Indianapolis Times, Volume 35, Number 209, Indianapolis, Marion County, 10 January 1923 — Page 8
8
ALICE ADAMS by BOOTH TARKINGTON Copyright, 1921, by Doublcday, Page &. Cos.
BEGIN HERE TODAY SYNOPSIS Thr nights, seem long and the noises of the city most annoying to VIR<~-rL ADAMS, father of ALICE, as he bides his time in the sink room eonvaleseing- irora a nervous trouble brought on by business strain. His thoughts strugcle with something unpleasant, suggested by the feeble effort of the night light to outshine the rays ol the morning, but he cannot discover what it is. Even MISS PERRY, the nurse, has attempted in vain to cheer him. His wife who is deeply eoneemed about her husband, though slie makes a sucrose ful effort to conceal her anxiety from him, ineists that when he recovers he obtain some vocation more agreeable and less strenuous than hie former business The only thing in the world that is soothing to Mr. Adams is his daughter Alice. Before the mirror in her room across from her father's, she admires herself. first in one pose and then another, always affecting gestures, the more to "make memorable her lovely hands." to quote her cold-hearted girl friends. GO ON WITH THE STORY So much liveliness took proper place as only accessory to that of the fact, where her vivacity reached its climax; and it was unfortunate that an ungiftad young man, new in the town, should have attempted to define the effect upon him of all this generosity of emphasis. He said that “the way she used her cute hazel eyes and the wonderful glow of her facial expression gave her a mighty spiritual quality.” His actual rendition of the word was “spirichul”: but it was not his pronunciation that embalmed this outburst in the perennial laughter of Alice’s girl friends; they made the misfortune far less his than hers. Her mother comforted her too heartily, insisting that Alice had ‘‘plenty enough spiritual qualities,” certainly more than possessed by other girls who flung the phrase at her, wooden things, jealous of everything they were incapable of themselves; and then Alice, getting more championship than she sought, grew uneasy lest Mrs. Adams should repeat such defenses “outside the family”; and Mrs. Adams ended by weeping because the daughter so distrusted her intelligence. Alice frequently thought it necessary to Instruct her mother. Her morning greeting was an instruction today: or, rather, it was an admonition in the style of an entreaty, the more petulant as Alice thought that Mrs. Adams might have had a glimpse of the posturing to the mirror. This was needless worry; the mother had caught a thousand such glimpses, with Alice unaware, and she thought nothing of the one just flitted. “For heaven's sake, mama, come clear inside the room and shut the door! Please don't leave it open for everybody to look at me!” “There isn't anybody to see you," Mrs. Adams explained, obeying. "Miss Perry’s gone downstairs, and —” “Mama., I heard you in papa’s room,” Alice said, not dropping the note of complaint. “I could hear boln of you, and T don't think you ought to get poor old papa so upset—not in his present condition, anyhow.” Mrs. Adams seated herself on the edge of the bed. “He's better all the time, ’ she said, not disturbed. “He's almost well. The doctor says so and Miss Perry says so; and if w* don’t get him into the right frame of min i now we never Mill. The first day he's outdoors he’ll go back to that old hole —you'll see! And if he once does that, he’ll settle down there and it'll be too late and weil never get him out.” “Well, anyhow, T think you could use a little more tact with him." “I do try to,” the mother sighed. “It never was much use with him. I don’t think you understand him as well as I do, Alice.” "There’s one thing I don't understand about either of you," Alice returned, crisply. “Before people get married they can do anything they want to with each other. Why can't they do the same thing after they’ve married? When you and papa were young people and engaged, he'd have done anything you w.tiled him to. That must have be.-n because you knew how to manage him then. Why can’t you go at him the same way now?” Mrs. Adams sighed again, and laughed a little, making no other response: but Alice persisted. "Well, why can’t you? Why can’t you ask him to do things the way you used to ask him when you were just in love with each other? Why don't you anyhow try it, mamma, instead of dingdonging at him?” “‘Ding-donging at him.’ Alice?" Mrs. Adams said, with a pathos somewhat emphasized. “Is that how my trying to do what I can for you strikes you?” “Never mind that; it’s nothing to hurt your feelings.” Alice disposed of the pathos briskly. “Why don't you answer my question? What’s the matter with using a little more tact on papa? Why can’t you treat him the way you probably did when you were young people, before you were married? I never liave understood why people can’t do that.” “Perhaps you Mill understand some day,” her mother said, gently. “May - be you will when you’ve been married twenty-five years.” “You keep evading. Why don’t you answer my question right straight out?” “There are questions you can't answer to young people, Alice.” “You mean because M’e're too young to understand the answer? I don’t see that at all. At twenty-two a girl's supposed to have some intelligence, isn't she? And intelligence is the ability to understand, isn't it? Why do I have to wait till I’ve lived with a man twenty-five years to understand why you can’t be tactful with papa?” “You may understand some things before that,” Mrs. Adams said, tremulously. “You may understand how you hurt me some times. Youth <an’t knoM- everything bv being intelligent, and by the time you could understand the ansM'er you're asking for you'd knoM- it, and wouldn't need to ask. You don’t understand your father, Alice; you don't knoM M'hat it takes to change him when lie's made up his mind to be stubborn.” Alice rose and began to get herself into a skirt. “Well, 1 don’t think making scenes ever changes anybody." she grumbled. “I think a lit tie jolly persuasion goes twice as far. myself.” “A little jolly persuasion?’’ Her mother turned the echo of this phrase into an ironic lament. “Yes. there Mas a time Mhen I thought that, too: It didn’t work: that's all.” “Perhaps you left the ‘jolly’ part cf it out, mamma.”
