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Show ... , , .... n,- '"2Z2TJ'iT """ I .' ' . 9- 1 , -, ' ,' V J - ". I . ' . .;, I ; . . '. t : - :.' ' -'' ft t ' i- "... i '' ' t r -s,;;r 'A ; & V, him. "Smithy," she pleaded, "I think he's right" That returning fear in hia eyes stabbed right through her. "Perhaps you should. go back. You need care. You need doctors that understand your case..." Her voice trailed off. She had seen a dog look like that, a dog whose master had unexpectedly unexpect-edly struck him. Slowly, he nodded. He was humble and crushed again. The wide Asylum doors were swinging open and he must accept the decree de-cree that condemned him there. She burst out, "Smithy, you're not angry with me? You don't think I've gone back on you?" His anguished eyes implored her not to torment him more. "Speak to me Smithy," she cried. "You could always speak to me." She clutched his hand but he pulled away and rose shakily to his feet. In sudden decision she went to the door. Her voice was level. "Wait for me Smithy." A short Interval later she returned, her bags in her hands. "Come on The? were married in the little Village Church. 'RANDOM Adapted from the Metro' 1 Goldwyn-Mayer Picture ' by . BEATRICE FABER - CAST OF CHARACTERS Chsrle Rainier - Ronald Cotmam T Paula - - - - Greer Garson . Dr. Jonathan Banat Philip Dora 3 Kitty ------ Susan Peter L Dr. Sima - - - - Henry Travera I "Bilfar" - - - Reginald Owen L Harrison ...... Bramwell Fletcher : Sam ------- ffhya William I Tobacconist ----- una O'Connor . Mr. Lloyd ..... charlea Waldron I Mrs. Lloyd ..... Elisabeth Risdon company. Yet somehow, sh was distinctive. "Yes. Yes I am. But I'm all right . . . really . . ." The girl nodded but now her voice was urgent. "Well she's gone straight to the telephone. She's telling then: to come for you. You'd better bet-ter hurry along with me." It was queer how quicklj things happened after that . . Smith at the Melbridge Arms pub, having a brandy and soda with this girl, Paula Ridgeway, being introduced to her friends then latei hearing her backstage at the theatre as she did her singing sing-ing turn. There wasn't muct to remember after that be- "Nonsense." He had spoken brusquely. brus-quely. The very thought had Deen shocking. How could he ever have been married to anyone . . out Paula! He had been helping ner spread out their small picnic luncn. Now his words came in a rusn. Suppose he were to make a living be independent. Paula would never have to talk about going back on the stage and . . . "Paula, it's an awful nerve but I've fallen in love with you." She sat back. Then all at once, she was in rebellion. No, he was just being a gentleman. Why, she'd run after him from the very beginning. be-ginning. She had never let him out of her sight since she had seen him in the tobacconist's shop. And now he was being grateful. "Oh Smithy, please don't ask me. I might take you up on it. I'm just that shameless." "Paula." His voice was eager, his face tense. "I love you more than anything in the world. My life began with you. I can't imagine im-agine a future without you." She looked at him a long time. It was strange how well she knew and loved this man who had no memories behind him. Finally, she spoke, "It's yes' darling," she said, "yes for all time." He sighed deeply. "Now I can relax." Then he looked around. "What did I do with that sandwich?" sand-wich?" There was a teasing twinkle in his eye. "I'm starving." Paula stared at him in consternation. conster-nation. "Smithy, you proposed to me and I've accepted you and " "What's wrong?" "Oh Smithy," she wailed, "do I always have to take the initiative? You're suppose to kiss me, darling." He put down the sandwich, bent over and took her in his arms. The milk bottle that stood between be-tween them toppled over unheeded as their lips met shyly, then clung for a long moment... They were married soon after that in the little Village Church while the Vicar's wife tremulously Bang, "Oh Perfect Love.- To Paula and Smithy she sounded like an angel. They settled down in ecstatic ecsta-tic contentment . . . and the little vine covered cottage they took nearby was filled with the joy of their unity. Smithy wrote steadily and his small success grew. Their marriage bore other fruit too. Just a year later Paula lay in bed, exhausted but radiant a3 Smithy took an awesome look at their new born son. . "Paula, Paula," he murmured. His smile was tender and quavery. "He's ours. Yours and mine." All at once, the door opened. It was the Vicar. What an exciting day for the post office, he burbled. Fancy, a telegram had come, a telegram for Smith. Why the whole town was in a froth. The message was from the Editor of the Mercury publication in Liverpool. Liver-pool. They were making Smithy an offer of a permanent staff position. But he must leave immediately, so he'd be there the next morning. Hurriedly, Smithy began packing his bags. Finally he was ready. He'd be staying at the Great Northern Hotel. It was near tha railroad station. Paula wasn't to worry. Everything would be all right. And when he came back, the little fellow would have a father he could really be proud of someone of position and importance import-ance in the world. The Vicar's car was waiting outside. out-side. As the horn sounded, Smithv came back for Paula's goodbve kiss. "Take care of my fam;'v. darling. See you tomorrow niht." She pressed her lips to his. Then her smile erased the worry on her forehead. "Tomorrow night. Good luck, Smithy." He left and her frown retu-ned. It was the first time since thpv'd met that they would be pnrtM But Smithy would be all rlslit. Of course. He'd come back saf'j. He must. (Good things liave come Smithy's way a wife, a child anrf T'-n a n. fi-1 --i t pv'nno1. V "T ' " t. cn or --71 his paxt tn -tnjrnmt Bn sin-e f - read :he next er-s'!'tg installment.) .