MORNING SERIAL

A CLATTER of dishes from the other room brought an end to the conversation. Frank stepped to the door.

Mrs Jones, her arms laden with cups and saucers and plates, glanced ruefully at him.

“Well, did you have your little chat?” She let Frank take some of the dishes from her, and as she glanced over his shoulder Ieuan saw the twinkle in her eyes which belied her seeming annoyance.

“I bet you had to listen to a long-winded speech, Ieuan. Frank invited you here to tea, and what happens? You have to hear his philosophy of life, and, what’s more, he doesn’t even let you sit down to listen to it.”

She hurried forward with the dishes and placed them on the table.

“But there, had you sat down he probably would have sent you off to sleep. Frank’s voice is very soothing, I think. Sometimes I wonder why he never became a doctor. With such a voice he would be a great comfort to his patients.”

Frank’s eyebrows raised. “H’m! That’s an idea.” She regarded him with a smile.

“Indeed, Frank — but now, if you’ll just look at the time …. “Frank looked. “Good heavens! Ieuan, what will your mother think? It’s nearly eight. We’ve kept you here for five hours.” “You’ve kept him,” Mrs. Jones emphasized. “That long, long speech.”

“Gee, I’m sorry. Honest, Doris, I had no idea time had passed so quickly.”

Ieuan hastened to assure them. “It’s been a lovely afternoon, and I’ve enjoyed myself grand, Frank — and Mrs. Jones,” he said shyly.

“Then you must come again.” Frank and his wife walked with him to the door.

“Next Sunday,” Mrs. Jones invited.

Frank nudged her. “What about Thursday night, Doris?” Ieuan saw her smile.

“Next Thursday, next Sunday, any day. You’re welcome any time you feel like calling, Ieuan.

Our house is always open.” “How right you are, Mrs. Jones.” Frank drew his arm around her and hugged her playfully. “‘Let me live in a house …’” he began to quote.

“That’s enough! Let the boy go home in peace. Good night, Ieuan.’’ “Good night, my boy. See you tomorrow morning at seven.”