Imperial Valley press., 1937-06-20
The Boy Met And Lost The Girl He Loved
Sometimes The End Is Only The Beginning

THERE was only one person in
the exhibition room when
Eric entered it promptly at ten
girl, wearing yellow slicker
belted firmly about a small span
of waistline and a shabby brown
felt hat. She was standing in front
of the "Old Man Mapping"
It was the "Old Man Mapping"
that Eric had come to study. He
had glimpsed it once, on Wednes-
day, but just as he had settled
himself to study it he had sud-
denly heard his fathers voice and
had fed precipitantly.
Not that he had anything to
fear from discovery. His father
would not have been displeased to
find him there. Quite the contrary.
His father would have greeted
him with a warm, if somewhat
flustered smile.
'Why, Erici You here? This
is a surprise! I didn't know you"
Strange how his father who
could talk so brilliantly, so as
suredly, to the most important and
impressive was so inept before his
own son!
He would reach up = he was
somewhat shorter than Eric's six
feet of bronzed, string-taut lean
ness - Eric's mothers wedding
ring flashing from the little fin
ger of his left hand, and put his
arm about Eric's shoulder, and
try to find out.
But Eric did rot want him to
find out-not about the painting.
His father knew so much about
Raphaels, Rubens, Rembrandts,
and such. His father knew about
everything, everyone. Except his
own son.
II don't see enough of you"
Every now and then his father
said, that. I'VE must get together
one of these days. There are a
few things 1 have in mind for
you now that you're through with
college" Eric had been through
half a year-was supposed to be
taking a breathing space before
settling down to more serious Ia
bors. We've got to decide about
things" Eric had decided long
ago. 'I wish 1 could make it to-
day." His fathers forehead would
ridge. But there's this matter"
There had been this matter
ever since Eric could remember,
ever since his mother had died. A
rest farm for mothers, a white
collar hospital, young men to see
on to careers, young women to
help. In succession, with never a
let-up, they engrossed his father,
absorbed him. So that he almost
forgot he had son.
This woman, this Carlys Call
lender whose technique in etching
had evoked such an agitation
among the critics, and whose
"Old Man Mapping" Eric had
come thus early in the morning
to study-his father had found
her doing illustrations of hats in
a commercial art agency. For
weeks now the talk had been all
of her. Miss Calender Miss
Calender His fathers voice
glowed when he spoke her name.
THE girl in the yellow slicker
moved over and made room
for him. They stcod, the two of
them, looking up at the face of
an old man, the face of a man
who has seen much of life and
is content, even willing, to re-
linquish it.
ut is good, isn't it?" Eric said
suddenly.
The brown felt hat turned,
tilted, and a face came out of 1t
toward him; a face that he be-
held with a little sense of shock,
so vivid and young and gold it
was. Freckles spangled it, and
eyes yellow like topaz flashed
at him out Of tawny skin. Ten
drills of crinkly, red-gilt hair
rayed about it, like a halo, and
he was conscious of a bowed
mouth rather large for face so
small. He felt little staggered.
Some place, sometime, in warm
little space of the past, he had
known a face like that.
well" she said, and there was
a limpid tinkle in her voice. We'll,
! don't know" Her topaz eyes
were contemplative. "T'he mouth,