Indianapolis Times, Volume 37, Number 56, Indianapolis, Marion County, 16 July 1925 — Page 12

The Sequel to

CHICKIE

CU3de (Helena) Is the only daughter oi Jonathan and Jennie Bryce 01 Indianapolis. To start life anew afterner child dies and Barry Dunne her sweetheart jilts her to marry wealthy Ila Moore. Chickie goes to Chicago for employment. Sarah Dillon, the Abbott sisters. Amy Heaton. Stella Wilson. Mary ' Blake Mos ike. Janina Knowles and wealthy Jake Munson are Chickie s home-town friends. ..... . Jimmie Blake, a childhood sweetheart, who still loves Chickie, accepts a position in Honolulu. Chickie refuses the friendship of Edgar Manx fellow boarder at Mrs. Ja Dals.v Brack. Eloise Maxwell. Betty and Doris Ordin and Bobby Jones work with Chickie in the office of Norn Willman. Chickie goes to his Winnetka home as companion for Barbara. his daughter. Lee. his son loves Chickie and paints her portrait. Their sister Edith (Mrs. Dirks Pottery secretly loves Timmy, an actor. Chickie is asked to be bridesmaid at the wedding of Barbara and Paul Icott. At the rehearsal. Myra King recognizes Chickie and tells Edith oTchickie’s past life. Edith orders Chickie to leave and interferes with Luis Lamarck’s plan to accompany her home. _ . In desperation. Lee disappears when Chickie confirms the story. Edith Questions Chickie and strikes her when Chicide accuses Edith of infidelity to her husband. , . After five days Chickie reads of Lee’s return and that he will recover from a supposedly accidental gunAfter her dismissal from the office, lids Lamarck tells her of a good position with George Edgeman. but Cmhkfe lunores it. ___ GO CN WITH THE STORY By Elinor© Meherin. She had held a book in her hands an hour and not turned a single page. Noting this a flush and a shame went over her. She dressed and went out. . No one could be Idle like this. No one could fight against thinking; against remembering. She said to herself with a queer, twisting dismay: “This Is worse than dying;’’ Her shame grew. She went again to the employment agencies. There was one job of SIOO and another of S9O. She f light apply. Chickie went to both places. Both had been filled within the hour. She walked slowly down the corridor from the last office. But her eyes smarted. She thought: "I’ll have to go somewhere else. I can’t stay around here idle another day! Not another day!” Coming down to the sidewalk Lul3 Lamarck greeted her. All his courtly air, but touched with reserve: "You didn’t apply for that position, Miss Bryce?” “No —I had others that I t*rvught were definite. So I let It go.” “I’m sorry-r-it was an unusual opportunity." Chickie said, impulsively, “I should have gone. I’m sorry, too.” Liuis shrugged. "Take a chance. It may not be filled.” "Why, it’s two weeks ago ” “Yes, but Edgeman’s secretary was not leaving immediately, I believe. I’m not sure. Might be worth while trying. May I call some evening, Miss Bryce, or may I phone?” • "I’d rather not, Mr. Lamarck.” “Well, good luck to you, Miss Bryce. I may phone, anyway. Try Edgeman—it can’t do any harm.” Chickie remembered the address. She thought, "I’m crazy! Imagining things!” She went down the block to the office of George Edgeman.

CHAPTER XXVIII Defiance George Edgeman had black hair, brushed so smooth It looked like paint. He was very well groomed as though he had come from a Turkish bath, but his face had a white, ironed-out look as of wrinkles and marks erased. He frowned, putting a cigarette meditatively to the tray: "Miss Bryce—didn’t someone speak for you some time ago?” “Mr. Lamarck.” "Os course. You're a friend of Luis?” Chickie colored: “'Well—yes.” He got up, his hands behind his back, walked across the room, talking as he did: “I need someone with initiative. I’m out of town a great deal. You’ve had considerable experience?” "Nearly five years.” He asked many questions, glancing over her head and screwing his eyes so that dozens of crowsfeet gathered In the corners. “Suppose we try It; then? That is the only way to tell. Get here by 9:30. Is that too early?” “Oh, no—” "All right, then —” He picked up a thick volume and, sitting on a comer of the desk, turned to a place that was marked. Chickie hesitated. The man had such a cold, Impersonal attitude. Finally she asked: “What Is the sal* ary?" He shrugged as though the Interruption were very untimely. "Well, that depends—depends entirely on yourself. Well —say $l5O as a start—” This was more than Chickie had ever received. Mitchell paid her $l4O In her last year. At Willman’s she received only slls. The ease of it astonished her. She walked down the block, tingling with nervousness. There would be driving work for that much money—good—she needed it—but strange, the luck of it! Lamarck had really meant well— She stopped, looking a long while at chiffon stockings in a winFree to Asthma and Hay Fever Sufferers Free Trial of Method That Anyone Can Use Without Discomfort or Loss of Time. We have a method for the control of Asthma, and we want you to try it at our expense. No matter whether your cage >s of long standing or recent development, whether it is present as Chronic Asthma or Hay Fever, you should send for a free Trial of our method. No matter in what climate you live, no matter what your age or occupation, if you are troubled with Asthma or Hay Fever, our method Should relieve you promptly. We especially want to send it to those apparently honeless oases, where all forms of inhalers, douches, opium preparations, fumes, ‘patent smokes.’’ etc., have failed. We want to show every one at our expense that our method is designed to end all difficult breathing, all wheezing, and all those terrible paroxysms. This free offer is too important to neglect a single day. Write now and begm the method at once. Send no " money. Simply mail coupon below. Do it today—you even do not pay postage.

