Indianapolis Times, Volume 35, Number 217, Indianapolis, Marion County, 19 January 1923 — Page 8

8

ALICE ADAMS by BOOTH TARKINGTON Copyright, 1921, by Doublefiay, Page & Cos.

Begin Hern With her brother, waltkb. ALICE ADAMS,, poor bnt with high ambitions, attends the fiance of wealthy MILDRED PALMER. After two dances, he lea-res her with FRANK DOWLING, fat and short and about as uncomfortable in the company of the haunghty guests as Walter. After one dance with Alice. Frank’s mother comes after him. much to his annoyance. InsistHr tb't he dance with R£>T STTa LAMB, of the family of Lamb A Cos., by whom Alices father is employed. leaving Alice sitting alone in the corridor. Alice had believed Mildred her most intimate friend, but her attitude on this e.-ening toward Alice is noticeably cold. It hurst Alice that Mildred never mentioned to her the name of handsome Arthur Russell, her most attentive friend of the evening, to whom It is suspected Mildred is engaged. Go on with the story. SHE had learned It during the last two years; she was 20 when j for the first time she had the shock of finding herself without an applicant for one of her dr. nee*. When she was 16 “all the nice hoys in town," as her mother said, crowded the Adamses’ small veranda and steps, or eat near by. crosslegged on the lawn, on summer evenings; and at eighteen she had replaced the boys with "the older men." By this time most of “the other girls,” her contemporaries, were away at school or college, and when they came home to stay, they “came out ’ —that feeble revival of an ancient custom offering the maiden to the ceremonial inspection of the tribe. Alice neither went away nor “came out," and, In contrast with those who did, she may have seemed to lack freshness of lustre —jewels are richest when revealed all new In a white velvet box. And Alice may have been too eager to secure new retainers, , too kind In her efforts to keep the old ones. She had been a belle too soon. CHAPTER VIII HE device of the absentee partI \ ner has the defect that it can- ■ not be employed for longer than ten or fifteen minutes at a time, and it may not be reported more than twice in one evening; a single repetition. Indeed, is weak, and may prove a betrayal. Alice knew that her present performance could be effective during only this interval between dances; and though her eyes were guarded, she anxiously counted over the partnerless young men who lounged together In the doorways within her view. Every one of them ought to have asked her for dances, she thought, and although she might have been put to it to give a reason why any of them "ought," her heart was hot with resentment against them. For a girl who has been a belle, it is harder to live through these bad times than It is for one who has never known anything better. Like a figure of painted and brigbtlyq varnished wood. Ella Dowling sat against I the wall through dance after dance with glassy imperturbability; it was easier to be wooden, Alice thought, if you had your mother with you, as Ella had. You were left with at least the shred of a pretense that you came to sit with your mother as a spectator, and not to offer yourself to be danced with by men who looked you over and rejected you—not for the first time. "Not for the first time”; there lay a sting! Why had you thought this time might be different from the other times? Why had you broken your back picking those hundreds of violets? Hating the fatuous young mm In the doorways more bitterly for every instant that she had to maintain her tableau, the smiling Alice knew fierce impulses to spring to her feet and shout at them: “You idiots!” Hands in pockets, they lounged against the pilasters, or faced one another, laughing vaguely, each one of them seeming to Alice no more than so much mean beef In clothes. She wanted to tell them they were no better than that: and It seemed a cruel thing of heaven to let them go on believing themselves young lords. They were doing nothing, killing time. Wasn’t she at her lowest value at least a means of killing time? Evidently the mean beeves thought not. And when one of them finally lounged across the corridor and spoke to her, he was the very one to whom she preferred her loneliness. "Waiting for somebody. Lady Alicia?" he asked, negligently: and his easy burlesque of her name was like the familiarity of the rest of him. He was one of those full-bodied, grossly handsome hien who are pow erful and active, but never submitj themselves to the rigor of becoming athletes, though they shoot and fish from expensive camps. Gloss is the most shining outward mark of the type. Nowadays these men no longer use brllliantine on their mustaches, but they have gloss bought from manicure girls, from masseurs, and from automobile makers; and their eyes, usually large, are glossy. None of this is allowed to interfere with business; these are “good business men,” and often make large fortunes. They are men of Imagination about two things—women and money, and. combining their imaginings about both, usually make a wise first marriage. Later, however, they are apt to imagine too much about some little woman without whom life seems duller than need be. They run away, leaving the first wife well enough dowered. They are never Intentionally unkind to women, and in the end they usually make the mistake cf thinking they have had their money’s worth of life. Here was Mr. Harvey Malone, a young specimen in an earlier stage of development, trying to marry Henrietta Lamb, and now sauntering ovei to speak to Alice, as a time-laller before his next dance with Henrietta. Alice made no response to his question, and he dropped lazily Into the vacant chair, from which she sharply withdrew her hand. “I might as well use his chair till he comes, don’t you think? You don’t mind, do you, old glrir* "Oh, no,” Alice said. "It doesn’t matter one way or the other. Please don't call me that,” "So that's how you feel?" Mr. Malone laughed Indulgently, without much interest. 'Tve been meaning to come to see you sos a long time—honestly I have —because I wanted to have a good talk with you about old times. I know you think it was funny, after the way I used to come to your house two or three times a week, and sometimes oftener —well, I don’t blame you for being hurt, the way I stopped without explaining or

