Indianapolis Times, Volume 37, Number 279, Indianapolis, Marion County, 24 March 1926 — Page 12

PAGE 12

CS A by ELENORE meherin, I Author of “CHICKIE”

WHAT HAS HAPPENKn IN THE STORY SO EAR Sandy McNeil, iu love with life, marries Ben Murillo, a rich Italian, to please her impoverished family. Tyranny by Murillo and frequent quarrels follow. A son dies at birth. Bob McNeil, her uncle, aids in plans for Sandy and her mother to take a trip to Honolulu. There she meets Ramon Worth, who saves her life in the surf. On the same steamer home, he declares his love. Murillo says he will never release her. Judith Moore, a cousin, tells Sandy love is everything-. Murillo overtakes her as she goes for a tryst with Ramon. Follows a clash over her promise to her. sick mother to give up plans for divorce. Murillo appears unexpectedly at a party she is giving for her friends. After the party he strikes her. (10 ON WITH THE STORY FROM HERE ( HATTER LII Her eyes closed. She reached backward, steadying- herself blindly along the wall, unable to control the little moaning gasps shaking from her lips. She put up her hand In a startled way, touched her mouth. It was wetdripping and wet. She looked at the fingers. They were covered with blood. She said bewildered: “Oh—oh—” and suddenly hearing Murillo's voice, “Go up stairs! Go to your room!’’ seeing his gray, trembling lips, she lowered her head, She sprang to the door, pulled it open, Went stumbling and Tunning down the steps-. He called; “Sandy.'!”’ soft, desperate, furious: “Sandy!”’ She ran quicken. She pressed her hand over her mouth, and flew through the garden—flew along* the road, unaware that she talked; protesting against him in faint, broke* sobs. * * The wind blew her hair, wrapped the flimsy dress—a white streak Punning along in the dark—keeping to the denser shadows, murmuring: v, Oh! No! I won’t! I won't! Oh —’’’ Lights sweeping along the ground -—-a machine coming, She darted against the shrubs—crouched there. It whirred silently. She listened, A footstep—the crunching -of pebbles under a swift, anxious step. Sandy sank her face against the dewy leaves, and prayed frantically: '"Hide me—Oh, God, God—hide me,'’’ A hand touching- her, feeling quickly along her shoulder; '“Sandy!” She fell against him. She caught a glimpse of his shocked, worshiping eyes, and gave a soft, hysterical laugh; “ Tow —Jtamon—fake me away •-—quick—” Singing—floating into shadows, black, impenetrable; borne onward, aware -of his voice and his arms hiding her; his arms sweeping her along, almost carrying her. Her lips pleading and Insistent: '■'Quick —Ham-on—away,” He lifted her to the machine, would have wiped her face, "IN©! Hurry—go quicker,” The car hummed, the road before i them a ribbon wavering in the head-! lights. Trees loomed, vanished in the j plunging shadows. Allies flying into ; the past. She peered from the window, the 1 cold air soothing to her hurt, burning mouth where the skin was so cruelly split "A machine— I hear a -machine. Don’t let it catch us!” *T won’t- "Where, Sandy? "Where are you going?" ’Tar —anywhere.”

She shivered the wind 'blowing' through the light silk of her dress. She saw the moon riding over the trees, round and cold and glimmering, a pearl swaying on the chill "bosom of the night. She put her hands over her eye* and wept, “Where will you take me, Ramon?” “Wherever you want to go,” “I’ve left. I’ve left for good,” “Shall I take you to your motl> cr's?” “No! Don't go hack. Go on.” “You’re cold. Put on this coat. Hutton it up.” Her hands were stiff and frozen. She laid the icy palm against her cheek, fighting against the Images darting so crazily through her mind —shutting out the hotness of his breath, the frightful glitter of his eyes. “Going away," she told herself In a stricken quiet. “Away." And her heart was filled with panic as though she were drowning: as though cold, heavy waters rose—higher—to her neck, to her mouth — over her head. She closed her eyes. The moon and the dark, austere trees etched themselves on her side. The night and the cold and ’the dreariness walked everywhere. “It’s so dark, Ramon.” His hand covering hers. “Let us stop a moment.” “Not yet—no!" “Don’t be frightened ’’ His face turned with consuming tenderness to hers. “Darling—he did that to you? Y'our cheek—your mouth?"

