Newspapers / Zebulon Record (Zebulon, N.C.) / July 23, 1937, edition 1 / Page 14
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I>n you he w*ot on, jiist r.M if tt were his own idea, " 111 run Miss Carew* In with me*and you two can stay r sh« final gun.” t Pete was so dependalrte. ‘‘Do you mind, Narendra?” Tom waa trying to be polite and not take his ey . off the track a, same time. “Certainly not!” Leone didn’t dare look at anybody. She smiled and, out of the comer of her eye, saw Tom tip his hat perfunctorily aa Narendra slid past. DOWN at the exit Pete looked back, grinned as he caught Leone’s eye, ran a finger across his throat and started down the stairs where Narendra had disappeared. They stayed another three-quarters of an hour to get final scores and applaud the winners as they were introduced over the loud-speakers. So it was after 5 when they snailed with the crowd out into the street. “What a meet! What a meet!" Tom chanted, grinning. “I haven’t seen ne like that since Naren— since —for a long time." For nearly a year now, Leone told him, silently. Ever since he’d started buying orchids in carload lots. “I’m starved, aren’t you?" he said abruptly. “I don’t suppose you, by any chance, like Italian food?" “I adore it!” “Really! With onions?" “With onions!" Tom began doing a semaphore at a cruising taxi. “Take us to Lucini’s,” he told the driver. Then while they edged through the traffic, Tom made a noise like a prosecuting attorney. “Like picnics?" “Love them." “Like to swim? Really get wet?" “Uh-huh." “What don’t you like?” “Well, orchids for one thing,” she said demurely. “Good.” Suddenly he seemed absorbed in the back of the driver’s head. “Who is he?" “Jerry Hodges,” Leone read blandly ff the placard over the door. “And if he doesn’t give smiling service the com pany would appreciate " “I mean,” Tom glowered at her. “Who is the man you said you were going to make biscuits for?” “Oh, him?” Leone even managed a shrug. “Let’s forget about him.' “Do you love him?” Leone felt a treacherous flush. "Yes, I’m afraid .1 do!" “Does he love you?” “Well— I— I ” “Hasn't he said so?" “What kind of a damned fool is he?” he demanded savagely. ’s 11 i I d-hear’ Bn'’ very near-sighted. I work for him.” Tom gasped, fumbled, recovered, and shot an arm around her waist. “You mean he was near-s.ighled ani you used to work for him,” correc ’ her firmly and then kissed her— hard. Bill Bevans bfrike the troiifrj record last year, cal can’t afford to lose any more now. We’re just about evA.” * “Tom, are you going to me a drink?” Narendra’s voice was getting * prickly at the edges. “Sure,” he said and began the long climb over laps and legs and empty seat* to the aisle. He was gone through most of the vaulting and when he came crawling back he had a bottle of jaundiced-looking orange soda pop in each hand. “Walked all around this damned place," he panted. “ ’S all I could get.” Narendra wouldn’t touch the stuff. So they drank it. Leone and Pete and Tom. During she 100-yard dash, Leone yelled like a Comanche Indian. Tom and Pete went berserk. Then Tom missed the finish of that, too, because Narendra simply couldn’t stand the sun another minute, so he folded a program and made a sunshade for her. “And a blinder for myself," he mut tered under his breath as he stared at an upside-down photograph of an athlete throwing a discus. Down on the track the winner sw'ept across the finish line and the whole stadium burst into a roar. "Who was it? Who was it?” Tom begged frantically. “Stanford man,” Pete walled. “Who was he?” And then the three of them bent heads over Leone's program and muttered names and compared records. “There hasn’t been a race like that In years,” Tom said, almost awed. “Say, am I glad we came. This was your idea, too, wasn’t it, Leone?” Modestly, Leone admitted that it was. When the relay started, Cal’s entry got , a five-yard lead. Tom was savaging the I end of his cigarette. Then the second man dropped the baton. Tom leaped up, shouting: "Get that stick, you damned idiot. Get that stick.” At his elbow Leone supplemented: “And hang onto it.” He did and fought his way back. “They’ve still got a chance,” Pete mut tered over Leone’s shoulder. The third man got back three of the original five yards’ lead. “Colossal! Simply colossal!" Tom ' pumped Leone’s hand as if she deserved the credit, personally. Narendra stood up. “I can’t stand this any longer. I’m simply suffocating.” The fashionable high collar of her costume suit did look a bit dejected and i her nose was decidedly beetish where her brimless toque let the sun get to it. Leone felt crisp as fresh lettuce in her linen suit. "But gosh, Narendra.” Tom protested. “Why, the whole meet depends on this relay. It won’t take long — if Cal makes the five points then ” “I don’t care if Cal makes fifty-five i points,” Narendra said coldly. “I’m leav i ing now.” “Pete, what time was your appoint ment?” Leone asked so innocently that for a moment she was afraid Pete wasn't 1 going to catch on. T,eon»» spared h'm one of her si»‘lnl smiles. “Good