Indianapolis Times, Volume 37, Number 35, Indianapolis, Marion County, 20 June 1925 — Page 12

CHICKIE

Chickie (Helena), only daughter ol Jonathan and Jennie Bryce, loves Barry Dunne, a 701105" lawyer with Tufts & Lennox. Wealthy Jake Munson, friend of Janina Knowles and Amy Heaton, tells Chickie he considers Marry s feeling only a boy’s Jove and that he will be waiting when Barry has Jilted her. Ila Moore's father expects to engage Barry to represent locally the Gulf Steamship Company of San Francisco, and Ila invites him to tour the world with her party. When Chickie accuses him of loving Tla. 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. When Barry tells Chickie he has been married to Ila for two weeks. Chickie takes the name of Mrs. John Clayton. buys herself a wedding ring and goee to the country home of -Mrs. Agues Robbins for a vacation. Dorothy Wrenden. a hotel clerk at Lancaster. agrees to forward Chickle’s mail under the assumed name. Chiokle becomes the mother of a tiny girl. When she learns that her mother is til she leaves with the baby In the nurse's absence. The doctor tells Chickie the child is dead. When Jennie recovers. Jimmie Blake again calls on Ohickie. She returns the money Barry sent for the child and ties to keep her parents ignorant of her past, bqt the local papers print a detailed account of the Inquest to be held in the baby’s death. Jake offers sympathy and the services of his attorney. Jonathan and Chickie . must accompany Sheriff Bert Ricks to appear with Dr. Emerson before the coroner’s jury. GO ON WITH THE STORY By Elinore Meherln So Chickie thought and listened uncaring to the loquacious comfort the sheriff kept turning to offer. “Fine morning, Mr. Bryce. We’re making good time. Be there in another hour. Nothing to worry about, just a mlxup between that their new doctor and the coroner. Emerson’s got the high-hand in the town and Liarry Mitford don’t like it. The girl’s bound to come out of It all right.” Barry was in the city. She hadn’t thought of that. And had he, too, read of this? He also knew she was a marked and beaten thing. She put her hand upward and hid from Jonathan the doubling of her chin. She wondered how the thought of him could twist her now. But It did. And terribly a little later. The Inquest was set for half past two: They reached the town at twelve —stole In so quietly that only the clerk at the hotel and two or three loungers Bitting on the rail of the porch knew who had come. The sheriff got a room for them. Jonathan placed her in a chair. In a clumsy way he pulled down the r. hades —shutting the light from the oak bed, the red and blue matting on the floor. He said, "Just you sit here, "Chickie girl. I’ll have some lunch brought up. Won’t be long.” The door had scarcely closed. It opened. Chickie didn't stir until a strange voice said "I beg your pardon." A man stepped to her side, handed her a note. She let it lie in her hands. “I’ll wait for an answer.” Mechanically she opened It. She read this: “Chickie, see me for a moment, I want to say a word. I’m waiting near. You have several hours. Give me just a moment. Chickie, don't refuse this. Don’t make me do more harm than I've done already.” • * * • r— — HE folded the bit of paper in Sa measured and aching slowness. She fought to keep her lips quite still. For they were feeling again that kiss, so light, so crushing in Its bitter humiliation; the kiss he had given her the night she had come to him, pleading, when she asked, “Do you mean that will marry me?” But no—he hadn’t meant that— She forgot the man waiting there. He said: “There Is no answer? She shook her head. “Will you come with me? It*s not far.” She repeated, wondering: "Ho—go with you?” “You would feel sorry for him —” “Ho—yes”—She clasped her hands twisting the pale Ungers. The man shifted uneasily. Finally he asked: “Have you counsel for this afternoon?” She repeated dully, “For this afternoon—why do you ask these things of me? Ho—there is no answer. None.” She got up and faced him —rocking a little, but smiling. “Will you go? Kindly go” Her cheeks were bloodless—whiter than her lips. The man said hurriedly: “Pardon

