OCR Text |
Show THmCip CORNER 11 I BANDBOX BETTY I yirJ By MARY KEMPE CHEATHAM misplaced commas, Mr. Humphreys was happy, John seemed happy and Betty was almost happy. Only that was all that ever happened. Never once had John attempted to kiss her or even hold her hand. He was, she concluded finally, a confirmed bachelor. "Just as I," she thought, poking savagely at the typewriter keys, "am a confirmed old maid." It was a Saturday, almost moon quitting time. John had not oalled, and the future suddenly became a whole series of weary calendar pages, neatly torn off day by day and deposited in the wastebasket As she walked from the building, there was John's convertible parked at the entrance. "Get in," he called, "we're goini on a picnic!" It was amazing bow his red hair eould brighten up the dayl Betty was happily in the ear before she even noticed his female companion. compan-ion. "Oh!" she gasped. For there, huddled between John and a bulging bulg-ing plcnle basket, was a startling apparition a little girl with freckles, wide bine eyes and the same red hair! "Relax," smiled John. "Muggsy l Just my niece. Every year, about thli time, I take her on a picnic." "Oh," said Betty again, uncertain ly. Muggsy gave her a broad grin "Would you," she asked, "have had coverage for THAT?" The card read, "John J. Thomas, Insurance." The young man chuckled, too. "I came here," he remarked, "to talk to Mr. Humphreys about accident Insurance." "Sure, sure," murmured Mr. Humphreys, Hum-phreys, still shaken. "Come right in. Have one of the boys put that thing on a bracket for you," he said to Betty, indicating the fan. When they emerged from Mr. Humphreys' sanctum, John Thomas had a pleased expression on his face and, no doubt, a poliey in the bag. "It was really her fault, you know," he remarked to Mr. Humphreys, Hum-phreys, loitering at the door. "She looked so cool, I didn't even see that chair." "Miss Barclay always looks cool In summer," said Mr. Humphreys proudly, "and neat all the year "round." HEAT shimmered from the downtown down-town pavements. Torrid light fell in bars through the Venetian blinds in Mr. Humphreys' private office, carrying with It a coppery odor, like that of a penny clutched too long in a perspiring palm. It was a hot day all right, and the city lay panting under the noonday sun. "Leave the door open. Miss Barclay," Bar-clay," called Mr. Humphreys, as Betty returned from lunch. "Let the air circulate." "Whew," he added, mopping his brow, "we've got to get some air conditioning In this hotbox." Betty smiled, removing her white gloves and her crisp white hat Mr. Humphreys said the same thing every summer. She laid her gloves and white purse neatly, a way in the bottom desk drawer and sat down at the typewriter. With her blonde hair sleek and smooth and her pale green dress miraculously unwrin-kled, unwrin-kled, she looked as cool and fresh as an iced limeade. "How do you do it, Miss Barclay!" marveled Mr. Humphreys, entering the cubicle of an outer office where she sat as secretary and receptionist "You can't be as cool as you lookl Anyhow, let's put this fan out here somewhere to stir up a little breeze." He looked around vaguely, pulled out a chair a few feet from Betty's desk, set the fan on It plugged in the cord and returned to his own large desk through the open door marked Private. Betty gazed doubtfully at the fan whirring away on the chair before her. She anchored the fluttering papers pa-pers on her desk with paperweights, and, with a little frown of annoyance, annoy-ance, smoothed back the tendrils of hair which were beginning to blow loose from the bun at the nape of her neck. She caught Mr. Humphreys Hum-phreys looking at her and smiled. After all, Mr. Humphreys was the boss. If he wanted to go around putting electric fans on chairs, it was no business of hers. Anyway, Mr. Humphreys was nice. Nice, and quite, quite happily married. They were all quite happily married, mar-ried, thought Betty with a sigh, as she began on her transcription. All the really nice members of the office of-fice force in the other departments, all the nicest salesmen. That business busi-ness of romance In an office was just something you read about in magazines. "Is Mr. Humphreys in?" She looked up as a tall, broad-shouldered, broad-shouldered, red-haired young man strolled toward her desk and thrust a business card into her hand. Before Be-fore she knew what was happening, he bad pulled up his trouser legs slightly, to preserve their meticulous crease, and had begun to assume a sitting position over the whirring fan. "Don't sit down!" Betty shrieked, simultaneously with Mr. Humphreys' shout Tbe young man catapulted away from the chair as though a bomb suddenly