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flow, absently comparing prices. Did Luis Lamarck know? Did Edith Potter tell him? Had every one at the wedding caught the rumor? An uncertainty' and a fear kept pricking at her mind. But what of it? Suppose he did know? How would that affect her? She thought:-"I should write and thank him.” Immediately she decided against this. Yet she could hardly wait for the morning bo anxioua was she to plunge headlong Into activity. At the office, Edgeman was already waiting. He dictated for three hours —an unwieldly mass of statistics. She went to lunch, exhausted—a raw pain in the back of her neck, but an elation in her heart. She would have no time now for broodlngs! She would drop to sleep the moment she touched the pil lows. Three days it was like this. Early one afternoon, as Edgeman sat at a roll top desk in an adjoining room, a telegram came. He read It—got up and began walking back and forth. He came abruptly to her desk. “Don’t go on with that now, Miss Bryce. Well—l have to make a trip to Detroit. Sorry to leave you in charge so soon. There won’t be much to do.” He pointed to a corner stacked solid with magazines relating to agriculture. “While I’m gone—you can go through the last two years—clip and paste the crop statistics. Well—that’s not very urgent. You might as well take it easy. Two or three hours a day will do . .

He outlined more work. "If you finish all this you might arrange these hooks In some kind of order. Sou like books?” He took her into the small room. It had a blue rug and heavy blue linen drapes. The walls were lined with books. “They belong to Luis. He was to send someone to catalog them, but they've been here months and nothing done. Try your hand at It.” She was uneasy with alarm: “If anything comes in I won’t know tvhat to and "It will have to wait. . , He was scarcely gone, yet abrupt and impersonal as he was, the office took on a deserted, lonely air, Chickie wished there were other girls. For two days she cut and pasted with relentless speed—and was suddfcnly dismayed to find the work finished. She went into the small room and looked at the books. She wondered If Luis Lamarck was an attorney also—why his books were here. She took down a row of them. They French and Spanish—fiction and poetry. She recognized some of the names. . . . She stacked them on the floor, at a loss for some plan of cataloguing. On other shelves were histories, and these were mixed In with biographies and essays. It became exciting figuring out a scheme. She was in the midst of it when the door opened and Luis, his soft eyes dancing, a little yellow rose In his buttonhole, came jaunting In. He swept his hat, half to the ground: "Pleased to meet you,’ Miss Bryce. What a charming and grateful young lady you are!” Chickie blushed, closed the book slowly on her finger: "I wanted to be sure I would make good first. But I do really thank you, Mr. Lamarck.” "Well—that’s to your credit. Where’s the boss?” "He’s gone to Detroit.” Luis whistled: “So —those books are mine. Did you know that? I’ve boarded them out for the next year.” “I’m cataloguing them.” “You are— ’’ He came ans looked over her shoulder—" Well—you sweet little thing! Can you read French?” "No—” He took the book from her hand, read a flaming bit from Alfred de Musset. The purring tones colored deeply with passion. His glance rested on her with a moist gentleness: “Do you know what I Bald to you, Miss Bryce?” “No—” She was annoyed because her cheeks stained and she was afraid of the resentment rising In her mind. She thought hastily! "These foreigners! They mean nothing. They think a girl expects this.” He put the book back in her hands, folding his over hers: "Shall I translate it for you?” She said: "No—” and walked back out to her desk. She was burning with a wish to say: "You know about me, do you? You think you can look at me so, because of that! Try It!" She put a sheet of paper In the machine, her hands chilly. Lula walked over and surveyed her with amusement. "You’re very fiery, Miss Bryce. What did I do now to displease you?” "Nothing—l have work to do—” "Perhaps you are angry, then, that you have the books to catalogue?” "Not at all—” "I wish you would forgive my offense —whatever it was—” He clasped his hands at his waist and stood before her, smiling, “Blame it on my French ••nother—please, Miss Bryce—” There was something ve.-y comic in his attitude. Chickie laughed and