-! !n tr. s. A. . .. - Tr,e Chapter One It was the Autumn of 1918, Just nt dusk and a man known as ami.h just John Smith, was ytrolling the grounds of the County Asylum at Melbridgo, England. His thoughts were rapid, kaleidoscopic kaleido-scopic and it bothered him that in speech he could only manage jerky, disjointed phrases. His eyes filled. It hurt not to be able to t iilc properly. Wisps of memory bothered his amnesia clouded mind. His last recollection went back only to the Autumn of 1917 when he had awakened in a German hospital . . . then been transferred to Kngland as an exchange prisoner. pris-oner. Who was he? Where had he come from? The questions hung in space, unanswered. A guard suddenly spoke out of the fog, pleasantly i hiding him for being out in such weather. Smith said, "I'm all right. Coat's very warm. I like to walk... like to walk." His accomplishment of speech sent a warm glow over him. He walked on in the swirling swirl-ing mist with a shade more confluence. con-fluence. Over in the town of Melbridge, the half-hearted gloom of day had settled into darkness. Melbridge's grimy factories had released their tollers for the evening and about now the pubs would be alive with discussion of the war. How soon would England beat the Heinies? Could the war really be ended in 1918 as some predicted? Endlessly, the questions and answers would go the rounds again, not only in Molii'idge but all over England. Smith, however, wasn't concerned with these queries. Always, his mind was occupied with but one kioa ... to pierce beyond his mental nothingness ... to learn the mystery mys-tery of his blanked out past. AW at once, a siren screamed through the silence. It soared up and down in wild flurries. Another joined in, then several more. The noise mounted in a crazy delirium of sound. Smith was rooted to the ground with fear. There were sirens, bells and whistles. Then he heard voices calling to each other joyously. "The Armistice! It's ponce' The war's over..." It didn't fill Smith with elation. Somehow, the news seemed unrelated un-related to him. But suddenly he looked ahead. The wide grilled gates were open. In the excitement they'd been left unguarded. Fearfully, Fear-fully, he walked toward them. Then, without thinking he broke into a run. Not until he reached Melbridge, seething with celebrating celebrat-ing humanity, did he s'ow down to a walk. Impulsively he stepped into a tobacconist's shop to ask for cigarettes. Strange, the sharp eyed proprietress propriet-ress was taking quite a time about it. Suddenly, a low. musical voice said. "You're from the Asylum aren't you?" Nervously, he swune aronncl. young girl with copw-v i"v- ' looked whst she 7;!"-, -t,-.cc! in a ;---- - , . . . cause he became feverish and. chilled chill-ed at the same time. He recalled Paula bending over him, looking so concerned . . . It was days later that he came to his senses again, to learn that he'd been quite ill with the 'flu. Then Paula told him wonderful news. She'd taken quite a fancy to him and wasn't going to let him be sent back to the Asylum. Instead, Sam, the manager of the troupe, was giving him a job travelling with them. Everything would be fine. In the next day, Smith tried to absorb this miracle along with returning re-turning health. It was over. The dark past was gone. No longer would he be a strange, floating bit of driftwood on the stream of life. He was an individual now. He was a person. Towards the end of the show that night Paula ran in. "Oh," she beamed, "good boy. I see you're all packed. So am I. Our train leaves at one." A sudden qualm beset him. "Paula . . . you're sure I can be useful . . . that your manager isn't taking me on . . . just because you asked him to?" She looked at this man who need her so pitifully. Without warning warn-ing he had stolen into her heart. He must ibe saved. He was too good a person to remain as debris of the war. Bright tears stood in her eyes. "Good gracious Smithy you don't know Sam. He's hard as nails. No, you can take my word for it. He thinks you have something and the whole thing was his idea." His smile flickered. "I can't tell you what it means Paula ... to be someone again ... to be wanted. It's all your doing." He was sitting there in quiet contentment when she returned at twelve thirty. He started up eager-i eager-i ly. Then the grave expression of her face stopped him. "Nothing ...wrong, is there?" Shp sat down and her voice trembled. "I've got to talk to you Smithy." She steadied herself al-rost al-rost to curtness. "I won't beat biut the bush. Sam won't take von now." ir from the A'-vIuti hd Smithy. Get your coat on. Well take the back stairs." The pub below was dimly lighted and clouded with smoke. They crept past it stealthily. Smith was dazed, hardly knowing what he was doing or where he was going. go-ing. But at least he was with Paula. A little later they were seated in a third class compartment compart-ment of a train bound for the country, just beyond Melbridge. It was almost dawn when they reached reach-ed Mrs. Deventer's rustic inn at Wickham. Paula had stopped there once with her father a long time ago and remembered the place fondly. It was simple enough, explaining to the kindly Mrs. Deventer that Smithy was her fiance and that she had brought him here after a long illness, so that he might convalesce. con-valesce. And so it was, In the dawn of that lovely morning that they took up their new rural existence. Paula's meager savings would be enough to skim through on for a while. After that? Well, no need to worry now. Their days were spent in fishing, fish-ing, bicycle riding and reading. A new strength and health came to Smithy. Between him and Paula, there sprang up an idyllic relationship, rela-tionship, companionable and loving. lov-ing. Smithy was hardly aware of its import though until the day that Paula returned from the Post Office with a letter for him. He had been dozing under a willow tree. He looked up and saw her fingering the letter with curiosity. His voice came lazily, "If I were you, I'd open it." She started and laughed. "Oh Smithy, you are a fraud. And here I am, just dying to know what's in it." They ripped open the envelope. The enclosure was a check, a very tiny check to be sure. It was from the managing editor of the Liverpool Liver-pool Mercury publication in payment pay-ment for an article that Smithv had submitted. Why, Smithy was an author.- He had written something some-thing and been pnid for it. "SrnitV""." fp "I wonder i'" you vpre a w-;-- fore . . . bpfo1'.-1 : v.'.-?-. " and sh - ni"--: |