The Coolidge examiner., 1933-10-20
SHIRLEY
CHOOSES
g
By Polly Johnson
@. by Mcclure Newspaper Syndicate

4
breeze. Within the office. nervous
ly tapping out her transcription of
the mornings dictation, Shirley
Davis, young and lovely-a per-
sonification of spring and eternal
youth.
AS restless and sweet as the
April breeze, with hair cleaning
like golden daffodils and eyes like
violets.
Thus thought Harold Watson. her
employer, as he gazed at her from
the doorway.
Wish l could ask her to marry
me-" he thought, and he said, Back
at two, Miss Davis. I'm Off for
lunch"
Shirley looked up, nodded and
smiled, and Harold Watson left her.
He loved her, and that was that.
He was engaged to Catherine
Phillips, and that was that.
Catherine was a great girl. The
match was thoroughly suitable
from every angle. Both she and he
had wealth and social position.
They had many tastes in common.
The families had been friends
for generations. Worst of all, he
loved Catherine-or had been sure
he did, until few days ago. And
Catherine had said she loved him.
Fifteen minutes later Shirley
perched herself on a high chair in
front of her favorite lunch counter.
She watched the clean, bony, red
hands of the young man behind the
counter making sandwiches. Then
she raised her eyes to his pale,
serious face. She smiled-as sweet
ly. as radiantly, as she had smiled
fifteen minutes before at Harold
Watson.
"Hello," she said. Making sand
wiches?"
He grinned.
Morning" he answered. "No,
I'm driving out to the Country club
for a game of golf"
Shirley's cheeks flushed rose
color.
Shirley was in love with nobody.
Not with the grave young man who
worked so hard behind the lunch
counter. Not with her rich, discon-
tented young employer. At least,
Shirley assured herself that she
was quite heart-free. Yet she was
sensitively conscious about them
both. She knew they were both in
terested in her, perhaps.
Mention OF the Country club made
her wonder II the counter man
could know she had been foolish
enough, the evening before, to mo-
tor in his expensive car out to a
roadhouse for dinner with Harold
Watson.
There had been nothing wrong in
that, of course. But Shirley felt
sure Harold was engaged to the
owner of the possessive voice that
so often called him by telephone
a cultivated, charming voice that
belonged to the rich young Cath
crime Phillips, whose pictures
graced the rotogravures and whose
name appeared in all the impor-
tant society notes.
Shirley looked carefully at the
man before her.
No, she decided, he had just men,
toned driving out to a country club
as his idea Of good joke.
Catching her eye, he stopped
slicing ham and leaned over the
counter.
"My names Michael Ryan," he
said. Have dinner with me to-
night and let me talk to you. will
you?"
"Yes. / know mean, I know
your names Mike. You see, I've
been coming here for weeks"
you're telling me that? know
the first day you came. How about
onight?"
"Well-"
"All right, don't decide now. I'm
off here at quarter to six. I'll be
waiting for you at the corner.
Come. if you decide you want to-"
Almost rudely he turned back to
his work.
Shirley hurried through her
lunch and went back ahead of time
to her office.
Harold Watson did not come in
at two. At two-thirty the cultivat-
ed, pleasant voice of Catherine
Phillips called him.
"Mr. Watson's secretary" queried
the voice, little tremulously.
"Oh-he's not there?"
Poor kid" thought Shirley.
Somebody's told her about last
night. Wasn't l fool to make
life any more complicated than 1t
is, anyway"
NO" she said, through the
Miss Phillips. He
went to lunch some time ago-an
important engagement. l expect
him back before long. Shall ask
him to call you?"
mo, thanks" said the cool, self