1

BEANY MALONE sat in front of her dressing table with its yellow plaid skirt, which she had made herself, and extracted bobby pins from tight little snails of hair. On this Saturday mormng in mid-January, an early sun slanted through the yellow plaid curtains - also made by Beany.

Strange, she thought, how a certain tingly excitement seemed to go with yanking bobby pins out of one's hair. It seemed the right prelude to dressing up and going places and doing things.

A whisk of the comb through the flat little curls transformed them into a fluff of bangs. She wished momentarily that her hair were either brunette or blond, not "roan." She pinned her two stubby braids across the top of her head.

Every once in a while she thought of cutting her hair-and then she thought of Andy Kern wno sat across from her in her French class and ate lunch with her every flrst-hour lunch period at Harkness High. Whenever she mentioned cutting off her braids, Andy said, "No, child, no! Beany without braids would be like a hot dog without mustard - or a band without a drum."

Carefully she pulled on her best nylons, and stepped into her black ballet slippers. Now for the new print blouse which her friend Kay had given her for Christmas, and which she had saved for this very special Saturday. In her small room at the head of the stairs, she could hear the family stirring through the house in the usual Saturday morning hubbub. The uneven rat-a-tat of a typewriter meant that her older brother Johnny was getting out a paper on early-day events for his history professor at the university. Johnny earned his tuition by helping him. The occasional mumble of voices told her that Carlton Buell, the boy next door and Johnny' s inseparable, was with him.

Thc smell of oil paints filtering through the house and up to Beany's room announced that Adair was already at her easel. The new and youngish stepmother of the Malones was a portrait painter .

The double clunk in the room next to Beany's meant that her sister Mary Fred was stamping her feet into jodhpur boots as she made ready to go out to Hilltop Stables and teach a children's class how to ride. "How to jounce properly," Mary Fred put it. Sure enough, just as Beany reached for her skirt, Mary Fred came in to have Beany fasten the studs in the stiff French cuffs of her white shirt.

Mary Fred was almost three years older than Beany, and a sophomore at the university. Her short curly hair was a dark, glinting brown. They both had the same blue-gray eyes with a dark fringing of lashes - "Blue eyes put in with a dirty frnger ," the Irish described it. It seemed to a regretful Beany that the dirty finger had also been shaken over her own nose, leaving a sprinkling of freckles. The time and money Beany had spent on freckle creams and lotions!

Mary Fred's eyes rested on Beany's print blouse above the gray-checked skirt she was zipping. "Kind of a gruesome combination, chum," she commented, holding out a wrist with its gaping cuff. "I'm just wearing it as far as the House of Hollywood on the Boul, and then-"

"You are in the upper brackets. Buying clothes at the Hollywood."

"Just a skirt." Beany grinned, working the round stud through a stiff buttonhole. She and Mary Fred had often admired a sweater combination or a formal at the smart little shop, only to be jolted back to reality by one glance at the price tag. "It's a moss-green wool - lush is the word for it - and it's already paid for. Simone, who runs the Hollywood, said she' d have one in my size this morning-"

"That Simone with her airs and graces," Mary Fred inserted. "Her right name is Simmons."

"- and so I'll wear the new green skirt on to work, and then to the luncheon at the University Club." --

"The University Club yet.!"

"I told you about it. This is the annual luncheon our nice old principal, Mr .Dexter, gives for the staff of Hark Ye."

"Oh, of course. And Beany Malone, feature writer, should come in for her share of laurels. No one works any harder on that school raper than you do, little Beaver." Mary Fred lifted her other cuff for Beany to fasten.

Beany asked suddenly, "Mary Fred, did you ever want something so bad that you couldn't even think about it without getting goose pimples?"

"Of course I have. What are you goose-pimply about?"

"You know what the Quill and Scroll is?"

"Yessum. It's what all school papers are members of."

Beany said breathlessly, "It's like this. There's to be a Quill and Scroll convention in Cherry Springs next month-"

"And you have your heart set on going? But won't the editor and a senior boy on the staff be the natural delegates? You're just a junior, hon."

