Indianapolis Times, Volume 37, Number 233, Indianapolis, Marion County, 29 January 1926 — Page 20

PAGE 20

SANDY

THE STORY THUS FAR Beautiful Sandy McNeil visit* her cousin, Judith Moore, a stenographer, In San Francisco, and tells of her engagement—forced upon her—to Ben Murillo, a wealthy Italian. Judith and Douglas Keith, a student, are sweethearts. Sandy, spied upon by her sister when she meets' Timmy, a boyhood admirer, in a romantic Spanish garden of their Santa Barbara home, is censured by her mother. Sandy later overhears her uncle. Bob, teiling Mr. McNeil that a marriage shutting out the joys of life ‘‘amounts to death for a giri like Sandy. . NOW ISp WITH THE STORY CHAPTER 111 r*S“IHE/swam with long, lazy j I strokes, her vivid hair gleam|~J lng like a crown. At last she made for the shore, coming out cf the water slowly. Drops sparkled In her eyes and on the red, laughing mouth. "You're not quitting, Sandy?” "Oh, I’ve grot tol I’ve got to.” She held her chin upward, taking deep,

CHAPTER XXXVII S HE face of the woman hardened at the sound of the man’s voice. She stood, looking at Barbara, her eyes sweeping over the details of Barbara’s costume, straight from Fifth Ave. Then she glanced down at her own lavender tyrapper and clutched the wet clothing in her arms still more tightly. In a moment she was gone and the sewing room door banged in Barbara’s face . The sound of quarreling came from behind the door. Barbara stood spellbound, while the voices grew louder and the woman in the room began to cry loudly. Barbara started down the steps hotly. She reached the hall and ran through it to the dining room. Then she pushed open the kitchen door. The room was empty. Barbara ran to the kitchen window. Mrs. Crumpett was emptying a garbage pail in a tall can near the back door. She straightened slowly and turned toward the steps. Coming in with the empty pail she caught sight of Barbara and the ready frown visited her face again. "What’s the matter now?” she asked, setting the pail down on the grease-stained floor beneath the sink. "Who is Mrs. Biggs?” Barbara Spoke as quietly as she could. Mrs. Crumpett laughed. "That’s easy. Ask me another one. She’s ithe wife of Mr. Biggs, of courstf.” Barbara’s fingers twisted together. “Who is Mr. Biggs?” she asked, through tight lips. The landlady was washing her hands under the faucet. “He’s a saxophone player in the ten-twenty-thirty theater orchestra down town. And a bad egg he is. Knocks her •round when he’s drunk and calls her names when he’s sober. "They make a hell of a noise sometimes and any other roomers complain. But she seems to like it. Anyhow she stays with him, and hangs 'round his neck all the time. Sometimes I don’t blame him for swatting her. She makes me sick. “They’re slow with rent, too.” Mrs. Crumpett wiped her hand on a slippery toWel* Barbara stood waiting, her eyes fixed on Mrs. Crumpett’s face. But luckily the woman did not see the expression on her face. She was employed In cleaning her fingernails with a hairpin? "It heats ire," she ruminated, bit ing off a hangnail, “how women will take that sort of treatment from a man. I say they deserve it if they’re that kind of worms. “This Mrs. Biggs you was asking ..about actually likes the way that musician fellow treats her. Says her first husband was an awful swell. Bored her stiff. Said he wouldn't even let her chew gum around the house, and wanted to pick out all her clothes, so’s to be sure they a were ladylike. Told her how short she could wear her skirts, too." Mrs. Crumpett put the hairpin back in her frowzy hair, and looked at Barbara. "You like your room?” she asked, more amicably. “Do those bums tnake a noise and bother you? Because if they do. I’ll throw ’em out. If they were up with the rent, It would be different. They haven’t even any baggage worth holding. Good riddance, I’d say.” She saw that Barbara was interested, and waxed more discursive. “It’s a fine lot of trouble I’ve had with ’em, anyhow. When they first came here, she wasn’t divorced from the first chap. Walked Into a respectable woman’s house big’s you please and said they was man and wife. But I soon found out different and made ’em take separate rooms. Only she didn’t move her clothes

