'THOU SHALT NOT LOVE’

Manawatu Times, Volume 64, Issue 160, 10 July 1939, Page 10

'THOU SHALT NOT LOVE’

Instalment 1.

It was the switchboard operator near the elevators who gave Jocelyn Kelvin the message that sent her heart to the bottom of her little brown oxfords with a dull thud. Cruel words, those: “Miss Kelvin, H. L. would like to see you right away.” A* summons to the high presence of the fiery Harlow L. Buell usually meant only one of two things. He did the firing for the Crampson Newspaper Syndicate. Or it meant that you had done something so stupid and unforgivable that only the cutting, belittling sarcasm of the chief himself could cut you down to your proper size. Jocelyn shivered as she walked mechanically down the hall to the room that had been her office for almost a year. Before she put her hand on the knob she ran it quickly, almost lovingly, over the black lettering on the door: MARY LOU TEMPLE. Love Advice. Inside she took off her hat and stood on tiptoe to smooth her straight blueblack hair that fell in a shiny short bob around her small head. On second thought she went to her desk and took out her horn-rimmed glasses, hoping they gave her dignity. And hoping a gainst hope that she looked as though she were just going to settle down to her typewriter, rather than leave it forever. Fighting against the pamc in her breast, she threw open tne window and took a deep breath of the rain-Hushed April air before she gathered courage to walk the few feet down the hall to where Mr. Buell was waiting for her. The strong arm of the powers that be was busy w ith some papers on his desk, and for several minutes after his secretary had admitted Miss Kelvin, and gone out, he paid no attention to her. then he turned in his swivel chair and lit a cigarette slowly before he spoke. * Warming up a bit,” he yawned slightly, and his thin tired face cracked into what Jocelyn presumed was meant u> be a smile. Just like a cat toying with a mouse, she thought, but answered as brightly as her dry throat would allow, “It‘s lovely. Our Easter flowers are out.”

•-Jackson Heights?” Mr. Buell interrogated almost wistfully, and J7scelyn nodded. He yawned again. “Always wanted to live’ out that way myself. Too far from the office. Got to live downtown here in one of these blasted hotels.” •

**lt must be hot in summer,” Jocelyn was beginning to feel a little sorry for the small red-headed man before her. Maybe he didn't like his job of cutting off heads around the office so well, after all. feort of puttiug off the agony. Suddenly, as though Mr. Buell had been jerked with a string, he sat back in his chair and crushed out his cigarette. Jocelyn folded her hands and sat looking very straight and prim in her chair. Mr. Buell cleared his throat. “Miss Kelvin,” he began heavily. The ringing of the telephone was such an anti-climax to the dread moment that Jocelyn jumped nervously. Mr. Buell sighed grimly: “Now what?” *

In a few seconds he turned from the ■'phone, and picked up a paper clip to bend into a pretzel before he went on. “Miss Kelvin,” he began again, and Jocelyn wanted to scream. “Yes, Mr. Buell,” she said helpfully, trying to keep the fear out of her voice.

“You wanted to see me?” “Yeah?” He tossed the twisted clip into the waste paper basket and picked up another one. “Wanted to have a talk with you yesterday but things kept happenin’ too fast. You like your work here, don’t you?” “Oh, very much,” Jocelyn assured him with a white smile. “All my life I’ve wanted to write.” His face loosened into a grimace. “Well, cheer up! Maybe you will some day.” Suddenly Miss Kelvin realised that the redoubtable Mr. Buell was attempting to be humorous. She grinned uncertainly back at him. “Awful trash,” he actually chuckled. “But tell me. You took this job last year with the full understanding that it was not to be permanent, didn't you?” “Just while Mrs. Temple was on a year’s leave of absence,” she nodded, “ibo you mustn’t worry at all about telling me the worst, Mr. Buell. I ve been expecting it.” “Well,” the editor paused to Lend a clip into a ring and slip it over his thumb, “I’m sorry to disappoint you. But it looks as though you’re stuck with telling the little boy* and girls that true love is the only thing in. life that matters. Mrs. Temple has just written from Europe that - she is not coming back.” It took Jocelyn a few seconds to coin prehend his announcement. When she did she sat back in her chair limply. “And the column is mine?” Buell seemed to be studying deeply. Then ho sat back and lit another tigarette: “You’re pretty young, Miss Kelvin. If you weren’t the type of girl you are I wouldn’t consider it. It 4 s not ?i column I want tossed around and done by a new woman every year. Mrs. Temple wrote it forty years, fcjhe's past seventy now. Wo got a release on the Mary Eou Temple by-line and it will always be run under her name. ’ ’ “It would be a shame to change it,” Jocelyn agreed, nodding. “Mary Lou Temple is an institution.'” “Now about yourself.” Buell looked up, and his gimlet brown eyes seemed to bore through er. “Mind if I ask a few very personal questions, Miss Kelvin?” “Not at all,” she assured him. “Anything you like.” “ Haven ’t got a boy friend, have you? Not engaged?” Jocelyn flushed slightly, but smiled. “No, indeed. What’s more, I never have had a boy friend, and it isn’t at all likely I ever will.” It might have been more flattering if tlic editor had pooh-pooed the idea that roiii ‘ce was unlikely to ever cross her pa I' « instead be nodded vague up-

