Indianapolis Times, Volume 36, Number 309, Indianapolis, Marion County, 9 May 1925 — Page 12

12

C* T_TT T"C* Barry comes back to the lake VjfllVjlVlij to say goodby.

Chickie (Helena), only daughter of Jonathan and Jennie Bryce, feels a bit lonesome since Mary, her chum, has married Edward McJ*ike. and refuses Jimmie Blake's proposal only because he is poor. Though Chiekio now loves Barry Dunne, % young lawyer with Tufts & Lennon, she is interested in wealthy Mr. Munson. He sends her a costly pin with a love note. She lies to Barry about the pin. Upon her request. Jake arranges so her father does not lost) on his oil investment. Jake tells Chlckle he considers Barry’s feeling only a boy's lovo and that he will do waiting when Barry has lilted her. Chiekio fears the late that befell Stella Wilson because of her lengthy engagement and subtly tries to urge Barry to think of their marriage as a present possibility, even though he believes he cannot afford it. He is hopeful when Ila Moore s father expects to engage him to represent locally the Oulf Steamship Company of San Francisco. Unfortunately tho affair is dropped. Chlckle’* vacation at Wawasee is spoiled when Burry suddenly leaves after they decide that since their marriage must he delayed so long he had better leave her now. Janina writes that Barry is rushing to San Frandseo—and Ha Moore. Chickie is crushed IP the darkness Bhe thinks she sees Barry coming. GO ON WITH THE STORY By Ellnove MehnriD CHAPTER LVII. On the Shore SHE moved toward him in a dream. lii the wonder of his coming she felt lifted froiTT the earth to a world of living radiance. It was so that night and the next day. He said with a boy’s breathless eagerness: “You’re not angry, Chlckle? Listen—l had to come. Only for a day. Oh, vou won’t mind that?’ ✓ She gave a little wild laugh and wouldn’t let him see her face nor the wetness In her eyes. She whls pered only: "No. I’m glad you came. Tell me now” — . For it was true. He was going to San Francisco. Moore had wired him to come as casually as though it were but a trip to Yonkers. The appointment might be settled. “So I had to tell you that, Chickie. It’s all right, isn’t it?” “Yes—ls it’s only true now—you think It Is, Barry?” “We won’t count on it too much. We don't want to do that again, do we?” But they walked up to the path. And they counted on It. They faced each trembling in the dark; they whispered: “Perhaps! Oh, it's sure to be now. It has to be—” They had a day—the whole of the next day for the dream. They lay on the sands by tho lake and talking of this glowing future that might soon he theirs, they were drawn in a closeness so poignant it was almost pain. He looked up at her and smiled. She copld have wept with Joy. He touched her hand; it shot her veins with fire. Then he said, seeking her eyes: “Chickie, do you feel hound to me?” Masking her eagerness She asked artlessly: “Why, what do you mean? Do I owe you anything, kind sir?” “You do, Indeed. But answer this: Could you have let me go?” “Could you have gone?” “I seem to he here, don’t I? Kicked out on my face and back again! No—l couldn’t have gone. I don’t want to—” She laughed to hide' a shouting exultance: “But I hear tell as how the West is full of lures for callow youth and you may forget the fair one. You may go and come again no more.” He saJd quietly: “I tried to do that, Chlckle. You seem to have something of me that I can’t take back. I wish—” “What—” "Nothing—” But a flush dashed to his temples. He went on rapidly: "That you loved me more than anything on earth—” She stopped him. “I think I do.” • • • They talked like this for hours —lying in the sun. They poured out this golden wine and made a chalice of each other’s hearts.” When it came evening and sh‘ stood at. the little wooden shelf that served for a bureau in the crude room she dressed as though kings were to see her. She looked Into the stained, clouded mirror and laughed, saying with a lilt: "Well —yolk of an egg, shall you outshine the sun? Not if Helena Bryce can help It!” She put perfume behind her ears and a few lavish drops on her hair. When she ran down to meet him on the path his breath caught. He said, teasingly: “Wimmin is wicked.” They went down to the beach. He held her hand. “Only a few hours more, Chickie.” But when she wiped her eyes he added: “What a sorry lover ess you are.” "But you’ll soon be going, Barry.” “It may not be for long, Chickie.” “What do you mean by that? Aren't you sure—very sure?” He laughed. “Does one ever know, Chickie? We only have this hour for our own. Suppose the train goes dashing off the track—” "No—don’t! Oh, I dreamed of a thing like that.” She tightened her fingers on his hand. It was late, but no moon traveled the Inky eky. A thousand stars strewed with faint diamonds the dark* breast of the water. He whispered; bending down against her ear: “Black, Isn’t It? Are you afraid?” “No, It only makes you nearer.”

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\ :W\ <*s/ s i <; jjr ''; v • >jyjj

—l’osed by Edylhe Elliott dint Hubert St. Clair of the iterhell Players. He Raised Her Face and Wiped Away the Tears.

