Indianapolis Times, Volume 37, Number 98, Indianapolis, Marion County, 24 August 1925 — Page 12

12

GLORIA

THE STORY SO FAR Gloria Gordon, beautiful and twenty has married Dick Gregory, struxtrllngr youn? lawyer. She turns her honeymoon in Montreal into a shopping- trip. Gloria has made up her mind never to have children or to be a household drudge. Dick tells her they can't afford a maid. So Gloria has hysterics, with the result that Dick borrows his mother's maid. Maggie, for a short time. Gloria learns that Stanley Waybum, an actor with whom 6he had been in Jove before her marriage. i9 playing in town. She goes to the theater. Waybum sees her. and sends her a note asking her to come back to his dressing room. By Beatrice Burton CHAPTER IV At"' FEW minutes after the curtain had pone down on the u___j first act an usher came into the box. He gave Gloria a folded sheet of paper. “You are Miss Gordon, aren’t you?’’ he asked. Gloria nodded. "Glory dear. It’s good to see you again. Can’t you run down to my dressing-room for a minute or two? The boy will show you the way,” the note read. It was signed ‘Stan.” Gloria took her gold pencil from her bag. “I can’t come. I’mvnot Glory Gordon any more. I’m .married,” she wrote on the back of tihe note Wayburn had sent up to her. Then she hesitated. Should she send it? Or should she run down to see him? • • * FTER- all, would it be so very wrong to see Stasnley Wayburn in his dressing room for five minutes? Well, and what if it iwas wrong? Dick would probably never hear of it anyhow. And Gloria longed to see Wayburn ... if only to dazzle him with her new splendor. TD show him that even if he hadn’t wanted to marry her, another man had . . . a man who could afford to give her fur coats and diamonds .and Parma violets in the middle of winter.

The JTT T T T *r CHICKIE

By Elinore Mdnerin Then her thoughts let loose. She needed this —just what she needed! She would not forget again. She knew the way she must go—stick to it. With a cold, pitiless pride she regarded herself the flush of emotion that had stolen through her. In that moment she was relentless enough and hard enough to have slain forever a gladness In her thoughts. She needed no one! Wished no one! Her way was clear before her. No one should ever be allowed to stoop to her—patronize her! With an abnormal sensitivene.- s she imagined David had realized the folly of that moment and regretted it. He, too, had gone over ‘the scene of the night: he had been carried away by its charm and a face that glowed palely in the dark. Afterward he had been cool enough to consider and repent. Afterward he was calm enor.igh to realize the impetuous blindness of this friendship for her: and to acknowledge the hurt it could do to himself and his future. So he was avoiding her! In the next few weeks s.Le hid behind a smiling and graciot's reserve. Once when it was near Christmas time he stopped her in the hall: “Make an exception for once, will you, and come to the symphony With me—please?” “No, I can not ” “You really mean to keep this up. then?” , “Oh, yes! I quite mean it,” she said in a tone of ice, a nd for an instant he looked down at her with an astonished doubt in his eyes. His mouth had a grim look. “Well —very well —I guess I’m a bit thick now and then!” He left her with the uncomfortable feeling that she; had done a cruel and needless thing. And she remembered his many services; remembered his bigness, coming that day when she had reached the. end of her hope—insisting so that she may keep on—she must—then waiting for her afterwards and seeming so glad for her triumph. Well—no matter —some things must be done! No choice at all! She used to wish that the years would hurry—that she was finished and out—that she was 35 or 40 and settled ip old, quiet ways. In these days she wanted so often to cry. Her spirit was forever putting up its hands to push away memories—to force itself to look with straight and quiet eyes onward —and only onward. Once after a very exhausting operation he said to her in the genial way he had; "Well—you’re a good little nurse! It’s almost two months and nineteen days—do you know that—" She pretended to have forgotten. He added. “I’m to hear a few things then—” She smiled, saying evasively: "Much may happen in days and weeks.” He answered shortly, "Well, lady, that’s so, Isn’t it?” A line of color shot Into his cheeks. After this he was almost formal to her. One afternoon as she was coming off duty she met him in the corridor. Two women were with him, one was a girl—the ether tall and elderly. Almost with panic Chickie recognized the high shoulders of Mrs. Burdell. She was so startled that she bowed. Mrs. Burdell's race turned crimson, her lips compressed. Then her smile became vague and unseeing. She took David’s arm and began talking in a vivacious, quick undertone. Chickie went to the door, feeling as if she had passed through waves of fire. She would have avoided him that evening, but he came straight to the roo*n where she was on duty.