idea.” Tom opened doors* and made way for Narendra mJth the flourish of a doorman in brass buttons. “Where are we going?” “To the ” Pete began, but Leone got ahead of him. ‘Tt’» a surprise," she said. “Wait and see!" So they waited and they saw. Tom was delighted when they parked beside the new college field. That is, until he saw Narendra's frozen horror. “Not —not a track meet!" she said in the same tone she'd have spoken of a lynching. “Best one of the season, too,” Leone assured her blithely, and climbed out Pete began on his statistics and the Phi Tau Something in Tom succumbed. rpHE broad*Jump pit was just below them and Stanford’s Bill Grant had already made a beautiful Jump. And the Cal entry was teetering on tiptoe twenty yards from the sawdust pit, getting set, starting with little running steps, faster, faster as he neared the pit. Tom hunched forward, forgot to light his cigarette, looked for a minute as if he'd forgotten to breathe. Just before the jumper hurled him self feet first across the chalk line Narendra decided to take off her coat. It was gorgeous, of course —either mmk or dyed ermine, Leone wasn’t sure And big. Tom helped her, and so he missed the jump, after all. “Oh, too bad, Tom,” Leone consoled him. “That was a beauty.” “Boy, that was jumping,” Pete assured them and they all watched the score board as if lives instead of points de pended on it. “We took ’em!” Pete screeched when a big white 5 dropped into the slot. “Nice going." Tom started to fold the coat on the seat, but Narendra vetoed that, so he had to hold it on his knees. During the quarter-mile. Spike Martin showed a spurt just when it looked too bad for Cal. “Get going. Spike!” Tom bellowed at him and flapped the ermine —or mink coat at him. Leone and Pete crescendoed Tom’s pleadings. “Get moving. Spike!” Spike heard them all right and moved into second place just as the first carried the tape across the finish line. Four more points on the big scoreboard. “Boy, what a race! Three more strfdes and he’d have made first!" Tom exulted and pounded Narendra on the shoulder. “Did you see that, Narendra? Came right up from " “Yes, I saw it." Narendra snapped, dab bing at the perspiration on her forehead. “Tom, could you get me a drink of water?” * “’S matter? Too warm for you?” Tom asked evasively and watched the entries for the pole vault. “Who’s the tall guy with the white hair?” Leone consulted the program. “An derssen. Stanford entry. Both he and "When better throi«f« lire rot y—” Ljpone muttered sweetly and got jut. “I’ll phone you tomorrow." But about 11 the next moaning Naren dra swept herself and her double silver foxes Into the office and claimed an appointment with Tom. Not that she really had one, Leone thought and poked Tom’s buzzer. Tom always left all appointments up to her. Besides, he was up to his eyes In the Farland damage case this morning But “Miss Carewe to see you, Mr. Tyson,” she clipped Into the mouthpiece. “Show her right In, please.” He sounded as If his fairy godmother had Just granted him three wishes. Pete was probably right. Trying to compete In the Carewe class was simply leading with her chin. For the next hour Leone filed all the “unpaid” bills very carefully In the "paid” file and got a different answer every time she added the column In her cash book. It was nearly noon before they finally came out. “We're going to lunch now. Miss Lan don,” Tom said. "Get us two tickets for a matinee this afternoon. Some thing good— use your own Judgment.” “And. darling, hadn't you better re serve a table at the Richelieu for to night?” Narendra was positively pur ring. "It’s always so crowded.” "Yes. Ask for Henri, Miss Landon I'll be back about 1 for the tickets.” “Yes, Mr. Tyson.” After they had gone Leorn drew capital Ns all around the edge of a blotter and thought. Finally she turned up an idea. It had to do with a memo in the personnel file. Tom Tyson had won his letter in basketball and been elected to Phi Tau Something for all round sportsman. Leone plugged in her head phone and whipped the dial, R-O-7-6-6-5. "Pete, this is Leone. Could you get four tickets to the track meet this after noon?” “Sure.” “On the sunny side?" “Guess so. What's up?” "My hopes, mostly. Meet me here at the office at 1? Bye.” It was quarter after 12 now. A taxi home. Into a crisp white linen and a hat with a brim. And back by 1. It worked out that way, too. Pete, In fact, rode up in the same elevator. And Narendra and Tom were waiting. Greetings all around. Then: “Did you get the tickets?” Tom asked. Leone nodded. "Yes, and Pete and 1 decided to go, too.” She smiled all charm and innocence and sweetness and light. “I knew you wouldn't mind." “No, of course not." Tom didn t really. Narendra drew and quartered ner with a glance and said, very sweetly "How nice.” “Let's all go in my crate:” Pete sug gested while they waited for the “down" elevator. meaning "how deadly.” • Torn and V’ete began talking iinuit tomorrow s big track meet, taut had things to say about the turtle soup. “It’a perfectly nauseous,” she