaceful feeling inside you is gone and you feel different. She couldn't figure out whether she liked feeling different, but she knew she had to sec him again. She knew he would be back. All that afternoon she thought about him. Ernie. That was his name and he didn't like being called Mister. Maybe, she thought, the guys arc just kidding him like they sometimes kid newcomers. She would have to tell Pete and Tom to cut it out. And, she smiled to herself, she would have to help Ernie get over being so sensitive. Pete and Tom were swell guys, they didn't mean any harm. They were ju.st plain guys like Ernie was and they ought to get along. When Ernie didn't come in for dinner that night, JANTJABV. 1942 Helen began to worry. She told herself she was silly to worry, that whether he came in or not wasn't really important. But, for some rea- son, it was. The dinner crowd was just about gone when she saw him standing in the doorway. Her heart jumped again, the way it had when she had first seen him. "Hello!" she said. "Glad to see you back." Ernie sat down at the counter. "Say that again, will you?" She blushed. "Well, I'm glad to see you, Ernie." "LJIS eyes widened. "So you know my name?" He smiled, "I know yours, too, it's Helen." The way he had said her name made her happy. There was some- thing nice about the way he said it. There was more than friendliness in it. "Why are you late?" she asked. "The dinner crowd's almost gone." Ernie's face clouded. "Almost gone, huh? Maybe I'd better wait until the place gets really empty." Helen made a wry face. "Now you're not going to start that again," she said. "You're just sensitive." "Sensitive!" he said. "Listen, maybe you can tell me. Why does everybody avoid me like the plague? What makes people hush their mouths around here and wipe their smiles the minute they see me coming?" Helen laughed. "You're just imagining that." "Oh, yeah?" Ernie's face was tense again. "Everybody's slipping me the ice. In a nice way, of course. Everybody's ultra-polite. Nine guys called me 'Mister' this afternoon." "What's so terrible about that?" Helen asked. "It's not natural," Ernie said. "I'm just a plain guy workin' in that factory, trying to make a living. Why don't they treat me that way?" It's his first job away from home, Helen thought sympathetically. She remembered how she had felt. He couldn't be more than a couple of . years older than she was. Nor could he know that the men at the plant had been keyed up and nervous lately. There had been trouble be- tween them and the management, so Pete and Tom naturally would be suspicious of a new fellow in town like Ernie. "Please," she said, "don't let it get you." He smiled. "Okay. Gee," he said, "I hope you don't think I'm a sap standing here complaining like this to you? After all, there's no reason why you should be interested." "But I am," Helen said, quickly, "hone.stly." He looked at her for a few sec- onds, then lowered his eyes. "Gee, 32 Helen, I don't want to seem fresh, but—", She felt as tense as he looked. "Maybe you'd better have some- thing to eat," she said. "I get it," he grinned, it was a wide, wonderful grin. "I didn't ask for a date and you didn't say no but it's all just the same as if, isn't it?" "Not exactly," she blushed. "Why don't you try again some other night?" "I will," he said, and went out hurriedly, not waiting to eat. It was a week later before Ernie asked her for a date. He seemed afraid she would not say "yes" and surprised when she did. At nine o'clock, while she waited for him on the sidewalk in front of Pete's place, she decided she would find out what it was that had been bothering him.' / Another group of Living Portraits — see what the characters of your favorite radio serial, MARY MAR- LIN, really look like— in true to life photographs — in February RADIO MIRROR In the past week, she too, had felt the coolness in the way the other men at the factory had treated him. She had wanted to ask Pete or Tom about it, but she was afraid they would kid her about Ernie, maybe even in front of him, and cause a fight. "Hello," it was Ernie. He had come up behind her and squeezed her arm. "Hello!" They decided to go down to the lake. It was a warm, clear night and Helen told him about old Luke, who rented out his battered row boats. "Sounds swell," Ernie had said. "Sure you wouldn't rather take in a movie?" "It's such a nice night," Helen had said softly. And then, out on the lake, she had repeated it again. Ernie took the oars out of the water and let the boat drift. The lights along the shore of the lake glimmered like huge candles. There was a lush drowsiness over everything and only the occasional croaking of a sleepy frog broke the stillness. "Gee, it's swell out here," Ernie finally said. "Know what, Helen? I wish you'd let me see you every night." Helen laughed. "You've been see- ing me twice every day." "At the restaurant doesn't count," Ernie said. There was a pause. "Yes, it does, too. Even when it's just a hello — and a smile." His voice had gotten husky. She didn't know quite what to say, so . she said, trying to be light about it, "I hope you don't do what yoii did the other day." "What did I do?" he asked. "Grabbed my hand instead of your change," she smiled. "That was a fine thing! With a whole line of men from the plant watching you." "I couldn't help it," he said. "Do you want them to start talk- ing about us?" she joked. "Aw," he was angry now, "what do I care what they talk about." "Ernie!" She was frightened by the anger in his voice. "Well, I don't," he said desper- ately. "Helen, it's just plain nuts. If some of them would get funny with me. But this politeness stuff — that's what's got me buffaloed." She had wanted to talk about it before, but now she didn't. "Let's forget it," she said, kindly. "How can I forget," he said. "I go around that place like a guy try- ing to fight his way out of a gunny sack. Seems like there's just noth- ing I can do about it. You can't poke a guy for being polite. But," he was trying to hold down his temper, "some day I'm going to sock some- body, I'm going to haul off and — " "No, Ernie," Helen broke in. She felt panicky and lost. "Don't start a scrap. It might get you fired. Then — then, well, you'd be getting out of here." The boat had drifted into the shore. They were both quiet now. Ernie got out of the boat and pulled it up on to the sandy beach. They began walking down the beach. Helen didn't know what to say, so she walked beside him silently. He walked in long, steady strides. She knew he was trying to get the anger out of his system. "Ernie," she said, finally, "I'm out of breath." He stopped and looked down at her. "Why did you go out with me tonight?" he said. It was very still. She looked up into his face. She had not quite gotten her wind back. "Well — " she began. (Continued on page 52) RADIO AND TELEVISION IVIIRROR MADE FOR Every night he hurries home from broadcasting to a wife, three children and two dogs — all of which Alan Bunce might never have had if he hadn't opened a certain door I By JACK SHER THE young man stood on the sidewalk, looking down the long alley that led to the stage door. From where he stood, he could see the marquee of the theater. It was noon and the lights of the marquee were out, but it read, "KEMPY" and below that, STARRING THE NUGENTS. The Nugents were famous names in the theater. The young man was comparatively unknown. He had just arrived from Detroit, where he had been playing juvenile roles in a stock company. He needed a job. If he went down that long alley and through the stage door, back- stage he might find the man who lit'-- .j:\i "Lucky together" — Alan Bunce, star of Young Doctor Malone and his charming wife who was Ruth Nugent of the famous Nugents. could give him a job, a famous actor-producer named Augustin Duncan, for whom he had worked once. Duncan was now with the Nugents. The young man hesitated. It was a long shot. Mr. Duncan might not be there, or he might not want to see him. In that split second, while he was making up his mind, the young actor didn't know it, but go- ing down that alley was going to change his whole life. The young actor's name was Alan Bunce. You hear him on the air as Young Doctor Malone. What happened to him is something that probably couldn't happen anywhere but in that celebrated district known as the Roaring Forties, the theater district of New York. Alan walked down the alley, passed the stage doorman, who was sitting tipped back in a chair, his eyes closed, sunning himself like a fat cat. Stepping from the sunlight into the darkness backstage, Alan was temporarily blinded. Then, he heard a great, booming voice. "Well, young man, what do you want?" The figure became lighter and distinguishable. Alan blinked. It was the dean of the Nugents, the celebrated J. C. "I'd like to see Mr. Duncan," Alan said. "About what?" Nugent asked. "Well," Alan hesitated. "I used to work for him." He could see very clearly now and he was a little nervous. "So you used to work for him?" Nugent said a little skeptically. He had heard that one many times before. "That's right," Alan said. "Well — " and it was a very long drawn out well. Alan stood there, shifting from foot to foot. Then a door opened and a girl stepped into the little backstage room. Alan's eyes met hers. His (Continued on page 54) 33 (_^(P^p^2iZ/^ 8Y HATE SMITH Radio Mirror's Food Counselor Listen to Kate Smith's daily tallis at noon and her Friday night show, both on CBS, sponsored by General Foods. HAS your conscience been bothering you lately because you have been postponing inviting some of your old friends to dinner? Don't postpone it any longer. Give it right now — this very week — and make it a buffet supper. A buffet supper is just about the most satisfactory form of enter- tainment there is from the hostess' point of view and as for the guests — ■ well what guests could keep from breaking into compliments when they walk in and find a table like the one shown here with its gleaming silver and glass and its quantities of appetite-inspiring foods? Inci- dentally, some of my friends are giving radio parties — inviting friends who they know are inter- ested in hearing certain radio pro- grams for a buffet supper, served either before the program or at its conclusion, and they report that never have they and their guests enjoyed themselves more. Buffets are easy to give for a number of reasons. The table can be set hours ahead of time, leaving only the actual placing of food as a last-minute task before the guests arrive, and by having everything in place at once there is no trouble- some changing of plates between courses. The menu I've planned for you this month is easy too — for not only is each dish simple to 34 Simple entertaining means delighted and comfortable guests, so plan a buffet supper for your next party prepare but much of the prepara- tion can be done in advance. And now for our menu and recipes. (Depending on local prices the cost for this meal for six per- sons should be about $3.50.) MENU Canned blended vegetable juice cocktails Sage cheese and smoked turkey pate canapes Smoked cottage roll Shrimp mushroom macaroni Mexican kidney beans en casserole Salad bowl of raw vegetables Hot buttered rolls Molasses mint mousse Coffee Chill cans of vegetable juice in refrigerator until serving time. Just before serving, season to taste with lime juice and a few drops of Worcestershire sauce if desired. Sage Cheese 1 lb. cottage cheese 1/4 to 1/2 tsp. ground sage, to taste 2 tbls. minced chives Milk Combine ingredients, adding sufficient milk to make mixture spread easily. May be prepared in advance, spread on small crackers half an hour before guests are due WITH A FLAVOR Remember at the beginning of this article I told you to save the liquid in which the cot- tage roll was cooked for pea soup? Here's the way to use it. Strain the liquid and place it in the refrigerator — it will keep safely for a day or so — and when thoroughly cold skim off excess fat. Soak one package of dried split peas for several hours or over night, and simmer in the flavored liquid until soft, ad- ding more water if soup gets too thick, also additional salt and pepper if necessary. When peas are cooked rub through a sieve to moke puree, or rub part of them through sieve and leave the rest whole, if you prefer. Serve with croutons or thin lemon slices dusted with pap- rika, or place a spoonful of whipped cream or sour cream in each bowl and dust very sparingly with powdered mace. Lentils or beans may be used in place of peas. to arrive. The smoked turkey pate is chilled in the jar, spread on crackers, dusted with paprika. Cold Smoked Cottage Roll 1 smoked cottage roll (boned smoked shoulder of pork) 2% to 3 lbs. 2 tbls. shortening 2 medium onions 6 peppercorns 6 whole cloves V2 cup coarse chopped celery leaves V2 tsp. dry mustard 1 tbl. brown sugar Chop onion and saute with celery leaves in butter. Cover cottage roll with boiling water, add all other ingredients and bring to boil. Re- duce heat and simmer until tender, adding more water if necessary. Cool, remove from liquid and chill; slice just before serving. Allow 35 to 40 minutes per pound simmering time. Warning: Don't throw away the liquid. Use it for split pea soup next day. Shrimp Mushroom Macaroni 1 package elbow macaroni 1 can condensed mushroom soup 1 medium can shrimp 1 small can ripe olives Salt, pepper, Worcestershire sauce Grated cheese Cook macaroni in boiling salted water until tender and drain. Thin soup with equal quantity of water (use the water macaroni was cooked in). Drain and chop shrimp and olives. Combine ingredients and season to taste with salt, pepper and Worcestershire sauce. Turn into buttered casserole and sprinkle with grated cheese. Bake at 350 degrees F. for 30 minutes. Mexican Kidney Beans 2 medium cans kidney beans 1 tbl. shortening 1 medium onion 1 large green pepper 1 small can pimiento Chili powder, to taste Chop onion and green pepper and saute lightly in shortening. Chop pimiento. Combine onion, green pepper, pimiento and chili powder with beans and turn into buttered casserole, reserving a little green pepper and pimiento for the top. Bake in moderate oven (350 degrees F.) until brown, adding a little hot water if beans get too dry. RADIO AND TELEVISION IVIIRROR To make it easy for you, here's an attractive and appetizing fable setting for you to copy. Salad Bowl The salad bowl should be a large one, for your guests will want to nibble bits of salad with their cock- tails. Our salad bowl shows a mound of radishes and cauliflower flowerets in the center and, radiat- ing outward, green pepper and carrots, cut into strips, celery, scallions, parsley and watercress. The vegetables may be prepared in advance, kept in a damp cloth in refrigerator and arranged in salad bowl just before serving. Salad plates and forks may be included when you set the table, if you wish, also bowls of mayonnaise and French dressing, so that each guest may make his own salad. Molasses Mint Mousse 2 egg yolks % cup New Orleans type molasses Vi cup sugar (brown or white) JANUARY, 1942 FOR THE OCCASION Next to a poised, gracious hostess the most important requisite for successful entertain- ing is a perfectly appointed table . . . this doesn't mean an elaborate one . . . there is perfection in simplicity, too, as a glance at our buffet table will show you . . . make your silver the keynote of your table ... its decora- tive use is as important as its practical one ... if you have a silver bowl or tray, use it as the center of interest in setting your table ... as we have used the hand- some cold meat platter in our photograph ... if you are thinking of adding to your supply of silver consider Grille knives and forks such as those pictured here . . . they're smart, new, serviceable . . . put silver away carefully after using it to avoid the risk of marring it by ugly scratches ... be sure silver is polished until it gleams . . . that's part of its attractiveness. . . . The silver illus- trated is the Del Mar Pattern of 1881 (R) Rogers (R), which with the meat platter comes from the Oneida Ltd. silversmiths. pinch of salt 1 cup milk 1 cup heavy cream, whipped 2 eggwhites, beaten stiff Vi tsp. peppermint flavoring Beat egg yolks until thick and creamy then beat in molasses, sugar and salt. Stir in milk, then fold in whipped cream, beaten egg yolks and peppermint flavoring. Freeze in refrigerator tray (coldest temper- ature) 2 to 3 hours, stirring occasionally. Except for the final baking, the cottage roll and the two casserole dishes (you may wish to serve only one of these) may be prepared in advance, and placed in the oven half an hour before the guests are due to arrive. This half hour will give you time for such last minute preparations as spreading canapes, buttering and heating rolls, pouring cocktails and preparing salad, also for putting mousse into glasses. 35 ^HV When Wc Met A romantic baritone turns composer and contributes a charming ballad as this month's Song Hit to Radio Mirror's melody parade. Hear Dick Todd sing his own tune on NBC's Saturday morning Vaudeville Theater Words and Music by DICK TODD and KATHLEEN CARNES m jz: r r r r if^ ^ ^if ^ r r ^'"'•'W-rp When we met ^ ^ the light that shone in your eyes Was true as bhiesum-mer skies I I — 3 — I m ^ f=f T ^^ ^ ? S rr-t (t '- J J) J' J- J^ 5 ^ ^ — » Dar-Iing on the day we met. When we met, the gold - en ^m ^ m *E -e> T ^ ^^^ ^ 25: ^ S • a W^^ ^ r ^r^ i '' r r r [' i^ J ^ ^ i r ^ r f Mjj^^ hue of your hair Your eyes like dia-monds so rare, a vis- ion that I .9 — J, I. r cant for- =fe^ m ^^k ¥£ ^ ^^ J?: T r ^ ^ ^^ r~t W- f^ Copyright 1941 by Dick Todd and Kathleen Carries, New York, N. Y. 36 RADIO AND TELEVISION ]VIIRROR 8:15 8:30 8:30 8:30 8:30 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:30 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:30 11: 11: 11: 11: 11: 12: 12: 12: 12:15 12: 12: 12: 1: 1: 1: 1: 2:45 3:05 4:15 h u 8:00 8:00 8:15 8:15 8:15 8:30 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:30 9:30 10:00 10:00 10:05 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:30 10:30 11:00 11:00 11:00 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:30 2:15 30 30 30 00 00 00 30 30 30 45 55 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:15 8:30 8:30 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:15 9:15 9:30 10:00 10:00 10:00 10:30 10:30 SUNDAY Eastern Time CBS: News NBC-Blue: News NBC-Red: Organ Recital NBC-Blue: Tone Pictures CBS: The World Today NBC: News from Europe CBS: From the Organ Loft NBC-Blue: White Rabbit Line NBC-Red: Deep River Boys NBC-Red: Words and Music CBS: Church of the Air NBC-Blue: Musical Millwheel NBC-Red: Radio Pulpit CBS: Wings Over Jordan NBC-Blue: Southernaires 11:06 CBS: News 11:00 NBC-Blue: News 11:05 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 11:30 12:00 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:30 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:30 3:15 3: 3: 3: 4: 4: 4: 4: 5: 5: 5: 6:45 7:15 9:15 CBS: Vera Brodsky NBC-Blue: Hidden History CBS: Invitation to Learning MBS: Radio Chapel NBC-Blue: Fiesta Music NBC-Red: Music and Youth CBS: Country Journal NBC-Blue: Foreign Policy Assn. NBC-Red: Second Guessers NBC-Blue: I'm an American CBS: Salt Lake City Tabernacle NBC-Blue: Radio City Music Hall NBC-Red: Emma Otero CBS: Church of the Air NBC-Red: Upton Close MBS: George Fisher NBC-Red: Silver Strings CBS: This is the Life NBC-Blue: Matinee with Lytell NBC-Red: The World is Yours 00 CBS: Spirit of '41 :00 NBC-Blue: Wake Up America 00 NBC-Red: Sammy Kaye 30 CBS: The World Today 30 NBC-Red: University of Chicago Round Table 00 CBS: N. Y. Philharmonic Orch. 00 NBC-Blue: JOSEF MARAIS 00 NBC-Red: Bob Becker NBC-Red: H. V. Kaltenborn 30 MBS: Disney Song Parade 30 NBC-Blue: Tapestry Musicale 30 NBC-Red: Listen America 00 NBC-Blue: Sunday Vespers 15 NBC-Red: Tony Wons :30 CBS: Pause that Refreshes :30 NBC-Blue: Behind the Mike 00 CBS: The Family Hour ;00 NBC-Blue: Moylan Sisters 00 NBC-Rcd: Metropolitan Auditions NBC-Blue: Olivio Santoro 30 MBS: The Shadow 30 NBC-Blue: Wheeling Steelmakers 30 NBC-Red: Living Diary 5:45 CBS: William L. Shirer 00 CBS: SILVER THEATER 00 NBC-Red: Catholic Hour 6:05 NBC-Blue: New Friends of Music :30 CBS: Gene Autry and Dear Mom :30 MBS: Bulldog Drummond :30 NBC-Blue: Pearson and Allen :30 NBC-Red: The Great Gildersleeve NBC-Blue: Mrs. F. D. Roosevelt NBC-Bluc: News from Europe NBC-Rcd: Jack Benny CBS: Public Affairs 7:30 CBS: Screen Guild Theater 7:30 NBC:-Blue: Capt. Flagg and Sgt. Quirt 7:30 NBC-Red: Fitch Bandwagon :OOCISS: HELEN HAYES :00 NHC-Kluc: Blue Echoes :00 NU( -Ri.l: CHARLIE MCCARTHY :30 CBS: Crime Doctor :30 NHC-Bluc: Inner Sanctum Mystery :30 NBC-Red: ONE MAN'S FAMILY :45 MBS: Gabriel Heatter :55 CHS Elmer Davis 9:00 CMS FORD HOUR 9:00 MKS: Old Fashioned Revival 9:00 NHC-Hlue: Walter Winchell 9:00 NBC-Rcd: Manhattan Merry-Go- Round NBC-Bluc: The Parker Family NliC-liluc: Irene Rich NBC-Kcrl: American Album of Familiar Music 9:45 NBC-Bluc: Dinah Shore :00 CHS Take It or Leave It :00 NKC-liliic: Goodwill Hour :00 Nl!( Kcrl: Hour of Charm 30 riiS Columbia Workihop 30 NIK -Kc'cl: Sherlock Holmes 00 CHS Headlines and Bylines OONiKJ: Dance Orchestra I N S I D EWm^^^'A D I O Dinah Shore's velvety voice has brought her stardom on a show of her own ON THE AIR TODAY: Dinah Shore, singing the newest popu- lar songs on NBC-Blue at 9:45 P.M., E.S.T., sponsored by Sal Hepatica and Minit Rub. Radio has its little jealousies, like any other business. Often, v/hen success comes, there are plenty of people to sneer and say it wasn't deserved. But nothing of the sort happened when Dinah Shore was elevated to stardom on this Sunday- night program of her own, in addition to remaining featured on Eddie Cantor's Wednesday -night shows. In the first place, everyone knew she was good enough to rate stardom. In the second place, she's so universally liked around the studios, personally, that everyone was tickled pink when she was promoted. Dinah's a tiny thing, with lustrous brown eyes and wavy brown hair. Dinah isn't her real name, but you can hardly blame her for changing it when you know that her parents christened her Fanny Rose. She re-christened herself after the popular song, and on her last trip to her home in Nashville, Tennessee, went to see a lawyer and had it made legal. Singing for her supper first appealed to Dinah when she was about ten, and ren- dered "I Can't Give You Anything but Love, Baby," at a meeting of her mother's ladies' aid society. The experience con- vinced her that nothing was quite as much fun as getting up and performing in front of an audience. So, although when she entered Vanderbilt University her parents thought she was studying to be a soci- ologist, Dinah herself wasn't fooled. She went ahead and got her degree, but she has never put it to any particular use. Instead, once out of school, she came to New York and had a very unpleasant year getting no place. This was discouraging, because she thought she was already a full-fledged radio performer, having sung frequently on WSM, down in Nashville. Finally she got a job singing on Martin Block's Make-Believe Ballroom, on a local station — but the job didn't pay any money to speak of. Then Lennie Hayton chose her out of fifty-odd applicants for a new radio show, but something happened and the show never reached the air. Just the fact that she'd been chosen for it, though, gave Dinah the boost she needed, and NBC signed her up. It was really the NBC program called the Chamber Music Society of Lower Basin Street that "made" Dinah. It's such a good show, and she did such good work on it, that in no time at all everyone who knew anything about popular music knew who Dinah Shore was. Dinah may be a big star now, but she still lives sensibly with her sister and brother-in-law in a New York suburban apartment. She isn't married, and cagily says she doesn't plan to be very soon, al- though she admits that there are at least a couple of young men in whom she's more than casually interested. Both are work- ing for Uncle Sam and wearing uniforms right now, and anyway, Dinah's rehearsals and broadcasts and recording sessions, plus an occasional personal appearance, don't give her much time for romance. II DATES TO REMEMBER November 30: Helen Jepson and Charles Hackett sing on the Ford Hour tonight on CBS at 9:00. . . . Artur Rodzinski directs the New York Philharmonic Orchestra in its gala centennial series— CBS at 3:00. December 7: Pianist Eugene List is the Ford Hour's guest tonight. December 14: Clark Gable stars in "The Great McGinty" tonight on the Screen Actors Guild program, CBS at 7:30. . . . And Richard Crooks sings on the Ford Hour. December 21: There'll be a lot of Christmas music on the air today. . . . The New York Philharmonic, with Dimitri Mitropoulos conducting, plans a full concert of seasonal numbers. ... So does the Ford Hour, with three guest stars, Anna Kaskas, Felix Knight and Walter Cassell. . . . Nelson Eddy and Ronald Colman appear on the Screen Actors Guild show in "The Juggler of Notre Dame." THE RADIO MIRROR ALMANAC 38 BADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR MONDAY 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:45 4:15 11:00 3:30 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 11:45 11:45 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:30 1:45 2:00 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:30 2:45 5:45 3:15 3:30 8:15 3:45 3:45 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:15 4:15 7:30 8:30 7:30 9:00 8:15 8:30 5:00 8:30 8:30 5:55 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:30 6:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:15 11:30 11:30 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:30 1:45 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:15 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:45 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:15 3:30 3:45 3:45 4:00 5:00 4:00 4:15 4:15 4:30 4:30 4:30 4:45 5:45 10:00 5:15 5:30 9:30 5:45 5:45 6:00 10:00 6:00 6:15 6:15 9:30 6:30 6:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:30 7:30 7:55 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30 8:30 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 Eastern Time NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB CBS: School of the Air CBS: Stories America Loves NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh CBS: Hymns of All Churches NBC-Red: Bess Johnson CBS: Myrt and Marge NBC-Blue: Helen Hiett NBC-Red: Bachelor's Children CBS: Stepmother NBC-Blue: A House in the Country NBC-Blue: Help Mate CBS: Woman of Courage NBC-Red: The Road of Life CBS: Treat Time NBC-Red: Mary Marlin CBS: The Man I Married NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family CBS: Bright Horizon NBC-Red: The Bartons CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories NBC-Blue: Alma Kitchell NBC-Red: David Harum CBS: KATE SMITH SPEAKS MBS: John B. Hughes NBC-Red: Words and Music CBS: Big Sister NBC-Red: The O'Neills CBS: Romance of Helen Trent NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour CBS: Our Gal Sunday CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful MBS: We Are Always Young CBS: Woman in White MBS: Government Girl NBC-Blue: Ted Malone CBS: Right to Happiness MBS: Front Page Farrell CBS: Road of Life MBS: I'll Find My Way CBS: Young Dr. Malone NBC-Red: Light of the World CBS: Girl Interne NBC-Red: The Mystery Man CBS: Fletcher Wiley NBC-Blue: into the Light NBC-Red: Valiant Lady CBS: Kate Hopkins NBC-Blue. Midstream NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter CBS: A Helping Hand NBC-Blue: Orphans of Divorce NBC-Red: Against the Storm CBS: News for Women NBC-Blue: Honeymoon Hill NBC-Red: Ma Perkins NBC-Blue: John's Other Wife NBC-Red: The Guiding Light NBC-Blue: Just Plain Bill NBC-Red: Vic and Sade CBS: Concert Orchestra NBC-Blue: Club Matinee NBC-Red: Backstage Wife NBC-Red: Stella Dallas NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones MBS: Boake Carter NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown CBS: Mary Marlin NBC-Blue: Adventure Stories NBC-Red: When a Girl Marries CBS: The Goldbergs NBC- Red: Portia Faces Life CBS: The O'Neills NBC-Blue: Wings on Watch NBC-Red: We the Abbotts CBS: Ben Bernie NBC-Blue: Tom Mix CBS: Edwin C. Hill CBS: Hedda Hopper CBS: Frank Parker NBC-Blue: Lum and Abner CBS: The World Today NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas NBC-Red: Paul Douglas CBS: Amos 'n' Andy NBC-Blue: Old Gold Show NBC-Red: Fred Waring's Gang 7:15 CBS: Lanny Ross 7:15 NBC-Red: European News 7:30 CBS: Blondie 7:30 MBS: The Lone Ranger 7:30 NBC-Red: Cavalcade of America 8:00 CBS: Vox Pop 8:00 MBS: Cal Tinney 8:00 NBC-Blue: I Love a Mystery 8:00 NBC-Red: The Telephone Hour 8:30 CBS: GAY NINETIES 8:30 NBC-Blue: True or False 8:30 NBC-Red: Voice of Firestone 8:55 CBS: Elmer Davis 9:00 CBS: LUX THEATER 9:00 MBS: Gabriel Heatter 9:00 NBC-Blue: National Radio Forum 9:00 NBC-Red: Doctor I. Q. 9:30 NBC-Blue: For America We Sing 9:30 NBC-Red: That Brewster Boy 10:00 CBS: Orson Welles 10:00 MBS: Raymond Gram Swing 10:00 NBC-Blue: Merry-Go-Round 10:00 NBC-Red: Contented Hour 10:15 MBS: Spotlight Bands 12:30 12:30 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:30 2:45 2:45 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:15 3:15 3:15 3:30 3:30 3:45 3:45 4:00 4:00 4:00 4:15 4:30 4:45 4:45 5:00 5:00 5:00 5:15 5:15 5:30 5:30 5:30 5:45 5:45 6:00 6:15 6:30 6:30 6:45 6:45 6:45 7:00 7:00 Brash Red SItel+on is a comedy highlight on NBC Tuesday night HAVE YOU TUNED IN... Red Skelton and his comedy variety show on NBC-Red Tuesday nights at 10:30, E.S.T., sponsored by Raleigh Cigarettes. You'd never guess from Red Skelton's breezy manner that his life has been as full of ups and downs as a fever-chart. Red had a first name — Richard — when he was a boy back in Vincennes, Indiana, but it disappeared when he joined a traveling medicine show at the age of ten as a ukulele player, singer and comedian. The others in the show took one look at his sunset-colored mop of hair and re- christened him. In between tours with the medicine show he managed to squeeze in enough lessons to finish grammar school, but then he hit the road for good, joining first a stock company, then a min- strel outfit, then a showboat. He was only seventeen when he mar- ried Edna Stillwell, a theater usherette. She is still Mrs. Skelton, and as clever as she is pretty, which is saying a lot. With Edna, Red turned to a new branch of show business, walkathons, and for some time managed a precarious living by acting as master of ceremonies while Edna was the cashier. That particular manifestation of national idiocy finally died out, and Red wangled himself a screen test, which was completely unsuccessful. So in 1935 Red and Edna went into vaudeville, Edna writ- ing the comedy material and Red deliver- ing it on the stage. One bit of comedy had to do with the proper method of dunking doughnuts, and some movie producers thought it was so funny they gave Red a part in Ginger Rogers' picture, "Having Wonderful Time," on the strength of it. It didn't seem so funny on the screen, and Red deserted movies, temporarily, for radio. He was star of Avalon Time for a year, then signed a contract with MGM, made a smash hit in "Whistling in the Dark," and now is back on the air once more. It looks as though the lean years are over for good. The Tuesday-night broadcasts are pretty much family affairs. Edna still writes Red's comedy scripts, and there is another happily married couple on the show — Ozzie Nelson, who leads the band, and Harriet Hilliard, who sings the songs. DATES TO REMEMBER December 2: The NBC Symphony Orches- tra has a new conductor for its concert tonight — Juan Jose Castro, from Buenos Aires. December 23: Another new conductor for the NBC Symphony, starting tonight, is Sir Ernest MacMillan of Toronto, Canada. I- i/i el 1:30 8:45 8:30 10:15 10:30 1:45 12:45 10:45 2:45 12:00 11:00 11:15 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:45 4:15 11:00 3:30 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 11:45 11:45 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:45 2:00 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:30 2:45 5:45 3:30 8:15 3:45 3:45 8:00 9:00 8:00 8:15 4:15 4:15 4:30 6:00 8:30 7:30 8:30 5:30 5:55 9:00 6:00 6:00 9:30 6:30 6:30 6:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:15 7:30 7:45 U) u 8:00 2:30 8:45 8:45 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:15 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:30 9:45 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:45 10:45 11:00 11:00 11:15 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:30 1:45 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:30 2:45 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:15 3:30 3:30 3:45 3:45 4:00 5:00 4:00 4:15 4:15 4:30 4:30 4:30 4:45 5:45 10:00 5:15 5:30 9:30 5:45 5:45 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:15 6:15 6:15 6:30 6:30 6:45 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:30 7:55 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30 8:30 8:30 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:30 9:45 TUESDAY Eastern Time 8:30 NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn 00 NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB School of the Air CBS: CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: MBS: CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: CBS: MBS: CBS: MBS: NBC- CBS: MBS: CBS: MBS: CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- CBS; NBC- NBC- NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- MBS NBC- CBS: .\BC- NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: CBS: CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: CBS: MBS NBC- NBC- Stories America Loves Red: Edward MacHugh Hymns of all Churches Red: Bess Johnson Myrt and Marge Blue: Helen Hiett Red: Bachelor's Children Stepmother Blue: A House in the Country Red: Help Mate Woman of Courage Red: The Road of Life 30 30 45 45 45 00 00 00 15 15 15 30 30 45 00 00 00 30 30 55 00 00 00 00 30 CBS: 30 NBC N BC- CBS: MBS N BC MBS NBC 45 CBS: Mary Lee Taylor ■Red: Mary Marlin The Man I Married -Red: Pepper Young's Family Bright Horizon -Red: The Bartons Aunt Jenny's Stories -Red: David Harum Kate Smith Speaks John B. Hughes Big Sister Red: The O'Neills Romance of Helen Trent Blue: Farm and Home Hour Our Gal Sunday Life Can Be Beautiful We Are Always Young Woman in White Government Girl Blue: Ted Malone Right to Happiness Front Page Farrell Road of Life I'll Find My Way Young Dr. Malone Red: Light of the World Girl Interne Red: The Mystery Man Fletcher Wiley Blue: Into the Light Red: Valiant Lady Kate Hopkins Blue: Midstream Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter A Helping Hand Blue: Orphans of Divorce Red: Against the Storm Blue: Honeymoon Hill Red: Ma Perkins Renfro Valley Folks Blue: John's Other Wife Red: The Guiding Light Blue: Just Plain Bill Red: Vic and Sade Rochester Symphony] Blue: Club Matinee Red: Backstage Wife Red: Stella Dallas News Red: Lorenzo Jones Boake Carter Red: Young Widder Brown Mary Marlin Blue: Adventure Stories Red: When a Girl Marries The Goldbergs Red: Portia Faces Life The O'Neills Blue: Wings on Watch Red: We the Abbotts Ben Bernie Blue: Tom Mix Edwin C. Hill Dorothy Kilgallen Bob Edge Blue: Lum and Abner The World Today Blue: Lowell Thomas Red: Paul Douglas Amos 'n' Andy Blue: EASY ACES Red: Fred Waring's Gang Lanny Ross Blue: Mr. Keen Red: European News Helen Menken Red: Burns and Allen Red: H. V. Kaltenborn Are You a Missing Heir Blue: Treasury Hour Red: Johnny Presents Bob Burns Red: Horace Heidt Elmer Davis We. the People Gabriel Heatter Blue: Famous Jury Trials Red: Battle of the Sexes Report to the Nation Blue: NBC SYMPHONY Red: McGee and Molly Glenn Miller Raymond Gram Swing Red BOB HOPE Spotlight Bands Red: Red Skelton News of the World PROGRAMS FROM NOV. 26 TO DEC. 25 JANUAEY, 1942 39 1:3Q 8:45 8:30 10:15 1:15 10:30 1:45 12:45 8:00 2:45 12:00 11:00 U 8:00 2:30 8:45 8:45 9:15 9:15 9:15 WEDNESDAY Eastern Time 8:30. NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn 9:00 NBC-Blue: Breakfast Club 9:15 CBS: School of the Air 9:45 CBS: Stories America Loves 9:45|NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh 10:00 CBS: Betty Crocker NBC-Red: Bess Johnson 10:15 10:15 10:15 9:30 10:30 9:30 10:30 9:30 10:30 9:45 9:45 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:45 10:45 9:00 11:00 9:00 11:00 9:00 11:00 9:15 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:45 4:15 11:00 3:30 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 11:45 11:45 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:30 12:45 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 2:0« 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:30 2:45 5:45 3:15 3:30 3:45 3:45 8:00 9:00 4:00 8:15 4:15 4:15 4:30 8:30 9:00 8:15 8:00 8:00 8:30 8:30 8:30 5:55 9:00 6:00 6:00 9:00 6:30 9:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:15 7:15 7:30 7:30 7:4S 11:15 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:30 1:45 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:15 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:30 2:45 2:45 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:15 3:30 3:30 3:45 3:45 4:00 5:00 4:00 4:15 4:15 4:30 4:30 4:30 4:45 5:45 10:00 5:15 5:30 5:45 ;iS 5:45 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:15 6:15 6:15 6:30 6:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:30 7:30 7:55 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30 8:30 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:15 10:45 10:45 10:45 11:00 11:00 11:15 11:15 11 11 11:45 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:30 2:45 2:45 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:15 3:15 3:15 3:30 3:30 3:30 3:45 3:45 3:45 4:00 4:00 4:00 4:15 4:30 4:30 4:45 4:45 5:00 5:00 5:00 5:15 5:15 5:30 5:30 5:30 5:45 5:45 6:00 6:15 6:30 6:45 6:45 6:45 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:15 7:15 7:15 7:30 7:30 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30 8:30 8:30 8:55 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:30 9:30 10:00 10:00 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:30 9:30|10:30 9:4s|lO:4S 40 CBS: Myrt and Marge NBC-Blue: Helen Hiett NBC-Red: Bachelor's Children CBS: Stepmother NBC-Blue: A House in the Country NBC-Red: Help Mate CBS: Woman of Courage NBC-Blue: Prescott Presents NBC-Red: The Road of Life CBS: Treat Time NBC-Red: Mary Marlin CBS: The Man I Married NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family CBS: Bright Horizon NBC-Red: The Bartons CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories NBC-Red: David Harum CBS: Kate Smith Speaks MBS: John B. Hughes NBC-Red: Words and Music CBS: Big Sister NBC-Red: The O'Neills CBS: Romance of Helen Trent NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour CBS: Our Gal Sunday CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful MBS: We Are Always Young CBS: Woman in White MBS: Government Girl NBC-Blue: Ted Malone CBS: Right to Happiness MBS: Front Page Farrell CBS: Road of Life MBS: I'll Find My Way CBS: Young Dr. Malone NBC-Red: Light of the World CBS; Girl Interne NBC-Red: The Mystery Man CBS: Fletcher Wiley NBC-Blue: into the Light NBC-Red: Valiant Lady CBS: Kate Hopkins NBC-Blue: Midstream NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter CBS: A Helping Hand NBC-Blue: Orphans of Divorce NBC-Red: Against the Storm CBS: News for Women NBC-Blue: Honeymoon Hill NBC-Red: Ma Perkins CBS: Renfro Valley Folks NBC-Blue: John's Other Wife NBC-Red: The Guiding Light CBS: Highways to Health NBC-Blue: Just Plain Bill NBC-Red: Vic and Sade CBS: CBS Concert Hall NBC-Blue: Club Matinee NBC-Red: Backstage Wife NBC-Red: Stella Dallas CBS: News NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones MBS: Boake Carter NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown CBS: Mary Marlin NBC-Blue: Adventure Stories NBC-Red: When a Girl Marries CBS: The Goldbergs NBC-Red: Portia Faces Life CBS: The O'Neills NBC-Blue: Wings on Watch NBC-Red: We the Abbotts CBS: Ben Bernie NBC-Blue: Tom Mix CBS: Edwin C. Hill CBS: Hedda Hopper CBS: Frank Parker CBS: The World Today NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas NBC-Red: Paul Douglas CBS: Amos 'n' Andy NBC-Blue: EASY ACES NBC-Red: Fred Waring's Gang CBS: Lanny Ross NBC-Blue: Mr. Keen NBC-Red: European News CBS: Meet Mr. Meek MBS: The Lone Ranger ( BS: BIG TOWN MBS: Cal Tinney NHC-Blue: Quiz Kids NBC-Kcd: The Thin Man CFiS: Dr. Christian NBC'-Hlue: Manhattan at Midnight NB(;-I<<:d: Plantation Party CliS: Elmer Davis CBS: FRED ALLEN MBS: Gabriel Hoatter NBC-BIuc: Basin Street Music NBC-Red: Eddie Cantor NBC-Blue: Penthouse Party NBC-Red: Mr. District Attorney ( BS: Glenn Miller MBS: Raymond Gram Swing NBC-Bhic: American Melody Hour NBC-Ki'l: Kay Kyser CBS Public Affairs MBS: Spotlight Bands CHS: Juan Arvlzu NllC-Ulue: Ahead of Headllnai CBS: Newt of the World Alice Reinheart created Chichi in popular Life Can Be Beautiful HAVE YOU TUNED IN... Alice Reinheart, our cover girl on this issue, who stars as Chichi in Life Can Be Beautiful over CBS at 1:00 P.M., E.S.T., sponsored by Ivory. It's a wonder that Alice Reinheart is able to keep herself in New York within reach of a microphone. Because ever since she was a youngster — called "Shrimp" by her classmates — she has been a willing victim of the wanderlust. It took her no time at all to leave her home in California and get to New York where she was fea- tured in a Broadway play, but even that didn't satisfy her, and she traveled all over Europe. Now, however, it looks as though she has settled down for good. She created the role of Chichi when Life Can Be Beautiful first went on the air, and has become so closely identified with it that listeners probably would revolt if she ever left the show. Besides, she is now Mrs. Burke Miller, wife of an NBC executive, with a home of her own. That makes a difference. Alice once studied journalism, and maybe that's why she is almost as in- terested in reading and writing as she is in acting. She has a hobby that sounds more like work. She wasn't always able to buy all the books she wanted, so in 1928 she began a scrapbook, which now runs into the fifth volume. Each huge book is filled with quotations and excerpts from the world's greatest literature, all copied out in Alice's neat, small handwriting. In many languages are hundreds of sen- tences, paragraphs or chapters first writ- ten by such widely different people as Maeterlinck, Homer, Krishna, Confucius, Rabindranath Tagore, and Will Rogers. Besides her scrapbooks, Alice owns a huge library, and books fill every spare corner of her home. All this intellectuality doesn't keep her from being superstitious enough to cross her fingers whenever she walks on wood placed the long way, or from being femi- nine enough to like expensive clothes. She's truly independent, and doesn't care a great deal whether people like her or not — but they usually do. DATES TO REMEMBER November 27: There'll be hilarity and good-fellowship at Duffy's Tavern to- night— enjoy them by tuning in CBS at 8:30. December 24: It's Christmas Eve, and CBS presents its annual program of carols, with famous guest singers, be- tween midnight and 1 A.M., E.S.T. December 25: Nobody needs to be told what day this is. There'll be a lot of special programs. . . . One of the most interesting is a play by William Saroyan, called "There's Something I Got to Tell You," on CBS from 10:15 until 10:45 tonight. 8: 10: 1: 10: 1:45 12:45 THURSDAY 1:30 8:45 11:00 11:15 10:45 Eastern Time ui u 8:00 9:00 8:30 2:30 2:00 45 00 00 00 15 15 15 30 00 30 00 30 00 30 00 5:55 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:15 9:15 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:45 NBC-Red' Gene and Glenn NBC-Blue: Breakfast Club CBS: School of the Air CBS: Stories America Loves NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh CBS: Hymns of all Churches NBC-Blue: Musical Millwheel NBC-Red: Bess Johnson CBS: Myrt and Marge NBC-Blue: Helen Hiett NBC-Red: Bachelor's Children CBS: Stepmother NBC-Blue: A House in the Country NBC-Red: Help Mate CBS: Woman of Courage NBC-Blue: Prescott Presents NBC-Red: The Road of Life CBS: Mary Lee Taylor NBC-Red: Mary Marlin CBS: The Man I Married NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family CBS: Bright Horizon NBC-Blue: Richard Kent NBC-Red: The Bartons CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories NBC-Red: David Harum CBS: Kate Smith Speaks MBS: John B. Hughes NBC-Red: Words and Music CBS: Big Sister NBC-Red: The O'Neills CBS: Romance of Helen Trent NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour CBS: Our Gal Sunday CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful MBS: We Are Always Young CBS: Woman in White MBS: Government Girl NBC-Blue: Ted Malone NBC-Red: Pin Money Party CBS: Right to Happiness MBS: Front Page Farrell CBS: Road of Life MBS: I'll Find My Way CBS: Young Dr. Malone ■ NBC-Red: Light of the World '~, CBS: Girl Interne NBC-Red: The Mystery Man CBS: Fletcher Wiley NBC-Blue: Into the Light NBC-Red: Valiant Lady CBS: Kate Hopkins NBC-Blue: Midstream NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter CBS: A Helping Hand NBC-Blue: Orphans of Divorce NBC-Red: Against the Storm NBC-Blue: Honeymoon Hill NBC-Red: Ma Perkins CBS; Renfro Valley Folks NBC-Blue: John's Other Wife NBC-Red: The Guiding Light CBS: Adventures in Science NBC-Blue: Just Plain Bill NBC-Red: Vic and Sade CBS: Cincinnati Conservatory NBC-Blue: Club Matinee NBC-Red: Backstage Wife NBC-Red: Stella Dallas CBS: News NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones MBS: Boake Carter NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown CBS: Mary Marlin NBC-Blue: Adventure Stories NBC-Red: When a Girl Marries CBS: The Goldbergs NBC-Red: Portia Faces Life CBS: The O'Neills NBC-Blue: Wings on Watch NBC-Red: We the Abbotts CBS: Ben Bernie NBC-Blue: Tom Mix CBS: Edwin C. Hill CBS: William L. Shirer NBC-Blue: Lum and Abner NBC-Red: Heirs of Liberty CBS: The World Today NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas NBC-Red: Paul Douglas CBS: Amos 'n' Andy NBC-Blue: EASY ACES NBC-Red: Fred Waring's Gang CBS: Lanny Ross NBC-Blue: Mr. Keen NBC-Red: European News CBS: Maudie's Diary NBC-Red: Xavier Cugat NBC-Red: H. V. Kaltenborn CBS: Death Valley Days NBC-Blue: March of Time NBC-Red: Maxwell House Show CBS: Duffy's Tavern NBC-Blue: Service With a Smile NBC-Red: THE ALDRICH FAMILY CBS: Elmer Davis CBS: Major Bowes Hour MBS: Gabriel Heatter NBC-Blue: Hillman and Clapper NBC-Red: KRAFT M^SIC HALL NBC-Blue: AMERICA'S TOWN MEETING CBS: Glenn Miller NBC-Red: Rudy Vallee CBS: Professor Quiz MBS: Spotlight Bands NBC-Red: Frank Fay CBS: News of the World RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR FRIDAY lA 8:00 2:30 8:15 8:45 8:45 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:15 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:30 9:45 9:45 9:45 8:0010:00 2:4i 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 Eastern Time a. l:3o| 8:45 8:30 10:15' l:15l 10:30 1:45 12:45 11:15 10:45 10:45 11:00 9:0011:00 9:00 11:00 9:15 9:l5 9:30 9:30 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:1S 10:xS 10:1$ 10:30 10:30 10:45 4:15 11:00 11. Oi) 3:30 ll:l5 11:30 11:30 11:45 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:45 2:00 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:30 2:45 5:45 3:15 3:30 8:15 3:45 3:45 8:00 8:00 8:15 4:15 7:30 8:30 7:30 9:00 5:00 5:55 8:30 6:00 8:30 6:00 6:30 6:30 6:30 6:30 6:55 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:15 7:45 11:15 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:15 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:30 2:45 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:15 3:15 3:30 3:30 3:45 3:45 4:00 5:00 4:00 4:15 4:15 4:30 4:30 4:30 4:45 5:45 10:00 5:15 5:30 9:30 5:45 5:45 6:00 6:00 6:15 6:15 6:30 6:30 9:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:55 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30 8:30 8:30 8:30 8:55 9:00 9:00 9:00 Gene and Glenn NBC-Blue: Breakfast Club CBS: School of the Air NBC-Red: Isabel Manning Hewson CBS: Stories America Loves NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh CBS: Betty Crocker NBC-Blue: Musical Millwheel NBC-Red: Bess Johnson CBS: Myrt and Marge NBC-Blue: Helen HIett NBC-Red: Bachelor's Children CBS: Stepmother NBC-Blue: A House in the Country NBC-Red: Help Mate CBS: Woman of Courage NBC-Blue: Prescoit Presents NBC-Red: The Road of Life CBS: Treat Time NBC-Red: Mary Marlin CBS: The Man I Married NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family CBS: Bright Horizon NBC-Red: The Bartons CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories NBC-Red: David Harum CBS: Kate Smith Speaks MBS: John B. Hughes NBC-Red: Words and Music CBS: Big Sister NBC-Red: The O'Neills CBS: Romance of Helen Trent NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour CBS: Our Gal Sunday CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful MBS: We Are Always Young CBS: Woman in White MBS: Government Girl NBC-Blue: Ted Maione CBS: Right to Happiness MBS: Front Page Farrell CBS: MBS 4:00 4:00 4:00 4:15 4:15 4:30 4:30 4:45 4:45 5:00 5:00 5:00 5:15 5:15 5:30 5:30 5:30 5:45 5:45 6:00 6:15 6:30 6:30 6:45 6:45 6:45 7:00 7:00 7:15 7:15 7:30 7:30 7:30 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30 8:55 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:30 9:30 9:30 9:30 Road of Life I'll Find My Way CBS: Young Dr. Maione NBC-Blue: Music Appreciation NBC-Red: Light of the World CBS: Girl Interne NBC-Red: Mystery Man CBS: Fletcher Wiley NBC- Red: Valiant Lady CBS: Kate Hopkins NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter CBS: A Helping Hand NBC-Blue: Orphans of Divorce NBC-Red: Against the Storm CBS: News for Women NBC-Blue: Honeymoon Hill NBC-Red: Ma Perkins CBS: Renfro Valley Folks NBC-Blue: John's Other Wife NBC-Red: The Guiding Light NBC-Blue: Just Plain Bill NBC-Red: Vic and Sade CBS: Pop Concert NBC-Blue: Club Matinee NBC-Red: Backstage Wife CBS: Highways to Health NBC-Red: Stella Dallas 9:55 10:00 10:00 10:00 9:15 10:15 9:45|l0:45 CBS: News NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones MBS: Boake Carter NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown CBS: Mary Marlin NBC-Blue: Adventure Stories NBC-Red: When a Girl Marries CBS: The Goldbergs NBC-Red: Portia Faces Life CBS: The O'Neills NBC-Blue: Wings on Watch NBC-Red: We the Abbotts CBS: Ben Bernie NBC-Blue: Tom Mix CBS: Edwin C. Hill CBS: Hedda Hopper CBS: Frank Parker NBC-Blue: Lum and Abner CBS: The World Today NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas NBC-Red: Paul Douglas CBS: Amos 'n' Andy NBC-Red: Fred Waring's Gang CBS: Lanny Ross NBC-Red: European News CBS: Al Pearce MBS: The Lone Ranger NBC-Red: Grand Central Station CBS: KATE SMITH HOUR NBC-Blue: Auction Quiz NBC-Red: Cities Service Concert NBC-Red: INFORMATION PLEASE CBS: Elmer Davis CBS: MBS: NBC- NBC- CBS: MBS; NBC- NBC- CBS: CBS: MBS: NBC- Philip Morris Playhouse Gabriel Heatter Blue: Gang Busters Red: Waltz Time First Nighter Three Ring Time Blue: Michael and Kitty Red: Uncle Walter's Dog House Ginny Simms Shirley Temple (Dec. S) Raymond Gram Swing Red: Wings of Destiny SATURDAY MBS: Spotlight Bands CBS: Newt of the World This is Milton Berle's idea of co-star Laughton as Capt. Bligh HAVE YOU TUNED IN... Three-Ring Time, starring Milton Berle and Charles Laughton, with Shirley Ross and Bob Crosby's band, sponsored by Ballantine's Beer. Until and including the broadcast of December 5, this comedy-variety show will be on Mutual network stations, Fri- day nights at 9:30, E.S.T., but on Decem- ber 12 it changes networks and time, mov- ing to NBC-Blue at 8:30. Milton Berle is one of those comedians who go on the theory that if you tell enough jokes, and tell them fast enough, some of them are bound to be good, and those that aren't so good will be quickly forgotten. He can tell five jokes a minute on any given subject, going on that way for a couple of hours without repeating himself. Frequently he delivers a clinker, as when he introduced his mother to the studio audience as "The Ziegfeld Berle," but on the other hand he often comes up with a story like the one about the actor who went to the premiere of his new picture at Grauman's Chinese Theater, where the cement courtyard is full of stars' footprints. "The picture was so bad," Milton relates, "that when the star came out of the theater his own footprints kicked him in the pants." Charles Laughton's comic style is quieter than Milton's, and toward the end of the show he stops being funny entirely and presents a serious reading of some well- known poem or piece of literature. For this part of the program a bright spot- light is focused on Charles as he stands alone in the center of the stage. It's a dramatic effect, but that isn't the only reason it's used. The reading requires intense concentration, and the bright light has the effect of shutting off all the other people on the stage and in the audience from Charles so that he feels quite alone and able to concentrate. DATES TO REMEMBER November 28: Mutual has a prizefight scheduled for tonight at 10:00, between George Abrams and Tony Zale, middle- weights. November 29: The Metropolitan Opera broadcasts start today, direct from the Met's stage in New York. NBC-Blue is the network, 2: 00 P. M., E.S.T. December 5: Listen to Shirley Temple tonight in one of the four weekly broadcasts she's giving during Decem- ber. She's on CBS at 10:00, E.S.T. December 6: Arturo Toscanini conducts the first of two symphony concerts to- night at 9:30 on NBC-Blue, to aid the sale of Defense Bonds. December 20: For the eighth consecutive year, Nila Mack presents her famous Christmas play. House of the World, on her CBS program, Let's Pretend. Listen at 1:00 P.M. 10:30 10:00 8:05 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:15 8:30 8:30 9:00 Eastern Time 8:00 CBS: The World Today 8:00 NBC: News 8:15 8:30 8:45 8:45 8:45 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:30 9:30 10:00 9:00 10:00 9:00110:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 10:30 9:30 9:30 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:30 10:30 10:45 11:00 11:00 11:00 12:00 12:15 12:30 1:00 1:30 2:00 2:00 3:00 3:00 3:30 3:30 3:45 3:45 3:45 4:00 4:00 4:00 4:30 4:30 4:30 4:45 8:00 5:00 8:30 8:30 5:30 8:00 NBC-Red: Hank Lawsen NBC-Red: Dick Leibert CBS: Adelaide Hawley NBC-Blue: String Ensemble NBC-Red: Deep River Soys CBS: Press News NBC-Blue: Breakfast Club NBC-Red: News NBC-Red: Market Basket CBS: Old Dirt Dobber NBC-Red: New England Music CBS: Burl Ives NBC-Blue: Musical Millwheel NBC-Red: Let's Swing 9:00 6:00 6:00 6:30 6:45 7:00 7:00 7:15 7:15 7:30 7:45 10:15 NBC-Red: Happy Jack 9:30 10:30 CBS: Jones and I 9:30 10:30 NBC-Red: America the Free 10:00 11:00 NBC-Red: Lincoln Highway 10:05 11:05 CBS: Kay Thompson 10:30 11:30 CBS: Dorothy Kilgallen 10:30 11:30 NBC-Blue: Our Barn 10:30 11:30 NBC-Red: Vaudeville Theater CBS: Hillbilly Champions 11:00 12:00 CBS: Theater of Today 11:00 12:00 NBC-Red: News 12:15 NBC-Red: Consumer Time 11:30 12:30 CBS: Stars Over Hollywood 11:30 12:30 NBC-Blue: Farm Bureau 11:30 12:30 NBC-Red: Call to Youth 11:45 12:45 NBC-Red: Matinee in Rhythm 12:00 1:00 CBS: Let's Pretend 12:00 1:00 MBS: We Are Always Young MBS: Government Girl 12:30 1:30 CBS: Brush Creek Follies 12:30 1:30 NBC-Blue: Vincent Lopez 12:45 1:45 MBS: I'll Find My. Way 1:00 2:00 CBS: Buffalo Presents 1:00 2:00 NBC-Blue: METROPOLITAN OPERA 1:00 2:00 NBC-Red: Gordon Jenkins Orch. 2:00 3:00 NBC-Red: Campus Capers 2:15 3:15 NBC-Red: Patti Chapin 2:30 3:30 NBC-Red: Golden Melodies 3:00 4:00 NBC-Red: Weekend Whimsy 3:30 4:30 NBC-Red: A Boy, A Girl, A Band 4-00 5:00 CBS: Matinee at Meadowbrook 4:00 5:00 NBC-Blue: Glenn Miller 5:00 6:00 CBS: Calling Pan-America 5:00 6:00 NBC-Blue: Dance Music 5-30 6:30 CBS: Elmer Davis 5:30 6:30 NBC-Red: Art of Living 5-45 6:45 CBS: The World Today 5-45 6:45 NBC-Blue: Edward Tomllnson 5:45 6:45 NBC-Red: Paul Douglas 6-00 7:00 CBS: People's Platform 6'00 7:00 NBC-Blue: Message of Israel 6:00 7:00 NBC-Red: Defense for America 6-30 7:30 CBS: Wayne King 6-30 7:30 NBC-Blue: Little 01' Hollywood 6:30 7:30 NBC-Red: Sammy Kaye 6:45 7:45 NBC-Red: H. V. Kaltenborn 7-00 8:00 CBS: Guy Lombardo 7-00 8-00 NBC-Blue: Boy Meets Band 7:00 8:00 NBC-Red: Knickerbocker Playhouse 7:30 8:30 CBS: Hobby Lobby 7:30 8:30 NBC-Bluc: Bishop and the Gargoyle 7:30 8:30 NBC-Red: Truth or Consequences 7:45 8:45 MBS: Chicago Theater 8:00 9:00 CBS: YOUR HIT PARADE 8:00 9:00 NBC-Bhie: Spin and Win 8:00 9:00 NBC-Red: National Barn Dance 8:30 9:30 NBC-Blue: Frank Black Presents 8:45 9:45 CBS: Saturday Night Serenade 9:00 10:00 NBC-Blue: Hemisphere Revue 9:00 10:00 NBC-Red: Bill Stern Sports Review 9:15 10:15 CBS: Public AHairs 9:15 10:15 MBS: Spotlight Bands 9:30 1:30 NBC-Red: Hot Copy 9:45 10:45 CBS: News of the World JANUARY, 1942 41 ^ The ugly, snub-nosed machine gun blazed away, spitting forth bullets at the chest of the Man of Steel. Bill went on with his story. "A couple of our boys disguised as brakemen were on the gold train. We just switched . . ." Just as Superman reached Van Doren, the thief pulled the trigger, sending the bullet straight toward the box of dynamite, but . . . 42 CLARK KENT and Lois Lane, star reporters of the Daily Planet, reached Metropolis' railroad terminal just as the special freight from Bolton pulled in. The station echoed with the noise of hundreds of curious spectators. Press photographers, cameras held high, were already in position. Clark and his companion hurriedly answered quick hello's from their fellow reporters. The atmosphere was heavy with tension. All of them were waiting — waiting for the arrival of a strange cargo: Somewhere in that long line of freights jerking along the tracks was a specially armored car. A car carrying five million dollars in gold! The engine halted. The wheels stopped turning. The cars were motionless. The guards, ready on the plat- form, ran to reach the sealed car. But there, ahead of them even, was Reginald Van Doren, president of the Metropolis National Bank. And Kent watching that small group, saw them reel back in frightened amazement. The treasure car gone — vanished! But how? The train had made no stops — the precious shipment had been sand- wiched in between 100 other cars. But it was gone! The reporter left the station. He could do nothing more in the disguise of Clark Kent. He must become, once again. Superman! Superman, that champion of the weak and oppressed who walked the earth as a mild, spectacled reporter. He reached a deserted stretch just outside the terminal and, in a flash, the tall blue-costumed figure leaped high into the air. Flying with the speed of light- ning. Superman followed the tracks from Metropolis to Bolton searching every inch of the way with the sweeping intensity of his x-ray eyes. Back and forth he went, but, after 15 minutes, he knew it was useless. Kent returned to the office of the Planet, curious to learn if Editor White had heard anything that might help solve the mystery. He hadn't. He could tell them only that Bank President Van Doren seemed close to collapse — the loss of $5,000,000 would mean his bank would be forced to close its doors. Superman listened to White's report, then, excusing himself quickly, he left the Planet building. There was no indecision in his quick, swinging walk. He was on his way to take another look at the tracks between Bolton and Metropolis. He had reached the main curve in the tracks, when — "Now — this is the spot where I'll see if my theory is right. Let's see . . . the tracks run along the base of this mountain . . . Wait! There's a movement in the brush near that track!" Speedily, he crouched low behind a thicket as the crackling of the mountain brush near the track grew louder. Then, sure now that his suspicion had been correct, he saw a brush heap pushed aside and a man emerge from a hole dug into the side of the mountain. Springing out, Superman ordered the man to halt. The stranger whirled, pulling out an automatic as he turned. His words were slow and threatening: "C'mon bud — you're comin' with me. I ain't lettin' you go back to town and start blabbing about this tunnel." Superman's first impulse was to laugh at the threat. But then, realizing that this was his opportunity for an inspection trip, he meekly agreed to follow his "captor." The entrance, hidden behind the brush, was large but very well concealed. They stepped into a large well-furnished room, filled with tough, vicious-looking men. They listened to the story of Superman's capture. He, ignoring them, studied the huge cave. His eyes widened when he saw a com- pletely equipped short-wave sending and receiving out- fit. But far more astonishing was what he saw in the dim shadows in the rear. It was the missing freight car! His attention was fastened on the object of his search until, with his super-senses, he felt a man creeping up behind him. He didn't fiinch or move as, out of the cor- ner of his eye, he saw a heavy iron crowbar lifted high in two strong hands come straight down for his head! There was a dull, sickening thud but Superman only smiled. A new unbelieving look of fear came into the face of the one they called Muggsy. He could hardly speak: "Bill! Did you see that? I came up behind — hit him over the head with that iron bar — and he's not even hurt! And look at this bar— bent in two!" Superman chuckled, then his voice became serious: "I see all you men are starting to produce guns. They'll do you no good." "We'll see about that. C'mon — let him have it with those tommy-guns!" The ugly, snub-nosed machine guns blazed away. But the bullets bounced uselessly off (Continued on page 51) RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR // you've missed Hal Kemp's style of music, you can now hear it under the baton of Art Jarrett, left, along with his Irish tenor voice. Right, Art's vocalist, Gail Robbins. __ HERE'S always an army of over-enthusiastic followers for any new band. Sometimes this prema- ture endorsement does more harm than good and the band fails to live up to its advance reputation. This season has seen many a promis- ing musical group falter on the road to success, unable to fulfill the glow- ing promises made by their Tin Pan Alley prophets. But one young out- fit that has made the grade is Vaughn Monroe's. And here's proof. Last May when they played New York's Paramount theater they were paid an estimated $3,000. When they return there on December 17, the price is a reported $7,500. Enoch Light, who has been off the bandstand more than a year as a result of a serious auto accident, is rehearsing a new band. Another victim of illness, Al Donahue, is fully recuperated and reorganizing his band. Guy Lombardo is quite serious about giving his fifteen-year-old sister. Rose Marie, a singing role in the band. Right now she's being carefully coached. The Lombardos are still packing them in at the Hotel Roosevelt, New York, where they're practically an institution. Latest band to make a movie is Charlie Barnet's. They're working on the Universal lot. The new $1,000,000 Coca-Cola series on Mutual has every band in the country angling for an appearance. Different bands are used every night, with the Saturday night broadcast spot assigned to the band who rolled up the largest phonograph record sales the previous week. These fig- ures are compiled by a certified public accountant and 300 record dealers in 48 states are polled every week. JANUARY, 1942 The rumor-mongers whisper that the Harry James' are splitting. They also insist that Helen Forrest will join the James band as vocalist. Barry Wood's new Lucky Strike renewal gives him a run of three years on The Hit Parade. THIS CHANGING WORLD: Jan Savitt booked for Chicago's Sherman House . . . Billy Butter- field, one of the great trumpeters of our time, now tooting for Artie Shaw . . . Bob Troup, the young Philadelphian who composed "Daddy," is now a permanent mem- ber of Sammy Kaye's band . . . Orrin Tucker has signed a new sister team of warblers, 'The Gourleys, aged 14, 15, 17, and 20 . . . Ben Yost, the choral director, turning his attention toward radio work . . . Paula Kelly, an able canary, is singing for Artie Shaw . . . Johnny Messner stays at the McAlpin Hotel in New York until May with an MBS wire . . . Colored singer Billie Holiday married Jimmy Monroe . . . Harry James' vocalist Dick Haymes has wed Joanne Marshall and Andy lona, the Hawaiian bandsman, put a ring on dancer Leimoni Woodd's finger. Carl Hoff believes his decision to lead a dance band instead of a radio unit, has been justified. He's now on a long tour and his Okeh records are best-sellers. The music and lyrics for the new George Abbott hit, "Best Foot For- ward," were composed by Ralph Blane and Hugh Martin, who are members of the radio rhythm group. The Martins. Hal Kemp's mother is writing a By KEN ALDEN biography about her son. Discordant note: Trombonist Jack Jenney is bankrupt, result of an un- successful bandleading venture. He's now playing under Artie Shaw. A few weeks ago Shep Fields tuned in a local New York radio station to listen to some popular music. He heard an unknown songstress do one song. Then he contacted the radio station and told them to hold the singer until he got there. A few hours later Ann Perry had signed a contract to sing with Shep. Larry Clinton under a similar situation dis- covered Bea Wain a few years ago. There's still time to cast a ballot for your favorite dance band in the Radio Mirror facing the Music poll to determine the most popular or- chestra of 1941. You'll find a ballot at the end of this column. Last year's winner was Sammy Kaye. Kay Kyser has still not made a decision on the successor to Ginny Sims in his band. JARRETT CARRIES ON ONLY six musicians were left from Hal Kemp's band when singer Art Jarrett spoke to them one eventful night last Spring. The rest had drifted away, tired of waiting for a decision on a successor to the well- liked Carolinian who met an untimely death in December, 1940. Most of the boys took Hal's loss pretty hard, and there were amop.g them a few who could not reconcile themselves to a new leader. Little Jackie Shirre, the bass player, accepted a job in NBC's Chicago house band. Singer Bob Allen decided to whip together his own band. Jackie LeMaire had a similar idea. But the half dozen others decided (Continued on page 68) 43 M»*^W«^ **3Kt ' J^' Paul WhHeman, back in radio with Burns and Allen, finds that his moustache can't be compared with Jerry Colonna's. Uncle Dave Macon is such a fixture on WSM's Grand Ole Opry that the show wouldn't be able to get along without him — although once it looked as if it might have to. At right, Milly and Dolly Good are the Girls of The Golden West over WLW in Cincinnati. What's New from Coast to Coast (Continued jrom page 4) Crutchfield — who quickly offered Eleanor a con- tract that was just as quickly accepted. WBT artists like to be on programs with Eleanor because she's so full of infectious high spirits they can't help feeling better for her presence. She chews gum continuously, even during her song numbers. Nobody yet has been able to figure out how she man- ages to hit those high, thrilling notes with a huge wad of gum in her mouth. Eleanor is still too young to be interested seriously in romance — un- less you count the way she worships Claude Casey, her co-star on the Briarhoppers program and the man who helped her into big-time radio. She likes to dance, collects pictures of hill-billy bands, and wants to sing hill-billy stuff all the rest of her life. But her own favorite band, strangely enough, isn't a hilly-billy outfit at all — it's Kay Kyser's. * ♦ • Helen Claire, who plays Sally in The c3'Neills, practically didn't even see her bridegroom, Columbia Uni- versity Professor Milton Smith, for a month after the wedding. Events conspired to separate the newlyweds soon after the ceremony, when Helen left to make an operetta appearance in St. Louis. When Milton drove to St. Louis to fetch Helen home, he dis- covered she'd been suddenly called to New York for an appearance for British War Relief, and had just boarded a plane. And so it went for nearly four weeks before Helen's busy schedule allowed her to catch her breath. * * * Betty Winkler is another frantic commuter. From Monday to Friday she's in New York, acting on The Man I Married and other programs; Friday afternoon she grabs a plane and flies to Chicago to visit her hus- band and incidentally to act on Mutual's Saturday-night Chicago Theater of the Air show. PITTSBURGH — When Baron Elliott, house band leader at station WJAS, pulled out of Pittsburgh with his orchestra in search of a wider success, he lost his guitarist and swing novelty singer, Mickey Ross. Mickey decided to stay in Pittsburgh because he had a home there, complete with wife and children, and he didn't want to leave it. That was a year ago. Today Mickey leads his own band in seven broad- casts every week over station KQV — four sustaining shows and We're In the Army Now, which is on the air three times a week. Not only that, but his band made its network debut a few weeks ago, playing on the coast- to-coast show with which NBC saluted KQV's addition to the Blue network. Seven broadcasts a week means a lot of work, but Mickey's boys don't mind a bit. Like their boss, they realize that one has to work, and work hard, if one cares to get any- where in this world — and they realize, too, that they are getting somewhere, in the top spot of Pittsburgh dance bands, to be exact. Mickey's a personable young man, not handsome, but gifted with a lik- able personality. He's twenty-seven years old and a master of the ukulele, banjo and guitar. The desire to be a musician hit him when he was four- teen, and he began practicing on the ukulele then. Later he taught him- self how to play the banjo and guitar. His band includes several musicians and an arranger, Leo Yagello, who used to be with Baron Elliott but decided, like Mickey, they preferred to stay in Pittsburgh. He has a bari- tone vocalist, Ted Perry, but no girl singer. In the last six months he has auditioned more than three hun- dred aspirants for the job, without finding anyone with the voice and personality he wants. So if you have ambitions to sing with a band, better get in touch with Mickey — you might fill the bill! 4< * * After broadcasting for a whole year and a half without a studio audience, the Monday-night Telephone Hour is moving into a new studio at Radio City so it can admit visitors to its shows and let people see as well as hear Francia White and Jimmy Melton. * * * The Lombardo family boasts a new musician, one who devotes himself entirely to vocal efforts. Brother Lebert became the father of a boy last month. * * * Orson Welles will be the death of Hollywood yet. He showed up at his radio rehearsal the other day wearing a dazzlingly white suit of terry-cloth which he had designed himself. In a sort of enthusiastic double-talk he described it as being "so warm, so cool, so light and so substantial," and soon had all the other masculine members of his Mercury Theater troupe yearning for suits just like it. If you hear that Hollywood tailors have all gone in- sane, you'll know why. Hf ^ * It's Mutual that will broadcast two of the big New Year's Day football classics — the Cotton Bowl game in Dallas and the East-West game in San Francisco. * H< « NASHVILLE, Tenn. — "Here he is with plug hat, gold teeth, chin {Continued on page 46) 44 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR Oaf Mo^/mpoitaiiT iRMCK Not the truck that hauls the big guns or moves the army. Not the truck that delivers gasoline or moves pianos or carries the mail. America's most important "truck" grows in the garden, the truck garden. • • • ALL VEGETABLES — especially green xi. and leafy ones, yellow ones, roots and kernels — are vital to the nation's strength and health. From them come needed amounts of Vitamins A and C and many minerals we cannot live without. What good would army trucks be if the army itself were red-eyed, scurvied and anemic from lack of vitamins and minerals.'* Fresh, canned, dried or frozen — your green and yellow vegetables are health- ful and wholesome. Modern packing and delivery methods are designed to bring them to you with the least possi- ble impairment. But you must be care- ful in the cooking. Save the juices. Don't overcook your vegetables; don't add soda. Don't pare away or throw away valuable parts. And here is where America's cooks can add untold values to the nation's strength and stamina; the richer, more concentrated foods tend to tempt the taste. Chocolate fudge is easier to "sell" at the table than is spinach. So you, the cooks, must find ways to get more vegetables eaten. Serve salads, garnish your vegetable dishes tastefully, serve a variety of them, serve them at two meals every day. Do this job well and you will contrib- ute just as much to the nation's defense as any soldier or nurse or statesman. THE MAGIC FOODS It takes only a few kinds of simple foods to provide a sound nutritional foundation for buoyant health. Eat each of them daily. Then add to your table anything else you like ^ which agrees with you. MILK AND CHEESE— especially for Vitamin A, some of the B vitamins, protein, calcium, phosphorus. Vitamin D milk for the "sunshine" vitamin. MEAT, eggs and sea food for proteins and several of the B-Complex vitamins meat and eggs also for iron .ca Attractive displays of vegetables, special sales and offers of canned goods are your dealer's way of help- ing to get more vegetables onto the nation's tables. Encourage and sup- port this program our government has for making America strong. GREEN AND YELLOW vege- tables for B vitamins. Vitamin A, Vitamin C and minerals. FRUITS and fruit iuices— for Vita- min C, other vitamins and minerals. This message is approved by the office of Paul V . McNutt, Director of Defense Health and Welfare Services. It is brought to you as our contribution to National Nutritional Defense by Radio & Television Mirror. BREAD, enriched or whole grain, and cereals with milk or cream, for B vitamins and other nutrients. Enough of these foods in your daily diet and in the diets of all Americans will assure better health for the nation, will increase its ener- gies to meet today's emergencies. f0odm7fM/(sfa/if£IV^merilM JANUARY, 1942 45 Do you Secre Linda Darnell and Geofge Murphy Starring in 20tb Ceatury-Fox' Musical "Rise and Shine". Easily have thrilling hands, yourself— with Jergens Lotion. Linda Darnell's Lovely Hands YOUR hands, too, can be rose-leaf smooth, cuddly-soft! A little coarse, now? Jergens Lotion will soon help that! It's almost like pro- fessional hand care — with those 2 in- gredients many doctors use to treat neglected, harsh skin. If you'll use Jergens Lotion regularly —you'll help prevent that disappointing roughness and chapping. Because Jer- gens supplies softening moisture for your skin. No stickiness! $1.00, 50^, 250, 10?;. Always use Jergens Lotion! j£^(^mS lOT/ON FOR SOFT ADORABLE HANDS ./ 1 TRBE! PURSE-SIZE BOTTLE (mail this coupon now) (Paste on a penny postcard, if you wish) The Andrew Jergens Company, Box 3534, Cincinnati, Ohio (In Canada: Perth, Ontario) I want to have those soft hands Linda Darnell advises. Please send purse- size bottle of Jergens Lotion— /re«. NaviQ- Street- City Stah'^- 46 {Continued from page 44) whiskers and a million dollar smile — the man that wears no man's collar — the Dixie Dewdrop — Uncle Dave Macon!" That's the introduction that brings to the microphone, every Saturday night, one of the most picturesque and popular stars on the air. Uncle Dave is a standby of the famous Grand Ole Opry, which originates in Nashville's station WSM for broad- cast over an NBC network. Nobody knows Uncle Dave's actual age, although he admits it is "better'n sixty." The best guess is that it's close to 75, although anyone who has seen him in action on the Opry stage would find it hard to believe. He's a real problem for the boys in the sound-control booth, since he likes to amble all over the stage and generally "cut up" during performances. When Dave Macon was a youngster his family moved from the farm where he was born to a small city. There his father managed a hotel, and Dave used to play the banjo and sing for the amusement of the guests. He entered radio sixteen years ago, when the Grand Ole Opry first went on the air, and was instantaneously popular. In fact, he was so popular that talent scouts heard of him and offered him more money than he thought Uncle Sam had ever issued, if he would come North. Uncle Dave ac- cepted, and the Opry cast gave him an impressive farewell party, at which a great many sincerely tearful good- byes were said. To everyone's surprise, the follow- ing Saturday night, just one week later. Uncle Dave was back again. He explained that he'd been dis- appointed when he got up North and discovered that all the money he was making couldn't buy him such necessities as old-fashioned fried chicken, turnip greens, or baked Ten- nessee ham. He'd tried to stick it out, but as Saturday approached, with its thoughts of a Southern-style chicken dinner, he gave up and hopped on a train back to his native lanci and his beloved Grand Ole Opry. Since then he has traveled through the Tennessee hills and even gone into other Southern states, but always has returned in time for the Saturday- night supper and broadcast. Uncle Dave is the undisputed king- pin of the eighty-odd people whose combined efforts produce the WSM Grand Ole Opry broadcast. Around the WSM studios and, in fact, for miles in every direction from Nash- ville, he's a familiar and beloved fig- ure. With him now is his son, Dorris, who joins him in such Macon spe- cialties as "Chewing Gum," "Little Darling," "Cannon County Hills," and "How Beautiful Heaven Must Be." « * * CINCINNATI— Way back in 1905 when David Belasco was producing plays there was only one "Girl of the Golden West," but now there are two, singing every day except Sun- day over Cincinnati's powerful sta- tion WLW. ^_„ Milly and Dolly Good, the WLW "Girls of the Golden West," are sisters, Milly two years older than Dolly. They were born in the little town of Muleshoe, Texas, but haven't seen their native state for a good many years — not since 1930, in fact, when they launched their radio career in St. Louis. Three years later they left St. Louis and moved south to station XER in Mexico. Then came five years RADIO AND TELEVISION IMIRROR with WLS in Chicago, and in 1938 they came to Cincinnati and WLW. Right now they're being heard on a Top o' the Morning program every day at 6:30 A. M., and on Saturday nights as part of the Boone County Jamboree. Milly and Dolly themselves are as sincere and unaffected as the songs they sing about the hills and plains and folks back home. Milly, who also plays the Spanish guitar, made her first public appearance at the age of four but still confesses that she's a little bit nervous every time she gets in front of a microphone. Both girls say that they deserve no credit for their success, because they can't re- member ever having had to work hard to get it. The greatest compli- ment ever paid them came in 1935, when after a successful audition at New York's Radio City on a Tuesday they were put on Rudy Vallee's pro- gram the following Thursday — even though the rush engagement meant rearranging the script of the show. A few weeks ago the girls were thrilled by the excitement of doing their regular morning broadcast on WLW, then boarding a special plane and flying to White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia, to sing at a convention being held there, and returning to Cincinnati the next morning, just in time for the 6:30 broadcast. Milly reflects wisely, "In the days of the original Girl of the Golden West an adventure like that would have been impossible." What You Taught Me (Continued from page 27) were un- happy together. I tried to shut my ears to the gossip and then, when it was at its height, Frances proved the truth of part of it, at least, by flying to Reno to file suit for divorce. Dick came to my apartment the day after she left. He had been drinking — that was obvious from the tense nervousness with which he paced the floor, from the way his hand shook, so that he nearly dropped the cup of tea I offered him. His un- happiness tore at my heart and I attempted to comfort him by saying, "Frances will come back, Dick." He shook his head. "No, she won't," he said bitterly— and in- stinctively I knew that he was right. In that moment I knew too, what it was about Frances that had always repelled me. It was selfishness, greed — a craving for luxuries which she would, I felt, go to any lengths to satisfy. "She won't be back," Dick repeated as though he was aware of what I was thinking. "As soon as she found out that my sponsors aren't renewing my contract, she was through with me." "Not renewing your contract!" I almost dropped my own cup in my agitation. The gossip was right, then, things were much more serious than I'd been willing to believe. "Not that I'd take her back if she wanted to come," Dick went on vmdictively. "All the trouble we're in now is her fault." "Frances' fault?" I repeated. I was puzzled. None of the gossip I'd heard had hinted that she was in any way responsible for the orchestra's drop m prestige. "What did she do"?" "Plenty," Dick retorted. "She acted as if she were the star of the show. Countermanded some of my orders. JANUARY, 1942 \U BEAUr;:. Am c^iea^ed 5 tA^il^l^fif ydAa^i^, otic ito Seau^^ -€^6^ Great Fashion Genius now turns to designing Powder Shades for you There are 5 of these natural-beauty powder shades, styled by Alix. One is matchlessly right for you, to unveil the intrinsic loveli- ness of your own skin-tones. Your skin looks more faultlessly fine textured! Jergens Face Powder conceals enlarged pores, tiny flaws. This new powder is velvetized-fine by a new precision proc- ess. No betraying coarse particles allowed ! It clings like a loveliness inherent in you. You can easily have this new flawless-skin look ! Change to this glamorizing, hauntingly fragrant new Jergens Face Powder no^v. FREEl ALL 5 ALIX-STYLED SHADES (Paste on a Penny Postcard . . . Mail Now !) The Andrew Jergens Company, Box 1405, Cincinnati, Ohio (In Canada: Perth, Ontario) Please send — free — Alix' 5 shades in the new velvctized Jergens Face Powder. Name— Street- New Jergens Face Powder now on sale at beauty counters, $1.00 a box; introductory sizes 25jS or 10)i. City- 47 stirred up jealousy amongst the boys, even set some of them against me. It got so that everybody was on edge all the time, and that's no way for a band to be, you know, Kay." I nodded. Dick was right. It is almost as important for the mem- bers of an orciiestra to be in harmony in their relationship to one another as for them to play in harmony. If Dick's boys were quarreling amongst themselves that might be the very reason they were not playing well together — and if Frances were the instigator of these quarrels . . . "But now that Frances has gone," I suggested, "can't you explain to the sponsors what has happened?" "They're not interested in explana- tions," he said bitterly. "Just in results. Unless — unless," for the first time since I had known him I saw that he was frightened. "Unless we can get back to our old standard — we're sunk." "Oh, Dick," I protested, "there must be something — some way out." He leaned forward in his chair, his eyes on my face. "There is," he said. "We'd pull through with you to help us, Kay." "Why — why, how could I help?" I asked. "I want you to go on the program with me, Kay." The room seemed to whirl around me. Sing with Dick — the thing I had always longed to do. "I need you, Kay," his voice re- called me to my senses. "You can save the program — save me. You're the only one who can." So he had said it; had meant that he wanted me. I felt like shouting for sheer joy, then swiftly, despair- ingly I knew it was too late. Steve ^the boys — our success together^ — our plans for the future. "Dick," I cried wretchedly, "I'd do anything for you — you know that — but I can't leave Steve." His lips tightened. "It's the only thing — the only important thing — I've ever asked you to do for me," he said hoarsely. "Think it over — please think it over, Kay," he begged. I did think it over — all that day and all the long sleepless night that followed it. Dick needs me — Dick wants me. The words spun in my brain. But if I went with Dick, I would be walking out on Steve. I owed Steven everything — even this chance with Dick, for if Steve hadn't shown me the way to stardom, Dick, I faced it honestly, would not want me. Steven trusted me, depended on me. He had built the program around me. To let him down now would be shameful, inexcusable. I knew all that and I knew too that none of it counted against the supreme fact that Dick needed me. So I would go with Dick, because to be with him was the only thing I had ever wanted. J-JAVING made my decision, I was frantically anxious to carry it out immediately. I phoned Dick right after breakfast and as soon as I heard his sleepy "I knew I could count on you, Kay," I called Steve and asked him to come to my apartment. I was pacing the floor, much as Dick had paced it the previous after- noon, when Steve arrived and, scarcely giving him time to get in- side the door, I burst out, "Dick wants me on his program and I want you to release me from my contract, Steve." I saw his face whiten. "You must be crazy, Kay," he said flatly. Resentment at his tone stirred in- side me, but I only said, "Dick's in a spot. The band — " I checked myself. I couldn't criticize Dick's orchestra to Steve. "He needs a singer." "The band's slipping," Steve cut in shrewdly. "That's what you started to say. It's true, too." "It isn't," I defended. "Any band is likely to go into an occasional slump." "Sure it is," Steve agreed quickly. "But this isn't just a slump, Kay. The trouble with Dick's band isn't the band or the fact that he needs a singer. It's Dick, himself. I doubt," he went STATEMENT OF THE OWNERSHIP, MANAGEMENT, CIRCULATION, ETC., REQUIRED BY THE i'.^.llrUl' ^*??9^f\^; OF AUGUST 24, 1912, and MARCH 3, 1933, of RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR, pubhshed Monthly at Dunellen, New Jersey, for October 1, 1941. State of New York 1 g- County of New York j Before me, a Notary Public, in and for the State and county aforesaid, personally appeared Meyer Dworkin, who. n^v'nKbeeii duly sworn according to law, deposes and says that he is the Business ManaKc-r of the RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR and that the following is, to the best of his knowledge and Iwlief, a true statement of the ownership, management (and if a daily paper, the circu- lation), etc , of the aforesaid publication for the date shown in the above caption, required by the Act of August 24, 1912 as amended by the Act of March 3, 1933, embodied in section 537, Postal Laws and Kegulalions, printed on the reverse of this form, to wit: 1. That the names and addresses of the publisher, editor, managing editor, and business managers are: Publisher Macfadden Publications, Inc., 122 E 42nd St., New York City; Editor, Fred R. Sammis, t" h-, j^ ^'■' ii*™ ,V"','^ i:''*'= Managing Editor, None; Business Manager, Meyer Dworkin, 122 East 42nd Street, New York City. . 2. ITiat the owner is: (If owned by a corporation, its name and address must be stated and also immediately thereunder the names and addresses of stockholders owning or holding one per cent or more of total amount of stock. If not owned by a corporation, the names and addresses of the individual owners must be given. If owned by a firm, company, or other unincorporated concern, its name and addrcs.s, as well as those of each individual member, must be given.) Owner: Macfadden Publications. J.""^--, ■'^?,'^''^' ''^Jl'' S'!;?''' New York City; Meco Corporation, 122 East 42nd Street, New York City. Stockholders in Meco (.orporation owning or holding one per cent or more of total amount of stock i.n_M.;ic(adden Publications, Inc.: Orr J. Elder, 122 East 42nd Street. New York City: Fulton Oursler City; John M. Gilmer Fisher liiiildiiig. Detroit, MichiganYwTlTJ^^^ T22 TLast^ kZnd'^Street. New York City; Joseph Schultz, 341 Madison Avenue, New York City; Sam O. Shapiro, 122 East 42nd Street. .New \ ork (,ity; Carroll Rlieinstrom, 434 East .S2nd Street. New York City. 3. 'Hiat the known iKindholders, mortgagees, and other security holders owning or holding 1 per cent or more of total amount of Ixnids. morlgages. or other securities are: (if there are none, so state) None 4. 'lliat the two paragraidis next above, giving the names of the owners, stockholders, and security holders, if any, contain not only the list of stockholders and security holders as they aiipear upon the biHiks of the tompany but also, in cases where the stockholder or security holder appears upon the liooks of the company as trustee or in any other fiduciary relation, the name of the person or corporation for »-lu>m such trustee is acling. is given; also that the said two paragraphs contain statements embracing aftiani s full knowledge and belief as to the circumstances and conditions under which stockholders -ind security holders who do mil appear upon the books of the company as trustees, hold stock and seciirities in a capacity other than that of a bona fide owner; and this aftiani has no reason to believe 'that any other person, association, or coriioratioii has any interest direct or indirect in the said stock bonds or other securities than as so stated by him. .1. That the average number of copies of each issue of this publication sold or distributed, through the mails or otherwise, lo paid subsi ribers during the twelve months preceding the date shown above is (This information is required frcjin daily publications only.) I 1. ■. I I , .,■,„,, , ,, , .i^'K"'^'" MEYER DWORKIN. Sworn to ana subscribed before me this I4th day of October, 1941. (SEAL) JOSEPH. M. ROTH. Notary Public Westchester County. Certilic-ilc I'iU-d in N. Y. Co. No. .';2.'; N. Y. Co. Register's No. 3-R-312 ( ommission exinves March 30, 1943 on steadily, "that you or anybody else can help him — and you're only going to let yourself in for a lot of un- pleasantness if you try." That made me angry. Steve had no right to be critical of Dick. "I want to go, Steve," I said insistently. Unconsciously I steeled myself for additional protests, but Steve didn't say anything at all. Instead he turned to my desk, drew out pen and ink and paper and began to write. When he finished, still without speaking, he walked out of the room. I heard his footsteps fading down the hall, then I looked at the paper he had left behind. It was a release from my contract. The day I signed my contract with Dick was the happiest day of my life. At last, I told myself exultantly, my dreams were beginning to come true — surely now they would all come true. Then suddenly, ironically, I knew they weren't coming true at all. In the first place, though I had ex- pected to be criticized for leaving Steve, I hadn't imagined that the criticism would be so harsh, so dev- astating, that I would feel like an outcast, but that's the way it proved to be. On my way to rehearsal the very first day the people I met, peo- ple who had been cordial to me be- fore, barely spoke to me. In the elevator I saw a couple of Steve's boys and they made no effort to con- ceal the contempt they felt for me. Even more heartbreaking was the realization that things were not right between Dick and me. I had looked forward to continuing the intimacy of our childhood days, had dreamed that he might fall in love with me, might ask me, when Frances had secured her divorce, to marry him. I was hurt and humiliated when, from the first, Dick took my affection for granted as though it were a not very valuable possession which would al- ways be at hand when he needed it and could be forgotten when the need was over. He didn't seem like the person I had known and loved; he seemed to be a stranger — a stranger I could never love. It took another rehearsal to make me see this stranger as he really was. It was during my second week with the orchestra and the rehearsal was one of the most painful experiences of my life. One of the boys, who had an important solo to play, was un- able to attend because of a cold. The man Dick selected as substitute soloist was unfamiliar with the selection and fumbled the solo passage every time he attempted to play it. It was annoying, of course, but it was purely accidental, and I expected Dick to take it in his stride as Steve would have done. Instead he grew irritable and his irritation quickly changed to anger. He singled out first one man and then another for sarcastic repri- mand and as his bad temper grew so did the nervous tension of the man in front of him. When he finally dis- missed the man he walked over to the corner where I was sitting. "You see what I've had to contend with, Kay?" he remarked. "The boys are folding up — losing their grip — in spite of everything I can do." Involuntarily I recalled Steve's words. "The trouble with Dick's band ... is Dick himself." I tried to make excuses for him; he was worried and worry would account for his irrita- tion. But there was something else that would account for it too — the hours spent in nightclubs, drinking 48 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR more liquor than was good for him. "Are you sure it's the boys' fault entirely, Dick?" I asked. "You were pretty sharp with them this after- noon. Perhaps if you'd try to be a little more patient . . ." He looked at me in astonishment. "Don't be silly, Kay," he said sharply. "Of course it's their fault. I've always had a good band, but lately the boys have been letting me down." And then I knew that Steve was right. The trouble was with Dick himself. He'd been accustomed to success and had taken all the credit for it, but he couldn't take the blame for failure. When trouble came he could only lash out weakly, blaming it first on Frances, then on the band; he couldn't face the fact that he and he alone was responsible. For the iirst time I saw Dick as he really was —vain, weak. The revelation turned my heart sick inside me, sent me scurrying through the twilight to the solitude of my own rooms where, alone, I faced the hideous truth that all my dreams were ended. The weeks that followed were a nightmare of unhappiness for me. I suppose that the sensible, most natural thing would have been for me to leave Dick — and certainly after seeing him for what he really was I no longer had any desire to remain with him. But oddly enough that shock of discovery seemed to numb me, so that through sheer lack of will to go I remained where I was. POR a little while Dick tried frantically to find a new sponsor, but all his efforts were unsuccessful. News travels fast in radio circles and no one wanted to take a chance with a man who had let one sponsor down and might do the same thing again. To make matters worse, he managed to antagonize the few people who were willing to overlook his past record; he was arrogant where he should have been conciliatory, evasive when he should have been straight- forward. Only the hope of future engagements had held the orchestra together after the loss of our sponsor and when this hope was gone there was nothing to do but disband. Dick took this final blow with a bravado which was pitiful because it showed more clearly than anything else how weak he was. "I'll organize a new orchestra," he told me. His voice was thick with liquor as it was so often now. "I'll show them that I'm still the best band leader in the business." It was a few days after the band dissolved that I began looking for a job. I signed with an agency which supplied talent for radio programs, called on orchestra leaders and pro- gram directors, and auditioned for one person after another, but none of my efforts came to anything. I didn't worry at first but gradually as one unsuccessful week followed another I began to feel that there was some- thing odd about my failure. One day, completely discouraged, I was on the point of calling Steve. I started to dial his number, then stopped. I couldn't ask Steve for help. I had taken too much from him in the past, given too little in re- turn, to appeal to him now. I mustn't even think of Steve, mustn't remem- ber, as I had remembered so many times of late, that night under the moon when he had held me in his arms. Besides, I told myself drearily, if Steven ever thought of me now, it JANUARY, 1942 You want to be yourself! You're fed up with pretending to be gay and gurgly . . . when you're gloomy and unsure of yourself. You just don't feel like cutting up ... or cutting rugs, either. But if you break your date, and let some pretty prowler blitzkrieg your man, you'll find yourself getting dusty on a shelf. So learn to keep going — smUe, sister, smde — no matter what day of the month it is! How do other girls manage? How do up-to-date and dated -up girls manage to shine and sparkle on "difficult days"? Ask them! See how many of them tell you they choose Kotex sanitary napkins! Why? ... in the first place, Kotex is more comfortable! Not the deceptive softness of pads that only "feel" soft. Kotex is made in soft folds that are naturally less bulky . . . more comfortable . . . made to stay soft! Besides, Kotex has a new moisture-resistant "safety shield" for extra protection! And] flat, pressed ends that mean no more embarrassing, telltale bulges. So now you Jcnow why Kotex is helping millions! Why it's more popular than all other brands of pads put together! You know why you should try Kotex next time! Be confident . comfortable . — with Kotex*! DO'S AND DON'T'S FOR GIRLS I Send for the new- booklet "As One Girl To Another." Lots of tips on how to make "Jifficult days" less difficult. Mail your name and address to Post Office Box 3434, Dept. MW-1. Chica-o. 111., and get your copy FREE. *Trade Mark Reg. U. S. Pal. Off. 49 Why Arthur Murray Dance Teachers Prefer Odorono Cream WHEN you teach dancing for a living, you can't take chances with daintiness! That's why the glamourous girls who teach danc- ing in Arthur Murray's famous Studios are so crazy about Odorono Cream. They can dab it on and dance all day without fear of underarm odor or dampness! Non-irritating, non-gritty, non- greasy — Odorono Cream ends per- spiration annoyance safely 1 to 3 days! Generous l(H, 39^ and 590 sizes, plus tax, at all cosmetic counters. The Odorono Co., Inc., New York I FULL OZ. JAR — ONLY 39^ (Plus Tax) ANNOYANCE > TU a GIVES YOU MORE FOR YOUR MONEY • AiSO LIQUID ODORONO — REGULAR AND INSTANT must be with contempt. My leaving had made no difference so far as his program was concerned — at least I was spared that self reproach — for Steve and his boys had continued to work together as they had always done and had become more popular than ever. It was a scrap of conversation I overheard in a broadcasting studio the next day that told me the reason for my failure to get a job. I had auditioned for a program and, filled with new hope, was waiting for an elevator when a voice floated out of the rehearsal room I had just left. "Kay Somers," the voice said, and I stiffened expectantly. "I don't think we ought to take a chance *with her. She's the girl who walked out on her contract with Steve Burke." 'PHEN I knew. My contract with Steve which I had broken. That was the black mark against me. Well, I had broken that contract of my own free will. I had left Steve to go with Dick — and having made my choice I knew now that I must abide by it forever. I could never get away from Dick now and since that was so I must begin all over again the hope- less task of trying to help him pull himself together. That was the only chance for either of us. More weary, more discouraged than I had ever been, I walked over to Dick's apartment. I knocked on the door, heard him call "Come in" and opened it. Dick was sitting at a littered table, pouring liquor and seltzer into a glass. The sight of him drinking — drunk — as though nothing in the world but drinking was im- portant snapped my self control and filled me with a fury I had never known. I slammed the door. Dick put down his glass. "What's your trouble?" he demanded in surprise. "You are!" I exploded. "All these weeks I've been trying to get a job and I've just found out that I'll never get one — nobody will ever hire me because I broke my contract with Steve to go with you." Color flamed in Dick's face, then faded into gray, and as swiftly as it had come my rage disappeared. Losing my temper, I reflected, would only make matters worse. "I'm sorry, Dick," I said. "Forget I said anything. I'm tired, that's all." Dick didn't say anything, only looked at me. Then he slowly stood up and turned away. When he turned to me again there was an ugly, frightening expression on his face. "So you think it's my fault that you can't get a job, do you?" he asked. "I didn't mean that, Dick," I said soothingly. "It's just that nobody wants a singer who had already broken one contract." He didn't pay any attention, didn't even seem to hear me. "I've been doing a little thinking myself, Kay," he said at last. "I was doing pretty well until you came along and I haven't had anything but bad luck since then." He finished his drink and poured another one. "I had a pretty swell orchestra and a pretty swell radio spot. Then I took you — a second rate singer in a second rate band—" I felt the world crashing about my ears. This must be a nightmare. " — I tried to give you a break — " his face contorted with fury " — and you wrecked everything!" "Dick!" I cried hotly. Rage con- sumed me again. "That's not true and you know it! I'd never have gone with your band if you hadn't begged me to help you — " "Help me," he mocked. "A lot of help you were. You helped me lose everything I had — that's how you helped me." "Why, you — " I heard myself screaming, then I stopped. For the first time I realized what a fool I had been. I had watched, heartsick, while Dick drove himself to destruction and blamed that destruction on the band. I should have foreseen, then, that this day would come — the day when there was nobody but me left for him to blame. Dick started toward me then and for a frantic instant I thought he was going to strike me. But he didn't touch me. He opened the door. "Get out," he shouted. "Get out of here!" Slowly, like a robot, I dragged my- self out of the room. I heard the door slam violently behind me. I have no clear memory of going back to my apartment. I should have expected this to happen, but I hadn't expected it — and the shock of it seemed to kill my heart and mind, leaving only a body which followed the familiar streets of its own accord. I don't remember any- thing that occurred until I reached my apartment and found Steve wait- ing there for me. As naturally as though we had never been separated he held out his arms and I walked into them. Steve ended our embrace. I would have remained in his arms forever but he took them from around me. ""There are two things I've got to tell you, Kay," he said slowly. "First, that I love you." "And I love you, Steve." He smiled unhappily. "I've waited a long time to hear that, dear. It — it makes the second thing that much harder to tell you." He hesitated. "Dick phoned me a little while ago." I looked at him questioningly. S^MS^Z'- BILL JOHNSTONE — the -friendly, amiable-looking chap who scares you every Sunday in Mutual's adventure serial. The Shadow. He plays both the all-knowing Shadow and Lamont Cranston, wealthy socialite. Bill is a real Scotsman — was born in Paisley, Scotland, on February 7, 1908. He came to America as a child, went to school in New York and began life as a newspaper reporter. The urge to act led him out of the city-room to touring theatrical com- panies and in 1925 to radio, where he's been very successful indeed. Bill lives in a New York apartment in winter, but spends the summers at his 85-acre farm in Connecticut, where he swims and indulges his hobby of amateur photography. He has hazel eyes and prematurely gray hair, and says he hates women shoppers. 50 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR "Dick wasn't really drunk when you got there tonight, Kay," Steve went on, "and when you told him you couldn't even get a job on your own, it must have made him realize for the first time what he had done to you. He knew you'd never leave him — knew you'd stick by him forever. So he put on an act. He kicked you out — and he did it so brutally that you could never go back. And then he got scared and called me." For a long time after he'd finished there was silence between us. At last I said, "That's the first decent thing he's done in a long time, Steve. We — we can't leave him alone now." Steve smiled tenderly. "I thought you'd say that, Kay," he said under- standingly. He caught me swiftly in his arms and again I felt the magic of his kiss, then we were hurrying down the stairs and piling into his car. We were just stopping in front of Dick's apartment house when there came the noise of an ambulance siren, the screech of tires against asphalt as it halted on the opposite side of the street. I looked up to see a group of people clustered near the curb, a policeman talking to two wildly excited men. One of them was a taxi driver. "He must have been drunk," the taxi driver was explaining hysteri- cally. "He came plunging out of that liquor shop across the street — right in front of me without looking. He never had a chance — but I couldn't help it — it wasn't my fault — " he broke off, incoherent. The policeman turned to the second man. I recognized him now — the doorman of Dick's apartment house. I felt fear clutching me and blindly I caught at Steve's arm. "He said he wanted to get another bottle of liquor," the doorman took up the explanation, "though he looked like he'd already had plenty . . ." J DIDN'T hear any more. I swayed forward, felt Steve's rescuing arms. When the giddiness was gone, I started to cross the street. Steve, as if aware of the torment that was pulling me forward, was at my side, his arm about my shoulder. Two men, white coated, were bend- ing over a still figure which they had placed on a stretcher. I knew, even before I reached them, that it was Dick on the stretcher. The ambulance men moved aside as Steve and I approached, and I knelt at Dick's side. For a moment I could almost imagine that we were children again, Dick and I, and that he was pretend- ing to be asleep. There was no trace of weakness in his face now, only peace, serenity and the hint of a little-boy smile on his lips. I felt sobs tearing at my throat, saw the ambulance surgeon draw a sheet over that still face and then Steve was gently lifting me to my feet and pulling me into the haven of his arms. Superman in Radio (Continued from page 42) the chest of the Man of Steel. Unheeding, he advanced on the gangsters through the hail of lead. His iron fist swung in steady rhythm as, one after the other, the thugs toppled to the floor from his knockout punches. All ten of them cowered into a corner. Superman had one question: "Do you boys feel like talking now?" One voice yelled: "You tell him Bill!" But Bill, cringingly, protested: "I can't! You know what the Boss will do to me if I squeal!" Quick, Sup- erman asked: "Who is The Boss?" Bill was the first to answer: "We've never seen the Boss! Any orders we've had from hini we've gotten through a loudspeaker at head- quarters or over this radio!" "Never seen him, eh? And yet you're very much afraid of him. Well, he can't kill you now — so tell me how he got that freight car in here?" "It was easy. Right outside here there's a steep curve and the train has to slow down to 10 miles an hour. Well, a couple of our boys disguised as brakemen were on the gold train. When they hit the curve and practi- cally stopped, they uncoupled the car with the dough, slowed it down to 7 miles an hour with the wheel-brake on top. Right outside that hole where you came in we had set up a pair of portable tracks over the regular ones. We switched 'em into place as the gold car reached it, let it slide in, pulled the switch again, coupled the other cars — they was still goin' awful slow and it was easy. An' then, once we had the car in this cave, we picked up our tracks." But who was The Boss? He ordered Bill to contact that mysterious indi- vidual on the shortwave set. The gangster hesitated but the threat of Superman was too real. Calling "QXW," he reached the master-mind JANUARY, 1942 and, directed by the Man of Tomor- row, he spoke, tremblingly, into the microphone: "Boss — an emergency — the five million — come quick!" At those words Superman broke the con- nection, sure that The Boss, more anxious to save his money than con- ceal his identity, would come. The minutes dragged along. With each passing one, the suspense grew greater. At last came a staccato tap- ping on the door. Superman jumped up: "That must be his signal. Now to see who the Boss really is. Bill — open that door!" Bill hesitated but then, haltingly, he twisted the lock. He fell back. Terror masked his face — it gave way to utter, incredulous astonishment: "YOU— The Boss. You— why— why — you're Reginald Van Doren! You're President of the bank!" oUPERMAN, whose surprise was just as great, waited for no more. "Come on, Mr. President, I'm taking you to the police. But before he could reach the renegade banker. Van Doren, stopping to ask no questions, yanked out a gun and pointed it at a pile of dynamite in the corner: "Mister, I don't know who you are but either you let me walk out of here safely and unharmed or I'll blow us all to kingdom come by sending a bullet into that dynamite!" The gangsters blubbered with fear. Superman did not stop. But, just as he reached Van Doren, the thief pulled the trigger. In the blinding flash, no one saw Superman reach the dynamite cases — ahead oj the bullet, scoop it up in his hand and let it drop harmlessly to the floor! Van Doren's masquerade was over. The gold he had so nearly succeeded in stealing was safe. And Superman once again knew the satisfaction of defeating crime. Sftmal Sid4f U/o^i 7o\ Take Orders from Friends for Beautiful Dresses at Sensationally Low Prices Wo Experience or Money Needed- — Use Your Spare Time! Don't just wish for money. Here's an amazlnBly easy way to earn all the money you want quickly. I need ambitious married women (and a few ex- ceptional single women) in every town to make up to $22 In a week demonstrating and taking orders for beautiful smart new Spring and Summer styles of famous Har- ford Frocks. 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"No!" she was surprised at the sharpness in her voice. Why, she thought, do they always have to ask questions? Why can't they see? "Helen," he said and then she didn't hear any more because he took her in his arms and kissed her. She put her arms around him. Now, she thought, he understands, he knows. And she knew herself that she was in love with him and had been in love with him since that first moment she had seen him in the restaurant. ■y^HEN they got back to the boat, Ernie was different. His young, rugged face had lost its moodiness. He even whistled, slightly off key, as they rowed, she sitting beside him and helping, back to old Luke's boathouse. She felt his hand over hers, warm and strong and she felt happy inside. But when they said good night, lin- geringly, before the house on Elm Street where she boarded, she saw the old lonely, angry-at-everything look come back into his face and Helen knew she would have to talk to Pete and Tom and get to the bottom of Ernie's trouble. She kissed him good night again, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Helen didn't have to talk to Tom and Pete about Ernie. That very next day, at noon, they waited around until Ernie and the others had left. Tom came over to where she was stand- ing. He seemed embarrassed and shifted the weight of his huge hulk from foot to foot. "Look, Helen," he said, "you're a good kid, but I hear — •" "What do you hear?" Helen said. For some reason she felt angry. "Well," Pete said, breaking in, "we hear you were out with that fellow who calls himself Ernie Dell." "So?" Helen said, angrily. "Look, kid," Pete said, getting red, "for your own good, stay away from that guy." "What's the matter with him?" Helen said. "For weeks you've treated him like dirt. You act as if he was poison, as if he didn't belong in the same world with you guys." "That's right," Tom said, getting angry, too, "he doesn't. If he ain't a big shot, like a vice president of the plant, then he's a company-spy !" Helen's fingers tightened on the counter. She felt the blood drain from her face. "You're lying!" she cried. "Tell her, Tom," Pete said. "Well," Tom said. "You know how he came to work? In a car as long as a block — with a chauffeur. He pulls up in front of the plant and the chauf- feur hops out and opens the door for him just as nice and he walks right in like he owns the place." "I don't believe it!" Helen said. "It's a fact," Pete said, "Tom was there at the front gate when it hap- pened. Next thing we know, he's workin' at a machine, just like the rest of us." Pete and Tom seemed a long way off. Ernie. Her Ernie! The little res- taurant seemed to be wobbling under her feet. She struggled to get a hold on herself. Pete was still talking. " — and maybe it's none of our busi- ness," he was saying, "but we figure he's just playing around with you. Hell," he said, roughly, but there was sympathy in his voice, "that guy is just making a chump out of you, like he is of all of us." "I don't believe it," Helen said. "Okay," Tom said, as the two turned to leave, "but if I was you, I'd find out his real name. For your own protection." For your own protection. The words kept going around and around in Helen's head all that afternoon. A chauffeur. Ernie with a chauffeur! It wasn't real. Things like that didn't happen. He was just a plain guy, he had said so himself. And he loved her, she was sure of that. But was she? Tom and Pete had no reason to lie to her. And how well did she know Ernie? One date. A few ro- mantic words on a beautiful night. That night, when he walked into the restaurant, not looking any dif- ferent, not seeming any different, she began to hope again. "How about a date?" Ernie said. She wanted to say "No." But she said "All right." And then, after he had left, she was glad, because he would explain everything. She was sure he would. But he didn't. As they were walk- ing home after the movies it began to rain and they ran up on the front porch of her boarding house and Ernie tried to take her in his arms. Gently she held him away. "Ernie, I want to talk to you." "Sure," he grinned, "but let me kiss you first. Say, you've been actin' kind of funny tonight." "Funny! Ernie," she said, "who are you?" He looked at her in amazement. "Me? Well, can you tie that?" he said. "What's eatin' you, Helen?" S^M^-^. MARION MANN — who has taken over Evelyn Lynne's singing duties on the NBC Breakfast Club and Club Matinee programs, now that Evelyn has married and retired from radio. Back in Colum- bus, Ohio, where she went to school, people knew Marion as Marion Bateson, and predicted great things for her when they heord her sing in a school production of "If I Were King." After she left school she joined the Emerson Gill, Jan Garber and Bob Crosby orchestras in succession, before marrying Jack Macy, tennis professional, and looking around for work that would let her stay at home in Chicago. She found it in the NBC studios and now intends to devote all her time not spent in rehearsing or broad- casting to being a model housewife and cooking as well as she sings. 52 "Please," she said, and she felt the tears coming, "won't you tell me?" "But for crying out loud," he said, still amazed, "what's there to tell? The name's Dell. Ernie Dell. I work right across the street at the factory, remember me? I eat at Bill's place. You know all the rest. I told you. I'm twenty-five and a plain, working guy. This is the first decent job I ever had and you're the first girl — " "Please," Helen said, "just tell me your right name." "My what?" He began to get angry. "What are you givin' me? You know that's my right name as well as I do." "Oh, maybe it is," Helen cried. Ernie Dell could be his real name, she thought. But now she was sure he was withholding something. "But you haven't told me everything!" Ernie's face was flushed. "What haven't I told you?" he said in a hard, angry voice. "Well — " she was afraid now. "What about that car and chauffeur that brought you to the plant?" His eyes narrowed. "What about it?" he challenged. Before his gaze, Helen's eyes dropped to the wooden floor of the porch where tiny raindrops glistened. "But— but Pete and Tom said you—" "Pete and Tom!" Ernie exploded, not waiting for her to finish. "So you've been talking to them about me — taking their word against mine!" "Oh no, Ernie," Helen protested, but Ernie's voice went on: "I might have known you'd be on their side. They always were out to get me. But you're their friend. Sure." Now he was talking breath- lessly, all the words running out on top of the other. "Well believe all you like. If you don't believe me — if you can't trust me, why all right. Go ahead and believe them." With a furious tug at the brim of his hat, Ernie turned and slammed down the steps, out into the rain. "Ernie!" Helen cried his name knowing he wouldn't listen, that he had gone because she hadn't believed him. Oh why had she had to ask him, why couldn't she just go on like she had? yW'HY Ernie kept coming into Bill's place to eat, she didn't know. He sat, all alone now, at the far end of the counter. He had been coming in every day for the past two weeks, sit- ting alone, not talking to anyone, not ever speaking to her. A hundred times she wanted to say something to him, but when she came to serve him, something inside her went dead. The noon rush hour was almost over. Tom and Pete, sitting as far down the counter from Ernie as they could get, were just finishing up. Helen might not have paid much at- tention to the tall, thin-faced man who entered, if he hadn't been looking at Ernie so closely as Ernie got up to pay his check. "Say," he said, as Ernie paid Helen, "aren't you the guy I picked up on the road a few months back?" Ernie looked. "Yeah," he said, and he smiled for the first time in weeks. "How are you?" "Out of a job," the man said, "but say you look like you had luck." "If you want to call it that," Ernie said. "I got a job." The thin -faced man seemed to want to talk some more, but Ernie, after telling him the name of the foreman RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR at the plant, wished him luck and left. Tom and Pete came over to pay their checks. "Lucky guy," the thin-faced man grinned at Pete, "I picked him up on the road a couple of months back and gave him a lift up to the gate." He laughed. "That's what gave me the idea of trying for a job here after I got canned." Pete's mouth was open. "Are you the guy who drove him here?" "That's right," the thin-faced man said. "I was chauffeuring for a fussy old dame at the time. She'd a had a fit if she knew about it." He grinned. "She had a fit anyway and tied the can on me. Say, maybe you guys can put in a good word for me." "You mean you ain't his chauffeur?" Tom said, stunned. The man looked puzzled. "You mean that fellah who just went out?" Helen held her breath. Pete and Tom nodded. "Naw," the thin-faced man laughed, showing a gold tooth. "Like I told you, I just gave him a lift that day. I picked him up on the highway and when he told me he was coming here for a job I gave him a lift, that's all." Tears were running down Helen's cheeks. Pete and Tom looked em- barrassed. They put their money gin- gerly on the till and left. The thin- faced man scratched his head. "Say," he asked, "did I say something wrong?" "No," Helen sobbed, "nothing wrong." The thin-faced man went out and walked slowly toward the factory. Helen sat down at the counter. She couldn't keep the tears out of her eyes. She kept seeing the hurt, puz- zled look in Ernie's eyes that night on the porch. She knew now that she should have trusted him, should have believed in him. CHE put her head in her arms and began to sob. Then she heard someone pounding on the counter and looked up. It was Ernie. "I've decided," he said, "to have some dessert." "Wha-aat kind?" Helen said, try- ing to keep her voice from breaking. "Well," Ernie said, grinning, "that depends. What do the guys around here eat?" "I've been such a fool," Helen sobbed, not able to look at him. "I should have listened to myself — I mean myself, inside, instead of to other people." She looked up at him now. "I don't know what to say," she said, trying to hold back the tears. "You've already said it," Ernie said, softly. "You're sorry. That's all that Pete and Tom said. That was enougli." "You must hate me," Helen said. "Cut it out," Ernie said. "Sure, it was tough, but in a way it was worth it. Now I know how swell it is to be just a plain guy. You miss out on an awful lot if you're not. Say, I'm beginning to make a speech. And that's not what I came in here for." "Your dessert — " Helen said, trying to dry her tears on her apron. "Not that, either," Ernie said, and reached across the counter. When the cook came in from the kitchen, he opened his mouth to yell at Helen to turn off the fare under the coffee urn because it was boiling over. But she was half way across the count- er being kissed, so he turned it off him- self and crept silently back to his lamb stew, the tomorrow's special. JANUARY, 1942 IS.'."- i Use pI\ESH*2 and stay fresher! PUT FRESH #2 under one arm— put your present non-perspirant under the other. And then . . . 1 . See which one checks perspiration bet- ter. We think FRESH #2 will. 2. See which one prevents perspiration odor better. We are confident you'll find FRESH #2 will give you a feeling of complete under-arm security. 3. See how gentle FRESH #2 is — how pleasant to use. 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Popular with men too. 53 Made For Each Other (Continued from page 33) mouth opened and stayed that way for a few seconds. She smiled. Alan had never seen such a beautiful girl. She seemed to float, rather than walk. Her hair was the color of copper in the sun, her skin was glowingly white and her eyes a deep, laughing blue. "Hurrumph!" J. C. Nugent said, watching the two youngsters as they stared at each other. The young man had hair almost the same color as the girl's, a sensitive, earnest face and serious brown eyes. "Is Mr. Duncan in?" Alan asked, as the girl stepped to Nugent's side. "Yes, he's in," Nugent said, "but he's busy rehearsing." He looked at the boy carefully. Then he smiled mischievously. "Tell you what," he said. "You take my daughter here to lunch. When you come back, Dun- can will probably see you." As anyone who knows him will tell you, J. C. is like that. Bluff. A little frightening. But — swell. Alan caught his breath. "Go on, now," Nugent said. "You do want to take her to lunch, don't you?" "Oh, yes," Alan stammered. gOMEHOW, Alan found himself outside, with the girl walking along beside him. He had about a dollar, just enough to get by at the tea room down the street. The girl looked up at him. "Father forgot to introduce us," she said. "I'm Ruth Nugent." "I know," Alan said. "You're in the show. My name's Alan. Alan Bunce." The girl smiled. "This is sort of crazy, isn't it?" Alan smiled, too. He felt more at ease now. "I think it's swell," he said. "The minute I saw you, I wondered how I was going to get to know you." "Me, too," Ruth said softly. In the tea room, a typical theatrical hangout, there were other actors, eating busily, laughing, talking show business. But as far as Alan and Ruth were concerned, they all could have been in Singapore. A strange and wonderful thing had happened to these two — almost a story book hap- pening. They were in love. To Alan, it seemed a little more fantastic than it did to Ruth. All her life, Ruth had been in the theater. In fact, she had made her debut at the age of nineteen months, holding her father's hand as she toddled on stage. But Alan was a newcomer. He had stumbled into it by accident and amazing things had been hap- pening to him ever since. While Ruth, as a child, was troup- ing, Alan was playing cops and rob- bers in the little town of Westfield, New Jersey. His mother died when Alan was only fifteen and then, a few years later, his father followed her. Alan went to live with his sister in Melrose, Massachusetts. Summers, he worked as a room clerk in his aunt's Inn in Greenwich, Connecticut. One after another, a series of menial jobs followed. He went to New York, alone, and worked- as a runner and office sweeper for a cotton broker at $12 a week, sold candy for a wholesale house. He did everything and anything to keep going. He saw his first stage show in a theater just a few doors from where 54 he met Ruth. Then, sitting in the second balcony, he met a young man who wrote stories for Snappy Maga- zine. Alan was very impressed with the stream of theatrical names that rolled off that young man's tongue. They became friends. The friendship continued and Alan met people in "The Arts," among them Sidney Howard, the playwright. When Howard asked Alan what he did, for lack of anything else to say, Alan said he was an actor. And before he knew it, he had a job in Howard's new show at the unheard of salary of $40 a week. Augustin Duncan was directing the show and, because Alan was too raw and in- experienced even to be frightened by this great name, he managed to get through his small part very well. One theater job followed another. He always just seemed to "stumble" into them. He never decided to be an actor, it just happened to him. Amazing things happened, like his being called in to fill Chester Morris's shoes at the last minute in a Eugene O'Neill play. Alan was given two nights to learn the part. The other performers on the stage didn't even know him when he walked on to play the lead. They had heard nothing about Morris leaving and stared in astonishment at the young man playing his part. Then, out to Detroit, to play in Jessie Bonstelle's company, with Frank Morgan and Ann Harding. This had been luck, too. Now, he was back in New York, broke, an actor. He wasn't quite sure whether he was an actor or not. COMING NEXT MONTH! Complete words and music of a new Rudy Vallee hit tune ■'EVERY HOUR OF THE DAY" He wasn't quite sure of anything, as he sat opposite this strange girl, whom he didn't really know, yet loved. Alan almost expected to wake up and find his aunt hovering over him, telling him he had been dreaming and was late for school. After all, he was only nineteen. Before Alan was half way through that lunch, he was deter- mined to make good as an actor. And for a reason, now. gUT, when you want success the most, it is hardest to get. The next few months were lean ones. Some- times Alan would get very dis- couraged when jobs didn't come up, but Ruth was always there to en- courage and help him. His career became more important to her than her own. The fact that he was often broke made not the slightest differ- ence to the girl who loved him. She had faith in his future. Then, about six months after they had met, the Nugcnts, J. C. and Ruth's actor brother, Elliot, decided to take "Kempy" on tour. That meant Ruth would go along, and she and Alan would be separated. They were both frightened. Sometimes companies go on the road for months. A hit like "Kempy" might tour for a year. A few days before the company was to leave, Ruth and Alan sat in their little tea room, talking it over. "I suppose my understudy could do the part," Ruth said, "and I could find a job here." Alan shook his head. "No. Jobs are hard to find now, and there's no reason why you should leave the play on account of me." "But there is," Ruth said. 'p HEY sat there and talked for hours, but they couldn't find any practi- cal way to stay together. They walked back to the theater slowly, trying to figure out a way. As they stood by the stage door, Ruth's father came out. He stopped and grinned at them. "Looks like I started something," he said. "I guess so," Alan smiled. "Hurrumph! Got a job?" J. C. asked. "Not right now," Alan said. "How would you like to work with us?" Nugent smiled. "You mean, go on the road with you?" Alan asked. "Sure. I can't have an unhappy daughter to worry about. You can understudy Elliot and try your hand at stage managing." The next three months were about the happiest Alan and Ruth had ever spent. The hard work, the long jumps from town to town, were nothing, as long as they were to- gether. Even when the company dis- banded in West Virginia, it didn't disturb them in the least. Both of them had saved money. They plan- ned to return to New York, work hard, save more money towards the day when they could get married. Sometimes they were in the same plays. Sometimes they were in different plays, but both working at the same time. Slowly and steadily, they were making a reputation in the theater. Then, one night in Stam- ford, Connecticut, while they were waiting backstage for their cues, Alan said, "Let's get married." "When?" Ruth asked. "As soon as we get back to New York." "All right," Ruth said, and kissed him. And it was settled just like that, simply and without any fuss. Ruth Nugent and Alan Bunce were married in Grace Church in New York City, not quite three years from the time they first met, back- stage at the Belmont Theater. They set up housekeeping in a small New York apartment. They both opened in plays the week they were married, so instead of going on a honeymoon, they settled down to work. In another year, Alan was playing the juvenile lead in a show called "Tommy." Ruth was' working, too, in a nearby theater. After the play had been running for awhile, Alan was offered a chance to go to Holly- wood and play in "Tommy" out there. The day after he signed the contract and he and Ruth were packing to leave, they were both offered a chance to go to Australia. They were bitterly disappointed, but they turned it down. It would have been their first real chance to have a honeymoon and it was a trip they'd always wanted to take. "Never mind," Alan said. "We'll RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROB get another offer. We're lucky to- gether." They went to the Coast and Alan played in "Tommy." Three days after they returned to New York, the Australian offer was made again. Gleefully, they accepted it. They were to leave in three weeks. One week went by and they could hardly wait for the next two to pass. Then, Alan got a phone call from a producer. "Listen," the producer said, "I've got a hit play in rehearsal and my male lead is ruining the part. You've got to help me out." "But I'm going to Australia," Alan said. He turned to Ruth and ex- plained what was happening. "At least, open the play for me," the producer wailed. "I'll get some- body to take over before you leave." "Should I?" Alan asked Ruth. "Of course," Ruth said. "You can't let him down. He's been nice to you. That's show business." _^LAN opened in the show. It was a smash hit called "The Perfect Alibi." It was the part he had been waiting for all his life. It was made to order for him. But when the time came to go to Australia with Ruth, as they had planned, Alan turned the part over to his understudy and sailed. He had played it just twelve days. He gave up something that few actors would pass by. But Alan was a husband first and an actor second. And he knew how much Ruth wanted to go on that trip. Alan has never regretted giving up that part and going to Australia. They were away over a year, vaga- bonding, trouping, having the time of their lives. When the tour was over, instead of coming home, they hopped over to India. They travelled from Madras to Bombay and to strange and exotic spots all over the globe. There isn't much more to tell. They returned to New York and went on working. A family began to arrive, but up until three years ago, Ruth doubled in brass, being a fine actress and a good mother at the same time. Then, when Alan began to get very busy, working in radio and on the stage, Ruth decided the children needed one of them near, at all times, and temporarily gave up her career. She didn't feel like a martyr, either. For, just as Alan is a husband first and an actor second, Ruth is a wife and mother first and an actress second. In fact, it's Alan who is always urging her to return to the stage. He's very proud of her talent. "Just the other day," Alan said, "a critic, in judging a new and brilliant young actress, said that she was the freshest and most exciting ingenue he's seen since watching Ruth Nugent in 'Kempy'." Ruth is still a very young woman, still talented and beautiful, and she may very likely return to the stage, one day. But right now, she's happy and very busy with Lanny, aged eight, Elliot, five, and a little girl, Virginia, who is a year and a half old. Alan and Ruth have a beautiful, rambling old New England place in Stamford, Connecticut. Every day, after finishing his Doctor Malone show, Alan gets on the commuters' express along with lawyers, doctors and businessmen and travels happily home to his wife, the three children, a pony, two dogs and a rabbit. All of which he might never have had if he hadn't walked down that alley to that stage door that day. JANUARY, 1942 I'm knovs^n at home as the ugly duckling'' "Hm! Pretty good-looking duckling to me! What d'you mean, you're known at home . . . ?" "Dad calls me that on account of what I used to be. You should have known me then! Thin, skinny, run-down— I even used to . . ." "Used to what?" "Scare babies, like this! And then I was told I had a Vitamin B Complex deficiency." "Say it in English!" "It's a shortage of those amazing vitamins you find in their natural form in fresh yeast. So I bought a week's supply of fleischmann's. Took two cakes a day in nice cool tomato juice, and pretty soon . . ." "Pretty soon— a dream come true! But what's this business about tomato juice.'" "That's the new way to take yeast. Lookit! Mash a cake of fleischmann's in a dry glass with a fork, add a little tomato juice, stir till blended, fill up the glass, and drink. Delicious!" M.oM."!"""'- Ever read the fleischmann label? This is the only yeast with all these vitamins. And the only sources of the important Vitamin B Complex are nati/ial sources, such as yeast and liver. Remem- ber, if you bake at home, that three of the important vitamins in fleischmann's, B,, D, and G, are not appreciably lost in the oven; they go right into the bread. Fleischmann's Fresh Yeast For Natural Vitamin B Complex 55 RADIO IM I R R O R ■m'jmf for Febriiar;^ :— A Special Treat — Your favorite stars of the beloved daytime drama — MARY MARLIN in beautiful, album-size portrait pictures! JOHN'S OTHER WIFE She tried to keep her husband's eyes from straying — read this complete, thrilling novelette of the popular radio serial. WOMAN OF COURAGE in brilliant fiction form, this great story of a woman's gallant struggle to hold her family together continues this month. CaTRA Song Hit of the Month LaTRA Plus all the delightful, exclusive radio features and departments. FEBRUARY Final Glory ^ N nnniFiFVKiAn ON SHE HnD TELEVision DtCtMBER M/RROR 56 {Continued from page 14) tremities." Lucille was embarrassed. "Eef eet were the first of the month," she mur- mured, "I would give you every penny of the collections ... I 'ave now but ten dollars in my purse. Weel that — " Adelaide shook her head. "Ten dol- lars wouldn't be a drop in the bucket," she said. "I'll need fifty. I believe I'll pawn my garnets." Lucille's face was suffused by a strange mistiness. "But the garnets," she exclaimed, "you said you would never part with them. He — " Adelaide said, with a degree of gentleness, "He'd want me to use them to stage a comeback." 'PHE pawnbroker knew Adelaide well. He took the garnets with a gesture of regret and handed over a sheaf of crisp bills. "I'll keep 'em separate with the rest of your stuff, Miss Lambert," he said as he held open the door for Adelaide. The hat shop she entered was not shoddy or cut rate — it was the best on the avenue, and the hat she chose jus- tified the address! It was a smart hat with a little mauve bird set coyly upon the brim. It was the little bird that sold Adelaide. "I'll wear it," she in- formed the clerk. "No, don't send my old one home — " Lucille's rooming house was on a mean street and one must never lose caste with a sales- lady— "I'll stop by for it in a day or two." The shoes required more care. Adelaide knew that she should get something sturdy, to last — but she shut her soul to the voice of con- science and wavered between quaint square-toed satin slippers with an ankle strap and higli heeled suede with buckles. The buckles won. Fifty dollars for a new hat and a pair of shoes. It might seem a lot to some, but not to the Adelaide Lam- bert who had paid fifty dollars for far lesser items, in the past. She went trippingly down the street — admiring her reflection in the gleaming plate glass store fronts. The hat was set jauntily upon her dyed hair. The slipper buckles were like prisms in the sunlight. "I'll knock 'em dead," she thought, just before she hailed a taxi and gave the address of the Radio Mart. "I'll knock 'em for a loop . . ." She did. The dress rehearsal was almost ready to start when Adelaide Lam- bert walked into the room. The lead- ing lady held her script in a firm hand and stood close to the micro- phone, testing it for height. The star was in front of a mirror, running a comb through his hair with its dis- tinguished gray streak. The ingenue was curled up in a corner chair, star- ing into the distance, and the director was all set to go into the control room. He was just saying to his sec- retary, "That last letter must have gone astray, too — you'll have to get me someone — " when Adelaide ap- peared. She paused, just across the sill, her hat tilted at its jaunty angle — the little bird fairly quivering. And — "I," she said, "am Miss Lam- bert." It was as good an entrance as she'd ever made. It got them. Adelaide was aware of the electric current that ran through the room — and her nos- trils quivered as the director rushed forward, his face showing intense re- lief. RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR "Miss Lambert," he said, "Miss Adelaide Lambert?" "The same," nodded Adelaide. The director said exultantly, "Then you did get the letter — I'm so glad! I was ready to give the part to some- one else. You're in the nick of time." Adelaide Lambert pulled her taffeta skirt aside so that the buckles on her shoes were slightly more in evidence. She said slowly — "How fortunate — for your show!" and, oddly enough, there wasn't a shade of conceit in her voice — only a nonchalance that was too casual to be assumed! pROM that moment Adelaide Lam- bert— whose part was a rather small one — just a wise, significant speech at the beginning, just a few telling sentences at the end of the script — became the star, in truth. Holding her mimeographed copy far away from her face — the better to see the printed words — she read her lines as she had always read lines, with verve and assurance. And when the rehearsal was over the others gathered around her and begged for the priv- ilege of touching a wrinkled hand. It was quite a reception, and Ade- laide's cheeks grew pink as she list- ened to praise which fell like manna all about her. "You're too, too good," she said finally. "All of you. Really, you're making me feel as if this is a debut." The director said, "It's your radio debut, Miss Lambert. We're going to keep you busy from now on — don't you worry about that." Adelaide said, "I have never wor- ried— about anything — " which was a white lie. Her voice shook ever so slightly, and the leading lady, gen- uinely kind, put an impulsive arm around the slight shoulders that held themselves so proudly erect. "You must be exhausted. Miss Lam- bert," said the leading lady. "I know I am! These rehearsals — they're the very devil — and our director's a slave driver. You must go home and take a good nap. But sleep with an alarm clock at your ear, for heaven's sake. Because if you miss the show — " Adelaide interrupted with laugh- ter. "You may take a nap, my dear, she said, "you're young and emotional and need to relax. But never in my life have I slept a wink before an opening. And never have I missed a show. . . ." She was back in her room again — the room that looked empty without its pictures and its Spanish shawl. The fire was still smoldering on the hearth and the tip of a photograph had fallen out of the grate unburned. "I was a riot, Lucille," she said to the hovering woman who had once been her maid, "and was the director relieved to have me in the cast! The children that support me are nice, but they don't know the first thing about acting. . . . What I could teach them —if I had time!" "Time?" queried Lucille. Adelaide bridled. "The director," she said, "is going to keep me very busy — you'll see a lot less of me, Lu- cille, from now on . . . This script I'm to play in is only a one-shot — " (how quickly one caught on to the jargon of this infant art!) — "but there'll be other shows. . . . The di- rector is simply crazy about me." "'The director," commented Lucille, "ees a man of sense." Adelaide went on. It was as if she were wound up. "They all crowded JANUARY, 1942 around me," she said, "after I'd read my final speech. Even the electrician and the director's secretary and an- other man who does things with wires in the control room. One girl — a pretty thing with a sweet voice — asked for my autograph. I gave it to her, of course." Lucille said, "When must you be back at thees place from which they weel broadcast your voice?" Adelaide told her, "The show goes on at eight-thirty and runs for half an hour. I must be there by eight." Lucille nodded. "C'est bon," she said. "That weel give you time to rest, and also for a bite of supper." Adelaide walked over to the mirror and removed her new hat. She ran fingers through her hair until it stood upright. "What's the matter with every- body?" she wanted to know. "The pretty girl told me to go home and take a nap, and the director told me to take it easy — and now you're after me . . . I've no time to rest, Lucille — I must be letter perfect. I must mem- orize my part." "Why memorize eet?" queried Lu- cille. "'Ave you not the printed sheet from which you can read your lines?" Adelaide said, "I'm not sure of printed words — unless I wear glasses. And my spectacles are old-fashioned, and my lorgnette has been pawned, worse luck. I'll learn the part, and don't you try to stop me!" Lucille sighed. "At least, Mees Addie," she said, "you can learn your part lying down?" "I'll do no such thing," Adelaide re- torted. "I'll learn my part standing . . . I'll borrow that hat rack thing you have in the hall — it's about the height of a microphone — and I'll set it up in front of the mirror where I can see myself." Lucille threw wide her hands in a gesture of despair. "Nevaire 'ave I been able to make you do things my way!" she mourned. Suddenly she was struck with an idea. "But, of course, Mees Addie, I weel go weeth you to the Radio Mart this evening? A star weethout 'er personal maid — " She paused expressively. Adelaide smiled, her good humor returning. "I asked the director if I might bring you," she said. "You understand, Lucille, that you'll have to sit in the control room . . . Only the actors are allowed in the room with the mike. But you can see me and hear me — and you may help me on with my jacket when it's all over." -TpHE control room was crowded. The author was there and so was the star's wife. The sponsor was on hand, and there were a couple of ladies who had dined and wined with the sponsor. The ladies wore identical ermine capes . . . The production man was fussing with this and that, and the electrician was standing by, and the director was arranging the pages of his script and glancing at his watch — and saying the right thing to the sponsor and the wrong thing to the wife of the star. There was hardly room for Lucille to squeeze in, but squeeze in she did. Lucille, peering out of the glass cage, saw Adelaide Lambert coming toward the microphone. She walked proudly — her buckled slippers twink- ling, but Lucille noticed that there was a white line around her mouth and that the color in her cheeks was a dull scarlet. Adelaide had eaten no supper. Tense with excitement she Girls who use April Showers Talc find that its sweet freshness lingers on . . . all through the hours of that important date! "Whisper- ing of romance . . . creating an aura of deli- cious femininity. Exquisite but not Expensive. #^^" 'Shower^. NEW . . . 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All 5c and lOc stores. kill klAII C ^fTIFICIAL n\J~r%r\ulm^ FINGERNAILS S25X W. Harrison St., Dcpt. 16-A, Chicago had refused even a cup of tea and a sliver of toast. Standing in front of the hat rack she had laboriously learned her part — pretending that she spoke it through a microphone. When the director muttered — "My Lord, Miss Lambert's forgotten her script," Lucille told him hastily, "She does not neet eet. She memorized the role thees afternoon." Then it was eight-thirty and a tall man was stepping up to the micro- phone and speaking. "This," he was saying, "is your announcer . . . You will now be privileged to listen to an original story featuring an all star cast — " he named names, and as his voice came suavely into the control room, Lucille — leaning forward — saw the harsh color recede from the cheeks of an old woman who was slated to make the opening speech. The others saw it, too. Then swiftly, miraculously, Ade- laide Lambert's voice — that had been adored by fifty years of theater-goers — crept into the room, and Adelaide Lambert's old magic was taking the vast listening audience by storm. 'pHE first speech was mercifully short. Lucille, her hands clenched so tight that the nails bit into the palms, heard Adelaide's voice reach its lilting period. It was an old lady's voice, but sprinkled with moonbeams. She saw Adelaide step aside so that the leading lady and the star might take her place. Adelaide still stood stiffly erect, but Lucille wondered whether it was the light reflected on the glass walls of the control room, or whether she wavered slightly on her high spike heels. She half rose, thinking — "I should go to her — she may need smelling salts — " but the author's hand on her knee, forced her back, and the show went on. Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes, twenty minutes. To Lucille, sitting beside the author, they were as many hours. To the director they were as many pulse beats. The big scene between the leading lady and the star was over, and the ingenue was speaking petulantly. Now the climax had been reached and passed, and the little old woman again moved forward, gropingly, to take her place before the mike, and Lucille, start- ing up — no hand on a knee could stop her now! — cried, "Mon Dieu, she weel — collapse." The director's fingers were grip- ping the arms of his chair. He glanced at the sponsor and saw a big contract slipping out of the back door, and then — straightening herself with a vast effort, painful to everyone who watched — lifting her chin so that the wrinkles in her throat were barely visible from the control room, Ade- laide Lambert started her final speech. It had everythin g — that final speech. It had the ashes of ronnance and the dust of desire. It had glamour as brittle and fragrant as potpourri, and it had — Lucille shivered to realize the quality — resignation. The director's fingers relaxed and the author bit his underlip, and Lu- cille held her breath until her throat ached — as the speech swept on to its brave finish, and then — so softly that there was no stir of jarring sound in the control room — the old woman slipped down to the floor and Lucille, sobbing breathlessly, was saying — "I must go to 'er. Eet ees 'er 'eart. I knew eet would one day come — like thees. . . ." She was halfway to the door when the director spoke. "It would ruin the show if you went now," he said — "the audience would hear. She wouldn't want to ruin the show . . . The announcer will take only a minute." A minute — a truce with eternity! But Adelaide Lambert wouldn't want to ruin the show — the director was right. Lucille stopped in her tracks. She saw the star stoop and ease the small, crumpled figure from the path of the announcer. She saw the an- nouncer come forward and she heard his voice — as suave and expression- less as if nothing whatsoever had hap- pened. The engineer did something with a group of keys and the produc- tion man pushed back his chair and then they were all rushing from the control room together, but it was Lu- cille who reached Adelaide Lambert first. She flopped to the floor, in her rusty black dress, and took the old head — with its gallant dyed hair — into her lap. "Mees Addie!" she sobbed. Adelaide Lambert didn't move for a moment. To the leading lady, press- ing forward, she seemed dead already. To the star — shoving his beautifully tailored coat under the little feet in their buckled shoes — she was a fragile ghost in a room full of living people. But Lucille could sense the flutter of lids, the faint movement of lips. She leaned forward so that she might hear the words that were surely coming. But when Adelaide spoke she spoke strongly. She was not one to renege on a curtain call. "How did I do?" she asked. "You were superb," said the di- rector, and his voice was miraculously steady. "Superb!" Adelaide Lambert smiled and the lids fluttered down to rest peacefully above tired eyes. Nobody thought that she would speak again, but she did. "The applause," said Adelaide Lam- bert, "was terrific . . . But the foot- lights have grown — very dim." S^M^T^. ARTIE AUERBACH— the lovable Mr. "Could Be" Ki+zel of Al Pearce's show on CBS. Artie was born in New York City on May 17, 1905, graduated from the New York University School of Journalism, and began a newspaper career on a now-defunct Bronx tabloid. He worked as a reporter for ten years, and learned dialects because when he was on a story involving foreigners it was easier to get the news if he could convince the people he was "one of them." The dialects led him to stage and then radio work, and he was heard on the air with Phil Baker, Eddie Cantor, Joe Penner, Jack Haley and others before he joined Pearce's gang. He has two hobbies, both rather odd — collecting firearms and old glass paper-weights. .58 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIDBOB Woman of Courage (Coritinued from page 11) dragged out goodbyes. So, she had to be contented with kissing him quietly before the others and then, watching from the door, while George lifted him into the car and wrapped blankets around him. Her eyes filled with tears. Jim was so gay, waving goodbye and shouting to them all. Tommy was holding her hand. "He'll come back, won't he, Mrs. Jackson?" Tommy asked. "Of course, he will!" Lucy flashed. "I think it's wonderful that he's going to be cured." "Then why are you crying, Mrs. Jackson?" Tommy asked. Martha squeezed his hand and smiled. "Because — well — I think it's wonderful, too." She watched the car disappear down the street and her heart offered up a prayer. "Oh, Jim, darling," she prayed silently, "God bless you and help you and give you what you want." 'pHE first four weeks Jim was away seemed like an eternity to Martha. It was hard to tell from Jim's short letters how he was progressing, if at all. And Martha couldn't help think- ing that perhaps Cora's attitude was more realistic than hers or Jim's. It was all very well to believe in mir- acles, but what if the miracle didn't come to pass? Would her love be enough to sustain Jim, if he were robbed of the hope of recovery? Was love ever enough to any man? Could any woman be all things to any man? Thoughts like these weighed heavy on Martha's spirit. And, of all the people close to her, George Harrison was the only one who was aware that Martha was not as happy as she pre- tended. It was a comfort to know that she need not act gay and light- hearted with him. There was some- thing wonderfully warm and pleasant in glancing up from her work to see George sitting nearby, smoking his pipe and checking over her accounts and looking up, for a moment, to flash her a look of understanding and friendliness from his quietly smiling eyes. Finally, Jim wrote that Dr. Ryan said he could have visitors. Martha was as thrilled as a young girl pre- paring for her first date. She put on the blue dress that Jim liked so much because it matched her eyes and she fussed over her long, blonde hair, brushing it and pinning it up and taking it down to do it over. She laughed at herself in the mir- ror. "You look all right, Martha," she thought. And she was glad. It wasn't vanity. She was just happy, because she knew Jim had always been proud of the way she looked and she wasn't going to disappoint him, now. And, when she walked up to Jim on the terrace of the sanitarium, she was glad George had tactfully suggested she go up to Jim alone, first. For Jim's eyes lit up so, when he saw her, and their kiss had about it such a quality of young, long-separated lov- ers meeting, that Martha knew any outsider would have been embar- pS-SSGci "Here, now," Martha said. "We're a little old for this sort of thing." "I'll never be too old," Jim grinned. "Besides, you don't look a day older than when I married you." By the time George joined them, JANUARY, 1942 his arms full of gifts from the rest of the familly, Jim and Martha had set- tled down and Jim was chattering gayly about his treatments and the progress he was making. He was happy and he looked so much better than he had for months. Martha found all doubt and fear ebbing from her heart. Jim was going to be all right. Then it was her turn and George's. Jim had to be told all the gossip from home. They laughed over Tommy's comment on old Veronica Hall's idea of going to the High School com- mencement costume ball dressed as a witch and Martha described Lucy's costume. "What are you going to wear?" Jim "Why—" Martha laughed. "I'm not going." Jim's face clouded. "Martha," he said softly, "I know — you think be- cause I'm — you think you shouldn't go because of me. That's not right. You know I want you to have a good time. You deserve it. And — and I'd sort of like to think of you at the ball — how you'll look — and — " He turned to George reprovingly. "George, I'm surprised. Why haven't you asked her?" "I — I meant to," George said, a sud- den note of eagerness making his voice rise perceptibly. Jim laughed. "That's settled, then. And you see to it, George, that she has some fun. I'm counting on you. Well, here comes my nurse — must be time for my treatment. I'm afraid you'll have to go now." He pulled Martha down to kiss her. "Don't wor- ry too much about me," he whispered. When they were in the car, George said, "I'm going to kidnap you for awhile." "What are you talking about?" Martha asked. "We're going to celebrate," George said. "For weeks, you've been wor- ried and now your mind is at rest and we're going to have a little fling, be- fore you go back home and start play- ing Mother, Father and Big Sister to everyone in town." gOMEHOW, George had sensed her mood. She did feel like celebrating. For the first time in many months, she felt free of care. They stopped and phoned Lucy not to expect them for dinner. Then, they drove to Twin Falls and had a candlelit dinner with wine and music and Martha found herself laughing a great deal, good, honest, uninhibited laughter. As they drove homeward, through the soft, June evening, it occurred to Martha that it was very odd a man like George had never married. She wondered why. He had money. He was handsome and his forty-some years sat lightly on his broad, straight shoulders. He was charming and con- siderate and generous. Most of all, he had an understanding, a sensitivity to the feelings and moods of others that was rare. It seemed very strange that he hadn't married. The dance was three weeks off and there would have been plenty of time to make a costume, but Martha felt she should make some concessions to propriety. Farmington had definite ideas about things and she knew that, even if she tried to explain Jim's atti- tude, his wanting her to go out and have fun, people would not under- stand. So, she compromised, by mak- N6W under-arm Cream Deodorant safely Stops Perspiration 1. Does not harm dresses, or men's shirts. Does not irritate skin. 2. No waiting to dry. Can be used right after shaving. 3. Instantly checks perspiration for 1 to 3 days. Removes odor from perspiration, keeps armpits dry. 4. A pure white, greaseless, stainless vanishing cream. 5. Arrid has been awarded the Approval Seal of the American Institute of Laundering, for being harmless to fabrics. 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She described herself, laughingly. "I look like a hussy and it's all your fault," she finished. "So — if you hear any gossip — " "The day you look like a hussy," Jim retorted, "I'll have green hair. Now, you have a good time." Having spoken to Jim made her feel better. Still, she couldn't shake that feeling of strangeness. She and Jim had gone to so many of these balls together. The same old band was playing pretty much the same old music and the evening was so full of memories and past laughter and gayety, that Martha found herself los- ing all contact with the present. And somehow, when the band started playing "The Merry Widow Waltz," Martha found that by closing her eyes and giving herself up to the rhythm of the familiar strains she could recapture the old feeling of oneness and perfect harmony that she always felt when she used to dance with Jim. The illusion was so com- plete that she wasn't even startled to find herself pressed close by strong arms and her lips caught and held by a kiss that sent an overpowering diz- ziness through her. pOR a moment, it seemed to Martha that time had really turned back- ward and she and Jim were young again, young and caught up in the urgency of their love. Then, she opened her eyes and stared uncom- prehendingly into George's face. Their eyes held, for a long moment, and before George let her go, Martha knew and understood everything. Martha forced herself to laugh. She looked around quickly. They were in a secluded corner, almost completely hidden by a tall, potted palm. "Why, George!" she said, as lightly as she could. "I — I couldn't — " George began. Then, he made his voice light, to match hers. "I thought I ought to do what Jim would have done. That was just to cap your success as the belle of the ball," he added glibly. "That's very gallant, George," Mar- tha said. "Thank you." And they looked at each other and both of them knew they were lying. In the following days, Martha found that kiss forcing its way into her mind, time after time. She tried to tell herself it had meant nothing, that it was her vanity which made her interpret the look in George's eyes as love. But she knew this wasn't true. She was afraid and confused. She was afraid, because that one kiss and her response to it had made very clear to her how unnatural her life had been since Jim's accident and how dangerous the situation was, now. She knew she loved Jim. Noth- ing could ever change that. And she would fight with all her strength against betraying that love. But she knew, too, that nothing— no one — had ever challenged her love or her strength before. And she was afraid. She felt she must see Jim, immedi- ately, that seeing him, telling him what had happened would help her regain her hold on reality. She went alone, this time, not even telling George she was going, for fear he'd offer to drive her up there. She wanted this to be just between her and Jim. She wanted Jim to reassure her, to make everything all right. But when she was there, she real- ized she couldn't tell Jim. Not now. Now while she was so afraid, so un- certain. The knowledge of her weak- ness and confusion would only frighten him — and would solve noth- ing. She understood then that this was something she must work out alone. With the intuition of one who shares heartache, George seemed to have sensed what was in her mind. For when Martha got back from the sani- tarium, she found a note. A short note, impersonal: "Dear Martha — Sor- ry to run out like this but an unex- pected chance for a vacation trip came up and I took it. Say goodbye to Jim for me. Hope all the news was good news. Love, George." George had gone, left her free to look into her heart. He was so scru- pulously fair. This was his way of showing her that he had no intention of taking advantage of her, in any way. And Martha was infinitely grate- ful to him. 'pHEN, unexpectedly, there was a letter from Jim. As Martha read it she felt as though a mountain had been lifted from her shoulders and the whole of life stretched before her, clear and shining and full. Tears of happiness clouded her eyes so, she had to read the letter twice. "Darling — " Jim wrote, "Good news! At least, I hope you'll think it's good news that this useless hulk will be back home again. And maybe it won't be so useless, either! Dr. Ryan feels that I've made such won- derful progress in these few months, that I can not only ease up on my treatments, but that I can probably do just as well — if not better — at home, where I won't be lonely for all of you. Oh darling, it will be so much better that way. Just imagine! No more worry about money to keep me from getting well. Nothing's going to stop me from getting on my feet now and living like a man again. I've been doing some figuring and I'll be able to pay Dr. Ryan for a weekly treatment (he's promised to drive down) with the money from my wood carvings. So look for me next week — I'll wire the day and the hour. And wait until you see me walk! In a couple of months, I'll be able to do it without the canes. Kiss everyone for me and tell them all I'm looking for- ward to doing it myself next week. All my love, Jim." And then he was with Martha again, back in his wheel chair before the fire- place, his strong sure fingers creating enchantment in the tiny wooden fig- ures he carved with such delicate precision. His good spirits were like an invisible torch of happiness light- ing up the house, and Martha, seeing him flushed with joy, fought down a sudden, flashing fear. He was so sure, his hope so high, for, even to Martha, her eyes dimmed with tears of gratefulness, there remained a cer- tain sobering reality. Watching the RADIO AND TELEVISION IVUBROH effort it cost Jim just to stand up, see- ing the pain bring out beads of mois- ture on his forehead as he forced him- self to take a flw shaky steps, leaning heavily on the canes, Martha caught herself wondering if he had really progressed as well as he thought. And Martha was troubled, wondering how much of Jim's feeling that he was so much better might come only from his will to have it so. The following week, after Dr. Ryan had finished giving Jim his treatment, Martha went out to his car with him. ''Dr. Ryan," she said, "how is he — really? Are we doing all that should be done?" The doctor frowned and sighed. "I was going to tell you, Mrs. Jackson," he said, "but I didn't quite know how. Tm sorry, but I don't think your hus- band will ever be able to walk again. In the beginning, his reactions were so good — he progressed so amazingly — I thought he had a chance. But, for a month now, there has been no im- provement at all. If I hadn't felt his case was hopeless, I'd never have permitted him to leave the sani- tarium." Martha's heart stopped beating and then started to race madly. "Oh," she breathed, as if she had been hit. "I think it would be better, if he didn't know just yet," the doctor said. "He's really not strong enough yet to stand that kind of a shock. If we were to tell him, now — " the doctor hesitated, then went on. "When the time comes, I can tell him myself." "I understand. Dr. Ryan," Martha said hollowly. "And of course, I may be too pessi- mistic— " the doctor continued. "Who can tell? Science is making remark- able strides every day. At this very moment, someone may be working out the cure for your husband." "SJ^TAS he hoping to console her? Martha wondered. It would have been better, if he'd tried to help her find some way to go back inside and face Jim, some way to be able to listen to Jim's dreams and hopes and still go on pretending that everything was all right, that there was still some chance, still something for Jim to fight for and believe in. 'Martha had no idea how long she stood in the stillness of the late after- noon, or how long Cora had been standing there beside her. She saw Cora, suddenly, with a start. "That was the doctor's car, wasn't it?" Cora asked. Martha nodded. "What's the matter?" Cora whis- pered. "Why — " Martha forced herself to laugh and it sounded horribly artifi- cial, even to her. "Why, nothing," she said. "Jim's had a treatment." "Martha — " Cora said, grasping Martha's arm tensely. "Martha — if — if anything's wrong with Jim, I have a right to know." And Martha realized how much Cora loved Jim, how empty Cora's life would have been without that love. "I — " she stammered brokenly, "the doctor — he — he's just told me there is no hope that Jim will ever walk again." Cora shut her eyes for a moment. Then. "Does Jim know?" "No—" Martha said. "No. And he mustn't know — not now — not yet." "That's unfair to Jim," Cora said. "The longer you put it off the worse it will be for him. I think it would be kinder to tell him now. It will hurt him, of course. But Jim's a good man JANUABY, 1942 —he'll pull through it. And the sooner he knows, the sooner he'll be- gin to plan his life as he'll have to live it — the sooner he'll realize that his life need not be over just because he has to get around in a wheel chair." "No, Cora!" Martha cried. "He mustn't be told yet!" Painfully, she told Cora what the doctor had said. "It will be hard for us — you and me — but you'll have to help me, Cora. We've got to hide it from him!" And Cora promised to do her best. But any number of times in the next few days, Martha regretted that she had confided in Cora. Cora said nothing, but her cheerfulness was so forced that everyone was suspicious. And Cora would forget herself and stop talking in the middle of a sen- tence and look at Jim so badly that Martha expected him to ask her what was wrong. A sort of tension crept into their lives. Even Lucy and Tommy were aware of it. They felt repressed in the house. And Lucy seemed to get the idea that whatever was wrong came out of the fact that Martha worked too hard. "Here's your hat. Mother," Lucy said, one evening coming in from the house, "you're going to the movies with 'Tommy and me." "But, Lucy—" Martha began. "The store — " "Never mind the store," Lucy said. "I called Aunt Cora and she'll be here in a few minutes." "I'd rather not, Lucy," Martha said, "I'm a little tired and I think I—" "You're telling me!" Lucy said. "That's exactly why you're coming to the movies — to relax and get your mind off the store and work and money." gTRANGELY enough, Lucy's rem- edy worked. In spite of herself, Martha found herself relaxing in the warm, dark theater and, after awhile, she even found herself being inter- ested in the story on the screen. It was a silly story, but it amused her. She felt better afterwards. Jim was alone in the living room, when they got home. As soon as they stepped inside, Martha felt as though a shadow had fallen over her. Lucy and Tommy chattered on uncon- sciously about the picture and Lucy gave her father an imitation of the blonde siren in the movies, that brought a fieeting smile to his lips. Martha looked at Jim. He looked very tired and his eyes seemed dead. "Lucy — Tommy — " Martha said, crossing to the mirror. "It's time for bed." She kissed them both and watched them go upstairs. Then, as she turned to the mirror to remove her hat and pat her hair into place, she said, "You look tired, darling. I'll fix you some hot milk and — " "Martha — -" there was something wrong with Jim's voice. In the mir- ror, Martha could see him harden his jaw. "I want you to divorce me, Martha!" Martha stared. She was aware that she looked silly standing there, hold- ing her hat in mid-air, but she couldn't move. She couldn't breath. What is the reason for this startling demand of Jim's — and how will Mar- tha prevent it from wrecking the home that she has tried so hard to hold together? Be sure to read next month's instalment of Woman of Cour- age in the February Radio Mirror. attention/ joitkoieiovJuSjlll Attention, yes !— and love and ro- mance, too— for the girl who learns the secret of lovely eyes. WiNX brings out the natural beauty and charm of your eyes. Makes lashes appear darker, longer, more luxuriant. 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Pay postman 47c plus postage — or send 49c with order and we pay postage. Big 16x20- inch enlargement sent C. O. I). 78c plus post age or send 80c and we pay postage. Take advantage of offer now. Send your photos today. Specify size wanted. STANDARD ART STUDIOS 113 S. Jefferson St. Dept. 1552-A CHICAGO 3 amazioff LLINOIS BABY HELPS A dozen leaflets, written by Mrs. Louise Branch, our own Baby Page Editor, have been reprinted and available to readers, all 12 for only lOc. Send stamps or coins, mentioning the ages of your children, too: Reader Service, Dept. RM-OU Radio and Television IVIirror 205 East 42nd Street New York, N. Y. 62 Love's New Sweet Song (Continued from page 7) unpleasant. His features were all fine and clean, but his skin was pale, as if it didn't see the sunlight often enough. When I finished there was an em- barrassed silence. Then Cousin Eleanor came rushing over. "Susan!" she said. "I didn't realize you'd — William should have told me! And — you've grown so! I — " She turned around, making vague gestures with her hands. "Phil — everybody — this is my cousin Susan Rowe." She was so unhappy and sorry I was a little ashamed of myself. But Phil stood up from the piano, lazily, and said, "Miss Rowe — I'm prostrate with apologies. Your singing showed me up for the clown that I am." "It's all right," I said stiffly. "No, it isn't. Won't you sing some more?" He sat down and played the first bars of "Vilia," his long fingers rippling over the keys. "No, thanks," I said. "I'd rather not. I didn't really want to sing be- fore— I guess I just got mad." "Please!" I was sure he was teasing me. "If you don't like 'Vilia,' how about—" And he switched to "Love's New Sweet Song." It was too much. "No!" I cried. "Stop playing that!" For the second time everybody in the room gaped at me, but now I didn't care how much of a spectacle I made of myself. "I don't want to sing that song!" I sobbed. "And I don't want you to play it!" Cousin Eleanor put her arms around me. "Now, Susan," she said quietly. "You're tired. I'll take you to your room. Phil didn't know who wrote that song." T ATER, after I'd had a bath and Cousin Eleanor's miaid had brought me some tea, I was able to see that I'd acted like a hysterical, ill-man- nered child, and when Cousin Eleanor came in to see me I said so. But she was awfully nice about it. "The rest of us were to blame too," she said. "You see, Susan, the people here this afternoon all pride them- selves on being — sophisticated. And being sophisticated seems to mean, mostly, forgetting that other people have any feelings. It's not a very nice attitude, I guess. . . ." She smiled ruefully. "I do want you to be happy here." "I will be," I told her. "I won't fly off the handle again, honestly." "I'm sure you won't, dear." I nibbled at a piece of toast. "The man at the piano — Phil — he really can play well," I said grudgingly. "Who is he?" "Oh — " Cousin Eleanor seemed to hesitate for the merest instant. "I call him my partner. He's a boy with lots of talent and not much money. The talent is completely wasted — and the little bit of money has gone into my dress business, where it earns enough interest so Phil doesn't have to work." "Isn't that bad for him?" I asked. "Probably," she said with a little laugh. "But I'm afraid he'd starve otherwise." She stood up. "I'll run along and freshen up a bit, and then we'll have dinner." That was my introduction to life at Cousin Eleanor's — or rather, Elean- or's, since she asked me to drop the "Cousin." It was very different from Rockford. I didn't see very much of Eleanor, really, because she was in her dress shop all day and out nearly every night, sometimes with Phil and sometimes with other men. Phil was in the apartment a good deal, usually with a glass of something in his hand, and we were friendly in a way that wasn't actual friendship. I asked Eleanor if she knew of somewhere I could get a job, but she pursed her lips and said to wait a little while and see how I liked New York before I decided to stay. Then, when I'd been with her about two weeks, Eleanor suddenly got a hurry-up call from Hollywood to de- sign some dresses for a big new pic- ture. It was too good an offer to turn down, but she was worried about leaving me all alone. "I think I'll ask Phil to look out for you," she decided finally. "But you needn't, Eleanor!" I said. "I'll be all right, really I will." Once she made up her mind about something, though, Eleanor wasn't to be persuaded otherwise. "I'll feel better while I'm gone," she said firm- ly. "Besides, you can keep him out of mischief, too." Phil came to the apartment the night Eleanor left, to take her to the train, and just before they went out he asked me to spend the next day with him. "We'll go to — er — oh, the Aquarium, or Coney Island, or some- place," he said lamely. Eleanor was there, looking at me fixedly, so I couldn't do anything but thank him and say I'd be delighted. But the next morning when he ar- rived, looking resigned to playing nurse-maid, I said: "Look, Mr. Marshall. Let's get things straight. You're taking me out because Eleanor asked you to. I'm going with you because Eleanor asked me to go. So please don't act as if you're doing me a favor." His chin sagged a little. "Oh. Oh, I see. Well, now that all is crystal clear, how would you like to spend the day?" His remark, the night before, about going to the Aquarium or Coney Island, still rankled. "I want to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art," I said bluntly. "And tonight there's a concert at Carnegie Hall I'd like to hear." "You — Good Lord!" he murmured, and then, weakly — "Why — that will be fine." I'll make him decide that Eleanor or no Eleanor he's not going to see any more of me, I thought, and we headed for the Metropolitan in a taxi. At first I took him from room to room at top speed, but after a while I rea- lized that I was missing lots of things I wanted to see, so I slowed down. He didn't like that much, either, I dis- covered when he said angrily: "My dear Miss Rowe, you have now been standing in that one spot looking at that one picture for exactly ten minutes. At any second I expect thf museum guards to move you bodily ti the statuary department." "Very funny," I said. "No, but — haven't you seen tha< painting yet?" "Yes, but until just a moment ago I hadn't heard it." "What's that?" he said in a startled voice. Suddenly I didn't want to tease him RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR any more — at least not about the El Greco I'd been looking at. "Someone said once," I told him, "that every great painting has a melody, and if you don't 'hear' the melody inside yourself when you're looking at it, there's something wrong with you." He looked at me with surprised re- spect. "Whoever said that knew something about art." "It was my father," I said. I started to walk away. "I want to look at that Rembrandt." "That's a Rubens," he observed, and it was my turn to be surprised. It just hadn't occurred to me that he'd know one painting from another. All in all, the day didn't turn out exactly as I'd thought it would. I suspected, after the concert that night, that he'd enjoyed looking at paintings and listening to music as much as I had. I decided to make him take me to a lecture, and looked in the news- paper for the most serious one I could find. TT was a whole week — a week filled with concerts, lectures and visits to museums — before he finally rebelled. "Look!" he moaned when he came to get me that afternoon, "one more cap- sule of culture will kill me. How about really going to the Aquarium and Coney Island, and the Zoo?" "Wonderful," I said. "I've been dying to go places like that, but I didn't want you to think I was just a kid. Let's go!" That day was different. Not only because we gaped at fish and monkeys instead of paintings and statuary, or because we had dinner at a famous place on the Coney Island boardwalk and rode the parachute jump and the roller coaster — but because suddenly we liked each other. At least, I liked Phil. I didn't want to punish him, now, for taking me places out of a sense of duty; I only wanted to make him think I was worth taking places for my own sake. After dinner we danced in the Luna Park ballroom, to the music of a band that was noisy if it wasn't anything else. One of the pieces they played was "Love's New Sweet Song." "Susan," Phil said when they began to play it. "Susan, do you want to go? . . ." I could smile. "No. I don't mind now. Daddy and I were always happy when we sang that song — and I'm happy now, so it's as if — as if they ought to play it for me." His arm around my waist held me closer, but he didn't say anything. Eleanor was away for three weeks. They were the most wonderful three weeks of my life, the last two espe- cially. New York seemed to be full of wonderful places to go, marvelous things to do. Phil had stopped being the sarcastic, frozen-up person I'd thought he was when I first met him. Anything I wanted to do was fun for him — and anything we did together was fun for me. On the night before Eleanor was to return, we went to Coney Island again. It wasn't the same. Phil was silent and unhappy. He snapped at the waiter and complained about the food, and afterwards he said he didn't want to dance. Instead, we walked down the boardwalk, to the far end where there weren't many people, and leaned on the rail listening to the waves — a sad sound. "What's the matter, Phil?" I asked. He whirled around so his back was to the rail and his face very near mine. JANUARY. 1942 "I'm sorry," he said. "I've only been trying to get up my courage. Susan — I know I'm quite worthless — but will you marry me?" "Will I — " I gulped, trying to force back a lump that had suddenly risen in my throat, and then I didn't say anything more for a while, because I was understanding a lot of things I hadn't understood before. Mostly, they were things about my- self. I hadn't admitted to myself that I was in love with Phil — but now I knew I was. And the reason I hadn't admitted it was that I hadn't believed he could possibly love me enough to want to marry me. He was so much older — he was thirty-one — and he didn't take even himself seriously. I didn't — c o u 1 d n ' t — believe he meant it. "Aren't you going to answer me?" he asked softly. "I can't," I managed to say. "But why not?" "I promised myself once," I said, desperately trying to find words that would give him an opportunity to change his mind if he wanted to, and that still would not completely close the door on my own happiness, "I promised myself that I'd never say yes to any man the fi*st time he pro- posed to me. "If I ask you again tomorrow night, will you believe I mean it?" "I . . . yes, I'll believe it then," I said. gUT the truth was, I believed it al- ready. I couldn't sleep that night, I was so happy and excited. He'd asked me to go with him to the Skyline Club the next night, and to myself I pictured the way everything would be — Phil tall and slick in his black suit and white shirt front, me in a new dress I'd buy as soon as morning came, the city spread out, all twinkling with its lights, on every side, waiters bringing things to our table and the band playing for us to dance. And Phil saying again: "Susan, will you marry me?" This time I wouldn't wait. I'd say, "Yes— oh, yes, Phil!" And we'd find a little place somewhere, maybe a terrace, or a part of the hall where no one would see us, and he'd take me into his arms for our first kiss. There my imagining stopped. I couldn't even dream how happy that kiss would make me. I was so happy I almost forgot that Eleanor was due home that day. She got in just after lunch, while I was trying on the dress I'd bought that morning, and the first thing she said was, "Susan! What in the world! That dress—" I threw my arms around her and then danced away, the long folds of the dress whirling around me like a silky cloud. "It's for tonight, Elean- or," I said. "Isn't it lovely? I knew it was extravagant — but it had to be just right. And I'm going to have my hair fixed the way you wear yours. And I—" "Now wait a minute!" Eleanor said. "What goes on here?" Even if she hadn't asked, I couldn't have kept from telling her. I told her everything, while I took the dress off and hung it up carefully — that Phil had proposed the night before and that I was going to marry him. I was too full of my own happiness and too concerned with dressing again in street clothes and keeping my ap- pointment at the hairdresser's to no- tice that Eleanor received my news KENNY BAKER PORTLAND HOFFA AL GOODMAN'S ORCHESTRA THE TEXACO WORK- SHOP PLAYERS ^ TEXACO STAR THEATRE presented by ^TEXACO ^DEALERS COLUMBIA NETWORK COAST-TO -COAST 9E.S.T., 8C.S.T., 7M.S.T., 9 P.S.T. mmwlM == TWHIMIND SPRAY^ ■r^ SYRINGE S Free Booklet — The Marvel Co.. Dept.427. New Haven, Conn. 12 YOUNG MOTHER HELPS FOR 10c A dozen leaflets, written by Mrs. Louise Branch, our own Baby Editor, have been re- printed and available to readers, all 12 for only 10c. Send stamps or coin, mentioning the ages of your children, to: Reader Service, Dept. RM-014 Radio Mirror. 205 East 42nd St., New York •*^ ^'° I . uuJJ^ SUPER-BAND SPREAD CHASSIS ,1 *^ ""^ ^""'' oi^ SUPER-BAND SPREAD CHASSIS y5550».»TRADE.INl^P Write for FREE Catalog Showing 1942 Radios, Radio-Phonos, Home Recorders . . .up to 16 Tubes. 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Oerrnoil is usrd by many doctors and is b.ickpd by a positive ngroement to Klvi' '^f^f.g/A^ '.r^mtr ^^m>>,^^M^^^^^s F^^^ ■ .f ''ip ■:::-^ ^^^ . ;-^-"- ■. '" '^'ijL. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ~ '!^^^H^H|^H^2nH ill- fe. • ,llfc. ; •^■^p^- .^nnn ^ The Light of Freedom Strange and prophetic, the words of Sir Edward Grey, and full of meaning for Americans. For the lamps of America are not going out — now or ever. The lights of America must continue to shine, not only as a symbol of our own freedom, but as a beacon of encouragement to those countries whose lights have — temporarily — been blacked out by the totalitarian scourge that threatens somuchof the world. For two years, we have urged all America to unite in a Night of Light on Christmas Eve as a symbol ot our belief in the permanence of the Light of Free» dom that we in this country enjoy. For two years. Governors and Mayors have issued proclamations, patriotic organizations of all kinds and descriptions have given it their backing. For two years America has been a blaze of flight on Christmas Eve. This year, more than ever before, it is important that we Americans re-examine our beliefs; rededicate our- selves to the traditions that made us and the tasks that confront us. So again 'we ask, as a means ot symbolizing our belief in the light of freedom and democracy, that we light every lamp in America on Christmas Eve. Doing this depends on everyone — on you, and you, and you. Will you, whether you can light a single candle or throix; the master switch of a 'whole factory. Will you turn on the lights ? "Will you, if you live in a community where defense requirements make this inadvisable, Will you light at least one lamp to join in spirit in this symbol of freedom 1 The lights of America must never go out. Will you turn on yours this Christmas Eve? O. J. Elder, Publisher Radio and Television }Airror JANUARY, 1942 67 FACING THE MUSIC (Continued from page 43) to hold out. They were proud of their associa- tion with a band that had few equals. They sincerely believed in the Kemp style if a man with a suitable person- ality and reputation could be found to lead them. "The logical successor would have been Skinnay Ennis," one of the Kemp veterans told me, "but Skinnay clicked on the Bob Hope show and did not want to break up his own unit." Other names were discussed by the boys and manager Alex Holden but for various reasons were vetoed. When Art Jarrett displayed an inter- est in the post they were ready to listen to him. "Fellows, I always admired Hal Kemp's band," Jarrett said simply. "I want to try and hold to his style. It's a great style and I never want to change it. Will you help me?" The boys remained silent for a moment. Art felt the hard, steady gazes of twelve eyes on him. Then Porky Bankers, the little saxophonist who had played with Kemp for eleven years, walked across the room and shook Art's hand warmly. "I couldn't help but feel that it was one of the nicest things that ever happened to me," Jarrett says now. Since last May, the band, with the six Kemp men as a nucleus, has been playing under Jarrett's baton. They premiered in Chicago's Blackhawk Cafe and came east last month to play in New York's austere Biltmore Hotel, and cut records for Victor. You can hear them on NBC. They have faithfully adhered to the Kemp structure and only fervid Kemp followers can detect a differ- ence. The band plays sharp and clean Sbep Fields tuned in on a local New York radio sfafion one day — o few hours later attractive Ann Perry was signed up with his band. w and the Irish tenor voice of Jarrett blends nicely with the staccato brass and willowy reeds. The band's newest asset is Gail Robbins, a shapely blonde who is one of the comeliest girl singers ever to grace a bandstand. The old Kemp library is constantly referred to as nostalgic dancers re- quest such old favorites as "Heart of Stone," "Got a Date With an Angel," and "Lamplight." "We love to play them," Jarrett says, "because we find it difficult to find tunes of that smooth tempo today. Too many of the current numbers are ballads or jump stuff." Jarrett also points out that many of Kemp's famous arrangements were scored by such top-flighters as John Scott Trotter, Claude Thornhill and Harold Mooney. Jarrett had a band once before. But when his wife, the aquatic Eleanor Holm broke the front pages in 1935 with her alleged Olympic champagne-drinking furor, Art left his band to go to Europe and help her. The publicity won them many engagements in vaudeville together and Art forgot about his band. After that Art made a couple of movies, one with Sonja Henie, and appeared in a few musical comedies. Art is now thirty-one, his hair graying a bit, and handsome with a Killarney twinkle in his eyes. He was born in Brooklyn, the son of two actors. His father is still active and last summer played a full sea- son in stock. Art and Eleanor were divorced in 1937. She later married Billy Rose. Art hasn't rewed and swears he hasn't even got a steady girl. "However, if I suddenly stumbled over a Hedy Lamarr in the lobby, my plans might be changed drastically," he admits. OFF THE RECORD Some Like It Sweet: The Martins: (Columbia 36393) "Just a Little Joint with a Jukebox" — "The Three B's." A catchy pair of tunes from the new musical "Best Foot For- ward" sung by the boys who wrote them. Art Jarrett: (Victor 27590) "It Must Be True" — "Everything's Been Done Before." A familiar pair wrapped up in smooth staccato tempo. The best record this band, which has a nucleus of ex-Kemp men, has made. Mitchell Ayres: (Bluebird 11275) "1 Don't Want to Set the World on Fire" — "When Are We Going to Land Abroad." I'll take this version of one of the country's top tunes because on the reverse is a sprightly nautical number. Tommy Tucker: (Okeh 6402) "Con- certo For Two"— "Jack and Jill." RADIO MIRROR DANCE BAND CONTEST BALLOT To Ken Alden, Facing The Music Radio Mirror Magazine 122 E. 42nd St., New York, N. Y. Please consider this a vote for m your fourth annual dance band popularity poll. (voter's name: ) Tschaikowsky has shown his venerable dust to the current composers. Nearly every band has recorded his haunting piano piece. For a vocal try Dick Todd's Bluebird disk. Dick Jurgens: (Okeh 6389) "Dream Dancing"— "Dehlah." The top side is from the film "You'll Never Get Rich" and is destined to win popularity. Jurgens plays it capably. Xavier Cugat: (Columbia 3638) "Ma- Ma-Marie"— "Moon and Sand." Here's another tune that is getting a big play. Glenn Miller (Bluebird 11299)' is also fascinated with it. Freddy Martin: (Bluebird 11293) "Lou'siana Lullaby"— "So Shy." Lilt- ing stuff by a band that knows what to do with its string section. (Recommended Albums: Columbia's excellent "Grand Canyon Suite" by Grofe, conducted by Andre Kostelanetz; Victor's "Hot Piano" featuring solos by Ellington, Waller, and Hines; "Birth of the Blues," a package of indigo fav- orites played by NBC's Chamber Music Society of Lower Basin St., and a four-star album of Artie Shaw hits.) Some Like It Swing: Tommy Dorsey: (Victor 27591) "Hallelujah"— "Pale Moon." A bounc- ing, vigorous revival of the famed Vin- cent Youmans song, backed up with. a smoother arrangement that features Frank Sinatra's silky voice. Count Basic: (Okeh 6365) "Diggin' For Dex"— "H And J." So many of the current bounce records are similar that the best advice to you is to buy this Basic platter. It just about covers the field. Les Brown: (Okeh 6377) "Joltin' Joe DiMaggio" — "Nickel Serenade." A post-World Series tribute to the great Yankee star. It will still please you next Spring because it's the cutest novelty number of the season. Peggy Marshall, who sings with the Marshalls on the Ben Bernie pro- gram, Just Entertainment, also arranges those tricky numbers. 68 RADIO AND TELEVISION JVIIRROB Rflnin MIRROR READERS GIVEH I ENLARGEMENT Jusf f o Get Acquainf- edWeWillBeaufifully Enlarge Your Favorife Snapshot, P/iof o, Kodak Picture, Print or Nega- tive, to 5x7 Inches Abso- lutely FREE! Everyone admires pictures in natural colors because the surroundings and loved ones are so true to life, just the way they looked when the pictures were taken, so we want you to know also about our gor- geous colored enlargements. Think of hav- ing that small picture or snapshot of mother, father, sister or brother, children or others near and dear to you enlarged to 5 by 7 inch size so that the details and features you love are more lifelike and natural! Over one million men and women have sent us their favorite snapshots and pictures for enlarging. Thousands write us how much they also enjoy their remarkably true-to-life, natural colored enlargements we have sent them in handsome black and gold or ivory and gold frames. They tell us that their hand-colored enlargements have living beauty, sparkle and life. You are now given a wonderful oppor- tunity to receive a beautiful enlargement of your cherished snapshot, photo or kodak picture FREE. Look over your pictures now and send us your favorite snapshot, photo or kodak picture (print or negative) and re- ceive your beautiful free enlargement. Please include the color of hair and eyes for prompt information on a second enlarge- ment beautifully hand tinted in natural, lifelike oil colors and placed in a handsome frame to set on the piano, table or dresser. Your original is returned with your enlargement (10c for return mailing appreciated.) This free enlargement offer is our way of getting acquainted and letting you know the quality of our work. Just send the coupon with your favorite snapshot, print or negative right away, as this free enlargement offer may be withdrawn at any time. Write DEAN STUDIOS, Dept. 571, 118 No. 15th St., Omaha, Nebr. I 1 I Enclose this coupon with your favorite snapshot, picture, | print or negative and send to Dean Studios, Dept. 571, 118 • No. 15th St.. Omaha. Nebr. | Color of Hair 6HS Name Address. City State. I Color of Eyes '^Less nicotine in the smoice means a milder smoke — so Camels are my favorite cigarette' // BERGDORF GOODMAN^S DISTINGUISHED DESIGNER PETITE and charming, Leslie Morris (seated, smoking a Camel) wears a soft suit of her own design... navy wool frosted with ermine lapels. Noted for her magnificent interpretation of the simple, she seasons a red wool sheath with a jacket embroidered in gold thread, banded in mink. "All the time I'm smoking a Camel," she says, "I en- joy it thoroughly. So much milder — and full of marvelous flavor ! My guests prefer Camels, too, so I buy my Camels by the carton." AT LEFT, a distinctive Leslie Morris silhouette of flame-blue velvet. ..diaphanous star-studded veil. Prominent among designers who are making America the source of fashion, Leslie Morris says: "I find it's more fun to smoke Camels. They're grand- tasting— just couldn't be AT RIGHT, baroque evening gown from the Leslie Morris winter collection at Bergdorf Condman. While slipper satin applicpied with velvet scrolls . . . inspired by the ruby- ^* and-diamond shoulder rlip. THE SMOKE 41 1 CAMELS CONTAINS 28% LESS NICOTINE ibun the average of the 4 other largest-selling brands lesleil — b-ss than any of them— according to independent Bcientific tests of the smoke itself! £i°ARETTE« BY BURNING 25% SLOWER llian the aver- age of the 4 other !arj;esl-sellin}r hriuuls tested — slower than any of iheni — ('uiiiels also give you a smoking iilim ecpial, on I he average, to 5 EXTRA SMOKES PER PACK! CAMEL a^ai:z^^^ (^Cc^i^^u^ /c^a<%!^ /%e c FCBRUAHy flnOTELEVISIOn LMA BYRON Diane of te Hopkins" iction story n this issue RY MARLIN-See Your Favorites in Real Life Portraits Thrilling Novelette -JOHN'S OTHER WIFE Radio's Prqma of a Husband Who Was Tempted / Mary's lashes now ap- pear long, dark, and lovely— with a few simple brush-strokes of harm- less MAYBELLINE MASCARA (solid or cream form — both are tear-proof and non- smarting). Mary's eyebrows now have expression and character, thanks to the smooth-marking MAYBELLINE EYE- BROW PENCIL. For a subtle touch of added charm, Mary blends a bit of creamy MAYBELLINE EYE SHADOW on her lids— her eyes appear spark- ling and colorful! y HAD A LITTLE (INFERIORITY COMPLEX) It followed her EVERYWHERE she went. Boys looked PAST her - not AT her. GIRLS hked her - because she was NO compem.on! She was dainty and sweet. Her nose was ALWAYS carefully powdered, And she used 3ust the RIGHT shade of Upst.ck. But the KINDEST thing you could say About her EYES was that they were - well, . gt a -WASHOUT! One day Mary read a MAYBELLINE advertisement. Just as you are doing, and LOOK at Mary NOW! MORAL: Many a girl has beaten her rival by an EYELASH! W 0 R L D' S L A R C F S T %xsAt,rlain Girl, Smile... Eyes Applaud,Hearts follow a Sparkling Smile! Make your smile your beauty talis- man. Help keep it bright and spar- kling with Ipana and Massage. T TAVEN'T you noticed that it isn't J- J- always the prettiest girl who is the best-liked, the most popular? Heads turn and hearts surrender to the girl who smiles! Not a timid, half- hearted smile— but a real smile— gener- ous and gay. A smile that says, "Look, I'm in love with life!" So wake up, plain girl— wake up and smile! You can steal the show if your smile is right. You can be a star in your own small world— you can win compli- ments—you can win love and romance. But your smile must be right. It must flash freely and unafraid, lighting your face with beauty. And remember, for a smile to keep its sparkle, gums must re- tain their healthy firmness. So if you ever notice a tinge of "pink" on your tooth hnxsh—see your dentist! He may tell you your gxims are tender because soft foods have robbed them of exercise. And like thousands of dentists, he may suggest Ipana and massage. Take his advice! For Ipana Tooth Paste not only cleans and brightens your teeth but, with massage, it is designed to help the health of your gums as well. For a Lovelier &nile — Ipana and Massage Massage a little extra Ipana onto your gums every time you clean your teeth. That invigorating "tang" means circu- lation is quickening in the gum tissue- helping gums to new firmness. Get a tube of Ipana Tooth Paste at your druggist's today. Let Ipana and mas- sage help keep your teeth brighter, your gums firmer, your smile more sparkling. A Product of Bristol-Myers Sfarf fodau ivifA IPANA and MASSAGE FEBRUARY, 1942 GIRLS! DOITT GIVE UP IF YOU'VE GOT A POOR COMPLEXION Here's grand way that has helped improve complexions of thousands of women • If you're blue and discouraged because of your complexion; if you think you're doomed to go through life with an unsightly looking skin —this may be the most important message you've ever read. Thousands of women who felt just as you do have been thrilled beyond words to see the noticeable im- provement Noxzema has made in their complexions. Why it does so much j Use GLOVER'S Medicinal Treatment, with Massage, for Loose Dandruff, Itchy Scalp and Excessive Falling Hair! Movie stars know the importance of using the right treatment! If you've tried scerited hair preparations without results, switch now to this famous MEDICINAL Treat- ment, used by millions. Try GLOVER'S, with massage, for Dandruflf, Itchy Scalp and excessive Falling Hair. You'll actually feel the exhilarating effect, instantly! Ask for GLOVER'S at any Drug Store. SEND COUPON TODAY Here's a convenient way to convince yourself! Send today for a generous complete FREE application of Glover's Mange Medicine-.-also the New GLO-VER Beauty Soap SHAMPOO -in hermetically sealed bottles. This gift is distributed by coupon only. Complete instructions and booklet. The Scientific Care of Scalp and Hair, included TREE ! Two Bottles, FREE! Glover's Mange Medicine and the New GLO- VER Beauty Soap Shampoo, as pictured. SEND COUPON TODAYI Wk - ing special attention lo the nose, the base of nostrils and chin. Rinse with warm water and follow with thirty seconds of cold splashiugs. Then, while you sleep, tho tiM\ imrc dponinj;'* are free to function for natural beauty. In the niorn- inp— one more quick session with this milder Camay and your skin is ready for make-up. %9 V JEAN PARKER -appearmi Paramounfi "No Hands on Clock- -usi't CLOVER'S oin «i'i;k — lejvts il on hair o' niglit — stiainpoos next ino Use GLOVER'S Medicinal : Treatment, with Massage, for Loose Dandruff, Itchy Scalp and Excessive Falling Hairl Movie stars know the importance of using the right treatment! If you've tried scented hair preparations without results, switch now to this famous MEDICINAL Treat- ment, used I>y millions. Trj' GLOVIiR'S. with massage, for Dandruflf, Itchy Scalp and excessive Falling Hair. You'll actually feel the exhilarating clVoct, initautiy'. Ask for GLOVER'S at any Drug Store. SEND COUPON TODAY Here's a cunvunii'm way to convinco yourself! Send today for a Rencrous cimipk'ic FRKl; iipplicaiion of Glover's Mnnpe Mcdicine-^.ilso tlu' New GLOVCll Beauiy Soap SHAMPOO— in hL'rmcii(':iIlv sciilcd bottles. This fii^r.is disiribuicd by coupon only. Complete insi ructions and booklet. Thy Scientific Care of Sciilp and Hiiir. included ritl'l! Two Boltlos. FREEl Glover's Mango Modlclni>nndlhP Now GLO- VCR Oonuly Sonp Sfiampao, a-. piclurnd. SEND COUPON TODAY! GLOVE R'S Glover's. «0 Fourth Ave., Dcpt. Si2. New York ! icnd FREE samples, Glover^s Mange Medicine ' and new GLO-VER SHAMPOO in hermetically ! scaled bonles. I enclose 3f to cover poiUgc. ' Name ___^ J I Address .—^ ! nLxtb J\eAN Y C^xx^p^ (^K^^t I T'S Mary Martin of the movies who ■* takes Connie Boswell's place on Bing Crosby's show beginning Jan- uary 1. She'll be singing solos and duets with Bing for seven Thursday nights at least — longer if she and the Groaner like each other's per- sonalities and way of vocalizing. Connie had to bow out of the show to make a long-overdue series of per- sonal appearances in theaters. • • • Charlotte, N. C— When station WBT turned over its famous Mid- night Dancing Party to the Fourth Army Coi-ps during the recent Caro- Ima war maneuvers, it performed a service that Army officials said was "unprecedented in the annals of radio. . With Private George Monaghan as master of ceremonies, the WBT Mid- night Dancing Party became a clear- ing house for news between the sol- diers on maneuvers and their folks pack home. It relayed messages from the boys to their mothers, fathers wives, sweethearts and friends scat- tered everywhere from coast to coast It brought some soldiers to the micro- phone so families could hear their voices It played musical numbers dedicated "To Johnny from Mom," or To Mom from Johnny." In fact 7"/jey moAe a handsome four- some and fbey gof a lot of laughs on fhe Treasury Hour over the N BC-Blue—left to right, Barry Wood, Kay Kyser, Dick Powell and Charles Boyer. Right, the Goldbergs celebrate their twelfth radio birthday. Pvt. George Monaghan was mas- ter of ceremonies when WBT's Dancing Party went military. it did everything that could be done to keep lonesome boys and their anxious families in comforting con- tact with each other. The Army was lucky in having someone like Private George Monag- han to be master of ceremonies. George was an announcer at WTHT in Hartford, Connecticut, before go- ing into the Army. There he an- nounced the programs of Cedric Fos- ter, news commentator. So it was only natural that the United States Army should take advantage of George's radio personality and exper- ience by putting him in charge of the Dancing Party when WBT patrioti- cally turned the program over to the Army's use. Now the Carolina war maneuvers are over, and George is back in Fort Blanding, Florida, but both he and the Party did something that many soldiers will remember gratefully for a long time to come. • * • That was a nice Thanksgiving ges- ture of Joan Blaine's. Joan and the late Judith Lowery, radio actress who played in Valiant Lady until her death a year ago, were very dear By Dan Senseney RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRHO" friends. Every Thanksgiving Miss Lowery used to entertain inmates of the Old People's Home at dinner. I^his year Joan carried on the tradi- tion out of respect for her old friend. • * • Rudy Vallee's having all his old dance and theater programs, broad- cast scripts, press clippings and what- not photographed on microfilm, part- ly to save space in the library of his Hollywood home, partly to make a permanent record. Pittsburgh — Feminine listeners to station KQV learn the latest news about fashions, as well as a good jnany other interesting matters, by tuning in Florence Sando's program, Everything Under the Sun, Mondays through Saturdays at 8:30 a. m. Florence — everyone calls her Flo — has just turned twenty-three, but she has a Master's degree in Drama and Theater, is on the staff of the Pitts- burgh Playhouse, and writes, pro- duces, and serves as commentator on her own sponsored program. Not bad for so young and pretty a person. Pittsburgh is almost Florence's home town, but not quite — she was io»? '" Wilkinsburg, a suburb. In ly35, after graduating from Wilkins- burg High School, she entered West- (Continued on page 48) "New Loveliness Awaits You!" Go on the CAMAY MILD-SOAP DIET ! This lovely bride is Mrs. E. C. Thuslon. Jr.. oj Birminsham. Ah. who >"!">'">';•,', so proud of my complexio,i since I changed lo the tanmy MUd-boap DM. This exciting idea is based on the advice of skin specialists— it has helped thousands of lovely brides! NEW LOVELINESS may await you in tlie Camay "Mild-Soap" Diet. For you may be blissfully unaware that you are cleansing your skin improperly. Or that you are using a beauty soap that isn't mild enough. Everywhere you'll find charming brides like Mrs. Thuston who have trusted the care of their complex- ions to the Camay "Mild- Soap" Diet. All are visible proof that this thrilling bcauly treatmviil really works for loveliness ! Skin specialists tliemselvcs ailvise reg- ular cleansing with a fine mild soap. And Camay is not only mild-n\ actually milder than the ten famous beauty soaps tested. That's why wc urge you lo "Co on the Camay 'Miid-Soap' Did !" Be faithful! Use genlli- Camay night and morning for 30 days. Willi (lie very first trealnicnt you'll feel your skin glow with new freshness. Then, as the days go by, tbrilling new loveliness may be yours ! GO ON THE "MILD-SOAP" DIET TONIGHT! iiSlKs=^-5.-;^.K;3- 1 <.t .,cr «ud Then Kliilc >"■■ •'««'• ''"' ""> P""-, "P«""'l" '" l,„ to fnncuon for nalural liMUIy. In the morii- ,""-onc more qniot ,«.inn w,.h tin. nulder Com.? and your akin i. read, for m.kc-ui.. AAV l^DLOAO Clark Kenf and the editor listened atten- tively to the Chinese Doctor's words: "Before the next sun rises — I will be dead!" he said. With the threat of an ugly, snout-nosed re- volver, Huffman brutally forced Lois, girl reporter, to go to San Francisco with him. ® SuniMAM, Inc. 'i 1 L ^ c^ ^ ■ — ■ Down Superman swooped. Quickly he gathered Lois up in his great arms and brought her to safety as she slipped into unconsciousness. 4 DARKNESS had fallen in Metropolis' Chinatown. The narrow, winding streets were empty save for a few wraith-like figures, standing in shadowed door- ways. Here and there a dim light burned in a store window piled high with bits of milky jade, lacquered boxes and all manner of strange curios from a land be- yond the seas. The silence was broken only by the purr of a motor car moving slowly through the streets. Then, as its occupants noticed, under the dim street lamp, the number 44, it drew up to a stop. The two men stepped out. The older one turned to his companion: "Well, Kent, here we are. Chee Wan owns this jewelry store and lives just above it. Come on, let's go up." The odd pair climbed the curving, ill-lighted stairs. They reached the top and knocked on the massive oak door. A stooped, aristocratic elderly Chinese answered in perfect English: "Greetings, Mr. White. It is an honor to welcome the distinguished editor of the Daily Planet. The trip will be worth it, I assure you." The Doctor's words were slow and measured: "Before the next sun rises — I will be dead. Don't ques- tion that statement. If you will bear with me, I shall try to tell you why I have asked your help. In 1930, while traveling through Western China, I discovered in an ancient temple in the Province of Shenshing, a goat- skin manuscript composed by an unknown scholar 3000 years ago. "The characters were faded almost beyond legibility, but by dint of patient effort I was able to decipher them." Excitedly, Perry White broke in: "Go on — what did it say?" "You may not believe me — but there, written on a square of goatskin 3000 years old. . . ." In hushed, almost reverend tones. Dr. Wan continued with his story. He told how the manuscript described ten pieces of clear jade known as the Dragon's Teeth — each of them engraved with a different symbol repre- senting a rare herb found only in the mountains of western China. These herbs — all ten of them — when com- bined and ground into a powder were said to make the human body free of disease. Dr. Wan had located nine of the jade pieces, but the tenth and last was owned by a man, once his assistant, Hans Huffman, a dealer in jewels, a man who, knowing the value of the jade; would stop at nothing to get his hands on the other nine pieces. And now Wan, terrified that Huffman would kill him and steal the jade, wanted Perry White to take them for safekeeping. White, trying desperately to ease the worry that seemed to weigh so heavily on the old man, insisted that nothing would happen to him. Laughingly he urjged him to keep the Dragon's Teeth until the next morning. By that time he could get an expert from the National Museum to come in and look at them. Quietly, Dr. Wan acquiesced. But, no sooner had the two newspapermen returned to their office than Kent turned to his superior: "Mr. White, I've got a funny hunch about that Wan case. If you don't mind, I'd like to go back and sort of keep an eye on the old man." The editor nodded his agreement and Kent, waiting for no more, ran out of the building. Once alone he dropped the guise of the gentle reporter and became — Superman, Champion of the Weak and Oppressed! Quickly he leaped high into the air and then, red cloak streaming in the night wind, he sped through the dark- ness. In an incredibly short time he was back at the building he had left so brief a while before. But too late! Some one had been there before him. Climbing lithely through the window. Superman saw the form of Dr. Wan lying on the floor, inert in a pool of blood. The gentle, learned Chinese had been beaten, to death! Only too obvious was the motive — the black velvet box that had once held the precious pieces of jade was lying, empty, near the body of its owner. Wasting no time. Superman leaped to the windowsill and out! In a flash he had reached the office of Hans Huffman. But the jewel-dealer was gone! Questioning the employees in the building, and piecing together the fragments of the stories he heard. Superman learned that Huffman had left, burdened with traveling bags, for San Francisco. Huffman must be the murderer! With the ten Dragon Teeth he must be on his way to China! Back to the office of the Daily Planet Superman sped. He had been right. Huffman, he learned, had boarded a coast-to-coast transport plane less than an hour before! Acting hastily, he persuaded the editor to send him and Lois Lane, star girl reporter, on the next plane out. Huffman must be stopped before he could get a IIAUIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR China-bound boat! But Superman had miscalculated the cunning of his foe. When he and Lois stepped down from their trans- port plane at the San Francisco air- port, they were unable to find any trace of Huffman. Frantically, they searched for some clue that would tell them where to continue their search. "Perhaps he slipped off the plane at the last stop before San Francisco," Lois suggested, "to throw us off the track." Superman looked at his time table. 'That would be Carson City," he said, "and there's only one way to find out if Huffman got off there." "Let me go back," Lois pleaded. "You stay here and see if you can locate him. If I find he got off at Carson City, I'll wire and you can join me there." Superman agreed. It was worth a chance that Lois's hunch was correct and somehow Huffman must be found. There was no way he could have known toward what peril the brave girl reporter was racing. For Lois had been right in 'her hunch. Huffman had stayed in Carson City, to avoid any possible pursuit. He was standing with his back to Lois, his face concealed by the paper he held up before him, when she asked at the hotel desk in Carson City if anyone answering Huffman's description had registered. Seeing his danger, knowing how close his pursuers had come to find- ing him, Huffman lost no time in acting to protect himself. Following Lois to her room, he waited until the bell boy who had brought up her luggage had left, then he stood at her door and knocked. Roughly, he thrust himself inside the room when she opened the door and silenced her cry for help with the threat of an ugly, snout nosed revolver in his right hand. Brutally he forced Lois to tell him that she was not alone in her search for him, that another reporter was still in San Francisco trying to find a clue to his whereabouts. "So," Huffman snarled, "we shall send a telegram to this friend of yours — before we leave Carson City." He showed Lois the message he wrote. RETURN EAST AT ONCE VERY IMPORTANT LOVE LOIS 'T'HAT evening Huffman and Lois set -*- out in a second hand car for San Francisco. It was over an hour before Superman had the telegram and was reading the urgent message Huffman had sent in Lois's name. But Super- man was suspicious of the wire and called Perry White in Metropolis. The editor was able to tell him nothing — except one vital fact: Lois had not returned. Then the wire must have been faked! Immediately, Superman called the Carson City hotel and learned what he had to know — that Lois Lane and a strange man had checked out of the hotel that after- noon! That was all Superman needed. Up —UP — and away — and, high above the dark countryside, the stalwart figure leaped forward in curious flight, following the thin ribbons of steel that wound in and out of moun- tainous ravines and over towering trestles. Faster and ever faster, mock- mg even the wind in his flight, he sped back to Carson City. Once (Continued on page 68) YES, INDEED . . . just use gentle, fragrant Cashmere Bouquet Soap. Revel in its rich, cleansing suds that banish body odor and leave your skin enticingly scented with a subtle, protecting fragrance! m DEFINITELY! In fact, that exquisite, Ungering scent is the success secret of many a romance! And thousands have proved to themselves that Cashmere Bouquet is one perfumed soap that won't irritate their skin! THAT'S A SWELL IDEA! It's always a pleasure to give a smart girl like you a glamour hint ... to tell you about the lovelier way to avoid offending . . . how to be safe with Cashmere Bouquet . . . and about its costlier perfume! Don't forget, there's no finer com- plexion care than Cashmere Bouquet, every day ... it's one perfumed soap that can agree with your skin! Better get half a dozen cakes of Cashmere Bouquet Soap — now! Cashmere bouquet FEBRUARY, 1942 (^tepS to BY DR. GRACE GREGORY E First Stop^Be- gin with a thor- ough cleansing. Second Step — The foundation or powder base next. VERY day, and sometimes oftener than that, we practice the subtle and exquisite art of make-up. But practice alone does not make per- fect. If we let our make-up routine become automatic, and never try the new and improved cosmetics and toi- letries which are always coming out, the chances are that our routine will degenerate into something very care- less. The stars of radio are skilled cos- meticians, always eager for new beauty hints. Lovely Joan Tetzel who plays the part of Lucy in Woman of Courage on CBS, puts on her make-up so sub- tly that you never think of it as make up at all. You only think how lovely she is. Preparing your complexion for the day begins with a thorough cleansing. Massage gently, face and neck, with your chosen cleansing cream. Massage the cream gently with a circular motion, working upward and outwards from the chin. Relax the tense nerves at the temples, and smooth out frown lines. Cream and massage the neck. Now remove the cream with cleans- ing tissue, and wash with warm water and mild soap. This soaping might well be done as you relax in the soft- ened water of your beauty bath. Oily skin and dry skin are both con- ditions indicating that the tiny oil glands do not function properly. For this, proper cleansing is the first and most obvious remedy. After the cleansing, pat your skin briskly with a freshener or astringent or lotion as you may require. And now we are ready for the make-up. First, the foundation or powder base. This may be a film of lotion or foun- dation cream. Or, for a mature or blemished skin, there are preparations more concealing. There is for instance a round cake of make-up which you Sx .v^i^^n apply with a wet pad. It is very pop- jflHl '^ ular because it stays on so well. S-^Wi^Sl Rouge is the next step. Not too ^^"fjatBKF much, please — just enough to give your ; \>Wv J face a healthy natural glow. Whether you use the cream rouge or the dry, apply it in tiny dabs, and blend it well with your finger tips. According as your face is oval, round, square, oblong, triangle, heart shaped, or diamond, you will find the proper placing of the rouge can do much to suggest the best contours. In general, start your rouge at the high point of the cheek bone, and follow the natural curve of the check towards the nose. Blond the rouge softly upwards, fading out 8 Third Step — Now the rouge — not too much, please. Fourth Step — Use a powder brush for powdering. mOlO MIRROR Portrait of a girl who knows the art of subtle and careful make-up — Joan Tetzel who plays Lucy in CBS's woman of Courage. at the outer corner of the eye. Practice will show you the best method for your face. However, rouge should be so natural that no one will notice it. Powder first, if you use a dry rouge. But for any rouge be sure you also powder over it. Powder should be patted on, beginning with chin and cheeks, and brushed off with a powder brush, a gadget that lasts a lifetime and is well worth the price. Now for the Vps. Be sure they are dry. Apply lipstick to the upper iip following the natural line. Then com- press the lips, and suck them slightly back and forth to spread the lipstick well to the inside. Smooth the lipstick carefully with your finger tip, and finally press a tissue between, the lips to remove the excess. If you have trouble getting the right outline, use a little brush and outline the lips first. Lips that are smeared or caked are always unpleasing, and the shade of your lipsticks must harmonize with your other cosmetics and with your own coloring. Lips that are startling in any way detract from the face in- stead of accenting it. Last of all the eyes. And be very, very careful. If eye make-up is the least bit overdone, it is terrible. But the eyes and mouth are the really ex- pressive and important features. They deserve an accent. An imperceptible mascara on the lashes is permissible for brunettes, necessary for most blondes. Eyebrows usually need a pencil or mascara, but be sure to get a natural and becoming line. But re- member, use it sparingly during the day; a little more at night. Eye shadow? Not for business. Almost imperceptible for other daylight en- gagements. Judiciously used, just a dab on each lid carefully blended off to the brow, it does help. And now, after careful and intelli- gent use of the various and excellent cosmetics available to enhance your beauty, you have made a portrait of yourself at your best. RADIO AND TELEVISION MIBROR Fifth Step— Now for the lips. Be sum they're drv. sj^*S'. .