Indianapolis Times, Volume 37, Number 223, Indianapolis, Marion County, 18 January 1926 — Page 8

PAGE 8

—Love Dodger By VIRGINIA SWAIN m

BEGIN HEriE TODAY _ Anxious to-eec life, BARBARA HAWliBY 26. Jilts BRUCE REYNOLDS and eets a job cm tlie Indianapolis Telegrap ■ .808 JEFFRIES. police reporter: .IERt V BALL, man about town, and Barb; are at a roadhouse when a promi , man kills himself. Barbara conned. - liYDIA STACY wealthy widow . with the case by a red scarf found at the inn. _ T ANARUS, . Mrs. Stacy likes Bruce. He ignores her advances, so she refuses to invest in Vale Acres, his realty firm, and tells ANDREW McDERMOTT. managing editor of the Telegraph. that the firm is crooked. Manners Bruce's partner, absconds. and when the affair is given publicity I’ruco blames Barbara., Barbara's invalid mother dies ana Barbara takes an apartment with Fancy. McDermott's daughter. She tries to cure Fancy of her infatuation for Ball, and the ttirl accuses her of wanting Ball ' t ‘ C A el /actory girl, VIOLETTE CRANBY, wins Bruce through Barbara’s "lovelorn” column. Barbara tries to find solace in her work. McDermott sends her to a convention of the National Federation of Women’s Clubs, where Barbara sees Manners. Manners, arrested and brought back to Indianapolis, drag sin Bruce. Bruce goec on trial. When Mrs. Stacy refuses to help him. Barbara confronts her with the red scarf. Mrs. Stacy surprises everybody, even Barbara. by testifying, so Bruce is acquitted. Bruce, passing with Violetta, snubs Barbara. At her apartment she finds a note from Fancy saying she has married Jerome and gone to Chicago. NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER XXXII. | —,|HE summer wore on. Asphalt I pavements began to soften L. I and children ran barefooted nfter ice wagons in the streets of Indianapolis. September was ushered in with drought. The Telegraph office became an oven. The soda pop man with his basket of bottles made the rounds four times a day and did a rousing business. Frequently some member of the staff sent to the drug store for all ice cream ‘‘treat all around.” Barbara came in from a long, dusty trip to the fair grminds one afternoon, just as the spoons were being laid in the empty ice cream glasses/ She pullet! off her hat and dropped into the first chair at hand. Iler hair lay in wet strings across her forehead. Byers brought her a glass of lee

Today 9 s Cross-Word Puzzle

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HORIZONTAL. 1. Presentable. 10. Song for single voice. 11. Battle of nations. 12. External organs of sound. 14. To move a ball. 15. Rhythm. 17. To Rpill deliberately. 19. Before. 20. Distant. 21. To devour. 23. To observe. 24. Preposition of place. 25. Door rug. / 26. Electrified particle. 28. Seventh note In scale. 29. Smooth silk. 31. Valuable property. 33. To rap lightly. 35. Foes. 37. Beer. , 1 39. Image. ' 40. Turf. 41. Employer. 42. Indian tribe. HER COUGH KEPT GETTING WORSE So weak she couldn’t walk. Tried Milks Emulsion. Well in 3 months. “Something over a year ago I had the flu, which left me with a very bad cough, which kept getting worse all the time. If I attempted •to lie down at night, I would cough all night and choke up so I would have to sit up in bed. This cQn,tipped until I got so weak I could not walk across the floor and every night I though would be my last. I became so thin that my hands would meet Ground my legs. I was in a desperate condition. “Finally I read about Milks Emulsion and started to use it. I have now taken it about three months and I am entirely recovered. My cough Is gone and I have taken on flesh and strength and I thank God ' that I found Milks Emulsion.” — Mrs. K. Bell. 1649 Bergen St. t Brooklyn.'N. Y. Milks Emulsion restores healthy, natural bowel action, doing away with all need of pills and physics. It promotes appetite and quickly puts the digestive organs Iri Shape to assimilate food, thus building flesh and strength, which are . Nature's only aids in conquering germs and repairing the effects of wasting diseases. This is the only srdid emulsion made, and so palatable that it Is eaten with a spoon like ice cream. Wonderful for weak, sickly children. No matter how severe your case, you are urged to try Milks Emulsion. If not satisfied with results, your money will be promptly refunded. Price 60c and $1.20,.per bottle. Sold by druggists \everywhere. •fr MILKS ’ |mulsiom Builds

