The guardian., 1941-04-26
Your Life's Your
Own
By BETSY SHARPLESS
Mcclure Syndicate-WNU Service.I
Mcclure Syndicate-WNU Service

with Harmon, you're on the pay
roll. Nobody can get him. He won't
talk. I've given you tough job, but
it's only people who can do tough
jobs who win out these days. This
bird Harmon says a mans private
life is his own. You gotta show him
it isn't"
She turned away without a word,
already making plans to get to Har-
mon.
For the next three days Betty
Duane spent most of her time at
Harmon's offices, trying to cajole
somebody into letting her past the
barriers that led to his private do
main. But to no avail. Harmon, the
uninterviewed, intended to maintain
his aloofness. y
His rise to prominence had been
quick and spectacular. Two months
ago he was just highly intelligent,
thoroughly ambitious young lawyer,
with political ambitions. Then, be-
cause of his work on a state inves-
tlgatlng committee, appointed by
the governor, he had suddenly be-
come one of the most famous char
acters in the city where he lived.
Whether it was modesty or affec-
tation Betty did not know. But Har-
mon refused any sort of personal in
tervieW.
Betty was discouraged the third
day after the start of her attempt
to see Harmon. She decided to give
herself an afternoon off. Perhaps
an afternoon off would make her
feel more confident
So she ran in to see a young mar
ried friend. And Celia, as luck and
coincidence would have it, was in
quite fiutter of excitement about
Harmon.
"Bob and l are going to dinner
with Aunt Virginia tonight to meet
Charles Harmon. Isn't that fun,
Betty?" she asked.
Betty's heart thumped. She felt
like starving man with only a pane
of glass between himself and food.
"Oh, Celia" she said, "aren't you
the luckiest girl living. Meet
Charles Harmon! Why, I'd give my
soul to meet him.
Celia looked up in mild surprise.
"Well-Pn telephone Aunt Vir-
| ginia. Cousin Mary's got a sore
! throat, and l know she feels sicker
than cat and doesn't want to go
! tonight. Maybe Aunt Virginia will
ask you instead. Want to have me?"
At the end of the week Betty had
seen Charles Harmon three times.
First, at the dinner party given in
his honor, when she, a picture of
young charm in white chiffon, de-
mure and sweet, golden-haired and
pansy-eyed, had so impressed him
that he had asked her to meet him
at lunch the next day.
Second, at lunch, Betty dizzy with
suspense and the feeling of success.
Still young and sweet, but not so
demure. Excited, snappy tailored
in dark wool. Charles Harmon
charming-interested.
Third, on Saturday afternoon.
Charles Harmon driving her for
endless miles into the country-for
endless miles into Fairyland.
Locked in her desk at home was
an interview with Charles Harmon.
1t was a swell interview, Betty
knew. 1t would get her the coveted
place on the Flares payroll. And,
honestly, until Betty saw Charles
Harmon sitting at the wheel, waiting
for her, as she glanced at him from
the shelter of the door, she had
meant to take it to Perry Smith on
Monday morning.
But when Betty saw him waiting
for her-just a boy, she thought,
waiting for something that would
make him happy; as if she were
everything in the world he wanted.
That was the expression she sur
prised on his face as she looked at
him from behind the door and then,
as she left it's shelter, when he
caught sight Of her and sprang to
the ground to help her in beside
him.
In Fairyland-that is miles and
minutes away from the city, along
beautiful road that neither of
them saw-"Betty," said Charles
Harmon, "you know how l feel
about you, don't you?"
81 suppose l do" said Betty, seri-
ously, little troubled. Because
that is the way l feel about you"
Charles put one hand over her two
smaller ones, and drove adequately
along for minutes and miles with
out further speech. {
Then Betty said: Charles, I've
written story about you-an arti-
Gle, you know. I've been trying to
get job as a reporter on the Flare.
They said if l got an interview with
you could have the job. I cheated.
I wrote the article after that dinner.
was going to send it in Monday
morning. But l decided l wouldn't
as soon as l saw you today-before
you told me-"
Charles drew the car up at the
curb. One hand wasn't enough.
Betty" he said, II knew who you
were. I'm new enough to this game
of being famous to be curious about
it. peeked out my door to see the