Indianapolis Times, Volume 37, Number 22, Indianapolis, Marion County, 5 June 1925 — Page 31

32

CHICKIE

Chickle (Helena), only daughter ot Jonathan and Jennie Bryce, loves Barry Dunny, a young lawyer with Tults & Lennox. Wealthy Jake Munson, friend of Janina Knowles and Amy Heaton, sends Chickle a costly pin with a love note and arranges so her father does not lose on his oil investment Jake tells Chickle he considers Barry’s feeling only a boy’s love, and that he will be waiting when Barry has Jilted her. Chickle fears the ' fate that befell Stella Wilson because of tier lengthy engagement, and at Bess Abbott’s wedding subtly tries to urge Barry to think of their marriage as a present possibility, even though lie- believes he cannot afford it. He is hopeful when Ila Moore’s father expects to engage him to represent locally the Gulf Steamship Company of San Francisco, and wires for him. Barry returns with the deal unsettled, and Ila Invites him to tour the world with her party. When Chlckie accuses him of loving Ila. a quarrel follows and he leaves on the trip. In desperation she telegraphs him when ehe realizes sho must endure the consequences of her love. Her parents, ignorant of her plight, favor Jake as a suitor for Chickle. To et the opinion of kind Mrs. Blake, aickie tells a false story of a girl in her own predicament. In Barry’s absence Jimmie Hake renerws his attentions. Barry eturns and promises to meet Chieki'j, GO ON WITH THE STORY

By Ell n ore Meherln , CHAPTER XC. „ Barry's Answer e| E was standing, the beauti--1 fully set head lowered. He J raised it slowly. Chickle saw hio eyes baffled. Her heart quickened and was hot. But she smiled. She looked up at him and smiled —in a radiance of trust, expecting his hands to fold on hers; expecting the flush aoross his cheeks. He said uneasily, holding a chair ter her: "I got your message today, Chlckie. It followed me here.” “Only one. Barry?” “Yes—did you send others?” “Oh—l did—” “I got the one saying I must come. A week more would be too late. What doss it mean?” She bit her lips, feeling an intensity, almost an anger in the low throb of his voice. She remained still—very still, drinking back tears from her eyes. They went down and burned terribly at her heart. He said more softly: “What did you mean by that, Chlckie?” But she could feel his eyes hot and demanding. She raised hers, imploding not knowing what to say: “You know! Oh, Ba’ry—don’t ypu know. It’s so!” “Know what?” She turned her head sharply nodding: “Yes—yes—that—” The image of his face, suddenly white, like a dead thing, his lips shaking flushed with a mortal pain across her eyes. Sho repeated half moaning. “Oh—you know—it’s so.” He wouldn’t understand. He made her say it. Then he sat there rigid and staring as though some inner poison sucked the blood, even the life from his face. He spoke mechanically. “It can’t be. I don’t understand. You must be mistaken.’’ “I’m not! It's so.” He went on, driven. “It can’t be. It’s nearly four months since I left. Your mistaken. Chlckie. You must me ” Then with a still, frightful coldness: “Why didn’t you send me word sooner? Why did you wait so long?” “I sent word —months ago ” “I never got it! Where did you Bend it? How can it be, Chickle?” • * • HICKIE cowered against ass sault of his denials, shutting her eyes because the blanched misery of his look unnerved her. She tried to speak; her mouth drew and drew. It got so tight she couldn’t form the faintest sound. After a little she put up her hand: “Barry—don’t—oh, don’t! Why—you think I want this? Ho —want you back now? Oh, no! What else am I to do?” When he only sat moveless like a thing of stone, except that his hands shook, she covered her face. He got up quickly, steadying himself. “Gqp—l never dreamed of such a thing. I can’t —Lord, Chickle, why didn’t you reach me? If I’d known!” He said, abruptly: “Hurry—let’s get out of here. We have to settle this —meet it. Not tonight. I’m late, Chickle. 1 have to go ” She didn’t stir. She felt that she vas dying. In a vague, detached way she wondered w'hy alarm possessed him so; wondered why he didn't say in the quiet way she had expected: “Awful—awful—but don’t feel so. All right, now, Chickie!” He waited, stooping a little, his hands gripped on a chair. Presently she stood up, fighting against the pulsing heat that pressed about her like waters of suffocation. jhe glanced at him with white, beseeching prayer. Her eyelids flickered. She touched his arm. “Wait, Barry,—wait’ ’ Moments passed. In these moments there bore upon her the deathless agonies she had endured. They made her strong, made her ( calm. She said, with a. touch of proud nobility that stirred along his nerves: “You have to go, Barry? Oh, do you, really? You want to get away? Oh, jres Do you mean to leave me alcne, then? What am I to do? I cao’t meet it alone. Oh—you can’t do this, can you? After all—after all that Was? I don’t want you now— ’’ He said quickly: “Chickie—listen; I’m not running away! Os course not. A shock like this—we’ll meet it—of course!” She said in a low, aching breath: "When, Barry? We’ll meet it? But I cajvt v.ait much longer. Every one ■will know! Barry—you mean that