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She sank down. Presently she felt a warmth, a softness wrapped about her, tucked over her shoulders. And something held to her lips. "Take it—just a little—you’re freezing. Sandy—trust me— —” Liquid burning along her tongue, stealing with delicious fire through her veins. “Sleep a little ” trailing into warmth and soft, embracing sweetness. * * * “Don't go hack, Ramon—on —” Lifted —he was lifting her now. And it was light, radiantly light. And they were on the top of the world, trees arching above them; water dashing on the rocks below. She fought against awakening. She hid her face against his shoulder. She said vaguely: “Let mo down. I’m all right. Oh, Ramon — it’s morning—” “Yes —morning.” He supported her with his arm. He tried to look in her face. She covered it with her hands. “'Where have you taken me?” “Home, darling. I’ve taken you beasts. ” “Ywar hems, Sandy, as long as yoca want It . „ -as long as you treed it.” There was a little stone house set ■ran the highlands. Trees framed It —the wind-blown Monterey cypress trees'. Below them were the bluest waters and the whitest, whitest sands-. She gave a faint, sobbing laugh: “We drove all night, Ramon?” “AH night. Isn’t that what you wanted?” She nodded. She let him take her to the house. She stood In the middle of the big, shadowy room. He kneeled before an immense fireplace, twisting newspapers, piling on logs. Plame sprang up. In its flare Ms face was bronzed, luminous and sweet. She said brokenly, “Tou’ro good to me, Ramon.” He pushed a divan before the blaz**. He came over and took her hands. “That’s what I want, Sandy —I want to he good to you. Rest. You’re so terribly cold.” He propped pillows about her. He took off her shoes and chafed her Icy feet. He pressed them between his two hands. “Don’t, Ramon—l don’t want you to do this.” “Don’t yon, Sandy? But it seems to me I can’t do enough.” She winced when he brought a little howl and bathed her cheek. It was numb and swollen. Tears crept through her tightened lids. “Am I hurting yon?” “Ho.” “Don’t think about It.” She tried not to. Her mind seethed. Sun'lay morning—Alice phoning. May Arliss phoning. "What would Murillo tell them? What would he do? She shuddered. Then Ramon stopped and pushed her hair back, lie kissed her. “I’d like to die, Ramon. I wish I’d fallen.” “Oh, no; Sandy. Why should you wish that?” fill© thought; But I wish It. What ctet—what else? She pulled the rehe up and hid her bruised, despairing face from him, (To Be Continued.)

URGE POLITICAL COURSE Ogden Says Colleges Should Study Election Methods, Bu United Brum LEBANON, Ind.. March 24,—A course in politics In every college for at least an hour a week was advocated today by .lames M. Ogden, Indianapolis, candidate for Republican nomination as Seventh district representative, who spoke to Kiwanls Club members here. “The student should take research work and Investigate politics In the working," said Ogden. “He should study candidates, methods of election at first hand and report his observation to the class.” PROFESSOR SLAMS CAL 111 l United Prrse WASHINGTON, March 24.—Republican Administration appointments to the United States Tariff Commission and the action of President Coolldge in pigeonholing the commission's sugar tariff report, were criticised as “opposed to the public interest,” by Prof. F. W. Taussig, Harvard, at the opening of the Senate tariff investigation.

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WEEKLY BOOK REVIEW They Even Flapped in Their Own Way in Year 1764

By Walter D. Hickman 1 HEY' didn’t 'call ’em flappers way back in 1764-1765, but L__ they flapped in their own way just the same. That was my idea after reading “The Diary of a Young Lady of Fashion in the Year 1764-1765.” Miss Cleone Knox is the young lady of fashion of that period who is supposed to have authored this diary. It is announced that the diary was edited by her kinsman, Alexander Blacker Kerr. On seeing that this diary was a leader among the best sellers in nonfiction. I journeyed over to the book department of L. S. Ayres & Cos., and obtained a copy for review. It is published by D. Appleton and Company. Here is the cocktail of modern literature. It is the very proper statements of the experiences of a little flapper In Ireland, who when “catched" by a young man not in good standing with Clebnc’s father, is carted over England and Europe by her stern papa and her rather wild brother. Here is a delightful cameo done in the spirit and the tune of 1764. Girls were girls even then. They j painted and powdered and did their hair In a strange fashion. Miss Kox mixes love and Latin, but Latin Is, as you know, very dull