(By Alma Sioux Scarberry)

proval. “Thought you were different from most of these addle-brained little hatracks around here. Trouble with women trying to step into men’s jobs and make good in business is, they always get mixed up in & love affair and lose their bearings. Most useless thing in the world is a woman in love.” Jocelyn's wide innocent brown eyes blinked at him earnestly through her glasses. Ho was warming to his subject, and she kept silent. “Personally, I should think all those gaga letters from lovesick nitwits would make you sick. But if you like your job, and you’re not the marrying, settling down type, I’m for letting you have it. Mrs. Temple says you’re the first girl ever to pinch hit for her who wrote sensible, helpful answers and articles. She ought to know.” Miss Kelvin beamed, and leaned forward in hor chair. Her deep brown eyes were near tears. “Really 1 ? Wasn’t it sweet of her to recommend me? Believe me, Mr. Buell, I’ll do everything in my power not to let you and Mrs. Templo down.” The chief rubbed his sharp little nose with a thin, nervous hand. “Okay,” he said finally. “You’ve kit the spot so far, but you’ve got a lot to live up to, and it’ll get to be a grind after a while. But I’ll try to throw a special feature your way now and then that'll take you out of the office. Give you a chance to interview people, and maybe take a little trip occasionally. Extra pay for anything outside your column, of course.” Jocelyn wondered how she could ever have thought Harlow L. Buell a bard, sarcastic man. She had to restraiif*-er-self to keep from crawling into his lap and weeping with relief and happiness. She managed to thank him again, Avithout noticeable emotion, and when it was all settled, even to her permanent salary and her hours, he sat back and again began making paper clips into pretzels. He seemed to want to visit. Suddenly he looked up from a clip, as if he'd just thought of something highly important. “Take off your glasses, Miss Kelvin. I don’t believe I'vo ever seen you without them.”

Jocelyn was a little startled but she obeyed, fumbling a Tittle. She feTt suddenly shy and very much embarrassed. A faint blush started at the nape of her white neck and spread over her round little cheeks and to her wide, intelligent forehead. ' “Bless my soul!” Buell grinned widely for the first time. “You are young, kid. Nobody would ever take you seriously without those cheaters. But you’ve got as many brains as any man around this office if you use ’em. Tell me something about our family, now that you’re to be a permanent institution. ’ ’

“My family?” Jocelyn warmed to the change in the little man whom everybody around the office feared. “Well, let me see. Did you know I had a twin sister?”

“No.” H. L. looked surprised. “Is she like you?” Jocelyn laughed merrily. “Mercy, nol She’s tall and blonde and very beautiful. She had her first beau when she was about two, and I think she’s had a new one every week since. Last year when we graduated from college she was voted the most beautiful and the best dressed girl in school. ’ ’

Buell laughed, aud his secretary, passing the door, stopped dead in her tracks in amazement. Jocelyn went on, sitting forward in her chair, trying to make her feet touch the floor. - She chuckled as only a plump little lady very much pleased with life could have, and elaborated her story.

