Evening star. [volume], April 07, 1946, Page 16, Image 87

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

Image provided by: Library of Congress, Washington, DC

                
RUNAWAY by Cynthia Hope Illustrated by Tran !\latvicke
■>
Should she tell Rick her
secret at once—or should
she elope with him first?
A Short Short Story
SHE meant to tell Rick. All through the
nightmare of these last twelve hours,
Joyce planned how she would tell the boy
she loved that the father she’d loved was an
embezzler.
But when she saw Rick waiting for her in
the dim twilight of the drawing room —
rvhen he caught her up in his strong young
arms, all she could say was: “Rick — Rick,
hold me close! Tell me you love me, Rick.”
All she could do was bury her head against
his shoulder, and fight off the urge to cry.
To smother, in this room so thick with
memories of her father. To sink beneath a
wave of shame and dis race and despair.
If she told Rick her father had taken
money from the bank, and that tomorrow
the whole town would know it, how would he
feel about their engagement? About mar
riage? About children? How would Rick’s
parents feel? “Bad blood”—that was the
term people used. Two words as forbidding
as a danger signal. Two words which could
brand even the daughter of an ex-bank
executive.
She said again, “Do you love me, Rick —
do you?”
He looked down at her, his eyes blue,
puzzled; his fuzzy blond brows raised a bit,
and his hair a spot of brilliance in the shad
owed room. “Sure I love you, Joycie. Why?”
Why? Because Rick’s love was all in the
world she had left. All in the world she
couldn’t bear to lose.
And looking into Rick’s straightforward
young face, she knew he’d never understand
how a man could take money that wasn't his.
How he could leave town in the dark hours
of the morning, with no more than a brief,
cold-blooded note to his wife and daughter.
Rick was too fine, too decent. He would
turn away from a mess like this. He would
turn away from her.
She steadied the trembling of her lips—full
curved lips, and bitter-sweet for seventeen.
“Do you love me”—her breath caught softly
in her throat — “enough to elope, Rick?”
Sie felt his body stiffen. Somewhere in the
stillness of the house, a clock chimed the
hour. Another followed, then another, until
the whole place was filled with the clamor.
Joyce shut her eyes. Against this room.
... Against the wide leather cliair where her
father had jounced a not-so-much-younger
Joyce on his knee... Against the empty
grate where they’d toasted marshmallows to
gether before a roaring fire... And against
her mother’s face, when she’d found the note
— white as the paper the note was written
on ... and the phone ringing on, brightly,
uncaringly, just as if nothing had gone
wrong .. . and her mother’s voice, no louder
than a whisper: “Don’t go to the phone,
Joyce — or the doorbell. Don’t leave me,
darling. Just stay where I can see you. Stay
with me. please, until Rick comes... ”
Rick’s voice cut through the haunted
silence: "Is that what you want — an elope
ment, Joyce?”
She flung back her head, her chin not quite
steady, her eyes a bit too bright. “Yes. It’s
what I want.”
"Let’s go,” was all Rick said. But his eyes
said other things: What about all the wedding
plans? What about our parents, who’ve
trusted us? What about it, Joyce?
The twilight had thickened into night.
Night chill, befogged, starless, with a faint
wind which cried aloud in the treetops.
Rick had little to say. Joyce had less.
When he started the car. she looked back over
her shoulder at her house on the wooded hill.
"What are you thinking about?” Rick
demanded.
She held her coat closer. "Nothing,” she
answered, shivering. “Nothing.” The wind
caught the hollow word and flung it down
the road.
Even within the city limits, he began to
speed. Rick never drove this way. Recklessly,
taking all the bumps he could find, and laugh
ing at the unsettling jolt of them.
It’s captivating—the clearer, fresher, softer complexion that
comes with your first cake of Camay! So tonight, change from
careless cleansing—go on the Camay Mild-Soap Diet.
Doctors tested Camay’s daring beauty promise on scores and scores of complexions.
And these doctors reported that woman after woman—using just
ofu cuke of Camay-had softer, smoother, younger-looking skin!
/
/
Camiaf—a beam far bn! A Colonial—
wide-terraced for buffets and barbe
cues. "I'll go to Evansville as Dan's
bride - and to look the part, to keep
my skin's sparkle, i'll stay on the
Camay Mild-Soap Diet." So mild it
cleanses without irritation. Camay can
make jonr skin lovelier. Full direc
tions on every Camay wrapper!
MRS. CAlDIMtYER'S STORY
Mmytmtt HayiMi: Off on a fun-filled hay
ride. under bright Baltimore skies,
L Muriel and Dan pair up. It's his hand,
Bk and heart to Muriel of the softly lumi
A nous complexion! "I thank Camay, and
*its mild care, for my skin's fresher glow,"
*f’ says Muriel. "My very first cake brought
a new. clearer look.”
w 1
Please — be Camay
careful. Make each
cake last, for precious
materials ro into soap.
/
MRS. DANIEL F. CALDEMEYER
rite former Muriel Lunger of Fvoniville, Ind
Rridol portrait pointed by^J^^^Y
TW 4-7-4*