anything. The truth is there wasn't any reason; I Just happened to have a lot of Important things to do and couldn’t find the time. But I am going to call on you some evening—honestly I am. I don’t wonder you think—” "You're mistaken,” Alice said. "I’ve never thought anything about it at aIL” “Well, well!” he said, and looked at her languidly. “What’s the use of being cross with this old man? He always means well.” And. extending his arm, he would have given her a friendly pat upon the shoulder, but she evaded It. "Well, well!” he said. “Seems to me you’re getting awful tetchy! Don’t you like your old friends any more?" "Not all of them.” “Who’s the new one?" he asked, teasingly. "Come on and tell us, Alice. Who Is It you were holding tills chair for?” “Never mind.” "Well, all I’ve got to do is to sit here till he comes back; then I’ll see who It Is.” “He may not come back before you have to go.” "Guess you got me that time,” Ma lone admitted, laughing as he rose. "They’re tuning up, and I’ve got this dance. I am coming around to see you some evening.” He moved away, calling back over his shoulder, “Honestly, I am’’* Alice did not look at him. She had held her tableau as long as she could; it was time for her to abandon the box-trees; and she stepped forth frowning, as if a little annoyed with the absentee for being such a time upon her errand; whereupon the two chairs were instantlly seized by a coquetting pair who Intended to "sit out" the dance. She walked quickly down the .broad corridor. turned into the broader hall, and hurriedly entered the dressingroom where she had left her wraps. She stayed here as long as she could, pretending to arrange her hair at a mirror, then fidgeting with one of her slipper-buckies; but the Intelligent elderly woman in charge of the room made an indefinite sojourn Impracticable. "Perhaps I could help you with that buckle, miss,” she suggested, approaching. "Has It come loose?” Alice wrenched desperately; then it was loose. The competent woman, producing needle and thread, deftly made the buckle fast, and there was nothing for Alice to do but express her gratitude and go. She went to the door of the cloakroom opposite, where a colored man stood watchfully in the doorway. “I wonder If you know which of the gentlemen Is my brother, Mr. Walter Adams,” she said. “Yes’m; I know him.” "Could you tell me where he Is?” “No'm; I couldn't say.” “Well, if you see him, would you please tell him that his sister. Miss Adams, is looking for him and very anxious to speak to him?” “Yos'm. Sho’ly, sho'ly!" As she went away he stared after her and seemed to swell with some bursting emotion. In fact, it was too muah for him, and he suddenly retired within the room, releasing strangulated laughter. Walter remonstrated. Behind an excellent screen of coats and hats, in a remote part of the room, he was kneeling on the floor, engaged in a game of chance with a second colored attendant: and the laughter became so vehement that It not only interfered with the pastime in hand, but threatened to attract frozen-face attention. “I can't he’p it, man,” the laughter explained. “I coin’ he’p It! You sut’n’y the beatin’es’ white boy’n 'is city!” The dancers were swinging into an “encore” as Alice halted for an irresolute moment In a doorway. Across the room, a cluster of matrons sat chatting absently, their eyes on their dancing daughters; and Alice, finding a refugee’s courage, dodged through the scurrying: couples, seated herself In a chair on the outskirts of this colony of elders, and began to talk eagerly to the matron nearest . her. The matron seemed unaccustomed to so much vivacity, and responded but dryly, whereupon Alice was more vivacious than ever; for she meant now to present the picture of a Jolly girl too much Interested In these wise older women to bother about every foolish young man who asked her for a dance.