water. “Sorry you came too late for the frozen dainties, Barbara," he said. Miss Badger turned and left the group. Barbara sipped the water. “These are the days when I’d like to get a thousand miles away from this career of mine and forget it, ever existed.” Byers smiled. “Better get married. f Indianapolis is full of wives drcifeed in cool linens, sipping mint lemonade on shaded porches this afternoon. "But there are more wives fussing over hot stoves in the kitchen than there are sipping lemonade,” argued Barbara. Byers looked at her over ,his glasses. "Honest to heaven, Barbara, you’re getting to talk like a spinster of 45. Better cut it out, even if you do feel that way. Folks will think you’re *a disappointed woman.” Barbara was stung. “You and the rest of the world may think what you like,” she snapped. "I’m sick of the impertinences of men. anyhow. From the time a girl is 21 or 22 they begin to ask her why she hasn’t married. "Theipoor dears are so conceited they can’t believe that any woman gets along without one of them of her own free will.” Byers retreated in mock terror behind a newspaper, his eyes twinkling at Barbara over the top of it now and then. Instantly ashamed of her outburst, she walked away t her own desk. As site passed the city*desk Wells looked up. “I have a hunch for a great story, Miss Hawley. “Heard you and Byers fighting the old fight on love/ versus career. This is the idea. Hunt up some little waif in one of these maternity rescue homes and get her views on whether motherhood is worth the price.

43. Broad square-sterned boatc. 47. Evening meal. 48. Fish-eating diving birds. 50. Slab of marble used for pa ving. 52. Paid publicity. 54. Put in a secret place. 55. Al.so. , 66. Third note in scale. 51. Corded cloth. 69. Cluster of wool fiber. 61. Raven's cry. 62. To hoot. 63. Twelve months. 65. Brgided thong. 67. Broken coat of rye. 68. Spiny tipped plant. 70. B6y! 71. To hurt. 7?. Removing odors. VERTICAL 1 1. Part in a drama. 2.. Measure of cloth 3. Therefor. 4. Urn. 5. Feline animal. 6. Largest plant oft land. 7. To subsist. 8. To drink dog fashion. 1 9. Cupid. _ 10. To classify. 13. Fat which forms tallow. 14. Pertaining to an opposite tendericyi 15. Daybreak service. 16. To lift up. 18; ' Repetition. 20. Destiny. I 22. To throw lightly. 2R. Mother. . . . 27. Point of compass. 29. Bobbin. 30. Homjeg p{ birds, . ...... 31. Helped. 32. Flavor. 34. To perform. 1 * 36. Humorous saying. 38. Sheltered. 43. Piece of money. 44. Beneath.' 45. Amount at which a person is rated for assessment. 46. Sluggish; 49. Exclamation of inquiry. 51. Behold. 53. Act. I 56. To bewail audibly. 68. Gave money that was owed. 60. Game played on horses. 61. Mohammedan judge. 62. Two-masted vessel. 64. Eggs of fishes '66. To ' disfigure.' 67. To % forbid. 69. Negative.. / . 71. 3.1416. Answer to Saturday’s cross-word puzzle: IAIL ESaw|H]Q) BQAPifrONESSIISIONi AiipoglOTlr lE o i sTinTtf bTsitebk T EyftfjjjLlftltlftßlwl

TfARBARA INSISTS SHE IS TIRED OF HER JOB AND -D THATSHE INTENDS TO GO TO NEW YORK

“Then catch Ida Storey, the actress, while she’s visiting her mother here, and find out whether she regrets sacrificing marriage for a career. Ida must be about 50 now and her name is one of the top five or six on the American stage. She’ll tell the truth, too." “I’ll look up Ida this afternoon,” answered Barbara. “I’m not equal to the rescue home today. The weather is sticky enough without hunting up any more messes. I hate all this cheap sentiment." "Don’t be too sure you'll find cheap sentiment at the rescue home. Mathers are pretty much alike, in whatever circumstances they may be. You may find some bona-fide emotion out there.” Barbara made the appointment with Ida Sto?ey by telephone. Two hours later she was seated opposite Miss Storey o na wide porch. “That's a rather personal question, isn’t it, Miss Hawley?’’ said the actress when Barbara had made known her mission. “But I’ve never hesitated to tell the truth yet. Though I’ll have to trust you to deal fairly with me in print.” The woman was at least 50, Barbara She lay in a wide swing and talked easily without pause. “I’ll tell you my story, Miss Hawley, in a few words. “I deliberately chose public life at (he age of 20. I had everything then, youth, beauty, lbve. But there was one thing I did not have —fame. “It was swift sailing for a sow years. I had better luck than most beginners, more praise, more money, more admirers. “You know it isn't only a specific love affair that keeps a woman satisfied. Admiration from any source whatever helps to fill the needs of her emotional nature.” Barbara wondered if that waa true. Miss Storey went on. “Well, for a long, long time the game was worth the candle. I prospered in my work, made money, anade some friends—as the prosperous always do. “But I grew older. Oh, of course, my professional life is still at Its height. But personally. I found myself less attractive to my friends. L “Both men and women sought me less and less frequently. My apart-

