Indianapolis Times, Volume 35, Number 229, Indianapolis, Marion County, 2 February 1923 — Page 8

8

. ALICE ADAMS by BOOTH TARRINGTON Second novel in t'ae Times series by Indiana writers Copyright, 1901, by Doubleday, Page & Cos.

, , f~ 'r—-q HAAJKS, Mr. Russell,'’ she I Interrupted. “Let’s don’t say any more." He looked at her flushed face and enlarged eyes, and he liked her all the* better for her indignation; this was how good good sisters ought to feel, he thought, failing to understand that most of what she felt was not about Walter. He ventured only a word more. "Try not to mind it so much; it realiy doesn’t amount to anything.” She shook her head, and they went on in silence; 6he did not look at him again until they stopped before her own house. Then she gave him only one glimpse of her eyes before she looked down. "It's spoiled, isn't it?” she said, in a low voice. “What's ‘spoiled?’ " ' "Our walk —well, everything. Somehow it always—is.” “ 'Always is’ what?” he asked. "Spoiled,” she said. TTe laughed at that; but without looking at him she suddenly offered him her hand, as. as he took It. he felt a hurried, violent pressure upon his lingers, as if she meant to thank him almost passionately for being kind. Sim was gone before he could speak to her again. In her room, with the doof looked, she did not go to her mirror, but to her bed, flinging herself face down, not caring how far the pillows put her hat awry. Sheer grief had followed her anger; grief for the calamitous end of her bright afternoon, grief for the “end of everything.” a.<T she thought then. Nevertheless, she gradually jvg-v more composed, and. when her mother tapped on the door presently, let her in. Mrs. Adams looked at her with quick apprehension. “Oh. poor child'. Wasn’t he ” Alice told her. "You see how it — how it made me look, mama,” she quavered, having concluded her narrative. "I’d tried to cover up Walter’s awfulness at the dance with that story about his being ‘literary.’ but no story was big enough to cover this up—and oh! it must malce him think I tell stones about other things!” "No. no. no!” Mrs Adams protested “Don't you see? At the worst, all he could think is that Walter told stories to you "about why he likes to be with such dreadful people, and you believed them. That’s all he'd think; don't you see?” Alice's wet eyes began to show a little hopefulness. “You honestly think It might be that may. mama?” “Why, from what you've told me he said. I know it's that way. Didn't he ay he wanted to come again?” “N-no,” Alice said, uncertainly. “But I think he will. At least T begin to think so now. He—” She stopped. “'From all you tell me. ho seems to he avert" desirable young man.” Mrs. Adams said, primly. Hr daughter was silent for severa’ moments; then new tears gathered upon her downcast lashes. “He'd just —dear!” she faltered. Mrs. Adams nodded. “He’s told you he Isn't engaged, hasn’t he?" "No. But I know he isn't. Maybe when he first came here he was near it, but I know he's not.” “I guess Mildred Palmer would like Mm to be. all right!” Mrs. Adams was frank enough to say. rather triumphantly; and Alice, with a lowered head, murmured: ’' An y bod y—wo u Id. ” The words were all but inaudible. “Don't you worry,” her mother said and patted her on the shoulder. “Ev erything will conic out all right; don't you fear. Alice. Can’t vou see that ep Lift Off with Fingers