“Jake—we call her Jake because mother always has insisted her name be pronounced Jakequeline—is all the movie stars and all the models rolled into one. I used to cry my eyes out because I was little and fat and no one ever paid any attention to me when Jake was around. But I got over it. Everybody calls me Josh. That comes from Jake not being able to say Jocelyn when we were babies.” “Hi, Josh,” Mr. Buell saluted. “Go on. Tell me more.” “About Jake?” Josh lifted a brow. “No, you’re a woman-hater, so I’d better tell you about Suzie. She’s my little faster, ten. So help me, she’s the homeliest, rowdiest, most hard-boiled little modern-in Jackson Heights. But what a darling! ” “You’re not very consistent,” the boss reminded her with another grin. “Neither is Suzie,” Jocelyn admitted, laughing again. “She’s got fiery red hair, big green eyes, freckles —and she’s all arms and legs—like an octopus. Father and mother wanted her to be a boy, and she’s done everything she can think of to keep from being like a girl ever since she found out they were disappointed, I guess. If she isn’t on roller skates or in a bathing suit, .‘•he’s out somewhere playing baseball. We call her Jinx because most of the time she’s banged up like a prizelighter.” “Well, you’re a colourful lot, I should say.” Buell sat back as though he intended spending the morning in conference with the New Miss Temple. “ What does your father do?” Jocelyn looked away, aud when she spoke there was no mistaking the pain in her voice. “Last June, just before we graduated, Dad jjassed away. He was Panning Kelvin, the corporation lawyer.” Mr. Buell looked very much impressed, and surprised. “I’ve heard of him, of course.” His manner was kind. ‘‘But it never occurred to me you were one of the Kelvins. That means you’re just sort of workiug for the fun of it, I suppose.” Jocelyn looked up quickly. * * Oh, no,' ’ she denied earnestly. “Father left us with almost nothing. We have the house in Jackson Heights, aud fortunately dad left no debts. But aside from mother’s family jewels and a few stocks that are no good right now, we’ve nothing. We’vo been livingon the insurance and my salary.” “Too bad.'* Buell shook his head

sympatheticaly. “I suppose he took a dive when, the market crashed in ’29?” Josh nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Everything. He had a heart attack and was never well from then on.” * 4 Sister working 1 ? ’ ’ “No, I guess she just can’t find anything. This job was a life-saver to me, Mr. Buell. To-day when you sent for me I thought it vras all over, aud I was pretty much discouraged when I came Buell’s smile was a little twisted. ‘ 4 Sort of the man of the family, aren't you, kid? Well, you stick to your job and I’ll play ball with you. I’m glad we’ve had this visit. Sort of got acquainted, didn’t we? Wasn’t your mother a famous beauty?” “She still is very beautiful,” Josh said proudly. “Did you ever see the painting 4 American Cameo ’ that hangs in the Metropolitan Museum of Art?” “Often,” Buell nodded. •‘That’s mother. It was made the year she and father were married. She 1 was Maida St. Johns, of Philadelphia.” j “So,” H. L. ran a hand through his thinning red hair, “we had a debutante in our midst all this time and I didn't know it. Funny it hasn't gotten out ! around the office.” 44 1 t mustn’t.” Josh’s brown eyes i were deadly earnest. “We 're poor now, and I'm glad. Really I am. I'm about as much suited to society as a clodhopper. Mother and Jake love it. But 1 ' never cared for social life, aud neither j did Dad. Jinx is going to be like us, I 1 guess.” “Don’t worry about my telling your secret.” Buell looked at his watch and jumped. “Say, do you know we’ve been gabbing around here more than an hour? I’ve got to dash.” “I’ve talked your ear off.” Buell got up, aud there was nothing forced about his grin when he held out his hand. “Good luck, Miss Temple. So you promise to always remain a bachelor girl and never let your heart interfere with your job?” She crossed her heart solemnly, her eyes twinkling behind her owlish horn “So help me! Nobody loves a fat girl. ’ ’ “Don’t call yourself fat.” He looked her over critically. “You just look as though you’d had a few too many chocolate sodas. That’s because you’re short and wear heavy tailored suits, I guess. Well, keep your specs on, Miss Temple. You'll do.” When he walked to the door aud opened it for her, still smiling as she passed out, Miss Little, his secretary, came along. She could have fainted from shock. But she was too well trained to show her surprise or curiosity'. The telephone operator looked up sympathetically as Miss Kelvin passed, and was amazed to see the love expert with pink shining cheeks and glowing eyes. A summons to H. L.’s office usually’ meant the chief had brought out all his pet barbs. The first thing Josh did when she had recovered her bearings was to pick up the ’phone in her office and break the good news to her mother. Thus the operator’s curiosity’ was satisfied. Still smiling, Miss Kelvin picked up : the first letter in the pile on her desk and slit it with her ivory opener. It : was written oil art department stationery. “My Dear Miss Temple: I am an old rogue of 29, that way about an old hag of 22, But she doesn’t take me seriously. Trouble is, Miss Temple, she is a nice, old-fashioned girl. Plain, plump, doesn’t care for clothes or social life. While I, woe is me, imbibe too freely*, stay out till ten or eleven Saturday nights and my failing is blondes. She is brunette. Miss Temple, what can I do to induce her to attend the brawl I am throwing at my stewdio to-night? i Signed: Wistful Wisteria Willie.” Josh slid a sheet into her typewriter and wrote blithely: “My Dear Wis. Wil.: Have you never been to the cinema? Girls are not always what they seem. I saw a picture once where a girl took off her specs, went on a diet, found the right dressmaker and you’d never guess the rest of the plot. Fact is, there was no limit to her beauties, nor her vices, once they were uncovered. As for you, you are too old to change. Alas, too old and steeped in sin. Keep on trying. Maybe the girl will y r et love you for what y r ou aren’t. Signed: Auntie Mary’ Lou. ’ ’ “P.S.: I’ll come down and cook your old dinner, if you don’t have fish again. ’ ’ Josh called an office boy and sent her answer up to the art department. She wondered just what she would have done when she stepped into the strange new world of artists, writers and editors if it hadn’t been for Lincoln Lane. Line., whom she had known since she was a small girl when they had the big summer house down at Southampton, and he used to come and visit his aunt Mable next door. At twenty-nine he was a famous cartoonist, the highest paid and the most valued member of the Crampson art staff. Line had taken Josh under his wing the day she came into the office, and had been her best friend and greatest pest ever since.