said, and told about the marvelous food at Claridge's. Leone felt discouragement settle around her shoulders like a cloak. Even Pete, who usually wasn’t too concerned about anything in particular, was posi tively hypnotized. After the entre they danced. “Pete, - Leone said under cover of some good rhumba music, “what do you thins about love?” “Not much. Why?” “If you were in love with a man who was in love with another girl, what would you do?” Pete's dancing wasn't anything extra at any time. When he wasn't concen trating on it it wasn't dancing at all Leone walked around after him now. “Well,” he considered, scowling, “prob ably I’d figure out what there was about the other girl and try to be as near like her as I could.” rpHE rest of the evening was a total loss. Tom had friends at practically every table. Charming people whod really done things. Narendra really, really must meet them. Tom, Leone translated silently, really must show off his prize! And Pete went statistical about track teams and all-around athletes. So for hours Leone watched the back of Tom s head and wondered why Pete couldn’t have been tall and red-headed and adorable. It would have simplified things so! In the lobby, as they were leaving, Tom and Narendra stopped to say good night. “Wasn't it fun?” Leone asked. Just to fill up a chink in the conversation. “Fun?" Narendra shrugged magnifi cent boredom. "I loathe crowds.” Tom looked uncomfortable and mut tered something about making impor tant business contacts. "Os course, darling,” Narendra smiled. “But you can't expect me to enjoy it.” Leone made her smile do everything but clasp hands. “I think it's fun meei . ing all kinds of different people.” Tom answered that with a grin that was like a fraternity handclasp. So on the way home Leone began to work on a second idea. “Pete,” she said when they got to ner street, “do you have tomorrow after noon off?” “Saturday? Sure. Why?” “I'll be needing some more advice." “Say, It isn't Tom Tyson you're trying to trip up, is it?” Pete demanded with sort of dumb horror. "Tom Tyson is a very nice person.” “Sure. But Narendra Carewe! Woman, she's tops!” he said, and made a boulevard stop where there wasn t any. “You -don't think you're good enough to cut her throat?” uiru ouuru, i turuai.v umibi . uinr a Tpm Tyson. You know him, don't you?" “Sure. He's n irateiity brother.'* Pete; ! grinned and waved. "Hi, Tyson!” Tom burrowed his way through tha crowd. "Pete, you old goat! What tha devil are you doing here?” “Devil wasn't in on this. It’a Leone* idea." He tinned to her. “You two know ' •ach other?” “I don’t believe I " Tom began du biously. But Leone smiled. “Certainly. How are you—Tom?” For an instant ha Just stared. Then, “Oh, yes, of course, it’s —you. You look different, somehow.” "Why don’t we take a table together?” Pete suggested Just as if he'd memorized cues. "How many in your party?” "Just two. Miss Carewe and myself.” La Narendra was probably in checking her newest mink wrap. And pinning on the orchids Leone had ordered that morning. “I'll go buy up the head waiter,” Pete offered and started toward the dining room. "Don’t misplace Leone." “Not a chance.” Tom's smile had no “please-take-a-letter" flavor now. “Let’s dance before the floor gets Jammed." This was too smooth. You could dream things would work out this way, but they didn't really happen. Tom guided her through the maze of couples. "Surprised to find you here," he said. "Didn't know you went in for all this.” That, she decided, must be the prim white collar and cuff influence. “Did you think I spent my evenings making patch work quilts?” His laugh began down deep in his middle somewhere. “No, I’d have pic tured you studying 'Principles of Busi ness Efficiency,’ though. How long have you been with McCracken & Spears?” “Two years.” “And before that?” Leone slanted a smile at him. “In Santa Rosa. Going to school.” “I thought so.” he said and scowled. “Why don’t you go back there and marry that old beau and learn to make biscuits? An office is no place for a girl like you.” The music wailed to a halt and they started back to the lounge. "Because I know how to make biscuits already.” she told him. “And I*v got a new beau —right here in San Francisco." Pete came barging toward them. “You two go along,” Tom said. "We'll be right with you.” T>UT It was nearly thirty minutes before ■*-* they came. Tom, who was curt if L*one didn’t answer his buzzer within five seconds, was all smiles. And Miss Carewe —Leone’s turtle soup suddenly tasted like lukewarm gelatin. “How do you do, Miss Landon," she said when Tom introduced them. Her voice was like Slavic music. It matched the mjwtery of her dark eyes. Leone bowed and snapped a cracker between cold Angers. She was gorgeous, really. A coronet of black hair wound around her head, her skin like spilled cream above the daring black velvet.
Zebulon Record (Zebulon, N.C.)
Standardized title groups preceding, succeeding, and alternate titles together.
July 23, 1937, edition 1
14
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