Dave did like Uncle John. Seated there at his bench, a leather apron on his lap and nails between his teeth, he seemed to have just moved out of a very old story book. “Do you still make shoes as well as repair them?” Dave asked. “Oh, yes, now and then.” The old man’s smile was good to see. “I’ve made all the Young Lord’s shoes since he was a baby. “But then,” he sighed, “times have changed. You can’t get the leather any more. It used to be that I could make a pair of shoes and guarantee them for five years. Those times are gone. “But perhaps it is best that it should be so,” he added cheerfully. “Nowdays people like change. If you only pay one pound for a pair of shoes, you can afford more than one pair.” Taking a tack from his mouth, he drove it home, then another. “He lives in two small rooms behind the shop,” Cherry said when they were outside. “His little wife was just like him, always cheerful and kind. She died three years ago. “Nearly all the people in the village are like that,” she added as they walked on. “The butcher has his stall in front of his home. The baker’s shop is in his basement. So is the grocer’s. Everyone works. All are kindly. They never have much, but they make it do—and are happy.” Dave was to recall this picture with a sudden pull at his heartstrings in the days that were to come. The bus came lurching in. They climbed aboard and were away for London. Arrived in London they hurried up to the radio studio for Cherry’s audition. Singing in a bare studio with a strange accompanist, the girl was far from doing her best. For all that the director gave her a small spot on the “People’s Choice” program at 9:00 P. M. Once more on the street where shadows had grown long and dark, and people by hundreds were hastening home before the air raid siren sounded, Cherry gripped Dave’s arm as she said in a tragic whisper: “David, I never can stick it out. It will only be a dismal failure.” “Nonsense!” Dave laughed. “It’s only stage-fright. Come on. My uncle took me to a rare little basement eating place once. They serve good old American coffee and waffles with maple syrup. That will put you on your toes.” In the quiet of the sub-cellar, they drank great quantities of coffee and ate their waffles joyously. “I—I guess I’ll make it now,” Cherry murmured. Once more they were on the deserted streets. Then, as if to crush her high hopes, all hell let loose. The roar of powerful motors, the scream of sirens, the boom and bang of anti-aircraft guns filled all the night with terror. “I can’t let you in ’ere now,” said a burly guard at the entrance to the broadcasting station. “It is quite impossible. You shouldn’t be ’ere at all.” “But this lady is to sing over the radio at nine!” Dave protested. “Can’t be ’elped.” The guard was firm. “Orders is orders. No ladies hallowed in the station during an alarm. If you’d ask me sir, I’d hadvise a subway station at once, sir. Yonder’s one not ’alf a block haway.”