Worcester Democrat and the ledger-enterprise. (Pocomoke City, Md.) 1921-1953, 1940-04-12

share it. John had married Evelyn in
spite of all that he could say or do.
And now their daughter seemed bent
upon marrying with an equal lack of
wisdom. And there was still nothing
he could do.
Except stand by, Clay Saunders
thought, his quietly despairing glance
touching the curve of March's cheek,
the bright, soft sweep of her hair
beneath the tiny hat. Stand by and
wait, with what poor patience he could
muster.
Brent Randolph strobe along a de-
serted corridor on the thirty-second
floor of the Parrish Building, look
ing for the Saunders Studio. 1t was
after nine o'clock at night. Half an
hour had elapsed since he phoned
MARGINS apartment, only to be in
formed by Conchita that her friend
was working.
Conchita had suggested, "Why
don't you stop by for her? Drag her
away from that drawing board by
the hair if necessary. She's always
working overtime"
1t had seemed like a good idea at
the moment. Curiosity had prodded
Brent, since h had never visited the
studio. Now that he was here, doubt
assaulted him. March had probably
left.
He halted before a door with
SAUNDERS printed across it in gold
en- script. Beyond the clear glass
panel hung Venetian blind, effec-
lively screening the interior. But the
door was unlocked. Brent stepped in
to thickly carpeted small reception
room. White walls dotted with anus
ing caricatures under glass, unfram-
ed. A desk of some light dull wood.
Matching chairs upholstered in white
leather. A single shaded light.
The room was empty. Brent cross
ed it and wandered through other
empty, lighted rooms. Deserted draw
ing boards stood about. Pencil
sketches, ink drawings, paintings fin
ished an dincomplete, were stacked on
chairs and in corners. Pictures of
furniture, of sparkplugs, of girls in
lingerie and sportswear, of feet in
brogues and sandals, of hands holding
gardenias and securing powder.
Brent opened another door and
March glanced up inquiringly from
her drawing board. Above a crum-
pied green smock her face was glad
and incredulous all at once. There
was a pencil smudge on one cheek
and her hair was thrust back as tho
she had been running her fingers
through it. Brent took step for
ward and then he stopped. He want
ed to kiss her hair and her throat
and the tired blue shadows beneath
her sweeping lashes and, last of all,
the soft warmth of her red mouth.
The well-remembered warmth
So he said lightly, whats the
idea? Been promoted to nightwatch
MANI"
Her glance made Brent fear she
had sensed that thwarted impulse.
But her tone was as light as his, ex-
claiming, "This is nice! How did
you know was working?"
When he explained, she nodded,
smiling. I was just thinking I'd bet
ter call it a day. Everyone else has
gone"
Brent went and stood behind her,
studying the unfinished sketch on
which she had been working.
"Of course it doesn't look like any
thing to you," March objected. cts
what we call layout, a plan for
the spacing of the various items which
will compose the finished advertise
ment, their relation to each other"
Brent caught himself listening to
the soft deep flow of her voice, rath-
er than her explanation. Sternly he