Indianapolis Times, Volume 37, Number 52, Indianapolis, Marion County, 11 July 1925 — Page 12

12

CHICKIE

The Sequel to

Chidcie (Helena), now 22. is the only daughter of Jonathan and Jennie Bryce of Indianapolis. To start life anew after her child dies and Barry Dunne, her sweetheart, jilts her. to marry wealthy Ila Moore. Chickie roes to Chicago for employment . Sarah Dillon, the Abbott sisters, Amy Heaton. Stella Wilson. Mary ! Blake McPike. Janina Knowles and wealthy Jake Munson are Chickle s home-town friends. Jimmie Blake, a childhood sweetheart. who still loves Chickie. accepts a position in Honolulu. Chickie refuses the friendship of Jdgar Manx, fellow boarder at Mrs. Daisy Brack. Elo'se Maxwell. Betty and IVorls Ordin and Bobby Jones work with Chickie in the office of Norp Willman. Chickie sroes to hie Wlnetka home as companion for Bar bara. bis daughter. Lee. his son. loves Chickie and paints her portrait. _ Their sister Edith (Mrs. Dirks Potter), secretly loves Tommy, an actor. She stops the elopement of Barbara ana Paul Scott and speaks contemptibly to Chickie for aiding them. Barbara's father consents to the marriage. Chickie is to be bridesmaid a. the wedding' with Myra. Lucille, Janet and Vera. At the rehearsal Myra Kin* suddenly recognizes Chickie ai the girl who came with Barry Dunr < to Bess Abbott's philosophy lectures, and tells Edith of Chickie s past life. Edith secretly orders Chickie to leave ana interferes with Luis Lamarck's plan to accompany her home. Chickie feels defeated, and when home recalls the appointment she could not keep with Lee. GO ON WITH THE STORY By Elinore Meherin She sat on the railing of a little bridge. Wildle brought her a stick and wanted to play. She shook her head. She said: “Oh, sit down — dog—sit here.” He crouched against her, his long, wet nose in her elbow. . One o’clock. They would be getting ready soon. Had they told Barbara? How cruel thg.t would be? Who would take her place? She loved Barbara —loved the warm, bright enthusiasm; envied the dear, tender dreams. Now she had spoiled Barbara’s wedding day; now she had viciously hurt Barbara’s faith. Oh, she never should have let them persuade her! She thought of this achingly a long while. She cowered because she fancied Barbara drawing back with horror from this thought of Chickie; recoiling just as she had recoiled that long distant day in the office when Janina told her all men were faithless. That made them interesting! She —Chickie—was a person like that —a person that a young girl should not know —an evil person, a thing of shame. She could scarcely breathe, thinking this and thinking it. Then the vision of Edith came to her —Edith srith her eyes hard and burning, oriering her Aoru the house. Suddenly Chickie said to herself with surprise, “She is worse than I.” She said this over again and it was tike a stiffening in her nerves. . . a stimulant poured Into her brain. She said aloud, "She does worse than I ever did —much worse.” Tet Edith Potter was not ashamed. Barbara did not recoil from her. Edith was matron of honor— queenly, in a dress of gold. Chickie trembled. For the first time since last April—the first time since the world had found her out — she stepped aside and looked square ly with her own thought at the thing she had done. Loved —yes, too wildly. Edith did this. She was not judged. But Edith has no child; Edith had not been discovered. That was the Bin. The child—and then being tracked! But how could the child—that little soft thing with Its pretty red hair —how could that make the deed any worse? Oh, she mustn’t think about- that —poor little thing—yet better dead — much better. But she did think of it. And the thought softened her. No, she •wouldn’t call the child a sin—never. The sin was hers. It was no worse—not nearly as vicious as Edith Potter’s sin. There went stirring through her a subtle resentment, and this hardened —this made her lips straighten. Edith was not lost; she, Chickie, was not lost. She felt an antagonism, a young hot bitterness, against this woman who had so humbled her. But it was a strengthening vhing—•made her wish to defend herself; made her wish to show Barbara, show even one, she was not bed—pot all bac..

