Evening Star Newspaper, December 9, 1934, Page 94

Good-by—for Today By Frances Heath An Appealing Story About a Girl Who Couldn’t Stop Caring for One Man—and a Man Who Couldn’t Resist Making Love to All Girls. A Star Magazine First-Run Story. Carol's voice, always low and softly beautiful, now had a sob- like catch in it. She had done something which was against all precedent. She had cpened a door without knocking; impulsively unclosed the door of Larry Dugan’s office without a warning. And now she under- stood just why she should never have done such a thing. Because there was Larry, her Larry, with Florine held closely in his arms. Looking over Florine’s white-gold curls and ignoring her pussy-cat smile, Carol gazed straight into Larry’s eyes, from which all their usual twinkle had fled. He had the look of a naughty littie boy caught stealing. Because of that look, she had said, “I beg your pardon.” But when she'd said, “I'm very sorry,” she’'d meant that for herself, because she realized the girl in his arms might just as well have been Reda or Peggy. It was especially disconcerting because only this morning Carol had said “good- by forever” to Larry. She had meant, of course, “Well, anyway until tonight, or tomorrow, or whenever you say, Larry Dugan.” Now she knew it must Yreally be forever, and she was disconsolate. Mechanically she went back to her desk and finished her work. Then with un- flagging footsteps, her pride and her good sense driving her on, she made her way to the president’s office. “Mr. Rand—my mother is desperately ill. In Ohio. I must go to her at once.” Her mother was long dead, and Ohio just happened to be the first State that oc- curred to her. He started to say something about see- ing Mr. Dugan, but something in her look told him that was just whom she had seen. “I'm very sorry, Miss Day. You’ll come back again to us, won’'t you?” “No, I won't come back, Mr. Rand. Thank you. Good-by.” l / BEG your pardon. I'm very sorry.” HE went back to her desk and cieared it of her personal belongings. There wasn’t much. A few old letters, an ad- dress book, a handkerchief and a diary. She had almost forgotten about the diary. Dreadful, if she had left that behind. She opened it to the first entry of six months ago. June 1—I'm so thrilled! I have a new job. With Larry Dugan. He is the handsomest man I have ever seen. His chin has a deep cleft. What's that old adage about a dimple in the chin and @ devil within? I don’t believe it's true about Mr. Dugan. I'm going to like that man. June 2—Larry Dugan. I just love the name. And how it suits him! Always lJaughing and saying nice things. He touched my hand today and said he, Jiked my dress. I wore the new blue print. June 3—Larry called me “Beautiful.” *Hello, Beautiful,” he said. And I'm not even pretty. Iknow. I could say it here §f I really thought so. And he said my eyes were expressive. “I can always tell exactly what you are thinking,” he said. Maybe that isn’t so good! June 5—Larry told me he just loves my nose. “It isn't pug, Carol, it’s re- trousse. And I don’t see any freckles— well, hardly any.” Then he kissed me right on the tip of it. June 10—I can’t resist him any more. He kisses me whenever he calls me into take dictation. I say, “Good morning, Mr. Dugan.” Very businesslike. And he kisses me. They land anywhere. On my chin, in my hair, behind my ear. She pretended to ignore the fact that, of late, he sent for the other girls far oftener than he rang for her June 12—Today it landed on my lips— the kiss. I loved it. June 15—I love Larry Dugan. June 16—I love Larry Dugan so much it hurts. I say his name over and over in my heart. Ilive for the moment when he’ll press the button to call me into his office. I never say, “Good morning, Mr. Dugan,” any more. I fly straight into his arms. June 18—I bought two new dresses. A midnight blue crep® and a Martini green dance frock. Larry said something about a date sometime. Oh, I hope so! Carol dropped the book from nerveless fingers. Was it possible that that care- free, happy girl had been herself? When she had written “I love him” did that girl of only a few months ago know what love meant? She seemed to think it was all lightness and joy and happiness. But the Carol of today knew of its burning restlessness, its desperate yearning and unhappiness. SHE dragged herself into the wash room. The other girls straggled in, one by one, and she spoke mechanically in answer to their good-nights. “Good-by, Reda.” She hated Reda, tall and pulsating; she called herself Russian. “Good-by, Peggy.” She liked Peggy who was cute and fresh and had to tell no one she was Irish, She couldn’t bring herself to speak to Florine. “No wonder he’s tired of you, Carol,” she told her reflection in the mirror. “You're positively homely, girl. Washed out, colorless. ' This green dress does things to me. Awful things. Where did I hear green was unlucky? Well, it's the dress I got jilted in. No, I did the jilting. Or did 1?” She took a lipstick out of her bag. Onyx and silver case with salve a lovely pomegranate color. “Go on lips, smile!” She painted on a smile carefully, and then cried a few tears. She fumbled for the black-and-silver rouge box, and put a round spot of color on each cheek. “Like a clown. That’s how I look.” And then she wept a little more. Her black hat which should have been put on, oh, so carefully, she pulled sav- agely down in the wrong places. Then she glared at herself through misty eyes. “Come on, fool, you got your- self into this. Pull out of it. Take a last look around, open the door and say, ‘Cheerio, it was fun while it lasted!’” She flung open the door leading into the outer office, and then quickly closed it again. Larry was out there with his hat and coat on. She couldn’t face him. He’d be gone soon. She would wait. She sat down on the old cot, which was never used for lying down, they were all so young and healthy. She picked up the diary. June 18—Larry asked me! For a date! T'm so happy. We're going to dinner and the theater. Carol closed the little book which con- tained the story of her life since Larry had come into it. Her feet curled up on the couch, and her face hidden in the crook of her elbow, she thought on from there. : H¢ had taken her to a Russian place for dinner; then they had gone to one of the more popular plays afterward. Later they had danced a little at a night club and talked a lot. Or rather she had talked. All about herself. How she loved music and art and life and love— she had almost said him. Later in the vestibule of her boarding house he had done the talking. How lovely she was, how much he wanted her, how mad he was about her, and in be- tween these few statements he had kissed her until she had fled from him up to her room. She had buried her face in a pillow to hide its burnings, and all the time she had been thinking that never once had he mentioned that he loved her. And then—oh, blessed of miracles—after a few weeks he had surprised her and, she suspected, himself, by proposing. She was in heaven then. She had floated in an atmosphere beyond the clouds where the sun always shone. She took on a beauty reserved for women who were beloved. The world seemed a temple of worship; Larry was her god. RADUALLY she had returned to earth and the ordinary office rou- tine. And then it was that she noticed the knowing smiles on the faces of the other girls. Carol remembered writing: I can’t stand Florine. She makes me think of pink candy. Very sweet and sticky and cheap. I think she’s in love with Larry. . Reda undulates when she walks. Par- ticularly when she’s walking in the di- rection of Larry’s office. And again: Even hard-boiled little Irish Peggy simpers and acts up when his lordship walks by. What in heaven is this—a harem? They had agreed, or rather Larry had persuaded her to keep their engagement a secret, so she couldn’t really blame those other girls. She had just lifted her. firm chin and pretended to ignore