Indianapolis Times, Volume 37, Number 23, Indianapolis, Marion County, 6 June 1925 — Page 12

CHICKIE

Chickie (Helena I, only daughter of Jonathan and Jennie Bryce, loves Barry Dunny. a young lawyer with Tufts & Lennox. Wealthy Jake Munson, friend of Janina Knowles and Amy Heaton, sends Chickie a costly pin with a love uote and arranges so her father does not lose on his oil investment. Jake tells Chickie he considers Barry's feeling only a boy’s love, and that he will be waiting when Bar- 1 ry has jilted her. Chickie urges Barry to think of their marriage as a present possibility, even though he believes he cannot 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 h.m. Barry returns with the deal unsettled, and Ila invites him to tour the world with her party. When Chickie accuses him of loving Ila. a quarrel follows and he leaves on the trip. In desperation she telegraphs him when she realizes she must endure the consequences of her love. Her parents, ignorant of her plight, favor Jake as a auitor for Chickie. To get the opinloi of kina Mrs. Blake, Chickie .tells a falee story of a girl in her own predicament. In Parry’s absence Jimmie Blakes renews his attentions. Barry tells Chickie he has been married to Ila for two weeks, but promises to help her. Instead of going to him. Chickie plans to drown in the river. GO ON WITH THE STORY By EUnore Meherln CHAPTER XCII. The Cross-Beam SHE water lapped coldly at hen feet. The night was dark. And she was letting herself down. Her heart hammered like a mad thing; It pumped terror through her veins—made her neck tight. She could hear her own pulses In their frantic thump-thump. She looked down at the water and saw death. And the fear of it, convulsive and agonized, laid hold on her. She clung piteously to the beam. She sent a dim, broken cry, “Mother oh, mother —God—” and would have pulled herself up—back But all things slipped—a wave swept over her mind. Its darkness became one \with the dark of the sky and the water from another world, a murmur—a sudden, glad sigh. Her lips smiled. Ah, death—this was death—complete and gentle. Holy death —it puts its chill, kind breath In her mouth. She drank it and was free. All at once she was aware of a frightful pulling and tearing at her elbows—a dragging at the pit of her arrAs. And she was awake hanging to the beam, her feet numb and cold In the water. Awake, with terror screaming In her heart; her mind stark. She didn’t know how long it had been —a lifetime or a moment. But she knew herself and the thing she had come out here to do. With a frantic shock she looked downward. Oh —the waters! But they hadn't come about her. She wondered, whimpering, why this was—why she hadn’t died. Hanging here, with the darkness closed about her; hanging here with the wind, flapping her hat. She had an idea that her clinging held her. And it hurt—lt was anguish, that straining at her wrists. She wanted to slide down —into that water—out—away—quiet again—that absence of thought; that sweet lull of neath. Loose her hands—let go! ShA tried to do this. There was no sensation in the numb fingers. Suddenly she knew that they were wedged between the beam and the plank; they were jammed there. She had wrapped them so. And the weight of her whole, dangling body would not release them. She tried to muscle herself up; get an a level with these prisoned hands, tear them loose. She would. She must. End this ferocity of pain. She couldn’t raise herself an inch. She had no leverage. And she hung there. Her thought reeled. It was glaring and hot. She murmured: “God—let me—oh, God!” The hair blew across her Sorehead. It blew on her flickering eyes. This seemed a madness of cruelty. Suddenly she felt on her mouth the kiss he had given. A wish to hurt the spot possessed her. Her body swayed. As it did, she had an Incisive image of the beautifully set head lowered; his baffled eyes returning to her. Ha was sitting In the restaurant now—waiting. He would wait long— But then she saw Jennie w'th the gla/1 tears running into her eyes;