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we’ll be married—do you—” “Chickie. listen: that won't settle everything, will it? We have to meet it. I’ll do everything—everything you say. Come here tomorrow night—say 8 o’clock. Oh, if I’d known! I wish to God I’d known!” She swayed against him, a darkness of pain in her eyes. She said, weakly; “You’re so white. Oh —you think I wanted this —do you?” “No—no! Don’t feel so. Chickle, I never dreamed of such Z. thing—such a shock. Does any one know it?” She shook her head. But she held to his arm. “Barry—you don’t want to marry me! I know—l see that —I don’t want it, either. But it can’t b what we want now. We-can’t thi x of ourselves. Oh—we can’t! I’m afraid—Barry, you must not conio tomorrow.” “I’ll come. You know I’ll come. I’ll be there. It won’t do any good to go wild about It. Think of that, Chickie. Don’t worry any more. I'm out here on business. I have an appointment for eight o’clock. ' It’s much later.” He took her arm, whispering: "No use making It worse. We’ll meet it.” He called a taxi. “I can’t see you home, Chickle. You’ll be all right. Don’t worry. That won’t solve it. Come here at eight.” As he helped her to the car, her fingers ran along his arm, loitered. “Barry, the way you look! It frightens me.” She raised her face, delicate, shimmering with tears. She wanted him to kiss her. His hands bit into her arm; the pallor of his lips became terrible, But she smiled, her eyes entreating: “Don’t you care at all—not—oh ” He leaned down swiftly, untwining her fingers. He brushed her lips with his. '• * • A r ” ' IFTERWARD she could feel that touch like an aching v—wound. He said "Tomorrow, Chickie. At eigiy. Well, don’t worry any more. It will be all right.” She sank in a corner of the taxi. She didn’t think. Queer sounds struggled at her throat. She shook them back. “No—no—a shock—of course. Tomorrow, tomorrow ” She shut her eyes—tried to still the chatteriner of her teeth. She brushed her hair a long while that night. She walked in her bare feet, quietly about the room, twisting her hands. But she said: “I won't w>rry. That won’t do any good ” Then she switched out the light and in the • darkness knelt at her bed. She was praying. She said again and over: #> God—dear God— Oh, God ” There came to her a feeling of support—of something strong to lean upon. It remained with her. During the next <i!V it was a buoyant thing—like hope. She even smiled as she thought: “Tonight—oh ” Tlftit evening when she reached home there was a letter. It was typed. She took it quietly, went into her room, locking the door. She sat with the envelope in her hands, I'ttle heads of cold perspiration on her forehead. A presage, as of deatn, stole upon her. Barry had written the letter. It wasn’t signed. Nor was it clear and swinging, with a flash about its phrase. It was a broken, incoherent thing: "I’m writing this. Chickle. I couldn’t tell you. Nothing could be more- ghastly. But you say it’s so. I suppose you’re certain. I can’t believe it —can’t understand it. Why should it happen now and not be fore? Things were the same. “I’m not blaming you—you think that —but I’m not! Only it’s monstrous for me. If you had reached me sooner, I would have come. Now —I’m not sure what to do. “When I wrote you that last letter and you sent no answer, I was certain you,felt the parting was the on'y thing for both, of us. We had outgrown our feeling. It was better to end it so. Better for you and for me. "No good recalling this, I know. And I won’t try to dodge the burden —l’ll do whatever I can, Chickie. We ll have to meet it, of course. It may not be-too late yet. “Or better —you can go away somewhere and wait till it is over. No one need ever know of it. We can easily plan so that no word need ever be heard. It can be made easy for you, Chickie. “Don’t think that I don’t care. I do! I’d give up my life this moment to wipe out the whole ghastly blunder —to take away this pain from 3’ou. In a way, it’s more awful to me. "But we’ll arrange it.' We’ll har e to. Tomorrow night we’ll settle 11. i think the wisest thing is for you j to leave at once. You can go on a j vacation. You can go and wait there. ! I’ll help you. I don’t say this to hurt you. Chickie, I’ll do what I can now—and afterwards I’ll do whatever you think Is right. “I can’t do as you ask. We can’t he married. If I had got your rneesage two weeks ago, I wo dd have come. I can’t now. Chick-e —don’t let this rob you of reason—don’t let us make it any more tragic. We can still meet it sanelj. I'll stick until it is over. And you’ll have to, of course. “But what you ask is impossible now. I would be tragedy enough, even so—now it is beyond choice. I was married two weeks ago ” She read no further—she stared unbelieving at the words. They became dim—they faded In the strange gray fogs that swarmed about her. Her head dropped. CHAPTER XCI. Desperation. I 1 ’IHE opened her eyes, shlverI j ing, a white thing of death 1 -J in her hands. It was a letter. The word "Married ’ 1 grew large, charred on the paper. She stared at it dumbly, bent forward and read it—then held the sheet upright and read It again. A wild, sobbing laugh tore from her throat. She stood up, swaying—driving her hands against the weight of Anguish that was no wher heart Steps went down the hall, paused at her door. The knob twisted— Jennie calling. After a moment Chickle said, "Coming—Just a second- ,r She Vint Into ihft. claflfilr^hjdlpg.