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES—By Martin

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* \ OUT OUR W AY—By WILLIAMS

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THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

ment was no longer the rendezvous for the-stage crowd. I was unmistakably getting old. “You understand you must handle this material with discretion?” Barbara nodded. Miss Storey sat up in the swing. "If I had it to do over again, I’d marry at 20 and take what came. “It’s the years after 40 that are the nightmares, my dear. I don’t care if you say that in the story. Old age alone is the most horrible fate a woman can meet!” Barbara was anxious to get away. The woman was telling her things that she did not wish to hear. She rose to go. “Thank you for giving me so much time. Miss Storey, I’ll try to deal fairly with the story.” She was out of the house and walking down the quiet street. As Barbara walked, large drops of rain began to patter on the Bidewalk. She hastened her steps. The rain became more violent and the wind swept in little eddies up the street. Barbara began to run. It was only a block to the street car line. She reached the corner and crept close to a store front to avoid the rain. No cars came. She waited in the pelting rain for a long time. Then she left the shelter of the building front and began to walk. It was quite dark when she reached home. Her shoes were sodden and her clothes dripped water. As she unlocked her door, the rain suddenly ceased and a flood of sunset light filled the sky. But later the torrents began again. Inside the apartment, Barbara stood still and looked around her. No article had been moved since she left that morning. “The years after 40." What would the years after 40 be, if life was like this at 26? • • • EHE next morning was gray, overhung with clouds, but the rain had stopped. Barbara caught the 7 o’clock street car to town. k At a little lunch counter near the Telegraph building she drank a cup of black coffee. Between* the lunch

' room and the office there was a pet store whose windows usually attracted many small boys And girls and some older ones. The window this morning was full of Persian cats, white, yellow and tiger. Barbara stopped to look' at them. Someone said in her .ear, “Good morning, Rabs. Yesterday you were talking like an old maid. This morning you seem to be on the point of buying a cat. “Is it that bad?”' '* • • • * B f ARBARA turned about. Byers was standing beside her, smiling his bantering smile behind his glasses. She greeted /him coolly. “Good morning. Nof'l’m not buying a cat, I'm just admiring them.” She turned about and walked on beside him to the office. The editorial room was sultry and smoke-filled. Barbara’s head began to throb as she took her place and began to open the morning’s mail. The letters were more than usually tedious. , She copied the announcements they the Ida Storey interview, sorted out the lovelorn notes and went to the city editor with her copy. She looked around the office and gave a shudder of distaste. Wells' first words did not- make her feel better. "How about the maternity story’, today, Miss Hawley? Did Ida give you a good line?” She handed him the interview. He read it hastily. “Fine! Get the other side of the story today. We’ll play the stories side by side on page one tomorrow, without the name of the girl mother, of course. But get a picture of the baby.” Barbara sighed. The hospital proved to be a wilderness of white walls, with the sicklsh sweetness of ether drifting down from the floors above. A nurse led Barbara through the corridors. "The superintendent has consented to this story only on condition that the name of the mother be withheld, you understand.” "Certainly," Barbara replied. “The real reason for letting you write this story is that we hope to find a home for the baby through your paper.”