"Jenniifer Reed is the editor," Beany explained, "but her brother is getting married in Los Angeles that week end, so she and her folks are flying out for it. She told Mrs. Brierly, our sponsor, about it - and you know how easy-going Brierly is? - she just told Jennifer to name someone on the staff to go in her place."

"What's Jennifer like?"

"She's a love," Beany said warmly. "Even though the Reeds have lots of money-"

"Is that the Christopher Reed Realty Company? I'll say they have," Mary Fred put in.

"-yet it doesn't make any difference to Jennifer." She wears simple dark things-"

"From Simone's, no doubt," Mary Fred muttered ruefully.

Beany had an instant mental picture of the girl. Slender, brown-eyed, with close-cropped dark hair. Jennifer Reed had poise. Only occasionally was there a hint of arrogance about her. She was a good executive, as though she were used to giving orders and having them carried out.

"Everybody at school looks up to Jennifer," Beany mused. "She has her own column in every issue of the Hark Ye - 'Between You and Me,' it's called - and it's so witty that all she has to do is make some wisecrack and everyone in school picks it up. Do you know Jag Wilson, a freshman at the U?"

"Who doesn't?"

"He was Morley Wilson last year when Jennifer made some crack about his new Jaguar. From then on he was Jag." Beany laughed. "I guess there are times when she wishes she hadn't been so bright. Because now she and Jag date each other."

"I hope your Jennifer is the long-suffering, forgiving type. Because Jag is definitely on the prowl for any pretty girl who looks his way. Has she intimated that she'll pick you to go to the Press Convention?"

"Just kind of. She's always telling me she couldn't get out the paper without my fIlling in whenever someone else on the staff lets her down-"

She paused, and then burst out wistfully, "Gee, Mary Fred, here I am, a junior at Harkness, and I'm the only one of my crowd - and the only one of the Malones- that isn't an OH. [OH meant "Outstanding Harknessite."] Johnny was one because he was such a genius in writing plays for the school to put on. You were one because you were always winning ribbons in horse shows - and chosen Prom Queen. Kay is one because she's good in Art and won the city-wide poster contest. I ran her picture and a swell write-up about her-"

"And your Andy Kern is one because of his charm, I suppose," Mary Fred said.

"Andy always gets things done when he's on a committee," Beany defended. She added thinly, "Do you realize, Mary Fred, my picture has never been in the Hark Ye that I work so hard on? I draw squares on our dummy where other girls' pix are to go. I'm just the handy man."

Mary Fred said sympathetically, "And you can't even get credit for your Saturday job."

Their father, Martie Malone, was a columnist on the rooming paper, the Call. He always said the young Malones had cut their teeth on his typewriter eraser . The Morning Call ran a half-page of letters to and answers by a mythical Eve Baxter. These letters about love and family problems, signed "Neglected Wife," "Desperate," "Please Help Me," were read at thousands of breakfast tables, along with Eve Baxter's salty, sympathetic, sometimes scolding answers.

During the week, Eve Baxter dictated her letters to a typist at the Call office. But partly because she liked to stay home on Saturdays, partly because she was fond of Beany, she dictated to her on those days. Beany drove to her residence in her brother's jalopy, took down Eve Baxter's answers. Then at the Call, she typed both letters and answers and turned them in to the Copy Desk.

The Malones all knew that Eve Baxter was, in reality, a seasoned newspaper woman named Evelyn Bartlett. But because the Call wanted her identity kept secret, Beany answered any questions at Harkness about her job with an evasive, "I do typing for the Call."

Mary Fred was saying, "Beany, couldn't you sit yourself next to Jennifer at Dexter's luncheon this noon? And couldn't you very adroitly lead up to the Quill and Scroll convention?"

A small shiver of hope and fright passed through Beany - "I could try,"

She was wriggling into her coat and Mary Fred was reminding her, "Gloves, too, you hillbilly, if you're lunching at the University Club," when the telephone rang.