Barry Dunne tells her he has been married for two weeks:

—winding herself in an old dress that hung in the far corner. It was a blue dress he Ul.ed. He said it made her eyes such glowings stars of joy. Let him look In her pretty eyes. As long as he looked, he’d love. She had clung to bonny things like that—believed them —dropped on her knees worshipping the glory of his uplifted face. But she wasn’t thinking now. Pulses beat—grew loud like thumping hearts, grew wild within her. She tried to hide from them. Suddenly she put her finger on her lips—on the spot where his had touched. She pressed it against her teeth —hard. Then she stole across the room, picked up the letter, spread it out on the bed -and with dry, fevered eyes drank anew its distillate of pain. He was so sure Jt hadn’t mattered much to her; never dreamed that at the end, she cared. Why, she hadn't called him back: Hadn't even answered his letter! And this thine that had happened was frightful to him. She could see that. It was ghastly. Yes—he remembered things—too many. They crucifixion. He could never escape them. In a muddled, rambling way—< never mentioning a name, but leaving her to guess—he told her that he and Ila Moore became engaged at the end of the tour, a month ago. It might seem hasty to her—but they’d known each other many years—they had been deep friends. And so much happened on the trip—so crowded was their life that the past seemed many years removed. Their marriage had been planned for the following spring. But on the homeward journey her mother became 111. Her mother was now dying. So they went at once to the Moore summe*- home and were married there quietly, because the mother wished it. Did Chickie suppose he had the faintest idea of the. tragedy that