The room into which Barbara was led contained two beds. One was empty. In the other lay a girl. When Barbara Jiai down beside her, the girl turned listlessly from her contemplation of the wall and answered in monosyllables. The story of desertion and destitution came out, bit by bit. The mother seemed lhtle interested in the conversation. But at the end of It, she sai bolt upright. “What’re you asking me all this for? You’re not going to help them take my baby away?” Barbara stammered. "I thought you wanted a home for it,” she said. “Perhaps through my paper we can find a good place for It and you won’t t-e so hard pushed to take care of it.” The girl almost shrieked at her. “Hard pushed! And what" do you think I’d live ror if you took her You uplifters make me sick, “I tell you, that baby's mine and I’ll keep her against you and the hospital and all the rest. She’s all I’ve got. Why, I’d die if you took her.” “But how can you support her?" 1 asked Barbara timidly. ' "Don’t you about that! When a woman loves anything the way I love that baby, she’s going to take care of it all right.” She buried her face in the lied clothes, sobbing violently. N The door opened and the nurse stepped in. a blanketed bundle in her arms. “Why, Mrs. Multon, what’s the matter?” The girl in the bed pai£ no attention. * The nurse beckoned to Barbara and tiptoed out of the room, taking the baby with her. Barbara followed. In the corridor, she explained to the nurse what had happened. The woman accepted the story, coolly. “Yes. that’s the way they all act, even some of the rottenest ones. ”I’ve decided that mother love, though a wonderful thing. Is not a virtue. It’s an instinct, and these women cannot withstand it any more than they can withstand the instinct for food or self-preservation.” “It is a nice baby girl, though.” She pulled the blankets away from the baby’s face. Barbara leaned for-

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FRECKLES AND BIS FRIENDS—By BLOSSER

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ward to look at it. Before she knew it, the nurse had placed the bundle in her arms. Barbara stood very still. The face of the baby was scarlet and wrinkled, like that of a very old man. It gave Barbara a smile that lasted only a second, and waved a fist like a morsel of raw meat in the direction of her face. Barbara caught her breath and handed it quickly bac kto the nurse. "I suppose it would be hard to give up a b&by,” she said meditatively. "But they’re not very pretty, are they?” M 1 ’DERMOTT ( called Barbara into his office tt.at afternoon. “Have you heard from Fancy?'jjhe asked. Barbara shook her head. “No, and I really expected to hear.” "I’ve had a letter from her today. Jerome’s firm has sent him to New York. They’re going to get an apartment there. She seems happy, but you can’t tell. Fan>y isn’t the kind to admit it if she weren’t, after taking the thing in her own hands that way, “I wish I could se<* her and talk to her." Barbara watched him. He looked older and less contented than when she first met him. A thought occurred to her. “Look here. Mr. McDermott, I want to go to New York. I'm tired of this town.” He looked at her, startled. “Tired of Indianapolis, Barbara?” Barbara spoke hurriedly. “Yes, so tired of it I’m going stale on my job and getting down-hearted and good for nothing. I want to get away at once.” McDermott leaned back In ills swival chair and looked thoughtfully at her. ‘Another da.se of greener pastures. Barbara? You’ve tired of your job?” “Not exactly. I still think it’s the best job for me in Indianapolis. But that's just why I want to go. I’ve got as far as I can here. And I want to do more. Indianapolis hedges me in. I’ve lived here all my life, and the same old place anfl the same old faces are driving mo mad." ‘‘Do you think you’d lie any happier in New York?” asked McDer-

OUR BOARDING HOUSE—By AHERN

if AN. 18, 1926

mott. "Or would you soon oe ready for still fahther ports? That is us ually the result of these feverish questings.” Barltara turned on him Irritably, “lou don’t understand. I’ve got tc so. And I’ve got to succeed—make a splash in the world. It's my whole life. I’ve got nothing else. I want tc be going somewhere.” At the last words, McDermott gav her a keen glance., “Barbara, ’’ ha said, "I’ve known many young women and young men who were ‘going somewhere.’ But they never got anywhere until they stopped. T don’t mean to preach. But the rolling stone is the curse of the newspaper profession. Just at the time when he is beginnnlg to be use. ful to his paper, the wanderlust seizes him and he’s off again. “But, looking at it from your own point of view, I believe you're making a mistake to pull up stakes here, Just when you are becoming really necessary to the Telegraph There's a rather large measure ol success for you right here, if only you’ll stay long enough to win it." Barbara was not listening to hiip. “I suppose you're right, Mr. McDermott. You always are. "But it’s a matter of necessity to* me \ I’ve got to go. I can’t stand the loneliness hero any longer.” McDermott shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid you don’t know whati loneliness means. You’ve never bcert* alone in New York.” Barbara throw up her hands, helplessly, and vv4nt out. Wells caught sight of her. "Oh. Miss Hawley, will you please call the hospitals and get the births and deaths? It’s Jlmmy’e work, I know. But he is gone on an errand." Barbara sharpened her pencil and took her place in one of the telephone booths. The first item was a death notice. At the opening words of the second item. Barbara gripped the edge of the shelf with her right hand. “Will you please repeat the name?” she gasped. (To Be Continued) Sandy