Indianapolis Times, Volume 37, Number 291, Indianapolis, Marion County, 7 April 1926 — Page 8

PAGE 8

® A mw%w by ELENORE MEHERIN, X Author of "CHICKIE”

„ „ THK STORY SO FAR SANDY McNEIL. in love with life, marries BEN MURILLO, a rich Italian, ’to please her impoverished family. Tyranny by Murillo and freauent quarrels follow. A son dies at birth. 808 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. He appears, unexpectedly. at a party she is giving for her friends. After the party he strikes her. She leaves his house and accepts the kindly attentions of Ramon, whoso home she shares. She then accepts a position in the city and boards out. One evening she and Ramon drive to Ins home. They are about to enter when the door is opened by a girl whom Ramon had known two years ago. I urious. Sandy is driven back to the city. GO ON WITH THE STOK\ FROM HERE CHAPTER LXIV. It was an old-fashioned house where Sandy had taken a room, set far back in the garden. Before it was a magnificent old oak.„, Ramon drew her to its shadow. ‘‘You’re not going to leave me like this, Sandy?” She looked past him to the wide bay windows, pulled down just a little fiom the top. ‘‘We can’t talk here. It’s almost morning.” In the impenetrable darkness they could just make out the white blurr of each other's faces. He was leaning against the tree, his head thrown back. mq go, Ramon. I can’t help it that I feel so. I do. And now 1 want to go. Oh, everything is tervible!” He pulled her to him. ”1 won’t let you go. I can't let you go.” She waited, mute and cold. His humility laid wounds on her. She wanted to escape. “What have I done, Sandy? Loved you this whole year. Thought of no one else. Longed to serve you. Isn’t this true?” “I can’t help it.” “And now because of an accident —a mere accident —you forgot everything. Don’t —please—I can t L<rand it. Oh, Sandy, I can't-r-I can’t —” Suddenly he wropped his arms desperately about her and sobbed like a boy.

She hung; up her, coat —the long knitted coat Ramon had sent her. She brushed a white speck from the collar. She went about the room, faint and chilled, stopping before the bureau to arrange pins in a little haid-painted tray. She remained a long time doing this, hearing the break in his voice. She shut her ears against it. Then she felt the weight of his arms, They took the strength from her. “Why do I blame him?” she murmured, sinking lown and staring at the’ceiling. “I’ve no right to blame him.” Oppressive —the whole affair weighed on her heavily like his desperate arms. It no longer seemed romantic —a brave and beautiful thing that she had gone with Ramon. That girl in the purple kimono had also gone with him. That girl who came to the door with a soft, tinkling laugh to say wickedly: “Alone, darling? Did you send her away?” And she, Sandy, sitting there in the machine hearing this— She shrank from this vision of herself —a rival of that insolent, seductive thing who had calmly gone to his house uninvited —waiting brilliant and certain for his coming. She and that girl were the same. Memory rose hotly and denied this. They were not the same! There was that Sunday when he kneeled and chafed her feet ... j there was all that sweetness of his service when she came stumbling to him in the dark, without even hat or coat. The gentleness of that time set this affaar of their apart—made it different. * * How good he had been to her! She was now glad she had kissed him — glad she had begged him not to care so that she had take nhis face and said smiling: “I'm not blaming you. No —I won’t —” All this didn’t alter the overpowering relief that the door was now closed between them and he was gone. She began to cry. She told herself in alarmed quiet: “I want it ended. Lord—l and do!” It appalled her to admit this. But she remembered her reluctance of the last two months; the lightness that was almost joy in the week-end when he couldn’t come. And she lay with her hands over her face, whispering: ”1 won’t go there again, I can never go there again. She fought with dismal reluctance

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In the year 1819, two babies were born whose lives were destined to have a far-reaching influence. One was bom in a stern castle of Old England, the other in a humble farmhouse in New England. Queen Victoria through her -wisdom and kindliness during a long and prosperous reign has become enthroned in the hearts of the British people. Lydia E. Pinkham through the merit of her Vegetable Compound has made her name a household word in thousands of American homes.