• # If. Lumbago rain in Joints

With applicator attached to cork, just brush "Heet” over the pain area whether in knees, hands, shoulders, feet, legs, bade, neck ©r body. Instanlly you feel this harmless, glorious, penetrating heat draw the pain right out of the aching or swollen join}, muscle or nerve. Besides, "Heet'’ scatters the Vjtnges-

luxurious breaths. The young man's heart thumped, looking at that long, white throat and the dark, taunting eyes. What a knockout she was! "But you’ll make a sneak for the picnic Sunday? Not much time left for us to love, Sandy darling...." "Always time for that, sweet Timmy!” His fair skin tingled, it was so young and clean. Sandy liked the snap of his blue eyes and tne dimple in the middle of his chin. With a high hearted serenity she refused to think of a day when all this joyous adventuring would end. She drifted, along, fencing with her parents, taking her courtship lightly; turning on her heel when her sisters frowned or advised. Now she wondered if she loved Timmy. She wished with a little dart of self-pity that it was he in-

The LOVE DODGER

and things out of his room even then.” Mrs. Crumpett shrugged an elephantine shrug. “Anyhow, I’d done my best. I was in the clear.” Barbara leaned against the wall. Mrs. Crumi>ett pushed a chair against the cupboard and clambered upon it, reaching for a can on the topmost shelf. "Came here three months ago. She told me her kid had just died and I thought it was Biggs’ child. But it seems it was the other hus- J band’s. She'd known Biggs beforej she was married, though, and he i came back to town just in time, when she was bored sick with the swell. Her husband had a good business, but she couldn’t stand his airs. "Ouch!” Mrs. Crumpett had let the can fall on her big toe. She stood on one foot, stork-wise, a moment, almost dancing with the • pain. "Well, you might help a body down!” she snapped at Barbara, who was £till leaning against the wall, blank-eyed. Barbara started and offered her a hand. Then she fled from the worn- J an’s groans and Imprecations, j through the dining room with its dusty table, through the bleak hall, up the stairs and into her own room, j Next door, the sounds of £t violent brawl rose. Barbara could hear a man's voice, lotid, bullying, flinging out epithets which ,the walls fortunately muddled past recognition. The woman’s voice was lifted in sharp treble exclamations, with now and then a sob. Barbara pressed her bands to her ears and looked helplessly around her. Her bags still stood by the bed and the blankets still hung over the I l>edstead where she had pulled them. Her comb and brush lay on a piece of paper on top of the dresser. Barbara seized the grips and set 1 them on the bed. She pulled them open and began to throw her thjngs in. The sounds in the next room sank finally to silence. Seeing the dry water pitcher, Barbara grasped its handle and started for the bathroom. She came back with it full of cold water and was about to pour it into the wash baain when her eyes fell on a grimy ring upon the porcelain. She set the pitcher down heavily. The single towel on the rack at the back of the stand had the distinct prints of flvo black fingers upon it. The soap in the little china dish had dissolved to the stage of Jelly. Barbara looked at her hands and ran to the mirror to see her face. It was pale and haggard. She returned to the bathroom, but the ring on the porcelain 'of washbowls and tub was blacker than that In her own basin. She went back to her room and opened her traveling bag. With cold cream and cotton, she made the best toilet she could. She applied powder and rouge and got her hat from the closet. She looked at her watch. It Wijs eleven o’clock. There would be no more busses for Indianapolis until twelve. Barbara paced the floor of the room. Next door, the quarreling began again. Violetta was crying hysterically now, so that the whole house must hear her. The man’s voice was a growl He was evidently trying to shame her into quiet. Barbara sat by the fireplace, staring at the tomato can and the burnt notches in its depths. Overhead the lady In the pink ruffles simpered at her. And the shiny grapes and fat bananas In the print on the wall grew shinier and fatter. The wind coming in at the window, whipped the blind savagely. \ The jangling voices in the next

tion and establishes permanent relief. "Heet” contains two soothing, penerating ingredients, too expensive to use in ordinary Hmiments or analgesics. “Heet” is a clean, fragrant liquid; doesn’t stain, blister or irritate the skip, druggists guarantee each 60-cent bottle. —Advertisement.

