Indianapolis Times, Volume 35, Number 166, Indianapolis, Marion County, 21 November 1922 — Page 8

8

A Hoosier Giramele By MEREDITH NICHOLSON First Novel in thè Times Series of Fiction Stories by Indiana ■Writers (CoprrtffM. ISIS, b Meredith Nlcholson.)

SVNOPSIS •TI. VIA GARRISON. 16-year-old gTa<l. diughter of PROFESSOR KKL.TON. lecturer at Madison College Montgomery knowi llttlo of her lise before makìng ber nome wnh him otber than tbat sbe was bora In New York. Ab unusual eretit of irhlch Sylvia le not to know la thè mystertous vtslt .f a •frange young man who deliveri au unaigned letter to her grandfai.ier. platine an ofier which he decilnes to Arcept. Sylvia, so far. has had only sceh •tudies aa ber graudfatber baa e i veri ber. and lt is agreed upou that she attenti ollege for social aa well aa educational advancemeni Sylvia is to make her horae with ItRS. JACKSON OWEN of mdian.ou is. familiariy known by her Ber vanta aa “Miss Sally'—a pra -tical widovt who mal-us f arra mg her business MARIAN 8.-.SSETT. Mrs Owens eultured and ranch traveled grand nlece, *ho is attendili* a Miss Waring ■ School. Marian e Mother. MBS MORTON BaSSETT. run a woman's club in Fraaerville. and is a pronunci. t figure in thè federatlon. aXJMIRAJL MARTIN, a retlred officer of thè N*vy. bis shy little wife and Rev. John Ware of thè Adirondack country. New York, old frlends of Mrs. Owen and thè professor, are dinner guesta. The converaatlon waudere to Marlan's father MORTON BaSSETT, pollttcian, whom thè opposltlon presa declared to bo thè most vlcious character that has ever appeartd In thè publlc lise of thè State, and to ED THATCHER. hia business associate. DR. WANDLESS, president emeritus of Madison College. **Now that you are he re, Andrew, I want you to remember that I'm gettili* on and you’re Just a trifle ahead of me o nthe dusty plke that has no turnlng.” "I wlßh I had your eternai youth Sally. I feel about ninety-nlne tonight." “That's thè reaeon I’m keepln* you up. You carne here to talk about Bomething that's on your mlnd, and thè eooner lt's over thè better. No use in your lying awake all night.” Professor Kelton played with hls glass and moved uneasily In hls ehalr. "Come right out with lt, Andrew. If it's money that worrles you. don’t Waste any Urne explaining how lt happened; Just teli me how much. I had my bank hook balanced yesterday and I've got exactly twelve thousand four hundred and eighteen dollars and eleven cents down at Tom Adams’s bank. If you can use lt you're welcome; lf lt aln’t enough I'm about to sell a bunch o’ colts I've got on my Lexington place and they're good for slx thousand more. I can dose thè, trade by a night telegram right now." Kelton laughed. The sums she named so lightly represented wealth beyond thè dreams of avarice. It afforded him infinite relief to be able to talk to her. and though he had come to thè city for thè purpose. his adventures of thè day with banks ano trust companies had given a new direction to his needs But thè habii of secrecy. of flghting out hls battles alone, was so thoroughly established that he sound it dlfficult to enter imo confidences even with this kind-hearted friend made thè way easy for him. ''Come, out with it Andrew. You re thè only person I know who's never come to me with troubles. l’d begun to think you were aniong thè iucky ones who never have any or else you were afraid of me." “lt's not fair to trouble you about this. but I’m In a corner where I need help. When I asked you to let me bring Sylvia here I merely wanted vou to look her over. She’s gotto an age where I can't trust my judgment about her. I had a pian for her that I tbought I could put through without much trouble. but I feund out today that lt lsn’t so easy. I wanted to send her to college." “You want to send her to college and you thought you would come over and let me give her a little motherly counsel while you borrowed thè money of Tom Adams to pay her college bilia. Is that what's happened?" “Just about that. Sally. Adams is all right; he has to protect thè bank.” "Adams is a dodderlng imbecile. How much dld you ask him for?” "Flve thous&nds dollars. -1 offered to put up my lise Insurance policy for that amount and some stock I own He eald money waa tight Just now and they'd want a good name on thè paper besldes thè co daterai, and that l'd better try my home bank. I didn't do that, of course, be cause Montgomery Is a sma 11 town and—well. l’d rather not advertise my af fairs to a whole community. I'm not a business man and these things ad seem terrlbly complicated and erabarrassing to me.’’ “But you tried other places besldes Adams? I saw lt In your eye when you carne home this evening that you had struck a sna*. Well, wed! So money ls tight, ls It? I must speak to Tom Adams about that. He told me yesterday they had more money than they could lend and that thè banks were cutting down thelr divi denda. He's no banker; he ought to be In thè old clothes business."

