Evening star. [volume], April 28, 1935, Page 3, Image 81

About Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972

Image provided by: Library of Congress, Washington, DC

                
The story of a philandering
husband, by the author
ofi( The (yonstant &/ymph” and
“Escape zJtCe Jfever”
Margaret Kennedy
// 1"'V on’t cry into that nice rasp
•• I p berry sundae.” advised Jane
1 M Coppard. "Pull yourself to
^ gether and think what’s to be
done."
"I've done everything I can think of. Last
week 1 bought some Washwell."
"Some what?"
"You know . . . Washwell . . . soap . .
"Soap? Soap? What on earth has soap got
to do with Jim deceiving you?”
Polly ferreted about under the table in the
pigeon hole which Feaker’s Universal Stores
had provided for the gloves and bags of clients
at the Roof Garden Soda Fountain. She pro
duced a newspaper having one of Wash well’s
ingenious pictorial advertisements.
"There,” she said, thrusting it under Jane’s
nose. “Look at it. Isn’t it like me?”
It was. The heroine of Washwell’s little
fable, told in four pictures, might really have
been drawn from Polly Green.
“She’s even got a nose like mine, and the
husband is quite like Jim. only taller.”
"And he's got a squarer chin.” suggested
Jane.
But Polly did not agree. Jim had a rtry
square chin.
The square-chinned husband in the ad
vertisement was giving trouble. A little bal
loon, proceeding from his mouth, informed his
stricken wife that he was GOING TO BE
KEPT LATE AT THE OFFICE. Nor was
this an isolated occurrence, for the wife’s
balloon ejaculated: WHAT! AGAIN?
In the second picture the tragedy had ad
vanced. The wife was in tears while a well
meaning friend informed her that HE HAS
BEEN SEEN TAKING HIS TYPIST
TO THE THEATRE I THOUGHT YOU
OUGHT TO KNOW DEAR.
‘it’s not his typist, because he hasn’t got
one," sniffed Polly. “But it's a distant cousin,
which is worse."
Help had arrived in picture three, with A
VISIT FROM GRANNIE. ThiaJttsk old
lady was explaining, in an outsize balloon,
that the whole trouble arose from the ab
sence of Washwell in the home. THESE
PLATES ARE SMEARY! MOST UN
APPETISING! OF COURSE HE STAYS
OUT TO DINNER. And the wife was de
claring that she would buy a packet that very
day. Which she did, for in the fourth picture
A WEEK LATER she was receiving roses
from a repentant husband.
"I got Washwell,” said Polly, “and I got
Nervex — you know, they say it’s so often
because of Night Starvation — and I got
Gideon’s cheese — they always say they like
that, husbands I mean, in advertisements —
but it's none of it any good.”
You got too many things, if you ask me.”
'He’s bored; that’s what’s the matter. I
wouldn’t mind it so much if he was straight
with me — if he said he was going out with
her. But he always makes excuses and says
it’s a client, and I can't bear that.”
The tears came into Polly’s eyes again, for
she was very fond of Jim and not in the least
bit bored with him.
"Why don’t you take him by surprise in
some way?" suggested Jane. "Start a flirtation
yourself, for instance?”
"I don't know of anybody to flirt with.”
"Oh come! You’re very pretty.”
"All the men I know are mar
ried, and I’m not going to start
anything with another woman’s
husband, especially now I know
what it's like, being so worried
about jny own.”
"I only meant a very small
flirtation.”
"A small one wouldn’t be any
use. Jim simply wouldn't notice
it.”
“Then surprise him in some
other way.”
“I can’t think of one. I’m
growing my hair, but that takes
so long, you couldn’t call it a
surprise.”
"Go for a cruise.”
“I couldn't afford it. And I
couldn’t leave the children.”
"I thought they were with
their grandmother.”
“They’re coming back on Sat
urday.”
“Let 'em come. Let him look
after them. It’s his job as well as
yours.”
“You don’t understand. You
talk like that because —”
“Because I'm not married. I
know. You all say that.”
“I’m sorry, but unless you’re
married you simply can’t under
stand.”
"Quite so! Let’s pay and get
out of this. It’s stiffing.”
They pushed their way out
towards the pay desk through a
grove of little tables, and lined
up in a queue of harassed female
shoppers who all looked as if
they were badly in need of a visit
from Grannie. Jane told herself
that really she seemed to be the
only spinster in the place. Which
was probably true, for spinsters
at that time of day are generally
carving their careers. Jane her
self carved for fifty weeks of the
year in an insurance office, but
she had been given three days,
unexpected holiday.
"you're cross,” said Polly, as
they got out of the lift. "I didn’t mean any
thing. I’m sure I often envy you.”
“Oh rats!”
“I do. You’re free. You can do what you
like. You even go for picnics in the country
whenever you like.”
At which Jane exploded. "Well, so could
you!”
As they fought their way out of the shop,
Polly enumerated all the things which pre
vented her. She could not afford the fare.
She could not leave the children. She had
nobody to go with.
At last Jane said: “The children are with
their grandmother. You've got me to go with
and I’ll pay your fare. Come down with me
into Sussex this afternoon and let’s have a
supper picnic. We might hear a nightingale.
Do. Poll!"
But Polly was sulky and declared that it
was impossible. They wrangled all the way up
Copyright 1935, United Newspapers Msfaslne Corporation
Illustration by J. Karl
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” said Polly
the street and parted at last in dudgeon out
side the underground station. Jane went on
to the bus stop, and Polly vanished into
the booking hall.
"We call ourselves friends still,” fumed
Jane to herself, as she took her place at the
bus stop. "But we’ve nothing in common
really nowadays.”
And yet they had once been so fond of one
another, long ago when they were girls. It was
impossible for Jane to think of the past with
out seeing Polly in the foreground — so gay,
so funny, such a darling.
A bus drew up, but it was not the right one.
Jane sighed, and went on thinking. Perhaps
it was because she was not married that she
still valued friendship more than Polly did.
She had remained a girl, an elderly girl per
haps, but still with a girl’s eagerness for the
next thing. While Polly had become middle
aged and had left off expecting toufind en
chantment waiting for her round the comer.
The right bus appeared and she struggled
onto it. By good luck her favorite place, the
front seat on the top, was empty. She sub
sided with her parcels in a coma of achieve
ment. It was not for some minutes that she
became aware that the woman sitting beside
her was Polly. She gave a gasp.
“I came after you,” murmured Polly.
She looked different, not sulky any more,
pinker, younger, and a little shy.
"I saw a poster. In the underground. An
advertisement...”
"Good heavens! Another?"
"It said, ‘TRAVEL BY METROLAND.'
There was a picture. Oh. Jane, it was just
* like us.”
“You and Jim?"
"No, you and me. Two girls sitting on a hill.
Like us long ago. Having such fun. It made me
( Continued on pat* 12)