against awaking; close her mind against the thoughts of the nightkeep it closed. But there they were—waiting at the bed like wet, clammy garments one is forced to resume. * * * At 10 o’clock a special delivery letter came from Ramon. Page after page, pleading and tempestuous. “You must see me. Sandy—you won’t refuse this? Listen—did I make any pretensions to you? Did I make myself out anything but what I am? From all the things I’ve told you, you’ve surely known the kind of life I've lived. Why, then, does this incident seem so unforgivable? Why does it make me a person to be shunned? “I’ve told you, in a way, some episodes similar to this one. You never seemed to take these things much to heart or to consider them very criminal. “Why, now, are you so despondent? It was ghastly. I appreciate this. Not for worlds would I have had it happen. But it has. Are you going to hold it against me? “I can't believe this. I won't believe it Sandy, I don’t dare to believe it! For the simple reason that my life is now without purpose or meaning except in you. “I can't cnange the past for you, though I gladly would. No one knows how gladly I'd wipe out every thought except the ones of you. I wish I’d never looked at any girl. I have. There have been many. But you knew this. You surely knew it. They have all passed. Most of them are completely forgottten. Only once did I love —love really. I was 19 then. She died. There was no other till you came. There can be no other now. “Surely you 'don’t mean to end it? You spoke so. You were distracted. Isn’t this so? “Come and ride with me when you receive this. I’ll be waiting—you know where. Come. I won’t he able to stand it if you turn from me n0w.... “How I loved you when you came to me that night—how I love you j now. And if you had not kissed me I last night—but you did —and you'll I come!” A cold oppression fell upon her. She whispered to herself in a ter- | ror: “I can't get away—Lord—l I can’t —I can't!”

They drove through the valley. ; Bright, sunny day with roses climb- , ing to every roof and the flowering I sage looking so brilliant, bushes of : purple fire. The laughter that had first attracted her in Ramon's face was gone. It was set and imploring, though he kept turning to her and smiling. They stopped on a hill with the valley unrolling so graciously about j them. “You don’t forgive me, Sandy? It was a clumsy, ugly thing to happen. And in some way you think I should have foreseen it—avoided it?” “No—l don’t thing that. But everything is terrible, Ramon. All this concealment and sneaking—the mortal terror of being seen. It shames us—” “We've not been seen....ls that all, Sandy? Then you care for me as you did?” She couldn’t answer this. She wanted to say: ‘‘Let me go. Ramon —we can’t go on like this —let it be ended.” She looked at his pleading face !”i(l grew mute. She couldn't say this. She would never be able to say it. “Do you care for me? Oh, say that you do!” And he asked this many times. And finally she answered: “Oh, of course I care... .don’t let us be so tragic about things....” He caught her hands, laughing: “If you care—that’s enough!” She was defeated... .burdened and defeated. And he didn’t insist when she refused to go again to the cottage. * * * When she was alone she turned on herself wildly: “Why didn’t I tell the truth! Oh, Lord—now—now—” And she decided that the next time she would gently speak—make him see. But the next time —and the next time he wooed her as before, weakening her with the sad violence of his love. She didn't go again to the cottage. Yet she repeated: “I care—of course I caree—but I can’t go on like this —I don’t want to go 0n...." and

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in the end, yielded because she feared his desperation. There were times when fear lodged with her like a cold, living thing. Then she told herself: “I won’t stand it! I’ll go away! Let it end —E yn!” Early in November a letter came from Alice. This was followed by

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THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

one from her father. She was summoned home. (To Be Continued.) THE NEWEST COLORS For evening the popular colors are pink, chartreuse, mauve, cyclamen and blue. AVhite and black are even more in evidence than colors.

time. A tiny bottle of "Freezone” costs only a few cents at any drug store, sufficient to remove every hard corn, soft corn, corn between the toes and calluses—Try it! —Advertisement,

SALESMAN SAM—By SWAN

BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES—By MARTIN

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS—By BLOSSER

SCHOOL n DEMOSTHENES— His O will made him one r-| I of world’s great orators. Copyright. Compton 1 * rictorod Kney doped la Keatnr* Hen-toe.

