THURSDAY EVENING
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By J. LORNA STRAYER
It was only a few minutes before five o'clock when Louise called. "I'll be delayed awhile. Maybe you'd rather not wait?"
Helen tried to push the pain in her throat aside and talk around it "Clyde?" she asked.
"He insisted so I agreed to see him for a few minutes. You don't have to wait if you don't want to." Helen was sure she detected a tone of indifference in Louise's voice.
"I'll wait." Helen answered.
"You go down. I won't be long."
Helen stared at the black impersonality from which Louise's voice had reached her. There was no real way of reaching the other person; of being intuitive. If possible, she would limit the use of a phone to notifying the next of kin at the time of birth and death. It seemed that half of the tragedies of life were due to the haste to communicate without contemplation or speculation.
The sound of desks being closed and the sudden scraping of chairs from the main office told her that it was five o'clock. Several of the girls called, "Goodnight," as they hurried by.
In order to kill time, Helen started to go over the weekly statistical report. "You goin' to work tonight, Miss Kemp?"
Mr. Daugherty stood in her doorway with his push-broom poised like a lance. "Oh I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interfere with your sweeping."
"No, no. It's not that. It's just that I usually start in your office and work towards the back. But there's no rule that says I can't start in the back." Mr. Daugherty raised his broom like a staff and his small round body seemed dwarfed by it's height.
"I'm leaving this minute," Helen said as she hurriedly repaired her lipstick without use of a mirror and slipped into her coat.
Mr. Daugherty leaned his broom against the wall and pulled a package of tobacco from his pocket. "Radio calls for colder weather," he said as he packed tobacco into his cheek.
"Let's hope not."
"Like I always say, cold weather comes and I'm glad I'm married. Everyone should be married come winter." He peered at Helen and she caught the twinkle in his eyes.
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