Evening Star Newspaper, June 18, 1933, Page 76

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, JUNE 18, 188" RACTICALLY There Was a Rea- son Why She Could Not Marry Her Boss—But the Reason Turned Out to Be a Flivver. ERNADETTE McKIM should have been neatly typing letters for William Mor- risson, who paid her a salary each week for this service. But instead, Bernadette was staring out of the win- dow, her round chin cupped in her hands. She was thinki inzabout.manh:gmh.:mz and unruly, dark hair. She a l?t?ertrommmtoday. A short letter, hardly more than a note. But an eminently satisfac- tory communication nevertheless. For in it he said: “Darling Bernadette, the ship is under way for New York. I'll be seeing you any day now. Of course, just as soon as 1 get out of the Navy Yard, I'll phone you.” What could be more wonderful news? She planned exactly the smoky blue dress she would buy for her first date with him, and the smoky blue hat. Her patent slippers, her new blue coat, those blue gloves, the blue bag she had received from him for Christmas. He'd be flattered to see her wearing his gift. He had been gone so long! And waiting for & man to come home is such a Ilonesome business. 11\ AYDREAMING, Dette?” asked a voice in her ear. Bernadette jumped, startled. “I didn't mean to frighten you,” apologized William Morrisson, her young boss. “I came out to see why you hadn’t gone to hinch.” “Oh—is it 12 o'clock already?” The confused pink dyed her cheeks. Flus- tered, she straightened the papers on her desk. “Very hungry?” he asked pleasantly. “Not very,” she said. She knew what was coming. He'd say, “Well, then, I feel safe in asking you to come to lunch. If you were very bungry I'd be afraid to undertake it!" And that was indeed what he said. Bernadette had worked for Mr. Morrisson for two years. She did all his office work, for he was only a comparatively newly made lawyer, and was not overburdened with clients. She knew all his secrets, both business and personal. She knew, for instance, that his great-aunt Hilda was a wealthy old crank who would leave him all her money if he did nothing to displease her. She knew, too, that he lived in one of the nicest apartment hotels in town, drove a huge blue roadster, and lived life very comfortably. Across the luncheon table in the restaurant where Mr. Morrisson always took her, she smiled up at him, and said: “I've had good news to- day. My—my boy friend is coming home soon.” A shadow fell across Mr. Morrisson’s tan face. “Your boy friend? I didn’t think you_— “Oh, yes,” said Bernadette primly. “I'm practically engaged!” HE following pay day she bought the smoky blue dress. Saturday was a half-holiday. Besides, Harry's ship might come in for the week end. So she wore the dress the next morning—Saturday. Mr. Morrisson was late getting in. But the minute he opened the door, he stared, “Do stand up and let me get the full picture, She said,” “Oh, don’t be silly, Mr. Morrisson.” “I'm not silly,” he answered. “I'm merely an appreciative audience.” Bernadette cimpled, and stood up. There could be no doubt about it—the dress was a wow! “Miss McKim,” he bowed formally, “I simply must appear in public with you! If you have no previous engagement—" b expecting a telephone ecall,” Dette said v I hope—if it doesn’t come in?” 1 William Morrisson grinned. “I don‘t wish that boy friend of yours any hard luck, but I do hope his ship strikes a snag and doesn't dock until Christmas.” The morning wore on. Every time Dette found it necessary to go into Mr. Morrisson’s office, she tried to put it off. For at her ap- pearance, he promptly laid down the letter he had been reading, or the pen he had been writing with, and drank in the beauty of her. And she was beautiful! She knew it. Her soft hair waved around her face, her eyes shining, the smoky-blue of the dress flattering her skin, clinging to her slim shapeliness, and meking fascinating contrast to the bright scar- let of her lips. Yes, she was beautiful. But it was all for Harry. Harry, whose ship was coming in. Harry, who would hold her in his arms and tell her how he had missed her, through all the lonely days of his voyaging. She planned what she would say to him. Laughing a little, so as not to emphasize it too much. “I hope you're going to be a landlubber from now on, Harry.” For his enlistment was up soon. It had been just this time four years ago that he had left for the training station it Norfolk : *.He had hinted, in one of ‘his letters, that be e DT The funny thing 1cas, he was thrilling her, too . His eyes were saying things —things about how beautiful she was, about what holding her in his arms was doing to him. was thinking of staying in the Navy. He liked the life. She was the only thing that made him think twice about re-enlisting. A little knife-edge of fear had entered her heart when she read that. She did not want to