Indianapolis Times, Volume 35, Number 207, Indianapolis, Marion County, 8 January 1923 — Page 8

A Hoosier Chronicle

By MEREDITH NICHOLSON First Novel in the Times Series of Fiction Stories by Indiana Writers. (Copyright. 1912. by Meredith Nicholson)

“History has been making rapidly in the past twenty-four hours. Bassett has bought Thatcher’s interest in the Courier, and he proposes editing it himself. More than that, he was at my office this morning when I got there, and he asked me, as a special favor to him, to take a few shares in the company to qualify me as secretary of the corporation, and said he wanted me to help him. He said he thought it about time for Indiana to have a share in the general reform movement; talked about it as though this were something he had always intended doing, but had been prevented by press of other matters. He spoke of the Canneries case and wanted to know if I cared to reconsider my refusal to settle it. He put it quite impersonally —said Fitch told him he couldn’t do more than prolong the litigation by appeals, and that in the end he was bound to be whipped. And I agreed, on terms that really weren’t generous on my part. He said all right; that he wanted to clear up all his old business as quickly as possible. As he left my office I almost called him back to throw off the last pound I had exacted; he really made me feel ashamed of my greed. The old spell he had for me in the beginning came back again. I believe in him; I never believed in any man so much, Sylvia! And If he does throw his weight on the right side it will mean a lot to every good cause men and women are contending for these days. It will mean a lot to the State, to the whole country.” “And so much, oh, so much to him!” Just what had passed between Bassett and Sylvia he only surmised; but it was clear that the warmth with which he had spoken of his old employer was grateful to Sylvia. He had not meant to dwell upon Bassett, and yet the brightening of her eyes, her flash of feeling, the deep inner meaning of her ejaculation, had thrilled him. “I’ve said more than I meant to; I didn’t come to talk of those things, Sylvia.” “I’m glad you thought I should like to know about him. I’m glad /ou told me.” They were quiet for a little while, then he said, “Sylvia!” very softly. “Not than, Dan; please! I can’t bear to hear th t. It will break my heart if you begin that!” She rose and faced him, her back to the wall. He had come to complete the declaration which the song had interrupted on the lake, and at the first hint the chords that had been touched by the unknown singer vibrated sharply, bringing back her old heartache. He crossed to her quickly that he might show her how completely the memory of that night had been obliterated; that it had vanished utterly and ceased to be, like the ripple stirred to a moment’s life the brush of a swallow’s wing on still water. He stood beside her and took both her hands in his strong clasp. “We are going to b. married, Sylvia; we are going to be married, here, now, today!” “No, no!” She turned away her head, but his arms enfolded her; he bent down and kissed her forehead, her eyes, and her lips last of all. "Tes; here and now. Unless you say you don’t care for me, that you don’t love me. If you say those things I shall go away.” She did not say them. She clung to him and looked long into his face, and kissed him. After a little she rested her hands on his shoulders, half-clinging to him, half-repelling him, and he pressed his hands upon her cheeks, to be ready for the question he had read in her eyes. “But,” she faltered, “there are thing3 I have promised to do for Aunt Sally; we shall have to wait a long timer' “Not for Aunt Sally,” he cried happily. “Here she is at the door now.

CHURCH THRIVES IN BIG PRISON

Organization Started by Inmate From Indiana City. By DON KING A United Press Staff Correspondent ATLANTA, Ga., Jan. S.—One of the largest congregations in the South is located in the Federal penitentiary at Atlanta. The organization, which was started a year or so ago by an inmate, a former distinguished prosecuting attorney from an Indiana city, numbers several thousand members. In addition, a regular Sunday School, with an average attendance of over 2,000 each Sunday, is held in the mammoth prison. As the work of the prison church progressed scores of men, many of whom are in for terms amounting to practically life Imprisonment, professed a desire to join. The department of justice at "Washington granted these men special permission to go to a church near the prison without guards and be accepted as members. None of the prisoners have attempted to escape. The prisoner from Indiana who organized the church has since been pardoned. Shortly after the church was organized another prisoner, upon whose testimony the attorney from Indiana was sentenced, came to the jail. At a church service he broke down and confessed that the charges against the Indiana man had been framed and gave details of the plot. Shortly afterward the attorney was released. The expenses of the prison church are met by contributions from outside. Checks from every State in the Union are received to help defray expenses. Some of the largest contributions are men who once were confined In the jail.