She rose to h ;r feet. “Take me to Mr. Waybum,” she said to the waiting usher. • • • The actor was waiting for her inside his room that had a iin star tacked on the door. “Stan!" she breathed. Before she knew what was happening she was in his arms. The smell of the Turkish cigarets that be always smoked struck her nostrils as he kissed her again and again. At last Gloria pushed him away. Her cheeks were scarlet. “You shouldn’t have done that!” she cried, “I’m married.” “So that’s it!” Wayburn said. His eyes swept her from her SSO hat to her shoes with their silver buckles. “When I saw you up In the box I wondered what you were using for money this year. . . . Who is the bloated millionaire you’ve married?” “Richard Gregory, the lawyer,” Gloria answered. “Ever hear of him?” Wayburn nodded. “I didn’t know he was so darned rich,” he said. “Oh, we’re not rich . . . just comfortably well off,” Glory told him. “We’ve a darling little house out on Guilford Ave., and an automobile and a maid. I have everything T want, really.” “I’ll just dot that address '■'own. I’ll be out some day soon to see you to have a quiet talk over old times,” Gtan told her. He wrote Gloria’s address in a small leather book on his dressing table. “If you should co.ne, make it Thursday,” Gloria said. Thursday was Maggie’s afternoon uot. She did not want Maggie to be there, when Stanley Wayburn came to call. She would take no chances on having Dick or Dick’s mother find out that she was having a handsome man calling on her . . , less

He called her into the hall. Without any introduction ht< said: “Did you bow to Mrs. Burdel! this afternoon?” “Yes—-I did.” “She's an aunt of mine. Did you know 'that?” Cht'ckie’s breath labored. She would not look at him “Yes —I knoT.v- it.” “Odd. How is it you’ve never spoken of her?” “Well —I suppose there are a few p sople we both know and haven’t 'discussed.” “Do you know her rather well?” “Fairly—why the cross-examina-tion?” “Where did you meet her?” “I don’t recall all the circumstances.” "Was it recently?” “In the summer—l believe.” “In the summer—well!” I didn’t know you were in New York this summer—” Chickie glanced up at him, her lips drawn. His mouth had a hard angry looJt- ; - His eyes were deep and cold. “My aunt doesn't recall greeting you—she thought you had mistaken her for someone else. So she said! And you tell me you met her in the summer. Now what’s the mystery?” She didn’t answer. He reached down and took her hand, held it a moment. His own shook. “In the merest friendship you owe some candor to me, don't you? What do you owe to, her that you won’t speak?” She felt things freezing and grim in her mind. She said quietly: “I will tell you. No reason why 1 shouldn’t. Your aunt knows me. She has reason to remember me. She made it her business to get acquainted. She tame out here and sought the meeting.” He asked with an ominuos control: “Why?” “She had some things she wished to say to me.” “When was this?” “In the end of August or early in September—l’m not sure.” “Yes? And so you wrote a note to me and canceled dates?” ”1 did ' not Write it because of Mrs. Burdell!” “You didn't? What did she say to you, Helena?” “It doesn’t matter what she said. It is of no consequence to me. As far as I am concerned the matter is closed.” “Is this true, Helena? It means nothing to you?” “Yes, it is true.” “Well—it means something to me. What she said is of great consequence, to me—” She smiled—looking at the white walls before her: “Then your aunt. If you want to know what she said, you will have to ask he-. It is of no meaning to me—none —” He looked at her until her face stained. Then he said: "We’ll see about that!” CHAPTER LXXXIV Love C J HICKIE went back to her patient. She movedln a fiery w..J stillness. Scraps of Mrs. Burdell’s accusations darted into her mind: “Morally loose!” “You do as ycu please and then come back and attempt to marry a man of prestige and family and brilliance.” She was saying all this now to David. Why was he so angered that his d visited her? Didn’t he realize the impossibility of any association between himself and her? “Why, then, did he have that cold, furious look when he asked what the mystery was? Why did he stare at her In such a hurt, piercing way when she said that matter was of no consequence to her—lt was closed. Chickie kept walking into the hall —snatching a moment to think—to cool her blazing cheeks—to fight against the return of that high t4de of feeling. But she remembered that he took her hand, half pleading—• “you owe at least some candor to me—in the merest friendship even—” Now, h& was gone to his aunt’s