Beany caught it on its third ring. Her hello was answered by the roguish voice of Andy Kern. "Hi, Beany. Is the luck of the Irish with you today?"

"Uh-huh."

"Don't say uh-huh to me, say sir."

"Uh-yes, sir. What do you need Irish luck for?"

"That, knucklehead, is a secret until our date tonight. I want to bowl you over ."

"Andy, is it something you're going to tell me - some news?"

"No, it's a something I'm going to give you. That is, if your luck and mine holds out."

"A something for me!" she squealed. "Just tell me this much - is it big or litde?"

"Never mind the dimensions. It's not my heart, but it has one thing in common with it."

"You mean it's shaped like a heart?"

She heard his low chuckle. She could picture him lounging at the phone, even as he lounged carelessly across from her in their French class. She could picture his eyes crinkling.

"Never mind the shape," he said. "And it has something in common with your dog, Mike-"

"Oh, is it alive? Does it move?"

"We-ell, it moves if you work on it."

"Is it animal, mineral, or vegetable?"

"Hey, this is no Twenty Questions program. Get on with you. I got to polish my shoes for my ushering job at the Pantages."

"Andy, give me another clue - just one more." "O.K. It has something in common with a fat lady's girdle."

"A fat lady's girdle! I can't wait till tonight."

"Good. I like gals that can't wait for a date with Andy. If you've got a shamrock, pin it on for luck--,"

"I've got dozens of 'em on. I'm wearing my new blouse with shamrocks in it."

, "Bye now, doll."

"Andy, does it make a noise?"

He hung up on another chuckle.

She replaced the receiver, laughing excitedly herself. Madame, who taught them French, always spoke of Andy's Joie de vivre. He not only got joy out of living, but passed it on to his girl, Beany. Not that they were steadies as many of the couples were at Harkness. It was more an easy and delightful camaraderie.

Beany's thoughts flashed back to a year ago when she had been Norbett Rhodes's girl. There was nothing easy - though it was often delightful - about their relationship. Last fall when Norbett had written that he was staying back in Ohio to attend college there, Beany's world had shaken under her.

But then her world had been shaky when Norbett was close at hand. Mary Fred always said, "When bigger and better fights are had, Beany and Norbett will have them." I was so crazy about him, Beany mused. He took up all the room in my heart. Nothing else mattered. He could be so dear - and so mean. ...No, Andy Kern was less demanding, less distracting. You could be Andy's girl and still have room in your heart for other dreams. Mary Fred came down the stairs and reached for her bright red jacket in the hall closet. "Dating Andy tonight, I suppose, from the purring look on your face?" she asked. "The usual foursome?"

Beany nodded. The usual gay, free-and-easy foursome of her friend Kay with her brother Johnny, herself and Andy. Andy ushered every evening, except Saturday, at the Pantages movie house. Andy could and did get his three friends in free several times a week.

"Andy's got a present for me," Beany said. "Can you think of anything that's like Andy's heart, and our dog Mike, and a fat lady's girdle?"

Mary Fred smiled knowingly, as though she might be in on the surprise. "Maybe," she said.

The front door pealed and Mary Fred said, "That's one of my mothers." She meant that it was the mother of one of her riding pupils who would drive her out to Hilltop Stables. She was buttoning her red jacket as she hurried out.

Beany glanced at the hall clock. Ten minutes to nine, and she was due at Eve Baxter's at nine. She called up the stairs to Johnny to throw down his car keys. He couldn't hear her over the rumble of his typewriter, and she raced up the stairs.

"Johnny, give. Your car keys."

The rat-a-tat of t}pewriter ceased. Johnny leaned back in his swivel chair which was the kind that tipped back scaringly if you relaxed wholly in it. Johnny alone knew just how far to tempt providence.

