The guardian. [volume] (Boston, Mass.) 1901-1960, 1939-03-25
Robert Finds q
WoY
By JENNIE M'GRAW
e Associated Newspapers.
WNU Service.

klICnen. t1eG 0nSerS were STICKY
with dough, and her usually smooth
brow was marred by a crease of
| impatience.
Rob, will you just run down to
the store and get me a small sack
of flour? I'm making biscuits, and
| haven't enough to roll them out"
Roberts own brow creased now.
Gosh, Myrl, I've had a hard day,
and I'm tired. Can't you use some
thing else to finish the biscuits? Bak-
ing powder, or cornstarch, or some
thing? Or let 'em go and have
bread?"
Myrps frown smoothed as she
laughed.
mo, Rob, l can't use anything
but flour, not even talcum powder.
And you would have to go to the
store for bread anyway. Twas max
ing biscuits because the bread was
all gone. l didn't know the flour
was so nearly gone, too"
Robert turned YEARLY and went
out. He stopped at the corner of
the house to see if the car was
out, but the garage doors were
closed, and he decided that it would
not take much longer to walk than
to get the car and then put it away
! again.
AS he trudged the five long blocks
to the store he was thinking hard.
Every evening that week he had
gone to the store to get something
, before he could have his dinner.
Eggs one time, bread another, steak
a third. And two mornings he had
gone after things before breakfast.
On both these mornings he had al
most missed his train to the city.
Thinking back, he could see that
Myrl had been getting more and
more careless about keeping sup
plies in the house. There seemed
: to him to be little excuse for it.
She had the telephone and the car
i to shop with.
She drove down to the little sub
urban shopping center nearly every
day for other things, but she could
not seem to find time to stock the
larder. She was always meeting
friends with whom to visit over
sundaes at the soda shop, or she
had an engagement for luncheon,
bridge or tea.
Everything else about the smart
| little bungalow she managed beau
tlfully but the groceries were al
ways running out. Robert reflected
wryly that it had become easier to
send him to the store than to order
over the telephone or drive to the
grocer's. He had become a glori-
fled errand-boy, whose meals were
! delayed until he delivered the gro
: cerieS.
He made his purchases from Mr..
Smithson himself, and after asking
for the bread that he knew must be
had for breakfast he leaned over the
counter and talked earnestly to Mr..
Smlthson for several minutes. That
| gentleman looked astonished at first,
I but as Robert talked on he chuckled
and nodded sympathetically.
cts go, Mr.. Kern. There's a
lot of 'em do that way"
"Six-thirty, then" Robert said,
as he turned towards the door.
He whistled cheerfully as he car
ried the flour home, and waited
patiently while the biscuits baked.
Dinner over, they went to the neigh
borhood movie.
AS she turned out the living-room
lights for the night Myrl remarked,
"You bought bread for breakfast,
didn't you? I'd like a melon, though.
Will you run down to the store and
get one in the morning?"
"Yes," promised Robert, with a
| grim note in his voice that Myrl
| missed.
When the alarm tinkled at seven
Myrl awoke and saw that Robert
was up and gone. She decided that
he had awakened early and gone
out to the store without disturbing
her. The coffee was just starting
to "perk" when fiivver truck rat
tied up the drive and stopped before
the kitchen door.
Almost before Myrl had time to
wonder the door opened and Robert
came briskly in with melon. But
such Robert. He wore a big white
apron, and a pencil was stuck
jauntily over one ear. Myrl stared.
dumbfounded.
There's your melon, Mrs. Kern,
and nice one it is. Now if there
is anything else you wish brought
later, can take the order right
now, or you may telephone, if you
prefer" and he poised an expect
ant pencil over notebook.
Myrl had recovered her voice, if
not her wits.
Robert Kern, what does this
mean? What are you doing with
that apron and that truck?"
We'll" answered Robert, meek
ly, I've got part-time job with
Mr.. Smithson delivering groceries
mornings and evenings. I've got so
used to being a delivery boy
thoupht | might aS well noaka il