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Page 21 text:
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SEMINARIA 1944 17 He was Mary's romance. Bob and Mary had many happy times together. There were picnics with daintily prepared box lunches, civic concerts, often walks through the park, and once in a while a splurge with dinner at a restaurant and a movie, on the evenings when Mrs. Madden had other plans. Mary had just finished bundling the last of her charges off for the day when she was called to the phone. She heard Bob's impatient voice, Listen, dear, I'm in a rush and I have to see you immediately. Please meet me at the second bench in the lane at the park, right away. Mary enjoyed the walk through the park. She slackened her pace and took a deep breath of the cold, fresh air and viewed the scene around her. The lightly falling snow veiled the luxurious forest in bridal white, and the lights from the homes across the way completed the atmosphere of fairyland. She walked lightly and leisurely, loving the sound of the snow crunching under her feet and the soft touch of the flakes on her cheeks. Bob was waiting for her when she arrived. He seemed eager to tell his news, and happiness radiated from his boyish face. He rose quickly and grasped both her hands in his. Mary, he said the chance of a lifetime! The Stoker Company are sending an engineer into Mexico. The pay is more than I ever dreamed. The work is what I've always wanted. Their project will take two years to complete. Don't you see what it means to us both? Mary raised her eyes, her hands still prisoners in his. Bob continued, his excitement too great to wait for her answer. We'll be married at once. You'll love Mexico. It's primitive and untouched and our life there will be a gay adventure. Oh, darling, this is the chance I've always waited for. And with you. Suddenly he stopped. Mary's eyes were downcast. There was no answering joy in her face. Bob drew back, hurt, not understanding. Oh, Bob, don't you see? It isn't that I don't love you-because I do! I think I've hoped and feared for a long time that this would come. Hoped it, because, quite simply, Bob, I love you, and feared it because I dread telling you what I must say now. Don't you see, Bob, that mother has to be considered? My salary's big enough, Mary. We could manage to send something home. His eyes crinkled again, and he smiled reassuringly. 'Tm a young man and I'm on my way up. Mary looked off somewhere in the distance. She seemed to be thinking out loud. I'd gamble for myself but I can't gamble for mother. Besides, it isn't just the financial help. That's the smallest part of it. She's so dependent on me. Mother's never had many friends nor cared much for other women since Daddy died. I've been her companion, her friend. Don't you see, Bob, I couldn't walk out now. What would her life be?
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Page 20 text:
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16 SEMINARIA IQ44 liheclimate UPPER CLASS PRIZE STORY There were thirty children in the warplant day nursery, thirty unkempt, whining children, who had to have their galoshes zipped and their noses wiped by Mary. Of course there were other attendants to care for the day orphans but the tall, slim, blonde girl seemed to be the most popular among her charges. Mary, hug my doll. Mary, is it time for lunch? All day long it went on. From nine in the morning till Hve at night, and Mary never faltered. She never quite rated the important jobs like answering the telephone or talking to the mothers. These went to the trained workers while the others did the odd jobs. Not that she resented the luckier girls with the less toilsome tasks, she was sincerely grateful for what she had. It was a good respect' able job and it paid well. Besides, it had tone and prestige. That meant a lot to Mary's mother and consequently to Mary. Mary's last job had been as a clerk in a fiveeandftenfcent store. She hadn't minded the work, but the storm of criticism that descended upon her each night at home had been hard to bear. Mary's mother, before she married, had been a PencefDavis. She never let you forget it for a moment. It was trying for a Pence-Davis to see her daughter doing menial labor. A teacher, now that was different! Mary's mother didn't mind that, even though it was a teacher of factory children. And the pay was good! Mrs. Madden had never been the same since her husband died. It was hard to change your whole way of life suddenly. One week she had been the wife of a promising physician with a growing practice and then quite suddenly in no more time than it takes for wet feet to become a cold, and a cold to become pneumonia, she was a widow with a lot of debts, and a vague list of patients who perhaps might pay. Some paid and some didn't. They sold the house and half of the fur' niture and took a small apartment in the old part of town. Mary stopped school and pretended she didn't care. The remaining PencefDavis heirlooms were too big and too heavy for the crowded apartment. Mrs. Madden lacked strength and perhaps energy. Dust col- lected quickly and she somehow never kept pace with it. Mary did what she could. She fixed breakfast before she left and brought her mother her tray. Mrs. Madden was frail and coffee in bed was a real necessity. After work Mary bought food on the way home for the meals which were her duty to prepare. Mrs. Madden had a delicate stomach and she could not abide food which she herself had cooked. Many of Mary's friends thought that her life was divided equally into two parts, her work and her motherg but, happily, that was not the case, for there was Bob. Bob lived in the next block, was dark and handsome, and his eyes had a funny way of crinkling when he laughed. His ambition was great, his love was greater, and his pocket book was very small.
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Page 22 text:
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18 SEMINARIA I944 Bob's eyes narrowed, What will mine be? What will yours be? She's had her life. Perhaps what it is is what she has made it. Mary's eyes flashed a warning. She's had a hard time. Go to Mexico and perhaps when you come back- Her voice trailed off. Bob's mouth set in a stubborn line. There'll be nocompromise. I see your duty to your mother and I respect you more for seeing it. But you also owe a responf sibility to the future and a duty to yourself. What about that? Mary's small feet were planted firmly on the ground. Her eyes darted like caged things from Bob's face to the winter scene around her and back to Bob's face. A little time to think this thing out, she begged. Look, hon, he whispered, 'Tm sorry there's not too much time, but that's the way things are. Think this thing out for yourself. It's five now. I'll wait in my room until sixfthirty. Phone me if you'll go. Then I'l1 ask permission to wait a week and we'll go together. But if there are doubts and your responsibilities weigh heavier than your love, he shrugged his shoulders helplessly, then there's no point in my waiting, is there? Mary's throat tightened, her eyes answered where her voice could not. Bob rose quickly. She watched his tall figure disappear through the falling snow. She sat quite still. Her head fought with her heart, and like sand that regretfully slips through her Hngers, she knew that moments were passing and with them her happiness. '..Mary walked home slowly. She opened the door and her mother's petulant voice quickly followed the click of the latch. Late again, Mary! You would be today, because I especially wanted you to be early. Sorry, Mother. She was hanging her coat in the closet and her voice seemed muffled. Well, come on back. I have some news for you. 'Mary walked back to her mother's room. Mrs. Madden was nervously powder' ing her already overfpowdered face. This may surprise you. Mr. Hatter, a friend of your father's, came to call this afternoon and we had a very pleasant time. I'Ie's been coming'quite frequently. You know I'm alone so much while you work. We've always enjoyed one another. He's lonely and so am I. You're a quiet mouse and seem happy enough with your work and so you won't mind when I tell you that we've decided to be married. Mary felt suddenly cold as though the snow was still on her face and the fog was still around her. There were no tears but the feel of them as she heard the clock strike seven. --FRANCES SAPnRs'roN, '45
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