Puzzle a Day

What three figures multiplied by six will give seven? Last puzzle answer:

90 DAA AS r U 2& AWA DAD

“Ninety days is a- little too long for you to be away, dad,” Is the message sent to the son by the father.

Stifling Her Fears, Chickie Accepts Luis Lamarck’s Friendship

he reached over 'quickly and caught her hands. She drew them back with a smile: “Would you mind being American with me, Mr. Lamarck?'' "How tiresome, my dear Miss Bryce! Must everyone be American with you?” She thought, with a piercing light: "He knows!” She answered, looking hotly into his eyes: "Yes—Mr. Lamarck—everyone!” "Your pleasure is mine.” He walked to the door, turned and, with a smile that was more than half taunt, swept his hat In a long curve. "But you won’t mind if I come in to look over my books occasionally? Really, Edgeman allows me to use my own room—” He came the next day. He sat in an arm chair, reading. He came out every few moments with an enthusiastic: "Listen to this, Miss Bryce.” Her reserve made no Impression. "I have tickets for the theater, Miss Bryce. Now, you’ve been unfriendly enough, haven’t you? Will you come?" "No—thank you—l have other engagements.” He smiled. "Always, Miss Bryce?” "Yes—” He leaned down, his fingers creeping over hers. ‘Don’t we understand each other, Miss Bryce?” "What do you mean?” "Nothing at all! Don't you understand that I crave your company?” She stood up her eyes on a level with his: "Do you think, Mr. Lamarck, that I must accept attentions when I don’t wish them?” He shrugged in an easy, whimsical fashion: "Why shouldn’t you wish attention? A young girl—and a stranger here —-a beautiful young girl—” His smile was full of admiring softness. “What are you to do with your evenings?” "I have no difficulty at all— ’’ He came over and clasped both her arms: "How foolish you talk. Miss Bryce! Why should y6u.bury yourself? I should like to know?” She let his hands remain on "her arms. But she stood very erect ajid stiff. She said quietly: “Do you know about me? Did you hear that tale? I should like to know?"

CHAPTER XXTX The Show-down Lamarck raised his brows. They were shiny and penciled—very black against the satiny olive skin. The gesture and the smile were a smooth dismissal of all unpleasant things. "Know of you, my dear Miss Br me —Just what, for example? That you are an exceedingly sweet young lady, though somewhat peppery—” "I want to know, Mr. Lamarck, if Edith Potter told you?” Asking this, Chlckle’s face stained erhnson. She was suddenly bewildered and ashamed. Her eyes lowered swiftly, but not before they had seen a satisfied gleam In his. "What tale now is Edith recounting? Or what greatness is yours that I should hear of it?" She turned from him with a disheartened weariness—convinced now. He followed, leaning over her shoulder. "Why speak of It, Miss Bryce? I assure you I am by no means American in that particular. A little past, more or less—” Again his brows raised. The look and the tone went through her with a withering anguish. She could have sobbed. She could have covered her face, for it was as though she stood bared and defenseless. And there was something brutal about It —that Luis Lamarck should see her ■o. "Do you suppose it makes any difference to me, Miss Bryce? Do yon count me another Dee Willman? Why—what are a few yesterdays In the life of a pretty girl?” Talking freely like that of this thing that had broken her to the bouI; that had been the innermost of her heart made her feel stripped and profaned. She said pathetically: “Why should I have to speak of It to you?’’ “You don’t! Did I mention it? Did I bring it up—” “It was in your thoughts. It is In them now. Because ot it you presume to insist that I must accept your attentions. You are wasting your time!” "Why, my little dear —you do me a great wrong. I only want you to know that It makes no difference In my regard. I think we can arrange to be the very best of friends.” She went over to the cabinet in the corner where she kept her hat. She made no answer for she felt as one whose hands are tied and whoever would might come up and strike her in the face. It seemed so then. When he saw her putting on her hat, he smiled serenely: “You know you don’t need to be alone here. We are not all like young Willman. Don’t let that weigh on you. Do we understand each other now, Miss Bryce?” She adjusted her hat, a rawness and a heat spreading to her throat. She forced herself to meet his glance, measured £im steadily: "Yes —Mr. Lamarck! We do!” .He gave her a slow, beaming smile. "If I’m not here when you return—” “I’m finished for the day!” “What! At 3 o’clock? Mon dleu! I led you into a lady’s Job, didn't I?” She walked uncertainly to the door, her head very high, her hands fumbling with the knob. She didn’t bia him goodby. Lamarck’s eyes followed with cynical amusement. He raised the lapel of his coat and sniffed the tiny rose. Chickie walked down Spring street, heedless of the warm crowds, the strident machines. It seemed to her that she hurried through an abyss. It was walled on either side with men. Half of them turned from her because of a thing she had done; the other half pursued because she was to them a legitimate victim. She had given proof of weakness once. She would give it again. Since honey is to be spilled, why not be the one to gather it? Pitiless attitude, and common enough—the vulture circling while a thing lies dying. Shut away the air, be the one to pounce—what if its own wings soil with blood? Ho—Luis Lamarck knew! But that was all right—sweet little girl —he wouldn’t mind.