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had overtaken her? Did she suppose he ever counted or feared such an outcome? Now that It was so, did she fancy that he was going free? That he wouldn’t suffer? Oh —he would—"But, Chlckii, listen —don’t let us make It any worse—don’t make the blunder more awful. It '• as to be met—we can only do this if we look at It coolly. We’ve got to! I’ll be waiting at eight o’clock for you. Then we’ll arrange it all—Chickie, the worst is really over—in a way it is. It will be easier now—it can be made easy for you—” • • • S'” HE came to 4 hat and Bmiled In terror. The worst was really over! No—but It would be. She knew that—knew it now. Her pulse, thudding like hearts gone wild, whispered It; thundered to her thought the thing that she must do. Like a little girl, frightened of the awful dark, she shrank from It. She said to herself slowly and with drawn lips—“ Die—going to die.” She looked about the room as though she had never seen It before. The heavy thump-thump at her throat •made her breath heave. °he said again but more faintly: <le ” And she kneeled at luo bureau, took the bridal set from Its tissues —from the pads of lavender, Jennie had made. She touched the soft fabric; touched the tiny pink and blue flowdrs. She shut her eyes. A voice reminded: "We’ll arrange it all. The worst is really over. Cohie at eight!” But her arms were limp. She knelt a long while—her eyes closed. Then, sitting on a chair because she had not strength to stand, she changed her clothes; put on the beautiful silken things. ‘She pressed the palms of her hands together. They were moist and cold; they trembled because of the moaning at her ears. She tied and untied the pretty ribbons. She looked at her fingers as though they belonged to another. Suddenly there was a tear and

another on the pink crepe. She wiped them gently. She said quietly: “Don’t ory—No—Don’t cry at *111” Finally she was ready. Jennie was tapping at the door: "Chickie, dear—why your dinner is cold—” “Oh—oh, mother, darling—l’m dining out tonight. Did you forget?” And she added gaily: “You should see me, Jennie, darling—how beautiful I look!” She was staring at her image, smiling at It. She went close to the mirror, her open hands against the glass, drinking the terror from her eyes; fighting the heat that brought such faintness to her brain. Oh—her eyes were gray and . beautiful above the tender thing that was her chin. There was a flush of red staining her throat; no color marked the pearl white of her face. She said firmly: “Well —’’ and moved from the bureau • • • |7TTf| ITH a little swift rush she \uU ran to those two waiting In TT the living room. She stood behind Jonathan’s chair. The trembling went from her hands into her veins. It seemed to her that Bhe was falling—in a moment with a little soft cry she would sink in the great, kind arms; she would sink against his knees —oh, she would wind her hands about him, make him hold her there, he would She laughed: “Jonathan, Jonathan, dearest ” Her cheek was soft on his. She patted it; twined the mustache Then she kissed her mother. Then she said lightly: “Little Jennie, so sweet she is!" And tears of gladness ran to Jennie’s eyes. At the door she called back—“l won’t be till late, perhaps—sleep, ole dears!” Something in that caught her heart as though it tore and bled. She ran back to her room—looking for her purge. And kissed them both again and fixed the old, loved faces in her mind. She rode down to Washington St. and transferred. Her plan was clear. She would go to the river. That was the way. No one would know. Drop into the waters. Not even God could tell. She lowered her head, hurrying It was black; lumber piled on either side. Dim lights glimmered like eyes of ancient owls. The terror within

her made her knees weak. She walked to the edge and leoked down at the w*tcr. She swayed and darted back, appalled. “No-God—-oh, no—” , Then she said —"Yes now quick ’’ and started to run, and couldn’t. She sat down. She wiped the moisture from her neck. She measured the distance to the water. Ten feet at the bridge there —At her side was a great horizontal beam. It stretched between vertical shafts. It was nearer to the water. It would be easy to wrap her hands about that —let herself down sofly—let herseld down easily. She knelt. She slipped her hands under and they were wedged against the planks. She could do it! From here —Yes. “No—no—go back —” The water was so dark —it looked so cold — The wind sank cold about her — sank like the hand of death. She felt her life going—felt herself already dead. Suddenly she gripped the beam. She let herself down. Her feet were in the water. The wind loosened her hair. Now—let go! only a moment- 1 (To Be Continued) (Copyright. King Feature Syndicate)

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