had sprung from the fan blades. Backed against Betty's desk, he stared, then grinned. Mr. Humphreys, flown to the rescue, was mopping his brow again, bat not from heat "That" he said, shakily, "was a narrow escape." He disconnected the fan and stood, bewlldcredly, holding It- Her composure regained now that catastrophe had been averted, Betty became once more all cool efficiency. She glanced at the card. She chuckled. She could not help it Aluggsy gave her a broad grin, the more effective for three missing miss-ing teeth. "You're pretty," she said. "I like you." "Like she's just stepped out of a bandbox," John continued. Betty flushed. She had had the expression applied to her before. Since her first days with the company, com-pany, she knew she had been familiarly fa-miliarly referred to by the other employees as "Bandbox Betty," but it was disconcerting to be discussed In this fashion. "The least she can do," he teased, "is give me a dinner date." "That's fair enough," echoed Mr. Humphreys, "if it's all right with Miss Barclay." "Well," conceded Betty, "but I warn you, I have all the insurance I need." Dinner with John Thomas was distinctly pleasant It was cool in the Orchid room and the table appointments ap-pointments were perfect The floor show was good, the food even better. From cocktail to parfait the courses were faultless. John himself met every requirement as an escort Betty began to be glad Mr. Humphreys Hum-phreys had put the fan on a chair. "Not a hair out of place," John commented. "They drill it into you," countered Betty, "at secretarial school. White collars, tidy fingernails, all that" "I'LL BET," John said, suddenly, eyes twinkling, "YOU WOULDN'T EVEN GET MUSSED AT A PICNIC!" PIC-NIC!" She had a number of dates with John, their tempo always smooth and pleasant Her work suffered no the more effective for three missing teeth. "You're pretty," she said. "I like you." She climbed into Betty's lap and settled herself with a comfortable com-fortable sigh. "You've got a pretty dress," she added, stroking it with a hand which was just a trifle grimy. Betty looked down at her wrinkled skirt but under the child's weight it could not be straightened. John, busy with getting the convertible out of the Saturday traffic, appeared not to notice. He looked different in wash trousers and sports shirt Muggsy, too, wore a washable print dress. Betty ruefully considered her office apparel but made no comment As they drove, the wind whipped at Betty's hair. She had no net and all she could do was keep pinning the strands back in place. When they reached the picnic spot Muggsy jumped up and down in delight de-light "C'n I wade, Uncle John, c'n I wade?" she called, casting off shoes and socks and stepping into the creek. "I'm going to look for crawdads," she declared, peering stealthily under rocks in the shallow stream, now and then letting her dress tail dribble in the water. Betty was gazing into a pocket mirror, trying to smooth her hair. "Come help me," John called, piling twigs in a little rock fireplace. "You unpack the lunch, while I build a fire to make the coffee and broil the steaks." The fire smoked, ashes fell into the coffee, the charred stick forks made smudges. Betty did bar bet to stay neat but Muggsy was everywhere every-where at once, dribbling steak-juice, mustard and catsup. A stinging sensation sen-sation crept behind Betty's eyelids as she recalled John's admiring words, "I'LL BET YOU WOULDN'T EVEN GET MUSSED AT A PICNIC." PIC-NIC." She pulled ineffectually at her wrinkled frock, dabbed with a handkerchief at stains, wiped the dust from her shoes. It was unfair of John to put her to such a test The picnic dragged mercilessly on to an amusement park Where Muggsy wanted to ride a roller coaster. Betty shuddered. She hated roller coasters, she hated flying turns, but she found herself hurtling through space with John and Muggsy in any number ot crazy fashions. When they emerged, her bun was quite gone, the blonde hair hanging loosely about her shoulders. Her shoes were full of shavings from the amusement park grounds, she had a run in her hose and her face was smudged and devoid of makeup. John stared at her and laughed aloud. "What" he asked, "has become be-come of Bandbox BettyT" Someone, she thought saould slap his face, but before she eould put the impulse into effect he had seized her hands and pulled her close. To her amazement he kissed her fiercely, fierce-ly, before all the people in the amusement park, with Muggsy giggling gig-gling ai there both. Everything seemed to fade away as she kissed back. "That" he breathed, "Is more like it" "1 couldn't have stood It" he said, "to have you respond with nothing but a neat little peck." |