If any of the Athenian friends of the youthful Demosthenes had foretold that he would become the most famous orator not only in Greece but of all history, tho prediction would have moved those who heard it to derisive laughter. "A great orator, indeed!" they would have replied. “Why, Demosthenes is the least likely lad in all Athens for public speaking. Look at him! He is a puny, spindling fellow. He is clumy and awkward, and one shoulder is higher than the other. His voice is thin and weak, and he has an impediment in his speech.” But a great orator Demosthenes was determined to be, and a great orator he became. Even to this day, the student who wishes to master the art of eloquence studies the speeches of Demosthenes as the supreme masterpieces of any age. Perhaps one influence that moved the young Athenian to entertain this ambition was the desire to obtain jus tice against cousins, who had mismanaged the goodly estate his father had left him, and had turned over to him only about one-seventh of what he should have received when he came of age. At any rate, Demosthenes did plead bis case against

one of his unjust guardians in later life, and won a verdict for damages. When he first tried to speak in the public assembly, he was only laughed at. But Demosthenes had the kind of will tl>at triumphs over all obstacles. To learn to articulate more distinctly. It Is said that he practiced speaking with pebbles in his mouth, and to strengthen his voice he declaimed on the seashore amid the roar of the waves, or ran up hill as he recited. To overcome his awkward habit of lifting one shoulder higKfcr than the other, he hung a sword so that it. would touch his shoulder if he raised it. He fitted up a room in a cave, where ho could study and practice without interruption. Often he sat up at night, writing and rewriting his speeches by the glimmer of an oil lamp. A man who was jealous of him once referred to this with a sneer, saying, "Demosthenes, your speeches smell of the lamp.” Success crowned his efforts, and Demosthenes at length rose to popularity and power, just at the time when a great danger threatened Athens. King Philip, who ruled Macedonia, just north of Greece, was beginning those conquests which in the end made him master of Greece.

OUR BOARDING HOUSE—By AIIERN

Demosthenes, foreseeing, the danger, urged his countrymen in one eloquent appeal after another to arise and preserve their freedom. His powerful orations against Philip were known as “philippics,’' and they became so famous that today any impassioned denunciation or criticism is called a "philippic.” Only when it was too late did the Athenians heed the warnings of Demosthenes. Darker days followed for the great orator. The pro-Mace-donian party, who had for Its spokesman Aeschines, r.n orator second only to Demosthenes, obtained his condemnation on a false charge of taking a bribe. He was fined and thrown into prison, from which he fled into exile. When Alexander the Great of Macedonia died, Demosthenes was recalled and led a last attempt to throw off the Macedonian yoke. Defeat put an end to the hopes of the patriots, and Demosthenes had to flee for his life. When overtaken by his pursuers, he begged leave to write a letter. For a few moments he was seen to chew a pen, as was his habit when writing or thinking. But In the hollow of that reed he kept poison for Just such a, crisis. Soon he began to tremble, and rising up, he tottered and fell dead. Demosthenes’ greatest oration, entitled “On the Crown,” was delivered in 330 B. C. It was review and justification of his public life, in answer to the criticism of his enemies, and is the most splendid example of ancient oratory that has come down to us.

APRIL T? 1926

FOR EARLY SPRING A very attractive coat for wear is of green kasha with pointed pockets of gazelle fur, and a scarf collar of fur with long ends thal hang down In front. SILK CAPE COATS There is much Interest In the elllf coat for spring and summer. Thd cape coat, with the cape very full* is a popular style.

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