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me—l beg your pardon. Have you given his name? Her hand reached out. "Ho—oh ho—l see—oh——” She caught the chair—steadied herself. The man left then. Chickie stood there swaying, repeating in a soft, broken wildness, “Ho —his name—ho ” His name—she wouldn’t have spoken It to save her soul from doom. She couldn’t have forced her lips to bring the sound Yet it acmed to her shame; it left no slightest beauty even in a memory. It added to the loneliness. So that when Jonathan came and tried to make her eat she half wondered that even Jonathan should care. Oh—but ho did. He drew her to him, raised her face as he had in other times when its beauty was his joy. He raised It, saying: "Chickie girl, remember, I want you to stand up there this afternoon—proud now, my girl. I want you to be brave. No tears —not one.” She pulled her face away. She said: “Yes —oh, my yes!” But he kept whispering things like that as they drove through the hot streets, stopping before a house — newly painted—white and austere. A crowd was gathered—they pushed to the machine—young girls with bobbed hair and city ways—lndolent, lanky men. Chickie had t 6 pass through that. Jonathan and the sheriff shouldered them away. But she heard: “That’s her!” “Quick!” The front parlor of the coroner’s home served as the undertaking place. Here was the inquest. The room was packed—warm, heavy with many breaths. Someone edged toward her—caught her hand: “This is a shame, Mrs. Clayton. I regret this deeply. It was Dr. Emerson. Then everyone was standing and pushing. He raised his hand. They backed—took their chairs again. “I would have advised you—spared you the shock, but I didn’t know where to reach you." Chickie mumbled. “Thank you.” They led her to the front of the room—to a little table near the bay windows. She sat there and Jonathan with her. Someone came up and put an nrn about her; someone said: “Dearie—dearie—” It was Agnes Robbins. “I'm going to talk —I’ll tell—why, It was the weakest little thing! Dearie—we know you didn't do it —” “What do you mean, Agnes?” “■Why, well we know it died—” “Oh—died—yes— O, Agnes— ’* “Never mind, dearie—we know that —” And abruptly a stout, redfaced woman just behind them Interrupted. She said loudly: “Yes, miss —I believe It, too” Chickie smiled at her, bewildered —repeating In a daze: “Oh you—yop believe that— ”’ The coroner, big, raw-bone'd, bull necked, Walked In with a hushed, ceremonious air. He took a chair at the long table. Emily Fails, the nurse that Chickie had sent away when she had carried off the baby, was called' to the stand. Emily Faria didn’t look at Chickie. CHAPTER CXI The Doctor’s Testimony. E r “"“"1 MILY FARIS was a friend of the coroner. It was soon evii___J dent. In the hush that tightened through the room her answers tossed guilt In Chickle’s face. Chickie sat there limp, bewildered, letting the guilt dash In hot, red stains about her. She was aware of Agnes Robbins whispering: “It’s a shame, dearie — I’ll answer her!” '..ware of Jonathan, erect but with ashen face, holding her hand, patting and rubbing It. But wit 1 each word that Emily Faris spoke; each move of her round, spacious back, so near that Chickie felt Its warmth, the brand drove and seared. The coroner asked: “You attended the woman known as Mrs. John Clayton when her child was born?” “Yes, sir. Well, you see, being ag I lived across the road and being as it came suddenly”— “Just answer, please). You attended her? You brought the new bom babe to Its mother?” “I did, sir, but she wouldn’t look at It. She kept her face hidden. I told her It was a girl. She said: ‘Didn’t want a girl,’ and she wouldn’t look at it or hold It.” Chickie trembled. The little, still thing with Its soft, red hair—lay at her side again. And it was true. She didn’t want a girl—she didn’t look at It. The corqner continued: “You’ve attended many mothers with their first bom. You know what mother love is. Do they usually refuse to look at their children?” “They do not.” “How old was the baby when it was carried away by the mother?” “Four days.”

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Sits in torture as the coroner continues his grilling.