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

without love. Anyway, Miss Knox so allows. To me this is the most delightful of reading. It is fresh and tantalizing, although It Is nonfiction. It Is so charming that I found myself wishing that’it were in two volumes Instead of one. Letting Her Talk The best way to approach this delightful book is to consider a few of, the Intimate passages as set down by Miss Cleone Knox. Miss Knox writes: "This morning had a vastly unpleasant interview with my father. Last night, Mr. Ancaster, who is the indiscreetest man alive, was seized suddenly while riding home along the shore with a desire to say good night to me. He climbed the wall, the postern gate being locked at that late hour, and had the boldness to attempt to climb the ivy below my window; while but half way up the poor, impudent young man fell. (If he hadn't Lord knows what would have happened, for I am terribly catched by the handsome wretch.) As ill luck would have. Papa and Ned, who is conversing in the library, looked out at that moment and saw him lying prostrate on the ground. . . . Miss Knox then suffered a strict lecture from her papa to the extent that she writes “Men are such dam-

SALESMAN SAM—By SWAN

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES—By MARTIN

FRECKLES AND HIS FR TENDS—By BLOSSER

nable Fools there £s no> stjrfng what they will do in a fury.” Just Between l T s From then on, Miss Knox tells of her Journey by coach and boat to England and then to the continent with papa and Ned, just because papa did not want her to be "catched" by Mr. A. In speaking of the fashion of hair dressing. Miss Knox writes: "Heads are worn now as Big as one can bear them, and are decorated so Cary declares with Ships, Gardens and other Fantasies.” She also remarks at one time that one lady of fashion did not have her “head open" for such a long period that a nest of mice was discovered in it. Some of the remarks of Miss Knox about morals and fashions are so intimate and charmingly wise that , must refer you to the book. Here is ideal and smart roadint;. A real joy. Not to be missed |,y those who enjoy the real thing :in delightful fun. HANGS SELF IN CHURCH LONDON—After telling friends that he feared pensioning because of his age, William Smith, 70-year-told bell ringer of St. Peter’s Church, went to the church tower to strike midnight. His body was found, in the morning hanging from the k>ell rope.

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In Europe A whole group of Macmillan authors have been wintering in Europe. Albert Bigelow Paine sailed for Paris the very week Ills new "Joan of Arc" came out, and his latest letters have been dated at Cannes, on the Riviera. His biography of Joan of Arc has been receiving excellent notices in the Paris papers as well as In this country. Robert Herrick, whose novel of university life, "Chimes," is to appear in April, and Ernest Poole (whose latest story was “The Hunter's Moon”) have both been abroad for several months. Sophia Cleugh is in Italy, hard at work on anew book for the readers of her "Matilda” and "Ernestine Sophie.”

REDUCED JO PATROLMAN Quarrel Results in Suspension of Police Wagomnan. A quarrel between Byron W. Payne, police wagonman, and Mrs. Byrd Terry at her apartment, 1530 N. Illinois St., resulted in reduction of Paynel to patrolman and suspension for thirty days by the beard of safety Tuesday Payne was l'ound guilty of conduct unbecoming an officer because bruises on Mrs. Terry proved he had struck her, O. D.’ Haskett, board

OUR BOARDING HOUSE—By AHERN

president, said todgy. Payne denied he struck Mrs. Terry. ANNOUNCES THE SAME American listeners are not the only ones who find fault, with station announcers. Foreign fans criticise the announcers for too long announcements and for not announcing the station’s call letters frequently enough. BOYS POOR DRIVERS Y'ouths under the age of 18 years failed to prove their ability as auto drivers. Junior operators’ licenses

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