The times-news., 1937-08-14
Love Gets ! l., Lift
cser;shs 1877, NeA ssrIes. lac

| held an edge. "Pat said you were
a writer, too. | suppose you do
books, or these stories that're all
dressed up with pictures in the
big magazines"
Bob picked up the dog and
leaned back against the kitchenet
wall, smiling up at her. Pats a
regular information bureau, isn't
he? And of course | did ask for
that last remark, after what
said about greeting cards. But
you're wrong, lady, dead wrong.
I've got TO eat, too, you know.
That's why | write for the pulps." {"
Kathleen looked mystified.
"You know the kill-'em-on-
every-page kind. Sheriff's posses,
master detectives, deadly crooks
rampant in every paragraph. It's
a great life. My menus governed
solely by the number of words |
sell in a month. Ten thousand
words. bean soup. Twenty thou
sand, maybe pork chop, and
once when | caught one editor
lust after he had come out of an
anesthetic or something, and he
paid me prize of $500, ate a
whole turkey dinner all at one
time"
A dimple showed at the corner
of Eathleen's mouth, and she fish
ed a pencil out of the pocket OF
her apron and inspected 1t close
| ly 81 can make good bean SOUP
She remarked irrelevantIy.
Bob leaned forward eagerly
$50 what" he asked.
Eyes. do come tonight ana
bring Schmatz. Maybe ne could
find a rhyme for BONE
"And If he did Of course that
would be doggerel, wouldn't NJ
laughed Bob. and made for the
door.
As he ran up the steps, the jan
| itor was still working in the upper
hall. Bob reached in his pocket
"Here, buy yourself some tobac-
co, Pat. You're a discriminating
person"
The old man grinned. How
many rhymes do you think II
takes to pay her rint? Too bad
that agent don't have to try THINK
in thim I'M himself"
Bob waved his arm dramatl-
cally. "If he did he'd probably
end by sending her a note saying,
It's Patrick's idea now indade,
Dear loidy, that yer rint is paid:
Maybe we can suggest 1t to hlm'
His door banged shut.
But although he resolutely sat
down to his typewriter, it was not
so easy to close the door OF his
mind. Certain black-lashed eyes
of Irish blue kept coming between
him and the villain. His own eyes
strayed frequently to his clock
without his being abe TO do much
about il, and in the back OF ms
mind lay the warning thought
that he was going to see her again
soon.
Studio one was feeling the eff
fects of his visit, too. Kathleen
tried desperately to think of her
verse. But il was no use. In spite
of the impending rent bill, a hap
py song kept bubbling from her
lips, and the flavor of bean soup
became much more important
than how many rhythmic beats
line might have. She kept jump
ing up and rearranging the gay
dishes she had put on a table IN
one corner of the room, mutter-
ing.
"Hair-fair-" Reading her
RHYMES out loud had got kath-
leen into the habit of talking to
herself. "What nice blond hair
ne had-the way it waved back
from his forehead-oh, dear, this
hasn't a thing Irish about it! Bob
McTayish-that's Scotch. Almost
Irish, gut-well, if l don't get in
some checks soon, III not be here
long anyway, so what the dick
ensp She flopped down into her
chair once more and firmly
reached for a sheet of paper.
But if Kathleen was finding 1t
distracting that Bob had taken
the studio upstairs, the Duchess
too was very much aware that the
room across from her had been
rented. Now she languidly knock
ed the ashes from her cigaret and
remarked to a tall dark man with
exaggerated sideburns, who was
leaning over her easel:
"Rather a good-looking new
tenant has just moved in. | must
certainly get acquainted with
him."