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Show I I Little Kid By WILLIAM J. MURDOCH ' McClure Newspaper Syndicate. WNU Features. MRS. HASTINGS woke with a start. She lay in the dark, feeling feel-ing her heart pound while she mentally men-tally routed the fear remaining from her nightmare. Outside the wind mournfully hummed a lonely song of summer midnight. A storm was brewing: they would all need light blankets. Mrs. Hastings reached for her robe on the chair beside the table. Then she remembered the quarrel with Frankie. Not a quarrel, really, tor her first-born carried his 16 pears in a manner that would not permit of bickering. But he had been resentful when she chided him for buying her a bottle of perfume with the money he had earned on his first Saturday of helping at the corner cor-ner grocery. Frankie was a fine, splendid boy to think of his mother when he received re-ceived compensation for his first job. But she wanted him to learn the value of money, to realize that at this time there were more important im-portant things than luxuries. At the jupper table, however, when she saw his stormy, sullen face she knew Bhe had been cruel not to withhold her criticism until he had tasted all the sweetness of his gesture. Mrs. Hastings tiptoed into Jackie's room. She covered him, and as she looked down at the child she recalled re-called Frankie at that age. He was sensitive and highstrung even then. How many, many hours he had spent in the lonesome, sparsely furnished fur-nished spare room on the third Boor, banished there to reflect upon his moody willfulness! It seemed but yesterday. Mrs. Hastings kissed Jackie and left noiselessly. Softly she opened the door of Frankie' s room and peeped in. His bed was empty, its spread unruffled. unruf-fled. She turned abruptly and hurried hur-ried back to her own room. The hands on the clock pointed to 12:45. Mrs. Hastings was frightened. Frankie wasn't the type to stay out late just because his father was way on a business trip. He had left the house early in the evening to go to a show with Tim Strong and Joe Dietrich. But now it was nearly one o'clock! What if Frankie were in some hospital, hos-pital, calling for her? There was no telephone in the house; she couldn't be reached. What if his injured feelings feel-ings had spurred him to hurt her by running away? And there were so many young boys joining the armed services. . . . Jackie would be safe alone for a short time. Mrs. Hastings went to her bedroom and dressed. A few minutes later she hurried to the Dietrichs' house in the next block. It was dark, and Joe, when he was awakened by his father in answer to Mrs. Hastings's imperative knock, only increased her anxiety. "Tim and I left Frankie at the corner hours ago, Mrs. Hastings," the boy said sleepily. "Gosh, I hope nothing's noth-ing's wrong!" "Thanks Joe," said Mrs. Hastings. Has-tings. She wanted to run, hard and fast, anywhere. "No, nothing's wrong." Nothing wrong? Mrs. Hastings stood on the sidewalk in front of the house. There was only one thing to do; one place to go. She lowered her head to the gathering storm and Btarted. She ran a block, then walked, then ran until she reached the police station, breathless and filled with dread. The interview with the desk sergeant was brief and grim. He was polite, cold and detached. de-tached. Mrs. Hastings steeled herself her-self for a blow at the officer glanced through reports. But there was nothing there for her, not even hope, for now Frankie was alone somewhere, beyond her help. Mrs. Hastings escaped to the clean air outside. Frankie, Frankie, She let herself into the house. Tormented, Tor-mented, her nerves ragged, she all but collapsed into a chair. If only Bhe had been more understanding! A footfall in the upper hallway startled her. "Jackie?" she called, trying to keep her voice calm. "What is it, dear?" "I'm cold. I want a blanket." Mrs. Hastings rose quickly. "Frankie!" she cried, running up the stairs. "Frankie, where have you been?" The boy kept his eyes averted from her tearful smile. He rubbed onehand through his tousled hair and plucked at the leg of his pajamas in embarrassment. "In the spare room," he said in a low voice. A glimmer of recollection came to Mrs. Hastings. "Remember how you used to send me up there to shame me out of my pouting?" Frankie asked self-con-scously, grinning up at his mother. "Well aw, tonight I acted like a kid when you explained about my present, and I felt pretty cheap about it all evening. You were in bed when I came home and I thought maybe I could square myself my-self for acting the way I did if I went up to the third floor. Silly, I guess I'm sorry, Mom, honest. Gosh, do you suppose I'll ever grow up?" Laughing, her voice unnaturally high, Mrs. Hastings held Frankie close. Yes, he would grow up. He had grown that night, and she was thankful that he had matured enough to treat himself like a little kid her little Frankie for the first time. |