“I c&n't blame hlm. I suppose my not belng In business and not llvlng here, makes a dlfference ” "Rubblsh.' But you ought to have coma to me. You spoke of stock: what's that in?” “Shares in thè White Ri ver can nerles. I put all I had in that company. It promlsed well in thè pros pectus." “It alwaya does, Andrew,” replled th eold lady dryly. "Let me se®, Morton Bassett wm in that” "1 believe so. He was one of thè organizsi-.” "Um.” "Adama told me today there had been a reorganizatlon and that my shares were valuelees." "Well. well 80 ycm were one of thè sucker that put money into that cannine scheme. You can cbarge it off. Andrew. Lei's drop thè money question for a minute, I want to talk about thè little girl.” "Yes. I’m anxious to know what you thlnk of her." "Well. she’s a Kelton: it’ in thè eyea: but there’s a good deal of her Grandmother Evans in her. too. Let me eee—your wlfe was one of those Posey County Evanses? But about Sylvia. I don't think I ever saw Sylvia’B mother aster she was Sylvia’s age." “I don’t think you did. She was away at school a good many years. Sylvia is thè picture of her mother It’s a striklng likeness: but theìr nature* wholly differenti’ He was very grave, and thè deepondency that he had begun to throw off settled upon him again. "Andrew, who was Sylivla’s father? I never asked you that question before, and maybe I oughtn’t to rk a dow, but I*ve often wondered.

Let me see, what was your daughter’s name?” "Edna.” “Just what happened to Edna, Andrew?” she perslsted. Kelton rose and paced thè floor. “I don’t know. Sally; I don't know! She was high-spirited as a girl, a little willful and Impulsive, but with thè best heart In thè world. She lost her mother too soon; and in her girlhood we had no home—not even thè half-homes posslble to naval offlcers. She had a good naturai voice and wanted to study music, so aster we had been settled at Madison College a year I left her In New York wlt'i a woman I knew pretty well—tue widow of a brother officer. It w w a horrible, terrible, hideous mlstake The lise of thè city went to her head. She wanted to flt herself for thè stage and they told me she could do lt—had thè gift and all that. 1 ought never to have left her down there. but what could I do? There was nothing In a town like Montgomery for ner: she wouldn’t listen to lt." “You dld your best. Andrew; you don’t have to prove that to me. Well—" "Edna ran off—without givlng me any hint of what was comlng It was a queer business. The woman I had countetd on to look out for her and protect her seemed utterly astonished at her disappearance and was helpless about thè whole matter when I went down there. It was my fault —all my fault!” He rose and flung up hls arms with a gesture of passionate despalr. "Sit down. Andrew, and left go through with it,” she sald caimly. “I reckon these things are hard, but it's better for you to teli me. You can’t teli everybody and someb dy ought to know. For thè sake of thè Mule girl upstalrs you’d better teli me.” “What I've said to you I've never taid to a soul,” he went on. "I've carried this thing all these years and have never mentioned it. My frlends at thè college are thè ,poblest people on earth; they have never asked questiona, but they must have wondered.” “Yes; and I've wondered. too. slnce thè first Urne you carne here and told me you had brought your daughter’s chi’.d home. It's perfeetly naturai, Andrew, for folks to wonder. Go on and teli me thè rest.” "The rest!” he crled. "Oh that's thè hardest part of lt! I have told you all I know! She wrote me aster a time that she was married and was happy, but she didn't explain her condact in any wuy. She signed nerself Garrison. but begged me not to try to find her. She said her husband