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saw Jennie with her old head tiking proudly because her friend had looked with envious admiration at that Chickie of theirs — Thinking this, the veins at her heart swelled; they were bursting. Now—Jennie would know. Jonathan would beat his head. They would come here i.i the morning and find her dead. They would know she had done this fearful thing; they would know why. Mary would know—and Jimmy—the whole world— She made a frantic, wild, tugging effort. Sh? tried to jerk her arms from their sockets. She heard a cry, shrill, protesting, opening the night like a red wound. She— crying out like that! God—that was she! * * * EN running along the bridge. Two men. They stooped. They st.zed her elbows, raised hen. One took her frozen hands and with a terrible strength tore them from between the cross beams. The flesh bled. She felt nothing. She dropped in some one’s arms. "’hey laid her down. One said: “Better get an ambulance. Suicide, I suppose.” A wild thing leaned within her. Through the fogs heaving at her mind, these two peering faces became startling In their menace. She sat up, reaching out the poor, bleeding hands, smiling vaguely. She touched the speaker, trfe-d to say: "Oh, no! Why—l fell —I stumbled!” But she could only shake her head. The man said to his companion: “Walt a bit—” And kindly to Chickie: “Think you can walk?” She got up then. She said in a voice that ' choked and strained: “Yes ” But she staggered. The man helped her. He said: “Likely to try that again, Miss?” “I lost my balance. I was sitting ” * “Bad place to sit, Miss—this time of night ” She couldn’t move her fingers. But she made her lips smile. This was the only thought In her mind —escape —getaway. She said: “Please—l’m all right—please ” “Walk then —let me see—” She tried. She steadied herself along the railing. She came back to him and laughed: “The car’s not far—thank you—You're kind.” But he wouldn’t let her go. “See here, Miss—you can't make it. Your feet are soaked. You can’t walk. Better let me get the ambulance.” “Ho! I’m *all right—please.” “But see here. Miss! mind you, don’t sit here and lose your balance again.” He took her arm, half carrying her to the car. She dropped to a place In the corner, hiding her w r et shoes, her dripping skirt. She was the only occupant now. She put her bruised hands In the wide sleeves of her coat. Her wrists were iron things. They were enormous. They were In flames. She could scarcely bear their weight and their fire. But her mind was cold. It was a lump of ice. The cruel chill of it bit through her nerves. She sat low in the seat, staring from the window. She could feel the lapping of the water, the massy dark and the wind, sinking like death about her. Her eyes burned. Now the car taking her back was a fated thing; its wheels and their grind, crushing her. She listened. Going back —each block nearer. It became hard for her to breathe; hard to quiet the thing that thumped and was so frightened at her thro&t. She knew that she must face It now r . She would not wind her hands about the beam again. She w-ould not hang there, dangling above the water. Face It —yes How? God—hou r ? She cowered. She thought of Jennie and her father and the sickness of her mind put dow’n the pain of her body. • *’ * N Italian woman with a darkeyed child of two or three go! the car. She took the place next to C.iickie. The baby stuck out its foot, striking Chickie s arm. Pain shot to her mind In a flash of misery. She dared not raise her hands to wipe the tears running to the corners of her lips. She bore It In dumb resignation. Yet she wondered with a kind of childish panic If it w'ere really she going through this bitter waste; was it really sh© that had run to the edge of the bridge and shuddered in horror at the thing that she must do; really Chickie, that Jonathan loved, who must now hide herself aw'ay; even must die? She that had been so glad and all of life a song—she that had loved the moon riding in clouds of flame. Had wanted

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She is rescued and returns to her home.

some laughing, glorious other at hei side! Now—she scarcely dared to raise her eyes. And her hands were hidden there in the sleeves of the coat. Oh—her hands were shameful things. They would let the whole world knowThey made her know'. It was she —and she must go through it—must stand up strong, somehow and meet it —Oh, God!—But as though God cared! For her —now — Oh—she mustn’t think like this — tears rushing to her eyes—no hand to wipe them free—drink them back —that w r as the way .... don’t hide her hands—pretend she fell—say that to Jennie—laugh and tell what a tumble-tille she’s got to be! Jennie wouldn’t guess. > She swayed. She was tired and wanted to sleep. And if she could have set her hard on anything then that would give surcease of thought; of all this driving anguish she would have given up her Ufa. And gladly. So she had tried to dash away. And now she was coming back. And all the pain, w’ith its wanton patience, waited. She got off the car. Suddenly she remembered that she had no key. Ho—she laughed. Why—she hadn’t ever intended to need the key again She would go through the alley—climb through the kitchen window. Wildie would hear. Would he bark? Would they be awake? It was only half past ten. Chickie leaned against a fence her feet dragging. The Dillons lived in this house. Sarah Dillon went to school with Chickie. She was a plain, comical girl, full of heart. A light upstairs. Suppose it was in Sarah's room? Suppose Sarah should look out and see her faltering there against the gate? Suppose Sarah should glance into her ,mind and see its terror and its shame She hurried. It seemed to her that she was running into a bleakness, and there were no lights, not even one single star. She turned sharply at the comer. Someone caught her arm. She cried out Softly, but in terrible alarm. It was he, Barry, and he said: "For the love of Heaven, Chickie —for the love of Heaven ” She tried to break from him. "Where were you? God, isn’t it hideous enough " “Ho—let me go! Ho—what is It to you ” But he held her. CHAPTER XCIII The Dismissal f- .'I IS face turned searchingly to 11—1 hers. It was piercing in its l A A J white. quivering anxiety. “Chickie, where were you? Why didn't you come?” She felt his hand on her aching arm, and this touch of his was more unbearable than the fainting hurt. She said dully, “You go—go now,” and never looked at him They passed a lamppost. The light fell on them. In its glare he saw her drooping, saw her dragging, and the deadly pallor of her cheeks: then her feet, leaving wet prints on the cement. He stooped quickly and touched her shoes—the wet edges of her coat. His lips shook. “Chickie, what did you do?”