«•! j\ - 5* 1 Sixth Step — The finishing touch is eye make-up. HOMl^^BEAimf Silkier, Smoother Hair. . . Easier to Manage Lovelier Beyond Belief! Avoid That Dulling Film Left By Soaps and Soap Shampoos! iVew hair-do with soft, iKiluial-hmkiiin uaiv and riirh . . . hy Thomas i ranic, famaiis (Jiicaiii) hairslylisL. Amazing improvement in Special Drene Shampoo! Now contains wonderful hair conditioner to give new beauty thrills! 9 If yiMfr! Reveals up to 33% more lustre! \esl In addition to (he e.\(r;f l>eauty l)enefi(s of (lia( amazing hair coudi(ioner. Special Drene still reveals uj* to 33% more lustre than even the lines( soaps or liqui_> iisiiif; soaps or liquid soa|) shanipoii- — « hioli al« a> s lea\ e a dulhn^ film that (liiHs tlie natural lustre uiid color brilliaiico! I se Drene — the l>eaut> >hainpoowith the exclusive |>alented eleaiisinj! ingredient « hieh cannot leave a cloudiniifihii! Instead, it reveals up to '■V^% ntorv lustre! LOOK FOR THIS PACKAGE! All Special Drene now at your dealer's in the blue and yellow package is the new, improved Special Drene containing HAiR CONDITIONER and is for every type of hair dry, oily or normal. Just look for Special Drene — in the blue and yellow package! FEBRUARY. 1942 NOT GRANTED HERE was the cement bridge over the river, just north of Varney, and then the beginnings of town — the ugly old brewery, the warehouses and small, one-story places where they repaired tires or welded metal. Then the shopping section; "down- town," we'd always called it. There was a new office building on the corner of Willow and Taylor Streets. I stopped the car for a traffic light that hadn't been necessary three years ago, and looked at the people on the sidewalk curiously, wondering if I would see a face I knew, trying not to feel relieved when I didn't. Three years wasn't such a terribly long time. I'd been twenty-five when Chet and I were divorced, and now I was only twenty-eight. Not such a long time. Three winters, three springs . . . Looking back, it seemed like three eternities. Anyway, I said to myself, it was long enough for me to get over the pain of being wrenched loose from a husband, a home, a whole way of living. I was cured now. That I could come back to- Varney for this visit to Katharine Ormsby was proof of how thoroughly I was cured. I could even meet Chet, if I had to — although I was glad I wouldn't have to, glad he was to be safely out of town for the week end. I swung the car into our old street. Prospect Avenue — and then realized I had turned too soon. Katharine's house was on the next street, its back yard separated from ours — Chefs, I should say now^ — by trees and bushes I had planted when we first came there to live. There was an intersection before I would pass the house; I could turn there. But instead, I went on, lifting my foot from the throttle so that the car slowed down and I could look at the low, rambling house set far back on a big lot, with its hand-split shingles painted white, its graceful, natural lines, its air of belonging. I don't know what I had expected, but I was sur- prised to see how neat and self-respecting the place looked — the wide lawn trimmed, the paint bright, the shades drawn evenly at the windows. Surprised, that is, until I reflected that of course, Chet would get some capable person to take care of things for him. He had his pride. Just as I had. That had been the trouble. The house was back of rfie now, and I was rounding the block, drawing up in front of Katharine's big, old- fashioned home. And there she was, at the door, looking just the same as she used to — comfortably plump, smiling, thick hair streaked with gray and piled on top of her head. Katharine was older than I — old enough to have a grown son — but that had never made any difference in our friendship because she was indomitably young in spirit. I had never 10 A Lincoln Highway broadcast told in vivid story form. Tune in Saturdays on the NBC-Red network, sponsored by Shinola shoe polish. RADIO AND TELEVISION MIBBOR %. How long before a woman can forget the man she loves? Three winters, three sum- mers, three eternities? Rita stood unseen, looking at the man she had divorced, and she sobbed, for he was locked in another's arms Chef always laughed at my garden. He said I was crazy to ruin my hands that way. Illtistration by Rtiskin Williams FEBRUABY, 1942 known her husband; he was dead when I first knew her. "Nita Russell!" she said after we'd kissed, putting her hands on my shoulders and holding me off so she could look at me. "My, it's good to see you again!'' "Not Russell," I said hastily, for a queer little pang had shot through me at being called that again. "Nita Kellar. Miss Nita Kellar." "Oh — I forgot. That's something I'll have to get used to," she said without embarrassment. "But come on in — I'll take you right up to your room and then you must come down and meet Irene." "Irene?" "Harry's fiancee — my little boy has gone and fallen in love," Katharine said with a half-proud, half-re- gretful air. "He's so young — only just out of college — that I don't think I'd like the idea if Irene weren't so lovely." She paused, struck by a new thought. "She's very much like you, Nita, come to think of it. Very much like you as you were when you first came here to live." "I hope that's an advantage for her," I said, laugh- ing. "Chet, for instance, probably would say that was reason enough for Harry not to marry her." "Oh," Katharine said calmly, taking my overnight bag and starting upstairs, "I don't think she's jealous." And I was left to ponder that remark while I changed my dress and put on new makeup. It was true enough, I knew. But I had hoped I was the only one who knew how true it was. We might have been so happy, Chet and I, without my jealousy. It was an illness, a disease, with me. How many times I had promised myself, promised Chet, that I would conquer it! And yet, the next time he dared to leave my side at a party and talk to another woman, or if his work kept him after hours at the office, suspicions I could not control flared in me, and there were quarrels, accusations, bitterness be- tween us. For Chet was not the man to laugh off my distrust. To him it was something unclean. He wanted, demanded, complete trust from me. "Don't you see," he had once said, at the height of one of our quarrels, "that you're driving me away from you? You make me want to be unfaithful!" I hadn't understood what he meant, then. I'd been too full of my own pride, too self-centered, to realize that my possessive jealousy could so easily chafe him into rebellion. I realized it now. Three years of loneliness had given me plenty of time to think, and my thoughts had led me to one inescapable conclusion. Chet had not even been guilty in that last, violent {Continued on page 83) 11 iS> NOT GRANTED HERE was the cement bridge over the river, just north of Varney, and then the beginnings of town —the ugly old brewery, the warehouses and small, one-story places where they repaired tires or welded metal. Then the shopping section; "down- town," we'd always called it. There was a new office building on the corner of Willow and Taylor Streets. I stopped the car tor a traffic light that hadn't been necessary three years ago, and looked at the people on the sidewall< curiously, wondering if I would see a face I knew, trying not to feel relieved when I didn't. Three years wasn't such a terribly long time. I'd been twenty-five when Chet and I were divorced, and now I was only twenty-eight. Not such a long time. Three winters, three springs . . . Looking back, it seemed like three eternities. Anyway, I said to myself, it was long enough for me to get over the pain of being wrenched loose from a husband, a home, a whole way of living. I was cured now. That I could come back to- Varney for this visit to Katharine Ormsby was proof of how thoroughly I was cured. I could even meet Chet, if I had to — although I was glad I wouldn't have to, glad he was to be safely out of town for the week end. t swung the car into our old street, Prospect Avenue — and then realized I had turned too soon. Katharine's house was on the next street, its back yard separated from ours — Chet's, I should say now — by trees and bushes I had planted when we first came there to live. There was an intersection before I would pass the house: I could turn there. But instead, I went on, lifting my foot from the throttle so that the car slowed down and 1 could look at the low, rambling house set tar back on a big lot, with its hand-split shingles painted white, its graceful, natural lines, its air of belonging. I don't know what I had expected, but I was sur- prised to see how neat and self-respecting the place looked — the wide lawn trinuned, the paint bright, the shades drawn evenly at the windows. Surprised, that is, until I reflected that of course, Chet would get some capable person to take care of things for him. He had his pride. Just as I had. That had been the trouble. The house was back of me now, and 1 was rounding the block, drawing up in front of Katharine's big, old- fashioned home. And there she was, at the door, looking just the same as she used to — comfortably plump, smiling, thick hair streaked with gray and piled on top of her head. Katharine was older than I — old enough to have a grown son — but that had never made any difterence in our friendship because she was indomitably young in spirit. I had never 10 Chef always laughed at my garden. He said I was crazy fo ruin my hands thai way. How long before a woman can j'orgtl the man she loves? Three winters, three sum- mers, three eternities? Rita stood unseen, looking at the man she had divorced, and she sobbed, for he was locked in another's arms A Lincoln Highway broadcast told in «■«■'* story form. Tu7w i7i Saturdays on the NBC-Red network, sponsored by Shinolo shoe polish. RADIO AND TELEVISION MlW" Illustration by Rusfcin WiUiai»s known her husband; he was dead when 1 lirst knew her. "Nita Russell!" she said after we'd kissed, putting; her hands on my shoulders and holding me off so sht could look at me. "My, it's good to see you again!" "Not Russell," I said hastily, for a queer little pang had shot through me at being called that again. "Nita Kellar. Miss Nita Kellar." "Oh — I forgot. That's something I'll have to get used to," she said without embarrassment. "But come on in — I'll take you right up to your room and then you must come down and meet Irene." "Irene?" "Harry's fiancee — my little boy has gone and fallen in love," Katharine said with a half-proud, half-re- gretful air. "He's so young — only just out of college— that I don't think I'd like the idea if Irene weren't .so lovely." She paused, struck by a new thought. "She's very much like you, Nita, come to think of it. Very much like you as you were when you first came hero to live." . "I hope that's an advantage for her, ' I said, laugh- ing. "Chet, for instance, probably would say that was reason enough for Harry not to marry her," "Oh," Katharine said calmly, taking my overnight bag and starting upstairs, "I don't think she's jcalou.s." And I was left to ponder that remark while I changed my dress and put on new makeup. It was true enough, I knew. But I had hoped I was the only one who knew how true it was. We might have been so happy. Chet and I, without my jealousy. It was an illness, a disease, with me. How many times I had promised myself, promised Chet that I would conquer it! And yet. the next time'he dared to leave my side at a party and talk to another woman, or if his work kept him after hours at the office, suspicions I could not control flared in me. and there were quarrels, accusations, bitterness be- tween us For Chet was not the man to laugh oil my distrust To him it was something unclean. He wanted, demanded, complete trust from me. "Don't you see," he had once said, at the height of one of our quarrels, "that you're drivtnu me away from you'' You make me viant to be unfaithful!" I hadn't understood what he meant, then. I'd been too full of my own pride, too self-centered, to realize that my possessive jealousy could so easily chafe him into rebellion. ,. . - I realized it now. Three years of loneliness had given me Dlenty of time to think, and my thoughts had led me to one inescapable conclusion. Chet had not even been guilty in that last, violent (Continued on page 83) n FEBBUARY, 1942 Radio's vivid love story of a man who cared not the snap of his blunt fingers for anyone but himself and of a woman who loved him and learned that there is not room in life for selfishness like his KATE HOPKINS came down the broad curved staircase of Atwood House just as Pierre, the swarthy butler, was moving about the drawing room, emptying ash trays and switching on lights that had been cunningly placed to illuminate the graceful lines and subdued colors of old, ex- pensive furniture. The warm Lou- isiana air stirred at the long win- dows, bringing with it the rich odor of bayou and canebrake — a scent a little too cloyingly sweet, as if to remind that under the lush growth of the plantation, nourishing it, were rottenness and death. Across the hall other servants hovered over the table, setting it with a delicate lace cloth, heavy silver, glassware that caught and imprisoned the sparkling rays from the crystal chandelier. Everything was well-ordered, secure, steeped in peace; but Kate shuddered, and went quickly into the little writing room under the stairs, where it was possible to get a reassuring sense of being quite alone, quite unnoticed. She dreaded the hours that were coming. If only those two friends of Jessie Atwood's hadn't arrived so unexpectedly! — and on today of all days. Jessie would be determined to keep up appearances before them, be brittle and gay as if she were on the stage again, playing the lead in a drawing-room comedy. Only, the situation in Atwood House was not a comedy; it was perilously close to tragedy. Kate sat at the big mahogany desk, with its immaculate blotter, and leaned her head wearily against a clenched hand. Almost, she wished she had never left Forest Falls — or, leaving it, had chosen, some other day, any other day but the one on which she would en- counter Jessie Atwood on the train. For one small incident had led to another, and without willing it she had found herself installed here as Jessie's — as Jessie's what? Nurse? Companion? Friend? None of those things alone, but rather a combina- tion of all three. Jessie's rampant unconventionality, of course, made it almost impossible for her to em- ploy, simply, a nurse; as for friends, she was fond of announc- ing proudly that she hadn't any, only acquaintances. And they were scattered all over the globe. Another famous air drama brought to you in exciting fiction form by Norton Rus- sell. Listen to Kate Hopkins daily at 2:45 P.M., E.S.T., over CBS, sponsored by Max- well House Coffee. Illustra- tion posed by Selena Royle as Kate and Raymond Edward Johnson as Robert Atwood. Robert, Jessie's son, had inherited her uncanny ability to surround herself with violent drama — but not, Kate sighed inwardly, her fundamental sweetness. Robert was ruthless, Robert was hot-tempered and sullen, Robert cared not the snap of his blunt, strong fingers for anyone but Robert. And . . . Kate loved him. She rose suddenly, impatiently, and went to stand at the window and look out at the night which seemed to pulsate with a life of its own. Yes, she loved him. She must have begun loving him that first minute Jessie had brought her here and she had seen his dark face, too self-willed to be called handsome. God knew she had fought against it . . . When old Jessie Atwood first brought her to Atwood House, they found Robert engaged to a girl half his age, Diane Pers. There had been trouble with Elise, the Creole woman who had kept house for him in the fifteen years his mother had been away, traveling in Europe. Elise loved him, too; she would not step aside for Diane. But at last his will broke hers, and the way was riear for Robert and Diane to be married . . Kate's memory re- jected the thought of those days, when it became more and more ap- parent to each of them that they were caught in an overwhelming, impossible emotion — when Robert realized, after all, how little he wanted to marry Diane, now that he knew Kate. Well, only Robert would have been wily enough, ruthless enough, to put Kate's own son, Tom, into Diane's life. He had tried to ar- range a marriage between them, and he had succeeded. But Elise would not step aside a second time, not for Kate, whom she had dis- liked from the first. And now Elise RADIO AND TELEVISION JVTIBROR was dead, murdered by some un- known hand. The atmosphere in the writing room seemed, all at once, stifling, and Kate left it for the drawing room. Robert and his mother were there, alone; Col. Dunham and his little daughter had- not yet come down. "Come in, Kate, and join the happy family circle," Robert greeted her. "Mother needs your support; she's floundering badly." He bent down and put his hand on a cock- tail shaker. "Let me pour you a drink." "No, thank you." What pleasure, she wondered, did Robert always get out of offering her liquor, when he knew perfectly well she didn't like the stuff? But the answer to that question was perfectly plain: "Wait until your New England con- science stops bothering you?" Robert said. Then he turned angrily away. he enjoyed anything that made her seem cold, repressed, puritanical. "Then I shall have another," Robert said, pouring. "Mother — you?" When Jessie shook her head he went on, "Mother disapproves of having a cocktail before all the guests are assembled. Wasn't it clever of her, Kate, to invite a man I don't even know — and his sub- adolpscent {Continued on page 59) FEBRUARY. 1942 13 ^Ofvn!b wtker Elizabeth, his home, his children meant every- thing to John Perry. But Marianne's golden youth was beckoning him to forget them all and follow her into forbidden realms of romance Copyright 1941, Anne and Frank Hummert J OHN PERRY was in the mid- dle of a busy afternoon. One duty after another had kept him chained to his desk in the WiUison Depart- ment Store. He had no time to look out the window and see the bright, jiggly October day, the faint touch of frost in the air, the people walking with bounce in their steps, the whole street moving more briskly. John knew that Christmas was coming only by the extra de- mands the store made upon him. When Elizabeth was announced, he had a moment of slight annoy- ance. Then he shrugged it off and told the girl to send her in. The minute she stood in the office he was glad. She brought some of the bright, frosty October day in with her. Her blue eyes danced, her step lilted, there were roses delicately etched on her cheeks. Before she spoke, John knew an instant of sheer appreciation. Elizabeth was all that any man had a right to ex- pect in a wife — and more, too. She had stuck by him, nursed him, for- given him, mothered his children, shared his love, forgotten his mis- takes and applauded his triumphs. And every once in a while as now he was struck again by her beauty — the mature, settled beauty that a fine woman wears like an ever present garment. "Hello, darlmg," he said. "You look good enough to eat." He got up and walked around the desk and took her in his arms. Elizabeth pretended to push him away, but John could tell from the warm look on her face that she wanted him to kiss her. "In a busi- ness office!" she said. "Come on down stairs, darling. We'll have a cup of tea. I need some time off." "In a minute," Elizabeth said 14 firmly. "I want to talk a little busi- ness first." She pushed him back- wards, into the chair behind his desk, then sat down on the opposite side. "This is the way you sit when you talk business, isn't it?" "Yes," John smiled. "Now what can I do for you, Mrs. Perry? Be- lieve me, anything within my power is at the command of a woman with your beauty." "So that's what business is like," Elizabeth laughed. "I should have gone into it myself." "Moments like this are very rare, dear Mrs. Perry." Elizabeth dimpled at John's teas- ing. He caught the flash of happi- ness and adoration that came with her smile and was mirrored an in- stant in her eyes. "Seriously, John," she said, "I'm worried about Claire Bartlett." "Claire Bartlett?" John repeated. "You know," Elizabeth urged. "I was telling you about them. They've been having such a hard time. Harry's been out of work for almost a year." "Oh yes," John said noncommit- tally. "Poor Claire's been running a lit- tle book and gift shop," Elizabeth continued. "That one around the corner on Decatur Street, but it doesn't bring in much money and they do need more." Elizabeth hesitated at John's con- tinued silence. She sat down and John sensed her disappointment. He shook his head dubiously. "You mean you'd like me to see if there's something open here for her hus- band?" "If— if you could," Elizabeth said, some of the eagerness back in her voice. John shook his head. "I don't like to do those things," he said slowly. Marianne's fresh young voice seemed to float about him. John listened — no^ moving, as Elizabeth quietly stood by his side, listening too. RADIO AND TELEVISION IVIIRSOR Now, as a thrilling novelette by John Baxter, read the popular radio drama heard weekdays at 3:30 P.M., E.S.T., over the NBC-Blue network, sponsored by Hilts Cold Tablets and Edna Wallace Hopper. Illustrations posed by Erin O'Brien-Moore as Elizabeth, Joseph Curtin as John. "You know I hire people for their ability and not because they know somebody — even you, darling." •'I do know, John." He liked the seriousness in her voice. "And I thought a long time before I came to you, and I wouldn't have men- tioned it unless I were absolutely sure that Harry is the right kind of man." "He hasn't shown it." John stirred restlessly, wishing he could end the discussion painlessly. "No, but he hasn't ever had a good opportunity. The last few things he tried fizzled out through no fault of his, and I think it took some spirit out of him." "Maybe," John said. "And besides," Elizabeth went on, "Claire has a sister — much younger — whom she's keeping in music school in Chicago. Claire says she has a lovely voice, and unless Harry finds work, Claire will have to bring her back here." John smiled. "It's such an old story, darling. I've heard it a hun- dred times." Elizabeth's full mouth grew firm- er. "Now, John, I won't let you dismiss this as just another hard luck story. These are good, fine people, and I intend to help them. If you won't listen to me, I'm going to ask Claire and Harry to dinner and you can see for yourself what Harry's hke." "All right, Elizabeth, by all means do that. . . . Now can we have our tea?" "Yes." Elizabeth smiled again, and in spite of himself John's heart lifted. Later that day, and in the suc- ceeding days, John forgot about the Bartletts and their problems. It was not until he got home from the store the following Tuesday and Elizabeth mentioned they were ex- pected for dinner that he remem- bered them. Elizabeth slipped her arms around him in quick embrace and then ran to help Granny with the din- ner. John went into the pleasant, wide living room, with the big bay window fronting on the street. It was a small house, not really big enough for their family — little Carol and the baby, Joy, besides Elizabeth, Granny and himself — but John had liked this room ever since the previous year, when they had been forced to move from the big house on the hill. Sometimes he thought he liked this room bet- ter than any he'd ever been in. Then he realized that it was home to him. His books lined the walls, his pipes rested on the table, wait- ing for him, his family spent the day here. Yes, it was home. That was why he liked it. "Carol baby!" he called. "Daddy!" The soft, little-girl voice had scarcely died when Carol burst through the door from the kitchen. "Daddy, I'm helping Gran- ny make soup." Her dress was spattered a rich tomato color. John swung her up in his big arms. "Hullo, baby." "I'm not a baby any more. Daddy. I'm a big girl." John laughed. "All right, sugar- pie. No more baby. I'll put you right down. I'll never lift you again." "Oh, you can lift me, Daddy, even if I am a big girl and have to watch out for Joy." Her voice was as light and sweet in John's ear as a bird's note. Granny came in from the kitchen. "Bedtime, dear," she said, and bustled Carol off upstairs. John looked after them, waving to Carol through the banisters. "She's a wonderful child," he said to Elizabeth, who had followed Granny into the room. He put his arm around her, and together they watched Granny bundle the little girl upstairs with much waving and calling good night. Then the Bartletts came and soon they were at dinner. He had to admit to him- self that he liked them both. "I may be an odd character." Claire said. "But I like the winter. The snow and cold make me thrive." "There's nothing odd about that." John said. "I'm part Eskimo too, I believe." Elizabeth laughed. "I can vouch for that. I have a hard time get- FEBRUARY, 1942 Mi ! ohm!b wtker Elizabeth, his home, his children meant every- thing to John Perry. But Marianne's golden youth was beckoning him to forget them all and follow her into forbidden realms of romance CopVTiotit l'J4l, Anne and Frank Hummert J OHN PERRY was in the mid- dle of a busy afternoon. One duty after anotlier had kepi him chained to his desli in the Willison Depart- ment Store. He had no time to Iool< out thi? window and see the bright, jifiM'y October day, the faint touch of frost in the air, the people wallting with bounce in their steps, the whole street moving more briskly. John knew that Christmas wa.s coming only by the extra de- mands the .store made upon him. When Elizabeth was announced, he had a moment of slight annoy- ance. Then he shrugged it off and told the girl to send her in. The minute she stood in the ofliee he was glad. She brought some of the bright, frosty October day in with her. Her blue eyes danced, her step lilted, there were roses delicately etched on her checks. Before she spoke, John knew an instant of sheer appreciation. Elizabeth was all that any nian had a right to ex- pect in a wife — and more, too. She had stuck by him, nursed him, for- given him, mothered his children, shared his love, forgotten his mis- takes and applauded his triumphs. And every once in a while as now he was struck again by her beauty — the mature, settled beauty that a fine woman wears like an ever present garment. "Hello, darling." he said. "You look good enough to eat." He got up and walked around the desk and took her in his arms. Elizabeth pretended to push him away, but John could tell from the warm look on her face that she wanted him to kiss her. "In a busi- ness office!" she said. "Come on down stairs, darling. We'll have a cup of tea. I need some time off." "In a minute," Ehzabeth said 14 firmly. "I want to talk a little busi- ness first." She pushed him back- wards, into the chair behind his desk, then sat down on the opposite side. "This is the way you sit when you talk business, isn't it?" "Yes," John smiled. "Now what can I do for you, Mrs. Perry? Be- lieve me, anything within my power is at the command of a woman with your beauty." "So that's what business is like," Elizabeth laughed. "I should have gone into it myself." "Moments like this are very rare, dear Mrs. Perry." Elizabeth dimpled at John's teas- ing. He caught the flash of happi- ness and adoration that came with her smile and was mirrored an in- stant in her eyes. "Seriously, John," she said, "I'm worried about Claire Bartlett." "Claire Bartlett?" John repeated. "You know," Elizabeth urged. "I was telling you about them. They've been having such a hard time. Harry's been out of work for almost a year." "Oh yes," John said noncommit- tally. "Poor Claire's been running a lit- tle book and gift shop," Elizabeth continued. "That one around the corner on Decatur Street, but it doesn't bring in much money and they do need more." Elizabeth hesitated at John's con- tinued silence. She sat down and John sensed her disappointment. He shook his head dubiously. "You mean you'd like me to see if there's something open here for her hus- band?" "If — if you could," Ehzabeth said, some of the eagerness back in her voice. John shook his head. "I don't like to do those things," he said slowly. Marianne's fresh young voice seem' fo float about him. John listened— not moving, as Elizabeth quietij stood by his side, listening I""' RADIO AND TELEVISION "You know I hire people for their ability and not because they know somebody — even you, darling." 'I do know, John," He hked the seriousness in her voice. "And I thought a long time before I came '0 you, and I wouldn't have men- tioned it unless I were absolutely sure that Harry is the right kind of man." "He hasn't shown it." John stirred restlessly, wishing he could end the discussion painlessly. "No. but he hasn't ever had a fjood opportunity. The last few ihmgs he tried fizzled out through no fault of his, and I think it took •^ome spirit out of him." Maybe," John said. And besides," Elizabeth went ■^n. "Claire has a sister — much .^■ounger—whom she's keeping in '■EBRUARV. 1942 music school in Chicago. Claire says she has a lovely voice, and unless Harry finds work, Claire will have to bring her back here." John smiled. "It's such an old story, darling. I've heard it a hun- dred times." Elizabeth's full mouth grew firm- er. "Now, John, I won't let you dismiss this as just another hard luck story. These are good, fine people, and I intend to help them. If you won't listen to me, I'm going to ask Claire and Harry to dinner and you can see for yourself what Harry's like." "All right, Elizabeth, by all means do that. . . . Now can we have our tea?" "Yes." Elizabeth smiled again, and in spite of himself John's heart lifted. Later that day, and in the suc- ceeding days, John forgot about the Bartletts and their problems. It was not until he got home from the store the following Tuesday and Elizabeth mentioned they were ex- pected for dinner that he remem- bered them. Elizabeth slipped her arms around him in quick embrace and then ran to help Granny with the din- ner. John went into the pleasant, wide living room with the big bay window fronting on the street. It was a small house, not really big enough for their family — little Carol and the baby, Joy, besides Elizabeth, Granny and himself — but John had liked this room ever since the previous year, when they had been forced to move from the big house on the hill. Sometimes he thought he liked this room bet- ter than any he'd ever been in. Then he realized that it was home to him. His books lined the walls, his pipes rested on the table, wait- ing for him, his family spent the day here. Yes, it was home. That was why he hked it. "Carol baby!" he called. "Daddy!" The soft, little-girl voice had scarcely died when Carol burst through the door from the kitchen. "Daddy, I'm helping Gran- ny make soup." Her dress was spattered a rich tomato color. John swung her up in his big arms. "Hullo, baby." "I'm not a baby any more, Daddy. I'm a big girl." John laughed. "All right, sugar- pie. No more baby. I'll put you right down. I'll never lift you again." "Oh. you can lift me, Daddy, even if I am a big girl and have to watch out for Joy." Her voice was as light and sweet in John's ear as a bird's note. Granny came in from the kitchen. "Bedtime, dear," she said, and bustled Carol off upstairs. John looked after them, waving to Carol through the banisters. "She's a wonderful child," he said to Elizabeth, who had followed Granny into the room. He put his arm around her. and together they watched Granny bundle the little girl upstairs with much waving and calling good night. Then the Bartletts came and soon they were at dinner. He had to admit to him- self that he liked them both. "I may be an odd character." Claire said. "But I like the winter. The snow and cold make me thrive." "There's nothing odd about that," John said. "I'm part Eskimo too, I believe." Elizabeth laughed. "I can vouch for that. I have a hard time get- ting him to put on an overcoat. John thinks he belongs in the Arctic." "That leaves you and me, Eliza- beth," Harry Bartlett said. "Maybe we should go to an island some- where near the equator. Because I like the sun." "It's a date," Elizabeth said. John looked at Elizabeth. "I can't spare her, Harry," he said, and he thought as he said it how true it was. How much attached he had become to the settled, or- derly life and love she gave him. He thought of the comfort and relaxa- tion he felt when he sat in the big chair in the living room after din- ner with a fire glowing slowly on the hearth, Elizabeth knitting or reading just where he could look up and see her without turning his head. And upstairs would be Carol and Joy asleep, and perhaps Granny, returned from one of her beloved movies, would come in and tell them about it. Then they would go up- stairs to bed, and perhaps on the stairs he would put his arm around Elizabeth's waist and be able to tell by touching her that she loved him and he loved her. TOHN brought his mind back to *' the dinner table just as Granny brought in the dessert. The con- versation had shifted. "She has a really good voice," Claire was saying. "It's a pity she can't go on studying. But then, you can't have everything, and Marianne is lucky in just being as pretty as she is." "Your sister?" John said politely, but he had a sudden desire to change the subject. He knew all about Marianne. The story was very old — a youngster with a half formed talent becoming the vehicle for an older person's idle, half-for- gotten dream of childhood. John drew Harry into a conversation, and found him open and engaging to talk to. Later, when the Bartletts had gone, John stood in front of the bureau, taking off his tie. "How did you like Harry?" Eliza- beth asked. "All right." John yawned. "How much all right?" "Well, I'm going to see what I can do for him. Is that all right enough, darling?" "Of course it is, John. I'm so glad," Elizabeth .said. John put on his pajamas and climbed into bed. "We'll begin to take on extra help for the Christ- mas rush pretty .soon. He should fit in." Elizabeth threw open the win- dow and .stood for a minute in her bathrobe hetting the cool breeze 1(> blow on her uplifted face. "It hardly seems possible winter's here again," she said. "Uh huh." John had forgotten about winter and about Harry Bart- lett. His mind whirled for a mo- ment with plans for the next day — things to find out and things to do. Then gradually he sank down into sleep. A week passed, slowly for the children and fast for John and Elizabeth, faster still for Granny. John sat down in his favorite chair after dinner, lit a match to his pipe, and crackled open the evening paper. It was good to be quiet and peaceful at home after the hectic day at the store. It came to him con- sciously as he began to read, how well off he was — not in money, but in other things that count for more. When Elizabeth came into the room he knew it at once, although he kept the paper up before his face. Elizabeth sat down, and John sensed from her restlessness that she had something to say to him. "Let's have it," he said. "There's something on your mind." "I met Claire's sister, Marianne, today. She just came back from She was a sudden vis/on of delight. Here was no ador- ing child, John thought, but a lovely, desirable woman. Chicago." "Oh yes?" John said. "What's she like?" Ehzabeth got up and moved over to stand beside John's chair. "As pretty as a picture, and very, very charming." "Well," John joked. "We must have her over. Anyone as pretty as that deserves to have me know her." "I'll make a bargain with you," Elizabeth replied. "If you'll get Harry that job, I'll have her right over." John pushed the paper away from him. "When you want something, you're completely unscrupulous, aren't you?" He reached up for her face and found her lips. "It would mean so much to them if Harry could find something," Elizabeth murmured against his cheek. "Claire told me today that she had to sell their piano to pay the rent and lay in a decent stock in the store for Christmas. Now Mari- anne won't have any way to practice her music." "That's a shame," John said, gen- uinely sorry. "I didn't realize they were that hard up. I'll find some- thing for Harry tomorrow." "Oh darling!" Elizabeth's joy was so colored with pride in him and thankfulness that John was immediately glad he had agreed. "And John," Elizabeth added, "I told Marianne that she could use our piano to practice on if she want- ed to." She said it quickly. John shrugged. "I don't suppose she will very often. What's the difference?" "Oh no," Ehzabeth said. "I was afraid she wouldn't take the offer seriously, so I made her promise to come every afternoon." John looked over the top of the newspaper. "Do I have to listen to a female songstress?" he said. "Not unless you want to," Eliza- beth said. "You can please your- self about that." "Okay then," John retired behind his paper. "But make it in the afternoon, when I'm at the office. I like to be quiet in the evening." He was half serious, half joking. "We will," Elizabeth promised. "And do please try to find some- thing for Harry." "I will," John said. "I won't for- get." p* ARLY in the following week John got away early from the office and came home to rest a while before dinner. He knew that Mari- anne came to practice now every day, but he thought by five o'clock she would be gone. Driving home a little early, before the traffic had become heavy, gave him a wonder- ful sense of well-being. It was late October, and a light, early snow, soft and dreamy, had begun to fall. The street lights came on and made the snow sparkle as though set with diamonds. On the bare branches of trees the wet crystals clung thick- ly, so that the world seemed fes- tooned. John drove slowly, enjoy- ing every minute of it. When he came into the house, he paused a moment in the vestibule, then closed the door gently. The fresh young voice seemed to float about him, to fill the house with the song. It ended; another began. "Drink to me only with thine eyes — " Centuries ago Ben Jonson had dreamed a dream of a girl and love and a cup of wine — perhaps on such a night as this. He made the dream into words, and an unknown musician made it a song with sound and cadence. John Perry listened — not mov- ing. The dining-room door swung open and Elizabeth walked quietly to his side and stood with him, lis- tening as he listened. Her hand found his and held it. The song ended and Marianne's head turned to the window. She sighed and stood up. "I'm sorry you stopped." John touched the lamp switch. "You must be Marianne. Elizabeth said you had a nice voice." Marianne was flustered. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Perry. I didn't realize it was so late. I intended to stop before you came." "Nonsense," Elizabeth spoke for the first time. It was as though she had not been in the room Until now. "I'm glad he heard you. Now he knows why I was so anxious to have you come here to practice." "Elizabeth said you didn't like singing — especially women sing- ers," Marianne said. She stood in front of the piano slowly gather- ing her music. John saw her then for the first time — the sheer youth and vitality of her, the clear, warm color of her skin, the softly burnished hair. "I guess I was wrong," he said. "I like the way you sing." "I'm so glad," Marianne said. John could see she was partly shy and partly proud to hear his praise. He found her coat, and helped her into it. Then she was gone. After dinner John settled down again, but tonight he felt like talk- ing. "There's a job at the store I think Harry Bartlett could fill," he said. "I'm getting in touch with him." "I hope you do," Elizabeth said. "And say, that girl can really sing. I was surprised. You don't even have to be a musician to know that." "Yes," Elizabeth murmured. "I told you she had a nice voice." "And she's very pretty," John added. "She ought to go far." "Yes, if she has a chance, but there's not much opportunity for singers out here in the Midwest," Elizabeth said. "She'll make it," John said, and he believed it. Two days later he was able to place Harry as a stock clerk, and a week later he knew with gratifi- cation that Harry had made a go of it. He was fast and careful and accurate, the chief stock clerk told John. It (Continued on page 50 j 17 ! ting him to put on an overcoat. John thinks he belongs in the Arctic." "That leaves you and me, Eliza- beth," Harry Bartlctt said. "Maybe vire should go to an island some- where near the equator. Because I like the sun." "It's a date," Elizabeth said. John looked at Elizabeth. "I can't spare her, Harry," he said, and he thought as he said it how true it was. How much attached he had become to the settled, or- derly life and love she gave him. He thought of the comfort and relaxa- tion he felt when he sat in the big chair in the living room after din- ner with a flre glowing slowly on the hearth, Elizabeth knitting or reading just where he could look up and see her without turning his head. And upstairs would be Carol and Joy asleep, and perhaps Granny, returned from one of her beloved movies, would come in and tell them about it. Then they would go up- stairs to bed, and perhaps on the stairs he would put his arm around Elizabeth's waLst and be able to tell by touching her that she loved him and he loved her. JOHN brought his mind back to the dinner table just as Granny brought in the dessert. The con- versation had shifted. "She has a really good voice," Claire was .saying. "It's a pity she can't go on studying. But then, you can't have everything, and Marianne is lucky in just being as pretty as she is." "Your sister?" John said politely, but he had a sudden desire to change the subject. He knew all about Marianne. The story was very old — a youngster with a halt formed talent becoming the vehicle for an older person's idle, half-for- gotten dream of childhood. John drew Harry into a conversation, and found him open and engaging to talk to. Later, when the Bartletts had gone, John stood in front of the bureau, taking ofT his tie. "How did you like Harry?" Eliza- beth asked. "All riglU." John yawned. "How much all right?" "Well, I'm going to see what 1 can do for him. Is that all right enough, darling?" "Of course it is, John. I'm so glad," Elizabeth said. John put on his pajamas anti climbed into bed. "'We'll begin ti take on extra help for the Christ mas rush pretty soon. He should fit in." Elizabeth threw open the win- dow and stood for a minute in her bathrobe letting the cool breezi blow on her uplifted face. "It hardly seems possible winter's here again," she said. "Uh huh." John had forgotten about winter and about Harry Bart- lett. His mind whirled for a mo- ment with plans for the next day- things to find out and things to do. Then gradually he sank down into sleep. A week passed, slowly tor the children and fast for John and Elizabeth, faster still tor Granny. John sat down in his favorite chair after dinner, lit a match to his pipe, and crackled open the evening paper. It was good to be quiet and peaceful at home after the hectic day at the store. It came to him con- sciously as he began to read, how well off he was — not in money, but in other things that count for more. When Elizabeth came into the room he knew it at once, although he kept the paper up before his face. Elizabeth sat down, and John sensed from her restlessness that she had something to say to him. "Let's have it," he said. "There's something on your mind." "I met Claire's sister, Marianne, today. She just came back from Chicago. "Oh yes?" John said. "What's she hke?" . ^ Elizabeth got up and moved over to stand beside John's chair. "As pretty as a picture, and very, very charming." "Well," John joked. "We must have her over. Anyone as pretty as that deserves to have me know her." "I'll make a bargain with you," Elizabeth replied. "If you'll get Harry that job, I'll have her right over." John pushed the paper away from She woj o sudden yiiion of delighf. Here was no ador- ing child, John fhoughf, buf a lovely, desirable woman. him. "When you want something, you're completely unscrupulous, aren't you?" He reached up for her face and found her lips. "It would mean so much to them if Harry could find something," Elizabeth murmured against his cheek. "Claire told me today that she had to sell their piano to pay the rent and lay in a decent stock in the store for Christmas. Now Mari- anne won't have any way to practice her music." "That's a shame," John said, gen- uinely sorry. "I didn't realize they were that hard up. I'll find some- thing for Harry tomorrow." "Oh darling!" Elizabeth's joy was so colored with pride in him and thankfulness that John was immediately glad he had agreed. "And John," Elizabeth added, "I told Marianne that she could use our piano to practice on if she want- ed to." She said it quickly. John shrugged. "I don't suppose she will very often. What's the difference?" "Oh no," Elizabeth said. "I was afraid she wouldn't take the offer seriously, so I made her promise to come every afternoon." John looked over the top of the newspaper. "Do I have to listen to a female songstress?" he said. "Not unless you want to," Eliza- beth said. "You can please your- self about that." "Okay then," John retired behind his paper. "But make it in the afternoon, when I'm at the office. I like to be quiet in the evening." He was half serious, half joking. "We will," Elizabeth promised. "And do please try to find some- thing for Harry." "I will," John said. "I won't for- get." ■p ARLY in the following week John got away early from the office and came home to rest a while before dinner. He knew that Mari- anne came to practice now every day, but he thought by five o'clock she would be gone. Driving home a little early, before the traffic had become heavy, gave him a wonder- ful sense of well-being. It was late October, and a light, early snow, soft and dreamy, had begun to fall. The street lights came on and made the snow sparkle as though set with diamonds. On the bare branches of trees the wet crystals clung thick- ly, so that the world seemed fes- tooned. John drove slowly, enjoy- ing every minute of it. When he came into the house, he paused a moment in the vestibule, then closed the door gently. The fresh young voice seemed to float about him, to fill the house with the song. It ended; another began. "Drink to me only with thine eyes — " Centuries ago Ben Jonson had dreamed a dream of a girl and love and a cup of wine — perhaps on such a night as this. He made the dream into words, and an unknown musician made it a song with sound and cadence. John Perry listened — not mov- ing. The dining-room door swung open and Elizabeth walked quietly to his side and stood with him, lis- tening as he listened. Her hand found his and held it. The song ended and Marianne's head turned to the window. She sighed and stood up. "I'm sorry you stopped." John touched the lamp switch. "You must be Marianne. Elizabeth said you had a nice voice." Marianne was flustered. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Perry. I didn't realize it was so late. I intended to stop before you came." "Nonsense," Elizabeth spoke for the first time. It was as though she had not been in the room until now. "I'm glad he heard you. Now he knows why I was so anxious to have , you come here to practice." "Elizabeth said you didn't like singing — especially women sing- ers," Marianne said. She stood in front of the piano slowly gather- ing her music. John saw her then for the first time — the sheer youth and vitality of her, the clear, warm color of her skin, the softly burnished hair. "I guess I was wrong," he said. "I like the way you sing." "I'm so glad," Marianne said. John could see she was partly shy and partly proud to hear his praise. He found her coat, and helped her into it. Then she was gone. After dinner John settled down again, but tonight he felt Uke talk- ing. "There's a job at the store I think Harry Bartlett could fill," he said. "I'm getting in touch with him." "I hope you do," Elizabeth said. "And say, that girl can really sing. I was surprised. You don't even have to be a musician to know that." "Yes," Elizabeth murmured. "I told you she had a nice voice." "And she's very pretty," John added. "She ought to go far." "Yes, if she has a chance, but there's not much opportunity for singers out here in the Midwest," Elizabeth said. "She'll make it," John said, and he believed it. Two days later he was able to place Harry as a stock clerk, and a week later he knew with gratifi- cation that Harry had made a go of it. He was fast and careful and accurate, the chief stock clerk told John. It (Continued on page 5U) THE STORY OF or IN LIVING PORTRAITS Now, in beautiful album photographs, you can see as well as hear the lovable people who have brought you so many listening hours of happiness and romance li! MARY MARLIN (right) is charm- ing and feminine, hut she is also clear-headed, courageous and the center of everything that happens in her community. When you first met her, she was mostly concerned with making a home for her husband, Joe, who was a young lawyer, and their son, Davey. Then Joe was elected to the U. S. Senate and shortly afterwards left on a mission to Russia, where he disappeared. Mary assumed Joe's position in the Senate. Since then, she has been courted by Rufus Kane, President of the United States, and David Post, Joe's old law partner. Mary has ac- cepted David's proposal of marriage, believing that her husband is dead. Whatever happens, Mary's life will continue in a rich and exciting way. (Played by Anne Seymour) DAVID POST (left) is a kind, true friend of Joe and Mary Marlin. He has loved Mary for a good many years, but, out of loyalty to Joe, never mentioned this until all hope of Joe's return had been abandoned. On that fatal night when Joe re- turned, David asked Mary to marry him and told her of his love. Mary really thinks she loves David, hut it's not the kind of love she had for Joe. She sees in David a sweetness and a dependability which are lack- ing in most men, and knows that he loves her and understands her as few people do. Whether or not David wins Mary, he will still go on loving her, still continue being the best friend she has ever had and the most considerate. He is a man to love, admire and respect. (Played by Carleton Brickert) N>»f Monfhl Reod ih* complete »tory of Mory Morlln oi a thrilling romantic novel 18 RADIO AND TELEVISION IVURBOR Tune in Mary Marlin lueefcday mornings and ajternoons over the NBC-Red and the CBS networks, sponsored by Ivory Snou FEBRUARY. 1942 19 SARAH JANE KANE (right) is the Presi- dent's mother and, in lieu of a Mrs. Rufus Kane, is the mistress of the White House. Mrs. Kane is a sweet, simple woman who comes from a humble background, yet, be- cause of her innate common sense and her graciousness, has made a great success of her job. She has, of course, great pride in her son and his accomplishments and there is a touching devotion between them. Of late, Sarah Jane Kane has not been in very good health, but, regardless of this and in spite of her son's warnings, she still man- ages to get around Washington on various social and humanitarian errands. She has a great affection for Mary Marlin and would like to have her as a daughter-in-law. Mary also loves Sarah Jane very much and often goes to her for advice and help. This sweet, lovable woman, getting on in years, is a symbol of greatness to the entire nation as well as those who know her well. Like her son, she is quick to speak out in defense of the poor and downtrodden. All who know her hope that she has a good many more years to live and to bring courage and help, not only to her son, but the millions through- out the nation who love and respect her. (Played by Charme Allen) RUFUS KANE (left) President of the United States, is a fine, capable man who has a great love for all people. Ever since Mary came to Washington he has been her constant com- panion and has learned a great deal from her inspiratiorial conduct in times of stress. Mary, in turn, has imbued Rufus Kane with many of her political dreams, the ones she and Joe once shared. Rufus claims to love Mary and has been an ardent suitor for her hand, but Mary has told him that she does not feel toward him the way a wife should feel toward a husband. Rufus, however, has not given up hope that Mary will change her mind and is constantly showering her with attention. Mary has still kept to her plans about marrying David Post, but the fact that the whole country knows how Rufus feels about her is often embarrassing. Rufus is not a man easily cast side; he has a charming per- sonality, a keen sense of humor and Mary is very fond of him. Then, too, not many young women can easily turn down the position of First Lady of the Land. Rufus is still sure that some day Mary will consent to be his wife. (Played by Rupert La Belle) 20 KADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR JOE MARLIN is Mary's husband, a handsome, impetuous m,an, one whose am,bition and brilliance catapulted him from a small town law practice into the United States Senate. When he was sent to Russia, his plane crashed and he was severely injured, suffering a temporary loss of memory. He was eventually able to find his way back home, only to hear his friend, David Post, proposing to Mary. He believed that Mary loved David and so he went to a friend's house who, at first, didn't know him be- cause of the beard he grew in Russia and now keeps to hide his identity. (Played by Robert Griffin) 21 ARNOLD, the only name he is known by, is Mary Marlin's butler. Arnold is inclined to he, at times, a little juss- budgety and short tem- pered, but he exerts considerable influence in the Marlin household. On many occasions, he has been a great source of help to Mary, who regards his advice high- ly. Arnold is more like one of the family than a butler and his life is not without romance. Anabelle Fairweather, Davy's nurse, idolizes him and would like to have him for a husband. Arnold has different ideas, but romance or not, his loyalty to Mary is unquestionable. (Played by Robert White) FRAZIER MITCHELL, a soft-spoken, gentle, aristocrat of the old school, is an old friend of Mary Marlin's. When he first met Joe and Mary he took a tre- mendous liking to them and hacked Joe's sena- torial campaign. During the last presidential election, he ran against Rufus Kane and was defeated, hut took his defeat like a real gen- tleman. The big prob- lem in Frazier's life is his young wife. Bunny, who often causes him worry. He has now re- tired to his estate just outside of Washington where he raises horses. Mary is very fond of him, and visits him often. (Played by Fred Sullivan) BUNNY MITCHELL, Frazier's wife, is a young, beautiful, vivacious wo- man. Bunny is likely to be flighty, but she has just become a mother, which may improve her temperament. (Played by Templeton Fox) 22 FEBRUARY, 1942 V ON THE RUN He prayed to he saved from girls who wore bright hair ribbons — but now Joan Banks wears bigger and brighter ones and Frank Lovejoy, her husband, loves them! BY JACK SHER THE two trains, one headed North, the other traveling South, stopped for a few min- utes in the station at Rye, New York. The commuters in the south- bound train were startled by a young man who seemed, for the moment, to have gone a little berserk. He got up from his seat, tried to open the window and, fail- ing this, began to pound on it, at the same time making frantic gestures. A few^ seconds later, the com- muters on the northbound train were amazed by the antics of a pretty, blonde-headed, blue-eyed girl, who suddenly sat up straight They're both in radio — hut not of the same time. Joan plays Peggy in The O'Neills on NBC. Frank is Jarrod in Light of the World over NBC-Red. in her seat and began nodding her head and, as her train pulled out, blowing kisses at the young man in the window of the train across the way. This incident occurred just a few weeks ago. The commuters are probably still wondering what it was all about. Perhaps some of the more romantic ones would like to know if the boy and girl, traveling on trains going in opposite direc- tions ever did get together. We could tell you whether they did or not, but that would be re- vealing too soon the outcome of one of the most amusing and ro- mantic stories in radio. The young man's name is Frank Lovejoy and you hear him on such shows as Help Mates and Light Of The World. The girl is Joan Banks, who plays Peggy on the O'Neills and often stars on the Kate Smith show opposite such screen lovers as Errol Flynn, Tyrone Power and Charles Boyer. Frank and Joan are actors, but they were not "putting on an act" that day on the train. The "key" to what was happening are the keys that Frank was jiggling. He might never have been jiggling those keys on the train that day if the girl, Joan, hadn't worn a bright, blue FraRUABY, 1942 ribbon in her hair the day he first met her. It was a day in January, 1940, and Frank came into a CBS studio to join the cast of a show called "This Day Is Ours." The star of the show was a certain Miss Joan Banks, who bounced into the studio a few minutes later wearing that bright, blue ribbon in her hair. "Please save me," Frank thought, "from coy, young things who wear ribbons in their hair." And, although he didn't say it, Joan felt his antagonism. She had seen this Mr. Lovejoy just once before at a recording studio and had decided, on sight, that the tall, handsome, brown-eyed, young man was a decided wash out and she was completely unimpressed. Now, as she stood there being introduced to him — sensing his scorn — she thought very unkindly of casting directors. For, this was the young man with whom she was expected to fall in love! In the script, of course, but, even so! Nothing {Continued on page 75) 23 She knew what she wanted of love — someone nearer her own age, handsome and gallant. But she forgot to look past her new husband's shining armor to the selfish human being underneath ^^€^ ,1 24 TURQUOISE-BLUE water foamed and danced under the sun by day, and by night the moon, so much larger than I had ever seen it before, threw a milky light everywhere, striking incandescent gleams from the waves. The ship glided over the sea like a huge swan, stopping now and then at a port where raw southern colors almost blinded our eyes. We'd go ashore, Bob and I, to hire a carriage or an automobile and ride through the strange, exciting streets, have luncheon in a shady courtyard where bronzed Indian girls waited on us with foods whose violent seasonings burned our tongues; then we'd return to the ship, with its luxury, its clean white decks and obsequious stewards, its soft music and dancing and big, beauti- fully-appointed rooms. It was our honeymoon. Sometimes, waking late at night and hearing Bob's quiet, regular breathing by my side, feeling the warmth of his strong body under the covers, I thought of Martie and how wrong his unvoiced objections to our marriage had been. How could I help but be happy? I had the ecstasy of Bob's love. That would have been enough in itself. But also I had the assurance of a luxurious, gracious life — of money, position, security, everything that a girl who had worked, and worked hard, ever since she was six- teen could ask for. Martie knew all this, but even at the wedding I had seen that quizzical look in his eyes which always said as plainly as words, "All right, Judith, have it your own way. You're making a mistake, but it's your mistake." Always before, whenever he looked like that, he'd been right and I wrong. But this time, I said exultant- ly to myself, 7 was the one who was right — so beau- tifully, perfectly right. Bob didn't like Martie, but then there were so many things Bob didn't know, couldn't understand. He didn't know how, after Mother died, when it was up to me to support my brother and sister, I'd worked in a five-and-dime store, spending all my noon hours in the Times Square district, trying to persuade book- ing agents to give me a job — any job, anywhere, so long as it was singing. It was hopeless, of course, and would have remained hopeless if one of the agents, friendlier than most, hadn't said: "I can't use you, baby, but I've got a friend that thinks he'd like to manage a girl singer. I don't know why, but he does. I'll ask him up here and let you sing for him, if you want." That was how I met Martin Reynolds. He didn't look like any Broadway agent or manager I'd ever seen — and that was natural enough, because he was a corporation lawyer who happened to love Broadway, the theater, night clubs, all the glamour and ghtter of that strange thing called "show business." He was tall and spare, with a quiet way of talking. I never saw him angry or upset. He seemed to carry a de- tached, tolerant kind of amusement with him wherevei' RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROB 44- THE TRUE DRAMA OF A RADIO SINGER he went, whatever he did. He wasn't handsonne, his features were too rugged for that, but he had the sort of face you'd never forget, once you'd seen it, full of character and purpose. When I met him he was thirty- one, which seemed ancient to my seventeen, and he had a dusting of white against the black of his hair. For five years after that first meeting in the shabby office of the agent, we were partners. Really partners. We trusted each other completely. Martie found jobs for me — and it was wonderful how, with his wide acquaintance along Broadway, he opened doors that I had knocked on in vain. He selected a singing coach for me and paid the bills out of his own pocket. He went with me to the hairdresser's and supervised the creation of a coiffeur that would frame my face most becomingly; and to stores where he led me away from the flashy dresses my immature fancy selected to others which were always subtly, flatteringly right. For every one of the dozens of details that go into making a career as a singer he had an answer. And he made a success of me. I went on and on, from a third-rate night club to a second-rate one, from a guest appearance on the radio to a good sponsor and then a better one, from a part in a musical comedy to a one-picture Hollywood contract which Martie did not approve of, because he said I wasn't ready, and which turned out to be just as disastrous as he'd pre- dicted. That set us back for a while, but not for long. Another musical-coxnedy part, a new radio contract at a higher figure, and we were on top of the wave again. Oh, I knew what Broadway said about us, but I didn't care because it wasn't true, and because all the gossip was the result of simple jealousy. There never was a hint of love between us. Martie never even kissed me, and while I felt a deeper affection for him than for anyone in the world except Johnny and No- rine, my brother and sister, it was as a person, not a man. I knew what I wanted from love — someone nearer my own age, handsome and gallant, who would dominate and adore me, give me everything and de- mand that I give him everything in return. Someone like Bob Trayne. I met him after the broadcast one night, in a group of people the sponsor had brought. He was tall as Martie, but there the resemblance ended. Blond hair above an incredibly clear bronzed face, white, even teeth when he smiled, broad shoulders that told you he'd been a star athlete in college, a manner toward women that was assured, yet full of deference . . . these were what I saw that first evening. And I fell in love with them. /n' fhe silence that followed, my love for him withered and died. ^- i Bob shouted, "Couldn't you hove handled this better? I told yoo — " She knew what she wanted of love — someone nearer her own age, handsome and gallant. But she forgot to look past lier new husband's shining armor to the selfish human being underneath 6n^e TURQUOISE-BLUE water foamed and danced under the sun by day, and by night the moon, so much larger than I had ever seen it before, threw a milky light everywhere, striking incandescent gleams from the waves. The ship glided over the sea like a huge swan, stopping now and then at a port where raw southern colors almost blinded our eyes. We'd go ashore. Bob and I, to hire a carriage or an automobile and ride through the strange, exciting streets, have luncheon in a shady courtyard where bronzed Indian girls waited on us with foods whose violent seasonings burned our tongues; then we'd return to the ship, with its luxury, its clean white decks and obsequious stewards, its soft music and dancing and big, beauti- fully-appointed rooms. It was our honeymoon. Sometimes, waking late at night and hearing Bob's quiet, regular breathing by my side, feeling the warmth of his strong body under the covers, I thought of Martie and how wrong his unvoiced objections to our marriage had been. How could I help but be happy? I had the ecstasy of Bob's love. That would have been enough in itself. But also I had the assurance of a luxurious, gracious life— of money, position, security, everything that a girl who had worked, and worked hard, ever since she was six- teen could ask for. Martie knew all this, but even at the wedding I had seen that quizzical look in his eyes which always said as plainly as words, "All right, Judith, have it your own way. You're making a mistake, but it's !/our mistake." Always before, whenever he looked like that, he'd been right and I wrong. But this time, I said exultant- ly to myself, / was the one who was right — so beau- tifully, perfectly right. Bob didn't like Martie, but then there were so many things Bob didn't know, couldn't understand. He didn't know how, after Mother died, when it was up to me to support my brother and sister, I'd worked in a five-and-dime store, spending all my noon hours in the Times Square district, trying to persuade bool<- ing agents to give me a job — any job, anywhere, so long as it was singing. It was hopeless, of course, a™ would have remained hopeless if one of the agents, friendlier than most, hadn't said: "I can't use you, baby, but I've got a friend that thinks he'd like to manage a girl singer. I don't know why, but he does. I'll ask him up here and let you sing for him, if you want." That was how I met Martin Reynolds. He didnt look like any Broadway agent or manager I'd eve seen — and tliat was natural enough, because he was corporation lawyer who happened to love Broadway, the theater, night clubs, all the glamour and g'"'*!' of that strange thing called "show business." "' was tall and spare, with a quiet way of talking. I nev saw him angry or upset. He seemed to carry a tached, tolerant kind of amusement with him wherev BMIO ANO ULETOION MIW" U- THE TRUE DRAMA OF A RADIO SINGER he went, whatever he did. He wasn't handsome, his features were too rugged for that, but he had the sort of face you'd never forget, once you'd seen it, full of character and purpose. When I met him he was thirty- one, which seemed ancient to my seventeen, and he had a dusting of white against the black of his hair. For five years after that first meeting in the shabby office of the agent, we were partners. Really partners. We trusted each other completely. Martie found jobs for me — and it was wonderful how, with his wide acquaintance along Broadway, he opened doors that I had knocked on in vain. He selected a singing coach for me and paid the bills out of his own pocket. He went with me to the hairdresser's and supervised the creation of a coiffeur that would frame my face most becomingly; and to stores where he led me away from the flashy dresses my immature fancy selected to others which were always subtly, flatteringly right. For every one of the dozens of details that go into making a career as a singer he had an answer. And he made a success of me. I went on and on, from a third-rate night club to a second-rate one, from a guest appearance on the radio to a good sponsor and then a better one, from a part in a musical comedy to a one-picture Hollywood contract which Martie did not approve of, because he said I wasn't ready, and which turned out to be just as disastrous as he'd pre- dicted. That set us back for a while, but not for long. Another musical-comedy part, a new radio contract at a higher figure, and we were on top of the wave again. Oh, I knew what Broadway said about us, but I didn't care because it wasn't true, and because all the gossip was the result of simple jealousy. There never was a hint of love between us. Martie never even kissed me, and while I felt a deeper aifection for him than for anyone in the world except Johnny and No- rine, my brother and sister, it was as a person, not a nian. I knew what I wanted from love — someone nearer my own age, handsome and gallant, who would dominate and adore me, give me everything and de- mand that I give him everything in return. Someone like Bob Trayne. I met him after the broadcast one night, in a group of people the sponsor had brought. He was tall as Martie, but there the resemblance ended. Blond hair above an incredibly clear bronzed face, white, even teeth when he smiled, broad shoulders that told you he'd been a star athlete in college, a manner toward women that was assured, yet full of deference . . . these were what I saw that first evening. And I fell in love with them. In the silence thai followed, my love for him withered and died. I didn't find out until later that his family was wealthy and that Bob himself was regarded as one of the most brilliant and promising young men in Wall Street. The morning after our meeting he telephoned me, and that night we had dinner together before my show, supper afterwards. The next day it was the same, and the next, and the next. It was as if I didn't Uve at all when I wasn't with him — I sang and talked to Martie and kept appointments without even thinking about what I was doing. lyt ARTIE saw what had happened, and one afternoon about two weeks after Bob and I had met he said something that shook me out of my dream, if only for a minute. The program I was singing on was due to go off the air in another month, and Martie had an offer from another sponsor. ■'But I guess we'd better turn it down," he said — and stopped, eye- ing me, waiting for what I would say. "Turn it down?" I was puzzled. "Why? It's a marvelous offer." "Marvelous," he agreed. "But I imagine you'll be retiring soon. After you're married." I felt my cheeks grow warm. "I — I didn't know I was going to be married. Nobody has asked me yet." "It looks to me as if somebody will, pretty soon. Or I don't know the signs when I see them. Didn't you go out to the Trayne place on Long Island last week-end to meet Bob's parents?" "Well— yes," I admitted. "But that doesn't necessarily mean — " "Oh, but it does," Martie said, smiling. "With someone like Trayne, it's practically the same as a propo- sal." "Maybe they didn't like me," I objected. "Maybe they don't want their son marrying a radio and mu- sical comedy singer." "They're not that old-fashioned," Martie observed. "Besides, after you're married you won't be a singer any more." Sometimes Martie's assumption that he knew how things would turn out was very irritating. I said, "I don't see why you say that. You don't know a thing about it, Martie Reynolds." "Maybe not," he said. "But I'll bet Trayne asks you to marry him, and if you say yes, I'll bet you have a fancy society wedding and go on a cruise for a honeymoon and give up your singing and go to live in an expensive house in the suburbs." He spoke humorously, but I couldn't meet his mood. "Martie," I said tremulously, "don't. I couldn't. After all you've done for me — all the money and time you've spent helping me get ahead — I couldn't quit now. Not just when I'm making enough to bring you something on your investment." "That's nonsense! I never thought of you and your career just as a business proposition," he said sharp- ly, frowning. Then the frown was gone and he went on, so quietly I forgot his momentary flash of vexa- tion, "I mean, helping you has been a hobby with me. It was a gamble that paid out very well, that's all. You don't owe me a thing, and if your happiness should depend on giving up your singing — why, you go right ahead and give it up." "But it won't," I answered. "I'm sure it won't." Just the same, I reflected a little uncomfortably as I lay half-asleep beside Bob, hearing the steady throb of the ship's engines pushing us through the sea, everything had happened as Martie said it would — so far. Bob had asked me to marry him, and when I said yes he had simply taken it for granted that I would give up my career. He was right, of course. He made more than enough money, and I didn't have to support my brother and sister any longer. Norine was mar- ried to a trumpet player in a good dance band and Johnny had a job with one of the broadcasting sta- tions. It was as Bob had said: "I want to see something of my wife — I don't want to come home at night just when you're starting off to work. And — well," he looked embarrassed, "whenever you sing a song every fellow that hears you feels like you're singing for him. I wouldn't like that." And I wouldn't have liked it either. I wanted all my songs to be for Bob, and Bob only. I snuggled down deeper into my pillow and drowsily tried to envision my life as it would be when we returned from our honeymoon. It would be strange to live in the big house Bob had bought on Long Island, waited on by servants, meet- ing Bob's friends — those successful, well-dressed people who talked so familiarly of a world I didn't know. Strange — and yet delightful. Broad- , way and radio, their fierce competi- tion and easy good-fellowship, seemed very far away. But — as Bob turned in his sleep and his hand fell lightly on my arm — the way we were to live didn't matter, really. I could have been happy in a one-room hut, with Bob. The intensity of our love blotted out any other considerations. Being to- gether was the only thing that mat- tered— wealth and comfort, the gor- geous wedding at the church, the long cruise to Rio and back, the home and the servants, were all only the icing on the cake. Only one little thing happened to mar the perfection of the honey- moon. It was in Rio, where we were to have a whole week. A little stack of cables and radiograms was wait- ing for us at the hotel, from Bob's father and mother, his brother, his partner in Wall Street — and one for me, from Martie. "Hello," it said. "Have a good time." When Bob saw it he set his lips. Without any comment, he tossed the slip of paper down on the table and turned to look out of the window to the gay activity of the street below. I knew as well as if he'd told me that he resented even this slight in- trusion of Martie on our honey- As soon as I saw Marfie, I realized how terribly I had been missing him. 26 RADIO AND TELEVISION IMIRROR moon — that he was jealous of my old friendship, and that when we returned I must give Martie up en- tirely. For an instant I felt the in- justice of this — but then I told myself that it only proved the depth of his love. He could not share me, not even a little. I went over and linked my arm in his. "Let's go down and explore Rio before lunch," I said. I forgot the look of cold, stubborn resistance that had come over his face when he saw the radiogram. I forgot it then, but I was to remem- ber it later. There's no point, really, in telling you very much about that first year of my marriage. It seemed at the time very uneventful — too unevent- ful. And yet things were happening — little things, taking place beneath the smooth surface of my life. I didn't even kno"w of their existence until, inexplicably, another incident, as seemingly trivial as any of the others, showed my husband to me in a new light. We had been to a Broadway thea- ter, and in the crush of people, coming out after the performance, we met Mollie. She was an old beg- garwoman into whose outstretched palm I had often put a coin in the days when I was a Broadway star myself. Now she recognized me, and smiled, and waited for Bob to give her some money. Instead, he brushed past her, holding me firmly by the arm so that I had to follow. "She's probably got as much as we have right now," he muttered. To me, that wasn't the point, al- though I knew Mollie always had enough money to stake out-of-work actresses to their week's room-rent. What hurt me was Bob's rudeness, the way he closed his mind to the feelings of others, even of his wife. From the theater we went on to a night club where Bob would spend many times the largest amount he could have given Mollie. I couldn't swallow the sandwich and wine he ordered for me, and pushed them away untouched. gOB didn't seem to notice any- thing wrong. There were some people we knew at the night club, and his attention was taken up by them, particularly by a man named Harrison — a middle-aged man whose cruel, heavy-lidded eyes never smiled,' although his voice was loud with forced joviality. I thought him one of the most repulsive peo- ple I had ever met. He was with a much younger girl, an exquisite thing whose slim figure and rose-petal complexion were oddly at variance with the cal- culating, disillusioned expression that came over her face when she looked at Harrison. Before I could stop him. Bob had asked her to dance, and I was left with Harrison. He wanted me to dance too, but I pleaded a headache and refused. I couldn't stand the thought of being in his gross embrace. Suddenly I hated the place — the bored, overdressed people capering on the dance floor, the too-loud orchestra, the taste and money lavished by people who knew their job on decorations which were hardly noticed, the poorly prepared food at ridiculous prices, the smoke, the liquor, the extravagance. I had been part of all this once— but I'd been one of those who really worked to supply the entertainment, and I realized that I must have built up in myself, without knowing it, a contempt for those wealthy people who frequented places like this. But — no, I admitted honestly, it wasn't just the place that depressed me tonight. I kept thinking of the unpleasant incident at the theater, and from it my thoughts went back — back to moments in the months since we returned from our honey- moon. The time when Bob came home to find that I had invited my sister Norine and her husband to dinner, and was so pointedly polite that they never came again . . . The night I first realized that Bob enjoyed hav- ing his masculine business friends see my beauty, enjoyed the knowl- edge that they envied him his pos- session of me. I had been flattered at the time. Now I was not so sure. . . . The long evenings when Bob working late at the office, left me to dine alone {Continued on page 64) FEBRUABY, 1942 I I didn't find oul until later that hiK family wa« weallhy and that Bob hjm.solf was rc'tiarded as onf of the most brilliant and promising youna men in Wall Street. The niornjnK after our meeting he lelephoned me, and that night we liad dinner together befoie my sliow, sufJper afterwards. The next day it was the .same, and the next, and the next. It was as if I didn't live at all when I wa.sn't with him— I sang and talked (o Marlie and kept appointments without even thinking about what I was doing. M'' lAKTIE saw what had happened, and one afternoon about two weeks after Bob and I had met he said something that shook me out of my dream, if only for a rninuti'. The program i was singiiui on was due to go off the air in amithei' month, .and Martie had an offer from another sponsor, "Hut I guess we'd better tln'n it down," lie said- anil stop|)ed, eye- ing mc, waiting for what I would .say. "Turn it down'?" I was puzzled. "Why'? It's a rnai-velous oiler." "Marvelous," he agreed. "Hut I imagine you'll be retiring .soon. After you're mai'ried." I fell my eheeks grow warm. "I — I dicln'l know I was going to be married. Nobody has asked me yet." "It hjoks to ine as if somebody will, pretty .soon. Or I don't know the signs when I see them. Didn't you go out to the Trayne plaee {in Long Island last week-end to meet Bob's parents'?" "Well— yes," I admitted. "But that doesn't necessai'ily mean — " "Oh, but it does," Martie said, smiling. "With someone like Trayne, it's practically the same as a propo- sal." "Maybe they didn't like me," 1 objected. "Maybe they don't want their son marrying a radio and mu- sical comedy singer." "They're not that old-fashioned," Martie obsei'ved. "Besides, after you're married you won't be a singer any more." Sometimes Martie's assumption that he knew how things would turn out was very irritating. I said, "I don't see why you say that. You don't know a thing about it, Martie , Reynolds." "Maybe not," he said. "But I'll bet Trayne asks you to marry him, and if you say yes, I'll bet you have a fancy society wedding and go on a cruise for a honeymoon and give up your singing and go to live in an expensive house in the suburbs." He spoke humorously, but I couldn't meet his mood. "Martie," I said tremulously, "don't. I 26 couldn't. Alter all you've done for me all the money and time you've spent helping me get ahead— I couldn't quit now. Not just when I'm making enough to bring you something on your investment." "That's nonsense! I never thought of you and .your career just as a bu.siness proposition," he said sharp- ly, frowning. Then the frown was gone and he went on. so quietly I forgot his momentary flash of vexa- tion. "I mean, helping you has been a hobby with mc. It was a gamble Ihat piiid out very well, that's all. ■/riu don't owe me a thing, and if your happiness should depend on giving up your singing — why, you go right ahead and give it up." "But it won't," I answered. "I'm sure it won't." .lust the .same, I reflected a little imeomforlably as I lay half-asleep beside Bob, hearing the steady Ihroh of the ship's engines pushing us through the sea, everything had happened as Martie said it would — so far. Bob had asked me to marry him. and when I said yes he had simply taken it for granted that I would give up my career. He was iighl, of course. He made more Uian enough money, and I didn't have to support my brother and .si.ster any longei'. Norine was mar- ried to a trumpet player in a good daiict) band and .lohnny had a job with one of the broadcasting sta- tions. It was as Bob had said: "I want to see something of my wife — I don't want to come home at night just when you're starting off to work. And — well," he looked embarrassed, "whenever you .sing a song every fellow that hears you feels like you're singing for him. I wouldn't like that." And I wouldn't have liked it either. I wanted all my songs to be for Bob, and Bob only. I snuggled down deeper into my pillow and drowsily tried to envision my life as it would be when we returned from our honeymoon. It would be strange to live in the big house Bob had bought on Long Island, waited on by servants, meet- ing Bob's friends — those successful, well-dressed people who talked so familiarly of a world I didn't know. Strange — and yet delightful. Broad- way and radio, their lierce competi- tion and easy good-fellowship, seemed very far away. But — as Bob turned in his sleep and his hand fell lightly on my arm — the way we were to live didn't matter, really. I could have been happy in a one-room hut, with Bob. The intensity of our love blotted out any other considerations. Being to- gether was the only thing that mat- tered— wealth and comfort, the gor- geous wedding at the church, the long cruise to Bio and back, the home and the servants, were all only the icing on the cake. Only one little thing happened to mar the perfection of the honey- moon. It was in Rio, where we were to have a whole week. A little stack of cables and radiograms was wait- ing for us at the hotel, from Bob's father and mother, his brother, his partner in Wall Street— and one for me. from Martie. "Hello," it said. "Have a good time." When Bob saw it he set his lips. Without any comment, he tossed the slip of paper down on the table and turned to look out of the window to the gay activity of the street below. I knew as well as if he'd told me that he resented even this slight in- trusion of Martie on our honey- As soon as I saw Martie, I realiied how terribly I had been missing him* inoon— that he was jealous of my Id friendship, and that when we returned I must give Martie up en- irplv For an instant I felt the in- Se of this-but then I told myself that it only proved the depth of his love. He could not share me, not even a little. I went over and Imked my arm in his. "Let's go down and explore Bio before lunch." I said. I forgot the look of cold, stubborn resistance that had come over his face when he saw the radiogram. I forgot it then, but I was to remem- ber it later. There's no point, really, in telling you very much about that first year of my marriage. It seemed at the time very uneventful — too unevent- ful. And yet things were happening —little things, taking place beneath the smooth surface of my life. I didn't even know of their existence until, inexplicably, another incident, as seemingly trivial as any of the others, showed my husband to me in a new light. We had been to a Broadway thea- ter, and in the crush of people, coming out after the performance, we met Mollie. She was an old beg- garwoman into whose outstretched palm I had often put a coin in the days when I was a Broadway star myself. Now she recognized me, and smiled, and waited for Bob to give her some money. Instead, he brushed past her, holding me firmly by the arm so that I had to follow. "She's probably got as much as we have right now," he muttered. To me, that wasn't the point, al- though I knew Mollie always had enough money to stake out-of-work actresses to their week's room-rent. What hurt me was Bobs rudeness, the way he closed his mind to the feelings of others, even of his wife. From the theater we went on to a night club where Bob would spend many times the largest amount he could have given Mollie. I couldn't swallow the sandwich and wine he ordered for me. and pushed them away untouched. gOB didn't seem to notice any- thing wrong. There were some people we knew at the night club, and his attention was taken up by them, particularly by a man named Harrison — a middle-aged man whose cruel, heavy-lidded eyes never smiled.'although his voice was loud with forced joviality. I thought him one of the most repulsive peo- ple I had ever met. He was with a much younger girl, an exquisite thing whose slim figure and rose-petal complexion were oddly at variance with the cal- culating, disillusioned expression that came over her face when she looked at Harrison. Before I could stop him, Bob had asked her to dance, and I was left with Harrison. He wanted me to dance too, but I pleaded a headache and refused. I couldn't stand the thought of being in his gross embrace. Suddenly I hated the place — the bored, overdressed people capering on the dance floor, the too-loud orchestra, the taste and money lavished by people who knew their job on decorations which were hardly noticed, the poorly prepared food at ridiculous prices, the smoke, the liquor, the extravagance. I had been part of all this once — but I'd been one of those who really worked to supply the entertainment, and I realized that I must have built up in myself, without knowing it, a contempt for those wealthy people who frequented places like this. But — no, I admitted honestly, it wasn't just the place that depressed me tonight. I kept thinking of the unpleasant incident at the theater, and from it my thoughts went back — back to moments in the months since we returned from our honey- moon. The time when Bob came home to find that I had invited my sister Norine and her husband to dinner, and was so pointedly polite that they never came again . . . The night I first realized that Bob enjoyed hav- ing his masculine business friends see my beauty, enjoyed the knowl- edge that they envied him his pos- session of me. I had been flattered at the time. Now I was not so sure. . . . The long evenings when Bob. working late at the office, left me to dine alone {Continued on page 64) 27 RADIO AND IKLEVISION 1 GUESS it was because I was trying to escape my life that I met Larry and dragged him into it. If I hadn't heard his voice that night, soft and sort of drifting in the wind across the sea of waving grass in the twilight, you never would have heard it later, and one of radio's scandals would never have happened. Yet how can I look back and wish away that first evening. I had ridden off from the ranch house just at sundown, driven by the urge to forget the scene inside which might as well have been 2500 miles east, with its clatter of wise smart talk. I rode until I lost myself on the wide plain, letting my horse take me where he would, the reins hanging loose while I took my last deep breaths of the cool freshness of the wind that swept down from the mountains. Tonight I would fill my lungs full enough of the curiously pungent resinous fragrance of the Western air to last me through another stifling New York season. Tonight I would etch into my memory the changing gray- green of the willow trees that out- lined the meandering pattern of Ficfion'ized from the radio script, "A Little Bit West of Heaven," by Roger Quayle Denny, broadcast on tfie Stars Over Hollywood program. the creek in the valley below. I would keep this last night and hold it against the horrid harshness of my New York life. When the low husky notes first came to me, they were just another part of the lovely night. "Let cattle rub my tombstone round And coyotes mourn their kin; Let horses come and paw my mound. But don't you fence me in!" There was a warning in the last words, but I didn't hear it then. I remembered it afterward, though, when it was too late. Now I was not thinking, just feeling the magic of that deep, soft voice, so gentle, so surely kind, for even in Larry's singing you could imagine you heard a sort of decent dignity. For a moment when he had finished there was only the slow firm step of my horse's hooves on the turf, and the faint creaks of my saddle. Then his shout came, startled and startling: "Hello!" I spurred my horse forward and saw the tall figure standing at the edge of the bluff, his ten-gallon hat under his elbow. "Hello," I answered. His blue eyes rested on me steadi- ly, what looked like a kind of sur- prised wonder in them. Suddenly I felt shy, felt the need to fill the silence in the dusk between us. "I — ^I'm lost," I said, breathless for no reason. "That's soon fixed," he said in a comfortable, easy drawl that would make you hand your life right over into his hands. "Where you bound?" "The Bar X Dude ranch on Gopher Creek," I told him, suddenly ashamed of the address. He'd think I was just another foolish chattering Easterner. And yet I couldn't help talking on. "I guess I sort of lost track of time. It's so beautiful here—" He didn't answer. It was almost as if he didn't hear me. The way he looked at me was queer, as if he had to keep on studying until he found out something about me. I asked inanely, "Do you come here often?" He nodded, still not speaking. I couldn't stand that look. My cheeks burned and I was glad of the dusk to hide their silly quick color. "I RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR If I hadn't heard his voice that night, drift- ing into the deepening twilight, one of radio's scandals would never have happened — and I would never have found my love Carlotta paused abruptly in her packing. "Hmmm. Not bad singing," she said calculatingly. should think you would," I babbled. "I — I'd like to stay here forever." "Would you?" he asked quickly. "Why — yes." And it was true. "That's funny," he said thought- fully. "Why?" "Well . -. ." His gentle voice hesi- tated. "That's an idea I've had myself for quite a spell." "You mean you're planning to buy this spot?" "Not planning," he said with a wistful kind of chuckle. "Just pipe dreaming." I looked around me again. The dusk had deepened, darkening the mountain to a velvet pansy purple, making it seem to float in the golden atmosphere around it. Imagine see- ing the changing moods of that mountain through all your days, waking up to it each morning, look- ing up from your work to refresh tired eyes and spirits, watching the sun set behind it from your own doorstep! I sighed, thinking of the life to which I had to return to- morrow. I asked hastily, "I'm all turned around. Where is this spot?" "A little south of Cheyenne," he began, then broke off with his shy, laugh, diffident yet confiding. "And a little west of heaven." "You mean because it's hard to get?" "I reckon that's it." He shrugged his wide shoulders. "How would a cowboy come by $5,000?" Funny, but the answer didn't occur to me at all. It took Carlotta for that. Things always happened fast when Carlotta came into the picture. For that matter, I guess they started happening fast before that, even on the slow ride back to the ranch with Larry. It wasn't that we said much, just the ex- pected things like my telling him my name was Melody Blane. I re- joiced foolishly when he did not make the usual joke about it but just told me his own name, Larry Smith, and that he was one of the hands at the ranch where we were staying. And he sang some more, the same songs that were to make all the trouble, and still I didn't wake up to what would happen when I introduced him to my boss. I want to be fair to Carlotta Birch. You have to know more about her than just the things she did. to un- FEBHUARY, 1942 29 derstand her. In the Red Hook district of Brooklyn where she grew up, a child doesn't grow up at all without learning early to grab — and grab quick. That's how she got where she was when I became her secretary — in the biggest talent agency in Radio City, with her name on the door. Don't get the idea that these methods lessened her attractiveness as a woman. They didn't. There was something compelling about her very ruthlessness. She had an amazing power over people. I felt it myself so that I slaved for her. But with men she was devastating. When they looked into her snapping black eyes they forgot about insipid qualities like beauty. Maybe the scientists would say it was simply a tremendous charge of physical vital- ity, but whatever it was, it worked. I had never seen it fail, yet I was foolish enough, that night, to hope it would not work on Larry Smith. What a hope! The lights from the ranch twin- kled below us like dusty stars as we came up over a gently rolling slope. I wanted to hold back, to keep this moment, but our horses began stepping quickly and soon we were back in the circle of light from the main house. Carlotta was standing indolently on the porch as we walked back from the stable. I knew the minute I introduced Larry that I should have found some way to avoid this meeting. Her quick shrewd glance traveled up his six feet of easy strength to rest for an instant with pleasure on his tanned face with its deep-cleft lines Df laughter around the blue eyes. Then she was smiling her acknowl- edgment of my introduction. Based on the radio play by Roycr Quayle Denny, broadcast, on the Stars Over Hollywood show, heard over CBS., Saturdays at 12::i() P. M.. E. S. T.. sponsored by Dari-Rich. 30 Yet she said nothing more than "Hello," and when she turned and went on into the house I caught my breath in relief. I excused my- self and followed her, leaving Larry on the porch lighting a cigarette — a parting as casual as our meeting had been. I went to work in our suite in a sort of dazed dream, mechani- cally typing out the last of the let- ters Carlotta h?d dictated to me, while she packed her exquisite fra- gile white lingerie which she would let no maid touch. TN ONE of the pauses of my typ- ing we heard the last notes of a song, a burst of applause and then the low, soothing hum .of another brief chorus. Larry was still down- stairs, singing now for the bored, idle ranch guests I had seen sitting around the huge open fireplace. He was singing in the same tender, un- self-conscious manner as when I heard him first out on the range when he had thought himself alone. "I rode across a valley range I had not seen for years ..." Carlotta stopped with a web of intricate lace in mid-air, and did not move nor speak until he finished the final words with their ominous threat: "But don't you fence me in!" "Hmmmm. Not bad singing." Carlotta's tone was calculating. "Not bad!" I exclaimed involun- tarily. "Why, it's far more than singing. It's the voice of the West. When you hear it you can see the great plains of Wyoming and the purple mountains; you can smell the sagebrush and the poplars — " "Well!" Carlotta's amusement woke me from my daze. "If this guy can make our little untouched Melody go poetic over him, he's got something none of our other talent ever had. Maybe I'd better take back what I said about not signing any more singing cowboys." I jumped. "Oh, Carlotta, you're not—" "Why not?" she snapped briskly. "Take down that phrase you used. What was it — 'the voice of the West' and the rest of it. I'm going to have myself a little talk with your Larry Smith." "Oh, no. Please—" She turned and stood looking back at me with her gamin grin. "What is this, child?" "It's just — " I floundered miser- ably, trying to figure out exactly what I did mean. "I don't know, but he doesn't belong in New York — in radio. It would ruin him. He belongs here. He wouldn't fit into your — our kind of world." She laughed. "Oh, yes, he'll fit. When we're through with him." Helplessly, I watched her dart out the door. I typed furiously to keep from hearing what she would say. I could imagine the startlingly forthright opening that had caught many a far more sophis- ticated man off guard and swept him inevitably along into agreement with her plans before he realized where he was heading. It always worked. But this time it must not work! I found myself suddenly full of de- termination to block Carlotta's game. It was my duty. This was just a naive, honest, friendly guy, com- pletely vulnerable to her practiced routines. He had no idea what he was up against, and I did. How could I stand by and see her take his life, as she had taken so many others, and wring from it every drop of profit and then toss it away, use- less for everything that had mat- tered to him? I gathered up my signed letters, dashed with them to the rustic mail- box on the veranda, then ran to stand in the dim light of the French windows of the great pine-paneled living room. The crowd had thinned out. Only a few determined bridge players still sat near the roaring flames of the huge stone fireplace. That meant Larry had left. I ran down the dusty path to the corral. I thought I saw the outline of a tall figure standing beside a horse as I came near, but nothing moved. I slowed my steps. When I reached him, what could I say? I couldn't come dashing up like a breathless school- girl and stammer out that he must beware of Carlotta's wicked wiles. As I hesitated, I heard Larry's laugh. It was shy, low, husky with an embarrassment that was boyish and — lovable. "Thank you kindly," he said, "but I guess I can't take all that in one dose. Eastern folks may move a lot faster than we do out here, but I still don't figure any woman would fall for me that fast—" "Darling, listen." Carlotta's voice was pleading, urgent, and she was standing so close to him that their silhouettes almost merged into one. "You come with me and I'll show you!" He said slowly, his voice a shade roughened, "If I thought I could hope — " He broke off, began again. "How can you know a thing like this — so soon?" She said, "You don't need time to know a thing like that. It's just like the way I felt when I heard you singing. To me you were the voice of the West (Continued on page 79) RADIO AND TELEVISION MIHROR > ->«'?■ VoEe Orchestra leader, radio star, talent scout, movie actor, song writer (his latest composition is Radio Mirror's hit of the month), rich man, bachelor. No longer a crooning saxophonist, hut a solid citizen of Holly- wood, happy owner of a new seventeen-room California house, with a "for-sale" sign tacked on the door of his famous Maine lodge — dead sym- bol of his jazz career. More proud of his private den than of newspaper clippings, of his recordings of the world's great musical classics than of jive. Strongest desire: to be an actor accepted by the critics. Reason he might succeed: coaching by John Barrymore with whom he shares honors on the Vallee Sealtest radio broadcast every Thursday night on NBC. FEBRUARY, 1942 31 y / ^ .X J.0 a- Every Hoar Of The Day From dawn fill dark you'll he humming this new hit tune hy an expert in hit tunes — Rudv Vnllee, tvho plays it on his Thursday night pi ogram on the NBC-Red Lyrics by DICK MACK Music by RUDY VALLEE and ELIOT DANIEL Hl'-i'- p B^ n- *'!'• Ji> ^'Hp f p- bIJ > JiJ).> .B From the time that the roos -tors start a crow -in' 'till the time that the star-light is a * * ^^ J T-« jj.n ffTT jS H a: i r"^ = : "2^ ^ i. iiip' P p; Pr^i- j>ip' ^^M r p- p 22 glow -in' From the mo ment day's be -gun from the dawn till set-tingsun Dar - ling, I love ^^ ^(•f ^f y W^ ^m ^ Uzi ^w ^ 1^ Ca: * ^ ^ » w -r ^ ■C7 z:: ■ST ^ J'- ^ir p- ^'>J i'- ^'ir r P'pi^ i^ jij>.ji^ you From the time that the day-light starts a stream-in' till the time that the can-die-light is WTff ^ n.Ji rrrr 3: ^^ » e jvjiip-p p-p r ^jijiip' pfp^^ gleam- in' When the sun is rid- ing high, and tl;e moon is in the sky Dar-ling I love ^ ff W^ ^m * ^W * =E^ Copyric/ht I:I4I hu Hiulu Vnllcc. Dick Mack and Eliot Daniel feS i X'^ A /'''/ •//# ;'i ji.>l Ji-JUi-J^ p-pl p-pp-p m WWf The flow-ers and the trees are a- sway-in' in the breeze and whis-per-ing I love you S ^ ^ '"r a- c & W ^ r p f^^^ ^ h '^ ^ ^ so From the time that the farm -er starts his hay-in' till the time that he's done with eve-ning ^frff m ^m -&■• ^ ST ^^ rfTT iz: ^■^ ./n pray - in' As the min-utes fade a - way EV }\ ir P P' g 6J: ^f ^f i- -^ WOMAN OF THE STORY crippled since Jim Jackson was in a fall from the scaffold of a house he was building, Martha's greatest problem had been to keep alive in him the will to live. Her other worries — earning a living for Jim and herself and their two children — often seemed unimportant compared to this much more difficult task. For Jim was moody, embit- tered by his helplessness, only half convinced that Martha, in spite of her steadfast loyalty, could really love the wreck of a man he felt him- self to be. With what money she could scrape together, Martha converted the front part of their home into a neighbor- hood grocery store, and took in a lodger, faithful George Harrison, who after a time could not hide his hopeless love for her. By saving every penny, Martha even managed to send Jim to an expensive sani- tarium, where for a while it seemed he might be cured. But when he returned home, the doctors told Martha their hopes of seeing him walk again would never come true. Martha kept the news from Jim, for his belief that he would get better had already made a new man of him. But her plans to help him over the inevitable disappointment when he learned the truth were shattered. Coming home one evening after leaving Jim alone with his sister, Cora, she was horrified to hear him demand that she divorce him. MARTHA stared. She was aware that she looked silly, standing there, but she couldn't move. She forced herself to take a deep breath. She forced herself to put down her hat and turn around, as though these simple, normal actions could inject some sanity into what 34 was gomg on. "What did you say, Jim?" she asked quietly. "I said I want you to divorce me," Jim repeated. Martha's first thought was that he was making a terribly ill-conceived joke. She looked at him. He didn't look like that. He looked unhappy. Suddenly, Martha noticed Cora's knitting on the sofa. Cora must have been very upset to have for- gotten her knitting, Martha thought. And then, she knew. "When did Cora leave?" she asked. "What did she say to you?" Jim's face colored hotly. "Cora didn't say — " Jim's sudden words robbed Martha of all power to move. She could not even breathe. "Yes, she did," Martha said. "She's told you what Dr. Ryan said. She knew you weren't supposed to know, but — " "That's right!" Jim interrupted angrily. "She refused to treat me like a child — like the rest of you — " Martha passed a trembling hand RADIO AND TELEVISION MQIROR It was his fierce pride that made Jim demand a divorce — and Martha knew this, but it did not les- sen her heartache. How could she convince him that all his doubts of her were mistaken, and that she had never stopped — never would stop — loving him? Read Woman of Courage as a moving love story, then tune it in daily, Monday through Friday, over the CBS network, sponsored by Octagon Soap in the East, Crystal White in the West. Photographic illustrations posed by Esther Ralston as Martha, Albert Hecht as Jim, Horace Braham as George. over her eyes. So, now Jim knew that he would probably never walk again. She couldn't even be angry with Cora. She knew Cora had only done it because she loved her broth- er. And, in a way, it was a relief not to have to pretend any longer. "But, Jim," Martha said softly, "a FEBRUABY, 1942 divorce. Why? Why?" Jim's face tightened and his eyes flashed with something that was almost hate. "You think I need you! But I don't need you!" he almost shouted at her. "I don't need anyone." "Darling," Martha begged, "lis- ten—" "I want you to divorce me," Jim said stubbornly. "I don't care to discuss it any further." Quickly, he wheeled himself across the living room and into the downstairs room that had been his, ever since his accident. Martha ran after him. She had no idea what she could say, but she felt she mustn't let him go like that. "Jim, please," she said. "We must —let's talk this out." Jim turned to her from inside his room. "There is nothing to talk about," he said coldly. Then, calmly, with terrible deliberation, he closed the door quietly in her face. Martha stood there stunned. She could have understood, if he'd slammed the door. But this cold, deliberate shutting her out had a finality about it that froze her heart. Mechanically, Martha locked the doors and put out the lights. She went upstairs and lay down on her bed, fully clothed. She had no energy for anything. It was as if something had died inside her. He wanted a divorce! She could understand everything but that. She could understand that he was shocked. She could have under- stood, if he'd gone to pieces, if he'd hated her for her deception, if he'd abandoned himself to despair. But a divorce! The tears came and Martha buried her face in her pillow to smother the sound of her weeping. For twenty years, she had been building what she thought was a perfect marriage, with love and devotion and under- standing. And she had always thought that she had succeeded, that their love would weather any trial. But she had been wrong. Now, when Jim needed her and when she wanted — no, needed — to prove how deep her love for him was, he turned from her. He wanted to cast her out of his life. When daylight streaked into her room and brought Martha's thoughts back from the helpless muddle into which a night of tortured soul searching had put them, Martha got up from her bed, wearily. She changed her rumpled clothes and washed, automatically. Then, she went downstairs and started break- fast. Somehow, the sunny kitchen, the smell of the coffee and the sound of the sizzling bacon — all this, so nor- mal and sensible — made the events of the night before even more in- credible. Lucy and Tommy, their faces fresh and bright, came bound- ing down the stairs, drawn by the smell of food. "Dad's late, the lazy bones," Lucy said. "I'll get him." And before Martha could stop her, she had danced out of the room. In a mo- ment, she was back. "He says he doesn't want any breakfast," she said. "Doesn't he feel well?" "I — perhaps that's it dear," Mar- tha said. She turned to the boy. "Tommy, I'd like you to dust the store shelves before you go to school." "Sure," Tommy said, attacking his eggs. Lucy eyed her mother curiously. Martha did her best to behave normally. She even tried to eat her breakfast. Tommy gulped down his milk and piled his dishes in the 35 WOMAN OF I' II K H r O R Y 1 l('VI';U .lincc Jiiii .liicliHon wuh crliiplcci ill II full fi"iii lilt' licairold of II holiw he Wlis liliildiiiK, Miirlhn'.i f;ii'iil<'»l pnilili'in lilid bt^m lo keep iilivr in him tlir will lo live. Hit iilliiT wonics— ciiniiiiK a livillK for Jim and hersulf and thuir two I'hildroii — ofUMi Hcumed unimportant conipiircd to this much mon> ry store, and look in a lodKcr, faithful tJeoi'Ke Harrison, who after a time could not liide his hopeless love for her. By saving every penny, Martha even maiitifj[ed to si'iid Jim to an expensive sani- tarium, wluM'e for a while it seemed be mi^bt be cured. Hut when he returned home, the doctors told Martha their hopes of seeing him walk again would never come true. Martha kept the news from Jim, for his belief that he would /;et lietter liad already made a new man of him. But her plans to help him over the inevitable disappointment when he learned the Irutli were shattered. Coming home one evening after leaving Jim alone with bis sister, Cora, she was horrified to hear him demand that she divorce him. MARTHA stared. She was aware that she looked silly, standing there, but she couldn't move. She forced herself to take a deep breath. She forced herself to put down her hat and turn around, as though these sirriple, normal actions could inject some sanity into what 34 was gomg on. "What did you say, Jim?" she asked quietly. "I said I want you to divorce me," Jim repeated. Marlha's first thought was that he was making a terribly ill-conceived joke. She looked at him. He didn't look like that. He looked unhappy. Suddenly, Martha noticed Cora's knitting on the .sofa. Cora must have been very upset to have for- gotten her knitting, Marllia thought. And then, she knew. "When did Cora leave'?" she asked. "What did she say to you?" Jim's face colored hotly. "Cora didn't say — " Jim's sudden words robbed Ktariha of oil power io move. She could not even breathe. "Yes, .she did," Martha said. "She's told you what Dr. Ryan said. She knew you weren't supposed to know, but — " "That's right!" Jim interrupted angrily. "She refused to treat nie like a child — like the rest of you—' Martha passed a trembling hand RADIO ANO TELEVISION VOSW over her eyes. So, now Jim knew that he would probably never walk ^gain. She couldn't even be angry with Cora. She knew Cora had only none it because she loved her broth- ". And, in a way, it was a relief not to have to pretend any longer. "But, Jim," Martha said softly, "a '^■■OAaY. I&i2 It was his fierce pride that made Jim demand a divorce — and Martha knew this, but it did not les- sen her heartache. How couki she convince him that all his doubts of her were mistaken, and that she had never stopped — never would stop — loving him? Read Woman oi Courage as a moving love story, then tunc it in daily, JWonday through Friday, over the CBS iietwork. sponsored by Octagon Soap in the East, Crystal White in the West. Photographic iltustratioas posed by Esther Ralston as Martha, Albert Hecht as Jim, Horace Braham as George. divorce. Why? 'Why?" Jim's face tightened and his eyes flashed with something that was almost hate. "You think I need you! But I don't need you!" he almost shouted at her. "I don't need anyone." "Darling," Martha begged, "lis- ten— " "I want you to divorce me," Jim said stubbornly. "I don't care to discuss it any further." Quickly, he wheeled himself across the living room and into the downstairs room that had been his, ever since his accident. Martha ran after him. She had no idea what she could say, but she felt she mustn't let him go like that. "Jim, please," she said. "We must — let's talk this out." Jim turned to her from inside his room. "There is nothing to talk about," he said coldly. Then, calmly, with terrible deliberation, he closed the door quietly in her face. Martha stood there stunned. She could have understood, if he'd slammed the door. But this cold, deliberate shutting her out had a finality about it that froze her heart. Mechanically, Martha locked the doors and put out the lights. She went upstairs and lay down on her bed fully clothed. She had no energy for anything. It was as if something had died inside her. He wanted a divorce! She could understand everything but that. She could understand that he was shocked. She could have under- stood, if he'd gone to pieces, if he d hated her for her deception, if he d abandoned himself to despair. But a divorce! , ^ • j The tears came and Martha buried her face in her pillow to smother the sound of her weeping. For twenty years she had been buUdmg what she thought was a perfect marriage, with love and devotion and under- standing. And she had always thought that she had succeeded, that their love would weather any trial. But she had been wrong. Now. when Jim needed her and when she wanted — no, needed — to prove how deep her love for him was, he turned from her. He wanted to cast her out of his life. When daylight streaked into her room and brought Martha's thoughts back from the helpless muddle into which a night of tortured .soul searching had put them, Martha got up from her bed, wearily. She changed her rumpled clothes and washed, automatically. Then, she went downstairs and started break- fast. Somehow, the sunny kitchen, the smell of the coffee and the sound of the sizzling bacon — all this, so nor- mal and sensible — made the events of the night before even more in- credible. Lucy and Tommy, their faces fresh and bright, came bound- ing down the stairs, drawn by the smell of food. "Dad's late, the lazy bones," Lucy said. "I'll get him." And before Martha cnuld stop her, she had danced out of the room. In a mo- ment, she was back. "He says he doesn't want any breakfa.st," she said. "Doesn't he feel well?" "I — perhaps that's it dear." Mar- tha said. She turned to the boy. "Tommy. I'd like you to dust the store shelves before you go to school." "Sure," Tommy said, attacking his eggs. Lucy eyed her mother curiously. Martha did her best to behave normally. She even tried to cat her breakfast. Tommy gulped down his milk and piled his dishes in the sink dutifiilly. Lucy waited until he had closed the door behind him, then she turned to Martha. "Mother," she said quietly, "what is it?" Martha looked at her daughter. There was no point in trying to hide anything from those bright, young eyes. "Last night," Martha said, "your father asked me to divorce him." Lucy looked as though she were Then she said, "I don't believe it. p^ OR a moment, going to laugh. Why?" Martha had no answer for that. In a whole, sleepless night, she had found no answer to that. But she did her best to explain to Lucy what had led up to Jim's decision. "That Aunt Cora!" Lucy said angrily. "She never knows when to mind her own business. What did she have to tell him for?" "You mustn't blame her," Martha said. "She was only doing what she thought was right." "That's the trouble," Lucy cried. "Aunt Cora's always doing something cruel and mean for someone else's good." "Lucy!" Martha and Lucy started. Cora was standing in the back door, her face pale and pinched. "What do you mean by that, Lucy?" Cora asked. "You know what I mean," Lucy flared out, shaking off Martha's restraining hand. "You had to tell Dad that he'll never get well. And now he wants Mother to divorce him," Lucy cried. Suddenly, she covered her face with her hands and ran blindly from the kitchen. "Martha," Cora whispered brokenly, "you don't think—" "No, Cora," Martha said. "I don't think you sus- pected this would happen. I understand." Cora's lips were trembling. "Here, sit down. I'll give you some coflee." "I— I couldn't help it, Martha," Cora said softly. "He talked and talked about what he was going to do when he could walk again — and — I couldn't bear it." Cora began to cry, quietly. Martha patted her thin shoulder and went silently about her work in the kitchen. "Oh!" Jim said from the doorway. "I thought you had all finished breakfast." Martha watched him dumbly. He was turning his chair to go away. Cora jumped to her feet. "Jim Jackson!" Cora cried. "You wait and listen to me, now!" She strode to his side and grasped his shoulder. "What's this nonsense about a divorce? How can you be such a fool?" "It's not nonsense," Jim said calmly. "I've made up my mind, Cora." "You've lost your mind," Cora said. "Where will you go? How will you live?" "I'll find someplace to live," Jim said quietly. "As for money — now that I know Dr. Ryan's treatments are useless, I can use the money I earn from my carving to live on. It'll be plenty for a cripple." Martha could see what an effort it cost him to say the word. "And what about Martha?" Cora asked angrily. Jim caught his breath. But he pulled himself to- gether quickly enough. "Martha?" he said gently, almost with clinical detachment. "Martha will be better off without me. Martha's an attractive woman. She's young enough to marry again and find some happiness with a man she can respect and love, some- one who can take care of her and Lucy." He hadn't even looked at Martha. He was talking as though she weren't there. "Oh, Jim!" she cried. "Don't— don't— The bell in the store tinkled. "There's someone in the store, Martha," Jim said "I don't care," Martha said. "This is more important. Jim, please — let's talk this over. I'm sure we can — " "There's someone in the store, Martha," Jim repeated firmly. And the next minute, he had wheeled himself back to his room and closed the door. Martha had no idea how she got through that morn- ing. She waited on customers and made change and wrapped packages, almost mechanically, without ever once being conscious of what she was doing. And all the while, her mind was on Jim. By four in the afternoon, she was worn out from her sleepless night and the nervous strain of her day. She was sitting behind the counter of the momentarily empty store, with her head in her hands, when Lillian bustled in. "Guess what, Martha!" Lillian shrilled. "I got a card from George Harrison in California. He sends his regards to everyone. But I suppose you got a card, too. Or a letter? Martha, did you hear from George?" "I — " Martha gathered herself together. "Maybe. I haven't looked at the mail, yet. I've — been too busy." "Martha!" Lillian exclaimed. She narrowed her eyes and peered at her sister. "What on earth's the matter?" m George fook her hand. "Martha, you haven't heard a 36 ItADIO AND TELEVISION IVIIRIIOB •'I'm just tired," Martha hedged. "You've been crying," Lillian said. And, because she knew it was better to let Lillian know than to parry her question, Martha told her everything. "Well, good riddance, I say," Lillian observed. "Don't you dare say such a thing!" Martha flared up. Her temper was wearing very thin, by this time. "I love Jim. And nothing can ever change that." "More fool you," Lillian said, stalking to the door. Several times in the next days, Martha tried to approach Jim, without success. He had built a wall of silence and unhappiness about him, through which it was impossible to break. He rarely left his room and he wouldn't let anyone but Tommy do anything for him. Martha didn't know what to do, where to turn. Lucy avoided her father, the confusion of her torn loyalties being too much for her. Martha went about her duties, more or less evading Jim, for fear he would mention the divorce, ask her what she was doing about it. And she would be unable to answer him. Then, one afternoon, the bell in the store rang and Martha looked up and it was George Harrison. Her first impulse was to run to him and cry out her heart on his shoulder. "Hello, Martha," George smiled and put out his hand. "It's good to see you, George," Martha said, govern- word I've said. Something's wrong. Can't I help?" ing her impulse. Strange, she thought, that just having him there made her feel better, safer. "Did you have a nice vacation?" "Fine," George said. And he started to tell her of the places he'd been and the things he'd done. lyi ARTHA wasn't listening to his words. Vaguely, she heard his voice and found comfort in it. Suddenly, it occurred to her how much she had missed him. She saw then, that without knowing it, she had come to depend very heavily on George for sympathy, for understanding, for kindness. And it seemed strange, yet somehow right, that he was always there when she needed him. "Martha, you haven't heard a word I said," George grinned. "Oh! Oh, yes, George," Martha said quickly. He took her hand. "Something's wrong, Martha," he said gently. "Maybe I can help. Don't you want to tell me?" Martha looked at him gratefully. But she couldn't tell him. He couldn't help her in this. It wouldn't be fair to ask him, knowing that he loved her. "No," Martha said. "Nothing's wrong." "I see," George said. He smiled into her eyes and she knew he understood. The door from the house opened and Jim wheeled himself into the store. He hadn't been near Martha for days. Now, he had come in of his own accord. Martha's heart beat faster. Maybe he had changed his mind! "Jim!" George exclaimed, going back to him. They shook hands heartily. "You're looking fit. It's won- derful to see you people again." "It's good to see you, too," Jim said. His lips were smiling, but his eyes were sharp, speculative. They darted quickly from George to Martha and back again. And Martha, watching him, knew what he was thinking. He was thinking that she and George — that with him out of the way! Martha wanted to cry out in protest. There was a short, heavy pause. George regained his composure first. "How about coming down to the Tavern with me, Jim?" he said. "We'll have a glass of beer to celebrate my return." Martha expected Jim to refuse, but he didn't. He even allowed George to push his wheelchair through the store and out to the street. Jim stayed out so long that Martha worried for fear that something had happened to him. But, when she saw him wheeling himself down the street, sitting more erect than he had for weeks, her heart bounded with hope. Maybe he had talked to George and George had cleared things up. But she was wrong. Jim stopped in the store for only a moment. "Martha," he said, "you haven't started divorce proceedings." "No," Martha admitted. "I thought — I hoped you'd—" "I haven't changed my mind," Jim said. His eyes were cold and distant. There was no evading the issue, Martha thought wildly, searching for words that would postpone action. "You must see a lawyer," Jim went on. "What will I tell him?" Martha asked. "Tell him it was cruelty — mental cruelty." "But Jim," she objected helplessly, "no judge would believe that. Everyone here knows you, knows all about you and that you couldn't be cruel." "Well, let the lawyer find some other reason," Jim said, turning and wheeling himself into his own room. Not because she hoped any longer that waiting would change Jim's mind but {Continued on page 69) .Vi sink dutifully, l.uey waitaJ until )..• h"'' '^l'«<--'' '^e door tK'hind him, then sh.; turned to Marlhi,. ■■Mother," »he «aJd quietly, "whril in it. Martha looked at her daughter. There wa» no point in tryln« to hide anythinK from thoM.^ bn«ht, young "^"Last ni«ht," Mortho said, "your father asked me to divorce him." I? OR a moment, l.ucy look.-d r,« Ihouch «he were ' Koim; lo lau,.;h. Tlien she .saiinelierl. "Whal do you mean by that, l.ui^y'/" <'or;i asked. ■■You know whal 1 nieaii." l.ucy Mari'd out, shaking oir Martha's restraining liand. "You had 1" lell Uad Ihal he'll never net well. And now he wants Mother In divorce him," Luey erled. .Suddenly, .she covered her lace with her hands and ran blindly from the kitchen. ■Martha," Cora whispered lirokenly, "you don't Ihink— " "No, Corn," Mnrthn said. "I don't lliink you sus- pected this would happen. I undci'sland." ('ora's lips were tremblin((. "Here, sit down. I'll Klve you .some coll'ee." "I 1 couldn't iH'lp it, Marllia," Cora said softly. "Ho talked and talked about what he was no'"K t" ri» when he could walk aKain— and - 1 couldn'l bear il." Cora benan to ery, cuiietly. Mariha palled licr Ihiii shoulder and went silently about her work ni Ihe kitchen. ■'Oh!" Jim .said from the doorway, '1 thought you had all finished breakfast." Martha watched him dumbly, lie was luniinj; his chair to no away, Cora juiuiied to her I'ccl, "Jim Jackson!" Ccn-a cried, "Voll wait and listen to me, now!" She strode to hi.s side and craspcd his shoulder. "What's this non.sciise about a divorce? How can you be such « fool'?" "It's not nonsense," Jim snid calmly. "I've made up my mind, Cora." ■■You've lost your mind," Cora snid. "Where will you no'! How will you live'?" "I'll find someplace lo live," Jim snid quietly. "As for money^now that I know Dr, Ryan's treatments are useless, I can use the money I earn from my carving to live on. It'll be plenty for a cripple," Martha could see what an effort it cost him to say the word. •■And what about Marlhn'?" Cora asked anfirily. Jim caught his breath. But he pulled himself to- gether quickly enough. "Martha?" he said gently, almost with clinical detachment. "Martha will be better off without me. Martha'.s an attractive woman. She's young enough to marry again and find some happiness with a man she can respect and love, some- one who can take care of her and Lucy." He hadn't even looked at Martha. He was talking as though she weren't there. 36 ■•Oh. Jim!" she cried. ••Don't— don't— The bell in the store tinkled. •There's someone in the store, Martha, Jim said ••I don't care," Martha said. "This is more imporUnt. Jim. please-lefs talk this over. I'm sure we can-" ■•■There's .someone in the store, Martha," Jim repeated (irmly. And the next minute, he had wheeled himself back to his room and closed the door. Martha had no idea how .she got through that morn- ing .She waited on customers and made change and wrapped packages, almost mechanically, without ever once being conscious of what she was doing. And all the while, her mind was on Jim. By four in the afternoon, she was worn out from her sleepless night and the nervous strain of her day. She was sitting behind the counter of the momentarily empty store, with her head in her hands, when Lillian bustled in. ■•Gue.ss what, Martha!" Lillian shrilled. I got a cord from George Harrison in California. He sends his regards to everyone. But I suppose you got a card, too. Or a letter? Martha, did you hear from George?" ■■I—" Martha gathered herself together. '•Maybe. I haven't looked at the mail, yet. I've— been too busy." "Martha!" Lillian exclaimed. She narrowed her eyes and peered at her sister, "What on earth's the matter?" ,,.„ just tired." Martha hedged. .You've been crying," Lillian said. A rf because she knew it was better to let Lillian than to parry her question, Martha told her ''""WelTgood riddance. I say." Lillian observed. ■non't you dare say such a thing!" Martha flared up. u r temper was wearing very thin, by this time. "I Tve Jim And nothing can ever change that." ■More fool you," Lillian said, stalking to the door. Several tunes in the next days, Martha tried to noroach Jim, without success. He had built a wall f ilence and unhappiness about him, through which ?t was impossible to break. He rarely left his room and he wouldn't let anyone but Tommy do anything for h m Martha didn't know what to do, where to turn. I'ucv avoided her father, the confusion of her torn loyalties being too much for her. Martha went about her duties, more or less evading Jim, for fear he would mention the divorce, ask her what she was doing about it And she would be unable to answer him. Then one afternoon, the bell in the store rang and Martha looked up and it was George Harrison. Her first impulse was to run to him and cry out her heart on his shoulder. •Hello, Martha," George smiled and put out his hand. ■It's good to see you, George," Martha said, govern- George took her hand. "Martha, you hayent heaid ' RADIO AND TCIJ:\'1S10N MUW0» ""<' ''»e said. Something i wrong. Can* I help?" ing her impulse. Strange, she thought, that just having him there made her feel better, safer. ••Did you have a nice vacation?" "Fine,"' George said. And he started to tell her of the places he"d been and the things he'd done. lyi ARTHA wasn't listening to his words. Vaguely, she heard his voice and found comfort in it Suddenly, it occurred to her how much she had missed him. She saw then, that without knowing it. she had come to depend very heavily on George for sympathy, for understanding, for kindness. And it seemed strange, yet somehow right, that he was always there when she needed him. ""Martha, you haven't heard a word I said." George grinned. "Oh! Oh, yes, George,"' Martha said quickly. He took her hand. •■Something"s wrong, Martha," he said gently. "Maybe I can help. Don't you want to tell me?" Martha looked at him gratefully. But she couldn't tell him. He couldn't help her in this. It wouldn't be fair to ask him, knowing that he loved her. "No," Martha said. ■■Nothing"s wrong."' "I see," George said. He smiled into her eyes and she knew he understood. The door from the house opened and Jim wheeled himself into the store. He hadn't been near Martha for days. Now, he had come in of his own accord. Martha's heart beat faster. Maybe he had changed his mind! •Jim!" George exclaimed, going back to him. They shook hands heartily. 'You're looking fit. It's won- derful to see you people again." "•It's good to see you, too," Jim said. His lips were smiling, but his eyes were sharp, speculative. They darted quickly from George to Martha and back agam. And Martha, watching him, knew what he was thinking. He was thinking that she and George— that with him out of the way! Martha wanted to cry out in protest. There was a short, heavy pause. George regained his composure first. ••How about coming down to the Tavern with me, Jim?" he said. 'Well have a glass of beer to celebrate "^Mariha expected Jim to refuse, but he didn't. He even allowed George to push his wheelchair through the store and out to the street. Jim stayed out so long that Martha worried for fear that something had happened to him. But, when she saw him wheeling himself down the street silting rnore erect than he had for weeks, her heart bounded with hope. Maybe he had talked to George and George had cleared things up. . . .v, , „ ,„,. But she was wrong. Jim stopped in the store for only a moment. "Martha," he said, ••you haven I started '''y.°N:'''MaTtha"':dmitted. 'l thought-, hoped ^°"i^h^ven't changed my mind, " Jim said. His eyes "There Va"s'nf Evading the issue, Martha thought wildly searching for words that would postpone action. •■You must see a lawyer," Jin, went on, "What will I tell him? " Martha asked, ■•^^Ihi^ it was cruelty-mental cruelty." .^ut Jim," she objected helplessly, 'no judge would believe tha. Everyone here knows you. knows all oeiieve "'- couldn't be cruel. ■^'Xir^Xtly^r find some other reason,'' Jim said^'ttningandwhee.j^Himsef.nU.h.o^^ wo'ild c^ gT.4" rnTlut fcontLed on pa„e 6. , T)(yui>^ •ij fGite OrvuHv Radio Mirror's Food Counselor L/sfen to Kate Smith's dally folks of noon and her Friday night show, both on CSS, sponsored by &eneral Foods. :}8 Too often neglected are the de- licious "variety meats." Upper left, kidney stew, upper right, kidneys en brochette, and above, brains with black butter sauce. UPPERMOST in every woman's mind this winter as she runs her household in the most effi- cient manner is the problem of a food budget. Defense of nation has meant defense in the kitchen; recipes must serve a dual purpose — they must call for new, delicious foods and they must point the way to save money. That is why I became so excited about a friend's wonderful method of making use of every left-over scrap from the day's meals. Actu- ally it is a modern, American ver- sion of the traditional French soup pot. This friend of mine keeps a large container in her ice box and into it, after every meal, she puts all the left-over food. For instance, say you are having hamburger steak with onions, potatoes and squash for dinner. When you've cooked the potatoes and squash, you pour the liquid off them into the ice box container. After the dinner is over, add to the container all the small left-over portions of potatoes, squash, onions and hamburger with its gravy. The next day you will have a delicious, thick, nourishing soup to serve- for lunch or dinner. That night, you will again add the liquid from the freshly cooked vege- tables, along with the left-overs of the vegetables themselves, and whatever else you served for your dinner. That will mean a third day's thick soup. Don't hesitate to add to this "soup pot" even such casserole dishes as macaroni and cheese. All kinds of vegetables can be used, bones from roasts (or sim- mered and their liquid used), even salad ingredients such as tomatoes, celery, parsley and even watercress and chopped celery leaves, for flavor, along with herb seasonings such as thyme, basil, sage, savory, marjoram or rosemary. When meats or gravies have been added, excess fat should be skimmed off the next day before the soup is heated. A new kettle with fresh ingredients should be started about every third day. If you've cherished the belief that things which are good for you are dull to eat, you have been passing up excellent ways of serving deli- cious foods at a minimum of cost. It is these "variety" meats which I am going to recommend to you this month as an ideal Way of sav- ing money and giving the family — and yourself — something new. Meats such as liver, heart, kidneys and brains, which are rich in vitamins and minerals, are also highly prized by gourmets. Brains with Black Butter 1 set calf's brains 2 tbls. vinegar 4 tbls. butter 1 tsp. minced parsley Pinch salt Dash pepper RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR MEALS Wash brains in cold water, remove skin, arteries and membranes and soak for one hour in cold water to cover. Drain, cover with boiling water, add 1 tablespoon vinegar and simmer very slowly (fast cooking will make brains fall apart) for 15 to 20 minutes. Blanch by plunging into cold water, then drain. Break into segments or slice in half and pan-fry lightly for 5 minutes, using just enough butter to prevent stick- ing. Serve with black butter, made by cooking remaining butter over low flame until black but not burned, then adding remaining vinegar, to- gether with salt, pepper and parsley. Kidney Stew 1 doz. lamb kidneys 2 medium onions, cut fine 1 bay leaf Vi tsp. salt Dash pepper V4 lb. naushrooms (optional) 1 tbl. minced parsley 1 scant tbl. flour Skin kidneys (your butcher will probably do this for you if you ask him to), cut in thin crosswise slices, cover with cold water and bring slowly to boil. Drain and throw water away. Return kidneys to cooking pot, pour on sufficient cold water barely to cover, add onion, bay leaf, salt and pepper and sim- mer very, very slowly for one hour. (If you use mushrooms, they should be sliced and added at the end of the first half hour of cooking.) Thicken to desired consistency with flour and add parsley. If desired, just before serving add tomato cat- sup, sherry wine or Worcestershire sauce to taste. Kidneys en Brochet+e Vz doz. lamb kidneys V4 lb. mushrooms 6 slices bacon 1 tbl. melted butter Salt and pepper to taste Skin kidneys and cut crosswise into "bite size." Alternate kidney, mushroom and cross-slices of bacon on long skewers. Brush with melt- ed butter, add salt and pepper and For those meatless days try this tempting dish of baked fish fillets— a new recipe to delight everyone. broil, turning frequently, until kid- neys are brown and tender (about 15 minutes). Beef kidney may be used the same as lamb kidney, but the cooking time will be almost twice as long. Baked Fish Fillets iy2 lbs. fish fillets (haddock, floimder, etc.) 3 tbls. butter 3 medium onions Vi tsp. salt Dash pepper Dash mace Juice of one lemon ^ wineglass sherry or white wine Slice onions in thin rings and saute lightly in butter until golden but not brown. Make a bed of half the onions in bottom of baking dish, place fish fillets on top, and cover with remaining onions. Sprinkle with salt, add pepper and dust light- ly with mace. Add lemon juice and wine and bake at 350 degrees until fish is tender and brown on top (12 to 18 minutes), depending on thick- ness of fillets. If preferred, omit lemon juice and wine and substitute milk for liquid. Baked Stuffed Heart 1 beef heart 6 slices bread (stale or toasted) Vs tsp. sage Vg tsp. rosemary 1-^ tsp. salt Vg tsp. pepper 2 tbls. shortening 2 medium onions, chopped fine % cup chopped celery leaves % cup boiling water 1 tsp. grated lemon rind 2 tbls. lemon juice 1 can mushroom or tomato soup Wash heart in cold water, re- move any hard parts and soak in cold water to cover for one hour. Drain, cover with boiling water and parboil slowly for 30 minutes, drain again. For stuffing, roll bread into coarse crumbs and combine with dry seasonings. Saute onion and celery lightly in shortening, add boiling water, lemon rind and juice and combine with dry mixture. Place heart in buttered casserole, pour on soup and bake, covered, at 350 degrees F. until tender (about 2 hours). I Thick, nourishing soup, any time you want it, comes out of the "Soup Pot." And it takes care of left-overs FEBBUAjRT, 1942 39 iXbA^ By KEN ALDEN If took a popular song to skyrocket bandleader Tommy Tucker to stardom, and here he is talking it over with Mitzi, his wife. Left, Tommy's vocalist, Amy Arnell, takes off her shoes when she sings. - Fifteen-year-old Marilyn Jean Miller sings with Kenny Gardner on Guy Lom- bardo's show on CBS, Saturday nights. A FTER a tour of the east and mid- ■'*• west, Kay Kyser is back on the west coast for a six-month stretch which will include work on the new RKO movie, "My Favorite Spy." One of the reasons the "professor" should be glad to be back in Hollywood is that his ex-vocalist, Ginny Simms, is out there, originating her solo CBS shows. The Jan Savitts are the proud par- ents of a baby girl. Incidentally, Jan has re-hired his colored swing singer, Bon Bon. Helen O'Connell has sufficiently re- covered from her appendectomy to re- sume her vocal duties with Jimmy Dorsey. Have you noticed how improved the musical selections of your favorite bandleaders have been since the ASCAP settlements? Following the Harry James and Artie Shaw trends, Charlie Barnet plans to add a string section to his band early in 1942. Teddy Powell was doing splendidly at Rustic Cabin, a Jersey roadhouse. The crowds were enthusiastic. The network wires were plentiful. Then the place burned down, taking with it a good portion of Powell's music li- brary and many band instruments. * * • That Benny Goodman keeps on making news. No sooner had he added Sid Weiss to his band as the new bass player, than he started to experiment with a quartet consisting of piano, drums, trombone and clarinet. This wasn't enough to keep him busy so he started to make plans for another con- 40 cert engagement, when he pulls out of the Hotel New Yorker in January. Off the bandstand Benny is busy put- ting his new Connecticut home in shape. This abode has set the gos- sipers busy predicting Benny about to take himself a wife, » * * Count Basie is out of New York's Uptown Cafe Society and the spot has reverted to a more intiniate type of jazz as expounded by John Kirby and Eddie South. 4c % i([ There is still time to vote for your favorite band in Radio Mirror's an- nual Facing the Music popularity poll. You'll find a convenient ballot at the end of this column. * * * Raymond Paige has organized a 45- piece orchestra composed of talented musicians, ranging in age from 16 to 25. He calls the group "Young Amer- icans" and their first effort is a hand- some Victor record album. To set up this group, Paige inter- viewed 1,200 applicants, auditioned 800. He found one youngester behind a soda fountain, another driving a truck. One of his girl violinists was formerly a house maid. THIS CHANGING WORLD Xavier Cugat is due to make a new movie. . . . Bobby Warren, formerly Mark Warnow's arranger, has turned songwriter. He has two hits, "City Called Heaven" and "Number 10 Lul- laby Lane". . . . Johnny Long is on the air fourteen times weekly from Mea- dowbrook via CBS and MBS. Long's band returns to the New Yorker in the Spring following Woody Herman there. . . . Mitchell Ayres goes into Chicago's (Continued on page 73) RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR SAY HELLO TO— C ELENA ROYLE — who plays the title role in CBS' popular serial drama, Kate Hopkins, every afternoon ex- cept Saturdays and Sundays at 2:45, E.S.T. Most actors and actresses who talk about "wanting to get away from it all and buy a nice quiet little home in the country," don't really mean what they're saying and wouldn't willingly go farther from Times Square than Hoboken. Selena is dif- ferent. She wanted a home in the country so badly that she has actu- ally bought one in Pennsylvania, and gets up very early every morning to make the long trip to New York and her broadcast rehearsals. The house is something to see, too — it's an old schoolhouse that Selena has com- pletely remodeled, and is the apple of her eye. Selena is the 'daughter of a theatri- cal family. Her mother was Selena Fetter, a famous star of an earlier day, and her father is Edwin Milton Royle, noted playwright and author of "The Squaw Man," which was made into Hollywood's very first movie by Cecil B. DeMille. She made her stage debut when she was sixteen, acting in her father's play, "Lancelot and Elaine." After that she appeared in about forty plays on Broadway and trouped in stock. She was one of the first stage actresses to invade radio, and up un- til four years ago divided her time between the microphone and the footlights. Now, though, she sticks to radio, although she might go back on the stage if she could find a play she liked. Honey-haired and lovely (that's her picture as Kate Hopkins you'll find on page 13), Selena is one of radio's nicest people. She is chair- woman of the Radio Division of the American Theater Wing for British War Relief, and during the depres- sion was the originator and leader of an organization called the Actors' Dinner Club, which maintained a place where out-of-work actors could get free meals. Radio directors like to have Selena in their casts because she's always cooperative and easy to work with, and never temperamental. Maybe that's the reason she. has had parts in more than fifty daytime serials and night dramatic shows, which is some- thing of a record. She must have some leisure time, though, because she is the author of four pieces of work that are now go- ing the rounds of publishers and producers — a children's book, a three-act play, a book on the tech- nique of acting, and a radio serial. Her father, who should be an author- ity, says the play is a good one. \.r Romantic ''Find » ■^ '1 \' coi 2 sii^' 2 BIG sires Unusual values! Pond's'LIPS" — Stays on lonqer ? Free — A// 6 new Dreamflower Powder shades 5 "Sfagline" shades! (Be sure to try exciting magenta-toned Heart Throb — it's the season's hit color!) f| POIVD'S, Depl. 8 KM-Pli, Ctiiilnn. O I want to see how the nciv Dmini/lniirr shades and smnolhness make my shin Iniil,- lorelier. Hi/I you please send me i'lilCE samples of all 6 Dreamjtower shades? ;V«/, Address Cil y. ^Suite_ (This offer good in U. S. only) HE'S THE DREAM GUY, ALL RIGHT ! (but he walked right out of the dream) J[S Satyrdas Helen, my pet - ^ Vjhat a l°'^^,f'llZenel That Dream tell you that's happen ^^^ Guy I-m a -ys talking^ ^^ J-f P"^^^^ come to l^^S; ': f thin air. And up suddenly °"^ „„ „ pullmani o? all Pl^=«^-7,^,,7:;d7or the trip, I had just got settled %. ^^^ when I happened to glan^ ^^^^ _ ^^.^ there he was - two ^"^ ^g, deep- most bee-u-ti-ful, gorg ^^^^^ f or • • ■ bronzed male a gal ^J^ ' ^ith a sort looking rifht^f^^.-^^.three-days look, of I-haven -eaten ^^^ ^^ His name's oary '^^ , xj^g Dream lives up near here. He sth^^^, G"y' ^^' ^'ler' very much of anything can't remember very t that that we talked about^ ^^ ^^ when he said he was. & thought, on this houseparty, too, this... "Fate, y°-'^,M°'nght yo'-." , and Who am I to fig J-- ^^^^tiful _ ,0 -da\°ceToV^V"^isrme luck. Hel.. Qw^" 'Jl§ vioadai f * Helen- ^„ . snould^'lometh^"^' it ten to J* , g cnanfe ^^o ■ ,.„,- nigh^;. ^nn't \\ evening.- ^_v 'S ■>»" "tSl i I'^iWl «"flS W. poor stop »f saddex" '„ oC »« '"g.e "»t, il J[S VJednesdair. ' ctari"& c;nid ^'-", j v^ettei o- .eAv|- ?|tl -d -j;;,f er^ent .^e . ^ou can t . ^s xf i ^ a>e si'^^^ v^ecause -- vTe's'^-'f.^er""^- «f colxd' ^^ "' •^"ulT^^^ *^ss «e^ '-'' °°tft V.i«. K.ss QVfTtVV^ Qvrtvv^ V(hat did ^o-J^m.^V^l post"? "See page °f^erine advertisement That's a i-^^terxnc you're ibout bad breatn^ Sur^l^^;t\ine's not trying to teix that way? Or are you? ^^^^^ ^ rf thin 1 cfn't see what else rou-could'possibly have -ant^ ' Ihope.it'snotw-at/onifit-s were hinting at. But ^ ^^^^ time ='^'^^^^v'Il^°evel be able to say a thfnriiKe fhlt about me. JP Zi^fit^^^ Mel, darling, tw-een Cary and me ^^^ ^S^in be- -ean'crry'rr^?f,^°f tomorrow, x Sprin"|/° ^-'^ a ne. ro^oSfe '°? t^' ^^O^t-^w ARE YOU OFFENDI • The insidious thing about haUtosis {bad breath) is that you, yourself, may not know when you have it. But, don't fool yourself- others do! • Sometimes, of course, halitosis is systemic. But most cases, say some authorities, are caused by the fermentation of tiny food particles in the mouth. Listerine Antiseptic quickly halts such fermentation . . . then overcomes the odors it causes. • Sf) why not take the easy and delightful precaution which has NG RIGHT NOW? become a daily "must" with so many popular "and fastidious people? Simply rinse the mouth with Listerine Antiseptic, morn- ing and night, and before business and social engagements. • This wonderful antiseptic and deodorant quickly makes the breath sweeter, fresher, less likely to offend. Lambert Pharmacal Company, St. Louis, Missouri LISTERINE for halitosis (b„J breath) SUNDAY u S P o u 8:00 8:00 8:15 8:15 8:15 8:30 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:30 9:30 Eastern Time 8:00 8:00 8:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:15 9:15 9:30 10:00 10:00 10:00 10:30 10:30 10:00 11:00 CBS: News 10:00 11:00 NBC-Blue: News 10:05 8:15 10:15 8:30 8:30 8:30 8:30 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:30 10:00 12:00 10:00 12:00 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:30 11:00 11:00 11:00 11:30 11:30 12:00 12:00 - 12:00 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:30 1:00 1:15 1:30 1:30 2:00 2:00 2:30 2:30 2:30 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:05 3:30 3:30 5:45 3:30 9:15 4:00 8:30 4:30 4:30 7:30 5:00 5:00 8:00 8:00 5:30 5:45 5:55 6:00 6:00 9:00 6:00 9:15 8:15 6:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:30 10:30 10:30 10:30 10:30 10:00 11:00 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:30 1:00 1:00 1:00 1:30 1:30 2:00 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:30 3:00 3:15 3:30 3:30 4:00 4:00 4:30 4:30 4:30 4:45 5:00 5:00 5:05 5:30 5:30 5:30 5:30 5:45 6:00 6:00 6:15 6:30 6:30 6:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:30 7:30 7:45 7:55 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:15 8:30 8:30 8:45 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:30 9:30 8:00 10:00 8:00,10:00 11:05 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 11:30 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:30 1:00 CBS: Church of the Air 1:00 NBC-Red: Upton Close 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:30 2:00 2:00 2:00 2:30 2:30 3:15 5:30 5:30 5:30 5:45 6:05 6:45 7:15 9:15 9:45 ^BS: News \BC-BIue: News NBC-Red: Organ Recital NBC-Blue: Tone Pictures CBS: The World Today NBC: News from Europe CBS: From the Organ Loft NBC-Blue: White Rabbit Line NBC-Red: Deep River Boys NBC-Red: Words and Music CBS: Church of the Air NBC-Blue: Musical Millwheel NBC-Red: Radio Pulpit CBS: Wings Over Jordan NBC-Blue: Southernaires CBS: Vera Brodsky NBC-Blue: First Piano Quartet CBS: Invitation to Learning MBS: Radio Chapel NBC-Blue: Fiesta Music NBC-Red: Music and Youth CBS: Syncopation Piece NBC-Blue: Foreign Policy Assn. NBC-Blue: I'm an American CBS: Salt Lake City Tabernacle NBC-Blue: Radio City Music Hall NBC-Red: Emma Otero MBS: George Fisher NBC-Red: Silver Strings CBS: This is the Life NBC-Blue: Josef Marais NBC-Red: The World is Yours CBS: Spirit of '41 NBC-Blue: Great Plays NBC-Red: Sammy Kaye CBS: The World Today NBC Red: University of Chicago Round Table CB: N. Y. Philharmonic Orch. NBC-Blue: Wake Up America NBC-Red: Bob Becker NBC-Red: H. V. Kaltenborn MBS: Disney Song Parade NBC-Blue: Tapestry Musicale NBC-Red: Listen America NBC-Blue: Sunday Vespers NBC-Red: Tony Wons CBS: Pause that Refreshes NBC-Blue: Behind the Mike CBS: The Family Hour NBC-Blue: Moylan Sisters NBC-Red: Metropolitan Auditions NBC-Blue: Olivia Santoro MBS: The Shadow NBC-Blue: Wheeling Steelmakers NBC-Red: Living Diary CBS: William L. Shirer CBS: SILVER THEATER NBC-Red: Catholic Hour NBC-Blue: New Friends of Music CBS: Gene Autry MBS: Bulldog Drummond NBC-Blue: Pearson and Allen NBC-Red: The Great Gildersleeve NBC-Blue: Mrs. F. D. Roosevelt NBC-Blue: News from Europe NBC-Red: Jack Benny CBS: Public Affairs CBS: Screen Guild Theater NBC-Blue: Capt. Flagg and Sgt. Quirt NBC-Red: Fitch Bandwagon CBS: HELEN HAYES NBC-Blue: Blue Echoes NBC-Red: CHARLIE MCCARTHY CBS: Crime Doctor NBC-Blue: Inner Sanctum Mystery NBC-Red: ONE MAN'S FAMILY MBS: Gabriel Heatter CBS: Elmer Davis CBS: FORD HOUR MBS: Old Fashioned Revival NBC-Blue: Walter Winchell NBC-Red: Manhattan Merry-Go- Round NBC-Blue: The Parker Family NBC-Blue: Irene Rich NBC-Red: American Album of Familiar Music NBC-Blue: Dinah Shore CBS: Take It or Leave It NBC-Blue: Goodwill Hour NBC-Red: Hour of Charm CBS: Columbia Workshop NBC-Red: Sherlock Holmes CBS: Headlines and Bylines NBC: Dance Orchestra Star Spangled soprano Lucy Monroe sings on the M erry-Go- Rou nd. HAVE YOU TUNED IN... Lucy Monroe, singing on Manhattan Merry-Go-Round, sponsored by Dr. Lyons Toothpowder, on NBC-Red every Sunday night at 9:00, E.S.T. Lucy is the young lady who, quite by accident, has become the country's fore- most singer of "The Star Spangled Ban- ner." She has sung it more times than you could count — at conventions, patriotic rallies, benefit performances, in Army camps and in the big musical production called "American Jubilee" which was one of the attractions of the New York World's Fair. Lucy is well-equipped to sing the National Anthem, because she has a lovely clear soprano voice, and also because she herself is All-American. Her family came to this country in 1610 and seven ancestors fought at the Battle of Bunker Hill; she herself was born in America and received every bit of her musical education here. It isn't easy to go from the back row of the chorus in a musical comedy to grand opera and "The Star Spangled Banner," but Lucy did it. She progressed from the chorus to a singing part • in a musical comedy, but lost the job because the di- rector said she was too unsophisticated. That switched her interest to more oper- atic kinds of music, and maybe was a good thing for her. Anway, she made the grade, and has sung with several different opera companies, although never the Metro- politan, and with the New York Phil- harmonic and Philadelphia Symphony orchestras. She isn't sure just how she started sing- ing "The Star Spangled Banner." In 1937 she was invited to be the American Le- gion's official soloist, and of course she sang it there. In "American Jubilee" she sang it several times a day, in the finale of the show, and by that time the tradition was established that if the Anthem was to be sung in public, Lucy Monroe was the best person to get. She travels all over the country doing her specialty, always with- out compensation and usually at her own expense. She doesn't think "The Star Spangled Banner" is a particularly diffi- cult song, either, in spite of the frequent criticisms against it on that score. Specializing in the Anthem made her the logical person for RCA-Victor to choose when they decided they needed a director of Patriotic Music. She holds that post now, and passes judgment on most of the patriotic music that's written, helping to decide which is worthy of being re- corded. Also, she's a member of the Music Sub-Committee of the Joint Army and Navy Committee on Welfare and Recre- ation, which means that she goes to dif- ferent camps organizing entertainments. MONDAY U) a.' 1:30 8:45 8:30 10:15 12:45 12:45 12:00 8:15 11:00 11:15 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:45 4:15 11:00 3:30 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 11:45 11:45 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:30 1:45 1:45 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:30 2:45 5:45 3:15 3:30 8:15 3:45 3:45 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:15 4:15 7:30 8:30 7:30 9:00 8:15 8:30 5:00 8:30 8:30 5:55 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:30 6:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:15 H i/i d 8:00 2:30 8:45 8:45 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:15 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:30 9:45 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:15 11 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:45 10:45 11:00 11:00 11:00 11:15 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:30 1:45 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:15 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:45 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:15 3:30 3:45 3:45 3:45 4:00 5:00 4:00 4:15 5:15 4:15 4:30 4:30 4:30 4:45 5:45 10:00 5:15 5:30 9:30 5:45 5:45 6:00 10:00 6:00 6:15 6:15 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:30 7:30 7:55 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30 8:30 9:00 9:00 10 9:00 10 9:00 10 9:1510 Eastern Time 8:30 NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn 9:00 NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB School of the Air Stories America Loves Red: Edward MacHugh Hymns of All Churches Red: Bess Johnson Myrt and Marge Blue: Helen Hiett Red- Bachelor's Children Stepmother Blue: A House in the Country Blue: Help Mate Woman of Courage Red: The Road of Life Treat Time Red: Mary Marlin The Man I Married Blue: Alma Kitchell ■Red: Pepper Young's Family Bright Horizon -Red: The Bartons Aunt Jenny's Stories Red: David Harum KATE SMITH SPEAKS : John B. Hughes Red- Words and Music Big Sister Red: The O'Neills Romance of Helen Trent Blue; Farm and Home Hour Our Gal Sunday Life Can Be Beautiful : We Are Always Young Woman in White : Government Girl -Blue Ted Malone Right to Happiness : Front Page Farrell Road of Life : I'll Find My Way Young Dr. Malone -Red: Light of the World Girl Interne ■Red: The Mystery Man Fletcher Wiley ■Blue: Into the Light ■Red: Valiant Lady Kate Hop'kins ■Blue: In Care of Aggie Horn Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter A Helping Hand ■Blue: Orphans of Divorce Red: Against the Storm News for Women Blue: Honeymoon Hill Red: Ma Perkins Blue: John's Other Wife Red: The Guiding Light Blue: Just Plain Bill Red: Vic and Sade Concert Orchestra ■Blue: Club Matinee Red: Backstage Wife Red: Stella Dallas Red: Lorenzo Jones Mark Hawley : Boake Carter -Red: Young Widder Brown Mary Marlin ■Blue: Adventure Stories -Red: When a Girl Marries The Goldbergs ■Blue: Secret City Red : Portia Faces Life The O'Neills -Blue: Wings on Watch Red: We the Abbotts Scattergood Baines Blue: Tom Mix Edwin C. Hill Hedda Hopper Frank Parker Blue: Lum and Abner The World Today Blue: Lowell Thomas Red: Paul Douglas Amos 'n' Andy Blue: Old G:>ld Show Red: Fred Waring's Gang Lanny Ross Red: European News Blondie : The Lone Ranger Red: Cavalcade of America Vo» Pop Cal Tinney Blue: I Love a Mystery Red: The Telepnone Hour GAY NINETIES Blue: True or False Red; Voice ot Firestone Elmer Davis LUX THEATER Gabriel Heatter Blue: National Radio Forum Red; Doctor I. Q. Blue; For America We Sing Red; That Brewster Boy Orson Welles Raymond Gram Swing Blue: Merry-Go-Round Red: Contented Hour Spotlight Bands 15 45 45 00 00 15 15 15 30 30 30 45 45 00 00 15 15 15 30 30 45 45 00 00 00 15 15 30 30 45 00 00 15 15 15 30 30 45 45 00 00 15 15 30 30 30 45 45 45 00 00 00 15 15 15 30 30 45 45 00 00 00 15 30 45 45 45 00 00 00 15 15 15 30 30 30 45 45 00 15 30 30 45 45 45 00 00 00 15 15 30 30 30 00 00 00 00 30 30 30 55 00 00 00 00 30 30 00 CBS; OOIMBS 00 ^'BC- 00jNBC- ;15IMBS; CBS CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: MBS; NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: CBS: MBS CBS: MBS NBC CBS: MBS CBS: MBS CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- NBC- NBC- NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- NBC- NBC- CBS: MBS NBC CBS: NBC- NBC CBS: NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: CBS: CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- CBS; NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: MBS; NBC- CBS: MBS: NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- CBS; CBS; MBS: NBC- NBC- NBC- NBC- IN|||||||ii|i^^^ Want to Hear FEBRUARY, 1942 43 TUESDAY ^• i/i a.' 1:30 g:4S 8:30 10:15 10:30 1:45 10:'1S 8:00 2:45 I- ^ how softly smooth it feels — — and pat your face gently with a how fresh it looks! This facial's soft towel to dry." a wonderful beauty care. Try it!" 9 out of 10 Screen Stars use Lux Toilet Soap- /9sp€//^e/ /9-Aas/lcr/t/e/ai^er//9sA//C£?/ PEBRUABY, 1942 51 (Continued from page 50) that can't be arranged." His secretary opened the door. "Yes, Mr. Perry?" John explained what he wanted done, and turned to his wife. "There, how's that?" "Wonderful," Elizabeth exclaimed. "Now you can go back to that work of yours." "Not until you promise to disturb me again," John said, unaccountably pleased with himself. How seldom you did something helpful for any- one and how good it made you feel when you did! The work went faster after that, for all of the min- utes he had lost. ITE had just put his hat on and ■■--■• was switching off the light at five o'clock when the door opened. "Mr. Perry?" John recognized with a shock of pleasure the vibrancy of the voice. "Marianne!" His finger snapped the light back on and he stood away from the door. "Oh — you were leaving," Marianne said. "No." John put his hat aside and walked back towards his desk. Ma- rianne followed him to the center of his office. "It — it was wonderful of you," she said in a half whisper. No use to pretend. John smiled. "Did you find anything you liked?" "Oh, yes!" Marianne breathed. "That's the trouble. I can't decide. That's why I came to see you. I thought perhaps you could tell me which I should get." "Why, I could try," John mur- mured, flushed with sudden embar- rassment. "Can I show you?" John nodded his head and Mari- anne hurried out. In a few moments she was back, transformed by the shimmering tulle and damask dress she was now wearing. "I think I like this one the best." She was holding the bouffant skirt away from her, was pirouetting around with fresh, youthful grace. How unselfconscious she was, John thought. Like an eager child show- ing off proudly to her father. John thrust the unwelcome comparison aside. For now Marianne was stand- ing perfectly still, a half smile part- ing her lips. Highlights from the shining bodice had caught up the shadows of her throat and had made it a classic column of Parian marble. It was a sudden vision of delight. Here was no adoring child but a lovely, desirable woman trying to please a man. "I — I think that's my choice," John said, realizing as he spoke that he had not even seen the other dresses Marianne had been prepared to show him. "I knew it would be." Marianne danced away to change back into her every-day dress. "I'll drive you home," John called to her. Afterwards, John thought of those moments with a quickening of feel- ing. Marianne was so fresh and un- spoiled, he thought. And again he visioned her as a child with a woman's beauty. For the first time he could remem- ber it seemed dull to be at homo that night. The friendly routine of dinner, talkmg with Elizabeth, the comfort- able hour with the evening paper 52 seemed empty tonight. He stirred restlessly in the chair and instantly Elizabeth was looking up from her knitting. "Isn't it about time we went out for a change?" he said. "Tonight?" Elizabeth asked. "Too late now," John replied. "I was just 'thinking. It's been so long since we really went out and did something." "We could cal] on someone tomor- row night," Elizabeth suggested. "Oh, not calling," John said. "I mean really going out — to the club, for dancing. Something like that." "All right." The fact that Elizabeth had agreed so readily with him did not seem to ease his sense of tension. He concen- trated on the news with an effort that warned him he was not relaxed. Finally, he put the paper down and strode aimlessly around the room. COMIJSG NEXT MONTH! Now that you have seen all your Mary Marlin friends as they really are in the Living Por- traits on page 18, be sure to get your copy of the March issue of RADIO MIRROR to read the complete story of MARY MARLIN as a thrilling novel DON'T MISS THIS EXCITING NEW SERIAL He walked behind the piano into the space made by the big bay window and looked out at the quiet winter scene. Snow fell gently, a drier snow now. It reminded him of that after- noon he had first come home to hear Marianne's voice filling the house with song. Something of his restless- ness crept into his attitude. "You're like a caged lion," Elizabeth told him. He swung about moodily. "I think I'd better go to bed." 'y HE next afternoon Marianne -■■ came again to the office. This time he was downright glad to see her. "I'm tickled pink you came in," he said. "I haven't been able to do any work for an hour. And I was just about to go down for a cup of tea. Now I'll have company." Marianne seemed to sparkle all over. "I'd love that," she said. In the employees' lunch room John sat cross-legged on a stool and fell to thinking of the last time he had come down in the afternoon for tea, with Elizabeth. "You get too busy to do these things," John said, "and yet I think they do you good. If I have a breathing spell in the afternoon, a little talk like this and a bite to eat, I do twice as much work the rest of the day." "I'm so glad I'm a good influence," Marianne smiled. "Hadn't I told you?" John found it easy to match her mood. "I can't call you Mr. Perry, any- more," she burst out suddenly. "It makes you sound old and dignified." "I thought I was." "Oh, no." There was an urgency in her voice as if she would repel even the suggestion of the difference in their ages. "Well, all right then. Marianne and John. It's a deal." He had meant to say it all lightly, but there had been a deliberateness when he had linked her name with his. She was smiling, more because it was obvious that she was happy than because anything had amused her. "Weren't you going to tell me something?" he prompted. "Oh — just about what to sing," Marianne said. "I've gone over everything I know and nothing seems just right for the concert." "You came to the wrong man," said John. "You should see your teacher for advice of that sort — but ^^gi I do have one thing to suggest — that '^^f song you were singing the night I came in and caught you." "'Drink to Me Only with Thine eyes?'" "That's the one. I always liked that one." Marianne was excited. She grasped John's hand quickly. "That would be good," she said. "I could start off with that and then sing another old song, maybe a Stephen Foster, and work up gradually through some Brahms to a real aria, just to show them what I could do — and then end with another familiar old song." "That's the ticket," John agreed. "Make them cry. They'll love you for it. And if you get a chance you can sing 'Drink to Me Only with Thine Eyes' for an encore, too. For, of course, there will be encores." "If you think I can make them ap- plaud, John, then I can." Marianne looked at him with a question writ- ten very large in her eyes. But John refused to see it. He turned away and paid the check and led her to the door. "I'll take you downstairs. I have an errand down there anyway," he said. But at the main entrance to the store he found himself taking Marianne out to the street and then along the front of the store until they were at the corner. "Why, John," Marianne said breathlessly, "you came out without your coat on." "It's not cold," he smiled. He was young again. He used to go out like that all the time. "Now you go back," Marianne said. "I don't want you catching cold on my account." John scoffed at the notion. "I haven't had a cold in three years." Marianne turned to face him. Above her head a neon light flashed to the world the prosaic announce- ment that cigars were sold inside. But the light cast on Marianne's face RAmO AND TELEVISION MIRROR was not in any sense prosaic. It made her eyes look deep and dark and transformed her hair into a shining cap. In her hand her hat swung gaily. She bubbled over. "I can hardly believe it's almost here. In another ten days I'll be on that stage — I know I'll be nervous." "Don't think about it," John said. "Youll give the best recital this town ever heard." Marianne grasped the lapels of his coat in her two hands. "If you be- lieve I can do it, John, then I can," she said. John couldn't resist touching her hair with his hand. "If you don't win them with your singing alone you will with the way you look," he said. Before he could move, before he could say yes or no, Marianne had risen on her tiptoes and kissed him swiftly, fleetingly, squarely on the mouth. Then she was gone across the street, through traffic, and had dis- appeared into the crowd of late shoppers. John stood there for a moment, a half smile crinkling his face, feeling the touch of her warm young lips. He turned about and went back into the store. It seemed dull and musty, robbed of all its freshness. Even his work was stale, though he could scarcely afford now any sense of dis- interest, and in the evening, instead of going out, as he had thought he wanted to the day before, he found he simply wanted to stay home. Nothing Elizabeth proposed sounded good to him. The next day at about the same time, John caught himself wondering whether Marianne would come again. At four, when she had not appeared, he went downstairs alone for tea. But the bare lunch room seemed to- day a cold, uninviting place, and he left hurriedly. SEVERAL times that night, as he lay restlessly in his bed, he awakened to hear the muffled night noises of the city coming through thickly falling snow. And each time he found difficulty in going back to sleep. The even, quiet breathing of Elizabeth irritated him and he wished she would wake up so that he wouldn't have to hear her. Nor was it any easier, the follow- ing afternoon, to concentrate on work. As early as two o'clock he found himself beginning to wonder whether Marianne would appear. Once he put his hand on the tele- phone, intending to call her, but drew it back before he made the call. At three o'clock his secretary said the words again, "Marianne Phillips to see you, Mr. Perry." Magically the late December after- noon sun streamed in the window with new force. "Show her in," John said. Marianne entered and as she did so the office door swung closed behind her. John stood up and Marianne came directly around the desk toward him. "John!" said Marianne, stand- ing very close to him. "Would you do me another favor?" "What?" John smiled. "I've been working on the pro- gram all day and I've just about de- cided to do an aria from 'Faust.' But I'd like to see the hall first and sing a few bars just to see if my voice is big enough to fill it." John thought rapidly. "We can ar- range that," he said. "Wait here a FEBRUARY, 1942 *'See that woman? — I'd swear she buys a different laundry soap every week 'Know how she buys? — She comes in and asks me, 'Which one's having a sale today?' So I tell her and out she goes, pleased as Punch, with a bagful of bargains. . . . And next week she's back again — ^buying somebody else's soap." "Some day she'll try Fels-Naptha Soap and she'll be done with all that. Instead of saving pennies here, she'll save dollars at home you wait and see." f 53 Doesn'f ijnjs open your eyes ? MAYBE YOU'VE NEVER paid much attention when we told you Modess is softer. Maybe you're so used to buying one type of napkin that it has never even occurred to you to try another, newer type. WELL, THEN, LISTEN to over 10,000 women who tested Modess against the napkin they'd been buying.* 3 out of every 4 of these women dis- covered that Modess was softer! SOFTER THAN THE NAPKIN they'd been buy- ing I The vote of women just like yourself! Doesn't it open your eyes.? Doesn't it make you wonder if you, too, have been missing out on extra comfort? MAKE YOUR OWN DECISION! Try Modess next time you buy napkins. And if you don't agree with millions of loyal users that Modess is softer, more comfortable than any napkin you've ever used, just return the package insert slip to the Personal Products Corporation, Milltown, N. J., together with a letter stating your ob- jections. We'll gladly refund your full purchase price. ♦ Ix-l us ncmJ yon llic dill ilfliiiln ot lliis iiiiiiizing Softness Tot. Write the Pcrnoiial I'roductji Corj)., Milltown, N. .J. J o^t of every 4 voted Mod softer 7HAM THE WAPKlW THE/P BEEM eOY^NO minute." He went across the hall to Mr. Willison's office and got the keys to Webster Hall from his secretary. When he and Marianne went into the musty, cold building filled with canvas covered chairs, it filled them both with a sudden sense of loneli- ness. The long windows in the sides of the auditorium admitted the sun- light in tall, dust-laden beams. They walked down the carpeted aisle, their muffled footsteps sounding preternaturally loud in the stillness. On the stage Marianne stood a mo- ment looking at the empty building before her. John could see that she was thinking of it ablaze with light, the piano at her side and her voice soaring into the receptive quiet. He patted her on the shoulder once and then retired to a corner of the stage. Marianne stood a moment longer, then sang a few bars of the aria. The lilting melody swept back into the auditorium and seemed to re-echo in John's ears like a tender grace note. Suddenly Marianne was a girl again, not a singer. She turned to John. "I can do it," she said. "I can do it!" Back in his car John drove around aimlessly for a few minutes, unwill- ing to return to the store. "Why don't we go for a little drive?" Marianne said. "It's such a lovely afternoon with all this new snow covering the bareness. The store won't even miss its manager." "Are you sure?" John asked with mock gravity. Marianne nodded and put her arm gently through his. In their new intimacy, he turned the nose of the powerful car out toward the outskirts of town. They drove along the River road. On their left ran the quiet brown water of the river not yet frozen across, outlined by its frosty white banks. Mari- anne sat close to John, not talking much. They both liked the quiet purr of the engine and the steady crunch of the wheels in the layer of snow. They drove until the sun went down and then turned back in the gather- ing twilight. Several times Mari- anne took John's hand to hold in hers for a minute. He left Marianne at the corner near her house and drove on home alone. The last time he had taken any time away from the office was long ago — when Joy was born. And be- fore that? Yes, it had been to spend the day with Elizabeth. This was only three days before the concert. Marianne came to see him once more. When the day of the recital came John was almost sorry. 'T'HAT Thursday, just two days -'- before Christmas, was another bright, glittering winter day. The Christmas trees on the lawns of the houses gave the whole town a festive aspect. Driving down to Webster Hall with Elizabeth at his side, John thought of the decorations in con- nection with Marianne. He couldn't rid his mind of the thought that all this festivity was really for her. "Do you expect a big turnout, Elizabeth?" he asked anxiously. Elizabeth was eager. "Of course. Everyone will be there. All the tickets were sold a week ago and we have had so many calls for more that we arranged to have some extra chairs in the rear of the auditorium. I think we could have sold twice as many." In front of Webster Hall the cars drove up one by one to let out the people who were to hear Marianne sing. The doorman stood impeccably in evening clothes and the ushers scurried up and down the aisles. John and Elizabeth joined the throng and went inside. Their tickets were in the fifth row on the aisle, but as the usher led them down, Elizabeth turned impulsively to John. Dismay was in her voice. "John, we com- pletely forgot the flowers!" John shook his head in chagrin. "That's right," he said, "and now it's too late." Elizabeth drew him out of the aisle. "No it isn't," she said. "That store down on Main Street is still open. You can run down there and get the biggest bouquets they have." And when he hesitated, she said, "John, you've got to. She'll be broken hearted!" It was farther than he had thought to the shop and the florist, in his ex- citement, took seemingly forever to bind the ribbons and cut the stems to the right length. Then, when finally the flowers were wrapped up and the florist paid, John skidded back over the icy streets to the stage door and found the head usher to explain about Pronounce Modess to rhyme with "Oh Yes" From a guest appearance to a permanent spot on the Old Gold Show, Mondays on the NBC-Blue network. That's what happened to Bert Wheeler (left) and Hank Ladd, popular comedy team. 54 RADIO AND TELEVISION 3VIIBR0R handing the flowers up to Marianne on the stage, two bouquets after the first series of songs, and the others after the concert was ended. It had taken too long! By the time John had run back to the front of the hall and hurried through the lobby, Marianne had started her first song. First faintly, and then more clearly, he could hear her voice echo- ing through the hall. Something was wrong — what was it? Quietly he opened the door into the audi- torium and stood a moment in the blackness at the rear, listening. Was it because he had come so hurriedly out of the accustomed noise of the street that Marianne's voice sounded so thin, so tremulous? But then he sensed the restlessness of the audi- ence, half heard the slight stirring, could see some turn and look un- easily at each other. His heart began to beat in anger and fear. What was the matter? Then Marianne had fin- ished her first song and polite ap- plause scattered across the aisles. John stepped forward and strode down to where Elizabeth was sitting. As he walked down towards the footlights he looked up and saw Marianne had caught sight of him. He smiled and tried to send confi- dence and hope to her. A look of gratitude came into her expression; John could see it. He seated him- self, the pianist began the introduc- tion to the second song. This time she began with assurance. John felt that she was looking directly at him, singing directly to him. Sitting^ listening, his memory swept John back to that afternoon again when Marianne sang in the half-darkened living room with the snow clouding the window panes, while he stood in the vestibule listening. CUDDENLY from the stillness ^ around him, from the raptness on people's faces and in their attitudes, he could tell that Marianne was no longer failing. He sank down into a kind of blissful oblivion, his eyes riveted on the slender, beautiful girl on the stage, his ears filled with the strains of the haunting old song, his mind filled with the knowledge that she sang directly to him and to him alone. He knew now why she had done badly on the first number. He could see it all. Marianne had looked distressedly for him in the audience, searching out Elizabeth, looking anxiously at the empty seat beside her and wondering if he were coming at all. And he knew that Marianne loved him. Just how or why was not important. But she did. That much he knew. When the last number on the pro- gram had been sung, the crowd stood up and clamored for more. The rafters rang from applause. It was obvious to everyone that Marianne blushed for sheer joy, and everyone loved her for it. She sang three en- cores, and each time the audience refused to let her go. Finally she made a little speech and told them she was tired, but would repeat just one more song for them. It would be— "Believe Me If All Those En- dearing Young Charms — " Elizabeth had arranged a recep- tion for Marianne at their house after the concert. John wanted to talk to Marianne, to be near her, but somehow he was never alone with her. The evening seemed too short. Before he knew it Marianne had left with the Bartletts, and he and Eliza- FEBRUARY, 1942 Gown by courtesy of Milgrim, New York Use FI.ESH *2 and stay fresher! PUT FRESH #2 under one arm — -put your -prexent non-perspirant under the other. 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Please send purse-size botde of Jergens Lotion— /r«. Namt Street Oly State beth, exhausted, were in bed, drugged with weariness and sleep. In the morning he awakened to the consciousness of Marianne, but in the rush of his day at the store he was not even able to think of it, to fasten his mind on it and to come to a decision. He knew still more firmly that the decision must be made. ALL day he expected Marianne to come to his office and in the mid- dle of the afternoon she did. "You were wonderful," John told her. "That's the biggest success this town has seen in years." Marianne threw her arms around him impulsively and kissed him. "It was all because of you, John," she said. "I couldn't have done it with- out your help." "Yes you could," John said. "I didn't do anything to speak of." "Then do something for me now," Marianne said. "Help me celebrate. Oh I just can't believe it's really true, that it's really happened." Her eyes sparkled; her young lips, fresh, faintly moist, expressive, made John laugh delightedly. "I thought we'd celebrated last night." "Oh that. But that was with every- one. I mean just by ourselves, the two of us." "Why — " he was about to chide her gently. But he never finished his sentence. His eyes swept the desk, seeing only routine, dull, binding work that could wait, then back to Marianne's face, eager, expectant. "Can't we?" "Why not?" John surrendered to the impulsiveness that stirred within him. He took his hat, slung his coat over his arm. "Come on, what are you waiting for?" Her arm through his, they hurried out of the office, without a backward glance at the surprised secretary staring after them. "Cocktails, tea, dancing, what have you?" John turned to Marianne, be- side him in the car, a warm woolen blanket wrapped around her legs. "A ride!" Marianne exclaimed. "A ride in the snow." "Good." John turned away from the shopping district, out towards the River Road. "I didn't get a chance last night," Marianne said, "to tell you how much I liked everything — the flowers and the people, the auditorium, and you, sitting there listening to me." John gripped the steering wheel harder, until his knuckles showed white. "Why did you like to have me sitting there?" he asked quietly. Marianne's long lashes brushed against her cheek. "Because you knew what I was trying to say." "What were you trying to say?" John said evenly. Just then they came to a level place beside the road where the snow had been cleared away. Now — now was the time to decide. John pulled the car off the road and stopped it just above the river bank. Finally Marianne spoke. "You know what I was trying to say, darling. That I love you and need you." In spite of himself, in spite of his foreknowledge, John felt a sense of shock. "Marianne, you mustn't say that!" Marianne's lower lip quivered a little. "I must because it's true." John put his arms around her and drew her toward him. Her head fell 56 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRBOR on his shoulder so that the little hat she wore was pushed back and her soft fragrant hair brushed against John's cheek and filled his nostrils with its perfume. There was a catch in his throat. "Don't forget Elizabeth." "I'm not forgetting Elizabeth. Why do you think I am sad?" John put his hand against the side of her face as it lay against his shoul- der. It came away with the ghosts of tears clinging to it. "Don't cry, dar- ling," he said. "It's all right. You don't have to cry." He was shaken, deeply disturbed. Marianne was young, unutterably, achingly desirable and she loved him. To many men that would have been enough. To John it was a signal of danger. She drew him and attracted him. He wanted her from the bottom of his heart. Yet he pulled the car back on the road, letting Marianne stay inside the circle of his arm. The sun had gone down now and they drove back in silence. In a few minutes Marianne took out a small white handkerchief and dried her tears. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to cry. But John, dear, what's going to happen to us?" John kept his eyes fastened on the road. "I don't know, Marianne, I don't know. Last night, when you sang, I knew then what had hap- pened to us." He moved his arm im- patiently. "I'm almost old enough to be your father," he continued, half to himself. "I'm a settled, respectable business man with a wife and two children and a household to look after. You're young and gay — and very beautiful —and wonderful to be with. And I know, too, what people will say. But none of that seems to mean anything, Marianne. I just don't know." Marianne forced a smile to her lips and linked her arm through John's as he drove. But her voice was tremulous. "You know I love you, John, and anything you say or do will be all right with me." AFTER he had left Marianne he drove home, and alone in the car he faced for the first time the thing he must do. He had heard so many times of men his age — in their thirties — finding a young girl, and leaving their wives and families. John had never had sympathy for them. Yet here he was — at the same crossroads. He could ask Elizabeth for a divorce, marry Marianne and try to grow young again — forget his age and all he had done. Or he could say good- bye to Marianne and settle again into that easy, padded routine that had become his life. It was really a choice between youth and age, he faced. How could he be long in doubt? John had forgotten that it was Christmas Eve. There were things to be done at home, things that must be done to keep the children happy. And yet when he got there he had no heart for these simple little tasks. The instant Elizabeth saw him, she asked him to come upstairs to their room. She sat down in the small chintz-covered chair in front of the window and as she did so, John realized how perfectly arranged, how nicely run his whole household was, how lovely in her fine, mature way Elizabeth had become. Here it was again — the choice between this old life of his, settled, orderly, ar- ranged for his special benefit and FEBRUARY, 1942 s meant ior fdsses- // ,-x '■%^ Horrid little Dry Skin Lines need not mar Your Face too soon YOUR "LEISURE-DAY" SMOOTH-SKIN TREATMENT Cleanse your face beautifully with Jergens Face Cream. Then apply fresh cream and relax for 20 minutes. Remove the cream. Doesn't your face feel like satin? Now a dash of cold water before powdering. ONE new cream! Gives your face complete daily smooth-skin care. It's Jergens Face Cream! Made by the makers of your favorite Jergens Lotion, Jergens Face Cream is intended to give your face the lovable smoothness Jergens Lotion gives your hands. Use Jergens Face Cream happily: ( I ) for Cleansing; (2) for Softening your skin; (3) for a suave Foundation for your powder; and (4) as a Night Cream for smooth skin. Think of Jergens Face Cream as your "One Jar" Beauty Treatment. Use it and see the fresher smoothness of vour skin. 50fi, 75fS, S1.25; 25^, lOfi. Already over 6,000,000 jars have been used ! FOR ALL SKIN TYPES ALL-PURPOSE , FOR A SMOOTH, KISSABLE COMPLEXION L Mo/7 T/i/s Coupon Now FREE! GENEROUS SAMPLE (Paste on a Penny Postcard, if you wish) The Andrew Jergens Company, IhlO Alfred Street, Cincinnati, Ohio (In Canada; Perth. Ont.) Let me try the new Jergens Face Cream at your ex- pense. Please send generous sample — free. Name '. Street City- ^ ^ State- 57 (^L RIGHT/ Eyes are always right— for love, for romance, for social or business appointment— when you use WiNX. WiNX brings out the natural beauty and charm of your eyes— enlivens your whole appearance— gives you a new, fascinating loveliness. Try WiNX and see for yourself what a marvelous difference it makes. Just a touch of WiNX Mas- cara (either solid or creamy form) to your lashes and instantly they appear darker, longer, more luxu- riant. WiNX Eyebrow Pencil adds form and character to your eye- brows. And finally, to accentuate the color and depth of your eyes, add a subtle touch of WiNX Eye Shadow. This completes the picture of a "lovelier, more vivacious you." Insist on WiNX for finer quality. WiNX is water-resistant and easily applied without fuss or bother. Available in all popular harmoniz- ing shades. For lovely eyes get WiNX today. At drug and depart- ment stores or in handy purse sizes for 10(;. FOR LOVELY EYES pleasure, run to suit his needs — and the new, untried, challenging life with Marianne. Elizabeth sat there white-faced, calm, in complete possession of her- self. "I know how you feel, John," she said. "You don't need to tell me. A blind person could have seen last night when Marianne sang. I've been waiting for you to come to me. I knew you would." "Yes, Elizabeth," John said. "I've come to you. Only — " he paused un- happily.' "I can't tell you how my mind will go or what I'll do. I don't know myself." He leaned against the door jamb and he felt suddenly weak and resistless. He wanted to pour it all out to Elizabeth, to tell her of the lift and excitement he felt in Mari- anne. He wanted to tell her that many times he found himself doing things that he hadn't done for years. He felt young again, that was it, with Marianne. And with Elizabeth he felt old and solid and respectable. "I wonder if you realize — " he began. "You don't need to talk, John," Elizabeth said quietly. "I think I know how you feel, and John, it's up to you. I want you to know that. You know that I desire your happi- ness more than anything else and if you could find that happiness with someone else, then — " She stopped and clenched her hand on the arm of the chair. "But I can't talk about it. I won't have a scene, and tonight, on Christmas Eve, with Carol bubbling over and Joy wide-eyed, I've got to at- tend to them. So — " her voice trailed off, "I wish you'd go away until you know." She bowed her head. John stood there a moment looking at Elizabeth, looking at the room in which they had been so happy. Then he turned on his heel without a word, went downstairs, still looking about him at the house which had become a symbol of the life they led. At the front door he paused for a moment and looked back from the dark of the night into the lighted living room with the big tree blazing with lights, red, green and blue, in the corner. Even here there were sounds from within — sounds of life and activity in the kitchen — the movement and stir of a family. John strode away, got into his car and drove off into the night. 'T'HE age-old Christmas festival ■■- went on, and took up, that night and day, the attentions of half the civilized world. Across the ocean the battle raged, but even the warriors made obeisance to the festival of Christmas and halted the war in deference to it. In the morning the sun came up and smiled on a world in which the people had become conscious of the simple virtues of love and good-will. It smiled on John Perry as he stood at noon in the same spot and looked into the holly-wreathed windows of the living room. He put his key in the lock, turned it slowly and pushed open the door. Little Carol heard the sound. "Daddy," she screamed, and in an in- stant she was upon him — all dimpled little legs, tousled black hair and flashing brown eyes. "I've been wait- ing for you. Mommy said you would be here pretty soon." "She did?" John said eagerly. "Yes. She's upstairs. Daddy. I think she wants to see you, too. But after- wards will you come right down?" "Yes, yes, I will," John said. He put her down and raced up the steps two at a time. Elizabeth met him at the door to their room. She said nothing, but she smiled. John took her gratefully in his arms. "You were expecting me?" he said. "Yes, of course," she said. "I al- ways expect you. Did you see Mari- anne?" John was humble. "Yes, I took her to dinner last night and told her — " "Told her what?" "That I loved you and that I couldn't leave you — or Carol or Joy or even Granny." That evening, after the children had been put to bed and Granny was in the kitchen fussing with food for the next day, John and Elizabeth sat in the pleasant disorder of the living room littered with toys of the chil- dren, old wrappings, Christmas cards and pine needles. They talked. "I could see it coming," Elizabeth said. "Marianne had a very deep crush on you, darling. That's what I get for having such an attractive husband." John reddened a little. "I guess it comes to every man some time. When he's settled and secure with his wife and family he begins to have a doubt and if some young girl comes along who admires him and likes him and flatters him, he's apt to take her seriously." Elizabeth nodded. "I know," she said. "But let's not mention it any more, darling. I'm so glad you came back — I really knew you would." "I think I did, too, deep inside," John said. And he was grateful for the warmth that came to his heart when he looked around him at the pleasant litter in the room, but most of all he was grateful when he looked at Elizabeth. fiofc W\\\% of fhe Texas Playboys is co-star with radio's Blor)die (Penny Sin- gleton) in"Go]'Vest Young Lady," the new Columbia flint. 58 RADIO AND TELEVISION S/IIBROB Kate Hopkins (Continued jrom page 13) daughter — to make my homecoming the merrier?" Jessie's old face — in spite of her seventy years, it still held a memory of the beauty that had made her the idol of the London stage — flushed. "I told you, Robert, I didn't invite them. They descended on me, and if it had been anyone else I'd have begged off. But I used to worship Major Dunham's father — -he was the ordy man I ever loved who didn't love me — and old affections die hard." "It doesn't matter," Robert said. "Nothing matters, now I'm free. You really can't imagine, Mother and Kate, how it feels to stand trial for murder — and then be acquitted!" But it hadn't been a real acquittal, Kate thought wearily. How could Robert be so gay about it? A clever lawyer — the absence of any real proof that Robert had been Elise's mur- derer— a well-timed motion to dis- miss the case against him — and he was free. But not proved innocent. Even the judge, dismissing the case, had intimated from the bench that he believed Robert guilty; and certainly everyone in that crowded courtroom had believed it, too. IV/f ORE important than what the -'-'■'■ judge believed was what Tom, Kate's own son, believed. Only that afternoon he had said, "I don't want you to be unhappy. Mother. The judge practically called him a mur- derer who couldn't be brought to justice. You don't think so. Perhaps I don't think so—" "You do think so," she had said. He hadn't denied it. Instead, he said, "The whole world will. And if you're married to him, you know what that'll mean." "Do you think a thing like that would stop me, Tom?" "No," Tom admitted. "It wouldn't stop me, either. But it wouldn't make you happy." A little impatiently, hearing him talk of happiness — he was so young; it was hard to believe he was old enough to have married Diane — she said, "People don't live to be happy. They live the way they have to because of their characters, the times, the op- portunities ... I know the real rea- son you don't want me to marry Robert Atwood. It's because you're my son, and in your mind I'm per- mitted to have only two genuine feel- ings— smother love and respectability. I'm also a woman who's not very old. But I'm willing to forget that, if only you'll be frank with me. Tom, you wouldn't want your mother married to a man the world thought was a murderer, would you? You wouldn't want people thinking that your mother and this man had schemed to marry you off to Diane — had planned, executed, a crime. True or not, you wouldn't want people be- lieving it, would you? Would you?" Sullenly, Tom said, "You can't stop people from thinking." "Oh, Tom," she pleaded, "tell me what yov, think. Say it out!" "No," his honesty made him say, "I wouldn't." And that was all Kate wanted to know. In Robert's jail cell, one afternoon before the trial, she and Robert had planned for the future when he should be acquitted. {Continued on page 61) CAN YOUR HANDS mimmsnsr? MAKE THIS TEST — Brush vour lips across the back of your hand. Does skin feel rough, and uninviting? Now use extra quick-drydng Cashmere Bouquet Lotion. Notice how smooth your hands have become. 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But neither can conquer a people whose nerves can "take it," whose strength is great, whose courage is high. THERE is a greater enemy to nerves and strength and courage than tanks and bombers. It is the lack of a tiny ingredient — found so generously in a grain of wheat— Vitamin Bi. Without this ingredient, we become hstless, moody, weary and afraid. The starving peoples of Europe know this only too well. In the United States of America there is no reason why everyone cannot have his share of this very important Vitamin Bi. Millers have found scien- tific ways to mill flour so that it retains Vitamin Bi and other members of the B-Complex "family," plus food iron. They have gone even farther; those essential ingredients now can aaually be added, either in yeast or pure chemi- cal compounds, so that the Enriched Bread you buy from your baker or the enriched flour you buy for your home has the recommended amount of each ! This flour, and the tasty rolls, bis- cuits and bread it makes, are available to all of us. Enriched flour turns out baked products that taste exactly like they've always tasted, but made with this new kind of flour, these foods now add to your diet precious food factors to bolster your strength, pro- tect your ileal th. THE fAAGlC FOODS It takes only a 'few kinds of simple foods to provide a sound nutricional foundation for buoyant health. Eat each of them daily. Then add to your table anything else you like which agrees with you. MILK AND CHEESE— especially for Vitamin A, some of the B vitamins, protein, calcium, phosphorus. Vitamin D milk for the "sunshine" vitamin. MEAT, eggs and sea food for proteins and several of the B-Complex vitamins-; meat and eggs also for iron. -.(^. Wherever you see flour adver- tised as "Enriched," your mer- chant is offering a product that is aiding our Government's pro- gram to make America strong. GREEN AND YELLOW vege- tables for B vitamins. Vitamin A, Vitamin C and minerals. FRUITS and fruit juices— for Vita- min C, other vitamins and minerals. This message is approved by the office of Paul V. McNutt, Director of Defense Health and Welfare Services. It is brough t to you as our contribution to National Nutritional Defense by Kadio & Television Mirror. BREAD, enriched or whole grain, and cereals with milk or cream, for B vitamins and other nutrients. Enough of these foods in your daily diet and in the diets of all Americans will assure better health for the nation, will increase its ener- gies to meet today's emergencies. ^9ae^t»0tkf//S/aA^ieil ,\ ..W.r... O r I 0 < th.m - '"0 f-i ulnc. sL.'inrlfirrl, full i'2 wWTH. f.riK. w'llint: l*rlfc. (.cnumc. sliinfUiivl, ruil r<'fr)iir|ltioii'--d;itc' Iniprovci NtfindnrrJ kcylioiird, buck Npact-r, rllihon reviTMo. 2 riblKin, ctr. N<*v<-r bt'fort* ttuch r((Ck lioltom prlccMl I>Orl/lljl(' \y,\TVi\\X\H. poruihlc \y.\Tv.i\\u Hl/.(>''■'■ i.ff',ri- yon l.uy on t^n irni.l<(.-l>r IwronditioniMl iin'i itfnutHully rKrininliod. FREE (^'oftiiiNrc Vttn H»nt Toiirh Triiinc Oonn*" ffi«c wltli typPwritT. H|,.-. ii.l |,ri] ii'lihrnn nl nim-f. lii^l full 'tr-#'ri[.tioo Ml.'] 10 'li.y iniil r.l'ui Limited supply. Send today. INTERNATIONAL TYPEWRITER EXCHANGE 231 W. Monroe St., Dept. 203 ChJcago. III. Love Is Kind (Continued from page 27) in bore- dom. . . . The scores of dinner parties we were always giving, at which the guests were all people Bob knew and I didn't. And I thought, too, of the brief moments of flaming desire, beautiful in themselves, that Bob and I had known together. Yet . . . apart from those moments, were we ever really intimate? Did we ever know, or care, what the other was thinking, feeling? I cared, but did not know — and Bob, it came to me, did neither. "Why do you look so angry?" It was Wells Harrison, speaking in- sinuatingly at my side. I'd forgotten his presence, and now I looked at him, a little surprised at the acuteness of his observation. "I was thinking," I said. "I didn't know it was so obvious." "I don't like to see a beautiful woman being unhappy." He leaned closer, and I caught the odor of whis- key on his breath. His gaze traveled past me and rested for a moment, sig- nificantly, on Bob out on the dance floor; then returned to me. I drew away, angry because he had guessed some of my thoughts, angry too at his intimation that if I was un- happy it was because of Bob. "Your husband is making a remark- able career for himself in Wall Street," he went on. "He works very hard — I suppose it must be lonely for you." "Not particularly," I said, wishing the music would stop and Bob return. I wasn't flattered by his obvious ef- forts to flirt with me, only bored and disgusted. All at once, looking up, I saw Martie Reynolds coming into the club. It was like an answer to prayer. He caught sight of me, smiled, began threading his way through the tables toward me. IN the few seconds before he reached the table, I realized how ter- ribly I had been missing him. I had deliberately stopped seeing him, knowing that Bob expected and wanted me to do so. But the loss of his friendship had left a hole in my life that nothing else could fill. I needed his calm sanity, his humor, his tolerance. More than anything, I needed the way his thoughts had al- ways seemed to meet mine. More than ever, seeing Martie, I knew that Bob and I had never really talked to each other. Our marriage had been purely physical. We could speak to each other only in the lan- guage of love. We had never once discussed anything — and I remem- bered with a pang the long talks Martie and I used to have, about people, the way to sing a song, the right of men to wear mustaches. President Roosevelt, anything and everything from the important to the absurdly trivial. Martie had always listened to my opinions, but they irri- tated Bob. He didn't want me to have one thought that wasn't his. Martie was standing beside the table, holding my hand in his, smiling and glancing curiously at Wells Har- rison. I introduced them, and Martie sat down. "What in the world are you doing here?" I asked him. He nodded toward the bandstand. "Matter of business. I may take this girl singer under my wing." "Oh," I said, a little dashed but try- 64 RADIO AND TELEVISION IVIIRROR ing not to show it because Martie was watching me with sly amusement. He would know it had never occurred to me that he'd look for someone to take my place. I said defiantly, "It's been a whole year since I left you. You haven't been in a hurry to start a new Trilby on her way." A little sombrely, he said, "I was never a Svengali to you, Judith. I never had to be." I felt a warm surge of regret. He'd missed me, too, and he'd been hurt because I'd stopped seeing him after my marriage. Wells Harrison was looking sulky, and I was glad. I hoped he'd get bored enough to go away. But he didn't, and Martie and I exchanged common- place conversation until Bob returned with the other girl. He stopped short when he recog- nized Martie. "Oh — hello, Reynolds," he said guardedly, and did not offer to shake hands. I blushed for his rude- ness as Martie, perfectly composed, stood up and said goodbye. IVOT LONG after, to my relief, we left — and I realized, in the car, that I was afraid to mention Martie to Bob, afraid to express my resentment at the way Bob had acted. I was afraid because I knew words would make this bad matter worse. Bob broke in on my wry thoughts. "How'd you like Harrison?" he asked. "Great old guy, isn't he?" I was too tired and dispirited to be tactful. "I didn't like him much," I said. "He tried to make love to me." Bob laughed sarcastically. "Don't be the kind of woman," he said, "that imagines every man that tries to be polite is making passes." I drew my evening cloak closer around my shoulders. As if it could protect me against the hurt of Bob's words! "You ought to know I'm not that kind of woman," I said, wishing we were home, or, failing that, wishing we could drive the rest of the way in silence. We were both on edge, I thought, all too ready for a quarrel. "Well, just don't get Harrison sore, that's all. I need him. With his help — " his voice lost some of its vexa- tion and became more enthusiastic — "I can put over a deal that'll really land us in the money. So kid him along, if you want a new mink coat." As always, when he spoke of his work, of making money, he was alive, happy. I sighed. "I don't want one, particularly," I said. "And haven't we enough money already? We both have everything we need." "Nobody ever has enough money," he insisted. "But we'll have a lot of it if my plans with Harrison work out. And," he threw a quick, impatient look at me, "for God's sake stop act- ing like a tragedy queen! I don't know what got into you tonight. We were supposed to have some fun!" "Yes," I murmured, but so low I don't believe he heard. "We should have had fun." We drove the few remaining miles without speaking, and undressed and went to bed with only a constrained "good night." Bob fell asleep quick- ly, but I lay with eyes closed against the strengthening dawn light, and tried not to think. I was grateful for just one thing: at least we hadn't ar- gued about Martie Reynolds. And yet he must have been in both our minds. At last I fell asleep, and woke after Bob had gone to the office. That was one thing about him I never could understand — no matter how late he was in getting to bed he always seemed able to start to work at the usual time the next day. Thinking of this, though, I remembered something else. On week-ends, when we might have had real companionship to- gether. Bob was always too tired to do anything but sit in an easy-chair surrounded by the Sunday papers — unless we were entertaining some of his friends. If only passion had held us together from the very first, I wondered, was even that slender tie weakening now? Looking back, I could not help seeing that Bob was less attentive now, in all the small ways that a woman treasures so, than he had been just after our marriage. |N a panic, I saw myself like the ■* wives I met at the Country Club — bored, idle, shut out of their hus- bands' lives now that the first glow of romance had faded, and, from ne- cessity, devoting themselves to bridge, gossip, matinees, shopping and an occasional defiant flirtation or in- fidelity. But I wouldn't be like them, I de- termined, clenching my hands into fists and walking up and down the luxurious bedroom out of sheer in- ability to be still. I would fill my life with interest in spite of Bob — I would not be so wholly dependent on his love, so much in danger of deso- lation if that love were withdrawn. Or if, I could not help adding, it be- came valueless to me. I had always wanted children, planned on having them. Now I THEIR GOOD USTE is HOLLYIVOOO'S GOOD LUCK Director T^^^J"' ""d Ace <-• . J; P*' '-^O'a everv Hollywood, from stars to «avoVatj t; T ^^^"^ size P„- ,-i^ generous ^ ^ • - ' tor a nickel. ^ Pepsi-Cola is made only by Pepsi-Cola Company, Long Island City, N. Y. Bottled locally by Authorized Bottlers from coast to coast. "K PEBHUABY, 1942 gg Have you ever used Internal Protection? Tampons are no mystery these days. Every month more and more women discover the won- derful freedom of internal san- itary protection. But in choos- ing a tampon, make sure it's truly modern, scientifically cor- rect. OnlyMeds — the new and improved Modess tampons — have the "safety center." 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But Bob, when I told him I wanted a child, was violently opposed to the idea. "We've only been married a year," he argued. "Why do you want to tie yourself down so soon? Have some fun first!" This insistence on having fun! I suppressed the desire to ask him what he meant by fun, and pleaded instead, "But we do want children sometime, and wouldn't it be best to have them now, while we're young too, and can enjoy them?" "It'll be a long time yet before we're really old," he said; and then, coming closer and putting his hands on my shoulders, he added in the deep voice that never — even now — failed to thrill me: "Don't you know the real reason I don't want you to have a baby? It's because I can't bear to think of having to share you." I held him close, once more sure of his adoration. Again, for the moment, I felt the blessed, sure sense of right- ness that had been with me on our honeymoon. ONLY later, when the moment had passed, I wondered more sanely: did Bob dread sharing me because he loved me — or only because I was hxs, one of his possessions, something to show off to others like his new car or the new, bigger house he talked of building if his business with Wells Harrison went through? We were seeing a great deal of Wells Harrison now. Much more than I wanted to see. It was dinner, danc- ing, football games, weekend trips — always with Wells and some girl, never the same one more than twice. The presence of his feminine partners never stopped him, though, from making it plain in his clumsy way that he preferred me. I parried his advances as well as I could, but the time came when I couldn't keep up the farce any longer. He came to the house one afternoon, unannounced, when I was alone. Even now, I don't like to think of that hour — of his perfunctory explanation, which he did not trouble to make convincing, that he had been driving past and decided to drop in for a drink, of his complaint that I spent all my time avoiding him, of his at- tempt to take me in his arms, to kiss me — Remembering it all, I shudder now with the same horrid distaste I felt then. It was physically impossible for me to do anything but push him away, so fiercely that he could not help seeing how much I loathed him. When he had gone, red-faced and angry, I cried hysterically. Bob found me, an hour later, huddled in a corner of the huge sofa, still shaken with sobs. I clung to him, too upset at first to tell him what had happened, grate- ful for the tenderness of his embrace. "But darling, what happened? Why are you crying?" he kept asking, and at last I explained. "Wells Harrison — he came here while you were away — tried to make love to me — " His arms slackened, his body drew away, and looking up I saw that his face had gone white. "What did you do?" he asked tensely. "I got rid of him — I told him to go away and never come back. He's horrible, Bob, horrible. . . ." Abruptly Bob released me entirely and stood up. I couldn't read his face in the instant that I saw it before he 66 turned his back to me — I only knew that he was deep in thought, and that his thoughts were not of me. He took a few steps toward the telephone, put out his hand to take the instrument up — then withdrew it with a shake of his head and a muttered, "No, it wouldn't do any good to call him." "Bob— what's the matter?" I asked. But somehow — I knew. My words seemed to break the coh- trol he'd been keeping upon himself. He whirled about and almost shouted, "Good Lord, Judith, couldn't you have handled this thing better? I told you — And right now, the worst possible time! You shouldn't have — " He broke off, biting his lips. In the silence that followed, all the love I had had for him withered and died. "You mean I should have encour- aged him — let him make love to me?" I said dully. "So he would help you make money? Is that what you mean?" "Of course not!" he said defensive- ly. "I don't mean anything of the sort — just that you knew what was at stake and you could have been more tactful. After all, a girl with your experience — I thought you knew how to handle men. Or maybe," his voice grew hard and brittle, "you liked Martin Reynolds better." I caught my breath. But the shock of seeing him reveal himself so thor- oughly was so great it drove out my anger, leaving me numb, frozen. I had never known this man, until now. "Yes," I said. The soft carpet sank under my feet as I stood up. "Yes, I liked Martin Reynolds much better. I still do. Good bye. Bob." T\ AZEDLY I walked out of the room, ■*-' out of the house, pausing only to take a coat from the hall closet. I wanted to take with me nothing that belonged to my life with Bob. When I had gone perhaps a hun- dred yards from the house I remem- bered that I had no money. But there was a cab stand in the village — and Martie would pay the fare. It was dusk when the cab deposited me in front of the New York apart- ment house where Martie lived. I hurried through the lobby, into the elevator. It occurred to me that Martie might not be home, but I put the thought aside. He would be — he must be. He was. He opened the door him- self, and stepped back with quick eagerness to let me enter. "I'm back, Martie," I said simply. "I took a taxi into town, but I haven't any money. Will you pay for it, please?" It was like Martie not to ask ques- tions, but to step quietly to the house telephone and send word to the door- man to pay the driver, then turn and, still matter-of-factly, say, "Do you want to go back to work?" "Yes, I — oh, Martie, there's nothing left for me hut work!" And for the second time that day I began to cry — but this storm of weeping was not the hysterical torment of a few hours be- fore, it brought with it a queer kind of comfort. Martie waited while I cried myself out. "You've left him?" he asked at last, but it was hardly a question. "Do you want to tell me about it?" "I would," I said helplessly, "but \yhat's the use? You know — prac- tically. You've always known it wouldn't work. If I hadn't been so— RADIO AND TELEVISION MIBROR mad about him — I'd have known too." It was almost dark in the big, com- fortable, slightly shabby room. Only one lamp, by Martie's easy chair, threw a warm, coppery light. I heard Martie murmur, "I'm sorry it's been so tough on you, Judith — but I won't pretend I'm not glad you're back." "Martie — you're so good to me. You don't even say, 'I told you so.' " "Why shouldn't I be good to you?" he asked. "When I love you?" "You— love me?" "Of course. I always have. But there was never any sense in telling you — until now." He took me by the hand and led me, unresisting, to the lounge. "You said just now," he went on, "that there wasn't anything left for you but work. That's not true. Not if you don't want it to be." Deeply moved, I said, "Martie — dearest — you don't have to be so generous with me. I made a mistake, but I can take it — really I can." "You think I said I loved you just to make you feel better?" he asked, a little reproachfully. "But I always hoped that some day I could tell you that. I never could until now. You had a — well, call it a dream — that al- ways stood in the way." "A dream?" "Most women have it, I guess, but only a few are unlucky enough to have it come true." He held one of my hands cradled in both of his, and for once he was speaking without any hint of his old light mockery. "You wanted a knight in shining armor — a story-book hero. And you got him — someone who dazzled you so much with his good looks and charm that you couldn't see past them to the human being underneath." "But I did love him!" I said. "I wasn't just fooling myself." "Of course you weren't. You were being fooled — into forgetting that your husband had to be a person as well as a lover. If you'd remembered that, you'd have tried to find out what kind of a person Bob really was — and you might not have made your mis- take." "I don't know ... I hope not," I said ruefully, knowing how right he was — but knowing, too, how I had fought against letting Bob show me what was beneath his lover's mask. "Well, you know what kind of a person I am," he said, and though he smiled I caught a hint of anxiety in his voice that told me how much it would really mean to him to have my love. "There's no hope I'll ever be able to fool you into thinking I'm a movie hero." f\N an impulse I couldn't resist I ^-^ seized the lapels of his coat and buried my face against his chest. From that refuge I said, "Oh, if you only knew what a relief it is to be with you again! I'm so tired of trying to hang onto my illusions!" For the first time, he laughed, and caught me close. Then, with a knowl- edge of what would be best for me that only Martie could have had, he let me go and stood up. "Now, about putting you back to work," he said briskly, "I think that'll be easy. You know — I decided not to sign up that girl I went to hear the night I saw you," he confessed. "She wasn't much good." I smiled, and said nothing. But I felt that warm, satisfied feeling of being home again. Wherever Martie was, that was my home. I knew that now. FEBRUARY. 