A NEW STORY OF . A MODERN GIRL

£tead of Murillo they wanted her to marry; wished it was Timmy whose money would restore the McNeils to ease and prominence. Os course, she wanted to make things pleasant for her mother—paint the old house, put new carpets on the stairs. She wasn't marrying for any such reason, yet all these trifling matters had their weight. Mrs. McNeil was a perfectly healthy woman, but she would say with a sadness that turned Sandy’s heart inside out —she would say: "I haven’t much longer for this earth. I’d like a little peace and quiet In the few remaining years of mjr life.” Then Sandy would cease quarreling with a sister or remain home to do the supper dishes or whatever it might be that had induced her mother’s melancholy.

room did not quiet. At last Barbara jumped up and ran. out o* the room. She went down the steps and out the front door. For twenty minutes she walked up and down the street, so rapidly that her breath was coming fast and her cheeks were red. Barbara looked at her watch. Just twenty minutes to wait. She turned in at Mrs. Crumpett’s door and was starting up the steps when the landlady appearing the hall below. “Hey, you’re not leaving?” she shouted. “Yes,” said Barbara, shortly. “Is THAT so?” bellowed the woman. "And how about giving me notice? Here I’ve turned down three offers for that room- this very morning, and one of them a society gent from town. Don’t you think you can get away withjranything like that! You’ll have to pay me a week's rent at least." Barbara turned around on the step. “I did not tell you how long I meant to stay, Mrs. Crumpett,” she said. "And I shall not pay you a week’s rent,”

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES —By Martin

BC oiiil/f 00 BOOTS vmAS BOWG E m ■-- ■---- —j

t — — . ' — —: : / MOW LOO* \ / iMO.THEfS LNHW j HERE Fellows A VNJ&'RE. A*STARTiki'\ , /MOW EF WUH \ I 1 OOviT WAktT j OOWM HILL! fZj ArTp\ / SEPARATED \ .Twprr Bpo/em! '/ we. womt haftoh ixNHyjroo \ / coplh.fer Gao 1 HAS HE EVER j OO yl SU H OpESSI j=> Av<E - WATtH iiiAM3 ' T h —v. TAFI TAKE- OFF . E**2g-_ ~ v I-**' <IW ,Y w MWwct, me. j

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

mN the back of her 'id there was Always f olitne confidence that all would be well. She would come out on top. Something would happen to end her confused uncertainty. It did—a x small thing. An older girl wouldn’t have been intimidated. But gandy was stripped. In a pitiful way the young, brazen defiance snatched from her —all the bonny bluff gone. It happened on Sunday when Sandy made a sneak to go on the picnic with Timmy. There were Just four of them. Deep in the Santa Barbara hills they knew of a shack where they could cook steaks and coffee. They left quite early in the morning, because Sandy must be back in time for an 8 o’clock dinner with the Murillo family. A balmy day in the middle of

“You’ll pay me a week’s rent or leave your baggage,” shouted the woman. Barbara’s words came out crisply. "I’ll pay you one night's rent, and you’ll hold your tongue.” She turned and ran up the steps. She snatched her bags from the bed and ran down the steps again. Mrs. Crumpett was shaking her fist in the air as Barbara came to the front door. The door slammed, cutting off the tirade and Barbara was on the porch again. She ran down the walk, looking neither to right nor left. As she reached the gate, a shadow fell across the ground in front of her. Barbara raised her head. “Bruce!” she said. Her bugs dropped to the ground. He had* her hands. “How—” she began, but he stopped her. “McDermott told me you might be hefe. I tried yesterday to get you at the hotel, just after the paper came out with the story of your return*

OUT OUR WAY—By WILLIAMS

April. There were popples and purple flag lilies splashed about the fields. They talked, they read to each other, they feasted and laughed. At 6 o’clock the light softened rapidly into dusk. "Ah,” said Sandy, reaching up her hands that Timmy might draw her to her feet. “That such bliss ends! I’ve cheated enough for one day.” The other couple were climbing into their roadster: “We'll race you back.” they called out. Sandy was just seated in Timmy’s little car when she remembered leaving her red purse with a gold vanity and a wrist watch Murillo had given her in its pocket. It was on the bench down by the grill. She sent Timmy for it. He came back, breathless. ','Gee, they’ve got a start cn us! We’ll have to put on all kinds of speed.”

