Indianapolis Times, Volume 35, Number 225, Indianapolis, Marion County, 29 January 1923 — Page 8

8

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

• Begin liere Because . VIRGIL ADAMS' salary is insufficient to provide such luxuries for hia daughter, ALICE, pa are enjoyed by her friends, -MILDRED PALMER and HENRIETTA LAMB, she is thinking seriously of going on the stage. Alice's brother, WALTER, hears from JOE LAMB, that It la expected Mildred Palmer will marry ARTHUR RUSSELL, her third cousin, and upon her father s death Mr. Russell will be given her father's place In business. At the Palmer dance Alice becomes acquainted with Mr. Russell, who seems very much interested in her and has asked to call on her. Go on with the story * LL right," she said, In a /\ business-like tone. “I’ve Y told you that you can if you want to.” "I do want to,” he assured her. **l do. Indeed!” "How often is ‘pretty often.’ Mr. Russell?” ■Would you walk with me sometimes? Tomorrow?” “Sometimes. Not tomorrow. The day sfler.” “That's splendid'” he said. "Ten’ll walk with me day after tomorrow, and the night after that I'll see you at Miss lamb's dance, won't I?” But this fell rather chillingly upon Alice. “Miss Lamb's dance? Which Miss Lamb?” he asked. “I don't know —it’s the one that’s just coming out of mourning." “Oh. Henrietta —yes. Is her dance so soon? I’d forgotten.” “Tou’ll be there, won't you?” he asked. “Please say you’re going.' Alice did not resepond at once, and he urged her again: "Please do promise you’ll be there.” “No, I can't promise anything," she said, slowly. "You see, for one thing, papa might not be well enough." "But If he is?*’ said Russell. “If he is you’ll surely come, won’t you? Or perhaps— ’’ He hesitated, then went on quickly, "I don't know the rules in this place yet, and different places have different rules: but do you have to have a chaperone, or don't girls just go to dances with the men sometimes? If they do, would you—would you let me take you?" Alice was startled. "Good gracious!” "What’s the matter?” “I>on’t you think your relatives Aren’t you expected to go with Mildre-:. —and Mrs. Palmer?" “Not necessarily. It doesn’t matter wh;> I might be expected to do,” he said. "Will you go with me?” “I No; I couldn’t." “Why not?” “I can’t. I’m not going.” "But why?" “Papa’s not really any better,” Alice said, huskily. “I’m too worried about him to go to a dance." Her voice sounded emotional, genuinely enough: there was something like a sob in it. “Let’s talk of other things, please.” He acquiesced gently; but Mrs. Ad ams, who had been listening to the conversation at the open window, just overhead, did not hear him. She had correctly interpreted the sob In Alice’s voice, and. trembling with sudden anger, she rose from her knees, and went fiercely to her husband’s room. CHAPTER XIII. HE HAD not undressed, and he sat beside the table, smoking his pipe and reading his newspaper. Upon his forehead the lines in that old pattern, the historical map of his troubles, had grown a little vaguer lately; relaxed by the com placency of a man who not only finds his health restored, but sees the days before him promising once more a familiar routine that he has always liked to follow. As his wife came in. closing the door behind her. he looked up cheerily, “Well, mother," he said, “what’s the news downstairs?” “That’s what I came to tell you,” she Informed him, grimly. Adams lowered his newspaper t<* his knee and peered over his specta cles at her. She had remained by the door, standing, and the great green ish shadow of the small lamp-shade upon his table revealed her but dubiously. “Isn’t everything all right?" he asked. "What’s the matter?"

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“Don’t worry: I’m going to tell you,” she said, her grimness not relaxed. “There’s matter enough, Virgil Adams. Matter enough to make me sick of being alive!” With that, the markings on his brows began to emerge again In all their sharpness; the old pattern re appeared. “Oh, my, my!” he la mented. “I thought maybe we were all going to settle down to a little peace for a while. What’s it abont now?” "It’s about Alice. Did you think it was about me or anything for myself?” Like some ready old machine, always in order, his irritability re ■ sponded immediately and autoniai tically to her emotion. “How in ! thunder could I think what It’s about, jor who It’s for? Say it, and get it ! over!” “Oh, I’ll ‘sav’ It,” she promised, ominously. “What I’ve come to ask you is, How much longer do you expect be to put up with that old man and his doings?” “Whoso doings? What old man?” She came at him, fiercely accusing. "You know well enough what old man, Virgil Adams! That old man who was here the other night.” “Mr. Lamb?” “Yes; ‘Mister Lamb? ” She I mocked his voice. “What other old man would I be likely to mean, ex cept J. A. Lamb?” “What's he been doing now?” her husband inquired, satirically. "Where'd you get something new against him since the last time you—” "Just this!” she cried. “The other night when that man was here. If I'd known how he was going to make my child suffer, I’d never have let Idm set his foot in my house.” Adams leaned back in his chair as j though her absurdity had eased his mind. "Oh, I see,” he said. “You’ve just gone plain crazy. That’s the only explanation of such talk, and it suits the case.” “Hasn’t that man made us all suffer every day of our lives?” she demanded. “I’d like to know why it is that my life and my children's lives have to be sacrificed to him?” “How are they ‘sacrificed’ to him?" "Because you keep on working for him! Because you keep on letting him hand out whatever miserable little pittance he chooses to give you; that’s why! It’s as If he were some horrible old Juggernaut and I had to 1 see my children’s father throwing them under the wheels to keep him satisfied.” “I won’t hear any more such stuff!” Lifting his paper, Adams affected to read. “You'd better listen to me,” she admonished him. “You might be sorry you didn't, in case he ever tried to set foot in my house again! 1 might tell him to his face what I think of him.”