1942 '/^i^ ^fi«r, ooiilcr lo inunuen. No dyed look. Won't hurt porrfKincnlH. Kull enke Wic (3 for %\). Tini^ comoH in J*)t Blriok, liKlit. modiuin end dark Bronn, Titian, and Blonde, tituto nhudo wuntud. Juflt pay pontman plun pontaao on our poKitivo unnurunro of fMitii-f union in 7 diiyn or your inonry l»(i 2800 N. Crawford Ave., Chlcaito, Dept. E-49 Qenilemen: Mail your dowOIboq Rug Book Free to: I NAME I ADDRESS gj 11942 TOWN STATE ORC 72 seemed to Martha that all the long, endless months since his accident had been a bad dream. They had never happened at all. Everything was just as it had been before Jim was crushed beneath the scaffolding. Early break- fasts, lunches to be packed for a hun- gry man, big dinners for an outdoor appetite. The first few times Jim handed Martha his pay check he handled it as though he didn't quite believe it was real. It seemed to Martha that he took an inordinate delight in open- ing a bank account and adding to it every week. "Wonderful," Jim would say, "what a big difference it makes when you have a bit of money. Gives you a backbone, sort of — ■" He began talking about invest- ments. Martha noticed that whenever George came to visit them Jim took up most of his time in asking advice on stocks and bonds. George's ad- vice was always that only people with a great deal of money to gamble could afford to play the stock market — they had to be able to wait a long time for returns, sometimes. "I'll have a lot of money, someday," Jim would say. And Martha would won- der about this new interest of Jim's — this fascination money had for him. But there wasn't much time in Martha's life for worry. She and Jim went out often together, now. Jim seemed to have lost his sensitivity about being seen in public in his wheel chair. Since he'd got the fac- tory contract he almost looked on it as a mark of his valor and he was proud that he was earning such a good living, in spite of being a cripple. He got a pleasure out of taking Martha out to the factory, every week or so, to show her the progress that had been made. Then, one afternoon, hours before he was supposed to come home, Jim came wheeling his chair into the store. His face was gray. "What is it, Jim!" Martha cried. "Cripple, cripple, cripple," Jim was muttering. Martha shook him. He looked dazed. "Jim! Jim!" "That's what they're saying!" Jim muttered. "I heard them. I heard them say that the Town Council gave me the job because I'm a cripple — a poor, helpless cripple." "Jim!" Martha said. "You know that's not true! The Town Council wouldn't give anyone a job as impor- tant as this just for sympathy or out of kindness. How can you pay atten- tion to idle gossip?" "Gossip?" Jim cried. "It doesn't matter to you. You can walk. You're a normal human being. I'm the crip- ple. I'm the one they all feel sorry for. I'm the one that gets the charity — the handouts!" "No! No, Jim!" Martha cried. But it was too late. He had wheeled his chair away from her. Martha sat down behind the coun- ter dejectedly. She saw what a fool's paradise she had been living in, hop- ing that Jim had finally found the strength and determination to face his life, their life. Jim did not come to dinner that evening and Martha was afraid of what the morrow would bring. His actions, his sullen shutting himself away from them all, from her, were so like what he had done when he'd found out he would not walk again, that sheer fright was in possession of her. Was he going to shut himself up again, refuse to go back to his work? Was he going to destroy his one big chance to prove to himself and to the world that he was still capable, still competent, still a man Martha loved? There was no sleep for Martha that night. Her brain grew numb with searching for some sign, some hope, that their life would ever be differ- ent, something besides this endless swinging from despair to hope and back again to black despair. CHE knew Jim needed her, but she ^ wondered whether even such a love as hers could stand the eternal demands he made upon it, the constant vacillations, the denials and the pas- sionate renewals. How long could she go on loving him, when he used her this way, as a means to feed his pride? Listlessly, hating to face the day ahead, Martha got up and dressed. Jim appeared for breakfast. He had failure, defeat, in his eyes. He sat slumped in his wheel chair and per- mitted everyone to wait on him. It seemed to Martha as if he had made up his mind, during the night, that his active life was over, that the rest of his days would be spent like a hopeless invalid. And she wondered, helplessly, how she was going to rouse him out of this defeated attitude, show him, make him understand, that except for his walking, he was a nor- mal, healthy man. Lucy brought in the mail. There were some bills for Jim. "And a let- ter from New York for you, Mother," Lucy said. "From New York?" Martha said. "I don't know anyone in New York." As Martha breaks the seal on the unexpected letter from New York, she does not know how completely it will alter her lije, solving one problem while it brings new and greater ones in its train. Next month continue this moving story of a brave woman, in the March issue of Radio Mirror. AL helper — the hefty master of ceremonies for Spotlight Bands, on the Mutual network every night except Sundays. If Al Isn't the biggest man on the air he comes close to it — he weighs 245 pounds and measures six feet four inches. He probably would have been a doctor, because In the Intervals of winning his letters In different athletic pursuits that's what he was studying for when the depres- sion forced him to leave college and hunt a job. The fllrst one at hand was announcing sports on a small station In Washington, Pa. From there he went on and up until he came to New York and the big time. He's married and has three children, two boys and a girl, Is 32 years old and commutes daily from his home in New Rochelle. HAOZO AND TELEVISION IVIIRROB Facing the Music (Continued from page 40) Congress Jan. 3. . . . Duke Ellington is playing in Los Angeles' Mayfair Club. . . . Bob Allen, Hal Kemp's former singer, is slowly grooming his band and you'll soon be hearing it on networks and records. * * * Latest to branch out as a bandleader is Hal Mclntyre, formerly Glenn Mil- ler's alto sax man. His band did a sneak preview at Glen Island Casino recently when they substituted for Claude Thornhill. Advance reports were glowing. * * * Nice gesture on the part of Victor records to re-issue an album of rec- ords made by the late Helen Morgan. This company has also signed Bob Hope to cut a batch of disks. * * iii The curtain used in Mutual Radio Theater, New York, home of the new "Spotlight Band" series is decorated with caricatures of many leading bandleaders. CORRECTION In the September issue I made ref- erence to a vocalist with Larry Funk's orchestra and the reason he lost his job. I have been informed by him that the statement is incorrect and I wish to make this correction and ex- press my regret for any embarrass- ment it may have caused him. HOW TO SET THE WORLD ON FIRE ARTIE SHAW'S musical ability had to be proven with a smash rendi- tion of "Begin the Beguine" before he could afford to insult the jitterbugs. Little attention was paid to Orrin Tucker until he had Bonnie Baker sing "Oh, Johnny." Only a few experts touted Freddy Martin's music. Then he revived a Tschaikowsky piano con- certo which put him in the spotlight. Tommy Dorsey needed "I'll Never Smile Again" to fend off a slump and brother Jimmy's version of "Ama- pola" pushed him into the top-money brackets. "Tuxedo Junction" was the answer to a record-seller's prayer and gave the bespectacled trombonist Glenn Miller box office magnetism. A number like "Daddy" cemented Sammy Kaye's popularity. Expert bands like Charlie Spivak's, Bobby Byrne's and Jan Savitt's have found it difficult to get enough public attention because they have not clicked with a song that listeners could identify with them. No better illustration of how much a dance band needs a hit song to put it on top is the case of sandy-haired, blue-eyed Tommy Tucker. For ten years this North Dakotan has had a consistently appealing band. Never in the big money brack- ets. Tommy's troupe have kept work- ing from coast to coast. They got their share of air time, made a number of records and heard nice things said about their music and the singing of their vivacious vocalist. Amy Arnell. "We almost thought we hit the jack- pot with 'The Man Who Comes Around,' " says Tommy candidly, "that tune sold about 500,000 records." This saucy novelty spiraled them to better-paying theater dates and ball- room tours. But many of the places they played frowned on the risque extra lyrics. FEBBUARY, 1942 A Kalamazoo » Direct to You" «= EASY v^^ 1 •« GAS RANGES Combination Ranees pi ^f^::^ COAL AND WOOD RANGES 1.700 Satisfi ,000 "^flUsers J I- Wl See Kalamazoo First Get New Free Catalog Would you like to save $18 to $35 on your new stove? Do you want EASY TERMS — a full year to pay? How about a 30 day FREE trial in your own home? Would you like to choose from 106 styles and sizes? Then mail cou- pon for FREE Kalamazoo Factory-to-You-Catalog. See what Kalamazoo saves you in '42. See newest ideas and features. 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It had been written by four boys and it was their first combined effort. It was called "I Don't Want to Set the World On Fire." Tommy plugged it on every radio broadcast he could muster. His Okeh record became a juke box requisite. Before Tommy could get an exclusive recording right on the tune, 14 other bands had rushed through disks. But it was still the Tucker version with the appealing final chorus that wowed the customers. So far 750,000 platters have been sold. "Funny thing about that record," says Tommy. "The reverse side has another good tune called 'This Love of Mine.' Juke box operators who had worn out the 'Fire' side started to turn the record over. Thanks to that eco- nomical move, both sides of the plat- ter are now best-sellers." For the last decade, the Tucker band has been roaming the country. Sev- eral years ago they visited Ports- mouth, Virginia. Tommy auditioned a local singer named Amy Arnell and the blue-eyed, ambitious youngster was hired. Only one suggestion was made to Amy. The bandleader didn't like her habit of stepping out of her shoes every time she started to sing. "But she's still doing it. Says she sings easier that way," he says shrug- ging his shoulders. Tommy is married to Mitzi Miller, a former actress. They met a summer ago at a seaside resort. They have no children. The boys in the band like Mitzi. Unlike many other leaders' wives, she keeps a respectful distance away from the bandstand. Amy is not married but boys in the Tommy Tucker band tell me that Amy and Orrin Tucker are more than buddies. Right now the band is playing the- ater dates and one-nighters, doubling the money that they received in iden- tical places one year ago. This belated success hasn't made Tucker complacent. All those years of striving for recognition have left him thoughtful. "Sure I'm tickled about putting over 'Fire' but gosh, it's the follow-up that counts. You can't keep on top with one number. That one tune puts you there. The trick is to stay." OFF THE RECORD Some Like It Sweet: Tommy Tucker: (Okeh 6429) "Sugar Daddy"— "Some Sunny Day." Tucker attempts a follow up with a measure of success largely credited to Amy Arnell. Bing Crosby (Decca 4033) "Clemen- tine"— "Day Dreaming." Leave it to Crosby to pop up with the most refresh- ing platter of the month. A surprise from start to finish. The "B" side is a new Jerome Kern ballad. Will Bradley (Columbia 36401) "April in Paris"— "Stop! And Ask Somebody." A well-matched package that combines a beautiful ballad and a likeable jump tune. Guy Lombardo (Decca 4024) "Bi-I- Bi" — "You're Driving Me Crazy." A well-knit pairing strictly for dancing. Artie Shaw (Victor 27641) "Is It Taboo?"— "Beyond the Blue Horizon." A workmanlike job that shows off the new Shaw instrumentation. Glenn Miller (Bluebird 11326) "Dear Arabella" — "Orange Blossom Lane." Ray Eberle, Marian Hutton and the Modernaires combine vocal efforts to put this sprightly army camp tune over the top. Recommended Albums: Russ Colom- bo (Victor) re-issues packaged to recall some pleasant memories about the late great crooner. They stand up amaz- ingly well. . . . Lily Pons' stirring arias from "Daughter of the Regiment" (Columbia). . . . "Peter and the Wolf," Stokowski and narrator Basil Rath- bone collaborate on a stunning rendi- tion of Prokofiev's work (Columbia). Some Like It Swing: Tommy Dorsey (Victor 27621) "Skunk Song." A two-part tribute to an animal so far neglected by Disney. A novelty that might get hit propor- tions although Dorsey may have gone a bit overboard. Harry James (Columbia 36399) "Rec- ord Session" — "Nothin' ." In the "Tux- edo Junction" pattern and musically competent. Benny Goodman (Columbia 36411) "Caprice XXIV Paganini"— "I'm Here." Solid swing by a veteran that is quite welcome in a month in which swing records were not outstanding. RADIO MIRROR DANCE BAND CONTEST BALLOT To Ken Alden, Facing the Music Radio Mirror Magazine 122 E. 42nd Street, New York City Please consider this vote for in your fourth annual dance band popularity poll. (Voter's name: ) C)cKAA TTeiuCo lo- JIMMY CASH — who jumped right out of the ranks of unknowns to be featured singer and comedy stooge with George Burns and Gracie Allen Tuesday nights on NBC. Jimmy was born in Carthage. Arkan- sas, and won an amateur contest in 1936 which brought him to New York for two NBC radio engagements. He decided he wasn't ready yet for a singing career so he went back to Arkansas and his job in a fdling station. A little later he married Camille Waugh and they headed for California in a dilapidated car. Lean years followed, but Jimmy finally landed a full-time job, clerking in a Burbank grocery store and keeping up his singing lessons. George Burns heard a record of his voice and signed him up for the broadcast. 74 RADIO AND TELEVISION JMIRROR '"S"? 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Macfadden Book Company, Inc.. Dept. WG-21, 205 E. 42nd St., New York, N. Y. ••••••••••••••••••••••••••# FEBRUARY, 1942 Romance on the Run (Continued from page 23) happened the first few days on the show. They read "love" lines to each other and Frank, who knew a good actress when he heard one, was almost ready to grudgingly admit that maybe Joan was okay even if she did have a pas- sion for ribbons. Joan, too, began to like the rich, pleasing voice of the fine, young actor who played opposite her. The program director. Chick Vincent, winked at the organist on the show, his wink implying that these two were "naturals." BUT, a few weeks later, his "nat- urals," rehearsing a torrid scene, blew up in his face. Miss Banks and Mr. Love joy did not agree on the way the scene should be played. A large sized quarrel was in the offing. "I don't think you're right about this scene, Mr. Love joy," Joan said coolly. "If you'd try it my way, Miss Banks," Frank said, twice as coolly, "perhaps it would mean something." Joan's eyes widened. "Oh, yes?" "Oh, yes." Frank smiled — but what a smile! Frank was a little older than Joan, but they had both had about the same number of years in radio. They were both sure they were right and weren't going to give an inch of ground. The program director stepped in to straighten things out. "Maybe we can do a little compro- mising," he suggested. "But — " Joan and Frank said, at the same time. They looked at each other. Frank wanted to look daggers, but somehow, for some reason, she looked so cute when she was upset that he had to grin. The grin should have made Joan even more angry, but it was such a wide, nice, Irish grin that the cor- ners of Joan's mouth turned up in- stead of down. "All right," she said, "how do you think this should be played, Mr. Lovejoy?" "Well, Joan," Frank said, "I'd like to hear what you have to say first." And when they had talked it all over, it turned out to be one of the best scenes they had ever played to- gether. The program director winked at the organist again. This time the wink said even a little more. It said, "There's more in those lines they are reading than meets the ear." After the program that day, Frank and Joan walked out of the studio together. As they rode down in the elevator, Frank didn't even notice that the ribbon Joan wore in her hair was even larger and bluer than the ribbon she had worn on the first day they had met. "Say," he said, "do you like the movies?" "Sure," Joan said, smiling, "who doesn't?" "I guess everybody does," Frank said, a little flustered, "what I meant was — well — would you like to see a movie with me tonight?" Joan hesitated. She wished she really knew whether she liked the young actor as well as she thought she liked him. I might, she thought, have been right about him the first time. Then again — so she said, "I can't go tonight." 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Toby says, "As I put my hands on the vaudeville ladder to climb to bigger and better things, the other boys and girls, coming down, tramped all over me." So Toby turned to radio, and very happily, too. Since 1940 he has been one of WLW's staff of actors. Five days a week he is "Grandpappy Doo- little" on the Top o' the Morning pro- gram and "Toby Tuttle" on Time to Shine. On Saturday nights he be- comes "Grandpappy Doolittle" again as a prominent member of the Boone County Jamboree; and on Sundays he does his "No. 1 Soda Jerk" act on Fountains o' Fun. Toby (whose real given name only his mother knows) is an avowed night club addict, and says Milton Berle is his favorite comedian. He has three hobbies, collecting jokes, fine clothes, and magic. He can play no less than sixteen musical instruments, and fre- quently does — not only piano, xylo- phone, drums and saxophone, but such unusual music-makers as a pair of skillets, a carpenter's saw, sleigh bells and a glove. It might be added that Toby really isn't a grandpappy. In fact, he is a very good-looking and eligible bachelor. Salt Lake City, Utah — A man of many voices is George A. Provol, Production Director at station KDYL. Although he isn't primarily an actor, KDYL listeners hear him practically every day because, among other duties, he has complete charge of writing and producing transcriptions, and finds a role in nearly every script that he can, and does, fill. George actually grew up with radio. Way back when radio stations were a great novelty, when time on the air was limited to a couple of hours dur- ing the day and perhaps twice that much in the evening, George began his apprenticeship with KDYL, act- ing as technician, transmitter opera- tor, music librarian, host, telephone operator and announcer. He likes to reminisce about those early days. It wasn't unusual for someone to telephone in to the studio with the query, "When are you go- ing on the air?" At which George often had to reply, as nonchalantly as possible, "Why, we're on the air now." Then the other party to the conver- sation would ask him to hold the wire for a minute, leave the tele- phone, and come back to say, "Oh, yes, I have the station now." His job as librarian wasn't very difficult, since it consisted mostly of going to a store once a week and buying a new supply of a dozen or more records, which made up a large part of the station's daily programs. Occasionally the records would be in- terrupted by some thrill-seeker who wandered into the studio, volunteer- ing to play or sing on the air. In those days, anyone with a musical instru- ment and a moderate amount of abil- ity was received with open arms. Four years at the University of Southern California, studying law, didn't keep George from returning at vacations to his old love, radio; and when he graduated, instead of going into practice, he went back to radio for good. George is happily mar- ried, and has one daughter. Penny, who will be two years old very soon. 78 RADIO AND TELEVISION IVIIRROR I (Continued from page 30) itself. It makes me see these rolling plains and mountains, smell the sagebrush and the mesquite — " It's impossible to describe what it did to me to hear those words, bor- rowed from my mouth. How dared she be so utterly unscrupulous! His laugh was embarrassed. "I guess it's not all that," he said, "but if you're dealing straight with me about this, and about that $5,000—" "Can you doubt me?" Carlotta took his hand and outlined a cross over her heart, very slowly. "Well," he said at last, "I reckon I'll take a chance on going East." "Darling!" She lifted her arms to pull his head down to hers. I found strength then to get away. Because really I might as well not • hgive come at all. I was too late. With all my knowledge of how Carlotta worked — of how fast she worked — I I was too late. She'd already woven her spell around that innocent, trust- ing cowboy and he'd promised to come to New York with her. I'd only just met him, but already I knew him well enough to be sure that, once having given her his promise, he wouldn't go back on it. I had to revise my opinion of him the next day — revise it painfully. We all got on the train together — Carlotta with her dozen pieces qf ex- pensive luggage, me with my two ser- viceable suitcases, Larry with his bat- ' tered bag and his guitar slung under his arm. Carlotta and I, of course, were traveling in a drawing room, but Larry insisted that all he wanted was an upper berth — insisted so quietly and yet firmly that I had a quick, faint hope that maybe, after all, I had been wrong last night. CARLOTTA always gets irritable on trains — they don't go fast enough for her — and that afternoon as we rolled over the wide plains she crossly announced that her head ached and she wanted the compartment to herself so she could sleep. I pulled down the shades and left her, settling myself comfortably in the lounge car with a magazine. I'd been there only a few minutes when Larry came into the car and sat down beside me. How queer it was to be with him here in the familiar setting of a streamlined lounge car, speeding away from Wyoming and the magic of the golden sunsets and purple dusks which had hypnotized me so that I had almost imagined falling in love. Now I remembered instead the other scene in the shadow of the corral which I'd unwillingly witnessed. Why had I been so concerned whether Larry would fall under Carlotta's spell? If a few murmured words had been all he needed to be in her em- brace. New York was the right desti- nation for him. And then the sight of his fresh face, the easy grace of his movements, the clean atmosphere of wind and rain and sun he carried with him, swept away all my careful an- alysis and made me say: "Larry, please be careful in New York." Strangely eager, he said, "Careful? Say, does that mean you like me?" I realized that if I were to tell the truth, I'd have to say yes. I barely nodded my head. "I'm glad of that," he said. "Then we can sort of tag around together in FEBRUARY, 1942 West of Heaven New York, can't we — Melody?" For an instant my heart leaped with involuntary delight at the way his voice lingered caressingly over my name — but only for an instant before I was remembering again the corral and the swift embrace. And I'd thought Carlotta was the fastest worker I knew! Why, beside this unsophisticated-looking cowboy, she was a mere dawdler. I reddened with chagrin at the way I'd been taken in. Last night he'd played up beauti- fully to Carlotta's charms — and now, Carlotta safely tucked away in her drawing room, he was making love to me. For there had been, in the way he said, "We can sort of tag around to- gether, can't we?" an unmistakable undertone of intimacy, the anticipa- tion of many hours spent together. I sat upright. "I doubt it," I said crisply. "You'll find Carlotta will use up most of your time." "Oh, I meant when Miss Birch is busy," he explained hastily, and I felt a little sick. If I hadn't seen him with Carlotta the night before, heard what he'd said to her, how easy it would have been to believe him now! "Excuse me," I said. "I've got to go back to the drawing room." And I stood up and left without a glance at him. It was the rudest snub I could think of. For the rest of the trip, I was as impersonal with him as a machine and he never again made any effort to break down the barrier I erected against him. He remained as distant as if he'd never whispered my first name to me like a love word and finally we were at the end of the journey and the train was sliding silently into Grand Central Station. JT was easier in New York to crowd Larry out of my restless thoughts, especially as it was a ceaseless, mad rush after his first audition. Never had I seen hard boiled network officials and agency executives so enthused over a completely unknown singer. Carlotta was a tireless, furious worker arrang- ing interviews, supervising photog- raphers, conferring with program directors. The only times that I found it painfully difficult to go on working, my thoughts trained to the work in front of me, were when Larry came into the office to see Carlotta. He would sit off to one side, watching the confusion, with a curious, friendly dignity that was never ruffled by the exploding flash bulbs, the screaming telephones, the rapid fire questions of interviewers. I could feel the warmth of his blue eyes on me and then in spite of myself, color would seep up into my face. But he would never speak unless it were to answer a question of mine or Carlotta's about a song or some musical arrangement. 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I'VE LOST HIS urn Surface Pimples Can Ruin Affection Truer words were never spoken — a poor, externally caused, blotchy complexion can often affect the feeling of your loved one — hurt you in business too! Why not try medicated Poslanj Ointment and Poslam Soap, as thousands upon thousands have. Just follow the simple directions enclosed in every package — the cost is 'ow^t druggists everywhere. 18 Million Packages Sold! ■TDCC Olntm«nt tampl*, writ* p»»t =■"• •• r K 1 1 : Po.l.m, Opt.W-2. 2S4 W. 54th St., N.Y.C. POSLAM ofNT^EtlT 80 own glittering success?" With my lips shut tight, I would go on typing, reso- lutely recalling to my mind the truth that I knew about Larry. If he wanted Carlotta he'd have to take the tricks that went with her. It was none of my business. Only once did he rebel against the plans Carlotta made for him. Carlotta had finally chosen what she consid- ered the best offer for Larry — a twice- a-week, half hour musical broadcast. Larry had put his signature on the contract without a word, had gone to rehearsals, had followed all Car- lotta's instructions to the letter. But the night of his debut when he heard me tell Carlotta I couldn't go to the party the sponsor was giving at the Heron Club following his broadcast, Larry said, "I reckon that goes for me, too." "I reckon it doesn't," Carlotta told him with a sharp look of her black eyes. "What the sponsor says goes for you, darling." "Is that in my contract?" Larry asked her. "The most important clause of any contract," she answered, "is unwrit- ten. It is: Keep the sponsor happy." I didn't hear what he answered. I had finished my work and was going ut the door. I didn't get home until late that night. I kept away from radios. While Larry was making his debut I saw a double feature through twice, but I still don't know what either picture was about. It must have been around one when I opened my door, turned on my light and began to undress. But I knew I could not sleep. Instead of getting into bed I went to the window and let the damp wind blow on my face. I saw that the rain had turned the street into a shin- ing mirror in which were reflected the glittering brilliance of traffic lights and neon signs. One of those signs was for the Heron Club. Larry and Carlotta would be sitting at a table near the orchestra, their faces flushed with success, drinking a toast to their mutual triumph. I shivered and pulled the shade down, as if I could shut out the image in my mind. W/"HY had I been acting as I did? " Running away from the party, refusing to listen to the radio, to Larry's first broadcast? Why was it suddenly hitting me so hard? Hadn't I known it would happen this way, always known it since that night by the corral? I had told myself a thousand times that Carlotta was wel- come to Larry. Yet I was shivering, unable to stand the thought of their being together this evening. In that moment I realized that you can't turn love on and off like an electric cur- rent. And I loved Larry Smith. Sometimes what you dream at night turns out to be only the feverish ex- aggerations of a tired and tense brain. But as the week following Larry's de- but dragged past, I knew that I had told myself the truth. It took all the will power I could muster to hold my head up and face those two. Carlotta wore the cocky little smile that went with her successes, but when unavoid- ably I met Larry's eyes I couldn't read what I saw there. There was a curi- ous, clouded intensity about their blue — not the sparkling happiness that should have been in them. He did not say a word to me except on business matters. But somehow — I stopped myself abruptly in these speculations. It was my imagination running wild. Love always hopes, crazily, persist- ently, when there is nothing to hope for, nothing. Yet if I stayed home at night, the ringing of the phone made my heart beat wildly and I lis- tened for a voice that never answered. When I turned the corner into my street I never failed to look for his tall figure under the marquee, but each time it was not there. The first week became the second week, the first broadcast a second and a third. Larry's swift triumph was a surprise even to me who had first sensed the magic in his voice. He and Carlotta went everywhere to- gether, drinking in the adulation which was showered on them by a city gone crazy for his singing. It was six weeks after that first night I learned the truth about my- self when I opened the door of my apartment and saw him standing in the hall outside. He was grinning in his shy way, but his face was white and his breath came fast so that I could see his shirt rise and fall over his big chest. "Come in." I tried to make my voice sound politely commonplace, the way I'd speak to anyone. "Sit down." For a minute he didn't say anything, just sat there looking big and strange on my silly flowered sofa, his wide hat rolling round and round in his strong hands. Then he said, "I came to tell you — I'm leaving." "Leaving! You mean — going back to Wyoming?" He nodded. "But you can't. You've signed con- tracts that tie you up legally as long as anyone wants you here." "I know," he said, his voice grim. "I learned that tonight." "Tonight! You mean, you didn't know — " Oh, why hadn't I told him? What was my pride against his whole life? He shook his head, staring at the floor between us. "But I found out. I found out a lot of things, tonight. That's why I'm leaving." (^cu/j freWu) lo<- HARVEY HAYS— veteran NBC acfor who inaugurated the Words and Music program on the network more than ten years ago and is still its narrator. An actor for twenty-five years before starting his long-run radio show, Harvey appeared with such stars as Ethel Barry- more, Florence Reed, Wilton Lackaye, William Faversham, and Tyrone Power, father of the movies' Tyrone. He was born in Sreen- castle, Indiana, but spent most of his boyhood in the North West Province of India, where he learned to speak Hindustani like a native. In NBC's Chicago studios he's considered the ranking authority on classic poetry, and has built quite a following with his recitations. He's just finished appearing in a movie for the U. S. Forest Service. RADIO AND TELEVISION JMIRROR j WHEN INFLUENZA STRIKES! Is America tlu-eatened with a major influenza epidemic now that we are living under war- time conditions? What precautions can you take now against influenza? How do you treat it — as a patient and nurse? 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One applica- tion Imparts desired color. Simply retouch as new gray appears. ICasy Vn prove by tinting a test lock of your hair. 60c at drug or toilet counters on a money-back guarantee. Retain your youtbful charm. Got BKOWN ATONE today. 82 ir this joint, do we?" Mike was still staring at me, his mouth open, when Larry rushed him. "We'll just clean the critters out," Larry panted. "Yippee!" I yelled, riding on a wave of bedlam with them toward the door. "So that's the weasel that thinks he can shut up the Voice of the West!" Any other time I'd have been sorry for Mike, even though the tricks he'd pulled had made me blush often enough for being part of the office that took advantage of them. He was just doing his job. But when he saw us at our last port of call, I think he fainted. We had shaken him off our trail long enough to make a little trip to an obscure dark building on the West Side, but when we reached the night club with the latest closing hour in Manhattan, he was there waiting for us. I'll never forget the look of un- believing horror on his face just be- fore he disappeared. It was not coincidence that we en- tered in the midst of the club's broad- cast. Through the dark night air went yery clearly the noise of our arrival. "Hey! Stop— Police! You can't bring that in here!" But Larry's voice rose true and strong over the shouts, the profane yells, the laughter, the women's screams. "Who says I can't? Don't you know who I am? I'm Larry Smith! And where I go I take my horse!" :)c :4e 4c But when I reached home that morning, I was not quite so gay. My thoughts were anything but cheerful. I looked back on what I had done during the night, and saw just what it was. I had simply made it possible for Larry to go away. To finish the goodbye he had come to say. Still, I felt a queer sort of peace. Even though my own future stretched before me bleak and lonely, I had helped to save him from a life that would have ruined him. I saw myself going back and forth through long years to some obscure small office job, if indeed I could get any job after this night. Yet I felt better than I had since the moment at the corral. He might not love me, but at last we were friends, everything clear and straight between us. I smiled a little as I turned on the radio to the morn- ing news. I still smiled as I listened: "And so this morning, Larry Smith, the country's newest cowboy singer, found himself in jail following one of the wildest nights New York had seen since the crash in '29. Larry was on the police records charged with al- most every known method of dis- turbing the peace, including an at- tempt to ride his horse into a famed Broadway night club." The announcer didn't have to add the rest. That Miss Carlotta Birch, until last night the star's manager, had agreed to tear up her contracts with him, that Larry's sponsors had not only agreed, but insisted upon canceling all their contracts and options. 1WAS there, of course, in the court room as I'd promised when Larry was fined and freed with a stern warn- ing from the judge. We didn't talk, at first, when our taxi finally left the newsmen and photographers behind. Maybe it was the long night, with all its wild events, maybe it was the long weeks before that. Anyway, my teeth were chattering and I shivered. I felt his hana. Dig ana ni-m unaer my elbow. "Cold?" "N-no." And I wasn't then. His hand and his voice, they'd made me feel warm, steady. "What's wrong then?" he persisted gently. Everything! But I said, "N-noth- ing." Why wouldn't my voice behave? And he just sat watching me, seeing me act like a dopey schoolgirl. "Why don't you say it?" I cried out suddenly. "Why don't you finish saying your goodbye?" "Because," he said calmly, "I don't ever aim to say goodbye. Not to you." My mind refused to hear anything but the words themselves. "You're free now," I insisted. "Your contracts are broken. Aren't you going?" "Yes," he said quietly. "I'm going." His eyes were narrowing, studying mine, very close to mine. I couldn't stand their gaze. "What do you mean?" It was all a puzzle, and I was so tired. My head wanted to drop to his big shoulder, but I held it up. "I mean," he said gently, "that you're coming too, of course." "Larry — please don't — " The tears were coming up in my throat. "Only last week you and Carlotta — " His lips tightened before he spoke. But all he said was, "This isn't last week." "That's right." And his lips closed tight on that. He was maddening. "Oh, all right!" I cried out at him. "I'll believe you never loved her. But Larry — " now my voice was a wail. "That night by the corral. I was there. I heard her beg you to come East be- cause— " "Because she said you liked me," Larry said softly. "Me!" I sat up straight, staring at him, frantically rearranging every- thing, all the jumbled mixed-up mem- ories, the remembrance of Carlotta standing close to him, Larry saying, "How can you know a thing like this — so soon?" How natural for me to have assumed the obvious wrong meaning. But instead Larry had meant . . . "Me, Larry?" I repeated. "Who else?" He smiled with that boyish shyness twisting his mouth. "Who else would bring me East? Who else would I work in radio for, to get a ranch for us to live on? Was I wrong, honey? You do — like me?" "Like you!" My head dropped to his shoulder at last, and I was crying, crying and laughing until his rumpled jacket was damp under my cheek. He didn't say anything but held me close, his big hand strong and gentle, stroking my shaking shoulders until they rested quiet at last against his solid chest. It was only then that I became aware of the whirring roar outside the taxi window. I opened my eyes and blinked at the rapid flashes of the lights of Holland Tun- nel. "Where are we going?" I cried out. "West," he answered simply. I looked up into his face that was so close to mine, and coming closer. I had time to gasp, "West of heaven?" But he had no time to answer, in words, before his lips came down on j mine. He didn't need to. That was two | years ago. In two years, you can get ' pretty sure of what you know. And [ with me it's this. That when you go west from heaven, the climate doesn't ! change at all. It's still heaven. ; RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROIt I ZIRCON REAL, ACTUAL, CUT GEM YES. Real! NOT an imitation! — Take pride in wearing a. REAL MATURA ZIRCON. Fiery, Bparkling, beautiful beyond description. An exquisite GEM for a lovely woman who lovea REAL GEMS and ahuns imitationa. Don't delay. Write TODAY. 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' ^^f{vW r doo\%is1c^- ^ ^ etc- ^«f-k\og^^%.^-,fi- co^or^eoii *oeP'' * Divorce Not Granted (Continued from page 11) quarrel which had led to our divorce. Not guilty at all — just weary. It had been over his secretary, a clever, beautiful girl named Miss Burt. I'd hated her from the first time I saw her sleek blondeness, her cool, appraising way of loolcing at one and seeing something rather funny. Chet was working hard then, and some nights he went back to the office. There was no reason for me to believe that she was there with him, but I did. And one day I heard that he and Marcia Burt had been seen together, about ten o'clock, having a drink in a not-too-prominent hotel bar. This time Chet didn't defend him- self. He admitted nothing, denied nothing. When I cried he made no effort to comfort me. In a tired voice he asked, "What do you want me to do? Say that Marcia and I didn't drop in for a drink after working hard all evening? Well, I won't, because that would be a lie. Should I say I've never kissed her, never even touched her? I won't say that either, because you wouldn't believe me." "I'd believe you if you let her go and promise never to see her again," I sobbed. "Let her go? You mean fire her?" "Yes!" "Well, I won't!" he said angrily. And then I did the unforgivably foolish thing. I told him he could make his choice between us. He gave me a long, quiet look, a look of scorn, disgust and — ^yes, some pity. "In that case," he said finally, "I guess there's only one answer . . . Reno is probably the best place. It's quieter . . . and quicker." He turned and left the room. I couldn't believe he meant it. I thought he would be back, asking to be forgiven. The next day, after a night which I spent alone, I thought he would be back, ready to forgive me. Instead, I got a brief letter sug- gesting the name of a lawyer for me to see in Reno, and a check to cover my expenses there. "The lawyers can work out some kind of financial settlement," he added in the letter. "Anything you think is right will be satisfactory to me." nPHERE was nothing for me to do -*- but go to Reno. It was not only pride that kept me from seeing Chet, begging his pardon and asking for another chance. It was fear, too — fear of forcing him to tell me in words that I'd killed his love for me. I didn't think I could stand hearing him say that. Reno — six miserable weeks of lone- liness and regret. I kept what I could of my self-respect by refusing any alimony or property settlement and basing my suit for divorce on such vague grounds as mental c uelty. Ironic, that — when the only r' rental cruelty had been on my side! V7>.en it was all over I came back East, to Danville, which is about a hundred miles north of Varney, to stay with Madge Barnum until I could get my bearings. I'd known Madge in college, she had never mar- ried and now ran a smart dress shop in Danville. 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Please send free booklet and 1 6 sample lesson pages. A^ame_ -A06 - FEBRUARY, 1942 83 to do, both for my purse's and my soul's sake. For three years I didn't hear from Chet except indirectly, through Katharine Ormsby. He was doing well, he hadn't moved away, or mar- ried. . . . In those three years I drove Chet out of my heart. Not in bitterness, but in humility. I'd had my chance at happiness, and I'd tossed it away. Another time — if ever there was an- other time — I would be wiser, but now there must be no longing for the past, no backward looks, no vain self-punishment. I had learned to think of Chet without pain. I made sure of that before I accepted Katharine's standing invitation to spend a week end with her. When I went downstairs again, Katharine and Irene had tea ready in the living room. Irene, I thought ruefully when I met her, was much prettier than I had ever been, in spite of what Katharine had said — al- though she was small, like me, with the same slim figure and the same golden-brown hair. But there the resemblance ended. She moved and talked with a poise I was certain I hadn't had at nineteen — and, I began to think after a few minutes, she had a cool sort of wisdom I wasn't sure I liked. She and Harry had met in college, I gathered. She didn't live in Var- ney, but in Willow Springs, fifty miles away, and had driven over only that morning to spend the week- end. "It was sweet of her, too," Kath- arine said appreciatively. "Harry's out of town and won't be back until tomorrow morning, but Irene came anyway." "I wanted to be sure of a good day's visit with you. Mother, before Harry had a chance to drag me off somewhere else," Irene said smoothly — and it was at that instant I began to wonder if she were really as love- ly as Katharine believed. Her reply had been a little "too pat, a little too dutiful, I thought. Still, she was clever and amusing, and the three of us found things to talk and laugh about while we had our tea. I was thankful that Kath- arine had remembered to introduce me as "Miss Kellar." It was better for Irene not to know about the past. After tea Irene excused herself and went to write some letters, and Katharine and I were left alone. Be- cause I knew she would think it odd if I didn't say something about Chet I remarked as casually as I could, "Our old place doesn't look much like bachelor quarters, does it? It's all spruced up, as though it were waiting for someone to take its picture." Katharine gave me a speculative look. "Or waiting for someone who should be in the picture," she said. "Don't be sentimental," I told her. "I'm not. I'd rather like to see my garden — but that's all." "Well, why don't you?" Katharine asked. "As I told you in my letter. Chefs going to be away all this week end. He told me so." "Maybe I will. You know — " and although I suddenly had an uneasy conviction that I was babbling, I couldn't stop — "I do rather miss that garden of mine. It was the one thing around the house that always be- longed just to me. I planned it and planted every seed myself. Chet never went near it. He didn't know one flower from another, and he al- 84 ways said I was crazy to ruin my manicures grubbing around in the dirt. He—" Something caught in my throat and I stopped. "Nita dear," Katharine said softly, "you're eating your heart out. Why don't you see Chet?" But the swift sense of regret, of it- might-have-been, was already gone. I laughed. "You're being senti- mental again, Kath. I finished eating my heart out long ago. And I think I will sneak through the hedge and take a look at the garden." rJEAD up, too conscious of Kath- ■■-■• arine's pitying gaze, I went out of the house and around to the back. The bushes — rhododendron, forsythia, dogwood — I had planted in our old back yard had grown so they formed a dense screen between the two houses, but I knew where there was an opening, and I went through it, the summer shade cool on my skin. Without leaving the shelter of the bushes I looked at the garden — and saw that it was as lovely as it had ever been, as carefully tended, as thoroughly pruned and weeded and fertilized. The summer house — Ozz/e Nelson and Harriet Hilliard handle the orchestral and singing end of Red Skelton's program Tues- day nights on NBC-Red. Harriet also does those comedy skits with Red. With a gasp, I shrank back, into deeper shadow. In the summer house, only a few feet away, were a man and a girl, locked in a close embrace. And the man was Chet and the girl was Irene. As they drew apart I heard their murmurous voices. First Chefs: "And to think I almost went up to Lake Allen this week end! I only just got your letter this morning." Irene, agitated and husky: "I didn't know until last night Harry wouldn't be here. I couldn't write sooner." "You've got to tell him," Chet said. "We can't go on like this." "No. But I dread it so. I hate to hurt him. And — maybe — I'm not sure — " "You're not sure?" Chet asked sharply. "You mean you're not sure which of us you want?" "Oh, no, I don't mean that — I don't know what I meant!" This was a new Irene, very different from the self- assured young person I had met in Katharine's living room. She was hesitant, confused. Even in my quick anger at finding her here, even realiz- ing how false had been her statement that she'd come down early to visit her future mother-in-law, I couldn't help feeling sorry for her. She said breathlessly, "Couldn't we just run away together?" "Absolutely not!" Chet said. "God knows I'm not very proud of the way things have turned out — I never wanted to fall in love with my neigh- bor's girl — but since it's happened, it's got to be done openly. If you don't want to tell him, I will." "No, no," she said hastily. "But give me a little more time, darling. I'll — I'll meet you here tonight, about ten o'clock, if I can get away. And I'll have my mind all made up by then." I saw her arms go about his neck, his head bend to meet hers, and I slipped back into Katharine's garden, in a panic lest Irene return and see me. When I reached my own room I was trembling — for those few mo- ments in the garden had shattered all my carefully built up illusions about myself. I hadn't stopped lov- ing Chet. Seeing Irene in his arms had been sheerest torture. I had wanted to step out from my hiding place and cry, "You can't have him! He's mine! No matter what's hap- pened, he's still my husband." A hatred for Irene that was almost animal choked me. What right had she, the fiance of another man, to take Chefs love too? . . . But there I stopped, brought up against the fu- tility and unreasonableness of my own emotions. Selfishly, I had thought of the situation only as it concerned me. But other happiness besides my own were involved — Chefs, Irene's, Harry's, even Kath- arine's, since she adored her son and what hurt him was just as painful to her. Irene had said she would make up her mind. That meant it was still not too late. She could still be sent back to Harry. But suppose it was right for her and Chet to love, to marry? Suppose their real happiness lay in being together? Then I should have no right to interfere — if, indeed, interference could do more than make a bad matter worse. I had reached no conclusion when Katharine called me to dinner. It was a difficult meal, for both Irene and I were abstracted, given to long silences and sudden, painful spurts of conversation. A puzzled, worried look came into Katharine's eyes. How I wished I could read Irene's thoughts! And yet, I realized it would have done little good, for this girl did not know her own mind. . . . Suddenly I stopped my mechanical attempt to eat the food on my plate, a fork halfway to my lips while I stared, fascinated. As if in answer to my unspoken plea, Irene at that moment was giving me a vivid, un- conscious glimpse of her secret thoughts. The three of us were grouped around a small table in the dining room. Opposite Irene a mirror hung on the wall and now, while Kath- arine was talking, I saw Irene look- ing into this mirror, saw her tilt her head a little more to the side and appraise the effect, then with an effort wrench her attention away from the image in the glass and return to dutiful listening. It was a bit of byplay lasting only , a few seconds, but it gave me the key to Irene's character. Why, she (Continued on page 86) RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR HEn€ IS SUCH A SPECIAL Introductory Offer TO READERS OF Radio&TelevisionMirror IVf HOPl YOU DONl MISS A WORD OF IT Ladies . . . have you ever wished to own an expensive diamond ring? 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Take his ad- vice on supplementary feeding, particularly about cleanliness. Regular medical cure and advice on nutrition can speed develop- ment and improve > baby's health. ^ .HGA\ft. to^*" '• deon S„ Your Doclor Hnutarly was only a child, and a vain child at that! She delighted in her beauty and in the power it placed in her narrow, white-skinned hands. Even now she didn't entirely comprehend the potential tragedy of having two men loving her, wanting her. Then she must be made to compre- hend it. Perhaps the decision I made then was reckless, foolish. I didn't know if it would succeed. But it was the only thing I could think of. PLEADING weariness, I went up- stairs early, ostensibly to sleep. But at a quarter to ten I slipped on a wrap and quietly made my way down the back stairs and through the same opening in the hedge I had used that afternoon. Screened by bushes, I waited while fireflies danced through the purple darkness. At last, when I was almost bursting with tension, I heard the prudently soft creak of Chefs back door, his foot- steps on the gravel. I moved then, knowing he would see the white gleam of my dress. His steps quickened, and he was at my side. "Irene, dearest!" He swept me into his arms, and I nearly fainted under the bitter-sweetness of his kiss, his kiss that was meant for Irene. Then— "Well, Chet!" I exclaimed, breath- less but still forcing amusement into my voice. "You haven't lost your touch, have you? That was the nicest kiss you ever gave me." I felt the shock go through his body before he let me go and stum- bled back. "Good Lord! Nita!" "Yes," I said. "Nita— not Irene." "But what — why didn't you stop me?" he stammered. "Why did you let me kiss you?" "Let you? I couldn't stop you! Be- sides— " From the corner of my eye I saw a faint shadow approaching through Katharine's garden. "Be- sides," I said slowly, "I rather — liked it—" "You've come back," he whispered. "After all this time." "Don't talk," I said, lifting my face to his. "Chet—" Again his arms were around me, holding me close, and we kissed for a second — an eternity — a space of time without time. Until I heard a stifled sob, and hurried footsteps, re- treating. Hating myself, I pushed Chet away. "That's all, I guess," I said in a small voice. "I think we've helped Irene make up her mind." He did not let me go. Instead, his hands slipped to my arms, tightened there until they hurt. He said, "You mean that kiss was a trick?" "A trick— yes." I hung my head. Even though it was dark, I couldn't risk seeing his face. "A rather low, mean trick, I'm afraid." "And that was the only reason you let me kiss you — so Irene would see and run away? Not because you wanted to?" "That was the only reason." But suddenly I couldn't let him think that; a wild hope had come to me under the ardor of his kiss, and I burst out, "No! It wasn't the only reason. I tried to pretend it was, but — oh, Chet, it hurt me so when I thought you might marry Irene!" "You were jealous?" he asked flat- ly— and the short question brought back in a rush all the needless strife of our marriage, so that I could only answer humbly: "Yes. Again. But it wasn't the same kind of jealousy, Chet. At least, I don't think it was. It didn't make me want to strike out at you,* but to — to bring you back to me. I knew you had a right to love Irene. I just wanted you to stop loving her." "At last!" He let his breath out in a long sigh. "I used to hope this would happen some day. I used to hope you'd realize you couldn't tie me hand and foot— didn't have a cer- tificate of ownership of me. I wanted you to learn that you can love some- one without feeling that way." "And then," I said timidly, "you stopped hoping and — and fell in love with Irene?" "Yes. But only because she re- minded me of you. And I thought I could make her happy, and up until now she seemed to care more for me than for Harry. In fact — " But he broke off, and left me to guess that the beginning of their love affair had been Irene's doing, not his. "If a man can't have the girl he wants," he went on after a little silence, "he usually takes the girl he can get. It probably isn't very smart of him, and only leads to trouble, but — Anyway, thanks for stopping me from making that mistake — and, Nita . . . let's not make another one. Come back to me." "You didn't stop loving me when you let me get the divorce?" I asked, not daring to hope it could be true. "I've never stopped! You saw this garden?" he asked eagerly. "I've kept it just as you planned it, every bush, every flower. The house, too. Nothing at all has been changed. As long as everything looked as if you'd just stepped away for a minute, I could pretend you'd be back. Only, after a while, when you didn't come, I had to stop pretending." 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HEYN Executive Editor DAN SENSENEY Contributing Editor Iv^xllo Mi MninELEVi§ion UCfto^ Vol. 17, No. 5 FRED R. SAMMIS Editor BELLE LANDESMAN Assistant Editor CONTENTS UNEXPECTED ROMANCE Joseph Kaye 6 Bea Wain and Andre Barnch think they're radio's happiest couple WORLDS WITHOUT END True Boardman 16 No honeymoon had been like theirs until THE STORY OF MARY MARLIN Jane Crusinberry 18 As a fascinating novel begin one of radio's famous dramas ONE LIFE TO LIVE Norton Russell 22 She >vho had nothing helped him who had so much THE BARTONS IN LIVING PORTRAITS 25 See that delightful family iii real life photographs WOMAN OF COURAGE 30 Martha had fought so gallantly to save their love THE MAN I ALMOST MARRIED 33 Another exciting radio drama of Mr. Keen, Tracer of Lost Persons BECAUSE I LOVED YOU 36 Above anything else her greatest need was to be near Bill MANHATTAN MERRY GO ROUND 38 Presenting radio's veteran musical show in special pictures SUPERMAN IN RADIO 40 The great hero comes to the aid of his country YOU HAUNT MY HEART 44 Radio Mirror's Song of the Month is James Melton's favorite melody z' y^daed /lxtiH]ictloTV6 NEVER TRY TO GET EVEN Irene Rich 3 FACING THE MUSIC Ken Alden 4 WHAT'S NEW FROM COAST TO COAST Dan Senseney 8 NEW FLAVOR WITH FRUITS Kate Smith 12 CHARM AT YOUR FINGERTIPS Dr. Grace Gregory 14 INSIDE RADIO 41 ON THE COVER — Joan Tetzel, heard as Lucy in Woman of Courage, on CBS Kodachrome by Underwood & Underwood RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR, published monthly by MACFADDEN PUBLICATIONS, INC., Washington and South Avenues, Dunellen. New Jersey. General Offices: 205 East 42nd Street, New Ifork, N. y. Editorial and advertising offices: Chanin Building, 122 East 42nd Street, New York. O. J. Elder, President; Haydock Miller, Secretary; Chas. H. Shattuck, Treasurer: Walter Hanlon, Advertising Director. Chicago office, 221 North LaSalle St., E. F. Lethen. Jr., Mgr. Pacific Coast Offices: San Francisco, 420 Market Street. Hollywood, 7751 Sunset Blvd., Lee Andrews, Manager. Enteied as second-class matter September 14, 1933, at the Post Office at Dunellen, New Jersey, under the Act of March 3, 1879. Price per copy in United States 10c, Canada 15c. Subscription price in United Slates and Possessions and Newfoundland Sl.OO a year. In Canada, Cuba, Mexico. Haiti, Dominican Republic, Spain and Po.ssesslons, and Central and South American countries, excepting British Honduras, British, Dutch and French Guiana, .$1.50 a year; all other countries, $2.50 a year. While Manuscripts, Photographs and Drawings are submitted at the owner's risk, every effort will be made to return those found unavailable if accompanied by sufflQient first-class postage, and explicit name and address. Contributory are especially advised to be sure to retain copies oi their contributions; otherwise they are taking unnecessary risk. Unaccepted letters for the "What Do You Want to Say?" department will not be relumed, and we will not be responsible for any losses of such matter contributed. All submissions become the property of the magazine. (Member of Macfadden Women's Group.) The contents of this magazine may not be printed, either wholly or In part, without permission. Copyright, 1942, by the Macfadden Publications, Inc. Title trademark registered in U. S. Patent Office. Printed In the U. S. A. by Art Color Printing Company, Dunellen, N. J. RADIO AND TELEVISION MIBBOB \ TRY TO GET MV. By Irene Rich IV As told to Marian Rhea WHEN I was seventeen years old, my head in the clouds, my world col- ored by rosy dreams, I eloped from the little town in the Pacific Northwest which was my home, and was married. So perhaps if was inevitable that in less than two years I was home again, my marriage smashed, my name on record in the divorce court, my illusions gone with the wind. And I wanted so desperately to get them back! I wanted so desperately to forget the unhappy interval just -^(j passed, the mistake I had made, and to take up my ■} life where I had left off. I wanted to laugh and to play again, to have dates, to go to parties, to have fun. But — I wasn't allowed to do it! You see, there were certain girls in the town, who, even though I had grown up with them, wouldn't let me. Somehow, they resented what I had done. Even though it was I who had been hurt and not they; even though my mistake wasn't, after all, a criminal thing, they looked down their noses at me. They called me, among themselves, and particularly to boys of the town who might otherwise have been nice to me, "the grass widow," "the divorcee." And, though they did. it subtly and sweetly, they os- tracized me as only a group of girls in a small town can do. They made me a sort of pariah, to be treated, kindly, of course, to be in- cluded, even, in some of their part'ies, but to be kept at arm's length, neverthe- less, as one who is not quite "nice." Well, it almost broke my heart. This was my home and I had been glad, so ter- ribly glad, to get back to it! These were my friends, and I had wanted so badly to be one of them again. And now — this. Came a day — inevitably, I suppose — when I thought I couldn't bear it; when my hurt turned to hate and I Wanted to strike back. It was a little thing that happened. I simply learned that a couple of the girls had organized a picnic and that I, "the divorcee," was not invited. Those two girls had been among my dearest friends before I was ContiniLed on page 87 "I'm in the Dog-House— the Boss has 'Fire' in his Eye! £5 ^ ly // Ada: And you can't guess why you're in the dog-house, Jane? Well my pet, you're decorative to the eye, and you're a speed demon for work. But, Jane, you're guilty of one careless, unforgivable little fault! Jane: ^ow don't "underarm odor" me— or friendship ceases. You know I'd rather skip breakfast than miss my morning bath! Ada: Foolish girl— why trust your bath to last all day! Use speedy Mum under each arm— if you want to stay flower-fresh! Jane: So that's why the perfect secretary is withering on the job. I am ashamed! • 4- half a minute — keeps -'^"^^^f^^aerarm odor, if. -■ ^<' for SonUory NopVjns"-^ ^, % pend.bUdeod^,^tuln this way, too. this purpose, iry Jane: {later) Mum's marvelous for my speedy morning routine! 30 seconds and I'm through. And business day or gala eve- ning, I'm free from worry— safe from of- fending. And the boss is smiling these days! ^CLEVER X m '"'/Ifpepe^^^'f ^■^ Mum Jakes the Odor Ouf of Perspiration PRODUCT OF BRISTOL-MYERS 3 '''■.'■C- '':-M^ ^A. S-*'^ '%^ -:<■ad breath), according to some authorities. Listerine Anti- septic quickly halts such fermentation, then over- comes the odors that fer- mentation causes. Lambert Pharmacal Co. St. Louis, Mo. Before any engagement let Listerine look after your breath MABCH, 1942 (rmxuvce 1 She mas merely a voice in the chorus, he was a noted announcer, so he couldn't possibly be interested in her! But he was, and now Bea Wain and Andre Baruch are radio's happiest couple THE obscure little brunette with Fred Waring's orchestra stole a glance at the announcer speaking his finely modulated phrases into the microphone, and then, as the an- nouncer happened to look up she shifted her gaze to the audience in the Columbia Broadcasting Company Playhouse in New York, where the broadcast was taking place. The an- nouncer finished his little speech and retired to a chair, and the girl stu- diously avoided looking at him again. The obscure little girl was a Miss Bea Wain, and she was obscure be- cause she was merely the female voice with Fred Waring's Swing Vocal Octet. The hsteners knew the Swing Octet but no one knew Miss Bea Wain. Miss Wain had snatched looks at the announcer, who was Andre Baruch, quite often before this. And when he passed her chair and brushed her arm, the color came into her cheeks and her pulse beat just a trifle more rapid- ly. Andre, besides being a noted an- nouncer, was distinctly handsome, well-built, blue-eyed, fair-haired, and with a certain grace of manner and speech that came from his European heritage — he was born in Paris. But whatever feelings Bea had for Andre, he knew nothing of them. When he pleasantly greeted her, Bea responded politely but coolly. Why should she reveal how interested she was in him? He couldn't possibly have any interest in her. She was a nobody, he was tops in radio. Andre didn't know she existed except as the Female Voice of the Swing Octet. At this particular broadcast she wore an unusually effective evening gown, black velvet with touches of red, and enhanced with a pair of ori- ental looking silver clips, and as she walked off the stage after the show ended, Andre came alongside of her, "My, how nice you look tonight!" he said. Bea experienced a violently disturb- ing hot and cold sensation, but her Andre announces the Hit Parade show Saturday nights on CBS, Waltz Time, Fridays on NBC, American Album of Familiar Music, Sundays, and others. Bea sings on the Merry Go Round pro- gram Monday nights over NBC-Blue. voice was even and matter-of-fact as she replied with a formal smile. "Thank you." Andre smiled back, friendly and in- terestedly. "Would you like to go out somewhere?" he asked. "Thank you, but I can't," she said, and she didn't know how she had the will power to utter these words. But why should she let herself be kidded? Andre probably didn't mean to take her out — he would find some excuse soon enough if she accepted. And if he really did take her out it was most likely because of a sudden whim, or — By Joseph Kaye yes, that was it; because she wore a striking gown and he had noticed her for the first time. Well, she wouldn't fall for that. She had been on the Fred Waring program for months, and if it took a dress to make him notice her, she didn't want his attention. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said, and smiled pleasantly again and left her. Bea went home blue, but felt she was right. Better this than to delude herself that Andre could be interested in her. They met again, as usual, during the Waring broadcasts. Some- times he smiled a greeting, and she responded with appropriate polite- ness. More often he was busy and didn't see her at all. RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR Then something happened which Bea thought would make it easier for her to get Andre out of her mind. The Kate Smith program offered her a better job and she took it. She still would be an anonymous voice in the show, one of a chorus of twelve sing- ers, this time. But she would be away from Andre. Came the first rehearsal, and^— there was Andre Baruch. Yes, he was the announcer for the Kate Smith show too. Bea went pale. Was there some destiny that was driving her into fur- ther acquaintance with this man? But she dismissed this sentimental thought. Just a coincidence, and she must accept it as such. Mr. Baruch would be just another member of the ■show to her. Bea turned to her music and began studying it diligently. The rehearsal continued. Bea paid attention to everyone in the cast except Andre. But there came a time when she couldn't resist looking at him — of course his eyes weren't on her then — and she began to see that he was un- usually pale — his eyes were fever- ish, and he was vmsteady on his legs. "The poor guy is sick," thought Bea. She watched him carefully, bliss- fully ignoring the fact that such at- tention was not justified by her deter- mination to treat him with absolute indifference. And the more she watched the more anxious she be- came. He was ill, there was no doubt of it. She saw how he tried to go through with the rehearsal, how he braced himself to stand straight and talk without quavering, how he sur- reptitiously held on to the table near which he was standing. Finally the rehearsal came to an end, and Andre went out, or rather, stumbled out. Bea rose quickly from her chair, battling an instinct to run to him. She did walk out into the lobby, but Andre was gone. THAT evening the first Kate Smith show was to be broadcast, and later at night there would be the custo- mary rebroadcast to the Coast be- cause of the two hovirs difference in time between New York and Pacific seaboard. A strenuous job for a man who was sick. Andre appeared for the program freshly shaven and well-groomed in his evening clothes. He seemed to be a lot better. Bea felt much happier, and she dutifully averted her eyes from him. The program proceeded successfully and reached its conclusion. Andre spoke the last commercial, his micro- phone went off the air, and he walked across the studio. He had taken only a few steps, when he paused for a moment, then fell down in a dead faint. Bea leaped to her feet. She dashed to the water cooler and dashed back to the little group that clustered about the prone man. "Give him air!" she cried. She seemed to take command na- turally, and the others obeyed her. They moved away from Andre. Bea knelt beside him and tried to stir him. Unexpectedly, he came to. She held the cup of water to his lips. His eyes opened and stared. And the first per- son he saw was Bea, her head close to his, her fingers holding the cup of water. "Drink this," she ordered. Continued on page 75 WELL, THERE IS! Just get gentle, fragrant Cashmere Bouquet Soap! You'll adore its rich, cleansing suds that banish body odor, leave your skin enticingly, alluringly scented with protecting fragrance! INDEED IT DOES! The truly exquisite scent of Cashmere Bouquet lingers. And thou- sands of women have proved to themselves Cashmere Bouquet is one perfumed soap that won't irritate their skin! NOW YOU'RE TALKING! Smart girls like you catch on quick . . . discover the lovelier way to avoid offending— to be utterly sure with Cashmere Bouquet! And you appreciate Cashmere Bouquet's costlier perfume! YOU REALIZE there's no finer complexion care than Cashmere Bouquet, every day, . . that it's one perfumed soap that can agree with your skm! Be smart . . . get a half dozen cakes of Cashmere Bouquet Soap — today! Cashmere JBouquet THE LOVELIER WAY TO AVOID OFFENDING MARCH, 1942 WkaJtb J\eM\/ Uow. OocL^t REMEMBER Girl Alone, the day- time serial that gave yoU so many hours of thrilling listening? It's on the verge of returning to the air, but in a new form. Fayette Krum, who created the story, has written several half-hour scripts, and NBC is excited about putting them on in a weekly night-time series. Each half-hoiir program would tell a complete story in itself, but the same characters would run through all of them. And of course the hero and heroine would be Patricia and Scoop Curtis, your old friends of the original Girl Alone drama. The saddest figure on Radio Row these days is Alan Reed, who could easily get enough radio jobs to keep him working from dawn to midnight, if he wanted to. He's a dialect come- dian, stooge, and actor of amazing versatility. (Alan Reed, by the way, is a name he has taken only in the last couple of years. Before that you knew him as Teddy Bergman.) Any- way, Alan sacrificed many a well- paying radio job this fall to take a role in the stage play, "Hope for a Harvest," with Fredric March. He did this because he hoped movie scouts might see him in it and offer him what he wanted more than anjrthing in the world — a Hollywood contract. They did, but then the war started and Alan refused the contract because he was afraid to move his family out to the West Coast. To make things worse, "Hope for a Harvest," although Alan got good critical notices, wasn't a very successful play. It closed a few weeks after it opened. 8 A recent addition to the an- nouncing staff of station WBT, Charlotte, N.C., is Gordon Eaton. CHARLOTTE, .N. C. — Gordon Eaton, one of station WBT's newest announcers, arrived in Charlotte irom WGST in Atlanta, Georgia, with an infectious smile, a swell voice, and a background of radio experience dat- ing back to his senior year in high school. Gbrdon was born in Louisville, Georgia, but spent most of his par- ticularly active life, until coming to WBT, under Florida sunshine. He rode into radio fame the hard way — running from the school house every afternoon to the studios of WJNO, By DAN SENSENEY Left, Hollywood's newest new- lyweds, Mr. and Mrs. Milton Berle. Milton's the comedian of NBC's Three-Ring Time; bride is the former Joyce Mathews. Life for Bob Reese, tenor heard coast to coast from KDYL in Salt Lake, is one song after another. West Palm Beach, for a session of announcing station-breaks, keeping the record files out of their inevitable disorder, doing errands for the reg- ular announcers, and soaking up the atmosphere of a broadcasting studio like a wide-eyed, glamor-envying child. When summer rolled aroimd and a coveted diploma was safely tucked away, WJNO gave the ambitious Gror- don a full-time job as a junior an- nouncer. Shortly afterward, station WFLT in Fort Lauderdale offered him a position as senior announcer, and he grabbed it without thinking twice. The salary was. eighteen dollars a week, and Gordon's head swam at the thought of such riches. The next stop on his career-road was WGST in Atlanta, where WBT officials heard him and offered him a still better berth on the 50,000-watt CBS outlet in North Carolina. Gordon has one of the most inter- esting, versatile and resonant voices of any announcer on the air. He's heard on many weekly and special- event programs on WBT and in a short time has gained a wide circle of air-friends. He's married and very happy about it — in fact, ask him the name of his favorite personality and he says, "My wife, Grace Helen." RADIO AMD TELEVISION MIBJROII to (^^oixSt Pee Wee King leads the Golden West Cowboys on WSM's Saturday- night Grand Ole Opry program. Ask him about his fondest hobby, his most important life interest, his greatest thrill, and the answer's just the same, "My wife, Grace Helen." Grace Helen is so much a part of Gordon's life that she deserves a par- agraph all to herself. She's as talented as her husband, in her own way, and is skilled in fashion designing, short story writing, musical show produc- tion and dancing. Together Grace Helen and Gordon make a rare team of young husband and young wife whose joint ambition is "to make friends quickly and permanently, and to have fun doing with each other the many little things that make life worth living." Gordon is handsome enough to be conceited, but isn't. His deep-set blue eyes twinkle constantly, and he's always bursting with good humor that keeps everyone around him in top spirits no matter how tough the job. He is constantly enthusing over one of his numerous hobbies (radio, photography, aviation, golf), CBS, WBT, amateur or professional dra- matics, or fan-mail — which he answers religiously, devoting two or three pages to a letter. * 4: * SALT LAKE CITY, Utah— Bob Reese, station KDYL'S own golden voiced tenor, is a true son of the Golden West. He was born in Boise, Idaho, but has lived most of his life in Salt Lake City. Not only Salt Lake people, but listeners to the NBC networks from coast to coast, hear him singing with Ed Stoker's KDYL orchestra three times every week. Life for Bob has been one song after another. He's been singing ever since he was in high school — when, in 1931, he won the Utah State con- test for tenor solo. He always wanted to make music his career, and let nothing stand in the way of that am- MARCH, 1942 Baby'your face at bedtime to Wake up Loveuer! Doctors advise "baby- care" for your complexion Each night give your face this gentle Ivory soap-and-water care advised by doctors for the World's Most Perfect Complexion — baby's own! Bedtime beauty-care, now more than ever, means Ivory Soap. For the quick aeam lather of New "Velvet- Suds" Ivory is gentler than ever to your skin. Actually, New Ivory is milder than 10 leading toilet soaps! 99*Vioo% PURE • IT FLOATS IS YOUR SKIN DRY, sensitive.' You should "baby" it with this gentle. New Ivory night-time routine: Cream lukewarm Ivory lather well into your skin with gentle fingertip massage. Warm rinses — pat dry. Since your skin lacks sufficient oil, apply lightly a little cold cream. Doaors advise gentle Ivory cleansing! IS YOUR SKIN OILY? Then you'U want New Ivory's richer, creamier lather to remove excess oil. Every night: With a rough washcloth, lather up lukewarm Ivory velvet suds — V4-inch lather simply creams off your Ivory cake! Scrub upward and outward into every inch of your face. Rinse. Repeat. Warm rinse, then cold. Use this Ivory method 3 times daily for safe beauty-care! "Baby-care" is Beauty-care . . . use ^ew Neloet-Audd IVORY TRADEMARK REQ. U. 5, PAT. OFF. • PROCTER A OAHBLE ^Utb Alew |t«10 « BIOTBOS »»»»■ to (^(yixSl fee Wee King leads the Golden West Cowtoyson WSM's Saturday- night Grand Ole Opry program. Ask him about his fondest hobby, his most taiportant life interes , his sreatest thrill, and the answers just toe same, "My wife, Grace Helen Grace Helen is so much a part of Gordon's life that she deserves a par- agraph all to herself. She's as talented as her husband, in her own way, and is skilled in fashion designing, short story writing, musical show produc- tion and dancing. Together Grace Helen and Gordon make a rare team of young husband and young wife whose joint ambition is "to make friends quickly and permanently, and to have fun doing with each other the many little things that make life worth living." Gordon is handsome enough to be conceited, but isn't. His deep-set blue eyes twinkle constantly, and he s always bursting with good humor that keeps everyone around him in top spirits no matter how tough the job. He is constantly enthusing over one of his numerous hobbies (radio, photography, aviation, golf), CBS, WBT, amateur or professional dra- matics, or fan-mail — which he answers religiously, devoting two or three pages to a letter. • t * SALT LAKE CITY, Utah— Bob Reese, station KDYL'S own golden voiced tenor, is a true son of the Golden West. He was born in Boise, Maho, but has lived most of his life in Salt Lake City. Not only Salt Lake people, but listeners to the NBC networks from coast to coast, hear "im singing with Ed Stoker's KDYL orchestra three times every week. Life for Bob has been one song Mler another. He's been singing ever ?ince he was in high school — when, in 1931, he won the Utah State con- lest for tenor solo. He always wanted 10 make music his career, and let nouimg stand in the way of that am- WAfiCH, 1942 Baby your face at bedtime to Wake up Lovelier! Doctors advise "baby- care" for your complexion Each night give your face this gentle Ivory soap-and-wacet care advised by doaors for the World's Most Perfect Complexion— baby's own! Bedtime beauty-care, now more than ever, means Ivory Soap. For the quick cream lather of New "Velvec- Suds" Ivory is genlltr than ever to your skin. ActuaUy, New Ivory is mMr than 10 leading toUet soaps! 99«/l00%PURE • IT FLOATS IS YOUR SKIN DRY, sensitive? You should "baby" it with this gentle. New Ivory night-time routine: Cream lukewarm Ivory lather well into your skin with gentle fingertip massage. Warm rinses— pat dry. Since your skio laclts sufficient oil, apply lightly a little cold cream. Doctors advise gende Ivory cleansing! IS YOUR SKIN OILY? Then you'll want New Ivory's richer, creamier lather to remove excess oil. Everynighl: 'With a rough washcloth, lather up luhevarm Ivory velvet suds— V4-inch lather simply creamt off your Ivory cake! Scrub upward and ourwaid into every inch of your face. Rinse. Repeat. Warm rinse, then cold. Use this Ivory method 3 umes daily for idje beauty-care! use "Baby-care" is Beauty-care . ^ew Velvet-mk IVORY i Dancing Uvertime Arthur Murray Teachers use Odorono Cream for Sweetness Sake • Bunny Duncan is busier than ever these days teaching dancing to men in camp and on leave. Like other Arthur Murray dancers she chooses Odorono Cream as her favorite line of defense against underarm odor and dampness. Odorono Cream ends perspira- tion annoyance safely 1 to 3 days! It's non-greasy, non-gritty, non- irritating! Generous 10^, 39^ and 59^ sizes, plus tax. Get some today ! The Odorono Co., Inc., New York, N. Y. I FULL OZ. JAR- ONLY Z9i (Plui Tax) OarvaU WoHoc*/ of the Washington Studio, sparkling and fresh after hours of danciDgl rENDS PER$PIR*TIOW [«NI(OVANafORlT0 3DA« GIVES YOU MORI FOR YOUR MONIY • At50 l/OU/D OOORONO- HEOULAR AND INSTANT bition. After he finished his high school course he enrolled at the Long Beach, California, Jimior College and continued his musical studies there with several other boys w^ho have since become famous. One of them was Kenny Baker, and Bob used to sing in a quartet which had Kermy as one of its members. Bob has nothing against crooning, but for himself he prefers to sing out loud and full. He says that modem microphone technique has prevented too many young singers from de- veloping a full voice and all the tonal range that goes with it. There's a Mrs. Reese, the former Glade Stauflfer, who was Bob's sweet- heart when they were both in high school. She's blonde, dainty and petite. She doesn't sing, but young John Reese, aged two,, frequently offers his father some vocal compe- tition. In keeping with the best Western tradition. Bob is an expert horseman, owns two fine sorrels, and spends his vacations on the cattle ranch of his father-in-law in Wyoming, where he always manages to help with the round-ups. * * * If you're a radio "ham," or amateur operator. Uncle Sam is offering you a fine chance to serve your country and at the same time receive valu- able training. The Navy Depart- ment is looking for several thousand recruits with experience as amateur radio technicians, to be trained in Naval radio communications or as "Radar" men, which is even more in- teresting and useful. The "Radar" men will operate the new and very secret device which locates planes in flight, and has been used so success- fully in England. So if you're a high school graduate, already know a little about radio broadcasting, and want a good job, see the man at your nearest Naval Recruiting Station. The Navy isn't the only Govern- ment agency looking for help. Young men from eighteen to twenty-three are needed to serve on U. S. Merchant ships. TTiey will be paid while they are learning to be radio operators, stewards, or engineers; and jobs at high wages are available after the training period. You can get informa- tion at any State employment office, or write to the United States Mari- time Commission, Washington, D. C. * « * The war takes Helen Hayes and her Svmday-night programs off the air after the first Simday in February. At first her sponsor planned to end the series in January, but later de- cided to extend the time five more weeks. ♦ • ♦ Radio actress Estelle Levy, now that she's growing up, has changed her name to Gwen Davies. « * * Looks like there will be a wedding soon, the parties of the first and seo- ond part being orchestra leader Harry Salter and Roberta McPherson, daughter; of Aimee Semple McE^er- son. • * * CINCINNATI— Lazy Jim Day is the rural comedian of station WLWs famous Boone Coimty Jamboree. He is likewise the "Pride of Short Creek" down in Grayson County, Kentucky, where his pa and ma and fotir sisters and three brothers "reckon city folk are plain teched in the haid to pay Jim jest to carry on like all git-out in front of strangers." . In fact, Jim himself was suspicious of the whole business and held out for quite a spell before he agreed to give up his doUar-a-day job on a dairy farm near Matoon, Illinois, when Clair Hull, WDZ station ihanager in "Tuscola, Illinois, heard Jim at a Coun- ty Fair, recognized his artless talent, and offered him a job on the radio. A pah of unexpected visitors to Jack Benny's broadcast are Jimmy Stewart, home on leave from his Army camp, and Henry Fonda — and os usual, Mary seems to be getting all the attention. 10 RADIO AND lELEVISIOK MnmOR His folks down in Kentucky can't understand why WLW's Lazy Jim Day gets paid for acting funny. But Jim had corn-shucking to at- tend to, and it took Hull several weeks of solid talking out in the com fields before he finally persuaded Jim to try his hand at broadcasting. He made his debut in a fifteen-minute pro- gram in 1936, and is glad of it today. "I'm thankful to Mr. Hull for begging me to take the job," Jim says, **be- cause in one year I sold enough ten- cent pictures of myself to buy me a new car." It isn't the same one he drives today, which is a bright red and very expensive roadster. Jim's forttme is in his droll wit and peculiar "dead pan," helped by an odd-sounding voice and a good mem- ory. "I have a crooked nose and two teeth missin' below," he says. "They weren't pulled none, just didn't grow there." In his Boone Coimty Jamboree and Top o' the Morning broadcasts. Lazy Jim plays the guitar, sings, jigs, or "just talks to the folks." Microphone fright is completely unknown to him, since he pictures the mike as "only a tin cup on the end of a tobacco stick." For reasons of his own, he has never been seen in any other attire than a pair of overalls, checked shirt, and striped socks. Once he was refused admission to a County Fair where he was scheduled to entertain the crowds because the man at the door thought he was a rustic no-account. He claims to possess one real suit of clothes. It was the suit he was married in. Jim is afraid of airplanes and re- fuses to repeat a recent stunt broad- cast in which he did a program sev- eral thousand feet up in the air. He does enjoy driving his car at fast speeds — a pleasure which brought him sorrow recently when a summons be- fore the local traffic court resulted in a fine and a suspension of his driving rights for a month. Since walking is something he abhors, he bought a second-hand bicycle with white wall tires and a sheep-skin seat (price. Continued on page 83 Movie stars know the value of caring for the hair and scalp. They can tell you the importance of using the right treat- ment! If you've tried scented hair pre- parations without results, switch now to this famous MEDICINAL treatment, used by millions. Try GLOVER'S, with massage, for Dandruff, Itchy Scalp and excessive Falling Hair You'll actually feel the exhilarating effect, instantly! Ask for GLOVER'S at any Drug Store. Here's acon- venient way 'vj(j i^;//(;j ,| iii 'li 'II 'i to convince yourself! Send today for a generous com- plete Gift application of Glover's Mange Medicine — also the New GLO-VER Beauty Soap SHAMPOO -in her- metically-sealed bottles. This gift is distributed by coupon only. Complete instructions and booklet. The Scientific Care of Scalp and Hair, included FREE! TWO GIFT BOTTLES! Glover's Mange Medicine and the New Glo-Ver Beauty Soap Shampoo, as pictured. SEND THE COUPON TODAYI MAHCH. 1942 11 Try combining lamb chops with grapefruit and arrange it like this attractive platter with baked tomatoes and mushrooms. WITH FRUITS How to glamourize grapefruit — spread with butter, sugar, cin- namon and broil. Serve it hot first course or dessert. Cuts of banana, dipped into beaten egg, rolled in crumbs and browned , are a grand accom- paniment to broiled ham steak. 12 ASK the average person what she knows about serving meats with fruits and she is likely to look blank and then, memories of recent holiday feasts coming to her rescue, reply vaguely, "Well, there's turkey and cranberry sauce." That's a fine and favored flavor combination, of course, but it's only the beginning of the list, for there are dozens of ways in which meats may be used with fruit — fresh, canned or cooked dried fruit — to produce dozens of new and appetizing flavor blends. Such combinations are especially interesting now, when all of us are being as economical as we know how to be, for the addition of fruit will glorify many of the thrifty cuts of meat which are so important to our current budgets. Too, although fruit in some form is essential from a diet standpoint, many people cannot eat fresh fruit, and fruit cooked and served with the meat course offers a new way to supply them with this dietary need. As a first course for any meat meal, broiled grapefruit is excellent, and the broiling gives this valuable citrus fruit new flavor interest. It's simple and easy to prepare, too. Allow half a grapefruit per person. Remove core and loosen the sections by cutting along membranes and outer skin with a sharp knife. Allow 1 tablespoon sugar, white, brown or maple, 1 tea- spoon butter and a pinch of cinnamon for each grapefruit half. Cream but- ter and sugar together and spread on fruit, sprinkle with cinnamon and broil, 3 or 4 inches below broiler flame, until heated through and slightly brown (10 to 15 minutes). In place of butter, you can use jelly or honey. Pork — including, of course, ham and sausage — lends itself especially well to fruit combinations and there is a digestive as well as a flavor reason for this fact. Some people, you know, find pork slow to digest and fruit, by helping the stomach maintain a proper balance of digestive juices, speeds up the time the system requires to as- similate this nutritious though often difficult meat. Radio Mirror's Food Counselor Usfen fo Kate Smith's dally talks at noon and her Friday nfgftt show, both on CBS, sponsored by General Foods. RADIO AND TELEVISION MIBROR Sausage Apple Casserole 1 lb. pork sausage links 3 large apples 3 medium sweet potatoes % cup brown sugar 2 tbls. sausage drippings 1/4 cup boiling water Cook sweet potatoes until tender, peel and slice. Pan fry sausage slowly for 10 minutes, pouring off fat as it rises. Core apples and slice. Arrange sausage, apples and sweet potatoes in greased casserole, and sprinkle with sugar. Combine boiling water and 2 tbls. of fat from sausages and pour over mixture. Bake at 375 degrees F. about 40 minutes. Ham and Banana Rolls 1 lb. ham 4 bananas 1 egg, beaten Vi cup crumbs or corn meal Broil or pan broil ham slowly, allowing about 7 minutes per side. Incidentally, ham, like other pork products, is more tender and more quickly digested if cooked for a longer period at low temperature than if cooked quickly at a higher temper- ature. Peel bananas and cut into 1-inch slices. Dip slices into beaten egg, roll in crumbs. Brown in ham fat, using just enough to keep from sticking, over low flame, turning fre- quently to prevent sticking. Other suggestions for "ham and" combinations are: 1 — Canned pine- apple slices. Drain well and broil, turning once, just long enough to heat through and brown or brown in skillet with small quantity of ham fat. 2 — Peach, apricot, prune or pear halves — either cooked dried fruit or canned. Drain and cook as directed for pine- apple. And if you will use the juice from any of these fruits to make ham gravy, you will have an excellent sauce for French toast which is a fine accompaniment for a ham and fruit meal. Lamb is another meat which com- bines well with most fruits. As a starter, I suggest the lamb chop and fruit combination pictured here. Continued, on page 77 vJdt^rwecuLy GOES HAWAIIAN Here's a brand new way to combine your favorite break-fast cereal with Hawaii's favorite fruit — pineapple. Pre- pare oatmeal as directed on package. Place a slice of canned pineapple in each cereal dish, top with a generous portion of oatmeal and pour over it the following sauce: I tbi. butter I tbI. flour 1 1/2 cups pineapple juice Few drops lemon juice (optional) Cream butter and flour together, stir in pineapple and lemon juice and cook over low heat, stirring constantly, until sauce is smooth and thick. MABCH, 1942 9f were cold as ice HOW A WIFE OVERCAME THE "ONE NEGLEa" THAT THREATENED HER MARRIAGE I. I never dreamed I would ever play the r6le of a neglected wife. We were so madly in love, at first — then, little by little. Jack's ardor waned until it seemed as though he actually disliked to be near me. I was utterly miserable. 2. I hid my unhappiness from everyone. Until one day at luncheon with Jane, my closest chum — I broke down and told her everything. She said, "Darling, don't be offended, but perhaps it's your fault. There's nothing that chills a husband's love more than carelessness about feminine hygiene. 3. "Early In my marriage," she said, "a woman doctor set me straight forever about this one neglect. I've followed her advice ever since and used Lysol disinfectant for intimate personal care. Because Lysol cleanses, deodorizes . . . and a single douche kills millions of germs, without harm to sensitive tissues." V» / 4. I went immediately to the nearest drug store, bought a bottle of Lysol, and followed the simple feminine hygiene directions on the label. I've used it ever since, with 100% effective re- sults. My marriage, I might add, has become a happy honeymoon once more! Check this with your Doctor Lysol is NON-CAUSTIC — gentle and efiBcient in proper dilution. Contains no free alkali. It is 7iot carbolic acid. EFFECTIVE— a powerful germicide, active in presence of organic matter (such as mucus, serum, etc.). SPREAD- ING— Lysol solutions spread and virtually search out germs in deep crevices. ECONOMICAL— small bottle makes almost 4 gallons of solution for feminine hygiene. CLEANLY ODOR— disappears after use. LASTING — Lysol keeps full strength indefinitely, no matter bow often it is uncorked. FOR FEMININE HYOIENE Copr.. 1941, by Lcbo & Fink Products Corp 4 For FREE- beolclel (in plain wrapper) about Feminine Hygiene and other Lysol uses, send postcard to Lehn & Fink Products Corp., Dept. R.T.iM. 34'.'. Bloomfield, N. J., U.S.A. 13 By Dr. Grace Gregory REALLY observant people look at your hands as much as at your face to find out what sort of person you are. More especially they look at your fingertips. Nails have come into their own, as impor- tant beauty factors. Hands may be small or large; it does not matter. The dainty little hands so admired in the past now share honors with the large, capable looking hands that are ready to take part in the world's work and sports. Hands may be lily-white, or sun- tanned. But one thing all beautiful hands must be — well groomed. Whatever your hands do — garden- ing, housework, the most strenuous sports of all seasons — they may be kept exquisitely soft by constant mas- saging with lotions and creams. After every time in water your hands should be stroked with your favorite lotion or hand cream. Stroke from the ■fingertips towards the wrist, as though you were putting on gloves. Use only the least bit; a very little is enough to keep the skin smooth and satiny. But above all, if you want your hands to be admired, make a fine art of the care of the nails. It is not enough to have a manicure once in so often, on the eve of an im- portant date, perhaps, and do a little re-enameling between times. Noth- ing takes the place of frequent care, especially of the cuticle. The trouble with brittle nails that are always breaking, where it is not a defect in your general health, is usually due to a neglect of softening creams. There are special creams de- vised now to correct this brittlepess. These creams are to be gently worked into the skin around the nail, and rubbed under the nail and imder the cuticle with an orange wood stick. A singer's hands are as important to her charm as her voice and lovely Yvefte who sings on Penthouse Party Wednesday nights on NBC knows what they need for daily care. Mf Mill MimM * * 14 HOMI^BEUIIY They serve to supply oil to dry nails, enabling them to regain the tough- ness and flexibility which are neces- sary to meet the modern requirements for longish nails. There Jire also toning lotions which do wonders for brittle nails. In fact, if your naUs are always breaking, it is your own fault. Given proper daily care, there is no reason at all for imshapely fingertips. There is real artistry in this matter of nail shaping. Tapering fingers are, and always have been, considered beautiful. But very few of us have them. Nails are of two general types: fan shaped and almond. If you have the almond nails, with sides parallel, you probably have blunt or spatulate fingertips. And if you have the fan shaped type of nail, they make any finger look blunt, unless they are worn long and artistically trimmed. The rules for fingertip beauty are simple. First of all, keep your nails tough and flexible by nourishing them with creams, so that you can wear them at a reasonable length without breaking. Then, shape them be- comingly and practically. Nails too long or too pomted are unpleasantly suggestive of claws. Finally, choose your nail enamels with taste and discretion. Do not confine yourself to one shade. There are clear enamels for the ultra-con- servative, delicately pink or rose for those who want just a suggestion, and so on through all the spectrum. Dark nail enamels do make the fingers appear more tapered, because they take attention from the actual shape of the finger, which you can- not change, to the shape of the nail, which you can. But the darker en- amels still offer plenty of choice. There are dull shades and bright. If you wish to be conservative by day, and somewhat gayer in the evening, there is no reason why you cannot change from a dusky shade to a bright. It takes only about five minutes. And it is well worth doing. If, in spite of your care,' a nail does break, there are artificial nails which can be glued on while your own grows out. Trimmed and enameled to match the rest, they £ire practically unde- tectable. Any enamel will chip, especially on the right hand of a very active person. It is a good idea to carry a small bottle of the enamel you are wearing in your handbag. One brush stroke from the tip to the base of the nail repairs the damage. RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR Thrilling New Way To More Glamorous Hair . . . SILKIER, SMOOTHER, EASIER TO MANAGE! 'Sweet Sophistication'". . . charming, neur young hair-ilo. Before styling, the hair was u-ashed with Special Orene. See how silky and smooth it looks, how beautifully it lies in place Amazing new improvement in wonderful hair conditioner • Do you 'wish your hair had that silky, smooth, well-groomed look so smart these days? That it would fall into place beauti- fully and neatly, when you comb it? Then you sfmply must try the new, im- proved Special Drene ShamjKH) — with a won- derful hair conditioner now in it! For that hair conditioner just makes the most amazing difference — leaves hair far silkier, smoother, easier to manage, right after shampooing! You'll be thrilled! Reveal* up to 33% more lustre! Yes! Fn addition to the extra beauty benefits of that amazing hair conditioner. Special Drene still reveals up to 33% more lustre than even the finest soaps or liquid soap shampoos! For Drene is not just a soap shampoo, so it never leaves any dulling film, as all soaps do! Hair washed with Special Drene sparkles with alluring highligh ts, glows with glorious, natural color. Unsurpassed for removing dandruff! Are you bothered about removal of ugly, scaly dandruff? You won't be when you Special Drene Shampoo . . . now in it for new allure! shampoo with Drene! For Drene removes ugly dandruff the very first time you use it! And besides, Drene does something no soap shampoo can do — not even those claiming to be special "dandruff removers"! Drene re- veals extra highlights, extra coliir brilliance . . . up to 33% more lustre! So to get these extra beauty benefits don't wait to try improved Special Drene ! Get a bottle of this real bcauiy sham^)oo this very day at any toilet goyds counter — or ask your beauty operator to use it! PnelerAilamble, Trait MarlcKta. U. S. Pat. OJf, LOOK FOR THIS PACKA6EI All Special Drene now at your dealer's in the blue and yellow package is the new, improved Special Drene containing HAIR CONDITIONER and is for erery type of hair . . . dry, oily or normal. Just look for Special Drene — in the blue and yellow package! Avoid That Dulling Film Left By Soaps and Soap Shampoos! Don't rob your hair of glamour by using soaps or liquid soap shampoos — which always leave a dulling film that dime the natural lustre and color brilliance! Use Drene — the beauty shampoo with the exclusive patented cleansing ingredient which cannot leave a clouding film ! Instead, it reveals up to 33% more lustre! JMLBC^, 1942 15 \. /" QriiSi^ r/^. y TenderJy her eyes went around fhe room which for four weeks had been her gateway to paradise. ^^. --Si* ■ ■ ■ ■u sBJ%©^ o^m Chris reached up and pulled her down into the hollow of his shoulder. "Hello," he whispered. No honeymoon had been like theirs, ever, Mary thought, and tragedy, demanding all the courage that is in a woman's heart, seemed as far away as the northern stars watching over them MARY JORDAN moved to the window of the stoutly built log cabin, the radiance of her face fading to a little worried frown. Gusts of snow were streaking across the window pane, like long white arms reaching down from the north to take the Canadian backwoods into the first embrace of winter. "Chris," she said, "suppose we're snowed in here?" The man lying on the hearth stirred lazily as he watched the sput- ter of a great backlog. "If there's one thing I like better than a one- month honeymoon it's a three- month honeymoon." "But darling," the girl at the win- dow struggled against the warm smile that came to her. lips, "how about your job?" "Who cares about a job? Stop be- ing, the conscience of your husband and come over here." As Mary moved back to the fire- place, Chris reached up a strong arm and pulled her down into the hollow of his shoulder. He bent his lips against her ear. "Hello," he whispered. "Hello," she laughed back softly, then frowned. "But if the storm keeps up, how could we get out?" "Skis or snowshoes, Mrs. Con- science." Mary sat up abruptly. "Snow- shoes — me? I've never used snow- shoes in my life." "Then you'll have to learn," Chris grinned. "You're married to a Canadian now. Remember?" Mary turned star-brushed eyes on him. "Yes, I remember — so many things." "Like — ?" he teased. But she knew the urgency that was on him too to live again the six brief weeks they had known each other. What would life have been for them if Chris- topher Jordan hadn't come to New York to submit his plans for the new railroad terminal? Or if Ellen Jensen hadn't given one of her ever- lasting parties? Or, more particu- larly, if Ellen hadn't succeeded in MARCH, 1942 IlliLstration by Martha Moore overcoming Mary's downright re- fusal to be the dinner partner of "that fur trapper from Hudson's Bay?" "But he isn't a fur trapper, dear," Ellen patiently explained. "He's an architect from Montreal." "Architect for what — log cab- ins?" Mary countered. Tenderly now her eyes went over the rough walls and sturdy beams of the log hunting lodge which for almost four weeks had been her gateway to Paradise. How could she ever have thought — But then, of course, she hadn't thought — not until she caught her first glimpse of Christopher Jordan as he came toward her to acknowl- edge Ellen's apprehensive introduc- tion. Mary was forced to admit the "fur trapper from Hudson's Bay" looked more distinguished in his dinner suit than any other man in the room. Also, repartee among the seals must have been very sprightly indeed because young Mr. Jordan could hold his own conversationally with anyone at the table — especially with Mary. In fact, the conversation landed her with him next day at the Aqua- rium, her selection of which marked the last ironic fling of her first re- luctance to meet him. It vanished forever when in the midst of com- menting on the sea cow as an out- standing example of waterlogged intelligence the tall, broad-shoul- dered Canadian dropped his tone of banter and said quietly, "You're the most beautiful girl I have ever known." Next day they went to the Mu- seum of Natural History, whereupon Now, as a vivid love story, read the broadcast specially written by True Boardman jor the Silver Theater vroaram. Sunday on CBS. Chris launched into the interesting biology of ancient man — and woman. The third day matters got on a somewhat earthier plane at the zoo. From which point they took a distinctly elevating turn the fourth day on their visit to the Statue of Liberty when Chris and Mary mu- tually foreswore theirs. At the end of his two-week stay Chris refused point-blank to leave Mary behind him. So quite simply they were married at the Little Church Around the Corner — a not too original idea but eminently sat- isfying. Mary wired her people in the West and Chris telephoned his mother in Canada that he was bring- ing home a bride. Whereupon they tucked themselves away for a month's honeymoon in the back reaches of Quebec Province at the Jordan hunting lodge — here. "Chris," Mary said suddenly, "have you ever been in love be- fore?" "Hundreds of times," he answered lightly, then changed his tone after a quick glance at her face. "De- pends on what you mean by love. What does it mean to you, Mary?" "It means," she said slowly, "the forgetting that you're you. When all the things you've known as beauty, but beauty apart from you — like sunsets, moonlight across water, waves pounding on a beach — suddenly aren't apart from you any longer. The sunsets are singing inside of you. Maybe — " she was trying hard to trap her thoughts with words, "maybe I mean ecstasy. Not the ecstasy that's gone in a mo- ment, but the kind that's born only when the man and woman meet who, through all time, maybe through other ages and other worlds for all we know, were destined for each other. . . ." Chris didn't speak for a moment. When he did, he said, "And you could even ask if I've ever felt that for anyone else?" Into this moment of communion broke a Continued on page 67 17 -y*!*^ 1,-iS^, THERE are not many sight-see- ing buses on the quiet streets of AlexEindria, Virginia, six miles from Washington. But were you to board one of the few, the driver would point out to you Old Christ Church, where George Washington was one of the first vestrymen. He would tell you how General Brad- dock made his headquarters here during the Revolutionary War, and that it was the capital in the War Between the States of that part of Virginia which remained loyal to the Union. Then, forsaking history as the bus rolled down the shady streets into a section of sedate homes, he would gesture toward a graceful Georgian house and say, "That's the home of Rufus Kane, the big Labor leader." A quick turn of his head and a drsimatic sweep of his arm, and your attention would be directed to another house across the way from Rufus Kane's — a low gray house with green shut- ters, a house that was modest and somehow feminine. "And that," he would say, "is where the Senator from Iowa, Senator Mary Marlin, lives." You would peer at the little house, wishing for a glimpse of Senator Marlin herself, running down the shallow front steps to the long gray car parked at the curb — and won- dering, no doubt, what she was really like, this woman whose gracious beauty shone in the dignified Senate Chambers like a lamp at dusk. For there were so many conflicting stories about her . . . Not that the bare facts weren't well enough known. They were the standard fare of every columnist and every Sunday feature article in the newspapers. People knew she was the wife (and perhaps the widow) of Senator Joe Marlin, that she had been appointed to the Senate to fill Joe Marlin's unexpired term, that their httle son Davey had been 18 named in honor of David Post, Joe's former law partner in the town of Cedar Springs, Iowa. And that fact alone brought up the first of many conjectures, so that the name of David Post and that of Rufus Kane came questioningly into people's minds. Even such an innocent-seeming social item as this had overtones of wonder: "Senator Mary Marlin entertained at dinner last night in her Alexeindria home. Her guests were Mr. and Mrs. Frazer Mitchell, Mr. Rufus Kane . . ." Only Mary Marlin would have invited to sit at one table such clashing personalities as those of Rufus Kane and Frazer Mitchell, whose wife had been the other figure in that ugly story about Joe Marlin before his disappearance. And only Mary Marlin could have made such an ill-assorted dinner party successful — not once but many times. Adam Fury, the wisest and most impertinent of Washington re- porters, had once asked her how she managed to be a friend both of Rufus Kane and Frazer Mitchell. "They're not only on opposite sides of the political fence from each other," he'd said, "but neither of them would ever have seen eye to eye with Joe." Mary Marlin had laughed, in that gay, friendly way of hers. "Be- cause I enjoy their company," she had said, "doesn't mean I think the way they do, Adam." Adam had wanted to say, "Do you still think the way your husband did, Madame Senator?" But he knew, rather better than did all Washington, how near the Marlins had been to breaking up, even be- fore an airplane had plummeted to earth on the Russian steppes, carry- ing with it into oblivion the Honor- able Joseph Marlin, United States Senator from Iowa. And rather than hurt Mary, he was silent. He reflected, though, that Mary Marlin was a frequent visitor at the home of Rufus Kane. As far as he or anyone else knew, she was the only woman in whom Kane had ever been interested enough to intro- duce to his mother, the fragile and gentle Sarah Jane Kane. Adam Fury thought frequently of Mary Marlin, and decided she was one of the most baffling women he had ever known. That was the rea- son for her strange hold., on the imaginations of people who only read about her in the newspapers, as well as those who had seen and talked to her. It wasn't just that she was beautiful, although she was that, too, in a strong, commanding way. Her thick black hair was sa heavy that from carrying it her head had acquired a regal tilt. She To a whole nation she was a legend, a symbol of glamour and mystery, a woman whose^ inner heart was never revealed. But that was because no one knew her story. Begin now, as a fascinating novel, one of radio's famous dramas was tall, and she moved with a grace that reminded you of the statue called The Winged Victory, if a statue could come to life. Yet her violet eyes could be as warmly bright as a girl's, her mobile mouth as tender. And still the real Mary Marlin seemed always out of reach. Adam wished he had known her long ago, when she and Joe Marlin were first married. Then, perhaps, he coxild have understood her. On a January evening of 1935, Washington was no more to Mary Marlin than the name of a place where laws were made. Her world was bounded by the city limits of Cedar Springs, Iowa. It included first and most importantly, Joe Mar- lin— ^his loose-joined, tall body, his tanned face and unruly brown hair, his unquenchable optimism and his fits of abstraction when all that was really Joe seemed to vanish, leaving only a moving and talking figure that looked like him but obviously wasn't. Then there were other, smaller bits of Mary's world: Annie, the cook and housekeeper who had come to this house with her and Joe when they were first married . . . the house itself, old-fashioned, painted white, set far back from the quiet street . . . her garden, snug now under its winter coverings . . . her best friend, Margaret Adams, who lived next door, and Margaret's husband and her two children . . . the Old Church, where she and Joe went on Sun- days . . . the Town Square, with its statue of Justice, blindfolded . . . Joe's law office, across the Square, with the gilt lettering on its win- dows, "Post & Marltn, Attorneys at Law" . . . David Post, Joe's partner and friend . . . many other small parts of daily life, hardly noticed because they were so accustomed. Years of married contentment had left there marks upon Mary. Per- haps she was not so slender as she had been when Joe led her to the altar. Perhaps she did not move so lightly. Perhaps each day of her life followed each other day in a well-worn groove. But what did it matter? A married woman of thirty- five does not need these outward evidences of beauty, of excitement. Her loveliness is in her ordered home, in her gentleness, in her Only Mary Marlin would have dared to bring together such dashing personalities as those of Rufus Kane and the Frazer Mitchells. J THERE are not many sight-see- ing buses on the quiet streets of Alexandria, Virginia, six miles from Washington. But were you to board one of the few, the driver would point out to you Old Christ Church, where George Washington was one of the first vestrymen. He would tell you how General Brad- dock made his headquarters here during the Revolutionary War, and that it was the capital in the War Between the States of that part of Virginia which remained loyal to the Union. Then, forsaking history as the bus rolled down the shady streets into a section of sedate homes, he would gesture toward a graceful Georgian house and say, "That's the home of Rufus Kane, the big Labor leader." A quick turn of his head and a dramatic sweep of his arm, and your attention would be directed to another house across the way from Rufus Kane's — a low gray house with green shut- ters, a house that was modest and somehow feminine. "And that," he would say, "is where the Senator from Iowa, Senator Mary Marlin, lives." You would peer at the little house, wishing for a glimpse of Senator Marlin herself, running down the shallow front steps to the long gray car parked at the curb — and won- dering, no doubt, what she was really like, this woman whose gracious beauty shone in the dignified Senate Chambers like a lamp at dusk. For there were so many conflicting stories about her . . . Not that the bare facts weren't well enough known. They were the standard fare of every columnist and every Sunday feature article in the newspapers. People ki^ew she was the wife (and perhaps the widow) of Senator Joe Marlin. that she had been appointed to the Senate to fill Joe Martin's unexpired term, that their little son Davey had been named in honor of David Post, Joe s former law partner in the town of Cedar Springs, Iowa. And that fact alone brought up the first of many conjectures, so that the name of David Post and that of Rufus Kane came questioningly into peoples minds. . Even such an innocent-seemmg social item as this had overtones of wonder: "Senator Mary Marlin entertained at dinner last night m her Alexandria home. Her guests were Mr. and Mrs. Frazer Mitchell, Mr. Rufus Kane . . ." Only Mary Marlin would have invited to sit at one table such clashing personalities as those of Rufus Kane and Frazer Mitchell, whose wife had been the other figure in that ugly story about Joe Marlin before his disappearance. And only Mary Marlin could have made such an ill-assorted dinner party successful — not once but many times. Adam Fury, the wisest and most impertinent of Washington re- porters, had once asked her how she managed to be a friend both of Rufus Kane and Frazer MitcheU. "They're not only on opposite sides of the political fence from each other," he'd said, "but neither of them would ever have seen eye to eye with Joe." Mary Marlin had laughed, in that gay, friendly way of hers. "Be- cause I enjoy their company," she had said, "doesn't mean I think the way they do, Adam." Adam had wanted to say, "Do you still think the way your husband did, Madame Senator?" But he knew, rather better than did all Washington, how near the Marlins had been to breaking up, even be- fore an airplane had plummeted to earth on the Russian steppes, carry- ing with it into oblivion the Honor- able Joseph Marlin, United States Senator' from Iowa. And rather than hurt Mary, he was silent. He reflected, though, that Mary Marlin was a frequent visitor at the home of Rufus Kane. As far as he or anyone else knew, she was the only woman in whom Kane had ever been interested enough to intro- duce to his mother, the fragile and gentle Sarah Jane Kane. Adam Fury thought frequently of Mary Marlin, and decided she was one of the most baffling women he had ever known. That was the rea- son for her strange hold, on the imaginations of people who only read about her in the newspapers, as well as those who had seen and talked to her. It wasn't just that she was beautiful, although she was that, too, in a strong, commanding way. Her thick black hair was so heavy that from carrying it her head had acquired a regal tilt. She to a whole nation she was a legend, a symbol of glamour and mystery, a woman whose, inner heart was never revealed. But that was because no one knew her story. Begin now, as a fascinating novel, one of radio's famous dramas was tall, and she moved with a grace that reminded you of the statue caUed The Winged Victory, if a statue could come to life. Yet her violet eyes could be as warmly bright as a girl's,- her mobile mouth as tender. And stUl the real Mary Marlin seemed always out of reach. Adam wished he had known her long ago, when she and Joe Marlin were first married. Then, perhaps, he could have understood her. On a January evening of 1935, Washington was no more to Mary Marlin than the name of a place where laws were made. Her world was bounded by the city limits of Cedar Springs, Iowa. It included first and most importantly, Joe Mar- lin—his loose-joined, tall body, his tanned face and unruly brown hair, his unquenchable optimism and his fits of abstraction when all that was really Joe seemed to vanish, leaving only a moving and talking figure that looked like him but obviously wasn't. Then there were other, smaller bits of Mary's world: Annie, the cook and housekeeper who had come to this house with her and Joe when they were first married . . . the house itself, old-fashioned, painted white, set far back from the quiet street . . . her garden, snug now under its winter coverings . . . her best friend, Margaret Adams, who lived next door, and Margaret's husband and her two children . . . the Old Church, where she and Joe went on Sun- days . . . the Town Square, with its statue of Justice, blindfolded . . . Joe's law office, across the Square, with the gilt lettering on its win- dows, "Post & Marlin, Attorneys at Law" . . . David Post, Joe's partner and friend . . . many other small parts of daily life, hardly noticed because they were so accustomed. Years of married contentment had left there marks upon Mary. Per- haps she was not so slender as she had been when Joe led her to the altar. Perhaps she did not move so lightly. Perhaps each day of her life followed each other day in a well-worn groove. But what did it matter? A married woman of thirty- five does not need these outward evidences of beauty, of excitement. Her loveliness is in her ordered home, in her gentleness, in her Only Mary Marlin would have dared to bring together such clashing personalities as those of Rufus Kane and the Fraier Mitchells. \m motherhood. . . . But Mary and Joe Marlin had no children. Mary cared less for her own sake than for Joe's. She would have liked children, and there were times when she hungered for them, but in her was the ability to take grate- fully what life offered and not ask for more. Life had already, she be- lieved, offered her a great deal, and she was content. Joe was different. He did not accept from life, he de- manded of it. And when his de- mands were refused he was baff?ed and furious. He wanted the whole world to be better than it was, not only for himself but for others too. That was why he might some day be a great man, but it was also why he would never be a contented one. XJE HAD been moody, easily ex- asperated lately. It was because he was working too hard at the office, C'f course. Tonight, for instance, Mary had looked forward to having him spend the evening at home — Not that the evening had started very propitiously, after all. After dinner — a good dinner, but rather too silent a one — they had come into the living room. Rest- lessly, Joe had switched on the radio, twisting the dials until the voice of a news announcer filled the room. Mary had winced. "Joe — would you turn it down a little?" "Hmm?" "I said, could you turn it down a little? It's so loud—" Angrily, he had switched the ma- chine off entirely. "Of course, if it annoys you to hear what's going on in the world!" "Joe dear, you know that wasn't what I meant. I only — " The telephone bell sliced across her apologies. And that was the end of the quiet evening at home. It .^1/ ['■■'■^ was the office, of course, calling Joe to work. But Dave Post had seemed sur- prised when Mary complained, a few days earlier, about Joe's late hours of work, had agreed there was no reason for him to slave himself into a breakdown. A tiny worm of fear curled within Mary's heart. Could it be that Joe was not at the office all these long nights? ... It was an absurd and disloyal thought; she put it away from her just as Annie came in from the hall. "Mr. Marlin dropped this out of his coat pocket as he was goin' out, Mis' Marlin. Looks like it's a letter." "Thank you, Annie." Mary took the folded scrap of paper, and it fell open in her hand. In an instant she had read the few words written on it; "Darling Joe — Come tonight — make any excuse, but come. You must choose between us. I won't go on like this. I love you. S." The white, paper blurred and swam before her eyes and then, mercifully, everything disappeared entirely. It was the first time in her life Mary Marlin had fainted. She could have been unconscious for only a few seconds, because she was dimly aware of Annie fussing over her, helping her upstairs to bed, while all the time the know- ledge of what she had read in the note blotted out every other con- sideration. When at last she was rid of Annie she lay awake' in the darkened room, thinking back over the last weeks and seeing them in all their sordid clarity. Joe came in a little after midnight, and she pre- tended to be asleep. In the morn- ing she slipped out of bed before he was awake, and managed to be busy in the kitchen with Annie when he came down to breakfast. In all, she saw him long enough only to ex- change a "good morning" that it took all her strength to keep calm and matter-of-fact. In the long night's vigil she had determined to keep silent about her discovery. That, she had told her- self, was the wise thing to do. But after Joe had left the house she felt panic pressing down upon her, and knew she could never hug this secret silently to herself. She realized, too, that David Post must have known about this — this intrigue of Joe's. As an exciting novel, begin reading The Story of Mary Marlin, the radio serial by Jane Crusinberry, heard daily at I I A.M., E.S.T., on NBC-Red and at 5:00 P.M., E.S.T., on CBS, sponsored by Ivory Snow. Pho- tographic illustrations posed by the cast — Anne Seymour as Mary Marlin, Rupert LaBelle as Rufus Kane, Fran Carlon as Bunny Mitchell, Fred Sullivan as Frozer Mitchell, Charme Allen as Sarah Jane Kane. 20 That was why he had been so embarrassed over her complaint about Joe's late hours. Horrible, that others should know, should pity her! Possessed by such an inner frenzy of despair that she could not stay quietly at home, she went down- town, to Joe's office. But Miss Gib- bons, his secretary, said he was in Court, and Mary Was about to leave when David Post came out of his private office and saw her. Dave was a little older than Joe in years, and had always seemed older than that in his quiet, thoughtful ways. His broad face was not exactly hand- some, but it had a rugged, good honesty, and when he smiled it be- came suddenly charming — the face of a man who had grown up with- out forgetting the boy he once was. He smiled now, at sight of Mary. "I know you didn't drop in to see me, Mary. But come in and sit down a minute. Joe's in Court." RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR Mary Marlin was the first woman in whom Rufus Kane had ever been interested enough to introduce to his mother. "Yes — I know. Miss Gibbons — told me." He looked at her keenly, seeing, now, her agitation, but he said nothing until she was in his office, seated in the big leather chair opposite his at the desk. Then he said, "Something wrong, Mary?" "Oh— Dave — " Helplessly, under his sympathy, she began to cry. "It's Joe, Dave — Joe and some — other woman! All this time — I've no idea how long — he's been de- ceiving me. I found a note last night, after he'd left the house — " David's face had hardened in anger — anger against the man who had been his boyhood friend. "Mary," he said thickly, "don't— I can't stand it to see you cry." "But it's so terrible — I never thought Joe would do a thing like this. I trusted him!" "Yes," Dave said. "It's too bad we men can't realize what a won- derful thing we have when a fine woman has faith in us . . . Mary, I did so want to save you from this." Mary raised her head. "You knew, didn't you? — Then you must know who the girl is! David — tell me!" "I don't— Wait, Mary. Let's not do anything we'll regret. I'd rather not tell you. For one thing, I can't believe this is serious — ^with Joe. I can't believe it!" There was a crisp knock: on the door, and Joe entered almost before the sound had died away. His eyes swept from one of therai to the other, taking in David's agitation, Mary's reddened eyes, and he pulled the door shut behind him. "It appears," he said menacingly, "that Dave has been giving you a little inside information, Mary." "Joe! Dave hasn't said a thing. I — I found a note you dropped at home." "You've read it?" "Yes, I—" "It was mine. Why did you read it?" "I didn't think there was anything we didn't share — until now," Mary said simply. "Joe, what does it mean?" "More or less what it appears to mean," he said shortly. "As I'm sure you realize, since you lost no time in seeing an attorney about it!" Dave stood up, and there was about him the air of a man whose patience is wearing thin. "Don't be a fool, Joe! Mary came here to see you, not me." "- — And lost no time in telling you all about it!" Joe snapped. "Joe — " David Post held out a placating hand. "I can't understand you, Joe. Can't you see you're ruin- ing Mary's life — your own life — just for a cheap little — " "You'd better not say it, Dave!" Joe warned. "I wish I'd fired her the first week she was in this office!" Dave cried — and stopped, aghast at what he had done. Mary looked past the men, at the closed door to the outer office. She knew, now. The note had been signed with the initial S. And Miss Gibbons, the secretary, who was blonde and slim and vacantly pretty and young, was named Sally. . . . "Oh, Joe!" she said at last. "Your — secretary! Oh, how — cheap!" Blood throbbed, wine-colored, just under the skin of Joe's face. "I'm sick of all this," he said. "I've been through hell, and I can't stand it any longer. I'll do what I like!" The room hummed with the crash of the door, slammed behind him. After a while, David said wearily, "Come, Mary — I'll take you home." "Home!" she repeated after him, bitterly. "Home!" The Red Lion Inn was a shabby and rather disreputable night club on the outskirts of Cedar Springs. It had a small dance floor, a bar, booths where couples could sit and talk in reasonable assurance that they would not be heard in the ad- joining cubicles. Joe Marlin and Sally Gibbons sat in one of these booths, that night. .One of the two Red Lion waiters said to the other, "Boy, are they goin' round and round! Somethin's botherin' 'em plenty — and he's bothered worse than she is." The other waiter snickered. "Maybe the guy's wife found out," he said. TT WAS shortly before midnight when they left, running from the door of the Inn to Joe's car, for it was a windy night with flaws of rain. In the car, driving back toward town, the discussion that had been going on all evening reached its climax. "But now she knows, Joe. You can't say you don't want to hurt her any more. And I'm good and tired of this sneaking around — hiding as if we were a couple of criminals." "Let's drop it, Sally. We've talked about it too much tonight." "We've got to talk about it! You say you love me — but you — you won't — do — what I want you to — " A sob muffled her voice, and she dabbed at her eyes with a tiny handkerchief. Its perfume filled the confined air of the car. "Joe — " There was a new note in her voice now, an oddly determined note. "Yes?" "Dear, I didn't want to tell you — not right now — but I — I don't know how I could go through it alone. I think I'd . . . kill myself . . ." The speed of the car slackened as his foot slipped from the throttle. He turned to look at her, his mouth a little open; forgetting, in his amazement, where he was until the pull of wheels on soft gravel made him wrench the machine back onto the road. And even this was auto- matic. "Sally! You don't mean you're — " "Yes. A baby." "Good Lord!" But as he drove on, he thought, "A son!" and un- expected delight rose in him. Joe did not return to his home at all that night, spending it instead at the hotel. It was dusk the next afternoon when Mary saw him coming up the path from the street, and was filled with the unreason- ing certainty that he was returning to her, coming to wipe out all the memories of Continued on page 48 MARCH, 1942 21 T .o.e.00.. ... But Ma. and .oe was the omce, o, cou.e, caU.n. -^- ttj:rS^t'l;e.own .Ke B. ^^ ^o^^l^H ra4°;idret=an/r.eTelttr U da.s ea.Ue. a.out .oe. late when she hungered (or them, but in her was the ability to take grate- fully what life offered and not asK for more. Life had already, she be- lieved, offered her a great deal, and she was content. Joe was different. He did not accept from life, he de- manded of it. And when his de- mands were refused he was baffled and furious. He wanted the whole world to be better than it was, not only for himself but for others too. That was why he might some day be a great man, but it was also why he would never be a contented one. HE HAD been moody, easily ex- asperated lately. It was because he was working too hard at the office, cf course. Tonight, for instance, Mary had looked forward to having him spend the evening at home- Not that the evening had started very propitiously, after all. After dinner— a good dinner, but rather too silent a one — they had come into the living room. Rest- lessly, Joe had switched on the radio, twisting the dials until the voice of a news announcer filled the room. Mary had winced. "Joe — would you turn it down a little?" "Hmm?" "I said, could you turn it down a little? It's so loud — " Angrily, he had switched the ma- chine off entirely. "Of course, if it annoys you to hear what's going on in the world!" "Joe dear, you know that wasn't what I meant. I only — " The telephone bell sliced across her apologies. And that was the end of the quiet evening at home. It lew u>,y. .= about Joes late hours of work, had agreed there was no reason for him to slave himself into a breakdown. A tiny worm of fear curled within Mary's heart. Could it be that Joe was not at the office all these long nights'- . . It was an absurd and disloyal thought; she put it away from her just as Annie came in from 'he hall. , ^^. , , "Mr. Marl in dropped this out ot his coat pocket as he was goin' out. Mis' Martin. Looks like it s a letter." , "Thank you, Annie." Mary took the folded scrap of paper, and it fell open in her hand. In an mstant she had read the few words written on it: , , "Darting Joe— Come tonight- make any excuse, but come. You must choose between us. I wont go on like this. I love you. S." The white, paper blurred and swam before her eyes and then, mercifully, everything disappeared entirely. It was the first time m her life Mary Marlin had fainted. She could have been unconscious for only a few seconds, because she was dimly aware of Annie fussing over her, helping her upstairs to bed, while all the time the know- ledge of what she had read in the note blotted out every other con- sideration. When at last she was rid of Annie she lay awake in the darkened room, thinking back over the last weeks and seeing them in all theu- sordid clarity. Joe came in a little after midnight, and she pre- tended to be asleep. In the morn- ing she slipped out of bed before he was awake, and managed to be busy in the kitchen with Annie when he came down to breakfast. In all, she saw him long enough only to ex- change a "good morning" that it took all her strength to keep calm and matter-of-fact. In the long night's vigil she had determined to keep silent about her discovery. That, she had told her- self, was the wise thing to do. But after Joe had left the house she felt panic pressing down upon her, and knew she could never hug this secret silently to herself. She realized, too, that David Post must have known about this — this intrigue of Joe's. Ai an exciting novel, begin reoding The Story ot Mary Marlin, the radio serial by Jane Crusinberry, heord daily ot II A.M., E.S.T., on NBC-Red ond at 5:00 P.M., E.S.T.. on CBS, sponsored by Ivory Snow. Pho- tographic illustrotions posed by the cost — Anne Seymour os Mary Marlin, Rupert LaBelle os Rufus Kane, Fran Corlon as Bunny Mitchell, Fred Sullivan OS Froier Mitchell, Charme Allen os Soroh Jane Kone. That was why he had been so embarrassed over her complaint about Joe's late hours. Horrible, that others should know, should pity her! Possessed by such an inner frenzy of despair that she could not stay quietly af home, she went down- town, to Joe's office. But Miss Gib- bons, his secretary, said he was in Court, and Mary was about to leave when David Post came out of his private office and saw her. Dave was a little older than Joe in years, and had always seemed older than that in his quiet, thoughtful ways. His broad face was not exactly hand- , some, but it had a rugged, good honesty, and when he smiled it be- came suddenly charming— the lace of a man who had grown up witn- out forgetting the boy he once was. He smiled now, at sight of Mary. "I know you didn't drop in to see me, Mary. But come in and sit down a minute. Joe's in Court." M.IO AND TELEVIMO" MI«»°> Mory Marlin was fhe Hrsf woman in whom Mus Kane had ever been inferesfed emugft (o infroduce to h!s mother. "Yes — I know. Miss Gibbons — told me." He looked at her keenly, seeing, now, her agitation, but he said nothing until she was in his office, seated in the big leather chair opposite his at the desk. Then he said, "Something wrong, Mary?" "Oh — Dave — " Helplessly, under his sympathy, she began to cry. "It's Joe, Dave — Joe and some — other woman! All this, time — I've no idea how long — he's been de- riving me. I found a note last night, after he'd left the house—" David's face had hardened in anger— anger against the man who had been his boyhood (riend- "Mary," he said thickly, "don't— I can't stand it to see you cry." "S"' it's so terrible — I never 'nought Joe would do a thing like 'n«. 1 trusted him!" 'Yes," Dave said. "It's too bad J'e men can't realize what a won- "i^fful thing we have when a fine Wmich, 1942 woman has faith in us . . . Mary, I did so want to save you from this." Mary raised her head. "You knew, didn't you?— Then you must know who the girt is! David— tell me!" "I don't— Wait, Mary. Let's not do anything we'll regret. I'd rather not tell you. For one thing, I can't believe this is serious— with Joe. I can't believe it!" There was a crisp knock on the door, and Joe entered almost before the sound had died away. His eyes swept from one of them to the other, taking in David's agitation, Mary's reddened eyes, and he pulled the door shut behind him. "It appears," he said menacingly, "that Dave has been giving you a little inside information, Mary." "Joe! Dave hasn't said a thing. I — ^I found a note you dropped at home." "You've read it?" "Yes, I—" "It was mine. Why did you read it?" "I didn't think there was anything we didn't share — until now," Mary said simply. "Joe, what does it mean?" "More or less what it appears to mean," he said shortly. "As I'm sure you realize, since you lost no time in seeing an attorney about it!" Dave stood up, and there was about him the air of a man whose patience is wearing thin. "Don't be a fool, Joe! Mary came here to see you, not me." "- — And lost no time in telling you all about it!" Joe snapped. "Joe — " David Post held out a placating hand. "I can't understand you, Joe. Can't you see you're ruin- ing Mary's life — your own life — just for a cheap little — " "You'd better not say it, Dave!" Joe warned. "I wish I'd fired her the first week she was in this office!" Dave cried — and stopped, aghast at what he had done. Mary looked past the men, at the closed door to the outer office. She knew, now. The note had been signed with the initial S. And Miss Gibbons, the secretary, who was blonde and slim and vacantly pretty and young, was named Sally "Oh, Joe!" she said at last. "Your —secretary! Oh, how— cheap!" Blood throbbed, wine-colored, just under the skin of Joe's face. "I'm sick of all this," he said. Ive been through hell, and I can t stand it any longer. Vll do what I like! The room hummed with the crash of the door, slammed behind him. After a while, David said wearily, "Come, Mary-ni take you home. "Home!" she repeated after him, bitterly. "Ho?ne.'" The Red Lion Inn was a shabby and rather disreputable night club on the outskirts of Cedar Springs. It had a small dance floor, a bar, booths where couples could sit and talk in reasonable assurance that they would not be heard in the ad- joining cubicles. Joe Marlin and Sally Gibbons sat in one of these booths, that night. .One of the two Red Lion waiters said to the other, "Boy, are they goin' round and round! Somethin's botherin' 'em plenty — and he's bothered worse than she is." The other waiter snickered. "Maybe the guy's wife found out," he said. JT WAS shortly before midnight when they left, running from the door of the Inn to Joe's car, for it was a windy night with flaws of rain. In the car, driving back toward town, the discussion that had been going on all evening reached its climax. "But now she knows, Joe. You can't say you don't want to hurt her any more. And I'm good and tired of this sneaking around — hiding as if we were a couple of criminals." "Let's drop it, Sally. We've talked about it too much tonight." "We've got to talk about it! You say you love me — but you — you won't — do — what I want you to — " A sob muffled her voice, and she dabbed at her eyes with a tiny handkerchief. Its perfume filled the confined air of the car. "Joe — " There was a new note in her voice now, an oddly determined note. "Yes?" "Dear, I didn't want to teU you — not right now — but I — I don't know how I could go through it alone. I thuik I'd . . . kill myself . . ." The speed of the car slackened as his foot slipped from the throttle. He turned to look at her, his mouth a little open; forgetting, in his amazement, where he was until the pull of wheels on soft gravel made him wrench the machine back onto the road. And even this was auto- matic. "Sally! You don't mean you're — " "Yes. A baby." "Good Lord!" But as he drove on, he thought, "A son!" and un- expected delight rose in him. Joe did not return to his home at all that night, spending it instead at the hotel. It was dusk the next afternoon when Mary saw him coming up the path from the street, and was filled with the unreason- ing certainty that he was returning to her, coming to wipe out all the memories of Continued on page 48 21 m He had so much— but he ivascifraid. Could she ivho had nothing hMp him to see all that he couldn't see ivitli his own eyes? .ni>ip^-^ '.^^^ IHE well-built yoiing man in the expensive camels- hair topcoat looked around the room appreci- atively. "It's a nice room," he said, and it was. It had a double bed made of maple, with a white and blue candlewick spread cover- ing what was obviously a self-respecting sort of mattress. White and blue curtains hung at the dormer window, and a plain blue rug was on the floor. The bedside table, the dresser, and the two chairs, one straight and one comfortable, were all made of maple, polished untU it looked like reddish-brown satin. The whole place was as clean as the March air in the out- doors the young man had just left. Mrs. King, standing beside and just behind him, said, "Thank you. Dick Wilson was very comfortable here for about eighteen months. That was before he got married." "Yeah," the young man said. He told me. I was just drivin' through and stopped at the station for some gas. I liked the looks of this town — what's its name?" "Crockersville." "Yeah, Crockersville. So I asked the fellow there if he knew any place I could stay and he sent me here." "Dick's a nice boy," Mrs. King said comfortably. "Wni you be staying long?" "Well, I dunno," the young man said nervously. "That depends—" "But you'll want it longer than just for tonight?" "Oh, sure! I'll take it by the week." "I can accommodate you for meals too, if you'd like to have them in." The young man pulled a shiny wallet from the pocket of his tweed suit and began fumbling some bills out of it with inexpert hands. "Yeah," he said. "I'd want that too — the meals, I mean. How much'll it be all to- gether?" "Fifteen dollars." She took the money he held out to her. "Thank you, Mr. — ?" "Uh — Brown. Jack Brown," he said, as if surprised at the sound of the name. "Mr. Brown," she repeated after him. "Well, if there's anything you want, just let me know. He took a hesitant step toward the door. "My car — I left it outside. I won't get a parking ticket, will I?" "Here in Crockersville?" Mrs. King laughed reas- surance. "I should say not." "Well — maybe I better go out and lock it." "Oh no, it's quite safe. Nobody'll steal it. We haven't had a theft in Crockersville for years." There was a light footstep in the hall outside the room, and Mr. Jack Brown jumped. "Who's that?" The words were like two quick bullets shot out of a gun. Mrs. King didn't appear to notice his nervousness. "My daughter," she said. "Come in, Julie, and meet Mr. Brown." A girl stood on the threshold, a girl who seemed to be made entirely of light and shadow, and not of flesh at all. Her hair was a pale gold, almost a silver-gilt, and i•■--^^^ 22 the skin of her face and hands was like cream in moonlight. Only her eyes were startlingly real. They were very large, thickly fringed, deeply blue. Then she put out her hand, and he took it, and the illusion of unreality vanished at once. Her hand was small, but it was strong and warm. Almost as if she had read his thoughts and was re- paying an unspoken compliment, she said, "You have a good honest hand, Mr. Brown." He was embarrassed, and stammered when he said, "Yeah? Well — ^thanks. You — your hands feel pretty nice too." Mrs. King and Julie both laughed. The mother's laugh was hearty, Julie's gay. Mrs. King asked, "What time would you like breakfast, Mr. Brown?" "Huh ?— Oh— nine- thirty— ten— " Standing over him with clenched, he said, "And now I'm through with you." Julie dropped to her knees beside Jim. "Why not ten?" Julie asked. "And I'll promise not to start practicing until then." Mrs. King's plump arm went around her daughter's shoulders. "Julie's studying to be a concert pianist," she said pridefuily, "and she takes her practicing very seriously." "Listen," Mr. Brown said. "I used to live next door to a boiler factory, and I never slept better in my life. So go ahead and practice." "I'll try to make you feel at home," Julie promised. "Good night." When they had gone, he pivoted on one heel, looking around the room once more, before he took off his coat. Then he. stared at the door which Mrs. King had closed behind her. It had just struck him that Julie's expression, as she talked to him, had been curiously intent and watchful — an odd expression, as if she were seeing something more than his broad shoulders and long arms and legs, his regular features and close-cropped brown hair. But he decided, after a moment, that he'd imagined all this. The next morning he came downstairs at a quarter of ten. Julie had been prac- ticing for a full hour, filling the house with intricate melodies, so hard to follow with the ear that it was hard to believe human fingers had created them. He said, as she struck brilliant chords to punctuate the end of the piece she was play- ing, "That was swell, sister. You're good! How long you been at this?" Julie swung around on the piano stool to face him. "Oh, good morning! Why, I've been playing for about ten years, I guess." "Well, you''re all right." He smiled a little, cleared his throat, and smiled again; then, seizing eagerly upon something to keep the con- versation from dying: "Say, don't you use any music to play from?" Julie shook her head. "You play by heart!" he said wonderingly. "Gee! That's a gift. Your mother says you're going to be one ,,_^^^^^^^^^^ of those concert players?" k V'l^^^^^^^^^^ "I hope to be. In an- ^^ 23 i-buthewasafrfiul. Could she ivlio luid iiolhiiig help him lo s<-e ihiil he lOiililn'l sec wIlli his iiini (>'_ Yve THE well-built young man in the expensive camels- hair topcoat looked around the room appreci- atively. "It's a nice room," he said, and it was. It had a double bed made of maple, with a white and blue candlewick spread cover- ing what was obviously a .self-respecting sort of mattress. White and blue curtains hung at the dormer window, and a plain blue rug was on the floor. The bedside tabic, the dresser, and the two choirs, one straight and one comfortable, were all made of maple, polished until it looked like reddish-brown satin. The whole place was as clean as the March air in the out- doors the young man had just left. Mrs. King, standing beside and just behind him, said, "Thank you. Dick Wilson was very comfortable here for about eighteen months. That was before he got married." "Yeah," the young man said. He told me. I was just drivin' through and stopped at the station for some gas. I liked the looks of this town— what's its name?" "Crockersvillo." "Yeah, Crockersville. So I asked the fellow there if he knew any place I could stay and he sent me here." "Dick's a nice boy," Mrs. King said comfortably. "Will you be staying long?" "Well, 1 dunno," the young man said nervously. "That depends — " "But you'll want it longer than just for tonight?" "Oh, sure! I'll take it by the week." "I can accommodate you for meals too, if you'd like to have them in." The young man pulled a shiny wallet from the pocket of his tweed suit and began fumbling some bills out of it with inexpert hands. "Yeah," he said. "I'd want that too — the meuls, I mean. How much'll it be all to- gether?" "Fifteen dollars." She took the money he held out to her. "Thank you, Mr. — ?" "Uh — Brown. Jack Brown," he said, as if surprised at the sound of the name. "Mr. Brown," she repeated after him. "Well, if there's anything you want, just let mo know. He took a hesitant step toward the door. "My car — I left it outside. I won't get a parking ticket, will 1?" "Here in Crockersville?" Mrs. King laughed reas- surance. "I should say not." "Well — maybe I better go out and lock it." "Oh no, it's quite safe. Nobody'll steal it. We haven't had a theft in Crockersvillo for years." There was a light footstep in the hall outside the room, and Mr. Jack Brown jumped. "Who's that?" The words were like two quick bidlets shot out of a gun. Mrs. King didn't appear to notice his nervousness. "My daughter," she said. "Come in, Julie, and meet Mr. Brown." A girl stood on the threshold, a girl who seemed to be made entirely of light and shadow, and not of flesh at all. Her hair was a pale gold, almost a silver-gilt, and 22 the skin of her face and hands was like cream in moonlight. Only her eyes were startlingly real. They were very large, thickly fringed, deeply blue. Then she put out her hand, and he took it, and the illusion of unreality vanished at once. Her hand was small but it was strong and warm. Almost as if she had read his thoughts and was re- paying an unspoken compliment, she said, "You have a good honest hand, Mr. Brown." He was embarrassed, and stammered when he said "Yeah? Well— thanks. You— your hands feel pretty nice too." Mrs. King and Julie both laughed. The mother's laugh was hearty, Julie's gay. Mrs. King asked, "What lime would you like breakfast, Mr. Brown?" "Huh? — Oh — nine-thirty — ten — " Slandhg over him wHh clenched, he said, "And now I'm Ihrough with you." Julie iltopped to her knees beside Jim. "Why not ten?" Julie askpri "4„j tmi to start practicing unW then "^ " ' " """"'^ ""' shoi^L!^"®.''T ",'""" ^™ **"* ^"""d her daughter's t„ ""k 'm"' ",^- ^™"'" ^^'<^- "I "sed «o live next door to a boiler factory, and I never slept bette^in my We So go ahead and practice " ^ "Go™ nTght"""''' '"" '''' ^' ''°'"^'" •'"'- P™-'-!- ar^d"th5.'''^ ^°"^' ^^ P*™'^^ °" °"« heel, looking around the room once more, before he took nff hi, e?n*-7K^" 'If.^'^^^'^ ^' "^^ "»- whTeh Mrs King had closed behmd her. It had just struck him that Julie's expression, as she talked to him, had been curiously intent and watchful— an odd expression, as if she were seeing something more than his broad shoulders and long arms and legs, his regular features and close-cropped brown hair. But he decided, after a moment, that he'd imagined all this. The next morning he came downstairs at a quarter of ten. Julie had been prac- ticing for a full hour, filling the house with intricate melodies, so hard to follow with the ear that it was hard to believe human fingers had created them. He said, as she struck brilliant chords to punctuate the end of the piece she was play- ing, "That was swell, sister. You're good.' How long you been at this?" Julie swung around on the piano stool to face him. "Oh, good morning! Why, I've been playing for at>out ten years, I guess." "Well, you're all right." He smiled a little, cleared his throat, and smiled again; then, seizing eagerly upon something to keep the con- versation from dying: "Say, don't you use any music to play from?" Julie shook her head. "You play by heart!" he said wonderingly. "Gee! That's a gift. Your mother says you're going to be one of those concert players?" "I hope to be. In an- 23 other year I think I'll be ready." He came closer to the piano and stood above her, big hands thrust deep into his pockets. "Where'll you go and play?" "Oh, every place," Julie said. "I've dreamt about playing all over the world, but I guess that will have to wait a little while. But there's all of our country — and South America — and Canada — " Her face grew rapt, as if already she heard the applause, saw the unfamiliar places. 'T'HE young man chuckled, a little bitterly. "Funny! Here I've been all over the place. Chicago — Cali- fornia— New York — ^Kansas City — I even went to Tiajuana once — So what? One hotel room is the same as any other. Half those places aren't worth seein'. You can take it from me." Julie's eyes hadn't left his face, and he had again that quick, dis- turbing feeling that she could see past it into his thoughts. "If you say that," she told him, "you really couldn't have lived in those places. Why, just think of the millions of lives that make up a big city. Each town has a flavor — a soul of its own — and as you drift through the streets and allow yourself to become a part of that city you begin to know all of the people. You be- come a part of them. And when that happens you will never have to worry, never have a regret, and — " she hesitated, a very little — "and never have to be afraid." He blinked uncomfortably. "Yeah? Well, you certainly sound like you believe it. But listen — how can you say you won't ever have to be afraid of anything?" "Because all those people are like you — they're part of you, and you're part of them. And you wouldn't want to hurt anybody, so why should they?" "Mmmm . . ." Finding no an- swer to that, he took refuge in masculine coquetry. "For a pretty girl like you, sister, you got a lot of quaint ideas." Unflattered, she said,' "Do you really think I'm pretty?" "As if you didn't know! That soft yellow hair — and your mouth — and your long hands — " Suddenly, under her direct gaze, he was ashamed of himself. He burst out, "Why do you look at me like that?" "I was just wondering what you look like," she said. "I guess you didn't know — I'm blind. I've been blind since I was ten years old." There was a hushed, shocked silence. Then he said, "Say, I'm — I'm terribly sorry! I mean — talk- ing about places not being worth 24 seeing and all. You must think I'm an awful kind of heel." "You didn't say anything inten- tionally . . ." "And all this about going around the world playing the piano — you want to go through with that — even with two strikes against you? With all the competition from other peo- ple?" "I won't be afraid," Julie said. "I'll be doing what I've always dreamed about. I'll be filled with so much happiness there won't be any room for fear left in me." Incredulously— "It sounds so easy when you say it like that." "It is easy — for everybody." She was so certain, so calmly sure, that he almost believed her. But he thrust aside his momentary doubt. "Yeah!" It was a short, derisive sound. "Let me tell you, sister, you get up against some things that — well — there's just nothing you can do about 'em. I'm telling you!" "I wish you would tell me, some time," Julie said softly. "Huh? Tell you what?" "What it is you're afraid of." "I'm not afraid of — who said I was afraid of anything?" he asked angrily. "I wish you'd tell me about it some time," she said instead of answer- ing his protest. "Maybe I could help you to see things — the way I do." And while he stared at her in amazement she stood up and went toward the dining room. "I think your breakfast is ready now." Mr. Jack Brown didn't once leave the house, all that day. Part of the time he was in his room, but mostly he was with Julie, listening to her practice, or talking. Late in the afternoon she asked him to read to A poignant raaio story, fic- tionized by Norton Russell, I heard on the Lincoln Highway broadcast, Saturday at 11:00 A.M., E.S.T., over the NBC-\ Red, sponsored by Shinola. her, and thrust an old volume in limp leather into his hands. It was an edition of Shakespeare's plays. " 'Cowards die many times before their deaths,' " he read aloud, slowly; " 'the valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders I have ever heard, it seems to me most strange that men should fear, see- ing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come.' " He stopped, and said in scorn, "Huh! You can only die once, can't you?" "That's the point," Julie said. "So why go through all the agony in your mind beforehand? Will that put it off? Will it make it any easier? No! And then suppose it doesn't happen at all?" He opened his mouth to answer — and held it open, silently, as the doorbell pealed. It rang again, in- sistently. "Who's that?" There was the sharp, jagged edge of panic in his voice. "Some friend, I expect," Julie said. "Mother's out — I'll answer it." "No." He leaped to his feet. With more assurance, he added, "I'll go." There was a little hallway out- side the living room, and the outer door opened at the end of this. Julie heard the click of the latch, then a man's voice, low and menacing: "Well! So here you are — even opening the door for me!" "Whitey!" "You yellow, cowardly — " The man's voice was louder now, and Julie knew he had stepped into the house. "Whitey — don't start anything here — cut it out!" "What is it?" Julie called. "Mr. Brown, what is it?" Both men had come into the living room now, and the newcomer, the one called Whitey, laughed. "Mr. Brown, huh? Girlie, do you know, who this egg really is? He's Jim Denny, challenger for the world's heavyweight championship — and a crawling coward!" She stood in the middle of the floor, straining her eyes toward the sound of his voice. "But what has he done?" "I'll tell you what he's done! He's run out on me — on me! — his man- ager, his own brother! I prime him for six years so he can take all comers. He's goin' great guns — he's up there — the next step is the cham- pionship— and what does he do? He walks out on me and disappears the day we're going to sign for the match. Good Lord, sister, haven't you read about it in the news- papers?" "No," Julie said. "No, I haven't." Whitey Continued on page 48 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRHOR IN LIVING PORTRAITS Introducing those enjoyable Bartons, the family you laugh and cry with in their daily adventures heard on the NBC-Red network, written by Harlan Ware and sponsored by Duz. See them all in real life photographs on the following pages TO BUD BARTON there is nothing quite so enjoyable as lifting the hood of his jalopy and watching the jnotor run. Joy Wynn, sitting on the fender, is a next-door neighbor of the Bartons and has a half ownership in the car. Bud's sister. Midge, who is looking at Bud, thinks his car is all right, but nothing to get excited about. MAItCH, 1942 25 BUD BARTON is a typical, wholesome, American hoy, who, like m.ost thirteen year old hoys, is quite frequently the cause of m.ajor household disturbances. Right now, life with the Bartons evolves m,ostly around Bud's love for a car he has acquired and his passionate desire to keep it. Not long ago, he took a little girl, Joy Wynn, to the Dreamland Theater and Joy held a winning ticket, which entitled her to a jalopy. But, since Bud paid for the ticket, he felt the car should belong to him. Mr. Barton has forbidden him, to drive any car until he is sixteen, but Bud has talked his father into letting him keep the jalopy in the garage where he can "Just look at it" until his father lets him drive. Very often. Bud's alert and imaginative ideas are difficult for his father to grasp. Bud is often woefully wrong, sometimes amazingly right, always honest. (Played by Dick Holland) i MR. BARTON, Bud's father, is nervous and worried at times, hut almost any one would be if he had the family problems which beset Henry Barton. He's a kind, sweet m,an, who understands that children must have ninety meals a month, with lunches in between, but, like most fathers there are a good many things about his children which completely baffle him. He half understands Bud's great yearning to drive a car, hut fears that Bud may get into an accident if given permission. He sympathizes with Midge's desire to wear expensive clothes in her school play, but becomes upset when she speaks of dresses that will cost "only" tu)enty dollars. He is in his glory when he gets a slight cold and the family puts him to bed andbabies him,. Like most men, he worries about his tractor business and his health while trying to be a modern, calm father to Bud and Midge. (Played by Bill Bouchey) MARCH, 1942 27 MIDGE BARTON (left) is a pretty, sweet, lovable girl of seventeen. She considers herself many years older than Bud in wisdom and, although she loves her younger brother very much, she is likely to think his problems are childish. But, her problems are something else again! Right now, she's very excited and upset about playing the lead in a local charity show for War Relief and, her part, that of a rich, Long Island society deb, is, according to her, as important as that of Ger- trude Lawrence's in that New York show, "Lady In The Dark." She's upset because she needs two differ- ent riding habits in the play and she has only eighty-seven cents and her father is not easily convinced that he ought to buy them for her. Whenever she seems on the verge of getting her father to see the light regarding her costumes for the play. Bud has to upset him by talk- ing about that car of his. Midge is always "tying up" the family telephone, talking to her boy friends. (Played by Jane Webb) MRS. BARTON (right) is a sweet, warm woman with a delightful sense of humor, who is always a little amused by everyone in her family. She is a wonderful mother to Bud and Midge, one who knows how to help them solve their tremendous problems without let- ting them know she is helping them. Her hus- band needs more care than her children, particularly when he becomes involved in their problems and, with her firm, understand- ing, practical way, she is always on hand to help her husband out of difficulty. She knows his moods and she knows when it is best for the children to approach him with their pleas. Mrs. Barton's first interest in life is her home and children, but she is also active in the Ladies' League and has done a great deal to help the under-privileged children of Clarks- ville. She is also a neighborly person and quick to help the others in the block, and this kindness has won her great affection from all of Clarksville. Bud and Midge are proud of their mother and believe her to be the wisest woman in the world. One thing is certain: she is the backbone of this charming, delightful family. (Played by Fern Persons) 28 JOY WYNN (right) the little, eleven-year-old girl who lives near the Bartons is more often in their home than her own. The reason is Bud Barton, her hero. When she won the car. Bud's father was all for her keeping it, hut Joy's papa had dif- ferent ideas and so the car went hack to the Barton garage. Now, she and Bud have a joint partner- ship in the jalopy. Joy's mother, a former Follies dancer, is a good woman, hut flighty, her father is a very w^ak man and often takes to drinking, which leaves the family in dire financial straits. Mr. Barton helped Joy's father get a joh which he promptly lost and now Mr. Bar- ton has suggested to Bud that he sell the car in order to help the family out of their trouhle. Joy is very proud and Bud is having a terrible time convincing her that their car should he sold. In fact, he, too, wishes there was som,e other way out of the situation. Joy is a wise girl for her eleven years and is not easily fooled by Bud, whom she adores. The Bartons all love her. (Played by Rosemary Gorbell) -^ iiiiMiiMiiiiiMi TOggjaawjSBCTeMeagjCT^-mgt-y GRANDMA BARTON (left), Mr. Barton's mother, has lived with the family for a good many years now and has played an active and wonderfully helpful role in their lives. She is the Tuost tolerant and understanding person in the house and everyone comes to her with his problems. Grandma has never failed to help Bud and Midge because she understands that although children and adults live in the same house they often live in different worlds. She thinks Bud is a great deal like his grandfather, who passed away a number of years ago, but whose memory she still reveres. When Mr. Barton gets mixed up by Bud's reasoning, he always comes to his mother for, help and she invariably reminds him of his own childhood. He pretends that her opinions are not so good, because they embarrass him, but he usually takes her advice. Bud also has long, philo- sophical talks with his grandmother, which are amusing and educational. Midge talks to her as woman-to-woman, and Martha Barton, her daughter-in-law, loves her just as m,uch as the children and her husband do. Although she is old in years, she is young in heart and spirit. (Played by Cathryn Card) 29 (nrva/rt o" Suddenly Martha was frightened and very tired. She had fought so gallantly to save their love, but this latest folly was too much for any wife to forgive THE STORY: W/'HEN Jim Jackson was crippled in a fall from the scaffolding of a house he was building, Martha, his wife, had thought her greatest problem would be find- ing means to support him, herself, their daughter Lucy and their adopted son Tommy. But she soon found that a much more difficult task was fighting Jim's depression, his conviction that he was worthless now, both to him- self and to her. The financial question was solved when Martha turned the front of their home into a grocery store and took in a lodger, George Harrison. But George brought with him a new difficulty, for he soon was unable to hide his adoration of Martha — and Jim, seeing this, was more than ever sure he should give Martha the freedom she did not want. When Jim learned finally that all hope of curing him was gone, he actually tried to force Martha to agree to a divorce. It was George and Martha together who led him to submit plans for a new airplane factory that was to be built in Farm- ington. On the strength of his plans Jim won the contract, and with it much of his old self-confidence — until, one day, he overheard a gossiping woman remark that he had been given the contract only out of pity. Jim's pride revolted at this. Hysterically, he declared that he would not complete the factory, and seemed about to retreat into one of his deadly, brooding moods of self-pity when a welcome, unexpected interruption arrived, in the form of an official-looking letter to Martha from New York. MARTHA turned the envelope over curiously. It was heavy, expensive looking stationery. "Open it, Mother!" Lucy said excitedly. "What could any lawyers want with me?" Martha murmured. She read the letter quickly. "Oh," she sighed, "poor Uncle Whitney!" "What is it. Mother?" Lucy cried. "Something wrong?" Jim asked pessimistically. Martha glanced at him reassuringly. She was glad something could move him out of his silence and despondency. "No," she said, "not exactly. My Uncle Whitney died last week and, according to this letter, he made me his only heir." "You mean we're rich!" Lucy shouted. "I don't know," Martha said. "I have no idea whether 30 Uncle Whitney was rich or not. I only saw him a few times, when I was a little girl." "Well, gee!" Lucy said. "Well — for goodness sake! Didn't they say how much? Didn't they send a check or something?" Martha had to laugh at her daughter's impatience. "The will hasn't been probated, yet," she said. "I'll have to go to New York." "Can I go, too?" Lucy pleaded. "I've always wanted to go to New York." "No, Lucy," Martha said. "I think I'll just go alone, this time. Tommy — Lucy, you'll both be late for school." "Wait 'til the girls hear about this!" Lucy gurgled, pulling on her hat and coat. As they hurried out the back door, Tommy said, BAOIO AND TELEVISION MBIROR "/ hate fo spoil your fun," Martha said a little wearily, "but I still don't know how much money I'm getting from the will." Read it as an exciting novel, then tune in this absorbing serial daily at 10:45 A. M., E. S. T., over CBS, sponsored by Octagon Soap in the East, Crystal White in the West. Illustration posed by the cast — left to right, Tess Sheehan as Cora, Esther Ralston as Martha, Joan Tetzel as Lucy, Albert Hecht as Jim, Enid Markey as Lillian. "Lucy, what does it mean — ^rich?" Lucy laughed. "It means having lots and lots of money and being able to have everything you ever wanted." Martha sighed. How wonderful it would be, she thought, if it were really as simple as that. She looked at the clock. She wanted to remind Jim that he was late for work, but she remembered his hysterical despair of the afternoon before and she couldn't think of any way to open the subject without casting him back into the depths of self pity and hopelessness. "I'm very happy that this happened for you, Martha," Jim said gravely. "You deserve a little luck." Martha's heart contracted. It was there again, that hint of failure in his voice. She was glad the phone rang, so she didn't have to answer him. "It's for you, Jim," Martha called from the hallway. "The foreman wants to know whether you'll be down today." There was a long pause. To Martha, it almost seemed as if she could hear the conflict going on in Jim's mind. At last, the answer came. "Tell him I'll be right over," Jim caUed. "TeU him I overslept." Martha delivered the message, making her voice light, making a joke of a grown man's oversleeping. But her heart was heavy. It had taken Jim a long time to make up his mind. She returned to the kitchen and went about her work quietly. The sounds of Jim's hurried preparations came to her and, in a few minutes, he called to her, "Good- bye, Martha. I may be late for supper, tonight." He went out through the store. Martha went quickly through the house and peered after him down the street. He was wheeling his chair as fast as he could, the early morning sun glinting on the wheels. He was sitting very erect and there was a sort of strain about the way he was hurrying. And MARCH, 1942 31 Wo omxi/rt Suddenly Martha was frightened and very tired. She hud fought no gallantly to save their love, hut thin latest folly was loo much for any wife to forgive T II K H T O R Y I Yj^IIKN Jim J;ickHon wfiM crippled in H fiili from th<* .'K-fiiroidin^ of n hoiiHc ))(■ wdH bull(linf(, Mfirllifi, h'xu wifi-, find liioijf^lil iifT ((rcatrHt pi'ol;lfm wotiid he find- ing mcnriK lo Hiip(>f)rl liirn, licrHeif, thfii" dmi(,!li(cr Jjury nnd dicir' fidoplcfl fion 'i'rjinmy. iJut hIic Hoori found thlit u mucli /noil- (iidlciiil tjiiili wJi» finiilinii Jim'« (irprcnHion, liifi ('onvicl.i(jM Uijil iic wiiH wortlilrKH now, botii lo flim- Hclf ntid ((> licr. Till' llminciiil qucHtlon wan (olvod when Martha turned tin- front of Ihrir home Into n firorcry fltoro nnd tooit in 11 loriccf. CJcori/c iliirridon. Hut (Jctiinr' lirouclil with iiim II new di/llriilty, for lie mion wii.i uniiliic lo hide liis iidonitioii of JVIiii-liiii -mid Jim, WH'inH tlii.i, wild more liiiiii ever »uii' lir .nlioulri kIvc Miil'thii tlw fici'doni dill' did not wiiiit, Wlirn Jim ioiirni'd lliiiiily tliiit nli liopi- of ciirini; iiiiii wii.s com', lie iicfuiiily Iricd to toi-rv Miirlli.'i lo iicri'i' (o a divorce. It wiim (Jrori,:!' nnd IVIiiilliii toKi'tiiiT who led him to Dubinit plunH for II iww iiirpiiiiir fiirtory tiiiit wan to hi' hullt in Fiirm- inclon. On llir »tn'ni:lli of iilK pliiii,i Jim won the I'ontiarl, and wiiii it iiuic-|i of lii.i old (H'lf-conlidi'iici' initii, one day, lie ovi'iiicard a K"X'''ipini: womiin rfmiirk lliat III' had ln'cn i(ivi'n the contract only out of pity. JIm'.'i piide revolted at thin, llydtericiilly, he declared lliat he would not complete tlie faclory, and .leemed alioul to relleat into one of iiis deadly, liroodilic 1110011,1 of .lelf-pity wiii'ii a welcome, uiiexpeclcd inlerruption orrivfd. in the form of an olllclal-lookhig loiter to Martini from New Yoik, MAIITHA lunied the envelope over ciirlouHly. It wa,i heavy, expen.iive Ionltin|{ .itntlonery. "Open it. Mother!" Lucy said excitedly, "Wind could liny lawyeis want with me?" Martha murmured, .Slw read liie leller iiuiekly, "Oh," she sighed, "poor Uncle Wliilney!" "Wlial i,s it, Molller?" I ,ucy cried, ".Somelhini; wroiiK?" Jim a.sked pcssimislirally. Maitlia /{lanced at him reassuringly. She was ((hid somethinR could move him oul of his silcm-c nnd dcspondeney, "No," she said, "not exactly. My Uncle Whitney died Inst week nnd, according to this letter, he mnde ine his only heir," "You mean we're rich!" Lucy shouted. "I don't know." Martha said, "I have no idea whether .10 W< to 'A""' I""" '""' Martha iaid ' teh money I'm getting from the will." Uncle Whitney was rich or not. I only saw him a few times, when I was a little girl," "Well, gee!" Lucy said, "Well — for goodness sake! Didn't they say how much? Didn't they send a check or something?" Martha had to laugh at her daughter's impatience. "The will hasn't been probated, yet," she said. "I'll have to go to New York." "Cull 1 go. too?" Lucy pleaded. "I've always wanted to go to New York." "No. Lucy," Martha said. "I think I'll just go alone, this time. Tommy — Lucy, you'll both be late for school." "Wait 'til the girls hear about this!" Lucy gurgled, pulling on lier hat and coat. As they hurried out the back door, Tommy said. RADIO AND TSLJKV1XI0N NlWO» Read it as an exciting novel, then tune in this absorbing serial dail]/ al 10.<5 A. M., E. S. T., over CBS, sponsored by Octaflon Soap in the East, Crgstal White in the West. Illustration posed by the cast— left to right, Tess Sheehan as Cora, Esther Ralston as Martha, Joan Tetzel as Lucy, Albert Hecht as Jim, Enid Market/ as Lillian. 'Lucy, what does it mean — rich?" Lucy laughed. "It means having lots and lots of money and being able to have everything you ever wanted." Martha sighed. How wonderful it would be, she Uiought, if it were really as simple as that. She looked al the clock. She wanted to remind Jim that he was Wc tor work, but she remembered his hysterical "fspair of the afternoon before and she couldn't think 01 any way to open the subject without casting him ,';,, '"'° ^^ depths of self pity and hopelessness. I m very happy that this happened for you, Martha," •im said gravely. "You deserve a little luck." Martha's heart contracted. It was there again, that nint of failure in his voice. She was glad the phone "H.so she didn't have to answer him. lis for you, Jim," Martha caUed from the hallway. toi* „ *"'^" wants to know whether you'll be down "«». ISO There was a long pause. To Martha, it almost seemed as if she could hear the conflict going on in Jim's mind. At last, the answer came. "Tell him I'll be right over," Jim called. "Tell him I overslept." Martha delivered the message, making her voice light, making a joke of a grown man's oversleeping. But her heart was heavy. It had taken Jim a long time to make up his mind. She returned to the kitchen and went about her work quietly. The sounds of Jim's hurried preparations came to her and, in a few minutes, he called to her, "Good- bye, Martha. I may be late for supper, tonight." He went out through the store. Martha went quickly through the house and peered after him down the street. He was wheeling his chair as fast as he could, the early morning sun glinting on the wheels. He was sitting very erect and there was a sort of strain about the way he was hurrying. And 31 Martha wondered whether that strain was entu-ely due to his being late. She thought of the afternoon before. She saw again the gray mask of his face and heard again the hollow, empty voice, as it mut- tered, over and over, "Cripple, crip- ple, cripple." He had not stopped to think that no amount of pity could make a Commission turn over an important defense job to anyone but the most competent, capable person. He had not thought, at all. 4 ND now, Martha wondered what it was that made him sit up so straight, look so determined, as he wheeled himself to work. Her mind shuddered away from the suspicion that Jim was being driven by some foolish notions about not living on his wife's money. Strange, she thought, the change that trouble had made in Jim. If this bit of luck had come their way be- fore his accident, how different he would have been. He would have been happy, gay. It never would have occurred to him to think of this money, much or little, as hers and not his. The telephone rang and Martha shook off her depressing thoughts. She had no right to give way to worries like this, when she didn't know what was working in Jim's mind. She picked up the phone. "Martha!" Cora shrilled. "What's this I hear?" "About what?" Martha asked. "About you being rich all of a sudden," Cora said. "Already?" Martha laughed. "You mean it's true?" Cora gasped. "I really don't know," Martha said. "Martha, you stop talking riddles, now," Cora said. "Mrs. Blake heard Lucy tell her Joyce that you'd in- herited a huge fortune and she called me right away and I felt like an awful fool." Martha laughed again. Quickly she told Cora what little she knew. "You'd better come over as soon as you can," she finished. "We'll have to make some arrangements about the store while I'm gone." But there was little chance to do anything about the house that day. The store bell rang incessantly. Everyone in Farmington seemed to know about Martha's good fortune. Old Veronica Hall sniffed critically and said she hadn't really expected to find the store open. And when Martha tried to explain that she didn't know whether she was rich or not, Veronica looked as though she didn't believe her. "Some peo- ple never have enough," she heard 32 Veronica whisper to another woman, as they left the store. Martha was hurt, but there wasn't much time for her to dwell on that, because Lillian bustled in, breath- less with excitement. "Lillian!" Martha exclaimed. "Shouldn't you be working?" "Oh," Lillian tossed her head. "I quit! I told that old Schmidt a thing or two. I said, 'Now that my sister's a wealthy woman, I won't have to take orders from an old skinflint like you.' You shoxild have seen his face! Oh, I'm so happy, Martha!" she cried effusively, kiss- ing her sister's startled face. Martha pulled away from her. "LiUian, that's awful!" "Why,' Martha!" Lillian said. "With all that money, you wouldn't want your sister to go on working as a SERVANT!" eAIe^ /VIotvtk Loquacious Vic, long- suffering Sade, mis- chievous Rush — see all «,} ■■. - -- - ■ your favorite Vic and Sade characters as they really are — in Living Portraits — in the April issue of Radio Mirror Cora snorted. Martha was tired of telling people she didn't know how much money she was going to get — if any. She sighed and launched into it, once again, for Lillian's benefit. And, seeing the look of personal injury and dis- illusionment that clouded Lillian's face, Martha realized that this inheritance of hers was a mixed blessing, at best. Now Cora said, matter of factly, "Well, Lillian, since you gave up your other job, you can take care of the store while Martha is away." Martha was no happier about this arrangement than Lillian, but. there wasn't time to make other plans be- fore she left for New York. Several times, she tried to talk to Jim and Lucy about keeping an eye on Lillian, but they seemed to think the store was no longer important. And, in a way, Martha was grateful. It didn't matter that Jim was full of ambitious plans, which might never materialize. What did matter was that his thoughts were turned out- ward, on things outside himself, and he had returned to his work. on the airplane factory with renewed energy and interest. When Martha finally got on the train, she breathed a sigh of re- lief. It struck her a little funny that everyone else had been so excited that she herself had had no time to feel anything. Here she was, setting out on a trip to New York and all she felt was a longing for peace and quiet. It wasn't until the train rumbled into the dark tunnel leading into New York City, that Martha felt a thrill of anticipation. She laughed at herself, inwardly, for behaving like a child. But she shook that off quickly. After all, why shouldn't she be excited? Just as she was about to tell a Red Cap to get her a taxi, a man stepped up to her and said, "I beg your pardon — but are you Mrs. Jackson of Farmington?" Martha stared at him in amaze- ment. He was tall and good look- ing, about thirty-five or so. He was very poised and his smile was warm and friendly. I "Why— yes— " His smile broadened. "Allow me to present myself, Mrs. Jackson," he said. "I'm William Moore, of the law firm that handles your uncle's estate." "How do you do?" Martha said. "But how did you — " William Moore grinned. "Some- how," he said, "you look just as I expected you to look." For a moment, Martha wondered whether he meant that she was just unmistakably countrified. Then, she realized he had meant it as a compli- ment. To Martha, it was wonderful just to sit back and let someone else take care of her, for a change. William Moore had thought of everything. He had reserved a suite for her in one of the most fashionable hotels in the city and breakfast was wait- ing for them, out on a little terrace, from which she could see the entire city stretched out before her. After breakfast, William Moore gave Martha a cashier's check for seven thousand dollars. Casually, he advised her not to spend all of it, because it would take about two thousand dollars to open the house her uncle had left her in Old Port and to run it for a month. "Two thousand dollars to run a house?" Martha exclaimed. "For a month?" She smiled. "Why, we've done with Continued on page 52 RADIO AND TELEVISION MlilRQB Two loves beckoned her — one toward the exquisite rapture she had once known, the other toward an unknown future — arid she must decide irrev- ocahly what her heart really desired X ^ Copyright 1942, Frank and Anne Hummert THE sea stretched cold and bleak be- fore me until it reached a slate- colored sky that seemed to bend to meet it. The tall, barren rocks that line the coast of Maine towered on either side. The March wind tore at my hair and at my skirts. Above the crashing of the waves, the only sound was the seagulls that screamed and circled overhead. And in all that gray expanse of sea and shore and sky not a living soul moved except myself. Yet to me it was not lonely. To me that bleakness offered a harsh sanctuary in which, at last, I could sort out the things that troubled me, face them and make my decision. I had been here once before, years ago as a little girl, with my peirents. Then it had been summer, and the beach was gay with bright umbrellas and bathers and children digging in the sand. Now there was no echo of those distant shouts and laughter. Now there were only my tor- mented thoughts that pounded at me as ceaselessly as those gray waves pounded at the shore. I was staying at the inn, which was officially closed until the season should open in July. If the proprietors, Mr. and Mrs. Connick, had thought it strange that a young woman of twenty-four should choose March as a time to come alone to the coast of Maine, they made no mention of it. With the simple and uncurious polite- ness of New England folk, they had opened up a room for me,. served my meals, and 3 f \ 6 iN "h's never foo late." he urged, and in the moonlight his eyes seemed to possess me. A RADgr DRAMA OFjHt. KEEN, TRACER OF LOST PERSONS asked no questions. That was what I had wanted and needed, and I was grateful. Every day I walked for miles along the shore, deliberately tiring myself so I should sleep at night. Every day I wrestled with the doubts in my own soul, struggling to make the decision I would have to abide by for the rest of my life. Once before my life had been broken into pieces. I had patched it to- gether again as best I could, and gone on. Now it was torn to shreds again, and this time whatever I de- cided was to be irrevocable, forever and ever amen. This time there would be no turning back, no second chance. And this time it involved not only myself but the happiness of others. T TURNED away from my pro- tected pocket between the rocks, and walked along the beach. I walked like one driven. Over and over, my heart repeated one name and one image — a tall figure with laughing eyes that looked deep into mine. And yet — It was then I hesird the hail. I whirled aroimd. A short, chubby figure was hurrying toward me over the sand, calling my name. He was not one of the fishermen from the neighborhood, for he was dressed in city clothes that contrasted oddly with the barren surroundings; and the choppy little stride that brought him closer was not that of an out- door man. I waited, a little appre- hensively. He was slightly over middle age, with iron gray hair and quick, in- telligent eyes. He smiled as he reached me. "You're Jane Wingate, aren't you?" "Yes ..." I said, half question- ingly. He regarded me for a moment, steadily. Then he said, "Why are you running away, Jane?" Fear closed around my heart. "I — I don't know what you mean. Who are you?" "Don't be alarmed, my dear. My name is Keen. I'm from New York. I'm a tracer of lost persons." "Oh! I've heard of you from — from a friend." "I wonder if the friend could have been Tom Galloway. It was he who sent me here." "Tom sent you here? What busi- ness was it of his?" I said furiously. Listen to Mr. Keen, Tracer of Lost Persons, in thrilling dramas, heard Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday nights at 7:15, E.S.T., on NBC-Blue, sponsored by Kolynos Toothpaste. MABCH, 1942 "And what business is it of yours to track me down and search me out like — ^like a criminal? I'm not doing anybody any harm." "Perhaps," he said gently, "you are doing yourself harm. And when a lovely young lady suddenly dis- appears, it is the business of those who love her to try and find her again. It is my business to trace lost people. And you are lost, Jane. Aren't you?" "If I am, I can find myself again." "But not like this. Not by run- ning away from the world. You've always done it, haven't you? When things went wrong you tried to cut yourself off from life, to shut out feeling and emotion, to live in some rigid sphere of your own, never re- laxing for fear you might be hurt again." I stared at him. "What makes you say that?" "Don't forget you've been missing nearly a week." He took my arm and began to walk me down the beach. "After Tom asked me to take the case, I talked to several friends of yours who know you and love you very much. From what they told me I pieced together a pic- ture— and I see now that it was pretty accurate." There was so much kindness in his gray eyes, so much understand- ing that I felt my anger evaporate. "Did the picture tell you I'd be here?" He laughed. "Tom suggested this place. While we were cudgelling our brains to think where you might be, he suddenly remembered a chance remark of yours months ago. You said you'd been to a place as a chUd that you'd often thought of since as the most perfect place to be alone. You said that if anything ever troubled you, you would choose Correction Cove to come and think it out. So — ^here we are." "Imagine Tom remembering a little thing like that." Mr. Keen's eyes twinkled. "Imagine," he said. Then he added more seriously, "Now, Jane, where can we go and talk? Isn't there some place out of the wind . . . ?" "There's a little shelter over there." I pointed to where I had been standing. "But — Mr. Keen, you're being very kind. But I don't want to talk. There is nothing to be gained by talk. I came here to make a decision and I would like to make it alone." "No. I'm afraid you want only to look at the memories you treasure in your heart — and memories can sometimes play you false. I think I can help you. Don't forget that distant music is always sweetest, that the moonlight that shone over / held up my lips to hh and in the moment of our kiss all the false memories withered owoy. ^ t • 4«*4 .a*e,^. a college campus five years ago is far lovelier than any that shines today, and that people have an aura of ro- mance that we've built around them in our memories. That was the way it was with Gilbert Forrester, wasn't it?" "So you know about that, too," I whispered. "You know about Gil." We had reached the little cove by that time. The wind had died and there was a ray of afternoon sun struggling through the clouds. I sank down on the sand, suddenly weary. . Then I looked up at the man who was watching me so steadily out of those kindly gray eyes. I patted the sand beside me. "Sit down," I said. "I'd Hke to tell you all about it. ..." It began when I was in college. It seems to me a lot of things begin then. You are old enough to think yourself grown. Your mind and senses are at their most receptive point and you are himgry for life. You stand at its threshold, eager and unafraid, too young for wisdom but too young for disillusion, too. It is a moment like a bright coin spun in the air, and it will never come again. My senior year was the happiest of my life, for it was at its beginning that I met Gilbert Forrester. He was like a golden thread running through the pattern of those days until he had wound himself com- pletely around my heart and en- meshed it. Gil was handsome, Gil laughed at life. He could have any- thing he wanted — and he wanted me. I couldn't believe it. I wasn't gay. In fact, I was rather serious. And I wasn't pretty — except, Marcia Mc- Nair said, when I was with Gil, and then I was beautiful. Marcia was my room mate and best friend, and she said when I was with Gil or when I spoke of him a radiance transformed me that was like a light shining through. Marcia and I were as close as sisters, and she knew the night Gil first said he loved me and the night we first talked of marriage and the vague but ecstatic plans we made for it. We would wait till after Commencement, Gil was to go into his father's business — "Not that I'll be much good at it, but the old man wants me there and he'll pay enough so we can be married right away," he'd said — and then maybe the fol- lowing fall, maybe the following winter we would be married, and then — and then — Oh, those golden, singing days when Gil and I were nineteen and in love. Then came the Spring dance and after that everything was different. Violet Eaton was at that dance, and Violet was Continued on page 78 35 /.. .i asked no questions. That was what I had wanted and needed, and I was grateful. Every day I walked for miles along the shore, deliberately tiring myself so 1 should sleep at night. Every day I wrestled with the doubts in my own soul, struggling to make the decision I would have to abide by for the rest of my life. Once before my life had been broken into pieces. I had patched it to- gether again as best I could, and gone on. Now it was torn to shreds again, and this time whatever I de- cided was to be irrevocable, forever and ever amen. This time there would be no turning back, no second chance. And this time it Involved not only myself but the happiness of others. I TURNED away from my pro- tected pocket between the rocks, and walked along the beach. I walked like one driven. Over and over, my heart repeated one name and one image— a tall figure with laughing eyes that looked deep into mine. And yet — It was then I heard the hail. I whirled around. A short, chubby figure was hurrying toward me over the sand, calling my name. He was not one of the fishermen from the neighborhood, for he was dressed in city clothes that contrasted oddly with the barren surroundings; and the choppy little stride that brought him closer was not that of an out- door man. I waited, a little appre- hensively. He was slightly over middle iige, with iron gray hair and quick, in- telligent eyes. He smiled as he reached me. "You're Jane WIngate, aren't you?" "Yes ..." I said, half qucstlon- Ingly. He regarded me for n moment, steadily. Then he sold, "Why are you running away, Jane?" Fear closed around my heart. "I — I don't know what you mean. Who arc you?" "Don't be alarmed, my dear. My name is Keen. I'm from New York. I'm a tracer of lost persons." "OhI I've heard of you from — from a friend." "I wonder if the friend could have been Tom Galloway. It was he who sent me here." "Tom sent you here? What busi- ness was it of his?" I said furiously. Listen to Mr. Keen, Tracer 0/ Lojtt Persons, iii thrillinff dranuu, hcord Tuesday. Wcdiicsdav ond Thursday nights at 7.15, E.S.T., on NBC-Blue, sponsored by Kolynos Toothpaste. "And what business is it of yours to track me down and search me out like— like a criminal? I'm not doing ^ anybody any harm." "Perhaps," he said gently, "you are doing yourself harm. And when a lovely young lady suddenly dis- appears, it is the business of those who love her to try and find her again. It is my business to trace lost people. And you are lost, Jane. Aren't you?" "If I am, I can find myself again." "But not like this. Not by run- ning away from the world. You've always done it, haven't you? When things went wrong you tried to cut yourself off from life, to shut out feeling and emotion, to live in some rigid sphere of your own, never re- laxing for fear you might be hurt again." I stared at him. "What makes you .say that?" "Don't forget you've been missing nearly a week." He took my arm and began to walk me down the beach. "After Tom asked me to take the case, I talked to .several friends of yours who know you and love you very much. From what they told me I pieced together a pic- ture— and I see now that it was pretty accurate." There was so much kindness in his gray eyes, so much understand- ing that I felt my anger evaporate. "Did the picture tell you I'd be here?" He laughed. "Tom suggested this place. While we were cudgelling our brains to think where you might be, he suddenly remembered a chance remark of yours months ago. You said you'd been to a place as a child that you'd often thought of since as the most perfect place to be alone. You said that if anything ever troubled you, you would choose Correction Cove to come and think it out. So — here we are." "Imagine Tom remembering a little thing like that." Mr. Keen's eyes twinkled. "Imagine," he said. Then he added more seriously, "Now, Jane, where can we go and talk? Isn't there some place out of the wind . . . ?" "There's a little shelter over there." I pointed to where I had been standing. "But — Mr. Keen, you're being very kind. But I don't want to talk. There is nothing to be gained by talk. I came here to make a decision and I would like to make it alone." "No. I'm afraid you want only to look at the memories you treasure in your heart — and memories can sometimes piny you false. I think I can help you. Don't forget that distant music is always sweetest, that the moonlight that shone over >*'>«il*^. ?„t»^^^?'"''"^ "^^ years ago is far InH^K'."'^" ^"y "'at shines today, and that people have an aura of ro- mance that we've buUt around them m our memories. That was the way ■t was with Gilbert Forrester, wasn't "So you know about that, too." I whispered. 'You know about GU." We had reached the litUe cove by that tune. The wind had died and there was a ray of afternoon sun struggling through the clouds. I saijk down on the sand, suddenly weary.. Then I looked up at the man who was watching me so steadily out of those kindly gray eyes. I patted the sand beside me. "Sit down," I said. "I'd like to tell you all about it " It began when I was in college. It seems to me a lot of things begin then. You are old enough to think yourself grown. Your mind and senses are at their most receptive point and you are hungry for life. You stand at its threshold, eager and unafraid, too young for wisdom but too young for disillusion, too. It is a moment like a bright coin spun in the air, and it will never come again. My senior year was the happiest of my life, for it was at its beginning that I met Gilbert Forrester. He was like a golden thread running through the pattern of those days until he had wound himself com- pletely around my heart and en- meshed it. Gil was handsome, Gil laughed at life. He could have any- thing he wanted — and he wanted me. I couldn't believe it. I wasn't gay. In fact, I was rather serious. And I wasn't pretty — except, Marcia Mc- Nair said, when I was with Gil, and then I was beautiful. Marcia was my room mate and best friend, and she said when I was with Gil or when I spoke of him a radiance transformed me that was like a light shining through. Marcia and I were as close as sisters, and she knew the night Gil first said he loved me and the night we first talked of marriage and the vague but ecstatic plans we made for it. We would wait till after Commencement, Gil was to go into his father's business — "Not that I'll be much good at it. but the old man wants me there and he'll pay enough so we can be married right away," he'd said — and then maybe the fol- lowing fall, maybe the following winter we would be married, and then — and then — Oh, those golden, singing days when Gil and I were nineteen and in love. Then came the Spring dance and after that everything was different. Violet Eaton was at that dance, and Violet was Continued on page 78 ecxxuAe C) Jipv-eA^ "Are you hurting someone else?" her conscience prompted, hut Elizabeth knew only that her greatest need was to be near Bill, to have the shelter of his arms As I got off the bus the rain which had been pouring stead- ily cdl day suddenly ceased. Dark clouds scudded overhead, then vanished into thin smoky wisps and in their place the sky was filled with the gold of the setting sun. I raised my head, moved by the beauty of the flashing colors, and involuntarily my spirits lifted. Per- haps the sunset, driving the storm away, was a good omen for me. Perhaps it meant that my own storm of worry was to end. I walked on again, faster than before. Surely, my heart sang, this would be my lucky day, the day when I would find waiting for me a letter offer- ing me one of the innumerable jobs for which I had been inter- // wai BUI Sfuarf, ifand- ing by the microphone, who had all my attention. 36 viewed during the past few weeks. I hurried through the lobby of the Hotel Woolford, "the homelike hotel for young women of refine- ment" which, though not quite so homelike as its advertisements promised, had been the only home I'd known since I'd said goodbye to mom and dad and left to come to the capital city of our state. At the desk I could hardly restrain my excitement for there was mail for me. I could see a number of letters in my mailbox at the back of the desk. The gray-haired clerk smiled when he reached back for my key and the letters. Then he paused, holding the letters just out of reach. "You know," he said chattily, "you're the second Elizabeth Adams we've had as our guest." He paused and said, "Yes sir, the first one moved out just a little while before you came." I smiled in answer, hoping that if I just nodded and didn't speak he would give up his attempt to be sociable and give me the letters he still held. Finally, when he saw I wasn't going to join him in his gos- siping, he put the mail in my hand and I turned toward the elevator, scarcely hearing his final words. As soon as I reached my room I tore the envelopes open feverishly, only to toss them aside one by one. The letters to which I had looked forward so hopefully consisted of circulars from neighborhood beauty and dress shops, a price list from the laundry on the corner and a printed announcement of current films at the movie theater in the next block — the usual collection of uninteresting and meaningless ad- vertisements which are stuffed in- discriminately into hotel mail boxes. It had started to rain again and the drumming of the storm against the window brought back my earlier dejection. For the first time I be- gan to wonder if coming to this city had been a mistake. I had been so confident that morning nearly a month ago when I had left the small town in which I had always lived, so positive that here I would find the opportunity for a successful business career which I RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRIIOR had not found at home. I had dreamed of the trip for a long time and had planned for it. I had felt that to be on the safe side I should have money enough for at least three months in the city, for I had known that once I left home I couldn't count on Dad and Mother for fi- nancial help — ^Dad is a doctor and a fine one, but he's also one of the kindest hearted men in the world, which means that he goes on taking care of his patients whether they can pay him or not. But even the knowledge that I would be com- pletely on my own hadn't worried me. I'd saved every penny I cotdd spare out of my allowance and when my savings had reached the goal I'd decided on, I had set out, certain that before the three months were up I would be self-supporting. I wasn't so certain of that now. I had interviewed so many pros- pective employers, filled out so many application cards that I could not remember all of them, and still I hadn't had a sign of encourage- ment. And almost worse than worrying about a job was the appalling lone- liness. At home I had known every- one and I had taken for granted that it would be just as easy to make friends elsewhere, but instead of the gaiety and companionship I had dreamed of there had been soli- tary evenings in this small hotel room. Here I was forced to admit on this dreary, rainy night, I was just another unknown. In all the thousands of people in the city there wasn't a single person who knew or cared what was happening to me. It was strange, then, since I had no friends, that my phone should ring out in the silence. When I answered it, somewhat puzzled, a pleasant masculine voice asked, "Is this Miss Adams?" "Yes." "I'm Bill Stuart," the voice went on. "I roomed with Tom at the University." From the pause that followed I realized the unknown speaker was waiting for a reply, but I couldn't remember knowing any- one named Tom. "Tom?" I repeated at last. We was fall, and he had dark hair which, berieath the lights, showed more than a trace of red. "Yes." The unseen Mr. Stuart laughed. "Tom Richards — your cou- sin." This was even more bewildering, for I haven't any cousin. "I think there must be some mistake," I began. "Aren't you Elizabeth Adams?" "Yes, I am, but — " abruptly the explanation flashed into my mind. Only this evening the hotel clerk had mentioned a former guest whose name was the same as mine. "There was another girl named Elizabeth Adams who used to live here," I said slowly. "She must be the one you want." "Oh-h." The long-drawn syllable held disappointment but there was more assurance in the next words. "I was calhng to ask Miss Adams if she would have dinner with me. Since she isn't there would you — I mean, Continued on page 59 MARCH, 1942 37 (B ec€xL T <.^.e you Hunins someone eUe?" her conscier^e prompt, but ElM kneu, only L ker^reates. ne^ .as to be near BUI, to have the shelter of h^s arms As I got off the bus the rain which had been pouring stead- ily all day suddenly ceased. Dark clouds scudded overhead, then vanished into thin smoky wisps and in their place the sky was filled with the gold of the setting sun. I raised my head, moved by the beauty of the flashing colors, and involuntarily my spirits lifted. Per- haps the sunset, driving the storm away, was a good omen for me. Perhaps it meant that my own storm of worry was to end. I walked on again, faster than before. Surely, my heart sang, this would be my lucky day, the day when I would find waiting for me a letter offer- ing me one of the innumerable jobs for which I had been inter- // woj «;// S/uof/, j/ond- Ing by the microphone, who had all my attention, 36 viewed during the past few weeks. I hurried through the lobby of the Hotel Woolford, "the homelike hotel for young women of refine- ment" which, though not quite so homelike as its advertisements promised, had been the only home I'd known since I'd said goodbye to mom and dad and left to come to the capital city of our state. At the desk I could hardly restrain my excitement for there was mail for me. I could see a number of letters in my mailbox at the back of the desk. The gray-haired clerk smiled when he reached back for my key and the letters. Then he paused, holding the letters just out of reach. "You know," he said chattily, "you're the second Elizabeth Adams we've had as our guest." He paused and said, "Yes sir, the first one moved out just a little while before you came." I smiled in answer, hoping that if I just nodded and didn't speak he would give up his attempt to be sociable and give me the letters he still held. Finally, when he saw I wasn't going to join him in his gos- siping, he put the mail in my hand and I turned toward the elevator, scarcely hearing his final words. As soon as I reached my room I tore the envelopes open feverishly, only to toss them aside one by one. The letters to which I had looked forward so hopefully consisted of circulars from neighborhood beauty and dress shops, a price list from the laundry on the corner and a printed announcement of current films at the movie theater in the next block — the usual collection of uninteresting and meaningless ad- vertisements which are stuffed in- discriminately into hotel mail boxes. It had started to rain again and the drumming of the storm against the window brought back my earlier dejection. For the first time I be- gan to wonder if coming to this city had been a mistake. I had been so confident that morning nearly a month ago when I had left the small town in which I had always lived, so positive that here I would find the opportunity for a successful business career which I BADIO AND TELEVISION MBWO" y(y\Ay uod not found at home. I had Zmei of the t"P for a long time fnOad planned for it. I had felt fhat to be on the safe side I should have money enough for at least three months in the city, for I had known ihat once I left home I couldn't count on Dad and Mother for fi- nancial help— Dad is a doctor and a 5„e one, but he's also one of the kindest hearted men in the world, which means that he goes on taking care of his patients whether they can pay him or not. But even the knowledge that I would be com- pletely on my own hadn't worried me. I'd saved every penny I could spare out of my allowance and when my savings had reached the goal I'd decided on, I had set out, certain that before the three months were up I would be self-supporting. I wasn't so certain of that now. I had interviewed so many pros- pective employers, filled out so many application cards that I could not remember all of them, and still I hadn't had a sign of encourage- ment. And almost worse than worrying about a job was the appalling lone- liness. At home I had known every- one and I had taken for granted that it would be just as easy to make friends elsewhere, but instead of the gaiety and companionship I had dreamed of there had been soli- tary evenings in this small hotel room. Here I was forced to admit on this dreary, rainy night, I was just another unknown. In all the thousands of people in the city there wasn't a single person who luiew or cared what was happening to me. It was strange, then, since I had no friends, that my phone should ring out in the silence. When I answered it, somewhat puzzled, a pleasant masculine voice asked, "Is tUs Miss Adams?" "Yes." "I'm Bill Stuart," the voice went ™-. "I roomed with Tom at the ^iiiversity." From the pause that lollowed I realized the unknown speaker was waiting for a reply, but couldn't remember knowing any- one named Tom. "Tom?" I repeated at last. ^""ra. 1942 He was tall, and he had dark hair which, beneath the lights, showed more than a trace of red. "Yes." The unseen Mr. Stuart laughed. "Tom Richards — your cou- sin." This was even more bewildering, for I haven't any cousin. "I think there must be some mistake," I began. "Aren't you Elizabeth Adams? "Yes, I am, but—" abruptly the explanation flashed into my mind. Only this evening the hotel clerk had mentioned a former guest whose name was the same as mine. "There was another girl named Elizabeth Adams who used to live here," I said slowly. "She must be the one you want." "Oh-h." The long-drawn syllable held disappointment but there was more assurance in the next words. "I was calling to ask Miss Adams if she would have dinner with me. Since she isn't there would you ^I mean. Continued on poge 59 37 First known as fhe founder of fhe famous two-piano team of Ohman and Arden, Victor Arden now leads Merry Go Round's band. Marian MacManus and Alan Holt are two young singers who were discovered by Frank Hummert in the chorus and raised to stardom. AT 9:00 P.M., E.S.T., each Sunday evening, millions of listeners automatically tune in on their NBC-Red stations to one of radio's most enjoy- able programs. The Manhat- tan Merry Go Rourid is now in its tenth year, bringing old and new music into your homes, sung and played by a host of talented stars. Pro- duced by Frank Hummert and sponsored by Dr. Lyons Tooth- powder, the Merry Go Round recently added several new and popular entertainers to its list of stars: Lucy Monroe, dramatic soprano, baritone Conrad Thibault, Marian Mac- Manus and Alan Holt who sing the romantic duets, and Glen Cross who specializes in rhythm — and Victor Arden, the veteran leader without whom no Merry Go Round broadcast would be complete. 38 Radio Mirror offers a toast to the Sunday night musical program which for more than ten years has been bringing to your radio weekend a half hour of tuneful relaxation Above, Lucy Monroe has sung fhe Naf'ional Anthem so often that she's called the Star Spangled Soprano. MARCH, 1942 Right, Glen Cross is Manhattan Merry Go Round's rhythm singer. Marian MacManui and Alan Holt aro two young iingon who wero difcovorod hy Frank Hummorf in fh» chorut and raised fa stardom. AT 0:00 P.M„ K.S.T., ciich Suiulny ovcniriK, millions of lisIrruTN nutomuiit'nliy tunc ill 1)11 their NMC-Hf AAt l^xdio FAR out at sea, deep beneath the rolling surface of the water, a sleek gray-hulled submarine, modem symbol of one of America's first lines of defense, slipped through the murky depths like some giant, sightless creature of the uncharted ocean. Inside the steel hull of the 2SV4 the voices of its designer, Charles Grayson, and its command- ing officer. Captain Denning, rose above the soft throb of its engines. "I'm afraid to take a chance, Mr. Grayson. Why, man! — we're down to 280 now!" "But, Captain, the purpose of this test run is to prove that my ship can stand the pressure at 400 feet and better. Every navy in the world has tried to perfect a submarine that will stand the enormous pressure of great depth. And this vessel will do it! I'll stake my life on it!" Though besieged by doubts and memories of other tests which had failed, the Captain finally yielded. His voice didn't reveal his uncertainty as he called his diving officer on the communiphone and ordered: "Submerge to 350!" There wasn't a tremor as the new vessel reached 300 feet — a depth at which any other sub would have been a mass of twisted wreckage. Then— down— down— 320— 330— 340 — 350! Jubilant reports came in from all stations. Every seam was tight. The 2SV4 was performing perfectly. But then, without warning, a frantic call came from the engine room: "Captain, the motors are turning up 3000 — but we're not moving!" As the Captain ordered full speed ahead, the tense ears of the crew heard the sounds of a queer scraping on the hull. What could it mean? What had happened? No one could answer. All anyone knew was that every attempt to move was useless! Trapped — at 350 feet — the newly designed submarine hung suspended as though in the grip of some huge sea monster, unable to move in any direction. Meanwhile, back at the Naval Base, crowds milled at the office of the Squadron Commander as the bad news traveled like wildfire. But one man, mild-looking, spectacled, was able to push his way through. It was Clark Kent. Kent who, in his disguise as star reporter of the Daily Planet, was really — Superman, Cham- pion of the weak and oppressed! In a moment Superman had reached Commander Leeds. From him he got the complete story. Leeds, who ex- plained that the new sub had been equipped with a special deep sea radio sending and receiving set which was still operating, couldn't understand what might have happened. The sub had not sunk. It was in perfect run- ning order. But it couldn't move! Leeds led Superman into the radio room. They were just in time to hear the voice of Captain Denning say: 40 They heard the radioed voice of the Captain say: "We seem to be caught by something." As the torpedo neared him, Superman's great arm reached out — he stopped it dead! 'So, Americans are stupid, are they?" Superman said, and he sprang at the two Germans. "... we seem to be caught by something. We hear peculiar noises on the hull as though iron chains were scraping against it. Wait!— We seem to be moving — yes — something is dragging us — something — " The radio went dead. The base operators, trying desperately, couldn't raise a signal from the 2SV4. What could possibly drag a submarine as powerful as that? Quickly, the com- mander took action. They must go after the 2SV4 in another sub. True, no other vessel could go below 250 feet — but they could locate the miss- ing ship on the magnetic finder. Minutes later, the S23, with Super- man aboard, was deep down in the ocean waters. They had reached the approximate position of the missing vessel when, suddenly, there came a sound like the clankin'g of chains on the hull. And then, though the motors turned, the S23 didn't budge! Super- man— unnoticed — slipped into the stern of the trapped submarine. The time had come to resume his rightful guise to become Superman, to leave through the escape hatch and inves- tigate this strange mystery of the sea! Before anyone could see him, Super- man opened the hatch and shot out into the icy depths of the sea. Cutting the water with the speed of the fastest torpedo, he circled the S23. Then, amazed, he saw and touched huge steel nets which had closed tightly around the sub. Great steel cables, stretching far off toward the shore, were attached to them. And, even as he inspected them, he felt a tug and the ship moved. Wast- ing no more time, Superman grasped the gigantic steel strands. As if they were silk thread, he snapped them. The cables jerked back as Superman tore off the encircling nets. Instant- ly, the S23 moved, free, and shot up toward the surface. Waiting for nothing else, Super- man, racing faster than any bullet, swam underwater, following exactly the direction of the cable. Seconds later, sure of his bearings, he cut upward through the sea and on up — up above the surface, his eagle eyes now searching eagerly everywhere for some sign of the still missing 2SV4. He knew that it must have been captured by the steel nets. But would it be at the end of the cable — or would it have disappeared al- ready? With an inward surge of pride, he noticed the gray shape of a sleek American battleship looming up in the darkness below him. But then, in a flash, every muscle in his great body jumped to attention when his x-ray eyes saw, hidden below the surface — only hundreds of yards from the ship, the long steel shape of the missing Grayson sub! Even as he watched, 2,000 poimds of sudden death, whining like a banshee. Continued on page 85 RADIO AMD TELEVISION IMmWOR Ill E P o IL U < u SUNDAY Eastern Time 8:00 CBS: News 8:00 NBC-Blue: News 8:00 NBC-Red: Organ Recital 8:30 NBC-Blue: Tone Pictures 8:00' 9:00 CBS: The World Today 8:00 9:00^NBC: News from Europe 8:151 9:15 CBS: From the Organ Loft 8:15 9:15 NBC-Blue: White Rabbit Line 8:15 9:15 NBC-Red: Deep River Boys 8:30 9:30 NBC-Red: Words and Music 9:00 10:00 CBS: Church of the Air 9:00 10:00 NBC-Blue: Musical Millwheel 9:00 10:00. NBC-Red: Radio Pulpit i I 9:30 10:30 CBS: Wings Over Jordan 9:30 10:30 NBC-Blue: Southernaires I 10:00 11:00 CBS: News 10:00 11:00 NBC-Blue: News 10:05 11:05 10:1511:15 CBS: Vera Brodsky NBC-Blue: Al and Lee Reiser 8:15 8:30 10:30 11:30 |CBS: Invitation to Learning 8:30 10:30 11:30 MBS: Radio Chapel 8:30 10:30 11:30 NBC-Blue: Revue in Miniature 8:30 10:30 11:30 NBC-Red: Music and Youth I I I 9:00 10:00 12:00 CBS: Syncopation Piece 9:00 11:00 12:00 NBC-Blue: Foreign Policy Assn. 9:00 11:00 12:00 NBC-Red: Down South 9:15 11:15 12:15 NBC-Blue: I'm an American 9:30 11: 9:30 11: 9:30 11: 10:00 12: 10:00 12: 10:1512: 10:15 12: 10:3012: 10:30 12: ll:Oo| 1: 11:00 1: 11:001 1: 3012: 3012: 30 12: CBS: Salt Lake City Tabernacle NBC-Blue: Radio City Music Hall NBC-Red: Emma Otero CBS: Church of the Air 1:L-, 1:00 NBC-Red: Upton Close 11:30 11:30 12:00 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:30' 12:30 12:30 1:00 1:15 1:30 1:30 2:00 2:00 00 00, 00 2 30 30 MBS: George Fisher NBC-Red: Silver Strings NBC-Blue: Josef Marais NBC-Red: The World is Yours 2:00 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:30 4 2:30 4 2:30! 4 2:45 4:45 3:00 3:00 3:05 5:05 3:30 3:30 5:45 3:30 9:15 4:00 8:30 4:15 5:45 6:15 4:30 4:30 7:30 5:00 5:00 8:00 8:00 5:30 5:45 5:55 6:00 6:00 9:00 6:00 9:15 8:15 6:30 6:45 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:30 CBS: Spirit of '42 00 NBC-Blue: Great Plays -.00 NBC-Red: Sammy Kaye 2:30 CBS: The World Today 2:30 NBC-Red: University of Chicago Round Table 3:00 CBS: N. Y. Philharmonic Orch. 3:00 NBC-Blue: Wake Up America 3:00 NBC-Red: Bob Becker 3:15|NBC-Red: H. V. Kaltenborn 3:30 MBS: Disney Song Parade 3:30 NBC-Blue. Tapestry Musicale 3:30 NBC-Red: Listen America 4:00'NBC-Blue: Sunday Vespers 4:15'NBC-Red: Tony Wons 4: 4 30 CBS: Pause that Refreshes 30 NBC-Blue: Behind the Mike 5:00 CBS: The Family Hour 5:00 NBC-Blue: Moylan Sisters 5:00 NBC Red: Metropolitan Auditions 5:15 NBC-Blue: Olivio Santoro 5:3o'mbS: The Shadow 5:30 NBC-Blue: Wheeling Steelmakers 5:30 NBC-Red: Nichols, Family of Five 5:45 CBS. William L. Shirer 6:00 CBS. SILVER THEATER 6:00 NBC-Red: Catholic Hour 6:05 NBC-Blue: New Friends of Music :30'CB5: Gene Autry :30 MBS: Bulldog Drummond 6:45 8:15 8:45 NBC-Blue: Pearson and Allen NBC-Red: The Great Gildersleeve NBC-Blue: Mrs. F. D. Roosevelt NBC-Blue: News from Europe NBC-Red: Jack Benny :15 CBS: Public Affairs :30 CBS: Screen Guild Theater :30 NBC-Blue: Capt. Flagg and Sgt. Quirt :30|NBC-Red: Fitch Bandwagon lOo'cBS: HELEN HAYES :00 NBC-Blue: Blue Echoes ;00 NBC-Red: CHARLIE MCCARTHY :30 CBS: Crime Doctor :30 NBC-Blue: Inner Sanctum Mystery :30 NBC-Red: ONE MAN'S FAMILY :45 MBS: Gabriel Heatter :55'cBS: Elmer Davis :00 CBS: FORD HOUR :00 MBS: Old Fashioned Revival :00 NBC-Blue: Walter Winchell 00 NBC-Red: Manhattan Merry-Go- Round 9:15 NBC-Blue: The Parker Family 9:30 NBC-Blue: Irene Rich 9:30, NBC-Red: American Album of Familiar Music 9:45 NBC-Blue: Dinah Shore 9:00 10:00 CBS: Take It or Leave It 9:00 10:00 NBC-Blue: Goodwill Hour 9:00 10:00 NBC-Red: Hour of Charm 9:30 10:30'CBS: Columbia Workshop 9:30.10:30 NBC-Red: Sherlock Holmes 8:00 10:00 ll:Oo'cBS: Headlines and Bylines 8:00 10:00 11:00 NBC: Dance Orchestra True Boardman writes most of those romantic dramas on Silver Theater. HAVE YOU TUNED IN ... The Silver Theater on CBS at 6:00 p.m., E.S.T., Sunday nights, sponsored by the International Silver Company and starring the best actors of Hollywood in original comedies and dramas which are usually written by a young man named True Boardman. True is a specialist in writing half -hour plays to fit the particular abilities of screen stars. He has to his credit a list of seventy- five original airplays — or did when this was written, and it will be more by. the time you read it. He's not as proud of that record, though, as he is of being able to give any actor a script that is tailored tightly to his measure. For instance, the Silver Theater signs up some movie celebrity — say Clark Gable — for a future program, and True has the job of writing a play for him to act in. "I sit down and think about Gable," True says, "about his mannerisms and personal history. After a while an appropriate plot begins to come into my mind — a plot that just calls for Clark Gable to play the leading man." Maybe the reason True is able to see his stories in terms of the actors and actresses who play in them, is that he was an actor himself before he became a writer. He made his dramatic debut at the age of four by wandering onto the stage of a theater where his actor-father was playing. Soon after that he got into movies, and grew up in Hollywood, play- ing important roles in "Shoulder Arms" with Charlie Chaplin and "Daddy Long- legs" with Mary Pickford. Later on, he was on Broadway and in touring stock ompanies, and didn't get interested in writing until he turned to radio. He's still interested in acting, and occa- sionally does dramatic roles on programs originating in Hollywood. In addition, he frequently puts on a good one-man show at Silver Theater rehearsals, raging, begging, and arguing with actors to show them exactly how he wanted a line to sound when he wrote it. True is married, and has a five-year-old daughter named Penny, who thinks it's pretty silly that all of Daddy's stories are about "a man that falls in love with a girl." He says he expects she'll get the idea a little better a few years from now. Meanwhile, True himself would rather write an original story, one made up by himself, than to adapt a movie or stage play; and would rather write a story with a psychological background than anything else. He has dozens of books on psychol- ogy, and is happiest when he's reading one of them. MONDAY 1:30 8:45 10:30 12:45 12:45 12 8 8 h (i 8:00 2:30 8:45 8:45 Eastern Time 9: 9: 9: 9i 9: 9: 9 9; 9 9 10 10 00 10 :15 10 15 10 :00 10 10 30 NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn 00 NBC-Bue: BREAKFAST CLUB 15 CBS: School of the Air 45 CBS: stories America Loves 45 NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh I 10 ; 10 i 10 110 I 10 )10 11:15 10 10 00 11 00 11 00 11 15 11 15 11 30 11 30 11 45 11 00 12 00 12 15 12 15 12 15 12 30 12 30 12 12 12 :00 :00 :15 :15 :15 :30 :30 :30 10 :45 10 :45 10 :ao 11 :00ll :15lll :15ll :15,11 :30 11 :3011 :4511 :45|11 :00 12 :00 12 :00 12 :15'l2 rl5|12 :30 12 :30 12 :45 12 :00 :00 :00 CBS: 00 NBC- :15'CBS: 15 NBC- IS NBC- ,30 CBS: :30 NBC- 30|NBC- :45 CBS: ;45:nbc- lOo'cBS: :00 NBC- 2:00 3:45 5 8:00 6 8:00 10 8:00 6 8:15 6 8:30 5:55! 