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beside any other girl In town you’re just a perfect queen? Do you think any young man that wasn’t prejudiced, or something, would need more than, just one look to—” But Alice moved away from the caressing hand. “Never mind., mama. I wonder he looks at me at all. And if he does again, after seeing ray brother with those horrible people—” “I’m sure Walter is a good boy,” Mrs. Adams said. “You are?” Alice cried, with a sudden vigor. “You are?” “I’m sure he's good, yes—and if he j isn’t, it's not his fault. It’s mine.” j “What nonsense!” ‘No. it’s true,” Mrs. Adams lamented. "I tried to bring him up to be good, God knows; and when he was little he was the best boy I ever saw. When he came from Sunday school i he’s always run to me and we’d go j over the lesson together; and he let me me in his room at night to hear ! his prayers almost until he was 16. i Most boys won’t do that with their mothers —not nearly that long. I tried so hard to bring him up right—but if anything’s gone wrong it’s my fadlt.” “How could it le? -You’ve just said ” “It’s because I didn’t make your father take this—this new step earlier, j Then Walter might have had all the advantages that other ” “Oh, mama, please!” Alice begged her. “Let's don’t go over all that again. Isn’t it more important to think what’s to be done about him? Is he going to be allowed to go on disgracing us as he does?” Mrs. Adams sighed profoundly. “I don’t know what to do,” she confessed unhappily. “Your father’s so upset about—about this new step he's taking—I don’t feel as If we ought i “No, no!” Alice cried. "Papa must not be distressed with this, on top of everything else. But something's got to be done about Walter.” “What can be?” her mother asked, helplessly. “What can be?” Alice admitted that she didn't know. At dinner, an hour later, Walter's habitually veiled glance lifted, now ami then, to touch her furtively:—he was waiting, as he would have said, for her to “spring it;” and he had prepared a brief ajid sincere defense to' the effect that he made his own liv ing, and would like to inquire whose business it was to offer intrusive comment upon his private conduct. But she said nothing, while his father and mother were as silent as she. Walter 1 concluded that there was to be no attack, but changed his mind when his father, who ate only a little, and broodingly at that, rose to leave the table and spoke to him. "Walter,” ho said, “when you've finished I wish you'd come up to my room. I got something I want to say to you.” IValter shot a hard look at his apath etic sister, then turned to his father. "Make it tomorrow,” he said. “This is Satad'v night and I got a date.” "No," Adams said, frowning. “You come up before you go out. It'S important.” “All right; I’ve had aJI I want to eat,” Walter returned. “I got a few minutes. Make it quick.” He followed his father upstairs, and when they were in the room together Adams shut the door, sat down, and began to rub bis knees. “Rheumatism?” the boy inquired, dyly. “That what you want to talk o me about?” "No.” But Adams did not go on; .u' seemed to be in difficulties for words, and Walter decided to help him. "Hop ahead and spiring it,” he said. "Get it off your mind: I'll tell the world I should worry! You aren't goin' to bother me any, so why bother -ourself? Alice hopped home and told you she saw me playin’ around with sorue pretty gay-lookin’ berries and you-—” “Alice?” his father said, obviously turprised. “It's nothing about Alice. ' "Oh. I see,” Walter said. “She told mother and mother told you." ‘No, neither of ’em have told me anything. What was there to tell?” Walter laughed. “Oh, it’s nothin’," he said. “I was just startin’ out to buy a girl friend o’ mine a rhinestone buckle I lost to her on a bet, this fternoon. and Alice carhe .con's with that big Russell fish: and I thought I he looked sore. She expects me to ike the kind she likes, and T don’t ike ’em. thought she’d prob’ly got you all stirred up about it.” “No, no,” his father said, peevishly. T don’t know anything about It, and 1 don’t care to know anything about it. I want to talk to you about some thing Important.” Then, as he was again silent. Walter said. “Well talk about it; I'm listening." “It’s this," Adams began, heavily, it's about me going into this glue business. Your mother's told you, hasn't she?” “She said you were goln’ to lea,'-* t lie old place downtown and start r glue factory. That’s all I know about it: I got my own affairs to ’tend to.” “Well, this Is your affair.” his father said, frowning. "You can't stay with Lamb and Company.” Walter looked a little started. "What you mean, I can’t? Why riot?” “You've got to help me,” Adams explained slowly; and he frowned more deeply, as If the interview were grow lug increasinly laborious for him. “It’s going to be a big pull to get this business on its feet.” “Yes!” Walter exclaimed with a sharp skepticism. “I should say it was! He stared at his father incredulously. “Look here; aren't you just a little bit sudden, the way you're goin’ about things? You’ve let lAother shove you a little too fast, haven’t you? Do you know anything about what it means to set up anew business these days?” "Yes, I know all about it,” Adams said. “About this business. I do.” “How do you?” “Because I made a long study of It. I’m not afraid of going about it the wrong way; but it’s a hard Job and you’ll have to put ir all whatever sense and strength you've goj.” Walter began to breathe quickly, and his lips were agitated: then he set them obstinately. “Oh. I will.” he said. “Yes. you will,” Adams returned, not enticing that his son's inflection was satiric. "It's going to take ©very

DOINGS OP THE DUFFS—

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bit of energy in your body, and all the energy I got left in mine, and every cent of the little I’ve saved, besides something I’ll have to raise on this house. I’m going right at it, now I’ve ”ot to; and you’ll have to quit Lamb’s by the end of next week.” “Oh. I will?” Walter’s voice grew louder, and there was a shrillness In it. “I got to quit Lamb's the end of next week, have I?” He stepped tor-

OUT OUR WAY—By WILLIAMS

THE OLD HOME TOWN-

ward, angrily. "Listen!" he said. "I’m not walkin’ out o’ Lamb’s see?” I'm not quittin’ down there; I stay with ’em. see?” Adams looked up at him. astoiiishec . ‘‘You’ll leave there next Saturday, ’ ho said. “I’ve got to have you.” ‘‘You don’t anything o’ the kind,” Walter told him, sharply. "Do you expect to pay me-anything?” "I’d pay yot^ about what you been

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

By STANLEY

getting down there.” * “Then pay somebody else; I don’t know anything about glue. You get somebody else.” ‘‘No. You've got to ” Walter cut him off with the utmost vehemence. ‘‘Don't tell me what I got to do! I know what I got to do better'n you, I guess! I stay at Lamb’s, see?” Adams rose angrily. "You’ll do

Tom Interviews a Prospect

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what I tell you. Yon can’t stay down there.” "Why can't I?” "Because I won’t let you.” “Listen! Keep on not lettin’ me; I'll be there just the same.” At this his father broke into a sour laughter. “They won’t let you, Walter! They won’t have you down there after they find out I’m going.” “Why won’t they? You don’t think tVtey’re goin' to be all shot -to pieces

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS—By BLOSSER

OUR BOARDING HOUSE—By AHERN

over losin’ you, do you?” "I tell you they won’t let you stay,” his father insisted, loudly. “Why, what do they care whether you go or not?” “They’ll care enough to fire you, my boy!” "Look here, then; show me why.” “They’ll do it!” “Yes,” Walter jeered; “you keep sayin’ they will, but when I ask you to show me why. you keep sayin’

FEB. 2, 1923

—By ALLMAN

—By AL POSEN

they will! That makes little head- 1 way with me, I can tell you!” Adams groaned, and, rubbing his head, began to pace the floor. Walter's refusal was something he had not anticipated; and he felt the weakness of his own attempt to meet it: he seemed powerless to do anything but utter angry words, which, as Wal ter said, made little headway. “Oh. my, my!” lie mutered. “Oh, my, my!” (To Be Continued.)