Evening Star Newspaper, September 29, 1935, Page 102

O Magazine Section OUNG Mr. Clark Vinson mentally took himself by the scruff of the neck and administered a sound shaking. He had just realized that he felt a most uncommercial thrill at the prospect of their first evening of overtime work together. And he detested magazine stories about the business executive who gets romantic over his secretary, and considered such gentlemen to be undiluted saps. Perhaps it was because she had come to him in the spring. Or perhaps because, being brown-eyed and brown-haired himself, he would be fundamentally attracted by delft blue eyes and hair as yellow as new cornsilk. Though it was half an hour after closing time, and the only femininity wvisible was the moose-like figure of the scrubwoman hunched over her pail, he could still see Maryland Hollis as she paused by his desk and said, “I'll be back at seven, Mr. Vinson.’’ Her voice was low: never jangled his nerves. no matter what the pressure of the day; always carried just the right inflection of deference o her execu- tive superior. Sometimes it seemed to him that there might be many things going on behind her gravely respectful eyes; only this afternoon he had caught himself making some wise-crack just to see the sudden surprised gleam of her smile. And in her trim brown knitted skirt, and short-sleeved golden jersey that revealed the whiteness of youthful arms. she —once more he collared his errant thoughts sternly. He must check over the changes in that policy continuance chert before going out to dinner, so he could start dictating at seven. Working one's way through school is apt to leave a certain serious mindedness; so is spe- cializing in statistics. Clark had done both. His hard-won concentration was imme- diately interrupted by solid, thumping steps which halted before his desk. He looked up into the round, rosy face of Mrs. McHugh, institutional nurse for the three hundred-odd employees in the Midvale Mutual's Home oftice. Her bulging white uniform rustled with the quiver of suppressed mirth. “Oh, Mr. Vinson," she panted. “I probably shouldn’t give the poor dears away, but this will simply massacre you.”” Mrs. McHugh had four children, a lengthy hospital experi- ence, and a robust, man-to-man sense of humor which could have mzde worthy con- tributions to any stag party. She lowered her voice, and glanced over her sturdy shoulder to see the scrubwoman disappearing through the office door, clanking mop and pail together. “It's about your secretary, the little Hollis girl — you probably won't like to hear this,” warningly, ““what with all the trouble you've had keeping secretaries. But it's about to lay me on the flcor. She and the Gary girl from the correspondence department downstairs are attending one of these preparation-for- marriage classes, at the university evening school. And every noon the day after they havea class, they get together in the rest room and talk over what they learned last evening. It's ‘My dear, did you ever know that before?’ and ‘Why, of course, but I didn’t know orange juice was a substitute for sunlight, to keep a baby from having rickets.” Mr. Vinson, I nearly bust.” At the look on his face, she sobered momen- tarily, and remarked with understanding sympathy, “‘I don't blame you for being dis- gusted, Mr. Vinson, after having — how many - three of them marry off on you in the last couple of years. Now you'll probably be breaking another one in — and Maryland 7s a competent girl — and a nice one, too. But - those two downy chicks in conference over household budgets and pre-natal influence will slay me!” Her round eyes were almost shut with mirth. “*‘Anyhow, I thought you might enjoy the joke while you prepare for the inevitable.’ Mrs. McHugh's deep-diaphragmed chuckles came back to his ears in diminuendo like the exhaust of a departing motor truck. He supposed he ought to thank her. It was inconceivable of course that he would have permitted a passing interest to grow until he made a fool of himself. And now that he was forewarned - he shrugged, and convinced himself that his lost feeling was simply irrita- THIS WEEK No Rings on Her Fingers The Story of Two Who Took a Sporting (hance bv WAYNE KILBOURNE tion and dismay at the prospect of initiating vet another new girl into the mysteries of insurance statistics. Ever since he graduated from the dictating machine of a minor executive to the distinc- tion of a personal secretary, he had suffered bad luck. As Mrs. McHugh said, three girls had left him already via the altar; however, until Maryland Hollis was threatened in the same manner, he had never felt this acute dis- comfort in the thoracic cavity, which sug- gested a pleural infection when he inhaled. Her left hand was bare of rings; he had checked that as a matter of common pre- caution when she was assigned to him four weeks ago. Undoubtedly, she was keeping her engagement secret because she realized that its publication would handicap her in any business office. Through the open window by his desk. a mild-scented breeze fanned his cheek. The four ochre walls of his ample office seemed sud- denly narrow and constricted. He was seized by an overwhelming desire to get out under the sky. He would go for dinner now, and finish revising the chart when he came back to the office. At five minutes to seven, Clark sat on a bench in the little wooded square opposite the impressive, marble-trimmed Midvale Mutual building. Irritation had crowded out other emotions — irritation at himself for his pass- ing weakness; irritation at Maryland for concealing her engagement and securing the job as his secretary, when she must inevitably leave him in the lurch. A bright tan coupé built on the lizard lines of 1935 slid to a stop across the street. A girl with yellow hair stepped lithely to the curb; ran up the steps to the arched entrance of the Midvale Mutual building. She paused at the top, waved to the driver of the tan coupé, and disappeared inside. As the automobile whined into high speed, Clark got a clear view of the driver. He was a good-looking yvoung fellow of the blond, massive-jawed, Nordic type; doubtless just the physical. caveman breed that would appeal to Mary- land’s flowerlike daintiness. Clark sneered as he rose, ground his heel on September 29, 1935 Illustration by Howard Chandler Christy “Why are you taking a preparation-for-marriage course?” Vinson demanded L his cigarette, and went across the street to climb the wide stone steps. She was standing, slim and straight, looking out the window across the fresh leafiness of the little square. She turned as he entered the office, flashing the smile which only this after- noon had warmed him so unaccountably. “I beat you back,” she announced. > “I was taking a breath of air in the park."” “What an evening it is,” she murmured, with a farewell glance out of the window as she pulled a chair over by his desk and sat down. “Marvelous for - mented acidly. She turned her grave glance on him in some surprise. b “I hope I'm not interfering with your - preparation studies at the university by asking you to work this evening,”” he con- tinued, then would gladly have kicked his own shins. Gad, he was acting like a six-vear-old who had just lost his stick of peppermint candy; but he was sore at her concealment of (Continued on page 11) .er — romance,’” he com- R