I left her and John Ware at Dr. Wandless’s.” “Well, well!” exclaimed Mrs. Owen, advancing into the room and throwing open her coat. “You said you meant to get back to the city in time to catch that limited for New York, and you haven't got much margin, Daniel, I can tell you that!” It seemed to vhe people who heard of it afterward a most romantic marriage, that of Sylvia and Dan Harwood; but whatever view we may take of this, it was certainly of all weddings the simplest. They stood there before the mantel above which still hung the broken half of a ship’s wheel. Mrs. Owen, very tall and gaunt, was at one side, and Dr. Wandless at the other; and old Mary, abashed and bewildered, looked on with dilated eyes and crossed herself at intervals. John Ware drew a service book from his pocket, and his fingers trembled as he began. For none In the room, not even for Sylvia, had this hour deeper meaning than for the gray soldier. He read slowly, as though this were anew thing in the world, that a man and a woman had chosen to w-alk together to the end of their days. And once his voice broke. He who, in a hill country far away, had baptized this woman into the fold of Christ the Shepherd, wavered for an instant as he said; “Elizabeth, wilt thou have this man—” „ Sylvia lifted her head. She had not expected this, nor had Dan; but Dr. Wandless had already stepped forward to give her in marriage, and as she repeated her name after the minister, she felt the warm, reasuring pressure of Dan's hand. And so they went forth together from the little cottage by the campus where they had first met; nor may it have been wholly a fancy of Dr. Wandless’s that the stars came out earlier that white winter evening to add their blessing! A POSTSCRIPT BY THE CHRONICLER Those who resent as an impertinence the chronicler’s intrusion upon the scene may here depart and slam the door, if such violence truly ex- ; press their sentiments. Others. ; averse to precipitous leavetaking, may j linger, hat in hand, for the epilog. I attended a public hearing by the ! Senate committee on child labor at j the last session of the General Assem- I bly, accompanying my neighbor, Mrs. Sally Owen, and we found seats immediately behind Mr. and Mrs. Dan- j iel Harwood. “There’s E-lizabeth and Daniel,” re- ; marked Mrs. Owen, as they turned j round and nodded to us. I found it , pleasant to watch the Harwoods, who are, as may have been surmised, old friend of mine. The meeting gathered headway, and as one speaker after another was presented by the chairman, I observed that Mrs. Harwood and her husband frequently exchanged glances of approval; and I’m afraid that Mrs. Harwood’s profile, and that winning smile of her, interested me quite as much as the pleas of those who advocated the pending bill. Then the representative of a manufacturers’ organization inveighed against the measure, and my two friends became even more deeply absorbed. It was a telling speech, by one of the best-known lawyers in the State. Once I saw Dan’s cowlick shake like the plume of an angry warrior as his wife turned toward him inquiringly. When the orator concluded. I saw them discussing his arguments in emphatic whispers, and I was so pleased with the picture they made that I failed to catch the name of the speaker whom the chairman was introducing. A nudge from Mrs. Owen caused me to lift my eyes to the rostrum. “The next speaker is Mrs. Allen Thatcher,” announced the chairman, beaming inanely as a man always does when it becomes his grateful privilege to present a pretty woman to an audience. Having known Marian a long time, it was almost too much for my composure to behold her there, beyond question the bestdressed woman in the Senate chamber, with a single American Beauty thrust into her coat, and a bewildering rose-trimmed hat crowning her fair head. A pleasant sight anywhere on earth, this daughter of the Hon. Morton Bassett, some time Senator from Fraser; but her appearance in the legislative hall long dominated by her father confirmed my faith in the ultimate adjustments of the law of compensations. I had known Marian of old as an expert golfer and the most tireless dancer at Waupegan; ! but that speech broke all her records. Great is the emotional appeal of a | pretty woman in an unapproachable ; hat, but greater still the power of the born story-teller! I knew that Marian visited Elizabeth House frequelty and told stories of her own or ! gave recitations at the Saturday night I entertainments; but this was Marian with a difference. She stated facts and drove them home with anecdotes. It was a vigorous, breathless performance, and the manufacturers’ attorney confessed afterward that she had given hm a good troucing. When she concluded (I remember that her whitegloved hand smote the speaker’s desk with a sharp whack at her last word), I was conscious that the applause was started by a stout, bald gentleman whom I had not noticed before. I turned to look at the author of this spontaneous outburst and found that It was the Hon. Edward G. Thatcher, whose unfeigned pride in his daughter-in-law was good to see. When the applause had ceased. Mrs. Owen sighed deeply and ejaculated: “Well, well!” As we walked home Aunt Sally grew talkative. “I used to say it was all In the Book of Job and believed it, but there are some things that Job didn’t know after all. When I put Marian on the board of trustees of E lizabeth House School, it was just to make good feeling in the family, and I didn’t suppose she would attend a meeting, but she’s one of the best women on that job. And E-lizabeth” —I loved the way she drawled the name and repeated it —“E-lizabeth says they couldn't do without her. T guess between ’em those girls will make E-lizabeth House School go right. That investment will be a dividend payer. And there’s Morton 'Bassett. that I never took much stock jn, why, he’s settled down to being \ ) \ \\