(For the second time that morning —ii M-as now a little after 7 o’clock — , tears seemed about to offer their sol- | ace to Mrs. Adams. “I might have expected you to say that, Alice; you ! never do miss a chance,” she said, gently. “It seems queer you don’t j some time miss just one chance!” But Alice, progressing with her i toilet, appeared to be little concerned. "Oh. well, 1 think there are better ways of managing a man than just hammering at him.” Mrs. Adams uttered a little cry of pain. “ ‘Hammering,* Alice?” “If you'd left it entirely to me," her daughter went on, briskly, "I be- : lieve papa'd already be willing to do | anything M-e want him to.” “That's it; tell me I spoil everying. Well, T M'on’t intefere from now ' cn, you ran oe sure of it.” “Please don't talk like that,” Alice | said, quickly. I’m old enough to l realize that papa may need pressure : of all sorts: I only think it makes him more obstinate to get him cross. ! Y'ou probably do understand him bet- ! ter, but that’s one thing I’ve found j out an>l you haven't. There!” She | gave her mother a friendly tap on the j shoulder and M-ent to the door. “I’ll I hop in and say hello to him now.” As t she went, she continued the fastening of her blouse, and appeared ; in her father’s room with one hand still thus engaged, but site patted his forehead with the other. i “Poor old papa-daddy!” she said, i gaily. “Every time lie’s better some one talks him Into getting so mad he has a re lapse. It's a shame!” Her father’s eyes, beneath their i melancholy broM's, looked up at her wistfully. “I suppose you heard your j mother going for me,” he said. “I heard you going for her, too!” Alice laughed. ‘‘What was It all about?” “Oh, the same danged old story!” “You mean she Manta you to try something neM- Mhen you get Mell?” Alice asked, Mith cheerful Innocence. “So we could all have a lot more money?” At this his sorrowful forehead wss more sorroMful than ever. The deep horizontal lines moved upward to a ! pattern of suffering so familial to | his daughter that it meant nothing to . her; but he spoke quietly. “Yes; so | we wouldn't have any money at all, : most likely.” “Oh. no!" she laughed, and, finishing Mith her blouse, patted his cheeks with both hands. "Just think hoM many grand openings there must be for a man that knows as much as you do! I always did believe you could get rich if you only cared to, papa-” But upon his forehead the painful pattern still deepened. “Don’t you think we’ve always h id enough, the May til. ngs are. Alice?" “Not the May things are!” She patted his cheeks again; laughed again. "[• u-ed to be enough, maybe —anjtv.i;. w* aid skimp along on it—but the v. ... things are now I expect j mama's r*-ally pretty practical in her] ideas, though. 1 think it's a shame for her to bother you about it M'hile you're so weak. Don't you worry about it. though: just think about other things till you get strong.” "You know." h” said; “you know it isn’t exactly the easiest thing in the i world foe o n an of my age to find these grand openings you speak of. And when you've passed half May from 50 to 60 you're apt to see some risk it: giving up what you know how to do and trying something new.” ’My, M'hat a frown!” she 'vied, blithly. "Didn't I tell you to stop thinking about it till you get all well?" [ She bent over him, giving him a gay little kiss on the bridge of his nose. “There! I must run to breakfast. Cheer up now: An ’voir:” And with her pretty hand she waved further encouragement from the closing door as she departedI.ightsomely descending the narrow stairway, she whistled as she went, her fingers drumming time on the rail; and, still M'hlstling, she came into the dining-room, M’here her mother and her brother M'ere already at the table. The brother, a thin and salioM’ boy of twenty, greeted her without much approval as she took her place. “Nothing seems to trouble you!” he said. “No: nothing much,” she made airy response. "What’s troubling yourself, : Walter?” “Don’t let that worry you!” he re- i turned, seeming to consider this to bo repartee of an effective sort; for he \ fumi. hed a short laugh to go Mith it, ! and turned to his, coffee with the man- | nor of one who has satisfactorily ; closed an episode. “Walter always seems to have so many secrets?’ Alice said, studying him shrewdly, but M-ith a friendly j enough amusement in her scrutiny. ] “Everything he does or says seems to be acted for the benefit of some rnys- ! terious audience inside himself, and : he always gets its applause. Tako , what he said just now; he seems to i think it means something, but if It , does, why, that's just another secret ' between him and the secret audience ! inside of him! We don't really know anything about Walter at all, do M-e. mama?” YValter laughed again, in a manner that sustained her theory Mell enough; : then after finishing his coffee, he took from his pocket a flattened packet in glazed blue paper; extracted M'ith stained fin gel's a. bent and wrinkled little cigarette, lighted it, hitched up | his belted trousers with the air of a person M'ho turns from trifles to things better M'orth his attention, and left the room. Alice laughed as the door closed. ' “He’s all secrets,” she said. “Don’t you think you really ought to know more about him, mamma?" “I’m sure he's a good boy,” Mrs. Adams returned thoughtfully. “He’s i been very brave about not being able to have the advantages that are enjoy I by the boys lie's grown up with. I've never heard a word of complaint from him." “About his not being sent to col lege?” Alice cried. "L should think you wouldn’t! He didn’t even haw enough ambition to finish high school!" Mrs. Adams sighed. "It seemed i< me Walter lost his ambition when nearly all the boys he'd grown up with went to Eastern schools to prepare to, college, and Me couldn't afford to sem' him. If only your fr.ther would liav listened —" .Yi.ce interrupted: "What nonsens: Walter hated books and studying, am athletics, too, for that matter, lit doesn’t care for anything nice that I ever heard of. Whit do you suppose
DOINGS OF THE DUFFS—
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TIiKM I>A VS IS <{ONE FOREVER—
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THE OLD HOME TOWN—By STANLEY ~fw LAND <SIRLS, H f—--jr’n! 1 . - ——IZITTH MEET/N j FALSE -theth l To POT ON THef in i THE LOD6E WAS DELAYED TEN MIMUTES LAST/;,' gECAUSE CERTAIN MEMBERS WERE BUSY DISCUSSING? THE NEW RED PLUSH &OC.KIKG CHAIR AUNT SARAH PEABODY 3101111 V BOUGHT FROM A CATALOG, HOUSE. nea sekvke ' J ®tW
dues like, mama? He must like nmething or other some where, but ■ ■ii.it do you supiiose it is? What Hes he do Mith his time?” Why, the poor boy’s at Lamb and nipany’s all day. He doesn’t get rough until fve in the afternoon; doesn’t have much time.” “Well, M'e ne.er have dinner until about aeven, and he’s always late for dinner, ad goes nut, heaven knows
THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES
OUT OUR WAY—By WILLIAMS
Mhere, right afterward!” Alice shook her bead. “He used to go with our friends’ boys, but T don’t think he does now," “Why, how could he?” Mrs. Adams protested. “That isn’t his fault, poor child! The boys he knew when he Mas younger are nearly all away at college.” “Yes, but he doesn't see anything of 'em when they're here at holiday-
/ THAT GOES UP STAIRS, \ ( PAnST - You DON’T SEEM ) l TO BE AS SPRY AS YOU ( \USED TO BE, PANSY - / Q f MO,MAM - I GOT A \ \ UW j MISERY IN MA RIGHT j idli*J * IraffK
time or vacation. None of ’em come tc the house any more.” "I suppose lies made other friends. It’s natural for him to want companions, at his age.” "Yes,” Alice said, with disapproving emphasis. “But w r ho are they? I’ve got an idea he plays pool at some rough place downtown.” “Oh, no; I’m sure he’s a steady boy," Mrs. Adams protested, but her tone
The Early and Late Settlers
—— : __________ —/ OLIVIA, PO YOU THINK -if THE PIANO LOOKS BETTER ] v where it is now, oe \ > BETTER OVER ON THE OTHER l SIDE,NEXT To THE . A V> WE’LL Nor\ V * j Decide that dntJ "~~Vi TOH GETS HOME ‘ # ¥ ( l*M TIRED SHOVIN’ && Jm IH.
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was not that of thorough-going conviction, and she added, “Life might be a very different thing for him if only your father can be brought to see " "Never mind, mama! It isn’t me that has to be convinced, you know; and we can do a lot more with papa if we just let him alone about it for a day or tM'o. Promise me you won’t say any more to him until —well, until he’s able to co-xie downstairs to
FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS—By BLOSSER
OUR BOARDING HOUSE—By AHERN
table. Will you?” Mi's. Adams bit her lip. which had begun to tremble. “I think you can trust me to know a feM things. Alice," she said- “I’m a little older than you, you know." “That’s a good girl!" Alice jumped up. laughing. “Don’t forget it's the same as a promise, and do just cheer him up a little. I’ll ay good-by to him before I go out.”
BELIEVE ME M ( I’M GOING TO HIT ___J Jjl THAT OLD HAY EARLY J X. This night f J 3^ '-X. . —' -*
f \UEN \ L Pick outtue J r r- / * v / f PLV ?a/ETVJiiNG \ \ TUir pdecklbs* j L dcssat u’ke . i K J V ~ ST SERVICE /
“Where are you going ” "Oh, I've got lots to do. I though* I'd run out to Mildred’s to see what she's going to wear tonight, and then I want to go down and buy a yard of chiffon and some narrow ribbon to make new bows for my slippers*— you'll have to give me some money ” (To Bo ConltaaaU
JAN. 10. 1923
—By ALLMiVN
—By AL POSEN