7 00 8 DO 8 30 30 00 00 00 00. is' 9 :15 :15 :15 :30 :30 :45 :45 :00 :oa :15 :15 :30 :30 :30 :45 :45 :45 :ao :00 :00 :15 :15 :15 j30 :3a :45 :45 :00 :00 :00 :1S :15 :30 :45 '45 :45 :00 :00 :00 :15 :1S :15 :30 :30 :30 ;45 :45 :00 :15 :30 :30 :45 :45 :00 :00 :00 :15 :30 :30 :30 :0a :00 :00 :00 :30' l30i :30 :55 :00 :00 :ao :30 :30 30 CBS: NBC- NBC- CBS: :30'NBC- :45'CBS: :45 NBC- 00 CBS: :00 MBS :00 NBC :15 CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: CBS: MBS: CBS: MBS: NBC- CBS: MBS CBS: MBS: CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC 2 2 2 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 5 5 5:00 5 5 CBS: NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- NBC- NBC- NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- :00 NBC- NBC- NBC NBC- CBS. MBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: CBS: CBS: 6:30 NBC- 15 IS 15 5:30 ■30 30 5 5 5:45 5 45 6:00 6:15 6:30 6-45 6:45 6:45 CBS: NBC NBC 7:00 CBS: 7:00 NBC- 7:00 NBC- 7:15JCBS: 7:30'CBS: 7:30|MBS: 7:30 NBC- 8:00 CBS: 8:00MBS 8:00 NBC- 8:00 NBC- 8:30 CBS: 8:30 NBC- 8:30, NBC- 8:55 CBS: 9:00 CBS 9:00 MBS 9:00 N BC- 9:30 X lU' 9:30 :00'l0:00 :00 10:00 :00 10:00 \B( :OOjlO:00 NBC- 15IiO:1sImBS NBC CBS MBS Hymns of All Churches Red: Bess Johnson Myrt and Marge Blue: Helen Hiett Red: Bachelor's Children Stepmother Blue: A House in the Country Blue: Help Mate Woman of Courage Red: The Road of Life Treat Time Red: Mary Marlin The Man I Married Blue: Alma Kitchell Red: Right to Happiness Bright Horizon Red: The Bartons Aunt Jenny's Stories Red: David Harum KATE SMITH SPEAKS John B. Hughes Red: Words and Music Big Sister Red: The O'Neills Romance of Helen Trent -Blue: Farm and Home Hour Our Gal Sunday Life Can Be Beautiful : We Are Always Young Woman in White : Government Girl -Blue: Ted Malone Vic and Sade : Front Page Farrell Road of Life : I'll Find My Way Young Dr. Malone Red: Light of the World Girl interne Red: The Mystery Man Fletcher Wiley Blue: Into the Light Red: Valiant Lady Kate Hopkins Blue: in Care of Aggie Horn -Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter A Helping Hand Bue: Orphans of Divorce -Red: Against the Storm News for Women -Blue: Honeymoon Hill -Red: Ma Perkins Blue: John's Other Wife -Red: Pepper Young's Family Blue: Just Plain Bill Red: Vic and Sade Concert Orchestra Blue. Arthur Tracy Red: Backstage Wife Blue: Club Matinee Red: Stella Dallas Red: Lorenzo Jones Mark Hawley Boake Carter Red: Young Widder Brown Mary Marlin Blue: Adventure Stories Red: When a Girl Marries The Goldbergs Blue: Secret City Red: Portia Faces Life The O'Neills Blue: Wings on Watch Red: We the Abbotts Scattergood Baines Blue: Tom Mix Edwin C. Hill Hedda Hopper Frank Parker Blue: Lum and Abner The World Today Blue: Lowell Thomas Red: Paul Douglas Amos 'n' Andy Blue: Old Gold Show Red: Fred Waring's Gang Lanny Ross Blondie The Lone Ranger Red: Cavalcade of America Vox Pop Cal Tinney Blue: I Love a Mystery Red: The Telephone Hour GAY NINETIES Blue; True or False Red; Voice of Firestone Elmer Davis LUX THEATER Gabriel Heatter Red; Doctor I. Q. Blue: For America We Sing Red: That Brewster Boy Orson Welles Raymond Gram Swing Blue; Merry-Go-Round Red: Portraits in Music Spotlight Bands INSIDE RADIO -Telling You About Programs and People You Want to Hear MABC-H, 1942 41 TUESDAY t- wi a.' 1:30 8:30 10:1S 1:15 10:30 12:4S h 6 8:00 2:30 8:15 8:45 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:15 9:15 9:30 10 9:30 10 9:30 10 Eastern Time 9:45 9:45 10:45 10:00 11 8:00 10:00,11 2:45jl0:00ill 12:00 10:15 11 8:15 10:15 11 11:00 8:30 10:30 10:30 10:30 10:45 10:45 3:00 11:00 9:00 11:00 9:15 3:15 3:30 9:30 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:45 4:15 11:00 3:30 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 11:45 11:45 11;4S 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:30 1:30 1:45 1:45 2:30 2:30 2:30 2:45 5:45 3:30 8:15 11:15 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:30 1:45 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:30 2:45 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:30 3:30 3:45 3:45 3:45 4:00 5:00 4:00 4:15 5:15 4:15 4:30 4:30 4:30 4:45 5:45 5:30 9:30 8:00 9:00 8:00 8:15 4:45 4:15 4:30 6:00 8:30 S:00 7:30 8:30 S:30j 5:55 9:00' 6:00 6:00 9:30 C:30 6:30 6:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:15 7:30 7:45 8:30 NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn 9:00 NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB 15 CBS: School of the Air CBS: Stories Anterica Loves NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh CBS: Hymns of all Churches NBC-Red: Bess Johnson CBS: IMyrt and Marge NBC-Blue: Helen Hiett NBC-Red: Bachelor's Children CBS: Stepmother NBC-Blue: A House in the Country NBC-Red: Help Mate CBS: Woman of Courage NBC-Red: The Road of Life CBS: Mary Lee Taylor NBC-Blue: Alma Kitchell NBC-Red: Mary Marlin CBS: The Man I Married NBC-Red: Right to Happiness CBS: Bright Horizon NBC-Blue: Prescott Presents NBC-Red: The Bartons CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories NBC- Red: David Harum 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:15 6:15 6:15 6:30 6:30 6:45 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:30 7:55 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30i 8:30 8:30 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:30 9:45 42 CBS: MBS: CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: CBS: MBS: CBS: MBS: NBC- CBS: MBS: CBS: MBS: CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- NBC CBS: NBC CBS: MBS NBC CBS: NBC NBC c:bs: NBC NBC CBS: NBC NBC Kate Smith Speaks John B. Hughes Big Sister Red: The O'Neills Romance of Helen Trent Blue: Farm and Home Hour Our Gal Sunday Life Can Be Beautiful We Are Always Young Woman in White Government Girl Blue: Ted Malone Vic and Sade Front Page Farrell Road of Life I'll Find My Way Young Dr. Malone Red: Light of the World Girl Interne Red: The Mystery Man Fletcher Wiley Bue: Into the Light Red: Valiant Lady Kate Hopkins Blue: In Care of Aggie Horn Red:Arnold Grimm's Daughter A Helping Hand Blue: Orphans of Divorce Red: Against the Storm Blue: Honeymoon Hill Red: Ma Perkins Renfro Valley Folks Blue: John's Other Wife Red: Pepper Young's Family Blue: Just Plain Bill Red: Vic and Sade Rochester Symphony Blue: Club Matinee Red: Backstage Wife Red: Stella Dallas News -Red: Lorenzo Jones Mark Hawley : Boake Carter Red: Young Widder Brown Mary Marlin -Blue: Adventure Stories Red: When a Girl Marries The Goldbergs -Blue: Secret City Red: Portia Faces Life The O'Neills Blue: Wings on Watch Red: We the Abbotts crBS: Scattergood Baines NBC-Blue: Tom Mix CBS: CBS: 30 CBS: 30 NBC CBS: NBC- NBC- c:bs: NBC- NBC- CBS: NBC- NBC- CHS: NliC- NBC:- (HS MBS: NBC- NHC- < liS NBC- CUS: CHS MHS NHC- NliC- CHS: NHC NDC 30 3| 00; (lis 00 M US 00 NBC 15! MBS 30 NBC 45'( HS PAUL SULLIVAN Dorothy Kllgallen Bob Edge Blue: Lum and Abner The World Today Blue: Lowell Thomas Red: Paul Douglas Amos 'n' Andy Blue: EASY ACES Red: Fred Waring's Gang Lanny Ross Blue: Mr. Keen Red: European News Helen Menken Red Burns and Allen Rod: H. V. Kaltenborn Are You a Missing Heir What's My Name Blue: Treasury Hour Red: Johnny Preiontf Bob Burns Red: Horace Heldt Elmer Davis We, the People Gabriel Hestter BliK- Famous Jury Trials Red Battle of the Sexes Report to the Nation Blue NBC SYMPHONY Red McGeo and Molly Glenn Miller Raymond Gram Swing Red BOB HOPE Spotlight Bands Rirl Red Skelton News ol the World Paul Sullivan brings you a survey of the day's news Tuesdays and Thursdays. HAVE YOU TUNED IN ... Paul Sullivan bringing you the news every Tuesday and Thursday at 6: 00 p.m., E.S.T., on CBS, sponsored by Liberty Magazine. Blue-eyed, blond, and husky, Paul Sulli- van is the kind of man you like to have living next door. He takes his work seri- ously, but not himself. All afternoon on Tuesdays and Thursdays you can find him in the United Press offices in New York, dashing back and forth between the tele- type machine where the news is coming in, and his typewriter where he writes it down concisely for his ten-minute script. These days, with news happening so thick and fast, he often rewrites the script half a dozen times before going on the air. Paul studied law in St. Louis until he ran out of money and had to quit. Then he applied for a job as an announcer, passed the test, but didn't get the job be- cause the station already had plenty of announcers. He found work driving a taxi- cab and waited. A few weeks later the station called him up and said there was a position open, and Paul has been announc- ing ever since. He gained his first fame in Louisville, at WHAS, where he became so popular as a news commentator that a cigarette sponsor grabbed him for a CBS hook-up. Now he's on the air exclusively for Liberty. It takes good judgment, knowledge of what's going on in every corner of the world, and a lot of luck to build a ten- minute script containing all the latest news but no wild rumors. Paul has all three qualifications. In 1935, Paul was married to Miss Mar- garet Flynn, and they're expecting their first baby any day now. They live in a big house near Tarrytown, New York, where Paul spends his leisure time sawing up old trees into fireplace-lengths. Ex- cept for his work and his family, Paul's major interest is flying. He has about fifty solo hours to his credit, and would have his private pilot's license if, he freely admits, he had spent more time on the studying which is as necessary as the actual flying hours. Paul always ends his broadcasts with the words "Good night and thirty," which drives people who don't know what "thirty" means almost crazy with curi- osity and sometimes irritation. Many times listeners don't even understand what he said; letters come in asking what he meant by "certy," "curtains," "certain," "dirty," "Gerty" and "10:30," It's very simple — "thirty" is an old newspaper term which means "the end," No one quite knows its origin, but news telegraphers always used to use it as a symbol to indi- cate the ends of dispatches. Paul knows it confuses people, but it also makes them talk about him, and that's good publicity in a competitive business. h in 0.' 1:30 8:45 8:30 10:15 1:15 10:30 1:45 12:45 8:00 2:45 12:00 8:15 11:00 8:30 11:15 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:45 4:15 11:00 3:30 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 11:45 11:45 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:30 12:45 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:30 2:45 5:45 3:15 3:30 3:45 3:45 8:00 9:00 4:00 8:15 4:15 4:15 4:30 8:30 9:00 8:15 8:00 8:00 8:30 8:30 8:30 5:55 9:00 6:00 6:00 9:00 6:30 9:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:15 7:15 7:30 7:30 7:45 O . 8:00 2:30 8:45 8:45 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:15 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:30 9:45 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:30 10:45 10:45 11:00 11:00 11:00 11:15 11:15 11:30 11:30 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:30 1:45 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:15 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:30 2:45 2:45 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:15 3:15 3:30 3:30 3:45 3:45 3:45 4:00 5:00 4:00 4:15 5:15 4:15 4:30 4:30 4:30 4:45 5:45 10:00 5:15 5:30 5:45 5:45 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:15 6:15 6:15 6:30 6:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:30 7:30 7:55 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30 8:30 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:45 WEDNESDAY Eastern Time 8:30 NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn NBC-Blue: Breakfast Club CBS: School of the Air CBS: Stories America Loves NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh CBS: Betty Crocker NBC-Red: Bess Johnson CBS: Myrt and Marge NBC-Blue: Helen Hiett NBC-Red: Bachelor's Children CBS: Stepmother NBC-Blue: A House in the Country NBC-Red: Help Mate CBS: Woman of Courage NBC-Red: The Road of Life CBS: Treat Time NBC-Red: Mary Marlin CBS: The Man I Married NBC-Red: Right to Happiness CBS: Bright Horizon NBC-Blue: Prescott Presents NBC-Red: The Bartons CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories NBC-Red: David Harum CBS: Kate Smith Speaks MBS: John B. Hughes NBC-Red: Words and Music CBS: Big Sister NBC-Red: The O'Neills CBS: Romance of Helen Trent NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour CBS: Our Gal Sunday CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful MBS: We Are Always Young CBS: Woman in White MBS: Government Girl NBC-Blue: Ted Malone CBS: Vic and Sade MBS: Front Page Farrell CBS: Road of Life MBS: I'll Find My Way CBS: Young Dr. Malone NBC-Red: Light of the World CBS: Girl Interne NBC-Red: The Mystery Man CBS: Fletcher Wiley NBC-Blue: into the Light NBC-Red: Valiant Lady CBS: Kate Hopkins NBC-Blue: In Care of Aggie Horn NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter CBS: A Helping Hand NBC-Blue: Orphans of Divorce NBC-Red: Against the Storm CBS: News for Women NBC-Blue: Honeymoon Hill NBC-Red: Ma Perkins CBS: Renfro Valley Folks NBC-Blue: John's Other Wife NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family CBS: Children Also Are People NBC-Blue: Just Plain Bill NBC-Red: Vic and Sade CBS: CBS Concert Hall NBC-Blue: Arthur Tracy NBC-Red: Backstage Wife NBC-Blue: Club Matinee NBC-Red: Stella Dallas CBS: News NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones CBS: Mark Hawley MBS: Boake Carter NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown CBS: Mary Marlin NBC-Blue: Adventure Stories NBC-Red: When a Girl Marries CBS: The Goldbergs NBC-Blue: Secret City NBC-Red: Portia Faces Life CBS: The O'Neills NBC-Blue: Wings on Watch NBC-Red: We the Abbotts CBS: Scattergood Baines NBC-Blue: Tom Mix CBS: Edwin C. Hill CBS: Hedda Hopper CBS: Frank Parker CBS: The World Today NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas NBC-Red: Paul Douglas CBS: Amos 'n' Andy NBC-Blue: EASY ACES NBC-Red: Fred Waring's Gang CBS: Lanny Ross NBC-Blue: Mr. Keen NBC-Red: European News CBS: Meet Mr. Meek MBS: The Lone Ranger CBS: BIG TOWN MBS: Cal Tinney NBC-Blue: Quiz Kids NBC-Red: The Thin Man CBS: Dr. Christian NBC-Blue: Manhattan at Midnight NBC-Red: Plantation Party CBS: Elmer Davis CBS: FRED ALLEN MBS: Gabriel Heatter NBC-Blue: Basin Street Music NBC-Red: Eddie Cantor NBC-Blue: Xavier Cugat NBC-Red: Mr. District Attorney CBS: Glenn Miller MBS: Raymond Gram Swing NBC-Blue: American Melody Hour NBC-Red: Kay Kyser CBS Great Moments In Music MBS Spotlight Bands CBS. Juan Arvizu NBC-Blue: Hillman and Clapper c:BS News ot the World RADIO AND TELEVISION IWCIRROR 3 of FRESH #2, postpaid. Companion of FRESH #2 is FRESH #1. FRESH #1 deodorizes, but does not stop perspiration. In a tube instead of a jar. Popular with men. too. 53 lalniB^^^^/"^ WHEN HUBBY BROUGHT HOME 'bRDINARY TISSUeS* iNsreAO oF/ccseA/ex, [ N\(\D6 HIM MARCH RI^HT BACK. WHEN I SEND HIM F09.KLe6NeX, \ MEAN KcecNexi { from a letter hy J.W.. Coflfeyville. Kans.) (SrK/MepoesNorPAY/ I AHA/Ays Keep KCeeNBX IN /v^y CAR ro WIPE THE CHICOREN'S STICKy FIN6eR6, CLEAN THE WIND- SHieiO, AND 5HIN6 THE TRIM 1 (Jrom a letter hy O. C. G.. Springfield. Mass.) (■A^Trade Mark Reg. U. S. Pat. Off.) Stalnproof! Waterproof! Women buy on sljiht! Many gorReous patterns! Looks expensive, Ions wearing, low priced! No washing or ironing. Wipe clean with damp flotlil Fast xeiler. Big com- missions. Also romplete big-profit line drcsM's. Hhltts. hose, lingerie. GET FREE SAMPLES !<,-°;;;i;ir,''.nrf!?r'=. nlBhed. Complete dress line included FUKE. Send no money. Write today! B. J- MELVILLE CO., Dept. 3138. Cincinnati, Ohio FREE ENLARGEMENT Just to get acquainted with new customers, we will beautifully enlarge one snapshot print or negative, photo or pic- ture to 8x10 inches — FREE — if you enclose this ad with 10c for handling and return mailing. Information on hand tinting in natural colors sent immediately. Your orig- inal returned with your free enlargement. p^T-ri \\, tnHav. Geppert Studios, Dept. 1146, Des Moines, Iowa PIHfHMEtORfl SWEETHEART BLiue UUcdt^ An exquisitely youthful fragrance that's jweet QS Loves first kiss . . . BLUE WALTZ weaves the magic of the garden's love- liest blossoms into a fragile, haunting perfume that invites romonce. A touch on your hair, your throot, your wrists end you're Cupid's darling! 10< ATALLS&IOf STORES . >/ . i i ■ Tn 9 - •*.tV .iff' 1 1 // A darling now ■■ Swoothi'Oft Box wi»hB|yo Wolfz *t f T'^- 54 seemed an eternity before the head- lights of a car broke the slightly foggy darkness. "Good night, precious," a rich, young voice whispered tensely. There ■was a long silence and Martha's heart sank. Then a car door opened and closed. "Tennis at eleven, beautiful!" "Good night, Steve," Lucy said and, somehow, it sounded like a song. Lucy floated up the walk. When she stepped into the faint light from the doorway, she seemed to be shining with a light all her own. Her eyes were starry and looking far away into a world into which Martha could not follow her. She didn't seem sur- prised to find her mother waiting up for her. She threw herself into Mar- tha's lap and hugged her furiously. "Oh," she sighed in that same sing- ing voice, "it's been such a wonderful evening. Mother, I'm so happy!" Martha knew she couldn't say any- thing then. She would have to wait for a more appropriate time, a time when Lucy wasn't intoxicated with excitement and success. Only there was no such time, not in all the fort- night that followed. Lucy seemed to be wound up like a top, going, going, going, all the time. The very air seemed to have the effect of cham- pagne on her. And Martha couldn't find the right way to stop her, warn her. TTHEN, one evening two weeks after -■- the Charity Ball, Lucy went to a Yacht Club dance with Steve — and — returned alone. Martha had been reading and she looked up, startled, when she heard the door close. Lucy was leaning against the door, slumped against it, as if she couldn't stand alone. "Mother," she said, very softly, with a great deal of effort. "I want to go home. Right away." Sud- denly, she crumpled to the floor, cov- ering her face with her hands and sobbing wildly. Martha ran to her and sat down beside her. She held her close in her arms, cradling the shuddering girl like a baby. "Oh, Mother!" Lucy cried desperately. "I love him so much. I thought he loved me. He said he did." A lot of it was incoherent, but Mar- tha pieced it together. "There had been another girl, before Lucy — a girl with whom Steve had quarreled. But tonight she had beckoned him back, and he had forgotten all about Lucy, leaving her to the humiliating realization that she had always been second best with him, no more. The next morning, Lucy was still firm about leaving Old Port and, while Martha didn't entirely approve of her running away, she was a little glad to get Lucy away from any chance of making up with Steve. Martha wanted to go home, too, but William Moore assured her that her case was bound to get on the calendar soon and she would just have to come right back again. So, Lucy got on the train alone, a sad, subdued Lucy, who — Martha noticed — couldn't keep her eyes from scanning the peo- ple on the platform, looking for someone, looking for Steve, hoping up to the last minute. Every day, Martha looked forward to hearing that her case was coming up and she could go home. She was a little restless with waiting and strangely uneasy, without quite knowing why. "The letters she got from home were all cheerful, except Lucy's, who seemed to strain too hard RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR 1^. to disguise the unhappiness left by Steve's desertion. In September, one afternoon, Mar- tha was sitting in her garden, re- reading a letter from Cora, when Wil- liam Moore dropped in. She was so deep in her thoughts that she didn't even hear him drive up. "Hello!" he called. Martha started. "I have good news for you. Your case comes up day after tomorrow." "Oh," Martha said. "I'm glad." "And I thought you were happy here," William Moore said, half jok- ingly, half seriously. "It isn't that," Martha said. "It's— I have a feeling that everything isn't going right at home. My sister-in- law has written me such a strange letter — almost as if she wanted me to understand something she hasn't written down. She says Lucy's fine and very busy — but she doesn't say at what. And she says that Jim's looking wonderful and he's very ac- tive— but she doesn't say why he's so active. And Cora is usually so frank with me about everything. About the only thing she does say is that Lillian has been neglecting the store." "Does that matter very much, now?" William Moore asked. "Of course, it does!" Martha said. "Even if I do close it, or sell it — I don't want it to fail. I'm proud of that store." "I know," William Moore said. "And you're anxious to get home, too, aren't you?" Martha nodded. "Well, we should be able to straighten out everything in two or three weeks." "So long?" Martha asked in dis- may. "Your uncle's estate is a little in- volved," he explained. "It will take at least two weeks before we can turn over a complete accounting ■ to you." "But I don't have to be here for that, do I?" Martha asked. William Moore lowered his eyes. "No," he confessed softly. "I guess not. I — I thought I could keep you here just a little longer. I — I'm going to miss you." 'T'HE sincerity in his voice warmed -■- and flattered Martha. It was plea- sant to think that she had been able to v/in the friendship of this clever, sophisticated Easterner. He took her hand. "I guess we can't keep you here," he said regret- fully, "if you really want to get back. And once the will is settled there'll no longer be any real reason for you to stay in Old Port." In spite of his apparent agreement to complete all the legal details, it seemed to Martha that he still wel- comed any delay. But at last every- thing had been done, whether he really wished it done or not. Martha felt a twinge of sadness, when he said goodbye to her in the deep, noisy station in New York, just before the train pulled away from the platform. But, as the express sped farther and farther away, rushing her back to- wards Farmington, he faded from her thoughts. It was nine o'clock and just getting dark, when the train pulled into Farmington. Martha got off the train, her heart beating rapidly, excitedly. "Mrs. Jackson!" Martha looked down the dimly lit platform. "Mrs. Jackson!" It was Johnny Long, run- ning toward her, out of breath and disheveled. "Boy!" Johnny said. "Hello! I just made it!" "Hello, Johnny," Martha said. "Where are the others?" "They're all waiting at home," Johnny said with a grin. "It's a sur- prise." For some reason, Martha's heart sank. She walked silently to Johnny's rattletrap car and got in. She wasn't even very surprised when Johnny took a different road home. They stopped before a large, newly painted, white house. Every window was brightly lit and music was pour- ing into the quiet treelined street. Before they had a chance to ring the bell, a man in livery opened the door. Martha stared at him. "Welcome, home, Madame," he said with a bow. Martha had a sudden urge to laugh. The only thing that stopped her was Tommy, hurtling down the sweeping staircase and throwing himself into her arms. "Mamma! Mamma!" Tommy cried. Then, suddenly, they were all there. Lucy, Jim, Lillian, all hug- ging her and fussing and talking. Cora stood at the foot of the stairs until all the greetings were over. Then, she came forward and kissed Martha. "I tried to stop them," she whispered. Martha patted her shoulder and whispered, "I know." Then, she turned to Lucy, lovely in a white dance dress. "It's a nice house," she said, "but the rent — " "Rent?" Lillian interrupted. "Jim bought it for you." "Don't you like it, Martha?" Jim asked anxiously. Adds good taste to any scene ^ , Vvem Arikers and Lo„ Chancy. J'-^'j!^een scenes f^ I II iilKI P^:.ireeWg «-<>^ -/on every i f the stars ensoyi*^ and tney ':tu^»e those "«„" '^„\u;y..i«''«\- ^i'r\rMtot"ot.on,,long..P|^ TASTi / if Pepsi-Cola is made only by Pepsi-Cola Company, Long Island City, N. Y. Bottled locally by Authorized Bottlers from coast to coast. -^ MARCH, 1942 gg ^t^S^"'^-!^ J^""''v^ ■?:?V''"'''*£S/"^&^'"'^^ SHE USES IRRESISTIBLE PERFUME AND LIPSTICK There's a tantalizing 'come-hiHier' note ... a bright promise of gay adventore in the fairy-like enchantment of Irresistible Perfume. Create a magic mood by touch- ing the golden fire of Irresistible to yoor hair, throat, wrist. Now in adorable Valentine Box. Only 10< at all 5 & 10« stores USE IRRESISTIBLE lipstick Brflliont now rodi ond ruby ton.i.Thollpitick that's WHIP- TEXT to ilay on longer . . . tmoolhar 10( "I haven't seen it, yet," MartJia said. Lucy and Lillian led her through the house. And the more she saw, the more she was reminded of the house in Old Port. This one was almost as large. Everything in it was new and carefully chosen. They had saved the living room for last and Martha caught her breath as they entered it. The room was im- mense and beautiful, but to Martha, it looked like a room on a stage. There were people in it — all her friends — but they looked uncomfort- able and out of place. In an alcove, a four-piece orchestra was playing and a few of the younger people were dancing. lY/fARTHA'S presence seemed to ^^^ ease the tension a little. She greeted all her old friends warmly and managed to make them relax. She even joked with them about the waiters Lucy had got from a caterer. "Lucy's doing it up big, isn't she?" she laughed. That seemed to make them feel more at home. Then Lucy sang. Martha looked questioningly at Jim, but he was beaming with pride and happiness. To Martha, Lucy looked and sounded like a caricature. And Martha could feel the discomfort of the others and their polite applause made her ashamed. Afterwards, Lucy brought over a little man with lots of wild, black hair and introduced him as her singing teacher, and suddenly Martha was filled with a vexed, sort of pity, knowing that this misguided excur- sion of Lucy's into singing was really a desperate attempt to find a way of forgetting Old Port and what had happened there. Martha was bewildered and tired and a little angry. She wondered whether her friends would be very hurt, if she asked them to go home. Happily, they began to leave in groups and, when they had all gone, Martha sank wearily into one of the deep chairs and waited for her family to make some explanations. "It's wonderful to have you home, Martha," Jim said, taking her hand tenderly. "We missed you." They started then, all talking at once. Lucy bubbled, on and on, about her wonderful singing teacher and the future he was promising her. "And only ten dollars a lesson!" Lillian put in. No one seemed to notice Martha's gasp of amazement, but Cora, who pursed her lips as if to say, "Wait, there's more." Jim talked about what a bargain the house was — of course, it wasn't all paid for, yet, but they'd nad no trouble in getting credit and Lucy had really done very well with the interior decorators from Twin Falls. "I hate to spoil your fun," Martha said, a little wearily, a little sadly, "but haven't you run away with yourselves a bit? You know, I still don't know how much money I'm going to get." This was plainly a shock to them. Jim's face grew very serious and fear clutched at Martha's heart. She knew her Jim very well. He hadn't told her everything, yet. Cora went home and the others went upstairs to bed. Martha poked up the fire. "Come sit over here, Jim," she said. "Let's visit — the old way, darling." Jim wheeled his chair over to the fireplace. "Martha," he began a bit timidly, "You wrote that everything was all right." "Yes," she said. "It is. There was no trouble about the will. But it will be a couple of weeks before I get the 3ccoTjnts "Oh," Jim seemed relieved. "That's soon enough." "For what?" "Well," Jim brightened. "You see, Martha, I had a chance to turn a good business deal. I heard — purely by accident, mind you — that there's go- ing to be another defense factory here in Farmington. And — well — I got in on the ground floor. Know what I did?" he asked proudly. "I bought the land where they're going to build it. They'll have to buy from me." "How do you know?" Martha asked. "There were some men here, choosing a site — and I happened to find out which one they decided on," Jim said. "I see," Martha said. "And what did you pay for it?" "Well, I put down the five thou- sand you sent me from New York and signed a note for the rest." He was beaming again. "That's why I wanted to know when — you see, I have to pay Wilkins the balance in thirty days." IT was very late and there were so many things to straighten out, that Martha didn't have the heart to start them. She was afraid of this deal of Jim's, but she was also afraid of hurt- ing him needlessly. What if he had done the right thing? She pretended to be pleased and proud of him and she kissed him tenderly and went up to her room. In the next few days, she was very busy. She was happy to learn that the liveried butler had disappeared Uoj^ rrecto lo^ VICTOR BORGE — the Danish comedian who made such a hit on his first Kraft Music Hall date that he was immediately signed up as a "regular" and is now heard with Bing Crosby every Thursday night on NBC. Until his guest appearance with Bing, Victor was practically unknown to Americans, although in Europe he'd been a star for a dozen years. He came fo the United States fourteen months ago from Sweden, where he'd been living since the outbreak of the war. He couldn't speak English then, but in six months he had a working acquaintance with the language, gained principally by attending six movies a day. His accent is still pretty funny, but that's an asset to a comedian. 56 HADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR with the caterer's truck. It was a painful thing to do, but she made Lucy go to the Music Academy in Twin Falls and sing for the audition board there. Her heart ached for her daughter while the singing coach ex- plained to her that, although her voice was pleasant, it would be a waste of time and money to train it. She was proud, however, to see the way Lucy took it. "I guess I was kind of a dope, huh?" Lucy said on the bus. "No dear," Martha said. You were just in too much of a hurry to do something. We'll take it a little more slowly — find out what you really want to do in life and then work for that." And neither of them men- tioned Steve Holbert. Martha also took the store in hand. Lillian had jumbled the accounts shamefully and the store was almost completely depleted of stock. In a way, though, Martha was glad there was so much work to do there. It kept her mind off Jim's big deal. And he was very secretive. He was afraid even to talk about it, for fear some- one might hear. One afternoon, Martha had occasion to go to the bank on some business. As she was leaving, she ran into George Harrison. "Hello, Martha," he said warmly. "I was coming to see you today. I just got back from a business trip. How is everything? And let me con- gratulate you on your good fortune." Martha smiled a little wryly. "I still have no idea whether it's a good fortune, or not," she said. "Oh, well," George said. "At least, you're not likely to fall prey to this Albert Silvers, who's just skipped town with the life savings of some of our most prominent citizens." "Who is he?" Martha asked, swal- lowing her panic. "Some swindler the police are look- ing for," George said casually. "He goes about the country, talking peo- ple into buying worthless land by spreading word that defense plants are going to be built on it." Martha hardly knew how she got away from George. She went back to the store and tried to work, but nothing went properly. All she could think about was Jim, how he would take this news. She didn't care so much about the money. It was the blow to his self esteem. He had made another mistake and she would have to tell him. ALL through dinner, she avoided -^^ Jim's eyes and made a terrible effort to behave normally. After Lucy had gone out with Johnny Long and Tommy had been put to bed, she went into Jim's den. "Jim," she said softly, "what was the name of the man who sold you that land?" Jim looked at her in surprise. "Was it Albert Silvers?" Martha asked. Jim flushed with irritation. "So, it's got around. I'll miss out on the deal." Simply, keeping any hint of criti- cism out of her voice, Martha told him what she had learned from George Harrison. Jim's face got very red, then it went pale. "I don't believe it!" Jim said. Just then the doorbell rang. Mar- tha was annoyed and pretended not to have heard it. She looked at Jim steadily. His lips were colorless. "It's all right, Jim," she said. "It MARCH, 1942 Meet the man who really tamed the shrevs^ II "What a terrible name to call yourself! And a sweet-tempered person like you . . . it's silly!" "Believe it or not, I was terrible! If Bob hadn't stepped in, I might still be nervous, haggard, all temper and tantrums like this ..." "Stop it! That's awful!" "Awful is right! But Bob found the right answer ... I had a Vitamin B Complex deficiency." "A what?" "It's a shortage of those amazing vitamins you find in their natural form in fresh yeast. So I bought a week's supply of fleischmann's. Took two cakes a day in nice cool tomato juice, and pretty soon ..." "As pretty a girl as any man could wish! But what's this about tomato juice?" "Oh! That's the new way to take yeast. Look! 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NaTTie— City — [Please Print) -Street. .MA32 61 = Anril Sho-wers ;f vou use April ••;, XilUngly soft onyout skm, luxuriously Per^^^il of l>^^-^^""^foApS Showers 4«^ Tolc CHERAMY perfumer Men love 'The Fragrance of Youth 62 thoughts ran on; no one would be hurt by it and my love for Bill cer- tainly justified my grasping at any means to avoid leaving him. Against my frantic determination to stay with Bill the arguments of my conscience had no chance at all and when I left the office half an hour later I left in triumph. My interview with Mr. Marsh had given him no inkling of the fact that I was not the girl I was pretending to be and the job I needed so desperately was mine. Bill was jubilant when I told him. "Now aren't you glad I persuaded you to register at Federal?" he crowed. "Our luck's turned, honey. Now that I know you love me and that you're going to stay here where I can see you every day, I'll work harder than ever." He reached across the res- taurant table and took my hands in his. "There never was a girl like you, Elizabeth," he said tenderly. If I had ever intended to tell him why the job was mine, I forgot my resolu- tion in that moment of happiness. ■PkURING my first few days at the -■-' office I was so nervous that I jumped every time anyone called me by name. Gradually, though, as the days passed and no one suspected, I began to have more self-confidence, even to enjoy my work. It was one morning near the middle of April that my early fears of dis- covery swept over me again. I was just taking the cover off my type- writer when the girl at the next desk whispered excitedly, "Mr. Winters is back." My face must have betrayed the fact that her announcement didn't mean anything to me for she went on hastily, "Oh, I forgot. You don't know him. You didn't come here until after Mr. Winters went to California." All at once her words took on ter- rible significance for me and I sank weakly into my chair. Karl Winters, the man who had interviewed that other Elizabeth Adams! I had almost forgotten him and when I had thought of him it was with the comfortable assurance that I had no reason to worry about him since he was safely established on the West Coast. But now he was back in New York and, I told myself hopelessly, my pretense would be revealed and dismissal from my job would follow. "There's Mr. Winters now," my neighbor whispered again. "Isn't he the best looking man you ever saw?" I turned to look at the man who had stepped out of one of the private offices at the end of the room. He was good looking — there was no denying that — with black hair and brilliant dark eyes set deeply in a tanned face. The other girls in the office crowded around him, welcoming him back with an enthusiasm that told me he was a favorite with all of them, and in spite of my nervousness I couldn't help realizing that there was some- thing very likable about him. All that day I worked at feverish tension, trying to brace myself for the exposure I expected would fol- low at any moment. I tried to shut Karl Winters out of my mind, but that was utterly impossible — and it was made more so by the fact that the girl at the next desk chattered about him every moment she could spare from her work. "I wish he'd stay in this office," she observed wistfully, "but I suppose this will be only a short trip and then he'll go back West." "What makes you think that?" I asked. "Oh, his headquarters are really in Hollywood," was the answer. "He only spends a few weeks at a time in this office." I nodded. That idea was comforting to me, for if this were only a hurried business trip perhaps Mr. Winters wouldn't have time to notice me or to remember that other Elizabeth Adams and my secret would remain safe. I felt more calm after that, but my calmness was only temporary for later on my supervisor called me in to meet him. As I approached the small office which had been assigned to him I felt my palms turn moist with ap- prehension, but instead of the denun- ciation I expected he smiled and said impersonally, "I'm glad to know you, Miss Adams. I hope you like work- ing here." I gave an almost audible gasp of relief as I realized that he hadn't as- sociated my name with that of the girl he had interviewed months earlier and murmuring a breathless, "I — I like it very much," I returned to my desk. The following morning Mr. Winters brought a number of reports to my desk with the request that I type them as quickly as possible since he would need them for a conference that after- noon. I started on them immediately, but was unable to finish by twelve o'clock so I worked steadily through the noon hour. Everyone else had returned from lunch when I finally completed the reports and took them in to him. "Thank you very much. Miss Adams," he said warmly. "You must have worked straight through your lunch hour to finish these so quickly." "That's all right, Mr. Winters," I said. "I didn't mind." "I was working too," he added wry- ly. "I'll just have time for a sand- wich at the drugstore before going to that conference. Why don't you join me, since we're both so late?" His C)oAA rTeloLo lo- LEON JANNEY — beHer known to millions of listeners as Richard Parker on NBC's Sunday-night serial, The Parker Family. Although Leon is still in his early twenties, he's been an actor for more than twenty years. He started in vaudeville at the age of three and worked his way to Hollywood and a Warner Brothers movie con- tract. When movie work palled he came to New York and has since appeared in several stage plays besides doing his radio job. His hobbies are photography and collecting records; he's on a committee for Notional Youth for Defense and recently became a volunteer New York City fireman. Occasionally, be- tween radio appearance, he composes music and writes lyrics. RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR invitation surprised me, but it was so friendly and casual that it gave me no reason for declining, and instead of starting out for a solitary meal as I had expected to do I found myself walking with him toward the ele- vators. We chatted animatedly over our coffee and sandwiches — or, rather, Karl Winters talked while I listened. He had been in radio for years and he spoke so interestingly of its early developments and its possibilities for the future that to my surprise I dis- covered I was enjoying myself thor- oughly and that my lunch hour was proving to be one of the shortest I had ever known. Three or four times after that he gave me typing to do. Occasionally it seemed odd that so much of it should necessitate my working through the noon hour, but I didn't see how I could protest especially since he al- ways expressed his appreciation of my work by asking me to lunch when it was finished. I grew to enjoy these late drugstore lunches, and we became quite friendly over them, so friendly that I often thought how funny it was that at one time I had been afraid that he might make trouble for me by exposing my deception. IZ'ARL had been in New York for a -■■^ little over a week when Bill was sent to Rochester as a temporary sub- stitute for the announcer on a show which was broadcast from our local station there. The first few evenings after he left I felt like a lost soul. I had been so used to seeing him every night that an evening without him seemed endless and I was almost glad one afternoon when it was announced that the entire staff would have to work that night preparing publicity stories about the stars of a big new sponsored show which was to go on the air the following week. The longer I stayed at the office, I re- flected, the less time I would have to think about Bill, and I threw myself into my work with such energy that when I returned at last to my hotel I was completely exhausted. The next day was one of those strange spring days when the air is as balmy as summer and makes you feel lazy and relaxed. Karl was out of the office most of the day but he returned late in the afternoon and dropping a folder on my desk he asked me to copy the material it con- tained. By five-thirty everyone had gone, leaving only Karl in his small office and myself, typing busily, in the outer office. When I took the fin- ished reports in to him at six o'clock he thanked me with his usual warmth and apologized for keeping me. I was about to leave when he said, "I suppose there's a young man in your life who's waiting impatiently to take you to dinner." I shook my head. "No," I answered morosely, wishing with all my heart that Bill were in town and waiting for me. "Then how about having dinner with me?" Karl asked. I thought of the things I had planned to do; write a letter to Bill and one to my family; read or go to a movie by myself. A dull, lonely evening — and all at once I knew I couldn't stand another lonely evening. "Why, I'll be glad to," I aswered al- most gratefully. "Fine," Karl smiled. "I'll meet you at the Dorchester lobby at seven." Promptly on the hour I found him IMARCH, 1942 . . . Some days I'm blue instance. like today, for Ev^n this portable doesn't help. I've played stacks of old favorites, new swings and late boogie-woogies and still the glooms hang on! So I ask you . . . what's a girl to do? Go out wearing a face full of frowns? Try to grin from ear to ear? Or call things off and stay home? What I can't figure is how those pals of mine manage to keep going — no matter what day of the month it is. What have others got that I haven't They must have something . . . and I'm the gal who's going to find out! How? . . . well, I'll hide my pride and ask 'em. Want to listen in?. .. Jane called it comfort ! The kind Kotex sanitary napkins give. She explained that Kotex is different from pads that only "feel" soft at first touch. For Kotex is made in soft folds that are less bulky — more comfortable — made to stay soft while wearing ! And, oh, what a pal was Carrie! She put it this way . . . for confidence and poise there's nothing like the flat, pressed ends of Kotex. They don't show even when you go without a girdle! y Nancy simply said . . . 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Now bring your hand mirror close to your face. You'll see what a man sees in a Cashmere Bouquet close-up. No coarse powder particles, but an all-over misty bloom, delicate as the finish on a butter- fly's wing. You'll see naturalness; supreme smooth- ness; flattering life-like color. And in the close-up, your skin will breathe the costly perfume of Cashmere Bouquet Face Powder — the "fragrance men love." 6 ravishing ehadee. In generouB 10c and larger eizeo al all drug and toilet countere. rashmerelouqud Face Pouidcr Another nicnil>er of CaBhnicrc Houquet — the Roy.Tl Family of Beauty J*rc|iaralionH waiting for me. We started through the hotel lobby toward the dining room, then Karl stopped abruptly. "It's a shame to coop ourselves up in a restaurant on a night like this," he remarked "I've got a perfectly good penthouse apartment here in the Dor- chester with a terrace that's going to waste. Why don't we have dinner sent up there?" His suggestion left me rather con- fused. Dining in a restaurant was one thing, but to go to his apartment. . . . Still, there wasn't any reason not to go, and the terrace would be heavenly after the warm sticky day. I turned to him with a smile, "I think dinner on the terrace is a wonderful idea." TTHE terrace lived up to expectations. -■- The light breeze was refreshing and the view of the river, with dozens of small boats puffing and scuttling about, fascinated me. Dinner was excellent, chosen by Karl with great care for my preferences, and we chat- ted gaily throughout the meal. When the waiter had cleared away the dishes I went to lean on the balcony railing and found the view even more enchanting now that the darkness had deepened and jewels of light were appearing one by one on the opposite shore. I didn't realize that Karl had fol- lowed me, wasn't even aware of his presence until I felt his arms about me, turning me around so that I faced him. I tried to pull myself away, but succeeded only in jerking my head aside so that his mouth brushed my cheek instead of finding my own. His arms tightened around me. "I love you, Elizabeth," he said softly. "I'm crazy about you." From inside the apartment there came the sound of the waiter return- ing with our coffee. Reluctantly, Karl released me and led me back to my chair. With the waiter's eyes on me there was nothing to do but sit down as Karl returned to his own place opposite me. While the steam- ing black coffee was poured from its silver pot, I struggled to control the shocked disbelief I had felt at his words. I tried to speak to Karl, wanting desperately to make the scene seem casual, but the few words that formed on my dry lips were meaningless. Karl, dropping a square of sugar in my cup, was more successful, for when he spoke his voice was imper- sonal yet attentive. Leaning forward, in almost a con- fidential manner, he touched my hand gently. "I like the way you wear your hair, Elizabeth. It's much more attractive than the way you wore it last fall." "But you didn't — " I began to pro- test. Karl caught up my sentence, free to say the words that choked in my throat. "Didn't know you last fall?" he prompted. "No, Elizabeth, I didn't. And I'm glad. The thrill of knowing you now has been so much sweeter." The discreet click of the outer door told us the waiter had left the apart- ment. For a moment I could only stare at Karl. "You — you don't know what you're saying," I faltered. "Yes I do," Karl said tensely, "I'm saying that I'm in love with you. That even if I never knew you before, I'm crazy about you." "Oh no," I protested. "You can't be in love with me. You've only known me — " "Two weeks?" he broke in. "Two weeks can be a long time, Elizabeth. It was as easy for me to fall in love with you as it was for you to get your job." There it was, in the open, with all the ugly implications I instinctively had feared when I'd first heard that Karl Winters was back in town. He stood up, came to my side, took my shoulders in his hands. "I love you — want you," he said, urgency in his voice. "And I think you love me too." "No!" I jumped to my feet. "I don't, I'm — I'm in love with somebody else." Anger blazed in his eyes, then quickly died away. "But you told me," he said heavily, "that there wasn't anybody else." "You misunderstood me," I ex- plained frantically. "I thought you meant — that is, I meant I was free for tonight." He nodded slowly. "I see." His voice was toneless. "I guess," he said more casually, "I should beg your pardon. Or — " he paused, and there was still a fiicker of expectancy in his eves, — "should you beg mine?" ' "Oh — " the exclamation came un- bidden to my lips. Half running I went into the apartment, snatched up my purse and hat and fled into the hall, to the elevator that stood wait- ing. Just before the elevator doors slammed shut, I heard him call, "Elizabeth, wait—" When I reached the street I fairly threw mytelf mto a taxi and there anger, humiliation, all the emotions I had held so carefully in check during the last few minutes surged through me. Karl had known — must have known from the first — that I was working under false pretenses, that I was not the Elizabeth Adams they thought they had hired. He had been willing to keep silent, as long as he had thought that I might fall in love ^OAA rreKSLo lo- MARION CLAIRE — soprano prima donna o-f the Chicago Theater of the Air operettas heard every Saturday night on the Mutual network. In private life, Marion is Mrs. Henry Weber, wife of the talented musical director of the programs. She made her operatic debut in Venice, Italy, in 1926, and her American debut in Chicago in 1928. Then she turned to light opera, and was starred in the big stage production, "The Great Waltz." You saw her in the movies with Bobby Breen in "Make a Wish." She entered radio in 1940, when the Chicago operetta programs first went on the air. Blonde and beautiful, Marion is not to be confused with actress Helen Claire, also blonde and beautiful — but no relation. RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR with him. But now — involuntarily I recalled the anger that had shone in his eyes — now it would be foolish for me to hope that he would keep silent. During the rest of the short ride back to my hotel I had to fight to keep from sobbing aloud. I longed for Bill, for the comfort of his arms around me, and when I reached my room it was like an answer to my prayer to find my phone ringing and to hear his voice. The relief of talking to him — even on the telephone — brought me close to hysteria. "Bill! Oh, Bill!" I cried incoherently. "Pull yourself together, honey," Bill said worriedly, "and meet me at the restaurant around the corner. No matter what's bothering you we'll take care of it." W'HEN I arrived at the restaurant Bill, paying no attention to the waiter, took me in his arms and kissed me as you kiss a frightened child. His calmness, the protectiveness of his embrace, restored my self control and in a few minutes I was telling him what had happened. I told htm every- thing. I confessed the deception through which I had gotten my job, my qualms of conscience about it, and ended by telling him of my dinner with Karl and of Karl's attempted love making. When I reached that part of the story. Bill's face flamed with rage. "The conceited fool," he muttered. "I'd like to—" "Don't worry about it, Bill," I inter- rupted. "It's all over now. Karl will probably have me fired, but that's only what I've expected all along." Bill subsided and we were silent for a little while, then he said gently, "Don't you think you sort of brought this on yourself, honey?" "You mean by going to his apart- ment?" I asked unhappily. Bill shook his head. "I mean be- fore that," he explained. "Last fall, when you maneuvered to get a job that belonged to somebody else." "But I wasn't hurting anybody," I said defensively. "How do you know you weren't?" Bill asked quietly. "You admit that your conscience bothered you. Are you sure that wasn't because you were afraid you were hurting someone?" "I wasn't hurting anybody. Bill," I insisted. "I didn't like having a secret from you, but it didn't make any difference between us, really. And I did my work as well as anybody could have done it, so I wasn't cheat- ing the office." Bill didn't answer. He didn't even look at me, only sat there staring above my head, as though he were troubled about some- thing. His silence made me uncom- fortable and at last I said, "All right. Since it's so important to you, I'll re- sign if you want me too. I'll tell Mr. Marsh everything, whether Karl tells him or not." Bill sighed. "That's not the point," he said patiently. "I don't want you to resign, or confess, or anything just because you think I want you to. I want you to decide what is right." "What do you mean. Bill?" I asked confusedly. And then, as clearly as though he had spoken, I knew what he meant. "Are you thinking about the other Elizabeth Adams?" I de- manded. Bill nodded and for the first time since I had known him I was annoyed with him. Everything I had done I had done because of him and now, instead of sympathizing with me, he was worrying about a girl MABCH, 1942 Old-Fashioned Skin-Care Once women had to use many creams and lotions to keep skin healthy and attractive. Modern Skin-Care Today aU you need to help keep your skin fresh, young-looking, is one amazing cream! Does Your one Face Cream do all these 4 Vital Things? 1. Lady Esther 4-Purpose Face Cream thoroughly cleanses the skin, removing every trace of clinging dirt. 2. Lady Esther 4-Purpose Face Cream relieves dryness and flaking — leaves the skin wonderfully soft. 3. 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Frra-lctti-rlliU I'rw; TERMS catHl'.K iTilKht iwlil, ComimruourprlCCT I Rieh Arrid has been awarded the Approval Seal of the American Institute of Laundering, for being harmless to fabrics. Arrid is the largest selling deodorant . . . try a jar today ARRID 39^ a jar « AT AU STORES WHICH SELL TOILET GOODS (AIjo in 10 cent ond 59 cent jars) SITROUX CLEANSING TISSUES SOFTER Say "Sit-True" for tissues that are as soft as a kiss on the cheek. STRONGER As strong as a man's fond embrace. Sitroux is made from pure cellulose. MORE ABSORBENT Drinks in moisture. Ideal for beauty care and a thousand and one uses everywhere. AT 5 & 10^-DRUG & DEPT. STORES "This won't be for long. I'm sure to get leave soon," Chris hazarded as the dread moment for leaving drew near. Sightlessly Mary stowed a razor into the pocket of his bag and snapped the latter shut. "Of course." "I'll wire you as soon as I know." Chris eyed her anxiously. "Mary — look at me." She raised wretched eyes to his. "I'm not going to be silly about all this. I know lots of men are leaving. . . . Oh, Chris!" She broke suddenly and went into his arms. "Take care of yourself. Promise you'll take care of your self and come back to me." "I will, sweet," he comforted her huskily. "And it will be soon." With a last kiss, half savage, half infinitely tender, he was gone. Through the days and weeks that followed Mary clung to those words, "It will be soon," said them over and over again fiercely and shared them with Chris' mother with whom she went to live. Chris had asked her if she didn't want to go home to her own people while she waited for him. But Mary had said, "No, Chris, I'm a Canadian now. Remember? . . . And maybe," she added softly, "your mother will be lonesome, too." The two women found great com- panionship together in the old Jordan home, roomy and gracious, in Cana- da's city of cathedrals. But Mary could not conquer her growing fears as time passed with no word from Chris. When at length a note came from him, full of affection but hinting at the pressure under which they were operating, Mary poured out her heart to him in a letter: "Chris, my darling, "At long, long last your letter came this morning. I read it a dozen times, then read it to your mother, leaving out only little parts that were spe- cially our own. ... I know it's silly of me to worry, but I had a rather terri- fying dream last night. I was stand- ing out somewhere in the universe and calling to you. I called and called but you didn't answer. So, darling, the first chance you have to send word of any kind — preferably a tele- gram— please indulge a very foolish wife and tell me you're all right. . . ." 'T'HREE days later the doorbell rang ■•- in the middle of the night. Mother Jordan ran down to answer it — a telegram for Mrs. Christopher Jor- dan. Hesitantly she awakened Mary, who, far from being alarmed, bounded up joyously. This was the telegram she had begged Chris to send. With eager fingers she tore it open and started to read. The words did a macabre dance before her eyes. She tried again: "We regret to in- form you that your husband Christo- pher James Jordan was killed in the line of duty. ..." Duty. Her mind fastened on the last word as it spun on a pin wheel of lights within her brain. In the line of duty. The pin wheel enlarged it- self to carry the extra words, spin- ning faster and faster. KILLED! With a crash of lights the pin wheel broke and Mary sank to the floor senseless. Hours later — eternities later, for all she knew — Mary looked up through a blur at the sad anxious face of Mother Jordan and the kindly one of Dr. Mason, the Jordan family physi- cian. When it became evident she was coming out of her coma, the two stared across at each other with in- finite relief. She'll be all right, their look said. But Mary wasn't all right. For days an apathetic bitterness lay hold of her, broken only by periodic stabs of pain whenever she thought of Chris. At length after an earnest consultation with Mrs. Jordan, Dr. Mason sent for Mary. "My child," he began carefully, "I'm going to tell you something which may — I hope — make things easier for you. When you collapsed ten days ago, I discovered certain symptoms that indicated more than the usual conditions resulting from simple emotional shock." Mary stared at him dully. "What are you trying to say?" "You're going to have a baby." There was absolute silence in the room. Then Mary said flatly, "It isn't true." "Yes, Mary, it is," Dr. Mason replied gently. Slowly realization took hold of her. "And you say this will make things easier!" She glared accusingly at the Doctor and Mrs. Jordan. "His child — to be born months after Chris is dead — to be taken one day as Chris has been taken. His child — to be brought into this meaningless chaos of terror and destruction. I wish to God it weren't true!" "But, my dear, this is a reason for you to live," Mrs. Jordan urged. "I had a reason. Chris was my rea- son— all I asked. And he was taken from me!" Mary's voice rose hysteri- cally. "Well, let me be taken, too. I don't want to live, I don't want his child to live— not in this world!" She turned and ran from the room, her hard-born sobs filling the halls of the old house until the door of her bedroom shut them away. In her room Mary fiung herself on the bed and prayed for oblivion, in whatever form it might be, as a victim of the BOB WALKER — who ploys Davy Dillon in Moudie's Diary, heard Thursday evenings on CBS. Bob's great grandfather was one of the founders of Salt Lake City, Utah, and Bob was born there twenty-three years ago. Even when he was in school, he wonted to be an actor, and came to New York as soon as he could after graduation to study at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts. First, though, he had to earn money, and he worked at several jobs — cleaning strawberries in an ice cream factory, being an engine-boy oboard a freighter, and reading scripts for different dramatic and literary agencies. Bob plays tennis and golf, and his greatest ambition right now is to learn to ploy the piano. 68 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR torture chamber prays for death. Suddenly out of that half-world, whose best-known portals are men- tal anguish or mortal pain, a world which few have the evidence to prove yet no man has the proof to deny, a voice spoke. "Mary," it said compellingly. "Mary!" Mary Jordan checked her weeping and stared into the shadows. "Who are you?" she whispered. "I am only a messenger," the voice replied. " They' have sent me." "Who are 'they'?" "I cannot tell you. To understand you must come with me." "Where?" "Across space and time." "But I don't want to go!" she cried. "You must," replied the voice. "It is your one hope to understand." The walls of the room seemed to drop away and in their place rolled deep swirling clouds. Mary felt as if she was being lifted up and borne along by the bottomless mists. The soft rush of air was cool but strangely she had no sense of chill. Presently she felt herself set down upon firm ground and as the mists rolled away she found she was standing a little distance from a cottage with a low thatched roof. Before the cottage was a young man in the uniform of a strange country. By his side stood a girl and an old man. AS the younger man spoke, tears of -^ fright and horror coursed down his cheeks. "I ran away, Anna. I had to. But I was not alone. There were others — hundreds of them." The girl regarded him with shocked surprise. "But you, Paul. I cannot believe it of you." The old man put in warmly, "Our Paul is no deserter." "But you do not understand," cried the boy. "The enemy is unbeatable. There is to be a battle tomorrow at the village beyond the hill. The enemy will win and that will be the end of Belgium — of Europe." He turned desperately to the girl. "We must get away, Anna. We'll put everything in the cart and start now. Perhaps somewhere we can find refuge from the conqueror." The girl Anna seized his arm. "No, Paul. We do not run away. And you will go back to your regiment," she spoke steadily, "now — before they discover you are gone." "She is right, Paul," said the old man. "But I cannot go back," the boy protested. "You can do nothing else." The girl's words carried calm conviction. "Have we not always said that your child would be born here, on the land of his fathers and his fathers' fathers? How can that land be saved for oiu: child if we will not fight for it?" The eyes of the young man shifted to the ground. "You will help our army beat this unbeatable conqueror," Anna went on, her voice soaring with the mes- sage it carried. "And you will return here to our land — to be with me in my time." The man gazed at her in trans- fixed awe. "You are not afraid, Anna. You are not afraid of the war," he marveled. A glorious smile broke across the plain peasant features of the girl. "I am not afraid. Now go!" "Yes, Anna," he spoke with a new MARCH, 1942 iva s Diacked-out J^ Ah V Watch other glamour girls fade into the background when you come out in exotic Cutex BLACK RED! Every year more women choose Cutex fashion nail shades than any other kind. Get a bottle of the most exciting, most popular Cutex shade ever— Black Red— today! Only ^0< (plus tax) in the U. S. Northam Warren, New York Most PopularCUTtX Nail Shade Ever strength born of humility. "I will go." As he trudged off down the dirt road, the girl turned to the old man. "Uncle, where did he say Napoleon, the conqueror, would be tomorrow?" The old man replied, "At Waterloo, the village beyond the hill . . ." As the scene began to disappear in the descending mists, Mary heard the voice beside her say, "Mary, you have heard . . ." "Yes," she answered wonderingly. "But I still don't understand what — " "Then come," interrupted the voice. "There are others." A GAIN Mary felt herself borne -^ aloft, carried forward at space- defying speed in the chamber of clouds. This time, after she had been put gently down upon the earth, the rising mists revealed, standing on the shore of a lake, a large stone house whose heavy doors an angry crowd of peasants was storming. From the brogue of their speech she guessed the country must be Ireland. On the other side of the doors stood Michael, handsome young nobleman, in the fine old hall of his ancestors, and Kathleen, whom Michael had found like a bit of sun- light dancing across his hills and had married, as his people said, "out of his class." With a grim mouth Michael was now reaching for his gun. "So it's force they want, is it? Well, it's force they'll have!" "Michael, no," Kathleen begged, her copper-gold head flung back. "It's half mad they are with hunger. They're my people, Michael, and I know them better than you do. It's not guns will help." "Nor is it words they'll under- stand," Michael argued hotly. "I say it is and I'll prove it to ye!" Before her husband could stop her, Kathleen had sped to the great doors, unbarred them and thrown them open to the clamoring crowd outside. "What's the meanin' of this?" she challenged the mob. "You know what the meanin' is," a surly-looking man yelled. "You've food here — you and your great lord —a cellar full of it!" "That's a lie!" Kathleen replied spiritedly. "There's no more inside these walls than in the house of any one of ye. What we've had we've shared, like all the rest. And 'tis ashamed ye should be for believin' otherwise. Now get on with ye!" But the angry murmurs began to swell menacingly. Kathleen, quick to sense the danger, took the last plunge. "You men, brandishin' your staves and hoes — ye'd do better to be workin' with 'em," she scoffed. "This mornin' I saw new plants sproutin' in the valley fields — plants that would grow the faster with some dig- gin' — if there were men with the brains and the brawn to be doin' it!" Anger turned to exclamations of surprise. "Ye hear that, ye lazy brawlin' banshees!" one woman cried. " 'Tis the new crops. Now, get on with ye and tend to 'em!" Mulling knots of agitators began to untie themselves and string off down the valley. "There, Michael, ye see!" A radi- ant Kathleen turned to her husband. "It was hope they needed. That's all." "Kathleen," Michael was looking down at his wife with a mixture of pride and quizzicalness. "Are there new plants in the valley fields?" "A very few," she responded pert- ly. "But there'll be more. Because if there aren't, then it's the death of Ireland — and the death of Ireland is fair the death of the world. And the world doesn't die, Michael. It gets almighty sick sometimes and sets up a wail of agony. But if ye listen sharp, even in the midst of the wail ye can hear another sound. It's laughter, Michael — the laughter of another day when all this shall be forgotten." A CHUCKLE broke from her lips. ■^»- "A phrase, if I do say it me- self. Remind me to tell young Michael — shortly after he's born. He'll be proud to know he has such a devilish smart mother." Michael gazed deep into the eyes of Kathleen. "I can hardly believe it. With the whole countryside mad with fear of the famine, you're not afraid!" "Sure, and how can I be afraid when I've got your son beneath my heart?" Kathleen said softly. "Would ye have him born a coward . . .?" Her words grew dim in the ears of Mary Jordan as the mists settled over the lake and blotted out the stone house. "Now, Mary," the voice beside her spoke again, "do you understand?" Hesitantly she replied, "Perhaps — a little." "Then we must make one more journey." 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His mother taught him piano. After high school he teamed up with a local band and soon was playing in Harlem hot spots. A few years later he wound up in Kan- sas City, stranded with an itinerant stage show. For a while he played organ in a movie theater. He got back to swing in a small night club, called The Reno, and built up a faithful fol- lowing. Don Davis, executive at radio station WHB, and Walter Bales, a real estate man, two Basie fans, decided to help. They got him on the air and pulled some strings in New York. Soon after, the Count was playing in Chicago's Grand Terrace and New York's Roseland Ballrooms. The Count fashioned some solid ar- rangements for Benny Goodman, in- cluding the now famous "One O'Clock Jump." Basie laughs when novices swoon over boogie-woogie. He knew it when. "Boogie-woogie has always been around but we just didn't know what to call it." Although he lives in a spacious apartment near New York's Lenox Avenue, Basie doesn't go there when his work is over. Instead, he makes tracks to Clark Monroe's Uptown House, a Harlem rendezvous for swingsters, Negro and white. Most of his musicians, including the 250-pound vocalist, Jimmy Rushing, and a smat- tering of customers who don't know when to go home, follow. Then comes an unabated, uninhibited swing ses- sion that carries on till dawn. Up there the boys don't hold back for anyone. :aiif.. 16-year-old Rose Marie Lombardo now sings with brother Guy Lom- bardo's orchestra heard on Sat- urday nights over the CBS network. 74 RADIO AND TELEVISION IVIIRROR OFF THE RECORD Some Like It Sweet: Glenn Miller (Bluebird 11342) "Dreamsville, Ohio" — "Papa Niccolini." An amiable lament to the midwest com- bined with a cheery novelty that relies on affable Tex Beneke's voice for its best mornGnts. Russ Morgan (Decca 4069) "Buckle Down, Winsocki" — "Everytime." Rous- ing football tune for a mythical prep school that is far superior to most authentic ones. The reverse is easy on the ears. Charlie Spivak (Okeh 6476) "Autumn Nocturne" — "Clock Song." Laurels for the top side. Spivak's trumpet plays the haunting melody beautifully. One of the outstanding tunes of the season. Kay Kyser (Columbia 36441-36433) "Thank Your Lucky Stars and Stripes" —"How Long Did I Dream ? "—"Hump- ty Dumpty Heart" — "Romeo Smith." Four tunes from the professor's new film, "Playmates" and they run the gamut from pertness to patriotism. All good. Sammy Kaye (Victor 27666) "Honey- bunch" — "No Laughing Matter." Not as stickily sentimental as recent Kaye platters and therefore refreshingly wel- come. Freddy Martin (Bluebird 11347) "Who Are You"— "Whistling in the Night." Now recognized as one of the country's top bands and so appropriate for this pillar to say "I told you so." Here's another Martin smoothie. Some Like It Swing: John Kirby (Victor 27667) "Tweed Me" — "Night Whispers." Handsome rhythms that should embarrass larger sized aggregations and their unre- strained brass sections. Harry James (Columbia 36434) "My Silent Love"— "Melancholy Baby." One of the fast-rising bands shows its abil- ity on a pair of old but still swell tunes. James' blending of brass and strings deserves mention. Count Basic (Okeh 6475) "King Joe." A most unusual recording combining the talents of three great Negro artists, Basic, Paul Robeson and playwright Richard Wright. It is a tribute to the prowess of Joe Louis done in low-down blues fashion. Sidney Bechet (Victor 27663) "Laugh- in' in Rhythm"— "Rippin' Up the Joint." Pure, unadulterated swing if you like it that way. Benny Goodman (Okeh 6474) "The Earl"— "Let's Do It." Goodman's debut on a more moderate priced disk. Les Brown (Okeh 6475) "Pushin' Along" — "As We Walk Into the Sunset." Play the top, skip the re- verse, for a better appraisal of a fast- rising band. (Recommended Albums: Hildegarde's superb, sophisticated cooing of Cole Porter's tunes from the show, "Let's Face It" for Decca, Tschaikowsky's "Romeo and Juliet," played by Arthur Rodzinski and the Cleveland Orches- tra on Columbia.) RADIO MIRROR DANCE BAND CONTEST BALLOT To Ken Alden, Facing the Music Radio Mirror Magazine, 122 E. 42nd Street, New York City. Please consider this a vote for your fourth annual dance band popularity poll. (Voter's name: ) Unexpected Romance Continued from page 7 He drank. The color came back to his cheek. He tried to struggle to his feet unaided and smiled in that em- barrassed way sick people do when weakness overcomes them. "Silly of me to take a dive like that," he apologized. "I've been hav- ing a touch of flu." He looked at Bea. "Thanks very much," he said. "You were very sweet." Bea regarded him anxiously. "You can't walk yet." "I'll be okay," he insisted. "I'll take a cab over to my apartment and rest till the rebroadcast." "Is there anyone else there?" she asked. "I share my place with Mel Allen and Ralph Edwards," he told her. "I'm sure one of them is home now." Allen and Edwards were fellow an- nouncers. (Edwards now has his own show, Truth or Consequences, and Allen announces it.) "I'll help you to your apartment," Bea volunteered. "You're very sweet," he said again. Bea took his arm and he walked weakly to the elevator. Downstairs she got him into a cab. They talked little. Andre lived nearby, and in a few minutes, they were in his apart- ment. Mel Allen was there. She and Mel made Andre comfortable. Then Bea prepared to leave. "Won't you stay awhile?" Andre pleaded. Bea hesitated. "Just a little while. You've been a great tonic. Imagine waking up from MAHCH, 1942 a faint and finding yourself looking into such friendly eyes." Bea stayed, not a little while, but until it was time to return for the rebroadcast. Andre regained his strength rapidly. But whenever Bea attempted to leave he persuaded her to stay. "Can't you see how much good you're doing me?" They returned to the studio to- gether, and the rebroadcast of the show went smoothly. Andre had no more spells of weakness. When the program ended, he came over to her. "Won't you go out with me some night soon?" he asked. "How about Mon- day?" "I'd love to," Bea said, "and Mon- day will be fine." Monday night came and found Bea and Andre in a night club. Still recuperating from his illness Andre was not quite fit enough to dance, so they sat and talked, and discovered that they had so many things in com- mon that their friendship seemed in- evitable. They both loved music, they both had started their careers in radio, they both loved sports, they both loved the same kinds of amusements, they both loved the same kind of home, they both loved the same type of friends — it was really remarkable. Bea learned something about Andre's life, and her admiration for him in- creased. His accomplishments were not confined to announcing — he had studied art in Paris — on a scholarship, too — and he was a very good pianist. In fact, it was as a pianist that he had \H^ ctavb ^ (^/ted^^^^mued/ Today, Greyhound and the motor bus industry are actively in the war, carrying thousands of seleaees to military centers— other thousands of soldiers in vital military movements. To the fighting forces, Greyhound's nation- wide service makes possible reunions with relatives, sweethearts and friends, whenever leaves and furloughs can be granted. To the civilian army, motor bus travel is a vital necessity. It gets defense workers to jobs —farmers to markets— teachers and students to school— people of every occupation to jobs and homes in communities served by no other pub- lic transportation. Now every one of America's 55,000 motor buses has a new destination sign . . . Victory for the U. S. 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My FREE book, "How to Overcome the Superfluous Hair Problem," explains the method and proves actual success. Mailed in plain envelope. Also trial ofTer — no obligation. Write Mme. ANNETTE LANZETYe, P. O. Box 4040, Merchandise Mart, Dept. 1S2, Chicago, III. 78 The Man I Almost Married Continued from page 35 a girl who wasn't only pretty when she was with the man she loved but pretty all the time. I watched Gil dancing with her and I suppose I must have had some premonition even then, because I wasn't happy for the rest of the evening. I watched how her graceful little figure fitted into Gil's arms as if it belonged there, how golden her cloud of soft-spun hair looked against his dark shoulder, how her small face lifted to his, half pro- vocative, half-shy — and I was afraid. It was pretty obvious, what Violet did. She wanted Gil and she went after him, with no holds barred. Dur- ing the weeks after the dance Marcia saw what was happening and warned me. "She's from my home town. I know her," she said. "She's a gal who wants a lot and always gets it. Look out for her, Jane." "But Gil," I protested. "Gil wouldn't do that. Gil loves me." It came just before Commencement. Gil called one night late, and said he had to see me. When he came he looked tense and miserable. He didn't try to beat about the bush. He blurted it out. "Jane, I'm horribly sorry. It — it's been a mistake, about you and me. I'm in love with Violet Eaton as I never thought I could be in love with anybody — and I want to marry her." C OMEHOW I managed to hang on to '--' my pride. Somehow I managed to speak steadily and with what dignity I could muster. "If you're in love with Violet, Gil, I won't try to hold you. Goodbye and — good luck." And that was that. That was the way it felt to be jilted. This is a thing that's happened to thousands of girls thousands of times and now it's happened to you. That was the refrain that accompanied my grad- uation from Brookmead, saying good- bye to my friends, and going out to get a job. It accompanied me for months. Jobs were hard to come by but I was well prepared as a teacher and I was lucky in getting a position at a girls' school in a small Massachusetts town. There, behind the cloistering, ivy- creepered old walls, I shut out the world. I stopped writing to any of my friends except Marcia, who stayed on to teach at the high ■ school in Brookmead, our college town. Through her I learned that Violet and Gil were married, and with that news the last vestige of hope that may still have flickered, died and went out. I threw myself, heart and soul, into my work. I lived for it and nothing else. That was the way to forget. There were no men on our faculty and I was glad. As I had shut out the world, so I had shut out men. I wanted no part of them, and no part of any social life. My spirit was so sore and bruised I never wanted to feel again. Never, never would I let my emotions be touched. And so, for four years, I lived like a nun, dedi- cated only to my young students. Summer vacations I usually saw Marcia. We would spend several weeks or a month together at some quiet resort. Through her I learned that Gil and Violet had had a baby — then another. But the news left me untouched. Then, the fourth fall at Plainfield, I met Tom Galloway. He was a young economist from New York and he came up to give a lecture to our senior class. It was a good lecture. I liked it. I liked him too. I couldn't help feeling, all the time he talked, that he looked less like my picture of a dry economist than anyone I had ever seen. Broad-shouldered and clear-eyed, he suggested the outdoors far more than dull tomes on dollars and trends. There was nothing hand- some about Tom Galloway, but he was good to look at, with a finely shaped head and humorous mouth. He kept the girls enthralled with a vivid and sometimes wry picture of today's troubled times. After he fin- ished, I went up to tell him how much I had enjoyed it. WHY he singled me out to talk to I don't know, but he did. Final- ly he said: "My train doesn't leave till eleven. I'm going to be awful Lonely until then, unless you'll have pity and dine with me." I started to refuse. Then something in his straightforward smile appealed to me and, almost against mj' will, I found myself accepting. I, Jane Win- gate, dining alone with a mar. for the first time in over four years! I soon lost my nervousness. Tom Galloway talked interestingly and well. He was impersonal, yet there was something warm and sympathetic in his eyes. When he left me at the ivy-covered gates he had only fifteen minutes to make his train. "It's been a grand evening you've made for me," he said. "If I come up next weekend, would you go for a walk with me or a horseback ride, on Sunday?" I hesitated. "I'm really awfully busy — " "I know you are. But you're gen- erous too. Weekends are the only MARCH of DIMES One of the most exciting programs ever put on the air was the broadcast, January 24, for the March of Dimes, President Roose- velt's birthday fund for Warm Springs Foundation and treatment of infantile paralysis. Bette Davis (left) was just one of the many famous Hollywood stars who took part in the show. All the dra- matic sketches were written by radio's brilliant author, Arch Oboler, who also directed the program. Arch was Vice-Choirman of the March of Dimes of the Air Committee, of which Eddie Cantor was Chairman. Because this year's celebration was in honor of the President's sixtieth, or Diamond Jubilee, birthday, the Holly- wood stars concerned went "all out" to make the broadcast a memorable one — and if you listened in you know they succeeded. RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR time I can get out of the city, and it's lonely to take walks or rides alone." Again, really against my will, I found myself accepting. After that weekend there were others. Gradually I saw more and more of Tom. He came nearly every Saturday, staying overnight at the Inn in town, and we spent my free hours wandering through the hills, walking or riding, sometimes skiing, always talking. How we talked! About everything in the world from history to football — except myself. He seemed to sense some reticence in me and never asked questions. He told me a great deal about his dreams and ambitions, and I liked him more and more. But never as a man. Only as a good companion. The image of Gil obliterated all men for me, as such, and never once did I think of Tom as anything but a fine friend. Once we even danced, when the Inn gave a Valentine party. And I, the proper school-marm, wore a white evening dress with a red flower in my hair, and loved it. Tom was a good dancer and once, toward the end, when we waltzed, I lost myself com- pletely in his arms. He held me close as I could feel the beat of his heart. The music enveloped us and flowed softly around us and, for a moment, we were the only people in the world. When he led me back to our table, Tom looked at me strangely. "Some day, Jane, some day you're going to shed that icy shell you've built around yourself and you're going to be the warm, vibrant, lovely girl you really are underneath." "Goodness," I laughed, uneasily. He had never said anything like that before. "Does waltz-time always af- fect you like this?" "I'm serious. Something— I don't know what — happened once to hurt you and you've been shut up against life ever since. Some day you're going to want to grasp it again — with both hands. I want to be there when you do." "Why don't you say it now?" He grinned at me — the old familiar grin I knew so well — and shook his head. "Nope. I've bided my time and I'm still biding it. To say anything too soon would only send you scurry- ing back into that shell, icier than be- fore. Come on, let's dance." IT was two days after that Marcia's letter came. "Spring vacation comes early this year — in March," she wrote. "Why don't we spend it together? You could pick me up here in Brook- mead, and we could hop in my car and go somewhere for a week away from grading papers and faculty meet- ings. I want so much to see you before summer. And, frankly, there's something else on my mind. I want you to come back here, Jane dear, just to prove that you can. I know it's full of painful memories, but don't you think you're cured now? You've locked yourself away from the past so long, can't you come back to the place that was most painful just to prove to yourself you're over it? You'd probably see Gil and his fair Violet. They are still living here, you know. That would be the final test and I know you'd pass it with flying colors. Please do, dear." I sat with the letter in my hands for a long time. Memories flooded back, memories I'd shut out for five years. And suddenly I wanted to do it. I was sure I was cured. This, as Marcia said, would prove it. I felt MARCH, 1942 ' I! HO!. ..HI HO! TO SPREAD THE NEWS I GO ! \''{^ . -up"— Big \ V\ BY RUTH. •-. .^ > Before yeuVe "baiter- Boy— remember BABY RUTH, the Big League candy bar that packs a wallop in both flavor/ ^ and food energy. ■^% Help keep your |iep ^^ — and % you help keep yOur score tfotv y BABY RUTH will aid a "• lot the last nine holes ! 'Morning, busy mother. How about this BABY RUTH— makes your work a pleasure — helps ward off fatigue! yi if» '%f^ Five little princesses — all in a row. BABY RUTH is the first and only candy ever given to the famous Quintuplets. Lookforme(N. R.G.) On every wrapper! DR. 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They not only assure gentle yet thor- ough bowel movements but ALSO stir up liver bile secretion to help digest fatty foods. Olive Tablets, being purely vegetable, are wonderful ! Used successfully for over 20 years by Dr. F. M. Edwards in treating patients for constipation and sluggish liver bile, today Olive Tablets arc justly FIRST choice of thousands of grateful users. Test their goodness TO- NIGHT! 15t, 30fi, 60(i. AH druggists. I might even be amused, in a sophis- ticated way, to see Gil again. Before I could change my mind, I sent Marcia a special delivery. It was a wonderful idea, I said. I'd come up on the night boat to save time, have a day or so with her in Brook- mead, and then we could start out. From then until the time to go I was eager as a child before Christmas. I was cured. Certainly I was cured. I wouldn't want to go if I weren't, would I? I'd see Gil and look straight at him and he would mean no more to me than — than a fly. By the time I boarded the nightboat I was trem- bling with eagerness. I dressed for dinner almost as if I were going to a party. This was an' adventure. I was going back — back to show them all that what had hap- pened was all over. 'T'HE waiter showed me to my table -'■ and the first course was served. Then a latecomer was seated opposite me and I looked up to see who my companion was to be. The soup spoon clattered to my plate, and I choked back a cry. Looking at me across the table was Gil Forrester. It was the same Gil, but with a subtle difference. Now there was a slight puffiness under the laughing eyes, a twist to the gay mouth, that was new. He stared at me is if he were looking at a ghost. "My Lord! Jane Wingate. Why— you're beautiful!" "Thank you," I said primly, above the deafening thumping of my heart. "You're looking very well. And how are Violet and the children?" That would fix him! "They're all right," he said. "Tell me about yourself. Where have you been? Where are you going? It's won- derful to see you." As coolly as possible, I told him my plans. He said he was working with his father. He'd been down to my part of Massachusetts on business and, at the last minute, had decided to take the night boat back. At the last minute, mind you. He leaned across the table. "It's fate, Jane. Meeting you like this. It's like a strange sort of predestination." It was fate, all right. I knew it when we got up from the table after an hour of pretending to eat. He took my arm to lead me to the deck. All my anticipated "amusement" was gone. I was numb with the shock of him. His fingers sent the same throb through my blood that his touch had always given me, produced the same breathless magic his presence always brought. Outside the dining room I made some excuse to return to my cabin, but he would have none of it. "You're not going to run away now," he said. "Not after I've found you again." Still I tried to go, half afraid, but he led me to the rail. A wintry moon struggled through the clouds and turned the river into a shining rib- bon, winding through the dark mys- tery of the hills on either side. It lay on Gil's face as he looked down at me. And suddenly it was five years ago and we had never been away. "It's like old times, Jane," he said in a low voice, echoing my very thoughts. "The moon on your face . . . remember the night of our moon, the one that shone just for us, the night I took you in my arms for the first time. . . " "I don't think I do, Gil," I tried to laugh — oh, so cool and poised. "After all, it was long ago." "Not to me. You've been close to me many times. Haven't you ever thought of me, Jane, all this time?" "I've been busy." "I've tried to keep busy, heaven knows. But it's hard to forget . . ." How true that was! ". . . especially when you've been a fool, as I was. What happened to me, Jane? We were made for each other, you and I. What made me throw it away?" I took a deep breath. "People don't always put names to things. You just — didn't love me enough." "I thought I loved Violet, didn't I? But how could I, comparing her to you?" "Gil, stop it! Violet is your wife." "Yes, Violet is my wife," and there was real bitterness in his tone. "What- ever it was we had for each other is long gone now. I had something fine and real, and tossed it away for — this sham my life is now." "You must not talk like this! You took my life once and broke it to bits. Since then we've each made a new one for ourselves. It's too late to bring things into being again that are better left alone." He took me by the shoulders and forced my face up to his. "It's not too late! It's never too late for what we've got for each other. I'm going home and tell Violet the truth. I'll make her get a divorce." "You're talking like a madman! You can't do that. Think of the chil- dren. You love them. They need you — " "They're babies. They'll forget. I loved you first, Jane. And I've needed you all my life — more than my chil- dren, more than anything . . ." His fingers were biting into my shoulders and his words were biting into my soul. I struggled away from him. "I loved you once, Gil. But now I have my work and I live for it. " Then as he moved toward me, "No, don't touch me. Let me go, Gil!" He must have sensed the despera- tion in my voice, for he dropped his hands. His eyes, bright in the moon- light, seemed to possess me. "All right — we'll talk again at breakfast. I'll never let you go, Jane, now I've found you. I'll dog you in Brookmead, I'll follow you everywhere until you can't say 'no' to me." I looked at him for a moment, then turned and fied along the dark and silent deck. I locked the door of the cabin and threw myself, still dressed, on the bed. The world whirled crazily. All known and familiar things had dropped away from under my feet. Through all the chaotic thoughts in my mind, four words repeated them- selves: Gil still loves me. FINALLY I got up and undressed. I got into bed and tried to quiet my- self. But sleep would not come. I tossed from side to side, wracked by the pas- sion and violence of Gil's words and the long memories they awakened of things I'd thought dead. I got up and paced the floor. Slowly some rationality returned and I made my plans. I could not face Gil at breakfast. I had to escape. Suddenly I remem- NEXT MONTH — Be sure to get the April issue of Radio Mirror to read another exciting ronnance mystery solved by Mr. Keen, Fannous Tracer of Lost Persons. 80 RADIO AND TELEVISION IVIIRROR bered Correction Cove and my long ago visit there. It was not far from where the boat would dock, and there I could be completely alone. I was packed and ready long before the time came for docking. As soon as the boat touched the wharf, I was on shore and in a taxi. Gil would be just coming into the dining salon for breakfast. I thought of wiring Marcia and then discarded the idea. Whatever anxious moments she might have, she would gladly forgive when I explained. "And so — I came here. . . ." I LOOKED into the kindly eyes of •*- Mr. Keen, who had sat so still dur- ing my long story. He held my gaze. Neither of us spoke. Overhead, sea gulls wheeled and soared. "And what have you decided?" he said at last, quietly. "Only that I can't see Gil Forrester again." "Why?" "If I were to see him now, or hear his voice," I said miserably, "I would throw all honor and decency to the winds. I'd go away with him, as he wants." "In spite of Violet and the chil- dren?" "Yes! That's why I can't see him. Don't you understand? Violet — well, I don't think I care about her. I loved him desperately, five years ago, and she didn't care. No, it's the chil- dren. It was for them I said no the other night on the boat and ran away. . . ." "You ran away because he said he'd follow you until he made you change your mind." "Yes. He almost did, and I almost weakened, there in the moonlight." "The moonlight." Mr. Keen leaned forward and put his hand on my arm. He spoke very earnestly. "Aren't you always seeing Gil Forrester by moon- light, Jane? Wasn't the moon the other night just the lost, sweet echo of a schoolgirl's dreams, where every- thing is beautiful and a little better than life? If you saw Gil by daylight once, in Brookmead, as other people see him, you'd feel quite differently." "No, 1 wouldn't. I know myself better than you do. And I've loved Gil Forrester all my life. There's never been another man — " "To compare him with. Exactly. You've known one man since Gil, Tom Galloway. But you look on Tom only as a friend because you cannot let yourself look at him with any other eyes than the ones that beheld Gil Forrester and are still dazzled by him. By shutting yourself up in a girl's school, you kept his memory as you wanted it, and your heart stayed a romantic girl's, instead of a woman's. As long as you hide away from the reality of his presence and cherish his memory, you'll never be happy. And you'll always believe you love nim." "I do love him. I do!" The words were torn out of me. "I wonder. You love him because he's physically strong, and hand- some, and knows how to laugh. But what of his character? Can you look at that honestly — and love him? He was engaged to you. A beautiful face comes along and he throws you over. Five years pass. He's used to the beautiful face and knows its faults. So, a few hours after he sees you again, he's ready to break all the vows he made her, for better or worse, and come back to you. Is that strong?" A Kalamazoo Direct to You" « - fW EASY ■wlirtK %, GAS RAHOIS Combination Ranges 1^1 'S^"' COAL AND WOOD RANGES See Kalamazoo First Get New Free Catalog Would you like to save $18 to $35 on your new stove? Do you want EASY TERMS — a full year to pay? How about a 30 day FREE trial in your own liome? 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Look at me! I'm usually strong and yet when — when I saw Gil, I was weak as water and almost said I'd do what he asked . . ." "Let's imagine for a moment that you had. Let's say you let Gil get this divorce. He marries you. You're blissfully happy for a while. Then he gets used to you. What will happen when another pretty face comes along —or maybe he sees Violet again? What will happen when the day comes he longs for his children and blames you because he's lost them?" "Stop!" I cried. "Maybe what you say is true. Maybe Gil is weak. But we can't choose where we love. And I know, in my heart, that if Gil Forres- ter spoke to me now I'd go in spite of everything." Mr. Keen had taken out his watch. He didn't seem to hear me. He spoke almost to himself. "I told Tom to allow me a couple of hours. They are just about up now." "Toiri." I sprang to my feet. "Tom here? I won't see him. I can't — " Mr. Keen was peering over the rocks that formed our shelter. "Here he comes now, looking for us," he said contentedly. I had the panicky impulse to flee. But before I could no more than utter an exclamation, Tom appeared at the entrance to our little cove. He looked drawn and strained, and his face was pale. He came straight to me. "Thank heaven, you're all right, Jane," he said, grasping both my hands. Then he gave a crooked grin. "You had us worried." "I'm sorry. I — I couldn't help it." "I know. It was something you had to figure out for yourself." Then he turned to Mr. Keen. "Have you given her the letter?" he demanded. "Letter?" I said wonderingly. Mr. Keen was pulling an envelope from his pocket. He looked at the scrawled inscription, then at me. He held it out. "Gil Forrester asked me to give you this when I found you." I seized it and tore it open. The irregular handwriting brought back memories of little notes, of cards tied to flowers, of silly valentines five years ago. I hardly noticed that Tom turned on his heel and walked slowly away, as- 1 devoured the words. Mr. Keen stood by silently. "My darling," I read. "You don't know what I've gone through since you didn't appear for breakfast the next morning on the boat — how I've suffered and worried. It's been like an agony to me. Come back, my dearest. Come back and let us go on as we were five years ago — before I acted the fool. I haven't told Violet yet, but as soon as I have the word from your own sweet lips, I will! Then we can go away and every- thing will be as if we'd always been together. Yours, always and always, Gil." I folded it slowly. Near the hori- zon the sun blazed forth suddenly, in the glory of sunset. I watched as it stole over the waves, turning them to pale gold, touching the scene around us into warm life. It reached into my heart too, and illumined the words I had just read. OERE was Gil's voice I'd said I ■■-■• would heed. And all of a sudden it sounded hollow in my ears. There was no real thought in those words of me — nor of Violet, nor the children. There was only thought of Gil him- self. How he had suffered. He would tell Violet when I said "Yes." Not before. If his marriage was insup- portable enough to warrant asking for a divorce at all, why must he be sure of me before he asked it? Surely if he wanted to be free to marry me, he should want to be free anyway. What Mr. Keen had said came back, forcibly. The lost sweet echo oj a schoolgirl's dreams. A girl's heart, not a woman's. When he gets used to you . . . And then the sun was like a dazzling light, straight from heaven. With a quick gesture I tore the letter into small pieces and tossed them to the wind. I ran out of the cove and down the beach toward Tom's tall figure. "Tom!" I called. "Tom, wait!" He turned and as I ran toward him, I saw his face transformed with the radiance I felt in myself. I ran up to him, caught him by the arms. "You said someday the icy barrier would melt, didn't you, Tom?" I panted. "You said you wanted to say something when it did. What is it you wanted to say? Tell me!" His arms enfolded me and held me close. "I guess you know," he said in a muffled voice. "I've waited a long time for this — for when you'd want to grasp life again with both hands. Well, I want to be the first thing you grasp. Will you have me, darling?" "Will I!" I held up my lips, and in the moment of his kiss all false mem- ories died and I knew that I was a schoolgirl no longer, but a woman grown. After a while we turned and looked back down the beach where I had known such torment and now had found such peace. Far away, walk- ing in the gathering dusk, plodded a short, chubby figure. It was not too dark to see that in every line of that straight back there was satisfaction and happiness at a job well done. ^oju TTeXXo lo'- JERRY WAYNE — romantic young baritone heard on Burl Ives' Coffee Club over CBS Saturday mornings (incidentally, it's one of radio's pleasantest shows) and with Ted Straeter's orchestra three times a week on Mutual in a program sponsored by Regent Cigarettes. Jerry is twenty-five years old, and was born in Buffalo, N. Y. He went to the University of Buffalo, Ohio State University, and a school of dramatics, which he liked best of all. Armed with his acting talent, he headed for Hollywood, where he appeared obscurely in two unimportant pictures. He dropped acting and concentrated on singing, with the result that soon he was soloist with Bobby Byrne's orchestra and on network shows. 82 RADIO AND TELEVISION 3VIIRROS '"FrJ"' PS OR I AS IS (SCALY SKIN TROUBLE) ^DeRmoiL prove it yourself no matter how long you have suffered or what you have tried. 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IVIARCH, 1942 What's New from Coast to Coast Continued from page 11 $9.00) which he used for transporta- tion unljl someone stole it and put him back on his feet. His most prized possession is a watch chain made of sales tax tokens, which he displays across the waist of his Sunday overalls. His pet aversion he describes as follows: "I don't like to see girls wear them shoes that lets their toes hang out on the ground. It ain't neat." When Jim gets around to retiring, he's going back on a little farm some- where near Short Creek. Meanwhile, he finds life very interesting, day and night. "If I sleep on my back," he confides, "I have a nightmare every time. So I often sleeo on my back to see what I'll dream." NASHVILLE, Tenn. — Distance means nothing to Pee Wee King and his Golden West Cowboys, stars of WSM's Grand Ole Opry. Since August 1 they have played in seventy army camps, naval bases, flying fields and marine barracks, driving more than 40,000 miles to do so — yet every Sat- urday night they're back in Nashville to make their regular appearance on the Grand Ole Opry. Every Saturday night, that is, except three successive ones when they were on a tour of Texas. In those three weeks some 7,500 fans wrote in asking them to come back to the Opry. The traveling is done as part of the Camel Caravan which appears in military defense centers to help keep up the morale of the men in uniform. And since Pee Wee and his Cowboys don't intend to give up the Caravan work, and aren't allowed by their fans to give up the Saturday broad- casts, it looks as though they're going to see a lot of country. There aren't many types of enter- tainment the Cowboys don't have in their repertoire — comedy, songs of the range, folk tunes from every sec- tion of the country, popular numbers from Tin Pan Alley, and even the classics. Individually, they're all stars in their own right. Pee Wee King, the leader, has a smile that seems to be indelible, a fine singing voice, and a thousand-dollar accor- dion which he plays expertly. San Antonio Rose is the group's specialist in yodeling. Dressed in one of her numerous fancy cowgirl cos- tumes, she sings high, sustained notes that are so beautiful you for- get they're also difficult. Then there's Smilin' Eddie Arnold, the master of ceremonies, who also plays the guitar and sings solos; Fiddlin' Red, the fastest fiddler in fifty counties and champion fiddler of three states, who can tear into the classics with equal ease, and Cowboy Joe, bass player, singer, and comedian in the role of Cicero. Ford Rush, Jr., was the newest member of the outfit, but he has left for a post in Uncle Sam's Army. J. L. Frank, the Cowboys' manager, is getting discouraged because the last five guitar players he's hired have been drafted "But anyway," Frank, who used to be Gene Autry's man- ager, says comfortingly, "we know the Army has at least five good guitar players now." WOMAN WHO KNOWS. Continuous Action For Hours VViVJi Sai^ New Way in Feminine Hygiene • The young woman who is sure of certain facts can feel happily secure. In feminine hygiene her physical and mental health, her very happiness itself depend on accurate information. Over- strong solutions of acids which endanger her health are a thing of the past. Today thousands of informed women have turned to Zonitors — the safe new way in fem- inine hygiene. These dainty snow-white sup- positories kill germs, bacteria instantly at contact. Deodorize — not by temporary masking — but by destroying odors. 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Not a liquid, it is a (ragrant powder that quickly makes a rich cleansing lather. losiaaciy removes the dingy. dusc-Iaden film that makes bloode hair dark. Called Blondex. rt i;ive> hair attractive lustre and highlights — keeps that lust-shampooed look (or a whole week. Safe, fine for children's hair, Blondex is the world's largest selling blonde shampoo. For eitra lustre and radiance, top off shampoo with Blondex Golden Rinse. Can be used on all shades of blonde hair. Both cost little to use Get Blondex Shampoo and Golden Riase at IOC, drug and dept stores 83 No, Sister, they're not coming over here — not if all the power of American ships and planes, and all the sacrifice of American men can stop them. But they may try. If they try, some may get through, for it is a wide sky, and bombs may crash here as they crashed on far- away Hawaii and in the distant Philippines. Or even if they don't try, the work of enemies within our own gates may bring fires, explosions, damage to our busy defense plants. So we must be ready — just in case. Ready with quick help for the hurt and the suffering. Ready with merciful aid that is still great in America's heart, even in a world where such things as mercy and decency seem no longer to exist. That's the job of the Red Cross — to dispense that merciful care and help wherever and whenever pain and suffering exist. It's a big job, that will call for every effort the hundreds of thousands of Red Cross work- ers— nurses, disaster fighters and volunteer helpers— can put forth. It will call for vast stores of medicines and supplies, food and clothing, bandages and equipment. It will demand every penny of the fifty million dollars the Red Cross is now asking for, and more. So every bit helps. Sister. Every dollar your Daddy can bring up from the bot- tom of his pocket, every penny any man or woman can add to the check he or she writes now for the Red Cross. The brave men awing, afloat and afield who take care of us sometimes need care too, and we must give it. We give it when we give to the Red Cross, whether it be a little or a lot. Send contributions to your local chapter American Red Cross War Fund Campaign Give and give generously — to your local chapter — to volunteer solicitors. Give when you can, where you can, as much as you catlt This page contributed to the American Red Cross by the publishers. 84 RADIO AND TELEVISION IMIRROR C^HgoteorMDBS Shipped Direct from Our Mill Ua U30%to4o% on your Iflew Home. ^m' Don t pay several hundred dollars more than necessary when you build a home! Buy it direct from our mill at our low factory price. We ship you the materials — lumber cut-to-fit ready to erect. Paint, glass, hardware, nails, etc., all included in the price — no extra charges. We pay the freight. Plans furnished — also complete building in- structions. No wonder our customers write us that we saved them 30% to 40%. compared with builders' prices. Easy terms — monthly payments. Handsome Big f T> 17 17 CATALOGUE F Ix IL Ej Pictures wonderful homes in colors at money- saving prices. Designs to suit everyone. Write for your catalogue today LEWIS MANUFACTURING CO. Dept. 6223 Bay City. Michigan V HO"* INVENTORS ROLLS DEVELOPED 25c Coin. Two 5x7 Double Weight Professional Enlargements, 8 Gloss Deckle Edge Prints. CLUB PHOTO SERVICE, Dept. 19, LaCrosse, Wis. Protect your idea with a Patent. Don't dela>. Get Free "Patent Guide." No charge for preliminary infor- mation. CLARENCE A. O'BRIEH— Registered Pat- ent Attorney, 210-C, Adams Bldg., Washington, D.C. 12 YOUNG MOTHER HELPS FOR iOc A dozen leaflets, written by Mrs. Louise Branch, our own Baby Page Editor, have been reprinted and available to readers, all 12 for only 10c. Send stamps or coin, mentioning the ages of your children, to: Reader Service, Dept. RM-034, Radio & Tele- vision Mirror, 205 East 42nd Street, New York. rHOT-xBei#// '^s'ly Redecorating! ■ or, ■ t^^%^ AMAZtNG INVENTION. Banishes old- jSELLERl ^1^ style housecleaning mess and moss. No rass — no sticky "dough" — no red, swollen hands. ^.: No more dangerous stepladders. Literally erases dirt jcynkemagic fromwalls, ceflings, window shades. npholstered fnrnitnre, etc. Endsdruigeryl SAVES REDECORATINGI Approved by Good Housekeeping. Low priced. House- wives wild about it. AGENTS WAlJTED EVERYWHEEE. ^AUPI C APFFP Sample sent on trial to first person in each «HinrLI^ wrrbn locality who writes. No obligation. Get detailo. BeJ.rst—BenA in your name TODAYI THE KRISTEE PRODUCTS CO. 440 Bar &t. Akron, Ohio DIAMOND RING ^^1 F R E E I 1 Match! ng Wedding Band, set with Flashing Stones! Never before a value like this ! A stunning Engagement Ring of yellow or white gold eftect. A \. knock-out, with a simulated dia- mond in center, and simulated dia- monds at sides. Get it at the mir- aculous price of just $1. FREE! To introduce this amazing value, we offer a Matching Band, absolutely tree. Hurry! SEND NO MONEY— just name, and ring size. 10 day money-back guarantee. Pay postman $1.00 plus few cents postage for ring and get wedding band FREE. If you send cash with order we pay postage. HADICkjr^n 30 Church St. M K L B M WW. Dept. RI8I, New York Nervous, Weak Ankles Swollen Excess acids, poisons and wastes in your blood are removed cliiefly by your kidneys. Getting Up Nights, Burning Passages, Backache, Swollen Ankles, Nervous- ness, Rheumatic Pains. Dizziness, Circles Under Eyes, and feeling worn out, often are caused by non-organic and non-systemic Kidney and Bladder troubles. Usu- ally in such cases, the very first dose of Cystex goes right to work helping the Kidneys flush out excess acids and wastes. And this cleansing, purifying Kidney ac- tion, in just a day or so, may easily make you feel yoian,jer, stronger and better than in years. A printed guarantee wrapped around each package oJ Cystex in- sures an immediate refund of the full cost uniess you are completely satisfied. You have everything ro gain and nothing to lose under this lositive mone" back guarantee, so get Cystex from your druggist roduv lor only 35c. MAHCH, 1942 Superman in Radio Continued jrora page 40 catapulted from the torpedo stern of the submarine and cut through the water straight toward the ship, white foam bubbling in its wake. In the all-enveloping darkness, no human eye could have followed the path of the death-dealing torpedo but high above the rolling ocean. Superman saw the line of foam trailing the steel fish. For a moment he hung in mid- air then, diving with the speed of light, he landed in the water between the torpedo and its target. "Good thing I spotted that baby in time. Another ten seconds and it would have been too late — now I guess I can stop it. Okay — here she comes — and plenty fast, too. I've never wrestled a torpedo before — let's see—" As the torpedo, speeding on its mur- derous journey, neared him, Super- man's great arms reached out. Effort- lessly, he stopped it dead and with one great heave, turned it upside down and sent it straight down, headed for the ocean floor! "Well, that's that. And I have a pretty good idea of what happened to Grayson's ship now. Some foreign power — realizing what a valuable weapon it was — rigged up that cable system and captured it, dragged it to the surface, overpowered its crew and put in a new enemy crew. Then it was sent out against us. I'd better follow until it comes to the surface. Then we'll give them a surpise they won't forget! Up— up — and away!" In a few minutes Superman saw the sleek lines of the 2SV4 cut the surface. The conning tower hatch opened, two uniformed figures step- ped out and his super-keen ears heard the gutteral tones of German: "Ah, this air feels good, eh, Hans?" "Ja, Captain Deutch." "If all the nights are like this — with the sea smooth — we will be home in six days." "Ja, in six days." "This will mean a decoration, Hans — the highest decoration from our Fuehrer— for myself and for you and for all the others. We have done something that will go down in his- tory. Imagine, stealing a submarine right from under their noses! Those Americans are stupid animals!" SUPERMAN waited for no more. The sub rolled as his feet struck the deck. Deutch, frightened, called, "Who's there?" Superman answered: "A stupid American!" Deutch quickly jerked his heavy automatic from its holster. Pointing it straight at Superman's chest he barked: "Halt!" But a deep laugh was the Man of Tomorrow's only answer. Deutch pressed the trigger, the bril- liant glare of the bullets lit the dark- ness as they shot forward with enough force to tear an ordinary man apart. But they bounced harmlessly off Sup- erman's chest. Then, muttering "So, Americans are stupid, are they?" he sprang at the two Germans. In a moment, they both lay streched at his feet. Superman was ready now for the trip down the hatch: "I was right. The Germans put a new crew on board. Now to see if they threw our men overboard or are keeping them under guard. Down the hatch — there — down this com- Continued on page 87 • • aau/&>o^ 1 0 YEARS YOUNGER • Now at home, you can quickly and easily tint tell- tale streaks of gray to natu- ral-appearing shades — from lightest blonde to darkest black. Brownatone and a small brush does it — or your money back. Used lor 30 years by thousands of women (men, too) — Brownatone is guaran- teed harmless. No skin test needed, active coloring agent is purely vegetable. Cannot affect waving of hair. Lasting — does not wash out. Just brush or comb it in. One application imparts desired color. Simply retouch as new gray appears. Easy to prove by tinting a test lock of yotir hair. Retain yotu* youthful charm. Get BROWNATONE today. 60c at all drug stores — on a money-back guarantee, or — ,s^*«*^«>&* FREE TEST BOTTLE The Kenton Pharmacal Co. 781 Brownatone Bldg., Covington, Kentucky I Without obligation, please send me, free and post- paid. Test Bottle of BROWNATONE and interesting illustrated booklet. Check shade wanted. D Blonde to Medium Brown D Dark Brown to Black Name Address City State Print Your Name and Address fll^)iel\e 2^^^ TReaire -- X P^VDIO. STAGE, SCREEN, TELEVISION. Drama, Dance, Speech, Light Opera for Acting, Teaching. Directing. Play- writing: Speech personality for social and business use. Stock Theatre appearances while learning. Graduates now Celebrated Stars. Separate Children's Dept. CAT. Apply Sec'v Raymond, 1780 Broadway, N. Y. „ ^RICE STANDARD OFFICE MODELS ( — — "^ About ' ELGIN WATCH Choic* ol ELGIN or WAITHAM YOURSi LATEST ..^t.d ri-9. YOUR CHOICE of Jeweled Elgin or Wal- ■^r.MKRoikiJ Gold Plata 'ham wrist watch. New styled sixe 0 case. I iJianL GanuiiM Starling Reconstructed movement. Accuracy guar- T''d D'*^' ^"'^c''- Civcn with every Simulated Dia- *b*MK«nH rnoTtd ring when ordered and paid for on I our purchase privilege plan. Payments: J $3.50 down, within 20 days after arrival, at j your post office. Balanee of $4.89 anytime 1 within a year (total only $8.39, plus 10% 1 Federal Defense Tax.) Remember, the cost I of watch is included in price of the ring. 1 Extra surprise free gift enclosed for prompt- I ness. Send NO money with order. Just r)rush name, address, ring size. It comes bjr I return mail in special gift box, postpaid. L. KENDALL JEWELERS fTopeka. Kansas Dept. WG-342 //) The Work I Love AND$20to$25AWEEK! // •'I'm a TRAINED PRACTICAL NURSE, and thankful to CHICAGO SCHOOL OF NURSING for training me, at home, in my spare time, for this well-paid, dignified work." YOU can become a nurse, too! Thousands of men and women, IS to 60, have studied this thorough, home-study course. Lessons are easy to underst-aod and high school education not necessary. ^lany earn as they learn — Mrs, R, W. of Mich, earned $25 a week while still studying. Endorsed by phy- sicians. Uniform and equipmeot included. Kasy tuition payments. 43rd year. Send coupon now* CHICAGO SCHOOL OF NURSING DeDt. 1S3. 100 East Ohio Street, Chicago. TU. Please send free booklet and 16 sample lesson pases. Name City_ _^A«e _State. .J 85 Wittvaut m 4 The short stature of the Japanese, their bowedlegs,theirfrequentpoor eyesight are all blamed on inade- quate diet— particularly lack of milk! But watch a six-foot American truck driver eat his lunch. A whole bottle of milk — a pint or often a quart of it. Thick, whole- some slices of bread, made with milk; lots of butter spread on them. And a slab of cheese the size of a hand between them! Or watch an American schoolgirl or a secretary climb onto a soda- fountain stool and vanquish a "choc- olate-malt" or a dish of ice cream. • • • MILK — and products of milk. Rich in protein for strong muscles. Rich in calcium and phosphorus that sound teeth, sturdy bones are made from. Rich in Vitamin A and in some pares of tiie complex Vitamin B. Vita- min D milk has the bone-straightening "sunshine" vitamin. Butter, cheese, ice cream, powdered, malted, condensed or evaporated milk — all are sources of important nutritional factors. America drinks /o^jof milk. America likes the rich flavor and tempting taste which milk and its products give to our food. Today our Government asks us to make ourselves strong — strong in arms and ships, strong in the mind, spirits and bodies of America's man power. And here, right on our very door- steps, is a great source of the stamina the nation needs — and which each of us so much wants. WHEN YOUR DAIRY, your food store or your restaurant urges you to use more milk or to eat more foods made from milk or with it, it is aid- ing our Government's program to build a strong America. This raessase is approved by the office of Paul V. McNutt, Director of Defense Health and Welfare Services. It is brought to you as our contribution to National Nutritional Defense by Radio & Television Mirror. THE fAMiXC FOODS It takes only a few kinds of simple foods to provide a sound nutritional foundation for buoyant health. Eat each of them daily. Then add to your table anything else you like which agrees with you. MILK AND CHEESE— especially for Vitamin A, some of the B vitamins, protein, calcium, phosphorus. Vitamin D milk for the "sunshine" vitamin. MEAT, eggs and sea food — ' "MT/ for proteins and several of the B-Complex vitamins; meat and eggs also for iron. GREEN AND YELLOW vege- tables for B vitamins. Vitamin A, Vitamin C and minerals. FRUITS and fruit juices— for Vita- min C, other vitamins and minerals. BREAD, enriched or whole grain, and cereals vtrith milk or cream, for B vitamins and other nutrients. Enougli of these foods in your daily diet and in the diets of all Americans will assure better health for the nation, will increase its ener- gies to meet today's emergencies. fooi/iV///Au//i/a/l/Sl1^4nier/M 86 RADIO AND TELEVISION IVIIRROR I 1942's Thrilling Magazine Bargaini WHEN TRUE STORY was re- duced to 10 cents for the first time last month, hundreds of thousands of women joyously greeted this price change as the magazine sensation of the new year! Veteran true story readers and women buying the magazine for the first time all agree that this bigger, better, more beautiful TRUE story not only is revitalized and styled for their added read- ing enjoyment, but now this great magazine chock full of romance, thrills and adventure happily fits every woman's budget! Do you have the regular true STORY habit? Start now by read- ing the March issue today! Re- member, true STORY is only 10 cents everywhere! March True Story Presents "LOVE IS FOR THE FREE"-every American woman sKould reod this momentously timely book-length true novel of love and sacrifice in the nerve center of our nation's defense operationsi "DRUGSTORE COllEGE"-a girl never had a more unusual or fascinating collegiate education than the heroine of this complete true novelette! "BRIEF MOMENT OF LOVE"-begin this grarid new serial about our navy's "young admirals"— their lives, loves, and adventures. "THREE MEN AND AN HEIRESS"-Chick Farmer, prominent publicity agent of one of New York's gay- est nightspots, reveals this strange socialite romance. "Unwilling Widow" — "Borrowed Baby" — "To Keep Myself Pure"— "I married a Prizefighter"— Dozens of smash stories and features. GET YOUR COPY TODAY! Continued from page 85 panionway. Wait — there's a man with a gun sitting outside a closed door. I'll bet . he's guarding Grayson and the Captain — here goes!" In another second, the German was stretched, unconscious on the floor, and his captives were free. They stared unbelieving at the tall figure in the blue costume with the red cape. He waved away all their questions demanding an explanation. "Just tell me how many more of this gang is left." "Two are in the engine room — two are in the diving control compart- ment. But — wait — who are you?" Superman didn't answer. He still didn't answer when, short moments later, he was back — his last task ac- complished. "All you have to do now, Captain," he said, "is radio the Naval Base and tell them you're on your way back — at full speed! You have your job to do. I only hope I can do mine as well. Good luck!" Once again, the Man of Tomorrow had used his great talents for good. But he had his reward — he knew he had served his beloved adopted country well. Never Try to Get Even! Continued jrom, page 3 married. Time was when they would no more have left me out of such a party than they would have stopped breathing. But now, it was different. If I live to be a hundred years old, I shall never forget the fury and despair in my heart as I sobbed out the story to my mother. "I hate them!" I cried. "I hate them! And I'll get even! You'll see. If it is the last thing I ever do, I'll get even!" Mother was sitting by the window, knitting a sweater. "Irene," she said quietly, "go over to the mirror and look at yourself." Wonderingly, I did as I was told. Then she spoke again. "Do you look pretty?" she demanded. "Do you look attractive, with your face all distorted with hate? Do you, Irene, like the way you look as you vow to 'get even'?" Well, I don't know whether or not you've ever looked at yourself in the mirror when you've been hating some- one and have been contemplating re- venge, but if you ever do, you'll find you are not a pretty sight. At least, I wasn't. I was ugly. Ashamed, suddenly, I sat down on a stool at Mother's feet. "No, Mother, I don't like myself that way," I con- fessed. She spoke again, gently. "Never try to 'get even', Irene. The desire for revenge is a bitter, corroding thing. It will make you old and ugly. It will bring you unhappiness such as you've never known. And besides — " she smiled, faintly, "people get what is coming to them, anyway, without special help. If those girls have been unfair to you, they'll pay. But don't you do anything about it. Promise me, dear!" And so sitting there on that little stool at my mother's feet, I promised. And I've never been sorry I did! As the years went by, I've seen how right she was. Because those two girls paid for their slight to me. Not direct- GRAY HAIR KILLS ROMANCE You know that gray hair spells the end of romance . . . yet you are afraid to color your hair! You are afraid of dangerous dyes, afraid that it is too difficult, afraid that the dye will destroy your hair's natural lustre — afraid, most of all, that everyone will know your hair is "dyed". These fears are so needless! Today at your drug or department store, you can buy Mary T. Goldman Gray Hair Coloring Preparation. It transforms gray, bleached, or faded hair to the desired shade — so gradually that your closest friend won't guess. Pronounced a harmless hair dye by competent authorities, this preparation will not hurt your wave, or the texture of your hair. If you can comb your hair, you can't go wrong! Millions of women have been satisfied with Mary T. Goldman's Hair Coloring Prep- aration in the last fifty years. Results assured or your money back. Send for the free trial kit — so that you may see for yourself the beautiful color which this preparation will give to a lock from your own hair. Mary T. Goldman Co., 7668 Goldman Bldg. St. Paul, Minn. Send free test kit. Color checked. n Black D Dark Brown D Light Brown D Medium Brown D Blonde D Auburn Name _ _ Address.- City. ..State.. COUNTERS THBOUGHOUT THE WORtP ^Women Free Booklet — The IVIarvel Co., Dept.437, New Haven. Conn ANY PHOTO ENLARGED 47. 3 for $1.00 Size 8 X 10 inches or smaller if desired. Same price for full len^h or bust form, groups, land- Bcapes. pet animals, etc., or enlargements of any part of (TTOup pictare. Safe return of ongrinal photo guaranteed. SEND NO MONEY ^r'sTaWo't (any size) and within a 'week you will receive f'our beautiful enlargement, guaranteed fade- ess. Pay postman 47c plus postage — or send 49c with order and we pay postage. Big 16x20- inch enlargement sent C O. D. 78c plus poat- ue or send 80c and we pay postage. Take advantage of thia amazinfl oner now. Send yoar photos today. Specify size wanted. STANDARD ART STUDIOS 113 S. Jefferson St. Dept. 1552-C CHICAGO, ILLINOIS WAKE UP YOUR LIVER BILE- Without Calomel— And You'll Jump Out of Bed in the Morning Rarin' to Go The liver should pour 2 pints of bile juice into your bowels every day. If this bile is not flowing freely, your food may not digest. It may just de- cay in the bowels. Then gas bloats up your stom- ach. You get constipated. You feel sour, sunk and the world looks punk. It takes those good, old Carter's Little Liver Pills to get these 2 pints of bile flowing freely to make you feel "up and up." Get a package today. Take as directed. Effective in making bile flow free- ly. Ask for Carter's Little Liver Pills. lOrf and 25(i. The X-Ray shows how outgroWQ shoes injure baby feet Better buy the correCT but inexpensive WEE WALKERS and get a larger size often. Ask youf baby doCTOf. Infants" Department of the following IcrW'pTofit stores. Birth to size 10. W. T. Grant Co. S. S. Kr*.|]« Co. J. J. Nawberry Co. H. L. Groen Co., Ino. Q. R. Kinney Co. Metropolitan Chain Sloreo, Ino. I. SItvor it Bros. McCrory Sloroo Sohutto-Unitod F. A W. Grand rftrr Correa size scale with punphlet on catc of baby feet. r n C C • Wtiic Mono Shoe Co., Dept. F, Culrle, 111. im. Ill, ill 41 FOR i^Aeg WALKERS IMCARCH, 1942 87 ly, I don't mean that. Fate works in devious ways. But their lives have been bitterly unhappy. The husband of one was convicted of a crime and sent to the penitentiary. The other's marriage was a travesty. She and her husband quarrelled so viciously, for example, that he literally kicked her downstairs, publicly, at the Country Club, one time. If I had wished for revenge, if on that unhappy day when I vowed to "get even," I had had it within my power to call disaster down upon their heads, I couldn't have asked for more than that. UUT— the thing, is, I didn't. I list- '-' ended to my mother, and I've been far happier and better for it! That is the point I am trying to make here. It doesn't pay to be revengeful! There was another time, too, when I might have sought and probably could have achieved revenge for an injustice against me. But I didn't — and thank Heaven for it. Because what I did, instead, turned out to be a wonderful thing for me. It hap- pened in San Francisco. I had mar- ried again and had two children — and was now faced with the necessity of supporting them. Inexperienced as I was, I secured a position in a real estate office. I was dong well, too, when another woman in the office began to make trouble for me. I sup- pose she was jealous of my success. Anyway, I had been lucky and was now in control of one of the company's most lucrative renting blocks. If I had brought matters to a showdown, if I had gone to the president of the company and demanded that he dis- charge one or the other of us, I sin- cerely believe he would have chosen to let her go because I was making the most money for the company. But I guess I had grown into the habit, by then, of ignoring a desire for revenge. I didn't want to work with this woman, but I didn't want to bring about her discharge, either. So I left the firm, myself. . . . And came to Hollywood and got work as an extra in pictures. This was the beginning of my career as an actress, which has brought me more success and more happiness than I could ever have earned selling real estate in San Francisco. Still another time ... I was fairly well established in Hollywood by now, but good roles still meant every- thing. A certain studio was casting a big picture, the most important pic- ture ever to be undertaken. And I was slated for the starring feminine role. Of course, I was walking on air. But — I didn't get the role! They gave it to another actress, one of my best friends — I thought. I was heart- sick, of course, but I wasn't angry, at first. That came later — when I learned that this actress, knowing what I was to he paid for doing the picture, had cahnly hied herself over to the studio and under-bid me! "You're getting Rich for such and such," she told the producer. "Well, I'll do it for less." And that was that. As I say, she got the role. Beside myself with fury, I started to telephone her. "I'll tell her exactly what I think of her!" I vowed as my trembling finger dialed the number. "I'll tell her she needn't think she can get away with this. I'll tell her I'll get even if it's the last thing I do!" But — somehow, I didn't do it. In- stead, my anger suddenly spent, I quietly hung up the receiver. "Skip it, Irene," I told myself. "What the heck? Just skip it." Well, this actress made the picture All set for the ranch she is building in the San Fernando Valley, lovely Irene Rich is now in her ninth year of broad- casting for the same sponsor, Welch Grape Juice, over NBC. all right and it was released. It was one of the biggest flops Hollywood ever had. In my wildest dreams of revenge against this actress who did me out of that role, I couldn't have thought up any greater disaster than that. I am thinking, now, of two women I know, to whom fate or luck or what- ever rules our destinies, dealt the same blow. Each had her husband stolen by another woman. One let it ruin her life. Today, she is broken and beaten, a person to whom one thing and one alone is im- portant. That is her hatred for the "other woman" and for the man who is no longer her husband. I saw her a few weeks ago. She has been di- vorced only three years but she looks twenty years older. She isn't happy. She isn't resigned. She isn't even normal. She is a most unpleasant person to be with. She has few friends. How can she have friends, when she has nothing but bitterness to offer them? "But I am getting even!" she said to me. "That ex-husband of mine is paying me alimony, big alimony, and I'll never let him stop! He'll pay through the nose until I'm eighty! There isn't even enough money left over for them to get married on! Yes, I'm getting even!" That's right. She was getting even. But for that revenge she was sacrific- ing her soul. I wouldn't be in her shoes for a million dollars. TPHE other woman I'm thinking of -'- decided to forget. She accepted her alimony only long enough to take a course in business school. Now, she is supporting herself and in so doing is a happy, contented human being, prettier than she ever was, smarter, more charming. Yes, there was enough money, after she ceased demanding alimony, to allow her ex- husband to marry the "other" woman. I suppose it would make a better story to say he wishes, now, that he had his first wife back. That isn't the case, though, this being truth and not fiction. But the truth, is, also, that three people are happy because one of them was big enough and wise enough to "skip" the revenge she might have had. Which one of these two "wronged wives" would you rather be? It isn't hard to skip things, once you get the habit. Not long ago, I re- turned to a community where I had once lived and was entertained at a reception. As I stood in the receiving line, a certain woman came along and, greeting her, I remembered that I didn't like her; that at one time we had been "at outs." That night, as I was getting ready for bed, I called to my mother. "Mother," I inquired, "do you remem- ber why I don't like ?" Then we both laughed at the ridicu- lousness of my question, and I de- cided that, since I couldn't even remember why I didn't like this wo- man, there couldn't be much of a reason. Today, we are fast friends. I haven't yet been able to remember why once upon a time, we were at swords' points. Someday I shall ask her and if she remembers, we'll probably both have a good laugh. Because old quarrels, no matter how serious at the time, look pretty silly in retrospect. . . . That is, unless you want to spend all of your time working at them. And who does? RADIO AND TELEVISION IVIIRROR High in Food Value- Low in Cosf World Copr. 1942 7I Klnv FMtarei J Smdlcmto Or. Allan Roy Dafoe says: "Karo is the only syrup served the Dionne Quintuplets. Its maltose and dextrose are Ideal carbohydrates for growing children." Try one — try all — of these fra- grant, delicious KARO dishes. Delight your family fon/ghf with a savory Meat Muffin followed by a piping hot Apricot Betty. Prepared "the Karo way", there is exfro food energy in these tempting dishes. For KARO Syrup is rich in Dex- trose, food-energy sugar. Be sure to send for your free copy of "Karo Kookery", a new book of intriguing recipes for adding interest and food value to your meals. KARO IN GLASS OR CANS IS THE SAME DELICIOUS SYRUP % '''-rrc P KARO ^y>^^'ll^tl con p'-neoPP'^ \/. 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NAME ■-1 PASTE THIS COUPON ON A PENNY POSTCARD— STREET- rrrv MA I T O D A Y I CTATC chesterfield salufes with Millions of Fans THE GOLDEN JUBILEE of America's most popular sport BASKETBALL j£my time Qwer 90,000,000 is BasketbalVs yearly ullenJance . . . lops for any American sport... and this year marks the celebra- tion of its Golden Jubilee. The game was founded by Dr. James Naismith and had its modest start in 1891 in Springfield, Mass. Such popularity must be deserved hesterfield . . . for Milder Better Taste for Cooler Smoking lliat's what millions of Chesterfield smokers get every time they light up... and that's why these millions are saying Chesterfield gives me more pleasure than any other cigarette I ever smoked. Make your next pack Chesterfield and you too \sdll enjoy everything you want in a cigarette ... mac/e to your taste with the Right Combination of the tvorhVs best cigarette tobaccos. ^- , Every time . . . /A^So^iy^ fopyrifiht 191?, Li(.f.fTT & Mriiis ToFiAm) (j Hno TEiEmion ^M s%fj ESTHER RALSTON, Lovely Star of Woman of Courage, on CBS COMPLETE NOVELETTE IN THIS ISSUE MY HEART WAS TRUE-A Thrilling New Love Story K and SADL-dHk TheVArArite!LJjnLfiilL BABY'S BEAUTIFUL SKIN so sensitive, so smooth, looks to Doctor for proper care. For years Doctor has said, "Ivory for baby," and Ivory for you, too! Now kinder to skins of every age, New "Velvet-Suds" Ivory is milder than 10 leading toilet soaps! Try baby's own beauty treatment! 'K CAPTIVATING 'TEENS and early twenties . . . your fresh, youthful beauty is often marred by too-active oil glands, ^fo/fl' hot water. Scrub with heavy lukewarm Ivory lather (note how quickly New Ivory makes rich suds) . Rinse. Repeat lathering. Warm rinses, then cold. Repeat 3 times daily. If skin blemishes persist, con- sult your doctor. Birthdays Don't Count ! Whatever your age, Doctors advise "baby-care" for a lovelier complexion! Your complexion never outgrows its need for "baby-care." What's best for the world's Most Perfect Com- plexion— baby's own — is best for beauty at every age! For baby's daily beauty-care — and yours — doctors ad- vise gentle Ivory Soap! FOR BEAUTY BEYOND 3.^... Your skin tends to be drier. More reason than ever to rely on New Ivory's extreme miUiicss. No dye, medication, or strong perfume that might be irri- tating. Each tiigtit massage your skin with New Ivory's quick -creaming lather. Use lukewarm water, never hot— for both Ivory massage and rinse. Pat dry. Since your skin lacks sufficient oil, apply lightly a little cold cream. I Today you may enjoy the beauty boon of New "Velvet-Suds" Ivory — the mildest Ivory ever to touch your skin ! See how your loveliness responds to New Ivory Soap's kinder lather. So creamy, so quick — and milder than 10 leading toilet soaps! "BABY-CARE" ALL OVER? Of course! Your body deseirves complexion care. See how grate- fully it responds to the soft, creamy richness of "velvet suds." New Ivory is faster-lathering, kinder to your skin than 10 leading toilet soaps! Thrill to the caress of a velvet-suds bath tonight! TRADLMARK HLU. , • PH'jCrER 6. QAMOLE "Baby- care" is Beauty- care • • • use 99^yioo % PURE ■f IT FLOATS ^m Ndoet-ziudA IVORY SOAP A Hint to the Girl with a Man in her Life! ^t -Tts a date v^i* bells on,Beauafull Tose Y^^^^^^^p oa the right foot you ^^^^^g^y ^^^^trrbubblJgascham^ as coafetu-as d ^^^ P^SaelBut^oat-^J^^Uve- unaidedtokeepy es ning loQg; ^.^* TopreveQtriskof p,,persp^no.^op^^^^^^^^. ,X r r'y^ ^ ite- "St AU YOUR PLANS to coaquer caa fnaoae by even a tiny trace of be undone Dye ^.^g „„as to apply 8"'1=. """'. -from the first happy hello the last dreamy waltz. / ( I (lu(i>. " Girls who use Mum say it's grand because: MUM SAVES YOUR TIME! 30 seconds, and you're through . . . yet Mum protects your after-bath freshness all day or all evening. MUM SAVES YOUR CLOTHES! It has the American Institute of Laundering Seal as being harmless to fine fabrics. And gentle Mum won't irritate your skin. MUM SAVES CHARM! Mum works, not by stopping perspiration, but by preventing odor. Try it— you'll like Mum. Get a jar of Mum from your druggist today. For Sanitary Napkins— Mum is such a safe, gen- tle deodorant. Mum's dependability is a safeguard against embarrassment. Product of Bristol-Myers MUM TAKES THE ODOR OUT OF PERSPIRATION APRIL, 1942 ^ \ \ I for NEXT MONTH Don't miss this thrilling, complete ^ novelette — the special feature of the May issue — LORENZO JONES a soul-stirring story to warm the heart of every husband and every wife ! See beautiful, real life portraits of all your favorite stars of the popu- lar radio serial — RIGHT TO HAPPINESS You delight in their antics on the air, now enjoy the tender story of / The Courtship of Fibber and Molly McGee ^ Believe it or not, Fibber really k ' proposed ! For a short story of love you'll long remember, read The Touch of Your Lips KVa April, 1942 ERNEST V. HEYN Executive Editor DAN SENSENEY Contributing Editor iV^xLlo A complete program guide, a brand new song hit with words and music, Kate Smith's cooking page, and many more exciting features. On Sale March 25 \ tMi HnOfELEVI^IOn UCft^^V Vol. 17, No. 6 FRED R. SAMMIS Editor BELLE LANDESMAN Assistant Editor CONTENTS /y peeuJo feoJAAA-ei> FAITH Alice Eldridge Renner 12 Had he forgotten their hour of glory? MY HEART WAS TRUE Margaret E. Songster 14 As a complete novelette — the story of a girl's pride I LOVED A COWARD 18 Why couldn't she seize this one instant of time? VIC AND SADE IN LIVING PORTRAITS See in person the people who live "half way down the block'' 21 THE STORY OF MARY MARLIN , Norton Russell 26 Memories of past heartaches rise to mock Mary's hope for happiness A LOVE DIVIDED Helen Irwin Dowdey 29 Mr. Keen, Tracer of Lost Persons, brings a husband and wife together "THE MAN I MARRIED" Jack Sher 33 The romance of Betty Winkler LOVELY Ed Lane and Ben Selvin 34 Lanny Ross features Radio Mirror's new song hit of the month THE COOKING CORNER SAYS: Kate Smith 36 Save with replacement foods WOMAN OF COURAGE Madeline Thompson 38 It was Martha herself who was to blame for Jim's weakness SUPERMAN IN RADIO 70 A thrilling new episode of the North Woods DON'T PRESS Bing Crosby gives some good advice z' Tidded /ittiHxctloTVA S. R. Mook 90 LIFE'S A FUNNY THING Hobart Bosworth 3" FACING THE MUSIC Ken Alden 4 WHAT'S NEW FROM COAST TO COAST Dan Senseney 6 WHEN YOU SMILE Dr. Grace Gregory 10 INSIDE RADIO 41 PRINCESS OF SWEET MUSIC 44 ON THE COVER — Dinah Shore, Singing Star of Eddie Cantor's broadcasts and her own Sunday night program on NBC Kodachrome bv Charles P. Seawood RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR, published monthly by MACFADDEN PUBLICATIONS, INC., Washington and South Avenues, Dunellen, New Jersey. General Offices : 205 East 42nd Street, New York, N. Y. Advertising offices: Chanin Building, 1^2 East 42ntl Street, New York. O. J. Elder. President; Haydock Miller, Secretary; Chas. H. Shattuck, Treasurer: Walter Hanlon, Advertising Director. Chicago office, 221 North LaSalle St., E. F. Lethen, .Jr., Mgr. Pacific Coast Offices: San Francisco, 420 Market Street. Hollywood, 7751 Sunset Blvd., Lee Andrews, Manager. Entered as second-class mailer September 14, 1933, at the Post Office at Dunellen, New Jersey, under the Act of March .3. 1879. Price per copy in United States 10c, Canada 15c. Subscription price in United Slates and Possessions and Newloundland .fl.OO a year. In Canada, Cuba, Me.\ico, Haiti, Dominican Republic, Spain and Possessions, and Central and South American countries, excepting British Hon- duras, British, Dutch and French Guiana, .'til. 50 a year; all other countries, .$2.50 a year. While Manuscripts, Photographs and Drawings are submitted at the owner's risk, every effort will be made to return those found unavailable if accompanied by sufficient first-clcfss postage, and explicit name and address. Contributors are especially advised to be sure to retain copies of their contributions; otherwise they are taking unnecessary risk. Unaccepted letters tor the "What Do You Want to Say?" dcuartment will not be returned, and we will not be responsible for any losses of such matter contributed. All submissions become the property of the magazine. (Member of iMacCadden Women's Group. > The contents of this magazine may not be printed, either wholly or in part, without permission. Copyright, 1942, Ijy the Macfaaden Publications, Inc. Title trademark registered in U. S. Patent Office. Copyright iilso In Canada, registered at .Stationers' Hall, Great Britain. Printing Company, Dunellen, Printed in the U. S. A. by Art Color N. J. RADIO AND TELEVISION IVIIBROR * A mm THING A broadcast by Hobart Bos- worth, famous star of the silent films, who told some of his fascinating experiences ^ on We The People, over CBS. HB "VrOU know, life's a funny Pip -'- thing. Forty years ago the doctors gave me up for I dead. They're gone now — \ but I'm stiU here. I'd reached the peak of my ca- reer and was leading man V- with all the great ladies of \^ the theater. Then I was •' taken ill — -tuberculosis. I fcJ^ went to Arizona. For sev- V^ eral years, I fought a lonely * battle against sickness and pT^ poverty, with only miy great . dane dog, Chief, as a com- Im panion. I was finally re- 55M duced to sharing the scraps of meat I begged for my dog. And then, still far from well, I went further West — Los Angeles. One day a man came to see me. He asked me if I would act in a motion picture. At that _ time no self-respecting ac- V^ tor would even think of go- >^^ ing into the movies. I told i^ him that if I felt better and had more strength, I'd throw him out bodily. But he said, "Of course, Mr. Bosworth, none of your friends would ever demean themselves by going to the nickelodeon down on Main Street to see it, and of course we never use any- body's name — and besides it's $125 for two days work." Well, I needed the money, so I helped him to make that picture — "In The Pow- er of the Sultan." That first picture was the beginning 0 of a new life for me — for in Kji those days all pictures were ^9 made out-of-doors, and I la^^ slowly regained my health. '^^ Since then, I've written and '^ directed and acted in over 550 motion pictures and I ■ never felt better in my life. ' T Back in the silent days I ,A remember we used to act in two pictures at the same time. I did a Western and a sea picture together. While my sea clothes were drying out, we'd shoot the West- ern, and while we were get- ting the burrs off our chaps we'd shoot the sea-scenes — both of those pictures were completed within six days. I'm 74 years old now — but I've just finished another ^ picture for Warner Brothers _2 called "They Died With * Their Boots On." When the the time comes — that's the way I want to go — out in front of the cameras — with JA/il my boots on. a < ^-^^^ Loveliness may soon be\ours! Go on the CAMilVMil.C™^''^/- *^ DIET' I y This lovely bride, Mrs. Robert G. Johnson of New Orleans, La., says: "The Camay 'Mild- Soap' Diet is such an easy way to help bring out the loveliness of one's complexion." Follow this ^ay to a lovelier com- plexion— based on skin specialists' advice — praised by lovely brides! I'm so thrilled . . . being a Camay bride! When people tell me that my skin is lovely, I'm rewarded in full for my persistent devotion to the Camay 'Mild-Soap' Diet. Many nights I was so sleepy . . . many mornings I was in such a hurry, but never once did I neglect to follow the 'Mild-Soap' Diet rou- tine faithfully." So says Mrs. Robert G. Johnson. A little time ... a little care . . . and you, too, can be lovelier with the help of the Camay "Mild-Soap" Diet. For no wom- an's skin can be truly beautiful if she fails to cleanse it properly. Or if she uses a beauty soap that isn't mild enough. Skin specialists themselves advise a regular cleansing routine with a fine mild soap. And Camay is more than just mild . . . it's ac- tually milder than the 10 famous beauty soaps tested. That's why we say your way to new loveliness is to "Go on the Camay 'Mild- Soap' Diet tonight.'" GO ON THE "MILD-SOAP" DIET TONIGHT! SmA 'Jim Work Camay's milder lather over your skin, pay- ing special attention to the nose, the base of nostrils and chin.. Rinse with warm water and follow with thirty seconds of cold splashings. Then, while you sleep, the tiny pore openings are free to function for natural beauty. In the morn- ing—one more quick session with this milder Camay and your skin is ready for make-up. ^; fcLci CLCvna tLM iXbAX. By KEN ALDEN Because he heard a hit fune in a concerto, Freddy Martin hit the bandleaders' seventh heaven. THE Will Bradley-Ray McKinley band partnership is about to dis- solve. Drummer McKinley intends to organize his own band but the chances are that trombonist Bradley will de- sert the bandstand, concentrate on arranging. He didn't like the long tours that kept him away from his family. « * • Kay Kyser and Glenn Miller led all bands in 1941 earning power. Both of their bands grossed about $1,000,000. Incidentally, Glenn's top record, "Chattanooga Choo Choo" sold over 1,000,000 copies and the mil- lionth disk was auctioned of? at the President's Birthday Ball. * * * The Orrin Tucker-Bonnie Baker combination which rode to stardom on an old little tune called "Oh, Johnnie" has finally split and the tiny singer will hereafter sing solo. * * * Winners in the Metronome mag- azine's all-star band contest were Benny Carter, Tex Beneke, Charlie Barnet, Toots Mondello, saxophones; Benny Goodman, clarinet; Harry James, Ziggy Elman, trumpets; Jack Teagarden, "Tommy Dorsey, trombon- ists; Charlie Christian, guitar; Bob Haggart, bass; Count Basic, piano; Gene Krupa, drums. Vocalists were Helen Forrest and Frank Sinatra. * * • Jack Jenney, Artie Shaw's trom- bonist, is quite sick and has taken an indefinite leave of absence. 4> * * The Raymond Scott band has un- dergone extensive shakeups. Edythe Harper is a new singing addition to Muggsy Spanier's band, in place of Jeanie Ryan. It's Mr. and Mrs. Ennis: Skinnay and vocalist Carmene have been married two years, they confess. This is your last chance to vote in "Facing the Music's" Dance Band Contest. Winners will be announced in the May issue of Radio Mirror. A ballot form is printed at the end of this column for you to fill out. THIS CHANGING WORLD Harry James returns to the Hotel Lincoln in New York in April, follow- ing a theater tour. . . . Peggy Mann, formerly with Larry Clinton and Enoch Light, is now attached to the Teddy Powell band. . . . Edythe Harper is now singing with Muggsy Spanier's band, heard over NBC. She replaced Jeanie Ryan. Edythe's hus- band, Vernon Brown, is Spanier's trombonist. . . . Van Alexander, a former bandleader, now arranges for Les Hite. . . . Morton Gould, one of the better young composer-conduc- tors, will make recordings for Colum- bia. . . . Wayne King is on a theater tour. * ♦ * Lanny Ross has been doing a re- search job lately on old college var- sity musical shows. His efforts were well rewarded Continued on page 77 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRBOR rMt How you can catch cold-and what to do about it pyCK THAT KIS': , ^^^HH f'"'"g has a coJd J^''" °"^ you a" 'j^^ surest waysof . '"".^^ « one of ^^^^^^^ y airect contact. yow nose or m ^^^? and mat ""^ ^^ or mouth. ^ ^nter ">'Present,mayeet rh^ ''actena, ys«theupper|,^„j- •« ^^?^iSi -v'- t»iit lM-wil<-hinK . . . //(/s sriUHithiy-ndlt^l. ttisiinttuishptt htiir-tlo. Hair shampiutcil uilh itiiprutctl Sftrt iat Drftii; itint /fnfiii cl tiv Ivtulin^ hrtittr\ saions. httuttst' it Iftites hair so siiky. smooth.' Amazing hair conditioner now in improved Special Drene Shampoo brings new glamour to hair! 4 Have \(Mi iliMovcrcil \«'| Ih)\s iiiihIi more J.' lamoroii- <-\ct\ llu- siiii|il<-sl liair-do look:^ alter a .sliaiii|MM> u illi iin|ir(ivi-(l >|>clli, sleek neatness . . . easier l<» arraii^rel No uoiiiler ini|ir<>\eil Special I )rene. witli hair eoixlilioiier in it, ir- sweepinf; the conn- lr\ . . . thrillin;; ^irls everwxherel Reveals up to 33% more lustre! ^esl In an l ol thai ania/in;: hair conditioner. Special Drene still reveals up to 3,'V/(, more lustre than even the linesl soaps or li(pii. s() it iiriri leaves atiy (hilliiif; lilin, as all .s'jr//j.s (lol llair vvashed with Spe<-ial Drene sparkles with allnrin<: hi<:lili<^lits. <;lr. Unsurpassed for removing dandruff! ^rl• von liothere> iisiiip soaps or liquid soa|t sliaiii|ii|>oo willi the cxelusivr patented cleansing insreilient w bieli cannot leaveaeloudiii" iilni! Insleaii, it reveals up to 33% more lustre! APRIL, 1942 11 Memories were surging within her heart — the soft nighty the moss on the live oaks, his lips on hers. Had he forgotten their hour of glory? Was she to wait forever? ''%,i '%" -ft- V^ /' ' ;^4' i-.>>. UU^ i. THE light on the table was soft, throwing a pool of gold on the white cloth. We were drinking our coffee, John and I, and I knew that that which I had tried to avoid through the past weeks of our friendship would, this evening, have to be faced. And I had no answer to give him or even to the crying need within me. The achingly sweet memories of the past could not be forgotten; I still hoped for their ful- fillment. As I glanced up quickly into John's dark eyes, the light in them, the eagerness, brought, like a stab of pain, the remembrance of other eyes, as eager, as glowing — gray eyes which I had not seen for two years. He was speaking, and stUl I was unprepared. "Ann," he said, "let's drive around. We're near Rock Creek Park. It's a beautiful spring eve- ning, and I — I — have so much to say—" There had been another spring! Should I drive it from my mind? Should I bravely admit that months of silence could mean but one thing? I shook my head. "No, John." I hoped he couldn't hear in my voice the hurt within me. "I'm tired. I had a hard day at the office; I'd better go home." He squared his shoulders. His hand slipped across the table and caught my fingers. "Then I'll say it here." His tone had deepened, was tender. "You guess what it is — you must. I've been trying to tell you for days. I love you, Ann — ^I love you." His fingers pressed mine against the white cloth; they lay passive under his. I didn't want to hurt him; I liked him so much. And doubt and faith and fear were struggling within me. "Please, John," I exclaimed, "please — I don't know what to say. I can't explain." "Is there someone else?" The question was quiet. Agam I hesitated. Was there someone, alive, vital, tall and strong, fair haired, with laughing mouth? There had been a boy with whom I had climbed trees, and played Indian, who had carried my books to school. There had been a man who had said: "I love you," as we stood on the cliffs of Santa Barbara, and the blue Pacific with its miles of purple kelp had glittered before my eyes like the pathway to Para- dise. Did he no longer look into the sun, or feel the wind on his face? Was he, because he no longer lived, incapable of returning to me? Or — and this hurt as death itself would hurt — ^had he forgotten that hoiir of glory? Had it never been glory for him? "Ann," John spoke sharply, "what is it? What's the matter?" "Why — nothing — " I stammered, surprised by his unexpected ques- tions. • I forced a smile. "I was thinking — " I broke off. What could I tell him, what could I tell anyone that would explain what had hap- pened? "Oh it's nothing," I burst out, impatient at my inability to answer him. "It's just that there was someone, once." He nodded, his face thoughtful, as we rose from the table. At least, I thought, when I said goodnight to him quickly in front of the dark brick house in which I lived, he isn't too deeply hurt. I didn't pause at the top step and look back, but opened the door quickly and shut it behind me. Then I hurried to the tiny apartment I shared with Mary. In that busy Washington, hum- ming like a beehive as the center of the Victory Program, Mary and I, working in the same office, and liking each other, had decided to live together. She was good for me; practical and sane, she had steadied me in the tumult of my doubts and questions. Now she sat up in bed, as I stole into the / \ An adaptation by Alice Eldridge Renner from the radio play "Every- body Comes to Washington," by Ruth Adams Knight, first heard on the Theater of Today, Saturday at noon, E.S.T., over the CBS network, sponsored by the Armstrong Cork Company, and starring Madge Evans. room, and switched on the light beside her. "Have a good time?" she asked, then stared. "Lord, what a way to look after a dinner date, and with as nice a man as John. You must have seen a ghost." And, suddenly, to my disgust, there were tears in my eyes; I couldn't force them back, they ran down my cheeks. "Mary," I dropped down on the foot of her bed, "you'll think I'm a fool. But I've lived with a ghost for two years, and tonight — John said — something that — well — brought everything to life." "Sounds like some sort of riddle. What's the matter, did John say he loved you?" I nodded. "How did you guess?" "I've eyes in my head, and I use them." Was it a shadow thrown by the light, had her face changed, subtly? "Well?" her voice was sharp, "what did you tell him?" "Nothing. Oh, Mary," I flung out my hands, speaking in disjointed sentences. "There's someone else. I love him, but I don't know — if he loved me wouldn't he write — wouldn't I hear from him? Surely, he could get word to me, unless he's — dead — or forgotten — " Mary leaned down and pulled her wrapper up around her, humped her pillows back of her and settled herself. "I suppose there is some sense somewhere in what you're saying." CUDDENLY I wanted to tell her everything that had happened. The long days of childhood when Bradley Curtiss had been my com- panion, when we had carried our books up into the branches of the ancient apple tree and had read of the Knights of Arthur's Round Table and their high adventures. Ever since then, he had been to me a knight in shining armor. I had rather hoped there was still one dragon left on earth from whom he could protect me, even as he had from that large black dog who had plunged out of the woods one day, ugly, with flashing teeth, and Brad- ley had been bitten. I remembered the blood on the back of his hand. I could still feel my terror, and the adoration of my child's heart given to him so completely from that minute on. "He was a boy with whom I grew up. We played together. We had such fun. Then my family moved to California when I was fifteen, and I didn't see him for several years." Those years had been lonely. There had been other companions, but something had gone from life, something Continued on page 86 13 ^' .V. ' • >A* w Memories were surging within her heart — the soft night, the moss on the live oaks, his lips on hers. Had he forgotten their hour of glory? Was she to wait forever? y '^ .V iv £?€! THE light on the table was soft, throwing a pool of gold on the white cloth. We were drinking coffee, John and I, and I knew t'hat that which I had tried to avoid ihrough the past weeks of our riendship would, this evening, have be faced. And I had no answer ,0 give him or even to the crying need within me. The achingly sweet memories of the past could not be forgotten; I still hoped for their ful- fillment. As I glanced up quickly into John's dark eyes, the light in them, the eagerness, brought, like a stab of pain, the remembrance of other eyes, as eager, as glowing — gray eyes which I had not seen for two years. He was speaking, and still I was unprepared. "Ann," he said, "let's drive around. We're near Rock Creek Park. It's a beautiful spring eve- ning, and I — I — have so much to say—" There had been another spring! Should I drive it from my mind? Should I bravely admit that months of silence could mean but one thing? 1 shook my head. "No, John." I hoped he couldn't hear in my voice the hurt within me. "I'm tired. I had a hard day at the office; I'd better go home." He squared his shoulders. His hand slipped across the table and caught my fingers. "Then I'll say it here." His tone had deepened, was tender. "You guess what it is — you must. I've been trying to tell you for days. I love you, Ann — I love you." His fingers pressed mine against the white cloth; they lay passive under his. I didn't want to hurt him; I liked him so much. And doubt and faith and fear were struggling within me. "Please, John," I exclaimed, "please — I don't know what to say. 1 can't explain." "Is there someone else?" The question was quiet. Again I hesitated. Was there someone, alive, vital, taU and strons fair haired, with laughing mouth-? There had been a boy with whom I had climbed trees, and played Indian, who had carried my books to school. There had been a man who had said: "I love you," as we stood on the cliffs of Santa Barbara and the blue Pacific with its miles of purple kelp had glittered before my eyes like the pathway to Para- dise. Did he no longer look into the sun, or feel the wind on his face? Was he, because he no longer lived, incapable of returning to me^- Or— and this hurt as death itself would hurt— had he forgotten that hour of glory? Had it never been glory for him? "Ann," John spoke sharply, "what is it? What's the matter?" "Why— nothing— " f stammered, surprised by his unexpected ques- tions. I forced a smile. "I was thinking-" I broke oft. What could I teU him, what could I tell anyone that would explain what had hap- pened? "Oh it's nothing," I burst out, impatient at my inability to answer him. "It's just that there was someone, once." He nodded, his face thoughtful, as we rose from the table. At least, I thought, when I said goodnight to him quickly in front of the dark brick house in which I lived, he isn't too deeply hurt. I didn't pause at the top step and look back, but opened the door quickly and shut it behind me. Then I hurried to the tiny apartment I shared with Mary. In that busy Washington, hum- ming like a beehive as the center of the Victory Program, Mary and I, working in the same office, and liking each other, had decided to live together. She was good for me; practical and sane, she had steadied me in the tumult of my doubts and questions. Now she sat up in bed, as I stole into the An adaptation by Alice Eldridge Renner from the radio play "Every- body Comes to Washington," by Ruth Adams Knight, first heard on the Theater of Today, Saturday at noon, E.S.T., over the CBS network, sponsored by the Armstrong Cork Company, and starring Madge Evans. ^''^^:N^t^:^^iA ■'Have a good lime? " she asked, hen stared. "Lord, what a way to look after a dinner date, and with as nice a man as John. You must have seen a ghost " And, suddenly, to mj- disgust, there were tears in my eyes; I couldn't force them back, they ran down my cheeks. ■Mary," I dropped down on the foot of her bed, "you'll think I'm a fool. But Ive lived with u ghost for two years, and tonight- John said— something that— well brought everything to lite. " "Sounds like some sort of riddle Whafs the matter, did John say he loved you?" I nodded. "How did you guess?" ■'I've eyes in my head, and I use them." Was it a shadow thrown by the light, had her face changed, subtly? "Well? " her voice was sharp, "what did you tell him?" "Nothing. Oh, Mary," I flung out my hands, speaking in disjointed sentences. 'There's someone else. I love him, but I don't know— if he loved mc wouldn't he write — wouldn't I hear from him? Surely, he could get word to me, unless he's — dead — or forgotten — " Mary leaned down and pulled her wrapper up around her. humped her pillows back of her and settled herself. "I suppose there is some sense somewhere in what you're saying." CUDDENLY I wanted to tell her everything that had happened. The long days of childhood when Bradley Curtiss had been my com- panion, when we had carried our books up into the branches of the ancient apple tree and had read of the Knights of Arthur's Round Table and their high adventures. Ever since then, he had been to me a knight in shining armor, i had rather hoped there was still one dragon left on earth from wJiom he could protect me, even as he had from that large black dog who had plunged out of the woods one day, ugly, with flashing teeth, and Brad- ley had been bitten. I remembered the blood on the back of his hand. I could still feel my terror, and the adoration of my child's heart given to him so completely from that minute on. "He was a boy with whom I grew up. We played together. We had such fun. Then my family moved to California when I was flftcen, and I didn't see him for several 't years." J Those years had been lonely. I There had been other companions, I but something had gone from life, I something Continued on page 86 13 m ./Ml THEY were seated together at a corner table in the Mulberry Room and they were just fin- ishing dinner. Carol Hale, who did bits in radio, and Ken Williams who wrote daytime radio scripts when he wasn't writing sonnets to Carol. They were seated close together, not talking much, but Qvery once in so often Carol flashed a shy smile in Ken's direction and Ken, smiling back, wondered when he could put his dream into words. "Words are so easy to write," thought Ken, "but so darn hard to say!" He cleared his throat and asked, "How about a nubbin of pastry?" Carol was as slim as a river reed — she was one of those rare women who never need to diet. She said, "I'd adore some pastry," and Ken beckoned to the waiter and then, heads close together, they made a game of deciding which piece to choose. The waiter, who knew Carol well, and worshipped her, offered suggestions. "The cream napoleon," he urged, "or the mocha eclair? No, try the chocolate box!" "The chocolate box," agreed Carol and watched, with complete attention, as it was eased onto her plate. Ken said, "I'll take the eclair. How's your daughter getting along, Jacques? Still studying dramatics?" All at once the waiter was effer- vescent. "She graduated from dra- matic school last month," said the waiter. "Miss Hale got her an audition and the director said he'd give her a part . . . She'll make the grade — thanks to Miss Hale." Carol murmured, "Jacques — please. I didn't do anything — " The waiter started to remonstrate, his spaniel gaze on Carol's face. And then somebody else called for pastry and he darted away and Ken turned to Carol with mock stern- ness. "At it again — getting jobs for people!" he said. "Why don't you look out for yourself, Carol?" Carol said, "I'm doing all right. And his daughter is a pretty thing — and she has a sweet voice, too." Ken told her, "You're, a pretty 14 An6 then, like a sleepwalker, she was drifting from her chair and Stan was out of his, and they were gravitating together and were leaving the Mulberry Room, arm in arm. :| thing— you've' a sweet voice," and cursed himself inwardly for being fatuous. "Carol," he blurted out, "what you need is someone to take care of you." Carol flushed and crumpled the chocolate walls of her pastry box with a nervous fork. After a mo- ment she whispered, repeating her- self— "Oh, I'm doing all right," and a bell rang in Ken's soul. "Now's. the time," he told himself, and cleared his throat and said abruptly, "Darling, I want to take — " and broke off as a hand fell on his shoulder. "How're things?" said a voice that was warm and comfortable and friendly. "Any room at this table?" It was Maude Sanborn, also a radio writer. Maude who always horned in on parties without any loss of popularity. Women liked her because she was plump and jolly and not competitive — men be- cause she didn't make any passes at them and paid her own check if necessary. But this evening — well, there wasn't any room at the table. Ken almost told Maude to run away and sell her papers but he didn't have time for Carol's shy RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR smile was creeping out again and Maude, answering it, was taking her place between them. "Now this is cozy!" said Maude, •'Gosh, I wish I had Carol's figure. I'm a sucker for chocolate!" "Take just one bite," said Carol, and Maude leaned forward with her mouth open to receive a loaded forkful. And then her eyes widened to match her mouth and she ex- claimed, "Look — there in the door- way! God's gift to women." Carol raised her own eyes and peered through the smoky dimness of the Mulberry Room toward the APRIL, 1942 By MARGARET SANGSTER rm THEY were seated together at ;i corner table in the Mulberry Room and they were just fin- ishinK dinner. Carol Hale, who did bits in radio, and Ken Williams who wrote daytime radio scripts when he wasn't writinK sonnets to Carol. They were seated close together, not talking much, but every once in so often Carol (lashed a shy smile in Ken's direction and Ken, smiling bacl<, wondered when he could put his dream into words. "Words are so easy to write," thought Ken, "but so darn hard to say!" He cleared his throat and asked, "How about a nubbin of pastry?" Carol was as slim as a river reed — she was one of those rare women who never need to diet. She said, "I'd adore some pastry," and Ken beckoned to the waiter and then, heads close together, they made a game of deciding which piece to choose. The waiter, who knew Carol well, and worshipped her, olTered suggestions. "Th(> cream napoleon," he urged, "or the mocha eclair? No, try the chocolate box!" "The chocolate box," agreed Carol and watched, with complete attention, as it was cased onto her plate. Ken said, "I'll take the eclair. Hows your daughter getting along, Jacques'/ Still studying dramatics?" All at once the waiter was olToi- vcscent. "She graduated from dra- matic school last month," said the waller. "Miss Hale got her an audition and the director said he'd give lier a part . . . She'll make the grade— thanks to Miss Hale." Carol murmured, "Jacques — please. 1 didn't do anything — " The waiter started to remonstrate, his spaniel gaze on Carol's face. And then somebody else called for pastry and he darted away and Ken turned to Carol with mock stern- ness. "Al it again — getting jobs for people!" he said. "Why don't you look out for yourself, Carol?" Carol said. "I'm doing all right. And his daughter is a pretty thing — and she has a sweet voice, too," Ken told hor, "You're a pretty 14 At first it was fascination that drew her to him, then it was something else pride, perhaps - that held her. in spite of sorroir and another love that called to her heart UUistrations by Jamts Blllmvfr And then, like a sleepwalker, she was driffing from her chair and Stan was out of his, and they were gravitating together and were leaving the Kiulberry Room, arm in arm. thing — you've- a sweet voice," and cursed himself inwardly for being fatuous. "Carol," he blurted out, "what you need is someone to take care of you." Carol flushed and crumpled the chocolate walls of her pastry box with a nervous fork. After a mo- ment she whispered, repeating her- self— "Oh, I'm doing all right," and a bell rang in Ken's soul. "Now's. the time," he told himself, and cleared his throat and said abruptly, "Darling. I want to take — " and broke oft' as a hand tell on his shoulder. "How're things?" said a voice that was warm and comfortable and friendly. "Any room at this table. It was Maude Sanborn, also a radio writer. Maude who alwa.vs horned in on parties without an)' loss of popularity. Women liM» her because she was plump an" jolly and not competitive— men Be- cause she didn't make any passes a them and paid her own checR necessary. But this evenmg--« ■ there wasn't any room at the ta ^ Ken almost told Maude to ' away and sell her papers but didn't have time for Carols su) ^,0 *»» «"VK.O» >■■""' smile was creeping out again and Maude, answering it, was taking her place between them. "Now this is cozy!" said Maude, "Gosh, I wish I had Carol's figure. I'm a sucker for chocolate!" "Take just one bite," said Carol, and Maude leaned forward with her mouth open to receive a loaded forkful. And then her eyes widened '0 match her mouth and she ex- claimed, "Look — there in the door- way! God's gift to women." Carol raised her own eyes and peered through the smoky dimness of the Mulberry Room toward the ^nia. 1942 By MARGARET SANGSTER raised platform, like a stage, which was designed for grand entrances. Ken followed her glance and said, "You called the turn, Maude. God's gift to women, at least. That's Stanley Breen." Carol, with her lashes flickering and her lips curving softly, echoed — "Stanley Breen?" and nobody knew that history was in the making. CTANLEY BREEN! Six feet of carefully controlled muscle, a face full of expensive tan — featuring blue eyes and white teeth — wavy hair parted in the middle. He stood just inside the doorway on the plat- form, casting his eye from table to table, sorting out possibilities, and then he saw Ken Williams and yipped — "Hi, Ken!" and came strid- ing toward them. And suddenly all of the men in the Mulberry Room were smaller and less virile, and the Mulberry Room itself was smaller. Ken made the introductions. Maude first — she was the oldest — Carol next. "Meet Stan Breen," he said. "Just fresh out of the west — Lochinvar, Incorporated! Stan, these are radio people." "God love them," laughed Stan. He shook hands with Maude, bowed from the waist in Carol's direction, pulled out a chair without so much as a by-your-leave, and flung his splendid body into it. "The drinks," he said, "are on me." Ken objected. "Not a chance — ^this is my evening." He beckoned a waiter and ordered Scotch and soda — although it was demi tasse hour. But when the Scotch and soda ar- rived Stan grew critical and sent it back and mentioned a de luxe brand that came in a square bottle with a cut crystal stopper. Maude was nibbling bits of choco- late from Carol's pastry box. She started to ask questions — she always did. "You really look like a west- erner, Mr. Breen," she said. "What I mean is — you look authentic. Are you a cowboy? Is the rodeo in town?" Stanley Breen's face mirrored a sudden distaste and Ken Williams leaped into the gap. "This is the Stanley Breen," he told Maude. "The golden voiced announcer. He's on my show and we had to pay through the nose to get him. I told you all about the deal — didn't I, Carol?" Carol said-^"Yes, Ken, you told me." Her voice had an odd breath- lessness about it. "Yes," she re- peated, "you told me — " and flushed scarlet, for Stan was leaning for- ward, studying her, feature by feature. Carol was worth studying — she was delicately fragile, she might have been formed of Venetian 16 glass, and her hair was as heavy as the sort of satin that stands alone, and her eyebrows were like wings. "I'm glad," said Stan, his scrutiny over, "that Ken's broken — the ice. But why didn't he tell me something about you. Miss Hale?" Ken made what might, or might not, have been an apology. "I spend so much time thinking about Carol," he said, "that I find it hard to do much talking about her." It was Maude who threw in — "Carol's an actress." "Oh, an actress," nodded Stan. His tone was faintly amused. He might have said, "another actress." Carol explained hastily and there was no doubt about it — she was apologizing. "I'm extremely unim- portant," she said. "I just manage — to get by." "That's as it should be," said Stan, dismissing Carol's career casually. "Success spoils a woman . . . Look, my new car's outside." Maude gurgled — "Well, I live over in New Jersey and I'll be going home pretty soon, if you want to give the car a tryout — " but Stan ignored her. He said, "Where do you live. Miss Hale?" Carol told him, "Just around the corner. Within walking distance." Stan said, "If we went for a run out Westchester way I could deliver you back on your doorstep in a couple of hours.. These spring eve- nings are slick, Miss Hale. ... A bit later there'll be a moon, and my new car's a convertible and the top's down." It was definitely rude. Ken Wil- liams was beyond' doubt Carol's host — but he was not included in the invitation. He glanced swiftly at Stan and intercepted the glance that was passing between the an- nouncer and Carol. His jawline tightened a trifle as Carol said gently — "I'm so sorry, Mr. Breen, but I'm with Ken. We were going to the new movie across the street." "Ken has Miss — eh — Sanborn," said Stanley. "Don't be a dog in the manger, Ken. What can you do with two women?" Carol laughed and the breathless quality that had made her speaking voice sound tense, and almost ap- prehensive, was in her laughter. "You — you underestimate Ken," she said. Ken was a good sport — perhaps he was too good a sport. He laid his hand on Carol's arm and though there was no pressure to his fingers there was a sense of tenderness in the gesture. "That's all right, Toots," he said carefully. "You run along and enjoy yourself. Moom pitchers are only moom pitchers, and you're looking a bit washed out this evening. Spring air and moonlight won't do you any harm." Maude started to say something but changed her mind. Carol started to say something but gulped down a rising inflection. And then, like a sleepwalker, she was drifting from her chair and Stan was out of his, and they were gravitating together — almost magnetically — and were leaving the Mulberry Room, arm in arm. And Maude and Ken were alone at a table that seemed as large as a skating rink. It was fully thiee minutes before Maude said — "Ken, you're a sap!" It was fully five minutes before Ken admitted, "I suppose I am." He nodded to the waiter and ordered a double Scotch. Just ordinary bar Scotch — the deuce with de luxe brands! * * * Beginning with the night in the Mulberry Room Carol Hale was seen everywhere with Stanley Breen. At Louis and Armand's, at the Mayan, in the Rainbow Grill — in all of the spots where radio folk foregather. When Ken asked her to go places she was childishly apologetic — often there were tears in her eyes — but it couldn't be helped, she had a date. So after the flrst week or two Ken stopped inviting her for cocktails and luncheon and dinner and the theatre, and he poked a certain little square box with a ring in it under the shirts in his middle bureau drawer, where he didn't have to see it. Only when he got down to the last shirt, before the laundry came back, was he conscious of the bump that it made. Of course, there was plenty of When Carol fainted Ken had her in his arms so fast he was sur- prised at himself, and he was kissing her when she came to. RADIO AND TELEVISION 'MIHROK 4\ gossip, for Stan had brought his reputation along with him from the coast — he had a definite way with women. Females fell for him with a dull thud, and stayed down for a count of ten. Rumor said he could have his pick of Hollywood and the stage and certainly radio, and Maude Sanborn — who was hardly ever catty — muttered that he must employ a press agent to give him the buildup. But — in all fairness — Stanley Breen didn't need a press agent. His publicity department was in women's eyes — which lit up or looked wistful when he came into their line of vision. There was one big blonde girl, a White Russian or something, who sang ballads in a husky, rich voice. People said that Stan had to brush her off his door- step at least three times a week. Big blondes, redheads, brunette leading ladies — why did . he prefer little Carol Hale who played bit parts and was too ethereal, some said, to be exciting? Perhaps Carol was a new type to Stan, perhaps it was a long while since he had known a girl who laughed so easily at his not very funny jokes, and cried so easily when he flung a wisp of sar- casm in her direction — perhaps he had never known a girl who blushed so easily! But perhaps he stuck to her through thick and thin because so many people around the studios went out of their way to tell him she was Ken Williams' property, and that Ken was all set to marry her. Some men are like that. A week, two weeks, three weeks. Stan's fan mail was colossal — his sponsor needed two stenographers to answer inquiries and write thank- yous. Because of the fan mail he got another job — a Sunday night show — on top of his regular day- time announcing, and people began to wonder how much income tax he'd pay when the time arrived. Ken Williams had called his voice a golden one and it was — ask any ac- count executive. Each intonation was worth so much in dollars and cents. A week, two weeks, three weeks, and then Carol Hale and Stanley Breen had been going around to- gether for a month and the gossip was growing a trifle more pointed — small sharp points at regular in- tervals, like barbed wire. Folk were wondering what Carol did to hold Stan, they hadn't thought she was that sort, but you can't tell about these demure women. No doubt they appeared in public constantly to screen what was going on in private — folk had seen Stan coming out of a certain hotel, but the babe he was with got into the taxi so fast they couldn't Continued on page 48 17 ■tf&L i^Si. raised platform, like a stage, which was designed for grand entrances. Ken followed her glance and said, "You called the turn, Maude. God £ gift to women, at least. That s Stanley Breen." Carol, with her lashes flickering and her lips curving softly, echoed— "Stanley Breen?" and nobody knew that history was in the making. STANLEY BREEN! Six feet of carefully controlled muscle, a face full of expensive tan— featuring blue eyes and white teeth— wavy hair parted in the middle. He stood just inside the doorway on the plat- form, casting his eye from table to table, sorting out possibUities, and then he saw Ken Williams and yipped— "Hi, Ken!" and came strid- ing toward them. And suddenly all of the men in the Mulberry Room were smaller and less virile, and the Mulberry Room itself was smaller. Ken made the introductions. Maude first- she was the oldest- Carol next. "Meet Stan Breen, he said. "Just fresh out of the west— Lochinvar, Incorporated! Stan, these are radio people." "God love them," laughed Stan. He shook hands with Maude, bowed from the waist in Carol's direction, pulled out a chair without so much as a by-your-leave, and flung his splendid body into it. "The drinks," he said, "are on me." Ken objected. "Not a chance — this is my evening." He beckoned a waiter and ordered Scotch and soda — although it was demi tasse hour. But when the Scotch and soda ar- rived Stan grew critical and sent it back and mentioned a de luxe brand that came in a square bottle with a cut crystal stopper. Maude was nibbling bits of choco- late from Carol's pastry box. She started to ask questions— she always did. "You really look like a west- erner, Mr. Breen," she said. "What 1 mean is — you look authentic. Are you a cowboy? Is the rodeo in town?" Stanley Breen's face mirrored a sudden distaste and Ken Williams leaped into the gap. "This is the Stanley Breen," he told Maude. "The golden voiced announcer. He's on my show and we had to pay through the nose to get him. I told you all about the deal — didn't I, Carol?" Carol said— "Yes, Ken, you told me." Her voice had an odd breath- lessness about it. "Yes," she re- peated, "you told me — " and flushed scarlet, for Stan was leaning for- ward, studying her, feature by feature. Carol was worth studying — she was delicately fragile, she might have been formed of Venetian 16 glass and her hair was as heavy fTh^ sort of satin that stands a one and her eyebrows were like wings. "I'm glad," said Stan, his scrutmy over 'fhat Ken's broken-theice^ But why didn't he tell_me something about you. Miss Hale?" Ken made what might, or might not, have been an apology. I spend so ^uch time thinking about Carol he said, "that I find it hard to do much talking about her. It was Maude who threw in— "Carol's an actress." "Oh, an actress," nodded Stan. His tone was faintly amused. He might have said, "another actress. Carol explained hastily and there was no doubt about it— she tuas apologizing. "I'm extremely umm- portant," she said. "I just manage- to get by." . "That's as it should be, said btan, dismissing Carol's career casually. "Success spoils a woman . . . Look, my new car's outside." Maude gurgled-"WeU, I live over in New Jersey and I'll be going home pretty soon, if you want to give the car a tryout — " but Stan ignored her. He said, '"Where do you live. Miss Hale?" Carol told him, "Just around the corner. Within walking distance." Stan said, "If we went for a run out Westchester way I could deliver you back on your doorstep in a couple of hours.. These spring eve- nings are slick. Miss Hale. ... A bit later there'll be a moon, and my new car's a convertible and the top's down." It was definitely rude. Ken Wil- liams was beyond doubt Carol's host — but he was not included in the invitation. He glanced swiftly at Stan and intercepted the glance that was passing between the an- nouncer and Carol. His jawline tightened a trifle as Carol said gently — "I'm so sorry, Mr. Breen, but I'm with Ken. We were going to the new movie across the street." "Ken has Miss — eh — Sanborn," said Stanley. "Don't be a dog in the manger. Ken. What can you do with two women?" Carol laughed and the breathless quality that had made her speaking voice sound tense, and almost ap- prehensive, was in her laughter. "You — you underestimate Ken," she said. Ken was a good sport — perhaps he was too good a sport. He laid his hand on Carol's arm and though there was no pressure to his fingers there was a sense of tenderness in the gesture. "That's all right. Toots," he said carefully. "You run along and enjoy yourself. Mooni pitchers are only moom pitchers, and you're looking a bit washed out this evening. Spring air and moonlight won't do you any harm." Maude started to say something but changed her mind. Carol started to say something but gulped down a rising inflection. And then, Uitj a sleepwalker, she was drifting from her chair and Stan was out of his and they were gravitating together — almost magnetically — and were leaving the Mulberry Room, arm in arm. And Maude and Ken were alone at a table that seemed as large as a skating rink. It was fully three minutes before Maude said — "Ken, you're a sap!" It was fully five minutes before Ken admitted, "I suppose I am." He nodded to the waiter and ordered a double Scotch. Just ordinary bar Scotch — the deuce with de luxe brands! * # # Beginning with the night in the Mulberry Room Carol Hale was seen everywhere with Stanley Breen. At Louis and Armand's, at the Mayan, in the Rainbow Grill — in all of the spots where radio folk foregather. When Ken asked her to go places she was childishly apologetic — often there were tears in her eyes — but it couldn't be helped, she had a date. So after the first week or two Ken stopped inviting her for cocktails and luncheon and dinner and the theatre, and he poked a certain little square box with a ring in it under the shirts in his middle bureau drawer, where he didn't have to see it. Only when he got down to the last shirt, before the laundry came back, was he conscious of the bump that it made. Of course, there was plenty ol When Carol fainted Ken had her in hi% arms so fasf he was sur- prised at himself, and he w<« kissing her when she came to- gossip, for Stan had brought his reputation along with him from the coast — he had a definite way with women. Females fell for him with a dull thud, and stayed down for a count of ten. Rumor said he could have his pick of Hollywood and the stage and certainly radio, and Maude Sanborn — who was hardly ever catty — muttered that he must employ a press agent to give him the buildup. But — in all fairness — Stanley Breen didn't need a press agent. His publicity department was in women's eyes — which lit up or looked wistful when he came into their line of vision. There was one big blonde girl, a White Russian or something, who sang ballads in a husky, rich voice. People said that Stan had to brush her off his door- step at least three times a week. Big blondes, redheads, brunette leading ladies — why did he prefer little Carol Hale who played bit parts and was too ethereal, some said, to be exciting? Perhaps Carol was a new type to Stan, perhaps it was a long while since he had known a girl who laughed so easily at his not very funny jokes, and cried so easily when he flung a wisp of sar- casm in her direction — perhaps he had never known a girl who blushed so easily! But perhaps he stuck to her through thick and thin because so many people around the studios went out of their way to tell him she was Ken Williams' property, and that Ken was all set to marry her. Some men are like that. A week, two weeks, three weeks. Stan's fan mail was colossal — his sponsor needed two stenographers to answer inquiries and write thank- yous. Because of the fan mail he got another job — a Sunday night show — on top of his regular day- time announcing, and people began to wonder how much income tax he'd pay when the time arrived. Ken Williams had called his voice a golden one and it was — ask any ac- count executive. Each intonation was worth so much in dollars and cents. A week, two weeks, three weeks, and then Carol Hale and Stanley Breen had been going around to- gether for a month and the gossip was growing a trifle more pointed — small sharp points at regular in- tervals, like barbed wire. Folk were wondering what Carol did to hold Stan, they hadn't thought she was that sort, but you can't tell about these demure women. No doubt they appeared in public constantly to screen what was going on in private — folk had seen Stan coming out of a certain hotel, but the babe he was with got into the taxi so fast they couldn't Continued on page 48 C^cicri)^ ON the morning of Monday, De- cember the eighth, 1941, it was as if we had all waked up into a different world. The way the wind blew in from the Golden Gate, the streets climbing up the steep hills, the graceful span of the Bay bridge, to Treasure Island and beyond . . . all these and many other things were not quite the same as they had been twenty-four hours before. Looking at them, you had the feeling that they knew, too, how the world had changed. People in other countries must have noticed this too. The idea of war is so big, so brutal, that it alters the color and shape even of familiar' things. It seemed rather futile and ridicu- lous to go down to the broadcasting studios, rehearse as usual for an hour, then broadcast the daily fifteen minutes of our serial. Once that radio serial had been so important! My own role on it — the part of Kitty Mervin — had been almost a second personality for me; sometimes I wasn't sure whether it was I, Linda Shain, walking down San Fran- cisco's streets, or Kitty Mervin. But today it was almost a relief when they told me at the studio the broad- cast had been cancelled because the President was going to speak to Congress. I listened to him, trying hard to believe all this was really happen- ing. I wished noon would come soon, so I could meet Tim as usual for lunch. I needed him today — needed him badly. All her will, all her resolves, were caught in the magic mesh of the moonlight. Why couldn't she seize this one instant of time? What did it matter that they would never he able to build a life together? Tim Lyon! I used to say his name over and over to myself. It meant so many things: six feet of muscular body, hands that were long-fingered and clean, etched across their backs with silky black hairs, an arrange- ment of wide mouth and straight nose and blue eyes and heavy black brows and hair that for some reason was better than that possessed by any other man I'd ever seen. And Tim Lyon meant more. He meant companionship, mixed with excitement — the companionship of hours spent talking at a restaurant table or walking along the beach near the Cliff House or dancing at cocktail time at the Top o' the Mark. The excitement of moments when our hands touched unexpectedly or our eyes exchanged a message too intimate for words. The excitement — sometimes — or a quarrel violent as a summer storm, as quickly and beautifully over. The excitement of being in love. We hadn't talked about being married yet. Somehow, it seemed like tempting fate, when we had known each other only one short month. But I knew, and Tim knew, we would not wait long. Every day it was harder to live apart, meeting only at noon, in the evenings, in whatever odd hours Tim could spare from his three sponsored news broadcasts a day and from the con- stant attendance on the clicking teletypes which brought him the material for them. Not that he was merely a broad- caster of the news. , He interpreted it as well. Somehow, when you lis- tened to Tim Lyon, you came away from the radio knowing a little more of the why of the day's events than you had before. For instance, from the very first he had been telling people to distrust the Japanese peace mission: so much that he had been accused of war-mongering. War- mongering! If people had only be- lieved him! But there was certainly nothing triumphant, nothing of "I told you so," in his manner when he met me a little after noon in the Tavern, where we always lunched. He looked tired and dispirited. I wondered if he had been up most of the night. We'd planned to meet the day be- fore, but the news of the Pearl Har- bor bombing had come through, and Tim had been needed at the studio. "Hello, darling," he said in the deep, soft voice that, as much as his ability to interpret the news, made him so valuable to his sponsors. "Sorry I'm late — I almost didn't nnanage to get away at all." -That's all right." He folded his long body into the side of the booth opposite me and frowned up at the loudspeaker perched above us, near the ceiling. It was afternoon in Washington, and the vote on war was being taken. •'I wish they'd turn that thing off," he said irritably. "There ought to be some place you could get away from it." Frowning, he picked up the menu. "What're you going to eat?" "I don't know. I'm not very hungry." I'd never seen him like this — out of sorts, moody. But I couldn't blame him. Events were enough to make anyone feel blue. RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRKOR f I 'Good bye, Linda," he whispered. Far away, over the moonlit city, the All Clear signal sounded. "Neither am I." The waitress came up and he or. Read this vivid novel, adapted by Norton Russell, then listen to The Story of Mary Marlin on the air — written by Jane Crusinberry and heard daily on NBC-Red and CBS, sponsored by Ivory Snow. Photographs posed by Anne Sey- mour as Mary, Robert Griffin as Joe, and Carleton Briclcert as David Post. "I'd never seen her in my life un- til she walked in and congratulated me on the case — that is, I'd never talked to her. I'd noticed her in the courtroom every day." Yes, Mary agreed. Eve Underwood was the sort of woman whom the eye would single out in the most crowded room. "She's the Mrs. Underwood," Joe went on. "You know — her father was a Senator, and she's lived politics ever since she was old enough to talk. She's tremendously influential in Washington. And, just from hearing me in court, she wants to help me politically. She — " Joe smiled broadly, delightedly, like a boy revealing a wonderful secret — "she wants me to go back to Cedar Springs and run for Sen- ator from Iowa!" "And you're going to do it? Joe — I'm so glad!" He nodded, and Mary went on, "Do you remember how we used to plan a political career for you?" "Don't think I've forgotten! 'When the time is right,' we used to say." His eyes lost their eager light. She saw his thoughts traveling backward, visiting sdl those lost, misguided months. "Don't, Joe," she said. "Don't think about it. The time is right, now. David says you simply can't know how famous this case has made you back home." "Back home ..." he murmured, and then, almost to himself, "If I could be sure it's done as much for me with you — " It was almost an open plea for her forgiveness — and yet, unex- pectedly, she found herself unable to answer it. Not doubt of her own love for Joe, but a lingering doubt of his for her, kept her silent. They parted, like friends, in the lobby of Henriette's apartment house. The next few days offered no op- portunity for another talk with Joe. He and David and Jonathan left for Cedar Springs, and as soon as she could, Mary followed them. Then there was the activity of re-open- ing the house on Main Street, with Annie's help, and the inevitable re- adjustment, after New York, of growing accustomed to quiet streets and to buildings which hugged the earth instead of aspiring toward the sky. Except for the fact that Joe was living in an apartment with Jona- than, instead of in the Main Street house with her, it was almost as it had been before that dreadful night when Mary learned of his infi- delity. Soon, she felt, he would return to her. . . . Until the afternoon, a few days after her return to Cedar Springs, when she went to Joe's office and, waiting in the Continued on page 61 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR fj\ c^Srv^ cLjwia.eA)^ saw suspicion m nis eyes thought — can you love someone in one breath and hate him the next? If only he could read a mother's heart! "You've jusf got io find him, Mr. Keen," Derek was saying. I HAD known anguish of spirit. I had known the almost physical pain of being torn between two human beings, of having my heart divided as if a knife had sliced it through. Yet I had gone on, pre- tending that the hurt was not there. What else could a wonian do who deeply loved her husband and at the same time feared and resented him? Could you love someone in one breath and — and almost hate him, in the next? Yet I could — and I did. For Arnold, my husband, who had brought me such ecstasy, had put heartbreak into my life. Copyright 1942, Frank and Anne Jiummert Now I could no longer pretend. For it wasn't only myself, it was Derek too, our twelve-year-old son, who had been drawn into the' dan- gerous whirlpool of our emotional unhappiness. As I sat listening to Derek bare his heart to a stranger, his voice shrill with intensity, I wondered that Arnold and I had gone on so long with such a gulf between us. Derek and I were sitting in an office high above the busy city street. It was a bright office, rest- ful and inviting of confidences, with softly-colored drapes at the win- dows and quiet pictures on the wall. It reflected the personality of the owner who sat quietly listening, his eyes, curious, friendly, first on Derek, then on me. "You've got to find him, Mr. Keen," Derek was saying. "They told me you can find anybody who is lost and you've just got to find Lance." "Just when did your friend. Lance McCrae, disappear?" Mr. Keen asked. "Six weeks ago, just before my birthday. And I know something bad happened to him because he — A RADIO DRAMA OF MR. KEEN, TRACER OF LOST PERSONS There was in Arnold a hard and un- yielding quality, I could sense /'/ even though I'd never had to test if. well, he promised to give . me a special present and Lance wouldn't break a promise. Not to anybody. We were pals. See, he was the only grown up man I ever knew very well because my father — well, my father's kind of busy all the time." Derek's words trailed off and I fought back the tears that welled up under my eyelids. Derek was describing his friend now — as if I didn't know as well as my son ex- actly how he looked, how tall he was, and thin — a nice kind of thin- ness. How he had been a sailor until he'd been injured and had come to live in the tiny cottage in the woods near our home. He had brown hair and sparkling gray eyes as clear as the wide ocean water he'd sailed. He fished and grew flowers in wild abundance and seemed to know even more about the woods than Derek's Scout Master. "Lance was just tops," Derek said. There was silence in the quiet office. Then the kind soothing voice of Mr. Keen was saying, "I think we'll find Lance safe and sound somewhere and with a good rea- son for having to leave without telling you goodbye. Now sup- pose you go out in the waiting room while your mother and I talk about this a little more." 30 Involuntarily, I braced myself as Derek got up, his little figure straight and taut. I could see him struggling to hold back the tears. Man-like, he thrust out a small, brown hand and Mr. Keen shook it gravely. Then Derek turned and marched out. Through a mist that was filming my eyes, I could see Mr. Keen toy with a paper knife on his desk. Then he looked straight at me. "There's more to this than your son knows or guesses, isn't there, Mrs. Ford?" he asked. "Yes, a great deal more." I kept the words steady. "Does your husband know you've come to me?" "Oh no." I answered so quickly that my fright must have been obvious. "It was just that — that I knew Arnold and you were ac- quainted and — " My words trailed off into another embarrassed silence. "I think perhaps," Mr. Keen said, so quietly that I was able to look up into his face, "you should begin at the beginning and tell me the whole thing. It might not only help find Lance for Derek, but it might help you and Arnold too." Would it? Would anything help? Yet if I weren't still hoping, why had I come to this famous tracer of lost persons? I had heard from Arnold how Mr. Keen had located missing people from all over the earth and now I was asking him to bring back Lance. But did I want Lance to come back? Suddenly I was telling Mr. Keen the whole story — the thing I had never told a living soul. . . . I had been in love with Arnold Ford when I married him, a quiet, friendly, happy love that had soon deepened and flowered into a pas- sionate fondness for him. He had been almost pitifully grateful at first for my liking of him and then, when he realized that it was more than liking, he became an ardent suitor I found irresistible. Ours had been such a perfect marriage. Arnold and I loved the same things — the Revolutionary farm- house in Connecticut where we lived, our circle of friends, the tiny town where everyone shared civic Listen to Mr. Keen, Tracer of Lost Persons, in thrilling dramas, heard Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday nights at 7:15, E.S.T., on NBC-Blue^ sponsored by Kolynos Toothpaste. duties so that it seemed more like a large family than a town. Arnold was a fine man. He had great strength of character and it was known to all who dealt with him that Arnold Ford's word was as good as his bond. But there was in his dependability a hard, un- yielding quality that seldom came to the surface but which I could sense even though I had never had to test it. It came, I knew, from his child- hood. His mother died at birth and Arnold grew up with a father who turned to liquor to forget the loss of the wife he adored. The little boy was shunted from relative to relative for his father would dis- appear for days at a time. Finally, one night he didn't come back. A motorist driving home late found his body by the roadside. How Arnold weathered such an upbringing to become the man he did I shall never know. But he grew up hon- est and decent, he managed to get a good education for himself, and after college he went into the con- struction business where he was very successful. It was soon after the death of Arnold's great aunt with whom he lived that I met him. I was twenty-three and I had come to the construction company that same year as a secretary. From the first something in the well built, rugged man who headed the com- pany attracted me. There was a sadness in his strength that was very appealing. It was as if he had missed all the laughter and gayety of life. Once, I remember, on a rainy day a group of the secre- taries and clerks had lunch together in the office — sandwiches and soft drinks sent up from the drugstore. We were a gay group, and a noisy one. Suddenly I was aware of Mr. Ford watching from the doorway, a look of such ineffable loneliness on his face that my heart was touched. On a foolish impulse, I asked him to join us. He refused, of course, but with a startlingly sweet smile. And he never forgot it. He told me afterwards it was the first time in years anybody had seen him as a man instead of an efficient boss. After that, he singled me out. Soon he began taking me to dinner, and I discovered, as his reserve broke down, that we had many things in common. Three months after our first date he asked me to marry him. And I said "Yes" with all the awakened burgeoning of a woman's love, bringing him the full cup of trust and respect and devotion. They were wonderful, the first RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR years of our marriage, highly- charged with romance that seemed to grow and increase as Arnold found himself, rather than flaming high and dying quickly out as so many other marriages do. I knew that except for business I filled hi^ life. Sometimes I noticed a rigidness in him on certain ques- tions, but I came to depend on this strength to curb my own over- impulsiveness, my prodigality of emotion. When we learned we were to have a child, my cup seemed to overflow. A baby of our own, to shower love on, to welcome as a tangible out- growth of our feeling for each other! We made so many plans for it. "It must be brought up strong and brave," Arnold would say. And I agreed. I thought Arnold was right — because then I could not dream of how we would come to see with such different eyes. Maybe if Derek had gone into childhood healthy and strong we would never have known our heart- break. But the small, warm bundle that was placed in my arms was to know months of sickness when it seemed that not even all the love and pride and joy I lavished on him would bring him through. With a mother's fierce instinct, I sensed that anything less than complete devotion would lose this son of ours and so I would allow no one else to care for Derek, even when it meant nightly vigils that lasted until dawn's cold gray warmed into the soft rose of the sunrise. I didn't realize at first what the strain and worry were doing to Arnold, but as Derek passed his first birthday and we could see the first real promise that he might soon be well and strong I could no longer overlook Arnold's attitude. It was as if the more I had shielded and protected and caressed Derek, the more Arnold had held himself back. And when he explained to me, falteringly, with an almost tragic expression, how he feared that the early need to nurse ,my son into health would become a habit with me and Derek would grow up to be the weakling Arnold's father was, I pitied Arnold and sympathized. But as Derek grew older and had passed forever the days of illness, it grew worse. For Arnold could not rid himself of his obsession. Playing with his son, I could see him reject his instinctive urge to be gentle, to shower on Derek all of a . father's love. He was fair to Derek in the matter of reward and punishment, but he never com- pletely gave of himself. At times he APRIL, 1942 His arms wenf around me and his lips came down to mine. They were urgent, seeking. For a moment I stood still, then gently I pushed him away. ai even seemed cold and unapproach- able, as if he feared any show of real emotion would make the child soft. At first I tried to talk to Arnold, to reason with him. But our talks turned to arguments, sometimes bit- ter discussions that did no good but only seemed to convince Arnold that he was right. "You'd make a mollycoddle of him, Janet," he said. Would I? It was a rather lonely life at best for Derek. He went to school in town and he had friends, good friends his own age to play with there. But his happy hours in school only served to sharpen the contrast with those hours when his father was home. He was missing entirely that fine thing that can grow between father and son. It was a small thing, but very real, that showed me so clearly how it stood with Arnold and Derek. We had gone shopping and I sent Arnold and Derek on ahead to another store while I finished my grocery list. I watched after them as they went off down the street. Derek reached up instinctively to take his father's hand, and Arnold — at what cost of inner struggle I'd never know — • refused the boy's hand because he thought Derek should be more self- reliant. So there strode Arnold with little Derek a few paces behind, struggling to keep up. That was when I felt my heart was divided by a knife. How I pitied Arnold and yet, in that moment, al- most hated him, too. What would become of Derek? Would he grow up warped and distorted in char- acter because of this frustration Ar- nold was building up in him? And what would become of me, with this hated grievance against the man who was my husband? How many anguished questions I asked myself that sleepless night after we had returned from the village! I asked myself even more, when I met Lance McCrae. T SAW Lance for the first time the day he brought Derek home, wet, muddy, and trying hard hot to be scared. Playing alone in the woods, he had fallen into a dangerously boggy piece of land and was strug- gling to extricate himself when Lance heard his cries and pulled him out. I quickly found the child wasn't really hurt, and over hot milk, in front of the fire, I had an oppor- tunity to thank his rescuer and get acquainted with him. From that first meeting, there was something exciting about Lance Mc- Crae. He was about thirty, I reck- oned, tall, sinewy, with deeply shadowed gray eyes and a face marked by thinly etched lines as if, in spite of his youth, he had known suffering or pain. There was an air of mystery and adventure about him, as if those eyes which looked so di- rectly into yours masked something behind them. Perhaps it was the unconventional life he led. With the small indemnity for his injured leg, he had built a shack in the woods by his own labor. There, alone except for some books, his gun, and his fishing rods, he lived like a hermit — fulfilling his simple needs by his own efforts and apparently needing nothing of the world to complete his happiness. He told tales of the sea and the far places he had seen as a sailor, as we sat there, and I found myself as en- thralled as my young son. Derek was already gazing at him with the adoring eyes of hero-wor- ship when he left, and when he asked the boy to come hunting with him the next day, Derek's joy knew no bounds. From then on, things were dif- ferent. Those two spent hours to- gether tramping the woods, fishing, talking. On rainy days they put- tered in our basement, building things, or talking. Lance was good for Derek. He persuaded him to join the Boy Scouts. He worked to get him to curb the uncontrollable fits of temper that I had seen growing and was unable to cope with myself. But more than anything, he offered companionship and friendship to a lonely and bewildered little boy. As I watched them together, 1 had strange thoughts. "What a fine father Lance would make. If only Arnold were like that!" Tliose were the thoughts I had. He spent more and more afternoons at our house, and I found myself awaiting his visits almost as eagerly as Derek. It was as if the sense of mystery and adventure brought a touch • of ro- mance into my own rather staid life, and brightened it. Arnold, of course, did not approve of him. He met Lance on a few oc- casions when he came home from the office early, and he was no more than formally polite to him. "I can't understand why you al- low Derek to spend so much time with that .wastrel," he said to me one night. "The man is no more than an itinerant loafer, living out there in the woods as he does." "He's far, far more than that!" I cried heatedly. "He lives that way because he has no money. But he owes nobody anything. And he's good for Derek. Look at the way the boy has changed in the few months he's known him!" "Yes, he's changed until all he can think of is Lance McCrae. It's 'Lance this' and 'Lance that' from morning until night, till I'm sick of the fellow's name. What do you know about him anyway? Nothing! He might be a thief, a gangster — anything. I don't like it, Janet!" My resentment burst its bonds. Was Arnold to ruin this, too, this one thing that had enriched my child's life? "You don't like it be- cause you've never made any effort to understand Derek, and Lance has. / know enough about him. I know he's fine and decent and honorable. I know it just by look- ing at him, by being with him!" Arnold glanced at me strangely. When he spoke again, his voice held a new note. "Aren't you defending him rather strenuously, Janet? The man certainly means nothing to you, does he?" I flushed. I was suddenly aware of the vagrant feelings I myself had for Lance, and that awareness made me, somehow, guilty. "I — I don't know what you mean. I have no more interest in Lance than as a good friend for our son." But the words sounded lame. Arnold's face closed tight, and I could not tell what he was thinking. But after that I noticed that he sometimes came home earlier than usual, once even in the middle of an afternoon he knew that Lance would be there, on the excuse he had for- gotten some important papers. He seemed to watch me, too — covertly, as if he Continued on page 66 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR "We're going to he married,'' he said. But Betty Winkler looked at the young man with his arms full of roses and shook her head. This was no time for a wedding! '' THE MM cJ Jilairvied Beffy Winkler is the star of The Man I Married, on CBS — the man she married in real life is Robert Jennings, handsome radio executive. ROM where the young actress stood, in' an NBC office high in the Merchandise Mart, she could see the winding, muddy Chicago river. She could see the lake front and a wind- swept Michigan Boulevard, which seemed to stretch endlessly. Behind her, pacing up and down in the office, a radio director was talking about a new show. The girl's eyes, which were a deep, warm brown in a lovely, oval face, turned away from the window and she looked at the director and tried to concentrate on what he was saying. But she kept thinking about the city. I've been here a long time, she thought, it's a nice city, but maybe I've been here too long. Maybe I ought to try it someplace else. She knew where she wanted to go. New York. All her life she had wanted to go to New York. APBIL, 1942 "Listen, Betty," the radio director was saying, "I know you can do the part. I don't think any actress in town could do it better, but," he paused, "well, this fellow Jennings, he's very particular and I want you to do a good job for him." "Jennings?" Betty Winkler said, listlessly. "Oh, yes, Jennings. What is he like?" "He's a vice-president at the Kastor Agency," the director said. "Quite important. He knows radio acting and he knows what he wants." "I see," Betty said, half listening. "Well, I'll do my best." The next day, while dressing to go in for the audition, she wondered about Jennings. He's probably, she By Jack Sher thought, a round, funny, fussy lit- tle man. She pictured him with a cigar in his mouth, which tilted out over a fat tummy and she saw a vest, covered with ashes. That's probably Jennings, she thought. I'd like to get on his show, but I'd rather go to New York. The show the Kastor Agency was auditioning was "The Golden Thea- ter." Bert Lytell had flown in from New York to play the male lead. There were fourteen other actresses also trying for the part. Betty went into the studio. There were, as al- ways, several men in the control room waiting to listen to the audi- tion. Betty read. When it was over, she wasn't quite sure how she had been. She put on her coat an J started for the door. "You did that part beautifully. Miss Continued on page 46 33 ^ > 4 ' «] • - \ i ' " ' \v^ ^ v«' 4 - 1 ;4. . JV-, L I ^ /< •r- < '/ 0 4 A beautiful melody, sung by a handsome tenor on his own pro- gram— Hear this lilting new hit featured by Lanny Ross on his night time CBS musical broadcasts Words by ED LANE Lanny is sponsored by Franco-American Products. Based on the theme frovi Boris Godounov t^-A^^^^t .X-,^-, BEN SELVIN O Copyright 1941, Associated Music Publishers, Inc. lUi. Bty gbdim E '' Bb<*«n> Qbr Gmi b'V ^''7 E ^ G7 3-. Mh^M m ^ ^ g D m mr If r r^^ p p s i E-tcr-nal -ly cling-»^ing i ^ ^ & fcM r f- in cv- ' ry kiss wc share -1 JJ J ^ i ^ a thous-and J J J- ^ ^ Fmi z C7 F mi C+ A^ ffl ftt? ^^_P Mm P You grow more LOVE - LY En-chant-ing-ly LOVE - LY S The more that you love me ^ s ^ a J M P i Hi r A dim f ■« — b''7 i ^ "r :;?& the more I love — • • ' — ol te 3s: ;::: Bb9*5 r 79- v:/ ^ HE T?y ^ ^^ you You re you m ^nvr? ^^ ^ APHIL, 1942 r !;;? ^ J ,>:- ♦^ ]^ W -4^ f . ^^ <^ iS^-y ^ rfiS V » u "^^'^ A -^ I * ^ f,*K 0 V S^ ?^ ^ ^ THE dOOKIM CORKER UU: For a delicious, economical meal, prepared in a ]iffi, fry serving piping hot Philadelphia scrapple discs with Brussels sprouts and whipped potatoes as shown above. 