“He told me some other things, too, about Lydia and Vale Acres.' But it wouldn't have mattered- I’d have found you,* anyhow." He stopped, and the dull red blood began to mount in his face. “But you haven't heard —” This time it was Barbara who interrupted. VYes. Violetta livesu in there.” She pointed with a little shudder toward the house, and suddenly leaned against, him, weakly. "Why on earth did you come to this horrible place, Burliara dear?”’ “Wl,” said Barbara, very low, “I thought it would be home. I’m so tired of being a stray.” “You knew better,” said Bruce. "You knew it wouldn't be home. Vou knew that no place would be home, unless we found it together.” His arms were around her. Barbara's head dropped. The sunlight caught on a lock of hair that stood straight up on the crown of Bruce’s head, making him look like a particularly childish Btlliken. (THE END)

by Elenore AUTHOR OF “CHICKIE”

He started the car—rather he tried to start it. He fooled with it, looking up puzzled: “Surely the battery can't be down?” But that was it. They honked badly. The other machine was out of sight and hearing. r~*3 HEN Timmy tried to push the car. They were on a deadly level stretch. He wiped the perspiration from his forehead, mumbling; “I’m not finished, Sandy—don’t get alarmed —” He kept on half an hour. Then Sandy said woefully. “What in the world are we to do! It looks as though it’s going to pour cats and dogs. We’ll never gat home! They’ll have fifty-nine eleven fits by the time I arrive “I can just see my mother standing at the window —the Injured look she’ll have! The way she’ll say: 'You care a great deal for your family, I’m sure*. The one day we expect dignity from you, you couldn’t be on time. You couldn’t leave half an hour earlier and save us all this anxiety—•' "You’ve got ' to do -something Timmy, or I’m ruined for life.” The shack where they had picnicked was on a side road. No machines passed. It was four miles to a garage. "It’s the only thing I can do. Sandy. I’ll have to walk there and phone them we’re stalled....” “That means you won’t get back here till 8 o'clock, Timmy. We can’t—we just can't do that....” There was nothing else to do. Sajidy crouched in the car, hunching her knees to her chin. She put her fingers childishly in her ears to stop the imagined voice she could too well hear. Now it was 7 and now 7:30. Her father would be taking out his big gold watch, opening it, champing his teeth. x Now it was 8. He would say: “We’ll wait no longer—the hussy to treat us like this!” • It grew dark —the hills hunched together in a vast, gloomy circle. A wind blew down from their shoulders. Finally Timmy returned: The moment she looked at him, Sandy was alarmed.^

pf \<A£\jO 3TEEP COUCERtA "tUeRE UlA£ MAPE \ £§ BEEELL-ViE MEMBERS OF-IUE"CML!E> CLUB” A MISTAKE, VT VlA£ 5 H \Av\BIAMOAR viorttce CAME-To RE.M-r#s-! —-TAe club" \e> a || be B <2C\Ekl-f\EiC ~-OUR-EkaE, T : MS/. VIU.L awp -srfiyW Kio-r eop. a mome-tar>v be V museum, 2* BgawA \ * A-r PREEEvrr v\e are. i viiu. purr NiiORVaiAG OIA A £?CIEIOfTYnc -ft4EOW “XAtf £tfoolllA<S 6 AUERS', A = Vi\U AKiP ”T\AE EJOffiRE Ak\P A MERRV- = ViORLP ! '-'***- AKiP ViUEli rs pI&CLO&Ep tSO-ROEkVP FOR "TUE VC\P6> / * MR. VSEIAGPAG, “TUuAVC OF *lv\E YAfAE \A\-lW Ls rs VMLL NOUR \ CRAPLE OE A COLO6£AL IPEA,~EGAP n MAIA, A TOR J LUP