than three weeks after her wedding, at that! .... Not that there was anything wrong in seeing Wayburn. She would make him behave himself when he Came. But people would be sure to misunderstand . . . if they found cut. • • • •A, ARLY Thursday afternoon p, Gloria was all dressed. ——J She stood before the long mirror in her bedroom, trying to see herself v.'ith Stan Wayburn's eyes. Under the crown of her goldenred hair her face was very pale. And the Cupid's bow of her mouth was rouged to the soft red of a geranium. Gloria had put on an afternoon dress she had bought on her honeymoon. It was a clinging thing, the color of new green leaves. Dick had told her she looked liko a wood-nymph in it. The doorbell rang loudly. As she ran downstairs Gloria laughed maliciously. She would give Stan Wayburn this glimpse of her in her beautiful house. She would let him see how her husband cherished her . . . iike a jewel in its casket . . . And then she would send him away. She would be cold and distant. She would make him suffer as she had suffered when he had cast her aside like an old glove, more than a year ago! • * * TANLEY WAYBURN looked | I all around him as he cama L_J into the living room. Hia ice-blue eyes took in the long room with its cream walls, its Chinese rugs, Its gay cushions and lamps. There was a tea table drawn up beside the fire. “So this is what little Russet has sold herself for!” Stanley said. “For a saucer of cream and a cushion by the fire....like a kitten!” “Sold myself? What do you mean?” Gloria asked. She was

Dr. Ramin’s Aunt Refuses to Recognize Chickie at the Hospital.

and in a threatening, hostile mood. “You may not have to answer me, Helena—though I think you should —but she shall!” She wondered what he would do—and why—why was it of “the greatest consequence to him?” David found his aunt at home. She was in her sitting room—a small place furnished in teakwood and with faded colors of dove gray and old wine. She sat now in a deep chair, her feet on a stool. Seeing David she took off her glasses, the aggressive olive face softening: “You’ve come for Dulcie? Why didn't you phone? The dear child didn’t even think you’d flatter her by hearing the invitation. So they’re gone. My dear boy, honor me with a visit, won’t you?” She motioned to a rather ornate cabinet in the corner: “Help yourself.” He ignored this and stood with his arms folded on the back of a high, straight chair. There was a smile on his lips, studied and cold. He would have to go carefully or he would learn nothing. And he knew Emily Burdell well enough to sense this. "Thanks, Emily. Too bad I missed Dulcie. I’ve only a few moments. By the way—” (He spoke with a suppressed quiet.) “Why did you deny knowing Miss Bryce? Don't you recall your rather extraordinary visit to the Nurses’ Home a few months ago?” She pushed her book with a sharp movement along the arm of her chair, her lips tightening: “Yes! Well, I may have reason for forgetting it. And certainly she has! I may have delicacy enough to deny recalling a most unpleasant though necessary interview. But I see she hasn’t.” “Who made the scene unpleasant, Emily? And what made It necessary for you to have this interview? To protect me?” Into his low, deliberate tones went vibrating a surcharge of anger. It was not lost on bis aunt. “Now, listen, my dear boy, before you let that little temper of yours tty off. I had good reasons for calling on this Miss Bryce.” “What were they?” “Plenty. I can assure you. And if the young lady had any feeling and any fairness she would have understood my motives and respected