1KNOW that you have read many articles during these tense war- filled weeks about the enormous responsibilities that rest on the shoulders of women, and I'm pretty sure that many of them have em- phasized the fact that one of the major responsibilities of every homemaker is to be more alert than ever before to provide nour- ishing meals for the members of her household. I'm proud and happy to know that here in Radio Mirror's Cooking Corner we have been helping you to do that in the past — your letters assure me that we have done so — and this month I want to continue that important work by telling you of new food products which will result in bet- ter and more varied — and more economical, too — meals for your family. We might call them replacement foods, for one of them, margarine, can be used in place of butter and two are meat products to be served instead of the expensive meat items which are always the heaviest loads our budgets have to carry. Now don't, please, get the idea that these are substitute foods, recom- mended for use in the event of a food shortage. There isn't any real food shortage, you know, and there isn't going to be one as long as we all keep our heads and don't 36 let ourselves be influenced by hysteria-born suggestions that we start hoarding. I'm telling you about these replacement foods for one reason only and that is that they are . news — important news — from a nutritional and an econom- ical standpoint. Margarine itself isn't new, of course; it has been a standard commodity for years. What is new about this valuable vegetable pro- duct is that it has been further enriched by the addition of Vitamin A (that's the vitamin essential for healthy skin and for good vision, you remember) and that the sav- ing between butter and margarine, at current prices, is about sixteen cents a pound — which is certainly' worth thinking about very seriously. I like it especially for dessert and vegetable cookery and seasoning and once you have tried this month's margarine recipes I am sure you will agree with me that they can't be excelled. Vegetable and Shrimp Casserole 1 onion 1 green pepper 4 tbls. margarine 1 can .shrimp 1 can tomatoes 1 can peas Salt and pepper to taste Slice onion and green pepper and sautee in margarine until tender o/ue but not brown. Combine with other ingredients and turn into casserole. Pour on one cup of liquid from peas and tomatoes (if there is any left be sure to save it for soup or gravy) and bake in moderate oven (375 degrees F.) 25 minutes. And here is an idea: Make this the basis of an oven dinner by serving with it tangerine and sweet potato cas- serole with chocolate gingerbread for dessert, using lettuce or cabbage for salad. Tangerine and Sweet Potato Casserole 4 sweet p)otatoes V4 cup margarine V2 cup sugar V4 cup water 2 tangerines Salt and pepper to taste Boil potatoes with their jackets on (20 minutes), peel, slice and arrange in shallow baking dish (this is better if there is only one layer of potatoes). Heat margarine, sugar and water together until sugar is dissolved and pour over potatoes, with salt and pepper to taste. Bake at 375 degrees F. for 20 min- utes, basting occasionally with syrup. Place tangerine sections on potatoes, baste with syrup and cook for 5 minutes more. ASK YOUR GROCER ABOUT- Cream of potato and black bean soup — recent and delightful additions to a famous soup line. Canned small white onions — no tears, no trouble; just heat and serve. Dried onion, parsley and celery leaves — keep them on hand for last minute sea- soning when there isn't time to prepare fresh ingredients. Small containers of dried or powdered herbs or spices — basil is tops with any tomato dish, savory for egg dishes. Sprinkle your roasts lightly with herbs be- fore putting them into the oven — sage for pork, rosemary for beef, marjoram for lamb. And I like a faint dusting of mace on cauliflower. Condensed pea soup and condensed beef consomme. They're not new, but heating them together is flavor news. In- cidentally, try this combination plus cooked onions and cooked leftover meat 0 super-delicious, hurry-up stew. RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR imtk repixLcefnenX jcrcnxb Chocolate Gingerbread 1 egg 1 cup New Orleans type molasses V4 cup melted margarine 2 cups flour 2 tsps. ginger % tsp. salt Vz cup chocolate bits % tsp. soda V2 cup hot water Beat egg, stir in molasses and melted margarine. Add flour, ginger and salt and beat hard for 3 min- utes. Fold in chocolate bits. Dissolve soda in hot water and beat in quickly. Bake in loaf pan at 375 degrees F. 25 to 30 minutes. This makes a soft gingerbread and is best served hot, either plain or with whipped cream or chocolate sauce. IV OW for our meat replacements. First, there's scrapple, that tasty blend of pork, cornmeal and spices for which Philadelphia was famous even before the days of Betsy Ross and the Liberty Bell. Now it comes in cans, so that you can have on hand at all times the makings of a fine substantial meal. To serve it as illustrated here, cut it into slices, roll in flour or cornmeal and brown on both sides. Serve with mashed potatoes — beaten un- til white and fluffy with margarine — and Brussels sprouts. Our other meat dish is chip Something new and good, too.. It's tangerine and sweet potato casser- ole. It goes well with the vegetable and shrimp casserole and both can be baked in the oven at the same time. steak, paper . thin slices of choice beef pressed together and frozen, as delicious as it is economical. These chip, steaks take only a mo- ment to cook — simply brown them in sufficient margarine to prevent sticking, first on one side then the other. My favorite way of serving them is with French fried potatoes and sliced or savory tomatoes. Savory Tomatoes 1 can tomatoes (whole or pulp) 1 onion, chopped 1 tbl. minced green pepper 1 tbl. minced celery leaves 1 tbl. minced parsley 2 tbls. margarine 1 tsp. dried basil 1 tsp. Worcestershire sauce Salt and pepper to taste Sautee onion, pepper, celery leaves and parsley in margarine until onion is tender. Add remain- ing ingredients and serve piping hot. When the budget's low and it's steak you're craving, ask your butcher for chip steaks. They are more economi- cal and take only a moment to cook just fry in margarine Radio Mirror's Food Counselor Listen fo Kate Smith's daily fa/ks at noon and her Friday night sfiow, both on CBS, sponsored by Genera/ Foods. You' 1 1 be on the alert if you know the recipe for this vegetable-shri m p casserole (left). A cabbagesalad and a chocolate ginger- bread for dessert complete the meal. (rmxvw & How blind she had been! She had thought she was saving their marriage — but instead she had been robbing them both of their chance for happiness THE STORY \S7HEN Jim Jackson fell from a scaflfold and injured his spine so severely he was unable to walk — perhaps for the rest of his life — it was Martha, his wife, who shoul- dered the task of supporting him, their daughter Lucy, and their adopted son Tommy. But Martha soon learned that money was not her greatest problem. It was easier to make both ends meet than it was to sustain Jim's belief in him- self, his self-respect. All her love for him could not make up for the crushing sense of dissatisfaction and frustration which his helplessness brought to him. Martha tried many ways of help- ing Jim to help himself. Perhaps the most successful was persuading him to submit plans and a bid for a new airplane plant to be built in Farmington — for Jim won the contract. On top of this piece of good fortune came the news that Martha's uncle had died and left her a fortune. In order to collect the inheritance she was forced to leave Farmington and go East, and during her absence Jim, carried Read it as a thrilling story, fictionized by Madeline Thonnpson, then listen to Woman of Courage daily at 10:45 A.M., E.S.T., over CBS, sponsored by Octagon Soap in the East, Crystal White in the West. Photo posed by Esther Ralston as Martha, Albert Hecht as Jinn. 38 away by the prospect of sudden wealth, invested the five thousand dollars Martha had left with him in real estate, believing that he was cleverly acquiring the site for an- other defense plant. But he had been swindled, and when Martha returned with the news that her in- heritance was much smaller than it had appeared at first, the swindle came to light. All Martha could sal- vage from it was an old, run-down farm, nearly worthless. Martha could have forgiven Jim — but he could not forgive himself. Once again he had proved the weaker of the two. She realized that he almost hated her for his own weakness and foolishness. And Martha wondered if it were too severe a test of any woman's courage. WITH a little shudder of dis- taste, Martha closed the creaking, warped door of the farmhouse. Its every wall and win- dow and door practically cried out of years of neglect and slovenliness. Martha cleared her lungs of the unpleasant, musty smell of the house with deep gulps of the fresh, bright, autumn air. The sun was warm on her un- covered head and, as she walked around the corner of the house, she begap to lose some of that strangely uneasy, lonely feeling that going through the empty, dirty rooms had aroused in her. Somehow, Martha still could not feel any sense of possession about this place. It was theirs, of course. They had the deed to it, all signed and legal. She had seen to it that William Moore straightened out all legal details before he went back East to Old Port. It occurred to Mar- tha, suddenly, as she stumbled across the rutted barnyard, that it was be- cause the whole thing had been her idea that Jim had refused to come out there with her this morning. She recalled very clearly what Jim had said when she told him that she'd forced Wilkins to hand over Jim's note for twenty thou- sand dollars and the deed to the farm by threatening to expose his part in the swindle. Until she had cornered him, the farmer had been able to hoodwink people into think- ing that he, too, had been taken in by Albert Silvers' smooth talk about the defense factory that was going to be built on his land. Faced with the certain evidence Martha had found against him, however, Wilkins was only too willing to agree that the five thousand dol- lars Jim had paid him in cash was more than the farm was worth and that the farm rightfully belonged to Jim, now. "Well," Jim had said sourly. "I'd never have thought of that. I'd just have let it go as a costly mistake. I'm afraid I'm not much good as a businessman." "Nonsense," Martha had said. "You're just worrying about too many other things." Jim had glanced at her sharply and then looked away quickly. Mar- tha knew that he understood what she was talking about, but she knew, too, that he wasn't going to bring it out in the open. It was that old distrust and fear of his, which al- ways sprang into life whenever ' Martha had occasion to spend any time with other men, normally healthy men, whether on business or in a friendly way. Martha had spent many sleepless nights trying to find a way to com- bat this fear of Jim's. He had slipped back into that old habit of shut- ting himself away from everyone, most of all from her. Martha looked forward with dread to the rapidly approaching day when the airplane factory would be built and Jim would be left without even his work. High trellises, heavily overgrown with grapevines, on which the ripe RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR Now fhey were close together again, happy in the warm, com- fortable kitchen, making plans. fruit attracted clouds of buzzing, tiny flies, marked the path to the orchard. The orchard itself was full of tall weeds and Martha had to watch her steps to avoid the fallen apples and late pears that lay rotting underfoot. Martha decided that, if they kept the farm, they'd do some work on it next year. There was still some fruit clinging to the branches. Well, it need not all be wasted. She could make some apple butter and, maybe, preserve some of the pears in brandy. And, as she walked back up through the long grape arbor, she re- membered an old recipeof her grand- mother, a recipe for grape catsup. She thought, a little sadly, at least they could have some preserves for the winter. Maybe five thousand dollars was a lot to pay for a few jars of canned fruit, but it was bet- ter than not getting anything for their money. Martha started walking back toward Farmington, her head full of strange, nagging half thoughts. Seeing the farm had made her sad, somehow, and a little hope- less. She realized she was giving it too much importance, but still, it seemed to her to be a symbol, not only of Wilkins' stupidity and laziness, but of Jim's frustration, which drove him to grasp im- APiux, 1942 practically at any idea that sug- gested itself for building his ego. Without realizing it, Martha walked right past the big house where they now lived. This was another thing she couldn't get used to, this huge, white house Jim had bought for her and the buying of which had eaten so heavily into her inheritance. They'd been living in it a month, now, but Martha still found herself thinking of the house behind the grocery store as home. Now, she smiled at her absent- mindedness and retraced her steps. George Harrist)n's car was parked in front of the house and, going up the path, Martha could hear George's voice through an open window. He was saying something about driving out to get her. And then, a little girl's voice, high and eager, said, "Can I come, too. Uncle George?" George jumped to his feet as Martha entered the living room. "Martha," he said happily, "I'd like to introduce my brother-in-law and my little niece. They just got here from Hawaii." He pointed to a strange man, who had got to his feet, too. "This is Joseph Benedict. And this is his daughter, Susan." Joseph Benedict was tall and thin and his eyes had a sort of 39 burning sadness in them. The little girl was thin, too, and dark, with very large eyes. George bustled around them happily and said they were going to stay with him for a while and wasn't it wonderful that he was going to have a family, too. T^HEY talked and had some tea and gradually Martha found her- self watching Lillian. As they sat there in the living room, Lillian was changing in some strange way. All the petulance had disappeared from her face and her eyes and voice were soft, almost beautiful. At first, Martha thought it was little Susan. The little girl had snuggled close to Lillian, hunching her small hand in the woman's. Martha de- cided it couldn't be just that, though. It was obvious that Lillian liked the child, but it was equally clear that she was interested in Joseph Bene- dict. And the next few days proved that Martha was right. Lillian scarcely talked of anything but Joseph Benedict and his daughter. So, it was partly for Lillian's sake that Martha arranged a fruit pick- ing picnic out at the farm. She wanted to give Lillian a chance to get better acquainted with the Benedicts without making herself look too aggressive. The day was warm for that time of year and bright with sunlight. The orchard had come alive with the crowd of them in it. Martha stopped picking grapes, for a mo- ment, and let her eyes wander down the slope to where the others were working. Her eyes lingered fondly on Lucy and Johnny Long, for a brief time. Johnny's a fine boy, she thought. And she was glad that Lucy seemed to be getting over her unhappiness about Steve Holbert. Nearer to Martha, Lillian and Joseph Bene- dict and Susan and Tommy were picking apples and laughing a great deal. It seemed strange to hear Lil- lian laugh so lightly and gayly. And Martha knew she wasn't the only one who was surprised. She could see Cora, kneeling beside the lunch baskets, with her head in the air, listening and looking amazed. Martha smiled to herself. "Dreaming?" Martha jumped. George was standing beside her. "No," she said. "Just listening to Lillian." George listened a moment, too. He grinned. "You know," he con- fessed, "I'm really beginning to see her resemblance to you, Martha. I never suspected she could be soft — and — sort of gentle." "She's happy," Martha said. "I think — well, Susan loves her very much and love — being loved — al- 40 ways makes a difference." "Yes," George said. Martha looked past George to the end of the grape arbor, where Jim was picking grapes in a desultory fashion. If only, she thought, Jim could believe how much she loved him and it would really make a dilference to him. "He'll get over it," George said quietly, as though he had read her mind. "Think I'll go help him." Later, when they were loading the fruit on George's station wagon and Johnny's car, Martha decided that, all in all, it had been a suc- cessful day. Lillian and Joseph Benedict seemed to be getting along nicely. And Jim had brightened a good bit, too. '¥' ^'^;'' K 6 I jf«* '^ JT , Lovable Lorenzo Jones has brought you many hours of pleasure on the air . . . Next month meet him in a delight- fully warmand human novelette, complete in the May Radio Mirror The very next morning, early, Martha hunted up her old preserve recipes and set to work before the others were up. Hard work though it was, the canning was actually re- laxation and fun for her, and she worked at it, at intervals, all day. It was midnight before she had finished. The kitchen was steamy with the sweet, pungent smell of the cooking grapes. Martha lowered the flame under the jars she was sterilizing. Suddenly, the night quiet of the house was broken by the slamming of the front door and, a moment later, Lucy came ambling into the kitchen, her young face peevish and bored. Martha reprimanded her for making such noise. "I'm sorry, Mother," Lucy said. "It's that Johnny Long. He makes me so mad. He's such a stick in the mud." Inwardly, Martha felt the pinch of fear. So, Lucy had not forgotten Steve Holbert. She was still mak- ing comparisons in her mind. And Martha could see how Johnny Long, sincere and adoring though he was, would not come off too well in any such comparisons. Well, she thought, something would have to be done to perk Johnny up a bit. Lucy was poking around the stove, aimlessly. "Imagine," she laughed, "Johnny's asked me to go to the Homemakers Club Bazaar — and—" she giggled, "he acts as if it was really important." "Aren't you being a little snob- bish?" Martha asked wearily. "This isn't Old Port, you know." "Of course, I know," Lucy said. "Every minute of the day I know." There was something that sounded like tears in her voice. She turned away quickly and, just for some- thing to do, she stirred the grape catsup and took a taste of it from the tip of the spoon, "Gee," she said, "this is good stuff." "It's an old recipe of my grand- mother's," Martha said. Lucy took another taste. "Mother!" she exclaimed. "I have an idea. Why don't you enter some of this in the Homemakers Club contest?" "Oh, Lucy," Martha laughed. "You know I'm not interested in competitions." "Yes, but look," Lucy said. "All this stuff — it would take us years to eat it. But, if you got some pub- licity on it at the Bazaar, you could sell it at the store." "Well, now," Martha said, "that's really an idea." So, Martha entered her grape catsup, apple butter and brandied pears in the Homemakers Club con- test. And, not only did Lucy go to the Bazaar, but she was very excited about being there. Martha, too, felt some excitement, but not because of the contest. For her, it was good to get back into this kind of activity again. Since Jim's accident, she had not had much time for these friendly social affairs. The Bazaar was held in the High School gymnasium and the place had been cleverly transformed with sheafs of corn and sprays of autumn leaves and flowers. The tables were all attractive and the buffet supper looked inviting. Martha was en- joying herself immensely, talking to all her old friends, comparing recipes. Continued on page 72 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR lO-Tling^ fmam mAft^i^ottl^^ SUNDAY u S o iZ 5 < 8:15 8:30 8:30 8:30 8:30 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:30 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:30 11:00 11:00 11:00 11:30 11:30 12:00 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:30 12:30 1:00 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:30 2:00 2:00 2:30 2:30 2:30 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:05 3:30 3:30 3:30 3:30 9:15 4:00 4:00 8:30 4:15 4:30 4:30 4:30 5:00 5:00 5:00 8:00 8:00 5:30 5:45 5:55 6:00 6:00 9:00 6:00 9:15 8:15 6:30 6:45 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:30 :00 8:15 8:15 8:15 8:30 10:05 10:15 11:15 2:15 4:45 5:05 5:45 6:15 8:15 8:45 Eastern Time 8:00 CBS: News 8:00 Blue: News 8:00 NBC-Red: Organ Recital 8:30 Blue: Tone Pictures 9:00 CBS: The World Today 9:00 NBC: News from Europe 9:15 9:15 9:15 9:30 10:00 10:00 10:00 10:30 10:30 11:00 11:00 11:05 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 11:30 12:00 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:30 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:30 2:00 2:00 2:00 2:30 2:30 00 10:00 CBS:From the Organ Loft Blue: White Rabbit Line NBC-Red: Deep River Boys NBC-Red: Words and Music CBS: Church of the Air Blue: Musical Millwheel NBC-Red: Radio Pulpit CBS: Wings Over Jordan Blue: Southernaires CBS: News Blue: News CBS: Milestones of Music Blue: Al and Lee Reiser CBS: Invitation to Learning MBS: Radio Chapel Blue: Revue in Miniature NBC- Red: Music and Youth CBS; Syncopation Piece Blue: Foreign Policy Assn. NBC- Red: Sunday Down South Blue: I'm an American CBS: Salt Lake City Tabernacle Blue: Radio City Music Hall NBC-Red: Emma Otero CBS: Church of the Air NBC-Red: Upton Close MBS: George Fisher NBC-Red: Silver Strings CBS: What's New at the Zoo Blue: Josef Marais NBC-Red: The World is Yours CBS: Spirit of '42 Blue: Great Plays NBC-Red: Sammy Kaye CBS: Columbia Workshop NBC-Red: University of Chicago Round Table CBS: N. Y. Philharmonic Orch. Blue: Wake Up America NBC-Red: Bob Becker NBC-Red: H. V. Kaltenborn Blue: Tapestry Musicale NBC-Red: Listen America Blue: Sunday Vespers NBC-Red: Tony Wons CBS: Pause that Refreshes Blue: Behind the Mike NBC-Red: Plays for Americans CBS: The Family Hour Blue: Moylan Sisters NBC-Red: Metropolitan Auditions Blue; Olivio Santoro MBS: The Shadow Blue: Musical Steelmakers NBC-Red: Nichols. Family of Five CBS: William L. Shirer CBS: SILVER THEATER NBC-Red: Catholic Hour Blue: New Friends of Music CBS: Gene Autry MBS: Bulldog Drummond Blue: Pearson and Allen NBC-Red: The Great Gildersleeve Blue: Mrs. F. D. Roosevelt MBS: Voice of Prophecy Blue: News from Europe NBC-Red: Jack Benny CBS: Public Affairs MBS: Nobody's Children CBS: Screen Guild Theater Blue: Capt. Flagg and Sgt. Quirt NBC-Red: Fitch Bandwagon CBS: World News Blue: Blue Echoes NBC-Red: CHARLIE MCCARTHY CBS: Crime Doctor Blue: Inner Sanctum Mystery NBC-Red: ONE MAN'S FAMILY MBS: Gabriel Heatter CBS: Elmer Davis CBS: FRED ALLEN (Mar. 8) MBS: Old Fashioned Revival Blue: Walter Winchell NBC-Red: Manhattan Merry-Go- Round Blue: The Parker Family 9:30 Blue: Irene Rich 9:30 NBC-Red: American Album of Familiar Music 9:45 Blue: Dinah Shore 10:00 CBS: Take It or Leave It 10:00 Blue: Goodwill Hour 10:00 NBC-Red: Hour of Charm 10:30 CBS: They Live Forever 10:30 NBC-Red: Sherlock Holmes 11:00 , ^ I CBS: Headlines and Bylines 8:0010:00 ll:00lNBC: Dance Orchestra FROM COMIC TO QUIZZER . . . PHIL BAKER was one of the first comedians to use a "stooge" — a heck- ler in a stage box who kept interrupt- ing the funny man's act. When Phil en- tered radio the stooge came along as "Beetle", the cynical ghost who insisted that Phil was gypping the sponsors every time he stepped in front of a mike. But times change. Beetle's remarks don't seem so funny in 1942, and he has been discarded, while Phil himself steps into a new role — that of stooge to the con- testants who appear on Take It or Leave It, the CBS quiz show Sunday nights. In many ways, it's a much harder job than Phil used to have, because quiz shows are necessarily unrehearsed and all of the comedian's jokes must be thought up on the spur of the moment. It was a spur-of-the-moment joke which started Phil off on a comic career. Barely out of school, he got his first job as office- boy to Carl Laemmle, then a big movie executive. In his spare time Phil studied the piano and accordion and filled out his income with prizes won at theater ama- teur nights. One day he failed to answer his boss' buzzer because he was out get- ting a haircut. When he returned Laemmle furiously demanded to know where he'd been. Phil's explanation didn't satisfy him. "What right have you to get a haircut on company time?" he de- manded. Phil gulped and said, "Well, it grew on company time, didn't it?" All right — so you've heard that joke. But Phil says it was original with him at the moment. It was not appreciated by Laemmle, and that night Phil was out of a job and free to devote his entire time to the stage. After making the rounds of the local vaudeville houses he teamed up with an obscure violinist with a taste for cigars who was named Ben Bernie. They were getting along all right as a team when World War Number One came along, and for two years Phil shelved his stage ambitions to serve in the Navy. After the war he went on and up to become one of America's most famous comedians, first in musical comedies and revues and then on the air. But the last couple of years haven't been very lucky for him. He's seemed to have difficulty in finding just what he wanted to do. His program went off the air, and for a while he toured in "Idiot's Delight," the stage play. Then there was a musical show in which he invested a good deal of his own money, and which came to a disastrous and costly end. Phil's one of the most friendly and lik- able men in radio, and there are a lot of people who are wishing him all the luck in the world with his new quiz-master job. a. 1:30 8:45 8:30 10:15 10:30 1:00 12:45 12:00 8:15 8:15 11:00 11:15 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 4:15 11:00 12:30 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 11:45 11:45 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:45 12:45 2:00 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:30 2:45 5:45 3:15 3:30 7:30 3:45 3:45 8:00 8:00 8:15 4:15 7: 7: 7: 5:00 9:15 8:30 5:00 8:30 8:30 5:55 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:30 6:30 6:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:00 h i/i u 8:00 8:45 8:45 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:15 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:30 9:45 9:45 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:45 10:45 11:00 11:00 11:00 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:30 1:45 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:15 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:45 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:15 3:15 3:15 3:30 3:45 3:45 3:45 4:00 5:00 4:00 4:15 5:15 4:15 4:30 4:30 4:30 4:45 5:45 5:15 5:30 9:30 5:45 5:45 6:00 6:00 6:15 6:15 9:30 7:30 6:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:30 7:30 7:55 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30 8:30 8:30 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:00 MONDAY Eastern Time 8:30Blue: Texas Jim 00 Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB 15 CBS: School of the Air CBS: Stories America Loves NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh CBS: Hymns of All Churches NBC-Red: Bess Johnson CBS: Myrt and Marge Blue: Helen Hiett NBC-Red: Bachelor's Children CBS: Stepmother Blue: A House in the Country NBC-Red; Help Mate CBS: Woman of Courage NBC-Red; The Road of Life NBC-Red: Mary Marlin CBS; The Man I Married Blue: Alma Kitchell NBC-Red: Right to Happiness CBS: Bright Horizon NBC-Red; The Bartons CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories NBC-Red: David Harum CBS: KATE SMITH SPEAKS MBS: John B. 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Hill CBS; Hedda Hopper CBS: Frank Parker Blue: Lum and Abner CBS: The World Today Blue: Lowell Thomas NBC-Red: Paul Douglas CBS: Amos 'n' Andy NBC-Red: Fred Waring's Gang CBS: Lanny Ross Blue: Edward Tomlinson CBS: Blondie MBS: The Lone Ranger NBC-Red: Cavalcade of America CBS; Vox Pop MBS: Cal Tinney Blue: I Love a Mystery NBC-Red; The Telephone Hour CBS: GAY NINETIES Blue: True or False NBC-Red; Voice of Firestone CBS: Elmer Davis 00 CBS: LUX THEATER 00 MBS: Gabriel Heatter 00 NBCRcd: Doctor I. Q. 30 MBS; Spotlight Bands 30 Blue. For America We Sing 30 NBC-Red: That Brewster Boy 00 CBS: Freddy Martin OONIBS: Raymond Gram Swing 00 Blue: Merry-Go-Round 00|NBC-K«l: Contented Program AFBIL, 1942 41 TUESDAY 10:30 1:00 12:4S 10:45 8:00 8:00 12:00 8:15 11:15 2:30 9:15 8:45 8:45 10:30 11:30 10:30 11:30 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:30 12:45 12:45 2:00 2:30 2:30 2:45 5:45 4:00 5:00 4:00 4:30 4:30 4:30 4:45 5:45 3:45 5:45 8:00 9:00 8:00j 8:15i 4:15 4:151 4:30 6:00 8:30 5:00 10:00 8:30 9:30 5:30 5:30i 5:55| 9:00 6:00 e:00 9:30 6:301 6:30 6:30 6:30 6:00 6:00 6:00 Eastern Time Blue Texas Jim Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB CBS: School of the Air CBS: Stories America Loves NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh CBS: Hymns of all Churches NBC-Red: Bess Johnson CBS: Myrt and Marge Blue: Helen Hiett NBC-Red: Bachelor's Children CBS: Stepmother Blue: A House in the Country NBC-Red: Help Mate CBS: Woman of Courage NBC-Red: The Road of Life CBS: Mary Lee Taylor Blue: Alma Kitchell NBC-Red: Mary Marlln CBS: The Man I Married NBC-Red: Right to Happiness CBS: Bright Horizon Blue: Prescott Presents NBC-Red: The Bartons CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories NBC-Red: David Harum CBS: Kate Smith Speaks MBS: John B. 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NBC-Red: Stella Dallas CBS: News NBC-Red; Lorenzo Jones CBS: Mark Hawley MBS: Boake Carter NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown CBS: Mary Marlin Blue: Adventure Stories NBC-Red: When a Girl Marries CBS: The Goldbergs Blue: Secret City NBC-Red: Portia Faces Life CBS: The O'Neills Blue: Flying Patrol NBC-Red: We the Abbotts CBS: Scattergood Baines Blue: Tom Mix CBS: PAUL SULLIVAN Dorothy Kilgallen 5:30 5:30 5:30 5:45 5:45 6:30 6:30 6:45 6:45 6:45 9:00 10:00 9:00 10:00 9:00 10:00 9:30 10:30 CBS CBS Blue CBS Blue Bob Edge Lum and Abner The World Today Lowell Thoinas NBC-Red: Paul Douglas CBS: Amos 'n' Andy Blue: EASY ACES NBC-Red: Fred Waring's Gang C:BS: Lanny Ross Blue: Mr. Keen NBC-Rcd: European News BS: Helen Menken NBC-Rcd: Burns and Allen NBC-Rcd: H. V. Kaltenborn B.S: Are You a Missing Heir MBS: What's My Name Blue: Cugat Rhumba Revue MB( -Red: Johnny Presents CBS: Bob Burns Blue NB( Meet Your Navy -Kid: Horace Heidt CBS: Elmer Davis Wo, the People Gabriel Heatter Famous Jury Trials NB( Kill: Battle ol the Sexes Report to the Nation Spotlight Bands NBC SYMPHONY Rrd: McGee and Molly Glenn Miller Raymond Gram Swing Kcl: BOB HOPE Wherever You Are 9:30 10:30 N IK Kid : Rod Skelton 9:4sllO:45('BS: News of the World CHS: VI BS Blue CHS: MBS: Blue: NBC CBS: M BS: NB( lis SHE WANTED TO ACT IT isn't every actress who can turn from being the witty mistress of ceremonies on a quiz show like What's My Name to portraying Linda Emerson, the tender and womanly heroine of Help Mate, the NBC- Red serial, but Arlene Francis takes such changes of pace in her stride. Arlene is a radio veteran, and that means she's versatile. In addition, in spite of every obstacle, she has wanted to be an actress ever since she was a child — and that means she loves acting enough to do it well. Arlene's real name is Arline Francis Kazanjian. She dropped the Kazanjian because it's too hard to pronounce, and Arline got changed to Arlene when a proofreader made a mistake in her first radio listing. She adopted the new spell- ing for luck. That's characteristic of her. She got her start on the stage, before radio, by walking into the office of a pro- ducer she didn't even know, just because "his name sounded friendly to me." The dark-haired and vivacious Arlene is one of those actresses who had to per- suade her parents that the stage was a fit place for a young girl to be. They weren't easy to persuade, either. She was born in Boston, and sent to study at the convent of Mount St. Vincent and the fashionable Finch Finishing School. This didn't help cure her theatrical ambitions, because she enthusiastically took part in all the school amateur dramatics. Then her father, a painter and photographer, sent her on a trip to Europe — but she came back still determined to act. He got her a job managing a gift shop in New York. She was bored. She wanted to act instead. With a school friend, she opened a photo- graphic salon in New York, and this was a little more interesting, but not much. Her father finally gave up, and Arlene has been happily acting ever since. Acting is the one thing she does take seriously, though. She's always ready, as they say around the studios, "to make with the flip cracks," and keeps others on her programs laughing during rehearsals. One of her major disappointments is that no actress in New York has been in more unsuccessful Broadway plays than she has. Critics always give her performances good notices, but the plays close just the same. Once, only once, she says, she'd like to be in a hit. Another thing she'd like is to be in a play by William Saroyan. Like Arlene, he's Armenian, and she admires his work very much. Arlene is married to a motion picture executive, Neil Agnew, and they have an apartment in New York and a farm near Southbury, Connecticut. The estate covers 110 acres and is called Kettletown Farm because it was originally bought from the Indians for a kettle. On it Arlene and her husband raise dogs, cats, chickens, cows, pigs, and horses. But though Arlene loves the country she won't live there perma- nently. She wants to be in the city, where you get a chance to act. 1:30 8:45 8:30 10:15 1:15 10:30 1:00 8:00 12:00 8:15 11:00 8:30 11:15 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 4:15 11:00 12:30 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 11:45 11:45 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:15 2:00 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:30 2:45 5:45 3:15 3:30 3:45 3:45 8:00 9:00 4:00 8:15 4:15 4:15 7:30 5:00 9:15 8:00 8:30 8:30 8:30 5:55 6:00 6:00 9:00 6:30 9:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:15 7:30 7:45 H i/i u 8:00 2:30 8:45 8:45 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:15 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:30 9:45 9:45 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:30 10:45 10:45 11:00 11:00 11:00 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:30 1:45 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:00 2KI0 2:15 2:15 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:45 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:15 3:15 3:15 3:30 3:30 3:45 3:45 3:45 4:00 5:00 4:00 4:15 5:15 4:15 4:30 4:30 4:30 4:45 5:45 WEDNESDAY Eastern Time 8:30|Blue: Texas Jim 9:00 Blue: Breakfast Club 9:15 CBS: School of the Air 9:45 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:30 10:45 10:45 11:00 11:15 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 11:45 11:45 12: 12: 12:45 5:30 5:45 5:45 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:15 6:15 6:15 7:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:30 7:30 8 8 8 7:55 8 8:00 8:00 8:00 9 9 9 8:30 8:30 9 9 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:00 10 10 10 10 9:15 10 9:30 10 9:45 10 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:45 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:30 2:45 2:45 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:15 3:15 3:15 3:30 3:30 3:45 3:45 4:00 4:00 4:00 4:15 4:15 4:15 4:30 4:30 4:45 4:45 4:45 5:00 5:00 5:00 5:15 5:15 5:15 5:30 5:30 5:30 CBS: Stories America Loves NBC- Red: Edward MacHugh CBS: Betty Crocker NBC-Red: Bess Johnson CBS: Myrt and Marge Blue: Helen Hiett NBC-Red: Bachelor's Children CBS: Stepmother Blue: A House in the Country NBC-Red: Help Mate CBS: Woman of Courage NBC-Red: The Road of Life NBC-Red: Mary Marlin CBS: The Man I Married NBC-Red: Right to Happiness CBS: Bright Horizon Blue: Prescott Presents NBC-Red: The Bartons CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories NBC-Red: David Harum CBS: Kate Smith Speaks MBS: John B. Hughes' NBC-Red: Words and Music CBS: Big Sister CBS: Romance of Helen Trent Blue: Farm and Home Hour CBS: Our Gal Sunday CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful MBS: I'll Find My Way CBS: Woman in White MBS: Government Girl Blue: Ted Malone CBS: Vic and Sade MBS: Front Page Farrell CBS: Road of Life CBS: NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: Blue: NBC- CBS: Blue: NBC- CBS- Blue: NBC- CBS: Blue: NBC- Young Dr. Malone Red: Light of the World Girl Interne Red: The Mystery Man Fletcher Wiley Into the Light -Red: Valiant Lady Kate Hopkins In Care of Aggie Horn Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter David Harum Orphans of Divorce Red: Against the Storm News Honeymoon Hill Red: Ma Perkins Blue: John's Other Wife NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family Blue: Just Plain Bill NBC-Red: Vic and Sade CBS: Helping Hand Blue: Arthur Tracy NBC- Red: Backstage Wife CBS: Children Also Are People Blue: Club Matinee NBC-Red: Stella Dallas CBS: News NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones CBS: Mark Hawley MBS Boake Carter NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown CBS: Mary Marlin Blue: Adventure Stories NBC-Red: When a Girl Marries CBS: The Goldbergs Blue: Secret City NBC- Red: Portia Faces Life CBS: The O'Neills Blue: Flying Patrol NBC-Red: We the Abbotts 42 5:45 CBS: Scattergood Baines 5:45 Blue: Tom Mix 6:00 CBS: Edwin C. Hill 6:15 CBS: Hedda Hopper 6:30 CBS: Frank Parker :45 CBS: The World Today :45 Blue: Lowell Thomas :45 NBC-Red: Paul Douglas :00 CBS: Amos 'n' Andy :00 Blue: EASY ACES :00 NBC-Red: Fred Waring's Gang 15 CBS: Lanny Ross 15 Blue: Mr. Keen 15 NBC-Red: European News 30 MBS: The Lone Ranger 00 CBS: Meet Mr. Meek 00 MBS: Cal Tinney 00 Blue: Quiz Kids 00 NBC-Red: The Thin Man 30 CBS: Dr. Christian 30 Blue: Manhattan at Midnight 30 NBC-Red: Plantation Party 55 CBS: Elmer Davis :00 MBS: Gabriel Heatter :00 Blue: Basin Street Music :00 NBC-Red: Eddie Cantor :30 MBS: Spotlight Bands :30 NBC-Red: Mr. District Attorney :00 CBS: Glenn Miller :00 MBS: Raymond Gram Swing :00 Blue: American Melody Hour :00 NBC-Rcd: Kay Kyser :15 CBS: Great Moments in Music :30 Blue: Hillman and Clapper 1:45 CBS: News of the World RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR THURSDAY r" r" Eastern Time 8:30 Blue: Texas Jim 8:00 9:00 Blue: Breakfast Club 1:30 2:30 9:15 CBS: School of the Air 8:45 8:45 8:45 9:45 9:45 CBS: Stories America Loves NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh 8:30 10:15 9:00 9:00 9:00 10:00 10:00 10:00 CBS: Hymns of all Churches Blue: Musical Millwheel NBC-Red: Bess Johnson 1:15 10:30 9:15 9:15 9:15 10:15 10:15 10:15 CBS: Myrt and Marge Blue: Helen Hiett NBC-Red: Bachelor's Children 1:00 9:30 9:30 9:30 10:30 10:30 10:30 CBS: Stepmother Blue: A House in the Country NBC-Red: Help Mate 12:45 9:45 9:45 10:45 10:45 CBS: Woman of Courage NBC-Red: The Road of Life 10:45 8:00 10:00 10:00 11:00 11:00 CBS: Mary Lee Taylor NBC-Red: Mary Marlin 12:00 8:15 10:15 10:15 11:15 11:15 CBS: The Man 1 Married NBC-Red: Right to Happiness 11:00 10:30 10:30 10:30 11:30 11:30 11:30 CBS: Bright Horizon Blue: Prescott Presents NBC-Red: The Bartons 11:15 10:45 10:45 11:45 11:45 CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories NBC- Red: David Harum 9:00 9:00 9:00 11:00 11:00 11:00 12:00 12:00 12:00 CBS: Kate Smith Speaks MBS: John B. Hughes NBC-Red: Words and Music 9:15 11:15 12:15 CBS: Big Sister 9:30 9:30 11:30 11:30 12:30 12:30 CBS: Romance of Helen Trent Blue: Farm and Home Hour 9:45 11:45 12:45 CBS: Our Gal Sunday 10:00 10:00 12:00 12:00 1:00 1:00 CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful MBS: I'll Find My Way 10:15 10:15 10:15 10:15 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:15 1:15 1:15 1:15 1:15 CBS: Woman in White MBS: Government Girl Blue: Ted Malone NBC-Red: Pin Money Parly 10:30 10:30 12:30 12:30 1:30 1:30 CBS: Vic and Sade MBS: Front Page Farrell 12:45 1:45 CBS: Road of Life 4:15 11:00 1:00 1:00 2:00 2:00 CBS: Young Dr. Malone NBC-Red: Light of the World 12:30 11:15 1:15 1:15 2:15 2:15 CBS: Girl Interne NBC-Red: The Mystery Man 11:30 11:30 11:30 1:30 1:30 1:30 2:30 2:30 2:30 CBS: Fletcher Wiley Blue: Into the Light NBC-Red: Valiant Lady 11:45 11:45 11:45 1:45 1:45 1:45 2:45 2:45 2:45 CBS: Kate Hopkins Blue: In Care of Aggie Horn NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter 12:00 12:00 2:00 2:00 2:00 3:00 3:00 3:00 CBS: David Harum Blue: Orphans of Divorce NBC-Red: Against the Storm 12:15 12:15 12:15 2:15 2:15 2:15 3:15 3:15 3:15 CBS: News Blue: Honeymoon Hill NBC-Red: Ma Perkins 12:30 12:30 2:30 2:30 3:30 3:30 Blue: John's Other Wife NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family 12:45 12:45 2:45 2:45 3:45 3:45 Blue: Just Plain Bill NBC-Red: Vic and Sade 1:00 1:00 3:00 3:00 3:00 4:00 4:00 4:00 CBS: Helping Hand Blue: Club Matinee NBC-Red: Backstage Wife 1:15 1:15 3:15 3:15 4:15 4:15 CBS: Highways to Health NBC-Red: Stella Dallas 1:30 1:30 3:30 3:30 4:30 4:30 CBS: News NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones 1:45 1:45 1:45 3:45 3:45 3:45 4:45 4:45 4:45 CBS: Mark Hawley MBS: Boake Carter NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown 2:00 4:00 5:00 4:00 5:00 5:00 5:00 CBS: Mary Marlin Blue: Adventure Stories NBC-Red: When a Girl Marries 2:15 4:15 5:15 4:15 5:15 5:15 5:15 CBS: The Goldbergs Blue: Secret City NBC-Red: Portia Faces Life 2:30 2:30 2:30 4:30 4:30 4:30 5:30 5:30 5:30 CBS: The O'Neills Blue: Flying Patrol NBC-Red: We the Abbotts 2:45 5:45 4:45 5:45 5:45 5:45 CBS: Scattergood Baines Blue: Tom Mix 6:00 CBS: PAUL SULLIVAN 3:15 5:15 6:15 CBS: Dorothy Kilgallen 7:30 3:30 9:30 5:30 6:30 6:30 Blue: Lum and Abner NBC-Red: Heirs of Liberty 3:45 3:45 5:45 5:45 6:45 6:45 6:45 CBS: The World Today Blue: Lowell Thomas « NBC-Red: Paul Douglas 8:00 9:00 8:00 6:00 6:00 6:00 7:00 7:00 7:00 CBS: Amos 'n' Andy Blue: EASY ACES NBC-Red: Fred Waring's Gang 8:15 4:15 4:15 6:15 6:15 6:15 7:15 7:15 7:15 CBS: Lanny Ross Blue: Mr. Keen NBC-Red: European News 8:30 7:00 6:30 6:30 7:30 7:30 CBS: Maudie's Diary NBC-Red: Al Pearce 6:45 7:45 NBC-Red: H. V. Kaltenborn 9:30 8:00 8:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 CBS: Death Valley Days Blue: March of Time NBC-Red: Maxwell House Show 9:00 5:30 9:00 7:30 7:30 7:30 8:30 8:30 8:30 CBS: Duffy's Tavern Blue: Service With a Smile NBC-Red: THE ALDRICH FAMILY 5:55 7:55 8:55 CBS: Elmer Davis 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:00 CBS: Major Bowes Hour MBS: Gabriel Heatter Blue: America's Town Meeting NBC-Red: KRAFT MUSIC HALL 6:30 6:30 8:30 8:30 9:00 9:30 9:30 10:00 CBS: Big Town MBS: Spotlight Bands CBS: Glenn Miller 7:00 9:00 10:00 NBC-Red: Rudy Vallee 7:15 9:15 10:15 CBS: The First Line 7:30 7:30 9:30 9:30 10:30 10:30 Blue: Hillman and Clapper NBC-Red: Frank Fay 7:45 9:45ll0:45 CBS: News of the World APRIL , 194. 2 HE'S DOIN' FINE. THANKS . . . If you have a small son whom you would like to see grow up to be a success- ful and highly paid master of ceremonies on a network question-and-answer pro- gram, here is what you must do: First, be a school teacher yourself and fill the boy with information about every subject under the sun. Second, at an early age start teaching him to speak in public and encourage him to think up retorts and funny comments on the spur of the mo- ment. Third, see to it that he appears in school plays, entertainments, debates, and so on. After that, give him his head. He'll probably turn out to be a book-keeper. The system worked with Bob Hawk, though, even if his mother, at the time, didn't know there ever would be such a thing as a radio quiz program. One co- incidence helped. Bob had graduated from college and was all set to become, at the age of twenty, teacher of public speak- ing at Northwestern College in Oklahoma, when he visited his mother in Chicago. Idling in a candy store one afternoon, he heard someone reading poetry on the radio. On impulse he stepped into a tele- phone booth, called the station and made an appointment for an audition. To his own surprise he was hired as an an- nouncer— although for the first year or so no money was attached to the job. The lack of pay didn't make any difference: the radio bug had bit him. For three years he worked announcing programs on different Chicago stations, but it wasn't until 1931 that he came into his own as a master of the ad lib, or spontaneous, unrehearsed remark. That was when he was given the duty of intro- ducing the numbers on a program of records called Red Hot and Low Down. Even the title of the show popped out of his mouth one day at the mike. In 1932 he scooped the entire radio world by interviewing Franklin D. Roose- velt on the day of his nomination. The broadcast had been planned for Chicago, but when Bob heard that F.D.R. was going to be at the Gary airport hours earlier he arranged secretly for a transmitter to be installed there, met the future President, and put him on the air ahead of everyone else. Another of his history-making ex- ploits, in 1935, was conducting a "man in the street" interview with Jean Harlow which caused 50,000 people to block traffic in the Chicago Loop district while it was being held. From there it was only a step to becoming master of ceremonies on quiz shows— first one called Fun Quiz, then Foolish Questions, then Name Three, then Take It or Leave It, and now How'm I Doin'? — on which you can hear him every Friday night over CBS. Bob is a bachelor, and is violently fond of two diversions — playing golf and going to the theater. It's nothing out of the way for him to attend three plays a week or spend five successive afternoons on the golf links. FRIDAY el 1:30 8:45 8:30 10:15 1:15 10:30 1:00 12:45 8:00 12:00 8:15 11:00 8:30 11:15 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 4:15 11:00 11:00 12:30 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:45 11:45 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:45 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:30 2:45 5:45 3:15 3:30 7:30 3:45 3:45 8:00 4:00 8:00 8:15 4:15 7:30 7:30 7:30 9:00 9:15 8:00 5:30 5:55 8:30 6:00 8:30 6:00 6:30 8:30 6:30 6:55 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:45 U 8:00 2:30 8:15 8:45 8:45 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:15 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:30 9:45 9:45 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:30 10:45 10:45 11:15 11:45 12:45 8:55 9; 9 9: 9; 9 Eastern Time 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 00 10 00 10 00 10 00 10 45 10 Blue: Texas Jim Blue: Breakfast Club CBS: NBC CBS: School of the Air Red Isabel Manning Hewson Stories America Loves NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh CBS: Betty Crocker Blue: Musical Millwheel NBC- Red: Bess Johnson CBS: Myrt and Marge Blue: Helen Hiett NBC-Red: Bachelor's Children CBS: Stepmother Blue: A House in the Country NBC-Red: Help Mate CBS: Woman of Courage NBC-Red: The Road of Life NBC-Red: Mary Marlin The Man I Married Red: Right to Happiness Bright Horizon Prescott Presents Red: The Bartons CBS: NBC CBS: Blue: NBC- CBS: NBC- CBS: MBS NBC- Aunt Jenny's Stories -Red: David Harum Kate Smith Speaks : John B. Hughes -Red: Words and Music CBS: Big Sister CBS: Romance of Helen Trent Blue: Farm and Home Hour CBS: Our Gal Sunday CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful MBS: I'll Find My Way CBS: Woman in White MBS: Government Girl Blue: Ted Malone CBS: Vic and Sade MBS: Front Page Farrell CBS: Road of Life CBS: Young Dr. Malone Blue: Music Appreciation NBC-Red: Light of the World ' CBS: Girl Interne NBC-Red: Mystery Man CBS: Fletcher Wiley NBC-Red: Valiant Lady CBS: Kate Hopkins Blue: In Care of Aggie Horn NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter CBS: David Harum Blue: Orphans of Divorce NBC- Red: Against the Storm CBS: News Blue: Honeymoon Hill NBC-Red: Ma Perkins Blue: John's Other Wife NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family Blue: Just Plain Bill NBC- Red: Vic and Sade CBS: Helping Hand Blue: Arthur Tracy NBC-Red: Backstage Wife Blue: Club Matinee NBC-Red: Stella Dallas CBS: Sing Along NBC- Red: Lorenzo Jones CBS: Mark Hawley MBS: Boake Carter NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown CBS: Mary Marlin Blue: Adventure Stories NBC-Red: When a Girl Marries CBS: The Goldbergs Blue: Secret City NBC:-Red: Portia Faces Life CBS: The O'Neills Blue: Flying Patrol NBC-Red: We the Abbotts CBS: Scattergood Baines Blue: Tom Mix CBS: Edwin C. Hill CBS: Hedda Hopper CBS: Frank Parker Blue: Lum and Abner CBS: The World Today Blue: Lowell Thomas NBC-Red: Paul Douglas CBS: Amos 'n' Andy Blue: Col. Stoopnagie NBC-Red: Fred Waring's Gang CBS: Lanny Ross NBC-Red: European News CBS: How 'm I Doin'? MBS: The Lone Ranger NBC-Red: Grand Central Station CBS: KATE SMITH HOUR MBS: Cal Tinney Blue: Old Gold Show NBC-Red: Cities Service Concert Blue: Three Ring Time NBC-Red: INFORMATION PLEASE CBS: Elmer Davis CBS: Philip Morris Playhouse MBS: Gabriel Heatter Blue: Gang Busters NBC-Reil: Waltz Time 30 CBS: First Nighter 30 MBS: Spotlight Bands 30 NBC-Red: Uncle Walter's Dog House 55 CBS: Ginny Simms 00 CBS: Ransom Sherman 00,I^IBS: Raymond Gram Swing OOJBlue: Elsa Maxwell 00. NBC-Red: Wings of Destiny 45lcBS: News of the World 43 SATURDAY u E u 1 Easte 8:00 8:00 o iZ 3 < a. < h z u u 8:15 8:30 8:45 8:45 8:45 8:00 8:00 8:00 9:00 9:00 9:00 8:15 8:15 9:15 9:15 8:30 8:30 9:30 9:30 9:00 9:00 9:00 10:00 10:00 10:00 9:30 9:30 10:30 10:30 9:45 10:45 10:00 10:00 11:00 8:15 10:15 11:15 8:30 8:30 8:30 10:30 10:30 10:30 11:30 11:30 11:30 10:45 10:45 11:45 11:45 3:00 9:00 11:00 11:00 12:00 12:00 9:15 11:15 12:15 10:30 9:30 9:30 11:30 11:30 11:30 12:30 12:30 12:30 10:00 12:00 1:00 10:30 10:30 10:30 12:30 12:30 12:30 1:30 1:30 1:30 10:45 12:45 1:45 11:00 11:00 11:00 1:00 1:00 1:00 2:00 2:00 2:00 11:30 1:30 2:30 12:00 12:00 2:00 2:00 3:00 3:00 12:15 2:15 3:15 12:30 12:30 2:30 2:30 3:30 3:30 1:00 1:00 3:00 3:00 4:00 4:00 1:30 3:30 4:30 2:00 2:00 4:00 4:00 5:00 5:00 2:30 4:30 5:30 2:45 4:45 5:45 3:00 3:00 5:00 5:00 6:00 6:00 3:30 3:30 5:30 5:30 6:30 6:30 3:45 3:45 3:45 S:45 5:45 5:45 6:45 6:45 6:45 9:45 6:00 7:00 4:30 4:30 6:30 6:30 6:30 7:30 7:30 7:30 8:00 5:00 8:30 7:00 7:00 >:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30 5:30 8:00 7:30 7:30 7:30 8:30 8:30 8:30 9:00 6:00 «:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 9:00 9:00 9:00 6:30 6:30 8:30 8:30 9:30 9:30 «:45 8:45 9:45 7:00 7:00 9:00 9:00 10:00 10:00 7:15 9:15 10:15 7:30 9:30 10:30 7:45 9:45 10:45 ■ CBS The World Today " NBC News NBC-Red: Eton Boys NBC-Red: Dick Leibert CBS: Adelaide Hawley Blue- String Ensemble 1 NBC-Red News I CBS: Press News Blue: Breakfast Club NBC-Red Happy Jack i CBS: Kenneth Spencer NBC-Red Market Basket I CBS: Old Dirt Dobber NBC-Red Hank Lawson I CBS: Burl Ives Bhie: Musical Millwheel NBC-Red Reflections in Rhythm I CBS. Jones and I NBC-Red The Wife Saver i NBC- Red: Betty Moore NBC-Red: Lincoln Highway i CBS: God's Country I CBS: Let's Pretend Blue: Ask Young America I NBC-Red: America the Free ; CBS: Hillbilly Champions Blue: Fables For Fun I CBS: Theater of Today I NBC-Red News ; NBC-Red Consumer Time I CBS: Stars Over Hollywood Blue: Farm Bureau I NBC-Red: Ilka Chase NBC-Red: Matinee in Rhythm I CBS Adventures in Science Blue: Vincent Lopez NBC- Red Call to Youth I CBS- Juan Arvizu I CBS: Of Men and Books Blue: METROPOLITAN OPERA NBC-Red U. S. Marine Band I CBS Brush Creek Follies I CBS: County Journal NBC-Red Patti Chapin NBC-Red: On the Home Front I CBS: F. O. B. Detroit I NBC-Red Music For Everyone I CBS: Matinee at Meadowbrook I NBC- Red: Weekend Whimsy I NBC-Red- Air Youth o! 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Blue: Little Ol' Hollywood NBC-Ked: Ellery Queen I CBS: Guy Lombardo Blue: The Green Hornet NBC-Red Abie''j Irish Rose I CUS: Hobby Lobby Blue: Ted Steele Variety NBC-Red: Truth or Consequences I < BS: YOUR HIT PARADE Blue: Spin and Win NHC-Ked: National Barn Dance MBS: Spotlight Bands Blue: Rochester Orchestra i CBS: Saturday Night Serenade Blue: Bob Ripley NBC-Red: Bill Stern Sports Review I CBS: Public Affairs JNBC-Rcd: Hot Copy i'cBS: News of the World Rose Marie Lombardo, Guy's sister and first femir\ir\e vocalist, collects for Defense Bonds from Guy and Liebert. 0^ rx/ncedb or (yu^€€t /» IuaIc A TINY young person with black hair, liquid brown eyes fringed with long lashes, and an olive complexion is the only girl who has ever been permitted to sing regularly with Guy Lombardo's band. She's Guy's little' sister, sixteen years old, and— since she was born in Canada — appropriately named Rose Marie. Nobody has ever quite known why Guy was so prejudiced against the presence of girl vocalists in his famous orchestra, but now the reason appears. He's always hoped that some day Rose Marie would take her place with him, and he wanted to keep the spot open for her. Ever since Rose Marie was a youngster and first showed the family inclination toward music it's been a Lombardo tradition that she'd eventually join the band. A few months ago, smack on her sixteenth birthday, the well-laid plans were carried out, and now you can hear her singing one song on each of Guy's commercial broadcasts, Saturday nights on CBS. Later on, she will be given two and then maybe three songs per program, and still later, Guy plans to have her with him in theater and hotel dates. But right now everyone except Rose Marie feels she is too young for the late hours complete participation in the band's activities would entail. There's school to be considered. She is a Junior in high school, although she'd just as soon forget the whole business. The only concession she's been able to gain on the school prob- lem so far is permission to leave every day at one-thirty in the afternoon. This is necessary some afternoons be- 44 cause she has to come into New York from her home in Connecticut, where she lives with her father and mother, to take singing lessons with the ar- ranger for the band. Other days, when no lesson is scheduled, she likes to travel into New York anyway, to do some shopping or see a movie. Saturday, of course, is the big day in Rose Marie's week. In the after- noon there's the rehearsal for that night's broadcast, and at night there is the broadcast itself. But the high point comes afterwards, when she goes with the band to the Roosevelt Hotel Grillroom, where it's playing now. She loves to dance, and on Sat- urday nights she gets her opportunity. She wasn't frightened at all, she says, when she sang on her first broad- cast. She wasn't a bit nervous — only her knees kept knocking together and she couldn't seem to stop them. Guy is her idol and unquestioned boss. She wouldn't dream of arguing with him about the selection of a song or the way to sing it or anything else. Besides singing. Rose Marie's one official duty in connection with the band is to collect, each week, a per- centage of every member's salary and convert it into United States Defense Bonds. The entire band has signed up for voluntary weekly deductions for this purpose, and Rose Marie is their "book-keeper." You'll likely be hearing more and more of Rose Marie's voice as the years go by. If Guy Lombardo is the king of sweet music, as the majority of fans seem to agree he is. Rose Marie is the princess of the royal family. RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRBOR • MARION LYNN, exquisite daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Claude E. Lynn of the prominent Chicago family. Her engagement to Bertram L. Menne, Jr., of Louisville, Kentucky, was announced New Year's Day, 1941. r A .-. PRECIOUS LEAVE— Marion and Bert a few hours before he was called back to the officers' train- ing school at Quantico, Virginia. She teased him about that close-cropped Navy haircut — but he had only adoring looks for her soft-smooth Pond's complexion. It's no accident so many lovely- engaged girls use Pandas Cold Cream! HER RING is a beautiful brilliant- cut blue-white solitaire, set fairly high, and on each side a single round diamond set a little lower. The band is platinum. She! es She's Lovely! She uses Pond's ! Oee how Marion Lynn's soft-smooth Glamour Care will help your skin. Marion says: "I think Pond's Cold Cream is splendid for skin that's thin and sensitive like mine. It's so light, so soft and soothing itself — anc' softens and cleans my skin beautifully. "I always use it twice each time — like this: "1. I SLATHER Pond's Cold Cream thick over my face and throat and pat all over with brisk little pats. This helps to soften and take off dirt and make-up. Then I tissue it all off. "2. I RINSE with a second creaming of lots more Pond's. Then tissue it off. This twice-over leaves my skin shining clean — every little smitch of soil comes right off." Use Pond's Cold Cream — Marion's way— every night — and for daytime cleanups. See how it helps your skin have that lovely fresh-as-a-flower look. You'll see, too, why so many more women and girls use Pond's than any other face cream at any price. Buy a jar of Pond's Cold Cream today — at any beauty counter. Five popular- priced sizes. The most economical — the lovely big jars. Hurry today to your favorite beauty counter for Pond's soft-smooth Cold Cream — the glamour face cream used by so many lovely engaged girls and by leading society beauties like Mrs. Elliott Roosevelt and Mrs. Vanderbilt Phelps. And Pond's makes for you four other famous beauty aids: Pond's Vanishing Cream Pond's lovely new Dry Skin Cream Pond's new Dreamfiower Face Powder (6 shades) Pond's "LIPS" that stay on longer! (5 shades) APRIL, 1942 45 "The Man I Married" Winkler." Betty stopped. She had to look up, because the voice came from a good foot over her head. She saw a tall, well-built young man. She saw deep, blue eyes and a smile and very dark hair. "Thanks," she said, wondering who he was. And then, the director came over and said, "Miss Winkler, this is Mr. Jennings." "Mr. Jen—" Betty stammered, "Oh, Mr. Jennings!" she said, surprised — but very surprised. "You were swell," he smiled. "You're just right for the part." When Betty got home that night, she had forgotten all about New York, at least for the time being. He's aw- fully tall, she thought, looking, with round, brown eyes at her five feet, not quite three inches in the mirror. He looks, she thought, about six feet, five. Actually, Mr. Jennings, whose first name was Bob, was six feet, three. Well, Betty thought, I think I'll like Continued from page 33 together. Betty looked up at him and smiled. "Thanks," she said, "for see- ing me home." He looked down at her amazed. "You see," she explained, not able to hold back her laughter, "I live here." At first, the tall, young radio execu- tive looked embarrassed. Then, he managed a wry smile. "Well," he said, "I certainly got you home fast, didn't I?" IVOW, these days, most young men -'-^ are very glib and romantic and forward when they meet a girl they like. The sweep-them-ofl-their-feet technique is very much in evidence. But, Betty was soon aware that young Mr. Jennings had never heard of such an approach, or, if he had, it wasn't his style. During the run of the radio show, he asked her out several times, but always, invariably, he also asked any- where from two to a dozen other peo- ple to accompany them. When two Silly question: Is if the typewriter or lovely Madeleine Carroll that Gene Raymond (left) and George Murphy are so eng rossed in? This was a moment's relaxation at rehear- sal of a Gulf Screen Theater broadcast. being on that show. And, although she wouldn't quite admit it to herself, she knew why. The night "The Golden Theater" show went on the air for the first time. Bob Jennings asked Betty Wink- ler to go to the Ambassador Hotel with him — along with all the other members of the cast. I hope, Betty thought, as they were all gaily riding over to the hotel, that he doesn't ask me to dance. I'd love to dance with him, she went on thinking, but how in the world could I ever dance with a man who's so tall! And then, shortly after they were all seated at a table in the Pump Room, Bob turned to Betty and said, "Would you dance with me?" "Of course," Betty said, and whis- pered a little prayer. But, when they were out on the dance floor, she forgot all about how tall he was because he danced so well and she was having so much fun. It was a wonderful evening. When it came time to go, Bob said, "Can I take you home?" "Yes," Betty said, her eyes danc- ing mischievously, "you can take me home." They walked out to the main lobby 46 people are surrounded by a small crowd, romance has a very difficult, if not an impossible, time. And Betty could never quite forget that the shy, important young executive was not only her escort, but her boss. Bob Jennings would call up and say, "How would you like to go out with me tonight, Betty?" And Betty would say, "Fine, I'd like to go out with you." And an actress knows how to accent words. But when Bob called for Betty, there was always that small crowd in back of him. What, Betty thought in the months that followed, can you do with a young man with whom you might be falling in love, but who is too shy to take you out alone? Then, the day arrived when the show was finished. Now, Betty hoped, maybe they could be together with- out the cast. Now, she thought, if he wanted to take her out alone, he would. And, the next day, when the phone rang and she heard Bob on the other end of the wire, she thought, "This is it!" "I wonder," Bob said, "if you'd like to have breakfast with me, tomor- row?" "Swell," Betty said. "Okay," Bob said, "suppose we meet at Huyler's." That next day, Betty walked down Michigan Boulevard toward their designated meeting place, feeling very gay and excited and just a little bit relieved. At long last, they'd be able to talk and have fun together without a small gang around them. Coming from the bright sunlight into the restaurant she was temporarily blinded, and then, she saw him. He was sitting at a table, smiling. She smiled back. Then, her smile faded. Sitting at the table with him were two young men she had never seen before. They were also smiling. They all got up when she came over and Bob said, "Good morning. I'd like to have you meet some friends of mine. They just got into town." Betty managed to get a smile back on her face. "I'm very glad to know you," she said. "They're going to be in town for a couple of months," Bob said, "and I thought it would be nice if we showed them around." "That sounds fine," Betty said. After that, every morning for months, Betty and Bob and his two friends met for breakfast. When they went out at night, the friends were always there. In spite of the fact that she wanted to be alone with Bob — just once — she grew very fond of his two pals. They managed to have wonderful times together. Then, one night, the incredible hap- pened. When Betty opened the door to her apartment, Bob was standing there alone! She looked up and down the hall. Not a soul was in sight. "Where are they?" Betty said, holding her breath. "Oh," Bob smiled, "we're supposed to meet them at the Edgewater Beach." He looked puzzled for a moment. "I think that's where we're supposed to meet them." "I don't suppose," Betty smiled, hopelessly, "we could possibly miss them?" "I don't think so," Bob said. "I'm almost sure that's where they said I should meet them." When they got to the Edgewater Beach, Bob's friends were nowhere in sight. They started into the main dining room. "The headwaiter stopped them. "I'm sorry," he said, "we can't let anyone in unless they're in eve- ning clothes." Bob was in a business suit and Betty was wearing a street dress. "Tell you what," Bob said, "let's both go home and get dressed and come back. They're sure to be here by that time." AS Betty was dressing, she thought, for some reason, about New York, about the plans she had made before she met Bob. All of a sudden, she had the old desire again, the desire to get out of Chicago, to go to New York, the one place she had always wanted to go. When she met Bob in the lobby, she told him how she felt. He didn't say anything for a moment and then he said, "Let's not go to the Edgewater Beach. Let's go over to the Drake, instead, and see Wayne King." Wayne was an old friend of theirs. When he came over to their table and Continued on page 48 RADIO AND TELEVISION IVIIRROR p Your jimcrs will he as lovely as jewels; and this polish "stays on' amazingly You'll love Dura-Gloss, for it is no ordinary nail polish. Perhaps you've wondered why you hear so much about it, why so many have adopted it. Well, Dura-Gloss is made with a special ingredient -CHRYSTALLYNE*! Perfected through laboratory research, Chrystallyne is a magnificent resin that (1) imparts exceptional powers of adhesion, and (2) jewel-like sparkle and brilliance to Dura-Gloss. This wonderful substance is the reason Dura-Gloss resists ugly "peeling" and "fraying" so stubbornly day after day. Why it radiates sparkling gloss, luster, life! Dura-Gloss will make your nails a king's ransom in jewels . . . good enough to be kissed . . . brilliant, beautiful, lovely — at all cosmetic counters. * Chrystallyne is a special resin ingredient developed by chem istry-experts who were dissatis- fied with existing nail polishes Before being blended into the superb Dura-Gloss formula, i looks like glittering diamonds DURA(JLOSS/» S New Colors for Spring Blackberry Mulberry Wineberry AFBIL, 1942 LORR LABORATORIES Paterson, New Jersey Founded by E. T. Reynolds 1942. LORR LABORATORIES 47 sat down to talk to them, Bob said, "Wayne, Betty has a silly idea. She wants to go to New York." "That's crazy," Wayne said and launched into a sales talk on Chicago, not forgetting to put in a great many words about how he and certain peo- ple who loved her would miss her terribly. The things Bob was too shy to say, Wayne managed to say for him. After a little while, however, Bob managed to get in a few pleas of his own. Betty, to this day, feels very indebted to Wayne King. "You'll stay then," Bob said, when they were driving back to her hotel. "You and Wayne really think I should?" Betty asked. "7 really think you should," Bob said. He smiled, shyly. "I guess Wayne was speaking for me." Every day after that Bob sent flow- ers. And almost every night they went out together — alone. It didn't take long for Bob to get used to being with Betty — sans crowd — and it didn't take long for him to get over his shy- ness and begin talking about how Continued from page 46 marriage can be an awfully fine thing if two people are in love. Then, suddenly, he had to go to California on business. He was to be gone a week. One morning, a day before she expected him back, the doorbell rang and there was Bob with an armful of roses and a very funny expression on his face. "Come on," he said, "let's go." It wasn't until they were in the lobby that Betty thought to ask where they were going. "To Wheaton, Illi- ' nois," Bob said, matter of factly, "to get married." "Oh," Betty said, "I thought we were going to breakfast. Say," she said breathlessly, "I'm not going to get married today." "Oh yes, you are," the shy, young m.an said. "But I'm not," Betty said, firmly. Betty continued refusing to marry Bob right up until they faced the Justice of the Peace. Then she kept very quiet until it came her turn to say "I Do," and be kissed. When they got back to Chicago, Betty's mother had her suitcases all packed. There were ten in all, and — you know the way mothers feel about their only child — Betty's mother had packed almost everything Betty had ever owned, including her first pair of baby shoes. The Jennings honeymooned in Bermuda and Bob struggled with the ten suitcases. But you don't mind something like that if you love someone, just as you'll put up sharing someone you love with a crowd — if you really love him. nnHAT was two and a half years ••- ago. Now the girl who wanted to go to New York all her life is starring in a radio show that originates in New York. The show is called "The Man I Married." But, all week long she keeps looking forward to Friday af- ternoon, because just about dusk she boards a plane that takes her back to Chicago, to a beautiful, three story home on Schiller Street, and a young fellow named Bob Jennings, who is still shy, but no longer cares for crowds. see her face, and anyway she wore a veil, but she was small and slender and — Maude Sanborn, discussing it with Ken, said — "It's about time I took Carol into a corner and told her the facts of life. She's too swell to get herself talked about." Ken said, "If anybody dares to talk about Carol I'll knock him loose from his front teeth!" But Maude shook her head. "A gentleman can't knock women loose from their front teeth, my pet — " she murmured — ■ "and it's mostly women who are talking. Jealous women." "Jealous of what?" grated Ken. Maude said, "Stanley Breen is the catch of the season — he's the catch of any season for my money! I hate his guts, Ken, but if he asked me to walk down the street with him I'd buy a new hat and a gardenia. Just to do him proud." Ken said slowly, "Maybe he's in love with her." "That guy couldn't be honestly in love with anybody," Maude said, "but — " the glance she darted at Ken was sympathetic — "but Carol's in love with him and I don't mean maybe. He's putting on the heat. Ken, and Carol can't cope with it — she hasn't had enough experience." ^ WIFTLY— unexpectedly— Ken Wil- i^ liams lost control of himself — he was a mild chap usually, Maude had never seen him go off the deep end before. "Why should she be able to cope with it," he raged, "Stanley Breen knows all the tricks, and on top of that he's good looking and wears swell clothes! He has more glamour than anyone in radio, and more earn- ing power. Naturally Carol's had no experience. She isn't the sort men paw and push around. They treat her gently — " his voice broke here — "gently and reverently." "Listen here, Ken," said Maude, "no woman likes to be treated rever- ently— when a man treats a woman reverently he's insulting her. Why the dickens didn't you rush Carol off My Heart Was True Continued from page 17 her feet when you had the chance? Why did you stand like a goon, with your hat in your hand, saying prayers?" Ken Williams answered very sim- ply, "Because she was my whole heart and soul — because I didn't want to startle her; because I wanted her to sense the way I felt about her and re- spond naturally. ... I always thought Carol and I would be married some day and have a little place in the coun- try, with a room for me to write in and a garden for her to walk in. A gar- den with hollyhocks and a sun dial." "Did you ever give her a hint of your — er, plan?" queried Maude. "Did you ever take her into your big secret?" "Once," said Ken very low, "I wrote a poem about the — the house and gar- den. . . . She thought it was a nice poem." "Stan hasn't wasted a second writing verse," Maude said. "Probably this very minute he has Carol in his arms, kissing her deaf, dumb and blind. Ken — " her voice was pleading — "ask Carol to marry you, and ask her in words of one syllable, before that rat has her so dizzy that she doesn't know what she's doing. Go to her flat this evening and don't take hollyhocks or verses with you — take T. N. T. Show her that you're jealous, show her that you love her, kiss her and show her that Stan hasn't a monopoly on tech- nique. It may turn the trick." Long after Maude had gone her way Ken sat where she had left him, staring into a horizon that was only a blank wall. And then he got up and went to his apartment and dug the ring box out from under his shirts and put on the Sulka tie that he'd been keeping for an emergency and started toward the door, with his chin jutting forward at a rather surprising angle. He opened the door just in time to save a messenger boy the trouble of knocking. "Mr. Williams?" asked the mes- senger. "Mr. K. Williams?" and when Ken nodded he thrust a thin yellow envelope into his hand. "It's collect," he said. Ken paid for the telegram and after the messenger had gone ripped open the envelope. The message ran well over ten words and it was signed with Stanley Breen's name. "Carol and I," Ken read through a mist, "are bound for Virginia to be married. I wanted you to be the first to know." Not we. I. Even as he dragged off the Sulka tie that was choking him. Ken knew that Stanley Breen had sent the telegram on his own^ hook, and that Carol would never know he'd sent it. 'T'HE Breens' honeymoon only lasted ■■- for a weekend — Stan had to be on the air every morning, or else. The day he came back from the honeymoon, a Monday, he swaggered into the studio and accepted congratulations with one eyebrow raised. He told the ones who kidded him about losing his freedom that they were old-fashioned — that marriage was no longer a pair of handcuffs — and he told the director of Ken's show that he had married Carol because he couldn't get her any other way. The director grinned as he repeated the line to Ken, but Ken didn't think it was funny — his hands clenched so hard that his knuckles looked faintly green and it was lucky that Stan wasn't within arm's reach. Even though Stan was bigger than Ken — well, it was lucky. That Monday Stan— for the first time in weeks — didn't take Carol to lunch, he took another girl. Nobody in particular — just a girl with nice legs who happened to be hanging around the studio. Ken, hearing that Stan was engaged during the noon hour, called Radio Registry and learned where Carol and Stan were staying — - it was the city's smartest hotel — and called Carol and asked her to have lunch with him. "For old sake's sake," he said. "Champagne!" Brides are popularly supposed to be radiant on their return from the honeymoon. Carol was radiant but the radiance wasn't of the high white incandescent variety — it was a shaded candle. She met Ken with no sign of Continued on page 50 48 RADIO AND TELEVISION IViniSOR LU CY'S She Smiled ..Axi Hide A Breaking Heart ! // JANE: I don't understand Lucy. She hardly ever has dates and yet she always seems so happy. SUE: Don't let her act fool you, Jane. She'd give her eye-teeth to be popular with the men. LUCY I Why — they're talking about mel LUCY: And what they said is true. Aunt Edith. But I'm always so tired and draggy-looking^ no man ever looks at me twice! AUNT EDITH: WeU, if I were you, I'd try to build up some freshness and sparklet LUCY: Build up sparkle? But how can I? AUNT EDITH: Haven't you read about those rarer food elements they've discovered, like minerals and vitamins? The magazines say it's a miracle the way they make over so many people. r'T^w'TTir; 'r'^ ^^ ^^^ v^^'. W^M \ SO— LUCY Started Taking Ovaltine Regularly 3 Times a Day — To Get Extra Supplies of Rarer Food Elements Needed for Vitality and Fresh- ness— And Always at Bedtime to Foster Rest- ful Sleep. JIM: (Some Time Later) Say— isn't that Lucy Jordan? I hardly knew her, the way she's blossomed out lately. JOHN: By George— it is Lucy! She's changed so much . . . she looks like a different girl! JOHN: (Still Later) Gee honey, I must have been blind to have gone all these months with- out realizing how wonderful you are. 1 could spend the rest of my life with you like this. LUCY: Flatterer I Unattractively "Lifeless/' Rundown or Under Par? TRY THIS PROTECTING FOOD-DRINK If fatigue, jangled nerves, or lack of sparkle are robbing you of social success, you should know this. Now there's a new way to build up radiant freshness and vitality — a way government authorities, magazines and news- papers are urging, and thousands are adopt- ing for buoyant, vigorous days. For, as you've read in countless magazine articles, there are certain new-foimd/oorf ele- ments widely called "miracle foods." Ele- ments which — taken in larger quantities than commonly found in average American diets — are credited with astonishing powers to in- crease physical stamina, build sounder nerves, APRIL, 1942 combat fatigue — give vitality and sparkle to millions now tired, nervous and under par. In light of this new knowledge, thousands are drinking Ovaltine regularly. For Ovaltine provides a wider variety and wealth of im- portant food elements — than any single nat- ural food. It supplies not just two — or four — or six — but eleven important food elements, including Vitamins A, Ci, D and G, Calcimn, Phosphorus and Iron and complete proteins. Equally important, clinical tests show that Ovaltine increases the energy fuel in the blood in as little as 15 minutes — thus helping to ward off attacks of fatigue. So if you tire quickly, are nervous or sleep poorly, try drinking Ovaltine regularly each day. See if you don't begin to sleep better, feel far fresher mornings — enjoy more ener- getic days. See if people don't start telling you how much better you look. fr j^ee samjples OVALTINE, Dept. A42.RM-4 360 N. Michigan Ave., Chicago, 111. Please send free samples of Regular and Choco- late Flavored Ovaltine, and interesting new book- let about certain new-found miracle elements in food and the promise they hold. One sample offer to a person. A'anie Address City State THE PROTECTING FOOD-DRINK L_^ I 49 embarrassment — none whatsoever — and Ken, noting the softness of her eyes, tried to forget about the tiny box that was back again under his shirts. "I don't have to tell you," he said huskily, "that I'm wishing you all the happiness in the world!" "I think I have it," said Carol, but she said think, so Ken swallowed hard and wgnt on. "Stan," he said, "can be the biggest man in radio. He can give you everything." "He has given me everything," said Carol, and her voice was husky and excited. "Ken," she said, "we're going house hunting on Sunday — in Con- necticut. We're going to have a lovely house, with a garden. I — " her voice trembled — "I showed Stan that poem you wrote about a house and a garden, and he thinks it would be fun to have it illuminated and hung in the front hall." Ken swallowed again, even harder this time. "What about your work?" he said. "There's a nice part coming up in my new sequence. I've written it especially for you." Carol said a shade regretfully, "I'm giving up radio. Stan says nobody '11 miss me. . . . We're going to have a pretty big house. Ken, and it'll take all my time running it. We'll prob- ably entertain a lot, too." "I hope you'll invite me to the house-warming," said Ken, "but don't let's talk about that now. I promised you food — and champagne." Carefully, very carefully, Ken steered Carol away from the restau- rant which would have been their logical choice and where he knew that Stan was ensconced in a corner booth with the girl who had just happened along. He took her to a roof with a wide view of the city below it, and they had their champagne and lobster salad, too — and then they walked down the avenue and Ken bought Carol a wedding gift. It was some- thing she had wanted very much for quite a long while — a white jade pic- ture frame, cunningly carved, which had been standing in a shop window for months. Ken bought it even though he knew that Carol would probably put Stan's picture in it. On the night of the house-warming he tried to walk past the picture frame and its contents without gagging. 'TPHE night of the housewarming! It -■- happened incredibly soon. Stanley Breen seemed anxious to get his wife out of town and so he bought the first house that came anywhere close to specifications. It was a big house, completely furnished, even down to linen and dishes. Continued from page 48 "We were full of luck," Stan en- thused. "We met a woman at a cock- tail party and she'd just divorced her husband, and she got tight and said she didn't want to see the place again, what with its memories, and I wasn't tight so I paid a deposit then and there. It was a big bargain. I bet the woman kicked herself when she sobered up." Ken was in the group. He said to Carol, "How do you like your man- sion? "and Carol answered slowly, "It scared me at first, when the woman we bought it from talked about her memories. Memories can be like ghosts. ... In a way, I'd rather have a new house where Stan and I could build our own memories." Stan said with rare gentleness, "We'll put a layer of new memories on top of the old ones." He turned to Maude Sanborn, as if ashamed of the lapse — "I'll be glad when Carol's up in Connecticut," he said, "a wife cramps a feller's style." "I— I try not to," said Carol. Stan was genial. The commercial had gone especially well that day. "It isn't a question of trying or not trying" he said. "It's just a question of being. A wife's nice to come home to when you're tired, and a swell alibi when you've talked out of turn, but aside from that — " he laughed. "Are you a good cook, Carol? You never told me whether you were a good cook." Carol said soberly "I'm a very good cook. And as long as you can use me — even for an alibi — and as long as you do come home eventually, it's okay — " She laughed also, but her laughter was muted. "I like being married," she said, "and I'm going to like the house, too. When will we have our house-warming, Stan?" Stan said — "Next Saturday. Satur- day's a slick day. Everybody — " they were in a place with tables and a circular bar and it was crowded — "everybody's invited. House-warming Saturday. Everybody." Everybody came. Everybody who had been in the restaurant and every- body's friends, and a few others who hadn't been in the restaurant. The blonde girl, the White Russian, was there in a black dress that looked as if it were made out of fish scales. And there was a Chinese butler who darted around like a flea, with a cocktail shaker in his hand. Carol wore ivory satin, with glints of blue to it — a chaste, icy dress — and her hair was done a new way, and her eyes were anxious, and her pride in the new house — it was a beautiful house, at that — was diluted with a strange reti- cence as if she were just a visitor there ^OLAA frevto lo^ WALTER COMPTON — masl-er of ceremonies on Double or Nothing, the quiz show heard Sunday afternoons on Mutual. Walter has been many things in his time. Aged ten, he was touring the South as a boy pianist. Aged 21, he was teaching dramatics and public speaking at Roanoke College in Virginia. Today, aged thirty, he's star of a quiz show that's broadcast over more stations than any other commercial program in the United States. He was born in Charleston, S. C, and first entered radio in 1935, coming to WOL, Mutual's affiliate in Washington, in 1937. He's still WOL's star special-events, news, and Presidential announcer, and commutes to New York via plane every week-end for Double or Nothing, which he originated. He's never missed a broadcast. and didn't really belong. Many of the guests hadn't met Carol — she'd never been a mixer — but Ken and Maude formed themselves into a bodyguard of two, one on either side, and kept her from being too badly bumped by elbows and conversation. When people said, "Stan's a good provider," or "Don't go social now that you're up in the world," Maude made the an- swers. When women who hadn't seen Carol since her marriage were catty and congratulatory. Ken made the an- swers. After the inital hour or two of the house-warming the air grew dense with alcohol fumes and cigarette smoke and some of the jokesters began to throw pate sandwiches, and the white jade picture frame was knocked over and cracked, and Stan was nowhere in evidence. He'd been very much in evidence at the begin- ning, until he got tired of hearing people say he had good taste, and "Boy, what a house!" It was when Carol began to get violet shadows under her eyes and sway slightly on her slim ankles, that Ken went hunting for Stan — it's the host's job to send the people home when the hostess is ready to collapse. He found him finally on a little back porch, a carefully screened porch, with the big blonde girl in his arms. She'd quite obviously been in his arms for a rather long while. Ken didn't say anything to either of them — there wasn't anything to say, and besides they didn't know he was there. He just pushed another screen in front of the entrance to the porch so that none of the gossips would find fresh fuel, and then he went back to Carol. He was so very gay and amus- ing that, after a while, she stopped being tired and accepted a long frosty drink and went to sit in the hammock on the wide unscreened front porch. Ken kept her there until Stan, slightly disheveled, came wandering out to ask for scrambled eggs. THE Breens entertained a lot — their house-warming was just a starter. Even though Stan made tons of money it must have strained his resources to pay the liquor bills alone. Few of the invited guests brought a spare bottle along with them — none of the unin- vited guests ever brought anything. But Stan didn't mind, for playing host was his meat. The moment he was in his own living room or behind his own bar, he was the golden voice, sending out vocal rays. He was doing the commercials for Stanley Breen — Lochinvar, Incorporated— God's gift to women. He bought himself a set of what Maude Sanborn called "he- hostess gowns" — silk shirts open at the throat, well cut slacks made of multi-colored sharkskin. Nothing sissy about Stan's home outfits, but they would have been sissy on any other man. Stan was big enough to wear a shirt open at the throat, with mauve slacks slightly to the south. Nobody dared make a crack, dirty or otherwise — and besides he was paying for the liquor. Paying for everything. Carol went in for less stylized sar- torial arrangements. She didn't pose against the background of her home — she was the background. She wore the sort of tailored suits that she had worn when she drifted from studio to studio looking for work, the same soft little rayon crepe dresses. Her type didn't change — but with all that she Continued on page 52 50 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR Girls wi A /io/^a^ffS win outr C^/^^c wartP^ Get 3 cakes of Lux Toilet Soap and begin now a month's trial of this gentle care that helps protect million-dollar complexions, the care screen stars depend on! See for yourself what a wonderful aid it is in keepingyour skin smoother, lovelier — more attractive! THEN I PAT /V\y FACE GENTLy TO DRy. JH\S ACTIVE-LATHER FACIAL LEAVES SK/N FEELING BEAUT/ FULLY StAOOTh Star of Columbia Pictures* "Bedtime Story' care is a wonderful beauty aid. Try it for 30 days. -i><.- l~».. out ofll®^^reen Stars use Lux Toilet Soap APRIL, 1942 51 (^aA| ftetvo lo^ JOAN DAVIS — the film comedienne who is branching ouf these days as a radio star too, by appearing every Thursday night to heckle Rudy Vallee and John Barrymore on their NBC program. Joan is a pretty girl who mokes a living by emphasizing her worst ■features; as you con see by the picture, she's really sort of glamor- ous when she wonts to be. Joan went into vaudeville as soon as she was out of school in St. Paul, her home town. In 1931 her manager teamed her up with another vaudeville performer. Si Wills, and it wasn't six months before she was Mrs. Wills. They have one daughter, Beverly, and own a beautiful home in Holly- wood. Joan likes to ride horseback, go to the movies, eat chow mein, and listen to music. At comedy falls she's an expert. Continued was nearly a hundred per cent perfect in the hospitality setup. When Stan urged too many drinks on a budding genius it was Carol who put the girl (the genius was always a girl) to bed. It was she who saw that the aspirin bottle in the powder room was always full, and that went for bromo seltzer, too. She seemed to love hav- ing "our friends" drop in, she espe- cially seemed to love having a crowd arrive on Friday afternoon and stay until Monday morning, for — as long as he was surrounded by eager ears, mostly in pairs, and hands that were willing to clap — Stan was content to stay at home. And as long as he was content to stay at home Carol was content to be combination wife and alibi and manager. But, though her smile was eager and her voice calm, her transparency increased as day fol- lowed day. She was more than fragile — she was gossamer. "A good puff of wind would blow her away," Maude told Ken Williams. "A good slap would knock her over." KEN'S answer was on the bitter side. "She can't stand this con- stant tension," he told Maude. "She's living in a whirlpool. She never climbs down from the merry-go-round horse. Carol needs some rest — and even Stan should have a few quiet moments!" "When they have a quiet moment Stan finds an excuse to go to town," Maude said. "Are we a couple of heels. Ken — running out to Connecti- cut for weekend after weekend, eating Breen food and lapping up Breen highballs, and feeling the way we do about — " her voice grew thoughtful. "I could make up a poem on the sub- ject," she said. "I feel so mean about Stan Breen. He is — " "Shut up," interposed Ken. "We don't go to Connecticut on account of Stan. We go there to see Carol." "I'm just a fifth wheel," said Maude, "but the fact that you hang about just gives Stan a lot of pleasure. I'll bet he never puts his arm around Carol unless you're in the room — I'll bet he never kisses her unless he knows you're watching out of one eye." Ken said, "Shut up!" again, but he spoke wearily. "It's Friday now and we're in for another couple of ghastly days. . . . Do you think Carol will ever get wise to him?" "Do you?" countered Maude, but Ken only said, "The weather reports are lousy. It'll probably rain for the entire weekend." It did rain for the entire weekend. It rained cats and dogs. The Stan- ley Breen household tried to amuse from page 50 themselves in their various ways — each guest after his own fashion. There was ping-pong and backgammon and bridge and poker for high stakes, and the blonde Russian girl sang throaty things and told Carol that she'd for- gotten her weekend case, and could she borrow a nightgown? Carol's largest nightgown would have been like a bib on the Russian and they both knew it, but Carol brought out a chiffon number and handed it over without blinking. The Russian held it against her more than ample bosom and it gave Stan a chance to make a wisecrack. Rain Friday night — more rain Sat- urday— Ken and Maude took a long tramp, rain or no, on Saturday after- noon, and came back to see a fire lighted on the living room hearth and people sprawled about drinking hot Tom and Jerrys which were slightly out of season. More rain Saturday night — and a veritable cloudburst Sunday, with ping-pong growing brittle and pocketbooks empty be- cause of bridge and poker, and tem- pers wearing thin. When it was late afternoon and Stan began to make ready for his trip to town — the Sun- day night job was there, come hell or high water — he was being short with his guests and snappish to Carol. "You should have arranged games to keep the gang amused," he told her. "Not that I go for games usually, but three days in the house has been an eternity — to say nothing of lousy, unimaginative food. Roast beef and lamb and chicken. Carol, can't we ever have anything but roast beef and lamb and chicken?" Carol said, "I order the sort of food that will stretch — I never know how many people we'll have. . . . Darling, be sure to wear your muffler and your raincoat. I always worry for fear you'll take cold." The blonde Russian laughed and said, "She thinks you're made of sugar, Stan. She thinks you'll melt," and Stan said angrily, "Why should I wear a raincoat and muffler when I'm going to town in a car?" The Breens had two cars now and a station wagon. "Take the sedan," begged Carol. "It has the best heater and—" But Stan interrupted, "One more word out of you — " he growled — "and I'll go in the convertible with the top down. I don't like interference, Carol." It was then that Ken Williams said quietly, "That's a stupid way to talk, Stan. You'i-e being absurd. Carol's only thinking of your best good." Stan said, "Keep out of this. Ken. If I'm being absurd it's my own busi- ness." He rang for the Chinese butler — the sixth successive butler they'd had since they moved into the new home. "Bring around the convertible,. Chang," he said, "and make it snappy, and put down the top. Don't stand blinking at me like a Mongolian goop — do as I tell you." COMEHOW, after Stan left the ^ house, the crowd brightened up. Carol did suggest games — kid games, like musical chairs — and they played hilariously, without having to nod ap- proval and roar at jokes they'd heard before. Sunday night supper was buffet as usual — cold lamb and roast beef weren't bad, taken along with chicken salad. The crowd grew very cheerful and without benefit of the bar, but when Stan came back about eleven, wringing wet and in a vile mood, the laughter died away and people went quietly to bed. Carol gave Stan hot whiskey and some of the ever present aspirin, and he went to bed, too, but the next day — before any of the crowd left for the city — he had developed a nasty cough. He went into town for his regular show but when the director saw how he was coughing he sent post haste for a sub- stitute and told Stan to go home and soak his feet in a mustard bath. Stan went home, choking and sniffing, but he didn't bother about the mustard bath. He drank straight Scotch until it was coming out of his ears, and blamed Carol for the whole thing. "You deviled me into riding in the open car," he told her. "It's your fault I'm this way." Carol had taken a lot since she be- came Mrs. Stanley Breen. She said now — "That's a lie, Stan. If you have a cold it's your own fault." Crossing the room on staccato feet she called the doctor, and Stan was so surprised that he didn't offer any suggestions. By the time the local M.D. got there he was being pathetic and lonely, and the doctor gave him something to make him sleep. But it didn't stop the approaching laryngitis. The first week Stan was away from the studios they used the same man who had substituted for him on the first off day. The second week they began to cast around for someone better — not that there was anyone who could duplicate Stan's golden voice, but beggars can't be choosers. On the weekend between the first and second week Carol canceled all invitations and sent the people who came unin- vited back to town in the station wagon. THE third week. Ken — riding out on a way train to spend an evening with Carol and Stan — was told by Carol in a hushed voice that Stan's laryngitis had settled in his vocal chords — that there seemed to be some- thing malignant about it. To use her own words, "The chords were tied in hard knots and the doctor couldn't untie them!" She told Ken that they were going to have a consultation — that a big man was coming up from Baltimore, that another one was fly- ing in from Minnesota — and that, to- gether with the local man, they were going to make Stan open his mouth and say "ah." When Ken asked if he could do any- thing Carol turned away with her shoulders shaking, and Ken — loving her like crazy — made a stupid excuse and took the train back to town. No one ever knew what the special- Continued on page 54 52 BADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR See how this Polish protected my nails for7days!" ^ • iki ^^f/^ MRS. JUT KENT is one of the busy younger set who has lately fallen in love with Cutex . . ."My nails stayed practically perfect for a whole week! I finally changed the polish only because the moons grew out!" Try Cutex Black Red, Gingerbread, Lollipop, Butterscotch, Sugar Plum, Sheer Natural! See if you don't agree that the way its beauty lasts is truly amazing! Only 10?S (plus tax) in the U.S.! Northam Warren, New York APPLY 2 COATS FOR THAT PROFESSIONAL LOOK AND LONGER WEAR APRIL. 1942 53 ists said when they talked to Stanley Breen after looking down his throat and punching and poking him and using stethoscopes. Perhaps they didn't talk the matter over with Stan at all — perhaps they told Carol, in- stead, and let her break the news to her husband. It must have taken some doing to tell a man whose voice is his living that the voice is gone forever. It must have taken extreme courage to tell an announcer that his career — the most promising career in radio — is at an end. Nobody who knew Carol well — though who except Ken Williams and Maude Sanborn knew her well? — doubted that her courage was up to any test, but Carol — watch- ing Stan's cold, hard eyes, hearing his voice rail at her huskily— knew that she had come up against more than a crisis. The hurdle she took was much more than a hurdle for she had to take it alone — Stan didn't give her any help. When he finished blaming Continued from page 52 scarf, the latter twisted around his throat — greeted them with a small crooked smile that spoke volumes. "Well, here I am," he grated. "Take a good look at me and laugh. I used to be an announcer and now I'm in the ash can." Everybody was enormously embar- rassed; there wasn't a hint of laugh- ter. Stan's big shining voice had been so much a part of him — his bravado had been so much a part of him — his conceit had been as typical as his white teeth and his blue eyes. Stan — with a crooked smile and air of apology and a voice that got into the mass spinal column of the listeners and made them ache with the agony and effort of it — Stan, like that, was out of character! One of the men hastily suggested going into the bar for a Scotch and soda — anything to take the tension out of an uncomfortable mo- ment— but Stan told them in his husky whisper that there wasn't any Scotch. This year Tommy Dorsey gave the members of his band their bonuses in U. S. Defense Bonds. He's handing them to his drummer, Buddy Rich and his vocalist Connie Haines. Tommy's been twice featured on Mutual's Spotlight Bands. her for everything, beginning with their meeting in the Mulberry Room, he rasped — "For God's sake, don't keep the crowd away this weekend. I've seen only you, unadulterated you, for the past fifty years — or so it seems." and Carol said, "We'll have a big party over the weekend, darling. You need cheering up — I realize that." SO the crowd came, the usual crowd, summoned by phone calls, letters, even telegrams. But when they ar- rived on the front porch and Carol — instead of a yellow man in a white coat — opened the door, they began to realize that something was different. Carol explained that she was doing the work herself, that she and Stan were retrenching but that she was a pretty good cook and they needn't worry. She asked them to be tactful and sympathetic with her husband. "He's been through such a strain," she said. And then she took them into the living room and Stan — very pale and decorative in an invalid chair and lounging pajamas and a rabbit's wool 54 "We have some gin," he said. "May- be we have enough to last the week- end— after that it will be a water diet. . . . Has Carol given you the business?" Carol said, "I told them we were retrenching." Stan's husky whisper had a hint of bravery about it. "Retrenching is the least of it," he said. "Call a spade a spade. We're fresh out of money — oh, I know I've always made a pile but I never saved anything, and what with specialists and the rest of it — but I don't have to go any further. . . . We've sold the convertible and the station wagon and we'll probably have to sell the house or let it go for taxes. We're flat." It was the blonde Russian girl who spoke up. She had moved away from Stan when he said that they didn't have any Scotch — though she wasn't passionate about Scotch, it was a symbol. "Carol used to be an actress," said the Russian. "Can't she keep things going?" Stan's whisper was no longer brave. For that matter it was no longer a whisper— it was a loud voice that ran like a file across the assorted nervous systems of the crowd. "Carol," he said, "was always a punk actress. She could never make enough to run this place." The blonde sneered openly at Carol, and something naked and ugly raised its head between them. "Here's an- other idea," she said. "Why don't you take a boarder — a boarder with a regular salary? Somebody like — well, like Ken Williams? He's on his own, being a bachelor. And he's fond of you, Stan — and he's devoted to Carol. Everybody knows that." Ken spoke quickly, as if the words were forced from him. "Carol," he said, "isn't up to running a boarding house — she's not strong. It would take too much out of her. She'd fall by — by the wayside." Maude Sanborn started to back Ken up but Stan's voice — throbbing like a rusty outboard motor — was barging in and she couldn't make her- self heard. "I might have known, Ken," said Stan, "that you're the kind of a guy to raise objections. We're on our uppers — but what's it to you? — ^you've always taken everything for nothing. ... At that — speaking of everything — " his voice lowered reflectively — "I don't get your slant on this thing. You and Carol are such old friends that I should imagine — " he left the sen- tence hanging. Ken's face was flushing — the flush started at the chin and worked up to the line of his hair. A stranger might have thought that the reproof had found its mark, but Maude knew and Carol knew — yes, and Stan knew — that Ken Williams was angry enough to do murder. He swallowed hard — not once, twice. And then at last he replied. But not to Stan. "Carol," he said, "do you want me to move in?" Carol answered — "Yes, Ken. As far as I can see, it's the only way. I — I am a punk actress. I — I couldn't hope to — to support us on a couple of jobs a month. . . . Yes, Ken. Yes — I do want you." T^HE weekend was not a howling ■*- success, especially after the gin ran out, but it bore immediate fruit. Ken Williams, giving up his comfortable apartment in town, moved to Connec- ticut, bag and baggage, and took pos- session of the two least attractive rooms on the third floor. One he used as a bedroom — one as a study. He didn't pay a regular sum per week — Carol wouldn't bring herself to put a price on hospitality — but he went over accounts with her and sent his own check to the butcher and the baker and the candlestick maker. He also helped her with the dishes of an eve- ning, and was downstairs early in the morning, before she was up, to put on the coffee pot and start the eggs. Stan took to the role of invalid as a duck takes to water. He enjoyed lolling in an easy chair with a copy of Esquire and a snifter of brandy. Brandy, he said, was good for his throat. The only cigarettes that he could stand were imported ones- English tobacco was more soothing than the domestic kind — so Carol sneaked enough from the budget to buy about a carton a week, and Ken didn't make any objection. He only paid the next installment on the car that was left and tried to make Carol hire a laundress. RADIO AND TELEVISION IVIIRROR It was the night Carol fainted over the dishpan that Ken asked her to go away with him. He hadn't meant to ask any such thing — not ever — but when Carol went down in a heap with a sound that was half sigh and half sob, he lost control of himself. He had her in his arms so fast that he was surprised at himself, and he was kissing her when she came to. "Darling! Darling!" he said. "You're dying by inches. . . . Come away with me — and after a while you can divorce Stan and we can be married." Carol said, "I didn't faint because I was tired. Stan — this afternoon — was talking about his wasted oppor- tunities and it upset me." She stopped short and let Ken think that the wasted opportunities were business ones — she didn't explain that Stan had been needling her for hours about the rich women he could have mar- ried if he hadn't come into the Mul- berry Room on a certain night and fallen for a girl who had nothing but big eyes and glossy hair. Ken kissed Carol again. He said, "Why you fainted doesn't matter — the fact that you fainted is enough. . . . Oh, my dearest, your marriage to Stan is through — and it never was a real marriage! Come away with me — to- night." Carol said, "Not tonight or ever, Ken — so long as Stan needs me. Our marriage is a real one and it always was and it always will be — so long as Stan needs . me. . . . No, Ken, you mustn't kiss me again — no, you mustn't." AFTER that evening when Carol ■^ fainted and announced her plat- form in regard to Stan, Ken began to keep to himself. He wasn't quite as helpful as he had been and Stan — smoking and drinking brandy and finding fault with Carol's meals — ac- cused him of getting lazy. "I thought you were assistant cook and bottle washer around here," he told Ken. "Once upon a time you used to help Carol with the dishes for your board and keep but nowadays, as soon as dinner's over, you run upstairs and start pounding on the typewriter. How come?" Ken said slowly, "I'm trying to get ahead on my scripts so that I can take a vacation . . . Why don't you help Carol with the dishes for a change?" Carol murmured, "Stan can't dabble around in a dish pan — not with his throat." "I was suggesting that he use his hands," said Ken, and turned on his heel and went upstairs — a man can be pushed just so far, even by the one woman. A few seconds later his door slammed and the typewriter started going at a double quick tempo. When it had been clicking for perhaps half an hour, Stan threw down his paper and turned on Carol furiously. "I wish to heaven Ken would go on that vacation!" he said. "Instead of talking about it." Carol told him very slowly, "I'll always remember how you looked that night you came into the Mulberry Room. I thought I'd never seen any- body so handsome and so distin- guished and so fine — my heart stopped beating. It's a pity I couldn't see inside you, Stan. It would have saved us all a lot of — of tragedy." Stan said, "It would have saved me my voice. You deviled me into going out in an open car in the rain." Carol said, "I'm tired of hearing about that open car episode — I'm very APRIL, 1942 1 Bill is beginning to wonder . . ."It's funny how Jane always folds after wash-day I see other women . HOLD it Bill! Washing a tubful of clothes is no pushover. If you saw the time it takes, the way Jane has to rub — and rub — just to get your shirts clean, you'd get a shock. She doesn't have to work so hard though. Not if she'll use Fels-Naptha Soap. Fels gives her a combination of gentle naptha and richer golden soap that gets dirt out much faster. No matter how it's ground in. She won't spend so much time bending over the washtub if she uses Fels-Naptha Soap. She won't have to break her back, nor ruin her hands, rubbing. You'll have whiter shirts and they'll probably wear better . . . We've been trying to get Jane to use Fels-Naptha Soap— like 'those other women.' Maybe you can persuade her. Go/c/en 6ar or Go/c/ei2 c^^s FELS-NAPTHA 6am/ie/:Sff/e-]Z/eGrqx" 55 PEPSODEN¥ POlMfDER makes -teeth TWICE AS BRIGHT *'CHECK' «*0OUBLE-CHECK" says Bernice, radio network accountant says Bernadette, Chicago business girl " We used to dare teachers and friends to tell us apart. But that was before we made a tooth powder test. Lucky me ! We flipped a coin and I won Pepsodent. Bernadette chose another leading brand." " Who'd have thought it would be so noticeable! Everyone re- marked about it. My teeth . became twice as bright as Sister's. Even Dad marveled that Pepsodent made such a differ- ence...so Pepsodent's the choice of the whole family now! " "Seeing was believing! Nothing but Pepsodent for us!// K For the safety of your smile ... use Pepsodent twice a day . see your dentist twice a year. ;ired of hearing about it. You did a stupid childish thing to show off, and y^ou're paying the price for your child- ishness. So, incidentally, am I." Stan's mouth fell slightly open. Carol had never been so clear and concise before — she'd never been so much of a person before. "What's the big idea?" he asked. Carol said, "This. I won't have you picking on Ken. Ken's paying for the food we eat and the roof over our head, and even the soles on our shoes. I won't have you picking on him." Stan rasped nastily, "Food and shel- ter and shoes — is that all he's paying for?" Carol said, and her tone was opa- lescent with frost — "I wish I could leave you, Stan. I wish I could leave you. . . . But no matter what you say I know you need me." Stan's mouth closed again and he sat for a long moment in complete silence while the typewriter upstairs clicked out a devil's dance. When he finally spoke the nastiness had gone from his voice. "Carol," he said, "I do need you, and you mustn't hate me too much for going on this way. Here I am, shut in by four walls — doing nothing, seeing nothing, being nothing. Once upon a time I'd enter a tavern and every- body'd turn to look at me and I'd be surrounded by a crowd in two shakes. I was Stanley Breen, then — the biggest announcer in radio — and now I'm an invalid cooped up in a house in the suburbs, and I haven't anybody but you." Carol said, not melting even in the slightest degree — "You're no longer an invalid. . . . Why don't you go to town every once in a while and see 56 your friends?" "But they won't look at me — they won't crowd around," Stan told her. "I'm just a broken old has-been, with- out a future or a voice." Carol melted then almost, but not quite. "Stan," she said, "I've been meaning for ages to suggest some- thing. Why don't you get a job? You're strong as a horse — even though your voice has gone. And we can't sponge off Ken forever. . . And then, too, it would give you something to think about. You'd stop sitting around and brooding." "V/hat could I do?" asked Stan. "You know radio," Carol told him. "There are agency jobs that you might handle." "Oh, you want me to be an office boy," said Stan, nasty again. "You begrudge me the space I take up in my own house. Is that it?" "No," said Carol, "that's not it." Ken had announced an imminent vacation but he didn't go on one. Night after night he banged on the typewriter and whatever came out of that typewriter was locked in a deep dresser drawer. And then finally the surplus typing stopped and he took to going to town more often, and earlier, and sometimes he phoned and told Carol he wouldn't be home for dinner. Sitting opposite her at the dinner table, Stan told Carol significantly that Ken must have a new girl, but Carol only gave him an extra helping of steak and held her peace. AND then one afternoon, along about -^ cocktail time, Ken dropped in at Maude Sanborn's office — she kept a small office in town — and told her that he wanted to use up a couple of hours of her valuable time. "Are you propositioning me?" asked Maude, and laughed her fat comfort- able laugh. "You're a sight for sore eyes. Ken. I haven't seen you for a month of Sundays. Speaking of Sun- days, do you remember those horrible weekends when Stan was in the money?" "Do I?" said Ken. "Those week- ends were the Spanish Inquisition plus, as far as I'm concerned. Look, Maude, do you mind if I read some- thing to you?" Maude asked anxiously, "Is it a radio script?" Ken shook his head and told her — "No. It's a play. A mystery play." Maude asked, "Where did you get it? Who wrote it? Why do you want me to listen as you read it?" and Ken replied, "I got it out of my head — I wrote it. And that's why I want you to listen." Maude didn't express any surprise — every script writer in the world has dilly-dallied with the idea of writing a play — why should Ken Wil- liams be an exception to the general rule? She just leaned back in her desk chair and folded her hands and said, "Shoot — but if it gets too bad I'll stop you." And so Ken curiously devoid of self-consciousness, opened his brief case and took out a thick wad of pa- per and flicked over a page and started off from scratch. After the first five pages Maude had stopped leaning back and her hands weren't folded — they were clenched. When Ken came to the climax of his first act and paused for breath, she said — "Go on, you genius — what are you waiting for?" By the end of the second act Continued on page 59 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR L>cu| Hetto to — SHE'S Esther Ralston, once a glam- orous star of the screen, still glamorous, and now the star of Woman of Courage on CBS, on which she plays the appealing role of Martha Jackson. Esther — if you know her well enough, you can call her by her nick- name of "Tee Tee" — has been an actress all her life, practically. Her parents were billed as "The Ralstons, Metropolitan Entertainers, in Scenes from Shakespeare, Playlets, Sketches. Songs, Dances, Mimicry," and when Esther was a little girl they toured the United States, playing in high schools, at church socials, or in town halls. They weren't big time, by any means, but those early years taught Esther a great deal about acting. The Ralstons started their theatrical career in New York, where Mr. Ralston ran a gymnasium for crippled children. He also gave lectures on physical education, using Esther, aged two, and her brother Clarence, four, as living examples of scientifically raised children. Today Esther says doubtfully, "I'm not so sure about the scientific part." The family was al- ways poor, even after it took to the road in its vaudeville act. Their travels finally brought the Ralstons to Los Angeles, where a financial crisis sent Esther into the chorus of a burlesque show — until police authorities discovered she was less than sixteen years old. She got bit parts in the silent movies, but success passed her by until she was cast as "Mrs. Darling" in "Peter Pan," with Mary Brian. Remember it? The pic- ture and Esther were both hits, and for years afterwards she was a top star. When she finally left Hollywood it was with the idea of appearing in a Broad- way play, but she got interested in radio instead, and now devotes all of her time to it, when she isn't busy run- ning a beautiful home in Great Neck, LyuT Cover Cili4> Long Island, a New York suburb. Great Neck people know her as Mrs. Ted Lloyd. Ted is a New York radio commentator and columnist, and they met when he interviewed her for a story. She's been married before, and has a ten-year-old daugh- ter, Mary Esther, whom she and "Ted both adore. Esther would give up acting if it ever interfered with her marriage, but it never has. She could probably make a good living as an interior decorator. Just as a hobby, she planned and furnished her mother's home in California, and the job turned out so successfully that she did the same for her own home out there and later in Great Neck. Her greatest extravagance is buying material to make dresses for herself and for Mary Esther. She's a handy person with a needle. If you think of an actress as some- one who lies in bed until noon, you aren't thinking of Esther. Woman of Courage is heard at 10:45 in the morning, and each day's rehearsal starts a couple of hours before that, so she arises at six every day in order to arrive at the studio on time. After the broadcast, unless there's some- thing important to keep her in New York, she hurries back to Great Neck and becomes as housewifely as Martha Jackson herself. Radiant new Dreamflower shades don't simply match your skin — but tinge it with alluring dream-girl color magic! Tender new Dreamf)ov\rer smoothness suffuses your face with an angelic, clinging "soft-focus" finish . . . V ^^v.^\Do/nfy new Dreamflower box ^^ -^all garlanded with miniature ^ New Pond's "LIPS' — stays on longer! Shatter his heart with your stay-lush new Pond's "Lips"! 5 wicked Stagline shades. 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BREAD, enriched or whole grain, and cereals with milk or cream, for B vitamins and other nutrients. Enough of these foods in your daily diet and in the diets of all Americans will assure better health for the nation, will increase its ener- gies to meet today's emergencies. fio^mWAtii/i/aAfSIV^mm:^ My Heart Was True Continued jrom page 56 she was making pleats in her hand- kerchief and her only comment was, "I hope to God somebody gets that villain. He carries the play — but he's a stinker." The third act — it was the first act multiplied and the second act through a magnifying glass. Ken was going more slowly now and Maude was drumming, but noiselessly, on the arm of her chair. And then it was all over but the shouting and Ken patted the pages together and thrust them back into his brief case and zipped the case shut. "What do you think of it?" he asked. "You're a pal of mine, Maude— tell the truth." Maude obeyed him rather regret- fully. "I wish to heaven I'd written it," she said. "Our children, if we ever have children, will be seeing that play in stock fifty years from now. . . . You've got an 'Abie's Irish Rose,' Ken — or a 'Tobacco Road' — you've got what it takes. You won't have any trouble selling the thing if that's what's worrying you. Play rights, movie rights, radio rights — the whole works. Look, angel — I know a good agent. Do you want to — " Ken interrupted — "I don't need an agent, Maude. I've sold the play al- ready— I have an advance in my vest pocket but money's the least — con- sideration. You see, I sold it with a stipulation." Maude gurgled, "Anybody who can sell a play with a stipulation is good. I take off my hat to you." Ken said, "You must do more than take off your hat to me, old dear — you must help me finish the deal. It means — " his tone was pleading — "everything to me. I came here this afternoon to read the play and get your opinion, but I also came here to ask you nine or ten favors. First of all, will you keep it a secret — nobody must know that I'm the author." "Huh?" queried Maude. She was puzzled. "Publicity never hurt a script writer. Ken." Ken told her — "I realize that and I'm not one to hide what might be called my light under what might be called a bushel, but in this case it's necessary, Maude, I'm going to intro- duce you to the man who is producing the play. He's all set to do his stuff — but we need you. Will you be a heavy conspirator?" "I lost five pounds last month," Maude told him, "but I'll do my best. - Shoot the works. Ken." So Ken, bending over until his head almost touched Maude's head, started to talk. The next day Carol and Ken and Stan were having breakfast, the phone rang and it was Maude Sanborn, asking if she could bring a friend of hers — a theatrical producer — out to dinner. Carol told her that they'd adore company if the company didn't mind taking pot luck, but Stan said — "Maude has a hell of a nerve to horn in for grub and bring strangers with her!" Ken didn't say anything at all, but that afternoon when Carol was doing the marketing he went to a liquor store and bought wine and Scotch in a square bottle with a crys- tal stopper — Stan's old brand. He bought roses, too, for the table. MAUDE arrived with the twilight, her producer in tow. The pro- ducer was a small man and stocky, with an accent that might have meant anything, and did. He bowed low over Carol's hand, he acknowledged an introduction to Ken very casually, he told Stan that he had followed the Breen career as an announcer and that he was "so sorree" about the unfor- tunate accident to the vocal chords. Stan, warming to sympathy from a new source, immediately became the gracious host and when Ken brought out the square bottle of Scotch it was he who poured the drinks and urged them on the stranger. His harsh rasp- ing voice said pleasant things and Carol, listening, could scarcely be- lieve her ears. It was a good dinner. The roses and candlelight helped and so did the wine. Maude led Stan on to take the center of the stage, Carol was quiet, and Ken— who ate sparingly — listened with an odd concentration. It was toward the demi tasse stage that he asked the producer a direct question. "Anything interesting coming up this year," he asked, "in the way of plays?" The producer said, "I have only one int'resting possibility." He laughed. "Possibility ees the wrong word. I must say more, for I have a hit upon my desk. Until tonight I would not have dared call eet so, for until tonight I was unable to cast eet — even in my mind." The producer was very suave. No one — no one on earth — could have suspected a frame-up. Maude, when she spoke, was equally suave. She queried innocently, "Why until to- night? What are you getting at?" "The play ees a murder mystery with a villain who ees — but superb. The whole success of the play hinges ^ouu TTeluLo lo- JEAN TENNYSON — soprano star of Great Moments in Music, heard each Wednesday night on CBS. Blue-eyed and golden- haired, Jean began to study music when she was fourteen. She was born and grew up in Chicago, but went to New York at nine- teen, and from there to Europe to study with Mary Garden, famous opera star of earlier days. When she came back to America she sang for the Son Carlo and Chicago Civic Opera Companies, and more recently was heard in the Hollywood Bowl, Grant Pork in Chicago, and Robin Hood Dell in Philadelphia. This is her first regular radio series, and on it she sings arias from famous operas and duets with Jon Peerce. If you like operatic music, but not in large doses, this capsule-sized program will be just right. 'iistenr... I SAID TO WE CAl[l\IDAR, you canido this to me h "■OOB'S telephone call — and my cramps — ■O came just at the same time. "Bob said, 'Big news, honey ! I've picked up two good seats for tonight — you know, the show you've been wanting to see. We'll splurge a little, afterward — supper, where we can dance. See you at 7:30!' "All the while the calendar was saying, 'Tell him no: But I was sick of its tyranny! Right then I did something I'd been meaning to do for a long, long time. / tried Midol. "Bob and I enjoyed that show. Yes, we danced, too. And nobody knew — even / almost forgot — that sheer habit of giving in to 'regular pain' had almost wrecked our fun!" Isn't it time you broke the habit — the old- fashioned habit — of giving in meekly to functional periodic pain? Isn't it time you tried Midol? If you have no organic disorder calling for special medical or surgical treatment, Midol should redeem your "dreaded days" for active, comfortable living. It is made expressly for this purpose. You can use it confidently, for Midol contains no opiates. One comforting ingredient is often pre- scribed for headache and muscular pains. Another, exclusively in Midol, increases relief by reducing spasmodic pain peculiar to the menstrual process. If you don't see Midol on your druggist's counter, ask for it. The large size, is only 40 fi; the small size, 20(4. Guaranteed b^ " Good Housekeeping y Ml DOL APRIL, 1942 RELIEVES FUNCTIONAL PERIODIC PAIN 59 on the villain and his voice quality." "Voice quality?" whispered Carol, and the producer nodded in her direc- tion. "But yes, Madame Breen," he said. "Oh, you do not know the troubles of a man in my position! To find some- one of handsome appearance, with a voice that holds frightfulness — a voice that ees harsh and dreadful, deep in the throat — dramatic — " He turned swiftly to Stan. "Have you ever thought of going upon the stage?" Stan asked— "Who? Me?" For once he was flabbergasted and the producer nodded, "Yes. You're a fin- ished radio performer — you know the treeks. Added to that you have the looks that will make women fall froni their chairs, and the voice that will make children run home screaming to hide behind their mothers' skirts. . . . You will not be risking anything eef you play the lead in thees play, Mr. Breen. You can safely give up your other commitments." Carol started to say, "He hasn't any other commitments," but Stan silenced her with a ferocious glance. "You interest me strangely," he said to the producer. "What's your proposition?" Swiftly, very swiftly, the producer was all business. He even lost his accent. He said, "Come to my office tomorrow morning and we'll talk terms and contracts — ■ I think I can guarantee a motion picture production as well as — Broadway. If you create the part you will have to do it in every version — because it will be you." Stan said, "If Maude and Ken and my wife will excuse us — " was he faintly sarcastic or just command- ing?— "you and I can go into the living room right now and talk things over. Of course, I'll have to read the play before I make a decision — I can't rely on the other fellow's judgment, not even yours. But if it's as good as you seem to think — " Maude Sanborn and the producer left around midnight and Carol — worn down with combined excitement and bewilderment — went out to the kitchen to tidy up. The dinner dishes were still standing on a table, they hadn't even been scraped. Ken fol- lowed her and picked up a knife and started to transfer greasy morsels to the garbage pail. "We should have a dog," he said, "to eat the scraps." Carol told him, "It's like magic. . . . Do you realize, Ken — Stan will be rich again!" Ken said, "He'll have the world by the tail, and no mistake. He can buy a dozen convertibles and another house and the weekend parties can begin all over again." "Yes," said Carol. She started to run water from the faucet but it wasn't quite hot so she dabbled her fingers in it and waited. "Yes," she said, "the weekend parties — can begin again." SHE laughed hysterically and while she was laughing Stan came and stood in the kitchen doorway. "You folks at it again?" he asked. Ken said, "You mean washing dishes?" Stan said, "You know damn well what I mean — and it isn't washing dishes. Oh, you may think I'm a blind fool, but I'm not. I've been watch- ing and listening for months and I'm wise to your game. Ken, you've wanted Carol since before we were married, and you still want her." Ken told him, "For one of the first times in your life you're right about something." Carol was still dabbling her fingers in a stream of water that was growing warmer. She said, "Please — please!" "Well," Stan said, "you can't have her. Ken. Carol's my wife." "You don't love her," said Ken. "You never did." "Whether I love her or not makes very little difference," said Stan, "to you. Carol and I are married and we'll stay married. A wife's very useful when a man's on the stage. He needs a good hostess and if he talks out of turn — " Stan was quoting himself — "a wife acts as an alibi. Ken — -" his voice rose; it had the power and hatefulness of a grinding machine— "you can get the hell out of my house." Ken smiled at Carol. "Do you want me to go?" he asked. Carol turned off the water faucet. She said slowly, "Yes." All at once Ken Willams was white — white to the lips. He had gambled — with those yellow chips of the spirit — and he had lost. He put down the plate he was scraping and closed the garbage pail. He said — "I'm sorry, Carol. I'll be packed in half an hour." He started toward the kitchen door and Stan stood aside to let him pass. But he was only halfway through the opening when Carol spoke again. She said — "Stan doesn't need me any more, Ken, so I'm free — but it may take me three-quarters of an hour to get packed. Do you mind waiting?" The End TO 5 OUT OF 7 WOMEN . . . il^t cO^fOKl Richard Hudnul, Depl. M, 693 Fifth Ave., New York Clly MF-4-42 \ PleaHe send me metal, puree Makeup Kit containing har- monizing powder, rouge and lipstick. / enclose lOi to help cover expense of handling and mailing. The co/or of my myt it- -hair tkin— Name_ Street- Beauty boosts morale! Let Marvelous Matched Makeup by Richard Hudnut help you look your loveliest! • These days, make a special effort to be beauti- ful! Avoid the tragic mistake so many women unknowingly make — the lack of color harmony in powder, rouge and lipstick. Such makeup makes you look harsh, unattractive — instead of winning! 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A., except where letralty prohibited. j THE POWDER THAT ^Tiz^ 60 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR Grand Opera meets good taste ir Pepsi-Cola is made only by Pepsi-Cola Company, Long Island City, N. Y. Bottled locally by Authorized Bottlers from coast to coast. ^ The Story of Mary Marlin reception room, saw the door of Joe's private office open a few inches and heard a light, caressing voice say: "All right, Joey honey. I'll be seeing you." While Mary stared, aghast, the door opened farther and Sally Gibbons came out. She had changed but little in the year since Mary had seen her last — a bit more heavily made up, per- haps, a bit harder. When she saw Mary she tilted her chin defiantly and marched past without a word. The office stenographer, unaware of the drama that had just gone on be- fore her, said, "Mr. Marlin is free now, Mrs. Marlin. I'll tell him you're here." Wondering how her face could fail to betray the tumult in her heart, Mary stammered wildly, "No — don't tell him. I — I just remembered— there's something I must tell Mr. Post. I'll see him instead." Without waiting for the girl's assent, she almost ran into David's office. It did not strike her as strange that she should turn to him for comfort. At sight of her he leaped to his feet, came swiftly around the desk, saying, "Mary! What's the matter?" She clung to him, sobbing, trem- bling with shock. She had been so sure Joe was cured of his infatuation for Sally Gibbons, so foolishly sure! She had thought she needed only to wait until he was ready to speak. But it had all been an illusion, a sand- castle that a single chance wave had crumbled into nothingness. With David's arms around her, she APRIL, 1942 Continued from page 28 fought to regain her self-control, and after a moment was able to say, "I'm sorry. If it hadn't been so sudden — " David was intent upon what, sne was saying. Neither of them heard the door to Joe's office open. Neither knew that for a few seconds he stood on the threshold, watching with deep pain in his eyes, before he closed it again. Wearily spent after the onslaught of emotion, Mary raised her head, and David dropped his arms. "I suppose I'm a fool," she said, "to let it hit me like this. It's only that I just heard something which proves I can never again trust Joe, or believe anything he says." nrO Joe, sitting alone at his desk in ■* the next room, it did not even occur that Mary had overheard Sally Gib- bons' parting words. They had van- ished from his own memory as if they had never been spoken. He had not lied to Mary when he said he wanted to make a new start. His connection with Sally actually was finished, had been finished for months, ever since he learned that she had lied when she said she was going to have a baby, hoping to trick him into an immediate divorce and remarriage. Still, because he once had loved her, and because he pitied her childishness and cheap- ness, he had wanted to help her, and her visit to the office this afternoon had been simply to receive the rather large check he made out as a final token of friendly farewell. Her good- bye was so characteristic in its flip- ness and insincere affection that he had scarcely heard it, certainly had not thought how it would sound to anyone else who happened to be listening. So it was that when he opened the door of David's office and saw Mary in his partner's arms, he did not even think of Sally. He could not see Mary's face, and did not know she was crying. But he did see David's, and on it there was a look of tenderness impossible to read incorrectly. When he softly closed the door he was cer- tain of something he had long sus- pected: David was in love with Mary. And since he had seen her in David's arms, he believed that Mary loved David. He pressed his forehead against a clenched fist, and wished he could press regret out of his brain. He had had Mary's love, but he had thrown it away — partly out of chivalry to Sally, partly out of a real desire for a child. Even Mary had never known how deep and firm this wish for children was in Joe. Well, he told himself, the chivalry was mistaken, and the child was a lie, and now he was left with nothing — nothing except his ambition to be United States Senator from Iowa. And, ironically, even that would be taken from him. Eve Underwood had told him plainly that a reconcilia- tion with Mary would be necessary before he could hope to run success- fully. He hadn't paid much attention at the time. He wanted the recon- ciliation fo" its own sake, not for its 61 This Qugfyf-fc) shsiriie you j IF YOU'VE GOTTEN INTO THE HABIT of using a certain kind of napkin, maybe nothing we could tell you would make you decide to try Modess instead. 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Probably Mary would come back to him if she knew he needed her to at- tain his ambition. But this he would never tell her. He did not want her on those terms. After a long time he took a small, shabby notebook from his pocket. It was his private journal — not so much a diary as a repository for all the secret thoughts which burned so deeply inside him that they must be expressed somehow. Only Jonathan knew of its existence. Between two of the pages, near the back, was pressed a slip of arbutus, brittle now and brown — the arbutus Mary had picked and given to him on a spring afternoon many months before. He picked up a pen and on a blank page wrote a few words: "I found out today that I've lost you, Mary darling. But I'll go on loving you — even though you'll never know it." Then he closed the book and slipped it back into his pocket. Silently, he resolved never to write in it again, because that chapter of his life was finished. JONATHAN appeared to use all his spare time in writing a novel which absorbed him completely, but he was more observant than he seemed. He was quick to sense the change in Joe, who had returned to Cedar Springs full of such high hopes, and just as quick, by adroit and oblique questions, to learn the reason. He wasted only a few hours, after that, in pondering the rights and wrongs of his conduct. He had none of the conventional scruples where the happiness of his friends was con- cerned. Probably, he reasoned, Joe was mistaken in his belief that Mary had stopped loving him and had turned to David. Mary, in Jonathan's shrewd view, wasn't that kind of a woman. In any case, he could see no harm in doing a little investigating, and so, one evening, he called alone on Mary, bringing in his pocket a small object which he had unobtru- sively lifted from Joe's dresser drawer. "I guess I'm butting in where it's none of my business," he apologized. "But I hate to see two swell people making a mistake when it isn't neces- sary. Why don't you and Joe get together again? I thought you were going to." "I thought so too, Jonathan," Mary said simply, tacitly granting the little man's right to intrude on her emo- tions. She looked lovelier than ever tonight. She had not been sleeping well, and the violet shadows under her eyes accented their more brilliant violet. Above her pale skin the heavy hair glinted darkly in the subdued light. Yet, with all her beauty, she seemed listless, weary. "Joe thinks you're in love with somebody else," Jonathan told her. "Is he right?" A flush came to Mary's cheeks. "In love with — Of course he's not right! I've never loved anyone but Joe. Who in the world would he think — " Jonathan ignored the implied ques- tion. "I was sure he was crazy. But it's the idea he's got into his head. It's why he hasn't been near you lately." "Oh, it can't be!" Mary burst out. "No, you're wrong, Jonathan. Joe has found out he doesn't — care for me any more. He's still infatuated with Sally Gibbons." "That's all over — been over a long 62 time. Joe and I've lived together for months, and I'd be sure to know." Twisting her hands together, fight- ing against the sudden new hope thit threatened to engulf her, Mary cried, "But she was at his office just the other day! I saw her — I heard her — " She stopped, biting her lips. Not even to Jonathan could she repeat what she had heard. "Sure, I know it," Jonathan shrugged this aside. "He called her up there to give her a check and write 'period' to the whole business. He told me all about it." Wide-eyed, Mary stared at him. "Oh!" she whispered. "I can't be- lieve—" "Joe's still crazy about you, Mary," Jonathan insisted. He reached into his pocket and drew out a black book- let. "Here's the proof — in his own handwriting." He selected a page and held the booklet out to her, open. With luck, he thought, he could return it before Joe got home. Unless Mary told him, Joe would never know it had been gone. ll/IARY read the words written in ■'-" Joe's tiny, characteristic hand — and she knew, while her brain whirled dizzily, that this was the truth. "It is — it is" she gasped. "Oh Jonathan, thank you! I must see him — I must go to him now — excuse me, you darling!" She was already in the hall, tearing a coat from its hook, when she heard Jonathan saying lightly, happily, "Guess if you hurry, Mary, you can find him at the office." The dark, wintry streets whirled past her as she ran. Hurry! hurry! her heart called out. So much time has been lost already, there must not be another minute, another second! There was a light in his office. She fiung the door wide and rushed through, crying, "Joe— my dearest! I've come back to you — I thought you didn't love me — but now I know — Joe! Joe!" Then she was in his arms, pressed close to his heart, pressing him close to hers. Cedar Springs gossiped, as was its way, but on the whole it was well satisfied to see Joe Marlin and Mary Marlin once more occupying the old Main Street house together, satisfied to see Joe crossing the Square at the usual eight-thirty every morning on his way to the office, to read the for- mal announcement of his candidacy for United States Senator. It seemed to Mary, in that enchanted first year of her reconciliation, that she had never been so happy — not even in the twelve months following their marriage. For now there was a deeper, richer contentment — a ma- turity in their love that was like the fulfilled calm at the end of a summer day. And there was another reason, a reason greater than they had ever had before, for happiness. . . SHE could not go with Joe on that last whirlwind campaign tour of the state, late in October. But she could crown the joy of his victory over the other candidate for Senator, Daniel B. Burke, with an intenser joy. David Marlin, their son, was born on Election Night. "I don't deserve to be so lucky," Joe murmured, bending over the bed where she lay with the small Davey cradled in her arms. It was her first day home from the hospital, and she RADIO AND TELEVISION ]M[IRROR was comfortably aware of being well and relaxed and loved. Looking up from Davey's sleeping face, she drank in the worshipful, adoring look in Joe's eyes. Lucky? she thought. But we're both lucky. To think of how near we were to being parted forever! "He's the first thing we've ever had that truly belonged to us both," she said. "And because he does, we can never be separated again." "Separated? Not a chance!" Joe agreed. "Think I'm going to be that big a fool again?" He leaned over and lifted one pink, cnxmpled hand with the tip of his finger. "This young man's going to be proud of his father, Mary. Maybe — keep your fingers crossed — he'll be living in the White House some day!" "Maybe," Mary said, her eyes shin- ing. "But even if he doesn't, he'll still be proud of you. As I am now." Gently he lowered Davey's hand, and said a little huskily, "Are you, Mary? I want to be — good enough for you." CHE wondered, often, when they ^ were in Washington, if Joe re- membered the sincerely felt emotion with which he had said that. From the very first, Washington was a different world — and Joe was differ- ent, too. It was purest chance, of course, that among the first people they met were the Secretary of the Interior, Frazer Mitchell, and his wife. Events would have followed another course entirely if they hadn't, and if Joe hadn't had the immense luck (as it seemed then) of winning Frazer Mitchell's regard and friendship. They might so easily have slipped into the relative obscurity that surrounds most junior Senators and their wives. In- stead, under the guidance and patron- age of the Mitchells, they were swept up into the gay, whirling center of Washington's brightest, most sophisti- cated— and naost lawless — society. Frazer Mitchell was white-haired, dignified, the bearer of a name and heritage famous in American history. His wife, Bunny, was much younger. At times, in her thoughtless quest for excitement, she was like a pretty, greedy child, snatching at colored baubles on the Christmas tree. She wanted so many things: clothes, lux- ury, admiration, social position . . . there was nothing desirable in this world that Bunny Mitchell did not scheme and plan to have. And yet her greed was so naive, so innocent, that you could not hate her for it. Rather, you pitied her. And Mary pitied Frazer Mitchell, too, one afternoon when Bunny, over some trifling cause, flew into a rage and revealed how little she really cared for him. Contempt for his age, for his dignity, even for his helpless adoration of her, were all implicit in that petulent outburst, Frazer seemed to shrink into himself as he listened, like a man being stripped of seLf- respect, and his apologies to Mary and Joe were terrifyingly humble. "She should never have married him!" Mary said to Joe when they were alone. "It's tragic, the way she makes him unhappy, and herself un- happy too!" "Yes, it is," Joe agreed gravely. "Mitchell should have known when he asked her to marry him that anyone as — alive — as Bunny needs a husband her own age." Mary glanced at him in surprise. "I imagine," she said dryly, "knowing APRIL, 1942 BLONDE « MAX FACTOR MAKE-UP STUDIO. HOLLYWOOD, CALIF, i"""""' I / f'HT BLONDE J Set.dPursoSizeBoxofPo»der,RoogcSunplCTimlmini«ureTcu-Colot 1"^'" ' ' ' dI Gf^y ■ ' ■°r''''"nwNETTE I « Lipsddc in my color harmony shade. 1 enclose ten ceoa for posage and 1 ^*"" "^ D Gre' JrEE 25.4-70 I ""j, "■ • • ol O™"^ ' ' □( yg„ o Dark.Dl ' NAME h;s«.-::-.-o^E5t5^,..ro"ois.a fll,.. O L«l'l ■■■■^ ,' „c,„*rl • STREET ^-^;JTT^-5;;Qte---^'„';;s:;;;J'*."ol 63 ipi" "Mill SHE'S (ytX! wcam SHE USES IRRESISTIBLE PERFUME AND LIPSTICK An exquisite perfume for your new Spring Bonnet ... a challenge to Spring ond o young man's fancy. A touch of IRRESISTIBLE PERFUME mokes yoo di- vinely exciting, glamorous, irresistible and assures you of his devotion. Nov/ in an adorable Easter Box. Only 10« at all 5 & 10( Stores j^. USE IRRESISTIBLE lipstick illiant new reds and ruby tones. The lipjlickthofs WHIP- TEXT to stoy on longer . . . smoother 10« Bunny, that it's more likely she did the asking." At her tone, Joe's lips tightened. "I wouldn't jump to conclusions," he said in a voice that indicated plainly he didn't want to continue the con- versation. JOE was using that kind of voice more and more lately, Mary found. He was tired, she knew. It was im- possible for Joe Marlin to tackle a job with out throwing himself into it completely, and he was giving every bit of energy he could to the task of being a good Senator. This was to be expected, and Mary approved; but it was not to be expected, and she did not approve, that all his precious leisure hours should be taken up with social activities initiated by the Mitch- ells and the people they had met through them. Parties, dinners, week- ends at Frazer's estate, "The Shad- ows"— frequently Mary longed for just one quiet hour for them to spend to- gether with Davey. But when, timid- ly, she expressed this wish, Joe said coldly, "I understood you were as in- terested in my career as I am." "Of course I am! But — " "Darling," he said with restrained patience, "surely you see it's impor- tant to be close friends with one of the most influential men in Washing- ton. I've been unbelievably lucky to know him — and through him, other influential people who make or break careers." "It's the people back in Iowa — who will make or break your career, Joe," she reminded him. "Oh — well — in a way. But I can't possibly do a job for them unless I'm strong here in Washington . . . Be- sides," he added, "I like Frazer and — Bunny. I enjoy their company." Was it imagination, or had he hesi- tated, ever so slightly, before pro- nouncing Bunny's name? Mary faced, honestly, the problem brought up by that doubt. She did not believe she was jealous of Bunny or any of the other beautiful, smartly gowned women who moved in Bunny's set. She did not believe that this could be, even partly, the basis of her wish that she and Joe could live a simpler, less active life. But she was forced to admit that al- ways, in the background, there was the memory of another time when Joe had been irritable, impatient of her opinions and of anything that resembled interference in his move- ments or activities. That other time, the explanation had been Sally. . . Gradually, as the weeks passed, she came to believe that there was still another reason why Joe should see less of the Mitchells. They were not, she was convinced, the best ones for him to know, even politically. Fra- zer was an old-line conservative, an aristocrat, who believed in privilege and property and distrusted both the ability and the intelligence of the common people. He and his like, Mary thought, were remnants of a world that was dying. She did not want Joe to be part of that decadent world. She wanted him to be a leader toward a better, newer world. All this she would have expressed, not to Joe, but to Eve Underwood, who was in Washington now and wao had not lost her interest in Joe's fu- ture. But when the chance came to speak, she was silent. It seemed too much like disloyalty, although she was certain Eve would have agreed with her. Certainly, Mary was much less happy in Washington than she had expected to be. She and Joe lived in a large and expensive house on Woodley Road; Davey had an English nurse named Miss Fairweather; and a stiffly correct butler served their meals when — rarely — they dined at home. She would gladly have ex- changed it all for Main Street in Ce- dar Springs and old Annie bustling noisily about in the kitchen. Annie was with them here in Wash- ington, but that, oddly enough, brought Mary only one more small irritation. Annie was jealous of Miss Fairweather, and stubbornly took it as a personal affront that she had not been given full charge of Davey. In the end, it was this minor feud that precipitated a crisis between Joe and Mary. They were at a very gay party — too gay, as usual — at the Mitchells' when Mary was summoned to the telephone. It was Annie, reporting that Davey, who had been sniffling all day, was worse. "We'll be right home," Mary prom- ised, fear thudding in her breast. But Joe, when she told him of Annie's call, saw no reason to leave. "Why did Annie call?" he asked suspiciously. "Isn't Miss Fairweather with Davey?" "I — I suppose so," Mary said, anxi- ous only to hurry home. "I didn't think to ask." "Well, I'll ask." He left her, and when he returned he was smiling. "I talked to Miss Fairweather. She says Davey is perfectly all right and for us not to worry." "Oh, Joe — I don't know—" Mary de- murred. "Annie's so loyal ..." "Oh, for heaven's sake, stop fuss- ing!" he interrupted her roughly, and suddenly weeks of hidden, stifled ir- ritations stood naked and ugly be- tween them. White-faced, Mary looked around the room, at the laughing, dancing, drinking people. "You mean," she said, "all — all this — is more important to you than your son?" "I mean I don't see any reason to leave a place where we're having a good time — where I am, at least^be- cause Annie is having a nightmare." "Shall I go alone, then?" Joe's face became expressionless. "If you insist on it — yes." Without another word, Mary turned and left him. It did not help that, in the end, Joe proved to be right. Davey was not seriously ill, and Annie's zeal had been excessive. But their quarrel had not really been over whether or not to leave that particular party, and they both knew it. It had been over the entire situation — and the situation was unchanged. Joe, when he apolo- gized, was for a few minutes the man she loved — tender, considerate. But when, emboldened, she begged him COMING NEXT MONTH— THE RIGHT TO HAPPINESS IN LIVING PORTRAITS See the people you hear on radio's great serial as they really are. 64 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR once more to drop the Mitchells and their friends, he stared at her coldly. "Haven't we been over all that much too often? I've told you, Mary, that I can't afford to ignore the Mitchell crowd. Even if I wanted to." Mary gave up the argument, but the breach between them was still there, unhealed. Summer came early to Washington, and still Congress deliberated in that sweltering heat. June passed, and July. Davey grew thin and pale, and it was almost with relief that Mary decided to take him and Miss Fair- weather to Cedar Springs until Fall. She herself would go with them, see them settled there, and return to Washington in a few days. But once in Cedar Springs she felt herself possessed by restlessness. She could see things in a new, clearer light, away from Washington — or so it seemed. Looking back at the last few months, she thought guiltily that she had been unreasonable; that it would have been better to smother her dis- taste for the Mitchells and all they represented, and to have been Joe's companion more, his critic less. PRILLED with new resolves, she re- -'- turned to Washington a day earli- er than she had planned. The train got in at six in the morning, and she took a taxi straight to Woodley Road. She was surprised, letting herself into the house with her latchkey, to find Arnold, the butler, in the hallway just hanging up the telephone re- ceiver. Who in the world would be calling so early in the morning? Arnold's well-trained face, as he greeted her, showed no astonishment at her unexpected arrival, but she sensed a certain embarrassment in his manner when she asked who had telephoned. "Er — Secretary Mitchell, Madame," Arnold said hesitantly. "He wished to speak to Senator Marlin." "Oh. Well— it's terribly early, I know, but maybe you should have called him, if it was Mr. Mitchell." "Yes, Madame. But," Arnold stood a little straighter, "Senator Marlin is not in." "Not in! You mean he's gone out already?" "No, Madame. Senator Marlin did not return home last night." Quick fear tore her. Something must have happened — She flew upstairs to Joe's room, un- able quite to believe Arnold without the evidence of her own eyes. But the room was empty, the bed uncreased. Back to the head of the steps she went, and heard there the sound of voices below as the front door opened and closed again. Joe's deep tones and — Bunny Mitchell's brittle laugh. "But I must get my bag, Joe! And I know I left it here!" A tiny scuffle. More laughter. Slowly, one lagging footstep after the other, Mary went down the stairs. The couple in the hall turned, gazing upward. Joe's hands dropped from Bunny's arms, the merriment faded from his face. "Oh, Joe!" Mary breathed weakly. So Mary's distrust of Joe, vague until now, has at last taken on definite shape. Can two people ever find hap- piness together again after one of them has once proved unworthy? Be sure to read next month's chapter of this dramatic marriage novel — -in the May issue of Radio Mirror. '■w^ , Gown by Milgrim, New York Use pf\ESH*2 and stay fresher! PUT FRESH #2 under one arm — fut your present non-perspirant under the other. And then . . . 1 . See which one checks perspiration bet- ter. We think FRESH #2 will. 2. See which one prevents perspiration odor better. We are confident you'll find FRESH #2 will give you a feeling of complete under-arm security. 3. See how gentle FRESH #2 is — how pleasant to use. This easy-spreading vanishing cream is not greasy — not gritty — and not sticky. 4. See how convenient FRESH #2 is to ap- ply. You can use it immediately before dressing — no waiting for it to dry. 5. And revel in the knowledge, as you use FRESH #2, that it will not rot even the most delicate fabric. Laboratory tests prove this. FRESH *2 comes in three sizes — oOi for extra-large jar; 25c for generous medium jar; and lOp for handy travel size. Make your own test. Once you make this un- der-arm test, we're sure you 11 never be satisfied with any other perspiration-check. If you don't agree that FRESH #'2 is the best under-arm cream you've ever used, the test will cost you nothing because your dealer -.--immTmSb-^. will be glad to refund your /^uara^edby^ purchase price upon request. V*"'"'J?£?£!A^.*P"^> FRESH, Louisville, Ky. Companion of FRESH #2 is FRESH#1. FRESH #1 deodorizes, but does not stop perspiration. In a tube instead of a jar. Popular with men, too. APRIL, 1942 65 A Love Divided half expected to surprise some secret in my face. It was ridiculous. It made me un- easy. And yet, it made me more aware of Lance, as a man, than ever. And gradually I noticed a subtle change in his relationship to me. He was at the house more often, and he seemed always to want me near when he and Derek tinkered with their tool box or studied their pic- tures of birds. He seemed to talk to me as much as Derek when he told his stories. And I knew, with swift feminine intuition, that Lance had stopped seeing me as the mother of his little friend. He saw me now as an attractive, desirable woman. AND then one day Lance came when Derek was not there. It was spring and I was weeding in the garden. He knelt beside me for a while, pulling at the weeds with his long, tanned fingers. Then suddenly he made an impatient exclamation, and seized my wrists. Startled, I turned to face him and he pulled me to my feet. His shadowed gray eyes seemed to burn, and his voice was shaken when he spoke. "You're lovely, Janet," he whis- pered brokenly. "You're the loveliest thing that was ever in a man's life. I can't stand it any more — your not knowing what you mean to me." His arms went around me and his lips came down to mine. They were urgent, seeking. For a moment I stood still. Then, gently, I pushed him away. "I'm sorry. Lance. I'm proud, but I'm sorry too. For I don't love you. And I never will. I love Arnold." His arms dropped and he stood looking at me with the saddest face I've ever seen. "I knew that, I sup- pose. But I hoped. You see, I've figured that things sometimes weren't so good between you and Arnold and — and you mean so much to me, I couldn't help but hope. . ." "There's only one thing that isn't good between Arnold and me. Lance. That's Derek, and maybe that has made me seem to feel — differently than I do. But if that should ever be so unendurable that I left Arnold, it would never be for another man. It would never be for anything but Derek's own sake." "I see. You'll have to forgive me. Derek means a lot to me, too — more perhaps than you realize. Some day you'll know. But — " He gave a crooked smile — "meantime, can we go Continued from page 32 on, just being friends?" Tears welled up in my eyes. "Of course we can. Lance. I hope for al- ways and always." I hoped it had ended there. I hoped that intangible tension was cleared away, forever now that I knew and Lance knew exactly how I felt. But the very next night something happened that brought it back again. Derek announced at the dinner table that he had invited Lance to have dinner with us the next evening. His father exploded. "That's im- possible! It's all right for you to tramp the woods with this fellow, if your mother permits it," he said, "but to have him here as a family friend — no, Derek, you'll have to take back your invitation." "But father," Derek protested. "I can't. That wouldn't be right. And besides, why can't he be here for din- ner?" "I have said why." "That's not fair, Arnold," I said. "The child has a right to have his friends here. Perhaps he should have consulted you before he extended the invitation, but I don't think you should humiliate him by making him take it back now. I — I can't let you do that." Arnold again gave me that strange, penetrating glance. He was silent for a moment, his face set in harsh lines. Then he said with an effort. "Very well, Derek. As long as you have in- vited him, he may come. But I shall want to talk with him — alone — after- wards." Apprehension gripped me. What did Arnold want to say? What was he thinking? And Lance — what would he say, if he were angered? I knew I should never get an answer by asking questions. So I kept silent. . . . T FINISHED my long story and -■■ looked across at Mr. Keen, who had listened so intently and so patiently. His intelligent gray eyes were fixed on mine, and, behind them, he seemed to be putting two and two together. "It was after that dinner Lance McCrae disappeared?" "The very next day. I can't help but think it had something to do with whatever Arnold said." "How was the dinner itself? Pleas- ant enough?" "Pleasant," I admitted, "but there was* a decided sense of strain during it. Afterwards, Derek went up to bed. Then Arnold said he and Lance wanted to talk, so I went up too. ARTHUR TRACY — who earned fame as the Street Singer, and now is back on American radio after a long absence. You can hear him on the Blue networit three times a week, Monday, Wed- nesday and Friday at 4:00, Eastern time. Arthur was born in Philadelphia, where he spent his childhood wandering on the streets, singing for pennies and incidentally learning several languages. His career was cut short when a teacher, forcing his young voice, caused it to snap, so that for seven months he couldn't speak above a whisper. He recovered, went into musical comedies, and in 1933 turned to radio, soon becoming one of its biggest stars, first here and then in England, whence he returned only a year or so ago. He's also very talented as an amateur artist. 66 They talked for about an hour, and then I heard Lance leave. He slammed the door after him and strode down the walk, as if he might be angry." "Did your husband seem pleased that Lance left the next day?" "It's hard to know what Arnold feels these days, he's so shut within himself. But he has seemed rather relieved that.it was all over, since it looked as if Lance were gone for good." "Why did you wait so long, Mrs. Ford, before taking steps to find him?" I took a deep breath. "I kept hop- ing against hope that he would come back. I thought he might have been suddenly called away and had no chance to say goodbye. And I didn't want to do anything to add to the tension between Arnold and me. It's grown to be — almost unbearable, Mr. Keen. Then, yesterday morning I was awakened about five o'clock, and discovered Derek slipping quietly out of the house. He had a kit with him and a little money, and he had left a note saying he was going off to hunt for Lance. I couldn't stand that! Nothing was worth such heartbreak as that. So I brought him to you." "I see." Mr. Keen leaned back in his chair. "Well, Mrs. Ford, it's a bad situation but I think we can get it straightened out. The first thing I'm going to do is drive up with you so that I can see Lance's shack, go over whatever papers may be there, and see if I can get a lead on where he may be. After that, I'll tackle Mr. Ford at his office and find out — if I can — what it was he said to Lance that night after dinner." Mr. Keen took charge so complete- ly that I felt a sense of reassurance and peace for the first time in days. I couldn't help but admire the metic- ulous thoroughness with which he went over Lance's few belongings — disturbing nothing, but missing noth- ing either. And I agreed with him that the shack did not look as if its owner had planned to go away for any length of time. There were clothes in the crude closet, guns in the corner, food on the shelves. It looked as if he might walk in the door at any moment. Later that afternoon, Mr. Keen tele- phoned me from town. "I've talked to your husband," he said. "He told Lance that night that he would have to stop coming to the house. Lance said he would stop coming only when you asked him to. I'm rather in- clined to believe he meant that, Mrs. Ford. We'll have to look elsewhere for the reason for his disappearance." "I'm glad," I murmured. "I should hate to think — or have Derek think — that it was Arnold who made him go." "One other thing I found out," he went on. "Arnold was jealous of you and Lance. He realizes you're a young and very attractive woman and that McCrae was a handsome, romantic man. I reassured him on that point, without giving away any of your con- fidences, and I'm sure he knows now he was wrong. Now, don't worry. I'll keep you informed." I hung up the telephone, wearily. Poor Arnold! Poor lonely, unyield- ing man who loved so deeply in his (Continued on page 68) BADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR ««#^ 05tf^eiy-^ Rough hands quickly ruin romance. Here^s one sure way to see if your hands are satin-smooth, romantically soft. MAKE THE KISS TEST YOURSELF NOW. Brush your lips softly, as a Unvr might, to the hack of your hand. Can you feel tinv scales or roughness? That is nature's warning roure in need of Cashmere Bouquet Lotion. Cooling! Comforting! And a quick -work- ing marvel is Cashmere Bouquet Lotion. Simply smooth on a few drops. It dries in ten seconds, without anv horrid, smeary stickiness. 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It makes ironing easier, too. l.et MNiT be the "friend" of your fine fabrics. Free! The helpful "unit laundry chakt". Write Corn Products Sales Co., 17 Battery Place, New York, N. Y., Dept. LC-4. ALL GROCERS SELL LINIT CI MAKES COTTON LOOK AND FEEL UKEUNEN PENETRATES thi FABRIC PROTECTS THi FIBRES own peculiar way and derived only unhappiness from that love! But even my pity could not ease the sense of strain between us. I kept seeing Derek's small, anguished face as he crept down the stairs that morn- ing intent on a desperate boy's mis- sion of finding his friend. I kept hearing the pleading in his voice as he asked Mr. Keen to trace Lance. A mother doesn't forget those things. Even the deep tenderness that had been between Arnold and me, our n^oments of fine companionship, seemed dim and distant now. AND so for several anxious days, the three of us, each in our separate ways, waited for news from Mr. Keen. It came the evening of the fourth day. Derek had gone to bed, vacillat- ing from hope to despair and back again. Arnold and I sat in the study, pretending to read. About ten o'clock the door knocker sounded. It was Mr. Keen. "I came in person," he said quietly, "because I have news for you of rather a shocking nature. Lance McCrae has been found — in prison." "In ^prison," I gasped. "But why? What's he done?" "Nothing lately, but he's been wanted for a long time. Years ago he escaped from a state prison where he was serving a terrh for robbery." "I knew it," Arnold said grimly. "This confirms my worst suspicions." "Now just a minute, Mr. Ford." The older man's voice held authority and force. "You don't know the cir- cumstances. I've talked to Lance and to the officials, and I do. It is true he is a convicted criminal, as you say, but there are extenuating facts. "Lance was a wayward boy, with- out much parental attention. He got caught up in bad company, as often happens, and he was more sinned against than sinning when he acted as lookout man during a robbery when a storekeeper was killed. He was sentenced to a fairly long term. He escaped, and became a sailor. He's gone straight all these years — and more than that; he told me he had been so moved by the faith of a wo- man and a small boy in him that he was about to give himself up to serve the rest of his unexpired term, so that he might, forever after, face the world as a free man." "That's a likely story," Arnold cried. "It's just an effort to get sym- pathy—" "I think not, Mr. Ford. A detec- tive recognized him in a sportings- goods store where he was buying an expensive fishing rod for your son's birthday. We all know Lance had very little money and that it had to last him a long time. The fact he was spending most of it then seems to me conclusive evidence that he wasn't going to need money much longer because he did, indeed, plan to give himself up." Arnold was silent. All sorts of emo- tions were whirling through me. Shock, pity, grief. I suppose I said the thing that was uppermost in my mind. "Derek! How can we ever tell Derek?" "We are not going to tell Derek the truth," Mr. Keen said gently. "I've arranged for Lance to be brought to my office under special guard. There he will have an interview — alone — with your son and tell him a story we have concocted. It is an innocent one, about his being called away on a special mission for the government, and Derek will have his illusibns left intact." "I won't allow it!" Arnold burst out. "I won't have my son consort- ing with a fellow like this — this escaped convict, even for a moment. Lord knows what kind of influence he's had on him, as it is. I'll never give my consent." Mr. Keen turned to Arnold then. His gray eyes flashed, and he seemed to grow in stature as he talked. "I think you will," he said sternly. "This escaped convict, as you choose to call him, has already had a far, far better influence on your son than you your- self have ever had. He has shown more interest in moulding his charac- ter than you, his father, ever did. Now, through prejudice, you would rob him of one of life's most precious possessions — faith in another human being. Derek will never again trust another soul, if he believes now that Lance, his friend, has deserted him. No, Mr. Ford. You are not going to do that." There was silence. A look of deep pain, of suffering crossed my hus- band's face. Was it hturt pride? Was it defeat? I couldn't tell. When, at last, he spoke his words were muffled. "Very well, Mr. Keen. Since you and Janet feel so strongly, I can only accede to your wishes. But I must make two conditions. First, that I be present at this interview. And second, that, after it. Lance McCrae never see either my son or my wife again." "The second condition Lance has already suggested himself. He feels it would be better if this goodbye to Derek were really a final farewell to your whole family. And your first condition I have already arranged for. You will not be able to be present at the actual interview, but you and Mrs. Ford and I will be in an adjoining room where we can hear what goes on between them. It was, in fact, only with that understanding that the warden of the prison agreed to my rather unusual request." "Very well. At ten tomorrow morn- ing; then." . And with a short, stiff bow Arnold left the room. It was a miserable, sleepless night for me. I thought of Lance. "Derek means a lot to me . . . Someday per- haps you'll know." That was what he'd said in the garden, and this was what he'd meant . . . these prison bars in expiation for an old crime. And I thought of my husband and of us. The gap that had grown between Arnold and me of late was now at its widest, its most unbridgable. Would it ever be bridged again? Would we ever go on as before? THE three of us drove into town early the next morning, Arnold grim and silent at the wheel, Derek knowing nothing except that we were to go to Mr. Keen's office. When we got there, Derek was shown at once into the private office. Silently, Arnold and I slipped into an adjoin- ing one. Presently Mr. Keen opened the dividing door and joined us, leav- ing the door slightly ajar. There was silence for a while. Then we heard footsteps, the opening of another door, and then Derek's excited voice. "Lance! Oh, Lance." "Hello there, pal. How are you?" 68 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR The words were strong and cheerful but I could sense what lay behind them — all they were costing this man to preserve the trust of one boy. "Oh, I'm all right — ^now I know you're all right. But Lance, where have you been? You went away and didn't even say goodbye." "I couldn't help it, Derek. I took it for granted you'd trust me. I got a summons to go away and do some work — I can't tell you any more about it than that. Except that it's for the government — and pretty important." "Secret service! That's what it is. Gee, Lance, isn't that swell? When'll you be coming back?" Lance's voice was low. "You see, I have to keep faith with something bigger and more important than we are now. And — I tell you this as man to man — I probably won't be coming back from this job — ever. This'll have to be goodbye, Derek." "Oh, no!" It was a stricken cry. I pressed my handkerchief to my lips and choked back tears. "Now listen, Derek. We're talking man to man. Don't go to pieces over this like a child. You're strong — ^you can take it. It's tough to be separated, but we each must do our duty, you as well as I. We've been friends and we'll always be friends. You've got to face realities and be brave about them." I could almost see Derek struggling with . his tears. Then my heart rose with pride as I heard him say, with- out a tremor. "Yeah, you're right. I won't be a baby. I can be strong, too — like you've taught me. So I guess I'll — I'll just say, 'Good luck. Lance.' And here's our private grip to seal it." CUDDENLY Arnold's hand gripped ^ mine. The strength in his fingers was almost crushing. "That took cour- age," he whispered. I looked at him. There were tears in his eyes — Arnold's, who had never in all our fifteen years shown a sign of what he called weakness. "I've been a fool — a blind, criminal fool. Forgive me, Janet. I — " He stopped, tmable to go on. I turned and clung to him then, burying my face in his shoulder. His arms -went around me and held me tight. Mr. Keen stood watching, an inscrutable smile lighting his face. Then, from the next office, there were footsteps again and the closing of a door. In a little while we went in. Derek was standing by the win- dow, dry-eyed and quite calm. He looked older, somehow. He came up to Mr. Keen. "I want ■ to thank you for finding Lance," he said. "He's a grand guy and he means a lot to me. I — just want to say thank you, and if there's ever anything I can do for you I hope you'll let me." Straight and sturdy, he walked out of the office. His -father followed him. I looked after them for a mo- ment, and then I turned to Mr. Keen. The happiness I saw in his face was, I knew, mirrored and magnified a thousand times in mine. "I want to say 'thank you', too — from the bottom of my heart," I whispered. "Look what you've done, Mr. Keen. Look!" I gestured through the open door. Father and son were walking through the long outer office, walk- ing hand in hand, walking together. And I knew then, from that day on- ward, they always would. << You'd Never Guess My Age »» Her new face powder is such a flatterer! It makes her skin look younger, fresher than it has in years. N o— you'd never guess her age! Is she 19-30-35? Once she looked quite a bit older. For, without realizing it, she was using an unflattering shade of powder. It was a cruel shade— treacherous and sly. Like a harsh light, it showed up every line in her face — accented every skin fault — even seemed to exaggerate the size of the pores. But look at her now! She looks younger than she has in years! For she has found her lucky shade of powder— the shade that flatters her skin —makes it look fresh and enchanting. Are you sure the shade of face powder you use is exactly right for you? Are you sure it doesn't lie about your age— doesn't say you're getting a little older? Why take that chance? Send for the 9 new shades of Lady Esther Face Powder and try them one after another. Let your mirror tell you which is your lucky shade —the perfect shade for you! Lady Esther Face Powder is made an entirely new way. It's blown by TWIN HURRICANES until it's far softer and smoother than powder usually is. That's why it clings so long— that's why its shades and its texture are so flattering. Send for all 9 shades Find your most flattering shade of Lady Esther Powder. Just mail the coupon be- low for the 9 new shades and try them all. You'll know your lucky shade — it makes your skin look younger, lovelier! FACE POWDER Lady Esther, 7 1 9 1 W. j6S th St., Chicago, lU. (7?) Send me your 9 new shades of face powder, also a generous tube of 4-Purpose Face Cream. I en- close 10«' to cover cost of packing and mailing. CITY STATE If you live in Canada^ tvrite Lady Esther, Toronto. Ont, APRDL, 1942 69 Am^tntvo^n/ aav^ CLARK KENT, star reporter of tne Daily Planet, and Jimmy Olsen, the paper's red-headed copy- boy, were in strange surroundings. Editor Perry White had arranged for them to vacation in a friend's North Woods logging camp. Leaving the train at Montville, they stepped into another world — a world of the deep, snow-bound forests of the frozen North where strong men battle the unyielding elements so that there may be wood for ships and Jiouses — wood for tables and toys. A world where the ring of axe-blades is sharp and clear and the lusty cry of "TIMBER!" heralds the crashing to earth of another forest giant. Day in and day out, fair weather and foul, men pour out of logging camps to pit their strength against the mammoth trees that tower above them, afraid of nothing that lives and breathes. Afraid of nothing but the mysterious legend of the North Woods — the legend of the White Plague. It was dark when Clark and Jimmy reached the cabin of Fred Harmon, the camp boss, and his daughter, Nancy, where — Superman found all was not as peaceful and serene as it had seemed when he and Jimmy had set out on their trip. Hesitantly Nancy told them the story: "We've had some mysterious — ac- cidents— at the camp, Mr. Kent. About a week ago one of our loggers disappeared into thin air. A search- ing party combed the woods for him and the logging boss. Bill Dawson, finally found him frozen to death up in the crotch of a tall tree. A tree he couldn't have climbed without spikes — and he had no spikes on. How did he get up there? No one knows. "The next night, a big Swedish logger, strong as an ox. vanished. Mr. Dawson found him frozen solid in the river ice! And then, the night before last, Gaston came in to talk to Dad, He wanted to quit because of the White Plague. "Loggers have a strange supersti- tion, Mr. Kent. They believe that when the snow is deep enough to cover all the roots of a tree and the bottom of the trunk, that no trees should be felled. They think it's na- ture's way of protecting the trees until spring and no man has a right to go against Nature. Of course, it's silly — but some loggers will swear that if trees are felled' when snow- covers the roots the White Plague visits the camp! "They say it punishes men who go against Nature. That's why Gaston came to see Dad — he wanted to quit before it got him. He left this cabin that night. A few minutes later we heard a horrible scream. Dad rushed out — Gaston was gone. We found him last night — he got as far as our door, then died — frozen." "Now," Superman said, "I suppose all the loggers want to quit." "Yes — and it's terrible because we've been cutting wood for the gov- ernment and it's needed badly. Dad's been out of his mind for days." The next morning Superman and Jimmy awoke to feel, almost as if it were a live thing, a dangerous undercurrent of fear running through the camp. The loggers went about their work uneasily, waiting and wondering where the White Plague would strike next. Fred Harmon was beside himself with anxiety. But Bill Dawson, tough, broad-shouldered boss of the logging crew, drove his men on despite their unrest. Superman and Jirnmy joined him a few miles from camp to watch a crew of a dozen burly lumberjacks chop their way through a stand of towering oak. The ring of axe-bladt against live wood was sharp anci clear on the frosty air. Then the mer. stopped for lunch. Their voices sounded relaxed and happy for the first time when — suddenly — one log- ger, sitting on a stump, fell over Half-eaten sandwich still tightl> clutched in his hand, he doubled up Superman reached his side first but before he could touch him. th( lumberjack was dead: Frightened cries of "The White Plague!" replaced the laughter and jokes. Dawson pushed his wa> to Superman's side: "Will you and Jimmy take the chuck sled and carry the body back to camp*!* I'll be able to quiet the men better that way. I don't know what killed Jean — but I know it wasn't the White Plague!" Quickly Superman was on his way. They had reached that part of the trail flanked with thick trees on each side, bordered with deep snow drifts Without warning, the quiet of the woods was broken by the sharp "PING"! of a high-powered rifle shot. Superman felt the l?ullet hit his back. He smiled to himself as the steel jacket flattened itself against him and slipped off. "Drop down, Jimmy. Somebody's shooting at us. I think I know who it is and it isn't the White Plague!' Jimmy, crouched down low, didn'l see the bullets which hit his com- panion— and fell from the invincible form of the Man of Tomorrow. He knew only that by some miracle they reached camp, unharmed. The rest of the day passed unevent- fully. When Superman went to the office after Jimmy was in bed, ho found a stranger waiting there. The tall broad-shouldered man with warm Hes'iianfly, Nancy fold fhem fbe sfory: "We've had some mysterious accidents at the camp. Mr. Kent," 70 Superman smiled to himself as he felt the bullet hit his back. "Drop down, Jimmy," he warned. With one leap he broke through the wall, ignoring the flames that were blazing around him. RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROI- gray eyes, introduced himself as Father Malone, priest of the North Woods. He'd devoted his life to the loggers and, as he and the reporter talked. Superman's suspicions were confirmed: "I've been waiting for something like this, Kent. This White Plague legend has been haunting me ever since I started working among the lumberjacks. Like any legend, it passes from mouth to mouth, and the miracles created by it are manifold. But sooner or later we discover the legend is being put to bad use by some misguided human." "Yes, Father, I think every death here boils down to a case of systematic murder. I know that man who died eating his sandwich today was pois- oned. And Jimmy and I were shot at on our way back. Somebody is trying to create terror and fear of the Plague. He probably thinks I'm spying — " But he got no further. Sudden, frightening cries of "Fire! Fire!" were heard in the lonely night outside. Big Bill Dawson flung open the door — "Curt Travers' cabin is on fire!" 'T'HE three men rushed to the scene. -■• The cabin, by now, was a roaring inferno. Quickly running to the rear, hidden from sight. Superman dropped the guise of Clark Kent. With one leap, he broke through the timbered wall. Ignoring the flames that laid their searing, blazing fingers on him, he scooped up the figure of Travers. In seconds he had the limp figure out- side. But it was too late. Travers died as the priest breathed a last prayer for him. Dawson and Superman, after the fire had burned itself out, went back to look at the cabin. The reporter stooped suddenly, picked up a piece of wood. "Dawson, this clinches it! This wood is soaked in kerosene. The fire was set deliberately. Let's head back for the office and settle this thing." Father Malone was sitting beside the body, stretched out on the couch when they came in. As the door slammed behind them, they heard a stirring in the small bedroom off the office. Fred Harmon came out, sleepily rubbing his eyes — "Kent — what happened — why is Travers lying there like that?" "He was caught in a burning cabin." "Dawson — is that true?" "Yes— didn't you hear nothin'?" "Not a sound. I woke up suddenly and walked out here and saw Travers stretched out. Is he — is he — ?" "Yes," the reporter said solemnly — then: "Say, what's that puddle near the couch?" Dawson answered: "Jes' snow meltin' off Mr. Harmon's shoes. What do you think, Mr. Harmon?" "What can I think. Bill? This is too much. I'm going to wire the owners and tell them we're closing up." "Just a minute, Mr. Harmon" — Su- perman's tone was sternly serious. "I don't think you'll have to do that. I have the answer to the mystery of the White Plague — I know who killed those five men!" A hush of startled expectancy set- tled on the room. No one even stirred in his seat until Superman continued: "Everything started with the news of our coming. That I know now. So Jimmy and I were responsible, in- directly, for everything that's hap- pened here. And this is the reason — the person responsible for it all thought I had been sent here by the owners to spy on him. He had a guilty conscience because of something he had done — something he had to hide at any cost. He used the legend to terrify the camp, hoping the loggers would quit, the camp be disbanded — and his crimes hidden forever. He was the one who shot at Jimmy and me — because he saw me pick up the sandwich that killed Jean today. 'T'HAT sandwich was loaded with -*- rat poison! And then Curt Travers' death tonight — by that crime, the murderer exposed himself!" "Kent, what in the world are you driving at?" Harmon asked harshly. "Just this, Mr. Harmon. Remember — you said you'd been asleep when you saw Travers' body. Well, that little puddle of water gave you away. It came from the snow you'd gotten on your feet when you walked around pouring kerosene on Travers' cabin! You—" He could say no more. Harmon, grabbing one of the rifles leaning against the wall, threatened the men: "Stand back, all of you. I knew Kent was one of the owners' spies. Yes, I did it. Did it so no one would ever know that I'd stolen — stolen so I could get enough money to bring my daugh- ter up like a lady — to take her out of logging camps!" The men stood speechless. Before they could make a move, the rifle thundered its message of death. But Harmon had turned it upon himself. Once again the Man of Tomorrow had fulflUed his pledge to mankind — Justice and Truth for all. YOU CANT HELP All smokers inhale some. But Philip Morris smokers doo't worry about throat irritation — even when they inhale. 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CHICAGO, ILL. • FORT WORTH TEX. • MINWEAPOLIS. MINN. SAN FRANCISCO, CAL. • CHARLESTON, W.VA. • BOSTON. MASS. • CINCINNATI, O. • DETROIT, MICH. • ST. LOUIS, MO. WASHINGTON, D. C. • LEXINGTON. KY. • RICHMOND. VA. MEMPHIS. TENN. • NEW ORLEANS. LA. GREYHOUND DESTINATION /CTOpy FOR THE U. S. A. ! This brings Defense Map of America Just off the press— lithographed in full colors— fit for froming. Shows principal Army, Navy, Marine camps and boses . . . gives information on military insignia, rank of officers ond men. For your free copy, moil this coupon to nearest Greyhound Information Office, listed above Han\G- Address- -MWU Woman of Courage Continued from page 40 talking prices and bargains — woman talk. She had almost forgotten the contest, when Mrs. Early, the Club's president, announced the Judge for the evening. "Ladies and Gentlemen," Mrs. Early said stiffly, "it is my privilege to an- nounce the name of our distinguished Judge. Mr. Joseph Benedict, who has recently arrived from Hawaii to visit his brother-in-law, Mr. Harrison — whom you all know, I'm sure — has kindly consented to act as Judge in our preserve contest. We were very pleased to discover that Mr. Bene- dict has had a great deal of experience in judging the merits of canned fruits. He has a canning factory on his plantation in Hawaii and, before he went there to live, he was in the wholesale grocery business, here in the United States. Ladies and Gentle- men, may I present Mr. Benedict?" MARTHA felt a little sorry for Joseph Benedict, then. He looked so shy, up there on the platform, as though he wanted to run away. Not that he could have moved. The wo- men crowded around him. In a few minutes, however, Mrs. Early cleared the platform and Joseph Benedict be- gan tasting the preserves, which were set out on a long table in jars uniden- tified except by nimibers. He seemed completely oblivious to the breathless women waiting for his verdict. Finally, Mrs. Early took a slip of paper from him and stepped forward. "First prize goes to Number Five," she announced. "Let's see," she mur- mured, consulting a list. "Number five— five — Martha Jackson! Grape catsup." "Mother," Lucy whispered, squeez- ing Martha's arm. "You won!" There was applause and Martha stepped toward the platform. She had a moment of stage fright, going up to get her prize, but she lost it quickly in the deluge of handshaking and congratulations. By the time she had to go through it all again, because her brandied pears won third prize, she was laughing heartily. As soon as he could get free from Mrs. Early and the other women, Joseph Benedict hurried to Martha and drew her into a quiet corner. "Have you ever thought of market- ing those preserves, Mrs. Jackson?" he asked seriously. "Why, yes," Martha smiled. "I hate to admit it, but I really entered the contest so I could get a little advertisement. I'm going to sell them at the store." "No, that's not what I mean," Joseph Benedict said. "I mean na- tionally." "Oh, no," Martha laughed. "I'm serious, Mrs. Jackson," he said. "I know one chain store company that would jump at the chance of handling such novel preserves. That grape catsup is excellent and dif- ferent. It would sell." "Come now, Mr. Benedict," Martha said. "I haven't enough preserves for a national market. And I don't know anything about large scale canning — even if I wanted to try it." "But I do," Joseph Benedict said. He made her sit down. "You've got a gold mine in those preserves and I know just how to exploit them." And he explained to her just how he would go about sell- 72 ing and advertising the preserves. "But all that takes a lot of money," Martha said. "I've got some money," he said. "I'm willing to take a chance on this. And, I understand from George, that you have some cash, too — money you inherited. I can't think of a better use for it. Certainly, leaving it in the bank doesn't pay you enough in interest " "No,"' Martha said. "We couldn't live oh that." IVfARTHA was reluctant to make -'-" any decisions until she had spoken to Jim. After all, the money was his, too. At least, she always thought of it — and everything else — that way. But she was wrong, it seemed. "It's your money," Jim said, when she told him about Benedict's pro- posal that they go into partnership and asked for his advice. "It's our money, Jim," Martha said. "And it would take nearly everything we've got. I — I thought you'd help me." "No, it's your money, Martha," Jim said. "It sounds like a good idea and with Joseph Benedict's experi- ence you should do very well." "But, Jim — " Martha began. Then she gave it up. She didn't want it to be that way, but she didn't know how to change it. She wanted him to have something to turn to, when his job at the airplane factory was finished, but he was making it terribly difficult for her. To the last minute, before the part- nership papers were signed and her money was transferred to a business account at the bank, Martha wavered. She thought of leaving some of the money in Jim's name. She thought of trying to talk to Jim again. She almost gave in to Cora, who always liked to play safe, and who said that it was stupid to sink every cent she had in one venture. But always, there was Joseph Benedict, assuring her that the investment was wise. And, once it was started, Martha had very little time to worry about whether or not she had made a mis- take. Joseph Benedict managed the organization of the factory with a skill and rapidity that made Martha a little dizzy. In a short time, orders began coming in. After the first excitement had worn off, however, iVIartha began to feel a bit harried and torn. There was so much to do. Lillian and Cora helped her as much as they could, especially taking care of her grocery store, while she was at the factory supervising the canning. Lucy did her best with the big house and saw to it that meals were served on time. But it was all very scattered and wearing on Martha's nerves. A week before Thanksgiving, Jim's job at the airplane factory was fin- ished. "Well," he said, handing Mar- tha his last pay check, "we're back on the old footing. It's up to you, after this." "Jim," Martha said a little dis- tractedly, "why don't you come in with us at the factory?" "You're doing very well," Jim said. "You don't need me there." There was a note of restrained anger in his voice and his eyes looked strangely forbidding, as they gazed steadily into hers. Martha got the RADIO AND TELEVISION IVIIRROR feeling that Jim was almost daring her to press the issue, so he could make a scene. She forced herself to smile at him. "I see," she said. "You — you're probably expecting another contract, soon. You're waiting for something else to come up." Jim's lips curled in a derisive smile. "Yes, I'm waiting," he said. Martha sighed helplessly and watched him wheel his chair into his study. Suddenly, she wanted des- perately to hide in a corner and cry. Everything was so wrong. And she didn't know what to do about it. Jim was drifting away from her and she didn't know how to call him back. 'T'HE Thanksgiving dinner, which -*■ Martha had planned to be a happy celebration of the success of their business, was rather a subdued affair. She had invited the Benedicts and George and Johnny Long and there were all the trimmings of a festive occasion, but no one seemed able to live up to them, except, perhaps, Lillian, who was delighted with the chance to spend practically a whole day with little Susan, but more es- pecially with her father. It was Joseph's lack of response to Lillian's gayety that first gave Martha the idea that something was wrong. She could see that Lillian was troubled, too. Martha knew that Lillian was in love with Joseph — Lillian had not tried to hide it — and she couldn't help wondering what was wrong. After dinner, Lillian took Susan and Tommy down to the playroom in the basement. Lucy went out for a ride with Johnny, who was ap- parently appearing in a better light to Lucy, now that he had bought himself a new car and spruced up a bit. Watching them drive off together and seeing the way Lucy snuggled close to him, Martha was glad she had spoken to Johnny. It had been a bit difficult, embarrassing almost, to tell Johnny that he would have to pay more attention to appearances in order to break down Lucy's precon- ceived notions about what a man should look like — notions she'd got from Steve Holbert. Now, Martha was glad she had done it. It would have been a shame, she thought, if Johnny had lost Lucy. Martha turned away from the win- dow and looked around the living room. Jim, in his wheelchair, was pretending to read the newspaper. George and Joseph were carrying on a slow, labored conversation. Cora was at her eternal knitting. "My," Martha said with forced lightness, "we're a cheerful bunch." "You fed us too well," Joseph said, by way of an excuse. "Is that all?" Martha asked point- edly. Joseph Benedict lowered his eyes before her frank question. Jim looked up from his newspaper. "Well — now — " Joseph said. He sighed and smiled gently. "I just didn't want to spoil the holiday." "Business?" Martha asked, crossing to a chair by the fireplace and sinking into it. "Hmm," Joseph said. "Nothing to worry about, really. We're going to have to raise some cash in a few days, that's all." That's all, Martha thought. She knew Joseph Benedict had invested most of his available funds. 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She had worked so hard and now, just when they were beginning to show some signs of success, this happened. Where could they possibly find the money they needed? Her eyes moved aimlessly around the large living room. If only Jim hadn't bought this big house, she found herself thinking, they would have had some money left for such an emergency. She glanced over at Jim. He was watching her intently. She wondered what he was thinking. She wondered whether he had noticed her appraising glance about the room and whether he had understood it. APPARENTLY he had, for later, ^^ after the others had all left, he himself opened the subject rather abruptly. "Martha," he said, "would it bother you very much, if we rented this house?" "Rented?" Martha asked. "I've had a very good offer," Jim said. He avoided her eyes for a sec- ond, then he looked squarely at her and said, "Martha, let's be honest about this. I don't think any of us has been very happy or comfortable here. I guess I sort of went over- board on this place — had big ideas. It didn't take me long to see that I'd made a mistake. Since I have got this offer, I think it would be wise to take advantage of it, don't you?" Martha nodded. There was a lump in her throat and she didn't trust herself to speak. He had understood. That meant that he couldn't be as far away from her as she had thought. Impulsively, she smiled at him, and, soon, they were making plans for moving back to the house behind the store. Martha had never grown used to living in the big house, but she had never realized how truly out of place she felt in it, until they were settled in their old home. This wasn't just a house, it was a home, where many things had happened to them, to- gether, things that were binding and close and need not be spoken about to be remembered. Living behind the store again sim- plified things for Martha, too. She could combine the running of the store with her household duties and getting up to the factory wasn't so much of a strain as it had been. And the added income had proved enough to meet the factory's needs. But strangely enough, the demands Joseph Benedict made on her time increased, instead of lessening, as she had hoped they would, once the business got going. Sometimes, Martha even felt a little annoyed by the trivialities, which Joseph seemed to think were important enough to take her from her other work. Later — much later — looking back on these weeks, Martha was a little surprised that she had had no inkling of what was happening. She was usually very sensitive to people, to the way they felt, but in all this time, she was so busy, so wrapped up in her own concerns, that she had little time to notice what the people outside of her own immediate world were doing. For instance, she noticed that Lil- lian did not see Joseph Benedict as often as she had and, whenever they were all together, she had a way of boring through him with her eyes. But, if Martha thought of this at all, it was simply to decide that Lillian and Joseph had fallen out about some- thing. It didn't even strike her as very strange that, when Lillian went out, now, she went out with George Harrison. CHE didn't understand things fully, •^ even when Lillian told her quietly that she and George were planning to get married. "Why, Lillian," Martha said, "I— we — all of us thought that you — Joseph Benedict — " A strange look came into Lillian's eyes, then. "Joseph isn't interested in me," she said. She tried to make it sound light and casual, but she didn't quite succeed. "He's interested in — only in the factory." Still Martha didn't understand. "I'm so glad for you, Lillian," she said sincerely. "You should be very happy with George. He's a fine man." Lillian smiled oddly. "I know that," she said. Then, as though she felt she had to justify herself to Martha, she said, "You know, we're not being fools, exactly. We're not being romantic about this. I know George is in — is very fond of you. But he knows how you feel about Jim and — and — that he hasn't got a chance with you." Martha was a little shocked. Lillian smiled and went on calmly, "And George knows how I feel about Joseph — " "But then— why— ?" Martha asked. Lillian looked at her incredulously for a moment. Then, apparently de- ciding that Martha honestly didn't know, she said, "It doesn't matter, Martha. Joseph doesn't love me, that's all. And — well — George and I are lonely, I guess." Martha would have had to be in- credibly stupid not to understand what Lillian was hinting. But she refused to believe it. Believing that Joseph Benedict was in love with her would 74 Out in Hollywood, if you don't own a canary you're not in style these days — Mary Martin, a canary in her own rights, on Bing Crosby's Thursday show, over NBC, is at home with her pet. RADIO AND TELEVISION 3VIIHROR have complicated things too much. It would have made it impossible for her to go on working with him. Whether she believed it or not, however, the suspicion was enough to make her uncomfortable m his presence. Al- most unconsciously, she began to avoid Joseph, to make excuses for not going to the factory, when he called her. On a Sunday afternoon, when Lil- lian had gone for a drive with George and Jim had gone to the movies with Lucy and Tommy, Joseph came to see Martha. Almost before the door was closed, Joseph said, "I've got to go away, Martha. I want you to come over to George's house, so we can go over the books." Martha stared at him. His face was white and his eyes were restless. He looked like a man who hadn't slept in days. She didn't want to talk to him, give him a chance to say the things that were in his eyes. She moved toward the hall closet for her hat and coat. The silence was awkward. "The war — " Joseph said. "I've got to try to get back to Hawaii — " "The war — " Martha said. "It's been going on for weeks." Then, she wished she hadn't said it. She wished she'd | accepted it. "All right," Joseph said, "that's not the reason. But I've got to get away. I've got to get things straight. I've got to get used to the idea that — that you — " "Please," Martha said. She walked past him toward the door. She was miserable because she knew he was terribly unhappy. And yet, there was nothing she could do about his hap- piness. There was no way to be sen- sible about this. OY the time they reached George's -L' house, Joseph had got hold of himself. They worked intensively — ^ and impersonally — for hours on the books. It was almost dark, when Lillian and George returned. They came into the living room, where Joseph and Martha had been working, and there was something very warm about them, a feeling of genuine affection between them. Lillian looked at the books and papers. "Goodness!" she said. "I don't see how you can make any sense out of all those figures and things, Martha. I'd be lost." George grinned at Martha and put an arm about Lillian's shoulders. "But you're not like Martha, my dear," he said. "No one would ever think of letting you handle any business." Martha noticed there was no hint of criticism in the way he said it. There was something else, though, some- thing protective, as though George were rather glad Lillian had no busi- ness ability, as though he liked having her depend on him. Suddenly, it hit her. Jim could never put his arm about her in that protective way. Jim could never laugh lovingly, kindly, at her help- lessness. She just wasn't dependent. Circumstances had forced her to be self reliant and strong and resource- ful. Only now, she realized that no matter what the cause of her indepen- dence had been, one of its results was that it had driven Jim away from her. She began gathering up the books and George offered to drive her home, but she refused. She wanted to be alone. She had a lot to think about. The books were heavy, but Martha APRIL, 1942 W'«9'"<»5'.SfS'C~ issue o -Jt- ^U e\a>»''C'** d *oes ofe Burg •i^ m""" .;:::-"''-'-' 75 "Do you know the truth about Tampons? There's one thing you probably know about tampons — and that's the wonderfulfreedom of /«;er«a/ sanitary protection. But are you really up to date about the latest improve- rnents in tampons? Do you know why Meds — the Modess tampons — protect in a way no other tampons do? 'IProtection . . . how much do you really get P To keep you carefree — secure — a tampon must absorb ^a/'f/^/v, surely! Meds absorb faster be- cause of the "safety center." No other tampon has it! Meds are made of finest, pure cot- ton . . . hold more than 300% of their weight in moisture! "Does it fit correctly P Insert a Meds properly and you hardly know you're wearing it ! For Meds are scientifically shaped to fit — designed by a famous gyne- cologist, a woman's doctor. Dance, work, have all the fun you please! No bulges! No pins! No odor! Easier to use, too — each Meds has a one-time-use applicator that ends old difficulties. And so convenient! You can even carry Meds in your purse. What about price ? Meds cost less than any other tampons in individual appli- cators. No more than leading napkins. Try Meds! Compare! You'll be glad you did! BOX OF 10— 25izi • BOX OF 50— 98?5 Meds The J^odess Tampons' scarcely noticed that, she was so deep in her thoughts. How wrong she had been, she thought. All these months, she had been searching for the cause of Jim's drawing away from her in some spiritual or mental weakness in him. Now she knew. It wasn't that Jim was weak. It was that she was strong, so annoyingly and persistently right about things. No one should be so right all the time. She was no longer surprised that Jim, so constantly aware of his physi- cal weakness, had drawn away from her. No, she was surprised, now, that he hadn't begun to hate her. How horrible it must have been for him to sit there in his wheelchair, month after month, watching her take hold of things, making things work out right — everything she did emphasiz- ing his helplessness. HP HE house was dark when she -*- reached it. She was glad. She was glad, too, that Joseph was catching a plane West and would not have time to say goodbye to Jim and Lucy, personally. That might have spoiled everything. For, while she walked home slowly, Martha had been mak- ing up her mind. She spread the books out on the living room table and sat down to give the appearance of working. By the time Lucy and Jim and Tommy got home, she had scraps of paper covered with figures scattered over the table and rug. It all looked very messy and she was proud of it. "Don't you ever stop working?" was the first thing Jim said. "Oh, you're back," Martha said dis- tractedly. "Lucy, would you make supper? Tommy can help you. I've such a headache." Quickly, she ex- plained about Joseph having to leave and her being left with the factory to run. She pointed to the books and looked as helpless as she could. "You'll have to help me, Jim," she said. Jim eyed her suspiciously. "You never had any trouble, before," he said. "But this is different, Jim," Martha said. "I can keep my own books, but this is all double entry and — and I don't know what." Jim laughed lightly, "Oh, well, you'll learn in time." He was turning his wheelchair around, getting ready to go to his room. "Jim," Martha said. "You don't un- derstand." He stopped. "I hate to admit it, but I'm really a little fright- ened. You see, Jim, it isn't just that I might lose our money. That would be bad enough, of course, every cent we have in the world is in that fac- tory. But it's Joseph's money, too. And what with the war and every- thing, Joseph may have to depend on that factory for a living. 'We can't take any chances, now. Joseph didn't seem to be worried and I was pretty sure of myself, too, but — well, that was before I really understood how much depends on the factory." And suddenly, she found herself crying and realized she wasn't play acting as much as she had thought. It wasn't that she was afraid she couldn't do the job, if she had to. It was that she had suddenly realized how much really depended on whether or not Jim would step into the opening she had made for him. On his reaction, now, depended their whole future life together. Jim was close to her, now. He reached up and pulled her hands away from her face. "Here, here," he smiled gently, "it's not as terrifying as all that. Have you forgotten I know a little something about business?" "Oh, darling," Martha said, "would you take it over? I was afraid to ask you. I thought you hated the place." Jim pulled her down into his lap. "You never seemed to need me be- fore," he said softly. "You were do- ing very well." "But I wasn't, really," Martha said. "I guess I sort of fancied myself as a businesswoman, too. But don't you see, darling? Joseph handled all the business end of it. I thought I knew all about everything, but now I see I didn't." "■Well," Jim said, patting her back affectionately, "we'll take care of it. Let's have some supper and then we'll go to work. ' They sat up quite late over the books. Several times, Martha almost helped Jim over some detail that Joseph had explained to her, but she caught herself in time. It took a little while for Jim to get the hang of things, but once he did, he got every- thing clear rapidly. "I'm hungry," he said, when they had finished. His face was a little flushed from bending over the books, but his eyes were alert and happy. "I'll make some sandwiches and cocoa," Martha said. "Let's eat in the kitchen, like we used to," Jim said. "Remember?" he grinned. "'When Lucy was a baby?" MARTHA nodded. She remembered. That was the time they used to like best, the time when Lucy was asleep and all the work was done and they were all alone, shut in together, close and happy, in the warm, com- fortable kitchen. That was the time when they used to tell each other all that had happened during the day, all that they were planning for the next day. That was the time when they used to know how much they loved each other and how impossible life would be without that love. "It's been a long time," Martha said softly. "Too long," Jim said, pressing her hand. And, as they went to the kitchen, Martha had a strange feeling that they were going back, back into the time that used to be. And, somehow, she was sure that, when they left the kitchen this night, they would take up their life as it had been then. Tomor- row, Jim would go to work in the morning, as he used to do. And to- morrow evening, after everyone else was asleep, they would sit in the kitchen again and they would tell each other all that had happened during the day and they would make plans for the next day — and the next. Follow the life of Martha auf' Jim Jackson daily Monday through Friday by tuning in Woman of Courage at 10:45 A.M., E.S.T., over CBS. NEXT MONTH: See Dinah Shore in Beautiful Natural Color— Look for the charming cover of the May RADIO MIRROR 76 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR Facing the Music Continued from page 4 the other day when he unearthed a tune from the 1911 Yale Varsity production called "Barcelona Maid." The song was never professionally sung although it was written by Cole Porter long before he attained success as the writer of "Begin the Beguine," "Night and Day," and other smash hits. Horace Heidt has been renewed on the "Treasure Chest" air show for 52 weeks. * * * Jack Leonard was recalled by the Army right in the middle of a lengthy theater tour. ^ * * Woody Herman's band is featured in the new Andrews Sisters film, "Wake Up and Sing." * * * Chico Marx, one of the zany Marx Brothers, is trying out his dance band in theaters. If early results are prom- ising, he will pour money into it. PROMISING NEWCOMER ONE of the pleasant surprises of the New York night club season was the advent of a small but proficient new dance band directed from the piano by 26-year-old Cy Walter. They are now playing in Fefe's Monte Carlo Beach Club. Comprising only eight men, Walter's tightly-knit unit makes up in originality what it lacks in man power and experts look for the band to develop national popularity just as soon as it can acquire network broad- casts. To its young leader, the newly-won success justifies a decision he made a few years ago when he left Minne- apolis to come to New York. His mother thought her son was coming east to study at New York Univer- sity. Cy did attend N.Y.U. but be- tween classes he tried to get a job as a pianist. Johnny Green heard him and helped get him some valu- able contacts. Pretty soon Cy had odd jobs playing piano on local radio stations and accompanying young so- ciety women who had a desire to sing professionally. Then he hooked up with Eddie Lane's band. Last Novem- ber he organized his own band and soon won a following. When his mother first heard about her son's job-hunting she was quite displeased. But Cy says she soon got over it. "After all," Cy pointed out, "Mother couldn't stay mad too long. It was she who taught me piano. She's with me now in New York and keeping quite busy teaching other people." IT'S THE TUNE THAT COUNTS 'T'HE little boy in the Knights of -*- Pythias Orphans' Home Band beat on his over-sized bass drum vigorous- ly but without his usual enthusiasm. A freckle-faced colleague commented on his lack of spirit as the parade swung around the picnic grounds. "What's the matter Freddy? You don't seem to have any pep today." Without missing a thump on his massive drum, the 10-year-old mu- sician replied: "I was thinking that if I'm ever going to be a great orchestra leader I must learn a different instrument. Something small and shiny. Gosh, a APRIL, 1942 "If You're a Simon Legree I'm Little Eva!" "So you're the big, bold villain! Hmm— you don't look it to me!" ■"I'm glad you didn't know me u-ben. Thoroughly disagreeable! Nerves shot, jumpy . . . tough to get along with. I had a perpetual ..." "A perpetual what?" "Grouch. Like this! And then I was told that I had a Vitamin B Complex deficiency." "And what in the world is that?" "A shortage of those amazing vitamins you find in their natural form in fresh yeast. So I drank two cakes of fleischmann's a day in tomato juice ..." "I know what fleischmann's can do for people, but what's all this about tomato juice?" "That's the new way to take it. Look! Mash a cold cake of fleischmann's in a dry glass with a fork, add a little tomato juice, stir till blended, fill up the glass, and drink. Dee-licious!" »■*-* ■'V«^i.i^ , All IK. *«"••"• °' """ , G .O-lOUMUlSKBou- TaV. iwo taV«« i<"^1 The yeast with the yellow label Ever read the fleischmann la- bel? This is the only yeast with all these vitamins. And the only sources of the entire Vitamin B Complex are natural sources, such as yeast and liver. If you bake at home, remember: even Vitamin A in fleischmann's is not appreciably lost in the oven. Vitamins A, Bi, D and G go right into your bread. Fleischmann's Fresh Yeast For Natural Vitamin B Complex 77 In Laxatives, too, there's a HAPPY MEDIUM! EX- LAX is — not too strong! — not too mild! — it's just right! WHAT kind of a laxative do yoa take? One that's so strong it weakens and upsets yoii? Or one that's so mild it fails to give you the relief you want? Then try Ex-Lax — the Happy Medium laxa- tive! Ex-Lax is as effective as any laxative you'd ever want to take. But it's kind and gentle, too! It won't upset you. It won't make you feel bad afterwards. What's more, Ex-Lax tastes good — just like fine chocolate ! Ex-Lax is as good for children as it is for grown-ups. Naturally, like any effective medi- cine, Ex-Lax should be taken only according to the directions on the label . . . You can get a box at any drug store for only 10c or 25c. IF YOU HAVE A COLD AND NEED A LAXATIVE — It'e particularly important when you're weakened by a cold not to take harsh, upsetting purgalivea. Take Ex-I^ax! It'e thoroughly effective, yet not too strong! EX- LAX CotiyrJHht, 1942. by Ex-Lax. Inc. Attention! Piles Sufferers The McCleary Clinic, C405 Elms Blvd.. Excelsior Springs. Mo., is putting out a new book, FREE, to anyone afflicted with Piles, Fistula and other rectal or colon troubles. Write them today. — Adv. 78 fellow can't lead a band playing a thing like this." Five years passed before Freddy Martin could carry his decision out. Discharged from the orphanage, the only home he had known since his parents had died, the boy went to live with a kindly, sympathetic aunt. To help pay his board, Freddy got odd jobs after school, as an errand boy, grocery clerk, and expert lawn mower. "I read everything I could about popular music," Freddy recalls, "and when I got out of high school I was able to develop my career for better or worse." The blond-haired Clevelander found a new occupation — selling mu- sical instruments, and shortly after that he was able to purchase a second- hand saxophone from his own firm. "I gave myself very reasonable terms. Five dollars down and a dol- lar every week." Once he mastered his new instru- ment, Freddy never once veered from the course he had charted back in the orphanage. He organized his own band and one of its first professional engagements was as a substitute to the relatively-new Guy Lombardo organization, when the latter group left Cleveland for a few days. Before Guy turned over the bandstand to his youthful pinch-hitter he gave him some sound advice on the desirability of playing sweet music and the draw- backs of feminine soloists. "I never forgot what Guy told me," Freddy said. Due to lack of funds Freddy couldn't keep his first band together and he succumbed to an offer from a band that had a contract to play jazz music for nine months in Hel- sinki, Finland. r> ACK in this country, Freddy had a -'-' lot of wonderful stories to tell but no new employer. He accepted jobs with a number of second-string dance bands all around the country, saved his money, polished his style. In 1931 he formed another band and got a job in Brooklyn's Hotel Bossert. This band stayed together, received good notices, a small reputation, and a number of engagements. Because the band was clean looking, smooth, and careful in its selections, the top- drawer spots hired Freddy. But try as they would, Freddy and his men could not crash the big "name" field. They went out west in the midst of the swing craze. "I realized that New York just wouldn't pay any attention to a sweet band," Freddy admits. Martin has always won the ad- miration of critics because of his choice of tunes. This policy, however, had minority dissenters among the song-pluggers and recording com- panies. The established practice of the latter is to give the big-money bands the "hit" tunes to record, leav- ing the second-stringers the task of waxing lesser compositions or un- earthing novelties. The pluggers never could understand why Freddy re- jected so many of their Tin Pan Alley boiler plates. "When Orrin Tucker popped up with his sensational 'Oh, Johnny' I was immediately advised to find something similar," Freddy says. "When Artie Shaw revived 'Begin the Beguine' a lot of people thought I should also find a tropical tune. But you just don't find numbers like that on trees. I searched for ten years He come horn Minneapolis to study at the New York University but between classes Cy \Yalters worked as pianist. Now he and bis eight-man band play in New York's Fefe's Monte Carlo Beach. and if it wasn't for a lucky break I would still be looking." That lucky break occurred last May. Freddy and his wife made a point of hearing Toscanini's broadcasts. One Saturday night the great man con- ducted Tschaikowsky's Piano Concer- to in B Flat Minor with Vladimir Horowitz as soloist. The Martins rushed out to find a record store open so they could purchase the Toscanini recording. Then Freddy's arranger Ray Austin was summoned. The two men worked over the Concerto, ex- perimenting with all the movements, chopping it down to two and finally to the form that has become a phe- nomenal popular success. Freddy was certain this was the tune that would skyrocket his career. He wired Bluebird Records that he wanted exclusive recording rights. They wired back approval but were not enthusiastic for its chances. How could a classic challenge the juke-box champions like "Hut-Sut Song" and "Beat Me Mama With a Boogie Beat?" The arrangement was first tested in Los Angeles' Cocoanut Grove. Mickey Rooney, Deanna Durbin, Martha O'Driscoll, and Dorothy Lamour were early endorsers. Freddy plugged it extensively on his coast-to-coast broadcasts and the rendition caught on. Other bands followed suit but Freddy's platter sold 700,000 copies. Offers poured in from movies, thea- ters, ballrooms, hotels. America's dancers finally recognized the Ohio orphan lad. Freddy made a movie, "Mayor of 44th Street," with George Murphy and Ann Shirley, then came back to New York after five years for a spell at the Waldorf-Astoria. That is where you can hear the 14-piece band with singers Eddie Stone and Clyde Rogers, via Mutual and CBS. Freddy and his slim, attractive wife, Lillian, have been married since 1930. They have one child, Freddy Jr., now attending private school in California. Lillian admitted to me that she has tired of living "in a wardrobe trunk." At first it was a novelty but now she yearns for a permanent home, prefer- ably on the west coast. I think Lillian will have to be patient. The Martin RADIO AND TELEVISION IMIRROR gold rush has only begun and Freddy is determined to gather it in. Ten years was a long wait. Attaining this po- sition in the dance band field, Freddy wants to hold' on to it and he is busy searching for another "Concerto." "But," he admits, "it's a terrific worry. Lightning doesn't usually strike twice in the same place." OFF THE RECORD Sammy Kaye (Victor 27738) "Re- member Pearl Harbor" — "Dear Mom." The best of the new war songs. How- ever, a more humorous one is Frankie Masters' "Goodbye Mama I'm Off to Yokohama" (Okeh 6545). Jimmy Dorsey (Decca 4103) "White Cliffs of Dover"— "I Got It Bad." An excellent, well-balanced platter of two very pouular tunes. Both Bob Eberle and Helen O'Connell handle the lyrics with distinction. Alvino Rey (Bluebird 11391) "I Said No"--"Deep in the Heart of Texas." Sauciest tune of the month with its punch-line tribute to LIBERTY maga- zine. Don't miss it. Hildegarde (Decca 23245) and Tommy Tucker (Okeh 6526) also have made excellent disks. Abbott and Costello (Victor 27737) "Laugh, Laugh, Laugh." Here's a swell party song marking the zany comedy team's first record. The jokes are pretty old but no harm done. Judy Garland (Decca 4072) "How About You"— "F. D. R. Jones." Solo honors of the month go to Mrs. Dave Rose for her renditions of two tunes from "Babes on Broadway." Harry James (Columbia 36466) "Wait Till the Sun Shines Nelhe"— "Devil Sat Down." James pumps lusty life into this old tune and pairs it with a spiritual. A solid package. Glenn Miller (Bluebird 11386) "Moon- light Sonata"— "The Slumber Song." Miller tries to get Ludwig Von Beethoven to help him fashion a record as enticing as Freddy Martin's collaboration with Peter Tschaikowsky. Eddy Duchin (Columbia 36454) "Mad- eline"— "'Tis Autumn." Customary Duchin piano hijinks on two agreeable tunes high on "The Hit Parade." The Autumn announcement is also admir- ably waxed by Freddy Martin (Blue- bird 11393). Johnny Long (Decca 4079) "You're On My Mind"— "Panic in Panama." Highly satisfactory pressing by a band that has made steady progress. Tommy Dorsey (Victor 27710) "How Do You Do Without Me?"— "It Isn't A Dream Anymore." Straight dance music without frills or fanfare, highlighted by Frank Sinatra's smooth warbling. Recommended Album: Victor's collec- tion of Paul Whiteman records made when the King of Jazz's crown was firmly fitted on his head (1928). Bix Beiderbecke was his great trumpeter and a young lad named Bing Crosby one of his vocalists. The album reveals what amazing strides popular dance band music has made in the last fifteen years. RADIO MIRROR DANCE BAND CONTEST BALLOT To Ken Alden, Facing the Music Radio Mirror Magazine, 122 E. 42nd Street, New York City. Please consider this a vote for in your fourth annual dance band popularity poll. 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Arrid has been awarded the Approval Seal of the American Institute of Laundering, for being harmless to fabrics. Arrid is the largest selling deodorant ... try a jar today ARRID 39^ a jar AT ALL STORES WHICH SELL TOILET GOODS (Also in 10 cent and 59 cent jars) FOR BETTER TISSUES I Loved a Coward Continued from page 20; only a good reason for being married sooner than we had planned. And after all, he'd admitted frankly that he didn't want to be drafted. That wasn't the same as being afraid. I refused to think about the way he'd talked — about the eager, hurried note in his voice, the desperate attempt to justify himself in his own eyes and in mine. So, when I saw him at noon, I said, "I'm sorry for what I said yes- terday, darling. I must have been over-wrought and a little hysterical, with the war and everything. And with you suggesting that I quit work so soon after we'd decided to be mar- ried— well — " "Forget it," Tim said in a husky, embarrassed voice. "I know how you felt. It sounded — pretty bad . . . Did you get through the alarm all right last night?" he added in a transparent attempt to change the subject. "I was going to call you, but we're not sup- posed to use telephones during an alarm, so I didn't." W/"E went on with the lunch, mak- ^ ing unimportant conversation — strained, uncomfortable. And not a word was said about being married. At last, sure that Tim was gropingly waiting for me to speak, I said, "Tim — I told you I was sorry. . . ." "And I said for you to forget it," Tim answered. "Well, that's what I meant. For the sake of our peace of mind, let's forget it ever hap- pened. At least, for the time being." "You mean — not be married?" He met my gaze levelly. "Yes, that's what I mean. Let's wait." "Ah, Tim — I hurt you — you're angry!" "No," he said. "I'm not angry. But I saw myself yesterday through your eyes, and I didn't like it. I don't want you to marry that kind of a guy, because you deserve something better. That's all." "But I was mistaken. I was all wrong, I didn't understand. . . ." "Are you sure?" he asked. "Would you be sure, if I still wanted you to marry me?" At that searching question, I knew how right he was. I wouldn't have been sure. Always there would have been a lingering doubt. "No, you wouldn't," he said, seeing me hesitate. "So — as I said, let's forget it. We'll go on as we have been, for a while." Then the stubborn note in his voice softened. "Only remember one thing — I do love you, very much." "Tim, please — " I was close to tears. Wordlessly, he pressed my hand once, hard. "I've got to get back to the studio," he said. "I'll drop around tonight, after my nine-o'clock broadcast. See you then." "Yes ..." I said faintly. I wanted to throw myself into his arms, beg him to forgive me, humble myself before him. But he was gesturing to the waitress, paying the check. Not until many days later was I to know something of the torment that had raged in Tim's own heart. 