Strange, Beany thought, how certain pictures of certain people seem to etch themselves on your mind. She always pictured Mary Fred in riding togs, her cheek wind-reddened, hurrying up or down stairs. When she thought of her father, Martie Malone, she always saw a tall, thoughtful man, fiddling with his pipe, and smiling at her over or through the nice smelly veil of smoke. She always pictured Johnny as looking up at her from that swivel chair, his dark absorbed eyes taking a minute to focus on her and the present. Miss Hewlitt, the Lit teacher at Harkness, said Johnny was a writing genius because he had such powers of concentration, of forgetting the world about him.

-- Johnny was six feet tall, with dark hair that looked like wet feathers and always seemed to need cutting. His smile was warm and beguiling.

"My car keys?" he repeated: "Oh forevermore, Beany - I was going to dean out the fuel line, but I started pounding out a paper on Indiana Sopris who started the fIrst school here in a blacksmith shop and-"

"Johnny, you ghoul. I've got to go."

Carlton Buell, who was sitting on Johnny's bed, said promptly, "Take my car, Beany. I won't be needing it till late this aft."

"You're a lifesaver, Carl." Beany said gratefully. "I'd a lot rather drive your three-year-old than Johnny's relic. Yours runs."

Johnny gave her a down-twisted grin.

"Come on," Carlton said.

Carlton wasn't the kind to toss her his car keys and let it go at that. He was the kind who would walk out to his car with her. Nice old Carlton, Beany thought. She couldn't remember when he hadn't been Johnny's shadow. The two had worn a path between the widespread Malone home and the more severe red brick house of Judge Buell's to the north.

Carlton was not so tall as Johnny. He was broader of shoulder, and hadn't Johnny's light-footed grace. Carlton's crew-cut blond hair was never in need of cutting. "This way I can comb it with a towel," he admitted.

The Buell family was wealthy and moved in a sophisticated and successful circle, and Carlton was their only son. Yet he went through his days with shy modesty. Last summer when his parents toured Europe they had been irked because Carlton preferred to stay home and teach swimming and athletics at a community center out in the stockyard district.
As Beany and Carlton went out the side door, there was the small but vociferous Mike ready to hurl himself upon Beany. She cried out in alarm, "Grab him, Carl- I've got on nylons."

Carlton obligingly scooped the tornado into his arrns and thrust him back into the house. They were always either shutting Mike in the house or shutting him out.

"Hold it," Carlton said, "while I clean all the basketball debris off my front seat."

Beany stood a moment, blinking in the bright January sun. Her stepmother was standing in the yard at the foot of the stairs which led up to the room over the garage. And beside her stood a heavy-set man in a sheep-lined coat. Oh yes, Beany remembered, Adair had said she was going to have a carpenter replace those worn steps.

Adair was saying reproachfully to the workman, "But you promised me that you would build the new steps for us right after the first of the year."

"Yes, missus, but some urgent business came up down in the south of the state. I figure I better look into it. I'll be back - now don't you worry. I'll take care of those steps for you."

Beany sensed in the man a fidgety eagerness to-be off. There was something boyish about the amiable smile he turned to Beany and to her stepmother, and with another, "I'll be back," he went hurrying to his car.

Adair gave an exasperated tch-tch-tch. "That man. Judge Buell recommended him. He said he was the best carpenter he ever had work for him. He remodeled their upstairs back porch into a room. But, just as the Judge said, 'Now you see him, and now you don't.'"

Beany listened with only half her mind, for she was thinking of Andy Kern and his surprise for her. Something in common with his heart, and their dog Mike, and a fat lady's girdle? What in the world could it be?

She climbed into Carlton's car and started toward the Boulevard and the House of Hollywood. What a full and exciting day loomed ahead. First, the acquiring of a new green skirt. Then on to Eve Baxter's, and from there to the Call editorial rooms. She would have to hurry with her typing of the Eve Baxter column so as not to be late at the staff luncheon at the University Club.

She was glad she had Carlton's smooth-running car. If Jennifer wasn't driving the car she shared with her mother, Beany would offer her a ride home, and surely-oh, surely, Jennifer Would say, "Beany, how would you like to go to the Press Convention in my place?"