Michael Malone - Weebly

Out of a desk drawer Miss Dingley took an old
almanac and a framed photograph. "Me. Hard to
believe, ain't it?" A hearty, handsome girl stood laughing
into the sun, a tennis racquet in her hand.
The almanac fell open to a page upon which a star
had been drawn in the margin beside the name Ramona
Dingley, Singles Finalist. "My quarter of an inch of
fame. Nineteen twenty-seven."
"Gee, you're right there in the almanac."
"Right along with the worst drought. Always played
singles.
Never married either. Probably should have. Save a
little time out to get married, dear. Don't forget. But I
live here with my nephew Sammy now. You know him?
Runs his grandpa's pharmacy?"
"Oh, yes. He gives me old magazines."
"Not surprising. Sammy's one of God's little lapses
of concentration; did so much better on the plants and
animals—got to humans late in the week and was too
tired to keep His mind on what He was doing. That's
my theory. No, Sammy's a marvel. Might have turned
him sour. Just turned him a tad stuffy. What about you?"