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But that was just it, I argued with myself: in 1942 they meant everything. Without the war and the test it brought, I would never have known Tim was a coward. Worn out with the unhappy con- fusion of my own thoughts, I would fall asleep at last, then wake up un- refreshed to face another day. I listened to Tim's broadcasts from South America; I couldn't help my- self. They were witty, informative — really good. But always, interfering with my appreciation of them, was the thought: how many people would listen and approve if they knew how he had compromised with his coun- try's call? ONE evening Jane and I were both at home. The radio was on, and ab- ruptly our attention was shaken wide- awake by an announcement: "The regularly-scheduled program for this time will not be heard. Instead, we take you to El Salvo in South America for a special broadcast by Tim Lyon." Wonderingly, I glanced at Jane dur- ing the pause before the change-over to South America. Hadn't there been something about El Salvo in that morning's paper — something about a local revolution? Something about Nazi fifth columnists? There was no time for further speculation. To a horrid accompani- ment of crackling static, we were listening to Tim's voice: "Hello, North America. This is Tim Lyon, speaking to you from El Salvo, the scene of the first major attempt by Nazi fifth columnists to gain con- trol of an American republic. It is too soon to say whether or not the attempt will be successful. I am stand- ing on the roof of the Hotel Diosa. There is f.erce fighting in the streets below me, and the city is under fire from bombers and fighting planes which appear to have been produced by the insurgents from some secret hiding-place. You can probably hear the sound of the bombs — " I caught my breath sharply. All that noisy backdrop to Tim's voice was not static! — some of it, at least, was the sound of death. And he was in the midst of it, alone, defenseless; yet I could hear no terror in his voice. I leaned forward, every nerve tense, listening, but I can't remember, now, more than snatches of what he said. I didn't even care what he said — all I cared about was that he go on talking, talking, so I would know he was safe. "A fire has broken out in the di- rection of the railway station . . . Two government fighting planes have just attacked a bomber directly over my head — the bomber is — " The noise grew to a roar, drowning out "Tim's voice. Then silence! An age-long minute of suspense fol- lowed before the network announcer said: "Due to circumstances beyond our control, we shall not be able to complete this special broadcast from El Salvo. We now return to our Los Angeles studios." Trembling with dread, I whispered to Jane, "What happened?" Swiftly Jane came to me, put her 84 arms around me and held me close. "Don't let it get you," she said. "It could have been a power failure — a censor butting in — anything!" It was neither a power failure nor a censor, thougii. Slowly, during the next two dreadful days before the rising was suppressed by the lawful government, news filtered through: a bomb had struck the Hotel Diosa, and believed to be among the missing was Tim Lyon, radio broadcaster. To me, the most terrible thing on the day when hope seemed gone was that I had called him a coward. Again and again I sobbed to Jane, "He was brave — so brave! He stood there under fire and didn't run away. And he didn't have to — he didn't have to at all. But I thought he was a coward!" Finally Jane seized me by the arms, holding me so tightly that there were bruises next day to show where her fingers had been, although I felt no pain then. "Linda!" she said fiercely. "You little fool, don't you see how happy he must have been, up there on the roof, knowing that you were wrong? And knowing that he was wrong too? It must have been won- derful for him to find out he wasn't afraid!" Her words penetrated my grief- fogged brain as nothing else could have done. They gave me strength to go through that day, and the next. . And I believe they even helped mej to bear the intolerable relief when we heard that he had not been killed, only wounded, and that as soon as he was well he would return to the United States. Then the time indeed seemed end- less, but at last I was standing at the air-field, watching the plane that car- ried him slant down from the sky, taxi along the runway, stop. I was running toward his tall, smiling fig- ure, and he was coming to meet me as quickly as the barely-healed wound in his leg would allow. WORDS aren't much use at a time like that, and we didn't use many of them until hours later when the people from the network and from his sponsor's office had finally gone away and left us alone. Curled into the crook of his arm as we sat on the sofa in my apartment, I faltered: "I'm so proud — so very proud — of you and — and ashamed of myself — " Tim frowned lovingly, tenderly. "Don't be ashamed. Don't ever be ashamed. Because of course you were right. I was afraid to be drafted. I'm not now — in fact, I'm going to ask to be re-classified for immediate service. But it was before I could see myself in danger, and I knew — I absolutely knew — when that happened I'd turn and run. "And the funny thing is," Tim said musingly, "I didn't want to. It didn't even enter my head to run — because I didn't know there was any danger until I was right in the middle of it. I'm scared now, thinking back about it, but I wasn't afraid then . . . I guess a man can think himself into being a coward. If I'd known in ad- vance all that was going to happen in El Salvo, probably I'd have cleared out of there. Since I didn't know, I stayed — and it wasn't half so bad as it would have been in my imagina- tion." I burrowed closer against his side. Later I would think about what he'd said, see its truth. Just now the only important thing was that he was brave, and alive, and close to me. RADIO AND TELEVISION H/IlRn08 NO DULL DRAB HAIR When You Use This Amazirg 4 Purpose Rinse In one, simple, quick operation, LOVALON will do oil of these 4 important things ■for your hair. 1> Gives lustrous highlights, 2. Rinses away shampoo film. 3. Tints the hair as it rinses. 4. Helps keep hair neatly in place. LOVALON does not permanently dye or bleach. It is a pure, odorless hair rinse, in 12 different shades. Try LOVALON. At stores which sell toilet goods 25^ for 5 rinses 10^ for 2 rinses LOVALON Ri a s i ROLLS DEVELOPED 25c Coin. Two 5x7 Double Weight Professional Enlargements, 8 Gloss Deckle Edge Prints. CLUB PHOTO SERVICE. Dept. 19. 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These tiny filters and tubes are working day and night to help Nature rid your system of excess acids and poisonous waste. When disorder of kidney function permits poison- ous matter to remain in your blood, it may cause nag- ging backache, rheumatic pains, leg pains, loss of pep and energy, getting up nights, swelling, pufiSnesa under the eyes, headaches and dizziness. Frequent or scanty passages with smarting and burning some- times shows there is something wrong with youi kidneys or bladder. Kidneys may need help the same as bowels, so ask your druggist for Doan's Pills, used successfully by millions for over 40 years. They give happy relief and will help the 15 miles of kidney tubes flush out poison- ous waste from your blood. Get Doan's Pills. APRIL, 1942 What's New from Coast to Coast Continued from page 9 Santa Monica, Redondo Beach, Ocean Park, and Hermosa. That was all right for two years, but then he decided he should get into radio, and did, signing up as an actor at KFRC and other San Francisco stations. It was this work that brought him to the attention of Rube Wolf, and he became a master of ceremonies for Fanchon and Marco stage productions. At last the prodigal returned to Salt Lake City, where he worked first for another station and then for KDYL. Besides acting on the air, he doubles as the station's Traffic Manager. Roy was christened Leroy, but doesn't like to be reminded of it. He's married to the former Frances Schon- feld of Denver, and they have one child. * * * Personal nomination for network honors: Jimmy Powers, New York sports editor, who nightly broadcasts a complete sports resume. But there's no chance for him to be heard coast- to-coast. New York's station WMCA has an exclusive contract with him, which it's just renewed for another year. * * * Milton Berle has formed the Embee Music Corporation, and the first num- ber the new company is publishing is "A Mile from Treasure Isle," written by Harry Tobias, Bert Pellish, and the boss, old Embee himself. It's not just a scheme to get a pet song published, either; Milton is too shrewd a busi- ness man for that. His other com- mercial interests include presidency of a furniture factory in Brooklyn and part ownership of a chain of drug stores; he writes a weekly syndicated column, contributes gags to the scripts of the movies he acts in, and in his spare moments dashes off the songs his new company will publish. * * * NASHVILLE, Tenn.— There's a new name and a new star on the Prince Albert half-hour portion of station Roy Drushall, of station KDYL in Salt Lake City, is one actor who doesn't want to go to Hollywood. nOlU r FEEL LIKE SiXTEEn .^ ncnini" ^ "Droopy posture gone . . . low - down feeling banished . . . the energy of a young girl recaptured. . . . Tum-E-Lift makes me feel like a new woman again !" — such are the phrases to be found in the testimonials we constantly re- ceive. For example: "I like my Tum-E-Lift ... I feel like 16 again and I am 37 now," says Mrs. A. S. of Detroit. So don't let waistline bulge and a tired back get you down ! 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EMPIRE DIAMOND CO. Dept. 737MP Jefferson. Iowa BUY A DEFENSE BOND TODAY! UGLY COLD SORES AND FEVER BLISTERS CAMPHO-PHENIQUE ANTISEPTIC DRESSING lnti$t on tfi« Original James F. Ballard, Inc., St. Louis, Mo. WSM's famous Grand Ole Opry show. She's Minnie Pearl of Grinder's Switch, who was an instant success from her very first appearance. Minnie really was born in Grinder's Switch, Tennessee. That was in 1912, and she was the youngest of five girls. Her father owned a saw mill and, as Minnie expresses it, "mayored for a spell on the side." She was educated at Ward-Belmont in Nashville, where she received her degree in dramatics, specializing in Shakespeare. After school, Minnie toured the south for eight years putting on plays in small schools and churches. It was on these tours that she learned many of the homespun yarns with which she delights her audiences now. On one tour she was snowbound on Sand Mountain, where she lived in com- plete isolation with an old couple and their one son. Brother, as he was called, was the only one of sixteen children that had not married and moved away from home. When she returned to civilization Minnie had stories about her experience that made her friends hysterical with laughter. They suggested that she audition the stories at WSM, and she's been there ever since. Minnie now has a full-time sched- ule. She's the comedienne of the Camel Caravan, the traveling show that goes around entertaining men in Army Camps, Marine Barraclts and Naval Bases. Besides that, she is fea- tured on the Grand Ole Opry and WSM's River Boat Revels, and in a fifteen-minute program called Minnie Pearl and Maria. Dry humor comes naturally from Minnie Pearl's lips — humor as Ameri- can as the people she loves to tell about. There's nothing synthetic about her — she's from the country and she loves it. She has never been to New York, which she pronounces Noo Yawk. She is not married, and refers to her single condition as something over which she has no control. * * * Remember the whistling-singing- piano playing fellow who used to come on the air right after Bing Crosby's hour with a cheery: "There goes Bing — and here comes me!"? Sure you do, and you've probably wondered what had happened to him. Well, he's Bob Howard, and for as long as Duffy's Tavern remains on CBS (there's talk, on account of defense priorities, that its sponsor may have •to stop advertising) Bob will prob- ably be an important part of the show. He provides the incidental music at the start and finish, and sings one song during the program. Bob's player-piano style comes from his boyhood days. It was by studying and listening to a player-piano that he learned to play the instrument in the first place. He's never had a lesson. It may be a surprise to you that Bob is colored. He has written more than thirty tunes of his own, and appeared in several movies made at the old Paramount studios in Astoria, Long Island. What the brown derby is to Al Smith, a black cigar in a brown- tipped holder is to Bob Howard. He rarely actually smokes more than three cigars a day, the one in his mouth usually being unlighted. He favors the three for a quarter variety. There's a Mrs. Howard, and has been for fourteen years. They live in a modest one-family home in Mt. Ver- non, a New York suburb, where Bob indulges his hobby of raising wire- haired terriers. Faith Continued from page 13 was lacking. I heard Mary sniff: "You must have been a romantic kid." "He came to California one day on work for the Government, and looked me up. And we — " "And you fell in love. That's sim- ple." We loved each other, yes. At least, he said he did. Oh, the soft night light, and the long moss hanging from the live oaks, and Bradley's lips on mine, his arms around me, holding me to him, his voice saying he loved me, and then — I forced myself to speak quietly; there were too many memo- ries pounding at me, pounding as the surf had against the cool wet sand when he and I had talked of our future. "He was. on his way to Brazil on a Government mission. He couldn't tell me anything more than that about it. When he came home we were to be married. He gave me the address of a man through whom my letters could be forwarded to him. I didn't hear from him for months. Then suddenly, all my let- ters were returned, unopened. The man I'd sent the letters to had died; Bradley had never received any of them, and—" I stopped. "Well?" Mary prompted. "I've waited. I've never heard from him, not once. So, at last I came here. I thought I might find him here somewhere. That's — that's why I came to Washington," I fin- ished, lamely. 86 "So your hero never wrote you, just left you behind, wondering what it was all about — " Tears came, drenching my cheeks, as if they would wash away all memories, all dreams and heart- ache. "Sorry," Mary exclaimed, and leaning forward, pulled my fingers away from my face. "There may be a perfectly good reason why he couldn't write. This Bradley of yours may still be in Brazil just as un- happy as you, wondering what's hap- pened to you. Now stop worrying. Wash your face and get to bed. To- morrow is another day. We'll find this man of yours, all right." WOULD we? I wondered, as I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. What could she do, that I hadn't done? Heavy eyed and heavy hearted I listened to Mary's matter of fact as- surances the next morning as we ate our breakfast and started to work. For a year I had watched faces on the streets, had waited for letters, had listened for the ring of the tele- phone. What was there that either of us could do now, what inquiries were there that we could make? Soon I realized that Mary was as helpless as I. Even her "Now don't get impatient," lacked conviction. It was the same way all week — an endless week of frantic work, and last faint hopes. We were just fin- ishing the morning's typing up of records on our dictaphones. Auto- RADIO AND TELEVISIOff MIFROB Give Your Lazy Liver This Gentleludge" Follow Noted Ohio Doctor's Advice To ReUeve CONSTIPATION! If liver bile doesn't flow freely every day into your intestines — constipation with its head- aches and that "half-alive" feeling often result. So stir up your liver bile secretion and see how much better you should feel! Just try Dr. Edwards' Olive Tablets used so successfully for years by Dr. F. M. Edwards for his patients with constipation and sluggish liver bile. Olive Tablets, being purely vegetable, are wonderful! 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"Ann, Ann," she was whispering as loudly as she could, "Come here, quick. Listen. I've found him!" I pushed back my chair and ran to her. "What's happened?" I cried. I dared not believe what my heart was telling me. "I'll run the record over — then you'll know." Yes, I heard his name, the name I had so long waited to hear: Bradley Curtiss. It was a report from the Bureau of Mines, saying that this same day they had just received in- formation he had been in an automo- bile accident, and was now in a hos- pital in Baltimore. Bradley injured — in a hospital — that was all I heard, all I need hear. "I'm going to him," I cried, and started toward the door. "Wait a minute," Mary caught my arm. "What about your job?" "I'm going," I repeated, and pulled away from her. She looked at me. "AH right," she said, "get your things on. I'll see the boss. I'll be with you in a second, you need some- one with you. Meet me at the main entrance." 1 STOOD on the pavement in the spring sunshine. I didn't think, I didn't try to think, for soon I would know. My questions would all be answered. And fear made my throat tight, panic rising in me. He might be dying, he might be crippled. Even now as I stood here, he might be dead. Oh, why didn't Mary come! As I turned to look for her, she was hurrying through the door with John beside her. "Mary's just told me the news," he exclaimed, "I'll drive you two to Baltimore." "No," I cried, "no" I couldn't let John drive me to Bradley. Mary jerked my arm. "I'm in charge of this. Let us have your car, John. I'll drive Ann over. How about it?" "Sure, but why not — " She had patted his arm, looking up at him with a smile, had pushed me ahead of her into the car, and we were off before I could voice my protest. We tried two hospitals. It was at the third that we were told that Bradley Curtiss was there as a pa- tient. I saw a nurse in white, the superintendent was talking, and we were walking along a corridor, a door was pushed open. I stopped, I could not force myself to step across the threshold. All my future waited upon that one slight motion of mine. Then, I remembered Bradley's gray eyes, his voice as he had whispered my name. To fear the silence of these last two years was a betrayal of our love and faith. He would tell me soon why it had had to be. I moved forward toward the bed, calling softly: "Bradley, it's Ann—" A head, bandaged, turned towai'd the sound of my voice. From under layers of gauze, lips moved. "Ann?" It was a question. "What Ann? Say, who's come to see me? Some one I ought to know?" I could neither speak nor move. Safe New Way in Feminine Hygiene Gives Continuous Action for Hours • Timidity is no longer the young woman's ex- cuse for ignorance of intimate facts. Accurate Icnowledge is available to any woman who seeks it. 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Dept. 16-D. Chicago PUSSY WILLOW See how HAMPDEN'S powder base 'smooths out' your skin, makes it soft, youthful! It subtly 'tints' your complexion, helps hide blemishes, gives you that lovely 'portrait finish.' "^ POUJDR-BRSE 50c also 25c & 10c sizes Over 18 million told 88 That blurred voice; it was coarse, harsh, I did not know it. Mary stepped by me, taking command. "Are you Bradley Curtiss?" she asked. "Sure, who else would I be? And, if you don't mind, who are you? I can't see through all the stuff over my eyes." "I'm Ann," 1 forced myself to say. "Don't you remember, Bradley — California — " "You're one up on me," the harsh voice said. "Why did you come?" I went over and touched his hand. "You don't remember?" Through the bewildered anguish within me, I found words to say, "I shouldn't have come, I should have realized — " Mary spoke up, brightly, almost gayly. "Ann's an old friend of yours, and when we heard you were hurt we just thought we'd see how you were. Now we'll run along." "Say, don't go," he exclaimed, "don't get me wrong. Stay a while. I'm going mits here, no fun, no com- pany. If I've forgotten, we'll begin over again — " "No, not today," Mary said, and took my arm. "I don't get this. But you will come back?" I stopped at the door, and looked toward the bed. If I could only see his face, look into his eyes. But what good would that do? He had for- gotten me. I hesitated, hope strug- gling against pain. Perhaps the ac- cident had — I shook my head. The very man was different. Bradley would be Bradley even if memory were gone. "You will come again?" he asked once more. "Perhaps," I said, and hurried out into the hall, through the entrance and climbed into the car. Mary jumped in, she was very quiet, and as we reached the open road, head- ing toward Washington, I cried, sud- denly, fiercely: "Don't say it, Mary — " "I'm not thinking anything," she answered softly, "except how unfair it is for you." TTOURS, minutes that dragged, lead- -'-'- en, bitter, hopeless, as the long spring twilight faded into the dark- ness of another sleepless night. A tumbled bed, and hot pillows, and my eyes wide open to the blackness around me, as deep as the bewilder- ment in my soul. There were facts, hard facts to be faced, and yet some- thing within me refused to accept them. That man had said he was Bradley Curtiss, his name was on the driver's license he carried. What did such things mean? He was not the man I loved. I sat up in bed, unable to lie still. I was cold in that dread hour before dawn. Then I saw the light steal over the world, changing the sky to color, bringing warmth to the earth. And as the light grew I knew what I would do. Others might laugh. I did not care. My one thought was how I might convince them of — of what? Of something of which I myself was not completely sure? I only knew that I must re- turn to the hospital, I must talk to him again. Bradley might be in danger — I slipped from my bed, and dressed swiftly and quietly. Leav- ing a note for Mary I hurried out into the early morning and went to the station. I forced myself to drink some black coffee at the restaurant. The city was waking to activity as the train steamed out toward Baltimore, and I huddled in the corner of a seat. I felt shut off from all the world. Even Mary would not understand why I took this trip. But as the train rushed on, my resolution strength- ened. My faith and love in the man who had held me in his arms, who had asked me to wait for him gave me courage to continue on this mad journey. I would not let myself think of what might lie before me. I could not plan ahead. The mere fact that at last, after months of passive wait- ing, I had a purpose, was a relief to my troubled heart. I REACHED the hospital, and asked * to see the superintendent. I was told to wait. I must try to form my thoughts into some coherent order. Yet, when, after what had seemed hours and hours, the superintendent came into the room, I still did not know what to say. "I — I was here yesterday to see a patient — a man calling himself Bradley Curtiss. I — I'd like to see him again now if — if I may." He tried to speak, but I kept talk- ing. I had to say what I could be- fore he silenced me. "I knew Bradley Curtiss as a child, we grew up together. I knew him — very well — two years ago in Cali- fornia, and yet" my voice rose with my inner conviction, "yesterday when I saw him — " The smile on his face stopped me. I moved quickly to the window. Yet, what other response had I expected? "Ann!" a voice cried. I swung around, my heart quickening, the blood in my face. I looked at the man standing in the doorway, the man crossing the room toward me. I gazed into his gray eyes, saw his smiling lips, the tanned, lean face. He was speaking to the superinten- dent, but his eyes were on me. "Your patient is my cousin, who happens to be the black sheep of the family. This isn't the first time he's used my name. The other night he went off in my car, and proceeded to smash himself up. He'd taken my driver's license, so you naturally thought it was I. I only saw it in the paper this morning, and hurried over to straight- en matters out — " He moved toward me, his gaze had never left my face. "But you knew, Ann." Now he was beside me. His hands reached as if to take mine, then dropped by his sides. IN THE MAY ISSUE— Don't miss "Romeo for Julie"— A story of Romance and Adventure On a Cruise EADIO AND TELEVISION IMIRROB GRAY HAIR KILLS ROMANCE You knowthat gray hair spells the end of romance . . . yet you are afraid to color your hairl You are afraid of dangerous dyes, afraid that it is too difficult, afraid that the dye will destroy your hair's natural lus- tre— afraid, most of all, that every- one will know your hair is "dyed". These fears are so needless! 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Merchandise Mart, Dept. 175, Chicago. HAVING A BABY? Regular medical care during pregnancy is vitally important. Your doctor can regulate diet to provide minerals, iron and vita- min content so essential to good teeth and sound physical development in the baby. Ask his advice on feed- ing infant. .hgV.!^^ APRIL, 1942 See Your Doctor Regularly "I thought you had forgotten me," he spoke, slowly, "you never wrote." "I did," I said, "I did. But the man died — all my letters were re- turned." "Oh," it was a long drawn sound. "I did my best to get some letters to you. Did you receive them?" I shook my head. My heart was dancing, singing. Then he had my hands in his. "But you waited — you had faith?" "Yes," I whispered, "I had faith." It was all I could say, for Bradley's lips were on mine, and the days and months of loneliness and fear and pain merged into a flaming glory. I was in his arms, he was holding me against him; we were together, at last. "We'll be married," he was saying. I could hear his voice through the wild beating of my heart, "it's been so long, so long — Ann." He held me away from him, and laughed down at me. "It's been ever since we sat in that old apple tree and read books, and told each other our dreams. Ever since then I loved you, but I only realized that during those desolate months in Brazil, when I couldn't reach you, when I couldn't see you, during those nights and days when I thought I had lost you. Did you love me then, too, Ann?" "Yes," my lips answered. "What is this — " it was a cry of amazement, and we turned quickly, but Bradley kept my hand in his. Mary ran into the room, and by the door stood John. "Here I've raced up from Washington. I got John out of bed as soon as I read your note. I thought you'd get into trouble, but this is more than even I suspected. I suppose this — " "Yes," I interrupted, my voice gay and happy. "This is Bradley Curtiss. The man we saw yesterday is his cousin — and we're to be married." I LOOKED at John. What did he -■■ feel, what did this mean to him? But Mary's eyes were dancing. I spoke quickly, breathlessly: "Bradley, John is a friend of mine and of Mary's — this is Mary, my room mate — Oh, what a mess I'm making of these in- troductions— I'm too excited to think." John smiled. "Mary, I think we'd better leave these two alone. Have lunch with me, will you?" "I'd be delighted to." Mary caught my arm and pulled me aside. She whispered, her lips close to my ear. "Do you think there's any truth in that saying about catching a person on the rebound, Ann?" "Mary, I never dreamed. Oh, I'm sure there is." She laughed, patted her brown curls around her face, and her hand on John's arm, they went out the door. I stared after them, excited and happy. "We might have lunch, too," Brad- ley said, then he swept me once more into his arms. "Oh, Ann," he whisp- ered, "I love you — I love you — we're together once more." Together once more — the birds were singing those words as we walked down the broad old street, the breeze was whispering them with a ripple and rustle in the leaves. Joy soaked into me with the sunlight; all pain and loneliness were forever gone. My faith had justified itself. I could feel Bradley's fingers on my arm, hear his voice. I looked up into his eyes as we stopped at a corner. He loved me, had always loved me. That was all I needed to know. DON'T PUl UP WITH THE TORMENT OF SIMPLE PILES USE PAZO! YOU WERE RIGHT! PAZO RELIEVED THE PAIN, PROMPTLY There's good reason why PAZO oincmenc has been used by. so many millions of sufferers from smipie Piles. First, PAZO oinc- menc soothes inflamed areas — relieves pain and itching. Second, PAZO ointment lubricates hardened, dried parts — helps prevent cracking and soreness. Third, PAZO ointment tends to reduce swelling and check bleeding. Fourth, it's easy to use. 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Your orig- inal returned with your free enlargement. Send it today. Geppert Studios, Dept. 1246, Des Moines, Iowa WAKE UP YOUR LIVER BILE- Without Calomel— And You'll Jump Out of Bed in the Morning Rarin' to Go The liver should pour 2 pints of bile juice into your bowels every day. If this bile is not flowing freely, your food may not digest. It may just de- cay in the bowels. Then gas bloats up your stom- ach. You get constipated. You feel sour, sunk and the world looks punk. It takes those good, old Carter's Little Liver Pills to get these 2 pints of bile flowing freely to make you feel "up and up." Get a package today. Take as directed. Effective in making bile flow free- ly. Ask for Carter's Little Liver Pills. 10r Vol. 18, No. 1 FRED R. SAMMIS Editor BELLE LANDESMAN Assistant Editor CONTENTS /^pecioJo fexxXu/reb YOU SHOWED ME THE WAY Judy AsUey 15 Life had been so cruel — until she met him A WIFE IN NEED Helen Irwin Dotvdey 18 "I'm glad I'm married to you" — six golden words « LORENZO JONES Jack Sher 20 Radio's popular drama now told as a complete novelette A ROMEO FOR JULIE Lester Gottlieb 24 Could this enchanted interlude be only a holiday flirtation? THE RIGHT TO HAPPINESS 27 For the first time see these people in real life photographs THE STORY OF MARY MARLIN Norton Russell 32 How was this fateful day to alter Mary's life? YOU CAN'T LOSE IN LOVE Jimmy Cash 35 Radio's new singing star had always dreamed of success THE TOUCH OF YOUR UPS 36 A blazing desert, an exciting stranger almost made her forget — I NEED YOU, MY LOVE Ed Hamelburg 40 Radio Mirror forecasts a hit of tomorrow BABY SNOOKS HELPS HER UNCLE SAM 42 You'll laugh yourself into buying Defense Bonds and Stamps X ynddeJ /ittinvctuxnA THEIR MOST ROMANTIC MOMENT Marian Rhea 3 WHAT'S NEW FROM COAST TO COAST Dan Senaeney 4 FRUITS FOR FLAVORFUL DESSERTS Kate Smith 8 THE CHURCH THAT FRIENDSHIP BUILT 9 PUT YOUR BEST FACE FORWARD Dr. Grace Gregory 10 FACING THE MUSIC Ken Alden 12 OVERHEARD 14 INSIDE RADIO 43 TEMPERAMENTAL LADY 46 ON THE COVER — Dinah Shore, Singing Star of Eddie Cantor's broadcasts and her own Sunday night program on NBC Kodachrome by Charles P. Seawood RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR, published monthly by MACFADDEN PUBLICATIONS, INC., Washington and South Avenues, Dunellen, New Jersey. General Offices: 205 East 42nd Street, New Yorlc, N. Y. Advertising offices: Chanin Building, 122 East 42nd Street, New York. O. J. Elder, President; Haydock Miller, Secretary; Chas. H. Shattuck, Treasurer; Walter Hanlon, Advertising Director. Chicago office, 221 North LaSalle St., E. F. Lethen, Jr., Mgr. Pacific Coast Offices: San Francisco, 420 Market Street. Hollywood, 7751 Sunset Blvd., Lee Andrews, Manager. Entered as second-class matter September 14, 1933, at the Post Office at Dunellen, New Jersey, under the Act of March 3, 1879. Price per copy in United States 10c, Canada 15c. Subscription price in United States and Possessions and Newfoundland .$1.00 a year. In Canada, Cuba, Mexico, Haiti, Dominican Republic, Spain and Possessions, and Central and South American countries, excepting British Hon- duras, British, Dutch and French Guiana, .fl.SO a year; all other countries, $2.50 a year. While Manuscripts, Photographs and Drawings are submitted at the owner's risk, every effort will be made to return those found unavailable if accompanied by sufficient flrst-class postage, and explicit name and address. Contributors are especially advised to be sure to retain copies of their contributions; otherwise they are taking unnecessary risk. Unaccepted letters lot the "What Do You Want to Say?" department will not be returned, and we will not be responsible for any losses of such matter contributed. All submissions become the property of the magazine. (Member of Macfadden Women's Group.) The contents of this magazine may not be printed, either wholly or in part, witliout permission. Copyright, 1942, by the Macfadden Publications, Inc. Title trademark registered in U. S. Patent Office. Copyright also in Canada, registered at Stationers' Hall, Great Britain. Printed in the U. S. A. by Art Color Printing Company, Dunellen, N. J. RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRBOR Molly first saw Fibber Mc- Cee at choir practice and after that there was never anyone else in her heart JT WAS a funny thing, how Marian DriscoU (NBC's Molly McGee to you) had been talking about love, that December afternoon in 1915, in Peoria, Illinois, and had turned thumbs down on it so completely. Particu- larly love at first sight. "There's nothing to it," she announced, to her best girl friend. "It's silly!" She was sure she knew what she was talking about. Most six- teen-year-olds are. And Marian, blue-eyed, brown- haired, a little freckled, maybe, but fetchingly so, was a lass with a mind of her own. You have to be, she insists even now, if, as she was, you are the young- est of a brood of thirteen. But on that certain snowy afternoon as she and her chum sat curled in the win- dow seat in the Driscoll's front room, eating popcorn and occasionally an apple with salt, they were con- sidering more important problems in life. Marian was pretty. The golden- brown braids wound 'round her small head were thick and shining. The blue of her eyes paled the corn flower. Her young body in its Dutch-collared blouse and pleated skirt was slim and lovely. An Irish lilt silvered her laughter.. She was the kind of a girl who attracts the male of the species like a flower attracts bees. But her mind was far re- moved from boys. She had too many brothers to be thrilled about them. She dismissed romance, love and rnarriage with a few deci- sive, well-chosen words. Love at first sight was, of course, something to be written about in stories, but not a logical happening. And love of any kind was not for her. She was a pianist, already exception- ally good, as she well knew. She could sing and dance, too. She proposed to have a career. "No romance for me," she repeated, positively. "I won't have any time for it — at least not for years and years!" But at this, fate must have laughed, for it was only three hours later that she put on one of her brothers' sweaters — ^the rolled-collar kind boys affected in those days — and went down the street a little way and Continued on page 52 A^^Close-up^ vfQS only a Movie Term to Paulo/ until ••• Act 1: Paula is pretty! She sings like an angel and can dance like a breeze. But there are few compliments and dates in Paula's young life, few eligible bachelors— BECAUSE— well, Paula is guilty of one little fault, she's careless about underarm odor! -^^ Ad 2: (Enter pretty jriend) Wake up to the facts of charm, my Pretty! Of course you bathe every day— before every date. But a bath only takes care of the past ... to give your charm a future, use Mum. «„. takes only 30 seconds, effec. tive for hours. ^^^,^ „„« P'^-^'^" "ptspiration! without stopping P";P 3kia Act 3: {Paula's soliloquy) Now I can play a love scene! Mum is so marvelous— so quick, so easy to use, so sure! Only 30 seconds to use Mum. and daintiness is safe for long hours. Safe for skin, safe for dresses, too! V^ ; - ■ C? • . .. (Zentle, safe Mum Takes the Odor Out of Penpiration Product of Bristol-Myers 5W UotH/ to CxHX^t Margie Rae sings on KDYL Salt Lake City, and Frances Scully, below, tells western NBC listeners about glamour. 'yWO great big orchids to the spon- -^ sors of Manhattan Merry-Go-Round and Waltz Time because they turned over a broadcast of each show to the United States. Instead of commer- cials, Merry-Go-Round offered ap- peals to support the Army Enaergency Fund, and Waltz Time urged listeners to buy Defense Bonds and Stamps. CBS employes — ^stenographers, page-boys, technicians and so on — have their own method of seeing to it that a Defense Bond is purchased every pay-day. One of them collects fifty-cent pieces from the others until he has enough to buy a bond. Then lucky numbers are drawn out of a hat, and the winner gets the bond. * * * It's William Gargan, not Victor Mc- Laglen, who is playing the role of Captain Flagg in the NBC program. Sergeant Quirt and Captain Flagg. Edmund Lowe stays on as Sergeant Quirt . . . Another cast change is Mary Mason's withdrawal from the title role in Maudie's Diary, on CBS. Looks like Caryl Smith will get the part permanently. Bv DAN SENSENEY Jack Benny served fresh cof- fee and fresher jokes to the soldiers at the Fort Mac Ar- thur Canteen, near Hollywood. I SALT LAKE CITY, Utah— Margie Rae, who frequently sings from sta- tion KDYL over the NBC network with Ed Stoker and his orchestra, hadn't reached her sixteenth birthday when she decided she was going to be a radio singer. But unlike most am- bitious young ladies, Margie didn't follow the usual technique of storm- ing the studios and asking sweetly if she might have an audition. Instead, she made her appeal directly to Wally Williams, whose orchestra was play- ing at the Hotel Utah in Salt Lake City. And she got the job and went right to work. Two years ago when KDYL's staff songstress was taken suddenly Ul, little Miss Rae was recruited to fill in, and did so well that they gave her a permanent job. As Margie expresses it, "It was just what I wanted — be- cause anyway, Wally Williams was leaving on tour and I didn't want to travel." Margie is tiny, not quite five feet tall, soft-spoken, red-haired and blue eyed. She's the baby in a large family of Raes, and used to have fun when the family asked her to sing for com- pany. Her first effort along these lines still haunts her, and although the accompanying gestures have be- come slightly more sophisticated she will, if asked, delight you with that favorite of a decade ago, "Button Up Your Overcoat." She always follows the song's advice, and believes that's the reason she has never had a sick day in her life. One of her biggest joys these days is singing for the soldiers. Ever since the Reception Center at Fort Douglas, Utah, was opened, KDYL has offered two weekly programs for the selec- tees, and Margie has of course been one of the featured attractions. In fact, she's so popular with the men in uniform that Col. H. P. Kayser, commanding officer of the Reception Center, recently made her Honorary Master Sergeant. If there's one thing in the world that brings out the temperament hid- den under her auburn hair, it is wait- ing for people who are late for appointments. And you can be sure Continued on page 6 RADIO AND TELEVISION KIIBROR n I And now she was just about at the end of her tope. Another week and the money that Mamma had given her would be gone. "I must get a job!" she sobbed, "I must! Any kind of a job! Why can't I? What's wrong?" Poor little, small-town Muriel! It was a long time before she found out what every big-town business girl knows by instinct: You May Ojfend Needlessly Since you yourself may not know when you have halitosis (bad breath), isn't it just common sense to guard against this offense with Listerine Antiseptic? Bad breath can be systemic, but when it's due to the fermenta- tion of tiny food particles (as some author- ities say it usually is) Listerine Antiseptic immediately halts such fetmentation and overcomes the odors that it causes. The breath becomes sweeter, purer, less likely to offend. When you want to appear at your best socially or in business never omit this de- lightful freshening antiseptic and deodorant precaution. Lambert Pharmacal Co., St. Louis, Mo. MAY, 1942 Before business and social engagements let LISTERINE look ajter your breath Olln 7/ce, below, WBT an- nouncer, swore he would never marry anyone con- nected with radio — but — Continued from page 4 Margie herself is always on time. * * * Lucille Manners' sponsors and NBC joined forces to celebrate the start of Lucille's seventh consecutive year on the Cities Service Concert with a party after the anniversary broadcast. It was also the program's fifteenth an- niversary, and a real white-tie-and- tails occasion. * * * From now on, Washington's Birth- day will have a double significance for George Putnam, announcer for Portia Faces Life, Orphans of Divorce, and Great Moments in Music — be- cause on Washington's Birthday this year George and his wife, the former Ruth Carhart, had their first child, a boy. Ruth was a popular radio singer until her retirement. * * * Another announcer, Ken Roberts of The Shadow, expects to be a father by the time you read this. * * * Edward G. Robinson almost broke up a broadcast of Big Sister when, holidaying in New York, he visited the program. While the show was on the air he clapped a leopard-skin hat belonging to one of the actresses on his head, and looked so funny it was impossible for the rest of the cast to keep from laughing, right into the microphone. * * * HOLLYWOOD— Speaking of Gla- mour, as Frances Scully does on NBC stations in the Pacific Coast area — there's no one better qualified to talk about that elusive but highly de- sirable quality than this same Miss Scully. Ever since she left school, Frances has been writing about Hollywood and its people. She's an intimate friend of stars of radio and screen, and also of the people behind the scenes who make the wheels go 6 Flunking a radio audition is usually the road to oblivion. But to Bob Elliott of WHDH it was the doorway to success. 'round. Blonde and beautiful enough to be in the movies herself, she says she's no actress and would rather broadcast about those who are. Frances was born in Pocatello, Idaho, but received her education in private schools in Portland, Oregon, and Los Angeles. She joined NBC as a fashion expert and press agent, and first went on the air with her own program a couple of years ago. As NBC's reporter of glamour, Frances doesn't have much spare time, but whenever she gets a leisure mo- ment she likes to spend it at home, where she lives with her parents, and in pursuing her hobby of col- lecting china cups and saucers, Indian art and stamps. Her cup and saucer collection is valued at $1,500, many of the pieces in it being more than a hundred years old. A born story- teller, she hopes some day to devote all her time to writing fiction, with the emphasis on mystery stories. * * * You may not hear many baseball broadcasts this war-time year. Since ball games are never played except in fine weather, broadcasting them would automatically tell the enemy, listening in, about weather conditions in the localities where the games were being played. * * * Radio's Voice of Experience, in pri- vate life known by his real name of Marion Sayle Taylor, is dead at the age of 53 as the result of a heart at- tack. Once one of the air's favorite personalities, Taylor had been less ac- tive in the year or so preceding his death. He died in Hollywood, where he had been living with his wife, Mrs. Mildred Taylor. * * * If you want to get a good look at pandemonium, drop in to see Eddie Cantor some time in New York. In- stead of one apartment, he has three — one for his office, one for himself, and one for his family. The theory is that this helps give Eddie privacy, but it doesn't work out that way, because the apartments adjoin each other and people wander through all three of them most of the time. * * * BOSTON— Maybe Bob Elliott isn't radio's youngest announcer (we're not going to get mixed up in th-at argu- ment again), but he comes close to it. At nineteen, he is the newest addition to the announcing staff of Boston's station WHDH. Bob has had the announcing "bug" ever since he was ten years old, when he used to put on radio programs in the cellar of the Elliott home in Winchester for the edification of neigh- borhood kids. He didn't have any mi- crophone or sending set, but that didn't bother him. In high school, he pre- sented a weekly dramatic show, writ- ten by himself, over a second-hand amplifying system which he bought himself. He drafted schoolmates to play roles in these shows sometimes; other times, he played all the parts himself. When he had graduated from high school young Bob went to New York and the Feagin School of Dramatic Art, working nights as an usher at the Radio City Music Hall and later as an NBC page-boy. After a year at the school, during which he'd only been able to appear on one or two local stations in small dramatic roles, he decided sadly that radio wasn't for him. Just as he was about to leave New York, station WINS offered him a fifteen-minute spot doing mono- logues for which he'd already audi- tioned. After two programs he drove to' Boston for a week-end with his parents and took an audition at WHDH, just on a chance. He'd hard- ly returned to New York when a tele- gram arrived, offering him a post as WHDH's newest announcer. Besides his regular announcing chores at WHDH, Bob writes a half- hour morning nonsense show. He has hopes of returning to NBC someday RADIO AND TELEVISION IMQUIOR as an announcer instead of a page- boy, but meanwhile is perfectly con- tent to be one of Boston's outstand- ing young announcers. * * * Here's a new toast, proposed by Archie of the Duify's Tavern pro- gram: "Three cheers for M'country, M'cArthur and M'cassar." * * * Selena Royle, radio's Kate Hop- kins, received the sympathy of her friends (and that means practically everyone in radio or on Broadway) at the recent death of her father, Edwin Milton Royle, famous playwright. « * * House Jameson, Henry Aldrich's fa- ther on the air, could go into the movies if he wanted to, but he'll stay in New York with The Aldrich Family and sandwich in Hollywood picture- making when the program takes a summer vacation — ^if it does. « * * PITTSBURGH, Pa.— One day in May, 1937, Jimmy Hughes decided that he wanted to be a radio an- nouncer. He was not quite twenty years old at the time, and was taking a shower after pitching a game of baseball in Pittsburgh's Schenley Park. It didn't seem very likely that he'd ever achieve his ambition, but today, his last name changed to Thompson, he is a crack announcer for station KQV in Pittsburgh. Jimmy had one advantage that most radio-struck youngsters don't. His father, a former vaudeville star, was program manager of station WJAS. Before Jimmy looked for a job he got his father to take him in hand and teach him how to read copy and in- ject personality into every spoken word. In less than a year, he was ready for his first audition. Continued on page 74 Dr. Frank Black and Lucille Manners cut the birthday cake on their program's anniversary. ''Wfr'' -«--^^1 0^^, ST^ \ \ ^ pffOH^^un^ •\ 1^25^ V, y^_: SALLY WAS a stay-at-home . . . un- til she discovered an amazing secret — that there's a gentle, fragrant soap that gives you "double-protec- tion'' against offending . . . and that it's no longer necessary to risk your daintiness with an unpleasant smell- ing soap! Here's what Sally learned when we told her about "double- protection"! Listen . . . IT'S THE TWO-WAY insurance of daintiness Cashmere Bouquet Soap gives you! First, Cashmere Bouquet makes a rich, cleansing lather that's gifted with the ability to bathe away body odor almost instantly! And at the same time it actually adorns your skin with that heavenly perfume you noticed — a protective fragrance men love! T/i/i/v/' # > <«. SAllY WASn slav-al-li,,,,!,. . . til slir ilisiHiviTcil ttit niiiii^iiii' !n\,, , — Ihal tlitTc's i< gcnllc ftugruiil soap llial give, )<,„ ",foi,W,..|,r„t„.. lion" against oiTeiidin}; . . . ami lliat It's no longrx ncvcftsary to riitk your duintinrsa with uii unplroannl anuilU ing soap! Here's ivlint Sally Irarunl when we lohl lur nlwut "iloublo- protection"! LiNteii . . . ViK"' „ PRorecr/o/VF \ IT'S THE TWO-WAY inRurnnco of claiutiriL'ss (luHliinvro Iloiiiiix't Sttnp f;ivc-syoii! First, Ca.Hhiiirro Houqiiot iiiaktMit u rioli, clraimiiii^luthrr lliurn ;;irtc(l with the ubilily to hnllir jiway iKMly odor ntiiioMt iiintnnlly! And at the hoiihi liiiio it avtuiilly adorns your nkin will) tlint hcavrnly pi-rfiinic yuii noticed - a i>rol<-clivr fru;iranr« mm lovi'I T///}/v/ //e/?e^ ' OA/^FO/^ Fi^e/^y ^//^i / sA^su me SO/IP seeo/^e yoc/ sc/K..yv^'u p/^eee/? c^smiepe soc/Qc/er/ SMART GIRir You aiiprtxiutv llir woy (]n«liUHTO Hniiqiict li;uvf« y»iiir mkin Mift 011(1 eni(M>lh . . . xiditly alluring with the lingering went of cofitlier jM-rruinc! Ami evt-ii if yonr face and liunils are .tu/HT-iwiiBiiivc, rcnicmlicr Cunlimurv Bonquct in one perfumed Hoap tliut can ugrrr ^vitIlyou^l«kin! BereaUinart. . . gel (^uHhnicre Bouquet Soup— /«'/ Dishmere Bouquet m^A rHt lOVElIB WAY 10 AVOID OfffNOINC V j/A RADIO AND TELEVISION Now you con glorify that left- over custard from last night's supper — Prune Novelty Pudding. IN my travels about town during the past few weeks I've noticed a growing tendency on the part of hostesses and restaurants to serve more and more dishes based on dried fruits. In puddings and pies, melting and delicious, in pastries and cookies at tea time — almost everywhere you go you are sure to meet those old friends dried apricots, prunes and raisins in some form or other. The reason isn't hard to find, for with every one of us becoming more nutrition and budget conscious than ever before it's only natural that products as rich in health building minerals and vitamins and as eco- nomical as dried fruits should com- mand attention. However, their high nutritional value and their low cost aren't alone in accounting for their popularity. For sheer flavor appeal nothing can surpass our modern dried fruits which now reach us with all their natural goodness intact. If you like to offer tea to guests who drop in of an afternoon, if you have children who ask for a snack between school and suppertime or if there is a man in your family who carries his lunch to work you will win new honors for yourself by giv- ing them Apricot Johnny Cake. Apricot Johnny Coke % cup cornmeal 1 cup flour 5 tsps. baking powder % tsp. salt Vs cup sugar 1 egg 1 cup milk 2 this, melted butter or margarine % cup chopped cooked dried apricots Cooked apricot halves for top of cake Sift together dry ingredients. Beat egg, add milk and melted butter and combine liquid and dry mixtures, blending together thoroughly. Fold in chopped apricots which have been well drained. Pour batter into shal- The children will love Apricot Johnny Cake for that snack be- tween school and the dinner hour. low buttered baking pan and arrange apricot halves in rows on top. Bake at 375 degrees F. 35 to 40 minutes. Dried fruit puddings are famous for their flavor and nutritional value and here are two which have additional interest in that they utilize leftover cooked cereal and leftover soft custard or cornstarch pudding. Prune Novelty Pudding 2 cups chopped cooked prunes, drained 4 cups small bread cubes, toasted 1 cup shredded coconut 4 tbls. malted milk (dry) 1 tsp. cinnamon 1 cup sugar Vz cup nut meats Soft custard or cornstarch pudding RADIO MIRROR'S FOOD COUNSELOR Listen fo Kate Smith's daily folks at noon and Iter Friday niglif show, both on CBS, sponsored by General Foods. Bet you've made prune and apricot pies, but did you ever combine prunes with bananas? — Prunana Pie. Combine all ingredients except nut meats and custard and mix well. Form into roll about 10 inches long and 2 inches thick and roll in chopped nuts. Wrap in wax paper and chill thor- oughly (mixture will keep for several days in refrigerator). Cut into slices and serve in sherbet glasses with left- over soft custard or cornstarch pud- ding. Apricot Cereal Pudding 1 cup cooked cereal 1 cup chopped cooked apricots '/^ cup sugar Small pinch salt IV^ cups milk 2 eggs ^.^ tsp. vanilla Combine cereal, apricots, sugar, salt, milk and beaten egg yolks. Fold in stiffly beaten whites and vanilla. Bake in buttered baking dish at 375 degrees F. for 30 minutes. Half apri- cots and half chopped nut nneats may be used for variation. We might write a whole article on dried fruit pies but there just isn't room for more than one. It combines prunes and bananas with spices and honey and the delectable result is called Prunana Pie. Prunana Pie V4 cup butter or margarine % cup honey V4 tsp. cloves V^ tsp. cinnamon 2 cups chopped drained cooked prunes 2 cups sliced bananas 1 baked pastry shell Cream butter, add honey and spices and cream together until thick and smooth. Add prunes and bananas and blend lightly together. Pour into baked pie shell and bake at 350 de- grees F. until mixture is firm (about 15 minutes.) If desired, top with plain meringue before baking or top with whipped cream just before serving. THE CHURCH THAT FRIENDSHIP RCILT From an interview with Rev. Elmer W. J. Schmitt on ■ We The People program, heard Friday nights on CBS. I'VE been the pastor of Elmwood Methodist Church in Eastwick for six years. Our church was an old frame building, badly in need of repair. Two years ago, the board of trustees met to see what could be done about rebuilding it. We found it would cost $25,000 — ^much more than our little congregation could afford. Then one of our trustees had a suggestion. Why not rebuild the church ourselves? He offered to sup- ply what lumber we would need from his own lumber yard. We began working evenings and Saturdays — and soon the whole congregation pitched in! Then, a strange thing happened. People outside our church came to me, and asked if they could help. First, an Episcopalian brick- layer joined us in his spare time. Next a Chinese friend donated some tea and chow mein which his children sold in order to buy bricks and mortar. Some German-speaking people — all loyal Americans — contributed money for one wall. An Italian friend cooked spaghetti and sold it— and the money he earned went for bricks for our church. A negro offered to mix the *mortar. Next, a bricklayer from St. Raphael's Roman Catholic Church became interested — and soon the whole bricklayers' union was work- ing with us! A Japanese friend, whom I knew was a good American contrib- uted some money. Then, . as a crowning touch, some Jewish people gladly gave enough money to build a tower for our new church — as a memorial to one of our Jewish lead- ers— a gift of friendship to their Christian neighbors! The church is finished now. The entire cost was only $750. On next Sunday, our Bishop is coming to Eastwick for the dedication ceremony. We call it . . . "The Church That Friendship Built!" That's just what it is. In these two years, we've known the fellowship of working side by side with friends of different races, different creeds! And we earnestly hope that our "Church That Friendship Built" may be the fore-rurmer of a vastly larger plan — of selflessness, tolerance, and democracy — in a "World That Friend- ship Built!" MAY. 1942 /i6^as a ^art-Time Wife 99 HOW MRS. E. OVERCAME THE "ONE NEGLECT" THAT MARS SO MANY MARRIAGES I. When Bob and I were first married, I thought we'd be the happiest pair in the world. I was a good manager, a good cook. I'd always been considered attractive. But . , . well. Bob became cold, indifferent. The romantic side of our marriage sinaply fizzled out. 2. One morning after Bob stormed off to work in a temper, my Aunt Sue dropped in. She's a trained nurse. I couldn't help blurting out the whole story to her. "My dear," she said, "when love goes on the rocks, it's often be- cause a woman is careless — or ignorant — about feminine hygiene . . . 3. "It's one neglect," Aunt Sue went on, "that most husbands can't forgive. That's why so many modern wives use Lysol for intimate personal protection. Lysol solution isn't only cleansing and deodorisjing — it kills milUons of germs on instant contact, without harm to sensitive tissues. We nurses know." 4. Never again will I risk my happiness! I use Lysol regularly now for feminine hygiene. It's so gentle — and effective. Economical, too, because it's so diluted in use. P.S.: Bob and I are cooing like doves again. 6 Reasons for using LYSOL ■NON-CAUSTIC— g:entle and efficient in proper dilution. Contains no free alkali. It is not carbolic acid. EFFECTIVE— a powerful getniicide , active in presence of organic matter (such as mucus, serum etc.). SPREADING— Lysol solutions spread and virtually search out germ-s in deep crevices. ECONOMICAL — small bottle makes almost 4 gallons of femi- nine hygiene solution. CLEANLY ODOR —disappears after use. LASTING— Lysol keeps full strength indefliytely. Copr., 1942, by Lehn & Pink Products Corp. For new FREE booklet (in plain wrapper) about Feminine Hygiene, send postcard to Lehn & Fmk Products Corp., Dept. R.T.M.-542, Bloomfield, N. J., U. S. A. By Dr. Grace Gregory MAKE-UP is an art — no denying that. It can work miracles. But it can never take the place of intelligent complexion care. It is not meant to. Make-up accents and enhances natural beauty. A naturally beautiful complexion is based on two things — health and proper cleansing. . Health is being recognized these days as a patriotic duty. It is also a duty to one's appearance. A vitamin deficiency or an otherwise improper diet may be the cause of many skin blemishes. The very first step to- wards a beautiful complexion is gen- eral good health. If you are troubled by serious blemishes — a persistent acne condition or the like — the first step is to visit your physician. A healthy girl usually has a healthy and beautiful complexion, but not al- ways. A skin that is not properly cleansed becomes clogged. The tiny oil glands cease to do their work properly. They become over-active, or inactive. A too-dry or too-oily skin add up to the same thing, fundamentally. The oil glands are out of order. Black- heads come from the same basic cause. The oil is not completely expelled. It hardens, oxidizes — and you have a blackhead. Given general good health, these three, very cprnmon skin faults — dry_ skin, oily skin, and blackheads — indicate, first of- all, the need for a check-up on your cleansing routines. Begin with a good cleansing cream. That is just as imperative for oily skins as for dry skins. But the oily skin usually prospers best with a cleansing cream of the liquefying type. Many of the great beauty houses put out two creams, one for dry and one for oily skins, or a general purpose cream for either. Never slap on creams careless- ly and wastefully. Smooth on your cream with gentle upward strokes. A little of a good cleansing cream goes a long way. Make your massag- ing find all the tired spots, the tense places, and relax them. Massage the temples, just in front of the ears. Smooth out the frown lines above the brows and nose. Work always upward and outward. Enjoy your cleansing massage. Done right, it is a delight- ful and refreshing interlude in a strenuous modern day. Leave the cream on a little while, particularly if you are using one of the creams which have stimulating or healing ingredients. Then wash the face and neck thoroughly but gently with a mild soap and warm, softened water. There is no better way of removing the cream and with it all the grime and hardened oil that clogs the pores. Many creams have ingredients for skin stimulation. But in any case, it is a good idea to follow the cleansing by patting in a good skin freshener. Then you are ready for your night cream or your powder base, accord- ing to whether this is the morning or evening complexion ritual. Be gentle with your complexion al- ways. Stroke on the creams and lo- tions. Pat on the powder, and then brush it off with a powder brush — a gadget that is well worth its mod- erate price, and lasts a lifetime. Never, never rub your skin. That is just asking for lines and wrinkles. Somehow or other, busy as you are, find time to give yourself a good facial mask treatment. Relaxing for a quarter of an hoiu* with a good face mask two or three times a week gives yovu- complexion a new lease on youth. Most masks are mildly astringent. They tighten up the pores and help smooth out lines. Practically all of them are cleansing and soothing. You wash off the mask and your skin feels rested, refreshed, velvety. While you are relaxing with your face mask, cover the eyelids with cot- ton pads saturated with a soothing lotion or some beauty preparation especially designed for the purpose. It is not a good idea to read or talk while you are enjoying your mask. Part of the purpose is complete relax- ation. Try to think of nothing at all, or if you must think, let your mind go over every part of your body from heels to head searching for tense muscles and deliberately relaxing them. When your fifteen or twenty minutes are up and you wash off the mask, you will be surprised how fresh and rested you feel. MDIO MIRROR *„*„*, * 10 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR For Girls Who Want IVIore Glamorous Hair SILKIER, SMOOTHER/EASIER TO ARRANGE ! -.■^4^ Allure — Jor yuui inuu /riiiilnus nuimfnls . 11. m ,,.,,/<( suinnlUly up iiJJ neck uiui jace. 'iiuli arliJicHil /rail iir fresh Jl utters Iwltinil itirs. Iltiir sltiiinpnnpd willt neu\ imprtweil Spivitil Drenr. Amazing difference due to hair conditioner now in new, improved Special Drene Shampoo! Leaves hair hjvelier, easier to manage ! You'll be ihrillcci by the difference in your hair ihc v-ery first lime -j-ou use new, im- proved Special Dreiie Shampool For ihal wonderful hair coudil loner no>v in Special Drene •rives simply amaicirig results right away . . . leaves liairsomiKh silkier,«nioother, far easier to arrange right after shampooing! Just try improved Special Drene once, and you'll seel I n surpassed far Removing nanfiriijjfl \re you bothered, about removal of ugly, scaly dandruff? Yon won't be when you shampoo with Special Drene! For Drene removes ugly dandruff with the first appli- cation. And besides, Drene does something no soap shampoo can do — pot even those <-laiming to be special ''dandruff removers"! Drrnc rrrrals up to 33% more lustre and color brilliance. So, for extra beauty benefits — plus quick ami thorongh removal of loose dandruff — try improved Special Drene right away. Or ask for a Special Drene shampoo at your ^^\ "^"■mTj^v. beauty shop! You'll see *■' Guaranteed by A an amazing difference .Good Housekeeping y ^p^ iFDtrtcTivtcB ^\*/ Procter ftOamble "" Trndo Mark Rck. U. S. Tat. OIT. Avoid That Dullini- Film Left By Soaps Ami Soap Shampoos! Don't roh vour hair of filuniour by usiiif; soaps or liciiiicl secl yV\c tL w When I got out on to the street, he was still walk- ing beside me, apologizing. IT WAS one of those New York days. You couldn't imagine any- thing nice happening to you on such a day. The sky was a dirty gray, and some of the grayness and lots of the dirt seemed to have sifted down into the deep streets, and even into people's hearts. I didn't really expect to get a job at Miss Patterson's Employment Agency. I'd passed the point where I expected to get a job. But it was one more place to try, so I went there. Miss Patterson was a calm, ef- ficient-looking middle-aged lady, and she listened politely while I told her what I'd already told so many people — that my name was Marie Karnes, I was twenty years old, and I didn't care what kind of a job I got — cooking, 'taking care of a baby, cleaning, anything. "I imagine I can do something for you," she said — and then added, "May I see your references?" "I — haven't any," I confessed miserably. It was going to be the same old story, all over again. "You see, I've never worked as a domes- tic servant, but I'm sure I could. I'm a good cook, and I'm fond of children and — " "I'm sorry, Miss Karnes," she said sympathetically but firmly. "I never handle anyone who hasn't a refer- ence of some kind. That's the way I run my business." "You couldn't make an exception," I pleaded, "and recommend me for some sort of work — naaybe just something temporary?" Miss Patterson shook her head, and I knew there wasn't any use arguing. "I don't like to break my rule— and besides, I rarely get calls for any but experienced help." "I see," I ^aid hopelessly, and turned to go. But the thought of the crowded, noisy streets, the whole huge city without a single place in it where I had the right to rest, made me feel suddenly tired, and I asked, "Do you mind if I sit down here for a little while? I've been walking most of the morning." "Not at all," Miss Patterson said, MAY, 1942 r Aje had been so cruel it seemed like a dream when he whispered that there was happiness ahead. Now, with him beside her, she could dare to hope again and gestured toward a bench that stood against the wall. With a sigh, I sank down, and for a while there was silence in the little office. Miss Patterson was working on some papers, and I couldn't do anything but sit there, feeling the ache in my legs and the gnawing emptiness of hunger in my whole body. What will you do now? What will you do now? A tiny, jeering voice kept asking me that, over and over again. "DRISK footsteps came along the hall outside, paused, and the door swung open. A young man came in — a very jaunty and self- confident and well dressed young man who began smiling the minute he entered the room and went on smiling while he walked over to Miss Patterson. "That is the kind of door I like to come through!" he declared in a voice that had just a shade of foreign accent. "It has a beautiful inscription on it. It says, 'Walk In.' With so many doors be- ing inscribed with 'Keep Out,' it is poetry to see a heart-warming legend which invites the outside world to 'Walk In.' " He clicked his heels together and bowed to Miss Patterson, who seemed to be amused. "Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked. "I sincerely hope so. I am Alex- ander Rimash, affectionately known as Alec. And I might add that, at times, I am very, very affectionate!" Miss Patterson was more amused, butshe didn't forget to be business- like. "I don't believe you're regis- tered here, Mr. Rimash," she said. "Ah!" He held up a finger as if she'd just made a brilliant state- ment. "That is just it! I have come for that purpose — to let you know that I am now available for any reasonable offer of employment." "Are you a domestic servant?" "I have been on occasions," he said gaily. "I have served as house- man and I have been a chauffeur. But put me down, please, as a chauffeur. I like to drive long, black, slinky automobiles." Then Miss Patterson asked her usual question: "Have you refer- ences?" "A few." He took some folded papers out of his pocket and passed them over. Miss Patterson opened the top one, and he leaned over Read in exciting fiction form by Judy Ashley a radio play heard on the Lincoln Highway program, Saturday morning, at I 1:00 E.T., over the NBC- Red, sponsored by Shinola Shoe Polish. 16 her shoulder to watch. "That one in particular," he said helpfully, "you will find very interesting. It is beau- tifully written and says some very flattering things about me." I had been watching him, but now I turned my head away. I didn't want to envy other people's good fortune, but it did hurt a little. He was so sure of himself, he had references and good clothes — of course he'd get a job! And he didn't need one half as much as I did; you could tell that by look- ing at him. "They seem to be in order," I heard Miss Pat- terson saying, "although I notice they're all from California. Haven't you worked here in the East?" "No. I have been in your magnificent city only eleven days. It is my first visit here." That satisfied Miss Pat- terson, because she agreed to register him, and then they began talking about where he could be reached in case of a call. He ex- plained that his address was only temporary, and it would be bettei if he came to the office every day, so Miss Patterson told him to re- port the next morning at ten o'clock. "My morning calls will have come in by then," she said. "Tomorrow at ten!" he said airily. "It's a date. Miss Patt. Au revoir!" I don't know why I did it — per- haps I had some vague notion that this Mr. Rimash had put Miss Pat- terson in a better humor, or perhaps his manner spurred me on to being braver on my own account. Anyway, I said breathlessly, "Couldn't I come in tomorrow morning, Miss Patter- son?" She pressed her lips together im- patiently. "No, Miss Karnes, I don't think so. I might as well tell you frankly that I can't give you any encouragement." My little spurt of bravery died away. "I see," I said. Mr. Rimash, on his way to the door, had stopped and looked at me with frank curiosity when I spoke to Miss Patterson. Now he said: "Encouragement doesn't cost any- thing, Miss Patterson. What brand of encouragement do you want, Miss? I carry a half-dozen different brands and sizes." He was making fun of me! It was easy enough for him to joke, but for me it was a question of eating or going hungry, of sleeping in a bed or on a park bench. Weak, furious tears came into my eyes, and I rushed past him, out of the office. "Wait!" he called after me. "I apologize — I didn't mean to be rude." I went on down the hall without turning around. I heard him say something to Miss Patterson, and then he came after me. "Miss Karnes! Please wait!" His legs were longer than mine, so by the time I had descended the single flight of steps and was out on the street he was walking along beside me, still apologizing. "I always have plenty to say," he babbled. "Talking too much is one of my faults — and I know it. And since I know that talking too much is one of my faults, and since I do not correct it — that in itself is another fault. Isn't it? But I really didn't mean to hurt your feelings." •'It's all right," I said wearily. "Don't worry about it." "You're not very happy, are you?" he asked. "No, I suppose I'm not." We came to an intersection, and stopped on the curb to wait for the green light. The traffic was roaring past, and all at once I thought: Why bother to go on? What's the use? It's better to finish everything at once than to starve to death. Without any conscious effort of my will, I stepped off the curb into the path of a speeding taxi. Brakes screeched horribly, and the front of the taxi loomed up until it was bigger than the whole world. Then someone had his arms around me, and was dragging me back, while the taxi, skidding in its effort to stop, whizzed past so close it brushed my skirts. "Whew!" Alec Rimash said into my ear. "That was a close one — don't you know any better than to argue with a taxi?" He knew what I'd tried to do, of course. I could see the knowledge in his eyes, big and dark and sym- pathetic. But he was going to pre- tend he didn't know. Shaking from the reaction after danger, I was ashamed of myself — and grateful for his understanding. He really was kind. "I'm sorry," I said humbly. "And thank you.' I — I guess I'm a little light-headed." "Oh, well!" he laughed. "I've been light-headed ever since I was born." We started walking again, and somehow, warmed by his interest and friendliness, I found myself telling him everything — how I'd been born in a little upstate New York town and had come to the city a few months before, when my mother died, and how I'd been out of work now for four weeks. "What kind of work do you do?" he asked. "Well — I took a business course in high school, because Mother wanted me to. But I've lost three jobs in business offices. It's just something I'm not suited for — I never could be. I guess I'm not suited for anything. I don't know why I'm on this earth," I finished. Alec stopped and looked at me in shocked disapproval. "Now, what kind of talk is that?" he asked. "What would the Old Man in the Clouds say if He caught you talking like that?" "Who?" I asked. "The Old Man in the Clouds." Alec jabbed a finger upwards. "He sits up there and watches us — He's the one who put us here on this earth." At first I thought he was joking, in very bad taste. But then I saw he wasn't being sacrilegious. To him, God was a very dear friend, a comrade and guide. When he spoke of Him as "the Old Man in the Clouds," it was with affection as well as respect. "There's Continued on page 75 Cij- E and gestured toward a bench that titood against the wall. With a sigh, 1 sank down, and for a while there was silence in the little office. Miss Patter.son was working on some papers, and I couldn't do anything but sit there, feeling the ache in my legs and the gnawing emptiness of hunger in my whole body. What will you do now'' What will you do now? A tiny, jeering voice kept asking me that, over and over again. ■pRISK footsteps came along the hall outside, paused, and the door swung open. A young man came in — a very jaunty and self- confident and well dressed young man who began smiling the minute he entered the room and went on smiling while he walked over to Miss Patterson. "That is the kind of door I like to come through!" he declared m a voice that had just a shade of foreign accent. "It has a beautiful inscription on it. It says. 'Walk In.' With so many doors be- ing inscribed with 'Keep Out,' it is poetry to see a heart-warming legend which invites the outside world to 'Walk In.' " He clicked his heels together and bowed to Miss Patterson, who seemed to be amused. "Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked. "I sincerely hope so. I am Alex- ander Rimash, affectionately known as Alee. And I might add that, at times, I am very, very affectionate!" Miss Patterson was more amused, but. she didn't forget to be business- like. "I don't believe you're regis- tered here, Mr. Rimash," she said. "Ah!" He held up a finger as if she'd just made a brilliant state- ment. "That is just it! I have come for that purpose — to let you know that I am now available for any reasonable offer of employment." "Are you a domestic servant?" "I have been on occasions." he said gaily. "I have served as house- man and I have been a chauffeur. But put me down, please, as a chauffeur. I like to drive long, black, slinky automobiles," Then Miss Patterson asked her usual question: "Have you refer- ences?" "A tew." He took some folded papers out of his pocket and passed them over. Miss Patterson opened the lop one. and he leaned over Read in oxciting fiction form by Judy Aitiloy Q radio ploy heard on the Lincoln Highway progrom. Saturday morning, ol 11:00 E.T.. over the NBC- Red, iponiored by Shinolo Shoe Pollih. 16 her shoulder to watch. "That one m particular." he said helpfully, "you will find very interesting. It is beau- tifully written and says some very flattering things about me." I had been watching him. but now 1 turned my head away. I didn't want to envy other people's good fortune, but it did hurt a little. He was so sure of himself, he had references and good clothes — of course he'd get a job! And he didn't need one half as much as I did; you could tell that by look- ing at him. "They seem to be in order," I heard Miss Pat- terson saying, "although I notice they're all from California. Haven't you worked here in the East?" "No. I have been in your magnificent city only eleven days. It is my first visit here," That satisfied Miss Pat- terson, because she agreed to register him. and then they began talking about where he could be reached in case of a call. He ex- plained that his address was only temporary, and it would be bettei if he came to the office every day, so Miss Patterson told him to re- port the next morning at ten o'clock. "My morning calls will have come in by then." she said. "Tomorrow at ten!" he said airily. "It's a date. Miss Patt. Au revoir!" I don't know why I did it — per- haps I had some vague notion that this Mr. Rimash had put Miss Pat- terson in a better humor, or perhaps his manner spurred me on to being braver on my own account. Anyway, I said breathlessly, "Couldn't I come in tomorrow morning. Miss Patter- son?" She pressed her lips together im- patiently. "No. Miss Karnes, I don't think so. I might as well tell you frankly that I can't give you any encouragement." My little spurt of bravery died away. "I see," I said. Mr. Rimash, on his way to the door, had stopped and looked at me with frank curiosity when I spoke to Miss Patterson. Now he said; "Encouragement doesn't cost any- thing. Miss Patterson. What brand of encouragement do you want Miss? 1 carry a half-dozen different brands and sizes." He was making fun of me! It was easy enough for him to joke, but for me it was a question of eating or going hungry, of sleeping in a bed or on a park bench. Weak, furious tears came into my eyes, and I rushed past him, out of the oBi "Wait!" he called after me "i apologize — I didn't mean to b rude." ^ I went on down the hall without turning around. I heard him sav something to Miss Patterson, and then he came after me. "Miss Karnes! Please wait!" His w were longer than mine, so by th lime I had descended the single gjght of steps and was out on the street he was walking along beside me, still apologizing. ••I always have plenty to say," he babbled. "Talking too much is one of my faults — and I know it. And since I know that talking too much is one of my faults, and since I do not correct it — that in itself is another fault, fsn't it? But I really didn't mean to hurt your feelings." ■It's all right," I said wearily. •■Don't worry about it." "You're not very happy, are you?" he asked. "No, I suppose I'm not." We came to an intersection, and stopped on the curb to wait for the green light. The traffic was roaring past, and at once I thought; Why bother to go on? What's the use? It's better to finish everything at once than to starve to death. Without any conscious effort of my will, I stepped off the curb it was bigger than th° TV" ""'" Then soSe had hkT "'^ *°''"'- me, and was rirl "'' ^™""'' While the Z^i ski//'"^ "" '>'«^'^' to ^top,'wh"zed pa'sT:r1'""' brushed my skirfs ^ "° "^"'^ " do^n'tTouJn'oU:n^^\;i^;Va"n^ argue with a taxi'" " '° co"rse''"r ^1," ''^ '"^'l '» do, of TmL "u.'" '^^ 'he knowledge PathetirLtT"' '""^ ^"^ ^^- jJdinetic. But he was going to ore end he didn't know. Ihaklng from the reaction after danger I wa^ ashamed of myself-and giatefu Lltd""'^--"^'"^- «^ -"y "I'm sorry." I said humbly. ''And h'^ht^hJa-ded.^-^ --^ '-^ ^ '""' ■Oh, well!" he laughed. "I've been ight-headed ever since I was Dorn, We started walking again, and somehow, warmed by his interest and friendliness, I found myself telling him everything— how I'd been born in a little upstate New York town and had come to the city a few months before, when mv ^^^Cfr-^"- hea^skel""'""^™^'''"''-"''"^" ■Well-I took a business roui-se w»n^f "'^°°^- '^«»»se ^^uer jobs in T '"■ ■'"' ''^^ 'o^t thee jobs in business offices it's ,.,,1 something l'„, „„, suited "for- never could be. I guess In, „„ vht I'm ' '?."""«■ ' '"'"■' ""»« ,„X<^ -''°PPed and looked at me kind of1?r'"""^'""^™'«ha ■wtj ^. " """■■■ be asked. What would the Old Man m the Clouds say If He caught you talking "Who?" I asked. Al»?\?'^ """" '" "»• Clouds." A ec jabbed a finger upwards ■■He sits up there and watches us— He's earth "^ *"" ""' "' *'^"' °" ""'< . At first I thought he was jokmg m very bad taste. But then I saw he wasn't being sacrilegious. To him. God was a very dear friend a comrade and guide. When he spoke of Him as ■■the Old Man m the Clouds, it was with alfeclion as well as respect. "There's Continued on imgelS H "I'm glad Fm married to you.^' Six simple words, yet they wiped away all the weeks of black despair — and Ellen knew she would have courage for the biggest test of their love still ahead THE minute I saw Mark come up the front sidewalk I knew something was wrong. When you've been married a while, you can always tell. It's as if the days and months of living together gave you a set of little antennae that have a sense and feeling all their own, and you can feel things coming from a long way off. It "wasn't only because it was-early in the afternoon. I could tell by the way he walked. Usually Mark swings along with that free and easy lope common to all men who work outdoors, with his big body relaxed and his head held high. But now his jaw thrust out at a defiant angle, and he walked as if he were pushing his way through a crowd, shouldering imaginary obstacles out of the way. My breath caught a little, but when he opened the door I was ready. "Why, darling, you're early. Did they give you the afternoon off? How did that happen?" Mark tossed his old, oil-stained work hat in the general direction of the couch and shouldered one more imaginary obstacle from in front of him. "What do you mean — how did it happen? Can't a man come home early without everybody criti- cising him?" That was so unlike him I just stared. There was a little dead mo- ment of silence, and his jaw thrust further out. Then I said softly, "Well, I guess he can. Home is the 18 place to come — when you're in trouble." "Trouble? Why do you always think it's trouble?" "Tell me what happened." He turned then and I saw his eyes. "I got fired," he said miserably. "Fired!" The word struck terror to my heart. In these days of rising prices, -of lieavy taxes, of the shifting sands of a world at war, I knew jobs were terribly hard to come by and we'd saved pitifully little out of Mark's salary. It wasn't for incompetence, I knew — because my husband is the best darn geologist in otur part of the state. "They can't do that!" I cried. "Not to you." "Well— they did," Mark said bit- terly. "I — I guess in a way it was my own fault. But I thought they hired me to find oil, not to play office politics. And I found oil too, on A ficfionization by Helen Irwin Dowdey of the drama by Kenneth Higgins, first broadcast on the First Nighter program, heard Friday nights at 9:30, E.T., on CBS, spon- sored by Campana's Italian Balm. that hundred and sixty acres I told ' you about over near Shephards- town." "But if you found oil," I cried, "why would they fire you?" "That's just it," Mark said with aTnirthless tnrist of his lips. "Mur- dock, the head of my department, didn't agree with me when I said there was oil in that property. We argued about it and I handed in my report anyway, right over Mur- dock's head, to the big boss. Mur- dock got sore — ^you know what a big shot he thinks he is — and insisted they fire me." Mark paused and drew in his breath in one deep gulp as if he could wash away the unhappiness from his system. "That's all there is to it — except they said I could have two months' salary as notice." I couldn't quite hide the relief that swept over me. "But Mark, that's certainly something. And you did exactly right. I'd rather you'd be honest about what you think than keep your job. Two months' salary" — I was already doing mental arith- metic— "why Mark, you'll have an- other job long before that's gone." He looked more miserable than ever. "Well, honey, you see I — I got them to give me that hundred and RADIO AND TELEVISION ItllllSOR \ m 1^ m.- \ r i Mark's eyes lit up and for the firsf time his face lost that awful dosed, tight look. "Ellen, well do it!" Our hands clasped over the little bank.. sixty acres instead of the salary. I—" "You what?" "Yes. I — I can get somebody to drill a well on that land and carry me for a part interest in it. Aw gee, Ellen, I'm sorry. I don't expect you to understand, but when Murdock said what he did I just had to prove I was right. And it wasn't just that either. If there is oil there and if we can get somebody to drill, my interest in it wUl amount to a whole lot more than a measly two months' pay." If. The sound of it shattered all IVTAY, 1942 my mental arithmetic and left me close to panic. If he could get some- body to drill. If there was oil. And if he couldn't or there wasn't . . . But I couldn't let him see, when he was so upset. "VOU — you did exactly right." My voice sounded weak but I tried to make it convincing. "If you say that lease is good, it's good. You go ahead." "Yes, but without money — I stopped by the bank on the way home and we spend more in a month than what we have in there, just for living expenses. You know, it just didn't occur to me that things like this could happen to people like us. I thought it was always somebody else." "We're young. We can pull through." He didn't say anything for a min- ute. He looked at me. When he spoke, it was just six simple little words. "I'm glad I'm married to you." In them were all the things spoken and left unspoken that had been be- tween us since before marriage, and after — all Continued on page 58 19 Li "Fm glad I'm married to you." Six simple words, yet they wiped away all the weeks of black despair— and Ellen knew she would have courage for the biggest test of their love still ahead THE minute I saw Mark come up •the front sidewalk I knew something was wrong. When you've been married a while, you can always tell. It's as it the days and months of living together gave you a set of little 'antennae that have a sense and feeling all their own, and you can feel things coming from a long way off. It wasn't only because it was early in the afternoon. I could tell by the way he walked. Usually Mark swings along with that free and easy lope common to all men who work outdoors, with his big body relaxed and his head held high. But now his jaw thrust out at a defiant angle, and he walked as if he were pushing his way through a crowd, shouldering imaginary obstacles out of the way. My breath caught a little, but when he opened the door I was ready. '"Why, darling, you're early. Did they give you the afternoon off? How did that happen?" Murk tossed his old, oil-stained work hat in the general direction of the couch and shouldered one more imaginary obstacle from in front of him. '"What do you mean — how did it happen? Can't a man come liome early without everybody criti- cising him?" That was so unlike him I just stared. There was a little dead mo- ment of silence, and his jaw thrust further out. 'Then I said softly, "Well, I guess he can. Home is the 18 place to come — when you're in trouble." "Trouble? Why do you always think it's trouble?" "Tell me what happened." He turned then and I saw his eyes. "I got fired," he said miserably. "Fired!" The word struck terror to my heart. In these days of rising prices, of heavy taxes, of the shifting sands of a world at war, I knew jobs were terribly hard to come by and we'd saved pitifully little out of Mark's salary. It wasn't for incompetence, I knew — because my husband is the best darn geologist in our part of the state. "They can't do that!" I cried. "Not to you." "Well— they did," Mark said bit- terly. "I — I guess in a way it was my own fault. But I thought they hired me to find oil, not to play office politics. And I found oil too, on A fictioniiotion by Helen Irwin DowJey of Ihe drama by Kenneth Higglns. fir»t broadcast on the Fint Nighter progrom. heard Friday nighti ot 9:30. E.T., on CBS, ipon- JOred by Campana's Italian Balm. that hundred and sixty acres I told you about over near Shephards- town." "But if you found oil," I cried, "why would they fire you?" "That's just it," Mark said with a mirthless twist of his lips. "Mur- dock, the head of my department, didn't agree with me when I there was oil in that property. We argued about it and I handed in my report anyway, right over Mur- dock's head, to the big boss. Mur- dock got sore — ^you know what a big shot he thinks he is— and insisted they fire me." Mark paused and drew in ws breath in one deep gulp as if he could wash away the unhappiness from his system. "That's all there is to it— except they said I could have two months salary as notice." . , I couldn't quite hide the reliei that swept over me. "But MarK, that's certainly something. And yo" did exactly right. I'd rather you a be honest about what you think than keep your job. Two months' salary —I was already doing mental ariin metic— "why Mark, you'll have a other job long before that's g""^. He looked more miserable m ever. "Well, honey, you see I--' » j them to give me that hundred Mark's eyes Hi up and for the first time liis face lost that awful closed, tight look. "Ellen, we'll do it!" Our hands clasped over the lilth bant. sttty acres instead of the salary. "You what?" Hrii ^' ' — ^ '^^" set somebody to "nil a well on that land and carry ne for a part inte;-est in it. Aw gee, tn 'i *" ^"'■'■y- I <1°"'* expect you °; ""T"'"'"'^' ''"' when Murdock I™ "'^'at he did I just had to prove eith^^ "S^t- -^d it wasn't just that "er. If there is oil there and if inter t •^'^' somebody to driU, my lot m '" '* ^"■'^ amount to a whole pay """^^ '*>3" a measly two months' ■ The sound of it shattered all ■«». 1942 my mental arithmetic and left me close to panic. If he could get some- body to drill. If there was oil. And if he couldn't or there wasn't . . . But I couldn't let him see, when he was so upset. you— you did exactly right." My voice sounded weak but I tried to make it convincing. "If you say that lease is good, it's good. You go ahead." "Yes, but without money — I stopped by the bank on the way home and we spend more in a month than what we have in there, just for living expenses. You know, it just didn't occur to me that things like thi.s could happen to people like us. I thought it was always somebody else." "We're young. We can pull through." He didn't say anything for a min- ute. He looked at me. When he spoke, it was just six simple little words. "I'm glad I'm married to you." In them were all the things spoken and left unspoken that had been be- tween us since be/ore marriage, and after — all Continued on page 58 19 cr^n^zo Copyright, 1942, Frank and Anne Hummert BELLE JONES pulled aside the bright gingham kitchen cur- tains and watched the rain make little puddles in the back- yard. From where she stood, she could see Lorenzo's workshop, boarded up now, and desolate look- ing in the late November afternoon. She wriggled her toes comfortably in her soft, felt slippers, and sighed. It seemed strange. Belle thought, not to see a light burning in the workshop. She sighed again, this time a relieved sigh, because she knew that Lorenzo was working conscientiously at Jim Barker's garage and not wasting his time in that dusty, cluttered workshop which had brought them both so much unhappiness. "He's really settled down, at last," she said. And she was startled a little by the fact that she had spoken her thoughts aloud. Then, continuing to think about Lorenzo, she smiled. She could almost see him, even though he wasn't there. Lorenzo — his plain, serious face, which looked like a little boy's face when- ever something troubled him. And the shock of hair, which kept fall- ing across his forehead and the far away look in his eyes when he was thinking of something too in- timate to talk about to anybody. All these things were certainly Lorenzo Jones, outwardly. But, in- wardly. Belle could not see quite so clearly. Belle could only do as she was doing now — hope — hope that she had cured him, once and for all, of his dreams of making a million dollars on one of his visionary inventions. In her warm kitchen, thinking about her husband and the grief his dreams had caused her. Belle 20 Belle looked at h'n sad face and her heart went out to the impractical dreamer who was her husband. shivered. It had seemed, at times, that some of the difficulties into which Lorenzo had plunged would never get straightened out. Though, after each ordeal, he always prom- ised so faithfully that he would settle down and lead a normal sensible life. Belle wondered how she ever had endured some of the situations into which Lorenzo's over-active and somewhat fantastic mind had cast them. There was hardly a person in town who hadn't, in some way, been caught up in the whirl- wind of Lorenzo's activities and from whose fury she had had to rescue him. Belle to the rescue, she thought, with a little smile. And thinking it, she knew she'd always be there when he needed her. She knew, deep down in her heart, that in spite of his penchant for wild schemes and his insatiable curi- osity about other people's lives, Lorenzo was essentially a good, sweet person. Yes, Belle sighed to herself, he's sweet and good. But she knew there was something more than that, RADIO AND nSLEVISION JMIBROR He made promises^ but he always broke them — and sometimes it seemed to Belle that her love wasn't strong enough to help her through the turmoil of life with this man she had married RADIO'S POPULAR DRAMA NOW TOLD AS something that made her stand by her husband through all his mis- fortunes. She knew she was still just as much in love — maybe, even more in love — with Lorenzo than she had been fifteen years ago, when she had married him. She smiled, then, thinking of him. His earnestness, his shy, yet ex- uberant way of reciting poetry to her and firing her imagination with his wild dreams of inventions that would make them a fortune. How MAY. 1942 much more in many ways, she thought, he was a boy now than he had Taeen fifteen years ago. His latest fiasco, "Tricks, Inc." had almost landed him in jail. Not only that, but his boss at the garage, Jim Barker, had been so overpowered by Lorenzo's oratory that he had lost time and money — a thousand dollars — on Lorenzo's scheme. Belle felt the touch of fear again, remembering that scene with Jim a few weeks ago. "It's no use Belle," Jim had said. "Lorenzo is a closed book as far as I'm concerned. I've had my last dealings with him." "Now, Jim," she had said softly. "We'll pay back the thousand dol- lars and you know you like Lor- enzo. You've been through too much together not to remain friends." "I've certainly been through plenty with him," Jim had said hotly. "I don't mind being friends — if Lorenzo keeps his distance." "You're not going to fire him, Jim?" Belle had asked in a fright- ened whisper. Jim had looked at the floor, then, ashamed before Belle's direct gaze. "Well—" Jim had said, "I was think- ing of just that." "Oh, you can't!" Belle cried. "You just can't! Lorenzo has promised to turn over a new leaf." And then she had told Jim about the conversation she'd had with Lorenzo the night before, about the way Lorenzo had sat on the bed, his head in his hands, his heart full of contrition, and had promised her that he would settle down, stick to their budget and become a practical, steady man. There had been tears in Belle's eyes, when Lorenzo had said all this, just as there were when she had faced Jim Barker and begged him to keep Lorenzo on at the garage. "Do you know what he said, Jim?" she had pleaded. "Lor- enzo said he was going to settle down and become responsible and worthwhile — just like you." Jim had bit his lip, looking at Belle with troubled eyes. "Hmm," he had said, at last, "just like me." He considered a bit. "Well, Belle, I'll give him another chance. But," he warned, "he'll have to toe the mark around here." Belle had gone home, radiant with happiness. Lorenzo had repeated his vow to settle down and work toward that wonderful day when they had saved enough money to 21 OT^tVZO Copyright, 1942, Frank and Anne Hummert BELLE JONES pulled aside the bright gingham kitchen cur- tains and watched the rain mal^e little puddles in the back- yard. From where she stood, she could see Lorenzo's workshop, boarded up now, and desolate look- ing in the late November afternoon. She wriggled her toes comfortably in her soft, felt slippers, and sighed. It seemed strange. Belle thought, not to see a light burning in the workshop. She sighed again, this time a relieved sigh, because she knew that Lorenzo was working conscientiously at Jim Barker's garage and not wasting his time in that dusty, cluttered workshop which had brought them both so much unhappiness. "He's really settled down, at last," she said. And she was startled a little by the fact that she had spoken her thoughts aloud. Then, continuing to think about Lorenzo, she smiled. She could almost see him, even though he wasn't there. Lorenzo — his plain, serious face, which loolted like a little boy's face when- ever something troubled him. And the shock of hair, which kept fall- ing across his forehead and the far away look in his eyes when he was thinking of something too in- timate to talk about to anybody. All these things were certainly Lorenzo Jones, outwardly. But, in- wardly. Belle could not see quite so clearly. Belle could only do as she was doing now — hope — liope that she had cm-ed him, once and for all, of his dreams of making a million dollars on one of his visionary inventions. In her warm kitchen, thinking about her husband and the grief his dreams had caused her. Belle 20 He made promises, but he „/,.,„^ ,,,,, ,,^„,_ and sometmes it seemed to Belle that her love ,^asnt strong enough to help her through the turmoil of lif,. with this man she had married Belle looked at hh sad face and her hearf went out to the impractical dreamer who was her husband. shivered. It had seemed, at times, that some of the difficulties into which Lorenzo had plunged would never get straightened out. Though, after each ordeal, he always prom- ised so faithfully that he would settle down and lead a normal sensible life. Belle wondered how she ever had endured some of the situations into which Lorenzo's over-active and somewhat fantastic mind had cast them. There was hardly a person in town who hadn't, in some way. been caught up in the whirl- wind of Lorenzo's activities and from whose fury she had had to rescue him. Belle to the rescue, she thought, with a little smile. And thinwre it, she knew she'd always be tne when he needed her. She "i" ;„ deep down in her heart '"' .^ spite of his penchant for ._ schemes and his insatiable osity about other peoples Lorenzo was essentially a s sweet person. ,, ^g's Yes, Belle sighed to he«eii. ^^ sweet and good. But she knew ^^^^ was something more than » i>DJ»<" ,„,0 AKO TBXVISK." «^ ^"mething that made her stand by fortn ""* through all his mis- iu<:t ^''^ ^^^ she was still J^« as much in lov^-maybe, even she h T^ 'ove_with Lorenzo than she h J *'" fi"^^" years ago, when ^ had married him. His ! ^""^^'^' "'en, thinking of him. Uberam""'""*'^^' ^'^ shy, yet ex- her anri ^^^ °^ reciting poetry to liis wiiH ^'"^ '"^"' imagination with WoulH "feams of inventions that '"" make them a fortune. How "«'. 1942 RADIO'S POPULAR DRAMA NOW TOLD AS much more in many ways, she thought, he was a boy now than he had been fifteen years ago. His latest fiasco, "Tricks, Inc." had almost landed him in jail. Not only that, but his boss at the garage, Jim Barker, had been so overpowered by Lorenzo's oratory that he had lost time and money — a thousand dollars — on Lorenzo's scheme. Belle felt the touch of fear again, remembering that scene with Jim a few weeks ago. "It's no use Belle," Jim had said. "Lorenzo is a closed book as far as I'm concerned. I've had my last dealings with him." "Now, Jim," she had said softly. "We'll pay back the thousand dol- lars and you know you like Lor- enzo. You've been through loo much together not to remain friends' "I've certainly been through plenty with him," Jim had said hotly. "I don't mind being friends —if Lorenzo keeps his distance." "You're nol going to lire him, Jim?" Belle had asked m a fright- ened whisper. Jim had looked at the floor, then, ashamed before Belle's direct gaze. "Well—" Jim had said, "I was think- ing of just that." "Oh, you can't! " Belle cried. "You just can't! Lorenzo has promised to turn over a new leaf." And then she had told Jim about the conversation she'd had with Lorenzo the night before, about the way Lorenzo had sat on the bed, his head in hia hand.s, his heart full of contrition, and had promised her that he would settle down, stick to their budget and become a practical, steady man. There had been tears in Belle'B eyes, when Lorenzo had said alt this, just as there were when she had faced Jim Barker and begged him to keep Lorenzo on at the garage. "Do you know what he said, Jim?" she had pleaded. "Lor- enzo said he was going to settle down and become responsible and worthwhile — just like you." Jim had bit his lip, looking at Belle with troubled eyes. "Hmm," he had said, at last, "just like me." He considered a bit. "Well, Belle, I'll give him another chance. But," he warned, "he'll have to toe the mark around here." Belle had gone home, radiant with happiness. Lorenzo had repeated his vow to settle down and work toward that wonderful day when they had saved enough money to buy a garage of their own. And, during the past few weeks, Lorenzo had lived up to his promise, lived up to it valiantly. They'd even saved some money toward paying their debt to Jim Barker. For the first time in years. Belle had felt peacefully secure and utterly happy. Now, she turned from the win- dow and busied herself with the task of making supper for her hus- band, for Lorenzo Jones, the plain garage mechanic, the steady, re- liable, working man. In the middle of her preparations, the phone rang. Belle hurried to answer it. It was Irma Barker, Jim's wife. r'UESS what. Belle!" Irma bub- bled into the wire. "My cousin, Anna Hunter, just arrived from Chicago." Irma's voice was full of excitement. She talked on and on about Anna Hunter, finally inviting Belle and Lorenzo to come over and meet her after supper. "I don't know, Irma," Belle sighed. "Lorenzo's usually pretty tired when he gets home — wants to get his forty winks." "It'll do him good to get out," Irma insisted. "Jim says he's been very grouchy lately." Belle accepted the invitation. But, after she had hung up, she began to worry about Irma's remark. Grouchy? Was Lorenzo unhappy at the garage? She tasted the soup on the stove, unthinkingly. Could it be, she wondered, that Lorenzo was only putting up a front for her? Was he just pretending that he liked being a steady, responsible person? Her heart sank, as she wondered whether he was really miserable without his impractical dreams and his workshop. During supper. Belle watched Lorenzo's face. Now that she looked at it this way, she could see it was true. There was moodiness in his eyes, in the way he held his lips. She realized, suddenly, that she had made a mistake. She had let her own happiness blind her. She had actually seen a change in Lor- enzo, because she had wanted to see it, because she had wanted so much for him to change. "Lorenzo," she said gently, know- ing that soniehow she had to get at the truth, "is something bothering you?" Lorenzo's brow wrinkled. He put down his knife and fork. "Now, Belle," he said, not quite hiding his irritation, "I don't want to get into one of your discussions." "Lorenzo," Belle insisted, "you are happy, aren't you? You don't regret — " "Belle!" Lorenzo exploded. "Don't meddle with a mai>'s inner self." "What's wrong with your inner self?" Belle asked, her heart beat- ing very fast. "What's wrong with it?" Lor- enzo's voice was indignant. "I guess you forgot about my feelings for the last few weeks. I suppose you'd like to work for Jim and be told every five minutes that you're re- sponsible for his predicament — for the mortgage on his garage." "But," Belle said, "I thought that was all forgotten." "Well," Lorenzo said, "maybe I forgot it — being a forgivin' soul. But Jim hasn't. He keeps remind- ing me," he said bitterly, "that I'm only being kept on for the sake of the little woman." "But dear — " Belle began. "And that's not all," Lorenzo said, pushing away his plate. "When I come home here, worn out, every nerve a frazzle, what do I find? A budget!" At last. Belle thought, the cat was out of the bag. In a way, she felt relieved. You can fight facts, she reasoned to herself, but you can't fight suspicions. "Penny pinching!" Lorenzo snort- ed. "My own wife carrying on the same kind of badgering." "I don't badger," Belle said de- fensively. "I've just put the house- hold on a budget. All I ask of you is that you help me carry it out." "And, may I ask," Lorenzo said sarcastically, "why we're on a bud- get?" Belle's temper was wearing thin. "You know why, Lorenzo Jones," she said firmly. "Because we have to save money, that's why!" "Bah!" Lorenzo said. "If this is the kind of conversation we're going to have at home, we might as well go out. Even Irma's cousin — what- ever her name is — will be a relief." "Really," Belle said, blinking back the tears, "you're very rude this evening." "I'm sorry, Belle — ^I didn't mean to be rude," Lorenzo apologized. On the way to Jim's house, Belle told Lorenzo all the things Irma had said about Anna Hunter on the telephone. Irma had described her cousin as very young and very at- tractive. Lorenzo walked along be- side Belle, barely listening. But, when Belle told him that Anna ^-» *Jir /^ Now you can read !n -fhrliling ficfion form by Jack Sher, fhe story of Lorenzo Jones, the lovable radio serial you've been lisfening fo daily at 4:30 P.M., E. T., over the NBC-Red network, spon- sored by Double Danderine and Phillips' Milk of Magnesia and Tablets. Photo- graphic illustrations posed by Lucille Wall as Belle and Karl Swenson as Lorenzo. Hunter had just inherited some money and was going to take a year off to travel and see the world, Lorenzo quickened his pace. "How much money do you think she inherited?" he asked. "Oh, I don't know, Lorenzo," Belle said warily. "It doesn't make any difference, does it?" "Hmm," Lorenzo said. "Maybe not. Belle. Just curious, that's all." "Are you sure it's only curiosity?" Belle asked carefully, as they turned into the walk leading to Jim Bar- ker's door. Belle's first impression of Anna Hunter was favorable. She was a tall, beautiful, young girl with deep, brown eyes that had a mysterious look in them. Anna's voice was girl- ish and musical. She was charming. She even made Lorenzo perk up. "Jim tells me, Mr. Jones," she said, "that you're an inventor." "Yes," Lorenzo said, brightening immediately. "Loosely speaking, I've contributed quite a few inter- esting and useful things to society. But," he added, "that's water under the bridge. Miss Hunter." "Call me Anna," the girl smiled. "Glad to," Lorenzo smiled back. Belle turned away to hide her own satisfied smile. A little flat- tery right now, she thought, would do Lorenzo good. She left him with Anna and made the rounds of the room, talking to the other guests. As the evening wore on, however. Belle couldn't help noticing that Anna was being more than politely, casually, attentive to Lorenzo. They stood in a corner of the room, away from everyone else, and they were very deep in earnest talk. Belle watched, with a little sense of shock, as Anna abstractedly picked a loose hair from Lorenzo's coat. "Lorenzo and Anna seem to have become friends," Judy Peabody said. Judy was the wife of Nick Pea- body, Lorenzo's young writer friend and admirer. Belle smiled at Judy, The .young woman had always been as close to her as Nick was to Lorenzo. "Yes," Belle said. "They seem to be getting along fine." Then, for some unknown reason, feeling the need to change the subject, she said, "How is your budget getting along, Judy?" "Terrible," Judy said. "Nick just can't seem to see the sense in it." And, comparing notes. Belle for- got about Anna Hunter. She might have gone right on not thinking of her, too, if Lorenzo hadn't suggested, a few days later, that they ought to invite Anna to tea. And, to climax it, Lorenzo thought that tea should be served in his workshop. Of course. Belle objected. 22 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIBHOR "Why on earth," she asked, "do you think that a pretty young girl like that would be interested in seeing that workshop of yours?" "For your information," Lorenzo flared, "Anna may be beautiful, but she also has a mind. Why," he fairly exploded, "you shoxild have heard her gasp, when I told her about the hundreds of times I stood on the brink of success." He paused, as if he wanted that to impress itself on Belle's mind. "Jim tells me," he went on more quietly, "that Anna is quite rich." "Hmm," BeUe said. "I don't think she's rich. She has an income of her own — that's all." "Ahh," Lorenzo sighed. "What I MAY, 1942 wouldn't give to have a little in- come— incoming. As it is, all we have is a budget." Mainly to avoid another argu- ment about the budget, Belle agreed to invite Anna to tea. She couldn't say she was very excited about it, though. But Lorenzo was. The next afternoon, while she was preparing the sandwiches and cookies, Belle had to admit that Lorenzo was de- cidedly nervous. He seemed to be all on edge. He prowled around the house. Continued on page 79 23 In her heart she refused to believe that this en- chanted interlude they had shared was merely a holiday flirtation — yet she knew only his name and that since he had gone life was without meaning yHE tanned young man across the table didn't ap- pear to see the pile of chips pushed toward him by the croupier. He bowed politely to a short, swarthy man standing beside him, and said in very bad Spanish: "Pardon, Senor. How many chil- dren have you?" The little man jumped. "Eight," he said in a startled voice. "Good." To the croupier: "All the chips go on number eight." The wheel spun. The tiny ball traveled around silently in its groove, then dribbled out of it, hopped, clicking, in and out of sev- eral slots, and finally settled in number eight. The crowd of peo- ple around the roulette table breathed one tremendous sigh, and the croupier pushed another moun- tain of chips toward the tanned young man, who received them with as little interest as before. Julie Maclane sighed with the others. Right now, for the first time, the glowing phrases of the travel booklet were coming to life. The first part of the cruise, from New York here to Havana, hadn't been much. You could be as lonely on the white decks of the Christohal as you could in a one-room-and- kitchenette-and-bath just off Sheri- dan Square. As lonely — and as troubled. "Shake off your cares as the ship cuts through blue waters where pirates once held sway," the travel booklet had advised confi- dently. "Thrill to historic Morro Castle, stroll through the streets of Old Havana, redolent with the romance of storied adventure ..." And more of the same, quite a bit more of the same. But although the waters of the Caribbean were blue enough, they couldn't make up for Julie's part- ners at her table in the dining 24 salon, a pair of honeymooners with eyes only for each other, a school- teacher who was evidently ap- proaching the cruise as if it were a textbook she had to study, and a young businessman with eye- glasses and not much hair who re- minded her entirely too much of Edgar. It was disloyal, Julie told her- self again and again, to mind being reminded of Edgar. Edgar was good and kind and sweet, and she respected him more than any man she'd ever known. The only thing wrong was that she didn't — couldn't — love him. People said you could learn to love someone you respected. Edgar thought so, too. "I know I can make you happy, Julie," was the way he'd put it. "I can give you more than you've ever had." He'd sounded exactly the way he did when he addressed a board meeting urging the purchase of a new issue of municipal bonds — quiet, logical, certain. And deadly dull. Julie knew that tone of voice very well, because she was Edgar's stenographer and sat beside him in conferences taking notes. She knew a good many things about Edgar, such as that he favored gray suits and blue ties with small, discreet figures, that he often lunched on a sandwich and a glass of milk, and that he'd been married to a wife who'd finally gone out to Reno. But she didn't know, until he began taking her out to dinner and the- aters, that he'd ever thought she might be a candidate for the post of Mrs. Edgar Sturgis number two. The discovery shocked her. She wasn't at all sure she wanted to marry Edgar. Not that he wasn't one of the kindest men she'd ever known, but — well — Maybe Julie was romantic, but all her life, or at any rate ever since she turned sixteen, she'd thought that some day she would meet the one man in the world she could really love. She didn't know what he looked like, but she did know he'd be gay, and daring, and very fascinating. Everything, in fact, that Edgar was not. She tried to imagine Edgar ever doing anything as magnificently carefree as gambling at all, much less saying, as the young unknown across the roulette table was say- ing now to a pinch-faced woman of uncertain years: "And you, Madame — how many times have you been married?" The woman glared. "I've never been married and never intend to be!" "Right!" the young man shouted above the laughter of the crowd. "Put it all on double-0, croupier." RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR / JS^J Tor cJtixle Ficfionized by Lester Gottlieb •from the original play written by True Boardman tor the Silver Theatre program heard Sundays over CBS, sponsored by the In- ternational Silver Company, star- ring Cory Grant as Steve West. When he won again it was with a triumphant grin, as if he'd known all along he couldn't fail. But this time, before the next spin, he hesi- tated. His eyes, startlingly blue in his tanned face, looked thought- fully around the circle of people, most of them passengers from the ChrxstdhaX who had come ashore to the Havana casino more out of curi- osity than a desire to risk money. They settled, finally, on Julie, and lit up with determination. "Senorita," he called — "you with the beautiful red lips and the honey- colored hair — perhaps you will help my infallible system by telling me your age?" Julie blushed, and knew she was MAY, 1942 blushing, and resented it, and blushed the more. Everyone at the table was looking at her, and the young man was smiling, too. "Come, come," he said imperiously. "Mustn't delay the game, you know." Julie's small pointed chin tilted ever so little. "Nineteen," she said firmly. Between courses they danced, and before either of them knew if, this wonderful, perfect day was over. The young man bowed. "All of it on nineteen!" he told the croupier. The ball whirled around the rim — and popped without hesitation into groove number twenty-one. "Well!" the young man said un- concernedly, shrugged, rounded the table and took Julie's arm. "Come outside," he commanded, and led 25 In her heart she refused to believe that this en- chanted interlude they had shared was merely a holiday flirtation— yet she knew only his name and that since he had gone life was without meaning ■^HE tanned young man across the table didn't ap- pear to see the pile of chips pushed toward him by the croupier. He bowed politely to a short, swarthy man standing beside him, and said in very bad Spanish: "Pardon, Seizor. How many chil- dren have you?" ^ The little man jumped. "Eight,' he said in a startled voice. "Good." To the croupier: "All the chips go on number eight." The wheel spun. The tiny ball traveled around silently in its groove, then dribbled out of it, hopped, clicking, in and out of sev- eral slots, and finally settled in number eight. The crowd of peo- ple around the roulette table breathed one tremendous sigh, and Ihe croupier pushed another moun- tain of chips toward the tanned young man, who received them with as little interest as before. Julie Maclane sighed with the others. Right now, for the first time, the glowing phrases of the travel boolilet were coming to life. The first part of the cruise, from New York here to Havana, hadn't been much. You could be as lonely on the white decks of the Cliristobn! as yoxt could in a one-room-and- kitchenette-and-bath just off Sheri- dan Square, As lonely — and as ti'oubled. "Shake off your cares as the ship cuts through blue waters where pirates once held sway," the travel booklet had advised confi- dently. "Thrill to historic Morro Castle, stroll through the streets of Old Havana, redolent with the roniance of storied adventure . . ." And more of the same, quite a bit more of the same. But although the waters of the Caribbean were blue enough, they couldn't make up for Julie's part- ners at her table in the dining salon, a pair of honeymooners with eyes only for each other, a school- teacher who was evidently ap- proaching the cruise as if it were a textbook she had to study, and a young businessman with eye- glasses and not much hair who re- minded her entirely too much of Edgar. It was disloyal, Julie told her- self again and again, to mind being reminded of Edgar. Edgar was good and kind and sweet, and she respected him more than any man she'd ever known. The only thing wrong was that she didn't — couldn't — love him. People said you could learn to love someone you respected. Edgar thought so, too. "I know I can make you happy, Julie," was the way he'd put it. "I can give you more than you've ever had." He'd sounded exactly the way he did when he addressed a board meeting urging the purchase of a new issue of municipal bonds — quiet, logical, certain. And deadly dull. Julie knew that tone of voice very well, because she was Edgar's stenographer and sat beside him in conferences taking notes. She knew a good many things about Edgar, such as that he favored gray suits and blue ties with small, discreet figures, that he often lunched on a sandwich and a glass of milk, and that he'd been married to a wife who'd finally gone out to Reno. But she didn't know, until he began taking her out to dinner and the- aters, that he'd ever thought she might be a candidate for the post of Mrs. Edgar Sturgis number two. The discovery shocked her. She wasn't at all sure she wanted to marry Edgar, Not that he wasn't one of the kindest men she'd ever known, but — well — Maybe Julie was romantic, but all her lite, or at any rate ever since she turned sixteen, she'd thought that some day she would meet the one man in the world she could really love. She didnt know what he looked like, but sne did know he'd be gay, and daring, and very fascinating. Everything, in fact, that Edgar was not. She tried to imagine Edgar e doing anything as magmficenti> carefree as gambling at all, "' less saying, as the young unkno across the roulette table was sa ing now to a pinch-faced woman of uncertain years: . "And you, Madame-how man. times have you been married- The woman glared. "I've "^',„ been married and never intena be!" . yjg(j "Right!" the young man ^1° ^ above the laughter of the <^r ■■ "Put it all on double-0. croupie ■ "rorcJuxle *l fictionii.d by Lester SoHlieb from the original ploy written oy True Boardman for the Silver Theatre program heard Sundays over CBS, sponsored by Ihe In- lernotionol Silver Company, jtor- ring Cory Grant as Sieve West. When he won again it was with 3 triumphant grin, as if he'd known M along he couldn't fail. But this "me, before the next spin, he hesi- «ed, His eyes, startlingly blue in f.ln '^""'^'^ fece. looked thought- ""y around the circle of people, ost of them passengers from the Ihew'"'"'' *''° ^^"^ '^"'^^ ashore to osit h^"^ <:asino more out of curi- Th/ * desire to risk money, "^y settled, finally, on Julie, and .,"P with determination. Ihph "°"'^'" '^<= caUed— "you with coWhI'""' '^'^ "P^ ^"d *e honey- -ny inf ^^■■■— P<^rhaps you wUl help >our a er ^^^*^'" ^^ '*"'"2 '"^ "''« blushed, and knew she was blushing, and resented it, and blushed the more. Everyone at the table was looking at her, and the young man was smihng, too. "Come, come," he said imperiously. ■■Mustn't delay the game, you know." Julie's small pointed chin tilted ever so little. '■Nineteen," she said firmly. Between covriei they danced, and before either of tttem knew it, lliit wonderful, perfect day wai over. The young man bowed. "All of it on nineteen!" he told the croupier. The ball whirled around the nm and popped without hesitation into groove number twenty-one. "Well! " the young man said un- concernedly, shrugged, rounded the table and took Julie's arm. "Come outside," he commanded, and led 2S her, unprotesting, to the balcony that overlooked the town and the harbor. VOU lied to me," he accused. "You're twenty-one. You must be — my system has never failed." Julie giggled. "You ought to know better than to ask a girl her age." "It was entirely in the interests of science," he assured her. "Why don't you sit down? Then we can talk." And somehow Julie discov- ered that she was sitting down. He was a buccaneer, she decided; a young buccaneer, maybe left over from the days when pirates had held sway in the Caribbean. But his name, when he an- nounced it, was prosaic. Steve West. "What's yours?" he added. "Julie Maclane." It wasn't very light out on the terrace, but she thought she saw a look of startled surprise on his face. Before she could be sure, it was gone and he was talking again. He seemed to be good at talking. "Of course. That's right. You're Julie Maclane and you live near Sheridan Square and you work — secretary — in Wall Street and you're taking a vacation cruise on the Christobal." Wide-eyed, she asked, "How — how did you know all that?" "Secret agents. I have 'em every- where. I'm a spy," he said blithely. "A— spy?" "Sure. A harmless variety, though. I'm proud to say I do my work with a minimum of mayhem . . . That reminds me. How many x's are there in assassinate?" Julie laughed aloud — the clear, whole-hearted laughter of a de- lighted child. "Silly! There aren't any." "Aren't? Oh, that's right — I was thinking of exterminate." And he laughed, too, although, as Julie admitted upon thinking it over later, it probably wasn't so ter- ribly funny after all. Then they were silent, and the silence length- ened, until it seemed that this silence had said rather a good deal to each about the other. Unex- pectedly, Julie thought about Ed- gar and felt guilty. There was no reason to feel guilty, either. No reason at all! She hadn't promised to marry Ed- ' gar, although she knew how sensible it would be to do so. That was the only reason she'd squandered her entire savings on this cruise — in the hope that, amid new surround- ings, she could argue out the very, big difference between what was sensible and what she wanted. Only — there didn't seem to be much hope of ever getting what she wanted, unless — Julie shivered a little, and again her chin went out and up, as it had in the gambling casino, as it had when she determined to take this cruise before giving Edgar his an- swer, as it always would when she flung defiance at a world that was — like Edgar — altogether too de- voted to the sensible thing. Overhead the sky was like an indigo bowl spangled at intervals with diamond-dust. A breeze from the harbor lifted a lock of Julie's hair and carefully dropped it back into place again. "It's much too dark," Steve West's voice murmured in her ear. "Too dark?" she asked dreamily. "I mean your lipstick," he said. "It's the only thing that keeps you from being perfect." She had an instant's certainty that he was going to kiss her — and she waited. But instead, shock- ingly, he took her hand and held it tightly. "Time to go inside," he said, and led her, unbelieving and angry, back to the casino. To an attendant he flipped a coin and said, "Please see that Miss Maclane is safely escorted back to her ship." Too amazed to speak, she saw him bow, gravely. "Buenas noches, Senorita." And then he was gone, disappearing into the crowd around the gambling tables. Julie fought down the temptation to run after him and walked, instead, through the room and out to the taxi the at- tendant had summoned. A girl should be angry when she has been treated the way Steve West had treated her. Julie knew this, and tried hard to live up to convention, but it was no use. In- stead of being angry, she kept re- membering the way little crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes when he laughed, and the clean look of his jaw, and other matters, which she obviously wouldn't have given a second thought to if she'd really been furious. But she probably wouldn't ever see him again, she thought. He hadn't come to Havana on the Christobal, that was certain, or she'd have seen him on the way from New York. So he must live in Havana, and that meant he'd stay behind Continued on page 71 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIBROR THE v^Jxlcjktto H apm/rteV> IN LIVING PORTRAITS Presenting for the first time, real life photographs of the people whose struggles against a hostile world make one of radio's most dramatic shows >^ All human heings have their right to hap- piness, though in their eager search for it they sometimes lose sight of their goal. In this unusual serial hy Irna Phillips, heard Monday through Friday at 11:15 A.M., E.T., over NBC-Red, sponsored hy P & G White Naphtha Soap, Doris Cameron and her daughter Carolyn meet tragedy through a man's cruelty. Carolyn, now on trial for m,urder, has found solace in the new and sweeter relationship with her mother whose visits to prison prove her love. MAY, 1942 FRED MINTERN, a distinguished, intelligent and kindly man, is deeply in love with Doris Cameron and has contributed what little happiness Doris has had in the past year. Fred, who has fostered the literary career of the woman he loves, knows all about her past life and has done a great deal to soften some of her present heartaches. Fred has been in love with Doris almost from the first moment he saw her, but she has not returned his love until recently. They plan to marry very soon and if this comes about it would lead to the first full measure of happiness for both of them. (Played by Arthur Kohl) DORIS CAMERON, beautiful and self-sacrificing, has had little happiness in life. When her first husband died, she became a successful writer. Once in love with Bill Walker, she suffered deep humiliation when he married her daughter, Carolyn, causing more unhappiness until Carolyn divorced him and married Dwight Kramer. Walter, bent on revenge, tried to ruin both women's lives. In an attempt to intimidate Walker and prevent his revenge, Carolyn threatened him with a gun and, in the struggle, he was accidentally, but fatally wounded. Carolyn is now on trial for murder and Doris cannot gain the contentment she is seeking until Carolyn's problems are solved. (Played by Constance Crowder) 29 DWIGHT KRAMER, a tall, handsome, impetuous young man, has recently decided to divorce his wife, Carolyn, because of the accu,sations of Bill Walker, her former husband. Walker once befriended Kramer when he was in need, and if Dwight had not been so terribly in love with Carolyn, it is doubtful whether he ever would have married her. Now that Carolyn is on trial for her life, he realizes that he still loves her, but seems to lack the courage to go to her side, admitting his past mistakes and offering to start anew. Dwight had always been deeply fond of Carolyn's mother, Doris, and she has faith and confidence in him and hopes that he and Carolyn can be reunited. (Played by Ed Prentiss) ^ CAROLYN KRAMER is Doris Cam- eron's lovely young daughter, a girl whose extreme beauty and youthful impetuosity have often caused both her and her mother unhappiness. When Carolyn met Bill Walker, she did not know that he and her mother were in love and planning to be married. In spite of the fact that he was twenty years older, she married him. However, she soon realized the marriage was a mistake, and when she met young Dwight Kramer, she fell in love with him and divorced Walker. For a few months after her marriage to Dwight, Carolyn was blissfully happy. Then Walker, still nursing his grudge, attempted to wreck the happiness of Carolyn and her mother. His first step was to turn Dwight against Carolyn. In attempt- ing further steps to ruin Carolyn's life, he was accidentally shot and Carolyn now faces a murder charge. (Played by Eloise Kummer) BILL WALKER once loved Doris Cameron and waited for years to marry her, but succumbed to the fascination of her beautiful daughter, instead. Although he knew how much it would hurt Doris, he persuaded Carolyn to marry him. When Dwight Kramer appeared on the scene and fell in love with Carolyn, who no longer loved Bill, he became infuriated and tried to prevent Carolyn from divorcing him. This failed and when Carolyn married Dwight, Walker became a very bitter and revengeful ■man whose one purpose in life was to ruin the two women he had once professed to love. Walker revealed some information about Carolyn's past which caused Dwight to di- vorce her. But even this act did not wholly satisfy his desire for revenge on Doris and her daughter and in trying to hurt them further he was accidentally shot by Carolyn. His life was ruined by false pride and futile hatred. (Played by Reese Taylor) m STORY OF Read this dramatic novel by Norton Russell, then listen to The Story of Mary Marlin on the air, written by Jane Crusinberry and heard daily on NBC-Red and CBS, sponsored by Ivory Snow. Photogrophs posed by Anne Sey- mour as Mary, Fran Carton as Bunny. fjNTIL the night when she picked up a slip of paper dropped in the hallway of their home by her hus- band, Mary Marlin's life had been the uneventful, happy one of a small-town wife. Joe and she had no children, but they had security and contentment. Or so Mary thought until she saw the note which told her Joe was carrying on a secret intrigue with his secretary, Sally Gibbons. When she confronted Joe with the note he admitted that he wanted a divorce so he could marry Sally. Upon the advice of David Post, Joe's law partner and best friend, Mary refused to give him the divorce for six months, and went to New York to visit an old school friend, Henriette Dome. Hen- riette, now a fashionable modiste, taught Mary how to look young and beautiful again, and shortly before the six months were up Mary returned to Cedar Springs. But although Joe was dazzled by the new Mary he did not ask her to forgive him and take him back. Not until he suddenly disappeared from Cedar Springs did Mary learn the reason for his silence — he had found out that his infatuation for Sally was a mistake, and his pride would not let him return to Mary. For some time Mary did not know where Joe was, but then he reappeared as the defense attorney in a New York murder trial. His defense was successful, and once more he felt that he had a right to go back to Cedar Springs and take up his life where he had left off. He and Mary were reconciled, and Joe entered politics, being elected Senator from Iowa on the same day that their son Davey was born. In Washington, Mary found that ambition and his fatal susceptibility to flattery were coming between her and Joe. Bunny Mitchell, the wife of the elderly Secretary of the In- terior, made no secret of her infatuation for Joe, and Mary's pleas to see less of the Mitchells went unheeded. The climax came when Mary, returning unexpectedly at seven o'clock in the morning from a short visit to Cedar Springs, found Joe bringing Bunny Mitchell into the Marlin home. BUNNY came in — that is," Joe stammered, "she thought she left her bag here and — " "Yes — I'm sure it's in the library — " Bunny and Joe had spoken almost simultaneously. Now they stopped, looking distraught and embarrassed. The marks of the night were heavy on them both. Joe's speech was thick and his eyes dulled, and Bunny's shining brown hair was disarranged. The sick disgust had ebbed away from Mary. Now she felt empty and terribly tired. RADIO AND TELEVISION II4IBR0R It was only a dream, after all- — or was it more, a warning that this fateful day was destined to alter the course of their lives? "Oh yes, your bag," she said vaguely. "You must find it, of course." In the dining room, to the right of the hall, she caught sight of her butler's neat, thin figure. "Arnold," she called, "have you seen anything of Mrs. Mitchell's bag? She thinks she left it here last night." "It's gold brocade, quite small," Bunny said, talking very fast. "I think I laid it down in the library when I dropped in to see if Joe wouldn't take me to Delia Worthington's party. Frazer was too tired to go and I just couldn't sit home doing nothing. But of course I may have lost it — we went to several places after we left Delia's." Mary wanted to say, "Obviously," but she didn't be- cause just then the telephone rang. They all stood in frozen silence while- Arnold an- swered it. "Hello . . . Er — no sir, Senator Marlin isn't awake — " How beautifully Arnold lies, Mary thought. The perfect butler. "Yes indeed, Mr. Mitchell. The minute he wakes up—" Bunny's breath had caught, sharply, at the sound of her husband's name. And at the same moment Mary was moving toward Arnold, saying, "If that's Secretary Mitchell, Arnold, let me talk to him." "Mary, you wouldn't!" Joe gasped; and Bunny said in a voice of sheer terror: "Please — please don't tell him I'm here!" Mary, taking the telephone from Arnold's hand, paused long enough to glance in scorn at Bunny. Then she was talking — casually, matter-of-factly. "Hello, Frazer . . . Yes, I'm even a little surprised to be here . . . Last night. Joe met me at the train, and did his best to persuade me to go with him to Delia's party, but I was much too tired, so I sent him off to it with Bunny instead . . . Oh, she spent the night here — - she just this minute left. She'll be home in a few minutes . . . Well, it was so late last night when she and Joe got back from the party I simply kidnaped her and kept her here until morning ..." Not a very good lie, she thought wearily — particu- Icirly not good if anyone had happened to see Joe and Bunny entering the house a few minutes before — but it was the best she could do on the spur of the moment. Raising her eyes, she saw Bunny turn, open the front door, let herself out and close it behind her with a soft click. Joe still stood in the middle of the hallway, listening, watching. "Did you want to speak to Joe about anything in MAY. 1942 /t" ^ THE STORl OF Road fhil dramatic flovvl by Noii- Ruttell, than lltUn to Th* Story oi Mary Morlin on the oir. written by Jan* Crutinbarry and heard daily on NBC-R«d and CBS, iponiored by ivory Snow. Photograpt)! po»«d by Ann« Sey- mour Ol Mory, Fron Corlon oi Bunny. 32 ITNTIL the night when she picked up a slip of paper dropped in the hallway of their home by her hus- band, Mary Marlin's hfe had been the uneventful, happy one of a small-town wife, Joe and she had no children, but they had security and contentment. Or so Mary thought until she saw the note which told her Joe was carrying on a secret intrigue with his secretary, Sally Gibbons. When she confronted Joe with the note he admitted that he wanted a divorce so he could marry Sally. Upon the advice of David Post, Joe's law partner and best friend, Mary refused to give him the divorce for six months, and went to New York to visit an old school friend, Henriette Dome. Hen- riette, now a fashionable modiste, taught Mary how to look young and beautiful again, and shortly before the six months were up Mary returned to Cedar Springs. But although Joe was dazzled by the new Mary he did not ask her to forgive him and take him back. Not until he suddenly disappeared from Cedar Springs did Mary learn the reason for his silence — he had found out that his infatuation for Sally was a mistake, and his pride would not let him return to Mary. For some time Mary did not know where Joe was, but then he reappeared as the defense attorney in a New York murder trial. His defense was successful, and once more he felt that he had a right to go bacl< to Cedar Springs and take up his life where he had left off. He and Mary were reconciled, and Joe entered politics, being elected Senator from Iowa on the same day that their son Davey was born. In Washington, Mary found that ambition and his fatal susceptibility to flattery were coming between her and Joe. Bunny Mitchell, the wife of the elderly Secretary of the In- terior, made no secret of her infatuation for Joe, and Mary's pleas to see less of the Mitchells went unheeded. The climax came when Mary, returning unexpectedly at seven o'clock in the morning from a short visit to Cedar Springs, found Joe bringing Bunny Mitchell into the Marlin home. "she ' and No»' BUNNY came in — that is," Joe stammered, thought she left her bag here and — " "Yes — I'm sure it's in the library — " Bunny : Joe had spoken almost simultaneously. Now they stopped, looking distraught and embarrassed, "he marks of the night were heavy on them both. J"^.^ speech was thick and his eyes dulled, and Bunny » shining brown hair was disarranged. The sick disgust had ebbed away from Mary, she felt empty and terribly tired. RADIO AND TEIX^-ISIOS ,.S Vll»" It was only a dream, after all~or was it more, a warning that this fateful day was destined to alter the course of their lives? "Oh yes, your bag." she said vaguely. "You must find it, of course." In the dining room, to the right of the hall, she caught sight of her butler's neat thin figure. "Arnold," she called, "have you seen anything of Mrs. Mitchell's bag? She thinks she left it here last night." "It's gold brocade, quite small." Bunny said, talking very fast. "I think I laid it down in the library when I dropped in to see if Joe wouldn't take me to Delia Worthington's party. Frazer was too tired to go and I just couldn't sit home doing nothing. But of course I may have lost it— we went to several places after we left Delia's." Mary wanted to say, "Obviously." but she didn't be- cause just then the telephone rang. They all stood in frozen silence while- Arnold an- swered It. "Hello . . . Er— no sir. Senator Marlin isn't awake — " How beautifully Arnold lies. Mary thought. The perfect butler. ■Yes indeed, Mr. Mitchell. The minute he wakes up — Bunny's breath had caught, sharply, at the sound of ner husband's name. And at the same moment Mary was movmg toward Arnold, saying, "If that's Secretary "■teheU, Arnold, let me talk to him." Mary, you wouldn't!" Joe gasped; and Bunny said a voice of sheer terror: "Pleas^pieasc don't tell "im I'm here!" 0 ff"^; '3king the telephone from Arnold's hand, used long enough to glance in scorn at Bunny. Then ,.„"" talking—casually, matter-of-factly. be he '^'' ■.■ '^^S' I'"! even a little surprised to ■iid h^K '^^^' night. Joe met me at the train, and Party' h^^' '" P'"'^"3de me to go with him to Delias with R ^ *^^ '""'^'^ '°° *'''e''' ^° ' ^e"' *'™ °" '° ■' she i,T"^ '"Stead ... oh. she spent the night here— "linute minute left. She'll be home in a few andj^^ ' ■ *e"' 't was so late last night when she and Ir. .^?' ^^'^^ ^''°'" the party I simply kidnaped her jj^^ept her here until morning . a very good lie. she thought wearily— particu- good if anyone had happened to see J"" >"'' tL^k'^""^ "''^ house a few minutes before *as the h'^""^ '"e house a few minutes before — but it Raisin h ^^' ^'"^ ™"''' ^° °" "'e SP"'^ °' ""^ moment, doof u, " eyes, she saw Bunny turn, open the front tlick J ^"elf out and close it behind her with a soft listenin,*^ ^tiU stood in the middle of the hallway. t^J^S. watching. you want to speak to Joe about anything in particular?" she went on. smoothly. "No? Well, I'll tell him you called the minute he wakes up . . . Good bye." She hung up. "Mary," Joe said huskily. "I could go down on my knees to you for what you just did." "Please don't" she said crisply. "Naturally, no matter what my feel- ings, I wouldn't want a scandal. For Davey's sake . . . Don't you think it would be a good idea to bathe and change before breakfast?" J WANT to go back to Cedar Springs," she told Joe that night when he returned from the Senate, and when she herself had had time to bring some sort of order back into her tormented thoughts. "I think it's best. You'll be freer, that way, to live your own life. We'll both be happier." Joe, somber and tired now after his sleepless night and busy day, made a quick gesture of appeal. "Mary — you're angry. I don't blame you. But I swear — there's no rea- son for you to be. I was foolish, but that was all." Mary shook her head. "I'm not at all angry. I wish," she said sadly, "that I were. That's the most ter- rible thing, Joe. I can't seem to care, any longer, what you do. We've grown so far apart in the last few years. I didn't know it until this morning, when I saw you come in with Bimny. But then I looked at you and — and it was almost like looking at a perfect stranger." "Mary!" "I'm sorry, Joe." She might have added more, but she did not want to hurt him more than she must. She might have said: "Once you were my entire life. The smallest hint that I was losing your love was enough to tear my soul apart. Then you threw me away for Sally Gib- bons, and I suffered over that. We came together again, and it should have been the same as before, but it wasn't. It just wasn't." "Won't you let me explain?" "Don't you see that explanations haven't anything to do with it? Something just — clicked into place in my mind when I saw you with Bimny, and knew that when you thought I was out of town you'd spent the whole evening with her, brought her back to my home. My home, Joe! I don't blame you — she's thrown herself at you ever since we came to Washington, and I know it was a difficult situation for you to handle. But I'm tired of difficult situations — the kind of difficult situ- ation that always seems to be crop- ping up in our life together. I'm tired of fighting, Joe!" Mary said in 34 sudden anguish, every muscle in her body tense. "I want to rest, and I can only rest if I go back to Cedar Springs with Davey, and leave you here in Washington." "I guess — I see how you — feel," Joe said after a silence. "And I guess you have a perfect right to feel that way. There's nothing more to be said, is there?" "No," she answered. "Nothing." So Mary returned to Cedar Springs, to the long sunny days of that particular kind of peace only small towns know. Her garden was there in all the flamboyance of its late-summer blooming, and in the afternoons she would take Davey out on the lawn and watch while he tumbled on the grass, waving plump cN&xtMotxJik You've wondered what they looked like — now you'll see the people of radio's great serial VALIANT LADY in exciting Living Por- traits . . . Don't miss them in the June RADIO MIRROR arms and legs in the heavy, scented air. Frequently Margaret Adams came over from next door, and Mary was grateful for the unassuming, quiet affection of an old friend who was willing not to ask the questions all Cedar Springs had on its collec- tive mind. Had the Marlins sepa- rated again? Looked like it — else why was he in Washington and she back here in their old house? Was it true what people said, that the Senator'd been running around with the Secretary of the Interior's wife? And so on, endlessly. Mary knew the questions were being asked, but there were a few people she could trust to keep their curiosity to themselves — ^Margaret, and of course David Post, and Jona- than and one or two others. Jona- than was editor of the Times now, and was still working nights and Sundays on the novel that apparent- ly was never going to be quite fin- ished; while David reported that business in the law office of Post and Marlin was good, but he missed Joe's help whenever a really interesting and challenging case came along. David came to the house on Main Street at least once a week for din- ner, and afterwards he and Mary would sit in the long living room while dusk came down outside. Im- perceptibly the days shortened, until it was dark by the time they had finished dinner. Autumn had crept upon them unawares. If it was at all possible to live in a vacuum, Mary thought, that was what she was doing now. She was neither married nor unmarried, neither in love nor out of it. Dimly, she realized that this state of sus- pension could not continue forever; it was unfair to Joe, to herself, even to Davey, for eventually he would need a real home and a real father. She admitted as much to David in one of their long, quiet talks — and admitted, too, that just now she had not the energy to meet the demands of hfe in Washington. "Joe's doing very well without me," she said with a rueful smile. "If he's lonely, his letters don't show it." "But you must be lonely, Mary," David said. "Perhaps . . ." she lay back against the wine-red brocade of a chair she had bought long ago — on her birth- day, she remembered, when Joe had wanted her to have the one present she desired most of all. And she, so hopelessly domestic, had chosen a chair! At the thought, she felt a stab of longing for those lost, inno- cent days. To escape from it, she said: "Don't you ever get lonely, David?" He smiled — that broad smile which always showed you the essen- tial goodness of David Post. "Lone- ly? No— why should I?" "You know very well why. You ought to marry, have a home — children . . ." "I have the lady of my dreams," he reminded her. "Oh — ^her!" Mary's tone was a mixture of irritation and affection, for the lady of David's dreams was someone in whom she had never been entirely able to believe. David had mentioned her before, half- jokingly, half-seriously. He would never tell Continued on page 54 BADIO AMD TELEVISION lAIRROB i4ou Cxi/n;t JeAe I l4^ r>Lei>e He always dreamed of suc- cess— but he knew, too, that fame wouldn't mean much unless he could lay it at the feet of someone he loved By JIMMY CASH IN everyone's life, I think, are a few days which stand out above all the ups and downs and trials and trixunphs of daily living, and which are so overwhelmingly im- portant and personal that they sear themselves into one's memory, never to be forgotten. I've had two such days. The first was the day in June, 1936, when Camille and I ran off to the office of a justice of the peace in Benton, Arkansas, and were married. The second was the night last October when I sang for the first time on the Burns and AUen radio show. The first was more momentous Proud of Jimmy's success are his wife, Camille, and Utile Bert a Sue. for me, as I shall try a little later to explain. My first broadcast with George and Gracie was more dramatic, and I imagine that thousands of people I don't even know were sharing in some part with me the high ex- citement of that occasion. It's swell to make good. For one thing, it's rewarding to know that all the hard work you've done pays off at last. But making good can be an empty thing, too, as I found out six years ago. It's no good, unless there's someone to make good for — and that's where Camille, and that other Red Letter Day in 1936, come into the story. I had been singing, after a fashion, since I was six when I appeared for the first time before my mother's missionary society. We lived on a farm in Arkansas, so our social life was confined, for the most part, to sociables at the MAT, 1942 One day Jimmy Cash was a gro- cer's clerk — the next, singing star for NBC's Burns and Allen. church and parties in our home and our friends'. The entertainment was spontaneous, and it usually included a generous concert by me. I didn't have to be coaxed^-except to stop. I loved to sing. My parents wanted me to study singing, but there was no money for such fripperies. They made no objections, however, when I de- cided to leave home for a job in town, and a salary which ultimately would provide for lessons. I went to Arkadelphia because it was the town closest home. And I've always thought fate had some- thing to do with it, too, for Camille lived there. I didn't Continued on page 48 35 Had the blazing desert and the stranger she met there swept away all memory of the man she had promised to marry? In this supreme moment of danger she knew — IN North Dakota the snow comes, and the cold, in late November, and never goes away vmtil April. For five months of the year the ground is covered with that impene- trable blanket of snow; and the cold hovers over the land like a pall. You may think it doesn't affect the minds and hearts of the people, but I know better. Last winter, when I lay in bed for three months trying to recover from an attack of rheumatic fever, I looked out through my bedroom window at the everlasting snow, wishing it would go away and never come back. That was why I didn't feel sad when they told me I was going south. "It'll be just what you need," Mother said comfortingly. "Up here there'll be three more months of cold weather, and the doctor says you should get outdoors in the warm sun right away." She patted the covers straight and fluffed up my pillow. "And George agrees it's the best thing. He's downstairs now. I'm going to send him up." George Morgan was my fiance. We had been engaged to be married for almost three years. He was tcdl and dark, but not handsome. He had one of those craggy faces, like that French movie star, and he was terribly, terribly indefinite about getting married. I loved him, but I did want him to be more ardent. Sometimes I thought that those ter- rible winters had gotten inside him too, and frozen him up. And I got so tired of having people tell me what a firie young man he was. Of course he'd worked his way through law school; of course he'd supported his mother and his sister. I knew all that, and I knew he was a very good lawyer and bovmd to go far, but I didn't want to be hearing it all the time. He sat in the big chair beside the bed. His face looked very strong and very Ccilm. So calm that the word "smug" popped into my head. Then I rejected it. George was not really smug; he was just very sure of- himself. "Jeanette," he began, "your mother and father have decided it will be best for you to go south for a while, and I agree with them." "Why?" I said. "You'll miss me won't you, George?" "Of course I'll miss you," he said impatiently. "But that isn't the point. You've got to get well." I knew it wasn't the point. I knew I was being illogical and feminine, but I wanted him to un- derstand that, and not be impatient with me. I looked out the window at the snow piled on the sill, and stretching away across the ground as far as I could see. "I'm wiring tonight to some places down there. We'll find a nice quiet spot for you. Not a real hospital, and not a hotel, but something in between, so you'll have both free- dom and quiet." "I'm sure you will, George," I murmured. "Will what?" "Find a place for me — very ef- ficiently." "Of course. Some place where you will be safe." Two days later I was on the train. George and Mother and Dad had put me on and given strict instructions to the porter to see that I was taken care of. Already I felt better — not sick any more, just weak. I was going south to the svm. I, little Jeanette McClellan who had never been farther south than Omaha. They had arranged for me to go to a combination dude ranch and nursing home called Buena Siesta. It was near a little town in Texas, just north of the Mexican border. Mrs. Hathaway, who ran Buena Siesta with the help of her pep- pery old husband, met me at the door and took me to my room. It was wonderful — not pretty or well furnished, but very clean and the window was open! Through it blew warm, soft air, and the svm slanted in upon the rug from a sky as blue as your coat. "Now, my dear," Mrs. Hathaway ^^^.M . said, ■ "you've only to ring if you want anything. There are nurses on the staff, and a resident physician. And of course if there's anything I can do, or Mr. Hathaway. . . . You know, pretty, unattached girls are rare down here, and I could tell by the gleam in Hathaway's eye that all you have to do is nod at him to make him your devoted slave." Those first weeks were grand. Every day I lay in a deck chair on the patio, and drank in the sun. I read when I felt like it, and dozed and dreamed the rest of the time. I could feel that fever baking out of my joints, and that heavenly clear air washing through my lungs. And the people were wonderful. There were not many guests just then, and Mrs. Hathaway had time to take me under her capable wing. Mr. Hathaway liked to talk about the old Texas he had known, and he spun for me such quaint, im- probable, tall tales that I was fre- quently in hearty laughter with him. I think he had told them so often that he half believed them himself, but if you laughed he saw how im- probable they were, and laughed with you. After a while I began to feel as strong as ever, and took to horse- back riding. In North Dakota I had never done it, but down there in Texas it seemed natural and right. In two or three weeks I considered myself an expert, and dared to ven- ture longer rides. / couldn't move when Brant put his arms around me and kissed my cheek. IN North Dakota the snow comes, and the cold, in late November, and never goes away until April. For five months of the year the ground is covered with that impene- trable blanket of snow ; and the cold hovers over the land like a pall. You may think it doesn't affect the minds and hearts of the people, but I know better. Last winter, when I lay in bed for three months trying to recover from an attack of rheumatic fever, I looked out through my bedroom window at the everlasting snow, wishing it would go away and never come back. That was why I didn't feel sad when they told me I was going south. "It'll be just what you need," Mother said comfortingly. "Up here there'll be three more months of cold weather, and the doctor says you shoiild get outdoors in the warm sun right away." She patted the covers straight and fluffed up my pillow. "And George agrees it's the best thing. He's downstairs now. I'm going to send him up." George Morgan was my fiance. We had been engaged to be married for almost three years. He was tall Had the blazing desert and the stranger she met there swept away all memory of the man she had promised to marry? In this supreme moment of danger she knew — and dark, but not handsome. He had one of those craggy faces, like that French movie star, and he was terribly, terribly indefinite about getting married. I loved him, but I did want him to be more ardent. Sometimes I thought that those ter- rible winters had gotten inside him too, and frozen him up. And I got so tired of having people tell me what a fine young man he was. Of course he'd worked his way through law school; of course he'd supported his mother and his sister. I knew all that, and I knew he was a very good lawyer and bound to go far, but I didn't want to be hearing it all the time. He sat in the big chair beside the bed. His face looked very strong and very calm. So calm that the word "smug" popped into my head. Then I rejected it. George was not reaUy smug; he was just very sure of- himself. "Jeanette," he began, "your mother and father have decided it will be best for you to go south for a while, and I agree with them." "Why?" I said. "You'll miss me won't you, George?" "Of course I'll miss you," he said impatiently. "But that isn't the point. You've got to get well." I knew it wasn't the point. I knew I was being illogical and femmine, but I wanted him to un- derstand that, and not be impatient with me. I looked out the window at the snow piled on the sill, and ■ ■ •Oft/^j stretching away across the ground as far as I could see. "I'm wiring tonight to some places down there. We'll find a nice quiet spot for you. Not a real hospital, and not a hotel, but something in between, so you'll have both free- dom and quiet." "I'm sure you will, George," I murmured. "Will what?" "Find a place for me — very ef- ficiently." "Of course. Some place where you will be safe." Two days later I was on the train. George and Mother and Dad had put me on and given strict instructions to the porter to see that I was taken care of. Already I felt better — not sick any more, just weak. I was going south to the sun. I, little Jeanette McClellan who had never been farther south than Omaha. They had arranged for me to go to a combination dude ranch and nursing home called Buena Siesta. It was near a little town in, Texas, just north of the Mexican border. Mrs. Hathaway, who ran Buena Siesta with the help of her pep- pery old husband, met me at the door and took me to my room. It was wonderful — not pretty or well furnished, but very clean and the window was open! Through it blew warm, soft air, and the sun slanted in upon the rug from a sky as blue as your coat. "Now, my dear," Mrs. Hathaway said, ■ "you've only to ring if you want anything. There are nurses on the staff, and a resident physician. And of course if there's anything I can do, or Mr. Hathaway. You know, pretty, unattached girls are rare down here, and I could tell bv the gleam in Hathaway's eye that all you have to do is nod at him to make him your devoted slave " Those first weeks were grand Every day I lay in a deck chair on the patio, and drank in the sun I read when I felt like it, and dozed and dreamed the rest of the time. I could feel that fever baking out °f my joints, and that heavenly A^"L*^''''"S *'^""eh my lungs. And the people were wonderful. thpn''^ TT. "°* "^"y euests just hen and Mrs. Hathaway had time to take me under her capable wing. Mr. Hathaway liked to talk about Z "'" ^'^"^^ he had known, and DrohTw" **"';, ""^ '"* 'J"«i"t, im- Suenf, ^' '^" '^'^^ 't-^t I ^as fre- I tMnu l" ^''^'^y laughter with him. hit h ^..''^'^ '°^<^ *hem so often that he half believed them himself, Mohif "/j'"^'''^'^ he saw how im- wUh^tu."^^ "^^^' «"" ^-^^^-^ strtnT/ *^'''' ^ "^San to feel as backriH ''"f' ^""^ ^°°^ to horse- never h'"^- ■^" ^"''^ ^"^"^^ I ^ad Tevf, i°''^ '*' b"t down there in In tl„ ^^V^'"^ "^'""' and "ght. ta wo or three weeks I considered ture ifn J" ''"P^"' ^"<^ '^^■■ed to ven- ^ longer rides. '""/« two years. I hadn't ' joke, even known it was considered Th * the hii?'.""^ °' <*"st raced down •" "om the other direction. '"''.1942 Brant pulled up, skidding the car so that Bess drew back and I had to hold her hard. "Skittish today," Brant observed. "Temperamental." He fiddled for a minute with the saddle. I couldn't see what he was doing. "Stirrup loose," he said. "Now fixed." We stood on the bridge and watched the water tumbling below us. Brant talked on aimlessly. I had never known anyone who could be so completely charming, and yet so unknown. He told me all about himself and still I knew nothing what was inside him. He never spoke seriously when he could mock, and he could always do that. "Riding home with me, today? he said. "Why do you think I'm holding Bess so hard?" I demanded. "Can't imagine." When he smiled his teeth were very white, and his eyes very blue. A few minutes later, I started to go home. I pulled Bess around threw the reins over her head, and hale I °' '" "''^ ^"""P- 'should I „M°"" ''"""Sh to test the ™*,W'en' stepped up. my weight pulled the saddle down on the loosened cinch, so that it hung ludi- crously off to one side. I staggered back tiymg to keep my balance in "J°?f silly, high-heeled boots, and at that moment Brant smacked Bess and started her otT for home. I was so mad for an instant I wanted to ■■un after her. Then I began to laugh. What else could I do? Twice in a row! Jimmy would never get over It. When Brant took me home, he said, "Tomorrow leave that comic opera steed in the stable. I'll come and get you. I want to show you my shack, anyway, and it's loo far to ride." I might as well. If Bess came home riderless once again, they wouldn't let me go out alone any more. CO the next day he came for me '-' in the big car, right after lunch, and we drove the twenty-five miles to his hut as he called it. This day he was different— quiet almost to moro.scness. It seemed an effort tor him to speak, and he talked like anyone else, with all that gay mock- ery gone. I fell silent, too, with thinking about him — how strange and alone he stayed, although on the surface so frank. In front of his house, he pulled the car up with the same reckless flourish, and without a word led me inside. Brant was not like the men I had known back in North Dakota. He was freer and somehow wilder, almost pagan in the way he lived so completely outside the usual laws about amounting to something. I couldn't imagine him living in ordi- nary surroundings, but his house just suited him. It was really an adobe shack, but bigger than any other I had -seen in Texas, and fur- nished with taste and enthusiasm. On the walls hung many masks — those frightful, arresting things that the Zuni Indians have made for centuries. Yet these too were not like others I had seen. They were fiercer, wilder, more com- pelling. I walked to the middle of the room slowly, taking time for my eyes to become accustomed to the dimness. I wanted to see everything. When Brant put his arms around me, from behind, I just stood still. Again I was frightened a little bit. George was strong. I knew that, and yet his arms had never given me the feeling that they were made of iron. Continued on pageSS 39 Jf* -■;■: ,^ H ^S .s \ I NEED YOU, MY LOVE REFRAIN s^ Jl 1, Words and Music by ED HAMELBURG NEED YOU, MY LOVE From the j* i*iii w #-|-i^ ?s ^ p-f ^iTTf""^^" IB "tr^ ..g^,'- Lyj>~^'l ~»T~ bot-tom of my heart,. For I miss you so since ^ S^-A T ^ r=^ i ^ »>«*^- '^i? * ^ =*^ NEED YOU, MY LOVE ^^pTj^^7 I've be - gun to re - a - lize £--h^^ ^ W ^ W^ ""Zrr^ I a0^ i, ^ I, l. " ^ m^^- ^ p ?^ ^^ How the stars a-bove re - mind me of you ^sgs T ^m f=f m =a-^ x^ =i ii If ^t=i i r cJr ' f- f" i T ^ r i-^j-] ■ifr"" m "It- ^i eyes. Since you have gone a Tt^ a 5^ TT- is* dolce 1^ ^^ Copyright, 2942, by Associated Music Publishers, Inc., New York Johnny Long plays it and Radio Mirror forecasts it as the hit of tomorrow — this beautiful melody composed by a New York bellhop T?v^ it ¥ TT" miss you night and dav, $ ft ^ Mt m s m ^^rr-f^ $ ^ ^ just wait for your ib f- 3^^ '#- i m >- — ot^ :^ =*EP"=^- Oh how my heart is S w ^ F ^: :£ ^ filled with yearn - ing. ^iE^=^ NEED YOU, MY LOVE # 5^ fvr^^^^ ^ t Won't you please come back to me?. ^^£3 Oh can't you see I NEED YOU, MY ^ T~ ^ ^1 "r f^ ^ If =r ^ r w t=^. f _^ T^r^-^- rr ^^^ t LOVE lovet: f S £^; la=3i ^titrt^ r fr *^ ^ h^ ^ r p jggs t'tH"MH =h: MAT. 1942 "» « — '• •», . V , ^, HELPS HER DAICLE EVEN radio's Baby Snooks is buying Defense Stamps now. Listeners to her Thursday- night broadcast on NBC-Red were recently treated to one of the most hilarious in a long series of hilarious moments in Snooks' life, when Daddy took her to the local post- office to make an investment. It was Daddy's idea that Snooks needed a lesson in both thrift and patriotism. Snooks, as usual, had other ideas — at first. But read for yourself what hap- pened. Radio Mirror is happy to bring you the entire copyrighted broadcast, by special arrangement with Fannie Brice, who creates Baby Snooks on the air, and her sponsors, the makers of Maxwell House Coffee. Snooks and Daddy are just enter- ing the post-office, and Daddy says, "Have you got your money ready?" SNOOKS: Yes, Daddy. 42 Daddy gives Baby Snooks a lesson in thrift. Read it and you'll laugh yourself into buying Defense Stamps, too DADDY: Where is it? SNOOKS: I got it in my shoe. DADDY: In your shoe! No wonder you've been hobbling along like a stilt walker! SNOOKS: When? DADDY: All the way over here! Your left foot's four inches higher than your right foot. Take off that left shoe! SNOOKS: The money's in the other shoe, daddy. DADDY: Well, why is your left shoe like that? SNOOKS: That's where I got my candy. DADDY: Good heavens! You're hot going to eat that stuff after wsdk- ing on it, are you? SNOOKS: Why? DADDY: Oh, take off both your shoes and let's empty them out! SNOOKS: The socks, too? DADDY: No, just the shoes. SNOOKS: Well, how will I get my chewing gum? DADDY: Snooks, you didn't put chewing gum in your socks! SNOOKS: Didn't I? DADDY: Look at that mess! (coins pour out of shoe) And the money's all in pennies! Chewing gum! Chocolates! And a piece of apple! SNOOKS: Where's my lollipop? DADDY: Here it is! Whatever pos- sessed you to conceal this stuff in your shoes? Continued on page 62 RADIO AND TELEVISION I^IIIIIOB INSIDE RADIO ^Telling 'pi SUNDAY u E P a < i u \L o < a. 8:15 8:30 8:30 8:30 8:30 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:30 9:30 9:30 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:30 11:00 11:00 11:00 11:30 11:30 12:00 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:30 1:00 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:30 2:00 2:30 2:30 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:30 3:30 3:30 3:30 9:15 4:00 4:00 8:30 4:15 4:30 4:30 4:30 5:00 5:00 5:00 8:00 8:00 5:30 5:45 5:55 6:00 6:00 9:00 6:00 9:15 6:30 6:45 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:30 8:00 8:00 8:30 <1 ^^ zet u< "S 8:00 8:00 8:15 8:15 8:15 8:30 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:30 9:30 10:00 10:00 10:05 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:30 10:30 11:00 11:00 11:00 11:30 11:30 11:30 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:30 1:00 1:00 1:00 1:30 1:30 2:00 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:30 3:00 3:15 3:30 3:30 3:30 4:00 4:30 4:30 4:45 5:00 5:00 5:30 5:30 5:30 5:30 5:45 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:15 6:30 6:30 6:30 6:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:30 7:30 7:45 7:55 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 Eastern War Time 8:15 8:30 8:30 8:45 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:30 9:30 10:00 10:00 10:30 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30 9:00 9:00 8:15 9:15 9:15 10:00 10:00 10:00 10:30 10:30 11:00 11:00 11:05 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 11:30 12:00 12:00 12:00 12:30 12:30 12:30 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:30 2:00 2:00 2:00 2:30 2:30 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:15 3:30 4:00 4:15 4:30 4:30 4:30 5:00 5:00 5:15 5:30 5:30 6:00 6:00 6:30 6:30 6:30 6:30 6:45 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:15 7:30 7:30 7:30 7:30 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30 8:30 8:30 8:45 8:55 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:00 10:30 10:30 11:00 11:00 CBS: News Blue: News NBC-Red: Organ Recital Blue: Tone Pictures CBS: The World Today NBC: News from Europe CBS: From the Organ Loft Blue: White Rabbit Line NBC-Red: Deep River Boys NBC-Red Words and Music CBS: Church cif the Air Blue: Musical Millwheel NBC-Red: Radio Pulpit CBS: Wings Over Jordan Blue: Southernaires CBS: News Blue: News CBS: Milestones of Music Blue: Al and Lee Reiser CBS: Invitation to Learning MBS: Radio Chapel Blue: Revue in Miniature NBC-Red: Music and Youth CBS: Eric Sevareid Blue: Foreign Policy Assn. NBC-Red: Sunday Down South CBS: Salt Lake City Tabernacle Blue: Radio City Music Hall NBC-Red: Emma Otero CBS: Church of the Air NBC-Red: Upton Close MBS: George Fisher NBC-Red: Silver Strings CBS: What's New at the Zoo Blue: Josef Marais NBC- Red: The World is Yours CBS: Spirit of '42 Blue: Famous Fireside Plays NBC-Red: Sammy Kaye CBS: Columbia Workshop NBC-Red: University of Chicago Round Table CBS: N. Y. Philharmonic Orch. Blue: Wake Up America NBC-Red: Bob Becker NBC-Red: H. V. Kaltenborn NBC-Red: Listen America Blue: Sunday Vespers NBC- Red: Tony Wons CBS: Pause that Refreshes Blue: Behind the Mike NBC-Red: Plays for Americans CBS; The Family Hour Blue: Moylan Sisters Blue: Olivio Santoro MBS Blue: The Shadow Musical Steelmakers CBS: William L. Shirer CBS: SILVER THEATER NBC-Red: Catholic Hour CBS: Gene Autry MBS: Bulldog Drummond Blue: Pearson and Allen NBC-Red: The Great Gildersleeve Blue: Mrs. F. D. Roosevelt MBS: Voice of Prophecy Blue: News from Europe NBC-Red: Jack Benny CBS: Public Affairs MBS: Nobody's Children CBS: Screen Guild Theater Blue: Daughters of Uncle Sam NBC-Red: Fitch Bandwagon CBS: World News Blue: Tommy Dorsey NBC-Red: CHARLIE MCCARTHY CBS: Crime Doctor Blue: Inner Sanctum Mystery NBC-Red: ONE MAN'S FAMILY MBS: Gabriel Heatter CBS: Elmer Davis CBS: FRED ALLEN MBS: Old Fashioned Revival Blue: Walter Winchell NBC-Red: Manhattan Merry-Go- Round Blue: The Parker Family Blue: Irene Rich NBC-Red: American Album of Familiar Music Blue: Dinah Shore CBS: Take It or Leave It Blue: Goodwill Hour NBC-Red: Hour of Charm CBS: They Live Forever NBC-Red: Sherlock Holmes CBS: Headlines and Bylines NBC: Dance Orchestra MONDAY 11:30NBC-Red: 3 Sheets to the Wind GIRL WITH THE NEWS . . . THE men have almost a monopoly on the job of reporting news on the air — almost, but not quite. One of the few feminine interlopers on this largely mas- culine field is Helen Hiett, who looks more like a college girl than an expert on in- ternational affairs. Helen tells you the headline news stories every weekday morning at 10: 15, EWT, on the Blue network. She's a Pekin, Illinois, girl who gradu- ated from the University of Chicago in 1934, with a scholarship which made it possible for her to go to Europe and con- tinue her studies. Reporting the news was almost a mania with her, and as soon as she arrived in Europe she began hunting up headline stories. For a few years, she re- calls now, she lived "the good life" — living abroad most of the year, then coming to America and lecturing to earn enough naoney to stay abroad for another nine or ten months. Then the war came, interrupting both her studies and some plans she had for being married. She was in Paris until the last minute before the German army took possession of the city, fled to Spain, and broadcast to America from there for eight months. Persistent begging got her per- mission to visit Gibraltar, closed to most reporters — and on the very day she went there the huge fortress was subjected to a bomb attack. That gave Helen a scoop story of the kind reporters dream about. Now, back in America, she is content to do her daily broadcasts and fill lecture dates, because she believes that giving American women the news and pointing out to them the importance of the war effort is the biggest and most vital job she could have. When she watched France fall under the combined inroads of in- difference, bungling, and disunity, she learned a terrible lesson, and she doesn't want to see it happen here. Helen is small, blonde, very blue-eyed, with a rounded figure that lost some of its curves while she was living in Madrid, where she had so little to eat she became anemic. She speaks five languages — Eng- lish, French, Italian, Spanish and Ger- man— but not Greek. That inability almost lost her her life when she was in Greece. She'd gone swimming in the ocean and had gone out too far. A young Greek in a fish- ing boat saw her swimming wearily and spoke to her. Guessing that he was asking if she wanted to get into the boat, she nod- ded emphatically — and the young man rowed away. It was only after she had managed to get back to shore, almost ex- hausted, that she learned a queer thing about the Greeks: they shake their heads when they mean yes and nod them for no. S 0.' 1:30 8:45 8:30 10:15 10:30 1:00 12:45 11:15 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:45 4:15 11:00 12:30 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 11:45 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:45 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:15 2:30 2:45 5:45 3:10 3:15 3:30 7:30 3:45 3:45 8:00 7:30 8:00 8:15 4:15 7:30 7:30 7:30 5:00 9:15 8:30 5:00 8:30 5:55 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:30 6:30 6:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:00 I- i u 8:00 2:30 8:45 8:45 :ao :00 :15 :15 :30 :30 :30 9:45 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:45 10:45 11:00 11:00 11:00 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:30 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:15 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:45 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:15 3:15 3:15 3:30 3:45 3:45 3:45 5:00 4:00 4:15 5:15 4:15 4:30 4:45 5:45 5:10 5:15 5:30 9:30 5:45 5:45 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:15 6:15 9:30 7:30 6:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:30 7:30 7:55 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30 8:30 8:30 Eastern War Time 9:00 9:00 9:00jia 9:00;i0 MAY, 1942 Blue: Texas Jim Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB CBS: School of the Air CBS: Stories America Loves NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh CBS: Hymns of All Churches NBC-Red: Bess Johnson Blue: Helen Hiett NBC-Red: Bachelor's Children CBS: Stepmother Blue: A House in the Country NBC-Red: Help Mate CBS: Woman of Courage NBC-Red: The Road of Life CBS: Victory Begins at Home NBC-Red: Mary Marlin Blue: Alma Kitchell NBC-Red: Right to Happiness CBS: Bright Horizon NBC-Red: The Bartons CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories NBC-Red: David Harum CBS: KATE SMITH SPEAKS MBS: John B. Hughes NBC-Red Words and Music CBS: Big Sister CBS: Romance of Helen Trent Blue: Farm and Home Hour CBS: Our Gal Sunday CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful Blue: Baukhage Talking MBS: I'll Find My Way CBS: Woman in White MBS: Government Girl Blue: Ted Malone CBS: Vic and Sade CBS: Road of Life NBC-Rcd: John Vandercook CBS: Young Dr. Malone NBC-Red: Light of the World CBS: Girl Interne NBC-Red: The Guiding Light CBS: We Love and Learn Blue: Into the Light NBC-Red: Valiant Lady Blue: In Care of Aggie Horn NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter CBS: David Harum Blue: Orphans of Divorce NBC-Red: Against the Storm CBS: News Blue: Honeymoon Hill NBC-Red: Ma Perkins Blue: John's Other Wife NBC- Red: Pepper Young's Family Blue: Just Plain Bill NBC-Red: Vic and Sade 4:00 CBS: Helping Hand 4:00 Blue: Arthur Tracy 4:00 NBC-Red: Backstage Wife 4:15 CBS: Spotlight on Asia Blue: Club Matinee NBC-Red: Stella Dallas NBC- Red: Lorenzo Jones 4:45 CBS: Mark Hawley 4:45 MBS: Boake Carter 45 NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown 5:00 Blue: Adventure Stories 5:00 NBC-Red: When a Girl Marries 15 CBS. The Goldbergs 15 Blue: Secret City 5:15 NBC-Red: Portia Faces Life 5:30 Blue: Flying Patrol 45 CBS: Scattergood Baines 45 Blue: Tom Mix 6:00 CBS: Edwin C. Hill 6:10 CBS: Ted Husing 15 CBS: Hedda Hopper 6:30 CBS: Frank Parker 6:30 Blue: Lum and Abner 6:45 CBS: The World Today 6:45 Blue: Lowell Thomas ' 45 NBC-Red: Bill Stern 7:00 CBS: Amos 'n' Andy 7:00 Blue: Jimmie Fidler 00 NBC-Red: Fred Waring's Gang 7:15 CBS: Lanny Ross 7:15 Blue: Edward Tomlinson 7:30 CBS: Blondie 7:30 MBS: The Lone Ranger 30 NBC-Red: Cavalcade of America 00 CBS: Vox Pop 00 MBS: Cal Tinney 00 Blue: I Love a Mystery 00 NBC-Red The Telephone Hour 30 CBS: GAY NINETIES 30 Blue: True or False 30 NBC-Red Voice of Firestone 55 CBS: Elmer Davis 00 CBS: LUX THEATER 00 MBS: Gabriel Heatter 00 NBC-Red Doctor I. Q. 30 MBS Spotlight Bands 30 Blue: For America We Sing 30 NBC-Red: That Brewster Boy 00 CBS: Orson Welles 00 MBS: Raymond Gram Swing 00 Blue: Merry-Go-Round 00 NBC-Red: Contented Program 43 TUESDAY i 1:30 8:45 8:30 10:15 10:30 1:00 12:45 10:45 8:00 8:00 8:15 11:00 8:30 11:15 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:45 4:15 11:00 12:30 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 11:45 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:45 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:15 2:30 2:45 5:45 7:45 3:15 3:30 7:30 3:45 3:45 8:00 9:00 8:00 8:15 4:15 4:15 4:30 6:00 8:30 5:00 10:00 8:30 9:30 9:00 5:30 5:55 9:00 6:00 6:00 9:30 C:30 6:30 6:30 6:30 7:00 7:00 7l30 7:45 6 8:00 2:30 8:45 8:45 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:30 9:45 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:30 10:45 10:45 11:00 11:00 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:30 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:15 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:30 2:45 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:15 3:30 3:30 3:45 3:45 3:45 5:00 4:00 4:15 5:15 4:15 4:30 4:45 5:45 5:00 5:15 5:30 9:30 5:45 5:45 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:15 6:15 6:15 6:30 6:30 6:45 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:30 7:30 7:55 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30 8:30 8:30 8:30 Eattern War Tim* 8:30 Blue: Texas Jim 9:00 Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB 9:15 CBS School of the Air 9:45 CBS: Stories America Loves 9:45 NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh 10:00 CBS: Hymns of All Churches 10:00 NBC-Red: Bess Johnson 10:15 Blue: Helen Hiett 10:15 NBC-Red Bachelor's Children 10:30 CBS: Stepmother 10:30 Blue: A House in the Country 10:30 NBC-Red Help Mate 10:45 CBS: Woman of Courage 10:45 NBC-Red The Road of Life 11:00 CBS: Mary Lee Taylor 11:00 Blue: Alma Kitchell 11:00 NBC-Red: Mary Marlin 11:15 NBC-Red: Right to Happiness 11:30 CBS: Bright Horizon 11:30 Blue: Prescott Presents 11:30 NBC-Red: The Bartons 11:45 CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories 11:45 NBC-Red: David Harum 12:00 CBS: Kate Smith Speaks 12:00 MBS: John B. Hughes 12:15 CBS: Big Sister 9:00 9:00 9:30 9:45 12:30 12:30 1:00 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:45 1:45 2:C0 2:00 2:15 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:30 2:45 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:15 3:15 3:15 3:30 3:30 3:30 3:45 3:45 4:00 4:00 4:00 4:15 4:30 4:30 4:45 4:45 4:45 5:00 5:00 5:15 5:15 5:15 5:30 5:45 5:45 6:00 6:15 6:30 6:30 6:45 6:45 6:45 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:15 7:15 7:15 7:30 7:30 7:45 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30 8:30 8:30 8:55 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:30 9:30 9:30 9:30 10:00 10:00 10:30 CBS: Romance ol He-en Trent Blue: Farm and Home Hour CBS: Our Gal Sunday CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful Blue: Baukhage Talking MBS: I'll Find My Way CBS: Woman in White' MBS Government Girl Blue: Ted Malone CBS: Vic and Sade CBS: Road ol Life NBC-Red: John Vandercook CBS: Young Dr. Malone NBC-Red: Light of the World CBS: Girl NBC-Red: Interne The Guiding Light CBS: We Love and Learn Blue: into the Light NBC-Red: Valiant Lady Blue: In Care of Aggie Horn NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter CBS: David Harum Blue: Orphans of Divorce NBC-Red Against the Storm CBS. News Blue: Honeymoon Hill NBC-Red: Ma Perkins CBS: Renfro Valley Folks Blue: John's Other Wife NBC-Red Pepper Young's Family NBC-Blue: Just Plain Bill NBC-Red: Vic and Sade CBS: Helping Hand Blue: Club Matinee NBC-Red: Backstage Wife NBC-Red Stella Dallas CBS: News NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones CBS: Mark Hawley MBS: Boake Carter NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown Blue: Adventure Stories NBC-Red: When a Girl Marries CBS The Goldbergs Blue: Secret City NBC-Red: Portia Faces Life Blue: Flying Patrol CBS: Scattergood Baines Blue: Tom Mix CBS Frazier Hunt CBS: Dorothy Kilgallen CBS: Bob Edge Blue: Lum and Abner CBS: The World Today Blue: Lowell Thomas NBC-Red Bill Stern CBS: Amos 'n' Andy Blue: EASY ACES NBC-Red: Fred Waring's Gang CBS: Lanny Ross Blue: Mr. Keen NBC-Red: European News CBS: Helen Menken NBC-Red: Burns and Allen NBC-Red: H. V. Kaltenborn CBS: Are You a Missing Heir MBS: What's My Name Blue: Cugat Rhumba Revue NBC-Red: Johnny Presents CBS: Bob Burns Blue: Three Ring Time NBC-Red: Horace Heidt CBS: Elmer Davis CBS: Duffy's Tavern MBS: Gabriel Heatter Blue: Famous Jury Trials NBC-Red: Battle of the Sexes CBS: Report to the Nation MBS: Spotlight Bands Blue: NBC SYMPHONY NBC-Red: McGee and Molly MBS: Raymond Gram Swing NBC-Red: BOB HOPE NBC-Red. Red Skelton 10:4SCBS: New* of the World CRESTFALLEN MANOR'S HOSTESS . . A good part of the fun in Ransom Sher- man's Crestfallen Manor, the mythical hotel which is the scene of his comedy program on CBS Wednesday nights at 9: 30, is due to the activities of a pert little woman named Irene Ryan. If you're a veteran listener, Irene is probably more familiar to you as the pretty half of the Irish comedy team, Tim and Irene. The pair stepped from vaudeville into radio and were on the air together for nearly a decade before parting professionally in 1939 — Irene to "single" in radio and Tim to launch into motion pictures. The pro- fessional break-up hasn't interfered, though, with a very happy married part- nership, which passed its twentieth anni- versary on March 3. Irene is blonde and blue-eyed, with freckles on her nose, and a wit which sparkles off the air as much as it does on. This year she invested in a beautiful mink coat which, she explains, is by courtesy of the sponsors — sleeves by Goodrich, back by Jell-O, collar by Admiration Shampoo, and the rest by Royal Crown Cola, Fleischman Yeast, Texaco Gasoline and Ivory Soap, all sponsors of programs on which she has worked at one time or another. Ivory, of course, is the sponsor of her current show. Irene didn't have much trouble con- vincing the public of her aptitude for the theater, but she's never been able to swing her family into line. From the moment when, as Irene Noblette, she made her debut in a San Francisco amateur night, singing "Pretty Baby," her mother has prayed that she would "get the hook" and be discouraged with such a crazy business. But she never did. At the age of thirteen she was in a child revue at the Joyland dance palace in Sacramento, and at four- teen she was playing in dramatic stock companies. In 1922 she was in an Omaha musical comedy company which had a handsome Irishman named Tim Ryan for leading man. They fell in love, were mar- ried, and the team of Tim and Irene was under way. Irene has a unique method of remem- bering the geography she learned on her extensive vaudeville travels. In each city she visited she would buy a souvenir spoon. They've all grown into quite a collection now. In Hollywood, the Ryans are the ring- leaders of a group of ex-vaudevillians who get together twice a month to stage old- time vaudeville acts — just from pure home-sickness. It brings back memories of the old days when, as the song said, they didn't have much money but they had a lot of fun. They live in a modest home in West Los Angeles with two pets — Cookie, a Boston Bull terrier, and Tommy, a talka- tive parrot whose cryptic comments on their guests keep Tim and Irene in con- stant fear of social disaster — because Tommy evidently considers frankness a greater virtue than tact. WEDNESDAY i a.' 1:30 8:45 8:30 10:15 10:30 1:00 8:00 8:00 8:15 11:00 8:30 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:30 9:30 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:15 10:45 4:15 11:00 12:30 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 11:45 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:45 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:15 2:30 2:45 5:45 3:10 3:15 3:30 3:45 3:45 8:00 9:00 4:00 8:15 4:15 4:15 9:00 7:30 5:00 9:15 8:00 8:30 8:30 8:30 5:55 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:30 6:30 6:30 6:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:15 7:30 7:45 U 8:00 2:30 8:45 8:45 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:30 9:45 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:30 10:30 10:30 10:45 10:45 Eaitorn War Tim* 8:30 Blue: Texas Jim 9:00 9:15 9:45 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:30 10:45 10:45 11:00 11:00 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 11:45 11:45 11:00 12:00 11:00 12:00 11:00 12:00 11:15 11:45 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:30 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:15 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:45 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:15 3:15 3:15 3:30 3:30 3:45 3:45 3:45 5:00 4:00 4:15 5:15 4:15 4:30 4:45 5:45 12:45 Blue: Breakfast Club CBS: School of the Air CBS: Stories America Loves NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh CBS: Betty Crocker NBC-Red: Bess Johnson Blue: Helen Hiett NBC-Red Bachelor's Children CBS: Stepmother Blue: A House in the Country NBC-Red: Help Mate CBS: Woman of Courage NBC-Red The Road of Life CBS: Victory Begins at Home NBC-Red Mary Marlin NBC-Red: Right to Happinen CBS: Bright Horizon Blue: Prescott Presents NBC-Red The Bartons CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories NBC-Red: David Harum CBS: Kate Smith Speaks MBS: John B. Hughes NBC-Red Words and Music CBS Big Sister CBS: Romance ol Helen Trent Farm and Home Hour Blue: CBS: Our Gal Sunday CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful Blue: Baukhage Talking MBS: I'll Find My Way CBS: Woman in White MBS: Government Girl Blue: Ted Malone 5:10 5:15 5:30 5:45 5:45 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:15 6:15 6:15 6:30 7:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:30 7:30 7:55 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30 8:30 8:30 8:30 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:30 9:45 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:30 2:45 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:15 3:15 3:15 3:30 3:30 3:45 3:45 4:00 4:00 4:00 4:15 4:15 4:15 4:30 4:30 4:45 4:45 4:45 5:00 5:00 5:15 5:15 5:15 5:30 5:45 5:45 6:00 6:10 6:15 6:30 6:45 6:45 6:45 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:15 7:15 7:15 7:30 7:30 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30 8:30 8:30 8:55 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:30 9:30 9:30 9:30 10:00 10:00 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:30 10:45 44 CBS: Vic and Sade CBS: Road of Lite NBC-Red: John Vandercook CBS: Young Dr. Malone NBC-Red: Light of the World CBS: Girl Interne NBC-Red: The Guiding Light CBS: We Love and Learn Blue: Into the Light NBC-Red: Valiant Lady Blue: In Care of Aggje Horn NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter CBS David Harum Blue: Orphans of Divorce NBC-Red Against the Storm CBS: News Blue: Honeymoon Hill NBC-Red: Ma Perkins Blue: John's Other Wife NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family Blue: Just Plain Bill NBC-Red: Vic and Sad* CBS: Helping Hand Blue: Arthur Tracy NBC-Red: Backstage Wife CBS: Children Also Are People Blue: Club Matinee NBC-Red: Stella Dallas CBS: News NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones CBS. Mark Hawley MBS: Boake Carter NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown Blue: Adventure Stories NBC-Red: When a Girl Marries CBS: The Goldbergs Blue: Secret City NBC- Red: Portia Faces Lite Blue: Flying Patrol CBS: Scattergood Baines Blue: Tom Mix CBS: Edwin C. Hill CBS: Ted Husing CBS. Hedda Hopper CBS: Frank Parker CBS: The World Today Blue: Lowell Thomas NBC-Red: Bill Stern CBS: Amos 'n' Andy Blue: EASY ACES NBC-Red: Fred Waring's Gang CBS: Lanny Ross Blue: Mr. Keen NBC-Red: European News CBS: That Brewster Boy MBS: The Lone Ranger CBS: Meet Mr. Meek MBS: Cal Tinney Blue: Quiz Kids NBC-Red: The Thin Man CBS: Dr. Christian Blue: Manhattan at Midnight NBC-Red: Uncle Walter's Dog House CBS: Elmer Davis MBS: Gabriel Heatter CBS: JUNIOR MISS Blue: American Melody Hour NBC-Red: Eddie Cantor CBS: Ransom Sherman MBS: Spotlight Bands Blue: Quizzicale NBC-Red Mr. District Attorney CBS: Glenn Miller MBS: Raymond Gram Swing Blue: Basin Street Music NBC-Red: Kay Kyser CBS: Great Moments in Music Blue: Hillman and Clapper CBS: News of the World RADIO AND TELEVISION MHIROB ;l i o! 1:30 ls:45 i:30 10:15 10:30 1:00 12:45 10:45 8:00 8:15 11:00 11:15 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:45 4:15 11:00 12:30 ll:li> 11:30 11:30 11:30 11:45 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:45 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:15 2:30 2:45 5:45 7:45 3:15 7:30 3:30 3:45 3:45 8:00 9:00 8:00 8:15 4:15 4:15 9:30 7:00 8:30 5:00 8:30 9:00 5:55 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:30 6:30 7:00 7:00 7:15 7:30 7:30 i 6 8:00 8:45 8:45 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:30 9:45 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:30 10:45 10:45 11:00 11:00 11:00 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:30 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:15 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:45 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:15 3:15 3:30 3:30 3:45 3:45 3:45 5:00 4:00 4:15 5:15 4:15 4:30 4:45 5:45 5:00 5:15 9:30 5:30 5:45 5:45 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:15 6:15 6:15 6:30 6:30 6:45 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:55 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30 8:30 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:30 9:30 THURSDAY Eastern War Time Blue: Texas Jim 8:30 9:00 15 45 45 00 00 00 15 15 30 30 30 45 45 00 00 15 30 30 30 45 45 00 00 00 15 30 30 45 00 00 00 15 15 15 15 30 :45 45 00 00 15 15 30 30 7:451 9:45 MAY, 1942 Blue: CBS: Breai:30 8:30 5:30 8:00 9:00 6:00 C:00 6:30 6:30 6:45 3:00 7:00 2:15 7:30 7:45 u E K < S < h Z u u 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:15 8:15 8:30 8:30 9:00 9:00 9:30 9:30 9:45 10:00 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:30 10:45 10:45 11:00 11:00 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 12:00 12:00 12:30 12:30 12:30 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:30 2:00 2:00 Eailern War Time 2:30 2:30 3:00 3:00 3:30 4:00 4:00 4:30 4:45 5:00 5:00 5:15 5:30 5:45 5:45 5:45 6:00 6:30 6:30 6:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:30 7:30 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30 8:30 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:30 9:45 46 8:00 CBS: The World Today 8:00 NBC: News 8:15 NBC-Red: Eton Boys 8:30 NBC-Red: Dick Leiberl 8:45 CBS: Adelaide Hawley 8:45 Blue: String Ensemble 8:45 NBC-Red: News 9:00 CBS: Press News 9:00 Blue: Breakfast Club 9:00 NBC- Red: Happy Jack 9:15 CBS: Kenneth Spencer 9:15 NBC-Rod: Market Basket 9:30 CBS: Garden Gate 9:30 NBC-Ked Hank Lawson ' 10:00 Blue: Musical Miliwheel 10:00 NBC-Red: Reflect ons in Rhythm 10:30 CBS: Jones and I 10:30 NBC-Red: The Wife Saver 10:45 NBC-Red: Betty Moore 11:00 NBC-Red: Lincoln Highway 11:15 CBS: God's Country 11:30 CBS: Let's Pretend 11:30 Blue: Ask Young America 11:30 NBC-Rcd: America the Free 11:45 CBS: Hillbilly Champions 11:45 Blue: Fables For Fun 12:00 CBS: Theater of Today 12:00 NBC- Red: News 12:15 NBC-Red. Consumer Time 12:30 CBS: Stars Over Hollywood 12:30 Blue: Farm Bureau 12:30 NBC-Red: Ilka Chase 1:00 Blue: Vincent Lopez 1:00 NBC- Red: Whatcha Know Jo* 1:30 CBS: Adventures in Science 1:30 Blue: Paul Laval Orch. 1:30 NBC-Red: Call to Youth 1:45 CBS: Juan Arvizu 2:00 CBS: Of Men and Books 2:00 NBC-Red: U. S. Marine Band 2:30 CBS: Brush Creek Follies 3:00 CBS: County Journal 3:00 NBC- Red: Patti Chapin 3:15 NBC-Red: On the Home Front 3:30 CBS: F. O. B. Detroit 3:30 NBC-Red: Music For Everyone 4:00 CBS: Matinee at Meadowbrook 4:00 NBC-Red. Weekend Whimsy 4:30 NBC-Red: Air Youth of America 5:00 CBS: Cleveland Symphony 5:00 NBC-Red: Doctors at Work 5:30 NBC-Red: In a Sentimental Moou 5:45 NBC-Red: War Reporter 6:00 CBS: Frazler Hunt 6:00 Blue: Dance Music G:15 CBS: Calling Pan-America 6:30 NBC-Red: Religion in the News 6:45 CBS: The World Today 6:45 Blue: Edward Tomlinson 8:45 NBC-Red Three Suns Trio 7:00 All Networks: THIS IS WAR 7:30 CBS: Kay Thompson & Co. 7:30 Blue- Message of Israel 7:30 NBC-Ked Ellery Queen 8:00 CBS: Guy Lombardo 8:00 Blue: The Green Hornet 8:00 NBC-Red Abie' Irish Rose 8:30 CBS: Hobby Lobby 8:30 Blue: Swop Night 8:30 NBC- Red Truth or Consequences 9:00 CBS: YOUR HIT PARADE 9:00 Blue: Spin and Win 9:00 NBC-Red: National Barn Dance 9:30 MBS: Spotlight Bands 9:30 Blue: Rochester Orchestra 9:45 CBS: Saturday Night Serenade 10:00 Blue: Bob Ripley 10:00 NBC-Re ^ Guorontecd bjf^V FRESH *2 comes in three sizes— SOii for extra-large jar; 25^ for generous medium jar; and lOfi for handy travel size. Companion of FRESH #2 is FRESH #1. FRESH #1 deodorizes, but does not stop perspiration. In a tube instead of a jar. Popular with men, too. i 59 . '"-yj *#* Anril ShoV/etS if you use April ^ skin,luxunouslvP« ilof Uke wearing ajm-^^^^^^^ ?S:Sra--U.e.Uric rttaiTX^B^i-- to bed every night and wake up with every morning. That is when cheer- fulness becomes strained and family jokes get awfully feeble. It was when the tension seemed most unbearable that a Mr. Thorgen- sen called one night. He bought leases on speculation, rather like a gambler who offers you a price on something he thinks looks good. He wanted to buy our quarter interest. I'll never forget that telephone conversation. Mark listened to him for a while, then he said, "Just a minute, please," and turned from the phone to me, his hand over the transmitter. "He offers five thousand dollars for my share." His face was pale. "What do you think?" FIVE thousand dollars! What could I think? It was wealth beyond the dreams of avarice, it was the treasure troves of the world, it was dinner at the hotel with real steak. "Oh, yes," I murmured weakly, "let's take it." "If it's a good well, we'll make lots more than that, Ellen," Mark said. "On the other hand, if it's a dry well — oh, gosh — " His voice was like a thin, taut thread. Suddenly I couldn't stand to hear it like that. I said loudly, "Don't take it. We've gone this far. Let's see it through." He spoke into the phone. "Thanks, Mr. Thorgensen, but it's not for sale. Yes, I know it's a good offer, but — " he glanced toward the bank on the mantelpiece — "I can afford to hold on. No, please don't offer any more." He replaced the receiver and wiped his brow. "Whew, five grand and we turn it down! Maybe we're a couple of prize idiots, honey, but we've still got the hundred to fall back on. How much money have we got left, be- sides that?" "A dollar and eighty-four cents. You know, Mark, I don't like the radio any more." He looked speculatively at the radio. "I was thinking the same thing. Listening gets pretty dull, doesn't it? But, Ellen, what would we do for entertainment?" "We can always," I said firmly, "listen to the neighbors'. Heaven knows they keep it on loud enough." "You're right. Having one of ouj own is completely and absolutely wasteful." So the radio went the way of the watch, and our liquid assets were in- creased. Down to twenty-three hundred feet. Down almost to sand. Mark explained how oil is always found in a sandy formation. If you don't hit any sand — well, you just don't ask any ques- tions. You forget all about it and go in another business. Then the well was down to twenty- four hundred, and we were down to pennies. That was when the crew dropped a tool and they had to fish for it, which meant another delay. I never knew before how complicated digging a well was, nor how tasteless warmed-over spaghetti can be three nights in a row. Several times I caught Mark fingering the penny bank, but he always put it back. "We recovered the tools today. It won't be long now till we know," he CHERAMY perfumer Men love "The Fragrance of Youth' said one night. We were in the living room. It had been a hard day. I had done the washing and it had taken hours to get Mark's shirts clean. I thought of the ironing I must do to- morrow and somehow I wished to- morrow would never come. Mark paced up and down the living room nervously. Suddenly he stopped in front of the mantelpiece. "I tell you what let's do. Let's break the seal. Let's take the hundred dollars and get dressed and go to the hotel. We'll order champagne and dance and forget about the well. Come on, honey, let's have a blowout." "Let's wait till the oil comes in," I said wearily. "I couldn't dance an inch tonight." "Yeah, I guess you're right," he said after a moment. "Champagne wouldn't go so good on top of spaghetti any- way. You go on to bed, Ellen. You've done enough work today to kill a horse." I dragged myself off to bed. I was glad Mark was sitting up a while be- cause I was plunged into a black de- pression and I didn't want him to see it. For some reason, I kept thinking of Henry and Louise Field. They'd been friends of ours, last year. Things had gone bad for Henry. He'd lost his job and couldn't get another. And one morning Louise woke up to find Henry gone, and a note with some money in it on the dresser. She had showed me the note. "Take this money and go on home to your parents, dearest," it said. "I'll send for you when I stop being a flop." Louise had gone on home to wait, but somehow they'd never gotten together again. Things had gotten worse with Henry instead of better, and she was still waiting. What could hap- pen to them could happen to anybody. It could happen — yes, it could happen — even to people like Mark and me. ... I buried my head in the pillow to muffle the sobs, and finally I fell into a troubled sleep. HOURS later I awoke. Instinctively I glanced at the other bed. It was empty! And the clock said two- thirty. Mark wasn't there! The thought of Henry Field flashed through my mind, and for the first time in my life I knew what sharp, naked fear can be. Then I heard a creaking noise from the kitchen. Quietly I slipped out of bed, my heart pounding, and softly cracked the door. I'll always remem- ber what I saw. Mark, his faded old bathrobe over his shoulders, was doing the ironing. A pile of folded shirts lay on the table beside him, and he was frowning with fierce concentra- tion over the one on the board in front of him. At his feet lay the laundry basket with the rest of the clothes neatly rolled into sprinkled bundles. Choking with mixed tears and laughter, I noiselessly shut the door. Mark would never know I'd seen him. I went back to bed. No matter what happened to other people, the sight of a big, awkward man, in a dimly lighted kitchen, patiently doing a woman's work in the dead of night — that had happened to me. The next morning there was no sign of Mark's handiwork, and I made JUNIOR MISS NOW! Shirley Temple's become quite a young lady as you'll see for yourself with next month's beautiful color cover of Shirley, radio's lovely new star 60 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIHBOR no reference to it. The phone rang while we were drinking our tea. When Mark came back, he was fairly pop- ping with excitement. "That was Ed Kreuger," he said with a gruff, forced calm. "Looks like today's the day. He's coming by for me. Will you ride over with us? I — I'd sorta like to have you there." "I'd love to be there! I've got to be there! Mark — what happens when a well comes in? I mean, does the oil just spurt up without any warning — or what?" "Well, if it's a big well, you hit oil and gas together. Then you hear a little rumbling sound down in the ground, and then it comes shooting up through the hole and all over every place." "That sounds lovely." "It is lovely — when it happens." 1/IR. KREUGER, when he came, was ^^' as excited as we were in spite of all the wells he'd dug. The big derrick loomed up tall and dark, and the drill was going with a steady rhythm. We got out of the car and walked toward the rig. My heart was up in my throat somewhere. I stretched out my hand toward Mark and it met his, stretching out to me. We clutched each other like two chil- dren. We stood around for a little while. They were getting deeper and deeper, and Mr. Kreuger's face looked grim and grave. Suddenly I sniffed. "I smell gas!" I cried. "You do?" Mr. Kreuger grabbed my arm and sniffed too. Then Mark yelled, "I do, too. Look, you can see the gas!" Mr. Kreuger called, "Hold it, men." And the drilling stopped. From a far distant place, deep down, there came the sound of faint thunder. It grew louder and heavier. "Anchor the bailer," Kreuger ordered. "Kill the motor! Clear out of here, everybody!" We started to back away, hurriedly. Then simultaneously with a great roar and a who-o-osh, Mark cried, "There she comes!" We began to run then, as a giant stream of black exploded up out of the depths of the earth. There was oil on our shoes, on our clothes, on our faces. There was oil all over the world! "We're rich!" Mark yelled in my ear. "It's a gusher. We're rich. Darling, what are you crying about?" "I just want to go home," I sobbed, and clung harder to him. Mr. Kreuger drove us home, and we were incoherent all the way there. He left us at the door, and we stood for a few minutes laughing weakly at each other's spattered face. Then we turned to go in. "You know," Mark said more quiet- ly. "We owe a lot to that little penny bank. It deserves to be opened now. We'll take the whole hundred to cele- brate!" He went over and picked it off the mantelpiece. "Oh, no," I said. "No." "But why not?" "I'd like to keep it. Just as it is." "But we'll close it up again — with two hundred dollars, a thousand dol- lars." "No, Mark. Don't you see? Sealed in that little bank is — our faith in He looked puzzled. "Faith? But the m.oney — " And then, very quietly, I told him. "There's no money in it. Darling — there never was." MAY, 1942 That captivating "English look" . . . now it can be YOURS . . . \ns\on\\y\ Mhe Enfftishicontan's compiexian is knotvn the Mcorld over as the loveliest of ttll ... Its secret is a certain tint — a warm, sweet shade of the English hedge-rose; delicate . . . oh! so delicate, yet a man-stopper that really works. And now, it can be YOURS! True English Tint can bloom in YOUR cheeks. English Tint Rouge by Princess Pat will put it there— and Princess Pat creamy Lipstick or Liquid Liptone will key your lips perfectly to your cheeks. The effect is stvmning and whether you're blonde, brunette or in-between, it makes no difference, English Tint will be perfect on YOU. Send for Complete English Make-up Kit Yes, a complete Princess Pat English Tint *=^ / I I i P • make-up kit— everything you need for real f^^ •jj<2£€^'(S^ JiOoHKUt' English complexion loveliness. Contains trial size English Tint Rouge, a creamy Lipstick, a box of Face Powder to match and Liquid Liptone. An extraordinary offer — a "make-up" you just have to have. Send your name and address with 25^ to cover partly postage and packing. Princess Pat, Dept. 452, 2709 South Wells St., Chicago. PRINCESS PAT Baby Snooks Helps Her Uncle Sam Continued from page 42 THEY USE IflRESlSTIBLE PERFUME AND LIPSTICK Mother and Daughter , . . both glam- orous, adored and admired wherever they go. Both accent their charm with the exotic lasting fragrance of IRRESISTIBLE PERFUME. A touch of Irresistible will make you divinely en- chanting, unforgettable! Try it today. Now in odorable Mother's Day Box. 10« at all 5 and 10( stores USE IRRESISTIBLE umtick SfiHianf new reds and mby- tones.Tba Kpstkk tl»ot't WHiP- TEXT to «oy on lonser , . . smootlter , , , 'Kit Snooks: I was afraid we'd be held up. Daddy: What a ridiculous notion! Why should you be held up? Snooks: Well, you was held up last night, when you came back from the lodge. Daddy: Who told you that? Snooks: Mummy did. She said two men held you up all the way home. Daddy: That's a malicious slander! I walked every bit of the way my- self! Snooks: Oh, Daddy. Daddy: Now, don't smirk! It's enough I have to suffer those indigni- ties from your mother without you repeating them! Snooks: I didn't tell nobody. Daddy: Well, make sure you don't! Snooks: Why? Daddy: Because a false rumor will spread that I came home in an inebri- ated condition — and you know I'm a man of regular habits! Snooks: Is that one of your regular habits, Daddy? Daddy: No! And I forbid you ever to mention the incident again! Snooks: Why? Daddy: Don't be aggravating. Snooks. I brought you to this post- office to teach you the virtue of thrift and you're already trying my pa- tience ... Is this all the money you had — thirty cents? Snooks: No. Daddy: Where's the rest of it? Snooks: I sewed it on the back of my pants. Daddy: What for? Snooks: You said to do it. Daddy. Daddy: I told you to sew money on your pants? Snooks: Yeah. You said I should always have a little money to fall back on. Daddy: That's a wonderful inter- pretation. Take off your — oh, no. You can't do it here. Snooks: Why? Daddy: Because it doesn't look nice to come to a postoffice and remove your clothes. Maybe you can go in the mail room. Snooks: Ain't they got a female room? Daddy: I'm talking about the room where they keep the letters! Snooks: Can we read the letters, daddy? Daddy: Of course not! Snooks: Why? Daddy: Because it's against the law to open letters that don't belong to you. They can put a person in jail for reading other people's mail. Snooks: Mummy opens all your letters. Daddy: I know it. But it's different with a man and wife. Snooks: Can't they put her in jail? Daddy: No. Snooks: Why? Daddy: Don't worry — I'm working on it. Put your shoes and stockings on. Snooks: I wanna go barefoot! Daddy: Stop making me sick or I'll tan your hide! Snooks: I wanna play hide and sick. Daddy: That's enough! Put your shoes on — quick! Now, the other one . . . Come on — we're going to invest this thirty cents of yours. Snooks: What's that picture on the wall, daddy? Daddy: It's a reward poster put there by the Federal Bureau to aid in the search for mail bandits. Snooks: What does it say? Daddy: It says "Murderer Wanted." Hmm — let's look at it. Snooks: Are you gonna ask for the job, Daddy? Daddy: It's not a job! Here's the window I want. Give me your thirty cents. Snooks: Why? Daddy: To buy Defense Stamps. Snooks: What's Defense Stamps? Daddy: They're little tokens issued at various prices from ten cents to five dollars, and when you get enough of them you can get a defense bond. Snooks: What for? Daddy: What for? To help Uncle Sam, of course! Snooks: Why don't we help Uncle Louie? Daddy: This is not a real Uncle! Uncle Sam is the guiding spirit of America. You've seen those pictures of that colorful old man with the beard, haven't you? Snooks: Santa Claus? Daddy: Not Santa Claus. Uncle Sam! Snooks: Who is he? Daddy: I told you! He's the patri- otic symbol of this country! Just like John Bull is the symbol of Great Bri- tain. We've had him with us since America was founded! Snooks: John Bull? Daddy: No — Uncle Sam! He's al- ways portrayed as a sort of Yankee character and he wears stars and stripes. Snooks: Has he got a beard? Daddy: Yes. Snooks: Does he wear a high hat? Daddy: That's it! And he gets his name from the initials U.S. Snooks: Who does? Daddy: Uncle Sam. JUDITH EVELYN— who plays Grace Marshall in the NBC serial, Helpmate. Judith came to radio and the New York stage, where she is playing a leading role in the smash hit, "Angel Street," by way of Canada, Hollywood and London, although she was born in South Dakota. If it hadn't been for the war, she would probably still be in London, where she was successful on the stage — but since she was an American the authorities told her politely but firmly to leave the country when war was declared. She crossed the sea back to her native land, appeared in a couple of ploys in Holly- wood, and thus impressed the producer of "Angel Street," who offered her a part in his new show and brought her to New York. 62 RADIO AND TELEVISION IVLERHOH Snooks: Who's he? Daddy: The man I'm telling you about! He represents our govern- ment and everything that's American! And his name is Uncle Sam! Snooks: Does he know Aunt Sophie? Daddy: No! Snooks: Why? Daddy: I don't know. The impor- tant thing is he wants your thirty cents! Snooks: Who does? Daddy: Uncle Sam? Snooks: Waaaahhhh. Daddy: What are you yelling about? Snooks: I ain't gonna give him my It's for your own benefit, If you buy Defense Stamps thirty cents you'll always money. Daddy: Snooks, for that have it. Snooks: I got it now, ain't I? Daddy: Yes, but you might spend it. If you buy stamps. Uncle Sam will get the money and return it to you. Snooks: Will he spend it? Daddy: Certainly. Snooks: No, he won't. Daddy: Why not? Snooks: 'Cause he ain't gonna get it. Daddy: Snooks, this is not only a saving proposition. Every real Amer- ican should buy these Defense Stamps and Bonds, apart from the interest involved. Snooks: What's interest, Daddy? Daddy: It's a premium paid for the use of money — usually reckoned as a percentage. Like interest at five per- cent per annum of five thousand dollars. That means you got back two hundred and fifty dollars at the end of a year. Snooks: Two hundred and fifty dollars? Daddy: That's right. Snooks: How can they afford it for thirty cents? Daddy: Oh give me that money! Snooks: Waaaahhhhh! Daddy: Shhh! Give me three ten cent Defense Stamps, please. . . . Thank you very much. . . . Snooks: Waaaahhhhh! Daddy: Stop crying, Snooks. Here are your stamps. Snooks: I'm glad I sewed the other money in my pants. Daddy: Now, listen to me. You've just done a very noble thing. You're too young to understand, but America today is facing a grave emergency. The President has called upon the financial aid of the entire nation, and you want to help, don't you? Snooks: No. Daddy: Listen. The few cents you've exchanged for those stamps will be put to work instantly. Defense workers are slaving night and day at different projects helping to make an impregnable fortress of this country, to keep our strength so that we may help others. Battleships will be built, airplanes will roll into production, tanks, guns, and even food for the army will be bought. Snooks: All with my thirty cents? Daddy: Don't think it doesn't help! Just imagine if every person in Amer- ica did the same thing! Snooks, strange as this may sound, your thirty cents may save half of the world! Snooks: Yeah? Daddy: Yes. Snooks: Turn me over, daddy? Daddy: I'm not going to spank you. Snooks: No — I want to get the rest of the money and save the other half of the world. MAY, 1942 ''And you're the fellow they called the 'Hermit Crab'! Jt/i "Yes, but I'm living it down fast! Not a bad rhumba for a hermit, hey.'" "It'll do . . . Were you really like people said you were . . . crabby, sour, skinny, down on the world.''" "... like this? I sure was! And worse. But then I learned I had a Vitamin B Complex deficiency." "Say it in smaller words, please." "It's a shortage of those amazing vitamins you find in their natural form in fresh yeast. So I took two cakes of fleischmann's every day in nice, cool tomato juice, and before I knew it, I was ..." "... a man among men again! Nice work. But what's this talk about tomato juice?" "That's the new way to take yeast. Mash a cake of fleischmann's in a dry glass with a fork, add a little tomato juice, stir till blended, fill up the glass and drink. Very tasty, believe me." fleischmann's is the only yeast with all these vitamins: A, Bi, D, and G. And remember, the only sources of the Vitamin B Com- plex are natural sources such as yeast and liver. Remember, too, if you bake at home: Vitamins A, Bi, D and G are not appreciably lost in the oven; they go into your bread! Ask for fleischmann's— with the yellow label. Fleischmann's Fresh Yeast For Natural Vitamin B Complex 63 ^. ^,^>' ...AT A DISTANCE Facing the Music Continued, from page 12 % I Don't lef the nearness of you shatter bis dream. Don't let even a wtiisper of state- ness brand you as the "lady who forgot' to use Cashmere Bouquet Talcum Powder. N SPRING TIME more than ever you need Cashmere Bouquet Talcum Powder. Be- cause, spring with its bright freshness cruelly emphasizes any let-down in your daintiness. So — before you dress, sprinkle Cashmere Bouquet Talcum Powder over yourself. Softly as snowflakes this delicate talcum falls on your body. Dries up lingering moisture . . . leaves your skin pearly smooth, with a super- fine film of protection to guard against chafing. And Cashmere Bouquet Talcum — for dra- matic climax — imparts to your person the "fragrance men love". You'll be sweet, fresh, enticingly feminine. In generous 10< and larger sizes at all drug and toilet goods counters Cashmere Bouquet TALCUM POWDER Another member of ^^ the Royal Family of '^r Cashmere Bouquet _ ^^ Beauty W^-V/L'! PreparationB. TALC POWDEB NETWIIfiHT i 01 i'if E0LC4TE fAlMOUVE-P£ET E£L ' JtflSEV EHY,* J THIS CHANGING WORLD: Jerry Summer has replaced Phil Brito as Al Donahue's chief vocalist . . . Gene Howard is Charlie Barnet's new singer, succeeding Bill Darnell, now a soldier . . . Suzanne, a seventeen year old professional model, is warb- ling with Al Ravelin's band. . . . Jane Fulton is Joe Reichman's new thrush. . . . Charlie Spivak's click in the Hotel Pennsylvania early this year has won him a return engagement in May. . . . Eddy Duchin takes over the band- stand in Chicago's Palmer House April 1 when Xavier Cugat moves on. The tango king is a sure bet to return to the Waldorf-Astoria in New York in early summer. . . . He'll have Tommy Dorsey as a competitor. T. D. gets the roof spot at New York's Hotel Astor. • * * Paul Whiteman, after a long ab- sence from phonograph records, has signed a new contract with Victor. * * * Johnny Messner has concocted a novel way of answering requests for autographed photos of himself and his vocalist. 'The bandleader asks his fans for a ten cent defense stamp. Upon receipt of the stamp, Johnny sends the photo and presents the stamps to the American Red Cross. This scheme has helped fill up six stamp albums to date. FAMILY TREE ALVINO REY, master of the elec- trical guitar and major domo of one of the country's fastest-rising dance bands, has successfully mixed business and marriage. Not only is Alvino's wife, Louise King, an integral part of the organi- zation's vocal department, but so are three of his sisters-in-law. Donna, Alyce, and Yvonne. The latter's hus- band, Buddy Cole, is Alvino's pianist. And just to make the cycle complete, Alvino is sure to get a curt note from his father-in-law every time the band broadcasts a program not up to the usual standard. The King Sisters' dad is a music teacher. In such a closely-knit family cor- poration, there is always the danger of who has the last word. "We girls are always trying to boss each other," admits Louise, "and when we fail in that we gang up and try to boss Alvino. But in his quiet way he just ignores us and takes com- mand." This group owes its formation to Horace Heidt, who discovered in 1933 that he had to hire a new girl rhythm team and a guitar player. The girls he employed were the Kings, a quartet of comely Mormons from a Salt Lake City radio station. Alvino Rey was the guitar player Horace selected. He was a retiring young man who had merged two hobbies — music and electricity — and developed a streamlined guitar. "It was purely a bandstand ro- m.ance," says Louise, who likes to talk as much as her quiet husband likes to eat. "We were always caught hold- ing hands during rehearsals and whispering sweet nothings to each other between sets. It became a stock gag with the boys in the band. But Horace didn't mind. In fact, he en- couraged us." When Alvino was a youngster he thought more about gadget tinkering than rhythm making. But the wail of a local musician's saxophone at- tracted him and he asked his prudent mother to get him one for Christmas. "Definitely not, Alvin," she said. "It's unsanitary." Instead she purchased a banjo for her son. Alvino reconciled himself to the i banjo and started taking lessons. ' However, he didn't neglect his first love — electricity. "At that time," he explains, "elec- trical plug-in radios were just get- ting on the market. I figured I could adapt the same principle to the banjo or guitar. I hooked a wire to the in- strument and connected it to our radio's speaker. This electrical am- plification produced a new effect. Later on I improved upon the effect by removing the guitar's soundboard and replacing it with a built-in mi- crophone." Rey didn't bother to patent his idea. "I didn't see enough money in the venture," he says simply. "There just aren't enough guitar players to worry about. You have to be a com- bination musician and electrician." His new-fangled instrument got Alvino plenty of jobs in bands. When the banjo lost favor in dance circles, Alvino switched to the guitar. A publicity-minded friend suggested that Alvin Rey didn't sound romantic enough so he added an o to his first name. He played for a spell with Phil Spitalny's all-MALE orchestra, replacing the great Eddie Peabody, then joined NBC's San Francisco house band, a post he held until the Heidt offer came. When the King sisters left their Utah home they ruined a plan their father had been nursing for years. He had dreamed of his own all-family band, with himself playing the saxo- phone, his wife the cello, his two sons, Karlton and Billy, the pianos, older sister Maxine the violin, Louise the harp, Alyce viola, and Donna the drums. "The two babies, Yvonne and Marilyn, were being tutored in their musical A-B-C's before rounding out the ensemble. "Now four of us are singers," Louise says; "Karlton is a mortician and Billy is an art student. Maxine has retired to a family life." Louise and Alvino stayed with Heidt a year after they were married. First to quit was Alyce who decided to become a soloist on the west coast. Yvonne left to take a rest and avoid a nervous breakdown. Louise and Donna missed their sisters and turned in their notice to Heidt short- ly afterward. Alvino followed the Kings westward three months later. On the west coast the girls and Rey were reunited and Alvino got the post of musical director of KHJ, Los An- geles. He used the girls in his own band, hired Skeets Herfurt, formerly with Tommy Dorsey, and Dick Morgan to form the nucleus. Air time won them a following and they headed east again where there is more ac- tivity for new bands. The Rey band clicked by stressing the attractive King Sisters, Alvino's guitar work, and plenty of novelty numbers. They jolted the juke boxes RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR 64 and had enough production numbers for theaters and ballrooms to win a spot in a new RKO picture, "Sing Your Worries Away." After a theater tour, the band takes up residence at Meadowbrook, N. J., for a spring engagement and a multitude of CBS and MBS wires, and then will have its first major New York hotel engagement — the Hotel Astor in the summer, following Tommy Dorsey. OFF THE RECORD Freddie Martin (Bluebird 11430) "Grieg's Piano Concerto" — "Serenade for Strings." It is seldom that a band is able to click with a tune similar to one that skyrocketed them to popularity but this platter does the trick for Mr. Martin. Harry James (Columbia 36478) "I Don't Want to Walk Without You"— "B-19." Helen Forrest clicks on the A side with a capable rendition of a hit ballad. The James instrumentation is par for any record course. Jimmy Dorsey (Decca 4132-4122) "I Remember You" — "Build a Better Mousetrap"; "Arthur Murray Taught Me Dancing In a Hurry" — "Not Mine." Disk honors of the month go to J. D. for a quartet of sock tunes from the film "The Fleet's In." Gives Helen O'Connell and Bob Eberly plenty of vocal work although Helen falters at the finish of the Arthur Murray takeoff. Hal Mclntyre (Victor 27777) "Fooled" —"I'll Never Forget." Initial disk of a bright new band that shows plenty of promise in its tuneful shadings and ex- cellent vocalist, Carl Denny. Carl Hoflf (Okeh 6556) "You're a Sap, Mr. Jap"— "We Did It Before." Sauci- est of the new war tunes featuring the Murphy Sisters, a hard-hitting rhythm team. Kate Smith (Columbia 36498) gets properly patriotic with "They Started Something" and "We're All Americans." Count Basie (Okeh 6564) "Harvest Blues"— "Coming Out Party." A low- down tribute to men of Cambridge. The students will like it bat don't play it for any members of Harvard's faculty. Woody Herman (Decca 4030) "Blues in the Night"— "This Time the Dream's On Me." If it's not too late for another version of this great number try this one. Tommy Dorsey (Victor 27749) "How About You"— "Winter Weather." A slick disk that will suit any taste. Guy Lombardo (Decca 4134) "Some- times"— "Happy in Love." In the Lom- bardo pattern with plenty of infectious piano work and Carmen's singing. Barry Wood (Victor 27773) "Couple in the Castle"— "Who Calls." One of the airwaves' better baritones, rolls out a pair of winners worth listening to. Ray Noble (Columbia 36479) "By the Light of the Silvery Moon"— "While My Lady Sleeps." A novel treatment of a nostalgic old favorite coupled with a song from "The Chocolate Soldier." Doc Clayton (Bluebird 8901) "Gotta Find My Baby"— "Clayton Blues." Look- ing for something different? Try this indigo blues lament. (Recommended Albums: Carmen Ca- vallaro's new Decca collection of piano solos, "I'll See You In My Dreams," fea- turing eight dream songs including the title number and "Girl of My Dreams" . . . Cubano Rhythms, played by Arturo Arturos for Victor and just what the name implies . . . Victor's package of "Favorite Love Songs," sung by tenor Frank Munn.) MAY, 1942 High-speed camera catches the motion and grace of Arthur Murray dancers in a Conga turn — all on one film. icon ^ ^och^ster^i, use Odorono Cream . . . Arthur Murray Dancers Do! • Glamourous Arthur Murray dancer Bunny Duncan rushes through her day like a whirling dervish. Yet you'd find her still enchantingly fresh and sure of her charm at the end of her last lesson! For Arthur Murray girls trust Odorono Cream to guard them against underarm odor and dampness. Gentle, delightful to use — non-greasy, non- gritty Odorono Cream ends perspiration annoy- ance safely 1 to 3 days! Get a jar! Dance and still be sweet and appealing when the orchestra plays "The Star-Spangled Banner"! Generous 10^, 39^, 59^ sizes at your favorite cosmetic counter. The Odorono Co., Inc., New York ^Hl>S PERSPIRATIOiV 4WNOYANCE I TO 3 DAK5 I FULL OZ. JAR — ONLY 39?! (Plus Tax) Also LIQUID ODORONO— REGULAR AND INSTANT 65 isTSie tove Just a Dream? ' Carole Landis wifh Victor Mature in "My Gdl Sal" (20th Century-Fox). Carole uses Jergens lotion. I /. .