Puzzle a Day

r w 1 i (i ■ . ■

This is the original arrangement of four phlcken coops In a home In Birmingham, Ala, You will notice that all are made of twelve equal lengths of fence and are of equal size. But a mysterious caveln of the earth threw three lengths of fence down. A workman replaced them, but Instead of four coops he made only three, although each one was the same size as In the original arrangement. Which fences fell down, and how were they replaced? Last Puzzle Answeri By rearranging the grouping of the letters, eliminating a few capitals and punctuation marks, “Fin efe at. Her sma kef, I neb irds” becomes “Fin* imtti make fine birds,”

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

STAISTjEY WAYBURN, ACTOR AND OLD SWEETHEART OF GLORIA, VISITS HER IN HER NEW HOME. . > ;

stirred by the word "Russet” on Wayburn’s Ups. It was what he had called her when he had made love to her. “I mean that you dor.’t love this husband of yours,” Wayburn said. "You love me. You always have.” Glory dropped her ej es. “If you knew that,” she said. “If you knew I loved you a year ago, why did you treat me as you did? You didn’t even say goodby when you went.” As soon as she had said it she wished she hadn’t ...This was not the way to keep Waybum in his place.... His voice went on. “Because I knew the sort of woman you were. I knew that this was the kind of life you wanted. I knew I couldn’t aford to give you the things you wanted... .Oh, the world is full of your sort of women, Gloria. They want everything. They take everything. And they give nothing at all!" Gloria laughed scornfully. “It seems to me I have a faint recollection of your saying you wouldn’t marry anyone who didn’t have a mint of money, yourself!” she cried. "That was where I learned my lesson of ‘take all, gave nothing.’ From you! And now you’d better go!” Her voice was choked with fury. Tears of anger stood in her topaz eyes. To Waybum she had never seemed so lovely. ‘All right, I’ll go,” he said coming across the yellow rug toward her chair, “but first I’ll take this . . . and this . . . and this!” He kissed her violently, brutally. Gloria leaned back in his arms and hit him full In the face. . . . Then he was gone. • * * HE rose from her chair and went into the sunroom to l__J watch him go down the street. And the first thing she saw was

them. She would not under any circumstances whatever, have repeated the matter to you. It is a shameful breach of confidence.” “Let that go, Emily—but what were your motives? Why play the guardian angel to me? Just why did you presume this far? Mrs. Burdell tapped her slippered foot on the stool: “I happen to know a few things about Miss Bryce, David, that you evidently do not. There was no need to excite you about the matter. I appreciate your work sufficiently to save you a needless agitation. But the matter was very grave. Someone had to act. Someone had to let this young lady know that her past was known to your family—and would not be tolerated —” His eyes took flarpe ... he moved toward her: “You mean that you went out and threatened Miss Bryce? You dared to intrude on her affairs?” “Have the goodness to control yourself. Listen a moment and you may thank me Instead of standing there with blood in your eyes. That temper of yours! I supposed we should let you rush to ruin! I am in a position to hear things that may not reach you. Intrude on your affairs! It is to laugh! The whole town knows her affairs. Why, my dear boy, the girl is notorious—l have reason to believe, haven’t I, that you would not care to be seen in public with a woman whose name is a byword?” “You-have a reason to mind y.'ur own business! If the whole town is talking the whole town had damn soon better shut up!” Mrs. Burdell’s face blanched—her mouth opened until it became a dark gaping hole. Then her eyes narrow ed, little thin lids. She said in a chugging, furious indignation: "Speak to me so! A gentleman, indeed! Forget yourself! You should be ashamed —your aunt—pretty manners, indeed! But I don’t think I shall swallow what I said. the girl deny that she had a child—” His lips seemed almost sunken with the stress of his emotion and his eyes were lighted. He was now' towering over Emily’s chair: “No —she won't deny it! Miss Bryce had a child. What about it?” “You must be out of your mind! You ought to be ashamed. Insultinf me—a woman old enough to be your mother. Defending a courtesan! You may be pleased to learn that the woman you are acting so injanely about Is the castoff mis—” “Don’t say it—! Don’t say it— Emily—now or at any time. I warn you—” She was frightened at the violence of his grip on the chair and at the mottled pallor of his cheeks. She talked In excited gasps, pushing her feet furiously against the stool and standing. She drew her shoulders up, peaked, and high: “Don’t say It! Who’ll stop me” “I’ll stop you—” “Indeed—the facts are public. Can you wipe them out? Don’t talk like a madman. If you stop me, can you stop others? Everyone knows about this girl and that she got hold of Barry Dunne, and he a mere boy—how she all but ruined his life—” He leaped at the name—lt went scorching into his mind—- “ Everyone knows there was a scandal about It —it hasn’t died out yet—so I think I was quite Justified. You may not care about the family honor. I do—your sisters do I wrote of the matter to them! We have a right to see that the women of the family are above reproach! We have a right to stop at the beginning an affair that may prove disastrous to the entire family.” “Have you, Emily? Try to exercise that right. Bee how far you get with It.,..And as for women above reproach—Til be the judge of that in my owi’ afalrs. I Bhould like to meet the woman good enough to look doyPn on Helena Bryce. I