• ni'i JLJ.I J-'lXll’l XXX VUIO -L XJVXJLLIIO

On the rack at the boarding house was a letter from Mary. It was the first In a week. Mary was usually very prompt. Chickie knew that she would let the dishes go—that she sat down always the very moment and answered. So she had written to Martha Blake wondering at Mary's silence. It was explained now, Mary had a daughter. No, she hadn't spoken of it —wanted it to be a surprise. Chickie’s eyea filled. She understood clearly enough. Mary was afraid to mention it—afraid to lash up memories. As though they were ever burled! Mary said only: “She’s cute, Chickie, but little Edward is very jealous. I don’t know Just how I should act about it. Now that I have to stay home so much I keep wishing you were here and thinking of you. "Jennie called yesterday. We talked and talked. She seemed just full to the lips with eo many things she longed to say. She was making boudoir pillows because she saw a picture of a young girl's room in a magazine. The bed was piled with the pillows. She said to me: ’Will Chickie like them?’ as though you were coming home tomorrow. "Then Jonathan called for her. And I don't know, Chickie, but it made me feel desolate the way he took her hand and they went out. together as forlorn and lost as two old blind people. "I am hurting you—of course. But lying here in bed I am pretending to be you and figuring out how I would act. I wouldn’t stay away any longer because thin Is only an evasion. You said something in your letter to mother that makes me sure of this. And you’re only avoiding life by this absence. We can’t do this—none of us.

"Chickie, old thing—l haven't a bit of pep. Mother wants to add a line—” In Martha's clear, virile hand was this: “My Dear Girl Chickie: “You say that you live in fear of meeting someone who knows; someone who will flash everything upon you? Has this already happened? Whether It has or not you must meet it. And you must not fear it; you must not bow. This is not contrition; It is cowardice. We give power to evil when we allow it to beat us down. “Don’t you know, Chickie, that remorse is the devil’s strongest weapon against his God? With it, he sharpens to panic the cry of despair —the cry one gives and sinks—"And we are not to hear this fspm you, dear girl. You cannot let the world say what your life is going to be. Let the world have any opinion of you it will —you must be deaf to it. There’s only one idea of you that counts. That’s your own idea of yourself. You must walk bravely in your own thought. You know what you are. Be that so calmly, with such persistent faith, that the talk of you will falter and grow dumb before the serene, conflicting presence of you. "Os course, you will meet rebuffs • —perhaps you are meeting them — and you are telling us, who love you. That is good. But you can’t spend your life waiting for these blows. The victorious way is to come cut and challenge them. It is a hard way, but you are on a hard road, Chickie, dear, no matter which fork of it you take. "Because of all this, I wonder do you think of coming home, of meeting the Issue face to face? “Our love and faith Is yours, whatever decision you make. "Your old friend, "MARTHA.” (To Bo Continued) (Copyright. King 1 Feature Syndicate) Back-ache? Pains? May BeYour Kidneys If pains are making life miserable, stop wasting time on little ways of getting temporary relief. Something is radically wrong, some organ isn’t doing its work. Viuna strengthens weak kidneys, lazy liver, sluggish bowels. The blood starts getting purer, appetite begin? to clamor, digestion gets right, %nd constipation leaves. You feel its benefit promptly, and soon you're walking with anew stride, energetic, strong, able to enjoy life. It has lifted thousands out of beds of pain. Will you give it a chance? VIUNA The vegetable regulator

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