\ \ V-)i. \^ V J .♦' (Lovely Hollywood Siar) YOU can easily help keep your hands desirably soft, flower-petal smooth as Carole Landis does — by using Jergens Lotion. Helps prevent unexciting rough, chapped hands. Gives you almost profes- sional hand care. To help common-looking rough skin to lovely smoothness, many doctors use 2 special ingredients which are in this famous Jergens Lotion. Never sticky! The first application helps you. M ^ '-s FREE! PURSE-SIZE BOTTLE Mail this coupon now — (Paste on penny postcard) The Andrew Jergens Company, Box 3537, Cincin- nati, Ohio. (In Canada: Perth, Ont.) I want to try Carole Landis' band-care. Please send jree purse-size bottle of Jergens Lotion. Name Street — City -State- The Touch of Your Lips Continued from page 39 Brant's did. They drew me close, like two steel bands. I couldn't have moved. Then he kissed me on the cheek, and let me go. For an instant I stood alone, and for an instant I wanted to be back in his arms. He took my hand and led me to the fireplace. "This one I made myself," he said. "I think it's better than the others." I could see why he thought so. The Zuni made their masks in the im- ages of their gods, for whom they felt devotion and great respect. Never having seen the gods, they made them like themselves, but endowed them with supernatural features and qualities. Brant's mask was a gargoyle — an image of himself, but a self for which he had no respect. It was a gargoyle, looking at the world, but not part of it, grinning and mocking at every- thing it didn't believe in. Yet it was compelling — like Brant — and strange- ly frightening. He put his arms around my shoul- ders. Again I felt that twinge of — was it fear? But it thrilled me and quick- ened me. I didn't want him to take it away. I must have moved closer to him, because in an instant I was in his arms, hard and fast and very close. I think it was that night I wrote home and told my mother and father about Brant. I must have written everything I could think of, because three days later Dad sent me a wire. "Answer whether you are all right stop how is health." I laughed when I read it. Even about his daughter's well being, the business man in Dad kept the mess- age to ten words. That evening I called them long distance. They wanted to know more about Brant, and I told them all I could, which wasn't much. They seemed to need reassurance that I was not falling in love with some ne'er-do-well. Was I? I didn't know. I wished that I hadn't mentioned Brant, and I wished, too, I'd been able to tell Mother and Dad more about him. THAT was on a Thursday. I was with Brant every day for the next three days. Knowing him better, I discovered many things. Always there was a core in him I could never reach, and frequently I suspected it was a thing he was ashamed to have other people see. But otherwise, on the surface and to the world, he main- tained that strict mocking guard. Never once did he break it down again as he had during that first silent drive. When he kissed me it was a swift, dangerous bliss that shook me. Then he laughed and joked and be- littled love and everything else I believed in. But still it was a height of ecstasy, and in those three days it came often. Monday Brant took me back to Buena Siesta in the late afternoon after we had been riding in his car all day. I walked into the lounge, expecting he would follow. Leaning over the desk, talking to Mrs. Hath- away, was a man whose back was so familiar and so out of place that I stopped dead. "Here she is now," Mrs. Hathaway said. "George!" The exclamation — sur- prised, pleased — was out even before I had thought what his coming might mean. I wasn't quite prepared for the wave of gladness that swept over me at sight of him. It was good to see a familiar face. Without know- ing it, 1 had been hungry for a friend. When he spoke he was the same George, so sure of himself, so very calm that my pleasure was a little dashed and I remembered what I'd forgotten at first — that in these weeks of sunshine I had grown away from him. "Hello, Jeanette," he said quietly. "You seemed to be enjoying it so much down here I thought I'd try some of it myself." "But how did you get here?" I asked. "In the old coupe?" He nodded. "Made it in just four days." My cordiality, so spontaneous in the instant I'd seen and recognized him, now sounded hollow in my own ears as I said, "It's nice you've come. This is really a wonderful place you picked out for me." George's gray eyes held steadily a moment on my face. For the first time I saw a look in them that seemed to say, I am master oj you because I am master of myself. "Then he looked beyond me, to where Brant had just come in. Very quietly, with a friendly quality in his voice, he said, "You must be Brant. Jeanette has written about you. I'm George Morgan." Brant said carelessly, "How do, Morgan. Jeannie's spoken of you a couple of times." George laughed, still quietly. "That's all a fiance can expect these days— a couple of ^honorable mentions a month." The three of us had dinner together that night. It was a strange meal — Brant trying to be his usual self, but operating under a considerable straip and George even quieter and more self-possessed than usual. There was animosity between them, I could see that, but they made an effort to be friendly and it came off all right. After Brant had gone, George and I sat in the lounge, listening to the radio and talking. Or trying des- perately hard to talk. There wasn't any common ground for us to meet on, any more. I didn't want to hear about things that had happened at home since I left — all that seemed far in the past — and whenever I tried to tell about my life here at Buena Siesta, Brant Whitley crept into the conversation. I would have been glad to tell George all about Brant, how I felt about him and everything, be- cause I wanted to get that unoleasant duty over with. But I could almost fe^^l George refusing to let me tell him. I didn't know exactly how I felt about George's unannounced arrival. Part of me resented it — resented it because it was an intrusion on the carefree dream-life I had found down DON'T MISS NEXT MONTH'S exciting First Nighter Drama, told as a thrilling love story of courageous nnen and women who are working for victory — 66 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR here in this sun-drenched land. But another part of me, a very feminine part, was glad that George had cared enough for me to drive a thousand miles and compete with Brant for my love. Then I laughed at the idea — because just now George wasn't showing any signs of competing very briskly, sitting quietly beside me and talking about Texas roads and the weather he'd gone through on the drive south! He hadn't even kissed me. JUST after midnight, that strange voice came on the radio, as it had been doing every night for the past week. There was a crackling and sputtering that drowned out the reg- ular station, and then very loud, over the noise, the harsh voice roared. "This is a new secret station, set up to bring the people of America the truth," it said. "Your democracy has failed. All efforts to save it are doomed to failure. Unite now to bring yourselves a new life — an orderly life under the rule of a leader who will govern you wisely — " I got up to turn it off. "That sta- tion comes in every night," I com- plained to George. "Leave it on!" Then I looked at him. His face was harsh with rage. I had never been frightened of George, but I didn't like to look at him with that expression. It made me wonder if I had ever really known him. He listened to the end, filled with that slow, consuming anger. "Those people should be put behind bars where they can't spout their filthy lies," he muttered. "Oh, never mind that broadcast!" I said impatiently. It was so like George, I thought, to get upset about some unknown person on the air. Just as it was like him to come all this way to see me and then act as if I were only a casual acquaintance. "That broadcast, as you call it, is more important than you or I will ever be," he said curtly, and a few minutes later stood up and said he was going to bed. Later, alone, I lay awake with a deep sense of unreality. George was as familiar to me as my own right hand, and now, in the strange light and the strange air of Texas he had become in part of himself as strange as the land. And Brant? What was he? What he seemed or something else? And I? Was I Jeanette McClel- lan, who had always lived in North Dakota, a good little only child who said her prayers regularly? Probably that was what George wanted me to be. I felt, suddenly, sorry for George, and knew that I hated to hurt him. But I had to! There'd been a time when I was ready to love him, but he hadn't seemed to want my kind of love. He wanted someone as sen- sible and reserved and — and stodgy — as he was himself! I didn't see George until late the next afternoon. Mrs. Hathaway told me that he'd rented a car early in the morning and gone into town. And Brant didn't come at all. He must he angry because George is here, I thought. When George came back he acted as though he had something on his mind. I was sitting on the patio and he dropped into the chair at my side. "Jeanette," he said. "I've been meaning to ask you how you felt about Brant Whitley." "Why do you care?" I said quickly. MAY, 3942 "Hiesmetestl^^^. / A pity if Dry Skin Wrinkles age Your Face too soon QUICK,"BEFORE-A-DATE" SMOOTH-SKIN TREATMENT Cleanse oif stale powder and make-up with a generous application of Jergens Face Cream. Remove the cream. Now a second (light) application of Jergens Cream; splash with cold water. Such satiny skin! THIS new smooth-skin care for your face is as simple, effective, as the fa- mous Jergens Lotion care for your hands. Just one cream is all you need — the new Jergens Face Cream! Made by the same skin scientists who make your fa- vorite Jergens Lotion. Look ! You use Jergens Face Cream: ( I ) for Cleansing; (2) for Softening your skin; (3) for a suave Foundation; and (4) for a Night Cream that helps your complexion to satin-smoothness. Call Jergens Face Cream your "One Jar" Beauty Treatment. Use it every day. 50fi, 75)4, $1.25; 25?i, 10^ A sensation? Al- ready over 6,000,000 jars have been used ! ALI-PURPOSE...FOR ALL SKIN TYPES FOR A SMOOTH, KiSSABLE COMPLEXION 67 He'd Never Guess Her Age! New kind of face powder makes her look years younger! ONCE this lovely girl looked quite a bit older. For she was the innocent victim of an unflattering shade of face powder! It was a cruel shade— treacherous and sly. Like a harsh light, it showed up every tiny line in her face —accented every little skin fault— even seemed to exaggerate the size of the pores. But look at her now! He'd never guess her age! Is she 19-30-35? She has found her lucky shade of face powder— the shade that flatters her skin, makes her look young and enchanting. How old does your face powder say you are? Are you sure the shade of powder you use doesn't lie about your age— doesn't say you're getting a bit older? Why take that chance? Send for the 9 new shades of Lady Esther Face Powder today! Try them one after another and let your mirror tell you which is the perfect shade for you! Lady Esther Powder is made a new way- blown by TWIN HURRICANES until it's softer, smoother by far than ordinary powder. That's why its shades and texture are so flattering. Send for all 9 shades Find your most flattering shade of Lady Esther Powder. Mail the coupon for the 9 new shades and try them all. You'll know your lucky shade —it makes your skin look younger and lovelier! FACE POWDER Lady Esther, (78) 7134 W. 65th St., Chicago, 111. Send me your 9 new shades of face powder, also a generous tube of 4-Purpose Face Cream. I en- close 10^ to cover cost of packing and mailing. NAME_ ADDRESS. CITY_ _STATE_ (If you live in Canada,wrile Lady Esther, Toronto,Ont.) 68 He shrugged. "We're still engaged to be married, aren't we?" But he did not relax. I could feel the ten- sion in him. "Are we?" I said bitterly. "You've been here a whole day, and you haven't kissed me or wanted to!" "You're wrong, my dear. I have wanted to kiss you." I didn't believe him. "I'm not your dear, and I'm not Jeanette. Why do you keep on calling me those things? You sound like my Aunt Alice." I knew it was hurting him, but I had to keep on. "What does Whitley call you?" His voice was low and controlled. "He calls me Jeannie. And I like it." "Then you must like him." "I do." George got up, and when I looked at his face I saw that it was the same face, but somehow contorted inside so that the strain of trying to keep it the same showed in the muscles and bones. Then he got hold of him- self with a great effort, and leaning over, he touched my hand and asked so that I could barely hear, "Jeanette, would you like to break our engage- ment?" "Yes." The word was out before I had realized how final and easy it would be to say it — and how hard to take it back. "Very well," he said. His voice was flat and toneless now. f TOOK off the ring I had worn for ■■ three years and gave it to him. He took it in his hands and looked at it for a long time. "I — I wish you happiness, Jeanette." "Happiness!" I laughed crazily, al- most in tears. "You come a thou- sand miles to see me. You don't even kiss me, and when I tell you I like someone else better you speak of happiness!" Inexplicably, that stung him. "You forget," he said, "that I came at the insistence of your father." He paused. "I shouldn't really have taken the time." "Oh," I gasped. He hadn't even come here, then, because he wanted to, only because Father had been worried and George had felt it his duty to look after me. I was dismayed. I hadn't wanted him to tell me that. Was it pride? The feminine desire to think he loved me in spite of every- thing? Then he left me, a little angry, but cold, very cold and distant. I longed for Brant — for his hard, demanding arms, and that impulsive warmth. Sitting there, with the sun low in the western sky and that incredible blue above me, some of the primitive heat of the country crept into me. The bright, sharp light was brighter to my eyes than it had ever been. The little sounds around me were clearer. I went to Mrs. Hathaway and asked her to let me borrow the station wagon. "Buy your own gas and it's yours," she said. I wanted to see Brant to tell him that George and I were not engaged any more. I wanted to hear what he would say, and I thought, to feel his arms around me again. I drove furi- ously, still shocked by my encounter with George. And several times I was conscious of how bare my finger felt where the ring had been so long. I rubbed it. It did no good. When I knocked there was no an- swer for a long time. Finally Brant came to the door. He had some tools in his hand and I saw a smudge of dirt on his face. I didn't wait. I put my arms around his neck and made him kiss me. "Jeannie!" He was startled. "You're a new woman. Fight with George?" I nodded. Nor did it seem strange then that he should know. "Come inside. I was just fixing up my radio set." Later, sitting before a fire he'd built, I told him all about George and me. He nodded. "It's so nice," I told him. "I don't have to explain everything to you. You always know before I tell you." "Do you love me, Jeannie?" he said. "That isn't the question," I said. "Do you love me?" "Love you!" he said. "I want you very much." His arms were good! But he made me leave early, before ten o'clock. "You have some thinking to do," he said, "and I want you to get it all straight. I'll see you in the morning." Back in my room at Buena Siesta I lay still on my bed for a long time, outwardly very quiet, but inside a turmoil. I was sure that what I had done was right, and yet I could not keep back those images of George's stony face, so controlled and so tor- tured. When I slept it was for a long time, and when I awakened it was to an- other morning like all the rest. The sun threw the same shadow through my window, and the hand that lay on the coverlet in the bright beam was my own. Yet this was surprising. I knew that this day would be a strange day, and wonderful. Brant would come this morning — and then? I didn't know. W^HEN I walked into the dining " room and saw George sitting there calmly eating his breakfast I almost laughed. It was impossible. George and I had said goodbye yesterday, and he had gone home. He could not be here — and yet he was. "I thought you'd gone," I said. "I didn't think you'd stay here after last night." He shrugged. "Why should I leave? As you say, this is a very nice place. Since I'm already here, I might as well take a few more days and get rested . . . That is, if you don't mind." "I do mind," I cried. "You're deli- berately spoiling it for me, and be- sides how can you stay? You must have a machine instead of a heart!" "A very efficient machine then. Doc- tors frequently admire it. The last time — " I turned and stalked out of the room. At the desk I asked them to send my breakfast upstairs. Before lunch Brant came over. As we drove away from Buena Siesta he said, "All straight, Jeannie?" I shook my head. George is still here." "Still here! Why doesn't he go home?" "He says he might as well stay a few days for the rest." "What kind of a man is he? Can't he understand when he's not wanted?" "Apparently not." "I'll tell him. He's staying here to make you uncomfortable, Jeannie." I nodded. "Take me to your house," I said. "Can't today, Jeannie. I've got some workmen there. You wouldn't like that." A strange thought crossed my mind. RADIO AND TELEVISION IVIIKROR "Workmen for what, Brant?" I asked him. He laughed, carelessly. "My work- shop. I guess I never showed it to you." "No." Then I forgot it. "But that guy George, what's the matter with him? Why is he stay- ing?" Brant's face became a thunder- cloud again when he thought of George. "I guess he's worried about me," I said. Was it relief that crossed Brant's face? "Well, he should go home and not bother you." I didn't see George that night, after Brant had taken me home, and I had resolved not to let him spoil things for me. If he chose to stay I would simply ignore him. But could I? All day with Brant thoughts of George had crept upon me, sometimes slowly and sometimes with a rush so that I had to blink to hide the tears from Brant. The next morning, when I went down to breakfast I kept thinking what I would do if George were there. If I ignored him, would he insist on speaking to me? Or would he ignore me? I almost tiptoed into the dining room. He wasn't there! My heart sank a little, and I thought; This can't be right. But it was. I sat down and started to eat the food they placed before me, without even noticing what it was. I was tense and nervous, waiting for something. Then, entering the room and coming up behind me so quietly I didn't hear him, George spoke. "Jeanette." I didn't turn around, but went on conveying a section of grapefruit to my mouth with a hand that trembled. I tried to stop its trembling, because it was silly to be upset. Everything was over between George and me, and so it didn't matter whether he stayed or went, whether he spoke to me or not. He came around the table and sat down opposite me. "Jeanette, I'd like to ask you not to go to Brant's house today." It was the same George — the young lawyer, telling me what to do and what not to do. "Why not?" I said defiantly. He colored and frowned. "Well — I thought maybe you'd like to go for a drive with me." , IT IS voice was so humble suddenly, ■■-* so unlike him, that for a moment I couldn't answer. It was the first time I'd ever seen him uncertain — the first time he'd ever asked me to do something instead of pointing out that it was the logical, sensible thing to do. I wavered, wanting all at once to say, "Yes, I would like to." But I reminded myself that this was only temporary — once George and I were together again he'd go back to being inflexible and correct. Still, I couldn't trust myself to speak. I jumped up, leaving the rest of my breakfast uneaten, and ran from the room, out to the front of the inn to look for Brant. His car was just pulling into the driveway. He saw me and waved, and when the car stopped I jumped in as I was, without even getting my hat. "Take me away!" I said. Brant looked at me strangely, but he did as I told him. As we left I caught a glimpse of George's face as he came through the door. For a moment I thought he was going to try to stop us. Then he stood motionless, watching us out of sight. "That's a very stubborn guy," Brant MAY, 1942 (^'Jt. MW-5, Ch.cago. (•T. M. Keg. U. S. Pat. Off.) 69 /^^ AVOID LIPSTICK PAHCHinG n U Are your lips in style/ Coty has made it so easy to keep that glossyyglamorous look that every- one admires— thatfimart lips must wear. Into every "SulB-Deb" Lipstick goes a special ingredient toward off chapping — protect against dryneaS, parching! Your lips keep their delicate, flov«r texture— while they wear thrill- ing, high-st/le color! Join the millions who have chani^d to "Sub-Deb"! $1.00 and 50^. f COMPOUNDED AND COPYRIGHTED IN U.S.A. TRY MAGniT RED Ricb^ true, rimfin^ red — blends nith almost alt S' in tones. Other hi^h-fashion co,ors in the (^oty range of 9 flattering shades : GITAnC bright "gipsy' tones BAll luscious, siren shade DAHLIA lovely^ Jlouet -soft TAMAU ultra-chic "Latin" red murmured. "I wish he'd clear out." Something in his voice — something thoughtful and worried — made me turn and look at him. There was a puzzled frown on his brow, and he swung the heavy car around the curves of the road mechanically, as if his mind weren't on driving at all, al- though we were traveling at a high speed. I wished then, without any real reason for wishing it, that I had gone for the ride with George. We climbed the hill to Brant's house, and when Brant stopped the car the desert silence came down like a warm yellow blanket — intensified, more than broken, by the faint hum- ming of the grasshoppers that live in the bushes. Yet Brant stood beside the car, listening intently. "What's the matter?" I asked. He smiled. "Nothing. I just thought I heard something." We went into the shadowy interior of the house, but Brant did not kiss me. He wandered restlessly about the big main room, lighting a cigar- ette, glancing out of the small, deep- set windows. I could feel an inex- plicable tension mounting in the room, gathering, like electricity in the sky before a storm. Brant paced to the back door, the one leading to the kitchen. "Manuel!" he called — and waited for the dark- skinned Mexican who was his only servant to answer. The house was per- fectly still, except for that insect hum- ming from outside. "Where is that greasy devil!" Brant said furiously, and strode into the kitchen. Real terror struck me then — struck me hard, like a blow in the pit of my stomach. It was terror of the silence, of Brant's restlessness, and most of all of the brutal tone in his voice when he left to look for Manuel. Impelled by panic, I started for the outer door. I had my hand on the knob when Brant whirled me around. "Get back!" he commanded. "You can't go out." "But Brant— why? What's the mat- ter?" "I don't know . . . something . . ." NOW the humming was louder — it was not insects, it was a car grinding up the hill at high speed. Brant cursed, under his breath, hor- ribly. Still holding me by the wrist, he dragged me across the room. From behind a chest he took a smooth, wicked-looking rifle. He released me then, but he gestured with the gun. "Come over here, near the door — but not too near. Just so I can watch you. And if you move — !" By the time we were back to the door the car had stopped outside. I heard men's voices. Someone called, "Whitley! Open that door!" There was a tiny, diamond-shaped pane of glass in the heavy oak door. With the barrel of his gun Brant shat- tered it, sighted quickly, pulled the trigger. The explosion was like that of a giant firecracker, and an instant later it was answered from outside. I heard bullets thud into the thick adobe wall beside me and saw splin- ters fiy from the inside of the door. It could have lasted only a few sec- onds, but they seemed endless. Brant staggered back, dropped his gun, fell. I saw blood on his face, and I think I screamed. Then the door had flown open and strong arms were around me, holding me tightly, and a voice I could hardly recognize as George's, it was so shaken with emo- tion, was saying, "It's all right, dar- ling. It's all right, it's all right." Over and over, like a phonograph record. IT WAS much later, after George *- had taken me out of the house that was so sinister now, and was driving me down the hill, away from the men who were now swarming through the rooms, calling to each other and tak- ing flashlight pictures, that I was able to learn what had happened. "Whitley ran that secret radio sta- tion we listened to," George explained. "He wrote and broadcast all that filthy stuff — the Government men are in there now, taking possession of the sending equipment he kept in a back room. I thought I recognized his voice on the air— he disguised it, but there was an intonation you couldn't miss — and the next day, down in town, I ran into Tom Chambers." "Tom Chambers?" And then I re- membered. Months before, back home, FBI men had broken up a local Bund organization. Tom Chambers had been one of the Government men, and George had been able to give him some information he needed. They had become good friends. "Yes," George went on. "He told me why he was down here, and that he suspected Whitley. I knew they planned a raid for this morning. That was why I tried to persuade you to stay home. I guess," he admitted rue- fully, "I made pretty much of a mess of it — I couldn't tell you why, of course, and all I managed to do was make you mad. That's the worst of — of getting into a situation like that with the girl you love." "You do love me?" I said. George slowed down the car, then stopped it at the side of the road. "Love you?" he said huskily. "When I knew you were in danger I nearly died." He made the statement simply, but I was wiser now. I knew that words of love didn't have to be impassioned to convey all that was in a man's heart. George's love was expressed in actions, not words. He had been the first to storm that house where I was in danger, in the face of Brant's bullets. I would not reproach him now for being so cool and correct when he came to Buena Siesta. How could he be otherwise, being George? He'd found me there, infatuated with an- other man, not knowing my own heart — and he'd had the gallantry and honor to let me choose my own road. It was not his fault if for a moment I had made the wrong choice. Nor was it really my fault — only my very good fortune — that a radio broadcast had served to bring us back together. George did not say it, but he didn't have to, because I knew: I had always loved him, but I had taken him so much for granted and been so cold with him that I had almost lost him. It was I who had kept myself aloof, both here in Texas and back home. I was the one who had been cold. But I wouldn't be again. "George," I whispered, "hold me. Kiss me. Never let me go." COMING A NEW SONG HIT BY TED STRAETER 70 RADIO AND TELEVISION IVIIRROR A Romeo for Julie Continued from page 26 when the cruise got under way again. She couldn't possibly see him again — that is, not unless she happened to run into him the next day! It couldn't have been in hopes of seeing him that she spent the fol- lowing day sight-seeing Havana with a thoroughness not to be outdone by the most avid tourist. She inspected Morro Castle, trudged through miles of twisted, narrow streets, drove through sugar plantations, wandered in and out of Sloppy Joe's, and stood for some time in front of the impres- sive Hotel Nacionale. And of course, since she did all this without any idea of seeing Steve West, she had no rea- son to be disappointed when she didn't. The Christohal wasn't sailing until midnight, so that evening Julie re- turned to the casino. But although she stayed as long as she could, watch- ing many people lose money and a few win it at the different tables, there was no young man with a dare-devil smile and an utterly impractical sys- tem of playing roulette. HUDDLED alone in a deck chair, Julie watched the black mass of Morro Castle slide past the ship — and suddenly its sharp, stony lines were blurred by a mist of tears. Because she knew, and would go on knowing for all the rest of her life, exactly what the one man she could love looked like. Nassau — sun blazing on little pink and white doll houses, bronzed native youngsters cutting deep down into clear waters after tossed pennies, a tender to take you from the ship to the shore, more natives begging you to buy fruits, flowers, curios. Julie walked along the main street, idling, looking into shop windows, watching the stream of bicycles spin- ning past — and then her heart turned over as rapidly and completely as one of those very bicycle wheels "How about a carriage ride. Miss? Got a fine, thoroughbred mare to take you to our island's famous coral reefs. You'll see sand as soft as your skin and water bluer than your eyes." He was leaning out of the carriage that had just drawn up beside her, and he was laughing. Julie forgot all about being angry. "Steve!" she cried joyously. "How did you get here? Where have you been?" He laid a solemn finger against his lips. "Shh! I cannot tell you that, Julie. Here on official business — very official." He jumped from the carriage and handed her gallantly up the step. "But it can wait until I show you Nassau. Driver!" he commanded the grinning nafive on the box, "To the very best reefs there are in the Ba- hamas." There had been times in Julie's life when she thought she was happy, but today she discovered that those times had been nothing but pale, washed- out imitations of the real thing. This was the spicy scent of exotic flowers, and the strong beat of waves against the coral reefs, the sun warming her and the breeze fanning the warmth away. It was a sensation of being so alive that her body could scarcely hold its own bursting vitality — and at the same time it was a delicious languor which was exactly like float- MAY, 1942 DURING C0L06 MY FAMILY uses SOFT, fiiBSOReeNT fCleef/eX—^T SOOTHES THeiR. NOSeS— IT SAVeS LINEM HANKieS/ (from a Utter by G W. R.. Philadelphia. Pa.) I^^k! TELL ME ANOTHER Kl££N£X^ we PAY 55.00 FOR. EUERy'TRUE CONf f SSION" Wf PUBLISH ON KLEfNfA' TISSUES. MAIL yOURSTO KLEENEX, 919 N. MICHIGAN AVE., CHICAGO, ILL. BcrUtvc , p, , r Lewiston.Me.) < (from a Utter iy D. J- «-•■ ^ ^^^ ( *Trode Mork Reg. U. S. Pat. Off.) I OReAOED KITCHEN CHORES TILL I DISCOVERED fcceeAfex for HANDLING- HOT HANDLES, WIPING- OUT GREASY PANS/ (from a Utter *> H. E. H.. Lewiston, Me ) CORNS REMOVED BY Your money refunded if not satisfied. The Moss Company, Rochester, N. Y. also Callouses. In- grown Nails relieved. Quick and easy. Just rub on. Jars, 30c and SOc. At your drug- gist. 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With the horse's hooves clop-clop- ping over the ancient cobblestones, they drove out to the reefs, and left the carriage waiting while they walked along the beach, sat on the sand, stood up and walked some more. Lunch-time came, and they went to a cafe in an old courtyard, where a waiter who must have been in love himself at one time, Julie thought, put them at a table a little distance from all the other diners and brought them food such as she had never tasted be- fore. D ETWEEN courses they danced to ■'-' the music of an orchestra which played, not too loudly, at the other end of the courtyard, and before either of them knew it the sun had dipped down behind the red-tiled roof and the day, the wonderful, perfect day, was over. And still she didn't know anything about Steve West, beyond his name and the fact that life with- out him would be as empty as a pair of dancing slippers on the morning after the ball. "Time for you to get back on the ship, Julie," he said gently. "Time to say good-bye." "But . . . won't I see you again?" Pride made her try to keep the ques- tion casual, but instead it came out all quavery and faint. Not again! her heart was crying. When I've only just found you, don't run away from me again! His face changed and the tender half-smile on his lips vanished, leav- ing them straight and bitter. It fright- ened her, because just then he looked almost as if he disliked her. Then he said curtly, "Maybe. Who knows?" "But you can't just send me back to the ship as if — as if you'd lost in- terest in me and didn't want me around any more!" "Aren't you forgetting Edgar?" he asked harshly. Julie caught her breath in amaze- ment. "Wh — what do you know about Edgar?" "More than I'd like to," he told her in a grim tone. "I know that you're supposed to marry him." "I'm not! I mean — " She stopped. How to explain Edgar to this young man who was looking at her now like a judge — who seemed to know so much about her that he might really be what he'd jokingly claimed, an in- ternational spy? "You don't seem to be very sure," he said. "And I guess that means it really is time to send you back to the ship." He didn't go with her. He put her into the carriage and told the driver where to go, and when she looked back he'd disappeared. It was only six o'clock in the eve- ning, but it might have been a few minutes after midnight, and she might have been Cinderella, because that was how she felt. Everything had happened so quick- ly! One minute she had been so happy, and the next all that happiness had been shattered like thin glass and Steve was talking about Edgar with- out ever explaining how he knew about Edgar in the first place or what he thought Edgar meant to her. And then, before she'd had time to collect her wits, it was all over and Steve was gone. "If I'd only had time!" she sobbed, alone in her cabin on the ship. "If it 72 hadn't been so mixed-up and sudden — and Steve hadn't looked so stern and—" She tried to puzzle it out. Could he have only been enjoying himself with her? But no, that couldn't be it, or he would have acted differently when he sent her back to the ship. Almost, she wished she had never met him. It might have been better that way. You couldn't miss love so much if you'd never had it. The dinner gong sounded, but she stayed where she was, and she was still there when the powerful engines far beneath her began to throb and the ship pushed its way, slowly at first and then faster and faster, through the water in the general direction of New York. It was a relief, in a way, to be on her way home. At least New York wouldn't keep reminding her of Steve. It wasn't easy to get through the three days of the return trip, hating the Christobal and everything and everyone on it. She tried staying in her stateroom but the stewardess was too solicitous, continually wanting to know if she were ill. Then she went on deck, but the sight of happy people made her more forlorn. The memory of one wonderful af- ternoon wasn't much to bring back from a holiday cruise. /^N the last day out she wandered ^-^ listlessly over the ship. It was a miracle of efficiency and cleanliness, and she should have been interested, but she wasn't. Exploring it was only a means of helping the lagging min- utes on their way. Hardly noticing where she was go- ing, she went along passageways and down steps, around corners and down more steps, until she was on a plat- form above the engine room. For a while she looked down at the ma- chinery; there was something hypnotic and thus comforting about its lieavy, unvarying motion. But at last she turned to go back — and stopped, one hand pressed to her breast to quiet the sudden wild beating of her heart. A man in a white officer's uniform had just walked along the corridor, past the open door leading onto the platform. "Steve!" she called, above the roar of the engines, and ran after him. "Steve!" She overtook him in the corridor, seized his arm and faltered, "Steve — I don't know what you're doing down here — but you're not — ^you're not go- ing to get away from me until you explain why you're so angry and — and mean — " Steve looked down at her unhappily. There wasn't anything of the young buccaneer about him now. "I'd rather you hadn't found me," he said, "but since you have — Come on in here." He opened a door to a tiny office con- taining a desk, a chair, a few charts and diagrams. "This is my place," he remarked indifferently. "I'm supposed to be learning the shipping business — my father's a director of this line." "How did you know about Edgar, Steve?" She must ask him all those questions now, all the questions she had been too confused to ask before. "I've known him a long time. He knew I'd be on this ship, and when you booked passage he asked me to keep an eye on you for him." "To keep an eye — But why? I don't understand." Steve avoided her puzzled gaze. "I RADIO AND TELEVISION IVIIRHOR think he was afraid you'd fall in love with someone else." "Oh!" Julie breathed. "How— hor- rible." "I told him so. I told him if he didn't have any more faith in you than that, he'd better forget about marry- ing you. That's why he and his first wife, Annabella, split up and got divorced — because he never would trust her. I didn't know," Steve fin- ished, still not looking at her, "that maybe Edgar — had a right — to be nervous about you too." The hot blood flamed in Julie's cheeks. "You think I was deliberately throwing Edgar over, after I'd prom- ised to marry him? But I didn't! I never said I'd marry him!" "You — didn't?" His eyes were on her now, a bright, blazing blue. "You didn't? But I was sure — that is, I took it for granted, that if Edgar wanted me to watch you — you must be engaged." "And so you took on the job!" Julie said furiously. "No wonder you said you were a spy, because you are! A sneaky, nasty spy! It didn't make any difference to you that I might really fall in love." "Julie — I'm sorrier than I can say, about everything. I didn't mean to spy on you — I told Edgar I wouldn't. I didn't even know it was you, that first night in the casino, and when I found out your name I knew I ought to leave you right away, only — I just couldn't — " CHE was going to cry in a minute, and »^ she'd rather die than let him see that, so she whirled and ran out of the cabin. He came after her and caught her hand, and was trying to hold her back, pleading, "I didn't want to do this to you — or myself — or Ed- gar. I've had to fight with myself every minute to stay down here with the engines and not let you know I was aboard. Please don't be angry." He broke off, because a smartly uni- formed page-boy had just turned the corner into the corridor. He had an envelope in his hand. Steve released her, and they stood in embarrassed silence while the boy approached and offered the envelope to Steve. "A radiogram for you, Mr. West." "Oh. Thanks. Don't go away, Julie — please." Hurriedly he ripped the flap open and scanned the message. And after a second of startled incredulity he be- gan to laugh — joyous laughter that swept away Julie's misery by its very infectiousness. "Oh, poor Edgar!" he gasped. "Poor, poor Edgar!" "Steve — what in the world . . ." For answer, he held out the radio- gram. Julie took it and read, "Anna- bella and I are making up and getting married again. I can't face Julie, so will you break the news?" She had to read the words twice before they made any sense, but when they did she felt as if the whole weight of the S.S. Christobal had been sud- denly lifted from her heart. She turned a shining face to Steve. 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After this outburst, he expected to be shown the door. Instead, he was rushed into the manager's office, hired, and put to work on September 1, his twentieth birthday. Jimmy was born in the Oakland district of Pittsburgh, the same sec- tion which contains Carnegie Tech and the University of Pittsburgh. He grew up here, playing baseball and going in for track at Schenley High School. On September 5, 1939, he married Maria D'Amore, who sings on the air in Pittsburgh, and whom he met after entering radio. They have one child, Robert Arthur, born last October, and are one of the happiest young couples in town. But Jimmy still remembers that audition script, and how he might have been out of radio before he started if he'd tried to pronounce the words in it. CHARLOTTE, N. C— Olin Tice, popular announcer on Charlotte's sta- tion WBT, isn't like most people. He honestly doesn't like compliments. So nothing will be said here about his good looks or his excellent singing voice. It's all right, though, to mention that he has a large stamp collection, because it, and the rare specimens it contains, are something Olin has been known to boast about. As an announcer, Olin is equally good at reading commercials, broad- casting the latest news, acting as mas- ter of ceremonies, or getting up in front of a microphone without a script and just talking. It's his sense of humor, though, that endears him to most listeners. As an example of this quality of his, there's the story of Cleo the Cow. Olin was on the air one morning playing records of popular music for listeners. He got bored after a while, and so he decided to have a little fun with some sound effects records. Pick- ing sound effects at random, he came across one labelled "cow moo," and put it on the turntable, remarking that lis- teners would now hear his new air partner, whose name was Cleo. To the great surprise of both Olin and every- one at the station, Cleo's one broadcast made her so popular that listeners wrote in demanding that she be kept on the air. So Olin would pretend to milk Cleo every morning, and would carry on a line of chatter with her — Olin doing the talking and Cleo the mooing. Finally, after a year of this, Olin began to suspect that Cleo's pop- ularity was waning, but he couldn't figure out how to take her off the air. Luckily, about this time Ferdinand the Bull became famous. Olin simply mar- ried Cleo off to Ferdinand and retired her to a domestic life. Olin has always been pretty definite about his ambitions — knowing what he wanted out of life and what he didn't want and wouldn't accept. Only once did he change his mind. That was when he met the present Mrs. Tice. She was a radio commentator, and so attractive and talented that he forgot his vow never to marry anyone even remotely connected with radio. He's never regretted that change of plan. H: * * Two more additions to the growing list of radio shows forced off the air by war and priorities are Kate Hop- kins and We, the Abbotts, both day- time serials. They leave the air to- gether, in the first week of April. Looking smart in her American Women's Voluntary Services uniform, Benay Venuta re- cently starred on a Fred Waring broadcast. RADIO AND TELEVISION IMHRHOR You Showed Me the Way Continued jrom page 17 plenty of everything here on earth for us," he went on. "All we have to do is reach out for it. Here you are, a beautiful, intelligent girl; of course you're here for some reason. And He never intended for you to have that long sad face. He meant for you to smile." "Could you smile," I asked, "if you hadn't eaten for two days?" Alec's mouth dropped open. "Two — days?" he repeated. "That's right." "Oh, oh." He shook his head in dis- approval. "That won't do." Then he brightened. "Now here I have a pocket in my trousers," he said. "If this pocket were generous, it should have — " His hand came out of the pocket, holding one copper cent. "Hm!" he sighed. "Not very gen- erous today . . . Poor little fellow — he's been all alone in there for quite a while." "You too?" I asked incredulously. "But you look so — so — " "Prosperous! Well, I feel that way, really. Honestly I do. You see, I just say to my stomach, 'My friend, the Old Man in the Clouds says it is good to fast once in a while.' And my stomach replies, 'Okay, boss, I've been getting overworked lately anyhow, so I'll take a rest with you.' And both of us, my stomach and I, are quite happy about it." He beamed, but it wasn't the kind of humor I could appreciate just then. "It seems to me your Old Man in the Clouds is letting you down," I said. "Not Him! He never lets anyone down who understands Him. . . . Now, let us just take stock. What do you want? What do I want?" "Food, mostly," I remarked. "Food! Now, where is there food?" He looked all around us, then pointed in triumph. "There, across the street! It says — Automat." "Have you ever been in an auto- mat?" I asked. "Do you know what separates you from the food? Nickels!'-' "Then nickels are the immediate need!" he exclaimed. "Nickels — nickels — nickels. . . . Which way from here is the railroad station?" "Why . . . over at Park Avenue and Forty-second Street. But what — ?" "Come on!" It was a command. "We're going to get nickels." T DIDN'T know, then or in the next ■■• hour, which of us was crazy. Every- thing that had happened since Alec Rimash walked into Miss Patterson's office had the fantastic, weird quality of a dream. And yet — there was some- thing awfully nice about him — about his rugged face, not too handsome but pleasant and cheerful, and his uncon- ventional talk about the Old Man up in the Clouds. For the first time since I'd come to New York, I felt as if I had a friend. That can mean a lot, when you're hungry and lonely and have been locked out of your rooming house because you couldn't pay the rent. Alec rushed me to Grand Central and looked around until he found a long row of telephone booths. Then he began darting into the booths, one after the other, staying in each just long enough to poke his forefinger into the slot where coins are returned. Most MAY, 1942 Don! cover up a POOR COMPLEXION! ■pvoN'T think there's "nothing you can do" ^-^ about externally-caused pimples, ugly chapped lips, tough, dry skin! Instead, try NoxzEMA, the famous medicated cream that was first acclaimed by scores of nurses as a grand complexion aid! Noxzema does so much for poor com- plexion because it's not just a cosmetic cream. It contains medicated ingredients — not only helps smooth and soften rough, dry skin — but also helps heal externally-caused pimples and blemishes! And in addition, it has a mildly astringent action ! Try if on Special Offer! Try Noxzema now! 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He talked around and around it, while Belle waited, her nerves all tight. She was afraid she knew what Lorenzo was going to say. " Belle," Lorenzo said. "Here I am, plodding along from day to day. Would you think. Belle, that a big success was about to fall on my head?" "Go on," Belle said, gripping the arms of the rocker. "Belle — out of the blue, an idea has come to me. Do you follow me, dear?" "I think I do," Belle said. "You're referring to a new idea for an inven- tion." Her voice suddenly found strength. "Lorenzo," she said, "I don't want to be mean or difficult, but you made me a promise that you would give up inventing." "But, Belle," Lorenzo pleaded. "This idea " "No, Lorenzo," Belle said sharply. "This is no time to be inventing. You have your job at the garage. You keep your mind on that and I'll tend to the budget and some day you'll have a garage of your own." "But, Belle," Lorenzo protested, "Anna thinks — " "I don't care to discuss what Miss Hunter thinks," Belle interrupted. She looked reproachfully at Lorenzo. "Lorenzo, I'm terribly disappointed in you. I'm afraid," she sighed, "you'd rather listen to a young girl's flattery, than to your own wife." "Now, Belle," Lorenzo complained, "I think your attitude toward Anna is unfair." "Unfair!" Belle cried, her temper rising. "You've only seen her twice and already she's put these foolish ideas in your head." "My ideas are my own. Belle," Lo- renzo said defensively. "If the young woman sees in me a man stifled by society, his talents going to ruin — " "I'd rather not talk about what Miss Hunter sees in you," Belle said. Then, her voice grew softer. "Lorenzo, let's not quarrel. You promised me you'd give up your inventing and your schemes." "Perhaps I did, Belle," Lorenzo said miserably. TN the days that followed. Belle often -■- wondered if it were possible that her suspicions of Anna Hunter were unfounded. The girl visited them fre- quently, too frequently. Belle thought, but she was always very sweet and friendly to Belle. Yet, every time she did call, after a few friendly words with Belle, Anna always managed to disappear, almost like magic, with Lo- renzo. Sometimes, in the evenings, they would go on long walks together. They spent endless hours in Lorenzo's workshop, sometimes with Lorenzo's friend, Nick Peabody, sometimes en- tirely alone. Belle wanted to be reasonable about it. Aiter all, Anna was a lonely girl in a strange town. It was quite natural that she should want to be friends with everyone. Belle even thought it was very natural that Anna, like most young women of her age, should have her head full of thoughts of romance and adventure. What worried Belle was why Anna saw these things in Lorenzo. At last. Belle more or less forced herself to decide that Anna was only being kind to Lorenzo. Their walks, their long hours together in the work- shop, were surely harmless. In a way. Belle thought it was good for Lorenzo to get a chance to talk about his past exploits. She hoped that if he talked enough, he'd talk the get-rich-quick schemes and inventions out of his sys- tem. What if Anna did flatter Lorenzo? A little flattery couldn't hurt him and might actually make his daily tasks easier. Belle was glad she could look at it so sensibly, but, deep down in her heart, she knew she'd be happy when Anna's vacation was over and she returned to Chicago. COMEHOW, being sensible in her ►-^ thinking, didn't prepare Belle for it, when it happened. It was a night, like every other night and she was making dinner for Lorenzo. She never knew whether it was suspicion, or accident, that brought her into the hall, where she came on Lorenzo at the telephone. His back was to her. She was about to speak to him, when he got his number. "Hello," Lorenzo said, "this the flower shop? I'd like you to send two dozen American Beauties to Miss Anna Hunter." Belle caught her breath. "That's at Jim Barker's house on Ehn Street," Lorenzo went on. "And sign my name, Lorenzo Jones." Belle hurried back to the kitchen, her eyes blinded by quick tears. She lingered over the dinner preparations, hoping Lorenzo wouldn't come in and see her. She fought against the tears, finally mastering them. But she felt cold all over. When she finally put the meal on the table and sat down opposite Lorenzo, her heart grew heavier by the minute, waiting, hoping against hope, that Lorenzo would ex- plain his actions. Lorenzo talked on gaily. Belle found herself thinking bitterly that she had never seen him in such a wonderfully happy mood. Again and again, she wanted to bring up the subject of the telephone conversation, but each time she tried, the words stuck in her throat. If he doesn't want to tell me, she thought, hurrying into the kitchen to hide her tears, then it must be true. Even as she thought it, it seemed unbelievable. After all their years to- gether, their struggles, their shared troubles and happiness — her husband, whom she loved so much, was in love with a silly young woman half his age. Several times, in the long night. Belle wanted to awaken Lorenzo and confront him with the torment and anguish in her heart. She watched him sleeping and, suddenly, she was furi- ous. His evasiveness, the sneaking around behind her back, Anna Hunter's honeyed words, all these things stung her to fury. But the anger passed quickly and left her with a sense of loneliness and frustra- tion. Looking at Lorenzo's face, calm and peaceful in sleep. Belle began to cry softly. Unwillingly, she thought of the past. She remembered the shy, awk- ward young man, whom everyone had thought so impractical, but in whom she had had so much faith. How young and vibrant she had felt then! How RADIO AND lELKVISION MIRROR has the most perfect male figure in Hollywood? A YEAR ago Photoplay- Movie Mirror named Betty Grable as having the most perfect figure of all Hollywood. What interest it created! Now — what about the men? Why not a survey of the males whose phy- siques cause women fans to gasp in ecstasy and gentlemen to gnash their teeth in envy? So, based on the same system by which Miss Grable was selected, the same expert jury has just com- pleted a survey of the outstanding male stars and in the May issue of Photoplay-Movie Mirror the result of this survey is announced — and illustrated. The best male figure in Holly- wood! Is your favorite actor among them? Get your copy of the new Photoplay-Movie Mirror at the nearest newsstand — now — and see for yourself. WER WliHELt the ace columnist, has contributed a stirring article to the May issue of Photoplay-Movie Mirror. Entitled "Keep 'Em Rolling, Hollywood," it is something every patriotic minded reader must be sure to read — and enjoy. LOTS MORE! These are only two of the out- standing arti- cles appearing in the May issue of Photoplay-Movie Mirror, plus the usual generous collection of full color portraits of the favorites of Hollywood. PHOTOPLAY- ISSUE :-: ON SUE sure she had been that nothing could ever stand in the way of their life together, that nothing could stop Lo- renzo from becoming the great, fine man he dreamed of becoming. And she thought of their years to- gether, of all the little things that you couldn't put into thoughts that made any sense, and yet, were so important. She remembered the joys and excite- ments they had shared, the many fail- ures she had nursed him through with a deep faith in his honesty and fair- ness. l^ROM a long way off, she heard the ■*- front doorbell ringing. She tried to blink the sleep out of her eyes, as she pulled on a robe and hurried down- stairs. Judy Peabody stood in the door- way, looking young and sweet in a bright blue coat and perky hat. "Belle Jones, asleep at this hour!" Judy said. "Why it's almost eleven- thirty." "Eleven-thirty!" Belle gasped. "Lo- renzo must have gone to work with- out his breakfast." Something about the way Judy prat- tled cheerfully and vaguely, while Belle had her breakfast, made Belle suspect that she knew about the way Lorenzo had been carrying on. Judy was altogether too gay and aimless. Belle decided to find out what Judy knew. She told her about the flowers, purposely making light of the whole thing. Judy was shocked. "Belle," Judy said, "I think you ought to take Anna Hunter more seri- ously." "Why, Judy?" Belle asked softly, carefully hiding her panic. "I don't think Lorenzo's in any danger." "Maybe not," Judy said unconvinc- ingly. "But she's started Lorenzo in- venting again. And Nick is wasting his time on the invention, too, and I don't like it." The fact that Lorenzo was working on another invention seemed trivial and unimportant to Belle, now, in the light of the greater danger. "What sort of an invention, Judy?" she asked absently. "Something about a tire chain," Judy said indignantly. "Doesn't that sound silly?" "Yes," Belle said, "I suppose it does." "What are you going to do, Belle?" Judy asked anxiously. "Do?" Belle asked, this time not quite hiding her fear. "What can I do?" Judy's eyes grew big and round and angry. "Belle Jones, you're a very- attractive woman — a very lovely wo- man. It seems to me you ought to be able to make Lorenzo forget all about that Hunter woman. All you need is a new get-up, something that will open his eyes and show him how blind he's been." "Oh, I couldn't afford—" Belle be- gan, but Judy caught her up. "You can afford anything that's as important as this. I'm going to take you downtown this minute," Judy in- sisted— and almost before Belle knew what was happening she found herself in the best store in town, trying on dresses and hats and shoes and vivid, bright accessories. She stared at her- self in the mirrors, surprised by the changes a few new clothes could bring about. It seemed as if years had visibly melted from her age. "Belle," Judy gasped at one point, "you look absolutely seductive in that dress. Buy it." Belle blushed. "It's a little daring New cream positively stops *underarm Perspiration Ocfor as proved in amazing HOT CLIMATE TEST 1. Not stiff, not messy— Yodora spreads just like vanishing cream! Dab it on— odor gone! 2. Actually soothing— Yodora can be used right after shaving. 3. Won't rot delicate fabrics. 4. Keeps soft! Yodora does not dry in jar. No waste; goes far. Yet hot climate tests— made by nurses— prove this daintier deodor- ant keeps underarms immaculately sweet— under the most severe con- ditions. Try Yodora! In mbes or jars- 10^, 25<((, 60^. McKesson & Robbins, Inc., Bridge- port, Connecticut. YODORA DEODORANT CREAM HOLLYWOOD ENLARGEMENT "^OF YOUR FAVORITE PHOTO Fi Just to get acquainted, we will make ; ^ you FREE a beautiful PROFES- SIONAL enlargement of any snap- shot, photo, kodak picture, print or negative to S x 7 inch. Please include color of eyes, hair, and clothing for I. ITTTTTl U\\\^ MAY, 1942 grompt information on a natural, life- fce color enlargement in a FREE FRAME to set on the table or dresser. Your original returned with FREE enlargement. Please Bend 10c for return mailing. A ct Quick. Offer limited to U.S. HOLLYWOOD FILM STUDIOS 7021 Santa Monica Blvd., Oept. 262, Hollywood, CalH. 81 and young for me, I'm afraid," she said. "Nonsense!" Judy scoffed. "Buy it!" And Belle did. THAT night, standing before her mirror, all dressed up in the new things she had bought, Belle was not at all displeased with what she saw. Her eyes seemed to have a deeper blueness in them and her hair, after Madame Cunard's treatment, was soft and lustrous. Of course, she thought with a blush, her figure wasn't quite what it used to be. But, on the whole, she was satisfied. She felt like a young girl waiting for a date, when the time drew near for Lorenzo to come home. She was ner- vous and excited and, just like Lorenzo when he was inventing, she couldn't seem to settle down anywhere. She hadn't prepared supper. She thought it would be nice to go out, to show off a little bit, to make Lorenzo feel proud of her. She was upstairs, before her mirror again, when she heard the front door open. Her heart jumped. She calmed herself and then walked out into the hall and slowly began to descend the stairs. Lorenzo had already settled himself in his favorite chair, his face hidden behind the evening paper. "Lorenzo," Belle said, "I've got a surprise for you." Lorenzo's face came out from be- hind the paper. "Surprise, my dear?" His face disappeared behind the paper again. "What kind of surprise?" "Lorenzo," Belle said, sitting in a chair opposite him, "would you mind coming out from behind that paper?" Lorenzo sighed loudly and put the paper in his lap. "Of course, my dear." He looked blankly at his wife. "Now, what's this surprise, Belle?" he asked patiently. "Something special for supper?" Suddenly, Belle felt very tired and utterly defeated. "I haven't prepared supper, Lo- renzo," she said slowly. "You can open up a can of beans and there's some bread and butter and cold potatoes in the ice box." "Hmm," Lorenzo said. "Something wrong?" Wrong! Something wrong! Belle felt all choked up inside. "No, Lorenzo," she said wearily, "nothing's wrong, nothing at all." Lorenzo shook his head. "Golly, Belle," he said, "you're not very gay tonight." Belle struggled against the tears. "Not gay?" she murmured unhappily. "No, I guess not." Lorenzo smiled tolerantly. "A per- son ought to be gay and giddy once in awhile. Belle. It makes you feel good. That's my rule. When things are black, I throw care to the four winds. It's a good system." He stretched, yawned and stood up. "Well, think I'll step into the workshop for a few minutes. You don't mind, do you, Belle?" "No," Belle said. "Let me know when we're ready to eat," he said from the doorway. He paused. Then, "You know. Belle, I was thinking today about all the hu- man emotions, like love, fear, hope and jealousy. Each plays its part — but the dangerous one is jealousy." He coughed. "Usually unfounded — this jealousy business. Do you follow me. Belle?" He closed the door after him and Belle burst into tears. She couldn't remember ever having felt so hope- lessly crushed. He didn't notice any change in her, she thought miserably, not one, single, solitary change. It seemed to her this meant only one thing. Lorenzo really hadn't noticed her for years. For years, their mar- riage had ceased to be a living, vital thing the way she had thought it had been. She had grown older and Lo- renzo had grown younger. DELLE went back upstairs and began ■" taking off her new clothes. She slipped into a housedress, not quite knowing what to do next. Even in her misery, though, she found herself thinking that Lorenzo must be hungry and would be calling for his supper, when he came in from the workshop. She managed to stop crying, before go- ing down to the kitchen, but, as she passed the hall mirror, she noticed that her eyes were red and swollen. She got supper from odds and ends in the ice box. Lorenzo came in whistling. "I'm starved. Belle," Lorenzo said. "So to speak, I'm famished and in need of sustenance." "Yes, Lorenzo," Belle said weakly, keeping her back to him. "Say, Belle," Lorenzo said, "some- thing troubling you?" "No, Lorenzo," she said, in a voice she could barely hear herself. She felt the hot tears on her face again. She felt Lorenzo's hand on her shoul- der and she tried to move away. "Belle Jones!" Lorenzo said in a frightened voice. "Something's hap- pened— something your husband ought to know about." Belle faced him. His eyes were round with surprise. He looked puzzled. "Oh, Lorenzo!" Belle burst into tears. Then, she didn't know how or why, but she was in his arms. She didn't want to be there, but she couldn't resist this one last gesture. Lorenzo stroked her shoulder and (^cvu frelXo lo- PEGGY CONKLIN — brown-haired, tiny and vivacious, who ploys Sue in the CBS serial, Big Sister. Peggy was born in Dobbs Ferry, a few miles -from New York City, and wanted so much to be an actress that she went at it the hard way, getting chorus jobs to begin with and working on up from there to dramatic work. You've seen her in the movies, but she doesn't like Hollywood much. For one thing, she says, the weather is always good out there, and she en- joys bad weather once in a while. For another, it keeps her too for away from her husband, James D. Thompson, a New York busi- ness man, to whom she was married in 1935. Her pet name for him is Bim. Away from the mike, Peggy likes to cook and do housework. 82 talked and talked, but Belle could hardly make any sense out of what he was saying. "Oh, I never thought this would happen to us, Lorenzo," Belle said, getting her feelings a little more under control. "For goodness sake," Lorenzo said, "what's happened?" Belle straightened up. "You know what has happened," she said. "If any- one does, you do." "But I don't know a blessed thing. Belle," he cried. "Tell me, dear, what are you talking about?" "Lorenzo," Belle fought to get the words out, "why don't you say you don't love me any more? Why don't you come out in the open?" "Belle!" Lorenzo gasped. "Don't say such a thing!" "It's true," Belle cried. "That wo- man— " "What woman. Belle?" Lorenzo asked, surprise still written large on his face. "The woman you sent the flowers to," Belle said. "Belle," Lorenzo cautioned. "Don't say it!" "Lorenzo," she said, her voice sounding very tiny and faraway. "You're in love with Anna Hunter — you've — ^you've fallen for her." Lorenzo's expression changed. In the place of surprise, there was indig- nation. "Belle Jones, you're wrong," he stated firmly. "I wish I were," Belle said hope- lessly. "But you are!" Lorenzo cried, "An- na's a nice girl — interested in my career, you might say — but it ends there—" "Don't say any more, Lorenzo," Belle said. "Golly, Belle," Lorenzo tried to put his arm around her again. "Listen to reason. Anna means nothing to me." "Maybe I haven't been so romantic and flattering," Belle said. "I can't compare with her, of course." LORENZO got his arms around her. "I give you my word. Belle. There's only one little woman for me — that's you." "I've tried so hard, Lorenzo," Belle said, her tears soaking into his tweedy shoulder, now. "I've been trying to save money. I've put you on a budget. I've had to do all the little things she can ignore." Lorenzo's voice was desperate. "Belle— I love the budget!" "No, you don't," Belle whimpered. "You hate it. And all I'm trying to do is save enough so you can have a future. I never thought of a reward for myself. But I didn't expect this. I didn't dream that another woman would come along — " "Golly, Belle," Lorenzo sighed. "You're sweet — ^you're practically noble." "But not sweet and noble enough to be noticed, when I get dressed up, the way I did tonight," Belle said. "Belle," Lorenzo complained, "I no- ticed, but — " "Or not sweet enough to deserve flowers," Belle sniffled. "Now, I can explain about those flowers. Belle," Lorenzo said. "And when I do, you'll be ashamed of your- self." Belle sat down at the kitchen table, her back to Lorenzo. "You don't have to explain, Lo- renzo," Belle said. "I certainly do," Lorenzo insisted. RADIO AND TELEVISION MStROB "Belle," he began, "I've been your hus- band for fifteen years." He paused. To Belle, the few seconds of quiet seemed like hours. "Belle," Lorenzo said, his voice rising, "I can prove to you that I have been accused falsely by my own wife. I can prove that I'm inno- cent of any entanglements of a ro- mantic nature. Belle." Lorenzo paused dramatically. "Belle, Anna Hunter is in love with another man!" Belle felt the blood rushing to her head. "Who, Lorenzo?" she asked softly. "With the man she's going to marry, of course," Lorenzo said. "Oscar Him- medinger. And," Lorenzo went on, letting a little hurt creep into his tone, "if you hadn't been so jealous of her little attentions to me, you might have talked to her the way I did and discovered this fact." "But— but Lorenzo," Belle said in confusion, "what about the flowers?" "Yes," Lorenzo said, "the flowers. I sent her those flowers when she told me about her engagement." "Lorenzo," Belle said weakly, "is that the only reason you sent her the flowers?" "Hmm," Lorenzo said. "Yes, Belle." Then, he added quickly, "Belle, I'm not one for fancy phrases, but I mar- ried you because I was in love with you and that feeling hasn't changed." "Is this really true, Lorenzo?" Belle asked, looking at him with a new light in her eyes. "True as could be," Lorenzo said. "Maybe I have been hasty and sus- picious, Lorenzo," Belle said, wanting to cry again. "Now, now, my dear," Lorenzo hugged her tight. "Let's forget all about this. Let's forget Anna and Him- medinger. They have their life to live, let them live it." ""Then, you're not going to see her any more, Lorenzo?" "Well, now," Lorenzo hedged, "she's still a sort of inspiration for ideas." "But, Lorenzo," Belle reminded him gently, "you promised there wouldn't be any more inventions." "Belle," Lorenzo sighed, "you're such a practical woman that some- times it's hard to explain things to you." "Promise me, Lorenzo." "All right," Lorenzo said. "For Heaven's sake, let's not talk about it any more. I'm starving." He kissed her tenderly. "Let's eat." I3ELLE didn't see Anna Hunter for ^ the next few days and she half- feared that, perhaps, Lorenzo had made up the story about Anna's being engaged to Oscar Himmedinger, the head of Townsville's department store. But one morning, a week later. Belle was overjoyed to see an announcement of their marriage-to-be in the Eve- ning Star. That afternoon, she and Lorenzo received an invitation to the wedding. It was a lovely affair. Belle was glad she had bought that new outfit, because Lorenzo exclaimed, again and again, about how pretty she looked and fluttered around her so at the ceremony, that she felt as if she were the bride. One thing, however, threw a shadow across what was otherwise a beautiful afternoon. She and Lorenzo were talking to Anna and Oscar, when Oscar said, "Lorenzo, Anna has told me about that idea of yours and I've advised her against it." Lorenzo gulped and fidgeted and looked at Belle, to see it she had heard. "That so?" was all Lorenzo said. Later, on their way home. Belle asked carefully, "What idea of yours did Oscar advise Anna against, Lo- renzo?" "Nothing, my dear," Lorenzo said quickly. "Nothing at all." "Was it your idea for the tire in- vention?" Belle asked. "In a way. Belle," Lorenzo said, trying to seem lighthearted about it. "You see, Anna was sort of my coun- sellor. I sort of tried out the idea on her, so to speak. I guess now that she's married to Oscar he's against my taking up her time with my ideas." "Hmm," was all Belle said. "Himmedinger is a short sighted fellow," Lorenzo sighed. "There couldn't be any harm in my talking over ideas with her, could there, Belle?" "No," Belle said thoughtfully, "as long as it was only talk. It was only talk, wasn't it, Lorenzo?" "In the strictest sense, I guess it was, Belle," Lorenzo said. "You haven't really got this inven- tion, have you?" Belle asked. "Belle," Lorenzo said, "let's not go into talk about it. I said I wouldn't work on any more inventions, didn't I?" Belle nodded. "Well," Lorenzo went on, "I meant it. Now, what has already been done is different. So let's forget about it." I ORENZO didn't go near the work- '-^ shop all that next week and, happi- ly. Belle settled down to watching the budget and keeping Lorenzo content- ed at the garage. It was a happy and ALL SMOKERS INHALE- BUT YOUR THROAT NEEDN'T KNOW IT! The thing to think about is— what cigarette you smoke. 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SEND NO MONEY with order, just name and ring size. Pay on arrival then wear ring 10 days on mpney-back .guarantee* Rush order now! EMPIRE DIAMOND CO. Dept. TSGMP Jefferson, Iowa ASTHMATIC^ Try Dr. R. Schiffmann's ASTHMADOR the next time an asthmatic attack leaves you gasp- ing for breath. ASTHMADOR'S aromatic fumes aid in reducing the severity of the attack-help you breathe more easily. And it's econoinical, dependably uniform, produced under sanitary J conditions in our modern laboratory— its qual- ity insured through rigid scientific control. \Try AsTHMADOR in any of three forms, powder, cigarette or pipe mixmre. At all ' . drug stores-or write today for a frc - ■■ sample to R. SCHIFFMANN ..CO. Los Angeles, Calif. Dept. N-60. beautiful week, a week in which Lo- renzo seemed to be trying to make up for all the anguish he had caused her during the past month. At times, he was restless and nervous and he had long telephone conversations with Nick Peabody. Except for this, everything seemed to be running smoothly. Then, one evening, Jim Barker and Irma came over for a visit. The two men seemed to have something on their minds. Jim suggested that Belle and Irma go to the movies. "But," Belle objected, "why don't you two come along with us? Lo- renzo, you know you like the movies better than anyone." "Not tonight. Belle," Lorenzo said. "Kinda tired tonight." "We have a few things to discuss about the garage," Jim put in quickly. "Fiddlesticks," Irma said irritably. "Why, you two have all day together to discuss the garage." "We're too busy," Lorenzo said. "Yes," Jim took over, "we have to discuss plans for the new year. You know. Belle," he said warmly, "now, that Lorenzo's settled down, I don't do a thing without his advice." "I'm glad to hear that, Jim," Belle said proudly. "After all, when Lo- renzo invents, our life becomes so complicated. It's so nice when his mind is focused entirely on his work at the garage." Belle might not have thought a sec- ond time about the conversation, if Irma hadn't fussed about it. On the way to the movies, Irma kept harping on how secretive Jim had been of late. Several times during the eve- ning, even during the picture, Irma hinted that she was not at all satis- fied with the explanations Jim gave her for all the extra time he was spending with Lorenzo. Thinking it over, Belle decided Irma was just overly sensitive and sus- picious. After all. Belle reasoned, Jim had been fooled many times in the past by Lorenzo's schemes and thus Irma had been deprived of things she needed. Then, too, they owed the Barkers that thousand dollars, which was no small amount, and she knew as well as Irma did, that only if Lo- renzo worked very hard for a long time would they be able to pay it back. When Irma and Belle got home from the movies their husbands had their heads close together over sheets of paper scrawled with figures. They both seemed perfectly relaxed and contented. Jim, Belle noticed, had never seemed as kindly disposed toward Lorenzo as he was now. She felt a sudden rush of warmth toward her husband. Here he was, spending a quiet evening at home with his boss, discussing the work of the year ahead. This was what she had al- ways hoped for, this genial under- standing between the two men, this serious approach of Lorenzo's to the work at the garage. "What were you and Jim figuring out?" Belle asked, when the Barkers had left and she and Lorenzo were getting ready for bed. "Oh, just some figinres, my dear," Lorenzo said, kissing her playfully on the nose. "Looks like we're going to have a wonderful year." BELLE was terribly happy. Her hap- piness made the next day's work about the house a delight. Around five- thirty in the afternoon, she heard a strange rumbling in the driveway. She ran to the kitchen window. There was a truck in the driveway and some men were dumping snow on the gravel. She stood there stunned. Then she put on her coat and hurried outside. "What on earth is the meaning of Hal Styles, Hollywood radio star, sefs the "styles" for 1942 by resurrecting his grandfather's old three-seater bicycle. His two daugh- ters, Patricia, center, and April, rear, help him run it. 84 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR May True Story Brings a Cargo of Romance — for only J O^ Love What happens when you "fake" an engagement to a dead mil- lionaire and then fall madly in love with his brother during your "bereavement"? Read "UNWILLING WIDOW"— learn how one frantic girl ironed out her matrimonial future! Pathos Dr. Allan Roy Dafoe of Dionne Quintuplet fame brings us an- other gripping tale of simple folks with great souls. "MAG- DALENE OF THE NORTH" in- troduces such a woman whose sacrifice blotted out her past! A torn shoelace, a girl's faith in a coward — and two trapeze art- ists found strength and happi- ness. "HEAVEN WAS WAIT- ING" is a wonderful story of love under the big top — as col- orful as a circus itself! Daring Begin "CHOOSE YOUR MAN" a tense, thrilling new serial novel! Drama "FOR THE WANTING OF HER" — complete true book-length novel tells of fearless fishermen and reckless lovers. Smash Stories Features! and 30 ion Pages of Adventure lOU and Thrills! AT ALL NEWSSTANDS— MAY True Story this?" she asked one of the men, who was busily spreading the snow around. "Ask him," the man said. Then Belle noticed Lorenzo, standing, half hidden behind one of the gigantic wheels of the truck. "Lorenzo," she asked, "are you re- sponsible for this?" "Well, Belle," Lorenzo said, "yes and no." "But why?" Belle cried. "What on earth is going on here?" "I'm doing Jim a favor," Lorenzo said. "You see. Belle, the snow be- longs to him." Belle gasped. "What does he want with snow?" Her eyes narrowed. "And, if it's Jim Barker's snow, why isn't it being put on his driveway?" "Now, Belle," Lorenzo said sooth- ingly. "I'm going to answer when you're calm enough to understand. Jim has a sort of experiment he's go- ing to try out and Irma objects to the snow being on their driveway." "I don't like that word experiment, Lorenzo," Belle said evenly. "Don't you mean invention?" "Loosely speaking. Belle, you're right," Lorenzo admitted, pushing the snow around with his foot and edging awav from her. "Whose invention?" Belle demanded. "I didn't hear you. Belle," Lorenzo said. Belle repeated her question in a loud, clear voice. "Oh — er — Mr. Car- ter's invention." "You mean," Belle said, "that old Mr. Carter who died several years ago?" "That's the one," Lorenzo said. "What sort of an invention?" Belle demanded. I SEE I'd better begin at the be- ginning," Lorenzo said helplessly. "Now, you didn't know it, but I was fairly friendly with this Carter and, just before he died, he showed me this invention of his. A world beater. Belle." "Go on," Belle said with dangerous calmness. "Now," Lorenzo went on," the True- borough Company — the biggest com- pany of its kind in the United States — has professed an interest in this invention. But, in order to demon- strate it, snow is needed. Now, it hasn't snowed for some time, has it. Belle?" "It hasn't," Belle said. "So," Lorenzo said, "since Carter left me sole rights to the invention, I've agreed to cut Jim in, providing he furnishes the snow for the demonstra- tion. It was only a hundred dollars," he said blithely. "A hundred dollars!" Belle caught her breath. She stared at Lorenzo, not quite believing she had heard prop- erly. "Lorenzo," she said forcefully, "what sort of an invention is this?" "Something to do with a tire chain," Lorenzo said, very rapidly, trying to get over it fast. "The Grip Tight Zipper Tire Chain. Interesting idea, isn't it?" he said enthusiastically. "Oh!" Belle said explosively, her anger keeping her from bursting into tears. "Lorenzo Jones, that invention is your own!" "Well," Lorenzo said, "if you want to look at it that way, maybe it is." "It's the invention you've been working on for months," Belle said accusingly. "And you've told Jim Barker it was this — this Carter's in- vention, because you knew he wouldn't he foolish enough to put any money in anything you invented." Lorenzo N6W under-arm Cream Deodorant safely Stops Perspiration !,' !^ 1. Does not harm dresses, or men's shirts. Does not irritate skin. 2. No waiting to dry. Can be used right after shaving. 3. Instantly checks perspiration for 1 to 3 days. Removes odor from perspiration, keeps armpits dry. 4. A pure white, greaseless, stainless vanishing cream. 5. Arrid has been awarded the Approval Seal of the American Institute of Laundering, for being harmless to fabrics. 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But now, with both of them out of work and over a thousand dollars in debt, Belle realized how little it really was and how soon it would be gone. Her very last thoughts before she fell asleep were of Lorenzo — sad thoughts mingled with pity and hopelessness. When she awoke, the sun was streaming brightly into the room. For a minute, it seemed like any other morning and she almost jumped out of bed to hurry down to the kitchen and make Lorenzo's breakfast. Then, with a lost, sinking sensation in her heart, she remembered the night be- fore. She looked over at Lorenzo. He was sleeping and he looked terribly help- less. That was the one quality she had never expected to see in him, helplessness. Before, even in more serious straits, he had always been ready to sail into battle again. But now he looked, as he had last night, utterly defeated. Suddenly, Belle knew what she must do. It would not be pleasant going back to Madame Cunard's beauty par- lor, to face people every day who would remind her of her husband's failure. But, Belle thought, trying very hard to be cold and objective about it, failure or not, Lorenzo had to eat and have warm clothes and a roof over his head. Yes, she decided, if Madame Cunard would have her. Belle Jones would go to work again. At breakfast. Belle told Lorenzo what she was going to do. For a mo- ment, he came out of his haze and looked startled. "Is that necessary. Belle?" he asked unhappily. "Yes, Lorenzo," Belle said, "it is." "I'll look for work myself," he said softly. "You'd better not go out for a few days, Lorenzo," Belle said. "You look peaked." "Do I?" he murmured absently. He was still sitting at the table, star- ing off into space, when Belle left for the beauty parlor. Madame Cunard was delighted to see her. But, when Belle told her why she had come, Madame Cunard frowned and pursed her lips. "Well, Belle," she said, "things are a little close, now." "Then you can't use me?" Belle said, turning to go. "Now, wait," Madame Cunard said. "I didn't say that. Tell you what— maybe putting somebody new on will liven things up a bit." She smiled. "The customers always liked you, Belle." "Thank you," Belle said, her lips trembling. "You're a real friend, Madame Cunard." "Oh, for goodness sake. Belle," Ma- dame Cunard protested. "Now take off your things. You might as well start right now." THE day dragged on endlessly. Belle hadn't realized how exhausted the last few months had left her. When she got home, dead tired, Lorenzo was sitting in his favorite chair, read- ing the paper. Belle noticed that he looked tired and wan, even more de- jected than when she had gone out in the morning. She told him about her day, making believe that it had been fun getting back to work. 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(Only 2 to a customer.) IDEAL PORTRAIT COMPANY P. O. Box 748 H.F., Church St. Annex, New York FRED AllE/lf ...is on the air EVERY SUNDAY NIGHT with KENNY BAKER Portland Hoffa Al Goodman's Orchestra COLUMBIA NETWORK Coast-to-Coast 9-10EWT.8-9CWT.7-8MWT.6-7PWT PfesenfeJ by Texaco Dealers "I'll look myself tomorrow," he said listlessly. But he didn't. That night he began to sniffle and sneeze and Belle wouldn't let him get out of bed the next morning. He stayed in bed three days. Belle spent her evenings taking care of him, trying to perk him up, trying to make him feel some small shred of his old enthusiasm. Lorenzo Jones, without any spark of enthusiasm hurt Belle more, she realized, than the man whose wild schemes and crazy inventions had caused so much trouble. If he'd been angry, sulky and moody, the way he usually was when everything went against him, it would have been easier to bear than this hopelessness that seemed to envelope him. THE first morning he got up, he brought in the mail. Listlessly, he handed it to her at breakfast. Belle, looking worriedly for bills, glanced through the letters. There was one for Lorenzo. In one corner of the en- velope it said, "Trueborough Tire Company." Belle had an idea it was nothing but a formal rejection of the invention. Nevertheless, her hand trembled as she pushed the letter to- ward Lorenzo. "Something for you, dear," she said, hardly daring to look at his face. "Oh, thanks," Lorenzo said. And, not even glancing at the envelope, he tore it open. At first, Belle thought Lorenzo was having a heart attack. His face went white, then deep red, then white again. His hands shook and his Adam's apple moved up and down violently. He seemed to be trying to say something, but the sounds wouldn't comie out. Belle ran to his side. "Lorenzo, dear," she cried. "Lorenzo, what's happened?" When Lorenzo finally found his voice, it filled the room. He jumped up, catching his bathrobe on his chair and overturning it. His shout was deafening. "Belle! We're rich!" Belle's head swam. Her first thought was that Lorenzo had gone out of his mind. She had been afraid that the shock of his failure might effect his senses. He was dancing wildly around the room, hopping up and down. "Listen, Belle," he shouted, waving a piece of green paper and a letter. "A check for a thousand dollars!" Even when Lorenzo had quieted down and read her the letter, Belle found it hard to believe. He read it three times, each time getting niore and more excited. Belle was sure that the most important words in the letter were engraved in her mind for all time. "And," Lorenzo read again, "al- though the demonstration was a fail- ure, basically the idea is a good one. If you will allow our inventors to perfect it, please accept this check for one thousand dollars." "If you will allow—" Oh, Belle thought, delirious with joy, we cer- tainly will allow. "We certainly will allow them to perfect your idea, won't we, Lorenzo?" she said aloud. "We will, Belle," Lorenzo said, his eyes dancing. "We certainly will. Now get me my hat, Belle," he said, his eyes gleaming even more. "There's a certain Mr. Barker I've got to turn into a worm." "Your hat!" Belle laughed. "Lor- enzo, you're in your bathrobe and pyjamas." "WILL MY BABY HAVE ALL I PRAY FOR?" • Health, happiness, strength, growth. Sturdy manhood or beautiful womanhood. All these things and more. And freedom and happiness for Mother, too ! These are the blessings our Baby Editor had in mind when she planned these 12 leaflets for the young mother-readers of this magazine. Such titles as: 300 Names For Your Baby How to Travel With Baby Rainy Day Fun What Shall I Buy Before Baby Conies Time Saving Ways to Do Baby's Laundry The whole helpful dozen of them are yours for just 10c in stamps or coin to cover costs : Just give the ages of your children and address Reader Service, Dept. RM-057 RADIO & TELEVISION MIRROR 205 East 42nd St., New York. The Leaflets will be mailed promptly, and postpaid. SIIK HOSE \m[ Wear Hose We Furnish With Large Outfit J Women Almost crazy over Nylon Hosiery and this sen- eational half price combination offer, with gmaran- teed silk hose. Read these exceptional first week i earnings. E. L.Andrews, Iowa, $35.97; Stella Scott Okla., $36.74;W.C. Stock. Pa., *36. 26. Goaran teed by Good Housekeeping: as advertised therein. Rash J name and address on penny [K>8tal. Wnknft Hosiery Co., Midway ^c-S, Greenfield, Ohio . STOP! BEFORE YOU BUY DIAMONDS— See the world-famous Blu-Brite fiery white Zircon from Siam. Like Diamonds — they dazzle every- one— but are 98fyo less expensive! COCC Write today for FREE * ■» tt Color Catalog. Buy with confidence from America's only distributor of the genuine Blu-Brite Zircon, the "Matura Diamond" KIMBERLY GEM CO., INC. 503 5th Ave., Dept. IHU, N. Y. C. When in N. Y. — Visit our showrooms. makes private-lives public ^ .gives you a lough a minute ^^ EVERY FRIDAY NIGHT 10 O'CLOCK E.W.T. THE BLUE NETWORK 'S DOCTORS WARN CONSTIPATED FOLKS ABODT LAZY LIVER IT IS SAID constipation causes many human discomforts — headaches, lack of energy and mental dullness being but a few. BUT DON'T WORRY — For years a noted Ohio Doctor, Dr. F. M. Edwards, successfully treated scores of patients for constipation with his famous Dr. Edwards' Olive Tablets— now sold by druggists everywhere. Olive Tablets, being purely vegetable, are wonderful! They not only gently yet thor- oughly cleanse the bowels but ALSO stir up liver bile secretion to help digest fatty foods. Test their goodness TONIGHT without fail! 15f!, 30);, 60(J. All drugstores. 88 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR "So I am," Lorenzo said. "Well, just as soon as I can get dressed, Mr. Barker is going to hear a piece of my mind." But, while Lorenzo was dressing, a sobering thought struck Belle. Lorenzo had said they were rich. A thousand dollars was a lot of money, but it was still a hundred dollars less than they owed the Barkers. Belle knew what had to be done. "Lorenzo," she said, when he bounded down the stairs. "You're not going to see Jim Barker." "Now, Belle," Lorenzo said, "a man's got a right to do a little peace- ful gloating — " "Lorenzo," Belle interrupted, "there is a matter of one thousand one hun- dred dollars that we owe Jim Barker and you're going down and hand that check over to him." "Belle!" Lorenzo stared. "Are you serious?" "I certainly am," Belle said firmly. "We owe Jim Barker that money. It's only natural that we should pay it." Lorenzo sat down disconsolately. "I for one," he said, "wouldn't call it natural. I'd call it extraordinary." "Why?" Belle asked. "How many men do you know, who, having suddenly been blessed with a lump of money, would go looking for their creditors?" "Of course," Belle said, "if you mean shady characters — " "Shady characters!" Lorenzo said. "Are you referring to your husband as a shady character. Belle Jones?" "Of course not!" Belle said. "Be- cause I know you're going right down to the garage to pay Jim Barker. Aren't you?" "Well, Belle, loosely speaking, that's just what was in my mind," Lorenzo said. "I'm proud of you, dear," Belle said, starting toward the phone. "I'll just call Jim and tell him you're on the way." BELLE waited until Lorenzo went out and then picked up the tele- phone. Jim's gruff voice was pleasant to hear. Belle let him get in a few very bitter remarks, before she told him that Lorenzo was on his way to present him with a check for a thousand dol- lars. "You'll get that additional hundred dollars we owe you, tomorrow, Mr. Barker, when I go to the bank. And," she added, "I believe you owe Lorenzo an apology." "Now, look. Belle — " Jim began. "Goodbye, Mr. Barker," Belle said and hung up. With a very full heart, she bustled out to the kitchen and, humming a tune, she went to work on the breakfast dishes. It was a very different Lorenzo Jones who faced his wife that night. He told Belle of his conversation with Jim Barker. "Don't mention it, I told him," Lorenzo grinned, "before he even had time to thank me. This thousand dol- lars means a lot to Belle and me, I said, but a debt of honor comes first." He beamed. "He was touched. Belle. Tears of gratitude came into his eyes." "Go on, dear," Belle smiled. "After I gave Jim the money," Lorenzo said, "and he had dried his eyes, we had a little talk. First, we talked about unimportant things and then we got around to a discussion about me and the garage." Lorenzo chuckled. "Jim figured he'd fired me sixteen or seventeen times and each MAY, 1942 If you suffer distress from "Periodic" Female Weakness Which Makes You V. 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Lydia Pinkham's Compound is worth trying! VEGETABLE COMPOUND OLD LEG TROUBLE Easy to use Viscose Home Method. Heals many old leg sores caused by leg congestion, varicose veins, swollen legs and injuries or no cost for trial if it fails to show results in 10 days. Describe yoor troable and get a FREE BOOK. R. G. VISCOSE COMPANY 140 NOftn Dearborn Street Chicago, lllinola IYalkAwayYour CORNS JUST imagine! A corn treatment to help remove corns while you walk! First, the soft felt pad lifts off pressure. Then the Blue- Jay medication gently loosens the corn so that in a few days it may easily be removed. Blue- Jay Corn Plasters cost very little— only a few cents to treat each corn — at all drug and toilet goods counters. BLUE -JAY BAUER & BLACK CORN PLASTERS •«3 FISTULA FACTS Do you suffer pain, torture and broken health of neglected Piles, Fistula or related rectal and colon ailments? Write today for 122-page Free Book.. Learn facts. The McCleary Clinic, C505 Elms Blvd., Excelsior Springs, Missouri. GRAY HAIR KILLS ROMANCE You know that gray hair spells the end of romance . . . yet you are afraid to color your hair I You are afraid of dangerous dyes, afraid that it IS too difficult, afraid that the dye will destroy your hair's natural lustre — afraid, most of all, that everyone will know your hair is "dyed". These fears are so needless! Today at your drug or department store, you can buy Mary T. Goldman Gray Hair Coloring Preparation. It transforms gray, bleached, or faded hair to the desired shade — so gradually that your closest friend won't guess. Pronounced a harmless hair dye by competent authorities, this preparation will not hurt your wave, or the texture of your hair. If you can comb your hair, you can't go wrong! Millions of women have been satisfied with Mary T. Goldman's Hair Coloring Prep- aration in the last fifty years. Results assured or your money back. Send for the free trial kit — so that you may see for yourself the beautiful color which this preparation will give to a lock from your own hair. Mary T. Goldman Co., 7675 Goldman Bldg. St. Paul, Minn. Send free test kit. Color checked. D Black D Dark Brown D Light Brown D Medium Brown D Blonde D Auburn Name Address.— City _ _ Slate. 89 for NEXT MONTH Fop thrilling entertainment, don't miss reading radio's exciting serial as a novelette, complete in the June issue — THE STORY OF BESS JOHNSON In vivid living portraits, see all your favorite people of VALIANT LADY You'll want to begin the novel of young love, WHEN A GIRL MARRIES As gay as one of his own programs, is the story of RED SKELTON'S ROMANCE . ^ Radio Mirror's Song Hit of the Month, Kate Smith's Cooking page, a complete program guide S and other exciting features. On Sale April 24 time it was a mistake. Then I had to admit that it was a mistake those eleven times I resigned." Belle sighed. "It certainly was, dear." "Then," Lorenzo went on, "we talked about the little women, you and Irma." "Oh?" Belle said. "Yes," Lorenzo grinned. "And, if I do say so, you came out more than a fraction ahead, my dear." Belle smiled. "Thank you, Lorenzo." "Then," Lorenzo continued, "Jim had to admit that he was a hot tem- pered, narrow minded fool and he asked me to forgive him." Lorenzo drew himself up importantly. "And then. Belle, he offered me a job as general manager of the garage." "Lorenzo!" Belle cried exuberantly. "That's wonderful!" Jim, as Lorenzo explained it, was thinking of some day opening up a whole chain of garages. There would be a great future for Lorenzo. Already, Lorenzo saw himself as the vice-presi- dent of a chain of garages that stretched from coast to coast. "Well," Belle sighed happily, "let's not look too far ahead, Lorenzo." "Why not?" Lorenzo asked. "That's how most hard-headed, practical businessmen have done it." "Lorenzo," Belle said, "do you really think you can be practical again?" "I am now," Lorenzo stated. "Those days of puttering around the shop and reading a spot of poetry are all over. Belle. For fifteen years, I've played the dreamer and — with what result? A paltry thousand dollars for some idea a child could invent." "Lorenzo," Belle said, "do you really mean this?" "You have my word for it. Belle," Lorenzo said. "I think, my dear, that it's time I changed completely and gave the little woman a break." "This is a very happy moment for me," Belle said, blinking back the tears. "I've always hoped that you'd give up your fancy schemes and settle down at the garage." And, feeling a sudden rush of emotion. Belle threw her arms around her husband and kissed him. "Now," she said, "if you'll let me go, I'll fix supper." Tt DIDN'T take long, at all, to make the supper. But when she went into the living room to call Lorenzo he wasn't there. Nor was he upstairs. Belle sighed and walked to the back door. The light was on in the work- shop. She walked slowly out to the shack and stepped quietly inside. It was the same dirty, disreputable looking old shop, but, suddenly, she felt an unaccountable affection for it. It was the same indefinite attachment she felt for many things that had long since outworn their usefulness, but which she hated to throw away be- cause they were linked with so many joys and sorrows. Then she saw Lorenzo. He was bent low over an old machine, one he had owned for years. She walked quietly up to him. He was poking at the parts, humming, his hands covered with dirt and grime. "Lorenzo," Belle said softly. "Huh?" Lorenzo jumped. "Belle, you gave me a start." "Supper's ready," she said. "All right. Belle," he said, looking around the shop. "Something troubling you, dear?" I Belle asked kindly. "No — no — " Lorenzo said with a catch in his voice. "I was just think- ing. Belle — as long as I'm not going to do any more inventing — I was just wondering what I could get for the old machinery." He sighed softly. "It isn't worth anything, I guess, but we could pick up a few dollars." Belle looked covertly at his sad, troubled face. Her heart went out to him and, as his eyes took on a far- away look, she felt a great pity and love and a certain amount of strange respect for the impractical dreamer who was her husband. "You'd kind of hate to sell it, wouldn't you, dear?" she asked. "Oh, not so much," Lorenzo said bravely, but not looking at her. "It's really no good. Belle. If I had had good machinery, I might have been able to perfect that tire chain myself." His eyes lit up. "You know. Belle, with a few new things in here, well — " He looked at her, then quickly lowered his eyes. "But that's the old Lorenzo Jones." BELLE took one of his grimy hands. "I must be a terrible fool," she said softly, "but I'm awfully fond of the old Lorenzo Jones. How much would the new machinery cost, dear?" "Now, Belle," Lorenzo half frowned, half beamed. "I haven't been giving the slightest thought to how much it would cost. I know we haven't got a red cent and I'm practical and settled down — like I said — for life." Belle was very siarprised to hear herself saying, "I have two hundred dollars, Lorenzo. I'd saved three hun- dred, but I gave one hundred to Jim to clear up our debt completely." "Two hundred dollars'!" Lorenzo gasped. "Why with that — " he stopped. "Belle — you're trying nay mettle, so to speak." "No, I'm not, Lorenzo," Belle said, feeling a little foolish because the tears had sprung to her eyes. "If you want the two hundred dollars for machinery, you can have it." "Belle!" Lorenzo cried. "On the condition," Belle said as firmly as she could, "that you con- tinue your work at the garage, like you promised." "My dear," Lorenzo said. "I'll work my fingers to the bone for you. I'll be so steady and practical that you'll hardly know me. And, Belle," he said, his voice rising to the occasion, "you won't regret this step. Some day," he announced fervently, "the world will be proud of the little woman who had faith in Lorenzo Jones." He paused for breath. "Belle, do you think we could order that machinery tomor- row?" "We'll see," Belle said. "Supper's getting cold, dear." As she followed her excited hus- band out of the workshop, carefully stepping over the old pieces of iron and twisted parts. Belle wondered whether she had been wise. Then she realized with a secret smile that wis- dom and love do not always go to- gether. And she knew that nothing in the world would ever change the dreamy, sweet, impractical and un- predictable man she had married so many years ago. Nothing would ever change him and, deep down in her heart, she knew that she didn't want him to change, really. She loved him just as he was. She always had and she always would. Follow the life of Lorenzo Jones by tuning in on your N ISC-Red station every Monday through Friday at 4:30 E.T. 90 RADIO AND TELEVISION 2VIIRROB UrOW! ALL YOU'VE LOOKED FOR IIV A LIPlSTICK AN ANNOUNCEMENT Head of the House of Tangee, Makers of the ITorld's Most Famous Lipsticks A RE YOU ONE of the thousands of XJL women who have longed for a lipstick with a softer, glossier sheen ...an alluring satin-finish? A lipstick, not too dry— yet not too moist. ..that strokes on so easily, so smoothly, it almost applies itself? A lipstick that stays on — I really mean stays on? After two years of almost ceaseless effort to blend all these qualities^into a single lipstick, we, at Tangee, are happy to offer you our new and exclu- sive Tangee SATIN-FINISh! SATIN-FINISH, we believe, is the most important announcement Tangee has made in years. SATIN- FINISH means that yoa now may have — not only Tangee's gloriously clear shades that blend so perfectly with your complexion ; not only the famous Tangee cream base that feels so sooth- ing to your lips — but the exquisite grooming of a satin-finish that lasts for hours arid hours. So whichever shade you like best —whether it's Tangee Natural, the lip- stick that changes on your lips to pro- duce your own most becoming color —or the more brilliant Tangee The- atrical Red— or Tangee Red-Red, the rarest, loveliest red of them all . . . each now flatters your lips with a new and alluring Satin-Finish. TANGEE RED-RED ..."Karest Loveliest Red of Them All."... harmonizes with all fash- ion colors. TANGEE THEATRICAL RED . . ."The Brilliant Scarlet Lipstick Shade.". . . always flattering. TANGEE NATURAL '...Orange in the stick, changes to produce your own most becom- ing shade of blush rose on the lips. WITH THE NEW SATIN-FINISH "A company that has pleased the women of America with over 100 million lipsticks can't help but learn every possible lipstick requirement," says Constance Luft Huhn, head of the House of Tangee. "We've listened eagerly and patiently to thousands of suggestions and comments — yes, and criticisms, too. And we are con- stantly seeking to improve our. Tangee— to give it exactly those qualities you tell us you want in a lipstick. That is how our new and exclusive satin-finish was created. You wanted it— we produced it!" RITA HAYWORTH Columbia Pictures Star ivith her own Chesterfield vanily-cigaretle case JL n TtlinG too say millions of satisfied smokers . . . for a Milder and decidedly Better-Tasting cigarette, one that's Cooler-Smoking, you just naturally pick Chesterfield. And of course the big thing in Chesterfield that is giving everybody so much more smoking pleasure is its Right Combination of the world's best cigarette tobaccos . . . for regardless of price there is no better cigarette made today. MAKE YOUR NEXT PACK CHESTERFIELDS. . . and enjoy 'em /KCif t^UUSjof r.npyrighr 19-12. Licccn & MvnRs Tobacco Co. '^r^'M I§|| 'in TEMPLE, ^i6r*riUNIOR MISS, Wednesday Evening, an CB * *' t f. »(»'-# '^. .^^.i P ^ %1 *« ?',r j^^f**^ Ift^ COMPLETE NOVELETTE IN THIS ISSUE y OF BESS JOHNSON -Radio's Drama of Dangerous Lov^ VALIANT LADY in Vivid Full Page Picture: KEEP 'EM DANCING-WITH NAILS IN i \..y" own l» c r\ Y's \' i-r ^ / 1 A \^ ^ ^ / 1 ¥ // , i ' / / 1 \d 'r ^/^ ■ Hearts should be goy, laughter iighthearted — and you shouid be iooking your charming best when you date with , men in the Service! You wiii, in these spring shades by Cutex. SADDLE BROWN — gailant red-brown ... a particular compliment to your dashing young cavalryman! ALERT — coptivating, merry rose-red ... to keep the memory of your dear hands burning bright! Wear them gaily and — keep 'em dancing! Only ]0<^ (plus tax) in U. S. j ¥ \ t Northam Warren, New York :wes H^P^nira .41 ■,^ t* -TaBBt-^Jo^/i .v',^ bt'.Xil'AMC 'f^ i You'll star in your own crowd-if your Smile is right I r For a smile that wins friends, invites happiness— help keep yours spar- kling with ipana and Massage. THUMBS UP, plain girl! You don't need beauty to make your dreams come true. Yau can win what you want in life, // your smile is right. You can be popular, successful— a star on the stage of your own special world. But your smile must have magnetic appeal. It must flash freely and unafraid, lighting your face with beauty. It must be big, warm-hearted, winning! For that kind of a smile you must have bright, sparkling teeth that you are proud to show. And remember, spar- kling teeth depend largely on gums that are healthy, gums that keep their firmness. Never take chances with "pink tooth brush" So if there's ever the slightest tinge of "pink" on your tooth brush, see your den- tist right away! He may tell you your gums have become tender and sensitive, robbed of exercise by creamy foods. And, like thousands of other modern dentists, he'll probably suggest Ipana and massage. For Ipana Tooth Paste not only deans and brightens your teeth but, with mas- sage, it is designed to help the health of your gums as well. Massage a little extra Ipana onto your gums every time you clean your teeth. That invigorating "tang" means circu- lation is quickening in the gum tissue, helping your gums to new firmness. Get a tube of economical Ipana Tooth Paste from your druggist today. Let Ipana and massage help keep your teeth brighter, your gums firmer, your smile more sparkling and attraaive. Product of Bristol-Myers Sfa/f toehy with IPANA and MASSAGE JUNE, 1942 ^ Ccff^ ^ .\>j NEXT MONTH COME AWAY, MY LOVEI She felt as though she were im- prisoned on that lonely farm, with her father as jailer — until the rainy night when someone knocked at the door. Here is a short story you won't forget. In Living Portraits— BACHELOR'S CHILDREN Don't miss these exciting pictures of the people whose day-to-day drama you follow on one of radio's favorite serials. A complete program guide, a brand new song hit with words and music, Kate Smith's cooking page, and many more exciting features. On Sale May 27 TO OUR READERS RADIO MIRROR, like many other publications, has had to raise its price. Many things go into the mak- ing of a magazine: paper, ink, the skilled technical knowledge of trained men, ideas. All these things cost more in war-time; and so the magazine they com- bine to create necessarily costs more, too. But although we don't enjoy seeing "15c" on the cover of RADIO MIRROR any more than yon do, there are some aspects of the change that we do like very much, and that we are sure you will like as well. At fifteen cents, it is pos- sible to bring you a better, more dramatic and exciting magazine than we were ever able to publish at the old price. For instance, in this issue, for the first time you are seeing color on the pages of RADIO MIRROR, and a different kind of ink which imparts a greater richness and warmth to its pic- tures. In future issues we hope to introduce other new features, all designed to make up a mag- azine that will be more enjoy- able to read and to look at than ever before, and worth every penny of the price you pay for it. The Editors June, 1942 ERNEST V. HEYN Editorial Director DAN SENSENEY Editor rvxcLlo . ^ flHD TElEVISIOn t/Vli4«^|tor Vol. 18, No. 2 FRED R. SAMMIS Executive Editor BELLE LANDESMAN Associate Editor CONTENTS Edna knew that Red Skelton was the man for her SHELTER IN THE SKY i a a ui lo Why did she see her fiance with critical eyes? ' '^ '' ^"^'^MfetT^ '^'^^ , . ^«- »«-«'- 15 Meet the new Shirley — a real young lady now "^R^ad^^"^ ?^- ^^^^ JOHNSON Margaret E. Songster 16 Radio 8 surrmg drama as a complete novelette ^^BeelT^ MARRIES ««,«« Wu Dou,der 20 Begin the romantic story of Joan and Harry Davis VALIANT LADY IN LIVING PORTRAITS . . 24 Now see how these favorites really look I FOUND MY LOVE gQ Her life with Bob was over, but still she humbled herself YOU'RE THE SOMEONE I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR Ted Straeter 34 Radio Mirror's Song Hit of The Month ^^roeier a* TWO IN THE STORM Madeline Thompson 36 She tried not to love him, but — ™^cllS^I OF MARY MARLIN . ! JVorCon Russell 38 i^onclnding a dramatic novel of modern love ^^\^aS!!7 ^^^ ^^^^u u ^«'« Smith 40 Hationing is no worry with these recipes ^^ynddeJ /IttiHvctumA WHAT'S NEW FROM COAST TO COAST Dale Banks 4 FACING THE MUSIC ^en Alden 6 DESIGN YOUR LIPS FOR BEAUTY Dr. Grace Gregory 10 BANDLEADER OF THE YEAR— GLENN MILLER 33 INSIDE RADIO ^j NOT SO FASHIONABLE 44 I'LL SHARE MY INHERITANCE Eleanor Paull 62 ON THE COVER— Shirley Temple, star of Junior Miss on CBS Kodachrome by George Hurrell C^ldt r?;hf "'Mi:'P'^°"«P'^ ?^ i^ ""'t^*^ States^and Possessions a?d N§wfoundl^d $1 ^ I ye^ In Canada, Cuba, Mexico, Haiti, Dominican Republic, Spain and Possessions and fVntrVi Inri «,;,.th American countries, excepting British Honduras, Br tish, Dutch and Frlic^'cSfMa SI S) ^f^ea?^ an other countries, $2.50 a year. While Manuscripts, Photographs and Drav^nesTre submitted t^' th^ S^t^ML«'^^crS'"y ^*^i""' ^■".i'« "^^^ to return those fountf unavaUabfe Ta^ccom!,a^"e"byiufflciSt flrst-class postage, and explicit name and address. Contributors are especiaUy ad^iSj to be^re to retain copies of their contributions; otherwise they are taking unnecessary r^fc The contend of thi? magazine (Member of Macfadden Women's Group) may not be printed either whblly or in Da?t withmlt ll';Tnf''J?S.- Copyright 1942, by the Macfadden Publications, &c. Title t?ILmar¥ regi'ste^red i5^ US Patent Office, eopyright also m C^ada, reg^tered at Stationers' Hall, Great Britihf Pi^i^ted^in 'the U. S. A. by Art Color Printmg Company, DuneUen. N. J. RADIO AND TELEVISION AIIRItOR ' but can you Catch a Man? V- Luck came your way, Marion! You caught the bride's bouquet. If tradition holds, yoii should be next to say, "I do!" But how can a girl win a husband if she unwittingly turns men away— if one charm-destroying fault chills their interest? Nothing shatters a man's illusions, Marion, as quickly as underarm odor! Smart Girls take no chances of missing out on Romance! iJ Freshen up in your bath or shower! It's a grand start for a busy day or a party eve- ning! But play fair with your bath! Don't expect it to last forever— it takes some- thing more to prevent risk of underarm odor! Keep charming! Never gamble with un- derarm odor! Every day, and after every bath, use Mum! Then you're proteaed for a full day or evening. Never a worry about offending those you want as friends! Plent/ of dates make life exciting for a girl! It's fiin to have a phone that jingles often— charm that nets you a rush at parties. That's why so many popular girls never give underarm odor a chance— every day— before every date— they play siue and safe with Mum! Keep your charm from fading. Each day, and after every bath, use Mum ! Dependable Mum has made millions of lasting friends. For women know they can trust Mum's sure protection. They like its special advantages. Mum is quick! Isn't it grand that Mum takes only half a minute. No fussing, no waiting. Mum is safe! Even after underarm shaving sensitive skins won't resent Mum. It won't hurt your clothes, says the Amer- ican Institute of Laundering. Mum is sture! All day or all evening long, Mum keeps underarms fresh. Without stopping perspiration, it prevents odor. Guard your popularity, make a daily habit of Mum. Get Mum at your drug- gist's today. • • • FOB SANITARY HAPKIHS— Safe, gentle Mum is an ideal deodorant for this important purpose. DSn't risk embarrassment! Always use Mum this way, too, as thousands of women do. '^Jiyi( MUM 1^-^^ Mum TAKES THE ODOR OUT OF PERSPIRATION JUNE, 1942 The Crosbys all wenf to fhe Los Angeles Vicfory House to invest in Defense Bonds. On the counter are twins Dennis and Philip, almost hiding Lindsey. Standing are Gary and of course the Boss himself Jimmie Fidler, expert on the latest Hollywood news, is on Blue Network, Monday night. C^OCL^t to CxHx^t ESTHER RALSTON doesn't play Martha Jackson on the Woman of Courage serial any more, because she's gone to Hollywood to await the arrival of a baby, due in September. Esther's husband is Ted Lloyd, radio commentator and columnist. Alice Frost, who hasn't had a regular role on the air since she left the title part of Big Sister, is the new Martha Jackson. * * * Another expectant mother is Vir- ginia Clark, Helen Trent of the popular CBS serial. She, too, has left the air temporarily, and Betty Ruth Smith is reading Helen's lines. * * * It's Those We Love, the weekly dra- matic serial, that will replace Eddie Cantor during the summer — very good news indeed for all of us who never could understand why some sponsor • didn't take this program an.d keep it on the air all the time. It's to take over Eddie's time in June, and will probably have Nan Grey and Richard Cromwell in the leading roles. * * * CHARLOTTE, N. C— Radio listeners are getting accustomed to learning that their favorite air personalities don't look like their voices sound. But Caro- linians can't quite hide their amaze- ment when they see Sandy Becker, WBT announcer. Sandy tips Father Time's scales at twenty-two, but to hear his voice you'd expect the years to hang heavy on his shoulders. It is a booming, full voice that sounds as though its owner had spent years training it to perfection. WBT listeners can't believe anyone with Sandy Becker's deep voice is only twenty-two. It's a voice filled with expression, emo- tion and worldliness. Yet Sandy Becker has never traveled farther from his birthplace. New York City, than Charlotte, and his face is young and unlined. Once, when he was announcing a By DALE BANKS children's program, he invited listeners to send their children to the studio for an air appearance. Mothers and chil- dren alike were stunned to find that their "Uncle Sandy" had no long gray beard for them to trip over. • Sandy started his dramatic career as the builder and producer of a puppet show at the age of ten. All by himself, he did the voices of his twelve puppet characters. In college, he found radio irresistibly attractive, and left school to take a job on a small New York station. He hadn't been there long be- fore his fine voice was brought to the attention of Charles Crutchfield, WBT program director, who invited him to join the WBT announcing staff. Along with Sandy's regular an- nouncing duties, he presents Poet's Music — a title he originated — at 11:30 every Sunday morning. With recorded classical music as a background, he reads poems that blend best with this type of accompaniment; and some- times he reads poems of his own com- position. His audience on this program is so big that sometimes letters come in from as far away as Ohio and New York. Many of the letters ask him to read certain poems, and he always complies if he can. When Sandy isn't announcing, he is forever lobbying for his host of hob- bies— the most Continued on page 84 RADIO AND TELEVISION ItllRBOB /f" -mi** ^: ...and in a little while she'll be sitting there— ALONE rr'S the same old story . . . men ask to meet her, then wish they hadn't. One dance, one close-up, and her glam- our begins to fade. She knows it too, but she doesn't know why. The world is full of women like that . . . women who might be more popular, happily married, but for one thing* which unfortunately they may not suspect. *Halitosis (bad breath) is the offense unforgivable. If you ever came face to face with this condition, you can readily understand why it might be the death LET LISTERINE LOOK AFTER warrant for Romance. Since you, yourself, can offend with- out realizing it, and since yom- best friends won't tell you, you should take the easy, delightful precaution that so many really nice people insist on. Sim- ply use Listerine Antiseptic every night and every morning, and between times before social or business engagements. This wonderful antiseptic and deodor- ant immediately makes your breath sweeter, purer, less likely to offend. While sometimes systemic, most cases YOUR BREATH of halitosis (bad breath), according to some authorities, are caused by the fermentation of tiny food particles on tooth, gum, and mouth surfaces. Lister- ine Antiseptic halts such fermentation and overcomes the odors fermentation produces. If you want others to like you, if you want to be welcome at parties, never, never omit Listerine. It's a most im- portant part of your toilette. Lambert Pharmacal Co., St. Louis, Mo. A CHALLENGE We'll make a little wager with you that if you try one tube of the new Listerine Tooth Paste, you'll come back for more. JONE, 1942 As revolutionary as his old rippling rhythm is Shep Fields' new experiment in dance bands. GLENN MILLER is the favorite bandleader of Radio and Tele- vision Mirror readers! The bespectacled trombonist scored a smashing victory in Facing the Music's fourth annual dance band popularity poll, winning more than twice as many of our readers' votes as his nearest competitor, Sammy Kaye, last year's champion. Miller's overwhelming lead was never seriously threatened since the ballots started rolling in, although votes were cast for thirty-eight other sweet and swing favorites. The first ten bands in the balloting were: Glenn Miller, Sammy Kaye, Guy Lombardo, Kay Kyser, Horace Heidt, Tommy Dorsey, Eddy Duchin, Wayne King, and Vaughn Monroe. One new band managed to crash through to the first ten" brackets — Vaughn Monroe. The past season has brought Glenn Miller a healthy string of achieve- ments. His recording of "Chatta- nooga Choo-Choo" was one of the year's top platter sellers and it is 6 doubtful if any other band earned more money. In addition, the band appeared in a movie, "Sun Valley Serenade," and will make some more. On the air, Glenn and his men were heard in their twice-weekly Chester- field broadcast on CBS and also in a weekly Mutual show, Sunset Sere- nade, a salute to the army camps. 41 * >K Artie Shaw has a new bride — Elizabeth Jane Kern, the daughter of Jerome Kern, famous composer. * « * The band world lost one of its greatest guitarists when twenty-six- year-old Charlie Christian died after a long illness. Christian is best re- membered for his work with Benny Goodman. * * * The Dorsey brothers are making news. First of all the two brothers plan to make several joint appear- ances in the interests of army and navy charities. Tommy will be a summer replacement for Red Skel- ton, starting June 16, and he got quite a thrill last month when a dis- tinguished looking gentleman with bushy hair pushed his way to the By KEN ALDEN The boys in the band call her "Pokey." Lorraine Benson is Orrin Tucker's new contralto. Los Angeles Palladium bandstand to say, "That's a grand band you have there, Tonnmy." The person who paid the compliment was Leopold Stokowski. * * * The rumor is that M-G-M plans to invest in a new phonograph record company. * • * It will be Sammy Kaye and not Glenn Miller for that new Sonja Henie picture called "Iceland." * « * Out of retirement comes Libby Hoknan, deep-throated blues singing tobacco heiress. She began her comeback in a Boston night club. THIS CHANGING WORLD: Max Kaminsky, great hot trumpeter, has joined Alvino Rey's band . . . Connee Boswell (yes, that's how she spells her name now) switches from Decca to Columbia records . . . Ben Bernie is reorganizing his band and that goes ditto for Casa Loma . . . Charlie Teagarden quit Jimmy Dor- sey's band to rejoin brother Jack's RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRBOR I . . . Although they get no disk billing, that's John Kirby's crack crew ac- companying Una Mae Carlisle on Bluebird records . . . Duke Elling- ton's bass player, Jimmy Blanton, is resting in a California sanitarium after being stricken with a liing ail- ment . . . Benny Goodman is out playing an extensive theater and one-night tour. He returns to the Hotel New Yorker in the Fall. B. G.'s arranger, Eddie Sauter, has re- turned to the fold, following a long illness. * * * Something unique in the band busi- ness is the current "Battle of the Sexes" now amusing dancers across the country. Fletcher Henderson's band alternates on the bandstand with an all-girl swing outfit called "The International Sweethearts of Rhythm." For the last set, the thirty-five boys and girls merge for a torrid finale. * * « Mary Margaret McBride, the radio commentator, has turned songwriter, collaborating with Vic Mizzy and Irving Taylor on a tune called "America For Me." * * * Van Alexander, recently Les Hite's arranger, has started out with a band of his own again. Hite's new scorer is Walter Fidler. * ♦ * Mark Warnow, Hit Parade conduc- tor, has recorded eight of the most popular tunes in the history of that program and Victor will release them in an album. Lightning Strikes Twice for Shep Fields TJfTHEN Shep Fields decided to scrap ^ his commercially successful "rip- pling rhythm" style for a new experi- ment in a dance band without brass instruments, the reverberations could be heard from New York's Radio City to Chicago's Loop. "Why throw away something profit- able for a gamble?" asked one hard- headed friend of the bandleader. "Who ever heard of a band with nine saxophones?" piped another, when Shep enthusiastically outlined his plans for a band that featiired only woodwinds and reeds, without trombones and trumpets. "Nobody will want to hear it," cau- tioned his agent. But to all these pessimistic com- ments, Shep turned a deaf ear. Only his wife, Evelyn, agreed with him and urged her husband to take the risk. . "She was the only one to have implicit faith in my ventxire," Shep says. "Even I got scared when the third rehearsal of my new band seemed to fizzle. I suddenly realized I was tossing away something proved and certain for something the public might snub." When Shep went home that night after the ragged rehearsal, his wife helped Lift his spirits. "Listen, honey," she said, "This is what you want to do. Keep it up. Don't let those Broadway wise boys scare you. If it means that we will lose all we have, we can always start all over again." Today, Shep Fields' brass-less band is one year old and shaking off its growing pains. Its creator and conductor candidly admits that his income isn't as large as it was when he was blowing a straw into a bowl of water for a rippling rhythm Continued on page 52 Enchant Him with New Beauty! go on the Camay mild-soap diet: 4 V, I ■^^^ -*■ ■fV This lovely bride is Mrs. Angus G. Wynne, Jr., of Dallas, Texas, who says: "My com- plexion has a new lease on loveliness since I went on the Camay Mild-Soap Diet!" Try this exciting beauty idea, based on the advice of skin specialists, praised by lovely brides! A SKIN radiantly fresh . . . exquisitely lovely ! What man can resist it? With the help of Camay and the Mild-Soap Diet such a lovely skin may soon be yours. Perhaps, without know- ing it, you have been cleans- ing your skin improperly. Or have failed to use a beauty soap as mild as it should be. Then the Camay Mild-Soap Diet can bring thrilling new loveliness! Skin specialists themselves advise a regular cleansing routine with a fine mild soap. And Camay is more than just mild —it is actually milder than dozens of other popular beauty soaps. That's why we lu'ge you to "Go on the Camay Mild- Soap Diet! . . . tonight!" Even one treatment will leave your skin feeling fresh and thrillingly alive. But stay with Camay and this easy routine night and morning for at least 30 days. Within a very short, while you should see an enchanting . . . exciting new loveliness. GO ON THE MILD-SOAP DIET TONIGHT! Work Camay's milder lather over your skin, pay- ing special attention to the nose, the base of nostrils and chin. Rinse with warm water and follow with thirty seconds of cold splashings. Then, while you sleep, the tiny pore openings are free to function for natural beauty. In the morn- ing—one more quick session with this milder Camay and your skin is ready for make-up. JtTNE, 1942 Their romance was touched with amiable lunacy, and the groom borrowed the license-money from the bride — but Edna knew that Red Skelton was the man for her By JOHN R. FRANCHEY On Tuesday nights af 10:30 EWT, over NBC, you con listen to Red Skelton, who came to stardom by dunking doughnuts. Below, with Edna who, of course, had everything to do with it. SOMETIMES Red Skelton gets to thinking about how close he came to losing Edna Stillwell and he gets cold chills. Without Edna Stillwell, he has admitted on a dozen occasions, he would never have become Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer's inimitable funny man and radio's outstanding new star, the only performer to receive six major radio awards in the year 1941. Not that it would have mattered. Nothing much would have mattered — without Edna. The first time he saw Edna came near to being the last. She could spot his type a mile away — ^breezy, full of tired jokes, a little on the familiar side, and very sure of himself; the type, she had discovered after a mere three months of being a vaudeville theater usherette, that seemed to come and go in an almost uninterrupted procession. So, when Red strolled up to her, without an intro- duction, just before going on that very first day and said, "Now I know why my hand trembled when I was signing for my appearance here," she came back quick as rain, with the sally: "Maybe your conscience was bothering you." He stared, then regained his composure. "Conscience bothering me — phoney, you're terrific! Why Red Skelton at severity-five a week is grand larceny — even in Kansas City!" "You could have hollered for help," she reminded him just before she walked away, leaving him standing there, completely flabbergasted, in the center aisle of the Pantages Theater of Kansas City, precisely twenty-five minutes before the first matinee. For a comedian, he was quickly and easily squelched, Edna concluded at the end of the third day. He did his stint on the stage — mostly not- very-new jokes which for some reason the cus- tomers found outrageously funny — and departed by the stage entrance. He didn't tell her good-bye when he left, as most of the per- RASIO AND TELEVISION MIBROR formers did, but maybe it was all for the best. She had a few rernarks ready for him that would have completed the squelching process. It was a good thing — for him — he didn't show up. It must have been a month later, just about the time she had put him out of her mind for good, when lo and behold! he was back to do a re- turn engagement at the Pantages. He didn't come around the front of the house, and naturally she didn't go back stage looking for him. She did, however, pay a little more atten- tion to his act. It wasn't bad, she de- cided. Still, it wasn't good, either. She had just about decided that he had forgotten the incident — all men are the same — when he ^owed up after the Thursday matinee, some- what subdued, apologized for being an oaf, made a few jokes, and wound up asking if he could take her home that night. EDNA was just a wee bit snippy about the whole affair. She told him she thought she could find her way home by herself that night, but tomorrow would be all right if it would make him feel any happier. Well, he took her home the next night on a trolley car that bounced them around like a milk shake. At the door she said good night, and he tipped his hat and walked away with the same feeling that General Lee must have had in his heart the day he walked away from the historic scene at Appo- mattox Courthouse. She hadn't given him a tumble. The way Edna felt about it is best surmised by this: when Red finished his last performance on the following night she hung around the theater for fifteen minutes pulling up seats and looking for a lady's purse which had never been lost. Red never showed up. And it was her turn to be dis- appointed. She had graduated from usherette to cashier at a local sports palace and was enjoying her work no end, when something quite unexpected hap- pened. She was breaking open a roll of nickels, fresh from the bank, when, for no reason at all, she happened to look up just in time to see this Skelton fellow heading — or so it seemed — ^for the cashier's window. , But, to her amazement he by-passed the cashier's cage and walked right into the sports palace just as if he owned the place. "Who would that be?" she asked the ticket-taker. "That's Red Skelton. He's going to emcee the walkathon next week. Funny fellow, this Skelton." "Very funny," Edna said, "extreme- ly funny — he thinks." If this romance hadn't been en- gineered in heaven, heaven knows it would never have blossomed into a five-alarm courtship. Certainly neither one of them made any^ over- ture toward the other. Although, in a way, you might say Edna did. Ac- tually all she did was to get mad, enter the walkathon, and win it. At which point a messenger of heaven appeared on the scene in the person of a photographer who thought it would be a swell idea if the contest- winner would kiss the master of ceremonies, who had just handed her a cup and a fair-sized check. That's all, brother. Two weeks later they were married, after Red, seventeen, had hiked his age up to nineteen and Edna had ob- tained her mother's rather reluctant Continued on page 46 JUNE, 1942 X r', THAT DEPENDS, little lady, on whether you've discovered this amazing secret — that there's a gen- tle, fragrant soap that gives you "double-protection" against offend- ing . and that it's no longer nec- essary to risk your daintiness with an unpleasant smelling soap! "Dou- ble-protection" may mean double the number of kisses . . . //e/ii/m^y /^a^^a/kfe/ ec/rm/zir ^ IT'S THE TWO-WAY insurance of daintiness Cashmere Bouquet Soap gives you! First, Cashmere Bouquet makes a rich, cleansing lather that's gifted with the ability to bathe away body odor almost instantly! And at the same time it actually adorns your skin with that heavenly perfume you noticed — a protective fragrance men love! pj?or/Ecr/oA/"F^ Yk m^^'s me so/IP p/^/EFs^ c/i5miepe soc/ac/erA SMART GIRL! You appreciate the way Cashmere Bouquet leaves your skin soft and smooth . . . siibtly alluring with the lingering scent of costlier perfume! And even if your face and hands are sJipcr-sensitive, remember Cashmere Bouquet is one perfume soap that can agree with your skin! Be real smart . . . get Cashmere Bouquet Soap — today! Cashmere bouquet THE LOVELIER WAY TO AVOID OFFENDING '/^^f^^, WHEN you put on your make- up, you are actually creating a portrait. With the right cosmetics skil- fully applied, you can bring out your face as it ought to be, as you wish it were. A fine art, surely, worth learning and practicing! Of all features, the mouth most lends itself to this art of make-up. And of all make-up faults, a bad mouth is most disastrous to your appearance and to the impression you create. Next to the eyes, the mouth is the most expressive feature, the most re- vealing of personality and mood. But whenever the mouth distracts atten- tion from the eyes, whether because the make-up is too startling, or un- natural, or badly applied, the result is bad. Perfect lips, whether smiling or in repose, must be part of a lovely face, not give the impression of an ornament applied at random. Lipstick is now so universally ac- cepted and used that a woman with- out it, instead of looking natural, looks rather sickly. But it must be the right lipstick, artistically applied. / Perfect lips are pari of a lovely face. It's a sure guess that beau- tiful Ann Eden, fieard on Aunt Jenny's Stories on CBS, gives extra time and attention to tfte shape of her lips. With so many shades of lipstick available, and the great beauty houses continually coming out with new ones, it is not difficult to find the right one for you. There are some which are becoming to almost everyone, such as the clear true reds, not too light. But the decided blonde or decided'brunette may do well to experiment with some of the other shades and tints. Another factor in determining the right lipstick is the color scheme of your costume. Obviously your lipstick is not going to look the same under a bright red hat as it does under a dark blue or a pastel hat. The lipstick need not match any red you may be wearing, unless you choose. But there must be harmony. It is really neces- sary to keep several lipsticks on hand for various occasions and various cos- tumes. There are three cardinal sins in mouth make-up: smearing, caking, and faulty outlining. Smearing and caking are usually the result of a hasty application of lipstick. Dry your lips thoroughly by pressing a bit of tissue between them. Then apply the lipstick to the upper lip evenly and symmetri- cally, but not quite to the outer line. Work the lips back and forth over each other, being sure to go far enough back. Also, be careful not to smear the outline. Then with the little finger or a brush develop the outline of your mouth just as you wish it. Finally, blot off any excess lipstick by again press- ing a bit of tissue between the lips. Powder lightly over all. Sometimes the very girl who put on her lipstick with the most artistic care in the morning will spoil it all by a nervous habit of hastily dabbing on a bit more at odd times during the day. Too often she does it in public, which is always poor taste, and quite un- necessary. A good lipstick will stay on all day. Of course, after a meal it is a good idea to steal a glance at your mirror, unobtrusively. Then if you see yoiu- mouth make-up needs repair, take the first moment of privacy and repair it, just as carefully as you put it on. You may improve the shape and size of your mouth, within limits. Do not try to go too far outside or inside the actual lip line, or you will have an artificial effect. i^NE of the great Hollywood make- ^-^ up directors says that the test of whether your mouth is too wide or too narrow is this: Look straight into your mirror and smile broadly. The corners of your mouth when smiling should be in a direct line with the centers of the pupils of your eyes. Try this. If your mouth is too wide for your face, make it up full in the center and taper off gradually before the lip- stick reaches the corners. If your mouth is too small, use lipstick to the fullest extent of the corners. But be careful never to make your mouth too thin. And never, never give it an exag- gerated cupid's bow. One more reminder. It is not enough that your mouth should be beautiful in repose. Your smile must show healthy, perfectly cleansed teeth. Now here's a point of etiquette. If you're dining at a friend's home, and your hostess is using her prettiest damask or embroidered napkins in your honor, try not to touch your nap- kin to your lips. Use your own hand- kerchief if you must, or a bit of tissue from your handbag. Finally, keep on smiling! In times of weariness or discouragement never let your mouth droop at the corners, or the expression will grow there, traced in ugly downward lines. When things are worst, find something to smile about, keep your chili up, and smile. RRORHflME and BEAUTY Bt Dr. fiRAIElREGORT New Beauty Shampoo Leaves Hair More Alluring SILKIER, SMOOTHER, EASIER TO MANAGE! <^luniuur for f«ula Nij^hls . . . Enrhaiifhtfi nt*tv Ualr-du! h'ront hair parted in the center^ then sitejit up ami fortvttrtl into ttvu srnootli^ sleeh ri>th. Hair shampaoet/ irilh impmvetl Sptx-ial thette. Thrilling new improvement in Special Drene! Hair conditioner now in it makes amazing difference . . . leaves hair lovelier, easier to arrange! The minule you look in your mirror you"ll see ihe difference . . . after your first shani- jMK) with new, improved Special Drene! You'll be amazed at how much silkier and smoother your hair looks and feels . . . be- cause of that wonderful hair conditioner now in Special Drene. And you'* be so de- lighted, too, when you discover how much better your hair behaves, right after sham- j)ooing! linsurpassed for removing dandruff ! Are you bothered aI>out removal of ugly, scaly dandruff? You won't be when you shampoo with Special Drene! For Drene removes ugly dandruff with the first appli- cation. And besides, Drene dties something for your hair no soap shampoo can do — not even those claiming to be special '•dandruff removers"'! Drrnr ren'ols up Ut 33% more lustre and color brilliance than even the finest sMips or soup shampoos! So, for extra beauty benefits — phis quick and thorough removal of (laky dandrufr — try improved S[)ecial Drene riglil a«ay. Or ask for a professional Drene Sham poo a I your beauty shoj>! l*roctef & G your hair of plamoiir liy uKiii$! soaps or liifiiid soap shampoos — which alHa>s leave a er, too, that Special Drene now lias hair conditioner in it, so it leaves hairfarsilkier.smoothertlianevcrbcforc! Special D R E IM E Shampoo with HAIR CONDITIONER add JUNE, 1942 11 Jl REMEMBER, when I was a little girl, listening for hour after hour to a phonograph record we owned. It was a record of Paderewski, playing the Moonlight Sonata, and it seemed to me the most beautiful thing I had ever heard. I could not listen to it enough. It made me think of a gar- den, flooded with silvery light, where the flowers grew so big, and had such a heavenly perfume, that your heart was close to bursting when you saw them. Then — it must have been when I was about twelve years old — Pade- rewski came to our city, and my Aunt Jane took me to hear him, buying the cheapest seats, up under the roof of the old Opera House. He played the Moonlight Sonata. And when I went home I put my record on the phonograph again. But this time the music was flat and scratchy. I had heard the real thing, and it had spoiled the imitation. Something like that childhood tragedy happened to me years later, after I had grown up and was en- gaged to be married. Only this time it was not a tragedy — though it came very near to being . . . Another girl might have known. But I was very young when I met Ward Mitchell: young in years and even yoimger in knowledge of the world. My parents both died in an automobile accident when I was a child, and I grew up with my Aunt Jane. Dear Aunt Jane, who was so kind but so impractical, so oblivious of everjrthing except the music which she loved and which she taught to others to earn the little income which supported us both! I must have caught some of her inno- cence, just as I caught her passion for music, because when I left high school and went to work as a sten- ographer— in a big echoing room where thirty girls did nothing all day but pound on typewriters — I really knew very little that you couldn't learn from books. Ward Mitchell was the brother of the girl who worked at the desk next to mine. I met him one night at her house. Not that he lived there himself — he had an apartment of his own. It seems incredible that that didn't strike me as being strange, and that I didn't wonder why, when Ward drove a suavely purring car and wore expensive suits, his par- ents' home was so shabby and his sister drudged over a typewriter for sixteen dollars a week. It was enough for me that he was tall, with dark brown hair that waved the least little bit, and that he looked at me as though he was seeing someone beautiful and ex- citing, and not just Carol Brewster who had been kissed, once and very awkwardly, by the boy who took her to the Senior Ball — and, incidental- ly, never took her out again. When Ward asked me out to din- ner, and as a matter of course led me to the most expensive restaurant in town, I was impressed and a little awed and very flattered. When he told me about himself and about his job as assistant production manager of the flour mill, our city's biggest industry, I marveled that anyone so young should have been so success- ful. He talked about himself a great deal, but to me it seemed perfectly natural and proper that he should. And if he treated me a little cava- lierly— a little as if he were the young prince and I the commoner — well, that was not so very different from the way I felt myself. I couldn't believe, then or for months afterward, that anyone so handsome, so popular and success- ful, was interested in me. Even when he spoke of marriage — no, he didn't ask me to marry him — even then, it all seemed like a dream. The girls in the office were frankly surprised and envious when the engagement was announced. They crowded around me, admiring the big diamond Ward had bought, and in their eyes I could read the thought, "How did a quiet little thing like you ever make such a wonderful catch?" Only Alice, Ward's sister, was re- served in her congratulations. "If I didn't like you so well," she remarked, "I'd feel better about see- ing you marry Ward." Then, seeing the amazement in my face, she added hurriedly, "Oh, I don't mean there's anything wrong with him — he's just not the easiest person in the world to get along with. But I suppose if you love him — ^you do love him?" "Why — of course . . ." "Umm — it doesn't seem possible, but after all, I'm his sister, and I guess it's hard for a sister to feel romantic about her brother. Any- way, honey, I hope you're very happy. You deserve to be." She said this so sincerely I knew she meant it. I tried to ask. Ward, one night, ' i| f > 1 Adapted by Judy Ashley from a radio drama by Ann Barley, first broadcast on the Theater of Today, spon- sored by the Armstrong Cork Company and heard Saturdays at 12 noon, EWT, over the CBS network. ^-^"■^ jMki Carol was sure she loved Ward — he was her fiance. Why then did she imagine his voice was louder than usual, his smile more persistent, his air more proprietary? For only one moment his arm y(as around me. But in that moment — T T \ REMEMBER, when I was a little Kirl, listeninK for hour after hour to ii phonograph record we owned. It was n record of Padcrewski, playing the Moonlight Sonata, and it seemed to me the most beautiful thing I had ever heard. I could not listen to it enough. It made mo think of a gar- den, flooded with silvery light, where the (lowers grew so big, and had such a heavenly perfume, that your heart was close to bursting when you saw them. Then — It must have been when I was about twelve years old — Padc- rewski came to our city, and my Aunt Jane took me to hear him. buying the cheapest seats, up under the roof of the old Opera House. He played the Moonlight Sonata. And when I went home I put my record on the phonograph again. But this time the music was flat and scratchy. I had heai-d the real thing, and it had spoiled the imitation. Something like that childhood tragedy happened to mo years later, after I had grown up and was en- gaged to be nuirried. Only this time it was not a tragedy — though it canie very near to being . . . Another girl might have known. But I was very yovmg when I met Ward Mitchell: young in years and oven younger in knowledge of the world. My parei^ts both died in an automobile accident when 1 was a chiUl, and 1 grew up with my Aunt Jano. Dear Aimt Jane, who was so kind but so impractical, so oblivious of everything except the music which she loved and which she taught to others to earn the little income which supported us both! I must have caught some of her inno- cence, just as I caught her passion for music, because when I left high school and went to work as a sten- ographer— in a big echoing room where thirty girls did nothing all day but pound on typewriters — I really knew very little that you couldn't learn from books. Ward Mitchell was the brother of the girl who worked at the desk next to mine. I met him one night at her house. Not that he lived there himself — he had an apartment of his own. It seems incredible that that didn't strike me as being strange, and that I didn't wonder why, when Ward drove a suavely purring car and wore expensive suits, his par- ents' home was so shabby and his sister drudged over a typewriter for sixteen dollars a week. It was enough for me that he was tall, with dark brown hair that waved the least little bit, and that he looked at me as though he was seeing someone beautiful and ex- citing, and not just Carol Brewster who had been kissed, once and very awkwardly, by the boy who took her to the Senior Ball — and, incidental- ly, never took her out again. When Ward asked me out to din- ner, and as a matter of course led me to the most expensive restaurant in town, I was impressed and a little awed and very flattered. When he told me about himself and about his job as assistant production manager of the flour mill, our city's biggest industry, I marveled that anyone so young should have been so success- ful. He talked about himself a great deal, but to me it seemed perfectly natural and proper that he should. And if he treated me a little cava- lierly— a little as if he were the young prince and I the commoner — well, that was not so very different from the way I felt myself. I couldn't believe, then or for months afterward, that anyone so handsome, so popular and success.- ful, was interested in me. Even when he spoke of marriage — no, he didn't ask me to marry him — even then, it all seemed like a dream. The girls in the office were frankly surprised and envious when the engagement was announced. They crowded around me, admiring the big diamond Ward had bought, and in their eyes I could read the thought, "How did a quiet little thing like you ever make such a wonderful catch?" Only Alice, Ward's sister, was re- served in her congratulations. "If I didn't like you so well," she remarked, "I'd feel better about see- ing you marry Ward." Then, seeing the amazement in my face, she added hurriedly, "Oh, I don't mean there's anything wrong with him— he's just not the easiest person in the world to get along with. But I suppose if you love him — you do love him?" "Why — of course . . ." "Umm — it doesn't seem possible, but after all, I'm his sister, and I guess it's hard for a sister to feel romantic about her brother. Any- way, honey, I hope you're very happy. You deserve to be." She said this so sincerely I knew she meant it. I tried to ask Ward, one night. Adopl.d bv Judy Alhl.y from a radio dromo by Ann Borl.y firit bronjrn,. „ ik tl i , t j • in Carol was sure she loved Ward —he was her jianck. Why then did she imagine his voice was louder than usual, his smile more persistent, his air more proprietary? For only ont momtni hh orm tyoi around ma. Buf in fhaf momtnf — ..V. why he wanted to marry me. "Happy?" he'd asked. It was a winter night, and we were sitting in his car, out in front of my house, snug and warm with the windows all up against the cold. "Of course," I said, snuggling down closer into the curve of his arm. "Only ..." "Only what?" "Only it doesn't seem quite real. That you and I are going to be mar- ried, I mean." He laughed indulgently. "Well, we are." WARD," I said hesitatingly, "do you know — you've never said you loved me?" "Haven't I? Then I'll say it now. I love you . . . Does that make it seem more real?" "Yes. Some. Maybe, if you told me why you loved me — " Again Ward laughed. "Because you're a funny little thing. Because your nose turns up at the end, and has freckles on it, and because you come up to my shoulder, and be- cause— " his voice lost its tone of bantering raillery, and became more serious — "because you're not so very clever, and you know it, and you'll never try to boss me. Because you don't smoke or drink, like all the debs up on the hill." I had asked for reasons, and I got them. Perhaps more than I really wanted, in my heart. It was to be a big wedding. Ward had a great many friends, and wanted them all to be present, first in the church and later at a reception that would be held at the Plaza Hotel. I worried a little about the expense, but Ward laughed and said to leave all that to him — it would cost a lot, but it would be a good investment. Of course I quit my job as soon as we were engaged — Ward wanted me to — but there was so much to do, and so many new people to meet, that I seemed to be busier than I ever had been when I was working. I lost weight, and felt tired most of the time, and in March I caught a^ cold that kept me in bed two whole weeks. Ward sent flowers every day, and came to see me whenever he could. But I couldn't help seeing that he was vexed because I was ill. Not at me — just at circumstances. "But no more of this running around all day and half the night," the doctor said severely on the day I finally got out of bed. "You were overdoing things — that's why you caught the cold in the first place." "I'll be careful," I promised. "Hmm — well," he said dubiously, and glanced at Aunt Jane, who was in the room with us. "See that she does." But I suppose even he real- ized the impossibility of Aunt Jane, in her vague way, trying to control anyone else, because he added, "The best thing, really, would be for Carol to get out of the city for a couple of weeks — ^go where she could have plenty of fresh air and sunshine. Could that be arranged?" Aunt Jane considered a moment — and then said surprisingly, "I don't see why not. I have a little money saved up that I was going to buy you a wedding present with, Carol. But I don't see what better present I could give you than a rest that would make you well and strong again . . . And I wouldn't mind hav- ing a little vacation myself." And that was how, late in March, Aunt Jane and I happened to go to Watch Hill Manor, up in the northern part of the state. The choice of the place to go was Ward's; and after all, the Manor wasn't so very expensive, because it was be- tween seasons — too late for the win- ter sports enthusiasts, much too early for the summer vacationists. But this was in the spring. There was still snow on the slopes of Watch Hill — good snow for skiing. Strange, to think that if it had been an early spring, if the snow had al- ready been gone when I came there, I might never have learned the dif- ference between the true and the false. There weren't many people at the Manor, although the weather was perfect — clear and cold, like mid- winter. The first couple of days I was content to do very little but take short walks or sit with Aunt Jane listening to the magnificent phonograph and large stock of rec- ords they had in the library. Then, as I grew stronger, I felt lonely. I wished Ward could be here with me, enjojdng the loveliness of the coun- tryside-^-bare and ready for the first touch of spring down in the valley where the Inn was, still held tight by winter up on the mountains. I felt adventurous, too. I wished I could ski, but I'd never learned. There were skis leaning against the wall of a glassed-in porch at the end of the hotel, and one morning I in- spected them, tempted to try a pair on and see what happened. I jumped when a voice behind me said: "Those aren't very good. They've been used by everyone, all winter long. I have an extra pair you are welcome to try." Embarrassed, I feU back a step. A blond young man was standing in the entrance to the porch. I had seen him a few times before, always dressed in ski clothes, going in and out of the hotel. This was the first time I had heard him speak, and I noticed that his voice had a slight foreign accent. "No, thanks," I said. "I was just looking at them — I don't ski." "Would you like to learn? I would be most happy to teach you." "Oh, no." I protested. "I wouldn't think of asking you — it would be so much trouble — " CUDDENLY he smiled. He wasn't handsome, like Ward, but he had a nice face — strongly modelled, with high cheek-bones and deep-set blue eyes. "It would be no trouble," he said. It is my job to teach people to ski — that is what the hotel pays me for. My name is Erik Bergen . . . We could go out this afternoon." "I'd be so awkward," I demurred. "How do you know \intil you try? And it would be a real kindness to me — there are so few people here now I do not have a chance to earn my salary." "All right," I said, laughing. "Right after lunch." He met me on the veranda, car- rying two pairs of skis and some poles. I was glad that I'd brought a snow-suit with me. It was an old one, left over from my high school days when I had done some tobog- ganing, but it would do. The hotel had a station-wagon to carry people up the back road to the side of Watch Hill, and this after- noon we were its only passengers. Erik Bergen drove, not saying much as we wound along between the dark trees, and finally stopped the car at the foot of a long, smooth stretch of snow. "This is a good place to start," Continued on page 58 RADIO AMD TELEVISION IVIIRROR e'//7M6^ This is your formal introduction to a young lady with a charm all her own — and with only a dimple as a reminder of the baby she used to be By SARA HAMILTON ON HER last year's birthday, Shirley Temple had something happen to her that would have delighted the heart of any young person the world has ever seen. Shirley hadn't known it, and the millions of people who loved her when they saw her on the screen hadn't known it, but for years her motion-picture bosses, for publicity purposes, had decreed that she be kept a year younger than her actual age. And that's why, when Shirley's mother kissed her that birthday morning, she said: "I have something to tell you, dear. You're not twelve today, as you thought. You're really thirteen." Thirteen. A teener! All at once, she was not one, but two, full years older than she had been when she went to bed the night before. It was an Event. It was more than that. It was a formal declaration that a veteran actress had ceased being a child and had entered the ranks of the "jiinior misses." Nothing could have been more fitting than the fact that a few months later Miss Temple became the star of a radio series called simply. Junior Miss. Today Shirley is almost fourteen (bona fide count this time), weighs 101 pounds, stands five feet and one inch tall, has permitted her hair to return to its natural dark brown color, and has retained the fas- cinating dimple that flashes with devastating charm from the comer of her mouth. A yoimg lady, she is, and a lovely one. You can see, too, what sort of a woman she is going to become. She will be intelligent, with a sense of JUNE, 1942 Shirley Temple stars as Junior Miss, Wednesdays on CBS. Above, she stops on her way fo school /o pet her little Peke, Ching Ching. humor. She will always be doing several things simultaneously and well — thinking, creating, and awing male admirers with her beauty and her brains. Men adore her. Director Ed Marin, who is putting her through her paces for her next pic- ture, "Miss Annie Rooney," grows eloquent in his praise of her. Shirley took to the air with all the aplomb of an expert. Before Junior Miss had its first broadcast, her microphone experiences had been limited to a few "one-shots," mostly for charity, and four consecutive weekly Continued on page 65 15 THE STORY OF ,9\Xi\ Once she had been so sure of the difference between right and wrong! But that was before she had fallen under the spell of Vince Kennedy's disarming smile Xjl S she stood in the doorway, looking out over the crowded room, Bess Johnson felt curiously alone — and very much out of place. These people, the guests of Councilman Wilson Sloan, were not her sort. Their voices were too loud, their clothes too flashy, and the way they stared at her was, to say the least, disconcerting. More than ever, Bess realized that she was a stranger in a strange land — that she had cut the last tie which held her to the past — that she was entirely on her own. It was only a week or so ago (but it seemed much longer) when — on impulse and with practically no backlog of money — Bess had left a town that was warm and friendly. 16 As dean of a school for girls she had been an important member of the community — a personage. She had expected to find the same warmth and friendship waiting for her in the city — she'd expected to get a job for the asking. But the city, large, impersonal, had ignored her, and there were no jobs to be had. Since her arrival she had lost cash, confidence and illusions — and the last was probably the most grievous loss of all. She sighed involuntarily and the girl who stood beside her in the doorway asked a question. "Some- thing wrong, Bess?" Bess, turning, glanced into the face of the little model who roomed across the hall from her — Marie Agnes Franklin, seventeen, pretty, ultra-sophisticated despite her youth. Marie Agnes had welcomed Bess to the dingy and rather sordid confines of the Romando Hotel. She and the desk clerk. Homer, had tried from the very first to make things easier. It was because of Marie Agnes that Bess had come to this party, which was being held in what the Romando grandiloquently and optimistically called its ball room. "It's time you were meeting some folks," the model had said — adding, with the candor of the very young — "You're swell, Bess, but some- times I think you walk around in a daze, like you lived in a little world of your own. You've got to circu- RAOIO AND TEXEVISION M3IIB0K •^*ir^ s^ •■ if late — to meet people in this town! And besides, no matter what else you say about him, Wilson Sloan isn't afraid to spend money. There'll be plenty of beer and swell eats!" Plenty of beer and swell eats! Bess felt a sudden reticence — a wild desire to turn and go back up- stairs to her own room. But an un- easy thought that Marie Agnes' careless criticism might be just, made her stay where she was. ¥T was odd that Marie Agnes should have put into words, so lightly, a thought that had been teasing Bess herself these last weeks, whenever she would let it. Could it be that years of holding positions of authority — of administering first an orphanage, then a school — had robbed her of something that could only be called, for want of a better name, the common touch? "You walk around like you lived in a world of your own," Marie Agnes had said. Well, perhaps . . . And just now, here in the doorway, she had told herself that these people were "not her sort." That was bad. That was very bad. "Come on," Marie Agnes said, breaking into her reverie — "Come and meet Councilman Sloan. That's him, standing by the punch bowl." Bess, glancing in the direction indicated, saw a middle-aged man — stout, curiously slimy, badly groomed. "He — he doesn't look like a politician," she faltered. Marie Agnes laughed. "I guess you haven't had much experience," she said. "He looks like every politician I've ever met — only more so. C'mon, honey — let's get cut- ting." Reluctantly Bess stepped across the threshold in the model's wake. Homer, the clerk of the Romando Hotel, saw them and came bustling forward. "Hello, you two," he said. "About time you got here. All prettied up like crazy, aren't you?" "You don't look so bad yourself," Marie Agnes told him. "New shoes and a haircut — you went the whole way, didn't you. Homer? Say, let's take Bess over and give her a knockdown to the main guy." Bess felt less lonely now. With Marie Agnes on one side of her, with Homer on the other, she was fortified. She shook hands with the Councilman, who eyed her specu- latively— she ignored his heavy compliments and withdrew her hand, as swiftly as possible, from his moist fat clasp. And then Marie Agnes and Homer were dragging her over to the refreshment table. "There's turkey sandwiches," Marie Agnes whispered, "and I didn't have any dinner. This stuff looks like Read the exciting story of Bess Johnson as a complete novelette by Margaret E. Songster — ^the popular radio serial heard Monday through Friday, at 10 A.M., EWT, over the NBC network, sponsored by Super Suds. Illustrations specially posed by Bess Johnson, and by Billy Lee as Homer. money from home." As she nibbled a sandwich Bess felt her mind wandering again. She was still solitary — still an alien. Almost without money — with no job in sight — wondering what would happen next week — day after to- morrow— the sight of all this food and drink nauseated her. She thought of the poor people in the city who were going hungry while a politician wined and dined his guests. It was the poor people that she'd expected to help — surely, she had told herself, she would find a job in social service, the field she loved best. But her frankness, her outspoken horror at private wel- fare conditions, had put her in the wrong. Marie Agnes was speaking again, practically reading her mind. "Any luck today, Bess?" she asked in a voice that was blurred with turkey and rye bread. "Are you on the track of anything?" Bess shook her head sadly. "No," she said. "I'm afraid I've been blackballed. For talking out of turn. For telling the truth." Homer, the clerk, was drifting away to greet some other acquaint- 18 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIBROB // was only when a voice said, "Stick 'em up!" that she turned sharply — to see a man outside her window. ance — the two girls were momen- tarily alone. Marie Agnes said sym- pathetically, "Gosh, Bess, I'm sorry! I wonder if — " Her voice changed suddenly, hardened. "Hello, Vince," she said. The young man who had joined them was good looking, Bess thought. He was not only good looking, he had something the others lacked — a certain — the word refinement flashed into her mind. His tone, when he addressed Marie Agnes, was mocking and flattering at the same time. "You're looking especially radiant tonight," he said. "That's a gorgeous gown." "I borrowed it from the shop where I work," Marie Agnes told him. "I didn't mention it to the boss, so don't spill anything on me!" "I'll handle you with kid gloves," the yovmg man told her. "Anything I can do for you, Marie Agnes? Beer? Another sandwich?" "Not a thing," the model told him. "Rim along, Vince, and sell your papers." But the young man didn't obey. "Now, now, my pet," he said, "don't try to put me in my place! Inci- dentally, there's something you can do for me." His eyes smUed into the eyes of Bess Johnson. Marie Agnes bowed to the inevi- table. "Okay — okay," she said. "Miss Johnson, meet Vincent Ken- nedy." Bess said, "How do you do — " but the simple words stuck in her throat, she didn't know why. Vincent Kennedy murmured, "You're very beautiful, Miss John- son . . . Marie Agnes, how's it if you run along and sell your papers?" Marie Agnes made a little ex- clamation under her breath. She said aloud, "Watch your step, Bess — he's an old smoothie — " and then she was mingling with the crowd and Bess and the young man were facing each other, studying each other almost guardedly. "Yes, you are beautiful. Miss Johnson," Vince said finally, repeat- ing himself. "And you," Bess told him "are rather abrupt." "I always speak my mind," Vince said. "I've been watching you ever since you came in, Miss Johnson. . , . Are you a visitor in our" — he chuckled— "fair city?" Bess told him, "I'm not a visitor — I'm hoping to stay here. But I haven't found it a very fair city." Vince asked her, "Why?" and be- fore she knew it Bess was telling him her problem. "If I don't get work soon," she said, "I'll— I'll starve to death." "A natural blonde — starving to death?" Vince laughed. "It would be a wicked waste . . . Listen. I'll make an appointment for you with Sloan — he'll put the bee on some- body. Or maybe he can fit you into his social service department." "Social service — why, that's my specialty," exclaimed Bess. "What — what is it, Marie Agnes?" For the model, with a large, awkward man in tow, was back again. "Bess," she said, "I want you to meet Billy Joyce. He's a dick." Bess felt her hand engulfed in a great strong paw. She found her- self comparing the firm grasp to the limp flabbiness of the Council- man. "A dick?" she murmured. The large man chuckled. "I'm plainclothes," he told Bess. "A de- tective." Bess murmured, "Oh, I never met a detective before." She added quickly, "Mr. Joyce, do you know Mr. Kennedy?" Vince said quickly, "We know each other," and the plainclothes man grunted, "Yeah, we do." Bess thought it was odd that they didn't shake hands. TIT" HEN Bess went to bed that night she was seething with mixed emotions. From the moment of meeting Vince things had hap- pened so quickly, so one on top of the other, so pell-mell! She had met dozens of people, men and wo- men— she had been complimented, praised, made much of. And last but not least. Councilman Sloan, of his own accord, had given her an appointment for the next day. "Vince's friends are my friends," he told her. "Drop in at the office, my dear, and I'm sure we'll make some sort of an arrangement." But when Bess, thrUled with her good for- tune, talked it over with Marie Agnes and Homer, their combined attitude was like a dash of cold water. "You'd better take Vince with a pinch of Salt," Marie Agnes had sniffed. "I've been wise to him for years — he's a chiseler if ever there was one!" Homer, less vehement, had said doubtfully, "Perhaps he means well, Miss Johnson, but I'd go easy if I was you. Vince usually knows which side his bread's buttered on!" Bniy Joyce, the detective? He had made no comment either for or against Vince, but Bess couldn't help noticing that the two men were seldom in the same part of the room at the same time. And yet, she told herself as she drifted to sleep, there couldn't be anything wrong with Vincent Ken- nedy. Continued on page 70 JUNE, 1942 19 late — to meet people in this town! And besides, no matter what else you say about him, Wilson Sloan isn't afraid to spend money. There'll be plenty o( beer and swell eats!" Plenty of beer and swell eats! Bess felt a sudden reticence — a wild desire to turn and go back up- stairs to her own room. But an un- easy thought that Marie Agnes' careless criticism might be just, made her stay where she was. I T was odd that Marie Agnes should have put into words, so lightly, a thought that had been teasing Bess herself these last weeks, whenever she would let it. Could it be that years of holding positions of authority — of administering first an orphanage, then a school — had robbed her of something that could only be called, for want of a better name, the common touch? "You walk around like you lived in a world of your own," Marie Agnes had said. Well, perhaps . . . And just now, here in the doorway, she had told herself that these people were "not her sort." That was bad. That was very bad. "Come on," Marie Agnes said, breaking into her reverie — "Come and meet Councilman Sloan. That's him, standing by the punch bowl." Bess, glancing in the direction indicated, saw a middle-aged man — stout, curiously slimy, badly groomed. "He — he doesn't look like o politician," she faltered. Marie Agnes laughed. "I guess you haven't had much experience," she said. "He looks like every politician I've ever met — only more so. C'mon, honey — let's get cut- ting." Reluctantly Bess stepped across the threshold in the model's wake. Homer, tlio clerk of the Romando Hotel, saw them and came bustling forward. "Hello, you two," he said. "About lime you got here. All prettied up like crazy, aren't you?" "You don't look so bad yourself," Marie Agnes told him. "New shoes and a haircut — you went the whole way, didn't you. Homer? Say, let's take Bess over and give her a knockdown to the main guy." Bess felt loss lonely now. With Marie Agnes on one side of her, with Homer on the other, she was fortified. She shook hands with the Councilman, who eyed her specu- latively— she ignored his heavy compliments and withdrew her hand, as swiftly a? possible, from his moist fat clasp. And then Marie Agnes and Homer were dragging her over to the refreshment table. "There's turkey sandwiches." Marie Agnes whispered, "and 1 didn't have any dinner. This stuft looks like 18 H was only when a voice said, "Stick 'em up!" fhaf she turned sharply — to see o man outside her window. Reod tho eiciting itory o( Besi Johmon oi a complete novelette by Margaret E. Songrfei — the popular rodio teriol heord KHonday through Fridoy, at 10 A.M., EWT, over the NBC network, iponior.d by Super Suds. Illuitrationi ipecially poied by Bess Johnson, and by Billy Lee as Homer. money from home." As she nibbled a sandwich Bess felt her mind wandering again. She was still solitary— still an alien. Almost without money— with no job in sight— wondering what would happen next week— day after to- morrow—the sight of all this food and drmk nauseated her. She thought of the poor people in the city who were going hungrv while a politician wined and dined his guests. It was the poor people that shed expected to hel,>-surely, she had told herself, she would find a job in social service, the field she loved best. But her frankness, her outspoken horror at private wel- fare conditions, had put her in the wrong. Marie Agnes was speaking again, practically reading her mind. "Any luck today, Bess?" she asked in a voice that was blurred with turkey and rye bread. "Are you on the track of anything?" „ Bess shook her head sadly. "No. she said. "I'm afraid I've been blackballed. For talking out of turn. For telling the truth." Homer, the clerk, was drifting away to greet some other acquamt- ance — the two girls were momen- tarily alone. Marie Agnes said sym- pathetically, "Gosh, Bess, I'm sorry! I wonder if — " Her voice changed suddenly, hardened. "Hello, Vince," she said. The young man who had joined them was good looking, Bess thought. He was not only good looking, he had something the others lacked — a certain — the word refinement flashed into her mind. His tone, when he addressed Marie Agnes, was mocking and flattering at the same time. "You're looking especially radiant tonight," he said. "That's a gorgeous gown." "I borrowed it from the shop where I work," Marie Agnes told him. "I didn't mention it to the boss, so don't spill anything on me!" "I'll handle you with kid gloves," the young man told her. "Anything I can do for you, Marie Agnes? Beer? Another sandwich?" "Not a thing," the model told '>''n. "Run along, Vince, and sell your papers." But the young man didn't obey. "Now, now, my pet," he said, "don't 'ry to put me in my place! Inci- dentally, there's something you can ^0 for me." His eyes smiled into the eyes of Bess Johnson. Marie Agnes bowed to the inevi- table. "Okay — okay," she said. "Miss Johnson, meet Vincent Ken- nedy." Bess said, "How do you do — " but the simple words stuck in her throat, she didn't know why. Vincent Kennedy murmured, "You're very beautiful. Miss John- son . . . Marie Agnes, how's it if you run along and sell your papers?" Marie Agnes made a little ex- clamation under her breath. She said aloud, "Watch your step, Bess — he's an old smoothie — " and then she was mingling with the crowd and Bess and the young man were facing each other, studying each other almost guardedly. "Yes, you are beautiful. Miss Johnson," Vince said finally, repeat- ing himself. "And you," Bess told him "are rather abrupt." "I always speak my mind," Vince said. "I've been watching you ever since you came in. Miss Johnson. . . . Are you a visitor in our" — he chuckled — "fair city?" Bess told him, "I'm not a visitor — I'm hoping to stay here. But I haven't found it a very fair city." Vince asked her, "Why?" and be- fore she knew it Bess was telling him her problem. "If I don't get work soon," she said, "I'll — I'll starve to death." "A natural blonde — starving to death?" Vince laughed. "It would be a wicked waste . . . Listen. I'll make an appointment for you with Sloan — he'll put the bee on some- body. Or maybe he can fit you into his social service department." "Social service — why, that's my specialty," exclaimed Bess. "What — what is it, Marie Agnes?" For the model, with a large, awkward man in tow, was back again. "Bess," she said, "I want you to meet Billy Joyce. He's a dick." Bess felt her hand engulfed in a great strong paw. She found her- self comparing the firm grasp to the limp flabbiness of the Council- man. "A dick?" she murmured. The large man chuckled. "I'm plainclothes," he told Bess. "A de- tective." Bess murmured, "Oh, I never met a detective before." She added quickly, "Mr. Joyce, do you know Mr. Kennedy?" Vince said quickly, "We know each other," and the plainclothes man grunted, "Yeah, we do." Bess thought it was odd that they didn't shake hands. ■WTHEN Bess went to bed that night she was seething with mixed emotions. From the moment of meeting Vince things had hap- pened so quickly, so one on top of the other, so pell-mell! She had met dozens of people, men and wo- men— she had been complimented, praised, made much of. And last but not least. Councilman Sloan, of his own accord, had given her an appointment for the next day. "Vince's friends are my friends," he told her. "Drop in at the oflice, my dear, and I'm sure we'll make some sort of an arrangement." But when Bess, thrilled with her good for- tune, talked it over with Marie Agnes and Homer, their combined attitude was like a dash of cold water. "You'd better take Vince with a pinch of Salt," Marie Agnes had sniffed. "I've been wise to him for years — he's a chiseler if ever there was one!" Homer, less vehement, had said doubtfully, "Perhaps he means well, Miss Johnson, but I'd go easy if I was you. Vince usually knows which side his bread's buttered on!" Billy Joyce, the detective? He had made no comment either for or against Vince, but Bess couldn't help noticing that the two men were seldom in the same part of the room at the same time. And yet, she told herself as she drifted to sleep, there couldn't be anything wrong with Vincent Ken- nedy. Continued on page 70 19 BEGINNING a As she opened the door, that spring afternoon, how could Joan guess that she was admitting heartache to her honeymoon house? For it was her best friend who was standing outside, waiting . . . M. HE small upstairs room was very still. Winter sunshine crept over the floor toward the west win- dow and, through the curtains, the sky was lightening before it deep- ened. Joan lay in the middle of the big bed and listened to the stillness. Even the pain was quiet. She had the feeling if she stayed motionless she would keep it so, and her body would belong to her again instead of to the tortured misery that had possessed it for days. She raised a hand tentatively and pushed back the short tangled curls into the pillow. Yes, it was hers — and it was thrilling to own your body, to con- trol it even for this brief moment, instead of giving it over to pain and fear and tormented darkness. She sighed contentedly and lis- tened to the hushed movements from the rest of the house. She could identify each one. The nurse. Miss Lewis, was giving the baby his late- afternoon feeding in the room across the hall. A distant clatter from the kitchen told her Lily was preparing one of her delicious concoctions for "Miz Davis, honey, lyin' so sick." Muted chimes from the clock in the hall meant Harry would be home soon. In a little while this blessed still- ness would be broken. Harry would be masking his anxiety for her un- der gay and tender raillery. Miss Lewis would be in with the baby for her to look at — not to hold, for she was too weak for that. And Dr. Wiggan would come with his cheer- fvil "How are we today — h'm?" and questions would be asked and gentle hands laid on her, and the pain would start again. For each she must pretend she didn't know they were hiding their fears for her. She had been desperately ill when the baby came. Death had come very close. She wasn't free of it yet. Now, in this respite, she could face that calmly and without panic, just 20 knowing it and accepting it as a fact. It was strange how much you knew when you were ill. Things you'd been too hurried to see before. This was like being in the balcony of a darkened theater, looking down on a lighted stage. She could see herself and Harry, Phil and Eve and her mother, like actors going through their parts of the last two years. She saw herself clearest of all. "If I ever get well," she mur- mured, "if I ever get well, I'll never be like that again." The chimes from the hall struck again. Joan shifted, and then lay still. She must see everything whole and see it clearly, now, while she had time. She must look down on the stage from her balcony seat and try to examine the chain of circum- stances that led to here and now, the way each link led inevitably to the next. Letting her mind drift back, she knew that all that had happened since need not have hap- pened. If, for instance, she had just not answered the front doorbell when it rang long ago on a spring afternoon ... CHE and Harry had been married five months then. They were still in the honeymoon stage of lock- ing the door against the world, bounding their horizons only with each other. The cottage in Fox Meadow Lane shone with newness and excitement. New furniture, new curtains, and a glossy kitchen that housed the won- derful adventure of fixing meals to be shared by the two of them. Money was scarce, but what of that? Market lists, carefully selected for bargains, were far more thrilling than any dance program had ever been in the old days. Making out a budget held more tingling anticipa- tion than drawing up the blueprints for a mansion could ever hold. "Sure you're not sorry you mar- ried a poor man?" Harry asked, half teasing, half serious. Joan flung herself on him. "Oh, darling, you're all I want for ever and ever." And then, fearful that I the gossamer moment might break under too much feeling, she added, "Except of course extra shelves in the kitchen. I'll be miserable till I get those!" And Harry struggled to put them up. He upset the box of nails, he lost the ruler, he hammered his finger. When the shelves were done, one side was half an inch lower than the other so that the kitchen clock slid slowly off into the wastebasket. They laughed until they were weak, holding onto each other for support, as they put it back and watched it slowly slide off again. Those were the singing, halcyon days when God was in His heaven and all was right with their world. Her mother's complaints that she was shutting herself away from old friends on the Ridge by living "over there in that tacky new development where nobody ever lived, my dear," that she would ruin her hands with housework and her looks with mak- ing ends meet — they were ridicu- lously unimportant. So were her memories of the big Field house on the Ridge, playing golf, going to Country Club dances, seeing her name on the society pages as "one of Stanwood's most popular debs." That old life was paltry and empty. Naturally her mother couldn't see it that way. To Mrs. Field, material possessions and social prestige were the only considerations to any girl in her right mind. Joan just wasn't in her right mind. "Who is Harry Davis?" Mrs. Field had demanded. "A nobody. A poor young lawyer with his way to make. A stranger in town, besides. And as for throwing over Phil Stanley, to marry him — " ^ e^l #:,r^- m- \ \- BEGINNING a As she opened the door, that spring afternoon, how could Joan guess that she was admitting heartache to her honeymoon house? For it was her best friend who was standing outside, waiting. . , Ji. HE small upstairs room was very still. Winter sunshine crept over tiie floor toward the west win- dow and, through the curtains, the sky was lightening before it deep- ened. Joan lay in the middle of the big bed and listened to the stillness. Even the pain was quiet. She had the feeling it she stayed motionless she would keep it so, and her body would belong to her again instead of to the tortured misery that had possessed it for days. She raised a hand tentatively and pushed back the short tangled curls into the pillow. Yes, it was hers — and it was thrilling to own your body, to con- trol it even for this brief moment, instead of giving it over to pain and fear and tormented darlcness. She sighed contentedly and lis- tened to the hushed movements from the rest of the house. She could identify each one. The nurse, Miss Lewis, was giving the baby his late- afternoon feeding in the room across the hall. A distant clatter froni the kitchen told her Lily was preparing one of her delicious concoctions for "Miz Davis, honey, lyin' so sick." Muted chimes from the clock in the hall meant Harry would be home soon. In a little while this blessed still- ness would be broken. Harry would be masking his an.xiety for her un- der gay and tender raillery. Miss Lewis would be in with the baby for her to look at — not to hold, for she was too weak for that. And Dr. Wiggan would come with his cheer- ful "How are we today — h'm?" and questions would be asked and gentle hands laid on her, and the pain would start again. For each she must pretend she didn't know they were hiding their fears for her. She had been desperately ill when the baby came. Death had come very close. She wasn't free of it yet. Now, in this respite, slie could face tliat calmly and without panic, just 20 knowing it and accepting it as a fact. It was strange how much you knew when you were ill. Things you'd been too hurried to see before. This was like being in the balcony of a darkened theater, looking down on a lighted stage. She gould see herself and Harry, Phil and Eve and her mother, like actors going through their parts of the last two years. She saw herself clearest of all. "If I ever get well," she mur- muied, "if I ever get well, I'll never be like that again." The chimes from the hall struck again. Joan shifted, and then lay still. She must see everything whole and see it clearly, now, while she had time. She must look down on the stage from her balcony seat and try to examine the chain of circum- stances that led to here and now, the way each Unk led inevitably to the next. Letting her mind drift back, she knew that all that had happened since need not have hap- pened. If, for instance, she had just not answered the front doorbell when it rang long ago on a spring afternoon . . . gHE and Harry had been married five months then. They" were still in the honeymoon stage of lock- ing the door against the world, bounding their horizons only with each other. The cottage in Fox Meadow Lane shone with newness and- excitement New furniture, new curtains, and a glossy kitchen that housed the won- derfiU adventure of fixmg meals to be shared by the two of them. M°"5,T/'"'^' *>"* ^^'^t °f that? Market lists, carefully selected for bargains, were far more thrilling than any dance program had eve? been in the old days. Making ouTa Uon'than' ' "°" ""«""« -""'P- tion than drawmg up the blueprints for a mansion could ever hold "Sure you're not sorry you mar- ried a poor man?" Harry asked, half teasing, half serious. Joan flung herself on him. "Oh, darling, you're all I want for ever and ever." And then, fearful that the gossamer moment might break under too much feeling, she added, "Except of course extra shelves iri the kitchen. I'll be miserable till I get those!" And Harry struggled to put them up. He upset the box of nails, he lost the ruler, he hammered his finger. When the shelves were done, one side was half an inch lower than the other so that the kitchen clock slid slowly off into the wastebasket. They laughed until they were weak, holding onto each other for support] as they put it back and watched it slowly slide off again. Those were the singing, halcyon days when God was in His heaven and all was right with their world. Her mother's complaints that she was shutting herself away from old friends on the Ridge by living "over there in that tacky new development where nobody ever lived, my dear," that she would ruin her hands with housework and her looks with mak- ing ends meet — they were ridicu- lously unimportant. So were her memories of the big Field house on the Ridge, playing golf, going to Country Club dances, seeing her name on the society pages as "one of Stanwood's most popular debs." That old life was paltry and empty. Naturally her mother couldn't see it that way. To Mrs. Field, mntcrial possessions and social prestige were the only considerations to any girl in her right mind. Joan just wasn't in her right mind. "Who is Harry Davis?" Mrs. Field had demanded. "A nobody. A poor young laV/ycr with his way to make. A stranger in town, besides. And as for throwing over Phil Stanley, to marry him — " Her voice always faded off in acute anguish. "Throwing over" Phil Stanley hadn't been easy, nor had Joan done it lightly. Their families had always expected them to marry, and the engagement had grown out of that expectation and childhood compan- ionship. But from the day she laid eyes on Harry, Joan was no longer en- gaged to Phil. With the burgeoning of love, she knew what she felt for Phil was only fondness. It hadn't been easy to face his hurt disbelief that she wouldn't marry him; it hadn't been easy, or flattering, or any of those things, to hear him plead that he would always love her. She'd married Harry anyway. She'd followed her heart. Almost immediately Phil had married Eve Topping in a dizzying elopement, and Joan thought the old chapter closed forever. Eve was her "best friend," which in a town like Stanwood meant the girl whose fam- ily had always known yours, the girl you spent the night with after dances. Because they were best friends, Joan knew Eve loved Phil as passionately and tempestuously as she did everything in her im- pulsive life. There were no half measures in anything for Eve. The elopement hadn't gone down well with Phil's family, and Eve and Phil moved to their own little house in Bailey's Gardens while Phil started, for the first time in his life, to look for a job. Joan and Harry hadn't seen them since they'd been back from the honeymoon. With a vague prodding of her conscience, Joan knew she should. But to share her precious moments with Harry among out- siders was too much of a wrench. "Not yet," she told herself. "To- morrow, maybe, FU call Eve. But today — ^just Harry and me." And she sang as she washed the gay new crockery and made the beds and rearranged for the third time the eight pairs of pewter candlesticks they'd received among the wedding presents. She was singing the day the bell rang and Fate led her down the nar- row, brightly papered hall through the first invisible link in the chain of - circumstances, to throw open the front door and come face to In thrilling ficfion form by Helen Irwin Dowdey, begin Elaine Carrington's pop- ular radio serial, heard on NBC Mon- day through Friday at 5 P.M., EWT., sponsored by General Foods Corp. Illus- trations posed by the cast — Mary Jane Higby as Joan, John Raby as Harry, Michael Fitimourice as Phil. 22 face with Eve Topping Stanley. They embraced, laughing excited- ly, and Joan led her into the sunlit living room. It was as if they were little girls again, "playing house" — only this time it was real. And different. Eve's dark gypsy beauty seemed dimmed. Heavy shadows lay under her brown eyes, and there was a strained tightness around the full, wilful mouth. She moved as if too tight a rein had been laid on her, and Joan wondered suddenly what was wrong. "I don't want to interrupt the honeymoon," Eve laughed. "But we want you and Harry to have dinner with us one night next week. We haven't laid eyes on each other since — since we were all married." Joan felt the hesitant embarrass- ment, covered up with laughter. Naturally this was hard for Eve whose husband, after all, had been engaged to Joan imtil right up be- fore the wedding. CO she answered quickly. "We'd love it. Harry's so busy now with a new case — "and for the life of her, she couldn't keep the pride out of her voice — "that we haven't seen anybody or been anywhere. He's trying to get a child out of the cus- tody of a perfectly horrible old woman named Mrs. Ashbey, and he's awfully wrapped up in it. But I'm sure Wednesday would be all right. How's Phil?" Eve dropped her eyes. The strain around her mouth deepened. "Pretty well. He hasn't a job yet and we're living off the allowance his mother makes him. I didn't want to take it, but Phil's never worked in his life and we had to have something to live on." "He'll find a job soon," Joan com- forted. "Phil's played a lot, like we all did, but he's smart. Have you seen any of the old gang?" "I saw Bertha Catlett yesterday. You going to her wedding?" "Bertha's? Why, I didn't even know she was getting married." "Oh, yes, to a perfectly darling young officer stationed at Fort Brander. A wartime wedding with all the trimmings. I thought surely you'd be going." "Well — Harry doesn't know Ber- tha of course. And I haven't seen her for ages — not since my wedding. What else do you know?" She listened eagerly while Eve ran through the old names: Jim Fawcett was in the Air Corps, and the Higginses were having a baby, and Don King had a new job at the defense plant, and the youngest Crowley boy had been dropped from the Country Club for insulting the president's brother. From then on, it was a fine visit. She told Harry about it at supper. He was properly and flatteringly reluctant to accept the dinner invi- tation. "It's the entering wedge," he said. "It's been perfect with just you and me. If we go to the Stanleys', we'll have to open the door and let the world in." Joan looked radiantly at him across the table. "You darling! I feel that way, too. But we have to open the door sometime. We have to see our old friends eventually." "Yes," he said slowly, "I guess we do. I guess you've been pretty lonely these last months." She jumped up and ran around the table to him in quick denial. "Oh, no, Harry. I couldn't be lonely with you and our house and — and — why, I'm so busy I haven't time to be lonely." "That's just it, honey. I've been pretty selfish, keeping you cooped up over here away from- aU the people you used to know." "I'm not cooped up! I've loved it, BADIO AND TELEVISION MSIBOR Eve's eyes were hard as Hint as her gaze swept their startled faces. with only the two of us. But I want to show you off to people. I want them to see what a wonderful man I married and how proud I am of you and — oh, everything." He laughed and pulled her down in his lap. "Flatterer. Well, we'll go to the Stanleys as long as you've said we would." "You'll like Phil, when you know him better," she said happily. "He's more fun than anybody. And Eve JUNE, 1942 is a peach — really she is, darling." But Harry was quietly thoughtful the rest of the evening and Joan knew he didn't want to go. Once she almost weakened, almost said they'd call the whole thing off. Then she decided against it. She remembered Eve's hesitant embarrassment when she came. No, they'd have to go. They went. And from the moment they set foot inside the Stanleys' door, the evening went wretchedly, horribly. Everything was wrong. In the first place, it was only Eve who greeted them. Joan saw traces of tears under careful make-up, and her manner was strained to the point of feverishness. "Phil's delayed," she said ner- vously. "I thought we'd just start without him." They tried, all three of them, to make it natural that the host shouldn't be there. They talked and laughed and covered up the awk- wardness. The table was set with the best linen, the flowers were beauti- ful, and Eve must have spent most of her day in the kitchen preparing the dinner. Joan's heart ached for her. Afterward in the living room, Harry tried to distract Eve by re- coimting the amusing incidents that sometimes happened in court. He got her interested in the Ashbey case. ". . . and Continued on page 48 23 I Her vole. .Iw.yi faded off In acute ""^"r'owln, over" PhU SUnley ha.ln'l Ix-cn fa%y. nor h.d Joan done II llKhlly Th-ir familini hod olway» rxp much of a wrench. "Nol yel. " she told hersj-lf "To- moiiow, maybe. Ml call Eve But ItHlny Just llnrry snd me " And she luinii as she waslied the (jay new cnH'ki»ry nnd made the IuhN anil reariatiKed for the third lime Ihe ciiihl pairs of pewter candlesticks they'd received amoni! Ihe weddinii preiu-nls .^hc wa> sinttini; Ihe day the bell rani: and Kale Ic^l hci down Ihe nar- row, bi liEhlly paperiHl hall Ihroujih the llrsl invisible link in the chain of cirvumstancrs, lo throw open the front door and txime face to '-^ 1 f^^ .1... ,,..<.,< ....Ml j,i, ii>,,>.4i> t.^^y ,>< s ru (WT. t,ol.o"i r^'iW bv tK« c«i* — M«>7 J4»* Ht^bv *t MmK J*a« R*^ ct Hooy klkb«l m»»»illl M ML face with Eve Topping SUnley. ?hcy embraced, laughing excitcd- J Joan led her intj, the s„nl.t f^ing room. It was as if they were Ule%irls again, ••p'-y"8 '"J^^Anl only this lime it was real. And "'"/v^rdark gypsy beauty seem^ dimmed. Heavy shadows lay under hcT brown eyes, and '^"0 was a strained tightness around the (ulU wilful mouth. She -"oved as if too tight a rein had been laid on her and Joan wondered suddenly what was wrong. "I don't want to interrupt the honeymoon," Eve laughed. "But we want you and Harry lo have dinner with us one nighl next week. We haven't laid eyes on each other since —since we were all married.' Joan felt the hesitant cmbarrass- menl, covered up with laughter. Naturally this was hard for Eve whose hu.ibond, after all, had been engaged lo Joan unlil right up be- fore the wedding. SO she answered quickly. "We'd love It. Harry's so busy now with a new case — " and for the life of her, she couldn't keep the pride out of her voice— "that we haven't seen anybody or been anywhere. He's trying to get a child out of the cus- tody of a perfectly horrible old woman named Mrs. Ashbcy, and he's awfully wrapped up in it. But I'm sure Wednesday would be all right. How's Phil?" Eve dropped her eyes. The strain around her mouth deepened. "Pretty well He hasn't a job yel and we're living off the ollowance his mother makes him. I didn't want to lake it, but Phil's never worked in his life and we had to have somcthitij; to live on." "He'll find a job soon," Joan com- forted. "Phil's played a lot, like we nil did, but he's smart. Have you seen any of the old gang?" "I saw Bertha Catlett yesterday. You going lo her wedding?" "Bertha's" Why, I didn't even know she was getting married." "Oh, yes, to a perfectly darling young oflicer stationed at Fort Brandcr. A wartime wedding with all the trimmings 1 thought surely you'd be going." "Well— Harrj- doesn't know Ber- tha of course. And 1 haven't seen her for ages — not since my wedding. What else do you know?" She listened eagerly while Eve ran through the old names: Jim Kawvelt was in the .\ir Corps, ond the Higjnnsrs were having a baby, and Don King had a new job at the dcfonjc pUnt. ,nd the youngest Crowley boy had been dropped from the Country Qub for insullmg the president's brother. From then on. it was a fine visit. She told Harry about it at supper He was properly and flatteringly reluctant to accept the dinner invi- tation. "It's the entering wedge. Iw said. "It's been perfect with just you and me. If we go to the Stanleys, we'll have to open the door and i« the world in." Joan looked radiantly at n™ across the table. "You darling I «« that way, too. But we have to open the door sometime. We have to «e our old friends eventually." •Yes. " he said slowly, "I gu«» ** do. I guess you've been pretty loneij these last months." , She jumped up and ran arouro the table to him in quick den •Oh, no, Harry. I couldn't be loi^ with you and our house and— »«»' why, I'm so busy I haven't ume be lonely." , j^-^ "That's just it, honey. '**°!5 pretty selfish, keeping you e**^ up over here away from « people you used to know. rm not coooed up! I've lo««> iy from all "- 1 I know." i up! I've lov«d ■ --a. with only the two of us. But I want to show you off lo people I want them to see whal a wonderful man I married and how proud I am of you and — oh, everything." He laughed and pulled her down ■n his lap. "Flatterer. Well, well go lo the SUnleys as lonj as you've said we would." ill like Phil, when you know '!er." she said happily "He's .'un than anybody. And Eve is a peach — really she is, darling" But Harry was quietly thoughtful the rest of the evening and Joan knew he didn't want to go Onc« sh* almoot weakened, almost said they'd call the whole thing off Then she decided against It She remembered Eve's he«l«nt embarraaamenl wh«n she came No, they'd have to go They went And from the moment they set fool mside the SUnlryt' door the evening went wretchedly. horribly Kverylhlng was wrong. In the llrsl place. It was only Eve who greeted them Joan saw Irare* of tears under careful make-up, and her manner was itralned lo Ihp point of frvrrishnvoa. "Phil's delayed," she said ner- vously "I thought we'd Just start without him " They tried, all thre* of Ihem, lo make It natural that the host ■houldn'l be there They talked and laughed and covered up Ihe awk- wardnrsa The table was Ml with the best linen, the flowers were beauti- ful, and r.'.. • ' • of her day Ihe dinner her Afterward In Ih* living room, II I lo distract Eve by re- , amusing incldanla that ^ . .',.ipp«>n«d In court. H« got hn inlerested in the Ashbry rase . and Continued on fiafir 48 IN LIVING PORTRAITS You know and love their voices — now you can see how they look. Here are the people you hear on CBS daily, Monday through Friday at 10 A.M., EWT, in the popular daytime serial starring Joan Blaine as Joan Scott, sponsored by makers of Bisquick JOAN SCOTT (right) is a lovely selj- sacrificing ' young woman whose life has been dedicated to helping others. She was born in a small town in upstate New York and grew up there, befriending many who came to her for help. Among them was a young doctor, Truman Scott, who had been a childhood sweetheart of hers, and whom she later married. Since their marriage they have both known hardship and trou- ble, but Joan has always stood loyally by her husband's side. When he was accused of mal- practice, Joan searched her heart but found only one answer — to go into hiding with him until he could be cleared. (Played by Joan Blaine) DR. TRUMAN SCOTT (left) has done everything in his pow- er to keep his wife, Joan, out of his present trouble, Some time ago, he unknowingly operated on the face of an in- surance swindler named Max Carsten, completely changing the man's face and enabling him to escape detection. Scott was then accused of malprac- tice and, although Joan tried to persuade him to stay and face the charges, he chose to hide out, because he thought the framed evidence against him was too strong to combat. It did not take long for Scott to realize that his wife was right. He loves Joan and will do any- thing to save her from disgrace. (Played by Bartlett Robinson) RADIO AND TELEVISION IVUBItOR JUNE, 1942 25 MYRA GORDON (right) is a strikingly beautiful young wo- man with soft dark eyes and jet black hair, a young woman who in the past has led an exciting and not altogether wholesome life. Myra once tried to take Joan's husband away from her and almost succeeded in wreck- ing Joan's marriage. Joan has forgiven her for this and has be- friended her on more than one occasion. Myra herself is mar- ried to Dr. Alec Gordon. Several years ago, her face was badly scarred in an automobile acci- dent. It was Dr. Scott who at- tended her and his skill as a surgeon saved her from tragic disfigurement. Married life has never been happy for Myra and Alec. Only through Joan's help and her husband's patience has she been able to overcome her vanity and selfishness and grad- ually turn into a gracious person. She is no longer infatuated with Dr. Scott and is now doing her best to help him clear his name. (Played by Irene Winston) 26 DR. ABENDROTH (left) is Myra Gordon's father, a doctor of the old school, stern, dictatorial and utterly conservative. He is the head of a large city hospital and frequently has been harsh with the younger doctors under him. Myra has often felt the heavy- handed, stern methods of her father when he has interfered in her life. Abendroth has never been particularly friendly toward Dr. Scott and has been convinced that Scott is guilty of the crime of which he has been accused. Dr. Abendroth is not a cruel man, but his old fashioned, strait- laced attitude has caused both Joan and her husband much suf- fering. He is an excellent doctor, one who has earned a great many honors, and he could, if he wanted to, do a great deal toward helping Dr. Scott out of his present diffi- culties. His son-in-law. Dr. Alec Gordon, is doing his best to con- vince the old doctor that Scott has been unjustly accused of the crime. (Played by William Shelley) DR. ALEC GORDON is Joan and Truman Scott's best friend. He and Scott attended medical school to- gether and after their graduation they helped each other over the rough road which all young and am- bitious doctors travel. Alec is very proud of Scott's genius as a surgeon and, in his own right, is a fine brain specialist. At one time, when his wife, Myra, was unfaithful to him, Gordon almost committed sui- cide. It was Joan who saved him and straightened out their marriage by sending them on a second honey- moon. Alec hasn't forgotten the debt he owes to Joan and is now making superhuman efforts to help the Scotts out of their present trouble. Alec is an invaluable friend of Joan and Truman because he is on most occasions calm and practical and acts as a checkmate to Truman's impetuous nature. Neither he nor Myra will rest until Scott has been cleared of the charges against him and can resume his practice. JUNE, 1942 (Played by Eric Dressier) 27 JOLLY ROGERS (left) is em- ployed by an insurance protective association to hunt down Dr. Tru- man Scott, whom he believes guilty of aiding the swindler, Max Carsten. Rogers is a large, corpulent man with a ready smile and an easy-going appearance. But his looks are deceiving, be- cause actually he is a crafty, re- lentless sleuth who will employ any method to capture the man he seeks. Most of Joan's and her husband's friends are under the consta:nt scrutiny of Rogers and he is also seeking Joan, because he believes her to be an accom- plice in her husband's suspected crime. Mike Hagen, an old friend of Joan's, is always placing ob- stacles in Rogers' path and the detective is trying to cast a shadow of guilt on this kindly old night watchman. If Rogers ever catches up with Joan and her husband his way of dealing with them will undoubtedly be swift and cruel, but the Scotts' many friends are still thwarting every move of the wily detective. (Played by Craig MacDonnell) # MIKE HAGEN is Joan's oldest friend, a sweet kindly old philosopher who has known Joan since she was a little girl. Mike is em,ployed as a night watchman, and although this job has never paid him a large salary, he has often helped Joan through many a trying financial difficulty. But even more invaluable than this has been the wise advice which Mike has been able to give to Joan and her husband. It was Mike who helped them escape from their hotel right under the eyes of Jolly Rogers. His only fault is a tendency to be long-winded, but those who love him and have been aided by his wisdom don't mind this. (Played by Parker Fennelly) 28 even when I kepi my eyes away ifeo/n Marn'ie Moore's red mouth. q) TcrwnA J\\m oU^ve I WONDER if any of you listeners remember a certain broadcast of a program which I shall call "Brother Bob's Answers," though that is not quite its name. It ended with one of the messages which Bob quoted to answer questions written in to him: ". . . to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man." Do you remember the curious gulp with which my husband said those words, before the announcer ended the broadcast? If you noticed that, then you know the exact mo- ment that our marriage smashed on the rocks after a long stretch of stormy sailing. That broadcast was my last des- JUNE, 1942 Her life with Bob was over, but still she humbled herself for the sake of a boy who must not know the truth about the man he idolized perate attempt to save our happi- ness. I had prepared the message, just as I had prepared all Bob's scripts, since the first program we put on for the little 100- watt sta- tion in South City three years before. And I chose those words because they went back to our first program, because I thought some magic in them would take Bob back to those days, remind h'im of the night we sat on my dad's front porch with moonlight shining through the five-fingered-ivy vine, when he said: "Why, Prue, if any- one really believed those words, they'd find the answer to every- thing." Bob had believed, then. It was his lovely, shining young belief, his deep sweet wish to help people who were puzzled and perplexed, that made our program instantly suc- cessful, made it possible for us to marry, and made us perfectly con- tent with life. At least, Bob was content. He was like that, straight and clear and uncomplicated in his desires and dreams. He could lie on our little 29 / bustled around as if it hadn't been a year since I had cooked Bob's dinner. sleeping porch with me in his arms and listen to the midnight express shriek through the valley without caring whether we ever rode away on it. When we got our chance, he just read the letter from the Continental Broadcasting Company and laughed. "Imagine. All that money for doing what you want to do. Like getting paid for kissing you — " And he kissed me. Then he added, "No. Not quite." I think he had forgotten all about the offer, by that time. And so had I, for Bob's kisses could make me for- get anything. But the difference between us w^as that I remembered it later. And 30 suddenly I was seeing everytnmg that money could buy: a hotel suite looking out over spangles of city lights; shop windows full of frothy lingerie and hand-made shoes and misty-colored tweeds and fine leather luggage; perfumes and furs; modern interiors done by decorators and photographed for the maga- zines; hairdos and make-up and costumes that would make me look — well, the way I looked now, one year later. And so I said, "Bob, think how many more people you could help if you went on a network. You could be Big Brother to millions instead of just a few thousand." I said, "Bob, it's your duty." 0 H, I convinced myself that what I said was true. Give me credit, 1 worked just as hard as ever when we came to the city; even after Bob had stopped believing in our pro- gram and believed instead in what the wise guys told him — that he was pretty clever to work out such a racket for the suckers. You see, he wasn't the type to be a celebrity. The city and its ma- terialism were bad for him. He hadn't the hardness to stand out against the boys who seemed so friendly — and the girls. There was no guile in him, and he didn't recognize it in other people. He thought you really had to keep late hours, and drink a little too much, and believe in practically nothing except what you could see and feel and spend. How does a marriage, once so closely-knit and firm, begin to fray around the edges and then, swiftly and more dizzyingly swiftly, un- ravel until it is nothing but a tangled snarl? I didn't know, even though for a year I'd watched our marriage go through that process. A cynical remark, like a knife between us — a quarrel over some trivial thing — a word spoken in anger and never retracted — a gradual tearing-apart. Whose fault, his or mine? Well, I wouldn't know that. And anyway, it didn't matter. What mattered was that our marriage was no longer the living thing it had been back in South City. He had his dates. I had mine. I had made my last effort to turn the clock back, by including in his broadcast the line about "to thine own self be true." I might have spared myself the trouble, because Bob read that last line "with a gulp as if he'd already grabbed the drink that was always waiting for him these days after broadcasts. And he plunged out of the studio and never came home at all that night. I knew, because I still had hopes that kept me lying tense and aching, listening for a key to click into a lock. So now, having made my last effort, I was through. I had tried, and I had failed. I was free to admit my marriage was finished, and to go my own way: a quiet, ordered way, with no more of the painful hopes and doubts and heartaches of this nightmare year. I walked into the little office in the broadcasting building a few minutes before Bob was due to go on the air. He was there, and as I opened the door I heard him saying into the telephone, "Tonight!" I wanted to turn and run, but I just stood still, rigid with the stub- born pride that kept me there. Bob looked up from the phone and flushed red. Then he said smoothly, "Any special reason, Prue, why I shouldn't accept a dinner invitation for tonight?" I took a long breath and closed my lips against the crazy thing that was trying to be said: "Oh, no. Bob. No special reason except that while you're eating I'll be telling Brinsley Mackall that I am ready to get my divorce and marry him." But I had never gone hysterical on Bob once in all this year, never made a single scene. I could keep my record clean and have that to remember, if I hung on a few minutes more. And so I said, "Why, no. Bob. I — I have a date myself." For a minute I had the queer feel- ing that all my self-control was wasted; that I hadn't made the right answer. For Bob's brown eyes looked questioning, almost panicky, the way they used to look when he reached for my hand just before he went on the air. But that was an optical illusion. He turned to the phone and said, "Right, Marnie. Club Cuban at eight." He sighed, then. He was tired, of course. And why not? A man can't live without sleep and not be tired sometimes. "Here's your script," I said. He reached to take it and I looked away. I didn't want to see that hand tremble. I'd had feelings about that hand. Big, clean, with brown skin firm over long strong fingers; a hand to count on, I used to think. Before he had finished reading over the script, the director popped in his head: "Ready to go on the air. Bob?" Bob went to the door, and I couldn't help watching. He didn't stagger. Any day he would, for sooner or later they always do, once they start on the way down. Then they're through. But I wouldn't be here to see it. I couldn't bear to be. BADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR It seemed I couldn't even besir to think about it, for the door had hardly closed before my head went down on that desk at which I would not sit any more. Correspondence should be kept dry, so I lifted my head and wiped my eyes, but it was too late to save the top letter. I didn't mean to read it, even when I reached for the blotter. I was through with the pain of read- ing words from people who did not know that Bob now called their tragic problems "fan mail',' meant only for counting into weekly totals. At least I thought I did not want to read that letter. I thought I had enough trouble on my hands. But maybe something down deep in me was looking for just what I got in that letter from Angus Cameron. Carefully I dried the blur of ink and tears and saw what had been written to Bob: "I don't guess anybody ever needs a big brother like they do at 14 years of age ..." I read that much and I knew I must go on. My eyes continued to scan the uneven, scrawled lines. "... especially if you never had any father or mother, but only the Supt. of the Home, and not even him now on account of being sent to this farm. Gee, I sure was sunk until I heard one of your broadcasts. Now I listen every Wednesday night. I get through my chores just in time. Last week I almost missed what you said. Gosh, you made it sound as though you were talking just about me." For a second I couldn't read the words very well because I was see- ing them through a mist of tears. The laborious writing marched on across the cheap notebook paper: "So I decided I just had to see you in person. You're the only one who can tell me what to do and I've just Bob grinned and said, "I fhink we con find a way, but it won't be by run- ning off from your job." got to decide. So by the time you read this, I'll be on the train that gets to your depot at 6: 10 — " In panic I looked over at the calendar, then to the clock up on the wall. Today ... in less than half an hour. But someone in the broadcasting studio must have seen this letter. They would have some- body there at the train to meet this frightened, hopeful boy, somebody who would take him gently by the hand and put htm on the next train going back, without his ever having seen Bob, having a chance to ask him for advice on his great problem, whatever it was. So that was that. It was out of my hands. I could step into a taxi for the hairdresser's, get a stunning new coiflfure so that tonight, when Brinsley Mackall proposed, he could look at me and feel that he was acquiring the right wife. I would sit back in the taxi's leather seat and relax. Now I could think about the Coach Inn and what would hap- pen there. Brinsley Mackall might like the Cuban Room for a less serious evening but when he had a proposal to bestow, he would ar- range a pastoral background, com- plete with brook, and probably even a full moon for the lighting effects. The cab whirled down the avenue but I saw nothing that I stared at through the window. We should be at the beauty salon by now. I broke my reverie and looked at the street corner ahead and gasped, "Driver, I thought I told you to take me to Salon—" "You said the depot, miss," the cab driver said, opening the door. I got out and looked up at the low, squat depot made the color of slate from the countless clouds of smoke from locomotives chugging in and out in endless procession. A clock said 6:05. The train would just be getting in. I knew I had already made up my mind. I would see the boy myself, try to explain JUNE. 1942 to him, send him back with some good reason why he couldn't see Bob . . . but not the real reason — that Bob wouldn't waste his time on anyone so unimportant. I made it. I had time to send away the representative the broadcasting studio had sent to meet the train before it pulled into the station. And I knew Angus Cameron right away. r\ NLY a kid looking for a big brother would swing down the steps with that false assurance stif- fening the legs too long for his adolescent body. Only the writer of that letter would look around so anxiously from serious big gray eyes above a freckled nose and sternly tight, sweet mouth. "Angus?" His eyes leaped to mine, beauti- fully alight. But they didn't stop. They were looking over my shoulder. They were looking for a big brother. "I — I'm Bob's wife, Angus." I had to give him that much, and it was •still true, after all. "Won't I do?" His smile tried to say I would, and it was terribly sweet, but it didn't quite succeed. It was still a big brother he wanted. "Look, Angus," I said quickly. "Let's go over to the network. See the whole works, where he broad- casts from — " "Will he be there?" That was all that counted. "Well, maybe not right now. But I could get you into one of the con- trol rooms, introduce you to sound engineers and big shot announcers." That was guaranteed to fill the mind of any fourteen-year-old. But not Angus Cameron's. His thin hand tightened on the strap of the book bag he was carrying. "If it's all right with you, Mam," he said with painful politeness, "I'd rather see him at home. Where we could talk. I — I just got to ask him this ques- tion—" Home . . . Bob wouldn't be there, if you could call that huge, empty place a home. However, that was where I had to be, and quick, to get ready for my date with Brinsley Mackall. In the cab I told him, "This is Central Avenue, Angus." He looked out the window but he didn't see the sights. All he saw was the big question mark inside him. He had come to find an answer, and nothing else existed for him until he found it. Until he found it. What was I thinking of? Panic seized me. I had to get this boy off my hands. Why had I sent the man from the network away? This was a job for him, not me. I turned to see his grdy eyes look- ing into mine, full of new fear. 32 "Here's where we live," I told him as the taxi stopped. Walking up the rubber carpet under the marquee, I put a hand on his shoulder. But if I thought the haughty figure of Felix the doorman would embarrass him, I had him wrong. He didn't see Felix or his gold braid. And his breath was coming in quiclc sharp gasps. There wasn't a sign of Bob, of course. He was neat around the house — the perfect husband, I'd called him long ago. Only I could see that his best dinner jacket was gone. "He'll be coming home to supper, won't he?" The voice cracked a little. "He's sure to, isn't he?" "Angus, why don't you tell me what's on your mind?" I answered quickly. "Then we could get a start on it before he comes — " I still had half an hour. Maybe I could get this settled and start him home some- how. He shook his head. "Not that I don't appreciate you helping me. Mam," he said. "But it's just that I— well, I've heard his voice, and I — well, I know; him." Oh, Angus! So did I, or thought I did. But we were wrong. I wanted to grab this thin kid up against me and moan and weep. Oh, Angus, so wrong! But I drew a deep breath. "Listen, Angus. Radio's a funny business. The people in it keep queer hours." That was true, all right! "Sometimes we can't be just sure when we'll be seeing Bob^" Oh, Angus, if you knew — He was waiting there, clutching the cardboard suitcase and the book- bag. "So, look, Angus. I'll go in there and wash my face and fix my hair and powder my nose, while you eat the swell beef stew I'll have sent up — and pie a la mode — " I stopped, shocked to think I had dreamed that thoughts of food could lighten the stark shadow that had darkened those gray eyes. "He— Why, Mam, I've got to see him!" "But tomorrow, An- gus!" I told him desper- ately. "You tuck up and go to sleep here and see him in the morning — " And what a sight that would be — if he got here. But the minutes were ticking away toward the moment I had to be ready for Brinsley Mackall. Angus was shaking his head, death in his eyes. "It would be too late—" His voice cracked again, into a heartrending falsetto. Angus, no! Not a big fourteen-year-old boy, don't dare — But, of course, he wouldn't cry. Not Angus. His voice just flattened out and he said quietly, "You see, I'll take that nine-thirty train back, like I planned unless he told me it was okay not to. " He straightened suddenly, and said, "I guess I was just plain crazy, thinking I could walk right in and find him waiting for me all set to straighten every- thing out." He even smiled, apolo- getically, the whitest, saddest smile I ever saw. "I'm sorry to give you all this trouble, Mam, but it's like I said. I was just crazy, trying to figure things out — " Suddenly I couldn't bear it. For the first time I thought, maybe it's important for Angus to find his Answer. Maybe it's more important than the one I found. I looked at the clock. Seven already. I rushed to the swanky soundproof phone booth in the hall. "I — I can't make it," I told Brinsley Mackall. And with absurd hope- fulness. "Not tonight, that is — " There was a silence on the wire. Brinsley Mackall was good at si- lences, the kind that could reprove and punish. "Something has come up," I stam- mered. "An emergency, sort of — " "I see," Brinsley Mackall said. "I understand. Your husband again, I suppose?" "No. Or not exactly. That is, I have to see him — " "I think you know my position," Brinsley Mackall said. I did. He had stated it, often. "You must make your choice," he had said. And with impatience, lately. He had laid down an Continued on page 67 W 001^ ftVtto y0^ count^' oil been *^Vjusics u.llots ho^^ Facing ♦•'^^popu- Mi''°'./ You '^^"'-'^iS-^^^. ■*«* -Ike «« .1. Su"'*' -Ise-A'-'""^ 1 ItADIO AND TELEVISION MIRIIOR ■ "s^^^-^^plij't^^-^ ■ ■ •' ^ ?3,.