DOINGS OF THE DUFFS—

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decent and useful citizen. There ain’t a better newspaper in the country than the Courier, and that first editorial, up at the top of the page every morning, he, writes himself, and it’s got a smack to it—a kind of pawpaw and persimmon flavor that shows it’s honest. I guess settling up that canneries business cost him some money, but things had always come too easy for Morton. And now that they’ve

OUT OUR WAY-By WILLIAMS

THE OLD HOME TOWN—By STANLEY

down here, Hallie’s cheered up a good deal, and she shows signs of being cured of the sanatorium habit.” We were passing round the monument, whose candelabra flooded the plaza with light, and Mrs. Owen inveighed for a moment against automobiles in general as we narrowly escaped being run down by a honking juggernaut at Christ Church corner. “It seems Mnrton has grown some,”

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

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she resumed. “He’s even got big enough to forgive his enemies, and John Ware says only great men do that. You’ve noticed that ‘Hoosier Folk at Home’ column in t he Courier? Weil, Ike Pettit runs that; Morton brought him to town on purpose after Kdward Thatcher closed out the Fraservfile paper. I read every word of that column every day. it gives you a kind of moving picture show of

Cheating the Movers

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cloverfields, and children singing in the country schools, and rural free delivery wagons throwing off magazines and newspapers, and the interurban cars cutting slices out of the lonesomeness of the country folks. It’s certainly amazing how times change, and I want to live as long as I can and keep on changing with ’em! Why, these farmers that used to potter around all winter worrying over their

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS—By BLOSSER

OUR BOARDING HOUSE—By AHERN

debts to the insurance companies are now going to Lafayette every January to learn how to make corn pay, and they’re putting bathrooms in their houses and combing the hay out of their whiskers. They take their wives along with ’em to the university, so they can have a rest and learn to bake bread that won t bring up the death-rate; and when those women -go home they dig the nails out of the

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■windows to let the fresh air In, and move the melodeon to the wood-pile, and quit frying meat except when the minister stops for dinner. It’s all pretty comfortable and cheerful and tusy in Indiana, with lots of old-fash-ioned human kindness flowing round; and it’s getting better all the time. And .1 guess it’s always got to bs that way, out here in God’s country.’* THE END

JAN. 8, 1923

—By ALLMAN

—By AL POSEN