If, either by note, ’phone or popping his close-cropped brown head into her office door, he had not made it known he wanted her to come to Greenwich Village and mess around in his kitchen with some outlandish fish dinner Friday nights, she would have felt neglected. The evenings with Line in his studio sitting over a bottle of wine solving the problems of the universe had become the happiest in her strange new life. Josh had difficulty in taking her mind off Mr. Buell and his kindness. The joy of knowing she was really a part oi the office now, and the thousand and one things that raced through her mind to interfere with her column. Finally, deeply concentrating, sho began her article for Sunday. “Times have changed,” Mary Lou Temple was telling her millions of readers. “No longer do wo pity deeply the girl who decides to remain a bachelor, choosing a career rather than a husband, home and babies. “No longer do we assume she never had a chance to say ‘yes,’ poor thing! There was a day when a girl would marry a man entirely undesirable rather than be left an old maid. It is fortuuate that day has passed. “The woman who does not find true love, or whoso heart and soul is tied uu in her iob. niav be iust as imnnv in

her own way as the little mother out in the suburbs with her babies and garden. We are not all alike. ” Jocelyn ran through her daily pile of letters and was sorry only a few could be answered. That she could pick out only the most interesting—the ones with a new theme. She was not permitted to answer them in any way but through the papers, and there was so little space. One, particularly, made her feel young and incompetent. It was from a little sixteen-year-old high-school girl in Louisiana: “Ok if you could only help me, or tell me what to do. Sometimes I think I will just die with a broken heart. We are very poor aud I haven’t any pretty clothes. Nobody ever invites me to a party. Down hero they call us white trash. I am in love with a boy 17, but he never even speaks to me. I know if 1 had something decent to wear, like other girls, he would. My father drinks and gets put in gaol, and I could just kill myself because the boy I love hears about it. ” It went on for two pages and was signed “Heartbroken.” Josh wanted to weep when she looked closely at the cheaply lined, pencilled paper aud saw that lie letter was splotched with tears. Mr. Buell would call it trash. But to t he new Miss Temple there was never anything amusing about the letters that poured in by tlio dozens daily, from her unknown readers, begging her to help solve their problems, lt was as though they had no one else to whom tfhev could turn, and she felt she must not fail them. Perhaps that is what the old Mrs. Temple had read between the lines wi*m she stepped aside and recommended that Miss Kelvin be given her job. Mrs. Temple had always felt that way too. Josh wrote to “Heartbroken” with a lump in her throat: j “You must keep your chin up and never admit, even to yourself, that you are not just as good as the richest, best dressed girl in the world. Study hard and finish high school; then you should be able to get a job and work your way ' out of your surroundings. Many of the most famous people in the world came from just such a home as yours. This ( is a country where everyone is equal. “If you are respectable, work hard, keep yourself neat and well groomed (even if you do have to wear patches) the people who are real will admire and

i matter. Aud some day, when you are older, there will be just the right Prince Charming. Remember Cinderella? Hold your head up, and smile! ” When Jocelyn read back over her effort it sounded entirely' inadequate, and very trite. There were so many ! things she would have liked to say. ; She wrote feverishly the rest of the afternoon, forgetting everything else. Her smooth, round cheeks were red as 1 cherries, and her wide brow beaded with perspiration when Lincoln Laine 1 opened the door of her office.