--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Flack, L. E. collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 33 number: 8 published: 1930-06 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "L. E. Flack, “Youth,” *Improvement Era* 33, no. 8 (June 1930): 567–567." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3308unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera3308unse start_page: 567 end_page: 567 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1930-06) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3308unse publication_year: 1930 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1930, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Youth Youth By L. E. FLACK f T WAS a cool spring day. Con- ■*• stance Randolph, eyes lowered, warm coat muffled up to her chin, plunged ahead. The next moment there was a sharp, little cry; Con- stance pulled herself up from the slippery pavement and a young gentleman was offering profuse apologies. "My own fault," Constance said, and she dimpled at the con- cern in the stranger's eyes. "I should have looked ahead. But," and she laughed, j"it serves me right. I was playing hooky from our high school luncheon!" "Hooky! That sounds great. Aren't you Connie somebody?" For a moment the young man's eyes widened. He was a pleasant young man, Constance thought, pleasant and friendly, but for the life of her she couldn't place him, and he certainly seemed to know her name, if nothing more. For just once she would not explain that she was a teacher. A teacher and — going on thirty. Constanci gave a little involuntary shudder. "You're cold!" the young gen- tleman said with concern. "Oh, no — that is, er — " "You must have some lunch. It will warm you up. There's a tea room around the block," he said eagerly. Constance, staid, sober mathematician, was about to refuse. Then a little light began to dance in her eyes. Well, why not. If this gentleman was in the habit of standing squarely in the middle of the sidewalk looking at nothing while young women also looking at nothing collided with him, and had to pick them- selves up off the damp pavement, well, why shouldn't he treat them to a meal to offset the inconveni- ence? Over the charming little blue and orange table of the almost de- serted tea room Constance had a better view of her companion. He had clear blue eyes, blond hair with that curl "you love to touch!" and a thoughtful expres- sion. He seemed a little flurried over the ordering, but Constance insisted that he get just what he wished. She wondered if this little episode were as novel in his life as it was in her own. WHAT would Prin- cipal Smith say if he saw her now, calmly sitting at a table with a strange young man? Principal Smith, who had informed her that she would meet his brother at the luncheon. That was really why she had run away. She might be twenty-nine, but she was too young to play dinner companion to some frumpy, uninteresting old bachelor. "So you're from Garfield," the young man across the table said when in the course of inconse- quential conversation, she had mentioned the name of the school. "I'm from Lincoln." "Oh — h!" It was her turn to be surprised. A high school boy! She had taken him for older. Probably a senior. She had better explain. This was her second year of high school teaching. She — but something caught in her throat as she tried. Oh, well, she'd never see him again. What was the dif — as the girls at school said, and she plunged into an amusing account of some high school pranks of which — she did not ex- plain— she had been merely a- wit- ness instead of a participant. girls. Yes, she loved this; she adored that; something else was darling. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed — oh, it was silly — but — she was still young! It was a delightful luncheon, and Constance rose reluctantly. Her companion seemed as reluc- tant as she. "I know it isn't — er — custom- ary to press an acquaintance of this sort — but," he floundered a moment. "What do you say if we take in that new movie tomorrow night?" Constance nearly gasped. The dear boy! Asking an old staid school teacher. But just then she caught a glimpse of herself in the long mirror. There was an un- accustomed vivaciousness about her face- — her eyes sparkled, her cheeks were glowing — she was young. "I'll love it!" she said a little breathlessly. Yi Ti HE young gentleman was an agreeable companion. To- gether they laughed over high school pranks, the latest movie, the newest book. Almost uncon- sciously Constance found herself affecting the line of the high school ES, just once. It would be all over the moment he found out. She would tell him quietly when the movie was over. Twenty-nine. And he — But she did not tell him. It was the most wonderful evening she had ever spent — wonderful somehow because of that strange, glowing feeling of youth. She had broken away — for two golden hours she was no longer staid Miss Randolph, mathematics instructor. She was Constance Randolph, high school senior, a glowing, vivid personality. Nor did she tell him in the evenings that followed. It was like a dream, throwing off the mask of every day life, being hap- py, gay, herself, for a few short hours. Days passed into weeks — weeks into months — and then on a clear, starlit night he proposed. (Continued on page 569)