Dick’s gray roadster swinging into the drive! Gloria rushed upstairs. She tore

"Stan!” she breathed. Before she knew what was happening she was in his arms.

should like to believe that you or Dulcie or anyone is better than she Is.” She drew back with a choked gasp—“ What are you saying—. My God—David —consider —come here —” “And furthermore, Emily—rkeep out of this. Every word you say against Miss Bryce—you will take back. I am not threatening you. I am stating a fact—” He picked up his hat from the chair. His aunt stood gauntly—a cruel righteousness stamped on her mouth. The sight of this homely old woman and the hardness In her features became repelling to him. She had that look on her when she went out to see Helena- —when she talked to her—when she told her that she was not fit for them! He went rushing down the steps. He looked up and down the block — in his inflamed imagination he could see Chickie as she stood on the corner that afternoon when she was carrying the letter to Mrs. Ellis —that vicious, branding letter. The loneliness of her —standing there so pale and beautiful. Then he remembered her face, pitifullL white, turned to him that day in the sunroom when she said so quietly: “It is done —I have gone—” The whole world was against her —all of them —the irreproachables! He wanted to see her—rush out and talk to her. She was off duty now and probably had gone home. He drove out. All the way the sweet image of Chickie rode vrith him. He would take her In his . arms—he would not permit her to evade. She was in the wicker living room, her hair drawn back in deep waves, giving an almost luminous delicacy to her mouth and her long, slender throat. She was surprised, and murmured: “David, why have you come?” Her voice was glad. Then she saw the haggard lines from his nose to his chine—saw his face bloodless. He reached over and took her hands, drew them to him and stood so, holding them. His eyes sought hers, “Helena—look up at me—” She did this —and suddenly with a strange sound that was like a sob he put his arms around her. He said: “I love you.” LXXXV. The Right to Love | '1 MOMENT she listened to his IL\ I voice in her ears—a lighted I- ■ moment, winging In music. He loved her. Incredulous as beauty seen in a dream, it was. She stood motionless beholding it—motionless and waiting. “Helena, you care for me? Say something.” He tried to see her eyes. She closed them hurriedly, unwilling that he should find her wild, unreckoning answer shouting there. He kept talking, the tones growing vibrant and eager. “Speak to me, Helena. I’ve wanted to tell you a long while. I’ve loved you a long while. And you? Say It—” She would have given the years of her life to look up into David's face and laugh, to say: “Oh—love you! You are too fine. Love you! How can you care for me? I can’t believe it. Loving me! Why I—” An agitation grew in her until It was pain. She said in a confused way: “It is too late, David. Why did you come? Why are you saying this—oh— did you see your aunt?” "I saw her.” (To Be Continued) (Copyrlg-ht. Kin* Feature Syndicate)

The Flapper Wife THE STORY OF AN INDIANAPOLIS GIRL

off the green dress as she went. She slipped into a linen house frock. She was back in the living room by