FRECKLES AND BIS FRIENDS—B> BLOSSER

\ —„• ? —? S PtfcTiENBAQM 6QSADIN6.DUU6ON. f / NEdER \ OL V COMJ. DARN. (SO 70 AfASJEN SAVIN’ ( l^*h / '—l / JUMPIN' ) /lAOChry VWOPDS A ( UIUnvMNTS S\ ' . • - . JuppmSL V V Ji, PLSTZEN BAUM •' S „fZS\± /T AIN’T P£SN YfW DON'T YOU WANT LON<S SINCE L Y IjHfflV/ TO SO TO J\ 1 SMOOLD \ Y.\ JJS CAME FROM / V- ~ III 1 !, | C AEAVEN?y>W SAY 7NERE/T _/ * S j a ©.tag r nca tcsv.cr me. ‘ /-**>

“Thevdamn garage closed at 6 o’clock. There’s not another shack in God knr wsThow many miles. I tramped ah over looking for a place to phone—” “Oh Timmy, didn’t you even phone!” “Lord, Sandy, I haven't 'got a radio concealed about me. I was afraid to leave you here alone any longer.” They stared at each other despairingly. They were ten miles from the main ‘highway—it was nearing 9 o’dQck and the wind slapped wetly against their faces. A soft rain was falling. “As for im, I might as well get pneumonia irad die,’ Sandy offered cheerfully. “I’m Queen Alibi of the West, but* I’ll never get by with this! Wouldn’t you think those dumbbells would have turned to see if we ’•ere following. Wo might have crashed over a bank and been left there to rot.” Timmy turned the collar of his coat. “I hope you’re not very cold, Sandy.” "I’m freezing! Can’t you force that door open? Lets take ourselves out of this deluge!" They went forlornly to the cottage. The rusty lock gave under Timmy's furious puslf. "I feel like a dog, Sandy.” She was so completely unstrung that she laughed. “They’ll have me broken on the wheel for this. Can’t you just feature my father sitting at the Murillo - table with a starched grin on his face, saying to sister Beatrice: "I can’t imagine what is delaying the child. They must ha've had a puncture’; and to himself: ‘The vixen! I’d like to break every bone in her body!’ ” Timmy stooped down at the hearth where embers glowed—he raked them up, piled on old newspapers— Sandy walked up and down the great, bare room. The walls were covered with guns and deer horns. There was a bear rug on the floor and a dilapidated couch in front of the fireplace. The glass was broken in one of the windows. The wind rushed through this. It made the guns rattle. “I suppose to be decent we’ll

OIJD BOARDING HOUSE-By AHERN

JAN. 29, 1926

have to sit up all night, Timmy. Lord, I’m tired! Do you hear that tree, beating against the window?" In sheer nervous exhaustion she lay down on the couch, closed her eyes. It seemed that she had slept but a moment. She jumped to her feet, her heart beating wildly. “What wgs that, Timmy? Lord, did you hear that?" He was sitting on the floor, his arms folded on his knees, his head resting. He looked up wearily. “It's only thunder, Sandy—it’s been going like that for the hist two hours.” "Two hours?” "Yes—lt’s 1 o’clock—" She felt blanched—weary and aching. She went over to the window, peered into the darkness. The trees were bowing to the ground, rearing themselveo backward like distraught things in some fearful, elemental agony. Lightning flashed. It illumined the room with a yellow, fitful glare—a blanched, unearthly radiance. # Sandy shivered: "Isn’t it weird? Oh, if I'd only left that damn purse there. If we’d only managed to make them hear!” She gave a short moaning sound, meaning it for a laugh: "I should care! I suppose we could stop the rain!” But suddenly she pressed her face against the window . . . hiding it with her hand. . . "Oh gee," Timmy mumbled, putting his arm about her. “Don’t do that, Sandy! I wish I could do something. Don't be so broken hearted. We couldn't help it!” She was crying now. He kept sny ing: “Listen, Sandy—oh don’t— Lord, don’t cry like that—" They clung together, being both so miserable. In the noise of the storm—they heard nothing. They stood there In each other’s arms. They thought it was but another flash of lightning . . . thought it was only the wind banging at the door. Suddenly Timmy’s arms stiffened. Ho whispered: “Ye Gods!” Sandy’s father was standing on the threshold, a flashlight in his hands. Peering over his shoulder, a gaspinif, horrified look on her face, was Ben Murillo’s sister. (To lie Continued)