wasn't qulte prepaied to dlsclose hls marrtage to his family, but that it would be all right soon. The woman with whom I had left her couidn’t help me to identify him in any way; at least she didn't help me. There had been a number of young men hoarding In thè neighborhood—medicai and law etudents; but there was no Garrison among them. It was In June that this happened, and when I went down to try to trace her they had gone. I was never quite sure whether thè woman deait equarely with me or not. But it was my fault, Sally: I want you to know that I have r.o excuse to offer. I don't want you to try to say anvthing that would make my lot eaeier." It was not Sally Owen's way to estenuate errors of commlssion or omission. Her mental processes were slvvays singularly direct. "Are you sure she was married; iid you find any proof of it?" she asked bluntly. He was silent a moment before he met her eyes. "I have no proof of it. All I have is Edna's assurance in a letter." Thelr gaze held while they read ’-ach other's thoughts. She made no : ommenf; there was nothing to say o this, nor did she show surprise or repugnance at thè dark shadow his ir.swer had flung aerose thè meagre picture. “And Garrison —who was he?" "I don't know even that! Prob--ibly Garrison was not his reai name; but that ls wtaolly an assumption.” “It’s clear enough that whoevsr thè man was. and whether it was stiaight or not. Edna felt bound to shield him. That's Just like us fool vu "ien. How did Sylvlla come to your banda?" “There was nothing in that io help. About four years had passed slnce I lost track of her and I had traveled all over thè East and followed every clew in valn. I spent two summers in New York walking thè streeta in thè blind hope that I might meet her. Then, one day,—this was twelve years ago,—l had a telegram from thè superlntendent of a publlc hospital at Etica that Edna was there very 111. She dled before I got there. Ju3t how she carne to be in that particular place I have no idea. The hospital authorlties knew nothing except that she had gone to them, apparently from thè traln, serlously Ili. The little girl was with her. She asked them to send for me‘, but toid them nothing of herself. She had only hand baggage and lt told us nothing as to her home, if she had one, or where sho was going. Her clothlng. thè nurse poimed out, was of a style several years old, but lt was clean and neat. Must surprlslng of ali .she had with her several hundred dollars; but there was nothing whatever by whlch to reconstruct her lite In those blank years." “But she wrote to you—thè lettera would have given a clew of some kind?" "The few lettera she wrote me wero thè most fragmentary and all in thè first year: they were like her, poor chlld: her lettera were always thè merest scraps. In all of them sho said she would come home in due course: that some of her affairs had to be straightened out first, and that she was perfeetly hap py. They were traveling about, she said, and she asked me not to try to write to her. The fl'rst lettere carne from Canada—Montreal and Quebec; then one from Albany; then even these messages ceased, and I had no more until thè telegram called me to Utica. She had never mentioned thè birth of thè chlld. I don’t know—l don’t even know where Sylvia was born. or het exact age. The nurse at.the hospital said Edna called thè child Sylvia." “I overheard Sylvia telling Ware tonight that she was born in New York. Could it be possible—” “No; she knows nothing. You must remember that she was only three. Whe.i she beg&n to ask me when her

DOINGS OF THE DUFFS—

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birthday carne—well, Sally, I felt that l’d better give her one; and I told ber, too, that she was born In New York City. Tou understand—?” “Of course, Andrew. You did perfectly right. She’s likely to ask a good many questiona now that she’s growing up.” "Oh,” he cried despalringly, "she’s already asked them! It’s a heart-

OUT OUH WAY—By WILLIAMS

THE OLD HOME TOWN—By STANLEY

breaking business, I teli you. I’ve surrounded her origln and antecedents with a whole ti&sue of lies. But, Sally, it must have b cn all right—l had Edna’s own Word for lt!” he pleaded brokenly. “It must have been all right!” “Well, what if lt wasn’t! Your good name proteets ’ner; it’s a good name, Andrew. But flo on; you may as well

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teli me thè whole business.” "I’ve told you all I know; and as I’ve told it I’ve realized more than before how pitifully little it is.” “Well, there’s nothing to do about that. It’s thè future you’ve gotto figure on for Sylvia. So you think college is a good thing for girla—for a girl like Sylvia?” “Yes; but I want your opinion.

A Great Help

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS—By BLOSSER

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Maybe it isn’t fair; you’i-e a busy woman—” “I guess I’m not so busy. I’ve been 'etting lazy, and needed a hard jolt I’ve been wondering a good deal about these girls’ colleges. Some of ..his new woman business looks awful queer to me, but so did thè electric light and thè telephone a f@w years ago and I can even remember when

OUIi BOARDING HOUSE—By AHERN

people were likely to drop dead when ihey got thelr first telegram. Sylvia isn’t”—vhe hesitated for an instan. —“fivm what you say, Sylvia * isn’tmuc 1 like her mother?" “No. Her qualities are wholly fiiforent. Edna had a different mind altogether. There was nothing of thè student about her. The only thing that interested her was music, and

NOV. 21, 1922

—By ALLMAN

—By AL POSEN

ibat carne naturai to her. I've studled Sylvia earefully, — l’m ashamed to eonfess how earefully.—fearing that !ie would grow to be like her motheri i'Ut she’s another sort, and I doubt f she wlll change. The child, Sally, iits in her thè making of a great voman. No poor Edna was not like that. She hated study. (To Be Continued)