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Yet the next morning she didn’t go to work. Early before noon. Mrs. Jan is came up. “There is a man who wishes to see you.” Chickie was alarmed. "Who is he —ls Miss Chesseman in the parlor?” “Yes—she’s sewing—” And as Chickie stood at the door, nervous, uncertain, Lee Willman came up the stairs. Ho stepped between Mrs. Janis and Chickie. He said: “Let me see you in there—alone—” His face was whiter than chalk. CHAPTER XXII The Double Toll Chickie backed into the room, her eyes on that white face. Lee Willman followed. He stood against the door, his head lowered. He stood so and didn’t speak. Chlckie’s hands were folded and her lips parted because of a breathless anguish. She looked at this man who had kneeled to her; whose arms had touched In ecstasy about her shoulders. This man who had exalted her until she was but beauty and a spirit. She saw his face stricken with shame and the pain she had to bear was like the throat or the heart torn living and slowly out of one. He spoke in a muffled tone, barely audible: “I just learned of that —of what she did to you.” Chickie shut her eyes. What was he saying? Just learned? “She dared to tell me. Came this morning ard told me. I cannot meet your eyes.” She asked faintly in a soft, broken murmur: “What do you mean? I don’t know what you mean. You saw that I was gone.” “Yes—but she said you had received a wire. Your father was hurt in an accident. You left to catch the train.” , “Oh! She told you that? Did She tell that to Barbara?” He nodded. “So Barbara doesn’t know. Barbara went away not knowing? I’m glad of that. You don’t know how glad lam for that.” She stood quiet there in the middle of the room, her eyes down, and her voice was a plea as though she reached out her hand to him. He moved toward her, an eagerness coming like a light across his mouth: “Helena! Do you mean you can care? You can think of us at all, after that? I am ashamed to stand before you.” She shivered, a confusion in her mind. And, suddenly, glancing upward, beheld his eyes, rapt, intent, worshiping. They dropped a terror upon her because of what they told; because of their young, passionate faith so blindly shining. He said hoarsely, as though the effort were enormous: “Helen, do you count the fault mine? Did you think I could foresee she would do a ghastly thing like this? It is worse than anything; worse than I could have dreamed. If you had only come to me—” She swayed a little, folding more tightlv her hands. They were so cold. She looked down at her feet, noticing the points of her slippers, fastening on this common detail to steady her thoughts. Then she said, with the breath of it an agony: “What are you meaning? Oh—it doesn’t matter —nothing matters. Nothing. Did she tell you all? All of it?” He pressed his fist against his mouth: “Don’t think of It! Please! She told enough—enough—” ‘Ah, yes—and you What do you say—what?” He took a hurried step, caught her two hands: “Helen! She could tell it a thousand times. She could shout it to the heavens. Do you think I’d care? Do you think I’d believe one -single word—” She rocked from him: "Oh—oh—” and shoved with a little wild gesture, his hands from hers. He stood bewildered, the Intent vividness fading from his face until it became like powdered ash. He asked, incredulous: “Why do you treat me so? Do you blame me? How could I gue^s?” She smiled, her lips drawn white with desperation. She tried to speak; to look up then and bravely meet his eyes. But she could only fold her hands; only press them with a mute and tragic prayer. He came up then and touched those icy hands. “Helen —are you hurt too much? You never wish to see me again? Is that it? It was the cruelest thing? It was I she wished to suffer —not you—Helen—” The wound hidden so deeply In her heart opened, flowing with a warm, new anguish; and It seemed to her that she was slaying something; a frail, radiant thing. She must do this —stand here and watch

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Chickie Tells Lee Willman the Story About Her Is True

it die. Her spirit cowered —it sank down and covered Its face. He said: “Speak to me, Helen — won’t you?” She shook her head. She turned from him. motioning that he must go. “Please—oh, now—oh, go—” He came swiftly, his hands on her shoulders. He swept her about and looked into her face. Her eyes confessed what the moving lips had refused. Moments his breath choked. He held her so, the light flaming and deadening in his face. The trembling of his hands was terrible and put a deadly faintness through her. He crossed his arms to steady them about her. He leaned down and whispered: “Helen —is it true? You mean it’s true? Those things are so?” She nodded heavily. She saw a cold, bluish pallor all about his mouth, beads standing on his forehead. He said, unbelieving: “Do you mean this? It’s true?” She loosened his hands. It seemed to her that she should comfort him; that she should wipe his face. But he would not believe. He said, fighting for his voice: “You can’t know. You can’t know what she said. You can’t have done those things!” She answered, brokenly: "I did — I did them all —” A sound, that was a live thing broken in Its pain, shot from him. He clapped his hands in a spasm against his face. Chickie stood there, white and cold, while the thing seemed dying in the room, leaving It chill, leaving it empty and dark. He was moving to the door, fumbling with the knob. He turned and looked at her, the youth and rapture gone from his face. He said, incredulous, "Oh, you?” And with that crushed, accusing look went out. Chickie watched the door close, Ste went over and turned the knob gently. Then she leaned against it, no moan on her lips, no protest in her heart. Only a terror—a numb, still terror. She stood there, losing count of time. Once she opened the door, half expectlrg to find him returned. She sat all afternoon, with her hands folded idly in her lap. Anew idea had come to her. She said aloud many times. “It's not myself —oh, now—now —” And this seemed frightful to her —this, that the consequences of her deed were thrust upon others. That Lee Willman should have a crushed, stricken look because of her and a thing she had done months, even years, before. _— This thought came to her in a terrifying aspect. She saw herself a thing that could destroy, that could viciously hurt. She quailed. She said to herself, “God—no —oh, don't.” She wished then to rush out and speak to Willman —explain—tell him —oh, that perhaps he might understand —might see it not as such a ghastly thing. She wondered where he was, what he would do. And she kept feeling his lips pressed against her palm as he had knelt that night telling her that love was such a glory—with her it would be all a dream.

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• She pictured the young willful mouth quickening as it did with a sudden smUe, tightening in impulsive anger. He had looked for a thing exquisite in life; he had found it in her. Now the dream was gone. Chickie turned her face against the chair. She began to pray in an imploring, frantic desperation. Now she imagined he would run his car swiftly over a cliff; now she saw him walking out jnto the surf. Once he had said to her, ‘Who would live unless there were some purpose to it —some hidden beauty—and we can do our part to deepen it?” Then he had laughed: “Helen, as Barbara says, just living you do yours”— Oh. she should have told him then.

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She should have measured boldly to the test. . . . Now she was to blame. All night lying awake, imagination brought him before her. When she slept she dreamed of Edith—Edilh opened a door and hissed, “Murderess!” She got up long before six and went out to buy a newspaper. She searched it, half fainting with suspense. It contained nothing. But that evening Norp Willman came to the boarding house. He came to Chickie's door, saying bluntly, “Is my son here?” "No” —Her breath failed. “Do you know where he is?” “No”— “Have you seen him—well, since

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yesterday morning?” She shook her head, unable to frame a single word. Norp Willman drew a sharp, struggling breath—and wiped his forehead: “I beg your pardon, Miss Bryce. I am afraid. I don’t know where he is. His car was found north of the city—” (To Be Continued) (Copyright. King Feature Syndicate)

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