He drew a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and went into the hallway. His heart leaped as a girl came to the door and stood framed there, the light from within making a silken, wavy web of her hair.
“Pard-don me, miss,” stammered the radio cop, removing his cap. “I—I just thought I’d drop around and thank you for what you did for me.”
Then she recognized him, gave him once more that flashing smile. Gee, she was a knock-out!
With a gracious little nod the girl motioned for him to come in. Highly embarrassed, he entered.
“You’re Miss Talbot, aren’t you?” Again she nodded.
Officer Cates wondered as he saw her pick up a small tablet of paper and write upon it. Then he read the words:
“I’m sorry but this is the only way I can talk to you. When I was six years old an attack of scarlet fever paralyzed my vocal chords.”
So that was it! Shades of Patrick Henry, what a situation! Miss Anabelle Talbot was unable to utter a word. Yet she was as dainty as a breath of spring, as lovely as a rose that opens its petals to the early morning sunlight. Dave Cates had a voice of gold, but it hid behind a face that only a mother could love. Each of them was conscious of their own drawbacks and wistfully aware of the other’s best assets.
Quick compassion flooded Dave Cates, but he was far too tactful to show it. He merely nodded and said very cheerfully:
“I understand you’re interested in radio broadcasting, Miss Talbot. I wonder if you’d care to go up to the studio with me, say Friday night, and watch how it’s done?”