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She shut here eyes. “Chickie ” He clenched her arm. The pain stabbed into her like red hot knives. She reeled, pleading / softly “Don't—let go—oh, let it go ” He did; her hr • 3 dropped heavy and limp to v sides. But she swayed and he put his arm about her waist. She had to endure it and his words. “Chickie—what did you do? "Where in the name of heaven were you? This won’t do any good. You’ll only make it worse—make It frightful. Chickie—listen ” She turned from him, mumbling —“Oh, go—go! I don't want you here—” It seemed that he was beating her; his hands thudded on her raw heart. They reached the steps. The little yellow cottage was all in darkness except for the hall light they left for her. Chickie leaned against the post, shoving his arm away. She wished to say a thing to him—say it quietly. But her mind was dim; it was far from her, sunk in heavy fogs. She leaned at the post, wondering vaguely if the kitchen w n iow was latched; if she could ojen it with her tortured hands. And she turned suddenly, running along the garden fence to the alley. When he followed, she said with a little shrill moan: “Oh, go! You go!” And chanced to see his face. She stopped in shock. It was so pale; it’s mouth so drawn —a twisted, suffering thing. "I’ll not go! T T ntil you tell me! Until you go hi. Where were you, Chickie? What did you try to do? Your coat is soaking and your shoes Were you at the river? Were you? Lord, Chickie. can’t you see? This is terrible! This is the worst way in the world to do! Do you want everyone to know? Chickie—listen." She went stumbling through the alley. He kept pace with her—begging—pleading: “What are you going to do, Chickie? Won’t you speak to me?” “Hush—they’ll hear— ’* “Give me your key—you better go in—” “I have no key." She crept up the steps to the porch. The moon was soft on the climbing roses. Chickie reached the window. He saw her hands with the swollen wrists: saw the skin torn. He leaned down and turned them palm upwards, his breath choking. For a long while he held her hands staring at them, biting his lips. She had no strength to draw away. She feared to speak. He ran a hand heavily over his hair: there came a broken pleading in his voice: "Lord. Chickie—oh. Lord—what did you do to them?” “Ho—ho ” He trembled. And suddenly,

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opening the window for hes , he pressed his face against the sash, hiding it with hie upstretched arms. Like a figure hanging on the croer. There was an oppressive Btillness about him when he turned: “Chickie —bathe your hands. Put them in hot water—” “Ho—my hands —” He shuddered: “Don’t go on like this. You can’t! Chickie, there's only one thing to do now. Go away —l’ll do anything—” She felt an insane laughter tearing at her throat. But it made no sound. It ripped things—made the blood go warmly, in a heavy sickness round her heart. She said again: “Go—go now—” The dog whined. She gave a whlspered cry: “Wildie —hush—” He came to the window. Chickie tried to raise herself on her elbows, climb in. The pain, like a great, cruel hand doubled her. ' He saw the ashen misery; saw the wincing. He put his arms about her. “You'll have to let me help you—” He lifted her gently and he said to her: “Oh, God —Chickie —” * * * mHE dog raised his paws to her shoulder. She buried her head in the sleek mane. Without a look outward, she sank on a chair In the corner. Many moments. The window closed softly— Chickie pressed her mouth against the dog's head—sat there, her hands hanging limp. She heard feet going down the steps—out the alley. She rocked herself, moaning: “God—Oh, God—" And presently she went into the bathroom and held her hands under the hot water. Her teeth drove through her lips. But she halfsmiled. She said to herself: “Ho—my hands!” She kicked nf her shoes and hid them in the <flo9et —hid her coat away: going about her room with a stealthy caution. Jennie was never to know. (To Be Continued) (Copyright. Kinr Feature Syndicate) SPAIN PLANNING NEW OFFENSIVE Three-Day Bombardment to Precede Naval Landing. Bu I'nitrd Pre** LONDON, June 6.—A new Spanish offensive against the Riffs in Morocco with a naval landing at Alhucemas Bay will start June 11, if the sea is calm, according to a Daily News Madrid dispatch today. The Spanish dictator, Gen. Primo De Rivera, according to the message. would be in command and a three-day bombardment along the coast, with the assistance of airplanes, would precede the landing.

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