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"The owner of a department store and his lovely wife invited me for supper after the concert. During this meal at a small table, the beautiful leg of the lady and my own nervous one were drawn magnetically toward each other. This electrifying link encouraged me to invite her to lunch with me the next day. My train was to leave late that night. She accepted and added: 'I shall take you after lunch to our house in the mountains. It has one of the loveliest views of the city.' Luncheon was gay, with stories of my life amusing her greatly, and we set tled happily in her Oldsmobile, which she drove herself . . . When she noticed that I was a little worried, she laughed, saying, 'I'm a good driver you know.' Our gay conversation soon turned very flirtatious; suddenly I grabbed her small head and gave her a hard kiss . . . She let go of the wheel and closed her eyes, and the car, with us painfully fell on its side into the thick snow. We climbed out rather painfully and the nervously, situation looked rather grim. 'What shall we do?' I asked nervously, thinking of my train and her husband. She answered, 'You must run down and ask for help. There is a garage at the bottom of the road.' My concert legs were used to pedals and not to running down slippery roads full of snow. In constant danger of slipping, I reached the wretched gas station after a good half an hour. It took us returned dreadful three hours to get safely back to town. Fortunately we returned before alarming the husband and missing my train. Both of us never forgot | the fatal kiss, but as usual, with time, it turned into a good story.