"Oh, dear I wish Jerry would come home I want to see her I've always missed her terribly during vacations, but this summer I've missed her more than ever. I'm simply starved for a sight of her dear jolly face Here it is, the twenty-fourth of August, and no Jerry Jeremiah Geraldine Macy " Marjorie Dean had addressed this little series of wistful remarks to no one in particular. She stood at one of the long French windows of the living room, her nose flattened against the pane, little-girl fashion, watching a very wet outdoors.