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APRIL MARSTON stood at the neigh-
borly opening in the hedge, her wide blue
eyes wistfully regarding George Paul-
son. She drew a deep sigh. She could tell
by the way he relaxed against the snow-
shovel that he was supremely untroubled
by thoughts of girls or dances.
April was sixteen, an age recently at-
tained. This arrival at maturity had auto-
matically bestowed upon her the right to
attend school dances —if asked. With
characteristic recklessness she had hinted
broadly to her girl friends that George
was taking her to the dance Saturday
night. April had been so sure that George
secretly adored her as much as she adored
him, so sure that he would ask her. But
with only three days left, she was begin-
ning to know panic.
April stepped lightly into the next
yard. “Hello, George.”
“Hullo,” George said without enthusi-
asm.
There was something so seraphic about
April as she stood there in a gray wool
skirt, leather jacket, her hair escaping in
a halo from under her Juliet cap, that no
one would have suspected the predatory
thoughts that crowded her mind.
“How come you're not shoveling,
George?”
“I was thinking,” he grunted.
“About me ?’’ April moved closer.
“Of course not.”
“I—I think it’s mean of you to say it
like that.” April, looking like a chastened
angel, perched on the one step he had
cleaned.
“Golly,” George protested, “you asked
me, didn’t you? Want a fellow to lie?
Girls are nutty.”
April ignored this ungallant thrust.
“Then what were you thinking about?”
He waved his hand to include the uni-
verse as the scope of his mental meander-
ings.
“T’11 bet it’s basketball,” April guessed
shrewdly. “I'll bet you're wondering if
~
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TOWN WEEKLY MAGAZINE SECTION
FIRST DANCE
you or Butch Kelly’ll get to start the
game Saturday.”
George scowled. “That’s not so! What
do I eare if Coach has got it in for me.
Let him start Butch and see how far they
get. But, say, how do you know so much
about it?”
April looked wise. “Coach has been dat-
ing my sister Grace.” She watched George
So seraphic was
April that no one
would have suspect-
ed the predatory
thoughts that were
crowding her mind.
sulkily trace a ridge in his brown cords,
and she knew she had touched a vulner-
able spot in his armor.
SATURDAY was the big game between
Robindale South and Robindale Central.
South had drubbed Central in the Thanks-
giving football game. Never had one side
made a clean sweep of both basketball
and football, and this year South was
vociferously telling the world that it
intended to accomplish the feat. Every
loyal Centralite felt it a matter of per-
sonal honor to prevent this tragedy.
“George...”
“Huh?”
“Are you going to the dance Saturday
night 2”
“Golly, no! That’s panty-waist stuff.”
“Butch Kelly’s no—well, he asked me
to go,” April said.
“Go ahead; see if I care.”
The light of desperation was in April's
blue eyes. Just the thought of being es-
corted to her first dance b; ugly Butch
Kelly made her want to cry. She choked
down the lump in her throat and played
her trump card. “I—well, Pll bet I can get
Coach to start you Saturday.”
George straightened, his indifference
gone. Then he relaxed with a snort.
“Think he’d listen to a kid like you?”
April bit her lip. “I don’t know as Coach
thinks I'm such a kid. He said last night
I was a pretty cute trick.” Watching
George, she saw he was impressed. April
didn’t feel it was necessary to tell him
that Coach had ruffled her curls with his
big hand and laughed as he said it.
“So what?” George retorted.
April hesitated. Experience warned her
that she was heading for trouble, but her
INustrated
by
WALT SCOTT,
chin set determinedly. “George—if I got
him to start you Saturday—would you—
I mean, will you take me to the dance?”
George fidgeted. Instinctively he want«
ed to avoid such a compromising proposi-
tion. On the other hand, his honor was at
stake. He said grudgingly, “Why, I guess
so. But how’ll I know you made him
change his mind ?”
April’s hand rested lightly as a fallen
leaf on his arm. “You—you don’t think
I'd “ie to you, George 7”
“Okay, okay, you fix it with Coach, and
I'll take you.”
April danced through the opening in
the hedge, her eyes shining. Behind the
angelic exterior a plan was already form-
ing—a plan based on the glamour of her
new dress bought especially for the dance.
It was a honey of a blue dress with slip-
pers to match—slippers with wickedly
high heels. It had an adorable swing skirt,
and the accessories, she knew, were ter-
rible sophisticated. April felt she looked
awfully, awfully old in it.
AFTER SUPPER she begged off wiping
dishes and hurried upstairs to put the
dress on. Coach was young and terribly
handsome and nice, she thought, as she
dabbed her hair and ear lobes with per-
fume purloined from Grace’s dressing
table. She was sure he couldn’t resist her
woman’s wiles. If only she could get a few
minutes alone with him when he called
for Grace.
As she came downstairs, her father
murmured to her mother, “She looks al-
most as beautiful as you did, Cora, in your
first dance dress. Remember, that was the
night we met?”
Her mother paused in washing the
dishes. “A girl never forgets her first
dance, Roger. It—it’s the biggest thrill of
an...”
Pretty soon April heard her father
leave for his lodge. The splask of ‘the
shower told her that Grace was not nearly
ready. If Coach would only come early to-
night. April waited near the door, her
heart hammering. But when the bell final-
ly rang, she managed to look calm and
sophisticated.
Bob Evans grinned down at her. “So
that’s the new dress? You look beautiful,
April.”
April blushed, and hated herself for
doing it. And yet she was happy that her
glamour was working. She perched on the
sofa by his side and rested her hand on
his arm just as she’d seen Garbo and Die-
trich do it.
“Are—are you really going to keep