The Waterbury Democrat., 1941-09-09

HNAW VI tAMNSANhNM sA A9AAVW0 AtNaAT
 ton expert for the magazine of
 which she is an associate editor,
 she runs Into Sandy Zimmerman,
 flashing young aviator, about to
 leave on a test flight to San Fran
 cisco. They make date and
 Sandy leaves on his flight. The
 fashion expert doesn't show up,
 and Judy makes plans to inter
 view someone else for her column.
 Tho next morning on her way
 uptown, Judy is startled by
 headline in the newspaper.
 CHAPTER IT
 There were four paragraphs on the front page of the newspaper Four paragraphs encircled in a heavy black line
 Her wide, brown eyes became darker, deeper lonelier The story was brief, terse, final, It didn't tell about the string of records Sandy had hung up. It didn't mention the way he had beaten the winds from coast to coast. It didn't even say that he was brave and gallant and had invented parachute
 It did say, though that no radio communications with Sandy had been established for 10 hours. It was thought that no time had been given the flyer to radio for help, Somewhere, high over the moun- tains, he had known his ship was cracking up,
 She read again the small head above the single column.
 FLYER BELIEVED DEAD;
 RESCUE SQUAD UNABLE
 TO FIND MISSING PLANE
 BELIEVED DEAD. Then no- oody knew that he was dead. Slowly the words began to take clearer meaning. Perhaps Sandy waited somewhere. Oh, of course vhe couldn't wing her thoughts to himl The air was filled with traf- Ave noises, radio sounds and radio static, and away to the west high white hills reoceupled with the roar of rivers and cataracts,
 She could pray for him, though. She closed her eyes and sent Q message skyward, westawrd.
 She pushed the button and left the bus at 42nd street. She couldn't even wait until she reach- cd her own office with It's cream carpet and furniture, It's rose chint2 draperies and crystal bowls of roses Instead she darted Into Q cigar store found an empty booth, and dialed Skyways Incorporated. She talked for a long time Several times she put in nickels. She knew that shG was insisting that wider search bC made for Sandy. She knew, too, that the company was promising to do It's best.
 "Who are youp" the courteous voics 10 miles away asked. "A sister-young Zimmerman wasn't married, was he?"
 No, no, he wasn't married" But he had wanted to be. He had asked her half a dozen times. And sht wouldn't be engaged. Now he wal gone and she would forget her job, anyone, anything If he would come back and smile at her.
 To the person at Skyways The corporated, she said, I'm Sandy Aiumerman's fiancee."
 She hung up and walked swiftly out of the shop, lost herself in the crowd that hurried up Fifth avenue Sandy Ammerman's flancee. Ht didn't know 1t. Probably he never would But she felt an invisible, cur ious bond had slipped out of the telephone booth and found him somewhere. Ten minutes later, seat. Cd ct her desk, she was going over the list of probable interviews for that morning.
 Life was odd, she unused as she checked names. It changed It's tempo so quickly. One moment a marching song, the next, e death watch. Life was a ball of worsted, tangled too madly for further use "a painted mask you mustn't take of-a song you couldn't sing any more
 Outside the rain began, and great drops were flung against the window pane. The yellow lamps were pools of brightness that cast lanibent shadows on the low shelves of books the shiny covers of which attested to their new ness. The chairs, grouped in- formally around her long desk, were deep and inviting.
 Only three days ago Sandy had sat In the nearest one, long legs stretched carelessly, one hand tumbling the rough, bright hair, gray eyes trying to see mountains and rivers so he might bring them to her. Maybe you're near-sighted and I'm far-sighted," he had said, a little wearily, at last. You want to see your name on your maga- zine cover down in the streets, and I want to set my chart for some place that isn't in the least impor- tant to me except that I've never been there! Perhaps shouldn't | try to change you. It's just that I love you, Judy. But come on, I really came by to take you to din- ner." She had gone and they had been gay. Almost too gay. They had dined at little French place on West 57th street where the food was excellent. They had taken a cab to a rendezvous in the Village where a blind musician smilingly played anyone's requests, and boys, with voices deep and thun- dering sang for their supper while