be a sailor’s wife, never to see him more than once or twice a year. HE eyed the telephone speculatively. n was nearly noon. Then she remembered that you could cail the duty officer in the Brooklyn Navy Yard and he would tell you whether a ship had docked or not, or when it would come in. She picked up the telepbone. - “May I please know if the Arkansas is in the Navy Yard yet?” she asked the duty officer. “She won't be in until Monday,” the man’s voice came cheerfully acoss the wire. “Sorry.” “Oh—* Thoughtfully she replaced the receiver. Mon- day. And here she was, in the blue dress, all dressed up. At 1 o'clock Mr. Morrisson stuck his head out of his private office and asked cheerily, “yYour friend phone yet?” “N-no.” How hot her face felt. “I've found that he won't be in until Monday.” The grin on Mr. Morrisson’s face was bright enough to have had an electric light behind it. “That's fine. I mean, I'm sorry. No! I cannot tell a lie! Have lunch with me, we’ll see a show—we'll do the thing up brown. That dress simply cannot go home too soon.” Dette wondered what Harry would say. After all, she was practically engaged to him. But then, he ought to understand. Mr. Morrisson was so polite, such a gentleman. And she al- ways had such a marvelous time with him. This afternoon was no exception. After a delicious lunch they went for a ride in his roadster. They drove far up in the country, and along toward 4 they were hungry again. They promptly stopped at a quaint roadhouse and had coffee and pie. Then they returned to the city, and it was past 6. This called for dinner at a famous restaurant. And then a musical comedy cried for attention. And after that they went to a place and danced. This was the first time they'd ever danced together. As he put his arms around her, she felt the slight tremor of his body. And she knew that her nearness, her soft slimness, was thrilling him. The funny thing was he was thrilling her, too. His arms were so strong. His eyes look- ing down at her were saying things—things about how beautiful she was, about what hold- ing her in his arms was doing to him. OMETHING had happened, suddenly. Some- thing like an explosion and a shock and & firecracker shooting off and a sinking in tne pit of your stomach because the elevator stopped too suddenly. It happened to Bill, too. They stopped dancing. Bernadette made a noise like a sob, and they left the floor for the haven of their table behind the palms. But they said nothing about it. They both pretended it had not happened; they had merely become tired of dancing. After she finished pecking at her now taste- less food, the girl said, “I'm tired. I think I'd lke to go home” And after they had said good night jn front ““ 52508 PP “ GAGED WGPAUL KI-OESEN of her house, she thought about that shing that had happened to them. Bill Morrisson was very nice. Ounly, Harry Parker was the man she loved, was practically engaged to marry, in fact. Besides, Bill Mor- risson could never be serious about a stenog- rapher. His rich aunt would cut him off with- out a cent. Sunday morning she was awakened by Mrs. Mulcahey'’s voice floating up the sairs. ‘“Dette— Dette—young man waiting for you.” She bundled herself into a cute little woolly dressing gown, thrust her feet into mules, and clop-clopped down the stairs to Mrs. Mul- cahey’s parlor. A burly young man in a sailor’s uniform rose from the settee. “Why, Harry! What a surprisel They said at the duty office that you wouldn't be in untu 7 - & % e -~ el When she lifted her face for his wel- coming kiss, she smw how scowling and sullen he was. Monday. How well you look! How browned you are!” When she lifted her face for his welcoming kiss, she saw how scowling and sullen he was. “What's the matter?” “You didn’t expect me until Monday, eh? That's why you were out with your swell boy feiend last night?” “My swell boy friend?’ “Sure! Dont play innocent! I got off last night, the ship anchored. I came around here expecting to have to get you out of bed. In- stead, you're on the front steps saying good night to this guy. With a swell roadster parked at the curb. So that’s what you do while I'm away——" “Harry! You don’t understand! He—why, he's my boss, Harry! He only took me out because I was so disappointed your -ship didn’t get in! And I was all dressed up to meet you.” “Tell that to the Marines!” cried Harry. “The guys on the ship used to laugh at me for saying you were different. Different! All janes are the same! I suppose when we get married and I'm away you’ll do the same.” “You won't be away when .we're married,” she said softly, “will you, Harry?” “What are you trying to - do, -drydock me? Of course, Y1l be away. I told you in a.lefter G By BETTY WALLAGE a while back that I was doing another hitch in the Navy.” The tears sprang to Bernadette’s eyes. “Oh, Harry! I was so h-h-happy about your coming home, I—I thought