“You saw the child an hour before it was taken away?” “I did.’’ “What was its condition? I mean the state of Its health?” “It was as well as could be expected. It was in good health.” “Was there any evidence, so far as you could see, tha pointed to its hasty death?” “None at all.” “The day of the mother’s disappearance, as you remember, cold?” “Freezing, sir—'twould cut a stone wall. And the wind blew me across the road.” “Mrs. Faris, you have children. Would you expose a new-born Infant to the danger of such weather?” ‘*l would not.” “Did the mother show any interest in her child?” “Yes.” “What was it?” “She was interested in its weakness. The rqorning of that day when she ran away I brought the baby to her. I said: ‘See if it Ayill nurse.’ She didn’t want to do it and looked at me very angr*y. But I put the child right to her. After a while she said to me: 'lt’s so little. It wouldn’t take much to smother a little thing like this —would it?” • • * | 7'l GASP—then silence dropping A in a pall. Jonathan’s hand closing—pouring strength into hers. But the red stain flamed now in Chlckie’s heart. She remembered. She had said it. Just that—the very words. Yes—she had dozed with the baby against her. She had awakened trembling with fear, from a dream that she had leaned on the child and crushed it. She had told her fright to the nurse. Now it was repeated; now it was made a vicious thing—a cruel and vicious plan. Something struck in Chlckie’s mind then —struck wild. Perhaps it was a sudden image of that little flickering movement on the baby's lips when she had laid it on the ground, blowing the pitiful breath in its mouth; perhaps it was the feel of its tiny hands, so perfect and so cold. But she rose; her hand reached out—she swayed. The words she meant to say failed. And Jonathan drew her back —drew her quiet, his arm about her. The lawyer Jake had sent whispered: /'Raise your veil, Mrs. Clayton. You'll be called soon—raise your veil.” She shook her head. “Yes —so that they can hear. It will help” t The coroner asked: “What else, Mrs. Faris?’’ “Well,” replied Mrs. Faris to the coroner’s question, “Mrs. Clayton asked me If I ever knew of a mother smothering her child like that. Os course, I never thought of anything and I said ‘yes.’ She wanted to know all about It. She asked and asked. Then she touched the baby's mouth and ita cheeks. She said: ‘Why it’s so small, if I were to roll over on it—it would be dead in a moment” Chickie sank down in the chair. The lawyer repeated: “Raise your veil”— And she did this—showed her white face, her dark eyes. Those about her looked and turned their heads away. Her eyes were hunted things—tortured, pleading things In the marble of her face. The coroner said: “And that afternoon the mother stole away with the child?” “Yes.*' * “And that night the baby was dead?” “Yes.” Not a breath. Women sat forward, fever In their glances. ... SHE doctor was called. The coroner ran his big forefinger between his collar and his red, bull neck. He blew a gusty fc’-eath from the wide nostrils. “Is It a fact, Dr. Emerson, that the child known as Merle Clayton was brought to your office dead on the night of Jan. 25?” “Yes.” “You were not present at the moment of the death?’’ “I was not.” “You signed the death certificate?’’ “Yes.” “You took charge of. the funeral arrangements?” “Yes.” “The mother left your house within an hour after leaving her dead child In your hands?” “An hour or two.” “Sie went with your consent? ’ Dr. Emerson sat forward, looked directly from face to face of the men sitting against the wall—the coroner’s Jury. He paused a full moment, then answering swiftly: “She went to her dyinf, mother with my full consent and knowledge! Thank God I could do the service for her.” “Answer th*e questions, sir!” “Ask them, your honor!” “Is it regular or customary for a doctor to sign a death certificate when he knows nothing of the circumstances leading to the death?” “It Is not.” “How many days elapsed since your last visit to this Infant and the hour of Its death?” “Two and a half.” “In two days a new-born Infant even in the most robust health might come to its death from causes not apparent previously? Is this correct ?”- “Quite correct. It might, till from a window dt might be devoured by woh ea.” “Quite so. Or it might be smothered by the mother; or taken out and exposed to the elements. It might be removed from a warm bed and carried abroad in the coldest wind of the year?” The doctor measured his rival and smiled. “Yes—that’s true.” “In which case the Infant might be brought to you dead? Would you be justified in signing the death certificate without refering the case td the recognized authority, namely, the coroner?” The doctor hesitated, sensing the trap. He said, grfiffly, “I am not here.to discuss theoretical questions, but to tell of a certain, definite case that has nothing to do with death from smothering or exposure.” “You can be sure of that —sure

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of these things could poi ribly have happened?’’ ‘•Very sure.” “Though the Infant was brought to you dead?” “Very sure.’’ “But you admit the possibility ■ hat death might have occurred from other causes?” “Possibly; but In this case death was due to complete material weak-ness-death J looked for from the moment c? the Infant's birth.” “So you .*<* willing to state that an infant admittedly weak could be exposed to a driving wind and suffer no hurt?” “I state that this child did not die from exposure. An infant of four days in robust health might be thrown in the. snow and it wouldn’t die if rescued in time.” -'‘Would you ordinarily advise a child ot four days to be taken out in a driving wind storm?” “I am not here to give advice." “How many times did the mother of this child visit you before Its birth?” “Twice.” “Had you known her previously, or did you know the father of the child?” “No.” “Have you ever seen the father?” “No.” “Did it occur to you. as in any way suspicious, that a young mother four days after the birth of her child should rush out with it in the cold, bring her dead child to you and leave without waiting for the burial?” “Her mother was dying.” “How did you know tnis?” “She told me so.” The cornoner sat back and folded nis arms. “Very well—that’s enough. She told you so!” Chickie was called * * (To Be Continued) (Copyright. Kins Feature Syndicate) LAWYERS TO PICNIC Annual Affair To Be Held at La coma Ffcmis, June 27. The annual picnic of the Indianapolis Bar Association will be held next Saturday afternoon, on the Lacoma Farms of Lewis A. Coleman, north of Indianapolis on the Spring Hill road. It was announced today by Yawrence B. Davis, president. Barbecue and other /refreshments will be served at supper. An entertainment program has been provided.

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