Her matron was constrained to go so far as to supply a tolerant nod, now and then, in complement to the girl’s animation, and Alice was grateful for the nods. In this fashion she supplemented the exhausted resources of the dining-room and the box-tree nook, and lived through two more dances, when again Mr. Frank Dowling presented himself as a partner. She needed no pretense to seek the dressing-room for repairs after that number; this time they were necessary and genuine. Dowling waited for her, and when she came out he explained for the fourth or fifth time how the accident had happened. "It was entirely those other people’s fault,” he said. "They got me in a kind of a corner, because neither of those fellows knows the least thing about guiding; they just jam ahead and expect everybody to get out of their way. It was Charlotte Thom’s diamond crescent pin that got caught on your dress in the back and made such a—” “Never mind,” Alice said in a tired voice. “The maid fixed it so that she says it isn’t very noticeable.” “■Well, it isn't,” ho returned. "You could hardly tell there’d been anything the matter. Where do you want to go? Mother’s been interfering In my affairs some more and I’ve got the ne*t taken.” “I was sitting with Mrs. George Dresser. You plight take me back there.” He left her with the matron, and Alice returned to her picture-making, so that once more, while two numbers passed, whoever cared to look was offered the sketch of a jolly, clever girl preoccupied with her elders. Then she found her friend Mildred standing before her. presenting Mr. Arthur Ressell, who asked her to dance with him. Alice looked uncertain, as though not sure what her engagements were, but her perplexity cleared; she nodded and swung rhythmically away with the tall applicant. She was not grateful to her hostess for this alnWhat a young hostess does with a fiance, AU*2 thought, is to make him dance

DOINGS OF THE DUFFS—

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THEM DAYS IS GONE FOREVER-

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AFTER THE ©€ SNOW STOftM, MANY VOLUNTEERS OFFERED TO CLEAN OFF THE WALK /N FRoMT XPI OF AUNT SARAH PEABODYS COTTAGE A, /j — y

with tiie unpopular girls. She supposed that Mr. Arthur Russell had already danced with Ella Dowling. The loan of a lover, under these circumstances, may be painful to the lessee, and Alice, smiling never more brightly, found nothing to say to Mr. Russell, though she thought he might have found something to say to her. "I wonder what Mildred told him,” she thought “Probably she said, ’Dearest, there’s one more girl you’ve

OUT OUR WAY—By WILLIAMS

THE OLD HOME TOWN—By STANLEY

got to help me out with. You wouldn’t like her much, but she dances well enough and she’s having a rotten time. Nobody over goes near her any more.’ ” When the music stopped, Russell added his applause to the hand-clap-ping that encouraged the uproarious instruments to oontinue, and as they renewed the tumult, ha said heartily, “That’s splendidl” Alice gave him a glance, neces-

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Such Is Life With a Big Yard

sarily at short range, and found his eyes kindly and pleased. Here was a friendly soul, It appeared, who probably “liked everybody.” No doubt he had applauded for an “encore” when he danced with Ella Dowling, gave Ella the same gentle look, and said: “That's splendid!" When the "encore” was over Alice spoke to him for the first time, “Mildred will be looking for you,” she said. “ I think you'd better take

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“Three O’Clock In the Afternoon”

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me back to where you found me.” He looked surprised. "Oh, if you ” “I’m sure Mildred will be needing you,” Alice said, and as she took his arm and they walked toward Mrs. Dresser, she thought it might be just possible to make a further use of the loan. "Oh, I wonder if you—” she began. “Yes?” he said, quickly. "You don’t know tvjr brother, Wal-

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS—By BLOSSER

OUR BOARDING HOUSE—By AHERN

ter Adams," she said. “But he’s somewhere —I think possibly he’s in a smoking-room or some place where girls aren't expected, and ft you wouldn't think It too much trouble to inWFre ” •i’ll find him,” Russell said, promptly, “Thank you so much for that dfcrtoe. I’ll bring your brother in a moment.” (To Be Continued.)

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$25 to Stowaway GLASGOW, Jan 19.—With the increase in unemployment, passenger liner employes are making a regular business of aiding workless to stow themselves away on American-bound iships. They charge $25 for aid to 1 saeh stowaway. From 1901 to 1920 Canada received 1,3| 8,469 settlers from the United States.

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—By ALLMAN

—By AL POSEN