we'd be mar- ried and y-y-you'd find a steady job.” He shook his head. “Not me! TI've got a steady job—sailing. And I don't believe in marrying a girl who—" His fingers were rough and cruel on her shoulders. His eyes bored into hers. “Damned if you aren't looking—relieved!” Knowledge swept into her. This was relief! This was a suddenly light and joyous feeling surging up in her. She was glad! She was astounded at herself, yet powerless to keep from saying, “We’ll call it quits.” And her voice was cool and controlled as she said it. E backed away. His eyes narrowed to slits. “Letting me off, huh? Breaking the news. 8o that guy on the steps——" “It has nothing whatever to do with that man on the steps last night,” Bernadette said definitely, knowing that she lied. “It's simply that I will not marry a sallor! I've had enough waiting in my lifetime. Besides, you were the one who——" “Boloney!” retorted Harry inelegantly. “I know a stall as good as the next one. And I don't care so much, see? I'm not gonna be drydocked for nobody. Don’'t want to be two- timed either. Ill get over you, kid. Lots of blue-eyed blonds around. You're sorta special, but I'll get over it.” Harry turned on his heel and stalked out in- dignantly, and as he went he slammed the door harder than was really necessary. With him went a dream that Bernadette had been nourishing for quite a-while; but some- how it was with a strange sense of relief that she saw it vanishing. As she turned to go back upstairs she thought of his parting shot—“I'll get over it.” Well, so would she. In fact, she was over it already— had been, for about a dozen hours. But the other, the new thing—that she would never get over. Monday morning almost never came. She opened her eyes {0 it after vast voids of time had crawled by. She felt slightly foolish, dressing so carefully. But then—she filed her nails again, brushed polish over them. Two hairs were brazenly growing back below the careful arch of her left eyebrow. She uprooted them savagely. In the magnifying mirror, held close to the window so that the early morning light would fall full on her face, she saw that she could not possibly improve on Nature further. When she opened the office door she was 30 minutes and 40 seconds late. Mr. Morrisson was standing over her desk. “Good afternoon,” said he. “That must have been a bang-up date last night.” “It wasn't,” said Dette. “I'm sorry I'm late.' She laid aside hat and coat. He saw with gratification that she wore the smoky blue dress again. “Every time I'll see that dress hereafter,® said Bill, “I'll remember our wonderful Satur- day together. And the memory will embolden me to ask for another Saturday—or a Thurs- day or a Tuesday—anything——" Bernadette dropped her eyes and fooled with the papers on her desk. “Which is it, Mr. Morrisson,” she asked dee murely, “Saturday or Tuesday or Thursday?” He opened his mouth in amusing astonishe ment. “No! You can’t mean t! Are you serious?” She smiled down at the papers, her eyes not meeting his. “Of course. Why not?” “But what about the boy friend?” he care? I'm hoping he won’t, but I want to be fair. I—am—a very strong believer in fatr play, and you warned me that you were—prac- tically engaged.” “Practically,” sald Bernadette. quite. In other words, it's all off.” “All off? But—" “He wanted to be a saiilor,” she explained, as lightly as her pounding heart would let ber. “And I wanted a husband I could be with every day of the week.” “Still want that kind?” Bill asked, his hands reaching for hers. She raised her eyes, now, to his. And again it happened. That explosion. That bright roman candle shooting off into the night. That twinkling of a million stars—that singing of a trillion love songs—that dizzy dipping of her heart into the tops of her low, small pumps. “What kind?” she asked, faintly. “The kind that can be with you every day.™ “Y-y-yes.” He grasped her shoulders very firmly. His eyes were laughing, his voice was a triumphant roar. “Then get on your hat, Dette. From here to City Hall you are practically engaged!” Won't “But not U. §. Tobacco Sales Drop THE effect of trade restrictions, State monopo=- lies and other barriers to free flow of trade has cost the American tobacco growers their market for between 100,000,000 and 150,- 000,000 pounds of tobacco annually. The greatest losses have occurred in the Brite ish and Italian markets. Great Britain grants the tobacco grower in the various dominions a concession ambouniting to & reduction in the tariff of 50 cents per pound. The sale of Amer- ican tobacco under such a disadvantage is al- most impossible. In Italy the state controls a tobacco monopoly intended to stimulate the market for Italian tobacco growers, In fact, the market is not only preserved, but the Italian grower receives a higher price than the processor would have to pay for tobaceo from lore&n,(’whrea. o, P b