“You feel like that, Chickie?” You want me near?” “Hush—Oh, Barry, let’s not say a word —nothing. This is like a dream, isn't it? I feel so. He slid the boat into the water. Sitting in the bottom of the boat, she rested against him. They went close to the willows. Shadows from overhanging rocks and shrubs massed in a still dark, closing about them. • • • mT seemed to Chickie that she and Barry were moving from the world into this vast, eternal silence and there was no sound but the thunder of her heart. Now and then he let the boat drift. He stopped and kissed her. She felt it more than ehe could bear. Absently she murmured: "Barry, I feel as though you and I were going far away together. Oh, I hate to let, you go alone. I wish this night would last and last.” He ran his hand along her shoulder. She felt it shake and turned her cheek against his. “You’d lovo mo enough for that, Chickie? To go away with me?” “To die for you.” “Oh ” “Tell me " The boat rested In a cove. They saw the shore—-dim, imperturbable, heavy with shrubs. Now, because her heart flushed wildly, she murmured: "And that were an island out In the ocean and only you and I In all the world?” “Yes! Would you care enough then?” Words, tumult, eagerness rushed to her lips. She tried to laugh: “Oh, you mean If we were dying and the world coming to an end and every one else all gone—” “Oh, tell me—” He took her head in his hands. He stooped and whispered on her mouth: "Chickie, our last hour, If It were? It may be. Who knows?” “She felt rather than saw the hotness In his face. She reached tip with a faint cry and touched hts face. She pleaded softly: “Barry —don’t—oh—if that were so—” But he pressed her face and laughed: “I love you enough fc that, Chickie. And you! I’m bound to you. Nothing can draw us closer. You know. Four days of torture. I feel a thousand ties. I want to feel them. All today they drew me.” Flame came from his eyes and burned her heart. She said excitedly: “Oh, really? I felt ’ that, too.” The boat jarred against the shore. Sho cowered against his knees; gave a sharp, frightened cry: “Harry— You’ll drown us both—oh stop” His hands gripped her shoulders, ran down and hold her arms. He whispered, hoarsely: “Chickie—” Her heart melted. A warm, heavy dew, Intoxicating and oppressive, fell about her. She sat motionless, protesting, as he swung himself out, reached for her hand. All through her went cruelly a terrifying shiver that ended In a clutch of anguish at her throat! Within her a voice clamored, insistent, urgent: “No! Stay hack. You don’t have to go! Say no!— now!” But he was reaching down and

Puzzle a Day

Crossword puzzle have Introduced us to a variety of strange words and show us certain combinations which the many originators of our language seem especially fond of. For example, tak a three-letter word commencing with "a" and ending with “a.” There are eleven English words In the Webster dictionary besides a few foreign ones of this typeCan you name six?

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Here Is the way Johnny changed the lettered

lifting her. He was holding out his hand. She followed him. CHAPTER L.VIII. The Bottom of the Cup mX her mind was a black spot of terror. It grew large—a stark, live thing, shaking her pulse with dread. It was the memory of the night. * She shrank from it. It pressed down and seized her heart. It was a dark, heavy beast crouching on her chest. She tried to beat it off. It came nearer and blew warm, sickening breaths in her nostrils. Fighting, she had to draw them down. Again and again. Till even the anguish within her stifled and was still. She lay in this cold abandon, motionless, afraid to turn. She tried to sleep. No sooner were her eyes closed than images let loose beneath their lids. She saw herself In the boat, leaning against his knees, reaching up her hands to touch his face. She remembered searingly the wild, hot tumult of hbr heart, the fervid sounds her lips had spoken: “Lov® you Enough to die for you! Oh—and that were an island out in the ocean and only you and I in all the world—only us, Barry—everyone else all gone—” All that —and that was but half of what she had said— Now—ln the whimpering chill of her spirit she could have slain this other Chlckie; beaten to death the vain, fevered thing standing before the mirror putting perfume at her ears. Laughing at herself, radiant and excited. Running down to meet him. Expectant—half aware. Not she who had done this! Not she, swept helpless in that blaze of emotion, clinging to his hand, following him up the slope of the shore. Oh—it was never she She would awaken soon from this night of torture: be glad again; get back to yesterday: to the morning, lying Joyous in the sun. * But even her thought could not achieve <|hls; could not leap behind that eternal moment. The past was gone; shut out Irrevocably by this red, aching wall of flame. She could never heat it down. Cry—yes —smother her head in the pillow—claw her hands against her face—let the tears pour. It would remain. She hid from It—oh, she would get away—push off this thing of horror weighing so heavily on her breast. Be free —he light again. She hated herself. Turning on the pillow, her hair fell across her face. With a violent revulsion she flung it hack. Oh this sickening contact with herself. If she could only get away from her breath; from her own hands: from her feet that were so cold they ached! If she could fly out of this body that held her fast to the Immutable yesterday. • • • rn HE pulled the covers up to her eyes, stared at the pine —■ trees towering above the porch; stared fixedly, trying to freeze her brain against thought* She said to herself: "Oh, so many stars—” And there was nothing said about that; nothing terrible, hut It made her cry. And she kept saying: “I never saw so many stars —” cowering lower In the bed, pulling the blankets higher, calling: "God—oh, God—" When she cried her heart turned and turned. It was a heavy thing that moaned and beat Its arms. She crushed her hands about It, pleading: "Don’t—oh, stop—” It wouldn’t still. In this writhing pain she wondered how long she must lie like this; If this writhing thing within her would ever stop— Moments from the night before returned, stood at the bed, fixing her like bayonets. When she turned miserably from one enother caught her. Now it was the flushed joy In her heart an Instant when she glanced upward to his face, saw It dim yet beautiful in the dark. They whipped her—these memories; they brought too starkly before her the hot Images of herself. Oh, take them away—let her blot them out— At last the moon, riding In a gray, chill mist, swept over th® trees. It fastened Itself in a vague white cloud. It put a coldness of the night; It took the radiance from the quiet, appealing stars. It seemed to Chickie that things died; that even torment dulled in this forlorn dreariness of the morning. She slept, not knowing the relief.