-:;"3'"i ■■•■'■:^"^■^■S; ^'^ "^S^l^l ^J >» *«.^' tf a ^ ^4 iP You're The Someone I've Been Waiting For An accompanist becomes a composer — Ted Straeter, Kate Smith* s pianist on her Friday night CBS program, contributes this captivating hit song REFRAIN Words. and Music by TED STRAETER ^*<^ji ij) i'j ij)!^ fr f ijj;, ;)j -i;. ip p f --J' I looked at you 1 felt a thrill You smiled at me my heart stood still The ,^ ^ ^^ ^ ^ p i'»'y. P tlFt- n J ^ i' ■fTf^ -O- Gj,^ f ^s ^ f moment I looked inyoureyes something deep in-side Saidyourethesoraeonelvebeenwaiting for It i,\,f^'\p 'f-fli gg t ? J > J? ^ p^' ^ ^ J f m fr 22 I I* j^ ;' J -ij) iM r •'J' li' ^' '^ ''J' IF F r^ was-nt long I held your hand I seemed to know you'd un - der-stand My r"^ S ^ p [.t^ "^ J' S f f^~^ ^ f ^ ^ f |jUm f'T Mn'iff? H^-r^^i(! ^T "^'f ■^'^■^1 d;ir-iingwhen I lock at you I want-ed to con-fide Thatyou'rethesoraeonelvebeenwailing ^^^ Copyright, 1942 by Ted Straeter ifr<»**?»i?f^'t!rf(t?i^-'^.^, S.>i ^ »fW &. iWH. V for Thru all the years I hoped to find some -bo-dy just like you But PffT 4 now 1 have no peace of mind You haunt me all day thru my dream come true my T ^ Y^w ^ i ±=8 ^^ worship and a dore Cause you're the some-one I've been wait- ing for ,^!^^ ^ f 'S^ J' (f- If ? ¥^5: ^ * 'RADIO MIRROR'S) IHIT OF THE MONTH KAREN hummed softly to her- self, as she washed the breakfast dishes. Every once in awhile, she would glance out through the window above the tiny sink and watch the turbulent waves break on the sandy beach. Karen loved the sea in all its moods, but best of all in this one, with a Nor'easter blowing up and the water choppy and gray and glittering like steel when the early morning sun momentarily broke through the wind-scudded clouds. Then, her eyes wandering far out to where the murky sky and the restless water lost themselves in one another, Karen's face hard- ened. Out there, lurking unseen and striking without warning, was an enemy far more implacable than any storm of the sea, far more ter- rible, because it followed no law of man or nature. Unconsciously, Karen straightened her shoulders and threw up her head, so that, in spite of her slight frame and the delicacy of her features, there was something of great strength and courage and de- termination about her. Standing there like that, she looked like a Viking Princess out of some ancient Norse legend. A gust of wind swirled down over the trailer and whistled against the high, earthen embankment. Karen shivered. She was glad she and her father had found this sheltering cliff of earth under which to camp. They had been lucky to find it in the dark the night before. Here, if a storm did come up, they would be protected from the worst fury of the gale. It was warm inside the trailer, everything was comfortable and shipshape. Only the dishes re- mained to be done. Karen set to work again. "Hey, there!" 36 Karen raised her head to listen. It was a man's voice. A moment later, there was a knocking on the door of the trailer. Karen wiped her hands quickly and opened the door. It was a young man. "Hello," he said briskly. He was very tall and his dark, shaggy hair was blowing in the wind. His eyes were surprisingly blue. "I wonder — " he began and then stopped. "Well — hello — " he stam- mered. He looked at Karen with an almost unbelieving stare. Then he grinned and there was pleasure and surprise and admiration in his eyes. Karen smiled back at him. "Hello," she said. "Did you want some- thing?" He frowned slightly. "I—" he began and looked embarrassed. "Say — " he hedged, "could I come inside? It's cold out here — that wind — " "Of course," Karen said cordially and stepped aside to let him in. He was so tall he had to stoop a little and he looked awkward, standing there like that, in the narrow space between the two bunks. He bit his lip and smiled feebly at her. "Yes?" Karen asked. "Uh — well — you see," he said, "my family owns that house up there — " he bent low and pointed land toward the south. Karen yoked through the window over her father's bunk. She saw the roof of a large, rambling house, just visi- ble over the top of the embankment. She saw four chimneys, smoke feathering from all four of them and getting lost in the rough wind. "It looks like a very nice house," Karen smiled. "You're very lucky." His face grew red. "I — ^yes," he mumbled. Then he said quickly, a little uncomfortably, "This is pri- vate property — this strip of beach, too." "Oh," Karen said softly. "I'm sorry. We didn't see any 'No Tres- passing' signs. It was too dark, I guess." "There aren't any signs," the young man laughed unconvincingly. "You see — well — everyone knows — this is a very exclusive summer colony." "Everyone knows?" Karen asked with a smile. "We didn't." He tried to answer her smile, not too successfully. "Well," he said with a shrug, "it's just a mistake. I guess your camping here one night won't matter much — " "One night?" Karen said. "But we'll be here longer that that. We'll have to be." The young man stared at her. "You see," Karen felt she should explain, "we came up here to get work at the Drake Speedboat Company's shipyards." That seemed to embarrass him even more. He looked around the trailer. "We?" he asked. "My father's a shipbuilder," Karen said. Secretly, she was a BADIO AND TELEVISION MIBROII And then she was in Kand's arms, clinging /o him. little amused, even a little flattered, by his question. "Oh— I see," he said. "Then— uh — wouldn't it be more practical for you to camp nearer the boatyard? I mean, after all, it's over half a mile down the beach and I'm sure you'd be much happier down — " "Have you been down there?" Karen asked. JUNE, 1942 "No — no, not since last summer," he admitted. "We — the family just got up here last night." "Well, we have been down there," Karen said. She was beginning to be annoyed, not only because she was beginning to understand the purpose of this visit, but because it was obvious that the young man was trying to convince himself that Because he symbolized the injustice she hated, she hardened her heart against him, forgetting they were allies in a common cause Adapted by Madeline Thompson, -from the radio play, "Builders of the Bulwark," heard on the First Nighter . broadcast sponsored by Campana's Italian Ba\m over CBS Friday nights. he had some justification in asking them to move. It occurred to her that he might not understand. "We have been down there," she re- peated. "First, we tried to find a house, or apartment, in town. Then we went down to the boatyard. But there's no room. The beach is so crowded with trailers and tents, you can hardly walk around." "Oh," he said. "But still— there must be some other — " "No, there isn't any other place," Karen said. "We looked. We just can't camp on the exposed beach." "I see your point," he said. "But, after all, this is private property and—" Suddenly, Karen's annoyance turned to anger. She thought of that big house on the knoll. She thought of the warmth and coziness that the four smoking chimneys implied. She thought of this young man, so sleek and neat in his fine clothes and his sense of security, returning to that warmth and com- fort after he had sent her father and her packing like so much riff- raff. She was suddenly cold with fury. "I'm very sorry," she said bit- ingly, "that our trailer is disgracing your lovely, private beach. But I'm afraid you'll have to put up with it. You might be interested to know that we came up here because the government sent out a call for ex- perienced shipyard workers. But we didn't come just for a job. We came because we love this country and we want to do everything we can to help defend it — now — when it needs us. My father didn't come up here to enjoy the advantages of your precious summer colony. He came to do his share to save America from the fate of his country. He doesn't want what happened to Norway to Continued on page 53 37 KAREN hummed softly to her- self, as she washed the breakfast dishes. Every once in awhile, she would glance out through the window above the tiny sinic and watch the turbulent waves break on the sandy beach. Karen loved the sea in all its moods, but best of all in this one, with a Nor'easter blowing up and the water choppy and gray and glittering like steel when the early morning sun momentarily broke through the wind-scudded clouds. Then, her eyes wandering far out to where the murky sky and the restless water lost themselves in one another, Karen's face hard- ened. Out there, lurking unseen and striking without warning, was an enemy far more implacable than any storm of the sea, far more ter- rible, because it followed no law of man or nature. Unconsciously, Karen straightened her shoulders and threw up her head, so that, in spite of her slight frame and the delicacy of her features, there was something of great strength and courage and de- termination about her. Standing there like that, she looked like a Viking Princess out of some ancient Norse legend. A gust of wind swirled down over the trailer and whistled against the high, earthen embankment. Karen shivered. She was glad she and her father had found this sheltering cliff of earth under which to camp. They had been lucky to find it in the dark the night before. Here, if a storm did come up, they would be protected from the worst fury of the gale. It was warm inside the trailer, everything was comfortable and shipshape. Only the dishes re- mained to be done. Karen set to work again. "Hey, there!" Karen raised her head to listen. It was a man's voice. A moment later, there was a knocking on the door of the trailer. Karen wiped her hands quickly and opened the door. It was a young man. "Hello," he said briskly. He was very taU and his dark, shaggy hair was blowing in the wind. His eyes were surprisingly blue. "I wonder — " he began and then stopped. "Well — hello — " he stam- mered. He looked at Karen with an almost unbelieving stare. Then he grinned and there was pleasure and surprise and admiration in his eyes. Karen smiled back at him. "HeUo," she said. "Did you want some- thing?" He frowned slightly. "I — " he began and looked embarrassed. "Say — " he hedged, "could I come inside? It's cold out here — that wind — " "Of course," Karen said cordially and stepped aside to let him in. He was so tall he had to stoop a little and he looked awkward, standing there like that, in the narrow space between the two bunks. He bit his lip and smiled feebly at her. "Yes?" Karen asked. "Uh — well — you see," he said, "my family owns that house up there — " he bent low and pointed land toward the south. Karen <;o«o<2>«o«« Read the thrilling story of Mary Marlin fictionized by Norton Russell, then tune in this popular radio serial by Jane Crusinberry daily on NBC at 10:45 A.M., EWT, sponsored by Ivory Snow. Illustration posed 'by Anne Seymour as Mary and Carleton Brickert as David. what she wanted them to print about her and her work; she had faced blame and praise with equal calm- ness. They had been full years, busy years, and that was well, because activity had helped to ease the ache left by Joe's loss. It was strange how that ache had persisted, even though when he went away their love had already become something shallow and unsatisfying. Habit, perhaps — Mary sighed, turning away from the window as if she could thus turn away from her thoughts. But you coiddn't do that: your thoughts were always with you, and your memories. It was a few days before Christ- mas; tonight they were going to board the train, she and Davey, and return to Cedar Springs for the holi- days. And it was not Cedar Springs she looked forward to seeing again, so much as it was David Post. Her heart warmed at the thought of him, and she offered up silent thanks for one friend so true, so loyal and unswerving in afifection. There had been so many times that she could not count them when she would have been lost without David's advice and help and con- fidence. He understood her, she sometimes believed, better than she understood herself — certainly much better than she understood him. Of all men, David was the one who should have had a home, a wife and family, yet he had never mar- ried. He was waiting, he said, for the Lady of his Dreams — and there was a touch of fantasy in that re- mark which did not go with David's common sense, his firm grasp of the RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRBOR realities of life. "But who is she — this Lady?" Mary had asked him. "Everything that a woman should or ever could be," David had said gravely. "All beauty, and all ten- derness, and all loyalty." Mary had smiled ruefully. "I wonder if such a woman exists, David." "She exists," he had said, looking at Mary steadily. "I know she exists." Even then, she had had an inkling of this Lady's real name, but she had. thrust the suspicion aside. It could not be, after all these years of friendship! And yet, David was JUNE, 1942 the sort who would keep a secret locked in his heart until he was sure it would not be dishonorable to reveal it. Even then, his innate modesty and reticence would let him speak of it only in hints and veiled references. But no matter what unexpressed thoughts lay behind David's calm manner, it would be so good to see him tomorrow, waiting at the Cedar Springs station when she stepped off the train! And it was inexpressibly good to feel the firm strength of his hand- clasp, to watch Davey greet him with childish enthusiasm, to ride with him through snow-muffled streets and, arriving at the old- fashioned house on Main Street, to admire the big Christmas tree he had thoughtfully ordered before- hand. Best of all, though, was the hour that night, after Davey had been put to bed, when she could talk, without reservation, of Wash- ington and • her life there. "It's been such a relief, David, to have the Presidential campaign over and done with! I'm glad I didn't have to run for election — it was bad enough to know Frazer Mitchell and Rufus Kane both so well, and wish that each of them could have what he wanted so badly." Continued on page 78 39 THE STORY OF Unseen, the listener heard the woman he loved give her heart to another man — and knew that at last she had found the happiness he had failed to bring her E^B npHE house on ^H I Princess Street ^H was gray, with ^S green shutters. It was Mfl not a tall house; in IH its Georgian archi^ ^^ tecture it was per- ^^ fectly proportioned, and as graceful as the rhododendron and wistaria and mimosa trees of its garden. A low wrought-iron fence surrounded the house and separated it from the cobbled street and narrow sidewalk. Within the garden was a fountain, a little Cupid with stiff marble curls, always smiling. The rooms were large, low-ceil- inged, and all done in neutral, pale colors which took the light stream- ing in the windows and gave it back again as something softer and more gentle. This, Mary had thought when Arnold, her butler, first showed it to her — it was Arnold who had se- lected it — was a place to live. It was in Alexandria, not so very far from Washington in point of distance, but very far in point of atmosphere. The throbbing tempo of the nation's capital slowed down here, to no more than a soft, distant pulse-boat. Davey could play in this garden as quietly as if he were in Cedar Springs; and at night, with the drawing of the curtains, all of the day's business was effectively shut out. Joe Martin would not have chosen this house. It would have been too modest tor him. But Joe — and Mary, in one of those moments of abstrac- tion which came to her now and then, stood by a gleaming mahogany table, staring unseeingly out of 38 the window at a garden which just now was blanketed in snow — Joe did not live here. Not now, and probably not ever. At first she had not been able to believe that he was gone. She still could not believe it, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. But it had been three years since the airplane which was carrying him had crashed in flames on the Siberian steppe, and in all that time no trace of him had ever been found. The detectives Eve Under- wood had insisted upon sending to Russia had returned empty-handed after a search that had circled the globe. It could not be that he was still alive. Three years . . . Davey had been a baby when his father went on the mission to Russia from which he was never to return; now he was a little boy, as active in body as he was in mind. And she herself had changed, Mary knew. The Governor's action in appointing her to fill out Joe's unexpired term in the United States Senate had plunged her headlong into a world of which she had known only the fringes. She herself, more than any- one else, had been surprised to dis- cover that she had an aptitude for politics and legislation, she had learned to make speeches, and to talk to reporters so they would print R«od lli« Ihrilling ilory ol Mary Marlln Rct.omi.d by Nortor, Ru„e||. ,),,„ ,„„, i; th,> popular radio ,.rial by Jon« A V," ct'^ Joily OK NBC ot I0;45 A.M EWT. iponiored by l«oty Snow. 11 uitrotion poied ty Anno Seymour at Mary ord Carliton BncV.rt as David what she wanted them to print about her and her work; she had faced blame and praise with equal calm- ness. They had been full years, busy years, and that was well, because activity had helped to ease the ache left by Joe's loss. It was strange how that ache had persisted, even though when he went away their love had already become something shallow and unsatisfying. Habit, perhaps — Mary sighed, turning away from the window as if she could thus turn away from her thoughts. But you couldn't do that: your thoughts were always with you, and your memories. It was a few days before Christ- mas; tonight they were going to board the train, she and Davey, and return to Cedar Springs for the holi- days. And it was not Cedar Springs she looked forward to seeing again, so much as it was David Post. Her heart warmed at the thought of him, and she offered up silent thanks for one friend so true, so loyal and unswerving in affection. There had been so many times that she could not count them when she would have been lost without David's advice and help and con- fidence. He understood her, she sometimes believed, better than she understood herself — certainly much better than she understood him. Of all men, David was the one who should have had a home, a wife and family, yet he had never mar- ried. He was waiting, he said, l"' the Lady of his Dreams — and there was a touch of fantasy in that re- mark which did not go with David s common sense, his firm grasp of the RAmo ANB TELEVISION >C*0* realities of life. "But who is she — this Lady?" Mary had asked him. "Everything that a woman should or ever could be," David had said gravely. "All beauty, and all ten- derness, and all loyalty." Mary had smiled ruefully. "I wonder if such a woman exists, David." "She exists," he had said, looking at Mary steadily. "I know she exists." Even then, she had had an inkling of this Lady's real name, but she nad_ thrust the suspicion aside. It TOuld not be, after all these years of friendship! And yet, David was JD^-r, 1942 the sort who would keep a secret locked in his heart until he was sure it would not be dishonorable to reveal it. Even then, his innate modesty and reticence would let him speak of it only in hints and veiled references. But no matter what unexpressed thoughts lay behind David's calm manner, it would be so good to .see him tomorrow, waiting at the Cedar Springs station when she stepped off the train! And it was inexpressibly good to feel the firm strength of his hand- clasp, to watch Davey greet him with childish enthusiasm, to ride with him through snow-muiHed "/ fhlnk /'ye lovtd you all my lift, David." Mary'i voice wat low. "I jutt — wam'f ll/re until toitighf." streets and, arriving at the old- fashioned house on Main Street, to admire the big Christmas tree he had thoughtfully ordered before- hand. Best of alt, though, was the hour that night, after Davey had been put to bed, when she could talk, without reservation, of Wash- ington and. her life there. "It's been such a relief, David, to have the Presidential campaign over and done with! I'm glad I didn't have to run for election — it was bad enough to know Frazer Mitchell and Rufu.s Kane both so well, and wish that each of them could have what he want*'d «o badly." Continued on poije 78 39 THE umu mmum No sugar af all in fhh layer cake — and only a light dusting on top, which can be omitted. EARLY in May sugar- rationing becomes a fact for everyone in the nation. I know my readers will iinder- stand and accept rationing for what it is — simply an emergency method of making quite sure that everyone gets all the sugar he needs and that no one gets more than he really needs. And I know, too, that you won't want to use your portion of sugar wastefuUy. You'll be on the lookout for recipes which will help you to conserve the precious sweet stuff. That's why I'm devoting this is- sue of the Cooking Corner to bringing you new and delicious recipes which utilize other sweetening agents. There are a number of these, you know. Corn syrup is one — and an excellent one since it is rich in energy- building dextrose. Prepared pudding mixtures, which need only the addi- tion of milk, also are made of dextrose. Molasses is another sweetener and honey is still another — and all of them may be used in a variety of ways, thus 3^ fCote OrmiJv RADIO MIRROR'S FOOD COUNSELOR Listen to Kate Smith's daily tallis at noon and her Friday nigbf show, bofh on CBS, sponsored by Genera/ Foods. Nothing's any sweet- er than honey — for a new dessert, fry this Baked Stuffed Orange. enabling you to conserve your sugar supply. Sugarless Layer Cake 2^ cups sifted cake flour 2^ tsps. baking powder V4t tsp. salt % cup butter or other shortening 1 cup light corn syrup 2 eggs, unbeaten % cup milk 1 tsp. vanilla % tsp. almond extract Sift flour once, add baking powder and salt and sift together 3 times. Cream shortening, add syrup grad- ually, beating well after each addi- tion. Add % the quantity of flour and beat smooth. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addi- tion. Gradually add remaining flour, alternately with milk, beating after each addition (for best results beat hard at each stage of mixing), add flavoring and bake in greased layer pans in moderate oven (375 degrees F.) about 30 minutes. Dark Molasses Cake 2 cups sifted cake flour % tsp. baking powder % tsp. soda 1 tsp. cinnamon Vz cup butter or other shortening % tsp. ginger % tsp. salt % cup brown sugar, tight packed 2 eggs % cup molasses Vz tsp. vanilla 5 tbls. milk Sift together flour, baking powder, soda and spices. Cream shortening. Discouraged by the lack of sugar? Not after you taste this dark mo- lasses cake! Make the Hlling from a package of chocolate pudding. add salt and sugar and cream to- gether, then add eggs and cream until light and fluffy. Gradually add flour, alternately with liquid, to creamed mixture, beating well after each addi- tion. An easy, delicious — also sugarless — ^filling for either cake is made by us- ing a package of chocolate pudding mixture. Prepare as directed on the package, reducing milk by V4 the quantity called for, since the filling must be stiffer than a pudding. Add -•% cup chopped nut meats or chopped raisins or currants and cover top with nuts or chopped fruit to make a more elaborate cake, or dust lightly with confectioner's sugar. Chocolate souffle, another luscious dessert — and one many of us usually consider difficult to make — ^may be prepared from chocolate pudding mixture. Continued on page 64 40 RADIO AND lELEVISION IknBBOR INSIDE RADIO -Telling You Mmi Prognmis anil fea^^^"^^^ to Mm < a. ?!= ZK bJ< "S 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:15 8:15 8:15 8:30 SUNDAY Eastern War Time 8:00 CBS: News 8:00 Blue: News 8:00jNBC: Organ Recital 8:30 Blue Tone Pictures 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:15 9:15 9:30 9:00 10:00 9:00 10:00 9:00 10:00 9:30 9:30 10:00 10:00 10:30 10:30 CBS The World Today Blue: World News NBC: News from Europe CBS: From the Organ Loft Blue: White Rabbit Line NBC: Deep River Boys NBC: Words and Music CBS: Church of the Air Blue: Musical Millwheel NBC: Radio Pulpit CBS: Wings Over Jordan Blue: Southernaires 11:00 CBS News 11:00 Blue: News 11:15 Blue: Recital Period 8:15 10:15 8:30110:30 11:30 CBS Invitation to Learnini 8:30 10:3011:30 MBS: Radio Chapel 8:30 10:30 11:30 Blue: Revue in Miniature 8:30 10:30 11:30 NBC: Music and Youth 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:30 9:30 9:30 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 11:00 11:00 11:00 11:30 11:30 11:30 12:00 12:00 12:00 12:30 1:00 1:30 1:30 2:00 11:00 11:00 11:00 11:30 11:3C 11:30 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 1:00 1:00 1:00 1:30 1:30 1:30 2:00 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:30 3:00 3:30 3:30 4:00 2:30 2:30 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:30 3:30 3:30 4:00 4:00 8:30 4:15 4:30 4:30 4:30 5:00 5:00 5:00 8:00 8:00 5:30 5:45 5:55 6:00 6:00 9:00 6:00 9:15 6:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:30 8:00 8:00 4:30 4:30 4:45 5:00 5:00 5:00 5:30 5:30 5:30 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:15 6:30 6:30 6:30 6:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:30 7:30 7:45 7:55 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:15 8:30 8:30 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:30 9:30 10:00 10:00 10:30 12:00 12:00 12:00 12:30 12:30 12:30 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 2:00 2:00 2:00 2:30 2:30 2:30 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:30 4:00 4:30 4:30 5:00 5:00 5:15 CBS: Eric Sevareid Blue: Foreign Policy Assn. NBC' Sunday Down South CBS: Salt Lake City Tabernacle Blue: Radio City Music Hall NBC: Emma Otero CBS: Church of the Air NBC: Upton Close MBS: George Fisher NBC: Silver Strings CBS: What's New at the Zoo Blue: Josef Marais CBS: Spirit of '42 Blue: Blue Theater NBC: Sammy Kaye CBS: Columbia Workshop Blue: Yesterday and Today NBC: University of Chicago Round Table CBS: Columbia Symphony Blue: Wake Up America NBC: Bob Becker NBC: H. V. Kaltenborn 5:30 5:30 NBC: The Army Hour Blue: Sunday Vespers CBS: Pause that Refreshes Blue Behind the Mike CBS The Family Hour Blue: Moylan Sisters Blue: Olivio Santoro Blue NBC Musical Steelmakers ; Plays for Americans CBS William L. Shirer 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:30 6:30 6:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:15 7:30 7:30 7:30 7:30 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30 8:30 8:30 8:45 8:55 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:30 9:30 10:00 10:00 10:00 10:00 10:30 10:30 11:00 11:00 11:30 CBS: Edward R. Murrjw MBS Double or Nothing NBC Catholic Hour CBS: Gene Autry Blue: Pearson and Allen NBC: The Great Gildersleeve MBS: Voice of Prophacy Blue: News from Europe NBC; Jack Benny CBS: Public Affairs MBS: Nobody's Children CBS We, the People Blue: Daughters of Uncle Sam NBC: Fitch Bandwagon CBS: World News Blue: Tommy Dorsey NBC: CHARLIE MCCARTHY CBS: Crime Doctor Blue: Inner Sanctum Mystery NBC: ONE MAN'S FAMILY MBS: Gabriel Heatter CBS: Elmer Davis CBS: FRED ALLEN MBS: Old Fashioned Revival Blue: Walter Winchell NBC: Manhattan Merry-Go-Round Blue: The Parker Family Blue: Irene Rich NBC: American Album of Familiar Music CBS: Take It or Leave It Blue: Goodwill Hour MBS: Raymond Gram Swing NBC: Hour of Charm CBS: They Live Forever NBC: Joe and Mabel CBS: Headlines ahd Bylines NBC: Dance Orchestra NBC: 3 Sheets to the Wind NEW DAYTIME HEROINE... There's a new daytime serial on the air, and a new actress playing the leading role in it. The serial is We Love and Learn, on CBS at 2:30 p.m., EWT, and the actress is Betty Worth, portraying the part of Andrea Reynolds. Strictly speaking, of course, neither play nor actress is precisely new — just new to the network. We Love and Learn was broadcast until recently by means of recordings and under the title of As the Twig is Bent. Betty had the lead in it, too, and has done a good deal of radio work the last few years in supporting parts. Betty started her adult life as a stenog- rapher— a very bad one, she says. She typed and took dictation until, one morn- ing, she rebelled and walked out. This turned her family against her, because they couldn't see why a girl should throw up a good job to be an actress. After a few months of wandering up and down Broadway, living on a few cents a day, Betty had a hard time understanding it herself. She finally got a part in a play, and when it closed, a part in another. She says, "I was in a succession of turkeys the like of which the drama has never seen, before or since." Translated out of the- atrical jargon, that means the plays were all very bad and closed almost as soon as they opened. In one of them, when Betty made her entrance the audience hissed her. Or she thought it was the audience — it turned out to be only the steam pipes of the heating system, but the experience was so unnerving it's a won- der she ever ventured back on a stage. After a season in a revue — 'I was in a couple of sketches," she says; "but really if you blinked you missed seeing me" Betty got a chance to be in a few March of Time broadcasts, and what she saw in the radio studios convinced her that act- ing for the microphone had it all over acting on the stage. "You get paid in radio," is the way she expresses the dif- ference, concisely. Having made this de- cision she lost no time in finding a job on a local station where she spent eighteen months learning all there was to learn about microphone technique before ven- turing into the fierce competition of the networks. Betty's married to Michael Davidson, the nephew of Jo Davidson, the famous sculptor. They met at a party given by Bennett Kilpack, radio's Mr. Keen — and two weeks later they were married. That was five years ago. Michael is a radio script writer and press agent. They've recently bought a farm in Pennsylvania where they'll spend the summer. 8:30 10:15 1:45 10:30 12:45 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:15 8:15 11:00 8:30 11:15 8:45 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:15 10:30 4:15 11:00 12:30 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 11:45 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:45 2:00 2:15 2:30 2:45 2:45 3:10 3:15 3:30 7:30 3:45 8:00 7:30 8:00 8:15 4:15 7:30 4:30 7:30 5:00 9:15 8:30 5:00 8:30 8:30 5:55 6:00 6:00 9:00 6:30 6:30 6:30' 7:00 7:00 7:00| 7:00 i u 8:00 8:45 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:15 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:30 9:45 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:30 10:45 10:45 10:45 11:00 11:00 11:15 11:30 11:30 12:00 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:30 1:45 1:45 1:45 MONDAY Eastern War Time 8:301 Blue: Teias Jim 9:00|Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:30 10:45 10:45 11:00 11:00 11:00 11:15 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 11:45 11:45 11:45 12:00 12:00 CBS: Harvey and Dell CBS: Valiant Lady NBC: Bess Johnson 12:30 12:30 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:30 2:45 2:45 2:45 CBS: Blue: NBC: CBS: Blue: NBC: CBS: NBC: CBS: Blue: NBC: Blue: NBC: CBS: Bright Horizon Blue: John's Other Wife NBC: The Road of Life CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories Blue: Just Plain Bill NBC: David Harum Stories America Love5 Helen Hiett Bachelor's Children Stepmother A House in the Country Help Mate Woman of Courage Mary Marlin Victory Begins at Home Orphans of Divorce The Bartons Honeymoon Hill Vic and Sade CBS: NBC: KATE SMITH SPEAKS Words and Music CBS: Big Sister CBS: Blue: Romance of Helen Trent Farm and Home Hour CBS: Our Gal Sunday CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful Blue: Baukhage Talking MBS: John B. Hughes CBS: Woman in White MBS: I'll Find My Way Blue: Edward Mac Hugh CBS: Vic and Sade Road of Life John Vandercook Young Dr. Malone Light of the World CBS: NBC: CBS: NBC: CBS: Girl Interne NBC Arnold Grimm's Daughter CBS Blue: NBC We Love and Learn News The Guiding Light 2:00 2:00 2:00 3:00 3:00 3:00 2:15 2:15 3:15 3:15 2:30 2:30 3:30 3:30 2:45 2:45 3:45 3:45 3:00 3:00 3:00 4:00 4:00 4:00 3:15 3:15 3:15 4:15 4:15 4:15 3:30 4:30 3:45 4:45 4:00 5:00 4:15 5:15 4:30 5:30 4:45 4:45 5:45 5:45 6:00 5:10 6:10 5:15 6:15 5:30 9:30 6:30 6:30 5:45 5:45 6:45 6:45 6:45 6:00 6:00 6:00 7:00 7:00 7:00 6:15 6:15 7:15 7:15 9:30 6:30 7:30 7:30 7:30 7:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 7:30 7:30 7:30 8:30 8:30 8:30 7:55 8:55 8:00 8:00 8:00 9:00 9:00 9:00 8:30 8:30 8:30 9:30 9:30 9:30 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:00 10:00 10:00 10:00 10:00 CBS: The Goldbergs Blue: In Care of Aggie Horn NBC Hymns of All Churches CBS David Harum Blue. Prescott Presents NBC: Against the Storm CBS: News NBC: Ma Perkins Blue. News NBC: Pepper Young's Family Blue: Southernaires NBC Right to Happiness CBS Blue NBi Helping Hand Arthur Tracy Sackstage Wife Spotlight on Asia Club Matinee Stella Dallas CBb Blue NBC: NBC: Lorenzo Jones NBC: Young Widder Brown NBC: When a Girl Marries NBC: Portia Faces Life Blue Flying Patrol CBS: Scattergood Ba.nes Blue: Secret City CBS: Edwin C. Hil CBS Ted Husing CBS: Hedda Hopper CBS: Frank Parker Blue: Lum and Abner CBS: The World Today Blue: Lowell Thomas NBC; Bill Stern CBS: Amos 'n' Andy Blue: Jimmie Fidler NBC. Fred Waring's Gang CBS: Lanny Ross Blue; Edward Tomlinson CBS: Blondie Blue: Hillman and Lindley MBS: The Lone Ranger CBS: Vox Pop MBS: Cal Tinney Blue; I Love a Mystery NBC: Cavalcade of America CBS: GAY NINETIES Blue; True or False NBC: Voice of Firestone CBS: Elmer Davis CBS: LUX THEATER MBS: Gabriel Heatter NBC; The Telephone Hour MBS; Spotlight Bands Blue: For America We Sing NBC: Doctor I. Q. CBS: Freddy Martin MBS: Raymond Gram Swing Blue: Merry-Go-Round NBC' Contented Proqram JUNE, 1942 41 8:30 10:15 1:45 10:30 1:00 12:45 10:45 8:00 8:00 8:15 8:15 11:00 8:30 11:15 8:45 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:15 4:15 11:00 12:30 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 11:45 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:30 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:45 2:00 2:15 2:30 2:45 2:45 7:45 3:15 7:30 3:45 3:45 8:00 4:00 8:00 8:15 4:15 4:15 4:30 6:00 8:30 5:00 10:00 8:30 9:30 9:00 5:30 5:55 9:00 6:00 6:00 9:30 6:30 6:30 6:30 6:30 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:45 i o 8:00 8:45 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:15 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:30 9:45 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:30 10:45 10:45 10:45 11:00 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:15 TUESDAY Eastern War Time 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:30 1:45 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:30 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:15 3:30 3:30 3:45 4:00 4:15 4:30 4:45 4:45 5:00 5:15 9:30 5:45 5:45 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:15 6:15 6:15 6:30 6:30 6:45 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:30 7:30 7:55 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30 8:30 8:30 8:30 9:00 9:00 9:30 9:45 8:30 9:00 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:30 10:45 10:45 11:00 11:00 11:00 11:15 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 11:45 11:45 11:45 12:00 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:30 2:45 2:45 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:15 3:15 3:30 3:30 3:30 ^3:45 ""4:00 4:00 4:00 4:15 4:30 4:30 4:45 5:00 5:15 5:30 5:45 5:45 6:00 6:15 6:30 6:45 6:45 6:45 Blue: Texas Jim Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB CBS: Harvey and Deli CBS: Valiant Lady NBC: Bess Johnson CBS: Stories America Loves Blue: Helen Hiett NBC: Bachelor's Children CBS: Stepmother Blue: A House in the Country NBC Help Mate CBS: Woman of Courage NBC: Mary Marlin CBS: IVIary Lee Taylor Blue. Orphans of Divorce NBC: The Bartons Blue: Honeymoon Hill NBC: Vic and Bade CBS: Bright Horizon Blue: John's Other Wife NBC: The Road of Life CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories Blue: Just Plain Bill NBC: David Harum CBS: Kate Smith Speaks CBS: Big Sister CBS: Romance of Helen Trent Blue: Farm and Home Hour CBS: Our Gal Sunday CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful Blue: Baukhage Talking MBS: John B. Hughes CBS: Woman in White MBS: I'll Find My Way Blue: Edward MacHugh CBS: Vic and Sade CBS Road of Life NBC John Vandercook CBS: Young Dr. Malone NBC Light of the World CBS: Girl Interne NBC: Arnold Grimm's Daughter CBS: We Love and Learn Blue: News NBC: The Guiding Light CBS: The Goldbergs Blue: In Care of Aggie Horn NBC: Hymns of All Churches CBS: David Harum Blue: Prescott Presents NBC: Against the Storm CBS: News NBC: Ma Perkins CBS: Renfro Valley Folks Blue: News NBC: Pepper Young's Family NBC: Right to Happiness CBS: Blue: NBC Helping Hand Club Matinee Backstage Wife NBC: Stella Dallas CBS: News NBC: Lorenzo Jones NBC: Young Widder Brown NBC: When a Girl Marries NBC: Portia Faces Life Blue: Flying Patrol CBS: Scattergood Baines Blue: Secret City CBS: Frazier Hunt CBS: Dorothy Kilgallen Blue: Lum and Abner CBS: The World Today Blue: Lowell Thomas NBC: Bill Stern 7:00 CBS: Amos 'n' Andy 7:00 Blue: EASY ACES 7:00 NBC: Fred Waring's Gang 7:15 CBS: Lanny Ross 7:15 Blue: Mr. Keen 7:15 NBC European News 7:3o!cBS: American Melody Hour 7:30 NBC: Burns and Allen 7:45 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30 8:30 8:30 8:55 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:30 9:30 9:30 9:30 10:00 10:00 10:30 10:45 NBC H. V. Kaltenborn CBS Are You a Missing Heir MBS: What's My Name Blue: Cugat Rhumba Revue NBC: Johnny Presents CBS: Bob Burns Blue: Three Ring Time NBC: Horace Heidt CBS: Elmer Davis CBS: Duffy's Tavern MBS Gabriel Heatter Blue: Famous Jury Trials NBC: Battle of the Sexes CBS: Report to the Nation MBS: Spotlight Bands Blue: NBC SYMPHONY NBC: McGee and Molly MBS John 8. Hughes NBC: BOB HOPE NBC: Red Skelton CBS: News of the World CLOSE-UP TORNADO There are a few people in the world who aren't happy unless they're in the exact center of constant activity. Charles Martin, who writes and directs the plays on Tallulah Bankhead's show Tuesday nights (NBC, 8:00 EWT) and on the Philip Morris Playhouse Friday nights (CBS, 9:00 EWT), is one of those people. All day long, except on Tuesdays and Fridays when he's rehearsing a broadcast, he sits in a tiny office at an advertising agency, while telephone bells ring, buzzers buzz, and people rush in and' out. He loves it. At the end of the day he goes home to a big apartment where he lives all by him- self, and there he writes the scripts you hear on the air. When he gets stuck for a word or a phrase he stops and plays his piano or violin for a while. This alternate writing and playing goes on sometimes late into the night. He says that altogether he works about eighteen hours a day, and there's no reason to doubt him, when you realize that writing and directing even one program is a full-time job. Most of the people who come to see him at the office are radio actresses and actors, anxious to get parts in his plays. He is amiably brusk with actors, hasn't any patience at all with them if they're inefficient, but uses them again and again if they're good. Charlie Martin got his start as a radio director and writer at a local New York station, moved on to doing network pro- grams, and was the director of the pro- grams on which Orson Welles first acted on the air. Orson was a struggling, un- known young actor then. Martin did such good work in radio that he went out to Hollywood on a contract which called for his services as both writer and director. After a couple of years out there he came back to New York because his movie bosses wouldn't let him write, and the only pictures they gave him to direct were the type known as "B's". He isn't married and never has been, al- though when he was in Hollywood he and Joan Crawford were seen around to- gether so much that gossip mistakenly had them engaged. He eventually wants to write for the stage as well as for radio, and has one unproduced play in his files now, while he's working on another. He doesn't explain just where he finds the time. His success in persuading the mike-shy Tallulah Bankhead to sign up for a reg- ular series is an example of his ability to do the impossible. Charlie is still young enough to be called radio's boy genius— about thirty. At the start of a busy day he is neat and dapper, but by the end of it his curly hair is disordered, his tie has been wrenched loose and his shirt collar unbuttoned, and he has acquired a harassed look. These are all signs of what is, for Charles Martin, a wonderfully good time. 11:15 8:45 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:15 4:15 11:00 12:30 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 11:45 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:45 2:00 2:15 2:30 2:45 2:45 WEDNESDAY Eastern War Time 3:10 3:15 3:30 3:45 3:45 8:00 4:00 4:00 8:15 4:15 4:15 9:00 4:30 7:30 5:00 9:15 8:00 8:30 8:30 8:30 5:55 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:30 6:30 6:30 6:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:15 7:30 7:45 10:45 10:45 10:45 11:00 11:00 11:30 11:30 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:30 1:45 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:45 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:15 3:15 3:15 3:30 3:30 3:45 4:00 4:15 4:30 4:45 4:45 8:30 9:00 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:30 10:45 10:45 11:00 11:00 11:00 11:15 11:15 11:30 11:30 1-1:30 11:45 11:45 11:45 12:00 12:00 5:10 5:15 5:30 5:45 5:45 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:15 6:15 6:15 6:30 6:30 7:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:30 7:30 7:55 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30 8:30 8:30 8:30 9:00 9:00 3:15 3:15 3:30 3:30 3:45 3:45 4:00 4:00 4:00 4:15 4:15 4:15 4:30 4:30 4:45 5:00 5:15 5:30 5:45 5:45 6:00 6:10 6:15 6:30 6:45 6:45 6:45 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:15 7:15 7:15 7:30 7:30 7:30 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 Blue: Texas Jim Blue: Breakfast Club CBS: Harvey and Dell CBS: Valiant Lady NBC: Bess Johnson CBS: Stories America Loves Blue: Helen Hiett NBC: Bachelor's Children CBS: Stepmother Blue: A House in the Country NBC: Help Mate CBS: Woman of Courage NBC: Mary Marlin CBS: Blue: NBC- Blue: NBC: CBS: Blue: NBC CBS: Blue: NBC Victory Begins at Home Orphans of Divorce The Bartons Honeymoon Hill Vic and Sade Bright Horizon John's Other Wife The Road of Life Aunt Jenny's Stories Just Plain Bill David Harum CBS: Kate Smith Speaks NBC: Words and Music CBS: Big Sister 12:30 CBS: Romance of Helen Trent 12:30 Blue: Farm and Home Hour CBS: Our Gal Sunday 1:00 CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful 1:00 Blue: Baukhage Talking 1:00 MBS: John B. Hughes 1:15 CBS: Woman in White 1:15 MBS: I'll Find My Way 1:15 Blue: Edward MacHugh 1:30 CBS: Vic and Sade 1:45 CBS: Road of Life 1:45 NBC: John Vandercook 2:00 CBS: Young Dr. Malone 2:00 NBC: Light of the World 2:15 CBS: Girl Interne 2:15 NBC: Arnold Grimm's Daughter 2:30 CBS: We Love and Learn 2:30 Blue: News 2:30 NBC: The Guiding Light 2:45 CBS: The Goldbergs 2:45 Blue: In Care of Aggie Horn 2:45 NBC: Hymns of All Churches 3:00 CBS: David Harum 3:00 Blue: Prescott Presents 3:00 NBC: Against the Storm CBS: News NBC: Ma Perkins Blue: News NBC: Pepper Young's Family Blue: Southernaires NBC: Right to Happiness CBS: Helping Hand Blue: Arthur Tracy NBC: Backstage Wife CBS: Children Also Are People Blue: Club Matinee NBC: Stella Dallas CBS: NBC: News Lorenzo Jones 8:30 8:30 8:30 8:55 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:30 9:30 9:30 9:30 10:00 10:00 9:00;i0:00 9:00 10:00 9:15 9:30 9:45 10:15 10:30 NBC: Young Widder Brown NBC: When a Girl Marries NBC: Portia Faces Life Blue: Flying Patrol CBS: Scattergood Baines Blue: Secret City CBS: Edwin C. Hill CBS: Ted Husing CBS: Hedda Hopper CBS: Frank Parker CBS: The World Today Blue: Lowell Thomas NBC: Bill Stern CBS: Amos *n* Andy Blue: EASY ACES NBC: Fred Waring's Gang CBS: Lanny Ross Blue: Mr. Keen NBC: European News CBS: Blue: MBS: That Brewster Boy Hillman and Lindley The Lone Ranger Old Gold Show Cal Tinney Quiz Kids The Thin Man CBS: MBS: Blue: NBC: CBS: Dr. Christian Blue: Manhattan at Midnight NBC: Uncle Walter's Dog House CBS: Elmer Davis MBS: Gabriel Heatter CBS: JUNIOR MISS Blue: American Melody Hour NBC: Eddie Cantor CBS: Ransom Sherman MBS: Spotlight Bands Blue: Quizzicale NBC: Mr. District Attorney CBS: Glenn Miller MBS: John B. Hughes Blue: Basin Street Music NBC: Kay Kyser CBS: Great Moments in Music Blue: Hillman and Clapper 42 10:45lcBS: News of the World RADIO AND TELEVISION M:iBROR THURSDAY 8:30 10:15 l:4i 10:30 1:00 12:45 10:4S 8:00 8:00 8:1S 8:15 11:00 8:30 11:15 8:45 9:00 9:00 S:15 S:30 9:30 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:00 iO:lS 10:15 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:4!i 4:15 11:00 12:30 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 11:45 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:45 2:00 2:15 2:30 2:45 2:45 7:45 3:15 7:30 3:30 3:45 8:00 4:00 8:00 3:15 4:15 4:15 S:30 4:30 7:00 8:30 8:30 5:30 9:00 5:45 5:55 8:00 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:30 6:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:15 7:45 i u 8:00 8:45 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:15 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:30 9:45 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:30 10:45 10:45 10:45 11:00 11:00 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:30 1:45 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:00 2:00 2:15 :i:lb 2:30 2:30 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:15 3:15 3:30 3:30 3:45 4:00 4:15 4:30 4:45 4:45 5:00 5:15 9:30 5:30 5:45 5:45 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:15 6:15 6:15 6:30 6:30 6:30 6:45 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:30 7:45 l-.ii 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30 8:30 Eastern War Time 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:45 Blue: Blue: CBS: Texas Jim Breakfast Ciub Thus We Live CBS: Valiant Lady Blue: Musical Millwheel NBC: Bess Johnson CBS: Stories America Loves Blue: Helen Hiett NBC: Bachelor's Children CBS: Stepmother Blue: A House in the Country NBC: Help Mate CBS: Woman of Courage NBC: Mary Marlin CBS: Mary Lee Tayior Blue: Orphans of Divorce NBC: The Bartons Blue: Honeymoon Hill NBC: Vic and Sade CBS: Bright Horizon Blue: John's Other Wile NBC: The Road ol Life CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories Blue: Just Plain Bill NBC: David Harum CBS: Kate Smith Speaks NBC: Words and Music CBS: Big Sister CBS: Blue: Romance of Helen Trent Farm and Home Hour CBS: Our Gal Sunday CBS: Lite Can Be Beautilu< Blue: Baukhage Talking MBS: John B. Hughes CBS: Woman in White MBS: I'll Find My Way Blue: Eaward Mac Hugh NBC: Pin Money Party CBS: Vic and Sade CBS: Road ol Lite NBC: John Vandercook CBS: Young Dr. Malone NBC: Light oi the World CBS: Girl interne NBC: Arnold Grimm's Daughter CBS: We Love and Learn Blue: News NBC: The Guiding Light CBS: The Goldbergs Blue: In Care of Aggie Horn NBC: Hymns of All Churches CBS: David Harum Blue: Prescott Presents NBC Against the Storm CBS; News NBC: Ma Perkins Blue: News NBC: Pepper Young's Family NBC: Right to Happines:: CBS: Helping Hand Blue: Club Matinee NBC: Backstage Wife CBS: Highways to Health NBC: Stella Dallas CBS: News NBC: Lorenzo Jones NBC: Young Widder Brown NBC: When a Girl Marries NBC: Portia Faces Life Blue: Flying Patrol CBS: Scattergood Baines Blue: Secret City CBS: Frazier Hunt CBS: Dorothy Killgallen Blue: Lum and Abner NBC: Heirs of Liberty CBS: The World Today Blue: Lowell Thomas NBC: Bill Stern CBS: Amos *n' Andy Blue: EASY ACES NBC: Fred Waring's Gang CBS: Lanny Ross Blue: Mr. Keen NBC: European News CBS: Maudie's Diary Blue: Hillman and Lindley NBC: Al Pearce NBC: H. V. Kaltenborn CBS: Death Valley Days NBC: Maxwell House Show CBS: People's Platform NBC: THE ALDRICH FAMILY Blue CBS Dorothy Thompson Elmer Davis CBS: Major Bowes MBS: Gabriel Heatter Blue: America's Town Meeting NBC: KRAFT MUSIC HALL CBS: Big Town MES: Spotlight Bands CBS: Glenn Miller MBS: Raymond Gram Swinu NBC: Rudy Vallee CBS: The First Line CBS: News of the World STRICTLY AMERICAN.. Something a little bit out of the ordinary in the newscaster line is Frazier Hunt, whom .you hear on CBS, Tuesdays, Thurs- days and Saturdays at 6:00 p.m., EWT (rebroadcast at 7:45 PWT for the West Coast) . To begin with, when he talks about the things that are happening in the Far East he's talking about places that he has visited himself, not once but many times. In the last thirty years, Frazier Hunt has traveled some 250,000 miles in search of news. South America is the only part of the world he has never visited. Everyone calls him "Spike" because he is so tall — six feet four inches. He got the nickname on his first day as a freshman at the University of Illinois, thirty -eight years ago, and it fits him much better than the rather flossy-sounding Frazier. He's the sort of man who can talk as easily to a multimillionaire or a President as to a cab driver, and he has friends all over the world. One of the best of these friends is General Douglas MacArthur. Spike takes his fifteen-minute, three- times-a-week program very seriously. He tries to make it completely American, and to stress on it the importance of every- thing that's American. That's why, when he describes a munitions plant or a plane factory, he always visits the factory him- self for first-hand information instead of depending on an assistant. You'll never find him around New York on days when he isn't broadcasting — he's always travel- ing somewhere to get material. He has a home, a farm in Pennsylvania, but seldom gets a chance to visit it. His wife spends part of her time on the farm and part with Spike, either on his travels or at his New York hotel. Spike is an entertaining broadcaster to watch. He always wears a hat at the microphone — not because he's bald, which he isn't at all, but because he wears spec- tacles and without the hat t.he light hits them and creates a glare which makes it hard for him to read his script. Or any- way, as he explains, that probably wouldn't happen at all but he thinks it would, which is just as bad. In every script he manages to find one word or phrase which is, for him, a tongue-twister, and before he goes on the air he repeats this tongue-twister again and again, in an agony of apprehension lest he mispro- nounce it. But he hardly ever does. When he talks about the war, away from the mike. Spike always gets excited. You can see him working himself up into a state of irritation. First he takes a hand- ful of coins from his pocket and jingles them from one hand to another. Pretty soon this isn't enough to express his feel- ings, so he jumps to his feet and begins pacing around the room, talking faster and Idtider all the time. Any Jap or Ger- man enemy who wandered into the room just then wouldn't get much mercy from the enraged Spike. FRIDAY 8:30 10:15 1:45 10:30 1:00 12:45 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:15 8:15 11:00 8:30 11:15 8:45 3:00 9:00 9:30 9:30 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:45 4:15 11:00 11:00 12:30 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:45 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:45 2:00 2:15 2:30 2:45 2:45 3:10 3:15 3:30 7:30 3:45 3:45 8:00 4:00 8:00 8:15 4:15 7:30 4:30 7:30 7:30 9:00 9:1S 5:30 5:55 8:30 6:00 6:00 6:30 6:30 6:30 6:30 6:55 7:00 7:00 7:15 7:45 I- s u 8:00 8:15 8:45 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:15 9:15 9:30 9:30 9:30 9:45 10:45 9:45 10:45 10:00 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:30 10:45 10:45 10:45 11:00 11:00 11:45 12:30 12:45 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:30 1:45 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:15 2:30 2:30 2:45 2:45 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:15 3:15 3:30 3:30 3:45 4:00 4:15 4:30 4:45 4:45 5:10 5:15 5:30 9:30 5:45 5:45 6:00 6:00 6:00 6:15 6:15 6:30 6:30 7:30 9:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:30 7:55 8:00 8:00 8:00 8:30 8:30 8:30 8:30 8:55 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:45 Eastern War Time 8:30 9:00 9:15 9:45 10:00 10:00 10:00 10:15 10:15 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:30 11:00 11:00 11:00 11:15 11:15 11:30 11:30 11:30 11:45 11:45 11:45 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:30 12:30 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:00 1:15 1:15 1:15 1:30 1:45 1:45 2:00 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:15 Blue: Texas Jim Blue: Breakfast Club NBC: Isabel Manning Hewson CBS: Thus We Live CBS: Valiant Lady Blue Musical Millwheel NBC: Bess Johnson CBS: Stories America Loves Blue: Helen Hiett NBC: Bachelor's Children CBS: Stepmother Blue: A House in the Country NBC: Help Mate CBS: Woman of Courage NBC: Mary Marlin CBS: Victory Begins at Home Blue: Orphans of Divorce NBC: The Bartons Blue: Honeymoon Hill NBC: Vic and Sade CBS: Bright Horizon Blue: John's Other Wife NBC: The Road of Life CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories Blue: Just Plain Bill NBC: David Harum CBS: Kate Smith Speaks' NBC: Words and Music CBS: Big Sister CBS: Romance of Helen Trent Blue: Farm and Home Hour CBS: Our Gal Sunday CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful Blue: Baukhage Talking MBS: John B. Hughes CBS: Woman in White MBS: I'll Find My Way Blue: Edward MacHugh CBS: Vic and Sade CBS: NBC: Road of Life John Vandercook CBS: Young Dr. Malone Blue: Music Appreciation NBC: Light of the World CBS: NBC CBS: NBC CBS: Blue: NBC CBS: Blue :00 NBC IS CBS: 15 NBC ;30 Blue: :30 NBC :45 Blue: :45 NBC ;00 CBS: :00 Blue: :00 NBC :15 Blue: :15 NBC CBS: NBC NBC NBC NBC Blue: CBS: Blue: CBS: CBS: CBS: CBS: Blue: CBS: Blue: NBC CBS: Blue: .NBC CBS: NBC CBS: Blue: MBS NBC ;:00 8:30 00 CBS 8 8 8:00 NBC MBS Girl Interne : Arnold's Grimm's Daughter. We Love and Learn : The Guiding Light The Goldbergs In Care of Aggie Horn : Hymns of All Churches David Harum Prescott Presents : Against the Storm News : Ma Perkins News : Pepper Young's Family Southernaires : Right to Happiness Helping Hand Arthur Tracy : Backstage Wife Club Matinee : Stella Dallas Sing Along : Lorenzo Jones : Young Widder Brown : When a Girl Marries : Portia Faces Life Flying Patrol Scattergood Baines Secret City Edwin C. Hill Ted Husing Hedda Hopper Frank Parker Lum and Abner The World Today Lowell Thomas : Bill Stern Amos 'n' Andy Col. Stoopnagle : Fred Waring's Gang Lanny Ross : European News How 'm I Doin* Hillman and Lindley : The Lone Ranger : Grand Central Station KATE SMITH HOUR : Cal Tinney : Cities Service Concert Blue: Meet Your Navy INFORMATION PLEASE 30 NBC :55 CBS: :00 CBS: :00 MBS :00 NBC CBS: Blue: MBS NBC CBS: CBS: Blue: CBS: CBS: JUNE, 1942 Elmer^Davis Philip Morris Playhouse Gabriel Heatter Waltz Time First Nighter Dinah Shore Spotlight Bands Plantation Party Ginny Simms Glenn Miller Elsa Maxwell Wherever You Are News of the World 43 10:00 8:15 8:30 8:30 8:30 9:00 9:00 10:30 9:30 9:30 10:00 10:00 10:30 10:30 10:4S 11:00 11:00 11:00 11:30 11:30 12:00 12:00 12:15 12:30 12:30 1:00 1:00 1:00 1:30 2:00 2:30 7:45 3:00 3:15 3:30 3:45 3:45 3:45 4:30 4:30 8:00 5:00 8:30 8:30 5:30 8:00 9:00 6:00 6:30 6:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:15 7:30 7:45 8:13 8:15 8:30 8:30 9:00 9:00 9:30 9:30 9:45 10:00 10:15 10:30 10:30 10:30 10:45 11:00 11:00 11:30 11:30 11:30 12:00 12:00 12:30 12:30 12:45 1:00 1:00 1:00 1:30 1:30 2:00 2:00 2:15 2:30 2:30 3:00 3:00 3:00 3:30 4:00 4:30 5:00 5:00 5:15 5:30 5:45 5:45 5:45 6:00 6:30 6:30 6:30 7:00 7:00 7:00 7:30 7:30 7:30 8:00 8:00 8:30 8:30 9:00 9:00 9:00 9:15 9:30 9:45 44 SATURDAY Eastern War Time 8:00 CBS: The World Today 8:00 NBC: News 8:15 NBC: Eton Boys 8:30 NBC Dick Leibert 8:45 CBS Adelaide Hawley 8:45 Blue String Ensemble 8:45 NBC News 9:00 CBS Press News 9:00 Blue Breakfast Club 9:00 NBC Happy Jack 9:15 CBS. Kenneth Spencer 9:15 NBC Market Basket 9:30 CBS Garden Gate 9:30 NBC Hank Lawson 10:00 Blue Musical Millwheel 10:00 NBC Reflections in Rhythm 10:30 CBS Jones and I 10:30 NBC The Wife Saver 10:45 N BC Betty Moore 11:00 NBC Lincoln Highway 11:15 CBS: God's Country 11:30 CBS: Let's Pretend 11:30 Blue: Little Blue Playhouse 11:30 NBC: America the Free 11:45 CBS: Hillbilly Champions 12:00 CBS: Theater of Today 12:00 NBC: News 12:15 NBC: Consumer Time 12:30 CBS: Stars Over Hollywood 12:30 Blue: Farm Bureau 12:30 NBC Ilka Chase 1:00 Blue: Vincent Lopez 1:00 NBC Whatcha Know Joe 1:30 CBS: Adventures in Science 1:30 Blue: Al and Lee Reiser 1:45 CBS: Juan Arvizu 2:00 CKS Of Men and Books 2:00 Blue: Paul Laval Orch. 2:00 NBC: U. S. Marine Band 2:30 CBS Brush Creek Follies 2:30 Blue: Elwood Gary 3:00 CBS: County Journal 3:00 NBC: Patti Chapin 3:15 NBC On the Home Front 3:30 CBS: F. O. B. Detroit 3:30 NBC: Music For Everyone 4:00 CBS: Matinee at Meadowbrook 4:00 Blue: Club Matinee 4:00 NBC: Weekend Whimsy 4:30 NBC: Air Youth of America 5:00 NBC: Doctors at Work 5:30 NBC: In a Sentimental Mood 6:00 CBS: Frazier Hunt 6:00 Blue: Dance Music 6:15 CBS: Calling Pan-America 6:30 NBC: Religion in the News 6:45 CBS: The World Today 6:45 Blue: Edward Tomlinson 6:45 NBC: Three Suns Trio 7:00 All Networks THIS IS WAR 7:30 CBS: Kay Thompson & Co. 7:30 Blue: Message of Israel 7:30 NBC: Ellery Queen 8:00 CBS: Guy Lombardo 8:00 Blue: The Green Hornet 8:00 NBC Abie's Irish Rose 8:30 CBS: Hobby Lobby 8:30 Blue: Swop Night 8:30 NBC: Truth or Consequences 9:00 CBS: YOUR HIT PARADE 9:00 NBC: National Barn Dance 9:30 MBS: Spotlight Bands 9:30 Blue Rochester Orchestra 9:45 CBS: Saturday Night Serenade 10:00 MBS Raymond Gr^m Swing 10:00 Blue: Bob Ripley 10:00 NBC: Bill Stern Sports Review 10:15 CBS. Public Affairs 10:30 NBC Hot Copy 10:45 CBS: News ot the World // you ever meet Fibber McGee's persistent heckler, Mrs. Uppington, this is the way she'll look at you. m As any listener to Fibber McGee and Molly knows, there is one mystery that fitfully agitates the entire population of Wistful Vista, but which probably never will be solved. It is the puzzle of Who Threw the Rock Through Mrs. Uppington's Window? The center of the controversy, of course, is Mrs. Uppington herself — Wistful Vista's self-appointed dictator on etiquette, social position, fashions, and anything else she happens to think about. Mrs. Uppington isn't the nicest woman who ever lived, and so it's only fair to point out that Isabel Randolph, who originated the character on the air and still plays it, is friendly, clever, and not at all super-fashionable. Isabel — or "Uppy," as Fibber always calls her both on and off the air — is a born and bred actress. Her first ap- pearance on the stage wasn't even a "walk-on" — it was a "carry-on" at the age of six months. Her mother did the carrying while she and Isabel's father were acting in a Chicago theater. As a child actress she was already playing roles that sometimes called for gray wigs, and as a young woman she acted with such stars as Blanche Ring, Richard Bennett, Walter Connolly, and Lenore Ulric. Then she married J. C. Ryan, a Chi- cago newspaperman, and retired from the stage to become the mother of two daughters. After she saw the children through the baby stag^es she went back to acting on a part«-time basis, mostly for amusement. The hobby turned into a real profession, though, when her husband died and she shouldered the task of supporting herself and the two little girls. That was when she entered radio, in Chicago. Isabel didn't realize the importance of the day in 1937 when she first played Mrs. Uppington on the McGee and Molly program, which was then broadcasting from Chicago. But it was the popularity of Uppy that kept her on the show and eventually brought about her departure to Holly- wood, where she not only kept right on broadcasting but began appearing in movies too. You've seen her in the McGees' picture, "Look Who's Laugh- ing," as well as in "Take a Letter, Darling," "My Favorite Blonde," and "Ride 'Em Cowboy." Her two daughters are grown up now. Lenore, the elder, works in a motion picture studio, but not as an actress. Isabel, Jr., besides bearing her mother's name, is trying to follow in her footsteps, and has acted in several Max Reinhardt productions. Isabel is an animal fancier. She has a jet black alley cat, Sir Peter, who has made three transcontinental trips, and a pedigreed white Persian, called Puddin', who has won her weight in blue ribbons. Patty, a cocker spaniel, is queen of the household. Maybe you've noticed that the names of all her pets begin with P. That's on pur- pose, and when a new addition, another cocker, joined the family, Isabel considered Patience and Penny, among other names. But the course of events in the world changed her mind — and the new cocker was christened Victory. RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR SHE'S (below) SALLIE HAMILTON and her fiance, Ralph James White, will have a military wedding — in the famous West Point chapel. Sallie is descended from one of the old and distinguished Hudson River families. She is another lovely engaged girl who uses Pond's Cold Cream to help give her skin a flower-soft look. HER RING is a large soli- taire with baguette diamonds on each side of the perfect center stone, exquisitely set in platinum. When Jim was on week-end leave this Spring SIHElS Sallie's days are crowded with first-aid classes, defense work, wedding plans — but, like engaged girls everywhere, she senses that one of her important jobs these days is also to look just as pretty as she knows how. "No matter how rushed I am, I'm not going to let my complexion get that dull, neglected look," she says. "That's why I'm so careful never to skip a day with my Pond's creamings." Sallie prefers to give her lovely face a twice-over creaming with Pond's: SHE SLATHERS Pond's Cold Cream all over her face and throat and pats — quickly, gently. Then she tissues the cream off. SHE RINSES with more Pond's, and tissues off again. "It leaves my skin just beautifully clean, and so soft-to- touch," she says. Use Pond's — Sallie's way — every night — for daytime cleanups, too. You'll see why Mrs. Lytle Hull, Mrs. W. Forbes Morgan — more women and girls every- where use Pond's than any other face cream at any price. Buy a jar at your favorite beauty counter. Five popular-priced sizes — the most economical the lovely big jars. SALLIE HAMILTON HAS DELICATE WHITE SKIN, FRESH AS SWEET-PEA BLOSSOMS !? — it's no accident so many lovely '-^^^% '••\o'™%^» engaged girls use Pond's Cold Cream -=s^>^ JUNE, 1942 45 Everything's Funny But Love permission. And after Red, come to think of it, had borrowed three dollars from Edna to pay for the license. That loan to the average woman would have been the fatal hint, the stitch in time. But not to Edna. True, Red was broke, he worked irregularly, and he was underpaid. But it was equally true — at least to Edna — that he had great things in him. They needed only to be brought out. T^HE Skelton symphony had been -'- written almost exclusively in a minor key, Edna Stillwell discovered in due time. Born in Vincennes, Indi- ana, shortly after the death of his father, a former circus clown, he was the youngest of a brood of four for whom the widow Skelton wrested a living by serving as laundress, elevator operator and even scrub- woman. At eight, he was selling newspapers. At ten, he was doing im- promptu entertaining in Vincennes pool halls. At eleven, he was working in a department store after school and putting on a one-man variety show after sup- per wherever he could draw a crowd. And at twelve, he had left Vincennes in the care and custody of one Dr. Lewis, pro- prietor of a med- icine show. Comedian on a medicine show at twelve, a min- strel performer at fourteen, and burlesque buf- foon at sixteen! He was doing a trick at a Kan- sas City bur- lesque palace as a full - fledged funny man, no less, when the manager of the Pan- tages saw his show, was delighted with the Skelton repertoire and nim- ble mind, and signed him up for a week at the Pantages. He was so fired with joy at reaching the turning point in his career — "going legit," they call it in the parlance of the trade — that the ink on the contract was hardly dry before he was traipsing over to the Pantages to inspect its sacred realms. He was standing there in the middle aisle, feasting his eyes on the huge house where he was about to make his debut, when he caught sight of her coming up the aisle. There was something about her at once pert yet challenging, soft yet spirited, efficient yet feminine. He strolled up to her, smiled, and said: "Now I know why my hand trembled when I was signing to play the Pan- tages." You know what Edna told him. These things about Red, Edna dis- covered one by one as the marriage progressed. What she also discovered was the fact that while Red was a magnificent entertainer, he was a poor salesman. She didn't tell him about her discovery. Instead, she waited until he got his next nibble from a prospective employer and called on the p. e., herself — solo. And without so much as a "Would you mind, Red?" "I don't get it," the cigar-smoking 46 Continued from page 9 impresario protested. "Everyone knows Red's price is $75 a week. Where do you get this $100 stuff?" "That's the new price," she said, matter-of-factly. He mumbled something, chewed hard on his cheroot, and nodded. It was a deal. Was Red happy to learn that his wife had gotten him up into the three- figure class? He was not. "Any day now and you'll be doing my routines," he said frostily. "You never can tell," Edna said. It wasn't smooth sailing, mind you, even with Edna at the tiller. By de- grees she waltzed him out of the walkathons and into the nightclubs where he got $300 a week. And even $400. But only when he worked, of course. The trouble was that the lay- off periods were so long that they consumed what capital they managed to lay by, what with traveling ex- penses, living at the right hotel, and all that. There were times when Edna Skelton wondered if she hadn't aimed her sights a little too high. C)cnju TTeXlLo lo^ VERA BARTON — discovered by CBS and featured on her own sustaining shows on that network. A few months ago Vera was just a nineteen-year-old Brooklyn girl with ambitions to be a singer and nothing much else. Then CBS heard a test record she'd made and signed her up almost before she knew what was happen- ing. Originally Vera was a dancer, the daughter of a Brooklyn accordion manufacturer. Her only previous singing experience was o few months' work with small local bonds. She's still pretty bewildered by her sudden success, but that doesn't mean she isn't enjoying it. Her best friend is her sister Virginia, who plays the piano when Vera sings. You'll be hearing her voice on records. times when they went hungry. But somehow she'd always manage to rustle up a little money, mostly through her mother whom she had talked into liking Red, so much, as a matter of fact, that once when Red was in straits, Mrs. Stillwell pawned a pair of gold teeth — right out of her mouth. Everything else — just about — was already in hock. "The break will come, Red," Edna used to tell her disconsolate funny man when things looked hopeless. THE break was bound to come and it did come. Of course, Edna had a hand in it, but then . . . It happened in Montreal. Red had just done six weeks at the Club Lido and was buying the tickets back to New York when he ran into a vaude- ville producer named Harry Angers. Mr. Angers was in a hurry but he did stop long enough to tell Red that he thought his Club Lido stuff was swell. "Dream up a new routine and I'll bill you as headliner at Loew's State," Mr. Angers said. A new routine? The man must be out of his mind. Routines take time to whip up. Also, the classy ones — the kind that rate Loew's — cost big dough. "I've got an idea. Red," Edna said, as they sat there eating their farewell breakfast in the hotel coffee shop. She leaned over. "The man on your left," she whispered, "the man with the lavender tie." Red looked and blinked. A Casper Milquetoast of a man was dunking his doughnut, dunking it furtively. "I don't see it," Red said as they were going up the elevator. "I'll put it in writing," Edna said. The rest is history. Edna wrote a little skit about a coffee-dunking little man. The skit got Red into Loew's State, at a fabulous figure. From then on Edna never stopped writing. True, she was stymied a bit when Red was signed by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer where they have a few pretty good writers on salary and all of them rugged individualists who don't especially welcome collaboration from the outside. But when he landed that Tuesday night radio program, she came out of her momentary retire- ment with a bonanza of gags, jests, and quips to stuff into the program like plums in a pudding. "She hatches 'em, I tell 'em," Red says admiringly. It's a long jump from Kansas City to Beverly Hills, where the Skeltons are cur- rently bivou- acked in an English manor house staffed by a couple of ne- groes who will never cease mar- velling at their master, and stocked with furniture known as Skelton-Chip- pendale, made by Red himself. Lottie May, a jovial, moon- faced s o m e - body, is always yelling at Red to eat carrots and his colored man Fri- day is eternally pestering Red to teach him to be a camera-man. Redna Rancho, as they call it, has about it a delightfully insane quality. The master has a telephone phobia and never picks one up so that the mistress can be calling from down- town for a solid hour and get no answer, unless Lottie May is about. There is a tiny theater on the place and thither repair Red's guests, most- ly vaudevillians, to sing or dance for their supper. Schedules are frowned about as if they were a device of the devil. Business callers, and even studio executives, tell of visiting Redna Rancho and discovering the master engrossed with electric trains which chug over a maze of track spread out over the living room. It's a wonderful household and a wonderful marriage. Red is forever talking about Edna. When he isn't talking about her or just sitting with her nights in the Skelton living room, he is dining with her at Romanoff's or dancing with her at the Mocambo. Every now and then when he picks up the check (colossal) and auto- matically does a double-take, he thinks back over the years and re- members when the two went hungry, and asks: "Could we be in the wrong pew by any chance?" RADIO AND TELEVISION IVIIRROR 9 out of 10 Screen Stars use Lux Toilet Soap JUNE, 1942 47 this old Mrs. Ashbey practically stole the child's inheritance. That's why I'm trying to get Lola away from her, into a decent home. When I prove . ..." His words trailed off as all three heard the front door flung open. In the silence, Phil strode into the room. His thin, handsome face was flushed, and under the dark, pointed brows, his eyes looked bitter. He made his apologies — if such they could be called — very brief. "Sorry to be late," he said to Joan and Harry. "Got held up on busi- ness." He pointedly ignored Eve. He had gotten held up, Joan thought, on the business of a cocktail or two. He was, obviously, intoxi- cated and she knew with sudden insight that it wasn't for the first time, in the last few weeks. They tried to greet him naturally, to draw him into the conversation. But he refused to be drawn. He sat beside Joan on the couch, his arm lying possessively on the cushions at her back, and m.onopolized her. He was unnaturally gay, and it was "Joanie, remember this," and "re- member that," as he called up old days on the Ridge. Joan struggled manfully for a while to make the talk include the others but he would have none of it. Finally she sent a plead- ing glance across to Harry. Phil caught the look. "She's still making eyes at you, Harry, after six months of marriage. Lucky, lucky fellow." "I guess we're both lucky," Harry said quietly. "You've got Eve, and I've got Joan, and neither of 'em have kicked us out yet." "Yeah. I've got Eve and you've got —Joan." The flat, bitter irony lay so heavily in his voice none of them could miss it. There was a painful pause. Then Phil went on, "What do you think, Joanie? Think you and Eve are lucky, too? Have things turned out like you — expected?" SUDDENLY she remembered a night months ago, a night when Phil had pleaded desperately, violently, that she marry him instead of Harry. She had argued with him, urging him to forget her. Now her words came back, ringing in her ears. Go out with other girls, Phil. Go out with Eve Topping, for instance. She's the sort of girl who could make you happy. Phil had looked at her queerly, and then, shortly after, had come their unex- pected elopement. Was he trying to remind her of those words now, with that horrible bitterness in his voice? Unsteadily she got to her feet. "I know we're lucky," she answered him. "And I know, too, we must be going. Ready, Harry?" Somehow they managed to get into hats and coats, to make polite good- byes to Eve. She held her head high, but her cheeks were like ice when Joan kissed her, and the shadows under her eyes lay like smudged soot. Out in the friendly darkness, Joan clung to Harry's arm. "Wasn't it awful?" she moaned. "Poor Eve. What in the world got into Phil?" "I don't know," Harry said gloom- ily, "but I wish I'd socked him. Prac- tically insulting his own wife and fawning over mine — " "He was tight. He didn't know what he was doing. He really loves 48 When a Girl Marries Continued from page 23 Eve — I'm sure he does." "I'm not." "Oh, Harry, he must love her. She loves him desperately and — " "That doesn't prove anything. If you want to know what I think, it's that he married Eve on the rebound. And furthermore," he went on, his voice rising, "I think he's still in love with you." She stopped stockstill and faced him. "Oh, no!" she cried. "He can't be." "Why not? He was, eight months ago. Just because he married Eve in the meantime doesn't mean his feel- ings have changed for you." "But he only thought he was in love V_Ji>€44veayKt EDDIE CANTOR on Time to Smile, NBC: Here's o formula for your domestic life— If you recognize the symptoms of o happy man and wife. If he embraces An angel in laces When it's just a calico dress, If all of his kisses Are saved for the missus, THAT'S MY PRESCRIPTION FOR HAPPINESS! When times are slock And things look black, And trouble seems to mount, A gentle touch Con mean so much, It's the little things that count! It's not easy pickin's, We work like the dickens, For each little glimpse of success. What do we fight for? And slave day and night for? That certain someone's caress! THAT'S MY PRESCRIPTION FOR HAPPINESS. with me. 1 told you that long ago, when we were married." She was almost pleading, as if, by words, she could thrust out the thought that up- set their serenity. "Then he still thinks so." He began to walk on. "But as long as he does, we just can't see them any more. What Phil feels and what he does about it, is his own business. By be- ing mixed up in it, we would only make it worse — for everybody. Surely you can see that." "Yes," she murmured. "I see that. I guess we can't — see them any more." But the cozy warmth of their own little cottage seemed different that night. It was no longer a bastion be- hind which each was sufficient to the other. Something from the outer world had broken through, something alien and disturbing. All that night, snatches of the evening kept recurring as Joan tried to sleep — Eve's strained face, Phil's bitterness. And she knew, from the muffled movements in the bed next to hers, that Harry was restless too. . . . It was in her mind all morning as she went about her dusting and pol- ishing and cooking. When Phil ap- peared at noon, sheepishly contrite and bearing a large bunch of flowers, he was like a thought materialized. "I came to apologize for last night," he said soberly. "I guess I was pretty bad. I — well, I just didn't know what I was doing." "We realized that, Phil. It's all right." "That's what Harry said when I went by his office this morning. He's a swell guy, Joan. Say, this is cozy back here in the kitchen. How's for letting me sit awhile?" She gave him a sandwich and a glass of milk, and they ate lunch at each end of the kitchen table. They laughed, remembering the times when they were children that they'd driven poor Annie out of her wits, making messes in the big Field kitchen. "How is Eve?" Joan asked finally. The change in his face was so ab- rupt she was startled. He looked worried, suddenly, and unhappy. "All right, I guess." He leaned forward and began tracing a pattern on the tablecloth with the salt shaker. "Gosh, Joan, I don't know what's the matter. Eve's a swell girl and all that, but I'm not good for her, or something. We fight all the time." "Oh, Phil! Not serious fighting?" He grinned ruefully. "It seems serious when we're at it. Over any- thing and everything — money, or my father's attitude toward her, or just because I'm late for dinner or whether to go to a movie or not. Sometimes I think we can't go on being married." "But you must go on! Eve loves you terribly. And she can make you happy if you would only — " "If I would only let her?" he asked wryly. "Yes. I know it's mainly my fault. But it looks as if I keep think- ing of something else — comparing what I've got with what I might have had — with you, Joan." "Please don't say that. You know it isn't true. You're just hanging on to a feeling that doesn't exist any more. You don't really love me, Phil. And you know I love Harry." "Yes. I know." "Then go back to Eve and really work at making your marriage a suc- cess. I know it can be if you'll just give her a fair chance." "Maybe you're right," he said slow- ly. "You always are. Well — " He broke off. From the front hall some- one was calling, "Yoo-hoo — anybody home?" "It's Eve," he whispered. A quick tap of high heels and then Eve was in the doorway. "I was just — " She stopped as if a rough hand had suddenly throttled her. Her gaze swept their startled faces, the empty plates, the whole scene of guilty, secret intimacy that confronted her. "Oh," she said. The eyes she turned on Joan were hard as flint. "I thought you might want to go to market with me. But I see you've got company . . ." She said it fliply, carelessly, like a chal- lenge. "We were just — " They began simultaneously, and stopped. Then Joan picked it up. "Phil dropped in a minute to talk about last night. He Continued on page 50 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR WANTED A HUNGRY NATION ! It's healthy to be hungry at mealtime — to have an appetite. And one of America' s greatest blessings is that it has the variety and quality of foods with which to satisfy the hunger of good health. We want a strong nation — sturdy — active. This is why appetizing foods, temptingly served, make so great a contribution to our health. • • • VOLUMES have been written about the all-important vitamins and minerals and other factors which are distributed by nature through our food supply. Much more should be said about these essentials. But let's not forget that the best fuel won't run your car without a spark to ignite it. Perhaps not enough has been said about the appealing color of certain foods, about the crunchy, satisfying flavor of other dishes, about the mouth-watering goodness of still other things to eat. And so those foods which appeal to our senses and which we eat with relish and gusto also do their part in" mealtime morale building, in satisfy- ing that very human thing called the appetite! Many a wholesome food is oflFered to you with no greater claim to fame than that it looks or tastes good. And, in fact, the foods that are good for you do taste good. Don't neglect these foods nor the merchants who oflFer them to you. They contribute to our govern- ment's program for a strong nation. This message is approved by the oBice of Paul V. McNutt, Direaor of Defense Health and Welfare Services. It is brought to you as our contribution to National Nutritional Defense by Radio & Television Mirror. y& THE MAGIC FOODS It takes only a few kinds of simple foods to provide a sound nutritional foundation for buoyant health. Eat each of them daily. Then add to your table anything else you like which agrees with you. MILK AND CHEESE— especially for Vitamin A, some of the B vitamins, HI protein, calcium, phosphorus. Vitamin ^■^D milk for the "sunshine" vitamin. MEAT, eggs and sea food — ( X^y for proteins and several of " ^SP the B-Complex vitamins; meat and eggs also for iron. GREEN AND YELLOW vege- tables for'B vitamins, Vitamin A, Vitamin C and minerals. FRUITS and fruit juices— for Vita- min C, other vitamins and minerals. BREAD, enriched or whole grain, and cereals with milk or cream, for B vitamins and other nutrients. Enough of these foods in your daily diet and in the diets of all Americans will assure better health for the nation, will increase its ener- gies to meet today's emergencies. fM n^lf /kti/i/a Z^&^/lmeifeec, JUNE, 1942 49 was just getting ready to leave." It sounded wrong and awkward. It sounded too explanatory. "You mean you were about to send him running home to mother? I'm sure," she said with deadly sweetness, "he'd always do what you told him to, Joanie. Well, don't bother. I've got some errands to do." And she was gone, the high heels tapping hard against the floor. "Wait!" Joan called. "Eve— wait!" "Let her go," Phil said. "You can't explain anything now." "But she thinks — heaven knows what she thinks. I've got to make her understand." "She will, in time. You'll only make things worse running after her now." He shrugged into his coat. "Well, thanks for the lunch and the good advice. I'll go along now and — take my medicine." And so the second link was forged in that invisible cliain of circum- stances, binding them all, irrevocably, to the future. ... JOAN told Harry what had hap- pened, that evening. He listened thoughtfully, pacing up and down, until she was through. "I wish it hadn't happened," he said slowly. "Not that Eve won't understand when she's calmer. But I wish he hadn't come here alone like that, when I wasn't home." The days that followed weren't pleasant ones. A pall had fallen over the little house, and the sense of the alien presence Joan had felt the night of the Stanleys' dinner seemed to increase. Harry was busy with the Ashbey case day and night and, for the first time, Joan felt alone too much with her thoughts. Mrs. Field came several times, bringing her usual air of disapproval with her. "How you can stand it liv- ing way over here, never seeing any- body, is more than I can see," she said. "You'll regret it, Joan, eventually. Harry has no right to keep you shut off from your friends like this and you shouldn't let him get away with it." Before, Joan had been able to shrug off her mother's complaints. Now they only made her unhappy. Maybe she was alone too much — not for the rea- sons her mother suggested but because — well, because the shadow of Phil and Eve seemed to color all her thoughts these days. She hadn't seen them since the day of Phil's visit, and Continued from, page 48 she couldn't help wondering whether or not things had been patched up between them. She thought a little wistfully of all the names Eve had mentioned on her first visit. All old friends, and she didn't know anything about any of them now. And least of all about Eve and Phil. On an impulse she called Julia King. It was fun to hear her excited com- ments, to be welcomed "back from the dead" as Julia put it, and to con- gratulate her on Don's big new job at the defense plant. And when Julia asked, "And when are we going to meet your Harry?" Joan said, "You and Don have dinner with us at the Tavern Friday night." Just like that. She hung up the phone, her heart beating fast. It would be fun to go to the Tavern again where all the gang used to hang out, to dine and dance and talk. But Harry wasn't the least bit ex- cited when she told him of the date. He looked up from the law book where he was studying some obscure precedent, and frowned. "Honey, I wish you hadn't. We can't afford to run with people like the Kings." "Oh, pooh, what difference does it make if they have more money than we do? They don't care — they're not that kind of people. We'll just be seeing old friends of mine that I know you'll like. I want to show you off, anyway." He ran his hands through his hair. "I know they're nice and I'd like to meet them, but they don't live our kind of life. You put their kind be- hind you when we married. You knew you were going to be tied down to a poor man — " "Don't talk that way. I'm not tied down. I love the way we live. I just want to — see somebody again." "I know you're lonely, Joan. And I've often wished you could see some of your friends in the afternoons, when I'm at the office. But right now, with this case coming up — " "That case is all you think about!" she burst out. "You're at it all day, and then every night when you come home. I never even see you any more." "This case, Joan, is the biggest I've ever had. Our whole future might depend on my winning it. If you'd only understand — " Radio's Lum and Abner and even the Jot em Down Store can now be seen in the boys' new motion pic- ture for RKO. "Bashful Bachelor." "It's you who won't understand." They faced each other suddenly like two strangers. Each was alone with his own hurt, his own feeling of separateness. For a tense moment they stood like that, angry, hostile. Then Joan whirled away from him and flung herself toward the couch. She lay there, sobbing, her face buried in the pillows. TJARRY followed, slowly. He stood -■-■- looking down at the tangle of blonde curls that was all he could see as she burrowed deeper, like a kitten. Then he stooped and fumbled for her shoulders. "Don't, honey. Don't cry. I'm sorry I was cross." She sat up and threw her arms around his neck. "Oh, darling, it's my fault. We were nearly quarrelling and I can't stand it! Don't let's ever again. I'll call the Kings and tell them not to come." He pulled her closer. "No. As long as you've asked them, we'll go through with it. I've been selfish, I guess, and — once won't hurt." And the sharp edges of the dis- agreement were smoothed over with kisses and words and promises. But the pleasure of looking forward to Friday night was gone, and Joan had almost a sense of foreboding as she dressed for the date. It was heightened when Harry called to say he would be late. "Some- thing's come up," he said. "You go on and meet the Kings and I'll join you just as soon as I possibly can. I'm sorry, honey, but it can't be helped." She didn't like going alone, but there was nothing else to do. The Kings greeted her with shouts of joy. It was wonderful to see her, they said, and have her back in the fold. Joan explained about Harry, and they took a table to wait. The Kings told her all the gossip about everjrthing — about everybody except the Stanleys, and Joan couldn't bring herself to mention them. She couldn't do it casually enough, she decided. If she waited long enough, the Kings would mention them. Harry was nearly an hour late, and when he arrived he looked dog-tired. His shirt was rumpled, and lines of fatigue etched deeply around his eyes. They ordered dinner, and then Don said jovially, "You work too hard, fella. Why don't you join the Club and get in some golf occasionally? Nothing like a good game and a shower to relax you." "Sorry," Harry said pleasantly. "We can't afford a membership. I'll have to relax some other way." "Oh, yes, everybody's cutting down these days," Julia put in hurriedly. "We've let the maid go, and the cook and I are dividing her work between us. I must say I don't mind doing housework at all. I feel it's my patri- otic duty. Don't you, Joan?" Joan laughed. "I do all my own work. I love it." "You do! Don, listen. Joan does all her own work. Isn't that cute?" Joan stole a glance at Harry. He looked a little grim. She changed the subject quickly and then, before she knew it, they were talking about people again — people Harry didn't know. He interjected a polite "Yes?" or "Is that so?" but in spite of all she could do, he was outside. And he felt it. She knew his weariness made him sensitive and he sensed, as plainly as 50 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIBBOR she, that he was the foreigner in this tight little world that was reaching out to claim her again. A little later, Julia said, "Have you heard about the Stanleys? My dear, they just don't get on at all. I heard that Phii is spending half his time- at his mother's house now, where Eve is definitely not welcome." "Phil's probably still brooding about not getting Joan," Don said. "I swear I never saw a fellow so crazy about a girl as he was about you, Joan. Of course, we are all pretty sore at you for getting married and going out of circulation so we never see you any more." T T WAS heavy-handed and without ■■■ malice, but Harry stiffened. "I wasn't aware," he said crisply, "that Joan's marriage was such a catas- trophe to the community." "Oh, now, look here." Don King was instantly contrite. "I didn't mean it that way at all. I just meant that — well, we've missed seeing her and — er— " "Because I've kept her hidden over on the other side of town?" Julia tried to come to the rescue. "I'm dying to see your little house, Joan," she said brightly. "I've never seen Fox Meadow Lane. It must be darling — so quaint, and all." "Yes, you must come," Harry said politely. "Slumming is so good for the soul, don't you think?" That pretty well ended the evening. Joan sat miserably as she watched it peter out. It might have been her fault in the first place, she thought, but Harry need not have acted so — so dexensive. After the stiff goodnights were said, she told him so on their way home. "How do you expect me to act? All I heard all evening was how I'd taken you away from them, the good times you were missing out on, and a lot of nonsense about people I never heard of. Along with implications about how dreadful it was for you to be poor. How could I just sit there and take it?" She had never heard his voice so bitter. She had never felt so shut off from him. "I knew it wouldn't work," he con- tinued, "and it didn't. I don't belong with those people. And as for their cracks about Phil Stanley — " He left the sentence hanging, and she didn't take it up. Silently they put the car in the garage and walked around the house in the darkness, not touching. Once inside, maybe she could make him see her side of it, could reach him again. Once inside — A dark form rose from the front steps as they came up. In the star- light, they could see Phil's taut, strained face. He spoke before they could say a word. "Joan, I've got to see you. I've got to talk to you!" He sounded desperate. "But what's wrong, Phil?" "Everything's wrong. Maybe you weren't so smart getting me to marry Eve—" She felt Harry start. He turned to her. "What's he talking about — your getting him to marry Eve?" "I — ^I don't know," she whispered above the pounding of her heart. Slowly the outer world is encroach- ing on the happiness Joan and Harry thought was so secure. What has brought Phil on this midnight errand ■ — and what will his visit mean to Joan? Don't miss next month's instal- ment of "When a Girl Marries." JUNE, 1942 It's Junior's favorite game. He plays it every day. And he never gets tired. According to the newest rules it's a game for three. Junior, Mother and Fels-Naptha Soap. When these three play, no one gets tired. Let Junior present his most complicated washing problem. Between them, Mother and Fels-Naptha Soap will solve it in a jiffy — with Fels-Naptha's gentle naptha and richer golden soap doing most of the work. Not many mothers play Junior's game the old way any more. It's so much easier and quicker when you use the new rules — and Fels-Naptha Soap. Golden baror Golden chips- FEIS'NAPTHA banishesTattle-Tale Gray' 51 isnf it Hme io qet airious? '"ft^^^ ■■ •I : A \H%:. i^ 3 / HANGING ON TO AN OLD HABIT, are you? Not even wondering if another, newer kind of napkin might be softer? Well — wait till you hear what happened when 12,000 women made an astonishing test — then see what happens to your habit. Just prick up your ears to this . . . 12,000 WOMEN HAD A HABIT of buying a cer- tain kind of napkin. But then they compared their usual napkin with Modess.* And guess what! 3 out of every 4 of them discovered that Modess was actually softer! Now doesn't that start you wondering? Let go your old habit — and catch on to a new kind of comfort ! So . . . GIVE YOURSELF A BREAK! Try Modess! If you don't agree with millions that it's the softest, most comfortable napkin you've ever tried, mail us the package insert with a note stating your objections. We'll refund your full purchase price. The Personal Products Corp., Milltown, N. J. *Let us send you the full details of this amazing Softness Test. Write The Personal Products Corp., Milltown, N.J. 3 omir of every 4 voted Modess softer Regular size or Junior? Yes — Take your pick wiien you buy Modess! Facing the Music Continued from page 7 effect, but results are starting to ma- terialize. The band is currently playing in New York's Hotel Edison with a plentiful assortment of those valuable Mutual and CBS wires, cut- ting a number of Bluebird records, and lining up a nice summer of one- nighters and theater dates. The band is attracting listeners and dancers because of its novelty — nine saxophonists, who double on clari- nets and flutes, and blend harmo- niously with the orthodox rhythm combination of piano, drums, bass, and guitar. No one seems to miss the trumpets and trombones. Shep had this idea more than five years ago, but he couldn't formulate it because his other novelty — rip- pling rhythm — was sweeping the country and sweeping in the shekels for Shep. "I always believed that woodwinds and reeds had never been properly used," explains Shep. "I think brass is necessary to certain stylized bands, but I had this basic theory that as long as the rhythm is there, people will dance." Shep is now thirty-one. Born in Brooklyn, N. Y., he was given a saxophone for his thirteenth birth- day. His college course was cut short when his father died and Shep had to help contribute to the family income. He did it by organizing a dance band among his* friends. As they gained experience they found no trouble in getting engagements and soon settled into the groove as a com- petent society band. But even then, Shep was style-conscious. He knew he had to develop some kind of style to click. But his band was five years old before he con- cocted rippling rhythm. He and his wife hit upon the idea quite acciden- tally when they were in a Chicago ice cream parlor. The rest is dance band history. Shep could have recouped some of his loss when he changed styles by selling his copyrighted rippling rhythm. But for sentimental rea- sons, he never gave it up. "I still feel soft about it every time I drink a soda," he says. The new band has a boy singer — Ken Curtis — but Shep has had some difficulty in acquiring a girl vocalist. He wants one with both a good voice and good looks, but so far hasn't found her. Shep and his wife have been mar- ried eight years. They live on Cen- tral Park West in Manhattan with their two and a half year old baby daughter, Jo Ann. Shep met his wife at a summer resort when he had his first band. He consults her on almost every one of his business ven- tures and she usually has the right answers. Bespectacled and nervous, Shep has two more ideas up his sleeve. He plans to make his young daughter a musician and next month she gets her first piano lesson. The other idea even frightens his wife. "I want to play a concert in Carne- gie Hall with one hundred reed and woodwind instruments playing every- thing from Bach to Berlin." Lightning has already struck twice for Mr. Fields so by now he's pretty confident about it all. OFF THE RECORD Tommy Dorsey (Victor 27782) "What Is This Thing Called Love"— "Love Sends A Little Gift of Roses." Superior in performance and styling to any of the month's record crop. Connie Haines handles the Cole Porter lyrics. Claude Thornhill (Columbia 36527) "Lamp of Memory" — "Memory Lane." A haunting tune that cropped up in Latin America and will find no trouble in winning many listeners here. Thorn- hill's piano playing is still a joy. Ring Crosby (Decca 4184) "Moon- light Cocktail"— "I Don't Want to Walk Without You." A catchy little number right down the master's alley. The reverse is already too familiar. Hal Mclntyre (Victor 27803) "When the Roses Bloom Again" — "Tangerine." A new band that insists on getting on the recommended lists despite tough competition. Intelligent phrasing and interesting arrangements. Woody Herman (Decca 4176) "String of Pearls" — "Las Chiapanecas." Best THE MINUTE MAN 52 Our goal for 1942 !s 60,000 fighting planes, 45,000 roaring tanks, 20,000 anti- aircraft guns, 8,000,000 tons of shipping. You can help to speed up the day that we arrive at our goal, and VICTORY! Act now — Invest in Victory every pay day — Buy Defense Bonds, regularly, out of salary. of the swing numbers. The B side is a Mexican mimicry of "Deep in the Heart of Texas." Handclapping and all. Benny Goodman (Okeh 6606) "My Little Cousin"— "Zoot Suit." A bargain disk of two new tunes that will get a big play on the airwaves. Topside has a familiar Jewish strain. The other is a jitterbug's vocabulary gone romantic. Horace Heidt (Columbia 36526) "Deep in the Heart of Texas"— "Loretta." I think this is the best version of the applause anthem to the Lone Star state. Freddy Martin (Bluebird 11453) "How Do I Know It's Real"— "If You Build a Better Mousetrap." Ably ex- ecuted platter featuring Eddie Stone's ingratiating vocalizing. Harry James (Columbia 36518) "I Remember You" — "Last Night I Said A Prayer." Highly-stylized trumpeting on a pair of popular tunes. Maxine Sullivan (Decca 4154) "Blue Heaven" — "St. Louis Blues." Absent from the platters, her welcome return reveals a soft, soothing delivery on two oldies. (Recommended Album: Decca's sur- prising Irene Dunne — Jerome Kern package. The screen star's voice never sounded better and the tunes make a perfect fit.) RADIO AND TELEVISION lyURKOB Two in the Storm Continued frovfi page 37 happen here. He came to help build a — build a bulwark against the ene- mies of freedom! And you — you — dare come in here and tell my father to move along, as if he were a bum!" "I — I didn't mean — I'm sorry," he | stammered. "You're sorry!" Karen flared out. "I'm sorry," she said sarcastically, "that we don't belong to the social register, so we could be eligible to camp on your wonderful beach! Ex- clusive summer colony, indeed! Why, your whole fancy colony isn't worth one of the mosquito boats my father can help to build. Boat! It isn't worth one mosquito!" "All right, all right," the young man said placatingly. He grinned ingratiatingly. "You get mad awfully fast." "It would be a good idea, if more people got mad faster," Karen said. "And don't try to change the sub- ject!" "Karen!" her father's voice called from outside. The next moment, the door was thrown open and her father stepped in, bringing with him a gust of, cold wind. "Karen — down at the camp — " he stopped, seeing the stranger. "What's the matter, Karen?" Karen's eyes flashed. "It seems we're camping on sacred ground, here," she said. She nodded toward the young man. "He says we'll have to move our trailer." Her father's gray eyes clouded over. He frowned questioningly at the young man. "I am Lars Peder- sen," he said. "What is the matter?" "How do you do?" the young man said. "My name's Drake." "Drake?" Lars repeated. "Not one — of — oi the — " The young man nodded. "Yes. I'm Rand Drake. My father owns the Drake Speedboat Company." 17" AREN could feel a hot flush creep- ■■-*- ing up her face. She turned away and pretended to be busy with her dishes. It wasn't that she hadn't meant all the things she'd said. She had, but now she was afraid that per- haps young Drake might spoil her father's chances to get a job. "What have we done, Mr. Drake?" Lars asked. "Well — uh — nothing, really," Rand Drake said. "I — that is. my mother thought," and he stressed the word mother, "that it would be more com- fortable for you down near the boatyard. I understand it's pretty crowded, but — " "It's more than crowded, Mr. Drake," Lars said quietly. "I've just come from there. There are several cases of pneumonia in camp and one case of typhoid — " "Typhoid!" Karen almost dropped a glass. "I'd better go down there, right away." "Yes," her father said. "I came back to get you." "But— but— " Rand Drake said. "Isn't that dangerous?" Karen looked at him scornfully. "I'm a nurse," she said. She took her warm coat from its hook and pulled it on quickly. From a shelf over her bunk, she got her kit and turned toward the door. "I — I guess I'd better go with you," JXJNE, 1942 Original gown by Nanty, Inc., New York Use pl\ESH*2 and stay fresher! PUT FRESH #2 under one arm — put your prenent non-perspirant under the other. And then . . . 1 . See which one checks perspiration bet- ter. We think FRESH #2 will. 2. See which one prevents perspiration odor better. We are confident you'll find FRESH *2 will give you a feeling of complete under-arm security. 3. See how gentle FRESH #2 is — how pleasant to use. This easy-spreading vanishing cream is not greasy — not gritty — and not sticky. 4. See how convenient FRESH *2 is to ap- ply. You can use it immediately before dressing — no waiting for it to dry. 5. And revel in the knowledge, as j'ou use FRESH #2, that it will not rot even the most delicate fabric. Laboratory tests prove this. 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And why not.-* Progressive women know that Tampax was invented by a doctor, to be worn internally! No bulging "line" is possible and chafing is elimi- nated. Made of pure surgical cotton, it absorbs gently and naturally — permits no odor to form. Each Tampax comes sealed in one-time-use applicator, for quick and dainty insertion. Really you do not feel Tampax while wearing it, and disposal furnishes no problem at all. 'Now 3 sizes of Tampax: Regular, Super, Junior. They meet every individual need. (The new Super is about 50% more ab- sorbent.) Sold at drug stores, notion counters. Introductory box, 20^. Econ- omy package of 40 gives you real bar- gain. Join the millions using Tampax now! Tampax Incorporated, New Bruns- wick, N. J. *• Guaranteed by "^ Good Housekeeping Accepted for Adver- tising by the Jour- nal of the American Medical Association TRY IMPROVED SUPER TAMPAX Rand Drake said. "Something tnusi be done about this." The wind was strong and biting and Karen had to lean against it. She stopped for a moment and turned on Rand Drake. "By all means, come along, Mr. Drake," she said. "I'm sure if you tell those nasty germs what an exclusive colony this is, they'll all go away!" She didn't wait to see what effect that would have on him. She turned into the wind and hurried as fast as she could over the shifting sand after her father. Hurrying like that, it didn't take them long to reach the camp. It had seemed dreary enough the night before. Now, with the cold, gray light on it, it looked makeshift and inadequate. The skimpy, patched tents pulled at their moorings and made a wild, flapping noise as the wind beat against them. The trailers were sunk to their hubs in the sand and thin wisps of smoke struggled fitfully upward from an occasional campfire. Karen was still seething with anger. What right had anyone to ask decent, honest, hardworking people to live like this? Suddenly, she found herself hating Rand Drake and every- thing he represented and hating her- self even more, because she had al- lowed herself for just one moment to think he was nice and might be fun to know better. "Last time I saw him, the doctor was in that third trailer," her father said. Then, Karen forgot about Rand Drake. She forgot about everything but her work. All morning long, she and the doctor worked together, go- ing from trailer to trailer, from tent to tent, striving feverishly to take care of everyone who needed atten- tion, doing what they could to stave off an epidemic. At one o'clock, the doctor said, "You'd better get something to eat and rest for a couple of hours." Karen insisted she wasn't tired, but the doctor smiled sadly and advised her to rest while she had the chance. Karen's heart contracted with fear. She knew what he meant, although she had been trying to hide the truth from herself. Everything was against them. No matter how hard they worked, under these conditions, dis- ease was going to run wild. They couldn't stop it. A STORM was brewing and it wouldn't be many hours before it broke, Karen realized as she stepped out of the trailer. She shuddered with the thought of what that meant nose people in their flimsy tents, to the people, sick and healthy huddled together in the stuffy trailers' She didn't feel up to the half-mile walk on the exposed beach, so she made her way to the concrete road that ran along the shore. She had just stopped to catch her breath in the lee of one of the buildings be- longmg to the Drake Speedboat Com- pany, when a door in the next build- ing up the road opened and two men stepped out, Rand Drake and an older man. "There!" the older man said, point- mg across the road to where some men were unloading cement from trucks. "Work on the housing project will begin at once. The first unit will be ready in six weeks." "But, Dad!" Rand Drake said, his voice almost as furious as the wind which bore it so clearly to Karen's ears. "Six weeks! The worst of the weather will be over by then. It will be summer. It's the next few weeks of ram and cold nights and storms that will be bad. It's awful down there. You have no idea what it's like. It's worse than a concentration camp!" "I can't help it," his father said. "A beach resort like this has no fa- cilities for such an increase in popu- lation." "But someone's got to help those people," Rand Drake said. "Look, son," the elder Drake said impatiently. "I have enough on my mind trying to get this plant open and working on those defense orders, without dabbling in social welfare." "All right! I'll do something, then!" Rand Drake shouted. But his anger was lost on the air, for his father had already gone back inside to his office. Rand Drake stood there a moment and then hurried to a long, low car and got into it, banging the door savagely. Suddenly, Karen realized she was smiling. She watched the car disap- pear down the road and for some strange reason a warming wave of happiness surged through her. As she trudged along the road, it oc- curred to her that she was certainly very inordinately happy, simply be- cause she had discovered that she'd made a mistake about Rand Drake. What if he wasn't the snob she had thought him, she asked herself, what did that have to do with her? And then she realized that, in those first few minutes they had been together that morning, before she had found out what he wanted, something had happened to her. "But that's stupid," she said aloud to the air. Her own voice, talking to C)oj^ TTeluLo lo^ ^^^ SARITA HERRERA — singing star of Bob Ripley's programs, heard on the Blue network Saturday nights at 10, EWT. Sarita came to the United States from Colombia three years ago, at the request of a phonograph company. Since then she has made two hundred different phonograph records, besides singing on the air. She prefers North American bonds to the South American variety, and her favorite singer is Kay Thompson. Sorito's American radio career was almost blasted at the start because she didn't know that the show she was to moke her debut on was to be broadcast twice, once for the east coast and once for the west. As a result, she didn't show up for the repeat — and was almost blacklisted. 54 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR no one, startled her. Then, she felt herself flushing with the knowledge that even if it was stupid, it was true. She tried to shake off this revelation, but she had little success. She hurried along, telling herself it was ridiculous. She tried to be prac- tical and sensible, but that only made her want to cry. She scolded herself. "You would be that kind of a fool," she muttered to herself, "falling in love with a millionaire's son." And, having admitted that, she saw the futility of it. The whole thing was impossible. There was nothing to do but forget about the whole thing. With which practical thought, she let herself into the trailer and threw her- self on her bunk and cried. AFTER awhile, her tears subsided ^^ and she lay there, wide eyed, and wondered at herself. She had never acted this way before. She would have to snap out of it. She had work to do and there was no time for this kind of nonsense. They had not come up here for a summer vacation. They had come to do a job of work, an im- portant job, a job necessary for the safety of the country. And nothing must interfere with their doing it. Nothing. That's what she had needed, she told herself. She had to have some- thing real to hang on to. Now she felt better, she decided, and got up. She washed her face and changed into a warmer dress and started back to- ward the camp. She was very sure she had it all straightened out in her mind. Yet, she couldn't stop the violent leaping of her heart, when she heard Rand Drake's voice calling to her as she passed the big house on the road. "Miss Pedersen! Karen," he said, a little breathlessly, as he ran after her. "Yes, Mr. Drake?" she said. "I—" he smiled. "Look, call me Rand, will you? Just to distinguish between my father and me, hmm?" Karen nodded, careful to keep her eyes from his. "Karen," Rand said, "would you come inside for a minute, please?" "Into your home?" Karen asked. "What for?" But he didn't wait for an answer. He took her hand and led her into the house. They walked through a wide, panelled hall and into a large, beauti- ful room. "Mother," Rand said to a woman seated before the fireplace, "I'd like to introduce Miss Pedersen — Karen — " "How do you do?" Mrs. Drake said. Karen said, "How do you do, Mrs. Drake?" and wondered what else was expected of her. "You see. Mother?" Rand said. "She looks perfectly all right, doesn't she? A nice, pretty, young lady." "Now Rand — " Mrs. Drake said. Karen felt, suddenly, as though she had been doused with icy water. "Rand — Mr. Drake," she said angrily, "what are you making an exhibit of me for?" Rand smiled and quieted her with a hand on her arm. "Now, don't get angry again. I just wanted Mother to see you — " "Rand," Mrs. Drake said coldly, "you're being preposterous." "No, I'm not, Mother," he grinned. He pressed Karen's arm and looked into her eyes. "I've been trying to talk Mother into making her friends let those workmen stay in their sum- mer cottages. The season won't begin for another three or four weeks and I JUNE, 1942 .0S^ cOMPtac/Q^ ^^^ "NATURAl"^' FOR YOU new ^Saw(/&ifMa{/ed , y(me ^ liaM e^ ^ /ovs^ viah/ml A^ad& now mM&new JfRGEm fACfPOWDfR Aiix' faultless color sense creates glorifying new Powder Shades for you Whatever your type, your own skin tones have natural beauty. 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Try Meds and compare I BOX OF 10— 25ii • BOX OF 50— 98(i Meds The J\lodess Tampon there might be somewhere else for them all to live by then." "Oh," Karen whispered, feeling small for having made another mis- take about him. "I refuse to discuss this any longer. Rand," his mother said, standing up. "You're old enough to know I couldn't possibly ask my friends to turn over their homes to strangers." Like a small, dainty queen, she walked regally out of the room. DAND bit his lip and brushed back ■■-* a shock of his dark hair. His other hand was still on Karen's arm and she felt as though it were burning her. She pulled free of him and said softly, "It was a good idea. Too bad it didn't work." She started for the door. "I've got to get back to the camp." "I'll drive you down," Rand said, following her. "I'll think of some- thing else." They drove in silence for a few minutes. Then, Rand slapped the wheel. "Got it!" he said. "I'll see Finch." "Who is he?" Karen asked. "The real estate agent," Rand said. "Oh," Karen said. "You know — Rand — I owe you an apology. I'm afraid I — well — I misjudged you this morning." He took his eyes from the road for a second and the light in them made Karen go all to pieces inside. "Thanks," he grinned, "I was hoping you'd change your mind about me." Somehow, Karen was a little disap- pointed. "You mean, you're doing all this to make an impression on me?" she asked. He frowned slightly. "No — yes — " he said. "No. I mean, this morning, when I first saw you — maybe — yes, that was the idea. But, when I went down there and saw those people — well — it sort of turned into something else." "That's better," Karen said. He stopped the car to let her out. "See you in a little while," he said. Karen felt unreasonably happy again. This time she didn't bother to worry about it. She just let herself sing inside and went to find the doctor. She found him in a cold, wind- rattled tent, bending over a small child. The little girl was burning with fever and the doctor left Karen alone with her, while he went to get some more pneumonia serum. Karen sat down and held the little girl's hot hand. It was cold and draughty and comfortless there and Karen wished she could pick up the child and carry her to some warm, clean room. She thought of all the neat cottages along the road. And then, she thought of Rand. Maybe he could do it. The doctor had come back with the serum and left again, before Rand re- turned. Karen only needed one look at his face to see that he had failed. She didn't even have to hear his bit- ter, "Finch refused. He wouldn't do it for any amount of rent." Rand stood over the cot and stared down at the sick child. "These sick kids can't stay here," he said. "They should be in the hospital." "The doctor tried — " Karen said. "The hospital won't take them." "Why not?" They both turned toward the flap of the tent and stared at Mrs. Drake. Tiny and proud, she stood looking in at them, her coat flapping against her legs and her hair tousled by the wind. "Why not?" she asked again. "They're not residents," Karen said. "What nonsense!" Mrs. Drake said. "Why didn't you tell me there were sick children down here?" "I didn't think it would matter," Karen said. Mrs. Drake frowned at her. "And I thought you were an intelligent girl." She turned to her son. "Rand, you carry that child out to the car, this instant." "No — wait — where are you taking her?" Karen asked. "To my house, of course," Mrs. Drake said. "I knew you'd come through, Mother," Rand said. "Humph!" Mrs. Drake said to her son. "The others — how many more are there?" she asked Karen. "I — I don't know exactly," Karen said. "Many — " Lars stuck his head in through the flap. "Karen — we've got to get these sick people out of here. A storm's making — the sea is rising fast — we're going to have a wash — the camp is in danger." Mrs. Drake waved a tiny, gloved hand at him. "We're taking care of NBC's ASK ELEANOR NASH PROGRAM: Worse Than for deflating the "depressants in d the bottom of y skirt that goes bacic; hair that upon a hat; finge den under polish ers of it); a slip safety-pin; a rip i glove. a Shiny Nose ego ore these ress": A hole in our stocking; a bulbous in the has to depend r-nail grime hid- (even three lay- tethered with a n the seam of a them, my good man," she said. "Go on, Rand, go on!" Lars stared at her. Rand laughed. "Don't let her bully you, Lars. This is my mother. Mother, this is Karen's father, Lars Pedersen." "How do you do? Get busy. Get those other children out of here," Mrs. Drake said, all in one breath. Karen never did know how they managed to get all those children to the Drake home so quickly. Rand and her father were just bringing in the last ones, when the storm broke in all its fury. After them came Mr. Drake, who stopped in the doorway and stared at the children bedded down in the hall, in the living room, on every available flat surface, chairs, sofas, cots, the floor. "What's going on here?" he asked. "Get some more blankets," Mrs. Drake said. "Oh, it's you! You'll have to eat dinner out, tonight." And she forgot him promptly. Karen smiled. "Your mother's won- derful," she whispered to Rand, as they settled another child on a cot. "How about you?" Rand whispered and Karen felt herself blushing. "Pretty, too," Rand grinned. "Please, you mustn't," Karen said. She frowned. "I'm worried about those other people. What will they do, if the storm washes away the camp?" There was a commotion at the door 56 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROK and they both turned in that direc- tion. A little, thin man, with a long nose and a bald head, was waving his arms and shouting at Mr. Drake. "You've got to let me have those workers of yours, Drake!" he yelled. "I need help. They've got to throw up a sea wall, or something. The sea's coming up fast. By morning all the homes along the shore will be washed away. You've got to help me!" Rand chuckled and patted Karen's arm. "Here we go," he whispered to her. Then, he ran to his father's side. "Just a minute, Finch. Those men don't work for my father, yet. He can't tell them what to do." "lYJ^R. DRAKE stared at his son for a ■L" moment. Then comprehension gleamed in his eyes. He smiled, "The boy's right. Finch. Anyway, what would you use for a wall?" Finch shrank a little. "Well, I thought — those building materials for the housing project — " "Oh, you did, did you?" Mr. Drake boomed. "You're not even prepared for this emergency. What have you been doing all year? If you remem- ber, the trustees told you last fall to build a sea wall, and appropriated funds for the purpose. Why didn't you build it?" "I — I've been meaning to — but — I just never got started — " Finch stam- mered. "Look, Mr. Finch," Rand inter- rupted. "I'll make a bargain with you." The little man's gimlet eyes glittered. "I think I can get those men to throw up a wall — but you've got to do something for them. Open up the summer cottages for them and their families. Naturally, they'll pay reason- able rents." "I can't do that! I can't!" Finch was almost crying. "All right, you can't," Rand said. "They'll be washed away. And you can pay the damages." Finch cowered and screwed up his eyes. He wrung his hands and moaned, "Oh, damages. What will the tenants say? I— I'll have to do it—" Mr. Drake slapped him resounding- ly on the back. "I'll take the respon- sibility. Finch. Let's get going." "Just a minute, Mr. Finch," Rand said. "The keys—" Almost as if he were tearing them out of his body. Finch handed over the keys to the cottages. Rand waved them to Karen and started for the door, calling over his shoulder, "Come on, Lars. I'll need your influence with the men." Lars patted Karen's cheek. "A smart boy," he smiled. It was almost eight hours before Karen and Mrs. Drake saw them again. Eight hours of waiting, listen- ing to the gale, listening to destruc- tion and havoc raging outside. Eight hours of not knowing what was hap- pening, not knowing whether the men were building that wall, or whether they had been caught up in that booming, pounding, rising tumult and swept out to sea. Mrs. Drake stayed close to Karen. She didn't speak much. Once she said, "Rand told me you all came here to build a — something — a bull — " Karen smiled, "A bulwark against the enemies of freedom," she said. "Oh, I wanted to be sure," Mrs. Drake said, then. "I think our friends should all understand that." Another time, she said softly, "They're very long about it, aren't they?" Karen put an arm about her narrow shoulders. "It isn't easy to build a wall against any kind of aggression — even that of the sea," she said. "Don't worry, they'll be all right." But mostly, they just moved about among the children and tried to hide from each other how fright- ened they really were. At last, when the sky was beginning to turn lighter, the front door banged open and there was a shout of, "We did it!" Wiggins, the butler, came into sight, shaking himself like some huge New- foundland dog and almost dancing with glee. "We did it! By Jove, we did it!" he shouted. Then, he noticed the women. "Oh, I beg your pardon, Madame." Mrs. Drake almost sang, "Never mind, Wiggins," and ran for the hall. The next instant, she was caught up in Mr. Drake's arms and crying hap- pily into his wet shoulder. But Karen was already out of the house, running down the path to where Rand was coming up from the beach. He was soaking wet, his black hair plastered down on his face, his dripping trousers clinging to his legs. His face was dirty, but he was grin- ning. "We did it!" he shouted. "Your father was wonderful, Karen. We'd never have done it without him to direct everything." Karen's heart was pounding fright- fully and she had a little trouble with her voice. "Oh — oh — Rand!" she cried. And the next thing she knew, she was in Rand's arms, clinging to him as Rand's mother had clung to his father. And, like Mrs. Drake, she was crying, too. Miss Betty Wynne, art director's private secretary, whose job calls for good taste in every way, every day. • • • Pepsi-Cola is on the job all over America. In offices, factories, ship- yards— millions prefer its finer flavor and purity, the better taste of those 1 2 full ounces. Pour yourself a Pepsi- Cola today . . . for a nickel. "^ Pepsi-Cola is made only by Pepsi-Cola Company, Long Island City, N. Y. Bottled locally by Authorized Bottlers from coast to coast. "jAt JUNE, 1942 gi7 New cream positively stops *underarm Perspiration Odor as proved in amazing HOT CLIMATE TEST 1. Not stiff, not messy— Yodora spreads just like vanishing cream! 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Please include ■ ' ^^HS color of eyes, hair, and clothing for , - ^_ " ^ prompt information on a natural, life- ■^.tiii'B'niUUv^ Wf^ color enlargement in a FREE 'i>€44teci4^ ALMA KITCHELL'S STREAMLINE JOURNAL, the Blue Network: Salad Magic: To avoid soggy salads, place a saucer upside down in the bottom of the salad bowl. The excess dressing will ac- cunnulate under the saucer, and the salad will stay crisp. The news came on over the radio just then, and I was glad Ward turned an attentive ear to it. I didn't want him to see my face, because I was sure he couldn't help reading my thoughts in it. You little fool, Carol! I said to myself. You're imagining things; you're tired from too much exercise or — or something. You love Ward, you're engaged to marry him. Ward, still listening, looked up at that moment, and smiled at me — not really seeing me, because his mind was still on what the news announcer was saying. But it was enough — that little gesture of intimacy — to bring me to my senses. I no longer had to tell myself he was the man I loved: I knew he was. Before we went upstairs to dress for dinner, Erik walked past and I introduced him to Ward. It didn't matter, of course, but I wished then that I had told Erik I was engaged to be married. "This is Mr. Mitchell, Erik," I said. "My fiance." Erik didn't look surprised. He bowed and said, "Miss Brewster is a very apt pupil. You ski, Mr. Mit- chell?" "Oh, yes," Ward said carelessly. "Then you won't need me tomor- RADIO AND TELEVISION IVTIRROR row, Miss Brewster," Erik said. He turned to Ward: "The barometer is falling. It's late in the season for much of a storm, but it might be a good idea not to go too far." "Thanks." Ward said easily. After Erik had left there was a silence. Ward broke it by saying, "I'll see about getting a room. Meet you here in an hour or so?" It was an uncomfortable evening, somehow. I was so sleepy from my day in the open air that I could hard- ly keep my eyes open after dinner, although I tried valiantly. Ward de- served something better on this, our first real evening together since be- fore my illness, than yawns and heavy eyelids. But it was a relief when at last we went up to our rooms. I clung to him in the deserted hall- way. "Darling, I'm sorry," I whis- pered. "If I'd been sure you were coming tonight I wouldn't have gone and tired myself all out skiing. Tomor- row we'll have a good time together." Ward patted my shoulder paternally and kissed me briefly. "That's all right, Carol. See you in the morning." 1WENT into my room and closed the door. But after all, I didn't un- dress and get into bed at once. In- stead, I stood quite still in the middle of the floor for — I don't know how long. Five minutes perhaps, or perhaps thirty. I wasn't exactly thinking — what went through my brain was too disconnected and fragmentary to be dignified with the name of thoughts — but it seemed to me that there was something missing in my relationship with Ward, something that had been wholly and satisfyingly present in the casual hours I had spent with Erik. I didn't know what it was. Or I didn't know exactly. Or, if I did, I wouldn't give it a name, even to myself. Something else came unbidden to my mind, while I stood there. I'd forgotten it, until now, I didn't even remember the time and place it had been said. But I remembered the words, and I remembered who had said them, and I remembered the tone in which they had been spoken: "That's one thing I won't have to worry about. I'm a lot more neces- sary to the war effort in my job than I would be as a soldier. Flour's important, you know, and I know how to get it made." It was true, of course. But I wished that he hadn't been quite so trium- phant about it. The weather changed in the night, as Erik had predicted. It was still cold, but the clear blue sky was gone and in its place were low-hanging gray clouds. "Better not stay out long," the desk clerk said when Ward made arrangements to borrow the station wagon. "We can't get weather re- ports now, but our skiing instructor says there's a storm coming up." "Can't be much of a storm this late," Ward said shortly. "We'll be all right." I showed him how far to drive the station wagon up the road, and then we got out. After an hour's climbing we were on the summit, bracing ourselves against the wind which blew strong- ly. I tried to point out the landmarks Erik had taught me. "Over there's Low Hill, and to the right, just behind it, Mystic Hill. But you can't see it very well today — it's too cloudy. And over to the right — " "Carol," Ward said, "what's the idea?" JUNE, 1942 CONSTANCE LUFT HUHN ALL YOU'VE EVER LONGED FOB IN A LIPSTICK HEAD OF THE HOUSE OF TANGEE Makers of the World's Most Famous Lipsticks WE are constantly seeking to give our Tangee Lip- sticks exactly those qualities you tell us you want most. That is how our new and exclusive SATIN-FINISH was Created. You demanded a lipstick that would give your lips a softer, glossier sheen... with a texture not too moist, yet not too j7-y...that really stays on Avithout smearing or smudging. In bringing you our new SATIN-FINISH we have made, we believe, the most important cosmetic advance of the past 20 years. Here is all you've ever longed for in a lipstick— a combination of Tangee's wonderfully flattering shades, Tangee's soothing and protective pure cream base, and the flawless groom- ing of Tangee's exclusive satin-finish. WITH THE NEW SATIN-FINISH 3 LOVELY TANGEE SHADES TANGEE RED-RED. ."Rarest, Loveliest Red of Them All !". . . harmonizes with all fashion colors. TANGEE THEATRICAL RED . . ."The Brilliant Scarlet Lipstick Shade". . . always flattering. TANGEE NATURAL. .. Orange in the stick, changes to produce your own most becoming shade of blush rose on the lips. SEND FOR COMPLETE MAKE-UP KIT The Geo. W. Luft Co., Distributors 417 Fifth Ave., New York City Send "Miracle Make-Up Kit" of sample Tangee Lipstick, matching rouge and face powder. LIPSTICK & ROUGE: CHECK ONE D NATURAL D THEATRICAL RED D RED-RED FACE POVnDER: CHECK ONE D Peach O Light Rachel D Flesh D Rachel D Dark Rachel D Tan I enclose lO* (stamps or coin). (15# in Canada.) Name- City (Please Print] -Street- . state. MA62 59 "The idea?" "Yes. You know I don't give a hoot for the local beauties. Why bother to show them to me?" "Why— I don't know," I said. "I thought you'd be interested." "You're different," he said. "I no- ticed it last night. I thought you were just tired. But today too — " "You're imagining it," I said, not daring to look at him. "I'm — not so sure," he said slowly. A stronger gust of wind buffeted us, bringing with it a puff of snow- flakes that stung my cheeks. "We'd better start down," I urged. "I think a storm really is coming up." Ward thrust his poles into the snow. "All right," he said briefly. He was gone ahead of me, blotted out in a whirl of snow. I followed him as well as I could. It was one thing to ski with Erik beside me, ready to help me if I fell, but it was another to follow Ward when a storm was coming up. TJf^ARD didn't know the usual trail »» down, either, and he was leading me far off to the right, over unfamiliar ground. All at once, about a quarter of the way down, I heard a slithering crash, followed by an exclamation. When I drew up beside him, Ward was lying half- buried in snow, one leg doubled up at a peculiar- looking angle. "I don't know," he said through clenched teeth, "but I think it's broken. I can't move it." I unstrapped my skis and kneeled down beside him. But when I tried to help him up he cried out loud with pain and swore at me. I looked around in helpless ter- ror. Nothing but snow, falling faster every minute. I couldn't leave him here while I went for help — he'd be buried before I could get back, even supposing I could flnd my way back to the right place. And I couldn't move him. He was too heavy, and too helpless. ... A shadow swooped down from above me on the hill. Erik. "Help me," I gasped. "He fell— I'm afraid he's broken — " "Get me out of here, Bergen," Ward snarled. "I know damn well it's broken. What're you going to do about it?" "There is a shelter not so very far from here," Erik said. He was bend- ing over Ward; I couldn't see his face. "If you will put one arm around my neck — so — I can lift you . . ." His voice was smothered in a grunt as he raised Ward. Leaning on Erik and edging him- self along with his injured leg, Ward managed to cover the two hundred yards or so to the shelter — a little log cabin just over the shoulder of the hill we had been going down. Inside, there were a flreplace, a table and chairs, an oil stove and lamp, two bunks, a shelf full of canned food — and a flrst-aid kit which Erik pro- duced from a box on the wall. "I'd better look at his leg right away, 60 Carol," Erik said. "Can you build a flre and start water heating?" "Yes, of course," I said. I walked a few steps — and suddenly realized that for the flrst time Erik had used my first name. I half turned, and saw Ward looking at me with anger in his eyes. He had noticed too, then. While I touched a match to the fire ready-laid on the hearth, found water, and started the oil stove going, Erik made a hasty examination of Ward's injury. Then he announced, "You were right, Mr. Mitchell. The leg is broken, just above the ankle. I shall have to set it." "You set it?" Ward roared furi- ously. "Don't be a fool — you'd bungle the job and I might never be able to walk again! Get a doctor up here!" C* RIK sat back on his heels. "A '-' broken leg should be set at once," he remarked quietly. "I have done it before, several times. And it is quite impossible to get a doctor up here in this storm." He nodded toward the window where even nearby trees were now obliterated by the wildly whirl- ing snow. "But naturally, yours is the final decision in the matter." Ward opened his mouth in impotent rage. I said quickly, "Erik is right. Ward. He's had experience — he ^«o«o«e«e*e*o*o*o«o*€9«ooo*^«^«^«^9^*ooo»o«^«ooo*o«o«^« ^OAA freiXo lo- WALTER GROSS — the very, very busy conductor of a CBS band which provides the music tor many ot the networic's sustaining features. The piano is Walter's own instrument, and on it he can perform the classics, popular dance music, hot jazz and boogie- woogie with uniform ease. He first joined CBS eight years ago, playing in a band which included Raymond Scott, Benny Goodman, Artie Shaw, Will Bradley, Bunny Berigan, and Jerry Colonna (who played trombone). That was an all-star group, although no one knew it at the time, and Walter thinks the same is probably true of his present band. When his radio schedule permits it, Walter likes to spend weekends with his wife at their new country home. «O0O«»»O*O«€3»C»«^0^«^*^*^«O*^*^«eS0O«C5«^«O»O0O0O»O«Oft^«O*O«O*^0C3©O«OftO»o*o© knows what's best." Erik added, "We three are quite safe here until the storm passes. And it is so late in the season, it cannot possibly last very long. Then I can go for help to take you down the mountain." "I suppose you couldn't go now?" Ward asked sarcastically. "No. I would not dare, in this storm," Erik said calmly. "Afraid— Oh well, all right. But if you don't do a good job I'll — " He didn't finish the sentence. I don't like to remember the next half-hour. I helped Erik as well as I could, but probably wasn't of much use. I was completely inexperienced, for one thing, and for another I felt weak and sick whenever I glanced at Ward's pale face or heard the groans which he did not try to smother. Perhaps it was pity for his suffering. Or perhaps, mixed with the pity, there was shame that he should exhibit his suffering with such poor grace. "You were rough enough about it," was all he said when Erik was fin- ished. It was mid-afternoon when Ward had been made as comfortable as possible. We heated some soup and some beans and ate them, and by that time it was growing dark outside. "The storm's dying down," Ward said suddenly. "You'd better make a break for it, Bergen." Erik was standing by the fireplace, and I was sitting at the table. We both turned to look at the window. I couldn't see that the storm was dying down at all, and I glanced at Erik in amazement. "Not enough, I think," Erik said. He walked over to the table and said in a low voice, "He's feverish and a little delirious." "What are you whispering about?" Ward demanded. He struggled to raise himself on one elbow. "I know what you're up to — ^you've bungled the job of setting my leg and you don't want to get any real help!" I ran to his side. "Ward, please!" I pleaded. "Lie down — you mustn't get excited. Erik knows what's best — really he does." "Erik knows what's best!" he mim- icked scornfully. "Is that all you can say? Is he the only person you can think of?" "Ward! You don't know what you're saying!" "Don't I? I wouldn't be too sure. I've got a hunch this is all very ro- mantic and sweet for you and your Erik. Lonely shelter, high up on the mountain — storm outside — me lying here helpless — How about that sed- ative Bergen gave me after he finished yanking my leg to pieces? It was supposed to put me to sleep, wasn't it —But I didn't swallow it, I got rid of it when neither of you was looking!" Erik took a quick step to- ward Ward — and stopped. "You're crazy!" he said thickly. It was a phrase. Erik didn't mean that Ward was really insane. But I realized, all at once, that there was more truth in what he had said than he knew. Ward was not crazy. But neither was he well balanced. Here was the explanation for something in him that had always troubled me. He lived his life on the basis of self. Nothing and no one was as important to him as Ward Mitchell. Most of us are like that to some extent. But Ward's ego was so monstrously inflated that he could not stand to have it challenged — and with this ego went a hidden and unadmitted sense of inferiority. He had selected me for a wife, as he had said, "because I wouldn't try to boss him," because instinctively he had believed he could always control me. I was to have been subservient to him, all my life. But when he came to the Manor and saw that I had been spending time with another man, all his latent jealousy had wakened. His self-control was strong enough to keep his inner thoughts hidden — until the accident which had increased his sense of helplessness and thus destroyed his carefully built-up defenses. I felt very sorry for him. But I was sure now that I did not love him. "You believe that of me?" I asked RADIO AND TELEVISION I^IRBOR « Ward. He didn't answer, just stared at me with pitiful, sullen rage. I said to Erik, "Are you sure you couldn't get down the mountain? It would be so much better." So much better, be- cause it would calm Ward's tortured, mistaken mind. But Erik shook his head. "If I could get help up here, I would go. You know that." Yes, I knew it. I knew that Erik would do anything to help me. His eyes told me that. ABOUT nine o'clock Erik prepared the ^ bunk across from Ward's for me, and stretched himself out on two chairs near the fire. He blew out the lamp, and there was silence, except for the sough of the wind outside and the crackle of the flames within. I didn't think I would sleep. I lay awake, looking through the gloom at Erik, thinking: Soon the morning will come, and then I'll have to tell Ward I can't marry him. He'll accuse me of loving Erik, and I won't be able to deny it. The next thing I knew it was morn- ing. Sun was slanting in at the win- dow, and there was the sound of water dripping from the eaves. I sat up, looking for Erik. He was not there, but I saw a slip of paper on the table. I picked it up. "Have gone down the hill. Will bring help as soon as possible." I raised my head, and saw Ward watching me. He was pale, but he seemed normal and calm, and he nodded when I told him the contents of Erik's note. "I made a fool of myself last night, didn't I?" he asked. "You were feverish. You didn't know what you were saying." Ward sighed and moved his head restlessly. "I knew enough. I knew I cut a pretty poor figure alongside your skiing friend . . . You love him, don't you?" "Yes. But he doesn't know it, and I don't intend to tell him." "You probably won't have to. You have the kind of face, Carol, that tells everything you're thinking. It used to tell me you thought I was some kind of a hero. That was good for me. I liked it. But — it stopped telling me that the night you walked into the lobby of the hotel and saw me sitting there with your aunt." "Ward — I'm sorry." He shrugged. He had let me see a little way into his heart, because he had to, but that was all. I went to the door, waited until Erik and two helpers from the hotel arrived with a stretcher. I watched them gently lift him onto it and start inching their way on snow shoes down the slope, carrying him between them. Erik stood beside me. "Mr. Mitchell — he is better this morning?" he asked. "He is sorry for what he said?" "I think so. But we are not going to be married." I looked at him then. If what Ward had said about my thoughts showing in my face was true, he would know. In the silence, I saw his blue eyes widen, saw a spark in them. But what he said was: "This is the last storm of the winter." "Yes." "So now I shall enlist in your army." "Yes," I said again. Erik's lips hardly moved. "Will you wait for me?" My heart jumped in my breast. "Oh, I will. I will!" JUNE, 1942 THE «" °< » '" ' „ skin; W «~ l"™" ' i.h "-'"rtCeS*»— •"'•' "'•t°.:d»^uo.*l..o,e.e,. „. Streaks ana tinger f ,u..; TEST. Witb the tip ot y ^^^ Viard TRY THIS «S^' t face po^vder ag ^^^^^ Srira-a'toUet.ooascounte^ /a '^4 rS~PAK*° Cashmere bouquet Face Pouider A Member of Cashmere Bouquet— the Royal Family of Beauty Preparations 61 FOR UNDER THE ARMS of a NATIOIV UNDER ARMS Whether you're engaged in war work ... or the important job of being a woman, the sensational new NEET Cream Deodorant will preserve and defend your daintiness. New NEET Cream Deodorant is a sure way of instantly stopping under-arm odor and perspiration from one to three days! A flesh-tinted, stainless, greaseless cream, that vanishes almost instantly, makes arm- pits dry and free of odor. Will not irritate the skin, or injure clothing. Buy new NEET Cream Deodorant in the Blue and White jar today. Does not dry or cake in jarl Generous 10^ and 290 sizes plus tax. KEEP NEAT WITH... GUARANTEED BY THE MAKEtS OF NEET DEPIIATORT WALK AWAY YOUR CHOW your corns you're •^ the "boss." Simply fol- low this treatment that works as shown in the dia- grams — and does it while you walk ! Get Blue-Jay Corn Plas- ters today. They cost very little— only a few cents to treat each corn— at all drug and toilet goods counters. Felt pad (C) helps re- lieve pain by remov- ing pressure. Medica- tion (D) acts on corn. In a lew days corn Is gently loosened so it may be easily re- moved.* *StuiboTn cases may require a second application. BLUE -JAY BAUER & BLACK CORN PLASTERS By ELEANOR PAULL Mrs. Paull (above with her two daughters) proved her patriotism when she became a missing heiress. AMERICA is a fairyland, where ■^ almost anything in the world can happen. That's what my older sister, Verona, used to tell me when I was a little girl in Hungary. Today, I know Verona was right. America is a fairyland and almost anything can happen — in fact, some- thing wonderful has happened to me. In the space of three months, I have been declared legally dead by the New York Probate Court; I have been legally resurrected by the New York Surrogate Court; I have inherited half of an $18,000 estate; have ap- peared on a coast to coast radio pro- gram called "Are You A Missing Heir," and I am buying Defense Bonds with all my inheritance. Imagine all that happening to me, Eleanor Paull, houseworker by the day and cateress, born Illona Moritz, 48 years ago in Eszeng, Hungary. WELL, IT DID HAPPEN! I got the money from Verona's estate, and I'm buying Defense Bonds because I feel it's my duty to help my country. I say "my" country because I'm an American citizen now. I've been an American citizen ever since I married an American sailor during the first World War, 22 years ago. Naturally, my 13-year-old Barbara and my 11 -year-old Betty Lee are American citizens. They were born in this country. My girls are still too young to know how important it is to be born in America. They take for granted new dresses, ice cream sodas, going to col- lege, and all the other things that normal American children can have. When they grow up, they might marry millionaires. There is no official class law which says they can't. In America, being humble doesn't mean being limited where opportunity is con- cerned. Each person makes the most of his own opportunities. 62 It wasn't like that in Hungary. Verona and I were poor in a way that defies description. To begin with, we were orphans. No one was inter- ested in us — no welfare organization — no social service group — nobody. Our wages for a year's housework in Hungary were no more than a week's wages for the same work here in America. So Verona, who was older, came to America and after she got her first job, sent for me. Verona was 19 when I got here. I was 16. Verona had only one dream. The accumulation of money. "You can make it here," she said. "Loads of it. I'm going to work and work and work until I'm rich. I'm going to be so rich, I'll never have to worry again." I got a job as houseworker too, and on my days off, used to go down to the Hungarian section of New York City where I had a lot of friends. Remember I was sixteen so naturally, some of these friends were boys. We'd sit for hours, drinking coffee, eating kalach, and talking about how lucky we were to live in America and have jobs and personal freedom. Long about sundown, one of my boy friends would take me home. Verona didn't like this. "Men," she'd tell me. "All they want is your money. It's all anybody wants. Friends. What are friends? Just people who want to borrow from you. Just people who'll never pay it back." That was Verona. All shadow and suspicion and fear. She hated the world. She hated people. She didn't want friends. It wasn't because she was mean or miserly or selfish. It was because she was afraid. She had known poverty and misery in the old country and she wanted to forget it over here. Although I sympathized with her, I couldn't see things her way. I wanted RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR friends and suitors and good times and gaiety. So eventually, we quar- reled over something or other, and separated. Meanwhile, I met Howard Dudley Paull and fell in love. Howard was in the Navy so we couldn't marry right away but we became engaged. I kept on doing housework and How- ard was sent to Honolulu. When the war was over, Howard was discharged and returned to his home in Cali- fornia. He sent me a letter. I'll never forget it. "Enclosed find money order for trainfare," he wrote. "Take the first train out here. We'll be married im- mediately." I got to Santa Ana on Nov. 27, 1920 and we were married in a sweet little Episcopal church. Howard got a job in the oil fields and we took a house in West Los Angeles. Soon Barbara came along. After that, we had Betty Lee. Our lives were like your or your next door neighbor's. We had a car. We had friends. We went to the Los Angeles Community Church. We entertained and were entertained. During vacation times, we traveled. We saw the great trees in Yosemite. We stood on a high hill in San Fran- cisco and saw the silver cables of the Golden Gate Bridge tremble in the sun. We had a good life in a good country. We were grateful for it. With Verona it was different. She never married. She never went out. She had no friends. Each winter, she'd take a job as housekeeper for some wealthy family in New York. But she'd always specify one thing. She had to have her summers off. Verona was such a wonderful cook and housekeeper that most people were glad to get her nine months of the year. They figured maybe she wanted her summers free for herself. But not Verona. She spent those sum- mers working in seaside resorts where the wages and tips were good. I doubt if she ever saw a tree or a bridge or a rainbow. All she ever saw was the balance in her bankbook. I wrote to her just once from Cali- fornia. It was after the second baby came. The letter came back marked "address unknown." Well the years went by, and not long ago, Howard and I separated. We had come a long way together and had reached a crossroad. He went one way. I another. I went back to housework and catering. I could make THE MINUTE MAN If you're working overtime — if you're rolling up nice wages like a lot of men are these days — you're a sucker if you don't Invest some of that extra money for yourself. Especially when it's patriotic to put money into Defense Bonds, which the Government guarantees. JUNE, 1942 '^'!r:SSS^- Oft yo£^r Sattn Don't let cruel Dry Skin Wrinkles age Your Face too soon . . . NIGHTLY SMOOTH-SKIN CARE FOR DRY SKIN Cleanse your face and neck exquisitely with Jergens Face Cream. Remove the cream. Then apply a light but covering film of this fragrant new cream and leave on all night. Thrilling — the new fresh smoothness of your skin next morning! THIS ONE CREAM gives your face com- plete daily smooth-skin care! It's the new Jergens Face Cream. Made by the same skin scientists who make Jergens Lotion — Jergens Face Cream tends your complexion so skillfully! You use Jergens Face Cream: ( I ) for defl, thorough Cleansing; (2) for Softening; (3) for a "well-dressed" Foundation for powder and make-up; and (4) as a Smoolh-Skin Night Cream. Think of Jergens Face Cream as your "One-Jar" Beauty Treatment. Use it every day for a satin-smooth, younger look. 50f!, 75^, $1.25; 25(5, lOfS. Already over 6,000,000 jars have been used ! ALL-PURPOSE. ..FOR ALL SKIN TYPES FOR A SMOOTH, KISSABLE COMPLEXION 63 Margaret Hayes in Paramounf's "The Glass Key Why not learn free how truly lovely your hair can be when you use a shampoo made especially for your own particular shade? Golden Glint Shampoo comes in 12 selections— each for a different hair shade, each containing PURE RADIEN. One of these selections is made especially to bring out a "tiny tint"— a lovely, soft, velvety glow found only in hair of your own shade. Fill in and mail the coupon. We v/ill send you a free sample or, for a quicker trial, get a 25c or 10c size at drug or variety store. GOLDEN GLINT CO., Seattle, Wash., Box 3366-S Please send free sample for shade marked "X." n 7- Titian Blonde D □ 8. Golden Blonde D n 9. Topaz Blonde D □ 10. Dark Auburn D n n. Light Auburn D D 12. Lustre Glint D 1. Black 2. Dark Copper 3. Sable Brown 4. Golden Brown 5. Nut Brown 6. Silver Name- Street_ City -State- FREE EHLARGEMENT Just to get acquainted with new customers, we will beautifully enlarge one snapshot print or negative, photo or pic- ture to 8x10 inches — FREE — if you enclose this ad with 10c for handling and return mailing. Information on hand tinting in natural colors sent immediately. Your orig- inal returned with your free enlargement. Send it today. Geppert Studios, Dept. 146, Des Moines, lovi^a NOW CHANGE FROM OLD FASHIONED ROUGE! Go modern with the completely diFferent HAMPDEN'S rouge. This wonderful color cream is so easy to use • blends off to nothing • gives a soft, warm color, even in tone like "nature's blush". It's the rouge plus! ROUGEtSTICK 25c in Drug and Dept. stores also 50c & 10c sizes • Over 5 million sold enough, I knew, to keep Barbara in Emerson Junior High School and Betty in the Brentwood Elementary school and still save for their college careers. Barbara wants to be a teacher of mathematics and though Betty Is too young to know for sure, she thinks she wants to be a teacher too. Evenings, after their homework is done, we spend listening to the radio. We like the Are You A Missing Heir program and v^e always listen because I have an uncle on the maternal side who is a bachelor and I've always felt that someday, he might leave me some money.* So, you can imagine how I felt the night I tuned in the Missing Heir program — it was Jan. 27, 1942 — and heard the narrator: "This is the story of two sisters," he said. "Verona and lUona Moritz." Barbara gasped. "Mother," she shrieked. "That sounds like you " Cold chills ran down my spine and I began to shake. "Get me a chair," I said to Betty Lee. "It's my sister. She must be dead." Whereupon, I heard the complete dramatization of how two young Hun- garian sisters immigrated to America, quarrelled and separated. Verona, the dramatization told me, had accu- mulated more than $18,000 just doing housework and she had died, friend- less and alone — alone except for her bank balance. The heirs, the broad- cast went on to say, were her sister, Illona, who might have Americanized her name into Eleanor and a brother, Gabriel, still in Hungary. After I could collect my wits, I sent the Heir program authorities a tele- gram and a few days later was on my way to New York. Program authori- ties found that Verona had told everyone I had been murdered, and that Gabriel was dead. The Probate Court had declared me legally dead so naturally, I had to be legally resurrected so I could collect the money. Gabriel's share is still undis- tributed. No one can get to Hungary now that it is war time. After the war, if Gabriel or his son is alive, their share will be sent to them. If they are dead, the Hungarian gov- ernment gets the money. But I don't care. My share is going into American defense bonds so that I can help keep this country free for people who make their own opportunities — free for girls like Verona, who can come here from a strange land and in the space of twenty-five years, earn more money than forty peasants working forty years each in an unfree land. I like to feel that the money Verona made in all these years of hard work is going into the defense of a land that is fighting to protect me and my daughters and everybody else's sons and daughters. You Needn't Use Sugar Continued jrom page 40 Chocolate Souffle 1 package chocolate pudding mixture 1 cup milk 4 eggs (separated) 1 tsp. vanilla In top of double boiler mix choco- late pudding and V2 cup milk and beat smooth. Place over boiling water and cook, adding remaining milk gradually and beating constantly. When mixture has thickened remove from heat and add well beaten egg yolks. Cool somewhat then fold in stiffly beaten egg whites. Turn into buttered baking dish, set in pan of warm water and bake in moderate oven (350 degrees F.) until mixture is firm (about 40 minutes) then serve immediately. Be sure to use a fairly deep dish since souffle rises and may run over the edge of a shallow con- tainer. BOTH honey and corn syrup com- bine well with citrus fruits and baked stuffed oranges may be pre- pared with either one. Baked Stuffed Oranges 4 oranges 8 dates, stoned and minced 1/4 cup nut and fruit mixture 1 tbl. corn syrup or honey (more or less, depending on taste) For nut and fruit mixture, a com- bination of equal amount of chopped walnuts, chopped raisins and shred- ded coconut is excellent, though other combinations may be substituted ac- cording to taste. Cut off tops of or- anges and scoop out meat, leaving shells clean and unbroken. Remove skin and seeds from orange pulp, combine with other ingredients and fill orange shells. Place in shallow baking ciish, adding water to cover bottom of dish, and bake in slow oven (325 degrees F.) until shells are ten- dev (about 45 minutes). If desired, top each orange with meringue and return to oven to brown. Baked Glazed Ham Smoked ham (about ten pounds) 3 onions, chopped 3 carrots, chopped 1/2 cup celery leaves, chopped 4 bay leaves 10 peppercorns 10 cloves Scrub ham and soak over night. Next morning remove ham from water and cover with fresh boiling water. Bring to boil quickly, add re- maining ingredients and cook just be- low boiling point until fork pierces it easily (20 minutes per pound). Al- low to cool in liquid (strain liquid, skim off excess fat and save for soups, gravies, etc.), then remove skin. Bake in slow oven (300 degrees F.) 15 min- utes per pound. Half an hour before ham is done, remove from oven, pour off excess fat and garnish with pimi- ento strips and cloves. Pour on corn syrup glaze and continue cooking, basting several times. Corn Syrup Glaze V2 cup dark corn sugar % cup water 2 tsps. vinegar 2 tsps. clear ham fat Combine ingredients, bring to boil and cook .just below boiling point for 10 minutes. Remove from heat and allow to cool somewhat before pouring over ham. RADIO AND TELEVISION IMIRROR I Junior Miss Temple Continued jrom. page 15 shows for Elgin Watches. But she sailed through an opening-night or- deal on Junior Miss that would have given most radio stars complete ner- vous prostration. Listening in to that first program, you didn't know that pandemonium was on the loose in the studio. Four hours before it went on the air, writ- ers were hired and fired, the outgoing director-producer said "Howdy" to the incoming producer-director — and Shirley entered the studio to meet a completely new cast. And all this with only four hours to go. Shirley didn't flinch. She didn't ask why or what. Her quiet composure calmed everyone's nerves. Spurred on by her example of how to be a trooper, the new cast and the new director pitched in and turned out an on-the-air performance that was smooth and blessedly free of jittery "fluffs." Afterwards, tired and very hungry, Shirley sat for half an hour while photographers pointed their cameras at her and shot off flash-bulbs. Fi- nally she said, smiling, "You'd think I was only going to be here this once. Do you boys really have to do all your work this one night? I'll be back here, you know." They let her go then. 'T'HE Temple family still lives in the A Brentwood home that housed the thousands of dolls and gifts showered upon baby Shirley. But the playhouse rooms have given way now to Shir- ley's own two-room suite, consisting of sitting room and bedroom. The sitting room where Shirley spends her spare time over her home lessons, reading her books or listen- ing to her new Capehart radio-phono- graph is a dream with its wood-rose rug and its soft biege couches, piped in the same deep wood-rose as the rug, that stand on either side of the fireplace. Royal blue and white is the color scheme of the bedroom. The royal blue satin valances over the window match the royal blue of the chairs. Shirley is, if you please, a member of the Book of the Month Club and reads its selections carefully. Her favorites are "Oliver Wiswell" and "Keys of the Kingdom." "The Soong Sisters," "David Copperfield," "The Crisis," and "Darkness at Noon" have all been read and loved by Shirley. Literature occasionally throws her, however. One day Mrs. Temple no- ticed her daughter going from chair to chair and room to room carrying with her a huge volume of "The Last Days of Pompeii" as if in restless pursuit. "They tell me this is good if you once get into it," she moaned, "but I'm having a bad time getting there." From her brother Jack she learned the beauty of symphonic music and will sit alone for hours in her sitting room listening to the work of the masters. When Shirley left Twentieth Cen- tury-Fox and private school teachers, she enrolled at Westlake School for Girls as a day pupil. She is now in A-9 and this June will pass to B-10. Her favorite subjects are French and drawing. Her talents as an amateur artist are truly remarkable, but not good enough, Shirley thinks, to be JUNE, 1942 S lien ^ new IN PARAMOUNT'S "The Remarkable Andrew'' n Beautify dull, lifeless skin with _ /<7^./^^/i^ xInhance the appeal of your beauty by giving your skin a lovelier color tone. You can do this with the correct color har- mony shade of powder created for your colorings by Max Factor Hollywood. Once you try it, you'll always like it because... ...it imparts a lovely color to the skin . . .it creates a satin-smooth make-up ...it clings perfectly and really stays on Remember, whether you are blonde, brunette, brownette, or redhead, there's a color harmony shade of Max Factor Holly- wood face powder to individualize your beauty. One dollar. TRU-COLOR LIPSTICK . . . the color stays on through i| every lipstick test. One dollar ROVGE... lifelike color harmony shades to beau- "^ ' ^'fy y'^r type. Fifty cents L PURSE MAK'=^-UP KIT MTrVorKoMRrHOui'VNTLlpSckjJ^^ MAX FACTOR MAKEUP STU DIG, HOLLYWOOD, CALI F Send Purse-Size Box of Powder, Rouge Sampler and miniatutc Tru-Color Lipstick in my color harmony shade, I enclose ten ccncs for postage and handling, Also send me my Color Harmony Make-Up Chart aod Illustrated Instruction Book.'T/v Ntiu An ofMake-Vp- FREE. 25-6-7 1 NAME- 65 V mu^>. i^s^m} \l.V6 Rpw^^* 12 YOUNG MOTHER HELPS FOR lOc A dozen leaflets, written by Mrs. Louise Branch, our own Baby Page Editor, have been reprinted and available to readers, all 12 for only 10c. Send stamps or coin, mentioning the ages of your children, to: Reader Service, Dept. BM-064, Radio & Tele- vision Mirror, 205 East 42nd Street, New York. 00 SI MUUATEO Jl' EACH OR BOTH FOR *1Z2 DIAMOND RINGS Just to get acquainted we will senil yoa smart new yellow f^old t»late engagement ring or wedding ring. Romaiice design engage- ment ring set with flashing, simulated diamond solitaire in senti- mental, orange blossom mounting. Wedding- ring is deeply em- bossed, yellow gold plate in exquisite Honeymoon design. Either ring only $1.00 or both for $1,79 and tax. SEND NO MONEY with order, just name and ring size. Pay on arrival then wear ring 10 days on money -back guarantee* Rnsh order now! EMPIRE DIAMOND CO. Dept. 765MP Jefferson, Iowa The Clean,Odorless Way to i| Carry Lechler's VELVATIZE in your pocket' book, use it any time, anywhere. So easy and clean — odorless — no muss, no bother — notliing to wash off! NOT a depilatory. Like a smart pastel compact. Effective on chm cheeks, upper lip, arms and legs. Enough foi , '^ PULL SEASON'S USE' -f Send name and addiess ^ today, enclose onlv $ 1 . 00, we pay post- age. Or C.O.D. plus few cents postage. Sent by return mail f in sealed plain, wrapper. f^ X ¥. , ' lASTS X POSTPAID ^ '' A/- igOO VEIMltTIZE House of Lechier, Dept. 246, S60 Broadway, New York City shown publicly. English, ancient his- tory, and algebra, at which she is only "pretty good," are her other studies. Her grades are usually a division of A's, B's and a C. Mrs. Temple doesn't insist that Shirley be a slave to studies and is happy if she brings home a B average. The day I visited Shirley on the set of "Miss Annie Rooney," the picture she is making for Edward Small, she was deep in a French test given by the teacher sent out by the Board of Edu- cation. For two hours the director, cast, and crew had sat about while Shirley and one of her leading men, Dickie Moore, had lessons. At four o'clock she emerged from her dressing room-school room, yawning and weary, to go right into her first screen love scene with young Moore, which in turn leads to her first screen kiss, a mere peck on the cheek. BETWEEN kisses, Shirley yawned, talked, laughed, listened to in- structions, and gave grand perfor- mances of a scene that was repeated for one hour and a half solid. "When Shirley is tired, she talks and talks and talks," her mother laughed. "And the more tired she becomes the faster she talks." If a boy is a good dancer and lots of fun, Shirley asks nothing else of him. On Sunday afternoons girls from her school and boys from neighboring military academies congregate at her home for ping-pong, laughter, a bit of dancing, and supper. She isn't given to one boy crushes, but is friends with them all, especially those who catch the spirit of her humor and can give it back. After a recent party at a local military school, Shirley stood in her lovely little formal frock and told her mother all about it. "Honestly," she said, "All those mil- itary boys talked about were upper and lower classmen, and lower-up- pers and upper-lowers until all I could think of was a pair of false teeth!" Three times a week a physical in- structor comes to the Temple home before dinner to give Shirley the physical training that keeps her well, slim, and beautiful. "Bend, roll, reach," echoes from the room as Shir- ley goes through her workout. She likes all sort of food but prefers meat, and eats generous portions of it. Ping- pong, tennis, and bicycle riding are her favorite sports, and a certain amount of time each year is given to a Palm Springs vacation where she can swim and ride as well. Sports, however, are not as im- portant in Shirley's life as are books and music, dancing and laughter. Shirley expects to stay on at West- lake until her graduation. At the moment it's a toss-up between art school and little theater work, per- haps the New York stage when school is over. If movies enter her life at all they will mean only an occasional picture and will never again, or at least for a long time, monopolize her entire time. Radio is now her first love and will continue to keep her heart its own for some time to come. Her mind explores everywhere. No sooner had she reported to the radio station for rehearsal than she must inspect every nook and cranny of the machinery behind the scenes. She was especially interested in the new television department — a good sign. because heaven knows the world will never have a lovelier subject for tele- vision. Her mother still washes and curls Shirley's hair, giving it careful atten- tion. Together the two select her clothes, Shirley's taste running to simple unadorned frocks. A T school she wears uniforms of -'^ white in warm weather and blue in winter. With standard white or blue sweaters Shirley looks like any other little school girl, until one catches the breath-taking beauty of her face. Like every other young American, Shirley is a firm believer in sending in answers to radio contests. Stand- ing by a large Ivory Flakes sign on a radio stage of CBS Studios, Shirley looked at it wistfully. "I sent in a slogan in their contest," she sighed, "but I didn't win any- thing. My slogan was 'Ivory Soap is best on land or sea. It floats.' I thought it was pretty good." Today the company that didn't give Shirley's slogan a tumble are her sponsors, paying her a fancy sum to advertise their product. Her favorite sport is teasing, but only if she likes you. Lucky the per- V_yi>€/mea/Kl HIGHWAYS TO HEALTH, CBS: X Marks the Spot: Contrary to popular opinion, during the early stages of appendicitis, that is during the first three or four hours, pain may be all over the abdomen, not only in the lower right side. If pain lasts two or three hours in any part of the ab- domen, be seen and examined by your physician. The earlier the better. Abstain from the use of all cathartics until your physician has examined you. If any method is used for cleaning out the in- testinal tract, that should be a simple soapsuds enema. 66 son that brings a twinkle to her eye and a teasing quip to her lips. Her brother George, a member of the Marine Air Corps, who was in Honolulu during the December 7th raid, is her idol. At the end of her last Elgin broadcast she whispered into the mike, "Hello, George." A thrilled soldier wired his love back to the little sister who had greeted him across the miles. George's fiancee, a junior at the University of Arizona, and Shirley are fast friends. When the co-ed was made Desert Queen, George wired, "Now I have three queens, you and mother and my girl." Shirley was thrilled. Her older brother. Jack, is married and employed as a radio announcer at Santa Barbara, California. A healthy, happy, unspoiled, young lady who thinks for herself, who radiates a beauty and happiness that nothing can dishearten is Shirley Temple today. A promise of the brave and lovely womanhood to come. When she stands before the radio each Wednesday, remember this. And be cheered by this very American young lady who comes so welcomed into your homes. RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR I Found My Love Continued from page 32 ultimatum. He was the kind of man who laid down ultimatums. And when you took him up on one, as I had done after the Wednesday broadcast, there was no turning back. I didn't need to have that all explained to me again, in the cold, final voice of Brinsley Mackall. I hung up the phone. "Angus, my lad!" I must be getting hysterical. There was cheer in that voice! "Look, can you buy a steak? Could you do the shopping for Brother Bob's supper?" "Could I!" That was no question. And I had to look away from the light in those gray eyes. I gave him the directions, and I made them complicated. Let them hold him while I did my little job. Little job . . . Better not think of that. Better just hop in that cab and tell the man "The Cock and Bull." He knew where that was. Every driver on our taxi stand knew how to get there with his eyes shut. And better to keep them shut when you drove a man there, sometimes. The bartender told me when Bob had left there, but he didn't tell me how. Bob wasn't at the Shipshape Club, but I was cutting down his lead. Why did he never consider an eve- ning well started till he'd crossed town three times? You can tangle into too many traffic jams following people back and forth. Still, it was better than going straight to the Club Cuban. Any- thing but that. There were things you couldn't do, even for a thin tall four- teen-year-old boy with a voice that cracked to break your heart. I could not face Marnie Moore, see her smiling, rapacious red mouth before me, and know that all the Cuban Club was watching us meet at last. No, I would hang on to that little shred of pride to which I'd clung so long. IRAN the last three blocks, because running was quicker than taxis could take me in the traffic snarl. At the door of the Club I stopped. My throat ached with my hard quick breathing. I could not go in there. Not even for Angus. Not for anybody. I remembered the first night I had gone there with Bob. We were scared. Just a couple of frightened strangers from South City. We'd have turned and run away if Jake, our agent, had not been with us. I wish he hadn't! For how quickly our fright left us! How soon Bob learned! And learned a lot of things that weren't true, be- cause he thought everybody else was honest like himself. I tried to tell him. But I gave up soon. I didn't like the taste of tears in my throat. I turned to leave the Club Cuban. But my feet wouldn't do what they were told. Maybe they were too tired; they'd been a long way today. I got to the table. Under all those lights, with my hair . still tucked up under my daytime turban, with make- up, if any, very much the worse for wear, I was crossing the Club Cuban, knowing that eyes were peering through the blue smoke watching me, but I was going on and on to the table at the very edge of the dance floor. A table more conspicuous than any other in the room because Marnie Moore was there, staring. But I was leaning over Bob's shoulder and saying very quick and desperately, "Bob, come honie. Please, Bob, come home." Haenii^en CONTROLS SELF AS FRIEND SPILLS POWDER ON JUST CLEANED RUG WHILE ADMIRING NEW DEFENSE UNIFORM SAVS/\0OK! BISSELL'S HI-LO BRUSH CONTROL ADJUSTS ITSELF IMMEDIATELY TO NAP-LENGTH OF ANY RUG.'" BOTH AGREE THAT EASY -EMPTYING "BISSELL"IS GRAND FOR ALL CLEAN-UPS...LEAVES MORE TIME FOR WAR WORK BUT BEAMS AS HER BISSELL SWEEPER REPAIRS DAMAGE THOROUGHLY. 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MC6-42 FARR^S FORGRflVHfllR Words — how queer — words I'd been longing to say for nearly a year: "Bob, come home. Please." In a minute I could get my breath and say the things I'd planned, the ones that would bring him: how I wasn't asking him for myself, but Angus; and not for sentiment's sake, but because Angus was one of his fans and it didn't pay to get too far, too long, from your fans; how Jake could make a swell publicity story of the kid coming here to find his Big Brother. If I could just get my breath, I could give him a smooth selling line. It was hard to get my breath, even when I kept my eyes away from Marnie Moore's red mouth and looked at her red nails which were moving along the white linen toward Bob's arm. I had to get my breath before they got there, for once they reached his arm, they'd never let go. But something queer was happen- ing. Very queer. Bob was getting to his feet, before I'd given him the arguments. He had my hand, and his fingers felt strong, the way they used to, and they were swinging me across the room. Look out, I told myself. Don't make any mistakes. He only wanted to get me out of there before I made a scene. Well, I'd set him right on that. And so I gave him the story. "It'll only be for half an hour," I explained. "We'll just put on a nice domestic act. Steak broiling in the little kitchen stove, me in my apron stirring up the muffins, you — " A slight break here, but he wouldn't imagine that I was remembering how he used to clutter up the place — -"you setting the table while you talk to him. Just for an act," I added urgently. Maybe it wasn't as good as I'd thought, for he turned to look out the window and in the pale dusk light his face seemed to sag. He didn't say a word, just sat there staring out, and I was afraid. Had he been drink- ing more than I thought at first? Or was he just coldly furious? In the elevator I grabbed his arm. "Bob — please — when you see him, you'll know — it's got to be good — " For a moment he looked down at me, his face close to mine, and he didn't seem drunk, not at all. Then he turned away, without a word. WELL, he made it good. At least it sounded good. I didn't dare look at them. I bustled around in my green sprigged pinafore as if it hadn't been a year since I'd cooked a dinner for Bob. I heard Angus tell how Mr. Bright, the Superintendent, had given him a parting talk about how it was up to him to prove that all the care and expense the Home had lavished on him all these years had not been wasted, when they placed him on the Saunders farm. "I know you gave them everything you had," Bob said gently. "I did, as long as I was going to school too," the kid said. "Though I guess I wasn't so hot at farm work, and Mr. Saunders thought I spent too much time studying. But that was all right, till this month, when he told me I wasn't going back to school this year — " I didn't need to look at his eyes, I only needed to hear the break in his voice to know that here was tragedy. "What subject is it," Bob asked, "that you can't get along without?" "Why, chemistry, of course." It would have been funny, if the kid had not been so deadly serious, the way he assumed that anyone would know the world was well lost for chemistry. "I've been reading ahead some, this summer, but it's not so good. You need somebody to ask things, and you've got to have a lab — " His voice cracked again, crying out, "Oh, gosh, I've just got to go back to school!" "I see," Bob said. And if he didn't really see, I don't understand how he could sound like that. He couldn't be faking. He must see that this was important. We couldn't stage an act to stall along a boy whose future might turn out to be more important than everybody in Radio City rolled into one. "It was after one of your broad- casts about opportunity," he was go- ing on, "that I thought up a swell chance to sneak away this week while Mr. and Mrs. Saunders were at the State Fair. I could get so far they'd never find me, and I could earn enough to keep me while I go to school. It doesn't take much. That part's all right. But you got me wor- ried, when you talked about' being true to yourself." Did Bob look over at me, did his eyes meet mine just for one fleeting second? Then he turned back and V.Jvemea^'cl JUNE HYND on "WHAT CAN I DO," the Blue Network: Watch Your Parley-Voas: Five remarks not to make to those boys-on-furlough, whom you want to make happy, are: ( I ] Do you really have to make your own bed? (2) Don't tell me you get up at a quarter of six? (3) You guys got it easy — now, back In '17. (4) You mean to say you're not a lieutenant yet? (5) I'll take care of your girl while you're away — and by the way, how're you doing with the hostesses? fiR said, "Angus, running away is never any answer." "That hit me hard, maybe as hard as it was hitting Angus. Had he meant it for me, too? But maybe it does you good to take an honest truth like that. Anyway, Angus pulled up his shoulders, and he even managed to answer. "Okay," he said stoutly. "I — I guess I knew you'd say that. I can take it, but — " he grinned a pale, darling little grin — "I guess I wasn't tough enough to dish it out to myself." "That's not all, though," Bob was going on. His hand was on the boy's shoulder. "There's another angle. You know that desire for school is in your- self. It's you. If you gave up school, you wouldn't be true to yourself." A dim wonderful hope came into Angus's eyes and died again. "But I don't get—" "Here's how I see it," Bob went on. "I think there's still a lot to that saying about 'where there's a will there's a way' — " Angus said, "I heard that broad- cast too." His eyes were glowing. Bob grinned in the sheepish sweet way he used to when people men- RADIO AND TELEVISION MIBROR tioned his broadcasts. He said, "I think we can find a way. But it won't be by hightailing it off a job without a by-your-leave, with a lot of un- finished business behind you — " "Oh, gosh!" Sudden alarm whit- ened the boy's face. "That's why I had to catch that nine-thirty back to the farm. Not that I didn't get a fellow to do the chores, but there's a cow — " He was half-way across the room, his eyes searching wildly for a clock. "She's not expecting it for a couple of weeks, but I thought someone ought to be there — " Bob caught up with him. "You're right," Bob said. "You can't ever tell, with cows. But if we drove in my car, wouldn't we make it just as quick, if we started right after we've put away that steak?" I never saw such joy as shone right through the skin of Angus Cameron. "You — you wouldn't go with me!" He believed it, only he couldn't take it in all at once — just like me. "I'm kind of a fair hand around the stable myself," Bob said. "And while we're waiting for Bossy, we can get things straight with Mr. Bright. I've got a hunch he never meant you to let the Home down on that chemistry business. And I bet he'd take my word for it that you'd have a good place to do your home work, here — " BOB'S eyes turned to me this time, and they didn't go away. They were asking a question, and they were pleading, desperately. I had a fork in the steak then, and a platter in my other hand, and I guess it was because I gripped them so tight ttiat my hands were aching afterward. "Isn't that right, Prue?" Bob asked. "That's right. Bob," I told him, get- ting my breath, but barely. "That's — ^that's why I wanted you home here. To tell him." "But you—" Bob's eyes still held the question. "Do you understand? I mean, a kid ought to have a proper home — complete with everybody that belongs in a home — " He was having more trouble than Angus had had in getting his words said. "I mean, I thought you had other plans — " "If I did"— I laughed a little shak- ily— "If I did, they walked out the door of the Club Cuban when I walked in. Did you see them walk out. Bob?" He never knew what I meant. To this day I guess he thinks I was just hysterical, saying meaningless words. He had not seen Brinsley Mackall get up from his table in the corner of the Club Cuban, watch me cross that room, his blue eyes ice-cold, to see me lean over Bob's shoulder and beg him to come home. He did not see Brinsley Mackall walk out of there. "You'd better sit down." That wasn't salve in Bob's voice. He took the platter from my hands and put the steak on it himself. A little messily, so that the hot meat juice spattered over the edge, but it tasted good, that steak. To all of us. Nothing ever tasted so good, even the other good meals we had later, the three of us, from that same table. For of course, with Angus there, we've had to keep on with our domes- tic act. I shouldn't be surprised if that act would break all records, even the one being made by Brother Bob's Answers which is going stronger than ever, now that we have found our own. DONTUA PuBuc Enemy BE PATRIOTIC AND SMOTHER SNEEZES WITH KU£^£X TO HS.\JP / KEEP COLDS FROM SPREADING- TO DEFENSE WORKERS, ^/v i//k AMERICA NEEDS EV/ERV ^\/ X^ \ MAN -FULL r/Me/ (from a Utter by D. L. R., Chicago, HI.) 'SnOH^isom^ CAN SAVE FOR YOU ! \A/HFN HALF-SIZE WILL DO, TEAR. ^/S IN TWO.TEAR ACROSS fOio! fS/?^£f/l/£^ SAVES MATeRIAL ' NECESSARY TO NATIONAL DEFENSE . • • * SAVES TISSUES-SAVES MONEY J pouBL£ Tissue AT ft Tim! WIN ^25 (MATURITY VALUE) DEFENSE BONO FOR EACH SMTE/AENT WE PUBLISH . ware wiVTH£ useofKcee/^ersAm you momyMD co/vmBuKS TOmTIOML peffNSS. 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THE BLUE NETWORK JUNE, 1942 69 Cuticle Look Ul^itii^ Get CUTEX Oily Cuticle Remover • Don't gnaw at ragged cuticle! Soften and loosen it with Cutex Oily Cuticle Remover! All you do is wipe the dead cuticle away with a towel! Have your hands admired! Get a bottle today! It contains no acid. Saturday is "Manicure Day." Look for the special display of Cutex accessories on your favorite cosmetic counter — Cutex Cuticle Remover, Cuticle Oil, Brittle Nail Cream, Orangewood Sticks, Emery Boards. Northam Warren, New York // - . .V.W-VjiiJVA. Used by more women than all ether Cuticle Removers combined SATURDAY IS "MANICURE DAY ARE YOU DENIED _ . THE JOY OF // i,^M. mc^mde Of— PSORIASIS Then try SIROIL — it may change the entire picture for you. But don't delay — start with SIROIL at once. SIROIL tends to remove the crusts and scales of psoriasis which are external in character and located on the outer layer of the skin. If or when your psoriasis lesions recur, light applications of SIROIL will help keep them under control. Applied externally, SIROIL does not staia clothing or bed linen nor does it interfere in any way with your daily routine. It is sold to you on a two- weeks'-satisfaction-or-money-refiinded ' Siroii Laboratories, Inc., Dept. M-16, Detroit, Mich. SIROIL AT ALL DRUG STORES Write today for interesting booklet on Psoriasis. Siroii Laboratories of Canada, Ltd., Box 488, Windsor, Ont. Please send me your free booklet on Psoriasis. NAME ADDRESS- CITY STATE^ 70 The Story of Bess Johnson Continued from page 19 He was so awfully good-looking, and his eyes had been warm and honest as he told her she was beautiful! When a man was clever and good-looking and had political influence, people were bound to knock him — it was only natural! She smiled drowsily at the thought of Vince and — still smiling — fell asleep. 'T'HE next morning, refreshed and -*- eager after the first real rest she had had in a long time, she prepared for her appointment with Councilman Sloan. She chose her costume carefully from the stock of dresses that — thank goodness! — were still plentiful and still in style. The Councilman had seen her the evening before in party clothes, glamorous clothes, and she must be just as charming now, but in a different way — for she must look businesslike! She finally decided on a straight little blue dress with wide white frills at the neck and waist — and a hat, very plain and girlish, that made a frame for her fair hair. As she walked down the street to the Councilman's office — it was only a block from the Romando Hotel — she was pleased with herself, and rightly so. She couldn't help glancing into the shop windows which mirrored her slim reflection. The Councilman's outer office was not impressive — neither were the Councilman's office boy nor his sec- retary. They eyed Bess with un- masked curiosity, the boy giggling when Bess said she had an appoint- ment with Mr. Sloan, the secretary raising narrow plucked eyebrows. Bess felt a faint misgiving — a mis- giving that grew as she entered the inner office, and once more felt her hand submerged by the Councilman's moist flabby fingers. "Sit down. Miss Johnson," he said. "And tell me about — yourself." "I — I rather hoped that Mr. Kennedy had told you about me," Bess faltered. "He — he gave me to understand that there might be an opening in your social service department. I've had quite a bit of experience." The Councilman smiled fatly. "You look as if you've had — experience," he said with meaning. "By the way — what's your first name? Bess"^ Well, Bess, I think we'll get along all right. I think you'll like working for me." Bess said carefully, "I'm sure I'll like working for you, Mr. Sloan. When will I start?" The Councilman smiled again. "You can start right away," he said. Bess was beginning to feel a faint suspicion. "Perhaps," she said, "we should discuss a few details — the ques- tion of salary, for instance?" The Councilman leaned back in his chair and pressed the tips of his fingers together — they were like white grubs. Bess told herself. "Why, yes — salary," he said. "The amount of the salary depends entirely on you, Bess . . . How much time can you give me?" "I can give you all of my time," Bess said, and the Councilman guffawed with evident enjoyment. "Well," he said, "that's fine! We'll start by hav- ing lunch together, and then we'll have cocktails in my flat, and — let me see . . . Oh, I've some passes for a RADIO AND TELRISION MIBBOK show tonight, and after the show — " Bess interrupted. "A full time job," she said, "is eight hours a day, Mr. Sloan . . . I've never had cocktails in my employer's flat and I don't in- tend to start now!" The Councilman was obviously amused. He said, "If you want to hold your job you may have to do a lot of things you've never done before — cocktails in my flat aren't the half of it! You're a very attractive woman, Bess — and I'm a lonely man. I ap- preciate companionship." Bess stood up so abruptly that her purse slipped to the floor, spilling a dozen little items — lipstick, compact, fountain pen. "I'm afraid you've made a mistake, Mr. Sloan," she said coldly as she stooped to gather up her belongings, "so I'd better go." The Councilman was staring at her and his gaze was incredulous. "Now, Bess," he said, "don't get off on the wrong foot! Vince gave me to under- stand that you were a friend of his. He gave me to understand that you needed — employment." Bess repeated evenly, "I'm afraid there's been a mistake." She was out of the inner office — she was flashing through the outer office past the giggling boy and the super- cilious secretary. The door slammed sharply and she was in the street, breathing in fresh air, feeling the warmth of sunlight. But despite the fresh air and sunlight she felt soiled, unclean. MARIE AGNES and Homer were sympathetic when they heard of her experience with Councilman Sloan. But sympathy, Bess realized, wouldn't pay for food and lodging. "The skunk!" Marie Agnes raged. "Trying to proposition you! Just like Vince Kennedy to get you into some- thing messy." "But — " began Bess — "Mr. Kennedy didn't get me into this. What I mean is — " Her voice dwindled off, for Vince had brought up the subject of a job with Councilman Sloan, and Sloan — during that dreadful interview — had told her, in surprise^"I thought you were a friend of Vince Kennedy's!" "I — I don't see how Mr. Kennedy could have given the Councilman such a wrong impression," Bess said slowly. "He was charming last night. And I'm sure I didn't do anything to create a false idea." Marie Agnes was raging on. "False idea, my eye!" she sputtered. "If you ask me, Vince and the Councilman are in cahoots." Homer said, "Shush!" loudly, but not before Bess had begged, "Marie Agnes, please tell me the truth! What's wrong with Vincent Kennedy?" Marie Agnes clamped her lips tight together and shook her head like a stubborn child. "I'm not a tattle- tale," she said. "You're a big girl, Bess. Use your own judgment." By making a determined effort in the next few days she was able to forget Councilman Sloan, but she could not forget Vincent Kennedy. If Marie Agnes were right, and Vince and the Councilman were connected in any way, Vince was certainly not a fit person to associate with, but he was so — engaging. The clean, well scrubbed look of his skin, the crisp spring of his brown hair above a forehead that was broad and high, his smile — these weren't things that be- longed to anyone who was connected with Councilman Sloan. He was waiting for her one evening, JUNE, 1942 two days after her interview with Sloan, when she came into the Ro- mando Hotel after a weary and futile day of job-hunting. "I've been waiting here in the lobby for an hour, Miss Johnson, just on the chance of seeing you," he said. "Won't you let me explain?" All at once he was boyishly embarrassed. "I owe you an apology. I didn't know what I was letting you in for." Illogical, overwhelming relief made Bess unable to do anything but repeat after him, "You didn't know what you were letting me in for?" Vince smiled into her eyes as he had at their first meeting. "When I heard about the line Wilson Sloan pulled on you," he said — "Well, Miss Johnson, I was fit to be tied! Sloan's not only a rat, he's a fool." Almost before she knew it Bess was seated across from Vincent Ken- nedy at a corner table in a neighbor- hood restaurant. Almost before she knew it she was telling him her troubles, listening eagerly to his words of advice. And as, dinner over, they sipped their coffee, she realized sud- denly that she was no longer lonely. That dinner was the beginning of a curious relationship between Bess Johnson and Vince Kennedy. Bess had had other romances — many of them — indeed a broken romance was responsible for her pilgrimage to the city. But her feeling for Vince was different. His boyishness appealed to one side of her — the maternal side — and his good looks appealed to a side of her that was not in the least mater- nal. She was fascinated by him and, at the same time, wanted to protect him. Lunch, dinner, movies with Vince. They were calling each other by their first names now — they were realizing that they had the same tastes and some of the same ambitions. Vince confided that his only meeting place with Councilman Sloan was the politi- cal arena — he, himself, had a slight leaning toward politics because — he told Bess — he wanted to make the city a better, cleaner place. "You and I could work together swell," he told her once. "If I were a City Council- man I'd give you a real job." "I'd be glad of any kind of a job — real or otherwise," Bess sighed. "I've followed every lead — I've even been answering the blind ads in the papers. I got into a funny jam this morning — answering one of them — " Vince asked, "Such as — " Bess said, "It was an ad from some- thing that called itself the Mutual Welfare Association. Naturally I thought it was some sort of social ser- vice work, right down my street, but it wasn't. It was a man selling gad- gets to a lot of poor people who in turn were supposed to sell them from door to door and make a big profit. He got five cents apiece for the gadget — it was some kind of a can opener. The people were supposed to sell it for ten or fifteen or twenty-five cents." Vincent said, lazily — "Well, it sounds all right to me. They say there's a sucker born every minute." But Bess objected hotly. "It was a swindle!" she said. "The can openers could be bought in any five-and-ten- cent store for a nickel — the poor peo- ple didn't have a chance to sell them for a dime. I — Vince, I saw red, so I stood up in front of the whole crowd and told the man what I thought of him. And when he got objectionable I sent for Billy Joyce." The laziness had gone out of Vince. can help a^'"'' -WHEN YOU TRAVELl You can travel today very much as you have in the past— but you'll be giving important aid to your country if you plan your trips to assist the war effort. Your cooperation will also add greatly to the pleasure and convenience of your trips. • EASE WEEK-END CONGESTION— TAKE AAID- WEEK TRIPS. Wartime conditions tend to crowd transportation facilities on week- ends, the only time many soldiers, sailors, war workers can travel. 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Follow Noted Ohio Doctor's Advice To Relieve CONSTIPATION! If liver bile doesn't flow freely every day into your intestines — constipation with its head- aches and that "half-alive" feeling often result. So stir up your liver bile secretion and see how much better you should feel! Just try Dr. Edwards' Olive Tablets, used so successfully for years by Dr. F. M. Edwards for his patients with constipation and sluggish bile. Olive Tablets, being purely vegetable, are wonderful! They not only stimulate bile flow to help digest fatty foods but ALSO help elimination. Get a box TODAY! 15(i. 30(!. 60^. search of a job, to a man who was vulgar, cheap, without morals. She saw that Vince had been too familiar for complete innocence with the cir- cumstances and chief figures of the Steinsmith case, and that he had been shocked and vexed when he learned of her own action in bringing charges against Steinsmith. She saw that he was an acquaintance — if not actually a friend — of the unsavory Mr. Max, last name unknown. She saw that Marie Agnes disliked him, and Billy Joyce obviously did not trust him, and that although he possessed no visible means of support he always had plenty of money. And she saw that he obsessed her completely — that no matter how hard she tried she could not shake off the thought of him, could not shake off the anticipation of the moment when next they would meet. Yet, with the morning, there came reassurance she so badly needed. For Vince telephoned her, early. He was the bearer of glad tidings. "Bess," he said without preamble, "I think I've got a job for you. It's with a friend of mine, a guy named Dahl — so run right down to his office and see him." He laughed as he gave her an address. "No," he said, "it's not another case of Wilson Sloan. This job is on the up and up." Bess, having spent the night prov- ing to herself that Vince was all wrong, stammered her thanks. "It's — it's too wonderful," she said. Vince said, "Incidentally, Bess — I've got another piece of news for you. Steinsmith has skipped his bail." Bess, hardly able to take it in, gasped — "What do you mean, Vince?" and Vince told her, "Temptation's been removed from you, my treas- ure— not that you ever were tempted by a measly fifteen hundred dollars . . , The case is closed and you won't have to appear in court again. Every- thing's ironed out." Bess, as she slowly hung up the receiver, was more puzzled than ever. How did it happen that Vince was always in the know? Why was he always in evidence when things were happening? BESS got the job — not much of a job, only fourteen dollars a week, but enough to pay her small expenses at the Hotel Romando. She thought that, when she was keeping office hours, she'd see less of Vince, but she soon discovered that mere office hours would not hold him back. He was always stopping in to take her to luncheon, he was often at the door when she came out, ready to ride her home in a taxicab. Bess, to whom taxicabs were a distinct luxury, asked veiled questions about his means of livelihood, only to be met with veiled answers. Oh, sure, he was busy — never busier. He was in the money. He'd tell her all about it someday. In the money? It was money that brought up the next terrifying — the most terrifying — doubt of Vince in Bess Johnson's mind. She and Vince had finished lunch- eon in a restaurant when Vince, reaching into his pocket, looked blank. "Good Lord," he said, "I've forgotten my wallet. Bess, you'll have to lend me some money to pay for the check." Bess, smiling, said something about "the woman always pays," and handed him five dollars. That night when she was at the hotel desk asking Homer for her key, Vince came in and hur- ried up to her. "Here you are, Bess," he said, hand- ing her a crisp new bill. "And don't try to get it from me a second time — Homer can witness that I pay my debts." Bess said, "Homer can do more — he can take the money and credit it on my rent bill." She handed the money to Homer and he tucked it carefully into the cash register. It was a casual little scene. Billy Joyce, the detective, grinned at the trio as he came across the lobby. "Hope I'm not bustin' up anything," he said. "Is Marie Agnes home?" Homer told him, "She went upstairs about ten minutes ago," and Billy nodded. "I'm takin' the kid to dinner," he told Bess. "I'm celebratin' — it's payday. Say, Homer, can you cash my check?" Homer said, "Bet your life," and as Billy handed over a check he opened the register again and started count- ing out money. Billy, watching, sud- denly thrust out a huge fist and picked one of the bills from the growing pile. "Good grief. Homer," he said, "that's as pretty a phony as I ever saw! Who passed it on to you?" Homer said, "That's easy. It's the only new bill I got today — Bess just paid her rent with it." Billy had turned to Bess. He snapped out, "Where'd you get it, Bess?" and Bess faltered, "Why—" It was Homer who spoke for her. "Vince Kennedy handed it over to Bess," he said. "I was — " uncon- sciously he was quoting Vince — "a witness. Now it's up to Vince to tell where he got it. Vince, where did you — " he stopped short for, while they were talking, Vince Kennedy had walked quietly out of the lobby. "I'm sure Vince can explain," Bess heard herself saying weakly, but Billy growled, "If he can explain so good, why'd he run away? Folks, I'd bet- ter forget about taking Marie Agnes to dinner — I'd better go down to headquarters and make a report." He was halfway across the lobby and Bess, hand outstretched, was powerless to stop him. And then, with a queer violence, Vince was coming through the door. He almost collided with the detective. "Billy, I'm glad I caught you," he panted. "When you said that the five dollar bill was a counterfeit I raced off without thinking. I — I was hop- ing I'd catch the fellow who gave it to me." Billy asked slowly, "Did you catch him?" But Vince shook his head. "He's a fellow from out of town," he said. "His name's — Jim Tayne. We — we made a bet in a bar last night and he lost and I ran into him on the street and he paid me. It was just outside of the hotel here, that I ran into him — no, I don't know his address. I just met him in a bar last night." Billy put the bill into his pocket. "So that's what happened," he said slowly in a tone of disbelief. "Tayne, you said his name was? We'll try to look him up. But if you see him first, don't let him give you any more money, Vince." The whole incident ended abruptly. Billy was joined by Marie Agnes and they went out to dinner, and Vince made nervous apologies and went away, too, and Bess took the creaky elevator up to her room. And the next day, and the days after, it was almost as though nothing had hap- pened except that Marie Agnes sighed in exasperation every time she saw Bess with Vince. 74 RADIO AND TELEVISION IVIIRROR For Bess continued to see him — every day, sometimes twice a day. She was caught in a current from which she could not escape. When she was alone she could be reasonable and vow to end her curious relation- ship with Vince — not abruptly, per- haps, but simply by drifting away from him, making no definite appoint- ments, being out the next time he called. But then he would call and as she picked up the telephone all her resolutions vanished like mist before the sun, and when she was with him and he said, "See you for dinner to- morrow night?" — all she could answer was "Yes." She could argue carefully with herself that this was only friendship — surely there was no harm in friendship — no harm in having a good-looking and charming man ready to take you to dinner after you'd spent a weary and futile day filing correspondence! Yes, she could argue that it was friendship — she could re- fuse to take into account the. tender, possessive something in his smile, or the way in which he touched her arm when he helped her into a cab, or the speculations that came unbidden to her thoughts when she wondered how it would be if Vince kissed her. A T dinner one night Vince seemed -^ preoccupied. Bess realized that his eyes, always until now so ready to meet hers, strayed away — as if they contemplated something far off and not very pleasant. Yet he seemed in no hurry to leave the table, and when they did get up finally he suggested walking back to the hotel. They were only a few steps from the Romando when he broke into quick speech. "Bess, I want to ask a favor of you," he said. "Look, dear, will you keep something for me?" "A secret?" she asked. Vince told her, "No. I've a little package with me and I'm wondering if you'll stick it in the hotel safe in your name. It's nothing very valuable — just some jewelry that belonged to my mother. But there's been a sneak- thief in the neighborhood where I live and — " he hesitated — "these things that belonged to my mother mean an awful lot to me — no real value, of course, but she's been dead quite a while and — " He broke off, apparently fighting for self-control, and Bess laid a hand on his arm. "Indeed, I will keep the package for you," she said, "but wouldn't it be better if it were in your name — just in case something happened to me?" Vince said, "Homer might not be willing to keep it if he thought it be- longed to me — after all, the safe is for the guests of the hotel — so you'd bet- ter not even mention that I'm the owner of the package." When Bess put the package in the safe, she didn't make any explanation to Homer and he didn't ask for any. And as more days lengthened into more weeks, as another month rolled by, she forgot the incident — a parcel of trinkets, with only a sentimental value, can easily slip from a girl's mind when it's springtime and she's in love. For Bess, at last, was ready to admit the truth! She was in love with an enigma — she was in love with Vince Kennedy. It was more than a month after she had placed the jewelry in the safe that Bess, home from the office, was writing a letter to one of the girls who had been in her school. As she jotted JUNE, 1942 BANKERS LIFE AND CASUALTY COMPANY OFFERS THE NEW GROUP LIFE POLICY THAT INSURES ENTIRE FAMILY Q. How many members of the Family can be covered by one policy? A. There is no limit — all there are in the immediate family. PREMIUM COST $loo A MONTH FOR ALL! 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It was only when a voice said, "Stick 'em up, sister!" that she turned sharply — it was only then that the pen, slithering from her hand, made an ugly blot on her house- coat. She saw a man standing on the fire escape " outside her window — a man with a short, ugly automatic in his hand — a man who looked oddly familiar. Who looked — like Vince! "How did you get here, and wh-what do you want?" she faltered, and the man said, "I came up the fire escape, and you know darn well what I want. Miss Johnson. Hand over that jewelry." The jewelry — the jewelry. All at once Bess remembered the little pack- age Vince had given her to keep. "I — I don't know what you're talking about," she said. THE man laughed and his laughter, also, reminded her of Vince. "Do you know any more jokes?" he queried. "Hand over that package — quick!" Bess was thinking fast. What was the connection between this man and the package that Vincent had given her? His mother's jewel- ry— a ring, per- haps, an amber necklace, an old fashioned enam- eled bracelet — nothing of value. "I haven't any package in this room," she told the man, "and you'd better go away before I call the police. Detective Joyce is a friend of mine and — " The man on the windowsill jumped down to the fioor level and advanced toward her. The gun in his hand was pointed at her breast. "I'll count up to twenty- five," he said, "and when I get to twenty-five I'll shoot. This isn't a big room — I can frisk it in less time than it would take you to say — " he laughed again — "Billy Joyce." Bess felt the blood pounding in her temples. This was not a joke — this was real — this was danger. "Who — who are you?" she asked, and the man answered by bringing the gun closer. "One — two — three — " he counted^ "four — five — six — seven — eight — nine." He was at eighteen when Bess heard the door of her room opening quietly. Her back was to the door — would it be Marie Agnes, would it be Homer? And then she heard Vince Kennedy say, "Ollie! What the devil do you think you're up to?" The man in front of Bess growled, "Vince! You double-crosser! Even if you are my own brother — " Bess saw the barrel of the gun move up until it was aimed at a point above her shoulder. Instinctively she flung her- self forward — anything to break that aim! She heard the gun go off — she heard Vince moan, "God Almighty," and then the man was on the window- sill again, dropping out of sight. Waiting in the little room off the hospital corridor, Bess Johnson real- 76 ized, as she had never realized be- fore, how much she cared for Vince Kennedy. There were other people waiting in the little room, a woman whose child was ill, a man whose wife was having a baby, a boy in uniform who was pacing up and down, biting his lips. Normally Bess, whose creed had always been service for others, would have talked with these people, comforted them. But now that Vince was in the operating room, now that a clever surgeon was probing for a bullet, she had only one thought in her mind — Vince. She had only one prayer in her soul. "Oh, God, let Vince get well!" Billy Joyce came tiptoeing down the hospital corridor. He crossed the waiting room and seated himself be- side her. "Any news?" he asked, and when Bess told him, "Not yet," he muttered something profane. "It's too damn bad Vince got himself mixed up in a jewel robbery," he told Bess. "I suppose his brother dragged him into it." "So the man who shot Vince was really his brother!" whispered Bess, and then the full import of Billy's speech struck her. "Jewel robbery!" she cried. "Billy! What—?" C)aAA rfeiXo lo- JAY JOSTYN — whose most important regular role on the air is Mr. District Attorney in the NBC adventure serial of that name — but who acts in so many other programs that if you listen at ail regularly you probably hear his voice a couple of times a day at least. One week he set a record by appearing on thirty-six different programs and enacting forty-eight different characters. Jay began his acting career on the stage, and still is enough of a stage actor to prefer radio programs that have studio audiences, and to engage, as a hobby, in directing a little-theatre group composed of his neighbors in the New York suburb where he lives. Tall and handsome, he has a hard time looking like a stage villain. «C^«^«O«^«O0O«O»^eO«O0O^O0O«^0^«^«O«O»^«^«^«O«^«C7«O»O»^«^«^«O«^«O«O*O*^«O« Billy explained patiently. "Ollie Kennedy," he said, "is Vince's older brother and Ollie's always been a bad egg. He's been mixed up in a lot of rackets with a fellow they call the Doc. Ollie's done time — he's only been out of prison a few months. I've no doubt it was Ollie who palmed that counterfeit bill off on Vince." It was all beginning to come clear — it was like the pieces of a jig-saw puzzle fitting in — but Bess persisted. "You said jewel robbery, Billy. Oh, please explain!" Billy sighed heavily. "That pack- age you had Homer put into the safe," he said, "under your own name! Homer opened the safe and gave it to me — I had a warrant ten minutes after I left Vince at the hospital. There were stolen jewels in that package, Bess — Vince was using you as a cover- up." "Oh, no!" It was a low whisper of anguish. "I don't believe it!" But she knew, somehow, it was the truth. Billy said, "I don't like the job of tellin' you all this, Bess. I know you're crazy about him — we all know it — and I hate to hand you a jolt. Vince has his points — he's good look- in', he's a perfect gentleman — but he's weak. He lets Ollie twist him around his little finger, and he lets cheap poli- ticians butter him up and he keeps bad company. . . . Don't look so hurt, Bess — you've suspected him yourself, often enough . . ." "Yes, I have — " Bess admitted. And then with sudden hope: "But he's not really bad. Billy — not if he's done all these things just for his brother. And he must have been trying to protect his brother, when he gave me the jewels — " Billy shifted uncomfortably on his big feet. "Well, there's something else, Bess. I wish I didn't have to say it, but — You know how it is, some- times you're sure of a thing even if you can't prove it. I'm as sure as that I'm standing here that Vince helped Ollie on that jewel robbery. I can't — " he stopped speaking, relievedly, as a nurse came into the waiting room Crisp, rustling in her white linen uni- form, she approached Bess. "Miss Johnson?" she asked, and when Bess nodded she said, "Mr. Kennedy has come out of the anesthetic. The bul- let's been removed, he has a fair chance of recovery, and he wants to speak with you. The doctor says it will be right for you to see him, but don't let him get excited." Bess, with one movement, was on her feet and halfway out of the wait- ing room door, and was follow- ing the nurse >e*e*e*e*e**'v^ Prove it yourself no matter how long you have suffered or what you have tried. Beautiful book on psoria- sis and Dermoi] with amazing:, true photo- Srraphic proof of results Bent FREE. Write for it. SEND FOR \ GENEROUS j^ TRIAL Don't mistake eczema for the stubborn, ugly \ embarrassing scaly skin disease Psoriasis. Apply non-staining D e r m o i I . Thousands do for scaly spots on body or scalp. Grateful users, often after , years of suffering, report the scales have gone, the ,, red patches gradually disappeared and ^^^Mi^^^^ uauK they enjoyed the thrill of a clear sMn again. 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Endorsed by phy- sicians. Easy tuition payments. Uniform and equipment included. 43rd year. Send coupon now! CHICAGO SCHOOL OF NURSING Dept. 186. 100 E»st Ohio Street, Chicago, lU. Please sead free booklet and 16 Bample leasoa pasea. Name. Age City. _State. roof of the house, and gently rattled windowpanes as it passed. A storm was sweeping down from the north, spreading itself like a cold blanket over all the great inland plain of the United States. Even far to the south, it would bring freezing temperatures and unaccustomed snows. And per- haps the wind that touched Mary's house in Cedar Springs tonight would tomorrow whistle past an adobe hut in Arizona which she had never seen, and did not know of. A man sat in this adobe hut, beside a kerosene lamp which struggled to send its light through a badly blackened chimney. He was bearded, roughly dressed, with a skin dark- ened by many winds and many suns, and he did not know his own name. He could remember everything that had happened since he woke up one morning on a sheepskin pallet in a very dirty hovel, but before that everything was emptiness and con- fusion. He knew he was an American, because people he had met in his travels since then had told him so; and for the same reason he knew he had come from Siberia through China, and across the Pacific Ocean in a tramp freighter. He had one true friend in the world, the Chinaman who now slept against the far wall of the hut; and one purpose, to find his lost identity. Now, in the dim light from the oil lamp, he sat turning over and over in his big hands the only two clues which might help him in his search. They were a withered twig of arbutus, and a soiled and crumpled bit of paper on which was written, "Cedar Springs." These two objects and nothing else had been in his pockets, the Siberian peasants had told him, when they found him wandering dazed and ill on the steppe. By difficult, dangerous stages, he and Oswald, his Chinese friend, had come this far — wandering, working for a few days as laborers, wandering on again. Now the time had come for them to part, for Oswald wanted to stay here in the Southwest, and he himself cared for nothing but to find Cedar Springs. An atlas he had consulted in a public library had listed two towns named Cedar Springs — one in Texas, one in Iowa. He would try the one in Texas first. Somehow, he would know if it was right. There was a memory — so very dim and formless — far back in his mind, of a Square bordered by trees and planted with flowers, and of a statue . . . some kind of a statue. . . . Tomorrow morning, he would start. MARY went back to Washington in time for Rufus Kane's inaugura- tion, and Cedar Springs seemed very desolate without her. At least, it seemed so to David Post. He had fully intended to speak to her at Christmas time, telling her that the name of the Lady of his Dreams was Mary Marlin. He would have spoken — if she had been less uncertain of her feelings toward Rufus Kane. Her mere friendship was so valuable to him that he would not risk losing it. If Mary really wished to be the wife of the President, David could bring her nothing but pain by declaring himself. As the months passed and spring came near, every sign seemed to tell him that he had been right. In Wash- ington, Mary still saw much of Rufus Kane, and the newspapers still linked her name with his. Mrs. Kane, the President's mother, had been ill, and New under-arm Cream Deodorant safely Stops Perspiration 1. Does not harm dresses, or men's shirts. Does not irritate skin. 2. No waiting to dry. Can be used right after shaving. 3. Instantly checks perspiration for 1 to 3 days. Removes odor from perspiration, keeps armpits dry. 4. A pure white, greaseless, stainless vanishing cream. 5. Arrid has been awarded the Approval Seal of the American Institute of Laundering, for being harmless to fabrics. 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Get Blondex Shampoo and Golden Rinse at 10c, drug and department stores. 81 4\ "DEFINITELY ONE OE THE EIEEST..." An editor pores over mountains of manuscripts a year, is seldom touched by sentiment, hardly ever lavish in his praise of any one par- ticular story. But when I received this moving comment on "Lead Us Not Into Temptation," I had the immediate urge to pass this editor's reactions along to our readers — verbatim. I heartily agree that we have here a truly great personal history — magnificent, delightful, unforgettable — and I am certain you will agree, too. Editor of True Story MSAItS RCAO LSAO US NOT INTO TSMPTATim n StUtUAMTMSW Titve sftti*t, ftovei LET'S ESCAPE TO PARADISE — Matt just wanted to marry Donna, not her whole bigoted family! But he didn't count on the schemes of her Sister Eve, Brother Ernest and Sister Josie . . . Don't miss this fascinating book-length true novel, complete in this issue! THE BRIDE CAME HOME — even on their wedding night the ghost of an old love, a former yearning returned to haunt this sacred tmion ! 30 THRILLING ADVENTURES IN ROMANCE! NOW ONLY ON SALE AT ALL NEWSSTANDS 82 BADIO AND TELEVISION IVTIRROR Continued A man and a woman stood there, sharply outlined, for a moment before they closed the door behind them and walked slowly across the grass. He heard their voices and crouched down behind the low wall, in a panic lest he be discovered. As he listened, full memory came to him like a thunderclap — memory and with it the knowledge that it had come too late. "I'm a brazen hussy, David." The woman's voice — Mary's voice. "But I have a good excuse — you forced me into it." "I don't understand . . ." He knew this voice, too. It belonged to the man who had been his business part- ner and best friend. "Don't you, David?" She spoke lightly, but with an undertone of ten- der gravity. "Are you sure? I can't believe it — because Jonathan told me something just a little while ago." "Jonathan . . . what did he tell you?" "That you love me and you'd ask me to marry you if you knew I didn't love Rufus. I don't love him, David." "Mary. . . ." David spoke, huskily, and then for a long while there was silence. They were standing only a few feet from the man who lay on the ground be- hind the wall; by raising his head a little he could have seen them. But he did not stir. "I think I've loved you all my life, David." Her voice was so low that the words seemed to float upon the air, yet so distinctly that they burned y_Jv£Aie