Such Styles As These —Fancy Straps —Plain and F Racy Oxfords —Sandal and Cut-Oat Effects Selection at Only, All' ' *

the time Dick had* put his car in the garage. “Hello, there!" he (said when he came In. “Who was tine sheik I saw leaving the house as l\came up the street?” Gloria didn’t answer at once. Suddenly Dick seemed' very dear. He was no love-pirate, spending his time trying to win the forbidden love of every woman he saw . . . but a good man who loved her with all his soul. Could she tell him a lie? Gloria rushed to him iand hid her head against his breast. She kissed his necktie . . . “Who ?vas the man I saw?” Dick asked again. His deep gray eyes were very serious. Gloria drew a long breath. , “Oh, that was Mr. What’s-His-Name . . . the man I 1 bought my lamp shades from, that's who it was,” she said. “He put the wrong kind of silk In them. ... I wanted them to be georgette crepe. He’s used taffeta. . . . What brings you home so early?” "You,” Dick said. “I knew it was Maggie’s day out and I thought we’d go somewhere for supper . . . How would that suit you?” His eyes were thoughtful. Gloria wondered if he had believed the lie she had Just told him about Wayburn. * • * The lie lay’heavily on her mind. Long after Hick had gone to sleep that night she lay awake thinking about it. She had told thousands of little fibs in her twenty years “white lies.” But fhis one had been different. She had told it because she was afraid, and, .ashamed, of the thing she had done. . . . of letting Stan Wayburn make love to her in Dick's house. \lt had been a despicable lie . . A • • • • I' I H, well, perhaps \all married 1C /I ' vvomen told them. That Is, 1 I if they were going to have any fun and excitement. For toeing the mark was very dullThere was May Seymour, for instance. A fine time May would have if she stayed home waiting flor Dr. John to take her out! He wasi never home, day or night . . the busiest doctor in town. What was wrong, under the circumstances, for May to go out driving or lunching with other men . .• . with Jim Carew, in particular? And suppose the gossips did talk about her? . . .' They were probably jealous of the good times she had! * • * With this comforting thought, Gloria, laid her bright head on the pillow-‘and was asleep.

Announcement To our friends and patrons: The Denison Hotel Cafeteria closed its doors Sunday. Sept. 7th we will open to the public anew eating- place to be known as DENISON HOTEL Coffee, Salad and Sandwich Shop W. B. & H. J. SMITH, Props. CHAS. L. BARKOFF, Mgr. p. S. —All applicants for positions see Mr. Barkoff, at Deqison Hotel.

MONDAY, AUG. 24,1925

At 10 the next morning May telephoned. “If you aren’t doing anything special today, let’s go downtown and bat around,’’she said. “I’ve got to buy some new cream for the dear old face. I’m getting crow’s feet. Fancy that, sweet cookie! At my age! . . . Can you go with me?” Gloria said • she could. An hour later she and May were rolling downtown in May’s little car. “Aren’t you ever going to drive Dick’s car?” May asked. “I guess not. He takes if every morning, himself,” Gloria answered. “Well, don’t let him get away with that stuff. Just let him learn to use the street car, right from the start or walk,” May advised her. "Better still, make him buy you a little car of your own for bridge parties and luncheons,” May went on, inspired. “You’ll never get anything in this world if you don’t ask for It. I’ve found that out!” An hour later they were sitting in a restaurant. “I love to eat down here,” May said. "When I’m at home for lunch I never can eat a bite....lt gives me the just to be there, alone.” Gloria wasn’t listening. She was wondering if she could make Dick buy her a car. She was pretty sure she could....she felt sure that she could manage him, make him do anything she wanted to do long as she paid him in the coin H her kisses, kept his senses enthralled. , 4 * * * S*-” - IHE looked at May critically. May was coarsening. She h——J wore too much rouge.... May was smiling with narrowed eyes at someone across the restaurant. And in a minute or two, Gloria saw Jim Carewe leave his table near the wall and cross the room toward them. Jim Carewe was one of May’s old flames. The town gossips said he was still in love with her. “Don’t you girl3 want to go sos a nice long drive this afternoon?” Jim asked, looking down at May. "Oh, Jim, don’t ask the bride to go joy-riding!” May said in pretended horror. “Wait a year or so till she’s bored to tears with home and husband. Confine your fascinations to an old married vamp like me....” She broke off, following Gloria's terrified gaze across the room. A few tables away Dick’s mother was sitting, in all her glory of black silk and sables! On her broad florid face was a look of disgust as she surveyed them! (To Bo Continued)