At this. Adams slapped the newspaper down upon his “Oh. the devil! What’s it matter what yon think of him?” "It Kkd better matter to you!” decried. “Do you suppose I’m going t.i submit forever to him and his fandL and what they’re doing to rny child'.' “What are he and his family doito to ’your child?’ ” Mrs. Adams came out with ii “That snippy little Henrietta Lamb has always snubbed Alice every timshe’s ever had the chance. She’s followed the lead of the other girls: they’ve always all of ’em been Jealous of Alice because she dared to try and he happy, and because shofs showier and better-looking than they are. even though you do give her only about thirty-five cents a year to do it on! They’ve done everything on earth they could to drive the young men away from her and belittle her to 'em; and this mean little Henrietta Lamb’s been the worst of the who!crowd to Alice, every time she eoul- 1 see a chance.” “What for?” Adams asked, incredulously. "Why should she or anybody <-lse pick on Alice?” “‘Why?’ ’What for?'” his wife repeated with a greater vehemence. “Do you ask me such a thing as that? Do you really want to know?” "Yes; I’d. want to know—T would if I believed it.” “Then I’ll tell you.” she said In a cold fury. "It's on account of you. Virgil, and nothing else in the world.” He hooted at her. “Oh. y-s! These girls don’t like me, so the\ plcic on Alice.” “Quit vour palavering and evading.” she said. “A crowd of girls like that, when they get a pretty girl like Alice among them, they act just like wild i beasts. They'll tear her to pieces, or else they'll chase her and run her cut, because they know If- she had half a chance she’d outshine ’em They can’t do that to a girl like Mildted Palmer because she's got money and family to back her. Now you •isten to me. Virgil Adams; the way the world is now, money Is family. Mice would have Just as much ‘family’ as any of ’em—every single hit— If you hadn’t fallen behind in the race.” * “How did I ” "Yes. you did!” she cried. “Twentylive years ago when we were starting and this town was smaller, you >and I could have gone with any of ’em if we’d tried hard enough. Look at the people we knew then that do hold their heads up alongside of anybody In this town! Why can they? Because the men of those families inode money and gave their children everything that makes life worth living! Why can’t we hold our heads up? Br cause those men passed you in the race. They went up Ihe ladder, and you—you’re still a clerk down at that old hole!” “You leave that out, please.” he said. "I thought you were going to Jell me something Henrietta ’Lamb ‘ had done to our Alice.” “You bet I’m going to tell you,” she assured him, vehemently. “But first I’m telling why she does it. It’s because you’ve never givpn Alice any backing nor any background, and they all know they can do anything they like to her with perfect impunity. If she had the hundredth part j of what they have to fall back on she’d have made 'em sing a mighty different song long ago!” “How would she?” “Oh, my heavens, but you're slow!” Mrs. Adams moaned. “Look here! You remember bow practically all the nicest boys in this town used to come here a., few years ago. Why, they were ail crazy over her; and the girls

DOINGS OF THE DUFFS —

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TJ! EM I>A VS IS GONE FOREVER—

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had to be nice to her then. Look at the difference now! There’ll be a whole month go by and not a young man conies to call on her, let alone <nd her candy or flowers, or ever think of taking her any place—and yet she’s prettier and brighter than she was when they used to come. It isn’t the child’s fault she couldn’t hold ’em. Is it? Poor thing, she tried hard enough! I suppose you’d say It was her fault, though.”

OUT OUR WAY—By WILLIAMS

THE OLD HOME TOWN— By STANLEY

“No; I wouldn’t.” “Then whose fault is it?” “Oh, mine, mine,” he said, wearily. “I drove the young men away, of course.” ‘‘You might as well have driven ’em, Virgil. It amounts to just the same thing.” “How does it?” “Because as they got older a good many of ’em began to think more about money; that's one thing.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

MoneyVjj, at the bottom of it all, for that matter. Look at these country clubs and all such things: the other girls’ families belong and we don’t, and Alice don’t; and she can't go unless somebody takes her, and nobodys does any more. Look at the other girls’ houses, and then look at our house, so shabby and old-fash-ioned she’d be pretty near ashamed to ask anybody to come in and sit down nowadays! Look at her clothes

Olivia Treats Them Rough

Wheedle This Out 'N'ouv Whistle

—oh, yes; you think you shelled out a lot for that little coat of hers and the hat and skirt she got last March; hut it’s nothing. Some of these girls owauays spend more than your salary on their clothes. And what jewelry has she got? A plated watch and two or three little pins and rings of the kind people’s maids .wouldn’t wear now. Good Lord, Virgil Adams, wake up! Don’t sit there andAeii me you don’t know things like thP mean

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS—By BLOSSER

OUR BOARDING HOUSE —By AHERN

suffering for the child!” He had begun to rub his hands wretchedly back and forth over his bony knees, as if in that way he somewhat alleviated the tedium caused by her racking voice. “Oh. ay. my!” he muttered. “Oh. my, my!” “Yes, I should think you would say ‘Oh, my, my!” she took him up, loudly. “That doesn’t help tilings much! If you ever wanted to do

JAN. 29. 1929

—Bv ALLMAN

—By AL POSEN

anything about it, the poor child might see some gleam of hope In her tife. You don't care for her, that's the trouble: you don’t care a single thing about her.” {To He Continued.) Bindings Ti m Bindings of silk and ribbon are used on folds and hems on the new gowns and suits for spring. Often it is the only attempt at decoration.