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

It seemed that she had only turned, and then a hand was on her shoulder. Then someone said: “Chickie, girl — sleep all day, are you? Isn’t the lad going?” She twisted the covers in her fists, pressed her face hard against the pillows. Jonathan’s hand crushed her; Jonathan’s voice opened the wildness In her mind. She said, “Don’t! I’m tired—oh, Jonathan —’’ And It seemed to her that she would die if her father didn’t stop, or if he stooped down, as h3 often did, patting her cheek and kissing her. She waited, cold with fear. Now she knew that the hurt look was coming into his eyes. Now he was walking heavily to the kitchen. • • • ■ p |HE ran from the bed to the I I wash basin. Her eyes looked f * small—puffed. She dashed the water again and again against her face. If Jennie should watch her —If Jennie should insist on sitting at the table and making her eat — With hysterical caution She called out gayly: “Jennie, darling, rest yourself under the tree! I only want a cup of coffee. Did you leave it on the stove? Don’t come in!” And for once the self effacing Jennie, engrossed in the cooking recipes in the paper of the previous evening, nodded absently. ‘‘All right, dear! It’s on the stove.” She was so grateful for this escape tears filed her eyes—they dropped into her coffee. That reminded her of the morning when he had argued with her, when ho had said: “It won’t make our love any Tighter, will it? It’s as right as the sun—as the river flowing down here to meet the ocean. It 1? to me!” Did he feel like this now? Would he come again to sit fearlessly at her side and speak this hot, reckless defiance? Was that only on his lips—a boy’s love — hat and swift? And he would put it from hijn? She had given too much. So he wouldn’t want it now. He wouldn’t care any longer. Men were like that. Oh —she knew. And perhaps it was their last hour. Well—she would kill herself. She would never see coldness on his face. Just thinking of this spread an alarm like a deadly poison up through her throat—down over her heart. Go and leave her? Forget her? His white, vivid face, hers no more? No, he couldn’t: they were bound, a thousand ties; he wanted to feel them—they drew him so She was on fire to see him— only a glance. She would know. He wouldn’t need to say a word. And. craving this thing widdly, she fled from It. Oh, she would never meet him. Go away—never let him see her again— She stole from the kitchen, running by the side of the house that Jonathan, Rawing might not see her. She crept swiftly up the path, hid behind bushes. Perhaps he had left already. Perhaps he wouldn’t want any further good-by. She remembered that he had put his arm about her at the porch: he had whispered. “You’re glad, Chickie? "Why, you're crying

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so! Don’t—l can’t leave you so”— Maybe he meant that for the parting. • Two or three times the twigs cracked. She got to her feet —shaking. She reached out her hand. No one came. She listened. But when finally she heard a step and knew that It was he, she sat motionless. She didn’t stir. She heard his voice, anxious, demanding “Chickie —oh, you hear me—where are you—” Then she stood up, but she wouldn’t raise her head—wouldn’t look at him. He sprang to her side. His voice rasped: “Oh —didn’t you hear—you frightened me.” Tears -Shot to her eyes, fell on her hand. And he began talking rapidly, raising her face, wiping it, kissing her lips. The seeking, tender look was In her eyes. "Chicwie—is this the way you feel? You want to take It back? You’re sorry?” She couldn’t speak. And he listened. “You aren’t afraid! Tell me that.” She wanted to know If he was—if he loved her less. But, seeing this new. warm gentleness, she cried anew. She pleaded. “You’ll love me always now? Love me, Barry? You won’t forget?” “Love you, Chick>e dear. More than ever—a thousand times!” (To Be Continued) <Copvriirht. King Feat lire Syndicate)

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